Title: The Great Escape XIV: Listening
)O(
Emma finds it difficult to fall asleep that night. She has unknowingly become accustomed to the continuous roar of the sea and the boisterous laughter of sailors. Now there is only the sound of wind rustling the trees. Not to mention the chirping of crickets. It's not the same. All she can do is remember…
So she puts all that remembering to good use and tries to recall a spell taught to her by a fellow apprentice once. It was meant to induce sleep; unfortunately said apprentice had ended up in a coma as a result. That doesn't sound like such a bad thing right now.
"Jowan," Emma whispers. "Hey, are you awake?"
"No." He turns over in the darkness, and she can sense that he is looking at her now. "Why are you?"
"I can't sleep." the elf says, attempting to sound adorable.
Jowan sighs. "Do you ever think about going back to the Tower?"
And for a moment, she cannot bring herself to reply. What is he saying? Doesn't he know that would mean their deaths if not worse?
"Never." Emma speaks firmly. "Look, Rivain may not be perfect, but anything is better than being a slave to the Chantry."
"What about Seharon?"
The very thought of it sends a shiver down her spine. "All right, you got me there. Anything besides that, then."
"Why do you think Isabela didn't tell us she still had family here?"
"Who knows? I didn't get the impression that they got along too well. I guess we never really knew that much about her to start with, but I intend to find out."
It doesn't take long after that for the Fade to take them both. Their dreams are filled with the incoherent chatter of spirits, and the enticing whispers of demons.
With passion'd breath does the darkness creep.
It is the whisper in the night, the lie upon your sleep.
)O(
When at last the sun ebbs over the horizon, brightening Liomerryn, birds begin to sing. This is unusual since the trees are still bare, and so normally all feathered creatures should have flown south to Ferelden. Perhaps it's the Blight, she reasons; maybe they can feel the corruption spreading from beneath the earth. They too have been displaced like so many wandering refugees in desperate search of anything whole and constant.
This particular morning also brings a visitor to their door. He stands at six feet and four inches tall, give or take a few. But that is not the first thing to catch Emma's eye; the man's hair is almost white though he cannot be much older than herself. Nevertheless, it rather interesting in contrast with his dark skin. Maybe he's qunari.
And in many ways, he does match the description, but something just isn't quite fitting about that,,,
"Greetings, Mana," he says, "How does the day find you so far?"
"Ah, Horus, I am well." Then she smiles brightly. "You must meet my new guests. Apparently they know my granddaughter."
"Which one?" Horus asks, giving them a quizzical look.
"The one who fancies herself a pirate," the seer replies. Emma immediately begins to feel awkward, desperate for a way to lighten the mood. So she tells Horus her name and introduces herself properly. Mana requests that he join them for breakfast; he is willing to oblige.
Strangely, Horus seems rather curious about her, not that she isn't just as curious about him.
"You came here because your people believe magic is dangerous and that those who are born with magical ability should be imprisoned?"
"Not exactly," Emma explains. "My people are mages and elves, not templars. Magic can be dangerous, but so can one's fist. But we don't go around cutting off everyone's hands, because they are useful, and so is magic. The sad part is, for most elves, the Circle is preferable to a life of poverty."
"What do you mean?"
"Mages are looked down upon equally, whether they are human or elven, at least where I come from anyway. It's going to take time for me to get used to the idea of magic being a gift rather than an extreme social liability."
Maybe here she can build something of a life.
As it turns out, Horus is indeed half qunari, but only on his father's side. And like his father before him, he does not believe in the Qun, which views mages as broken things rather than people. His father was killed years ago, speared in the heart by a Tal'Vashoth hunter. Horus' mother later died from a combination of illness and grief; she had been good friends with Mana.
It is clear enough that he has not had an easy life; even Emma's own woes pale in comparison. But he insists the Natural Order will ensure balance is kept in the world, and all suffering will one day turn to great joy if one is simply willing to wait, watch and listen.
And so she listens. Maybe if Emma looks hard enough, she will find the answer she seeks in those soft hazel eyes of his that seem to draw her in...
But like strangers might talk casually about the weather, they inevitably begin to talk about the Blight. It's on everyone's minds these days, silently waiting to be acknowledged. There are constant reminders of its presence, and you don't even have to look very hard to find them.
Ferelden refugees fled when their villagers were taken by darkspawn. Those who could afford it went by ship to the Free Marches, but many more were turned away the second they arrived. That's what happens when you displace a large population of people who have nothing but each other to a nation that can scarcely pull itself together enough to go on.
They had no choice but to make the long journey to Rivain or Antiva or whatever place would take them. And some are tainted; their blood stains the soil black as coal. Horus should know since he works on a farm.
"I thought most everyone burned their dead." Emma remarks. She is more than slightly unnerved by his words.
"It's originally a Dalish tradition to bury the dead, I believe, but it is widely accepted thoughout Thedas, especially here in Rivain. What comes from the earth must return to the earth. Sadly, the darkspawn also come from the earth."
Emma nods gravely. The Dalish do indeed bury their dead; she should know. For a moment, she wonders if Lyna's blood had been tainted as well. And if so, had it irreversibly poisoned the earth, altering it that nothing new may grow again? Perhaps the spirits in that forest, drifting aimlessly through the trees, had felt the change. And maybe one of them had whispered to Mana of what was and is still to come.
All she must do is listen.