"So that's Andraste?" Lance asked no one in particular. He was huddled under a fallen arch, at the mountain's peak.

Andraste was a great dragon. A High Dragon, soaring over the temple. It let out a low growl, one that reverberated throughout the mountains. Its wings spread wide, nearly blocking out the sun as it passed overhead. Blue-gray flesh that looked like armor, maw of razor teeth, massive claws, and a spindly, whipping tail. If it saw them, it didn't make any indication. Instead, it settled on a nearby outcropping of rocks, curling up to sleep.

Lance had read that High Dragons slept for a hundred years at a time, that it was nigh impossible to wake them. He didn't want to test that theory.

"They say song soothes the beast," said Leliana. "I'm not about to try."

Lance nodded.

It was terrifying to be this close to a High Dragon. And it was thrilling. All his life dragons only existed in stories, in tales from the days of old. Now he was looking right at one. While he searched for the holy ashes of the Maker's Bride. He wondered if someday they would tell stories of him.

Regardless, he didn't have time for flights of fancy. He had a job to do.

The temple was in such a decayed state that the stone bridge spanning the mountain top to the rest of the temple had collapsed. What little remained only served as a ramp to the rock and ice below.

They treaded carefully, even Morrigan. If that dragon were to wake, they wouldn't last ten seconds. Luckily the dragon was deep in slumber, not stirring an inch. These crazy villagers were dragon cultists.

Dragon cults were rare these days, dragons all being dead or in hiding. During the age of the First Blight, when it had seemed the Old Gods of the Tivinter Imperium had betrayed their worshippers, many flocked to the worship of other dragons. They all failed.

"If only I had the chance to study this creature," said Morrigan, tapping her lip in thought when they were in the remaining temple section. "Oh, think of the fun I could have!"

"Yeah," said Lance. "Morrigan with the ability to spit fire and ravage farmland."

"Perhaps I would ravage something – someone – else," she said. She and Lance shared a grin. They didn't care about the others knowing any more. Lance never did. Morrigan perhaps enjoyed rubbing it in their faces that Lance had fallen for her.

"Oh, please," Alistair said. "Let us be done with this."

This section of temple was in considerably better shape than the rest. Though it was still old and the stone was cracked beyond repair. It was mostly intact and devoid of the piles of snow and debris.

"What is this place?" Alistair asked. "It's different from the rest of the temple."

Lance peered ahead. There were torches lit, providing dim light to see by. There was someone stand just ahead of them. He was large, armored and carried an axe. Lance wondered if he was another Reaver come to die at their hands.

But he didn't look like one. He was clean, and looked comparatively sane.

Lance approached, hands raised to show that he meant no harm.

"Hello?"

"Hello," said the man. His voice had an otherworldly tenor to it, like he was speaking from across a great distance. He seemed calm, too calm. Very serene as though he was completely undisturbed by the fact that he was guarding a door in a decaying temple on the top of a mountain.

"We have come for the Urn of Sacred Ashes," Lance chanced. He figured that if this guy had yet to eviscerate them then he couldn't be a bad guy. He hoped he wasn't a bad guy.

"Then you must go through the Gauntlet," he said. He was eerily tranquil. Morrigan tapped his hand, almost imperceptibly. He guessed at what she was warning him, as he was already suspecting it. The man was no man; he was a spirit.

"What is the gauntlet?"

"It is a test of your worthiness. If you pass it, then you shall be allowed to take a small pinch of ashes."

"Right. What sort of test?"

"It is not for me to say. Each person experiences the Gauntlet differently. I cannot predict what you will see."

"Okay," said Lance. "We'd like permission to try the Gauntlet."

The spirit nodded. He seemed please. Lance wondered what he would have done had they not wanted to be tested. He didn't want to know, he decided.

"I would first ask you a question," he said. Lance nodded, a little put off by the prospect. "You left your parents to the mercy of Rendon Howe, knowing they would have surely perished at his hands. Do you feel as though you've failed your parents?"

Lance felt icy numbness grab at his heart. How did this demon know? Why would it ask him this? He felt himself grow pale, blood drain from his face.

Make your mark on this world. We will always love you.

"I…" he tried to stay strong, to not show any damn emotion, to not give this creature anything. He couldn't manage. He felt tears, the very ones he promised to never shed again, and his voice broke. "Yes. I should have stayed. I should have defended them to the death. I shouldn't be alive."

He felt something on his hand, a warm, gentle sensation even through his gloves. It was Morrigan, her hand on his own, fingers intertwining. She was holding his hand, comforting him. He didn't dare look her in the eye for fear that she would find him unworthy.

The spirit nodded, satisfied. He looked at Alistair.

"You, Alistair, you often wonder if things would be better had you died. You think it should have been you instead of Duncan to have perished."

Alistair's eyes opened wide, seemingly unable to comprehend what he'd just heard. Lance imagined he'd looked the same. Alistair worked his mouth, unable to speak.

Then, "Yes, I wish I had died instead of Duncan. I should have been there. He should still be alive and everything would be better."

The spirit nodded to him, still satisfied. Alistair looked quite cowed, and he was far less jovial than Lance had ever seen him. Morrigan squeezed his hand tighter as the spirit turned to Leliana.

"You, Leliana," he said. "The Maker only spoke to Andraste. You were afraid of living a dull life in the Chantry and fabricated your 'vision' to bring you attention."

"No!" she said, suddenly red-faced and wide-eyed. "I have been spoken to by the Maker, he has given me a vision, it is true!"

"Do you consider yourself to be the equal of Andraste?"

"No, I never… I am just a woman, and the Maker wanted me to follow the Warden. It is true!"

The spirit nodded again, and he turned to Morrigan. She tensed, and Lance squeezed her hand, trying to communicate to her that there was nothing she could say that would make him stop loving her.

"And you, Morrigan, Flemeth's daughter, what-"

"No. I refuse to play your game, spirit."

"I will respect your wishes."

The spirit stepped aside, allowing the door he guarded to open. "You may pass."

Lance entered; still holding Morrigan's hand and feeling his legs go wobbly under him. He wanted to sit down, to lie down, to just go to sleep for a thousand years. He didn't want to do this anymore.

They were in a large chamber now, and it was dark. Lance struggled to see. There were people here, he realized. But they weren't people. They looked at him, expectantly. He could see through them. They were spirits of some sort.

He took a tentative step forward.

"Hello?"

"The smallest lark may carry it while the strongest man may not. Of what do I speak?" asked the spirit to his immediate right. It was a woman, or had been. Lance didn't know what she was talking about.

"What?"

"The smallest lark may carry it while the strongest man may not. Of what do I speak?"

It was a riddle. Lance hated riddles. He could never think of the answer when it counted. Leliana stepped forward.

"Oh, I know this! It's a tune!"

The spirit nodded. "I was a childhood friend of Andraste, and one of her greatest admirers."

She vanished, a stream of light arcing from where she had stood to the great stone door at the far end of the chamber. A woman stepped forward.

This Gauntlet was to test the faithful. The spirits asked questions about Andraste and about the temple itself. They were all phrased in riddles, to stump the travelers and prevent their progress. Thankfully, Leliana was an expert on Andraste and was able to answer each question without pause.

The great stone door opened and they were granted access to the next stage of the Gauntlet. Lance wondered if it was personalized, if it was something that everyone saw differently or if there was a set pattern to it.

And then he saw his next test.

"Hello, my son," said the spirit. He turned to face Lance, and Lance couldn't speak. It was his father, or a ghost that looked very much like him, smiling as pleasantly as he had each day at supper. Lance's jaw tensed.

"Why are you tormenting me like this?"

"You torment yourself," said Bryce. "You allow yourself to feel responsible for things you could not have controlled. It is time you let your grief pass away. I am dead and there is nothing that can change that."

"Father…"

"Son, take this," he said, extending his hand, a silver chain hanging from between his fingers. Lance reached out, allowed the spirit to drop it into his hand. "Let yourself be free of your grief."

He vanished, like sand in the wind. Lance was left staring after him for a long moment, not that any of his companions would disturb him from his sorrow. Quietly, with a grim determination, he held the chain up, examining the mirrored amulet. There was something in the reflection.

It was a long moment before he realized that he wasn't seeing himself in the reflection, but he smiled at who he did see. He slipped the chain around his neck, hooking it.

There was a hand at his shoulder. Morrigan.

"Warden, I…"

"Hush," he said. And he gave her a sad smile. "I'm alright. Let's get this done."

He led the way, trying to keep the aura of the competent commander about him. He hoped they took to it.

The next room presented a new challenge. There were plenty of tales about similar experiences, about a person needing to defeat their inner fears before being able to tackle their external conflicts. He assumed this would be something like that.

A spectral form of himself rushed him. Lance parried the blow, sweeping his sword in a wide arc to buy him distance. His whole party was there, in both real and spectral forms. They did battle. The spirit version of himself was a disturbingly poor fighter. He hoped it wasn't an accurate copy of himself.

He slashed with his dagger, catching his spirit self on the cheek. It would have left a scar. He kicked; knocking his fake self's feet out from under him. A sword angled downwards and the spirit was no more.

The rest of his group made quick work of themselves. Morrigan had seemed to relish the opportunity to test her powers against herself. She seemed a bit disappointed.

"You okay?" Lance asked, trying to stay strong. She nodded.

"I had hoped that I would provide more of a fight. 'Tis most saddening."

"I'm sorry," said Lance. "We can start over if you'd like."

"No," she said, looking at him seriously for a moment. "No, Warden, that would not be wise."

He nodded. Right. He didn't need to go through it again either. Instead he picked up his sword, putting it back in its sheath and headed for the next test.

"Oh, is this some sort of puzzle?" asked Alistair. "I'm terrible at puzzles."

Indeed it was puzzling. The door led to a circular chamber, with a number of metallic plates surrounding a massive pit in the middle. Lance couldn't see to the bottom, but he was sure that was for the best. There was no way to the other side, where the exit door stood, mocking.

"So…" Lance muttered. There was no clear way to solve this. No one to fight. He stepped forward, examining the room. He tapped one of the metal plates experimentally, and there was a quick whoosh of air, causing him to recoil.

"Did you see that?" asked Leliana. "It made a bridge!"

Lance looked over the pit. There was nothing there.

"I think you're mistaken."

"No, she is not, Warden," said Morrigan, eyes wide but otherwise calm. "There was a bridge."

Lance cocked his head to one side, not quite sure if he believed it. He put his foot on the plate once more.

The air cracked and whooshed around them, and a spectral bridge piece hung in the center of the pit. He removed his foot and it vanished. He touched the plate again and it hung there.

"It's not complete," said Lance. "This is strange."

He examined the room. The metal plates fanned out on either side of the bridge, divided equally on either side.

"If I had money to bet, I'd say that we're expected to hit the plate opposite this one. Morrigan, stand here, please."

She did so, if only because he'd said please. She let a knuckle tap against his leg as she passed him, smiling at him, coquettishly. He nodded to her, trying not to make too much of a scene. She was the biggest flirt he'd ever had the privilege of knowing.

He wanted her. He might relent this evening, he thought, settle for knowing that she cared, let her off the hook. Lay with her just tonight, maybe convince her that they could be more.

For now, though, he would settle for getting his hands on the Sacred Ashes.

They worked the puzzle, realizing that the key to building the bridge was to stand on corresponding plates and cause the spectral bridge to solidify. It took some trying, and a bit of failure, but they eventually got the bridge fully assembled. Though no one was very eager to take the first step.

"'Tis your mission, Wardens," said Morrigan. "Perhaps Alistair should be the first to go?"

"Hey," he said. "If I die then our odds of stopping the Blight are cut in half."

"Well don't look at me," said Leliana. "Make Morrigan do it. She can turn into a bird or something if she falls."

"I have no desire to fall."

"Why do I have to do it?" asked Alistair. "Why can't he do it?"

"The Warden… is far too important to risk. Better we risk you."

"Hey, guys," said Lance.

"Oh, sure, he's too important to risk because you want to jump his bones."

"I think it's a sweet thing," Leliana said. "And I don't think we should risk him either."

"Of course you two would say that; you're like a couple of horny teenagers!"

Lance shouted to be heard, though it didn't work.

"What the Warden and I do together is our business and not yours, fool."

"Sure. And when you've drained him of blood, what then?"

"Don't say that."

"I assure you, Alistair, 'tis not blood I seek to drain him of."

"That is just disgusting!"

Lance sighed, defeated. It seemed as though his group was more concerned with arguing amongst themselves than the fact that he'd already crossed the bridge. He waited another moment, allowing them to work up a froth.

When it had died down some, he said, "Hey, let's go. Don't have time to waste."

They stared at him with some mixture of shock and awe. He reveled in it, if only for a moment. Alistair shrugged finally and took a step forward.

"Andraste only favored the clever, it would seem," he said. The others followed, each placing a foot on the bridge tentatively. Morrigan did her best to appear confident and unflappable. He liked her better that way.

Lance let out a slow breath as he pushed open the door to the next room, hoping against hope that this would be the last trial.

"Oh, Maker," Leliana whispered. "It's real!"

Lance nodded. The Urn sat atop a pedestal, only a dozen yards ahead. It was so well within reach that Lance thought he could just cross the room and grab it, no worries. But it would never be that easy.

Between them and the Urn was a wall of fire. Heat buffeted him, turning his face red. He looked at a plaque placed ominously before them.

"'Cast off the trappings of worldly life and cloak yourself in the goodness of spirit. King and slave, lord and beggar; be born anew in the Maker's sight.'"

"Cryptic and ridiculous," said Morrigan. "As always."

Lance glanced back at his group.

"I think we need to disrobe," said Lance. They all looked at each other nervously. Lance wasn't too thrilled about forcing his companions to strip down, but the aching suspicion was that he needed to in order pass through the flames.

Leliana sighed and reached for the straps of her leather armor, resigned. Lance held up a hand.

"Whoa," he said. "You don't have to do that. I'll go ahead."

She raised her voice to protest, but squelched it. As much as she wanted to see the Urn of Sacred Ashes, she didn't want to strip down in front of everyone else. Nor did Lance, but he figured that there was little choice.

"Well, Warden," said Morrigan, putting her hand under her chin in a most interested fashion. "I do desire a show."

"Oh, but of course," said Lance, suddenly feeling nauseous. This wasn't something at all he wanted to do, especially not in front of Morrigan. But perhaps this would be fun for the both of them.

He took a breath, tried not to think about his companions.

"Here goes."

He nervously reached for the straps on his cracked armor, muscles aching suddenly. He fumbled for the leather buckles, stupid fingers unable to do it right.

And then he felt someone else helping him, unsnapping the buckles and pulling the leather loops free.

Oh, please don't be Alistair.

He glanced over his shoulder, saw Morrigan there, face deadly serious. She helped him remove the breastplate, set it aside for him to collect later.

"There you go," she whispered. He nodded to her, and was glad for her presence. He was able to remove his leggings on his own volition. He was left in the thin fabric of his tunic and trousers. Shakily, he unbuckled his belt, pulling it free of his waist and letting it drop on the ground.

He chanced one last glance over his shoulder, at Morrigan and Leliana who were both rapt at attention, and Alistair who was rolling his eyes. Lance unfastened his tunic and pulled it over his head, feeling goose bumps despite the heat of the roaring flames ahead. He let it fall atop his armor.

With one last breath, he hooked his thumbs into his trousers and pulled them down, stepping out of them. There was a squeak behind him, and Lance suspected Leliana.

Left in nothing but his smallclothes, and with two beautiful women watching his every move, Lance held his breath, approaching the fire and the heat billowing off of him. He held out his hand, waiting for searing pain of the fire. When it didn't come he assumed that he had done right. Cautiously, he stepped into the flames.

He was unhurt when he emerged.

"Congratulations," said the Guardian, suddenly behind him. "You passed the trials of the Gauntlet. You may approach the Urn and take with you a pinch of Andraste's ashes."

He vanished as suddenly as he appeared. The flames died away, allowing his party access. Morrigan held out his gear, looking rather reluctant to offer him his clothing back. He took them, giving her a small smile and not minding a bit when she helped him dress.

"Andraste's Ashes," Leliana whispered. "I can't believe it."

"I stand in awe," said Morrigan. "Really."

Lance cleared his throat. He wasn't terribly religious, but this was so momentous an occasion. It was… amazing.

He pulled open a small leather pouch from his belt. Carefully, holding his breath to keep from ruining the holy ashes, he reached in, pinched the ashes and quickly released them into the pouch.

"Sweet, Maker," said Lance, swallowing. He made sure to get as many of the ashes into the pouch as possible before tying it closed.

"This… this is…"

Alistair nodded. "Thrilling. Astounding. I have to pee, let's go."

Lance laughed, glad for Alistair's realism in such an overwhelming occasion. He took another breath and stepped down from the Urn. There were two doors available, to take them back out.

They exited at the top of the mountain, in front of the remaining temple portion. They looked back over the mountain, to where the ruined temple and its myriad Reavers and dragonlings waited. Lance sighed.

The air had stopped, and there wasn't any snow falling. It was peaceful, serene. Lance took another breath, relishing the cool, fresh mountain air.

"Well," said Lance, tapping the pouch. "That was an experience."

He led the way back to the shattered temple, where they would find Genitivi and where they would begin the long walk back to somewhere that mattered. Morrigan walked close to him, wishing to talk.

"Warden," she said. "Are you now satisfied?"

"With what?"

"I mean to ask if you have come to terms with your parents. You expressed your desire to have died with them. That is not how you feel now, surely."

"No. I don't suppose it is. And don't call me 'Shirley'."

The joke was lost on her.

"I am glad," she said. "You are very loyal. And that is also something I am glad for."

"And I'm glad for you," said Lance, stopping. Alistair and Leliana stopped, too, taking a few steps back to give Lance and Morrigan space. Lance was grateful for it.

"Warden, I cannot allow you say… those things again."

"What things? That I love you?"

"Yes. That."

"Oh. Well, it's true. I love you."

"Stop it."

"I love you, Morrigan," he said again, smiling wide. She looked flustered.

"Do not do this," she said. "'Tis not amusing."

"Oh, but it is," he said, stepping closer to her. "My love."

She tried hard to suppress a smile. "'Tis not chivalrous to tease a lady."

"Let me just try something else then," he said. He put one arm around her, drawing her in close. She gripped his arms, steadying herself. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were at half-mast; she wanted this.

"You desire an audience, do you?" she asked, indicating Leliana and Alistair. Alistair had already set to mock-vomiting while Leliana smiled big and happy.

"Love, I would tell all of Thedas if I could."

Leliana called, "Oh, go on, you two!"

"Oh! Seems we have approval," Morrigan said. And she closed her eyes, reaching up to hold him as he leaned into her. His own hands were at the small of her back, pressing her against him.

He felt her near him, her lips near his, heart racing, breathing shallow.

Thank the Maker for her.

"Get down!" Alistair called, pulling Lance from his reverie. He looked around, racing to figure out what was happening.

"Oh, shit."

The High Dragon had risen from its slumber, incensed to fury by some unknown provocation. It soared over them, letting out an ear-splitting screech that caused Lance to clap his hands to his ears. It circled them once, faster than Lance could think.

And then it came barreling towards them. Lance reacted on instinct. He shoved Morrigan, pushing her away, hopefully to safety. And he ran the opposite direction, luring the dragon in. It spit fire at him.

He hoped Morrigan had made it clear of the blast. He rolled, hoping the snow would do something, anything, to help him. There was an eruption of fire and heat, his back burned fiercely. But he was alive.

He came up with his sword in hand.

The dragon was facing him, snarling. It roared, and Lance was brought to a knee. Heat billowed from its maw, its massive tongue flopped about, spattering saliva and burning spittle. Alistair and Leliana were on the move, but Lance couldn't see Morrigan from here. He prayed that she was unharmed.

Lance rolled left, just out of reach of the dragon's snapping mouth. If it caught him, he was done for. It would rip him in half it was feeling merciful. Or it would drag him off and leave him to the mercy of its brood.

An arrow, sizzling with fire, struck the dragon's face, bouncing harmlessly from its thick snout.

"Face me, creature!" Leliana shouted. She ran, satisfied that its attention was drawn to her. Lance moved.

"Alistair, get on its flanks. Do not pass in front of it."

Leliana turned, fired another arrow to keep its focus. Lance wasn't sure what to do. They had to get out of there. But could they do it without having to slay a gods damn dragon? He wasn't sure that was an option.

It was chasing Leliana now, letting its massive clawed feet pound the ground where it walked, sending claps of thunder echoing from the mountain. She was running towards a shattered dome, one of the last decaying ruins of the temple. Lance cursed under his breath. Leliana would have only a moment of safety there before the dragon tore it apart. He and Alistair would have to move.

Lance chased after the dragon, feeling his heart thudding in his chest. He had to be six kinds of dumb to do this. Alistair was following, far to the right. They needed to stay split, to reduce the danger to any one of them at a given moment.

Leliana dove for the shattered dome, slipping in between a crack in its ancient stone side. She crawled through the debris, putting as much distance between herself and the dragon as she could.

Lance prayed it was enough.

The dragon reared back on its haunches, massive, muscular neck craning. And it breathed fire into the dome, sweeping left and right.

"Oh, please be okay," Lance found himself shouting. He approached from the dragon's flank, and Alistair went to its opposite side. Lance jumped for it, sword held underhand. The blade bit into the dragon's flesh, and he held on, weight causing the sword to rip through the thick hide of the dragon's belly.

It screeched in pain, the inferno issuing from its mouth cut short. Its neck twisted, and it was staring Lance down. He imagined that he only had a few seconds of life left. He reacted, letting go of the sword. It remained embedded in the dragon's side and Lance fell to the snow-packed ground.

Scorching pain shot up his leg.

He cried out.

The dragon turned itself, tail whipping wildly. Lance knew this was it.

Then Alistair shouted, slashing the dragon's leg. It roared, deafening the two warriors. It debated in its head whether or not to devour the warrior on its left or right.

It went for Alistair.

There wasn't much left for Lance to fight with, his sword still in the dragon's side. He had his dagger, for all the good that did him. He tried to think up a plan of attack, to figure out how to strike the beast. He needed to get his hands on his sword again.

Alistair ducked under the dragon's tail, trying to keep out of its line of attack. Unfortunately for him, the dragon just kicked him aside.

He hit the ground hard, rolled twice. The dragon turned about, ready to eat the young Warden.

And then the wind and snow kicked up, from out of nowhere. It buffeted them all, the chill air making it hard to stand without shivering. Snow filled his vision, nearly blocking out all sight.

It was a blizzard.

The dragon swayed its head from side to side, unable to clear its vision. Alistair took the chance to run, disappearing from the dragon's sight into the thick snow.

The dragon was stuck looking left and right, trying to find a snack. Lance saw Morrigan standing, staff raised, conjuring up more snow, more wind.

He had to use the opening she provided to the fullest. He ran, trying to get on the side of the dragon that his sword was stuck in. He worked it out in his head, how he would damage the dragon. If he could put it in enough pain he could give them all an opening to escape into the temple.

But then its attention turned completely on Morrigan.

It took flight, leaping the distance between it and Morrigan, landing with force enough to knock her off her feet.

Lance tried to run, putting the screeching pain of his ankle to the back of his mind. He wasn't fast enough, though. It slammed her with it claw, knocking her into the ground. The wind and snow halted immediately, and she wasn't moving.

No, that's impossible!

The dragon arched its neck, readying to eat her.

"No!" he shouted, able to be heard now that the wind had died. The dragon paused, turned its attention to the warrior rushing for it. He was closer, close enough that if he could keep its attention, he could win, he could save her. He had to save her. Please, just save her!

And its tail whipped out, connecting with his chest.

His armor buckled, then shattered, and Lance flew backwards, bits of his armor still strapped to him. He landed on his back. Something inside him was broken, pressing against his innards. He was sick now, and he couldn't breathe. He tasted blood, couldn't feel his left arm.

But he didn't have a choice.

He stood up, struggling to get to his knees.

The dragon shrieked, savoring the moment. Morrigan lay limp before it, vulnerable in a very literal way. Lance couldn't bear to let it happen. He would die before he let it happen.

A switch flipped on in his brain.

He was going to die today. He was going to die, to make sure she didn't.

"Hey! Over here, you bitch!"

He was on his feet, the pain an afterthought. He was running as fast as he could. The dragon snapped its head back, watching him approach.

It whipped its tail at him again.

Lance leapt, dagger still in hand. He grabbed the dragon's tail, wrapping his legs around it and held on, trying to concentrate past the wild movements. He felt his chest hurting, knew that something was injured severely within him.

He stabbed the dragon's tail with his dagger, keeping hold of it for stability. He used it to climb up the beast's tail, coming closer to its body.

It forgot all about Morrigan, instead focused on the warrior clambering over its body, trying to kill it.

He gripped one of the spines at the base of its tail, pulling himself onto its body proper. The dragon beat its wings, slapping him with wind, trying to dislodge him. It twisted left and right, trying to shake him. It didn't work. Then its wings flapped, slowly at first.

For sod sake!

And he felt its muscles tense.

It jumped, wings beating, and it took flight. Lance risked a glance over, seeing the snowy mountain pick begin to drop away. He leaned to the other side, reaching out for the hilt of his sword. He gripped it, even as the dragon began to rise dangerously high.

He pulled his sword free, causing the dragon some great deal of pain. It called out, listed madly. It soared over the peak rapidly, beating its wings faster to keep it from falling back to the ground. Lance wriggled his way up the dragon's neck, holding on tight with his legs as it snapped its head left and right to knock him off. It was rising higher and higher, readying itself to leave the mountain.

If that happened, he was as good as dead.

He grabbed the sword, held it with both hands, stretching it high over his head.

The dragon looked up at the sword, seeing its impending doom.

"I'll die for her," he said. And he brought the sword down into its eye.

He stabbed again and again, the dragon screeching loud enough to shake the shattered bones in his chest.

But he kept stabbing, kept killing.

He felt the blade break through the roof of the dragon's mouth, ripping into its bottom jaw and poking out the other side. The dragon spasmed, wings flapping disjointedly.

And it began to fall.

Lance pulled his sword free, and relaxed.

The dragon gave one final snap of its head, and finally managed to rid itself of its attacker, though it was too little too late.

Lance held onto his sword, even as he fell.

He could see the sky, clouds drifting away lazily.

There was a strange serenity there. And he was okay.

Morrigan was alive, and that was all that mattered. He was falling, but that was okay.

"Figures."

And he hit the ground, everything going black.