Chapter 4: The Herald's Mount
When they said they'd had a very mysterious letter from some shady bunch of people offering a truly unique creature, Liethe had been wary. You generally don't buy before you see - or in this case, send a bunch of Inquisition soldiers halfway across Thedas for something you'd never seen but Leliana had been keen. The more unique and impressive things they held, the more their esteem rose with the nobles in Val Royeux who apparently collected unique and impressive things like some sort of hobby.
That said, she had never mentioned this. Fehendis.
Dennet was struggling to control the... Thing… and not get gouged by the...thingy - SWORD - sword! That was sticking out of the poor beast's head.
It reeked. It reeked like a sulphur pit first and foremost and of rot and decay underneath. It was emaciated and brown, but not chestnut. Like it had been dyed down to the very skin and beyond with filth. The sword that poked out of it's skull was rusted and chipped at the blade. Liethe could feel herself sweating, despite the cold.
'It is rather impressive, Inquisitor. For an abomination.'
Liethe turned to Cassandra, who was also watching Dennet's attempts not to get gouged. with an expression approaching horror. 'Creators, Cassandra it's undead!' It came out more shrill than she'd first expected but - well - had the woman actually seen the thing?!
Cassandra sighed heavily. 'Yes, I did warn Leliana of your aversion to the undead.'
Leliana had, patently, not listened. They both heard Dennet as he swore. The undead horse had reared and the horsemaster had been forced to let go of the reins, lest he get kicked. He swore again and backed toward the Seeker and the Inquisitor. 'It's no good. I don't know how to care for something like that!'
Cassandra clucked. 'Surely it is like any other horse, yes?'
'You try and do something with it, then!' Dennet replied hotly. Cassandra, for her credit, looked towards the beast as it threw its head around and the rusted sword in it's skull whirled dangerously. Rusted it might be, but with the strength of a horse - especially a magically imbued horse - it was plenty enough for someone to be run through and die of infection.
'It is the Inquisitor's mount, Dennet.' She settled.
Fehendis, Cassandra! How could she? Throwing her to the wolves - undead wolves at that - because she didn't want to get near it! Liethe gave her a scalding look and then approached the new mount cautiously. With every step she could feel the lead weight in her stomach increase until her hand was inches from touching it's flank. The mount reacted and tried to gouge at her with the sword stuck in it's head. She reacted instinctively and grabbed at it, hard. The second her hand touched the sword, it was like a lightning rod. She could feel the tingle of unfamiliar magic as it interacted with her own. It was like burning tendrils of ice that raced up and down her arm. It made the mark on her hand throb, as though it were eager to be used.
The horse had frozen at her touch. She too, stood rigidly with the unfamiliar magic coursing and unfamiliar feeling rode it like a wave. Unerring loyalty, crippling loneliness, and a burning need to this - was this what the thing felt?
It was compassion that made her left her other arm and stroke the thing's neck. It felt soft, which surprised her. But under the patchwork hair was a feeling of leather. She didn't know what bogs did to things, but this must be it. The poor thing was terrified at finding itself in a world that no longer felt right.
It still stank to the fade and back, though.
When she finally managed to find the courage to let go of it's … horn, the horse milled and carefully nudged her shoulder with it's neck. Liethe turned, still slightly terrified towards the horsemaster and Cassandra. Dennet had thrown up his hands and was stalking away. Over the sound of the wind, she could hear him muttering about Drakolisks and undead abominations and to the fade with the lot of them. Cassandra was wearing a particularly smug expression.
'I hate you.' Liethe hissed at her.
'Me, Inquisitor? You should save your ire for Leliana. It was her idea.' Cassandra crowed.
Oh, she would find Leliana in short order alright. 'And how did you know it would only allow me to calm it?'
'I am Nevarran, Inquisitor.' Cassandra replied easily. 'We do like our mounts to be spirited. Not quite this spirited, I grant you, but I was quick to recognise the type. It needed a stern hand, and one it understood.'
Creators, she hated when Cassandra was right. The "bog-unicorn" chose that moment to lean down and gently nibble her hair - to Liethe's everlasting horror.