.
.
.
"Self-conceit may lead to self destruction."
- Aesop
.
.
.
Tallathian silently watched the glow of the burning city from the hilltop, eyes burning from the smoke that reached in tendrils to stroke her slight form. The hood of her cloak only partially obscured the sight of the destruction of her home, a home that she had seen built from the first stone and tree. Unshed tears stood in her eyes as she fought to understand the magnitude of her own failure and the depth of the betrayal she had committed. The heat from the fire reached her even across the great distance, and the low rumbling told her that the ground still shook as the netherworld slowly pulled the city into its cold, uncaring grasp.
A hand fell on her shoulder then, a hand that managed to convey a possessive hunger and absolute command through its tight grip. His shadow leaned close to her, and the soft, insouciant voice murmured into her delicately pointed ear, "Come, my pet. We have far yet to travel, this night."
She turned and regarded him for a moment, her eyes searching for and finding the citrine glow of his own. "Master, please..." she whispered, unwilling to take that first step on their journey away from the only place she had known for so long. "I-"
A hand slashed across her face, the open palm removing none of the sting, none of the pain. Blood trickled down her cheek from the deep wounds left by his claws. The disdain was clear in his voice as he said, "Do you not think you have done enough?" Without waiting for an answer, he turned and strode into the trees, away from the fires and chasms behind.
She stood frozen in place as his words scorched her mind with far more force than his blow could ever impart. The tears came then, silent and unbidden, covering her cheeks as the full import of her actions finally hit her. Her shoulders slumped as she took first one shuddering breath, then another. I have no right to mourn, she thought despairingly. Clutching the bag at her side to reassure herself that the seeds within were unharmed, she lifted her head and discerned the faint outline of his retreating back disappearing into the forest. Without looking back, she forced her feet to follow in his footsteps. The burden grew heavier on her shoulders as she moved forward, and the regret within her breast threatened to stifle the beat of her heart. Yet she moved forward as her Master bade, for none could deny the Master.
And behind them, burning before the might of Tevinter, Arlathan slowly fell into darkness.