A Life's Worth

In Need of Blood

"Um," Eloriel began as the Ban started to tumble around the carpeted stone floor. The man was trying to impress a young boy, Arl Eamon's son, Connor. Eloriel turned to Morrigan. "What do we do now?"

"Connor," Earl Eamon's wife, who Eloriel thought was a pompous brat, cried out to her son. "Please, they aren't here to harm you. They simply want to talk."

"Is that so?" Connor questioned in his creepily deep voice that gave Eloriel shivers.

"Yes. I wouldn't lie to you, my sweet, sweet boy."

The boy turned to the elf who jumped from the attention. "Speak!"

"I, uh, I," Eloriel began, not sure what to say. She looked left and right at the group. She gulped and stood straight.

"Is Connor okay?" Alistair asked randomly.

The boy nodded once. "I need him to be, or I wouldn't be here."

"Why has this happened?" Sten continued.

"Father was sick, and Connor knew he'd die. With his powers, and my aid, he fixed this. I have him and his father's condition doesn't worsen."

"Why is there dead people?" Leliana piped up.

"Side effect."

"Of course! Because that explains everything!" Morrigan said sarcastically.

Eloriel looked at Morrigan was shook her head lightly. This was not a time to provoke a demon into taking action. The elf faced the boy. "Is there a counter deal we can make?"

The boy thought it over, tapping his chin.

"No," Alistair said to Eloriel. "You can't do that, don't. This demon won't get what he wants."

"Alistair-"

"No!" Connor yelled, running out to the hallway. "They'll hurt me! You can't!"

"Great," Morrigan huffed, looking at Alistair. "Look what you've done!"

"How do we do now? What are we supposed to do now?" Eloriel cries, slumping down on a bench lined up against the stone wall. "We need to get that thing out of Connor, but that'll just start the Arl's hourglass."

"This is going to be hard, I admit," Leliana agrees, sitting down next to the stressing elf. She starts tracing circles around Eloriel's shoulder blades. The elf let out a sigh of content and glanced at her.

"Your Maker seems to have cursed us," she mutterd, closing her eyes.

"He does not-" Leliana started to pipe up when Eloriel bolted up and leapt off the bench to Morrigan who knew right off the bat that she was going to ask her a stupid, outlandish question.

"Morrigan, Morrigan!" Eloriel exclaims, looking at her with bright eyes.

"Yes, what it is this time? Do you intend to ask me how to break your seeming curse of bad luck?"

"Yes!" Eloriel squealed, jumping up and down. "What, what?" She stood and looked at the witch with misunderstanding. "My curse?"

"The one you just said the Maker placed on you," she explained with a grunt.

"I was kidding, why would I ask you about that?" She shakes her head, as if dismissing Morrigan. "No, it's not that. I'm not cursed by the Maker, but do you know who is according to the Chantry?"

"Mages," she answered in boredom.

"Mages!" Eloriel repeated in a more upbeat tune.

"I don't understand what you're saying," Alistair spoke up, joining in on the conversation.