A Dream, Within A Dream
If she had known it would be her last day on earth, she would have made better plans. She would have gone to see her friends, her family. Tell them she loved them. At least called. Done something amazing. Made the day mean something. But she didn't… What did she do instead?
Spent her day off playing videogames until she felt like she was going to be sick.
Yes, she knew, it was disgusting. We're looking at eighteen straight hours of couch surfing, People. That's enough time for a person to leave on a plane from Chicago and arrive on the other side of the fucking planet…
It's official. She was despicable and she hated herself.
She didn't usually do this kind of thing! It wasn't even semi-typical of her! Normally, she was quite careful with keeping all things in moderation—quoting by it, even, because that was just something she did. Philosophers, poetry, music, you name it, if it piqued her interest, she spread it around to all her friends and coworkers. Knowledge is meant to be shared, after all—well, maybe not all knowledge…such as that of her secret bad habit.
She knew she had a problem. She was working on it. And actually making progress! She'd worked out a schedule, even! No more than an hour's worth of her time would be devoted to gaming each morning, and two, maybe three at night. She'd work on slowly reducing it by fifteen minute intervals until she successfully weaned herself from her addiction.
That all blew up in her face spectacularly when Dragon Age Inquisition came out.
Months of work, completely blown, as if the Breach itself had suddenly erupted in her living room and sucked it all into the Fade. And if she were as technologically retarded as her aged grandmother, she might have actually believed it. Those graphics—God, Maker, Creators, whoever the hell it was making this shit happen to her—she wanted to kiss them.
Wait. No. No she didn't. She wanted to kill them.
How could they do this to her? It wasn't fair.
Because of her obsessive addiction problem, she was parked in front of the television for eighteen hours playing this stupidly terrible and wonderful game and reveling in every minute of it until it was over and she felt like she was going to pass out. She was pretty sure there was a health warning the PS4 always flashed at her whenever she turned it on—something about seizures—but, as always, she ignored it, like the obsessive addicted idiot she was.
And that was how she spent her last eighteen hours.
She then promptly passed out on her couch.
Later, she didn't know whether to curse herself into oblivion…or consider herself lucky.
It was a rude awakening, to say the least.
She wasn't even sure she was awake, everything felt so clouded and surreal. The first thing she was aware of was someone gently shaking her shoulders, repeating someone's name fervently. She blinked her eyes open groggily to behold a middle-aged man looming over her where she lay on some sort of alter or…sepulcher slab, more-like. He had grizzly features, narrow, steel grey eyes and hair, along with a carefully trimmed beard. Idly, she noted that his ears looked oddly lumpy and misshapen.
His eyes were locked on hers, searching, as if looking for something within, and shined avidly as she blinked at him in utter bemusement. Finally, she slurred out, "You look…familiar."
She must have skimmed over the fact that her voice was an octave higher than normal—not to mention completely unfamiliar in the 'not mine' sort of sense.
"Valeria…" the man breathed the name as if it were something sacred, reaching reverently to cup her cheek. "You've come back to me."
Everything was so confused and fuzzy then, she only registered a handful of his words. "Did I…go somewhere?"
"Somewhere far away," he replied, pulling her up gently—her bones felt like jelly—and embracing her. He wore long robes, she noticed, the voluminous sleeves of which felt strange and foreign brushing up against her skin and smelled of old books. "But Adda has you now. I found you. I'll never let you go again, Sweet girl." He then murmured things in a strange, rythmic language she'd never heard before, but his tone sounded reassuring.
"Adda…" She repeated musingly. Was that his name? Her eyes were unfocused, and everything seemed a little bit blurry. But as the man held her, she began to make out a rigid figure over his shoulder. Her vision became clearer as she concentrated a bit harder, blinking at the person standing sigil at the shadowy entryway—a dissent into some sort of crypt, she realized. He was unmistakable, and in her near drunken haze, she smiled at him vaguely, and mused, "This is a very…strange dream… Why are you here?"
The figure didn't answer, his face carefully blank, and looking wordlessly to the man as if needing permission to speak. She frowned, sobriety quickly rushing up to meet her like the ground rushes to meet a suicide victim. It hit her all at once, the startling comprehension, staring into that painfully restrained expression of solemn submission, vibrant green eyes framed by stark white hair falling around sharp, tanned, angular features. He looked like he'd never smiled a day in his life. And somehow, she got the distinct feeling that she'd just made his day a hundred times worse.
"You're disturbing my daughter," the man holding her said sharply as he felt her body stiffen in response to the startling realizations she was beginning to come to. "Leave. I'll deal with you…later."
As the vividly familiar figure turned abruptly and began to ascend the stairs that led down to the crypt, a brief, but terrifying feeling of abandonment settled for an inexplicable reason in her chest, prompting her to object impulsively, "Wait!"
Mechanically, as if the word physically hindered him, the figure halted before he could even set his bare foot on the first step. She swallowed thickly as another hundred realizations made themselves known like electrical pulses buzzing inside her whirling brain. She was extremely aware of the man with the lumpy ears and the strange robes and his proximity. Her brain also made the last lurching leap, landing sickeningly upon the one and only conclusion as to who this man could be.
'Daughter,' she exclaimed inside her head, close to full-blown panic. 'He said daughter!'
She thought quickly. Very, very quickly. She knew right away there was only one way this could end, and it wasn't going to end well. She was screwed. This she knew for a fact. The only thing she could do was drag it out. She quickly made up a list of pros and cons of the situation, advantages and disadvantages (which greatly outweighed the advantages) and just as quickly came to a solid resolution. She was about to lie her ass off.
It was a good thing bullshit was part of her job.
In this case, a fair amount of acting would be required as well, she was afraid.
As it was, falling asleep sitting up really wasn't that hard to do in her situation. Her body felt like a useless sack of bones that hadn't moved in centuries. She was so, so tired. All she wanted to do was lie back down, even if it was on a hard stone slab. "What's…wrong with me?" she finally dared to ask the man, hardly having to put on an act at all, her unfamiliar voice strained from disuse. "I feel…so weak. Everything's…confused."
"Don't fall asleep," the man commanded abruptly, holding her back at arm's length and giving her another gentle shake, glinting eyes taking her apart piece by piece as if examining for damages. "You've been asleep for far too long, Valeria. If you go back to the Fade now, you might not come back again."
"I…" she admitted another truth, her heart skipping a beat when she contemplated the existence of the aforementioned 'Fade,' "don't remember…anything."
The man froze, his eyes darting back up to bore into her own as if something monumental had just occurred to him. His eyes then flashed briefly to the slimly built figure, at the foot of the stairs, still waiting there frozen as she had compulsively commanded with his back turned to them. The bearded man then examined her closely again and she tensed inwardly, wondering if he'd see through her ploy. Finally, he said softly, caressing her cheek, "I did not foresee this…" He seemed as if he were thinking aloud, manically almost, his harsh lined face slowly shifting as ill conclusions dawned on him. "Somniari accounts have mentioned the distortion of time within the Fade, but I had not taken into consideration…" He trailed off, closing his eyes, frown lines appearing between his brows. When he opened them again, he asked her, "…Valeria, how long has it been for you?"
Focusing on his words critically, she asked another question in return, "…Is that my name?" She felt a stirring of remorse at his progressively crumbling countenance, but soldiered on and asked, "Are you…my father? Your face is…familiar." The guilt really did stab at her, when she saw his eyes glass over with unshed tears. "Please…don't cry." No matter who she highly suspected this man's identity was, she was still essentially telling someone's father that his obviously well-beloved daughter didn't remember a thing about him. Well…she did, technically.
Just not anything good.
The man merely drew her into another embrace, tighter this time as he said in her ear, "My precious child, I have spent the better part of three years trying to keep you alive—sacrificed well over a hundred slaves for you—" Her stomach turned over sickly at this fact. Over a hundred? The statement echoed in her mind in harsh relief upon a blood red background. "—What matters is that you've returned to me, at last… You're safe now." He paused, pulling back to brush threads of unfamiliar midnight-black hair away from her bewildered face. "I will never let you go again."
It seemed to have been meant as a conciliatory gesture, but somehow, knowing what she knew about this man, it came off as the complete opposite. The chilling feeling of intent behind that statement made her want to shrivel up inside. And as she spotted the dismal, green-eyed stare over the adamant man's shoulder aimed at her from the narrow figure at the foot of the stairs, the feeling intensified tenfold.
If the Magister Danarius made a promise like that, you'd have to be a fool not to believe him.
Valeria—because that was her name everyone called her by—was in the midst of an extremely tedious rehabilitation phase. Apparently three years of next to no movement—which she still had not been informed of the reasons behind—really takes a toll on the body; her muscle mass had degenerated down to about zero percent. She needed assistance to do anything. It was…humiliating.
But the alternative was revolting.
Almost immediately, her… 'Father'…had proposed a 'simple' solution to the task of restoring her to full-functioning capacity.
"We will simply bleed another. It is of no consequence," he suggested in such a flippant tone. "I have worked tirelessly, and will continue to go to any expense to ensure your health. One more sacrifice in the large scheme of things is nothing if it will serve as a means to the end of your illness."
As he was walking ahead of them, Valeria leaning heavily on the ostensibly mute Fenris' arm while he helped her walk precariously down the dark halls of the mansion—as if that wasn't unnerving and implausible in and of itself—Danarius didn't see the look of pure shock and horror flash across her face. However, her personal living crutch had ample opportunity to analyze her clearly visible reaction. She shot a quick look of apprehension at the elf—elf!—before quickly and loudly voicing her objection, "No!"
'Keep in character, keep in character—' she chanted inwardly, then added scathingly, '—who conveniently wasn't mentioned in-game! Those fuckers!' She cursed frantically to herself a moment longer, scrounging for some kind of justification for her vehement refusal as Danarius turned to look at her incredulously. Finally, she ventured, 'Somehow, I just can't picture the daughter of Danarius being exactly what you would call "charitable"…'
Squaring her jaw, she decided on 'stubbornly defiant, arrogant, and proud to a fault' but cringed inwardly, as this wasn't going to be easy… Making a show of letting out a huge puff of indignation, she roughly shoved away Fenris' assistance—I'm sorry, I'm sorry, please don't fist-kill me—causing the elf to stumble back a bit in surprise at her unexpected surge of strength that was gone just about as soon as it came. Without Fenris' help, she dropped to her knees as if invisible puppet strings above her had just simply been…snipped. She gritted her teeth in pain as her knees slammed into the floor with an audible bang, sending a trembling through her frail bones.
Both men rushed forward, Danarius with a cry of alarm, but Fenris got to her first, attempting to haul her back to her feet, but she slapped his gauntleted hands away from her snapping scathingly at him, "Don't touch me, Slave!"
Her stomach felt sick as he flinched away from her looking thoroughly stricken. He took an unsure step back from her, his expressive eyes darting from her to Danarius rather helplessly. "Master, I—"
"Silence," Danarius coldly cut off whatever he was about to say with a derisive flick of his fingers—as if he were some kind of unruly pet. He then moved towards Velaria smoothly with exaggerated movements she thought were supposed to calm her—as if she were some sort of dangerous, wounded creature.
She hissed at him as he reached out a hand towards her, and exclaimed, "I don't need anyone's help! No slaves! I can do it by myself! Let me be!"
Briefly, the magister entertained a rather condescending smile at her antics, but withdrew his offered hand as she had stipulated. "I only wish to assist you, Dearest One. If Fenris scares you, I will help you to the dining room."
She frowned at him defiantly—the challenge overshadowing any remnants of her act—reaching out deliberately towards the wall where she clung with her shaky fingers, slowly, painstakingly clawing her way to her feet using it as support. She stood before him boldly, chin raised with true pride and a mild sneer. "He's not scary. I'm not afraid of anything."
Danarius observed her display curiously before letting out a silky chuckle, shaking his head slightly as if at fond memories. "Of course not. You were named for bravery, after all—your mother's idea—after Archon Valerius. She was deeply enamored with history when you were born."
She let out a flippant sniff—though the subject matter he spoke of was actually quite intriguing to her true-information-hoarding-self—feigning disinterest. Slowly, but steadily, she began to plod forward, hands constantly clinging to the stone wall for leverage and support. She scoffed, "I definitely don't remember that…"
"I wouldn't expect you to. But these things have a way of bouncing back, I've found…" he assured her confidently, eying her progress with watchful eyes. "You'll be back to trying to burn Fenris' hair off before you know it."
'I did what now?' She whirled her head around to eye the subdued elf critically. The stark imagery of his head on fire sent a wave of panic thrumming through her, and for a moment, she actually had to check to see him perfectly unharmed to clear the grotesque image from her mind. He was…different to how she had imagined. However, she considered his lowered eyes and defeated posture thoughtfully for a moment and came to another one of her startling, gut punching conclusions.
'He's still a slave, you Idiot—directly under Danarius' thumb,' a scathing voice inside her head hissed at her. 'What else would you expect? Snarky commentary on the tyranny of mages and Broody wisecracks? Hell, he hasn't even become that person yet! That Fenris had over three years outside the Imperium plus his time with the Fog Warriors to grow—is he even in the right state of mind to see that all of this is wrong?'
'No,' she realized with a dawning feeling of horror in her gut as he dared to peek up at her, feeling her scrutinizing gaze on his person. 'He most certainly is not.'
And for the first time, she really wondered what the hell she was expecting to happen. Tell Fenris all about her misplacement into the body of his master's daughter, and as soon as Danarius' back was turned they'd run off into the sunset together in search of a way to get her back home? For one thing, in what reality would he even want to help her? Fenris was never characterized as a hero; saving damsels in distress was Hawke's thing. For another, she could tell just by looking at him that he was still deeply indoctrinated into the mindset of a slave! In other words, he didn't think for himself! Danarius did all his thinking for him! The minute she said anything to him in confidence, his slave programing would kick in, and he'd go straight to report to his master. Hell, he fucking killed every single Fog Warrior he'd been living with for months, that he'd admired, and even felt fondness for—just because Danarius came back and gave him an order!
That begged the question of what exactly he could do to her…
She swallowed thickly and almost fell to her knees again as panic and dread welled up inside her chest, screaming inside. The final recognition that she was a stranger in a strange land—enemy territory—where absolutely no one could or would help her—it almost bowled her over like a wrecking ball. She was alone. And if she wanted to live, no one could know. No one. Not even someone her game-addled mind associated with friendship—safety. He was the opposite. But besides Danarius—and the cold comfort that granted—he was the only familiar face here. And she clung to familiarity, so much like the cold stone wall her fingers clutched at. It was the only thing supporting her…the only thing stopping her from drowning.
"You can stop looking so butt-hurt now—I'm not angry with you," she finally shot over her shoulder at him in a carefully controlled voice, trying her best to sound casual and callous, adding in a softer mumble, "You act as if someone's just died, or killed your puppy, or maybe…"
For some reason, Danarius found something about this statement positively hilarious, bursting out in uproarious laughter that echoed down the hall and caused Fenris to recoil ever-so-slightly away from him with a micro-expression of disgust on his face—one which I did not fail to notice—before it disappeared as if it had never been there at all.
"Yes," the magister chuckled brightly, an unsettlingly malignant glint to his chilly eyes. "He does tend to act like a kicked dog at times, I've noticed. Perhaps it tugs at fond old memories? The two of you did so loathe each other, after all… It was quite amusing, really." I blinked at him in confusion, at which point he elaborated, "Fenris is my bodyguard. You were so upset when I had him appointed, as, naturally, he went with me everywhere. You assumed that I desired his company more than yours, I suspect, and grew quite jealous… It was the same when I acquired my apprentice." He smiled fondly at her. "Even bedridden, you could still manage to find a way to ruin Hadrianna's day without even having to lift a finger. You can be such a vindictive little creature at times, Valeria…"
"Am I?" she questioned airily, eying the Magister blankly. "I wouldn't know."
"All in good time." He patted her cheek familiarly, still walking beside her at the snail's pace she was making, but looking down the hall curiously as a clang sounded somewhere ahead near the kitchens. Distractedly, he told her, "Fenris happens to have intimate knowledge regarding the subject. I'm sure he can regal you with a myriad of sordid tales on your childhood misadventures. Entertain her, for a moment, Little Wolf. I must sort this mess…"
And with that, he walked brusquely off down the hall at a pace she couldn't hope to meet at the rate she was going, intent on a slave-girl who froze in horror at the sight of him before darting back into the kitchens…leaving her alone with the other one.
She waited until he was out of sight before turning her stare back on Fenris, whose eyes were fixed upon a single point on the floor in front of him. Before she could stop herself, she whispered wretchedly, "…Did I really set your hair on fire?"
She watched him visibly hesitate a moment before answering without looking at her, "You tried."
She frowned, not liking the sound of it, even if he didn't end up running around with his head on fire… She eyed him reproachfully. "Then he's right. You must really hate me…"
At this, his head snapped up sharply, his eyes full of what seemed to be alarm, then…confusion. Then he recited as if by rote, "Of course not, Mistress."
"Don't call me that," she bit out impulsively, realizing belatedly how that sounded, and stammering, "Just…just don't, okay?"
He seemed as if he were about to say something, but changed his mind and shook his head dismally. "Master will be displeased with me."
"Then don't do it in front of him," she snapped scathingly, but jumped slightly at the sound of her own voice around the same time Fenris flinched. She still wasn't used to how waspish it could sound. She worked on softening her tone, finding some difficulty, but working around it, "Listen…when it's just you and me, it doesn't matter. What he doesn't know won't hurt him, will it?"
This was a test. She analyzed his reaction closely.
He cast a paranoid glance down the hall as if Danarius would suddenly appear down any of the side corridors at any given moment and swoop down on him. But there was nothing. Not even a sound. Finally, in an action that made her freeze involuntarily as he stooped his head towards her into her personal bubble, eyes boring into hers in painful earnest, he whispered, "What would you have me call you?"
"A-anything but that," she stammered out nervously—he was too real, too in her face. "I don't care. Just…" She blurted out the first thing that came to mind, anything to get him to stop staring at her with those eyes, "Val—or something—whatever you like. No more of this 'mistress this, mistress that' bull shit. Got it?"
She hadn't meant to give him her real nickname. Come to think of it, it was probably a good thing Valeri and Valeria were only off by one letter… Come to think of it again that was really weird. What the hell was with that?
She shook her head of the confusing thoughts, and said, "It doesn't matter. Just…" She gritted her teeth as her knees gave a shudder and she bit out quickly, "Do me a favor and grab my hand before I fall on my stupid face."
He hesitated a second, but she didn't exactly have time for that, or nerves—as her legs were nearly void of them—so just grabbed his hand impatiently and leaned on him again, stumbling and nearly knocking him over, to which he muttered what sounded like a pretty nasty curse in Tevene under his breath; she supposed it was good that some things never seemed to change…
"Sorry," she apologized. "My legs seem to have decided I am unfit to rule them. I guess that's karma for you…" she muttered the last under her breath.
"I was under the impression you did not desire any assistance from slaves," he quoted her somewhat dryly.
She frowned heavily as he helped her walk, regardless. Finally, she told him lowly, adamantly, "I don't want anyone else to die for me." At his incredulous stare, she hissed, "Tell me how you would feel if you woke up one day and found out over a hundred people had to die in order for you to actually do that."
"I…" he hesitated. That damned look—like he was about to say something, but he hesitated. Then he said, "…I don't know."
"It feels like shit, that's what it feels like," she elaborated for him bluntly, looking ahead and cursing the ridiculously long hallways and her wobbly legs. "I don't recommend it." Finally, she nailed the coffin shut. "…He should have just let me die."
Silence stretched between them afterwards. Fenris seemed unwilling to comment; she thought it might be because he secretly agreed. Her lips twitched into a bitter smile at that thought. He really did hate her. She couldn't exactly say it was surprising. He was still Fenris, after all—even if he wasn't her Fenris. Whoever that even was.
Was any of it even real?
The thought hit her with a hollow pang. What if everything…all of her life was just some—some dream? Trapped in the Fade… She swallowed thickly as the possibilities whirled like a tornado, clamoring around inside her head. But then, what was that knowledge based upon? She needed…she needed to know more.
"You're different," Fenris suddenly spoke from beside her, eying her closely. "Changed."
For a moment, she felt panicked…but then, couldn't exactly bring herself to care. She just shrugged. "People change. What did you expect? According to 'Adda,' time was distorted enough in the fade that I forgot my own name…" She mused, "Exactly how long does it take to do that?" She sighed at his non answer. "About enough time to become an entirely different person, apparently… I wonder how old I actually am. Mentally at any rate…" Her nose crinkled in displeasure at the thought.
After a moment of what seemed to be heavy deliberation, Fenris confessed to her quietly, "I don't remember anything about my life before these markings."
That's right. She almost forgot about that, ironically enough. She turned to look at him ponderingly. "Nothing? And you haven't remembered anything up 'til now either?"
"…Flashes, sometimes. In dreams," he confessed. "I never remember them for long after waking."
"There's a simple solution to that," she smiled. "Just get a journal, and when you wake up, write everything down really, really quickly before you for—" She paused as she took in the very deliberate look he was giving her. Then it hit her. "Oh. You can't read."
Then, she had a spontaneous epiphany, and at this point, she'd had so many of those recently that something in her cracked and she just had to start laughing.
"Is that funny?" She could tell he was barely holding back a deeply suppressed temper.
"No," she laughed. "No, it's really not. There's nothing funny about it at all actually." But still, she laughed, and covered her face with the hand that was not holding onto him for balance in attempt to stifle it, to no avail. "It's just—hahaha—I just realized something."
"And what is that?" he grated out.
She let out another hysterical giggle, then confessed cheerfully, "I can't read either!"
She couldn't stop laughing—not even when Danarius returned from terrorizing the kitchen staff or whatever the hell it was that he did for fun and demanded to know what had happened. She thought she might finally be having that mental breakdown, right in front of enemies number one and two, and she could honestly care less. She'd lost it. Just completely lost it. She was crying too, she was sure—crying and laughing at the same time. And she honestly didn't know whether the tears were happy or sad, or the laughter bitter, hysterical, or maybe just downright tickled at the irony. Maybe it was all of it.
She couldn't read.
Of course she could read English, and still remembered some Latin she'd taken in High School—if any of it even existed outside of the Fade. She supposed it didn't matter, really. She remembered it. It was real to her. And that was better than what she was dealing with now. The only problem? Thedas didn't use English, or Latin. They used Common, mostly—twisting, alien runes, created and developed by dwarves for the soul purpose of having a common written language they could trade with everyone in. Hence the name. Which brings us back to the problem.
Val couldn't read.
Somehow, for someone who spent half of her life—or even longer now, she suspected—with her nose buried in books, not knowing how to read was like the straw that broke the camel's back. Take away everything she thought she knew and turn it on its head? Okay, she could work with that. Barely—but she thought she'd been doing a pretty good job considering the circumstances. She'd been coping in the only way she knew how. But then this.
Oh, and that was just scratching the surface.
"Adda—" she sobbed uncontrollably, clutching at her fake father's robes. Strangely, he was starting to seem less fake the more she realized she needed him. "Adda, I c-can't read—can't write. N-no more books. No more stories. Oh, god, Adda—" She sucked in a shuddering breath as the next life-shattering thing hit her. "Magic! There's n-nothing! I—I c-can't remem-mem-ber! Oh, god—W-what do I do? W-what if I really do set Fenris on f-f-fire?"
At that point, she became completely inconsolable.
Which, in retrospect, was completely ridiculous. She was ridiculous—and selfish—and ridiculous—the entire situation was ridiculous. On the other hand, no—it was completely justified.
Because what if Valeri and Valeria were never two people at all?
Okay, so I know this is a really terrible, horrible, no-good, very bad thing to do.
But I had to do it anyway. Ugh! It wouldn't leave me alone!
I'm afraid the characters are way OOC, but I think the circumstances warrant some OOCness. Fenris is still a semi-brainwashed slave, and Danarius apparently spawned without anybody knowing about it. They eventually level out once the plot gets kicked into action. You'll see if everything goes as planned on my end. Which—who am I kidding?—it probably won't. But I'm going to try it anyway.
THINGS PROBABLY SEEM CONFUSING RIGHT NOW, BUT THEY WILL MAKE SENSE IN THE END, I PROMISE!
Side note: Adda is a corruption of Atta which is Latin-ish for Father, or Daddy, or whatever it is you call your paternal gene-giver. Full credit goes to Google Translate and more-so to OrilleD in her story Kindred—because she came up with it first.
Let me know what you think, or I'm going to end up crying myself to sleep tonight.