A/N: I uploaded chapters 8 & 9 around the same time. If you missed 'A Strange Awakening' be sure you have read all the chapters before you keep going. Thanks! -Anxsoc.
Chapter 10: Toxic Choices
Kyrn examined the edge of her bow, scoffed at the shattered wood and tossed it aside. She heard the wood crack when she struck the leader as he tried to jump her from her blind side. Her shoulder ached from the join of her neck all the way to her waist because of it. Even though losing another wretched Fereldan bow to a blunt-force defense was better than losing her life, it was exhausting to swap weapons every few hours as their enemies hammered them from every corner of these damned caves.
Though she had pulled out her reinforced steel arrows, her shots had done little to defend them from the cultists' attacks when they were in a freezing chamber, and all their assailants were decked in full plate armor and flanked by drakelings. While trying to avoid hitting her own comrades, more than a few arrows had shattered uselessly on rock instead of their enemies.
She kicked the leader's corpse and glared into his lifeless eyes a moment before picking up his bow, quickly appraising it and tossing it onto her back. She ripped his armor apart, seeking any advantage his gear might give, looking for potions, poultices or wealth that might compensate for the gear they had demolished on this absurd endeavour to make it up the mountain.
As she thrashed about, the clink of glass rolling over rock caught her ear, and she watched the evil looking vial of 'andraste's blood' roll from his hand. With a sneer, she crushed it under her heel and grinned with delight at the feel of it spreading over the ground and already beginning to dry. The only thing worse than the humans' foolish 'Maker' and 'Andraste' was a FAKE savior, claiming to be a dragon reborn. "Really," She thought smugly, "the things these Shemlen believe." She winced and cringed as her muscles protested when she stood straight again.
"Are you alright?" Alistair called to her, from where he too was ransacking the corpses for anything of use. He looked closer to the Beyond than she did, covered in more blood than metal, his helm caved in on one side so the nose guard did not even align to his face anymore.
Kyrn couldn't find the energy to lie at that moment, sneering, "Aside from being chewed on, scratched, frostbitten, and tired as hell, yes, I am GREAT."
Alistair blistered at the unnecessary sarcasm, but his rebuttal was interrupted by a swift thump to the back of his pauldron, "What did you expect her to answer?" Zevran chuckled, amazingly unhurt by the continual combat, though almost as blood-soaked as Alistair himself. "She is not one for flowery prose like our dear bard, yes?"
Though Leliana shot them both a withering glare, she said nothing, merely recouping what arrows she could from the battlefield before cleaning her own blade as well.
"Ah, forgive me, my Lady," Zevran crooned, bowing to the Orlesian woman so deeply she couldn't help but smile in response to his guile, even when it dripped with cloying sentiment.
Kyrn joined them in stepping back into daylight, the rumored temple rising before as they limped through the last of the natural caverns, ominously shadowed by a narrow ravine. "Can you believe what I found on that cretin's body? Some kind of unholy-" She shivered, "Something. In a vial."
"Is it the dragon's 'blood of Andraste' that man was ranting about?" Leliana cut in, "Perhaps it is a poison. Let me see."
Kyrn pulled her foot up her waist, taking a moment to enjoy the pop of her back realigning as she showed her the stain on the bottom of her boot. "Abelas, All that is left is right here."
"You smashed it?" Leliana balked, watching her stride through the narrow valley where a High Dragon stood watch far above.
"Gladly," Kyrn chirped.
Leliana narrowed her eyes as she glanced between the dragon and the ranger, but said no more as they approached the long hidden temple. They all walked silently through the mountain's shadow, aware of each wingbeat snapping overhead, weapons drawn in case the high dragon decided not to tolerate their presence after all.
It took all their combined strength to slowly push the aged doors open, but the craftsmanship was precise enough that once they were pushed open, they stayed that way. Kyrn walked in without hesitation, used to eery quiet from the numerous ruins she had traversed while her Clan traveled through the forgotten wilds.
"Impressive," Zevran whistled, stepping ahead and looking around with an appraising eye, while Alistair, Leliana and Wynne hung back in various states of awe and reverence. Their sloth agitated her, though she couldn't place why. Though no love was lost between herself and Andraste, she could still respect the effort it took to make it here, and imagine the way it might feel to enter one of her own gods' holy spaces.
But she couldn't feel it. It seemed like everything about the architecture was built to impress tranquility upon you, make you feel small and cradled in the stonework. So why did it give her goosebumps? It felt as if the stale air was abrading her skin as she beckoned the others to follow faster.
From high above, slanted beams of dust-filled light cascaded into the resounding grey atrium that seemed to be dimly lit from everywhere and nowhere at once, save for a stoic figure in wing-tipped armor made from the light itself.
After what seemed like an unending amount of explanation, the spectre spoke to her specifically, with the same ever-patient level tone of voice as it punched her verbally in the gut.
"Tell me Pilgrim, did you fail Tamlen?" The ghostly image of the guardian stood before her, speaking in echoes.
Kyrn wanted to respond, "No." But the words wouldn't form on her lips. Her throat ached, dry with self-consciousness as the evanescent man stared back at her.
"Yes," she croaked out, surprised as despair she'd put away for so many long weeks lanced through her stomach, fresh as the day he disappeared. "We should have gotten the Keeper. I should never have let him go into that ruin in the first place… Ma Dirth Vhenan… ma abelas… ma aneth lath ara… He was my husband in all but name. My life, my love...my completion," Kyrn ended in a stammering whisper, already feeling the hot tears crinkling her eyes, trickling down into the corners of her lips. "I should have searched longer. How could I leave him to that fate… tainted, and dying…"
Moved by her sorrow, Lellianna reached out a hand to Kyrn's shoulder to calm her, "You couldn't have known what would happen, don't be so hard on yourself." The Orlesian woman seemed truly concerned, but her eyes wandered with the uncertainty of an unfinished story.
"How could she possibly know that?" Kyrn thought bitterly. "She wasn't there. She's never even asked me anything about how I ended up on this path. Every conversation we've had has centered around her disgust at something, or some gilded trinket she had to leave back in the Orlesian court!"
For their part, Alistair and Wynn were also concerned, and though she knew they said something equally consoling, she couldn't hear them over the roar of her own heartbeat, crashing in her ears like she was drowning.
Their base flaws were laid out like cards by the solemn apparition. She watched as the Chantry sister scowled back at his abrupt denial of her vision, and the crushed expression on Alistair's face as it asked if he should have died instead. But it was Wynne who drew her from her own self pity as she answered the ghost in his own objective tone of voice.
"It seems you've already got your answer," Wynne replied plainly, "The way you word the question doesn't leave much room for retort. But yes, I do worry if I am affecting change. It doesn't matter, though, because the more pressing question should be 'Should I still try.' The answer is yes, the effort is always worth it."
Wynne's calm reply was heartening. She found it easy to respect the older woman, even to completely forget her race the way she always strove to defend others and act with kindness. Kyrn reaffirmed in her mind that she wouldn't take anything the strange visions said to heart. Magic was at work, that was certain, but all it could do was read their hearts, their minds, and spit back some absurd Andrastian bullshit.
"And what of those that follow you?"
"And the Antivan Elf?" The spirit queried, turning its gaze to Zevran.
He shot back a dry, tired sneer as he replied, "Oh, is it my turn now? Hurrah. I am so excited." His tone and uneasy glare implied the opposite. Kyrn smiled as she watched him, trying her best to wipe the tears from her face with armored hands. His sarcasm in the face of the strange trial made her smile.
It continued, without amusement or anger, "Many have died at your hand. But is there any you regret more than a woman by the name of-"
"How do you know about that?" Zevran muttered, and his bored sneer melted to nervous attention as the spirit continued.
"I know much. It is allowed to me. The question stands, however. Do you regret-?"
"Yes!" Zevran interupted, "The answer is yes, if that is what you wish to know. I do. Now move on!"
She watched him, seeing the sharp sting of old pains pass behind his eyes before he crossed his arms, taking a sudden interest in the bas relief carvings around the doorway as he ground his teeth.
"Is that all?" Wynne calmly inquired.
"You may pass," It replied simply, "Go in the path of the Maker." it's voice dissolved as its form did, becoming like the dust dancing through the angled light once more.
*Ma Dirth Vhenan… ma abelas… ma aneth lath ara (Roughly, "My promised heart" (bethrothed, fiance), my sorrow, my beloved, "my safe traveling love" My soulmate.