The Bargain
CONTENT:
Rating: Mature
Flavor: Adventure/Drama
Language: yes
Violence: slightly
Nudity: yes (m)
Sex: some (m/f)
Other: coercion/dubcon
Author's Notes:
Yet another chapter written all those years ago. Finally, we get to the Good Stuff! All the Good Stuffs!
The Bargain
==#==
The armies gathered at Redcliffe, the forces of the east of Ferelden bolstering those of the south, as well as the elves, dwarves, mages and Templars. The darkspawn horde had already attacked, the Wardens, Eamon, and Teagan were informed when they arrived. But they had been driven off.
The arl quickly called for a meeting in the war room. His study was crowded with the three Wardens - Alistair, Bannon, and Riordan; Ser Cauthrien and Teagan heading the Fereldan armies with Murdoch; Kardol and a dwarf named Humboldt from House Harrowmont's warrior caste; Dakorien and Keeper Lanaya; First Enchanter Irving and Knight-Commander Greagoir. The picture was quickly painted. The horde had attacked and retreated, like the tide, for a day and a half. Then with a push from the dwarves, they'd been driven off.
Dalish scouts had ventured after them, but no forces of significant size had been reported. It was as if the horde had melted into the ground. Bannon and Alistair shared a look. Or had burrowed. There was talk in the ranks that the Blight had been defeated.
This sparked vehement arguments from the Fereldan Wardens, as well as Kardol. The Dalish and the humans jumped at the opportunity of hope. Meanwhile, Riordan stood alone, staring out the window at the closing darkness of dusk.
"We can't just... give up and go home," Alistair argued.
Ser Cauthrien said, "It is pointless to sit here, with no objective in sight."
"The land cannot sustain these armies indefinitely," Dakorien added.
"There's got to be some sign of them," Bannon said. "We need to send expeditions to Lothering, to Ostagar. Maybe even Haven." He moved aside as a mousey servant came around the room to light the lamps.
"It would be rash," Eamon declared, "to disband so soon, before the horde attacks."
"It did attack!" Murdoch insisted.
"It would still be rash. Tomorrow, we will organize the expeditions, as Commander Tabris suggested."
Riordan turned from the darkened window. "That will not be necessary."
Everyone looked at him in curiosity and trepidation.
"The horde is not attacking here," the Orlesian Warden clarified. "They are striking for Denerim."
"What?" Bannon yelped.
"Didn't we just leave there?" Alistair added in dismayed annoyance.
"How do you know this?" Ser Cauthrien asked with suspicion.
Riodan sighed. "I am a Grey Warden. An old one. I can..." His gaze drifted off across the room... though the wall to the east. "Hear the Archdemon's call."
Bannon thought to maybe punch Riordan, break the Archdemon's spell on him, but in a moment, the man blinked and came back to his senses. "We must march for Denerim at once."
"How long do we have?" Bannon asked.
Riordan shook his head. "We are out of time."
Alistair sputtered. "But it took us days to get here!"
"It will require a forced march, mes amis." His voice was heavy. "Prepare your troops. I must speak with the Wardens, alone."
==#==
Bannon and Alistair went with Riordan to his room. They each had one in the west wing. Privilege of rank and all.
"How can this get any worse?" Alistair asked, as soon as the door was secured. Bannon thought to argue with this pessimistic outlook, but... couldn't.
"The battle with the Archdemon is almost upon us," Riordan said. He poured a glass of wine. He offered some to the Fereldans, but impatiently, they declined. "I have to explain this to you. There is nothing, nothing more important. Armies are only good against the horde. No one but a Grey Warden can kill the Archdemon. It must be a Grey Warden who slays the beast."
"Why?" asked Alistair.
Riordan tasted his wine, savoring it a moment. "The Archdemon is no mere mortal creature. It is not even a darkspawn as we know it. It is..." He circled his glass in the air, searching for the words. "Indissoluble."
"We can't kill it?" Bannon demanded. What the hell?
"Let me explain. When the Taint enters a man, he becomes a ghoul, a mindless creature, like a darkspawn. The darkspawn are drawn to the Old Gods - dragons buried deep within the earth. When the Taint takes a dragon, it becomes an Archdemon."
"Yeah?" Bannon said. "Taint plus person equals darkspawn. Taint plus dragon equals Archdemon. So?"
Riodran waved a hand. "An Archdemon is like a darkspawn god."
"So...," Alistair ventured, "we can't kill a god?"
"The flesh can be killed, but the spirit cannot be destroyed. Look," Riordan said to their blank and confused expressions. "Simply put: if a normal person kills the Archdemon, it's body is slain, but its spirit, its essence, remains. It shall leave the husk and enter into a darkspawn. There, it will fester and grow, until the ordinary darkspawn becomes the Archdemon reborn."
Alistair and Bannon chewed this over. Then the elf said, "Shit!"
"The only way to destroy an Archdemon, is for a Grey Warden to slay it. Then, the spirit of the Archdemon is drawn to the Taint within the Warden." Riordan gestured with his hands, careful not to spill his wine. "The spirits of the Archdemon and Warden are bonded, and both are destroyed."
"Wait," said Alistair. "So... in order to kill the Archdemon, we have to die?"
"Nevermind that," Bannon said, "what do you mean the spirits are destroyed?"
Riordan sighed and set his drink down. "The spirit, your soul, cannot die. But it can be annihilated."
Silence met this statement.
Forget dead. Dead was... well, dead, but there was an afterlife. What was there if your soul was destroyed? Annihilated? Gone, forever. Just... nothingness? The elf shuddered.
"This must be done," Riordan continued quietly. "Or the Blight will never end. The Archdemon will respawn, over and over. No matter how many thousands kill it. The world was almost lost before our forefathers discovered this. The Wardens call it 'the Ultimate Sacrifice.'"
"And one of us has to..." Alistair said woodenly.
"I will do it," Riordan told them. "I am... old. Not that far from the Calling."
"The...?" Alistair asked.
"When you have been a Grey Warden for so many years... it becomes harder to resist. The Call of the darkspawn. Before succumbing to the Taint within you, the Warden returns to the Deep Roads, to fight darkspawn until he is eventually slain."
==#==
Bannon and Alistair left Riordan's chamber, hearts and minds heavy with this new burden. They did not speak; what was there to say? Bannon wondered if he would have made it this far if he had known he might have to die in order to win this battle. Alistair went to his room, but Bannon continued on. He sought out Zevran.
The Antivan had been avoiding him since they left Denerim. Bannon fretted at first, then determined he should let the man have his space. But now... his time was running out. The 'Grey Warden auxiliary' as they had come to think of themselves was bedding down in the barracks, the soldiers having been ousted to camp in the field. Bannon motioned for Zevran to come talk to him out in the hall.
"Won't you come to my room with me tonight?" he asked, almost pleading.
"I... don't think that would be a good idea," the Antivan replied. He sounded torn.
"Can't you just be with me? I won't ask anything else of you."
"No," Zevran said more firmly. "Do not ask this of me, Bannon. My heart... is in turmoil. I am afraid. And... I am weak." He sighed. "Please, I need time. You must understand this."
"Zevran, I only have a few days left to live!" he cried in anguish. "And I- " He broke off, and put his face in his hands. "It's not fair to you, is it? I'm so sorry." He turned away. The assassin was right; how could anyone be asked to feel a love that was doomed? He was going to march towards death, and he was going to do it alone.
==#==
Bannon entered his room and closed the door. He looked up and frowned in annoyance. "Don't you have your own room?"
Morrigan turned from the fire. "You may not believe this, but I am here to do you a favor." Bannon snorted, which she took for permission to continue. "What if I were to tell you there is a way to slay the Archdemon, and no Grey Wardens have to die?"
"What?"
"You see, I know all about how an Archdemon is destroyed, and the sacrifice the Grey Wardens make." She moved towards him, slowly. "And I know a way around it."
A spark of hope lit inside Bannon's chest. And yet... 'if it seems too good to be true,' as his father always used to tell him. "Speak your piece," he told Morrigan.
"There is a ritual, an ancient magic - not that you have any fear of, shall we say, 'unsanctioned' magic." She smiled coldly and sat down on his bed. "A ritual performed on the eve of battle, in the dark of the night. You lie with me - here, tonight - so that I may conceive a child." Bannon only stared at her, wide-eyed. "This new spark of life will carry the Taint, and when the Archdemon is slain, its soul will be drawn here, more strongly than to any husk of a darkspawn, or any mere Grey Warden."
"You want to bear a monster?" That was sick, even for Morrigan.
She shook her head. "The spark of life will be so strong, both the Taint within it and the Taint in the Archdemon's spirit will be obliterated. All that shall remain is the soul of an Old God." She stood and fixed him with her golden gaze. "After this is done, I will leave you. And you, in return, will never seek me out again. Will you agree to this?"
Bannon hesitated. "I don't even know if you're telling me the truth."
"No, you don't. But don't be a fool. The harm that can come of it is negligible. Especially weighed against your own life." Her eyes narrowed. "Don't think this Riordan will save you; the chances of any of you surviving to even see the Archdemon are slim. Or would you let Alistair die while you looked on? When you have the power - even the slightest chance to prevent it? And what would your beloved think?" she whispered. "Would you throw away your life for a pack of ungrateful humans who treated you like dirt your entire life, and deny yourself a chance at happiness?" She let the poison of these barbs sink in, then she hooded her eyes and folded her arms. "You can perform with a woman, can't you? Or must we go fetch Alistair?"
"Yes, Morrigan; I am quite capable," he said offhandedly.
Suddenly her eyes snapped open. "So it is true! You conniving little piece of shit!" Bannon threw up his arms to ward off her attack, little good it did him. Morrigan made a broad gesture, and he was seized by an invisible crushing force that lifted him off his feet with its power. "I thought, 'well, maybe he just doesn't like women'! but no, you actually find me more distasteful than that slut of a whoreson!"
"I'm sorry! You're not... at all a slut or a whore," Bannon gasped out quickly. "Just friends... You took it... the wrong way!"
"Don't waste your breath lying to me, you snake!" She gestured, and the prison started closing tighter on him. "You with your charming smiles, your beguiling conversations. You and your whore were probably laughing at me the whole time!"
"Didn't...," he choked out. "Please..."
"And what about Flemeth? Did you actually kill her, or were you lying about that as well?"
Bannon gasped for breath, but he couldn't expand his lungs to pull it in. "...book," he managed.
Morrigan considered this a moment. "Yes..." Then she flicked her hand, and Bannon was released to collapse to the floor, gasping and shaking. "Mother never would have given up her grimoire without a fight." She tapped her fingertips against her chin thoughtfully. Bannon pushed himself to his hands and knees, breathing heavily. Morrigan looked down on him. "Well?" she said. "Will you enter into this bargain with me?"
He looked up at her, incredulous as well as fearful. She only waited for his response. He swallowed, then nodded.
"I need to hear it out loud," she said.
"I will."
"Then it shall be done. Get up." She turned her back on him. "Take off your clothes." She extended her arms and tilted her head back. With half closed eyes, she began a murmuring chant, and the air in the room took on a dark atmosphere charged like an electrical storm.
Pushing all thoughts out of his mind, Bannon pulled off his clothes. When Morrigan finished preparing the magic, he stepped up behind her and lightly touched her shoulders. He caressed her bare arms and leaned forward to kiss her neck.
She turned on him. "Stop it," she hissed. Confused, he backed away. One corner of her lip curled in a sneer of disgust. "Just rut with me and get it over with."
"Morrigan..." His voice was hoarse still from his ordeal. "I never meant to hurt you. You've never had many friends... when I wanted to be yours, you thought... it meant something else. I'm sorry."
"Don't you patronize me! And do not blame me - my only 'mistake' was ever trusting you at all!" Eyes blazing in fury, she grabbed him by the ear and pulled him towards the bed.
"Not the ear!" he squeaked.
"What?" she scoffed, frowning. "That nonsense Zevran was spouting to get Wynne to let go of him? That's not true, is it?" She quit pinching him and instead tried experimentally stroking the long point of the ear. His eyes closed, and he shivered. Morrigan snickered. "Just like rubbing a dog's belly to get his leg to twitch. Oh, this is going to be easy."
She pushed him back onto the bed, shed her robes, then moved atop him.
And so the ritual began.
==X==