LotS/Dragon Age Fic: Asit Tal-Eb (1/2)
Title: Asit Tal-Eb 1/2 (Read the whole thing at AO3)
Pairing: Cara/Dahlia
Rating: R
Warnings: Reference to rape/forced breeding, “underage” sexytimes (non-explicit, and they’re considered “of age” in their culture)
Word Count: 13,548
Disclaimer: Neither Legend of the Seeker or Dragon Age are mine, nor are any of the characters contained therein. Qunari language and culture are derived (hopefully as accurately as possible) from BioWare’s Dragon Age series, with the help of the Dragon Age Wiki. Opening excerpt is taken verbatim from the game.
Summary: The Qunari routinely conquer human lands, forcibly converting their inhabitants to the Qun in heavily guarded compounds. In one such place, two young human girls come to depend on one another for comfort and companionship. When their bond grows deeper than the Qun allows, it will prove dangerous for them both.
Author's Note: The Dragon Age Wiki was an invaluable resource for Qunari language and culture. If you want to read more about it, or look up the meaning of the Qunlat words and phrases used in the story (I've tried to provide context clues, but in some places it just would have been clunky), check it out.
Author's Note, Part 2: I neglected to mention before, this is the prequel to The Tides Go In, The Tides Go Out.
When the Ashkaari looked upon the destruction wrought by locusts,
He saw at last the order in the world.
A plague must cause suffering for as long as it endures,
Earthquakes must shatter the land.
They are bound by their being.
Asit tal-eb. It is to be.
For the world and the self are one.
Existence is a choice.
A self of suffering, brings only suffering to the world.
It is a choice, and we can refuse it.
-An excerpt from The Qun, Canto 4
"Won't the Maker be mad at me if I turn my back on Him?"
The noonday sun burned bright overhead, its rays warming the two children as they sat among the tall grass. They were close enough to hear the people working in the center of the compound: blacksmiths hammering at their anvils, farmers talking amicably as they worked the fields, and above it all, the ever-present sound of clashing steel and crisply shouted orders from the training yard.
She was the younger of the two, only ten years old. Her light brown hair was pulled into the customary plait of Qunari children, and it tickled her back where it brushed against the bare skin. She sat with her knees pulled up to her chest, still unaccustomed to being without a shirt. It had all been explained to her, how it was foolish to waste resources on unnecessary clothing; it made a sort of sense, but it had only been recently that she had been taken by the Qunari, and she still carried the weight of her old life with her. She was grateful that at least she was given soft doeskin pants to wear, and simple sandals for her feet.
Her question was only half-serious; she may be new to the compound, but she had learned quickly that the Maker had no dominion here. The Qunari spoke of duty as reverently as she had ever heard anyone talk about Andraste, but they didn't seem to trouble themselves with where the world came from. All that mattered was that it was there.
"Didn't your Maker already turn His back on you?" Her companion raised an eyebrow, green eyes glittering with amusement. The older girl, a blonde of eleven, was far more comfortable in her skin. She sat cross-legged and straight-backed, arms resting casually in her lap. She had been at the compound much longer, and it showed; her skin was golden-tan all over, so unlike the pale porcelain of the younger girl's. “How could He know which way you were facing?”
The younger girl smiled a small smile and shrugged; she didn’t have an answer for that. She’d only ever believed in the Maker because her parents told her He was real. Now they were gone, taken away to be trained by the Ben-Hassrath, and she followed the Qun because the Qunari told her that was what was real. Her smile faded as her mind wandered. "What if I don't like the role they choose for me?"
"The tamassrans do not choose your role," the blonde said, rolling her eyes as she stared out across the grassy hills. "They merely identify it. You are what you will be." She turned her head to look at her companion, a smirk playing at her lips. "Besides, you have a long way to go before your role becomes clear. You are still kabethari, and a child besides."
A frown tugged at the younger girl's mouth. The Qunari's words still sounded strange to her. "I'm still scared," she said stubbornly.
"Asit tal-eb," the older girl said, her smirk softening into a reassuring smile. "It does you no good to worry about what is to come. If it comforts you, I do not yet know my role either."
It was comforting, at least a little bit. The blonde had been the one good thing she had found among the Qunari. Everything else had been taken from her; her home, her belongings, even her name. After her parents were taken away, she had thought she was completely alone. The kossith children didn't speak the common tongue, and there weren't very many humans or elves at all in the compound she'd been taken to. The older girl still remembered enough from her former life to communicate, though, and she'd been teaching the younger girl to speak Qunlat as well.
But the blonde’s twelfth nameday loomed on the horizon, and soon she would know her role, and no longer be Imekari. She was smart, and kind; she would end up in the priesthood, probably, teaching other girls the path of the Qun. Of course, the younger girl was no tamassran, and could not presume to know what another's role would be.
The younger girl rolled over to lie on her stomach; the grass tickled her bare skin, and she flattened it with her palms before propping herself up on her elbows. "It feels wrong to call you Imekari," she said, idly playing with one of the colorful flowers scattered among the grasses.
Her companion peered at her over a tanned shoulder. "It is what I am."
With an idle flick of her wrist, the younger girl plucked the flower from the ground. She twirled the stem between her fingers, frowning slightly. "But that's what they call me, too."
"It is also what you are," the blonde replied with an impish smirk.
The younger girl narrowed her eyes, but there was no venom in her glare. "I think I'll call you Cara."
"That is not wise."
"Just think of it as a nickname, silly. Or are those forbidden by the Qun?" She lifted the blossom to her nose; it didn't smell like much of anything at all…dirt and leaves, maybe. Nothing like the roses her mama used to grow. "It means 'friend', you know."
"The Qunari have a perfectly functional word for that. Kadan."
"But you're not just any kadan," the younger girl said, tapping the blonde's bare shoulder with the flower. "You're special. You're my Cara."
The girl who was now Cara frowned, all traces of amusement gone from her face. "Just don't let the tamassrans hear you do it."
Smiling, the younger girl rotated on the ground until she was lying back against her companion, using a strong thigh as a pillow. “It’ll be our special secret,” she said, looking up into her friend's face. "You can pick a name for me too, if you want."
Cara scoffed, rolled her eyes; it looked as though she was about to reject the idea outright, but her eyes flickered to the sweet smile on the younger girl's lips, then to the flower she was still idly waving back and forth. "What is that flower called?"
"Um…" She thought hard, trying to remember what her mama had told her about it. Her mama had loved flowers. "It's a dahlia."
"Then that's what I'll call you," the blonde said decisively. "Dahlia. You're always playing with those things; it's fitting."
The younger girl’s smile brightened, and she pushed herself up to her knees. She tucked the flower she was holding behind one of Cara's ears, leaning in to kiss her sweetly on the cheek. "I'll be Dahlia, then. And you'll be my Cara."
Cara rolled her eyes, but Dahlia could see the smile that tugged at her mouth.
***
The dormitories were quiet as Dahlia made her way down the hallway. It was late in the day, and everyone was in the mess hall for the evening meal. Everyone, that is, except for the one person whose presence Dahlia couldn't help but miss.
It wasn't like Cara to miss a meal. The blonde thrived on the structure and routine of life in the Qunari compound, even more so since they had both begun their training. Cara had embraced her duty in a way that Dahlia almost envied. She herself still struggled with following the Qun; she had been at the compound for years now, but the memories of her life before she was taken still haunted her at every turn.
Cara, on the other hand…Cara had been so proud the day the tamassrans had decided her role. Gone were the soft doeskin pants and sandals of the imekari. In their place was an ensemble of deep red leather: patchwork pants sewn together with thick leather cord, sleek calf-high boots, and a wide strip of leather that crisscrossed her chest to support her budding breasts. It made for a formidable sight, and Cara seemed to wear it like a second skin; looking at her, Dahlia never had trouble believing that every person had a purpose, because Cara was exactly where she belonged.
For her part, Dahlia had just been happy that she got to remain with Cara. They were both Ben-Hassrath now; Cara was Besrathari, training and counseling new converts and those deemed in need of additional education, while Dahlia was Tallis, training to be an infiltrator and, if it was unavoidable, an assassin.
In time, Dahlia would be forced to leave the compound, to gather intelligence on enemies of the Qun, while Cara would stay here, continuing her own duty. For now, though, they were together, and everything was going well for them both-which made Cara's absence all the more conspicuous. Dahlia frowned, pushing open the door to the females' dormitory. The room was vast, with cots lined up in neat rows. In a far corner, a figure sat on the edge of one of them, leaning forward with elbows resting on knees.
"There you are," Dahlia said with a relieved sigh. "You weren't at supper."
"I am…not hungry." Cara's voice was quiet, almost strangled. She didn't look up.
As Dahlia drew nearer, she noticed the tense set of Cara's shoulders. She sank down onto the cot, resting a hand gently on Cara's thigh. "Cara, what's wrong?"
For a long moment, Cara's only answer was a labored breath. Finally she spoke once more, her gaze still fixed on the ground. "It does not matter. Asit tal-eb. It is to be."
Dahlia's heart pounded, an urgent feeling of dread creeping into her chest. "What is to be?" She grabbed Cara's hand, squeezed it tightly. "Tell me, kadan."
Cara's hand was clammy to the touch, and when she looked up to briefly meet Dahlia's gaze, her face was pale and drawn. She quickly looked back down at the floor. "I am to be mated."
The words were barely audible, but Dahlia could hear them echoing in her ears as though Cara had shouted them at the top of her lungs. A heavy, sick feeling lurched in her stomach. It hadn't even been a possibility in Dahlia's mind, although she supposed now that it should have. At fourteen years old, Cara was more than old enough, especially by Qunari standards.
It took several tries for Dahlia to get her voice to work again, and even then it was to choke out a single word. "Who?"
"The besrathari in charge of the males."
Dahlia's blood ran cold in her veins. The trainer Cara spoke of was a rare example of a human rising to a prominent position of power among the Qunari, a leader of besrathari rather than just another teacher of the Qun. He was a lean, muscular man, with dark hair that fell to his chin and a neatly trimmed goatee. His steel-blue eyes always shone with a cruel, sadistic edge that Dahlia assumed the kossith must be unable to recognize; she had grown up among humans, though, and just the memory of it made her shiver. Dahlia had seen the way he looked at the females, and at Cara in particular-a look that had little to do with producing strong offspring. He was also at least twice Cara's age; it horrified Dahlia just to think of it.
At the same time, there was nothing she could say to make it better. Shok ebasit hissra. There was no point in struggling against fate. Even if this besrathari had somehow manipulated the tamassrans into arranging this-and Dahlia was sure that he had-it nevertheless had been arranged, and it would be done.
Holding tightly to Cara’s hand, Dahlia leaned in to rest her head on the blonde’s shoulder, hoping that Cara could find some small comfort in the closeness they shared. "Are you afraid?"
Cara opened her mouth to protest, defiance flashing in her eyes as she glanced up at Dahlia. But there was no accusation in Dahlia’s gaze, only sympathy and concern. Shame clouded her features as she nodded. “Perhaps a little.”
“It can’t be that bad,” Dahlia said. “The people in my village, before…before I came here, they seemed to enjoy it well enough.” The besrathari’s cold eyes flashed through her mind then, and her forced optimism shattered as her stomach filled with molten lead.
“You’re probably right.” The strain in Cara’s voice gave away her lack of confidence.
Dahlia reached up with her free hand to cup the side of Cara’s face, dragging their gazes together. “You’re strong. You’ll get through this, Cara,” she said. She leaned closer, brushing her lips softly over Cara’s in a brief, chaste kiss. When she pulled away, she forced an encouraging smile. “And when it’s over, I’ll be right here waiting for you.”
***
“Cara!” Dahlia gasped when she looked up from sharpening her daggers.
Cara had left for the breeding a week ago, and the person who staggered back into the dormitory now scarcely resembled her. Her long hair was dull and messy, freed from its braid and haphazardly tied back with a leather cord. Finger-shaped bruises marred her wrists and upper arms, trailed down her hips under the waistband of her pants. A broken circle of scabs surrounded a particularly angry bruise where her neck curved into her shoulder. Her gait was stiff and slow, hinting at injuries that were less visible, but the worst part was the hollow, haunted look in her eyes.
Dahlia quickly set aside her blades and whetstone, rushing to her friend’s side. “Oh, Cara.”
“You don’t need to fret,” Cara said, her voice hoarse and strained. Despite her protest, she didn’t resist when Dahlia took her hand, guiding her to sit on the edge of her own cot. “I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine,” Dahlia said. Her fingertips danced lightly along Cara’s face, thankfully devoid of any injury aside from a split in her lower lip that was just barely beginning to heal. She brushed her thumb gently across it, her heart aching as Cara winced. “I wish I could have done something to stop this.”
“It was my duty,” Cara said, sounding like she was trying to convince herself more than Dahlia.
Dahlia shook her head; she would have smiled at her friend’s stubbornness, but found herself unable to feel anything but despair at Cara’s condition. Without thinking, she leaned in to place a feather-soft kiss at the corner of Cara’s mouth, as though she could kiss away the pain of the cut along with everything else.
She had kissed Cara before; simple, fleeting gestures of friendly affection. That was all this was meant to be, but something changed when her lips made contact. Cara stiffened at first, flinched at the pressure against her injured lip, and Dahlia felt a pang of guilt, realizing she’d hurt her friend. Before she could pull away, however, Cara began to return the kiss in earnest. Strong hands came up to clutch at Dahlia’s sides, and a hot tongue slid out to trace her lips. Dahlia could taste the coppery tang of blood as she met Cara’s tongue with her own, and she moved her own hands down to Cara’s shoulders, carefully but firmly pushing her away.
“You’re hurt,” she managed to gasp when she’d put enough distance between their lips.
“I don’t care.” Cara’s voice cracked, but her resolve never did; her hands moved up to frame Dahlia’s face, tugging her back in before she could utter another word of protest.
Truth be told, Dahlia didn’t want to say anything to stop this. She’d be lying if she said she didn’t want this, hadn’t dreamed of it at night when the lights were out and the other girls were asleep. The feel of Cara’s mouth against her own, fierce and insistent, was almost enough to make Dahlia lose herself, to forget all the reasons this wasn’t a good idea.
Cara’s hands began to drift down her neck, fingertips raising goosebumps where they trailed haltingly over the exposed skin of her shoulders. Dahlia shivered as Cara traced the edges of the leather covering the small swell of her breasts; a hunger that she’d never felt before was curling in her belly, heating her blood, and it was becoming harder and harder to think. All she wanted was for Cara to keep touching her, to feel Cara pressed against her closer than their clothing had ever allowed.
This was wrong; it went against everything they had been taught of duty and the Qun. Mating was strictly reserved for the creation of life, and only when the tamassrans deemed it appropriate. It wasn’t something indulged in for fun, or to express emotions, and it certainly wasn’t an activity for two females to engage in with each other, with no conceivable chance of offspring. It simply wasn’t practical, but there was no doubt in Dahlia’s mind that it was what she wanted to do with Cara. Perhaps it was some lingering memory of her father’s stories of knights and damsels, of loves that came once in a lifetime; the Qunari had never managed to wipe those memories from her mind. More than that, though, Dahlia was convinced it was something special between the two of them, a bond more essential to their beings than even the Qun.
It was also dangerous. Dahlia knew that if they were caught doing this, the best they could hope for was retraining by their fellow Ben-Hassrath. The worst…well, the Qunari wasted nothing, but they had both heard stories of qamek: a substance that turned even the most strong-willed rebel into a mindless laborer. It sounded no better than what the templars did to rogue mages, turning them Tranquil by removing all traces of their former personality along with their magic. It was the thought of qamek that finally forced Dahlia to pull away.
She was too late; before Dahlia could speak, the scuff of a boot from across the room shattered the illusion of being alone. Dahlia jumped away from Cara, quickly putting distance between them as her gaze shot to the doorway.
The tallis that stood there was another human, of an age with herself and Cara. Her hair was so blonde it was almost white, and her ice-blue eyes held the same violent edge that so terrified Dahlia about the besrathari Cara had been mated with. Her full red lips curved ever-so-slightly at the edges as she arched an eyebrow, hand propped casually against her hip.
“I was sent to find you,” she said to Dahlia. Her neutral tone betrayed nothing, and Dahlia questioned whether she had truly seen anything incriminating. “It is time for weapons training.”
“Of course,” Dahlia replied uneasily. There had been a reason for cleaning and sharpening her blades, but Cara’s appearance had thoroughly distracted her from it. “I’ll be there shortly.”
The tallis nodded crisply, and before she spun on her heel to leave, Dahlia caught a knowing gleam in her eyes. There was no doubt that she had seen them, and Dahlia knew that this particular girl would not hesitate to use the knowledge as a weapon against her. She had always resented the closeness between Dahlia and Cara, and had taken particular offense to Cara being chosen for mating, though Dahlia wasn’t sure why.
Dahlia’s heart pounded in her chest, and she pressed her palm against it, trying in vain to slow its beating. Panic was flooding her body, making it hard to breathe; if the Ariqun were to find out-
“Kost, Tallis.” Cara’s use of her title was strange, jarring, as was the icy tone of her voice. Dahlia’s eyes shot up, and she looked at Cara for the first time since they had pulled apart. The blonde had straightened, folded her hands stiffly in her lap; her eyes were more distant than Dahlia had ever seen them, as though a wall had been erected where none had ever existed before.
“She saw us, Cara.” Dahlia’s concern over Cara’s sudden aloofness paled when compared to the punishment they might be facing.
“She will not speak of it.”
“How can you be so sure?” Dahlia asked, narrowing her eyes as she searched Cara’s stubbornly unreadable face.
“Because she has been engaging in unauthorized mating with the same besrathari whose chambers I just returned from.” There was a tiny crack in Cara’s composure, a slight strain in her voice. This at least explained the tallis’s grudge against Cara, but it didn’t comfort Dahlia as much as it could have.
Dahlia reached out to lay a comforting hand on Cara’s shoulder, felt it tense under her palm. She drew her hand back, rested it on her own thigh. “I don’t think I’d put it past her to tell anyway, out of spite,” she said, trying to fight back the tears that pricked at her eyes. Cara had never flinched at her touch before.
Cara shrugged and rose to move to her own cot, despite the clear stiffness of her joints. “Even if she does tell someone,” she said, looking back over her shoulder but not quite at Dahlia, “faltering once can be forgiven. We did not do anything irreversible. We must simply work harder to remember our duty to the Qun, and avoid any further inappropriate behavior.”
When finally she met Dahlia’s gaze once more, Dahlia ached at seeing the hard expression on her face. Cara had never looked so very much like a Qunari.
***
The bow was dragonthorn, supple and finely crafted. Cara drew an oiled cloth slowly over the wood, admiring how the sunlight filtering in through the narrow windows of the dormitory made it gleam dark red. It looked as though it had been dipped in blood.
“If you polish that thing any more, people will start to talk.” Dahlia’s teasing voice drifted across the room as she approached.
Cara tensed, her hand closing around the shaft of the bow. “Every tool needs to be cared for.”
Dahlia let out a dry chuckle as she sunk down onto the cot next to Cara. “With how much you care for it, one would think you were a soldier of the Antaam, and the bow your asala.”
Every Qunari was given a tool to fulfill their role in the Qun, but none cared for them quite so much as a soldier for his weapon. It was crafted for his hand alone, and to lose it meant to lose his very soul-his asala. Cara would have been a soldier-had wanted to be-but the Qunari believed that females were ill-suited to war, and could never hope to be as effective as a male. Each tool must be directed toward its proper purpose. She had been given the bow not as a means of attack, but of defense; if the compound were to be attacked, the Ben-Hassrath were required to defend it as fiercely as they defended the Qun.
There were a thousand things Cara could have said in response to Dahlia’s teasing remark-sarcastic quips, gruff retorts-but when she opened her mouth to speak, no words would come. The hand not gripping her bow drifted down to her belly, once again flat. The only evidence that a child had grown in her were the fading marks where her abdomen had stretched, and the soreness that still lingered at breasts long since dry of milk. “My asala is gone,” she said roughly. She was scarcely aware of speaking the words, but she felt their meaning in her very bones. Her soul had been lost when the tamassrans took her son from her womb, without giving her a chance to even see his face.
“Oh, Cara,” Dahlia said sadly, reaching to cover Cara’s hand with her own. “I’m so sorry.”
“It is no matter.” Cara forced back the traitorous thoughts. “It is what must be. My son will one day be Ben-Hassrath as well, and work to defend the Qun as I do.”
But she wouldn’t get to see him grow. Ben-Hassrath were not built for raising children-that was not their role. The tamassrans would raise him as Dahlia and Cara had been raised, with the other imekari. As a besrathari, Cara would only see him if he needed re-education as a child. As far as the Qun was concerned, their bond had been severed the moment he left her womb. It was the truth, the way things were meant to be, but that didn’t mean that Cara didn’t struggle with it. Caring for her weapon was one of the few things that could distract her from her grief.
“It’s all right to miss him,” Dahlia said softly, her thumb stroking gently at the back of Cara’s hand. “No matter what the Qun says about it. He’s your son.”
“There is no sense in dwelling on things that cannot be changed.” Cara swallowed around the lump in her throat, biting the inside of her cheek to combat the tears stinging at her eyes. This was merely the lingering hormones from carrying a child. It had not been all that long since she’d given birth; her body simply needed more time to recover.
That didn’t explain, though, the way her heart raced when Dahlia’s other hand settled on her shoulder, or the way her bare skin tingled under the warmth of Dahlia’s fingers. Once Cara’s pregnancy had been confirmed, she had been relieved of her duties as Ben-Hassrath, and taken to be cared for along with the other females carrying children. She hadn’t seen Dahlia for months, and she’d hoped that the time apart would cool the passions that had flared so dangerously between them.
She had been wrong. Dahlia had kept her distance after Cara returned to the Ben-Hassrath, but there was something different in the way she looked at Cara now, some hidden knowledge that wasn’t there before. They had always been special to one another, closer than other Qunari tended to be, but they had never crossed the boundaries of what was acceptable. Friends, comrades, sisters in the Qun: that was all they were meant to be, and yet it wasn’t nearly enough to encompass all that Dahlia was to her.
Cara knew it was a failing, that she would never truly be Qunari until she could rid herself of these selfish desires, but despite her best efforts, she could not erase the memory of Dahlia’s lips on her own, of Dahlia’s skin hot under her fingertips-or the fact that regardless of everything the Qunari had ever taught her, in that moment she had felt that she was suited for no better role than to keep kissing Dahlia, to love her in every way possible.
“Cara.” The nickname tumbled from Dahlia’s lips like some long-forgotten prayer to Andraste, reverent and breathless and full of longing. Dahlia’s hand rose to cup her cheek, guiding their gazes together, and Cara felt herself break.
When Dahlia leaned in, slow and unsure, Cara found herself unable to pull back. The first hesitant brush of Dahlia’s lips across her own was like a balm, soothing the empty ache in her chest; the shy prod of Dahlia’s tongue ignited embers that had never fully cooled. It wasn’t long before she was returning the kiss fervently, her bow laying forgotten on the cot beside her as she clutched at Dahlia’s waist.
They knew better than to make any sort of noise; their actions were guided by the touch of their hands and the raggedness of their breath. Somehow, Cara found herself hovering over Dahlia, her thigh wedged between Dahlia’s own as Dahlia gasped into her mouth. Fingers pressed into her back, but the feel of it was worlds apart from what she had felt with the besrathari; she could feel Dahlia’s need, her urgent desperation, but Dahlia did not want to hurt her, only to be close to her.
She wasn’t entirely sure what she was doing. Her only experience with anything close to this had been the besrathari taking his pleasure from her, and she didn’t think she’d know how to do that if she wanted to. Cara wanted to give pleasure to Dahlia, to bring her to some unknown height and hold onto her as she came back down. The way Dahlia arched against her leg was at least indication that she had the right idea, and when Dahlia shuddered beneath her, mouth open in a soundless cry, Cara felt her chest swell with pride and love.
The exhilarated smile on Dahlia’s lips fell away at the sound of a throat clearing pointedly; standing in the doorway was the same tallis who had walked in on them a year prior. She had not said anything then, but her demeanor had been nothing short of hostile ever since Cara had returned from giving birth to the besrathari’s son. Now, her lips curled into a cruel smirk; she didn’t bother to speak, but the vindictive flash in her eyes told Cara that she would not be silent this time.
Cara’s blood ran cold as she watched the tallis turn and leave. She knew that if she were to meet Dahlia’s gaze, she would find the same fear she felt mirrored in the other girl’s eyes. What would come next for them would not be pleasant.
***
“You must not think of this as punishment.”
Cara sat stiffly on the wooden bench, her eyes trained forward as she tried to remain impassive. When their indiscretion was revealed, Cara and Dahlia had both been temporarily relieved of their duties, and taken to separate cells for re-education. That had been a week ago, and Cara was beginning to feel the walls close in around her. Every day she was visited by a besrathari, who would quote to her from the teachings of Ashkaari Koslun, and evaluate her readiness to return to her role.
This besrathari was one Cara knew well; she had been trained by the woman since the day she was given her role. She was slender for a kossith, with skin the color of unpolished silverite. Her white hair was pulled back into a tight braid, exposing her sleek, curved horns. She would almost be pretty, were it not for her sharp, pinched features; she had always put Cara in mind of a snake, coiled and ready to lunge at any moment.
“It is a hard thing to learn to stop struggling,” the kossith continued, her voice almost patronizing. “Particularly for those not born to the Qun. You cannot be faulted for your mistakes, but we cannot allow you to return to your duties until it is clear that you will not influence others to repeat them.”
Righteous indignation flared in Cara’s chest. She had more than proven her dedication to the Qun; one mistake hardly warranted treating her like an imekari. “Do you ever make mistakes?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.
Thin, gray lips pressed together in a hint of a smile. “Long ago. When I was Imekari. The Qun does not always come naturally, or easily.” The smile-if it could truly be called such-faded, and the besrathari’s bright yellow eyes hardened. “But I learned to accept my place in the Qun. If you cannot do the same, you will leave us no choice but to take more drastic measures.”
Qamek. Cara was unable to fully conceal the shiver that raced down her spine at the thought. To be a mindless laborer, to surrender so completely to the Qun that she forgot everything that made her who she was…it was unthinkable. Any thought of defiance dissipated.
“I will learn,” Cara said firmly, cursing the slight waver in her voice. “My only desire is to follow the Qun.”
The kossith’s gaze burned into Cara, hard and probing. “That remains to be seen.”
***
“Maraas shokra,” Cara said crisply, pacing back and forth in front of her charge. “There is nothing to struggle against. The world and the self are one. To struggle against your role is to struggle against your very nature.”
The girl stared up at her from the bench, cheeks still red and puffy from crying. She was a new convert, barely ten years old, and had been caught earlier in the day attempting to escape the compound.
“I just wanted to see my family,” the imekari said, hugging her arms to herself.
“The Qunari are your family now,” Cara replied, coming to a stop in front of the child. “Each member is but one piece of the whole. Mind, body, and soul all work toward a common cause. The sooner you come to understand that, the sooner you will have peace within yourself.”
“I’m afraid.” The girl looked up with wide green eyes, chin trembling. There was something terribly familiar about her, something Cara struggled to put a finger on. She was open and guileless in her emotions, yet her escape attempt attested to a strength of will that would be impressive once the girl learned to direct it to its proper outlet.
It hit Cara in an instant; while vastly different in looks-the girl had short, pale blonde hair and the pointed ears of an elf-in temperament she was reminiscent of Dahlia, when she had first arrived at the compound. Emotion swelled in Cara’s chest, and she fought it back as she knelt before the child.
“You will learn to master your fear,” Cara said, perhaps more gently than necessary. “You must only try.”
“Okay.” The girl nodded, sniffing back more tears.
“That is enough for today.” Cara rose to her feet, pulling open the door to the cell. “You may join your fellow imekari at the evening meal.”
The girl scurried out, wiping her cheeks as she went. Cara sighed, rolling her shoulders as she headed off toward the baths. She had been in training all day, educating kabethari children who were having trouble adjusting to their new home. Training difficult imekari always made her tense; she could almost feel the weight of the Qun on her shoulders, as though it were her sole duty to uphold it. This last child had been the worst, with her similarity to Dahlia and the memories it had brought back.
Three years had passed since their transgression, and Cara had done everything in her power to devote herself completely to the Qun. She had not been mated again; when her son was born, she was told that it was unlikely she would ever conceive again. Even the ambitious, charismatic besrathari who had fathered the child had been unable to convince the tamassrans to allow him another attempt, although the looks he gave her when they passed in the halls assured her that he had tried.
It was small comfort, when she still felt the loss of her son as keenly as the day he was taken away. Despite who his father was, she could not erase the bond she felt toward the child that had grown in her womb, and she cursed herself for it every day. It was not how she was meant to feel. She was not a tamassran, and raising children was not her role; she had no place in a child’s life.
Dahlia had managed to escape being bred; Cara assumed that more than her slight frame, it had been Dahlia’s behavior with her that had guided that decision. It would have been viewed as a defect in her design, and the tamassrans would not purposely further such a line. Dahlia had her own purpose, in any case; one that had taken her away from the compound more and more often over the years.
Cara had seen Dahlia once, in passing, after they had both completed their re-education. The younger girl had avoided meeting her gaze, and Cara had wondered what was said to make Dahlia so nervous around her. Dahlia had not been forthcoming, and that same day she had been sent on her first mission. Each time she returned, Dahlia was more and more distant, and consistently found ways to avoid being alone with Cara.
This was not the usual time for bathing, and the large marble pools were devoid of other Qunari. The water would be cooler than she liked, as it was only heated once a day, but it would nevertheless serve to leech some of the tension from her body. Piling her clothes neatly at the edge of one pool, Cara slipped into the water, sighing as it lapped gently at her skin.
With her eyes closed, it was the sound of footsteps that alerted Cara to someone’s arrival; she heard them approach, then stop abruptly. Sliding her eyes open, she turned her gaze to the doorway, where Dahlia stood frozen, wearing a simple frock in place of her leathers. She looked weary, but more than that, she looked ready to flee the room at any moment.
“There is more than enough room for two,” Cara said needlessly; the baths routinely accommodated several times that number. “Though the water is no longer warm.”
“I can endure a chill,” Dahlia said, a wary smile touching her lips. “It is a long way from Treviso, and very dusty. I have been looking forward to a bath for leagues.”
Cara tried to avert her gaze as Dahlia undressed, but her eyes were consistently drawn back to the ever-increasing expanse of bare skin and soft curves. They had bathed together before, but never alone.
The water rippled as Dahlia slipped into the other end of the pool, and for a long while the only sound was the splashing of water as they bathed. Dahlia’s frustrated huff broke the silence, and Cara looked up to see the other woman trying in vain to scrub at her own back.
“Here.” Cara glided through the water to Dahlia’s side, reaching to pluck the washcloth from Dahlia’s hand. Dahlia’s eyes widened nervously, and her grip on the cloth tightened. “Surely we have not grown so far apart that I cannot do such a simple thing for you,” Cara chided.
Warily, Dahlia released the cloth and pulled her hair forward over one shoulder, turning her back to Cara. The silence was even heavier with Dahlia’s skin warm beneath Cara’s hands.
“How did you find Antiva?” Cara asked, keeping her strokes even and detached. She could see the clear lines on Dahlia’s back that delineated where her breastwrap usually covered, the skin that was usually beneath it as pale and unmarred as when they were children.
“Dirty,” Dahlia said scornfully. “It seems that every time they manage to clear the ash from the streets, the city burns down again.”
Cara smirked. “It sounds as though they should spend more time fortifying their buildings.”
“That would require them to take their focus off of trying to kill one another,” Dahlia scoffed. “If there were ever a people that needed the Qun, it would be the Antivans. They are wasteful and selfish, and place far too much value on gold.”
“You’re only upset because you had to wear a dress,” Cara teased, dragging the washcloth over Dahlia’s shoulders.
“Perhaps,” Dahlia conceded. Cara could hear the smile creep into her voice, but in the next instant, it was gone. “The way they view females is just as much an affront to the Qun. Women are not devoid of purpose simply because they are not built to be soldiers, yet those bas would lock their females away as though they were mere decoration.” She shuddered, and Cara watched the muscles of her back ripple under the skin.
“So the mission went well?” Cara asked uneasily. Hearing her friend speak of the Qun this way was a strange experience. Dahlia had always struggled more, needed Cara’s guidance-now it seemed she had surpassed Cara in her devotion.
“As well as could be expected,” Dahlia said bitterly. Cara knew without seeing her face that Dahlia was scowling. “There was too much I could not gain access to by virtue of my gender. Had I not been on a covert mission, I would have proven my value to them. I am no delicate flower.”
Dahlia’s back had been clean for a while now, but Cara kept stroking, savoring the simple contact. “You were mine, once,” she said softly, the words falling from her lips before she could hold them back.
Dahlia tensed. “A child’s foolishness.”
Cara’s hand stilled, resting flat against Dahlia’s back; she could feel Dahlia’s heart beating wildly against her ribs. “Was that all it was?”
“I should dress,” Dahlia said nervously, reaching for the side of the pool to pull herself up.
“Dahlia,” Cara murmured, the washcloth dropping from her hand as she reached for Dahlia’s shoulder. She was scarcely aware of what she was doing, but the way her pulse pounded in her ears made her feel more alive than she had in years.
“You should not call me that,” Dahlia said harshly, her voice shaking as she turned to look at Cara. “I am Tallis, as you are Besrathari. We can be only what we are.”
Cara glanced toward the doorway, around the room, then back to Dahlia, a small smirk playing at her lips. “There is no one around to hear what I call you.”
“That should not matter.” Dahlia’s voice caught in her throat as Cara reached to trail wet fingertips over her cheek.
Years had passed, and Cara was still unable to shake this desire. It was perfectly acceptable for her to love Dahlia, to feel a close kinship with her as with all of her brethren. If that were all it was, Cara would never have had a problem to begin with, but to physically express that love was forbidden. She should be ashamed for even thinking of it, but it was difficult to find fault in something that felt so right.
“I have missed you,” Cara said softly, lifting Dahlia’s chin to meet her gaze.
Dahlia blinked slowly, as though her eyelids had gotten heavier; she leaned in toward Cara ever-so-slightly before she caught herself and drew back. “This is not right,” she said pleadingly. “We cannot do this.”
“Everyone has bathed already today,” Cara pointed out, her fingers drifting down Dahlia’s neck; she could feel Dahlia’s pulse racing under her touch. “We will not be caught this time.”
A small whimper sounded in Dahlia’s throat, and desire burned plainly in her eyes. “You know that is not a guarantee,” she said weakly.
Cara leaned closer, so that her breath brushed across Dahlia’s lips. “You cannot tell me you don’t want this.” The words were brazen and confident, but her voice was shaky, vulnerable; the split-second of silence felt like an eternity.
Then Dahlia was kissing her, damp fingers tangling in her hair to pull her close. The kiss was every bit as potent as the ones they’d shared years ago, and any lingering reservations Cara might have had disappeared in the press of Dahlia’s wet flesh against her own. Her hands slid down to Dahlia’s hips, pulling the other woman onto her lap. The water made the movement almost effortless.
When they had done this before, there had been no baring of skin, no leisurely exploration of bodies; Cara had scarcely been able to figure out what she was doing before Dahlia was shuddering beneath her. This time, Cara was determined to touch every part of Dahlia, to be as close to her as any two people could be. Her mouth left Dahlia’s only to trail hot kisses down her neck and across her collarbone, always quickly returning to claim her lips once more. Her hands eagerly roamed the slick expanse of Dahlia’s skin, memorizing the curve of her spine, the weight of her breasts, the flex of muscle in her thighs as she arched insistently against Cara. All the while, they made little sound; the splashes of water echoed loudly against the tile walls, but the moans that managed to escape one throat were quickly swallowed by the other.
Finally, Cara’s hand grew bold enough to slide down Dahlia’s belly, fingertips brushing over coarse curls between her legs. Dahlia’s hips jerked forward at the touch, her hands clutching tightly at Cara’s shoulders as she suppressed a moan. Cara sighed into Dahlia’s neck as her fumbling fingers were met with a surge of thick wetness. This was where she was meant to be, what she was meant for. This was her purpose.
“This cannot be wrong,” Cara murmured breathlessly.
The moment shattered. Dahlia stiffened in her arms, and hands that had been pulling Cara closer now pushed at her shoulders. Cara barely got a glimpse of the tormented look on her face before Dahlia pulled herself out of the pool, gathering up her dusty clothing and clutching it to her as she fled the room without a word.
Part Two
Pairing: Cara/Dahlia
Rating: R
Warnings: Reference to rape/forced breeding, “underage” sexytimes (non-explicit, and they’re considered “of age” in their culture)
Word Count: 13,548
Disclaimer: Neither Legend of the Seeker or Dragon Age are mine, nor are any of the characters contained therein. Qunari language and culture are derived (hopefully as accurately as possible) from BioWare’s Dragon Age series, with the help of the Dragon Age Wiki. Opening excerpt is taken verbatim from the game.
Summary: The Qunari routinely conquer human lands, forcibly converting their inhabitants to the Qun in heavily guarded compounds. In one such place, two young human girls come to depend on one another for comfort and companionship. When their bond grows deeper than the Qun allows, it will prove dangerous for them both.
Author's Note: The Dragon Age Wiki was an invaluable resource for Qunari language and culture. If you want to read more about it, or look up the meaning of the Qunlat words and phrases used in the story (I've tried to provide context clues, but in some places it just would have been clunky), check it out.
Author's Note, Part 2: I neglected to mention before, this is the prequel to The Tides Go In, The Tides Go Out.
When the Ashkaari looked upon the destruction wrought by locusts,
He saw at last the order in the world.
A plague must cause suffering for as long as it endures,
Earthquakes must shatter the land.
They are bound by their being.
Asit tal-eb. It is to be.
For the world and the self are one.
Existence is a choice.
A self of suffering, brings only suffering to the world.
It is a choice, and we can refuse it.
-An excerpt from The Qun, Canto 4
"Won't the Maker be mad at me if I turn my back on Him?"
The noonday sun burned bright overhead, its rays warming the two children as they sat among the tall grass. They were close enough to hear the people working in the center of the compound: blacksmiths hammering at their anvils, farmers talking amicably as they worked the fields, and above it all, the ever-present sound of clashing steel and crisply shouted orders from the training yard.
She was the younger of the two, only ten years old. Her light brown hair was pulled into the customary plait of Qunari children, and it tickled her back where it brushed against the bare skin. She sat with her knees pulled up to her chest, still unaccustomed to being without a shirt. It had all been explained to her, how it was foolish to waste resources on unnecessary clothing; it made a sort of sense, but it had only been recently that she had been taken by the Qunari, and she still carried the weight of her old life with her. She was grateful that at least she was given soft doeskin pants to wear, and simple sandals for her feet.
Her question was only half-serious; she may be new to the compound, but she had learned quickly that the Maker had no dominion here. The Qunari spoke of duty as reverently as she had ever heard anyone talk about Andraste, but they didn't seem to trouble themselves with where the world came from. All that mattered was that it was there.
"Didn't your Maker already turn His back on you?" Her companion raised an eyebrow, green eyes glittering with amusement. The older girl, a blonde of eleven, was far more comfortable in her skin. She sat cross-legged and straight-backed, arms resting casually in her lap. She had been at the compound much longer, and it showed; her skin was golden-tan all over, so unlike the pale porcelain of the younger girl's. “How could He know which way you were facing?”
The younger girl smiled a small smile and shrugged; she didn’t have an answer for that. She’d only ever believed in the Maker because her parents told her He was real. Now they were gone, taken away to be trained by the Ben-Hassrath, and she followed the Qun because the Qunari told her that was what was real. Her smile faded as her mind wandered. "What if I don't like the role they choose for me?"
"The tamassrans do not choose your role," the blonde said, rolling her eyes as she stared out across the grassy hills. "They merely identify it. You are what you will be." She turned her head to look at her companion, a smirk playing at her lips. "Besides, you have a long way to go before your role becomes clear. You are still kabethari, and a child besides."
A frown tugged at the younger girl's mouth. The Qunari's words still sounded strange to her. "I'm still scared," she said stubbornly.
"Asit tal-eb," the older girl said, her smirk softening into a reassuring smile. "It does you no good to worry about what is to come. If it comforts you, I do not yet know my role either."
It was comforting, at least a little bit. The blonde had been the one good thing she had found among the Qunari. Everything else had been taken from her; her home, her belongings, even her name. After her parents were taken away, she had thought she was completely alone. The kossith children didn't speak the common tongue, and there weren't very many humans or elves at all in the compound she'd been taken to. The older girl still remembered enough from her former life to communicate, though, and she'd been teaching the younger girl to speak Qunlat as well.
But the blonde’s twelfth nameday loomed on the horizon, and soon she would know her role, and no longer be Imekari. She was smart, and kind; she would end up in the priesthood, probably, teaching other girls the path of the Qun. Of course, the younger girl was no tamassran, and could not presume to know what another's role would be.
The younger girl rolled over to lie on her stomach; the grass tickled her bare skin, and she flattened it with her palms before propping herself up on her elbows. "It feels wrong to call you Imekari," she said, idly playing with one of the colorful flowers scattered among the grasses.
Her companion peered at her over a tanned shoulder. "It is what I am."
With an idle flick of her wrist, the younger girl plucked the flower from the ground. She twirled the stem between her fingers, frowning slightly. "But that's what they call me, too."
"It is also what you are," the blonde replied with an impish smirk.
The younger girl narrowed her eyes, but there was no venom in her glare. "I think I'll call you Cara."
"That is not wise."
"Just think of it as a nickname, silly. Or are those forbidden by the Qun?" She lifted the blossom to her nose; it didn't smell like much of anything at all…dirt and leaves, maybe. Nothing like the roses her mama used to grow. "It means 'friend', you know."
"The Qunari have a perfectly functional word for that. Kadan."
"But you're not just any kadan," the younger girl said, tapping the blonde's bare shoulder with the flower. "You're special. You're my Cara."
The girl who was now Cara frowned, all traces of amusement gone from her face. "Just don't let the tamassrans hear you do it."
Smiling, the younger girl rotated on the ground until she was lying back against her companion, using a strong thigh as a pillow. “It’ll be our special secret,” she said, looking up into her friend's face. "You can pick a name for me too, if you want."
Cara scoffed, rolled her eyes; it looked as though she was about to reject the idea outright, but her eyes flickered to the sweet smile on the younger girl's lips, then to the flower she was still idly waving back and forth. "What is that flower called?"
"Um…" She thought hard, trying to remember what her mama had told her about it. Her mama had loved flowers. "It's a dahlia."
"Then that's what I'll call you," the blonde said decisively. "Dahlia. You're always playing with those things; it's fitting."
The younger girl’s smile brightened, and she pushed herself up to her knees. She tucked the flower she was holding behind one of Cara's ears, leaning in to kiss her sweetly on the cheek. "I'll be Dahlia, then. And you'll be my Cara."
Cara rolled her eyes, but Dahlia could see the smile that tugged at her mouth.
***
The dormitories were quiet as Dahlia made her way down the hallway. It was late in the day, and everyone was in the mess hall for the evening meal. Everyone, that is, except for the one person whose presence Dahlia couldn't help but miss.
It wasn't like Cara to miss a meal. The blonde thrived on the structure and routine of life in the Qunari compound, even more so since they had both begun their training. Cara had embraced her duty in a way that Dahlia almost envied. She herself still struggled with following the Qun; she had been at the compound for years now, but the memories of her life before she was taken still haunted her at every turn.
Cara, on the other hand…Cara had been so proud the day the tamassrans had decided her role. Gone were the soft doeskin pants and sandals of the imekari. In their place was an ensemble of deep red leather: patchwork pants sewn together with thick leather cord, sleek calf-high boots, and a wide strip of leather that crisscrossed her chest to support her budding breasts. It made for a formidable sight, and Cara seemed to wear it like a second skin; looking at her, Dahlia never had trouble believing that every person had a purpose, because Cara was exactly where she belonged.
For her part, Dahlia had just been happy that she got to remain with Cara. They were both Ben-Hassrath now; Cara was Besrathari, training and counseling new converts and those deemed in need of additional education, while Dahlia was Tallis, training to be an infiltrator and, if it was unavoidable, an assassin.
In time, Dahlia would be forced to leave the compound, to gather intelligence on enemies of the Qun, while Cara would stay here, continuing her own duty. For now, though, they were together, and everything was going well for them both-which made Cara's absence all the more conspicuous. Dahlia frowned, pushing open the door to the females' dormitory. The room was vast, with cots lined up in neat rows. In a far corner, a figure sat on the edge of one of them, leaning forward with elbows resting on knees.
"There you are," Dahlia said with a relieved sigh. "You weren't at supper."
"I am…not hungry." Cara's voice was quiet, almost strangled. She didn't look up.
As Dahlia drew nearer, she noticed the tense set of Cara's shoulders. She sank down onto the cot, resting a hand gently on Cara's thigh. "Cara, what's wrong?"
For a long moment, Cara's only answer was a labored breath. Finally she spoke once more, her gaze still fixed on the ground. "It does not matter. Asit tal-eb. It is to be."
Dahlia's heart pounded, an urgent feeling of dread creeping into her chest. "What is to be?" She grabbed Cara's hand, squeezed it tightly. "Tell me, kadan."
Cara's hand was clammy to the touch, and when she looked up to briefly meet Dahlia's gaze, her face was pale and drawn. She quickly looked back down at the floor. "I am to be mated."
The words were barely audible, but Dahlia could hear them echoing in her ears as though Cara had shouted them at the top of her lungs. A heavy, sick feeling lurched in her stomach. It hadn't even been a possibility in Dahlia's mind, although she supposed now that it should have. At fourteen years old, Cara was more than old enough, especially by Qunari standards.
It took several tries for Dahlia to get her voice to work again, and even then it was to choke out a single word. "Who?"
"The besrathari in charge of the males."
Dahlia's blood ran cold in her veins. The trainer Cara spoke of was a rare example of a human rising to a prominent position of power among the Qunari, a leader of besrathari rather than just another teacher of the Qun. He was a lean, muscular man, with dark hair that fell to his chin and a neatly trimmed goatee. His steel-blue eyes always shone with a cruel, sadistic edge that Dahlia assumed the kossith must be unable to recognize; she had grown up among humans, though, and just the memory of it made her shiver. Dahlia had seen the way he looked at the females, and at Cara in particular-a look that had little to do with producing strong offspring. He was also at least twice Cara's age; it horrified Dahlia just to think of it.
At the same time, there was nothing she could say to make it better. Shok ebasit hissra. There was no point in struggling against fate. Even if this besrathari had somehow manipulated the tamassrans into arranging this-and Dahlia was sure that he had-it nevertheless had been arranged, and it would be done.
Holding tightly to Cara’s hand, Dahlia leaned in to rest her head on the blonde’s shoulder, hoping that Cara could find some small comfort in the closeness they shared. "Are you afraid?"
Cara opened her mouth to protest, defiance flashing in her eyes as she glanced up at Dahlia. But there was no accusation in Dahlia’s gaze, only sympathy and concern. Shame clouded her features as she nodded. “Perhaps a little.”
“It can’t be that bad,” Dahlia said. “The people in my village, before…before I came here, they seemed to enjoy it well enough.” The besrathari’s cold eyes flashed through her mind then, and her forced optimism shattered as her stomach filled with molten lead.
“You’re probably right.” The strain in Cara’s voice gave away her lack of confidence.
Dahlia reached up with her free hand to cup the side of Cara’s face, dragging their gazes together. “You’re strong. You’ll get through this, Cara,” she said. She leaned closer, brushing her lips softly over Cara’s in a brief, chaste kiss. When she pulled away, she forced an encouraging smile. “And when it’s over, I’ll be right here waiting for you.”
***
“Cara!” Dahlia gasped when she looked up from sharpening her daggers.
Cara had left for the breeding a week ago, and the person who staggered back into the dormitory now scarcely resembled her. Her long hair was dull and messy, freed from its braid and haphazardly tied back with a leather cord. Finger-shaped bruises marred her wrists and upper arms, trailed down her hips under the waistband of her pants. A broken circle of scabs surrounded a particularly angry bruise where her neck curved into her shoulder. Her gait was stiff and slow, hinting at injuries that were less visible, but the worst part was the hollow, haunted look in her eyes.
Dahlia quickly set aside her blades and whetstone, rushing to her friend’s side. “Oh, Cara.”
“You don’t need to fret,” Cara said, her voice hoarse and strained. Despite her protest, she didn’t resist when Dahlia took her hand, guiding her to sit on the edge of her own cot. “I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine,” Dahlia said. Her fingertips danced lightly along Cara’s face, thankfully devoid of any injury aside from a split in her lower lip that was just barely beginning to heal. She brushed her thumb gently across it, her heart aching as Cara winced. “I wish I could have done something to stop this.”
“It was my duty,” Cara said, sounding like she was trying to convince herself more than Dahlia.
Dahlia shook her head; she would have smiled at her friend’s stubbornness, but found herself unable to feel anything but despair at Cara’s condition. Without thinking, she leaned in to place a feather-soft kiss at the corner of Cara’s mouth, as though she could kiss away the pain of the cut along with everything else.
She had kissed Cara before; simple, fleeting gestures of friendly affection. That was all this was meant to be, but something changed when her lips made contact. Cara stiffened at first, flinched at the pressure against her injured lip, and Dahlia felt a pang of guilt, realizing she’d hurt her friend. Before she could pull away, however, Cara began to return the kiss in earnest. Strong hands came up to clutch at Dahlia’s sides, and a hot tongue slid out to trace her lips. Dahlia could taste the coppery tang of blood as she met Cara’s tongue with her own, and she moved her own hands down to Cara’s shoulders, carefully but firmly pushing her away.
“You’re hurt,” she managed to gasp when she’d put enough distance between their lips.
“I don’t care.” Cara’s voice cracked, but her resolve never did; her hands moved up to frame Dahlia’s face, tugging her back in before she could utter another word of protest.
Truth be told, Dahlia didn’t want to say anything to stop this. She’d be lying if she said she didn’t want this, hadn’t dreamed of it at night when the lights were out and the other girls were asleep. The feel of Cara’s mouth against her own, fierce and insistent, was almost enough to make Dahlia lose herself, to forget all the reasons this wasn’t a good idea.
Cara’s hands began to drift down her neck, fingertips raising goosebumps where they trailed haltingly over the exposed skin of her shoulders. Dahlia shivered as Cara traced the edges of the leather covering the small swell of her breasts; a hunger that she’d never felt before was curling in her belly, heating her blood, and it was becoming harder and harder to think. All she wanted was for Cara to keep touching her, to feel Cara pressed against her closer than their clothing had ever allowed.
This was wrong; it went against everything they had been taught of duty and the Qun. Mating was strictly reserved for the creation of life, and only when the tamassrans deemed it appropriate. It wasn’t something indulged in for fun, or to express emotions, and it certainly wasn’t an activity for two females to engage in with each other, with no conceivable chance of offspring. It simply wasn’t practical, but there was no doubt in Dahlia’s mind that it was what she wanted to do with Cara. Perhaps it was some lingering memory of her father’s stories of knights and damsels, of loves that came once in a lifetime; the Qunari had never managed to wipe those memories from her mind. More than that, though, Dahlia was convinced it was something special between the two of them, a bond more essential to their beings than even the Qun.
It was also dangerous. Dahlia knew that if they were caught doing this, the best they could hope for was retraining by their fellow Ben-Hassrath. The worst…well, the Qunari wasted nothing, but they had both heard stories of qamek: a substance that turned even the most strong-willed rebel into a mindless laborer. It sounded no better than what the templars did to rogue mages, turning them Tranquil by removing all traces of their former personality along with their magic. It was the thought of qamek that finally forced Dahlia to pull away.
She was too late; before Dahlia could speak, the scuff of a boot from across the room shattered the illusion of being alone. Dahlia jumped away from Cara, quickly putting distance between them as her gaze shot to the doorway.
The tallis that stood there was another human, of an age with herself and Cara. Her hair was so blonde it was almost white, and her ice-blue eyes held the same violent edge that so terrified Dahlia about the besrathari Cara had been mated with. Her full red lips curved ever-so-slightly at the edges as she arched an eyebrow, hand propped casually against her hip.
“I was sent to find you,” she said to Dahlia. Her neutral tone betrayed nothing, and Dahlia questioned whether she had truly seen anything incriminating. “It is time for weapons training.”
“Of course,” Dahlia replied uneasily. There had been a reason for cleaning and sharpening her blades, but Cara’s appearance had thoroughly distracted her from it. “I’ll be there shortly.”
The tallis nodded crisply, and before she spun on her heel to leave, Dahlia caught a knowing gleam in her eyes. There was no doubt that she had seen them, and Dahlia knew that this particular girl would not hesitate to use the knowledge as a weapon against her. She had always resented the closeness between Dahlia and Cara, and had taken particular offense to Cara being chosen for mating, though Dahlia wasn’t sure why.
Dahlia’s heart pounded in her chest, and she pressed her palm against it, trying in vain to slow its beating. Panic was flooding her body, making it hard to breathe; if the Ariqun were to find out-
“Kost, Tallis.” Cara’s use of her title was strange, jarring, as was the icy tone of her voice. Dahlia’s eyes shot up, and she looked at Cara for the first time since they had pulled apart. The blonde had straightened, folded her hands stiffly in her lap; her eyes were more distant than Dahlia had ever seen them, as though a wall had been erected where none had ever existed before.
“She saw us, Cara.” Dahlia’s concern over Cara’s sudden aloofness paled when compared to the punishment they might be facing.
“She will not speak of it.”
“How can you be so sure?” Dahlia asked, narrowing her eyes as she searched Cara’s stubbornly unreadable face.
“Because she has been engaging in unauthorized mating with the same besrathari whose chambers I just returned from.” There was a tiny crack in Cara’s composure, a slight strain in her voice. This at least explained the tallis’s grudge against Cara, but it didn’t comfort Dahlia as much as it could have.
Dahlia reached out to lay a comforting hand on Cara’s shoulder, felt it tense under her palm. She drew her hand back, rested it on her own thigh. “I don’t think I’d put it past her to tell anyway, out of spite,” she said, trying to fight back the tears that pricked at her eyes. Cara had never flinched at her touch before.
Cara shrugged and rose to move to her own cot, despite the clear stiffness of her joints. “Even if she does tell someone,” she said, looking back over her shoulder but not quite at Dahlia, “faltering once can be forgiven. We did not do anything irreversible. We must simply work harder to remember our duty to the Qun, and avoid any further inappropriate behavior.”
When finally she met Dahlia’s gaze once more, Dahlia ached at seeing the hard expression on her face. Cara had never looked so very much like a Qunari.
***
The bow was dragonthorn, supple and finely crafted. Cara drew an oiled cloth slowly over the wood, admiring how the sunlight filtering in through the narrow windows of the dormitory made it gleam dark red. It looked as though it had been dipped in blood.
“If you polish that thing any more, people will start to talk.” Dahlia’s teasing voice drifted across the room as she approached.
Cara tensed, her hand closing around the shaft of the bow. “Every tool needs to be cared for.”
Dahlia let out a dry chuckle as she sunk down onto the cot next to Cara. “With how much you care for it, one would think you were a soldier of the Antaam, and the bow your asala.”
Every Qunari was given a tool to fulfill their role in the Qun, but none cared for them quite so much as a soldier for his weapon. It was crafted for his hand alone, and to lose it meant to lose his very soul-his asala. Cara would have been a soldier-had wanted to be-but the Qunari believed that females were ill-suited to war, and could never hope to be as effective as a male. Each tool must be directed toward its proper purpose. She had been given the bow not as a means of attack, but of defense; if the compound were to be attacked, the Ben-Hassrath were required to defend it as fiercely as they defended the Qun.
There were a thousand things Cara could have said in response to Dahlia’s teasing remark-sarcastic quips, gruff retorts-but when she opened her mouth to speak, no words would come. The hand not gripping her bow drifted down to her belly, once again flat. The only evidence that a child had grown in her were the fading marks where her abdomen had stretched, and the soreness that still lingered at breasts long since dry of milk. “My asala is gone,” she said roughly. She was scarcely aware of speaking the words, but she felt their meaning in her very bones. Her soul had been lost when the tamassrans took her son from her womb, without giving her a chance to even see his face.
“Oh, Cara,” Dahlia said sadly, reaching to cover Cara’s hand with her own. “I’m so sorry.”
“It is no matter.” Cara forced back the traitorous thoughts. “It is what must be. My son will one day be Ben-Hassrath as well, and work to defend the Qun as I do.”
But she wouldn’t get to see him grow. Ben-Hassrath were not built for raising children-that was not their role. The tamassrans would raise him as Dahlia and Cara had been raised, with the other imekari. As a besrathari, Cara would only see him if he needed re-education as a child. As far as the Qun was concerned, their bond had been severed the moment he left her womb. It was the truth, the way things were meant to be, but that didn’t mean that Cara didn’t struggle with it. Caring for her weapon was one of the few things that could distract her from her grief.
“It’s all right to miss him,” Dahlia said softly, her thumb stroking gently at the back of Cara’s hand. “No matter what the Qun says about it. He’s your son.”
“There is no sense in dwelling on things that cannot be changed.” Cara swallowed around the lump in her throat, biting the inside of her cheek to combat the tears stinging at her eyes. This was merely the lingering hormones from carrying a child. It had not been all that long since she’d given birth; her body simply needed more time to recover.
That didn’t explain, though, the way her heart raced when Dahlia’s other hand settled on her shoulder, or the way her bare skin tingled under the warmth of Dahlia’s fingers. Once Cara’s pregnancy had been confirmed, she had been relieved of her duties as Ben-Hassrath, and taken to be cared for along with the other females carrying children. She hadn’t seen Dahlia for months, and she’d hoped that the time apart would cool the passions that had flared so dangerously between them.
She had been wrong. Dahlia had kept her distance after Cara returned to the Ben-Hassrath, but there was something different in the way she looked at Cara now, some hidden knowledge that wasn’t there before. They had always been special to one another, closer than other Qunari tended to be, but they had never crossed the boundaries of what was acceptable. Friends, comrades, sisters in the Qun: that was all they were meant to be, and yet it wasn’t nearly enough to encompass all that Dahlia was to her.
Cara knew it was a failing, that she would never truly be Qunari until she could rid herself of these selfish desires, but despite her best efforts, she could not erase the memory of Dahlia’s lips on her own, of Dahlia’s skin hot under her fingertips-or the fact that regardless of everything the Qunari had ever taught her, in that moment she had felt that she was suited for no better role than to keep kissing Dahlia, to love her in every way possible.
“Cara.” The nickname tumbled from Dahlia’s lips like some long-forgotten prayer to Andraste, reverent and breathless and full of longing. Dahlia’s hand rose to cup her cheek, guiding their gazes together, and Cara felt herself break.
When Dahlia leaned in, slow and unsure, Cara found herself unable to pull back. The first hesitant brush of Dahlia’s lips across her own was like a balm, soothing the empty ache in her chest; the shy prod of Dahlia’s tongue ignited embers that had never fully cooled. It wasn’t long before she was returning the kiss fervently, her bow laying forgotten on the cot beside her as she clutched at Dahlia’s waist.
They knew better than to make any sort of noise; their actions were guided by the touch of their hands and the raggedness of their breath. Somehow, Cara found herself hovering over Dahlia, her thigh wedged between Dahlia’s own as Dahlia gasped into her mouth. Fingers pressed into her back, but the feel of it was worlds apart from what she had felt with the besrathari; she could feel Dahlia’s need, her urgent desperation, but Dahlia did not want to hurt her, only to be close to her.
She wasn’t entirely sure what she was doing. Her only experience with anything close to this had been the besrathari taking his pleasure from her, and she didn’t think she’d know how to do that if she wanted to. Cara wanted to give pleasure to Dahlia, to bring her to some unknown height and hold onto her as she came back down. The way Dahlia arched against her leg was at least indication that she had the right idea, and when Dahlia shuddered beneath her, mouth open in a soundless cry, Cara felt her chest swell with pride and love.
The exhilarated smile on Dahlia’s lips fell away at the sound of a throat clearing pointedly; standing in the doorway was the same tallis who had walked in on them a year prior. She had not said anything then, but her demeanor had been nothing short of hostile ever since Cara had returned from giving birth to the besrathari’s son. Now, her lips curled into a cruel smirk; she didn’t bother to speak, but the vindictive flash in her eyes told Cara that she would not be silent this time.
Cara’s blood ran cold as she watched the tallis turn and leave. She knew that if she were to meet Dahlia’s gaze, she would find the same fear she felt mirrored in the other girl’s eyes. What would come next for them would not be pleasant.
***
“You must not think of this as punishment.”
Cara sat stiffly on the wooden bench, her eyes trained forward as she tried to remain impassive. When their indiscretion was revealed, Cara and Dahlia had both been temporarily relieved of their duties, and taken to separate cells for re-education. That had been a week ago, and Cara was beginning to feel the walls close in around her. Every day she was visited by a besrathari, who would quote to her from the teachings of Ashkaari Koslun, and evaluate her readiness to return to her role.
This besrathari was one Cara knew well; she had been trained by the woman since the day she was given her role. She was slender for a kossith, with skin the color of unpolished silverite. Her white hair was pulled back into a tight braid, exposing her sleek, curved horns. She would almost be pretty, were it not for her sharp, pinched features; she had always put Cara in mind of a snake, coiled and ready to lunge at any moment.
“It is a hard thing to learn to stop struggling,” the kossith continued, her voice almost patronizing. “Particularly for those not born to the Qun. You cannot be faulted for your mistakes, but we cannot allow you to return to your duties until it is clear that you will not influence others to repeat them.”
Righteous indignation flared in Cara’s chest. She had more than proven her dedication to the Qun; one mistake hardly warranted treating her like an imekari. “Do you ever make mistakes?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.
Thin, gray lips pressed together in a hint of a smile. “Long ago. When I was Imekari. The Qun does not always come naturally, or easily.” The smile-if it could truly be called such-faded, and the besrathari’s bright yellow eyes hardened. “But I learned to accept my place in the Qun. If you cannot do the same, you will leave us no choice but to take more drastic measures.”
Qamek. Cara was unable to fully conceal the shiver that raced down her spine at the thought. To be a mindless laborer, to surrender so completely to the Qun that she forgot everything that made her who she was…it was unthinkable. Any thought of defiance dissipated.
“I will learn,” Cara said firmly, cursing the slight waver in her voice. “My only desire is to follow the Qun.”
The kossith’s gaze burned into Cara, hard and probing. “That remains to be seen.”
***
“Maraas shokra,” Cara said crisply, pacing back and forth in front of her charge. “There is nothing to struggle against. The world and the self are one. To struggle against your role is to struggle against your very nature.”
The girl stared up at her from the bench, cheeks still red and puffy from crying. She was a new convert, barely ten years old, and had been caught earlier in the day attempting to escape the compound.
“I just wanted to see my family,” the imekari said, hugging her arms to herself.
“The Qunari are your family now,” Cara replied, coming to a stop in front of the child. “Each member is but one piece of the whole. Mind, body, and soul all work toward a common cause. The sooner you come to understand that, the sooner you will have peace within yourself.”
“I’m afraid.” The girl looked up with wide green eyes, chin trembling. There was something terribly familiar about her, something Cara struggled to put a finger on. She was open and guileless in her emotions, yet her escape attempt attested to a strength of will that would be impressive once the girl learned to direct it to its proper outlet.
It hit Cara in an instant; while vastly different in looks-the girl had short, pale blonde hair and the pointed ears of an elf-in temperament she was reminiscent of Dahlia, when she had first arrived at the compound. Emotion swelled in Cara’s chest, and she fought it back as she knelt before the child.
“You will learn to master your fear,” Cara said, perhaps more gently than necessary. “You must only try.”
“Okay.” The girl nodded, sniffing back more tears.
“That is enough for today.” Cara rose to her feet, pulling open the door to the cell. “You may join your fellow imekari at the evening meal.”
The girl scurried out, wiping her cheeks as she went. Cara sighed, rolling her shoulders as she headed off toward the baths. She had been in training all day, educating kabethari children who were having trouble adjusting to their new home. Training difficult imekari always made her tense; she could almost feel the weight of the Qun on her shoulders, as though it were her sole duty to uphold it. This last child had been the worst, with her similarity to Dahlia and the memories it had brought back.
Three years had passed since their transgression, and Cara had done everything in her power to devote herself completely to the Qun. She had not been mated again; when her son was born, she was told that it was unlikely she would ever conceive again. Even the ambitious, charismatic besrathari who had fathered the child had been unable to convince the tamassrans to allow him another attempt, although the looks he gave her when they passed in the halls assured her that he had tried.
It was small comfort, when she still felt the loss of her son as keenly as the day he was taken away. Despite who his father was, she could not erase the bond she felt toward the child that had grown in her womb, and she cursed herself for it every day. It was not how she was meant to feel. She was not a tamassran, and raising children was not her role; she had no place in a child’s life.
Dahlia had managed to escape being bred; Cara assumed that more than her slight frame, it had been Dahlia’s behavior with her that had guided that decision. It would have been viewed as a defect in her design, and the tamassrans would not purposely further such a line. Dahlia had her own purpose, in any case; one that had taken her away from the compound more and more often over the years.
Cara had seen Dahlia once, in passing, after they had both completed their re-education. The younger girl had avoided meeting her gaze, and Cara had wondered what was said to make Dahlia so nervous around her. Dahlia had not been forthcoming, and that same day she had been sent on her first mission. Each time she returned, Dahlia was more and more distant, and consistently found ways to avoid being alone with Cara.
This was not the usual time for bathing, and the large marble pools were devoid of other Qunari. The water would be cooler than she liked, as it was only heated once a day, but it would nevertheless serve to leech some of the tension from her body. Piling her clothes neatly at the edge of one pool, Cara slipped into the water, sighing as it lapped gently at her skin.
With her eyes closed, it was the sound of footsteps that alerted Cara to someone’s arrival; she heard them approach, then stop abruptly. Sliding her eyes open, she turned her gaze to the doorway, where Dahlia stood frozen, wearing a simple frock in place of her leathers. She looked weary, but more than that, she looked ready to flee the room at any moment.
“There is more than enough room for two,” Cara said needlessly; the baths routinely accommodated several times that number. “Though the water is no longer warm.”
“I can endure a chill,” Dahlia said, a wary smile touching her lips. “It is a long way from Treviso, and very dusty. I have been looking forward to a bath for leagues.”
Cara tried to avert her gaze as Dahlia undressed, but her eyes were consistently drawn back to the ever-increasing expanse of bare skin and soft curves. They had bathed together before, but never alone.
The water rippled as Dahlia slipped into the other end of the pool, and for a long while the only sound was the splashing of water as they bathed. Dahlia’s frustrated huff broke the silence, and Cara looked up to see the other woman trying in vain to scrub at her own back.
“Here.” Cara glided through the water to Dahlia’s side, reaching to pluck the washcloth from Dahlia’s hand. Dahlia’s eyes widened nervously, and her grip on the cloth tightened. “Surely we have not grown so far apart that I cannot do such a simple thing for you,” Cara chided.
Warily, Dahlia released the cloth and pulled her hair forward over one shoulder, turning her back to Cara. The silence was even heavier with Dahlia’s skin warm beneath Cara’s hands.
“How did you find Antiva?” Cara asked, keeping her strokes even and detached. She could see the clear lines on Dahlia’s back that delineated where her breastwrap usually covered, the skin that was usually beneath it as pale and unmarred as when they were children.
“Dirty,” Dahlia said scornfully. “It seems that every time they manage to clear the ash from the streets, the city burns down again.”
Cara smirked. “It sounds as though they should spend more time fortifying their buildings.”
“That would require them to take their focus off of trying to kill one another,” Dahlia scoffed. “If there were ever a people that needed the Qun, it would be the Antivans. They are wasteful and selfish, and place far too much value on gold.”
“You’re only upset because you had to wear a dress,” Cara teased, dragging the washcloth over Dahlia’s shoulders.
“Perhaps,” Dahlia conceded. Cara could hear the smile creep into her voice, but in the next instant, it was gone. “The way they view females is just as much an affront to the Qun. Women are not devoid of purpose simply because they are not built to be soldiers, yet those bas would lock their females away as though they were mere decoration.” She shuddered, and Cara watched the muscles of her back ripple under the skin.
“So the mission went well?” Cara asked uneasily. Hearing her friend speak of the Qun this way was a strange experience. Dahlia had always struggled more, needed Cara’s guidance-now it seemed she had surpassed Cara in her devotion.
“As well as could be expected,” Dahlia said bitterly. Cara knew without seeing her face that Dahlia was scowling. “There was too much I could not gain access to by virtue of my gender. Had I not been on a covert mission, I would have proven my value to them. I am no delicate flower.”
Dahlia’s back had been clean for a while now, but Cara kept stroking, savoring the simple contact. “You were mine, once,” she said softly, the words falling from her lips before she could hold them back.
Dahlia tensed. “A child’s foolishness.”
Cara’s hand stilled, resting flat against Dahlia’s back; she could feel Dahlia’s heart beating wildly against her ribs. “Was that all it was?”
“I should dress,” Dahlia said nervously, reaching for the side of the pool to pull herself up.
“Dahlia,” Cara murmured, the washcloth dropping from her hand as she reached for Dahlia’s shoulder. She was scarcely aware of what she was doing, but the way her pulse pounded in her ears made her feel more alive than she had in years.
“You should not call me that,” Dahlia said harshly, her voice shaking as she turned to look at Cara. “I am Tallis, as you are Besrathari. We can be only what we are.”
Cara glanced toward the doorway, around the room, then back to Dahlia, a small smirk playing at her lips. “There is no one around to hear what I call you.”
“That should not matter.” Dahlia’s voice caught in her throat as Cara reached to trail wet fingertips over her cheek.
Years had passed, and Cara was still unable to shake this desire. It was perfectly acceptable for her to love Dahlia, to feel a close kinship with her as with all of her brethren. If that were all it was, Cara would never have had a problem to begin with, but to physically express that love was forbidden. She should be ashamed for even thinking of it, but it was difficult to find fault in something that felt so right.
“I have missed you,” Cara said softly, lifting Dahlia’s chin to meet her gaze.
Dahlia blinked slowly, as though her eyelids had gotten heavier; she leaned in toward Cara ever-so-slightly before she caught herself and drew back. “This is not right,” she said pleadingly. “We cannot do this.”
“Everyone has bathed already today,” Cara pointed out, her fingers drifting down Dahlia’s neck; she could feel Dahlia’s pulse racing under her touch. “We will not be caught this time.”
A small whimper sounded in Dahlia’s throat, and desire burned plainly in her eyes. “You know that is not a guarantee,” she said weakly.
Cara leaned closer, so that her breath brushed across Dahlia’s lips. “You cannot tell me you don’t want this.” The words were brazen and confident, but her voice was shaky, vulnerable; the split-second of silence felt like an eternity.
Then Dahlia was kissing her, damp fingers tangling in her hair to pull her close. The kiss was every bit as potent as the ones they’d shared years ago, and any lingering reservations Cara might have had disappeared in the press of Dahlia’s wet flesh against her own. Her hands slid down to Dahlia’s hips, pulling the other woman onto her lap. The water made the movement almost effortless.
When they had done this before, there had been no baring of skin, no leisurely exploration of bodies; Cara had scarcely been able to figure out what she was doing before Dahlia was shuddering beneath her. This time, Cara was determined to touch every part of Dahlia, to be as close to her as any two people could be. Her mouth left Dahlia’s only to trail hot kisses down her neck and across her collarbone, always quickly returning to claim her lips once more. Her hands eagerly roamed the slick expanse of Dahlia’s skin, memorizing the curve of her spine, the weight of her breasts, the flex of muscle in her thighs as she arched insistently against Cara. All the while, they made little sound; the splashes of water echoed loudly against the tile walls, but the moans that managed to escape one throat were quickly swallowed by the other.
Finally, Cara’s hand grew bold enough to slide down Dahlia’s belly, fingertips brushing over coarse curls between her legs. Dahlia’s hips jerked forward at the touch, her hands clutching tightly at Cara’s shoulders as she suppressed a moan. Cara sighed into Dahlia’s neck as her fumbling fingers were met with a surge of thick wetness. This was where she was meant to be, what she was meant for. This was her purpose.
“This cannot be wrong,” Cara murmured breathlessly.
The moment shattered. Dahlia stiffened in her arms, and hands that had been pulling Cara closer now pushed at her shoulders. Cara barely got a glimpse of the tormented look on her face before Dahlia pulled herself out of the pool, gathering up her dusty clothing and clutching it to her as she fled the room without a word.
Part Two