Chapter Text
Bare feet padded silently along the stone beneath her, the cool stone floor tingling pleasantly against her toes as she walked. Feel Good Inc. rattles around in her brain for the third rendition in a row, her body swinging and swaying absentmindedly to the beat.
Her life is divided into two stark parts—before the caves and in the caves.
Music is one of the last things she has from the before part of her life, and even that was getting harder and harder to hold on to. The accompanying instruments are mostly gone, but she holds onto the words with a desperate, hellish grip, the melodies of so many songs lost to the dark recesses of her brain. Annoying jingles that she only partially remembers to send her into frustrated spirals with every forgotten word.
The vein-like plants that sprawled across the cavernous walls pulsed in time to her gentle hums, the luminescent blue lights helping to guide her way. Through twisting tunnels she travels, dancing to a silent beat only present in her mind.
It would help if she could utter the melodies aloud, but doing so would be a death sentence. A lesson she’d learned very harrowingly early on during her inhabitance of the caves, silence was the key to survival. Talking aloud or singing to herself had been an incredibly hard habit to break. Especially in an effort to keep herself sane, alone and surrounded by perpetual darkness.
Although she supposed that alone wasn’t exactly the best way to classify her current predicament. The faint screeches of the rotting zombie-like creatures were enough testament to that fact. They weren’t exactly the best conversationalists, though. Then again, they weren’t exactly very good companions in general.
Another hard-earned lesson that had almost led to the loss of her left arm, and the following sickness that had almost convinced her that she had died for the second time. (The first being when she awoke in the pitch-dark caves alone and so terribly afraid). The fingers on that same arm now trailed fondly along the stone as if she were caressing a long-lost lover.
She lacked the natural dark-vision abilities of the little creatures that scampered around, but she’d adapted enough, learned the pathways, and found safety in nooks and crannies in the earthen walls. The same walls that hummed and fluctuated beneath her touch in a code just for her. The stone almost seemed to pulse beneath her fingertips, heart beating in time with hers.
Once, she would have had herself voluntarily committed before admitting that the walls could fucking talk. Well, talk was perhaps too strong a word, but they were some level of sentient. When she’d first heard the hum emanating from the glowing blue veins spiderwebbed across the walls of a cavern, she’d accepted that the last of her sanity had finally dissolved.
Admittedly, there likely hadn’t been much left to begin with since she’d woken up freezing cold, disoriented, and stuck in a dark and seemingly never-ending cave tunnel system. She’d thought herself trapped in an unrelenting nightmare that her body couldn’t wake from.
The reality of her new life had quickly set in when she’d nearly lost her life at the hands of the not-quite zombies and hadn’t woken up.
Not to mention the fact that she no longer dreamt. In the (days, months, years? Time was a foreign concept to her now), she’d been wandering alone in the dark; she’d never once had a dream once her body succumbed to sleep.
It had been so long since she had dreamed that a part of her wasn’t even sure dreams existed. She wasn’t sure anything really existed outside the caves, despite the flashes of memories at beaches, a mother, friends, music, a school?
The memories had become jumbled; neither fact nor fiction really had much meaning anymore.
Nothing outside the caves mattered, not if she couldn’t leave.
As if sensing the dark turn in her thoughts, the surprisingly warm rock pulsed under her feather-light touches. The walls of what she often feared would become her grave had long since evolved to become her one true sense of peace. Humming vibrations of energy that defied explanation and had terrified her initially had long since become a great comfort.
Though if asked to explain the sensation to another, she doubted she truly could. The feeling was unlike anything she had ever experienced or even heard of; the stone floors and walls were almost… alive. Pulsing with a vibrant and soothing energy that would customise its tune to beat in time with the essence of what she could only describe as her soul.
When she had first awoken, gasping and confused in the never-ending expanse of pitch darkness, she had succumbed to a hysterical fit of tears and panic. Panic that had attracted every malicious entity in the nearby proximity.
The terror had been heightened exponentially when the wall she had backed against pulsed with supernatural energy. Though her memories of the day were marred with confusion and horror, she would never forget the moment the wall had opened up, swallowing her screaming form and offering safety.
She couldn’t even begin to fathom how long ago that had been. Trying to count the days or even the hours had proved to be futile; time was utterly meaningless here. It was just her, the singing walls, stabby the dagger and the wildlife. The wildlife included the zombies, zombies that had gotten her violently sick and or infected.
Hell, maybe they had gotten her so sick she had gone insane, an infection in the brain that had her conjuring up fantastical worlds and false memories. The walls didn’t seem to care, though, taking great delight in the eccentric tales of magic, political intrigue and old gods. She talked and whispered and sang to the walls every story, poem or song she remembered and made up more. Silence had been too much to bear, cabin fever had well and truly set in, but the talking at least allowed her some semblance of normality.
In return, the walls provided their own knowledge. Taught her which pathways to take, how to stalk prey, how to see without really seeing, and so much more.
Yet even this guidance and companionship wasn’t enough to keep her from becoming the shell of the person she had been before, her insides and personality mostly scooped out to make way for the feral creature she had become.
She thinks she might have been polite, a fussy eater, and had been even fussier about hygiene. Those parts no longer existed, quickly stamped out so she could survive. If she thinks long enough, then she knows she used to be someone else, used to live somewhere else.
But those thoughts tend to upset her, so she doesn’t.
Whatever she thought, it didn’t really matter in the end because she had been changed, irreversibly and so damagingly changed. For one, it’s getting harder to tell where the presence in the walls ends, and she begins.
(She really tries not to think about that one.)
Like always, her train of thought stopped alongside her feet. Blindly fumbling for a few seconds, her fingers found the crevice in the wall that indicated her most recent hideout. Squeezing through the gap, she stepped into the open cavernous area, throwing down the little not-rabbits she had managed to scrounge up for dinner. The creatures were nothing short of disgusting, but she was just so fucking hungry all the time that she really had no choice.
Belly temporarily sated with the small naked rabbit-like creatures, she curled up, much like her old cat toaster, and pressed her forehead lightly against the warm stone wall. Whispering her thanks, she closed her eyes. Lulled by the humming of the stone, she quickly succumbed to the sleep her body needed.
The air is heavy in the caves, filled with oppressive rot that weighs down on your shoulders and assaults the senses. She’s long since become used to the atmosphere; perhaps that’s why she can instantly tell something is different when she's suddenly startled awake.
Disoriented and groggy from an undetermined amount of sleep, she blindly groped around the walls before almost recoiling in shock. The stone was singing, a deep baritone yell that reverberated off the walls and rumbled up her bones and into her teeth.
The walls, the floors, and even the stone ceiling were belting out an almost frantic tune that had her quickly scrambling to her feet and back out into the narrow corridor she had recently traversed.
Her ears strained to hear what had caused such an excited frenzy, and her mouth opened slightly, tasting the stale air to help her efforts.
The pulses were coming in louder and quicker bursts, leading her back through the winding caverns and into the more expansive and, unfortunately, more populated areas.
Her feet stutter slightly, but the stone insists that she continue her path. So, with a shaky inhale, she pulls the old knife from its place latched against the waistband of her holey and disgusting pants, pushes her shoulders back, and walks.
Like a twisted game of hot or cold, she followed where the stone led, through winding paths that thankfully avoided the increasing swarms of horrid creatures. She walked and walked until, eventually, she found herself in unfamiliar territory.
Turning a corner, the breath is punched from her lungs as the darkness is chased away by the torches lining the walls of the architecture. Torches that create light, torches that would need a sentient, living being to maintain.
She stands frozen in the corridor, her watery eyes rapidly trying to adjust to the foreign sensation of light after so long in the darkness. The orange glow encompassing the space is warm, the flames dancing with flickers that cast swirling shadows.
The light grates harshly on her burning eyes, her face squinting to try and minimise the aching of her corneas. Something wet slides down her face, and a shaky hand reaches up to wipe it away, only to stop when she catches a glimpse of the pale, disgusting state of her skin.
She’s so covered in mud, grime, blood and other unmentionable substances that she can barely see the pale expanse of skin beneath. Even wiping her hands on her clothes, which are equally as grimy, does little to rid her skin of the muck.
Still, even through the gunk and the low orange lighting, she can see glimpses of horrendously pale skin. Her once olive tones are no more, replaced by a blinding, near-paper white, sickly sheen.
A laugh bursts from her lips before she can stop it, startling her a little at the sudden loud noise in the otherwise silent space. Gollum. She’d turned into fucking Gollum. Running her hands over her head quickly, she breathed a sigh of relief at the feel of the oily and tangled hair; at least she hadn’t started balding.
Her feet, having been bare of shoes for so long and in a far worse state than her hands, slowly started to shuffle forward into the light once more. Occasional giggles wracked her frame.
“Preeecious,” she hissed to herself under her breath.
So used to the near-pitch darkness, it felt like hours before the string in her corneas lessened. Yet, she carried on her trek, guided by the pulsing song reaching its crescendo and the heart-stopping realisation that she could see. She wasn’t just following the stone or her honed senses, but she could see, actually see.
She could see the trickles of water dripping down the walls, the chinks in the statues and arches, the rubble collected on the floor.
Distracted by all the new sights and her still-suffering vision, she doesn’t make out the shape of two people-shaped silhouettes at the end of the hall. As the only light she had become used to seeing was the glowing blue veins and small lakes of unnatural liquid, her eyes couldn’t entirely make out the forms of the two individuals. At least not before they saw her.
There’s a rush of air whistling past her ear, and a stinging pain lights up her cheek. It took a few seconds for her confused brain to catch up. But by the time the second arrow had been notched and released in her direction, she had thrown herself into the dirt with a yelp and all the skill of a national rugby player. Some would call her a spineless little bitch; she called it having stellar survival instincts.
“What the fuck!” Her voice is shrill, cracking mid-exclamation from the volume her vocal cords have not reached in quite some time. Adrenaline flares in her body, and instinct takes over. She grabs the knife in her right hand, pushing up from the dirt and rushing forward to close the distance.
She has no long-range weapons, and if she’s going to die, then it’ll be fighting, not standing still like a sucker.
Her vision’s still a little fucked, but as she gets closer, it would have been pretty impossible not to realise the two figures standing before her were not the not-zombies. One of them was significantly shorter than the other. Dwarf, child, brother, friend, the song reached its crescendo pleasantly.
Luckily, the dwarf has not shot her full of arrows, as her feet stutter and her brain blue screens. Given that she’s been running around a singing cave system with baby dinosaurs, zombies, and pulsing walls, seeing a dwarf really shouldn’t be all that surprising in comparison.
(A large part of her doesn't understand her surprise. Dwarves had existed for centuries, after all.)
The incredulity doesn’t stem from the dwarf, she realises, but the sight of two living, breathing people. A hysterical laugh bubbled up and out of her throat before she could stop it, feet carrying her forward with renewed vigour as she let out an overjoyed shout.
She was practically vibrating in ecstasy, lunging forward in excitement. Up close, she could finally make out the features of the two men. Dark hair was pulled back into a slick little ponytail, and a beard covered the lower half of the human’s face, matching his equally dark eyes.
From the depths of her consciousness, an eerie song whispers, Grey Warden. She doesn’t have long to ponder on what the fuck a Grey Warden was before a huff draws her attention to the shorter man.
The dwarf.
He had an impressive red braid trailing down his back, and she involuntarily let out a coo as her hand reached up to touch it. “Pretty,” she murmurs, bringing up her other hand to pat the mangled mess that is her own knotted hair.
Predictably, he flinches back from her touch. She couldn’t blame him, given how disgustingly covered in grime she was, but that didn’t stop her shoulders drooping with hurt. Hands clasping themselves together, she placed them in her lap, averting her gaze to the stone floor.
A hand gently squeezing her shoulder made her look up again, muscles tensing, and her eyes widened. The man had hunched over slightly. The crinkles in the corners of his eyes belied his age but only served to further the fatherly image he was projecting.
“Forgive us for the scare. My companion and I weren’t expecting to find anything other than Darkspawn down here.”
Darkspawn?
The zombies, the song replies helpfully in her mind.
She wipes the nervous sweat from her palms before finally replying, “That’s ok. I’ve never seen anyone else down here, so I was surprised too!” However, her brief stint of enthusiasm dies once more as she notices the hands positioned to draw their weapons more easily.
“And how long has that been?” The human man asks as the dwarf continues watching her like she is a wounded animal.
“I dunno.” She shrugged, “Impossible to tell, but it’s probably been a few years at least. I think I was seventeen when I woke up here, if that helps.” That gets a reaction from both men, and the dwarf even rears back as if she had just kicked him in the face.
“Impossible,” he snarls, causing her to frown and hiss petulantly, replying while crossing her arms like a child throwing a tantrum.
“Nu-uh.”
“There’s no way anyone could survive for years down here, let alone a human girl with no weapons.” He has stepped closer into her space with a frown, and instinctively, she finds herself mimicking his actions, bending at the waist slightly so she is leering over him.
“Yeah, well, I did! And I do, too, have a weapon!” she exclaims, brandishing her beat-up blade. “His name is Stabby, and he’s totally way cooler than your arrows.”
(Stabby is a rusted and grime-covered dagger the length of her forearm. He is in no way cooler than the dwarf’s admittedly well-maintained bow.)
Truthfully, there is no contest between the two, but she had said it in the heat of the moment and was too proud to backtrack.
“You named it?” The dwarf scoffs incredulously, staring at her like she’s got more than a few roos loose in the paddock.
She refuses to feel embarrassed over it. It’s been a rough couple of days? Months? Years? Okay.
Before she can retaliate, an amused huff catches both of their attention as they turn to the slightly smiling human. It's the grumbling of her stomach, however, that cuts through the disagreement.
She feels her skin flush from her chest to the tips of her ears. “Sorry, I find I'm hungry most of the time these days.”
“I can imagine so,” the human smiles indulgently as if privy to some amusing secret she wasn't. “Let's get you some food then.” He tilts his head, motioning for her to follow.
“You can't be serious, Duncan? We're taking the girly with us?” the dwarf exclaimed, still eyeing her warily.
“Don’t call me girly.” She grumbled with a slight sneer. The dwarf wasn’t too intimidated, however, as evidenced by his amused snort.
“Wouldn’t have to if you’d introduced yourself.” His words cause her frown to deepen as she mentally reworks the distressing conversation.
“Duran isn’t entirely wrong; you have neglected to reveal your name to us.” Duncan’s smooth voice cut in from behind the two of them.
“My name?” she mumbles softly, her right hand coming up to her chin in thought.
What was her name? Why couldn’t she remember?
The panic grew as she desperately clawed at her brain, hoping that the information would provide itself. So many details had been lost to the passage of time and solitary confinement, but this wasn’t one she was willing to accept. She had a name; she had to, otherwise… the rest of her memories… She didn’t want to think about it.
“Don’t think too hard, kid; you might hurt yourself,” Duran’s voice slices through the haze of confusion and panic.
“Don’t call me kid. We’re probably around the same age,” she spits, stamping a foot on the ground in a great show of maturity.
Skin warming once more, she turns her head to avoid the dwarf’s smug smile and raised brow. “My name… I can’t remember it.” Her shoulders droop, tone tinged with sadness. Having averted her gaze, she does not see the slightly wounded expression Duran makes.
Nor does she pay much attention to his pathetically mumbled apology.
“There'll be time for more conversation later. For now, let us make a hasty exit from the deep roads, shall we?” Duncan finally starts to try to usher the unlikely group towards the cave exit.
Leave? She could do that?
Her feet stay planted to the ground, the song suddenly drowned out by her whirlwind of thoughts and emotions.
Disbelief, hope, fear, shock, and anger flit rapidly through her body faster than she could process or comprehend. Her tongue is suddenly dry, and her limbs feel leaden.
She feels like she's trapped underwater, and it's not until she's ushered out of the caves and into a much bigger, well-lit, and populated area that she truly realises she's no longer in the tunnels.
The stone is singing, a mournful tune that grows fainter and fainter the further she walks, but she barely notices.
She barely notices the shocked stares that follow her, and she barely notices how the two men watch her wearily, waiting for her to snap.
It hardly matters; they will soon learn she had already snapped long ago. How could she not have?
The thought that Duncan and Duran don’t really exist and that she is being escorted into a crazy house amid a psychotic delusion briefly glances at her mind. Either way, she decides she wins.
Sorry, stone, but she would give anything to not have to eat spiders anymore.
So, it’s with a name long forgotten and hunger she’s long accustomed to clawing at her belly that she exits the seemingly endless caverns and steps into the light for the first time in years.