Interlude – Remembering Golem


These its were so inefficient. Do they not know how much quicker they could reach their destination if they didn't sleep? Or do that weird think with too much sweat and huffing, with limbs are tangled together, like the Swamp Witch and the Deaf Elf. Ah, the wonders of flesh. She's glad she doesn't have them.

She sighs, blinking slowly as she stares up at the stars. Strange twinkling things. Like lyrium rocks in the stone walls of the tunnels, marking the paths through the old and ancient empire. She has only vague memories of that time. Others are sharper, but she avoids them. She doesn't like them much.

She returns her attention to the camp. They are all sleeping, as squishy, fleshy things are wont to do. She, and the other golems, are standing watch. They sit and stare, every once in a while poking at the strange grass under their feet, the mud slipping into the cracks of the stone. She, however, watches the tents, watches the shadows within. She counts the breaths. One, two, three… she gets really high up, as the night goes on. She tells herself its because she's battling the overwhelming urge to crush their faces.

But, really, she's scared.

They're so fragile, these squishies. One little poke, and their limbs go flying off. They crush so easily, putrid liquid flying all over the place. Its funny when its darkspawn. It was funny when it was the townsfolk. It wasn't so fun when it was these squishies. These squishies who listened to Caridin, and gave him the death he wanted. These squishes who, tired and battered, still listened to her request. Let her see her home, her old home, and let her put a place to the vague memories. The vague, and slowly drawing clearer, memories.

And in those memories, she sees people, places, things. She sees eyes staring at her, eyes staring at her in the present. In the City Elf, she sees the eyes of a Warden of old, battered and hurting, but looking straight ahead. The Deaf Elf, the eyes of a warrior who saw too much, smiled too little. The Swamp Witch, a mage who thought she knew it all and then learned far too late she didn't. The Elder Mage, a woman who continued to work even as she coughed up her life's blood. The Painted Elf, a thief who smiled wide and laughed hard, until it became too much and his brains dashed across the stone. The Qunari, a old warrior who believed so strongly that his worldview distorted what he saw. The Drunken Dwarf, another warrior who drank his brain into a stupor and pretended not care while caring far too much.

None of those people met happy ends. She remembers that too. She doesn't like that much. Yes, they're squishies. Yes, they'll die. She doesn't care about that. She cares, though… about how they meet that end. Do they meet that end too young, too soon? Crawling, broken and bleeding through the mud, struggling to live one more second as their insides bleed into their outsides?

She doesn't know. She hopes not. But, if they do, she knows she will remember. She remembers everything, after all. Even the things she'd rather forget. She knows she'll remember their lives, forever, and she'll remember their deaths even longer.

She's not sure how she feels about that. But it's as true as her past, so... might as well deal with it. And crush some skulls into fountains of blood to beat out the frustration.


Author's note: And here is Shale. Short, but… well…

Next Chapter – Reunions with Cleon