Warning, this story deals with complex issues. Although not written to be for "mature" audiences, it does deal with some topics which might be considered in that category; however, the descriptions and actions are not more mature than DAI displays during gameplay.
For some, the language, particularly those epithets you may find offensive, are there for a reason; they are true to life and used every day. The question you should ask is, why? The answer is not as simple as you might believe.
I play fast and loose with serial numbers, so I don't accidentally reference a real one.
Meat and Meetings
Leaders Are Made
"Ah!" a cry escaped Rabbit's lips.
"I didn't know you were awake." Rabbit could not help but back away from … her. "I swear." Words were getting stuck in her throat. 'What if she is angry, Maker? I hope she is not angry, please don't be angry.'
"Why are you frightened? What happened?" Confused, Serrada only wanted to know why this little elf girl was so frightened. Her stomach clenched, she felt nauseated. 'Maker, did it not close? Did I make it worse? Maker, please don't let more people have died because I failed!'
"That was wrong, isn't it? I said the wrong thing." Rabbit didn't know what she had said, she never seemed to know what to say or what she did wrong, but the switch across her naked backside always told her that she had done something wrong.
Serrada was perplexed, "I don't think so?"
Rabbit could think of nothing else; she was sure she was condemned to some horrible punishment. She did the only thing that seemed to appease her old masters; she dropped to her knees.
"I beg your forgiveness and your blessing? I am but a humble servant." She took a breath to steady her nerves. "You are back in Haven. My lady, they say you saved us. The breach stopped growing, just like the mark on your hand."
At the mention of the mark, Serrada looked down at her once familiar left hand. As if on cue, the mark burst into life, seemingly to reaffirm it's ownership of her appendage. For some reason, she felt a sense of loss and dread, that somehow, she knew deep down that her hand was on borrowed time; the question was, would it take the rest of her with it? How would she cope? It meant the loss of so much that was familiar, indeed the bow, and probably the daggers on which she had come to rely. But simple day to day things as well, bathing, eating, using the loom her mother insisted she study, it was funny, she had resisted doing it, now she suddenly thought it a loss. Someday, she had no idea when she knew that she would lose even a resented ability forever. She also felt sure that she would deeply miss that hated activity.
She was interrupted from her mourning by the elf girl. "It is all anyone has talked about for the last three days." The sound of the girl's excitement was so intense, Serrada thought she could feel it herself, and the elf must be on the verge of tasting it.
"So, you are saying they are happy with me?" Serrada was oscillating between stunned and relieved. Not a good place to be for a prisoner. False hope is more crushing than facing one's destruction squarely. False hope keeps you from making peace with your sins, the Maker, and those you love.
"I am only saying what I heard; I didn't mean anything by it. I am certain Lady Cassandra would want to know you have awakened. She said at once." Rabbit slowly made her way to the door, torn between not wanting to offend the most critical person on Thedas, and failing to fulfill her orders, and feeling the switch yet again.
"Stop." Serrada wondered later why this was important to her, but it was. "First. What is your name?" She tried to keep her voice quiet and gentle, something she was not used to doing. "I want to know your name."
Rabbit was terrified now; she must have done something wrong and had angered the great lady; she just knew that she was going to get the lash now, not just a simple switching. So terrified was she that she dropped to her knees yet again, but this time put her face to the floor.
"Please, my lady, I did not intend to offend you; whatever I did, I am sorry." The girl was clearly on the edge of sobbing. Her whole body shook.
"You have not offended me." Serrada got up and moved quickly across the room to embrace the terrified elf. She reached around the shaking girl and drew her up to her feet.
"Now I have asked you once already," Serrada tried to remember how Anna spoke to her when she had had a nightmare; nightmares were all too familiar until a child learned to navigate the Fade in sleep. "your name?"
"They call me Rabbit, my lady." Rabbit could not believe how gentle this woman was; she only had vague memories of her mother doing the same; it was so long ago. Rabbit had to restrain herself from falling into the woman's arms and clutching her.
"I did not ask you what they called you, but what your parents named you?" Serrada stroked the girl's hair and back, trying to reassure her, was it right? She could remember Anna rocking her, but this girl was far older than she was then. "Just tell me your name. I will not call you that other one; that is not who you are."
"I don't remember, ma'am. My parents were killed when I was young; they were servants of a trader from a city in Orlais, we were in a caravan that was attacked by darkspawn, and everyone was killed but me." Rabbit trailed off; Serrada could see the haunted look in her eyes, clearly remembering the tragedy. "My mother pushed me into a barrel of salted fish. I did not want to go. I think she thought the smell would protect me. It must have." She unsuccessfully tried to hold back a sob. "I remember her screaming."
Serrada clutched the elf girl to her breast; almost everyone in southern Thedas had been touched by the foul reach of the darkspawn, even in Ostwick. This time the girl desperately hugged her back and Serrada gently rocked the girl just as Anna had done so long ago.
"You do not have to tell me anymore; you can, if you wish, but right now, I want you to do two things." She pulled back from the girl so she could look into the tear-filled eyes, "I do not know who you serve now, but you run back to them and say that Lady Serrada Trevelyan has need of you and that Lady Trevelyan will see to their just compensation. I don't know what my future is, but if I have one, you will serve me. The second thing, and I want you to think about this carefully, a name for yourself. One that will make you happy to be called all day long for the rest of your life."
"Yes, my lady, as you instruct my lady." The girl's eyes were as wide as possible, filled with wonder, shock, and indeed, the burgeoning seeds of love itself. "Why would you be so kind to me? I am nothing, just an elf servant."
Serrada looked at her, "You are more than that; one day you will understand. Now go, I have to find Cassandra…"
"Oh, Maker, I had forgotten, your kindness… Lady Cassandra is in the Chantry speaking with the Chancellor; she said I was to tell her you were awake. At once, I must go, please, my lady, give me leave to go." The girl implored; Lady Pentaghast had given her orders herself, but how could she leave the great ladies' presence without permission?
"Go now, but I want you moved in once you have given your present master my instructions." Glancing at the now scattered potions on the floor, "Please straighten up the room a little and get moved in. I will be back shortly. Hurry now, Cassandra is waiting." The girl smiled, backed up, then turned and bolted out the door.
Serrada could not help but smile to herself, 'What have I done now? What if her master is going to make a fuss? Oh, who knows, I will worry about that later.' She looked around the room, not seeing her clothing she saw a small wardrobe, in it she found small clothes and some padded clothing, and some beautiful armor all of which appeared to be her size. Not a stitch of it did she recognize. First, she needed to get cleaned up; she stank in her own nostrils. Luckily the young elf must have brought in some hot water as there was a steaming kettle and a shallow washing basin, beautiful soft flannels and towels, and a sweet-smelling cake of soap.
"A girl could get used to this!" She smiled and washed her entire body, well those parts not covered in bandages anyway. As wonderful as it was, the numerous stitches down her back were itching, and even with the efforts of a healer, she was sure to have scars. "Well, they will be just another addition to my collection." She dressed and headed out the door. The armor was new, and for want of a better term, beautiful. 'It will be a shame to mar it, and I am sure with my luck it will be.'
Opening the door to her cabin, it was only then that Serrada realized how much things had changed. 'Maker help me, what is going on?'
Questions and Answers
'How did we get snow so early in the year?' John was looking around the farm.
There was frost on the flowers.
There was snow covering the corn and gardens, as well as the trees down in the valley.
It was crazy!
"Global warming my ass; I don't remember it ever snowing in Missouri in August!" He shook his head and headed for the kitchen. It was cold in the house, 'I have to get some heat going.' He checked the thermostat; for some reason, he could not make out the numbers. 'I am getting old; it looks like I need to get some glasses.' He squinted, but it did not help; the numbers were just unreadable squiggles.
"I know! I'll make some pancakes. Sarah loves pancakes!" He was feeling a little lazy today; he grabbed the bag of buttermilk pancake mix. He knew Mariah would say he was cheating, but he just thought it would be best to get something going fast. They would be cold and hungry. He started the griddle, the stove lit, but his hands were so cold he could not feel the heat.
'Crap, I need to get a fire going.' He checked the living room fireplace; it was built in the middle of the house with tons of stone to heat the whole home in an emergency. It just needed to get warm first. He had not lit it since the divorce, so he decided to check the chimneys; they were clear.
He went to the back porch and grabbed the logs and some kindling to start the fire. It was something he had done for years; it was second nature.
'Wait, what divorce?' He found himself in the living room.
The fire came to life in seconds, burning bright, but the flue was drawing too hard. All the heat was going up the chimney. He tried to adjust the draw, but it would not budge. It was strange, even with the flue wide open, he should have been able to feel the heat from the fire – he couldn't. 'Wow, I can't believe it got this cold this early.'
Divorce? Wait, check on the girls to be sure they were under covers till he could get some heat on. He climbed the stairs two at a time; it was so cold he could see his breath inside! 'The pipes will freeze; how did it get so cold so fast?' He checked Sarah's room; first, the bed was empty, looked like it had not been slept in. Maybe they were in the 'big bed'! He raced down the hall to the master bedroom and threw open the door…
"Who are you!" He felt his whole body react to the bucket of cold water that was tossed on him. It was like an electric shock.
"Who are you! Where did you come from? Why did you kill the Divine! Tell us, and your deaths will be quick; refuse, and I will kill you slowly." The voice shouted questions so quickly and full of emotion; it was impossible to answer.
John's head was jerked up from behind, probably by the ends of his blindfold. It was so hard he heard his neck pop. He could see nothing, with his hands bound behind his back and bindings on his thighs and ankles. He realized he was also naked.
"John Gerald Gray, Commander United States Navy, Serial Number N3346327" John knew the drill; it was the first time he had been in this situation; he had been through all the training, these guys knew their shit as well. He planned to hold out as long as possible, but he also knew everyone had a breaking point; he was not looking forward to finding his. What he wondered was how his people were.
He felt the lash across his back. A new sensation, he was not impressed.
"Who are you! Why did you kill the Divine?" The lash came again. "Who are you! Why did you kill the Divine?" Yet Again, the lash came.
"John Gerald Gray, Commander United States Navy, Serial Number N3346327." He was feeling weaker with each breath; he waited for the lash again. 'You know, people pay good money for this; I can find one for you?'
"Who are you! Where did you come from? Why did you kill the Divine! Tell us, and your deaths will be quick; refuse, and I will kill you slowly." The voice shouted the same questions; the same lash came quicker and harder.
"John Gerald Gray, Commander United States Navy, Serial Number N3346327." He was feeling weaker and weaker; things were swirling. 'Who is this fucking Divine? How long have I been here? Fuck that, where is here?'
This had the makings of a looonnnngggg day.
A Rabbit Finds A Home
Rabbit rushed from the cabin. "Stupid, stupid girl! What have you done now! You thought you would get the switch before, and now you will be lucky if you don't get whipped or even hanged!" She still rushed on; it was too short a distance to delay her execution as it was.
'Oh so easy, master loaned you to the Apothecary, and you were just supposed to bring the potions to the cabin then quietly leave. Any fool could do that! But no, you have to clod around like a draft horse and awaken the poor woman! Clumsy, stupid girl.' All these self-recriminations she had swirled around in her mind. Well-trod paths of blame and self-punishment. Out from the cabin, across the way, and down to master's wagon. She passed just in front of the redhead elf's hut; she knew that she worked for the scary red-headed woman.
"Maker!" She stopped short, "I have to tell Lady Cassandra!" She said that loud enough for the scary redhead elf to hear.
"Well, girl, if you have to tell Lady Cassandra, then you better do it! I take it that the Herald is awake?" Charter had been speaking with a new scout, teaching him to fear her but keeping him focused and teachable.
"I…I can not say. I must go." Rabbit turned toward the Chantry now; she chastised herself for this new oversight as well all the way to the Chantry door. She kept close to the walls to avoid the scary redhead woman in her tent. Rabbit was sure she could freeze the blood in you without magic. She had no idea how it was done, but she had seen the woman do it, and she did not want to be the target of that particular magic or any magic for that matter.
The door opened; Rabbit hoped that the Maker or Andraste would not mind her dirtying up the Chantry; she always loved Chantries. They somehow made her feel like she was someone, maybe just maybe, worth Andraste noticing - someday. She scurried across the floor, trying not to bother anyone; her shoes scratched the stone floor. She hated making so much noise, but her shoes were not the best; Master Seggrit said she was too lazy to be worth better. She thought that he was rather good to her. When her shoes had fallen apart on the way to Haven, he had only charged her a copper to rent the needle and another for the sinew thread to stitch them back together. She wondered why he would not just let her buy a new pair since he had them in the wagon for two copper a pair, but he said it would teach her the value of a copper and be more industrious with her efforts. She did not understand what he meant, but that was not unusual; she usually could not understand what he was telling her, mostly when he spent time at a pub.
She looked at everyone's shoes; she knew most humans by their shoes. Eventually, she found Lady Cassandra; she has very well made boots slightly stained with blood and mud; she was speaking with Lady Josephine, whose shoes were so beautiful, silk and ribbon – what would it be like?
"Yes? Speak. Is the Herald awake?" Cassandra marveled at this creature's ability to appear from nothing; more than once, she had to ask Leliana if she was indeed one of her people; Leliana had adamantly stated that she was not. "Come now, out with it; I have a meeting to attend."
"Yea, yea …" 'Breathe Rabbit, breathe!' "Yes, my lady. The Herald is awake. I think she is on her way here now after dressing." Rabbit could breathe again.
"Good, then carry on with your duties," Cassandra replied and turned back to her discussion with Josephine, which did not seem terribly diplomatic… "I tell you we cannot do this…" Rabbit moved away quickly.
Nothing else for it. 'I have to tell Master. I am in for it now; I wonder if they will use a new rope?' Rabbit had seen hangings before; old ropes tended to bind, causing the prisoner to suffocate slowly rather than a quicker death.
"I wonder if Master Seggrit would allow me to buy a new rope to use?" She hurried down the path past the Singing Maiden around the corner and down toward the gate. Master Seggrit's wagon was on her left; he was in a heated discussion with a Sister. Master Seggrit seemed to have many arguments with customers.
"What do you want girl?" Seggrit's words shocked Rabbit out of her thoughts.
"Uh-hmm. Master Seggrit. I have been told to tell you that the Herald requires me. That I am to gather my things and return to her cabin as her servant." There she had said it out loud! Said everything.
"She did, did she." Seggrit doubted that Rabbit had mustered the courage to enter the woman's cabin, let alone speak with her. "Listen you lazy little knife ear. Go find a switch; I plan to…"
The crowd outside the Heralds cabin was suddenly hushed. Seggrit even noticed, quieting his tirade. He looked to see the source; out from the Heralds cabin came the woman herself. She was outfitted in some of the finest leathers Seggrit had ever seen. He forgot what he was saying when the woman walked the short distance through the crowd, down the stairs, and cut across to the path crossing. She stopped, smiled, and motioned for someone to come over.
'Brilliant! She has seen my wares!' Seggrit swelled with pride; he straightened his attire like any proper businessman and prepared to approach her when he noticed that Rabbit had run to the woman.
"I will flay her alive." He said under his breath.
"I doubt that would be a wise idea." The young Sister commented. "It looks like the girl was telling the truth. Now, why don't you help me find something, that way you will look less foolish." Amalia turned back to the selection of jewelry, poor as it was; she could not afford to be choosy. She hoped she would get the details from Lady Nightingale later, but if not her, then Flissa.
Seggrit watched the elf girl speak with the Herald, who withdrew a pouch and pressed some coin into the elf's hands. 'Probably steal half of it.' Who then turned and ran back. The Herald then turned and started up the stairs toward the Chantry.
Rabbit stopped directly in front of Seggrit and looked as if she were a young child trying desperately to remember her instructions. "The Lady Serrada Trivelan requires me and gives you this as comspession…"
"Compensation, dear, the word is compensation, oh, and I believe it is pronounced Trevelyan." Amalia did not even look up from her browsing.
"compensation for your trouble." Rabbit then started to breathe again, with a broad smile across her face. She had tried to give Seggrit every coin she had received, but Seggrit refused.
Amalia herself could not help but smile; Seggrit did not. "Not even half of what you are worth. I am insulted, I have a mind to…"
"My dear Seggrit, you are not trying to imply that you think this child of the Maker is your property? You and I both know that since King Alistair's decree, the penalty for trafficking or holding a person as a slave, human or elf, is death by slow torture?" Amalia's eyes did not show the false friendship she portrayed in her smile.
"Aaah, certainly not. I am just saying that I have paid a good bit of coin in her upkeep and … education. After all, and I just thought that I would…" Seggrit was stammering. Of course, he did think of her as his property; he felt that service kept the elves from getting into trouble.
"It seems you have been well compensated. There, child, how many coins did she give you?" Amalia was now focused on the elf girl, who looked frightened; she wondered if this girl had any other emotion than fear. "Come, let us count them, shall we?"
"I can count." Rabbit bristled indignantly; she was not a child; it was just, well, being switched hurt.
Together they counted, twice to be sure. Ten shiny gold sovereigns. More money than Rabbit had ever seen.
"The Herald must think very highly of you little one. That is an attractive price for your services, very generous, don't you think, Seggrit?" Amalia turned her eyes on the shop keeper. She had spent a great deal of time studying Sister Leliana and her techniques, she had not mastered more than a handful, but she had eyes for this.
"Yes, yes, I will be sorry to see you go. Pack your things; the Herald of Andraste has need of you, so don't keep her waiting." If he could not make things better, he would somehow try and profit from it, and ten gold was an excellent price.
She did, it did not take long; Seggrit had insisted she 'travel light' so she could pack all her things in a small bag. Now to go back and tidy her new home, she genuinely smiled for once in a long time.
Meetings Go On Forever
Serrada listened. The morning had started so well, Cassandra had started the introductions, and each of them were very competent people. Her father had always said, find capable people, and give them the chance to show what they can do.
Serrada was not sure if these people were competent; she knew that Cassandra was a very experienced warrior, she had seen that, and seen how Leliana fared in battle as well, but as a spymaster? It seemed both Hands had failed; after all, the Divine was dead, and the Temple was scattered rubble across an entire valley. She had even more doubts and less evidence for how talented Cullen was as a leader or Josephine as a diplomat. Both were unknown to her, and as the morning wore on, she became less sure.
However, it was interesting to watch; the argument had centered around what exactly to do next. It had become a sort of dance now like the childhood game of Who Has the Sigil. It had started on her left with Leliana, then to Cullen, to Josephine to Cassandra, then back to Leliana.
She listened for several minutes, the arguments had gone on for hours, and she was tired of listening.
"We will go to the Hinterlands; I will speak with Mother Giselle. We must help the refugees. I leave tomorrow." She turned to go. She heard the others call after her, but she kept going. She was feeling rough and wanted to return to bed. She did not want them to see that, though. She wanted to think before going to bed. Tomorrow would be a long trip; she would be walking since most of the horses were dead. Even her Atrex. She would miss that horse; they had been together since Ostwick. She did not become overly emotionally attached to horses; warhorses have short lives. This one was different. It reminded her of Lian; she touched the freshly cleaned fetish hanging around her neck under her blouse. Cassandra had ensured it was cleaned while she was unconscious.
"Herald!" Cassandra called after her.
Serrada could hear the woman hurrying behind her as fast as she could. Of course, she could not run; Serrada could almost hear her mother 'one does not run in Andraste's Chantry' as if Andraste never ran in her life! Serrada wondered if Andraste would even recognize herself in the descriptions they all wholeheartedly accepted. 'I wonder if I would recognize myself in this story in 100 years.' Somehow, she doubted it. She stopped and waited for Cassandra, just outside the door to the cells. She shivered at the memory. Then the sounds of pursuit stopped.
She looked back to see Cassandra talking with Josephine and Leliana; Cullen was standing a distance away, looking like a whipped dog. The three women were speaking in hushed whispers and shouting with their hands. Serrada decided to wait on the outcome; she was exhausted anyway, she wanted nothing more than sleep.
It was then that she perceived another sound, a noise that shocked her from her lethargy. Just on the edge of her hearing, she sensed more than heard the murmur of voices, then clearly the scream of pain and the echo of a lash. Someone was being beaten! Without even a word, she immediately went to the door to the cells.
Their Cold Hearts
The lash did not come, but the bucket of water did. It was freezing, and John's teeth would not stop chattering, his muscles were shaking, and he could not stop that either. 'How long before hypothermia? No wait, this was hypothermia. What stage?' He had studied that once, but he could not seem to get his memory to work, which would have answered the question for a person sitting in a warm classroom drinking piping hot coffee.
He heard the lash begin its descent, and he tried to brace himself, then he heard leather hit leather.
"Enough! Is this how we treat our prisoners?" A woman's voice asked, he could hear her anger. "What are you doing? We do not treat people like this – ever."
The muffled voice of his interrogator answered, but he could not understand.
"Maker! Why is he naked?" The voice asked again. "Who are these people, and why are they all naked!"
Again, the muffled response.
"Enough! I will not have this. Get them clothing and hot food. Now!" The woman demanded.
He felt hands on him; his skin was so cold that the hands felt like branding irons. Although not anywhere as uncomfortable as the welts. "He is injured; you torture injured prisoners?" The voice spoke, the hands stroked his back, carefully avoiding the welts. A voice spoke into his ear, gently. If this was another attempt at interrogation, it might be effective.
"I am so sorry; this should never have happened. It stops now; I will see to it. I am not sure why you are here, but I will ensure none of you are tortured." The angry woman cut the bindings on his legs, then helped him stand.
"Herald, what are you doing? You are interfering with our interrogation!" A smoother musical voice came from behind his protector, mingled with the footsteps of her approach; it sounded as if it might be a beautiful voice under different circumstances.
"We have reason to believe they are directly involved in the death of the Divine. We will use any method of interrogation to determine their involvement." Yet another woman's voice, deeper and with a different accent than the first, close now to John and his protector, who was beside him removing the blindfold. John's head hurt; he decided to keep his eyes closed.
Someone, probably the one with the lash, entered the cells. "I brought the blankets, my lady."
"As you wish, Herald, but tell us, how do you propose to question them? They are clearly soldiers, and they certainly expect rough treatment as prisoners." The second voice was annoying, and her comments were as sarcastic as could be.
"We needed help, we did nothing to harm you, we stopped those monsters from attacking you from behind, and that was after they killed one of our own." John's voice was rasping, and he was so thirsty and cold.
"That's right, we are trapped refugees, and you attacked us!" From somewhere in the cells, he could hear Sam. The last was an almost hysterical rage; John had felt that anger, he thought it was somewhat theatrical, but she knew how to use it. "We lost one of my assistants to those monsters, and my guards defended you and us from them, and what do you do? You attack him and then us!"
"Is that true, Cassandra?" The woman close to him asked. 'I wonder who Cassandra is? What was the other name? Herald? I must be delirious; she sounds much more like a Steve or a Frank.' John was starting to wonder if he had stumbled onto a lost tribe of Amazons.
The sound of a door was heard a way off, and boots on the cold stone floor. This time it was a man's voice.
"What do you need now? I have not been able to get a wink of sleep since you were brought back…" The man's voice bellowed. When he saw the injured man, his griping stopped.
"Why was he not brought to me immediately? These wounds are festering. Who lashed him?" The man's voice had risen an octave in outrage.
"Leliana, we will speak of this later; right now, I need to get this man to a warm bed; Adan, please come with me. I need my servant as well; someone go get her. I am going to get this man to bed, I will then return, and I will be back to ensure these prisoners are properly treated." She then took the arm of the injured man who looked at her for the first time.
"You! I know you!" John whispered, then the floor opened up into a black hole and in he fell.
Her Warm Heart
The cells were certainly not a place she wanted to visit again, so soon after being a guest. She could not blame Leliana or Cassandra; she would have been beside them, given the same circumstances. However, that did not mean she was going to tour the cells for a lark. That said, the sounds she had heard concerned her. She needed to know what she heard; she walked to the door then found her hand on the handle.
"Serrada!" Cassandra's voice showed a tension that Serrada had not heard before. Not so much concern or surprise, but of a sort that Cassandra had simply noticed that the Harald had put her hand on the cell's outer door. Cassandra was now moving toward her; she knew now that she had to move and move now if she was going to check the source of the sounds.
The seekers' approach caused her to move faster; Serrada pulled the door open and was down the stairs in moments. From there, she could see the source of the sounds. There before her was an elf, she thought she had seen Leliana speaking with her, what was her name? 'Charter, that was it.' she thought. Charter moved to one side, revealing a bound, blindfolded man kneeling on the floor. She could see that he had been beaten. Charter picked up a bucket of water and tossed it on the man, washing the blood away from his back.
Serrada moved quickly to intercede. The lash was on its way down when Serrada caught the hand.
"Enough! Is this how we treat our prisoners?" Serrada asked; she wondered if this was what was planned for her? "What are you doing? We do not treat people like this – ever."
"Herald, please. These people were found near the temple." Charter looked distinctly uncomfortable with the situation. Serrada had always thought that Charter seemed decent; she knew that elves could be brutal, but certainly no worse than humans, but the elves she had known in Ostwick were often more decent than humans.
"Maker! Why is he naked?" Serrada asked again. "Who are these people, and why are they all naked!" She looked around; the men, most likely soldiers, were grouped in two cells. They were standing proudly in their nudity, hiding nothing, but a couple less brawny ones were uncomfortable and were trying to hide. The women were in a separate cell; all but one were huddled together to preserve their modesty. Serrada could only assume the confident one led the women, if not the entire group.
"Their clothing is strange, as are their weapons; we had no idea what might be in them. What they could do!" Charter was desperate to get the Herald to hear her side. At least give her the benefit of the doubt.
"Enough! I will not have this. Get them clothing and hot food. Now!" Serrada could not help wondering if things had been only slightly different, would she now be naked and whipped herself?
She had no idea who this man was but could not help but have compassion for him. She had been in precisely the same spot, only days before, but at least she had not been so degraded. 'What possessed them?'
She reached out to the injured man, using her right hand only. She was afraid that the accursed mark might spark to life and either injure or terrify him. 'A little honey over vinegar.' Anna's words came back to her even as her hands touched his frigid skin. The man jumped at the contact.
"He is injured; you torture injured prisoners?" Serrada was angry again, wasn't the Inquisition better than this? Was this always the way it was going to be? She leaned down close to him, letting him know she was there.
"I am sorry; this should never have happened. It stops now; I will see to it. I am not sure why you are here, but I will ensure none of you are tortured. " Serrada took out her dagger, the very one she had used to emphasize her point to Roderick, she cut the bindings holding his thighs, that was – delicate. Then his ankles. 'He is certainly very healthy.' She was blushing and hoped that no one would notice, but that was unlikely.
"Herald, what are you doing? You are interfering with our interrogation!" Leliana was angry herself. 'Herald or no, how dare she interfere with my work!' She prided herself on her control of her temper, but these people were more than likely responsible for Dorothea's murder.
"We have reason to believe they are directly involved in the death of the Divine. We will use any method to interrogate them to determine their involvement." Cassandra had seen Leliana lose her temper; it frightened even her. She wanted to calm the situation before someone got hurt. 'Andraste, please make your Herald see reason!'
Serrada began to remove the prisoner's blindfold; whoever tied it had done an excellent job, it was bound so that she could not just slip it off, and she was worried that if she used her dagger, she might injure him. Besides, fussing with the blindfold gave her time to think; thankfully, Charter now took that moment to make her appearance, with another of Leliana's people in train and both piled high with good blankets. She started handing them out to the prisoners and then giving one to Serrada, who carefully draped it over the man's broad shoulders. His back was crisscrossed with many angry and bleeding welts - there would undoubtedly be scars without immediate treatment. She noticed he seemed to have his own collection. She finally got the blindfold off, but the prisoner kept his eyes closed, probably from the brightness of the light.
"As you wish, Herald, but tell me, how do you propose to question them? They are clearly soldiers, and they certainly expect rough treatment as prisoners." Cassandra was standing with her arms crossed under her breasts, with her head tilted to the left. Her tone was clear, and Serrada had been around her long enough to know it was with frustration.
Finally, the prisoner spoke for himself. "We needed help, we did nothing to harm you, we stopped those monsters from attacking you from behind, and that was after they killed one of our own." The prisoner's voice was not clear; it was raspy and sounded like he had not been given water in hours.
The prisoners speaking seemed to permit the others; the leading woman spoke up. Serrada noticed the other women had huddled together out of modesty, but this woman stood feet apart, hands on her hips as if she was challenging them with her nudity.
"That's true, we are trapped refugees, and you attacked us!" The last showing a level of rage that was at odds with her demeanor. Serrada wondered if she was indeed as angry as she appeared, but perhaps more frightened than anything. "We lost one of my assistance to those monsters, and my guards defended us all from them, and what do you do? You attack him and then us!"
"Is that true, Cassandra?" Serrada had turned on the Seeker, who was looking sheepish; that look told her all she needed to know.
"What do you need now? I have not been able to get a wink of sleep since you were brought back…" Adan had burst through the cell room door, his usual cheery disposition intact. He stopped as soon as he saw the back of the prisoner being held up by Serrada.
"Why was he not brought to me immediately? These wounds are festering. Who lashed him?" As big an ass as Adan was, he did hate suffering, and his normal reaction was to be angered by it; he was particularly enraged by this.
"Leliana, we will speak of this later; right now, I need to get this man to a warm bed; Adan, please come with me. I need my servant; someone fetch her. I am going to get this man to bed, I will then return, and I will be back to ensure these prisoners are properly treated." Serrada needed Adan to take the man's other arm.
Serrada noticed that the man had finally tried to open his eyes. At first, they seemed unfocused, and he blinked; they watered, and tears rolled down his face from the light. Finally, they seemed to focus as he looked around the prisoners, then finally to Serrada.
"You! I know you!" The prisoner softly spoke, then promptly collapsed.
Meaning of a Name
Rabbit had done as she was instructed; she had informed Master Seggrit that she was needed by the Lady Herald and picked up her things and left. He was not overjoyed; it meant that he would have to do his own cooking and cleaning. He was mollified when Serrada had given him ten sovereigns gold, more than he had cleared during his entire stay in Haven. Rabbit moved her things to her lady's cabin and straightened it up. She washed and changed her lady's bedsheets. Cleaned and pressed all her lady's clothes. She even managed to air out the cabin and find flowers to perfume the air.
That done, she still had one task to do. Find a new name. She knew how to find things like shoes, flowers, items lost under a bed or behind a cabinet, but how could she find a name?
'Maker, I have only been called Rabbit.' It had been the only name she could remember; she was only three or four winters old when she was found in the carnage of the caravan her family served. 'I don't remember anything else.'
She left the Herald's cabin and wandered through Haven. First, she went to the Chantry; perhaps someone might help her there? But outside the door, she lost her nerve. "Maybe I will try the tavern first."
On the way to the Singing Maiden, she found a sister discussing Chantry matters with an elven scout.
"Excuse me, sister and sir. My mistress does not like my name and has told me to find a new one…" The sister was uncertain.
"You should be proud of the name your parents gave you." The elf looked at her like she was dirt; it was a look she had come to expect from elves. "Who is your mistress?"
She squared her small shoulders, lifted her chin, and looked squarely at the elf. For the first time in her young life, 'Rabbit' felt an emotion other than fear. It would be some time before she was able to give it a name.
"The Herald of Andraste." 'Rabbit' replied in her most firm voice; the name of the emotion was pride, with a little side of self-confidence, both of which were entirely new for her.
Both the elf and Sister looked surprised and skeptical.
"What name have you, child?" The Sister asked.
"Rabbit, ma'am." Rabbit responded she was ashamed. For the first time, she thought it meant more than 'easily frightened.'
"Sound about right." The elf spat. "Don't you have parents to name you?"
"My parents were killed in the Blight when I was very young." Rabbit had to tell the story yet again; it was becoming only slightly less painful, like a bad burn a few hours after the blister formed. "I was found and sold as a bonded servant."
"I am sorry, child." The sister looked at the elf. "I would have thought you would be more kind."
The ideas went back and forth, but nothing felt right. She thanked them and moved on. She was sure that her lady would not be happy if she chose an animal name, repeating her inquiry with much the same result, some gentler some less so. Flissa was kindest, but she plainly thought flowers were the thing to name her. All were names fit for a human girl child, but she was sure that her parents would have chosen an elf name, and although she could not remember what it was, she wanted to honor them, and by doing so, she wished to remember them when she heard her name.
Finally, on her way to Adan's cabin, she passed Solas and somehow plucked up the courage to ask him.
"Excuse me, master Solas, sir…" She had lost the confidence she had found only a short walk away. "My mistress has told me to find a new name. She does not want me to keep the old one."
"Truly child?" the tone of Solas's voice was mocking; even 'Rabbit' could discern that. He stood stiffly, appearing at ease but with his head up and shoulders back, both hands hanging on the staff. "What pray tell is the name your parents gave you that so offends your mistress?" His eyes were hard and cold.
Yet again, she had to open that wound; as she did, she felt her eyes brim. In return, she saw his eyebrows knit, even as his eyes softened. No one was more surprised than she had been, he was a vital elf, and his noticing her was – unimaginable.
"It is cold out lethallan; please come inside." Solas held the door open, and she entered; he was careful to open the curtains in all the windows, "To let in some afternoon sun on this cold, dreary day."
Solas had spoken with her for several minutes, asked her questions about herself, what she loved or hated, about her dreams, and what she remembered of her parents.
He was so kind to her that she ran to the adjacent cabin and bought with the last of her coin, some of Master Adan's best tea, and happily made it for Solas. He was so thoughtful, telling her several times that she did not need to make him tea, but she insisted; after all, how else could she thank him? He was so busy speaking of possible names that he only just sipped the tea. 'Rabbit' had to empty and refill his cup several times to keep it hot. Seggrit had often told her that she was not good for much, but she could do that.
Then he said Gliril; it was a modification of an old elven word for 'the girl who sings.' She liked it very much; she asked him why he picked it, he replied: "Your eyes sing your soul's joy."
The newly minted Gliril walked away with a broad smile and singing eyes.
She did not see the equally smiling elf mage; as he watched her walk toward the Heralds cabin, he watered the bushes just outside his window. 'We shall see if tea is good for roses.'
Warm Beds Warming Hearts
Serrada sat in the chair across the room from the prisoner - she was trying not to doze off. She had not slept that night, not because she did not want to, but because the prisoner was in the only bed!
She had not thought that through when she brought him to her cabin, after all, space was at a premium in Haven. Her reputation was at stake, so she insisted Adan treat the prisoner and Gliril stays as well as a brace of guards, not because she was concerned the prisoner might attack her, he was far too ill. She was capable of defending herself – no, she was concerned about rumors.
He was lying on his stomach because Adan had said his welts needed to be treated and allowed to dry. He had treated the infections; it was a daggers edge thing; how much damage would remain after the healer mage had finished her work was in the Maker's hands. Adan had used his poultices first and only grudgingly allowed the mage to do her job. Between the two of them, the only remaining signs of the lashing were faint line scars on his skin, but also the deeper scars that neither alchemy nor magic could repair – souls are harder to heal. Adan had left hours ago, in the company of the healer, they were in in-depth discussions about techniques and approaches; Serrada smiled at the thought – 'Good, Adan needs a little release, maybe he will relax some.' She yawned and stretched; her muscles were knotted and tired.
She looked at the prisoner more closely. He was not clean-shaven, but his beard and mustache were well kept and neatly cut. His skin had seen sun but was not horribly sunburned. Adan said his hands were soft, like a scholar but had calluses, some in odd places. 'Perhaps a noble fallen on hard times?'
She could only refer to the man as the prisoner because she had not been told his name, and after the scene in the cells, she certainly was not going to go asking. Besides, she had spent most of the night trying to understand why she behaved the way she had, and what did he mean by his exclamation that he knew her? She was sure she had never seen him before in her life! 'Andraste, I certainly would have remembered.' "Stop it!" The words were out of her mouth before she could stifle them.
Yip! "I am sorry, my lady!" Gliril was on her knees again. Gliril was the name her new elf servant had chosen; Serrada was proud of the girl when she had told Serrada what it was and what it meant, she received another hug, and clearly, Gliril was proud of her new name.
"I am sorry, Gliril! I was thinking of something else, and words came out of my mouth. I am so sorry." Serrada moved to lift the girl to her feet. Gliril had insisted on staying up with Serrada just in case the man might try something inappropriate after all; the Herald was the most beautiful woman on Thedas.
"No matter, mistress, I was just startled, that is all." Gliril would not hear of the Herald taking any blame for her mistake. "You have not slept at all; you need to try and sleep. Perhaps Ms. Charter has some room. Or Lady Pentaghast or Lady Cousland?"
Serrada blanched at that name; she had to find a way to speak with Leliana about their familial relationship. That would be made only more complicated by the naked situation in her bed. She was sure that she had complicated the relationship with both women. As much as she had tried to regret her actions, it was impossible, but she would have to try and mend those relationships. She was still awake not because she needed the bed, not truly, she had slept in worse conditions than on the wooden chair, but what was keeping her from sleep was what to do with this man.
"Gliril, what do you know about these people?" Serrada thought she must know something.
"Nothing Herald." Gliril was honest. "I was told that they were found hiding in the remains of a storage alcove of the Temple. He is the leader of their guards; other than that, I don't know."
"My name is John Gerald Gray, Commander United States Navy, Serial Number N3346327." The prisoner responded in a pillow, muffled voice, more robust than she had heard it last.
The guards drew their swords. "Madam Herald, Lady Pentaghast, and Lady Cousland insisted that the prisoner be returned to the cells once he was awake. Commander Cullen was insistent as well."
"Fine, one of you tell Charter to bring him clothing and that I wish to speak with her, and ask her to bring the Hands as well. I wish to speak with them – BEFORE he is returned to the cells." Serrada had already strained her relationships with all the leaders; she could not afford to do more damage.
First Charter, then the Hands appeared; Serrada wondered if they had been standing outside her cabin door waiting for the summons.
Before any of them could speak, Serrada started.
"I realize that things are agitated at the moment, and I also acknowledge that you were both very close to Dorothea." Serrada looked at both the Hands; in turn, Charter was glad to not be in those addressed. "However, I have most recently been in his position, and I can not tell you how distressing it is for me to see yet another potentially innocent person…" Serrada was trying to finish her point.
"Herald, you must see how this looks! They were found inside the Temple grounds after the explosion with weapons we can only describe as extraordinary, and they must know something!" Cassandra was desperate for some sort of answer.
"Cassandra, you said the same of me, not a week hence. Tell me, what was the condition of the storeroom?" Serrada had already guessed; almost nothing was left unharmed. How she had survived was beyond her knowledge, but it was impossible to imagine that anything in a storeroom would be untouched from the devastation of the temple.
"Damaged or burned completely, Lady Herald." Charter spoke up before anyone could stop her; for her part, she was not comfortable with the prisoner's interrogation; she had her own scars from a lash, she would have never wished to give someone else their own. "I led the recovery team myself, and everything inside the storeroom was seriously damaged except for these people and their things and the books and scrolls they had gathered to preserve."
"That proves nothing, my Lady Herald." Leliana was not willing to give up the point, at least not yet. "They could have taken refuge in that area after they destroyed the Temple."
"Fair point Leliana." Serrada was not unfamiliar with the debate herself. "Perhaps you might show me where they took shelter from the explosion? After all, you point out that the storeroom was heavily damaged. So, where did they hide?" She tried to make her voice light.
"We know nothing about an explosion. We had only just arrived. We would not have survived more than a few hours. We were dressed for the desert, not for this winter weather." John had found the strength to turn his head and explain what he knew was the truth. "We have no idea how we got here or even where here is."
"Do you contest his point?" Serrada asked. "How were they dressed? Were they dressed or equipped for winter?"
Serrada saw both Leliana and Cassandra wilt; they both knew that they were not dressed for winter.
Charter spoke up immediately. "Lady Herald, if we had not gone out to them, they would have frozen to death the first night. They were effectively naked, dressed for much hotter conditions; they also were dressed in colors that would blend in with desert sands, not winter snows. We even found desert sand in some of their clothing and their luggage."
"Thank you, Charter." Serrada thought that her point was made.
"Guards, please assist the Commander in dressing. Then Charter, please lead him and his guards back to his cell. Ensure that he and all his companions are properly dressed and fed. Then return here immediately." Serrada gave instructions as if she were in command; she did so but did not even realize she had.
Charter and the guards assisted him out of the cabin, wrapped in her blankets. Gliril had already started preparing water to wash her bedding. Serrada watched her and said a prayer thanking the Maker for her. "Gliril, please wait on that and fetch us some tea and something to eat, please." Gliril smiled and ran through the door; she was so happy to be helpful.
That done, she returned to the two women. "Now, we have a moment alone."
"I do not know how they reached that storeroom, my friends, but neither do I know how I stepped into the Fade or got out myself. Let us give them the benefit of the doubt and allow them the chance to prove themselves to us, but to do so with prudence."
Serrada waited for some backlash, but when none came, she continued. "Clothe them, keep their luggage and clothing separate. Give them tools to build themselves shelters - guard them with care." Serrada turned to Leliana first. "Leliana, have Charter organize an inconspicuous watch, so they do not feel watched. They are plainly strangers; everyone will know to watch them."
Finally, she turned to Cassandra, "Seeker, please work with Cullen and make sure that some Templars are involved, just in case. Then carefully search the storeroom and see if there is anything of interest we might have missed." The Hands looked at each other; they decided that she was being very reasonable, and she had made excellent points.
"Very well, Herald." Leliana led the Hands response. "We will do as you say. We have been in need of a meeting hall and one for recruits and the wounded. We will have them build a hall; then, if they are honorable and what they say, they can either stay in one of the halls or move to other accommodations."
Gliril took this moment to return with a tea service with a platter of food; how she managed to do it was beyond Serrada. The elf made it look like it was as easy as breathing. The girl disappeared and returned with the bedding, then began to clean the room, changing the bed yet again, somehow she had managed to bring the soiled blankets back as well.
Serrada set out the food and poured out the tea; she noticed Cassandra and Leliana were whispering near the door. After finishing with the tea, she called them both, then sat down and watched Gliril. She prepared a plate of food for Gliril and forced the girl to take it. Finally, she turned to the two women. Serrada was concerned; they accepted this too readily.
"Alright, what is your price?" She looked closely at both.
Leliana's sidelong glance at Cassandra said all that was needed. "We wish you to accept our guidance from now on. To not act so impulsively."
Cassandra finished the point. "You should not have interfered as you did."
"I will not promise that." Serrada was firm. "I will promise to listen to both of you. However, I will follow my conscience. I can promise no more." She took a sip of tea, "Besides, I will be in the Hinterlands for several days. Unable to interfere. Cassandra and Leliana, when I return, I expect them to all be alive and well." She carefully put down her cup and saucer. "I am leaving you no other option."
"Now, to discuss something important, Leliana; how is your sister-in-law - my beloved sister?" Serrada watched for some sign of response, she thought she saw a flicker of something cross Leliana's face, but Cassandra was open-mouthed.