Flemeth was bleeding heavily. He hoped that she would stay alive long enough for him to take care of his business here, to abscond with Morrigan. With her magic gone she would not be able to heal herself, though he didn't know if it would keep her from possessing Morrigan when she died. It was better if she just bled slowly.

"The child," Lance said, reaching behind him and drawing his Dar'Misu. "Quickly!"

Morrigan looked away from him, hand rising to rub the bridge of her nose. She sighed, and shook her head.

"I told you not to come," she said. "Why did you come?"

"You couldn't have expected me to stay put," he said. "You know better than that."

"But I had hoped…" she looked away from him.

"The child!" he shouted. "Let's end this! Now!"

"I am right here, father," said a cool, feminine voice. He almost dropped the dagger, turned on his heel, searched for the voice. And he almost fainted when he saw a young, pretty woman emerge from the dark.

"Not possible," Lance croaked. The woman smiled.

She was beautiful. She looked quite a bit like Morrigan, though he saw a bit of himself, mostly in the chin. Her long black hair went to the small of her back, gold eyes burned with confidence. She smiled.

"Father?" she asked, testing the word. And then she laughed. "Oh, what a strange word."

She stepped closer. Lance raised the dagger in as threatening a manner as he could muster.

"Stay back," he warned. And she smiled.

"Or what? You'll kill me, father?"

And then she was suddenly before him, sweeping aside his blade hand and grabbing him by the neck and throwing him up against one of the stone pillars. It cracked.

Morrigan tried to word protest, tried to intervene, but the woman held up her hand.

"Stay, mother," she said. "And let this be a lesson."

Lance tried to lift himself up, tried to stand. It was a stupid move on his part. It only earned him a hard kick, slamming him up against the pillar again.

"Father?" she asked again. "I remember you. I can still taste the corruption within you."

Lance gasped, fearing that something had broken within him. It wouldn't be the first time, but he wasn't too thrilled about reliving it.

"I killed you," he said. And he rose to his knees. "I killed you, Urthemiel."

"No," said Urthemiel. "No, you know that you did not. In fact, that is how you live even now. My brothers were not so lucky. Your brothers were not so lucky."

And he was hit again, this time in his bruised rib, causing his vision to fade briefly. He cried out.

"Stop it," Morrigan shouted. "Please, Urthemiel, let him live."

"And why?" asked the Old God. "Why should I? He should know how it feels, he should experience it. I died and so he will die, it is only balance."

And Urthemiel grabbed him by the throat, held him up, squeezed. He choked, barely able to breathe. He could only reach up and limply tug at Urthemiel's slender arms.

Morrigan tried to beg for his life, to reason with the creature.

"If it were not for him you would not live still!"

Urthemiel laughed at that.

"I suppose that is true," she said. "I suppose I owe you both for that. I shall make it painless then."

"No!" Morrigan screamed. And it was the first Lance had ever her sound so sad. The first time her confidence was shaken and true terror had blossomed through to the surface.

"C'mon," Lance whispered. "Do it."

Urthemiel grinned.

"I'm a little disappointed," said Urthemiel. "I had entertained the notion of knowing you properly. I do owe you a bit."

And then she was reeling back, gasping and choking from her drained mana. He didn't think for an instant that it was anything effective. He was not a proper Templar and she was an Old God, far more powerful than anything he could ever have imagined. He'd fought the Archdemon, and that had been tough enough. Who knew what this incarnation could pull off?

He grabbed up his Dar'Misu quickly. He wasn't about to give her the opportunity to hurt Morrigan. Damn what happened to him; this was all for her.

He slashed at the Old God, and she was surprised to see that an open gash had appeared on her stomach. And she grinned.

And he was thrown back.

"This should be fun," said Urthemiel. "I wonder: if you kill me will your soul be destroyed? Shall we see?"

And then Urthemiel was upon him, lifting him up over her head to throw him back down. He landed, rolled. He came back up with his blade, holding it underhand and rushing forward. He'd killed the Archdemon, and he would kill this bitch.

They clashed, her hands came at him. He whipped them away, slashed. Blood flew, shallow cuts on her arms. And she landed a punch that knocked him back into another pillar. It crumbled away.

He fell onto his back again. Urthemiel approached, implacable.

He kicked, trying to find her leg, break it. He felt his boot make contact but she only grabbed him, threw him away to the opposite end of the room.

Lance was pretty sure that this was what losing felt like.

He reached for the dagger sheathed at his leg, his Dar'Misu having been tossed away.

And he barely removed it before Urthemiel picked him up and punched him in the jaw, nearly rendering him unconscious. He felt a bone in his arm break as the dagger was taken from him, and felt horrendous pain burning in his side as he was stabbed with it.

His head cracked against something as she tossed him aside.

"Stop it!" Morrigan shouted. "Stop it! Let him live, please!"

"I am sorry, mother," said Urthemiel. She reached down, gripped him by the throat. "Father is not at all what I expected him to be."

And she held the dagger, raised it for the killing blow.

Flemeth shouted something, gargled her own blood as she did. Urthemiel and Lance turned their attention away, towards Flemeth. She was on her knees, pulling the blade from her stomach.

And then she slit her own throat, falling back dead.

Urthemiel looked ready to laugh, to say something about it.

Lance didn't let her.

"Hope you enjoyed it," said Lance, blood trickling down the corner of his mouth.

Urthemiel looked at him, confused. And then her face contorted in pain. She threw her head back, arms reaching behind her as though she might tear off her own skin. And she was screaming, rocking back and forth.

Lance used the brief respite he'd won, breathed out low. And he reached for his belt knife.

But then Urthemiel calmed herself, stood straight. She twitched, as though she were still trying to control herself. And she smiled down at Lance.

"Thank you, Warden," she said. "You handed it all to me. No better than if I had asked."

He shrugged.

He grinned past the pain, humorless, bloody.

"Least I could do, Flemeth," he said, wincing. "For savin' my life an' all."

She nodded.

And she reached down to lift Lance up, supporting him with her arms. He wasn't too sure that he could even walk under his own power. He couldn't.

She turned him to see Morrigan, who stood on the dais, shocked.

"Mother?"

"Yes, my darling daughter," said Flemeth. "It is I. You are so clever. Yet oh-so-gullible. You could not have controlled that creature. You never had the strength."

Morrigan winced at that. She prized her strength, her ability to control everything around her. Flemeth had just stripped her of that. And she looked at the Warden, her face taking on a look of horror and sorrow.

"I am sorry," she said. "I never meant for things to turn out like this, I swear."

He nodded.

"Don't worry about it," said Lance. "These things happen."

And she laughed, small, beautiful. She looked sad. She looked like she was crying.

"You have to control the soul," Flemeth said. "The body is nothing without the soul. And you must always control it. Right, Warden?"

"Of course," he said. And with one last look at Morrigan, he said, "I love you."

She nodded to him. "I love you, too."

And he took in the scent of his own blood, spilled in sacrifice. Avernus' research finally paid off.

He felt a rush of energy, the Taint within him fueling him, energizing him, making him ready. He reached up, gripped Flemeth's arm, and he put his shoulder to her chest. He pulled, rotated, caught her completely off guard.

It was an easy, basic move. He flipped her over his shoulder, she cried out in rage, mouth agape. And he reached to his neck, grasped the Warden's Oath, the Archdemon's blood from his Joining. He ripped it from its chain, shoved it into Flemeth's mouth.

And he slammed her mouth shut, teeth cracking against the pendant, causing the tiny trace of blood to flow into her mouth, down her throat.

Carrying with it the Taint.

Urthemiel's soul – bonded with Flemeth's - responded, recognized the Taint, the Darkspawn. And silently the Old God laughed, recognized its victory over the famed Witch of the Wilds, the victory it would soon attain over the world at large.

And the body convulsed, writhed, screamed soundlessly.

Lance backed away from it, stumbled towards the dais where Morrigan stood.

There was a loud flash of light, the sound of flesh tearing. There was a great dragon's roar, echoing throughout the ruin.

He was knocked back, impacted against the stone steps of the dais, felt a rib crack. Again.

He would have laughed if not for the pain currently burning through his body.

Lance was pretty sure he had passed out. He remembered staring into the brightest flash he'd ever seen, reaching back in pain, hoping that he'd made the right choice.

And then he was staring up at a massive hole in the ceiling, bleeding on the floor of an empty room.

He stood, his knee crying out in pain.

"Warden?"

He looked back, saw that Morrigan was there. She stumbled towards him.

"I… can scarcely believe it."

"I know," he said. "It's pretty unbelievable."

She reached down, smiled. He had waited a year for this and now wanted nothing more than to kiss her, hold her. He had created another Archdemon, had made another Blight. He was a monster, he knew. But this made it okay.

He reached up to touch her hand, to bring her closer, kiss-

"What the sod did you do?" demanded Rand, standing beside Krueger and Saul. The two older Wardens were still bandaged from their beating at Lance's hands and stood before a number of Templars.

"Ser," Saul said to Rand, trying to calm him down. "Ser, this man-"

"Shut up!"

Krueger and Rand stormed towards Lance, ignoring his obvious injuries.

"You stupid son of a bitch!" Rand shouted. "You… This is not possible!"

"There's still time," said Lance. "We can still stop it."

"Are you mad? The Blight will start anew! Barely a year after you ended it, and you made another!"

Rand reached up, tugged at his hair, looked around madly. He looked back at Lance, and at Morrigan, and at his Templars.

"Get her," he said, waving vaguely at Morrigan. "Take her away at once."

"No!" Lance shouted, and he was suddenly on his feet, knee shaking from his wounds. He held his belt knife in his hand, pointed it at the approaching Templars. "No one touches her! Nobody! You come closer and you'll die."

The Templars halted, looked back and forth between each other. They looked back at Rand, unsure how to proceed.

Rand snarled.

"Get them! He's one man – an injured man!"

"I killed an Archdemon," said Lance. "I ended the last Blight, I killed an army of Darkspawn. I can kill you, too."

The Templars took a few steps backwards, still glancing unsure. They knew of Lance, his status as the Hero of Ferelden. He was legendary, a true warrior. They would not fight him.

Rand screamed in anger.

"Give me that!" he shouted and relieved a Templar of his sword. "I'll do it myself."

And then he was at Lance, sword ready to slice through his gut. Lance turned, used the man's rage and confidence against him. He grabbed the wrist, lifted, turned the sword out of his way and put his blade at Rand's throat.

"I can kill them," he said. And Rand realized that he wasn't referring to the Templars. "Let me kill them and I can kill them."

He stared into Lance's eyes, fear showing through his own. The sword fell, banged on the stone loudly, echoed through the room.

"If they wish a fight," said Morrigan. "Let them have one. I am still up for a challenge."

Lance shook his head.

"No," he said. "Save your strength."

The Templar commander rushed forward, sword in hand.

"Wardens," she said. "I respect your skill, and we are all grateful for what you do, but we cannot allow this apostate to continue free from restraint."

Lance shoved Rand back, turned to the Templar.

She looked him in the eye.

"Warden, do not make me kill you," she said. "I will do it, believe me. This apostate has enthralled herself in the court of the Empress. She has corrupted Maker knows how many of the most important souls in Orlais. We will not let her leave here alive."

Saul came forward, hands raised, desperate to diffuse the situation.

"Please!" he said. "Commander, is she really worth all this? Is she really worth this death, this war?"

And Lance looked at the men arrayed against him, the swords. He was wounded. He was tired. He wanted nothing more than to sleep for a month. But he was not going to give her up.

So he looked at Saul.

"All this. And more."

Saul sighed, defeated. "Then I suppose there is nothing you can say. Nothing to change this."

And he winked at Lance.

And Lance smiled to himself, the first sincere smile he'd given anyone in a long time. He wanted to laugh, to cry. He was about to save Morrigan's life. But he was about to ruin it. He didn't know that it would work, that she would live. But somehow, he felt like he did.

If you have to do something terrible to someone to save their life, do you do it?

"I invoke the Right of Conscription."

Morrigan let out a sharp breathe. She reached for him, touched the back of his neck.

Rand scrunched up his face, looked angrier than could be fathomed.

"No," he said. "No!"

"Actually, ser," said Saul, reaching to hold the Warden back. "This is the Warden Commander of Ferelden, and you cannot override the orders he gives concerning the Fereldan Wardens."

Rand shouted, flailed his arms in frustration.

"Fine! Fine! Fine!" he screamed. And then he turned to the Templars. "You heard him! This apostate is now a Grey Warden! We came here for nothing."

The Templars looked at each other once more, still unsure about what was expected of them. And then their commander smiled to herself, looking as though she'd been played for a fool.

"Let us depart, then," she said. "These Grey Wardens have business to attend to."

Rand stared at Lance, angry spittle flying as he shouted.

"You will die, Warden," he said. "You will die."

And Lance nodded. He let his knife arm drop, relaxed.

"I know," he said. "And if you don't mind, we have an Archdemon to kill now."

And the words came out so easily. It wasn't right.

Rand sneered. "I will return to Val Royeaux at once to retrieve the materials for the Joining. I think we will have several days yet before the rest of the Order knows that Urthemiel is alive and well."

Lance nodded. It would be better for all involved if they just didn't know. They would have kill the Archdemon, and quickly. Or else the world was dead already.