Chapter Text
The whispers were weaker now, mere scratches in her head. Was that just her imagination? It seemed odd that it would work that way. The battle she had heard raging somewhere far above her were long gone now but at the time the whispers had almost drowned it all out, hissing like the desert on the cusp of a sand storm. The boom of the ballistas, the cries of soldiers fighting and dying and the unmistakable roars of demons. But it was quiet now, it had been at least a day or two she thought. It was hard to keep track, creeping in and out of consciousness as she had been. She wasn’t sure how long her captivity had been before that either. All darkness deep in the fortress but now light peered into the cracks of her broken cell. The bitter taste of magebane had faded from her tongue but her power was still tantalizingly out of reach. Without her staff and trapped behind a wall of mundane pain and exhaustion she couldn’t so much as light a candle with her will. The chain that held her had fallen with a good chunk of the ceiling, trapping her to the floor. Now she heard… dripping. Somewhere just out of reach one water drop falling after another. Such a waste out here in the desert. If she hadn’t been so thirsty, if it didn’t feel like every bone in her body was broken she could’ve pushed the rock of off her and limped out of there. But all the desperation and anger and need in the world did not aid her now. If she could just get up she could walk out of here. She braced her hands against the stone floor, clenching her teeth and thought of Lord Erimond’s stupid, weaselly face, of spiting him with her survival, and pushed. Someone far away cried out in anguish.
When she came to her face was pressed against the cold stone floor. In the back of her mind the whispering continued, like a thousand voices in a cave. Bouncing, rattling off one another, words just tantalizingly beyond comprehension. She swallowed with effort, tasting dried blood on her lips, the bitter metallic taste made her nauseous and for a moment she thought she was going to throw-up. She was going to die here, probably. Somewhere beyond the broken door she could hear the skittering of gravel. She coughed involuntarily and then groaned as pain stabbed through her ribcage. She heard voices. Actual voices, actual words. She’d always expected that’s how she’d knew how it was the end: she’d finally make sense of them. It felt like relief in a way. And then she felt hands on her shoulders, rumbles of footsteps. Light of fire, she blinked, tried to focus. The weight on her leg shifted, sending pain stabbing through her legs and suddenly it was dark again, blessedly dark.
”She’s waking up”
The words reached her ears as if through sludge, slowly coalescing into sounds and then only reluctantly imparting meaning, her body heavy and uncooperative. She managed to turn her face towards the sound. It hurt. She blinked, opening her eyes, and promptly shut them against the bright light. Blinking hurt, too. She groaned, which hurt. All of her seemed to be waking up to various states of pain. Well, that had never stopped her before. She put a hand gingerly on her face, shielding her eyes from the sunlight. It felt bruised and swollen beneath her fingers.
”How bad is it?” She asked thickly, not addressing her question to anyone in particular.
”You look like shite,” the voice came from the same direction as before and she blinked, trying to force her eyes to focus, ”but near as I can tell? You got all your teeth, could be worse.”
She smiled weakly at that, running her tongue gingerly around the inside of her mouth. It felt like he was actually right. She moved her hand down from her face. He, the soldier, seemed far above her. Was, in fact, far above her on a brown gelding. Short brown hair blowing in the breeze. Pretty for a boy she thought. Below her she could hear grinding and whirring, she was on a cart. And around her the sounds of other horses, other people.
”Talking like that” she murmured, ”you must be a soldier.” She wasn’t sure he heard her. His attention was on someone up the line, waving them down. She closed her eyes again. It was wearying just being awake. A shadow falling across her face and shielding her from the harsh desert sun prompted her to crack them open a hair again. Man, brown-skinned, pock-scars.
”Here, have some water.” Ferelden accent, gentle hands under her head. Best damn thing she’d ever tasted.
She didn’t wake up again until the evening. Night had fallen and she’d slept right through setting up camp. The boy was sitting beside her cot, though his gaze was far-away. On closer inspection she wasn’t sure boy was the right word. He didn’t look like he’d ever grow a beard easily, but it didn’t strike her as having anything to do with youth. She put it aside mentally, she’d think about it later.
”Awake I see,” the boy had turned back towards her. ”How are you feeling?”
”Like shite,” she muttered, parroting his earlier words back at him. That got a chuckle out of him.
”Well, you’re a living piece of shit then. That’s better than most of the people we found back there.” He got up and got something from the fire. She could smell the steaming mug as he turned, broth or soup. Her belly grumbled fiercely in response and suddenly she felt so ravenous it almost made her nauseous. ”I’d help you sit up and give you something real to eat, but Stitches overruled me.” The broth made her feel more awake and she looked around, careful to try and not aggravate, well, anything, in her hurting body. The camp was larger than she anticipated. From the sounds of it they’d brought a full regiment of soldiers.
”Who are you?” she asked, finally.
”I’m Krem, here with Bull’s chargers and some of the Inqusition’s finest.” Bull’s chargers sounded vaguely familiar. A mercenary group of some kind. The Inquisition did not ring any bells however. From the way he said the name it felt like it ought. She decided not to press that particular issue yet. Krem and his company might’ve saved her life. It didn’t mean they were trustworthy.
”And where are we going?”
”Back to Skyhold, in the Frostbacks.”
”The Frostbacks are quite a way’s from Adamant fortress.” She observed carefully. ”what were you doing so far from home?”
”… long story, really. Inquisition forces pulled the fortress down. We came along to clean up the stragglers.”
”And are you bringing all of the survivor’s back to Skyhold with you?”
Krem shook his head. ”Didn’t find many that didn’t walk out on their own power already.”
She quirked her eyebrow at him, ”I’m special then.”
”You’re not exactly in a shape for walking.”
She closed her eyes, she didn’t need reminding. She yawned. They hadn’t talked long and she’d slept she wasn’t sure how long but she was already tired again. She felt Krem move next to her, his body temporarily blocking the heat of the fire.
”What’s your name?” he asked, quietly.
She should’ve made something up, but she was so tired, it just slipped out of her, and he was young, too young to remember what it could mean.
”Solona.”
Inquisitor,
The Chargers were able to tear down what was left of Adamant fortress. The demons could have been a problem, but the support forces Commander Cullen dispatched kept them off our backs quite nicely.
With the extra time the Inquisition forces gave us, we were able to salvage a few interesting items from the wreckage of Adamant, including and old map of the surrounding area with Grey Warden supply caches marked. We also found a prisoner in the bowels of the keep. She’ll live, if barely. The room we found her in was… interesting. I’ll explain back at Skyhold.
Lieutenant Cremisius Aclassi