"Out of all the foolish things we've done, that would have to be near the top of the list." Alistair's voice was languid and husky with nighttime.

"It is not foolish. There are reasons."

"Let me guess. You're not going to tell me any of them."

Rain splatted against the tent canvas, but none reached them inside. The Dalish Warden had a skill with fashioning and repairing tents that had meant they all slept better. Nor could even the damp cold of the ground bother Alistair since Idun herself was curled up against him beneath their furs, arm looped over him, her voice making gentle reverberations in his chest. There was the welcome warmth of her body, but even beyond this, a hurlock could be chewing his arm off and he wouldn't notice if Idun was flustering in his ear. The flip side of that coin was that her hurts were harder than ever to bear, including the burden of her nightmares. She had mastered them somewhat over the past months, but they were getting worse again. At least he could be there with her rather than watch her anguish from across the camp on his own lonely bedroll. His fellow Warden didn't want to talk about this night's version of the archdemon minstrel show, however. For whatever reason, the topic was Morrigan and some plan of hers to kill her mother.

In the past weeks, the first newness of being lovers had worn off, and Alistair had stopped wondering when Idun was going to laugh, push his hand away, and tell him it had all been a joke or a momentary diversion. That seemed to him more likely than the idea that this person he admired more than anyone since Duncan had chosen him as her lover. Never mind that she was more exotically beautiful to him in battle-stained robes than any coiffed, perfumed lady he had seen in Denerim. That moved "impossible luck" into "if I'm dreaming then Maker let me never wake up" territory.

After the first night Idun invited him into her tent, he had been surprised to discover that the sun still rose, you still laced your boots as you always had, the others in their camp still grumbled and chattered inanely. People were still trying to kill them and there was still a Blight on. None of that had changed, but in and under it all was the awareness that the world had confided in him one of its mysteries. Alistair laced his boots that morning as always, but he did so dizzy at the memory of what they had done, her scent, the memory of her whispers turning to elvish and how much more it excited him that he didn't know what she was saying, and Maker, the feel of her. For however long until it all came crashing down, he was a man like other men, and luckier than many, since the woman he loved was acting an awful lot like she loved him back. The future was too fraught for either of them to talk about much, and Ostagar still stung terribly, but the present was not that bad. It was, in fact, a hell of a lot of fun.

Even now as they talked of serious matters, Alistair's mind was doing double duty, casually wandering over the carnal possibilities like a man standing before a rack of fine cheeses. It may have been because he had woken to find her breast cupped in his hand. Releasing it, he slid the hand around to her back and forced his mind to take charge of his rioting body. It was one of the few things he appreciated about his templar training, that he had learned to focus his mind and assert mental discipline. The fact that he used these skills as lover to a Warden mage brought a sly smile to his lips. What would the temple priestesses say to that? For now, he needed to think about Morrigan and Flemeth, as unappealing as the subject was. Idun was stuck on it and there was something about the way she talked about it that nagged at him. Alistair looked at Idun's face in the soft, amber light coming from her mage staff in the corner. His finger traced up over her tattoo, following its lines. It was testament to how far they had come that he now found other women's faces bland without such ornament.

Bringing his mind back to her words, Alistair finally registered what she had said and didn't bother to disguise his skepticism about it. "She wants you to kill Flemeth. The Flemeth, who eats wild Chasind for breakfast." And it was all as a favor to Morrigan? That was not good enough reason to delay lunch, let alone march through miles of freezing cold and dangerous bogs to confront an ancient witch. At present they were heading into the Frostbacks on their way to Orzammar, but planning what to do afterward. Idun hoped to conclude their business with the dwarves quickly enough to be back through the mountains before the heavy snows. Alistair voted to go from there straight back to Redcliffe to confer with Eamon. Idun was insisting that they make a detour into the Korcari Wilds.

"You shouldn't come with me, so if you'd prefer, we can leave you in Redcliffe and I'll go on alone with a few of the others."

"That is not going to happen, I assure you." His tone was light but had an irritated edge. This was a discussion they had often. Occasionally Alistair agreed that it was prudent that the Wardens split up for dangerous missions. If one of them fell, the other remained to either see their task through, or at least to make it into Orlais and warn the other Wardens. It still rankled him, however. The memory of being shielded by Duncan for his birthright was too sharp and alive in his mind.

"You don't want to come, and I think it might be for the better," Idun insisted.

Alistair released her, sitting up on one elbow. "Idi, you really think I'm going to let you confront that crazy hag alone, no matter how nutty I find the whole idea? Not a chance. Anyway, I'd like to hear what she has to say about this little plot of Morrigan's." He chuckled at the thought of Flemeth and Morrigan in a magical catfight. The two Wardens did not get a chance to argue further, however, since they were interrupted by Zevran scratching on the tent flap. It was Idun's turn to keep second watch. Alistair reluctantly helped her disentangle herself from the blankets. She leaned over to kiss him, herb-scented hair falling over his cheek. He slid his hand about the back her head and bent up, making the kiss a thorough one.

"Sleep, lethallan'in," Idun murmured, patting his cheek. He slumped back on the furs and watched her as she threw on a few clothes and crawled out of the tent, still half-naked, to finish dressing outside where there was more space.

"Someday I'll be able to pronounce that." He was rewarded with a backwards grin and another few pleasant moments of the rear view before Idun pulled her staff out after her, leaving him in darkness.

Rain coursed down in sheets, but that afternoon the little lake tucked into a hillside in the approach to the Frostbacks had been as picturesque as anything Idun had seen. They had made camp in the pine forest that edged up to the lake's shoreline, the various tents scattered in between the trees. Fenrys, her mabari, lifted his head and whined at the sight of her. Idun crouched down to stroke his head, whispering, "Stay here and watch over Alistair, boy."

The elven woman first made a round through the campsite, checking that all was quiet. There was a lamp lit in Leliana's tent, but Idun did not disturb her. Shadows chased every one of them in the little Warden mercenary band and not all the shadows were shaped like darkspawn. Whatever hunted Leliana, Idun could not tell, but something did. Morrigan's tent was more removed from the others. Idun paused there longer, then turned back towards the lake.

A boulder protruded from the water a few feet out from shore. Idun waded out to it, pulling herself up to make it her watch perch. She often took second watch. Her eyes were best suited to the darkness of any of them, even Zevran who had spent his entire life in cities where the lamplight made them weak. Once, Loghain had valued this trait of her people enough that he used them to fight against the Orlesians. The Night Elves were a terror to the occupying force, and Idun had heard from Varathorn that her own father had supported them while keeper, sending scouts from their clan to join the rebellion. It was a sad irony now that his daughter kept watch for Loghain agents alongside darkspawn, bandits and the occasional wild animal.

An hour or so passed quietly, Idun trying not to think about what had shaken her awake. She had dreamt of a dragon, yes, but it was not the archdemon. It had seemed to be at first, then the dragon turned to her and spoke with Flemeth's voice: "We believe what we want to believe. That is all we ever do." The creature had sounded so sensible, so reasonable, even as it reached out its talons to take- not her, no- to take Alistair. The wet sounds of flesh being torn to pieces and living bone crunching had made her scream noooooo, but the sound had caught in her throat. It was Tamlen all over again and she was as helpless as she was before. Somewhere mid-scream, Idun had woken up in Alistair's arms.

Could Flemeth see her here? Did she somehow know that Alistair meant more to her now than her own life, and was this dream a warning not to grant Morrigan's request to try to kill her and take her Grimoire? Morrigan hoped the book might give her the keys to Flemeth's power so that she could prevent herself from being possessed once the abomination was able to reconstitute herself in another form. It was in this manner that Flemeth had continued her life over the centuries, breeding daughters, training them and taking over their bodies. If she could be killed, that would interrupt the cycle at least for a time.

Flemeth could grasp more in her claws than just Idun's lover. Long ago, the Dalish Warden's clan had made a pact with the witch that if Idun was brought to her, Flemeth would grant them protection in that part of the Korcari Wilds. It was a harsh place even so, but over the years Flemeth had kept her end of the bargain and the Wilds were their refuge of last resort, a place they could run to when relations with local humans got especially hot. If she killed Flemeth, not only would that pact be annulled, the witch might actively hunt the Dalish in retaliation. Morrigan would probably leave them if she refused, but the cost for granting her request was going to be high.

Idun heard splashing and looked up, alarmed that she had allowed her mind to wander while on watch. It was Alistair, however, a blanket slung over his shoulders and his boots laced crookedly, swordbelt in one hand and a whiskey bottle in the other. He tossed the whiskey bottle and sword up to her, then pulled himself up after. Idun smiled, pleased for his company even though it meant neither of them would get much sleep that night.

"What is this?" She sloshed the whiskey bottle.

"I found it."

"In Zevran's pack, I wager." Alistair did not deny it, but Idun laughed and popped the cork, taking a drink. She sighed as the warmth spread from her throat through her body. They were both quiet a moment, listening to the rain, then she murmured something half under her breath. When he asked her to repeat it, she turned her head and repeated, "I lied to you."

A tense silence followed. "Go on," Alistair urged warily.

"I told you that I didn't want to learn blood magic, that I was as unwilling as you were to enter the Chantry. That wasn't really true. I didn't know what I was asking for, but when I asked her for the gift, I knew it would be something like that. She gave me the basis, the rest I learned on my own and from books, but I wanted the power. Maybe I wanted it to do good, or maybe I just wanted it, but I asked her for it and so it's my fault." Idun finished and turned to hand him the whiskey.

"Who are we talking about here, Idi?"

"Flemeth."

"You learned blood magic from Flemeth?" Alistair's voice was searching, trying to find the piece of the puzzle that would make this make sense. "In the Wilds? You were never alone with her while you were awake."

Idun let the rain dripping from her hair fill the silence. Then she told him everything, about the bandits and how she had shapeshifted to escape, Flemeth hearing rumors of this and sending a message to request audience, the pact her clan had made with the witch, and the gift Flemeth had offered the little mage girl. That gift had been an incantation which had allowed her to work out the arts of blood magic to a degree she would not otherwise have been able. "I am the mage I am today because of Flemeth," she heard herself say, voice hollow with guilt. "And she did not do all that out of the kindness of her heart. She wants something from me. Marethari, my keeper, told me as much. 'A being like that does not give but that she takes even more.' I am afraid of what she will ask from me someday."

"What does she want?" To Idun's relief, Alistair's voice contained no judgment, nor rebuke for the fact that she had concealed this from him so long. Just worry.

"I don't know." She turned to look at him, and reached up to touch his cheek. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you. I didn't see a reason to, but it wasn't right all the same."

Alistair paused, then spoke firmly. "So we kill her. Flemeth can't ask anything from you if she's dead, can she? If Morrigan wants this book to defend against her, then take the book for yourself so that you can learn how to do that. You can tell Morrigan you never found it. Maker knows what she would do with it anyway. It is better off in your hands."

Idun had to admit that what he said had merit. She was afraid, but the world was about to end and it was not a time for half measures. Who knows but that the Grimoire might help her fight the darkspawn? Flemeth did seem to know a lot about them, enough to keep the whole Korcari horde at bay for weeks while they ravaged everything around her little hut. Idun nodded grimly. "Alright. We kill her and I keep the Grimoire. It will likely be encrypted, as such arcane tomes often are, but I had some opportunity to study similar texts over the years and I might be able to work it out in time."

Alistair leaned in and kissed her, the taste of rainwater and whiskey mingling between their mouths. Breaking slightly, he murmured, "I won't let anything hurt you. Not ever." He stroked her hair and pressed his lips along one cheek until they found an ear. They were lost in that activity for a few moments before finally separating. For a time they sat quietly, scanning the rain for sounds of any danger, then Alistair spoke up again. "This place is quiet enough that I can almost imagine it is just the two of us here. Someday maybe we could live in a place like this. This very spot, even. I'll build us a cabin over there in the woods. We could raise chickens. No, rabbits. Chickens are too noisy."

"You silly shem." Idun laughed, but inwardly the laughter hurt. He was breaking a rule. They weren't supposed to talk about after. There was no such thing as "after" for the future king of Ferelden and a Dalish blood mage. Running a hand up his leg, she reminded him of this fact, gently. "We have this place now. I won't forget this night."

The words had their effect and Alistair's shoulders sank a little. He uncorked the whiskey bottle and took another drink, more forcefully this time. When he spoke again, it was with an obvious effort to change the subject. "That Flemeth, though. I suppose she's got it coming. If she turns me into a toad, you can turn me back, can't you?"

"Thus speaks the fearless templar." Idun laughed and leaned forward to nuzzle his neck, then slipped her arms around his back and rested her head on one shoulder. As she did so, her eyes fell on Morrigan's figure standing on the shore in the pre-dawn grey. Idun wondered if she had heard any of their conversation. She expected Morrigan either to ignore them or to call across something cutting, but after a moment, the woman raised one hand, haltingly as though unsure of how the gesture was made. For a moment, Idun was too surprised to respond, then she sat up and lifted her hand to return the greeting.

As Idun watched Morrigan bend down to scrub something in the lake water, she couldn't help but think how fragile she looked. The human mage liked to think herself powerful, and she was a good mage, it was true, but not as good as one might expect. Idun had somehow surpassed her though Morrigan had had the benefit of Flemeth's training her whole life. The Dalish mage's mixture of blood magic with regenerative healing was a potent combination, since one could draw on the other, the body's life force being used to power spells while regeneration minimized the drain. Idun speculated that Flemeth must use a similar if much more powerful combination to help the demon sustain her wretched life. Likewise the Warden mage Avernus they had encountered at Soldier's Peak, who even without a demon's possession had kept himself alive for centuries. Yet Morrigan did not have any healing skill apart from what Idun had taught her, nor any but the most basic blood magic. It made sense now, however, that Flemeth had wanted Morrigan powerful but not too powerful.

The thought of Avernus turned over in Idun's head. He had been mad, performing horrible experiments on fellow Wardens, but the results of his research on the Wardens' tainted blood had been intriguing and the evidence of what it could do was plain before them. Avernus was Flemeth without a demon, an abomination who had retained his wits and will. He also had said that his research only scratched the surface of what was possible. Blood magic comes from demons, they could counter everything I tried. But the darkspawn taint, that has power...

"What is it, Idun?" Alistair looked at her worriedly. The elf still stared at Morrigan, but her gaze had turned hard.

"I know what she wants."

"Flemeth, I take it. So what is it? The Grey Warden secret handshake? She'll never get it out of me, I swear." Alistair's attempt to lighten the mood was born more of nervousness than true mirth.

Idun, her mind racing, did not answer. If they tried something, it would likely be after the Wardens had concluded their business in Orzammar. Flemeth did not want the Blight to succeed, but once the armies were gathered the Wardens were not as important. It was why she could not do it when they were in her power for weeks after Ostagar, though no doubt the witch had learned what she could from Idun then. Most likely Morrigan's request was setting the trap. Hadn't the mage said that she and her mother played a game like this with the templars? A little girl to scream and run into the forest, luring the templars to their death. The little girl was screaming again. If they didn't do as Morrigan bid, the two witches would no doubt find some other way. Alistair would be expendable, and Idun... Well, what did demons always want with mages? To consume them.

"Tell me, Idi." Alistair bumped her leg impatiently. "What do you think Flemeth wants?"

"Our blood. She wants our blood. We must be very careful now, Alistair. Especially around Morrigan."