#branka

The dead barely held a smell any longer as she sat among them, piles of flesh nothing more than shapeless forms against rock, a festering sight that barely registered. The screams had faded days ago, no one left to sacrifice to the darkspawn. Yet the song persisted, blight coursing in her blood, every second agony as her body fought the corruption, fought the change. The only food left for her to consume was her dead kin, their corpses holding little sustenance. Their flesh tasted like rot and death, black blood staining her tongue.

Discovery of the Anvil will elevate House Branka farther than any Paragon could’ve ever dreamed. 

Those were the words of a woman whose greed knew no bounds, even if it meant the entire destruction of her House. Still, Hespith loved Branka with every fiber of her being. Her heart was the only part of her unchanged while the rest of her body slowly turned into a monstrosity, succumbing to a fate worse than death. 

Her heart continued to beat only for Branka, despite the betrayal, despite the horrors she’d put them through. Maybe, somewhere, deep down in the dark recesses of her own heart, Branka still loved her too.

A hand pressed against her shoulder, firm yet gentle. Hespith glanced at Branka, her heart pounding hard in her chest, stomach twisting in excitement… something she’d long thought she was incapable of. But with Branka, everything seemed within reach. Nothing seemed impossible.

Everything felt right.

A cough violently shook her body, each hack spewing vile liquids as dark as the unlit tunnels of the Deep Roads. The song had started again, slightly louder than last time, and she tried to shield her mind as best as she could. There’d come a time when she no longer fought against the siren’s call. She’d become a broodmother, those awful creatures who only created more darkspawn, created more blight.

Would Branka spare her that fate? Or would she rejoice in her experiments, watching as the corruption took her lover, the final connection she had left to House Branka, to Orzammar, gone?

A kiss to her temple had been the first romantic contact between them. A quick touch of Branka’s lips against her brow, before she’d moved on to speak to one of her warriors, a sparkle in her eye. And it was in that moment Hespith knew she’d follow the Paragon in the very heart of the Deep Roads, death all but certain.

She wasn’t scared to die. But to live at Branka’s side, to share in her victories, there wasn’t an existence more honorable than that.

The sparkle Branka once held was gone, replaced by a gleam that left Hespith sick to her stomach. This was partly her fault, as well. She’d trusted Branka, believed in her. Their entire house had. Now they were dead, some blighted and forever changed, others bloodied and left as piles of flesh, carrion for the corrupted. 

So why did she crave that softness still?

Fingers brushed through her hair, tangling into the strands before Branka gripped a handful roughly, pulling Hespith closer, lips just out of reach. 

“You’re mine, Hespith.” She whispered, voice rough from the few hours of sleep they’d managed. “We will finish this together and when we return to Orzammar, I’ll be rid of Oghren and you… you will be by my side until we return to the Stone.”

From where they lay, Hespith could see the work they’d done before falling onto the bedroll: maps and hundreds of years of research into Caridin, into the Anvil. There were hardships to get here but to be with Branka, it was all worth it.

“Until we return to the Stone.”

Branka could not be forgiven, not after what she’d done. Not after what she’d taken.

But when the warden finally took her life, for he would because it was what she deserved, Hespith wouldn’t abandon her. They return to the Stone together, corrupted stains of former glory, past forgiveness and hope.