Leliana
The ransacking of dead bodies is an activity I have participated in far too many times, I thought as I combed through the pockets and seams of Eirik's robes. The material was heavy velvet, far too rich for this town's blood. As was the plate armor every single guard had been outfitted in.
Are they receiving revenue at all? I wondered. They were hesitant to let us in even though we were dressed in the garb of the Chantry; I highly doubt that they would accept the less savory element of traveling merchants and the like.
My fingers caught on something cold and metallic. I lifted an amulet away from Eirik's neck and examined it. Strangely enough, it was not crafted of any precious metal. It was too light for gold, too warm for silver, and yet it gleamed in the dim light of the torches.
I am sure it has some meaning, I tucked the amulet away.
"It seems as though we missed the festivities." an Antivan accent from the door. "Always easy to find you, warden. One needs only follow the bodies."
I knew he meant to be humorous, but I saw Salem wince as though she had been struck. I pursed my lips and continued my work. I was uncertain of how I felt about the battles in this town. On the one hand, we had been attacked without provocation. On the other, I had never before seen Salem do...what she had done. She never went into battle with the intent to slaughter.
Yet I feel as though I am at fault. I had a clear shot at the boy...and did not take it. The cleanness of my conscience outweighed my lover's safety. What does this say of me?
"Is everyone all right?" Alistair asked.
"Until the next rush of crazed fanatics, I believe we are all in perfect health." Morrigan sashayed by, silver chains dangling from her fingers.
"Has anyone found the catch to that door?" Zevran asked, taking a torch from the wall sconce.
"What door?" Salem rose, somewhat unsteady on her feet.
I wondered if she truly was all right. Father Eirik's magic had been powerful, felt by all in the room. He had said...he had said that if you looked into his eyes, he had the power to kill. Salem was, of course, immune. Still, magic did things that no one could explain.
"There is a rather obvious false wall just there." Zevran pointed before realizing its uselessness. He shook his head. "On the right, at the back."
"Get it open." Salem said, pointed.
Zevran and I went to the door. I knelt beside it and sighed. "It has a catch a child could open."
A removed brick, a flip of a lever, and the wall moved back, allowing barely enough room to enter. I felt Salem's presence behind me. I turned to her and reached out, guiding her towards the opening of the door. She flinched at my touch, but stopped before pulling away. I followed her through the door, hoping that we would not encounter anymore hostility.
"Wynne!" Salem called. "Wynne, I need you here!"
I rushed further into the room; saw Salem on her knees beside the prone form of a man. The room stank of rotted flesh. I dashed to her.
"Please," he begged through cracked and bleeding lips, "please, don't hurt me."
"You're safe now." Salem said, her voice low and controlled. "Brother Genitivi?"
"Y...yes." he rasped. I opened my waterskin and helped him drink. He looked at me in appreciation. "Bless you...who...who are you?"
"I'm Salem Cousland." she said, careful to avoid touching him as he clutched at her. She could not see the extent of his injuries and did not wish to hurt him further. But I could see. I knew the signs of torture, the marks it left on the human body. "A Grey Warden. The Arlessa of Redcliffe sent us to find you."
"Thank the Maker." he whispered. "Are...are they dead?"
"Every single one." I answered, moving aside as Wynne entered the room. She knelt beside us and examined Genitivi's injuries.
"Can you help him?" Salem asked the senior enchanter.
"Given time." Wynne smiled to comfort the man. "I am a healer from the Circle of Magi," ever graceful, she introduced herself. "Your injuries have gone too long untreated. Your foot is gangrenous. I can burn out the infection, but it will take time and cause a great deal of pain."
"We don't have time." he gasped, looking at Salem, eyes wide with urgency. "We must get to the temple."
"What temple?" my warden asked.
"The temple taht houses the Urn." the sheen of a mad dreamer entered his eyes. "Only that madman, Father Eirik, has the key...there is a stone door in the mountains. He carries an amulet; it's more than it seems. It is the key." he continued rambling. "I've seen him use it. I've seen him open the door into the mountain. Warden, you have to get there as soon as possible. The Arl's life depends on it."
Wynne rested her hand against Genitivi's forehead. "I am amazed by his lucidity." she said. "He has a high fever. Salem, we need to get him into clean air and clean clothes. This is a house of death and torture. No one could heal here."
"As you say." Salem agreed, stepping away to let Alistair and Zevran help lift the man and carry him to somewhere that did not reek of blood and magic and disease.
"No! No!" Genitivi begged. "You cannot waste your time with me! You have to get to the temple! You have to find the Urn and save the Arl!"
"There will be time for that!" Salem's voice whipped through the air. "First, we have to get you well. Enough people have died in pursuit of this Urn...if it even exists." her last words were muttered, too low for Genitivi to hear.
My heard pounded, painful. Salem had been so full of hope that this would work, that the Urn did exist and that it could heal her eyes. I had joined in that hope, praying every night and day that the Maker would see fit to restore her sight. We had both sacrificed so much in this search, more than many would be willing to give.
"Don't say that." I whispered. "Please."
My plea fell on deaf ears. Genitivi looked once more to Salem. "Weylon?"
My warden shook her head and Genitivi's eyes closed in grief. Wynne motioned to Zevran and Alistair, who carried him from the room. Salem made to leave and I clutched her arm. Again, she flinched.
"What do you want?" she asked.
"Salem," my voice trembled and I hated it. Salem alone had the power to break my bardic control. My voice caught and stuttered or I rambled endlessly and made an utter fool of myself. "Salem, are you well?"
"Do not worry over me." Salem replied, brusque.
I hurt. I hurt for her, and myself, and the horrible misgivings that filled my heart. She could show care and tenderness to a complete stranger, whom another stranger had sent us to save. But...when it came to me, the one she claimed to love, she turned to ice.
"Salem, please." I begged, loathing my own weakness.
"This is not the time." she cut deeper with her words, inflicting the wounds I had asked for. "It can wait."
"I have Eirik's key." I insisted, in case she had thought to leave me to attempt to find it.
"That is one less thing to do then." she left me standing, alone in the room with blood on the floor and the screams of innocents haunting the air.
I shuddered and followed her, praying that this had not gone irreparably wrong. Salem stood in the main room, listening as Alistair relayed information, I presumed about where they had taken Genitivi. Salem nodded.
I want these bodies buried." she said to all of us. "A place like this, I wish to take no chances that they will rise from the ground like the monsters in Redcliffe. Find shovels, spades, pickaxes, anything that can turn the earth."
"We've already found some." Oghren stood over a pile of the tools Salem had mentioned.
My warden lifted a shovel. "Excellent work. I want them in the ground by nightfall. Now, if you will excuse me."
She left the mockery that was Haven's Chantry and I felt the sting of angry tears. She is going to bury the child, I realized. Absorbing her sin...trying to find a way to forgive herself. Salem, why? I may have been tortured in body, but you are the only woman I have met who consistently tortures her own soul. How long until it breaks you, my love? I shook my head as I grabbed a spade and realized what I truly asked.
How long until it breaks me?