The Witches of Kokari
"I swear, I saw her." One scout says to a gathering of warriors. "She had almost no clothes on. Some kind of Chasind girl I think."
"Sure she did." One of his companions responds sarcastically. "Bet she blew you a kiss and promised you a good time too."
As the gathered group laughs among themselves, the scout flushes bright enough to be seen even in the firelight. He coughs to himself, and looks away.
"Uh, actually, she called me a 'dengorat monkey' who should 'find better ways to waste his time than staring at witches who can turn them into frogs." He admits reluctantly.
The laugher fades away immediately, and someone makes a circular gesture you believe is a religious one.
"Chasind witches in these swamps." Someone mutters darkly. "Think they're working with the Blight?"
The conversation wanders away from anything that interests you. However, your thoughts linger on the description of the woman. Something about it sounded familiar…
Oh yes, you cannot be particularly far from Flemmeth's home. Which makes the witch Morrigan.
Later, as you are speaking of your plans for the morrow, you bring the matter up.
"I plan to head out to seek one of the witches of the forest." You explain to your closest officers, Solas and Maeglin. "I have had dealings with her in the past, and I intend to speak to her mother of the coming Blight."
"Why?" Maeglin asks. "It is no concern of ours if these witches are about, unless they are in league with the enemy."
"I do not believe they are." You reply. "Flemmeth is… I do not know what she is, but she has power, and it would be to our advantage if she were to aid us."
"What do you mean, you don't know what she is?" Asks Merrill.
You shrug. "Exactly that. She wears the form of a human, but she is not. Something older, more ancient watches through her eyes. What its nature is, I cannot discern."
"An Ainur?" Maeglin asks, cautious and perhaps a touch fearful.
"I doubt it." You reply. "If they wish to pass unnoticed, they can do so, if they do not, then I doubt there would be doubt as to her nature."
"Perhaps she is some form of spirit." Solas suggests. "They can take on a number of forms, or perhaps possess others."
"I would be surprised." You answer again. "I have seen spirits and possessed. The former are, in truth, often too obvious as to their nature, and the latter feel… tainted."
Solas hums thoughtfully. "It sounds quite the mystery. Perhaps I should come with you, I'd be interested to see this 'Flemmeth'."
"You are welcome to." You reply. "I should warn you, she is rather… actually now that I think about it, she is rather like you."
Solas gives you a taunting smirk. "Well, now I have to come and meet her."
"I should warn you though, her daughter's tongue is rather sharp and she is utterly devoid of manners." You warn him.
Finding Morrigan is actually surprisingly easy. You and Solas had set out for the rough direction of where you believe Flemmeth's dwelling is. On the path there, you came across some old ruins. Normally you would have walked by, but your eyes caught a glimpse of red cloth.
"What is this?" You ask with no small amount of amusement. "A witch, caught off guard?"
"Oh it's you. How wonderful. I'd been missing my weekly dose of polite insults and passive aggressive commentary." Morigan drawls, doing an admirable job of concealing her surprise. "What do you want this time?"
"As I recall it was you who sought me out at our last meeting." You reply. "I overheard some soldiers discussing a courtesan living in the swamp, and I thought of you at once."
"I see, that makes sense. You seem like the sort to be incapable of experiencing a courtesan's services unless she had no choice." Morrigan replies.
"Yet, even if that was the case, I would still prefer it to engaging yours." You bite back. "Incidentally, I am planning to speak to your mother, is there a reason why we cannot?"
"Aside from your unpleasant manners and despicable face?" Morrigan asks. "Nothing springs to mind."
"I have to admit, I am extremely glad that I came along." Solas remarks with a smile.
"Here we are." Morrigan says, gesturing to her 'mother's dwelling. "Do try to remember it this way, I have better things to do than guide you here and there whenever you get lost."
"It is a matter of manners, so I will forgive your lack of understanding." You reply. "It is considered rude to come upon people armed and unannounced."
"You truly believe you could threaten mother with that metal stick?" Morrigan asks scathingly. "Someone has a high opinion of themselves."
You nod wisely. "I understand now. Manners are a method of interacting with people with the intent of avoiding causing offence and misunderstandings."
Solas walks behind the two of you with a smile that is simultaneously too wide and too smug for your tastes. It seems that Morrigan is not the only person here who needs a lesson in manners.
"I would hardly think that you should be giving people a lesson in manners." Flemeth's voice states from behind you. "Young people…"
You turn to face her, surprised by the uncharacteristic trailing off, to see her staring at Solas. The elf, for his part, is gaping back at her in equal disbelief.
"I thought you were asleep." Flemeth says at last. "Ah, no, I imagine that affair with the Veil would have woken you."
"And I suppose I should not be surprised…" Solas trails off, then smiles weakly. "It is good to see you again."
Morrigan makes to speak, surprise and disbelief on her face. Swifter than a snake you wrap your hand around her mouth and subtly pull her back, away from the gaze of the two… whatever they are.
"Silence mortal." You whisper, gaze intent upon the two beings. "I have many questions that may be answered by this meeting, and I shall not permit you to interrupt it."
Though you feel teeth cutting into your hand, you ignore the pain and focus on the discussion taking place. In your peripheral vision you notice Morrigan's eyes widen, but you take no notice of what it might mean.
"So, tell me old friend, what now?" Flemeth asks.
"I don't really have a defined plan." Solas admits quietly. "I… I do not know what to do, not yet anyway."
"How unlike you, Dread Wolf." Flemeth taunts. "Doubt of all things?"
"I have, more reason than usual." Solas states, turning to look at you.
"So you do not know what he is either?" Flemeth sounds surprised. "Also, I hope I don't need to explain that grabbing a woman by the mouth is not an appropriate way to flirt."
"I would sooner abandon my flesh and flee to Mandos." You reply, releasing your grip on Morrigan, who makes sure to take that chunk of flesh from your hand as she goes.
"Try that again and I will set you afire and laugh as you burn to death." She snarls through bloody teeth.
"You should have done so immediately, if you were so against it." Flemeth notes idly as you wrap your hand. "Now, what brings you here? I don't think…"
There is a meaningful pause before Solas inserts. "Solas."
"Solas would have brought you here if he just wanted to meet an old friend." She finishes as though nothing abnormal is happening.
"The Blight is upon us." You state. "Darkness comes and the hour is now upon all that lives to decide where they stand. Ferelden has mustered an army at Ostagar, less than two hours' travel hence. I would call upon you to render whatever aid you can in our quest to vanquish this evil."
"Oh?" Flemeth replies, clearly amused. "After assaulting my daughter you have the gall to ask me for aid?"
"Let us not pretend that you truly believe I intended anything towards your daughter other than silencing her tongue." You reply calmly. "I am, at this moment, rather not on fire."
Flemeth's lip quirks slightly. "Perhaps I am already doing everything that I can."
"While only you can truly be the judge of that, I find it hard to believe that one of your obvious power has exhausted all her resources… hiding." You stress the last word.
"Really? And here I thought I was a monster in human skin." She says with a widening smile.
There is a moment of hesitation on your part, then you push forward. "I am hardly in a position to be judging whether a monster has a right to attempt to become something else. I am no hypocrite."
Finally there is just a hint of surprise in Flemeth's expression. "Be that as it may, little monster, maybe I want to nothing to do with this fight, maybe I wish to stay out of it."
"You cannot." You tell her firmly.
"Oh?" She asks leadingly. "Are you trying to threaten me?"
"I am doing nothing." You answer her seriously. "It is the Dark One who will. He accepts no allies or equals. He has only foes and slaves. He will not let you remain neutral, if you do not fight now, you will fight alone later. Your best, our best chance, is to unite now, to fight him while our strength is great. Division serves only him."
Now it is your turn to be surprised as Flemeth tilts her head back and begins to laugh.
"Oh yes, I see why the Wolf, sorry Solas, likes you now." She manages between her laughs. "Tell me then, what if you lose?"
"I will die." You state without fear. "But I will die free."
Solas looks… well, he looks thoughtful. Flemeth for her part grins.
"Very well then, little monster." She all but purrs. "Then I grant you this aid. Morrigan should be carrying treaties for the Grey Wardens, you may take them with you. Morrigan too while you're about it."
"What!?" Morrigan exclaims.
While she and Flemeth argue, Solas approaches you. "I suppose you have questions."
"I do, but now is not the time." You reply firmly. "I intend to have this conversation, but right now I have other priorities."
Solas smiles gratefully. "Do you want me to heal that hand?"
"Please." You answer.
No sooner has the last of the green light disappeared into newly healed skin, then Morrigan is storming past you.
"Touch me again and I will turn you into a toad." She snaps. "Follow me. Or don't, it'd be satisfying watching you drown in the swamp."
You sigh. Solas for his part grins.
"It is good to see that I am not the only person uncomfortable from this meeting." He pokes you.
The Council of War
The king called a war council. You were invited, explicitly even, which was strange. Still, it serves your purpose. When you enter the candle filled tent, you notice Maeglin lurking in the background, presumably invited as the leader of mercenaries or just through use of his connections.
More important, is who you do not see. Duncan is not here, nor are any of the other Grey Wardens. You know Alistair is somewhere in the camp and you have heard mention of others of his order, though you have not seen them. Yet, unless one of those you have not met is in the room, none are present.
There is a hubbub as the nobles of Ferelden speak among themselves. You suspect that, much as in the meeting in Denerim, the king intends to make an entrance to ain attention. Personally, you think such things are a waste of time in war councils, but humans will be human.
"My lords!" King Calian proclaims as he sweeps into the tent. "Thank you all for your prompt attendance."
Is that gold on his armour? Why?
"I have thought long and hard on the battle to come, and I have concocted a plan that I'm sure that you will all find most pleasing." The king states sweeping his arm about grandly.
Next to the king, you see Teyrn Loghaine, scowling but nodding.
"Here is what we shall do. Five days hence, when Duncan has arrived with the last of the Grey Wardens, we shall sally forth onto the plain, to meet the Blight in battle!" He cries.
Roars of approval come from the assembled nobles. Maeglin is silent, dark eyes glinting as he watches the king assessingly. For your part, you make no comment as you, along with Loghaine as well as some of his faction, await the plan in detail.
"We shall assemble our finest infantry into a solid defensive formation. Then, at a prearranged singal, a force shall spring in ambush from the trees, surrounding and anihilating the Blight in one fell stroke!" He raises his arms as though accepting applause.
"What madness is this!" You cry.
Sadly, your voice is lost amidst a rampant uproar. Loghaine is standing a yellign at Cailan, Lydia too. Then others of the king's faction are yelling back in response. The tent fills with noise, rising ever higher and higher.
Maeglin too, has joined his voice to the chorus. What side he is arguing for is a mystery to you, as there is simply so much sound around you that even your hearing is overwhelmed. What you do hear is snatches and snippets rather than coherent arguments.
"...defies all conventional military wisdom." Lydia argues.
"How dare… question… armies are unbeatable." Retorts the Arl of South Reach.
"...numbers of the Blight… scouting reports unclear but…" Maeglin attempts something reasonable at least.
"I already spoke with you about…" Loghaine yells.
"I am the king!" Cailan yells back.
"If I might speak!" You attempt to yell into the chaos. "We attempted this previously!"
Your words simply disappear into the noise. You feel your wrath starting to burn higher. It may be irrational, given that no one is deliberately ignoring you, but it is incredibly annoying to be ignored.
"... care about is Orlais!" Roars another Arl. "Orlais isn't…"
"We cannot be wasting men on this frivolous affair. The Fourth Blight was…" Someone in Loghaine's faction retorts just as loudly.
Are they descending into factionalism? Now? At this critical juncture where the fate of their kingdom hangs in the balance. Do they not care at all or are they so wrapped up in themselves that they cannot see the harm they do?
Ulfang's grin burned itself into your memory as the horns of Fingon call for help once more.
No.
"Nobles of Ferelden! You will comport yourselves with the dignity of your station or I will treat you as the children you act like!" For some reason, this time your voice manages to cut through the noise and every head turns to stare at you.
The sound of wood hitting the floor enlightens you to the reason. It seems, in your anger, you have drawn your sword and plunged it clear through the table before you, cleaving it in two.
Ignoring Maeglin's snickers about 'Feanorian diplomacy' you continue on as though you planned to do so.
"This arguing and shouting is beneath us. Are we warriors and lords or are we squabbling children?" You chastise everyone in the tent. "At this moment, a force that seeks nothing less than the end of all life is bearing down upon us."
"The Fourth Blight was shattered and destroyed." Scoffs someone you do not recognise. "It is hardly a serious matter."
You raise your hand to stop Maeglin from speaking. Instead, you walk over to the man, looming over him.
"Have you ever fought a Blight?" You ask evenly.
The human leans back, one foot subconsciously slipping into a defensive stance. "Well, no, but I…"
Your sword hisses into its sheathe, cutting him off. "I have."
"You expect us to believe…" Begins another noble.
"Maedhros the Tall is a legend among the Noldor." Maeglin interrupts. "His experience with the forces of the enemy dwarfs yours."
"I've never even heard of these 'Noldor'." His opponent sneers.
"I have." Loghaine speaks in support. "And I agree with him. There's no point in shouting over each other. He's got experience in the area, let's hear what he has to say."
"I agree." The king says. "What do you think of my plan?"
"The plan is flawed." You state calmly.
"You dare…" One of the nobles tries to start.
"Be silent!" The king roars. "I will hear him speak."
You made sure to add a withering glare of your own to the king's words, but you now turn back to face him.
"There are a number of factors you have not considered." You explain. "The sheer numbers of the foe, the extent of their information network, the simple logistics of doing a complicated manoeuvre of this nature at night."
"The plan does not call for a night attack." King Cailan defends.
"The foe comes out at night and hides during the day." You remind him. "All plans against them must be workable at night."
There are now a number of creased brows around the table. Many of the older nobles are clearly reconsidering the wisdom of the plan with that additional information, while others are considering your words for reasons they can disagree with it, you care not.
"This is all besides the point." You continue. "For we tried the plan, and it failed."
There are a number of gasps from the more impressionable. Maeglin for his part frowns for a moment before he realises what you might be referring to.
"Surely, you do not suspect anyone here of treachery?" He asks, almost certainly thinking of himself.
"I do not know, but it does not matter." You reply. "For the Battle of Unnumbered Tears reveals the flaw of the plan better than anything else. What if the ambush is late? If it gets lost, if it is held up, if there are simply enough foes to delay them, then the Blight will not fight your army, it will fight half of it twice."
"Defeat in detail." Teyrn Loghaine states gravely.
A heavy silence hangs over the room. Even those who clearly do not believe that you have attempted this before, they can clearly envision what might happen.
"The swamp is… it's not good ground." Mutters a noble who, by his sigil, you believe is native to this region. "It's why the fortress is here, to make it hard to assault."
"We don't have cavalry either." Ser Cauthrien adds. "Darkspawn scare horses something fierce. We'd have to make a night march, in unfamiliar territory, through a swamp."
"Not to mention the Chasind." Hisses another local lady. "Be just like them to ambush us while we go."
"What do you say, Teyrn Loghaine?" Asks Fergus. "What do you think of the plan?"
The Teyrn glances from the king to the other lords. He is silent a moment, then he sighs.
"Conventional wisdom states that a greater force cannot be encircled by a lesser." The king begins to speak but Loghaine speaks over him. "Yes! It has been done, but it has always been done through stacking advantages and, usually, mistakes on the opponents side. It is rare for a reason, and hoping for the best result is poor practice."
"I am your king." The young man states quietly.
"The first duty of a king is to protect his people." You reply, just as quietly. "While it is true that I cannot stop you from ignoring all advice and wasting the lives of everyone here for the sake of your ego, I do not have to stand here and praise you for doing so."
King Cailan glares at you for a long moment. "What is your plan, then?"
"During the war of wrath our greatest successes came not from field battles, but strong walls and careful manoeuvre. We need to strike from a position of strength here in Ostagar." You explain, gesturing to the map on the table.
"That's madness." Fergus disagrees. "We haven't come all the way just to hide in this fortress, and we haven't the supplies for a siege anyway."
"It is fortunate then, that I am not proposing anything of the sort." You reply. "Our enemy's numbers are vast, true, but therein lies our advantage. From our fortification we can make repeated strikes to eliminate isolated elements then retreat before they can marshall the greater part of their strength."
"We can't use horses." Ser Cauthrien points out once more. "We don't have the necessary speed advantage."
"They would ill avail us in these swamps anyway." You reply. "It is less about how fast one can travel, but rather responsiveness and the ability for small groups to react quickly. Individually our warriors are greater, and the enemy's advantage is numbers. By sudden swift strikes we can kill numbers of them while the majority is still forming up."
"And if they come at us piecemeal then that difference in quality will show." Loghaine says slowly, nodding. "What about the big ones."
"Grey Wardens, mages, even individuals like yourself." You reply without hesitation. "They can be bested by one with enough skill or power."
"They'll lay ambushes." Someone cautions. "Keep it up long enough and even a fool will figure it out."
"We could vary up our targets." Proposes another. "Let some opportunities pass by, or even devolve command down to individual Banns."
"What about the terrain?" Asks a third. "We'd need to know it pretty well."
"Well, we know the immediate area around Ostagar. Plus improving our scouting will help with spotting ambushes." Another counters.
Slowly the atmosphere in the room shifts. Your plan is not accepted immediately, but people are discussing how to make it work rather than whether it should be done. Even the king ends up contributing, apparently bolstered by the thought of winning glory slaying a Troll alone.
Why that would be considered glorious is beyond you, Turin and Hurin killed hundreds of the things between them. Still, that is beside the point.