Forage

Chapter 1: In Which Morrigan Fails to Acquire a Handglass

Summary: What if, instead of a mirror, Morrigan found another girl in the noblewoman's carriage? Follow a young Witch and her captors to the edge of the Wilds. AU.

A/N: I don't know where the idea came from, and I really only have vague notions as to where it's going. Join me, and we shall have a merry adventure!

The carriage wheels grated on Morrigan's ears. The sound was as out of place in the Korcari Wilds as a horde of circus performers would have been. She had been trying to study a raven, to learn its mind and therefore its shape, but the clack-clack and the clomping of the horse hooves ruined her concentration. She could have moved — there was another clutch three miles south — but she wouldn't. Not for some intruder.

The rumbling of the carriage stopped, abruptly. The raven Morrigan had been studying cocked its head to the side and, with one low moan, took flight. The girl whipped her head towards the direction of the road, but there was no way she could actually make out anything of the foreigners through the forest canopy. The young witch dropped from her perch on a pine bough to the spongy ground twenty feet below, shifting into the form of a wolf pup in free fall. When she landed, it was on all fours.

"His shoe is split." An older elf, with a peppered beard, murmured. He cupped the foot of his horse — stupid, chained, trapped beast — in his delicate hands. "Maker's hairy balls."

"That is hardly fitting language."

A woman descended the steps of the carriage and Morrigan's breath caught. Her dress shimmered deep blue or pale lilac, depending on the angle of the sunlight. Flowers ran across the skirt, embroidered with a thin gold thread and detailed to perfection. The bodice was a latticework of red crystal and cream-colored ribbons. Large, clear stones that shimmered rainbow in the light hung around her neck, and her wrists were encircled with bands of gold. She glimmered in the dappled forest light like a glamour charm, and Morrigan was hopelessly enthralled.

"M'Lady Cecilie." The footman said, his voice hoarse, "You don't know what goes on in these woods. We would be lucky to make it out without trouble while riding as fast as the horse could carry us. With his shoe split..."

They would surely die. Morrigan knew it for a fact, and from his ashen complexion it was obvious that the elf knew, as well. At least he was intelligent. The woman, however beautifully dressed, was too stupid to live. Outsiders should never enter the wilds, and especially not without any sort of guard. Morrigan vaguely hoped that whatever killed her had the sense not to get the dress bloody. It was lovely.

The young witch darted across the road, crawling undetected under the shadows of the trees as surely as if they were a physical blanket keeping her out of sight. She wanted something of the noblewoman's beauty for herself. A necklace of shining rocks, perhaps, or maybe even some of her clothes. She had never seen anything like that, before, and the sight left her feeling short of breath.

The carriage door was cracked open, so she clambered onto the step and nudged it with her muzzle. She darted inside without pausing to check her surroundings, afraid that the woman or her attendant would see her and panic.

She realized her mistake a second to late. The carriage had not been empty.

A small girl, dressed in a heavy dress of dark green, sat near the window. If she was aware that her short days were numbered, it didn't show. The little redhead was playing with a cloth doll, and singing softly. Her voice was pure, and strong.

Morrigan backpedaled, and her hind leg slipped on the step. She whined before she could help herself, and the redhead looked up.

Her face broke into a moronic smile. "Un chiot!" She squealed, and lunged.

Morrigan tried to snarl, but the other girl swept the Witch into her arms and squeezed, hard, and the sound died in her throat. Morrigan might have bitten the girl, if she was thinking clearly, but the panic of being trapped and the desperate need for oxygen swallowed any plans of violence. The redhead cooed a few unintelligible syllables that made Morrigan's hackles rise.

"Oh! How silly of me!" The girl's voice was thick, her words pronounced wrong. Didn't she know she was saying the words wrong? "You are a Fereldan puppy, no? Maker, you are cute!"

Morrigan's legs were flailing, but her paws connected only with air. The girl held Morrigan at arms' length to better look at her, and the witch panted miserably and waited for the spots to clear from her vision.

"I'm going to call you Mr. Schmooples!" The girl announced.

That was enough indignity for one lifetime. The witch twisted, violently, and closed her jaw down on the girl's arm. She gagged on the velvet sleeve before she could do any damage, but the redhead girl still screeched to the Maker above.

Morrigan's world was filled with the sudden feeling of weightlessness, a blur of color, and a silent roar. She collided with something, hard, and her world went dark with a slam.

Morrigan sprang to her feet and clawed at the wood. She was trapped, in a chest of some kind. The terror of being confined was enough to jolt her back into her human form. Once, when she had managed to displease Flemeth—she didn't even remember what she had done, but it must have been bad—the older Witch had locked her in just such a chest for a day and the night that followed it, without any food or water. No one had come to save Morrigan, no matter how loud she screamed. No Maker, or do-gooder. She had been hungry, and terrified, and cramped, and after the first two hours her voice gave out and after the sun set she had started to see shapes in the dark. If there hadn't been a knothole in the side, for her to stare out into the hut through and breathe from, she wasn't sure she would have survived it. She would have gone mad, or her heart given out.

"What is this racket?" An older woman yelled. "Leliana? What in the Maker's name—"

"There was a puppy, and it bit me! I threw it in—"

Someone was screaming, let me out, let me out, please, and Morrigan realized belatedly that it was her.

Light rushed into the world and Morrigan could breathe again. She clambered out of the chest and fought to control her throat. She was not sobbing. Her lungs were just a little messed up, still, from the squeezing.

The squeezing. Morrigan rounded on the redhead. "This little girl grabbed me and shoved me in the box!" She wailed. All despair in the tone, no accusation. Look pathetic and cute, look harmless. "I heard her singing and I thought it was pretty, but..." She let herself cry freely. Crying was fine, if it was for the act. The noblewoman from before was standing at the door of the carriage, her expression unreadable. "She said... she said she wanted my ring as payment for her song, but, 'tis my mother's, so I couldn't, and, and, she attacked me."

Morrigan kept her eyes on the woman's voluminous skirts. They were solidly blocking the door. If she moved, just a foot to the left, Morrigan would run and neither would ever see her again.

"Qu'est-ce?" The girl yelped, her voice incredulous. She started a tirade in Orlesian, and the older lady didn't budge. Her gaze was cold and calculating, and Morrigan realized that she wouldn't be as easily taken by the sight of a whimpering little girl as the human adventurer. Morrigan had no idea how anyone stupid enough to travel through the Wilds without a guard could see through her act.

The miserable redhead finished her rant on a whine. Morrigan couldn't understand what the girl, Leliana, had said, so she couldn't counter it. All she could do was continue her sniveling and hope that the older woman's maternal instinct was more powerful than her brain.

"Where are you from?" The lady asked Morrigan. Her tone was cold, and harsh. The tone of an adult addressing an armed stranger. Not of a grandmother talking to a helpless, maltreated waif. Morrigan swallowed.

"A few miles west. My mother lives by the lake and we grow and fish for a living. 'Tis a simple life, but it suits us. She collects rare medicinal herbs for the Chantry."

The woman's expression didn't change. "What are you?"

"I am but a simple girl!" Morrigan pleaded, willing her eyes to widen in shock at the accusation. "I have never been so terrified in my life!"

"A Witch of the Wilds?" The woman said, her expression still hard.

Oh, sod it. Morrigan shifted into a wolf (Regretful, since it proved the little brat right, but a spider in such close quarters was out of the question. Too easily squished.) and charged for the door, not caring whether or not she had to bite her way through the lady's shimmering gown to get there.

"Orser!" The noblewoman yelled. "Grab rope, and get in here!"

Her footwork was deceptively fast for such an old crone. Her daintily pointed boot connected squarely with Morrigan's head, and the witch was stunned for what seemed like the fourth time that day. When her vision cleared, she was in her human form, bound beyond any hope of escape with some kind of twine. She was placed on the seat of the carriage, and the elf held a blade to her throat. The older woman and her stupid, stupid, wide-eyed little girl were sitting across from her. Stupid elf. Stupid human. Stupid brat. She hoped the Chasined ate them all.

"I am Lady Cecilie." The woman said, her voice deceptively cheerful. "It is a pleasure to have you along, little Witch."

"My name is Morrigan." The girl spat.

"I am offering you a deal, Morrigan." The noblewoman said with a gentle smile. "You get me to the edge of the Korcari Wilds alive, and I let you go."

The ropes were too tight, and that elf was too close with his dagger. Morrigan bit back a frustrated scream. Leliana regarded her with wide, innocent blue eyes. The Witch bared her teeth, and cackled when the girl recoiled.

"I may have lost my family and my wealth, but I would prefer to make it back to Orlais with my life. And the life of this girl." The older woman continued. "My horse can barely walk. We need protection."

"You wouldn't kill a little girl." Morrigan said, and tried her best to look meek and pathetic. She wasn't very good at it.

"You are not a little girl." The noblewoman said evenly. "You're a maleficar at best, a demon at worst. It would be foolish not to kill you."

The redhead made a small sound of protest, but the older woman cut her off.

"I am a generous woman. If you see us to the edge of the woods, you may keep your life. Do so without struggling, and I may not even tell the Templars about you."

Morrigan's gut twisted. She realized, a second too late, that she would be lucky to live through the afternoon. And that Flemeth would most certainly kill her once she found out, even if she did manage to escape the insane woman and her henchman elf.

"Deal." Morrigan said, her voice sounding much stronger than she felt.