"Ate her damn weight in it during the blight," the man who knew her inside and out said before shrugging his shoulders and dropping back down to the ground.
"I know you two are talking about me," Lana shouted from her private grotto. "This is rather idiotic all around. It's not as if you haven't seen me naked before."
Cullen pinched his hand to try and compete with the cauldron of emotions rampaging through his system. He wasn't certain if he should be ecstatic, scared, lost, or grateful so he tried for all at once.
"All right," Alistair cut through his mental turmoil, "what's your theory?"
"My what?" Lana asked, more chewing sounds punctuating her question.
"We've been out of the fortress for a few hours now, and I know you swiped some of their literature. You've got to have figured out what that Iquo whatever was built for, how it failed, and if we're about to have some world ending catastrophe on our hands. I hope it's something new, like gigantic baby nugs that can crush cities under their creepy feet."
He couldn't be right. After the fire in Cullen's veins cooled, he did his best to help Lana out of the first room, then returned for the king who swore he got the last of the poison out of his stomach. With the barrier's down, they kept an eye on the not dead and now freed wardens. Mercifully, none rose from their tombs to attack, and Cullen worked quickly to get everyone to safety. There was hardly time for the woman whose atrophied limbs barely worked to swipe a book or inspect the walls.
But she spoke up, proving how little Cullen knew her, "I've got a suspicion, based upon what was in there, what I've read, and what you mentioned. I mean, it's not concrete by any means. People don't tend to leave 'Hello, We're Doing This Evil Thing Here' signs around."
"It'd make our lives easier if they did," Alistair answered, then he crossed his eyes, "What do you mean 'what you read?' Lanny, are you eating, washing, and reading at the same time?"
"What? No, don't be absurd, I would never, um..." the sound of a book smashing against the ground echoed through the dampening air, cushioned by grass. "Most of the language in the text we found is ancient. I can recognize some old Tevinter dialect but not as much as I should. The long and short of it is..." the sound of dribbling water paused while Lana did, as if she needed to shore herself up to continue, "I think that was originally where wardens went for their calling. As they, you know, succumbed to the taint, they didn't go into the deeproads but were locked away from the rest of the world."
Cullen glanced over at the other grey warden who was struggling up to his elbows at the news. A memory struck him, and he responded to Lana, "That would be why there are no footholds to escape out of the emergency exit."
"Exactly," he heard Lana grin in her sentence, as if proud of him. But he wasn't the one to notice, he'd barely paid any attention at all, his cloudy mind sharpened to a single task. It was all the king who'd kept up a vigil even as, even as everything fell down around them. "The fortress was built not to keep people out, but to keep wardens in."
"Okay," Alistair interrupted, "interesting idea, certain to give me lots of nightmares if I think about it. But, how did you wind up in there? What was with all the mummies?"
Silence fell as they heard Lana slide out of the water. Her movements sounded laborious while she climbed out of the river. Cullen risked a glance in her direction to make certain she was all right. He could only spot her silhouette crumpled on the edge of the bank, scrounging through clothing. Indecency struck at him and he turned away, certain that she could dress herself or she'd ask for help.
"You remember the talking darkspawn from after the blight?" Lana said. He had no idea, but the king nodded along, apparently this was old news. "I've often wondered if he maybe didn't have some tie to..." Whatever she meant, she shook it off and restarted. "I, I don't think the wardens facing there lives tossed into a pit and locked away from the world went gracefully. I don't think they stopped being wardens either even as they, you know..."
No, he didn't know. Somehow everyone kept skipping over exactly what happened to grey wardens when this taint consumed them. At first, Cullen assumed that it killed them, like a slow illness, but from the shrouded eyes of the king and Lana's vague words he suspected there was a far more painful answer. He should ask, it might be important to... Shaking his head, Cullen slumped deeper into his chest, his body rigid save his fingers curling up Honor's fur as she lapped up a puddle of water beside his feet.
"The text was vague but based upon the level of magic, the counter spells in place, and what I'd do in that situation, I'm guessing the wardens created the spells to rip apart the veil so they could physically walk into the fade."
"Why? To try and escape?" Cullen spoke up.
"No," Lana whispered so softly he barely heard it.
"To cure themselves?" Alistair asked in a broken voice, the bags under his eyes lengthening by the vanishing sunlight.
"I..." Lana limped into the clearing, her gnarled fingers clinging tightly to Aqun's spear. It was the only thing they had to offer as a cane, but she said she didn't mind the blood. Cullen broke from his sulk to glance over at her, and he felt his heart constrict at what remained. He'd hoped that somehow by washing away the mud of the fade, the dust of time itself, that the bloom would return to her waning cheeks, but her skin was still sallow barely clinging to the sharp bones he never associated with Lana. Without any extra clothes of her own, she borrowed a tunic from both of them. The king's bright blue swallowed her gaunt form; the breeches were knotted at her hips to try and keep them up even with the assistance of a belt. Cullen couldn't see the shirt he offered to her, perhaps she missed it in the pile or didn't want it and didn't have the strength to gather it up.
Gingerly, Lana parted her fingers through the fade, drawing more energy to wrap around her legs. The power was enough to give her the strength to hobble into the site, her campfire reaching to embrace her as she flopped onto the grass in between both men. "Maker," she screwed her eyes up tight, then wiped at them, "I am so glad you recognized the nodes." Smiling with a haggard breath, she turned to Cullen. "Being without mana for so long, I-I was starting to panic."
He thought they were what had her trapped, the same old metal nodes left in the deeproads that Lana used to snare White. Something of both dwarven and elven make that could drain all mana from an area without needing a templar, surely that had to have something to do with whatever kept her from waking. Cullen should have been panicking, been trapped in a perpetual heartache, balled up his fists and cursed to the Maker - but no, he felt only distant certainty in his veins as he left Alistair to tend to her. It was logical, he recognized the nodes, he had some knowledge of how to dissipate them. It had to be him.
When Alistair shouted for him, Cullen couldn't make out the words, only that something had agitated the king. He was in the middle of breaking the first node when the cry rang out through every deathly silent antechamber. At first hope sprang in his chest, and Cullen turned from his work, rushing back with Honor close on his heels. He made it five steps before despair strangled out the optimism inside his soul. He'd only begun his work when Alistair called for him. There was no reason for the king to disturb him, unless... Unless they were too late, unless they failed and-and...
As he walked back into the grand chamber, stepping past Aqun's bloodless corpse, he spotted Lana's still body clutched in Alistair's hands. With her head hung downward and her eyes gazing at nothing, Cullen's heart shattered apart. Dead. She was here, but she was gone. He'd failed, after everything, every step, every fight, every prayer - none of it mattered. They couldn't save her. They were too late.
Struggling to keep from screaming in rage and wailing in despair, only a soft gasp escaped from him. Then, a miracle from Andraste herself. Lana lifted her drooping head, her beautiful eyes focusing upon him. A light rose inside of him burning every sorrow, every pain as if-as if none of the past two years ever happened. He didn't remember falling to her, holding her, speaking whatever tumbled off his bumb
ling tongue - all he could remember was his heart screaming that she was alive. She was herself and she came back to him. It was the happiest moment of his life.
And then it had to come crashing apart. While Lana healed Alistair, soothed him as he vomited up all he'd eaten and the poison, Cullen thought over every argument with the man, their physical fight, how he acted the belligerent child to the king's certainty that they'd find her. Alistair never gave up, never stopped believing, but Cullen...he threatened to turn around every time the boat rocked. He didn't deserve Lana, he didn't deserve anyone. The pain burning through his veins, the unquenchable thirst clinging to his tongue seemed little to the bottomless void dangling where his heart was. He could barely look at Lana, afraid to watch when she'd realize the truth of him.
"Those giant metal balls, they were made by the mages to disrupt magic? Seems rather stupid all around," Alistair spoke, struggling to keep up with the subject.
"No," Lana shuddered, her hands knotted around her sharp shoulders. "I'm guessing those were put in place to keep the grey warden mages from escaping their prison. They must not have known about..."
He felt her eyes glancing over him, almost as if she was trying to will the memories back. "Blood magic," Cullen responded. It was how White broke through the magic, how he overpowered them before Lana countered it, which was what the grey wardens did as well. It was always blood magic.
"Every time someone says that phrase I get a chill up my spine. Like I spat on my own pyre. Ugh," the king groaned, rolling around on his back.
"Should we," Cullen spoke softly, "the wardens remaining in the hold. Help them?"
Lana turned fully to him, her bottom lip hanging slack as her eyes stared past the world itself. "They are most likely trapped, as I was. In a demon's web centuries old. Even if we could free them, they would have nowhere to return to. Their bodies are...they are beyond help. I'm afraid." Her last sentence ended in a whimper and she glared into the firelight. It was enough to drag Cullen out of his sulk and he watched her chatter her teeth silently, her fears playing through her mind. If it'd been any longer, if they'd delayed...
"So..." Alistair waved his hand in the air, interrupting the dour turn. "The wardens, the fade, how'd you wind up back in the real world? We're all on the edge of our seats here."
Lana pursed her lips and pointed at the man almost sitting up. He rolled his eyes, but flounced back down on his back. For a moment she glanced over at Cullen, her thoughts enigmatic before she returned to the campfire, "I think, and it's only a theory because this is a lot of conjecture, that the wardens went into the fade to try and clear it of the blight."
"They walked in the Black City?" Alistair marveled. "Did they miss what happened the first time that happened? Blight, tainting the world, lots of no fun. Kinda gave all the wardens a job."
"Or, maybe blight used to be all over the fade. Maybe they cleaned it up, I don't know. Hence con-ject-ure. Perhaps they were trying to find a cure in the fade. It's possible. Regardless, in order to accomplish their task they created a very complicated spell to pull their physical bodies out of the fade while also keeping it in stasis so-so they wouldn't hurt anyone. That was what caught me, whatever ongoing blood magic they designed to find anyone with taint in their system in the fade and pull them back to the fortress."
Cullen pinched the bridge of his nose, struggling to digest all of this. "If that's true, then why were all the bodies, wardens, still alive trapped behind the barrier?"
"Shit!" Alistair suddenly exclaimed. "The taint was what kept them alive!"
Lana nodded, "Probably what saved me too, though it isn't as thick in my veins so I, I don't think I had long." She shook her head and plowed through her thoughts. Pivoting in her seat, she turned to Cullen, "Unfortunately, all that movement in and out of the fade attracts spirits and, if it's anything to go off of my experience, I'm guessing every warden thinks they're physically trapped in the fade right now. Or worse, perhaps the demon or spirit convinced them that they're out, living their life free of the blight right now, while it feasts upon them."
"Maker!" Cullen reached out and grabbed her hand, instinctively trying to protect her from what already happened. She bobbed her head a few times and wiped at the tears dripping across her cheeks, but she didn't pull her hand away. Instead, Lana knotted her thumb around his, tugging him nearer to her. No, it wasn't right. She didn't know the truth, but she deserved to. Chastising himself, Cullen removed his hand and resumed petting Honor.
"Ugh," the king groaned, flopping over on his side, "not to be a whiner, but I think it's oozing again. Are they supposed to ooze?"
Lana swiped the sleeve of Alistair's borrowed tunic across her nose and staggered to her feet, "Yes, that's a good sign. But, I should have a look anyway. Make certain you didn't scratch it and undo all my work."
"I swear I didn't!" he raised both hands in his defense but Lana only glared down at him before she sighed and shook her head.
While she tended to the king's wound, her gentle hands caressing his shoulder, Cullen staggered to his legs. He didn't know what he wanted, not then, perhaps not ever, but he knew he needed to be alone to think. "I'll go and, and check the perimeter," he whispered to them before walking away from the warm fire. He doubted either of them cared enough to listen.
* * *
After peeling off the bandage, Lana scoffed at Alistair's barely oozing wound, "You complained about this?" She gestured at the gash whose weep barely reached the inner-binding. "There isn't even any puss. You know I don't bother unless there's puss."
He struggled to look over at his own shoulder, but grimaced at the small cut that were it not for the poison would have been a grade one injury. They'd called it the "chew some elfroot and walk it off" kind during the blight.
"You know my delicate constitution can't handle the sight of..." Alistair gulped, "blood."
"Oh shut up," she laughed, unwinding the barely used bandages. Free of the nodes, mana surged through her body, practically sparking as it continually raced to fill the hole inside - one she kept emptying into both Alistair and herself - just to have it top back off. Lana ran her fingers above Alistair's exposed skin and dropped a bit more of her healing magic into it. Not enough to fully suture up the wound, but it'd keep the blood from weeping free.
The small expenditure was enough, and exhaustion reared up like a vengeful dragon. Gripping onto his arm for leverage, Lana stumbled to the ground beside Alistair's bedroll. His ornery eyes inspected the wound, then darted over to watch her cross her legs as she tried to steady her wilting body. Cold seeped up off the wintery grass, and Lana tried to tug the blue tunic further down her arms to cover her hands. Closer to her skin was the tan one from Cullen -- his earthy scent comforting her. After the toll her body took, she needed nearly all the clothing at her disposal to keep warm even with the fire.
In her fumbling, she spotted her once mighty staff, now broken in three pieces. Lana prodded it with her covered fingers and sighed. "Ten years, a blight, qunari attacks, talking darkspawn, that harvester creature, whatever the dalish thing was, and it's coming out of the fade that finally does it in."
Alistair ran a single finger down her staff covered in the names of everyone who didn't go home, who crossed the veil before her. "Maybe we could fix it. I hear they can do amazing things with duck glue."
"Duck glue?" Lana arched an eyebrow at him and chuckled. She was grateful to Cullen for taking the time to gather up the pieces, but there was no point. It was beyond repair. "Maybe it's time I let it go," she whispered to herself.
"Lanny," Alistair said, his voice dropping low as he reached over to pat her knee, "I don't know what you went through in there, but I'm damn glad you came back."
"What would you do without me?" she smiled through the pain. Sifting through the loss of so much time would take even more of it. She had no idea when the fortress plucked her out of the fade, but she knew she'd walked there physically alone for long enough her robes were tattered,
she'd fashioned the pride demon bladders into water skins dangling off her back, and her hair was a brittle mess. After so long with no one but the spirits to keep her company and, regardless of how angry she'd once been at Alistair, she didn't want to be left alone.
He rolled his head and shrugged, "Up shit creek without a paddle. It was not fun without you. Which you probably already know. You know better than anyone how useless I am at everything. The only reason I'm not dead is because of you, again. It's a wonder I don't slit my own throat shaving in the morning."
"How long's it been since you've tried?" she asked gesturing to the full on beard sprouting off his chin. Maybe it was his blonde hair, or some hairless ancestor, but somehow Alistair could never grow any stubble along his cheeks or jaw. It confined itself to his chin and upper lip exclusively.
Trying to strike a pose and jutting out the wad of facial fuzz, he smiled, "You like it? I'm thinking I should have all my official portraits painted with a beard."
"Leave a few youths alone with a paintbrush in the gallery and you'll get your wish," she sighed.
Alistair smiled, his lips cockeyed as he tried to roll on his side to look over at her without straining his neck. Something in her appearance must have caught him, because the cheeky grin wafted away. In a stricken voice, he whispered, "Two years."
How could it have been that long? She was still struggling to come to terms with the fact this wasn't the fade or some terrible final trick by the spirit. Facing that she'd lost two years of her life, two years of thedas shifting beneath her, two years of...of people moving on. How could she come back? "Yeah," Lana answered, "two years. So, what all did I miss?"
"Hm," Alistair wadded his fingers through his chin hairs in feigned thought and Lana understood why he hadn't bothered to shave it yet. "Well, Teagan got married."
"I knew that already."
"You did?"
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