Semper Sciens

"A Witch of the Wilds, you say? Those tales are still told to frighten your children?" the woman asked mockingly as she slowly descended a ruined flight of stairs.

She was scantily garbed, with only a thin leather harness and maroon shawl covering her breasts. A durable-looking kilt made of belts covered the lower half of her body and she wore boots that ended higher than the rim of the kilt.

Her raven-coloured hair was tied up into a bun and held in place using hairpins that the Warden recruits would swear were made of bone. She had golden eyes that were tastefully accented by a deep purple eye-shadow, the same colour her lips were painted.

"What are you doing here? This tower is Grey Warden territory," Alistair called out, his tone challenging and seemingly unperturbed by how revealing the woman's clothes were.

"Grey Wardens? I see nothing but ruins and wilderness," the unidentified woman exclaimed haughtily, "And the wilds are mine." The emphasis she placed on the last word taunted those assembled to dispute her claim.

"We should leave," Alistair muttered in an aside to those in his charge. "Chances are she's a maleficar."

"Ooh, and you believe I shall come swooping down upon you?!" the woman theatrically mocked.

"Yeeees," Alistair responded, drawing the word out as he narrowed his eyes, warily following her movements. "Swooping is bad."

The supposed witch made a dismissing gesture, "I am not interested in the long forgotten bones that lie buried here. Instead, my curiosity was piqued by a small group that disturbed ashes that have lain still for ages and cloven through a sizable arm of the darkspawn scouts."

She had reached the bottom of the stairs now, and was subjecting the group to a sharp analytical gaze, her eyes drinking in information. "These menfolk seem to have rendered their judgement upon me. But what do you women think? Surely you must be more intuitive."

Elisa seemed to have gotten bored of the tension that was heavy in the air, flicking a throwing knife around in her one hand and watching the dancing blade distractedly. "I like your getup," was all she said, shrugging. "Maybe you can teach Circle-girl here that she needn't always wear robes."

Celestine grinned at what Elisa said. Personally she couldn't agree more, but she had yet to get her hands upon more practical clothing. She then took her turn to address the stranger. "My name is Celestine Amell, and I think it's nice to meet something in these wilds that hasn't tried yet to decapitate, defenestrate, or disembowel me."

The woman snorted. "Manners and practicality! Something one rarely sees out here in the Wilds." She did a slight bow, indicating herself. "You may call me Morrigan."

Erik took this opportunity to step forward, having sheathed his sword. he bowed as one would expect when going to a ball in Val Royeaux. "My lady, we are here by request of the Warden-Commander to retrieve some treatises. Would you be able to assist us in this matter?"

This display of courtesy seemed to surprise Morrigan, who replied promptly, "You will not find your documents here."

"Did you take them?" Alistair asked suspiciously, "You must have! You're some sort of.. .sneaky-witch-thief!"

One could hear the roll of her eyes as she responded, "Sneaky-witch-thief, am I? I was not the one that took them -- 'twas my mother."

"Oh." Elisa and Celestine shared a look that conveyed how much they were trying not to laugh as Alistair answered the witch, tone flat.

"If you wish, I can take you to her. She may even be inclined to return them to you," Morrigan said as she turned back and headed up the stairs.

The motley group quickly gathered themselves up and followed her as she disappeared into the undergrowth that surrounded the ruin. Her pale, exposed shoulders caused more than one member of the party to wonder how they had not spotted her earlier among the dark and dank surroundings.

"Should we trust her?" Daveth asked in a low tone. "She may be leading us into a trap."

"Yes," Alistair agreed, nodding, "but it seems Erik and the ladies have curried us some favour…I really should get some lessons on how not to stick your foot in your mouth."

"-for fools," Morrigan called over her shoulder.

The former templar swore, none of them having realised how sharp the witch's hearing was. Celestine was looking at the witch studiously. Finally curiosity got the better of her. "You never denied being a witch; does that mean you're an apostate?"

"My, my, so astute; despite the sheep's clothing you are proving to be quite the amiable acquaintance."

"You still haven't answered," Elisa pointed out, ducking underneath a branch that threatened to swat her in the face as Ser Jory pressed through the growth ahead of her.

"Indeed. Perhaps that is because I wish to avoid the mire of your Chantry's teachings."

"So you are an apostate?" Daveth asked, following the conversation closely.

"If you wish to label me as one of the Divines would have it, as one who does not conform to the teachings of your Circle, then yes. If you judge by the definition of the word, then no - I have never followed the teachings of the Chantry and thus cannot be defined as an apostate."

"You make it so complicated…" Alistair complained.

""Tis not my problem what the limits of your comprehension are, but do you truly believe that people are meant to be easily placed into a box?" she answered, throwing the question out dismissively.

Daveth chuckled, nervous., "If put like that I have known a fair number of 'apostates'."

"Perhaps; I sometimes question how much your supposed 'Maker' is actually involved in the handling of mages. Most of the laws imposed seem to be gross misinterpretations of your Chant."

"You seem to have a substantial grasp of the Chant for someone who claims not to adhere to it," Elisa pointed out.

"'Tis as you say. My mother thought it best I know of these things before venturing beyond the Wilds. Perhaps she was right, perhaps not."

The group continued along the path Morrigan led them on for a short while in silence, until it was broken by Celestine, who had a thoughtful expression on her face. "I, for one, would find your views on the Circle and its teachings enlightening. I have never had the opportunity to hear what those who grew up outside of it believe."

Morrigan gave the Amell an appraising look over her shoulder. "Again you prove not to be the sheep one would take you to be."

"I did not say that I agree with your views, but yes, if I have ever been a sheep, it's been the black one."

The witch did not respond, remaining facing forward as she guided the party on paths that they would never have found without her native knowledge.

~o~

The shrubbery finally gave way to an increasingly widening path, which eventually opened up into a clearing where a rickety-looking house stood at the edge of a large submerged section of the bog. Standing in front of the house was an elderly woman wearing a plain dress, but her features were far too sharp and calculating to be those of a normal woman of such advanced years.

Morrigan walked up to her nonchalantly, greeting as she approached. "Mother, I bring visitors."

"I have eyes girl, I can see that." Her tone was as condescending as Morrigan's own and had another, sharper, undercurrent. She turned to address the newcomers, treating each to a penetrating gaze, "And what brings such august company to visit a poor old woman such as myself?"

"Are you also a Witch of the wilds?" Ser Jory asked challengingly.

"Witch of the Wilds?" the woman asked laughing, "You must have been listening to my dear Morrigan. Oh how she dances under the moon." The woman laughed again.

"Mother," Morrigan rebuked, clearly annoyed at her mother's antics, "These Grey Wardens did not come to listen to your tales."

"Grey Wardens? Then you must have come for the old treatises." All humour disappeared from the woman's eyes.

"Yes," Alistair acknowledged, gesturing to himself and the others, "I am Alistair, these are Daveth and Ser Jory. The two beauties are Elisa and Celestine, then bringing up the rear there we have Erik and we would be grateful for any assistance you can offer us."

The woman laughed, "So courteous." But then her mien grew stern once more. "And indeed, this old woman can assist you."

"Why should we trust her?" Daveth hissed, "She could be a maleficar! They say witches steal men and children from surrounding villages."

"Bah!" the woman exclaimed. "As if I had nothing better to do."

"Pardon me, my lady," Erik addressed, "but you have us at a disadvantage; none of us know what to call you."

The woman fixed him with a look, face unreadable. "Very well," she finally said, "since you asked so nicely, you may call me Flemeth."

"The Flemeth? From the legends?" Alistair asked incredulously.

"I said we couldn't trust her," Daveth said emphatically, his body seemingly itching to flee.

"Ah, more of Morrigan's tales no doubt," Flemeth said, laughing again, "She fancies such things."

At this Morrigan shot Daveth a venomous look. Elisa and Celestine had been watching the whole exchange in silence; finally the Cousland spoke up. "Daveth, drop it. We need those treatises, or would you prefer to report failure at our first task to the Commander?"

The former thief muttered something to himself, but stepped back from the group to exclude himself from the exchange.

"As ever, it is a woman who is the voice of reason," Flemeth said approvingly, then turned to Celestine to address her. "And what of you?"

"So far, I don't know what to think."

"An admission behind which there is more wisdom than in most," Flemeth stated, then nodded sagely. "Always be Ignorant," her expression changed to a thoughtful one, "or is it Aware? I can never remember."

"Mother." The exasperation coating Morrigan's statement could have been used to drown a man.

"Yes, you did not come to listen to an old woman prattle," Flemeth said nodding. "Morrigan, fetch these travellers the treatises; you know where they are."

Morrigan turned to enter the house, briskly climbing the rickety stairs that led to the entrance and leaving the Wardens alone with the old woman.

"Not to look a gift horse in the mouth, but why would you help us?" Alistair asked, his eyes narrowing in their characteristic manner.

"Child, the Blight must be ended, or not even someone as powerful as I shall be able to endure. This is only the beginning."

~o~

"Sergeant!" an authoritative voice called out over the bustle of the camp.

Hawke looked up from where she had been sitting, strapping on her greaves. "Yes, Corporal?"

"You've been re-assigned for the coming battle; you'll be with me and a platoon, defending the Tower of Ishal." The officer speaking was a woman with flaming ginger hair; her face was set in a stern expression, leaving no room for argument.

"Yes Ser," Hawke affirmed, bowing her head as she pressed fist against her chest.

The woman nodded at the gesture and handed Rana a rolled up piece of parchment. "Have someone deliver this to the kennels as well. We need the hounds to be prepared."

Sorana took the paper, inspecting it for any clues to the contents. But it was closed with a wax seal so she pushed it up the sleeve of her gauntlet, stowing away her curiosity with it. "As you say, Sir."

The woman nodded again, and marched further into the camp. Sorana, looking around, realised that she had nothing more to do for the moment, and decided to visit the Kennels herself.