Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

“I’m not going to ask again.”

“We both know you will, and I keep telling you, I have no idea what’s going on!”

Leliana's eyes narrowed at the woman sitting in front of her. Next to her, Cassandra scoffs.

“This is getting us nowhere,” The warrior woman snarls. Leliana sensed what was about to happen next and she spared a glance at her fellow Hand.

“Cassandra…” she warned.

And just as she expected, Cassandra draws her sword and points it at their prisoner’s face, the tip just level with her throat. “Tell us what we want to know, or I swear I’ll run you through and be done with it!”

“Are you fucking insane?” The prisoner screeched, rearing back as much as her bonds would allow. “Put that thing away before you actually kill someone, you crazy bitch!”

Leliana huffed silently through her nose, studying the woman they interrogated, pointedly ignoring the overwhelming sense of deja vu. Loathe as she was to admit, the woman was quite the enigma. Another rift had opened just outside of Haven, and out she popped in clothes unlike anyone had ever seen. When she’d been found by their newly appointed elven Herald and the rest of her party, said woman had immediately been on the defensive, belligerent enough to cause suspicion. Eyes had wandered toward the Herald once more, and whisperings had begun of secret societies and demon cults from the Fade sent to destroy them, so naturally, Leliana decided that it was time to investigate.

She’d sent scouts to survey the site and try to find any leads.

They hadn’t.

She sent more spies across Thedas to find any semblance of connection to this woman.

They’d found absolutely nothing.

The woman had adamantly refused to tell them her name, or anything about her, and Leliana was only slightly impressed at how tight-lipped she was being despite her very obvious terror.

Said terror made her quite chatty, evidently. The irony was not lost on Leliana.

“I don’t know what kind of weird reenactment or larping—“ Odd word, thought Leliana. Foreign, perhaps, Tevene? No, the suffix wasn’t right. “—cult you freaks are running here, but I’m telling you right now I didn’t sign up, and I want out!”

“Cult?” Cassandra spat in outraged offense. “Do you value your life so little?”

The woman sneered, looking at Cassandra with a derisive look on her face one might wear when they saw questionable behavior on a public street. “Clearly not as little as you do, with the way you’re wasting it with this ridiculousness—”

“How dare you—“

“Enough,” Leliana put a gentle hand on Cassandra’s arm. “Perhaps we should try a different approach, Cassandra.”

The woman glared, but still sheathed her sword and took a step back. Leliana smiled at her. Trust was nice.

Turning her expression into a neutral mask, Leliana faced the woman, studying her. She was met with a very fierce and very obviously scared glare. No stranger to posturing, this one.

She was an oddity to be sure: She looked to be at least in her twenties, but her cheeks were round and her skin was smooth and clear of blemishes, no freckles or ruddy sun marks—nobility, perhaps? That would explain the haughty, on-airs behavior. Dark skin, dark eyes, dark hair, and straight white teeth. If it weren’t for her clothes, she could be mistaken for any normal person.

But she wasn’t a normal person. She had a manner of speaking that Leliana had never heard before, an accent she couldn’t place. Her clothes had bits of metal in places that served no thinkable purpose other than to secure them on her person. And she had fallen out of a rift.

“Are you a spirit?”

The woman blinked, dumbfounded. “What?”

“A spirit. Denizen of the Fade. Or a demon, perhaps.”

“What in God’s name—” Also odd. A strange thing to call the Maker. “You can’t be fucking serious right now. Did you weirdos listen to a single word I said? How brainwashed into this fantasy are you people?”

Leliana raised an eyebrow. “Where do you think you are right now?”

“A fucking cult settlement in the mountains, and I’m telling you right now, I don’t want any part of this shit, you hear me? Whatever you’re selling, I’m not having it!”

Leliana’s lips pursed.

“Enough of this, Leliana,” Cassandra pleaded. “Get one of your interrogators to deal with her, we have important matters to attend to.”

That seemed to catch the prisoner’s attention. The kneeling woman didn’t say anything further, but she may as well have screamed at the top of her lungs with the way her posture grew rigid and her eyes widened.

Cassandra picked up on this too. “Don’t like that idea, I see. Then perhaps you’ll be more forthcoming with your information on the rifts and the Breach.”

The prisoner straightened her back and defiantly raised her chin, but it did nothing to hide from Leliana the waver in her voice, or the sudden flux of tears in her eyes that she refused to let fall with a series of sharp blinks. She inhaled sharply through her nose. “I don’t know what those are, okay? Look, please, if it’s secrecy you want, I won’t tell anyone you’re here, just let me go. I just want to go home.”

Now they were getting somewhere. It was always easier when they began to bargain. “And where is home?” Leliana asked. “Perhaps we can send word to your family, send you back with an escort.”

The prisoner’s face contorted quite indignantly. “So you can find out where I live and keep tabs on me? Fuck no!”

Leliana raised an eyebrow and couldn’t help the little smirk that slid over her mouth. Smarter than she looks.

“Come, Cassandra,” she called her friend. “Let’s discuss this elsewhere.”

And when they shut the door to the cell, Leliana pretended not to notice the immediate rattling of the chains, indicative of the woman’s intent to escape.

As she ascended the steps of the Chantry dungeon and into the main hall, Cassandra made a noise of disgust. “A waste of time.”

“Perhaps not, at least we know something now.”

Cassandra spared her a glance. “Which is?”

Leliana smiled. “We know less than nothing.”

“Hilarious.”

“Do you think you could send for the Herald?” At Cassandra’s quizzical look Leliana explained. “We might be able to kill two birds with one stone here: jog Lavellan’s memory as well as glean any sort of information we can from their possible reunion. It can’t be a coincidence that the two of them arrived here by the same way of travel.” Cassandra didn’t look convinced. Leliana prodded gently. “It’s worth a try.”

“Our prisoner is human, Leliana. I have doubts the Herald will take very kindly to her.”

“What other options do we have?”

Cassandra clicked her teeth in frustration. Then she gave the order to a nearby scout.

“Fetch the Herald. Escort him to the Chantry at once.”

Winona was shaking. Not just shaking, practically vibrating like cracked glass just barely holding on from falling completely to pieces.

Where the hell was she? Who the hell were these people? What the hell is going on?

The minute the two cosplayers exit the room, she began to struggle violently.

“Stupid—” the bullshit medieval handcuffs stuck fast to her wrists. “Fucking—” She stood up, swaying precariously due her center of gravity fucking ruined by the heavy chains and wood. She grit her teeth.

“C’mon, c’mon,” she grit out to herself. Pep talks. “It’s either broken wrists or a broken everywhere else, c’mon!”

With that, and with a running start, she aimed the edge of the rectangular cuffs toward a pointy part of the stone wall, let out a furious roar…

And immediately regretted her life choices.

“Ow! Ow, ow, ow, fucking shit, god dammit!” Winona nursed her most likely bruised up—and still tightly cuffed—wrists closer to her person. “Okay, okay, shit, fuck. Let’s try squeezing, you got these tiny hands, double joints! Maybe I can…”

She twisted. Her wrists were held firm, and the cuffs had no give.

Winona scanned the room, not quite willing to give up hope of escape just yet. Dark. Damp. The only way in was the barred cell door, and beyond that was a one-way hallway. No windows, no ceiling.

She was trapped. Trapped and handcuffed in this motherfuckin’ cave with absolutely deranged probably-cultists who were going to torture her for information she didn’t have.

Winona let out a frustrated shriek that echoed across the stone hall, sliding helplessly down to sit. The stone was cold against her leggings, dampness seeping through.

“Fuck,” she sobbed, burying her face in her arms, her cuffed hands hanging uselessly over her raised knees. “Fuck, fuck!” Her mind was static, her mouth felt thick, fuzzy, was she breathing? Was she holding her breath? Either way her heart pumped overtime and she grit her teeth. She was going to throw up, cry, maybe both and she was going to get absolutely maimed with no chance of—

“Are all shem women this bloody vulgar?”

That was a new voice.

Winona looked up, not caring about the redness of her eyes or the wetness on her cheeks. She hadn’t even heard the cell door open.

A man stood there. Lean, built like a swimmer. Black hair, dark eyes, and tattoos all over his face, dressed in clothes just as weird as everyone else.

And he was looking at her like she was a rung below the roach he probably stepped on the way here.

You know what, fuck this and FUCK him. If I’m going to die, I’m going to make everyone’s lives here as miserable as possible on my way out.

Winona refused to sniff or sob or show absolutely any weakness to this asshole.

“If you’re here to torture me, get it the fuck over with. But it’ll all be the same as before, and if you think I’m gonna come along quietly, I swear on God you’re going to regret your life choices.”

The man raised a sardonic eyebrow, the picture of disdain. “God? Is that what you people call your precious Maker these days?”

Winona didn’t even deign to answer and instead stood up, swaying a little less this time (weird he didn’t try to stop her, but who cared?), and looked him dead in the eye.

Then she took in a deep breath and screamed at the top of her lungs.

“Fenedhis!” The man’s reaction was instantaneous and he clapped his hands over his ears, doubling over and looking very much in pain. Good. Winona was always known for being loud, and a place like this would echo off the charts.

And she knew it.

“Stop, stop, damn you!” The man cried in his stupid fucking British accent. “I’m not here to hurt you, just stop!”

Winona stopped.

The man was stunned by the sudden silence and looked at her askance, his face screwed up in residual pain and utter bafflement. He slowly moved his hands away from his ears, and Winona caught something.

Are they pointed? Fucking weirdo.

Then Winona took another breath and shrieked even louder.

“Bloody—” Before Winona could blink, he was on her, pinning her to the wall and clapping a hand over her mouth. Now? Now he looked pissed.

“If you think to deafen me with your unholy screeching, you’re sorely mistaken, woman.” He hissed. “Now kindly shut your—ugh!” He pulled his hand away to disengage from where Winona sunk her teeth into his flesh. “You bloody—ow!” Again, he doubled over, though this time courtesy of her wooden cuffs being slammed into his abdomen.

“Forget this,” he gasped angrily. Before Winona could take two steps toward the open cell door she found herself pinned to the wall again, this time face first against the stone with a hand on her neck, preventing her from moving.

Winona writhed in his grip. “Let go, you LARPing basement freak!”

“Clearly, this is going nowhere. Leliana will be disappointed, but at this point, I don’t much care.” Winona kept struggling until she was smacked again against the wall, and she hissed in pain, feeling the scrape of rock absolutely decimating her soft cheek. She struggled still, but stilled when his smooth, deep and freaking British voice said lowly into her ear.

“This will certainly hurt you more than it will hurt me. In fact, I think I’m going to enjoy it.”

There was a hard hit on her neck and everything went black.

Leliana waited for the Herald to return, not far from the dungeon entrance. His footsteps approached with most haste, and Lavellan was angrily rubbing his no doubt ringing ears.

“Well?” She asked.

Lavellan glared at her. “I’ve never seen her before in my life, and I’d be very glad not to in the near future. Bloody harpy,” he muttered, rudely pushing Leliana aside to get through the door. “She is unconscious on the floor.”

Leliana pursed her lips. Perhaps…

She watched the elf stomp up the stairs toward the Chantry. “Out of my way, if you please,” he growled to some poor Chantry sister.

Leliana sighed. Perhaps not. One thing was for certain, at least: the prisoner had no connection to one Malvir Lavellan.

Though from their conversation, she’d at the very least gained some interesting information.

Interesting indeed.