Eyes of the Maker
Jessylane318
-2-
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I snarl and press the horse to slow, running a hand through my blonde hair and catching it in the knots and leaves. I cling with the other hand to the reigns.
Haven.
I tremble beneath a shudder. Of all my plans for this life, this has been the very essence of what I'd intended to avoid. I'd even told the girl (stupid, idiotic girl!) as much before I'd left! There'd be nothing here but death, pain, and destruction. What was she thinking? The tiny hamlet, already bloated with makeshift tents, stretches down into the mountainside, flanked on either end by thick pines; a frozen lake. And judging by the massive hole in the sky, the seemingly endless array of demons—I'm far too late.
Damn it!
"Halt stranger!"
I turn, raking my eyes across the trail until I find the guard stationed there, his metal gleaming against the snow. He looks ragged, face ashen and gray, his armor dented and discolored. I stare at the poor soul standing in my way and level my best glare. He flinches, but stands in attention, blocking the road and entrance to the village with a nervous twitch.
Behind him, one of his subordinates, a young boy dressed as a squire in dirty leathers squeaks and takes off towards a crowd of tents just outside the gates.
Were I not so inordinately pissed, I might have been amused. Me, frightening? It was laughable really.
Now, though?
"What?"
"Your name and purpose, ser?"
I suppose it should be unsurprising they think me a man. I'm probably covered in enough dirt, my body thin and lanky enough that I'm unrecognizable.
"Piper," I say instead, "I'm here for the girl who fell from the rift."
My body twitches in the saddle, nervous and angry energy swirling inside, the horse beneath me whines. I've all but rehearsed it since the green cloud burst obnoxiously forth two weeks prior. There was no time to do anything but think, to worry, and to cling to some visceral hope. I had raced through the southern pass and through the mires and swamps of Ferelden, repeating that same mantra please no, please.
"The herald? Hah, I'm sure! Everyone wants to see her!" he laughs, and I can tell he's done this a million times. He gains a little confidence, taking my annoyance with good humor.
My breath catches in my throat.
Why? Why did she come? She swore. Gods, she had sworn against it!
I swing down from the horse and stumble. The ground rising to meet me, and the horse whining in discomfort. I smooth Lady's neck, the ache in my leg throbbing from the recent wound, the sweat and dirt on her coat twining in my fingers. I grip the reigns and pull myself up, taking the weight off my bad leg. The guard's laugh lingers, but the concern rises, contorting his features.
It's like sandpaper, coarse and chafing.
"She's been named herald, then?" I drag in a steadying breath, trying to calm and find my center. I knew it would-could happen, but I hadn't thought to prepare, hadn't thought it would matter, it would even affect us… Hadn't even considered she might go…
"Yes, ma'am. They're saying she seals the rifts."
I'm a fool, I think. It leaves a bitter taste. The three weeks of non-stop travel, the stink of horse and people, the thick feeling of magic in the air, and the stiff wound don't help. I feel hollow, old anger rising up. "Very well, where can I find her?"
"I'll need to see your papers-"
"Excuse me," I snap, and he flinches. "If you can't find Ellana, I'll have you point me to someone who can."
"That would be me," says a man, and I turn to see a large, handsome soldier approaching in an assortment of armor, fabric, and fur. He walks towards us, the flighty guard from earlier trailing behind like a nervous pup. Hair, light and curled, waves in the wind and the exhaustion of battle lingers in his face, in the dark shadows beneath his eyes and the hollow of his cheeks.
Cullen, my mind supplies. Commander of the Inquisition.
Other thoughts crowd in, lyrium addiction, mage-hater, and more, but I press them back, too worn and brittle to deal with the knowledge that I'm here in this place I had hoped to avoid. That I'm too late, that there's a hole in the sky, and it's done.
"I'd ask you to curtail your temper," he says coolly even as he crosses his arms and takes in the situation. "What seems to be the problem?"
"I am here to see Ellana Lavellan, or the herald as I'm sure your people are calling her. Your soldier is in my way."
"They are stationed there for that purpose," he responds. Even so, his eyes rake my body for weapons. Doubtlessly the daggers catch his eye, clearly exposed and pressed against my hips, along with the bow strapped to my back. The arrows are strapped to Lady, the horse that has taken me the last day's travel. One of the few fresh ones left recently traded in Farthing on my mad dash across the country. "What reason do you have for seeing the herald?"
"As her sister, I'd say that's none of your damn business."
The commander pauses, an expression of confusion passing across his face, that too might have been comical if not for my foul mood.
"Her… sister?" He says, then shakes his head. "Impossible, you're clearly human."
"You don't say," I drawl at him in elvish. I bar my teeth and take a step forward. It's rather uninspiring as I nearly fall on my face and only my hands on the reigns and Lady's neck keep me upright. Something in the commander's face twitches, but I don't care. "You will take me to her-"
"Or what?" he asks and steps forward.
For a moment his image is replaced by another—darker hair, a pale face, red glowing eyes, purple lips.
I stumble again, and this time his arm is out, reaching towards me, a hand on my shoulder, squeezing. I can't help the full-body flinch.
I don't think. My body reacts on instinct. I draw my dagger. His guard lets out startled shouts, and his hand is there, large and covered in stiff leather. It wraps just below my wrist without hesitation. Holding me up while the other knocks away the dagger.
I reach for the other, blind panic rushing in, but he's too fast—too efficient. In only seconds I'm bare of all of my weapons and one of his men has my horse.
"You fuck-"
"Be silent," he says in a manner that tells me exactly what he thinks about this mess. He wraps my hands behind my back and barks at a soldier for rope, my weight resting on my good leg.
"Bastard!"