Thanks for the alerts, the favorites, and especially the reviews! Nithu, celtic-twinkle, Arsinoe de Blassenville, Eriana10, Biff McLaughlin!
Most of the above reviewers are also wonderful authors. I strongly recommend reading their stories. To receive reviews from these authors (all whose works I have read and thoroughly enjoyed) is a great blessing to me and helps to encourage my own writing.
As always, I do not go canon with my stories. To do so would be rather boring! After all, if you want canon or as game play, I'd suggest buying David Gaider's books or play the game. I'm just taking BioWare's marvelous universe and twisting it to best suit my own twisted wants and desires. *maniacal cackle here*
The Halla Reborn
Chapter 31
The pain was gone, and she was able to move. Twisting her head slightly, she noticed that she was lying upon a soft bed. It was too dark and she could not make out the details of the room she lay within. Tentatively, she pushed herself up, fully expecting pain to blossom within her. That it did not confirmed what she had suspected: she was in the Fade.
A frown settled upon her fine features as she rose from the bed. Feeling her way along the wall, she found the window. Pulling aside the window treatments allowed bright sunshine to flood the room. She turned and was surprised to discover that she was in her room back at her father's home in the Alienage.
Seeking comfort in home, she thought as she moved toward her armoire and wardrobe, pulling out clean under garments and a set of leather trousers and a linen shirt. She peeled off the trousers and tunic she currently wore - both garments caked with dried blood - and quickly washed in the basin filled with hot water. Once dressed, she plaited her long hair into two braids, grabbed up her bow and daggers, tucked her lock picks and other tools into her braids, and quickly exited her room.
She had hoped to see her father in the living area of the house; expected to see Shianni, whole and warm, seated by the fire. Perhaps even Soris with his new bride. All she found, however, was an empty room, quiet and bereft of fire or family. Frowning slightly, she made her way to the house's door, stepping out into the Alienage.
Death and decay greeted her as she exited her home, confirming her fears that a great evil had descended upon her childhood home. The orphanage, lying just down the lane and across from her home, resembled little more than a burnt out shell. Bodies lay haphazardly upon the dirt ground, in varying stages of decay. With a strangled cry, the elf turned and fled the area, seeking the gate that led from the Alienage into Denerim's market district.
The gate was locked and no one on the other side would acknowledge her shouts and cries. She looked up, taking in the length of the gate, deciding whether to try to make her escape that direction. She half turned her head, back toward the destruction of the Alienage, and wondered if she should try one of two other exits she knew of. Glaring at the gate, she turned, resolute in her steps, hoping to find a way out of this nightmare she found herself trapped within.
DA:O
The group had found relatively little resistance to their setting up home at the Chantry. A few of the villagers had survived, nearly all of them thanking them profusely for liberating them from the tyranny of Kolgrim and his zealots. The mother of the small boy whom they had met initially even offered them food and other necessities as they set up the Chantry for the winter. Grateful and amazed at the welcome, the companions could only nod their heads in thanks.
That had been almost two weeks ago, and Roland, the Sten and Leliana had just barely made their way down the mountainside before the first of the winter storms hit. Hafter bounded in the snowdrifts happily, and Roland shook his head, thankful that Alistair had allowed the great warhound to accompany them. The knight - no, Warden Recruit - figured that the senior warden felt guilty about sending him away from Adela and so suggested the warhound go with them. Whatever Alistair's motivations, Roland was grateful for the beast's presence. Not only was he a clear tie to Adela, but the dog's fighting abilities would come in handy.
The dog also loved to hunt, as was evident by the numerous half-chewed hares the former knight would find in his pack at night. He sighed at that. He and Hafter had never fully gotten on well, and the dog seemed to take immense pleasure in torturing the poor man. There were times when Roland actually considered the idea that the dog was purposefully trying to upset him, as if he was working against his being with Adela. The trip thus far only succeeded in strengthening that notion.
The small group made good time, and Roland was grateful for that as well. Alistair's parting orders had been for the group to remain at Redcliffe until they had word from him or Adela. If too much time had passed, and the men agreed three weeks after winter's end would be too much time, then Roland could make the decision as to whether to return to Haven or continue collecting on the treaties.
Alistair, apparently still sensing the other man's reluctance, had qualified his decision by telling Roland that not only was he not a wanted man, as he was, but that he was used to being in command. Add to that the fact that, as a fully knighted servant of Highever, he would be considered an honorable source of information, trustworthy to one such as Arl Eamon in relating the situation. He was Fereldan, so he would also not arouse any further suspicions as he traipsed across the country. That the Sten and Leliana were foreigners could be explained away as they were his retainers.
Roland suspected Alistair had a long list and would have continued with his justifications, but the former knight finally put the man's mind at ease by stating that Alistair had made the best decision for everyone concerned. After assuring his friend, and now commander, of his confidence they would regroup at Redcliffe Castle at winter's end, Roland led his band from the village, and out of the mountains.
The air off mountain was less biting, but the snow continued to fall, and they found themselves wading through snow that was several inches deep. Roland frowned. In Highever, they suffered mostly from rain, being so close to the coast, with occasional bouts of snowfall. He had never understood the allure of the snow. Even as a child growing up in the Bannorn, he had never gotten the appeal. Yet here was both Hafter and Leliana bouncing around and skipping through the snow like children. Even the Sten seemed amazed by the fluffy, cold white stuff. The former knight allowed himself a grin. Of course, going from the tropical weather of the island of Seheron to the winters of Fereldan would be a vast change for the giant warrior.
He glanced upwards at the darkening sky. They would need to either find shelter or set up camp for the night soon. Noises to the west told the young man that a homestead was nearby. Motioning for his companions to follow, he led them over a frozen field, toward the small farmhouse, livestock pens and hay barn he spotted. After offering the farmer and his wife a sovereign to be allowed to sleep in the hay barn and to have meals brought to them, Roland went about setting up for the night.
DA:O
Niall gazed around the Chantry, making certain that everything was in its place and that everything had a place. The Chantry had four separate chambers, plus the chapel. Adela had been set up in what they presumed had been Eirick's chambers. The villagers had brought up spare beds and these had been set up in the other three chambers, Niall and Morrigan both insisted that Adela needed her own room to allow for quiet. No one argued, and were more than pleased with their accommodations.
The mage had been amazed at how welcoming the surviving villagers, who obviously those who had not taken part in any of the attacks upon the intruders, had been but also how much like saviors they treated the companions as. The woman, Adelaine, had explained how Kolgrim (she refused to call him Father Kolgrim) would assign the women to the men who had most pleased him. The goal was to produce as many children by that particular man as possible. Her head drooping, she explained how she, herself, had been used to birth five children by different fathers, Kolgrim included, since aged fourteen. The mage was incensed by that thought and then allowed another to come to mind: just how inbred were these poor people?
Adelaine and her son, Josef, were regular visitors to the Chantry. The boy's oddness wore off soon enough the more time he spent with Alistair and the others. Niall grinned. Alistair's easygoing nature had put the introverted boy at ease immediately, and he now followed the large man around like a puppy. Adelaine was particularly pleased, stating that he needed someone to look up to whose entire existence was not based upon violence, destruction and lies. Niall figured that, even with a life as a Grey Warden, Alistair's own philosophy was as far from Kolgrim's as one could get.
Josef was at this moment sitting awestruck as Alistair and Zevran re-told the story of how they defeated the high dragon, the supposed reborn Andraste. The boy's face lit up as Zevran replayed how he had struck his daggers deep into the great skull of the beast. Niall shook his head, smiling at his lover as he turned back toward the chamber wherein Adela lay; Morrigan sitting beside her, reading from one of the non-Chantry issued books they had managed to find.
It had been almost two weeks since the others had left, and still Adela lay in her sleep. He and Morrigan had prepared broths to spoon down her throat to keep her body from wasting away. The Circle mage had to admit that the swamp witch was far more knowledgeable about herbs and potions than he was, and had gladly allowed her to concoct whatever potion she saw fit to keep the young elf alive. Despite the nutrition they managed to get into her, Adela's small frame had lost much of its mass, and the mage was beginning to worry that, if she did not awaken soon, he would need to put her into a magical sleep that would suspend her bodily functions to keep her from wasting away further. He did not wish to take such a step, to do so would only hinder the healing process further.
With a sigh, he went to the cook pit to stir the broth that Morrigan had set to simmer for the elven woman. Adela would need to awaken from her slumber soon.
DA:O
How long it took her to escape from the decimated Alienage Adela could not tell. She had no sense of time, trapped as she was in the Fade. She snorted slightly, wondering if it did her any favors knowing she was in the Fade rather than blissfully wander around in ignorance. She stopped to shake her head. No, best to know what danger she was in rather than wander around forever. Knowing she was in the Fade meant that she would have a chance of finding the escape.
She had passed through the Market District, taking note of the familiar faces therein, people she knew who paused in their actions to silently watch her pass by. The Chantry was all but deserted, and she went through the gates that cordoned off the district to the rest of the city.
She was now passing by the manor of the Arl of Denerim, and a cold shiver washed over her as she stared at the blank façade. This was the Fade; there were no answers to be found herein. Without another thought for the occupants of the manor, she continued onward.
Adela had determined that the Palace was where she would most likely find the exit from the Fade. Her conclusion came from the realization that her most vivid dreams were centered either around the palace itself or around various occupants therein. Loghain was the foremost-centralized figure, but she had dreams of Cailan and Anora as well. She paused as she stared up at the familiar iron wrought gates, her thoughts of concern for the queen nearly overtaking her. A gentle shake of her blond head, and the elven warden passed through the unmanned gates and walked up the marble stairway.
She paused, staring in confusion at the double doors that led into the palace. That they were standing, wide open and torn from their hinges alerted the elf that something was roaming the Fade with her, something not quite friendly. Pulling her daggers free of their sheaths, she stepped into the gray dimness of the palace.
Elven eyes adjusted quickly to the dank darkness she found therein. Her eyes swept over the ruin of the once immaculate receiving area, taking note of the battered stairway and crumbling arches of the various alcoves. She stepped silently into the waiting room that was set up as a mini library. The room was virtually untouched. Frowning, she left the room, keeping into the shadows as she passed each alcove and room to check for any signs of life. Each room, each space gave forth the same result: empty.
She paused by the large double doors that allowed entry deeper into the public areas of the palace. Deciding against that course now, she mounted the stairs, seeking to gain admittance into the private living quarters.
The young elven rogue kept well to the lessons taught by the bard and assassin she traveled with. Keeping well into the shadows, moving as quietly as a shadow herself, she made her way toward Anora's chambers. As she neared the suite of rooms, she could hear the sounds of anguished sobbing. A frown crossed her face and she paused, listening. She had only heard Anora cry is such a heartbreaking manner twice before. The first had been when Loghain had finally declared Maric dead, having been lost at sea over five years ago. Then, a barely teenaged Adela had sat with the young noblewoman as she cried over the loss of king and someone who had been very important in her life. The second time had been when the child of Cailan and Anora had been perished at childbirth. Although there had been at least two other miscarriages, the young prince, Declan, had been born and lived for several minutes after his birth. The king and queen had been heartbroken as they had to sit and hold their young son, waiting as the final breaths left his tiny, ill formed lungs.
Adela did not like the heart wrenching sounds then; she hated them passionately now.
She crept up to the door that she knew opened into Anora's main chamber. The sobbing was directly behind the door. She tried the knob, but it would not move. Crouching, she reached up and pulled her pins from her braid, seeking to pick the lock. She scowled at the door. There was no lock. She rose, examining the door and its frame, trying in vain to ignore the heart wrenching sounds of the queen crying. Running delicate, sensitive fingers over the frame, she realized that it was not a door at all, but simply an impression of a door. Solid marble stood before her.
Resisting the urge to curse, she carefully called out Anora's name. The only reply was further sobs. Glancing about, she risked raising her voice, again calling out the queen's name. Anora's sobs only increased in volume, drowning out the elf's voice. Scowling, Adela turned away, certain she would neither be able to enter the room or get Anora's attention.
She turned about and headed toward the wing wherein lay the suites and study of Loghain. Previous experience suggested she might be able to gain entrance to his rooms.
Skipping lightly over the debris and rubble that was strewn across the floors, Adela made her way toward Loghain's suites. The sounds of male voices, raised in anger or argument, reached her ears. She quickened her pace, arriving just at Loghain's door.
"Ah, Loghain," purred a smooth, cultured voice. The elf frowned. That voice sounded vaguely familiar…"You act ever as the petulant child." She thought she heard a 'tsking' sound. "Be careful. Your commoner roots are showing." That last said with a scathing belittling tone of voice.
Loghain replied in a low, angry voice that the elf recognized all too well. She could not make out what he was saying, and so stepped forward to press one delicate ear to the door. The voices continued, that familiar one nagging at her. It sounded similar to Alistair and Cailan, yet lower, deeper, more like Maric's. She frowned at that. It also had the same sarcastic quality all three men had, yet where their sarcasm came from self-deprecation or a need to make people laugh, this one had a biting quality, an undertone meant to cut and rend the listener. Footsteps alerted her that someone approached the door, and, after a quick glance around, she ducked into a nearby doorway, pressing her slender body against the wood of the door, blending into the shadows as well as she could.
Peeking around the frame, she watched as a blond man, taller and broader than Cailan, but not as large as Alistair, bent to lock the door to Loghain's room. She pressed her hand against her mouth as she caught a brief glance of the man's profile. He then turned and walked away, back toward the direction the elf had come from.
Adela stood there for many moments, trying to digest what she had just seen. That man looked so much like Cailan, more so like Alistair, and almost exactly like Maric that there was no question as to whom he was. At least, who his father was. A sick, empty feeling rumbled in her belly at the thought that Maric had another son running around, this one obviously a foe of Loghain and perhaps Anora as well.
Steadying herself, she stepped toward the door just exited from. Bending low, she pulled a pick from her hair, and began to work at the lock.
DA:O
Alistair stood by the doorway, watching as Niall and Morrigan fed Adela the concoction Morrigan had brewed. The warden had to admit, even Morrigan's potions tasted better than many of the meals he prepared.
Niall glanced up, seeming to take note of the man for the first time. With an encouraging smile, he motioned for Alistair to step in. Sheepishly, feeling like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar, the young man stepped to the bedside of the elf, gazing down at her still face.
"She remains in a restful sleep," Niall whispered as Morrigan wiped Adela's mouth and then removed the bowl. "I still have no idea why she hasn't awakened yet, nor when she will."
Alistair could almost hear the 'if she will' in Niall's voice. He shook his head, clearing away that thought. Both mages, along with Adelaine and others from the village, had been working to keep the elf alive. Her injuries had all healed, and Niall confirmed that the brain injury she had suffered had corrected itself. They would only know if any lasting damage had been done once the elf woke.
He barely nodded, taking a seat near Adela, pulling it so that he was directly at her side. Niall offered the younger man a soft smile and then left the room to allow them some privacy.
The young human reached over and picked up one of Adela's limp hands in his. He turned it over, marveling at how small her hand was, how long and delicate her fingers, and how pale her skin had become. He placed it palm down into his own palm, taking in just how much bigger he was to her; he thought he could easily fit three of her tiny hands within one of his gigantic paws. He frowned, scowling at his hand. How could he truly expect such a delicate creature to even consider loving someone as gargantuan as himself? He was clumsy, a brute, where she was delicate and graceful, dancing through battles where he merely plunged straight in. He was awkward in all situations that even remotely involved speech, and the elf, one who should be nervous when speaking with others, usually took over what conversation was being held, and could usually turn a dissenting opinion into an acknowledging one.
He sighed, bending down to place a lingering kiss upon her forehead. Regardless of how monstrous he felt next to her, she held his heart within those tiny hands of hers. Remaining bent over her still form, he closed his eyes, shutting off the tears that threatened, offering up a prayer to the Maker for her quick recovery. He missed her. Not for her leadership abilities, but for her. He missed her smile, her quiet voice. He missed watching her fingers and hands as she worked on another carving for one of the members of their tight knit group. A hand strayed to the griffon hung around his neck. Moving lower, he placed a kiss upon her cold lips, whispering, "Please return to us, Adela," he cringed at the pleading tone he heard in his voice. "Please return to me." Placing another kiss, he rose, sitting back in his seat as he continued to hold her limp, cold hand in his larger, warmer one.