Chapter Five: Memory Lane

"The magic of our first love is our ignorance that it can ever end."

~Benjamin Disraeli

It was an accident.

Lana always refused the warriors her father sent to tutor her in the art of shield and sword. She found them to be blustery and incompetent—more interested in Being a Tutor to the Princess than to actually teaching. She did not have time to pander to their egos. She was Aeducan, after all, and would only train with the best.

She would only train with Gorim.

It had taken several years—and several broken bones for the tutors—before her father finally relented. Gorim she wanted. Gorim she got.

Any concerns that anyone held about Gorim 'going soft' on her were completely unfounded. If he hit her with the shield, she went flying. If she failed to parry or duck, the training sword would smash into her. Her Second showed no favoritism or softness when it came to training Lady Aeducan. And that's what she wanted—to become a fighter that rivaled even her House's Paragon.

There were whispers, of course. You could go no where in the Diamond Quarter without overhearing some ridiculous rumor or another. Gorim was a spy, sent by one of her brothers to murder her, but her prowess kept thwarting his schemes. She and Gorim were lovers and any bruises Lady Aeducan sported were not from sparring sessions. Gorim was actually Aeducan and was fighting to regain the honor stolen from him by this usurper. And so on and so on and so on.

Lana paid them no mind. She wanted a commission. Nothing else mattered to her except being named a commander. And the only way she would earn what she wanted was to train and fight for it. So she did.

And then…

Gorim's shield had caught her unaware (again), and she fell backwards (again), crashing to the floor mats (again). Gorim fixed her with a stern look (again) and gave her his patented, "Mind your surroundings, my lady," line (again)…and Lana began to giggle. Gorim tried to keep up his serious expression and was successful for about, oh, five seconds, before he began to laugh as well. He sheathed his sword, shouldered his shield and sat down next to her prone (and giggling) form.

"I think we're done for today, my lady," he said.

Somehow, that made her giggle all the harder, "You are such an ass," she finally managed to wheeze.

"Be that as it may, you still block like a nug."

Her sides were beginning to hurt (well, one side hurt more considering it had just been whammed by an iron shield). Nothing about their conversation or situation was funny and she just could not stop. She felt flushed, excited, moronic—

"I love you."

that stopped the giggles. And her thought processes. And her breathing.

Gorim continued to sit next to her, calm as ever, as if he had said nothing. Maybe he hadn't. Maybe she was hearing things. Couldn't hurt to check…

"…did you say something…?" she managed to whisper.

Gorim simply raised an eyebrow at her in amusement, "No," he replied, "Did you?"

She shook her head. Gorim stood and helped her back to her feet, their sparring session done for that day.

But it hadn't ended there.

When she sat in her bedchambers later that night, brushing out her short auburn hair, there had been a note neatly folded on top of her vanity.

~I love you~

She read those three words over and over again, trying to remember whether or not she'd ever seen Gorim's handwriting before. What a ridiculous thing to contemplate—handwriting! Lana spent most of her waking hours with him and he'd been a constant in her life since they were children but she could not recall seeing him ever write a note. She stared at the paper until her eyes hurt and suddenly with a startled (if belated) gasp, she jammed it into the vanity drawer.

Lana couldn't sleep that night.

The next morning, she sat down for a breakfast of waffle-cakes and nug strips. As she pulled her silverware from her napkin, a small, perfectly cut amethyst fell out and bounced to the floor. Trian and Bhelen were also at the table with her—but Trian never noticed anything until his second cup of java* and Bhelen was too busy reading letters of his own (a particularly steamy letter if the blush rising on his cheeks was any indication). Lana made a small squeak of surprise and quickly snatched the tiny amethyst back up. She quickly checked her napkin for a note. Nothing.

But there was one peeking out from her pillow when she returned to her room later. Different paper this time, but the same message: ~I love you~

She crammed the new letter and amethyst in the vanity drawer.

If Gorim spent his spare time sneaking into her room to leave notes and gems, he gave no sign during their sparring session. He remained as collected as ever, with his "grip your shield, my lady; don't just let it hang off your arm" and "don't just swing your sword—be precise".

Lana, on the other hand, was completely uncollected. She managed to drop her sword not once or twice, but an astonishing five times. She tried to execute a shield bash—something she'd done perfectly hundreds of times before—and the shield flew off her arm and across the training room. She'd also strapped the sparring armor on too tightly and the buckles were biting into her skin—especially by her knees. She spent more time pulling herself up off the mat than she did actually sparring. When Gorim's shield knocked her down yet again, Lana—to her utter humiliation—found herself starting to cry.

"Perhaps that is enough for today, my lady," Gorim said in his infuriatingly calm voice. He shouldered his shield and began to head back towards the changing room, "Same time tomorrow then, or do we have duties in court?"

"Do you love me?" Lana blurted.

Gorim stopped. He turned his head to look at her, his eyes sad, "Does it matter?"

Lana wiped at her eyes, embarrassed and miserable, "Stupid question," she muttered, more to herself then to him, "Will you just answer me…?"

Gorim studied her for a moment and walked back to her. He kneeled down. Lana fixed him with her best (if tear streaked) glare. Gorim smiled and tucked a few strands of hair back behind her ear, "This will not end well, my lady," he whispered and leaned forward to brush a kiss against her cheek…

"—and see, here this is Denerim which we definitely want to avoid what with us being on the Ferelden List o'Death—"

Lana blinked furiously as the memory faded. Camp. She was at the party camp. The five of them were gathered around a large, tattered map Alistair had spread by the camp fire. Lana supposed they were trying to figure out a course of action or plan of attack or…something. She'd been too busy lost in her own thoughts when she'd seen the word 'Denerim' etched next to a series of lines and squiggles on the map.

I'm going to try to go to Denerim, the human capital. If you make it out, find me.~

"—Arl Eamon is sure to help us, so I think we can hit Redcliffe first," Alistair was saying, pointing at a spot about as far from Denerim as one could get, "Then we could scurry on over to the Tower here and maybe then Orzammar? Not sure how we're going to find the Dalish, what with them not liking to be found and all…"

"I still say you must eliminate your rogue teryn," Morrigan said, "T'will give you the freedom to parade your treaties about as you wish."

"I'm sure he'll feel oh-so-threatened when he has his army massacre the five of us," Alistair retorted, "If we're lucky, we might live long enough to advance all of three and a half feet in the general direction of the palace."

"There are other ways to kill a man that do not involve the front door," the starry-eyed Chantry sister—Leliana, was it?—said, a dreamy smile on her face.

Alistair stared at her for a moment before shaking his head, "Ohhhhkaaaay."

~ I will always love you, my lady~

Back home, after her…exile…had Bhelen gone through her rooms? To keep up his pretense, had Bhelen ordered his guards to tear apart her vanity and chests to see what could've driven an Aeducan to murder her kin? Had he found the notes and the amethyst? Did he…know?

Lana couldn't see how Bhelen could not know. True they acted their proper roles in public—Lady Aeducan and Gorim, her Second. But whenever they found a secluded corner, the two of them were exchanging frantic, passionate kisses and whenever she knew that her father and brothers would be late that night…well, surely Bhelen was clever enough to figure out what was what by now.

…he'd been clever enough to figure out many things Lana had put past him.

An armored hand waved in front of her face, "Laaannnaaaaaaa," Alistair was saying, "Helllooooo?"

She shook her head quickly to clear it, "Sorry," she murmured, "Lost in thought…"

"I hope that is not an after-effect of your Joining," Morrigan said, a wicked gleam in her eye, "Alistair also seems to suffer from that affliction as well."

Lana ignored her, hoping Alistair would follow her example. She saw his sword hand twitching towards the hilt, but he did not give in to temptation. Instead, he curled his hand into a fist and turned back to Lana, smiling broadly, "I was just asking where you thought we should start."

And she knew it was a stupid thing to say, by the Stone she knew it, but everything about the surface terrified her. The sky was so far and empty and open and everything was just too big for her to use (she still had the natty armor from the Deep Roads corpse—still!), and everyone was just so tall and those reoccurring nightmares came back night after night (what dwarf has a dream they remember?) and she just wanted to be back home so badly where everything made sense and she could be Commander Aeducan again and not some surface curiosity that couldn't even reach over a tavern counter—

"We need to start in Denerim," Lana said with a certainty she did not feel, "I have an…ally, there."

The camp was silent. Even those strange singing insects—what had Alistair called them? Krik-kuts?—had stopped their…krik-kut noise-making. Everyone stared at her.

"…you do realize that if Loghain knows we're on his doorstep, he'll have us brutally killed? And thrashed? And massacred? And murdered? And all sorts of other horrible words?" Alistair asked.

Lana looked back down at the map. 'Denerim' Gorim was there. And where Gorim was, the Lady Aeducan must be as well. She had to get to him. She had to.

She looked back up and met Alistair's eyes. And, to be honest, Lana liked Alistair. She truly did. Oh, he did strike her as somewhat strange looking, what with being twice her size and beardless and by the STONE, his features were so petite and delicate compared to the dwarven men she'd known…but he'd made her smile in this strange land. His jokes were stupid, yes, but it just felt so good to be able to laugh. She just…liked his company. It helped made her exile survivable.

"…please?" she asked quietly.

Alistair was silent for a very long moment. His eyes were clouded and unreadable. Lana clenched her own fists, quite sure of rejection. Tactically, he would be right—going to Denerim would make no sense. Someone would spot them and send out the alarm of 'Kill the Wardens! Kill the Wardens!' But Lana needed to get to Gorim. She needed to.

"All right," Alistair sighed, "What's the point of having a bounty on your head if you give no one the chance to collect it? We'll head out, first light."

Lana smiled in relief, I'm coming for you, Gorim. Just hold on. I'm coming.


*=you cannot tell me that with all that ale around, the dwarves do NOT have coffee. Just, no. No, no, no. Lalalala, personal Risu Cannon™, dwarven coffee, alalalalalala!