She was on her in seconds, the metallic clang of her sword hitting the ground drowned out by agonized shouts and pained screams. She tried to keep her in place, to prevent her violent spasms from injuring herself, pinning her flailing arms to the floor by the wrists and straddling her with her legs to keep them from kicking into the air.
It did little to stem the screaming.
"Bethany!" Clarissa shouted over her sister's din, her hands trembling to maintain the hold she had on her arms. The tighter she held her, the more powerful her spasms became. It was as if she was struggling against her.
"Don't fight me! You'll hurt yourself!" Clarissa shouted again, trying but failing to purge the urgency and the fear from her voice.
Either Bethany did not hear her, or she did not want to stop, because at her words, a tremor ran through her from head to toe, and an unexpected explosion of magic knocked Clarissa backwards and skywards, lifting her a few feet above the ground and forcing the air out of her lungs. She braced her landing with her shoulder, and she felt something snap as the stone, cold and unyielding, rammed into her. Crimson blotches rimmed her eyes, and a lance of throbbing pain buried itself along her arm.
She ignored the pain and crawled over to Bethany, whose limbs have somehow stopped their convulsions. The screams have also subsided, resigning to a series of weak, helpless moans as whatever ailed her persisted.
"Bethany..." Clarissa murmured, grabbing hold of her trembling arms. Despair threatened to overwhelm her as she felt the cold skin, devoid of warmth, of life. She felt the arm push her away feebly, powerlessly.
She doesn't recognize me.
"It's me." Clarissa said, repeating the two words over and over. Taking a deep breath, she ventured forth with her mind, treading the almost non-existent path of their link that led into Bethany's mind.
"Don't shut me out," She said, remembering what she had said to her that night, when she was at her lowest. "Please."
Fluttering eyes opened, revealing a murky brown that Clarissa almost did not recognize. It was as if the very colour of her eyes were twisted, imbued with the darkness that had claimed her but moments ago.
Her mouth moved, ever so slightly. Clarissa moved closer, wincing with pain as the broken bone poked at her flesh.
"I love you." Bethany whispered. Over and over, she whispered. Clarissa could not miss the finality in her tone, even though the spoken words were as soft as slivers of wind.
"Then let me in. Let me help you." Clarissa said, fighting the tears. She knew that if they started to fall, they wouldn't stop.
"I can't." She whispered. Her eyes rolled and she clamped her eyelids shut as another wave of agony racked her. Adamant, Clarissa probed with her mind once more, determined to break down the walls Bethany had erected around herself to strike at whatever lay within.
Two words, told with mind and voice, told her all that she needed to know.
"He's here."
Clarissa gritted her teeth. Hasn't he done enough? Her heart sent pain coursing through her veins as she saw the bright rivulets of moisture running from Bethany's eyes down her pallored cheeks.
"Yes, you can. Focus on me, on my voice. I'm here, and I'll always be here." Clarissa said frantically, feeling her slip. She needed something more, something to anchor her while she fought for her.
"Focus on this." Clarissa said softly, leaning in.
A sliver of electricity passed through them both as their lips touched, and Clarissa delved into the darkness that pervaded Bethany's mind.
She saw a man, a robed man, backed turned to her, surrounded by a faint light that repelled the blackness that surrounded them both;
She saw a cage, an intangible cage, door held shut by the man. Something flickered within the cage, dark as the darkness that enveloped it.
She trod upon solid darkness, putrid, rippling darkness that produced a tremor whenever her boots touched it. Somewhere far away, she heard the sobs of a young girl.
She held her sword high, the light from it beating back the shadows, two opposites locked in eternal conflict as she walked cautiously forward, approaching the strange visage.
Her footsteps must have been taken note of, because the robed man bid the attention he had on the cage cease and turned towards her.
Her gasp was inaudible yet apparent.
Her eyes ran up, then down, taking in every detail as she questioned her very sight:
Eyes that gleamed like snow in sunlight, bright and lively. It was different, yet unmistakable;
A face that was leaner, sharper, without blemishes or deformations, indicative of a man in his prime. Though what she remembered was vastly different, it was unmistakable;
Robes that were tailored to perfectly fit a man of his stature, smooth and flowing. It had the hue of a dark grey, with the gilded symbol of the Tevinter Imperium emblazoned on its center. Clarissa would've recognized it anywhere, even had it been in rags when she first laid eyes upon it.
"Corypheus." She said, soundlessly. She had expected him, but not in such a form. The shock in her voice was apparent.
"Please, call me Corinth," The man said, in a rasping voice that, oddly, carried with it a sense of regality. But this time, the voice reminded Clarissa of an old man, well past his prime. It possessed a mellow, contented quality that Clarissa was not accustomed to, considering the memory she had of the man in front of him. Nevertheless, her guard slipped further as she noticed his eyes, which shone with an exhaustion that rivaled her own, "I was wondering when you'd finally find me. I couldn't have held out for long."
Clarissa couldn't help narrowing her eyes in confusion. "Give me one good reason not to kill you right here, right now." She growled, injecting as much conviction into the threat as she could.
Corinth's eyes stooped in shame, a shade of regret tinging his tall form. "If I die, she dies." He said simply.
"Liar." Clarissa spat. It was trickery. Surely it had to be trickery. The muscles on her sword arm twitched.
"Please, Hawke the elder, hear my explanation before you do anything rash."
"My sister does not have the luxury of waiting until you've finished with this charade."
"She does. I saw to that."
"How?"
He sidestepped, presenting the entirety of the cage behind him. "I was one of the first," he began, the tone of his voice slipping back to the quality of an old storyteller recounting a tale. "One of the first to witness the splendour of the Maker's hall. This, you know to be true."
"I was the origin of the Taint, myself and my fellow Magisters. We were the first to succumb to His punishment. As it flowed in our veins, we sought to escape it, but could not. Now, it and I are no longer separate."
"We have the power to spread the Taint and, spurred by madness, we did. We heard the call of the Old Gods and, borne of despair, we devoted ourselves to them."
She felt her sword unconsciously lower itself. She was transfixed, by word or by thought, she no longer knew. If this was indeed an elaborate lie, then she has already fallen for it, hook, line and sinker.
"We had a calling of our own, and thousands heeded our beckons. They became enslaved to us, their submission brought to bear by the very Taint that runs in your sister's blood, as well as mine." He explained. Clarissa gritted her teeth.
"The Taint that you infected her with." She felt helpless tears rim her eyes, threatening once again to burst free.
"There's no excuse for what I've done. But what I can at least do is to lessen the burden, for you and for her." He raised an open hand towards the shimmering image of the cage behind him.
"As we were granted the power to release the dark nature of men, we were also granted the power to contain it. It is an imperfect art, and one that we practiced only rarely," A flash of translucent energy appeared in his outstretched palm, and the bars of the cage shimmered vividly in response. "But it can be done."
"The Taint that resides within your sister will not take her life."
"But still it resides."
"Still, it resides." He agreed.
Slowly, she took a step towards the cage, then another. The Tevinter mage, somehow no longer marred by the Taint, stepped aside to allow her passage. Squinting, she tried to look past the flickering mist that clouded the cage, leaning ever forward.
She pranced backwards with alarm as a dark shape lunged at her, nearly invisible against the grim landscape. It loosed a feral snarl, tearing at the bars that held it captive with a zeal that could only be born of a deep, ancient hatred even Clarissa could not, with all her experiences, comprehend. She turned towards Cory- no, Corinth,- who stood with his head bowed, blue eyes downcast with apologetic sincerity.
"How do I know this is not some trick of yours to coax me into letting you live?"
"There is nothing more I can do to convince you. The monster that caused you great harm just moments before has changed, Hawke the elder."
"I have changed."
"Why?"
The single word touched a nerve.
"Why? You ask me why, Clarissa?" He said, emotion animating his words. "It's because of the connection you two have between each other."
"When I first escaped my body and fled into hers, she fought me at every turn. She battled me with a strength of will I have never seen before, discarding thoughts such as hate, fury, even survival. Curious, and impatient to take her body as mine own, I sought to find out the source of such a powerful defense."
He looked at her then, with eyes that still told of disbelief, as if he had beheld that source only moments ago.
"What I found was you," He said, "I found a woman crowned by fire, garbed in white light, balanced upon her hands the might of heaven itself, a shining star on her left hand, a fiery crucifix grasped firmly in her right."
"But more than that, more than what I saw with my mind's eye, I felt her importance to you. I felt the connection between the two of you, an unbreakable bond born of the strongest emotion I've ever seen or known."
He looked directly at her and saw the truth reflected in her eyes, shimmering in the gatherings of moisture in them, rolling down her cheeks like trails of diamond.
"In life, she protected you, felt safe when she was with you. She trusted you, loved you with all her heart. Even in almost certain death, her first and final thought was invariably you," he said, dropping eye contact, "I had that... once." he sounded as if fighting a great many emotions of his own.
Clarissa felt her cling onto her, drawing her closer, pressing their lips together, holding her tighter and tighter as her lifeline, knowing, trusting that it will not break, not falter, and that it will always love her as she did.
"What will become of her? Will she be the same?" She asked, almost afraid to hear the answer.
"I can do little more than deny the Taint its claim over her. It is a virulent plague, and one that cannot be easily shaken. She will retain her sanity and her life. Anything beyond that is beyond my control. The Grey Wardens, as you name them, will know more."
"But that's a death sentence in itself! One does not become a Grey Warden and retain their normal life!" She cried, refusing to take a step back.
"Don't you see? The Taint may not harm her in any significant way, but it will certainly try. The nightmares the Wardens are plagued with, your sister will share in them as well. There lies a path into madness, Taint or no Taint. She will need their help, if only to understand the transition."
"What's more, the people around you, from where you reside now, will certainly not accept her. She will be shunned, feared, even hated. It's not the place for her, even as it is not the place for a twisted being such as I."
Her sword flared with light as anger surged through her. Whipping the edge upwards, she let it rest against the mage's throat, silencing him. How she wanted to press forward, to cave in to the fire that seared and burned her heart and her mind. How she wanted to destroy him, here and now, for everything that he has done.
Not everything. A voice deep inside her head told her, softly, consolingly.
If what he said was true, then he's the only thing keeping her love, her Bethany alive.
"I really should kill you now. It was all your doing. It was all your damned fault!" She screamed against him, tears flowing freely down her face. But deep inside, she believed him. She believed him because she had seen what the Taint did to the ones that she loved, and she believed him because in his eyes, she didn't see it within him. Not anymore.
"But no. Death would be far too lenient a punishment for you." She hissed, twisting the blade in her hands. "You will stay here, until the end of time if need be. You will keep my sister alive. You will stop this, this monster from getting the better of her. That will be your penance, even if it kills you."
Corinth said nothing, but something in his posture revealed to Clarissa his assent.
With great effort, Clarissa sheathed her sword.
"If you try anything, I'll know. Maker forbid what I will do to you then." She spat with a venomous hate that surprised even her.
"Then let do the most good I can: Let me grapple with the Taint within her. These bars cannot hold it forever, but I can." He said.
He turned slowly towards the cage he had erected, opening his arms wide. A murmur suffused the air, an age-old enchantment known to a choice few, fewer of which were still alive.
"One last thing, Hawke the elder. Don't let the Wardens know of me. Let them think me dead. The less people know about the power I hold over the Darkspawn, the better."
"Won't your power disappear along with you?" She asked.
"No. What I'm doing is subjugating myself into your sister's mind, into a forlorn, forgotten part of her consciousness where the Taint and I cannot harm her, even if we wished to. If she calls upon us, however, be it willingly or against her will, we will have no choice but heed."
"You speak as if you two are one and the same." She observed coldly, expecting him to deny once more.
His image wavered in front of her, as if seen through water. "It is who I am. I cannot escape from that."
There came a moment, where man and cage alike were wreathed in a shadow too dense for Clarissa to pierce.
Then they were gone.
"Clare?"
"It's alright," She cooed, reluctant to let her go. She exhaled softly in relief as she felt the warmth of Bethany's skin mingle with her own, and she opened her eyes to the familiar, angelic features of her younger sister. "I'm here now."
Her skin seemed paler than before, but be it from the terrible ordeal she had gone through mere moments ago or from the Taint, now hidden within her, she could not tell.
"He's... Is he gone?" Bethany asked weakly, the softness of her voice not withholding the fear that was thinly veiled.
"Yes." Clarissa said, running a finger along her cheek.
Better to tell her later. She's in no state to comprehend what I've done.
And yet, as Clarissa lifted her onto her feet again, letting her lean on her, the possibilities of what she had wrought upon them both by letting Cory- no, Corinth, live repeated itself to her in four heavy words.
What have I done?
Tousled blond hair turned round as they limped over to Isabela's prone form and the stout figure sitting beside her.
"This has all gone to thrice-blasted, Maker-damned hell." Varric said, almost nonchalantly. Clarissa did not miss the pain masked behind his usual tone.
"Is she alright?" Clarissa asked. Part of her dreaded the answer. With Bethany in her state, she couldn't possibly conjure the focus she needed to mend Isabela's wounds.
"I'm doing what I can, but she's still bleeding. We have to stop it somehow, or else..." His voice trailed off as he looked to the center of the battered arena, where scattered pieces of metal and splintered wood lay.
"I'm sorry, Varric." Clarissa intoned softly, wanting to put her hand on his shoulder but fearing his reaction.
He tried to shrug, but it came out as more of an errant twitch than anything else. "It's not your fault." He tore his eyes away.
What have I done?
It tore at her like a knife to her heart, opening it to the world, where all it saw was death, loss... all because of her.
If I'd brought Anders with me... or Aveline... Ah, Maker be damned, I don't know!
She averted her eyes, and saw yet more crimson trickling from Varric's bunched-up jacket.
A thought hit her.
No. It's insane. A voice in her head shouted.
I must try.
She reached deep within herself then, searching her mind, her memories, within her very soul. Surely it had to be there. Surely it wasn't just some passing fancy, some divine joke the Maker decided to toy her with.
Without prompt or will, her left hand, bearing her bracer, opened of its own accord and, for a moment, she thought she felt something deep inside shatter, as the prison's pillars and walls shriveled once, in perfect timing.
Her bracer came to life as the seal on her hand flashed once, brilliantly, emitting a steady green light that seemed to run along her hand, flowing from skin, across thin air, then onto skin again as Isabela twitched in discomfort.
Clarissa didn't stop, however. She couldn't, for what she saw gave her a sense of elation and deep worry, all at once.
The tanned leather jacket fell away as Varric snatched it away to behold the sight beneath – the sight of Isabela's torn stomach, skin, sinew and crimson blood, flowed back across one another with clinical precision, but also with uncanny speed.
Rolling off to one side, Isabela groaned and muttered.
"Stop it, it tickles..." A soft giggle escaped her as her legs kicked back and forth.
Clarissa stopped, but not at Isabela's behest. The werelight surrounding her outstretched hand retreated, and the glowing sigil on her bracer faded into ordinary, mundane etched steel. She should've gasped, she should've screamed. She should've been surprised, but she wasn't.
"It's so beautiful!" She had leapt with joy when she beheld the rose nestled in the flowerpot she kept on the table. The petals had been a flush, bright red, with a lean, slim stem reaching downwards into the small pouch of soil. Every aspect of the otherwise ordinary flower seemed perfect, as if crafted by something not of this world and, to add to its enthralling beauty, the teardrop petals seemed to glow in the dusky light.
Her father returned her affectionate gaze with a loving look of his own, his brown eyes sparkling with a happiness she rarely saw him exhibit.
"Happy birthday, Clare Bear." He murmured softly, smiling when she nuzzled against his thigh.
"You made it for me?" She asked. Nothing escaped her, not even the lightest touch of magic.
"You're seven now. It's about time someone gave you a rose of your own." He said.
"Can you teach me how to make one?" Clarissa asked. She never settled for less.
"I can tell you where I found it. Do you want to go tomorrow?"
"But I want to make it glow! Make it look pretty! With magic!" She said, having eyes only for her new possession.
"Now, now. Didn't I already tell you not to say that word out loud? It's our little secret, Clare Bear, okay?" He said, a little sterner than she thought he would.
She scarcely felt him turn round as she admired the gleaming rose, but she thought she heard a long, breathy sigh and a low muttering she couldn't make sense of at the time.
"-would wish this magic on no one."
Now, she did.
Clarissa was breathless. To be the conduit of magic was one thing, but to wield it was a wholly different, and endangering, prospect. Almost immediately, she felt a piercing, all-consuming fear cloud her. It was a fear that had plagued her family during every waking moment, a constant pressure at the back of their minds, and an unavoidable wedge between their relationships. Thinking herself to not be inherent of the magic that ran in her father's veins, the sensation had manifested within her to become a vigil over her younger sister, who, according to her father, would be hunted all her life.
And now she shared it with her. Now, she finally grasped the anxiety that had gripped her sister for so long.
"Clarissa? What's wrong?" Bethany asked, her still-frail senses not able to catch onto her sister's discovery.
"Nothing. I'll tell you later." Clarissa said, looking round. The stone wall that once barred their way had long since fallen.
"We have to go."
Varric nodded and shook Isabela on the shoulder lightly. "Come on, Rivaini. Beauty sleep's over." He said in his usual, gruff voice. It sounded so... normal, so casual, that it almost made Clarissa believe in the dwarf's chiding and the world being normal again.
Deep inside, however, she knew that it was not to be, never again. They have ridden the currents of fate itself, and now they found themselves even further upstream, in an even stranger world.
Mentally shaking herself, Clarissa adjusted Bethany's arm over her shoulders, feeling her fingers tighten on the links of her mail.
We'll manage. Together. Bethany's voice, strangely resolute, echoed like cool water rushing over her reeling thoughts.
I love you, too. She whispered back, and felt her smile, if only faintly.
They turned around, Bethany barely able to support herself, and Clarissa's blood froze over.
Standing under the grand stone arch that led to the stone walkway, was a lone Hurlock Alpha.
Grasped in its right hand, tip pointed diagonally downwards, was a chipped, scratched broadsword easily twice its wielder's width. The faded gold of its armor, cast in dawn's light, gave the creature a faint aura of eminence that didn't quite fit with its features. Wide, bloodshot eyes stared at them through slits in the Alpha's horned helmet, enhancing an emotion conveyed through eye contact that Clarissa could not quite place.
Neither side moved. Clarissa didn't dare engage the creature barring their way, as her companions were in no shape to fight. Had she approached, they would be defenseless against any other of the Alpha's kin, should they be lurking in the shadows still. A tense silence, broken only by the Alpha's laboured, animalistic panting.
Slowly, almost imperceptibly, the Alpha moved.
By tearing off its helmet.
Clarissa furrowed her brow in confusion.
The sword went next, dropping to the ground with a loud, resounding clang. Did it mean to fight her with its bare hands? Out of bloodlust? For revenge?
Then Clarissa saw something else. Something in the Alpha's eyes. Something that caught the rising sun's rays, cradling it within a liquid grasp and played at Clarissa's eyes.
Tears.
The Alpha took a step forward. Then another. Clarissa made no move to stop it, now that she saw the difference in the Hurlock's eyes. There was no rage, no madness, nothing that embodied the savage nature of the Taint-twisted beast approaching her. It made it seem almost... human.
"What do you want?" Clarissa asked tentatively, not sure in what she should expect from the Alpha.
The Alpha slowed its shambling steps, and glistening, brilliant rivulets of moisture made their way down its darkened, deformed flesh.
Clarissa's hand left her sword.
The Alpha started again, closing the distance until they were barely a feet apart. From their proximity, Clarissa recognized this particular Hurlock, even if they all looked the same and felt the same when she drove her sword through them.
This was the Hurlock that had dueled her, and the one that had led her into the bowels of the prison. Only, it was different now. He was different now.
He opened his mouth, revealing jagged fangs that made Clarissa's gut wrench. It opened and closed tentatively, haltingly, as if its owner had long since forgotten how to speak.
A whistle of air sounded from far away, followed by the sound of one, two, then three arrows puncturing armor and diving into flesh.
The Alpha's eyes went wide, his bulky, muscular frame jolting three times, left, center, then to the right. For a split second, Clarissa thought of Varric, and wanted to look backwards at him. But then she remembered the dismemberment of his weapon, and the doubt in her mind increased tenfold.
Who...?
The Alpha looked at her with eyes filled with regret, as what he had wanted to say, tried to say, was robbed from him.
His drained body twisted round and fell, revealing three black-fletched arrows aligned in a perfectly horizontal line across his back. Whoever had loosed them, Clarissa thought, was an excellent marksman.
And then, she saw them.
Three grey-clad figures – two female, one male – sliding nimbly down a slope that flanked the lonely path back through the mountains. One of them, a dark-complexioned woman, held a strung bow in her hands, bearing a quiver of black-fletched arrows poking overhead. The other bore on her back a twisted, yet elegantly crafted stretch of dark wood with flowing lines that seemed to disappear into one another, as if by magic. A belt, laden with pouches unlike the ones Bethany had, jiggled as she approached Clarissa with her companions, revealing bright blue liquid trapped within glass flasks. She didn't take her staff into her hands, but Clarissa not only saw, but also felt the magic she kept ready, even from such a distance away.
The man was who intrigued her the most.
He was lean and hardly tall, as the dark woman stood a head higher than him as they strode towards Clarissa. She saw his dark grey eyes, and decided immediately that he was hiding something from her. It was too guarded, too wary for a group of well-adjusted, well-rounded warriors who had apparently just saved another group from the clutches of the Darkspawn. The gleaming breastplate that he wore across his chest was of little comfort to her as well, as she saw, instantly and with sudden fear, the symbol etched on the grey steel.
Twin griffons.
Grey Wardens.
Clarissa's heart skipped a beat. Long have she heard tales about the legendary Grey Wardens: Keepers of the farthest gates, avowed guardians of Thedas against the Darkspawn, seasoned, hardy and nigh on inhuman warriors, peerless marksmen, and battlemages of the highest order. Theirs was an order wreathed in an impenetrable aura of heroism and valor, revered by many and feared by countless more for both the martial prowess and the Taint they carry within their bodies.
The Taint that her sister also shared.
She has also heard of the Right of Conscription, the invocation the Wardens use on rare accounts to procure recruits, and the invocation that, if refused, warranted the use of lethal force to ensure compliance. On normal occasions, it would have mattered little to her, as she had other military organisations to worry about.
But now, it was different. The Taint was present in Bethany and, worst of all, she was unnaturally stable. She would make the perfect candidate for recruitment and, coupled with the hidden power to exert control over the minds of the Darkspawn, she was utterly invaluable. What's more, should the Wardens reject her as a recruit, the Taint within her would certainly not permit them to leave her alive and unchecked, and Clarissa, in her state and concerning the states of her companions, was not confident in taking on three well-rested Grey Wardens all alone.
A chill ran through her when she came to grips with the situation.
She, and Bethany, were at their whim.
"You there! Friend!" The lead male Warden, apparently the one in charge, called out when they crossed the threshold and entered the arena. "You wouldn't happen to be Messere Hawke, would you?"
Clarissa's eyes widened at his mentioning of her name. How did he know?
Things were going downhill. And quickly, too.
"I am Clarissa Hawke, yes." Clarissa answered haltingly, still running her options through her mind.
"Next time, don't let the buggers get too close, eh?" The Warden stopped at conversational distance, smiled, and the women at his back visibly relaxed, magic dissipating from the mage's fingertips, who had a cheek's length of flame-red hair, much like Clarissa. The dark-complexioned woman unstrung her bow and returned it to its position at her back and, briefly, Clarissa wondered at her features.
Instead of the decidedly dark-brown skin colour usually associated with men and women from the southern reaches of the Anderfels, which had been Clarissa's assumption, the archer Warden's skin was almost pitch black, tinged by a touch of violet. And what had appeared to Clarissa to be her eyes playing tricks on her only moments before came to resemble dark-red eyes, with long, curving eyelashes that flickered in place as the exotic woman studied Clarissa in return. Her cheekbones were slanted, pointing to a sharp chin that did little to belie her elven origin, which made her height an even more puzzling mystery. On all accounts, though, the woman was striking and, to a warrior's eye, the embodiment of an exotic beauty that would escape many an average peasant's scrutiny.
"I see that you have suffered some from those nasty 'locks. That wound," the Warden pointed at the swollen patch of skin on Isabela's lower stomach, "looks fit to burst!"
"We did what we could." Clarissa answered simply.
"It's just as well. Katja, see to the poor woman's wounds, then keep watch on the perimeter. We won't be long."
At his orders, the dark-skinned woman detached from the triangular formation they formed and approached Varric, who warily let her come close. As she searched for the proper bandages in a ranger's pouch on her waist, her blood-red eyes met Clarissa's, and Clarissa thought she saw her flash her a look of... caution? Concern?
It did little to allay the frantic beating of her heart.
"I'm Delvin, by the way. Delvin Aristold of Falconsreach Hold, in the Free Marches. This fine woman behind me is Ishay, Ishay from the Tower in Kirkwall, no less! Dreadful place. Never want to go back there again." He extended his armored hand, and Clarissa shook with him and smiled uneasily, trying to be as casual as possible but keeping with every move he made. His gaze turned sideways and downwards as Varric, replaced at Isabela's side by the Warden known as Katja, came forward.
"The name's Varric. Noble house Tethras, hailing from Orzammar. Born in Kirkwall, though. Well met, Delvin." The handshake was diagonal.
"Long have I not heard of the name Tethras, my good sir. I once heard of it during one of my many trips to the Dwarven capital. Well met, indeed." Though Delvin himself may not have noticed it, but the mention of Varric's family name still being uttered in Orzammar, be it for good or ill, heartened the dwarf.
Turning his attention back towards Clarissa, Delvin cocked his head in question at Bethany. "And this would be...?"
"Bethany Hawke. My sister." Clarissa answered curtly, already thinking of ways to turn the conversation onto other topics.
"Well met... Warden." Bethany said, the fatigue in her voice evident. She raised a hand and, instead of taking it with his own, Delvin lifted it lightly upon his mailed fingers and pressed a soft kiss to the back of her hand.
"Well met indeed, Beth-" He blanched, suddenly recoiling as if stung by a wasp.
Clarissa froze.
No.
His jovial expression, predominant only moments ago, was replaced with a hardness and bluntness Clarissa did not know how to counter. "Your sister has been infected with the Taint, Messere Hawke." He said icily.
Clarissa feigned surprise. "Surely there must be some mistake."
"There is no mistake. We Wardens are inseparable with the Taint, and I can tell you right now that it resides within Bethany."
"Ishay. Examine her. A person surviving the Taint is one we will take in as a fellow Warden. If not," He turned back towards Clarissa, with a hint of apology in his eyes, "we will be forced to kill her."
Clarissa turned defensive, every fiber of her being rising to shield her sister from the Wardens, who were quickly becoming hostile in her eyes.
"You wouldn't dare." She hissed.
"You wouldn't be able to stop us."
"Try me." Her right hand found her the hilt sword, and her left glowed with fiery intensity.
The mage, Ishay, stepped forward and closed her eyes. Bethany winced. After a moment, she opened her eyes again.
"Delvin." She spoke softly, retreating slightly behind him and whispering into his ear. Delvin listened for a moment, then nodded.
"Since there is cause for us to believe that the Taint has altered its influence on your sister, we believe as well that she must be brought to Falconsreach Hold for further examination as well as assessment for becoming a Grey Warden."
He looked into his eyes, a flicker of regret but a sliver of something else flashing by so quickly that Clarissa missed it, and uttered the words she dreaded the most.
"By the power granted to me by the ancient contracts, I hereby invoke the Right of Conscription."
"No! You can't have her!" Clarissa shouted in denial, drawing her sword with a angry flourish. Delvin backed away, mirroring her actions. Ishay gathered magical fire at her open hands, and the Warden behind Clarissa, Katja, retreated from Isabela and formed a triangular formation with her fellow Wardens again, drawing her bow and fitting black-fletched arrows to string. Clarissa thought she saw regret surface within the dark elf's eyes, but she paid it no heed.
"You would resist the Right of Conscription?" Delvin asked, more out of formality than anything. He knew full well what Clarissa meant by drawing her blade.
"You may take me. You may take my life. But you will never, in this lifetime or the next, lay a hand on my sister." She hammered each word into the air, punctuating her every syllable with flaring blue flame from her outstretched left hand, encasing the whole of her lower arm and the entirety of her steel bracer.
Behind her, she heard Isabela's weak, but all the more fierce voice add her protest into the mix. "You'll have to go through every one of us, worm." The silvery slink of daggers leaving their sheaths accentuated the final word.
What came next shocked them all.
"Don't... Let them take me."
"WHAT?" Clarissa almost screamed. "Bethany, what are you saying?"
"Surely it's only a mistake. You said it yourself, my love. The Taint within me is gone. You defeated him. You saved me already." She turned towards the Wardens, who were practically quizzical in the turn of events. "Take me to this... whatever Reach Hold you have in the Marches. There, even your Warden Commander shall find no Taint within me, and we can be rid of this violent bickering."
With her mind, she said to Clarissa, It should take me a few days. A week, at the most. It will be like a free ride back to the Free Marches! We'll be together again soon, my love. Don't worry. It's not like they're going to make a Grey Warden out of a girl like me, not when my heart already belongs to you.
Clarissa tried hard not to scream out the truth, not to exclaim to everyone within earshot her experience inside Bethany's mind and the pact she had forged with Corinth without Bethany's consent. But to reveal to the Grey Wardens knowledge that her sister, her love, had control over the minds of the Darkspawn would only worsen the problem.
She remained silent.
What have I done?
Delvin exhaled, breaking the silence. "Well, I'm glad she sees sense." He said, sheathing his sword. "Since Bethany will now come willingly, I trust you will not deny her her free will, and endanger her in the process?"
"N...No." Clarissa forced out, defeated.
We'll have this to remain in touch, my love. This, and the realm of dreams. All will be well. Bethany said affectionately as she started forward, Katja immediately coming forth to support her.
Clarissa bit down hard on her tongue, silencing herself. She felt betrayal, from herself and directed at herself, rage within her. Bethany trusted her. Trusted her so much that she felt no danger at all to go with a group of strangers. A group of Grey Wardens, no less. But it was too late. She could only hope Corinth would be able to mask the Taint convincingly enough to fool the Warden Commander at the Hold, whoever he may be.
I love you. She called out with her mind, as the trio of Grey Wardens departed slowly, with her sister, her love, in their midst, walking into a den of what may become her captors.
She saw her look back and, for a moment, those honey-brown eyes seemed to be a slight darker.
And I you. You know that.
Clarissa stood there, petrified until the Wardens disappeared behind the mountains. Behind her, Varric coughed low in his throat. "Now, will you tell me just what went wrong back there?" He asked.
Clarissa, for her part, turned round and looked at him. Tears streaming down her cheeks, she said softly to him four words, to herself, with utter exasperation and complete despair.
"What have I done?"
/It's been far too long. I know. Don't judge. Please.
So here's a longer, more convoluted, utterly not-makin'-sense chapter to compensate for the wait! I hope you liked it!
Brainzz: Sorry. Have to wait some more. More losses? *cheers*
Artman: Shadows keep you, friend. You should have somewhat of a gander who "Katja" really is... :D Welcome to the party!
Spike: YEP.
Koona: Nope. Can't do it. I'm now addicted to long chapters and even longer breaks. I'll mail you medication to cope for the anxiety and panic attacks.
And for all those out there, let me share with you a poem I discovered from a book I read, a poem which served to be my inspiration for this chapter:
In El-Harím, there lived a man, a man with yellow eyes.
To me, he said, "Beware the whispers, for they whisper lies.
Do not wrestle with the demons of the dark,
Or else upon your mind they'll place a mark;
Do not listen to the shadows of the deep,
Else they'll haunt you even when you sleep.
For a world where enduring lies are not whispered, but spoken aloud./