Archive of Our Own ^beta

Mikayla is still. She counts the seconds by her heartbeat. Slow, and steady. Her breathing matches its rhythm, if not its pace. In, two, three. Out, two, three. In, two, three. Out, two, three. A meditative rhythm. 

Her feet are rooted, heels digging into the soft moss of the forest floor. Her left hand cradles the grip of a bow — not hers — while the fingers of her right straddle the end of an arrow in its notch. Notched, but not drawn. 

Never hold on the draw. 

Mikayla focuses, and Compassion stirs. A low hum in her gut. She steps into it, and hyper-awareness settles over her like a protective cloak. She breathes in the mud-and-mildew musk of old growth, slowly overtaken by new. A perfume of life and death. She breathes out the strain in her shoulders and thighs, the creak of sinew and tissue working in tandem. 

Their focus sends out ripples, dilating their bubble of time a little further. 

Or perhaps that’s just what happens when Leliana puts her hands on her. Right now, they’re resting on her hips, gently correcting her stance. “Square your feet. A little wider… that’s it.” 

It’s both like and unlike when Compassion takes over. With Compassion, everything moves at the speed of thought. She simply surrenders and lets the current carry her through. But with Leliana, instead of being carried away, she becomes still, while the world passes them by. 

‘Eternity in an hour’… 

Mikayla smiles as a memory floats to the surface. 

Sprawled together in a meadow, her head in Leliana’s lap. Sheltered in a vibrant sea of flowers. Pointing out blooms for Leliana to name. Usually, a piece of folklore would follow, and Mikayla would listen, as entranced by the voice of her lover as the stories themselves. She would forget most of the flowers’ names, except the last one. A vivid blue, with feathery petals. 

“Cornflower,” Leliana had dubbed it. “Young lovers sometimes wear them as symbols of their affection.” 

On impulse, Mikayla had plucked it from its stem and tucked it behind her ear. And Leliana had bent down to kiss her, smiling indulgently. A breeze washed over them. Clouds passed over the sun. Time dilated, as they luxuriated in the novelty of each other.  

“It is said that Andraste once hid from Tevinter soldiers in a field of cornflowers,” Leliana had continued eventually. “It is a popular scene to depict among Antivan artists, and some have begun to associate the flowers with the Bride Herself.” 

“‘Heaven in a wild flower’…” Mikayla hardly realized she’d spoken until Leliana’s brows perked with interest. 

“Is that a song?” 

“A poem, from my world. ‘To see a world in a grain of sand / and a heaven in a wild flower / To hold infinity in the palm of your hand / and eternity in an hour’.” Mikayla frowned. How odd. I haven’t thought of that one in years. 

“That’s lovely.” Leliana hummed appreciatively, caressing her cheek. “Did you know the poet?” 

Mikayla shook her head. “He was long-dead by my time. You would’ve liked his work, I think.” A small pang of regret sounded within her, like a plucked string. There was more to the poem. She wished she could remember it. Just another part of her life she’ll never get to share. 

I wish I’d thought to dry out that flower, she laments, as Leliana corrects her grip on the bow. It would have made a nice gift. 

The scent of honeyed wine wafts beneath her nostrils as Leliana leans in close, pointing over her shoulder, and Mikayla follows with her eyes. Several yards ahead, framed by dappled sunlight, blissfully unaware of the danger so close by, a lone buck grazes from a low-hanging branch. 

Frantically, Mikalya fumbles with the bow, trying to remember everything Leliana taught her at once. But like sand through a sieve, it falls away, and her mind is blank. Like she is the prey, and not the hunter. 

Somehow, she remembers to draw the bow, making a straight line with her elbows to the target. She draws in a breath, and… holds. Staring down the arrow shaft, she could not hope for a better shot. But she can’t bring herself to take it. 

“Don’t hold…” Leliana’s warning whispers past her ear. “Let go.” 

She tries. But she can’t. She’s frozen in time. Her arm trembles. Her shoulders scream. A bead of sweat falls from her temple and down her chin. A breeze pushes at her back. The relief is immediate, but brief, as her thoughts finally catch up. Shit — we’re downwind. The deer alerts to their scent, spots them, and bounces off through the trees, quickly out of sight. 

Mikayla lets the bow drop, a complicated mixture of relief and disappointment twisting in her gut. “I’m sorry.” 

Leliana squeezes her shoulder — the only reassurance offered, to Mikayla’s relief. Leliana won’t coddle — it’s why Mikayla trusts her. “Never hold on the draw.”

“I know.” Mikayla huffs. 

“I don’t want you warping my bow.” That last is delivered with a softening smirk. 

“I’m sorry,” she repeats. 

“Do you need a closer shot?” From anyone else the question would have sounded condescending. Leliana manages it with more grace. 

“No.” This is embarrassing. I should be over this sort of thing by now. Yet no matter how she justifies it to herself, no matter how many times she’s butchered the aftermath of someone else’s kill, no matter that this isn’t even a human — or elf, or dwarf, or Qunari — she hates the thought of taking a life. 

“Come on, love,” Leliana beckons, already three paces ahead of her. “We’ll find him again.” 

The deer’s trail is easy enough to follow, but doing so stealthily is another matter. Even this early in the day, the heat and humidity have Mikayla baking in her leather armor. She doesn’t regret bringing it, though. It might not be necessary for today’s excursion, but armor is definitely one of those things it’s better to have and not need than the other way around. She’s learned that lesson the hard way. Thedas is a dangerous place. That used to terrify her. The fear is still there, but experience and skill have tempered it. 

The trickling of the winding stream fades behind them as they track their quarry. And with it, the familiar clatter and banter of the Chargers’ camp. It still sounds close, but she knows the forest can deceive. It redirects sound like a ventriloquist, making it easy to get lost. Her parents had hammered that warning into her and her brothers as kids, every time they went camping. 

As disappointed as she is in, she reminds herself that there’s no real hurry. They have all day to hunt at their leisure. The only urgency is in the army’s dwindling rations, but even they will last another few days at least. Cullen had made sure they were well-supplied for their march on the Arbor Wilds. But it was still a long trek back to Skyhold, and that left it vulnerable. So, while a smaller party had ridden on ahead, and the bulk of the army made the slog on foot, the Chargers were given a different job. 

“Disguise our numbers,” was the standing order left by Bull before he’d joined back up with the Inner Circle. “Make it look good.” 

And so they had. Wearing Inquisition uniforms, they lit campfires, marched with rattles on their boots, and used whatever other tricks they knew to artificially inflate their numbers. They’d even managed to ambush a small Venatori party, with the help of Leliana’s scouts. Among their possessions, they’d found a map, marked with a destination they seemed to think led to some sort of treasure. 

Leliana had thought it wise to investigate. Whatever it was, if it was helpful to the Venatori, it was dangerous to the Inquisition. So, she, Mikayla, and a few others picked up where the Venatori left off.  

They moved under cover of night, but during the day, they rested in place and made as much noise as they pleased, further helping the illusion they were meant to project. Sparring remained a favorite activity. Cole was even joining in, now that Rylen had started teaching him the basics of melee combat. Krem filled in the gaps whenever they traveled, but he didn’t go easy on him. 

Mikayla worried at first, hovering the perimeter of the training circle, wincing at every landed blow. But Cole would shrug it off, tongue wedged firmly between his lips in concentration as he beckoned to Krem for the next round. 

Let him stumble, Compassion told her. So he can learn to stand. It was right, but she couldn’t help feeling protective. Even after all this time, even with how far he’s come. When he finally landed a hit, his giddy laughter warmed her heart, and her worry soon faded.  

There wasn’t any chess without Bull around, but there were cards and dice. And singing and drinking — the one fueled by the other. Amelie had taught the others some Orlesian tavern songs, and judging by her delighted laughter at hearing the gang take up the verses, they were some very bawdy lyrics, indeed. But no matter how many times Mikayla asked, Amelie refused to translate. 

A rustle from ahead brings her sharply back to the present again, and she sternly reminds herself this isn’t a mere lover’s outing — though that is a nice perk. Every kill gets sent back to the army to supplement their rations. And it lets Mikayla practice her archery under a skilled teacher. 

Leliana crouches, and Mikayla mirrors her. Compassion spreads into her limbs, and she leans into it. They close their eyes, count their heartbeats, and listen. There. Rustling. Leaves crunching. One-two, three-four. Four legs. Leliana points, and they follow, moving nothing but their eyes. There’s the buck. Thankfully, they’re upwind this time, and well-concealed within a copse of trees. 

It’s now or never. 

Another arrow notched, another breath pulled. They feel the power behind the resistance as their shoulders line up the shot. Don’t hold… One final exhale, and before they can overthink it, they let go. The arrow flies true, striking just above the shoulder, and the deer takes off into the forest. 

“I did it!” Mikayla gasps, breathless, guilt momentarily overcome by triumph. 

“Well struck, my love.” Leliana presses a soft kiss to her cheek.

They take off after it once more, following its stumbling trail through the dense growth. At some point, they separate to navigate around an especially thick and thorny bush, but when Mikayla comes out the other side, she’s alone. 

“Leli?” she calls out, as loud as she dares. 

She waits for what feels like an eternity, but certainly far less than an hour, before she hears, “I’ve found it!” 

“Where?” 

This time, there’s no answer. Mikayla strains, listening, but all she hears is the loud silence of the forest. She calls out again. Nothing. Following her best guess at where the sound came from, she pushes through clawing, grasping branches. Until all at once, they open, and she stumbles into a clearing with a small pool at its center. 

One quick glance tells her Leliana and the deer are not here. But before she turns back, something pulls her forward instead. She hesitates, glancing back toward the trees, but after a moment steps further into the clearing. It’s so much quieter here. Like everything is muffled, coming to her through water. Even the leaves don’t sway with the breeze. There is no breeze. 

The pond’s surface is smooth as glass, adding to the surrealism. Like walking into a Monet painting. It’s so peaceful. 

She approaches and looks down. And down. And down. Through water so crystal clear she can see all the way to the bottom. The bottom glitters. Piles of gold wink up at her, catching the light as she kneels, entranced. Is this the treasure the Venatori sought? 

Covet, says Compassion in low warning. 

Mikayla frowns, not understanding at first. Then she sees what Compassion must have noticed instantly. Bones. Bones in armor. Mingled amongst the glitter. She recognizes a few sigils, but most are a mystery. The remnants of poor souls, drowned trying to reach the treasure below. But even as she laments their unnecessary sacrifice, she feels the compulsion to dive in. 

Covet! Compassion warns again, trying to pull her back. 

I’m not stupid enough to actually do it, she answers, a little irritated. At least, she would hope not. 

It is tempting, though. The treasure looks so tantalizingly close. Easy to see how it could have tricked so many into trying. It seems a shame to just leave it all here. Not just the gold — some of that armor looks ancient, and could hold a wealth of archaeological value. Maybe they could rig a pulley system… 

The light dims as a cloud passes over the sun, turning the water opaque, and she finds herself staring down at… herself. It takes a moment to even recognize her own reflection — she’s changed so much in the scant handful of years since passing through the Veil from her world. In some obvious ways — worry lines and rougher skin — but it’s the subtle differences that stand out more. 

She looks harder, somehow. Aged far more than she should. She wears a grim determination that was only internalized in her old life. She always took care to soften her expression for her clients. It was part of her job, to put people at ease. Here, she must present a tougher front. To evoke confidence, even when she doesn’t feel it. 

Something else she’s been forced to leave behind — the right to be vulnerable. 

A heavy world-weariness overcomes her briefly, and a single tear falls into the water, disturbing the flat surface. Once it clears, she sees a figure standing behind her, cast in shadow. She turns, already smiling, expecting to see Leliana. But there’s no one. She’s alone. 

Back in the water, more figures have joined the first. Now she sees their faces, and an involuntary sob rips out of her. 

Her parents. Her brothers and cousins. Aunts and uncles. Grandparents. Friends. Coworkers. Clients. Everyone she’d left behind. So many that they stretch back behind her, out of sight. Her family. The only one she’d ever known — right up until the crash that took her from them, and them from her. Guilt, as familiar as it is unwelcome, blossoms in her chest. An old wound, reopened. That never closed, really. And probably never will. She’d left them, knowingly or not, when she’d answered Compassion’s plea. 

You were already dying, it says. In coming here, at least you can still help. We can still help. 

She nods, but doesn’t respond. They’ve had this conversation before, many times. There’s no going back. To them she is, for all intents and purposes, truly dead. Yet here they are, close enough to touch. All she has to do is reach out… 

As if they can hear her thoughts, they each reach out their hands. Beckoning, as if they will catch her. The surface of the pond begins to shimmer like an eluvian. But it couldn’t be. Could it? 

Come to think of it, she doesn’t remember anything in the lore that specifically says an eluvian must be a literal mirror. And if she can cross in one direction, theoretically the opposite was possible. If there’s a chance this could be a portal back to her old home, her old life… 

This time Compassion doesn’t pull, it yanks, flinging her backward. She lands hard on her elbows, and a jolt of pain shoots up one of her arms. Cursing, she rubs at her funny bone and turns to examine what it hit. She freezes. 

More bones. All around her. Half-buried, poking up at odd angles from beneath the moss and dirt. A graveyard of those who hadn’t been drawn in by the broad appeal of mere treasure. Still just as dead. Trapped, entranced, by whatever they’d seen in the water. 
Covet, Compassion repeats once more. And Mikayla finally understands. 

It wasn’t the gold that killed these people. The gold was merely the bait — the shiny lure that drew them in. A rumor, a legend carried by word of mouth. Perhaps even the map was part of it. And Covet is the demon that laid the trap.

And what an effective trap. Even now that she sees the red flags, Mikayla can’t look away. They’re right there. Right there. And she can’t bring herself to leave. Can’t make herself abandon them again. It’s been so long since she’s seen them with anything but her mind’s eye. Since they were anything but a memory. She’d almost forgotten what they looked like. 

Just a little longer. To look at them. Remember them. Re-memorize them. Her mom’s soft eyes. The bit of salt in her dad’s hair. The echoes of both their faces in her brothers’ shared look of mischief. 

Then she’ll go, she promises. Pleads. But just a little longer… 

Compassion seems to sigh, giving in. So long as she doesn’t try to enter the pool, it will not try to pull her away. So, she settles into herself, and looks, as the world passes her by. 

She doesn’t know how long she stays there, but when voices finally cut through her hypnosis and she looks around, darkness has fallen. Many voices, calling her name. Distant, filtered through whatever protective barrier Covet has thrown up. Searching for her. But she’s right here. Why can’t they find her? 

Covet makes them not see, Compassion answers sadly. 

Like you?

Yes. It’s how I know. 

Can’t you overcome it? 

Another sigh. It’s too strong. I can keep the door open, but you must walk through it. 

Remorse floods to her cheeks as she realizes it must have been doing that this entire time. It’s why it didn’t try to fight her — it was too busy making sure the trap didn’t slam shut around her. How much longer could it have lasted? How much longer could she? 

Never hold on the draw. 

I’m sorry. 

It’s alright, Compassion accepts easily. 

Reluctantly, and with great effort, she stands. On creaking knees and legs long since fallen numb. Her neck and shoulders ache from hunching over, and she has to fight a brief spell of dizziness when she finally manages to get her feet underneath her. 

That’s good, she thinks. It should hurt, to walk away. 

It’s okay that it hurts, Compassion tells her. But don’t make it a punishment. 

She allows herself one final moment to say goodbye — something she didn’t get the first time. Their expressions have shifted from warm welcome to mournful disappointment. Another tear falls into the water, and the reflection clears away with the ripples, leaving her once more, alone. 

The calls are close enough now that she can pick out individual voices. Krem. Amelie. Leliana. …Cole. 

Not alone. 

Before she leaves the clearing, impulse causes her to kneel once more, to pluck a single pebble from the water’s edge. A gray so pale it’s almost white, with rough and jagged edges that prick into her skin as she holds it up. 

Compassion’s voice intones: Flat. Fleeting. It felt like falling, but I’m still here. I see you, why can’t you see me? Please hold my hand. I just want to feel your hand again. 

More tears well up in Mikayla’s eyes, but the cold chill down her back keeps them from falling. Is this… a fossilized bone? 

There was no one to pull him back. 

Her stomach flips at the gravity of what she’s holding. Something so small, with so much story behind it. A story no one will ever know the entirety of. She almost throws it down, but doesn’t. 

‘To see a world in a grain of sand’. 

She pockets the stone that was once a person. And she turns and walks out of the clearing. Away from one family, and into the waiting arms of a new one. 

***

The scouts located the cache the Venatori sought. It was long abandoned and had become home to an ancient demon, dispatched with great effort. However, we felt it wiser to leave the cache — and its victims — undisturbed, but for the warning marker left behind. 
— Leliana