"No," Cassandra said firmly, with a vigorous shake of her head. "You must be lying."
Varric purposely effected a more casual slouch in his seat. He knew exactly what part of his story had blown the Seeker's mind, but he's enough of a shit to make her say it.
"Everyone knows it is the archdemon that leads the darkspawn. This song . . ." she struggled to find words, "it cannot be."
"He."
The look Cassandra gave him was an odd cross between glowering and flabbergasted that she somehow made charming.
"Spoiler. The archdemon is a he."
His clarification was ignored.
"Do you mean to tell me the archdemon does not control the Blight? That it waged war hoping to die?"
Varric exhaled lowly. "Believe what you will, Seeker. I trust Solona. The Grey Wardens may have good reason to keep their silence. All I know is she broke a lot of rules, sharing this story. So, I'm going to tell people exactly what she told me. And quite frankly, I'd believe the world famous Grey Warden over the Divine's attack dog."
The woman fumed.
"You wanted the truth!" the dwarf cried. "Don't blame me if you don't like what you hear."
"The truth is subjective," Cassandra replied, darkly.
He felt a smidgen of respect. He hadn't expected her to make that admission. "Scary, isn't it? How pieces are suddenly falling into place. Suddenly making more sense with an insider's perspective."
Varric knew he struck silverite when his interrogator tried to blank her facial expression. He could imagine what connections she was making with each piece of the puzzle he revealed. "Better hold onto your shield, Seeker. There's a lot more of those truths to come."
"I will be the judge of that."
"Of course." Varric didn't bother to hide his patronizing tone.
29 Haring, 9:30 Dragon
She could hear wood creaking.
Solona stared, uncomprehending, at the ceiling above her. She had rather thought she would wake up dead.
She could remember the twisted nightmare Fade she had dreamt of. Believing it to be a punishment for having magic. And the fire at the end. It should have burned. Instead, Solona felt as if she was on the receiving end of a desperate hug from someone who did not want to let go.
The young woman sat up, absentmindedly taking note of how she was dressed only in her smalls. She shook off the lingering remnants of her dream. No doubt the weird experience could be chalked up to the darkspawn blood that now ran through her veins. And she really did not want to know how it went from her stomach to her bloodstream.
Solona was just thankful to be alive.
"Ah, your eyes finally open. Mother shall be pleased." A dark-haired woman crossed from the shelves to her bedside.
The honey haired woman eased her legs over the side of the bed, silently studying the stranger. The staff on her back looked familiar. Like a branch. "I remember you: the girl from the Wilds."
"I am Morrigan, lest you have forgotten." Introduction given, Morrigan proceeded to answer some of the questions sitting on the tip of her tongue. "And we are in the Wilds, where I am bandaging your wounds. You are welcome, by the way."
Solona cringed. She must have appeared ungrateful. Quietly but sincerely, she thanked Morrigan for her aid.
The woman's golden eyes appraised her. "How does your memory fare? Do you remember Mother's rescue?"
"I remember being overwhelmed by darkspawn. . ." She did not offer any details of her strange Fade dream. It must have been so abnormal because of her injuries. Solona had never lost consciousness before, only entering the Fade in her dreams.
"Mother managed to save you and your friend, though it '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."
Solona shuddered as memories of the carnage flooded in. She remembered looking down on the battlefield after lighting the beacon, watching in horror as Teyrn Loghain retreated and King Cailan's army was slaughtered. Perhaps she ought to be grateful for her abnormal Fade dream. It was preferable to the nightmares that were sure to come.
"Those he abandoned were massacred. Your friend . . . he is not taking it well."
Her heart leapt up to her throat. Alistair. She must have meant him. Alistair was the only other one Morrigan had met. That meant he was alive, too. Solona felt tears prickle at the corners of her eyes. She hadn't given any thought to her fellow Grey Warden, but it was a huge relief to know that he had survived.
Morrigan had said the darkspawn won the battle, but could others have survived as well? Surely, she and Alistair weren't the only ones? "What happened to the Grey Wardens? And the king?"
"All dead," was the blasé response. "Your friend has veered between denial and despair since Mother told him. He is outside by the fire. Mother asked to see you when you awoke."
Solona filed that knowledge away. She craned her neck, trying to examine her wounds. Her fingers grazed raised, pink flesh. Solona instinctively jerked away from her own prodding as the inflamed tissue sent pain searing throughout her shoulder blade. "Were my injuries severe?"
"Yes, but I expect you should be fine. The darkspawn did nothing Mother could not heal."
"I have some more questions. If you don't mind."
"I do not mind," the other mage replied, kindly. "Take your time."
Silence fell over the two women as Solona gathered her thoughts. A million questions raced through her mind, gone before she could give them voice. Priorities. What did she need to know the most? What happened to the darkspawn? Did they pull back, having triumphed? Were she and Alistair the only Grey Wardens that survived?
"Are we safe here? Where are the darkspawn?"
"We are safe, for the moment. Mother's magic keeps the darkspawn away. Once you leave, 'tis uncertain what will happen. The horde has moved on, so you might avoid it."
Solona wondered how long she had been unconscious if the horde had had enough time to move on. It was probably for the best though.
"And how did your mother manage to rescue us exactly?" Even if the legends were true and Morrigan's mother was the Witch of the Wilds, how could one old woman stand up against a veritable army of monsters?
"She turned into a giant bird and plucked the two of you from atop the tower, one in each talon. If you do not believe that tale, then I suggest you ask Mother yourself," Morrigan snapped, defensive. "She may even tell you."
"Are there any other survivors? Did she rescue anyone besides us?"
"Only stragglers that are long gone." The black-haired mage visibly hesitated, her voice much softer when she continued. "You would not want to see what is happening in that valley now."
Fear settled in her stomach like a stone. "Why? What's happening?"
"Are you sure you want me to describe it?"
Pained, Solona shut her eyes. Her imagination ran rampant, conjuring all sorts of horrible scenarios. Frankly, no, she did not want to know. But now that she knew, she couldn't ignore it. Like ripping off a bandage, better to get it over with than to continuously envision what went wrong. "Yes, please."
"I had a good view of the battlefield. 'Tis a grisly scene. There are bodies everywhere and darkspawn swarm them, feeding, I think. They also look for survivors and drag them back down beneath the ground. I cannot say why."
Nor could Solona. Did darkspawn store food like humans did for the winter? Holy Maker and his bride, she regretted that comparison. She could taste the acrid tang of bile as it hit the back of her throat. She didn't need to be looking for logic behind the darkspawn's actions. They were mindless monsters.
"Could the survivors be rescued?"
Gold eyes narrowed shrewdly. Morrigan's next words came out very shortly, as if she could tell that Solona had been wondering if it was possible that her mother could perform her miracle again. "If you are willing to run into the midst of the horde, perhaps."
The biting tone was well deserved. It wasn't fair to ask her mother to risk her life again. Not when Solona herself didn't feel willing to go after them.
She rushed to ask another question, not wanting to linger on her mistake. "Why did Teyrn Loghain abandon the king?"
"I do not know who this Loghain even is. Perhaps ask Mother of it."
Solona informed the other woman that Teyrn Loghain was the man who had quit the field when the beacon was light. Morrigan's response was to blink, surprise quickly replaced evenness, as she claimed she could not fathom the reasons behind another man's actions.
"Why us?" Fists curled atop her thighs to prevent nails from digging into her flesh. "Why did your mother save us?"
"I wonder at that myself, but she tells me nothing. Perhaps, you were the only ones she could reach."
Solona felt there was more to it than that. She couldn't explain why, but this didn't feel like chance. Her being alive had to mean something. She owed her survival to something greater than good fortune.
"I would have rescued your king," Morrigan continued. "A king would be worth a much higher ransom than you."
"Coin is important to you? Out here?" Solona's tongue got ahead of her brain and she spoke without thinking. For a heart stopping minute, she feared she had insulted her host, who had been nothing but gracious so far. But Morrigan took her snark in stride.
"Who says I would ransom for coin? Gold has its uses, I suppose, but power buys far more."
There was more she could have asked, but Solona didn't want to test the other mage's goodwill. She had yet to meet someone that didn't get aggravated or exhausted by her insatiable curiosity and unending questions.
"Thank you for helping me, Morrigan."
Amazingly, said woman was flustered by Solona's sincerity. "I . . . you are welcome, though Mother did most of the work. I am no healer."
The blonde chose not to point out how Morrigan had been more than patient with her questions. "Do you know why your mother wishes to see me? Surely you can convey that I have healed?"
Morrigan shrugged. "I do not know. She rarely tells me her plans. Enough questions. 'Tis time you speak with Mother and be on your way."
Solona dressed slowly, injuries still somewhat tender. Lifting her arms above her head to slip on her robe was excruciating. But the mage was more slowed by her conflicting thoughts. She was glad to be alive, don't get her wrong, but she didn't know where to go from here.
The Grey Wardens, her escape from the prison that was the Circle, were no more, and she was adamant that returning was not an option. Without Duncan, she had no one to vouch she was a Grey Warden. Her current freedom was an illusion. The first templar she came across would brand her an apostate and treat her accordingly.
But where else did she have to go? Nowhere in Ferelden was safe, not with the Blight. And the Blight would only go on to consume the world. The shortest Blight in history had been the Fourth Blight, lasting only twelve years. Ironically, so many darkspawn were killed during that Blight that for the next four ages, it was believed that they would never return. But the first Blight raged for nearly two centuries.
How long would it be before the Grey Wardens of other nations banded together? If her own country's leaders couldn't be convinced they were in the midst of a Blight, when would the news reach Weisshaupt? Too late to save Ferelden.
Solona exited the hut. The second she stepped a foot out the door Morrigan's mother, who had been avidly watching for her appearance it seemed, turned to Alistair.
"See? Here is your fellow Grey Warden. You worry too much, young man."
The man in question stood fully armored. Back to the hut, he gazed out into the marshy waters of cattail's and blood lotus. He turned around at her approach and threw his arms around her.
Solona bit her tongue to keep from crying out. She knew it was unintentional, but Alistair's crushing hug had aggravated her injuries.
"You . . . you're alive!" he whispered into the side of her neck. He let her out of his embrace, stepping back but keeping two hands on her shoulders, almost as if to reassure himself that she truly stood before him. "I thought you were dead for sure."
She wondered why he would think that. Morrigan had sounded confident that her life was never in danger. Then again, it was her own mother healing Solona. It wasn't like Alistair had any reason to trust either woman. Morrigan's mother may have rescued them, but that didn't indicate that she was capable of keeping Solona alive.
"It takes more than a few darkspawn to kill me," she teased. Contrary to her expectations, Alistair's expression twisted with grief.
"Duncan's dead. The Grey Wardens. Even the king. They're all . . . dead." His voice cracked. "This doesn't seem real. If it weren't for Morrigan's mother, we'd be dead on top of that tower."
"Do not talk about me as if I am not present, lad."
The two Grey Wardens jumped, having completely forgotten they were not the only ones outside. Despite her sharp tone, Morrigan's mother appeared to be amused.
"I did not mean . . ." Alistair stumbled over his apology. "I'm sorry, but what do we call you? You never told us your name."
The old woman scoffed. "Names are pretty, but useless. The Chasind folk call me Flemeth. I suppose it will do."
"The Flemeth? From the legends? Daveth was right—you're the Witch of the Wilds, aren't you?"
Daveth. He was dead too.
Guilt curled in her stomach. She hadn't given a single thought to the other man, not since the Joining. What misfortune, to survive the Joining only to be slaughtered the next night. And that could have been her fate as well, if not for Flemeth.
"And what does that mean?" Flemeth asked, heatedly. "I know a bit of magic, and it has served you both well, has it not?" Alistair looked contrite. Or perhaps at a loss for words. It was hard to tell with the way the man hid his eyes.
Solona took advantage of the lull in conversation to ask the one question that had been pulling at her conscious since she awoke.
"So why did you save us?"
Flemeth chuckled. "Well, we cannot have all the Grey Wardens dying at once, can we?
Someone has to deal with the darkspawn. It has always been the Grey Wardens duty to unite the lands against the Blights. Or did that change when I wasn't looking?"
If she wasn't currently opposing her, Solona could have appreciated Flemeth's skill at manipulation and side-stepping. The old woman hadn't provided an answer at all, really. Powerful Witch of the Wilds or not, there was a reason she chose Solona and Alistair over the twenty other experienced Grey Wardens on the battlefield. She and Alistair may have been easier to reach, but if Flemeth really could take the form of a giant bird, it would have been just as easy for the old woman to save Duncan instead.
She would have preferred that Flemeth had chosen Duncan in her place. Solona just wanted a life outside the tower's walls. Maker, she did not sign up to save the fucking world!
Alistair, thinking on the same wavelength as Solona, questioned why Flemeth hadn't saved Duncan, seeing as he was their leader. Once more Flemeth avoided answering directly, explaining instead that Alistair must put aside his grief and desire for vengeance in favor of the Grey Wardens' sacred duty.
"The Grey Wardens are no more," she said, bitterly. It was just her and Alistair. What could two people do against a horde of darkspawn? "Let someone else do it."
"Of course. Someone else will realize what needs to be done and will act in time and with sufficient sense to solve the problem. No need for you."
The only thing stopping Solona from throwing a fireball at Flemeth's face was the fact that the other woman had saved her life.
"But we were fighting the darkspawn!" Alistair exclaimed, outraged. "The king had nearly defeated them. Why would Loghain do this?"
Flemeth turned an appraising gaze on him. "Now that is a good question. Men's hearts hold shadows darker than any tainted creature. Perhaps he believes the Blight is an army he can outmaneuver. Perhaps he does not see that the evil behind it is the true threat."
Solona believed the latter more likely. The one time she had met the man, he had been insistent that they were not actually faced with a Blight, ignoring all evidence from Duncan that pointed otherwise.
"The archdemon."
"What do you know about the archdemon?"
Between Alistair and Duncan, Solona was aware that the archdemon took the form of a dragon and commanded the darkspawn army to the point that the monsters lost all sense of direction without it handing out orders. For an old woman hiding in the Korcari Wilds, Flemeth was unusually well informed about Grey Warden matters.
"It is said that long ago, the Maker sent the Old Gods of the ancient Tevinter Imperium to slumber in prisons deep beneath the surface. An archdemon is an Old God awakened and tainted by darkspawn. Believe that or not, history says it's a fearsome and immortal thing. Only fools ignore history."
Solona tried to wet her suddenly dry mouth. She recalled her first vision of the archdemon. If it hadn't been tainted, she could only imagine what a sight the dragon would have been. The immortality bit. That was new. What did Flemeth mean by that? The archdemons couldn't be immortal. The Blight only ended when the archdemon was slain.
A slip of the tongue perhaps? Maybe archdemons were like the elves of old, long-lived, effectively immortal, unless killed.
Flemeth's piercing stare made Solona uncomfortable. The mage felt as if the old woman was judging her. The majority of her words had been directed Solona's way, even though Alistair was the more qualified Grey Warden of the two.
A fact Solona was quick to point out, trying to direct Flemeth's attention elsewhere. "Alistair is the real Grey Warden here, not me. I literally only joined yesterday."
"Three days, actually," Flemeth corrected, lips curling in a facsimile of a smile. "You have spent two days unconscious in my daughter's bed."
The young woman was thrown for a loop. In hindsight, it made sense that her wounds had put her out of commission for a few days, but she had been building up an impressive rant on how Duncan had been wrong to recruit her. She wasn't a battle mage. She owed her survival to luck. If she continued as a Grey Warden, she would only burden Alistair.
For his part, the Grey Warden in question looked as if Solona had physically wounded him.
"All the Grey Wardens in Ferelden are gone. Except for us. I've lost everyone." Was it wrong that she found his anguish beautiful? "For the love of the Maker, don't back out on me now."
The I can't do it alone hung in the air between them.
Solona avoided his beseeching eyes. She couldn't do it either. She literally had no clue what she was doing. Her world had shattered. It wasn't possible for her to be Alistair's support.
She couldn't take on this suicide mission.
"Oh, it must be suicide, now, hmm," scoffed Flemeth. Had she said that last bit out loud? "My, but that is a lot to ask, after all," the old woman mocked.
Alistair took a stiff step forward. "Duncan was like a father to me. I won't let his death be in vain. But I can't do anything on my own."
The anger he had started with broke, giving way to pleading. Unwilling, she caught his eyes. Fear. Uncertainty. Desperation. All these emotions and more swam in his eyes. But there was a hint of steel. Determination. If she let him, Alistair was going to do it alone. Or die trying.
She couldn't do it. She couldn't run away if it meant he would die.
"Then we need to find this archdemon." Solona tried to inject confidence into her voice. Alistair visibly perked up at her use of 'we.' She offered him a small, apologetic smile.
"By ourselves? No Grey Warden has ever defeated a Blight without the army of a half-dozen nations at his back. Not to mention, I don't know how."
"How to kill the archdemon, or how to raise an army? It seems to me, those are two different questions, hmm? Have the Wardens no allies these days?"
"I... I don't know. Duncan said that the Grey Wardens of Orlais had been called. Cailan already summoned them. They'll come if they can, but I expect Loghain has already taken steps to stop them. We must assume they won't arrive in time," Alistair responded grimly.
Solona turned imploring purple eyes on Flemeth. "Will you help us fight this Blight, Flemeth?"
"Me? I am just an old woman who lives in the Wilds. I know nothing of Blights and darkspawn."
Solona didn't get the chance to call the witch out on her bullshit. Flemeth definitely knew more than she was sharing. She didn't believe her whole butter wouldn't melt in her mouth attitude. But Alistair had already shifted focus.
"Well, whatever Loghain's insanity," Alistair spat the teyrn's name, like it tasted bad on his tongue, "he obviously believes the darkspawn are a minor threat. We must warn everyone this isn't the case."
"And who will believe you?" Flemeth played the devil's advocate. "Unless you think to convince this Loghain of his mistake . . ."
"He just betrayed his own king! If Arl Eamon knew what he did at Ostagar, he would be the first to call for his execution!" Alistair's spine snapped upright. "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. Of course! We could go to Redcliffe and appeal to him for help!"
"And say he doesn't help us? What then?"
Solona didn't mean to burst his bubble, but in her experience, no one offered help to mages. She couldn't imagine this Arl Eamon, whose castle sat just across the lake she lived on her whole life, would be the rare exception.
"You have more at your disposal than merely old friends."
She blinked at Flemeth's non-sequitur. Was the old woman even listening to the same conversation she was? There would be no help from the Grey Wardens, thanks to Loghain, and this Arl Eamon might not believe two random strangers over the teyrn. Where did they have other people willing to fight with them?
"Of course! The treaties!" Alistair exclaimed. In his fervor, he reached out and grasped Solona's hands. "Grey Wardens can demand aid from dwarves, elves, mages, and other places! They're obligated to help us during a Blight!"
"I may be old, but dwarves, elves, mages, this Arl Eamon, and who know what else . . . this sounds like an army to me."
"So, can we do this? Can we go to Redcliffe and these other places and . . . build an army?"
Solona didn't see any other option. Grey Wardens were needed to stop the Blight, and Alistair and herself were the only ones in Ferelden. If traipsing all across the country would provide them an army, then that was what they would do.
"That's what Grey Wardens do, is it not?" She mustered up a brittle smile.
"So, you are set, then? Ready to be Grey Wardens?"
"I'd be happy with just staying alive," Solona said, for once, not at all sarcastically.
Alistair grinned wryly, agreeing with her. "Mm. Come to think of it, that would be nice."
Flemeth snorted. "Well, don't expect me to do everything. There is, however, one more thing I can offer you . . ."
Her daughter chose that precise moment to approach and insert herself into the conversation. "The stew is bubbling, Mother dear. Shall we have two guests for the eve or none?"
"The Grey Wardens are leaving shortly, girl," her mother answered. "And you will be joining them."
"Such a shame—what?" Morrigan's double-take was hilarious. Her head snapped around to stare murderously at her mother.
"You heard me girl. The last time I looked, you had ears!"
Morrigan wasn't the only one thrown off balance by Flemeth's proposition. She and Alistair exchanged wary, and slightly panicked on his part, glances. Solona appreciated the help. Really. But she wouldn't trust these two women as far as she could throw them, and if she was allowed to use magic, that could be pretty far.
"Thank you," she said tentatively, not wanting to seem ungrateful and definitely not wanting to upset the fabled Witch of the Wilds, "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."
"Have I no say in this?" Morrigan interrupted, more than a little upset that her mother was effusing her virtues like one would a prize cow.
Her mother awarded her with a droll look. "You have been itching to get out of the Wilds for years. Here is your chance." Flemeth adopted a stern gaze as she stared down the Grey Wardens. "As for you, Wardens, consider this repayment for your lives."
Solona bit back a groan. It would be next to impossible to refuse the mad old woman now. "Was this your idea all along?"
"Pardon me, but I had the impression that you two needed assistance, whatever the form."
"Not to . . . look a gift horse in the mouth," the warrior began, "but won't this add to our problems. Out of the Wilds, she's an apostate."
Flemeth's eyebrow rose dangerously. "If you do not wish help from us illegal mages, young man, perhaps I should have left you on that tower."
"Point taken."
"Mother . . . this is not how I wanted this. I am not even ready—"
Her mother cut her off. "You must be ready. Alone, these two must unite Ferelden against the darkspawn. They need you, Morrigan. Without you, they will surely fail, and all will perish under the Blight. Even I."
Despite her better judgement, Solona wanted to jump in the middle. It was vastly unfair how Morrigan's mother was attempting to guilt her into going along when the woman clearly didn't want to. Not to mention, the mage was slightly peeved by the idea that they would fail without Morrigan. She and Alistair were perfectly capable of doing their duty. How much of a difference could one apostate really make?
"I . . . understand," Morrigan capitulated.
"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."
Solona officially believed Flemeth to be insane. Sending Morrigan with the Grey Wardens wasn't going to keep her safe. It was actually counterproductive, seeing as Solona and Alistair would be in the thick of the fighting.
She simply indicated that she understood, even though she didn't. Neither Grey Warden offered a promise that Morrigan wouldn't come to harm. Solona had never heard of magically binding vows, but if anyone was capable of it, it would be Flemeth, and she wasn't about to promise something that wasn't true.
No one was walking away unscathed.
"Allow me to get my things, if you please." Morrigan retreated into the hut, leaving her two guests to stand in awkward silence. "I am at your disposal, Grey Wardens," she said, upon her return, rucksack hanging off one shoulder. "I suggest a village north of the Wilds as our first destination. 'Tis not far and you will find much you need there. Or, if you prefer, I shall simply be your silent guide. The choice is yours."
Solona mentally shuddered at the idea of Morrigan trailing behind them, silently judging their every action. "No, I prefer you speak your mind."
Flemeth practically cackled. "You will regret saying that."
"Dear, sweet Mother, you are so kind to cast me out like this. How fondly I shall remember this moment." The vitriol in her words was enough to melt veridium.
"Well, I always said if you want something done, do it yourself, or hear about it for a decade or two afterwards."
The mage was already regretting her choice, and they hadn't even left the Wilds yet.
"I just . . . do you really want to take her along because her mother says so?" Alistair asked in an aside to her while mother and daughter continued to bicker.
Solona shook her head in the negative. "Not at all, but we do need all the help we can get. We have no idea how to kill the archdemon, and until then, we need to survive. Having one more person in our party gives us a little safety in numbers."
"I guess you're right," he agreed, surprisingly mature. "The Grey Wardens have always taken allies where they could find them."
"I'm so pleased to have your approval," drawled Morrigan. Solona flushed in shame. She had thought she and Alistair were talking quietly enough to not be overheard. "Farewell, Mother," she says, returning to her previous conversation. "Do not forget the stew on the fire. I would hate to return to a burned-down hut."
"Bah. 'Tis far more likely you will return to see this entire area, along with my hut, swallowed up by the Blight."
Morrigan's eyes shined suspiciously, brows pinching together in distraught. "I . . . all I meant was . . ."
Flemeth sighed, as if her daughter's jest had disappointed her. "Yes, I know. Do try to have fun, dear."
Solona pulled Alistair back a couple steps, so mother and daughter could finish their goodbyes in private. It was definitely time to get out of here. If she had to stand any more of this deliberate confusion and mess of emotions, she might willingly find a darkspawn so it could end her misery.
If Morrigan's eyes were still glassy when she motioned for her guests to follow her, neither commented.
In that regard, leaving home was easier for Solona. Tower life may have been all she had ever known, but she wanted change. For her, leaving was starting over. Plus, she was mostly numb at the time. The answer to her prayers was starting to turn into a nightmare, but Solona didn't regret leaving. She had little connections with other mages, and her only friend that wasn't Jowan was a templar. Fondly, she remembered how Cullen had taken the time to break down her walls and befriend her. She had known better, but she let him in close anyways. Maybe she could write him a letter. No doubt Cullen would love to hear what she was doing as a Grey Warden.
Morrigan was being sent away, taking the risk that her home, her mother, might not be there if she returned.
Without realizing it, Solona had quickened her pace so she could walk beside her fellow mage. She struck up a conversation in hopes of seeing that miserable, soul-crushing look vanish.
"Have you never been outside the Wilds?" There was a slight kinship between them, prison walls of a different kind. Morrigan's had been self-imposed, presumably by her mother. Solona had expected apostates to have more freedom outside the Chantry's influence.
"From time to time. I have been to the village Lothering, watched its people and pondered what curious beings they are. On occasion, I purchased goods from the village merchants. There I spoke to men, a little. There they stared and knew me as an outsider," the dark-haired woman answered. "Mother wishes for me to expand the horizon of my experience beyond the Wilds. Even she was not born here."
Solona nearly followed that up with a question about why then she chose the Korcari Wilds as the place to raise her child but realized that could be misconstrued as being rude.
"Is that what you want?" she asked instead.
Morrigan took a long time to answer. "What I want is to see mountains. I wish to witness the ocean and step into its waters. I want to experience a city rather than see it in my mind. So, yes, this is what I want. Actually leaving is—harder than I thought, however. Perhaps Mother is right—it must simply be done quickly."
Conversation lapsed after that. The foliage was too dense for Solona to tell how much time had passed. They traipsed without rest through the overgrown marshland. Morrigan, being their guide, led from a margin of a few feet. Alistair took the rear, where he would sense darkspawn trying to come on them from behind.
He'd call forward whenever he sensed a pack, and between him and Morrigan the small party would either veer temporarily off course to avoid an encounter or wait until the darkspawn moved out of Alistair's range.
Solona had inquired, curious, as to how they were supposed to get past the darkspawn, which appeared to be heading in the same direction as they were.
"The real question is how we're going to your friend past the darkspawn, is it not?"
"That's true. We can sense the darkspawn. Conversely, they can sense us." Solona twisted her head from Morrigan to Alistair, surprised to hear them holding a civil conversation. Their respective specialties clashed, in the form of snide comments and insults she couldn't quite discern if either one truly meant.
"I don't sense any darkspawn." The female Warden frowned. Had something gone wrong with her Joining?
"You won't right away, no. It takes time." Alistair allayed her concerns. "We should be able to sneak past smaller groups, but larger ones, or particularly intelligent darkspawn will always detect us. This pack is large. That usually means a couple of alphas."
Solona nodded her understanding. It explained why he had called for the group to halt this time.
"Mother has given me something else for them to smell as we pass by," Morrigan interjected. "'Tis important that we head out of the Wilds, however, not farther in."
"The darkspawn are camped farther in the forest?"
"They come from underground, like an eruption. They broke through deep within the forest and that is where they will be most concentrated."
Solona's legs were starting to cramp painfully when the all clear was finally given. Morrigan took one look at her massaging her calves and declared they ought to find somewhere to camp for the night. Well, she had phrased it as a suggestion, but it was clear enough that she wasn't really giving them a choice. Personally, Solona wanted to keep moving. She couldn't sense the darkspawn, and it made her feel uneasy to be in a forest surrounded by them, knowing they were there but not knowing their exact location. But they were reliant on their reluctant third member to guide them out.
Their chosen campsite was at the base of a hill, from which one of them would keep watch. Morrigan took off without a word. Exhausted, Solona slumped the ground.
"It doesn't seem real, does it?" Alistair asked, throwing himself down next to her. "Like this is all a bad dream." Solona made a vague noise of acknowledgement, not really paying the man any attention. "Are we really doing this? Just us? Two Wardens so green they make Orlesian cheese look fresh."
Solona casually dug a finger into her ear, thinking there must be a lot of wax, because that was the most ridiculous thing she had ever heard.
"It's criminal what they do to cheese! They make it taste like nothing. And they put little wheels over people's eyes!
Okay. That was it. The analogy had officially gone too far.
"I don't know, Alistair. There's a lot about this situation we don't know." Killing the archdemon was simply the most critical piece of missing information. Solona didn't know how they were going to raise an army. Or lead it, for that matter. Maybe that was something this Arl Eamon could handle. Commanding armies should be in a lord's wheelhouse. "But I do know that we need to try. We're the only chance Ferelden has. If we stand aside and do nothing . . ."
Alistair folded his hands beneath his head. "So, no pressure, right? It'll only be decades before the rest of the world cottons on and fights back."
Solona held her amusement in check. Until she looked at him.
They were both still laughing when Morrigan returned carrying a freshly killed rabbit. Alistair offered to find wood for a fire, an act which earned him the apostate's scorn. With a wave of her staff, Morrigan set a small area of grass ablaze.
The ex-templar went rigid at the blatant use of magic.
Morrigan noticed, of course, and decided to mock him for it. "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."
Solona had thought the quip amusing, but her companion glowered darkly. "I feel better already."
A tense silence settled as Morrigan set to cleaning and gutting the rabbit. It set her on edge. She never imagined she'd be caught between a templar and a mage.
"Actually, I have some questions, Morrigan."
Gold eyes flicked up from her self-appointed task. "I may have answers," she returned, enigmatically. "Ask."
"What skills do you have, exactly?" Solona really wanted to know. She could only imagine the wealth of knowledge Flemeth taught her daughter. More than the ever-fearful Chantry was comfortable with a mage knowing, probably.
"I know a few spells, though I'm nowhere near as powerful as Mother. I have also studied history and your Grey Warden treaties." Alistair bristled. Solona shared his sentiments. They may have rescued the documents, but that didn't give them the right to read them.
"Can you cook?" the warrior sniped.
Morrigan's upper lip curled into a fearsome sneer. "I . . . can cook, yes."
"You can substitute for Alistair!" She exclaimed, forcing cheer into her voice.
Thank the Maker, Alistair realized antagonizing their only way out of the Wilds was not the smartest decision. "Right, my cooking will kill us. That's all I meant."
Sensing the insincerity, Morrigan gave him a baleful eye. "I also know at least fifteen different poisons that grow right here in this marsh. Not that I would suggest 'tis at all related to cooking," she finished with enough contrived innocence to rot a tooth.
The witch turned the rabbit into a surprisingly flavorful stew. Alistair retreated to the hill at the first chance he had.
Darkness fell quickly, bringing colder temperatures. Lacking a tent, Solona huddled near the magical fire. Morrigan seemed unaffected, despite her torso hardly being covered.
"Are you really Flemeth's daughter?" she found herself asking. Solona couldn't find any of the infamous Witch of the Wild's features in her daughter's face.
"'Twas she who raised me, and thus I considered her my mother, born from her womb or not. 'Tis what you meant, yes?"
No, but Solona wasn't going to admit that and invite the other woman to aim her pointed tongue her way. "It's just hard to imagine her . . ."
"Young? Married? Pregnant?" Morrigan filled in. "Who said she was any of these things? I certainly did not. Now, have you finally exhausted your supply of questions?"
The blonde mage shrunk in on herself. Was she prying too much? "Good night, Morrigan."
The other woman did not reply in kind. Solona wrapped her arms around her legs, resting her chin in the space between her knees. She stared unseeing into the fire. She ought to be sleeping. She was to take over sentry duty from Alistair in a few hours.
But the world around her was too quiet. It led to her dwelling on things she'd rather not think about. The grief was too fresh. She needed time to process, but that seemed unlikely because she had foolishly volunteered for what was tantamount to suicide.
It was all too much. Her confidence from earlier was nowhere to be found. Let's be honest, the chances of her and Alistair stopping the Blight before it became widespread was as likely as the Maker returning.
Solona fell into a troubled sleep. The archdemon made a second appearance. The music consumed her. And when the dragon screeched its joy—how could she recognize its emotions? Why did it have any in the first place?—she jolted awake.
She was relieved when Alistair fetched her to relieve him, needing a distraction from her dream. Just one more thing she had lost control of. Solona, being a mage, never needed to fear the Fade. The denizens that dwelled within the dream realm were another matter. Journeying to the Fade each night was natural, but the Wardens had taken that last comfort from her.
Knowing sleep was beyond her reach, Solona walked the edges of their makeshift camp. Morrigan had written a few Glyphs of Repulsion, angled in such a way that anything that approached their camp would be guided away. It was an ingenious use of a simple spell.
Glumly, Solona ran her fingers over the spell's outer rune circle. It was too soon to ask for trust, from either of them, but she had hoped that Morrigan would be willing to talk shop and exchange knowledge.
Solona didn't want to be on bad terms with the other mage. For the unforeseeable future, the three of them would need to work together. Well, unless Morrigan called it quits and stalked back home to her hut because she found her new companions too annoying. Not likely, considering how her mother had stressed to Morrigan that her inclusion was critical.
She couldn't think of any reason for it. How much of a difference could one mage make? Morrigan herself had claimed her abilities didn't come close to matching Flemeth's, and she definitely wasn't a Grey Warden.
Solona was certain that Morrigan's true purpose for being included would be uncovered eventually. She only prayed that the witch was just as invested as she and Alistair at seeing the Blight ended and that her secrets weren't the world-ending type.
She had been dealt a bunch of those in the last week.
