He coughed blood, he was sure. Nothing was too solid, though. There was searing pain throughout his body, and there were people shouting.
"Out of my way, fool. Warden, can you hear me?"
"Don't touch him, he's hurt!"
"He's dying you imbecile. Go stand over there."
"Maker, please help him. I know you miss your Children, so please let your mercy-"
"Hush, girl! Help me get him to his feet!"
He had the briefest feeling of floating, of being lifted. He was being carried, he thought. His feet dragged on the ground, and there was pain. He faded out.
He couldn't be sure exactly what happened, if he was conscious for all of it. He didn't think so.
"And why should I not be the one to heal him? I my magic somehow inferior because I did not allow myself to be chained to some tower?"
"Be reasonable, Morrigan, he's hurt!"
"And I will heal him."
"At least allow her to check on him!"
He felt the tingling sensation of bone being put back together within him. He was aware of soft hands on his forehead, a familiar voice whispering that he was fevered. There were other times when he heard the voice saying other things, talking about a mother and about childhood. He couldn't quite assemble the thoughts, but he knew it made him sad.
He could feel other things in the darkness, the inky blackness that consumed him.
Were they memories, or just dreams? He couldn't tell.
"Little brother, I'd like you to meet Oriana, my wife."
"Pleasure to meet you."
He knew that he was happy to think of that. And that he wanted to think more of it.
"Come here, girl."
"Oh, My Lord! Ah!"
And he knew that he felt a fond longing for that, tinted with sadness. He could smell food cooking now, and he knew he was fond of that, too.
There was warmth at his lips.
"There. Eat up. You must keep your strength up."
It tasted good. He swallowed.
He had moments of consciousness, he was sure. He opened his eyes, was even able to rub at them. He made noises, asking where he was.
"Shh. You are with me. You are safe."
He closed his eyes and slept more.
"We love you."
He was able to speak, "No. Father… don't."
"Hush, Warden. Do not dream of that. Dream of peace."
"Okay."
He dreamed of a woman. She was beautiful. He was with her in his dreams, kissing her, touching her. She whispered his name, moaned aloud.
"Lance!"
He loved her, he was sure. Her hair smelled like wild berries, and her skin was soft, smooth. He kissed her.
"Morrigan…"
He reached out, felt about him, searching for her. He found nothing, and he panicked. With a great force of effort he opened his eyes, sat up.
"Morrigan?"
His ribs were tight across his chest, and his leg ached. He was sure that most of his bones had been magically re-grown since he'd last been awake.
He was at camp now, though how he got there was a mystery to him.
He struggled to stand but found that it wasn't a likely option.
"Warden!" a familiar voice called. He looked around, saw that she was coming to his side. She was knelt beside him, holding him. "Be careful. You are not fully healed."
He reached up, putting one hand on the back of her neck. He was relieved to have her here, relieved to know that he hadn't lost her.
"I was afraid I wouldn't be seeing you again," he said. And he leaned towards as best she could, and she did him the favor of leaning the rest of the way in. He kissed her.
"I would be lying if I told you that I did not miss that," she said. "In fact, I daresay that I was quite afraid that there would be no more of that."
"I would come back from the Fade itself just to kiss you," he said. She blushed a bit, if that were even possible for her.
"I… do not speak like that. You know 'tis wrong."
"No, it isn't."
He looked around. He was in Morrigan's tent, he realized. It must have been nearly midday. He couldn't see any of the others.
"Where's-"
"They are settling matters at Redcliffe," she said. Lance wrinkled his brow.
"Without me?"
"We could not wait for you to heal. Our mission is far more important than that."
"We can spare a few days," said Lance, a bit annoyed at having been left behind. He looked up at Morrigan; saw the concern in her face. "What?"
"Warden, you were unconscious for three weeks."
Three weeks? He was out for that long? He must have been far worse off than he thought. How bad had it been?
"You were… quite the mess," said Morrigan, seemingly able to read his mind. "There were moments when I thought…"
"Don't go there."
"Yes, Warden."
He took a breath. He stood, legs wobbling.
"They were both shattered," said Morrigan. "You are lucky to be able to walk."
"I have you to thank for that, then?"
"Yes. You could say that."
He felt his chin. The stubble he remembered there had grown quite a bit in three weeks.
"Do you have my things?"
Morrigan nodded. She turned to dig through a pile of his possessions.
"Your armor was beyond any repair," she said. "But I was able to save your sword and dagger."
She handed him a set of fresh clothes. He took it, digging through them for his belt knife. The small stream they camped by was tempting. Three weeks lying bedridden had left him a little less than fresh. He stripped out of the blood-stained, sweat-soaked clothing he'd been wearing, not at all disturbed by Morrigan's staring.
He set them aside. There was no reason he need bother ever wearing those again. He stepped into the water, wading until it was at his chest. It was freezing cold, not that he minded.
He washed dried blood and sweat out of his hair. It was longer and messier than he'd left home with. He felt clean for this time in a long while.
He put the belt knife to his short beard, scraping lightly and wiping the knife off in the stream.
"I rather liked your new look," said Morrigan, sitting cross-legged on the shore. He laughed.
"I was never much for beards. Could never grow a proper one."
"The Chasind folk do not grow beards either. For fear that my mother might snatch them away by it."
"Not something she would do?"
"Oh, 'tis not for me to say. I did always wonder how she lured those Chasind men to her bed."
"That's disgusting," said Lance. The right side of his face was smooth again, and he rubbed there to ease the burning sensation. "Does that mean you're a Chasind?"
"I do not share their beliefs. Why would I consider myself to be one of them?"
"I suppose you wouldn't. I only meant that you are a child of a Chasind man, yes?"
"I do not know."
"Flemeth never told you about your father?"
"Never. I could only make assumptions about who he may have been. I often asked mother about my birth. She would only laugh."
"Why would she laugh? Did she not wish to tell you?"
Morrigan rested her chin on her fist, looking up towards the sky. Her demeanor changed, and she was far more thoughtful than their previous conversations had been.
"I suppose she didn't. I always wondered. Perhaps she stole me away? Perhaps I was born to different parents entirely?"
"Then you would still have a family out there."
"Perhaps. But I would need nothing they could provide."
"You think."
"I know, Warden. What does a family do that my own mother did not? Can you really say that for all the coddling and 'nurture' you were shown you are a better person for it? Do you not wonder what you could have become had you the proper teachings of a real mother?"
"A real mother? I had a real mother. I loved her. She told me every day that she was proud of me, that I was going to be something important. I had a father, too. He taught me everything I know. They're both dead now. So, do I think I'm a weaker person? No."
"But you were not taught the true meaning of life, about the true value of worldly things. You were coddled. You were weakened. And when it was stolen from you, were left without your own strength to stand on."
"You left out the most important part."
"What was that?"
"Rendon Howe. And that I will kill him."
"You think that to be strength?"
"It's kept me going thus far."
"I see."
"No. You don't."
He ran his hand over his freshly shaven face, feeling a bit more like normal. His body was still sore. His muscles felt tight. Three weeks bedridden probably had some severely negative effects on his body. It looked like they would be spending a significant amount of their time training. Or else Alistair would be leading the group.
He waded back to where Morrigan sat.
"What about me?" he asked. "Isn't there anything you need from me?"
"I could perhaps think of something."
She leaned towards him, resting on her elbows. He knew where this conversation was going and rather liked it.
With a somewhat juvenile smirk he considered pulling her into the water with him. She would be angry, sure. But she would thank him for it by the time they were finished.
Maker, he wanted her. She was so beautiful, so within reach. He could take her now, he knew. The others were a day's trip away. They could spend the entire afternoon in the water, intertwined. He shifted a bit, making sure she couldn't tell what he was thinking through the water.
He reached up, cupping her cheeks in his hands.
"You are the most beautiful woman alive."
"Tell me something I do not know."
"I love you. But you already knew that one, right?"
She glanced away from him. "I told you never to say that."
"What're you gonna do about it?"
"Why must you pester me so? I do not say the same thing to you again and again."
"It's my favorite way of annoying you."
"Wouldn't poking me with a stick work just as well, for less effort?"
"I could give it a whirl."
She smiled, but looked away regardless. He liked that she was flustered, that she was uncomfortable by his admissions. It only meant that he was bringing her closer to him. She was almost ready, he knew. All this time away from her vile upbringing and the kooky woman in the Wilds had been good to her. Soon she would admit that she loved him as sincerely as he loved her, and that would be the end of that.
"What do you hope from this… relationship of ours?" she asked after a long moment. He shrugged, letting the faintest shadow of a smile flash across his face.
"What do you mean?"
"You do not think that anything could come of us, do you? Children, a home, you paint the shed while I bake the bread?"
She was sarcastic now, as she usually was. He didn't mind. To him, this was all just some vast game she played. She danced around her feelings, and around his. Maybe she sincerely believed that he wanted such a life for her.
"I don't know the first thing about painting a shed," said Lance. She shook her head.
"You miss the point," she said. "You do not understand my meaning. 'Tis time we ended this entanglement, before you enrapture yourself further within it."
"No," he said. She gave an exasperated sigh. "What's so wrong with being the Teyrna of Highever? I thought that was the exact sort of thing you would like."
"Political status? In fickle human society?"
"It's Ferelden society," he said. She shrugged.
"'Tis all the same in the Wilds. But you have not answered me."
"I don't want that for us," he said. "Does that satisfy you? In truth, I don't care. I just want to be with you."
"You wish a great a deal from me. More than is your right."
"I can't help it. You've already taken as much from me."
"I did no such thing."
"Yes. You have."
"What have I taken from you? I see no shackles on your arms. You are a free man."
"You've shackled me. I'm shackled to you," he bit his tongue at the stupid, stupid words that came out of his mouth. He wasn't used to such emotional confessions. It was all strange to him and he felt that he was ruining everything.
"I mean," he corrected. "My heart. You've stolen it."
"I would give it back, had I the capability."
"And you don't."
He reached up, pulling himself closer to her. He kissed her cheek, lightly. She tried to kiss him back, to pull him into a longer embrace. He refused.
"Say it," he told her. She looked a bit confused.
"I know not what you mean."
"Yes, you do. Say that you love me."
"I will not."
"Why? Do you not care for me? Am I not to your liking?"
"I… such a statement is debilitating. 'Tis relinquishing power. 'Tis allowing you to own me."
"I don't want to own you," Lance said. "I want to love you."
"And I would very much enjoy loving you."
"That's not what I mean. But, yeah, that would be fun."
"We have time," she said. She extended her hand to him. "The others will not be back until the wee hours of the morning. Come to my tent."
"Not until you say it."
She hissed air between her teeth.
"Why, Warden? Why must you be so difficult? Can you think of any reason why we should not?"
"Because it's worthless to me if I don't know it means as much to you."
She sat back, thinking. He hoped she understood his position, hoped she was capable of it.
"Warden?"
"Morrigan."
She grit her teeth. "I love you now come to bed."
"That's not good enough. You have to mean it."
She sighed, and threw her hands up in the air.
"'Tis a child I deal with!"
He dipped his head under the water, filling his mouth. He bobbed his head back up and spit the water out at her, eliciting a surprised screech. She slid her hand along the water, gathering up enough to splash him.
The game continued for another moment, before Morrigan called an end to it.
"Give me you knife," she said. Lance frowned.
"What're you gonna do with it?"
"Your hair. You look like a wild animal."