A/N - Before I get sidetracked, I want to thank (as always) my brilliant and supportive beta, Eve Hawke. And please be sure to check out my newest companion one-shot, "The King's Pups."
I feel the need to start this chapter with a brief reminder... This story is AU. I'm sure that some of you will be delighted with where I take things in this chapter, while others will gnash their teeth and perhaps even vow to stop reading this story (although I truly hope not). But this is the story that I've been wanting to tell from the beginning, and I feel it would be a disservice to chicken out now...
Zoya clenched her eyes tight against the frigid blackness sliding over her. As she emerged on the other side of the mirror, an icy constriction around her chest forced the air from her lungs. Andraste's great flaming ass – I can't feel anything beyond it! The band only seemed to tighten as her panic rose.
When she forced opened her eyes, nothing was visible in the disorienting darkness. Taking slow, shallow breaths, she willed her heart to calm. Her skin prickled as sensation returned above the band. She sighed in relief when she realized one of her hands still clung to Theron's belt. The thick leather cut into her palm and her knuckles ached under the strain - even so, she tightened her grip.
She ran a tentative hand along her torso, snatching it back once her fingers contacted the frigid surface of the mirror at the point where she lost feeling. Bile rose in her throat, her heart pounding. Calm yourself… the rest of you is still there. Her progress through the ancient artifact seemed to have been halted – maybe Duncan had caught hold of her and would pull them back through. Hope bloomed, and she clung to it with the same tenacity as the Dalish's belt.
Struggling past the rawness of her throat and lungs, she called out weakly to the motionless elf. "Theron? Can you hear me? Please get up…" Maker… please be alright…
The only response was furtive movement and snarling growls echoing in the murky darkness. The sound of rasping breath and metal dragging across something, maybe leather, turned her blood to ice. In desperation, she reached for her magic, recoiling in revulsion as she found only the slithering blackness of the mirror. And there was nothing she could physically do, stuck between here and there with no control over more than half her body. I wonder what this must look like from the other side, because from this side I must look like one of those trophy beasts in the Denerim palace… A bitter chuckle erupted from her lips. I suspected my life would end on a darkspawn sword, but I never imagined it would be quite so soon. Duncan… help me…
She clenched her eyes shut again, hot tears burning behind her lids. Images of those she loved most – Shianni, Soris, her father, and Duncan - flitted through her mind. But it was her mother's image she clung to. If she was lucky, maybe she'd see her in the Beyond and finally get a chance to ask for forgiveness.
"Keep her alive…" A terrifying voice hissed from the darkness, slicing through her thoughts as surely as a sword.
Her eyes flew open to search the gloom, her skin crawling at the sound of that voice. By the Void, who… or what...? Strong hands clamped down on her arms, trying to yank her further into the chamber. Her shoulders and elbows screamed in protest, the joints audibly popping. With her free hand, she pried at those vice-like fingers, bile rising once more as her fingertips scraped along scaly skin.
Let go of Theron! Free your other hand to fight! If you pass through the mirror, you'll be lost. She cried out, giving voice to the fear and frustration building within her, a terrible howl echoing in the darkness. As those fearsome hands released one of her arms, she flailed out blindly, her arm making contact with an audible crunch of bone.
There was no warning before her world exploded in light and pain.
~oOo~
The Dalish darting toward the mirror caught him off guard. It happened so fast, and Duncan was in no position to stop him. He should have realized Theron wouldn't give up on his lost comrade. It was unfortunate – the young elf would have been a promising recruit had he chosen to live.
Zoya would be devastated - she'd given so much to keep Theron alive, but eventually she'd have to learn that not everyone could be saved. Turning to offer words of comfort to the girl, his heart thudded hollowly when he realized the place where she'd stood was now empty. The flash of red streaking past in Theron's wake froze the blood in his veins. Andraste's flaming sword! Zoya – what do you think you're doing? Willing his feet to move, he took chase.
Zoya wouldn't really try to stop Theron from going through the mirror, would she? His face twisted in a grimace as the girl grabbed hold of the Dalish's belt just as he hit the rippling surface. Of course she would… Once again, the little elf's heart had won out over her brain. Despite hauling back with everything she had and anchoring herself on one of the statues, she was being dragged in behind him.
"Zoya!" His voice caught in his throat. "Damn it, girl… let him go!" There's no way I'm going to reach her before she's pulled through. "No!" He bellowed as her head and shoulders disappeared into the swirling blackness. Finally reaching the top of the platform, he lunged for her. Please… don't let me lose her! As his fingers closed around one of the thick straps crossing her back, he loosed a sigh of relief - now he just had to drag her back out. Planting his feet as he wrapped an arm around her waist, he shifted his weight back. But something was holding her in place, keeping him from yanking her free.
I should have destroyed the mirror as soon as the darkspawn were cleared from the room. Duncan shook his head, pushing away the maelstrom of his thoughts. This was not the time for what-if's – he needed to focus on fighting his tug-of-war with the mirror. As the dark tendrils wrapped further down her torso, he dug deeper, drawing on every bit of his strength to haul her back through. Groaning from the strain of it, he gritted his teeth as the darkness licked at him, its frigid bite cutting through his armor. His back and legs shook with the effort, his arms feeling like they'd tear free from their sockets. He'd never been a religious man, but even so, his eyes slipped shut and he sent silent prayers to the Maker, to Mythal, even to Adaia.
There was no warning when Zoya went limp, and the mirror suddenly released her. As they both tumbled backwards, Duncan curled around the little elf, trying to keep her from slamming against the stone. The sound of his armor scraping against it echoed in his ears before they came to rest at the base of the platform, and he eased her to the ground. He'd seen so much blood in his lifetime, but seeing it sheeting down the girl's face from the ragged cut above her temple… the bile rose in his throat and his hands shook. "Zoya?" She was still as death, her face ashen. "Stay with me, little magpie…"
His eyes frantically swept the room. The Keeper's First – surely having her here was the next best thing to Marethari. When he spotted the remaining Dalish, they were cautiously approaching the mirror. "Get away from there – unless you want to join your clanmate." He growled, "You… Merrill… Zoya needs your help."
The elf only gaped at him, "I… I do not have any healing magic…"
Of all the useless… Duncan clenched his jaw, choking back the vile words bubbling in his throat. "Fine…. Bring me my pack." As the young elf scrambled to obey, he tried to focus his chaotic thoughts, to distance himself from his feelings for Zoya. She's just another recruit, a rather valuable one at that… stop the blood, get a potion down her throat, get her back to Marethari, get her to Ostagar. Maker… don't take her from me now…
He could feel the darkspawn corruption coursing through her, the vile blackness spreading like fire in dry grass. His thoughts raced. The sooner it was contained and the Joining completed, the better. It had only taken two days for Theron to be incapacited, and his exposure was less than Zoya's. Even with her healthy, it would probably have taken at least two days to get to Ostagar from the Dalish camp. And then it would take another day after they arrived to prepare for the Joining. But if he sent word to Alistair to have everything ready before they arrived… Maker! Why didn't I immediately destroy that mirror?
Pouring some of the health potion on a bandage, he handed it to Merrill. "Make yourself useful, girl – press this to the wound to stop the bleeding while I try to get the rest of this potion down Zoya's throat. Just not too hard – it looks like she took a pretty hefty blow. You at least know how to bandage a wound, correct?"
The young elf avoided his eyes, "I do not think I can… the blood…" She swallowed hard, looking as if she was about to be ill.
Maker help me! Duncan glanced skyward, taking a deep breath as he fought the urge to throttle her. "By the Void, girl…"
The other Dalish swooped in, taking the bandage from her as he knelt. He offered Duncan an apologetic nod as he tended to Zoya's wound.
Cradling Zoya's jaw in his hand, Duncan used his thumb to part her lips, pouring the red liquid into her mouth. Adaia had once left him alone with the girl as a feverish toddler, instructing him to pour potions down her throat when her temperature spiked. He felt that same frustrated helplessness now as more of the liquid dribbled from her mouth than went down her throat. But at least that child had sputtered and coughed, showing some sign of protest - this young woman showed no sign of life at all.
Duncan had never been very good at feeling helpless, and he'd be damned if he started moaning and wringing his hands now. Easing Zoya's head gently to the stone, he rose to his feet, drawing his sword as he stalked up the stairs. The two Dalish cried out in protest as he swung the silverite blade at the mirror, their voices mingling with the sound of glass shards raining down on the stone platform. Ignoring their glares, he returned to Zoya, carefully gathering her in his arms. She felt so small, so light. As her head started to roll on her neck, he shifted her so it rested against his chest.
To the Void with that idiot Dalish! If he'd obeyed the Keeper, if he'd not stupidly thrown himself at the mirror… Rage threatened to erupt, and he forced the words through his clenched jaw, fixing dark eyes on the remaining Dalish. "You'll provide escort as we return to the camp. If further harm comes to Zoya, if we don't make it to your Keeper in time, I'll hold the two of you responsible. And then you'll be wishing I'd just fed you to the darkspawn horde instead…"
~oOo~
The return to the Dalish camp was torturous, reminding Duncan of fleeing similar ruins with an injured Adaia secured in his arms so many years ago. Each step he took may have brought him closer to the skilled healer waiting for him at the end of the journey, but it also meant the possibility of further injury to Zoya and more moments of that disturbing stillness.
Trying not to let his focus turn to the shallow breathing and ashen skin of his ward as they sped along the now familiar path to the camp, Duncan instead traveled through his memories. How many times had he held a much smaller Zoya – cradling her when she was hurt or upset or letting her nestle into him when she drifted off to sleep?
Duncan hadn't stayed for long once he and Adaia returned to Denerim. The baby's pointed ears had decided their return to the city, clearly telling them whose child she was and where she'd live. Instead, he'd headed off to the Deep Roads of Orzammar, resuming his Grey Warden duties. It had been good to have something else to focus on besides the idea of Cyrion and Adaia bonding with their new daughter.
It was an uncharacteristically disheveled and exasperated Adaia that greeted him on the docks when he returned. She held the fussing infant out to him, desperation clear on her dainty features. "I don't understand… there's nothing physically wrong with her, but… She just cries and cries. I don't think I've truly slept in weeks…"
He reached out for the squirming little bundle of baby and blankets, snuggling her into him. Her breath tickled against his neck as he rocked her, humming until she'd quieted.
"Who would have thought the mighty commander had such a tender side." A deep voice sounded behind Duncan, "Maybe next time we're in the Deep Roads, you can try that little trick on the darkspawn – cuddle them into submission."
He'd paid a hefty price to buy Gregor's silence regarding his gentler side – two flagons of MacKay's and a month furlough. And while Duncan's uncanny ability to quiet the girl had vexed Adaia to no end, that never stopped her from taking advantage of it, not that he'd ever really minded. He'd lost count of how many flagons of whiskey or ale his fellow Wardens had extorted from him over the years to keep quiet about it.
Reuniting with the girl had been a double-edged sword. Spending this time with her had been better than he could have imagined, but it also reminded him how much he'd missed. They'd been so close when Zoya was younger. She'd been his shadow, those green eyes always watching and learning, absorbing everything he could teach. It had caught him by surprise in the ruins, watching her fight the darkspawn. She reminded him of himself at that age, leaping into the fray without giving much thought to the consequences. It was a good thing her skill was well beyond what his had been at that age. He could only imagine how good she'd be had he spent the last five years continuing to instruct her.
The guilt of walking away after Adaia's death was a band tightening around his chest. It wasn't a new feeling – it came whenever he thought of the blighted day when Valendrian told him she was gone. His regrets were a noose around his neck that threatened to drag him down into the dark depths. But in no way did he regret the time he'd spent with Adaia and Zoya.
His thoughts turned to how his heart had melted when he'd finally held Zoya for the first time. He could still see her tiny fingers and toes, hear her mighty howls, breathe in her sweet baby smell. From the first moment he'd laid eyes on her, he knew he was lost, that he wanted to be there for her, to be a part of her life. The ache in his chest grew. He'd held her shortly after she was born; the last thing he wanted was to have her die in his arms.
"Duncan! What has happened?" The Keeper's voice cut through his thoughts, her tone full of worry.
The flickering torches and large fire at the camp's center burned his eyes and sent a throbbing through his head. His tongue felt thick as he tried to speak, "Zoya's been injured… the darkspawn corruption…"
Marethari's gaze traveled over Zoya, still cradled in Duncan's arms, and the two Dalish trying to disappear into the background. "What are you two doing with the Wardens?" Her eyes widened in sudden realization. "Where is Theron?"
Duncan shook his head, "Gone… We don't have time to discuss this right now, Marethari. Zoya needs your help." His voice sounded ragged in his ears.
The Keeper strode forward, her magic slipping over the young elf. Her face paled, "Take her to my aravel, Duncan. I will see what I can do to help her." She turned to her First and the young hunter, her face full of barely restrained fury. "Do not go far. I will speak with you once Zoya is no longer in danger."
No words were spoken as they hurried through camp. Marethari ushered Duncan into her aravel, gesturing to the narrow bed. Zoya seemed so frail as Duncan carefully deposited her there. He couldn't pull his eyes free from her colorless face. "She hasn't shown any sign of life since I pulled her from the mirror…"
"Mirror? There was one of those tainted mirrors in the ruins?" Marethari's jaw tightened as her magic flowed over the young elf.
The soft glow of her healing energy filled the small quarters, taking the edge off Duncan's anxiety. "Yes. Theron and his companions arrived before I could destroy it. Tamlen apparently went through the cursed thing a couple days ago, and Theron followed today, nearly dragging Zoya through with him." The girl's fingers twitched in his, the small movement igniting hope within him. "Can you contain the darkspawn corruption in her like you did with Theron?"
"Yes, that should not be a problem." The Keeper raised her gaze to meet his, her expression softening. "But first, reach out with your Warden senses, Duncan. Tell me, do you feel the corruption growing within the girl?"
Duncan's brow furrowed in concentration, his eyes losing focus as he reached out to the young elf. He could feel the corruption, but it was less than it should be, as though her own body was fighting it off. How was such a thing even possible? His eyes locked with Marethari's, confusion contorting his face into a scowl. "Is this something from her mother? Fiona told me that Adaia seemed to have some natural resistance passed down through the generations from Garahel - that something within her blood gave her a better chance of fighting off the darkspawn filth than most. But from what I could sense, the corruption caused by coming into contact with darkspawn isn't as potent as that caused by the mirror. I didn't think this resistance could be so powerful after so many generations."
Their gazes shifted to the bed when Zoya groaned. Her fingers tightened on Duncan's as the other hand rubbed cautiously at her temple. Eyelids fluttering open, she peered at her elders and around the small space in consternation. "What happened?" Her eyes widened as she struggled to sit up, "Theron?"
Duncan shook his head, gently pressing her back to the bed with his free hand. He knew it was best to be blunt with the girl, but his gut churned at the thought of causing her further pain. "I'm sorry, Zoya, but I was only able to pull you from the mirror."
Her face twisted in grief, her eyes brimming with tears. "So it was all for nothing – he's lost." She swallowed convulsively, "Oh Maker… the darkspawn corruption…" Eyes clenching shut, she flinched as she called her magic forth, the golden glow blanketing her. When she opened them again, they were filled with bewilderment. "I don't understand… It doesn't feel like it did in Theron. I can sense it in me, but it seems less… I don't know… elusive? Maybe less potent? Like it's dispersing rather than growing."
"Let us take a moment to contain the corruption, and then I will do my best to answer any questions you may have." Marethari paused for Duncan and Zoya's nods of agreement. "Zoya, I would appreciate your assistance. You will need to maintain the magical seal, and it will not last forever, but it should keep you healthy until you are able to complete the Joining."
Marethari's eyes slipped shut as she sent her magic over the girl, and Zoya freed her magic to twine with the elder elf's. As a peacefulness settled over the aravel and the girl's face relaxed, Duncan loosed a deep sigh. Once the glow dissipated, he reached out to her with his Warden senses. But this time the corruption felt contained, trapped behind a magical barrier instead of racing through her body. When he nodded his head to confirm their success, the two elves exhaled.
The Keeper sank wearily into a chair, her hands folding in her lap. "I told you I had something I needed to share with you both. I only wish I'd had the chance to speak to you about it before today's sad events." She took a deep breath before regarding Zoya and Duncan with somber eyes. "What Fiona told you, Duncan, is only part of the story. Zoya may have inherited some natural resistance from Adaia's bloodline, but it's more likely her ability to endure the darkspawn corruption comes from her father."
Duncan's gaze shifted between the Keeper and Zoya. His heart froze in his chest. It comes from her father? "I don't understand… Cyrion also has a resistance to the corruption?"
Marethari clasped Duncan and Zoya's joined hands between her own, a sad smile tugging at her lips. "It is not Cyrion I speak of, Duncan."
Duncan reeled, confusion sending his world spinning. What was she saying? If not Cyrion, then who? The possibility hit him like a charging bronto. He sucked in a noisy breath, his eyes wide as he slumped on the bench alongside the bed, "It can't be. Adaia would have told me if Zoya was my child. She knew how much I wanted… Why would she have lied about that?" He turned his gaze on Zoya. The girl's bewildered eyes glistened with tears as they shifted between himself and the Keeper.
The Keeper's hands tightened on theirs, "Did she ever tell you outright that Zoya was Cyrion's offspring?"
He searched back through years of memories, trying to recall if they'd ever discussed Zoya's parentage or if Adaia had ever explicitly said that Cyrion was the girl's father. "No, I just assumed…" Duncan shook his head, "But she's an elf. The offspring of humans and elves are humans. I've seen it for myself. And I've never heard of an elf being the product of such a union."
"What you say is generally true. But there are always exceptions. It is up to the Creators to decide such things." Her eyes lost focus as she let herself slip into memory. "I have seen the proof of the girl's parentage with my own eyes, heard confirmation of it from Adaia's own lips."
Zoya cleared her throat, "Look… I know I took a pretty big blow to my head not long ago, but are you two actually suggesting that Duncan is my father? Assuming for a moment that what you say is true, how would such a thing even happen?" Zoya blushed as Duncan regarded her with a raised eyebrow, "I mean having a human parent but looking like an elf?"
Sitting back in her chair, the Keeper folded her hands. "It is not unheard of, just not spoken about. Imagine what this type of thing could do to the Elvhenan. The elf-blooded are held separate; many clans will exile the mother and child as soon as they are discovered. Most elves take comfort in knowing the elf-blooded are easily identified because they look human. But imagine what would happen if it was discovered that they can look elven. What if we had to start worrying that our mates were not truly what they appeared to be?"
Zoya swallowed hard, "We allow the elf-blooded to live among us in the Alienage, but they're treated with contempt by most. Very few stay for long, instead going to live among the humans. Andraste's ass… I don't understand… how is this even possible?"
"Does it matter how it is possible?" The Keeper searched Duncan and Zoya's faces. She sighed, "To be honest, we do not truly know. Fiona believed it was similar to how magic or the Grey Warden resistance to darkspawn corruption gets passed along. It may not occur in every child, or even every generation, but once in the bloodline, it can always show itself." She turned a pointed look at Duncan, "She spoke of Duncan's lineage, kept by the Wardens at Weisshaupt. It was incomplete, which suggested to Fiona that the untraced line may have been elven as the Chantry is normally meticulous about such records for humans."
Duncan lowered his head onto a hand, a pounding setting in that matched the one in his heart. Adaia… why didn't you tell me she was my daughter? "I think I need to know more about this proof of Zoya's parentage and what Adaia said about it."
Marethari suddenly looked very old, her face pinched as if in pain. "You must understand… Adaia truly felt she was doing the right thing in not telling either of you-"
He quirked an eyebrow, "And I'm starting to suspect that you didn't agree." Duncan's eyes lost focus as he slipped into memory. "I remember how furious you were with her the night Zoya was born. Was this why?"
"Yes, it was." The elder elf shook her head, "I think from the moment she realized she was with child, she suspected the baby was yours, Duncan. Once Fiona arrived, she confirmed that the strange taint Adaia sensed in her unborn child was similar to what she had felt during her own pregnancy; perhaps this was normal for the child of a Warden." Marethari raised her hand to stop a fidgeting Zoya from interrupting, "And we conducted magical tests to confirm parentage. Every result was the same, showing you to be the father. If that were not enough, when the babe was born, Adaia knew she had to be yours because of the timing. She was with you in the Wilds during the month that conception would have occurred."
"Well…" Zoya loosed a nervous chuckle, "It's hard to argue against so much evidence. My father, I mean Cyrion, must have suspected – maybe that's why he hated you so much, Duncan." The girl turned her gaze on him, her eyes searching his face before turning back to the Keeper. "But I still don't understand why my mother felt justified in keeping such a thing secret."
"There are so many reasons, da'len. The first goes back to what we have already discussed – the stigma of being elf-blooded and the damage that could come with the acknowledgment that human-elf children can be born that look no different from pure-blooded elves. And by acknowledging Duncan as your father, she was risking you both being exiled, outcast-"
"But we could have found a home together-" Duncan exclaimed.
"And would you have abandoned the Grey Wardens when you did so?" Marethari placed a hand over his, "For that is another reason Adaia did not wish to tell you. She feared you would abandon your duty so you could be there for her and Zoya. Even if you were to continue as a Warden, what would that have meant for your little family? Wardens must put duty first, which means loved ones are forsaken. Sacrifices are made for the greater good, are they not? And how would the Grey Wardens treat her and your child, one who seems to have inherited her father's resistance to the Taint?" She shook her head, "I told Adaia that she and Zoya would always have a home among this clan so long as I was Keeper. Even so, that Zoya is elf-blooded would have had to remain a secret, and she would not have been allowed to take a mate, or at least not have been allowed to bear children. For all these reasons, and more, Adaia was certain returning to the Alienage, hiding Zoya's true parentage, would be best for everyone-"
Zoya loosed an inelegant snort, "I'm sorry, but… really? She'd have needed to tell me at some point… Imagine the look on my poor husband's face when I popped out a round-eared baby. Ha! Nelaros certainly was lucky the whole marriage thing fell through. He'd probably have been quite upset that his new wife was defective, even beyond the whole magic thing." Her face grew pale, "Oh… Maker…"
Her laughter quickly turned to tears, and the sight and sound of it tore Duncan's heart to pieces. He moved to perch next to her on the bunk, and she curled into him, the sobs shuddering through her as she clung to the straps on his breastplate with a pale hand. "It's all been a lie, everything, my whole life… Shianni, Soris, Cyrion – they're not really my family. I knew she had secrets, but I had no idea… I don't even know who I am anymore. What am I, are we, supposed to do now?"
The Keeper rose to weary feet, "I will give you some time alone. I must see to my First and Fenarel. And I must ask Hahren Paivel to sing for the dead. We must offer Tamlen and Theron what peace we can, even if we cannot return their bodies to the ground." Her eyes glittered with tears as she turned to leave the aravel, "Please call for me if I am needed."
Duncan held Zoya as she loosed her grief, stroking her hair as he waited for her to quiet.
After some time she became still, her hand coming up to wipe at her face. "I'm sorry, Duncan. I shouldn't have… I didn't mean… It's not that I'm upset that you're my … it's just… I'm sorry…"
He sighed, brushing a stray tendril of hair from her face. "I understand. And you have nothing to be sorry for."
Zoya gripped his hands, red-rimmed eyes locking with his. "But that's just it. You've always understood. You've been there for me – listening, encouraging, supporting - even when you didn't know you were my…" She took a deep breath, "My father, my flesh and blood family."
Duncan squeezed her hands before releasing them to cup her face, "My little magpie… it never mattered to me if you were my flesh and blood." He cleared his throat, "So what now? I'm sure you have many questions you want to ask."
Her face shifted into a wry smile, "I suppose we should start with everything you can tell me about darkspawn corruption, the Taint, and this Joining. Do you have any more of that whiskey from earlier? I think we might need it..."