Chapter Text
Gartha kicked the shackles away from her in anger. How long had Bhelen been planning that assault? How long had he wanted to overthrow the family for his own mobility?
“Bhelen will pay for this! By my own hand!” She yelled, shaking the prison cell gate. Nothing could convince the assembly of her innocence because Bhelen along with that rotten Ivo and lying Scout made sure of it. She shook the gate again, ignoring the pain as rusted shards of metal bit into her palms. The lack of response from the guards fuelled her rage further and she screamed out, kicking the gate. The citizens of Orzammar had already begun to rid their minds of her existence.
The tattered prison robes she had been given clung to her body with sweat. There was no calming her down, no stopping the fire in her chest that Bhelen’s betrayal ignited. Trian was neither kind nor agreeable, but no one should betray their family, far less murder them. In her rage she could kill the entire assembly if she escaped. If her own father could think she was guilty, why not prove him right? Why not show them all that she was vicious? Gartha slumped down in the corner of the cell, sweat still running down her neck and dripping off her nose. Thoughts of Gorim crossed her mind. Where was he? Had he been hurt? Was the assembly deciding his fate? Even though Gartha wished that the day did no go as it did, she did not want to return to Orzammar. Bhelen had revealed what he really was, a schemer and an opportunist who was willing to destroy his family. She could not stomach sharing the Aeducan name with him. She shuddered to think about the punishment Gorim would face at Bhelen’s judgement. If things were good, they would be banished to the surface together. If things were bad, one may live while the other died. If Gorim was taken from her forever, then there was nothing left.
Her rage boiled again and she clenched her fists at the thought of Gorim dying or suffering because of Bhelen. Standing up again, she paced the cell, huffing every few steps. “I demand to speak with my father!” Gartha said, her face pressed against the bars of the gate. When there was no reply, she rattled the gate again. This time, a guard trudged in, baton in hand. “Silence!” he bellowed “I’ve heard enough of you. Speak again and I see to it that your fellow conspirator has an accident.” Gartha stepped away from the gate with a push. Her ire would do nothing but incriminate them further.
Deciding to sit down again, Gartha went to the corner of the cell. The stone floor was cold against her legs, but it had a calming effect on her heated body. Her thoughts drifted yet again to Gorim as she wondered where he was. Idly, she stretched her hand above her head and ran her fingers across the stone wall; it’s coolness a pleasant sensation against her tired hands. She trailed her fingers lower, loosening dust and several small stones. Squinting, she shuffled forward to survey the oddity in the wall. She dusted her hands over it, shaking loose more dust which caused something small to fall into her lap. It was a ball of linen about the size of her fist and it was packed with dirt and stones. Looking back up to the wall, Gartha saw that the linen was in fact plugging a hole. Peering into it, she realised that it was made to look into the neighbouring cell. Although her eyes had not yet adjusted to the darkness of the other room, Gartha was sure she saw the form of someone sitting at the opposite end.