Time moved funny when the Fade was involved. A molasses drip of emotions that one had to wade into and drag his knees through.

Donal had expected more. And when he didn't receive it, it was then he realized that he very truly had wanted so much more.

He'd fumbled with the dagger like a ponce. Unsure of which vein would yield the most blood, which one would be the easiest to cut, which one would hurt least. While he faltered, Isolde had snatched the blade from him and sank it deep into her forearm without a second thought. She knew what she was fighting for and it was more tangible to her than mere whims, fancies and higher moral ground.

Jowan had that meek smile of his and it almost made Donal want to laugh. It made him think of earlier times, of prattling on about sexual exploits and Jowan pretending to understand until he had to admit that he was still a virgin. He'd had that smile on his face then, too. The story had grown funnier with age when both men finally had enough experience between them to know just how ridiculous and impossible the original story was.

Donal let Jowan cut him. He watched his blood pool at the wound, and when it ran down his arm, he watched it defy gravity and drip sideways, toward his old friend. Glistening rivulets of scarlet. And when things grew fuzzy, Donal bit down on his lip and there was more blood. It drifted from his mouth and he forgot what he was supposed to be focusing on.

Children? Blood? Anatomically impossible sex acts? He slept and it hurt.

When Donal woke, he didn't want to wake up. His head hurt, his body ached and the stars in his vision hadn't had the time to fade. The bed was soft, better than anything he was used to, but the blankets were heavy and pinned him down. He wanted a drink of water, he wanted to close his eyes, he wanted to vomit.

He tried to say as much, but only got so far as to moan, before words fell to the wayside. It must have conveyed enough, because Donal was rewarded with a cool hand pressed against his forehead. Slender, boney fingers and a soft, clucking noise. Wynne. He was really so bad they sent for Wynne?

Jowan sat at the foot of the bed and Morrigan stood in the corner of the room like a sentry. Jowan looked old, Wynne was an angel and Morrigan was livid. Wynne kept talking to Donal, with soft, gentle words, but he couldn't concentrate. Did it work? He hadn't expected it to feel this awful.

"...time and fluids for him to replace all the blood he lost."

Time! Time heals everything! Donal tried to laugh. He hadn't been sure about it, when he suggested it, but there was an exhilarating giddiness that came with knowing he was still alive. He'd laugh and then kiss that tight expression off of Morrigan's face. She'd probably get angry, but he was too loopy to care. If she did, he'd just kiss her again.

Wynne smoothed his hair back before she stood and left the room. He could kiss her, too. It was only fair. Just as soon as he stopped feeling so miserable.

When he could forget a moment how painful everything was, Donal slept. He was vaguely aware of Jowan lighting candles and when Donal opened his eyes in earnest, they had burned down to stubs of wax on the nightstand. Morrigan was still there, in the corner of the room, her eyes level and testy. Jowan was slumped over at the foot of the bed. His snores were quiet, but they made Donal's skull rattle. He brought a hand to his temple.

"I don't think I'll be doing that again," Donal muttered.

That stopped Jowan's snores abruptly. "You're awake?" he asked. "Thank the Maker!"

"How long was I out?" Donal tried to bring a hand up to his throbbing head. It didn't feel like it was still attached to his body.

Jowan scrambled up from the foot of the bed to Donal's side. Every movement created a new thrumming agony. "A couple days now," Jowan said. "I was beginning to fear... Well, I was just afraid."

"But it worked?" Donal reached out and when he located the bed, he gingerly let his arm rest upon it. "It had better've worked with how I feel, because if it didn't, I swear to you that you can all just... something."

"Connor is safe," Jowan said. He was smiling that smile. Donal's gut clenched. "But there was a complication, Donal. A problem."

"My hands are still here. Feet? Are my legs gone? I haven't thought to feel for them." The words came out in a babbling stream. Maybe that would distract Jowan from talking. Donal didn't want to hear, he didn't like the look on Jowan's face, anymore.

"The ritual required blood. A lot of it. And you both grew so weak-"

Donal flung a hand out and frantically grabbed for his groin. "That's still there, isn't it? Oh, blessed Andraste! Does it still work? It has to still work, Jowan. I'm as good as dead, otherwise."

"Donal, please!" Jowan's voice had a hardness to it, now, an irritation. He wasn't going to let it drop until he said what he needed to. "There's nothing physically wrong with you, you git! You're fine."

"Well, that's a good thing, isn't it?"

"I had to make a choice," Jowan said, quieter. The way his voice ground out made something plummet deep down into the pit of Donal's belly. "I chose you, Donal."

"I don't understand..."

"You were both so weak," Jowan repeated. His eyes trailed to the extinguished candles on the nightstand. "And more blood was needed. Isolde had already said she would die for her son and I don't think you knew what you'd agreed to and I owe you so much already and I just-"

"Wait," Donal said. "What are you saying?"

Jowan looked at him and Donal realized that the bruise on the other man's cheek was gone. Sunken bags beneath his eyes had taken its place. "Isolde didn't make it, Donal."

Donal felt his head loll back. He had to take a few deep breaths and swallow hard or his entire insides were going to come up. "No. No, that doesn't make any-"

"She's dead, Donal."

"You flaming, dumb shit."

There. The patronizing, overly pained look was gone from Jowan's face. "What?" was all he managed to splutter out.

"You had a choice to save a mother, who could have been reunited with her child who needs her," Donal said. "Or you could have saved me. Me! A flipping nobody mage with no skills or ties to anyone!"

At least the pain on Jowan's face was real, now. "Donal..."

"His father might die because of you," Donal bellowed. He snapped his head upright to get a good look at his friend and was rewarded with a churning nausea for his efforts. "And now his mother's dead because of you. And to save me? All I have is a stack of books and some Orlesian pornography that'll miss me!"

"I couldn't kill you!" Jowan insisted.

"Why not?" Donal had to let his head fall back. He tried to laugh and tried to make it sound biting and not weak. "You could lie to me, stab me in the back, set me up to take the fall for your doings- why not murder? That's the next step up, isn't it?"

"Because I've done so much to you, already!" Jowan rubbed his eyes and sighed. "I knew you'd hate me for this. And I'm okay with that, because I figure you have to be alive to hate me. And maybe someday, you'll figure out a way to forgive me. Because you're alive."

Donal closed his eyes. "Go away, Jowan. I can't do this right now."

"Right," Jowan muttered. He placed a hand briefly to Donal's shoulder before he stood and left.

Donal laid a moment with his eyes closed, and soaked up the silence darkened by his thoughts. "You don't have to stay here, if you don't want to," he said finally.

"Of course I don't," Morrigan said.

"I appreciate it, but I'm fine." When he opened his eyes, she was standing above him. Funny how he hadn't heard her move. "I won't die, I promise."

Her nostril flared. "Of course not."

"Okay," Donal said. "Then what?"

She brought her hands up to her arms and let her eyes trail to the doorway. "Tis cold in my bed," Morrigan said. "All alone."

"And?" His head felt like it was stuffed with cotton. She wasn't making sense. "What do you want me to do about it?"

She had a light, little practiced laugh that didn't really sound like her at all. "Why, it just so happens that I find you quite warm."

Understanding seemed to land on Donal with the crushing intensity of bricks to the chest. "What?" he asked. "Now?"

"Well, you did seem rather concerned if it worked or not," Morrigan reminded him.

"You have got to be kidding me." It was amazing to him that when he was convinced he had nothing left but exhaustion, anger found a way to manifest and flare up. "All you tell me is how I'm not good enough from the day we met and now because I nearly die you're here to gift me with a pity piece?"

"That is not what-"

"Save it." Once he'd started, Donal found it hard to stop. "You're gorgeous, but you're not that gorgeous, sweetheart. You think I'm going to forget that promise I made? That you need to put out a little to keep stringing me along? Don't you worry, once I can walk, I'll go to the Wilds and murder my way into your good graces."

"You sniveling, little-"

"Exactly!" He could feel the heat in his face, his heart in his ears. "There are so many big things, important things that are happening, Morrigan. Completely out of our control! How's it fair that an ass like me's alive, when someone like Isolde's dead? What's the point in trying when people die even when you do the right thing?"

Morrigan stood there, staring. He'd expected her to look angry. He couldn't read her expression. Why wasn't she leaving? Her lips tightened as she swallowed whatever it was she'd wanted to say. Donal needed to sleep everything off. He closed his eyes and enjoyed that horrible quiet.

"Donal."

"What?"

"I am glad Jowan chose you over Isolde."

By the time his eyes shot open, she had already turned and headed toward the door. "Morrigan wait."

Her moment's hesitation in the doorway was all he needed.

"I'm awful company right now," he said. "I'm not really up for talking, but I was hoping to get some reading in. If you're interested."

Morrigan didn't say anything. But she turned back, made her way to the bed and sat down. And that was enough.