Chapter Fifteen: Blight

Previously: Game of Heirs

 

There was a new mood at court between the soon-to-be royal couple. King Alistair Theirin and Elissa Cousland appeared to be their old selves, sitting on their thrones and smiling like they used to. It warmed Margeria's heart to see her niece so, and saddened her when she remembered Leonor wasn't here to see this.

 

I must protect the girl, the noblewoman told herself. By any means necessary. 

 

Fergus was absent from court, no doubt wooing the latest object of his affections. Though, "affections" were a bit of an exaggeration; Margeria doubted the young Teyrn would ever love again. 

 

The double doors opened, and there was brief silence in the throne room as the first guests arrived. They were Dalish elves, three of them, and they were led by a tall fierce woman with a scarred face and partially shaved head. She had long blond hair and her face was painted. She looked neither left nor right as she walked towards the throne, her confidence unflinching.

 

"Your Majesty," she greeted in a deep, powerful voice, "we are here to answer to the Grey Warden Treaties. I am Lyna Mahariel. I will lead the Dalish forces against the Blight." 

 

Alistair's eyes were wide, betraying his awe and excitement. "Madam, you are most welcome. We are honored to have you in our city."

 

Lyna replied with a stiff, wordless nod. It was obvious she and her comrades weren't particularly thrilled to be among humans, but she couldn't say that. Instead, the elves silently stepped aside to stand among the nobles, who gingerly moved away from them.

 

The doors opened again, this time for three dwarves, led by one with loud red hair.

 

"Your Majesty," the leader bellowed. "I am Oghren of Orzammar. We dwarves come to answer the Treaties."

 

"It's good to see you again, Oghren," Elissa greeted warmly. "How fares King Bhelen?"

 

"Quite well," Oghren replied. "He sends his congratulations, along with his amazement." He paused, looking her over. "We never thought they'd make you Queen."

 

Alistair and Elissa laughed heartily, while their nobles murmured among themselves.

 

The dwarves stepped to the side as the doors opened once more. Two women entered. They were clearly mages. One was elderly, with white hair and lines in her face. She looked like a traditional enchanter from the Ferelden Circle of Magi. Meanwhile, the other...

 

"Your Majesty," the elder mage greeted. "I am Senior Enchanter Wynne, from the Circle of Magi. We met at Ostagar."

 

A hush fell upon the room as Alistair's good mood instantly vanished. "Well met, my lady. I'm glad to see you are well."

 

"It's good to see you again, Wynne," Elissa said. "It's been too long."

 

"Congratulations, my lady," Wynne told her. "The news was... surprising, but not unpleasing." She paused as though suddenly remembering something. She then mumbled lowly, "And this is Morrigan."

 

The King looked like he'd just eaten something sour, while Elissa wearily sighed.

 

"Personally, I was positively flummoxed," Morrigan cheerfully confessed. Her voice was rich and sultry. The mage was black-haired, with bold makeup and a dark gown with black features. Fangs glinted around her neck. "Not about you two, of course. Saw that coming miles away. But this whole crown situation --"

 

"At your earliest convenience, Your Majesty," Wynne interjected, taking a single step forward, "Morrigan and I would like to discuss the Blight with you."

 

***

 

After court was dismissed, Zevran returned to his chambers. To his surprise, he liked his Ferelden assignment. Though he'd visited palaces before, he'd never gotten to attend royal court as part of a delegation before. For the first time ever, none of the humans spoke to him rudely. And when he wasn't at court, his days were spent enjoying the palace amenities, while doing absolutely no work. It was like a vacation.

 

He followed the Dalish delegation down a hallway leading towards the guest quarters. It seemed they'd been assigned to the same floor. At the end of the hall, he could see the elven handmaiden Kallian walking in their direction. She was likely helping some other guests to settle in; that seemed to be her primary duty of late.

 

Zevran's footsteps instinctively slowed. He was curious to see how the Dalish warriors and the prim handmaiden would interact. From what he knew, Dalish elves and city elves weren't very fond of each other. The Dalish hadn't even acknowledged his presence.

 

Aside for courteous nods, Lyna and Kallian didn't address each other. They didn't even look directly at each other. Instead, they looked straight ahead and kept walking. But when they passed -- and this was very subtle -- Zevran noticed that their hands touched.

 

It was fleeting, almost invisible to the eye. Zevran noticed that after they passed each other, Kallian smoothly tucked her hands back into her long sleeves.

 

A note, Zevran marveled, maintaining a neutral face. Why pass notes? he wondered. Why not just speak?

 

And then it hit him. They didn't want to be seen speaking. They didn't want people to know they knew each other.

 

Zevran's heart began thudding in his chest as he realized he'd just stumbled upon something. He knew it was important, he just didn't know what it was.

 

*** 

 

Neither Alistair nor Elissa was ecstatic about meeting with Morrigan, even though they both owed her their lives. Morrigan, along with her mother, were witches of the wild. They saved the Wardens at Ostagar, and nursed them back to health.

 

Morrigan, as they recalled, was an unsociable woman with a sharp wit and vicious tongue. She particularly enjoyed ridiculing men, and spent endless hours insulting Alistair to his face.

 

The mages were invited to the royal sitting room, where Alistair and Elissa stood. Despite the fact they had no quarrel with Wynne, they offered neither chairs nor refreshments.

 

"Never thought I'd see a respectable senior enchanter accompanied by an apostate," Elissa remarked, eyebrow raised.

 

Wynne was uncomfortable, while Morrigan was amused.

 

"War makes strange bedfellows," the dark-haired witch gleefully mused.

 

"You wanted to see us?" Alistair asked numbly, intending to make this quick.

 

"Your Majesty," Wynne began, "are you aware of exactly how an Archdemon dies?"

 

The King nodded. "Duncan once explained that when an Archdemon is killed, its essence will pass on to possess the nearest darkspawn. And when a Warden strikes that fatal blow, the essence is drawn into them." He paused. "Both the Archdemon and the Warden die."

 

Elissa's head snapped towards him. "You never told me that," she said, eyes narrowing.

 

Morrigan was amused. "Of course he didn't. He intended to sacrifice himself when the time came." She snickered. "Like so many men, he thought to die a hero in a blaze of glory. How charmingly infantile."

 

Alistair was not in the mood. "So help me Andraste --"

 

"But she won't help you, now will she?" Morrigan spat. "Once again, your beloved prophet isn't the one swooping in to save your meaningless lives -- I am."

 

That caught the King's attention. "What do you mean?"

 

Morrigan flashed a wicked grin, while Wynne awkwardly cleared her throat.

 

"Morrigan has... a ritual of sorts," she haltingly explained, unable to make eye contact with anyone. "She must lie with a male Warden. When the Archdemon is struck, the essence will be drawn into her instead. Everyone will survive."

 

"And as an added bonus," the swamp witch said, smirking, "you'll never see or hear from me again."

 

"Well, it can't be Alistair," Elissa stated bluntly. "Not for the ritual and not for the killing blow."

 

"Why not for the ritual?" Morrigan asked, blinking.

 

Elissa shot her a look. "You had your chance with him, Morrigan. You spent it bickering."

 

The swamp witch pouted. "I thought that's how we showed our love."

 

Alistair was visibly disturbed. "We have several Wardens in Denerim now," he said uncomfortably. "Talk to any of them. On the eve of battle, I'm sure they'd welcome the comfort of a woman." He glanced around at the women, needing this to be over so they could never speak of it again. "Is there anything else?"

 

***

 

In his dreams, he could see the darkspawn. He could even hear the screeching roar of the Archdemon.

 

Alistair hadn't seen such numbers since Ostagar. There seemed to be no end to them as they tunneled through and marched beneath the earth.

 

Smart, the King told himself. They did the same thing at the Tower of Ishal.

 

Despite his calm reaction, however, Alistair abruptly woke, his bedclothes soaked in sweat. Heart pounding, he reached for the golden pitcher near his bed. It was empty, so he rose and padded out of the room.

 

Elissa was already up and pacing the sitting room in her bed clothes, tugging at the Warden's Amulet around her neck. She was startled when he walked in the room, which unnerved him even further. He'd never seen Elissa startled, not even at Ostagar.

 

"You saw it too?" he asked lowly, tightly.

 

She nodded stiffly as she stated, "The Blight. It has come."