A/N - More thanks to my wonderful reviewers and my spectacularly talented (and patient) beta, Eve Hawke *hugs*
Zoya was drunk - blissful, head-spinning, not-a-care-in-the-world sozzled. There was nothing like a night of drinking and gambling with friends to send one's problems to the Void, even if the absence was just until the buzz wore off and the raging headache kicked in. Her feet traipsed along the shifting and buckling hallway as a song fell from her lips.
'Tis the shem and their chains that bind
But 'tis ale that sets us free
'Tis love that makes us blind
But 'tis wine that makes us see
'Tis better our heads than our hearts should ache
But 'tis spirits, dear elves, a slave will make
Zoya had been perched on a crate in the apartment, humming contently as she'd listened to her companions snoring and mumbling in their drunken stupor. But then it had been easy to feel content with a few extra coins tucked in her boot and someone else to do her chores for the next couple weeks. She'd grinned wickedly - some day, her cousins would realize that her success at cards wasn't just luck of the draw; hopefully that day wouldn't come until after she was safely on her way to Highever. The smile had disappeared as she'd been reminded that she would be leaving her home in just one month. A sudden need to visit the docks had overcome her, a nagging itch that she couldn't quite reach. That place, and the memories it held, had always made her feel close to her mother again, and at that moment she needed her mother. So off she'd gone- impaired feet ambled along the uneven floorboards and her shoulder bumped against the rough plaster wall as she'd sung her jaunty tune.
The sounds of her progress were deafening in the silence of the sleeping tenement. While it was unlikely she would draw the attention of the neighbors - she wasn't the first elf to drunkenly wander these hallways, and she certainly wouldn't be the last - she hushed herself. It wouldn't be good to draw too much attention. Her thoughts turned to the first time Adaia had taken her to hidden entrance in the tenement's storage room.
Adaia pressed a gentle finger to her lips as she took Zoya by the hand, leading her through the maze of dank hallways on silent feet. They came to a simple door; Adaia paused for a moment to pick the lock and they ducked into the cluttered storage room. Her mother squeezed her hand as she called a wisp to light their way. Zoya giggled in delight as it danced merrily about her head, its gentle glimmer tickling her cheeks and the tips of her ears.
"What I'm about to show you is a secret place. It's long been forgotten by those who built it. Now, only Duncan and I know of it. You must keep these tunnels secret, even from your cousins and your father."
Zoya drew an "X" over her heart and nodded solemnly at her mother. Adaia took Zoya's hands in her own, guiding them to a hidden switch. Without warning, a panel opened under Zoya's fingertips, startling the girl backward with a frightened gasp. Her mother gave her a reassuring smile and led her through the opening, the wisp making shadows dance on the rough hewn stone walls.
The lock on the storage room door swam in her vision. It wasn't until she closed her eyes and let her nimble fingers act on their own that she was able to pick the lock. Successful at last, she slipped inside the familiar clutter of the closet, locking the door behind her. Standing in the complete darkness only added to her dizziness, but she had sense enough to know that using fire magic in this small place would be a terrible idea. She wished that Adaia had taught her how to call a wisp to do her bidding; there was something comforting about the playful, dancing light. Instead, Zoya focused upon her hand, her eyes slipping shut as she urged a bit of magic through her veins. Her skin began to glow a soft blue, and she chuckled in triumph - even drunk, she could manage this minor bit of magic without disaster. Light trails from her hand dazzled her vision as she triggered the hidden switch for the secret panel.
The panel shifted aside, and a wave of cold, damp air washed over Zoya; its stale smell tinged with mildew and the unique odor of the docks. The rough-hewn stone wall snagged and pulled at her tunic as she navigated the steps that would take her downward into the tunnels. As her feet followed the path they knew so well, Zoya watched absently as small spiders skittered away from the blue glow of her hand tracing along the stone.
A rat suddenly darted out from moldering crates stacked against the wall; she shrieked, jumping back instinctively. Her foot caught on a loose stone and her ankle twisted beneath her with a pop. She lurched toward the wall and threw her hands out in front of her as she tumbled into the crates, her limbs flailing as she scrambled to get free from the tangle of rotten wood. She sat dazed in the middle of the tunnel, not sure if she wanted to laugh or cry.
A tickling sensation on her arm drew her panicked gaze. Bile rose in her throat at the sight of her own blood welling out of a long tear along her forearm. The viscous liquid glittered black against the blue glow of her hand. Zoya swallowed hard and sighed heavily, saddened that her revelry had come to such an unpleasant end. Whether it was a consequence of the alcohol or the sight of her own blood, Zoya wasn't sure; she broke into a cold sweat, her stomach clenching in protest as she leaned her forehead against the cool stone wall and retched. There was nothing quite like blood and vomit to kill a buzz.
Zoya wiped a sleeve across her mouth as she extinguished the blue glow, grimacing as she focused healing magic into her other hand. Adaia had been a skilled healer, and she'd been determined to pass her skills to her daughter; but her death had left Zoya's training incomplete. Her mother would have been able to heal a wound like this with barely a thought, but Zoya found herself struggling to focus and manipulate the magic to her will. A golden light encompassed the ragged wound as she concentrated on fusing skin and staunching blood. Next, she turned her attention to her ankle, sighing as the warmth of the healing magic stopped its throbbing. She felt lucky there were no broken bones and that what had startled her was only a rat.
More or less sober now, Zoya reached the hidden panel at the end of the tunnel several minutes later. Delighted that she had arrived without further incident, she held her breath as she paused to press her ear against it. The dock-side entrance was hidden in a low traffic area behind stacks of shipping crates. Even so, she breathed a sigh of relief when she heard no movement on the other side of the panel; she triggered the switch, dimming the light of her hand before slipping through.
It was still deep night and all was quiet. The only light came from the flickering torches scattered throughout the dock area, and the only sound was the flags flapping in the breeze and the small waves lapping against the ships and dock. The few docked ships were dark and still as their crews slept. Zoya's heart fluttered in her chest as she traveled the shadows along the walls and crates. It would be safer to use a stealth spell, but there was something satisfying about moving unseen without the use of magic. Adaia had taught her that it was unwise to rely too strongly on your magic, and Zoya thrilled at the chance to challenge her non-magical skills. She chuckled as she recalled the last time she'd visited the docks in the dark of night - she had snuck onto the two ships at port, climbing their masts to swap their flags as the crews slept. The uproar when the crew from each ship woke to find the other ship's colors flying from their masts was priceless.
Zoya's favorite observation point was a ledge cut into the stone wall surrounding the docks. It was far enough away from the activity areas to avoid inadvertent encounters, and yet close enough that she could see details of the people and ships. Adaia had shown her this place; Zoya had visited it often over the years, both with her mother and after she died. She knew every handhold and foothold, every loose rock. Silently scrambling up the stone wall, she settled back on her perch and savored the soft breeze off the water as it caressed her. She could almost feel Adaia's nimble fingers carding through her hair, her head cushioned in her mother's lap as she gazed up into the stars and listened to stories of heroes and gods. Her eyelids grew heavy and she felt herself dozing off.
When she awoke, the color of the sky told her she didn't have much time before sunrise. She pushed herself groggily to her feet, brushing herself off and stretching. From the corner of her eye, she caught a flash of movement, and froze mid-stretch before dropping into a crouch against the wall. Heavy footsteps sounded, and from out of the murk she spotted three men in heavy plate chasing a lone human in tattered mage's robes. Zoya's blood ran cold when she realized they were Templars, and the man they chased was an apostate - like herself and Adaia. The memory of the last time she'd seen her mother alive, something she had fought against revisiting every waking hour and every night in her dreams, struck her with enough force to bring her to her knees.
It had been three days since her mother's arrest, and Zoya had spent every moment waiting on the perch or in the tunnels. She had no doubt that Adaia would escape and come for her, and she was ready to leave this vile place as soon as her mother arrived. Her head swam with the endless possibilities - they could wander with the Dalish or sail the seas or adventure with Duncan.
It was on that third night that Adaia came for her. Anticipation mounted as Zoya sensed her approach - even if she couldn't see her, it didn't mean Adaia wasn't there. Zoya grinned as her unfocused eyes found the slight wavering in the air; Adaia was moving quickly toward the tunnels using a stealth spell. As Zoya hopped to her feet and moved to clamber down the stone wall, she saw four Templars moving across the docks in pursuit and she froze in place. Her breath caught in her throat; Adaia had warned her that the Templars could sense the use of magic, thus rendering the stealth spell useless. Zoya shook her head, negating her concern. Surely Adaia could evade them; there was no way they would recapture her. The torchlight glinted off the silver plate and their armor clamored with each step.
Zoya sucked in a sharp breath as her heart thudded in her chest - something was horribly wrong. The air felt thick as tension built around her - it felt almost like a build-up from magic being gathered but more ominous. Her head turned, eyes focusing on the source of her unease. One Templar stood firm as his cleanse sucked all magic from around them, effectively turning the Veil into an iron curtain that sealed them off from the Fade. Her whole body weakened and threatened to topple her from the perch as the Templar's power spread across the docks. She collapsed to her knees, clasping a hand to her mouth to stifle a scream as Adaia suddenly shimmered into view, her spell nullified. The Templars were quick to surround her mother, who watched them warily as she moved into a defensive crouch.
The distinctive grinding sound of swords being pulled from their scabbards echoed in her ears as Zoya watched Adaia ready herself for their attack. Indecision wracked her- should she should stay hidden or go to help her mother; reason told her that she would only be a liability to Adaia if she went. The Templars paused for a moment, apparently surprised that this mage hadn't been incapacitated by the loss of her magic. But their surprise was short-lived. Her mother danced lightly away from one Templar's charge, grabbing his sword arm and using his momentum to send him spinning into his comrade. The two men went down in a tangle of swords and armor. Adaia stepped into another Templar's attack as he sliced at her, twisting his sword from his hand and turning it on him. Zoya cringed and turned away, watching out of the corner of her eye as Adaia pushed the tip of his sword up under his helm. As she loosed her grip on the pommel, the Templar collapsed in a lifeless heap at her feet. With hardly a pause, Adaia grabbed the dagger from the fallen man's belt as the Templar who first charged her clambered to his feet. She launched herself at him, her velocity knocking the armored man off balance and back to the dock as she pressed the dagger into his flesh.
Zoya's heart swelled with pride; she knew Adaia would break free from her would-be captors. The grace of her mother's movements was beautiful to behold, her movements fluid as a river skirting a boulder. Her preoccupation with her mother's actions distracted her from the remaining Templars; she hardly noticed as one of them gathered his power for an attack. Triumph turned to terror as the smite hit, the dagger slipping from Adaia's limp fingers.
Even from her perch, Zoya felt the shockwave from the smite press down on her as it roared in her ears. Zoya watched, helpless; she struggled to move, but her limbs wouldn't obey. Adaia shook her head groggily and struggled to rise from where she'd collapsed onto her unconscious opponent. One of the remaining Templars strode forward and seized Adaia by the back of her tunic, throwing her to the dock in a heap before stalking toward her with sword drawn. Zoya pressed her hand more tightly to her mouth to keep from screaming and slid hastily from her perch, rushing along in the shadows of the crates to get to her mother. She knew Adaia would be furious with her for running toward instead of away from the danger, but there was no way she could abandon her mother. Even though she was cut off from her magic and unarmed, every fiber in her being screamed at her to find a way to help.
She hid in the shadows, shaking as she peered around the edge of the crates. She whimpered when her eyes came to rest on the still form of her mother. The things those monsters were inflicting upon her - they were unimaginable, unspeakable. For a moment, Zoya hoped her mother's spirit had already passed into the Fade. But Adaia's eyes flew open, locking on Zoya's as her lips moved. "I love you. Run!"
Zoya shook her head, her fingernails digging into the back of her arms as she hugged herself tightly. As she crouched in preparation for her attack on the Templar, the man's helmeted visage swung in her direction. Adaia's eyes closed for a moment, sadness overwhelming her delicate features before she became serene. Zoya watched in stunned disbelief as Adaia's small hand lashed out, snatching the dagger from the Templar's belt and sinking it deep into his flank. He struck at her head with the back of a gauntleted hand before pulling the dagger free, snarling as he dragged the blade across Adaia's throat.
Zoya collapsed to her knees, silent sobs wracking her body. The Templars rose to their feet, swords drawn as they moved in her direction. She escaped into the shadows, threading through the maze of crates until she was sure they weren't in pursuit.
She paced restlessly in the shadows, moving to a place within sight of Adaia and watching the Templars leave. Once they'd gone, she staggered toward her mother, knowing there was little hope she could do anything to help her now. That moment had passed without any action on her part; regret and guilt was filling the emptiness within her. All her fault - this was all her fault. She should be the one lying here on the dock, not Adaia.
Kneeling in the growing pool of blood, Zoya laid her head gently on her mother's chest. There was just a vast nothingness, an empty shell with dull eyes fixed blindly on the stars above. She gently closed her mother's eyelids, kissing each one, and straightened her garments before rising to unsteady feet. The sound of heavy armor approaching stopped her heart in her chest. Zoya ran, her feet fueled by rage and fear.
It took only seconds to relive the memory. Zoya's breathing came in ragged gasps as she rocked in place, her arms wrapped around knees pulled tight to her chest. The sound of angry yells and armor clanking brought her back to the present danger. The human mage's desperate run stopped at the end of the dock, and he turned, drawing his staff as he faced his pursuers. Once they realized the mage was cornered, the Templars slowed their pursuit and approached him with weapons drawn. One of the Templars stood back with an outstretched hand; he seemed to be talking to the mage, perhaps trying to get him to surrender. Zoya hoped the mage wouldn't be fooled by such a ruse.
Even from her perch, Zoya could feel the pressure from an impending tear in the Veil. She quickened at the potential locked behind the Veil, the power just waiting for someone to draw from it, to unleash it. The mage stood defiant as he brought his staff skyward, preparing to lash out at the Templars. Given the amount of energy he was gathering, she guessed it would be a powerful spell. Goosebumps rose on her skin as the energy continued to build. As his staff hit the dock, he released a surge of power that rolled off him in waves of light, knocking the approaching Templars backwards and off their feet. A ball of lightning grew in his open palm as he prepared to hurl it at his pursuers.
Zoya was impressed by the mage's courage, not to mention the amount of power he wielded. But without a spell that would wipe out the Templars immediately, preferably incinerating them where they stood, the mage was fighting a losing battle. She bit down hard on the inside of her cheek to stop herself from yelling at him in warning, knowing it would help neither of them if she exposed her presence to the Templars. In her experience, it was likely that all but one of them was meant as a distraction as that one prepared to cleanse the area of all magic.
Even though she was expecting it, the loss of her magic left her momentarily paralyzed and debilitated. Something, some familiar brand of looming menace, told her the Templar had not finished his attack. Zoya had felt this before - she recognized it with fatalistic acceptance and braced herself for the worst. As she watched in horror, the Templar roared in triumph and unleashed his smite. The mage collapsed to all fours, looking up blearily as the Templars approached with drawn swords.
Zoya's fingers dug into the stone beneath her as she held her breath. Her face was pinched with pain, the tightness in her chest and the strain of staying out of the fight starting to take a toll. The need for vengeance screamed within her, demanding retribution for the crimes committed by these brutes in the name of the Maker. But she was impotent against so many heavily armored opponents in her current state; she was unarmed, cut off from her magic, and weakened by the Templar's smite. Her hands tightened into fists as she struggled to her feet, her fingernails cutting into her palms. She gasped and her hand clutched to her chest as the Templar ran him through - the mage grunted in surprise as the sword entered his chest. Not quite satisfied with the brutality already inflicted, the Templars kicked him savagely until he no longer moved of his own will before shoving him off the edge of the dock into the deep waters.
Bile rose in her throat, already aching with stifled screams, as the Templars clapped each other's backs in congratulations and walked away. Her heart thundered in her ears, and she wiped a shaking hand across eyes that burned with unspent tears. Someday she would have justice, just not today. She shook her head angrily – she couldn't save Adaia then, but she would do everything she could to save this mage now. She would enter the Fade and drag his spirit back to this world if that's what it would take.
Zoya's eyes swept the area to make sure the Templars had left the dock before scrambling down from her perch. Panic rose in her gut as she reached the puddle of blood where the mage had been run through and followed it to the edge of the dock. There was no sign of him. She took a deep breath and silently eased herself over the edge of the dock and into the cold, dark waters, frantic hands searching blindly for any sign of him. As her magic was still dispelled, she knew setting her hands aglow was out of the question. Diving under the water, she explored with her hands until they came in contact with the thick fabric of his robes, gripping them tightly as she struggled to the surface. She kicked hard with her legs, the muscles burning from the effort of keeping her and the much larger mage afloat. Her fingers ached from the tight grip on the mage's robes and the prolonged exposure to the cold water, which was quickly sapping the energy borrowed from her rage.
Her muscles strained with the effort of pulling herself and the mage along the edge of the dock; it seemed an eternity until she reached the gravel boat ramp. She grunted in frustration and exertion as she dragged the mage out of the water one lurching step at a time. She collapsed next to him, laying still for a moment to gather her strength and catch her breath.
Water dripped into her face from loose tendrils of her hair as she leaned over the mage's still form - Zoya pushed them out of her way with impatient fingers, wishing for a leather thong to tie her hair back. His chilled nose brushed her cheek as she hovered over him, the lack of breath against her skin sending a wave of terror through her. She pressed an ear against his chest, holding her breath as she strained to find a heartbeat. Relief flooded her as she heard it - a faint but steady drumming. Zoya yanked open his robes, her hands searching for the place where the Templar had run him through. Now that they were out of the cold water, the ragged wound above the center of his chest was bleeding freely. Zoya instinctively reached for her power, staring hopefully at her hand and willing it to glow, but she felt nothing. She cursed under her breath as she hastily tore the sleeves off her tunic, firmly pressing the fabric into the wounds on either side of his chest and anchoring them in place with a wide strip from her skirt.
The mage's cold, waxy skin and blue-tinged lips added to Zoya's apprehension; he wouldn't survive if she couldn't get him breathing again. She had once been apprenticed to the Alienage's midwife, and she recalled how the elderly woman had restarted a child's breathing. Taking a deep breath, she pressed her mouth against his cold lips, forcing air into him. It took a few tries before she finally saw the mage's chest rise and fall as she breathed for him. After some time, the effort began to take its toll; her lungs burned and stars swam before her eyes. Just when she thought she would have to give up, she felt him convulse; she rolled him onto his side so his body could push the water out of his lungs. Tears welled in her eyes; she hadn't truly realized how much she needed this human to live until she heard him take that first gasping breath.
Desperate eyes skimmed the docks as she sought a way to move him to the safety of the tunnel, then lit with inspiration when she spotted a small wooden canoe resting near the top of the ramp. Zoya's heart leapt, and she dragged it over. The mage was tall and lanky, but he was no lightweight; she struggled to roll him into the craft. At least now she wouldn't hurt him further by hauling him over the gravel. The hempen tow rope, now secured around her waist, cut into her through the thin fabric of her tunic as she strained to move the boat one agonizing footstep at a time. To Zoya's ears, the noise of wood over rock seemed deafening - someone could appear at any moment to investigate, and an anxious lump rose in her throat.
The sun was cresting the horizon by the time she reached the panel. She triggered it and pulled them both into the cool darkness before sagging back against the panel in relief and exhaustion. The mage's breath rattled in his chest as it became increasingly irregular, renewing her sense of urgency. She grunted in frustration as she dragged the small craft and its passenger through the dark tunnel.
Hope fueled her feet - the farther she got from the area impacted by the Templar's power, the more likely it was that her magic would return. She stopped for a moment to reach for her power, feeling it sputter hesitantly before setting one of her hands aglow. Zoya fought the urge to whoop triumphantly. She knew it wasn't much farther until she reached her destination, an old slave cell located in a side tunnel - Adaia had called it her "bolt hole." It would be a safe place to keep the mage until she learned whether he was trustworthy. Gripping the mage under his arms, she hauled him as gently as she could onto the sleeping platform in the cell. He groaned in pain and struggled against her weakly as she moved him.
Dread clawed at her gut as she stripped him of his robes and pulled away the bandages to better assess his injuries; only once before had she seen damage so grievous. A network of cuts and angry bruises canvassed his skin. But beyond that, the ragged wounds had reopened when she moved him, and fresh blood pooled at an alarming rate.
Zoya reached deep inside herself, opening the tear in the Veil wider than she'd ever risked before and collecting the magic to channel for healing. She took a deep breath, stilling her mind and quieting her self-doubt. Both hands glowed with golden light as they traversed his inert form, assessing his injuries. The most serious wound was from the Templar's sword; the blade had missed his heart but had pierced his lungs, which were now heavy with fluids. Rolling him over, she placed a hand on either side of his chest to cover the entry and exit wounds, visualizing her healing magic traveling through him between her hands. Adaia had taught her that the magic wanted to return the flesh to a healthy state; her job was to channel the magic and guide it to where it was most needed.
Her body shook and she gasped for air from the strain of knitting flesh and bone and clearing lungs filled with fluid. She sensed she was near a breaking point, but she couldn't cease her efforts until her magic failed or she was sure he was no longer in immediate danger. Once his chest wound was sufficiently healed, her hands moved to hover over his head, mending the hidden damage deep within his skull. But she soon felt her magic sputtering and her control faltering again; she withdrew her hands, hoping that she had done enough.
Zoya collapsed against the back wall of the cell, her eyes slamming shut and her whole body shaking with exhaustion. A heavy sigh escaped her lips as she ended her brief rest and pushed herself to unsteady feet. She needed to go to the apartment to retrieve supplies - food, water, potions, and clothing. And her cousins would soon wake and wonder where she had gone; she had to go back or risk them raising an alarm. If she was lucky, the mage would remain unconscious until she returned.