Leliana
Salem's hand strayed to her side as we approached the house. I frowned. She is hiding something from me, and it is not pain. I know this place disturbs her, as it does me, but she is concealing something. One would think, a surge of frustration, that after the incident with Marjolaine, Salem would realize her pride can be a detriment.
"Leliana," my love's voice jarred me from my thoughts, "are there any traps?"
Focus, I told myself. If I became too pre-occupied with Salem's well-being, she or I could wind up being hurt. I checked the seam of the door and the boards beneath our feet. Nothing. I tested the door and turned back to Salem, shocked.
"It is not locked." I said.
"Strange." she commented. "Haven must suffer a great deal of theft, security being so lax and commerce so great."
Wynne pursed her lips while I stifled a giggle. It had taken me a while to understand Salem's humor. Marjolaine's had been cutting, at another's expense, or a cruel, harsh, wittily delivered barb. Salem's humor had been a challenge, dark, dry, and deadpan. But she never mocked another in jest, only herself. It was an endearing, if difficult to understand, trait.
I edged the door open, blade at the ready. To my surprise, the heart was deserted. "It's safe." I whispered.
Salem edged past me, surprising me as her hand trailed lovingly down my arm. Unbidden, I smiled. Salem's affection was freely given, and shown at the strangest times. A wink in the midst of fighting, a kiss when I was drenched in sweat and blood...a caress as we infiltrated a place filled with potential danger.
Dear Maker, how I love her.
"Gods, heavens, and hells!" Salem backed against the wall, hand covering her mouth and nose. Alarm fired through me.
Noxious gas? I wondered. Not poison, not again.
I dashed into the room and the stench stole my breath. Not a trap, I realized, but the smell of death.
Wynne eased the door shut, concealing our infiltration.
"What in the Maker's name is causing this?" Salem asked. "It smells like blood."
I glanced around the room...gasped. An altar stood against the wall, soaked with blood. Scarlet smeared the wall, layer upon layer of death. Fresh blood dripped from it and pooled on the floor.
"An altar to the god of death." Wynne told her. "This is not even for blood magic." she sounded appalled by the thought. "This is just...human sacrifice."
"We..." I did not want to believe, "...we do not know that they were human."
"They were." Salem's voice sounded like winter itself. "There is no questioning the origin of that blood. What in hell have we stumbled into?"
"Salem, we are not safe here." Wynne continued. "We should leave. We should regroup."
"We don't have time." Salem began coughing in the putrid air.
I grasped her arm and eased her out of the door. We drank in the crisp air of the Frostback mountains. I rubbed Salem's back until the coughing eased, flashing back to the horrible vision of blood on her lips.
"Are you all right?" Wynne solicited.
"Fine." Salem caught her breath and stopped leaning against the wall.
No you are not. But I cannot press the issue here. Not when order must be maintained.
"Salem, you are frightfully pale." Morrigan appeared out of nowhere, Sten an ominous presence at her back. "Although the mountain snow is fierce competition."
"Did you find anything?" Salem had no time for Morrigan's barbs.
"A shopkeeper, rude as I have ever met." the witch drawled. "He very nearly refused to show us his goods, even when I offered him mine."
"Well at least he has good taste." I snapped. Tension had evened out between the rest of my comrades, but Morrigan and I were...placidly at odds.
"The man mentioned the disapproval of foreigners by a Father Eirik of the Chantry." Sten surprised us by speaking. "Has this any resonance with you, lay sister?" the qunari addressed me.
The Chantry has no fathers." I mused. "Men are not allowed as spiritual leaders. Andraste believed that all men secretly crave power and dominance. What better way to cater to their whims than by giving them the ability to speak for the Maker?"
"Your foolish histories mean nothing to me." Sten growled.
"They mean something to me." Salem snarled. "It might explain why we found a room for blood fucking sacrifice."
Morrigan waved a dismissive had. "Blood magic is nothing we have not faced before."
"It was not used for blood magic." Wynne informed the others. She shook her head and covered her mouth, clearly traumatized by what we had seen.
"No?" the witch's eyes flared. "Well, that is curious."
"I say we pay Father Eirik a visit." Salem suggested. "I want to grab this town's filthy neck and wring it."
Righteous anger, I smiled, feeling my face flush, looks very good on her. Focus, Leliana!
"I think we should wait for the others." Wynne cautioned. "These people are monsters."
"There might be magic at work here." Morrigan offered. "Even if it is not blood magic."
"Magic or no, this is wrong." Salem insisted.
"Invaders!" the cry rang from across the road.
Salem pulled her swords in a fluid movement. "Who?" she asked.
"City guard." I answered, and my heart caught in my throat. "And...townsfolk."
"They have weapons!" Morrigan exclaimed, not understanding how I could differentiate between the townspeople and the guards if both were armed.
"Kill them all." Salem ordered. "No mercy and no quarter."
She stepped off of the porch, not waiting for the enemy to come to her.
Maker, protect her. I prayed, drawing my off-hand blade.
"It was a mere matter of time." Wynne consoled me, seeing the hesitation in my eyes. "She is only trying to protect us."
Salem's swords were locked against a soldier's axe. "As we must protect her." I steeled myself. "Wynne, watch for archers."
I stepped off the porch, stopped by a wild-eyed man with nothing but sewing shears in hand. One upward slash and he fell, trying desperately to hold in his intestines.
I need my bow. I ducked under the thrust of a pitchfork and rolled in, severing the woman's hamstrings. Metal clanked and I looked into the face of the guard who had allowed us entry. I lay still; the tip of his spear resting against my heart.
"She's not blind." he hissed and I closed my eyes, waiting for the world to go dark.
Sickening crunch of metal through flesh. Breathing ceased.
"Leliana?" Salem's voice.
Are you with me in death, love?
"Leliana, are you all right? Can you stand?"
Sensation rushed back, light and breath and sound. "Salem?"
Her hand on mine, roughly pulling me up. "I need you in this fight, dear heart."
The man who had stood over me lay decapitated on the ground. She saved my life.
"Salem, Leli, down!"
Salem's arm caught me about the shoulder and she threw us to the ground. Lightning flew overhead, flaying the two archers who had taken aim, I presumed, at us.
More were coming, flooding out of houses and alleyways. So many, so few of them real fighters. Salem scrambled to her feet and dashed off to meet our foes. Even blind, she was better with a sword than most Orlesian chevaliers.
An eerie howl rocked the air as Burrow joined the battle. I turned to see Oghren and Shale running behind the mabari. The golem tossed me my bow and quiver before storming into the fray.
I set the string and nocked an arrow, aiming into the bulk of the fighters, keeping a watchful eye on Salem.
I loosed my arrow and a guard fell. Another, another, until my shoulder wept from the strain. I lowered the bow, watching the few enemies that remained fall to our swords and magic.
Salem grappled with a city guard. A small boy approached her. Horror scoured through me as I realized the child carried a knife. I raised my bow, felt the arrow's feather kiss my cheek, and took aim.
He's so small, my muscles trembled as Salem felled the guardsman. I have to shoot...surely a child would not attack her. He's frightened. No, I cleared my vision, I have to protect Salem...I...
The child reached her and the knife struck out. I dropped my bow and began running towards them...someone was screaming. Salem dropped to her knees and I sprinted the last distance.
Salem's entire body trembled, but I could not extend a hand to comfort her.
"Maker, forgive me." Salem breathed, gently easing the child to the earth. She rose on unsteady legs and faced me. Her shirt was torn; her right side bleeding from a shallow gash made by the boy's knife.
The group gathered around us and fell silent, interpreting the scene. Wynne checked us for wounds and moved to Salem, the only one injured. My warden flinched at her touch.
"You've been cut." Wynne explained, lifting Salem's shirt.
"I didn't feel it." Salem mumbled.
Her blind eyes darted about, searching, I knew, for me. But I could not speak. I let Wynne tend to her injury, and turned away.
I need my bow.