Yara was curled against the wall of her cell, immersed in shadow. The guards had been kind enough to return her overcoat and cloak, but even those couldn't take away the chill inside. Her food rations remained untouched, as did the simple bedroll on the floor. She kept her arms around herself, her palm clamped where Leliana's knife had almost nicked skin. There wasn't any cut, yet she couldn't help but be aware of it. Even now her shriek echoed in her head; words torn from deep within. Words that still held no meaning to her.
Sighing, she closed her eyes, the crackle of the torches her only comfort. All too soon dark visions stirred, and she blinked. It took so little to provoke the flashbacks now. They came without warning, razing her senses and stealing her breath away. Sleep had been impossible, so she remained frozen, oblivious to her aching back and shoulders. Even her thoughts were sluggish, as if submerged in tar. All she could focus on was the tingle at her side—the only thing that stopped her drowning in darkness.
Steps echoed from the corridor, steadily growing louder. Yara didn't move, even when they stopped before her cell. The door hinges squealed, and a gentle hand came to her shoulder. Yara flinched. It was not the first time she had been visited.
"Yara, it's alright. It's me again." Bethany crouched beside her. Yara remained tense, and the mage withdrew her hand. "Maker, what did she do to you?"
The muscles in Yara's throat constricted, but no sound came out. She couldn't even raise her head. Just like all the times before. Her heart rumbled, always a beat away from descending into chaos. She couldn't let the moment move on.
Bethany sighed. She reached for Yara's hand, but Yara pressed her fingers deeper into her side.
"Did she wound you there?" Bethany spoke softly. "Please, let me look Yara. I won't…"
I won't hurt you.
Tightness gripped Yara, and she recoiled. Those damn words still mocked her, trying to drag her back.
A pained look crossed Bethany's face. She didn't try to touch Yara again. Instead she sat beside her. Silence settled once more, and Yara felt the mage's eyes on her.
"Why won't you say anything?"
Yara managed a slow blink. The air rolled between her lips, cold, numbing. Stillness was the key, the only way to stay afloat. The past brimmed with pain, threatening to erupt, while the future held another agony waiting to crush her. Both held the same truth, one too unbearable to accept. She had to cling to the present, to keep from being swamped with despair.
But scars cannot lie.
Bethany looked away.
"This is all my fault." A pause, followed by a quiet sniffle. "I'm sorry." She shuffled closer, her breath ruffling Yara's hair. "There has to be something I can do. Tell me, please, anything!"
Her voice bit into Yara, but even that would not penetrate the fog. She tightened her grip around herself. To acknowledge the mage would mean leaving the moment; leaving safety. She couldn't.
"Yara!" Bethany grasped Yara's shoulders, tears soaking her cheeks. "I'm begging you, just…"
The sudden pressure on her arms made Yara jerk. The darkness stirred, snatching her breath, tearing her away.
Warmth grabs my hand, forcing me to turn around. Red hair and an anguished glare stare back, refusing to let me walk away. Her grey-blue eyes are begging, pleading.
"We need you!" she cries. "You can't just turn your back on the world!"
My voice becomes ice.
"Like it's turned its back on me?"
Yara howled, fighting to return to the light. The hands that held her were suffocating, smothering. No, she couldn't go back, she wouldn't go back!
"Bethany, let her go!"
Another voice; deeper, masculine. Footsteps, and then Yara was free again. She scrambled against the wall, the icy stone burning. She clung to it, inhaling the biting air. It was her anchor from the shadows. Her hand returned to her side, her only line of defence.
"But Nathaniel, she's been like this for days!" Bethany sobbed. "She hasn't eaten, hasn't slept…"
"She's still in complete shock. We have to give her time." Nathaniel let out a breath. "Don't you think this hurts me as well?" Leather creaked. "The best we can do is keep ourselves together for her. She'll need us when she's ready."
Bethany sniffed, holding her hand to her eyes. A long moment passed, and then the hay rustled. The bars creaked closed, and Yara was left alone.
She listened to their fading steps, hunched against her knees. Still Bethany's cry lingered, slowly cutting through. At last something gave way, and moisture rolled down Yara's cheek. A sharp breath escaped her, but there was no use fighting anymore. The tears came in floods, and she whimpered into her arms.
The dawn comes far too soon. The light breaks into the room, and I wish I could stop it in its tracks. The final day of this impossible journey has arrived; a day I have both dreaded and longed for. It will mark the end of this cursed Blight…or perhaps its true beginning. Yet whatever happens, it is the close of this chapter, and nothing will be the same again.
She murmurs beside me, wrapped in our blanket. Her fiery hair is tousled on her pillow, her breath flowing through her parted lips. I run my fingers over her bare shoulder, and she sighs. It seems an eternity since I first realised my feelings for her, yet it has been but a scarce few weeks. It could have been much longer, had I not been so crippled with fear. What I would do to have another chance, but there is no point yearning. I can only try to make up for lost time.
I sit up, reaching for my shirt on the floor. Many buttons are snapped clean off; victims to our passion the night before. It brings a smile to my lips. As I slide the fabric over my head, the bed creaks. Soon her arms are around me, her head resting against my shoulder.
"It cannot be morning already." Her voice is quiet.
I grasp her interlocked hands.
"Time will not wait for anyone," I answer.
Her hold tightens. "It should for us."
I turn slightly, and press my lips to her forehead. She shivers, pressing closer. Her scent is overpowering, and I take a sharp breath. I want it burned into my lungs forever.
"It will be over soon," I murmur.
I feel her nod, and she withdraws a little. She cups my cheek, and her smile returns.
"It has been a long and dangerous path." She twists a lock of my hair around her finger. "But one we have treaded together, and we are all the stronger for it." She steals a kiss from the corner of my mouth. "I will always treasure these moments. I have no regrets." Warmth tickles my ear. "I love you."
Her fingers roam, sliding beneath my shirt. My skin ignites under her caress, and my eyes close. Her lips find mine, and my breaths are no longer my own. A gasp escapes her, and all thoughts of the light outside are forgotten. What burns inside is brighter than any sun. It runs wild in my veins, maddening me with desire. My hands trace her back, a map of ridges and scars that have become familiar.
Scars that cannot lie…
Abruptly her touches cease, leaving me cold. My heart pines. I want—no, need her warmth again. I break our kiss, a confused whisper on my breath.
Her grey-blue eyes harden, and the moment shatters. White hot agony blazes between my ribs, and a cry is torn from my throat. A different kind of warmth runs down my side, and my skin turns clammy. Gasping, I grab the wound, the blood pouring between my fingers.
What…
In dazed horror I turn to her. She still leans against me, but now a knife rests in her hand. The blade remains in my flesh, slick with crimson. Acid burns in her gaze. My mouth is frozen, and I can barely force the words out.
"Leliana…w-why?"
Her name is a stabbing pain, and I do not understand. How could something I cherish and love become so tainted, so blackened…
Her smile is vicious; a mockery of what came before. She twists the knife deeper, and I howl. The blood runs faster, and my vision swims. Her lip curls.
"Because you killed her!"
Yara screamed, bursting into wakefulness. The world blurred into fire and shadow, and she scrambled for the wound at her side. Every breath hurt, every pulse another blade within her chest. She grasped her ribs, pressing so hard her fingers left marks. But no blood was plastered to her shirt, no cut made her wince. She kept brushing her palm over her side, reaffirming the skin was intact. It was a dream, a dream. The rush of images and feelings began to pass, and she choked out a cry.
Why…why?
Trembling, Yara sank against the wall. She lay there, staring at the ceiling. Her breathing gradually calmed, and she swallowed. Her throat was so dry, her lips cracked and sore. The water flask remained by the cell door, untouched. Thirst was suddenly all she knew, banishing every other thought. She could ignore it no longer. She raised a shaking hand, her fingers grasping at air. The flask was just out of reach.
Her arm fell, losing strength. Her eyes closed, pulling her into the darkness again. No, please…
The bars groaned, forced open. Steps came to her side. A hand came to her neck, tilting her head back, and then beautiful coldness wet her lips. Yara gulped greedily, the icy flow bringing her senses to life again. She almost forgot to breathe, until the flask was pulled from her. She coughed.
"Hey, slow down." A woman's voice; one Yara did not recognise. "It's not going anywhere."
Yara blinked, her vision coming back into focus. A young woman was crouched beside her. She had pale skin and unruly auburn hair, but what stuck out were her eyes. The right one was blue, while the other shimmered green. Still, she was completely unfamiliar, and Yara couldn't help but shrink away.
The woman let out a breath. She offered the flask again, and Yara took it. Although her days of silence had left her weak, she could still raise it to her mouth. She took several further sips, more carefully this time. Too soon it was empty, and she sighed.
"Thank…thank you," she whispered; the first words to have left her in days.
The woman's mismatched eyes sparkled.
"Well, I'm glad you seem to have found your voice again," she said. "Can't be much fun sitting here, stewing in your own thoughts."
Yara tensed. It wasn't lost on the woman, and she raised her hands.
"Whoa, too soon?" She brushed her hair back, managing a lop-sided smile. "Heh, what can I say? I don't mince my words."
"Who are you?" Yara asked.
"Ah, that's right, we haven't been introduced yet." The woman sat straighter. "Unofficially, people are calling me the Herald of Andraste, but I'll spare you that nonsense. Name's Lahara Trevelyan, formerly of the Ostwick Circle. A pleasure."
Yara blinked. A mage. Yet her title made no sense.
"Yeah, I didn't think that would mean much, either," Lahara admitted. "But I'm a friend. I promise."
Yara found herself drawing her knees to her chest.
"Why are you here?"
Lahara picked up a piece of straw, rolling it between her fingers.
"Call it a favour, I guess," she said. "You've caused almost as much stir as I have, you know. Your friends are sick with worry, Leliana's all over the place, and Cassandra is absolutely furious. As you can imagine, that doesn't make for a happy mix, especially with the Chantry breathing down our necks and demanding their own answers." She flicked the straw aside, reclining on her hands. "So I promised your mage friend I'd pay a visit, to see if I could help you."
Yara scoffed. "You're wasting your time."
"Am I?" Lahara gestured to the empty flask. "That's the first drink you've had in a while, and we're having such a lovely conversation."
Yara looked away. "Just…Just leave me."
"Aw, and when we were just getting to know each other better, too," Lahara whined. She gave an exaggerated stretch, before standing up. "Look, I won't pretend I understand what's going on. But trust me when I say you're not doing yourself any favours sulking here." Her voice turned grave. "It wasn't long ago that I was in this cell, thinking the exact same thing."
She turned and strode into the corridor. As her foot stepped onto the stone, Yara felt a tug in her chest.
"Wait."
Lahara stopped. She glanced back, brow raised. Yara sighed.
"It's not that I don't want…but…" Speech failed her, and she hung her head.
"I get it, Yara," Lahara said. "The world can change in a single moment, and leave you stranded. It's not a nice place to be. A limbo where you can't look forward or back, in case the truth brings everything you thought you knew about yourself crashing down."
Her words struck close, and Yara held her chest. How could this mage describe the pain that gnawed inside so perfectly…
"But there comes a point where you have to change, as well," Lahara went on. "Either you can cry over what was, or try to make right what will be." She clenched her left fist. "In the end, I chose to move forward. I can only hope you'll do the same, too."
She strode off into the corridor. Her footfalls echoed, until they were gone. The quiet hummed in Yara's ears, and she let out a breath. She remained still, her fingers around the empty flask. Lahara's words continued to sink in, and she licked her lips. Such sincerity could not be faked—the Herald had faced a similar pain, but she had not overcome it. Instead she'd found a way to carry it, letting it drive her, rather than cripple her.
The question was, could Yara?