Yet Broken Still You Breathe

Chapter 53

"And the earth looked at me and said 'Wasn't that fun?'
And I replied "I'm sorry if I hurt anyone." - Dan Deacon

The sun beat down on her exposed skin, heat that spread through her cold limbs like the first signs of spring after a long, harsh winter. A gentle breeze danced through her hair, carrying the sweet scent of wildflowers and dewy grass. Gwen felt a sense of calm wash over her as she took in her surroundings. Her body felt lighter than it had in years. Her joints didn't ache, her bones didn't grind together, and the scars along her back didn't pull tightly on her skin as she pushed herself up into a sitting position.

Gwen struggled to open her eyes, feeling as though she was emerging from a thick fog. Her surroundings blurred together, the trees at the base of the hill where she rested swirled together like paint on an artist's palette, their vibrant green leaves melding into one another. Above her, the clouds drifted across the startlingly blue sky, creating shapes that Gwen couldn't quite make out.

It should have been unnerving - waking up in a strange place with no recollection of how she got there - but Gwen couldn't find it within herself to be worried. This was a safe place, the truth of which reverberated deep within her bones.

Looking down at her hands, Gwen frowned to herself. Something wasn't right. Her skin was as pale as it always was, rough from years of training with her daggers, but something was missing. Flexing her fingers, she turned her palm up, scanning for whatever was pulling at the back of her brain, warning her that this was wrong.

She counted her fingers, all ten were present, and all in the right spot, the lines of her palm creased as she moved, and—

Her fingers. There wasn't supposed to be ten, not anymore. Shaking her hand as if that could get rid of the offending, false appendages, she scooted backwards, panic beginning to rise in her throat.

How in the Maker's name had she gotten her fingers back? There were no faded bands of scarring peeking out from her sleeves, and she was sure if she reached under her shirt and ran her hands along her back, she would feel none of the familiar scars that littered the surface. She ran her tongue over her teeth, counting them silently. They were all there, just like before. Even the large hole in her cheek was gone.

This wasn't possible, she couldn't heal from those sorts of injuries, she hadn't her entire life. And why would she? They'd only gotten worse as she'd gotten sicker.

She'd been sick, fatally so. Her tainted blood had destroyed her body, sucking every ounce of hard-earned life from her veins. She'd been on her death bed, her breath rattling in her chest, her entire body alight with pain. But she'd held on, too stubborn to let go. Not when Alistair was beside her, holding her hand, whispering sweet words to her. How could she ever leave him?

And yet she had, ten years ago she'd abandoned him. Had she done it again?

Gwen scrambled to her feet, the world spinning around her in a dizzying blur. She stumbled forward, desperate to find him before it was too late. Her heart pounded in her chest, each beat a painful reminder of how much she loved him and how foolish she had been. She cursed herself for wasting so much time consumed by self-hatred and blind to the hurt she had caused him.

But she had no idea where she was, she could barely think straight, and there was a dreadful feeling tugging at her gut telling her that she wasn't supposed to be there.

With trembling hands, she reached up and grasped at her head, feeling the strands of stark, white hair shift against her fingers. A sharp pain shot through her temple as memories came rushing back, assaulting her mind with images of her final moments. She could almost feel Alistair's sorrowful gaze upon her, his hopeful expression etched into the back of her eyelids, the cool touch of Anders' magic enveloping her and then... nothingness.