Author's Notes: This chapter contains a trigger alert.
Chapter 11: Captured
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Into the darkest of hearts we went,
To learn of a Paragon's greatest lament.
Truth revealed of Caradin's dark fate.
And though Branka offered tempting bait
We chose to side with the great Caradin
And to put an end to his greatest of sins.
He made us a crown with the finest of gleams
For the next in the line of Orzammar's kings.
But Prince Bhelen did protest Caradin's choice
And we were forced to silence his voice.
Dwarven allies in hand to Denerim we went
To Landsmeet to challenge both Queen and Regent.
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The crack of the braided leather through the air was her only warning.
Kallian closed her eyes tightly, clenching her teeth, unwilling to give these bastards the satisfaction of hearing her cry out at the excruciating pain that would follow.
The lash fell upon others – long lines of broken, bloody flesh that throbbed with agony every time she breathed. The elf bit her lip until it bled, trying to distance herself from the pain. Maker, this was incredible. Every nerve ending in her body screamed for relief, and only her newly acquired discipline kept her from crying out.
Damn Anora. Damn all of the nobles and their political games. How could she have been so blind? Not only was she stupid enough to believe Erlina, but she had also walked straight into Loghain's trap. Had Anora really even been a prisoner, or was everything that wretched handmaiden said a lie? The regent had probably set this whole thing up to silence Howe, removing yet another obstacle in his path to seizing full control of Ferelden.
Or perhaps it had been Anora's idea. The queen had been a little too happy at the news of the Arl's death. No doubt there was no love lost there. And the Wardens were the greatest threat to Anora's rule.
How could she have been so stupid?
Another stab of pain. This time she could not restrain herself, a low groan escaping her lips.
"Enough!" Kallian breathed a sigh of relief at the guard captain's command, using the small reprieve to wipe her forehead against her restrained arms. Not long after her arrest she had been brought here, deep within the dungeons of Fort Drakon, and manacled to a tall whipping post in the corner of the room. The chains had been made for a human, however, and she had been forced to stand on her tiptoes to avoid her arms being wrenched from their sockets.
"The Teyrn wishes the Landsmeet to see how fairly the Grey Warden is being treated – despite the fact she murdered our king and attempted to kidnap our queen."
The jailor spat on the ground, wiping the back of his palm against his dirt-streaked, sweaty forehead. He clenched the handle of a long bullwhip in his other hand. When he grinned, he displayed a mouthful of yellowed, half-rotten teeth – a grin that he leveled at the guard captain now, his eyes squinting with dark delight. "She won't be able to tell 'em anything if we cut out 'er tongue."
Maker help me.
"Be that as it may," the guard captain studied his subordinate uneasily. Where did they get this latest batch of recruits? "I would prefer her to have a separate cell – away from the riffraff, if you would. And no visible injuries – we can't have the Teyrn's prize soiled before his big day."
Kallian prayed silently that they would not become more inventive in their methods of torture.
"You have your orders," the captain repeated, his eyes brokering no dissent. "Keep her in a separate cell. Better yet, house her with the nobles. I don't want her in with the general population."
"She's a knife ear, ser," the jailor protested. "The others will think we gave her special protection."
A long sigh. "Just do as I say," the captain's voice was irritated now, rubbing the bridge of his nose with pinched fingers. "I want no mistakes. I do not want a repeat over that alienage incident. We're already in enough trouble for that one."
By the gods... Shianni. Father. Soris. What had happened?
"Understood, ser." After a short pause, one set of footsteps left the room. Another long moment, and a second pair made their way to her. A large body pressed against her back, the chainmail dragging wickedly against Kallian's torn flesh. The elf winced at the pain and the overwhelming stench of an unwashed body. The smell mingled with the saltiness of sweat and the tanginess of blood.
"You may be safe for now, you little knife-eared cunt," the guard whispered, his fetid breath causing Kallian to dry-retch in disgust. A rough hand slid up her back, tangling in her hair and wrenching her head back. Kallian winced at the pain, another whimper issued when his tongue dragged along her neck. "But see, it only takes a few silver to the evening guard to look the other way, and since you'll be housed with your betters, you'll be far enough away that no one will be able to hear your screams."
His free hand dropped, cupping her naked breast, and Kallian's breath caught in her throat, her eyes closing tight at the rough fondling.
Leli, please forgive me. I do not want this.
"My brother was a guard at the Arl's estate, you little whore," the guard hissed, grinding his hips against her, drawing another whimper of pain from the elf. "And I swore to the Maker that I would get my revenge on the little bitch that killed him. And now here you are – delivered to me by the Maker himself."
Kallian closed her eyes. Once more Shianni's face stared back at her. But this time, Shianni stood proud, the fire in her eyes still strong. This was the cousin who had kissed her cheek and bidden her to go with Duncan. Who had refused to submit, to be broken, even after she had lost everything.
Make us proud, cousin.
Kallian clenched her teeth together, steeling herself with new resolve. You always thought I was the strong one, Shianni. But you taught me that true strength comes from within.
She would not let these humans see her defeated. The others would come – Leli, Sten, Morrigan, Wynne, and the others. And when they did, she would be ready to fight.
I will be strong for you, Shianni. For Leli. I will not let them break me. This I swear to you.
Sensing the sudden change in demeanor from his captive, the young guard drew back, irritated. With a gauntleted fist he punched her twice. The first blow landed off-center against her back, catching her kidneys and drawing a started gasp from the elf. The second hit her side, a loud pop echoing through the room as Kallian's rib snapped. The Warden bit down on her lip so hard it bled in an effort to keep from crying out.
Gathering what little moisture remained in her mouth, she spat, smiling in grim determination as the blood-flecked liquid caught the jailor across his face.
She did not feel the back of his hand as it impacted her face, nor the rest of the remaining blows. Surrendering to the pain, she embraced the waiting darkness.
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It was hours before she awoke, her very first sensation one of unrelenting agony.
The pain was sharp, biting, the pain of broken bones and torn ligaments. It was deep and aching, the pain of abused muscles and joints. It was dull and it was throbbing. After nearly a year on the road, battling the Darkspawn and the Blight, Kallian thought she knew pain fairly well.
But she was wrong, terribly wrong.
Kallian slowly squinted one eye open, and then the other. Her first thought was that she was dying. And she probably was. Her skin felt moist and clammy, and she was shivering quite involuntarily. Her forehead felt clammy and her palms were moist with either sweat or blood.
The elf was no stranger to sickness, having grown up in the alienage, and she was well aware that it was often not one's injuries that killed, but the infection that set in afterwards. Here now, lying on the cold unyielding stone, Kallian was acutely aware of just how much she'd come to rely on Wynne's and even Morrigan's talents as a healer.
It took an even greater amount of fortitude to roll herself over, pushing to her wobbly knees as she tried to focus her mind, though it was not easy with her ringing ears and her throbbing head. Her stomach lurched at the site of the nearly solid mass of bruises that marred every inch of her torso.
She was wearing only the barest of prison cloths, all her weapons and armor having been confiscated upon her surrender to Ser Cauthrien. The rags were dirty and smelled faintly of sweat and vomit, or was that the cell? It was hard to decide. Her bruises seemed pretty limited to the areas that her armor would cover, though how the guard had managed to restrain himself from damaging her even more, the Warden had no idea.
Kallian closed her eyes, assessing her own injuries. Every time she breathed, her ribs sent a sharp, shooting pain through her spine to her head. Definitely broken, the elf noted grimly, bile rising in her throat. She spit, wincing at the small amount of blood that was present. Internal injuries.
Her arms were shaking from the effort of holding her body aloft, and Kallian roughly rolled over onto her back, a low moan escaping her throat as the pain in her arms made itself known. Not dislocated, but very strained. Hesitating, the Warden wiggled her toes, relieved to see the guard had stayed away from damaging her spine.
The lack of any pain between her legs led her to believe the guard had at least restrained from raping her downstairs, but that would not last long. He would be back – of this she was certain.
How long had she been unconscious? Just how much time did she have? Examining her surroundings, Kallian noted the lone guard standing watch in the corner. One guard, which meant that it was the night watch. There were no other prisoners in the cells with her, but then again, she had not expected there to be. Rarely did human nobles do anything to warrant being locked up.
Maybe she was wrong. Maybe her status as a Grey Warden warranted the personal guard.
Her hopes shattered, however, when her assailant from before entered, turning and pinning the Warden with a beady stare before meandering his way to his comrade in the corner.
Frantically, Kallian looked around for something, anything, she could turn into a weapon. She was determined to defend herself, even though there was nothing of use in her cell, save a small wooden bowl in the corner. Not even a chamber pot. Maybe the wooden bowl was the chamber thought. Kallian shuddered at the thought.
The guards were arguing now and Kallian grimaced, trying to use the wall as a brace to rise to her feet, collapsing almost immediately, gasping for breath. It was no use – her injuries were too severe. There was no way she would be able to fend the guard off.
"A candlemark," the main guardsman warned, pocketing the silver Detrick had slipped him. His job paid poorly, and even the few extra bits he'd earned for the night watch could not cover the cost of all the hungry mouths he had to feed. "I will be outside the door."
Detrick waved him away dismissively, and the guard left, trying to erase from his mind the half-mad expression he'd seen in the other man's eyes.
Kallian looked up at him, her stomach sinking as he strode to her cell door, knowing she would be powerless to stop him. Glaring defiantly at the man, she refused to shirk away, determined that she would not grant this bastard the dignity of hearing her cry out.
Detrick regarded his prey hungrily, his dark eyes greedily taking in the site of the scantily clad elf, feeling his own arousal grow at the sensation of pure helplessness of his victim. He fumbled momentarily with the key to the cell, but eventually unlocked it and made his way to the prisoner's side, feeling his anger swell. This knife-ear bitch had gutted his brother, and he was determined to see her pay.
The elf did not meet his own hard look as he stopped a few inches in front of her, her own stony expression pinned at some place beyond his head. For some reason, this made Detrick even angrier, and he lashed out with his foot, catching the Warden squarely in the side and sending her sprawling.
She should have screamed. She should have cried out. She should be begging for her miserable little life. Instead, nothing. No whimper left her lips, though she had to be in extraordinary pain. Not even a single tear.
Angry, Detrick rolled the young woman over, grabbing at the rough spun clothes that protected her modesty.
He would make her pay. He would see her cry out before this night was over.
So focused was he on his anger and his rage that he missed the dagger had been flung expertly through the air, lodging itself into his back before he could draw breath.
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Leliana was getting desperate. It had been far too much time since Kallian's capture by Cauthrien. The others had forced her to wait until nightfall; appealing to her knowledge of stealth and tactics, bidding her to use caution though every bone in her body screamed for quick action. After direct appeals from Alistair and Wynne had not worked, a stern lecture from Morrigan regarding the Warden's prospect for survival should they fail had finally silenced the bard.
And now they were close, having slipped through the prison ranks with ease at subterfuge that was nearly worthy of a ballad. The guards had too easily accepted the story of a pair of Chantry sisters, allowing Leliana and Wynne to slip easily past the outer defenses of the fortress. Alistair, who'd insisted upon coming despite all of Arl Eamon's protests, had fit easily into the roll of Templar, escorting the sisters past the main gates.
They'd not had to maintain the ruse long, sneaking up behind a trio of unaware guards had yielded them three sets of armor, and now they moved freely through the palace. Wynne's staff had to be left behind. But it would have been too conspicuous, and the risk of going without a mage had seemed too great.
Leliana whispered a prayer that Wynne's talents would not be needed.
The trio had made their way through the fort unmolested until they had approached the main prison block.
"Prison's off limits," the guard said, "by orders of the Teyrn."
But the way the guard's eyes shifted nervously had aroused the bard's suspicions, and with nary a word she maneuvered her way alongside the taller man before pinning him face-first against the wall, the tip of her dagger at his throat.
"What's going on?" Leliana asked quietly, ignoring the fact that she'd just blown their cover, much to the chagrin of her friends, who shook their heads in disbelief.
"'ey! I dunno wha' yer ta..." the guard began, wincing as the tip of the dagger nicked his flesh, drawing blood. They didn't pay him enough for this. Whoever this woman was, she was not to be messed with. The guard gulped at the dangerous look in her eyes.
"Detrick came up to me, ya see, and he says he wants some time with the knife ear," the guard stammered, not missing the cold, calculating gaze of the woman. The redhead's face went ashen, a look of pain flickering across her features. "'e jus' went in there, 'e did, 'bout five minutes ag..."
Leliana didn't wait to hear the rest of the man's story; nor did she turn around at the sound of Alistair's heavily armored fist rendering him unconscious. She flung open the door to the main cellblock, racing inside with Wynne and Alistair at her heels. She saw him there; a short, rather rotund man with thick black hair and a dark, angry expression, struggling with the scant bindings covering her lover's body.
Without much forethought, the bard flung her knife, the tip of the blade easily penetrating the guard's cured leather armor, expertly piercing both flesh and lung, and drawing a startled gurgle from the would-be rapist. Leliana covered the space quickly, pushing the larger man aside into Alistair's waiting arms. The Templar grimly pinned the guard against the bars of the cell, his arms shaking in barely restrained outrage as he glanced worriedly towards his fellow Warden.
Leliana let out a small cry at the mass of contusions that was her lover. The elf was an ugly, mottled purple from the neck down. All around her ribs, the bruises had a particularly frightening look, the color stretching to her knees. Kallian's eyes were distant, unfocused. The bard choked back a sob as she cradled her lover's broken form. With one hand, she reached up, tracing the backs of her fingertips across the Warden's face.
"Kallian." The name barely made it past her lips before she dissolved into tears. Leliana cradled her lover's body to her chest, rocking back and forth as she buried her face in the sweat-soaked tresses.
Wynne knelt beside the bard, her own features stoic, but as the bard looked up to meet the older woman's gaze, Leliana could see behind the mask – carefully bottled rage intermingled with fear and deep sorrow. The mage placed a hand on the elf's dirt-streaked forehead, quietly assessing the damage.
She inhaled sharply, her gaze meeting the bard's own worried expression. "The injuries are very extensive. I can make it safe to move her, but we need to get back to the estate, and quickly." Wynne's lips pursed together grimly. "I'll have to wait until we're there before I can fully assess the nature of her internal injuries."
Wynne's hands began to move in healing circles over the elf, murmuring the chants and the incantations to help knit together the Warden's damaged bones.
"I'll carry her," Alistair's voice was grim. "Just as soon as I finish taking out the trash." He pinned his captive with a dangerous glare.
Leliana's lip twitched, glancing dismissively to the ashen-faced guard, whose wheezing breaths echoed unusually loud against the cinderblock walls of the cell. If Kallian died, she would make sure his final moments were exquisitely painful, filled with the most terrible agonies she could possibly muster.
The bundle in her arms stirred. With a startled inhale, Leliana glanced down, staring into the most beautiful sight in the world.
Bright green eyes, the color of uncut emeralds, met her own, filled with an expression of such love and devotion that it nearly broke her heart.
"Leli..."
She sobbed at the sound of Kallian's voice, still very much weakened, but filled with quiet wonder and incredulity. The bard leaned down, brushing her lips against the Warden's, careful not to shift too much lest she aggravate the wounds.
"I am here, love." She whispered, laughter erupting at the relief in Kallian's eyes. The Warden hesitated, reaching up a single finger to touch Leliana's lips, before turning her focus to Wynne.
"Ribs," she managed to get out, the very act of speaking causing her incredible pain. Wynne gave the elf a tight nod.
"Setting it right now," Wynne muttered, pinning the younger with a reproving glare, though it gave the mage no small amount of relief to see her charge in such spirits. "It came very near close to puncturing your lung."
Leliana scowled at their captive guard, and then her eyes sought Alistair's, who nodded grimly. A quick snap of his arms, and then it was all over.
"Alistair!" Wynne scolded, her distaste for what he'd done warring with her own desire for retribution.
"Sorry," Alistair shrugged, not at all apologetic. "My grip slipped."
"He was very near death anyways," Leliana's calming voice attempted to soothe ruffled feathers. "My aim was true. The dagger pierced his lung. " Wynne held her gaze for a moment before dipping her head in acknowledgement. Under her breath, she added, "'Twas a far cleaner death than he deserved."
Wynne shook her head mildly in rebuke, returning her full attentions to the task on hand. After several long minutes, the healer finally spoke, her face weary from the exertion. "I've done all I can. We need to get her back to Arl Eamon's estate."
The others nodded, and Alistair slipped seamlessly beside Leliana. The Templar slid one arm underneath Kallian's knees, and a second behind her back, treating the other Warden as delicately as a babe. Slowly, the he rose to his feet, an action that drew another whimper of pain from the elf.
Leliana could see Alistair's jaw set, the flash of pain across his features at the sound of Kallian's distress. It mirrored her own, the bard thought forlornly, her gaze drifting down to her outstretched hands.
They were covered in blood.
That day was among the darkest I can recall since my capture by the Orlesian guards. I was so furious at how you had offered yourself up in exchange for our release. And I was so frightened of the guards and what I was certain of what would happen to you if you lingered in their possession too long.
Alistair and Anora argued bitterly over your rescue. Anora wanted to wait until after the Landsmeet to secure your freedom, while Alistair was ready to storm the gates of Fort Drakon, swords blazing.
It was actually Morrigan who had offered the tactical plan – one that worked beyond my wildest expectations. When we got back, Alistair surprised us all by giving her biggest hug you could have possibly imagined. Even the normally taciturn Sten had to smile at that one. Not to be outdone, Morrigan sent a lightning bolt towards his back end, threatening to turn him into a toad. Still, the witch had looked pleased with herself.
I think that, despite the cool and aloof exterior, Morrigan truly cared about your well-being. I suppose that's why her betrayal surprised us all.
