Chapter Text
I was only 13 when we met. I knew about him of course, every time he roared the ground beneath my master’s home would shake a little. Just enough for the dust to fall from the rafters and just often enough that you couldn’t forget he was there. At least I couldn’t.
No one else ever seemed to acknowledge the way the whole village would shudder every so often. If they did it was put down to something foolish, like the dwarves in the deep roads doing something odd.
I never mentioned it because I didn’t want to draw attention to myself, I had enough problems.
That day had started just the same as most Sundays. I woke early to make breakfast for my masters then after they had eaten I would accompany them to the Chantry. They would sit at the front as befitted their status, I sat at the back, which befitted mine.
After the sermon and songs, I’d scuttle back to the house as fast as I could to prepare lunch, afterwards I’d clean the house and sweep the front paths. That was when the master’s son found me.
It was a warm summer's day and I was humming a psalm to myself as I swept. Trying, as I often did, to escape the reality of my lot in life.
“Walker!” He snapped behind me, I jumped and turned quickly, eyes on the floor, back straight, feet together.
“Y-Yes, Master Jacob.” I stuttered and even in the edges of my vision, I could see him grinning ear to ear.
“Have you cleaned my room yet?” He crossed his arms over his wide chest. He was portly even for a boy of 15 and would have been made fun of for it, were he not a vicious brute who would hit out at those who dared say anything to him about it.
“Y-Yes, sir! I have only the paths left than I’ll start to prepare dinner!” I chirped to him and he continued to grin.
“Leave the paths, follow me.” He turned and began to walk around the side of the house. I knew he was up to something, another indignity on top of the many he’d served me before. As I trudged after him I wondered dolefully what it was to be this time, a bucket of water over my head or a muddy puddle to push me in? The only thing I had to do was not cry.
If I cried he got angry. If I cried I’d ruined his game and he hated that. He would hit out at me. He’d split my lip and blackened my eye more than once, even nearly broke my arm.
Every time, his parents would reprimand me for upsetting him. I would be left without dinner for a day or two then everything would return to normal.
He led me to the back garden and then to the very rear of the carefully manicured grounds and behind a small group of apple trees that had only recently lost their bloom. He stopped and pointed at the craggy wall just beyond them and grinned again. I was wary, this was a new game and I didn’t like being so far from others. Even if they didn’t hold him to account for his torments, his parents did stop him from going too far.
“Stand facing the wall with your hands up against it.” He pointed and demonstrated with his hands what he wanted me to do. I took a deep breath and did as he asked, propping the broom I still had with me against the wall before leaning on it with both hands, facing away.
I had a second to enjoy the cool air under the branches and the soft earth under my bare feet before he touched me.
He’d come up behind me and wrapped his hefty arms around me, at first he just grabbed at my waist but quickly migrated to my chest and over my stomach.
“What are you doing, Master Jacob?” I squeaked, trying to jolt away from him. He had a firm hold on me and was twice my size though so I didn’t get more than an inch from him before he dug his fingers into my skin and pulled me against his chest.
“Shut up.” He growled in my ear. “Keep your hands on the wall and hold your tongue, or I’ll see you thrown out of my parent's house.”
I stifled a sob as he continued to run his hands over me, squeezing and pinching me here and there, drinking in my reactions.
“Father says knife-eared whores like you are only good for cleaning houses and warming beds.” He chuckled and I squeezed my eyes shut, reciting the chant in my head in an effort not to be here, not to respond to him. “Let's see if he’s right.”
As he spoke one of his hands dipped down to run up the inside of my thigh. I reacted without thinking. I grabbed the broom and jabbed the handle behind me, poking hard into one of his eyes. He howled in pain but let go of me and I squirmed away, holding the broom out between us like it could help protect me.
“You stupid knife-eared slut!” He yelled and grabbed the broom, wrenching it out of my hands. All I could do was wrap my arms around my head as he began to beat me with it. I barely felt each blow, even though they each bruised terribly, as I felt my heartbeat in my ears and the flow of fire in my veins building terribly.
I fell to my knees as he hit me again and again till at last, he broke the handle over my back. He grunted an insult and stormed off, likely to inform his parents that the half-elf ‘servant’ they had so kindly allowed staying in their home had lashed out at him without provocation.
I sat in the shade for a moment, controlling my breathing as best I could and repeating whole canticles of the chant in my head until I felt calm enough to stand.
My back was crossed with long red welts that would turn to purple bruises by the time the sunset tonight and I winced as I bent to collect the broken halves of the broom and slowly headed for the shed to stow it.
I was moving automatically. I had no idea I was bleeding until some dripped into my eye and I swiped at it mindlessly. When my hand came away coated in blood I simply turned towards the kitchens where I washed my hands and face, the cut was shallow and was already clotting, I could see in ghostly reflection from the window that it bisected my right eyebrow and the skin around it was puffy and already darkening.
I could hear Jacob crying from here, feeding his parents the lie that I knew he would. I wondered what my punishment would be, a week without food? Two weeks? Or perhaps I’d be made to sleep outside again.
I put away the dishes that had been drying on the side and made sure the kitchen was ready for me to start dinner. I was chopping some vegetables when Master Thomas slammed open the kitchen door, face beet red and full of fury.
“You little bitch! After everything, we’ve done for you! You attack poor Jacob? How dare you!” His voice echoes around the room and I wince with each word. He grabs the back of my dress and hauls me out to the drawing-room where his rotund wife is comforting his rotund son.
“Ah, there you are Miss Walker.” She’s icily calm and composed. Seated on the Chaise with Jacob sat next to her, leaning into her shoulder, I’ve blacked his eye. It’s no less than he deserves. Her husband forces me to my knees in front of them, then walks to stand behind them, one hand on his wife’s shoulder.
“Mistress June, please-” I begin but she cuts me off with a tutting sound. The kind you’d use to reprimand a dog. I fall silent and keep my eyes on the floor.
“Jacob informs us that, for no good reason, you attacked him whilst you should have been doing your chores.” She’s stroking his hair while he grins evilly at me. “We have put up with a great deal of poor behavior from you but this is the last straw, do you understand?”
“Ma’am?” I look up at her and she peers disown her nose at me.
“We have called for the brothers to come and get you.” She says the words like they should mean nothing but they are the worst things I could have heard.
“No! Please!” I feel tears forming in my eyes and I bow forwards in supplication. “I’ll be good, I promise!” I beg over and over but I know in my heart there’s no escape.
I grab at her leg desperately but she kicks me away to sob on the rug.
“Pathetic, I don’t know why we ever kept you.” She snarls. “You and your filthy mother!”
That’s when it breaks, the iron grip on my temper I’ve had all these years. My tears dry and I find my voice. I stand and face the terrible family, the contempt on their faces fueling the fury flowing through me.
“You are the filth here! You terrible, selfish, soulless wretches! Ar ju’myathash dhea'him Fen'Harel numin ma din!” I scream, descending into the language my mother taught me as I cover my face to try and hold in my anger.
Two men in chantry robes burst in and at the shocked families urging they take hold of me roughly and drag me out of the house towards the chantry while I howl insults and curses at them in both elven and the common tongue. People stop to stare at the scene and I see the horror on their faces briefly before the huge doors close behind us.
I’m thrown into a closet, left empty to house those who have been deemed ‘unworthy’ in the village. The door is covered in scratch marks and it smells like the desperate sweat of those who came before me.
I curl up in the corner and weep openly for the first time in months. I know this room, though I have never seen inside, I’ve heard the pleas and howls from inside and I know what happens to those locked in the dark.
In an effort to calm myself I begin reciting the chant of light, again.
“Hear now, Andraste, daughter of Brona, Spear-made of Alamarr, to valiant hearts sing, Of victory waiting, yet to be claimed from, The steel-bond forgers of barren Tevene…”
I started quietly at the very first canticle, by the third section I was singing loudly, tears running down my face, voice dulled by the splintering wood around me.
“Enough, child.” The door opened and stood, in silhouette against the light, was the only man who could save me.
“Father Mattias! Please I-” I scrambled to my feet and he hushed me.
“Come, child, it is time to face judgment.” He beckoned to me and I forced myself to follow him. I stumbled out into the light and he led me down the aisle to the front of the chantry, the air was cold in here even in the heat of the day. The pews were empty and only a few brothers and the father were there with me for now.
“Kneel here before the Maker and blessed Andraste, child.” He pointed to a raised dais that had been placed there for me.
I climbed on and knelt in supplication as I had seen others do before. Soon the rest of the village would arrive, they would all judge me and doubtless find me guilty.
I watched as they entered, all bright clean faces full of shock and scarcely hidden excitement. That is except the servants, they slunk in behind their masters, avoiding looking at me and huddled at the back of the room, clinging to each other like children. Almost all of them were elves and almost all of them hated me.
“Welcome Faithful of the True Chantry!” Father Mattias called out to the congregation when everyone was seated and the doors shut. “We have here another who, by her actions, has proven she is not fit to bathe in the light of Andraste and the love of the Maker!”
There was murmuring throughout the room as they realized whose servant I was. My former masters sat in the front row, round chins stiff with pride while their son leered at me with unhidden joy.
“Say your name for the congregation, child, so that the Maker may know you.” He shouted and I took a breath.
“Grace Walker, daughter of Keiran Walker and Lorelai Oranvara.” I say simply and the Father nods at me.
“Grace! Your crime is simple, you attacked young Jacob as he was at play, marking his eye and drawing blood.” He continues turning to the crowd. “This was an attack without provocation and while Jacob defended himself honorably it is the attack with which we are concerned.” How easily they twisted it so he was the victim, despite the darkening bruises that were forming over my body.
I wanted to cry out, to tell them what happened but I know it didn’t matter. I had seen it all before. The accused was never heard, in fact, any attempt to defend themselves only made things worse. Contrite silence was all they wanted and was all I would give them.
“I put it to you, the Chosen of Andraste, will young Grace be forgiven or will she be cast into the darkness to face the wrath of the Maker?”
“Wrath!” Came the first call, echoed by another and another until the crowd was chanting it continually. The walls shook and the bells in the steeple rang with the vibrations.
At last, the Father raised his hands and silence fell.
“So be it! Grace Walker, tomorrow at dawn you will be taken to the darkness and given to the Makers glory so that we all might be saved!” I closed my eyes at his words and let the cheers of the crowd wash over me.
I was dragged from the dais and thrown back into the cupboard where I slumped down in the corner to listen to the congregation leave.
Soon I was alone in the dark, my eyes were strong and I could see small details of my prison, the scratches in the wood, even graffiti left by former inmates. Some in the common tongue, others in elven, and I even saw some dwarven runes.
I curled into a ball and pressed my forehead to my knees, a lifetime of hard work and little food had left me leaner even than most full-blooded elves and it was easy to bend almost in two as I wrapped my arms around myself for the small comfort it provided.
Exhaustion took me sooner than I expected, alone in the darkness as familiar hunger gnawed ceaselessly at my stomach and I resigned myself to hopelessness.