The young warrior paced the edge of the swamp, worrying himself sick about the other warden—that pretty elf girl who slept inside Flemeth’s hut.
“Save your energy. She’ll survive,” Flemeth said.
“How do you know? And what if she doesn’t? I saw her take four arrows straight to her chest, and then an ogre hit her with a giant spear and, oh, Maker,” the young warrior sobbed, “it was horrible.”
“I’ve seen far greater horrors in my life, and far greater miracles. Save your breath.”
“But how do I know that you and Morrigan aren’t doing— things— nasty, evil, witchy things to her? Why won’t you let me see her?”
“Haven’t you ever learned that patience is a virtue?” Flemeth suppressed a smile. The young man reminded her of his father. How fitting she rescue Maric’s son at the moment Loghain betrayed Maric’s line. A promise made. A promise kept.
Maric’s son squared his shoulders, he planted his feet, and drew himself up to his full height. “I insist you let me see her. She is the last Grey Warden in Ferelden beside myself. And that— that means I am her commander. I must know of her status.” As an afterthought, Maric’s son pointed his finger at her in an attempt to punctuate his demand.
The sight of him made Flemeth throw back her head and laugh. “Do you plan on filling your father’s shoes?”
“What?!”
“Oh, you think I do not know who you are?”
The young warrior’s eyes grew wide as his jaw slacked in surprise.
“Yes, yes,” Flemeth said. “The very last of the Great King Calenhad’s bloodline, hidden away from royal life, raised in a monastery. And now he stands before me, a Grey Warden. I know how you were made. I know what powers run through your blood.”
Maric’s son narrowed his eyes.
“And you have every right to be suspicious of me!” Flemeth laughed.
She sauntered toward him, watching how his muscles froze. Was he ready to spring into action or would he run off like a coward, letting history slip through his fingers with the sands of time.
Flemeth stood toe to toe with Maric’s son as she looked him in the eye. “You are a smart boy,” she said. She put her hand on his shoulder. He did not flinch. “Yes, a very smart boy. But will you hurt the one you love most to save what you love?”
Maric’s son frowned at her. “I don’t know what you are talking about.”
“Of course you don’t!” Flemeth dug her fingers into his shoulder as she laughed. “No, but you will.”
She leaned forward, pressing her lips to his, remembering the time when she was a young, beautiful woman. He gasped, but he did not pull away. She lingered on his bottom lip, firmly kissing it. She pulled away.
His eyes were as round as saucers. He said nothing.
Flemeth/Alistair, Sands of Time, PG
“Save your energy. She’ll survive,” Flemeth said.
“How do you know? And what if she doesn’t? I saw her take four arrows straight to her chest, and then an ogre hit her with a giant spear and, oh, Maker,” the young warrior sobbed, “it was horrible.”
“I’ve seen far greater horrors in my life, and far greater miracles. Save your breath.”
“But how do I know that you and Morrigan aren’t doing— things— nasty, evil, witchy things to her? Why won’t you let me see her?”
“Haven’t you ever learned that patience is a virtue?” Flemeth suppressed a smile. The young man reminded her of his father. How fitting she rescue Maric’s son at the moment Loghain betrayed Maric’s line. A promise made. A promise kept.
Maric’s son squared his shoulders, he planted his feet, and drew himself up to his full height. “I insist you let me see her. She is the last Grey Warden in Ferelden beside myself. And that— that means I am her commander. I must know of her status.” As an afterthought, Maric’s son pointed his finger at her in an attempt to punctuate his demand.
The sight of him made Flemeth throw back her head and laugh. “Do you plan on filling your father’s shoes?”
“What?!”
“Oh, you think I do not know who you are?”
The young warrior’s eyes grew wide as his jaw slacked in surprise.
“Yes, yes,” Flemeth said. “The very last of the Great King Calenhad’s bloodline, hidden away from royal life, raised in a monastery. And now he stands before me, a Grey Warden. I know how you were made. I know what powers run through your blood.”
Maric’s son narrowed his eyes.
“And you have every right to be suspicious of me!” Flemeth laughed.
She sauntered toward him, watching how his muscles froze. Was he ready to spring into action or would he run off like a coward, letting history slip through his fingers with the sands of time.
Flemeth stood toe to toe with Maric’s son as she looked him in the eye. “You are a smart boy,” she said. She put her hand on his shoulder. He did not flinch. “Yes, a very smart boy. But will you hurt the one you love most to save what you love?”
Maric’s son frowned at her. “I don’t know what you are talking about.”
“Of course you don’t!” Flemeth dug her fingers into his shoulder as she laughed. “No, but you will.”
She leaned forward, pressing her lips to his, remembering the time when she was a young, beautiful woman. He gasped, but he did not pull away. She lingered on his bottom lip, firmly kissing it. She pulled away.
His eyes were as round as saucers. He said nothing.
“Yes. Oh, yes. You’ll do.”