Leliana

An annoyed grumble pulled me out of slumber and into awareness. I sat up, rubbing the grit from my eyes, wondering how long I had been asleep. Dim light entered the room from the open window, though rain still fell and the sun was obscured by heavy clouds. The light dimmed yet further as a disgruntled witch drew the shades across it.

"Are you quite pleased, your majesty?" she directed her acidic inquiry towards the bed.

"Thank you, Morrigan." I heard the weak rasp of Salem's voice and frowned.

Her voice sounded no stronger than it had during the night. My slumber had been uninterrupted, and I had hoped this was due to the fact that her condition had improved. Wynne had promised to wake me if Salem took a turn for the worse.

Footsteps echoed across the stone floors and I looked up to see a disdainful glare from Morrigan's amber eyes.

"At last you rouse yourself." Morrigan snipped. "Perhaps now you can attend to your warden's whims and fancies."

It is far too early for this. I thought, rubbing my temples, attempting to stave off the beginning of what promised to be a merciless headache. A chilled hand brushed my shoulder and I looked up again, in shock. Morrigan rarely touched anyone...least of all me, for whom she harbored little if any affection.

Something is off. I read her body language, the tightness in her shoulders, the almost indicipherable crease between her brow, the slightest downturn of her lips. Morrigan's words are angry, but that is not the message that her stance and bearing relay. She is...Morrigan is afraid.

I got to my feet and walked towards the fire. Morrigan followed me, knowing that I wished to speak with her in relative privacy. No matter what insults the witch had at the ready, I would not let her burrow underneath my skin.

"How is she?" I asked, but my voice must have carried, because Salem answered.

"I am fine." she growled.

Morrigan snapped her head towards my warden. "You are as far from fine as I am from salvation." she hissed, and turned her attention back to me. "'Tis a wonder she has not yet driven you mad, songstress."

Love in itself is madness, Morrigan. But...what in the Maker's name have I awakened to?

"I must confess that I am utterly bewildered." I told her. "What is going on?"

Morrigan sighed. "She is not improving. The fever eased shortly after Wynne departed to re-supply, but it has returned, with a vengeance. She is in tremendous pain, Leliana, and I have done all I know short of magic to return her to sleep. It is not working, and the potions Wynne left with me have been used and are proving ineffective. I am...concerned."

Maker's blood-soaked breath. Why can nothing ever be simple?

I scrutinized the witch, witnessing the anxiety in her golden eyes, the swollen edge of her lip where she had worried the skin with her teeth. I could see something very near regret hovering in her gaze, and it unnerved me. Morrigan did, however, owe Salem her life. My warden had braved the temple of the Sacred Ashes in order to save both Arl Eamon and Morrigan, who had been gravely wounded in the battle with the high dragon.

Morrigan feels that she actually owes Salem something...and she, who has so little regard for life, is terrified for my warden. This is bad. This is all very, very bad.

"You should go to the kitchens and eat something." I encouraged her. "Perhaps go for a walk, take in the fresh air. I will care for Salem."

Morrigan shrugged her shoulders in feigned insouciance, but her eyes screamed with thanks as she departed the room. I sighed and whispered a prayer to the Maker for strength and for sanity.

I have become too much like you, my warden. Taking another's fears onto my shoulders is...new...and unpleasant. How do you carry an entire country's anxieties and concerns onto your shoulders, my love?

I walked to the bed and ran my eyes over Salem's body. She appeared little better than she had been yesternight, save that the swelling in her face had gone down. A faint tinge of color graced her cheeks, not the color of health, but of fever-flush. Her arms rested on top of the blanket, and her uninjured hand gripped the covers so tightly that her knuckles had gone white.

"What can I do for you?" I asked, pulling the chair at her bedside closer and sitting down, once more reaching for the cloth in the basin of water and cooling Salem's brow.

"Make it stop." she begged me in a whisper as her body trembled in agony. "Please, Leliana." she sounded desperate, an emotion I had never associated with her. "Please make the pain stop."

My fractured heart splintered in two at her anguished request, and I took her bandaged hand in both of mine, attempting to impart comfort and caring.

"Stay strong." I urged her. "A little longer."

"I'm...tired." she closed her eyes, her breathing short and shallow as she struggled beneath the weight of her injuries. "I...hurt...so badly. Sick with...pretending strength. How...how did you do it?"

"Do what?" I asked, following her lead, attempting to distract her with conversation.

"Bear it?" she answered, gritting her teeth and growling through them, a raw sound that slammed into my gut. "Every time...I close my eyes...I am back in Howe's dungeons. When I wake...the pain returns. The world...is crumbling and I...am helpless!" she paused, struggling for breath. "How...how did you endure."

"Time." my voice quavered as I watched tears slide down her cheeks. "A great deal of time."

"I...do not...have time." Salem groaned, turning her fever-bright eyes to mine. "Leli, I...I don't have time. I should be...in Denerim's streets...tearing apart Loghain's...reputation and support...not here...chained inside my fucking broken body!"

Her words were cut short by a spasm of coughing. Her body jerked and what inhales she could take were puncuated by whimpers and gasps. When the paroxysm passed, she collapsed against the pillows, exhausted and pale. The warrior and warden within her chafed against the pain that held her captive and the injuries that rendered her helpless. It hurt to watch my vibrant, strong, beautiful love struggle with illness and injuries.

I ran my fingers through her hair, imparting what comfort I could. A sound of content left her lips as I lightly scratched her scalp.

"This will pass, love." I promised her. "You do have time, and you must concentrate on recovering." Please, my darling. For all of us. "Is there anything I can do for you?"

Salem's rigid body seemed to relax. "Water?" she asked. "Please."

"Of course." I pressed a kiss to her cheek and rose from my chair.

I walked to the pitcher of water on the table, only to find it empty. I glanced back at Salem, worried about leaving her alone even for a moment...but she had asked me for something so simple, so necessary, and thus I acquiesced. I left the room, walked down the stairs, and into the kitchens.

The staff avoided me as I exited the kitchens and drew a bucket of water from Eamon's well, filling the pitcher. I re-entered the house and turned towards the staircase, keeping my eyes fixed on the floor. I could not meet the eyes of the servants, unable to meet their fear and pity. I heard the a rhythmic scrape and turned, feeling sick to my stomach as I watched one of Eamon's servants scrubbing at the blood on the floor.

Salem's blood. After I escaped the dungeons of Val Royeaux, I was given time to recover. I was able to rest, recover, contemplate what had happened to me, heal my body, mind, and soul. Salem does not have that luxury. I may have rescued her from Howe's dungeons, but here, even in safety, Salem's torture continues.

I ascended the stairs and made my way to Salem's room. I eased the door open and the sight that greeted me forced my heart into a rapid, painful tattoo. The pitcher fell from my hand and shattered on the ground, sending water over the floor. I rushed to the bed.

Salem sat on the edge of the bed, visibly shaking. The sound of her breathing was horrible, rasping and stilted. The bandages on her back bore bloodstains that grew incrementally larger. I wanted to strike her, to shake her for her stupidity, but dared not. She was in too much danger, she should not have even been conscious beneath the onslaught of what must have been torment.

"Salem!" I raised my voice in panic. "What in hell are you doing!?"

I should not have left! Why did she do this to herself! What is going through her mind that spurred this lunacy!?

"Injuries...have not...held me back...before." Salem panted, beads of sweat running down her nose and dripping onto the floor.

"Lie down." I ordered her, moving her body back onto the mattress, guiding her head back down to the damp pillow, being as careful of her wounds as I could. Her skin was flame beneath my hands.

She is burning alive.

"You have not been this severely injured since Ishal." I snarled. "We all have limits, Salem. You can only exceed them so many times."

Salem turned her face from my touch. "Need...need to be...useful. Need to...work."

Tears of frustration built in her eyes and spilled out. Her hands twitched on top of the covers as her pain, not her mind, dictated the movements of her body. The muscle in her jaw jumped and I could see the rapid pulse in her neck, fluttering and much too fast.

"You can't." I stressed the words, hating myself for the iron in my voice, for my inability to provide comfort to her. "What good are you to this mission if you bleed out in the streets. You are hurt, my darling. I do not even know how you are conscious after the idiocy of attempting to stand."

"Cannot...do this." Salem reached up with her uninjured hand and gripped my own.

Her grasp should have been painful. I should have felt the pressure and winced, but she was so weak that, in spite of her straining muscles and pronounced tendons, I could barely feel her hand around my own. Worry swirled in my stomach and drove bile up my throat.

Maker, forgive me for this.

"You must." I sat beside her and smoothed her hair. "I need you to endure. I need you to recover. Please, Salem, hold on a little longer. For me. Trust me when I say that your fever will break and your wounds will heal. The nightmares will fade and you will be fine."

"Until then...hold me." she begged. "Please. I need...to feel something...other than pain."

I bit the inside of my cheek, straining to hold back my tears. "Are you certain? Your injuries..."

"Please." she entreated, her silver-blue eyes almost eloquent in their anguish. "I do not care if it kills me."

I do. You will make it through this, Salem. I am here for you.

I lay down beside her and rested my hand on her hip. Even though I wished to place my hand over her heart, I forced myself to remember the deep bruising over her chest and her broken ribs.

"Do not do something so idiotic again, Salem." I warned her.

"Why?" her tone was faraway, bitter...laced with exhaustion and defeat, slurred with exhaustion and fever.

I raised my head and placed a gentle kiss to her collarbone. "Because I cannot live without you." I whispered in her ear.

I prayed for slumber to take her; I prayed to the Maker and begged him to ease her pain. A low groan met my ears and the mattress beneath me shuddered as Salem shivered with pain and infection. I drew as close to her as I dared and felt the uncomfortable warmth of her hand as it covered my own.

"Forgive me." she breathed, the barest whisper. "I...love you...so much."