94. On Leadership

The Spoiled Princess was bustling. Between laborers helping with the rebuilding, refugees seeking shelter from the Blight south and east, and standard traveling merchants, there was hardly a free table to be had. Amidst this bustle, Percival sat alone with a goblet of cheap wine, Hugo laying at his feet.

Felicity had taken the ferry to the Circle Tower hours ago, with the dwarven girl Dagna in tow. The girl had tagged along with them from Orzammar at Felicity's behest, and the two had promptly erected a bubble of scholar-babble around themselves to the absolute exclusion of the rest of the group. Which was perhaps for the best, really. Percival still recalled being blown off-balance by one of Felicity's kinetic pulses at the Anvil of the Void. Perhaps it was better that she turned her attention to Dagna rather than to questioning the rest of the Wardens' decisions.

Garott had accompanied Felicity and Dagna to the Tower, citing something about making a delivery of his own, and Percy hadn't been able to scrounge up the moral outrage to question it. After blood magic, and political corruption, and condoning the deaths of dwarves to create golems… whatever they had to do, they would do. It was the way of the Wardens.

He just wished Garott had at least told him what was going on before heading off to do it Somehow, he doubted his father had had this in mind, when he'd made Percival swear with his dying breaths to dedicate his life to the order.

"Here's the guy!" said the voice of the only other member of their party still in the inn. The dwarf wove out of the crowd and stopped next to Percy, a dwarven barmaid somewhat reluctantly in tow. "Tell 'er, Warden, about that dragon I killed."

Percival took a sip of his wine, hiding his smile behind his goblet. "I'm not going to do that, Oghren."

"Ah, come on! It was great!" Oghren leaned close, lowering his voice. "Come on, Perce… help a guy out, eh?"

Back in his Highever days, Percival would have gladly gone along with this, but he was beyond the point where deceiving women into bed held any appeal to him. "Oghren, you are a fine warrior who just stormed the Deep Roads and took part in a huge historical event. You don't need to lie to impress a woman."

"Bah. Shows what you know!" The woman rolled her eyes and started off, and Oghren whirled. "Wait, Felsi! Ah, Stone!" The dwarf scurried after her, disappearing back into the crowd.

Percy sat back and drained his cup. It had been over a week, now, since Marnan had died defending them in the Deep Roads. She'd been a good leader, and a good friend, and Percival was honestly not sure how they would defeat the archdemon without her. But the Blight marched on, and they had to keep going regardless.

Percival was worried that they were falling apart. Marnan was gone, and now the others were scattered, each wandering off in disparate directions. Felicity hadn't asked anyone before inviting that Dagna girl to the Tower with them, and who knew whether she'd be back that night. Oghren had surprised everyone by agreeing to come to the surface with them, but had promptly started drinking himself into a stupor every night. Garott was unpredictable ever since that business with the Proving, Sten seemed more withdrawn by the day, Kazar was his usual hotheaded self except moreso, and Morrigan spent all her time alone… cavorting with demons, for all Percival knew.

That shouldn't be the way of it. Someone had to keep the team from unraveling.

Suddenly restless, Percival stood. Hugo hopped upright with a wag of his tail. "All right, boy. Let's go for a walk."

The Warden headed out of the tavern and into the night. The change was astonishing: the light and noise of the tavern spilled out into the darkness, but everything else was still. The Circle Tower was a dark silhouette against the night sky. The lake shimmered quietly, reflecting the starlight.

A ripple disturbed the still surface of the water, then another, and Percival spotted the first of his wayward companions.

Kazar's robed form could be seen walking along the shore, identifiable by the twisted wooden staff on his back. As Percy watched, Kazar stooped and picked a stone off the ground. An echo of his voice could be faintly heard across the water, and Percival realized he was speaking.

The noble approached quietly.

"…see the point. They can't touch me anymore." He paused, tossing the stone idly between his hands, head tilted as if listening to something. He shook his head in a negative. "And what would be the purpose of that?" Again, he paused, then burst out laughing, tossing the stone into the water. "Okay, so that would make me feel better… but come on. Let's be realistic. They're protecting the mages from a darkspawn army right now, and we're going to need all the mages we can get to make it to the archdemon alive."

A twig snapped under Percy's feet, and Kazar spun, looking like a puppy caught in the pantry.

"Kazar? Who were you talking to?"

It was instantaneous: one moment, Kazar was wide-eyed and guilty; the next, he was hot and defensive. "What, I can't talk to myself when I'm alone?"

"That was not really talking to yourself. I've had less active conversations with Hugo."

"I don't have to answer to you." Kazar huffed and started walking away, and Percy pursed his lips. This was the problem… without Marnan, they didn't have the proper leadership. She had deputized Percival in jest, but he still couldn't help but feel responsible.

He raised his voice. "Then who do you have to answer to, Kazar?"

The mage spun back, and lightning started crackling up his arms. "Who says I have to answer to anyone? I'm not a Circle mage anymore… I don't need a caretaker!"

"Are you sure about that?" Percy snapped back. "Because last I knew, independent, well-balanced individuals don't turn to blood magic."

"Oh, here we go."

"Don't give me that. I haven't said a thing about it since that stunt on the bridge. I may not like it, but I understand the necessity."

"Then what, Cousland? Why are you bothering me?"

"Because you don't seem to know when to stop. You're like a storm that's all wind and fury now… but sooner or later you're going to blow yourself out."

Kazar set his jaw stubbornly. "Then let's hope that happens after I kill the archdemon." Kazar didn't storm off, as Percy though he would. Instead, the young elf merely turned his back and resumed throwing rocks into the lake, this time without the monologue. The use of the word 'I' made Percy's brows rise. It was apparent, however, that Kazar was done speaking.

Percival sighed and turned, heading away from the lake. Hugo bounded ahead of him, turning them up the hill toward the road.

By the roadside on the crest of the hill above the village, he found Sten. The Qunari worked in darkness and silence, digging through the roadside brush.

"Looking for something?"

"Yes," Sten grunted shortly. With a happy bark, Hugo burrowed into the brush to help search.

Percival frowned, noticing several dark shapes that had been thrown to the roadside nearby. Bodies, he realized. Very large, very old bodies, decomposing and picked clean of possessions and flesh.

"Are these-"

"Yes."

"You knew them?"

"Yes."

Percival stared out at the shapes that had once been Qunari warriors. "I'm sorry." He paused, and the Qunari gave no acknowledgement of the sentiment. "Would you like to burn them? Or bury them?"

"No."

Percival glanced over at the Qunari, surprised. "Don't Qunari honor their fallen?"

Sten stood up and looked at him for a while. Then, he sighed through his nose, turning to face Percival more fully. "Those are not the fallen. Those are empty shells."

"Then that's it?" Percival couldn't hide the spark of outrage that lit inside him. "You die and then, poof, empty shell?"

"No."

Again, Percival was startled. He looked over at the brush where Sten had been rifling—and Hugo was now digging. Realization dawned. "You were looking for their weapons."

"Yes."

"What will you do when you find them?"

"It is my place to send each blade of the fallen beresaad back to Par Vollen."

There was a certain heaviness in his tone… containing more than just loss of fellow soldiers. This was… responsibility. Guilt, even.

"You led them."

Sten looked at him, face unreadable.

"You're an officer?"

"It is irrelevant." Sten moved to return to searching.

Fire ignited in Percival's belly. "Hey, wait a minute!" Sten didn't stop, so Percival stalked forward to block the larger man's path. "All this time, you've been a military officer, and you never said a word?"

"You are in my way."

That fire grew, and he fought the red creeping along the edges of his vision.. "You could have spoken up during the bridge fight. Offered suggestions with the broodmother. Helped make sure Marnan didn't die, and you just took orders like a common grunt?"

"Parshaara!" Percival had never heard the Qunari raise his voice before. It was… admittedly rather intimidating. "You waste useless anger on what has already passed." Sten shoved him bodily aside.

"And what about now, Sten?" Percival all but shouted. "This team is unraveling out from under us, everyone spiraling off in different directions. They need leadership!"

"Then lead them."

"I don't know how!"

"That is not my problem."

Mentally balanced on an edge that Percival knew to be dangerous, he stalked after the giant and grabbed him by one massive arm.

Sten's reaction was immediate. He reached back and locked a hand on Percival's wrist, then twisted the entire man around so that Percival's legs tumbled over his head and he landed on his back. The blades on his back clanged painfully against his armor. Percy grit his teeth, fighting for both breath and control of the fire inside him.

Sten looked down at him impassively for a moment, then made a noise of contempt and turned to return to the bushes.

That tipped Percy's precarious balance, and red flooded his vision. He rolled over and surged forward, tackling the back of the giant's knees. Both went rolling to the roadside.

Sten twisted, dislodging Percival with a single swift kick, but Percy didn't feel the impact, his world nothing by sharp edges through his rage. As Sten moved to stand, Percival was already on top of him, punching him squarely in the jaw.

The Qunari countered with an efficient, solid punch to his side, and Percival channeled the pain by grabbing the offending arm and yanking it downward to trap the Qunari off balance, then kneeing him in the face. Sten grabbed him by the leg and flipped him again, but he didn't stay on the ground any longer this time.

Sten was a trained fighter in many disciplines, his movements efficient to the point of grace, whereas Percival had only had a handful of scuffles with his older brother to teach him hand-to-hand techniques. However, Sten was seeking to incapacitate rather than injure… and nothing short of a mortal wound could stop a raging berserker.

Percival was relentless. For every punch, he returned the force in full. Each time he was thrown down, he burst back up with more fury than before. His world narrowed to this single opponent, a giant of a man who should have outmatched him in every way… but didn't. Slowly, like rain wearing down a mountain, the Qunari tired.

Through the haze, Percival registered his own body pulling his greatsword and the tiny part of him that deciphered allies from enemies during his rages started screaming, forcing him to mentally backpedal just before he made the killing blow.

Slowly, his fury faded, leaving him panting, disoriented, and sore. He was standing over the giant, his blade against his prone opponent's throat. When he looked down and surveyed the Qunari, all vestiges of his fury fled to make way for shock.

Sten was smiling.

Percy removed his sword from the giant's throat, and the larger man climbed leisurely to his feet while Percy sheathed his blade.

"Well?" Percival prompted after the silence stretched out. He rubbed at his forming bruises—now that he'd come down from his rage, he appreciated just how rough that scuffle had been.

Stun sighed, a rough, short blast through his nose. "Very well. You asked why I have remained silent, and thus I will answer.

"For weeks, I have watched you Wardens. You are easily distracted, and concerned about petty personal matters, and often wander off to take care of inconsequential business. You employ saarebas unsupervised among your ranks, and the closest thing you had to a commander was a woman soldier, which is unheard of in the Qun. So, yes, I have remained silent. I am a stranger, unfamiliar with your ways. My leadership would not be welcome, as is apparent by how any input I have given before now has been dismissed. But if you wish to ask after my experience, so be it."

"I'm listening now, Sten. What should I do?"

"The most pressing matter first. That elf saarebas must be leashed, or he will strike out."

"Saarebas?"

"You call them mages. I find our word more fitting."

"You think Kazar needs to be put under control?" Percival said incredulously. "I don't see how."

"It is not a matter of what you can see; it is merely what must be done. If you do not, he will cause damage to himself and all around him."

Had he not said something similar to the elf's face that very night? "How would I go about doing that?"

"Among the followers of the Qun, saarebas are chained and collared, their lips sown shut. I take it that is not an option?"

"Absolutely not."

"Hm. A pity."

There was a pause, and Percival did a double-take. Was that… a joke? Couldn't be… Sten's stoic expression didn't so much as twitch.

"The dwarven Warden is karashok. He is uncomfortable in positions of authority and seeks a commander. If you make your superiority clear, he will fall into line. Further, he will prove a useful lieutenant by defending your position against others who doubt it."

"Others such as insubordinate Qunari?"

"Yes." Sten met his look squarely, and something in that made Percival smile. "The healer saarabas is a scholar. Use her, but do not allow her to make decisions for all. She lacks the practical knowledge to do so effectively. The other dwarf needs discipline. He is a good warrior, but not a soldier."

"None of us are really soldier material, Sten."

"That is true. Strange, what your society makes Wardens of."

"Don't I know it."

"The other female saarebas is an unknown. She is headstrong and keeps to herself. I do not think her dangerous, but trust her with nothing."

"Somehow, I suspect Morrigan would object to the statement that she isn't dangerous."

"You asked for my input. I provided it."

"That you did. You've really have been thinking about this, haven't you?"

"As I said, I have watched you Wardens for some time."

"Well, thank you; you've given me much to think about."

Sten grunted acknowledgement, watching Percival.

"Sten?"

"Yes."

"I'm curious. You must have analyzed me as well."

"Yes."

"Indulge me?"

A sigh. "You were bred as karasten, but not trained. This is strange and inefficient. Even so, it is innate. You seek order and understand something we of the Qun have always taken for granted: that one must strive to fulfill that which one is tasked. I believe your language has a word for it."

"Yes," Percy said softly. "Duty."

"Yes. You alone among the Wardens hold this to be a guiding feature of your life. In that, you are the most Qunari of your companions, and the most fit to lead."

Percy didn't bother hiding his shock. "You think I'm like a Qunari?"

"No. Only that you are moreso than your companions."

"And that makes me best in a position of power." Percival found himself smiling. "I see."

"I doubt it," Sten deadpanned, and Percival chuckled. That was a joke! Who knew Sten had a sense of humor?

They both looked over as the bushes rustled, and Hugo reappeared, something round clasped in his jaws. He plodded up to Percy and dropped it at the noble's feet, giving the human a lollygag look.

"A cake?" Percival looked around, seeing only trees and road and battlefield. "Where on Thedas did you find a cake?"

Sten was smiling again, though it was so muted that it was easy to miss in the darkness. "Now here is a being who knows his place as a soldier."

"Soldiers steal cakes in Par Vollan, do they?" Percival knelt down to his mabari's level, noting the slobber that marred the frosting. "Well, you've gone and ruined it, so we very well can't bring it back. I hope you enjoy getting sick disposing of the evidence."

Hugo barked happily and leaned in to take a bite. Percy stood with a sigh, turning an incredulous look to Sten, only to find the Qunari sitting down next to the mabari. As Percy watched, Sten broke a piece off and popped it into his mouth.

"Sten? What are you doing?"

"Eating."

"Very funny."

"Thank you."

Percy shook his head, holding in laughter. He turned and started off. "You two enjoy your dessert, then." A bark responded the affirmative behind him, and he headed off into the darkness.

Sten had given him a lot to think about. The theme of it seemed to be that the party needed someone to take charge. Was it Percival? Who else could it be? Felicity? No. Perhaps Alistair, the most senior Warden? Well, his personality didn't suit, never mind that he wasn't even here. There didn't seem to be any other viable option.

Was Percival capable of stepping into the boots that Marnan had previously filled?

He found a stone ledge that overlooked the lake, and he settled down on it, feet dangling over the precipice. The left side of his jaw twinged at the change in elevation, a bruise forming there—among other places—where the Qunari had hit him.

Maker, he'd fought a Qunari in single combat… and won! He almost wished his brother was still alive, just so he could rub this in his face. The mental image of Fergus' stunned reaction to such an announcement made him smile… which made his face ache more.

Feathers fluttered behind him. Then, something warm and herbal in scent pressed against the ache, soothing it.

"Tis either a very brave man who baits a Qunari, or a very stupid one."

Percival smiled around the poultice she pressed to his jaw. "And which one am I?"

"Both." The warmth disappeared momentarily, only to press against a bump on his forehead. "But then, I am headstrong and not to be trusted."

"Eavesdropping is a rather headstrong habit."

"Tch. I was hardly eavesdropping, as you were carrying the conversation where any could hear it. A fact for which you should be grateful, as I now have the capacity to ensure you do not shortly expire from internal hemorrhaging."

He turned to smile at her, and she paused, startled. "Morrigan, I didn't know you cared."

She sniffed and went back to applying poultices to his bruises. "I assure you, I do not. I merely prefer a world where there are as many Grey Wardens as possible to stand between myself and the darkspawn. That is all."

"Of course, Morrigan." She tweaked one of his sores, and he chuckled.

She worked in silence for a moment, then commented, "You are certainly in good spirits."

"I just bested a Qunari in hand-to-hand combat. Wouldn't you be?"

"Hard to say, as 'tis doubtful it will ever come up." She moved around to his other side, tending to a cut on his eyebrow.

"Maybe he'd let you use your bear form."

"That would not be hand-to-hand, would it? 'Twould be hand-to-paw. 'Tis not the same."

"Hm." He watched her out of the corner of his eye. She was all shadows and sharp angles in the darkness, yet her pale skin was luminescent.

"Still, there is something to be said about it," she mused. "It is not easy to impress a Qunari, you know."

"Now that I've accomplished that, I think I shall move to the next challenge. What does it take to impress a Witch of the Wilds?"

Morrigan stopped treating his wounds and pulled back to stare at him incredulously. "…whyever would you want to do that?"

He turned to face her more fully. "I might know a witch worth impressing."

She studied him. "You've reconsidered."

"I suppose I have."

"Why?"

He raised a brow. "Why, is the offer no longer valid?"

"'Tis… but you must first tell me why you have reconsidered, now of all times."

Percival shrugged. "I can't rightly say. All I know is that you fascinate me, and I would very much like to take you up on your offer from back in Lothering."

Morrigan stood, pacing away like a nervous wolf. She looked down at him with suspicious eyes, paced a bit more, then stopped and spun resolutely. "Very well."

He was on his feet without his consciously meaning to be. She froze like a startled animal, but nonetheless stood still as he stepped cautiously toward her.

She was harsh, and prickly, and perhaps a little insane, but looking at her now, in the moonlight, he could also see the silent pleasure in her eyes at the attention. When he dared to reach forward to touch a bit of that bared skin at her waist, she rolled her eyes, but, yes, there was certainly the slightest upward quirk to her lips as well.

He gave her a tug, and she considered it a moment before deigning to step into his arms... as if to establish that this was only happening because she allowed it to be so. It made him chuckle, and she huffed half-heartedly in the darkness. He breathed in the scent of her hair… it was the same sharp, wild scent he remembered, and it sent bolts of awakening through him. He felt his control slipping for the second time that night, this time the heat coiling inside him having nothing to do with anger.

Well, perhaps a little to do with anger. This was Morrigan. A certain level of frustration was to be expected.

She pushed gently but insistently against his chest, and he reluctantly disengaged and stepped back.

She was certainly looking amused now. "As… flattering as it is that you find me so irresistible as to leap upon me like a starving man upon a meal… there are two things I must first ask."

Anything. "And what would those be?"

"First, a favor."

Percy arched a brow. "And what would that favor entail?"

"In large part, killing my mother."

That shook off the last of his haze. He took another step back, studying her in full. "What? Morrigan, I know you have problems with her, but certainly you know the difference between familial bickering and something worthy of murder."

She crossed her arms, offended. "I certainly do, and thus I tell you that Flemeth needs to die. If she does not, then she will surely kill me."

Percival rubbed his eyes. "You'd better explain."

"Gladly. That grimoire you gave me was not Flemeth's grimoire… at least, not her real one. However, it did contain a number of secrets, including the secret of why I have never met any of my sisters."

Percival turned to look back at her. There was a tightening in her voice… the equivilant of any other woman being near tears. "What is that?"

"Flemeth is my sisters. Or rather, she became them, when it became convenient."

"I'm not certain I understand."

Morrigan stamped a foot. "Flemeth is uncommonly old, correct? That, at least, is an accepted fact, even if no one knows how old. That grimoire you gave me details the means by which she unnaturally extends her life." Morrigan took a breath, her voice slowing down. Percy stopped himself from reaching out to her, because he doubted she'd accept the comfort. "When her body grows old and frail, she abducts a pretty mage girl. Raises her, and teaches her the arts. Then, when that girl has grown into a woman, she performs a ritual that allows her to take over the younger's body."

Percival stared, having difficulty processing that. "Like a demon overtaking an abomination… Morrigan, is Flemeth an abomination?"

"How am I to know? Whatever she is, she certainly isn't completely human."

"And you think she'll do it to you?"

"I know she will… especially once she learns I've discovered the ritual. The old hag never could countenance anyone knowing her secrets. She will not rest until I have been silenced, one way or another. That is why I need her real grimoire, so that I might discover a way to counteract it."

"Wait, her what?"

"Flemeth's true grimoire. She won't have it far from her person, of that you can be sure. That is why you must kill her, because that is the only way she will part with her grimoire."

"Morrigan… if we kill her, you will not need her grimoire."

Morrigan threw her hands in the air. "Have you not been listening? Flemeth is. Not. Human." She was pacing again, her voice and path winding tighter and tighter. "She is a tricky old witch who will have a contingency against this very eventuality, of that you can be certain. Killing her physical body will not finish her off, but 'twill take time for her to recover her strength afterward. 'Tis as much as I can hope for."

Percy reached out and stilled her pacing by placing a steady hand on each of her shoulders. "Morrigan, I will not allow her to take you. I vow it."

Morrigan stared up at him, looking stunned. Then, she scoffed a laugh. "Yes, that is all very noble, but it will come to naught if you don't kill Flemeth."

"Then that is what I will do." He leaned in and kissing her temple. Maker, she tasted good. Into her hair, he asked, "What was the second thing?"

"A warning."

"About Flemeth? I would think that would go without saying."

She sighed and pushed away from him again. "Not that, you fool." She met his eyes with contempt masking something earnest and sweet, and Percy again felt the need to unwrap the shell of this fascinating, strikingly ingenuous woman. "Don't get attached to me, Warden."

"Hm?" She had a line that appeared between her brows when she was serious. He'd never noticed that before.

"I mean it. We can be many things… companions, bed-warmers, coconspirators… but attachments more than that will only end badly, and I have no wish to deal with anything messy. Therefore, you are not to become attached."

"And if I do?" he dared.

"Then more the fool you," she sneered. Then, she leaned up and caught his lips with hers, and his retort was chased out of his mind by the taste of her lips.

Lust and something else roared up in him the same way that his rages did, but he knew how to bank such things by now. He channeled this new heat like he would a rage, using its strength to lift her clear off the ground and press her against a tree.

He let his passion have free reign. While he laved her skin with kisses and rough caresses, her hands moved swiftly to remove his armor. His gauntlets went first, and he immediately reached up to card one hand into her soft, wild hair. Their lips met a moment later, and her legs wrapped around him, inviting and demanding all at once.

As the fire roared through him, devouring the last of his thoughts under scent and skin, his last coherent thought was that this was one person he could never hope to hold authority over, and with her, he found he didn't mind at all.