"Alistair we have to kill a Dragon."
Alistair frowned and nodded. "Yes, I know the Archdemon."
"No, you don't get it. We have to kill a Dragon." Florien's hands moved as he tried to emphasize his point. He was distressed and Alistair couldn't figure out why. They had known for awhile that they were going to have to kill the Archdemon. What had gotten Florien so spooked about it?
"Yeeesss… I know." Alistair smirked, wondering if this was somehow a test and that Dragon was a codename for something.
"No you do not realize the sheer amount Dragon we are going to have to kill. It's big, and spews purply black fire and-and it SWOOPS! It looks like its favorite activity is swooping. Swooping is bad Alistair. Swooping is very very bad."
"Wait you saw the Archdemon? In the Deep Roads not in some dream?" Alistair stared at Florien, wondering why it was now that he had gotten to hear about the Archdemon the night after Florien had returned to camp, than the minute they had met up again. Well Florien had been looking a bit peakish and Leiliana and Zevran had insisted that Florien rest. Alistair had agreed reluctantly, especially when Florien had gone to Zevran's tent and curled up there instead of in Alistair's. Well not that he could entirely blame him, he'd been missing Florien and had been 'taking his sorrow at being left behind out in the consumption of solidified and odiforous milk curd' as Sten had said. He hadn't really cleaned up his tent from the remnants of his cheese bender and so he was positive it smelled just a little.
But Zevran's tent? That simply didn't sit well with Alistair, Florien should have gone to Wynne, perhaps Morrigan, because he was positive the two mages weren't going to grope or somehow compromise Florien in any manner. Well Morrigan might with her apostatey witchiness but he was pretty sure Wynne could fix that, it wasn't like Morrigan wanted to you know…lick Florien's lamppost in winter.
He also hadn't liked the particular discussion that the two rogues had roped him into after they were sure Florien was asleep.
"Chantry boy, we are going to Redcliffe." Zevran had told him with the ease and confidence of someone who knew he had complete authority. "Yes, I agree with Zevran we are going there." Leiliana had chimed in and Alistair frowned at them. Didn't they know that if they went there that Florien might end up hating him? Well…no they didn't. No one knew except Alistair himself. "Why?" Alistair couldn't help but ask.
"The Warden is worn out. If you have not noticed he is exhausted both mentally and physically and neither happened because I took him to bed. I am certain you have heard of Broodmothers, yes?" Alistair felt the blood drain from his face. He had heard of Broodmothers, had in fact prayed he'd never meet one. For Zevran to bring it up… "I wonder if they always appear with a rather disturbing poem beforehand, if they do it should be useful if we listen for a poem by a ghoul and know that we are about to be attacked by…what was it Oghren called it? Yes a 'ten titty tentacle monster that would never make it in even the raunchiest of dwarven erotica'. Suffice to say that was perhaps the most emotionally damaging thing we encountered in the Deep Roads. Thankfully not made worse since Florien has an aversion to wearing Chantry Priestess robes, he was spared that sort of violation."
"What? Oh that's just wrong what do they teach you in Antiva?" Alistair looked back at Zevran's tent his shock at Zevran's words fading. "Will he be alright?"
"He will be. He simply needs time to recuperate. He does seemingly have the fate of a country if not the entire world resting on his shoulders. Arl Eamon knows you, yes, and you trust him. Redcliffe will be a momentary sanctuary.
So they began their journey before the sun began to rise. It was quiet for the first few hours, Florien couldn't find it in him yet to bring up a conversation since his topics of knowledge were limited. So he thought in the quiet, at the rhythmic sound of two pairs of feet (Leiliana and Zevran were too quiet for Florien to hear). So many unexpected and disastrous things had happened in the month he had left the Circle Tower practically banished. Life was filled with surprises but Florien hadn't thought that there could be ones like the ones he had had, especially so close together.
When he had thought though, that perhaps nothing could surprise him anymore Alistair took him off to the side for a quick 'discussion'. The thought of that discussion made his eye twitch ever so slightly and his hands clench, wishing to wrap his small hands around Arlessa Isolde's pretty pale throat. That wicked utter bitch. Florien felt a deep seated protective rage settle over him when Alistair told him the truth.
Maric's son, Andraste's flaming knickerweasles! No wonder Duncan had told him to protect Alistair. No wonder Alistair was kept from the fighting. Several things clicked into place and all Florien had wanted to do was wrap his arms around Alistair and hold him close. He was wanted, damnit! Florien wanted to shout at him, Florien wanted him by his side and if anyone thought that it was going to be different then they'd be having their shorthairs set on fire. Alistair may be a royal bastard, he did appreciate a good witty one liner, but he was Florien's royal bastard. He was still the goofy cheese loving right hand man of their group, and lineage or no he was staying that way. It also explained Alistair's dislike of leading, how many times could a child be told that they would be nothing, that they were bad if they tried to be in charge, that they started believing it?
Florien was going to have to gently break Alistair of that, despite everything he was Maric's only living son and frankly he was the heir to the throne. Alistair was going to have to lead one day, but right now Florien settled into the role of leader, trying his best to become an example (whether good or bad) for Alistair.
He would give Alistair as much respite as he could before the call of duty would become too much for the elder man. He knew Alistair would never abandon those in need, those who were weak and helpless, and if he simply saw the injustices of the world, the Alienages and perhaps the Circle Tower it would prompt Alistair into wanting the throne.
Yet all musings of the future where Alistair reigned as a glorious king were stopped when they came into Redcliffe. A panicked man met them on the bridge and before Florien could complete the worst possible scenario in his head 'dear Maker Arl Eamon died what are-' his brain shut down. They were being attacked? Attacked by monsters, were they darkspawn? Florien glanced at Alistair wondering if he sensed anything Florien hadn't, but by the troubled look on the other man's features made Florien uneasy. Darkspawn was a no then.
Taken into town Florien found himself wanting to throw his hands up in frustration. Wonderful, great, absolutely fantastic. Florien was beginning to see a trend and it did not bode well for any of them. Sighing in resignation he turned away from Bann Teagan. Wishing for once that life wasn't so damned complicated as a Grey Warden.
A night of fighting Undead, some on fire, some not, but all thoroughly dead yet still moving made Florien want to kick something in frustration. He wanted to sleep in a bed, he wanted a bath, and he had wanted to not worry about being stabbed or ripped apart by something.
Daylight came and Florien told himself that today, he would be ready for any surprises that came his way. He was unfortunately lying to himself when Arlessa Isolde came running down the path.
"Leiliana do we sound like that?" Florien whispered to the pretty Orlesian, eyes trained on the Arlessa. Florien had yet to meet anyone who was as grating on the nerves as this woman. Her voice was like nails on a chalkboard; her theatrics were over the top. "No, thank the Maker." She had also stolen his hairstyle and he wanted to kick her for it.
Straightening up Florien took two steps forward. "You're not telling us everything." Florien didn't care if he was accusing someone far above his station. He frankly didn't care he was insulting nobility. He had just spent his night fighting the undead, setting them on fire, having bits of them get on his and into his hair. Granted at least these bits were dried out, but still bits of dead things in his hair! Any self respecting person would shudder at the merest thought of that. He hadn't had a shower, he was dirty, sooty, bruised, bedraggled, and so close to hitting the Arlessa with his staff and getting it over it. "What how impertinent!" She hissed at him and Florien felt his lips curl into a smirk, examining his nails he muttered loud enough for everyone to hear. "Not if it's true." His voice held a singsong quality to it as he examined the Arlessa's reaction through his lashes. He was simply hanging around Morrigan too much as he got delight out of seeing the pretty Arlessa color most unfashionably.
Florien did feel bad for Teagan, how he tried to calm his sister in law down as well as try to come up with a plan. Florien's eyes narrowed into a scowl and before Teagan could be whisked away by the Arlessa his hand reached out and grabbed the Bann and yanked him back. Forcibly dragging the Bann back a few feet Florien faced him. "This is a trap." He liked Teagan, really honestly liked the man. He was sweet and dutiful. He wanted only to protect Redcliffe and he was happy to see Alistair. That always gained favor with Florien now, not that Florien couldn't like people who didn't like Alistair (Morrigan was the best example), but Alistair was his best friend.
Taking the ring and promising to rescue all of them, and by all of them Florien meant Teagan, Eamon, and possibly Conner. He waited for the party of nobles to disappear from sight before rolling his head and going to talk to Ser Gilmore. Cementing their plans Florien sighed and went to the Windmill.
Was it him or was the Veil getting thinner the closer they got to Redcliffe castle? He didn't bring it up with Alistair, yet, but if there was something wrong, if something had sundered the Veil they were going to be in deep shit.
"Hello is someone out there?"
Florien stopped, holding his hand up to halt his party's movements. Zevran, Alistair and Leiliana froze watching Florien's reaction while he stared down the hall towards the cell that the undead had been attacking.
"Non."
Florien felt his throat tighten and he walked forward. Slow silent steps brought him forward to the cell. "Maker's breath! You. I never thought I'd see you again."
"Jowan, oh Jowan what have they done to you?" Florien stared through the bars, his friend broken and bleeding. Jowan had been tortured, the bruising on his skin mottled, blood staining his robes and the walls around him. Florien felt his breath hitch in his throat. Twice now he had seen those he had dearly loved caged and tortured.
"What they do to all traitors and would be assassins."
"It was you? Andraste's Flaming Knickerweasles Jowan, you tried to kill the Arl?" Florien's hands gripped the bars, his entire focus on Jowan. He didn't see the thunderous expression on Alistair's face, nor did he see the curious looks on Zevran or Leiliana's. His friend his dearest friend who had seemed so smart and in control at the Tower now seemed like a bumbling fool. How he wished everyone else could see what he saw in Jowan, what he now understood of Jowan. He wanted to reach through the bars and smack him, he wanted to heal him. Alistair would have a fit though, and he couldn't afford to lose Alistair's approval right now in a castle filled with undead and monsters.
"I thought I was doing the right thing. Teryn Loghain said…"
"Teryn Loghain?" The dangerous tilt to Florien's voice had the air dropping in temperature though oddly flames began to flicker from his fingertips as he gripped the metal in his hands. Jowan had rarely seen Florien display fits of temper, but when the elf was being worn thin everyone needed to avoid him. Florien had a great deal of patience, but when it was gone things tended to explode, be set on fire, or frozen and kicked. Everyone at the Tower had learned the warning signs of Florien's patience being worn down and if Jowan was correct Florien was currently hanging onto his temper by the merest of gossamer threads. Maker help them all.
"Jowan did you cause the undead to appear?" His voice broached no room for lies, the veil thinning dangerously as he stared at Jowan, his eyes lighting almost unnaturally.
"What? No! Flor I wouldn't do that. I swear, they came after I was imprisoned. I couldn't raise anything even if I wanted to right now. You've got to believe me. The only magic I did was to help teach Conner."
"Conner? The Arl's son? He's a mage?" Alistair piped up from behind Florien, his voice piqued with interest. "Yes, the Arless sought and apostate to come and teach the boy, to keep him from the Circle's grasp."
"Do you think he caused this?" Florien's voice was calm and cool, his golden eyes hard as ice. "Perhaps if he made a deal with a demon, a powerful one could cause the havoc that's been happening." A sharp short nod and Florien motioned for Leiliana to come. "Open the door." His voice was cool, his tone commanding. Leiliana moved quickly, opening the door easily and letting it swing open.
Florien stepped up to Jowan, slender hands reaching out and grasping Jowan's robes. He pulled him down but not before hitting the backside of his head with a hand. "I understand, Maker forgive me Jowan but I understand now." His voice was hoarse, his back was turned to his companions, unwilling to let them see the pain in his eyes, the love. Jowan could sense it now, the shift in Florien, the hunger in his eyes, the slow death, the loss of innocence and light. He saw the differences and silently mourned the loss. He had never wanted Florien to follow in his footsteps, but how foolish of him, Florien would follow him for eternity. He should have… it was useless to imagine the what ifs. He wanted to reach up, to touch Florien's face. He wanted to wrap his arms around the elf that meant so much to him, the only family Jowan had left. He wanted to protect him, but look at what he had done. He had started Florien on this hellish path.
He watched with sadness as Florien slipped behind a mask and dragged him out of the cell. He was surprised at the strength Florien put behind the push. "Run. I never want to see you again." Florien spat and Jowan wanted to smile sadly. Did he think he was fooling anyone with that act of anger? The act of contempt? Florien was giving Jowan a final chance to live outside the Chantry's rule.
"You're letting a maleficar go? The one who tried to kill Arl Eamon?"
"Yes, we have more to worry about than maleficars Alistair. There are greater dangers and greater evils. Should we waste precious resources on one man when we could use the man guarding him to fight? No, let the Maker decide what his atonement should be. Now move, if you want I can invoke the Right of Conscription and have him waiting for us in a safe place if that will ease your mind." Florien shoved Alistair towards the door, waiting for Leiliana and Zevran to start moving before he turned to look back at Jowan. Their eyes met for minute, words they could not say, regrets, guilt, pain, forgiveness, and promises. Florien would fix this, and Jowan was going to atone, was going to wait, and maybe one day when Florien learned the secret of the Joining Ritual, how to recreate it, he would bring Jowan into the fold. Protect him like Jowan had protected him years ago from other Apprentices.
They broke their silent conversation with a goodbye and Florien turned to bring up the rear of the group, readying his magic for the eventual fight before them to get to Teagan and the Arl.
Florien was calm; he was cool as he walked up to Arlessa Isolde. No one expected his hand to whip back and smack the noblewoman. No one breathed when for the second time that day Florien's companions watched as the small elven man grabbed a human and brought them down to his height though this time his calm features twisted into a mask of pure unadulterated rage.
"You knew." Florien's voice was pure venom, the musical notes in his voice captivating, hypnotic and entirely frightening. "He is a mage. Do you think that mages are sent to the Tower because people like being caged? Do you think that perhaps Templars exist for no other reason than to look pretty? You are blaming Jowan for this, when it simply isn't true. Conner was a mage. Was. Notice the past tense. Do you know what he is right now you sanctimonious bitch? He is an abomination."
Isolde sobbed her hands going to Florien's trying to get him off her. "No! No! I was only trying to protect my child. They were going to take him away."
"FOR GOOD REASON!" Florien roared, his voice amplified by magic, the veil thinning as his voice echoed in the main hall as deafening as thunder. "How many people have died because of your selfishness? How many of the villagers have lost a loved one because you couldn't bear to part with your precious boy?"
"Ma cher perhaps you should-"
"They take mage children from people like you Arlessa Isolde. Parents who 'love' their children, who cannot teach them the importance of choices, that their actions have far reaching consequences. Blame Jowan, blame Conner himself, if that assuages your conscience you selfish child. But I know who to lay the blame on, and it is you Arlessa. You are the one with the bloodstained hands, the guilty conscience, and I am but a mere elven mage but I am here cleaning your mess. I could kill you to do it, do you know? There are rituals, dark and demonic ones that I could use to sunder the Veil, send another inside to fight the demon. I could use your blood, you life, but I won't. Not because I am not tempted but my Mamae told me once that the best way to punish someone, to make them truly realize the weight of their actions is to defeat them and then make them live knowing that you have seen them for what they truly are. You should know of Mamae Lady Isolde, you are Orlesian and you did go to court once or twice, you have heard her name whispered in fear. The Emprorer's Bloody Rose." Florien sneered when Isolde paled further and Leiliana stifled a gasp. "You have hurt my friends, you have practically destroyed a village, you almost killed your own husband with your own selfishness, and you have possibly damned your child to death. Be very very thankful I am not as inclined as Mamae would have been to use your choices to destroy you. You have done that very well yourself and you can live the rest of your hopefully very long life looking at yourself and knowing that if it weren't for you, weren't for your selfishness, none of this would have happened."
Letting her go and giving her the same disgusted look he gave a Darkspawn corpse as he finished raiding its corpse he wiped his hands. The room was speechless as he turned on his heel and marched in a random direction, towards what looked like a study. A foul curse flew from his mouth as suits of armor came to life and attacked, the sound of metal against metal bringing his companions and other soldiers inside. When the suits were destroyed, the magic controlling them gone, Florien muttered under his breath and stormed into the study.
He went through the books and papers on the desk, fingers flying over documents and pictures, trying to find something, anything to calm him down. His fingers brushed over cool delicate metal and he stopped.
"You hate me! Because I'm not your sister's child you hate me! That's why you're sending me away. Haven't I done everything to make you happy? To make you love me, but you're choosing her. You're choosing her and sending me away. I don't even want to be his son! Yet you're punishing me for it!"
A teen stood in the study, his blond hair long and uneven, and his clothes were second hand at best. He was a little scrawny but there was fire in his eyes as he stared at an older man. He gripped a delicate amulet in his hand.
"Now Alistair be reasonable…"
"I HATE YOU!" He screamed, ripping off the necklace and throwing it at the wall. Watching it shatter into a million pieces of glittering glass dust. "I hate you, so now you don't have to feel 'guilty' about sending me away. I hope she's good in bed Arl Eamon." Alistair sneered and stormed off, trying not to let the tears fall from his face. Florien followed small hands trying to touch, to soothe and hold. "I love you! I promise, don't be mad!" Florien tried to tell him, his voice high and soft. He was only six and Alistair was so much older and bigger it would have been hard to keep up if Florien hadn't grabbed hold of his shirt and let Alistair drag him along unknowingly. Alistair never noticed when Florien was there.
"Don't cry. Please don't cry." Florien sniffled tugging at Alistair shirt. "Please…" He wrapped his tiny arms around Alistair's neck, standing on his tiptoes to reach it. "Don't cry, I love you. I promise."
Florien held up the amulet to the faint light, watching as it glittered. He knew it; he remembered this, though the last time he saw it had been years and years ago. He could see the tiny cracks and how painstakingly this delicate thing had been put back together. Sighing Florien put a hand to his face, trying to unwind. He needed to be calm, composed, and not two seconds away from setting Isolde on fire.
"Bann Teagan, can you hold the line for two days?" Florien came back in the room, his face composed and focus entirely on Teagan. The Bann nodded startled. "Good, Alistair, Leiliana, Zevran we're going to the Circle. When we pass the others we're sending them back here to help bolster Bann Teagan's forces. We cannot let a child be killed, he is young enough still to be taught differently and properly to where he may be able to survive his Harrowing. We go to the Tower where we will get Lyrium and mages and hopefully defeat this demon before it kills anyone else."
When they reached the Tower a day later Florien did not hesitate before he grabbed the First Enchanter and began dragging him off to a private room. No one else seemed to notice when Zevran disappeared, Alistair too busy with Leiliana as they spoke with the Templars and mages of the current crisis at Redcliffe.
"That woman was horrible First Enchanter! Does she pick and choose what parts of the Chant she wishes to listen to?"
"Florien your mother hid you from the Circle for years."
"That was different! She told me my magic was a gift, that it was to be used to help people. She was not ashamed of me, she was proud. Despite all what you may believe she was going to send me to the Tower in Orlais when I was ten or elven, old enough to be able to fully remember my mother's love and that going was not a punishment but learning and experience. She wanted me to know of life outside the Tower, to be able to have memories of things other than stone walls and stuffy books. If she truly wanted me out of the Circle's grasp I would have lived with my father amongst the Dalish!"
There was the sound of flesh hitting stone and a half muffled sob. Zevran eased a dagger out, he did not think the old man would be so foolish to hit his Warden but he would not take chances.
"Child calm down, the walls have never done anything particularly terrible to insult you."
"There is so much death out there First Enchanter. People are dying and suffering because of the Blight. Most of their problems are caused not by Blight, but by themselves! All this suffering, pain, and death is exacerbated by Blight, but it was happening before, it could have happened easily at another time. Am I the only one who cares? Am I the only one willing to stop it all?"
"The Greatest among us, the ones who change the world for better or ill are always the one who acts when others are merely content to follow. You will change the world my dear child, and you will save it."
"I will die doing so." Zevran felt chills run along his skin and his eyes widened. There was something so sure in Florien's voice, he knew, somehow some way that his death was certain. He could not let his Warden just accept such things lying down! He could not just expect to end with the Archdemon. Could he?
"Florien? How do you know?"
A ragged sigh filtered from the room and a sniffle, his Warden was truly upset. "I dream Irving. I have dreamed since I was a child. Of the future, of the present. I never told anyone because I didn't want to be made Tranquil! Jowan told me what they do to those they suspect to be maleficars." A half hysterical laugh. "You're right, by the way, I do not know if all who dream like I do turn out this way, but I am maleficar First Enchanter. I am tainted and foul and evil and now I use blood magic." Zevran gave the First Enchanter credit when he did not flinch away or start towards the door.
"Let it out child, this hasn't been easy for you has it? Jowan's betrayal, Ostagar, gathering an army, hiding from the Regent, the Blight. I will not condemn you for finding means to fight the evil plaguing us. Look at me, you are doing your best, you are following the Maker's path, no matter how dark it may seem." Zevran eased through the door, concealed in shadows, watching as Florien's face crumpled and his darling mage cried clinging to the old man. His sobs were heart wrenching, enough so that Zevran realized he still had a heart because that could be the only thing twisting so terribly at the sound of pain from their supposedly fearless leader. He was surprised his mage didn't curl up in a ball and refuse to fight any longer, already going above and beyond duty, fighting impossible odds just to get here.
"We will save the child, there will be goodness in this world to save Florien. Shhh, stay here as long as you like I need to start gathering supplies if we are to leave in the morning." Irving let Florien go, walking to the door he gave the spot where Zevran stood hidden a calculating glance before going out of the room and shutting the door behind him. Zevran moved silently to where Florien stood and wrapped his arms around him.
"Zev" Florien's voice was hoarse and raw from crying, and he could tell just by the tone that his eyes were still filled with tears. "Zevran." He repeated and turned, clinging to the older elf like a lifeline. Zevran felt a hint of anger towards the Maker at giving this young little mageling such a heavy burden. He was surprised to hear what he first thought were nonsensical whimpers to be his own native tongue, garbled by having Florien's face pressed against his neck and the irregular breathing that came with sobbing.
It took him a moment to piece together what the younger elf was saying but when he did he tilted Florien's face upwards. He brushed his thumb against those trembling lips and he stared down into watery golden eyes.
"If that is what you wish, I will never leave your side Florien."
He should feel bitterness that the one he was oathbound to wanted to keep him. They had talked of it before and Florien had spoken of ravishment after the celebration of defeating the Blight, yet he always seemed willing to let Zevran go and do as he wished.
I am going to die.
The words haunted him in his mind. Florien would let him go because Florien was certain he was going to die. That he could feel bitterness towards. He would not leave though, not while Florien drew breath, because he suddenly realized Florien needed him. Yes, he may love both Alistair and Zevran, but Florien needed only Zevran. He needed Zevran and only asked for Zevran's presence. He didn't ask for love, Zevran couldn't give him that, he didn't ask for Zevran to change, for Zevran didn't think he could, he just asked that Zevran be Zevran.
Zevran moved his thumb out of the way and leaned down, brushing his lips against Florien's. He cradled the back of Florien's head with his calloused hand, wishing that Florien's hair was down so he could tangle his hand in the silken locks. He slanted his mouth and owned the kiss, owned Florien's mouth, reassured him with his warmth and presence. He could seduce Florien here, take him in this room, but Zevran restrained. The kiss lasted until Florien pulled away gasping for breath and looking delightfully delicious, Zevran licked the mage's lips teasingly and was rewarded with a surprised gasp and a rosy flush to pale cheeks.
"Where do you want to take this Florien?" Zevran's voice was a purr as he stroked the back of Florien's neck.
"I…do not know." Came the breathless reply which made something stir with in Zevran.
"Then let me make it simple. I will not ask more than what you are willing to give."
Zevran wondered what the sad shadow was that flickered across Florien's eyes. He didn't dwell when Florien smiled softly.
"Then it shall be as you wish."
He wondered why that answer didn't appeal to him as much as it normally would. It was easier to hold no real claim on each other, they were both beautiful and could have their pick of anyone they chose. Still he felt almost dissatisfied with how he had put terms on their liason. This would keep them from getting hurt or having expectations the other couldn't fulfill.
He gently wiped the tear tracks on Florien's face, helping to make him look presentable. He looked calmer now, more at ease, as if Irving's approval and Zevran's kiss were all that was needed to make his world right again. Zevran liked thinking he had that power over someone so much more powerful than he was. He wasn't at a disadvantage with Florien, the boy was practically a virgin and could be manipulated to suit his whims, so long as it didn't hurt their main journey against the Archdemon.
"Come now my dear Warden, let us go back before your Templar thinks I am doing wicked unspeakable Chantry forbidden things to you." There it was, a smile, a real one lighting up Florien's face. Zevran settled back into his usual stance, sweeping his arm out. "Ladies first." A snort and a roll of his eyes Florien moved ahead of Zevran and opened the door, leading him back down to the main floor of the Tower.
The return trip back to Redcliffe was spent with Florien chattering with the other mages about mage things. Really Zevran didn't know what they were talking about and from the looks Alistair and Leiliana. It was almost a relief to get to Redcliffe and watch the mages set up the ceremony.
"Who is being sent into the Fade?"
"I am First Enchanter." Florien stepped forward. He would not ask anyone else to do this, not because he was too proud but because it was his plan to begin with. He should be the one executing it.
Florien lay on the ground unconscious far too long for Zevran or Alistair's liking. He looked so pale and fragile laying there, his head tilted to one side to accommodate his bun. When his eyes opened Zevran moved to his side, helping the pale and shaken Florien up.
"It is destroyed." Florien said quietly and the castle seemingly sighed in relief. "A Desire Demon, skanky self fondling nug humping bitches." He muttered under his breath and Zevran smiled at the use of such coarse language coming from his Warden. Oghren was a most inventive man with his curses and one couldn't help but pick up some of the more colorful and frequently used phrases.
"We still need to cure Eamon." Teagan piped up and Florien wanted to strangle the man, in all good Andrastian love of course. "The Urn! You must find the Urn." Isolde piped up and Florien sent her a quelling glare, it was only Alistair's desperately pleading eyes that had Florien backing down. He tried to deny Alistair nonverbally, he tried to look away but those damn eyes were sucking him in. Did the older man have to look like a kicked puppy who you were attempting to abandon on the side of the road?
"Fine. You owe me Alistair. Tell me where to start looking… Maker I'm going to regret this, Blight or no Blight."