"If I may, I wish to speak with you regarding a serious matter," Wynne said to Zevran a few nights later in camp after she had finished darning Alistair's shirt and a few other articles of clothing that had somehow found their way into her possession before being redistributed to their guileless owners. Despite Wynne's tone, Zevran looked up at her with interest rather than trepidation after stowing away his newly mended socks.
"...Is it regarding your bosom? I'm game."
"No...I do not wish to speak of my bosom!" Wynne said slowly, adjusting her grip on her staff with a frown.
"But it is a marvelous bosom. I have seen women half your age who have not held up half so well. Perhaps it is a magical bosom?"
"Stop talking about my bosom!" Wynne demanded, pained.
"But I thought you wished to speak seriously."
"I do," Wynne said. "I thought, however foolishly, that you might be willing to speak of your past."
Baldur, too, was interested in Zevran's past. Particularly about the woman the Guardian had mentioned before allowing the party access into the temple, the woman Zevran regretted killing. Baldur would likely never bring the subject up himself for fear of overstepping his boundaries and reopening old wounds. However, he couldn't help but overhear if someone else were to bring the topic up instead.
"We could do that," Zevran said, cheerfully enough. "There have been many bosoms in my past, though only few as fine as yours," he assured her.
"Enough. I'm ending this conversation."
Apparently that particular chapter of Zevran's life would continue to be a mystery, but Baldur didn't have time to dwell for long before he was summoned by Morrigan and left Zevran and Wynne to their bickering as she went to see what she wanted.
"I have been studying mother's grimoire. Do you wish to hear what I have found?" Morrigan said. For all that she kept her face emotionless, Baldur detected that she seemed upset and slightly anxious. Her eyes darted whenever she heard a crackling log in the fire or a stick snapping underfoot, and he had to wonder what she had discovered to make her so jumpy.
"I do."
"'Tis...not what I expected. I had hoped for a collection of her spells or a map of the power that she commands, but this is not it."
"You seem disturbed," Baldur said cautiously, wary of triggering Morrigan into taking out her frustration out on him.
"'Disturbed'? Yes, perhaps that is the right word. One thing in particular within her writings disturbs me. Here, in great detail, Flemeth explains the means in which she has survived for centuries."
"A spell? Blood magic?"
"Oh, if only it were so. Flemeth has raised many daughters over her long lifetime. There are stories of these many witches of the wilds throughout Chasind legend, yet I have never seen a one and always wondered why not. And now I know. They are all Flemeth. When her body becomes old and wizened, she raises a daughter. And when the time is right, she takes her daughter's body for her own."
"You know how this sounds, right?" Baldur said, feeling his gut clench in horror at even the possibility that what Morrigan was saying could be true. "How can you be certain that this isn't some story made up by the templars or Flemeth herself?"
"I recognize my mother's hand. She uses a code that only she, and myself, can decipher. She wrote this grimoire, and I cannot see a reason why she would fabricate such a tremendous tale if no one else could read it. She couldn't have possibly thought I would acquire it from the Circle of Magi myself, thereby would think nothing of mentioning the grimoire's existence to me, save as a warning not to let my guard down around foolish templars. No, there is only one possible response to this. Flemeth needs to die. I will not sit about like an empty sack waiting to be filled. Flemeth must be slain, and I need your help to do it."
Baldur's gut instinct was to refuse Morrigan outright. What she proposed was insanity. He was also deeply indebted to Flemeth for saving both his and Alistair's lives, though to what end he still did not know. He wouldn't do Morrigan's dirty work for her, especially with so little proof of Flemeth's supposed scheme to possess Morrigan herself. However, Baldur had to pause and think of the repercussions of declining to help. Morrigan was under his protection and, for better or worse, she had followed his lead more often than not even when she adamantly opposed his chosen course of action. If he didn't do this one, great deed for her, then there was a very real possibility he would lose her and the abilities and knowledge that came with having a mage such as she in their company. Wynne was invaluable, but she was older and tired, and fighting a dragon in addition to passing through the Gauntlet had taken much out of her.
"I will...consider it, Morrigan."
"I suppose I can't expect much more assurance than that out of you. Flemeth is dangerous and must be stopped at all costs. You will need to go back to Flemeth's hut in the Korcari Wilds without me."
"You're not even coming?" Baldur protested.
"If I am present when she is slain, I cannot be certain that she will not be able to possess my body right then. So I must remain at the camp. Confront her and slay her quickly. I doubt she will truly be dead even then, but it will take her years to find a new host and recover her power, if that is even possible. The thing I must have is her true grimoire. With it, I can defend against her power in the future. Everything else in her hut is yours."
Every last thing about the situation sat wrong with Baldur, but at least without Morrigan there to force his hand, perhaps he could reason with Flemeth and judge for himself whether or not Morrigan's fears were unfounded.
"Very well," he said, not quite meeting her eyes.
"I am grateful," she sighed in obvious relief that make Baldur uneasy to hear, especially if he didn't come through for her. Morrigan criticized much, but asked for very little herself. "The sooner this can be done, the sooner it will set my mind at ease."
Getting the ashes to Arl Eamon was priority, but he knew if he went to Redcliffe first he might never get the time to make a trip all the way back down south to the wilds. As it were, they were positioned nearly dead center between Redcliffe and Flemeth's hut, so he decided their best chance would be to split the company in half with the first group to go north to Redcliffe and the second half to go with him into the Korcari Wilds. He wished there were a better way, but unless Morrigan knew of a spell that allowed Baldur to make a copy of himself that wasn't evil and trying to kill everyone, this was their only option that he could see.
If Flemeth was as dangerous as Morrigan warned, Baldur wanted to be prepared, but he also didn't want to approach her looking for a fight either. He needed to appear non-threatening, so he decided to take Leliana, Wynne, and Alistair as the most affable in appearance and personality in his group, plus Alistair's templar abilities that nullified most mages' power would come in handy if Flemeth did attack. He decided to take Bastion with him as well, since he was starting to feel like he was pawning his mabari off on everyone else, and he could use Bastion's tracking abilities if they became lost in the Wilds. Hopefully the trip would be nothing more than a scenic walk before they could all reconvene in Redcliffe and plan their next move with Arl Eamon's assistance.
The only thing left was to tell Zevran he wasn't coming with him.
He delayed that particular conversation for as long as possible, hardly knowing how to approach Zevran even when things were good between them rather than attempting to traverse the fraught tension currently turning Baldur's tongue to stone. Instead, he spoke to Brother Genitivi who was a welcome buffer between he and Zevran at present, though a temporary one at that.
"What will you do now?" Baldur asked. "You are welcome to come with us."
"As fascinating as your travels no doubt are, I will only slow you down, unfortunately. But I appreciate the offer all the same," Genitivi said in between bites of his third or fourth helping of supper that consisted of game Leliana and Sten had caught roasted over the open fire. Baldur had briefly considered carving up the dragon at Alistair's suggestion, though it would be just their luck if dragon meat turned out to be poisonous, so they stuck with safer sources of nourishment. Baldur couldn't even imagine when Genitivi's last hot meal had been and made certain that he had enough, especially if they were to turn him out into the wilderness to fend for himself again. "I believe I will return to Denerim. Get my affairs in order before arranging an expedition of pilgrims and scholars to the Temple of Andraste. I'll also need to see to poor Weylon's remains as well."
Baldur hadn't thought about Genitivi's dead assistant once the entire time they were in Denerim. He'd left the corpse to lay mouldering in Genitivi's house for months without even alerting the city guard or attempting to locate Weylon's family and inform them of his passing.
"I'm sorry," Baldur mumbled, feeling ashamed for his callousness, especially since he'd spent most of his time in Denerim in bed with Zevran. "I should have..."
"Nonsense. You had other more important matters to attend to, I'm sure."
Those more important matters did need attending, but Baldur, coward that he was, didn't tell Zevran of his plans until the next morning while he was packing up their tent after a restless night spent with Genitivi snoring away blissfully between them. Baldur wanted nothing more than to travel to Redcliffe with the others and have a hot bath and fall into a real bed to sleep for the next several days, but a low smolder of anger had been burning steadily within him since they left the temple and threatened to consume him from the inside out if he did not confront Zevran on his actions with the high dragon. He wasn't looking forward to having this conversation at all. He waited until Gentivi had joined the others in arranging breakfast before taking a deep, bracing breath and kept Zevran back with a soft call.
"Morrigan fears her mother has plans to take possession of her body and has asked me to intervene on her behalf, so a few of us will be going to the Korcari Wilds before heading up to Redcliffe to join everyone else," Baldur said, not looking up from where he was tying off his bedroll to the top of his heavy pack.
"Ohhh, we are to go assassinating?" Zevran said excitedly. "That is my particular specialty, as you well know. What shall it be, do you think? Knives? Poison? Or perhaps I shall stare at her luridly until her wizened heart expires from desire? You'd be surprised how effect that particular method has been."
"You're not going," Baldur said shortly.
Zevran laughed, placing his hands on his hips and rocking back on his heels. "So I won't stare at Morrigan's mother, although if she's who Morrigan inherited her devastating beauty from, I can make no promises."
Baldur set his pack aside very deliberately, kneeling for a long moment with his face turned down, before he stood and looked Zevran with his shoulders pulled back and his jaw tight.
"You misunderstand. You are not coming with us to confront Morrigan's mother. Period."
Baldur's eyes were trained on Zevran's unflinchingly, and he saw when Zevran's amusement turned into confusion, to worry, to finally the beginnings of anger. Zevran was the first to look away when Baldur's hard stare refused to waver. Baldur took a deep breath and felt the mantle of commander slip over him like a forgotten glove that had recently found itself back in his possession.
"You disobeyed a direct order and endangered yourself as well as the others when you decided to engage the dragon on your own. Your actions were entirely unacceptable, and as such you will be going to Redcliffe with Morrigan, Sten, and Shale to wait there and stay out of trouble until the rest of us return from Flemeth's."
"I killed that dragon for you!" Zevran said, throwing his hands out to the side and taking a step towards Baldur. "We would still be up that Maker-forsaken mountain trying to kill it if I hadn't stepped in when it was about to crush you!"
"That was not your call to make. Morrigan and Wynne had to redirect their shots to avoid hitting you, which could have caused irreparable damage if the dragon broke free of the spells and focused its attack on those fighting on the ground. You put all of our lives at risk, including yours most of all!" Baldur shouted the last words, which didn't have the benefit of Morrigan's barrier that had been dismantled when they woke to contain the volume. Some of Baldur's harsh demeanor slipped, and his hands shook as he let the last words sink in and grip hold like his worst nightmare.
"You could have been killed," Baldur said more quietly, the steel in his tone grating and raw. "If anything were to happen to you, Zevran..."
"So it's fine if you want to throw yourself in front of the dragon you've been obsessing over for months, but complain when someone else lands the killing blow, is that it?"
Baldur almost wanted to laugh at the thought of forcing this terrible confrontation with his lover simply because of wounded egos, but he held back, suspecting with too much certainty that a laugh wouldn't be the only emotional or uncontrollable sound to escape him, and he couldn't afford to fall apart right then.
"I am a Grey Warden, not you. I took an oath swearing to do everything in my power to stop the Blight and all the monstrosities that result from it. Not you. There is nothing tying you here or stopping you from being able to leave if you decide you'd rather not be eaten alive by darkspawn. I wouldn't ask that of anyone, much less someone I care about."
Zevran's eyes went cold and flinty, his look stating that witnesses wouldn't stop him from reaching over and grabbing Baldur to do...only Mahal knew what to him.
"I may not be a Grey Warden, as you are so kind to point out. Repeatedly. But I gave my oath to you. The word of a Crow may not mean much, but I do not go back on my promises. I am more than capable of handling myself on the battlefield. I thought we were partners - or part of a team, at the very least."
Zevran's hurt was palpable and Baldur's soul railed at him for failing the trust his âzyungâl had in him. But this, Zevran taking matters into his own hands against a powerful enemy that took them weeks to prepare to engage in battle with, threatened Baldur's entire mission. If anything were to happen to Zevran, if he were killed, Baldur would be crippled by the loss. He might recover in time, but time was a precious commodity none of them could afford with the Blight upon them and the Archdemon growing stronger each day. His own father had been forever changed by his mother's death, and Baldur didn't want to become cold or ruthless, or worse, an empty shell of himself if his very heart was destroyed were anything to happen to Zevran.
Baldur forced calm around himself like a cloak even when he wanted to sink to his knees to beg forgiveness and forget everything that had happened on that damned mountain top. But he could not be lenient in this. Were any of the others to do something similar, Baldur would have been dressing them down as well, so he couldn't show special consideration to Zevran as a subordinate either especially because he was Baldur's lover.
"I will be leaving with Wynne, Leliana, Alistair, and Bastion. The rest of you are to take the Sacred Ashes to Redcliffe. Hopefully they will be enough to save Arl Eamon. There's no one else I would trust with this task."
Zevran stared at him as if he were a stranger, and said nothing. Baldur shifted his eyes ever so slightly to the left, focusing on Zevran's beautifully tapered ear instead of the betrayal in his amber eyes and using all of his strength to keep his features desperately neutral. The silence fell thickly between them like an insidious fog, penetrating Baldur down into his very core with an icy chill.
Zevran turned and walked away without another word.
Baldur didn't tell Morrigan that he had no intention of killing Flemeth, unable to kill the witch in cold blood on her say so, especially since neither he nor Alistair would be alive without Flemeth's intervention in Ostagar. He still wanted to keep their party as small as possible, and showing up on Flemeth's doorway with an assassin or giant golem would have hurt any chance of talking with her and discovering for himself if there was any truth to Morrigan's horrifying claims that Flemeth was possessing the living bodies of her daughters in order to prolong her life and her youth.
Wynne was necessary as a healer since Morrigan was staying as far from her mother as possible, although Baldur hoped they would have no need of her skills. Leliana, on the other hand, he was hoping to use her skills to steal the grimoire rather than confronting Flemeth if a fight seemed otherwise unavoidable, and Alistair was useful for his templar training in dealing with apostates. Baldur was almost hesitant to bring him because Flemeth would know what Alistair was at once, but he was a Grey Warden first and foremost as well as the only other person who had dealings with Flemeth before.
Baldur didn't see Zevran before his half of the group left, even though he lingered over his replenished pack and bedroll hoping to catch a glimpse of him at the very least. Baldur stood firm on his point and wouldn't take back anything he said, but that didn't lessen the ache. He would be sharing a tent with Alistair while on the way to Flemeth's, having given Genitivi his own tent since Genitivi would be heading out east to Denerim on his own. He left the ashes in Morrigan's care as a trade off for confronting her mother for her with instructions to use them to revive Arl Eamon at once, rather than waiting for Baldur's return.
Baldur stewed in his own thoughts once the five of them were on the road heading south while Zevran and the others went in the opposite direction headed towards Redcliffe Castle. Everyone had heard his and Zevran's fight, of course, though thankfully they were all sensible enough not to mention what they heard until there were many miles from the campsite and Baldur had time to cool down. He was surprised Wynne had given him that long, knowing she disapproved of his fraternizing with Zevran, but not surprised that she grabbed the first opportunity to speak with him as soon as the two of them were finally separated.
"Forgive me if I'm overstepping my bounds, but I'm concerned. I wanted to ask you where you thought your relationship with Zevran was going," Wynne said, easing into the conversation and matching Baldur's pace at the back of the small brigade led by Bastion at the front.
Baldur winced and had to fight back a growl, still torn between anxiety and anger over the earlier confrontation with Zevran and fretting whether or not he made the correct decision in sending him away. "Not now, Wynne."
"When then? I only ask because I'm your friend. It seems he only has one thing on his mind. I question the wisdom of a Grey Warden being involved in such an affair."
"It's not an affair. He's my sanâzyung. We've been over this before."
"Which is why I worry. You are a Grey Warden. You have responsibilities which supersede your personal desires and I fear you will neglect them in favor of your One."
"I can handle my responsibilities and relationships. I'm not about to jeopardize our mission and I know where my priorities lie as a Grey Warden first."
"Love is ultimately selfish. It demands that one be devoted to a single person, who may fully occupy one's mind and heart, to the exclusion of all else. A Grey Warden cannot afford to be selfish. You may be forced to make a choice between saving your love and saving everyone else, and then what would you do?"
"What am I supposed to do, tell Zevran to go away for good?" Bad enough that he already had to do it the once, and he hoped to avoid a repeat performance.
"You may have to, to save one or both of you unnecessary anguish later on."
"I'm not giving up what we have, no matter what you say."
The last thing Baldur needed was to have doubts shoved into his head when his and Zevran's relationship was already on rocky ground. He didn't expect being involved with Zevran would be easy, and honestly he was astounded they had managed this long without stepping on each other's toes or finding their differences too great to overcome. He wasn't about to give up on Zevran, but he meant what he said at camp and had to hope that Zevran would trust him and not think himself expendable or invulnerable.
"I have given my advice. Do with it what you will," Wynne said dismissively before she lengthened her stride to catch up with the others while Baldur hung behind and glowered at her back.
If anything, he only grew angrier after Wynne shoved her nose in where it didn't belong and refused to speak to her aside from issuing sharp, barked orders. He felt nearly as irritable as he had when he'd been trapped in the grip of his berserker and sleep deserted him once again without the comforting presence of Zevran beside him. He took up sentry duty in place of Shale's absence and was glad for the resurgence of darkspawn on the outskirts of the Korcari Wilds for him to vent his frustrations upon, though they became scarcer and scarcer the closer they ventured to where Baldur remembered Flemeth and Morrigan had once resided back when he'd been a brand new Grey Warden initiate. Flemeth was waiting for them outside her hut with no illusions that their arrival was unexpected.
"And so you return. Lovely Morrigan has at last found someone willing to dance to her tune. Such enchanting music she plays, wouldn't you say?" Flemeth greeted in her rasp of a voice.
She appeared every inch the wizened old woman rather than the dangerous maleficar Morrigan and rumor had made Flemeth out to be. She had coarse grey hair and gaunt cheeks. Her dress was drab and patched together as opposed to Morrigan's opulent jewelry and skimpy clothing that seem more intentional rather than a result of poverty or living out in the Wilds. The differences between Flemeth and Morrigan couldn't have been greater, save for their sharp yellow eyes that pierced knowingly and saw through whatever they landed on, which happened to be Baldur, currently.
Unnerving eyes, those.
Bastion growled with his ears pricked forward, but Baldur set a calming hand on his ruff and Bastion quieted, though he stared at Flemeth with intent focus.
"I've come to talk, nothing more," Baldur said, hands empty and loose at his sides.
"Oh? How interesting. Speak, then. You have come far, and I am nothing if not hospitable." Flemeth sounded as if she found the entire concept of hospitality laughable.
"Morrigan claims you want her body," Baldur said. He immediately regretted his unfortunate wording as Alistair broke out into a coughing fit behind him. It was one of the few times he was relieved that Zevran was not with him, especially since he would never let a comment like that pass.
Flemeth laughed, the sound rough and full-throated.
"Oh, I do like that. Ahh, but it is an old, old story. One that Flemeth has heard before...and even told. Let us skip right to the ending, shall we? Do you slay the old wretch as Morrigan bids? Or does the tale take a different turn?"
"I just want the truth."
Baldur had no intention of killing an old woman out of hand, especially at Morrigan's provocation. They very rarely agreed on anything, and time and again Morrigan had proven herself to be selfish and morally repugnant, which was a good enough reason for Baldur to do exactly the opposite of what she wanted. However, if Flemeth did indeed prove to be a threat to Morrigan, then he would do as he must especially with Morrigan under his protection as an ally at the very least, if not exactly a friend.
"The truth? As if it were nothing! How like a man. No, no. Far better the lie. Far better the comfort of blankets and shadows and a mother's love. Morrigan wishes my grimoire? Take it as a trophy. Tell her I am slain."
Baldur was unsurprised that Flemeth knew about the grimoire. He was half tempted to remain silent and simply let Flemeth play out the conversation between them, especially since she apparently knew what Baldur was going to do and say before even he did. He didn't know if she could look into his head like the Guardian had, or if she knew Morrigan so well that she could predict her daughter's course of action well beforehand.
"What happens to you if I take the grimoire and don't kill you?" Baldur asked, feeling very much as if he were attempting to bargain with a demon once again. Even he knew how that particular story played out whenever demons were involved, but Flemeth was an unknown so he couldn't say for certain what would be the outcome for either decision.
"I go. Perhaps I surprise Morrigan one day...or I may simply watch. It would be interesting to see what she does with her freedom. Enlightening, even. Would you give an old woman that?"
"I...could do that. If you promise not to harm Morrigan."
"My, what you must think of me! Despite what Morrigan may have told you, I have no designs on her life or her body. She is free to do with both what she will."
That was very likely as good a promise as Baldur was apt to secure from the Witch of the Wilds. He doubted he would be able to lie convincingly if Morrigan asked, but he had no interest in doing her dirty work for her, murdering an old woman on her say so without any proof.
"Not killing Morrigan's mother...that is the more noble choice, right?" Leliana said, echoing Baldur's own thoughts uncertainly.
"Very well," he said. He would deal with the consequences as they came.
"It's far easier this way, don't you think? The lies are always more fun," Flemeth said.
"Yes, fun," Alistair said skeptically. "Tricking Morrigan...oh, who am I kidding? That does sound fun."
"A tangled web you weave, Warden. I hope it's for a good cause," Wynne cautioned.
"You would rather I kill Flemeth?" Baldur countered, still ready to snap at Wynne at the slightest provocation, though he knew his ability to hold a grudge was minimal at best. She wasn't necessarily wrong, about Flemeth or Zevran, which galled the most.
"I trust your judgment. I'm certain your intentions are noble, but I can't imagine Morrigan will be well pleased were she to find out the truth."
"I will tell her the truth myself...if she asks."
"A lie of omission is still a lie. But very well."
"The book is inside the hut," Flemeth said, gesturing to the wooden shack half sunken into the marsh and covered with winding vines as if the earth was slowly claiming the construct back for itself. "There are notes and spells enough to make even Morrigan blush with delight."
Baldur nodded his thanks. Flemeth's amused smile finally faded from her weathered face as she leveled him a serious look that made his spine straighten and his hand itch for his sword.
"You and I will not meet again. That I guarantee."
Baldur went into the hut, wary of traps, but Leliana only shook her head, indicating their way was clear. Baldur did not linger, picking through the chest at the foot of a bed with a simple, wooden frame and thin mattress and taking whatever items of note caught his interest along with a grimoire similar to the book he'd appropriated from the Circle, though this one was much thicker and just felt ancient, despite being in rather decent condition. Bastion had stayed outside as guard, refusing to enter the hut. Flemeth was no where to be found when Baldur and the others left the hut, though they didn't bother to search for her. Baldur was just fine with the prospect of never meeting Flemeth again.
Baldur tried to open the grimoire, half expecting the damn thing to blow up on him, but there must have been magical seals of some sort because the cover refused to budge. Perhaps for the best. He stowed the grimoire away in his pack and directed the party to head back the way they came. If they did not encounter delays then they would be arriving to Redcliffe only a week or two behind Morrigan and the rest. He could use the extra time to think of what he might say to Zevran once they arrived.
"Look, darkspawn!" Wynne cautioned, unstrapping her staff from the holster on her back.
Baldur had been so wrapped up in his thoughts that he hadn't been looking and almost walked directly into the path of a hurlock archer's arrow. He brought his shield up just in time and reached for his sword, sinking back into the familiar motions of battle. Each fight they encountered blurred into the last and Baldur let muscle memory and his berserker take over as the group easily took down the pack of darkspawn before continuing on their way without hardly a pause for breath. He was taken entirely off guard when the sound of a body hitting the ground came from directly behind him and he turned in time to see Wynne struggling to pick herself up after no apparent cause for her collapse.
"Wynne!"
"Ohhh...I...fell..." Wynne murmured as she staggered to her feet and waved off any assistance as Baldur rushed toward her, his eyes wide with concern.
"Are you all right?" Baldur asked, touching her elbow and looking her over for injury. He was so stupid to have just assumed everyone was fine after that last attack without even checking. Complacency, he knew, could get someone killed.
"For a moment there I thought I was... I thought it was all over."
"Thought what was all over?"
"Everything. I will explain everything when we are back at camp. Now is not the time."
"Now is very much the time, Wynne," Baldur said, refusing to be put off. "I've been pushing you too hard. We haven't had much of a break in between Uldred and the dragon, not to mention we've been marching all over Ferelden..."
"No, you were right to push us. I will not be content to simply waste away in my dotage as long as there is breath in my body and I am not a detriment to the group. I can continue. I just became a little...lightheaded."
"Fine. But we're looking for a place to camp and then you're going to explain."
Wynne was tight lipped and pale, but inclined her head in agreement. Baldur noticed the way she was leaning on her staff like a walking stick and was determined that they set up camp sooner rather than later. He hovered close to her side, his earlier ire forgotten as he quietly fretted. He didn't have so many friends that he could afford to lose the ones he had, but Wynne was more than that. He respected her and cared for her a great deal, and would have even if she wasn't half as powerful. She wasn't afraid to challenge him or question his motives, but did so in a way that was honestly out of concern rather than just to provoke him. Alistair and Leliana didn't seem overly alarmed, but Bastion, as the unquestionable mother hen in the group, stuck close to Wynne as well, much to her chagrin.
"Your dog is filthy. I can smell him fifty yards off," Wynne said, sounding as if she'd like nothing more than to plug her nose as she glared at Bastion, who cocked his head at her and whined.
"I'm sure you're exaggerating. None of us exactly smell like a field of daisies," Baldur said in loyal defense of his dog, but he tried not to breathe too deeply either.
"That may be so, but all the same, I would like your permission to bathe him."
Baldur snorted when Bastion yelped and bolted from Wynne's side to scurry ahead, splashing – intentionally, Baldur thought – through a puddle that sprayed the left side of Alistair's armor with mud.
"Hey!" Alistair exclaimed, attempting to shake mud off his leg before he gave up and chased after Bastion, who barked as if he were laughing when Alistair splashed through another puddle.
"Can't you just wave your staff and make him clean?" Baldur asked, jutting his chin in the direction Bastion and Alistair had run off.
"No, that's not what magic is used for." Wynne sighed. "Just...make him sleep over on the other side of the camp. With Alistair. With any luck, that will keep all the stench confined to one small area..."
"I'll see what I can do," Baldur said, though with his luck Alistair and Bastion would more than likely try to sneak a cuddle with Wynne, filthy or not. He was rather tempted himself, just to make certain that she didn't collapse again or expire in the night. They were nearing the lands between the Hinterlands and Southron Hills where they would be able to take the Imperial Highway on their way north to Redcliffe, rather than attempting to navigate the endless miles of forest again. Nightfall was swiftly approaching, and they made camp upon a hilltop so they wouldn't be caught by another ambush while traversing through a valley.
"I think I owe you an explanation for what happened earlier," Wynne said once they were settled and a fire was blazing beneath the cover of a copse of trees that would hopefully hide the worst of the light and smoke that would give away their location to unsavory parties.
"You had me worried," Baldur said rather calmly, he thought, as opposed to the yelling or fussing he actually wanted to do.
"You should know that...something happened to me at the tower before you came along. You spoke to Petra, did you not? She told you I saved her from a demon. I...did, but I did not survive that encounter."
"H-How? Blood magic?" Baldur reeled back as if struck. Wynne didn't look like a corpse. She ate and slept and bled like the rest of them, and from what Baldur could tell she was as alive as anyone else.
"No, I'm not undead. If I were a possessed walking corpse and could still think, I'd kill myself. I engaged a very powerful demon to rescue Petra. It sapped me of all my energy and will, and left me drained. It took everything I had to defeat it, and when I was done I no longer had the strength to keep my heart beating." Wynne looked down, her face a mask of pain and sorrow. "I remember my life ebbing away; everything receded from me...sound, light... I remember being enveloped in complete, impenetrable darkness. And then I sensed a presence, enfolding me and cradling me, whispering quietly to me. The sensation is impossible to describe. I was being...held back, firmly, but gently, as a mother would a child eager to slip from her grasp. I felt life and warmth flowing through my veins again. I began to be aware of small sounds, and the discomfort of my hip pressing into the cold stone of the tower floor."
"So you were never really completely dead then," Baldur said, trying to understand.
"I had no heartbeat, no breath left in my body. My spirit was barely holding on by a thread when I was called back. The Fade contains spirits both benevolent and malicious. The benevolent spirits seldom make themselves known, because they want nothing from mortals, unlike the demons. It was one of these spirits that saved me. Without it, I would be dead. And it has not left me. It is with me, even now, bonded to me. You see, I am supposed to be dead. It is the spirit that is keeping me in this world, and this is not the way of things. Perhaps the spirit did not expect this but it is weakening, gradually. I am living on borrowed time."
"How much time?"
"I do not know. I can feel when the spirit weakens, so I should have fair warning. But come, let us not talk about this. There is time yet."
Baldur was struck deeply, already unable to imagine fighting without Wynne as a calming, reassuring presence at his side. She resonated with kindness that didn't come at a price or with exceptions. Her goodness was innate and a reminder that Baldur could still survive through the most horrific atrocities and still have faith. He wept for his friend in private, unwilling to bring more stress to Wynne and give her cause to hide her waning strength from him. He knew without a doubt that Wynne would refuse to be coddled or sidelined in an attempt to conserve her strength. She, like Baldur, would fight to her very last breath to make even the slightest dent against the evil forces at work.
Their march was a solemn one, but their spirits – possibly literally in Wynne's case – rose at the sight of the not-quite-bustling, but nonetheless active village of Redcliffe. The Arl's castle was not much further away and overlooked the village, which was in the process of rebuilding after Baldur and his companions put an end to the siege of undead that had nearly slaughtered the village. Baldur lifted a hand sheepishly when the villagers and guards who saw them abruptly stopped whatever they were doing and cheered the group's approach.
"None of these people would be alive today without your intervention," Leliana reminded him gently when Baldur became visibly perplexed by the influx of greetings or tokens of thanks pressed into his hands. He even collected more than a few kisses from weeping mothers with tiny children clinging to their skirts, though the lovelier young women who attempted to approach him to express their gratitude found themselves doing an abrupt retreat when encountering Leliana's rather scary glare. Alistair was more than willing to accept thanks in Baldur's stead, his cheeks red and expression pleased. Baldur was almost tempted to tease him, except someone dropped a crown of white flowers upon his head when he wasn't looking, which made Alistair point at him and laugh while Bastion sneezed.
"These are Andraste's Grace!" Leliana gasped. "These were my mother's favorite flower...oh, I haven't seen these in such a long time!" Leliana leaned down and Baldur froze when her nose nearly brushed the top of his head, breathing in the flowers' scent. "They smell just like Mother use to."
"Well...here," Baldur said, carefully removing the crown when Leliana remembered herself and stood up straight with a beguiling tinge of pink to her cheeks that matched his and Alistair's. He held out the flowers for Leliana to take and he saw the white flowers had a deep red center that did indeed smell quite lovely. "You would appreciate these far more than I."
"Thank you...thank you so much!" Leliana said, holding the flowers delicately before she ducked down and pressed a grateful kiss to Baldur's cheek, which more than made up for the ones he'd missed due to her unsubtle intervention.
Wynne cleared her throat.
"Right. We should...we should get going," Baldur said, ducking his head and scratching at the nape of his neck with ragged, dirty fingernails. The wall of fire from the Guardian's temple might have scoured away the blood and soot from his body, but there was no comparing to a real bath, which was only a short hike up a steep hill away.
The castle's guards kept their lips and their flowers to themselves, but bowed with one fist clasped over their heart as they opened the gates to usher Baldur and the others inside. A runner or a scout must have alerted Bann Teagan, Eamon's brother, of Baldur's arrival, for he was there to greet him as one of the guards led Baldur into the great hall were audiences were received while Alistair, Wynne, Leliana and Bastion were taken to the guest quarters where the rest of their party was residing, Baldur assumed. He wished to go with them, anxious for different reasons to speak to both Morrigan and Zevran, but even more importantly he needed to know how Arl Eamon fared.
"You return," Teagan said, his face breaking into a pleased smile as he looked upon Baldur as the guards deposited him before the steps leading up to where Teagan stood before a roaring fireplace.
"What is Arl Eamon's condition?" Baldur asked, cutting right to the point rather than wasting time on pleasantries. "Did the ashes work?"
"The Urn's healing powers have lived up to their expectation! Eamon is convalescing in his bedchambers at the moment. He's very weak, but he is alive, which is...more than I could have hoped for. Truly, I cannot begin to thank you and your companions enough. First with the village and Connor and now this..."
Baldur, uncomfortable with praise, tried not to let the villagers' and Teagan's thanks go to his head. He recalled that Alistair had told him Teagan had once – or still did – retain a collection of dwarven erotica and shifted uncomfortably, really not wanting to press how far Teagan's gratitude extended. "May I see him?" he said, swiftly changing the subject. "We have important matters to discuss."
"Indeed we do. Come. I will take you to him."
Baldur was glad that Morrigan had decided to turn over the ashes rather than keep them for herself and disappear, never to be seen or heard from again, but perhaps he didn't give her enough credit. He still wasn't comfortable delegating responsibility, determined to carry the burden of duty all on his own, but he was reminded time and again that he wasn't alone and he could afford a little more trust in his companions.
Eamon was sitting at his desk rather than in bed, to Teagan's apparent dismay, though Eamon waved him off and stood with a hand braced on the desk at Baldur's approach.
"Ah, you must be the Grey Warden who has saved my life. I'm afraid I do not recall much of what happened before I fell ill, and Teagan has been unusually tight-lipped."
"Much has happened since you fell ill, Brother. Some of it will not be...easy for you to hear," Teagan said somberly.
"I would like to know the details surrounding my wife's death," Eamon said, sorrow and iron infusing his tone in equal measures. "The mage Jowan, who tutored Connor and poisoned me, has been sent to the Circle with a guard of templars and will face judgment there."
"A mercy that he did not deserve, Brother."
Baldur sighed and ran a gauntleted hand through his hair, thinking of how best to explain Isolde's death by way of a blood magic ritual and Connor's possession along with all the events following. Eamon had undoubtedly seen loss and war in his time, but losing one's family was never an easy thing.
"You may want to sit down for this," Baldur said, resigning himself to a lengthy and extremely painful retelling.
Eamon listened without interrupting or casting blame upon Baldur like Alistair had, as was his every right. By the time Baldur ended his account of how they'd come by the Urn of Sacred Ashes, Eamon was positively grey and did have to take that seat after all. They reconvened in the main hall after Eamon requested a moment alone to grieve, and Baldur met him along with Alistair and Teagan in order to discuss their next course of action.
"There is much to be done," Eamon said, his face lined and haggard with sorrow, though he stood tall and appeared strengthened with resolve. "But I should first be thankful to those who have done so much. Grey Warden, I know you did what you had to do. I grieve for Isolde, but I believe that had you not acted as you did, it might have been far worse. I am in your debt. Will you permit me to offer you a reward for your service?"
"I only ask for your help against the Blight." Baldur considered himself fortunate that he wasn't being dragged away in shackles for his part in Isolde's death. To expect anything more seemed unbearably selfish.
"I understand, but regardless of your motivations, I feel you are worthy of a reward. I would like to honor your efforts, nothing more."
Humans and dwarves were alike in that one did not refuse a gift from a noble, or else risk giving grave offense. Baldur would lose nothing from agreeing even though he still felt undeserving. He inclined his head in acceptance, though his tongue felt heavy and stuck to the roof of his mouth.
"Then allow me to declare you and those traveling with you champions of Redcliffe," Eamon announced to the room at large, as though addressing an entire assembly rather than the three of them plus a few guards stationed at the doors. "You will always be a welcome guest within these halls. And for you, Warden, a shield of the same make as those that have been given to our finest knights."
"Thank you, your grace," Baldur murmured, accepting the shield that seemed blindingly pristine compared to the dented and blood-encrusted one on his back. He was tired and exhausted and filthy, and he was further weighted down by the fact that he hadn't seen hide nor hair of Zevran since returning to Redcliffe. He'd been assured by Teagan that all members of Baldur's party were around. Somewhere.
"We should speak of Loghain, Brother. There is no telling what he will do once he learns of your recovery," Teagan said.
Eamon frowned. "Loghain instigates a civil war even though the darkspawn are on our very doorstep. Long I have known him. He is a sensible man; one who never desired power."
"I was there when he announced he was taking control of the throne, Eamon," Teagan protested. "He is mad with ambition, I tell you."
"Mad indeed. Mad enough to kill Cailan, to attempt to kill myself and destroy my lands. Whatever happened to him, Loghain must be stopped. What's more, we can scarce afford to fight this war to its bitter end."
"But you can unite the nobility against Loghain, can't you?" Baldur said. He hoped the human nobles were far more reasonable than those of Orzammar, who were so bogged down in tradition and fitting with the ideals of their precious caste system that it was a wonder that anything got done.
"I could unite those opposing Loghain, yes," Eamon said. "But not all oppose him. He has some very powerful allies. We have no time to wage a campaign against him. Someone must surrender if Ferelden is to have any chance at fighting the darkspawn."
"But once everyone learns what he has done..." Baldur said.
"Loghain claims that he pulled out his own men at the Battle of Ostagar in order to save them," Teagan said, his sneer belying his disbelief. "That Cailan risked that entire nation's safety in the name of glory. Loghain calls the Grey Wardens traitors, murderers of the king. I don't believe it. It is an act of a desperate man."
"I will spread word of Loghain's treachery," Eamon assured them. "Both here and against the king, but it will be a claim made without proof. Those claims will give Loghain's allies pause, but we must combine it with a challenge Loghain cannot ignore. We need someone with a stronger claim to the throne than Loghain's daughter, the queen. I would not propose such a thing if we had an alternative. But the unthinkable has occurred."
"What are you suggesting?" Baldur said, though he thought he knew.
Alistair was King Maric's illegitimate son, half-brother to Cailan, and had more claim than most to the throne. Alistair must have reached the same conclusion because he went abruptly pale with horror as he shot a look toward the guards at the door nearest him as if contemplating whether or not he would make it past them before he was dragged back kicking and screaming.
"Teagan and I have a claim through marriage, but we would seem opportunists, no better than Loghain. Alistair's claim is by blood," Eamon said gravely, confirming both Grey Warden's suspicions.
"And what about me? Does anyone care what I want?" Alistair demanded.
Eamon looked at him regretfully, though he remained firm on his stance. "You have a responsibility, Alistair. Without you, Loghain wins. I would have to support him, for the sake of Ferelden. Is that what you want?"
"I...but I..." Alistair stuttered and then sighed, head and shoulders slumped in defeat. "No, my lord," he mumbled.
"I see only one way to proceed," Eamon said, eyes returning to Baldur's. "I will call for a Landsmeet, a gathering of all of Ferelden's nobility in the city of Denerim. There, Ferelden can decide who shall rule, one way or another. Then the business of fighting our true foe can begin. What say you to that, my friend? I do not wish to proceed without your blessing."
Baldur would spare Alistair this fate if he could, or at least attempt to seek another solution for his sake. "Wouldn't it be easier to simply kill Loghain?" Assassination wasn't exactly befitting of a Grey Warden, but it was no less than Loghain deserved. Perhaps Baldur could even convince the assassin that Loghain had hired to kill him to return the favor...if only he could find Zevran to ask.
"I'm not sure that would help our cause," Eamon said slowly, shaking his head. "We would become the criminals, and our accusations would become excuses. Furthermore, I'm not even certain where Loghain might be."
"What if we defeat him in battle?"
"Unless we convince some of Loghain's allies to abandon him, that's not likely to happen. Our army is not large enough. As a Grey Warden, you may gather allies to you, but we need these forces to face the darkspawn, not to battle against our own."
"I..." Baldur started, and then cast a glance to Alistair, who wasn't looking at anyone. "I say we proceed with your plan." I'm sorry, he wanted to say to Alistair, but he saw few other options.
Arl Eamon straightened, looking relieved. "Very well, I will send out the word. It will take some time to recall my forces and organize our allies. I would prefer to wait until that is done before calling the Landsmeet. In the meantime, I suggest you pursue the remainder of the Grey Warden treaties. We will need all the allies we can get if we are to defeat the darkspawn horde."
Alistair stormed out of the great hall without even waiting to be dismissed. Baldur watched him go, too tired to pursue what would undoubtedly be a tongue-lashing to rival the last one Baldur had gotten from him. If nothing else, it would have been the perfect opportunity for Baldur to tell him that he was - or at least had been - heir to a king as well, if that particular rumor hadn't already spread throughout their party, but the words stuck in his throat and he didn't. What did it matter anyway, aside from tearing open past wounds? He was an Aeducan no longer.
Baldur made his leave with a nod of his head to Eamon and Teagan before a servant wisped over to his side and led him to the room where he would be staying. He was too tired to take in his surroundings and appreciate the renovations that had been made since his last visit after a demon had razed through the castle.
The soft click of the door closing behind him sounded like a shot from one of Leliana's explosive arrows connecting with a target. He only managed to remain standing for a few seconds before he staggered over to the bed and sank down unsteadily on the plush mattress before he collapsed to the floor instead, burying his face in his hands. He nearly didn't get up at all minutes or hours later when one of Eamon's serving lads tentatively knocked on the door and informed him that dinner would be served within the hour in honor of the Grey Wardens and the Arl's recovery, which more or less meant Baldur's attendance was mandatory. He was barely given a chance to breathe before he was being called away again. He thought it no wonder that both he and Wynne had run themselves down to the point of collapsing, but he would never ask any of his companions for more than he was willing to give himself. His body propelled itself into motion on autopilot, having attended enough dinners and court functions as a representative of his house to be able to prepare without thought. He let his mind drift as he removed his armor and changed into a cleaner set of clothing before he washed his hands and face, deciding to wait until that night for a proper bath.
When he and Bhelen were children, they had made a game of sneaking away from the boring dinner parties King Endrin held without being noticed first. The game lasted well into their teens until the kitchen Mistress had caught Bhelen raiding the larder later one evening after he'd managed to slip away unnoticed before dinner had even been served. Mistress Keryn had frog marched Bhelen up to their father before the court and all, the old wench subservient to no one but Mahal Himself, not even to the king. Bhelen had been so small then, his face redder than even his flaming hair. His demeanor had been even sweeter than Baldur's at the time, but no less stubborn. He had stared up at their sire with his smooth cheeks puffed out and with such a mutinous expression that it was a wonder he didn't singe the hairs on their father's greying beard.
Trian had sat back in his chair and sneered meanly at Bhelen, whose arm was still caught up in the vice-like grip of Mistress Keryn's stern hand.
"Bhelen, son of Endrin, son of Ansgar, you do your house a great dishonor this night," King Endrin intoned. His deep timber had echoed throughout the halls and cast a pall over the hundred or so nobility in attendance who focused all of their attention on the high seat at the head table and the chastised boy standing before it. "I expect you believe that simply because you are young and of royal blood this means you are above reproach. Or perhaps you believe you are so privileged that you simply cannot be bothered to mingle with those you deem lesser than yourself."
"Nnh!" Bhelen had exclaimed through a mouthful of sweetbread, which he hastily chewed and swallowed, nearly choking. "No, Father! That is not it at all. I only wanted-"
"Your wants are secondary to the needs of your people," Endrin had cut in sharply, slashing a heavily beringed hand through the air. Bhelen flinched as if that hand had struck him.
"Let it be known," Endrin announced as he rose from his seat and addressed the gathering, spreading his arms wide so his heavy cloak flared out behind him, "that every single son of Aeducan serves only Mahal and the Stone before his own people, and never, ever before himself. As a reminder of his humility and remorse, Prince Bhelen will be reporting to Mistress Keryn for kitchen detail the remainder of the month. Know that every plate you dine from, every cup filled to brimming with the finest golden ales from Orzammar's own bountiful harvests will have been meticulously seen to by your very own prince with his deepest gratitude for being allowed the privilege of serving you."
Bhelen's jaw had sagged as he stared up at their father wide-eyed and gaping, crumbs clinging to the corners of his mouth. Baldur ached for him. He began to stand in order to explain to their father that Bhelen's actions had been due to his own goading, and as the elder he should be punished in Bhelen's place. Trian's hand had clamped down on his thigh, however, and stopped him short before Baldur rose an inch from his chair. He dug his nails and fingers in so hard that Baldur nearly cried out in pain when he tried to resist. The distraction had been enough that Endrin retook his seat with a dismissive flick of his hand and conversation gradually resumed like an excited tide. Mistress Keryn sniffed disapprovingly before turning on her heel and dragging Bhelen along, stumbling behind her like a recalcitrant toddler.
Baldur had snuck into the kitchens early the next morning before the rest of the kitchen staff arrived, despite what Trian or their father would have said about his interference. He got a head start on scrubbing the giant copper pots that hung from the massive fireplaces that took up an entire wall. Bhelen arrived shortly after, wiping sleep and tears from his lovely blue eyes, which brightened when they alighted on Baldur who was already grimy with soot and burned dregs of stew from the night before. Bhelen had fallen alongside Baldur with a delighted laugh as Baldur knocked their foreheads together companionably before pressing an affectionate kiss to Bhelen's sleep-rumpled head. Both boys attacked the pots with vigor and when Mistress Keryn had found them their entire upper bodies were submerged in the opening of one of the pots large enough to comfortably fit both brothers with perhaps even Trian to spare. She'd only shaken her head and swatted their exposed rumps with a dish towel before leaving them to their work with the occasional rough criticism thrown out before she demonstrated the proper way to polish silver. Eventually her already brittle patience snapped and she chased them out with a broom after they'd broken a half dozen plates between them.
Needless to say both Baldur and Bhelen were in attendance for every single dinner for its entirety from then on, and Baldur never forgot the reverberating echo of his father's voice declaring them servants first and foremost. That core principle hadn't changed, only shifted when Baldur became a Grey Warden.
Baldur wasn't very engaged in the dinner despite the fact he hadn't had a proper meal in ages, but thankfully others were more than willing to pick up the slack in conversation. He was wrought with anxiety and so exhausted that he dribbled soup down the front of his tunic. His limited focus was swallowed up by the unoccupied chair at the table that felt like a stab to his chest every time he glanced between the empty place setting and the door. If any important matters were discussed that night Baldur couldn't recall, though he vaguely remembered promising to meet with Eamon the next day.
Zevran never showed up to the dinner feast, and neither did he come to bed that night. Or at least, not to Baldur's bed. Bastion had certainly made himself comfortable in Baldur's absence, though. Bastion huffed when Baldur half-heartedly attempted to shoo him off the bed before he gave up and let Bastion have his way. Privately, Baldur was grateful to even have a dog keep him company rather than no one at all and to be left alone with his thoughts.
Servants had seen to cleaning his clothes and armor when Baldur had been at dinner. The festivities were a blur only to be remembered by the bite of bitter ale still lingering at the back of his throat and the throbbing behind his left eye, but he managed to force himself awake enough for a hurried bath. He scrubbed hard at the black spots of darkspawn blood that smelled acrid and revealed spots of irritated red skin once removed that possibly would have eaten into his tough skin if left too long. He had no fear of the blight sickness since he and Alistair both had the taint as a result of the Joining, but others could contract the disease caused by ingesting or being infected by darkspawn blood through an open wound. The disease - as far as he knew - was often fatal, though they managed to keep the taint at bay for Bastion, whose weapons were his claws and teeth, by a potion made from flowers very similar to the ones he had given Leliana. He had no idea if the potion was only effective for mabari, or if it would work for people as well, but he did not wish to find out.
His sleep was fractured that night, riddled with nightmares and the distant, scratchy whispers of darkspawn that he'd for the most part learned to ignore. He curled around Bastion, who snuffled and paddled his paws in his sleep as he chased dream rabbits, and wished that his own life could be as carefree as his dog's. In the morning, Baldur requested a pot of strong tea and dry toast be delivered to his rooms along with a ham hock for Bastion to gnaw upon before he whined and scratched at the door to be let out. Baldur didn't feel up to mingling when his presence wasn't required for breakfast and enjoyed the rare silence while it lasted. As if that very thought summoned an interruption, the end to his solitude was heralded by a sharp rap on the door. He tried not to get his hopes up as he tied his hair back into a sloppy tail and hastily laced his tunic before reconsidering and undoing the laces, but his care was for naught as he was greeted by Morrigan's glowering visage.
"I trust you were successful in obtaining Flemeth's grimoire, seeing as how you are neither dead nor reduced to idiotic babble from one of Mother's curses?"
"Good morning to you as well, Morrigan," Baldur sighed, gesturing her inside the room and closing the door firmly behind her when she strode inside without hesitation. "It's unlike you to be so concerned with my welfare."
"Do not be foolish. Flemeth is far more experienced and – if her grimoire from the Circle is any indication – devious than I. I cannot imagine she would have been willing to depart with all of her secrets so readily."
Morrigan would be surprised and more than a little suspicious if she knew just how easily Baldur had obtained the grimoire. Rather than answer, Baldur retrieved his pack from the foot of the bed and dug through the leather satchel until he located the strangely cool cover of the grimoire and handed the book over to Morrigan. Her gold eyes sharpened hungrily on the grimoire, which she fairly snatched from Baldur's hands, though she handled the tome almost reverently once it was secure in her possession.
"Ahhh. Mother's real grimoire, is it? I'm glad you were able to find it after all. My thanks for retrieving it."
"Welcome," Baldur mumbled, looking down at his feet. He shifted uncomfortably, unnerved that Morrigan would take the implication of her mother's death so lightly, but he said nothing confirming whether or not Flemeth was slain, and fortunately Morrigan didn't ask for specifics. She was enthralled with the book, expression avid and hungry.
"I shall begin studying it immediately and unlock the power it holds."
"Just...be careful?" Baldur said.
He had a bad feeling about supplying Morrigan with the means to obtain more power and risk her becoming maleficarum, but he'd also seen the easy way she brushed off demons and spirits and figured if anyone was strong enough to resist the thrall of dark magic and possession, it would be Morrigan. At least she would be where he could keep an eye on her. Like Flemeth, he was interested to see what she would do with her newfound freedom, especially if her word that she would remain at Baldur's side was no longer a promise that could be enforced with Flemeth out of the picture.
Morrigan breezed out of his room with the same lack of regard as she had entering, but he'd never been one to stand on ceremony unless required of him. Trian had been even less diplomatic than Baldur was, and Bhelen far too cunning. King Endrin had ruled with an equal balance of diplomacy, ruthlessness, and cunning, though even he hadn't been able to anticipate his own sons' treachery right beneath his nose. Baldur only hoped that Alistair would step up and be a more effective ruler, otherwise all their work to stop the Blight would be for nothing if civil war in Ferelden broke out and destroyed what they tried so hard to save. Baldur finished dressing, though he left off his drakescale armor and sword since Redcliffe Castle was reasonably guarded and he needn't fear violence from its inhabitants, unless anyone else turned out to be possessed.
...On second thought, he strapped on his knife belt as just a precaution.
He took the long way around to the audience chamber where he assumed he would be meeting with Eamon and Teagan to discuss their plans. His detour was partially because he was hoping to catch Zevran, and mostly because he was lost. A servant giggled behind her hand and pointed him in the right direction when he'd clomped up and down the same passage three times and nearly kicked over a decorative vase in his frustration. He thanked the girl with a strained smile full of teeth before marching determinedly the opposite way he had come. He met Alistair along the way, though he only greeted Baldur with a terse nod. Alistair was in his full Grey Warden armor, cleaned and polished with its griffin insignia on full display, which couldn't have been a more obvious statement indicating where his loyalties lay above all else. Rather than leading them to the assembly chamber, Alistair took a detour and Baldur had to jog to follow his lengthy strides.
"Um...where are we going?" Baldur inquired hesitantly, wondering if Alistair was actually making a break for freedom after all.
"Arl Eamon's war room. That's where he holds most of his meetings discussing strategy and how to ruin other people's lives."
No, Alistair wasn't bitter at all.
Baldur wisely held his tongue until they arrived to the war room. He politely greeted Teagan, who rose from his seat to welcome them toward two empty chairs next to where Eamon sat at the head of a long table. The meeting consisted of only the four of them, and after a few awkward pleasantries, Eamon directed the talk to more serious matters.
"The majority of our forces have returned from when they had been dispatched during my illness to search for the Urn and seek aid against the demon, though I'm afraid those numbers are far less than I had hoped. We need to bolster the amount of warriors under our command as quickly as possible, not only as a deterrent should Loghain attempt the unthinkable—"
"Again," Alistair muttered.
"—and rally his own forces against us rather than upon the darkspawn. There are no reports of the Archdemon having been spotted yet, which I thank the Maker for, though it actually wounds our claim that a Blight is indeed upon us despite the influx of darkspawn sightings. Unfortunately, only few will believe the word of deceased senior Warden and two branded traitors over Teyrn Loghain, who was King Maric's best friend and Ferelden's champion after he helped defend the country against Orlais' invasion. We need to outmaneuver Loghain at the Landsmeet, but even if we are successful the issue of the Blight remains and time is of the essence. What is your current status in regards to the treaties, Warden?"
Baldur cleared his throat and stood so he was of an equal height to the other seated men rather than peeking up at them from over the edge of the table. "The Grey Wardens have been promised aid from the Dalish clan in the Brecilian Forest in addition to any mages the Circle can spare to fight on our side. I believe these two groups, in addition to your army, will be enough to dissuade Loghain and turn the tide against the darkspawn if and when they launch another attack."
"Then all that remains is your people," Eamon said. "You must travel to Orzammar. All of the races must be united if we are to stand a chance."
"I am...unable to return to Orzammar," Baldur said as he felt sweat begin to prickle at the nape of his neck. He'd hoped the treaties he had already invoked would be enough to convince Eamon that they didn't really need Orzammar's help. He'd really rather avoid further explanation if at all possible, but it seemed his past was determined to catch up to him at every turn.
"No one is more experienced or knowledgeable against the darkspawn than the dwarves, save for perhaps the Grey Wardens. We cannot assume the Wardens in Orlais and the Free Marches will arrive in time before we are forced to take action. I'm afraid I must insist. The dwarves must honor the treaty. Whatever happened in your past, you must unite all the races, or we are doomed."
"I can't," Baldur insisted, his palms sweaty where he had them clenched against his thighs. "I wouldn't even make it to the front doors before I'm shot down."
"What did you do that was so terrible?" Alistair asked.
"I..." Baldur started and then stopped. Alistair definitely didn't know if he was even asking. Zevran, Morrigan, and Wynne had managed not to run off at the mouth as soon as they found out his dark past from the Guardian at the Temple of Andraste. As much as he appreciated their loyalty, it only meant that he had a few more awkward conversations lined up in his near future, starting with Alistair. No time like the present, as the saying went.
"I was the son of King Endrin and banished for the accused crime of having killed my older brother. I am forbidden to return to Orzammar on penalty of death." Baldur had to grip the edge of the table with white-knuckled hands when his knees went shaky at the admission, though he kept his gaze fixed on Eamon rather than acknowledging the stare boring into the side of his head from the seat to the left of his own.
"An Orzammar dwarf you may be no longer, but you are a Grey Warden, and as such your duty must come first. Banished or not, a dwarven representative would be our best chance, and not even King Endrin would dare go against a Grey Warden treaty," Eamon said, entirely too unfazed and unyielding.
"It's not the king I fear. My younger brother, Bhelen, conspired to get me and Trian out of the way in order to rule himself. The last I heard, my father was gravely ill and Bhelen very well may sit on the throne now."
"Take a contingency of guards with you if you must, but do not doubt the sway you have. You are no longer an exiled prince but one of the esteemed few remaining Grey Wardens in Ferelden. We all have our roles to play, and play them we must if we are to survive this Blight."
"I...understand, my lord. I will do my best."
Baldur's gut was churning and he was certain his face must have lost all color, but he did manage to retake his seat before he fell over.
"Prince!" Alistair hissed, leaning over into Baldur's space so Baldur couldn't duck and hide himself beneath the table in order to avoid Alistair's outrage. Baldur pinched the bridge of his nose, but he thought it best to let Alistair get it all out now while Eamon and Teagan discussed their own forces and supplies in Redcliffe.
"All this time! And after I told you about King Maric and my mother."
Baldur couldn't help hunching guilty before he shook off his regret and beseeched Alistair for his understanding instead.
"I didn't mean to keep it from you. I kept my birthright a secret for the same reason you did. I didn't believe who I was before Duncan conscripted me was relevant. It was a painful part of my past that I would just as soon forget about."
"So is it true then? Did you kill your brother?"
Baldur wondered if he would lose Alistair over this, even after everything they had been through. "No, I didn't kill Trian."
Alistair looked at him for a long while, and then looked away. "I believe you. Just...I can't believe you didn't tell me. I thought we were friends."
Baldur reached out and clasped Alistair's forearm hard until Alistair looked at him, eyes sad and wounded. "We are friends, Alistair, as well as brothers. Never doubt that I would give my life for yours."
"Well, we do have darkspawn blood in us," Alistair hedged. Baldur shushed him, glancing around to make sure Eamon or Teagan hadn't overheard. "But anyway. I'm not the one you need to be making amends with anyway."
"You're not?"
"Uh, no. The last time I checked, you and I weren't shacking up together, if you get my meaning."
"Ah. Right." Zevran.
"Talk to him. I don't have much experience with family or significant others, but leaving things broken between you will only make confronting your family worse if you're worried about what's happening back here. I think you could use his support now."
"I don't... I said some pretty harsh things. I don't know if he'll forgive me or even want to come to Orzammar."
"You'll never know until you ask."
"I assume you have reached a decision?" Eamon cut in, sounding amused.
Baldur didn't know what decision he was expected to make, since it seemed Eamon had made his choices for the both of them despite the fact he had no jurisdiction over the Grey Wardens. Authority or not, Eamon was sensible and already a better strategist than either Baldur or Alistair. Baldur had hoped to avoid Orzammar and its people for the remainder of his life, but Orzammar did have a division of warriors devoted specifically to fighting the darkspawn in the Deep Roads called the Legion of the Dead. His time in the army had been mostly spent training and patrolling the city, breaking up fights and instilling order as an officer rather than merely issuing orders as a prince safe on his throne. He'd only been in the Deep Roads a handful of times to arrange a supply drop off to the Legion, though he'd always had a battalion at his back and never for longer than a few days. He'd entirely expected to die in the Deep Roads when he'd been banished, so the thought of returning to the people who had thrown him to the darkspawn alone and unarmed threatened to unhinge him, though he managed to keep his rage contained for the time being.
"I will need to speak to the others in my group, but I will have an answer for you tomorrow," Baldur said with far more confidence than he felt.
"Very well. We will meet at the same time tomorrow with the rest of your party. We will begin making preparations for your departure right away," Eamon assured him.
Baldur tried not to sigh. They had just come from the Frostback Mountains. He couldn't imagine any of them would be happy to learn they would have to turn around and go right back, himself least of all. He hoped no one had gotten too comfortable, though he already had in mind who he wanted to ask to come with him.
"Don't even think of leaving me behind in Redcliffe again," Alistair said as he followed on Baldur's heels after the meeting was adjourned.
Baldur tried to speed up his pace, but to no avail. His short dwarf legs would never outstrip a human's, especially not one determined to run him down before Baldur could make his escape and figure out a speech to assuage the inevitable hurt feelings for those he would ask to stay and those he would ask to put themselves into danger on his account. Even without saying, Alistair already anticipated that he was in the former category, and Baldur didn't try to pretend otherwise.
"Alistair... You're needed here. As the potential future king, you're too important to risk, especially when I'm already expecting we'll be met with hostility."
"I knew this would happen!" Alistair shouted when Baldur stalled at a corridor, trying to figure out which way his rooms were for more privacy, but Alistair didn't seem to care about the guards and servants passing nearby. "You're coddling me just like everyone else! Both the templars and Duncan tried to keep me out of the fighting because of who my father was, and now you too?" Alistair didn't even try to keep his voice down, pacing back and forth as Baldur watched him with a grim expression. "I thought you understood. Especially considering you are actually a prince!"
Baldur winced and shifted his stance slightly to cross his arms over his chest as he gave up on trying to find his room and instead let Alistair get his frustrations out of his system. Alistair was quickly using up the rather vast limits of Baldur's leniency, though, and soon Baldur would be pushed into taking a page out of Eamon's book and issuing orders with absolutely no contest rather than catering to everyone's moods and whims, friends or not.
"I still can't believe you didn't tell me," Alistair whined. "You keep so much from us, it's hard to tell if you actually trust anyone."
"I'm sorry, Alistair," Baldur said, and he was. "It was a part of my past that I thought would remain in my past and I, like you, didn't want anyone else to treat me differently because I'm the son of a king. That's why I'm telling you now. I'm trying not to keep things from you and the rest of the company any longer, and I promise there aren't any other surprises I'm hiding."
Alistair scoffed, but his anger was a fleeting thing that burned hot and then cooled quickly once it was out of his system, even though Baldur could tell he was still hurt. Alistair would just have to get over it. They would both have to develop stronger backbones as Baldur suspected they would have to make many more unfavorable choices in the future and have to find the wherewithal to live with the consequences.
"Are you sure about that? Maybe you like to put on pretty dresses for the Midsummer dance, and just never thought to mention it to the rest of us."
"Maybe I do."
"Ha!" The laugh jumped out of Alistair as if he hadn't expected that response and he visibly softened, blowing out a breath and deflating.
"You're right. I am trying to protect you," Baldur said into the resulting silence.
"I knew it..."
"Becoming king over Loghain is far more important towards the upcoming war, Alistair. You would be able unite thousands in the time it takes for me to find a way into Orzammar and beg for a handful of warriors to help us, if they don't attempt to kill me on my brother's orders first."
"That's... I didn't think of it that way."
"You fought a dragon and confronted a legendary witch these past few weeks alone. You may not think so yet, but you will be a great leader, Alistair. And one that Ferelden desperately needs right now."
"You say that like you weren't there leading us the whole way, and doing more besides! You didn't break your arm and have a mabari nanny you for a month rather than being out there fighting with everyone else."
"Is that all I have to do to get a vacation? Feel free to let me know when you'd like to take over. You are the senior Warden after all," Baldur said, spreading his arms out in offering.
"I—uh. No, that's all right. You're doing a great job. I'm just angry and taking it out on you, I guess. But that's still no excuse." Alistair shook his head. "I'd better not keep you. You still have the others to talk to, and I suspect that will take the rest of the day."
"The night too, if they're as stubborn as you are."
"I deserve that. But don't let those dwarves in Orzammar get to you. Obviously they didn't know what they were throwing out, which was only our luck, huh? I don't even want to imagine what would have happened if you hadn't joined the Grey Wardens. I think...Duncan would have been proud."
"He would have been proud of you too, Alistair. We've both come a long way. Let's see this through to the end, yeah?" Baldur held out his hand, grinning when Alistair gripped his forearm and smiled back.
"To the end, Brother."
Baldur had to swallow back a lump in his throat at those words, reminded again that even though he might have lost his family in Orzammar, he'd gained another on the surface that he wouldn't have traded for the world. Baldur released Alistair's forearm with a squeeze, and Alistair tossed him a sloppy salute with a rakish grin that could possibly give Zevran's a run for his money. The thought made Baldur's heart ache, and he turned away before Alistair could see his expression.
"I'll see you later," Baldur said, his voice a little rough, but he kept his head up as he walked down the corridor until he realized he had no idea where he was going. He turned around to call Alistair back, but he was already gone.
"Dammit," Baldur muttered. He kicked at the stone floor with his boot before he sighed and resigned himself toward aimlessly wandering the castle and hoping he ran across someone who could direct him back to the guest quarters so he could begin to assemble the team he wanted to take with him to Orzammar.