Here’s the AO3 and the link to Áine, Moira, and Asks.
Summary:
Alma wakes up.
Chapter 15
Cruel thing.
Cullen returned to the chantry with a lighter heart. He knew well what lay ahead of him, so there was no reason to despair.
Getting closer to the place, he saw that Leliana was already awake and went her way. There were many things he wanted to ask her. To know.
How did she know so much about Alma? Were they in contact since that fateful day back in Kinloch? Or did they meet somewhere else? He ran his finger through his hair and sighed.
“Leliana—” He started as soon as he got close enough for her to hear him.
“I know there’s much you want to know, but there are things only she can tell you.” He nodded, encouraging her to continue. “After that day when we first met, I hadn’t heard from any of you until Bea wrote me asking for a few favors, and we met when she was… on Warden business.” She searched Cullen’s face for any sign of questions. “When Bea reintroduced us, we briefly reminisced about what had happened, but that was the extent of it. We traveled together for many days, and I got to know her. We exchanged letters and met again when I visited Kirkwall.” She stopped and let the information sink in.
“Kirkwall.” He said in a soft tone. “So, she really was there.” He looked to the horizon, to the rising sun, and got lost in memories until Leliana continued.
“Cullen…” She hesitated for a moment. “She never mentioned you… She never did need to mention you.” Leliana leaned on her desk. “On our travels, we encountered many people, but she was always so lonely. There was always that sadness in her eyes when Bea mentioned Alistair. The day I finally asked her why, she just smiled and said that that was what happened when the love of your life tried to kill you.”
There were no words for Cullen to describe what he was thinking. Feeling. So, he remained silent until a quiet “I see.” Left his lips.
“And yesterday? When we talked about the prisoner in the war room? When none of us knew who she was? You showed no emotions, only to almost die when you saw her being carried away. I connected the dots. I remembered.” Leliana crossed her arms over her chest and let the silence fall on them. “It was years ago, Cullen. You are a good man to whom horrible things have happened. You deserve some happiness and quietude. Both of you. As I said before, the past is the past and the future—”
“Is what she decides to be. Whatever she wants.” He sighed and cleaned his face with his cold hands. “This conversation ends here.” He gave her a pleading look and left after she gave him a sad one in return.
-----
Alma woke up with a pounding headache. She looked around her and noticed the fireplace not too far from her. She ran her fingers through her hair and listened to the crackling of the wood.
She meant to stand, but the soreness in her body made the simple action a thousand times harder. For a moment, she lay there letting her reality sink in and wondered what would happen from then on.
She lifted her hand to examine it, and her head couldn’t wrap around the fact that a few hours before, it had almost killed her. Frustrated, she let it fall on her chest and felt the softness of the fabric under her touch.
Letting her fingers caress it, she noticed for the first time the smell coming from it and lifted it to her nose so she could try and pinpoint what it was.
It smelled of elderflower and oakmoss, which didn’t surprise her. They were well known for their healing properties, but underneath, somewhere among them, there was something else she couldn’t put her finger on. Determined to get to the bottom of that small mystery, she shoved her face into it and took a deep breath. Once, twice, she stayed beneath it until her headache was gone, and all that lingered was that feeling of familiarity.
She turned to her side and brought it to cover her head. To be surrounded by that small piece of comfort. Letting that feeling of belonging lull her, she fell asleep once again.
-----
When she woke up again, the sun was high in the sky. As much as she wanted to stay wrapped in that warmth forever, she knew it was time to face whatever the Maker had planned.
Getting out of bed, she was slightly startled when an elf dropped the box from her hands. As much as Alma tried to explain to her that everything was fine, the woman ran out of the place like she had just seen a ghost. There was a reverence in her eyes that made Alma squirm in place.
Going to the sink next to the bed, she cleaned her face and, without looking in the mirror, tied her hair into her good old bun. And while she cleaned her teeth, trying to get the taste and smell of the many sleeping nights out of her tongue, she closed her eyes and prayed for the Maker to stay by her side. To make her days as easy as He could.
There was a voice coming from her right side, and she turned to see who was there, but after a thorough inspection, she noticed no one had been there. Spitting in the sink and rinsing her mouth, she heard it again, this time, coming from behind her. And without much thought, she knew what was happening.
Blood.
As black as it could be.
Blood.
Coming from her veins.
Reminding. Remembering. Calling for eternity.
Blood so thick it was impossible to get rid of.
To forget and pretend it never burned its way down her throat.
An eternity of fighting and protecting
Until nothing of her remained.
Just the shell of her body.
The husk of her mind.
The blood in her being.
Blood.
As black as it could be.
Alma shivered and trembled. Shook the calling from her mind and smiled that smile that hid everything away.
Getting out of the place, she was met with a corridor of people. The same people who had pointed their fingers at her. Who were her judge and jury. Gave her her sentence without knowing her.
She couldn’t blame them, though. When something so terrible happened, so unexpectedly, there was always a need to have a scapegoat. And who better than the Grey Warden, whose clock was ticking like the last leaves on an autumn tree?
She sighed and marched to somewhere she would have the answers she needed. Going up the steps, she came face to face with Cassandra, who took her to the chantry, somewhere she called the war table room.
The whispers came back, but she paid them no mind. They had the habit of coming at the weirdest of times. But when her hand burned, and she looked down at the faint green hue shining through her gloves, she frowned. One more thing there, for everyone to see, one more responsibility she would have to carry. But this time alone.
Another burden she would carry along with the blight.
She flexed her fingers and lifted her eyes to the path ahead of her. She had been through so much; what was one more pain for her to feel? There was nothing else out there for her anyway.
They crossed the chantry’s threshold, and there was a change in her being. A subtle little thing that she had almost missed. She looked down at the skin of her arm and saw the ends of the hairs standing on end. The memory of being locked down there came to her mind, and she soon let the feeling go. Paying it no mind.
Cassandra still talked about how people saw her differently, the way they started to call her their savior. The Herald of Andraste. A frown formed on her face. That was another title, one more in the ocean of ones, that she did not want.
A Mage, a Warden, a Herald. Different words used to describe the same.
Danger.
But deep down, she would always be an orphan. One who lost her parents on a horrible night. Someone who was tired of being the protector and wanted to become the protected.
Alma stood in front of the door and did what she always did. She put on a smile. The smile that hid everything away. Just to push the door, and had her whole life changed.
He stood there. How could he stand there? Shouldn’t he be on the other side of the Waking Sea? How could he look at her that way? With pity in his eyes as if she were a wounded animal that was about to be put out of its misery? No, it wasn’t pity, oh no, it was something else, something completely different.
Sadness.
She scoffed at her foolish thought. Sadness? SADNESS? She would have asked him if she could move a single muscle. Or was it time that had stopped for a minute?
One minute of calmness before she braced for the storm? One minute, so she could look at him and see how much things had changed but remained the same?
Notice that despite trying to hide them, the curls fought for freedom, to be seen as the very first time she had seen him? To be touched like the very first time she had them around her fingers?
And what was that? A scar on his lip? When did that happen? Not that she cared because she did not care! Whatever had happened was his problem and not hers. He was the one who left her behind. He was the one who chose that life. Chose to be away from her touch, and embrace, and the safety of her love.
And Maker, why did he seem so tired? Was he not getting enough rest? Were the ghosts of their past haunting his dreams?
She would run her fingers over her face if she could, but time had stopped. Had given her pause to feel the heartbreak all over again. To feel her soul shatter and have no way of being put together again. To remember the cold nights. The times she had desperately wished he would come and save her.
Time was a cruel thing. It was never by her side. Never.
Not in the tower before her Harrowing.
Not in the nights when she begged for another minute by his side.
Not in Vigil’s Keep when a sip changed her destiny.
Not in whatever place gave her the anchor.
Not when the calling whispered in her ears.
Not right before she deeply, thoroughly, eternally fell in love with him.
Not when the clock was ticking and not slowing down.
So, she did what she always did. She swallowed hard and faced her future head-on.
Her feelings were hers and not a parade for everyone to see. So, she hid them away and swore she would never let them show.
I’ve spent 2022 reading one single author (Robert Jordan) except those 3 days when I panic-read my friend’s newest book before its release to be able to make a conversation, but jesus. One entire year with Robert Jordan, and counting. I have two more Wheel of Time books to go and I have no idea how I’ll handle the end but I’m also so hungry to read women, people of colour, non-fiction I have such a long list on strorygraph and I can’t wait to start (but like how do you deal with a week without Lan or Mat or Siuan?)
