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calamity-writes · 7 years

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EH 01 - MAY-DAY! MAY-DAY! M-

Remember, if you get caught-” The Keeper's expression was hard as he looked over the hunter who stood before him in the airlock. The blue vallaslin on the Keepers forehead pulsed in time with the man’s heartbeat, the luminescent tattoos giving his nerves away. No doubt the purple etched into Milliara’s own face was doing the same.

“I won’t get caught.”

“But if you do,” The Keeper said sternly. He grabbed Milliara’s chin with his free hand. Even thick with arthritis, his fingers were strong enough to hold her there even as she reached up to knock the hand away.

“If I do,” Milliara said through clenched teeth, “You worry about keeping your end of the agreement. I’ll keep mine: I was working alone.”

“The spirits are malcontent,” Keeper Lavellan said. Pressing thin lips together, he pushed Milliara away from him from his grip on her chin. “I do not expect you to return, Mi'elgara.”

He shook his head, stepping out of the airlock and gesturing to the shadows where the clan’s first waited. Emerald green covering half the man's face, Varlas crossed his arms, watching through narrowed eyes. Waiting for a misstep, as he had since Milliara had first set foot aboard the Aravel.

“I should go with her,” the other hunter said to the keeper, though Milliara could feel his eyes on her as she pulled the helmet of her pressurized suit over her head, tucking her ears in carefully so they wouldn’t catch. Once the finest make that money could buy, it was scuffed and blackened, a pastiche of Orlesian and Dalish tech. But it worked, and none of the elves on the Lavellan Aravel were willing to part with more than broken parts.

“Varlas,” the Keeper said to his grandson with a warm pat on the shoulder, “Are not expendable. Mi'elgara is. I doubt she will betray us, we have what she cherishes most.”

Varlas nodded, and after a moment’s hesitation, he reached for the airlock controls. Milliara checked the suit’s pressure, hands practiced as they ran her last safety checks. The HUD blinked to life in the familiar lilac that was now etched deep into her skin.

“Depressurizing on your signal.” Varlas’s voice was tinny through the speaker in her helmet.

“Clear.” She said, grabbing onto the pack of gear that had waited by her feet, and looped it over her head and shoulder. She cinched the strap tight so the pack wouldn't float out of place

She could hear the hiss as the vacuum of the Lavellan Aravel sucked the air of the airlock back into the main ship. She took a deep breath of cycled air, the familiar carbon taste already seeping onto her tongue. Get in, get what they wanted, get out.

“Optimal tangent point approaching to intersect with the Temple. Opening hull doors in ten…nine…”

Simple. So why was she nervous?

“...six...”

The Elvhen had to find out if the skirmishes between the Templars and Magi was going to erupt into a war and risk the a mass exodus of the Fereldan and Orlesian refugees towards the outer systems where the Aravels lived safely. Milliara needed the Elvhen, and so here she was, heading back deep into human controlled space to spy on what was possibly the most heavily guarded meeting in hundreds of years.

“No pressure,” she murmured to herself.

“...two...one.”

The Hull door swung open. Distant stars swam as a familiar vertigo swept over her. It lasted only a moment. With a deep breath, Milliara grabbed the door, and yanked herself forward, launching forward into the void.

“Remember what's at stake, Mi'elgara.” Varlas’s voice crackled with static. In the background, she heard the Keeper order the Traveller’s exit of orbit. She was about to be on her own. The commlink snapped with static as the Aravel severed their connection.

Milliara swallowed her reply. There was no one to hear it and saying it outloud wouldn't make her feel better. Instead she looked at the icy moon’s surface below her. Haven, it was called. Rock, snow, and a swarm of ships that orbited it of her. The brilliant and impressive, painted gold to reflect the light of any stars they passed, the Templar fleet was the closest. The ragtag collection of Magi ships hid in the lee of the moon. Too far for her to reach safely without being noticed.

First she had to get into one of the Templar ships, then into a shuttle. Then she’d worry about how she’d get to the Moon’s surface. Milliara twisted, using the small thrusters on her suit to change her vector towards a shuttle that was still docked to one of the nearer Templar ships.

The Hound

Nose close to the glass of her datapad, Knight-Enchanter Haylan snuck a glance around it to check that the door to the barracks was still closed. The last thing she needed was Gavin walking in just as the story was getting to the good part. Huddled into her bunk, she squinted at the door before scrolling down to the next paragraph of Feral-dan Love, Volume 4. It was trash, but it was such good trash she couldn’t help it.

His bare chest heaved in the glow of the lake, golden luminescent algae lighting him in a godly glow. His eyes sparkled as he held out a hand to her, and his lips pulled into a smile that sent Riathlyn’s heart all aflutter.

“Come swim with me,” Alissar said. “You’ve never looked more beautiful than you have in this moment.”

Ruth-Lynne sucked in a breath, and took a step forward, pulling down the zipper of her pressure suit-

The hiss of the barrack’s door gave Haylan just enough time to swipe the smut from her datapad, replacing it with the Herbalwiki entry she’d been editing earlier. Cheeks burning, Haylan started tapping at the screen, pretending that’s what she’d been doing all along as Fallon’s blonde head poked into the room.

The woman arched an eyebrow at Haylan’s red face and smirked as Haylan huffed in reply.

“Lake scene?” she asked.

“Wh- N-“ Haylan said, swinging her legs off the bunk and holding up the data pad to show the herb entry.

“Lake scene,” Fallon said with a nod. “C’mon, it’ll be there in a bit. Knight Captain wants us in the briefing room.”

“It wasn’t…” Haylan said with a frown, locking her datapad and hopping off the bunk to follow. “I was working.”

The snort from her squadmate was enough to tell Haylan that Fallon didn’t believe her. Glowering in silence, the enchanter shoved her hands into the pockets of her flightsuit and led the way up to the bridge where the Knight Captain and her Second were waiting.

A hard woman, Captain Faulkner stood by a holo table, arms crossed and staring down at a slowly spinning debris field shown by cyan light that flickered and glitched in the centre. Pixels, static and flashes of green light kept disrupting the holo, and Haylan frowned as she looked from Faulkner to Gavin who stood nearby, his face solemn.

“Good,” Faulkner said, looking up at the two women. “We received orders at 09h10 that there was an attack on the Peace Talks between the Magi and Night Templars. Current reports are difficult, there’s…” she paused, frowning at the glitch that hovered in front of her. “…there’s an anomaly that’s causing communications to be spotty. Reports are unreliable but Command believes that survivors are minimal.”

With a gesture, Faulker zoomed the view of the holotable out to show the remainder of the moon that once held the temple of Sacred ashes. Shattered, a few large pieces drifted close to each other over the surface of a gas giant below: Frostback. Ruined ships spun in nothing, torn to shreds.

Haylan blinked, feeling the heat seep out of her. They’d intentionally been kept out of the way during the peace talks. The Hounds weren’t supposed to exist, and if things went south, they needed to continue to be the Ace in the Templar’s hole.

“Who did it?” Fallon asked, hands clenching at her sides. Open, closed. Open… closed.

“We’re not sure, no one’s claimed responsibility yet.” Faulkner paused again, brow creasing. “What we do know is that the Temple of Sacred Ashes is destroyed, the Divine is missing and the anomaly is some sort of disruption in the Veil. That means it was one of the Magi. You have one hour to pack up, we ship out on the hour to Frostback’s nearest Station, Haven. Dismissed.”

The Medic

Space was quiet. No sound travelled in the vacuum as the world flashed brilliant green and a wave of force expanded out from the moon ahead. Sitting next to her brother, Peanut grabbed onto the control panel and braced herself as the green wave raced towards them.

The Adaar’s ship bucked, steel and carbon fibre groaning under the force of the explosion. For breathless seconds, Pea was sure the hull would give way. Next to her, the other Qunari frantically tried to steady the ship.

Something fizzled and popped in the console, and Pea felt herself start to lift out of her seat as the artificial gravity slowly ebbed away.

“What was that?” she asked, brushing back white curls from her face. Without gravity to hold it down, her hair was lifting up tighter to her cheeks and horns. Wedging one foot against the floor and the other leg against the underside of her seat, Pea pulled her hair back, braiding it to keep it out of the way.

“I don’t know,” Tanim said, squinting at the controls and tapping at them before grunting in annoyance. “Fitzed us good though, Gravity’s off, so’s our engine control. I’ll go see if I can fix it, keep your eyes peeled for anything weird.”

“Weirder than that?” Pea asked, pulling herself back into her seat and buckling in to keep from floating away. The last thing she wanted to do was crack her horns on the ceiling of the ship. “Guess it’s a good thing we were late…” she said quietly. There was a green light shifting and flickering where the Temple had been.

“..or I’d have been split-pea soup!”

The Queen

“How bad is it?”

Hands on the table, the Hero of Fereldan shook her head. Her hair was black, tied back into a braid that hung over her shoulder, brushing the surface of the holo table she leaned against. Ice blue eyes stared at the video of the explosion and she could feel a muscle start to twitch in her jaw. One of the many windows held a redheaded woman’s portrait with the ‘connected’ icon in the lower right.

“It’s very bad,” she told her husband, glancing away from the video to look at him with the smallest of smiles. It didn’t reach her eyes. “The Temple of Sacred ashes is gone. Just gone.”

“Hello Alistair,” Leliana’s voice said, crackling with static. “We’re still investigating, but unidentified life forms have been emerging from the tear, and causing us difficulty. I cannot talk for long, I am afraid.”

Alistair walked up to stand next to his wife, resting his hand over hers and giving it a gentle squeeze.

“What can we do to help?” He asked.

“Send support, military, healing supplies. I would ask for anything you can spare, but I’m aware how delicate the political situation is right now,” Leliana said. “Commander Rutherford and Seeker Pentaghast will do what they can to hold the hostiles at bay until we can stem the tide.”

“I should be there,” Rythlen said, frowning. “I could help.” Even as she said it, she knew Leliana was right. Until they found out who was responsible for the attack, anything more than token aid would imply that Fereldan supported the Templars or the Magi. It didn’t matter which, both sides would argue that the other was at fault.

“No,” Leliana said. “I-“ there was a crack of static, and Leliana cleared her throat. “I must go. I will relay more information when I have it.”

The comm window blinked closed, and Rythlen sighed, straightening.

“She said she’d never seen anything like it before,” she said, leaning her head onto Alistair’s shoulder. “I’ve never seen anything like it before. Considering what we’ve been through…”

“Yeah, that’s saying something,” Alistair agreed, wrapping his arms around her. “We’ll figure something out, Rybee. We’ll find a way to help. I promise.”

The Spy

Someone was following her. Whoever it was didn’t ping the suit’s radar, but Nathyara had learned to trust the prickle on the back of her neck. Someone was following her, even though when she’d turned to look over her shoulder, the hallway had been empty.

The Magi and the Templars had gathered in the main sanctuary, and their arguing voices could be heard echoing through the temple’s hallways all the way up to where Millie crouched, hidden in a dusty alcove.

The prickle was still there, and the woman slowly reached for the knife stashed in her boot. The radar was fine, she knew. More than once it had saved her ass, but now it wasn’t showing /anything/. Behind her visor, Nathy frowned. The radar still wasn't showing anything, but from the corner of her eye, she caught a whorl of dust spin against the flagstones.

Someone was following her.

Nathyara activated the thrusters on her suit and leapt at where the person should be. Knife drawn, the woman thrust down with both hands in what was surely a deathblow. Casualties were to expected in this line of work.

The air flickered under her. A small form in a blackened space suit now where empty air had been a heartbeat before. Nearly a foot shorter than Nathyara was, the person was well short of where Nathy had aimed her knife. Instead of stabbing the stalker in the chest, Nathyara slammed into them, sending them both to the stone floor.

Nathyara, taller, heavier and stronger, quickly got the upper hand. Knife in hand, Nathy stabbed at the stalker again, but the small person twisted, dodging the knife as it sought their throat. While it cut into their shoulder, that was hardly a killing blow. Nathy wasn't given a second chance, the stalker grabbed the knife and tore it away, sending it skittering along the stone floor to rest against a large wooden door.

Fuck.

Time to improvise.

Using the stalker's movement, Nathy wrapped her arms around the smaller person’s neck. Tightening the headlock, Nathy held on tight as the stalker batted at her arms, her helmet, anything to get Nathy off, to get air flowing back into their lungs. But each strike was weaker, more desperate and less effective.

Then they went still.

Waiting for another few breaths, Nathy let go and pushed the small assassin away. Before she stood, Nathy listened carefully to hear if anyone had heard the scuffle and was on the way to investigate. There were muffled voices from beyond , but while they were heated, they didn’t seem to be about what had happened in the hallway.

Creeping forwards, Nathy carefully picked up her knife and pressed the door ever so gently to open it a crack and hear what was being said. A woman’s voice was begging, and a man’s laughed.

“Please, I beg of you, do not do this,” she was saying. Her accent thick and Orlesian. Was that the Divine? But then who was the man?

Maeve was yanked back and then slammed into the door, knocking it wide open and cracking the acrylic of her visor. Stumbling into the room, Nathyara blinked as she was hit again from behind, and the world exploded into green.

Milliara waited as the human stood, walking over to pick up the knife that had been knocked away. She knew something was wrong when she’d rounded the corner of the hallway and the woman she’d been tailing was gone. Now she was sprawled on the floor of an old as shit temple with a burning shoulder and crushed windpipe.

Sucking in air and watching to be sure the human didn’t turn around to finish the job, Milliara slowly pushed herself to her feet, taking care to be as quiet as possible. Splatters of red on the flagstones told her that she’d need to repair the suit before she could re-enter the vacuum. Hopefully duct tape would last long enough to reach a relay point with the Dalish.

Lungs burning, Milliara, crept up behind the human as they seemed to try to eavesdrop through the door ahead of them. With both hands, the elf grabbed the other woman’s helmet, yanking back before slamming it into the door with a satisfying crunch. The door swung inwards, forcing Milliara to alter her plans. Instead of cracking the woman’s helmet into the door again, she tackled her, sending them both flying forward. Something flashed towards them, and then everything flashed green.

They didn’t land. Instead, they tumbled through weightlessness, or… the world tumbled around them. Milliara let go of the woman, clamping her hand over the tear in her suit to keep her air from escaping. Her injured hand held onto her attacker.

She hissed through the speakers on the side of her helmet. Her voice was raw, words too painful to say. Even the hiss had hurt near enough to bring water to her eyes.

“Who are you? Did you do this?!” the human asked, knocking Milliara’s hand free, and sending them drifting apart, spinning slowly in the air. Around them was spongey ground rising up in mounds, and Milliara reached out, stopping her rotation by resting her hand against one of the ‘mounds’.

Slowly they settled against the ground. Whatever it was, it seemed to have gravity, just not in a way that made sense.

Milliara shook her head, then made the sign of long ears against her helmet with her free hand, looking over the human’s suit a bit more closely. There was no insignia. No colours to signify which nation the woman fought for.

“Elf? You're an elf?”

Milliara nodded, and pointed to her throat. No words.

Something chittered and clicked from off to Milliara’s right. Glancing over, she saw a horde of…. Of somethings there. Boys, toddlers through to prepubescent, all wearing a very familiar face. Their eyes were empty, pale and glowing as their teeth snapped and chittered excitedly, as though they were talking amongst each other.

All at once, the heat was gone from her. The anger at her mission getting interrupted, the anger at the woman for maybe poisoning her… everything was gone in the face of this new horror. How could- there was no way this could be real. It was a projection, an illusion.

“Come on, before they get us,” the human yelled, grabbing Milliara’s wrist and yanking her along. The flare of pain in her shoulder urged the elf into action, her feet digging into the soft ground. She was lighter than the human, but faster. All the years in space had helped form her species for low-grav environments just like this. Wrapping her hand around the human’s, Milliara used their hands to point to a slash of green that twisted in the air ahead of them. They just needed to get there, get through.

Someone in a golden suit was waiting there, holding the glowing light ‘open’ to show dark space beyond. Safety from the very wrong children that were scampering after them on hands and knees.

Scrabbling up the steep incline of slime and rock and spongey ground, Milliara and the human took turns dragging each other forward, tumbling into the slash of green and out…. Out into a debris field of slowly rotating rocks, bodies and detritus from the fleets that had been destroyed.

Hand still to her shoulder, Milliara blinked, her already aching lungs not able to draw enough air through her damaged throat to keep conscious. She felt arms wrap around her, one over her own hand on her shoulder... And then nothing.

#Entropic Horizons #Reboot #Milliara #Nathyara #Rythlen #Haylan #Peanut #I decided to re-write it. The earlier writing was a bit spotty and this way I can streamline some of what wasn't working

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annemayfair · 7 years

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Speak When Spoken To

A smol fic

Word count: 2, 315

Early in the morning, Milliara massaged her temples and inhaled the smell of her coffee as she watched servants hurry all over the place, pots of hot water and bandages in their hands. She watched them, impassionate, her feet dangling off the sofa, and she wondered if the Queen fell off her bed and split her head open.

As she searched around in her bowl for cashews among almonds and walnuts, Milliara saw Leliana, dressed in her usual armor, hurry past her with a worried look in her eyes. Millie caught her by the hand, almost flying off her seat as the woman didn’t stop or even react. Eventually, Leliana froze, looking down on the sleepy elf.

“What’s the buzz all about?” She asked, letting go of Leliana’s hand. She grabbed her coffee and took a sip. “Did Her Majesty stub her toe and demand every single servant at this estate…”

“Nathy is back,” Leliana interrupted her shortly.

Milliara’s eyes widened and ears perked up as she slowly put down her hot drink. She opened and closed her mouth.

“She’s not?” The word “dead” didn’t come out no matter how hard the elf tried.

“No,” the archer replied, biting her bottom lip. “But she’s bad. That’s what the buzz is about.”

Milliara melted into the sofa in disbelief. She did not expect the woman to survive, not after she slammed the door on them, locking herself in a hall where she was outnumbered fifty to one. Or after they heard she was taken to Fort Drakon where she was “in care” of Loghain and his men.

Servants covered the blue and purple carpet with rough linen to avoid stains from bloody water. Even sunlight brought an ominous mood instead of its relief. One of the girls asked Leliana to step aside so she could cover the section where the bard stood. Not knowing what else to do, the woman sat by Milliara’s side, shaking, twiddling her thumbs.

Millie kept the silence, too. She felt somewhat guilty for assuming Nathyara would be dead by now and now the woman was back. She always came back. That quality of hers became annoying a long time ago.

“Zev and Ry went to storm Fort Drakon again last night,” Leliana said a full minute later, eyes fixed on Milliara’s cup as if it were the core of all creation. “They planned to play dress-up and find out where they kept her. But they barely passed the front hall when they found Nathy in a guardsman armor slowly dragging herself to freedom.”

“She’s always been impossibly stubborn,” Milliara leaned back on the sofa. “I’m… I’m relieved that she is safe now.”

“Me too,” Leliana agreed weakly. “I only wish she didn’t have the worst of it with Loghain. Maker knows that men like him never stop before it’s too late.”

Her heart began to pound in her chest as Milliara thought of her own time, locked away and alone, at mercy of others. She downed the rest of her coffee, burning her tongue and the roof of her mouth, as her mind wandered in thought. She felt Leliana’s grim fidgeting and knew that the bard did the same. The elf tucked her legs underneath her, staring into nothingness.

“How is she?” She asked again as if the answer would change.

“Bad,” Leliana gave her the same reply.

In the bedroom, Nathyara fought the hands that tried to touch and hold her, only to find them kind and soft and caressing. She cried and felt blood stream down her back and stomach as she was rolled over. Each touch felt on her skin like white-hot iron, more of a reaction than actual sensation. Wynne’s magic brought relief before her throat went dry and scratchy from screaming.

“One more, mi amor,” Zevran whispered into her ear as he firmly grasped her forearm.

“No,” the doglord whimpered. “No, please, I can’t-”

With a loud “pop”, Zevran pulled and rotated her forearm, freeing the joint of an elbow and putting it in the right place. Kisses rained on her face and neck immediately afterwards, Nathy moaning and whining like a puppy through tightly pressed lips with a wrinkle between her brows.

“One more,” Zevran moved up to her shoulder and tears rolled down Nathyara’s cheeks.

“Please, stop,” she pleaded into his kiss, feeling the cold on the elbow as Wynne healed her.

“One more, amor.”

She felt a folded belt being shoved between her teeth. Crying and pleading, she bit into it, her eyes widening and vision blurring as soon as Zevran began applying pressure on her broken shoulder.

Milliara stood outside, listening to the screams and yells, hearing the pleasant shushing of magic that undoubtedly was Wynne. She heard Zevran muttering in Antivan, calming Nathy. She quietly slid into the bedroom, immediately hot from the fire burning in the fireplace, multiplied by flames of braziers in the corners of the room. Wynne stood by the bedside, spellcasting and chugging lyrium as if her life depended on it. Zevran moved around Nathy, shushing her and popping dislodged joints into place, breaking badly mended bones before Wynne fixed them again.

Maker fuck it, Nathy looked better after they all emerged from the Dead Trenches. Milliara’s eyes took in the sight of the woman’s back, whole chunks of meat missing and bones, white bones protruding here and there. Her left leg wasn’t a leg but a bloodied crushed stump. Several of Nathyara’s fingers had no nails or skin.

“Millie,” Zevan called out to her. Snapping out of this mesmerizing and terrifying sight, Milliara nodded at him in acknowledgement. “I’m going to take Wynne to rest.”

The old mage looked like she might collapse and was holding tightly onto Zevran’s supportive hug around her shoulders. The assassin seemed to have aged ten years within past hour.

“Yes,” Milliara agreed to a request that wasn’t sounded. “I’ll be here.”

Zevran thanked her and shot a long glance at moaning Nathyara on the bed where linen colored red underneath her. She seemed to be either on the verge of falling asleep or unconsciousness, either way quieting down by the minute. With another short nod to Millie, he took Wynne outside, carefully closing the door behind them.

Crawling into the seat at the foot of the bed, Milliara prepared to keep a long watch. She stayed quiet, too. She didn’t know what to say. Later, when all had been okay for a while, Millie started to drift into a slumber.

“Does this make you feel better?” Nathyara suddenly asked in a weak voice.

Perking up, Milliara scoffed. “Why would it?”

Nathyara shifted to lie on her side, her movements slow and accompanied by soft groans. She tried to wrap her hands around herself but got stuck halfway, the pain becoming too much to bear.

“Because I finally get to taste what I’d done to you,” she whispered.

“Are you fucking dumb?” Milliara’s laughter was short and dry. “This doesn’t come close to what Fred did, don’t flatter yourself, Nathy. Rest and get back to work.”

“Of course it doesn’t,” Nathy huffed into her pillow. “Of course.”

Months of forced silence and pretending all was well gnawed on Millie from the inside. She knew this wasn’t the time or the place, but Maker’s balls, this woman was insufferable! Was she trying to squeeze out a forgiveness out of torture to which she willingly submitted herself?

“You know what, Nathy?” Millie lifted her hands up in the air. “I give up. I give up on you! I would feel a lot more sympathetic towards you if you didn’t act like there’s a competition between us about who has had it worse. After all, if you really wanted my company or if you cared at all what I felt, you wouldn’t have sent me away to Highever just after a little tease on your dicknose fiancé!”

Nathyara whimpered, her body convulsing from waves of pain that came and went.

“You weren’t there after Teagan left,” Nathyara’s voice sounded dry and teary. “You went to the Alienage.”

“So what?” Milliara settled her elbows on the bed. “Was I supposed to sit there and stroke your hair until you stopped sulking? Would that have presented you stealing my son? Because fuck, I would’ve stricken the shit out of your hair, then!”

“At the luncheon one of the servants spilled stew on my dress. It was hot and it burnt my legs, and it hurt. He smiled as he apologized, and I swallowed the pain to finish the meal.” Nathyara spoke slowly, but clearly, her mind cruelly not slipping into rest. “When I asked the maid to help me undress, she removed my stonicker so well I bled from the pins and needles she told me were needed to take it down. I was angry and I wanted to cry. And then you came to find me.”

Milliara caught Nathyara’s eyes and felt her ears twitch as the bann looked at her. Was she praying and preparing to die? What was going on with her?

“Your sense of humor sucks,” Nathy laughed and her laughter turned into a pained groan. “And your tact is fucking awful. I thought you were the same as others whom I overheard, merry that Teagan was saved from a rash-covered Orlesian whore. And when you spoke up, I… I actually believed that. I believed that you were just like them. It’s not that you didn’t coddle me, Milliara. Nobody did.”

“I have a hard time believing that,” the elf’s eyes narrowed. “The Couslands loved you.”

“Nobody ever asked how I felt or why I felt that way, certainly not you. Nobody but my little sweet Rythlen and Iona.”

The elf bit her tongue, holding back a snarky remark. This was the first time she heard the bann speak of her dead companion, at least to Millie, anyways. She once heard her drop the name to Zevran but other than that, it almost felt like Iona never existed in Nathy’s life.

“You think about her?” Milliara asked. “Often?”

Nathyara shifted on the bed and adjusted herself on the covers, moving as lightly as she can to not disturb her bulging joints.

“And then I hurt you,” she continued, voice even quieter, ignoring Milliara’s question. Again. “I scared you and abused you. I was toxic, Millie, toxic like an Orlesian whore would be. I knew I wouldn’t be good for you, not like that. But Couslands would be. They are honest and kind and they would never fuck up the way I did.”

Silent and somewhat in shock, Milliara listened, feeling the warmth of the room forcing drops of sweat to form above her upper lip. But her insides were cold.

“Nathy, do you know what abuse is?” She asked, tilting her head.

“I suck in explaining what I do,” Nathyara stated quietly. “But I didn’t lie that day when I said you’d be happier if you stayed in Highever. You were.”

Nathyara curled up into a ball as much as she could by now, shaking slightly. Biting her lower lip, Milliara reached out, unsure, and placed her palm on Nathyara’s healthy leg. Well, a healthier one. She felt the woman shiver at her touch and pulled away as she heard laughter mixed with whimpering:

“He hated my fucking cittern. He hates string instruments in general, at least he did when I was there. One time he cut the strings on my cittern and Fred was so, so mad, but I didn’t mind it. Because he liked my singing and he liked stories about his mother.”

Millie’s heart fluttered and her ears drooped as she heard more about her son. Her son with his own likes and dislikes, a mischievous boy who cuts strings on people’s instruments because he doesn’t like the sounds they made. A wet sound came out of her throat as she thought she’d slit Fred’s throat if he ever dared to even scare Nils.

“I just wanted you. I saw how you smiled at children at the hospital at Widow’s Peak. Open, kind, and so, so beautiful. I wanted you to smile that way at me,” Nathyara was breathless and whatever words she spoke were filled with tears. “For years I rehearsed in my head what you’d say and what I’d reply after you stopped hitting me. After I returned Nils to you. I wanted you to smile at me. Just once would have been enough.”

She tensed up, knees pressing onto her chest, wounds on Nathyara’s back starting to bleed again. She bit on her fists to stifle moans and tears that sat inside her throat and lungs. Once again, Milliara reached out to her, the elf’s palm landing on the woman’s thigh. She stroke it gently when she knew it was okay.

“I wanted you so bad,” the bann could barely speak as her mind began to slip. “I told Zev that I only hurt but he didn’t listen. I’m so glad he didn’t.”

Milliara kept stroking Nathyara’s thigh, lost in thought. Absent-mindedly, she started humming that cittern song, even though it hurt, even though it brought memories so vile she tasted deathroot in her mouth. She didn’t know how much time had passed before she felt Nathyara stopped shaking.

“You know, now that you’re calm,” she said softly, standing up and walking to face the lying woman, “I can safely say that you’re just really stupid underneath all that… Nathy?”

The woman was pale and covered in cold sweat, her shivers so short and small Millie didn’t feel them. She trembled over the covers.

“Fuck!” Milliara swore, rushing to kick the door open. She yelled into the empty hallway. “She went into a shock!”

She looked back at the bed, despair appearing in the elf’s chest. “Fucking someone get in here, she’s going into a shock!”

#Milliara Lavellan #Nathyara Cousland #Nathyara Mac Eanraig #Zevran Arainai #Leliana #Wynne #fic #tw: blood #tw: torture

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