When Fate Summons (a Dragon Age fanfiction)

It's Not Over

Exhausted, bleeding, and stunned, they all stood staring at Flemeth's body until the sharp cry of a hawk sounded in the air above them. As the creature touched down she became Morrigan, the feathers falling away in a graceful circle around her.

"What are you all staring at?" the witch snapped. "There is no time to waste. You, you, and ..." She pointed at Anders and Anawyn, and then her face softened as she looked at Cybele, whose wide eyes were fixed on her mother. "You. Please." Cybele smiled shyly. "We must burn her. At once."

Anders looked up from where he bent over Jens. The big man was surrounded by a spreading pool of blood. "You'll have to do this without me. He'll die if I leave him."

"Fine," Morrigan said. She looked at the two girls. "You both know how to do a flame blast, yes?" They nodded. "It is most important that you maintain the flame until the body has been completely consumed. Do not think about what you are doing, just do it."

Anawyn and Cybele shared a look. They focused their eyes on Morrigan, and on her signal, three flame blasts trained on the body in front of them. Anawyn nearly gagged on the smell. She closed her eyes, her face twisted in an effort to avoid the odor.

When nothing lay before them but ashes, Morrigan called to the girls to stop. She looked at them kindly. "You have done good work," she said quietly, her eyes lingering on Cybele's face. Turning to Alistair, Morrigan said, "The ashes must be spread. Far apart. Immediately."

Looking at Morrigan's face, Alistair saw something there he'd never seen before: Morrigan was frightened. Which, frankly, scared him. "Oghren!" he called out, and when the dwarf came over, the two of them started shifting helmetfuls of ashes, scattering them as far apart as they could. Some of the Legionnaires joined in, and shortly, where the body had been, was nothing but a scorch mark in the earth, marking the end of the Witch of the Wilds.

----------

Once Flemeth's body had been burnt, Anders called Anawyn over to him. "Where did you learn how to be a healer?" he asked.

"I ... didn't," she said slowly. One eyebrow quirking disbelievingly, Anders took the little girl's hand and laid it on a bloody gash in a dwarf's arm. Immediately, Anawyn felt a tingle in her fingers, and she could almost feel herself pulling the skin back together. She stared first at the healed arm, and then at Anders. "I never knew I could do that."

"Sure glad ya can, little cave tick," Oghren said, coming back from an ash-scattering trip. "Saved my life."

"Uncle Oghren!" she said, hugging him affectionately.

Oghren grunted under the embrace. "Proud of ya, girl," he said gruffly.

"If you're quite done disrupting my lesson," Anders said in mock irritation, but his eyes rested fondly on both of them.

"What you got to teach, I don't think she needs to know," Oghren said.

"Right. Because I'm the one who's drunk all the time."

"You wish!" And Oghren went off to get some more ashes, chortling.

Anders led Anawyn to the next wounded Legionnaire, a red-headed dwarf with burns over most of his back and arms, and they went on together, Anders showing the little girl various healing techniques, until all the wounded were resting comfortably.

----------

When the ashes had been cleared and the wounded tended to, the Legionnaires approached Thora, who had at last recovered from Flemeth's ice spell.