A/N: The usual salutations— to my readers, subscribers, reviewers—thanks for keeping up with the story so far, I hope you're still enjoying it! Things get a tad darker.
Chapter 10: Retribution
Zevran
The thing that had taken over Kiera's body—the demon, had not exactly kept its word, it seemed, for we were not heading for the exits of the castle, rather upwards, and into a vast library. A smile curled when we came upon various traps along the way and it had seemed… almost malevolent. I had never seen that on my bella's face before. Crossbolts disintegrated in mid-air, trigger traps clicked and rusted away like a thousand years had passed. It seemed to know where all of the explosives were, and Kiera's alluring form drew more guards to their doom, with careful steps around the evidently marked flagstones.
This was apparently where it had wanted to go, all along—the room that seemed to cover an entire floor with its collections of ancient tomes.
Stepping in front of the figure—I met those red-tinged pupils without flinching. That gaze was both cold and fiery. This facsimile of my bella, had to end. Just as I searched for the least aggressive manner to put my objections, it spoke, knowing exactly what I wanted to say.
"I know what I promised, elf. Soon." With that, my bella stepped past me into the room, appraising the walls of books, before stalking towards one of the shelves Very calmly, it raised Kiera's smooth hand, and removed a book, which—surprisingly enough, opened the fireplace, revealing another cavernous room.
There he was, Damien Ulisse—scion of Drago—evidently the same man who had orchestrated tonight's events. His torso was bare, as was the woman he had tied to the single chair. Emiliana. Wounds riddled her chest, and some of them were burns. The bastard.
A force slammed the half-dressed man backwards, pinning him to the far wall. A snap of Kiera's fingers broke Emiliana's bonds, and I helped the poor woman get dressed who though as weak as she was, was still conscious.
The two of them seemed to be conversing. The thing that wore my bella's shape—had seemed very much amused by the man's frantic replies.
xOxOx
The Grey Wardens kept getting reports that small bands of darkspawn were sighted in the hills, to the south; and villages grew agitated as they claimed that the borders of the deadened lands were spreading, ever closer to their farms. Many of the Orlesian Wardens returned with little to confirm this.
And thus, it was her first mission as a recruit, she and three others would be accompanied by Riordan himself, to first investigate the areas, with great caution—she was continually reminded. It was not as if she did not know this. Care always had to be taken when one was not within the main Compound. She worried for the other recruits. They were excellent fighters, but lacked a certain something. She called it courage. Riordan called it brains. Both of them privately agreed that Jason, Caradoc and Andre would balk at the sight of the first tainted beasts they saw.
And then, they were right. Both Andre and Caradoc had almost turned tail, if not for Riordan standing in their way, blocking their retreat with a set, grim look. They had no choice but to face the awful creatures. Jason was no better off—the man emptied his stomach of its contents after lopping off the darkspawn's head—the acrid smell of the tainted blood was indeed churning.
Riordan was most impressed by her determination to become a Grey Warden, even if it did seem like a convenient excuse for her to remain out of the clutches of the Orlesian Circle. They were all clutching their vials of darkspawn blood, protecting it at all costs. Breaking one meant that they had to go back out there again.
It was when they made camp for the night that the Crows attacked. Riordan had offered to keep watch, the girl had seemed quite uneasy on her own.
He had watched her, intently, as she peered evermore into the flames of the campfire, fingers splayed out, gently guiding the flickering where she wanted them—her youth showing in those playful moments. Neither of them spoke, but a creaking in the trees at their backs alerted them both to the possibility of others in the vicinity. Immediately, Kiera closed her fist, and the fire extinguished, leaving all of them in darkness.
Riordan almost found himself swearing, but that would give his position away. That sudden dimness around them was not going to help them with whomever it was—whatever it was—though it was not darkspawn—the pitch black obscured even the shadows of their attackers. He heard a weak cry to his left, and spun around, almost stumbling over a body that lay in his way.
He fended off the blades as best as he could manage, but he was fighting blind—and was shoved to the ground by a heavy knee to the chest, and held down by a steel boot to the throat.
This was when a huge flash occurred, and the men were flung away, like ragdolls, crumpling to the floor—and Riordan struggled upright, albeit slightly winded, but none the worse for wear. A figure was looming above them, blazing with a strange light. It was Kiera, holding one arm against the bleeding gashes on her torso—panting heavily.
"Kiera—?" He called, hoping that she was fine. Illuminated by the strange essence, he noticed that the three men were dead, gone—slaughtered in their sleep. More rustling was heard, and figures dashed away from them, their campsite, into the forest.
He watched as the girl smiled, and immediately the trees burst into an awful obsidian flame, consuming the line of trees, working its way inwards—and then he heard the screams.
And he never told anyone about those, either.
xOxOx
Kiera
"He calls himself Azrael." I massaged my aching forehead. The tingling was gone, and I could breathe again—but I could still feel Him, His touch, under my skin. It was worse than the taint—that faded in time when there were no darkspawn around—Him, I sensed, always at the brink of my vision, lurking, and not benign in the least. He seemed convinced that I had to be protected, and was always watchful. He knew my innermost fears, and always came to my aid. I fought hard to gain my freedom from him, and still he kept vigil. The demons in Seheron had made him suspicious; worried that I was losing my grip on what was more important—a purity of the mind. If there was such a thing with him skulking around in there.
He did not want to own me, or my body. He had no use for a world that would bind him to a physical form where the Fade didn't. And so he did his best to protect me, this window he looked out of, marveling and learning about a world he was never a part of.
He was no longer just a protective spirit, I believed. He had changed into something far more jaded over the years. My experiences made him believe that mere protection was not enough. He was focused on the one thing that mattered to him.
My survival.
Promises of power had let him in, all those years ago in the Orlesian Circle. The blood magic was all I had access to, for a while. He taught me the burning flame, the way to split the Fade. He taught me to maintain a calm veneer, lulling others with my pale innocence. He told me he was all I had, and that I should never depend on others, for they would fail me where he would not.
He told me that he would always be here. No matter what.
"Is he always—there?" Zevran had not yet bolted from my side, but I knew that it was only a matter of time. I must seem like an abomination to him—a monster unchained. I was tainted. When we found Emiliana, I had feared the worst. I half expected Him to have killed her on sight, hot as He was for the traitor's blood. But seeing her like that—had cooled all thoughts of vengeance. He had seemed almost… pitying.
I shook my head, only half in response to Zevran's query.
I knew how it would sound—like I was always on the verge of possession, but it was the truth. "He is only alert when I am hurt, but mostly, he leaves me alone—content to watch."
Hearing thus, an unfamiliar hardness crept into Zevran's voice.
"And yet he has not shown himself one whit while we were in Ferelden, what with the Blight and that whole business with the Orlesian templars." Was he hurt that I had kept this from him?
"I used to have defenses which have prevented Him from breaking free. Those seem to have been weakened during my trip to Seheron." I stopped short of explaining my dealings with the demons back there, as well as the additional blood magic, both of which had angered Him.
"Seheron. That explains everything—I knew that I should have kept you to myself. But instead, I send you off with that Sten." Zevran was working himself into a rage, a sight which I had never seen.
It was touching that he was quite so furious—he paced the room quite rapidly; that he did not appear to care about the demon which remained so insidious, at the borders of my mind.
xOxOx
Zevran
I left the inn when my bella began tending to Emiliana's wounds again. The woman had been tortured for information, it appeared. I needed time alone to think. I truly did not care about the demon, but Azrael—whatever it had called itself—would be endangering my bella by its presence, especially if it was going to continue sitting by and watch when Kiera needed help most.
Ulisse—and by this, I meant junior—had apparently been sent by his father to flush us out, and I should have known that the man would not be so easily trapped. His gibbering had proved to be useful, at the very least—revealing that Drago was most definitely holed up in his fortress of an abode. Castello di Vincigliata. That was where we were to head next. But I am beginning to think that perhaps, I should do this on my own.
P.S.: essay due tomorrow! *panics* Haha. Oh well. Please review, yes? :D
