Thanks as always to Bioware for their craftsmanship in building the DA:O world and its characters.
Thank you to my beta Tarante11a whose sharp eye found many things I had missed.
Finally, thanks to all of you who have left your reviews and/or subscribed to my story. Apologies for the time it takes me to write a new chapter — work sometimes interferes with my writing time.
Chapter 4- Dalish Lore
Aithne was glad she had removed her armor and was wearing only her comfortable woolen shirt and pants as she settled, cross legged, on the rugs on the tent floor. Zevran lounged next to her, as usual making even the act of sitting a seductive one. She felt rather like a child again - this was where Marethari had taught the clan children to read and write so the lore that had been regained would never be lost again. It had been a shock to realize many of those she had met after leaving her clan could not read well, or sometimes at all. Of course, it had also surprised many of the Banns that she was educated. They had apparently expected a Dalish elf to be illiterate.
Marethari finally spoke. "I have always understood only a Grey Warden can kill an Archdemon and that in doing so the Grey Warden dies. This is written in our lore and I have always taken it as true. Yet you claim to have killed the Archdemon and you live."
Sipping her wine, Aithne struggled with what to tell her clanswoman. The true story was only known to four people and she did not wish to increase that number. Still, Marethari was a Dalish Keeper and might have access to knowledge about the Old Gods, might even have knowledge of what kind of magic was involved in Morrigan's ritual. Aithne measured her and found a strong woman she could trust.
"The Archdemon is dead and it was my hand that struck the final blow although there were many who aided in bringing the beast down. I am not dead because I made a bargain with Morrigan…" Aithne spun the entire sordid story for the old Keeper, leaving none of her reasoning out; from her love for Alistair and the need for him to become King, to the preservation of the soul of an Old God. "So, I do not know if I have done good or ill. I fear the worst, yet I feel I could not have done differently. We need to find Morrigan to learn those answers." Leaning into Zevran she drained her wine and waited for the Keepers response.
"I know little of the nature of the Old Gods other than a few bits of lore gleaned from artifacts. You have taken a terrible chance, whether it was love, duty to your king or a desire to preserve an ancient power. As much as I am glad to see you I fear that it would have been better to have made the sacrifice." Marethari's face was grim but her gaze held compassion for her clanswoman.
"I believe you are wrong Keeper." Zevran had spent the past weeks mulling over Aithne's revelation. Their evening talks had often come back to that fateful choice and its current and potential consequences. "First, there were only three Grey Wardens present in Ferelden, if they had all fallen then there would have been no one to stop the Archdemon. With the ritual anyone could kill the Archdemon and there was at least a chance that its soul would travel to Morrigan's child. Second, Alistair has been generous to the elves in Ferelden. Although true strength comes from achieving things on your own, at least there are more opportunities now. Anora saw elves only as servants and tools. Third, and perhaps most important, the fall of the Old Gods coincided with the appearance of the darkspawn. This is true whether you believe the Chantry's version or not. Perhaps an awake and untainted Old God may have the key to stopping the blights altogether."
"There are some flaws in your logic, but you have given me something to think on. Perhaps I can find some information to aid you." She motioned toward the stacks of scrolls and books that completely filled one end of the large tent. "If you can give me a little time I believe I can find something useful."
"We would be grateful for any assistance you can offer." Aithne stood and Zevran followed a shadow beside her. "Zev, shall we check the horses?"
The moonlight flooded the night with silver as they walked to the halla pasture, their quiet steps making a dark trail in the frost nipped grass. "Do you think we will find her?" Aithne queried her unusually quiet companion.
"Given enough time I think it likely. It seems hard for a Witch of the Wilds to stay completely hidden. My spies had reliable information that placed her in Orlais within a few months after the coronation. I doubt she is there still, but I am sure we will find some leads." Zevran stopped at the makeshift fence containing the halla.
"I am not sure what to say when we find her. She had her own purposes for the child, how do I ask if they involve taking possession of its body?" Aithne gave a bitter laugh. "Flemeth was bad enough, Morrigan's power enhanced with the soul of an Old God, I am not sure I want to start that fight." Watching the dark figures of the halla and the horses grazing in the moonlight she continued. "I hope she had changed enough in the time we traveled that her plans are more benign. I fear her thirst for power though. I hate the thought of a child, even a god child, paying the price for my trust in her."
"We cannot know what her plans are from here. It is not worth the worry until we find her. I thought we came out to check the horses." Zevran lithely slipped over the fence.
"Live for the moment, right Zev." She smiled and followed him. The crisp autumn air made her feel alive. Her skin tingled with awareness; the music of the small creek, the soft breathing of the animals, the cool caress of the wind with its promise of winter, Zevran's warmth as he walked beside her. They spent several minutes assuring themselves of the health of their sturdy mounts then wandered down to sit on the stream bank.
"As a child I would slip out to sit with the halla and think. It was always so peaceful, just to watch the stars and listen to the sounds of the night. I think that is what I have missed the most, feeling so at one with the natural world. It must seem strange to you to be away from the people and the noise." Aithne leaned back on her elbows, the end of her braid trailing in the grass.
"No, it is not what I am used to, but I can see the beauty in it and…in you." Hesitant, afraid to disrupt the change in their relationship that had been growing these last weeks, he leaned over, touched his lips to hers.
His kiss was gentle, carefully hiding the passion that threatened to overwhelm him. She kissed him back, at first tentatively, then with surprising intensity. Finally Aithne broke the contact and sat up to regard him thoughtfully.
"Zev, I... that…" She struggled for the right words, struggled to slow her heart. "I want to be sure that it is you I want, not just that I have been overwhelmed by today's events. You are my most trusted friend, perhaps much more. I do not want to ruin what we have by rushing forward. Right now I want you. I just don't want either of us to regret it tomorrow."
"I will not say I am sorry." Zevran drew an arm around her. "But I bow to your wishes." He could push the matter, he knew, have her naked in his arms with a few deft caresses. The pressure in his groin suggested that he do just that, but a single night of passion was not worth losing her forever. Resigning himself to just holding her he could not resist murmuring into her hair. "I don't believe we would regret it."
They sat together listening to the night for perhaps an hour before the chill drove them to their feet. Walking back Zevran silently laughed at himself. The Crow assassin trained in seduction, born in a whorehouse, content to simply hold a woman's hand.
Keeper Marethari had been busy in their absence. A small stack of books lay before her on the intricately woven rug. She smiled when they entered, "I have found some interesting things."
Reluctant to relinquish contact Zevran settled next to his Grey Warden, shoulders touching. Aithne let her fingers rest lightly atop his and addressed the Keeper. "We would be honored to hear what you have found."
Marethari observed them with curiosity. In spite of the assassin's earlier comments she had been sure that they were not lovers, but something had changed. Well, they would need one another if they were to pursue this quest of theirs. "It is only fragments that have been copied numerous times so there might be inaccuracies." Once again the lore keeper she continued her exposition. "I have some material that was written by an elven scholar some time after the fall of Arlathan. The text describes the Gods of the Tevinter Imperium as ancient and powerful high dragons. It details the dragons contact with and interference in the affairs of humans. Their draconic abilities appeared to include shapeshifting and impressive displays of magic. It was these abilities that led the humans to worship them. This scholar believed it was knowledge given by the dragon Dumat which aided in the fall of Arlathan. Interestingly he also tells of other dragons who contacted Elvhenan in an attempt to thwart Dumat's plan. Urthemial was one of those dragons."
"I have several other accounts here describing the rise of the darkspawn and the first Blight. They all agree that there were no darkspawn seen prior to the hibernation of the high dragons." She paused, "I do find it interesting that all of the accounts by elven writers refer to the 'hibernation' of the dragons rather than the 'imprisonment' of the Old Gods as taught by the human Chantry." Fingers smoothing the worn leather binding of the book she was holding the Keeper concluded. "I do not know if this helps you. It seems you have the soul of a magic wielding dragon to deal with. Perhaps it will have answers as to how the darkspawn came to be or how they can be contained, I do not know. I am not even sure if the soul will carry memories of the previous life with it. Blood magic can have unpredictable results and I am not familiar with rituals such as this Morrigan may have used."
Zevran grinned. "So we only have a powerful magical dragon to deal with instead of a god. What a relief, we'll just take care of it and still have time for our tour of Thedas."
Aithne punched him in the arm to conceal an answering smile. "As I recall you only helped fight one dragon, we snuck by the one in Haven and you hid in your tent when I went to deal with Flemeth. Besides, the child will still be very young, it is Morrigan we may have to deal with."
"I was not hiding."
"Okay, so you had a hangover, you should have known better than to drink Ohgren's homebrew." Aithne turned back to the keeper, leaving her companion to contemplate her all too accurate memory. "Thank you Marethari. You have given us more information than I was able to uncover in the last few years, even with all of the resources available in Denerim."
That night Aithne lay in the dark listening to Zevran's soft breathing next to her and the Keeper's occasional snores across the tent. When she finally fell asleep she dreamed of a golden dragon with Alistair's eyes.