Chapter 2: Welcome to Lothering
I see their faces in my dreams, flames licking around them, charring them to ashes. The voices of men and boys screaming in the burning forest. The smell of charred flesh. And worse, the rage demon Ayande, whispering in my ears, whispering in my mind.
I wake with a gasp. I rub my eyes, trying to wipe the tears away. My eyes are stinging, burning, as if in memory of the smoke and fire from the day before.
Father comes over to me and puts his hand on my shoulder comfortingly. "Are you alright, little bird? I know yesterday must have been rough on you."
"I'm- I'm fine," I murmur.
He must not find out about me, Ayande whispers in my head.
I know that. I'm not a fool. Although I do have to wonder if Father would kill even his own daughter for being an abomination. He never held any love for demons. The thought of my own father slaying me is enough to chill my blood.
You hate the cold, Ayande reminds me. The thought should enrage you. Make your blood boil at the injustice of it all. Who is he to judge you? It's not like I've given you a bad bargain.
Shut up. Maker, he's my father! I'm not going to hate my father!
"You don't seem fine to me," Father says. "Come on, let's get you something to eat. You should get something in your stomach."
My belly churns. I don't know if I could keep anything down right now. I certainly wasn't able to eat anything last night, and barely managed to sleep, as well. But I know I need to eat something.
Father passes me a bowl of broth, and I quietly drink it down with trembling hands, trying not to spill too much of it.
I can't get yesterday's events out of my mind. Those boys deserved what they got, but the templar? Trying to look at it objectively, he wasn't such a bad person. He might even have really thought he was trying to help me. And I killed him for it. He would not have hurt me, he said. They would have taken me to the Circle of Magi, where I'd be imprisoned for the rest of my life unless they needed my magic to kill something.
Demonic possession and blood on my hands was the price of my freedom. Was it worth it?
Absolutely.
I'm not even sure whether that was my own thought, or Ayande. That terrifies me more than anything else right now.
Still, what gives them the right to lock up mages like that? And worse, Father has told me horror stories about the Tranquil. Mages who have had their magic locked away, at the cost of losing their emotions as well. And every mage in the Circle runs the risk of being made Tranquil if the templars aren't happy with them.
If I were made Tranquil, I would never be able to be happy again, nor sad, nor angry, nor afraid. I would not be able to love or hate. I would be nothing but a flat, limp puppet for the templars.
A terrible fate.
All things considered, maybe being possessed isn't such a bad thing compared to what might have happened to me. I certainly haven't turned into a hideous monstrosity, and I still seem to have my own free will. Or maybe I just think I do. Well, I'm not going to drive myself mad wondering whether I really have free will or just think that I do. I think that I do, and that's good enough for me.
"Feeling any better, little bird?" Father asks me gently.
"A little," I say quietly.
"It's alright. Don't blame yourself."
"I wasn't even supposed to use magic," I whisper.
"Things happen sometimes. You defended yourself in the only way you knew how. Maybe I should be impressed that you were able to fight off a templar at all."
I don't think I would have been able to do it without Ayande. Maybe I should be more grateful to her, and less hateful. Wait, did I just think of this rage demon as her? What's wrong with me? Demons aren't people. Demons are monsters. Demons are it.
"I killed four people," I murmur. "I killed them. Burned them right up. I see them when I close my eyes. Screaming. Screaming at me."
Father puts his arm around my shoulders. "Killing is never easy. It shouldn't be. Especially not at your age. I'm sorry that you had to do that. But make no mistake that you did what you had to do. Life doesn't always leave us with good choices."
"The templar kept saying that he didn't want to hurt me," I say softly. "But he would have dragged me off to that tower and locked me up forever and maybe they would have made me Tranquil... I was so scared."
"There are few people who believe that what they're doing is wrong," Father says. "Everyone believes in the rightness of what they are doing."
"Then how can I judge what's really right?"
"Let your magic serve that which is best in you, not that which is most base," Father tells me. He gives me a reassuring squeeze before standing and going off to pack up camp.
That which is best in me is not a demon. I'll make Father proud of me. I won't let myself fall to demonic corruption, even if there's one inside of me. I'm stronger than that, and I'll fight tooth and nail to be the best person I can be.
"Here we are," Father says. "Lothering."
"Good, maybe now we can stop running for a while," Mother says, letting out a heavy sigh.
Father gives me a long look, and says, "It's as good a place to stay for a while as any. A small Chantry, not many templars about. What do you think, little bird? Would you like it if we could stay here?"
"I'm tired of running," I say quietly. "I'm tired of moving around all the time. I don't want to have to run anymore."
"I can't make any promises," Father says. "But we can stay here for now. We can stay here until circumstances force us to move on."
"We could have a real house for a chance?" Mother says, eyes lighting up hopefully.
Father puts his arm around her waist. "Yes, Leandra. Let's have a real house. Let's build us a home on the outskirts of town, and raise our children in peace."
It seems like a dream, and I can tell from the way Father says it that he doesn't even really seem to believe that things will work out that way himself. Especially not after what happened with me not three days prior.
Mother leads me and the twins over to the inn to stay for the moment while Father goes off to work out some arrangements. I can't help but be a little excited at the prospect of living in a real house, rather than some abandoned hovel on the edge of a town. Especially ones that everyone thought were haunted, and Father had to kill some monsters inside before it was safe to live there.
After eating a quick dinner, Bethany is yawning wearily. "I'm sleepy," she murmurs, head nodding.
"Let's get you upstairs for some shut-eye," Mother says. "Carver, too."
"But Mother, I'm not tired yet," Carver protests, trying to stifle a yawn himself.
"It's been a bit of a trip for you young ones," Mother says. "Come now. No more arguing. It's off to bed with you."
Mother gives me a look for a few moments before hauling the twins up to our room, leaving me alone in the common room and sipping some goat's milk. I'm more than a little uneasy about being left alone, and the moment she's out of sight, I have to resist the urge to go rushing upstairs after her.
"Hey there, little girl," says a man, leaning over to me and grinning.
I tense up and look at him wide-eyed in a sudden panic. My blood burns within my veins, and any semblance of calm vanishes like smoke in the wind. No, no, not here, not here!
"Gah!" the man says, jumping away from me in surprise. "I wasn't going to do anything, I swear!"
"What's wrong, Frank?" jeers another man. "You scared of a little girl now?"
"I swear to Andraste! Her eyes turned red for a moment! They glowed red, I swear they did!"
"You're drunk, Frank," the barkeep says with forced patience. "You're seeing things. The little girl is obviously not an abomination."
I close my eyes, lowering my head, and try to make myself be calm even as I feel like I'm burning up from within. I can't let them see. I can't let them know what I really am.
Little girl, little girl, little girl...
I empty my glass, the milk feeling like it's curdling within my stomach, and mutter, "Excuse me."
I stumble to my feet and out the door, staring firmly at the ground as I go, not wanting to look at anyone or anything. I don't want to look at my family, either. I'm terrified of everyone and everything, worst of all, myself.
There's no one that can help me. No one that can make everything better. I'm on my own. I can only rely on myself. I just have to learn to be strong enough to do it.
I can help you, Ayande whispers.
No. Not you. You're the cause of all this. You're the last one who can help me.
Nobody else can. You can rely on me.
I shake my head and clench my eyes shut, leaning face-first against a wall. I need someplace where I can be alone, without having to be afraid of anyone seeing anything they shouldn't. I need someplace all to myself. A safe place.
But I don't know where I can go here. I've never been to Lothering before. I don't know anyone here. I just know that I can't blow my cover this early. If anyone finds out, at best, we'll have to move on again already. At worst... my own father will kill me.
Tears well up in my eyes, and I curl up against the wall, sobbing.
"Oh, there's a little girl back here," says a woman's voice. "What's wrong, dear?"
I tense up again involuntarily, and clench my fists. It's just a woman. Not a man that might do something bad to me. But I still can't help but feel a surge of anger at being called a little girl by anyone.
I keep my eyes shut, looking away, hoping that there are no other immediate signs of possession that anyone might spot. I'm pretty sure that when I killed that templar, there was red glow visible even on my very skin. But I'm in control here, more or less. I haven't given myself over to my rage today.
"I'm Sister Verity, with the Chantry. Do you need something, dear? Are you hurt?"
"I'm fine," I insist, a little more harshly than I intended. I'm glad she didn't call me a little girl again. Being called a dear is alright. That helps to calm me a bit.
"Are you sure, dear?"
I let out a deep breath. "I'm alright. I'm not hurt. I just wanted to be alone."
"I see," Sister Verity says. "Are you sure you don't want to talk about it?"
I look away again, trying to push down another wave of anger. What business is it of hers to pry into my life? She has no right to ask these questions. No right to know anything about me. Why does the Chantry always think they know what's best about everything?
"No," I growl. "Just, please. Leave me alone. Please."
"Alright, dear," Sister Verity says, and I watch her shadow walk away on the wall before me.
I breathe a sigh of relief. I'm alone for the moment to collect my thoughts. I can be calm again. There's no danger here right now.
After calming myself, I go to take a better look around the town. The sun is slipping away in the west, casting long shadows upon the village. People are moving about wearily, many of them heading home at the end of a long day, going back to each of the little houses that they call their own. Their own safe places, to sleep and rest in peace without worry or fear, or nightmares of burning forests and the smell of charred flesh, or demons whispers in their sleep.
"There you are, little bird," says Father, coming up to me as I'm standing on the bridge at the edge of town. "What are you doing out here?"
I very nearly tense up just at being called "little bird" this time. It was alright before. But now it almost sounds too much like "little girl". My heart breaks a little at that. I always loved that pet name my father called me. Is that going to be tainted now, too?
"Just looking around," I say distantly.
"Are you alright, little bird?"
I close my eyes and let out a heavy sigh. "No. I'm not alright. But thanks for asking."
"Anything I can do to help, little bird?"
I clench my fists. Maker, it's not like he's doing this intentionally. Tears sting my eyes. "I hate to ask this... but..."
"Anything for my precious little bird."
"Stop... stop calling me 'little bird'. Please. I beg of you. I know this probably sounds silly. And I hate having to say it. But... please. No more little birds. No more little anything. Please."
"Ah," Father says, taking a step back. "My apologies. I did not realize that it was a sore spot. You're twelve years old now. I suppose I shouldn't really be calling you little anymore, anyway."
"It's not that," I say. "Not that at all. It's just..." I sob quietly. I can't tell him. I can't explain it to him. Even if I wanted to, the words won't come out.
"I understand," Father says, coming up and putting a hand on my shoulder. "It's alright."
He doesn't understand. It's not alright. But I'm not going to argue with him. I can't argue with him. I can't form any words through my sobs. I bury my face in his shoulder and let the tears flow freely.
He's not safe. He could kill you, if he found out.
Maker, please just shut up.
During our first few days in Lothering, I spend some time searching for a place to call my own. Someplace that I can come and run and hide myself away when I don't think I can completely control my rage.
The nearby forest brings no comfort. I shy away from it in terror, unable to shake the images and smells. Burning trees, burning people, smoke and charred flesh. There will be no refuge for me there.
I even try to seek peace in the Chantry. There are quiet places there that one might hide and be alone for a time. But I'm uncomfortable in and around the Chantry. Just being near there stirs Ayande up and brings my blood to a boil. I can't find any calm there. I wind up having to leave the building quickly, hoping to avoid attracting any unwanted attention, from the laypeople and especially the templars.
Instead, I find myself hiding up in our room at the inn, but there's no privacy there. At least I don't need to worry about other people. If my own family finds out that I'm possessed, it's bad enough, but even worse if any outsiders discover it.
"Susan?" Father says, walking up behind me as I'm curled up quietly in a corner and pretending to read. "Come on. Come see our new home."
"Yes, Father," I say quietly, putting the book away and straightening.
Father leads me off, along with Mother and the twins, a little ways away from the village, but still within sight of it. It had taken longer than I might have hoped for to get this place, but finally, we have a home. It's bigger than I would have hoped for, though, so perhaps that makes up for it a bit.
"Oh, Malcolm, it's beautiful," Mother breathes.
"It might not be what you were used to growing up in Kirkwall, love, but it was the best I could do."
We step inside and take a look around. The rooms seem spacious compared to what I'm used to, and there's a lot more of them than I would have expected. How did Father manage to get this place? Mother is practically weeping tears of joy.
"The children can even have their own rooms!" Mother exclaims.
My own room? I've never had a room of my own before.
"The big bedroom is for your mother and me," Father says. "You kids can choose which one of the small ones that you want. Don't fight over them too much."
"I want a window!" Bethany says, rushing upstairs.
"No, I want a window!" Carver says, going up after her.
The three small bedrooms are little more than closets, and as it turns out, two of them have windows. As Carver and Bethany argue over which of them gets stuck with the room without a window, I step into the dark, comforting space. The two of them go quiet behind me.
"I'll take this one," I say.
"You don't have to-" Bethany begins.
"It's nice in here," I say, smiling a little. "I like it."
The walls are too thin for it to be quiet or lonely. I can hear and feel everyone else moving around in the house. But I can be alone here, where no one else can see me. I can be safe here, safe from everyone and everything else outside. It's one place in the world where I don't need to be afraid.
"So, how do you like it?" Father asks from the hallway.
"It's nice," I say.
"I had a feeling you might like the one without a window," Father says.
"How did you guess?"
"It was just a thought."
"Thank you, Father. I'll be really careful. I don't want to lose this place."
No more camping out in the wilderness. No more squatting in abandoned hovels that are falling apart. For once in my life, I finally have a real home. Someplace I can be safe. I'll cherish it for what it is, and hold onto it as long as I can.
"Are you sure you don't mind the room without a window?" Bethany wonders, poking her head in.
"I like it," I repeat, giving her a genuine smile.
"But it's so dark in here. I'd think it must be dreadfully miserable."
"It's comfortable. I like it the way it is."
"Well, I suppose, if you think so..." Bethany says dubiously.
"I think so," I say. "Just, can you do me a favor?"
"Anything, Sister."
"If... if I've got the door closed, can you knock before coming in? And stay away if I want to be left alone? Please?"
"Oh. Well, sure, I suppose so," Bethany says, sounding a little hurt.
"That goes for everyone," I say. "Not just you. Just sometimes, I want to be by myself. You understand?"
"Why would you want to be by yourself?"
"I've never really had anyplace that was just my own before. I want a safe place where I can be alone. If I'm angry or crying or something, I don't want anyone to see..."
"Why not?" Bethany wonders. "We could comfort you. That's what family is for, after all, isn't it?"
I shake my head and sigh. "Please, Bethany? Can you please indulge my selfish request?"
Bethany hugs me. "Alright, Susan. I don't understand it. But if that's what you want, anything for you."
"Thanks, Bethany. You're a dear."
I have to feel a little guilty, blowing smoke like this to conceal my real problems even from my own family, the very people that I should trust most. And yet I can't trust them. Not with this. Never with this.
They're the last people I would want to find out. Because I don't think I could bear the thought of having to kill them to protect myself. I would rather die first. But I don't believe that Ayande would give me the choice.
