Chapter 3 - The Best Choice
Thorin finished filling his water skin and headed back toward their makeshift camp, eyeing the clouded sky with a worried frown. He sent a silent prayer to Aulë, creator of the dwarves, to intercede with the Lord of the Skies and ask him to keep away the rains for a little longer. If the roads became muddy, they would lose what slim chance they had of being back in time to save Nathaniel's life.
While he'd been gone, Carver had built a good fire, taking care to place Nathaniel's stretcher close enough for warmth. The archer had hardly opened his eyes in the two days since they had left the broodmother's lair. Most of the time he was unconscious, awakening only occasionally to accept some water, which he swallowed with a pained grimace. He looked gaunt and hollow, with deep, violet shadows under his eyes, his cheeks sunken and his lips chapped and dry. Thorin sighed. If it wasn't for his Warden constitution, he'd be dead already.
"We should press on." Carver spoke abruptly, his face sullen, his eyes dark with despair. "Every minute we waste sitting here-"
"It's no use trying to find our way in the dark with a stretcher." Thorin made an effort to sound gentle.
Carver had reined in his initial almost hysterical reaction to Nathaniel's injury, but he had hardly said a word during their journey, his fists tight around the grips of the stretcher, his face shuttered and grim. He's still very young, Thorin reminded himself. But then, no matter how old he got himself, he would never get used to losing friends, family, people he loved. For a moment the pain flamed up again in his chest as the images returned: Fili, run through by a goblin's sword, Kili's head smashed by a mace, both of his beloved nephews dead before their time, because they had tried to save him.
Nathaniel moaned feebly, tossing his head from one side to the other. Thorin reached inside his pack for the last of the healing potions they had brought. They had fed them all to Nathaniel, drop by drop, hoping and praying they would have some sort of effect. At least they seemed to alleviate his pain a little.
He was about to suggest they put up a tent for the night when a rustling noise at the edge of the trees made him start. Yet as he reached for his weapon, he heard a familiar voice call out to him.
"Thorin. Carver. Hold back. It's me, Anders." And indeed the tall silhouette of the mage in his pauldroned robes was unmistakable.
"Anders?" The surge of hope in Carver's voice made Thorin wince in sympathy. "Oh please, you have to help him."
"Shhh, I'll handle it, don't you worry." Anders' breezy smile quickly turned into a frown at the sight of Nathaniel's prone body. "Maker, Nate! Don't you dare..." He sank to his knees, his hands already lighting up with a healing aura. "Right, Carver, please hold him for me. And help me take off his armour, yes, just like that. Thorin, get me some fresh water, will you?"
He didn't even turn his head as he spoke, but Thorin didn't hesitate. When he returned with a bowl of water moments later, they had removed Nathaniel's chest piece and shirt, baring his bruised and battered torso to the cool evening air. Anders cursed under his breath, but set to healing him immediately. It was a lengthy and strenuous process, and the mage's face turned pale, tiny droplets of sweat appearing on his forehead. Twice Nathaniel arched up from the stretcher, crying out in pain, and at one point Anders had to pause to down a lyrium potion.
Finally he sat back, washing his hands in the water bowl and glancing affectionately down at his patient who looked a lot less pale and drained. "That's it. He's no longer in immediate danger. It was a close call, though."
Carver bit back a sob, and Thorin nodded, looking at the mage in awe. "It's a good thing you came to meet us. But tell me, how did you get here so fast? There's no way-"
"Oh, there are a number of ways, believe me." Anders smiled a tired smile. "Velanna arrived at the Keep a few hours ago. She was pretty frantic, insisted it was urgent, so I took a shortcut through the Fade." Seeing the stunned expressions on their faces, he shook his head. "Look, this is not something I do on a daily basis. I couldn't have done it without Velanna's help, nor without an existing bond..." Looking down at Nathaniel's pale, silent face, the mage swallowed hard.
Thorin averted his gaze, aware of what remained unsaid and why. Anders rose with a sigh, his hand resting briefly on Carver's back. "I need to rest a while, and then do some more healing before he's fit to travel. You should get some sleep too."
Sigrun kept telling herself that she was not the type of girl to sit around pining for her absent lover, worrying about his fate. She had enough tasks to keep her occupied until the patrol returned, and they wouldn't be here any earlier if she spent all her time gazing wistfully out of the window, wishing they were here.
Still, she found she couldn't quite focus on whetting her dagger or sorting her collection of poisons. If she could at least talk to Velanna, learn more about what had befallen them down in the Deep Roads. But the elven mage had withdrawn to her room to rest, utterly exhausted by her wild rush to get back to the Keep, and drained from the complicated spell that had sent Anders off on his rescue mission.
Probably drained in the literal sense of the word. Sigrun knew Velanna had dabbled in blood magic, and she had never heard of a spell that powerful being achieved by normal means. Yet Megan hadn't batted an eyelash when Anders had suggested it. If it was the only way to save Nathaniel...
Not that she blamed the Commander. If it had been Thorin's life in the balance, she would have done the same. Sigrun was no romantic and didn't believe in fanciful professions of undying love, but at the same time she didn't give her heart away easily. And if she did, she meant it.
There was a commotion down in the hall, and before she knew it, she was on her feet, rushing down the stairs. Yes. They were back.
Megan was kneeling on the floor, next to Nathaniel's stretcher, joy and concern warring on her face. "Will he be alright, Anders? No lasting damage?"
"Of course he will." Anders' face bore a curious mixture of pride and longing as he looked at them. "You know I've got the touch."
Sigrun spared a glance for Nathaniel, relieved to see a smile on his face, but at the same time she couldn't help looking out for the one she really wanted to see. And when he appeared in the doorway, tired and blood-spattered, his face lighting up at the sight of her, she forgot all her earlier qualms and threw herself straight into his arms.
"Thorin!" There was so much more she wanted to say, but when his strong arms closed around her, gathering her tight to his chest, and she heard the low rumble of his laughter, she forgot about everything else. She glanced up at him, unable to stop the happy grin spreading across her face. "Come to bed," she mouthed silently at him.
He laughed again, setting her back down on the ground without letting go of her. "Commander? Do I have your leave to clean up and rest?"
Megan barely looked up as she nodded, and they set off without further delay. At the door to the baths, he kissed her, quick and hard, then let go of her with a regretful sigh. "Wait for me in your room, love. I'll be quick."
She smiled up at him. "And once you're finished..."
He gave her a decidedly more predatory look in return. "Once I'm finished I expect a proper welcome home."
Sigrun didn't have to wait for long. Before she even had time to undress, there was a knock on her door, and then he entered. He hadn't bothered with getting dressed again and wore nothing but a towel around his waist. His long hair flowed in damp curls down his back, smoothed back from his forehead. She couldn't suppress a happy sigh at the sight of him, and from his smug expression she knew he had heard it. But by the Stone, how she had missed his body, the hard planes of his chest, covered in a fine sheen of dark hair, the tattoos emphasizing the taut muscles of his upper arms, his toned stomach.
"Well?" Thorin was obviously way past the point where he wanted to waste time on banter. Without hesitation, he pulled her into his arms, moulding her body close to his, letting her feel just how much he wanted her. The room seemed suddenly far too warm, and she scrambled to undo the buttons on her tunic while she raised her lips to his, begging silently for his kiss. He didn't need to be asked twice. His mouth was hard and demanding on hers, his hand on the back of her head holding her firmly and decisively.
"Sigrun." As he let go of her lips, a shudder ran through his whole body. "Tell me you're mine."
"All yours." She smiled to herself as she indulged his whim.
Thorin had turned out to be far more possessive than she had expected. Yet, she didn't mind, even though it was unusual for Wardens to be so exclusive in their affections. And her past in Dust Town certainly hadn't predisposed her to be faithful to one man only. But Thorin... As she felt him hard against her stomach, his hot, calloused hands sliding up under her tunic, she couldn't imagine why she should ever want another man again. No other man could make her feel like that, burning hot with desire for him, his body, his lips, his touch. No other man could ever satisfy the urgent craving building up in her body, the need to be filled, to be completed, to be made whole by him. No other-
There was another knock on the door, hard and businesslike, followed by the crisp voice of Captain Garevel, who commanded the Keep's Guard. "Wardens. The Commander asks you to come into her office. She has urgent matters to discuss with you."
Sigrun could have killed the man. And the Commander, while she was at it. What on Thedas had possessed Megan to summon them now? Thorin's exasperated groan told her he felt much the same. Reluctantly, they let go of each other, not bothering to hide their frustration.
"This is not over." Thorin's eyes were stormy as he grabbed a few pieces of clothing from the chest he kept in her room. "I have a few urgent matters of my own to attend to later."
When they arrived in Megan's quarters, they found her seated at Nathaniel's side, perched on the armrest of the comfortable chair he was reclining in. He looked weak but much improved, and he greeted them with a warm, genuine smile.
"Thorin. And Sigrun." Megan jumped to her feet to greet them, then paused, regarding their grim faces in genuine confusion until understanding dawned in her eyes. "Oh Maker. I'm sorry, both of you. I didn't think-"
Nathaniel chuckled quietly. "Just because I am out of action, Meg, doesn't mean others feel the same."
The Commander actually blushed. "Please forgive me. I... I only wanted to thank you, Thorin. Carver and Nathaniel told me about the battle, and how you saved them all with your resolute action. I am eternally grateful to you." Her face was more earnest than he had ever seen it.
"I did my duty, Commander, nothing more." He felt flustered by her praise.
Megan smiled. "That's one way of looking at it. However..." She walked over to her desk and picked up a letter. "There's one other thing I need to talk to you about. This is a message from King Bhelen Aeducan, the dwarven king of Orzammar."
Sigrun and Oghren had explained the workings of the dwarven government to Thorin and he knew Bhelen owed his throne in no small measure to Megan's timely intervention, given in return for his support during the Blight.
"Bhelen has sent me a formal request, asking the Wardens of Ferelden to send an official ambassador to Orzammar. Which is a splendid idea, no doubt." Megan made a face. "But who can I send?" She sighed. "Nate could do it. He has the training and the presence to stand up to King Bhelen and his nobles, and they would respect his name, but I need him here."
Thorin nodded. It was more than obvious how close she and the archer had become lately and how hard put the Commander would be to let him go.
Megan sighed and ran a hand through her unruly mop of hair, tousling it further. "Besides, whoever goes will have to stay underground for months, maybe years. Only a dwarf can handle that, and I can hardly ask Oghren."
Thorin bit back a smirk. He couldn't recall ever seeing Oghren sober enough to keep up a civil conversation. Imagining him in a diplomatic setting was... disquieting, to say the least. "So you would send Sigrun?" Not that he wanted her to leave.
"They would never accept her." Megan glanced apologetically at Sigrun, who shrugged, not seeming particularly offended. "One glance will tell them she's a duster, hardly worthy of their notice at the best of times. Besides, she joined the Legion of the Dead when she left Orzammar. As far as the dwarves there are concerned, she's dead and it's bad manners for her to still be breathing. No, Thorin. I think you are by far the best choice."
Hugs and thanks to heretherebdragons for another awesome beta job!
