"I can get them," Lanny said. She didn't look down at his warm eyes, afraid she'd forget what she was doing if she caught a glimpse of him half naked and straining from holding her.
"Are you sure, Lanny?" he asked. "You're starting to wobble." The manly ground below her trembled to back up his statement.
"Damn it, Ali," she shouted, but a giggle broke her stern facade. "I am going to get these apples." Grabbing onto a branch for leverage, she reached higher trying to lengthen her spine and will her arms longer. Too bad there wasn't a spell for that.
"I dunno, it could fall apart at any minute. I'm worried you'll lose your balance," he called. Even as he bobbed and weaved below trying to throw her off, his hands adjusted around her legs to keep her steady. One of them rose up to grab onto her lower thigh.
Her fingers brushed under the apple, jiggling it again, when Lanny leaned too much of her body forward. Uh-oh! She tried to grab onto the branches and twigs she'd burst through to reach the fruit, but there was nothing to stop her on the way down. Nothing but the warden who opened up his arms and caught her against his naked chest. His one hand wrapped under her butt, while the other dug tight into her spine. When the shock of the fall wore off she turned in those straining arms to look into his face. Exertion wore it red, but the man had a smile stretching his cheeks wider than seemed possible.
"You," Lanny tried to rise up, but she couldn't get a grip against him, "did that on purpose."
"Me? Let you drop just so I could have a gorgeous woman in my arms? No, I would never ever do anything of the sort to..."
She jammed an apple into his mouth to stop his jabbering. With both hands full of her, his only option was to bite down. Alistair's entire face puckered and he shuddered, the bitten apple scattering to the ground.
"Maker's breath, that's tart," he gasped, lapping his tongue against the air to try and wash it away.
"That's what you get for dropping me," she sulked.
"Where'd that apple even come from?"
Lanny shrugged, her shoulder digging into his pec, then she reached into the top of her bodice and unearthed another small apple snagged on her way up into the tree. Watching him with a raised eyebrow, she took a tender bite of the tart thing and smiled. Alistair laughed at the ingenuity, his mirth overpowering him so, he had to reposition his arms rocking her as if she was on a ship.
"Andraste's tears," he tried to reach the hand around her back forward to grab at her bodice. "What else do you have in there?"
"Wouldn't you like to know?" Lanny shot back crossing her arms across her chest and glaring at him.
"More than you can possibly imagine." He smiled such an intoxicating grin his sabotaging her fruit harvest was completely forgotten. Wrapping her arms around his neck, Lanny rose up to kiss him, tasting the same apple's tartness upon his lips. "I spent most of my younger years, and not such younger years wondering just what existed within the depths of a woman's, uh, you know."
"Satchel?" Lanny asked, an impish grin belying her serious tone.
"Ah, um, that, uh, that part too," Alistair blushed a brighter red, the crimson embarrassment crawling up his cheeks.
"Do you regularly comb through other women's satchels?"
"Oh Maker," he groaned, her innocent gaze and fluttering eyelashes striking deep into his heart. Maybe she hadn't fully forgiven him after all. "No? Because it'd be impolite to look without asking first? Then it'd end in whacks to the head and a broken nose."
"Even asking might get you hit," she said gently kicking her feet in the air as if she was swimming through it. Alistair held her as if she weighed nothing, his body barely straining from her playing around against him.
"Well," he coughed a few times and tried to drag his voice lower. Pressing his lips to her ear, he asked, "would you hit me if I asked to inspect yours?"
"Hm..." she scratched her chin in exaggerated thought, then lightly tossed her bitten apple up in the air before taking another bite. "No, I don't believe I would."
"Ah, that's uh," he gulped for air, struggling to find anything to look at while his hands slicked up with sweat, "it's good to know that in case of any satchel related emergencies. You know if we required some, uh, extra elfroot, or deep mushrooms."
"Maker's breath, I hope there aren't any mushrooms growing up there," Lanny gasped, feigning shock as she fanned herself with her apple.
"You, I..." he raised her even higher in his arms so he could bury his burning face in her neck. "I love you, even if you've pushed me to the point of thinking terrible thoughts about apples now. I will always love you."
She tossed her own apple to the side and threaded her arms around his neck. Straightening her back, she stared into his eyes. Normally bobbing in his sea of impertinence, now they zeroed in with a focus that made her tremble. "Is that so? What if I were to give all your smallclothes to the dog?"
Alistair laughed, "I think he's way ahead of you already. What's he doing with them?"
Shrugging, Lanny chuckled, "Void if I know. I'm slightly terrified when I find the answer. What if I made you walk back to camp naked?" Her eyes sparkled at that thought and she squirmed from the vision of him, her warden, traipsing into the campfire without a stitch of clothing on. Maker, that idea would have been her undoing only a month ago.
His lips caught hers, all the tartness drained to Alistair's normal sweetness in the kiss. He tasted like clover leaves mashed into honey, all light and airy to match his disposition, and it made her heart sing. "Lanny Amell, there isn't a thing in all of thedas you can do that would make me stop loving you."
?:?? ?
"Stop!" Lana pinched her hands deep into her forehead, trying to clog up her memories in the vice grip. The pain abated the visions fitting through her brain, dragging her back into the fade.
"What was the matter? You look peaked, dear. Have you been eating properly?"
Ten sleeps they'd been at this, with Lana barely getting any rest in the interim. It felt as if she'd be freed from a memory only to slip off into a blissful blankness that bore nothing in common with sleep, to then awaken to the spirit hovering over her, waiting to begin again. She dug her palms into her eyes, willing away the burn in her soul. The spirit, whatever it was, seemed to favor two particular subjects. On occasion she'd see her family, looming figures seen through the simple gaze of a child switched over the years to aloof strangers struggling to figure out if she was worthy of a place in their home. Leliana flitted in and out of the visions, as did some of her friends in the tower, the wardens, so many dead because she wasn't there to save them. But that wasn't what fascinated the spirit so, what kept driving it deeper into her mind.
"Why that one?" Lana struggled to push out the words, her tongue knotted as if she'd been stammering through the first kiss so many years ago. "What possible purpose could that memory serve in opening the veil?"
The spirit hovered beyond the crystal pond, its face merging with a pair of peach trees. "Look at how much you've changed," it said extending a tendril hand out around the fade. The pond was the first thing to materialize, except Lana hadn't imagined it, hadn't tried to bring it back. It only appeared when she woke from a stupor, her legs submerged in the water. Without the landmarks of Redcliffe to ground her she didn't notice what it was until she spotted Alistair's tree. There was no reason for her to want that. And the peach trees, they were the same ones Anders scurried up one to try and rescue Ser Pounce-A-Lot, only to realize the cat was hiding in the grass at the base of the trunk. Why would she imagine them? Give them form out of the fade?
"I am uncertain if this is accomplishing anything," Lana gestured between the two of them.
"Little one, you must trust in me. It will take time, of course, all things worth doing do."
Lana snorted at that claptrap. She'd done plenty of things worth doing quickly. Uldred went down in under ten minutes, that sure as shit counted as worthy. Shaking her head, Lana waved at the spirit. "Give me time to rest, recuperate, eat." Her eyes traveled ove
r the peach tree, but something in her soul warned her it wasn't wise. At least there was dried spider meat left.
"And then we will resume..." the spirit hungered for her in a way that made Lana's skin crawl. She knew about the templars who'd prey on mages favoring the quiet ones, the weird ones no one would believe, or the ones without a support group. Most left her be either because she was forgettable or because she was lucky. Only on occasion would she feel that wolf stare glaring below their helmets, following her changing body as she ran after her friends. No mage traveled the tower alone.
"In time, a day or two. This isn't easy," she spat out, hoping her anger would shake the spirit.
The almost orange light faded back to gold and it smiled with its shadows, "Of course, dear. Take whatever time you need. I will await you beyond." Without taking any proper leave, the spirit faded away through the air. They all did that when they'd abandon her, not traveling through the three dimensions of space but almost slipping into a new one. Yet, she suspected the spirits weren't truly gone, and they could still feel her, perhaps hear and see her at all times.
Rolling her fingers through her head once more, Lana dug into her bag repaired with the back of the bottom of her robes. Dried spider meat was never going to become a delicacy, unless the orlesians learned of it, but her stomach knocked around for it, her mouth almost drooling for food off of any animal. When she brought the strip of spider jerky to her mouth, it wasn't the typical bland gamey flavor, but Alistair's lips pressed against her, his tongue prodding into her mouth that overwhelmed her.
"Damn it!" she cursed, about to throw the meat at the ground. Her hunger stopped her hand, and she bit into it, chewing as quickly as possible while trying to banish the memory. One moment it was teenage Lana blushing up a storm because she dared to stand an inch closer to Honey eyes, the next she was going down on Alistair for the first time terrified she'd bite something. Her heart suffered from tonal whiplash, dragged through every awkward and exhilarating moment of her various courtships. If it was just Alistair, they'd sting but it wouldn't bite.
It was when the spirit dug up memories of Cullen that Lana almost broke down. Survival, that was what she needed, what she focused on. If she paused for even a moment, stopped to think about everything waiting for her beyond the veil and what she gave up, she'd never rise again.
Waiting. That was a nice dream in and of itself. He had to believe she was dead, it was the only logical conclusion. No one survives in the fade for this long, no one physically walks here. The chances of getting out and finding Cullen yet in love with her grew dimmer with each passing day. Maybe he lost his misplaced love once he heard her decision to remain behind. She'd barely given him anything before and he'd...he'd offered up his heart. Maker, why couldn't she love him? He'd driven her to fits of stammering since she was seventeen. She couldn't hurt him, never, not even in the deeproads when he'd killed White.
Except she did, when she chose to stay here, to sacrifice her life for Hawke's. Did it matter if she hurt herself in the process?Andraste, I'd give anything to be able to tell him it wasn't his fault. It, none of it was his. Ever. I...
Lana started in surprise to find her hands clasped together in prayer. It'd been years since she'd tried getting the prophetess' attention. After Amaranthine burned she felt too dirty to even try. Sleep, what she needed was sleep. That would help some anyway. At least break her away from the unending nightmare of her own making.
"Is it gone?"
Of blighted course. Lana staggered up to her feet to find Jowan prodding into a stack of empty books beside the pond. He had to come, she'd been all but calling him there. "Yes, the spirit's fled for now."
"Good, that one's..." Jowan shuddered, his skin undulating off the muscle and bone like a sheet in the wind. Willing her modest dinner to stay down, Lana turned away from the disturbing sight. Body language was new to spirits, he understood trembling but not that it shouldn't look as if the skin was water rippling from a tossed stone. "Don't trust it," he hissed.
"You say that about every spirit I meet."
"Because it's true," Jowan stuck up for himself.
"Which means I shouldn't trust you telling me to not trust it," Lana pointed out the paradox.
"Uh," Jowan only jabbed at the air as if that would somehow solve the conundrum. "I guess that's right, or maybe not. Did you want to trade?"
"Growing hungry, spirit?" The last thing Lana wanted was another creature digging through her brain, sifting apart her thoughts like treats hidden inside flour. She'd fought plenty of blood mages, but they rarely had the chance to pry apart her brain before she literally pried apart theirs. If that was what Cullen suffered, not the controlled reach of spirits, but the clumsy clawing of humans and elves ripping into what they barely understand... She wrapped her hands around herself from the chill coasting off the lake.
"I thought you might be. Not many spiders in the area to feed upon. I can help with that."
"In exchange for what?" Lana asked, too tired to waste time arguing the situation to death. She'd rather he come out and say it.
Jowan's watery eyes drifted around her little refuge. Despite there being a lake with trees and cattails circling around it, a small room perched beside. Not hers from the Vigil, but the one in Denerim, the home away from home as he put it. It was cozier than it should be, with fragments of her life scattered around that she never placed in the palace. Blinking at the grey warden shield upon the wall, Jowan turned to her, "Grayson."
"You're asking for a lot," Lana said.
"You may not be around much longer to give it."
Her eyes narrowed at the stripped way he said that. He could be referring to her plans to escape, but something in his tone caught her. "Where is Wynne?"
"She hates it, more than she hates me, more than I hate it. Won't come near..." his eyes bounced around every corner of the sawed open room, "here. Will you give me Grayson in exchange for two weeks worth of spider meat?"
"You can get that much? How?" She'd barely seen a spider in months outside of Jowan's help.
The spirit cocked his head to the side and stared past her, past the walls she'd created, beyond the rocks. "There are an innumerable amount crawling just beyond."
Lana whipped her head around, trying to spot this but all she saw was what was always there. A warning crawled up the back of her neck. There was more at play here then she'd realized before. "All right, Jowan. You can have it. You can have the last of Grayson."
She didn't have time to sit down before the spirit's fingers dipped into her brain hungering for a pain she never fully understood.
9:25 Kinloch Hold
Wadding up the soggy bread into a ball, Lana rolled it through the pudding while Jowan watched her. "What are you doing?"
"This," she smiled and turned every ounce of her mana upon the unwanted dinner. It didn't catch on fire or freeze, that was easy. Instead, a black mold erupted where her fingers touched the crust, coating the bread in its putrid wake.
"Maker's breath. That's disgusting," Jowan stuck his tongue out.
"Wait," Lana giggled as the spell morphed, draining moisture out of the bread and desiccating the ball smaller and smaller in her fist until it exploded into a poof of ash on the wind. "Isn't that fascinating? I can death hex bread."
"Great, you can kill food and my appetite. Congratulations," Jowan whined shoving his own plate around. No one wanted to eat the pudding.
A flurry of robes flailed past the open door, paused, then Marguerite jammed her head in. "Lanny, they're back!"
She leapt up out of her chair, then paused, grabbed her dishes and dumped them into the washing bucket. Jowan grumbled beside her, scraping his own food into the compost heap and moving slower to show his displeasure, but Lana didn't care. Grabbing onto Marguerite's arm, Lana leaned into her to whisper. "Are you certain?"
"There's a whole mess of templars sitting in the atrium, so yeah. Probably back."
"Are there..." Jowan huffed trying
to catch up to the girls zipping through the halls. "Any new mages with them?"
"Of course there are," Marguerite rolled her eyes. "That's why they leave and come back, after all."
"Any, uh, cute ones?" Jowan continued. He licked his palm and tried to arrange his hair which only got him a side stare.
"Adorable beyond measure," Marguerite said to Jowan's increasing grin, then she giggled, "and all under the age of ten."
"By the void, then why are we running? Who cares if some snot-nosed kids are being inducted today?"
"It's for..." Marguerite jerked her head at Lana and then giggled into her hands. "Grayson."
Jowan threw his arms up, twisting around in a circle for dramatic effect as begets any sixteen year old, "You have to be kidding me. That's disgusting."
"What? What is?" Lana whipped her head between her two friends.
"You and Grayson," Marguerite grinned. "You want to make-" she smacked her lips against her closed hand to approximate kissing, as if either of them had any idea what it was really like. "-with him," she finished, beaming her bright, ornery eyes.
"No I don't! Maker, don't be stupid. He's old, really old. Like grey hair and stuff old. It's not like that at all, Margie!"
"Sure it isn't, Lanny," she laughed again in that bubbling orlesian accent. The three rambunctious teenagers stepped through the final door onto a level overlooking the atrium. Templars, all wearing the uniform armor and skirt rested upon the scattered benches normally used for First Enchanter meetings. They'd all tossed aside their imposing helmets while chewing through the same maker-awful dinner the apprentices had but with a greater appreciation for warm food under a warmer roof.
"You wouldn't understand," Lana whispered to Marguerite. "He's been a friend of mine ever since I came here."
"A templar?" Jowan cut back. "You can't befriend a templar. Everyone knows that."
"That's just because they don't like you after you flooded the Knight-Commander's water closet," Marguerite rose up, less to Lana's aid and more because Jowan had it coming.
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