Never before in her entire life had she seen so much death.
There were bodies everywhere, Orlesian loyalists, Fereldan soldiers, Mabari and civilians who had been caught in the crossfire.
Some were so intact that you could barely tell what killed them. The only indication that they weren't simply sleeping was the lack of any rise or fall in their chests.
Others were ripped to pieces so badly she could barely even tell they'd once been people.
She felt like she was going to be sick.
"Maker please, I beg that you can forgive the mortal sins of these people and accept them all into your loving embrace tonight." She muttered a quick prayer. Few members of the chantry were willing to come anywhere near here, so the woman had taken it upon herself to pray the best she could for those who had fallen whenever possible. They deserved at the very least peace in their abrupt ends.
But that wasn't why she was here in the first place.
It wasn't her job to pray over the dead bodies.
It was her job to save those still living.
Growing up on a farm where accidents were known to happen she'd been taught all her life how to slow bleeding, bind wounds and what to use to treat infections. It was a valuable skill, especially in a war and she had not been content to sit home and let it go to waste while her people suffered.
She wanted to help with every fibre of her being, she would help, and now that the battle was starting to move forwards was a good a time as any to go find any survivors.
But that doesn't mean she wasn't oh so terribly afraid. She could die here, die in the dirt and the mud and with all the corpses nobody would likely ever know.
And with that morbid though, she took a deep breath and stepped out into the clearing.
Searching, searching for rising and falling chests or any twitching or any noises that might indicate life.
Anything at all.
"h...help...me..."
Her first patient was a man with an arrow piercing through his armour, it seeming to have barely missed his heart. Pain aside, he was a lucky man. He would live. There wasn't much she could currently do for him however to remove the arrow, it was too unsanitary and his health would likely end up worse off for it.
So, for now, she pulled him up the best she could and led him out to where she had been hiding before entering the battlefield. He was stable and would be safe there for now.
Her second patient was a woman practically holding her guts in, wheezing as a pool of red grew larger and larger around her. She took much longer to save, first she had to be convinced to move her hand away from the wound and then there was the matter of sealing it and applying salves to try prevent infection.
Then, like the one before, this soldier was also pulled to safety.
It went on like that for a while. Moving from wounded to wounded, saving whomever she could and dragging them off to safety, caked in more and more sweat, blood and mud each time.
And...and those she...she couldn't save...she prayed for them.
But no matter how many she saw, there were still so so many...
Crying out, calling for loved ones and begging for help...screaming in pain, in agony, in fear of death...
But she would not cry herself. Even as her eyes started to sting and she almost screamed in frustration at the lack of anyone nearby who was able to help her, to help them, she refused.
Crying would interfere with her work, after all.
She would do it only when everyone that possibly could be saved had been!
But then the battle was coming closer. Returning.
The rebels were being flanked by those blasted Orlesian loyalists. A trap, approaching from behind, faster and faster and-
They were going to trample the wounded!
It was then that even her actions could be described as nothing but frantic.
There was no more trying to heal the wounded, that would have to wait! There was only darting onto the battlefield to grab one of them before dragging them off and then darting back on again and again and again as the marching boots and clattering horses drew closer and closer and closer, until it felt like it was ringing directly into her ears.
It was so close now and they was getting even faster...
She needed to move faster!
"I can't feel my legs!" Cried who she was currently trying to move off. The poor boy looked but a child, and their entire lower body was dragging like a dead weight. From what she'd seen of the state of their back, it wasn't hard to guess why.
"Come on, just a little bit further, everything's going to be alright." She was at the moment doing her best to sprint with the boy and doubted he would be fooled, but still tried so hard to maintain her best, most soothing voice possible to keep them as calm as possible as the stamping of boots and hooves all but roared now in their ears.
"I want my mother!" He cried, eyes clenching shut.
"Don't worry, we'll-"
And then the impact hit.
She and the boy were floored in an instant as the stallion slammed into them, knocking all breath out of their lungs.
And then came the rest of the loyalist horde.
She did her best to shield the boy from the stampede, knowing she could take more damage.
But boots were smacking down on her, crunching, grinding, kicking without care and it became a task of just barely holding with the barest top of her fingertips onto the lad.
Even as a devout follower of Andraste, she couldn't even begin to think to pray in all of this. All she could think of other than holding on was the pain, the incredible, unceasing pain, it felt as if all of her was hurting and burning and it wouldn't stop as the boots kept coming down unceasing, one smacking down on her head and pushing her face down into the ground, her front teeth shattering as they hit a rock.
She thought she might be screaming. She couldn't tell. Not with all the dirt and blood in her mouth. Not above the sound of the roaring stampede and their calls of "die rebel scum!"
For the same reasons, she did notice when an arrow suddenly protruded from the throat of a man about to deal yet another blow.
And then another arrow in a different soldier's throat.
And another.
In fact, there were many arrows flying, arrows which never once missed their target.
She didn't notice any of that until the figure firing them grabbed her and hauled her up.
Despite her own arms feeling like they were being weighed down by heavy rocks, she did her best to haul up the boy with her and cling onto him with all her remaining strength as they were moving again.
It was so hard for her to focus properly on any of this or process any of what was going on, her head hurt so much and her vision was all fuzzy, but she knew one thing, one though that rolled and bounced around in her hazy mind: we're being saved!
The rescuing figure, meanwhile, seemed to be almost dancing in the chaos. A blur, hard to keep track of, spinning and ducking and weaving, a figure now restricted to one hand and resorting to slashing with a blade and kicking anyone that didn't immediately fell, with no less deadly efficiency than what their arrows had brought them.
They had no fear in them encumbering their actions, no small voice in their head tellling them to turn back or pity for those their blade pierced, for there was no doubt that they would do the same, if not worse, if the figure gave them the chance.
No. All they had was confidence, was rage.
And when their blade was struck out of their hand, they simply pulled out another shorter one and cut of the head of the offending perpetrator in one clean blow.
An attempt to yank back the figure's hair cost another their hand.
It was truly no understatement to say that, in the absence of a clear path, the figure had decided to cut their own one through the horde, leaving a bloody swathe of bodies and carnage in their wake.
And then, they broke through it.
They were free.
Eventually, when at a satisfactory distance from the battle and in a place relatively concealed, the figure skidded to a halt and after sheathing their blade, put their rescuees down.
The still conscious one immediately crawled over to check the boy, wincing at the grinding sounds her bones were making doing so. He had a pulse, he was still alive. She sighed in relief.
By some miracle, they both were.
Thank the Mak- no. Actually-
"Thank you. The Maker himself must have sent you. You saved our lives!" She said the best she possibly could, hoping the sincerity of the words was conveyed despite them coming out all slurred.
A combination of a bashed head and mouth in pain with broken teeth made getting them out at all had been quite difficult. It felt like she was gargling marbles in her mouth.
She then turned to face her saviour, finally getting a good look at them.
It seemed they were a dark-skinned elven woman, who was wearing leather armour that carried a brand she was so sure she recognised from somewhere...
"No bother, spotted you across the field. Damn shems can't even stick to just metaphorically trodding all over those they disagree with. They have to literally stamp us out now." The elf wasn't looking at her currently, instead appearing to be looking behind to ensure that they weren't followed.
"You hanging in there alright? I've not got any potions on me but I could try get someone who does." The elf turned to face her now, eyes flicking up and done seemingly taking in the damage.
"I appreciate the offer and thank you for it, but I must decline. You've already saved our lives, I do not wish to be of further hindrance. We will be fine, I have my own supplies and you surely have much better things to do than help me." Came the declination.
"Perhaps..." The elven woman mused in return, head repeatedly flicking back to the battlefield. She clearly wanted to go and rejoin the fight but didn't seem quite convinced by the human woman's reassurance.
"You two aren't going to drop dead on me are you?"
"No, we will be quite alright.'
"...If you say so. Just try avoid getting trampled again then..." Both bow and an arrow were looked out and primed now, as the elven woman prepared to return to the fray, then she paused as she seemed to realise something.
"...actually, what exactly were you doing on a battlefield there? Shem over there's a soldier alright, but you're not in armour and definitely not a Mage or you would have dealt with the Bastards long before I got there." Ah. It was a fair enough question for the elf she supposed. She'd be curious herself, were the situation reversed.
"I'm a doctor, well, healer, well I- I know a bit of medicine at least. I was here to...well...I was supposed to help the wounded." A doctor didn't seem an honest enough answer, technical war medic or not she was still just a farmer with a bit of know-how in the end, and the other woman deserved an honest answer.
"Honest trade. Every rebellion needs a good healer." A flash of a smile there with those long elven teeth.
"And skilled fighters. I know that sigil. You're a Night Elf! One of Loghain's elite!" She'd finally recognised the brand on the woman's armour and was further amazed that a night elf had taken the time out to help save just two people! She'd heard rumours about them, heard their feared reputation...
"Yes I am." The elf's voice brimmed with pride for every word of that. "Name's Adaia. Yours?"
The human woman replied and the elf offered a short, curt nod in return before fully turning towards the battlefield.
"Well then, I need to get back now. There's a battle to turn the tide off. But I'll know who to ask for if I get stabbed."
And with that, Adaia charged off yelling a wish for good luck, a yell which quickly turned to a battle cry, with arrows already flying.
The meeting, it seemed, had finished almost as abruptly as it had started.
"Maker watch over you!" The human woman called over as the ally she would be ever grateful for disappeared, before grimacing in pain as her damaged mouth made sure she did not forget it.
And then, as the elf had returned to the field, so did she return to her unconscious patient.
Injuries or not, there was still a rebellion going on, after all.
And both healer and warrior had a duty to uphold.