#ve. da.

[highaver]

@highevar asked: "Don't you think, after all this time and everything I've ever done, that I am owed this one?"

It was this selfish thing driving him. Some awful creature that had lodged itself in his chest since... everything, since that day, across the year they had spent dragging themselves through the very worst that life could ever have to offer. After all this time, after everything they had done - who were they, now, if they weren't together?

It was such an unkind part of himself that he didn't know to face it. An instinct that he did not know how to make peace with. Elethea deserved whatever her heart desired and he knew that, stood there, by the desk in his study, pinching the bridge of his nose between forefinger and thumb. She deserved to marry for love, to rebuild her life in Gwaren, to be happy. But what did that leave him with? The hand that he had dealt himself, that he had clawed for so desperately in those last days of the Blight. An empty life but one of power. His friends and family all gone, spread across the world while he sat and rotted in their absence.

He did not know how to live in this world without Elethea anymore. If he admitted as much to her, then she would hate him. If he admitted as much to himself...

"You cannot marry a Theirin!" An easy scapegoat. Balfour had always hated the man - and the politicking, the talk of kings, that had dominated the time around the Landsmeet had put ideas in the heads of many a noble. "Anora and I are barely recognised as Queen and Prince - and you wish to give our enemies a Theirin they might conspire to sit upon the throne?"

There was something on his face that was deeply unconvinced by his own words. As if he knew how wrong it was to say at all. As if he knew how little use it would be in keeping Elethea from the isolation of Gwaren. But they might be bound again in their misery, the two of them, if she had nothing else. It felt so obvious. So basic.

"You are - We are both owed more than this country can ever repay. But this is foolish." The cruelty of it gnawed at his throat. Stop. He would never see her again. Stop, stop. The Blight was over. He was not meant to be so afraid. The panic was almost overwhelming. He could not stop the words. "Anora will never permit it."

[highaver]

@stormlit.

ㅤ“ Does calling me an idiot constantly help the healing process? ”

ㅤIt was the first smile he'd given all day, and as slight and as pained as it currently was, surely it was a welcome sight. Never mind that half his face was cut up -- the work of one of Loghain's men, an ambush on the road that they had walked straight and clear into. Georgie had seen to that by now, as she was seeing to his arm currently, and Wynne would see to the last of it when she was finished.

ㅤFor now, though, Balfour was more than happy to sit here, a little ways to the very edge of camp, and watch Georgie's face as she tended to his wounds. The smile faded eventually, slowly, as he considered the cuts and scrapes that she had earned herself.

ㅤ“ I seem to remember you also taking leave of your senses, back there, ” he said. Not a moment later, Balfour had reached to trace his thumb across her cheek, just beneath a small cut she'd earned herself in the same battle. So she was smarter than him, better at not getting hit. It was a low bar.

[highaver]

@highevar. call.

"I must admit," he says, slowly and with a smile somehow both confused and deeply amused. This still does not feel real. Balfour has lived so long, blighted by the Wardens he loathed so deeply, that he had almost forgotten what it had felt like before. But here they are. Both of them, finally with a future. "I'm not even sure what to do with the rest of my life now that I have it again. You know?"

[highaver]

@high3ver. call.

ㅤ"You should eat." He offers forth a bowl, and only briefly hesitates. As if to ease any correct worries: "I didn't cook it."

[highaver]

@stormlit asked: ❝ you’re alive! oh, you’re alive! ❞

"Oh, my love -" The words left him in a heavy sigh, relief washing over him as he moved close enough to embrace her. Arms tightly around her shoulders, he buried his face in her hair, and he held her there, taking a few moments to convince himself that, yes, she was safe in his arms. Sometimes, it felt as though being an arl was more trouble than it was worth. It wasn't the first time there had been an attempt on his life and it surely would not be the last - an exhausting thought, if there ever was one. As if Howe and his treacherous ways had not been enough.

"It was nothing," he said, as if it were true. His sleeve was torn, and the attack had been close enough to have drawn blood but he would survive. As it turned out, Balfour Cousland was a difficult man to kill. "Look, look at me, I'm well." His hand came to her cheek, touch soft, to make Georgie look up at him now. "Are you well?"

[highaver]

@highevar asked: "We saved the world, you and me. We really, really did."

Even as exhausted as Balfour looked now - and, truly, he might never recover from that fight atop Fort Drakon - the smile that spread across his face at Elethea's words was still beautiful. And the first anyone must have seen from him for a long while. Until now, there had been precious little reason to do so. Just the inevitability of a horrible death hanging over their heads.

Now, however, sat in a comfortable chair by a warm fire, recovering from the worst of his wounds and safe in the knowledge that they had done good, Balfour could have a moment. One moment, just for the relief. The world might come crashing down on them tomorrow - or the next day or the one after that, and, in truth, yes, he was expecting it. But, for now, he was simply glad that both he and Elethea were alive.

"They'll already be writing songs about us," he said a moment later, turning his head to look at her. "Not bad, eh, Thea? For the children of the - the Soldier and the Seawolf. Not bad at all."

[highaver]

@miss-polly asked: "I just want to know the truth. I don't care what it is. I just want to know it."

"You must understand - I only kept these secrets to protect the Grey Wardens." As if he cared at all for the order that had ruined his life and taken from him everything he used to be. But Balfour had gotten good at lying over the last decade. The Blight had given him much practice, and a prince-consort had to be sharp.

So damn the Wardens. He saw an opportunity unfurling before him, and he was not going to die for any of them. Not then, not now, not ever.

"I believe I know what troubles the Orlesian Wardens. In truth, I have been struggling with this myself since before I even came to Skyhold." A Blight on the horizon. Or a mass Calling, if such a thing could even exist. He could twist this to his own ends, he could save his sister and himself if he played his cards right. "You must think of it like... a sickness, Inquisitor. One that your organisation might well have the resources to cure."