41. The Best-Laid Plans

"So, there is an entirely logical way that I have deduced to go about this," Felicity said, sitting down on a flat patch of dirt near the campfire. She carefully unrolled the map (drawn on hide courtesy of Meila, of course) she had been working diligently on the last few days, revealing a completed map of Ferelden.

Percival knelt down with the others, marveling at how much detail the mage had been able to infuse into it, from the various curves of the rivers to the smaller keeps of the Bannorn. Percival's eyes lingered on the far northern dot of Highever.

Finian's fingers danced along the coastline. "Did you draw this entire thing from memory?"

Felicity flushed. "Well, yes. So it's probably off in several details. However, the major points of interest should be accurate enough for our purposes."

Marnan nodded and sat across the map from the mage. "So what is your idea?" The rest of them were circled around the map, firelight flickering off the faces of eight Wardens, three companions, and a dog. Percival knelt between Marnan and Hugo, fingers idly buried in the scruff of the dog's neck.

Having Hugo back was a heavy weight lifted off his shoulders. Hugo was now his oldest friend, and remained the only link he had to his past. Percy had gotten better since those first days after the tragedy in Highever, but it seemed that the presence of his loyal hound made the transition to this strange new life much more bearable.

Percy didn't care if he had to carry the mabari on his back… this dog was never leaving his side again.

"Well," Felicity said, looking flustered, "it's obvious, isn't it? We have three treaties, plus an additional possibility that Alistair has suggested, and a limited amount of time before the Blight gains too much strength. Four destinations; eight Wardens. Therefore, we split into groups of two, divided according to who each pair would be best suited to convince, and bring the applicable treaty and any willing allies to the intended destination." Felicity leaned over the map and pointed to each location in turn as she listed them off. "Garott and Marnan to Orzammar, Kazar and myself to the Tower, and Meila and Finian to track down the Dalish rumored to be somewhere in the Brecilian Forest. That leaves Alistair and Percival to go to Redcliffe to investigate Arl Eamon."

"What? No!" Kazar snapped. He'd been quiet since his tantrum a couple days before. Some might even say pensive, if it had been anyone but Kazar. It seemed he had his usual fire back now, anyway… not that Percy was in any position to judge another based on temper. "What makes you think I'm going to the Tower? I'm never going back there, least of all with you."

"Each group is separated by how well they will appeal to the leading power there," Felicity reasoned. "Thus, the dwarves will have the best reception in Orzammar, the Dalish will be more likely to listen to elves, and the enchanters of the Circle know us as former members." Her brow furrowed. "First Enchanter Irving likes you, Kazar. He'll be most likely to listen to you."

"Likes me?! He almost had me Tranquilled!"

Percival jerked to stare at Kazar. Now, that, he hadn't known. And judging by the shocked expressions around the circle, no one else had either.

"There were extenuating circumstances-"

"Bullshit. I'm not going back."

Felicity sighed. "Well, where would you like to go?"

Kazar's eyes flicked toward Meila.

"The Dalish?" Felicity sounded as shocked by that as Percy felt.

"It is true," Meila said, "that my people will be more receptive to elves than to humans—even if those elves are not Dalish. I think it wise that I take only Finian and Kazar with me." Fin, sitting by the map across from Percy, nodded thoughtfully.

Felicity rubbed her hand over her eyes. "But then that leaves me journeying to the Tower by myself. If I were to run into trouble—"

"I will come with you," Leliana burst out, smiling brightly even in the dim light. "I have always wanted to see the inside of a Mage Tower. It will be fun, yes?"

Felicity nodded gratefully. "Although I still worry about what will happen if we run into trouble on the road."

"Then I will come as well," Marnan said, and Percy was once again shocked. In response to the varying questioning looks she received, the dwarven warrior admitted, "I, too, have little desire to return home. There… is nothing for me there. It would only be awkward."

Awkward? How could a homecoming be awkward?

Garott chuckled, and Felicity turned to look up at him. "Then you'll be going to Orzammar as the only Grey Warden… if you want to, that is."

Garott's chuckling became a rumbling laugh. "Of course I want to. I've been dying for the chance to go back and rub my status in the Assembly's collective faces."

Felicity frowned. "You shouldn't go entirely alone."

"And so I won't. Hey, Sten! Wanna come to Orzammar with me?"

The Qunari at the back of the group eyed him for a moment "What will this journey entail?"

"Politicians, probably. But if we get lucky, maybe darkspawn will have overrun the city, and we'll get to bash in some heads."

The Qunari paused, glancing among the other Wardens. Then, he sighed. "Very well."

Felicity nodded, lips pursed, then glanced around at the other Wardens. Her gaze landed on Percival. "You don't mind going with Alistair to Redcliffe, do you?"

Percy shrugged. "Chances are Alistair and I are going to be dealing with nobles. That's my area of expertise, I guess. If Arl Eamon can't be roused, hopefully the words of a Cousland will help keep things from getting too out of control among the Ferelden nobility."

Felicity nodded. "That was my reasoning. That leaves… Morrigan." The healer looked up almost hesitantly at the witch. "Where would you prefer to go, Morrigan?"

"Hmm," the witch hummed, and Percy's hackles rose as her eyes landed on him. Maker's breath, she was like a vulture. One sniff of weakness and she never stopped circling.

"No," Percy snapped, before he could stop himself. "Not with us. Your strangeness will make the situation with the nobles even worse." It was an excuse, and they both knew it.

That mouth of hers was curled into an alluring, knowing smile, yet she said, "Very well then. If I cannot go to the Dalish, and I will not go to the Tower, then it seems I am bound for Orzammar." She stepped smoothly around the circle to stand next to Garott. One of her hands trailed up his arm, and Percy's hackles rose again, albeit for a different reason.

The dwarf grinned. "Glad to have you along," he purred.

The woman was a leech. So why was she still so damned appealing?

"It is settled, then," Marnan said. "Tomorrow morning, we will split up and set out. Garott, Sten, and Morrigan will go to Orzammer. Felicity, Leliana, and myself will head to the Circle. Meila, Finian, and Kazar will seek out the Dalish clan known to currently be wandering the Brecilian Forest. And Alistair and Percival will go to Redcliffe." Hugo barked, and Marnan smiled. "Sorry. Alistair, Percival, and Hugo will go to Redcliffe." She sat back. "The travel times vary, but hopefully the convincing itself will not take long." She turned to Alistair. "Do you think Arl Eamon would mind if we met in Redcliffe when the treaties have been collected upon? It's centralized, and home to a neutral party."

Alistair shrugged. "If he's feeling better, he'll probably actually love the idea. He always did love to have a front row seat."

"Very well. We'll convene back in Redcliffe, then." Marnan looked around. "I don't think I need to tell you all that what we set out to do tomorrow could very well change the course of the Blight, and therefore history."

"No pressure," Alistair said.

"Still, it's pretty epic, isn't it?" Finian said with a grin. "Uniting factions that have stood by themselves for centuries, all under our own broken banner? It's like something out of a story."

Leliana giggled. "I think that's my line."

"Still," Percival said, "whether it ends happily or in tragedy is yet to be seen. Maker knows it began tragic enough already."

"But that's what Grey Wardens do," Finian pressed. "We turn the tide of darkness. 'In War, Victory.'"

Marnan said, "'In Peace, Vigilance.'"

A chorus of voices around the circle finished the motto: "'In Death, Sacrifice.'"

"Until we meet again, my friends," Marnan whispered, "stay strong, and Stone guide you."

With that, they slowly dispersed, heading to their tents or away to begin their watches. Percival stood up and dusted himself off. Finian uncurled nearby, stretching out his previously wounded leg seemingly just because he could.

The elf favored him with a grin. "So… alone on the road with Alistair, huh? Good luck with that."

Percival cast the elf a smile. "At least he's easy to get along with. Even your infamous diplomacy will have trouble keeping the nations of Meila and Kazar from declaring war on one another."

"You're preventing a civil war, and so am I," Finian sighed with mock weariness. "Such is the burden of the Grey Wardens." He paused to look around them. The camp was settling down, now. Marnan and Felicity spoke with heads bowed together by the fire while Garott puttered with his trap kit nearby. Meila stood watch at the edge of the firelight. Everyone else had settled into their tents. "Still," the elf said, "I can't say I'm not excited."

Percy arched a brow at that. "About what, exactly? The Dalish?"

The elf chuckled. "Why do you sound so surprised?" At Percival's quizzical expression, he explained, "Back in the Alienage, the Dalish were this nebulous… thing. An aspiration. When someone ran away from the Alienage, it was to join the Dalish. Like they were this elven paradise we could only aspire to. Even after meeting Meila, it's hard to shake that." He paused thoughtfully. "Actually, especially after meeting Meila."

Percival didn't quite understand. "There were really elves who left the safety of the city for such a meager existence?"

Fin snorted with little humor. "You saw the Alienage. Our existence was already meager."

"But at least it was safe. Alienage elves have stable homes, and work—"

"And they even bathe themselves and only speak when spoken to. Almost as smart as any given mabari." Finian was looking at him, his smile gone. "It was a cage, Percy. And it kind of hurts to hear that you think it a fitting one."

Fear curled tight in Percy as he looked at the disappointment in the elf's eyes. "That's not what I meant…"

"No, it's not what you meant to say." Finian sighed, playing with his sleeve where Percy knew his dagger sheaths were hidden. "I notice things, you know, about what people say. What people call each other. And you know what you tend to call me? 'Elf'."

Percival felt himself pale, having not realized such a thing himself. "So does Garott."

"Yes, but he means something different by it. He calls me 'elf' in a sort of 'you're an elf; I'm a dwarf; and we're surrounded by humans, so let's commiserate' way. You call me 'elf' in a 'you're an elf, and that makes you different from me' way. Yet you saved me back in the Tower of Ishal, endangering yourself in the process." Finian met his eyes earnestly, and Percy knew Fin's masks well enough by now to detect the pain there. "Percy, what, exactly, am I to you?"

Percival swallowed, having difficulty coming up with an answer that didn't make him sound like a terrible person. He glanced down at Hugo, who looked back up at him quizzically.

It had seemed natural, back at the beginning, to rely on the smiling elf who had so gently drawn him out of his misery. He'd placed himself in the elf's care, because that's what elves always did… they cared for people. He'd had his elf and his dog, and losing either had been unthinkable… that's why he'd panicked when he'd seen Finian crumple back in the Tower of Ishal. Because Finian had been his elf.

His servant. Oh mercy.

When Percy went too long without speaking, Finian smiled. It was gentle and warm… if Percy hadn't seen Fin's expression a moment before he put the mask on, the noble never would have guessed how hurt the pickpocket was.

"You know, Percy. I'm pretty good at reading silences, too."

"Fin…"

"It's okay. You've had a lot on your mind. I shouldn't have brought it up." The gentle hand on his arm spoke of forgiveness, but Percy couldn't figure out whether it was genuine or one of the elf's acts.

Maker, stop thinking of him as the elf!

Before he could collect his thoughts on the matter, Finian had excused himself and slipped into his own tent, citing an early departure the next morning. Percy was left frustrated and angry with himself, wondering how he could have let himself hurt the elf like that. And it only made it worse when he realized that most of his guilt was because he was still thinking of Finian like that. It was a lord's duty to protect and see to the happiness of his vassals and servants, after all, as his father had hounded into him time and time again.

It was all a twisted mess of awful emotions, and he found himself longing for that empty pit of grief, because this was a tangle he couldn't hope to control.

And there it was, bubbling beneath all the rest of it: the rage. Except, this time, it wasn't aimed at Howe, or Loghain, or even the Maker. No, this time, the focus of Percival's burning, searing fury was himself. And he knew of no way to let it out as it continued to bubble and build.

Hugo whined, and Percy forced himself to unclench his teeth and take a deep breath. He set about getting ready for the night, going through the motions mechanically while the mess inside him continued to churn. Even after he'd settled into his bedroll and blown out his lamp, he continued to toss around under the surging heat of rage that curdled inside him. He wanted to dash something against the nearest tree, but the current target of this inferno was himself. So he could only grit his teeth and clench the ground until his knuckles turned white, hoping that the fire in his veins would subside on its own.

At some point amidst his tossing and turning, Hugo left the tent. Percy didn't think much of it as he curled in the dark, suspecting the dog would sleep better outside than with him flopping about anyway.

He was therefore surprised when he saw the dog's dark shape return sometime later and move behind him. Percy forced himself to relax, sighing out through his teeth.

Then, a dark chuckle filled the tent. "If this is how aware you continue to be of your surroundings, you will be killed by an assassin ten feet out of camp."

Percy jerked upright violently, getting tangled in the bedroll. "Morrigan!" He ripped at the sheet, trying to free himself as he sputtered, "W-what do you think you're doing here?!"

Her sillhouette was barely discernable in the dim light filtering through the walls of the tent. She lounged, the low light caressing her form and making her skin look warm and more inviting than ever.

Her shadowed smile sent twin bolts of fire through him... one outrage, the other, something else. "Hello, Warden." It burned hotter as she leaned forward and gently touched her hand to his cheek. "One might think you were unhappy to see me." Maker, her scent, wild and distinctly female; he shivered.

He forced himself to jerk back. "Unhand me this instant, or I swear I will tear your hand off."

"Is that a threat, or a promise?" She loomed now, creating a striking sillhouette that struck longing within him. And mercy, her scent… at this proximity, that wild, sharp scent she exuded was utterly intoxicating. He was suddenly having trouble thinking.

"Why…" Focus! "Why the blazes are you in my tent?"

"The proper question, Grey Warden," she said in a tone that was practically a scold, "is why I haven't been in your tent before now. I'm not blind. I know you desire me." She leaned in, her warmth a tangible thing that reminded him of so many pleasurable nights. "And it just so happens that I find you not... unhandsome." A warm hand trailed down his arm from shoulder to elbow, and his flesh prickled in his wake. "'Tis our last night sharing a camp. Why not make the most of it?"

He took a breath to protest, but that damn scent overwhelmed him more completely than any spell could have. His rage faded away, but in its place roared a desire of such intensity that he was taken aback by it. How long had it been since he'd touched a woman like this? Since a woman had touched him?

Morrigan gently guided one of his arms forward, so that his palm sat at the curve of her waist. The skin there was weathered and the muscles taut, yet the flesh was warm and soft in the way that only a woman's could be. So inviting to stroke it… Maker, she was so damnably beautiful.

Unbidden, a soft sound escaped him, and she chuckled and leaned in, her warm breath hitting his lips.

No… no. He couldn't give into this. He'd cast this demon out! Desire had no more hold on him!

Except that was definitely what this was, roaring up inside him.

He shoved Morrigan away from him, struggling to get untangled from his blanket before she could recover. He mustered up the previous anger, because that was the only thing that could combat desire this intense. "How dare you, you witch?!" he spat as he managed to free himself from the bedroll, stoking the flames with his frustration. "What are you playing at, sneaking into my tent in the middle of the night? I knew you were bold, but I wouldn't have pegged you as some wanton trollop!"

"How dare I?" she scoffed, leaning back. In the darkness, Percy could make out the unmistakeable shape of her arms crossing. "I come in here and offer myself on a platter, and you ask 'how dare I'? What would you have me do, wrap myself up in bows like some gift?"

"I'd rather you didn't come in here at all!"

"Now, we both know that's not true." His anger flared. "But you wish to spend the night cold and alone? Have it your way; I won't stop you." She got her feet under her and started toward the entrance. "Perhaps I'd better send the elf in, instead. I doubt you'd turn him away."

His anger suddenly flared, infusing him with white-hot fury, and before he could stop himself, he'd launched himself at the witch. He bore her to the ground, hands shaking with the desire to rip to tear to cause her to hurt… but then her scent wafted over him and something inside him buckled and collapsed and then he was kissing her.

Everything burned. It was fury. It was need. It burned through his body, making him want to do something that he suspected was both horrible and wonderful. His Rage and his Desire had combined into something new: something terrifying.

He grabbed at flesh, fingers pressing in just a bit too hard, to really feel that supple body pinned beneath his. He bit and bruised, and she shuddered beneath him, nails drawing stinging lines across his back, and it was pain and ecstasy all at once.

Amidst the flames that had overtaken him, a thought crossed his addled mind that this wasn't like him. He'd never bedded a woman like this: primal and rough. But then he felt Morrigan's hands at the ties of his trousers, and the thought fluttered away.

He growled low with… something (angerdesirehateneedfuckyes), and he felt Morrigan's sultry chuckle against his cheek. His lust—or was it his fury?—surged through him, and he slammed his mouth over those smirking lips, taking control of that acidic tongue with his own. It made her moan, being forced into submission, and that itself sent another jolt of heat through him.

He was a roaring bonfire, and she the fuel. He devoured her, uncaring for her gasps of pain, unflinching when she bit and scratched and left just as many marks on him as he did her. He took, and he destroyed, and she joined in the primal, mad dance with wild abandon.

The witch of the wilds had awakened a beast, and now it devoured her with all the savagery owed it.