Up From Ashes

A story of loss and love set in the Dragon Age world of Thedas which is the property of Bioware Inc.

Up From Ashes

I have no recollection of how long I lay by the ashes of my love. Her pyre had consumed her body, a body in which I had found joy, rest, and love.

Her spirit had passed through the veil to what end no one could say. All the priests said her soul would sit by the Maker's side, but my faith in him had died with the death of my love.

"Why did you do it? Emma ir abelas, I am filled with sorrow." I cried into the night.

I sang the dirge, tears raining wet down my cheeks her armor clutched to my breasts. I could not commit it to the pyre; it still had her scent. I had slept with it for two nights now, hoping death would claim me. I set no watch, burned no fire if the creatures of the wild wanted my useless flesh; it was theirs for the taking.

"It should have been me, my love; why?" My constant refrain.

I could not recall the lover's lament in Elven, but at night in common, I sang, "Come swiftly sweet death, drink deep my life's blood for you have taken my heart, my soul."

On the third night, my dreams were as usual of her, of our life together, her rescue of my useless self after the attack, my broken body amongst the dead. Her beautiful face filled with sorrow, her powerful arms lifting me to put my body on the pyre, only to find my breath cloud her silverite mail. Her unbridled joy at finding life within a field of death. My bruised and swollen eyes barely able to open, only to find a vision of love and compassion framed by a sea of raven-black locks. Her deep sea-grey eyes possessed wisdom beyond the wit of man and pearl white teeth in a smile of joy at the finding a poor human child still living among the dead.

I was blessed.

Many of her Elven kind would have tossed my broken body on the pyre, breath or no, and with good reason. My kind, we humans, had destroyed and despoiled Arlathan, her capital and nation out of greed, spite, and jealousy. Raped and burned our way through an ancient land we had not cleverness to comprehend nor compassion to spare. Arlathan had fallen long ago, leaving a remnant of a remnant to wander the land and eke out a living on our mean scraps.

Yet an ancient of ancients, an Emerald Knight of the People of the Great Wood, had stopped to mark the broken body of a human child and to take her as her own. To heal her, teach her, see her grown to a woman.

I was blessed.

The hours I had spent, fingers entwined in her midnight black hair, driven from peak to peak by her careful and gentle love. My desperate efforts to bring her the joy she had given me, to feel her shudders, to drink her nectar, to please her if only to return a sliver of the pleasure she had given me. I would be content.

Now, all gone, consumed by flame, now ash, the ashes of my beloved.

"Get up, my love." A whisper in my dreams, disturbed by her sweet voice, "Get up, emma vhennen, my heart, you must run to save another and all our sisters."

I woke from fitful sleep. I had heard her words, but that could not be? My heart told me it was; my wit told me impossible she is ash now, her beautiful soul sits and waits for me with the Maker, if at all.

Next, I find myself, in her armor, fleeing south along a road I did not know, her daggers across my back. What drove me, I could not say, but drive me, it did. Heedless of danger, through river, or over stream, along the road, through grasses and fields we passed, her steed and I. Past all endurance, by my will alone, the beast drove on, past pain, even to bitter death it raced unceasing.

By her screams, I knew. My nightmare played behind my eyes, my memories of beasts on two legs, raping, killing, leaving a younger me for dead.

"Though death takes me to my love, this will not stand." My whispered vow to the passing night.

Reins in bared teeth, daggers in hand, I burst upon them, bastards bent to cruelty, I broke upon them like waves of a raging sea.

No blades woman am I, no practitioner of the dance, but I loved one who was; 'twas my privilege to enjoy both her gentle tutoring in love and death dealing dance.

In my hands were blades forged by the ancient magical smiths of Arlathan, formed by a marriage of silverite and red steel, adorned with runes now known only by a few, their names writ in flame and magic—Sorrow and Regret.

I danced the dance of blades taught me by my mistress and my love; I wept for the longing for just one more lesson. I am but a student of the dance, not like she whom I loved. To watch her dance was to see perfection, but I gave my all to make her proud, and my all was enough. None of the brigand's blades could touch me, no mace could fall, I danced, and they died.

One by one, they passed the veil to find darkness and the abyss. One by one, they tasted Sorrow or choked upon Regret. Till at last the final blow, the killing stroke fell upon the leader, a beastly brute found Regret buried in his skull as I drew Sorrow across his throat. It was done.

Glancing around, I noted her guard's broken and bloodied bodies and the few dead brigands I had not dispatched. Clearly, an ambush, one so effective her tiny retinue had little chance, 'twas miracle I happened to find her, for a miracle, it must be, if a faulty one.

I thought my errand a failure when I saw the small body lying curled as if a babe. I cleansed Sorrow and Regret on the tunic of the brute, respect for my love demanded it, and returned them to their scabbards; I was in no hurry to find the child dead and thus underline my failure. My pulse quickened, as did my pace when I perceived her movements.

I thought a child, petite with long raven black hair, harkened to the one I mourned so much, and as I approached, the delicate point of ears through the forest of midnight black brought the comparison into focus. I found myself running then kneeling beside the girl child, for clearly a girl she was for no boy would have that delicacy of form or that cut of shape.

I gently searched her back for injury, finding none; I turned her as tenderly as I might, being ever mindful of my own early life.

A pained moan escaped her lips, but I found there no severe wound either; I had not wholly failed.

"We must get you away, little one; rest now as you can." I would have had us away, putting safe miles behind us, but our mount was spent, and I had a desire to offer what I could to the noble fallen. I searched the others for survivors, finding none except among the brigands, using my boot knife to ensure the death of those who were thieves and murderers; they deserved no better.

While mount and charge rested, I searched for means to give respect to the dead. Whether by chance, luck, or providence, I found a short way off, a goodly supply of cut and dressed wood, likely from a hunting camp. I would send her guards back to the Maker decently, and as their pyre burned, I despoiled the brigands, then left them to the wolves.

I took time to tend to the girl; although uninjured, the ordeal had exhausted the child. I sought to ensure she was indeed unhurt; during my labors, she had taken drink and some of the dried fruit and waybread I had left for her. I had no meat, that would have to come on the road, I had no time to hunt, and we had need of haste; the pyre would attract attention.

"Are you injured, child?" I asked as I knelt beside her.

"I am no child, human; I am small, that is all." She was indeed small, but the ferocity of her eyes let me know she had strength enough to challenge kings.

"Your pardon, miss. I meant no offense, are you injured?" I asked; others might have laughed at her strength, but I had experience with the Elven folk and knew the depth of that power. I wished not to challenge her. She shook her head no.

"Then we must away, lest more of your suitors come to dance." I smiled at her, hoping she appreciated my jest. Though she returned the smile, she said. "Of such suitors, I have no need. My love, she awaits me in Val Royeaux; however, if you have wish to dance, perhaps we may find some time before we attain the city."

I laughed, "I would not presume upon you, or your lady loves affections." I leaned into her ear, "For I am not a man and have some control." She giggled, which made my heart warm for the first time in days.

I lifted her to the saddle, but took a moment to whisper to our mount.

"Sweet one, I wish I could have managed your true-name, but please, please bear us to safety as swiftly as you will." Our mount seemed to understand; I could never get my tongue 'round the name our Mistress found for her, though try as I may, oft it brought nickers and roars of laughter, as well as a pout from myself for my efforts. Soft kisses on my neck invariably repaired my mood.

Our mount was of the breed favored by the ancient elves. She was not so stout as the horses preferred by the knights of men, but she was more vigorous and more graceful, with a heart beyond any mount of men. Her hooves pounded on, though she was weary. I had tried to explain our cause, but my Elven was not up to the task; she nickered and nodded her beautiful head, her scarlet mane flowing, a color we shared. My beloved often braided it once upon a time, the horse's mane as well as mine; my heart ached so at the memory.

On and on her hooves pounded it was 120 leagues to Val Royeaux, the capital of the Empire and safety.

We rested by night, and I bagged a small rabbit. A snare works better than a bow often, and a few fish for breakfast.

"Do you know why you were attacked?" I asked, wishing to find some conversation. It had been a quiet ride.

"My love seeks change, to change the hearts of men and to bring love back to the Chantry, for the Maker is love." She looked despondently into the fire. "But there are those who fear this change, and would use her love for me against her. I fear the brigands were their men, to force my love to stay the old hateful course banishing those like us," her eyes knowingly glancing at me. "Back into the shadows, away from the light."

At that moment, like lightning from a clear blue sky, I knew. "You are the consort of the newly elected Divine!" The name of the new Divine was a secret, but she would take her place on the Sun Burst Throne within days and begin her reign. The Empress would attend the ceremony, as well as representatives from the Five Nations! Her ascension speech would define her goals for her reign.

"Maker, what have I gotten myself into?" I must have looked terrified or shocked or dumbfounded or all of them in a stew.

"Change my dear woman, change." The raven-haired beauty told me as she curled up to sleep, "Change." And with a yawn, she slept as I began yet another watch.

"You are doing well, my love." I shook myself awake; I must have dozed. 'Tis impossible for one to ride from dawn to dusk, then sit watch from dusk till dawn. The yellow moon crept over the horizon in the west as the white moon descended in the east, racing in their never-ending chase.

"Alas, I am not my love; she had managed both so many times." My eyes were a water, so heavy. "I watch over you, my love."

I started awake as the sun rose. "Damn my weakness!" I was angry, failing yet again.

My companion looked radiant even after sleeping rough; I wondered how elves did that.

"You were fine..." She apprehended her disadvantage. "What is your name?"

"Serrada," responded I, not knowing how to address the young woman, "your grace?"

That brought a burst of laughter worthy of a great comedy. "No, no, not yet, at least." She became grave, "perhaps never if we do not make Val Royeaux soon."

"My Elven name is Da'vhenan," she said with an expression of mock severity, waiting to see if I understood.

I knew it meant little heart, but her inflection was different; I suspected it meant something closer to emma lath, my love or lover, Elven, was a mess if you could not manage the inflections. Hence my utter failure with our horse's name. Obviously, I don't have the ears for it.

"However, for your benefit and public consumption, I suggest my common name," and with a great flourish and a pirouette, "Pixie."

She then curtsied so sweetly.

I immediately stood as tall as I could, bowed as any good gentle lady should, "My pleasure Miss Pixie," and looking up from my bow, adding with a grin, "your grace."

She laughed; it was a beautiful sound.

"We need to put leagues behind us," I added, being an uncanny observer of the obvious.

Our journey continued much as this, two more nights, and then the capital if we continued at this pace. Our horse was brilliant in her efforts, never wavering and never objecting.

I have given up trying to keep watch, leaving to fate our nights. It would not do for me to fall asleep in the saddle and bring us both to the ground in my exhaustion. Besides, I was sure that we were being watched over; I did not know how or why, but I slept well. Until the last night before the city gates.

My dreams were of my love and our final battle. She was fighting for her life against overwhelming odds, and as I had seen countless times before, she was prevailing. She would dance to a song only she could hear, music played by an orchestra long gone in the rubble of Arlathan but preserved in her dance.

My bow aiding as I was able, but indeed of no true value. I, as usual, perched like a bird in a tree to be a lookout for more guests and to keep safe. That is when fate dealt us both a cruel turn, my branch broke.

I fell, hitting the ground, my bow broken, arrows scattered, and worse, close to two of our foes. I could see my end coming when suddenly my love was upon my attackers; her fury could not be withstood, but as the last of them was cut down, he landed a unlucky blow before his death. My love, she bore a mortal wound.

"My sweet Serrada, you have given me love," my love whispered to me, with bloody lips as I held her, "you must go on, for me, my love, I will wait for you. I promise this." She fought for breath now, my tears falling like rain, "I love you." Those were my loves last words, and my heart died with her.

I awoke with a scream of her name, which brought Pixie to waking. I suddenly found myself enveloped in her arms; her night shift clung so well; she was so warm.

"Tell me, Serrada, tell me of your love." Pixie's face was grave but kind and loving.

I emptied my heart of my tale of woe, and she held me while I wept. She whispered gentle kindness as I sobbed for a woman now gone less than a fortnight.

Her sweet lips whisking away the tears that I could not stop.

"Shhhh, Sweet Serrada." Her whispers interspersed with kisses to my tear-stained cheeks, some just brushing my lips as she passed between flowing rivers. "Not all tears are without merit, you mourn the one who loved you best."

She was suddenly behind me, her sweet arms enveloping me as best she could, her head nestled at the back of my neck, my weakness. Her warmth upon my back, her breasts, her nipples hot in their touch to my night air chilled back, threatened to ignite my flame, to my shame.

"Pixie, do you recall my saying I had some control?" I rasped, my shame coloring my cheeks the hue of flame. I felt her head nod as her voice affirmed.

"Yes, I do, my sweet." Her voice a whisper in my ear, her fiery breath a torch upon my neck.

I could have happily taken her to my bed; petite though she be, another might have thought her a child, but woe unto those with the cancer of the soul which caused them to seek such a child. They would have found a lioness and swift exit from this mortal coil.

"Pixie, you test that control. I am not made of stone!" My body burned for the one who held me. Such a fire I had never known, save the one who taught me.

"Shhh, my sweet. There is no shame in the sharing of pleasure while honoring those who have gone." Her sweet lips found their mark, the nape of my neck, my weakest point. Her small but knowing hands found their marks as well, though their targets were more apparent in making their presence know.

The moan that escaped my lips as her lips tore through my thin armor, leaving me but a thread.

"But what of your love, sweet Pixie, do we not betray her? My love is gone to ash, but yours still lives." My desire to be true to my love now but smoke in the wind, but I held fast to it. My eyes closed as she played my strings, as only my love had done, notes of sweet rapture leaving my ragged lips.

Pixie only laughed, a sound like tiny crystal bells to my ears, a beauty of composition I could not describe.

"Oh, noble heart, my love knows me well, my heart belongs to her, which she also knows well." She kissed down my shoulder, to find that other secret spot, to nip her teeth, lightly gripping the muscle that caps that place.

"She would bid me soothe your pain, to bring you peace, and tender touch." Her words whispered. I thought them true but still I held that thread as a sailor would hold a line, though her lips my right shoulder caressed.

'Twas then my left, the kiss of ethereal lips trailed up my shoulder as sweet as honey on lips, a whisper I heard on my left it greeted soft like smoke from a candle. "She means her words, my love, enjoy and think of me." My love's soft voice I heard, and the line broke.

In swift movement, my arm caught up sweet Pixie to her laughter, as light as a feather she seemed. The light from the dying fire shown through her shift and I saw the shadow of the form that awaited me. With hunger I took her lips with mine, all hesitation gone, I drove my need into my lips and then to hers. Pressing hard without injury, I wanted her to know how much my need had grown; her moan released through our parting lips told me she knew.

Having never known the ardor of a man, having known the better from youth, but such was my need, I perceived I was as a young man with a maiden for fear of losing his seed. I nearly tore her shift from her and did my own. I cared not; I had armor, and sleeping nude suited me then. I looked upon the gift given me by this beautiful creature whose life I had saved, and that errand of life saving had saved mine.

A fool might look upon her and think her stature belied an innocence of youth, but such a fool would not have noticed the hunger within her eyes, or the skills of her lips. It was clear who was the innocent here; it was not she.

Her delicate hands worked my hungry breasts as if they were the finest of clays, I always thought them over generous for the task, but neither she nor my lady love seemed displeased, and her lips were making the sweetest music with their peaks now extended to the point of pain. The notes she played upon them running the length of my person to the center of my need and the springs that need would release.

I heard a woman crying and singing a sweet song of desire and lust, but was astonished it was my voice that greeted me.

I had to taste her; it was a demand of my body I would not deny. I gently lifted her chin. "You have saved me from my despair now you must save me from the forest fire you have ignited. I thirst for you."

Without warning, I caught up the sweet morsel of womanly charms and lifted her to my shoulders. She was as a feather in the wind to my arms. I lifted her like a wineskin, tipping my head back to the drink. I wished to drink and drink I did, for she did not disappoint. Her nectar was worthy of the Empresses table. My avaricious mouth would not let go until I had had the last drop. My tongue explored, searched to make room, it demanded entry to the secret places where she kept her supply; it strove and roamed it mined it drilled until she screamed her release and she rewarded me with newfound delights but still not enough to slake my thirst.