A/N: Another quickly updated chapter and a guest star! Solona ends up in Redcliffe and meets an apostate. Words are said and she almost kills a guy. With fire.
Again, THANK YOU for all of the kind words! Reviews are awesome. I'm really glad you all are enjoying this. In response: Solona DOES end up in Kirkwall. Glimpses of that story are in the sequel to this, Of Heroes and Champions. When this story concludes I will follow her path as she travels to the City of Chains but sadly not in this part.
Cullen will return! Muwhahahah! Cullen!
Chapter Fifteen
The young woman stands at the edge of the bed. Her shoulders are hunched and her robes hang from her frame limply. Her hair has grown long over the years and it falls around her face, hiding her tears. She is so sad. And she has no idea why.
The room around her is destroyed. Blood covers the walls and the floor and the only thing in this room that seems clean is the bedding in front of her. Strange that it should be this way, but she accepts it without another word.
Far away she hears the cry of the Darkspawn and she shivers. Her arms wrap tightly around her chest, protecting yet never enough. She feels empty.
Standing here, though, she's waiting for someone. Or something. To come and save her – kill her – she thinks there's no difference. She is back at Ostagar. She is trapped in the Tower. She will die. This is all her fault.
Someone does come as she leans backwards and opens her mouth to howl her agony. Strong arms tighten around her from behind and pull her against a warm body. She knows who it is before the voice speaks into her ear. "Why would you come back? You were free!"
Solona whirls in the embrace, her hands coming up to rest against the fabric covering Cullen's chest. When she looks up at him she's struck by the ethereal quality of his features and she thinks it's been too long since she's seen him. So long that she's forgotten what he really looks like. "I . . . have to face this, just like everyone else here. I can't let anyone go through this alone. Have to save who I can." She isn't sure what she needs to save people from.
He hushes her ramblings with a kiss pressed tightly to her lips.
O Maker, she missed him.
Hands slide up to his face and she grasps at him, hungrily. Fingers and lips hold on tight to the solid frame that has always kept her safe. She gasps, dejectedly, when he pulls away but he's smiling and it's all right. "Lona . . . I can't protect you anymore."
She's only half aware that there are flames licking at the furniture around them; the sudden flare of light illuminates Cullen's face better and she sees for the first time that his gaze is empty. His perfect green eyes are cloudy gray. The flames climb higher around them and she sees the horror that Cullen has become. Angry marks on his skin shine brightly and she can't tell if he's even alive. Even human. He looks tainted; gaunt and dead.
"Never come back to this place Lona. Not ever."
She awakens with a gasp and a jolt, every muscle in her body seizing all at once. She keeps still for a moment, the night mare still gripping her in terror. Cullen . . . something had been terribly terribly wrong with him. And the Tower. Ostagar. She can't straighten out her thoughts and her head aches terribly. She swings her feet over the edge of the bed and holds her forehead gently in both hands.
She's not at the Tower. Ostagar is far behind. She's in Redcliffe, right? Yes. On her way home. She doesn't want to go back anymore.
"Awake now, are we? Must have been a real bad dream."
Her gaze snaps up at the words and she finds the source. There is a man bent over on himself, curled up against the far wall of the cell. His clothes are ragged and he looks terrible. To put it bluntly. Limp blond hair hides his face and she can't even fathom why the templars would put a drifter into this cell with her. The man stands, his long limbs unfolding. She jumps to her feet as well, unsure as to this man's intent. She will not allow him to lay a finger on her, if she can help it. The hand he holds towards her glows blue; he's doing something to her. Something magical.
The ache in her head eases. The man is a mage. The spell he hits her with is overwhelming now, surging past the healing stage. His energy is flowing through her body and she gasps, loudly, as she realizes it feels like her own magic has returned. Her fingertips start to burn, that familiar flame building within her hands. She is whole again. She is – the power from the man is engulfing her, pushing her up and up and then just as suddenly as it appears, it's gone.
Solona cries out. She is empty, once more. She sways and stumbles, her shoulder hitting the stone wall next to her cot, hard. The sudden loss is more terrifying than fleeing from Ostagar.
"Easy there." The man is holding her up, most suddenly. What the hell did he do to her? His hands grasp her upper arms and she gets a good look at his face as her vision clears.
She can't help the sneer that forms when she registers his appearance and connects it with someone from her past, someone far away. All worries about her energy and the emptiness and O Maker what's wrong with her leave her mind when she recognizes the face in front of her. "You!" Her voice is venom. Memories of laughing boys and burning hair and bugs down her robes flood her brain. "You!"
Oh, she knows this man. This most foul and irritating and annoying man. He has aged; his hair was short when they were younger but the mischief in his eyes is unmistakable. Even now, as she scowls for all she is worth, he wears a smirk on his face. "Anders." Her voice has takes on a deadly pitch. "What are you doing here?"
The mage straightens his spine and chooses to ignore her blatant and open hatred. "I could ask you the same question. You never seemed the sort to run off from the Tower. How would you study the Chant, outside the Tower?" He releases her as she raises her hands and shoves. Both of them stumble away from one another.
"I didn't run away." He scoffs at her and rolls his eyes. "I was sent to Ostagar."
Those laughing eyes widen; he has heard then. Anders wears his disbelief like a mask though, gruesome and taunting. He shifts his weight to one side and crosses his arms. "And what were you supposed to do with Darkspawn? Bore them to death with a recitation of the long lost nug keepers in Orzammar?"
"You're an ass!" It's the best comeback she can think of. Anders actually laughs at her, the sound lightening the room but she doesn't want him to laugh. She wants him to leave. She hasn't seen him since his Harrowing, almost five years back. He'd been one of the few she'd wished had failed. Immediately she regrets thinking this; no one deserves to fail. Ever.
They fall into silence, listening to the Chantry around them. Solona can hear the heavy steps of the templars in the hall outside and farther away she can hear the Chant of Light. Without even realizing it, she starts reciting along. The words are comforting. This is one of her favorite parts too, the one that makes her think there is hope for her as a mage. That the Maker hasn't really forsaken her.
There is no darkness in the Maker's Light . . . nothing that He has wrought shall be lost.
"Oh please. Don't do that. It's bad enough to be stuck here; I don't need you trying to brainwash me as well."
"It's not brainwashing. It's religion." Petulance sounds horribly whiney coming from her.
"What's the difference?"
They stare each other down in the small cell. She could kill him now and never regret the choice. Slowly she returns to the cot and forces herself to sit, to be still. Impatience is not a virtue she likes possessing. "All I'm saying . . . is that we wouldn't be here if it was for the Blighted Maker and his slave bride. We could do what we wanted. Be who we wanted."
"Anders. We're not like other people. We can be dangerous." Unbidden, the sound of her mother's screams overpower the Chant.
"Not all of us killed our families, you know."
That's it. She rises in a flurry of indignation and crosses to him. Both hands rise and she shoves him hard. He's laughing down at her as his back hits the wall and she advances with a finger in his face. "You only ever think about yourself, you useless asshole. Running away, pretending like something as mundane as being startled awake doesn't result in having your bed burn to cinders beneath you. You live in a fantasy world." His hands raise now and he opens his mouth to protest but she doesn't let him get a word in edge wise.
"I know the Circle isn't perfect. I've been smacked around by my fair share of templars and it's wrong. Andraste's flaming boots is it wrong but unless you can find a solution that doesn't involve just running off you can keep your mouth shut." She gives him another shove and stalks back to the cot. She can't stop her hands from shaking.
"Oi! Keep it down in there!" A heavy gauntleted hand bangs on the door to the cell. Solona wishes, just wishes, she had her magic. She'd do a great job of being quiet and silently burning Anders to a crisp.
"You're a strange one. All holy righteousness, defending those that jail us. What about just letting us be?" His voice has taken on a hint of danger. She's so used to him laughing off everything of substance that she glances over at him sharply. He is no longer jovial. "You babble off the words of the Maker and yet you seethe with rage because I refuse to live chained. The Chant doesn't speak highly of people like you."
"I'm not going to argue any more with you." She is at a loss for direction. His face is beggin for her fist but that's not the way. She knows this. She sighs and drops down onto the lumpy mat. Her head no longer aches yet she feels worn out. His spell, his words, have left her shaking with exhaustion. "I'm going back to sleep. Maybe if I dream hard enough I'll find this cell empty when I wake." It seems unwise to turn her back and roll away from the man but she's just so upset. And frustrated.
She's almost drifted back off when the sound of Anders approaching the bed snaps her back to awareness. She lies still, tracking his footsteps. He shuffles and she can feel a weight press into the side of the mattress. When his voice comes, it's quiet. "What happened to your magic? I couldn't feel a lick of it when I cast earlier."
Solona contemplates ignoring him. She thinks of her terror as a child, her head in flames and the cruel faces of her tormenters laughing at her before they realized the danger. She sees Jowan rush to her aide and that sends a stab of pain and regret into her stomach. Stupid Jowan and his stupid blood magic. "I lost it. At Ostagar." Stupid Ostagar.
Moments tick by. She knows he heard her. Maybe he just doesn't care. She's half way back to the Fade when he says, "I'm sorry. Is there anything I can do?"
"Turn back time and save the world. Save Shuul and Neria and the armies of the King. Keep me from becoming a mage. Let him love me." The last sentence is muttered into her pillow and she's asleep once more.
She wakes up when it's dark outside. The soft snores of Anders are in her ears and when she looks at the side of the bed, she realizes he's fallen asleep sitting next to her. The Chantry is quiet beyond this room. She doesn't know what has woken her; something in the air feels dangerous. A creature howls in the darkness. This must have been what disturbed her rest. The sound is loud and sharp enough to wake Anders and he sits up with a jerk and a gasp. The two share a look between them. What in the Maker's name was that?
At the window they look out onto the back of the hill, unable to see anything except for the gradual climb of the ground. The sounds comes again; its closer and sounds like death.
The door to the cell bangs open and Rylock stands there fully armored. Her sword is clenched in her hand. "Put these on. We're leaving." Two sets of manacles hit the floor. "Come on." Both mages scramble to comply and are lead out of the building. Redcliffe is slowly waking up in chaos. The horrible howling is building all over the town and the people that stumble out of houses look terrified.
"What's going on Rylock?" Anders is not answered and the small group almost makes it back to the main road before another templar runs to them.
"Where are you going? We're under attack!" Solona doesn't know this man, doesn't care about him really, but he sounds as though the world is ending. Rylock shoves her ahead of the rest of the templars and turns back.
"This does not concern us."
"But, Ser Rylock! We need you! The Chantry-"
"-is none of my concern right now. I hunt apostates." The woman templar spits the last word into the night and Solona shivers. She knows Rylock is a heartless woman; the conversation she's overhearing just sound cruel. "I suggest you return to the town Ser Perth. It sounds like you're needed."
Their jaws drop. Both Solona and Anders gape at Rylock as she turns back to their group and motion them upwards and away from the far away sounds of fighting. "She really is just inhuman." Solona's words are whispered and she doesn't know if Rylock hears her or not but she really hopes she does. Anders nods and helps her up a particularly steep portion of pathway. When the ground evens out she sticks close to his side and doesn't even call him an ass when he keeps himself protectively between her and the templars.
~!~
The group camps hours from the city, at the junction of two main roads. There are several other groups assembled, campfires poking through the trees. It makes Rylock nervous but she looks like she's dead on her feet.
Solona kinda hopes she is. A lot.
The templars are effective at setting up their camps and Solona has barely caught her breath before she and Anders are hustled off to a central tree and lashed to it. The youngest templar of the group sets himself up on a log and watches them while the others turn in for the night. Solona glares at the man; she's really sick of rope.
In the distance, Solona hears a beautiful Orlesian voice, singing out into the darkness. It calms her down and starts to take away some of the worry from her frame. She can feel Anders shifting too, relaxing into their bonds. The night has still been too crazy for her to want to sleep again. She glances to her right, nudging Anders to get his attention. "How did they catch you?"
He sighs and frowns. "I was helping a child find their cat, just outside of town. The templars caught up to me while I was in a tree."
"A cat? Really?"
Sniffing at the implied ridiculousness of his capture, he shrugs a shoulder. "Cats are nice. Soft and cuddly."
Solona tips her head back and rests it against the tree. "I think I'm allergic to cats. I can't ever remember liking them. When I think about them I think about sneezing. From what I've read that sounds like an allergy."
"You read far more than you should. You need to experience life!" His voice rises in pitch as his impassioned words fill the sleeping camp. The templar watching them glares at the pair of them sharply before Anders mutters a half-assed apology. Solona is chuckling quietly at his antics and wondering when it was okay to not hate her childhood tormentor.
Somewhere between shoving him and Rylock abandoning Redcliffe a bond has been created. Strange and delicate they are two captives, fighting the good fight. Except there is no real fight and there is very little that is good at this moment. She's heard about people becoming closer during times of great panic or fear.
This must be what is meant. Friendship springing forth during war. She wonders if that isn't what happened with her and Marian. She wants to think that it isn't. After all, despite their wildly different upbringings she felt a kinship with Marian that she doesn't feel with Anders. She is more attached to a rogue than a fellow mage.
She hopes the Hawkes made it safely out of Lothering.
She hopes their family finds a place to thrive. Good people are in short supply everywhere.
"You're awfully young to go to war, aren't you?" Anders breaks her concentration and she blinks, clearing her thoughts. The templar watches on.
"I left shortly after my Harrowing."
"Any particular reason or were you just in a hurry to die?"
His words strike a bitter note in her heart that leaves her frowning. "There were . . . complications with another mage." This is the conclusion that she's decides on, after Lothering. This is what she will tell people now. Complications. She tries to add a note of finality to her voice to discourage Anders from continuing this line of questioning.
Maker be praised he actually get the hint this time and moves onto another subject.
"Back in Redcliffe, when you were falling asleep . . . you said I could fix everything if I could get him to love you. Him, who?"
She suddenly has an overwhelming urge to spill her guts about Jowan and the lay sister just to turn the conversation away from this inquiry. How is it Anders knows exactly what she doesn't want to talk about? He takes her silence as incentive to continue badgering.
"It's that Jowan fellow isn't it? From what I remember the two of you were inseparable the last time I saw the both of you."
Solona sighs and her head hangs forward. This is an out. An automatic bypass of Cullen and love and oh why did she have to mumble before falling asleep. "It's beautiful for this time of year, isn't it? I wouldn't really know but you do. This is, what, you're fourth escape? We always hear about it and some of the templars delight in describing the screams you make when they get their hands on you again."
She is being cruel. She wants to make up for the barb in Redcliffe against her for killing her family.
She almost doesn't care. He's given her a wicked head ache. She does care though and she's about to apologize when she notices the templar shifting on the log at her words. Anders shifts too. She was only mostly joking about the screaming; there have always been rumors but nothing has ever been substantiated.
This is the sort of confirmation that she really never wanted to have.
When she glances at his face his features seem frozen. Breathes shallowly and moves as little as possible. Anders stares past the tents and the templar on the log and she thinks, what would have happened to him if she hadn't been captured first? If she hadn't been here when they'd brought Anders in? She's apologizing softly, wishing she could touch him, comfort him. But she can't and he doesn't listen to her.
She wants to weep for her words and take them all back over and over again. This is the first time she realizes that there are much worse fates than Emic throwing her against a wall or Greagoir backhanding her across the face.
When the light comes over the horizon and the camp is broken down, Anders refuses to look at her and Solona trails behind him, her head hanging in shame all the way to the Lake Calenhad docks.