He sat at his writing desk, poring over the papers. The sun had set hours ago. He was reading by sparse candlelight.

Whatever sources the First Warden had, however he heard about this, the man was thorough. The papers detailed almost everything; her appearance, her abilities, her status in the Orlesian court. Of course she would go there, where else would Morrigan be found? He felt so stupid now.

He always meant to search after her, but he could not even fathom where to begin looking, not with Flemeth gone.

He scanned through another page, this one detailing the account of her arrival in Orlais. She had been heavy with child, and that made Lance sigh. The child. His child. As a Grey Warden, it might be the only child he'd ever have. And the poor babe was a month old already.

He longed for Morrigan now, more intensely than he ever had. He remembered their last night together, remembered the Ritual, the one that had torn him apart. And he was so sorry for it. He hated himself for it. He hated everyone else for it. He… should be dead, he knew. He was supposed to be dead. He should be in Weisshaupt Fortress, laying on a cold slab next to four other dead guys.

He shouldn't be alive. He was… a monster.

And he missed her so much. So much. And there was nothing he could do for it, until now. This was his chance. He would right every wrong, make everything whole again. At least he hoped.

There were doubts at times. He wondered if she'd moved on, if she had another. Sometimes he wondered if she had ever loved him, or if it had all been a trick to get him to accept the Ritual. And then he wondered what nefarious schemes she could have. It drove him mad to think of it.

But that was behind him now. One way or the other, he was going to see her again.

He remembered happier times, too. He remembered their nights together, at camp. It was twisted irony that the happiest moments in his life came at the death of thousands. But he wished desperately to go back. He wanted to be with her again, to hold her, kiss her.

And he felt even guiltier for even looking at Velanna in that way.

He sighed, leaned back in his chair. He was a torrent of emotion. There was hope and anxiety. Fear and resolve. He was afraid for her, but glad that they would be together again. She had told him not to follow her, but she couldn't have expected him to stay put, could she?

There was no point in living without her. And he wouldn't.

He felt something in his pocket, and he reached in to get it. The letter that Velanna had brought to him. By special courier, she said. It had that funny seal, and that expensive vellum.

There was a knock at the door and he set the letter down with another sigh.

"Enter," he said, his voice scratchy and ruining his mood. The door opened, and he caught a glimpse of the Orlesian standing guard as Velanna entered.

"Commander," she said with a scowl. He turned in his chair, arms crossed.

He raised an eyebrow, questioning her. She shrugged and hooked a thumb over her shoulder at the door.

"I told the shem that I was coming to bed," said Velanna. She looked away, a bit embarrassed at her own words. "I… hoped that it was not a lie."

Lance frowned. She caught on, and nodded.

"I am sorry, Commander. That was inappropriate."

He nodded. Yet it felt so… good. Maybe it was just the knowledge that there was a pretty young lady that found him desirable, but even though he couldn't stop bringing his mind back to Morrigan, he found himself wanting to take her to bed.

Perhaps it was just the fact there was a willing young female in his chambers.

He nodded to her, gesturing for her to take a seat at the foot of his bed and speak. She did so.

"I said I would talk to you…" she said. And she let her eyes wander, looked at his armor, his books. That was all there was to look at. "The woman. The one you love. It's her, isn't it."

She pointed at the papers sitting on his desk. Lance nodded.

Velanna scowled at him, looking quite furious. She was sexy that way.

"What did you do?" she said, her voice sounding as though she had already made up her mind about him. Lance shrugged. This would be one hell of a story and he wasn't too keen on sharing. But perhaps she deserved to know.

"I love her," he said again. And she nodded. "You don't understand. I love her. Absolutely. I would – I will do anything for her."

"You did something stupid," she said. "You're supposed to be dead, and you did something stupid."

Lance nodded, rested his hand on his chin.

He was lost in thought, trying to find words to say. What was there to say? He never thought he would need to relate this story. But he wanted to. He wanted to tell her, to tell the world. He just wanted to feel like he wasn't totally alone.

So he spoke finally, breaking the silence but refusing to look at her.

"You think the Dalish have it bad," he said. "There are dark depths of the human soul. Things you can only imagine. There are things you would do, for someone. For anyone. I love her."

He looked at her finally, narrowing his eyes. "I made a mistake. I will not make another."

And she nodded, understanding. And he realized the attraction, then. They were alike, he and her. They were kindred spirits. He loved Morrigan, no question. But she was just as worthy of affection, and perhaps it would have made more sense.

And then he remembered the look on Morrigan's face, that last night. He remembered how cold he felt. He remembered the guilt on her features, the pain in his heart.

"I remember," he said to himself. And Velanna was suddenly before him, her lips pressed to his.

"I respect you, Commander," she said. "That's more than I could say of any human."

And he put his hands around her, stood with her. They took two steps to the bed, and he was lying beside her, kissing her. He thought of Morrigan, and he felt worthless. He loved her so much. He was so alone. This woman, this warm, wonderful woman…

Yet he found himself kissing her neck, shoulder, reaching up her slender body, pulling up the hem of her robe.

And all at once he was remembering Morrigan, their first night together, the way she had looked at him, her eyes longing, her breath coming in shallow gasps.

So he stopped, and he pulled away from Velanna, trying not to look her in the eye.

"What?" she asked, sitting up and trying to get his attention. "What is it?"

"I can't," he said. And he looked away from her. She sighed, and put one hand on his shoulder.

"I am sorry, Commander," she said. "I should have… I know you still love her. That was stupid of me."

"Don't," he said, holding up a finger to silence her. "Don't say that."

"I like you," she said, and her hand was rubbing his shoulder tenderly. He nodded, and slipped his arm around her waist.

"I… like you," he said, and frowned. He sounded so gruff, so coarse. It wasn't him; it wasn't how he was supposed to sound. She saw him frown, and she put her hand against his throat.

"Let me heal you," she said, and she leaned closer to him. She shifted, put a leg around him so that she straddled him. He liked the feeling, and his hands were on her back. "I can heal that scar."

"No," he said. "Don't."

She nodded to him, and let her head drop close to his. Her breath was warm on his neck. He couldn't help himself.

He kissed her again, and it was torture. He tried to rationalize, tell himself that it wasn't fair he had to be alone so long; it wasn't fair that she left him. He deserved something, didn't he?

I love you.

"Stop," he said. And he gave her a light push. She put her finger to his lips.

"Shh," she whispered. "They're listening."

"Please."

"I told them I would stay the night."

"Stop it."

She looked about, realized where she was and what she was doing. She stood up abruptly. She ran a hand through her hair and sighed aloud.

"I shouldn't have done that," she said. "I am sorry. I'll leave."

Lance reached out, grabbed her wrist.

"Wait."

He said, and pointed to his ear, and to the door. She nodded. The Wardens probably were listening and would suspect something if she were to leave so suddenly. And she sat next to him on the bed, folded her hands in her lap.

"I suppose I should sleep on the floor," she said. And she looked at him. He shook his head, pat the bed beside him.

He stood, walked over to the single candle that lit the room with a dim, flickering light. He blew it out so that the only light was the thin moonlight coming in through the window. It was hard to see, but they were both accustomed to long, dark nights with little light to see by. They got along just fine.

Velanna pulled back the covers on the bed, slipping into it. There was a brief rustle and she discarded her clothing on the floor. She was unused to an actual bed to sleep on, and every night at Vigil's Keep seemed a great luxury to her. She worried about getting soft, about losing touch with her Dalish roots.

She wondered now if that would be so bad. The Elves had already lost so much, and the Dalish only carried the barest remnants of their ancient culture. Perhaps her loss wouldn't be so bad. She could become a flat-ear, live in Vigil's Keep for eternity, and forget that she had come from forest dwelling people that now shunned her.

There was a slight noise on the floor near the bed, Lance removing his shoes and setting them aside. He was lying on the floor.

"You know," she said, in a whisper that filled the room anyways. "There's plenty of room on the bed."

She heard the subtle click of his teeth as his jaw tightened in tension. He was a strange man like that.

"I will keep my hands to myself," she said. "It would be more comfortable than that floor."

There was a moment of silence, hesitation. She wondered if the Commander would require more cajoling to sleep in his own bed. And then she sense him standing, felt his weight on the bed as he sat down, awkwardly at first. And then he settled beside her, hands on his stomach in a very officious manner.

He sat upright again, just long enough to discard his shirt. And then his trousers. There was another nervous moment as he slipped under his own blankets, nervous about any physical contact that might occur between them.

"I'm sorry," she said again. And felt an ounce of longing for the man. She wished she could reach over, end his heartache with kisses and caresses and every bit of affection she was capable of giving to him. In all honesty, she couldn't remember the last time she had been with a man.

She was always an outcast in her clan, her hatred of humans causing her to be set apart from the others. She had been kicked out for it, and she had drug her sister into this whole mess. It made her sad. She cared about hating humans so much, she couldn't remember a time when she was genuinely happy.

Murdering those traders in the woods hadn't made her feel any better about it. She thought they deserved it, and convinced herself that whatever death she could inflict on them was worth it, but… now she could only think of herself as a murderer, thanks to that insufferable Justice spirit. The thing had hounded to her make amends with the humans for what she had done. She supposed she missed it, too. He had died defending the Keep while she and the Warden were defending Amaranthine.

And she turned to regard him, barely able to make out the shape of his sleeping form in the low moonlight. His chest rose and fell with every breath, and even in sleep he seemed troubled.

He was such a tense, severe man. She pitied him sometimes. And she remembered with some embarrassment their first meeting.

She had tried to kill him, was convinced that he was some mercenary come to exact revenge for her killing the merchants. He was so… scary. He had fought his way through her Sylvan, right up to her. And she had been so willing to fight him.

The way he had drained her mana, and then told her to stop it. He was so commanding, had an inspiring presence even while he was brooding.

She had demanded that he recruit her into the Wardens, so that she could sense her sister. He had looked at her seriously, and said, "You might die."

She told him she didn't care. And she hadn't. She was glad. She never would have gotten the chance to feel this way about anyone again had he left her in the woods.

And that made her smile to herself, something else she couldn't remember ever doing. Here she was, the mean, warrior-witch of the Dalish, turned into a giggling love-struck little girl. It was so… well, sort of deserved.

It was a great game being played by the Creators, no doubt. She hated the shemlen all her life; of course she would end up in a shemlen bed with a shemlen man and barely able to keep her hands off him. Perhaps it was aided by the fact that he was very different from every other shemlen she'd ever met.

Well, maybe not so different from Nathaniel, who liked to brood about as much as he did.

That was something else curious about the Commander; he let Nathaniel Howe become a Warden. The son of the man that killed his entire family was now a subordinate. And furthermore, the Commander showed no animosity to the man. He had even ordered that the statue of his granduncle be replaced in Amaranthine.

He was such a man of contradictions. She guessed that there was a good, strong heart to him, and the fact that he was so torn up about a past love – current love – reinforced that. She hadn't met this girl, but she was quite jealous of her.

She must have been something to win this man, to make this man. And she was also angry that this woman had hurt him so. She gathered that much, at least.

Quietly, Velanna reached out, tapped him with one finger to see if he was sleeping. He didn't stir, so she presumed that he was.

She reached out carefully, wary of waking him. And she put a hand on his chest, touched the mass of scars there. He had seen many battles, and she had fought quite a few alongside him. She could feel some of them now, the scars that had been won alongside her. She had a few of her own, though he had more often than not protected her from harm.

She licked her lips in quiet anticipation and moved a little closer to him. Her heart thundered in her chest and she was afraid that it might wake him.

And then he twitched.

He was dreaming she realized, and calmed. He was whispering in his sleep, finger twitching madly. He didn't often go to sleep without drinking a barrel of ale first. She hated the stuff. Maybe now she knew why he did.

She leaned a bit closer, trying to hear what he was whispering.

A name?

"Morrigan."

And she could see that his jaw was tense, clenched tightly. A few tears were sliding from his eyes. She gently wiped those away.

And she turned on her side, put her bare back to him, felt his warmth. And he rolled over, instinctively putting an arm around her and putting himself close to her. He was near her, face buried in her hair, nuzzling her gently.

"Hey," he whispered sleepily. "I missed you."

And he kissed her shoulders, rubbed her arm tenderly before settling back into sleep.

She felt guilty doing so, but she imagined for a moment that it truly was for her. And she let one hand sink between her legs.