This is a oneshot written for a friend on the bioware forums for one of her characters. It was born of a discussion on how being broken at a young age affects the characters and what the ramifications for that character will be. This is not pleasant, and while nothing explicit happens, mature themes are referenced and hinted at. Please do not read if you are sensitive or if such things offend you. Please do not comment to say such things offend you. Thank you.
Gaia shifted on her filthy pallet, the dry straw digging in and rubbing against raw and aching limbs. The chains of her manacles clinked slightly with her movements, the sound seemingly muffled by the all-encompassing darkness. Her throat and mouth were raw and dry, and she was desperate for something to drink. Master always left a bucket of water in the room, but she couldn't see it in the dark. Hopefully, he had left it where he normally did.
She pulled herself upright, whimpering as her bruised and battered body protested. The last time he came to her, Master had beaten her much worse than usual. A quick check revealed no broken bones, and she breathed a ragged sigh of relief. She ignored the dried blood she found on her thighs. Master wouldn't have left her enough water to wash off with. He seemed to prefer her dirty. "Filthy little knife-eared whore," he would whisper when he came to her, when he pinned her beneath him and took her.
Pulling herself across the floor in a sort of half crawl-half drag, she moved towards where she knew the door would be. Gaia's fingers scraped along the dirty stones until they bumped into the wooden bucket. She curled her small body around the bucket, lifting it with shaking arms so she could tilt some water into her mouth. Her hands were clumsy, though, and spilled some. Cursing softly, she licked the water off her hands, ignoring the taste of dirt, blood and other things. It was too precious to waste.
The first sip of water made her thirst worse, and she struggled against drinking as much as she could greedily. It would only make her sick. She paces herself, taking slow sip after slow sip. As her thirst abated, it left behind a gnawing hunger in her stomach, much worse than usual. How long had she been unconscious?
She frowned in the darkness, trying to think. She didn't remember much from Master's last visit. Her back burned from where his whip had cut through her skin, and there was a dull ache between her legs, but she didn't recall passing out from Master's beating. There was…something else.
Easing the bucket back down, she crawled back to her straw pallet, the only small softness in the small room. She curled up, her back pressed to the wall. The rough stones hurt where they scratched the cuts on her skin, but the coldness of the stone felt good. She lay there, thinking. Snatches of memory came back to her as she concentrated.
Master beating her, raining blows upon her frail body with hard, angry fists. And then Master…screaming? Master fleeing from the room, clutching his face as she fell unconscious on her pallet. Gaia shook her head and buried her face in the straw. She had made Master angry and she would pay for it when next he came. Perhaps if he let her apologize, it wouldn't be so bad. She fell asleep wondering how she would make amends.
The sound of booted feet approaching the door roused her from her uneasy slumber. She moved quickly, kneeling upright, head down and arms by her side. She shivered, both from cold and fear. She heard the key turning in the lock and tried to steel herself.
The door was flung open and bright light flooded into the room. She cried out and snapped her eyes shut. It was too bright and the light stabbed painfully into eyes long accustomed to little or no light.
"Maker's blood!" The voice wasn't Master's, but she dared not raise her head to see who it was. "She's a child!"
The sound of more people approaching filled her with terror. What was happening? She heard the sound of metal clinking and cloth rustling as someone knelt in front of her.
"Get a blanket, something, anything to cover her with!" a voice growled from above her head. "Move, man! And someone find the key to these chains!"
She gingerly slit her eyes open, the light still bright but blocked by the form of the man in front of her. Lifting her head slightly, she took in the purple cloth that formed the skirt of his outfit, the gleaming silver of the armor that covered his upper body. There was a sword etched on the front of that armor and she thought she should know it.
Raising her head a bit more, she cast a hasty glance at the face of the man in front of her. He had dark hair shot with grey, and a stern, harsh face. He was looking over his shoulder, and when he turned back to look at her, she dropped her eyes guiltily. She hunched down, waiting for the blow that would come after a display of defiance like that.
Instead, however, his gauntleted hand rested on her head gently. "Easy, lass," he said quietly. "No one's going to hurt you. Not anymore. We'll have you out here soon and we're taking you someplace safe. You'll be all right."
He kept his hand on her head as she tried to puzzle out what he was saying. She couldn't leave. Master would never allow it. "I'm sorry, ser," she whispered in a tiny, pleading voice. "I can't go with you. Master says I am never to leave here."
The hand on her head shook slightly. "The man who called himself your master and kept you here is dead, child." His voiced grated with satisfaction as he spoke. "He has no control over you anymore. You're coming with us and we will make sure you are safe and taken care of."
Gaia looked up, her green eyes huge in her thin face. The man in front of her was looking down, pity etched in his features. Behind him, another man, dressed as he was, rushed into the room and handed him a blanket, averting his eyes from her form. She felt shame crawl through her. Master always said she was ugly, and now she knew it to be true. But the older man's eyes never left her as he took the blanket and carefully wrapped it around her.
When another man entered and handed him a key, he used to unlock the chains that bound her hands and feet. They fell to the floor in a noisy clatter and her limbs felt strangely light, almost alien without them. Wrapping the blanket more tightly about her, he stood and gathered her in his arms, lifting her as if she weighed nothing. He carried her out of the room, shifting to shield her face with his hand as the brighter light of the corridor burned her eyes.
"Who are you?" she whispered.
"I am Ser Elgin, child. I am a templar and I've come to take you to the Circle. You will be safe there. There are others like myself there, and they will watch over and protect you."
A templar. She turned the word over in her mind. A templar had rescued her and other templars would look after her. Templars would protect her. A small smile touched her lips. She wouldn't ever give the templars a reason to be mad at her. They saved her. They would protect her.
Templars were good.