Reflections, Realisations and Regrets

Chapter 4: The Prisoner Part 2

Many thanks to my wonderful beta Eastern Violet, you are a blessing.

Thanks to all who have read, reviewed and made suggestions.

Bioware owns all, I've just had some fun with the characters provided.

My first lucid thought was wanting to strangle the invisible man in my head swinging the hammer against my skull.

My second was, "Why am I bouncing up and down?"

And my third: "Oh Maker! I can't feel my legs."

I groaned and a disembodied voice to my left said "You'll be okay Anders. Relax. We're stopping for the night soon."

Darkness descended again.

The invisible man was still swinging the hammer when I woke the second time, but now it felt like it was wrapped in cotton; it wasn't as harsh, hard or loud. I tried to open my eyes, but wishing I hadn't bothered, the pain was excruciating and blinding.. I raised my hands to shield my eyes, only to realise that I was once again, manacled. The same voice washed over me, telling me to stay still, that they would help, things would get better once I had eaten and had something to drink, and not to fight the sensations inside me. I wanted to scream in frustration, but my mouth refused to work; it was dry, cracked and hurt like hell.

Someone removed their gauntlets and helped me sit up. A cup was pressed to my mouth and the water, so cold and fresh, trickled down my throat and into my stomach, soothing me from the inside out. There was something else, it tasted sweet, like honey and good, oh so good, before I could think about it properly, I took another mouthful and I swallowed reflexively. The world stopped spinning and I could open my eyes without wanting to pluck them out.

It was Elfroot, and it restored my equilibrium. The manacles were still subduing my magic, but I was healing slowly from the inside out. The young templar who had helped me, used the water to wash away the blood and grim from my temple and face, before handing me a bowl of rabbit stew and a spoon.

I ate like I'd never had food before, the juices ran down my chin, but I didn't care. I was so hungry. What is it about the Holy Smite and needing to eat afterwards? Is it a drop in blood sugars, or the way it strips you of everything, including your humanity. Maker only knows and for those few minutes I ate and ate and ate. He refilled my bowl a second time and this I ate slowly whilst relishing the taste and texture. Nothing had ever tasted so good.

There were four of them, young to middle aged, but experienced. They were confident and wouldn't be taken for fools. None of them wore an officer's insignia and I wondered who else would be joining us. Where was Rylock? Oh Maker, where was Rylock?

My body needed relief and the templar who'd helped me, led me to the latrine ditch. Back at the camp fire, I was handed another cup of water which I drank without thinking. It was bitter, drugged and I succumbed without a fight.

Daybreak brought more than just a new day, it brought Rylock. She was sitting on a log, watching me, looking at me as if I was a specimen in a jar awaiting experimentation. I went cold and tried to look away. I couldn't, her eyes fixed on mine like a snake, hypnotic, dangerous and compelling. Our eyes locked and I refused to back down or speak first.

She stood, pulled me up with her and pointed to the horse standing nearby. The templar who had helped me the night before, took my arm, helped me mount the horse and passed me a flask of water.

"Drink," he said, "it has nothing in it. We will not stop 'til noon and then only for a quick meal, we'll push on 'til nightfall and stop again then." He hooked the flask to my saddle and mounted his own horse. We moved out quickly, silently and with grim determination.

For four days we rode like this, as if all the demons from the Black City were chasing us, stopping only for a few minutes at noontide and then at night. Across country we went, keeping off the highways. Rylock wanted to get me back to the Tower as soon as possible. I refused to think on what would happen once we returned to Kinloch Hold. The looks she gave me frightened me badly, but I didn't reveal it. I kept my face blank and refused to be baited by her even once. I knew from experience how cruel she was. I still bear marks from that experience. A boot, a fist, shield or sword pommel, she'd used them all with some meant to mark as much as hurt. Cruelty underlined her from the inside out, I've never asked her what had happened to make her such and I don't think she would've answered me even if I had.

By day five, we could see the Tower in the distance and I thought she would keep going until we reached the dock. While we camped that last night, I couldn't sleep, not for one moment. I kept wondering what punishment awaited me this time. As a harrowed mage, I would not be made tranquil, but they would execute me if they thought I had become possessed or was a danger to other mages.

It depended on how long Irving and Greagoir, now the Knight-Commander, were prepared to put up with my antics. Tomorrow would come soon enough and all would be revealed, but I was filled with dread and felt sick to my stomach. To alleviate my worries, I spent the night watching the stars blinking above me, and watched the coming dawn, perhaps for the last time.