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Chapter 15 – Lost – Part I

"How does this place work?"

After spending what seemed like forever wandering around various meadows and glades, then grazing land, then again small clearings in an annoyingly neat forest, all of them beautiful in a perfectly exasperating kind of way, all honey-lighted, silent and shiny, one emptier and the other, and all, eventually, downright boring, Leliana seated herself on a huge round boulder. Or, what seemed to be a huge round boulder, whatever its true substance must have been in a place like this, she mused, uneasy in part, but half amused by her own way of aptly overthinking things, even in the given circumstance. If this was the Fade, it was quite different from what she had learned to expect. For one, she remembered how she got in.

By all accounts and facts, Leliana was no coward. Various deeds and numerous witnesses could be called at any time to confirm that it was so. Still, courage didn't come as natural to her as to other people, perhaps less mindful, or perhaps less tried. She had known true fear and loathing and horror, and fear was easy to find her since. This endless running around without meeting one single lost or living soul had made her weary. Frowning in concentration, she reached up to massage her falling eyelids, in a hapless attempt to clear her dulling vision.

Her fingers met only empty sockets. She'd known how things'd been, but she'd forgotten it for a while – it was hard to remember she was blind in a place where she could see. With the twitch that came with the surprise also struck the thick, engulfing darkness that reaffirmed the raw reality of it. The magic had gone.

Panic crashed in in its stead. It left her without breath and with a steep, searing pain beneath the ribs. Without her sight, there was no hope to find her way around in a place like this. She forced some air in and she steadied herself on her feet. She outstretched her hands, trying to feel her way around – but there was nothing around for her to feel, not even the boulder that she had sat on. The air was still and void of any flavor, except perhaps a feint oily touch that wasn't either humid or clingy to her senses. There was no sound except for the frantic beating of her own heart – even the clear shout that she let out sounded muffled to her ears, like whatever it was that which surrounded her absorbed it, only paces away. So this was how nothingness felt, she thought. But there had been something around her, instead of nothing, only moments ago. There was something she could do about it, surely. Leliana braced herself.

Her mind was reeling, trying to pull an image - any image - into focus. She took a first step forward, and then a second. At the third, she stumbled.

First, it was a fuzz of grey – very much like that someone would see when lying in the street after having been beaten to a pulp. The smell of dust and dried manure of a sunny summer morning mixed with that of blood and sweat. The earth was warm under her hands when she got up. She looked around. There was dust on her cheeks, and on her gown. She looked around and along the familiar street. This was Val Royeaux, the morning after the party at madame Remercier's. Getting thrown away in style had been part of the plan. Marjorlaine would be able to go around her business unhindered. 'Ah, really?' a small voice in the back of her head giggled nervously, reminding her that Marjorlaine was dead, and her own years of being the older bard's faithful and unquestioning tool – over.

So, she could think of something and, if the will behind the thought was strong enough, she'd make it happen. It was said that only mages could bend the Fade after their will, getting what they required out of it, finding guidance and a way out. But Kallian had been able to navigate it after a fashion, and she was no mage. Maybe, this was the Fade, after all. As she pondered that, Leliana lost her connection with the memory, however, and all went dark again.

The darkness tasted of burnt oil. It had to be replaced with something, fast – preferably nicer, if that was possible.

The smell of horses. Soft fur and huge lips nibbling at her hand. That was her first horse, Chantal, the palomino. Marjorlaine was right behind her, nudging her gently in the ribs, whispering in her ear – go, feel free, take her for a ride. Leliana climbed the horse and stirred her around the paddock before gracefully jumping over the fence.

While in mid-air, she again lost her sight, not to fall into the numb nothingness of before, but into another memory. She was still on horseback, without a saddle this time, and the air around had changed, smelling of forest flowers and of wet leaves and branches. She'd just jumped over a creek with her newly-found courser and she was enjoying the first good gallop in years. She was blind, but it didn't matter at the moment; the wind was howling in her ears and she could still pull a good jump – even if rushed, just a little, as the long stride of the steed had saved them both from disgraceful failure. Kallian was right behind her and she was grateful for the lover that had found her and for waking in her arms this morning…

"Non."

She would not bring Kallian into this. Anything else she could endure, but thinking that the demon that had to be lurking somewhere near could take the form of her lover was unbearable. She blocked her mind, trying to think at nothing, like she was doing when intending to get her face void of all emotion; it was basic bard training. It didn't take long for her to end in the empty space of before, on her knees and panting, as the unreal horse had melted from underneath her without warning – only, this time, the nothingness was tepid and – charged? – with some unwholesome kind of energy; she could hear a strange sizzling where only silence had been before.

"Where are you?" she whispered to herself, tired of the game. Then she remembered something that Morrigan had said that morning near Highever: "The veil near Highever has been torn one too many. Should you feel unnatural resentment or bloodlust, it may well be a consequence of the evil inflicted upon you in the near closeness of the place." There had been no such signs as Morrigan'd warned about, had there? Or, perhaps, not unnatural resentment and bloodlust had been the things to look for – those hadn't been Leliana's most dire flaws, not ever. She paused a little to think on that. Stealing horses, allowing the people of the Alienage to give her money only to maintain her disguise, involving lots of people in a dangerous stunt just to save the few, scheming to get three people killed without a drop of blood on her own hands and conceiving mock letters that could send the whole kingdom in disarray, only because the idea had come to her… such were not the deeds of people kind and faithful, but the deeds of cunning bards.

So much for warning signs.

If only Morrigan had been around to witness it all – but she hadn't been, and, most likely, she couldn't have been able to read much in it anyway. Such was the way of bards – hard to read, harder to follow – Leliana couldn't find fault with anybody not getting her angles right, between a pair of shoes and a ribbon thrown in for good measure. Kallian had shown signs of worry, though; maybe she should have paid more attention.

She wished for a lute to play, to clear her judgment. The thought of it was so thin she didn't realize it was there until her fingers found the strings and begun to play, and the world around her started to take shape again.

It was Lady Cecile's mansion. The Lady was there, on her favorite settee, with her favorite cushions gathered around her and an entire host of small dogs of all shapes and colors, lazy, long furred cats crammed all upon and near. A peacock was trotting unhindered about the salon, among the various guests gathered there, all eager to hear the miracle ten-year-old – Leliana – play and sing. None were wearing the customary Orlesian masks – this was a much less formal gathering than most in Orlais. It had always been like that in Lady Cecile's house.

She'd just finished her song. Applause and praises ensued. She sneaked a probing peak while she bowed to all, weighing each and every one. She knew why they were there in the first place – Lady Cecile was dying. That wasn't so hard to gather; she'd barely got out of her settee of late, and she had labored breath. Leliana had heard her telling to one of the maids the other day that "it was close". Lady Cecile had called upon all her friends in the hope that maybe one would prove merciful enough to take the poor orphan in their home. But only if she convinced them she was worth it; if she performed well enough.

She hated them.

Lady Cecile was asking her to entertain the guests further; she was apologizing to her highly-praised attendants, telling them in a wavering tone that she wouldn't be able to accompany them to the garden due to her ever-poor health, but that she invited them out wholeheartedly to witness the young one's skill with a bow.

Leliana obeyed and opened the way. As she was walking along the great hallway, it seemed to her that the cases and tapestries, the two rows of empty suits of armor and the weapons hung on the walls became smaller. As she was heading out, even the great hallway didn't appear so impressive anymore.

She had a bow in her hands; it was a fine, dalish piece, the familiar touch of which was most welcome. It had served her well before. The practice target in Lady Cecile's yard did appear to be a bit lower, and quite close, but she didn't pay attention to that. All eyes were on her, and she felt a bit nervous – only, when she looked around, there was nobody but herself, target in front, the familiar apple orchard in the back. She notched, pulled and loosed. The arrow flew true, as per habit.

She had blood on her hands. She knew that, even before she felt them wet with the warm, sticky liquid that fastened her hand to the bow. In place of the target, there was a fallen body, and she could see with horror that it had been Lady Cecile the one that the arrow had struck. She tried to let go of the bow, but that proved quite impossible, and started to run towards the bloodied corpse. She didn't seem to get any closer.

It was toying with her, she thought for a moment, but then she couldn't think any more. The sweet, metallic taste of blood was on her tongue, and soon her whole mouth was full of it, gagging and asphyxiating. She coughed and spat two good teeth with the blood; every breath hurt; her side was burning in the known place where Marjorlaine had stabbed her. She tried to feel the wound, but her hands wouldn't obey. They hurt too, viciously, and the pain searing up to the elbow when she touched the side of her armor made her scream. The surroundings had already morphed into what seemed to be the cold, damp cell where Leliana had spent the most horrible two weeks of her life. When she looked down at her hands, her fingers were broken and bent to unnatural angles.

"Oh, no."

She fell on her knees, and her kneecaps clanked on the cold, hard stone.

"Oh, no, oh, no, oh, no." She couldn't get through this again. She was going to break.

There was a companion in one corner of the cell. The bloodied body of Lady Cecile had accompanied her from the orchard here, and she – it – was speaking to her.

"Look how you turned out! I raised you, I educated you, I sat you at my table, and you? Ungrateful child. You ran away. You didn't even wait for my body to get cold, off you went. And where did it get you? Look at you. You're a disgrace!"

The old hag kept croaking.

"Why won't you stay dead?" Leliana muttered through the teeth. She rose, oblivious to all the pains and wounds that plagued her body, and sped to the corner. The thing's – Lady Cecile's eyes were closed, and an arrow skewered through her upper chest.

"You… you… I loved you. I can barely remember my own mother, but I remember loving you. And then you died. Oh, how I hated you then. I… - I still do."

Her hands were too damaged to accomplish anything, so she bent her arm and struck the neck of the creature with the elbow, hard. There was a crack when the bones broke, a hiss from the severed windpipe, and then the blessed silence.

"Stay dead."

Bloodlust and resentment, Morrigan had said. Leliana mulled the two words over. Along with the blood in her mouth, they made for an unnerving taste. The taste of madness.

"You must face the source of this."

The words had filled the place, but the speaker was not anywhere to be seen.

Leliana replied, quite annoyed.

"I know, Morrigan."

- end of part one -