Author Notes: Not much to say this time around. Hope you enjoy chapter 2! A big thanks to almostinsane for beta-ing this chapter! Reviews and criticism are welcome.

~Scarlet

Part 1: Ostagar

Chapter 2: Where the Wilds Flowers Grow

There was no shortage of darkspawn after the initial encounter. Dylan still felt a little sick upon hearing metal on flesh, but the urge to heave was gone. He was beginning to keep his head in battle, actually casting spells rather than just causing random convenient events like a child. It helped that, except for a few hills at the beginning of the wilds, the land was mercifully flat. They had yet to be ambushed from the ground, although their was much speculation on such things.

"Do you think we'd hear a rumble, like an earthshaker?" Alistair asked, headed toward what look to be a ruin, the best place to start looking for the treaties.

"I mean you'd have to, right? They can't just appear; not even mages can do that." Dylan replied, eyes scanning the perimeter. He was keeping watch for Alistair. By now he had learned the importance of keeping an eye on his surroundings.

"Maybe they can," Jory whispered, sounding almost fearful, "Darkspawn are unnatural."

Ishafel was very sure that this was not a constructive conversation. She might have even said something about it had she not been concentrating very hard on Jory's purse, hanging peacefully from his belt.

"Now," Daveth said in her ear "You want to catch the purse in mid swing, so it falls away from his body and into your hand." There was a slight chuckle in his voice, and it occurred to Ishafel that Daveth must have enjoyed being a cutpurse before Duncan caught up to him. She had to admit there was a certain excitement to it. She had watched him cut Alistair's purse in demonstration, and the thrill of his almost getting caught was akin to coming upon shem in the woods unnoticed. As the purse swung back, she moved and gave a hurried slice. she cut through his belt in the first swing.

"What in Andraste's knickers?" Jory was suddenly fumbling with his pants. They had abruptly decided to pool around his knees under his mail. Dancing around in a vain attempt to fix them, he looked very much like a startled chicken. Daveth was trying very hard not to laugh, lest it attract darkspawn when Jory was indisposed, but little hisses and smirks of laughter broke through anyway. Ishafel was thoroughly confused. She was sure she had cut in the right place, retracing the cut in her mind. For all his flailing, Jory's purse stayed on his person, as secure now as it was before Ishafel had attempted to liberate it.

"What happened?"

Alistair and Dylan backtracked from their spot in the marsh several yards ahead just in time to see the embarrassed Jory preform his chicken dance. A bit of worn leather on the ground caught Dylan's eye. Stooping, he picked it up.

"Jory, is this your belt?"

"Yes!" he lunged for the strip and Dylan let him take it, pointing to the frayed end;

"It's been severed clean through. Won't be much use to you."

"Let me see it," Alistair directed, unshouldering his pack. "I've got a bit of twine here, I can probably patch it until we get back to camp."

"Bad luck, love," Daveth said, quietly chuckling as he worked. "You got the wrong belt. Can't say it wasn't entertaining though. If I had done something like that with Duncan, he would have never caught me!"

Ishafel was speechless about the whole situation, her mouth slightly open like a fish. She really was absolutely terrible when it came to thievery.

"Now, don't look like that, We'll work on it. You can try for Alistair's pants next time. Or better yet, you can try for the darkspawn's."

The impromptu image of all the darkspawn on the field suddenly losing their pants was enough to startle a burst of laughter from Ishafel, causing all the gentlemen present to stare at her, particularly Dylan. He looked from Ishafel to Daveth with eyes narrowed in mirth, suspecting their involvement in Jory's unfortunate situation.

"Finished" Alistair said, satisfied.

Jory scrambled to take his belt back and synched it around his waist.

"Very nice, Ser Alistair. You are a good a patch as my Helena."

"Oh, not that again" Daveth moaned as the party started forward. Jory talked about his wife and their approaching familial bliss for up to of 20 minutes until Dylan decided that he rather have the darkspawn attack again than listen to another word.

"Daveth" he said, cutting Jory off completely, "you said you knew tales of the wilds?"

"Grew up around these parts. you didn't go two steps without hearing about the Flemeth and the Witches of the Wilds"

"Witches of the Wilds?" Ishafel asked, curious.

"Nasty women who roam the wilds looking for men to seduce and children to eat, Flemeth is their mother." Daveth shook himself slightly. "Mum always used tell me if I wasn't good, she'd leave me outside for them after nightfall."

There was a cackle nearby. Ishafel turned, expecting company, and instead found a raven sitting on a nearby tree branch, almost at eye level with herself. She caught it's eye and it cackled again. Odd, for a bird of that size to be sitting so low to the ground. Walking towards it, Alistair's shout sounded behind her.

"Ishafel, darkspawn!"

Spinning on her heel, she threw herself into combat. By the time she thought to look again, the raven was gone.

The wilds seemed to get wetter the further in they went. The manic croaking of bullfrogs and constant buzzing of mosquito was doing a very good job of driving Dylan mad.

"The Chasind actually enjoy living here?" he muttered to himself while bitterly swatting at a mosquito. "I think I prefer the tower to this place!"

"Of course you do," a voice answered on his right, "The tower is your home."

Dylan sighed. He seriously hoped that he managed to meet someone who appreciated his wit before things were over, it was lost on Ishafel.

"That was meant to be an insult to this place."

"I don't understand."

"I didn't like living at the tower, Ishafel." after a moment he added "I damn well hated it."

Although Dylan couldn't see it, her nose wrinkled in confusion "Why?"

"I wasn't allowed to go outside until I was 15. You had to be given permission for those things and the Templars didn't like babysitting. The closest I got was the roof of the tower, and even that was supposed to be forbidden. I was just very good at breaking the spells that Irving put up. There was even a trigger that let the templars know when I was up there. I only ever got thirty minutes, tops.

"I still don't understand why would you want to be alone. I was never alone and it didn't bother me."

"What? Never?"

"Hunting groups were always made of twos and threes. If I wasn't hunting, I was with the clan. There was always something to mend or make. Being alone wouldn't have helped at all."

"But you could have been, if you wanted?" he pressed.

"Well, yes, I suppose. I could always go into my aravel and shut the flap, if that's what you mean."

"You see? I couldn't even do that."

"Of course not. You lived in a tower not an aravel."

Anyone else, Dylan thought, would have assumed that Ishafel was being sarcastic. After knowing her for three days, he knew she sincerely meant that and it was not a witty joke.

"The templars would guard our doors. We had a particularly zealous one when I was a younger named Floyd. Wouldn't even let me go to the latrine alone."

"Dylan! Watch out!"

The genlock appeared from nowhere at his elbow. He was fast but Ishafel was faster, ducking around Dylan to plunge her blade into the creature's mouth. Dylan gave a cry to alert the others before smacking an oncoming hurlock on the head with his staff. If he survived this merry little adventure through the swamp, someone was teaching him how to use a sword. A frost spell dispatched the hurlock and he concentrated his efforts in shocking the life out of genlock archer who had Ishafel pinned while a second genlock was attempting to stab her to death. An arrow through the eye, courtesy of Daveth took care of the archer. Running forward to help, Dylan was forced to scramble out of the way as Ishafel swung herself around the genlock's torso and slit his throat from behind. He wasn't quick enough, and managed to whack Ishafel in the back with his staff, sending her flying face down into a muddy swampy patch a few feet away.

"Maker! Ishafel! Are you alright?" Dylan sputtered. For a moment she lay flat in the mud, stunned. Slowly, she regained control of her limbs, pushing herself up. In front of her was a scraggly patch of flowers, white with a blood drop in the center.

"Perfect!" she said and righted herself so she could pick them. The kennel master would be pleased.

To Dylan, Daveth, Jory and Alistair it looked as if Ishafel had gone more than a little crazy. Covered in mud as she was, now she was kneeling ankle deep in marsh picking flowers.

"My mother did always tell me the Dalish were very in tune with nature." Daveth shrugged

"She's not possessed is she?" Jory asked Alistair quietly.

"Ishafel? I know those flowers may look nice, but really we have to get those treaties before dark falls."

Alistair said trying to sound jovial. In his experience, it was always best if you sounded calm to crazy people.

She stood up and tried to wipe some of the mud off with no success. She finally noticed the four men staring at her.

"They are medicinal herbs for the kennel master." She explained "One of the mabari is ill, and these will speed his recovery."

A collective, understanding 'Oh' arose from the group.

They continued onward until they had finally reached the ruin that Alistair had pointed out hours ago.

Darkspawn poured down from the mouth of the tower, but they seemed distracted and were quickly dispatched. Ishafel scooped up the last vial of darkspawn blood.

"What was wrong with them, I wonder?" She asked Dylan. He shrugged.

"Maybe they find the sight of you covered in mud terrifying?"

She gave him a sour look.

"There's the chest!" Alistair pointed to a wrecked looking box that had not been a chest in ages. Bending down, he began to sift through the remains.

"What do we have here?"

The foreign voice was like a jolt of electricity down Dylan's spine. Ishafel drew her blades upon hearing the first syllable.

Standing next to an ancient pillar was a young woman. She was dressed unlike any human Ishafel had ever seen, wearing a curious amalgamation of shem rags and bits of feather and earth.

"Are you intruders come to steal what is not yours from my wilds? Or are you scavengers, come to pick at bones that have long since been cleaned."

Nobody moved, nobody spoke. This seemed to annoy the woman, she trained her golden eyes on Dylan and his mouth went dry.

"What say you, hmm? Scavenger or Intruder?"

"Neither," he stumbled over the words "The Grey Wardens once owned this tower."

She dismissed his claims out of hand.

"'Tis a Tower no longer. The Wilds have long since claimed this desiccated corpse." She walked down the stone ramp on which her pillar stood, her eyes still locked with his. "I have watched your progress for some time. "Where do they go? I wondered, why are they here?'

"Don't answer her," Alistair jumped in before Dylan could speak. "She looks Chasind, and that means there maybe others nearby. "

The woman's golden eyes rolled and just like that, contact between them was broken. She shifted her gaze instead to Ishafel.

"You there. Women do not frighten like little boys. Tell me your name and I shall tell you mine."

Ishafel blinked placidly, not lowering her weapons.

"You can call me Ishafel."

"And you may call me Morrigan, if you wish." Her eyes turned to the shredded box then, "Shall I guess your purpose? You sought something in that chest, something that is here no longer?"

"'Here no longer?' You stole them didn't you? You're some kind of... sneaky...witch-thief!"

Alistair's face had gone an odd shade of purple red as he shouted. Ishafel took a deep breath, if he was so keen on being accusatory, maybe they could use it to their advantage. As it was, Dylan was glaring lightning bolts at him. Morrigan seemed nothing short of amused. Considering they might need her help to find the documents, perhaps that was a good thing.

"How very eloquent. How does one steal from dead men?" She asked mockingly, holding a finger to the side of her chin as though she was considering the question.

"Quite easily it seems," Alistair replied in a flat, rather serious tone "Those documents are Grey Warden property, and I suggest you return them."

"I will not."

For a moment there was only the sounds of the wilds, and a small sputtering sound as Alistair geared up his response, then Morrigan laughed.

"'Twas not I who took them. Invoke a name that means nothing here any longer if you wish." She held her chin high, "I am not threatened."

Ishafel sheathed her daggers. This was getting them nowhere, and the twinkles on the horizon were heralding dusk.

"Then who removed them?" she asked impatiently.

"Twas my mother, in fact."

"Your mother?" Dylan parroted. Morrigan glanced at him with disapproval.

"Yes, my mother. Did you assume I spawned from a log?"

"A thieving weird talking log, perhaps." Alistair put forward and got a much more venomous look than Dylan.

"Not all in the wilds are monsters. Flowers grow, as well as toads."

To Ishafel she said, "If you wish, I will take you to my mother. 'Tis not far from here and you may ask her for your papers, if you like."

"We should get those treaties, but I dislike this... Morrigan's sudden appearance. It's too convenient." Ishafel whispered to the party, keeping her voice low even though she was sure she would be heard anyway.

"She's a Witch of the Wilds. She'll lead us into a trap, and eat us for supper, she will!"

"What?" Dylan looked at Daveth as though he'd gone off the deep end. "Because she's a mage that lives in a swamp?"

"Don't be taken in!" He insisted.

Ishafel sighed. So much for Daveth being less of a shem than she thought. Well, there was only one way to settle that. She faced Morrigan. "I want an honest answer: Are you a Witch of the Wilds?"

"Have I been dishonest with you? You are the ones participating in suspicious whispering. Some call us witches, yes, but purely out of superstition."

Alistiar looked nonplussed. "You know what the Circle of Magi is don't you? The Circle requires an accounting of all mages. That is the law of the land and the chantry."

"Even if it is a grossly unfair law," Dylan grumbled.

Morrigan raised an amused eyebrow at the two of them. "If you want to tell your Chantry about me go ahead. I have nothing to fear from priests."

"Why are you interested in helping us," Dylan asked out of genuine curiosity. They were certainly not making it easy to help them and rather than wash her hands of it, she had stayed to face the barbed affronts.

She shrugged "Why not? I do not meet many people here. Are you all so mistrustful?"

He didn't believe the reply with its feigned innocence for a second. He may have just left the tower, but he wasn't born yesterday. Still there was nothing for them if they stayed here.

"I say we go with her."

Ishafel nodded in agreement.

"Follow me, then, if it pleases you."

She moved quite quickly, and Dylan and Ishafel took off after her.

"She'll put us all in the pot, She will." Daveth mumbled in their wake, "Just you watch."

"If the pot is warmer than this forest, it'd be a nice change." Jory snapped back.

It was not far. A large, gangly wood structure appeared so suddenly that Dylan was certain there had to be a magic shield in place. The building was large enough that they should have noticed it before. An old woman stood at the entrance way, hands on her hips and a smirk on her face.

"Greetings, mother. I bring before you five Grey Wardens who-"

"I see them, girl. Mmm. There are more than I expected. Does it matter? Probably not."

The woman managed to shove Morrigan aside gracefully as she approached them to get a better look.

Dylan felt the air flutter slightly, a tremble in the earth accompanied it. The others seemed not to notice his discomfort. It was magic then, a powerful kind, and the old woman was the source of it. It would appear Daveth was correct after all.

"Are we supposed to believe you were expecting us?" Alistair said hotly. Her lips curled into a sneer. Somebody was going to have to teach him some diplomacy. He was already hurting their cause. It was a well-known fact that if something magic and powerful has you by the short hairs, you were supposed to be nice to it!

"You are required to do nothing, least of all believe. Shut ones eyes tight or open ones arms wide, either way, one is a fool!"

"She's a witch, I tell you! We shouldn't be talking to her!" Daveth pleaded, but nobody paid him any mind.

"Quiet Daveth! If she's really a witch, do you want to make her mad?" Jory snapped, annoyed, but he and Daveth both stood as far away from the woman as possible.

"There's a smart lad. Sadly irrelevant to the larger scheme of things, but it is not I who decides. Believe what you will."

"And what of you?" She turned to Dylan and Ishafel, the last to be addressed though they stood closest to her "Do the minds of elves and mages provide you with different you points. What do you believe?

Dylan's eyes swept the old woman from head to toe. There was powerful magic at work here, it had twined about them all like snakes, even Morrigan was ensnared, but nobody seemed to react. The question seemed almost like a test. It was all very peculiar and for once Dylan did not have the answer.

"I am no fool, if that's what you are asking." He meant the comment to imply that he knew of the magic encircling them, but the woman just laughed at him although it had been a comment on his intelligence.

"Well, If you protest so much, then the answer is fairly obvious, isn't?"

The smarmy edge in her voice inferred that he had just summarily failed whatever it was that she was testing for.

"And you, muddy little elf?"

Ishafel, for her part, answered as truthfully as possible. The air was strange here, and the Dalish made a point of being truthful when weirdness was involved.

"I do not know what to believe."

The old woman's smile slipped slightly, her eyes momentarily hardened.

"A statement that possesses more wisdom than it implies. Be always aware... or is it oblivious? I can never remember."

Her opinion of the group formed, she took a step closer and peered at them; looking at something that mortal eyes could not see. Or perhaps taking a better look at the mud coating on Ishafel.

"So much about you is uncertain...and yet I believe. Do I? Why it seems I do!"

She chuckled to herself manically, causing Ishafel to take a step back. She gave them all the highly satisfied smile of someone who knew a secret, or who was insane.

Most of the party seem to settle on the latter opinion.

"So this is a dreaded Witch of the Wilds?" Alistair smirked.

If possible the old woman looked even more amused.

"Witch of the Wilds, eh? Morrigan must have told you that. She fancies such tales, though she would never admit it! Oh how she dances under the moon!"

Morrigan flinched. "They did not come to listen to your wild tales, Mother."

Her voice was both annoyed and petulant, like a child betrayed. The woman tossed her head back, and a look passed between them before she answered.

"True, they came for their treaties, yes? And before you start barking, your precious seal wore off long ago. I have protected these."

There was a gargling sound that sounded very much like Alistair was choking on his own tongue.

"You protected them?" Dylan repeated, brow furrowed.

She raised an imperious eyebrow; "And why not? Take them to your Grey Wardens and tell them this Blight's threat is greater than thy realize!"

"What do you mean," Ishafel asked warily, "greater than they realized?"

But she just smiled that smile again.

"Either the threat is more or they realize less. Or perhaps the threat is nothing! Or perhaps they realize nothing."

This time it was Dylan and Ishafel who exchanged looks.

"Oh, don't mind me. You have what you came for!"

Morrigan seemed to take this as a signal to take over.

"Time for you to go then."

"Don't be ridiculous, girl," she said genially, "These are your guests."

Grunting in a very non-ladylike way, Morrigan gave a smile that would scare small children.

"Oh, very well then. I will show you out of the Woods. Perhaps we can even find a stream to prevent the mud from becoming a permanent part of your visage," she said, eying Ishafel.

"Follow me."