He was lost again, somewhere distant. He might have been drowning if he didn't know he was on dry land.

"It's too soon to wake up," he said. Morrigan was near him, and was playfully tugging at his ear.

"Wake up, dear Warden."

He chuckled lightly, reaching out to pull her to him. The sun was barely up, just peeking over the horizon now. No one else would be awake but them.

He opened his eyes, saw that she was looking down at him, propped up on her elbow to see him. He reached up, grabbed her and pulled her into a kiss. She returned it, quite receptive to his advances.

It was a good dream. But it was only a dream.

He knew it. He didn't really care.

It was times like these that he liked best; the good times. Even the illusion of good times. At least then he knew he wasn't at risk of fighting a dragon or a legion of monsters. It was a lot more like he was a human being again.

So he let himself be taken away by it, by the spectacle of it. By Morrigan.

He was dreaming, he knew. But it was a good dream.

He loved her. She loved him. Perhaps this dream was as real as any other moment they had spent together. Perhaps it was more memory than dream.

Yet he was suddenly overcome with fear, anxiety. He missed her. He needed her.

She was gone from him, going to her death. And he had to fight for everything he was worth, fight to save her. He was going to continue fighting, and he might never stop. But he would do it, if that was what it took to save her.

He didn't think of himself as a hero, despite the stories of his deeds. He didn't imagine that he was some person of greatness. All he had ever done was for her, to be with her. He'd kill a thousand Archdemons if it meant finding her again.

And though he loved the dream, loved her, loved being with her, he knew that he wasn't ready to dream yet.

He stirred, struggled to wake himself up, struggled to shrug off the dream. It hurt to, in many ways. He felt the stings of a dozen wounds he couldn't remember, and the terrible loss of happiness.

He woke, broke through the veil of his dreams.

"Where is she?" he managed to ask aloud. He reached out stupidly, knocking the teacup to the floor with a clatter. He waved his arms around, trying to regain his senses.

Velanna was beside him once more, grabbing his arm and stilling his restlessness.

"Calm down," she said. "You're okay."

"Where is she?" he managed again. Velanna pushed him back down onto the bed.

"She left."

He tried again to sit up, barely able to resist the woman. She didn't have to try very hard to push him back down.

"She said that if you woke up I should make you drink more."

"Don't…"

"I won't."

He groaned again, rubbed at his face. He was still tired, desperately so. He would have given anything to be able to shut his eyes just then. But he couldn't.

"I can't," he whispered. He struggled, past the pain and the fatigue. He sat up. Then he stood, legs wobbling. "I can't let her alone."

"I figured you would say that."

"Help me up."

She went to Lance's side, helped him to stand. He leaned against the wall, trying to shake loose the sleep and the fog that had started to descend on him.

"I need my sword. And my armor."

"She took it."

He sighed to himself.

"Then I need a sword and some armor."

"Okay. Will you be alright here?"

"I'm fine."

He wasn't too sure that he was, but he didn't have time to sit down and think about it. He had to go, right now.

Velanna left to fetch his items, and to rouse a few of the other Wardens to action. Lance was having trouble thinking. Where had Morrigan gone? How would she know to go there? How could he follow?

Well, at least he knew the last one. He still had the ring. Morrigan probably intended to keep track of him, make sure that he was still sleepy. He hoped she wouldn't catch wise to the fact that he intended to follow her and shut the ring off. He breathed slowly, feeling his head clear finally.

He grabbed a pitcher of water that had been sitting on his desk for some days. He drank from it, taking in great gulps of water, hoping to clear his system of that crazy witch's magic tea. She would have to answer for that. Eventually.

Right now he was a little more concerned with putting on his trousers. A feat made quite difficult by his pointed lack of balance.

He was feeling okay, though. And that was a start. He didn't hurt, not anymore. That meant he was good to go.

Velanna returned, carrying in her arms a chain hauberk, scale armor and a Longsword made from Red Steel. She set it on the bed, watching Lance put on his shirt with difficulty.

"Thanks," he said. He grabbed the chainmail, slipped it over his head. It was heavier than he remembered it being. He hoped that was because his dragonskin was so light and not because he was about to fall over. The scale was heavier, too. He fastened the sword belt around his waist, drawing the Longsword to test its balance.

It wasn't Starfang, not by any measure, but it would do.

"She took my gear?"

"Yes."

He tried to imagine her dressed in his armor, carrying his sword.

"Hot," he muttered and stood straight. He wavered a bit but thought that he was in fighting shape.

"So now what?" Velanna asked. He shrugged.

"I find Morrigan. Then we come back."

"Do you think you're actually in any shape to fight Flemeth?"

"I don't know yet," Lance said. Velanna shook her head.

"Keep in mind that the last time you fought her you ended up with a broken skeleton."

"Yeah, I haven't forgotten," he said. "I don't suppose you know where Morrigan went?"

"To the Korcari Wilds," said Velanna. "She seemed pretty sure that Flemeth would be there, waiting."

"Flemeth has her army to cultivate," said Lance. "She's going to attack the Vigil with it, kill every Warden she can until Weisshaupt sends someone she can get to give up the Old Gods."

"Why?"

"Because she's responsible for the Blight. She's responsible for all of it," Lance said. Then he felt the cold, icy touch of realization. "Damn it! She told the Architect where Urthemiel was. She did it so he would start the Blight. She wants the Archdemon's soul, and she'll start another Blight to get it."

"How? Won't she need another daughter?"

"Maybe not. Maybe…" he trailed off. The blood drained from his face. He felt a chill. "She's going to use Morrigan, one way or another."

Lance looked at Velanna, eyes wide.

"We've got to go."

Velanna nodded, hefting her staff.

"I took the liberty of getting a few of our old friends involved."

"Which ones?" Lance asked, curious. He stepped to the door, opened it. Outside, waiting in the hall, stood Leliana, Nathaniel and Oghren.

"How do, Warden?" Oghren asked, axe balanced on his shoulder. Leliana had her bow in hand, and she greeted him with a smile.

"We're ready."

Lance grinned.