Chapter 29 – Oaths of Blood

Sagramor had expected Alistair to be discontented by his decision, but even he was left surprised by the depths of the war raging of the former Templar's heart, the struggle between the loyalty and trust he held for his fellow Warden and moral outrage over what he'd just learned making itself known in the churning frustration playing out across his face. Brown eyes glanced from Sagramor over to the tent erected at the far end of the camp and back again, his disgust building with each cycle until outrage finally won out. "You let a blood mage into the camp? What were you thinking?!"

"Merrill's no danger to us," Sagramor insisted, painfully aware of how the former Templar's outburst had drawn every eye in the camp. Alistair offered an incredulous stare at the declaration, yet Sagramor held his ground, the knowledge of how low he'd nearly sunk out for fear of the maleficar a raking spur to overcome his hesitation. "Blood mage or no, she helped us, and I won't turn her aside."

A cloud of bitterness that normally only appeared at mention of Loghain darkened Alistair's handsome features. "I need to talk to you in private," the former Templar whispered, striding out beyond the firelight without waiting for a response.

Sighing, Sagramor followed him into the night-darkened woods, pausing only to greet to Shale and Sten as they stood watch. He'd felt no trace of the darkspawn over the past two days, their efforts within the cave network evidently having scoured the foe from this part of Ferelden. Even so, it felt odd emerging from beyond the camp's pickets without the protection of his armour. Mahariel's fate had served as an ample reminder of the dangers of the Blight disease, and before looking over them, Wynne had insisted their garb be subjected to another thorough cleansing in addition to the one undertaken after leaving the cave network, his armour, cloak and tabard most of all. Fortunately, his sword had already been cleaned, sharpened and oiled, and Sagramor kept it in easy reach, wary for any danger that might have approached unnoticed.

A hundred paces out, as the light of the campfire vanished behind the dense tangle of brush, Alistair began to pace anxiously beneath the boughs of an immense pine, every step marked with the snap of needles underfoot. "Why did you—" he began. "You brought a blood mage here. Why?" he at last managed.

"She helped us," Sagramor repeated stubbornly. "Believe me when I say I share your concerns about her use of blood magic, and we'll keep a close eye on her until we can bring her back to her clan. But when she used that power, she did it for our sake, and I won't repay her by casting her out. Hasn't the Order suffered enough from ingratitude without treating other people the same way? Besides, we still need her."

"What are you talking about?"

"Merrill can bring us to her clan." That was over-egging the pudding a bit; the keenness of her grief and her lingering exhaustion meant there'd been no opportunity to broach the subject as they moved to rally with the rest of the party. Still, he'd made far greater gambles to stop the Blight, and nothing he'd seen of Merrill suggested she'd refuse. "Think about it, Alistair. We can get another of the treaties fulfilled and get the aid of the Dalish without spending weeks wandering aimlessly through the Brecilian in hopes of finding them. That's worth offering a blood mage hospitality for, wouldn't you say?"

"Assuming of course she doesn't summon a demon into our midst, or try to take control of our minds, or do any of the other vileness maleficar do on a regular basis," Alistair retorted, unwilling to back down. "Just because you've started learning how to be a Templar doesn't make you immune to her spells. The rest of the team certainly aren't."

"You honestly think I'd risk the others over this?" demanded Sagramor, pride stung at the accusation. "Leliana's watching over her now, our own mages are close by in case she needs help, and I have no doubt Sten and Shale will take it upon themselves to put Merrill down at the slightest hint of danger. We're taking precautions, precautions which, I might add, probably won't be necessary, because Merrill isn't Uldred."

Alistair's teeth ground in frustration. "Even so, relying on a blood mage? The Order's better than that."

Grey eyes narrowed, glancing about for any eavesdroppers before responding. "Tell me, did Daveth die choking on the Nevarran red, or the Orlesian? I wouldn't normally seek out a maleficar's aid, but we aren't in a position to turn aside help, no matter the source."

"Duncan never would have-"

"Duncan isn't here!" Sagramor snapped, far more forcefully than he'd intended, the stern look Alistair gave him proof enough he'd make a mistake. "Maker knows I wish he was, but he isn't, so that responsibility falls upon us. We can't just blindly act the way we think Duncan would have done; we need to exercise our own judgement. And mine says that our discomfort over blood magic and the potential risks Merrill brings by using it is far outweighed by the prospect of fulfilling one of the treaties in the next few days."

"And the fact she's a beautiful elven girl has no bearing on your decision, of course," remarked Alistair.

Fuming, Sagramor turned aside, unwilling to let Alistair see how telling a blow he'd struck. Instead, he took a deep breath in hope of settling his humours, before facing the former Templar with a glare as hard as steel. "I am not asking you to accept what Merrill did, or condone the use of blood magic from her or anyone else; I won't ask something of you I'm not sure I can do myself. All I ask is that you tolerate her presence with us for the next few days. Once we enlist the Dalish, you can lecture me about the evils of maleficarum all the way to Denerim and back again for all I care. But I will not turn on someone who risked her life to help us, and I will not stand before the spirits of my people and tell them I valued my biases over their lives. Merrill is an ally, and once we turn on our allies, we'll find ourselves without any."

There was no hiding Alistair's disappointment. "And where do we draw the line? We're facing a Blight. We'll always be able to justify any choice we make in stopping it, no matter how low we sink in the process. What's to stop us from going too far?"

"You, of course, and Leliana, and Wynne, and Morrigan and the rest of the team. I don't make calls in a vacuum, and if I ever do something truly unethical, you'll be there to set me straight. We shouldn't instantly choose the most morally dubious option without thought every time we have a problem, but we can't afford to be inflexible either, not with Ferelden at sake. I'll take responsibility, just like I always do."

"I guess you have at that," came Alistair's grudging admission. "It's just… between Loghain and the Blight, we deal with enough risk without you tempting more. Sooner or later, it's going to catch up with us."

"Maybe," Sagramor permitted. "But if there's a price to pay, I'll pay it. Was there anything else?"

Flinching at the dismissal, Alistair offered a final comment. "Just make it all worth something."

With the clank of plate, Alistair strode back towards the camp, leaving Sagramor alone beneath the trees with his thoughts and frustrations gnawing away at him. "Damnation, Alistair…" the elf growled softly, taking some deep breaths before his choler lead him to further rashness. It was not the first time he and the former Templar had disagreed about a course of action, but never so heatedly, and he kicked himself for invoking Duncan in such a callous manner before the Warden-Commander's protégé. He couldn't be angry with Alistair either, for his objections were rational, rooted out of a genuine concern for the success of their mission, and nothing Sagramor hadn't considered himself. He could hardly expect his fellow Warden to be blindly loyal in any event; Loghain's betrayal had robbed them of such certainty, and better to let his pride be bruised than inadvertently lead the little company to destruction because he could not handle honest criticism.

All of this was true, yet he'd held firm all the same. Stopping the Blight would always be the priority, yet that had never stopped him from aiding those in need whenever he could, and strip away her race, beauty and sorcerous abilities, Merrill was no different from in that regard than anyone else they'd fought to protect over the course of their journey.

Sighing, Sagramor tried to cast aside his misgivings. He could examine the issue from every conceivable angle and reflect on whether he'd made the right choice until the Maker returned, but in the end, contemplation could only take him so far. Right or wrong, the choice had been made, and if the consequences turned foul… well, he hadn't lied to Alistair about taking responsibility.

Behind him, the swish of woolen robes through the foliage signalled Wynne's approach. "I take it you had a disagreement?"

"Nothing that won't hinder our mission," Sagramor reassured her, refusing to let any of his doubts show. "I imagine you share his objections?"

"I do. Whatever her reasons, Merrill is walking a path no reasonable mage should ever consider treading, and while the Dalish may operate outside of the Circle's jurisdiction, I cannot believe they'd ever countenance such behaviour from her. Relying on her brings considerable danger."

"Agreed, but it's danger worth tempting to enlist the Dalish," insisted the elf. "The safety of everyone in the party will always be a priority, Wynne, and I'd never take such a risk unless I was certain it was worth it."

"So you are committed to this course of action, then?"

"I am. Who knows? Perhaps there's something we can learn from her."

"Perhaps," Wynne remarked coolly. "I doubt you will reconsider, and as Merrill's taken our bread and salt, she's our responsibility, no matter what I might wish. With that said, I would be remiss if I failed to bring one last detail to your attention."

"Go on."

"When I was examining you all for any signs of Blight infection, I noticed some scarring around Merrill's wrists and palms."

"As in, scars plural?" Sagramor inquired, sighing at her nod. "Maker… so her using blood magic wasn't a one-time thing, then."

"No. As far as I can tell, it's something she's been… practicing," the Circle mage all but spat in disgust. "A few weeks, perhaps, given the age of some of the scars. I know you're loath to turn your back on anyone in need, but I did feel it was important you knew the full scope of matters, even if your mind is set. That said, what in the world could have driven her to such foolishness?"

"One of the many answers I mean to get before the night is done. I appreciate your diligence in this matter, Wynne, and I promise I'll be careful around her. Now, I have to ask, but are you sure Leliana's okay? I don't mean to doubt your abilities, but-"

"I understand your concern. Fear not, you have nothing to worry about." If Wynne was upset at the evasion, she gave no sign of it, instead taking the Warden's change of tack in stride. "After what you told me, I made sure to examine her thoroughly, and I'm confident she bears no trace of the darkspawn infection. She will be fine."

Sagramor uttered a sigh of relief, anxieties diminishing in the face of Wynne's calm certainty. "Thank you. You've been a great help to us in so many ways, Wynne. I can barely think what we'd do without you."

"That's kind of you to say. Just be careful, Sagramor. You are one of only two Grey Wardens left in Ferelden, and much depends upon you."

"Believe me, it's not something I could ever forget. Come, let's see how the others are faring."

The scent of burning aromatics rose on the wind to greet Sagramor and Wynne's return, and around the campfire, five pairs of eyes turned away from their supper to meet their approach. The Warden had the briefest moment to reflect upon Alistair's absence from the gathering before Nimue bolted up from where she sat, the night's meal of herb-roasted river trout and oatcakes spilling out onto the ground and abandoned without a word. "Is she all right?" Sagramor demanded, disquieted by his childhood friend's retreat.

Geoffrey gave an apologetic shrug. "Nimue just needs a bit of privacy." His right hand came up, halting Sagramor before he could go after her. "I get wanting to clear the air with her, Warden, but I know her well enough to say she won't be in the mood. Trust me, the best thing we can do now is give her some space."

"Very well," Sagramor finally conceded. Nimue had changed. He knew this logically, just as he knew he could not have expected anything less after all this time, yet his heart was proving far slower in reconciling his childhood playmate with the brittle, distrustful young woman he'd brought into the company. As painful as it was to admit, Geoffrey was far more familiar with who she was now, and likely had known her longer in the bargain. Biting back his pride, Sagramor took a seat next to the fire. "I just hope I can win her trust eventually."

"No doubt. She's just getting used to the whole idea of you being a Templar—I mean, you having Templar powers, rather. She'll come around."

Across the campfire, Morrigan offered a mocking grin, the presence of the other apostates having apparently lured her away from her own fire to mingle with the others. "'Tis foolish of her to fear Sagramor. Our dear, gallant Warden has always possessed a weakness for beautiful women, after all."

Sagramor blushed beneath the hood of his cloak, his objections shelved by the simple truth of her words. "Have your self-righteous lectures ceased for the eve, Wynne?" Morrigan continued. "Perhaps 'tis too much to hope for, but I'd hoped to actually enjoy the night's repast, and the bleatings of a Chantry pet do little for my appetite."

"I would have thought a woman of your prowess would not be so unsettled by mere words of caution," Wynne countered smoothly. "Apostate or not, surely you can see the foolishness of Merrill using blood magic?"

"Why? Because she dares to make her own choices? Because she refuses to accept the craven dogma you swallow wholesale?" Morrigan snapped, the heat of her temper burning all the brighter in contrast to Wynne's glacial calm. "Do not presume every mage is so weak as to let themselves be willingly shackled as you were. She will either master such powers or be destroyed by them as her own strength and will dictate."

"And what of the harm inflicted upon those around her? I cannot believe that the Dalish would ever be so reckless in how they train their apprentices. To let a child engage in such practices-"

"I know 'tis difficult for you, but do not patronize. Merrill is no child; that she bears the vallaslin is proof enough."

"Those are her facial tattoos, right?" Sagramor inquired, vaguely recalling the term from Alarith's tales. "Aren't they religious symbols of some kind?"

"Yes, a mark of devotion to their gods. Flemeth once remarked the ritual to obtain them is deliberately torturous, so as to winnow out those unworthy of being considered full adults. Condemn her all you will, Wynne; I doubt even death could put an end to your sanctimony. But do not label her child. 'Tis a mage of great power we are hosting this eve. Respect that if nothing else."

"Sounds like you know a lot about the Dalish," remarked Geoffrey, visibly impressed.

"And it sounds like Merrill's made an impression on you," Sagramor added. "It's rare to see you get worked up like this."

Flushing red, Morrigan shook her head dismissively. "Knowledge is power, after all. And it is so strange that I might respect a mage of genuine power and the will to use it? Ohh, the things I might learn…"

"You would take up blood magic yourself?" Wynne demanded, tone cold enough to snuff out an inferno.

"Would you be capable of stopping me?" Morrigan responded with a smile like poisoned honey. "Fear not, old woman, I'll not become maleficarum, if only to avoid the self-righteous tirades that would inevitably result. No, 'tis the Keeper's art of which I speak. The Dalish possess old magic, lore that gives them command over the earth and its beasts, and they guard that knowledge like a miser hoards his coins. 'Tis a shame, but I doubt the girl would be willing to share them, no matter what I might offer in return."

"Perhaps we can arrange something with Merrill's clan?" permitted Sagramor. "They might be more willing to share their lore knowing it'll be used to help stop the Blight."

"Assuming the Chantry's pet here can avoid lecturing them on the evils of self-determination."

"You seem far more likely to provoke an incident than I, Morrigan," Wynne riposted. "Diplomacy is hardly your strong suit, after all."

"All right, enough," Sagramor declared, his patience exhausted. "Thanks for your counsel, both of you, but I've made my decision and it's time we moved on to other matters. Any news of Denerim, Bodahn?"

"Very little, I'm sorry to say," confessed the merchant, wringing his hands nervously. "I didn't see a single caravan or traveller arriving from Denerim; any traffic on the road was heading east towards the city. In my experience, that's never happened before, there's always people going to and from the city over the land routes."

A chill came over Sagramor, the memory of the empty roads leading to Redcliffe and its woes bright and sharp in his mind, and he glanced towards the eastern horizon, half-expecting to see a burning city waiting for them. Don't be a fool, he chided himself. There was no possible way a city as mighty and well-defended as Denerim could have been taken so quickly, and without them knowing it. "You said you've travelled this way before. Any ideas why no one's taking the roads west?"

Bodahn shrugged. "Perhaps people fear leaving the protection of Denerim's walls? In any event, Snowgate has been heavily fortified. Loghain has over three hundred soldiers there, and I saw wanted posters for yourself, Master Alistair, Lady Morrigan and Lady Leliana plastered everywhere."

"If I know Loghain, he'll be doing the same at every village and outpost leading to the capital," Wynne cautioned. "We must be careful, Warden. For all he has done, Loghain is still a capable strategist, and if we fail to respect what he is capable of, we will suffer for it."

"Agreed," said the elf. It was unfortunate but not unexpected; Loghain was nothing if not tenacious, and no general of his calibre would ever permit his seat of power to be left vulnerable. Getting into Denerim and escaping with their skin intact would be difficult, and he'd have to give the matter some serious thought before they arrived. "What of Loghain? Is he inside the city?"

"Heard a rumour from one of the soldiers in Snowgate that he'd taken forces south against one of the rebel banns. That's what I've heard on the road, anyhow. Take it for what it is."

"And what do the people of Snowgate think of their new Regent?"

"What does it matter what they think?" Morrigan scoffed. "Arrange them beside their livestock, and you'd be hard pressed to tell which are the mindless beasts."

"Considering we'll be travelling to one of the most populated cities in Ferelden, it matters. Go ahead, Bodahn."

The merchant took a moment to choose his words with care. "From what I could tell, they're starting to have doubts. They're not openly rebellious, of course, and if anyone denies the official story of what happened at Ostagar, they're only saying so behind closed doors. But when three hundred armed men bully their way into your homes and accuse your neighbours of treason, well, even mention of the Hero of River Dane only carries so much weight. Whether that means people in Denerim will turn a blind eye should they discover you…"

"Best we avoid putting it to the test," said Wynne.

"Agreed. We do this right, and we'll be in and out of Denerim before Loghain even learns we're there. For now, the Dalish take priority."

And Maker grant I'm making the right call…

One did not grow up in a port city such as Denerim without hearing sailors' tales, and through the second-hand recountings of elven longshoremen overhearing such idle talk as they went about their labours, Sagramor had been exposed to all manner of fantastical accounts; of immense seagoing leviathans capable of dragging entire galleons to a watery grave, how the spirits of dead mariners could be heard calling out from the early morning fog, and of exotic lands plagued by monsters with anywhere from seven heads to none at all. More than once, half-remembered tales of sirens found root in the fertile fields of his imagination, mysterious beings whose heartbreakingly beautiful songs lured all who heard them to their dooms. Hearing Leliana's soft voice echoing out into the darkness, he wondered if those doomed sailors had likewise been so entranced, and the usual nerves that accompanied time spent in the beautiful Orlesian's company made their way with him to her tent, the flow of melodious Elven lyrics ceasing at his call. "May I come in?"

"Of course," Leliana responded, pulling back the tent flap, her smile broadening at the platters of food he bore. "Considerate as ever, my friend."

"Figured I'd make things easier for both of you." At the other side of the tent, Ragnar lifted his head at his master's presence, and Sagramor rewarded him with a gentle scratch behind the ears before turning towards the bedroll and the tent's final occupant, the small sounds of grief that escaped past her lips tugging at his soul. "How's Merrill doing?"

"Still exhausted," Leliana said, observing the Dalish girl sadly as she tossed and turned in her restless slumber. Humming a few stray bars, Leliana threaded a hand through raven-black braids, calming the sleeping maleficar almost instantly. "I think her—what she did left her more drained than she was willing to admit."

"Probably didn't want to seem weak in front of us," Sagramor suggested. He'd let Merrill ride his horse on the way back to the rally point in hopes of making things easier for her, yet such had been the Dalish girl's fatigue that by the time they linked up with the rest of the party, she'd been too tired to do more than to strip off her armour, don the woolen robe Bodahn provided and collapse on Leliana's bedroll. The redhead was similarly garbed, her own armour being tended to, and Sagramor turned away in hopes his deep blush would go unnoticed, her loveliness undiminished by the plain attire. "You sure you're feeling well?"

"I am certain. Trust me, my friend, I would not jeopardize the safety of the party for the sake of mere pride. If I see the slightest hint of the darkspawn infection, you will know, I swear it."

"Fair enough," the Warden acceded. "Just exercising some due diligence, that's all." If anything happened to you, and I was too blind to notice…

"And knowing that you're looking out for us is a comfort," declared the Orlesian woman. "I take it Alistair was unhappy with your decision?"

"Yeah, you could say that," Sagramor admitted, kneeling down beside her. "I can't even be angry with him, not when he's speaking sense. But what's your take on Merrill?"

Full lips pursed in thought. "I doubt she would use her blood magic against us, not after all you did for her, but the Maker declared such powers anathema for a reason. Even those with the best of intentions may find themselves corrupted, or lose control over what they have unleashed. Still, it's hard not to feel sorry for her, especially after seeing her lose the woman she loves."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Oh, my apologies," said Leliana, blushing. "The phrase 'ma vhenan' is an Elven term of endearment, a romantic one. The Lady Cecile had an elven handmaiden who knew something of the old tongue, and helped raise me after my mother passed."

"Which is where you learned that song," the elf inferred. "What exactly were you and Merrill singing back in the caves?"

"It's called 'In Utherena', a traditional song for the departed, meant to console those left behind." Leliana stroked Merrill's cheek in a soothing gesture. "All things must pass in their time, but never so cruelly. Not even a blood mage should lose the ones they love."

"Agreed." Perhaps it was compassion in the face of loss that kept him from condemning Merrill as a monster; a small reason, petty perhaps, but a reason nonetheless. "We can't save everyone, but that's no reason not to try, and anything we can do to help protect the innocent is worth the risk."

"Including getting a blood mage's assistance?" Leliana raised a hand to stall the inevitable rebuttal. "I do not doubt your reasoning or your judgment, Sagramor, but be careful. To have your trust betrayed is the worst sort of pain, and I… I do not wish to see you hurt."

Sagramor had the barest moment to process that statement before a sleepy moan interrupted his musings, and great green eyes stared back up at him. "Good evening, Merrill. How are you feeling?"

"A bit better, I think," answered the Dalish girl. A thought struck her, and she all but leapt up from the bedroll, beautiful green eyes darting between woman, Warden, hound and back again with all the nervous caution of a deer ready to spring back into the undergrowth. "I should get going. My clan is probably worried sick about me."

"By yourself, in the dead of night, without so much as a crumb to sustain you?" Leliana questioned, moving to reassure her. "There's no need to take that sort of risk. You are a guest here, not a prisoner, and you have nothing to fear from any of us, myself included."

"Are you sure? Not about being safe here, I mean, but… I wouldn't want to be a burden."

"You never have been," Sagramor stated emphatically, handing her a plate of food. "And there's no burden in offering a friend hospitality regardless. There will be plenty of time to find your clan come daybreak. For now, you should try and get your strength back."

"Thank you," said Merrill, wolfing down her food. "I don't mean to be ungrateful. I've just never been outside the clan on my own before, much less camped with humans."

"It's natural to be a bit nervous. I remember how uncertain and strange everything was when I first left Denerim to join the Grey Wardens. You seem to be handling things well, though."

Merrill's smile was a false and fragile thing. "I'm… I'm trying. Thank you for your kindness, both of you."

"It is our pleasure," the Orlesian replied, offering Merrill's hand a gentle squeeze before rising to leave. "My watch begins shortly; mind keeping her company, Sagramor?"

"I don't want to turf you from your own tent!" Sagramor protested. "I could take over your shift, if you'd like."

"And leave our courageous leader too sleep deprived to effectively command?" quipped the redhead. "You wanted a chance to speak to her, no?"

And she'd speak more freely with a fellow elf, Sagramor reflected, accepting the truth and Leliana's departure with a nod. Nothing he'd seen of Merrill suggested that she was a bigot as well as a blood mage, but he could understand her reluctance to speak openly in front of a human. He'd only grudgingly entertained Alistair's suggestion to seek aid from Arl Eamon and Redcliffe out of a similar distrust, after all. "You up for a chat?"

"Of course," answered the Dalish girl, hastily gobbling down the last of her meal. "Your friends are very nice, Grey Warden. I'm not good at making friends myself, but if I did, I'd like to think they'd be like yours."

"They're the best," asserted Sagramor, and not for the first time, pride swelled in his heart that so many good people had chosen to place their trust in him. Even if we do quarrel from time to time. "From what I understand, though, the Dalish clans are pretty tight-knit. You don't have many friends among them?"

"No, it's something I've always… struggled with."

"Always?"

Merrill shot him an anxious look. "It's been like this long before I took up blood magic, if that's what you're asking. Not that the clan approves, mind you, especially the Keeper."

"Then why do it?" asked the Warden, his desperate need to understand breaking through his reserve. "Why risk so much, your soul included?"

Silence lingered for a moment, until Merrill turned to face the Warden, eyes bright with barely restrained tears. "Tell me, do you know exactly what we lost when Arlathan fell?"

"Far less than I'd like. I know our people ruled a great empire that was brought down by Tevinter, but as to what got destroyed along with it… I couldn't tell you everything."

"No one could, that's the point," Merrill replied with a sad smile. "Our people are dying, Sagramor. Every generation, fewer and fewer Dalish children are born with the gift of magic. Every generation, we grow weaker as clans are destroyed or simply vanish. And all we have left of Arlathan are scraps of knowledge, barely understood and without the power to set things right. We Dalish wander the wild places, pretending a few fragments of the old tongue makes us superior to the city folk, and we keep losing our best and brightest, and… and…" The dam walling her grief away burst, and she slumped forward, sobs wracking her slender frame. "I let Mahariel down! She trusted me, and I… I…"

Compassion burned away his lingering reservations, and Merrill sobbed openly against Sagramor's chest as his arms came about her in a comforting embrace. "You did all you could for her," he insisted, tilting her head up to face him with a gentle touch. "And it's not your fault the world is the way it is."

"Everyone says that, and nothing ever changes, at least not for the better," Merrill declared. "Our people deserve more than this life, Sagramor, than just getting by. How can I not help them?"

"But why blood magic? I understand wanting to help others, I applaud it. But… why practice something that everyone condemns?"

Green eyes locked with grey. "Sagramor, is there anything you would not do for the ones you love?"

The question stopped Sagramor in his proverbial tracks, and he forced himself to remain composed, the truth as undeniable as it was hard to speak openly. "No… no, there is not. Though I wish I could say otherwise."

"Me too," Merrill admitted regretfully. "I'm not blind, Sagramor. I know blood magic has its dangers, and there are certain practices like enthralling minds or raising the dead I'd never do. But even using it conservatively, its power can help our people, I know it. If the sacrifice of my blood can help keep the Dalish from annihilation, then I pay that price gladly. I failed to save Mahariel. I won't fail anyone else."

Reckless. Reckless, stubborn and foolhardy. Almost as much, perhaps, as recruiting an assassin sent to kill him, or accepting the oath of a man who'd murdered an entire family over a length of steel, or dealing with a legendary abomination, or falling hopelessly in love with a woman whose faith bordered on heresy, or trusting in a nobleman, or speaking truth to a king, or any of the other choices he'd made in the service of Ferelden's survival. No, he could not condemn Merrill for her choices, for the same fire of ambition burned within him as well, the same desire to better their people's condition, to achieve greatness and be recognized for it. "I have a favour to ask of you. Normally, I'd let you grieve in your own time, but…"

"You can ask me anything, Sagramor. I owe you that, and more."

The Warden nodded in thanks. "Then when morning comes, can you bring us to your clan? We're trying to assemble an army to fight against the darkspawn, and we have a treaty signed between the Wardens and the Dalish in ages past. I imagine the thought of your kin going to war doesn't sit comfortably with you, but if they can help us save Ferelden, my duty demands I ask it of them."

Merrill considered the question for a moment. "They're not going to stop, are they? The darkspawn, I mean. What happened to Mahariel will happen to too many others unless you put an end to this."

"Yes. Will you help us?"

For all he doubted the Dalish girl for her use of blood magic, he could not help but be impressed by the lack of hesitation in her response. "I will, Grey Warden, I swear it. I don't know how much influence I have within the clan, Keeper Marethari is probably very cross with me right now. But if I can convince them to help, then I will."

"Thank you," Sagramor whispered, heart feeling lighter than it had been in days, the fulfillment of another treaty so close he could taste it. We can save Ferelden. We will, whatever it takes!

A/N: Yeah, it's been a while, hasn't it? I can't tell you how many times I ended up revising this chapter. Some days, it felt like every single sentence came out wrong, and I frequently found myself rewriting them over and over again, never content with what was on the page. I hope all that extra time and effort paid off, but to be frank, I'm just frustrated with my general lack of productivity, and I'd like to move on to the next chapter, especially since you've all had to wait far too long for this as it is.

I had a couple narrative goals in mind for this particular chapter. Besides building upon Merrill's characterization and strength of will, as in the previous chapter, I did want to examine the ethics surrounding blood magic and the pragmatism of the Wardens. Let's be frank, in Inquisition, the Wardens were turned into strawmen, torn down to prop the Inquisition up, and the intriguing moral dilemmas surrounding how they fight the Blight and how far they're willing to go (as illustrated in The Calling novel and the Soldier's Peak DLC) all stripped away so that the Inquisitor could get on her high horse and condescendingly lecture them for daring to live in a world that isn't black and white. Blood magic suffered similarly. For all its issues, Dragon Age II at least raised some interesting possibilities about how "evil" powers could be used for positive ends with its portrayal of Merrill, and this was likewise expunged in favour of a blanket condemnation (beyond some handwaving from Morrigan). Having the characters grapple with these subjects in a more substantive manner felt like a good opportunity. It also gave me a chance to have the various members of Sagramor's team in conflict without it coming across as forced, or having any of them act out-of-character for the sake of drama (let me know how that worked out).

So moving forward, Chapter 30 will wrap up Merrill's time with Sagramor and company, and from there on, we'll be in to the Denerim arc proper. Hope you enjoyed this installment (as unconscionably delayed as it was), and thank you all for your continuing support. All the best to you, and stay safe!