Yet Broken Still You Breathe

Chapter 47

"I don't want to just survive anymore, mom.
It hurts it hurts it hurts, mom." - Fariha Risin.

Warning: Torture (Not heavily descriptive, more focused on the emotional/psychological piece)

Thirty years until a Grey Warden would succumb to the taint, if they were lucky. Gwen, though she may not have been a Warden, was not immune to its corrosive effects. The taint came with a price and she was not the exception when it came to it demanding a toll. However, it wasn't until ten years post-Blight that she saw any signs.

Her hair was the first to go. The white strands - stringy with age - had started to fall out, at first only when brushing her hair, but quickly it had turned into clumps. She was fooling no one when she showed up to breakfast one morning with a shaved head. Darcy stopped assigning her missions after that.

Her eyes were next, dark veins encroaching towards fading irises like menacing spiders. The dark grey hue of her eyes was becoming almost translucent, a ghostly reminder of what they used to be. Her gums and tongue quickly followed suit, stained black with the blood that was quickly turning to poison beneath her skin. She stopped eating with the others when a few of her teeth fell out in the mess hall.

Darcy demanded to know what was going on. He would know soon anyway, so she didn't see the point in hiding it from him. To say he was both angry and appalled would be an understatement. He'd been passively searching for a cure for years, but the search had picked up in earnest the next day, despite his anger lingering, he still couldn't let her go.

Weeks went by and Gwen idly wondered if this meant that it was her thirtieth year of life. She had barely anything to show for it; her best friend unable to bring himself to speak to her, had almost lost herself to the Blight, and love harboured deep in her heart for a man she had not heard from since he'd sent his last letter five years ago. A man she'd pushed away and hurt because she was too scared to admit that she still wanted him.

The inevitability of mortality was a cruel reality, one that could not be escaped. One moment someone was alive and well, travelling the country with their friends, and the next, those same friends were receiving letters bearing news of their passing. When Leliana's letter arrived to inform Gwen and Darcy of Wynne's death, Gwen had closed her eyes and her breaths came in quick gasps as she struggled to make sense of it all. They'd drank to her memory, toasting the mage, her wisdom, and her genuine friendship offered without reservation. Wynne had always known her time was coming, much like Gwen herself, but it did nothing to soften the blow. Was that what it would feel like for her friends when they found out? Would someone... write to Alistair? She wondered if he would feel relief that she was gone, no longer a stain upon his life, or if he would mourn her, grieve for what they could not have.

One terrible morning, Gwen jolted awake in a cold sweat, her heart pounding as the haunting melody of the Calling echoed in her mind. Ten years of silence, ten years of peace, only to have that wretched song pierce her thoughts once more. She clutched her chest, gasping for air as panic threatened to overwhelm her. The Calling was back. The taint within her had awakened, and soon she would be driven to descend into the Deep Roads, never to return.

Gwen scrambled out of bed, stumbling to the washbasin to splash water on her face. As she caught her reflection in the mirror, she recoiled at the sight - her sunken eyes, the dark veins creeping across her pallid skin. She was turning more into the monster she knew herself to be.

She thought of Alistair and a profound ache filled her chest. How she wished he was there to wrap his strong arms around her and tell her it would be alright. But she had pushed him away, left him without a word. Part of her longed to ask Darcy to write to him for her, to beg his forgiveness and ask him to return to her side one last time before the Calling took her. But she couldn't be that selfish. He deserved better than the gruesome fate that awaited her.