hazmats | Glowfic Constellation

"I believe we can," Caridin agrees.

And he turns to his companion, who has been standing motionless at his side this whole time.

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The steel faceplate lifts, revealing a familiar face set in a familiar edged smile.

"Did you miss me, brother?" asks Stalas. His eyes glow faintly silver-white.

Bhelen flinches back, staring as if he's looking at a ghost.

"But, you're, that. That's impossible!"

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"Clearly not," he says. "So. When last we spoke, if memory serves, I believe I offered to support you if you wanted to become Father's heir." Pause. "Actually, no. When last we spoke, I called you a traitorous sack of shit and told you to go fall into the sky. The offer of support came earlier."

Bhelen is still stuck on 'Stalas is alive.'

"You're supposed to be dead!" he insists, because how is Stalas not dead!

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"Yes, and so's he," he jerks a gauntleted thumb at Caridin, "and look how that turned out."

"Your appetite for drama continues to puzzle and concern me," says Caridin.

"I spent two and a half months in the Deep Roads living on lyrium fumes and indignation. Let me have my fun."

"Lyrium fumes! You can live on lyrium fumes, and you found the Paragon Caridin!" It sounds like Bhelen's the one living on indignation, now. The lyrium fumes must still be pending. "That is, it's, it's - unfair, is what it is!"

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"I haven't slept since my fourth night in the Deep Roads. I agree that it's very unfair," says Stalas. "Now, I have only one question for you: How did Father die?"

"I doubt you'll believe me," growls Bhelen. "You'll write off whatever I say as a lie regardless, then you'll assassinate me and call it justice. Congratulations, big brother, you win. And Orzammar loses."

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"See, that's where you're wrong," says Stalas. "Either I will take the Paragon of Paragons and go down the street to Pyral's estate and very openly and honestly destroy any chance you possess of becoming king of Orzammar, or I will keep my original promise and support your candidacy. The difference turns on whether or not I feel I can trust you not to fucking assassinate anyone, because while I will take you over Harrowmont on every question of policy I've seen raised, I won't have Orzammar ruled by a murderous despot. So. What'll it be? Convince me."

He glares at Stalas, trying to figure out what angle to take.

"I didn't kill father. I don't know what did, but I'd sooner throw myself to the darkspawn than believe 'natural causes.' Might have been suicide, might have been the Carta, might have been someone trying to sow chaos and take advantage, but I didn't do it. It would be idiotic. Believe it or not, I don't want this kingdom in disarray, I'd wanted a, a, time for Orzammar to calm down, get used to the idea of me being heir, so that when Father did die, it'd be neat and clean and not - this mess."

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"Yeah, this clusterfuck isn't your style," Stalas agrees. "Of course, three months ago I wouldn't have thought kinslaying was your style either, and yet here we are. The Trian incident had you all over it, though. Father's death does not. If I'd come back and found Father dead and the whole kingdom solidly united behind you, then I would have taken this straight to the Proving arena."

Bhelen's response is some more glaring. If looks could kill...

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But they cannot.

Stalas sighs.

"Caridin, could you give us a few minutes? I think this will go better without you."

"Of course," says Caridin. He steps out into the hall. Stalas shrugs out of his golem-suit - literally shrugs, and the pieces drop away in a silvery-white haze and pile themselves neatly on the floor, leaving him dressed in slightly ill-fitting clothes borrowed from House Ortan. Without the suit, he is unarmed.

The door shuts behind Caridin, and Stalas asks, "Why do you think I'm here?"

"To strongarm me into supporting you," says Bhelen immediately. "And to gloat."

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"Supporting me in what? I don't want the throne. I don't even especially want to be the power behind the throne, although I hate the idea a little less. I want Orzammar to be ruled by a progressive, honorable, intelligent person who is not me. You're progressive and intelligent. Pyral is honorable and less of an idiot than he could be. So if I can't come to an agreement with you regarding assassination and how it is not okay, my next best option is to take Caridin down the street and then spend the rest of Harrowmont's life patiently arguing him into better policy decisions, which sounds fucking exhausting; or I could make a bid for the throne myself, which sounds even more fucking exhausting and also fairly likely to end in civil war."

He pauses.

"...I do admit that the urge to gloat was not wholly absent from the decisionmaking process, but I've had my dramatic entrance, I'm done playing now. I need you to understand where I'm coming from."

Bhelen stares at him as if he's grown a second head.

"You don't want the throne," Bhelen repeats blankly.

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"I really, really don't."

"Why?"

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"Why the fuck would I? Ancestors save me from politics! Put me on the throne and I spend the rest of my life constantly chained to my overactive sense of responsibility. I'd much rather let you do the work while I go punch an ogre, provided I can trust you not to try to fucking kill me."

"But then you have tenuous control over what I would do."

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"Only to the extent that I don't want what you do to involve assassination. I think that's a pretty reasonable request."

"Assassination is the least of your problems if I pull a Trian and - what stupid thing would Trian have done, probably exile all of the casteless into the Deep Roads. That is a much bigger problem than an assassin, and you're not even - Do you understand how much power a king has?"

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"Yes, I fucking do! But you're not going to exile all the casteless into the Deep Roads! If I didn't think you could make a perfectly good king without my active intervention, I would currently be speaking to Pyral Harrowmont, who probably can't but at least definitely won't have anyone assassinated while he's at it!"