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Tainted Dreams	By : wyldehart Category: +A through F > Dragon Age (all) > Dragon Age (all) Views: 3478 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: All characters and Dragon Age are property of Bioware/EA. I made no money, sadly.

Chapter List
- 18
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In the lamp-lit gloom of Keeper Alainala's tent within Halamshiral's neighboring group of nomadic Dalish, Ambrose clasped his hands before him and tried to breathe. He stared down into his sweaty palms, trying to continue. Maker, this was hard. He disliked retelling his own story because it made him think of the shame he felt for his country. He had been raised with so much wonder and pride and then, upon becoming a ranked Chevalier at last, he watched all that pride dashed. Oh, it's true he knew what they could do and he had even heard the stories of how terribly the peasants were treated. But it was not until three years later that the brutality of his own kind became so evident. He had always managed to stop them before. And he always thought that if he spoke to other Chevalier, if he could somehow convince them that what they did to those lesser than they was wrong, he could change them.
Right. Changing a thousand plus years of doing things just so wasn't going to happen overnight, and not because one man wishes it. He needed a proverbial slap in the face to understand that. And it happened one cold, rainy night as he stood over the body of his commanding officer, his sword covered in wet, inky blood. It was on his hands, splattered red across his breast plate and drops were drying on his skin and beard. His young face was lined with agony and his eyes held despair. "I am so sorry…" he sobbed as he fell to his knees into the pooling blood.
The girl he saved joined him after she replaced her clothing. Gently, she laid a hand on his shoulder and kissed his cheek. "You are a good man, Mon cir. You did a good deed. Do not weep, for this man was evil."
He lifted forlorn blue eyes to hers and shook his head. "What he did was evil, not the man that did it. What we Chevalier do to you is evil. Not we Chevalier ourselves."
She hugged him to her and stroked his long, soft black hair and sobbed against his neck. "You would never do such a thing. I see it in you that you are a great, kind man who is not like the others. What's more, you regret the death of someone who took pleasure from doing this… part… of his job. This man here has raped before. My mother… He took my mother… sixteen years ago and some. Among many others."
Ambrose was shocked. He pushed her away and searched her face. "Did he know that…?"
"Yes. It is part of why he did it. And not the first time. Because of you, good Ser, it will be the last. As I said, this man was evil."
Ambrose rose to his feet and held the young girl closely before handing her a pouch of coins. There were at least one hundred gold sovereigns there. "For you and your mother. From him. Go now. Be off! The guard will see this soon and I do not want you here or they will shift blame from me to you no matter what I say. Chevalier are above the law and you are beneath it. Run to Ferelden! They do not rape their daughters for pleasure there."
She gave him a quick parting kiss on the lips and ran away. He heard her bare feet splashing through the puddles of the dark alley as he turned to face the heavier splashing of the night-watch coming from behind him. "Ser! What happened?" the watch said as he looked down at the corpse of the Chevalier Officer. Ambrose followed his gaze.
"He was raping a young girl. His own daughter. I could not let it continue," he answered honestly.
The watch dropped to the dead Chevalier's body and turned him over, searching desperately for some sign of life. Ambrose watched emotionlessly and shook his head. "Non, ser. It is with surety that I say I took his life. I ran him through the gap in his armor where the shoulder meets the chest-plate. It is a straight-shot through the heart. To end it quickly for him, I then slashed his throat. I doubt he suffered as much as the child. I wish he had suffered more."
The watched stared at Ambrose in shock. "B-but you're brothers! You're one of them! It was his right to take her…!"
"And if it had been your own daughter? Or your wife? Or your sister?"
The guard sighed and looked up into the rainy sky. The light of distant torches and the occasional lamp gleamed wetly across the older man's face. "I didn't say I agreed with it. Just that it was his right. I have to turn you in, you know. Vigilantes are rarely heroes."
Ambrose nodded slowly. "You do your job. I am happy that I have taken away one rapist from these streets. It would be tempting not to take out more."
He was brought before the Magistrate in Val Royeaux where he was stripped of his armor and his dignity. Humiliated but refusing to show it, he was forced down to his knees before Emperor Florian and the commander of Val Royeaux's Chevalier. "What charges have been brought against you, Chevalier?" the emperor murmured. One of his young sons, a boy not much younger than the girl he'd rescued, kicked him in the head. "Speak! Your emperor asked you a question!"
The black-haired man turned his face and stared up at them. Then he spat blood at the lad as well as the tooth he'd dislodged. It bounced off the boy's blood-ruined clothing and clattered onto the floor. That resulted in a painful kick to his face, breaking his nose and splattering his blood all across the white alabaster of the audience chamber. As he turned his face the other way, he saw a young girl, maybe four, gazing at him in her night dress from a dark doorway. She was holding a doll in both arms. For some reason, he smiled at her. For some reason, she smiled back. Then someone kicked him in the ribs and he groaned. Drooling blood and spit, Ambrose wheezed with pain. The last kick had broken a rib.
"He is not speaking! Take him to the cellar and open his back. He knows what he's been charged with. I want it ingrained into his soul before we make a public example of why we do not kill Chevalier!" the emperor yelled as he hauled the tall man up by his hair and they dragged him down into the chambers beneath the palace. Just a week earlier, he'd been drinking wine and eating cheese with Florian. It was difficult being treated like this by someone he had considered a friend.
Ambrose was chained to a wall, his face pressed against the gritty slime that oozed down the stone. He heard the dungeon master chuckle as he snapped the whip on the ground in the hopes of instilling some fear. Ambrose closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. He leaned his swollen cheek against the stone and waited. When the blow came, it was like nothing he'd ever imagined. It burned and ached, like a paper-cut made a thousand times more painful. He felt warmth flow down his back, across his buttocks and down his thighs. As the whip continued to rend his flesh, he found the anticipation of it harder to bear than the actual pain itself. He didn't cry out much. All they got from him were some grunts and other odd noises. But, for as much pain as he endured over the course of some two hours of brutal lashing, he never admitted or denied the charges. Eventually they left him alone and he sagged against the wall.
In the dim cellar, there was silence for the most part. The occasional dripping of water down the wall and the scurrying of rodents kept him focused on something other than the pain. With the constant rending of his flesh done for now, every gust of air, every movement brought about exquisite pain. And his arms were aching badly from all his weight being bearing down on them. He often had to clench and unclench his fists to force blood to flow back into his fingers. He leaned his head against the wall to drink water from the slime clinging to it and did his best to alleviate some of the strain on his shoulders.
After a while, a tiny voice said, "Hello," to him. He gasped and tried to look at his visitor. "Who… who is there…?" he gasped.
The little girl from the door walked around the side of him so she could see his face. Her glittering green eyes peered up at him from a sweet, cherubic face surrounded by waves of rich, golden-brown hair. "My name is Celene. My uncle is the emperor. What's your name?"
He squinted his eyes shut and pressed his forehead into the wall. His face was swollen and everything on it hurt. Ambrose almost told the child to leave but he really wasn't in a position to order anyone around, let alone a precocious four or five-year-old. It was embarrassing, however, for her to see him naked with everything just sort of hanging out there. Fortunately, her eyes were on his face. "I am… Ambrose… Ambrose Fazsil," he grunted.
"Are you the Chevalier who killed Commander Irisham?" she asked innocently.
Suddenly suspicious, Ambrose clenched his jaw. "Know those fools no shame? To send a child to interrogate a man? I will not answer your question, child. Forgive me. They are fools to have sent you."
Confused, she cocked her head slightly up at him. "What do you mean? If my uncle knew I was down here, my bottom would be red as yours is. I saw you smile at me. I don't think you did everything they say you did. But I want to know. Are you a bad man? Bad men don't smile at little girls."
He relaxed a bit and nodded, scraping his cheek against the wall. "I am… not a bad man. I saved a… a child from a bad man. I took his life. I do not regret it."
The child disappeared and came back a moment later, dragging a bucket and a chair. Carefully, she balanced herself upon the chair and dipped a ladle into the bucket. She placed it, dripping cool water, to his lips. He drank deeply. She did this several times for him until his thirst was sated. "They plan to hang you, you know. Tomorrow. Before all the city. I wish they wouldn't. They need men like you among the Chevalier. My uncle is a bad man."
He smiled sadly and felt hot tears stream down his cheeks. They burned where they touched his wounds. "Thank you, little Empress. Mayhap it is your destiny to end his reign, no?"
She smiled and kissed his bloody, tear-streaked cheek before jumping down from the chair. "I just might!" she giggled. The child replaced the bucket and walked back over to where he stood. She now had something else for him. Again, she ascended the chair and tied something around his neck, letting it fall around his shoulders. It was a long sheet and this time, he kissed her cheek in thanks. "We don't want you catching cold now, do we?" she quipped as she pulled the chair back to wherever it was she found it.
"You have been kind. Now, run along, little one, lest you get us both into trouble. I will claim an embarrassed maid covered me to preserve her own dignity, if not my own," Ambrose chided with a painful smile. The girl exited the torture chamber but on the other side of the door, he heard a woman's voice thanking the girl and the child admonishing the woman to, "…save him or else." Then there was silence. Infused with water and warmth, Ambrose eventually fell into a troubled slumber, in spite of his active mind.
The next day dawned with a beam of sunlight rudely piercing his right eye. The left was sealed shut and his face was swollen all across the left side. He squinted and turned his cheek against the stone. His hands were completely numb. He tried to move his fingers but got only the barest of reactions. Did it matter, though? He stared at the Emperor as Florian stood imperiously beside him. "I see you had a visitor last night. Who did that?" he asked, pointing at the sheet.
"Maid…" Ambrose gasped thickly.
"Ah. Funny. The servants were all told to stay away from this room. Was it really a maid?"
"Could… noth… sthee…"
"Take him down. The gallows awaits your execution. What fun. There hasn't been one in far too long. Today, you're going to become a martyr. Or perhaps not. We will quell any uprising that is fueled by this." He was pulled down from the shackles and pain lanced out into his arms, his legs and his hands with the return of blood. His bones and muscles protested violently and his lash-wounds opened anew, spilling blood as they half-dragged the tortured man across the stone floor. They ripped away his sheet and paraded him naked through the palace. He was half-blind and numb from all the pain he was in as they brought him to the square in the center of the city. He couldn't recall the journey save that at one point, someone squeezed his hand in a show of support.
They shoved him up onto the wooden platform and he sprawled face-down. He tried to rise but was too weak to do so. The hangman approached him and he winced, waiting for another kick to the face. Instead, he saw a hand reaching for him. He took it gratefully and let the man haul him up. The noose was put around his neck and tightened. Carefully, he was led to the drop-spot and he stood, waiting for the moment he would die. The peasants, he noted with his good eye, were mostly silent. By now, many had heard of what he'd done and it saddened them to see him so broken.
A herald cried out to those gathered round, detailing each crime. Really, he was only guilty of murder but to that, they had added, "Dereliction of duty. Failure to obey a command. Vigilantism. Inciting a riot. (What?) Treason." There were others but Ambrose ignored them. They were merely justifications meant to right a perceived wrong. "Ged over with it, you blabbering fool…" he muttered to the herald. The man nodded and asked if Ambrose had any last words.
"Yesh. I do. Chevalier… are the mosht… reshbected warriorsh in our… land. It grieves me to know… whath they can thdo with… their mighth if they chooth it… I s-shaved… a shild… Yetth, I am punished. Ith… wrong… I ch-challenge you all… to fighth your oppresshors…!" he cried out to the crowd weakly. The peasantry cheered back in return. Several raised their fists.
"ENOUGH! Drop him!" Florian cried from in front of the platform. The hangman fingered the release but before he pulled on it, a woman's voice interrupted from the crowd.
"Stop what you are doing! In the name of the Grey Wardens, I conscript this man!" A cheer arose from those gathered, even among the nobles. The Warden, in fine armor bearing the silver Gryphon of the Grey Warden's heraldry, strode up to the platform. "Take him down. Gently. He has endured enough abuse," she said as she looked up at the hangman. He nodded and started loosening the noose.
Florian ran up the platform, his sword drawn, fully intending to drop the man himself but he found the Grey Warden to be most persuasive as her sword reached out across his throat, almost beheading him. "I say he lives. He is ours now to present for the Joining," she muttered darkly.
"He committed crimes… Unspeakable crimes," Florian argued plaintively.
"Oh? Killing a child rapist who pleasures himself on his own child is a crime? To have borne witness and done nothing would have been a far greater crime. Ser Ambrose proved that he is a decent man with a moral and just heart. In other words, he is too good for the Chevalier and just perfect for the Greys. We Grey Wardens are above the laws of any land and my right to conscript him supersedes any lust for 'justice' that you may claim. He is mine now." She snapped her wrist and cut the rope attached to Ambrose's neck. He staggered and she reached out to him. Several people helped carry him to an awaiting horse and carefully, they covered him up and placed him into the saddle so that he leaned forward over the pommel. The peasants reverently touched him as they bade farewell. Near the platform, a child with bright green eyes, a cherubic face and waves of silky gold-brown hair smiled at him and waved. For some reason, and now he knew why, he smiled in return.
"I was weeks in recovery with a Spirithealer by my side. I almost died from the infection. It was over a month later, in Weisshaupt that I finished my recovery and took my Joining. Sallais, the Grey Warden who conscripted me that day, was my mentor during my first year. Then the Calling drew her into the Deep Roads and she never returned. Shortly after that, I returned to the town outside Val Royeaux where my commander raped the girl. I was eager for news of how she was doing and asked about her. Eventually, we began to talk and finally see one another. A year later, were married and shortly after that, I had my first child followed by my second about two years later. My wife, she never recovered from the scars of what she endured but I had saved her so she trusted me."
The Keeper nodded and smiled as the little silver fox sniffed the humans seated on the couch and finally jumped into Ambrose's lap. He curled up after licking his paws and Ambrose's hand. Elissa ventured forth her fingers to the fox's ears and started to scratch it. The creature closed his eyes and cooed softly. "So Val Royeaux is a sad place for you. I think I understand. How terrible to be conscripted under such conditions.
"It is dark now, my friends. A tent has been prepared for you all, I hope you don't mind sharing. I have much to show you tomorrow and much to tell so off to bed. If you need food or drink, just ask for it."
Ambrose, Elissa and Alistair bade goodnight to their hostess and followed their guide through the trees to the vacant tent. They were shown the privy, a place to eat and the pond where they could bathe. Ambrose excused himself and grabbed a towel as he headed for the water. Alistair helped his wife enter the tent and they assisted one another with the removal of their armor. Once it was gone, Elissa, clothed only in a thin shift, snuggled her back against Alistair's bare chest. He perched his chin on her shoulder and slid his hands underneath her clothing. He caressed her gently as they talked.
"Well, love? What do you think?" he asked.
"Mmm. Lower, is what I think…" she said with a giggle. He gently squeezed her breast. "You know what I mean. Ambrose! What do you think?"
She rolled over and exposed her breasts for her husband's greater access. He didn't stop touching her as he awaited her reply. "Have you ever seen his back? He has scars, many, many scars. They practically mutilated him. So I think he's telling the truth. I feel really bad for him. His face also has scars about the nose and left cheek. I bet he was very handsome when he was young. I hate to see what his soul looks like…"
Alistair had begun kissing her face, neck and lingered over each breast before propping his chin on her belly. They were almost eye to eye. He loved looking up her torso like this, with her perfectly shaped, large breasts crowned by her adoring smile. "Makes you think, doesn't it? What else is he hiding, though? Do you trust him?" he asked softly.
She nodded, her fingers sliding along his jaw. "I want to. I admire him for what he's been through. Don't you?"
He nipped at them playfully and caught one in his mouth. He sucked it playfully. "Maybe. I guess I do. Still, don't let your guard down completely, okay? He might seduce you when I'm not looking."
She giggled as he started to tickle her. "That might not be so bad!" she laughed. "You are much more attentive when you're jealous." He laughed and wrestled her in the bed. It culminated, of course, in a very fast and very intense sexual climax that left them both laughing in between breaths. Elissa was sprawled completely naked and uncovered in the blankets with her head resting on Alistair's muscular torso. He was covered by a blanket from the groin down and that is how Ambrose found them. His eyes widened as he drank her in. She made no effort to move or cover herself.
Alistair sighed and laughed. "Ambrose, your eyes are going to fall out of their sockets if you keep staring like that. Get over yourself and relax. Is the water nice?"
"Yes. Cold but nice. I could leave you two alone if…" he suggested as he started to leave.
Alistair, wearing the blanket and nothing else, smiled and clapped him on the back as he headed out into the woods. "Done already. Relax and get some rest. I'm off to bathe. Behave, you two."
Elissa smirked and slipped the sheet loosely around her body. It covered very little and left a great deal exposed to be appreciated. "Never mind us. We warned you that I was frisky these days. I wanted to thank you for that story. It was very touching the way you told it."
"I won't tell it again," he murmured as he made a pile out of his pillows and prepared to throw himself into it. His lean, finely muscled body from the waist up was bare and Elissa scrambled to her knees to touch the scars that criss-crossed their way across his back. He froze at her touch and shivered. They were long healed white ribbons of what must have been sheer agony for him to endure. He choked back tears as she ran her fingers along the scars. Her breath was hot against his skin. "How did you recover from it?" she asked softly, her hands brushing aside his wet hair to where the scars began at his neck. He felt her breasts press against his back. He made a strangled cry and dashed outside into the cold night air on bare feet. A moment later, Alistair returned, looking amused.
"Torturing him again, I see. He ran to me and accused you of being an evil wench and said he would return after dunking himself in cold water for several hours. Were you being flirtatious, my love?" He slid back into the blankets beside her. She smiled innocently.
"Just asking about the scars… That's all."
"Uh huh. Evil wench."
To be continued.
- 18
- 19
- 20
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Tainted Dreams