A/N: Here's the next one as I watch snow fly outside... FINALLY! Enjoy and all the best.
"Ffion, please, don't try to get up just yet. You'll only make things worse," Wynne's tone was exasperated as she pushed gently on the Warden's shoulder, "Honestly you could be a close second to my worst patient."
Ffion couldn't help but smile, placating the Enchanter by leaning docilely against her pillows with a wince.
"I hate… being second best," She replied, hating the catch in her voice even more. The last thing she wanted was to prove Wynne's point, "Besides Harrowmont is… waiting for me."
"And he can wait a bit longer," The Enchanter said calmly, recognizing the defeat when she heard it. She was pouring another potion into a heavy pottery mug and handing it to Ffion, "He's been waiting all these weeks. What is an hour or two more?"
Ffion cradled the mug between her palms, mulling over those words. The more she spoke and interacted with Wynne, the more the Enchanter reminded her of her mother and she knew that that was why she felt an instinctive desire to tease and needle her. Wynne would never take Eleanor's place, no one could, but that feeling of being a beloved, spoiled daughter, of being taken care of, was intoxicating and she was going to chase it while she could. Even if it included getting scolded. Her grey eyes met Wynne's bright blue and she smiled rather cheekily.
"An hour or two, huh?" She repeated, "A lot can happen in an hour. Hell, Zevran could probably off two or three troops in an hour."
Wynne seemed to realize that she was being baited and so she didn't encourage Ffion by responding. She merely cast her own indulgent smile and sat primly on the chair beside the bed. She smoothed the skirt of the robe that she wore whenever they weren't traveling, and tucked a short strand of her white hair back behind her ear where it belonged. Her face was still a little drawn from the effort it took to purge the poison from Ffion's wound, but her blue eyes were as sharp as always.
"Drink that, Ffion, and get some rest," She ordered firmly.
That set the Warden's mind. She eyed the mug and then shook her head, setting it on the table beside her with a decided thud. Sitting up straight, she shifted on the small bed and swung her legs over the side. Wynne was beside her in an instant.
"Ffion-"
"No, Wynne, I know you mean… well. But I'm not going to… sleep the day away and destroy... everything we've set up with Harrowmont," Ffion was just as stubborn as the Enchanter and she spoke with that same careful neutrality, but her voice was getting stronger. If Wynne wanted to play this game, she'd go along with it. She couldn't help but wince, though, as she reached for the heavy shirt at the end of the bed, "I'm not going to fall for that trick."
Wynne heaved a long-suffering sigh and took up the shirt herself, handing to the stubborn Warden.
"It's not a trick, it's meant to keep you alive," She helped Ffion ease her arms into the sleeves and added, "And don't worry about being second best. You're well on your way to being the worst."
Ffion grinned and was carefully tugging her heavy ponytail free of the shirt. She could feel the tenderness of the gash along her back, but thankfully it was no longer that white-hot heat. Wynne's bet was that the assassin had used a stiletto and it was beyond any of their guesses as to why he had slashed instead of stabbed her. If it had been a stab and that quick moving poison had been released in Ffion's veins, she would have been long gone before they even reached the Commons. By all accounts and, in Leliana's opinion, by the mercy of the Maker, Ffion was just a damn lucky girl. The wound was bound with both magic and physical bandages and she felt up to the next meeting with Harrowmont in spite of Wynne's concerns. A knock on the door interrupted any further conversation and Ffion immediately dragged the blanket over her bare legs.
"Come in," She called, once she was sure she was covered.
Wynne was the only one that was going to see her in her smallclothes, if she could help it. And that was just because the Enchanter happened to be a healer. Alistair was opening the door, his smile broad and honey colored eyes thrilled.
"That is much better," Leliana's lilting voice was saying as she bounded in with the ex-Templar, "You had us quite worried, dear."
"I'm fine," Ffion replied with a rather shy smile at Alistair. He had carried her all the way back to Tapsters and she couldn't help but recall the strength in his arms and the tender way he had held her… Her cheeks were growing hot and she added suddenly, "And we need to get back to Harrowmont."
"Now?" Alistair questioned, startled, "But-"
"It's no use," Wynne interrupted as she crossed the room and gathered up Ffion's extra clothing, "We've already had this argument."
"Shocking," Morrigan's voice held all its usual cool superiority and she leaned against the doorframe with her arms crossed.
"Remember what I said about… predictability, Morrigan?" Ffion asked with a smile as Wynne shooed them from the room.
She tried to send Tilly out as well, afraid that the hound would knock her lady over and undo all her hard work, but the Mabari simply ducked around the opposite of the bed and refused to be moved. The Enchanter sighed again, turning to Ffion, and helping her finish dressing.
"That beast is as stubborn as you," She muttered under her breath.
The Warden was smiling, remembering her mother, and wishing that it didn't hurt so much. She pushed one hand down to Tilly's head to prevent the Mabari's jumping and to keep her balance. The wound stung, but it wasn't any worse than some of the bumps and bruises she had had in the past, and nothing at all like that first day she remembered after Ostagar.
"Wynne, you're one in a million," She replied, tying to disguise the note of heartache under one of playful teasing.
The Enchanter gave her a quick searching look that told Ffion she hadn't hidden the pain as well as she thought, but Wynne didn't push it. Instead she nodded and said briskly,
"Well, we'll both have to remember that next time when I have Sten or Alistair put you under completely so you won't have any choice but to sleep."
Ffion chuckled and by the time she had struggled into her boots and they went down the steps, Zevran and Sten had returned, with the dead Dwarf's friend in tow. He instantly gave Ffion a bow and then stepped forward to shake her hand. He looked a little better since they last saw him. At least he was standing under his own power now. His black eyes flicked around Tapsters' bar-room with a gleam of greed and something like nostalgia, and then he was meeting Ffion's gaze.
"I didn't think… I mean, no one's ever… Stone take it! I'm butcherin' this, ain't I?" That wasn't meant to be answered and he tried again, "What I'm tryin' to say, Warden, is thanks. Faren an' me… well, let's just say we never had no one really care what happened to us."
Ffion smiled gently, catching herself before she thanked Leliana as the Orlesian kept the others from interrupting. Morrigan's sigh was loud and very rude, Sten was shifting his weight impatiently, and Zevran's eyes were dancing rather wickedly. Leliana's quick wave prevented any of them of expounding.
"Not a very happy life, I take it?" Ffion replied in a soft tone, "And you're welcome. It wasn't right, leaving him like that. No one deserves that fate and it doesn't matter what choices he might have made."
"Yeah, well, that's what we're used to in Dust Town," The Dwarf answered matter-of-factly, "Anyway, Warden, you'll have friends in the casteless if I have any say in it. Name's Leske, by the way. An' if anything comes up and you need an extra set of hands, you let me know," Leske eyed her appreciatively and added, "You're not a bad sort, ya' know, Warden. For a cloudhead."
"And you're okay, too, for a casteless," Her grin was broad as Leske chuckled, and they shook hands again, "And I'll keep your promise in mind, Leske, thanks."
They left Tapsters and headed to the Diamond Quarter. Ffion's presence slowed them a little but with Alistair on one side, Tilly on the other, and Zevran following as close as a shadow, there was very little risk that she would have trouble.
"Is all of it really so hopeless?" She asked randomly and her voice was soft, like she was speaking to herself rather than them.
Alistair frowned down at her, not understanding.
"Hopeless?" He repeated, "You mean the Blight?"
She glanced at him, startled. She hadn't thought she spoke aloud. Her cheeks colored a little as she realized they were all staring at her and, what was worse, they had stopped walking. The color deepened and she shook her head, starting forward once more.
"Nevermind," She said, "I was thinking of... Nevermind, it doesn't matter."
She passed by Morrigan who had been leading the way and didn't see that speculative gleam in the witch's gold eyes. Not that that mattered either. Morrigan had guessed enough about Ffion's previous life that it would be pure redundancy to confirm it all. And besides, the Warden was now disappearing through the double doors leading to the Diamond Quarter.
When Forender met them in the foyer of the estate, he was shaking his head before he even spoke.
"I'm sorry, Warden," He said, his voice stuffy and not in the least bit apologetic, "Lord Harrowmont can't see all of you this time. He says just the Wardens today."
Ffion sighed, on the verge of putting her hands on her hips and demanding an answer. For once, though, Alistair was faster.
"We did what he wanted: Jarvia's dead and the Carta's scrambling," He replied coldly, "What's the new paranoia?"
Forender was making a visible attempt to keep him temper. It was clear he'd be very happy to get the Wardens out of his hair when the time came.
"Poisoned letters," His answer was short, "Presumably from Bhelen's supporters. Two of our secretaries are dead."
Ffion's brows drew together in a frown and her irritation disappeared as the concern took over. She exchanged glances with Alistair before replying,
"Any leads?"
"None and dozens at the same time," Forender was maybe a little softer this time, but it didn't last long, "So now you'll understand why we say just the Wardens today."
Ffion was nodding, knocking her hair from her eyes and wishing she had twisted it up completely.
"Alright, that's fair enough," She shot a glance at the others, "I guess just wait here. We shouldn't be too long."
"So you are given the opportunity to make another foolish promise?" As per usual, Morrigan wasn't going to go quietly.
"Morrigan, we're just going to get his promise," Ffion answered, "All we need is his word that we'll have the Dwarves' aid. Have a little faith."
The witch eyed her a moment longer and then spread her hands in defeat, shaking her head.
"You are the worst kind of fool," She muttered and her poison wasn't nearly as thick as usual, "A trusting fool."
Ffion clapped her good-naturedly on the shoulder.
"One good thing about that, Morrigan," She replied, "You know I'd be the least likely to deceive you. We'll be back in a minute."
She and Alistair trailed after Forender with Tilly in tow. Which was allowed, the Dwarves being smart enough to realize that they would have missing limbs if they tried to keep the Mabari away.
Harrowmont was sitting at his desk when they were announced and he finished writing before getting to his feet and greeting them. This was done absentmindedly and, from the way he was standing, not looking them directly in the eyes, it was clear that not all had been said and done. Ffion's irritation spiked again just as sharply as it had with Forender and her grey eyes were fixed on the Dwarf. She folded her arms over her chest and wondered fleetingly how long she could keep her temper in check.
"My Lord Harrowmont, you have something else you needed?" She had to force the title out of pure politeness. It was too easy for her to slip to her inbred nobility and the arrogance that went hand-in-hand with it.
"It's hardly right," Harrowmont answered.
"But you'll do it anyway," Alistair certainly wasn't asking and he forwent the niceties without a thought.
Harrowmont pulled rather self-consciously on his braided beard, his grey-blue eyes unhappy. It took a moment for him to look at them again and when he did, his spread his hands, palms up, in defeat.
"That doesn't make it any better," He directed that at Alistair and then was focused on Ffion again, "If you truly mean to see this through, Warden, there's another catch."
"There's always a catch," Ffion answered easily, shifting her weight, and arching her brows. She tightened her arms over her chest, not liking how naked she felt without her armor, but there had been no way around that, "Usually, there are multiple catches. What's this one?"
Harrowmont began pacing, his hands clasped behind his back.
"In this type of situation, a vote from the Assembly is not enough. And that isn't about to happen, not with the dissension that has been sown," He paused briefly and then went on, "My people need words with more weight and pull than any of the lords and ladies have here in Orzammar. And the Assembly needs a decided voice to settle the disputes. A voice from the Ancestors or the Stone herself."
Ffion was watching him through narrowed lids. It was all well and good that his voice was powerful and his passion was shining through, but she couldn't stop that little needling telling her this wasn't going to be good for her party.
"And what will that run us?" Alistair asked, feeding off of Ffion's growing suspicions.
Harrowmont was almost wringing his hands as he looked imploringly at Ffion.
"Before I go any further, just... remember our deal, Warden."
Alistair was frowning, his honey colored eyes concerned.
"Deal?" He repeated, "What deal?"
"I'll explain later," Ffion's voice was much sharper than she intended but she was getting pissed, "Way to throw my words back at me, my lord. Can we get on with this? We both know I have no intention of going back on my word."
Harrowmont searched her gaze and then gave a slow nod, satisfied with her promise.
"The word of a Paragon is needed and the one that is... well, I won't say convenient, but... The nearest thing we have to a living Paragon is Branka. She was a brilliant noble who discovered a process of burning coal without the dangerous smoke, which is besides the point. Two years ago, she took her entire household, stewards, courtiers, servants, everyone, into the Deep Roads to search for the Anvil of the Void. They-"
"Anvil of the Void?" Ffion interrupted, "From the legends?"
"All legends have a basis in truth and this one is very true. The Anvil of the Void was used to create the Golems that protected ancient Orzammar," The Dwarf had instantly become teacher and it suited him, "Branka believed that our peoples' greatness could be restored with that piece of history and so she set out to discover the ancient smithy used by Caridin and our ancestors. For the first month we had regular dispatches from her, but they soon grew fewer and farther apart, and then, nothing. The last word from her house was that they had gained Caridin's cross, the deepest part of the Roads that anyone had ever reached. With the frequent stops to take notes and explore different passages, it had taken them some time. But with a small troop, if they were to go straight to the crossroads, and perhaps pick up Branka's trail from there... My scouts estimate a week to Caridin's Cross and from there, it's in the Ancestors hands."
Ffion blinked, not quite understanding what he was telling her, and then her arms dropped and she stared at him in disbelief.
"And you expect us to find this fabled... Anvil?" She asked and heard the barely contained fury, "Is this a joke? I mean that's pretty damn presumptuous, deal or no deal."
"If I don't send you, Bhelen will send his own men," Harrowmont answered sharply, "It has to be Branka, there's no way around that, and it's gone from a race against one another to a race against the clock. The Assembly will be pushing the vote in two weeks, so you can see the reason behind the urgency."
"'It's hardly right,'" Alistair muttered darkly, "That's the biggest understatement, ever."
Harrowmont was still looking at Ffion and he shrugged, saying simply,
"We have a deal."
She rolled her eyes ceiling ward and then met his gaze again.
"We have a deal," She repeated, "Quite the damn deal. Tell me we at least get maps."
"Of course," Harrowmont pulled a hefty stack of papers from his desk, "These are all the correspondence and maps that have been discovered, sent, or drawn up brand new," He handed these to Ffion, eyeing her carefully, "Are we agreed then? You'll search for Branka or whatever may remain of her and her house?"
Ffion couldn't promise that and Harrowmont knew it. She took the papers in her arms and searched the Dwarf's face. His desperation to get this done and the obvious embarrassment at having to ask this favor was almost enough to soften her, but then she remembered just what he was asking and it disappeared. Hating the fact that she had trapped herself with that promise to help and not able to worm around it, she lifted her shoulders.
"Tell you what, we'll go back to Tapsters, have a few drinks-"
"Probably curse your name,"Alistair interrupted and then added with a sheepish smile, "With all due respect."
"And talk this over with the others," Ffion continued, sending the ex-Templar a quick grin, "Considering the way rumors and general news travels in the city, we will just let the normal channels inform you of what we end up doing. It shouldn't take too much eavesdropping or bribery. And with any luck, we'll see you in two weeks, at the Assembly's vote."