The first of the Makerâs children watched across the Veil
And grew jealous of the life,
They could not feel, could not touch.
In blackest envy were the demons born.
â Canticle of Erudition 2:1
And grew jealous of the life,
They could not feel, could not touch.
In blackest envy were the demons born.
â Canticle of Erudition 2:1
Spring had finally begun to rear its head across Thedas and Zahra couldnât wait to step foot back on the Riptide, even if the occasion left something to be desired. Her ship was docked in Redcliffe. So, that was where they needed to go. After the ship was prepped, they would set sail to Llomerryn. To a barely distinguishable fishermanâs paradise, Pressa, tucked away along the shoreline. Unremarkable, if it werenât for their acclaimed hedge-witches. The weather permitted lighter clothes. Comfortable to move around in.
Sheâd drawn her hair into a loose ponytail. Though any attempt to tuck her curls behind her ears thwarted by the breeze blowing it back over her face. She wore leather pants tucked into knee-high boots, a loose white tunic with her sleeves drawn up to her elbows, and Aslanâs red scarf wrapped around her neck. Billowing in the wind as she turned to face the ship, hands planted on her hips. She could already feel the tickle of sweat down her spine, but figured her nerves had just as much to do with that then the sun beating overhead.
She had already explained her situation to Rom⊠in as much detail as she could provide. It was mess. It sounded like a mess, but he agreed to come along anyway. She needed his help. His support. While he hadnât seen her nightmare, in her dream-space, she supposed he understood her well enough to know that this was important to see through. Even if she still wasnât sure how she felt about it. The thought of seeing her family again terrified her. There was a separateness there that she hadnât thought to touch in ages; they felt apart from her. Someone elseâs family. Certainly not her own. It made her wonder why she was doing any of this in the first place.
Leon had agreed to come easily enough after getting his affairs in order, busy as the man always seemed to be. She supposed that part of it had to do with how much he had already seen. Or else, he was just as big-hearted as she thought he was. The latter sounded accurate enough. She was glad to have him along. She needed his strength. Where he was, things were steadier. And Cyrus⊠had done far more than she could ever give him credit for. Far more than she could even thank him for. If it hadnât been for his involvement, she doubted any of this would have gone so far. She would have been left with shadows and questions; no answers.
With her doubts and cowardice.
Even with the journey so close, she couldnât untie the knots in her stomach or ignore the throbbing of her knuckles; bruised and caked with dry blood. Unbound. Of course, like sheâd told Cyrus, she had spoken to Garland first. With her fists. Her spitting words. Sheâd never felt so betrayed. So furious. Never. A mixture of stupidity souring her belly made it impossible to still her hands. As soon as he admitted to having contact with the masked man, as well as Faraji, she lost it. All of her control. He hadnât offered any explanation. She hadnât given him time. She beat him senseless; a black and blue mess, swollen-eyed and slack-jawed. She kicked him off the Riptide, and sent him to the cells. At least, until they returned and could further question him.
A piss poor job on her end. She knew. She knew that, already. She stood next to Cyrus and barked orders to those moving barrels aboard the ship. Rations. The like, for their journey. She took in a deep breath through her nose and tried to smooth out the wrinkles in her brow, âLooks like weâre almost ready to set sail.â She looked at him sidelong and gave him a lopsided smile, âWill this be your first time in Llomerryn?â
Cyrus stood steadily on the deck of the ship; though he'd not been involved in much by way of the Inquisition's sailing-ventures before, he already looked a great deal more comfortable than Khari would have, that much was obvious. The grace he moved with on solid ground served him just as well on the deck of a ship. Probably wouldn't change much once they actually got sailing, either. He'd folded his hands behind his back, watching the crew scramble about at her orders with a dim sort of interest. His swords hung at his waist, but he'd forgone the armor, for now.
At the question, he slid his eyes to her, offering a shake of his head. âI haven't, actually. I rarely left Tevinter until about three years ago, and even then, I went the other way. You'll have to show me your favorite places. Perhaps on the way back." He certainly understood the relative urgency of the situation as well as anyone did, after all. âI'm sure you know all the best haunts in Llomerryn, no?" He smiled about halfway; it was a clear, almost clumsy attempt to lighten her mood, it seemed.
Zahra scratched at her chin. Now that she thought about it⊠she didnât think anyone in Tevinter would have much reason to travel all away to Rivainâs Little Llomerryn. Seeing how it was built up by raiders, and run by irregulars of a different flavor. Not the type of rabble civilized people would want to rub shoulders with. Though, she was sure that Cyrus would like their ilk well enough. They were an honest people; rough around the edges, always saying yes to more and never taking no for an answer.
There was a lightness swelling in her chest. Anticipation. A shadow of it, at least. She hadnât returned to Pressa since sheâd fled all those years ago, for fear of running into her brothers and sisters. Her mother and father. Stomping on tradition didnât sit well Rivaini families. Running away. It amounted to the same thing. Excommunication from the family or a forced wedding. A contract of sale. For most hapless brides, the shame may have been enough to see it to fruition. Even so⊠even so, the thought of showing her friends around her spit of youth made her feel braver.
Her smile, at least, felt less forced.
âOf course, of course. Thereâs a saying there, you know⊠any man can gain his heartâs desire, for a price," an eyebrow drew up as she paused for effect and grinned wide, âI think it describes Llomerryn pretty well. Perhaps, itâs a wee bit dirtier. But donât worry, Iâll keep you all from trouncing on too many toes.â
Nixium had already taken her place at the wheel. She was beginning to roll her shoulders, indicating their departure. The last of the barrels had been rolled aboard and were being lugged into the shipâs underbelly. Dragged into storage, where everything was kept in the general proximity of Brialleâs kitchen. At least they wouldnât need to suffer through hard tack and chewy meat-strips; a shipment of food had come in just on time; a good portion of it already being sent to the Inquisition while they kept what they would need for their journey.
Leon, who seemed to have been supervising part of that procedure, came aboard then, dressed lightly in anticipation of the warmer climate they would soon be encountering. Unusually, he'd left his arms bare. His skin was fair enough that it was quite hard to tell, but he looked to have quite a number of even paler scars on them, no doubt from training and battle, at least in the main. His hands had the worst of it, though, almost mangled-looking with all the callus and scar tissue on his knuckles. For all that, they weren't in any way misshapen.
"Carts are loaded," he said with a small nod. "Only a few more crates to bring on board, and then we'll be ready to go."
Zahra leaned against the railing and watched Leonâs approach. Soon, they would leave Redcliffe behind. The idea of was laughable. Sailing home. She wondered if it would be safe to bring them to Llomerrynâs heart after everything was said and done. It hadnât ended well before. Surely they wouldnât remember their faces. If not⊠well, she could bring them to what little Pressa had to offer.
At least with her friends at her back it wouldnât feel so heavy. The burden wasnât hers alone to carry. She tipped Leon a smile, âPerfect. Seems like weâre making good time.â She knuckled at her nose, and glanced around the ship. She hadnât seen Rom lately. Not for awhile. She figured he may have disappeared below the decks or stopped somewhere in Redcliffe for supplies. Either way, they wouldnât leave without everyone accounted for.
He didn't take much longer, though, arriving on deck shortly thereafter with some kind of pastry halfway in his mouth, his arms otherwise occupied with bags of supplies and provisions. He set them down as he made it alongside them, reaching up to bite the chunk of pastry away. There was something off about him lately. Grumpier than usual, but then there were a number of likely explanations for that. He'd spilled his secret to Zahra during their last alchemy lesson, that what he'd been taking was becoming too addictive for him to overcome, and getting worse. He'd begun whittling down on those since then, but he was still early in the process. He'd actually given his supply of potions to Leon for the duration of the trip.
It could have also been returning to Redcliffe that didn't sit well with him. It had been obvious that Rom hadn't enjoyed anything about his time here when they came before, the only memories being the ones that involved time travel, bleak futures, his former master, and first meetings with the man that would eventually claim to be his father. Whatever the case was, he looked ready to leave.
"Do we know where we're headed, who we're meeting?" he asked. "Once we get to Llomerryn, I mean."
Of course, Zahra had noticed those changes. In the light, standing there, he seemed off. Melancholic. It was a word that suited his moods lately. Not that she didnât understand. Hunched beneath pressures she couldnât fathom⊠with a flourishing addiction on top of that. One cultivated by a woman he hated. Her reaction had been as it always was when it came to them; non-judgmental. It wasnât his fault. She would weather whatever sour moods he bore. What mattered was that he was trying. She was only grateful that he still decided to come along even when he was suffering.
She tapped her hand across the railing and watched as the last crates were loaded up the gangplank by none other than Nuka and Brialle. While the latter was struggling to hold the weight on her end, the wee dwarven lass was having no troubles at all. It wouldnât have surprised her if sheâd carried the damn thing all on her own. She was laughing about something she couldnât hear, while Brialle was trying to readjust her hold. Zahra pursed her lips and regarded Rom with a thin smile.
âOutside of Llomerryn, actually. A little fishing village called Pressa. A spit on the islandâs finger. We can dock there.â She felt a heaviness in her chest. Who, indeed. âMy father. Maleus said that heâs still there, in his home.â It no longer was hers to claim. To call her own. Sheâd lost that long ago. She wasnât even sure she remembered his face. The lines. His eyes. She cleared her throat and straightened her shoulders, waving for Nuka to pull the gangplank aboard and ready the ship for departure. Little more than a hand gesture, thatâs all that was ever needed.
âWonder if it wouldn't stand out rather too much to dock a boat like this in a place like that." Cyrus leaned back slightly against the rail at the side of the fore deck, moving his hands so that one palm connected with the rail. The other wrist draped over the hilt of one of the swords; she could hear a heavy exhale pass from his nose. His eyes moved to where Nuka was pulling the gangplank, then to the spot several members of the crew were working together to haul anchor.
A call came down from the crow's nest with the bearing of the wind, and the riggers adjusted accordingly, angling the sails and unfurling them so that they caught the wind just so, swelling outwards in a deep flapping of crimson canvas. With Nixium at the helm, the Riptide glided smoothly out from the dock, into Lake Calenhad proper. They'd have to sail its length before reaching the short river that would take them out into the Waking Sea, near Highever, but from there it should be open water until Llomerryn.
A seagull crooned. Far out to sea, the white-bellied gulls wheeled and turned in the wind above the Riptide, dipping to the side of the ship. Following or leading them through the open waters of the Amaranthine Ocean. Zahra could never tell. Maybe they were just there to torment them with their wailing cries. Sea-rats, Aslan used to call them. Little blighters that shit on their billowing sails. On their heads, too, if they could help it. The thought made her smile, even if she disliked the bloody things.
The weather had been kind to them. No clouds cluttered the skies, and the sun beat down on them just as it had in Redcliffe. A good sign as any. Unlikely to hold out if Pressa was anything to go by. It often rained there, though it was good for the fishermen. Her father used to tell her that insects drifted closer to the surface of the water whenever it rained, attracting fish there, as well. Which was why he always dragged them to the piers whenever clouds drifted in, sopping wet and miserable, but baskets laden and full. It was a strange memory to recall.
Maybe, she hadnât forgotten as much as she thought.
There was a moment of calm. For once. A momentary slip. It always felt like this aboard the Riptide, cutting through the tide like a knife through butter. Brine assaulting her nose. Wind whipping through her hair. What better place in all of Thedas could there be? She never doubted Nixiumâs navigation. Never understood it either. Though she could have said the same about Garland before Cyrus wrested his name from the dark-eyed manâs mouth. She thought his callused hands were meant for keeping them whole, alive. The Riptide, and its crew. Heâd been more than helpful since sheâd let him stay aboard all those years ago. The betrayal had cut deeper than she liked to admit.
She wasnât sure what to do with it: her anger, her hurt.
The Inquisition would have words for him. They would decide, she supposed. It involved them just as much as her. Any chink rent in their armor was an affront. A weakness they couldnât afford. Even so, it made her uneasy. She hadnât heard him out properly, after all.
Zahra had taken Cyrusâs advice. Docking at Pressa would be foolish. Some of its residents were skittish of newcomers, especially with raiders frequenting their waters. Llomerryn was run by unsavory characters; ofttimes criminals. Said raiders never operated under the same banner. An unfamiliar ship, much larger than the trawlers, would gain unwanted attention. All it would take to have guards raining down on their heads was one hapless gossip. Qunari. Mercenaries. They werenât in the habit of asking questions first. Having their lot run out of town before even speaking to her father would make all of this pointless. She wasnât exactly sure what would be waiting for them there, but a safe bet would be to let the Riptide ride on her anchor, a few leagues from Pressa itself, and take one of her small boats to shore.
Why hadnât she thought of it before?
An alcove, tucked into the island. It was frequently used by the Raiders of the Waking Sea. A place other than Llomerryn to pull their ships abroad. The docks were older, and there were no homes to speak of in the vicinity. Only a pathway that led straight through Llomerryn, and another that led towards Pressa. This place had been the first time sheâd ever set foot on a ship so largeâthe one Aslan had spirited her away on. Saving her from misfortune, and a life she would have hated. She could see it on the horizon, drawing near. She shut her eyes, almost able to imagine how the ship had looked to her so long ago. How large everything appeared.
Only when Nixium called from the wheel did she push herself away from the railing and stretch her arms above her head; cat-like. The journey had been rather longer than she would have liked. Possibly moreso to those who werenât used to it. A week. Cyrus seemed to be taking it rather well. In stride, even. And Leon seemed happy enough to help her crew with the rigging and whatever else needed doing around the ship. While Româs mood still seemed rather sullen⊠she figured finally having a chance to stretch his bones on land would do him some good. At least Brialleâs cooking had been put to good use with all of the new faces aboard.
Anchored at least a league away to prevent them from grounding the ship in the choppy waters, Zahra was in the process of prepping their rowboat before it was lowered. Sheâd brought her bow along with her. Strapped over her shoulder, with her quiver strung around her back: arrows neatly arranged. Just in case. Even if they had no intention for trouble, Llomerryn could rear its ugly head when they least expected it. Sheâd given the others instructions to prep their gear, as well. It would take them a couple hours to get to Pressa. A short hike through the woods, if she remembered correctly.
Leon was the first to finish his preparations, which made a certain amount of sense, considering that he had no weapons to bother accounting for. He was armored, but not in the usual full plate; perhaps as a concession to the setting, he was only wearing leathers and heavy fabric by way of protection. Over the week, his hair had migrated into a thick tail atop his headâprobably the only way of wearing it that didn't risk overheating. The sun had not been especially kind to him; his cheeks and neck had both reddened, tanned slightly, and reddened again with hours in the marine sun. If that bothered him, he gave no sign of it, though a few of the crew had ribbed him for it more than once.
He helped lower the rowboat into the water without being asked; he'd demonstrated a passable knowledge of ships and navigation, though not expertise, exactly. "What's the terrain like, where we'll be going ashore?" he asked, settling himself in the rowboat, at the oars, before the rest of them did. Probably for the best, considering his size. The others followed.
Zahra perched herself on the furthest bench and kicked her feet up against the bench ahead of her. She tilted her head to the side. She had been one of the first to tease him about his skin. Reddened to an unfortunate rouge. Probably a lot more painful than he was letting on. The sun hadnât been kind to him at all. Sheâd instructed him on several occasions to hide out in the Riptideâs underbelly to keep him from bubbling like a fish dried up on land. Sometimes, he listened. He didnât seem to mind. The sweltering heat of the equatorial woods was much different. Blood-sucking insects. Buzzards. A constant, sticking sweat.
She rubbed the back of her neck, and arched an eyebrow, trying to wrestle the grin off her face. âNot like the Dalish woods at all. Swampy in some spots and filled with tangles. The path is small. Iâll admit, itâs not a pleasant walk. But eventually it opens up into a beach. Thatâs where Pressa is.â
âSounds charming." It didn't take a particularly practiced ear to detect Cyrus's sarcasm. He glanced at Leon for a moment, almost as if contemplating the possibility of offering assistance, but it was clearly not necessary. A man of the commander's build could easily power a boat like this by himself, even if there were three other passengers. So instead, Cyrus turned his eyes towards their destination, squinting at the shoreline that appeared not long after in the distance.
He wasn't completely free of sunburn, either, but it was nowhere near as bad as Leon's. Just a bit of pinkish color on his nose and cheeks, really. It could have been mistaken for windburn, or something much more short-lived. He'd gone with leathers as well, over the linens and light chain from his usual armor. The borrowed pieces didn't quite seem to fit him right, but if he was bothered by it, he wasn't complaining, anyway.
Given the strength of their oarsman, it only took them about ten minutes or so to reach land. Cyrus hopped off first, landing knee-deep in the ocean and helping pull the boat onto the shore, so it wouldn't drift away while they were gone. They hid it in some underbrush, covering it until it wasn't obvious, at least, but when that was done he tilted his head at Zahra. âLead on, then. We're behind you."
Zahra bit back a snort at Cyrusâs saucy remark. It was rather charming if you liked bug bites and salt seeping into your bones; as well as fish, and fish, and more fish. Pressaâs people bled seawater and strife, nearly consumed by Little Llomerrynâs shadow. For the most part they cooperated with each other. Trade was trade, and they both had something the other wanted. The best fishermen came from this particular village, and without the cityâs streets to sell their fish, theyâd be penniless. Trawlers werenât meant for long voyages, after all.
She stepped off towards a small opening in the woods, and pushed back some of the overgrown ferns. The trail was there, but barely. Her brothers used to travel to the beach and back again, carrying crude axes and curved blades, clearing the path for those who needed to make the journey. From the looks of it, no one had taken over their duties. Tall blades of grass tickled its sides. Rotten trees had fallen in some places that she could see. Not much of a challenge for the others, but a nuisance nonetheless.
âAlright. Letâs go then.â
The alcove sat somewhere in the middle of Pressa and Llomerryn. It didnât take them long. The walk was rather quiet. She didnât find that she minded. She led in the front with Rom just behind her, careful not to trip over any thick brambles. The mossy floor was comfortable to walk on, but uneven in most spots. Forcing those to readjust their footing. Spiderwebs tickled at their faces until hands rose to swat them away and the constant buzzing of flies nipped at their sides, relentless in their pursuit. Sweat already ran down her spine, and dripped off her chin. The heat theyâd felt aboard the Riptide was nothing compared to this. She could feel her heartbeat thrumming in her her ears. Against her ribs. They were close.
The thickets thinned out and widened enough to see the sky once more. Long, flat pieces of stone formed a staircase that led down to a beach. Several cabins littered the shoreline; all in varying states of disarray. Efficient as a shelter, but not much else. Certainly a far cry from what theyâd seen in Halamshiral. Long piers stretched out like fingers on the coast and trawlers could be seen bobbing in the distance. Her house was the second on the left. âItâs right there. The one with the red tarp at the door.â Zahra pointed a finger up at it and tilted her head to the side, squinting hard.
"Not the only thing at the door," Rom pointed out, lifting a bare hand halfway in that direction. He looked more comfortable than the rest of them, clad in a sleeveless tunic and hardened leather breastplate over it. His dark skin hadn't darkened any further at all in the sun on the way over, and despite the heat he didn't seem to be sweating all that much. She had seen him consume his day's concoction of stamina, reflex, clarity, focus, that sort of thing, just before they'd disembarked. No doubt wanting to be at his best when it actually mattered.
Four robed figures stood beside the door they were headed towards, clad in dark robes that couldn't have been comfortable to wear in the Rivaini heat. Adorned with chrome plates on the shoulders and other metal accessories decorating them to the point of rather obviously overdoing it. It remained to be seen just how much that impacted their movement, or if the sacrifice of practicality for style would actually be worth it. "They're Tevinter," Rom said, stating the obvious. "Rich."
Sheâd drawn her hair into a loose ponytail. Though any attempt to tuck her curls behind her ears thwarted by the breeze blowing it back over her face. She wore leather pants tucked into knee-high boots, a loose white tunic with her sleeves drawn up to her elbows, and Aslanâs red scarf wrapped around her neck. Billowing in the wind as she turned to face the ship, hands planted on her hips. She could already feel the tickle of sweat down her spine, but figured her nerves had just as much to do with that then the sun beating overhead.
She had already explained her situation to Rom⊠in as much detail as she could provide. It was mess. It sounded like a mess, but he agreed to come along anyway. She needed his help. His support. While he hadnât seen her nightmare, in her dream-space, she supposed he understood her well enough to know that this was important to see through. Even if she still wasnât sure how she felt about it. The thought of seeing her family again terrified her. There was a separateness there that she hadnât thought to touch in ages; they felt apart from her. Someone elseâs family. Certainly not her own. It made her wonder why she was doing any of this in the first place.
Leon had agreed to come easily enough after getting his affairs in order, busy as the man always seemed to be. She supposed that part of it had to do with how much he had already seen. Or else, he was just as big-hearted as she thought he was. The latter sounded accurate enough. She was glad to have him along. She needed his strength. Where he was, things were steadier. And Cyrus⊠had done far more than she could ever give him credit for. Far more than she could even thank him for. If it hadnât been for his involvement, she doubted any of this would have gone so far. She would have been left with shadows and questions; no answers.
With her doubts and cowardice.
Even with the journey so close, she couldnât untie the knots in her stomach or ignore the throbbing of her knuckles; bruised and caked with dry blood. Unbound. Of course, like sheâd told Cyrus, she had spoken to Garland first. With her fists. Her spitting words. Sheâd never felt so betrayed. So furious. Never. A mixture of stupidity souring her belly made it impossible to still her hands. As soon as he admitted to having contact with the masked man, as well as Faraji, she lost it. All of her control. He hadnât offered any explanation. She hadnât given him time. She beat him senseless; a black and blue mess, swollen-eyed and slack-jawed. She kicked him off the Riptide, and sent him to the cells. At least, until they returned and could further question him.
A piss poor job on her end. She knew. She knew that, already. She stood next to Cyrus and barked orders to those moving barrels aboard the ship. Rations. The like, for their journey. She took in a deep breath through her nose and tried to smooth out the wrinkles in her brow, âLooks like weâre almost ready to set sail.â She looked at him sidelong and gave him a lopsided smile, âWill this be your first time in Llomerryn?â
Cyrus stood steadily on the deck of the ship; though he'd not been involved in much by way of the Inquisition's sailing-ventures before, he already looked a great deal more comfortable than Khari would have, that much was obvious. The grace he moved with on solid ground served him just as well on the deck of a ship. Probably wouldn't change much once they actually got sailing, either. He'd folded his hands behind his back, watching the crew scramble about at her orders with a dim sort of interest. His swords hung at his waist, but he'd forgone the armor, for now.
At the question, he slid his eyes to her, offering a shake of his head. âI haven't, actually. I rarely left Tevinter until about three years ago, and even then, I went the other way. You'll have to show me your favorite places. Perhaps on the way back." He certainly understood the relative urgency of the situation as well as anyone did, after all. âI'm sure you know all the best haunts in Llomerryn, no?" He smiled about halfway; it was a clear, almost clumsy attempt to lighten her mood, it seemed.
Zahra scratched at her chin. Now that she thought about it⊠she didnât think anyone in Tevinter would have much reason to travel all away to Rivainâs Little Llomerryn. Seeing how it was built up by raiders, and run by irregulars of a different flavor. Not the type of rabble civilized people would want to rub shoulders with. Though, she was sure that Cyrus would like their ilk well enough. They were an honest people; rough around the edges, always saying yes to more and never taking no for an answer.
There was a lightness swelling in her chest. Anticipation. A shadow of it, at least. She hadnât returned to Pressa since sheâd fled all those years ago, for fear of running into her brothers and sisters. Her mother and father. Stomping on tradition didnât sit well Rivaini families. Running away. It amounted to the same thing. Excommunication from the family or a forced wedding. A contract of sale. For most hapless brides, the shame may have been enough to see it to fruition. Even so⊠even so, the thought of showing her friends around her spit of youth made her feel braver.
Her smile, at least, felt less forced.
âOf course, of course. Thereâs a saying there, you know⊠any man can gain his heartâs desire, for a price," an eyebrow drew up as she paused for effect and grinned wide, âI think it describes Llomerryn pretty well. Perhaps, itâs a wee bit dirtier. But donât worry, Iâll keep you all from trouncing on too many toes.â
Nixium had already taken her place at the wheel. She was beginning to roll her shoulders, indicating their departure. The last of the barrels had been rolled aboard and were being lugged into the shipâs underbelly. Dragged into storage, where everything was kept in the general proximity of Brialleâs kitchen. At least they wouldnât need to suffer through hard tack and chewy meat-strips; a shipment of food had come in just on time; a good portion of it already being sent to the Inquisition while they kept what they would need for their journey.
Leon, who seemed to have been supervising part of that procedure, came aboard then, dressed lightly in anticipation of the warmer climate they would soon be encountering. Unusually, he'd left his arms bare. His skin was fair enough that it was quite hard to tell, but he looked to have quite a number of even paler scars on them, no doubt from training and battle, at least in the main. His hands had the worst of it, though, almost mangled-looking with all the callus and scar tissue on his knuckles. For all that, they weren't in any way misshapen.
"Carts are loaded," he said with a small nod. "Only a few more crates to bring on board, and then we'll be ready to go."
Zahra leaned against the railing and watched Leonâs approach. Soon, they would leave Redcliffe behind. The idea of was laughable. Sailing home. She wondered if it would be safe to bring them to Llomerrynâs heart after everything was said and done. It hadnât ended well before. Surely they wouldnât remember their faces. If not⊠well, she could bring them to what little Pressa had to offer.
At least with her friends at her back it wouldnât feel so heavy. The burden wasnât hers alone to carry. She tipped Leon a smile, âPerfect. Seems like weâre making good time.â She knuckled at her nose, and glanced around the ship. She hadnât seen Rom lately. Not for awhile. She figured he may have disappeared below the decks or stopped somewhere in Redcliffe for supplies. Either way, they wouldnât leave without everyone accounted for.
He didn't take much longer, though, arriving on deck shortly thereafter with some kind of pastry halfway in his mouth, his arms otherwise occupied with bags of supplies and provisions. He set them down as he made it alongside them, reaching up to bite the chunk of pastry away. There was something off about him lately. Grumpier than usual, but then there were a number of likely explanations for that. He'd spilled his secret to Zahra during their last alchemy lesson, that what he'd been taking was becoming too addictive for him to overcome, and getting worse. He'd begun whittling down on those since then, but he was still early in the process. He'd actually given his supply of potions to Leon for the duration of the trip.
It could have also been returning to Redcliffe that didn't sit well with him. It had been obvious that Rom hadn't enjoyed anything about his time here when they came before, the only memories being the ones that involved time travel, bleak futures, his former master, and first meetings with the man that would eventually claim to be his father. Whatever the case was, he looked ready to leave.
"Do we know where we're headed, who we're meeting?" he asked. "Once we get to Llomerryn, I mean."
Of course, Zahra had noticed those changes. In the light, standing there, he seemed off. Melancholic. It was a word that suited his moods lately. Not that she didnât understand. Hunched beneath pressures she couldnât fathom⊠with a flourishing addiction on top of that. One cultivated by a woman he hated. Her reaction had been as it always was when it came to them; non-judgmental. It wasnât his fault. She would weather whatever sour moods he bore. What mattered was that he was trying. She was only grateful that he still decided to come along even when he was suffering.
She tapped her hand across the railing and watched as the last crates were loaded up the gangplank by none other than Nuka and Brialle. While the latter was struggling to hold the weight on her end, the wee dwarven lass was having no troubles at all. It wouldnât have surprised her if sheâd carried the damn thing all on her own. She was laughing about something she couldnât hear, while Brialle was trying to readjust her hold. Zahra pursed her lips and regarded Rom with a thin smile.
âOutside of Llomerryn, actually. A little fishing village called Pressa. A spit on the islandâs finger. We can dock there.â She felt a heaviness in her chest. Who, indeed. âMy father. Maleus said that heâs still there, in his home.â It no longer was hers to claim. To call her own. Sheâd lost that long ago. She wasnât even sure she remembered his face. The lines. His eyes. She cleared her throat and straightened her shoulders, waving for Nuka to pull the gangplank aboard and ready the ship for departure. Little more than a hand gesture, thatâs all that was ever needed.
âWonder if it wouldn't stand out rather too much to dock a boat like this in a place like that." Cyrus leaned back slightly against the rail at the side of the fore deck, moving his hands so that one palm connected with the rail. The other wrist draped over the hilt of one of the swords; she could hear a heavy exhale pass from his nose. His eyes moved to where Nuka was pulling the gangplank, then to the spot several members of the crew were working together to haul anchor.
A call came down from the crow's nest with the bearing of the wind, and the riggers adjusted accordingly, angling the sails and unfurling them so that they caught the wind just so, swelling outwards in a deep flapping of crimson canvas. With Nixium at the helm, the Riptide glided smoothly out from the dock, into Lake Calenhad proper. They'd have to sail its length before reaching the short river that would take them out into the Waking Sea, near Highever, but from there it should be open water until Llomerryn.
A seagull crooned. Far out to sea, the white-bellied gulls wheeled and turned in the wind above the Riptide, dipping to the side of the ship. Following or leading them through the open waters of the Amaranthine Ocean. Zahra could never tell. Maybe they were just there to torment them with their wailing cries. Sea-rats, Aslan used to call them. Little blighters that shit on their billowing sails. On their heads, too, if they could help it. The thought made her smile, even if she disliked the bloody things.
The weather had been kind to them. No clouds cluttered the skies, and the sun beat down on them just as it had in Redcliffe. A good sign as any. Unlikely to hold out if Pressa was anything to go by. It often rained there, though it was good for the fishermen. Her father used to tell her that insects drifted closer to the surface of the water whenever it rained, attracting fish there, as well. Which was why he always dragged them to the piers whenever clouds drifted in, sopping wet and miserable, but baskets laden and full. It was a strange memory to recall.
Maybe, she hadnât forgotten as much as she thought.
There was a moment of calm. For once. A momentary slip. It always felt like this aboard the Riptide, cutting through the tide like a knife through butter. Brine assaulting her nose. Wind whipping through her hair. What better place in all of Thedas could there be? She never doubted Nixiumâs navigation. Never understood it either. Though she could have said the same about Garland before Cyrus wrested his name from the dark-eyed manâs mouth. She thought his callused hands were meant for keeping them whole, alive. The Riptide, and its crew. Heâd been more than helpful since sheâd let him stay aboard all those years ago. The betrayal had cut deeper than she liked to admit.
She wasnât sure what to do with it: her anger, her hurt.
The Inquisition would have words for him. They would decide, she supposed. It involved them just as much as her. Any chink rent in their armor was an affront. A weakness they couldnât afford. Even so, it made her uneasy. She hadnât heard him out properly, after all.
Zahra had taken Cyrusâs advice. Docking at Pressa would be foolish. Some of its residents were skittish of newcomers, especially with raiders frequenting their waters. Llomerryn was run by unsavory characters; ofttimes criminals. Said raiders never operated under the same banner. An unfamiliar ship, much larger than the trawlers, would gain unwanted attention. All it would take to have guards raining down on their heads was one hapless gossip. Qunari. Mercenaries. They werenât in the habit of asking questions first. Having their lot run out of town before even speaking to her father would make all of this pointless. She wasnât exactly sure what would be waiting for them there, but a safe bet would be to let the Riptide ride on her anchor, a few leagues from Pressa itself, and take one of her small boats to shore.
Why hadnât she thought of it before?
An alcove, tucked into the island. It was frequently used by the Raiders of the Waking Sea. A place other than Llomerryn to pull their ships abroad. The docks were older, and there were no homes to speak of in the vicinity. Only a pathway that led straight through Llomerryn, and another that led towards Pressa. This place had been the first time sheâd ever set foot on a ship so largeâthe one Aslan had spirited her away on. Saving her from misfortune, and a life she would have hated. She could see it on the horizon, drawing near. She shut her eyes, almost able to imagine how the ship had looked to her so long ago. How large everything appeared.
Only when Nixium called from the wheel did she push herself away from the railing and stretch her arms above her head; cat-like. The journey had been rather longer than she would have liked. Possibly moreso to those who werenât used to it. A week. Cyrus seemed to be taking it rather well. In stride, even. And Leon seemed happy enough to help her crew with the rigging and whatever else needed doing around the ship. While Româs mood still seemed rather sullen⊠she figured finally having a chance to stretch his bones on land would do him some good. At least Brialleâs cooking had been put to good use with all of the new faces aboard.
Anchored at least a league away to prevent them from grounding the ship in the choppy waters, Zahra was in the process of prepping their rowboat before it was lowered. Sheâd brought her bow along with her. Strapped over her shoulder, with her quiver strung around her back: arrows neatly arranged. Just in case. Even if they had no intention for trouble, Llomerryn could rear its ugly head when they least expected it. Sheâd given the others instructions to prep their gear, as well. It would take them a couple hours to get to Pressa. A short hike through the woods, if she remembered correctly.
Leon was the first to finish his preparations, which made a certain amount of sense, considering that he had no weapons to bother accounting for. He was armored, but not in the usual full plate; perhaps as a concession to the setting, he was only wearing leathers and heavy fabric by way of protection. Over the week, his hair had migrated into a thick tail atop his headâprobably the only way of wearing it that didn't risk overheating. The sun had not been especially kind to him; his cheeks and neck had both reddened, tanned slightly, and reddened again with hours in the marine sun. If that bothered him, he gave no sign of it, though a few of the crew had ribbed him for it more than once.
He helped lower the rowboat into the water without being asked; he'd demonstrated a passable knowledge of ships and navigation, though not expertise, exactly. "What's the terrain like, where we'll be going ashore?" he asked, settling himself in the rowboat, at the oars, before the rest of them did. Probably for the best, considering his size. The others followed.
Zahra perched herself on the furthest bench and kicked her feet up against the bench ahead of her. She tilted her head to the side. She had been one of the first to tease him about his skin. Reddened to an unfortunate rouge. Probably a lot more painful than he was letting on. The sun hadnât been kind to him at all. Sheâd instructed him on several occasions to hide out in the Riptideâs underbelly to keep him from bubbling like a fish dried up on land. Sometimes, he listened. He didnât seem to mind. The sweltering heat of the equatorial woods was much different. Blood-sucking insects. Buzzards. A constant, sticking sweat.
She rubbed the back of her neck, and arched an eyebrow, trying to wrestle the grin off her face. âNot like the Dalish woods at all. Swampy in some spots and filled with tangles. The path is small. Iâll admit, itâs not a pleasant walk. But eventually it opens up into a beach. Thatâs where Pressa is.â
âSounds charming." It didn't take a particularly practiced ear to detect Cyrus's sarcasm. He glanced at Leon for a moment, almost as if contemplating the possibility of offering assistance, but it was clearly not necessary. A man of the commander's build could easily power a boat like this by himself, even if there were three other passengers. So instead, Cyrus turned his eyes towards their destination, squinting at the shoreline that appeared not long after in the distance.
He wasn't completely free of sunburn, either, but it was nowhere near as bad as Leon's. Just a bit of pinkish color on his nose and cheeks, really. It could have been mistaken for windburn, or something much more short-lived. He'd gone with leathers as well, over the linens and light chain from his usual armor. The borrowed pieces didn't quite seem to fit him right, but if he was bothered by it, he wasn't complaining, anyway.
Given the strength of their oarsman, it only took them about ten minutes or so to reach land. Cyrus hopped off first, landing knee-deep in the ocean and helping pull the boat onto the shore, so it wouldn't drift away while they were gone. They hid it in some underbrush, covering it until it wasn't obvious, at least, but when that was done he tilted his head at Zahra. âLead on, then. We're behind you."
Zahra bit back a snort at Cyrusâs saucy remark. It was rather charming if you liked bug bites and salt seeping into your bones; as well as fish, and fish, and more fish. Pressaâs people bled seawater and strife, nearly consumed by Little Llomerrynâs shadow. For the most part they cooperated with each other. Trade was trade, and they both had something the other wanted. The best fishermen came from this particular village, and without the cityâs streets to sell their fish, theyâd be penniless. Trawlers werenât meant for long voyages, after all.
She stepped off towards a small opening in the woods, and pushed back some of the overgrown ferns. The trail was there, but barely. Her brothers used to travel to the beach and back again, carrying crude axes and curved blades, clearing the path for those who needed to make the journey. From the looks of it, no one had taken over their duties. Tall blades of grass tickled its sides. Rotten trees had fallen in some places that she could see. Not much of a challenge for the others, but a nuisance nonetheless.
âAlright. Letâs go then.â
The alcove sat somewhere in the middle of Pressa and Llomerryn. It didnât take them long. The walk was rather quiet. She didnât find that she minded. She led in the front with Rom just behind her, careful not to trip over any thick brambles. The mossy floor was comfortable to walk on, but uneven in most spots. Forcing those to readjust their footing. Spiderwebs tickled at their faces until hands rose to swat them away and the constant buzzing of flies nipped at their sides, relentless in their pursuit. Sweat already ran down her spine, and dripped off her chin. The heat theyâd felt aboard the Riptide was nothing compared to this. She could feel her heartbeat thrumming in her her ears. Against her ribs. They were close.
The thickets thinned out and widened enough to see the sky once more. Long, flat pieces of stone formed a staircase that led down to a beach. Several cabins littered the shoreline; all in varying states of disarray. Efficient as a shelter, but not much else. Certainly a far cry from what theyâd seen in Halamshiral. Long piers stretched out like fingers on the coast and trawlers could be seen bobbing in the distance. Her house was the second on the left. âItâs right there. The one with the red tarp at the door.â Zahra pointed a finger up at it and tilted her head to the side, squinting hard.
"Not the only thing at the door," Rom pointed out, lifting a bare hand halfway in that direction. He looked more comfortable than the rest of them, clad in a sleeveless tunic and hardened leather breastplate over it. His dark skin hadn't darkened any further at all in the sun on the way over, and despite the heat he didn't seem to be sweating all that much. She had seen him consume his day's concoction of stamina, reflex, clarity, focus, that sort of thing, just before they'd disembarked. No doubt wanting to be at his best when it actually mattered.
Four robed figures stood beside the door they were headed towards, clad in dark robes that couldn't have been comfortable to wear in the Rivaini heat. Adorned with chrome plates on the shoulders and other metal accessories decorating them to the point of rather obviously overdoing it. It remained to be seen just how much that impacted their movement, or if the sacrifice of practicality for style would actually be worth it. "They're Tevinter," Rom said, stating the obvious. "Rich."