(Vaan: Hmm... well, gathering the forces at Redcliffe (the centralized location near known entrances to the Roads) gets all armies on the same page so they can all get coordinated for the final attack. If you recall, a weakened horde is already the case in this story, after what happened with Kazar. Come to think of it, though, I believe canon actually has more of a ticking clock, with the horde being reported moving toward Redcliffe, and thus why everyone marches there. Honestly, I didn't put much thought into diverging from canon on that. A military tactician, I am certainly not. :/ )
145. The Witch's Proposal
The sun had set, and the camps were collectively turning in to make an attempt at restless sleep. Tomorrow, they would reach Denerim.
Percival paced around the command tent, where, an hour ago, the combined leaders of four armies and the Wardens had stood around a map of Denerim and talked about how they would save the city, and Thedas with it. Percy had his doubts, as likely did most of the Wardens. The non-Wardens could not feel the darkspawn like they could.
His blood curdled with it now, the song loud and alluring in his head, even while waking. He could feel them: a large force to the north of them. The horde would reach Denerim first; Percival was sure of that now. Their only hope was to catch up to the archdemon there and pray that there was still someone to save.
The tent flaps rustled behind him, and Alistair stepped inside, eying the candles and maps grimly. "Couldn't sleep either, huh?"
Percy shook his head, but finally allowed himself to rest against the table in the middle of the tent. The markers on the city map remained, denoting where each force would idealistically be stationed.
All conjecture. Percival knew by now that strategy only truly lasted until the fighting began.
"For better or worse," Percival said, "it ends tomorrow."
"For you maybe." Alistair made a face and pulled up to the other side of the table. "I have to be king forever."
"Just think of all the cheese you'll have."
"I'm going to find a way to get you back for this. You're getting a hold or something. Maybe an arling. Just you wait."
"That's almost enough to make me throw myself at the archdemon," Percival tried, but the jest fell flat. His sense of humor was terribly out of practice.
Alistair slumped. "I wish I could be there with you. But I get why I can't be."
Percival nodded acknowledgement, and the two stared at the map for a while, pondering past battles gone awry.
"Promise me one thing, Percy."
"Name it."
"Promise me that, whatever happens, you won't let it be her."
Percival glanced up, but Alistair's eyes were distant. "We don't know what will happen-" he began.
"I don't care." Alistair took a shaky breath. "Look, I know I don't have any claim on her or anything. She can't even look at me anymore. But... I just couldn't stand it if... just please. Promise me."
Percy only had to consider it a moment. "I promise."
"Vow it," Alistair said, meeting his eyes fervently. "As a Cousland to his king, vow to me that you will not let it be her."
"I vow it," Percival said softly. "Felicity will not make the sacrifice. I vow it, Alistair."
Alistair held his gaze for another moment, then a weight seemed to lift from his shoulders. "Well... good. That's good." He nodded to himself. "You really should get some sleep, Percy. I suspect tomorrow's going to be a long day."
Percy nodded, taking it as an order from his king, and nodded a good night. He left the command tent, quashing the voice in the back of his mind that said he really could not guarantee that Felicity would remain away from the archdemon.
No, it was done. He'd promised, and a Cousland stood by his word. That was all there was to it.
He was deep in thought as he ducked into his own private tent, so he did not notice the candle lit within until he was inside. Once in, he stopped dead, because Morrigan was waiting for him.
Two things were wrong with this.
First, Morrigan had not sought him out since her return. He'd not shared a bed with her since she'd been sent out to tell the dwarves to march. He might have considered the possibility that her current presence was her fatalistic side making her want one more night before the big battle tomorrow, but for the second thing.
She had lit a candle.
He stood in the doorway, studying her. She sat in his camp chair, her back straight upright with her hands on her knees in a stiff, formal posture. No lazy sprawling or easy grace. She had her clothes on, which was perhaps for the better if she'd put a light on. And her facial expression... she waited with a touch of anxiety, all beguiling eyes and mysterious smiles washed away by something... else.
He was almost afraid to move, lest he scare off this strange, wary creature.
"Well," she said, an echo of her characteristic bite in her voice, "will you loom all night, or will you sit?"
Percival complied, moving carefully into the tent to sit down on his camp cot. "This is... an unexpected visit. Did you wish to speak with me?"
If it were possible, she stiffened even further. "As a matter of fact, I did. I have a plan. A way out." A pause. "A loop in your hole."
Percy rubbed his eyes; he really did not have the energy for this. "Morrigan, what are you talking about?"
"I know what happens when the archdemon dies." Percival's head shot up. She met his gaze evenly. "I know a Grey Warden must be sacrificed, and I know... that sacrifice could be you." There was a flash of uncertainty in her eyes, quickly hidden. "I know a way that this may not be so."
Percy was still reeling with the knowledge that Morrigan knew. How long? Or simply how? "This is Grey Warden knowledge. How did you come upon this?"
"What does it matter how I know?" she said. "What matters is that I know it, and I know a way to stop it."
"You are being deliberately vague, and you know it."
A twist of a smile flashed across her features. "Maybe so. I know of no other way to be."
That was a correct statement, if ever there was one. Percy found himself smiling fondly. "I suppose I always did enjoy a challenge."
She tilted her head. "I think I shall take that as a compliment."
It relaxed her posture at least, so Percy found his own matching. He leaned back on the cot. "Very well, Morrigan. I make no promises, but I will hear you out. What is this miraculous solution?"
"Miraculous may not be the correct word," she said thoughtfully.
That made him stiffen again. He sat up, and she met his gaze evenly. Openly, now, there was a silent pleading in her eyes, asking just that he hear what she had to say. "You are still being vague. Tell me what it is."
She seemed to chew on the word for a moment, holding it back in hopes that it might become more savory. "A ritual," she finally said. "Performed on the eve of battle, in the dark of night."
"Tonight."
"And so here I am."
Percival knew there was more to this ritual. He could read her now; she was holding back. "It's blood magic, isn't it?"
"'Tis old magic," she said. "I doubt the current Circle of Magi would have any equivilant. Some might call it 'blood magic' but that is merely a name. There is far more to fear in this world than names."
Percival felt short of breath. Did this mean that Morrigan was a blood mage...? No, that was perhaps unfair. Morrigan defied such labels... she transcended them.
Percy stood abruptly, needing to pace, only to find Morrigan moving to step into his path. "Do not dismiss this because of societal preconceptions. I only mean to help."
"What does it do?" Percy said, feeling his anger stirring. "You have not yet answered that."
She fidgeted with her hands for a moment before finally offering a crooked nod. "That is fair. Very well." She took a step away, pacing the small tent herself. "What I propose is this: you lay with me. Here, tonight, on the eve of battle. From our joining, a child will be conceived."
A wave of vertigo had him sitting back on the cot, hard. A child?
"The child will bear the Taint," she continued, as if that wasn't world-rocking enough. "And so, when the archdemon is slain, its essence will seek the child like a beacon."
Another shock rocked him. "You would ...kill an innocent child? Our child?"
"It will not perish," she said calmly. She moved to stand over Percival, then knelt down before him, running a soothing hand down his arm. "At this early stage, it will absorb the archdemon's essense, destroying the Taint while the child lives on."
"A child...? Maker..." Morrigan's golden eyes were steady on his, her touch gentle and soothing on his arm. He swallowed. "And what... would absorbing the soul of an archdemon do to... our child?"
"'Twould be just that. A child with the soul of an old god." She paused and looked away. "After this is done, you must allow me to walk away. Do not follow me. Ever. The child will be mine to raise as I wish."
It was... too convenient. His head drooped, because he realized where she had gotten her information. "This was Flemeth's plan all along, wasn't it? This is her endgame, and why she sent you with us."
Morrigan pulled away and stood. "'Tis true that Flemeth was the one who provided me with this ritual, but I assure you that now I do not offer this for her sake."
"Then whose? Yours?" He couldn't keep the bitterness from his voice. "What could you possibly want with this child?"
"I do not do it for my sake, but for yours!" Now, finally, her voice rose from its silky purr. "If we do this, you will be able to go into battle tomorrow without worry of being forced to make the sacrifice. If you do not wish it for yourself, then consider that it might save one of your fellows, should the burden fall on them. 'Tis truly that simple!"
"It's not simple, Morrigan! It's blood magic! And a... a child!" His voice cracked on the word. "How could you expect me to have a child with you and then simply walk away? You cannot ask me not to follow you."
She hesitated, looking taken off guard. "There has never been any question in my mind that you would want to," she said. "Why? Do you?"
A challenge. He bit back his automatic response. Maker.
"I told you not to become attached, Warden." She sounded... sad.
He stared up at her stiff form. "You're a damned hypocrite, you know that?"
"This will work, I promise you. It will work, and it will save your life. That is all you need know."
He stood and paced a step toward the door, ready to walk out it. He needed... to rip something apart.
"A blood magic ritual," he muttered. "You come to me in the dead of night, and ask me to partake in a blood magic ritual... set by the mother you despise. You ask to carry my... my child..." again, that hitch. "...and then deny me the opportunity to ever know it, to watch it grow. You deny me the chance to ever watch you... Maker, Morrigan, do you even understand what you're asking of me?" He stopped and spun on her.
She met his gaze with that stubborn tilt of her chin, but her eyes... they were soulful and deep. Yes... yes, she did understand, yet she asked it anyway. He could not hope to puzzle out the complex layering of emotions in those golden eyes, and he was swiftly realizing that he would never get the chance to.
No matter what he decided, he was losing Morrigan. Tonight. No matter what.
He turned from her, facing the exit of the tent, and closed his eyes. He should leave... say farewell to this blood ritual, and Flemeth's plans, and heartbreak, and leave. He had seen enough of Flemeth to guess that this was not over as far as the witch was concerned. If he did this thing, he and Morrigan would be playing right into the witch's hands, and no amount of stubborn survivalism on Morrigan's part would stop her.
But perhaps Morrigan had a point. It would save a life. Perhaps Riordan's, perhaps his own. Perhaps any of the Wardens'. Had he not just vowed to Alistair to do anything to stop Felicity's demise? What if this could save Felicity?
Only for the archdemon's soul to travel into a helpless child. Their child. He'd have a little boy or girl, and something in his chest swelled at the thought. He wanted a child, suddenly so keenly that it filled the void in him that his parents' deaths had left. A family of his own. Him, and Morrigan, and their child.
Except that Morrigan would not allow him to have that. She was fiercely independent; that he knew well. She was denying his involvement, and she was stubborn enough to stand by that until the day of his Calling.
The child... oh Maker, what would Flemeth do with the child, if she caught it?
No, he could not subject a defenseless child to that. Best that it never exist than be used for Flemeth's ends.
Except something in him yearned for one last night with Morrigan. Just one.
Except that night would be a blood magic ritual. He'd had his off days, but he was still a follower of the Maker at his core. He couldn't partake in blood magic!
Did he not owe it to his Wardens to give them the chance to live?
Did he not owe it to himself to keep his moral integrity?
Did he allow a Warden be taken from the world who might one day save it, or bring a child into the world who might one day doom it?
Did he, or didn't he? Yes, or no?
He opened his eyes, and made his decision.