The Spectral Breath

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Chapter Two: Innocent Until Proven

The world felt distant… uncertain… as if she had been cast aside by the hand of her divine, left to wake within a foreign realm, one of floating dust and whispering walls. A tower, thatched in sanded stone and timber beams that rounded a conical ceiling.

Lahris pressed her hands along the floor and felt strands of moss prickling her fingertips. But her arms could only stretch so far, for a shackle bound them together, rattling each time she tugged on her chain. The release lay strung across her chest, rising with each shaky breath.

In the beginning she did not know what manner of chamber she had woken in, for her knowledge on shemlen architecture had been limited at best. But no one could mistake the squalor of a prisoner: from the shadowed walls to the oaken door that had a slit in the centre, one that allowed only a little semblance of daybreak through. Even rats needed radiance of day after all.

She had attempted to pry the lock open with a spell; had even spied a shimmer of frost staining the iron. But then the ice had melted within moments. The lock glimmered, pulsed in a dull jade, then seeped back into the scratched silver. She attempted to pull it free, only to no avail. In the correct light, markings glowed a faint hue, thrumming even through the magic in her veins. The marks of a rune.

They have had prisoners before with the gift, she had realised, worriedly biting her lip. And her staff was nowhere to be seen.

The elf took in a deep breath, stilling the flutters in her chest. No harm had come to her thus far, and so long as she remained compliant, those who captured her may remain kindly. But the shadows begun to distort and flicker. She kept peeking over her shoulder, expecting to see rats behind her, only to spy water and creepers seeping through long-dug crevices.

From beyond her dwelling transpired an accumulation of whispers, words rushed in tones that she could not decipher despite the twitching of her ears. Even if she could hear them, it may have taken her time to understand what they spoke. The speech of shemlen was always so swift, after all, like grains of sand hurriedly falling from the top shelf of an hourglass.

The groaning of ancient hinges brought her out of her reverie. From the doorway came a flood of daylight, causing Lahris to shield her brow until her sight managed to tell the shadows apart. From the outside had come two people: one a Seeker held strong even in heavy chain mail, yet who presented herself as an austere woman, with a rigidly puritanical presence. The other kept close to the darkness. Only a cowl dared to sneer into the daylight, like a crow beak waiting for the chance to feast.

It was not the first that struck fear into the elf, but the second hidden, plotting her demise. The very thought was a saber through her courage, tweaking her nerves until she would sing like a songbird.

Lahris squinted through the daylight, spying a sharp, rounded face with dark features whose only spoil was a slit over the left of her jaw. Still, she was a wearisome sight and the very thought of her using the long sword strapped to her waist-belt had the mage biting her lip even harder, so much so that she even tasted a bead of iron.

"Do you know why you are here?" the Seeker asked, curling her hands against her thighs. "You were caught raging chaos within our own walls. Many good men now lay dead by your hands. Tell me why we shouldn't kill you now."

"I… din'an? What do you mean, death?" the elf stuttered, casting a glance over her left arm. "I do not… I'm unsure of what you mean."

"You tell us. The last we heard you and your accomplice had come into a Skyhold with this scroll," she said, pulling from her breast plate a partly burned partment. The sight of it chilled her to the bone. "This was written by our Spymaster. It has the seal of the Inquisition. This was meant for mercenaries back when we had only a banner, but you come under good faith and kill my men without mercy. I will not ask a second time. Who sent you?"

"I… I promise you, this is a misunderstanding. I would never… I never meant to hurt anyone," she pleaded, raising her shackled hands. "You have to understand, I have no control over what happens to me."

The Seeker snorted, raising her hand in mockery. "An apostate who isn't able to control her own magic. Is that what you would have us believe?"

"There's no sign of possession, Cassandra," claimed the shadows. The elf frowned at the flutter of vowels in the other authority, expecting a voice of dispassion rather than one with a subtle flare of culture. It reminded her of fine wine and delicate cakes. That nobility could lace through the common threads of a peasant birth was surprising to her. "None we've seen at least. It's possible a demon does rest inside her, but it would be powerful."

"If that were true, Leliana, the lyrium forged into her binds would have shown its presence by now. The Templars were thorough before she was locked away."

"Then it is not possession."

The Seeker frowned, staring at her prisoner in question for sometime. Lahris begun to figit, her ears dropping low. And then the Seeker dove forward, roughly hauling her shoulders up until she was on her knees. "You're lying!"

Lahris grimaced, not under the tight clutch of the Seeker but of a familiar burn that steadily pulsated lower and lower through her left arm.

"Please, let me go," she whispered, finding enough strength to tug back.

"Or what? You will kill me like you did my loyal men? Men who now have no wives, no families. Their souls are with the Maker now, their future gone in the blink of an eye. And you want me to let you go?"

"Please…" the elf whispered, feeling her magic flare ever-more swiftly. She threw herself back from the Seeker, falling upon the ground as a splinter of magic ripped through her very core. The essence was a violet vein that lashed out from her arm to imbed straight into the rock by the doorway, shattering the stone in mere heartbeats.

The Seeker and her accomplice stared at the scorched rock in shock, eying the blackened debris as a trail of smoke rose from it. Lahris twitched as the last of her mana was pooled into the lyrium of her shackles, but even that would only hold momentarily. The holding itself had been damaged, the iron crooked and black.

Lahris sighed as the last of her magic had begun to die, eventually returning to a dormant state. She feared how much longer she would have to bare the spontaneous bursts, ghosting her fingertips along the vivid scars. Another branch had grown since her slumber, curving around her wrist.

"Cassandra, does this… remind you of anything?" the shadowed woman asked, finally stepping into the light.

"Yes, it reminds me of the Herald. But how is this possible, Leliana? We saw from the Breach that there was only one survivor. She could not possibly be from that."

"Perhaps a smaller breach is the cause of this." Leliana knelt on one knee, smoothing her bare fingertips across the stone as if it were some sacred tapestry. "We should tell the Inquisitor."

"She is an elf. He will not judge her fairly," the Seeker sighed, aiding her friend to her feet. "You know how he feels about the Dalish."

"Still, it must be done."

Lahris observed the two reach the doorway, ready to shut the door and allow darkness to keep her once more. Before all traces of daylight were snuffed she attempted to rise from her place, only to fall to her knees, finding her shackles tied deeply to the flagstone. "Please, tell me if Jaras and my halla survived."

The shadowed woman paused in the doorway, her hand softening against the door. "Jaras?"

"My friend. He aided in my coming here. Believe what you will, my falon only had good intentions. We never meant for your people to… perish. My halla, Assan, he is a fierce beast at times but if he can be corralled he will be complacent. Have you come by either of them? Are they safe?"

She noticed the lack of an answer. Her hope begun to curl knots into her chest, withering as an oak without its roots.

And then had come a breath of calm wind. "Your halla was found outside the castle walls. My men have kept him in the stables. He should be fine there. As for your friend, his wounds were deep. Our healers are treating him. Whether he will survive the day remains to be seen."

The elf quietly nodded, assuming as much. Jaras is a fighter, he will survive. We all will.

From the doorway the Seeker loomed, firming her grasp on the shoulder of Leliana. "There's no use, Leliana. Either way, her fate is not our decision. That belongs to the Herald."

"That doesn't mean that we can't gain information from her, Cassandra," she frowned, pink lips puckering and silvered arms folding across a thin waist. "Speak. Plea your case while you still have our attention."

Lahris took a moment to steady her nerves, then raised her head high. "I'm unsure on what to tell. We sought a mage from your Inquisition. One of my own kin yet unmarked by the Dalish. He was supposed to aid us, if he still resides here."

The Seeker stepped forward. "You mean Solas?"

Pride? The elf thought, frowning down. Pride, perhaps that is the name. "That may be who we seek. I have never met him. Only heard rumour."

"And how could Solas help you?" the Seeker asked, suspicion more than evident.

Lahris raised her left arm gingerly. "This is old magic. A gift or a curse I do not know, but if anyone could aid in ceasing the lack of control with this magic, it may be him. He is a scholar, yes? A learner of the old ways? They say he is kindred. Perhaps that is enough. If he cannot help me…"

"Then what will happen?" asked Leliana.

The elf swallowed thickly, shaking the fear from her mind. "Then I die."