He pushed the glass aside, leaned back in his chair. Velanna sat up in the bed, writing furiously in her journal. The journal he'd given her a long time ago. Morrigan was near him, leaning on her elbows. He regarded them both with ambivalent nods.
"Well?" she asked finally, Lance sitting up straighter. Velanna shot them both dirty looks, frowning at whatever mistake Morrigan had caused her to make in her writing.
Lance crossed his arms, bracing himself for the inevitable fit that would surely come later. He thought he should offer the girl water, but she was very particular about her writing being disturbed. Why, then, had she insisted that they be present while she finished?
And then she set the quill down, sighed. And she carefully shut the book so that the pages would not be creased. She handed it to Morrigan, who promptly opened it and started to scan pages.
"No," she said finally, handing it to Lance. "No, 'twill not do."
And she gave Velanna a sly smile, and she returned it, and looked at Lance for the final verdict. He took the book, opened it and ran a finger down the page, looking for his name. He found it, paused a moment.
"You said you wouldn't include the part about the larder," he said. "You said that you wouldn't tell anyone."
Morrigan smiled to herself, leaning away from him so he couldn't hear her snicker. Velanna shrugged.
"You should not have told me," she said. And Lance glared at her. He continued to thumb through the book, and frowned again.
"There. I'm not that whiny," he said, and he turned the book around for her to see. She read the passage and shrugged again.
She took the book and stood up, something that took a great amount of effort on her part. She wore one of his shirts as a gown, and her knees shook. She had been bedridden for some time, and had just now been able to walk around a bit. Lance was immediately up and helping her, to a stern look of displeasure from Morrigan.
And then she smiled at him, looked away sheepishly.
He helped her to the balcony, where she could look out at the grounds and the surrounding lands. She liked the view. And so did Lance, to be honest. She held the book close to her.
"I like it," he said, after a while.
"What?"
"The story," he said. "I like it. Just wish you'd left out the larder."
She made a noise of satisfaction at that.
"I should have known you had a thing for Elves," she said. And he leaned on the balcony's stone boundary, smiling to himself.
"And mages. Apparently."
Morrigan was suddenly behind her, touching the wound with her forefinger.
"Does it hurt still?" she asked. And Velanna hesitated before answering.
"A little."
"It will get well," said Morrigan. And Lance was proud of her. He hoped that she was a little more like human now.
And Morrigan looked out across the Keep's grounds.
"'Tis not at all so bad," she said. "I've new friends, a new home."
"Nope," said Lance, not looking at her. "It's okay."
They stood there for a long while, still staring out into the distance.
And Lance took the book, opened it. He scanned through it a bit more, remembering all those stories, those adventures. He sighed wistfully.
"Not bad at all."
And he thumbed to what appeared to be the end of the story, frowned.
"Hey, there's still a few blank pages," he said.
"I know," Velanna told him. And he handed the book to Morrigan, who took it and flipped through it.
"'And he looked at her with great passion, and with the fullness of his heart'," she quoted, making Velanna blush. "'She knew then that he loved her.'"
And she smiled up at Lance, who was blushing, too.
"'Tis true," she said. And then Morrigan looked at Velanna, eyes raised.
"What will you end it with?" she asked. And Velanna shrugged at her.
"I don't know yet."
"We'll think of something," Lance assured her. And Velanna went back to the bedroom, to lie down. Lance put his arm around Morrigan, sighed again.
"Gets me feeling sentimental," he said. And she laughed, putting her own arm around him.
"Ah, yes," she said. "A longing for the past?"
"Among other things," said Lance, and he flashed her a devious smile of his own. And together they turned to enter the bedroom.
"You know," he said, and cleared his throat. "I'm sort of the Arl of Amaranthine."
"Oh? How did that happen?"
"Well, first there was this pretty girl and her crazy mother in the woods…"