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The True Tale Of The Fifth Blight	By : Serena_Hawke-Theirin Category: +A through F > Dragon Age (all) > Dragon Age (all) Views: 13108 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Dragon Age or the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

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Drive the cloud away,
We will fall from last to none.
The dark before the dawn,
The world will carry on.
Look for the light that leads me home.

~Breaking Benjamin

Alistair ran his tongue over his lips as he paced back and forth in front of the small pond outside of Flemeth’s hut. He didn’t trust the old crone, and he certainly didn’t trust her daughter, especially not where Solona was concerned. To make matters worse, the oppressive ambience of dark magic surrounding him was disorienting. It felt hungry, alive, as if it desired to swallow him whole.

“Relax, lad,” Flemeth told him as she gathered wild herbs from the ground and placed them into the shabby, reed basket in her hand. “Your fellow Warden will join us soon.”

He paused to regard the ancient woman. “You’ll forgive me if I don’t trust the words of a witch,” he contended with a sneer.

“My,” she chortled. “But that is quite the temper you possess.”

“Fuck off,” Alistair mumbled under his breath as he resumed traipsing back and forth along a short, unseen path.

He half expected the old hag to blast him with a spell, but he was beyond caring at that point. He was hungry, sore, and most of all worried for Solona. He shouldn’t have left her. He should have stayed by her side no matter what Flemeth did to him.

On top of all that, he was still feeling the loss of Sithig, Duncan, and even his brother. There was also the nagging in the back of his mind that he would be expected to take the throne, and there was a good chance he would have to get past Loghain and Anora to do so. Then, of course, there was the Blight and the fact that there were only two Grey Wardens left in all of Ferelden to stop it. It would take months for word to reach Weisshaupt that more Wardens were needed.

Everything, all of it, was just too much for Alistair to bear. How was one man supposed to deal with so much insanity heaped upon his shoulders? Ferelden was headed for complete disaster, and, in the end, it would be all his fault. His failure.

The Blight was just beginning. Ostagar was only a taste of what was to come. The horde would eventually move north from the Wilds and the true destruction of Ferelden would commence. They would decimate everything in their path. With no outside aid, the country would die along with all her people.

At that moment, the rest of Ferelden was unaware of anything more than rumors and speculation, standing in the calm eye of the storm. Whether the Fereldan people were prepared or not, war was coming and nothing would be left at the end. How in the Maker’s name were a single warrior and a mage expected to face such insurmountable odds alone?

Alistair halted his pacing and ambled toward the stagnant pond. He looked out over the marsh, past the tall reeds and heaved a long sigh. He was tired of it all already. Tired of feeling so lost, so hopeless. He was sick of starting over with nothing left to show for his life.

He peered up at the darkened sky, its grey clouds reflecting his mood. The Wardens had fallen. The king had fallen, and soon everything would be destroyed. Tears filled his hazel eyes then spilled down his cheeks. Maybe he should just take Solona and get out of Ferelden. The war would carry on without them, after all.

Solona

How would she feel if he told her that he planned to give up? Would she agree and go with him? Or would his cowardice and despair drive her away forever?

Alistair pictured her face, the determination in those lapis eyes, and a ray of hope entered his crestfallen heart. In such a bleak, dark future, she would be the light that would guide him. He would continue to fight, to rail against impossible odds for her. After a life of forever feeling out of place, he had finally found his home and he would withstand any enemy to preserve it.

No matter what his bloodline dictated, he was no king, no leader of men, but he would follow Solona into any battle and submit to her command. He would act as her general, offering his insight when asked, but the reins would be hers.

The sound of a door slamming shut woke Solona from a dreamless sleep. Across her forehead lay a hand with thin, calloused fingers. The mage opened her lids to the image of an ebony haired woman with golden eyes and shoulders draped in a silk, crimson scarf. She was familiar, as if a vision from some far away dream, but it was difficult to recall through the thick fog in her mind and memory.

Being proficient in the school of Entropy, Solona recognized the effects of a sleeping spell right away, but there was something else there. Something darker. By the gnawing hunger in her belly, the mage estimated she had been under the odd enchantment for at least a day, probably closer to two.

Solona squeezed her lids tight and focused on trying to remember how she got there, wherever there was. The last thing she recalled was being surrounded by horrendous, tainted creatures and her ability to manipulate the Fade waning. She reached further back in her memory and recalled a forest with bones hanging from the trees with a dark haired woman leading them through.

“Morrigan?” she asked.

The hint of a smirk emerged on the witch’s face as she retrieved a small bowl from the bedside table. “Yes, ‘tis I,” she confirmed. “You have been asleep for some time. Mother thought you may be hungry.”

A low rumbling sound emanated from Solona’s stomach, confirming the mage’s need for sustenance. She was famished, but she didn’t fully trust Morrigan, especially considering she had just woken from the effect of a witch’s spell. She regarded the dark haired woman and the bowl in her hands with suspicion.

“I cannot fault you for being skeptical, Grey Warden,” said the witch. “You may test the soup if you like.” She cocked a brow. “You do possess such a simple ability, do you not?”

“Of course I do,” Solona confirmed with an indignant scowl. “I am no apprentice just out of my first year.”

Morrigan mirrored the Warden’s expression as she passed the bowl to her. “There is no need for such petulance,” she chided in a supercilious tone. “I am only trying to help.”

Holding the bowl in one hand, Solona hovered the other above it and concentrated on discerning its ingredients. When she was satisfied that the dish contained no more than a meager lot of vegetables and innocuous spices, she presented the other woman with a tilt of her head.

“It seems harmless enough,” the Warden confirmed. “May I have a spoon, or do you expect me to just sip it straight out of the bowl?”

The witch chuckled as she presented Solona with the appropriate eating utensil. “Mother is waiting outside whenever you are finished. She requests that you speak with her before you depart.”

The Warden lifted the soup laden spoon to her mouth but stopped short. “Any clue why?”

Morrigan shrugged. “Mother rarely tells me of her plans. I am simply relaying a message.”

Solona took a bite of the soup and nearly gagged from the taste of it. Not only was it lukewarm, it may have been one of the most Maker awful things she had ever tasted. The vegetables were obviously not fresh and the horrible blend of spices used did nothing to cover up that fact. She grimaced and quickly dropped the spoon inside the concoction before placing the bowl back on the small table next to the bed. When Morrigan scowled at her, the younger woman regained her usual haughty countenance and smacked her lips.

“I suppose I wasn’t as hungry as I thought,” she lied.

The witch harrumphed then spun on her heel to exit the hut. As she stomped away, a thought occurred to Solona. She was alone with Morrigan. She took a quick glance around the room and saw no sign of Alistair or even that he had been there with her. The hunger pangs in her guts gave way to panic. He was gone. Had he perished or simply left her?

“Morrigan,” she blurted, her tone more desperate than she intended it to be. “Where is Alistair?”

The witch frowned. “You mean the smaller of the dimwitted ones that were with you before?”

“Yes,” Solona confirmed, doing her best to disguise her distress from both her face and her voice.

Morrigan’s demeanor was indifferent. “He is outside with Mother.”

A sense of pure relief washed over Solona with those words. She was unsure what she would have done if the witch’s answer had been different. Alistair had become such an integral part of her life, of her. The thought of losing him, it was more than she could bear. She pulled back the coverlet and rose from the bed.

“Tell your mother I will meet with her as soon as I am dressed,” Solona informed the other woman.

“Very well,” the witch said. As she turned to leave, she halted before circling back. Her brow furrowed as she folded her arms over her chest. “I am curious,” she admitted. “Most would want to know how they arrived here, especially considering where you were when Mother rescued you.”

Although Solona was interested in learning the answer to that question, it wasn’t first and foremost on her mind at the moment. She already had her suspicions about what had occurred at Ostagar. Loghain’s behavior denoted a man who was paranoid and angry, desperate and scheming. It was clear to Solona the general had been resolved to do whatever was necessary to achieve his desired result. It was a bearing the mage had seen too many times in the Circle from entirely too many people.

The only thing that really concerned her at that time was Alistair. Morrigan had said he was outside with Flemeth, but she failed to note his condition. Given the fact that the two Wardens were among witches, didn’t necessarily mean he was alive and well. Solona had to find out for herself whether or not her companion was truly safe.

The Warden shrugged. “I’m alive,” she stated matter-of-factly. “For now, that’s all I really need to know. The details of the how’s and why’s can be filled in later, can they not?”

The other woman smiled. “Yes,” she responded. “I suppose they can.”

Alistair was disappointed when the door to the cottage opened and Morrigan exited into the yard and disappeared around the side of the house. Flemeth had said that Solona would join him soon, but he was sick of waiting. He needed to know that she was alright, and until he saw her with his own eyes, his worry and anger would continue to grow. He heard the old woman suck her teeth and turned in time to see her shake her head.

“Such a shame,” she muttered. “So lovely, yet so disappointing.”

The witch’s odd statement prompted Alistair to forget his troubles long enough to beg the question, “What’s disappointing?”

“Why, my Morrigan, of course,” she told him as if the answer should be obvious. “The girl possesses talent, but she lacks certain necessary qualities.”

“Qualities?” the warrior asked.

“Simply an observation,” the witch informed him with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Nothing of concern to you, lad. The only thing you need to know is that she will prove herself useful in your fight against the darkspawn.”

Alistair’s brow lifted, “And what is that supposed to mean?” he questioned.

“Exactly how it sounds,” she replied in a flat tone. “Morrigan will be leaving with you and your fellow Warden.”

“Absolutely not,” he argued. “We don’t need her.”

The old woman scoffed. “I daresay you need all the help you can get, lad. Or do you intend to take on the entire horde on your own, just you and your companion? It hardly seems like a sound plan.”

The warrior shook his head. “Does Morrigan even want to come along? She doesn’t really seem like the social type to me.”

“My daughter understands the threat of this Blight, just as I do,” she answered. “She will do what is required of her.”

Alistair turned his attention back to the pond and crossed his arms over his chest. As much as he didn’t want to admit it, Flemeth was right. They needed help. He just wasn’t sure how much help Morrigan would prove to be. They had to find a way to defeat the darkspawn, to at least have a force strong enough to stand against the horde.

Then he recalled the treaties. Solona had mentioned that she forgot to give them to Duncan while they were spanning the Tower of Ishal. He wasn’t sure how it worked exactly, but he knew the documents enlisted the aid of the dwarves of Orzammar, the Circle of Magi, and the Dalish elves. Perhaps if all those groups banded together they might have a chance. A very slim one, but it was better than nothing.

As he contemplated the best way to approach each of the groups, the door to the hovel opened once again. Alistair’s heart began beating so quickly with anticipation he thought it might explode. He inhaled a deep breath and held it before turning around, praying it was Solona exiting the house.

A small smile curved Solona’s lips as her eyes locked with his causing him to exhale with a resonant sigh. The relief he felt couldn’t be measured. Although she appeared to be slightly worse for the wear, she seemed fine. The slight flush of her cheeks had returned and her lips no longer held a hue of blue.

Alistair hurried toward her, doing his best to keep from sprinting in his excitement. When he met her halfway, he took her in his arms and hugged her close to his chest. Tears of relief spilled from his eyes to dampen her sable hair. He had never felt so grateful for anything.

“You’re alive,” he whispered.

“Yes,” she said, her voice muffled by his armored tunic. “But I won’t be for long if you continue to crush me like this.”

Reluctantly, he backed away from her. She straightened her uniform before peering up at him with a playful scowl. “Afraid you were going to be left alone to fight the darkspawn by yourself?”

He gave a small chuckle. “Of course,” he teased, his eyes still glistening. “You’re supposed to protect me, remember?”

It is not difficult for me to understand why Alistair would consider running away from it all. My husband was a brave man, but his greatest fear was that his lack of leadership skills would be the ruin of everything he cared about. Throughout his life, he was always worried that he was not good enough or smart enough to lead. The loss of Daveth only strengthened that belief. It was at this very moment in his life when he realized that his greatest fear could very easily come to pass. The world truly was in danger of being destroyed and whether anyone knew it or not did not change the fact that all of Thedas depended upon him.

-G
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The True Tale Of The Fifth Blight