faderift | OPEN: Cloudreach Event

OPEN: Cloudreach Event

WHO: Anyone at Skyhold
WHAT: Cloudreach showers bring weird shit.
WHEN: Cloudreach 15 onward
WHERE: Skyhold
NOTES: For information about the illness, its effects, and its cure, please make sure to also read the OOC Post.

This high in the mountains, snowstorms are to be expected. But this one is large and lingering, hanging over the valley and the fortress for days. In Skyhold, with its eternal spring, the snow becomes rain before it hits the ground, leaving inhabitants and visitors to wade through puddles and mud in the courtyards. In the valley, snow and ice accumulate under cloud cover—and worse, when the clouds finally thin, a whole winter's accumulation of snow begins to melt in the sunlight.

Within a day, the ground is sodden and mucky enough to give the survivors of the Fallow Mire (or Ferelden in general) unpleasant flashbacks, and those who live in tents are issued additional hastily-constructed wooden pallets to raise their floors above the mud. It is worse outside the fortress: streams and rivers have overflowed their banks, rapids run twice as fast as normal, and flash flooding has made even road travel treacherous.

On Cloudreach 17 a mudslide buries the pass into Skyhold from the west, and on the 19th a sheet of snow loosened from a mountainside collapses into the shadowed passage from the east. An Inquisition supply caravan is caught in the latter, scattering wagons and goods across the hillside and leaving a dozen people and horses in need of rescue and medical care.

Healers may find themselves stretched thin, as in addition to the usual rash of blisters and sniffles that come from days of rain and flooding, an illness begins to sweep through Skyhold's ranks from around the 16th onward. It's marked first by climbing fever, then by flashes at the edges of vision—green light and jagged formations that aren't there, beings of light and shadow gathering around people or clustering in corners—and distant voices, coherent for brief moments if you're quiet and still and not trying too hard to listen.

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He's had some of Oghren's brew before. If he can swallow that? This is-

Terrible, Maker's breath- but he can swallow.

He does bend double and sputter into a coughing fit, wincing at the strain on his throat with every hitched wheeze. "You are a cruel, cruel women."

wheeze

"It drives me mad with desire..."

"Hours?" Shit. She struggles to her feet as best she can, stumbling when one of her knees gives out from being asleep. Passing out in a chair is no longer quite so kind to her as it might have been ten years ago. "There is too much to be done."

Beleth could never have imagined anyone as fair as Galadriel. That two such women existed seemed beyond comprehension. And then there were the words. She knew none of them, yet there was a frustrating familiarity about them--like she had remembered the sound of the Elvhen language, and had forgotten all the words. But the meaning hardly seemed to matter, when the voice was so lovely. She could have been reciting a supply list and it sounded like music.

She felt...a strange longing, deep within her soul. Like she was seeing a home she had lost, a loss that had passed down to her through generations, an inheritance of yearning for what once was. Slowly, she reaches her hand out to the strange woman, knowing that her hand will pass through, and unable to resist all the same.

"He is ill and needs his rest." Spirits have no use for such things, but the body they share must be cared for. Compassion does not say anything but- disapproval can be palpable even through the veil. And Compassion? Disapproves. "You are forcing him to work when he needs to sleep. When he needs to eat. You are making him cold and curt when he needs every fond and warm thought that can be given to him."

She blinked curiously, tilting her head. She'd known, of course, that Justice was in there. He was, indeed, one of the reasons she'd sought Anders out. She just hadn't realized that he was available for consultation as well.

"Can he help?" Pause. "Will you get in trouble?" Anders might be at the top of a lot of shitlists right now, but she has a sneaking suspicion that Justice has managed to outshine him in that regard. "But I'll accept whatever help either of you can give me. I'm not expecting trouble, it's not like they can possess me. But. I suppose it's better to be safe."

Compassion cannot understand what it is to be trapped in the body of a mortal, to have to deal with their whims and wishes and distractions when there is a cause to be served. Adelaide cannot understand that fond and warm are wastes and will pass.

"You would focus on one rather than the greater. It is a common failing. I will not push him past a point he cannot recover from. That would be unjust and unwise. It would be use." And spirits do not use. "And I find your worry about thoughts that are directed toward him flawed. Opinions of him matter little; it is what is accomplished that should be the concern of you and him both."

"You are not pushing him at all." Not while she is here. "You are going to recede and you are going to let him rest. It is not for you to judge what he might withstand. I remember well his condition when he arrived. Haggard, underweight, overtired, worked to the bone simply to survive. He does not need to be pushed thus any longer and I will not stand idly by and let you do that to him."

Her voice remains level even as she walks him to the nearest chair- rather than commanding Justice to sit she does so herself and pulls, leaving little option but to stand and have her hang off his arm like a fool or join her. "What he does, what he accomplishes has weight. Like this you are everything they are afraid of and are doing far more harm than good. They will not remember being healed by a mage but by an abomination. His life may no longer be forfeit but there are those that would still ask for his blood and point to this, what you are doing now, as cause to take it. As cause to fear. As cause to shackle us again. We must not give them any reason to doubt."

Most of what she says he discards with ease. Undoubtedly she had points from a mortal point of view, but he cannot see them. Anders arrived alive, was still alive. That anyone could see harm from surviving and giving all of themselves was beyond his understanding.

Fear doing harm, however, and undoing what has been accomplished thus far, he finds valid. People let fear rule them all too often. He frowned more as he was forced to sit. It was not right to judge or take away because of this, but it was true that they might.

"I will relent now. But if people begin to pass away, fears of him are less a concern than loss of life." Justice waits a moment to relinquish control in hopes of getting his point across. Life matters. But one specific life did not matter more than groups.

Anders' skin seems to close, eyes returning to golden and filled with confusion as he blinks and tries to make sense of where they are. He'd fallen asleep in a chair? Entirely possible, and he looks over at Adelaide who has his arm for some reason. Worry, probably. They're all feeling the strain.

"I seem to have sat down for just a moment and drifted off. Give me a..." He exhales, rubbing his forehead. "I may need a few more minutes, I'm sorry."

There are reasons she did not often speak with Spirits of Justice- or even Spirits of Fortitude. The focus on duty to the exclusion of all else is difficult to temper- but Fortitude might yield in the face of human concerns where Justice? Often does not. This is proof enough. That he feels the need to get the last word in before seeping back into Anders' skin is more than a little vexing.

Asshole.

Adelaide relaxes as soon as Anders is more himself, not releasing him for the moment she breathes to release the tension and very real fear that she might have had to cut them both off from the fade temporarily to see Justice gone.

This is why she volunteered to work around him. Being able to speak with Spirits, to prevent harm.

"You are taking a few hours." She sags more than a little, leaning into him for a moment. "You need to sleep, Anders."

He feels like he's been run over by a herd of druffalo, and she's got a point. Justice doesn't approve of hours, but maybe a compromise can be found. Maybe. He's never easy, and right now he's fuming more without even bothering to express himself in a way Anders can understand.

For the moment she leans against him, he rests his head back against her. It's nice. Comfortable. It would be so very nice to have her friendship back.

"We all need sleep." He's not arguing, though. "I'll get some. Will you take your rest after? I'm not going to tell you that you look awful, but I'm not the only one scraping the bottom right now."

"Yes, falling asleep and staying under for a few hours when we have a mysterious problem with no clear solution or answers available would be an excellent idea with my usual fade visitors waiting at the gate for the first slip." And some not even waiting that long. She doesn't look to her left, of course, Compassion a familiar song drowning out the atonal hum where a shadow sits.

Waiting for attention. To offer answers.

For the moment is is simply she and Anders slumped together in the back and thus no one she cares about will see her make a rude, vulgar gesture in the demon's direction. "I cannot wait."

He's tired enough that he almost, almost slips up and says that as long as Justice doesn't go on a rampage there shouldn't be trouble. It's the ultimate in poor taste, though, so thankfully he refrains.

"You can hear other spirits but not him?" That's a more important thing. Not that Justice is helping, watching her with curiosity rather than speaking. "And while they're not a direct threat of possession like this, they're still on the other side of the Veil and spirits will not take a host against their will, anyone can be possessed. I've seen possessed Templars. Do not be overconfident, Beleth, and we will both help you."

He looks around before focusing more inward, letting his eyes unfocus. "There's... quite the variety to choose from. Mercy's been hanging around, there are a few Hope spirits near the patient in the corner... name it, we can probably find it."

He's so used to Justice keeping demons back that he'd not even registered its presence before. Now? Now he's all too aware of how it's been lingering as they spoke, watching for an opening as all demons do with mages, and he's a little afraid for her. She's not weak. But the demon isn't either, and Anders takes her other hand without thinking.

"Forcing yourself to stay awake, letting reality blend with exhaustion while they're lurking and feeling glad at all the attention, would be worse."

'You wish me gone, but you are safe from that while I am here, Justice says, and Anders sighs. It's true. 'Of course it is true.'

"I'll linger nearby and wake you if you seem too distressed by your dreams?" It's all he can really offer, even as he wishes spirits could provide protection for the unpossessed.

Edited 2016-04-19 07:59 (UTC)

"I know them for what they are." She lets it happen, the handholding. A lot of the anger is...mitigated by knowing that she's keeping her word. By a slowly dawning realization that Anders himself likely would not have gone half so far without Justice. By the fact they fought it out and he helped her learn afterward. Strange steps, new steps.

Forgiven he isn't but hated he wasn't either.

A strange new limbo they've found themselves in, one where she's comfortable enough to let slip her trick. It's a cheat and she knows it but so long as she has Compassion's song to compare demons against? She has never been afraid. "They sound different. No matter the face or the voice- a demon sounds like a demon. I will die before I submit to one."

"I hope it never comes down to that." It's all he can say, because he's holding back from asking what Justice sounds like, if there's some sort of blending, if the damage... except he's already expressed his worries about damaging the spirit. She knows his fears there. If she can hear some sort of change... Then what? Confirmation of what he suspects and Justice vehemently denies? What does it get him other than an aggravated Justice when he's already tired? Anders isn't sure he could win a fight for control right now.

"Personally, I'd always identified them by the fact that they were actually offering me nice things. The first time I met Isabela, for instance, I was a little worried." He gives Adelaide a tiny smile, and his voice is warm, as if he's relating an entirely pleasant memory. Isabela had been, at least. "I'd actually gone weeks without a kindly, gentle reminder about who was in charge in Kinloch Hold, so add to that someone who is kind and enjoying my company? When they recaptured me the very next day I knew for certain it was still my life."

Joking about the pain, minimizing every beating, is how he'd survived.

"Templars, demons, or plague. Te top three most lethal things to a spirit healer- or so I was taught. Templars for failing, Demons for faltering, Plague simply due to exposure." She says, sitting, fevered and more than a little exposed to this rampant illness that courses through Skyhold. An answer must be found-

As soon as the thought coils, the shadow shifts. Leans in, quietly anticipatory of the moment she might drift- indistinct shape twisting into robes and broad shoulders, an angled jaw.

Another vulgar gesture with her free hand, another moment spent with her cheek pressed to Anders' shoulder. "Most spirits are not terribly nice, this is true. Kind? Yes. Nice? Not terribly. Compassion is more curious than kind, more intent than gentle. Heal the hurt, heal it now, you must, we must, we must. But even they do not much care for how Justice stepped in and acted the fool to your patients just now."

Why else were they back here?

"He... shit." It's the only word for it, and he loses his smile and amusement completely. "Did he... What did he do? How did he act the fool?"

She's here with him, relaxing, which at least means that no one got hurt, and he can feel Justice's aggravation at Anders' fear.

'Nothing more than seek to help when you could no longer focus,' he answers, but Anders doesn't know if he can trust that answer.

"I'm sorry. I thought I'd fallen asleep, I didn't... Maker." He needs to do better. He needs to get a handle on this. Sure, he's doing better than Kirkwall, but just about anything is doing better than Kirkwall. The Veil had been so thin there, mages were constantly dying, and he has neither excuse for slip-ups here.

The woman across the table comes into focus like a figure approaching through heavy fog. Once she is whole, the world around her blooms into view, rising and coloring the Fade in uneven splashes. The change draws the spirits that linger in the library, as idly interested as Beleth is, but their presence is different. As they near, a true sense of Doraith emerges, the sense of community and population, the taste of summer and safety, and for a moment everything is content. The sound of surf becomes the whisper of leaves and the far-off creak of heavy, hardy branches. The candle at Galadriel's arm burns low and, as it expires, swaying dappled shadow settles over the library.

Beleth's hand stretches across the distance toward the woman but, as expected, it passes through her shimmering gown and her long, dark hair. She does not take notice, conversing as she is with the shape of an elf alongside her. As Beleth's hand sinks through her, however, the whole of her blurs, just slightly, and rises away, like a gleaming halo settled across her shoulders. She laughs, bright and brilliant but the sound is louder than it ought to be.

Half a second later, the crows above startle and a cacophonous rattle of feathers and cages drowns her out.

To dream of her friend and those ancient gardens is a gift, but like all dreams it is both fleeting and fickle. Despite Beleth's gift of a blanket, Galadriel is feverish and cold and the stir of birds and air in the tower creates a thready draft. A shiver nearly topples Galadriel's precariously balanced head and, as her head slips in her grip, the whole of the dream around them is jarred along with her.

The woman, in that instant, is two at once. The old memory is soft and gentle, but the new one is not. The second woman who stands, at once, in the same space as the first, is wrapped in a grey cloak rather than summer silks and she is as wholly different from the first as she can be. Her hair is spun silver, bound and tied back, and where the memory of Melian was warm and indistinct, this woman is real and sharp, enough to be alarming. She does not sing, nor smile, and as she turns to speak, Galadriel's head sinks again and both phantoms burst apart like smoke struck by a breeze.

For several seconds there is nothing of note save, perhaps, the faint scent of pipeweed.

Unfortunately, though the sounds have ceased and the figures vanished, Galadriel is not awake. Her posture is strange and uncomfortable, her head rests heavily across the inside of her forearm, her back is curled at an odd angle as she rests against the table, but she still slumbers.

The dappled shadow around them grows more uniform and, as her dream reshapes the Fade, there is a certain tension to it. The sense of songbirds and deep forests are swallowed up, gradually, and before long only the sense of deep remains. Where other spirits had hovered before, caught in the edge of ancient dreams, now they were absent. Only the most curious among them remained and they drifted far, away from the shadows that had taken the elves.

They were alone.

"He continued to treat patients that were already too unsettled by spirits to notice the change in you aside from the sudden shift in your demeanor. Justice is not a kind nor patient spirit for healing. He does the work and moves on- as soon as I noticed I brought you aside. If you are not awake enough to mind the both of you for your mutual safety? You both need rest." She squeezes his hand, peering at that shadow.

Answers. Certainty. A familiar silhouette, all long limbs and curled hair. She glowers until it shifts into something indistinct again.

"This is why I work with you. To protect you both." To protect Anders specifically- but saying that much when Justice may very well hear? "He was curt and surly but I have been around such spirits for as long as I can remember. We are fine."

Justice feels vindicated, and Anders mentally apologizes, breathing out. He'd fear less if he could remember what happened when Justice took control, but it's been so long since that was possible. Anders works to recover his own mood, placing his free hand over his heart at what she's saying.

"That's the only reason why you work with me? I'm wounded." There's still shaken notes in his voice, but he's trying to tease too. "I could have sworn you liked having Purrelden around and kept me for that reason. She'll be hurt too. Though she's climbing on Nate right now, or was when I last saw the two of them. You could always befriend him and have time with my cat."

Another breath, and his hand drops from his chest before he gives hers one more squeeze.

"I'll get some rest. I'm sorry. I'd not meant to slip up, and I'm working on it."

"I suppose you do stand around and look pretty quite well when you're not pouting." Filters, where are they? Not around at the moment. She's too tired and too stressed but- he will sleep and she will meditate in the interim to make certain Justice does not get ideas and the shadow of a demon lingering about will fuck all the way off.

All of the way off.

She stands, tugging his hands after her in lieu of talking for the moment. Off to a quiet (relatively) nook of the tents there is a single cot well away from coughing patients and the research area, piled high with pillows and quilts. "Shall I fetch Purrelden to rest with you- or would you like to sleep on your own?"

He's going to enjoy remembering that comment. He's still pretty in her eyes despite everything and that's weirdly nice. Anders gets up with her and follows, holding her hand and enjoying the contact. Also nice? The sight of all of those pillows and blankets.

Releasing her hand, Anders gets to work on his bootlaces before answering. "I prefer sleeping with company." There's no wink, no flash of a smile to it because he's not actually hitting on her, just flirting for the fun of flirting. "More seriously, if you'd not mind, I'd like having her here. She's mostly with him simply so I don't have to worry about her while healing. He won't miss her."

They need more pillows in their tent, he decides as he climbs in. They seriously need more pillows. Once he's done buying Zevran a whole lot of drinks, it will be pillow time.

Dorian's crumpled lean into Benevenuta contributes to the necessary architecture of their inadvertent cuddling, his hands holding onto a book loosely in his lap. It's the first thing to go, hands twitching when he senses cooler palms touching his over-warm face, the heavy codex sliding past his knees and thumping to the floor.

Which wakes him up almost as effectively as Nerva. His posture stiffens just enough to jolt the woman against him, chin bumping her bowed head.

"This is fine," he tells-- Nerva, the dogs, possibly no one in particular, save for himself. His hand slithers up, nudging hers away, so as best rub his eyes without particular regard to the smudged lines of kohl he'd applied for Maker knows what reason. He hadn't felt quite so haggard when this morning began.

"One moment." She pats his back idly, contact out of habit from when they would share tea and he was still Detlef- parting without a grounding touch simply wasn't something she could manage. A way to remind herself that she was alive, he was real, and all was well. Now it's...simply habit. One she has yet to break herself of though not for lack of trying.

Adelaide slips away and so too does the shadow wander off after-

The constant blue glow of Compassion? Lingers with Anders. Offers warmth to the pillows and the blankets with a touch, shape equally indistinct. Humming quietly something soft and Orlesian. One of the songs Adelaide sang for Anders that night at the bonfire, when everything had been warm and beautiful and painless. Pale blue brushes through Anders' hair- Compassion caring even if Adelaide cannot be quite so certain, moving away only when she slips back into the curtained off area with a sleeping kitten bundled close to her chest. "She did not quite wish to leave him."

Hair that is usually so precisely and styled is now sweat-drenched, curled where it doesn't stick to warm skin. He hasn't, on this day, bothered with makeup after the raccoon disaster when he'd first succumbed to fever dampness, but there are still deep and restless shadows under his eyes.

He lifts his chin to look towards Adelaide, and the green light of the Fade seems to glimmer brilliantly at the edges of his vision, causing him to groan, lightly, even as rousing consciousness registers the uncomfortably warm tangle he's in. He feels like a furnace, and so does Benevenuta.

He sort of pushes her away, but mostly pushes himself away, listing to the side to land on his elbow.

Maybe he can just sleep here on his own that'd be fine.

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OPEN: Cloudreach Event

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