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nelllraiser · 3 years

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when you wake | cutler, dakota, & nell

LOCATION: the catacombs. PARTIES: @clarkesconvenience, dakota, & @nelllraiser. SUMMARY: the key to waking the dreamers is revealed, but cutler, dakota, and nell are unlikely to succeed without first giving something up of their own. CONTAINS: sibling death, torture mention, self-harm, gore

Cutler’s hands were aching. It had started in the morning as a dull, persistent twinge between the joints and had only intensified as the day went on, morphing into a sharp pain. It refused to leave with knuckle cracking and finger-splayed stretches, tendons only seeming to tighten and pull the bones of his fingers further into themselves. The half dozen advil hadn't helped, nor had the stiff drink he had downed before taking to the crisp winter air as a last resort.

He hadn’t intended to go to the catacombs. In fact, he would normally avoid the labyrinthine stone pathway system that ran below the city at all costs. It was for this reason that he was shocked to find himself standing on the stairs at the entrance, fire licking up his hands as he descended. He grimaced as he crossed the threshold of the stone entrance, puffs of dirt and dust settling around his feet. The pain rippled across the back of his hands, as if leading him forward.

“Bad idea.” He said aloud, even as his feet took him further into the depths. As if in response, the muscles in his hands spasmed painfully. Pulsing deep below the criss crossed lines of his palms was the knowledge that the cause of this sudden affliction was ahead of him, not behind. “Guess we’re doing this.” He spoke into the cool shadows, hoping no one was there to hear it.

Dakota had been having dreams for weeks now – although she didn’t know if they were just part of some bizarre fantasy slipping out in her slumber or if they were truly nightmares. Regardless, each time she laid down or rested in the slightest, she saw fleeting images of a cave-like place, low lighting, darkness… All flashing before her eyes too quickly for her to make too much sense of it all, but each time she woke up she comforted herself with a cigarette and a mug filled with coffee. Probably wasn’t the best idea for someone who, as of late, kept having a racing heart and acid reflux. But none of that really mattered, because at present she was standing at the entrance of a place she’d never been before – a place she was pretty sure she hadn’t ever noticed on a map of White Crest.

Her memory was… Fuzzy, at best. She remembered grabbing a jacket, but not getting out of bed. She remembered moving through the underbrush in the middle of the night, and she remembered thinking it was strange that she was walking through tree branches in the darkness, but she couldn’t for the life of her remember walking out the front door. What scared her, though – aside from not being able to recall how she got to where she was standing – was that she didn’t even know why she stood at an entrance to what she could only assume were the catacombs of White Crest. You can wake up any time now, you know. But to her horror, she realized that perhaps she wasn’t dreaming, because she’d heard a voice that helped to snap her back into reality, not too far away, amidst the shadows in the night. What the hell? “…Doing what?”

The smell of blood was what Nell awoke to, though she couldn’t be all that sure of the difference between the real world and unconsciousness when White Crest had begun it’s steady descent into the collected subconscious of its citizens. Had she even been asleep when the tangy and salty scent of blood had alerted her? Ever since people had been falling into unwilling and unwelcome slumbers, the witch had done her best to sleep as little as possible, not wanting to be the next victim in a string of people that were something deeper than comatose. It wasn’t all that hard considering the fact that sleep hadn’t been easy since May of last year, the month that her sister had been struck down before her very eyes in Nell’s stead. But Nell couldn’t afford to fall into a sleep that she wouldn’t awake from. There were far too many things in her life that needed constant attention, obligations that refused to be silent in the form of a demon cult needing downing, a family whose father had been eaten by a demon shark, and her summoning magic that seemed to have grown a mind of its own at times.

While she blinked bleary eyes open wider, her heart began to race, Nell’s mind picking up pace to match the beating in her chest as she recalled the last time she’d risen to the smell of blood. It had been the sticky redness of her sister’s beheading that had covered her face, arms, legs— and panic rose in her chest while she wondered if she’d soon find Bea’s headless body on the floor next to her. Thankfully there was no decapitated body in sight, though Nell couldn’t shake the feeling of wrongness the scent of blood was bringing to her head. Where was it coming from? There was something deeper in her gut, a pulling and yearning that seemed to yell until she was forced to listen, and follow the metallic smell of blood. She walked until she came upon a familiar sight, the very entrance she and her sisters had used when they’d hunted Montgomery, Bea’s killer, down into the catacombs, capturing and torturing him so that they might earn their final retribution. She hadn’t dove back into the catacombs shadowy bowels since that day, almost worried that if Montgomery had a ghost, it would be down there in the belly of the town, still being digested, not yet truly gone. Was he the one who had brought her here?

Nell didn’t know how long she tread the empty halls of the cavernous catacombs before hearing a voice, and in an instant she was drawing a knife from its hiding place, brandishing it before her. Following the sound, it didn’t take long until she found the source of it— a man who looked as lost as a lamb without it’s shepherd, and the woman she’d traded fierce words with outside The Stacked Deck. “Were you both brought here too?” Nell asked, familiar enough with mysticism by now to recognize that no natural force had placed her here. Was it the same for them? The tail end of her words was caught up in the howl of a wolf, a long and mournful sound that turned her head down the most narrow tunnel to the left of the party. “Did you hear that?”

“Oh, fuck. Jesus.” Cutler’s knees bent instinctively and his entire body lowered into a defensive stance at the reply in the darkness. It took him a moment to recover from the shock, leg still bobbing shakily with hopped-up nerves, even as the decidedly not-scary woman became visible in the darkness. Smooth, Cut. “Going into the creepy catacombs alone. Suppose this solves half that problem. I’m Cutler.” He began to lift his hand to shake and immediately dropped it again as his knuckles screamed and scraped against themselves. He tried on a reassuring smile instead, manifesting as more of a pained wince.

It was then that a second voice breached the dim, settling heavy in the mildewed corners and damp brick. Anxiety and tender pain fluttered in his chest. “Brought here? I wouldn’t say-” A dry cough stuck in his throat, rasping behind his words and cutting off the statement that he didn’t quite believe. “Were you?” His hands clenched and unclenched at his side nervously as he fumbled for a way to lighten the conversation. “This isn’t how I usually meet people, but if this is the new spot maybe I should come down here more often.”

Dakota vaguely remembered him, but everything around her seemed like a distant memory at the moment. Was it that online forum? Did she see him at a grocery store? It was starting to irritate her just how confused she felt. “Cutler,” she heard herself say, though her gaze drifted more so back to the catacombs. “Do you know why –” she trailed off, mostly due to the fact that yet another voice was thrown into the mix. However, this girl was more than just a vague memory – she was more than even just familiar, because she was that girl from The Stacked Deck who burst through her poker game, though she never caught her name. The two exchanged words, something about being “brought” here. That was enough to finally snap her out of her dream-like trance.

“I was, yeah. I don’t remember getting out of bed. I don’t remember walking out the door. But somehow I’m standing here in the middle of the night with you fine people—” she paused to toss Nell a look. She wasn’t still angry about The Stacked Deck… per se. A howl in the distance, though, did in fact shut Dakota up quite quickly. Someone had told her to watch out for wolves. “Does anyone know why the hell we’re here?”

Nell’s dagger had dropped to her side into a more relaxed position, though she made no move to stow the weapon back from whence it had come. Giving the man named Cutler a nod, her lips pursed while she took in her surroundings, trying to remember how long she’d already been walking the craggy walls of the catacombs. Ten minutes? Thirty? A few hours, maybe? She couldn’t remember, and that only added to the stone of dread pooling in her gut, an unsteadiness that always formed these days whenever she could feel control slipping through her fingers. “I’m Nell,” she told the man before narrowing her eyes towards the other woman, barely resisting the urge to offer more sharp words. But she could feel that there were more important things at hand than a petty feud over some flipped tables and spilled cards. “You didn’t say your name.” By the way the dark-haired woman cut her words in the midst of another howl, Nell took it as confirmation that she wasn’t the only one hearing things. “I don’t know- but it’s probably for some bullshit reason.” That’s what had happened at the lake all those months ago, wasn’t it? People had come to Nell for the demon banishing ceremony, pulled by some otherworldly force to the right place at the right time. Another call of the wolf had Nell staring down the tunnel in question, a desperate need to answer it seeming to pull her towards it. “I think...we should follow that howl, though. Do you feel it?” The need that was seated in her mind’s eye, like an itch she couldn’t quite reach.

There was something in the air between the two women. Cutler was scared, not stupid. The tension was thick, billowing around hanging spider web scraps and floating dust specks. He could cut it with a knife. That is, if his quivering hands could even hold one in their current state. As Nell spoke, his fingers were reaching down the hallway even as his mouth protested. “Follow it?” His voice was high in his register, squeakier than it had been in several years.

Something in him shifted as the young woman’s voice spoke once more. Calmer than she had any right to be. Grounding him. Can you feel it? Whatever “it” was throbbed in his hands and tugged at his gut, pulling him forward. “Yeah.” He found himself saying, “I can.” He turned back, making eye contact with both of his newfound companions. “We don’t have a choice, do we?”

By the second howl, Dakota couldn’t have given a rat’s ass about exchanging names and pleasantries, because she was about ready to turn around and head home. But… The moment she thought about retreating, there was a sickening, sinking feeling in her gut that made her stay. She felt it in her bones, she felt it in her chest – a knot tying itself tighter in her stomach that pleaded only one request: stay. “Dakota,” she muttered a few moments later, eyes looking askance towards the entrance of the catacombs. She wasn’t sure what the hell was about to be down there, but she was sure as shit not about to risk her life for some adventure.

… Except that she was, because a third howl began to make her think that being inside the catacombs was a lot safer than being out here. “We don’t. I feel it, too – whatever ‘it’ is. Let’s just.. Follow the howl and hope we don’t end up fucking mauled.”

Nell knew that a wolf howl was more often dangerous than not in a town like White Crest, a place so steeped in the supernatural that it had almost become...natural. She couldn’t begin to explain it, just as she couldn’t entirely explain why she’d come here in the first place, but the howl of the wolf didn’t seem threatening. It was a long, searching sound, as if calling out to someone for help. The subject of whether or not they had a choice was a touchy one for Nell, always balking at being forced into anything, but she couldn't’ help but feel that Cutler’s words were true. Steeling her shoulders into a determined and hard stance, she took the little height she possessed and made the most of it as she began to lead that way into the tunnel, doing her best to ignore all former thoughts of Montgomery as she began to descend. “Let’s get going, then.” While she walked the path, the scent of blood grew stronger, so much so that she swore she could nearly taste it on her tongue, thick and sharp. All the while the wolf’s howls led the way, showing which path to take when they came to forks or a circle of tunnels. “I think we’re almost there.” She could feel the magic in the air now, a shimmering that she’d known since a young age that was shining brighter in her head the closer they got.

Cutler fell in step behind the girl in front of him instinctively. She operated with a natural leadership and seemed to possess some hidden knowledge as she looked around the tunnels where he only saw shadowy recesses in grimy brick. In the low light, he spread his hands in front of him, looking for some medical explanation for the tingly-sharp pain that only grew stronger the deeper they went. At the back of his tongue, the familiar, coppery taste of blood brought back memories of the surgeries he had performed with these same hands; once valuable enough to be insured, now primarily used for punching prices behind a cash register. “Almost where?” He had almost run into Nell when she stopped, and scuffled backward a few steps. He looked to his left, making sure Dakota was with them. Whatever was around the sharp bend ahead, he didn’t want to face it alone.

The thick, cloying scent of blood hit him like a wall, meaty and organic. Blinding pain seared through his hands and he expelled a soft sound, halfway between a moan and a cry. His eyes screwed shut instinctively, willing the static from the edges of his vision. “You guys don’t feel that?” He stared at his feet, sharp, jagged breaths hampering his attempts to get the words out. “Tell me you feel that.”

As they submerged themselves deeper into the damp, dank tunnel, Dakota could smell the presence of some sort of blood – fresh, most likely. It reminded her of hunting with her uncle when she was a kid – that smell of blood, human or animal, was almost universal.. And it was present down in the halls of the tomb that they walked. The phrase almost there was something she didn’t want to hear, but Cutler summed it up when he’d asked the question she was already forming in her own mind – almost where?

The deeper they went, the stronger the scent grew – like a thick curtain or a shroud hanging around the three of them, metallic in its fragrance. Deeper into the tomb they walked, and the stronger it grew. Dakota’s heart hammered in her chest, not knowing exactly what lay ahead for them. Cutler had said something, and though she was fit to answer, she caught a glimpse of an object on the floor, farther ahead than she cared to go, that seemed to resemble something far too close to human remains.

“Hey, guys…? What the fuck is that?”

Cutler remained bent over, hands on knees. “No.” The word tumbled out of his mouth, quietly and aimed at the floor. He barely heard it himself over the sound of blood rushing in his ears. Dakota was speaking, Nell was ahead, but his gaze remained trained steadfast on the floor below him and the centuries of dirt and whatever else filled the gaps between the ancient brickwork below them.

When he finally summoned the courage to stand back up, both of the women were looking at something ahead of them. It was dark, and he didn’t have his glasses on him, but he knew what it was, the same way he had known to come to the catacombs in the first place. What little light there was in the tunnels bounced off pale skin in the shadows. “It’s a-” Cadaver was the word at the front of his mind; the only other time he had been privy to the sickly white tones of bloodless flesh. “-a body. I think. Or part of one.” He drew air into his chest, forcing it to expand and contract, reminding himself to breathe. He could handle this. He’d seen dead bodies, operated on them. This was nothing he hadn’t faced before.

And then it moved. It jumped forward, movements quick and erratic. Spidery limbs crawled across the floor as it came into focus in sharp terror under the lamp light. It was a hand, isolated from the rest of its body, moving independently with jerky, inhuman motions. Cutler was already reaching for the Swiss army knife in his pocket; numb, throbbing fingers jammed themselves into his too-small jean pockets. “Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.” He barely managed to retrieve the multitool in time to stab the knife squarely into the hand in front of him. As it collapsed to the ground, he looked around frantically. “There’s got to be two, right? Two of them?”

A soft scraping below him snapped his gaze back to the floor. It was moving. Again.

Somehow Nell had walked right past the hand that had scuttled towards Cutler, and his string of curses made her head turn backwards over her shoulder, a frown of concern firmly in place. How the hell had she missed a living hand? Either her senses were growing duller, or the thing hadn’t spawned until after she’d passed it. Whatever the answer may be, the appendage certainly shouldn’t have been inching all over the ground like some fleshy crab. At least Cutler had managed to stab the hand, though it soon became apparent that the abandoned body part had made a steady and full recovery, dancing around the man’s feet as if it were auditioning for some grotesque rendition of The Addams family and the role of ‘Thing’. “Two would make sense.” After all, hands came in pairs, didn’t they? “So where the hell is the other one?” she muttered, sharp eyes scanning the shadows that seemed to be looming closer by the second as the walls of catacombs blurred and twisted into shapes she could almost make sense of. Squinting into the darkness, she searched for movement that she could track and caught a glint of silver instead. The moment she took notice of the abnormality, an enormous injection needle shot through the darkness, the three foot long steel tip of it aiming for Nell with deadly accuracy. “Holy shit!” she called out as she rolled and dodged, never having been a fan of any shot, let alone one that looked as if it’d been created for giants.

Quick movements caught her attention, but Dakota wanted to haul ass in the opposite direction the moment she saw a fucking hand scurrying near their feet, like some sort of spider. Moments ago she was trying to decide if she were in a dream or walking along in the realm of reality, and now she was wishing to open her eyes and see that this was all an illusion. Cutler’s curses and quickness, though, reassured her that this wasn’t something she was going to wake up from anytime soon. “Stab it again!” Dakota exclaimed, hopping on the bandwagon of belief that there must be a second one walking around – another hand that needed to be destroyed.

Her eyes searched the darkness hurriedly, hoping it would appear out of the blue so that she could stomp on the damned thing and get this hellish night over with. However, that wasn’t the case. Nell’s scream was a distant cry at this point – she’d felt herself wander into a spiderweb of some sort while looking for the other hand. Instantly she began to brush off, muttering little curses to herself, anxious hands running over her limbs. She couldn’t see a thing, but it was like she felt them all over. “Fucking Christ!” she shouted in disgust, obsessively sweeping her hands over herself only to stumble over another object on the floor – the second hand? -- hitting the ground with a thud.

To Dakota’s absolute horror, in the dimness of the catacombs she saw what looked like hundreds of spiders crawling towards her, some small and some large, others akin to tarantula size while some were beastly, at least as large as a dog with legs as long as she was tall. Letting out a string of curses – “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” – along with a cry of disgust as the small arachnids crawled over her legs. Finally, she had managed to scramble herself to her feet, now noticing the giant needle as the swarm of spiders seemed to follow every which way she ventured. She didn’t know how these nightmarish visions were spawning, but she had one idea that might put an end to them.

“Cutler, stab the goddamned hand!”

Cutler didn’t see the needle, or the spiders, or the fear in his companions’ eyes. He didn’t hear the persistent calling of his name over the chaos. He saw the scene as if from outside himself. Disaster arced outward, nightmare spawn barreling toward him and the hand at ground zero. The hand twitched, rising from the floor on clicking joints and he just stared, glassy eyed. This isn’t real. This can’t be real.

The pain in his own hands brought him back to his body with a sickening jolt. Hot saliva pooled at the back of his tongue and pearls of sweat began to dampen his collar. The pain had changed. What was now a dull throb became a stabbing agony; converging at the centre of his palms where his life and love lines intersected. He knew what he had to do. The round, clean-cut fingernails of his left hand scraped nervously at the faux-mahogany handle of his multi-tool for a moment, seemingly impervious to the events unfolding around him. A series of moments flashed before his eyes. His first surgery in the OR. His last one. The good, the bad, and the ugly: all perpetrated with these hands.

When the blade of his knife pierced the skin of his palm, there was no hesitation. It was a smooth cut. His professors would have been proud. An excruciating scream filled the tunnel. At first, he thought it was coming from him, but his teeth were clenched together over his locked jaw. Below him, an identical wound had appeared on the pale hand on the floor, viscous liquid seeping from it and into the sandy tile below.

“I got it.” The words were spoken at regular volume, overwhelmed the shrieking from the hand below. The same inherent knowledge that had led him here told him it wasn’t long for this world. “I got it.” He said again, louder this time. Stronger. One down, one to go.

The moment Cutler made his incisions was the same instant the enormous needle faltered mid-trajectory, dropping to the ground as if it too had been defeated. It gave a long enough pause for Nell to look past her attempted impaling for a moment to see the scene that lay before Cutler. His blood dripping from one hand onto the one below him, the ruby red droplets staining its ghastly skin red. Of course. Nell had been foolish not to realize it earlier. Between the plethora of magic swirling in the air, and the blood that the hand had demanded, it was becoming clearer by the second exactly what it was that was going on here. “It wants a sacrifice,” she said slowly, knowingly as she continued to glance warily towards the giant needle that lay still on the catacomb floor. “It needs payment in exchange for…” In exchange for what? They still didn’t have the faintest idea of what it was they were trying to accomplish here beyond making sure they didn’t get murdered by their worst nightmares. Suddenly, a voice seemed the echo through the cavern, raw and rough but full of determination and confidence. “We need to get the parts to the pedestal. We need to use the rest of our energy to get these parts to the real world. Like the skeleton said...they need to be made real so that they can be destroyed.”

Make them real so they can be destroyed. Based on the nightmare-ish visions they were experiencing and the voice’s mentions of the ‘real world’, Nell could only guess as to why the parts had to be done away with. This was what needed to be done to bring back those that had fallen prey to whatever sleeping curse had taken White Crest as its prisoner. Those like...Bex? Iron determination was quick to find its way back into Nell’s gaze as she thought of her slumbering pupil, an innocent girl caught between things she didn’t yet understand along with the rest of the town. “Where’s the other fucking hand?” she hissed, intent on stabbing the thing herself if she could find it. She’d do whatever it took to ensure her town was happy, that her little witch was safe. But whatever antidote Cutler had worked seemed to be wearing off, the needle rattling from its resting place to rise once more while the other hand roamed free. “Find the damn hand!” Nell yelled as she dodged another stab of the needle, narrowly escaping impalement.

Amidst the darkness scattered hundreds of spiders, all that seemed on a manhunt for Dakota. The beastly ones reared up on hind legs, towering over her, latching on to her fear of them as if they fed off of it, the smaller ones closing in while crimson red dripped from Cutler’s palm to the single hand below. Sacrifice. The word rang in her ears as she dodged the spiders, though the moment his blood dripped they held themselves at bay, a few vanishing into thin air. Just that the few drops weren’t enough, apparently, because as the needle trying to impale Nell began to bring itself to life once again, aiming straight for her.

All she knew was that if they didn’t find the other hand, and quick, she’d run out of energy and succumb to being eaten alive by a bunch of snarling tarantulas and Nell would be given a hefty dose of dead, God only knowing what would happen to Cutler. Dakota, though still panicked by both the spiders she was frantically kicking away from herself, hoping against hope the giant ones, as well as the giant needle chasing Nell, would vanish the moment Cutler destroyed the hands. It was painfully clear, though, that they all only had one option: face their manifested fears. You can do this. They’re just spiders. It’s just a dream.

The spiders continued to rear up on hind legs, Dakota continually dodging left and right in order to miss the others when she noticed something large and ghastly scurrying through once again. The same object she must have tripped on in the first place. The second hand. Adrenaline flooded her veins, knowing damn well that if she didn’t make her next move and follow that hand, the risk of all three of them not making it out of the catacombs alive would be much higher than she cared to gamble for. They’re just spiders. It’s just a dream.

Taking a few steps back, Dakota braced herself before sprinting forward, dropping her right knee just in time to slide across the floor, right between the legs of the beast before her, only to chase down the hand she’d spotted moments before. “There!” she tried desperately to communicate with the others as the swarm of spiders began their chase, the hand speeding between Cutler’s legs and hoping to retreat to safety. “Do something!”

Cutler wasn’t worried about the other hand. The moment that Nell had said the word sacrifice, he had understood that proximity wasn’t the issue. It was the sacrifice in the action. The final relinquishing of his surgical career in a single choice, offered up to the dark mirror of what were once his most valuable assets. He was surprised to find that he felt lighter knowing he would never again hold someone’s life in his hands. Dark life force seeped down the grooves in his skin, tiny rivers running back to the sea. At this rate, he may never hold anything at all.

The tendons in his hand jumped and rippled around the wound. He looked at it clinically, like the cutaway diagrams in his anatomy textbooks, bridging the gap between his limbs and what every person was underneath. Meat. Flesh. As corporeal and precariously mortal as any other animal. Bone, muscle, and tendon scraped together as he switched the knife to his still-bleeding hand. Strangely, he felt no pain. It was what allowed him to repeat the action once more, stabbing the blade into his uninjured palm. Another scream from below him: the second hand meeting its end.

At once, sights and sounds began to seep back into his peripheral. Yelling from his companions, impossible visuals bombarding him. The hands were gone, but this was far from over. “We have to move.” Ahead of them, he felt the pull of a greater force drawing them forward. He had just made the greatest sacrifice of his life, and it was only a taste of what was to come. An appetizer for the great, slavering hunger that was closing its’ jaws around them. “Now. We have to move, now. I’ll cover you. Run.”

Dakota didn’t know Cutler. His aspirations, his dreams, his pain, his guilt – it was all lost on her, but it didn’t take much to realize that what he’d just done was the sacrifice of his life. She stopped running from the spiders long enough to look upon the scene in both awe and admiration. There wasn’t time to unpack that, though, because while the bloodthirsty needle had dissolved into thin air and the crawlers she’d been dodging had suddenly vanished, she felt the pull – a foreboding sense of ruin lying ahead. We have to move, now.

Only one word made sense to her: run. It was something she’d done her whole life – something she practiced often and knew all too intimately how to do. It was a knee-jerk reaction that came with a side of always having an escape route in her back pocket. Dakota was hesitant about a lot of things in life, but one thing she’d never think twice about was disappearing without a trace… Until now. Breaking into a sprint, she knew there were more things than just two hands to destroy, and the faster they could find them, the faster she could retreat back to safety, burrow herself back into her own little world where shit like this could only ever exist in horror films.

Her gut was never to be trusted, but something told her to hang a left as she was running through the tunnels, splotches of red catching her eyes, beckoning her to follow. The sense that she was growing closer grew stronger, her heart pounding wildly in her chest, blood rushing in her ears. She could feel it like it was burning a hole straight through her, whatever this force wanted her to find just at her fingertips, so close she could almost taste it – a few more feet and… Dakota slowed to a stop, the splotches of blood she’d been following leading her to this:

A still beating heart lying balefully at her feet.

Nell couldn’t begin to guess at what exactly Cutler had given up. After all, she’d only met the man some twenty minutes ago. Nevertheless it was apparent that his sacrifice had been more than enough, the stabbing of his hands paying the debt that had been demanded. Once they were out of here, she’d ask to take a look at his hands. Healing wasn’t her forte, but she could do enough to at least stop the bleeding and make sure he didn’t keel over from blood loss. She would have taken a look at his injuries now if another organ hadn’t spawned in the midst of them, the thumping of the bloody organ louder than any tell-tale heartbeat the witch had heard before. It seemed to bounce off the walls of the catacombs, until it echoed in her ears, drowning out her own thoughts as she watched Dakota approach the heart.

Nell took a confident step in the direction of the heart, only to be met with iron bars shooting up from the ground mere inches from her nose. The message was clear enough. This was Dakota’s sacrifice to make. “Looks like it’s your turn,” she said none too begrudgingly, knowing her time would most likely be coming sooner rather than later. “It’s your sacrifice to make now.” As soon as she’d said the words, the bars that had kept her from the heart began to move towards her, as if trying to pin her against the rock of the catacombs. Taking a stuttering step back, Nell tried to quell the anxiety that was pooling in her chest as imprisonment looked unavoidable. This was too much like the underground jail of the Ring, and the place she’d been trapped for an entire week, continuously drained of her magic and barely fed until she’d finally managed to break free. The only thing it was missing was… Before she could even finish the thought a familiar voice was worming its way into her ear, silky, smooth, and commanding as Jax’s silver tongue made its demands. “Fuck off,” she growled despite knowing the man was dead, rising dread making it difficult to remind herself of logic.

The wet pumping of the heart matched the rapid thrum of Cutler’s own in his ears. Thud-thud. Steel bars shot up between himself and Nell. Thud-thud. The sharp smell of hospital antiseptic at the back of his throat. Thud-thud. The cracking of whisky over ice. Thud-thud. The cavernous walls of the catacombs swam under half closed lids as his brows furrowed together. Thud-thud. Around his neck, the crinkly plastic collar of a surgery gown began to tighten.

Drawstring dug into the jumping tendons leading to his collarbone as he scrabbled at his jugular with red-ringed fingernails. With each breath he took, the string tightened further. His lungs burned with the effort of pulling air into them; black constellations spotting across his vision. Desperately, he kicked forward. The rubber sole of his work boots connected hard with the bars in front of him, sending reverberating shockwaves up his knee.

“It’s not real!” The words hissed through his bared teeth as he lifted a knee once more. “Close your eyes if you have to, Nell! None of it is real!” This time, he felt the bar give under his foot just a little. On the third kick it bent inward with a dull clang and he felt the pressure on his neck release all at once at the string snapped. Coughs ripped painfully through him as he leaned against the bars. He thrust an arm through the newly widened gap, blood-slicked hand reaching for the young woman inside. “See this? Flesh and blood.” His voice was smoky and hoarse. “I’m as real as it gets. Climb through.”

Something was wrong. It had started small, a little irritation, a headache beginning to form just behind her eyes. But Kevin had not had a headache in over a thousand years. She had felt them before, the dreamers, poking and prodding and sticking their minds where they didn’t belong. At the moment, she had paid it little mind. There was a spell to weave and a town in desperate need of dreams. But those pesky dreamers kept poking and prodding, meddling and touching. They scraped inside her chest and dug about inside her mind and spread a dreadful itch down her arms. They meant to tear her apart. Still, there was only so much there could do. Then she felt it. White hot, burning through her hands. Her scream tore through the air, a thunderclap echoing. Even as her fingers cracked and shriveled, she sought the source. There. The catacombs.

Kevin appeared with a burning flash of light. The air around her sizzled, her eyes blazing as she searched for the meddlers. Ah. There. Her eyes burned as she lifted a broken, burnt hand. The fingers were charred, black like charcoal creeping up her arm. “You. You will stop. Dream now, and forever more.” Her hands may have been ruined, but some of her power remained. It took only a jerk of her head to throw Dakota against the wall, leaving her unconscious, dreaming sweetly on the floor. She turned slowly toward the other two. “And you. Unless you wish to join her, you will leave. You will go and forget all that has transpired. I will not tell you again.”

“I know- I know!” Nell gasped as the bars scraped against her ribs while she grabbed hold of Cutler’s wrist, trying to avoid the self-sustained injury of his hands while he helped pull her out of the metal maw of the jail cell. “Thank you,” she breathed in gratitude. But just because things weren’t real didn’t mean that they didn’t set her heart to pounding. Her brain knew that the voice of Jax tickling her mind couldn’t be possible, but the rest of her body didn’t seem to understand, responding with rampant fight or flight to the sound of a man who’d cause her and Remmy unmeasurable despair. Thankfully— she’d always been the one to choose to fight. And it seemed the world had answered that need with a clear target in the form of the woman who’d appeared before her and Cutler, sending Dakota flying. “Shit,” the witch cursed underneath her breath, hoping Dakota was alright but knowing this wasn’t the time to check on the woman. “You’re the one doing this?” Nell demanded angrily, it being less of a question and more of an enraged accusation. This was the bitch that was keeping Bex asleep- that was keeping all those other innocent citizens in a hopeless slumber. “Fat fucking chance,” was her only reply to the other woman before she began to charge, a knife appearing in her hand from its hiding place as she ran towards the one responsible for the sleeping town. “Cutler- get the heart, and I can keep her busy!”

Sand and grit stuck to his hands as he dropped to the ground, patting his way forward. Cutler had thought he had last seen the heart here, by their feet - by Dakota’s feet, actually - but his frame of reference was now lying unconscious across the cavern. Sweat pearled at the back of his neck as he moved forward, feeling the centuries of dirt rise, puff and cling to his forearms and legs. He had seen the flashing glint of a weapon in Nell’s white knuckle grip just before she had hurtled herself toward their now-revealed foe. She was risking everything. He couldn’t let her down. What he would give to have his glasses now.

He closed his eyes, lashes light with settled dust. He heard his own heart first; thudding fast and irregular against his breastbone. Then, slowly, he heard the other. Calm and steady. Confidently marking the offbeat. Got you. His knees scraped stone as he moved toward the sound, growing steadily louder. Finally, he was on top of it. His stomach turned over as he felt the heat radiating off of the muscular, pumping organ in front of him.

The meaty-red smell of blood washed over him as he pulled the sticky blade away from its multi-tooled brethren in his swiss army knife. It wavered in the air above the throbbing mass in his shaking hands. Last time, stabbing the hands hadn’t worked, but he was out of sacrifices. There was nothing else to give but a prayer. His lips moved, silently voicing the words in his own heart.

“God, please let this work. I’ll do anything. No, I’ll do everything. No more taking things for granted. I want to live.”

They were close, too close to ruining everything. Kevin could feel her head swimming. Her hands still burned. Even if she were to cut them away, the searing pain would remain. And now they were aiming for her heart. If she could simply bring into focus, drive them away, force them into sleep like all the others, it would be fine. She could start again, rebuild, put herself back together. But their meddling had already taken its toll. The world was slipping in and out around her, her vision blurring, thoughts slipping like water through her fingers.

She turned toward Nell. The witch had to go. Her power was bright, intense. If she could be eliminated, the other one would be easy. Kevin moved in a blink, appearing inches from Nell’s nose. “What is your aim? Why do you fight? Rest. Don’t you want to? Your dreams are so dark, little witch. I can see them all, I can feel them. You’ve lost so much, haven’t you? Would it not be easier to slip into a dream? I could take it. Your pain. Let me take it all away. It would take only a moment. Your dreams would be peaceful, you could have all that you want. Let me set you free.”

Even without the power to drive her words, Kevin’s questions seemed to pull at a part of Nell that so desperately longed for rest. Her words were soft in the witch’s ear, speaking to a tender place in the brunette that was simply tired. Tired of losing family and friends. Tired of losing literal and figurative pieces of herself. Tired of living on edge, wondering where the next blade or punch or bite would come from at all hours of the day. If she let herself slip into the peaceful slumber that Kevin promised, it would all be over. Kevin was right. Nell was barely twenty-four and she couldn’t help but feel as if she’d lived multiple lifetimes since her return to White Crest a year or so ago. This town was draining her, sapping the energy from her limbs even as she stood here with her knife still poised- frozen somewhere between herself and Kevin. Just let it end. Let it be over. She was more shell than human these days between infiltrating a demon cult, dealing with the aftermath of her accidental demon-shark summoning, and Bex falling into a deep sleep. Bex. The girl’s face rose to meet the eye of Nell’s mind, sweet and peaceful as she lay trapped in Kevin’s dreamscape. Nell seemed to jolt awake as she thought of her student, another sacrifice that would be made if Nell let Kevin take her. It wasn’t a sacrifice that Nell was willing to make.

The ever-present fire that seemed to live within Nell’s belly was quick to reignite as she reminded herself of all the harm had done- the lives she’d be taking if Nell let herself go. Kevin had moved unnaturally fast in her approach on Nell, but she could be quick too. Uttering a spell meant to grant her speed beneath her breath, Nell’s knife was quick to flash through the air, mindlessly aiming for where Kevin’s heart should beat. It wasn’t until the blade had buried itself deep into Kevin’s chest that Nell realized how futile the action was. She could see the heart underneath Cutler just a few paces away— see his own knife stabbing into it over and over again. There was nothing beneath Nell’s dagger to stab. “I won’t leave them behind.” Nell promised as she savagely dug the knife deeper, anger and bloodlust making the decision for her despite the knowledge that there was no point. She wanted to make it hurt, to make Kevin feel even a flicker of the pain she’d unleashed on the town. “I’ll never leave my friends behind. Or people that don’t deserve to die. So you can fuck right off, you piece of shit.”

The first hit slipped off of the tubular structure of the heart like squeaky wet rubber. It continued to beat, even as the sharp edge of the blade tore through tough ventricles and into the spongy tissue underneath. Cutler could taste the warm, coppery liquid that sprayed from it, only realizing after his third hit that his teeth had bit into the soft skin of his bottom lip. A shaky inhale whistled through his fast closing windpipe, hot tears building in the back of his throat. This had to work. There was nothing else.

Several feet away, Nell spoke. Her voice was soft and level, but he heard it in his own ears as clear as day. Another scream rang through the cavern; this time from the heart as he drove the blade toward the ground once more. His eyes flicked upward just in time to see Nell’s mirroring action, digging the blade into the soft tissue of their tormentor. He didn’t feel the quick-coagulating drip of blood at the corner of his mouth or the spill of tears washing tracks down his cheek.

“We’re almost done.” As soon as he said it, he knew it to be true. He coughed into the crook of his elbow, covering a throaty sniffle. The steel toe of his boot connected with the now-shrivelled remains of the heart at his feet. “This is it.”

Pain. It was still so foreign, so wrong. Kevin had cast it off long ago, the parts of her that were able to hurt. Or so she had thought. They were supposed to be gone. She was beyond this, between petty human aches and blows. But Nell’s knife cut as deep as her words. Her heart wasn’t home, the bloody, pulsating piece trapped in Cutler’s grip. Still, blood flowed from the wound. It drifted up, out, around them as if they were underwater, the blood moving as though to attract circling sharks. Kevin found herself stunned. It had been so long. Large, salty tears rolled down her face as she grabbed Nell’s shoulders with her withered hands. “I could have given you all so much. I wanted to share my dreams with you. I could have brought you peace.”

Kevin staggered back, hands clutching at her empty, heaving chest. This world, this sad, wretched world. It was wrong. It was broken. Perhaps it had always been too much for her to fix. Not even her most wonderful dreams could have set it right. Her entire body began to shake as she sunk to her knees. The air around her swirled, heavy, charged, heated sparks flitting through the air. They burst, flickering, snapping, brighter and brighter as a low cry spilled from her lips. The sound grew, filling the catacombs. It echoed, louder and louder, the force of it pulling the wind, shaping the air itself. With a force strong enough to whip up rocks, to tear deep gouges into the earth beneath her, Kevin let out her final cry.

The wind rushed and roared, buffeting the walls of the catacombs, flecking them with blood so dark it was nearly black. But it slowly began to fade. Rocks fell back to the floor as the dust settled and Kevin lay motionless amidst the rubble, her eyes shut, as if asleep in one final dream.

Nell watched Kevin fall with not nearly as much satisfaction as she would have wanted. The mysterious woman was down, and seemingly it was going to be for the count as she didn’t stir. Nell turned at the sound of Cutler’s voice, eyes resting on the shriveled heart that lay at the man’s feet as she wondered what would be the last of the parts they needed to destroy. Hands, Heart, and...what? Rocks began to tumble, and Nell spoke another spell, her hand raising towards the ceiling as a shield began to form above herself and Cutler. Unfortunately, a lack of sleep had made her reaction times slower than usual, and a boulder the size of her head slipped through before the magical shield was fully in place. It struck her shoulder just perfectly, a loud crunch echoing through the cavern as the witch gasped in pain, instantly recognizing the sensation of something being dislocated. “Fuck,” Nell cursed, glancing back to Cutler to make sure he hadn’t been hit as well. The rocks tumbled harmlessly off an invisible dome stationed a few feet above his head, the magic doing its job well-enough.

It seemed that even though Kevin was incapacitated, her magic had no intention of stopping. Perhaps it had gotten away from her, metastasized until it functioned under a mind of its own- continuing to bring the dream world into the reality of White Crest. Or maybe this was just the design of the spell, a fail-safe self destruct button that would keep going even after Kevin was unconscious on the floor. “Yeah- we gotta keep moving,” Nell grunted through gritted teeth, her arm hanging uselessly by her side. The time for fixing it would come later. She didn’t trust that the momentary rockslide hadn’t jeopardized the structural integrity of the catacombs. Who knew if the rest of the underground tunnels were just waiting to collapse? Glancing back at the body of Dakota, Nell flexed her magic once more until the woman’s form floated alongside the witch, trailing after her like some morbid and hovering duckling. Nell was past the point of wondering what Cutler would make of her abilities, knowing that could be dealt with when White Crest didn’t hang in the balance. She advanced to the next chamber, stopping short as she heard a familiar voice. “Are you sure you want to play this game little girl?”

The stuttering step of her gait jerked her arm uncomfortably, but she barely noticed as fear-blown pupils began to comb every corner of the new room. “Did you hear that?” she asked Cutler, her voice barely above a whisper while she gripped her knife even tighter.

Cutler watched the rocks tumble around him, landing off of him in a perfect circle and leaving him unharmed. Nell’s movements made two things clear to her immediately. First, that the impossible protective forces around Dakota and himself were a result of her. Second, her shoulder was dislocated. It hung loose and dead by her side, swinging as she continued to move forward.

“I didn’t hear anything.” He turned professional, examining her for signs of delirium or head injury. All he saw in her face was pale, unfiltered fear. It made her look younger. No, it made her look her age. She was young. Too young for whatever this was. “I can fix that shoulder.” He stepped close, hand hovering above her arm, mouth running as a distraction. “If I wasn’t already losing my mind, I think tonight’ll do it. How do I explain this to people?”

His injured hands settled on her arm. He could feel his own distress; texturally, his skin was torn and bleeding, but there was no pain. For him, that is. Nell was putting on a brave face, but even the small movements from the last chamber to this one must have been excruciating. “Alright. This is gonna hurt, but just for a second. Like ripping off a band-aid. Ready? I’m gonna go on three. One. Two-” His fingers tensed, and he shifted her arm in the socket to hit the right angle in one swift movement. A single push upward returned her arm to the correct orientation with a sickening pop. A mixture of pride and relief washed across his face as he stepped away. “Sorry, that was a dirty trick.”

Cutler wanted nothing more than to stop. To sleep, or to wake from this nightmare. He could feel heavy fog clouding his brain, telling him to relax and recover. He blinked slowly, the dark seal of his eyelids warm and tempting, willing his breath to a relaxed rhythm. It was Nell who kept him from succumbing, piercing eyes and bright determination tearing through his supernatural lethargy. It was her sharp gaze that tapered the last of his focus into a coherent thought: I’m losing my mind. My mind.

“It’s the brain.”

A coiled pink organ was there, right in front of them. It always had been, only now visible by his verbal acknowledgement; like invisible ink under blacklight, revealed by exposure.

“Let’s finish this.”

Cutler’s confirmation that he hadn’t heard anything did little to quell Nell’s mind, certain she'd heard the words echoing through the cavern clear as day. “You’re sure?” The owner of the voice couldn’t be present. It was impossible. She’d seen the life bleed out of him with her own eyes as she gave him his penance along with her sisters. A more fearful voice in her own head reminded her that the dead didn’t always stay dead. Be had come back, hadn’t she? Who was to say that some other necromancer hadn’t found the hunter’s bones and raised him back to the living? Maybe he’d been bitten by the undead before his death, and the sisters simply hadn’t known. Her racing thoughts were brought to a halt as she felt Cutler grip her arm, just barely hearing his assurance that he could fix it.

“What? No- no, just leave it,” Nell began, having no reason to trust that the random man she’d met in the catacombs knew anything about popping a dislocated limb back into place. “Don’t count- I’ll just get someone to fix it once we’re out of-” Her words were cut off by a painful grunt as the arm was put back into its rightful socket, a wince flashing over her features as she once again thanked the fact that she was used to pain. Begrudgingly, she offered him a “Thank you,” while also deciding to ask him about his apparent first aid knowledge once they got out of this place.

Having lost his distracting question in her attempts to keep him from fixing her arm, Nell’s brows knit closer together as she found an answer. “Easy- you don’t tell anyone about it. Then there’s no explaining needed. Especially about anything you’ve seen me do,” she added with the smallest hint of a threat. After all, there was still a confirmed witch hunter in town. “Unless you ask me first,” the witch compromised. “And if you need any explanations for yourself...you can talk to me after all this is over.” Her focus shifted to the brain on the ground, kneeling before it as she took a closer look. No doubt it would fight back just as the hands and heart had. “Alright...the sacrifice-” Without further delay, she took a new, clean knife from another hiding place before drawing it carefully down the bottom of her forearm and letting the ruby red of her blood gather neatly. Blood was always the standard for payment in her practices, certainly it would serve her here as well?

Nell held her arm above the brain as the blood began to fall, and the witch willed it to place itself neatly on top of the last organ they were meant to destroy. Tiny rivers of red began to flow, filling the rivlets of the trenches and dips of the fleshy pink thing until they pooled along the floor. “That should do it.” She raised her knife- poised to finish the job before thrusting it towards the brain. But at the last moment a hand gripped her wrist in a vice-like grip, the blade still dangling above the brain. “Cutler, what the fuck-” She looked up expecting to find the face of the doctor looking back at her, preventing her from finishing the job. Instead she found the grin of the man who tread her nightmares far too often, a ghost that wouldn’t let her be despite her constant attempts to shake him. Again his voice sounded through the catacombs, one that sent shivers up her spine as he echoed the words he’d spoken that day in the forest where her sister’s life had been taken.

“Are you sure you want to play this game little girl?” Montgomery was here, and looking as real as the day he’d lopped Bea’s head from her shoulders. “Get the fuck out of my head,” Nell growled despite her shaking hand, heart beating a frantic rhythm in her chest as she looked upon the person who’d brought fear into her life. Nell had always been reckless, one who constantly jumped without looking to see where she might land. She still was to an extent. But Montgomery was the reason for her newfound caution, and the feeling that she constantly needed to look over her shoulder in case someone new was lurking around the corner with the desire to kill those she cared about. Growing up, she’d been the fearless little girl- the one who was never shaken no matter what it was she encountered. She’d carried that into her young adult life, the confidence of youth and the sense of indestructibility that came with it giving her the strength to never falter in the face of danger. But then had come a danger she couldn’t stop, couldn’t fight against as it claimed the life of the person who’d died to protect her. The life of her oldest sister.

Nell hated it. Hated that Montgomery had made her this way. Hated that he’d taken one of her strongest attributes and turned it against her, making her heart race whenever someone crossed the property line of her home uninvited. Hated that he’d made her weak. Hated that he made her afraid. But she’d been unwilling to admit it, believing that looking it in the face would give it power— and power was the last thing she would be willing to forfeit. Not when it had been so forcefully stolen from her via the man whose hand was still holding her wrist captive above the pulsing brain. “Just admit it,” his voice came again, though these were words she’d never heard him speak before.

“I’m not doing anything you want,” Nell spat back, seeming to forget that this was all simply a figment of whatever magic Kevin had conjured. “I’ll kill you ten times over before I do anything for you.” She tried to pull her wrist away from the cold of Montgomery’s hand, nerves still making the tightness of her throat nearly unbearable as panic continued to rise. Not here. Not now. Please- not in front of Montgomery. If he saw her fear, he’d know she was weak, know the power he held over her. He’d know that she'd begun taking the stairs over elevators because it felt like the walls of them would close in on her ever since she’d been kept holed up as a prisoner by the Ring. He’d know she had to sleep in her greenhouse when Bea wasn’t home, unable to rest in a home that reminded her of the time her sister had died. He’d know that she spent far too long looking for the escape route of any room she found herself in— that she wasn’t strong enough to protect all the people she loved.

Again his coarse voice made demands of her. “Admit it!” Nell’s head shook silently as her bottom lip began to tremble, thinking of all the people that would stay asleep and lose the rest of their lives because she couldn’t utter one little truth. “No,” she protested once again, the singular word weaker as a tear slipped down her cheek. “I don’t want to. I can’t.” Montgomery shrugged, looking down at her as if he already knew her secret, a wide smirk playing across his lips. “Then you know what the price is.” Nell stared at the brain, remembering her promise that she’d made not five minutes ago about leaving no one behind. About always helping those in need. Was she so selfish as to go back on her word this soon? But admitting it felt like giving up, letting Montgomery win a fight that had started months ago and managed to live past his own expiration date. And what else did she have left to cling to if she let this go?

For one last time, the murderer’s voice rang out. “I knew you couldn’t do it.” And he was right. Hadn’t Nell proven that by staying silent? The desire to fight rose in her ever so briefly, the need to prove him wrong finally giving the push she needed to admit the truth. “Fine!” she snarled, still hateful that she’d have to admit it in the first place. “Fine,” came her voice a little softer this time, her arm going limp in his wrist. Her last defense had tumbled, forcing her to lay a truth that she hadn’t even begun to admit to herself bare before the man who was the root of it. “I’m afraid.” The words were quiet as they could come, but as she released them her wrist was freed, the apparition of Montgomery disappearing before her eyes while her blade finally fell onto the brain, piercing it deep as she admitted to the prisoner she’d become when it came to fear and her own mind.

Cutler watched the kinks of the brain slowly fill with red, tracking the infinite curls and dips. The only brain he had ever seen up close had been off colour and logged with preservatives; undeniably dead. This one was swollen with life, sinapses presumably still firing through it despite it’s disconnection, seemingly uninterrupted by the splashing of Nell’s blood onto the surface.

When Nell raised her arm to strike it, her aim was true and he was just as surprised as she when her hand stopped before delivering the final strike. He heard own name sprung from her lips, venom in her voice.

“What? I’m sorry, I-” He was cut off by her next words, delivered in his direction but not to him. Her eyes were glazed and unfocused, clearly seeing someone else in his place. “Who’s in your head?” A million expressions flickered across her face. There was a battle going on behind her shaking lip and desperate protests. A battle for control of her mind, and one that she had to fight alone. When she finally voiced her fear, he recognized it for what it was: an offering. A display of strength, masquerading as an act of weakness. The effects were immediately palpable as the manufactured dreamscape around them dissipated. The rumbling of the cavern stopped and the fog in his mind began to clear. Every sensation returned tenfold. Sand, grit, and blood sealed the dry cracking edge of his lips. Sweat and cool humidity stuck his shirt to his back as he turned, looking for confirmation in Nell’s face.

Then he felt the pain. It manifested itself as simple whiteness that blocked everything out, shielding him from the agony. His vision became a blazing void of nothingness, accompanied by a high whine in his ears. It was all he could do to remain standing in the face of his temporary blindness. When the cavern faded back, the pain was no longer blocked out, the muscles in his arms lit aflame by the wound in his palms.

“I have to go. I have to get out of here.” He willed himself to take a step toward the doorway. “My hands.” The words sounded distant and strange, as if spoken by someone else with his voice. The early morning light haloed his heavy frame as he stood in the stone archway, looking up. They had walked through what felt like miles of hallways to get to the inner chambers and yet...he could feel fresh air from above ground and a misting of fresh dew on his cheek. It smelled like freedom. Like life. “You coming?”

It was a long moment before Nell rose from her kneeling spot before the now shriveled brain, the previously pink tissue blacked and cracked. It was over. Finally it was done, and she knew as much when the air returned back to its normal density, the thickness of magic no longer pervading the stillness of the catacombs. Her gaze stayed on the broken brain for too many seconds, and somewhere an insidious thought began to form within her mind. Was this what her brain would look like one day? Rotted and burned out from one too many hits— turned into something she barely recognized? And then there was the revelation of her admission. She was afraid. Afraid because Montgomery, Jax, and countless others had shown her just how much she had to lose ever since the witch had returned to White Crest from a five-year travelling stint. It’d been easier when she was distanced from this place, friends and family out of mind’s eye and arm’s reach, their pain and suffering out of sight as well. Her shoulders remained weak while she stared into space, a few trailing tears still finishing their descent down her cheeks while she sat shell-shocked. Now what? What was she meant to do with this newfound fear?

Again she thought of Kevin’s words, and the promise the mysterious woman had made to take all the pain away. To set her free. Would Kevin have taken the fear, too? It was too late to find the answer with no way of going back. Still— now that Nell knew the truth...how was she meant to live with it?

Nell’s reverie was broken by Cutler’s question, haunted eyes turning back to the man as she looked to his hands. She’d be able to see to them now- at least make sure that he didn’t lose any more blood than he already had due to the sizable injury. And Bex. Bex should be awake now, shouldn’t see? Nell wanted to be there when she woke up, or at least soon after. To tell Bex that she’d kept her promise. To prove that Nell had come back for her, and found a way to wake the girl from her neverending sleep. So despite the feeling of hollowness in her gut, and the dread forming in her chest she rose slowly from her knees, wiping them with tired and still shaking hands. The world was waiting for them out there, whether they were ready for it or not. It would be changed, the victims of sleep and nightmares unable to go back from what they’d seen and felt. Or perhaps it was simply the victims who would be different, and in turn they would change the world to fit their new selves. Cutler and Nell were different, too. That much was obvious as they made their way towards the rising sun, eyes blinking in the harshness of a new morning and new reality. They’d be left to find their own new way in the world, just as the sleepers would as well. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m coming.” Whether or not they’d be successful at such a feat was unknowable as they left the catacombs behind, but at least they wouldn’t be the only ones opening their eyes anew to the day’s dawn.

#wickedswriting #sibling death tw #torture tw #self harm tw #self-harm tw #ch:Cutler #ch:Dakota #chatzy

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sinsbymanka · 4 years

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Update: Girl with the Arrow Tattoo Chapter 35!

Maria Cadash finds both a home and a title. She’s not a fan of the latter. Varric deals with his actions and their consequences.

Full story at AO3!

Maria stared, breathless, across the stone bridge her hand conjured out of nowhere. The fortress bled into existence, made of nothing but snow and clouds. Glittering magic pulled walls from both mountain and thin air. The stone rearranged itself with a laughing song nobody else but her seemed able to hear.

Well, Nanna always said the stone sang to the dwarves if they listened. Maria never believed her, but now…

As she watched, the great gate at the other side of the bridge rose, iron chains clanking and echoing as it lifted slowly. It seemed like a warm, gentle invitation to come inside. To stay. To rest. She could almost feel curled fingers reaching out to her.

“Great.” Varric muttered under his breath. “Haunted castle in the middle of nowhere. We’re going in there, aren’t we? Fantastic.”

“Where’s your sense of adventure, Varric?” She asked, daring a smile at him. It felt like the first time she’d smiled in days. A weight lifted from her chest, leaving her lightheaded and almost giddy. She took one trembling, hopeful step onto the bridge, swirling her still bare fingers over the stone walls. She had to be imagining it, but it seemed to greet her with the same joyful anticipation she felt, vibrating under her fingers like a cat who finally found someone to feed it.

“In Kirkwall. With my common sense and good winter coat.” Varric surely meant to sound more grumpy, but he barely contained his own smile in return. It warmed her from the inside out like a cup of coffee. Made her think of his arms holding her, his voice conjuring stories out of thin air.

She tucked that smile away inside her and tried to ignore the greedy clamoring inside her for more.

“There is magic here.” Cassandra’s lanky form melded to Maria’s side, staring up at the glimmering towers in the sun. “More magic than I have ever felt in one place. A building such as this…”

“It reminds me of the Vyrantium Enchanter’s University.” Dorian, at least, seemed just as eager as she was to explore. “The place had seen so much magic, sometimes it did rather odd things. I knew a Magister who swore up and down she once got lost in the cellar for six months because the hallways kept changing.”

“Preposterous.” Vivienne sniffed from beside him. “We would never let our circles become so unruly here.”

“She wants to meet you.” Cole’s slender, bare fingers traced the stone near Maria’s with a tentative, small smile. “She missed the sun. It’s been so long.”

“She?” Maria questioned, flipping her eyes up to Cole’s. His were nearly hidden under his jagged blonde hair, but warmth danced within them and he smiled sweetly.

“Skyhold.” He answered. “She was lost, like you.”

The wind kicked up and stole bits of her hair from the bun she’d knotted it in. She swore she heard something like a giggle hidden within it, vanishing quickly across the bridge, shaking the leaves from the trees outside the walls.

That left nothing to do but follow the invisible yearning she’d been using as a compass since Solas told her to strike out north. She let her fingers trace the stones, holding her breath as she strode forward.

Hello, she thought silently. Hello, I’m here. I’m listening.

She felt silly for a moment and silently hoped the blush on her face could be taken for nothing but the cold. Then the wind kissed her cheeks again, a touch as simple and uncomplicated as Bea’s lips on her skin.

She reminded herself, more sternly, it was her imagination run amok. It had to be. But the stone seemed to tremble under her fingers with the same joyful greeting. Maria thought she could almost hear it.

Hello. Welcome home.

They stepped under the ancient gate and Maria’s eyes landed on the first tree rising just inside it, leaves still unfurling, ripples of magic lacing the air as flowers became fruit, reddened before her very eyes, growing full and heavy in the branches.

Apples, just like the ones Nanna and Bea cut up to make into pies and dumplings. A quick, hard pang of hunger laced her, mouth watering. Protein bars were fine, she guessed, if the other option was starving, but these…

They were her favorite. She had no idea how Vivienne could waltz right underneath them without even looking up.

One of them fell with a gentle plop, rolling on the cobblestones directly to her feet like an offering. Maria crouched, cautiously picking it up and turning the bright red flesh in her hands. She could smell it, the bruised flesh releasing a sweet, tart smell.

“Do not eat that.” Cassandra directed immediately. Maria frowned and waved the enticing fruit under the human’s nose as she straightened.

“Seeker, it’s an apple. It smells wonderful.”

“There’s a fairy story that starts this way.” Dorian remarked idyly. “Enchanted fruit. Endless sleep. Who, pray tell, will play our prince charming if you poison yourself?”

“Do I get to choose?” Maria asked, only half paying attention, examining the apple more closely. It certainly looked fine. It looked like a normal apple she’d buy from the store.

“She made it for you because you like them.” Cole insisted quietly. “It’s good.”

“Oh, and who would you choose?” Dorian asked, the words loaded with hidden meaning. Maria very pointedly didn’t look away from the apple in her hands, the skin so shiny she could almost see herself reflected in it.

“You, of course.” She answered with feigned nonchalance. Dorian huffed, pleased in spite of himself. It wasn’t the truth, though, and she feared the witch knew it. If Maria got to choose who’d be kissing her… well, the man who slept chastely beside her to warm her frozen, battered body certainly deserved a reward. Varric Tethras, for all his complaining, had been a solid rock since they’d started moving north. Never far from her side, always easily located in a crowd. They were two moons spinning around each other, caught in their own gravity.

What was it he said? I’m sick of near misses? Maybe he’d gotten it right. Maybe she… maybe she’d been incorrect. If he wanted her, if he really wanted…

“Well, I am the obvious… fasta vass!” As he spoke, Maria brought the fruit to her lips and bit into it thoughtfully. Flavor exploded on her tongue, enough to make her moan in sweet, satisfaction. It was by far the best damn apple she’d ever had, made all the sweeter by her diet of cardboard-like rations for the last three days. Juice dribbled down her chin and she hurried to wipe it away, meeting Dorian and Cassandra’s horrified expressions with a wicked, mischievous grin while she chewed and swallowed. She held the bitten fruit up to them. “Just an apple.”

Cassandra rolled her eyes skyward with a blatant noise of disapproval.

“If you die, it is completely your fault and I want you to know I will undoubtedly be here saying I told you so.” Dorian crossed his arms and glared down at her, but she could see his lips twitching under his mustache. “Survives time travel, a dragon, an avalanche, dies because she ate a blighted apple.”

“Would you like one?” She asked sweetly, fluttering her lashes.

“If you are not dead in thirty minutes, perhaps.” Dorian shook his head and strode off after Vivienne, peering around with a scholar’s delighted gaze.

She laughed and brought the apple back to her lips, tearing off another chunk of the sweet, white flesh and closing her eyes. It tasted like summer, like innocence, warmth, and safety. It tasted like Nanna’s kitchen and home.

She opened them again and found that Cassandra too had moved past her into the massive courtyard. Instead of witch or Seeker at her elbow, she was looking into the darkened amber eyes of an author fixed on her lips like he was taking notes.

She chewed the apple slowly and held the fruit out to Varric instead with an arched eyebrow. He cleared his throat and shook his head, pulled a smirk back to his face. “Sparkler’s right. If you’re still alive in an hour, I’ll give it a shot.”

“Kind of you all to let me be the test case.” Maria chirped, content enough with the situation. If she died now, at least, it would be with real food in her stomach.

“Hey, you’re the one who couldn’t wait.” Varric pointed out, letting his eyes roam the walls around them. He didn’t leave her side, even as Cassandra, Dorian, and Vivienne vanished further into the great space, examining what looked to be some sort of stable house.

Varric ripped his eyes from the walls and back to her, his smile broadening as he caught her examining him. “See something you like, Princess?” He teased smoothly.

He wanted her body, that much was obvious, but if that was it… if that was all, why did he stay here beside her? Why didn’t he stay back with the others where he wouldn’t have to plunge through snow up to both their asses?

He wants more, a younger, softer part of her supplied. He cares about you.

No he doesn’t, a harsher voice scolded. He pities you. He’s just here for a story.

“Trying to decide if I can outrun you when the haunted castle decides it doesn’t like us poking it.” Maria reasoned lightly. “I like my odds, frankly.”

Solas chuckled from behind them, but it was Cole that broke in, concerned. “No! She’s happy we’re here.”

Varric frowned. “You know, for a haunted castle in the middle of nowhere, this kind of reminds me of that first Swords and Shields book. The stable right there could be a dead ringer for the one I described in the city keep.”

He was right. She blinked, taken aback, squinting at it more closely while she chewed another bite of apple.

“If Miss Cadash read your book, perhaps the magic in this place is rearranging itself to show her what she wishes.” Solas placed his own palm on the apple tree, looking up into its branches sadly. “This is an old place. It has missed the footsteps of people, their laughter as they lived their lives.”

“I’m sorry.” Maria nearly choked on the mouthful of apple she was chewing. “You’re saying I made this.”

“No. She did. For you.” Cole stated like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“This place has a mind of its own, Miss Cadash. You are the one who awakened it, it is you it wishes to please. Whether it is pulling Varric’s… literature as an inspiration to do so, however, I cannot say for sure.” Solas wrinkled his nose when he said the word literature. It was a testament, she thought, to how shocked both her and Varric were that neither of them objected.

“How?” Maria asked incredulously.

“For Andraste’s sake, why?” Varric asked instead, abjectly horrified.

“The mark.” Solas said gently, pointing to the stone high up above them. Maria twirled to follow his pointing finger, eyes landing on the emblazoned sigil of the sun high above their heads, carved into the walls. It matched her hand exactly. “It recognizes your magic.”

“Oh.” Cole breathed softly, looking up, smiling widely. “Yes. You need to see.”

“See what?” Maria asked. She barely got the last word out before Cole wrenched her forward, eager as a puppy, grin broad.

“It’s perfect.” Cole beamed. “A place to keep the darkness out. The nightmares can’t catch you here.”

Maria sputtered in protest, but Cole didn’t listen. He dragged her up the nearest stone stairs, the apple falling uselessly from Maria’s hand while he tugged her into the body of the castle. She paused, momentarily awestruck, to take in the soaring ceilings, the sun etched within the stained glass. Cole let her gawk for only a second before pulling her further in. She caught sight of both Varric and Solas following them.

“There’s an awful lot of stairs here.” Varric huffed as Cole threw open the next door, revealing a plain, shadowy staircase spiraling upwards.

“Yes.” Cole nodded as they piled into the shadowy stairwell. “The stone touches the sky like she does. Like they both do.”

“The stone is quite fine with being on the ground, thank you very…” Varric barely got his foot onto the step behind them before the door slammed shut like an exclamation point. They all turned to stare at it, shocked and in Varric’s case, more than a little dismayed.

“Great.” He said immediately. “We’re all gonna die here.”

“I believe that is unlikely.” Solas didn’t quite laugh again, but his lips carried a hint of amusement. “Perhaps the castle does not take kindly to criticism.”

“She didn’t make it for you.” Cole blurted, shaking his head at Varric pointedly. “It’s for Maria.”

“What’s for Maria?” She asked, redirecting Cole to whatever it was he wanted to show her.

Cole beamed in the dim light, hauling her back up the steps with renewed vigor. When they got to the top he dropped her arm and turned to see her face, beaming at her. “This.”

This.

Tears came unbidden to her eyes and Maria swallowed them, blinking hard. The room was beautiful, carved of rough hewn stone, covered with sparkling wide windows looking out onto the mountains, stained glass casting bits of jewel-like color all over the floor. A crackling fireplace warmed the whole area, a plush red rug looked soft enough to sleep on.

An armchair, overstuffed and slightly weathered, sat just beside the fireplace. It was almost identical to the one from Hercinia, the one she picked out in the thrift shop and helped Fynn carry down the street, laughing the whole time, dizzy with happiness and so full of hope for their future. A quilt was slung over the arm of it, just like the one from Nanna’s house before it grew too old and careworn for use, the one Bea used to wrap herself up in as a child.

The comforter on the low, dwarven bed was the same color blue as the one in her childhood bedroom. A desk in the corner had a neat stack of books with familiar covers, the Hard in Hightown series. Varric scoffed and made his way over to them, picking one up and examining it critically.

Maria couldn’t focus on him though, because to her left, next to the stairwell banister, a piano sat proudly. It looked like a piano that could sit in most schools, neglected by all but enthusiastic music instructors. It was in much better shape than the one she’d bought used in Hercinia, though, all gleaming mahogany and elegant lines. The bench was tucked neatly underneath it, the cover closed, hiding the keys. Maria exhaled a shaky breath when she approached it, half convinced she was dreaming.

There was an arrow. An arrow inscribed on the cover, a match for the one on her wrist. It had her initials on the top and Fynn’s…

One hand grabbed the necklace under her shirt, but the other swept trembling fingers over the carving. From beneath the cover, she swore she heard one trembling note, a key pressed with uncertainty, a question hovering in the air.

Is this okay? Do you like it?

“Why?” She gasped, turning to Solas, wiping her hand across her eyes to hide the tears. She couldn’t conceal her bewilderment. “Why is it like this? Why…”

“Because you have brought it back to life.” Solas smiled weakly. “I suspect it is grateful. Perhaps a bit exuberantly so.”

“She saw you.” Cole answered simply. “And she knows what you are. What you can be.”

They couldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth.

Or in this case, a gift castle.

Skyhold threw it’s gates open like it had been waiting for Maria Cadash all her life and it seemed determined to furnish nearly everything they could possibly need. The castle sprouted an infirmary for the sick with rudimentary medical supplies. Food appeared hidden deep beneath the quaint, medieval kitchen, haunches of smoked bacon, frozen beef and chicken, flour, eggs, even barrels of cider. Enough to feed a small army, although cooking it in the great fireplace initially proved an adventure. Cots and beds lined formerly empty rooms, complete with blankets and small plush animals for even smaller hands. Fires lit themselves. Banners featuring Andraste’s flaming eye appeared with no warning. They found clean clothes in armoires and chests, soap in closets. Anything they needed or wanted just… appeared. Like magic.

But, perhaps the most fascinating thing, was that Skyhold learned.

The first night was so dark, even with flickering torches studding the walls, that Varric spent most of the second day helping to set up the portable generator they carried out of Haven. It was enough to power some flood lights in the courtyard and prevent them all from falling down the damnable steps to their doom at night. Particularly with all the kids they had running around. Although, mysteriously, there hadn’t been so much as a scraped knee with any of the children.

Varric never thought Skyhold would look at their flimsy generator, scoff, and decide it could do better. He nearly pissed himself when he woke up the next morning to find the whole castle wired from top to bottom, lights in every room. Cullen damn near lost his mind when that happened. Varric spent most of the third day following Curly through the bowels of the castle as the man swore up and down he’d find the castle’s power source.

Curly would be sorely disappointed. Whatever secrets Skyhold kept, it wasn’t sharing. But the more they settled, the more alive it seemed to be. Varric swore new rooms popped up daily. The more complicated, nuanced, and scarce medical supplies they’d brought seemed to replace themselves. Flowers sprung up in the courtyard and the weather, although it couldn’t be called warm, never grew bitterly cold inside the walls. The kitchen managed to spring some nearly modern appliances, although they still looked more at home in a dated restaurant than a place that had to serve two hundred people, and plumbing showed up immediately after Maria wished for it longingly.

But it was Maria Cadash that blossomed more than anything else.

She danced through Skyhold in a blur of crimson and gold. She sparkled in the winter sun and their universe revolved around her. Everything glowed under her tender care, from the injured soldiers to the children stumbling through the courtyard, coming alive, reaching towards her sunlight.

And when she smiled… Andraste when she smiled.

He wondered how close he’d come to never seeing it again. He wanted nothing more than to spend some solid hours basking in it. See if Skyhold couldn’t conjure up a pack of cards, take her off to some shadowy corner, and reassure himself that she really was as okay as she looked.

But that was just his flimsy excuse and he knew it. What he wanted, what he desired more than anything, wasn’t to lure her into a friendly game of cards. Fuck, it wasn’t even to sweet talk her into the nearest bed so he could finish what he’d started now that they weren’t currently in danger of dying in a dragon’s throat.

He wanted something altogether more precious. He wanted her the way she’d been in the tent the night she stumbled back into his arms. He wanted her without all that armor she carried, soft and sweet in his arms. He wanted her lashes fluttering against her cheekbones as she failed miserably to stay awake listening to, frankly, one of his most shitty stories. He carried that memory of her sleep warmed, sharp edges smoothed by exhaustion, clutched it to his chest jealousy.

He wanted to press his lips surreptitiously to her cheek one more time and whisper his apologies into her ear. He wanted to hear her ask him to stay again. Wanted that sharp lance of vulnerability, the one that broke right through all his defenses and left him more naked that he’d ever been.

Stay.

Ancestors, if she’d ask anything in that tone of voice, he’d do it. He stayed even after she’d fallen back asleep. His palm over the small of his back, her body curled against his, her marked hand on his chest where she hadn’t even realized it had fallen. He counted the freckles on her nose, her cheeks. Memorized the sweep of her lashes and the gentle rise and fall of her breath. He stayed until Bea stirred and asked if she’d woken, but tearing himself away… shit, it’d been harder than it should have been.

But it wasn’t real. She’d been broken, bleeding, battered. Confused and addled. Exhausted to her very bones from attempting to slay an actual dragon. She’d have asked anyone to stay. He wasn’t special. Not to her. How could he be?

She was the sun, after all, and she shined on everyone equally. It hurt to admit it, but Varric could handle painful truths. Maker knew he had practice. When she didn’t seek him out, when she poured her energy into Skyhold, he fell back, easy and casual, and watched her.

He still had a place here, after all. Once they knew the truth… well. He may have to live outside her orbit. But at least she was alive. At least he had that memory of her sleeping in his arms. That was enough. It had to be.

Of course, he was assuming he’d figured out how to get them connected back to the civilized world long enough to reveal his own secrets. Between Maria’s magic hand, a score of witches, and the damn castle itself the magical interference was mind boggling. He needed to call Hawke, needed her help, but reaching her… it seemed impossible.

“I think that concludes the distribution of sleeping quarters for the civilians and refugees.” Josephine clucked, pulling him from his daydreams. “Was there any other business?”

“One, yeah?” Sera yawned and glared at the other woman. “Why do we all gotta keep coming to these meetings?”

Varric stifled his amused laugh into his palm. Sera did about as well as anticipated during these meetings. Meaning, of course, that she’d already drawn some rather colorful pornography all over Bull’s muscled arm after Maria stopped her from carving it into the stone rather emphatically.

Their group sat in an airy room around a massive table that looked to be made of one solid piece of wood. This, Varric thought with no small degree of amusement, was the best of the Inquisition.They ranged from a Tevinter exile to a raving spirit turned boy. Grey Warden to exotic dancer. The Inquisition’s inner circle. A mad little bunch of religious and distinctly irreligious figures. Who’d have thought? If the late Divine could see them now, she’d probably lose her exuberant hat when her head exploded.

In the window seat, Bea made a muted noise of agreement. Maria had her hands in her sister’s hair and smirked while she shook her head in playful exasperation. Bea’s curls looked sleek and shiny again, makeup perfectly applied. Skyhold must have been supplying that shit too.

He couldn’t complain, though. He’d opened a cupboard their second day here and had a razor chucked at his face. Maria, of course, said he was exaggerating about the velocity. But he knew what happened and so did the damn castle.

“There is… one other matter we need to address.” Cassandra straightened from where she bent over the table, sweeping her gaze across the room. “We do not have a leader.”

“Wait.” Maria stopped and pierced Cassandra with her gaze, then looked past her to Cullen, Leliana, and Josephine. “I thought you four were the leaders.”

“We need a leader.” Leliana insisted smoothly. “One person who wields the ultimate authority in precarious situations. An Inquisitor for our Inquisition.”

“How do you propose choosing this leader?” Blackwall asked gruffly. “Should we collect resumes? Interview the candidates?”

“A vote.” Bull suggested, far too casually, flexing the arm Sera was drawing on. It made the mermaid she’d drawn look like her tits were bouncing. “Nice and democratic.”

“From everyone?” Vivienne asked pointedly. “My dear, some of the refugees are so frightened they barely know their own names. Let alone ours.”

“Pft, nobody is votin’ for you.” Sera grumbled. “Little people don’t like shite like you. They know the good names.”

They knew one name, at least. All those refugees knew one name very well.

“So we vote?” Maria asked skeptically, tearing him from his overwhelming feeling of dread. “For everyone?”

“We’ll ask the people if they accept it.” Cullen fingered his gun thoughtfully, peering at Maria with a tight frown like his thoughts had gone the same way as Varric’s. “If they say no - we devise another plan.”

“Alright then.” Maria sighed. Bea was beginning to look a bit nervous, shifting to eye her sister from the corner of her eye.

“I don’t want to vote.” Bea said quickly, shying away. “I don’t actually do anything.”

“That’s most untrue.” Josephine reproved, looking up and frowning. “You have been…”

“I’m not voting.” Bea's tone brooked no argument. Josephine frowned, opened her mouth as if to insist, but Leliana cut in.

“One abstention, then. It will go with the majority, if that is alright Beatrix?”

“That’s fine.” Bea curled her knees up to her chest and frowned.

In the heavy silence, Varric reached for the battered journal in his pocket. The Lovers stuck out like a bookmark and he flipped past it without thinking too hard, grabbing three sheets and ripping them out. He began to tear them into tiny slips. “Anyone got a pen?”

Sera ceased detailing the engorged male genitalia on Bull’s bicep and lifted her pen with a sharp grin. Cassandra plucked it from her hand and Varric passed around the papers. Everyone took only a second to dash a name on their slip, folding it in half and tossing it onto the great table.

“What is with you?” Maria asked as Bea brought her manicured nails to her lips like she’d start chewing them at any second.

Maria, it seemed, was blissfully unaware of where this was going. Bea, of course, was not. Bea heard the way people talked about Maria, knew what they said. And Bea couldn’t vote against her sister, but she couldn’t vote for her either.

The pen came to him and Varric scrawled one word on it before tossing it to Blackwall. Bea couldn’t force herself to do it, but Varric had to.

Princess.

Maria may never forgive him, but it had to be her. She was sane, she was brave. More than all of that, however, she was so overwhelmingly kind. If it wasn’t her, if it came to someone else… Maker forbid, the Seeker…

Maria’s vote joined the others and they all stared, at a loss for what to do next. It was Cullen that reached forward and picked up the first one. He unfolded it and cleared his throat before reading it into the silence. “M Cadash.”

Maria snorted in disbelief. Cullen picked up the second one and read it aloud as well. “Maria.”

Maria’s amusement dropped like a ton of bricks by the time Cullen read the fourth. When Cullen stumbled on the word Princess, cheeks flushing, the lights above them flickered menacingly. Varric couldn’t meet her eyes, even though he felt them searing into him.

In the end, every single vote said Maria except one, solitary piece of paper that had Leliana’s name dashed across it. The silence felt miserably heavy and in the window seat Bea finally sighed her sister’s name. “Ria…”

“Fuck all of you.” Maria snapped, folding her arms across her chest. A snarky part of him almost said that he’d heard worse plans. Almost.

“Interesting diplomatic strategy.” Bull leaned back, crossed his arms over his chest to match her posture and waited. Maria’s sparking eyes turned to him.

“Fuck you in particular.” Maria seethed with a rather ferocious glare. To his credit, Bull did not immediately burst into flames. Lesser men probably would have. Varric felt his chest hair curling and smoking just being in the general vicinity.

“You’ve been calling the shots since you stepped out of the vortex and all these people know it, Boss.” Bull rumbled with an easy shrug.

“I’m not qualified.” Maria spat out.

“Where does one get qualifications to fight pure evil and save the world?” Dorian asked, stroking his mustache. “I certainly never saw it listed as a major.”

“Enough.” Cassandra glared at Dorian and turned her attention to Maria. “The Inquisition needs an Inquisitor. It is your choices that have gotten us to this point. There is no better person to take the mantle.”

“We’re in a magic castle in the middle of nowhere and nobody knows we’re alive.” Maria hissed. “Is this really the track record you want?”

“We’re alive.” Cullen stated in a rather matter-of-fact tone, but he wasn’t brave enough to meet Maria’s eyes. “And we should not be. That, in and of itself, is enough reason to trust you.”

“I can’t do this.” Maria insisted. Varric watched her right hand trace her left wrist, finally recognizing the gesture for what it was, a way to soothe panic. The realization hit him like a punch in the gut.

“You can.” Leliana said softly. “We will help.”

“We need to ask everyone to vote.” Maria lifted her chin defiantly.

“That’s… going to go the same exact way.” Bea whispered from the window seat, staring despondently at the papers. Maria whirled on her sister and pointed at the table like Bea could offer more of an explanation.

“What do you think of this?” Maria demanded.

“Ria…” Bea sighed, rubbing her face with her hand briskly.

“The glass throws rainbows over my skin. The walls. I giggle. Nanna’s fingers lift it high, stands on tiptoes to put it on the shelf. ‘This is where we put precious things, chi shugra. Up high so nobody breaks them.’ Safe. Safe where he can’t touch her ever again.” Cole mumbled.

“Balls.” Bea groaned.

Maria’s expression slammed shut beneath a veneer of ice worse than the flickering flames of her fury. She drew her shoulders back and glared at Bea before twisting away. She nearly shoved Cullen over to get past him to the door, but it swung open before she even reached it. The moment she passed through the threshold, the castle slammed it shut behind her back.

“Balls.” Bea mumbled again, hiding her face in her hands. “For fucks sake Cole.”

“She wanted to know. You wouldn’t tell her.” Cole frowned down at his hands.

“For a damn good reason!” Bea exploded.

“She needed to know.” Cole insisted. “Or it would’ve been a knot.”

Bea couldn’t pass up the opportunity to keep Maria safe. Bea couldn’t shove her sister’s name forward for a job that seemed impossible. Varric got it, he really did.

He wished there was someone else to choose. Anyone else. But there wasn’t. Ancestors forgive them for doing this to her, because it would probably kill her. Like it nearly killed Hawke.

“Does anyone want to take bets on whether the castle just locked us in here?” He asked wearily instead. It seemed easier than facing his own guilt.

Soft, gentle fingers smoothed Maria’s hair back, a simple repetitive motion as a clear, bright voice sang beside her. The melody ached inside Maria’s chest as the fingers continued their patient stroking. “Down in the mines, the mines so low. Hang your head over, hear the song low. Hear the song low, dear, hear the song low…”

“I can’t do this.” Maria whispered, tucking her chin in and looking over her shoulder at the woman peering down at her with such gentle, honest affection. Gray eyes and honey brown hair, a woman with Bea’s elegant features.

“You’ve already come so far, my darling.” She smiled, resting her palm on Maria’s cheek. “It will be okay. I’m here now.”

“You’re gone.” Maria barely remembered her, but this serene image of her pulled from old photographs looked right. “Mom’s gone.”

“Yes.” The woman tapped her fingertips against Maria’s nose, bright and playful, eyes sparkling with mischievous humor. “But I am not. You are mine and I am yours, darling.”

Maria awoke to a gentle breeze on her face, invisible fingers playing in her hair. She lifted her head off the pillow and paused, momentarily disoriented, pleasantly dazed. It took a moment to remember where she was every time she awoke, usually at the crack of dawn. Skyhold.

Safe. She’d been plagued with nightmares after Haven, but here, they ceased. Here…

Well, nothing was easy. She still wore her fear like a collar around her neck. Sometimes, the scent of a fire in the hearth was enough to choke her with panic. Sometimes, when she closed her eyes at night, she pictured Redcliffe crawling with monsters, the behemoth crushing Bea beneath it or Varric bleeding at her feet.

But it was nicer to live with when she woke in the beautiful room at the top of the tower wrapped in an old quilt that smelled like home, somehow. The terror felt more manageable here.

She noted the sun wasn’t coming in the windows right for dawn, but rather the light faded with dusk. Drool and bits of hair stuck to her cheeks. Tears, she thought ruefully. She wondered how fucking awful she looked. A mess, she was sure.

“Cadash?” Cassandra’s brisk voice called from the bottom of her stairs. “Cadash, are you up there?”

“Where the fuck else would I be?” Maria called back down the steps, quickly scrubbing her eyes with the back of her fist. Flakes of eyeliner came off on the back of her palm and she swore, irritated.

“May I come upstairs?” Cassandra yelled again, cautious and wary. Maria paused, discarding the quilt from over her shoulders and flying into the adjoining room. The taps had changed again, she noted distantly. This was the one part of her room that kept changing like Skyhold hadn’t quite determined what kind of bathroom she wanted. At first, it held one ornate washbasin. Then, thank the Stone, it implemented plumbing. The sink was granite today, a matching tub behind her. She turned the warm water on and scrubbed at her ruined makeup.

“If you insist.” Maria grumbled, hopefully loud enough to be heard. She examined her reflection in the mirror with a tight, tense frown.

Inquisitor.

Not if she had anything to say about it.

She brushed a towel across her face and stepped back out into her bedroom to find Cassandra standing, uncertain, by the stairwell. The Seeker’s eyes never stopped roaming, always looking for threats. Once she’d inspected every nook and cranny and found them free of danger, she turned to Maria.

“We attempted to visit you earlier.”

“Who’s we?” Maria asked nonchalantly, sitting on the edge of her bed and folding her arms under her chest, examining her booted feet.

“All of us in turn. The door would not open.” Cassandra made a small noise of dismay. “Solas says there is a… spirit guardian of this place. It answers to you.”

“No it doesn’t.” Maria scoffed and rolled her eyes. “If it did - you’d still be locked out.”

“If it answers to you, even slightly, then that is all the more reason for you to bear the title of Inquisitor. We have the walls to put up a fight if we are attacked again, a place to grow our forces, and Cullen is adamant there would be no retreat. This… war with Corypheus is not the fight we anticipated.”

“It’s not one I bleeding signed up for.” Maria reminded her pointedly. She hadn’t signed up for any of this. She was supposed to close the vortex and leave, free and clear, Bea and Cole in tow.

Cassandra sighed and shook her head. “I know. You… you have asked for none of this. The power inside you… it allowed you to survive the destruction of the conclave. It is something this Corypheus wished to have, and whether or not it is divine providence that you have it now…”

Maria scoffed again and Cassandra met her skeptical gaze. “It matters not to you, I know. The most important thing is that Haven cannot happen again. The most important thing is that we keep this power from him.”

“He said he couldn’t take it. It’s useless to him, so I need to die.” Maria pointed out bluntly. “That’s it. My magic hand doesn’t qualify me to be in charge.”

“Your mark has power.” Cassandra lowered her shoulders and eyed Maria with a certain mix of apprehension and… respect. “But it is not why you are still standing here.”

She was standing here because of a mine shaft and an unbelievable stroke of luck, but before she could say that, Cassandra plowed on. “Your decisions helped us heal the rift in the world. Your determination led us out of Haven. You are the only one to rival this demon because you are the only one who has faced him and shown the bravery and sacrifice needed to save us. To save us all.”

“I didn’t…” Maria protested.

“I was there.” Cassandra snapped before Maria could finish, running fingers through her short hair. “I know what I saw when I left you. I saw one woman wreathed in flames standing against the darkness and chaos. I saw you. We all did.”

A dismayed bubble of laughter jumped to her throat. “Ancestors, Cassandra. That’s fucking good. Don’t repeat it around Varric, he’ll steal it for his next book.”

Cassandra’s disgusted noise rang across the room, but she jerked her head to the balcony. “Word has leaked that you were asked to lead. I suspect Vivienne, although I have no proof. The people are outside, waiting to congratulate you.”

“Tell them I said no.” Maria commanded weakly. “Tell them everything you said about me at the beginning. I’m a smuggler, I’m a criminal, I’m…”

“Stop.” Cassandra pleaded. “I… I would not say those things about you.”

“They’re true.” Maria argued. “You’ve said them before, just go out there…”

“I should not have!” Cassandra exploded, curling her hands into fists. “If I had known, if I had trusted in the Maker that he would not… but I didn’t. And I was cruel. I will never be able to make amends for it.”

The silence stretched between them. Maria stared at the woman, confused, a bit alarmed. “Cassandra, just tell them I don’t want it. Do that and we’re square, promise.”

“I can.” Cassandra clenched her jaw tightly. “I will, if that is truly what you wish. But I have a better proposition.”

“If this is about faith…” Maria began to roll her eyes skyward. She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t listen to Cassandra preach about Andraste or the Maker. If she started, Maria swore...

“My faith.” Cassandra admitted. “Which is not yours. What is yours… What could be yours is a force that would change the world. People are hungry, homeless…”

“You’re making a great case for the world being a piece of shit, Cass. Preaching to the choir.” Maria mumbled, dropping her eyes back to her boots. “Nobody is going to follow me. You’re all…”

“Those people owe their lives to you. They would follow you to the gates of the black city.” Cassandra declared proudly. “If you do not believe me you need only go and peer out. They are thrilled that you would be their Inquisitor.”

“And you?” Maria challenged, glaring at Cassandra. “You really think this is a good idea?”

“It terrifies me.” Cassandra admitted quietly, voice soft and startlingly vulnerable. “To hand over such power to one person. But I have faith in what I have seen you do. If it must be anyone, it must be you.”

Maria pulled her eyes from Cassandra’s again and stared at her domed ceiling, blinking back tears. Cassandra let the silence weigh heavily between them before she sighed. “If I could not convince you with that, I was supposed to add in one more thing. On your sister’s behalf.”

“Great.” Maria huffed. “Wonderful. What does Bea possibly have to add?”

Cassandra waited until Maria looked at her again, then held Maria’s gaze unflinchingly and said the words that shot a bullet right through Maria’s heart. “I was supposed to ask what Fynn Dunhark would have you do.”

Fynn. Fynn. Earnest and brilliant, his shirtsleeves rolled up, elbow on their kitchen table. Expounding on the flaws of capitalism, railing against injustice, pouring his father’s money into charities and whispering against her skin how someone like her should be the one taking the lead, that she’d get things done because she was terrifying and adorable when she was angry and Ancestors he loved her…

He loved her. He loved her and it got him killed. Maria nearly fell back, grief like a sucker punch in her stomach. It should have been Fynn. He could have done this, he could have carried this well. Her father could have. Anyone except her.

“I’m going to fuck this up.” Maria admitted. “I’ve always fucked everything up, Cassandra.”

Every single thing. From not taking her father’s downward spiral seriously, to her failure to save their grandmother, running away with Fynn. From losing Varric in Redcliffe to nearly losing everyone in Haven. Maria rubbed her face with her hands briskly again, the marked one prickling uncomfortably.

“Well.” The Seeker chewed her words for a moment before she gave Maria a weary half smile. “If we truly do awfully, we will all be dead regardless. Cold comfort, perhaps, but at least we won’t have to live with it.”

The humor surprised her and a broken laugh slipped past Maria’s lips. “Ancestors, that’s morbid.”

“I will be with you.” Cassandra swore like some overzealous knight in a fairy tale. The Seeker thrust her hand forward, fiercely determined. “You will not do this alone.”

Maria ran her thumb up and down her left wrist, tracing the arrow there. She promised. She promised Fynn when they left Ostwick together that she’d stay on the straight and narrow, that she’d do better. She’d be better. She’d be the woman he thought she could be. No more darkness, no more shadows, no more lying or stealing or…

“I’m not the Herald of Andraste.” Maria blurted. “I’m not and we can’t say I am. If that’s why you want me to be the Inquisitor…”

“Some people will say it, regardless.” Cassandra frowned. “But we do not have to do so here, if that is your caveat.”

Maria nodded, stopped stroking her tattoo and looked down into her palm. The sun emblazoned there flickered gently.

“The motto of the old Inquisition was ‘Into darkness, unafraid’, Cadash.” Cassandra supplied. “Perhaps you could keep it. Perhaps you could make your own.”

No more darkness, not anymore. She held the sun in her hand, after all. Maria took a deep breath and stood, grasping Cassandra’s hand securely within her own.

The taller woman relaxed immediately, sighing deeply. “They are waiting. Outside. If you can…”

“Now?” She asked, running a hand through her frazzled hair. She looked like shit, although she supposed she had looked worse half dead and frozen.

“Before you reconsider.” Cassandra stated firmly. “Persuading people to do difficult things is… not my strong suit.”

Fair enough. Maria nodded and jerked her chin to the stairs. “After you then, Cass.”

Cassandra nodded and marched down the stairs. Maria took one last deep breath and followed, trailing her hand across the piano’s cover as she passed it. Tears pricked her eyes and she stopped, choking them down. She splayed her palm over top Fynn’s initials and pressed until she felt her marked palm ache, until bits of light shimmered between the gaps of her fingers.

“I’ll try.” She promised to the silence. For Fynn. For Nanna and her father, Bea and Bull. For Cole, Varric, Dorian, Cassandra…

Underneath the cover, the keys trembled again, a half note like a whispered answer.

That’s enough.

Varric's thoughts drifted, again, to Bianca. He’d give his weight in gold to have her staring down this problem. Somehow, he suspected, it would have been solved days ago. Instead, Varric kept banging his head against the issue, quickly losing patience.

Skyhold could give them anything they wanted, apparently, except the fucking internet or a phone signal. No matter how he tried, a connection to the outside world remained out of reach. He almost suspected the castle was doing it just because he was the one asking for it. He even stooped to asking Cole to try and convey what they wanted because the kid seemed to be able to communicate with the damned place, but all it had done was confuse them both and give Varric a raging migraine.

Bianca would have known what to do. She’d laugh, shake her head at his elementary attempts, and…

“Alright Varric, what’s the issue?”

Cue the wave of guilt, although which woman was the wronged party, Varric couldn’t say. He’d as much as told Bianca it was over right before they marched into Redcliffe, before trying to jump Maria’s bones, so…

Yes, he reminded himself acidly, because he’d never said goodbye to Bianca before.

“Well, your Inquisitorialness.” He lapsed into smooth bravado, rocking back on his heels and studiously not meeting the gray eyes he could feel searing into the back of his skull. “Your castle doesn’t believe in wireless connections, wireless networks, or 5g no matter how much I try and talk it up. So, I guess maybe we should consider carrier pigeons.”

“I never cared for birds much.” The wind whistling through the ancient battlement muffled her footsteps, so he was shocked when she dropped down beside him to examine the mess of salvaged guts he had spilled out in front of him. Bits of radios. A battered old laptop. “What do you need?”

“The modern world.” Varric grumbled, trying not to inhale her scent too greedily. He realized with a start they were alone on this far corner of Skyhold’s walls. It was the first time he’d been alone with her since…

“Varric.” She chided softly. He sighed in irritation and tore his hand through his own hair, glaring down at the parts on the ground.

“A receiving dish for the satellite.” Varric rubbed at his stubble and stood, turning his back on the mess behind him and offering his hand to Maria. She took it and pulled herself up, staring up into his face with a tiny frown.

Her eyes were the same color as the sky above them, a soft gray right before snow fell. Her freckles stood out starkly over her cheeks, wisps of red hair tickling her jaw. She still slouched when she stood, hands shoved deep in her coat pockets, eyes blazing forward. If the mantle she’d adopted at their insistence felt too heavy to bear, she didn’t show it.

“A receiving dish?” She questioned. “Does it look like a satellite, but down here?”

“You’ve got it, Princess.” He tipped his lips into a smile for her. “To catch the signal and amplify it.”

“What are they made of?” She asked. “How big does it have to be?”

He shot her a skeptical glance and shrugged ruefully. “Metal, usually something lightweight. I’d want it hooked up to the power grid here, if we could swing it. Boost our signal a bit more. As to how big… in this case, bigger is better. About the size of a pickup truck.”

“You’re not asking for much.” Maria’s lips twitched. Varric fought the urge to touch the corner of them, trace their shape with his thumb.

“What can I say?” Varric grinned, trying to maintain his tenuous control. “I’m a man of simple tastes. Now, of course, if I could get a phone call out, I’d order you the perfect one. Just right for someone of Inquisitorial standing. Have it delivered and installed free of charge.”

Maria sighed and looked out over the mountains. Something in his chest squeezed uncomfortably. “Hey.” He soothed softly, dropping the playfulness for comfort immediately. “It’s gonna be alright. We’ll figure it out.”

When she didn’t look back at him, his arm acted on it’s own accord. He gently placed his palm over her shoulder and squeezed. Varric lowered his voice to a gentle whisper. “Now that we have a minute to breathe…”

“Varric, listen…” She began, tensing under his palm.

“How are you holding up?” He finished. Whatever she’d been expecting him to say, it wasn’t that. Her eyes flicked to his, stunned, before they quickly swivelled back out into the mountains. Not before Varric saw the shine of emotions in them, the fear, the panic.

“Well.” She managed to sound breezy in spite of all of it. “I’m heading a human religious organization, retrofitting a fairy tale castle, trying to figure out how to kill a demon and his pet dragon before he kills us, and we all almost died this week. Twice.”

She controlled the emotions in her eyes and turned a weak smile back up to him. “I don’t have any idea what I’m doing.”

Her admission, quiet and soft, felt precious. He hadn’t heard her complain since she’d waltzed out past them, a queen before her subjects, to receive their acclamation. The praise came easily. “Well, whatever you’re doing, you’re doing it really well. Nobody could manage it better.”

She scoffed and looked down at her scuffed boots, shrugging his hand from her shoulder. “We haven’t been alone, Varric. Really alone. Not since…”

Not since she fell into his arms. Not since he carried her up the stairs, not since he undressed her and prepared to worship at the altar of her body. It hadn’t been that long ago. Less than a week, really, but it felt like a lifetime ago.

He’d seen an enemy he unleashed rise again. Heard Maria’s agonized screams, watched the mountain bury her and tried to live in a world she no longer inhabited. He’d seen her rise from the ashes like a phoenix, inexplicable and miraculous. He felt… he felt like it had changed him. Somehow. He wasn’t sure if it was for the better. He wasn’t sure he’d ever been this frightened before. Never faced anything so daunting. Corypheus. The Inquisition. Maria’s shining eyes and compassionate heart sacrificed for expediency’s sake.

Things had been simpler, before. Maria watched his face closely, frowning at whatever she saw there. When she opened her mouth again, the words that fell from her lips stung bitterly. “It was just a couple kisses, we can forget about it... if that’s what you want.”

No he couldn’t. Never. Not in a hundred years. He’d take the feel of her body under his to his grave, the last desperate meeting of lips in Haven to the stone itself. It wouldn’t matter if that’s what he actually wanted, because he’d never be able to do it. She was beneath his skin now, regardless, and what he wanted…

Maria’s right hand traced the tattoo under her left sleeve and Varric nearly choked on a surge of blinding, unreasonable jealousy. Fynn Dunhark was dead, Maria Cadash was alive. And Varric…

Varric didn’t deserve her. Other people did. Better people. People who didn’t trade in secrets and lies. People whose friends didn’t destroy entire cities. People who didn’t let monsters out into the world to kill hundreds. People who didn’t put her in danger.

But…

“Hey.” Varric murmured, fought the urge to run his thumb over her cheek. He had to try. He had to, or he’d never forgive himself. “I’ll be whatever you need, Princess. Whatever gets you through this.”

Whatever keeps you safe. Whatever makes you happy. Whatever you need. Varric, of course, wanted her to need him. Wanted it so desperately he could hardly breath around it.

Maria looked away again, back to the mountains. He saw them shining, brilliant and white, in her eyes. He watched something slam shut inside them, watched her throw away a key. His heart sank to the bottom of his stomach. “You’ve been a good friend, Varric. I don’t want to lose that.”

She wouldn’t be his, then. Another woman just beyond his reach, too good for him, too brilliant. Varric burned his fingers on the sun, again. But that wasn’t Maria’s fault. She, at least, wasn’t asking him to play second fiddle to someone else. She owed him nothing, anyway, and he… he owed her so much more. “You won’t. Promise.”

He could grab her, crowd her against the castle wall, kiss her until she didn’t know up or down. He could chase all those thoughts out of her head. He could contrive… But it wouldn’t be real. It wouldn’t be what he wanted.

The tension still simmered between them, but it would get better with time. It had to, anyway. He turned from the mountains, bracing himself to make some excuse about returning to work. The words shriveled and died on his tongue as he looked at what had appeared on the tower above them.

A satellite receiver as large as a Maker-damned pickup truck made of the shiniest metal he’d ever seen, looking like it had been there for ages. It almost seemed like the castle’s middle finger aimed squarely in his direction.

“Holy shit.” He muttered, half laughing in shock. “Look at that.”

“Maybe she just needed you to be a little clearer about what you wanted.” Maria advised, voice cold, the tone completely unfamiliar to him. “Will this get our communications up and running?”

Varric wondered if she’d already begun the process of becoming two different people. The same way he’d watched Hawke become the Champion when the world demanded it. Varric distinctly felt like the pale eyes watching him didn’t belong to his Princess any longer, but a woman isolated on top of a burning pyre.

But then again, she wasn’t his. No part of her was. He wondered how many times he’d have to remind himself before it sunk in.

“Yes.” The word felt like a nail in a coffin. Ending their precious moment of intimacy, extinguishing any chance to plead his case. “I promise. Can I borrow your phone, Inquisitor? It’ll go quicker, yours is the only other one with enough processing power…”

She produced it with razor sharp efficiency, dropping it into his hand. “I’ve got to go check on the wounded. Let me know if you need anything else.”

You, he thought wildly. The thought was barely formed before she was already halfway down the battlements, red hair vanishing down a set of steps. The wind blew sharper, colder without her and Varric shivered.

He stared down at the phone in his hand and retrieved his own, placing them both in his pocket. He needed to climb up that damn tower to get a closer look at that dish, and he had a sneaky suspicion he was going to have to figure out some way to adjust it’s trajectory, but… it would work. It would work, and he could call Hawke and…

Fuck. Fuck.

He knew what he had to do. Knew what he needed to do. He couldn’t live with himself if anything happened to Maria, couldn’t stomach the guilt. They needed Hawke. Hawke, who’d given so much already and gotten so little in return. Just like Maria would, someday. He could already see the writing on the wall.

Anything they could do to protect her. Anything he could do.

“Bianca.” Varric muttered.

“I am already experiencing a weak link with the satellite, but more stable than we have experienced in days. My estimate is the receiving dish needs adjusted to approximately a ninety-five degree angle...”

Excellent. He’d be climbing out a window trying not to fall to his death for sure. “Great. While I’m trying to manage that, I need you to airdrop a copy of your program onto Maria Cadash’s phone.”

“Inadvisable.” Bianca argued immediately, joyful tone vanishing. “Every additional user is a security risk. Maria Cadash has an extensive criminal history and you have only been acquainted…”

Varric laughed. “I know. I want you to do it anyway, baby.”

Varric could almost hear the muted rebellion in his earpiece. “Should I make a note to inform Bianca Davri of the additional user?”

“Absolutely not.” The real Bianca never checked the AI’s permissions. Only used her, really, when she needed the extra processing power. Otherwise, they just got in each other’s way. “Give Cadash the same permissions Hawke has.”

“Hawke has permissions just short of a system administrator…”

“You’re not telling me anything I don’t know.” Varric shoved the door to the tower open and looked up at all the stairs, dismayed.

“File transfer started.” Bianca finally responded, voice clipped and tone short. “Is there anything else?”

“Let me know the second I’ve got a strong enough signal to make a call.” Varric sighed. “There’s one I probably should have made a long time ago.”

In the fade, Solas found that Skyhold hadn’t changed at all from the palace he remembered. Gone were the Inquisitor’s sturdy stone walls, replaced with graceful, smooth marble. The hallways framed courtyards overflowing with vines and flowers. Magic orbs lit the courtyards and gleaming precious stones shimmered in mosaics and portraits.

In the fade, perhaps, he could still call Skyhold the name he had given it long ago. Tarasyl'an Te'las, the place where the sky was held back. He paused in the flowering courtyard and inhaled the blooms that faded so long ago.

“On dhea'lam.” A soft voice called from behind him. “It has been a long time, hasn’t it?”

“Longer than I wished.” Solas admitted, turning to face the spirit who’d sought him out. She wore another face, one he didn’t know, but one he recognized regardless. The woman shared the Inquisitor’s striking eyes, her sister’s brown hair. The crooked tip of her lips that both women wore so well.

“Her mother?” He guessed softly.

“Yes.” The spirit paused, tipped her head to the side as if listening to a whisper in the wind. “She left this world some time ago. This is how she is remembered.”

“It is not the form you took for me when I was a young man.” He would not be jealous, however. Not when Maria Cadash had so few comforts on her hard journey. If the face of her mother was one…

“When you were a young man, you left me to start a revolution.” The spirit chided. Solas shut his eyes and turned his face to the warm sun.

“Did you find what you wished, da fenlin?” The spirit asked. “When my little wolf grew teeth and claws, did the whole world tremble?”

“I am surprised you recognized me.” Solas didn’t wish to look into those stunning gray eyes, even if they were not framed by the Inquisitor’s red hair. He kept his own firmly closed.

“I did not. Not at first. I only knew your magic, I only knew it was no longer a part of you. I could see nothing past her when she arrived.” The spirit smiled, gentle and proud. “Da’lath’in. What is it you call her again? I do not understand it.”

“Inquisitor.” Solas explained. “It is what the shemlen call her, the title that gives her power.”

“Da’lath’in suits her better.” The spirit protested.

Da’lath’in. Little heart. Yes, Solas could see that. A woman who carried her heart on her sleeve, who showed compassion for the smallest and most helpless.

“You have seen inside her soul, yes?” Solas asked. He feared the answer, but he had to know. “Was she… has the magic changed her?”

“You wish to know her secrets when you will not give her yours?” The spirit asked, incredulous.

“Yes.” He answered with conviction. “I must.”

The spirit sighed, her breath rustling the blooms and trees. “Yes. And no. Your magic will give her strength and courage, but she has her ancestors’ spirit. She comes from warriors, she comes from the Earth. She has always been a soul that would bleed for others. It is in her nature. You know this.”

He did. He felt the oft-broken bones under her skin and allowed his magic to probe the shattered, raw pieces of her soul. He watched her feed the hungry, clothe the poor. He saw her rise from the ashes.

“If she is true, you are wrong.” The spirit murmured.

“Perhaps.” He admitted.

“Will you harm her? Or will you help her?” The spirit asked.

Solas opened his eyes and looked down into the spirit’s open, grave face.

“You would stop me.” He marveled.

“She is mine and I am hers.” The spirit’s eyes crackled with bright energy. “As you know, Fen’Harel.”

“I do not know if Fen’Harel exists any longer.” Solas sighed. “This is not his world.”

The spirit softened. A small hand rested on his elbow, just as it had so often in times long past. Solas ached with the pain of it. His friend, his home, sleeping just as he had. Alone in the darkness, watching as time left them both behind.

“Fen’Harel lit the world on fire.” The spirit said softly. “Perhaps it is Solas who must try to find beauty in the ashes.”

“Is there any beauty left in the world of metal and machines?” Solas asked, unable to keep the bitter venom from rising to the surface.

“How could you ask that?” The spirit tightened her grip on him, voice imploring. “Have you not seen them? Heard the laughter of their children? Listened to their prayers? How can you be so blind?”

The silence over both of them was not as comfortable as it once had been, but it still felt more like home than it had a right to.

“Will you tell her?” Solas finally asked. “My secrets, old friend. Will you confide them to the Inquisitor?”

The spirit sighed once more. “No, da fenlin. I will not. She would not understand, and I know you wish to right this mistake of yours. But you must not harm her.”

“I will not.” Solas swore.

Not if he could help it.

#girl with the arrow tattoo #modern thedas #varric tethras #inquisitor x varric #inquisitor cadash #dragon age inquisition #dragon age #maria cadash #varric romance

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tragedybunny · 5 years

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The Blade’s Edge - A League of Legends - Chapter 6

They had a simple arrangement. She was the weapon to be used on his enemies. Things get more complicated when emotions bleed into what should simple. Now the two of them find themselves on the precipice of something that was entirely unexpected. Katarina/Swain

Winter had followed us back to the Capitol. The temperate climate and our nearness to the sea meant it was always short lived, but for now snow lightly dusted the city, quickly turning grey in the ever rising haze of smoke. I was sitting in the seat of the large window in my room, overlooking the back garden, sketch board in my lap, drawing the city skyline in charcoal.The cold breeze of the open window was worth the unclouded view. Drawing hadn’t been considered an essential part of my education, so it was something I’d learned mostly on my own, and rarely had the opportunity to indulge in. The last couple of weeks had been painfully boring however, and there’s only so many times you can do katas.

I’d commandeered the old armory on the back of house as my personal training spot. This nearly caused a fit with some of the senior servants as I demanded family relics be removed to storage. Moira especially hated the notion, as I was sure she hated me in general. She’d been the most obvious to see me as a stain upon the House from the start. Her expression hiding nothing as her and the other servants were gathered in the great hall to hear the announcement that Madame Katarina would be staying on an indefinite basis. Her protests on the matter of the armory were met with an exasperated hand wave and “Just do as she asks”.

“Yes, please do as I ask.” I’d smiled in her beet red face. I won that round you old bat, though she’d gone from detached politeness to outright hostility after that.

I felt an unexpected weight on my shoulder and a shiny stone dropped into my lap. “Kat” her bird voice croaked out.

“Hello Bea.” I reach up to stroke her chest. He hadn’t been exaggerating, his pet really had taken to me, despite my best efforts to remain cool to her. “Here to bribe me again?” I look down at the bowl of sliced citrons I’d been picking at. I’d acquired them on one of my late night kitchen raids, the imported fruits being expensive enough I’d had to split a bottle of wine with the cook, Cress, to get him to stop mourning their loss. Thankfully drinking was his second love after cooking. “Are you even supposed to eat these?” She nipped my ear lightly. “Fine, but don’t blame me if you’re sick later.” I held up a slice and she greedily pulled it from fingers.

I’d been so occupied with her I hadn’t heard the door behind me open. “I didn’t know you drew.” He was right behind me, looking over my shoulder.

I almost slam my hands down to cover what I was doing, but stop short not wanting to smudge it. “I don’t, it’s nothing.” I feel my cheeks flushing. Noone’s ever caught me doing this before, so of course the first had to be him.

“You really shouldn’t denigrate yourself.” He pushes my hands out of the way. “It’s really quite good.”

I snap out of my paralysis and move it to the side. “Were you here for something?” At my agitation Beatrice hops into my lap and lets out an indignant caw.

“No.” She flaps her wings a bit as if the emphasize her point.

“You little traitor. She’s been feeding you hasn’t she? Don’t worry, I won’t upset her again.” He holds his hand out and after a moment’s hesitation, she hops onto it. He lightly pets her head and speaks softly until she finally decides to perch on my dressing table and preen in the mirror.

I couldn’t help the laughter that bubbled up. “Betrayed by your own bird.”

“Very funny. I’m plotted against in my own house.” He leans down and kisses me softly on my cheek. I stop laughing as the sensation washes over me.

“Anyway, you wanted something?”

“You’re lacking in attire suitable for a formal occasion.” A statement of the obvious. I’d left everything like that behind when I left my family’s house, all of it had been mother’s choices anyway.

I let out a groan, sure this isn’t going anywhere I like. “Yes, and?”

He ignores the groan. “That needs to be remedied, the Solstice celebration is in two weeks, and you’re going to accompany me.”

“Fantastic, a painfully boring religious ceremony. I’m not even religious, why do I have to go?”

“Neither am I, and I’m expected. You’re going to make sure I don’t die of boredom between that and the party afterward.”

“It keeps getting more appealing. Isn’t this Darius’s job?”

“Hmm, no, I believe it is definitely your responsibility these days.” I detect the slightest bit of a smile. He leans in again, lips brushing my earlobe. I forget to exhale for a second. “Must you be so obstinate about everything? Besides, the last party we attended together was interesting enough.”

“Maybe I could try to kill you again? That will keep things lively.”

He sighs, clearly done being gentle about it. “Just get ready, we’re leaving shortly.” He’s really going to drag me through this whole affair.

Then he’s gone, leaving me in a storm of emotions. I’m irritated that he orders instead of asking, but at the same turn I’m thrilled he wants me there with him. On top of it all those same feelings I’d stumbled into up north have never abated; the heart racing whenever he’s near, the yearning for his touch and those moments when he softens with me and is almost affectionate. As much as I’ve tried to reason with myself I can’t deny what my heart insists on longing for.

I’m not a fool though, we’ve barely seen each other since we returned. I know he’s done that purposefully, likely I gave myself away somehow. It’s rejection plain and simple, and it stings. And I loathe that I miss him.

I throw on some clothes appropriate to the cold and head to meet him downstairs, resigning myself to whatever he’s planning. When I reach the bottom of the stairs where he’s waiting he takes my cloak from hands and places it over my shoulders. “Madame.” He kisses my cheek, clearly pleased I’m here without further argument. Charm when he wants something isn’t a new tactic for him, and yet it still gets to me. “Did you just blush?” This time he’s actually smiling.

“What…no!” I start to march out the door. “Let’s get this over with.” The carriage has been pulled around and I climb in and wait for him to join me. When I turn back he’s standing in the doorway, having clearly heated words with Moira. What did I do this time to set her off?

When he finally gets in he takes my hand and kisses it. “I’m sorry for teasing.” He doesn’t let go.

“It’s fine.” I put on a cool exterior. “I guess I’ll just have to spend exorbitant amounts of your money to make up for it.”

“You’re a cruel woman.” Surprisingly he wraps his arm around my shoulders and pulls me a bit closer to him. We ride the rest of the way enveloped in the silence that falls between us.

The carriage eventually rolls to a stop in front of Mistress Hester’s, of course, she’s only the best dressmaker in Noxus. I remember the hours of boredom as I tried to amuse myself in the shop while mother shopped and was fitted. Of course, Mistress Hester doesn’t take walk ins, no matter your position. I’m clearly the victim of a long running plot.

Some stop and stare as we emerge from the carriage, I can only imagine the gossip this will ignite. I try my best to ignore it. The little bell above the shop door chimes as we enter summoning a severe looking woman from the back. There’s more lines to her face and her black hair has streaks of white in it, but her steely gray eyes are still sharp.

“Grand General, Madame Katarina, well it has been a long time.” She’s already looking me over, sizing me up, quite literally.

“As was discussed, I need her to look acceptable to accompany me.” I feel more like one of his possessions than ever, being remade to better fit his needs.

“Of course, and is there a budget to be adhered to?” Her eyes gleam, no doubt she’s dreaming of the bill.

He turns to me. “Try to keep it reasonable Kitten.” It’s been weeks since he’s called me that. I’m startled at how pleased I am to hear it again, I forget to be embarrassed we’re in public. He leaves a quick kiss on my cheek. “I’ll be back later.”

He’s barely out the door before she pounces on me and I’m escorted to her office behind the counter. “Tell me now Madame, what is it that you like? I haven’t seen you in sometime and now I would wager your tastes are different.” Her last statement carries a couple of connotations she doesn’t bother to hide.

What do I like? Mother always made these decisions. A strange sense of excitement washes over me as I take in swatches of fabric, sketches, and the in progress works around me. It was never the dressing up that bothered me, but the social events that followed. I could never be as elegant or charming as Cassiopeia and I was always reminded of it. Violence was my arena and even there I fell short in my father’s eyes. Those days are gone though, and however I’m tethered now, their judgements are behind me.

“Let me show you something.” It’s a sketch, lace, meant to hug curves, and yet exquisitely elegant. “I’m seeing deep scarlet, you’ll be very fetching.”

How she figured me out so quickly I can’t guess. “I do like that. A thought has occured to me though. I’ll likely need more than one dress in the future. Perhaps I should order a few?” He can hardly argue about it, he did force me into this.

She smiles. “Of course, whatever you like. You’ll have priority for the first, so it will be ready in time, but we can get started on anything else you desire.”

Several hours later I’m being littlely chided on the ride home. “Is that what you think of as reasonable.”

“I did try to warn you earlier.” I let my tone get a little smug. Leaning over, I whisper in his ear. “Shall I make it up to you?” I may as well enjoy his attention while I have it.

“You most definitely will later. I expect you to be most apologetic you expensive little creature.”

I run my hand along the inside of his thigh. “Only if you promise to forgive me after, Sir.” I purr.

He looks like he may take me up on my offer right here in the carriage. He kisses me roughly and deeply, leaving me a bit breathless, but finally settles on pulling me tight against him for the remainder of the ride.

When we return home I’m beckoned upstairs to find Gwen waiting in my room. Young and sharp, she’s always been the first to insinuate herself when she thinks she’ll get on my good side.

“Where’s Moira?” His irritation is evident.

Gwen wisely demures and looks at a spot on the floor. “She said she was unwell, Sir.”

“I see, how unfortunate.” It feels petty, but I’m pleased this stunt has incurred his ire.

“I’m more than capable of doing her duties.” Confidence suddenly replaces the meek act from a moment ago.

“And no doubt you’re very ambitious as well.” He steps closer to her, studying her for a moment. “Do you remember Zaun at all, or is it stories from your parents driving you on?”

To her credit, she doesn’t falter under the intimidating gaze. “Bits and pieces, enough.”

He nods. “Very well, you’re to deal with whatever Madame needs from now on. I’ll inform Moira that comes before any other duties and I’ll see that you’re compested duly.” He turns to me. “Back to the matter at hand.”

He leads me over to my dressing table where boxes of jewels lay open, glinting in the late afternoon sun. ‘Fuck.” I mutter, not as quietly as I intended.

“Wear whatever you like. They’re yours to use as long as you’re here.”

“No, absolutely not, that’s too much.” I cross my arms, intending to stand my ground on this. “People already talk enough about me, I can’t start going out in the Swain family jewels.”

He grips my chin and tilts my head up to look him in the eyes. “Then they can talk, and you’ll do whatever pleases me.” Again it’s that sudden switch of tone, there will be no further discussion. “Understood?”

“If you insist.” I’ll be damned if I understand why he considers this so important.

“Good girl. I’ll see you at dinner.” He lets go and leaves me with Gwen, who had been making herself as unobtrusive as possible in a corner.

I turn my attention to the ridiculous wealth left on display. No wonder Moira gave herself a fit over it. Stones of every shape, size, and color; necklaces, rings, heavy broaches; the result of a lineage of wealth and titles. “I can’t believe he did this.”

“I suppose he has his reasons. That’s one of the first things I learned working here, nothing is without a reason.” Gwen was now right beside me, taking everything in with me. “It is spectacular though.” She reaches for a previously unopened box. “Want to see the most amazing bit?”

It opens to reveal a tiara wrought in gold and set with black diamonds. My eyes go wide. “Damn.” I get a little gleeful at the thought of wearing it, despite having a dim memory of seeing his mother in it years ago. I sit down at the dressing table. “Pin it on me, Let’s see if you’re up to your new role. “

“Of course Madame.” She goes to work, pinning my hair up, and fixing the tiara in place. It’s rough but it gives a good general impression.

Gwen’s work aside, I find I hate it. I look the part of being his mistress, like I am what everyone says about me, the family traitor who chose the wealth and power of the Grand General. “Do you not like it?”

“No it’s fine. I’m just not used to seeing myself like this.” She nods but it’s clear she doesn’t buy it.

She seems to consider her next words carefully. “If I may Madame, you may want to make peace with that, all of Noxus will be seeing you like this.” Of course they will. No doubt that plays into whatever his goal is with this whole charade.

That night after dinner he asks me to join him in the study. “There’s a matter we need to discuss.” He makes sure the door is firmly shut behind us and the servants dismissed.

After everything else I’m not exactly sure what to expect. “This should be less fun than the rest of the day.”

“I thought you’d prefer this since you acted like you were headed to your own execution earlier.” He smirks and takes a seat at the X’ah board. “Play while we talk.”

I don’t hide that I roll my eyes. I hate the Vastayan strategy game, mostly because he always wins. This time though I may have a strategy. My eyes travel to the whiskey decanter on the sideboard. He may be able to outplay me, but I can out drink him. I pour two glasses and sit across from him.

“You’re too kind.” He takes the glass from my hand. “You go first.”

I move, an aggressive opening, it’s what he’ll expect. “What did you want to discuss?’

He makes a soft opening, like one would against a child learning to play. I can’t decide if it’s a serious assessment of my skill or he’s making a joke. “Your father’s Guild, they’re floundering under their current leadership, since his disappearance.”

“Hmm, and?” I answer his move and tip back my glass, finishing it, daring him to follow suit.

“They need leadership, and that’s where you come in. You’re going to take over, be the leader they need, and dismantle all the other Guilds.” I don’t watch his move, I’m too busy glaring at him. I refill the glass after he finally finishes it.

I take my move. “Have you lost your mind? I’m no leader. And I’m certain no one is going to stand aside and just let me take over.”

“Then you’ll dispose of them.” If only his sense of confidence was contagious.

“You realize that is potentially a very large number of people?”

“My Dear, I don’t care if you have to kill nearly every other assassin in Noxus. The Guild will answer to you, and you’ll answer to me.”

We play in silence for a few moments, I refill our drinks. After sometime a hole appears in his strategy. I smile to myself, at least one thing is working out in my favor. “Really though, I can’t do this. I have no idea what I’m doing.”

He looks up and appraises me for a moment. “I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t think you were capable of it.” I sigh and put glass number four on the table in front of us. “It’s not your aptitude that lacks, it’s your confidence.”

Hearing those words stirs something in my memories and I’m taken back across the years. A dark haired, dark eyed, very important friend of my father’s is speaking to me, offering me advice in the face of my father’s anger. “You said something very similar to me once, a very long time ago.” The whiskey must be getting to me. I don’t even know why I bring it up.

“Really?” He thinks for a moment. “Oh yes, you fell out of a tree on me. You were spying on your father and I.”

“He scolded me for the spying and my lack of stealth. I fell because I was nervous, that was your advice.”

“I’m surprised you remember that.”

“It must have left an impression.” Everything feels so unbearably warm all of a sudden. “Maybe that’s why…” No, my tongue if definitely getting too loose. “Why am I even talking about that? It was so long ago.”

I look up and he’s staring at me, in a way I’ve never seen before. “Kat…”

“Anyway I win.” He looks down at the board then back up to me as I smile triumphantly.

“You cheated.”

“No, you’re just drunk.”

He tries to stand and wobbles a bit before sitting back down and rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Fuck, I am drunk. That’s still cheating.”

“It’s not technically against the rules.”

“You wicked, deceitful woman. Very well, you win.” He gives in and actually laughs a bit.

Just like that, the soft mood from that night in the north returns. I get up to clear the glasses and he pulls down into his lap and nuzzles my neck a bit. “You know first you excessively spend my money and now you win through trickery. What I am I going to do with you Kitten?”

“Maybe you should put me over your knee and spank me?” I hear him inhale heavily. I knew that would get to him.

“When I sober up I may hold you to that. For now I’ll settle for your help upstairs.” Really at this point, both of us are a bit unbalanced, and I find myself giggling as we navigate the staircase. Finally as we stand in front of his door he leans down and pulls me into a kiss that’s surprisingly soft “Come to bed.”

Everything around me spins a bit and I can feel every beat of my pulse. I know it isn’t just the whiskey. I’m enthralled by him again. “Of course.” I let him take my hand and lead me to his room, the thudding of my heart now all too familiar.

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