Into the Woods (a Dragon Age fanfiction)

Can't You See

Jennie couldn't remember being so tired, not in a long time. Really, not since Ostagar had a battle so sapped her energy and made her long so for the relief of the Fade. She pitched in to help clean up the camp, bind wounds, and leave the area around Flemeth's small and shrunken body clear for Morrigan, who knelt over her mother without moving. Was she gloating over her victory, mourning her lost mother? It was impossible to tell, and until Morrigan gave any indication of what her wishes or needs might be, Jennie couldn't summon the energy to care.

Likewise, she avoided Fergus, and Varric, as well. As long as she could hold this bubble of work and weariness around her, with no need to think about what had been or what would be, nothing would disturb the sudden calm and quiet that had settled over the forest. It seemed the others mostly felt the same way—she could see that Fenris and Isabela had placed themselves on the opposite sides of the camp, Fergus made no move toward her, and Varric remained in his tent while Bianca still lay near the fire.

When the swift, long-necked steed appeared in camp, Jennie was shamefully unaware of it until it was practically under her nose. She leaped aside to avoid being run into, and was ready to yell at Zev for being so careless—conveniently forgetting that she had only been surprised because she had let her attention lapse—when he leaped to the ground in front of her and she caught sight of his face. One look at that set, stony countenance and a sinking sensation in her gut told her more than she wanted to know.

"Arthur?" she asked quietly, not wanting her voice to carry to where Morrigan still knelt. The witch hadn't even looked up when Zev arrived in camp, which led Jennie to wonder if Morrigan was in the midst of casting some sort of spell over her mother's dead body.

Zev nodded. "And Anders."

Jennie didn't even need to ask whether Anders was injured or injuring. The sinking sensation in her stomach told her what must be. "Did he— Is Oghren all right?"

"He will be, once the petrification wears off completely." Zev gave a perfunctory half-smile. "Our dwarven friend would, naturally, have made a joke regarding hardness at this point."

"I'll assume it," Jennie said dryly. "What do we do?"

"Someone must tell her." Zev gestured at Morrigan's bowed head.

"She hasn't moved from that spot in a long while ... I don't know if it's safe to interrupt her." Both of them were watching Morrigan now, and the others were beginning to draw around.

Decisively, Zev strode toward the witch. "There is no time to be lost."

Morrigan looked up as he approached, a sharp remark hovering almost visibly on her lips, but it died before she could speak. Her face, already pale, turned as white as flour, and she swayed as she stood up. "Where is he?"

"Anders has him."

Jennie expected an audible gasp, some expression of shock or surprise from her companions, now gathered closely around, but there was none. Varric looked saddened, Fergus angry, Isabela resigned, Fenris bitter. She hoped he wouldn't say any long, complicated form of "I told you so."

"I will kill him." Morrigan's statement was toneless; a simple fact, with no emotion underlying it. She looked over her shoulder at the body of Flemeth, and Jennie wondered for a moment if Morrigan wished her mother back, if only for long enough to take care of Anders. Then again, the question was less whether Morrigan was powerful enough to kill Anders, even given his unworldly passenger—she undoubtedly was, if killing was called for—but what Anders wanted, or had already done, with Arthur. And that Morrigan could only guess.