She couldn't open them. She just couldn't make herself. She couldn't untie the ribbon from around them, a ribbon that matched the one tied around her neck. The same green, the same material. Everything the same. Jacen had given them the same ribbons. She could remember getting hers, but she couldn't remember Jacen giving Mara one.
All she could do was sit on the bench and do her best to keep breathing at a steady rate. She felt cold. Not physically, exactly, but inside. She just didn't know what to do. Or more, how to do it.
She had thought over and over the sorts of things that she would say to Mara if she could. But she'd never stopped to think about what Mara would have said to her. And now she was scared to find out. Siara didn't get scared of much, but she was scared of this. Scared of facing it alone. She closed her eyes, letting out a sigh through her nose, then untied the ribbon. She wrapped it around her fingers so it wouldn't be blown away by the breeze and opened the letter on top.
For a moment, her eyes didn't focus on what the words said, simply resting on Mara's tidy writing. She always was better at that sort of thing. Was always neater, tidier, more collected. Siara had always been jealous of how put together Mara was, where she was always so chaotic. Mara had been more collected when she was attacked by the templars too.
Mara's eyes never left Siara. The templars were already moving on from Mara towards Siara, their swords pointed towards her. There was pain in her eyes. Pain and sadness. It looked like she was going to try something, was reaching out her hands as though to use her magic, but nothing happened. Siara felt her swords get wrenched from her grasp as she struggled to get to her sister, felt a strong, unforgiving arm around her waist, pulling her backwards and away from her dying sister. Mara's arm collapsed to the ground, but her eyes didn't shut, and her lips were still moving. Even with all the strength leaving her, she was still trying to save her sister.
Siara spun around to face the templar, the sick grin on his face. Her heart thundered in her chest and she tried to gouge his eyes out, tried to kick him, tried anything. But she couldn't do anything. She wasn't strong enough.
She shook her head, feeling sick, tears staining her cheeks. She threw the letters down and stood up, pacing around the small clearing. She ran her hands through her hair, trying everything she could to stop crying, but she didn't know how. Her eyes landed back on the letters and for a moment all she wanted to do was burn them. She wanted to forget. She wanted to forget Mara, wanted to forget Jacen, wanted to forget her life as the Blade. Everything. She wanted to forget and move on.
Her pacing stopped and her arms fell to her sides.
Forgetting wouldn't change anything. She swallowed and took another deep breath before once more sitting down on the bench, taking the letters in her hands once again. It was almost as if Mara was sitting next to her, wrapping her arms around her. Telling her that everything was going to be all right.
Siara knew it wasn't possible. Mara was dead. Gone forever.
She opened the first letter and started to read.
A large portrait hung on the wall, a beautiful brown haired elf smiling out of it. Siara stood looking at the painting, barely blinking, arms folded, feet shoulder-width apart. Alistair headed towards her, stopping next to her. For a moment he didn't say anything, just looking up at the painting with Siara.
"I had it commissioned after she… well. After she sacrificed herself," he explained. "What do you think?"
"It's all right. Her eyes are the wrong colour, though."
"What?"
Siara half looked around at him.
"Her eyes weren't dark green, they were more like drying moss. Not the forest. Other than that, it's not half bad."
"I see."
It still hurt to look at the painting. Mara always looked like she was on the verge of laughter, but that was pretty accurate. She had always been quick to laugh. Siara determinedly looked away, then started walking away. She hadn't managed to get any sleep the night before, memories she'd sooner forget flashing through her vision every time she closed her eyes. Mara's letters just kept playing on repeat in her brain, even after she'd burned some of them. She already regretted it. Had regretted it as soon as she'd done it. But it was done now. There was no undoing it.
"Have you seen Cullen this morning?" she asked, Alistair following her. He still wanted to forge some sort of relationship with Siara, she knew that. But she also knew she would need some more time. Mara's actions had certainly left their mark, her words still hurt.
"No, he never showed up for breakfast. I was about to send someone to check on him."
"Don't bother, I'll do it."
Siara peeled off and headed for the kitchen, leaving Alistair standing alone in the hall, a small sigh escaping him. Siara didn't care.
The kitchens were about the same as the last time Siara had been there. Except this time Siara was able to waltz in as though she owned the place, rather than having to sneak in to steal scraps. Last time, Mara and Jacen had been with her. Siara squashed that thought before it could grow. She was tired of feeling so vulnerable.
"Do you have any food made up for Commander Rutherford?" she asked the kitchen worker nearest to her.
"Of course, we were just about to take it up to him."
Siara looked at the tray piled with food and frowned. She shook her head.
"Not that. Got any porridge?"
"What?"
"Make some porridge, would you? With a bit of honey in it, maybe some fruit, but not much and make sure it's cut up finely. Do you have any elfroot?"
"No…?"
"Well, I guess chamomile will have to do. Make some chamomile tea for with the porridge. Don't worry about sending someone to deliver it."
The kitchen worker blinked a couple of times before nodding and hurrying to do as she was told. Siara shook her head, a sigh escaping her as she leaned on the bench nearest her, resting her forehead in her clasped hands. She was too distracted at the moment, and she knew it. There was too much going on in her private life to get anything else figured out. But Cullen she could deal with. He was most likely having a bad day, which was understandable. She'd seen it a grand total of once before, though that lyrium withdrawal was far from being voluntary. And she hadn't cared at all for the man going through the withdrawal. Cullen, she could at least tolerate.
She didn't pay much attention as the kitchen staff moved around her, preparing the meals for the day, servants running in and out with trays of food for various nobles. She didn't even acknowledge when a tray was placed in front of her, stacked with fresh fruits and cheeses, a couple of bits of bread and some meat cuts. Not Siara's usual type of breakfast. It didn't take too long for someone to place a newly made up tray with porridge and a small pot of chamomile tea in front of her. Siara mumbled a thanks and picked up the tray, leaving the kitchen and heading to Cullen's room.
Surprisingly, Cullen was out of bed. Siara had expected him to still be stuck in bed from the lyrium withdrawals, but instead he was sitting hunched over at the desk, still in his armour. There was a pile of paperwork in front of him, looking like it was about half done. The Blade shook her head. Did he ever go to bed? She guessed that he had fallen asleep at his desk, and that combined with the travel and his still being in full armour likely hadn't helped with his health. She quietly stepped into the room and put the tray down on the small table by the window, Cullen slowly turning his head to watch her. His eyes were slightly glazed over, and beads of sweat were sticking to his face. Siara turned to face him, shaking her head slightly. There were so many things she wanted to say, like that there was a bed that he could have slept in. Like the paperwork would still have been there this morning. But she didn't. Now wasn't the time.
"Let's get you out of that armour," was what she settled for instead, moving towards Cullen.
"I can do it myself," Cullen objected, struggling to stand up, using the desk to push himself to his feet. He still stumbled despite this, Siara quickly stepping forward to support him. Cullen obviously wanted to object, but he was too weak and he knew he needed some help.
"Just sit down."
Siara's voice was gruff, like she was dealing with a small child that she really didn't want to, but it wasn't unkind. Cullen grudgingly did as he was told, falling back into his seat while Siara set about unbuckling his armour. It didn't take her too long, and soon the weight of the armour was being removed from Cullen's shoulders. A relieved sigh escaped him before he could stop it.
"I can manage the rest," he said, nodding to Siara, "thank you."
"Let me know when you're ready to move to the table. You need to eat."
Siara walked over to the bed and dragged a blanket from it as Cullen set about removing the rest of his armour, struggling with the buckles. It took him a bit to remove everything, but eventually he managed, setting the last piece to the side before once again using the desk to support himself as he stood up. Siara saw him and finished arranging the blanket on the chair in the morning sun before heading back to Cullen and taking him by the arm, gently supporting him as they moved back towards the table.
"I'm not an old man, you know," Cullen muttered. Evidently he was already feeling slightly better, having gotten a bit of an attitude.
"Really? You're acting a bit like one."
They made it over to the table and Siara helped lower Cullen gently into the chair before draping the blanket around his shoulders and then pushing the tray closer to him. Neither of them really wanted Cullen to be spoon fed the porridge. He could feed himself, not that he had much of an appetite.
Siara stood back and just looked out the window while he ate, back to being lost in her own thoughts. It didn't take too long for them to be interrupted, though. There was a quiet but firm knock on the door. Siara and Cullen looked around at it.
"Come in," Cullen called, Alistair stepping into the room.
"Grief, Cullen. You look - " he cut himself off, shaking his head to clear his thoughts. "Not the time," he said firmly.
Siara was pretty sure he was saying it more to himself than to them, her eyes flicking to Cullen. He suddenly looked even more tired than before. Probably because he didn't like to be seen in this state by anyone. He was, afterall, the commander of the Inquisition's army. Showing weakness of any kind wasn't exactly desirable. Not to anyone, not even those who would be allies.
"I've just been informed that there might be a little problem here in the castle," Alistair started.
"What kind of problem?" Siara asked, folding her arms and stepping forward, sending a glare in Cullen's direction as he put down his spoon to listen. The commander casually reached out to pour himself a cup of tea, as though that had always been his intention.
"A rats with magic kind of problem," Siara raised an eyebrow at the King. "I've just been told that we have some of those Tevinter cultists hiding somewhere in the castle. Venatori? We don't know what they're doing or where exactly they are. Would you mind helping out? Since you've got some experience with them already and since you're here already."
"You have no ideas of where in the castle they might be?" Siara asked before Cullen could say anything.
"None."
Cullen set down his tea and started to get to his feet but Siara put a hand on his shoulder and gently but firmly pushed him back down.
"You'd just be a liability in the state you're in," she told him, "just finish your breakfast and then go to bed. I can handle this. It'll be a good distraction."
"So you'll help?"
"Better to kill a few Venatori than burn a castle to the ground."
"I can't tell if you're joking or not," Alistair admitted, stepping back as Siara headed out the door. He shared a look with Cullen, who was now feeling tired both from being sick, and from worrying that Siara was going to do something incredibly stupid.