Prologue
The garden was a peaceful place- quiet, serene, colorful, even if there wasn't much left. The Blight had not reached here, had not overwhelmed the country so deep into the mountains, but that did not mean that this keep had not felt the effects of devastation elsewhere. When one's home is nestled in the mountains, overlooking the Waking Sea, you are safer from darkspawn, but vulnerable to the elements.
Trade had ceased early on, while nobles elsewhere tried to protect their lands, merchants and farmers ran for their lives instead of plying their trade. And so little things changed in the remote keep: men left to defend the country, noblewomen learned to stitch gauntlets, gardens gave up their flowers and grew carrots and potatoes instead. Now that the Blight was over, the usual way of the country was beginning again, but there was less. Less food, less people, less beauty.
Despite all that, she still liked to come to the garden. In fact, she came as often as possible. Perhaps it was because it reminded her of the garden at her home, or because the quiet beauty of the flora made her feel like she was someplace else, someplace better. Whatever the reason, it was always accompanied by the fact that the Bann had written off the garden as a dirty, grubby place and forgotten it. He never came looking for her here.
She breathed a heavy sigh as she turned away from the few rosebushes which were permitted to survive the garden's overhaul a year ago, and made her way inside the keep. The weather was slowly allowing itself to be called 'summer', but at this late hour, a chill was on the air. Upon entering the keep, she made her way to her chambers as quietly as possible. Most were asleep, but that was when the danger was greatest.
She sometimes toyed with the idea of making a great deal of noise instead, but then she would only announce her presence. Coming to her room as late as possible was a new routine- previously, she had tried going to bed immediately after the evening meal. But that hadn't worked either; she couldn't keep him out, and he had only known where she was for a longer period of time. Every approach had its advantages and disadvantages, but none of them had really worked. Still, she had to try, for her own sake.
One last glance down the hall, another hesitation to listen closely for sounds of another nearby, and then she carefully opened her chamber door. Her gaze concentrated on the empty halls as she slipped inside. It was so late, so quiet. She allowed herself to relax and shut the door. Perhaps he would not come tonight, perhaps he had found someone new; it had been nearly a week since the last time… She turned into the room, moved toward her bureau, and gasped. She had relaxed too soon.
He was waiting for her. He was standing in the shadows of the corner, arms crossed, angry.
"You made me wait a very long time," he said quietly.
A moment after the words were said, he was on her, grabbing her by the neck and tossing her against the bed. She struggled, as she always did, but she dare not make any noise. A whimper here or there he would ignore, but anything more would only incense him, and the event would be harsher and crueler. He was angry already, and when he was angry he abandoned any pretense that she was anything more than a tool for him.
Sometimes, when he was feeling kinder, or in the mood for romance, he would undress her carefully, pet her, talk to her, kiss her. Among lovers these actions would have been comforting, but they disgusted her. No matter how it was dressed up, it was still the same thing. She almost preferred it when he was savage with her, as he was now. In some ways, it hurt less.
He did not bother undressing her now. She was forcefully bent over the side of the bed, her dress pulled up, her arms held down as he took what he wanted. He held her neck down on the mattress, nearly choking her. He hissed degradations as he claimed her, and only was quiet when he was finally through. After a moment, he stood, preparing himself to leave, as she slid down onto the floor, a crumpled, bruised, shamed mess.
He headed for the door, and stopped, his back to her. "Next time you hide from me, I will not be so forgiving."
The door shut behind him, leaving the room dark. Picking herself up, she calmly walked to her bureau and began to take down her now tangled hair. She did not notice the bruises on her neck, her wrists; she never looked at herself in the mirror. She didn't even bother crying anymore.