Chapter Text
“Take Alyssa and go hide in cliffs. If I don’t come for you by the morning, head for crossroads where the chantry mother is helping the other refugees.”
“But Anna--”
“No buts! Go, now!”
Thrusting the sleeping blonde toddler into the eight year-old’s hands, the dark-haired woman hurriedly put the emergency pack onto his back and pushed him out the back door of the hut as the sounds of the templars grew closer.
She was scared, terrified, to face the approaching warriors, but was even more afraid of what they might do to the children. There was no way of knowing if these templars kept to their oaths or were another band of rogues, similar to the ones who had killed Taril’s parents. Anna refused to take the risk.
“We know you’re in there, mage!” A voice hollered, dripping with disdain. “You’re surrounded!”
Taking a few deep breaths, Anna forced herself to step into the doorway of her tiny, make-shift shack, pulling back the fabric that acted as a door and keeping her hands up. “I’m not a mage,” she replied back in the calmest voice she could muster. “Just a refugee. Search my hut; there are no staffs or potions or any magical items. Take whatever you wish--”
“You don’t sound Fereldin,” another templar snapped, drawing near with his sword and shield drawn. Half of Anna’s mind screamed at her to fight, while the other screamed for her to run. However, if Anna ran now, they might still be able to catch up with Taril and Aryssa after cutting her down. She needed to buy more time.
“I’m not,” she replied truthfully, hoping the fear in her voice added legitimacy to her story. “I’m a fabric merchant from the Free Marches,” she lied, keeping her hands in front of her and visible to the templars. “My caravan was attacked by mages two months ago. I have no means of getting home. Please, take what you want but don’t hurt me.”
The approaching templar levelled his blade at her, the tip mere millimeters from her throat. “I don’t buy it. Search the dwelling; regardless of the truth of her story, we’ll use it for shelter for now.”
Anger and indignation flared at the men so brazenly taking the dwelling she had built for herself and the children over the past months, but she was careful to mind her expression and bite her tongue as three more templars pushed past her and began ransacking the hovel. Anna knew their search would only yield a few books about Fereldin geography, one elvish book, some dried meat, and blankets; only what was necessary to corroborate her story.
The next few moments were a blur. There was yelling, then swords clashing as a new group approached, bearing an insignia Anna didn’t recognize. She didn’t waste time observing the newcomers; as soon as the templar before her was distracted, the woman dove out of reach of his blade and scrambled to her feet. On instinct, she made to flee, when the sound of her name made her freeze.
“Anna! Over here!” Came Taril’s young voice from the same direction as the newcomers. But why was the child there? He should have reached their emergency cave by now!
Looking to the direction the voice came, the pause was long enough for one of the other templars to run his sword through her chest. Piercing white, hot pain exploded above her left breast as she toppled backwards from the force of the attack.
Was this it? After evading death so many times this past year, had the Maker determined that now her time was up? What would happen to Taril and Aryssa? Would these newcomers look at the children or leave the youngsters to fend for themselves?
It hurt so much to breath as she tried to bring her hand up to the bleeding wound. Had the blade struck her heart? Did it take this long to bleed-out? Or was time slowing down, like descriptions in stories always said happened?
Lips moving in confused mumblings, Anna tried to remember what she was supposed to do, but her mind was so hazy from the pain that everything was a blur. Suddenly, she clearly heard the sound of screaming. It took a moment before she realized it was coming from her as healing magic began infusing itself in her tissue, trying to repair the damage that had been done.
Lifting a bloodied hand to her mouth to muffle the sound, she noticed the elf above her for the first time, frowning down at her in concentration. Next to him was Taril’s face, lit with fear and worry as he held the still-sleeping toddler.
Precious seconds ticked away before the pain finally subsided and the elf sat back.
“There,” he turned to Taril with a kind smile. “The blade missed her heart and I was able to heal the wound. She will be fine now.”
The child looked from his older kin back down to Anna with apprehension, as though not sure whether to believe him.
“I’m alright Taril,” the woman grimaced and sat herself up, then looked at the strange man. “Thank you…” Glancing around further, the rest of the newcomers made her frown hard in confusion: two warriors, one male and one female, and a dwarf were the only ones left standing after the altercation. “If you are bandits, we have no coin and our food supply is almost exhausted. We have nothing of value.”
“We are not bandits,” the female warrior replied in an accent Anna had not heard for a very long time. “We are with the Inquisition.”