When I Look at You (a Dragon Age fanfiction)

Morrigan

"'Here no longer'?" Alistair broke in, feeling that as the senior Grey Warden of the party, he should try and take back some of the momentum. "Did you take them? You must be some kind of ..." he looked for appropriately crushing words, "sneaky witch-thief!" 'Sneaky witch-thief'?! Great, Alistair. Way to sound intelligent.

"How very eloquent," Morrigan purred. She looked back at Una, clearly not seeing Alistair as a viable conversational partner. "How does one steal from dead men?"

"Quite easily, it seems. Those documents are Grey Warden property, and I suggest you return them," Alistair said before Una could respond.

"I will not, for 'twas not I who removed them," said Morrigan, and Una could see a flash of irritation in the other woman's eyes. "The Grey Wardens have no authority here. I am not threatened." She looked pointedly at Una, waiting.

"There are four of us, heavily armed and armored," Jory put in. "Does that not threaten you?"

Morrigan glanced briefly, contemptuously, at Jory, before looking back at Una, her eyes challenging.

Not sure what game was being played, but sensing that being direct was the way to go, Una asked, "Where have the papers gone?"

"My mother has them."

"Your mother?"

"Do you imagine I sprung from a mushroom? Or, perhaps, a toad?" Una noticed that all three men took a step back at the mention of toads. Morrigan looked amused. "If you wish, I will take you to my mother. 'Tis not far from here, and you may ask her for your papers, if you like."

Una looked at Alistair. He frowned, looking around at the shadowy, overgrown wilderness. "We need those treaties, but I mistrust this ... Morrigan's sudden appearance. It's too convenient."

When it appeared no further decision-making was forthcoming from Alistair, Una turned back to Morrigan. "Why are you interested in helping us?"

Morrigan seemed surprised by the question. "Why not?" she asked after a moment, shrugging. "I do not meet many people here. Are you all so mistrustful?"

"I say we go with her," Una said.

"She'll put us all in the pot, she will," Daveth said, sending a surprisingly rabbity glance toward Morrigan. Una had thought he was a bit braver than that, actually, but sometimes magic undid the most stalwart hearts, she reflected. Her old friend Ser Gilmore had never flinched in a fight, but the mere mention of maleficar had him reaching for his lucky rabbit's foot in a panic. Poor Rory, Una thought, remembering the last time she'd seen him, stalwartly defending the doors of the castle. That rabbit's foot hadn't helped him in the end.

"She'll cook us for supper!" Daveth's strident voice brought her back to the present.

Jory snapped, "If the pot's warmer than this forest, it'll be a nice change."

"Suit yourselves," Morrigan said. She turned away, as though it didn't matter to her if they followed her or not. Una was pretty sure that was an act, but she followed anyway, hearing the clanking of the men's armor as they brought up the rear.

Morrigan led them to a little cobbled-together hut in the midst of the Wilds, where an old woman waited, her eyes glittering and shrewd in her wrinkled face.

"Greetings, Mother," Morrigan said. "I bring before you four Grey Wardens who—"

"I see them, girl," the old woman said, her voice forceful. She looked them over with a piercing glance. "Hm. Much as I expected."

"Are we supposed to believe you were expecting us?" Alistair asked, sounding amused. Una thought he sounded incredibly sexy, too, which surely wasn't right for this time and place. Oh, Una, you foolish girl, she chided herself. Turning back to the older woman, she surprised a raised eyebrow and a small smile, as though the woman knew exactly what she'd been thinking. Una's estimation of these women, and thus her sense of the potential danger of the situation, went up a notch.

"You are asked to do nothing, least of all believe," said the older woman sharply to Alistair. "Shut one's eyes tight or open one's arms wide. Either way, one's a fool."

Una looked at the old woman with renewed interest. It was a paraphrase, but the sentiments were those of her favorite general, Lord Eidric Cairados. His Treatise on Warfare had been the most well-worn book on her shelf.

"She's a witch, I tell you," Daveth hissed. "We shouldn't be talking to her."

"Quiet, Daveth. If she's really a witch, do you want to make her angry?" Jory snapped. It was the most useful thing he'd said yet, Una reflected.

"There's a smart lad," said the old woman, in a tone that indicated that neither Daveth nor Jory held any interest for her. "Sadly irrelevant to the larger scheme of things." What did she mean by that? Alistair thought. He'd think of those words again later that night, and wonder what the old apostate had seen in the men's futures. "But it is not I who decides," the old woman continued. "Believe what you will. And what of you?" She stepped forward, a new interest in her voice, looking up into Una's eyes. Again, Una felt the power of the other woman's gaze and knew that her thoughts were being read. "Does your woman's mind give you a different viewpoint? Or do you believe as these boys do?" She waited for the answer.

Una met the older woman's gaze without flinching. As directness had worked with the daughter, so, she suspected, it would work with the mother. "I'm not sure what to believe."

"An answer that contains more wisdom than it implies," said the older woman, but the regard of her eyes on Una changed, becoming deeper, though somewhat less piercing. "So much about you is uncertain," she went on, stepping closer to Una. "And yet I believe— Do I? Why, it seems I do." Her upraised eyebrow and the faint hint of a smirk dared Una to ask what she'd meant.

"Is it true, then? Are you a Witch of the Wilds?" Alistair asked, breaking into the moment between the two women.

"'Witch of the Wilds'," the old woman scoffed. "Morrigan must have told you that. She fancies such tales, though she would never admit it. Oh, how she dances under the moon!" She threw her head back and laughed, doing a creditable impression of a crazy old Wilder woman, but Una was not fooled. Morrigan, meanwhile, dropped her head into her hands and groaned in embarrassment. Una sympathized. Her own mother had made her feel like that on many occasions.

"They did not come to listen to your wild tales, Mother," Morrigan protested.

The old woman sobered. "True. They came for their treaties, yes?" She looked at Alistair. "Before you begin barking, your precious seal wore off long ago." She went into her hut, returning with a sheaf of papers. "I have protected these," she said, handing them to Una.

"You did?" Alistair asked in surprise.

"And why not?" The arch look and the smirk faded from the old woman's face, and she looked deeply into Una's eyes. "Take the treaties to your Grey Wardens and tell them this Blight's threat is greater than they realize."

"How do you know?" Una asked, disturbed.

"Do I?" The sly secretiveness was back in the woman's eyes. "Perhaps I am just an old woman with a penchant for moldy papers." She laughed again. "Do not mind me. You have what you came for."

"Time for you to go then," Morrigan said sharply and with unconcealed relief.

"Don't be ridiculous, girl," said her mother, and now the private joke in her eyes was hidden from Morrigan as well. "These are your guests."

"Oh," said Morrigan. Reluctantly, she continued, "Very well. I shall ... lead you out of the woods. Follow me." They trooped behind Morrigan as she led them through the wilderness. Reaching the camp, Una turned to thank the other woman, but she had melted into the Wilds. Standing there, Una felt that this wasn't the last time they'd see Morrigan. She wondered under what circumstances the next meeting would be.