Cassandra

I awakened and felt rested for the first time in many months. My vision was clean and clear, my thoughts precise and ordered, my hands steady, and the aches and pains from the bar brawl and subsequent thrashing were non-existent. I did not know from whence the vigor filling me came, but it did not matter. I would treat it as a gift, as the ability to do what I needed to do, and care for the woman who lay, mercifully, still asleep. I did not know for how long I had slept, and in my mind I cursed myself for taking that rest when our situation was so dire.

The small table by Leliana's bed hosted and pitcher and bowl that had not been there before. I assumed they had been placed there after I succumbed to slumber. I moved towards it, pouring the water from the pitcher into the bowl. I sighed in relief as the tepid liquid washed away the salt of my sweat from the night before. I would not feel clean in truth until I was able to bathe, and even then…

…even then I will never forget the blood caked under my fingernails and covering my hands. I will never forget Leliana's blood-curdling scream of pain amid the stench of burning flesh when I pressed the glowing iron to her skin. I will never forget the full realization of my shortcomings…and that is all right. To remember your flaws and learn from them is healthy, but to live in one's failures, meditating on the what-if's, will strangle the soul.

I turned my attention to Leliana, watching the rise and fall of her chest as she took shallow breaths. I did not care, however, for the shallow breaths were even and smooth, not arrhythmic and stilted as they had been last night. Her cheeks were pale, the color of moonlight, and I whispered a prayer of thanks that they were not tinged with fever flush. That did not, however, mean that her fever had broken. This meant that we had been granted a reprieve…for now.

I had seen infection steal the lives of men and women, regardless of the injury they suffered. It could not be the same for Leliana. I would not let it be the same for Leliana. I gathered my courage and pulled the covers down to her waist, biting my lip as I saw her bare upper body. So much damage had been done; so much pain endured. I believed the long, vivid scar across my left thigh to be a disfigurement that might give a lover pause before they touched me. Looking at Leliana, at the map of scars and once-mutilated flesh, I was humbled; brought low by the realization that it was not the marks left on the body that defined beauty. Instead, what was done to earn those marks comprised beauty's definition.

She survived a betrayal of the cruelest sort, I remembered Most Holy speaking to me of Leliana's past, the horrors untold that the Left Hand endured and survived. Yet still she found the courage to love again, and when death took that love from her, she healed and found companionship with another.

With great care, I unknotted the bandage that covered the two wounds beneath Leliana's left arm. I did not yet have the courage to set eyes on the worst of the injuries...the puncture to her gut. I breathed a sigh of relief and a prayer of thanks when I saw that the edges of the wound were the deep pink of healing flesh and not the bright red of infection and inflammation. I re-bandaged the wounds and rested my fingers on the bandage wrapped around her abdomen, distressed by the dark blood staining the cloth. I pulled my hand away when Leliana shifted, biting my lip when I saw smears of crimson coating my fingertips.

The blood is still wet, the muscles in my gut twisted with anxiety. It can only mean that the wound is still seeping and that it has soaked through the several layers of cloth. Leliana is still bleeding...this does not bode well.

I laced my fingers together and pushed out my hands, cracking my knuckles. Leliana's eyelids fluttered at the sound. A few moments later, they opened, clearer and more cogent than they had been since the attack. I immediately took my canteen from my belt and offered it to her. She nodded and I reached out, cupping the back of her neck and helping her raise her head. Her hair was still damp with sweat, though her skin felt cool to the touch. Perhaps her fever had broken. I prayed for that to be the truth.

Leliana finished drinking and I guided her head back down onto the pillow. She smiled and a hint of light struck her eyes, telling me that she wore an honest expression. How she could smile in this condition…I did not know.

"How are you feeling?" I asked, barely above a whisper, fearing that at any moment our good fortune would end.

"Better." she murmured. "I think…I think my fever broke."

"You are no longer burning alive." I rested my hand against both of her cheeks and her forehead, nodding that my words were still accurate. "For which I am grateful."

"As am I." I heard a note of humor in her voice and marveled at her courage once again.

I steeled myself for the answer to my next inquiry. "How is your pain?"

Leliana closed her eyes, as if sinking into herself and searching for the answer. "It is not so fierce as it was, but I am lying still. I fear when I move it shall return in full force."

"That was my concern as well." I agreed, turning my eyes to the bandaging and dreading the thought of undoing the knot that held the cloth in place. "I have to check the wound, and clean it if I can. I'm afraid it will not be pleasant."

"Do what you must." Leliana waved a languid hand in the air, granting me permission to cause her pain, once again.

I reached for the bandage when a knock at the door interrupted me. I frowned and got to my feet, answering the knock. The ship's first mate, who had behaved appallingly the night before, looked at me now with respect and contrition in his eyes.

"The winds were in our favor, milady." he informed me. "We are docking in Kirkwall's harbor as we speak. The sailors have prepared your horses; they're waiting on deck for you. What assistance do you require?"

Thank the Maker, I wanted to weep with relief, fall to my knees and lift one hundred thousand prayers of gratitude. We were in Kirkwall. Kathyra would be here. She would save Leliana. In my mind, no other alternative existed.

"Would you be so kind as to have a sailor carry our belongings to the horses?" I asked. "My companion is badly hurt and cannot walk."

"I will do so myself." the first mate said.

I moved away from the door so that he could enter the room. Confusion filled me as I watched him gather our belongings with a brisk efficiency that I had not previously known existed. The man was proud in his position. After taking orders for years, he became the man to give them, and he excelled in that. After yesternight, when we commandeered his quarters and when the sailor that aided us did…something…the first-mate had not been seen by us. That he helped now…

He wants us off of his ship, I realized, shaking my head, but grateful for the aid.

I directed him to gather the few supplies we had brought with us, and moved back to Leliana's bedside. Her eyes opened and her face wore a look of strained resignation. I lifted her shirt from the opposite pillow and held it out, offering it to her. She shook her head. The bandaging on her upper body covered her breasts, and I understood her desire to move as little as possible.

I nodded and reached for my pack, held in the first-mate's hand, and withdrew the blanket that I always carried. I pulled the covers off of Leliana and arranged the blanket around her, attempting to keep her comfortable, and warm, as I felt a slight chill in the air.

"Are you ready?" I asked, tucking stray hair behind her ear.

"As ever I shall be." she replied, another soft smile illuminating her face.

"Hold on to me." Please, dear Maker, spare her the pain of this. Let me see her safely to Kathyra's love and care. Let me save her.