Part II
9:32 Dragon. The Starkhaven Circle is temporarily shut down, with the remaining mages and templars sent to the surrounding cities of the Free Marches.
9:33 Dragon. Sebastian Vael avenges his parents, killing Johane Harimann.
9:34 Dragon. The viscount of Kirwkall, Marlowe Dumar, is murdered by the Qunari. A Ferelden refugee and known associate of Sebastian Vael kills the Arishok during the First Battle of Kirkwall thus ending the siege, and is named Champion of Kirkwall.
9:37 Dragon. A rogue apostate named Anders destroys the Kirkwall Chantry igniting tensions between mages and Templars throughout Thedas.
9:38 Dragon. Sebastian Vael returns to Starkhaven.
9:31 Dragon, Spring.
Hues of pink and lavender colored the blurry images as Samantha opened her eyes. Her back was warm. Her chest was cool. Her head was filled with after-images that made no sense.
It took a few moments to wake, to push herself up from the cool grass and sit upright, squinting hard under a high sun. There was dirt on her nightdress and in her eyes and mouth, and she pawed at her face before she coughed it out, but the pain that ached from her neck down her chest made her stop almost immediately. Reaching up to her neck, she now felt the immediate tenderness and soreness and then she remembered.
Innley.
She licked dry lips with a dry tongue and blinked dry, dusty eyes. When she dragged a hand across the sore, crackling lids, she momentarily forgot the terror of the memory, because as she blinked, clearing her vision, she could see that she was in the middle of a field of wildflowers and there was an enormous tree not far away. She coughed again without being able to help it and stopped again almost as fast from the pain. The grass was tall, but she could see just over the tips of the soft browns, taupes, and greens of the foliage. Looking up into the sunshine was followed by immediate dizziness. Looking down to the dirt was followed by a lurch in her stomach. There were tiny flowers crushed under her. Pink and lavender.
It took a bit longer to work up the ability to stand, and as she tried, she realized how thirsty she was. How hungry she was. How dirty she was. How bruised she was. Inspecting herself, she found yellowish-green splotches on her knees implying the bruises were many days old, and the memory of falling hard onto her parent's bedroom floor reminded her how much that had hurt… in every possible way. She found another bruise on her arm about halfway up to her shoulder, a long gash that was red and itching that stretched the length of her other arm, and while she couldn't see her back, she imagined there was a bruise there as well, given how much it ached. But her throat—her throat was the worst of it.
Once standing, she staggered a bit, her legs feeling too flimsy to support her as she turned about. A hand over her brow to shield the too-bright sunshine revealed her true surroundings and she saw off in the distance a city. It had to be Starkhaven. The chantry's spires were visible from the field.
Corbinian flashed across her memory like lightning and Samantha had a thought that maybe he was in the field with her somewhere, but her search proved fruitless, not just because she was so tired, not because of the pain, and not because her head swam with thirst and hunger, but because the field was too big for her to search on her own. She would have to send some guards out to search for him.
So she did the only thing she could: she started walking back to Starkhaven. Though the city was on the horizon, it turned out to be much farther than she anticipated; it took her more than an hour to reach it. During the trek, she had plenty of time to think. To remember every moment that lingered painfully, punctuated with images and smells and sounds and horrors too terrible to dwell on. More than once, she fell to her tender knees to vomit but just ended up dry-heaving because her stomach was empty. When she reached up to hold her neck again – the pain and soreness was unbelievable – she realized that the skin was bare. The locket was gone.
A bout of panic seized her aching throat, and she spun about on those painful knees, looking back at where she had come from, trying to remember if she had seen the locket on the ground where she woke up, but she remembered only the flowers beneath her. There was no locket there; it would have been shining out like a beacon under the glare of the sun. Maybe it was back at her estate. Maybe it was somewhere in between. Her mind began to search places far away that were surely disturbed in her absence – however long that had been.
Finding strength she didn't know she had, Samantha dragged her feet across the cool underbrush of the field, and each step took more effort than the last. Occasionally she stepped on something that hurt like a sharp twig or a rock.
But nothing hurt as badly as her heart. Because of Innley. There was no use pretending that he could be saved. He was an abomination. There is no cure for possession. The Grand Cleric's words rang in her head like the chantry bells, sermons flying across her youth like warning flags, one after another peppered with words like abomination and demon and monster. And it was all true, Samantha thought.
Her withered body wouldn't release tears as she remembered her father, and the last look in his eyes before he…. And her throat wouldn't allow any wailing when she wondered how long her mother lived after Innley— Samantha couldn't even say the words inside her own head. Her body would have let her fall to the earth and into the arms of the Maker, but Corbinian was out there somewhere and she had to go back to Starkhaven to organize a search party.
Starkhaven.
She remembered the thick black smoke pouring from the Circle tower and the streets blanketed in the smog, and she considered the possibility that it might not be safe to return. She worked through the logic of going back, but there was no other choice, really. She would likely die of dehydration if she didn't get something to drink in the next day. There was only one way to survive and if that meant walking into a demon-filled death trap… well, perhaps her death would be a kindness. So while Samantha wasn't sure He was still watching over her, she placed her life in the hands of the Maker, and prayed to Andraste to convince Him to let her live.
Once she made it to the cobblestone path that led to the eastern gates of Starkhaven, she knew that it was safe. For one, there were guards posted on the parapets and several more were milling about on the drawbridge, pointing off to the ramparts in the far distance and then out into the fields beyond the city's gates. As if they were in recovery mode. A guard must have spotted her ambling towards the gate, because someone ran out to meet her arriving quickly.
Samantha didn't recognize the woman, and she was wrong about assuming she was part of the Starkhaven city guard. She was a Templar.
"Oh, you're in bad shape. Come on, then." The woman lifted Samantha like she weighed nothing, carrying her to the group of other Templars and before Samantha let herself pass out, she heard a male Templar say, "Hey, I know her…"
Mercury eyes. Purple horns. The clang of metal against metal. The shuffle of a dozen footsteps. Laughing. Endless laughing….
She didn't know how long she slept, but she woke up in a dark room, on a soft bed, underneath a set of white sheets. There was a glass of water and a bit of bread on the table next to her and she took several gulps before her stomach started to lunge in protest and she instinctively stopped. As she nibbled on the bread, she heard voices in the hallway.
"Where did she come from?" a man asked, and his accent was Orlesian.
"Not sure, ser," a woman said. "She was walking from the east. Nothing out there but grass and dirt."
"Has she been evaluated?"
"Yes, ser. She is no mage."
"That's not what I meant." There was a long stretch of silence, and then: "All right. See what she knows."
"Me?" the girl asked, surprised.
"Yes," came the forceful reply. "You."
"I thought you would—"
"Do I need to ask someone else?"
"No, ser!" Her voice changed to obedient. "Right away, ser."
The man's heavy footsteps could be heard fading away down the hallway and then the female Templar appeared in the doorway. Her figure was clearly smaller than the armor she was wearing and she shrugged a little, adjusting her pauldrons. When she spoke, she sounded formal.
"You're awake, then? That's good."
"Where—?" Samantha's voice cracked and she reached over to take more sips of water.
"You're in the chantry." The woman stepped into the room and Samantha could see her face a bit more clearly. Her blonde hair stopped just short of her shoulders and a shelf had been cut to fall just above her striking blue eyes. Her skin was a few shades lighter than Samantha's, marking her as a foreigner to Starkhaven. "I'm Ruvena. What's your name?"
Swallowing the gulp of water was an effort, but she managed, rasping out, "Samantha Mayweather."
"Mayweather?" Ruvena seemed alarmed.
She thought she might start crying when Ruvena said her name. She was now the last Mayweather.
Ruvena reclaimed her composure. "How do you feel?"
Samantha shook her head, lifting her hand to her neck; it was still tender, but the soreness was greatly improved. But her throat was still on fire, and she took another gulp of water.
"A healer has been in to see to your injuries," Ruvena said, watching Samantha closely. "It looked like you were… choked. Beat up."
Samantha nodded through the memory and then she frowned. "Beenie."
"Sorry?" Ruvena stepped closer, not recognizing the epithet.
"Corbinian Vael." Samantha eked out his name. "I was with him… the last I remember…"The Templar's expression changed then as she stood up a little straighter, taking a very deep and long breath. "I'm sorry, but I need to ask you a few questions."
"Corbinian—!"
Ruvena looked distinctly uncomfortable.
"Please! Check the field—!" Samantha broke down into a fit of coughing before she could finish.
The Templar's gaze darted to the door. "I'll… I'll have someone check."
"He could be dying!" she croaked past the pain in her throat.
"Okay, okay!" Ruvena held out her hands, and she looked panicked. "I'll be back."
When she left, Samantha curled up against the pillow, feeling no relief as she drifted off into a restless dream of Innley, his black teeth razor sharp and his jaw opening wide, trying to devour her. She wanted to move, but she just stood there unable to move, and then she could hear the laughing again in all of its agonizing glory and Samantha shot up, bringing her hands to her eyes. There was a woman in a Chantry robe that just held her as she cried, whispering calming things, but the images were burned into her mind and she tried to keep her eyes open as long as she could so she didn't have to see them again.
Days passed, and healers came and went. Sisters arrived to pray, but Samantha just cried more at their impassioned words to the Maker. Beautiful words, sometimes in song and other times spoken in whispers, about love and forgiveness, about reliance and strength. She asked about Corbinian, but none of the sisters had any answers.
On the fourth day, a former member of the Starkhaven Royal Guard who was now a Templar recruit, named Hugh, arrived to inform her that they had searched the field in which Samantha had woken up, but found nothing. He also came to ask her questions, though the term ask wasn't as clearly defined as Samantha thought. Hugh's interrogation, about mages and demons and what she remembered, prompted a fit of hysterical weeping that convinced everyone that Samantha had not aided the escaping mages.
Despite her personal tragedy, she learned that many of the nobles of Starkhaven had suffered similar tragedies. Arianna Marziano and her mother had survived by locking themselves in their wine cellar. Lord Marziano had donned his armor and his bow and stayed upstairs to protect his family. They never saw him again; no corpse, no sign of trouble, no nothing. It was like he had just disappeared into thin air. The Garritys, the Fortneys, and the widow Lady Preston had all survived with their own contingents of guards protecting their estates. The Luxleys had taken shelter beneath their home and barely survived the night, for they would later describe nightmarish sounds that came from the other side of their barricade. No one would ever doubt them once the door to the shelter was examined, because it was covered from one end to the other in long, deep gashes that resembled claw marks. Lord Kendall had passed away during the tragic evening; the stress caused his heart to simply stop.
It was Ser Traven who told her about the Vaels.
Samantha would have thought her tragedy the worst: her mage brother coming back to kill her parents right in front of her, but that was before she heard that the entirety of the Vael family had been brutally murdered. Down to the last child. The prince. The princess. Both of their sons. Their sons' wives. Their sons' children: four in total, ranging in age from two to seven. And both of Corbinian's parents.
Goran Vael was the lone survivor.
Corbinian was thought to have died in the Circle Tower, but the lack of a corpse and Samantha's account of seeing him on her doorstep that night contradicted these reports. After an investigation, the official story of his death was changed to possession. It was a fate that seemed entirely implausible to Samantha; Corbinian was strong, a fighter, he would never succumb to a demon. Ever. But her Beenie never came to the Chantry. He never sent any letters or flowers and no one had seen him.
He couldn't be dead. Samantha's mind refused to believe what her heart wrenched over, wracking her body until she couldn't take it any more.
When she wasn't tortured by Innley in her nightmares, she was haunted by Corbinian at every turn. Corners of the chantry that they had snuck into, phrases and memories that surfaced about the past, the future. She looked at her hands and saw them without his, she watched the bruises on her body heal and felt pangs of sorrow, because they were the last remnants of the time she had with him – no matter that she couldn't remember. And she fought hard to remember them, tormented with her eyes both open and closed because the answers were so clear in her dreams and left so quickly when she rejoined the waking world. She wanted to live her life asleep, comforted by memory alone. She routinely woke up screaming, managed to lose more weight before they put her on a special diet to make her gain it back, and couldn't talk without either crying or vomiting.
The horrors, the memories, the dreams. It had become a jumble in her mind. What was real and what was imagined? Was she awake? What did it matter when both were a different version of the same horror?
The healers said she was traumatized, and the physical symptoms were manifestations from her emotional and psychological trauma. They threw around big words. Samantha thought that maybe her body was alive, but her spirit was with Corbinian, and she felt angry that the Maker would spare her but take her Beenie to place at his side. No, he wasn't dead; was he?
They told her that four days had passed after the destruction of the Circle before she turned up outside Starkhaven's gates. Four days. Just gone. Several mages who were gifted with insight offered to help her, but she thought of Innley every time she saw someone's hands glow and refused. Fortunately, the healers didn't need to see her anymore, because after the first bout of screaming, they never came back. She had ignored Grand Cleric Francesca's warnings about magic and mages before. She would heed them now.
Ser Traven came to visit her often. His was the voice she heard at the city gates when Ruvena carried her back through. Ruvena wasn't actually a Templar, Samantha learned later. She was just a recruit and she and several other recruits, including Hugh, had left for Kirkwall shortly after that day she visited Samantha in the chantry. Because the Circle Tower had burned down, there was nowhere to put the mages, therefore it was quickly decided by the Chantry that those mages that remained would be sent to neighboring cities until the Starkhaven Circle could be rebuilt. In a matter of days, the Chantry of Orlais sent reinforcements to the city where they would accompany mages and Templars from Starkhaven to other cities: Nevarra City, Kirkwall, Tantervale, and Ostwick. It was a manageable affair, mostly because more than two-thirds of the mages in the Starkhaven Circle had either died or escaped.
That list of escapees included the name, Innley of Starkhaven.
Samantha did not correct the surname. Whatever he was, he wasn't her brother anymore, and the only person who knew this was Ser Traven. Samantha was grateful for a familiar and strong presence, because no matter how many times others came to visit her, mages were less terrifying when there was a Templar around.
She stayed at the Chantry for a little while, because she no longer had a home. After the destruction of the Circle, a thorough search of the city had produced a list of all those who still lived, the identified dead, and those who were presumed dead. They had named it the Survivor's Index, but everyone had been calling it The List. Samantha's name turned up on the presumed-dead list along with Corbinian's, given the state of their respective families and eyewitness accounts, thus her estate had gone into probate. She had spent another ten-day in the chantry before someone thought to reverse her status to alive, which then caused a stir throughout Granite Circle.
Two days later, she was told that Goran Vael had come to see her but she had been sleeping and he had insisted the sisters not wake her. She figured he had come to talk about Corbinian.
A day after that, a broad-shouldered woman with long hair as black as the night came to visit. She wore the uniform of the Starkhaven Royal Guard and called herself Keis but also held the title of Specialist – the only one with such a title. She claimed to have fought beside Corbinian the night the Circle tower was destroyed, before everyone had become separated in the smoke, but her visit wasn't sentimental; she was there at the behest of Goran Vael. The new Prince of Starkhaven. The person who had appropriated Samantha's estate.
Her family's belongings were being catalogued for auction because the city needed funds to recover, and since everyone thought there was no living heir—and Samantha's uncle had been absent for so long that it was assumed he was either dead or he had no interested in the estate. Her family's estate was frozen, and she couldn't even step inside her once-home. Samantha's return to life had halted all of that. She was informed by members of the Chantry that she would need to start some formal bureaucratic process to reclaim her estate.
During her recovery, all the nobles of Starkhaven sent her cards offering her a home and near-royal treatment – they still considered her royalty, despite the lack of a wedding. Perhaps it was because they loved Corbinian more than Goran. He had been the taller one, more handsome, the stronger, the fighter, he had more confidence, and of course he had taken the Oath. Many were as distraught as Samantha at his passing, at least they made it seem that way.
While she healed, Samantha spent her time in the chantry figuring out what to do. The sisters and brothers told her not to rush herself; the answers would come, but she needed to grieve. It was not comforting to hear them say that she needed to feel pain. They were supposed to give her comfort but instead implied that they couldn't heal her despair.
"You should eat more," Traven said one day, sitting down next to her in the chantry's pews. He had stayed behind with the Knight Commander and First Enchanter Raddick to help rebuild.
It wasn't a day of service, but Samantha often spent her days in the Chantry pews, staring up at the statue of Andraste. A monumental pile of stone sculpted to look like a person. Samantha sometimes felt envious of her – she had been blessed with death at the moment she lost everything that mattered to her.
"We just need to find out what she likes." Keis took a seat on the opposite side, and Samantha wasn't sure why she was hanging around but felt too apathetic to dwell on it. "Hugh always liked oranges. Sometimes they would have some in the kitchen at the royal palace – you know how Lady Vael loved those mimosas—?" Traven smiled as he nodded. "We used to hang out in the kitchen and swipe slices. Man… I'd kill for an orange."
"They don't have oranges anymore?"
"His Highness doesn't like them," Keis stated this as a matter of record.
Samantha turned a set of tired eyes to Keis, "Goran likes desserts. If you find one made with oranges, he'll have them imported."
"She speaks!" Traven grinned. "Praise Andraste!"
Samantha gave a small smile.
"Careful," Traven warned. "Your face might crack."
But it already had. A thousand tiny cracks that traveled the length of her body and at any moment a breeze would sweep through the room and waft Samantha away, piece by piece.
"Now make her eat something, Keis. I'll see you later, kid." Traven placed a metal-gloved hand on her shoulder before he left. It was cold and heavy.
"The prince asked me to check on you." Keis' voice made the task sound routine.
"Goran?" This seemed strange to Samantha.
"High Highness," she corrected. "He wants to make sure you're taken care of."
"I've had many offers from the nobles about town."
"He wanted me to relay that the palace is open to you."
"So he sent a guard?" Samantha had a passing thought that the Prince of Starkhaven likely had an arsenal of squires and pages at his disposal to deliver all sorts of mundane messages such as this one.
"I'm not a guard – I'm your guard."
Well, of all the strange news that had been floating across the city, this had to be the strangest. Why would Goran assign Samantha her own personal guard? Keis' face was stone just like Andraste's, unreadable, and it didn't seem like she was going to volunteer any information.
Samantha sighed at having to ask, "Why?"
Keis never hesitated before she spoke. "If His Highness saw fit to assign me the sole responsibility of safeguarding your life, then he must have his reasons. Perhaps you should ask him."
"I'm asking you."
"He didn't order me to answer your questions. This is a courtesy."
She was so rude! "I don't need a guard."
Keis looked up at the statue of Andraste where Samantha's gaze had been affixed for weeks. Her smooth stone face, her blank stone eyes—no pupils, no eyelashes—her mouth an unwavering line, and her hair covered by what looked like a robe or a shroud. She was frozen in time. Who she was when she died was how she had always been and always would be. Everything before and after her death was wrought in an ever-changing landscape of politics and geography, of faith and violence, of slavery and dragons, of a world that Samantha felt so unrecognizable, she couldn't even begin to fathom it. Just as the world was now.
And then Keis asked, "Do you think anyone truly loved Andraste before she died?"
Samantha's eyes widened – Keis was speaking blasphemy, or she was about to.
Keis continued, still looking up at the statue: "Her parents? Not her husband. Maybe her followers, but they could have just been following a cause."
"This is the Chantry—!" Samantha's hissed, and she couldn't believe that this woman would openly question Andraste's followers.
But when Keis turned back, Samantha regretted ever crossing her for her moss-green eyes were thick with intent and her voice was darker than a nightmare. "Because clearly, no one ever loved her enough to guard her with their life, to sacrifice themselves in order to save her from that stake. She died surrounded by people who hated her and a man who took pity on her."
Samantha shrunk into the pew – who was this woman?
"Someone loved you enough to ask me to die for you and I accepted the responsibility as my duty to the city of Starkhaven, to the prince, His Royal Highness, and to my friend and captain, Corbinian Vael." Her eyes narrowed, burning holes into Samantha. "You may ask why and you may even get an answer, but do not tell me my duty is unnecessary, that forfeiting my life for yours is frivolous. It is an insult."
Samantha was afraid to speak but managed to whisper, "I'm sorry."
Keis turned those eyes back to the stone statue of the prophetess. "Andraste killed thousands of people on her Exalted March to free slaves – as she had been a slave. And though the world demonized her at the time, she held onto her conviction even though they eventually killed her for it. Just like those mages did." And then she added, importantly: "Just like Innley did."
The fact that she was comparing the renegade, murderous mages to the prophetess Andraste was shocking, but that name was a knife to Samantha's gut: Keis knew about her brother.
"That kind of conviction, that blind devotion to an ideology, it can lead someone to do all sorts of things." Her voice matched her gaze, steady and threatening. "Things like return to a city to hunt down those they didn't kill the first time around. To find and destroy all that they blame for their lot in life. Can you think of anyone with that kind of intent?"
Samantha thought of Innley: he had intended to kill her that night. It was part of the plan, yet she had ran from that room to find Corbinian on her doorstep with that— What that was, Samantha didn't want to believe. Maybe mages could come back, maybe demons who had been cheated would come back, maybe assassins sent in their place… These scenarios seemed outrageous and frightening.
"Suffice to say…" Keis leaned back in the pew, as though satisfied at having terrified Samantha into submission. "The prince would see that you continue to live."
"But the city is safe now. It's secure," Samantha dared to say.
Keis' eyes drifted to the corners, to Samantha. "This is not over. There will be more deaths. Just not yours."
And at Keis' words, Samantha slumped down in the pew, crumbling into a ball and trying not to cry in front of Andraste, who never cried, who never screamed in fear, who never even resented being burned at the stake.