Thanks, as always, to WellspringCD for her sterling work as beta reader, as well as her input for ideas on the plot, characters etc. She is a veritable mine of information... and none of it useless! My thanks also to those who have reviewed and/or added this story to their alerts and favourites.
Alistair paced up and down outside the small wooden hut. He didn't know what to with himself. The waiting was unbearable. All there was to do was think, and all he could thing about was Ostagar, Duncan and the king, his fellow Wardens, all doomed to die when Loghain turned his troops around and marched away. He stopped by the small pond, staring morosely into the green, brackish water. There are only two of us left. What in the Maker's name are we going to do? He hoped that Fearghal would have some ideas if... when... he came round. He didn't particularly like the man but, apart from Alistair himself, he was the only other Grey Warden left in the whole of Ferelden.
~o~O~o~
Fearghal opened his eyes, wincing. His head felt heavy and his mouth was almost unbearably dry. He struggled to sit up. He felt stiff but, as far as he could make out, nothing was broken. He looked around him, trying to make sense of his surroundings. The room was small and poorly furnished. He lay on a narrow bed; it was hard but the linen was clean. He realised he wasn't alone. A woman stood on the far side of the room, perusing a bookshelf. Fearghal tried to say something but only managed to croak hoarsely. The woman turned. She looked very familiar, Fearghal was sure he knew her from somewhere but couldn't place her.
"Ah, your eyes finally open. Mother shall be pleased," she said, crossing to a jug and pouring some water into a cup. She moved to the side of the bed and handed him the cup. Fearghal drank the water gratefully; it was cool and fresh. Something about the odd way she spoke triggered a memory in Fearghal.
"I know you," he said, frowning up at her. "You're the girl from the Wilds?"
She nodded in agreement. "I am Morrigan, lest you have forgotten." She gestured around her. "And we are in the Wilds, where Mother and I have been tending your wounds."
Fearghal swung his legs over the side of the bed. Why am I in the wilds? We went back to Ostagar. I know we did. There was the Joining...
"You are welcome, by the way," she added archly. She gave him a knowing look. "How does your memory fare? Do you remember Mother's rescue?
Fearghal rubbed his face, trying to clear his head. I remember the Joining... then Duncan took me to the War Council. The Tower! It was full of darkspawn... we killed that... thing, lit the beacon and then... the king, I was going to warn the king! Fearghal remembered running towards the door, there were darkspawn everywhere.
"I remember being overwhelmed by darkspawn... " he told Morrigan uncertainly.
She nodded briskly. "Mother managed to save you and your friend, though 'twas a close call. What is important is that you both live. The man who was to respond to your signal quit the field. The darkspawn won your battle. Those he abandoned were massacred. Your friend... he is not taking it well."
Fearghal's face darkened. Loghain. You cowardly bastard! He covered his face with his hands as another thought struck him. Fergus. Where is he? Had he returned to Ostagar... Fearghal took a deep breath, he couldn't afford to think of that now. Dropping his hands, he looked up at Morrigan.
"What happened to the Grey Wardens and the king?"
"All dead," Morrigan told him calmly. She looked slightly scornful. "You friend has veered between denial and grief since Mother told him."
My friend? All my friends are dead, murdered by Howe.
"He is outside by the fire. Mother asked to see you when you awoke."
Fearghal nodded absently. "Were my injuries severe?" he asked suddenly.
"Yes," admitted Morrigan, then went on to reassure him, "but I expect you will be fine. The darkspawn did nothing Mother could not heal."
Fearghal smiled at her. "Thank you for helping me, Morrigan."
She looked startled. "I... you are welcome, though Mother did most of the work." She shrugged, then smiled back at him. "I am no healer."
Fearghal stood. "I'll go then."
Morrigan's eyes swept over him in a frankly appraising look. Fearghal looked down; he was stark naked.
"Er... "
"Your things are in there." Morrigan pointed to a chest at the foot of the bed and turned away, busying herself at a small stove.
Fearghal dressed quickly. His undershirt bore faint bloodstains; the holes had been neatly mended with tiny stitches. The links in his chain mail hadn't been repaired, although the leather underneath had been patched in similar neat fashion. The money purse his mother had given him was underneath his belongings. He tucked it into his armour.
Once dressed, Fearghal stepped outside. His eyes hardened at the sight of Alistair standing with his back to him.
"See? Here is your fellow Grey warden. You worry too much, young man," said the old woman that Fearghal remembered from their previous visit.
Alistair spun round. "You... you're awake!"
"Afraid you were going to be left alone?"
Alistair didn't seem to notice the sneering tone. "Duncan's dead. The Grey Wardens, even the king... They're all dead," Alistair told him, his voice thick with grief.
They're all dead. Father and Mother; Oriana and Oren; Rory; Nan. All our friends; all the people that I grew up knowing. Fergus? Fearghal stared at Alistair, knowing that the pain in the brown eyes was a reflection of the pain he felt inside. A pain he had stuffed down deep inside himself ever since Duncan had dragged him out of Castle Cousland. A pain he couldn't afford to feel right now.
"This doesn't seem real. If it weren't for Morrigan's mother, we'd be dead on top of that tower." Alistair spoke, almost to himself.
"Well, it is real. Get used to it." Fearghal's voice was hard and cold.
Alistair flinched, shocked at both the tone and the words. Maker's Breath! He doesn't care about anything! What kind of monster is he?
"Don't talk about me as if I am not present, lad," interrupted the old woman haughtily.
"I-I didn't mean... but what do we call you? You never told us your name." Alistair flushed with embarrassment, feeling like a naughty child.
The woman waved off his apology. "The Chasind folk call me Flemeth. I suppose it will do."
Both Fearghal and Alistair stared at her, open-mouthed. Alistair was the first to recover.
"The Flemeth from the legends?" He didn't even try to hide his astonishment. His eyes narrowed. "Daveth was right; you're the Witch of the Wilds, aren't you?" he accused.
"And what does that mean?" snapped Flemeth. "I know a bit of magic, and it has served you both well, has it not?"
"I suppose we should thank you," said Fearghal.
"If you know what is good for you, I suppose you should," agreed Flemeth.
Fearghal looked at Flemeth curiously. "So why did you save us?"
"Well, we cannot have all the Grey wardens dying at once, can we? Someone has to deal with these darkspawn. It has always been the Grey Wardens' duty to unite the lands against the Blight," she told him, as if the answer was obvious. "Or did that change when I wasn't looking?"
Fearghal snorted. "The land is hardly united, thanks to Loghain."
"That doesn't make any sense!" burst out Alistair. "Why would he do it?"
"Now that is a good question," agreed Flemeth. She frowned. "Men's hearts hold shadows darker than any tainted creature. Perhaps he believes the Blight is an army he can outmanoeuvre. Perhaps he does not see that the evil behind it is the true threat. "
"The Archdemon," murmured Alistair.
"What could Loghain hope to gain by betraying the king?" asked Fearghal, still trying to make sense of Loghain's actions.
"The throne?" suggested Alistair. "He's the queen's father. Still, I can't see how he'll get away with murder."
"You speak as if he would be the first king to gain his throne that way. Grow up, boy!" scoffed Flemeth.
Alistair was angered by her obvious contempt. "If Arl Eamon knew what he did, he would never stand for it!" he asserted. "The Landsmeet would never stand for it! There would be civil war!"
"You think the Arl would believe us over the Teyrn?" asked Fearghal. Father always spoke respectfully about the Arl of Redcliffe.
"I suppose... Arl Eamon wasn't at Ostagar; he still has all his men. And he was Cailan's uncle. I know him. He's a good man, respected in the Landsmeet," Alistair looked at Fearghal. "We could go to Redcliffe and appeal to him for help."
Fearghal frowned. "Not all nobles are honourable men," argued Fearghal. Father always spoke respectfully of Arl Howe, too. "Are there other allies we can call on?"
"Of course! The Treaties!" exclaimed Alistair excitedly. "The Grey Wardens can demand aid from dwarves, elves, mages and other places! They're obligated to help us during a Blight," he told Fearghal, who winced at his use of the word us.
Flemeth chuckled. "I may be old, but dwarves, elves, mages, this Arl Eamon, and who knows what else... this sounds like an army to me."
"So can we do this?" demanded Alistair, his eyes shining. "Go to Redcliffe and these other places and build an army?"
"I doubt it will be that easy," growled Fearghal.
Flemeth laughed, a chilling sound that held no mirth. "And when is it ever?"
Alistair looked from a sceptical Fearghal to a smirking Flemeth, refusing to give up hope. "It's always been the Grey Wardens' duty to stand against a Blight." He pulled himself a little straighter. "And right now, we're the Grey Wardens," he declared proudly.
Fearghal groaned softly.
Flemeth smirked at Fearghal. "So you are set, then? Ready to be Grey Wardens?"
"As ready as we'll ever be," sighed Fearghal grudgingly.
Flemeth opened the door to her hut, calling her daughter. As Morrigan came to the door, Flemeth informed her, "The Grey Wardens are leaving shortly, girl. And you will be joining them."
Morrigan did not look pleased at the news. "What?"
"You heard me, girl," snapped Flemeth.
Fearghal cleared his throat. "Thank you, but if Morrigan doesn't wish to join us... "
"Her magic will be useful. Even better, she knows the Wilds and how to get past the horde," stated Flemeth, in a tone that brooked no argument.
Fearghal had to admit she was right, Morrigan did sound useful.
"Have I no say in this?" demanded Morrigan indignantly.
Flemeth snorted dismissively. "You've been itching to get out of the Wilds for years. Here is your chance." She turned to Alistair and Fearghal. "As for you, Wardens, consider this payment for your lives."
Fearghal was astonished but could see no reason to refuse the offer. "Very well," he agreed, "we'll take her with us."
Alistair was less taken with the idea. "Not to... look a gift horse in the mouth, but won't this add to our problems? Out of the Wilds, she's an apostate."
"If you do not wish help from us illegal mages, young man, perhaps I should have left you on that tower," replied Flemeth, obviously offended.
Alistair had the grace to look embarrassed. "Point taken," he muttered.
Fearghal rolled his eyes. What is his problem with mages?
Morrigan tried to dissuade her mother, but Flemeth was adamant that the Grey Wardens would need Morrigan. Fearghal felt a little unnerved by her insistence. What does she know that we don't. She isn't telling us everything.
Morrigan conceded defeat. "I... understand."
Flemeth turned back to Fearghal and Alistair. "And you, Wardens, do you understand? I give you that which I value above all else in this world. I do this because you must succeed."
"She won't come to harm with us," Fearghal assured her. He quite liked Morrigan, in part because Alistair seemed to detest her.
Morrigan disappeared into the hut to pack her belongings and Flemeth followed her, leaving the two men outside.
"I was beginning to think you'd never wake up," remarked Alistair. "Sleep well?"
Fearghal scowled. "How long was I out for?"
"Three days," Alistair told him. He gave Fearghal an odd look. "Did you dream?" he asked.
Fearghal started to shake his head, then remembered. He had dreamed; he'd dreamed of that awful night in Highever when Duncan had conscripted him. And I dreamed of Rory... dreamed he was alive... it seemed so real, I could feel him holding me... but it was just a dream... Rory's dead
Alistair suddenly felt ashamed of himself as he watched Fearghal lost in thought, a myriad of emotions playing across his face. The sudden pain in the man's eyes gave way to something else; a softer, more tender look. Alistair fidgeted and looked away as he recalled how, just for a moment, he had felt entirely comfortable in that fierce embrace. He flushed at the memory of that large hand caressing the back of his head so gently, the soft lips nuzzling at his neck. He looked back at Fearghal and was shocked to see the naked grief in his face. Fearghal seemed to look through him.
Alistair cleared his throat. "Er... your hound's around here somewhere."
Fearghal's eyes snapped back into focus. Bane! I'd forgotten all about him! "Bane?" he demanded. "She rescued him too?"
Alistair shrugged. "I've no idea, but I've seen him lurking about nearby. I tried to coax him in, but he won't come near the hut. Every time he lays eyes on Flemeth he takes off again."
Fearghal pulled off his gauntlet and raised his finger and thumb to his mouth, whistling shrilly. His face lit up at an answering bark. He whistled again, the shrill sound making Alistair wince. Fearghal was knocked off his feet by the two-hundred pounds of damp, delighted mabari that launched itself at his chest. He lay on the ground, winded, laughing breathlessly as the dog writhed with joy on top of him, licking his face and neck enthusiastically. Still laughing, he struggled to push the dog off him.
"Maferath's balls, Bane! Get off, you great lump!" Fearghal managed to shove the dog off him for long enough to stand up. Bane sat, gazing up adoringly at his master. Alistair watched in amusement, aware once more that a different man stood before him. That hound is probably the only thing in Thedas that maniac cares about.
Behind them the door to the hut opened and Morrigan and Flemeth emerged. Bane stiffened, snarling. Fearghal placed a hand on his head to quiet him. The dog looked at Flemeth and whined, but stayed by his master. Flemeth shot the dog a look of dislike, but otherwise ignored him. Morrigan was holding two bundles. She tossed one to Fearghal and one to Alistair; her mother handed her a third bundle. Fearghal nodded his thanks.
Alistair stiffened. He glanced at Morrigan and then at Fearghal. "Look, is it really a good idea... I mean, do you really want to take her along because her mother says so?"
Fearghal's easy manner fled. "Oh, get over yourself, Alistair," he snapped. Gesturing to Bane, he strode off towards the path, his hound following closely.
Morrigan smirked at Alistair. "If you worry that I will summon demons and transform into an abomination, I assure you I will at least wait until you are not looking," she mocked.
Alistair scowled at her and marched stomped over to where Fearghal stood waiting.
They watched as Morrigan made a brief farewell to her mother and then walked after them.
"Where to?" asked Fearghal.
"I suggest we head north to Lothering. It's not far and you will find much you need there," suggested Morrigan. She glanced at Alistair, adding snidely, "Or, if you prefer, I shall simply be your silent guide."
"No, I prefer you speak your mind," Fearghal told her, adding, "I don't promise to listen, though." He looked over at Alistair. "Anything you want to say?" he demanded.
Alistair scowled and shook his head.
"Lothering it is then," declared Fearghal.