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Maraas groaned as she pressed her nose deep enough into her pillow that she was able to feel the mattress underneath. The entire trip back from Redcliffe had been horrible. She hadn’t slept since coming back to their current time. Every time she closed her eyes she saw Leiliana emaciated and tortured, cells filled with red lyrium that had once been people, had once been her friends, Varric and Cassandra with dead eyes as creatures burst through towering doors. A dark future tainted with red lyrium and evil. She groaned again and blinked back tears. She was not going to cry, not again. She’d spent too long in her tent at night on the way back quietly crying and trying to figure out how to feel better. To make matters worse, apparently Leiliana hadn’t made her age common knowledge and now everyone was freaking out! Cassandra wouldn’t stop fussing the entire time, treating her like a child! She could feel Dorian and Varric watching her as well but not nearly as close. She hoped that once they got back to Haven, but news spread quickly, especially when it was about the damn Herald of Andraste .
She was a tall Qunari, she could see where they would mistake her for older than she really was, but it angered her that they all acted as if it were the end of the world. Half of her companions didn’t even know her first name! The whole world was falling apart, there really wasn’t time for ‘get to know you’ games. Now she wasn’t only just exhausted, but also had to deal with the gossip. She didn’t think it would be as bad as when she had first been called the Herald - which she still fought with a passion - but no, it was worse. People weren’t even subtle about it. She could hear people talking about it on the other side of the wall in her cabin.
“Have you heard?”
“About what?”
“The Herald. Apparently she’s like twelve.”
“No!”
“The Chancellor is in a fuss. Apparently no one else knew, he wants to send the Herald to Val Royeaux for questioning.”
“But isn’t the Chantry kind of disjointed?”
“Yea, but who wants a kid leading people around? Especially an oxman.”
Maraas sighed and sat up, knowing sleep would elude her for the time being. Great, now she was back to being the “dirty oxman” but now she was considered an infant as well. She picked up one of her daggers. She had cleaned them at least five times since Redcliffe and she could still swear they were covered in grime and dirt. She could smell the musk and the death, she heard the screams as the young boy Conner lit himself on fire! Burning flesh and rot was permanently embedded into her nose and she wasn’t sure she’d ever be able to forget that distinct sour smell. Her hands shook at the memories. The dungeon area of the Redcliffe castle had been the worst.
The lyrium had smelled sour and almost like a mixture of sulfur and ozone. She could hear it in her head when they walked past, singing. She wondered if that wasn’t the leftover voices from the people who were consumed by it. Was the ring that buzzed dizzyingly within her skull the leftover cries for help from people she couldn’t save? Then Fiona was being consumed, she was so hopeless and tired. Her eyes glowing red and voice echoing as if five others were talking at the exact same time. Leaving the woman behind - even if she did make a deal with a Tevinter magister - was hard. Maraas didn’t really understand when she got some kind of hero complex, she’d never been so obsessive about saving everyone with the Valo-Kas, but then again, she’d been a scout on the sidelines. Things change when you suddenly become a glorified savior.
She could see dozens of empty cells encased in red lyrium. How many people had died in a year? How many people would be destroyed if she failed? If she wasn’t strong enough. Her hands shook. Varric and Cassandra had still been alive, corrupted and half gone. How many more of them had survived? Had Sera and Bull been able to make it? Were those cells one of theirs? Every time Varric or Cassandra spoke on the way back from Redcliffe, she had expected their voices to ring in her ears. She looked at them and still saw the red glow of their skin and eyes. She couldn’t even imagine how she would feel when she saw Leiliana again. Dorian had volunteered to go to the War Room for the report so that she could “get some sleep.” Obviously that was a lost cause, but she appreciated not having to see the advisors and tell the entire story. Dorian understood all the magic behind it anyway.
Trying to stay ahead of the panic that was settling into her chest, Maraas tied her long hair back into a knot behind her head and stepped out of her cabin. Evening had settled over Haven and she hoped and prayed everyone was out getting dinner. She walked down to the small dock that protruded into the lake beside Haven. She had to admit the scenery was pretty, especially given the state of the world at the moment. She was almost glad that everyone now knew more about her, maybe then they wouldn’t frown at her all the time when she reacted badly. Sometimes she literally wanted to scream at everyone and smash every piece of glass in Haven. Josephine would probably have a fit about etiquette and proper behavior.
Maraas didn’t know her parents. She had been orphaned as an infant, though she did know that her parents had been Tal-Vashoth. She’d been passed between people within the community her parents had found in the Free Marches before she was effectively adopted by the Valo-Kas at nine years old. Shokrakar, their leader, had given her odd jobs, finding a child was good to have around in more rural areas or places where a full-sized Qunari would be more noticeable. The members of the mercenary group were her family, a circle of friends for a child named “nothing.” Fuck she hadn’t realized how much she missed them. She wasn’t even supposed to be at the Conclave. Katoh had forgotten one of their pieces of cargo - since they were assigned as protection during the talks - and whatever had caused the explosion happened when Maraas was bringing it to her. She was in the wrong place at the wrong time and now she was the Maker damned Herald of Andraste to a bunch of crazy fanatics.
“You’re supposed to be resting.” Dorian’s posh voice spoke from behind her, standing on the shore behind the dock. Maraas turned and saw him standing in the snow, wrapped up in multiple layers, with his arms crossed over his chest. “If I’d known you would be lazing about out here I would have made you deal with that handsome, frustrating Commander of yours.” Maraas chuckled.
“Couldn’t sleep. Sorry Dorian.” She turned back towards the lake and she heard his footfalls come closer. He stood beside her. Even if she didn’t look over she could feel his gaze on her. Probably the same worry that had been there since they left with the mages. “Your face will get stuck that way.”
“You haven’t slept in four days! Fasta vass it’s like you’re trying to give me an aneurism.”
“I never asked for you to hover over me, Dorian.”
“Well someone has to!” Dorian flung his arms into the air, exasperated. “Like it or not you are a teenager. You may have a magic hand, but that doesn’t mean you have to go traipsing around on your own.” He took a seat beside her on the dock. Maraas fiddled with the fingers on her gloves. He didn’t speak again. He was waiting for her to say something back.
What was there to say? That she was having bad dreams? That she hated all of this? That she didn’t want to be here in the public eye and scrutinized under a microscope?! She knew he understood, he’d been there and saw the same things she had. He sighed, tapping his staff against the ice idly.
“Is there anything I can do for you, Adaar?”
“You can shove your staff up Roderick’s ass.” Dorian chuckled.
“Unfortunately I don’t believe your ambassador would be too fond of that idea.”
Maraas shrugged. “She doesn’t have to know though.” But she knew he was right. They were supposed to keep “good relations” with the chantry. One slip up by their nasty Qunari and they could have a serious incident on their hands.
“How about I buy you a drink instead?”
“Make it two.”