To all of those who've come along on this journey with me, my heartfelt thanks and appreciation, especially to those who've added this to alerts/favorites. As always. comments/feedback/random thoughts are welcome and help grow a better writer. Enjoy!

Darrian Tabris

I wandered in dreams of death and black blood. Of running through a forest of living flesh and bones piercing it like daggers. Of someone, or something, screaming in pain and terror, the sound wild and piercing.

Sometimes, in the haze of the dreams, a cup of cool water or cider was pressed against my lips. Or I tasted broth and soft bread, propped against someone who held the spoon to my lips, and who smelled like sweet thyme and some exotic spice. I remembered a cool wet cloth sliding across my skin, before I returned to dreams of a river of black blood flowing before me, and a thousand darkspawn chasing on my heels. I panted, my blades dripping with blood, my ears filled with the roaring of the horde behind me. No place left to run. No way to cross, so I turned and raised my weapons. Arrows pierced my left thigh and my dagger clattered to the stone floor of a cavern. I screamed a war cry and raised my blade.

Strong hands pushed me down and pinned my shoulders.

"It's a dream, my Warden, only a dream."

Familiar, that voice. I should know it, shouldn't I? I groaned. Every muscle hurt and my left leg, Blessed Creators, it was a wash of sharp pain from hip to knee.

I blinked, and the world became a soft blur of misty shapes, shadows without clear form or color, except for a wash of gold that shimmered close. I dragged my hand up and touched it; soft strands brushed my fingers with the lingering fragrance of sweet thyme. I smiled. My fingers drifted down and I felt skin, smooth and silken. My vision cleared, and I saw serpentine lines of blue curving down a man's cheek.

"Zevran? What are you doing in my dream?" My voice sounded hoarse, and my throat felt raw. The sheet I lay on felt damp. The one covering me clung to my skin.

"Thank the Maker, the fever's finally broken."

"Alistair?"

"Here, my friend," he said, and leaned towards me from the other side of the bed. He came into focus and then looked up. "I think you can let go of him." His voice had an edge in it.

Zevran muttered something in Antivan, then released me and limped out of the room

My vision cleared, and Alistair came into sharper focus. He had at least three days' worth of beard, and he looked like he hadn't slept in as long.

"You look worse than I feel," I said. He laughed.

Wynne came in then, carrying a tray with a bowl, a horn cup, and several small bottles. Zevran trailed her like a shadow, his face unreadable. Not bland or solemn, just hidden.

She set the tray on a nearby table. "How do you feel?" She laid a hand on the side of my forehead.

I realized then my left leg was propped up on pillows, splinted and heavily bandaged. And I wasn't even wearing small clothes. I closed my eyes. Ah, Blessed Creators. My cheeks got hot.

"Well, I'll take that as a good sign," Wynne said. "Now, do you remember what happened?"

I opened my eyes and focused on the ceiling, trying to dredge up memories and separate them from the nightmares.

"Darkspawn. On the road…they came out of the ground, right on top of us."

Alistair nodded. "Yes, we were less than half a league from the town when they attacked. Twenty of them."

My gut clenched. "The others?"

Wynne squeezed my shoulder. "They're fine. Some minor injuries." She glanced back at Zevran. "It could have been much worse."

"One came up right beneath your horse, my Warden," Zevran said. "It gutted her like a fishmonger, and she fell taking you with her. That's how your leg got broken; it was pinned beneath her."

"I don't remember that."

Wynne touched my head, and I winced at the tender spot she brushed over. "You hit your head on a rock when your horse fell. Sometimes that can cause a mild amnesia." She glanced at the tray. "Ah, I seem to have forgotten a few things. Zevran, could you get me a pitcher of water, please. And Alistair, I'm sure your fellow Warden would appreciate some fresh bedding."

After they left, she went over and closed the door. From the look in her eyes, I knew a lecture was coming. Wynne had a better memory than any of us.

"He hasn't left your side since we brought you here three days ago," she said.

"Alistair?"

She shook her head. "Zevran. Even when I threatened to turn him into a toad, he refused to leave." She shook her head. "I never would have thought him capable of…compassion."

"Because he's an assassin."

She nodded.

"He didn't choose his life, Wynne. It was chosen for him."

She settled in Alistair's chair. "I understand that. But there comes a time when we have to decide for ourselves what path we will walk."

"I think he did that when he pledged himself to me."

She gazed down at her hands folded in her lap then looked up. "I don't disagree with your decision to spare him, but I sometimes wonder why."

I shrugged, then winced at the splinters of pain it sent through my leg. "At the time it seemed the right decision." I touched the marks on my face, sacred to Andruil, Goddess of the Hunt. "All the others were dead and…"

"What, child?" she said, when I hesitated.

I pushed up on my forearms, ignoring the pain in my broken leg. "Wynne, I know you're going to disagree with this, but I'm not really that different from Zevran in some ways. I can kill if I have to. That doesn't mean I won't look for an alternative. The others were dead, and it seemed enough killing had been done that day."

"But you know killing is wrong. You have regrets. He doesn't."

"There are a few I don't regret," I said. "Some people deserve death."

The door opened then, and Alistair came in, clean sheets and fresh pillows piled in his arms. Leliana trailed behind him then glided up, and kissed me on the top of my head. Wynne was turned so I couldn't see her face while she fussed with the bottles on the tray. I had a feeling our conversation was far from over, that there were other things she wanted to discuss.

"Praise the Maker, you're doing better," Leli said, then smiled and patted my hand. Alistair dumped the bedding onto a chest.

Zevran appeared in the doorway, holding the pitcher, his face holding a smile, but the kind that hides more than it reveals. He set the pitcher on the small table next to the bed and then settled in a chair just beyond the reach of my fingers.

Wynne pressed a cup into my hand. "Drink this. It will help ease the pain."

It was only slightly bitter, and I downed all of it.

"How long till the Warden's leg is healed?" Sten said from the doorway. Morrigan hovered behind him.

"The sooner I can clear all of you out of here, the sooner I can get started." Wynne pointed to the door. "Even then, it will take several sessions just to knit the bone back together, and he needs to rest between each session." She glanced at Sten. "Two to three weeks. Rush it, and you might as well cut his leg off."

The Qunari nodded. "Rest then, Warden. We will leave as soon as you can ride."

He turned, and Morrigan pivoted out of his way before coming into the room, holding a small linen sack in her hand.

"The next time we fight darkspawn you might consider dismounting first." Tam, who had trailed her, nosed the sack and whined, a small soft sound.

"No, you've had quite enough already." Morrigan came up and dropped the small sack on the bed next to my hand. "The mangy beast is fond of these. Since he helped keep the darkspawn from your throat, it only seemed…fair that he have some reward for that."

"Thank you," I said to her retreating back. She glanced over her shoulder.

"Tis nothing; the mushrooms wouldn't have lasted another day."

Zevran chuckled. "Well, if I didn't know better, I'd say our beautiful Witch of the Wilds has become fond of the 'mangy beast.'"

Of course, Morrigan was well out of earshot by this time.

Tam looked at Zevran and made a sound halfway between a growl and a huff before settling on the floor next to the bed.

"Her words, not mine, my four-legged friend."

Wynne motioned at the door again. "As I was saying…"

Alistair laughed. "Yes, mother."

Leli squeezed my hand and then drifted out of the room behind Alistair. At Wynne's pointed look, Zevran only shrugged and leaned back in his chair. It was only then I noticed the shadows under his eyes.

"Remember what I said about toads?"

He chuckled. "You know, my lovely Wynne, all the times I've heard mages threatening that, and I've never seen it happen. Though, I'll admit I am curious as to what it would be like to be a toad. Not permanently, you understand. But it might be interesting to-"

Wynne's hand came up. "Don't even say it."

"What? I was only thinking that it might be interesting to catch flies with my tongue. One use I've never considered for it."

"Maker's balls," she muttered, and didn't quite slam the door. Behind her back, Zevran winked at me. She stayed at the door a moment, shaking her head, before she came to stand at the foot of the bed. The pain in my leg had eased from sharp daggers to a dull ache.

"Well, if you insist on staying, you can at least make yourself useful." Her demeanor softened when she addressed me. "I'm sorry, but this is going to hurt, even with the drugs I just gave you. Your leg was broken in several places, and I need to feel where the breaks are for the bone to knit properly. And the nerves are…sensitive to the flow of energy. I will try to be as gentle as I can but…" She glanced at Zevran. "You might have to hold him down."

He nodded and slipped off the chair, then pulled off his boots and eased onto the other side of the bed, kneeling next to me.

Gently, Wynne lifted the sheet and I had my first look at my leg. Blood stained the bandages in places, but none of it looked fresh.

"The bone broke through the skin in two places. Those wounds are healed and there won't be any scars." She pulled the chair up close to the bed and sat down. "If I left this to heal on its own, we would be here months instead of weeks."

"I understand," I said, then swallowed and took a deep breath. "All right, let's get this over with."