Bloodstone

by DragonSapphire

Baldur believed he had found his purpose as a Grey Warden with a handful of powerful companions at his side to fight against the Blight consuming the Kingdom of Ferelden, but after a failed assassination attempt yields a new ally in the form of the assassin himself, Baldur realizes he never knew himself at all. ***Spoilers for Origins.

10. Berserker

Master Wade refused to release the drake scale armor to Morrigan, wanting to see Baldur in person and make sure the fit was right, even though Baldur wasn't going to stay in Denerim a moment longer to wait for adjustments. Their group of four piled into the blacksmith's shop and Herren didn't bother to greet them, sneering at Baldur as if he were something unmentionable that he had found on the bottom of his boot. The armor was surprisingly lightweight and flexible, the scales shining with a faintly reddish hue. Baldur was used to the clunky heaviness of steel and iron and had to wonder how well the armor would hold up against blows. It would be tested in battle soon enough, but he didn't necessarily want to have to set himself on fire to be assured that the armor would endure against a dragon.

"The drake scales worked better than I imagined, but I just know I'd be able to create a set of truly formidable armor with actual dragon scales!" Wade said wistfully as he assisted Baldur in attaching one greave. "I've already been planning on the next set of armor—"

"What was that?" Herren snapped at them from the front desk. "I certainly hope what I just heard was that you were planning to work on the current commissions that are already a week late!"

Herren inescapably reminded Baldur of a stereotypical miner's wife, loud and abrasive and endlessly critical, and likely withholding connubial duties until their husband was properly contrite. Baldur wondered suddenly if they were indeed lovers, the thought never having occurred to him before, but the way Wade carried on about drake and dragon scales Herren was probably more than a little jealous, if not feeling outright neglected if that were the case. Wade took one of the new drake scale gauntlets before Baldur could put it on and carelessly threw the piece into his fire pit as Baldur squawked in protest.

"The drake scales worked well enough, even though I had to combine them with several other materials to keep the armor from falling to pieces," Wade frowned, fishing the gauntlet out of the fire with a poker and tossing it to Baldur, who caught the piece reflexively, fumbling the gauntlet when he expected to be burned. He was pleasantly surprised when the gauntlet was cool to the touch and - when he rubbed away the soot - was entirely undamaged without even a single singe mark.

"I will do my best to bring you a dragon scale, especially now that I have this armor," Baldur said, feeling much more confident as he slipped on the gauntlet and flexed his fingers experimentally.

"Until then, you have other commissions to work on!" Herren yelled back and Baldur gave Wade a commiserating wince when the master blacksmith rolled his eyes and made a very rude remark under his breath, which Herren undoubtedly heard and chose to ignore, possibly plotting his revenge for a later time. The few silver pieces Baldur had slipped Herren earlier for his troubles may have softened him up a bit, but Baldur wouldn't hold his breath.

"Don't come back if you know what's good for you," Herren hissed as he herded the group out of the shop, eyeing the armor jealously and Baldur even more contemptuously. Baldur knew a false threat when he heard one, knowing that Herren wouldn't dare turn away customers, but not above discouraging Baldur to forget anything he'd ever heard about dragons or their scales.

Herren didn't quite boot Baldur out on his arse after the business exchange was complete, but it was a near thing.

Finally they were ready to leave, resupplied and recharged, even though Baldur had to fight the urge to glance over his shoulder repeatedly as they put Denerim behind them. The Crow's threat was still fresh in his mind, which stirred rumblings of uncontrollable anger in him that he had to quickly smother. They found Shale exactly where they had left it - to Baldur's immense relief and Morrigan's displeasure - and Baldur had to wonder if the golem remembered that it actually wasn't a statue any longer.

"It has returned," Shale said in a rather disappointed tone as it heard their approach, but didn't move from where it stood staring out at the tree line. "I had been hoping it had forgotten."

"Not trying to renege on your agreement are you, golem?" Morrigan asked sharply.

"I won't force you to come with us," Baldur said, more than a little disappointed at Shale's reticence. He wasn't expecting unflagging enthusiasm from each person that joined their party, but he wasn't about to drag anyone along kicking and screaming either if they didn't want to be a part of Baldur's risky endeavor.

"The golem made a deal," Zevran said from where he stood next to Baldur. "It wouldn't be very sporting to go back on your word." His words were light and casual, but his shoulders tensed in a way that meant Zevran would drag Shale along even if he needed a dozen horses to pull the stone giant along behind them to do it.

"So tell me. Why does the swamp witch still travel with the Grey Warden?" Shale shifted the focus on Morrigan, who looked startled at being addressed by the golem and narrowed her eyes suspiciously.

"The 'swamp witch'? How original. You are of the opinion that I should not be?"

"I am curious. It seems as if it has little reason to stay," Shale mused in the way it had of talking over everyone's head, not bothering to make eye contact or turn entirely in their direction.

"The same could be said of you. There is no control rod commanding your presence, golem."

"I have no history, thus no purpose. The same cannot be said for the swamp witch. Its purpose is simply unknown."

"Keep asking questions and I shall turn into a bird," Morrigan threatened casually. "I can do that."

"I have no fear of birds!" Shale exclaimed, scoffing at the very idea.

"Oh, I didn't say you were afraid. I would simply hover out of reach. Hovering...waiting...until..."

"Enough!" Shale shouted, rounding about to face the group but refusing to look at any of them. "I shall be silent."

"Excellent choice."

There was no further question of Shale joining them, and they collectively ventured forth. Baldur wanted to reach the familiar campgrounds about twenty miles from Denerim's gates where they were due to meet Alistair, Sten, and Bastion if their timing was right. Baldur had the opportunity to test his newest armor against a mercenary group, disappointed for the first time ever that there wasn't a fire wielder to test his armor against before Baldur's team dispatched them efficiently. They reached camp in good time with no sign of Alistair yet, which wasn't too worrying since they had left a day earlier than intended after Baldur's confrontation with the Crows.

Zevran took the time to go over his secrets of assassinating with Leliana, their heads hunched close together and voices a low murmur while Baldur led Morrigan a safe distance from camp as Shale followed along curiously. He was glad for the recent rain that would prevent the surrounding foliage to catch on fire, and instructed her to hurl fireballs at him while he tried not to flinch when she acquiesced to the request with unholy delight.

The golem seemed utterly despairing of them.

"The swamp witch has a great deal in common with my former master," Shale noted as it watched Baldur take hit after hit disinterestedly, Baldur's arm raised to cover his eyes through the slits in his helm. "It has the same arrogance. The same air of cruelty. I would hate for it to have possession of my control rod. If it still worked of course."

"Let me tell you what you could do with your control rod, golem," Morrigan said, leveling a spout of flame that enveloped Baldur's entire body with pointed viciousness.

"Is it telling me that if the rod did work it wouldn't want control over me?"

"I wouldn't go so far as to say that," Morrigan replied as the barrage abruptly ended and Baldur was still left standing, hot but not burned, which was exactly what he'd been hoping for. Wade was indeed a miracle worker. "I could, for instance, command you to jump in a lake. A very deep lake."

"It fools no one. The swamp witch would control everything if it could. It would have us all dancing on its strings."

"You know me too well, golem. Your revealing gaze has laid me bare," Morrigan conceded, her voice thick with mockery.

"I will be watching the swamp witch. It must not be trusted."

Baldur signaled to Morrigan that he'd had enough, and she allowed the fireball forming in her hand to extinguish with a disappointed frown while he went to cool off and gulp down some water.

He heard the familiar baying of his war hound before he saw the small pair of figures approaching their camp in the distance and gave a shout that had Zevran and Leliana taking up arms and then relaxing when they realized what had caught Baldur's attention. Bastion barreled towards him with high, happy yips and Baldur dropped to one knee, opening his arms to catch the massive dog that leapt straight onto him and knocked him flat on his back. Baldur laughed loudly when Bastion's giant front paws pinned him down by the shoulders as his mabari slobbered all over him, the dog absolutely beside himself.

"I missed you too, you great mutt," Baldur said, getting an arm free to brace against Bastion's massive chest and push the dog back so he could sit up, scratching at his short, coarse fur and murmuring to him in nonsense Khudzul.

"Mm. Do I get my own greeting like that from you, Alistair?" Zevran asked as the Grey Warden in the company of a large, white-haired qunari approached, both of them looking blood-splattered and weary but whole. Alistair's arm was no longer in a sling, and he didn't seem to be favoring the appendage, to Baldur's great relief. His broken arm had put Alistair out of commission for a while and Baldur was glad to have his brother-in-arms back at his side again.

"Ugh. You're still here?" Alistair complained, making a face even as he allowed Zevran to draw him into a one-armed embrace, patting his back companionably.

"How is it that the dog gets to cuddle you and slip Baldur tongue, yet whenever I try I get rebuffed? I'm starting to think that I may be the mongrel in this group."

"'Tis because of the two of you, only the dog has learned not to hump people's legs," Morrigan explained as she joined the reunion.

"I wouldn't call it a failing," Zevran protested.

Sten watched the proceedings with his arms crossed over his chest, his ever-present frown just as unwavering as Baldur remembered. The qunari was severe and daunting, but he had more than ample opportunity to abandon his promise to fight alongside the Grey Wardens and Baldur appreciated that he had not gone back on his word.

"I hope you didn't have too much trouble on your journey," Baldur said as he stood and brushed the dirt off his armor, Bastion plopping down right over his foot and leaning hard against Baldur's leg. Baldur rested a hand on the dog's head while Bastion panted happily. "Sten, I'd like you to meet...this is Zevran." Baldur winced at the way his voice went breathy and nervous, on edge ever since his failed semi-proposal.

Sten only grunted, his eyes accessing Zevran calculatingly and then abruptly dismissing the elf who perked up and waved at the sound of his name.

"The Blight," he barked, and Baldur startled visibly at the non-sequitur. "How will you end it?"

"Why...do you ask?"

"You say you are a Grey Warden. I have heard stories of this order."

"What have you heard?" Baldur asked, curious despite his irritation with Sten's abrasive manner that he hadn't gotten a chance to build up any resistance towards since Sten had been away doing...whatever Sten did when he was away.

"Great strategists and peerless warriors. That is what we hear of the Wardens. So far I am not impressed."

"I'm not here to impress you," Baldur said shortly, his temper quickly fraying when normally he would have held his tongue and let the insult roll off him.

"Evidently not," Sten said, and if Baldur didn't know better he would venture to say the qunari was mildly approving at the show of assertiveness. "It remains only to be seen what you are here for." Having spoken his piece, Sten left the discussion without waiting for a dismissal, silently and efficiently claiming his space around the campfire as he started to unpack his tent.

"So...that was a long and awkward trip, by the way. Thanks for that," Alistair said dryly, obviously glad that Sten was Baldur's problem to deal with now. "There's something I wanted to—By Andraste's holy knickers!" Alistair exclaimed with horror as he reeled back and went for his sword. "What is that?"

Baldur had Aodr in hand and raised to strike before he realized Alistair had spotted Shale as it lumbered into the clearing. He dropped his sword back into its sheath and gestured towards the golem, forgetting that Alistair hadn't met Shale yet. It felt like years since they'd parted ways in Haven, but also no time at all.

"This is Shale, the golem we rescued in Honnleath."

"Golem?" Alistair repeated dubiously. "Oh yeah...I think you might have mentioned you picked up another stray in your letters. Are you...certain...you want to bring that thing with us? It could be dangerous. And large...very large!"

"I can hear it," Shale intoned dryly.

"Shale's been invaluable to us as a guard," Baldur said, attempting diplomacy before the newest members of their party went immediately at each other's throats. Baldur was always reminded of alpha dogs circling and snapping warily any time a new person - or non-person, as it were - shifted the balance of their group. They all had vastly different personalities and unfortunately most of them clashed at the best of times. "Shale's been taking sentry for us every night so we can actually rest while on the road instead of having to take shifts."

"So Shale...do you sleep?" Alistair asked, reluctantly lowering his blade but not giving up his weapon yet as he eyed Shale dubiously.

"I have no need to sleep. My body does not tire or do - eugh - other flesh-related functions."

"But...don't you get bored?"

"No. I watch all closely when they are still at night. There is little else to do."

"For hours and hours?" Alistair said disbelievingly, as if he couldn't possibly fathom the idea of staying put for that long, never mind the sheer boredom.

"I count the breaths. It helps to overcome the overwhelming urge to crush their faces while they sleep."

Baldur groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"This is what you have guarding you at night?" Alistair demanded as he made an exclamation of dismay and backed away further, unused to Shale's particular brand of...Shaleness.

"Yes," Baldur sighed.

"Well I won't be doing much of that anymore," Alistair grumbled before his tone went abruptly somber without a trace of his usual playfulness. "I want to talk to you about what happened in Redcliffe."

Baldur gestured for them to move away from the clearing for some semblance of privacy even though he knew the attempt would be in vain without Morrigan's sound barrier, at the very least. The relocation didn't matter one whit, because Alistair took one breath and immediately tore into Baldur.

"You let Lady Isolde sacrifice herself! With blood magic! How could you do that?" Alistair yelled, truly furious.

Baldur was thoroughly taken aback. He'd never seen Alistair so angry before and wasn't at all prepared for his accusations. "You think I should have killed the little boy, instead?" he countered, incredulous.

"You weren't there to see the Arl's people trying to pick up the pieces after her death, especially when so many people were killed and buildings destroyed in the battle! I was! We could have gone to the Circle of Magi! We could have tried harder! We should have tried something that didn't involve blood magic, that's for sure! This is the Arl's son we're talking about here," Alistair clarified with heated sarcasm as if Baldur weren't fully aware of the fact. "What do you think he'll say when we revive him?"

"There were larger things at stake," Baldur said through gritted teeth, counting breaths like Shale had mentioned so he wasn't tempted to break Alistair's face, suddenly so angry that he could hardly see straight and he had to clench his fists to keep from lashing out.

"I just don't know how you could do it, how you could make that decision. I owe the Arl more than this."

Baldur turned away, stalking several feet away from Alistair and forcing himself to cool down instead of throwing or hitting something, making his voice steady and even as best as he was able when he turned back to Alistair at last. "I honestly did the best I could, Alistair."

Alistair's anger released at once like an deflated bladderskin, seeing Baldur's hurt expression at the unprovoked attack. Baldur had berated himself more fiercely and thoroughly than Alistair had, and he'd finally managed to let Isolde's loss go until Alistair had shoved that particular failure amongst the many Baldur had accumulated back in his face. Alistair had been close to the Arl and watching Eamon fade steadily by inches while knowing Baldur had assisted in his wife's death and then the Arl's son had been taken away by the Circle...

Everything was still fresh and new for Alistair after his stay in Redcliffe, and this particular failing was personal.

"You're right," Alistair sighed, shoulders slumping. "Of course you're right. I'm such an ass. I should know better than to second guess you like this." He shifted uncomfortably, suddenly unable to meet Baldur's eyes. "Ahhh, why am I getting on your back about it? You did what you had to. It's just...all this death... Never mind. Let's just stop there before I do more than shove my foot in my mouth like an idiot. Why don't you fill me in on what's been happening instead?"

Baldur wished he had better news, reluctantly detailing his loss against the dragon after Alistair and Bastion left, Alistair's expression falling further with the knowledge they still didn't have the Urn in their possession.

"Zevran actually had to talk me down from confronting the dragon on my own while he, Leliana, and Morrigan shot at it from a safe distance," Baldur admitted quietly. "I really wasn't in the best state of mind to be fighting anything after dealing with all of those insane cultists, never mind a dragon. I'm glad you and Bastion weren't there. Someone could have gotten seriously hurt."

"We'll get it this time," Alistair swore with unflagging faith in Baldur's abilities and leadership, Redcliffe notwithstanding. Baldur finished up his dismal tale with the Desire Demon in Honnleath, explaining how they'd come to acquire Shale up to where the Crows had caught up to them in Denerim.

"I am exhausted just listening to all that, and I wasn't even there!" Alistair was obviously frustrated about being side-lined, even though he tried to conceal it with jocularity. "As much as I like Bastion, I'll enjoy having a tent to myself again. He breaks wind in his sleep, did you know? Foul, absolutely foul."

Alistair peered over at the campsite, doing a mental count and furrowing his brow when he came up one short. "Hey, where's your tent?"

"I. Um," Baldur stammered and then stopped, rubbing the back of his neck which had gone heated. "I'm sharing...with Zevran, that is."

"Why on earth would you want to do that?" Alistair asked, utterly nonplussed.

Baldur dropped his hand and sighed, setting his shoulders back and looking up into Alistair's puzzled face. "...We're lovers."

"You're sleeping with the assassin?!" Alistair shouted, utterly scandalized as his voice echoed throughout the clearing and likely announced the state of Baldur's love life to every living creature in Ferelden.

"Shhhh!" Baldur hissed, but the damage had already been done, and it wasn't as if everyone else didn't know anyway, except for Sten who would know now and likely not care. "Keep your voice down before you alert every darkspawn and soldier to our location!"

"But...really? Zevran?" Alistair whispered urgently, his disappointment palpable, which Baldur did not appreciate considering how hard on himself he already was without the added pressure of the other's expectations to be some chaste, noble figurehead. "He's so...shameless."

The last time they'd all been together, Alistair and Zevran had hardly known each other for more than a week, and when they'd parted Alistair had been injured and drugged to the gills. Baldur had barely been speaking to Zevran back then, terse and practically growling at the elf every time he looked Baldur's way. He could understand Alistair's bewilderment, but their interactions were constantly evolving the longer they spent confined in such close quarters and it could hardly be surprising that a romantic relationship would sprout eventually. He wouldn't fault Alistair for becoming intimate with either Morrigan or Leliana, even though the former templar hadn't shown an interest in anyone, really.

"He is that," Baldur agreed, unable to deny how well the adjective described Zevran. "But it's more than just...you know...the physical parts."

Alistair made a face and waved his hands in front of himself frantically. "I do not want to know! No details, please! Zevran's innuendos are bad enough." Alistair paused for a moment, his gaze turning speculative. "But how do you...with the height...? No. No, don't tell me," he amended rapidly when Baldur opened his mouth to respond, pressing his lips together in an annoyance instead.

"I just can't believe you of all people gave into that...that...! He even tried to get me into bed with him! And Leliana! And Morrigan, even after she admitted she eats people who have sex with her!"

"She was only kidding." Baldur wasn't entirely certain about that, actually, but he wouldn't voice his doubts to Alistair when the other Warden was wary around her already.

"But...but..." Alistair stuttered, waving his hands as he tried to encompass his betrayal and concern and disbelief all at once. "Aren't you worried he'll stab you the moment you let your guard down? What if it's just an elaborate plot to get close to you so he can turn you over to the Crows or collect the bounty on you himself?"

Alistair couldn't have known how close his words hit after Zevran had Baldur at knifepoint several times in Denerim, but fortunately they had already worked out matters between them and Baldur had complete trust in his lover.

"Believe me, it's not an issue. Don't ask me how I can be certain, but please accept that I know what I'm doing. I... It's pretty serious between us, and we've been through a lot since you've been gone. He's proven repeatedly that he's here to stay."

"If he must..." Alistair sighed begrudgingly. "But at least tell me one thing."

"Anything. Within reason..."

"Does he treat you well?" Alistair asked with unexpected intensity, his eyes unwavering on Baldur's. "Are you certain he's not merely stringing you along or planning to kill you once he's done having his fun?"

"It's...complicated. But I trust him with my life. And my heart." Baldur dropped his gaze for a moment, remembering the touch of a cold blade against his chest and the heat of Zevran's anger for Baldur's reckless, unrelenting faith in him. "He's just... He's mine," Baldur finished lamely, shrugging a shoulder and looking back up at Alistair, who appeared confused and dubious, but more or less resigned to Baldur's choice of lover.

"That's pretty possessive."

Baldur ducked his head with a flush and twisted his hands together, unable to find the words to encompass everything he and Zevran were to each other especially when he didn't know if Zevran even intended to be his Bonded or thought the entire idea was some kind of ruse that he was playing on Morrigan and Leliana. And Baldur, for that matter. Baldur didn't regret giving him those clasps, if only so Zevran knew where Baldur stood in their relationship and could make an informed decision whether or not he wanted to bind himself to someone as unlucky as Baldur who courted disaster and was unable to fully give himself over to a relationship when he was married to his duties first.

"I suppose there's only one thing to do, if Zevran's actually sticking around."

"Which is-?"

"The 'hurt Baldur and I'll cut your heart out and feed it to a dragon' speech. I've always wanted to give one of those."

Baldur barked out a startled laugh, clapping a hand against Alistair's upper arm. "You're a good man, Alistair. Are you certain you aren't curious what it is about Zevran that attracts Grey Wardens? I wouldn't blame you if you wanted to borrow him for a night to satisfy your...curiosity."

"No! Maker, no! Don't even joke about that!" Alistair shuddered, looking over his shoulder to check that there wasn't an assassin waiting in the bushes to pounce. "I trust your judgment, but I'm still going to keep an eye on him and you won't change my mind on that. But aside from that... congratulations, I guess?"

"Thanks. I guess?"

"That came out wrong," Alistair winced. "I am glad you're happy. You deserve to be, even if it is with the perverted elf who tried to kill you. To each his own, hey?"

"Your support warms the cockles of my heart," Baldur said dryly.

"Please don't ever say anything with the word 'cock' in it again," Alistair begged. "I've already been traumatize enough, I think."

Baldur knew then that the relationship between he and Alistair was on even ground again, even though Alistair was still likely upset about Redcliffe. And Shale. And...Zevran...but Alistair didn't tend to linger incessantly on issues that upset him, getting whatever was bothering him out of his system once and moving on with enviable ease.

---

Baldur was relieved to have his entire team in one place together finally. They decided they would make the journey back to the Frostback Mountains as a whole unit rather than splitting up again, overpowering the dragon with nearly double the amount of warriors they had the first time around.

He should have felt more confident, except he'd been getting increasingly short-tempered lately and nightmares had become a frequent reoccurrence nearly every night, when before they had been weekly and manageable. Before he drank darkspawn blood Baldur had never dreamed. Now, his dreams were steadily gaining in intensity until Baldur broke into a sweat and had to hide the trembling in his hands at just the thought of closing his eyes when he laid down to sleep next to Zevran at night. The nightmares, combined with the inability to quiet his mind at night, made a potent mixture that cemented Baldur's insomnia. He obsessed over all of the insurmountable challenges he had to find some way to overcome, all the people that would die and had died as a result of his actions, or inaction, keeping his fears to himself even though he knew at least Alistair and Leliana would understand. Zevran didn't have regrets about killing people, so Baldur didn't think he would find much sympathy in that particular corner.

True memories collided with the false nightmares and Baldur often didn't know what was real immediately upon waking until he saw for himself the world hadn't ended while he slept. He lay staring up at the canvas of his tent with Zevran asleep next to him, the afterimages of his dreams flashing behind his eyelids every time he tried to close his eyes. A blink and Trian would be laying broken and bleeding in his arms, another blink and he was suddenly watching Zevran turn a second too slow and be crushed between the wicked jaws of a dragon. A blink, and Morrigan was led away in chains, her mouth sewn shut. Blink. Leliana pinned to ground by a soldier's sword through her stomach. Blink. Shale crushed and broken into unidentifiable rubble. Blink. Alistair with his limbs ripped from his torso by a hoard of darkspawn, still screaming with his own bloodied flesh caught within the jagged shards of their teeth...

The calm that suffused him after his heart recognized Zevran as his One had vanished, anxiety about their relationship and where exactly they stood with each other not helping matters when the last thing Baldur wanted to do was inconvenience Zevran with his issues. Stress and anger thrummed like energy through his veins at night, but he was drained during the day as if his jitteriness didn't at least have the decency to stick around when he actually needed to be alert. He tried to take out his anger on the enemies they encountered, but with their expanded group Baldur was often left to clean up the dregs of men and creatures that had already been critically wounded by Morrigan or Leliana's ranged attacks or the others' longer legs as they ran ahead, their steps not as weighed down by exhaustion.

His frustration peaked when they came across a group of Loghain's soldiers and Leliana and Morrigan had already downed two before Baldur had even caught up with the group, bringing up the rear instead of his usual position at the front of the pack. Baldur threw his head back and released a roar of fury that came up through the depths of his chest and felt as if it would shatter his bones. A red haze descended over his vision as he gripped Aodr and his shield in both hands and charged at the men like a ramrod, tearing into their ranks and bellowing at the others to get out of his way if they weren't quick enough to move already.

The first stinging splash of blood across his face from a killing strike with his sword incited Baldur into a riot of violence, losing himself to the familiar dance of battle. Each jarring percussion of impact against his shield and soldier cut down by his own hand was sweet validation, blood singing in his ears. His face stretched into a rictus snarl, licking wet copper from his lips as fought like a beast unleashed. He gutted a wide-eyed soldier who was little more than a boy, putting his entire weight behind the strike before ripping out his sword and decapitating the soldier before he could grasp at the intestines spilling out of him.

Baldur turned and leveled a challenging call to those next in line to fall to his blade, only just beginning.

---

The camp was eerily silent that night as the group quietly tended to their weapons and checked on any injuries they might have sustained. Baldur had left the area to clean up, feeling sweaty and sticky and itching to get his blood-soaked armor off. He tensed when he heard footsteps approaching behind him, but relaxed when Alistair's familiar voice called a soft greeting.

"Are you...okay?" Alistair inquired, approaching the small stream where Baldur was kneeling with caution.

"Why wouldn't I be?"

Baldur was stripped down to his breeches and scrubbing off the blood from his armor that looked as if he'd been bathing in the red liquid. Blood was in his hair and beard and had seeped between the plates of his armor. He might have gotten a little...enthusiastic...fighting Loghain's soldiers, but he had never felt more alive, his blood humming beneath his skin and the exhaustion of the past few days wiped away by the heady rush of victory.

"It's just that you, well. You seem different lately. Not bad!" Alistair backpedaled hastily, even though Baldur hadn't said anything or looked up from his washing. "Just... You know you can talk to me about anything, right? I know a lot happened when I was gone, but...I'm here now. So, you know. You don't have to do it all alone."

Alistair trailed off, scratching the short hair at the back of his neck uncomfortably.

"Is that all?" Baldur asked shortly, irritated as he scrubbed at a particularly stubborn stain on his leather trousers which now looked as if he'd stuck them in a meat grinder and dragged them for miles across rocky terrain.

"O-Oh. Yeah. I guess," Alistair said awkwardly. Baldur didn't say anything else, and eventually Alistair left and returned to camp.

Everyone else thankfully left Baldur to his business.

Baldur barely waited until nightfall to drag Zevran into their tent, bloodlust peaking into another kind of lust entirely. There was no tender lovemaking of their previous times together. Aggression that he wasn't able to hold back had him tearing the armor off Zevran and biting at every exposed inch of flesh until he tasted copper from fresh blood and the salt from sweat. He heard Zevran make a shocked noise of discomfort when Baldur pushed his way inside of him, barely sparing a moment to stretch and slick him, and even that preparation was rushed as well. Baldur paused when he was fully sheathed inside, his breath rasping in and out of his chest, but Zevran tightened his thighs around Baldur's waist and urged him to keep moving.

Baldur bit at his throat when Zevran threw his head back with a gasp and held him down by his wrists, pounding into him like a hammer upon an anvil until Zevran screamed his completion and clamped down around Baldur viciously, who bellowed back his own release. He regained a second wind as the berserker rose up inside him and demanded further satisfaction, flipping Zevran over onto his stomach and hauling his hips up to force his way back in his slick channel before Zevran could even brace himself on his arms. Baldur bit down hard on Zevran's tattooed shoulder as he rutted into him like some beast, sucking away blood from his skin as Zevran keened and clawed furrows into the ground beneath him. Baldur had half a mind left to reach around and strip Zevran's cock with a dry grip, bullying an orgasm out of the elf until he clenched convulsively around Baldur and wrung a second spending out of him, filling Zevran near to bursting.

Baldur lost all sense of time and place, but when he finally came down from both the battle and the exertions after, Zevran was already asleep...or perhaps unconscious. Either way, he didn't stir when Baldur tucked his scratchy wool blanket up around Zevran's bare shoulders, his olive skin already darkening from savage bites and bruises.

Anger was still simmering after blessed release, but the black emotion had abated enough that unease began to well up in its stead. Violence didn't always come easily to him, and now Baldur reacted to every encounter like a personal affront to his character, lashing out with words or weapon depending on whether his target was an ally or enemy. When he was a soldier, a bloodthirsty urge had to be drilled into him. His fighting style had been defensive, aiming to disable rather than kill, and his commanding officers had made it their personal mission to hammer his reluctance for making the killing blow out of him, wearing him down by converging upon him en masse in the training arena.

However, despite the aggressive tutelage that had often seen him concussed or with the strap of his much-abused shield nearly grafted into his forearm from repeated blows. The lesson not to show mercy to their enemies only sunk home when an enemy Baldur had spared during a skirmish with bandits on their outer borders led to the crippling of one of his cousins, Yggarth. A fallen bandit Baldur had stunned but not gone back for the killing blow had slipped free a knife hidden in his boot and cut Yggarth's Achilles' tendon clean through, instantly crippling him before another soldier from Orzammar reacted and smashed the bandit's head in with his mace. The damage had been done, though, and Yggarth would never walk again using that leg. He had been younger than Baldur and wanting to follow in his cousin's footsteps. Yggarth's older brother, Piotin, had been known as the 'horns of Trian's army' back when his brother had still been alive, and both Piotin and Trian had treated Yggarth's injury as if Baldur had been the one to cripple his cousin himself. Trian's former vitriol turned into outright slander on Baldur's character for any and all to hear after that incident.

Baldur had changed irrevocably, but instead of destroying every single person who opposed him as revenge for his younger cousin, he instead studied up on dwarven psychology and 'softer studies', focusing on tactics on how to negotiate and form alliances rather than making life-long enemies of any who dared oppose Orzammar. Yggarth's parents never forgave him for allowing their son's tragedy to go unpunished, as they saw matters, especially when Yggarth would forever depend on a crutch to hobble around for the rest of his life rather than fulfilling his destiny as a proud warrior.

Baldur eventually fretted himself into a troubled sleep, Zevran's low, even breaths a familiar rhythm like his own heartbeat.

Baldur woke up first, feeling somehow recharged but weighted down with apprehension which only grew when he was greeted by the sight of Alistair's wide-eyed, pale face staring back at him from his seat near the campfire with Sten when he left the tent. Baldur was certain the qunari soldier was incapable of any expression at all, but even he appeared disturbed. It was then that Baldur realized there was no sound barrier surrounding their tent. He and Zevran never bothered to quiet themselves when they sought pleasure together because of the knowledge they wouldn't be overheard. Perhaps Morrigan had simply forgot or needed to replenish her mana and couldn't maintain the spell, but Baldur was too embarrassed and furious to find excuses to make for her oversight. He'd nearly gone looking for her when Morrigan ducked out of her own tent appearing just fine. She wasn't paler than usual or drawn from exhaustion - nothing to excuse her lapse.

"Did you forget to do something last night, Morrigan?" Baldur growled, not even bothering to cross the clearing to address her privately.

"Mm, no. I don't believe that I did," she answered, her tone light and dismissive, and she didn't even have the decency to look at him. Baldur clenched his fists, breathing out slowly through his nostrils.

"The barrier?" he clarified, barely holding onto his temper.

Morrigan paused for a moment where she was leaning over her pack, making a show of pondering...and then she affected a shocked, pantomimed expression of contrition before her gaze flattened and she turned back to her pack in clear dismissal.

"Oops. Did I forget? How remiss of me."

Baldur glowered and bit down savagely on his remarks about her forgetfulness, knowing that she'd been more than generous and wasn't obligated to set the spell every night. He just wished she had the decency to warn them first to keep it down. Last night had been particularly...intense. He could feel the others' eyes on him, cautiously watching for his reaction and tense as if Baldur would go off on them as he had Loghain's soldiers. He did feel the need for violence, but with no enemies to vent upon, he strangled the feeling down and stomped back to his own tent, nearly colliding with Zevran when the elf emerged, shirtless, from the tent.

"Fuck!" Baldur hissed, jerking himself out of the way before they crashed. "Watch where you're-" Baldur cut off abruptly, a sharp flood of pain and blood filling his mouth when he bit down on his tongue in shock.

Zevran looked as if he had been mauled. His tanned skin was covered in vivid bruises and bites that appeared to have broken skin in several places. There was the yellow-green bruising and half-healed scars from past battles, but these markings were new and Baldur...Baldur couldn't remember making them last night, even though he must have. He recalled the blaze of lust and victory that had overcome him after the battle, the power behind his grip and thrusts as Zevran writhed and cried out beneath him...

Had his cries been from pain?

Baldur was too aghast to respond when Zevran raised an inquiring eyebrow at him, leaning down to peck Baldur's slack mouth. Zevran had a threadbare towel slung over his shoulder and was apparently headed towards the stream to wash up, taking no notice of his current state. When Zevran walked past Baldur, who was rooted to the spot, the dwarf saw deep red scratches that intersected the solid black lines of the tattoos on Zevran's back, along with more of those damning bites and bruises.

He was also limping.

"Excuse me," Baldur choked out before he darted off into the woods, dropping to his knees once he was out of sight and retching up every ounce of last night's dinner.

Baldur wasn't surprised when he heard leaves and twigs crunching as they approached the area of woods Baldur had tucked himself away, too ashamed and horrified by his actions to look Zevran in the eye. How could he have done something like that to his âzyungâl? To someone he loved with his entire being?

"Baldur..." Alistair's uncertain voice reached him, and Baldur spared a moment of crashing relief and fury that he was the one to approach him and not Zevran, because of course Alistair had to throw himself into the line of fire first. Must be a Grey Warden trait.

"I think... There's something wrong with me," Baldur said shakily, running the back of his hand over his upper lip. Alistair made a noise of distress when his wrist came back crimson. He crouched down next to him and handed over a wrinkled handkerchief that Baldur pressed to his bloody nose before turning away from Alistair's penetrating stare.

"Are you... I thought dwarves were immune to possession? Or at least that's what I'd been told at the Chantry, but who knows where the templars got their information."

"No, I'm not possessed," Baldur said with a small, humorless laugh, almost wishing that he was so there would be some excuse for his actions. "I just did something really stupid."

"You've changed since we parted in Haven. You don't have to, but if you want to talk about it. Well. I'm here and I'm your friend. I may not understand, but I can promise to have a sympathetic ear, for whatever it's worth."

Baldur swallowed hard, breaths uneven as a warning pulse of light started behind his left eye, which he blinked away quickly. "Have you heard of berserkers?"

Alistair settled in while Baldur recounted the whole miserable tale, explaining how he'd received the Crow's offer to join the group of assassins in Denerim and his overreaction to their offer by subsequently teaching himself how to reach a berserker state without the proper knowledge or practice first.

"I can't shut it off," Baldur admitted when he was done, his voice low and rough as he viciously twisted Alistair's bloodied handkerchief in his hands. "I'm angry all the time and I can't sleep. I have these awful dreams about everyone dying and they seem so real and I'm afraid they'll come true if I don't find a way to get the Urn and—fuck.'

"Arl Eamon is stable for now," Alistair said carefully after a long moment to process the information he'd just been given, stunned at Baldur's confession. "I think he can hang on a little while longer before even the Urn will be unable to bring him back. Sten was right in that we need to address the matter of the Archdemon eventually, which is even more important than the Arl."

"I know-"

"But," Alistair interrupted, holding up his hand to stay Baldur's automatic defensiveness. "I think we need to fix you first before we can even think about saving the world. Is there someone who could teach you how to control it? Another dwarf back in Orzammar maybe?"

"No," Baldur said harshly, causing Alistair to flinch. "I can never go back to Orzammar."

"Oookay. Dwarven cities are out of the question then," Alistair amended, and Baldur winced at his own outburst. "And I guess Denerim where your friend is isn't an option either, with the Crows and all..." Alistair thought for a moment, dragging a finger in the dirt in idle patterns. "I hate to suggest it because the Maker knows mages creep me out, even more so after traveling with Morrigan, but maybe the Circle of Magi would be able to help you? They're all about spiritual control and disciplining their minds to fight off demons. Your demons might be more metaphorical, but we need to go to the Circle to recruit mages against the Blight anyway. It couldn't hurt."

"That's...not a terrible idea."

"I do have good ones occasionally. Although, let it be said that it is never a good idea to lick a lamppost in winter."

"How would you know that?"

"Just take my word on it. Trust me. Don't do it."

Baldur shook his head at Alistair and rinsed himself off in the icy cold water, fortunately upstream from where Zevran was likely cleaning up, before they returned to camp together. He felt marginally relieved now that they had the makings of a plan falling into place, but his relief was short-lived as a headache that felt like a nail being driven into his eye socket hit him all at once. He nearly stumbled, but he was all too aware of the camp's wary attention on him, and grit his teeth as he pushed through the pain as stoically as he could manage. The migraine didn't relent for the entire day, which he accepted as feeble retribution for the unconscionable things he had done to Zevran. He wanted so badly to beg forgiveness, but couldn't even breathe in Zevran's direction before his gut twisted in guilt and his headache flared anew, nearly blinding him with agony. He could barely walk straight and his vision was blurred and doubled, but he kept his head down and eyes fixed on the heels of whoever was in front of him as they walked, and he somehow made his torturous way through that day and the next.

The others were still understandably cautious around him. Baldur didn't even trust himself and bore their reactions to his loss of control in quiet acceptance. Leliana was furious and refused to speak to him, and even Morrigan's responses were colder than usual. Alistair watched him surreptitiously, but when Bastion, his own faithful hound, shied away when Baldur went to pet him, Baldur knew something had to be done sooner rather than later. Fortunately the Circle was located in the same direction they had already been heading, but would require at least a week or more of travel as long as they weren't sidetracked, and Baldur was struggling to keep up. He didn't sleep anymore, dreams and his rage keeping him awake, so there was no need to share Zevran's tent. He wouldn't go as far to say he was avoiding the other man, but...he was definitely avoiding him. He was terrified of putting hands on him even though he'd never actually struck out at him - yet - and Baldur would cut off his own hands before hurting him again.

Zevran, for his part, remained unchanging, impossibly lewd and flirtatious although he seemed to realize that Baldur desperately needed space for he didn't try to engage in his usual banter or come out to drag Baldur from his place brooding in front of the fire at night. Zevran's bruises gradually faded and his limp either disappeared entirely or he was simply that skilled at hiding his discomfort, moving and sitting with his usual lithe grace as if Baldur hadn't violated him in the worst way possible.

Baldur barely held onto his fury, forcing words he would normally say rather than the vicious retorts that were trying to claw their way from his throat, knowing a brutal response would hurt his companions possibly beyond forgiveness, but knowing and feeling were two very different things. Every moment was a struggle to keep reign over the beast that grew within him especially when he felt constantly on a hair-trigger, vibrating with the need to bellow and cut down any living or inanimate obstacle in his path until there was nothing left except for the smoldering ashes of his rage.

At night, he poured over the manual he'd gotten from Gorim, searching again and again for how to control the berserker state but finding little help there. It was worse now that he was aware of it... He had to fight to hold himself back during battles, pulling his blows and taking more than a few hits that could have been avoided were he not so terrified of losing control again. Rage constantly simmered beneath the surface, and he had to consciously walk away from conversations that weren't even directed at him to keep from snapping at the others. He distanced himself from the group and pulled away, trying to protect them from his lack of control even though he knew they saw how badly he was faltering and he had to wonder how long it would be before they had enough and decided to take their chances without him, or simply left. He was scared of himself, what he was capable of, and how easily he could lose himself to the berserker. Each day was a struggle that was growing increasingly more difficult to get himself through.

More than anything else, though, he was lonely.

Everyone in camp gave him a wide berth without any prodding and even Bastion remained glued to Alistair's side, the two obviously having bonded after their stay in Redcliffe. He missed being in the middle of the group's familiar banter and teasing, even though he rarely had much to contribute to conversation when he wasn't losing his mind. That he missed Zevran most of all went without saying, watching his beloved longingly while he trailed at the back of the group so he wouldn't be tempted to reach out to him. Zevran was bright and cheerful and seemed to be entirely unaffected by Baldur's absence, teasing Alistair mercilessly to make up for lost time while pestering their most stoic members with highly invasive questions, since Leliana and Morrigan had become practically immune to Zevran when their group had been just the four of them for a long while. He sat alone and ate sparingly when they paused for breaks or at night in camp, even though food tasted like ash in his mouth and he struggled to swallow, forcing himself to eat in order to keep his strength up.

If Alistair's estimate was correct, they only had a day or two left of travel to reach the Circle of Magi in Lake Calenhad, and Baldur clung to the hope that the mages would somehow be able to help him. The alternative didn't bear thinking about, but he extracted a promise from Alistair if he lost control again and became a danger to the group the other Grey Warden would put Baldur down himself and take over leadership. Alistair had immediately refused, but Baldur reminded him of his own initiation and how Duncan hadn't hesitated to strike down another recruit when he tried to abandon his duties even though the act had come at great personal cost to Duncan.

"I'll always be thankful to Duncan for recruiting me," Alistair said quietly. "If it hadn't been for him, you know, I would never...I wouldn't have..."

"He was a good man," Baldur agreed, even though he hadn't known the senior Warden long.

"He was. A good man who didn't deserve his fate. I will...I will honor his memory by doing this for you," Alistair finally conceded, upset but resigned.

"Thank you, my friend. It's a weight off my mind."

Alistair retreated to his tent with a thin excuse and Baldur dug out the well-worn tome on berserkers and set up his usual spot by the campfire to read, but hands were shaking too badly to make sense of the blurred words he had yet to discover insight on how to release the berserker state that threatened to overtake him with only the slightest provocation. Gorim had sold him the manual with great reservation and numerous warnings, but Baldur had been too stubborn to heed them at the time and was now paying the price for his recklessness. He dug his palm against his dry eye socket and muttered to himself while perusing the battered manual in his lap for what felt like the hundredth time, trying to find anything he might have missed even though he had the book memorized cover to cover.

He jumped when a slobbery stick suddenly dropped into his lap right over the book, obscuring the words that remained unchanging. Baldur went automatically for his dagger with a curse upon his lips, anger flaring up hot and bright, but a soft whine stilled his hand.

Bastion was standing before him, his large boxy head lowered as he stared up at Baldur with big brown eyes, the stub of his tail wagging hopefully. Baldur stared back at the dog, who whined again when Baldur didn't move, nudging his wet nose against the stick and smudging the words further. Baldur took a deep, grounding breath and picked up the stick, setting the book aside. The limited information it held was useless to him anyway, and this was the first overture Bastion had made since he'd shied away from Baldur in fear days ago.

"Good boy," Baldur said quietly, reaching out a palm for Bastion to inspect.

Bastion's tail wagged faster and he sniffed Baldur's hand reflexively before he slobbered his tongue over his palm and whined again, backing away to stretch his rump in the air as if getting ready to pounce. Baldur picked up the stick and threw it half-heartedly away from him, but Bastion gave a loud bark that shot spikes through his skull before bounding off to retrieve the stick. Bastion returned a moment after with his stick ready to be thrown again, but Baldur didn't acknowledge him. He suddenly felt nauseous and his heartbeat was racing too fast even though he was just sitting there. He carefully braced a hand against the ground, blinking rapidly when the firelight started to dim and the ground seemed to shift under his palm. Bastion cocked his head and let the stick fall, his whines becoming increasingly louder when Baldur shoved his way to his feet, feeling as if he was held suspended in one breath.

The last thing he heard was Bastion's frantic barks as he hit the ground, sparks flying up into his face as his hand knocked against a cinder at the edge of the fire before his vision went black.

---

Baldur woke up to Bastion licking his face, whimpering as he nosed Baldur's cheek.

He winced and pushed Bastion aside so he could sit up, but he found his head was too heavy to lift more than a few inches and his left hand throbbed fiercely. His head dropped back against the ground with a low groan. He heard a shifting of movement over him followed with a soft touch against his cheek that wasn't his dog's tongue. Baldur cracked his eyes open to see Bastion, Zevran, and Sten hovering over him before he shut them again with a low hiss of pain.

"Alistair and Leliana went ahead to Lake Calenhad to find help. There should be at least one healer the Circle can spare to come look you over," Zevran explained, stroking away hair from Baldur's temple before resting his hand over Baldur's chest as if to reassure himself with the dwarf's heartbeat. "You can rest now."

"M'fine," Baldur slurred in protest. He realized then that he was on a bedroll laid out on the ground, his head pillowed on a bundle of cloth that smelled like he and Zevran.

"Passing out is not the same as sleeping, Baldur," Zevran said sharply. "Brasca! I should have known better. When was the last time you even slept?"

"I'm fine," Baldur repeated more insistently. He tried again to get up, bracing himself on his hand and Baldur screamed as agony ripped through his arm and dug talons into his heart. Baldur collapsed with a thin, reedy sob, clutching his hand to his chest and feeling the rough binding of bandages around the limb.

"Maker preserve us from the stubbornness of dwarves! I should have Shale sit on your legs so you can't move."

"My weight would crush it," Shale said practically. "And then I'd be made to carry it when it can no longer walk."

"Can't you just do as you're told for once?" Zevran complained, but he sounded defeated. "Your hand was laying in the fire cooking when we woke up to see what Bastion was barking at," Zevran said tightly to Baldur. Baldur would have thought him almost calm if it weren't for the way Zevran clutched at the neck of Baldur's tunic and his voice went brittle around the edges. "If we hadn't found you when we did... You're lucky Morrigan was able to save your hand at all."

Baldur felt tentatively at the edges of the bandages, biting back a curse when he encountered blistered, cracked flesh. He left his injury alone and tentatively covered Zevran's grip on his chest with his good hand, letting out a small breath of relief when Zevran tangled their fingers together and squeezed gently.

"There is no shame in admitting weakness," Sten stated from somewhere off to Baldur's left. "The only folly is pushing on and ignoring one's limitations instead of recognizing them and adjusting your actions accordingly."

"I couldn't have put it better myself. Even Sten thinks you need to rest," Zevran pointed out, refusing to be budged.

Baldur's mouth pulled down in a frown, turning his head away to hide his fear. "I can't sleep. Not with the nightmares I keep having..."

Sten cleared his throat.

"I have known several honorable warriors who suffered from night terrors and waking hallucination from wars they have served in the past. Sometimes talking about what troubles you releases some of the power these dream hold over you if they can't gain potency from carrying them trapped within."

If Baldur hadn't been so disoriented or in so much pain he would have been stunned. This was the most Sten had ever spoken to him, and Baldur thought he must be dreaming because the terse qunari almost sounded compassionate. Baldur had already told Alistair his dreams and didn't care to repeat the experience, especially since his dreams about the Archdemon were actually prophetic and not something that could simply be willed away or discussed.

"I'll keep that in mind," Baldur murmured, even though he had no intention of baring his soul to the remainder of the group, knowing that Morrigan had to be nearby with something snide to say if she knew how badly he was struggling. He felt Bastion settle against his side and rest his head on Baldur's shoulder, whuffing his hot breath against the side of his neck. Baldur didn't have the heart to push him or Zevran away, missing their companionship more than he could say.

Baldur had difficulty cohabitating with cold or cruel people even before he became a Warden, avoiding unpleasant interactions that weren't relevant in a purely professional manner and preferring to walk away from uncomfortable situations rather than forcing confrontation. Trian had been extremely confrontational, taking every opportunity to snipe and criticize. Their very last conversation ended with Baldur finally snapping and telling Trian to kiss his arse, waspish in a way he rarely was, but even after Trian's death he didn't regret his last words to his brother, more relieved than anything that he'd finally said what had been bottled up inside for decades.

He worked well with contrary people precisely because he didn't normally give into their goading and pettiness, but that didn't mean he enjoyed their exchanges. Sten wasn't cruel, but he was very clipped and unapproachable, limiting their strained conversations to one-word answers and redirecting to matters of war whenever Baldur tried to make overtures of friendliness towards the aloof qunari in their company. Sten didn't seem to care that Baldur had won his freedom when the Warden found him suspended in a cage in Lothering, agreeing to fight for him for reasons known only to Sten. Shale was much the same, not actively abusive but openly disdainful of 'squishy' mortals. Morrigan he struggled with, needing the witch and her invaluable skills and knowledge, but she had no regard for the life and suffering of others and showed open contempt that bordered insubordinance whenever Baldur demonstrated sympathy for anyone else she deemed insignificant, which was everyone except herself.

Zevran wasn't kind, exactly. He had his own agenda that seemed to revolve around whatever amused him the most at any given time. Baldur could never predict whether Zevran would campaign for the life of another, requesting mercy that he'd been shown himself, or if the assassin would be the first to attack, bloodthirsty and reveling in violence. He was unpredictable where Baldur was steady as a rock, their personalities a stark contrast of each other. They argued as often as they made love and had wildly differing approaches to any given situation. Zevran was nothing like the sort of person Baldur had imagined he'd settle down with eventually as prince regent in Orzammar. Very likely his marriage would have been political in nature, loveless, perhaps, but comfortable. A lovely dwarrowdam who would compliment his quiet temperament and bear him little ones, simply because it was expected and Baldur very likely wouldn't have tried to buck against expectations.

Being in love with Zevran wasn't a revelation. The feelings he had were simply an intrinsic part of who he was, as much as the color of his eyes or hair. Baldur wasn't sure which deity thought making an elf sanâzyung to a dwarf was amusing, but he didn't try to fight how he felt, just as much as he didn't try to change the color of his eyes, unusual though they were. What he did struggle against was overwhelming Zevran with the depths of his feelings for him. The disaster with the hair clasps and unclear proposal that Zevran either played up outrageously or ignored entirely caused Baldur to pull back and evaluate every word and gesture before he made another misstep that Zevran wouldn't be able to overlook.

Imagining what his life would have been as an obedient son to King Endrin, without the danger and guilty wanting and passion behind his every interaction with Zevran...his very spirit quailed at the thought of what might have been. He would have led their army into great battles against the darkspawn and been comfortable in Orzammar, certainly, but he wouldn't matter in the grand scheme of things. His bland history and mediocre accomplishments would have been recorded by their Shaperate and filed away to gather dust after his death, passing into the Stone surrounded by children and grandchildren if he didn't have a valiant death in battle first. It would have been a good life, certainly, but that wasn't his life now. Baldur fought and killed and stole with very little hesitation anymore, his tongue taking on a silver sheen as he cajoled or outright threatened those who dared oppose him with increasingly successful results.

He was afraid to lose himself, that he would lose that regard for kindness he expected in himself and those he surrounded himself with. He thought of Duncan in quiet moments of introspection, wishing the other man was there to guide Baldur down the right path. The Grey Warden had been kind, but he also didn't hesitate to make the difficult calls, able to set aside his own personal feelings to carry out actions that would benefit the good of all, rather than a few. That was Baldur's struggle; his world shrunk down to these few warriors even though he knew, he knew the Blight still waited for him out there. There had only been a handful of people he truly cared about in his life, with Gorim and Bhelen having been at the top of that very short list.

Baldur was very good at keeping his emotions buried deep beneath the surface. The berserker, however, was better at tearing control away from him, forcing harsh words and actions that Baldur tried to soften before they became sharp-edged like a knife and used to wound those he cared about. Rage and ruthlessness were the epitome of what traits a dwarven warrior should encompass, and perhaps Baldur would have embraced the darker side of himself in Orzammar had he stayed on the bloody path a warrior rather than as a diplomat that would have been more suitable for his temperament.

The person he was now would have had little patience for the shy, cringing dwarf he'd once been, too afraid to defend himself against his brutish older brother. He was changing, adapting, and growing harder each day as more blood was spilled at his hands, barely differentiating between enemy and innocent anymore. Baldur's softer edges were being ground down steadily, and he wasn't sure that he would like the person who was revealed underneath.

He didn't realize he'd been drowsing when Zevran's voice startled him awake, immediately anxious that he'd nearly fallen asleep and would be prey to nightmares, afraid that he would lash out in violence unconsciously in his sleep and severely injure anyone nearby. He cursed the fact Alistair was gone, taking Baldur's contingency plan with him.

"Ah good, you're back. Did you find it?" Zevran asked, directing the question over Baldur's head.

"Yes. 'Tis fortunate valerian root grows around these parts. And of course elfroot springs up like weeds everywhere."

"Excellent. That is good to hear."

Baldur made a questioning sound and Zevran soothed his fingers through Baldur's hair. "Something to help you sleep, dearest," he explained.

"Don't want to sleep," Baldur slurred, blinking his eyes open to glower at Zevran.

"Mm. Consider this your intervention. You've been outvoted and your two champions aren't here to defend your honor. I am not above using nefarious means in order to see you well again."

Zevran was deaf to any of Baldur's protests or curses, and yelling gave Baldur a splitting headache so eventually he subsided into petulant silence, refusing to rise to the bait. Morrigan finished her brewing and brought over a vial of a clear, green-tinged liquid in a vial which she handed to Zevran.

"There is more where that came from," she stated cheerily. "Enough for several days at least."

Baldur bit his lip to refrain from giving her a piece of his mind. He also stubbornly refused the potion when Zevran held the bottle up to his lips, knowing that Morrigan wouldn't be nearly as forgiving as Zevran and could just as easily slip deathroot into the next batch.

"You have two options: either you can take this potion orally, or we'll have to test whether it's as effective as a suppository."

Baldur glared at Zevran, lips pinched tightly together.

"Very well then. Sten, if you'd be so kind to hold him down..."

"Fine!" Baldur spat, and he barely got the word out before Zevran tipped the vial's contents in and clapped a hand over his mouth and nose to make certain Baldur swallowed. The potion was bitter and tasted like foliage, but he swallowed it all down. He turned his head away and refused to look at any of them, furious at his own helplessness. He'd allowed his state to deteriorate so far that members of his group with the least amount of compunction had taken it upon themselves to restrain and drug him against his will. The medicine hit him hard on an empty stomach and he didn't bother fighting the shroud of darkness falling over him this time, hoping that Zevran would have the sense to stay away from him if Baldur were to lash out in his sleep.

---

When he clawed his way back into consciousness, Baldur had no memory of his dreams, if he dreamed at all, and frowned when he saw that neither Zevran nor Bastion had left his side. Bastion was sprawled out on his back, tongue lolling out of his mouth and legs twitching in the air. It was astounding how much he resembled Alistair when he slept, and Baldur didn't doubt Bastion had picked up a few bad habits from the other Warden. Zevran was also asleep or dozing where he sat at Baldur's other side, his elbows resting on his knees with his chin dropped against his chest, eyes closed. Baldur tried not to wake either of them as he took stock of himself, feeling much more levelheaded after a decent night's sleep, despite the immoral means sleep had been acquired. His headache had receded into a dull ache that could be pushed to the back of his mind, but he bit back a hiss as he tried to move the fingers on his burned hand, the nerves stinging so badly they were nearly numb. Perhaps he should take to wearing Wade's armor at all times if he was just going to throw himself into fires anyway.

"You're awake. How do you feel?" Zevran asked quietly without a hint of slur to indicate that he'd actually been asleep rather than waiting for Baldur to wake, raising his head and pressing a hand to Baldur's cheek as if to check for fever. Bastion snorted in his sleep.

"Fine. Better." Baldur amended at Zevran's unimpressed look, rewarded with his lover's bright smile. "I could probably stand to eat."

Baldur was suddenly, desperately ravenous and could likely eat an entire herd of halla on his own. The book had mentioned an increased appetite was to be expected for berserkers, but Baldur hadn't felt like eating for nearly as long as he had avoided sleeping. It was little wonder his body had completely shut down on him, and more than likely he would have never made the journey to the Circle of Magi if it hadn't been for the others' intervention, even though he was still bitter about the circumstances.

"You already sound much improved," Zevran noted, pleased. "Give me a few moments and I'll be right back with something for you to eat." Zevran started to move away, but then he paused and turned back.

"On second thought. Bastion," Zevran said sharply, and the dog immediately started awake, rolling to his paws. "Please sit on your master and make sure he doesn't move until I return."

"Wh-You can't be serious!"

"I'm entirely serious. Bastion, if you would."

Bastion cocked his head at Zevran and then gave a low "woof" of assent, walking right over Baldur with his legs bracketing the dwarf before dropping his bulk down on top of him.

"Oof! Is this really necessary?" Baldur wheezed, slapping ineffectively at Bastion's flank. Bastion gazed around with an almost imperial air, head lifted as if Baldur was beneath his notice.

"You tell me. Are you actually going to listen for once and stay put?"

Silence.

"That what I thought. Now don't go anywhere. I'll return soon."

Baldur huffed and Bastion tilted his nose down as if startled to realize Baldur was there. He licked a stripe over Baldur's face and Baldur made a noise of disgust to disguise a reluctant snort of laughter, not wanting to encourage the dog.

"Traitor," Baldur accused mock-sternly, and Bastion wagged his tail stub in agreement.

When Zevran came back Bastion raised himself off of Baldur without needing an order. Baldur really needed to spend more time bonding with his mabari if Bastion was going to heed everyone except his own master.

"Good boy." Zevran tossed a large bone with a few chunks of meat still clinging to it and Bastion yipped, chasing after the treat into the underbrush. He helped Baldur to sit up, steadying him when Baldur went woozy and started to tip over. Zevran had brought him a large bowl of porridge with shredded meat on top, and the food smelled divine. Baldur reached for the bowl automatically, but Zevran held it out of reach.

"Allow me. You'll be doing nothing with that hand for a while."

"I still have my right hand," Baldur complained. "I can feed myself."

"I know other things you can do with your right hand as well, but that will have to...come...at another time. For now, I must insist."

Baldur blushed furiously, more at the idea of being treated as an invalid rather than Zevran's suggestive tone – not that he was unaffected by any means. He knew Zevran didn't make idle threats in this regard, so he allowed him to spoon hot porridge into his mouth until the food was gone. Baldur looked at empty bowl hopefully and Zevran gave a small laugh as Baldur's stomach made his petition for more known.

"If you promise to behave then I will get you more," Zevran smiled at him. "Or should I get Bastion?" The dog perked up at the sound of his name, but when no command came resumed gnawing on his bone.

"No. I'll be good," Baldur sighed, rolling his eyes when Zevran kissed his forehead before getting a second bowl for Baldur, which he devoured just as quickly as the first.

After a third bowl and a mug of tea that Zevran allowed him to hold by himself in his good hand, he took Baldur's left hand in his own and unwrapped the bandages while Baldur observed, wincing when the gauze stuck and peeled away flakes of skin. The skin was inflamed and covered in blisters, and being exposed to the air made the injury blaze anew. Baldur had to quickly look away, breath hissing between his teeth. He didn't want to know what his hand had looked like before Morrigan had done her healing on it, but he was fortunate she'd been there or else he might have lost his hand entirely.

"Lucky for us half of our supplies is burn salve," Zevran said as he reapplied a cooling paste after inspecting Baldur's hand critically. He was careful not to touch more than he had to and rewrapped the injured hand with clean gauze, considerate not to draw attention to the tears of agony streaking Baldur's cheeks. Baldur was both sweating and shivering with chills while Zevran tended to him, fighting not to cry out, and then he was done.

Baldur clutched his hand to his chest as soon as Zevran released him and bowed over the limb protectively. He scrubbed at his face with his other hand and realized he had bandages on the side of his head as well. He vaguely remembered sparks flying into his face when he fell. He was a disaster and it was a wonder anyone expected him to lead, much less defeat an Archdemon.

"The elfroot in your tea should kick in shortly for the pain," Zevran said, stowing away the unused supplies after checking Baldur's face.

"Should I be concerned how often you're drugging me without my consent now?" Baldur snarled through clenched teeth like a wounded animal, raw and stinging from the gentle treatment.

"Would you rather I poison you instead? It is my specialty after all."

Baldur drew a deep breath into his nostrils and let it out slowly. Sleep and food may have improved his headache and restored some of his energy levels, but the anger was still as ever present as it had been before. This was the first he and Zevran had spoken - coherently - in a week, and Baldur had to consciously rein himself in so he didn't snap at Zevran when he was only trying to help.

"No, I- Thank you."

"You're welcome, I'm sure. Now then," Zevran said as he took the empty mug from Baldur and set the cup aside, turning towards him with a disarming lightness to his tone that did nothing to prepare Baldur for his next words. "I believe I have been more than accommodating your disquieting moods lately, however I have reached my limit and can do so no longer."

Baldur felt as if he'd been struck through the breast with a spear. He could only stare at Zevran dumbly, scrambling for words that would keep Zevran from ending their relationship right there after everything they'd gone through, but he couldn't dare ask his ghivashel to stick around for Baldur to abuse him again. Any entreaties he might have tried dried up in his throat. That Zevran had remained for so long was a minor miracle in itself, but Baldur hadn't any time or warning to prepare himself for letting Zevran go as he had been ready to do in Denerim. He thought they'd have more time, clinging to the hope that the Circle would somehow be able to fix him and they could go back to how they were before Baldur started losing his grip on sanity. He'd been trying to protect Zevran by keeping his distance, but instead he'd only pushed him away and forced him into this confrontation.

"Alistair told me what was going on with you and I am extremely displeased that I had to find out from him instead of hearing it from you. I rather hoped you trusted me enough to confide in me when you are suffering, but it seems I was mistaken."

Zevran's anger Baldur could take, but not his disappointment, and certainly not sorrow from the normally amicable elf. Baldur swallowed hard around a lump in his throat, searching for a suitable explanation or apology to elaborate why he'd been trying to hide his struggles from Zevran, but words evaded him like trying to catch minnows in a shallow pond.

"Alistair told you?" Baldur croaked, focusing instead on more manageable incredulity and addressing the lesser issue first. "He wouldn't do that."

"His loyalty is admirable, but fortunately very few have any resistance for certain interrogation techniques." Zevran frowned as a thought occurred to him. "You'd better hope Loghain's men never get a hold of him. He's rather hopeless."

"You tortured Alistair for information?" Baldur exclaimed, moving to rise to his feet and damn the promise he'd made to sit still. Mahal's beard, what had Zevran been thinking?

"Mm," Zevran agreed, unrepentantly smug. "You wouldn't believe how ticklish he is! One touch and he was confessing everything from his earliest childhood secrets to the mischief he got up to in the Chantry. Do you know Bann Teagan, the Arl Eamon's brother, has a very impressive collection of dwarf maiden erotica*? I may have to keep an eye on the man once we have returned to Redcliffe, as he may have designs to capture you and make you his sex slave. Not that I would blame him – you are very irresistible after all."

Baldur stared at Zevran, paused where he knelt on the bedroll. After a moment, he decided not to touch either statement, sitting back on his haunches reluctantly. "So you know about the berserker state then," Baldur said bitterly, angry at his own failings. "You were right from the beginning. I acted irrationally in Denerim and now I can't control it."

"As much as I delight in hearing you admit that I was correct, believe that I find no pleasure in being right this particular instance. We cannot change the past, but we are a team now, no? There are so many others who would help you if for any reason you are unable to come to me with your problems. Do not think you have to do everything alone."

Zevran's words were nearly a direct echo of Alistair's and Baldur bowed his head guiltily. He didn't know how to depend on anyone else except for himself, so determined to shield and protect everyone from harm that he'd ended up hurting them himself instead.

"I'm sorry," Baldur mumbled, not knowing what else he could say or promises he could make that he would actually be able to keep.

"Now that unpleasantness is out of the way...I have another matter I wish to discuss."

Baldur didn't know if anything could get worse, but he nodded his head without looking up, bracing himself for whatever else Zevran wanted to bring to his attention.

"A certain dwarf has been remiss in his marital duties, and as I believe I once told you, a week without sex is practically a lifetime. I must insist that you rectify this oversight at once." Zevran's tone was playfully demanding, but his levity could be hiding an entire range of feelings that masked hurt or concern, and Baldur didn't know quite how to navigate their conversation without it blowing up in his face.

"Zevran, I... I can't," Baldur said, anguished, clenching his fist in his lap.

"Do you mean to say the berserker won't allow you to 'rise to the occasion', so to speak? If that is the case, there are many, many ways to work around a faulty piece of equipment, if that's what concerns you." Zevran leaned closer and curled a hand against Baldur's cheek, playing with the wild strands of black hair that hadn't seen a comb in days.

Baldur closed his eyes and leaned into the touch with a small sigh of longing, a rush of familiar comfort and exhilaration pouring through him at the barest contact. There was certainly no issue with his 'equipment', Baldur was relieved to note as his body responded to Zevran's proximity, but in there lay the problem. Baldur opened his eyes and pulled away with a tight shake of his head, refraining from lifting a hand to his cheek to retain the warmth of Zevran's touch as he moved back to put space between them.

"Unless..." Zevran started, uncertainty flickering across his face. "It's me you no longer...?"

"No!" Baldur interjected loudly, startling them both as the remaining group around the fire went quiet, looking over at he and Zevran curiously. "No," he said more quietly, anxiety running through him like a current. "Believe me, I could never not want you. Ever."

Zevran carefully reached out for his hands and lowered his head to catch Baldur's eye when the dwarf looked away in shame.

"Then tell me," he pleaded, all joking set aside and replaced with earnestness. "You don't need to hide yourself from me. I am not leaving you, so you need not fear that whatever you tell me will send me running for the hills. This, I swear." Zevran lifted Baldur's hands to his mouth, kissing his knuckles as if sealing a promise.

"I don't want to hurt you again," Baldur choked out, a tear tracking down his cheek as he recalled with nightmarish clarity the sight of Zevran covered in brutal marks that Baldur had caused. He would die first before raising a hand in violence against Zevran.

"Hurt me?" Zevran asked, his brow furrowing as he tilted his head to the side in confusion. "You've never done anything untoward to me, Baldur."

"What are you...I practically raped you!" Baldur yelled, tearing his hands away from Zevran and gesturing sharply. "You were bleeding and I...I hurt you!" Baldur was aware the others could hear every word they were saying, but they didn't have the luxury of Morrigan's silencing spell and Baldur couldn't hold back the tide of words.

Zevran blinked at him, consternation taking the place of confusion. "You mean a few love bites? Baldur, that was nearly a week ago!"

"Love bites-! Zevran, I forced myself on you after I completely lost my mind and slaughtered Loghain's men. You could hardly walk the next day!"

"Is that what this is about? You think you forced me into anything?" Zevran swiped a hand through his hair, his agitation visible. "Mierda. Baldur," Zevran took a breath, and then another, his next words coming out very careful and deliberate. "Do you not think I could stop you if I wanted to? You have never - not ever - done anything that I did not consent to wholeheartedly. I was actually hoping for a repeat performance, but...I suspect that perhaps you are not quite there yet."

Baldur could only stare at Zevran in dismay. What in the name of all his blessed ancestors had Zevran been through that he would actively want to seek out pain during intimacy?

"If you do not believe me, then I will simply have to show you." Zevran said. "Do you trust me?" There was no conditional clauses to the question. The answer could only be yes or it could be no, without exception.

"Yes," Baldur said helplessly, his voice breaking. "It's myself I don't trust. But of course...anything, Zevran."

"Good," Zevran said shortly, looking Baldur over with a critical eye. The entire encampment had heard them, so there was no use attempting subtlety. Baldur followed, entirely contrite and compliant, when Zevran helped him to his feet by his good hand and lead him over to his tent. Their tent.

"My dear Morrigan. If you would be so kind?"

Morrigan sighed with an inconvenienced expression, but waved her hand dismissively. The brilliant blue glow of the barrier forming around their tent was a familiar and comforting sight, if not one that basically painted a glowing sign announcing their activities. Baldur had kept his head down, unable to meet anyone's eyes, but Sten and Shale were in quiet conversation together, and Baldur was startled to see how well they matched, both tall and broad and grey with a matching disdain for others not of their kind.

Zevran ushered Baldur into the tent, letting the flap drop down behind them.

Baldur had already been removed of his armor when he'd been unconscious, and Zevran quickly made short work of his own. He nudged Baldur away when the Warden tried to fumble at the lacings of his trousers one-handed. He leaning down to kiss him softly as he undid the ties, slipping his fingers down the front of Baldur's smalls without even pulling his clothes off him first, and massaged him into full hardness. Baldur gasped into his mouth, reaching out for Zevran's arms and sliding over his smooth skin to bury his hands in Zevran's hair, pressing him closer.

Zevran broke the kiss with a soft, playful nip to Baldur's bottom lip. "I see we are going to have a problem with you keeping your hands to yourself, seeing as how you are injured."

"I can—"

"You will do as I say. And if not, I am not above drugging you to make you more complacent, as you know. But I would hope it will not come to that."

"I'm really starting to question whose side you're on," Baldur grumbled, letting his hands fall away from Zevran's hair to drop down obediently to his sides and Zevran smiled at him, kissing him again as if in reward for good behavior.

"I am on my own side. Fortunately for yourself, I happen to include you in that particular plot. Now then. I will have you lay down on your back and do not move unless I say so."

Baldur felt a thrill rush through him at Zevran's orders, and on the heels of that particular emotion came a rush of relief at being able to concede all control and responsibly for the first time in a long while. Baldur did as instructed, laying back on Zevran's bedroll and feeling a pang of guilt that there was only the one, his own on the ground outside. His bedroll had been packed away, Baldur having given up the pretense of trying to sleep before then. Zevran must have given up on Baldur returning to their tent of his own accord, and the thought burned worse than his hand. He was so undeserving of Zevran's patience, which made him want to be good for him that much more.

Zevran knelt next to Baldur and nudged for him to lift his hips, drawing off his trousers and smallclothes in one smooth motion. He ran his hands back over Baldur's furred legs to rub his thumbs along the crease where his thighs met his pelvis, watching Baldur's cock bob and leak at the tip with satisfaction. He leaned down to swipe a taste with his tongue and Baldur groaned, reaching out automatically to grab for Zevran's shoulders, but snatching his hands away when Zevran glanced up at him with a raised eyebrow. Baldur appeared contrite, but Zevran moved away from between his legs and Baldur let out a disappointed groan that made Zevran chuckle softly.

"It has been awhile for you as well. But don't worry, my darling. I will see that you are not left unsatisfied."

He gripped the bottom of Baldur's tunic and pulled it up over his head, but not off his arms entirely. He drew the fabric taught around Baldur's wrists, exceedingly gentle with his injured hand, but making the binding tight enough that Baldur couldn't break free and hurt Zevran, and Baldur nearly sobbed with the relief that knowledge gave him. Zevran didn't waste any time and straddled his chest, placing his fingers to Baldur's lips and urging them open. Baldur gasped and sucked at Zevran's fingers when they invaded his mouth, barely given enough time to even wet them before Zevran wrapped his hand around himself and fed his erection into Baldur's mouth, giving him no warning as he pressed himself down into Baldur's throat. Baldur convulsed and gagged, arching his head back as he fought to breathe. He strained at his bindings, but Zevran placed a hand against the knot in the middle of the tunic tied around Baldur's wrists and firmly forced his hands back down, pinning them above his head.

"No teeth, Baldur. I know you can do this. I know you can be good for me."

Baldur sobbed, struggling to breathe and swallow at the same time as Zevran pushed forward, slipping the tip of himself into the convulsing channel of Baldur's throat before retreating. Baldur was seized with wracking coughs, turning his head to the side as he tried to gasp for air. Zevran only gave him a moment before he turned Baldur's face back toward him with his fingers squeezing firmly at the hinges of his jaw, entering Baldur's mouth again before he was ready. Zevran buried himself deep in his throat and held himself there, until Baldur saw dark spots flash behind his eyes which were steadily leaking tears. His heart was pounding so hard even though he tried to grasp at calm and control that eluded him. He couldn't draw in oxygen, and he was on the edge of suffocating before Zevran pulled out again and allowed Baldur a moment to gather his bearings.

Again and again Zevran brought him to that edge until Baldur was coughing and sobbing around his cock, but his mouth opened to receive him eagerly every time Zevran pressed his crown against Baldur's lips, urging him onward with steady praise and endearments that Baldur strained to quiet himself so he could hear over the blood rushing to his ears. Eventually, after too long choking and struggling, they found a rhythm. Baldur was able to take Zevran into his throat, sucking and swallowing while he drooled around his length until his mind went hazy, losing awareness of everything except his lover invading all of his senses.

Baldur stopped fighting, going limp and just taking it. His own cock was straining, weeping, as he opened himself eagerly for Zevran, only to have emptiness replace the cock he'd been expecting. He blinked his eyes open in confusion when Zevran moved away from him, a bereft sound escaping his raw throat.

"You were so good, mi amor. You're so sweet. I just need you to hang in there a little while longer," Zevran soothed and Baldur sobbed at the words, clinging to them so desperately because he knew he'd been anything but 'good' or 'sweet' ever since he began losing himself to the berserker, who was mercifully suppressed in his mind for the time being.

Zevran retrieved a brand new bottle of oil that Baldur had purchased in Denerim and slicked his fingers. Baldur had only been on the receiving end of another's cock once, and he had been unconscious for most of that time. He suspected Zevran would have taken him without much, if any, preparation if not for the fact of Baldur's inexperience, and even then he only stretched him enough that he could slide two fingers within Baldur's channel with only minimal resistance before pulling out and immediately replacing his fingers with his cock. Baldur didn't even have time to tense before Zevran sheathed himself entirely in one stroke, holding Baldur's wrists down as his back arched with a sharp cry.

Zevran took advantage of Baldur's bare throat and closed his teeth around skin hard enough to leave a mark, if not draw blood. He matched Baldur bite for bite, fucking into him with brutal savagery that shoved Baldur by inches across the ground with every thrust. Zevran raked his nails down Baldur's shoulder blades, tearing marks into Baldur's skin that parodied his own elaborate tattoos, tracing the curves of his body.

Baldur cried out, wailing as he was subdued and overcome, unable to do anything but accept the glorious torture of Zevran ravaging and ravishing him in turn. He submitted all control over to Zevran, who was skilled beyond reason and so, so gorgeous in the sinful way he took Baldur apart. If Zevran had felt anything like this the last night they'd spent together, then Baldur understood Zevran's anger at being denied a repeat experience. Baldur was incapable of formulating a coherent thought, trying and failing to match the cadence of Zevran's body against his own because Zevran would suddenly stop without warning, buried to the hilt or connected just by the flared head of his cock, until Baldur was crying out and writhing against him just to move. When he was certain he would lose himself to madness, Zevran would drive into him with the full force of his strength, his flint striking mercilessly at Baldur's steel and turning his insides molten.

As with the last time Zevran had taken him, Baldur felt himself letting go of all tethers to his body, pleasure and pain becoming one undecipherable blur in his mind until he couldn't remember ever feeling anything else, his fingers clutching on nothing and his breath punched out of him with every snap of Zevran's hips.

Orgasm crashed over him in the space between breaths, violent and unexpected, but Zevran didn't allow him a moment's respite. If anything, he redoubled his efforts, each thrust harder than the last as he alternated a slow drag with furious pounding that heated the underside of Baldur's thighs and backside from the force of their skin slapping together. Baldur was sensitive, too sensitive, and soon he was writhing on Zevran's cock trying to pull away, but Zevran clamped his hands down on Baldur's hips and held him firm, taking advantage of the dwarf's exhaustion without hesitation. He brought their mouths together and Baldur could taste his own coppery blood on Zevran's tongue, his skin stinging from multiple bites and scratches that he would inevitably feel for days, reminding him of this very moment.

A week without proper meals or sleep caught up to Baldur swiftly, and he was certain the ground had come loose beneath him, the entire world going unstable except for the bracing pressure of Zevran anchoring him from the inside out. He groaned pleadingly into Zevran's mouth, clenching down on him and straining his hips upward. He wanted to feel the other man find his release within him while Baldur was still conscious, fighting off the waves of darkness that lapped at the edges of his vision.

"Please, ghivashel," Baldur moaned against Zevran's lips, bringing his bound arms up and around Zevran's neck to pull him flush against his body, and Zevran's brutal rhythm finally faltered. Zevran let out a low, rumbling growl, swelling and twitching within the confines of Baldur's body as he shot his seed deep within him, his hips flush against Baldur's backside so not even a drop escaped between their bodies.

Baldur didn't need any of Morrigan's potion to lose his connection to the waking world, slipping under into unconsciousness as smoothly as Zevran's spent organ sliding out of him. The last thing he felt before fading away was Zevran's fingers in his hair, a kiss softer than breath against his lips, and then Baldur was gone.

---

Bastion's baying woke Baldur up suddenly. He automatically reached for his sword, but he found himself pinned down with Zevran's weight sprawled over his chest and legs, lethargy still clinging to his limbs. If they could hear sounds from outside that meant Morrigan had dropped her barrier, which was more often than not a prelude to an attack.

"Let the others take care of it," Zevran mumbled against the side of his face, pressing a sleepy kiss into his beard as his hands stroked up and down Baldur's flanks without even pretending to make a show of getting up.

"I'd forgotten what a terrible influence you are," Baldur grumbled, trying and failing to dislodge Zevran, but the elf was incongruously heavy for his slender build and utterly resistant against all attempts to move.

"Nonsense. I—ah!" Zevran gave a sharp cry and Baldur was up at once, shoving Zevran behind him with a resurgence of strength as he balled his fists to strike out for lack of proper weapons.

Baldur stopped immediately when he saw Bastion's head peering at them through the flap of the tent, his tongue lolling out happily. His mabari gave one short bark and pressed his cold, wet nose against Baldur's hand, which was likely how he'd greeted Zevran, except in a much more sensitive area - if the way Zevran was rubbing at his backside with a disgruntled expression was any indication. Baldur looked past Bastion and saw with surprise and relief that Alistair and Leliana had returned, but they were alone and each appeared livid.

"They wouldn't allow us entry into the Circle!" Alistair said furiously when Baldur and Zevran had both dressed and rejoined the group. "We were told by some peon that there were no healers available, and no one was entering or leaving the Circle of Magi until further notice!"

"We will have to go back. We cannot give up," Zevran said firmly. "We will find a way past the guards to the Circle if Baldur cannot work his special Grey Warden magic and convince them otherwise that the mages' services are direly needed."

"I'm a Grey Warden!" Alistair protested, on the verge of petulance. "I have special Grey Warden magic too, but they still wouldn't let us pass!"

"Clearly whatever ability you believe you possess is inferior to the dwarf's," Morrigan said. "You couldn't convince a dying fish to jump back into water."

"Did they explain why the Circle was closed?" Baldur asked.

"I, er, might have punched the templar blocking access to the docks in the jaw before I could get around to asking."

"Why am I not surprised," Morrigan said, looking disgusted. "Perhaps you should wait here while those more competent gain access to the Circle."

"We'll all go together. They must honor the Grey Warden treaty, and I intend to hold them to their promise," Baldur said firmly, irritated but blessedly free from the rage that would have had him drawing his blade and storming the Circle himself. Perhaps that time would come, knowing Zevran's solution to the berserker problem was only a temporary fix at best, but one he was more than happy utilize regularly except for the way he had to attempt to mask his limp to avoid any of Alistair's concerned questions that the other Warden was in no way prepared to have answered.

---

*Bann Teagan's porn collection borrowed from the story 'Of Steel and Stone' by littleblackdog and aimo's comic page: art/DA-Cheesecake-165483131 (NSFW!) I loved the idea too much not to borrow it, with much respect and credit to both the writer and artist! 3