ANNEX OF THE NINTH

I apologize for the ridiculous wait. I've been busy lately, but now I assure you - I'll attempt to be more active in dishing out the chapters. (: (Warning - Thedas injuries are really graphic.)

Something was broken. Everything was broken. To explain what caused pain would take an age. It was much easier to say what wasn't causing her complete agony.

In storybooks and old nurses tales, t'is said that when one falls from a great distance, plummeting to the ground - everything reduces to nothing around them. Time slows, vision darkens, hearing is blocked by the rush of air. None of this was true. Theda had felt the impact from the force and speed of which she fell, seen her salvation in the form of footholds and grips in the rocks slowly fade from view, and heard a familiar voice scream in an unfamiliar tone.

Anticipation grew as the thundering clash of the Gryphons body 'gainst stone, grew and blocked her throat so any attempt to even whisper her fear would have been futile. Then, her back was the first to crack on the ground, followed by her skull, which opened and bled , soaking her pale hair in the deepest of red. After mere seconds of her fall, already she choked on her own life, wishing that it had ended painlessly. Though, dignity soon won over self-pity, and with an effort, she quelled the soft whines that drew from her vocal chords, like a wounded animal.

"Theda!"

Oenidas was so far now. Only a speck in the sky, a worried one. Beyond worry. White-knuckled as he almost lunged over the edge after her, rescued from his foolish endeavour by a knight who happened to be close. Their exchanging of words was drowned by a reverberant ring - and short, strained puffs of air from her left side.

With naught the strength to turn her head on its side, she attempted to roll her eyes in the direction of whatever it was on her left. As her hearing steadily rolled back to her, raspy exhales soon pushed forth the explanation. The Gryphons head lay just by her arm, having survived the fall just as much as she. The wound on its skull had reopened, leaving a gash where it had split upon reaching the end of its fall. Its chest meekly rose and fall. It was dying, and Theda gave a huff of indignation - which she soon regretted as strokes of pain worked through her chest. After a while, she assessed the damage on herself, and wished she had not.

From what she could see, her ribs were snapped. Shown quite evidently by two of them protruding from her flesh itself where she had hit the ground in an awkward position. One of her kneecaps bent inwards, her lower leg totally out of sync with the other. The agony her spine caused her made her wonder how she still lived - or how it wasn't broken in two by the fall. Perhaps luck. Perhaps the Gods didn't want her to die yet. Either.

The Gryphon gave a strangled whimper, desperately trying to claw itself from its position - but its head lulled to the side, weighing it down. Its limbs twitched, its eyes closed, but still it fought for life. Theda stared for what seemed an age, 'till the creature she twice slew raised its eyes to hers, and went still - except for the constant convulsion of its chest as its lungs exerted themselves. A claw scraped along the ground, and in its last movement, it crawled closer to the Elvh who had proved its demise. Thedas eyes fluttered shut, praying for the beast to end her, nose her over the edge, into the water.

Instead, its beak inched into her open palm.

What was it doing? Lips parting in what she could express as shock, her lids re-opened. The beast nudged her hand, more tenderly than anything. A rush of air in the form of a grunt escaped from it. Its eyes pleaded for something.

With whatever she could muster in her strength, pity splayed her hand. The feathers of the Gryphon were soft, a change from the harsh cold of stone that she lay upon. The rumble of its breath quietened, and it made a sound - so she did it again. Stretching and recoiling her fingers through its feathers, running a thumb o'er its brow, careful not to disturb its wound. Thedas breath was dragged into a lump of sorrow, and surprise at its actions. Driven to seeking comfort in its dying seconds in the very one who had taken the life of such a proud creature, the Gryphon ceased all attempts at clinging to life.

Theda was near-delirious. By the time the mana worked its way through her veins, it was already too late. Her hand rested on the beasts wound, and she watched through hazed eyes as something else took control of her form. Light leaked through her fingers, and blood ran from the floor, retreating back to where it belonged - inside the Gryphon. The beast gave a cry - but made no effort to move, merely stared at her. And as the wound drew closed, its life drew back from ebbing away.

Though Thedas went dark.

Oenidas smoothed the hair of the girl back as she recovered from another of her 'episodes.' He had rushed her back to Gran Soren two moons ago, and she had shown no signs of wishing to co-operate with the strangers that worked on returning her to her strength. Injuries having near-faded from the intense magi-healing she had endured, her shallow breathing still offered no comfort to the Arisen. Her life was not restored just yet.

It had taken roughly five nurses and himself to restrain her on the first day. Conciousness floated back to her, and in a blind panic she lashed out, reopening the many lacerations on her form as she frantically attempted to escape from these strangers, wielding sharp objects and magick. That very conciousness had to be stolen for her to finally calm, and return to her comatose state. Oenidas had been by her side e'er since he had heard her singing something in Elvish. He had entered, padding softly to her bedside, until she refrained from making any noise at all. When he had made for the door, however, she lifted her arm, closing her hand around his wrist. That hand was now encased in both of his. It had been for two days.

On the third sunrise, she awoke. On the fourth, she spoke to people. On the fifth, her courage and pride won o'er her pain, and she arose from her bed.

Juliens knuckles whited with each passing day he refused to return to Gran Soren to check on the woman. She was dead, he knew it. He saw the state she was in. None could endure that. If only he had reached out to grab her before she fell.

But no, he had stared, all her offered was a hoarse cry when he realized what had happened. It hit like an arrow - and he knew not the reason. If his home was to prevail, if his quest was to prevail, all would have to die. Theda, the Arisen, Leythir, the Duke. In a way, it was easier this way. The thought of watching her die upon his sword made his stomach churn in a way that stung his eyes.

Pushing from his desk, his cape swirled 'round his feet as he marched through his tower. This fools gift from a fool duke. Ser Daerio stood at his usual post, glancing at his Lord with a hint of unexpectancy in his gruff eyes. Afore he could even speak however, the blonde-haired knight reached him, his voice all but a snarl.

"'Tis time for this land to burn."