B is for Book

She ran her fingers down the cracked spine. She couldn't believe it. Flemeth's grimoire was in her hands. Those sheep, those Circle mages, they had it for years and probably had no idea what kind of power it held. Fools. Utter fools.

Her hand danced lightly over the worn leather cover and moved towards the edge. She started to open the book and stopped, her hand spasming at the corner. Ridiculous. Flemeth was far away, in the Wilds. There was nothing to stop her, there would be no repercussions for looking through her mother's things. If she kept telling herself that, she might believe it eventually. She took a deep breath, steeled herself, and opened the grimoire.

Her brow furrowed in confusion. This wasn't a grimoire. Not in the least. No spells, no incantations, nothing. There were headers on every page; it looked to be some sort of journal. It was still Flemeth's though, that much was certain; she'd recognize that scrawl anywhere. Perhaps there might still be something of use. Only a fool would turn down an opportunity to learn, and Morrigan was no fool, especially where her mother was concerned. Yes, if Flemeth took the time to write it down, there must be value there. She looked up from her campsite; the Wardens were gone, along with Leliana; they must still be at the tower with that old Circle mage. She'd have several hours at least before she was needed, which gave her time to peruse the not-grimoire.

She had worked herself almost to a frenzy by the time the Wardens and Leliana came back. As much as she hated to admit it; she needed Faleni's help. The knowledge contained in the tome...

But the old woman from the Circle was with them. What was her name... Wynne, she believed. She couldn't just go up to Faleni and ask for her assistance; it would simply not do. She could not show weakness in front of the slave mage. She forced herself to calm down, and waited for the Dalish woman to approach her in her camp.

It took awhile, but eventually Faleni did come over to check on her. By then, Morrigan was glad of the extra time; she was able to refine her arguments and hopefully increase her chances of convincing the Warden to help her. The plan was dangerous and she was fairly certain that Faleni still did not trust her entirely. A smart move, of course, but one that made her task more difficult. She pretended not to notice the elf's approach; instead she stared at the fire and waited for her to make the first move. Faleni stood their awkwardly for a moment, before clearing her throat uneasily.

"Ah, Warden. Do you wish something of me?" She asked, standing up to face the elf, forcing the smaller woman to look up at her.

"No, Morrigan. I just wanted to see how your study of the grimoire was coming."

"It's not a grimoire. There are no spells, no incantations. 'Tis... not what I expected." Her voice wavered unexpectedly. Damn. Faleni cocked her head to the side, not missing that little loss of control.

"You seem disturbed." Blast it all, so much for her plan. She may as well come out with it.

"'Disturbed' would be the right word." She sighed. "Part of the tome goes into great detail about how Flemeth managed to survive for centuries and it's... unpleasant, to say the least."

"Well?"

"You are aware of stories about other Witches? Sisters of mine, supposedly? And you're equally aware that I myself have never met any of them? As it turns out, they are all Flemeth. According to this book, as she ages, she starts to deteriorate. So, she raise a daughter and when the time is right she... she takes over their body. I... I seem to be next." She faltered. Somehow, saying that aloud was even worse than reading it.

"Are you certain?" Faleni's eyes widened in surprise.

"Most assuredly. This entry details the process by which she trains and prepares her host. 'Tis identical to my upbringing. It seems that the more powerful the body is, the easier it is for Flemeth to... assimilate. Faleni... I find myself in need of your assistance." She nearly choked on the words. Never had she asked for another's help, and if this wasn't so important...

"What do you need me to do?" The elf's blue eyes turned steely, which surprised Morrigan. Perhaps the Warden had a higher opinion of her than she thought.

"I need you to kill Flemeth."

Detailing the rest of the plan took very little time and then the Warden went off to prepare for battle. Morrigan couldn't go with her; a part of her was frustrated that she couldn't face Flemeth herself and make her answer for her betrayal. She sat down and opened the book again. She couldn't help it. There it was, her whole life; her whole destiny. She always knew she would never be Flemeth's equal, but she hoped that she could one day earn her mother's respect. She knew now that wasn't possible; how could it be? According to the book, she was livestock; a pig raised for slaughter. Flemeth had told her for a long time that she should never trust anyone, and she thought she had learned that lesson well. This book only proved that she had not.

The fire made a sputtering sound, and Morrigan realized she had let it burn down to nothing. She shut the tome, and absently traced the inlaid tree design on the cover with her finger. With a flick of her wrist, she tossed the tome onto the fire and turned, retiring to her tent. Behind her, the flames burned blue as they ate away at the manual of her destruction.