A/N: So this is Lazarus—whose (partial) story I borrowed from the Lazarus of Bethany.

Note: I am not religious, so I apologise if anyone finds this offensive. In all honesty, I did not mean for this to be disrespectful towards your beliefs. This is just a story.

So that being said, I hope this explains some of your questions about Lazarus. Not all, but some—I believe that a story should always have gaps that should be filled by the readers' thoughts and conclusions. It's interactive? I think.

Written for Jaden—who I owe this to :D

Lazarus's Revival

It was curious, the way we ended up, the sighs we shared in the darkened corners of the central Tower that housed the full-fledged mages. She was young, so was I—and both of us knew full well what would happen if we were found… so compromised. But the passion I felt for her, burned beyond anything the Order tried to instill in us—Andraste's grace—and I was certain that I loved her.

And later—the events that would come to pass did, in time.

xOxOx

The pair ran, separated from the templars—into the hinterlands, where the trees were barren and the ground was either perennially split and cracked, or filled with mudtraps that swallowed creatures into its depths. They weren't sure how far they were, but were almost certain that they'd be caught—her phylactery linked them to the oppression.

He was bleeding out—she was sure of it—though he grinned and tried not to let her near the wound. And when he finally collapsed, feet too heavy to continue further, she tore his armor off, demanding a look at the wound.

He was too weak to fight her, and Mariá worked, mending the large rips the bandits had made, those men stupid enough to challenge a mage and her escorting templar.

But the wounds were numerous, and she could barely see through the tears, welling up in her eyes.

"Don't fail on me now—you can't—you idiot," she panted, feeling her mana reserves draining to an all-time low.

"Are you talking to me? Or do you mean your lovely self?" He chuckled, before abruptly coughing a wet splatter into a gauntleted hand, staining the silver a deep red. He cleaned this hastily on the ground, while she pretended not to see. He was always one for the stupid, manly gestures.

"Both. But you—you better stay conscious." She was biting her lower lip, trying not to cry. This ridiculous man who just told her to run from the Circle. And where would she go? Live in the hinterlands like the nomads? Or be eaten by darkspawn?

He had promised that they would be together at last—and this was where they ended up? Out in the marsh? If they lived through this, she was going to kill him.

She was once the daughter of a very rich man.

A man who had paid for her passage into the luxurious life of a well-kept mage.

This came with conditions— that she would not reproduce. That she would not stain his family line further by adding more mages with claim in their blood. This rule— she had broken, quite promptly.

And he—a poor man's son, sent to the Chantry to support his burgeoning family. In the end, all they had left was each other. A mage, and a templar, finding solace where most others only saw revulsion. She would not let him leave her now, not when he was all she had left. She would not raise the child alone.

xOxOx

Watching the woman bent over the numerous gashes on his chest, he came to a decision. He would survive, for her sake. To the Void with everything else, he was going to live with her, in a village somewhere. They were going to have so many children—who would have her enthralling eyes, his dashing smile—all wonderful and charming.

"Don't fall asleep."

He nodded vaguely. Of course he wouldn't. Who could—out here in the hinterlands. One had to look out for darkspawn.

And yet, his eyelids felt heavy. He jerked his head, forcing his mind to focus. She told him to stay awake, and he would. He would do anything for her—and this was easy, compared to the eloping thing they were attempting. So simple. Definitely, the least he could do. He had to focus, and remember that he had to keep his eyes on her. Like at the Tower. Ugh. That sounded creepy. But it was true. He was assigned to the healers, on the account of his immense likeablity, and made many friends among the mages. At least, he knew when they absconded with the liquor, every alcove they disappeared to for hours on end. Everyone else would lie for them, knowing that in time, it would be their turn. This was actually how he met Mariá—she refused all advances, preferring to remain on duty. With him.

"You'll be fine."

She was wary at first, but then, she had reasons for that. She was a mage, and he a templar—a forbidden coupling. But she was the first he had—yes he was a virgin.

"I'm the best healer at the Circle—"

He heard a quick intake of breath. Something had surprised her, just like…

Oh how she laughed when she knew—their first night together. The night of that mass poisoning in the Palace, where every single healer had been called out. All of them, except her. They were, for the first time, alone. He remembered stroking her long dark hair after… Whispering her name, after months of stealing furtive kisses and hurried touches—he was with a woman he loved. Ardently. Perhaps she wouldn't mind him closing his eyes…just a little. He was still listening to her voice. Strange that she should sound so… worried. Everything was going to be fine.

"Please, stay with me."

The sound of footfalls was getting nearer.

xOxOx

They had scheduled his body for a fire, but barely anyone had any time to commit—and for four days he was left, slumped in a corner of the shed. No prayers were said for him—those who knew the truth— that he had not gone after Mariá in order to bring her back. Still more thought that he was too good for them, that he made them all look bad. None of them wanted to be seen with him. Few mourned. He was a poor man's son—and had fewer friends than coins among the elitist Order.

Mariá knew that she had to see him—just to yell at him, for not holding on. For making her feel ineffectual. For sticking her with child, and then escaping in such a manner.

Most of all, she wanted to see him, to commit his face to memory, before decay and the sacred fires took him.

Just one more look.

The mages—her own tutor—had declared her pregnant, thus staying their heavy hand towards runaways, and she was locked up in a cell, barely restrained beyond the chains that did nothing more than bound her hands.

Perhaps they assumed that she would just give in, being both pregnant and having lost her protector—but she knew the change of guards. Countless times she had been guided down the steps into the templar dungeons, and when the two on duty left to 'share a bottle of ale' around dawn. It wasn't unheard of for such to happen among the templars. Men who had taken vows had to find succor somehow.

She had it timed carefully. A silent frost spell at the lock made a key, and her rapid fingers freed herself in seconds. This was what she was named for. Mariá—her grandmother, was a rebel. Obstinate and a firebrand, and she knew she took after the woman, though no rebellions would she lead—she only had her mind set on one goal. Him.

Mariá snuck out of the keep, carefully inching to the shed at the far southwestern corner of the grounds. And there he was. Laid out in the open, stripped of his platemail, dressed in his underclothes. He was to burn, it seemed—when the sun appeared on the horizon. She covered him with the cloak they had allowed her when she complained of the cold.

Carrying him inside the shed, Mariá breathed fire into her cupped hands. Perhaps this was how they would find her, keeping a silent vigil, next to him. Her love.

She wondered if she should set the place ablaze, if only so the two of them would be together, forever. But it was nonsense. There was still the child. Their baby boy—this, she was sure of—and who would be given to the Chantry as soon as he drew breath to scream.

She must have dozed off, and was woken up rather rudely by the groundskeeper, who dragged her out of the shed—unheeding her pleas to remain by his side.

xOxOx

Crying his name—Lazarus—stirred something. He arose, and stormed out of the wooden room, bleary and confused, but hearing that voice. The wind wrapped round him, and he glared at the man who had a hold of his Mariá. This man fell, as did his lantern, and the fire sparked by the spilling of the oil flamed up high.

Lazarus had reached her, and she had been crying. He frowned, turning to the man again. The coward had fainted dead away—and Mariá chose that moment to pounce on him, her weight… quite considerable for a man who had no food or water for days.

Still, he caught her, and they stumbled back to the templars' keep, laughter mixed with tears.

Let them try to explain this miracle as a blessing of their precious Maker.

xOxOx

Years later, my son Vincentio also joined the Order.

He had a reason for that—his younger sister was a mage. But that's another tale altogether.

P.S.: Please let me know if you liked it? Thanks! :D