Tainted Memories

Part 1

For those of you who followed me on my first story, I thank you for joining me on the next part of the journey. It takes place a few months after the last one ended and it is a direct sequel. There will be more swearing than the last story though I continue to maintain the fact that colorful metaphors have their place and should never be over-used. Sex, of course, will be a staple but again, hopefully not over-used. Citrusy chapters will be marked as such but all are vital to the continuation of the tale.

Finally, DA2 might contradict anything I write. If that happens, ah well. Enjoy it for what it is.

Alive Again

Returning to consciousness when you've been asleep for a long time is no easy task. It feels a bit like being born all over again, if you can recall what being born feels like in the first place. It's hard on the body and the mind struggles to make sense of all the strange lights, the sounds and scents swirling thickly about your person. You hear voices and what those voices are saying make no sense at all, even if you once understood their language. You feel as if you are being ripped from that safe, dark place, kicking and screaming yet dying to be free. If your body had undergone some trauma prior to waking up, all the pain you didn't endure comes rushing in as if to remind you of what previously, you were blissfully unaware. The return to consciousness can be both curse and blessing.

It is a curse especially if your memory is gone and you don't have but the vaguest of hints swirling around in your mind. But it is a blessing because, at least, you know you're alive.

The first thing he saw as he hauled himself through the black miasma of his mind was blazing light. It soon resolved itself into a pair of intense, blue-violet eyes framed by a heart-shaped face and a cloud of soft, white-blond curls. Her eyes were large and framed by heavy, black lashes. She was smiling down at him, encouraging him gently in a language he understood though he did not know why.

As he looked beyond her, he noted that the room he was in was quite dark and built entirely of wood. A few candles sputtered in places one needed to see but even their light was kept low. The two windows the room had were covered in heavy, indigo fabric to keep the light out, he assumed, to protect his eyes. The room was sparsely furnished with just a couple low stools, a table, a book-shelf and a statue with a lot of heavy, black hair. No, not a statue but a person standing with his back turned to the human's low bed. He seemed to be reading something.

"Keeper! He's awake! His eyes are open, Keeper," the little elf-woman exclaimed. Valensoril Krae looked over his shoulder, the curtain of his long, black hair parting across his shoulder as he turned his head. He wasn't old-looking but there was a wisdom and quality about him that spoke of many, many years. He was the Tirashan's greatest healer and its leader. He had tasked himself with ensuring the Shem in his care survived, hopefully in one piece. That he'd opened his eyes was no surprise; he'd done it many times before over the months and had even shouted out names, one of those belonging to his son, Veranon. However, since the healing began, never had the man's strange outbursts been more than fade-dreams that broke the constant night of the man's coma.

Valen walked over to her, his hair following lazily on the ground in his wake. It was almost half again as long as he was tall; long strands of glittery white threaded through the darkness like shooting stars. "Child, he has done this many times before. It is no miracle that he is doing it again. Are his eyes dilated in the light or is something there?" he asked in soft, even tones. Even when angry, Valensoril tended to speak softly, evenly, only the clenching of his jaw giving an indication to his rage. Leaning over his patient, he held a candle to the bright blue orbs and watched the irises flinch to tiny, black points. "Hmm… That is a good sign!"

She grimaced as the man suddenly gripped her wrist and hissed something up at her in thickly accented Orlesian. "Trust me, Keeper…! I've never seen him do this before. He's hurting me!" At those words, the man instantly released her wrist and then he looked at the hand as if seeing it for the first time. He looked at how gaunt and skeletal it was and that seemed to dismay him. He turned it this way and that with eyes wide. Then the man looked back up at her. "Yes…that is your hand, Human. You have lost a great deal during your time here and it will take a lot of work returning you to better form than you arrived in. You must be…hungry. I'll fetch you a nice stew to give you back some energy. I'll warn you now that even though it's good for you, it's, ah, not very good."

Valen smiled at her, his lips curled in rare humor. "Should I tell Nalien you don't like her cooking?" he asked, an eyebrow quirked. His apprentice shook her head and darted out as Valen peeled back the coverlet from the prone human's body. That body was painfully gaunt, the stomach sunken in, ribs painfully visible and no trace of the previous months' trauma etched in his tan skin. Indeed, there wasn't a single scar. The emaciated man was nude, save a thick diaper that Valen's own hands had been changing on a regular basis during the man's slow recovery. "Hopefully, you won't need this soon." He said as he tended the human, bathed him, changed the diaper and wrapped his groin in a new, fresh one. "My apprentices usually do these things but I am not above the more difficult tasks a healer must do. Now… That's done!"

He replaced the blanket and moved a short stool to the head of the bed. After sitting on it, he said, "Welcome back to the land of the living! You've been away an awfully long time, my boy; maybe about six months or so. Maybe longer. Please tell me everything you can remember."

The man struggled and finally, after much testing of his tongue and the various sounds he could make with it, the human spoke in his thick, Orlesian-flavored Fereldan. "I…recall nothing. A few faces, a red-haired woman named, 'Mon ce'aire', some bits from my childhood and my grandmother's face but really nothing more. Where am I? Do you know who I am?"

This revelation seemed to startle Valen. "You've no other memories at all? Nothing about how you got here?"

The human shook his head. "I think I was Chevalier once. But I do not know what that even means."

The pretty, golden-haired healing-apprentice walked in with a steaming bowl and a spoon, smiled and set them down on the table by the human's bed. "I have a theory about his memory loss, Keeper. May I speak?" At Valen's courteous nod, she sat her small bottom on the bed. "Well, when you were first brought to us, you were…a mess. You were ripped open and your internal organs saturated in the blood of an ogre. There wasn't just blood there either. I was on the detail that met Halmshiral's elves half-way and I began the healing to stabilize you. Curiously, I found traces of Spirit-born fade magic in your body that likely kept you alive for the trip. Nobody knows how it got there though Veranon said the woman you were lying beside had laid a strange, glowing staff on your body so…maybe that was it?

"Anyway, when we began working on you, because you had been a Grey Warden for so long and had reached the end of your ability to fight the Darkspawn Taint and survive, the ogre's blood and viscera had thereby poisoned you beyond your ability to fight it. Your immunity had run its course. We had to remove the taint but where your warden Taint ended and the Ogre's began was unclear.

"So we removed all of it.

"As I said before, you had been a Grey Warden for so long that it was a part of what you were, not just who you were. So when we removed the Taint, we also inadvertently wiped your memories. It was accidental to be certain but likely inevitable. Perhaps Alainala could…?" she gazed askance at the Keeper, who shook his head solemnly.

"The Chantry is making things difficult for her Clan. He would have to go to her because she cannot leave her people. And you know about what they tried to do? Veranon is working to thwart it but I pray he does enough. No, his memories are his own to retrieve as he mends. And your theory is valid and accepted. You may reach Mastery yet, young apprentice."

"What…what do I do now? Can you tell me my name at least?" the human asked, his hand curled around Valen's.

"I could tell you your name. I know that much about you, after all, but I fear that knowing it might release memories that could encourage you to rush your recovery. Much as my people would love to have you gone, I made a promise to Alainala and to my son that I would see you recovered in full, personally. So, for now, you are 'Blackfox'. Veranon said you identified with that ancient rogue so it is that you shall become him. Hopefully, your memories will return on their own. Do you remember Veranon?"

Ah! A name. It was not his real name but it was more than he'd had before. At the mention of the strangely familiar name, the Fox nodded slowly, his mind straining to reveal an indistinct mental image of a tall, slender elf with short black hair and a bemused expression. "Vera-non… My friend? I think?" the Fox said uncertainly.

Valen nodded. "He was that and more. Not a lover, no, though close to it. He used to say that without him, you couldn't find your own head in broad daylight."

"I was that stupid?" the human blinked.

Valen grinned and said with a wink, "No…just that dependent on him. He was your right-hand man. He'll be happy to have you back, you know. Anyway, I must depart. There is someone just outside your door who needs to speak to you, anyway. She is going to be behind the bulk of your recovery. Respect her, human. She is one of the few among us with two Brands and two Masteries. Kaltea, he is yours."

The elf that walked in bore no resemblance to the slender, graceful creatures Blackfox had come to understand as "elves." She was stocky, muscular with broad shoulders and large, high breasts stacked atop a leather and steel-studded corset that framed her body while adding support. Her shirt was very thin, fairly see-through and ended at cap-sleeves revealing powerfully-built arms. It was open to reveal a generous amount of cleavage. Her wrists were cuffed in bands of studded leather similar to the corset. The hair that framed her face was long, thick and a dirty blond that looked brown in the dark but much lighter as she stepped into the light. It was tied back in a thick braid that traveled down the length of her back. With square features like her jaw, lips and nose she didn't scream elf at all. Her ears, however, were tapered gracefully and adorned with numerous hoops, cuffs and other decorations. On her right shoulder, the Fox could almost make out a tattoo of some kind…

Her leather boots made no sound as she stalked him, looking him over. She placed her hands on her broad, black-garbed hips as she glared at him. He suddenly had the urge to flee. "So. You are the Shemlen I was ordered to fix, hm? Lovely. Just great. If it wasn't for Veranon begging me to do this, I wouldn't be here. It's a good thing you're so well-liked!"

The Fox felt something akin to rage bubbling inside him. "Then what are you waiting for? Leave already!"

She walked over to him and took him by his skinny arm in a movement that caught him utterly off guard. The woman was fast! "Do you see this? Do you really think you can survive with arms like this? Hardly! Your body is wasted, human! Sit up!" Startled, he pushed his arms underneath his body and tried to raise himself. He managed only to shove himself up a few inches before falling back against the bed. What the…? What was wrong? Why couldn't he sit up? "Can't, can you? You have been lying prone now for the better part of six months, nearly seven if you chose to wait a week longer. Your muscles have atrophied beyond healing so now it comes down to my skills, non-magical as they are. And my understanding is that you weren't in the best of shape from the get-go. Between exercising and eating, you'll be better than you ever were so your case isn't hopeless. It takes time and patience and judging from your expression, patience is something you apparently lack. Fortunately, I have all the time in the world."

She was brusque with him as she rolled him onto his belly. Her hands then began to do the most amazing things to him! Her blunt, thick fingers were strong and kneaded his thin muscles expertly, somehow forcing strength to bubble up from somewhere within him. It was painful, feeling as if she were shoving the muscles around to where she thought they should be which was probably true. In spite of himself, the Fox began to enjoy it. Too soon, she was done. She pulled away and stacked several pillows behind him. "I've brought some items up that should help you help yourself when I'm not here. I have other tasks after all." She walked over to the wall where various items were stacked. They appeared to be numerous stones in varying sizes, a couple of leather thongs and a strange wooden contraption with wheels.

She lifted up two of the circular stones, each pierced with a hole big enough to easily thread something through. One stone was larger than the other. "These weights are part of your means out of here. Right now, you live in a 'dola' or tree-hut in the arboreal part of the Tirashan Clan. Most of our clan lives in these trees, some never placing a foot on solid ground. It is a long way to the ground and just stepping out to take a piss will require more strength and agility than you're capable of right now. Your ultimate goal will be to climb unaided to the forest floor. That will take a while because, obviously, if you can't sit up without help, there's no way you can carry your own body the height of a tree. I'll run you through some exercises that I want you to do whenever you are not receiving instruction from others, eating, sleeping or shitting."

She showed him how the weight were used by threading a bit of leather through the hole in one of the disks. Kaltea then tied it off, looping the ends in a functional bow. "It looks pretty but what it does is creates a knot that holds without locking so you can't get it undone. Trust me; get enough weight on this and the knots will lock. Hold it in your hand and lift it." Though the disk was small, it offered a great deal of resistance. She showed him several exercises and had him try out several repetitions of each before switching to another movement or another stone. She worked with him for a long time, her low voice explaining each motion and what it was for as he exercised. It was grueling but satisfying and when she was done, the Fox was bathed in a fine sheen of sweat.

She then approached a final object, the wooden thing that lay folded against the wall. She pulled it away and easily unfolded. "This is a walking assist…" she began as memories of white-haired old ladies flooded the Foxe's mind. They used items similar to this one to keep their frail bodies erect as they hobbled from shop to shop, inching along. Invalids used theses! Weak people with weak bodies used these! The Fox would never stoop to use such a device, no matter how beneficial it was. He was temporarily unable to walk, that's all. He would do it on his own or not at all and that was final!

"Non. I will not use it," he growled.

"You will use it because I say it is a necessary part of your recovery!" she snapped in return, bristling against his stubborn pride.

"Never! Weak old ladies use it, not strong men! I am a strong man and I have my pride. How dare you assume that I would need such a thing?"

"Because I am your therapist and you will do as I say," she said sharply in return.

"Fuck you!" he yelled at her. Well, his lungs were in good shape, anyway.

She opened her mouth, an insult on her lips and her expression angry. Then, her expression became sly. "Okay then, o' mighty warrior. Fine. I concede. Just get up and walk around then, show me just how wrong I am. Can you do this?"

Having forgotten already his humiliating inability to sit up, the Fox threw his legs over the side of the bed, his back against the pillows for support and his shaking arms barely holding him up. He carefully shoved his body up onto the narrow stilts he used for legs these days and, for a moment, he remained standing. It didn't last. The momentum created when he shoved himself into a standing position caused him to lose his balance and the room suddenly lurched to the side. Unable to recover, the Fox slammed face-first into the smooth wood of the floorboards. His arms and legs were spread out, his diapered bum uncovered. It was humiliating. The worst part was that the woman, Kaltea, was leaning casually against the wall and made no effort to help him. To make matters worse still, she was smiling sweetly down at him.

"Well? Aren't you a healer? Won't you at least help me up?" he gasped, his arms struggling to push himself up. He remembered doing push-ups as an exercise and being able to use one hand!

Grinning, her expression happily screaming "I told you so," she started to leave. "No, I won't. You wanted to be fucked? Well this is me, fucking you. Someone will help you up. Eventually. Wave 'hi' to the dust bunnies while you're down there. If you're there long enough, they might choose to investigate. Oh and if I haven't told you, I really hate humans." With that said, she walked away with a grin.

Thus began the first day of what would be nearly six more months of rehabilitation…

To be continued…