Chapter Fifteen: Flight
"My advice is, don't let him know you're apprehensive," Dennet offered.
Peredura gave a guilty start, realizing her attention had wandered from Master Dennet. Instead she had been staring at the man approaching through the courtyard, his armor polished to a sheen and the fur of his mantle brushed until it rippled softly in the breeze. She was unable to keep her voice from squeaking as she asked, "How? I mean," she coughed gently, realizing he wasn't talking about Cullen. She dragged her eyes back to her would-be mount, overwhelmed yet again by the sheer size of him, "Do horses understand what we say?"
"Some words, sure," Dennet allowed, stroking the broad white streak down the animal's long nose and getting a snuffling whinny in answer, "But it's body language they understand best. And scent. Horses are very sensitive to smells. And when you're nervous, you sweat, something they can smell."
"So don't sweat. Got it." Her tone was anything but confident.
Dennet laughed good-naturedly. "Just stay calm. This here's a good mount. A little young, sure, but he's responding well to training. You'll do fine together, I'm sure of it."
"Why can't I use the pony I've been riding?" she asked. She knew she was whining, but she couldn't help herself. This horse was large and gray, with glossy black legs that bulged with muscles. She could easily imagine how fast he would be able to run, and for how long, once they were no longer confined within the safe walls of Skyhold. Oh, Maker, perhaps this wasn't such a good idea after all…
"That pony's all well and good for teaching you to sit a saddle and walk around the courtyard, but today," he led both horse and Inquisitor over to the mounting block, "You're going riding with the Commander outside of Skyhold. Your soldiers will see you, and you've got to make a good impression, right?"
"Right," she agreed, stepping up to the top of the block, sounding like she was more disagreeing than agreeing. She put one foot in the stirrup and started to lift herself up.
"Other leg, your Worship," Dennet quietly corrected her.
"Oh," she bit her lip, feeling her cheeks flush with heat. She lowered herself back to the block and switched her feet.
"Good afternoon, Commander," Dennet greeted Cullen as he finished walking up to them. Peredura was doing her best to hide her blush behind her overgrown bangs, all the while trying to swing her leg over the back of her horse. He was a lot larger animal than she had gotten used to, and she overestimated the force needed to straddle him, nearly sending the rest of her body after her leg.
"Careful," Cullen's hand on her thigh steadied her, holding on until she could find her balance. "Take it slow. You don't have to launch yourself into the saddle, no matter how much larger than you he may seem. Good afternoon, by the way, Inquisitor. Master Dennet."
"Cull… er… Commander," she acknowledged him, remembering at the last moment to keep it formal between them, at least while they were around witnesses. It amazed her that he could tell the source of her discomfort right from the start, but she didn't comment on that, either. "I was just going to take a few laps around the pen, get used to my new mount, before our ride."
"Good idea," he agreed, stepping back and letting go of her thigh. Her skin felt distinctly cold right where his hand had been.
She didn't have time to say anything more, as Dennet handed her the reins and slapped the horse's flanks, sending him trotting off towards the edge of the pen. She immediately pulled on the reins, at the same time digging her heels into his sides, sending him opposing messages. He whinnied, shook his head, but slowed a little, hoping he was doing what she wanted him to do.
"That mount isn't quite the best fit for her, wouldn't you agree?" Cullen asked.
Dennet gave him a flat stare.
"I don't mean to be rude or insult your knowledge of horses," Cullen quickly tried to placate the man, "But an Orlesian Courser is a fairly spirited mount. And the Inquisitor is a fairly novice rider."
"I know," he huffed, turning his attention back to the pair in question, "But the Inquisitor needs a mount to suit her station. The Courser is a fine animal, intelligent, with a long lineage that every man conversant with horses would appreciate. Having our Inquisitor sit astride an animal like that sets the right impression, that the Inquisition is legitimate and honorable and worthy of respect."
"Yes, I concede your point," he winced as Peredura nearly bounced off the saddle, her mount having taken to trotting once more. "But, at least for the time being, perhaps it would be better to suit the Inquisitor's mount to her abilities, rather than her station. A Dalish All-Bred would be my first choice."
"That common animal?"
"It may be common, but it is sure-footed," he let out a sigh of relief when Peredura finally got her mount under control, slowly walking him back towards them. "And far more tolerant of inexperienced riders."
Dennet made a non-committal sound, grimacing beneath his white mustache, but allowed, "Perhaps. Tell you what, Commander, I'll look into it and see if I can't find one that at least appears regal enough to be the Inquisitor's steed."
"Good man," Cullen clapped him on the shoulder, thinking he had smoothed over any feathers he may have ruffled. "Now, do you have my mount ready?"
"Yes, ser," he gestured to the side where there were three horses, two of which were already saddled with riders, "And mounts for her honor guard. You three take good care of her, and my horses. If you dare bring them back here lathered and sweating, I'll tan your hides with a switch…"
"We're only going for a short ride," Cullen protested mildly as he easily mounted his horse, "An hour. Two at most. And I doubt there'll be any racing done," he winced when he saw Peredura almost lose control of her horse yet again. "Not intentionally, at any rate."
"See to it!" Dennet commanded. Cullen reassessed his earlier assumption, thinking Dennet may be sore; he did step on the man's toes after all, telling him how to do his job. The next moment, all thought of the horsemaster's hurt feelings fled his mind. Peredura came half-charging at him, her mount barely controlled, and he knew he was going to have a long afternoon. He resisted the urge to take the reins from her hands. She was going to have to learn for herself how to control her horse, and doing it for her wouldn't work. Instead he held his own horse steady, willing her to do the same.
She barely pulled to a stop in time, her horse close enough to nudge his horse's flanks, but she discouraged such behavior with another tug on the reins. "Cullen, I mean, Commander, I think I'm getting the hang of it."
He saw the flush on her cheeks, the brightness in her eyes, the smile spreading across her face and melting away the scars. Maker, if she could only see herself as he saw her. "Do you, now? Think you're up to a walk, something a little farther than riding in circles around the pen?"
Her smile didn't fade. "I do." Her horse gave a neigh in agreement.
"Well, then, let's go riding." He twisted in his saddle to look over his shoulder at their escort. "Devensport and Abbets again, isn't it?"
"Ser!" the two former templars saluted.
"One of you range ahead, make sure there are no obstacles in our path. We'll be heading southwest, over to the next valley, before turning around and coming back."
"So short?" Peredura protested as they started for the main portcullis. She had hoped this riding date would last for a couple of hours at least. The way he made it sound, it would be a quick jaunt out and back.
"We're going to take it slow," he consoled her, patting her hand as she got her horse to fall into step beside his. At least her horse was calmer walking next to his mount. "You're still an inexperienced rider."
"That's true." Her face fell a little.
"And we will probably have to take the time to stop, every now and then."
"Stop?" She sounded confused.
"Yes, stop and practice. Mounting. Dismounting. And giving your horse commands, like how to halt, or make him start walking again," he leaned closer, "Without going into an immediate gallop."
The breeze blew a strand of hair across her eyes, and she shook her head to dislodge it. It clung to her lashes, and she had to let go of the reins with one hand to pull it free. "Oh, I think I understand. Yes, I should take the time to practice."
There was that smile again, and he found himself hard pressed not to reach across the necks of their mounts that very moment and steal a kiss. This was going to be a long afternoon indeed. Now, if only he could think of an excuse to get her escort to back away and give them a little privacy.
They rode pleasantly for a time, walking through the campsite of the ever-growing army, Peredura nodding acknowledgement every now and then whenever she was recognized. She felt surprise at first, over how many of the men and women knew her by sight, but then she realized she was riding an impressive mount, next to the very discernible Commander in his unique armor. Her own clothing looked rather like a uniform, the thick woolen jacket fastened with large silver buttons, and a light blue sash that seemed to stand out against the dark fabric. Not to mention the Inquisition insignia Cassandra insisted she wear. And the two guards ranging in front and behind her.
But what struck her as the most amazing, was that no one seemed unduly concerned over her scarred face. Deep down inside she knew, if the people saw the full extent of her scarring, if they learned the truth of her past, if they even caught a glimpse of her ears… Well, it was nice to pretend for one afternoon, to lift her face and smile and not have to worry about other people judging her.
"You seem happy," Cullen commented when they finally cleared the camp. He turned his horse onto a side trail, heading for the next valley, and her horse continued to keep pace with his.
"I… I guess I am, a little," she admitted. She again had to pause and pull her bangs free, this time from the corner of her mouth. Her horse took it in his head at that very moment to test her grip on the reins, tossing his head and pulling the straps from her fingers. She gave a small cry and slapped the horse's neck in her effort to grab hold of the reins. The horse snorted and darted forward before she could regain control and pull the animal to a stop.
Cullen quickly caught up with her, his expression slightly reproachful. Yet he couldn't find it in his heart to scold her, not when she looked like she realized what she had done wrong, and had managed to correct her mistake so quickly. Her soft brown eyes blinked at him, waiting for his reprimand. Instead he reached out his hand to brush the wayward lock back behind her ear.
She gasped. Too late he remembered her ears, what her former master had done to her, how she could never reveal them, not now, not when everyone thought of her as human.
"Sorry, I… I forgot… I only wanted to help… I never meant…" he sputtered.
Peredura glanced over her shoulder, but Abbets—bringing up the rear—had been too far back to see anything. "It's all right," she answered quickly, one hand making sure her hair was securely tied back and covering her ear, the other firmly holding the reins.
"It's too easy, to forget you're…" He stopped himself, realizing he had been about to say something that he shouldn't, not where others might hear.
"I understand," she allowed, but was unable to meet his eyes. "Sometimes, I almost forget it, too."
He wondered at her statement, at the depths of meaning behind those few simple words, and tried to imagine what it must be like for her, an elf, a former slave, to suddenly find herself Leader of the Inquisition and having to pass as human. Of course she would be apprehensive of others learning the truth, even others she trusted, like Abbets and Devensport. To be eternally on her guard, keeping people at bay, hiding her secrets, never allowing her true self to show… Her life was still a prison. And—he hated to admit it but it was true—he was one of the jailers, one of those who had insisted she step up as Inquisitor, one of those who forced the lie not only to continue but to spread.
The warm and happy smile from earlier seemed out of their reach.
"There's a, ah," he paused to clear his throat, "There's a meadow, just ahead. It'll be a good place to take a break, do that practicing we were talking of earlier. If you still want to, that is."
"Sounds like a good idea," she agreed, her tone remaining neutral.
"Abbets!" Cullen called out behind them. The soldier nudged his horse into a trot, nearing them quickly. "Abbets, we're approaching a meadow. The Inquisitor and I will be walking our horses for a bit, then practicing some basic riding postures. I want you and Devensport to range out, scout the surrounding area, make sure there aren't any bears or this, what was it called, yeti lingering about."
"Ser!" Abbets saluted before nudging his horse once more into a trot, circling around them to race ahead and find Devensport. Peredura felt her horse want to give chase and run with him, but she had finally learned to keep a firm grip on the reins.
"You're sending them to scout for the yeti?" she asked as they started walking again.
"Well, you did mention it was seen in this valley, did you not? And we wouldn't want to be caught off guard by any unsavory local wildlife, would we?" He was staring straight ahead, his eyes intently scanning the trail for the first glimpse of the promised meadow.
"Cullen, did you…"
"Did I what?" he asked after she had grown quiet for a moment.
"Did you send them away? On purpose? Just so we could, um, well, have a little privacy?"
He dared a look at her face. Her cheeks were flushed again, her eyes wide and wondering, her lower lip being threatened by her teeth. "I may have arranged an excuse for them to be out of sight, should anything embarrassing happen during your training," he allowed. "Or if I, er, felt the urge again, to run my fingers through your hair."
The blush deepened, his and hers.
They reached the meadow, and he pulled his horse to a stop. "Let's dismount, shall we, and walk for a bit? I'd like to see how you lead your horse."
"Oh, um, sure, all right," she agreed. She felt a little nervous, taking note of just how high off the ground she was, and there was no mounting block out here in the wilderness, and the dismount had always been difficult for her.
"Here, let me tie up my horse, and I'll help you down."
She looked over her shoulder at him, already off his horse and leading it over to the side where a slender tree had fallen halfway to the ground. He looped the reins around the trunk, light enough to be easily pulled free at a moment's notice, but secure enough to encourage the horse to remain. Then he sauntered up to her, his hazel eyes twinkling, the scarred side of his lip lifting up suggestively. She wasn't sure why, but she was suddenly on edge. "Cullen?"
"Keep hold of the reins in your right hand," he said, his voice almost too calm, one hand reaching out to settle lightly on the saddle just in front of her. "Now, gently kick your right foot out of the stirrup, without kicking the horse. Good. Bring your leg up and over the horse, turning to face me, as if you were going to slide down off the side of the saddle."
"Now what?" she asked, after doing everything he had told her to do.
"Now," he put his hands firmly on her waist, "Slide off." He gave a little tug, starting the slide himself, catching her off guard. She gave a little squeak, her legs scrambling for a moment until she realized that his hands were holding her, catching her, controlling the progress of her slide. And bringing her closer towards him. Their fronts pressed together as he slowly set her down on the ground.
With Cullen in front of her, and the horse close behind her, she felt very warm and cozy and safe. His hands had remained on her waist, even after the horse snuffled and shifted sideways, giving them a little breathing room. "There," he stated, his usual crisp tone muted into a simmering hum, "That wasn't so bad, was it?"
She shook her head.
"No uncontrolled fall from a dizzying height?"
She smiled. "No. How did you know what I was feeling?"
His expression changed, minutely, to something lost and searching, almost as if he was only now discovering that answer himself. "You have a slight fear of heights, and have made a few comments already on the size of your mount. It wasn't too hard to guess, when you started looking around for a mounting block that wasn't there, that you were apprehensive about dismounting."
She looked downwards briefly, before coyly lifting her eyes and batting them from behind the safety of her bangs. "Am I so easily read?"
"Only by me," he breathed. "Your face has filled my dreams these past several weeks. I… I know every detail… every frown, every wrinkle, every twitch of muscle…" His hand reached up to pull at her chin, before she could capture her lip with her teeth, "Every habit and the emotions that cause them. Sometimes, it feels like I know you better than I know myself."
"Fancy yourself a mind reader?" she challenged him. "What am I thinking now?"
He smirked. He gave her that daring, confident, know-it-all smirk that made her knees weak. It managed to remain on his lips, even as he spoke, "Kiss me."
She did.
Peredura closed her eyes and let herself get lost within the kiss. There were so many sensations to feel, to experience, to remember, she didn't want to miss a single one. There was the firmness of his gloved hand, strong fingers incased within, stroking back along her jawbone to bury itself in her hair, tilting her head and holding it in place. There was the stubble along his chin, scratching her own chin, not uncomfortably but enough to make her wonder if he would leave behind reddened and embarrassing marks. It also tickled, just a little, gently poking her right around the edges of her lips where she quickly discovered her skin was very, very sensitive. There was the awkward mashing of their noses, fighting for the same space, until he managed to tilt her head, allowing her the ability to breathe—at least, once she remembered she was supposed to breathe.
And there were his lips, warm and firm, moving against her, moving with confidence and purpose, with tutorage and patience. She tried to mimic the movements, to open and close with his rhythm. When his tongue slipped out, just far enough to stroke her lips, something happened deep inside her. Some little spark lit off, a quick tightening of muscles that just as quickly burst, leaving behind a warm and tingling sensation that pooled just above the crotch of her leggings. It was something new, and exciting, and full of the promise of something even greater to come. What that could be she had no idea, but she did know one thing: she wanted to find out.
He pulled away all too soon.
Cullen kept himself from laughing, but he was amused by the reaction he caused. Peredura followed him when he broke off their kiss, leaning forwards with her eyes still closed, lips parted, obviously wanting more. Only his hand, buried at the base of her ponytail, kept her from teetering too far forward and losing her balance. He watched carefully as she rocked back to a more upright position and gently opened her eyes.
He was amazed, partly by his ability to cause such a reaction within her, but mostly at the difference in his self. He knew he had changed drastically over the past couple of days, running the gauntlet from depressive disbelief to full confidence. Yet he had reason to be confident, the evidence plain before him.
Merciful Andraste, what had he ever done, to deserve being blessed so? This woman—this beautiful, brave, intelligent, empathetic woman—had feelings for him. He. Cullen Stanton Rutherford. A plebeian boy from Honnleath who had the lofty dream of rising above his station and becoming a templar. A templar who had failed not one circle, but two. No, he had done nothing to earn this, had no reason to expect such a reward.
Yet here she stood, before him, looking at him with soft brown eyes, and with no desire for another in her heart. Only him.
"What are you thinking?" When he didn't answer her right away, she touched his cheek, unable to feel his skin through the leather of her gloves, but knowing he would feel the gesture, and wanting to give him that sensation, that touch, that knowledge that she cared for him. "You have such a strange look on your face, one I haven't seen before…"
"It's nothing," he took her hand in his, pulling it down to hold between their hearts, and quickly grasping at a change of subject. "I was going to ask earlier, where Fear is today. Not out tracking with Krem again, is he?"
"Oh, no," she shook her head. Their hands dropped, fingers entwined, as they started walking through the snow-dusted meadow. "He's with Blackwall. I wanted to take him with us, Fear does like getting out of Skyhold, but I took one look at the size of this horse," she gestured with the reins still secure in her right hand, "And had second thoughts. Fear is still young, and a hundred-pound puppy snapping exuberantly at a horse's heels with a nervous rider on top…"
"Yes," Cullen agreed, "A recipe for disaster if I ever saw one."
"Blackwall was right there, and saw my dilemma, and offered to watch Fear while we went on our ride. He and Fear get along fairly well; I think it's because Blackwall kind of looks like a fellow hound, with all that fur on his face." She giggled.
He laughed, too. Unexpectedly. But he couldn't help it, the image of Blackwall on his hands and knees and playing a game of tug with a Mabari puppy came too readily to mind. He coughed, trying to cover his slip, but it was too late.
"You do have a sense of humor."
"What? I… never, I… it was just…" He sputtered quickly to a halt, knowing by the look on her face that she wasn't fooled. He decided to change tactics and threaten her. "If you ever tell anyone…"
She laughed again, nudging his shoulder with her own, not in the least intimidated. "Commander Cullen knows how to laugh. Who'd believe me? But," she nipped at her lip, "For the record, you do have a pleasant laugh. I like hearing it."
He stopped walking, facing her and agreeing, "And I like hearing yours. Now, back up on your horse. Let's practice some basic commands."
"So soon?" she whined, and her horse nickered in agreement.
"That is why we're out here this afternoon," he reminded her.
She gave a huffing sort of sigh, "Oh, very well. But I'll want one more kiss before we return to Skyhold."
"As you command, Inquisitor," he bowed formally, and a little teasingly.
This time she punched his shoulder. Not too hard, he was wearing armor and she didn't want to hurt her hand, but hard enough to let him know she was a little miffed over his teasing.
"Here," he bent over slightly, hiding his smirk and lacing the fingers of both his hands to make a sort of stirrup, "Put your left foot in my hands, and I'll lift you up. When you're high enough, swing your right leg over his back. Wait until you're settled on the saddle before you put your feet in the stirrups. Ready?"
She nodded. "Ready."
He could hear she sounded anything but ready. She did put her foot in his hands, however, so he lifted her seemingly featherlight weight, being careful to move slowly so she didn't panic and feel like she was being launched over the top of the horse. She might have pulled herself up a little using the saddle, and tried to swing her leg over a little too soon, but she made it onto the horse's back without falling off. That, he took as a success.
"Very good," he said encouragingly, and got a flickering smile in response to his praise. "Um, what did you do with the reins?"
"The… wait… I had them… Oh!"
She had just managed to grasp the leather straps, which she had let go to take hold of the saddle, when the horse gave a start and jumped forward. She pulled back, a little too hard in her haste and nervousness, and the horse reared in protest before taking off at a gallop.
"Take it slow!" Cullen commanded in his best parade ground voice. "Small corrections. Don't overreact."
"I'm… trying…" she answered, most of her attention on the large animal surging with muscle and force beneath her. "Oh, stop, please horse, please just… stop!"
"Try saying whoa," he called after her, cupping his hand near his mouth to help his voice carry. They were already halfway across the meadow, the horse looking like he might have the bit in his teeth and a full head of steam. "Damn," he swore softly, quickly realizing she was not going to be able to get control of her mount. He took his eyes off of them to race back to his own horse, knowing he'd need to hurry if he was going to catch them before they disappeared into the forest. There was a good chance her horse might take the trail, sticking to the path of least resistance, but he wasn't going to bet her life on it. In one fluid motion he freed the reins and mounted his horse, turning it almost before he had fully seated himself, and started it off at a full gallop.
Peredura didn't know Cullen was coming for her. Her entire existence was centered on her horse, the rest of the world lost in a blur around the corners of her vision. Something was wrong, something was very, very wrong, but she was far to inexperienced to discern what it was or what she could do about it. She did know the reins were useless, the horse ignoring her tugs along with her verbal pleas.
His gait was unrestrained, jerking this way and that, changing direction whenever the mood struck him. She was swaying dangerously on the saddle and soon gave up trying to stop him, more afraid now of falling off than of not being able to control him. She let go of the reins and grabbed fistfuls of mane, hanging on for dear life.
They left the meadow. She thought she could hear a voice calling out behind her, but it was hard to make out any words over the pounding of the horse's hooves. She felt a small amount of hope, however, seeing as they were following a trail and not racing pell mell through the trees. It would be easier for Cullen and the others to follow them if they stayed on the trail. And Cullen had to be following her; it had to be his voice calling out to her. He would rescue her. He would gallop up to her side and take hold of the reins and pull her horse to a stop, or pull her off the unmanageable animal and into his arms and everything would be all right…
The bubble of hope was short lived, as a flash of something bright burst off to their left. The horse gave a shrilling cry and lurched to the right, away from the small explosion of color and sound. Peredura also gave a cry, a startled scream, as something dark and thick came racing towards her face. She threw her hands up just in time to protect herself, heard a painful snapping like the sound of a tree branch breaking, and felt the heady sensation of falling through the air.
Cullen was cursing in full voice, his shouts alerting the guards who came racing back towards the meadow. They caught up with him not too far into the forest, not knowing at first what was wrong but following his lead.
"The Inquisitor's horse got out of control!" he shouted at them without slowing. He didn't dare waste another second, thinking of the lead her horse had on him. "We have to catch them up."
"There, ser!" one of the men called out, he didn't take the time to discern who, only the direction the man was pointing. "Off to the right. I thought I saw something gray, like the color of her horse."
Cullen's eyes strained to penetrate the thickening forest, and he too caught the sight of the horse's gray coat far ahead. "Come at him from the left. You, come up on the right. I'll come from behind. We'll try to cut him off. MOVE!"
The men needed no further urging, doing as their Commander bid, galloping their horses at dangerous speeds over uneven and treacherous forest loam in a desperate effort to catch up with their Inquisitor's fleeing horse. Cullen didn't worry about the ground, didn't want to waste the time; if his horse tripped and broke his leg then he worry about it, not before. His focus remained on the brief glimpses of gray he caught every now and then. It seemed to him, as impossible as it may be, that they just might be gaining ground on the mount. Slow progress to be sure, but in one glimpse he thought he saw a good part of the horse's tail, and in the next he saw a bit of the horse's neck.
They had to be gaining. They simply had to be, because he needed to catch her. To save her. To find her whole and unharmed.
He didn't know how long they had been racing, when a sound reached his ears, something terrible and final, filling his heart with dread. It sent a sympathetic shiver through his own mount, whose steps faltered a moment before he could reassert his control. The sound came again, filled with pain and fear and suffering, and Cullen knew the worst had happened.
Peredura's mount had fallen.
"Maker damn it," he swore, his eyes unblinking as he slowed his horse, knowing he would come across Peredura and her horse quickly, and not wanting to cause the obviously hurt animal any more stress than it was already feeling. Peredura may be trapped beneath the horse's flanks, and a horse in pain and fear, thrashing around with his rider beneath him, could very easily hurt—even kill the rider.
"Easy!" he held out a hand, calling out to the other two as they came back towards him, closing in on the distressed horse. "Easy. Slow down. We don't want to come up too suddenly and scare it."
Another ten feet, and he saw his nightmare was only beginning. The horse was down, its front leg twisted and broken after sinking into a rabbit hole. It was a compound fracture, something he immediately knew the horse could never recover from. His heart in his boots, he dismounted and handed his reins to Abbets before approaching the animal.
"Easy, there, fella," he said, his voice calm and soothing. "Easy. It'll all be over soon. Try to relax. That's it. That's a good horse. Easy, now. Let me come a little closer."
Devensport gave a choked sob at the sight. Even Abbets was hard pressed to keep his face impassive as Cullen's knife ended the horse's suffering. Cullen himself stood up slowly after the deed was done, wiping the blade clean on the hem of his mantle, before turning back to them, his face set in stone.
"Ser," Devensport voice shook a little, "Ser… her Worship… she's not here…"
"I know," he acknowledged, his voice dark and deep, giving one last look to the unfortunate horse. Then he was all business, striding back to his horse and taking the reins from Abbets' hands. "She must have fallen off somewhere between here and the meadow, and wi missed seeing her with our attention on the horse. Abbets, go back to Skyhold, gather a search party, as many men as you can. We'll rendezvous back at the meadow. Devensport, you and I will start searching the forest in the meantime. With any luck, we'll find her before meeting up with the searchers." He swung himself up into his saddle, narrowing his eyes as Abbets simply sat there staring at him. "Move, soldier. Daylight is wasting."
"Ser!" Abbets snapped a salute before turning his horse and galloping off at an angle, thinking to come across the trail and make better time back to Skyhold.
"Devensport, let's try to retrace her mount's tracks. Take your time. Look for any sign that she might have been swept off his back, or even tried to jump clear. Broken tree branches, crushed bushes, and the like."
"Yes, ser," Devensport nodded, swallowing thickly. "Ser, do you think… I mean… could that be what happened? She just… jumped clear… and we missed her in our haste to catch the horse?"
"It's possible." Please, Blessed Andraste, let that be what happened, he prayed.
Peredura felt pain, nothing specific, sort of a malaise that spread through her whole body. Something, some little voice from some little corner in the back of her mind, told her she should be scared, at the very least cautious. She ignored it for the time being, a small sound parting her lips as she opened her eyes to see her surroundings.
Darkness met her eyes. Not the darkness of night, but the darkness of shadow and grime and disuse. There was a musty scent as well, like the smell of old wood rotting away. It was unpleasant, making her want to turn her face away from the offending odor, but the movement made her temples throb. She groaned, louder than the first noise, unknowingly attracting the attention of the other occupant of the room.
"You're waking up? Good. Good. I was hoping you hadn't hit your head too hard."
She made a third noise, no more articulate than the first two, but her brain was beginning to kick into gear. There was someone else with her, and he was speaking Tevene. She blinked her eyes, forcing them to bring the shadows into focus, and found herself staring at the rafters of an old cabin. When she tried to speak, she unthinkingly used Tevene, "Where…?"
"No where," the voice answered her. "Not really. Just an old shack I happened across, while making my way to Skyhold. Oh, I wish I could have gotten closer, but those scouts are too sharp eyed. I've had to stay all the way out here, watching from afar, biding my time until your next outing. But then, happy day! You came riding right up to my doorstep."
Peredura knew that voice. Somewhere, from some time long since past, she had heard those sneering and masculine tones before. Haughty. Self-indulgent. Possessive. Jealous. She could feel her heart start hammering inside her chest as she lifted her head to look around, blinking and forcing her eyes to focus.
There, sitting on a stool off to the side, was a mage—a Venatori, to be precise. His robes were a little worse for wear, and his boots showed signs of hard use, but his manner and posture were still arrogant and domineering. She rolled onto her side, or tried to, but her arms refused to work right. She dragged her eyes away from the mage to stare stupidly at her wrists, bound before her with a thin strip of leather. She tried to lift them, but both forearms filled with pain, and she thought she could discern the grating sensation of bone grinding against bone.
"It wasn't all that hard, startling your horse, a simple lightning spell that wasn't even noticed by that fellow with you," he continued as he stood and walked slowly towards her. "It was very obliging of him to send the other two guards off and lead you so far away from his own horse. You got quite a head start before he could follow you. All I had to do, was wait by the side of the trail, steer your horse into a convenient low branch and let it sweep you off its back. And your guards were so focused on catching your horse, they never noticed you lying on the ground. Of course," he sniffed, hitching up his robes as he knelt down to straddle her, "My invisibility spell might have helped there."
"Nooooo…" she moaned. Now that he was closer, she recognized the swarthy skin, the lean and angular features with their pockmarked cheeks, the dead, ice-blue eyes. Memory came back to her. His voice whispering in her ear… his legs spreading her… his hands touching her… "Get off!" She tried to push at him with her arms, tried to ignore the pain, but she didn't have the strength. He laughed at her. He laughed and shoved her hands out of the way, causing her even more pain, making her gasp and her eyes water.
"Now, now, that's no way to act. In fact," he leaned over her, his putrid breath fanning her face, trying to force its way into her mouth, "You haven't been behaving very well, have you? Not for a slave. At first I was going to punish you for what you did, killing our master, stealing the mark. In fact, I was going to kill you. I tried, several times, you may have noticed."
She had, remembering the ice cracking over the lake, and the tainted bottles of healing potion, but she didn't give him the satisfaction of knowing his efforts had been noticed.
"But then," he leaned back, his face uplifted, his hand over his chest as if he had experienced a deeply religious moment, "A miracle. Our master survived the explosion. I should have had more faith. You had killed your owner, certainly, but Vicici was only a man. Our master," he looked back down at her, and his eyes were filled with an unholy light, "Is a god."
"You are insane," she panted, "And so is Corypheus."
He struck her. He backhanded her hard across her mouth, sending her head flying into the floorboards. "Do not speak so of our master! Do not even dare to speak his name! I should cut out your tongue for such insolence. I may still. But first, I will bring you back to him. Well, your hand, at least. The rest of you, he promised I may keep for myself."
She felt the bile rise up into the back of her throat, threatening to choke her, as his sweaty fingers stroked the side of her neck.
"That's why I've been away for so long, in case you were wondering where I'd gone. I had to take a little side trip, back to Tevinter. You see, I needed to find some means of getting you safely away from this self-proclaimed Inquisition and back to our master. I feared you wouldn't come willingly; slave or no, you seem to have gotten it into your head that you are someone of import. Probably because of this mark you stole."
He tugged at the glove on her left hand, but it was held fast by the fastenings around her wrists. It still hurt, however, making her wince and try to pull away.
"But then I remembered what Vicici did, how he used to control you." The mage brought a small vial out of his robes, holding it where she could see, giving it a little wiggle in his fingers.
"No," she whispered, knowing what it was—what it had to be—even before he named it.
"Yes, my dear girl. Opeigh. Now, open up, like a good little slave, and take your medicine. We'll be back home before you regain your senses."
"No!" she shoved at him, ignoring the pain, but he had leverage over her, the weight of his body easily keeping her from escaping.
"It'll be easier if you don't fight me," he promised, his free hand making a grab for her head. "I may even heal your arms, before I take your hand, of course. But first, you'll have to drink this down."
She fought him. She fought as hard as she could. She kept her mouth closed tight, refused to open it, even when he pinched her nose closed. But he was patient, and persistent, following her mouth and struggling head, the vial unstoppered and ready to pour down her throat the moment her lips parted.
And her lips did part, her body betraying her, her lungs starving for fresh air overriding her determination. She choked, feeling the thick and syrupy liquid fill her mouth, coat her tongue and teeth and the insides of her cheeks. She coughed, and some of the opeigh traveled up the back of her sinuses, making her sputter and her eyes water.
But she swallowed. It was a reflexive action, a defense mechanism against drowning, and in this once case an act more damning than choking to death.
"That's a good girl," he cooed over her, leaning in close. She half-choked on some residual opeigh inside her mouth, sending it mixed with spittle to hit the side of his cheek, but he didn't seem to notice. "That's it. You remember what it's like, don't you? How calm you become. How amendable. I remember the one time we were together, how willingly you spread your legs for me." He gave a little shudder and began unbuttoning the fastenings of her coat. "Perhaps we could have a quick one, before we start for home."
"Not this time," she whispered. Her hands had not been idle during the struggle. They had been trapped between their bodies, twisted around and pinned near her waist, near his waist. Despite the pain movement caused, she had closed her fingers around something long and cylindrical, and knew what it had to be. She pulled his dagger out of its sheath and shoved it somewhere into his flesh.
He yelled, as much from surprise as from pain, and pulled back from her, ripping the collar of her tunic. She kicked him off of her legs, rolling and scrambling across the rotting floorboards, fighting to get away. He didn't pursue her, something she didn't care to notice at the time, one thought above all others driving her onward.
RUN!
She knew she was in trouble. She knew—oh, Maker, despite everything else that opeigh did to her, despite all it made her forget, that was the one thing she could never forget! She knew what was going to happen, what had already started happening. She could feel the opeigh surging through her blood, suffusing her limbs, weakening her will, that sweet and tempting oblivion calling out to her. Time was against her, the moments slipping away like water through her fingers. She had to escape; this would be her one and only chance to escape, and she had to make it count.
Once outside the cabin, however, she was overwhelmed by a rather large and overlooked problem: she didn't know where she was. She spun around in a circle, stumbling and blinking stupidly at the scene, but nothing was recognizable. She didn't know in which direction lay Skyhold. She didn't know in which direction to run. But, with the cabin behind her, and the Venatori inside, she quickly convinced herself that anywhere was preferable to standing still.
She stumbled off into the snow, bumping into trees, feeling the opeigh creeping through her arms and legs and turning them to jelly. It was getting harder and harder, more and more difficult to keep putting one leg in front of the other, to keep herself moving, to remind herself why she had to keep going, keep walking. Somewhere, somewhere out there, ahead of her she prayed, was Cullen. He would be looking for her. And he would not rest until he found her. She had to give him that chance. She had to get far enough away from the Venatori mage to give Cullen the opportunity to find her first.
It was hard to breathe, the thinner and cooler mountain air feeling so inadequate for the task of filling her lungs. Her body didn't want to run any longer. Her body didn't want to do anything, not that it was unable to perform the action, but that there was a lack of self-determination, a disconnection between the part of her mind that was still awake, and the part of her mind that controlled voluntary movement.
Run! she mentally screamed at her legs. Run run run runrunrunrunru…
But it was too late.
The ground seemed to give out beneath her, betraying her, dropping her to the forest loam and rolling, spinning, twirling around and around and around. At long last she came to rest, dizzy, but no longer with the strength to move, with the will to survive. She laid there, staring up at the evening sky, watching the blue fade to violet through the branches of the trees.
Somewhere, deep inside her, on some subconscious level that could no longer affect her situation, she was screaming.