The bells had woken her, every morning, since she had fled. They found her in her sleep, chiming away with an intensity that roused her from the depths, pulling her back into the waking horror of having seen Rene swallowed by the darkness that she had been running from, the sad smile fading some as eyes closed in resignation, or was that her mind, playing tricks on her? Time had slowed then, as it did now in those first moments of wakefulness, bringing her back to her new morning ritual of sobbing herself awake. Isenam, and the small cat that she had recently started to feed in the gardens there at the University were her only companions other than the horse, and the book.. Zenovia. The liar. She had the Godsdamned book, but she had lost everything in the process. Yes, Ophelia was still in the beginning moments of grief, knowing her brothers, her sister in law, her nephew, they were all gone, all of them. And then it trickled down into Vincent, Rosealie, all of them were dead now. She had kept in front of the spread enough to know that she had been one of the only ones who had made it out in time.
Before the bells had stopped ringing and where once there had been a lively city, there was just, silence.
The griffon stirred beside her each morning, as soon as the animal felt her move, the large beast the only warmth she had, too far wallowing into the sudden loss, she didn't even remember how to make a fire, only that she had to keep moving north, through Nevarra, into Tevinter. Once she was across the border, she could try and barter her hairpin for a message to be sent to Minratheous, to call to her friend, to Malachai, the Chancellor she knew, to come get her. He ... he would take her in, wouldn't he? He would come get her, he would, she knew he would. He had taken her into his care before, and he would now too, she was sure of it -- but as the days drew on, a raven had begun to follow her, and then another, and then another. Soon they were so many following her that Isenam had taken to the air to scatter them away, to keep the black birds from bothering her on her forward advance.
She rode when she could, finding plants along the way she knew would feed her, at least she didn't think she'd starve, between Isenam bringing her birds and fish, and her own foraging, she .. she thought she'd survive well enough, and she did. She was hungry, but she knew she had to move north, had to keep ahead of the advance, had to make it across the Fields, she could skirt around the Silent Plains, and then on the other side of Nessum she would find the Imperial Highway. She knew she should have taken it the whole way, but that would have taken her straight through the middle of the Plains -- and that would have meant no water or food for however long it took her to get across. And she was no fighter. Better to keep to the grassy areas that allowed Isenam to protect her along the way, that kept the tired old mare under her going.
The bells rang in her ears as she skirted around what she knew was Nessum on the eighth day, one raven back, insistent, and cawing loudly from above as she tried to push for the Highway. She was tired, oh so tired, as they kept ringing, over and over, urging her to rush forward, to keep going.
The bells rang, and the raven cried. She cried too, most of the time.
On the eighth night, she made the Imperial Highway, and her tears had stopped. The horses hooves set a slow and steady cadence, as she held the cat and the book, the griffon walking beside them, and the raven crying overhead, almost like he was alerting someone, or something to where she was. She never did stop, to send a message, she had realized, as she had come across Vol Dorma, could see the Reaches in the distance. She knew where she was no, close to the sea, well inside Tevinter, a safe enough feeling that she kept riding into the night, listening as the raven would fly on ahead, no longer calling out, and then return some time later.
It was with one of those cries that she saw the rider on the road, heading towards her, a raven and wolf keeping strides, she had been being hunted, this entire time then.
So be it. Survive Blight to be killed so close to being safe.. she should have sent that message ahead.
Ophelia stopped her horse in the middle of the road, and slid down from the animal's back as she saw the rider draw nearer and nearer, the wolf peeling off and heading into the tree lines as Isenam put himself in front of her, the large male roaring as the horse broke free of her hold and took off into the night. She fussed at him, the griffon, trying to push him on, as she put the cat on his back, Go, run, you two run away, I've nothing they'd want to take.
The bells rang louder in her ears, as the raven landed nearby, calling louder, louder than before, louder than the whole flock had been as she dropped the book and pressed her hands over her ears to drown out the ringing, the calling, the roars and the sounds of hooves drawing ever closer.
And when the most of it stopped, the hooves stilled, the cawing gone, and the quite rumble of the griffon warning away a rider, the bells kept ringing. Make them stop!
The spies he had entrusted with her safety had been useless, nothing but weak-willed cowards who had let her slip through their fingers as Orlais fell to ruin. By the time word reached him, Ophelia had already vanished into the chaos, swallowed by the same darkness that had consumed so many others. A failure like that could not go unanswered—his anger had been swift and merciless. A few of those responsible still rotted in the dungeons, their backs striped raw from the flogging he had ordered, a warning to any who thought incompetence would be tolerated.
Yet punishment did not bring her back.
It was Malik who had done that. The shapeshifter had taken to the hunt without hesitation, slipping into the wilderness like a shadow, his ravens scouring the land for signs of her. Malachai had followed close behind, knowing it was only a matter of time before the trail led them to her. And now—finally—he had her in his sights.
She looked like a ghost of herself. Hollow-eyed, thin, the weight of loss pressing down on her shoulders. He should have felt relief, knowing she was alive. Instead, all he felt was cold. When they made it to the nearest village he would see she was cared for, bathed, clothed in better garments than the rags she now wore.
The gryphon was the first to react, stepping in front of her with a deep, rumbling growl, its massive wings shifting slightly, ready to strike. Malachai kept his movements slow as he reined in his horse, his sharp eyes flicking between the beast and the woman behind it. Questions came to mind, but for the moment his concern for her wellbeing outweighed the curious sight.
Easy now. Stand down, he murmured, though whether he meant it for himself, the gryphon, or the fury that still burned beneath his skin, even he wasn’t certain.
Dismounting, he landed with deliberate ease, gloved hands flexing at his sides. Ophelia was trembling, yet defiant, the book discarded at her feet, the raven perched too close for comfort. Malik had done his work well, but now the task fell to him.
Enough running, Little Dove, Malachai said, his voice quieter than the rage still curling in his gut. Reaching to his mask he slipped it down to his chin. You're coming with me. I’m here now. His approach was steady, eyes drifting between the beast and her small frame ready to back away if the gryphon decided he was foe and prey, not her waiting sanctuary. I’m here. I found you.
The bells where still ringing in her ears as she felt Isenam push against her, almost knocking her off her feet as she put her hands tighter over her ears. And maybe it was the authority in the tone that had the younger animal backing off, or the sudden howl from the side of the road, but Isenam went off after that howl, with a vengeance, disappearing into the tree line, as Malik did his job of making the woman easier to secure. The cat, however, stayed, curling itself around the woman's bare ankles from where her dress had been torn during her flight.
As for the woman herself, she finally was able to look up, to him, and not through him. The outstretched hand, and the soft words, even when she could physically feel the anger telegraphing off him, even at the distance, there was an authority in his bearing that she hadn't felt since the night they had found the murdered servant at the Archon's palace. It was familiar at least, familiar enough that it was recognizable.
And there was finally silence in her head, in her ears, the bells no longer were ringing.
You found me, she struggled out, somewhat in awe, mostly in reverence that he would come for her.
No, there was the quiet chirping of crickets, cicadas in the back ground, a source of water near by, the world was loud and boisterous, but it was.. quiet. For the first time since the bells had started to ring, she was left with the silence of just her own heart, and the creatures of the forest. When Mal pulled his mask down, to see the rest of his face, she relaxed, slightly, hands moving to brush over her wrecked robes. She must look an absolute mess, and no one would blame her for it, she tried to reassure herself, silently, as she choked down a quick breath, holding back the involuntary sob that was rising in her throat.
It's gone. They're gone. All of them.. Malachai, it's all gone. It wasn't hysterics that took her, it was the cold detachment of a scientist, finally taking over as she swallowed a few times, trying to keep that sob under wraps a while longer, her hands going to smooth her robes down gently, trying to get herself to look presentable, even if she knew, somewhere in the back of her head, knew that it wasn't something she needed to be worrying about at the time. The entire city, I, the driver got me as far as he could, gave me his horse, and then went back.. Rene.. Luce.. It was as far in as the University, and it moved quick so quick, I should have gone back in, I should have turned around to help too, but truth told she had been terrified in that moment. Botanist she was, the blight was ... death. And as that momentary terror seized her again, the sob finally broke free from her, anguished -- hastily composed mask crumbling as fast as it had been created. There was no hiding the terror those minutes had struck in her now, but the bells stayed silent. At least they were silent now.
Isenam forgotten for the moment, she forgot about the book, about the cat, about her bolting horse and sought out the comfort of him, closing the space left between them, face pressed into the familiar scent of him, the strong chest that was housed in clothes beneath her cheek. With the absence of the bells, she needed the sound of his heart beat, the steadiness there beneath her ear to help tell her that the world wasn't ending, not now, not for a while, but that this moment would wash over and pass eventually.
I knew you'd find me. Even when she had been questioning if he would have a place for her, she had the surety that he would come for her. She hadn't even needed to send a note, hadn't needed to make it all the way to Minrathous, he had come to find her. Later, when she had sleep, and a good meal, and was clean, she would examine that, but for now, there was nothing else in that moment than the grounding he offered -- through touch, through smell, through sound -- the world had gone a little side ways on her, there for a little while, but he was pulling her back, quickly, to her senses. She couldn't help the tremble that went through her, as she tried to compartmentalize as fast as possible, but it hurt. The sting of loss, the terror and the guilt, of nearly having died, and being a survivor eating at her. At least the guilt was familiar, survivors guilt was something she had experienced before, knew, intimately, knew how to compartmentalize it quickly, for her own sake.
The rest?
You're here. I'm safe now. It was more for herself, than for him, that she reminded herself of these things. She could stop running now. Malachai had found her.
Malachai caught her as she pressed into him, arms closing around her before she had the chance to collapse under the weight of her grief. She was trembling, exhaustion and sorrow threatening to pull her under, but he wasn’t about to let that happen. Not now.
Wordlessly, he lifted her from the ground, her weight slight in his arms, and carried her a few paces to a nearby rock, settling her there as if she were precious glass. His grip was firm, steady—something solid to hold onto in the midst of the storm still raging inside her. You did what you had to do, Ophelia, he murmured, his voice quieter now, no longer laced with the sharp edge of his earlier anger. You survived. You were brave. You did as your brothers instructed.
He took her wrist in his hand, fingers pressing lightly over the delicate skin there, feeling for the unsteady rhythm of her pulse. Too fast. She was dehydrated, her body running on the last shreds of energy she had left. With a quiet exhale, Mal nicked his finger with the edged ring, letting his magic flow into her, a steady warmth of blood magic easing through her veins, taking the worst of the edge off. It wasn’t much, just enough to dull the aches, enough to remind her body that it was safe now, but not enough to enrapture her mind under his will.
I have her, he sent through the link to Malik. We’ll make for the nearest village. She won’t last long in the saddle like this.
The acknowledgment came swift and wordless, a sense of understanding passed between them. The wolf, once slipping the gryphon’s pursuit would already melt into the darkness, scouting ahead for the best path.
Malachai pulled away just enough to shrug off his heavy cloak, the thick fabric still warm from his body as he draped it around her thin shoulders. It swallowed her up almost entirely, but he didn't care. She needed warmth. She needed something that smelled of familiarity, of comfort, of him.
You're safe, he said again, his voice softer this time. Not a command, not a demand—just a fact.
Then, without another word, he gathered her back into his arms, lifting her easily as he moved towards his horse. Hold on, I’ll be right behind you. He mounted smoothly, settling her in front of him, one arm securely around her waist as he took the reins with his free hand. The gryphon was still out there, somewhere, the cat and few belongings would be gathered by his subordinate, but for now, the priority was getting her to shelter.
Rest, he murmured, lips pressing softly against her ear, just for her. I’ve got you now.
And with that, he nudged the horse forward, carrying her away steadily until finding firmer ground he could urge the beast into a faster pace.
I left them, she breathed, the words feeling like glass in her mouth, the pain of the statement more than just mental anguish, it had slipped into physical pain that she had left so many people to probably die. She knew they were probably all dead, the logic in her mind knowing that there was no way for that many people to have escaped the city, especially with how quickly the blight had moved. But then the hunger and pain started to lift some, lessen, it allowed her to breathe easier, even as she started to feel the exhaustion of her flight start to take hold. He was right, she was safe, he was safety in this madness that was happening, and she realized belatedly, that she felt warm, her fingers going to grip the edge of the robe he had set about her.
The familiarity and the scent of him was enough to lull her into allowing him to handle her up onto the horse, in his arms.
The wolf had indeed, circled back around and gathered the woman's horse and the dropped book, driving them, and the still tailing griffon and cat following once the wolf had regained human form and used his magic to compel them to obey. Everything would be set for them, once they arrived to the village, a room already secured, a bath already drawn, and meal already delivered to the room. Eye's already signaled to send a carriage and appropriate clothing for the lady.
But Lia was aware of none of that.
All Lia was aware of was the warmth of his robe around her, the fabric draping around her as she settled into the saddle with him, head turning to rest on his shoulder, so she could close her eyes. The bells didn't ring when he was there. They weren't there in her mind even as her lips parted, in a relieved sigh, as his lips touched along the lobe of her ear. Another time, another circumstance, and she would have been begging him for that touch, for more touches. But there was too much exhaustion and sadness to think of anything really, except trying to stay awake long enough to be free of riding.
How did you find me? I'm assuming the birds were relaying messages.. Someone on his staff had to be adept in zomancy, she knew it, with as many cats as their Archon had, someone on his staff had to. She had read that some mages well enough versed could transfer their vision into another animal. She was fairly certain that's how that worked. If I fall asleep, you'll wake me, won't you? If something happens, you won't let me sleep through it? She was entirely certain that now he was there, that she would sleep through the end of the world if he allowed her to. She couldn't think about anything else. If she stopped to think about anything, she was going to drive herself back to the fear and upset and that wouldn't solve anything. All she needed right now was to get herself put back together properly and then she could take some time to be sad and upset, like when the attacks had happened all those years ago. She had taken a little while to be sad, only allowed herself so long, and then she stopped.
I'll be okay. You're here. I'll be fine. It was more for her, than him. Where are we heading?
The steady rhythm of the horse’s hooves filled the silence between them, the quiet hum of his magic still lacing through her veins as he held her against him. He had no certainty to offer her—no reports, no whispers from the Eyes that spoke of survivors. The Blight consumed without mercy, and Orlais… Orlais had already been teetering on the edge long before the first wave of darkness rolled in. By all accounts, she should not have made it out. The fact that she had was nothing short of a miracle.
But he wasn’t cruel enough to give her the truth. Not now. Not while she trembled in his arms, clinging to the sound of his heartbeat like it was the only thing keeping her from shattering.
Nothing is certain, he said finally, his voice low but steady. Not every variable can be accounted for. The Blight isn’t reasonable, and escape—no matter how well planned—never goes smoothly in such chaos. He tightened his grip on her waist, his thumb brushing softly against her side. If you made it out, others may have as well.
It wasn’t a lie. Not really. There was always a chance—however slim—that someone else had survived. And if that fragile thread of hope was the only thing keeping her from breaking completely, he would give it to her without question.
The warmth of her body against him was too light, too fragile, and it pulled at something in him—a cold, unfamiliar ache he didn’t often let himself feel. He wanted her safe. Truly safe. And yet, the moment he’d found her, crumpled and exhausted in the road, a knot of rage had twisted itself tight in his chest. Not at her—but at everything and everyone that had failed her. His spies. The fools who let her slip through their grasp. The gods-damned Blight itself. There would be a reckoning of some sort. Soon.
But not tonight.
Yes, well, he murmured, his tone shifting to something lighter, teasing, I’m not Chancellor of the Psychic—otherwise, I’d have stolen you sooner.
A smile would be a small victory.
Her fear of sleep hummed through the blood-link, sharp and raw despite her brave words. Malachai let his magic pulse deeper, weaving a thread of calm through her frayed nerves. His power curled warm and protective around the fragile edges of her mind, reinforcing the promise in his words.
You will rest tonight, he assured her, pressing his influence just enough to anchor her further. I’ll make sure of it. It’s not far now. Once we reach the village, I’ll have you better situated. I will tend to you—you’ve had enough adventure for a while. You’re grounded, Little Dove.
His lips brushed against the crown of her head, a touch that was both reassuring and possessive. She was his to protect now. No one would touch her. No one would take her.
He urged the horse into a quicker pace, the beast’s muscles bunching beneath them as the scent of woodsmoke began to drift on the night air. He kept talking, if only to gauge how she was faring.
When the village lights finally flickered into view, Malachai wasted no time. He brought the horse to a halt just outside the waiting inn, and with the ease of a man who had done this many times before, he slid from the saddle—taking her with him. Adjusting his cloak to wrap her up, shielding her from prying eyes, Mal pressed her face into the now-damp fabric of his shirt. The heat of the ride clung to him, breath hot against the cooler night air and the door to the inn swung open silently. One of his Eyes stood waiting, their posture rigid with respect. No words passed between them; there was no need. Everything had already been carefully arranged.
Malachai crossed the threshold with her still tucked against his chest, sparing only a brief glance to confirm the final orders of the night before the door shut behind them with quiet finality.
The rooms were small but warm—lit by the flicker of firelight, the scent of fresh bread and herbs filling the air. A bath steamed gently in the corner, the water faintly shimmering with the magic Malik had undoubtedly woven into it.
He moved to the couch first, settling her down with a gentleness no one outside of this room would ever suspect him capable of. No one will disturb your rest, he promised, kneeling beside her as he brushed a stray lock of hair from her face. Not while I’m here.
His expression softened into a wicked, teasing smile as his eyes swept over her ruined robes. Let’s get you… well, not comfortable, but at least fed and smelling better.
