Chapter sixteen- Another nightmare
This is done in first person thought I'd attempt to give it ago. There is no rape in this scene, although there is some torture. As we go along with these chapters, we get to see an explanation for why Hawke is like she is. This is quite key to the story, but if you don't want to read it later on there will be a vague explanation for whatever happened.
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I'm lying on the floor again and for the first time in four days I've been left alone. There is no Templar touching me with perverse hands, there is no mage to heal the rips and the wounds bestowed on me. I am alone on the floor. I am no longer covered in layers of my own blood and vomit; someone has taken to cleaning me. I don't question it as much as I should, maybe I'm waiting for death.
No one tells me anything, no one gives me a hint as to why they decided to pick a young apostate up and let the Templars vent their frustrations on her, and as the hours tick by I seem to care less for their reasoning. I hope they burn in hell with our fearful Maker, the one who decided to make my fate.
It's not been four days; it's been ninety seven hours and forty five minutes since I saw my family. Since I was walking amongst the woods, sometimes I wonder if it would be better if I had left a year ago with the Dalish. If I had been with Tamlen maybe I would have never been brought into harm's way. I attempt to frown at the thought, but the muscles on my face and still aching, and it turns into more of a half bothered grimace. If I'd have left, this could have been Bethany; she could be the one lying on the floor naked with no dignity left whatsoever. I have been used, I have been broken, but at least it was me and not my little sister.
It's a bitter pill, but I'll take it nonetheless, that my still being here may have saved her. The silence is welcoming, just like death. I want the silence to kill me, before their torment begins. I am used, like a sex toy, an object not a person. And yet they want to see the objects reaction, I've noticed that they like it more when I'm in pain, so I've been practising my self-control. I let them do what they want to my body, but my mind closes itself off. More and more each day, whenever they try to break me it makes me stronger.
There are footsteps now, and I'm scared. I'm terrified. I know it's going to start again, they said it would stop soon. They lied. Their leaders are not coming, and by the time they do, I will be dead. The whispers come with the footsteps; they know how much the footsteps scare me.
The door opens, and I brace myself. I am ready for the next onslaught, but I fear that I will succumb. The demons beckon me, they seethe and slither in my head, pleading and offering themselves to me like whores. I know they want my body and my soul, and if it comes to that maybe I would accept it. For now, I am holding on.
The footsteps get louder and come to a halt. There are about four pairs of eyes on me, but I daren't look up, for when I look into the men's eyes, they get angry. It is my eyes that reflect the savage brutality that they are committing. None of them can look in my eyes, apart from the one they called Derek, his voice makes me nauseated.
"Are you well, child?" a man's voice says to me. It is cold and bitter, hot and sweet. It is misleading, and tricky. This man's voice is something I know I will never forget that is to say if I do not die here first.
I cannot answer his question, more simply that I daren't. I'm too scared and my fear is overpowering.
"I said, are you well child?" the voice says, commanding me to open my eyes and look upon him. He is an old man, donning a casual set of armour unlike the heavy chainmail of the Templars. Yet, he still bares their insignia; it is splattered on his chest plate as if he is bold propaganda.
I try to nod, but my skull just vibrates. I hope this man gives me the kindness of a clean death. I don't want my throat slit whilst his comrades rape and destroy what's left of my body. I am merely nothing but a sack of flesh; I've come to terms with it. My mind will drift away in time.
"Someone get the child some clothes," the man says, and someone quickly walks away. He grabs my arm and sits me up right. His eyes are a steel grey; they are cold and warm at the same time. I cannot think what to make of this man, he is misleading.
He looks down at the chains that bind me, and puts himself to work undoing them, I secretly thank him; it feels like they have been on my body so long that they have become part of my skin. I wonder what he wants with me, I pray it's not the same as the other men, I am spent. I am done. I just want to die. I just want it all to end, the whispers, the defiling of my body; I want to wake up and for it all to be a terrible nightmare. Could I be in the Fade? Could this be a test? Could I just wake up tomorrow and see my father busying himself with the breakfast with mother, humming to her morning tune?
"Can you dress yourself, child?" he asks, his skin is old and lined and he looks at me with the same concern a parent would over their infant.
"Yes," I breathe, and it feels almost worrying to speak. It is as if I lost the right to speak days ago, and that by replying to this man I am breaking a thousand laws.
There are others in the room, I sweep my gaze amongst them and see a woman donning a staff, her face is pointed and her eyes are small like slits, she looks almost like a cat. There is dwarf also accompanying them, his beard is jet black much like his hair and his eyes are an ice blue that pierce whatever soul I have left.
The other person I heard before comes in and I almost vomit in shock, I curl myself up as the Templar that touched me the first night walks in, his oily hair slicked back and his face almost amused as the sight of him makes me curl up in a ball and give up, just let the demons come to me and die inside and out.
The older man in the lighter armour notices my fear, and grabs the clothes that the other man has brought aggressively, turning his back on me as he looks at his companion.
"You knew your orders and so did Alrik, you were not to touch this girl," he says, almost in a calm manner which sets my fear off again, pain and fear seemed to be the only things that keep me company anymore.
"She bit one of my men, so she was taught a lesson," the man replies, his sickly voice entering my very core. I could feel the vomit churning in my stomach; I had eaten nothing but bread and bowl of water for the past four days. They would laugh as I lapped the water from the bowl; it amused them to see their whore drink like a bitch.
"And you disobeyed your orders, Eric. So by your own logic, you too should be taught a lesson," the man counters, nodding to the mage with the pointed features. The mage's face becomes almost overwhelmed with joy at whatever the nod means.
She turns to the Templar, and with at flick of her hand he is on the floor writhing and jerking in agony. Her hand emits a bright red hue, and I could tell from the instance it was blood magic.
He screams out in pain, and it makes me glad. He deserves his fate, he asked for it. I cannot save him and will not save him in my current state. His screams become louder and the woman revels in his pain, as if she has become lost in his screams. He begins to beg for it to stop, spitting blood from his mouth. It just makes her work harder, the red glow almost lighting the entire room, and her face becomes more feral. He is close to death; I almost hear his heart giving up.
"Stop, Olivia," the man requests, and the Templar that I now knew to be called Eric pants heavily, the red light dimming at the command of the man's voice. He does not seem remotely concerned that the other man is on the floor close to death, he merely waves his hand as if mentally asking someone to get rid of him.
The dwarf helps the rapist up as best as he can, and Eric holds onto the wall for support. Two other Templars that had defiled me also for the past few days come in, and pick him up to leave, but before they can the man warns them "This is what happens when you do not listen to your orders,"
He turns back to me then, staring into my eyes. He has a scar on his face; I can see it well now the door had been fully opened to get the injured Templar out. It runs down from his eyebrow to his upper lip. Whatever had happened to him had severely left its mark on him.
He passes me the clothes and I shakily put the trousers and the top on, it takes me several attempts, yet he waits patiently. He stares at me as if admiring me. I know this man is not going to rape me, but I feel something else is going to happen, I feel it in bones.
"What is your name, child?" he asks his eyes scanning every detail of my face.
"A-aria," I stutter.
"You are a very pretty girl, Aria," he says, tasting my name.
I say nothing, I don't know what to say. I don't want to react, the last time I reacted or tried to fight I was punished.
"I have a good feeling about you, child," he mutters more to himself than me.
He strokes my cheek in an endearing sort of way, the way Mother used to do with me when I was a young child. I don't understand. My body aches whilst my stomach begs for food.
He smiles at me as if I am sacred treasure. His smile haunts me and I know that if I ever make it out of here, it will be with me until I die.