Chapter Text
“ That's a matter of debate,” he reaches for my hand, and as I let him help me to my feet I find myself looking away, scared to meet his eyes. I know his next words by instinct, the phrasing familiar as breathing. “Probably best discussed after you… wake up .”
The words sound loud, different, warped and twisting. Feeling like I am floundering, drowning in molasses, I try to open my eyes. My arms are heavy like lead, and my head is throbbing. I hear myself moan.
“Hush,” a gentle coolness presses against my forehead.
Am I awake? I don't feel awake. Nausea and disorientation rolls through me in harsh, throbbing, pulses. Everything is swimming behind a cloud of fog, and my thoughts crawl in slow circles.
“Messir Solas came by a few hours ago. Said you might be wakin’ soon. I told him, Apothecary Adan said it'd be at least another few days, but he…” the way the voice chattered, I got the feeling they had been talking a while, not really expecting me to be listening, “... he paid that no mind at all! Some of the other servants swear that one’s got more knowin’ than’s natural, but they also reckon’d the empty shack was haunted last week, and it’was only mice!…”
Pain spasms through me again and I cry out, interrupting the monologue. Firm hands grasp my shoulders and rotate me right before I heave and retch what might have been a light broth, followed by bitter acid. Sourness burns my throat, nearly forcing me to retch again; the effort not to brings tears to my eyes.
“Water,” I try to croak, only to discover cool liquid already pressed to my lips. I sip and spit as directed, too disoriented to feel mortified at my position.
I struggle to open my eyes as I fall back onto what is a very hard and unforgiving mattress. At least the pillow is soft, supporting… I have to fight to stay conscious.
As I peel my eyelids back, breaking a caked layer that had half sealed my eyes shut, I peer out into blurry semi-darkness.
A tall and unnaturally slender figure is leaning over me, short-cropped pale hair framing a small and pinched round face with unnaturally enormous eyes. The girl is smiling to herself as she chatters, and she leans absentmindedly for a cloth before moving to wipe my mouth. When she sees my eyes open she squeaks, loud and excited.
“Oh Maker! You’ve ‘wakened! Can you hear me?” Her eyes, impossibly, get even wider when I nod. “You’re back in Haven, milady. They say you saved us! The breach stopped growing, just like the mark on your hand!” She steps back, away from me, face anxious, before handing me her cloth.
With great effort I lever myself upright and run the cool fabric over my skin. The sensation is a relief, and I become even more aware of feeling damp and sticky with sweat.
“It’s all anyone’s talked about since yesterday!” she continues breathlessly, “I'll need to fetch Apothecary Adan, he said to let him know when you woke. ‘At once’ he said!
Before I can react in any way, she dashes from the room at a flustered run, leaving me disoriented but relieved at having some privacy. The room is dark and familiar, even the sounds are familiar, like coming home. Narrow windows look out onto dark pine fronds and snow covered ground. There is a sharp chill in the air, despite the full fire in the hearth, and I feel myself shivering.
Sitting is an ordeal, a war with leaden muscles, it feels like I am weighted down and waterlogged and as I lift myself the world lurches sideways. Nausea swells and I manage to snag the sick bowl before heaving dry retches, trickles of acid burning my throat; my whole body aching and shivering like a leaf.
When my heaving finally ends, and I have rinsed out my mouth thoroughly, I push the bowl away and struggle to my feet. I ache all over, and when I glance down I can't help but cry out in alarm; I had forgotten….
There is a stranger's body under me, lithe and narrow. Again, I reach for my ears, and feel the long and foreign length of them; the pressure of my fingers against their tips is strangely sensitive and makes me shudder.
It all feels… alien, unnatural and surreal like looking through a game screen.
I realize that I might not even have the same face, and something about the thought has me struggling to breathe. I manage to stand, pushing myself forward and teetering on my stick like frame like a colt finding its legs. What had happened to the strange exhilaration from earlier? The memories are there, dancing out of reach at the edges of my mind. Flashes of sun and leather, bark and musk, straining effort; when I close my eyes I can taste them, familiar like a forgotten dream.
I take one perfect step, the muscles coiling and familiar, panic and strength rolling through me. The memories… I… her? She wants to run, be free of this place, dash for the forest and leave the shems behind.
They are dangerous, she whispers, they hate us, hunt us, use us. They are blind.
I grip my head in my hands, shaking. I try to shut her out, but she is everywhere.
“Who are you,” I demand, rummaging in my mind, trying to tear her out by the roots. “A… a demon?”
I remember my dream and sudden terror sparks through me, was it that. Had it gotten inside me?
Don't be stupid. I would know.
Would I?
I'm no demon. If anything is....
I hear footsteps approaching the door, and terror runs through me. I am leaping, slamming the bolt down, eyeing the window. Can I escape that way?
No! I am shrieking at myself, at panic in my head. They already think we killed the Divine. You'll get us killed!
We fight for control of the door, gasping and panting, falling hard against the wood with a crash. The door handle shakes roughly and voices of alarm cry out on the other side, “Herald?”
At the sound of a familiar voice, Cassandra's, that other piece of me seems to fold down, shrink away, my knowledge overcoming it somehow.
“One moment!” I gasp. Fuck! I was going to look insane. Maybe I was insane. I wrench the bolt clear without thinking, and the door bursts open with a crash of timber. I only just manage to leap clear as, in a cruel twist of fate, three figures collapse in an ungainly heap in the doorway.
“ Maker !” one of the figures grumbles from beneath a very heap of steel and reddish furs, the tone is so put-out and familiar that it almost makes me want to laugh. Almost.
“If you could remove yourself from my person, Commander, I would be most grateful.” Cassandra's dry voice is halfway amused, halfway mortified.
“I'm so sorry!” I gasp, waving my hands in panic as several of the most powerful people in thedas scramble to their feet in front of me. The horror and disbelief is slowly sinking in, struggling to catch up with me. “I'm... I'm so sorry!”
“It's quite alright, I assure you.” Cassandra bites out, while staring at Cullen with a face that speaks to the contrary. “Healer Adan, you are unharmed?” She lifts the third figure to his feet with all the effort of righting a kitten.
The bright red Adan sputters. “Alchemist! I am an alchemist-"
Cullen strides forward abruptly and seizes me by the shoulder. My gaze raises up to a very familiar face, but there is no recognition in his eyes, only suspicion. “What were you doing in here,” he demands, “I heard voices… banging....”
“W-waking up,” I stutter stupidly without thinking as he stares down at me. I feel myself turning a bright crimson, and soon he follows suit, dropping my shoulder like it is a red hot coal.
“I… maker almighty,” his hand goes awkwardly behind his neck as he turns sharply away.
Cassandra grabs at my shoulder and peers into my eyes, “that commotion, what happened?”
“I…” I still can't get over this, the pause as they wait for a response, and then my brain stumbling over itself looking for a damn dialogue wheel. “I fell. It was hard to stand… I,”
I look down at my foreign body, my shaking hands. “I'm sorry.”
“Ugh,” Cassandra makes a disgusted noise, clearly directed at herself. “Of course, you are not well, we were not even sure you would live. You should not strain yourself!”