Thanks to everyone who read and reviewed: celtic-twinkie, Nithu, CCBug, Shakespira, Arsinoe de Blassenville, tgail73, Superstar Kid

As always, thanks so much for reading and reviewing! They make my day!

Whew! I'm a little worn out by this chapter. I hope that it meets expectations. I'm not sure if it's exciting enough, but I hope some questions are answered…or maybe more questions will be posed… *cheeky grin*

The Halla Reborn

Chapter 46

"You must be wary of her magic," Morrigan again reprimanded Adela and her companions as they prepared to trek the day's distance from their campsite to Flemeth's hut. "She is a very powerful shape changer," the witch reached over and tugged on the elven woman's arm, causing her to cease her preparations and turn to look fully into the human's anxious eyes.

"Yes, we've seen that," Alistair put in as he tugged on his cloak, pulling his pack upon his back. "That huge bird she changed into was quite impressive."

A thoughtful expression in her eye, Adela asked, "Can she change into something more…ominous?"

The dark haired witch turned away, her yellow eyes scanning the woods about them. "Like myself, she can change into avian creatures. Once she joked about assuming the form of a griffon, but I think she but teased a small child. I have seen her change into a bereskarn. However," she looked from man to woman, "she has power that not even I have had occasion to witness. Please be very careful of any tricks. Both of the tongue and arcane."

Nodding her blond head, Adela reached over and gave what she hoped was a reassuring pat upon the other woman's arm. With a final look, offering a nod to Roland's anxious expression, the elven warden called together those who would be accompanying them, and quietly led them from the campsite.

DA:O

A shadow fell across his desk, and the mage looked up to see the concerned features of his beloved. Cauthrien stalked across the room, removing her gauntlets and then setting them down upon the bar. Turning her back to the mage, she carefully poured herself a snifter of brandy. Arawn raised an amused brow, yet remained silent as his lover - and one time loyal lieutenant of Loghain's - settled herself upon the settee across the way.

"Something amiss, my love?" the blood mage asked, careful to keep his amusement from his voice.

Cauthrien scowled at the man, taking a sip of the warming liquor before responding. "The Bannorn continues to stir up trouble," she finally said, frowning into her glass. "They fail to see that the civil war they insist upon only drains all of Fereldan's resources."

"They are short minded," Arawn shrugged, rising from his chair to walk across the room. "Short minded people rarely see beyond their own borders. As such, the Banns can only see what is right in front of them."

"Yet they will persist, until we have nothing left with which to battle the darkspawn."

With a sigh, Arawn settled himself beside the woman. She remained stiff and unwelcoming for many minutes as they sat in silence. Finally, with a great sigh, she drained her glass, setting it upon the floor before resting her head upon Arawn's broad shoulder.

"They are fools, are they not?" the woman asked, her voice quiet as Arawn threaded his fingers into hers. She could feel him nod.

"Indeed they are, my love," the blood mage turned slightly to gaze down upon the profile of her face. "It was your own foresight that allowed you to see that Loghain, and those like him, were not what this country needed to progress forward."

"Maybe I was just mesmerized by your charms?" the woman joked, tugging slightly upon his hand.

Arawn smiled, lightly kissing her on the forehead. "Whatever the reason, glad I am that you are by my side, my love." His arm wrapped around her broad shoulders, never relinquishing the hold he had on her hand.

Cauthrien smirked up, pushing herself slightly up. "When Howe first approached me…I admit to some reluctance." She turned her brown eyes to gaze into Arawn's blues. "The thought of betraying my oath to Loghain seemed…unconscionable. However," the look in her eyes intensified. "He would have gone along with Cailan's decision to allow the Orlesians back into our borders!" she almost spat this, and Arawn tugged her back down, patting her head back to his shoulder. "Everything that had been sacrificed for Fereldan's freedom would have been for naught! King Maric would have rolled over in his grave had he even heard the words from Loghain's mouth."

Smiling, Arawn again kissed the woman in his arms. "Have no fear, my love," he purred, patting her shoulder, feeling the tension leave her body. "The Orlesians shall not threaten Fereldan again. We," He pulled her up, gazing into her eyes. "are what is best for Fereldan."

"But, what if this is a Blight?" she asked, finally voicing her fears. "Are not the Grey Wardens needed for such a thing?"

Frowning, Arawn shrugged. "The Grey Wardens surround themselves in mystery and subterfuge, stating that only they can defeat a Blight. I am uncertain why they believe such, but I cannot imagine it is so. Wardens are recruited, not born. So there is no innate ability that allows them to do so. Take Ostagar for example: they died, just as every other soldier did. I think it is merely propaganda, a means to ensure that they have footholds in the countries across Thedas." He rubbed his chin against her head. "A means to ensuring power."

Cauthrien nodded her dark head, sighing as she allowed her body to relax further. "Loghain felt the same way," she admitted in a mutter.

Chuckling, Arawn pulled his love closer, hugging her tightly. "Well, there, my dear, is the only thing in which the dear Teyrn and I agree."

DA:O

When Adela and her group had left the campsite, Morrigan and those who remained behind began their tasks. Artemis had remained behind, despite Morrigan protestations that Adela would need every mage available. Adela's argument that Artemis' abilities with hexes and glyphs near rivaled Morrigan's own had settled the argument down to a steady…disagreement. Until Artemis pointed out that between both mages they could lay upon the ground several glyphs and magical traps surrounding the campsite. Morrigan had settled down then, allowing her anxiety for Adela and the others to ease as she and the Circle mage went about their work.

Zevran had melted into the shadows, setting his own traps, both upon the ground, mid way up trees and to the tree tops themselves. The reasoning: Flemeth could fly. Hopefully, if she managed to escape from the others, she would find injury - or worse - when she encountered Zevran's lethal traps.

As the mages and rogue set their traps, Roland had settled by the campfire, his weapons - his sword and shield, crossbow and great sword - laid out, waiting tending.

The young knight had not been happy with the decision that he remain behind to protect Morrigan in the event Flemeth managed to escape Adela and her group. He had truly felt that the Sten the more logical choice, if she truly felt it necessary to leave a warrior behind. However, Adela had been adamant about the decision: As loyal and trustworthy as the Sten was, his pragmatism made him ill suited to protect Morrigan if he felt that so doing would harm their quest. Damning her, knowing that Alistair would never allow anything to happen to her, Roland began the task of checking each weapon for nicks, and began honing his blades, checking his shield for weak spots and checking his inventory of bolts.

All while praying that the Maker watch over Adela, and that they be successful.

DA:O

He stalked, glaring at the locked door, hoping that someone - anyone - would enter so that he could vent his ire. He had heard Arawn's plans for him, but it was not for that matter that he found his anger rise.

Adela lived! She had managed to escape from Vaughn and had, somehow, escaped Denerim.

And that filthy blood mage planned to use her! How, he was uncertain. But use her, he had no doubts of.

Not the way he had taunted Loghain with the phrase of a family reunion.

Not with the smirk he had seen the maleficar cast in his direction before the guards had dragged him away, helpless in that confounding imprisonment spell the coward had cast upon him.

Give him a blade, and see how condescending he was.

Nelaros rounded upon the door, slamming his fist into the iron bound wood. He felt the pain as the flesh tore at the impact, and he saw the blood that marred the wood as he pulled his hand away. The pain was good. It helped to remind him that he still yet lived.

His only hope was the he continue to so that he could find escape from whatever new hell the human mage planned to send him into.

DA:O

It was with Morrigan's many warnings regarding her mother ringing in her ear that she approached the barely familiar site that had heralded her and Alistair's start as the only two surviving Wardens in all of Fereldan. The once lush swamp ground was now blackened and sooty, the trees - from the cedar to pines - had all dropped their leaves and nettles and stood, stark, black and ruined against a sky that had taken on a gray pallor. The once vegetation strangled waters of the swamp were now black and brackish, the odor of decay and death rising from the glossy surface in a toxic fog.

Adela glanced back to Alistair, and found him surveying the area with much the same interest as she had. He turned his warm, amber eyes to her, and she saw the worry that resided in their depths. With a glance to those who accompanied them - the Sten, Leliana, Wynne, Niall - she reached down and patted Hafter between his ears. The warhound gave a slight growling rumble as he stood, vigilant, studying the area surrounding them.

The two wardens looked at each other and, with a nod, led the others into the sanctum of the Witch of the Wilds.

DA:O

The crackling of the magical energies that now surrounded the camp tingled along her senses, causing the hair along her arms to stand slightly. She risked a glance over to Artemis, who was utilizing the time by preparing healing poultices, potions and other such necessities. She knew he was doing it to keep himself occupied, not like her, who merely sat by the fire, waiting.

Zevran had managed to catch several conies in the surrounding wood, and they now sizzled upon spits over the fire. Morrigan glanced, again, to the surrounding woods, knowing full well that none of their departed friends could have possibly returned so quickly, but still finding herself anxious and waiting.

The log she sat up shifted slightly as Roland took a seat next to her, and she lifted her dark head to stare at the red headed young man.

Roland sat, silent, his gaze fixed to the flickering flames of their campfire. Morrigan found within herself the capacity to pity the young man. Truthfully, she had thought the young man beside her a better match for Adela than Alistair. Roland had the steadfastedness that complimented Adela's almost impulsive personality. Alistair's own naiveté and child like behavior could only lead them into disaster.

However, it had not been her prerogative to choose Adela's mate. She did like Alistair, although she would never willingly admit to that. She just liked Roland more.

A sigh escaped her lips, and she lightly patted the young man's leg as she continued her surveillance of the woods. She noticed, from the corner of her eye, that Roland had turned his attention to her, glancing down at the hand that had patted him. The slightest of smirks crossed her features, and the pair continued to sit and wait.

DA:O

"So, lovely Morrigan has finally found someone to heed her call," Flemeth crooned as the companions approached. "Such lovely music she plays, doesn't she?"

Adela stepped in front of the others, raising her hand for them to halt. Eyeing the old woman, the elf frowned. Flemeth seemed perfectly at ease, with the hint of amusement shining in eyes so much like Morrigan's. Yet, unlike Morrigan's, these eyes were cold, hard as stone, bereft of true life.

The eyes of an abomination, of evil. The eyes of the woman whose existence would, ultimately, lead to the death of one of her dearest friends.

"We've learned of your little secret, Flemeth," Adela replied evenly, her arms crossed before her chest. She kept herself still as the old witch laughed.

"Of course!" she chortled, "But what secret, I wonder?"

"The means with which you use to extend your unnatural life," Adela replied calmly, taking note of Leliana's shifting behind the group.

Flemeth's amusement played itself out, and she regarded the young elf before her. "Such changes you have seen since last you were here, young Warden," the witch remarked, her eyes fixed upon Adela's face, as though she could see beneath the younger woman's skin. "So many changes," she nearly muttered. Suddenly she brightened, grinning up as she remarked, "Ah! The Warden who is not a Warden! How…poetic. I wonder what consequences will ensue from that?"

Alistair cast a confused look at Adela, who remained steady and still, watching the ancient mage. "Whatever word games you are about now, Flemeth, will not work." The elf scowled. "If your death is the only way to ensure Morrigan's continued living…"

Flemeth raised an impatient hand, scoffing at the elf. "Bah!" She bent neared, ignoring completely the mages and warriors of Adela's group, focusing solely upon the elven woman herself. "I have answers…answers to so many of your questions." She straightened, smirking at the slight question within Adela's eyes. "I know many of the Grey Warden secrets." She paced slowly before the group, pausing as she turned to see what effect her words had on Adela before continuing. "The joining…why Grey Wardens are needed to end Blights…so many, many more secrets that your Order thought so very well hidden and secure."

Adela could not hide her surprise at Flemeth's words. The old woman knew how to perform a joining, how to defeat an Archdemon. She took note of the witch's amusement at her curiosity, and found herself shaking her head.

"We end your evil here, witch," she persisted, pulling her bow free from her shoulder.

Scowling angrily, the witch said, "Very well! Morrigan, however, must earn what she intends to take! I am not fool enough to want to kill the last two Wardens within Fereldan, young one," the witch bit out as she gathered her power around her. "However, I can kill one of you before sending the rest of your merry miscreants scurrying away!"

Leliana and Adela had bows in hand and arrows notched and flying as the witch finished her words. Alistair, his templar training alerting him to the magic Flemeth pulled within her, raced forward, using his templar ability to pull within his own stores of willpower, releasing a cleansing aura that sapped the elderly witch of her spell. Scowling heavily, Flemeth barked out a word of power, blasting the ex-templar and the Sten, who had raced to Alistair's side, tossing them to their backs upon the ground. One of Adela's arrows whizzed by her head, and the witch angrily barked another word, holding her hand aloft as a bolt of lightening sprang to life, erupting from her fingers to strike the elf squarely in the chest. With a shock, the elf gasped, dropping to her knees as she fought against the powerful spell.

Wynne immediately sent a healing spell into the stricken woman, followed closely by a rejuvenating spell. As the elder mage did so, Niall raised his staff, sending forth a powerful arcane bolt, hitting the ancient mage in the chest.

Hafter leaped to his mistress's side, whining slightly. She nodded her head as she regained her feet, sending the great warhound to the side of her husband and the Qunari.

Alistair had regained his own footing, gathering his willpower yet again. The Sten rose with a great roar in his native tongue, launching himself with a fury at the witch. Flemeth smirked at the great warrior, but that smirk was short lived as Alistair's smite hit her fully, flinging her away from the Sten, stumbling over the rise leading to the swamp.

Hafter bolted past the Warden and Qunari, his growl echoing amidst the stricken trees. Adela and Leliana raced to the rise, arrows notched and ready for flight. What they found rising there was not what they had expected, and, terror filling their chests, they let their arrows loose, quickly grasping another, setting them to fly as well.

For below them, Flemeth stood, power radiating from her shriveled form, growing, elongating. Her body grew, continuing to do so as Alistair and the Sten raced to the women's side. Wings burst through the flesh of her back, and she growled as her body grew, becoming serpentine and thrashing, a long tail jutting outwards. Without a word, the men rushed forward, their blades raised as the elf and bard continued their assault of arrows, Wynne and Niall adding their spells to the continued assault.

Alistair staggered as his blade his upon the hard dragon skin of the almost fully transformed Witch of the Wilds. He glared at the witch turned beast, but had not the willpower to cast forth any of his templar abilities. The Sten had waded around to the other side of the thrashing beast, and together they pounded at her with their blades, Alistair hitting his shield solidly against the unyielding flesh.

"At least it's smaller than the dragon at Haven," Adela muttered as she notched yet another arrow from her dwindling supply, glancing at the quickly tiring mages and Leliana's own dwindling supply of missiles. They had been more prepared for a battle of sword versus spell, and perhaps her transforming into something less…majestic and lethal - less terrifying. She watched as the dragon dipped her head down, sending forth a gout of fire that singed Hafter along his flank, the back draft causing the Sten to stumble back and Alistair to dodge quickly from her approaching maw.

With barely a moment's thought, Adela dropped her bow, shrugging off her quiver, placing it to the ground by Leliana. Ignoring the questioning looks from the bard and the mages, she instructed them to continue assaulting the dragon. With a deep breath, the elf raced away, pulling her ironbark daggers free of their sheaths, and sped toward the dragon and the warriors.

DA:O

Alistair frowned at the great beast, stumbling backwards, his shield held up as the beast's great head swept around, nearly knocking him from his feet. A dragon! He could not risk a glance from his foe, but he found himself worrying greatly for his wife, and prayed fervently that she remain at a distance, using her bow to its greatest effect.

He sought out the reservoir of willpower that all templars used when battling magic. His stores were depleted, so great was the magical power of the mage he now battled. Shape shifters were not mages that templars were trained to battle against, as shape shifting was not a recognized magic taught to those mages within the circle towers. How shortsighted, he groused as he dodged back, stepping heavily to his heel as he swung his blade out, rasping it along the side of the dragon's face, opening the armor-like scales along the side of the creature's maw. Seeing the opportunity, he drew his blade back, jamming it viscously into the fissure that had opened in the great beast's face, driving into the creature's mouth, lodging firmly between the bone and cartilage.

Flemeth the dragon roared out in agony and irritation, her great head swinging back and forth, the human clinging tenaciously to the blade that was lodged tightly into her visage.

Alistair kicked out, trying to catch his foot over the dragon's shoulder. Instead, the motion merely caused the stuck blade to cut deeper into the bone of the dragon's mouth, and the great beast roared its anguish. Grinning, Alistair lifted both feet from the ground, tugging viciously upon the blade, the enchanted blade sawing deeper into the bone, wedging itself tighter, the man's not inconsiderable weight pulling the hilted end down as the blade's point - still in the beast's mouth - drove upwards, cutting and slicing into the more tender roof of the great wyrm's mouth. He could feel the healing spell that enveloped over him, followed closely by a rejuvenating spell. He did not know which mage cast them spells, but he was more than grateful as he continued to hold on and drive the blade deeper into bone and flesh.

Blood seeped from Flemeth's mouth, and she raised a claw, seeking to tear the young man free of his blade before more damage could be done.

DA:O

Like lightening the elven warden darted away from her companions, her blades held tightly in each hand, her head low, shoulders hunched slightly forward to give herself better speed and momentum. She barely registered that the Sten still stood, albeit bloody and battered, his greatsword taking great swings - and chunks of dragon flesh - with each swipe. Her heart clenched as she saw her husband clinging tenaciously to his blade, wedged deeply into the dragon's mouth, a great clawed talon swinging in to capture him. See it, see it, see it…please, please, please, she kept chanting as she turned her eyes fully to the lowered head of the dragon, knowing she had to move faster if she hoped to pull off the stupidly daring stunt she was about to perform.

Alistair had swung his body, pulling down on the blade, and then raised his legs to avoid the dragon's swipe just as a lightening bolt shot from Niall's fingertips. Flemeth's head bowed even further down, in an effort to drop the human man to the ground, thereby lessening the tension upon the blade.

Grinning, Adela launched herself from the ground, a cry upon her lips, as she drove her blades forward, digging them deeply into the dragon's neck, each blade slipping easily between the scales and into the soft flesh beneath.

Flemeth roared, her head rearing upwards, causing Alistair to loosen his grip upon his sword, dropping him unceremoniously to the ground. With the upswing, Adela swung herself up and around, temporarily pulling her blades free as she rose with the dragon, landing astride the great beast's neck. With a defiant cry, the elven warden drove her blades once more into the neck beneath her, again finding purchase, driving and twisting the blades mercilessly.

DA:O

The ancient mage in dragon's form bucked, seeking to unseat the elf upon its neck. The Sten's swings grew in strength and rhythm. Alistair frowned as he pulled his second sword from its sheath, lamenting the loss of his heavily enchanted blade as he picked his shield from the ground, and prepared for his own onslaught.

And tried very hard to keep from obsessing over the fact that his wife now sat astride the neck of a high dragon.

DA:O

Leliana took careful aim, sighting her arrow down her arm, to the malevolent, crazed red eye of the great dragon before them. She pushed aside all thought that the creature before them was truly the ancient and powerful witch of the legends. She pushed aside all thought that in the form of a high dragon she was immensely strong. The dragon blinked, and she let the missile loose, quickly and easily notching another to sight down. As the eye lid blinked upwards, opening the eye, the arrow found the soft tissue of the eyeball, digging deeply into the sensitive organ. She saw that Adela clung to her daggers as the dragon bucked up again, and watched as Alistair slammed his shield into the creature's foreleg while the Sten drew his great blade up and slashed deeply into the broken scales along the dragon's right shoulder. Grinning, she let loose another missile as the beast slouched downward to try and capture Alistair in its great maw.

As the missile fired, driving into the corner of its eye, Leliana saw that Adela had pulled one and then the other dagger free, rising slightly from her seat. The bard felt her throat go tight and dry as she grasped an arrow from Adela's quiver - one enchanted with ice - and notched it carefully as the elf sprang forward, over the dragon's head, swinging her arms inward to drive both blades deeply into Flemeth's eye sockets.

Nodding her approval, the bard let loose another steady stream of arrows.

DA:O

Shaking her white head, Wynne sent a rejuvenating spell over the impudent little elven woman as she watched Adela drive her blades into the dragon's eyes. She then pulled her magic inward, releasing it into the form of a great, rock-like fist, watching with satisfaction as it slammed into the dragon's side, loosening many of the scales beneath its force.

Alistair stumbled, and the spirit healer quickly sent healing throughout his body, followed by several buffering spells and rejuvenating. She watched as the young warrior straightened, his shield held steadier now as the dragon's head swooped downward in an attempt to unseat the agile and tenacious elf. The young warrior took advantage of the dragon's close proximity, and grabbed hold of his stuck blade, dropping his shield and rising upwards as her head rose.

Again, she shook her head at the foolishness of youth, sending more spells out to the warriors and elven rogue as they continued their close up battle with the quickly weakening witch in dragon form.

DA:O

Adela gave her blades a good twist, enjoying the shriek that burst forth from the great dragon's lungs. With a brutal yank, she pulled the blades free, settling back to lock her feet beneath the dragon's chin. Taking a deep breath, gathering her strength, the elven warden brought her blades before her, twisting them around so that the blades pointed outwards. Then, gathering all of her strength, she drove them forward, burying them hilt deep into the gap between the dragon's skull and spine, digging deeply into the dragon's brain.

Convulsions took over the dragon's bucking, and Adela released her blades, her legs still locked tightly beneath the great maw, bringing her arms around to grasp the blood and fluid wet bones surrounding the dragon's ruined eyes.

Below her, she could barely hear as Alistair cursed as the dragon's convulsions increased and became more violent. She could not see him well, but heard a slight thump as he released himself and fell to the ground below.

Flemeth's thrashing increased as her dying brain continued to try and fight off her assailants. Adela's arms and legs ached from the effort of holding on, but she knew that if she released her hold now, she would plummet helplessly to the ground beneath her and the dragon.

And even while dying, she was certain Flemeth would take any opportunity to end her life if at all possible.

And so she clung, hoped, and gritted her teeth against the pain and weariness that overtook her body. Her arms began to quake with the effort and exhaustion, and her legs began to slip their hold, causing her to rely more upon her hand holds. Desperate, she leant her body against the bloody skull of the dragon, holding on for dear life as the dragon violently bucked and convulsed beneath her, undulating and quivering as death began to take hold.

And it was a violent fall with which Flemeth fell to the ground, the earth beneath her shuddering and echoing the fall beneath the feet of those mages, warriors and rogues that had ended her life. A great sigh expelled from greater lungs, and Adela forced herself to release her precious grip, her fingers cramped, legs aching as she relaxed. With a deep breath, the elf slid from the great, stilled neck, her knees buckling as her feet hit the ground.

Weary himself, Alistair forced himself to his feet, stumbling to where his wife knelt, covered in blood. He surveyed her carefully, and, once he was convinced that none of the blood was her own, pulled her in for a tight hug, murmuring over and over again that she was never to do anything so stupid ever again. She nodded her agreement against his neck, her arms far too tired to wrap around his great form, despite how much she wanted to pull him even closer and tighter against her body.

DA:O

A great wave of magic washed over the Wilds, and both mages lurched to their feet, staves held ready, spells quickly called to mind. The power they felt was immense, ancient, and malevolent, and both mages - human and elf - watched each other, a question in both sets of eyes. They did not notice as the warrior and rogue rose from their perches, the rogue disappearing into the shadows as the warrior pulled shield and sword up, green eyes wary, searching for their foe.

Then it passed, leaving behind in its wake a feeling of finality. No, not finality, but as close to it as possible. Morrigan let out a deep breath. Her mother, in her current incarnation, was dead. Truly dead, she was unsure. But, dead enough so as not to cause her any further grievances for some time. And, hopefully, should she ever find herself yet again facing the might that is - was - Flemeth, Witch of the Wilds, ancient mage, abomination, Asha 'belannar…her mother…she would be better prepared, more powerful, and capable of ending the threat she posed once and for all.

For now, she was safe, free…and had much else to do.

DA:O

"Don't ever do that again," Alistair whispered into Adela's delicate ear, his breath hot against her flesh. She could feel him trembling against her, and she realized just how much she had frightened him with her rather impromptu dragon ride.

She had to admit, she was still terrified by what she had done.

Nodding, she whispered her agreement, planting a kiss to his cheek before gathering the will and the energy to pull herself from his strong embrace. She looked around carefully, taking note of the Sten limping toward them, bloody, battered, his armor bashed and in need of repair. Hafter braced his bulk against the giant's legs. Wynne, Niall and Leliana raced toward them, relief plainly etched upon their dirty, weary faces.

Her gaze finally rested upon the form that Flemeth had perished in: that of a high dragon. She frowned, standing there for many moments, wondering why the dragon form did not shift back into human. A question for Morrigan, the elf decided as she pushed herself to her feet, lending a hand down to her husband. Alistair grinned at the tiny hand, and placed his own large and warm paw over it before pushing himself up. Flushing slightly at the absurdity of her gesture, she turned, leading the group to the witch's hut.

It took her a moment, maybe less than, to pick the lock and open the hut to her searches. Morrigan had explained she needed Flemeth's true grimoire, and it would look similar to the one they had found back at the Circle tower. There were many books, several scrolls and other papers, and the elf was loathe to leave them behind for the darkspawn to destroy. So, she plundered the hut of all of its reading materials, finding the one that Morrigan wanted, tucking the tomes and parchments into her pack, determining to look them over later when they were at camp and far from the Wilds.

There were other items of interest found within the hut, and she let Alistair and the mages determine what was safe to take, and what would be best left behind. It did not take long to plunder the tiny hut of any valuables - and Adela had to wonder how Morrigan had managed to share such a tiny living space with someone as wicked and crazed as Flemeth - and soon the group, limping, worn and weary, but anxious to put as much distance between them and the hut, was heading back to their campsite.

Behind them, the great dragon's form shifted, air releasing from its great lungs, finally to dissipate into a great roiling column of dust, flesh and bone, a harsh, female voice chuckling into the distance.