Chapter Text
Cassandra was among the first to pick herself up, casting about for the prisoner, Trevelyan. They needed her, even if this rift was closed there were bound to be more... There. Crumpled robe and hair falling out of its pins, Trevelyan was on the ground. Cassandra barrelled past the soldiers to crouch by Trevelyan and touch her shoulder. She didn't move. Cassandra stripped her glove off and pressed fingers to her throat, feeling for a pulse. There, sluggish, but strong enough.
"Trevelyan! Can you hear me?" She got no response, as she cautiously turned the mage over. Solas wandered over, touching gingerly at the base of his skull where he was bleeding lightly from a scrape sustained in the closing of the rift.
"Calling on so much magic and then being struck by the backlash will have rendered her unconcious. With rest, she will recover," he advised, crouching by the other mage and running a general healing spell over her. Her colour improved but she still made no movement, hand holding only the faintest ghost of green.
"Then with this threat contained for now, we return to Haven," Cassandra decided as Leiliana approached, having finished a quick headcount of the scouts and soldiers.
"There is a spare hut in the village that we can use. She should not be left in the general barracks," the spymaster advised. Cassandra nodded shortly. They had had enough trouble keeping the masses at Haven from murdering her in her sleep the first time. With emotions running high still, she did not want to risk it until the rest could be made aware of what had happened here.
"So how you planning to move her, all conked out like a sack of potatoes?" Varric inquired idly, scratching at his chin.
Cassandra shot him a withering look as she sheathed her weapon and stowed her sheild before crouching, hefting Trevelyan over her shoulder like the aforementioned sack of potatoes. Varric shrugged at her, while Solas remarked "That cannot be comfortable."
"It is a good thing she is not awake enough to be uncomfortable then," Cassandra retorted and started off for Haven, the rest falling into line.
Cirridwen woke up surprisingly gently. She listened, cautious before opening her eyes. A soft pop to her left. A fire. No other movement though. Warm bed. Rather comfortable. Her bum knee was propped on a small pillow, the joint eased. She could smell... liniment. Elfroot's distinctive smell. Under it was spindleweed, and ash. And chicken. A healer's home, or at the very least a sickroom. Cirridwen's eyes flicked open to study the ceiling above her. Fereldan construction. She'd not gone far, so they hadn't decided to ship her to Orlais for execution. Small lights batted at her face, spirits nuzzling close now that she was awake, settling in her hair. Tipping her head on the pillow she could see some skins hanging on the wall, a few storage barrels, no cover on the windows other than shutters, left open. Bookshelves, a cage for perhaps a chicken. A private home then, not a healer's workspace. Cirridwen flexed her muscles, starting at her toes and working her way up her body in inventory of how she felt.
Youmustn'tletherdie.ThreedaysatmostSeeker.Isshealright?HeraldheraldheraldAndrastepreserveus. Her spirits whispered to her what they had absorbed, most of all a trembling and growing hope. An odd tension at the base of her skull into her neck, and the strange burning prickle of light sunburn on her left palm. Cirridwen took in a slow deep breath. Of course that thing was still there. She should be so lucky. But she was alive, and as she sat up she was also in a nightgown. She squinted at it. Somebody must have brought it from Orlais or the Marches, the Fereldans didn't bother much with nightclothes. She shifted her feet to the floor carefully and cast about for some kind of walking aid, thinking it would be too much to hope that the Lady Seeker had remembered her infirmity. Instead her eye snagged on what was actually in the bird cage. A crested raven, the red streak down the neck terribly distinctive. Cirridwen pursed her lips at it in a frown. Those were the Divine's birds, primarily bred and used for the wider Chantry communications. The bird cocked its head and eyed her back.
The staring competition was broken by a lass entering the room. Cirridwen's eyes flicked to the elf. On seeing Cirridwen awake, she promptly dropped the box she was carrying in shock.
"I didn't know you were awake, I swear!" she babbled, even as Cirridwen shifted closer to the bed edge.
"Child, it's alri-" she began only to freeze as the elf folded herself over her knees in a full genuflection.
"I beg your forgiveness and your blessing. I am your humble servant," she said with all the solemnity of a Nevarran master at a funeral.
"Child, no, stand up," Cirridwen exclaimed, trying her hardest to hide her horror. She was halfway to her feet and limping to the servant as the elf continued.
"You are in Haven, my Lady. They say you saved us, that the Breach has stopped growing, just like the mark on your hand!" Cirridwen froze again, her hand's faint glow catching her eye. Would it even be safe for her to touch the elf with it? "It's all anyone's been able to talk about for three days."
"Three days?" Her attendants had mentioned something to that effect. Small wisps nudged at the girl's cheek, drawing a small gasp from her. "It's alright. They can feel hope and joy. They like that, it gives them a good rolemodel."
"I-I ah, thank you?" The girl tried, still vibrating with nervous energy before a little whisper of calm sunk itself into the collar of her vest. She sounded a little more assured when she looked up at Cirridwen. "I'm certain Lady Cassandra will want to know you've awoken. At once, she said."
Finally Cirridwen reached out and touched her. The girl's homespun tunic was rough under her palm. "That's all well and good child, but I cannot manage to get ready alone. I will need your help," she told her in what Carth had always called her Mother Healer voice. Maker's tears, Carth.
"Anything you need my Lady," the girl told her, hero worship shining in her eyes.
"Then first of all, I will need some of my gear back. And for you to call me by name. I am Cirridwen." Cirridwen said firmly, turning to limp back to the bed. Standing without her brace or a support was a nightmare as she listed to the side. Then the girl was there, propping Cirridwen up. In surprise she looked down at the girl, who blushed fiercely.
"I'm so sorry milady Cirridwen, I didn't want you to fall," she mumbled. Cirridwen smiled. It was likely as close as the elf would get to calling her by name.
"Clever child. What is your name?" she asked as she eased herself to sit and her spirits resettled on the coverlets, bouncing like excitable children.
"Uh, my name, it's Erin, milady." she said, eyes tracking the spirits.
"Wonderful Erin, now, do you know where my clothes might have gone?" Cirridwen asked.
"There's a chest for you, Ma'am. It's got your clothes in, and a new outfit as well," she said, eyes cast downwards. "Shall I fetch it for you?"
"Yes, please," Cirridwen said, and by the way Erin blinked she was clearly only used to one of those words directed at her. She turned and scuttled over to a chest under the window. Opening it, she looked inside. "Show her the supports, please." Cirridwen instructed her attendants and a small cloud invaded the chest Erin had opened.
"Oh!" she exclaimed, jerking back before cutting a sheepish glance at Cirridwen.
"They take a bit of getting used to," Cirridwen advised with an encouraging smile. "However, they're quite friendly."
"Yes Ma'am. Sorry Ma'am." Erin replied before turning her eyes back to the chest. Pulling out two strange looking contraptions, she looked rather confused as she brought them back to Cirridwen.
"Thank you, Erin. Let's get my knee on first, so I can at least stand. But I have to warn you of something first. Life has not been kind, and my scars are pronounced. If you can't watch, my attendants can help me instead." Erin bit her lip and her ears twitched slightly before she pressed her lips together more firmly.
"I can help, Ma'am." Between them it took a while, Cirridwen snapping the clasps on around her mangled flesh, the bone and leather supports preventing her knee from sliding sideways in manners that knees were very much not supposed to go. Then Erin politely turned her back when Cirridwen swapped the nightgown for her shift, trying not to think about who'd taken her vest off. Examining it, she huffed slightly in annoyance. They'd undone nearly every strap and stay in order to get it off, rather than the few key parts that let her slip it off. It took a lot of shoving, some hauling on cords by Erin, and a pinched finger, but eventually Erin overcame her shyness in the quest to help and Cirridwen was finally able to stand up straight and walk a slow but steady pace for the rest of her clothes.
"M'lady?"
"Yes?"
"There's been new armour provided for you," Erin said, and Cirridwen turned to see the little brown head bowed over a bundle of what appeared to be cloth and armour. "It was considered more fitting."
15 minutes later, Cirridwen stared the length of her clothing. This was not the garb of an apostate, or even a lady. It looked like the trappings of a hero. She'd had to forgo the leggings and replace them with her own wool trousers, as they'd not fit over the brace, but she found a skirt of reasonable cleanliness and fine fabric that it didn't make her outfit look too piecemeal.
"Well, I suppose now that I am dressed and tidy," she stated, wisps shoving the last hairpin in, "I should go find the Lady Seeker."
"She'll be in the Chantry with the Lord Chancellor," Erin said, offering a curved staff. Cirridwen took it, wondering if it was the same crook she'd picked up earlier. In either case, it would do the job of getting her places. "Shall I run ahead and inform them you are coming?" she asked.
"Please do," she said, and Erin hovered for a moment. "Is there something else?"
"Well, Milady Cirridwen, I was wondering, I.. may I beg a blessing?" she asked, looking at the floor and shuffling her feet. Cirridwen blinked for a moment, then recovered. She rested her left hand over the elf's bowed head.
"Go, and be well," she murmured, mentally nudging one of her sprites. It attached itself to her, a little bit of compassion, clinging to the hair on the back of her head. Erin bowed and thanked her, and scampered out the door as Cirridwen took a moment to compose herself, reorder things in her mind.
Hale, whole. Better than she thought she'd be after that backlash. No aches so she must have been seen by a healer. A new set of armour made for her, so it didn't seem like she was in danger of an execution anymore.
But she also had strange elves dropping to their knees at the sight of her. Being asked for blessings. And the whispers of awe her attendants had garnered. Herald. Herald and Andraste. And three days for legends to spread.
Chin high, Cirridwen opened the door.