Lance rubbed his chin, thinking that he should have shaved several days ago. It was hard to find the desire to do so these days. His hair was also in need of a trim, but that was something else that wouldn't get done any time soon. He picked the letter up off of the desk, turned it around in his hand.
Whatever it was, it was written on expensive vellum and bore a seal that he did not recognize. Probably something foreign.
He was hungry, and so decided to head down to the kitchen, maybe actually eat with the others. Or perhaps not. He hadn't decided.
He tucked the letter into his pocket and headed down to the Keep's mess hall. It had more luxurious dining halls, but they wouldn't hold all of the soldiers and Wardens and Lance had no desire to decide who would get to eat where.
He was a little woozy still, having not had a decent chance to sleep off the booze from the night before. He drank a lot. The trick was finding a balance between the drink and sleep.
Now he had to wander the halls, looking like a proper Warden Commander, despite the fact that he was unshaven, unkempt, and otherwise looking like a beggar. There were still the soldiers that saluted him, a habit that the others had learned to break. He never returned the salute, only kept walking, ignoring them.
Some of the younger Wardens acknowledged him with a nod and a "Commander".
He ignored them, too.
He made his way to the mess hall, grabbed up a plate, and took his seat at the head of the table where his fellow Wardens sat. Oghren and Velanna were nearest him, sitting across from each other despite their antipathy.
None of his Wardens liked each other, with a few exceptions.
That suited him just fine, though. Less talking that way. He took spoonfuls of whatever sort of bread the cooks had made, mixing it with the gravy. It was decent, not the best. Though it had been a long time since he'd had a good meal, and that had been in the middle of the forest, in a ring of tents.
A long time ago.
He felt eyes on him, and he looked up from the plate, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
Velanna was staring at him, sipping idly on a cupful of water. She only ever drank water, some sort of Dalish thing.
"What?" he asked. She shook her head, trying her best to look as aloof and vaguely pissed off as she always did. She returned her attention to her breakfast, making a visible effort not to look at him.
He watched her. She sat, relaxed, ate with an air of confidence in every motion. She wasn't dainty, but she had a natural femininity about her. She was so strong, so beautiful, and sometimes admitted to him vulnerabilities she wouldn't tell anyone else.
She was so much like her…
And he stood up abruptly, let his spoon drop loudly.
He pushed away from the table, stormed out of the mess hall into the Keep's wide courtyard. The sun was bright in the sky, mid-morning. He went to the tree where he sat sometimes, out of sight of everyone else.
He leaned heavily against it, slamming his fist against the rough bark to fight back the sobs that he might not have been able to control. He felt blood between his knuckles.
Quietly, glancing over his shoulder to make sure no one was watching, he reached into his pocket. He withdrew a closed fist, brought it up close to his chest so that no one could see it.
And he stared down at the ring in his palm. It was made of rosewood, and the grain was an ever-shifting pattern of animals and people. It was a magical thing, something made countless years ago.
He hesitated, held it between his thumb and forefinger. He wanted to put it on, to wear it again. But it hurt so much to even hold it this close. He was afraid. What if he couldn't feel her? Or what if he could feel that she was happier without him? What if she could feel him?
He didn't want her to see him this way, to feel his emotions when he didn't even know how he felt.
"Commander?"
There was a tap on his shoulder, and he hurriedly put the ring back in his pocket, turning to face Velanna.
He grunted at her, indicating for her to state her business.
"Are you alright?" she asked. She looked concerned, something he wasn't used to seeing from her. She treated everyone else with mute disdain, a remnant of her life as a Dalish. She grew up hating humans as her kind was wont to do. She blamed humans for every little disaster that had befallen the Dalish. And he supposed she was right; humans had destroyed the Elven homelands twice now. But he didn't think that justified her being so rude.
She apparently agreed.
"You left so quickly from the table," Velanna said, looking away as though she were disinterested. "I assumed that there was something wrong. Perhaps something I could see to?"
She was referring to her magic. Lance took a slight step back, working to keep himself under control. He tapped his fingers nervously on his thigh, trying his damndest to hold back his Templar skills. He'd spent countless hours at the Royal Palace in Denerim, training with Alistair while Anora spoke with the various dignitaries.
Of course, that was when they were still on speaking terms, before they'd screamed at the top of their lungs at each other, before Lance had decided to begin a campaign amongst the nobles to burn down the Korcari Wilds.
He wished they hadn't left it at that.
"No magic," said Lance. She looked at him, narrowed her eyes as she tried to figure him out. He was glad that she couldn't. She shrugged, trying to play it off like she wasn't bothered. She was.
"Are you sure?" she asked, raising her hand. It glowed with the power of her Dalish healing magic. "That scar – your voice. Magic could-"
He slapped her hand away, draining her of mana in the process. The experience was traumatic for mages, and Lance wished he'd toned it down some. She fell to her knees, holding her throat and gasping as though he'd sucked the breath right out of her.
And he might have; he had no idea what it was like.
"Sorry," he said, reaching down to her help her up. She pushed him away.
"What's wrong with you?" she demanded, taking several steps back. "You… Do you think this is cute? Do you think we're here just for your benefit?"
He grimaced. He knew this was coming, sooner or later. Everyone had been getting on his bad side lately, and he'd been snapping at them more than he meant to.
"Do you think I'm here just for your benefit?" she asked. And he cocked his head, inquisitive. She nodded to him, pursing her lips in a very irritated manner. It was so like her, and so cute to see. "I've seen you look at me, I know what you want! You shemlen are all alike, you think we're here just for your amusement, to be your play things."
She stabbed a finger at him, poking him hard in the chest. She put one hand on her hip, scolding him like an errant child. It was her way to be so condescending. But it was just so damned cute, the way she tilted her head, the loose strands of hair in her face. She was pretty, there was no way he could deny that, and she pissed him off just the right way. She was just so damn like her…
And he reached out, took her cheeks in his hands, making sure to keep his Templar powers in check. That was difficult for him, around these mages, these apostates. He wanted so much to rid them of their magic, to leave them as defenseless and useless as they left everyone else. But that wasn't rational, was it? That wasn't right.
She stopped yelling, stopped scolding. Something played across her features, something nice to see. Was it understanding? Respect? No, that had been there since they first met, when he hacked down those damn Sylvan she liked to summon.
And she reached out, her hands on his shoulder, and she leaned forward, lips parted slightly, head inclined. He knew what came next, what was expected of him. And maybe he wanted to. Maybe he wanted to close his eyes for a moment, picture black hair, pale skin, golden eyes. Maybe he would convince himself that he wasn't here, that she wasn't her.
But he couldn't. The very thought burned his throat, made his scar throb with pain.
And he stopped, gently pushed her aside. She cleared her throat, stepped away from him.
"I… That wasn't… You aren't special," she said, and stormed off. She was headed in the direction of the trees growing alongside the Keep's granite walls. It was a place she liked to be, and had become hers. She tended the gardens, kept them in check. No one bothered her there. Lance watched her leave.
He wanted to follow her, to tell her that he was sorry, to explain himself fully. Perhaps he hoped that she could really heal him, not just get rid of the scars. Perhaps he wanted to try being with her, see if it made life any easier.
But he found himself standing, staring into the distance. Several soldiers passed him, trying to judge if he was okay. He brushed them all off, went after Velanna.
She had grown hedges in the small garden, using her Dalish magic. It was a strange thing to see. She had demonstrated her abilities to control nature upon their first meeting, causing the trees to move and attack him. He'd forgiven her for that since, and had made a promise to help her find her sister.
But all that had fallen through when they encountered the Architect. He still fumed at the thought of that creature. He had infected Velanna's sister with the Darkspawn Taint, had corrupted her irrevocably. And he had been responsible for corrupting Urthemiel.
Lance felt so helpless to think about that. The Archdemon, the creature, he hated it. But he never would have met her. He felt so sick, so pathetic.
And he had ripped the Architect to shreds, nearly barehanded. He'd had to convince Velanna that her sister was lost, that she could not be helped. And there were times that he thought she hated him.
But then there were times like this, when he was following after her, trying not to feel anything.
He felt so stupid, so foolish. This wasn't him, he didn't want this, he didn't want her. He just wanted to feel something again. He wanted to feel like he had something.
When he had nothing.
She was sitting in front of a tree; some sort of special Dalish tree, doing what he assumed was their equivalent of praying. He was noisy, and she heard him coming before he even realized that he was there.
She looked over her shoulder at him, wondered what he wanted with her.
He stared back, unable to bring himself to speak. And then he was walking away, stumbling back to the Keep. He was aware of her following him.
He made it all the way to his chambers before she spoke to him, and he found it hard to sit tight and listen. He wanted to shut her up, to make her stop speaking. But he wanted to listen to her, have her listen to him.
"You are not alone," she said. He turned to face her, hand still on his door. He frowned. Once again he was unable to speak.
She reached out to him; put a hand on his chest. It was warm, and he'd almost forgotten the feeling. He held her hand. She brought it up to his face; put a finger on the scar just below his jaw, where no stubble grew.
Her smile was strange to him, something he never got to see very often. She was looking at him in that deep manner she often did. She was trying to see something deep within him. And maybe she could. Maybe that was part of her magic.
And he was clumsy as he kissed her. It had been so long since he'd been able to do such a thing.
But she was patient, and warm. She returned the kiss, put her arms about him.
Her Dalish fellows wouldn't have believed it. They would have insisted that this was not Velanna, that this was some imposter. There was no possible way that she could go from seeking war with the shemlen to kissing one.
And there was no way she was leading the way into his room, holding his hand tightly. There was no way she was asking him to come to bed with her, to spend the rest of the day with her.
And there was no way that he would do it.
He thought of a different night, a different woman. A time when he had been happy - actually happy. He thought of the woman he loved, the one he tried not to dream of. And he was stumbling away from Velanna, collapsing to the ground, hands holding his head to keep himself sane.
"Go," he said. "Leave me."
And Velanna shook her head, kneeling beside him.
"I will not," she said. And she put her hands on his shoulder. "Talk to me. Please."
He was unused to niceties from her, unused to honest questions. She was so strange, yet so familiar. And he longed for her, even as he despised her.
He sobbed, the first time in a long while. He felt tears, the exact same tears he'd promised he'd never shed again.
"Commander. Lance," she said, leaning close. "Tell me."
He looked up. Sighed. And he grit his teeth, fighting back each word as he spoke.
"There was a woman," he said. And she nodded. "I love her."
And she put her arms around him. He felt the warm rumble of her magic, and felt a little more at ease because of it. He wanted to spill his guts to her, to tell her everything. It felt so good to finally say it to someone, anyone.
But he wouldn't get the chance. There was a knock at the door, a runner from below.
"Warden Commander? There are guests in the main hall. Important ones."
Lance looked up at Velanna, genuinely grateful for her. He kissed her forehead.
"He's coming," she said, and giggled a bit at the thought. What rumors would spread now? The Warden and his Dalish mistress?
"Thank you," he whispered. "Can we talk later?"
She nodded. "I would like that."
"Thank you."
They both realized that it was the most he had ever said to her at once. And now that she knew why, she was glad to be with him. Whatever attraction they shared, whatever she suspected about him, perhaps it would finally come to fruition. Or perhaps he would keep her at arm's length.
Whatever happened, she would be glad to say that she was there for him.
He stood, wiped his eyes. She straightened him up. She did her best to make him look as though he hadn't been kissing her and hadn't been on the verge of a real breakdown. He was the Arl of Amaranthine now.
And she laughed again at the thought of human nobles. What a world!