Yet Broken Still You Breathe

Chapter 49

"I will not mention the last time I saw you.
My mouth, so far from yours, I said I am afraid I will spend entire years trying not to need you.
As if I wasn't certain.
As if this wasn't my confession." - Clementine Von Radics

A/N: Song for this chapter: All I Want by Kodaline

Gwen's fingers curled around the cool, wooden handle of her cane, another reminder of her new reality. The once-nimble feet that had danced across the entirety of Ferelden now shuffled with uncertainty across the stone floor of the Haven Chantry. Each step was measured, a battle against her own body that rebelled with sharp aches and pains.

"Take it slow, Gwennie," she muttered to herself, a wry smile tugging at the corner of her mouth, hidden beneath the bandana. She missed Darcy, missed his easy teasing and positivity. She'd hated that damned nickname at first, but it had grown on her quickly. The sound echoed in the emptiness of the corridor, bouncing off the high walls before being swallowed by the tapestries depicting the glory of the Chantry. But glory felt like a distant memory, an echo from a past life where her body obeyed her every command - unless otherwise corrupted by the Calling.

Her new cane clacked against the floor, punctuating the silence that filled the space between her laboured breaths. Each click was a sign of the fragility that had become her constant companion, a dark cloud that loomed over her existence with unforgiving persistence. Her grip tightened as she paused, a wave of exhaustion washing over her, threatening to pull her under. She was grateful that Leliana had given her a tailored glove, one that omitted the pinky and ring finger on her left hand. Instead, the leather was stretched smooth over the bumps of her missing fingers, and if one was not looking for it, it simply appeared as though she had curled those two fingers into her palm.

"Gwen?" came a gentle voice, breaking through the fog of fatigue.

As Gwen's heavy eyes fluttered open, she was met with the concerned gaze of two Inquisition healers. Their faces were etched with a mix of professional concern and genuine compassion, their hands clasped tightly in front of them. She blinked, realizing belatedly that she had no memory of how she had arrived on the path toward the training grounds. With a deep breath, she straightened her spine, bracing herself for the inevitable conversation that was about to take place.

"Sit, please," one healer suggested, gesturing to a nearby bench, carved from ancient oak. Gwen complied, the act of lowering herself onto the seat feeling like a small surrender.

"Is this about my... prognosis?" Gwen asked, her voice steady despite the tremor in her hands. Leliana had told her the healers would look into it once she'd started recovering from her wounds.

"Indeed," replied the other healer, her brow furrowed with sympathy. "We have consulted with the most learned among us, and..."

"Say it plain," Gwen interrupted, her light grey eyes hardening like flint. "I know my own body better than any."

"Your time is... limited," the healer said softly, her brows knitting together. "We estimate you have only weeks - maybe a month at most."

A heavy silence settled in the air. Gwen regarded them both, her gaze unwavering, face devoid of surprise. She had felt the creeping shadow of death's approach, a familiar foe lurking just beyond her sight.

"Everything hurts, anyway," Gwen murmured, her voice barely a whisper, a bitter acceptance threading through the words like a shadow she couldn't shake. It was not a cry of despair but an acknowledgment of a truth she had long since accepted.

"Is there nothing—" began the second healer, but Gwen held up a hand to stop them.

"Save your potions and prayers for those they can still help," she replied, her words imbued with a quiet strength. "I've made my peace and I am... tired."