Into the Woods (a Dragon Age fanfiction)

Broken Wings

The camp was silent and dark, everyone asleep in their tents. Well, other than the person on watch, but Flemeth had no concerns about evading him. He had plans of his own, and he was locked in his head as he worked on them.

The owl fluttered into the center of camp. As the talons touched the ground, they became boots, and Flemeth stood, feeling her renewed power coursing through her veins. How foolish Morrigan had been to think she understood what Flemeth wanted, and how she intended to get it. And brave little Wulfric, facing down dragons for his love, doing exactly what Flemeth had intended to do all along. Some part of Flemeth that dimly recalled what it was to be human was glad they'd had their time together. They'd certainly worked hard enough to get it.

But that was over now. They had brought the child into the world and gotten it past the necessary crying and nappies phase; now Flemeth would take it, and raise it properly, and with the power of the Old God behind her would bring plans long dormant into full fruit.

She could hear the call of Urthemiel's soul, and she followed it toward the tent where he lay sleeping. As she paused with her hand on the flap, she had to admit to some disappointment. Hawke and Cousland both here, with her Morrigan, and all their extraordinary companions, and yet it was still this easy? A couple of trifling little traps, easily disarmed—had the assassin truly thought those would slow her down?

It was almost too bad. Flemeth had rather looked forward to the fight in which she would kill them all. Still, it was hard to complain about a simple in-and-out job.

Pulling aside the flap, she reached out to draw the child to her with her power—and reeled back as a blinding flash of lightning cracked down on her. With her hair smoking, she screamed a curse, hoping to catch whoever lay in wait inside the tent in a prison made of the horrors in their own mind. To her surprise, the tent collapsed, empty. No! The child had been there!

More calmly, she realized that Morrigan must have known she was there, and fled the tent out the back. So. It would not be this easy. But apparently there would be a fight after all, and that would be amusing.

The first task, then, was to remove herself, since her attempt to sneak in and retrieve the child unnoticed had failed. She shifted quickly to the owl; as she sped away from the camp, a crossbow bolt flew past her, grazing a wing. It burned; poison. Someone was a bit too proficient with their weapon. The crossbow would have to go, Flemeth thought venomously.

Returning to the camp in her hastily assumed spider form, with Arthur accompanying her, Morrigan shifted back once she was certain the camp was clear and her mother was gone.

Varric was reloading Bianca, talking gently to the crossbow and patting it on the stock. Morrigan shook her head. The dwarf might be a fool, but he had hit Flemeth; Morrigan had heard the owl's cry of pain as it flew away. "That was a proficient shot," she said to him.

"Bianca doesn't think so."

"You could not have killed her. As far as I know, it is not possible to give Flemeth a true death," Morrigan said, hoping the words were more reassuring to the dwarf than they were to herself.

"I might have brought her down, so we could do ... whatever it is we intend to do to her once we have her."

Hawke had come out of her own tent. "What exactly is that?"

"What?"

"What we intend to do to her. You say your mother can't be killed permanently; how exactly do you intend to see to it that your son remains safe from her, if that's the case?"

"There is a spell. It will bind her to an amulet that I have made. The way she bound a part of herself in the amulet you carry, except in this case it will be against her will. She will not find it easy to escape from," Morrigan promised grimly.

"And you think you can accomplish this spell?" Fenris asked, looking skeptical, as he often did when magic was part of the equation.

"If the rest of you can catch her and wound her, allowing me the time to complete the spell, then I can," Morrigan said. It was difficult to admit that she actually needed the assistance of these people.

"Hmph." The elf kept any further comments to himself.

Zevran crossed his arms over his chest. "How do we know she is not listening to this entire conversation?"

"She would not approach the camp while wounded—she will want the upper hand when she returns."

"And how long will that be?" Hawke asked.

Varric frowned. "Ask Flash. It's his poison."

"Not as long as we might like—I could not find all the ingredients I needed and so it is a weak poison only. But your bolts and my brews make a fine combination, do they not?" he asked Varric.

"Good enough. Better if Bianca hadn't pulled." He stroked the crossbow's stock, his brow furrowed in concern.

"We may as well all get a bit more sleep," Morrigan judged. "I will consider what is best to be done in preparation for the next attack, and we will discuss it in the morning."

Everyone else turned in, but Varric stayed awake, sitting by the fire and fiddling with Bianca's firing mechanism. He hadn't missed that badly since the very beginning of their relationship, when he was still nervous around the fine lady who was to be his. He spoke to her soothingly as he cleaned and polished every piece. Had she been feeling neglected?

"You spend a great deal of time fussing over that weapon." It was Flash's voice, and Varric looked up to see the elf standing near the fire in a pose that pretended to be relaxed but wasn't.

"She's worth it. Bianca's saved my bacon more times than I can count."

"But she strikes me as rather ... pointy to take to bed, is she not?"

"You going to argue that you wouldn't be pointy if I took you to bed?" He glanced up at the elf with a sardonic smile.

Flash threw back his head and laughed, his white teeth shining in the firelight. "You have me there, my friend. Or, rather, I wish you did. I would be very pleased to be pointy for you. At least in my case, the pointiness would be of the nonlethal variety."

"That's not what she said," Varric deadpanned.

"True. Perhaps I should rephrase—where you are concerned, the pointiness would be of the nonlethal variety."

"I'm flattered."

"But are you tempted?"

Varric had to make a conscious effort to relax his fingers, which had tightened around Bianca's stock until the knuckles were white. He knew why she had missed, as surely as if her sweet voice had told him. And here he was, stuck between a very hard crossbow and a very pliant elf.

Flash took his silence to mean assent—which Varric would have been hard put to deny.

"Perhaps we should continue this conversation somewhere more private?"

"Don't push your luck." The words came out with a harder edge than Varric had intended; he resented this beautiful elf who had come along to distract Varric and throw his life into turmoil. He had been perfectly happy as Bianca's devoted servant. "Temptation is a long way from action ... and isn't guaranteed to lead to it."

"But it is a start, and as such, I will take it as a good sign."

Flash disappeared into the darkness, leaving Varric to rub his sulking crossbow in a futile attempt to convince her he was still whole-heartedly hers.