Chapter 14

The voices sounded far away, almost unrecognizable.

"Perhaps you should take this ship to Denerim. The captain, the crew is still alive. I'm sure you will have no problems forcing their hand, should they decide to mutiny."

"You're right. The King can help us."

"He has healers. They can do more for my family than I can…"

"And you, what will you do?"

His arm twitched, a spasm of pain shot through his body. A moan escaped his mouth. He jerked into a sitting position, but somebody held him down.

"He's waking!" they – a woman – shouted to the others. He heard the thud of their footsteps come nearer. Then it seemed as if somebody magically turned on his hearing, for he heard everything clearly now. He heard the sound of water crashing onto wood. He heard the cries of birds, the rustling of clothes. It was almost too much for him. Where was he?

Slowly, but surely, his eyes blinked open. He saw the blue sky, the birds that had been calling out, and the sun. The sun beat down on him, made it hurt to open his eyes. He shut them tight again. His head rolled around. He wanted to go back to sleep anyway. He was in so much pain. But they didn't let him. Somebody clutched at his chin and lifted his head.

"Da'mi, open your eyes again," pleaded a man. Da'mi, little blade? He hadn't been called that in ages. Who was trying to embarrass him, when all he wanted to do was sleep?

Furious, Ronan opened his eyes. He was going to give them a piece of his mind and then he was going to go back to sleep. Instead, he was shocked to find his father looking at him sadly. He tried to call out to his father, but his mouth was dry. As Ronan's vision adjusted to the bright light, he noticed Tristan crouching down in front of him as well. Tristan handed Silas a flask and Silas forced the thing onto Ronan's mouth. Ah, water, Ronan thought as he gulped it down. He hadn't realized how thirsty he was.

He was still a little confused though. Why was he in so much pain? Where was he? Where was his mother? He tried to push himself up into a sitting position with his hands but instead hissed in pain as his shield hand touched the wooden floor. He held it up in his line of sight to see what was wrong – and then he remembered. His hand wasn't there. His arm was covered in cloth right now and it would be easy to believe that it was still there. It felt like it was still there. But he remembered. The Qunari had sliced it off effortlessly. After that, he recalled nothing.

"No…" he croaked. The person who had been holding him before pulled him up and placed him by a wall of a cabin. It was Melisende. She gave him a sympathetic look before rearranging the cloth on his stump.

"Don't move, Ronan. Just stay still," she commanded gently. He turned away from her. He didn't want her to see him this way. He focused instead on his father.

"Your mother is alive. But I will not lie to you, it does not look good," Silas said before Ronan could ask. Ronan winced in pain. What kind of nightmare had he woken to? May the gods have mercy on him and just let him sleep…

"Ronan, we will get her help. And we will get you help." Tristan tried to reassure him. He wished Tristan would go away. He couldn't stand to be gawked at like this, like he was some kind of useless nobody. He turned his face to the side and ignored them all.

"I would like a moment alone with my son." Ronan heard Silas say. Tristan and Melisende shuffled away. Ronan turned to his father in anger.

"Why did you send me away? I could have prevented all of this from happening…" it took all of his strength to rebuff his father. He felt like passing out, but now he wanted to stay awake. He wanted to hear what his father had to say.

Silas sighed. "My son, you may have been a man for a few years, by virtue of your tattoos, by virtue of your age, but as for actual virtues – you were lacking."

Ronan frowned and moaned as another spasm of pain flew through his body. His father's words had hurt, ripped right down to his core. He was about to open his mouth to protest them, to defend himself, but Silas stopped him.

"I sent you away not only for your mother's sake. I wanted you to grow up. I wanted you to have the chance to realize the world. To see it as I never did. And I see now that you have changed; even if only a little." Silas smiled then and ruffled Ronan's hair. "I am proud of you, my son."

Ronan never meant it to happen, but it did. He cried a little. He was in so much pain, he was so confused; he had lost his hand, he might lose his mother, and now his father was telling him how proud he was of him. He had never expected that. Silas had always been hard on him.

"Am I dying, father?" Ronan asked with a grin, wiping away the tears from his face with his only hand.

Silas chuckled and shook his head. "No, my son, you are not dying. I am sending you away again, though, so that you may get better and help your mother get better."

Ronan groaned. "To Denerim?"

"Yes."

"You are not coming?"

Silas regarded Ronan sadly. "I cannot go to Denerim, not right now. I will return to our clan. They need me just as much as my family. I can help them, while I cannot help my family. You will be in good hands, though." Silas looked behind him at Tristan. Normally, Ronan would have rolled his eyes in annoyance, wondering why even his own father liked Tristan. But something had changed in him. The bitterness toward Tristan had subsided.

"Dareth shiral, father." Ronan said. His father smiled, returned the farewell, and left his side.

…

After Silas had left, Melisende returned to Ronan's side, much to his delight and dread. While he wanted her company, he didn't want her to sit by his side and send him looks of pity.

"How are you feeling?" she asked as she took a seat by him.

"You're kidding right?" he gave her a questioning look.

"You're right," Melisende admitted with a playful smile, "that was a stupid thing to ask. Even so, you don't look so good."
"I will admit, this one time, that I am weak. So very weak. And I would like nothing more than to complain out loud about the pain… but that isn't my style." Ronan replied.

"Suck it up, right?" Melisende joked. Ronan nodded. He was surprised at how much she remembered about him. He didn't think she cared about him, other than needing his help to find Tristan. Maybe they were friends after all.

"Is there anything I can do for you?" Melisende asked seriously.

Ronan thought of how he had awoken in her arms. He turned to her with a mischievous grin. "Hold me?"

Melisende laughed. The sound of her laugh sent a warm feeling throughout his body, helping him to forget his pain for a few seconds. She shook her head and sighed, but then held out her arms to him, gesturing for him to come forward. "I don't know why I am doing this, but come."

A little surprised that she had agreed, Ronan went to her and rested his head on her shoulder. She brushed away his hair from his face. It was wet with sweat and blood. He must look like a complete mess. But she didn't seem to care. He closed his eyes as she caressed his head.

"You're not going to start purring, are you?" Melisende joked.

"If you want me to…" Ronan replied, sleepily. It was getting harder to keep awake now. Maybe he should just surrender to the sleep…

"I would like to hear you sing again." Melisende said quietly.

Ronan jerked his eyes open. He found himself blushing, of all things. He was glad his face was a bloody mess and that he was not facing her. He thought back to the village, when he had agreed to sing Eleri's daughter to sleep. He had only done it as a favour to his cousin's wife. She was so distraught, he couldn't refuse. Usually, he never liked to sing. It was his mother who sometimes urged him to, though he had only ever sung to children and never in front of the other hunters. "You heard that?"

"Yes. You have a beautiful voice." Melisende replied.

"Well, I hope you have a good memory, because that is the only time you'll ever hear me sing…" Ronan retorted. He closed his eyes and refused to say anything more. In any case, he was exhausted, and drained. He fell asleep.

…

After Tristan had had a harsh word with the ship's captain and they were finally on their way to Denerim, he decided to check on Ronan. He found him lying in Melisende's arms, asleep. A little shocked at the scene, he didn't know what to say.

"We must get him help… and soon." Melisende warned as Tristan crouched by them.

"Can't you just let me sleep in peace?" Ronan groaned as he opened his eyes.

"Uh, sorry." Melisende apologized. "I didn't mean to wake you."

Tristan regarded the two curiously, wondering at the playful looks they sent each other. Had they gotten that close? He shrugged off his curiousity and focused on Ronan.

"Brother," the word, directed at Ronan for the first time, felt strange on his tongue. He had to pause to gather his wits. "You fought well."

Ronan frowned. Perhaps that wasn't the best thing to say, considering his last fight did not go so well, but it was the truth. Ronan may have rushed into things without thought, but there was no doubt in Tristan's mind that Ronan had the heart of a warrior and the skills to match. He wondered, though, how Ronan would fight with only one hand… if he survived.

"How is she?" Ronan asked, through pain, changing the subject.

"They will be able to help her in Denerim. Don't worry about her." Tristan glanced worriedly at Melisende. Truth be told, for the moment he was more worried about Ronan. He had lost a lot of blood. There was no telling if infection had set in. There was only one thing to do and Tristan needed all his energy to do it.

Tristan closed his eyes and concentrated deeply. There were times when he had been able to dip into the Fade's healing stores. Most of the time, he had left it up to mages better suited to spirit healing, like Wynne or Anders. But neither of them were around and he didn't want to take a chance and wait for one to show up in Denerim. He recalled what he knew and summoned a wave of that healing energy from the Fade. It came out through his hands, blue and soothing, and washed over a surprised Ronan.

Ronan immediately felt himself get stronger, the magic encasing him in a warm and soothing embrace, eradicating most of the pain. Granted, he was still quite weak and still felt a phantom tugging at the stump where his hand used to be, but the intense pain was gone.

Tristan, on the other hand, collapsed at Ronan's side, drained.

"Tristan!" Melisende called out in alarm and would have rushed to his aid had she not already been holding Ronan.

But Tristan waved her away anyway, not wanting her to be concerned over him. He stumbled awkwardly back to his feet and clutched his head in slight agony. "I'll be fine."

Melisende frowned, but accepted his answer.

Without another word, Tristan walked away, making his way over to the cabin where Siofra rested. He opened the door and walked in. She lay on blankets looking very pale. She had not awakened since fainting on deck. Tristan wished there was something he could do for her, but he was only good at mending visible wounds, not an invisible sickness.

"Tristan," Ronan called out behind him. With great effort, he hobbled into the cabin with the help of Melisende. Glancing at his mother with sadness, he turned his attention back to Tristan. "Thank you."