Skyhold had many hiding spots, it hadn't been very difficult to spirit herself away. Out of sympathetic sights, and far from any soft murmurs, belying condolences that only meant well. But Zahra wasn't sure what to do with those words. They lessened no burdens, and her thin-lipped responses shut whatever doors they were trying to pry open. She wasn't entirely sure what to do with herself in this case. Where should she go? What place did she have here, in these dark times? She'd been wholly unprepared for this kind of loss. Or maybe she'd never experienced it at all. Sometimes, she felt as if she were still sitting in those mountains, surrounded by glades of snow: numb, empty. As if she were distancing herself from the emotions she ought to have been feeling and coming up short. She knuckled at her eyes and drew herself tighter against the stone wall. She supposed she looked like a mess. An ugly, weak woman who'd boasted her worth to the Inquisition and her crew, and failed both.
If her clothes were anything to go by, it seemed as if her languid tastes had subdued themselves to ripped hand-me-downs. Old trousers, and a shirt that was obviously much too large for her small frame. Hanging from her shoulders as it did. Zahra didn't seem to care, bundled up in Skyhold's ramparts. She'd found herself a little nook. A flat expanse of stonework that led away from the towering walls, and roaming guards. A perfect spot to continue stewing in her grief.
Red-rimmed eyes were puffy from weeping in the darker parts of the fortress. Pathetic, how quickly she fell apart. The remainder of her crew had joined them and positioned themselves within the walls. There was a tavern in the making on the main level. Already drawing familiar faces inside, where a warm fireplace crackled and spit. No doubt serving drinks to those who would rather lick their wounds in prevailing ways. Once upon time, she might have done the same. But this, this was different. This couldn't be remedied with any amount of blackout nights, suckling at bottles until all of the wounds felt less raw. An untouched bottle sat beside her leather boots. She could, if she'd wanted to, but what difference would that make? None. Nothing would bring Aslan back to her. She drew shaky fingers through the mess of unwashed hair, pushing it out of her face.
She supposed she could have blamed the Inquisition or the heralds it supported. Perhaps, Leon for not dying instead. Or the damned tears in the skies, green toxic leeches spewing only the vilest creatures down across their heads. Might've made more sense to blame those twisted stone-encrusted abominations, serving whichever deluded leader that had deemed the Inquisition dangerous enough to slaughter. Or else, maybe the dragon that burned Haven to the ground. There were so many possibilities, so many scapegoats. None of them felt right. Most of all, she blamed herself. As ridiculous as she knew it was, she'd promised long ago that she'd protect everyone under her flagâthe Riptide, who had become her family. They weren't children. They weren't incapable of defending themselves, least of all Aslan. But she'd failed them. And now she was too much of a coward to face her remaining friends, allies, family members.
Something with weight settled over her shouldersâit didnât take long to realize that it was actually a physical weight, one that brought some relief from the wind outside. A blanket, it would seem, thick and soft. Someone had draped it over her. That same someone settled next to her where she sat, breathing out a soft exhale that could have been a sigh. A short, quiet metal-on-stone clanking accompanied the entrance of some kind of canister into her line of vision, and then the hand that held it moved away.
âThatâs soup, if youâre interested.â The voice belonged to Estella, whoâd sat herself with her knees pulled to her chest, and now wrapped her arms around them for warmth, probably. She didnât seem to mind Zahraâs obvious lack of current cleanlinessâshe in fact gave it no acknowledgement at all. âBut Iâd understand if you werenât.â She turned her eyes outward in front of them, not that there was much to see. Stone, a slight wall as the parapet edged the grey square they occupied, a level or two above the ground.
Zahra startled as soon as the blanket dropped across her shoulders, though it only showed in a flinch. She'd been far too fixated on her thoughts to notice approaching footfalls. How she hadn't noticed anyone descending the stairs, and coming close enough to lay a blanket across her shoulders, she wasn't sure. If this was a battle, she supposed she would've been at the mercy of a blade. But she was safe, in Skyhold. Surrounded by allies, friends, and friendly faces. She hadn't noticed how cold she actually felt until her hands drew away from her knees, drawing the blanket under her chin like a cape. Her shoulders slumped when she noted that the individual was in the process of sitting beside her. In the state that she was in, and even as miserable as she felt, she couldn't help feel the unseemly bite of embarrassment.
Her stomach gave a small lurch. A surprising gurgle. Hadn't she eaten? She couldn't remember. Either way, she wouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth. She eyed the metal canister and glanced sideways, studying Estella's face for a few moments before reaching out beneath the warmth of her blanket and scooping it up in both hands, âThanks. I, uh. I appreciate it.â She'd wanted to say that she hadn't needed to bring anything to her, and wondered how she had found her in the first place, but she was tired. Pushing people away took too much effort and there was a frankness there, in Estella's actions, that deserved better. She brought with her an unusual warmth, drudging up no judgments. She unscrewed the cap and took a sip. It was a rich broth. Hearty. Tasted far better than anything she'd eaten recently. Hunger had a funny way of doing that.
Estella's lips quirked slightly by way of response, but it faded quickly, and she simply nodded instead. She didnât speak further for quite a while, letting Zahra consume her soup in peace and quiet. There was the occasional sound from below, where troops moved about the bailey area or trained, and a few snatches of conversation occasionally filtered up far enough for them to hear, but nothing too substantial.
It was several minutes later before either of them said anything. âI lost my whole squad, at the Conclave,â Estella murmured, her tone so soft it was almost hard to hear, despite the fact that she was sitting close enough that their shoulders almost brushed. âMy first real mission as their leader, as a Lieutenant. The first time I was the one responsible for their safetyâevery single one of them is gone, and Iâm not.â The way she delivered the words was subdued, but there was no mistaking the ache in them. She turned her head slightly, tipping it back against the stone and angling it in Zahraâs direction, smiling sadly.
Finishing the last dredges of soup from the canister, Zahra settled it beside the lone bottle of rum and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. She leaned her head on the back of the slanted stone at their backs. Perfect for reclining. How long had she been sitting here, anyhow? Far longer than was appropriate by anyone's standards. She was happy for the company, even if she didn't make for the best of company. Silent as she was, with little more than a twitch of a smile on her lips. A far cry from the woman who'd dragged Estella on the bench in Redcliffe's seaside tavern. How much had changed in such a short period of time. She tipped her head to the side, regarding Estella as she broke the silence between them.
She would've been stupid to assume she was the only wounded party within the Inquisition. Everyone had their own stories, though it still surprised her to hear that Estella had lost so much. She still managed to smile and laugh and fight for a cause greater than herself. And live, for herself and for others. How long had it taken her to recover? Her wounds might have sealed up into scars, but the same nagging anguish played across her features when she spoke of them. Leadership had an awful habit of burdening your shoulders and clamping responsibilities on your ankles until you felt as if you were solely culpable for their actions, their inaction, their livelihoods. Her eyebrows pinched together for a moment and she feared as if she would crumble here, in front of someone else. She bit the inside of her lip and willed within herself a calmness she did not feel.
âI know itâs not my fault, intellectually at least. But it still feels like my fault, in here.â She tapped her sternum with an open hand.
âHow did you move on?â Zahra's voice sounded off in her own ears, unfamiliar and hoarse, âI don't know how to stop feeling as if... I should have done more. How do you stop feeling that loss?â Avoiding how she was feeling wasn't the answer either, but navigating grief was not something she was familiar with. She needed to know with a desperation that frightened her. Any manner of salvation that could drag her away from the darkness that clouded her thoughts and made her mornings listless.
Who could she blame, if not herself? Zahra bit at her lip and swallowed around the lump in her throat, âYou know. He was the one who suggested I contact the Inquisition. I thought it was, I don't know. A fool's errand. He thought differently. A greater cause, he said. He was the best parts of me, Stel.â Her voice cracked and softened to a whisper, âHow do you keep leading if you can't even protect anyone?â
âI donât know,â Estella admitted quietly, her eyes falling to her hands. âMy teacher, whenever I encounter something I think I canât do, but itâs really important, he just⊠he reminds me that itâs not about what I think I can do. Itâs about what I must do. I think that helps, somehow.â She sighed heavily, shaking her head a bit, a stray lock of hair falling free from her braid to tickle the side of her face.
âI keep going, and leading, I guess, because⊠even if I donât think I can, even if Iâm worried about all the ways I could mess it up or get people hurtâŠâ Her brows furrowed; clearly this wasnât something she had worked out all the way for herself, either, and the words were slow to come, almost as if she had to fight to even speak them. âI have to. Your crew needs you, and I donât think they expect you to be perfect as a leader. They just expect you to be there, and to do everything you can for them. Even when it hurts.â She took in a deep breath.
âSorry. I donât actually know if that helps you at all. Iâm still⊠trying to figure this out too. I just remind myself, as often as I can, that other people are suffering, and thereâs something I can do about it. So⊠I try to do that. Day by day.â
The whole scenario Zahra was concocting in her head was impossible. She would never again hear Aslan click his tongue against his teeth and look at her like she was out of her mind, never break the silence with his baritone, forcing everyone to listen because he seldom did, never linger at port side with her to watch the sunset. Never again. And even if Estella had no swift measures for mending weeping wounds, her words helped. What she was saying helped. Or maybe, just being there helped. She wasn't sure, if she was sure of anything at all. What she must do then. Like Lieutenants and heralds and commanders, being Captain meant that awful things would happen on her watch. She watched Estella from the corner of her eye and exhaled sharply. She should not falter as she did. It was a lesson she had difficulty wrapping herself around, but it was important nonetheless.
A short bark of laughter. Or a ragged sob, sifted from her throat. She mashed her palms against her eyes and sniffled. It took her a moment to regain her composure, and against whatever odds she was stacking against herself, she did. Zahra straightened her shoulders, imagined Aslan saying these same kinds of things, in less words and took deeper breath, softening the sharp edges of her face. She hoped she looked thankful, because she was. She wasn't alone. Especially not with these feelings. They were not unique. As sordid as everything felt, there was a connection there. A small comfort that made her shoulders feel a little lighter, âIt has. It does. Thanks for coming here. I think I can do that. Take it day by day.â
After another bout of silence, Zahra knocked shoulders with Estella and chuckled. It was a small, feeble thing. But it was there, an improvement on the phantom who'd been sitting here moments go, âSuppose I should go wash myself. I'm surprised you managed to sit here this long.â
Estella huffed softly, a little touch of laughter entering her eyes. âWell, you know. I wasnât going to say anything, butâŠâ She wrinkled her nose a little bit, clearly in jest, then stood, offering a hand down to Zahra to help her up.
Zahra snatched up her hand and rose to her feet with Estella's aid, keeping a firm grip on the blanket. The brief flicker of humor seemed to rejuvenate, far better than a drink might have. She sniffed at her collar and sighed, âI'll have to take care of that then. I have a feeling that other people aren't as tolerant as you.â
âAnd⊠youâre welcome. If you ever want to talk about it more, or about Aslan, Iâm here.â
The Captain's smile was genuine when she said, âI may take you up on that. Maybe, under better circumstances. Inside. It's damn cold out here.â
If her clothes were anything to go by, it seemed as if her languid tastes had subdued themselves to ripped hand-me-downs. Old trousers, and a shirt that was obviously much too large for her small frame. Hanging from her shoulders as it did. Zahra didn't seem to care, bundled up in Skyhold's ramparts. She'd found herself a little nook. A flat expanse of stonework that led away from the towering walls, and roaming guards. A perfect spot to continue stewing in her grief.
Red-rimmed eyes were puffy from weeping in the darker parts of the fortress. Pathetic, how quickly she fell apart. The remainder of her crew had joined them and positioned themselves within the walls. There was a tavern in the making on the main level. Already drawing familiar faces inside, where a warm fireplace crackled and spit. No doubt serving drinks to those who would rather lick their wounds in prevailing ways. Once upon time, she might have done the same. But this, this was different. This couldn't be remedied with any amount of blackout nights, suckling at bottles until all of the wounds felt less raw. An untouched bottle sat beside her leather boots. She could, if she'd wanted to, but what difference would that make? None. Nothing would bring Aslan back to her. She drew shaky fingers through the mess of unwashed hair, pushing it out of her face.
She supposed she could have blamed the Inquisition or the heralds it supported. Perhaps, Leon for not dying instead. Or the damned tears in the skies, green toxic leeches spewing only the vilest creatures down across their heads. Might've made more sense to blame those twisted stone-encrusted abominations, serving whichever deluded leader that had deemed the Inquisition dangerous enough to slaughter. Or else, maybe the dragon that burned Haven to the ground. There were so many possibilities, so many scapegoats. None of them felt right. Most of all, she blamed herself. As ridiculous as she knew it was, she'd promised long ago that she'd protect everyone under her flagâthe Riptide, who had become her family. They weren't children. They weren't incapable of defending themselves, least of all Aslan. But she'd failed them. And now she was too much of a coward to face her remaining friends, allies, family members.
Something with weight settled over her shouldersâit didnât take long to realize that it was actually a physical weight, one that brought some relief from the wind outside. A blanket, it would seem, thick and soft. Someone had draped it over her. That same someone settled next to her where she sat, breathing out a soft exhale that could have been a sigh. A short, quiet metal-on-stone clanking accompanied the entrance of some kind of canister into her line of vision, and then the hand that held it moved away.
âThatâs soup, if youâre interested.â The voice belonged to Estella, whoâd sat herself with her knees pulled to her chest, and now wrapped her arms around them for warmth, probably. She didnât seem to mind Zahraâs obvious lack of current cleanlinessâshe in fact gave it no acknowledgement at all. âBut Iâd understand if you werenât.â She turned her eyes outward in front of them, not that there was much to see. Stone, a slight wall as the parapet edged the grey square they occupied, a level or two above the ground.
Zahra startled as soon as the blanket dropped across her shoulders, though it only showed in a flinch. She'd been far too fixated on her thoughts to notice approaching footfalls. How she hadn't noticed anyone descending the stairs, and coming close enough to lay a blanket across her shoulders, she wasn't sure. If this was a battle, she supposed she would've been at the mercy of a blade. But she was safe, in Skyhold. Surrounded by allies, friends, and friendly faces. She hadn't noticed how cold she actually felt until her hands drew away from her knees, drawing the blanket under her chin like a cape. Her shoulders slumped when she noted that the individual was in the process of sitting beside her. In the state that she was in, and even as miserable as she felt, she couldn't help feel the unseemly bite of embarrassment.
Her stomach gave a small lurch. A surprising gurgle. Hadn't she eaten? She couldn't remember. Either way, she wouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth. She eyed the metal canister and glanced sideways, studying Estella's face for a few moments before reaching out beneath the warmth of her blanket and scooping it up in both hands, âThanks. I, uh. I appreciate it.â She'd wanted to say that she hadn't needed to bring anything to her, and wondered how she had found her in the first place, but she was tired. Pushing people away took too much effort and there was a frankness there, in Estella's actions, that deserved better. She brought with her an unusual warmth, drudging up no judgments. She unscrewed the cap and took a sip. It was a rich broth. Hearty. Tasted far better than anything she'd eaten recently. Hunger had a funny way of doing that.
Estella's lips quirked slightly by way of response, but it faded quickly, and she simply nodded instead. She didnât speak further for quite a while, letting Zahra consume her soup in peace and quiet. There was the occasional sound from below, where troops moved about the bailey area or trained, and a few snatches of conversation occasionally filtered up far enough for them to hear, but nothing too substantial.
It was several minutes later before either of them said anything. âI lost my whole squad, at the Conclave,â Estella murmured, her tone so soft it was almost hard to hear, despite the fact that she was sitting close enough that their shoulders almost brushed. âMy first real mission as their leader, as a Lieutenant. The first time I was the one responsible for their safetyâevery single one of them is gone, and Iâm not.â The way she delivered the words was subdued, but there was no mistaking the ache in them. She turned her head slightly, tipping it back against the stone and angling it in Zahraâs direction, smiling sadly.
Finishing the last dredges of soup from the canister, Zahra settled it beside the lone bottle of rum and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. She leaned her head on the back of the slanted stone at their backs. Perfect for reclining. How long had she been sitting here, anyhow? Far longer than was appropriate by anyone's standards. She was happy for the company, even if she didn't make for the best of company. Silent as she was, with little more than a twitch of a smile on her lips. A far cry from the woman who'd dragged Estella on the bench in Redcliffe's seaside tavern. How much had changed in such a short period of time. She tipped her head to the side, regarding Estella as she broke the silence between them.
She would've been stupid to assume she was the only wounded party within the Inquisition. Everyone had their own stories, though it still surprised her to hear that Estella had lost so much. She still managed to smile and laugh and fight for a cause greater than herself. And live, for herself and for others. How long had it taken her to recover? Her wounds might have sealed up into scars, but the same nagging anguish played across her features when she spoke of them. Leadership had an awful habit of burdening your shoulders and clamping responsibilities on your ankles until you felt as if you were solely culpable for their actions, their inaction, their livelihoods. Her eyebrows pinched together for a moment and she feared as if she would crumble here, in front of someone else. She bit the inside of her lip and willed within herself a calmness she did not feel.
âI know itâs not my fault, intellectually at least. But it still feels like my fault, in here.â She tapped her sternum with an open hand.
âHow did you move on?â Zahra's voice sounded off in her own ears, unfamiliar and hoarse, âI don't know how to stop feeling as if... I should have done more. How do you stop feeling that loss?â Avoiding how she was feeling wasn't the answer either, but navigating grief was not something she was familiar with. She needed to know with a desperation that frightened her. Any manner of salvation that could drag her away from the darkness that clouded her thoughts and made her mornings listless.
Who could she blame, if not herself? Zahra bit at her lip and swallowed around the lump in her throat, âYou know. He was the one who suggested I contact the Inquisition. I thought it was, I don't know. A fool's errand. He thought differently. A greater cause, he said. He was the best parts of me, Stel.â Her voice cracked and softened to a whisper, âHow do you keep leading if you can't even protect anyone?â
âI donât know,â Estella admitted quietly, her eyes falling to her hands. âMy teacher, whenever I encounter something I think I canât do, but itâs really important, he just⊠he reminds me that itâs not about what I think I can do. Itâs about what I must do. I think that helps, somehow.â She sighed heavily, shaking her head a bit, a stray lock of hair falling free from her braid to tickle the side of her face.
âI keep going, and leading, I guess, because⊠even if I donât think I can, even if Iâm worried about all the ways I could mess it up or get people hurtâŠâ Her brows furrowed; clearly this wasnât something she had worked out all the way for herself, either, and the words were slow to come, almost as if she had to fight to even speak them. âI have to. Your crew needs you, and I donât think they expect you to be perfect as a leader. They just expect you to be there, and to do everything you can for them. Even when it hurts.â She took in a deep breath.
âSorry. I donât actually know if that helps you at all. Iâm still⊠trying to figure this out too. I just remind myself, as often as I can, that other people are suffering, and thereâs something I can do about it. So⊠I try to do that. Day by day.â
The whole scenario Zahra was concocting in her head was impossible. She would never again hear Aslan click his tongue against his teeth and look at her like she was out of her mind, never break the silence with his baritone, forcing everyone to listen because he seldom did, never linger at port side with her to watch the sunset. Never again. And even if Estella had no swift measures for mending weeping wounds, her words helped. What she was saying helped. Or maybe, just being there helped. She wasn't sure, if she was sure of anything at all. What she must do then. Like Lieutenants and heralds and commanders, being Captain meant that awful things would happen on her watch. She watched Estella from the corner of her eye and exhaled sharply. She should not falter as she did. It was a lesson she had difficulty wrapping herself around, but it was important nonetheless.
A short bark of laughter. Or a ragged sob, sifted from her throat. She mashed her palms against her eyes and sniffled. It took her a moment to regain her composure, and against whatever odds she was stacking against herself, she did. Zahra straightened her shoulders, imagined Aslan saying these same kinds of things, in less words and took deeper breath, softening the sharp edges of her face. She hoped she looked thankful, because she was. She wasn't alone. Especially not with these feelings. They were not unique. As sordid as everything felt, there was a connection there. A small comfort that made her shoulders feel a little lighter, âIt has. It does. Thanks for coming here. I think I can do that. Take it day by day.â
After another bout of silence, Zahra knocked shoulders with Estella and chuckled. It was a small, feeble thing. But it was there, an improvement on the phantom who'd been sitting here moments go, âSuppose I should go wash myself. I'm surprised you managed to sit here this long.â
Estella huffed softly, a little touch of laughter entering her eyes. âWell, you know. I wasnât going to say anything, butâŠâ She wrinkled her nose a little bit, clearly in jest, then stood, offering a hand down to Zahra to help her up.
Zahra snatched up her hand and rose to her feet with Estella's aid, keeping a firm grip on the blanket. The brief flicker of humor seemed to rejuvenate, far better than a drink might have. She sniffed at her collar and sighed, âI'll have to take care of that then. I have a feeling that other people aren't as tolerant as you.â
âAnd⊠youâre welcome. If you ever want to talk about it more, or about Aslan, Iâm here.â
The Captain's smile was genuine when she said, âI may take you up on that. Maybe, under better circumstances. Inside. It's damn cold out here.â