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Edit. V 2.0
What the Water Gave Us.
Fenris surfaced from unconsciousness, probably only to preserve his sanity by allowing himself to stop the coming argument.
“Daisy, we’re in serious trouble here – Somehow I don’t think these people will listen to what we have to say, let alone care.” That was Varric’s mellow baritone; the Dwarf sounded as close to losing his temper as he ever got.
“Surely if we explain....” That was Sebastian’s even, precise voice. So Varric, Sebastian and Merrill; at least all his companions were still alive. Even if he cared little for the Dalish girl the others would be upset by her death.
Fenris decided to add his voice before Sebastian could continue.
“We are at the mercy of our captors. Were they from Kirkwall or close by Hawke’s name or our own reputations might hold some weight; but the Magister’s could care less.”
“Elf!” Was that relief in Varric’s voice? Wonders would never cease. “We were worried if you were ever going to wake up – you took a nasty blow to the head, you alright?”
“The headache should leave in time.” He replied. The wound ached and his head throbbed but his vision was clear; a good sign.
“We have all only just regained our senses from the drug they used on us. How are you are sure that our jailers are Magister’s Fenris?” Sebastian questioned.
Obviously they had not been in the cell long, for his companions had not yet noticed what he had.
“Very.” He pointed to a shadowed corner of the room and their gazes followed it.
“Elgar'nan!”
“Sweet Andraste!”
“****...”
Ropes leading from the top corners of the square frame and tied to wrists kept the arms apart and up in a V shape. Shoulders and arms had to be screaming in agony because the feet didn’t touch the ground; instead they hung just above a large, shallow clay bowl.
Blood dripped into it, drop by drop falling from the toes. Long bleeding gashes across shoulders, down the back, along the buttocks, down the thighs and calves fed the rivulets. The wounds had to be old, as they only bled sluggishly now.
Either that, or there was little blood left to bleed.
In the dim light he could see enough of the figure’s pitifully naked silhouette to know it was a woman, a little shorter than Isabela and possessed of a similar figure; well, were she not almost emaciated. Her hip bones were sharp against her skin, her ribs too visible. He could not see her face; it was bowed and hidden by shoulder length hair, but the rounded shell of an ear poked through, marking her as human. The hair might be dark in colour – or the lank ropes of it might simply be filthy, and he could not even begin to guess at the colour of her skin.
“Is...Is s-s-she...?” Merrill stuttered in horror.
“No, she still draws breath, for the moment.” Sebastian said.
“Maker’s Breath, why?” Varric’s voice was horrified, and carried pity.
“Because blood is power, and no Magister would ever shun more power.” He replied grimly.
“I thought Tervinter still outlawed Blood Magic.” Varric stated. Fenris smiled grimly.
“They say they forbid it, in public it is denounced, unlawful. But privately, behind thick doors that block out the screams, nothing has changed. As long as it is in secret, and those used are not missed, a blind eye is turned.”
“All the Blood Magic I have ever heard about – they drained and killed outright...” Sebastian said; a sickened question in his voice.
“Only because they did not have the time. But in Tervinter, this is a preferred method, bleeding and then allowing the victim to ‘recover’ before bleeding again over a period of time. Much more blood can be harvested then, rather than simply leeching it all in one go.” Fenris explained, bile rising in his throat as he did.
Silence greeted his explanation. What could be said? They could not help her, behind the bars of the cell and Fenris knew she could not free herself.
“Are we in Tervinter Fenris?” Merrill asked, fear in her voice.
‘And well that she should be afraid.’ He mused.
“It is unlikely. It is a long journey and not enough time has passed. We are likely in one of the old holding pens outside Kirkwall, from when the city still openly traded in slaves. It appears that they are not as abandoned as once thought.” He guessed.
“If we are not far from the city our chances of escaping are greatly improved.” Sebastian stated.
Fenris looked askance at the noble Chantry brother, as did Varric. Only Merrill looked up hopefully at his words.
“Hate to break it to you Choir Boy, but we’re locked in a cell, and I can’t pick the lock, they took your and the Elf’s armor, your bow, his sword, Daisy’s staff and – Bianca! They took Bianca! ”
Fenris sighed. He had hoped it would take longer for the Dwarf to notice to lack of his beloved crossbow.
“...When I get my hands on those nug-humping bastards!”
“We’ll get her back Varric, don’t worry. I’m sure she’s just fine.” Merrill soothed. “Hawke and the others will realise that something’s wrong, won’t they? They’ll come for us?” The Dalish looked at Fenris and Sebastian.
“If our trail has not gone cold before they begin to search for us there may be hope.” He admitted.
It simply did not sit well with him to set back and wait for a rescue. After so many years alone he found it hard to trust that anyone cared what happened to him, to trust that Hawke and the others would come.
“I will pray that the Maker guides their steps.” Sebastian said.
It was not as if they could do anything else.
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Merrill and Sebastian appeared to be praying to their respective deities. He assumed that Varric was still stewing over Bianca’s ‘abduction’. Hours passed and the light that crept into their prison from the high, narrow windows had almost faded. None of his companions spoke.
Their fellow captive had ceased bleeding at all, thick red droplets no longer falling from her feet. She was still alive though, Fenris could see the shallow rise and fall of her chest.
He felt...empathy for her. At least a Denerius’ bodyguard he had never been bled, he had been needed at full strength at all times to protect his ‘Master’. But he had seen it done to others, seen the weak wreck it left them as, the pain they endured.
‘If Hawke comes, if we manage to escape, could I-we help her? Would she even wish it?’
He remembered the mindset, how even the thought of escape or freedom was unacknowledged. How far gone was she to that utter loss of self?
His musing was stopped by the sound of footfalls on stone, he waited and they grew closer until he was sure they were heading for their prison. Fenris tensed, as did his companions, waiting.
The lone guard wore similar armor to the hunters who had tried to trap him the night he had met Hawke, the same dull grey and of similar fashion; basic Tervinter make. He ignored them as he strode over to the bound woman.
Even as he had been expecting it Fenris inwardly winced as the guard drew back his hand and slapped the unconscious woman. Merrill cringed, her hand moving to cover her face and Sebastian was opening his mouth to speak until Varric grabbed his arm and shook his head, his face hard.
A weak moan and a slight upward tilting of the head was the only reaction given. The guard pulled the knots loose from her wrists, revealing raw, abraded skin. Her limp form was manhandled into a shapeless grey robe, the rough wool more cruelty than kindness on the barely scabbed wounds of her back. He half dragged her into the cell to their left, dumped her face down on the earthen floor, locked the cell and left.
As the guard's footsteps faded from hearing, the woman’s left hand scrabbled in the dirt beneath it, only a loose layer covered a depression in the earth and her fingers withdrew holding...A shell?
A seashell of some ocean creature, a fine point at one end that flared out in ridges until one side bulged out for the opening that it’s former wearer had occupied, the top swirling into a cone. Her fingers, nails chipped, worn and cracked, clutched at it and her thumb moved in slow, restless circles around the hole.
Her voice was only barely above a whisper, weak but clear and...Beautiful.
“Time it took us.....To where the water was.....That’s what the water gave me.....And time goes quicker.....Between the two of us.....But oh, my love, don’t forsake me.....Take what the water gave me.....”
She was...Singing?
“Lay me down.....Let the only sound.....Be the overflow.....Pockets full of stones.....Lay me down.....Let the only sound.....Be the overflow.....”
The other were staring, as was he. Merrill’s mouth was open; Sebastian looked like someone had hit him on the head – hard. Varric’s hands were twitching as if he wished the write the words down.
''And oh, poor Atlas.....The world’s a beast of a burden.....You’ve been holding up a long time.....''
Who was ‘Atlas’? The lover she was asking not to forsake her?
"And all this longing....And the ships are left to rust.....That’s what the water gave us.....''
‘Ships left to rust’. Had she been in a shipwreck, as Isabela had?
''So lay me down.....Let the only sound.....Be the overflow.....Pockets full of stones.....Lay me down.....Let the only sound.....Be the overflow.....''
Why would someone lay in water with ‘pockets full of stones’?
'' ‘Cause they took your loved ones.....But returned them in exchange for you.....But would you have it any other way?.....Would you have it any other way?.....You couldn’t have it any other way.....''
That made no sense; no Slaver or Magister would keep a bargain. They would agree to, but break the deal as soon as it was expedient.
'' ‘Cause she’s a cruel mistress.....And a bargain must be made.....But oh, my love, don’t forget me.....When I let the water take me.....''
Fenris gave up trying to understand, possibly the woman was delirious with blood loss, and simply listened.
''So lay me down.....Let the only sound.....Be the over flow.....Pockets full of stones.....Lay me down.....Let the only sound.....Be the overflow..... So lay me down.....Let the only sound.....Be the over flow.....Pockets full of stones.....Lay me down.....Let the only sound.....Be the overflow.....''
The echoes of her voice faded from the room, and the only sound now was the rasping of her thumb against the shell in her hand.
Modifié par Tashash, 19 septembre 2011 - 11:06 .
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