He led them up the mountain, near Orzammar. He considered making a detour, stopping in to see how things were going since he'd given Bhelen the throne. Maybe even get some supplies, decent rest.
But he was a little too concerned with getting to Val Royeaux, getting to Morrigan. Velanna hadn't said much during the few days it had taken to get to this point. She had stuck close to Lance; he assumed that it was out of their familiarity. The others certainly put the "strange" in stranger.
He didn't mind her presence for once. Welcomed it, even. She was nice, if that was a word that could describe her. She certainly hadn't made it a habit to be nice.
But around him, she was brighter, more willing to say things that weren't outright insulting to the human race. He liked that version of her.
She taught him how to cook some Dalish foods, generally some sort of venison or fish, and had let him in on a few of the Elves' ancient stories, things normally reserved for the Dalish alone. She of course did that well out of earshot of the others in their group.
More than once they had spoken privately away from the camp, generally things concerning their travel, their health. He didn't need to be a genius to know that she meant more.
He was wary of any sort of unprofessional relationship with her. He was afraid of it.
He didn't want to lead her on, but more than that he didn't want to start caring for her. That was dangerous. That broke hearts. Got people killed.
And he wouldn't have her blood on his hands.
The mountain was just as windy and awful as he remembered. Wind was biting his ears, and he pulled the hood of his cloak up tighter, barely able to see out from under it.
Velanna groaned in extreme annoyance.
"Why did I agree to follow you here?"
"Didn't ask," Lance countered. And Velanna laughed, the sound lost in the wind. She touched his shoulder, a friendly gesture that he was unused to.
Perhaps they had gotten closer than he intended. Perhaps he had led her on. And it had to stop. He had to turn around and tell her that she was being stupid, that there was no way he could ever love her, that he could ever be human again.
And yet he didn't. He instead slowed his pace so that he walked closer to her. He nudged her with his elbow, and raised his eyebrows at the confused look she gave him. He let her touch him gently, and he let himself touch her back.
She glanced over her shoulder at Lilith and Cauthrien and Saul, made sure that they were too busy guarding themselves against the snow to see her smiling, see her looking at Lance with admiration and affection.
He was a special man, a special human. He was capable, professional, very impressive. He had made her see all of humanity in a different light, something considerable for anyone. He was special.
Special to her.
She looked at him, wondered what he thought of her. She hoped that her cold attitude, her open disdain, hadn't ruined any possibility of a connection. She felt as though she were connected to him. She wondered if he felt the same.
She knew that they were going on an expedition to save his beloved, but certainly there was room enough for the two of them in the future. After all, the woman in question had betrayed him and broken his heart. That certainly removed the romance from their relationship, right?
She could convince him. She was sure of it.
By Velanna's reckoning, she deserved at least a little fun – maybe even some happiness. And he did too. He'd earned it. Perhaps she wasn't the absolute best choice, maybe not even his first choice, but she could make him happy. They could both be happy.
Then he stopped in his tracks and a rush of fear swept through her.
He was looking about searching for something.
She turned in place, trying to spot whatever had caught his attention. The others were a little slower to stop, bumping into each other and exchanging dirty looks.
"I don't believe it," Lance muttered. Velanna was about to ask what he was referring to when she saw it.
A dragon was flying, visible now that the snow had slowed somewhat. It roared, the sound echoing across the mountaintops and shaking loose the snow on several of them. It swooped low towards them, wings spread wide.
He let out a small, humorless laugh.
"That just soddin' figures, now don't it?"
She squinted, trying to see what he was referring to. It was a dragon, not the first she'd seen, though no less magnificent for it.
And then she could make out wounds all over it, difficult at first, then very visible.
It had one eye gone and a large bare patch where its armored scales should have been. A number of other scars crisscrossed it, making it look like a veteran of many battles. And she looked at Lance, saw the few scars that were visible, knew of the many that weren't. He was a veteran of many battles.
And she recalled the armor that sat in his quarters, collecting dust. And she knew who the dragon was.
"She's beautiful," Lance whispered. And he followed the dragon with his eyes, turned to watch her swoop into the valley below, and found himself staring right into Velanna's eyes. She was looking at him with intensity. And she saw there was a similar intensity in his.
He gave a gesture of his head, signaled for them to keep moving. She followed him, eyes on his back, watching his every move.
He knew she was, and it comforted him to know it. It felt like belonging again.
He had no worry of the dragon turning to attack them. It was very far off and they were very small targets. And besides that, he had already killed her once. What was one more time?
No, maybe he wouldn't. A dragon like that deserved to live on.
They were in Orlais now, and Lance realized that it was the furthest he'd ever been from home. They were past the point of no return. Of course, the line had never existed for him in the first place. There was no going home for him.
He was going to win or he was going to die here.
He glanced back at the others, at Velanna and at Lilith. Cauthrien was a little more solid in her determination. Saul he couldn't quite peg, but the man was young and looked to Lance as a leader. He hadn't much of a choice, though there wasn't much to gain from deceiving him at this point.
But then he never thought Morrigan had much to gain.
And that stung him. He was still surprised at how sharp the wounds were. He never counted on it. He should have been smarter than that, but every time it was like ripping off a bandage, letting his wounds flow freely again.
He hated it, though there wasn't much that could be done for it.
He was past the wallowing in his own self pity stage, though. So that was something.
And the feeling of grabbing Velanna's arm, her hand holding him tight for balance, as he helped from a precarious rock… it was a lot like old times.
He thought of Morrigan, and it was starting to hurt a little less each time.
"We follow the Waking Sea," said Lance. "All the way to Val Royeaux."
"It will be nightfall soon," said Saul. "We can perhaps get there by morning."
"If we go all night," said Velanna, her voice making it clear that she wasn't a fan of the idea. But she would go along with it if it was what he wanted.
"No," said Lilith. They all looked at her. "We will be making camp soon."
Cauthrien narrowed her eyes at the witch. She reached for her sword.
"And who says that you get to give orders?"
"Orders?" Lilith asked, tapping her chin in thought. "I didn't say 'twas an order. Not directly."
Cauthrien let out a growl. She drew her sword, and held it with both hands.
"Why are we even bothering with this witch?" she asked. "We don't need her! We never needed her! She is a liability."
"You need me more than you know."
Lance frowned at them both. He really didn't know who to side with. He couldn't disagree with Cauthrien's suspicion exactly. Lilith had come to them, and she certainly hadn't made herself useful. But he couldn't really think of any particular reason to get rid of her. Her magic might come in handy, and her likeness to Morrigan would definitely make it a bit of a problem for him to kick her out.
"Ladies," said Saul, stepping forward with his hands raised. "We are on the same side. For now. We need all the help we can get."
Cauthrien scowled at him too.
"I see no reason to keep you around either," said Cauthrien. Saul shut up.
Lance finally intervened.
"Lilith, why do you want to camp for the night?"
"I have been to Val Royeaux. At night 'tis filled with thugs and bandits. We will need to arrive during the day if we are to appear as travelers."
Cauthrien squeezed the sword's hilt, looking ready to cut her head off anyway. Then she relaxed and sheathed her sword. Lilith responded by poking Cauthrien's armor, using her magic to leave a smoking indention.
"That's lovely," said Saul. "We all get along now, no?"
"No," Cauthrien said. She looked at the witch, stabbed a finger at her and said, "I'll be watching you."
"That's great," said Lance, stepping away towards the coast. "That's just great."
He took a few steps, trying to find a good spot by the warmer shores of the Waking Sea to make camp. If Lilith was anything like Morrigan then it would pay not to piss her off. And he wasn't very surprised to see someone coming up the coast towards them.
It was a young Elf girl, dirty, robe in tatters. She was holding a mage's staff, and she was looking at him expectantly.
"Oh, hi!" she shouted as she approached, stumbling over the hem of her robes.
Lance gave her a confused look, wondering what exactly she was doing.
"You aren't bandits, are you?" she asked. She looked between them, unable to place them. They certainly looked ragtag enough to be bandits. But they also looked too ragtag to be bandits. They were funny like that. "If you are, then I'm afraid I've no money. So you'll just have to leave me alone. Because I don't want to have to set you on fire. Or electrocute you. Or make you explode or something."
Lance wanted to laugh. He didn't.
"You a mage?" he asked. She nodded emphatically.
"I am. But I won't turn you into toads, so you don't have to worry! But you probably already know that, right? I mean, you have two mages with you," she said, pointing towards Velanna and Lilith. Lance cocked his eyebrow and glanced at them.
Cauthrien's mouth twitched into a smile. "She's… adorable."
"Say, who are you folks?" the girl asked. Lance shrugged.
"Grey Wardens."
"Oh! How wonderful! I guess that's pretty convenient for me, huh?"
"How so?"
She looked around, as though the answer was supposed to be obvious.
"I sorta 'evaded' my Templars. I'm an apostate now, you see. I escaped."
Lance had the horrid feeling that he knew exactly where this was going.
"I want to be a Grey Warden!" she declared, and leaned on her staff. He looked at her. She was a teenager still, no more than seventeen. Probably a newly harrowed mage. Why was she being escorted by Templars? Becoming a Grey Warden would exonerate her of any crimes, that was true. But it certainly wouldn't earn him any goodwill points with the Chantry.
But he needed help, and Cauthrien was right. She was adorable. Maybe he just had some sort of weird Elf fetish.
"Alright," he said. "But you gotta say your name."
"Oh! That's easy! I'm Neria Surana."
"You know," said Lance, continuing on ahead and prompting her to fall in line behind him. "I must be some kind of stupid."