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 wavers for a moment - but no - not the time nor the place, so he simply forges forward at this point, his own grip tightening on her own arm as they move. Or rather, wobble.

"I will stay until you are in complete control of your abilities again. I promise." He states calmly, and warmly.

They look like two drunks leaving the Hanged Man, save for the fact that neither of them are loudly singing or smell like they've bathed in their drinks. Still, the comparison makes her smile a little to herself, and his promise makes her relax.

Almost enough that she nearly faceplants into the dirt, but his grip and her staff keep her upright.

"Thank you." And then he can get some rest too, which Merrill is sure he needs. "Just a little more to get there, then."

His grip on her tightens, as she starts to tilt, and he takes a moment to put his sword away so he can try to balance her out more.

"We're almost there. Just ... hold on, Merrill."

His glance at the couple coming into his tent tells him it's a Templar and he wishes the Templar walked into any other healing tent. Seconds later his brain actually catches up and he realizes it's a Templar hauling not just a mage, but Merrill, a blood mage, and he goes from vaguely annoyed to high alert in seconds.

"What did you do to her?"

Everyone should know she's a blood mage, the book's out there, but few take it seriously. She's ridiculous enough that she's generally safe, but if that's over...

"Get her on the table." Justice thinks that whatever's happened to her is fair and fitting. Anders doesn't want to bother thinking about it right now.

James stopped in his tracks, green eyes focusing on the man in front of him. His jaw tightened, his hand went to ward the mage called Anders off -- when Merrill passed out, and his attention was immediately shifted to her. He caught her before she fell, then cradled her gently up onto the table.

Only then did he bother to shoot a poisonous look to Anders, but he knew how good the mage was. He had saved Alayre's life. Surely he would do no less from a companion from his past.

"I kept a Pride demon from taking her over through her weakened state in the Fade." Came his crisp reply, something that would have had more weight if he didn't suddenly waver himself, as another rush of lyrium ran through his system and he felt the singing pound in his ears.

"...She is without magical protection. We have to keep her safe." He muttered, putting one hand to his forehead.

He could practically feel the lyrium in the man. Great. A hopped-up Templar, an unconscious blood mage, and more demons and spirits lingering than one finds in ten Chantry sermons. On top of this, Anders is tired from ceaseless work since the fever broke out.

"Keep her safe from what? From you snapping because you're humming with lyrium? Sit. You're either about to collapse and make more work for me when you break a bone or knock a dent in your skull, or you're about to snap from too much in your system and there's no protecting her at all." Templars. Judging magic, harming magic users, but all too willing to take lyrium and do their own sort of magic.

After a glare for extra effect, Anders turns his attention more toward Merrill and casts, hands glowing green as he assesses her situation. She doesn't seem hurt, at least. Ill, though. Definitely ill.

James felt like growling, but instead sat himself down on a stool and rubbed his face, his voice tight. "I had to Dispel the demon in the Fade - she is too sick to fight them off on her own. She asked me to help her, to protect her from the demon. To do so I ... "

Here he sighed, knowing that he would probably get some sort of backlash from this man, screaming about Templar abuses, but he had neither the interest of the lectures of a madman, or an abomination in action. "I drank a potent lyrium potion. Then I performed a Dispel, which dissipated the Pride Demon, but also left Merrill without her magic."

He looked over at her, concern coming over irritation and anger, "She collapsed, just as we managed to get to your tent. Is she going to be all right?"

"You..." The man's an idiot. Anders should have known from the way he'd let Cade wander about madly, but he'd been focused on keeping the one decent Templar alive. "Why is it always take away the magic? Why not, you know, assist? You think you've protected her from Pride, but you've left her vulnerable to others."

He's griping as he examines her and eases what he can. It helps with the stress to get after Norrington for doing this. "Without her magic, without the strength that comes from having it... Maker's breath. I don't know. And asleep she's even more vulnerable to anything that may come her way, but she needs the rest."

Anders steps away, mixing together a couple of potions before bringing the vial over and supporting her head enough to get it down her throat.

"Can you even see them?" It's a genuine, if frustrated, question.

James glowered at Anders, because he wasn't answering the primary question first and was wasting time lecturing him on magical irresponsibility. The man was the poster child of 'magical irresponsibility'. "If you knew anything about my abilities, you would know that I do not just dispel one thing, I dispel all things in a radius. Nothing can touch her. Secondly, I told her specifically not to fall asleep until we were someplace safe. Apparently, she thought you were safe."

He snorted, as his head swam, and he put his hand to his forehead. "I have absolutely no idea why, as your regard for people extends to ... oh, wait, yourself."

One eyebrow raised at the question. "No. I am not ill, nor have I been this entire time."

"In the radius you then left!" Braindead. Absolutely braindead. "You dispelled in that radius and then instead of calling me to come, the one bloody person in this whole place who can't be threatened by demons, you walked past so many others with her!" The only reason Anders sounds more pained than furious at this point is because Norrington can't see the clusters around everyone as he's not ill. "You waved a possible meal in front of everything in the vicinity. She's a--a now-defenseless mage."

He'd almost said blood mage. In truth, Anders doesn't know why he avoids saying it when everyone knows it, but shoving it in someone's face seems like an idiotic idea, especially when she's passed out.

Though the other is ridiculously relieving and he has to work to keep his voice strained rather than relieved. The Templars think he cares only for himself. It's the best news he's heard in weeks and weeks, because it means they're not looking for people they can hurt to hurt him this time. Nate's safe. For now, but he's safe, and Kallian too. Of course, he can't leave it be. He has to try to make the cover a little better, and he's always been rubbish at doing so.

"Not that I give a care because she's not me and I only care about me. Forget that I went and helped Alayre in the middle of a whole swarm of Tmeplars, including one half-mad. Forget that I'm here healing when I could have passed through Skyhold and been gone with none the wiser. You're very smart. I can tell from the whole of this encounter."

"We left the radius because magic abhors a vacuum, or didn't you get to that lesson in basic magical craft? It was in fact safer for her to be with me, a Templar, that demons avoid because of my ability to diffuse magic, than you - the walking time-bomb of an abomination!" James retorted, moving to stand, green eyes flashing, "And she's not defenseless - she has me, my sword, and my promise to keep her from harm."

Honestly, what an arrogant, blinded-by-hate ... "You care about her because she's another 'lesson' you can cram down a Templar's throat. You helped Alayre because it proves to yourself that you're not the one with prejudices - oh no, not the great almighty Anders, not because he was just a man who was bleeding to death. And wasn't it convenient to go to the one place where Chantry law doesn't exist? Don't go blowing about your so-called virtues, Anders. They're still scrapping your virtues off the walkways of Kirkwall."

He snorts. He can't help it. Anders shakes his head.

"You know nothing. And Maker, you've no idea how satisfying that is to hear myself proven right about how absolutely idiotic you are. Please go on. Please continue telling me about my motivations and views. It's illuminating."

The Templars who knew him and his weaknesses aren't here. This isn't just illuminating. It's a massive relief. Anders turns his back on the moron and resumes work on Merrill, knowing that for once, this blind rage makes so many safe.

"Well, I'm glad we agree that neither one of us knows anything about the other. As you know about as much about Templar abilities as you do about non-violent methods of change." James retorted, but not once did his hand go to his sword, and not once did it turn into a fist.

He looked down at Merrill, his eyes troubled and worried, sliding his fingers around hers. "If you think I would do anything to hurt this woman - you're as idiotic as you believe I am. And if you think your own motivations aren't as clear as glass - then you know as little of yourself as you think I do. You were abused, you were angry, you lashed out like your abusers. I pity you, Anders, for not knowing the difference between victim and offender."

He could continue ignoring the man. It's easy. There are so many who are absolutely, utterly wrong about him, and if he took the time to correct them he'd have no time to do anything else. It's not even his responsibility to correct them. They're idiots who aren't worth his time.

"I can't trust a thing you say because you continue to talk about me and are wrong on every point. I also don't see a reason to bother helping you out, because you're clearly not going to listen. Do you even know this woman, know what she does and what she's about? Or do you only see what lies on the surface, the cute, innocent, always-lost elf? You say you'd not hurt her; I don't think you know either of us. I don't think you care to know the truth because you feel you've already got it."

Just another Templar, really, this one. One in a crowd. May they one day have to repay their debts in full.

He tipped his chin up at that accusation, before he folded his hands around Merrill's to keep them warm. He looks down at her, and says quietly.

"I think she is a young woman, in a great deal of trouble. I don't know what she did, to have a pride demon come after her ... but I do not think she did it without a reason. Her people's magic is not the Chantry's magic, so it seems likely that she has gotten in way over her head. But then, she knew when to ask for help."

He kept one hand in Merrill's, as he stared at the other man's back. It was a statement he heard, far too many times. All right then, let's hear what the greatest threat to peace in Thedas had to say for himself. Sooner or later he would have to hunt for the woman who killed his mentors - if he could not handle the man who started this entire disaster, how could he truly say he would not kill her the first moment he saw her?

"So what is the truth?"

One truth, at the moment, is this: Merrill was tired and without magic, she passed out, she had a dream in which multiple curiosity spirits were dancing around her in the form of wisps (they're likely still in the area, but are staying further back from Justice and the Templar, just in case), and she's suddenly been jolted back into the waking world by an argument.

Twitching her fingers, just a little bit at first and then more when she realizes there's another set in hers, Merrill tries to sit up almost immediately. Feverish and weak, she doesn't get very far before she groans and flops back down, squeezing James' hand in hers.

"Creators. Why is it so hot in here?" Because you have a fever, Merrill. "Were you two shouting?"

"It's hot in here because you're trying to sit up. Stay down." Part of that's a lie and it's obvious enough it doesn't count. "Your temperature should be dropping a little soon here, and after that we'll see what else we can get into you. As far as shouting, of course we were shouting."

He retrieves a cool cloth and rests it on her forehead, not even bothering to look at Norrington. "It's hard not to, when he thinks I only care about myself, that I'm here because, what was it? It's the one place Chantry law doesn't exist? Let's ignore Tevinter. Or even ignore that I didn't have to be anywhere I was known. Also, everything I do is violent. Everything. And yet he brought you to me..."

Anders snorts. "Seven years, Templar. Seven years I tried methods that were peaceful and watched as your kind continued to slaughter mages by the day or make them Tranquil if mages refused Templars sex. Seven years I healed in Darktown and tried everything in my power to turn it around, and only when it was clear that the Rite of Annulment was inevitable did I act. They murdered non-mages too, my underground, people who were helping smuggle small things in to the mages who were confined to rooms save for meals and prayer. Seashells. Flowers. Books. As well as, yes, get out the occasional mage who was at high risk. Slaughtered down to the last man and woman."

He turns and looks directly at Norrington. "And I'm leaving things out. You trust her. She can confirm I'm leaving things out with Kirkwall, even if she can't say anything to what came before. But why bother? That's work. Understanding, knowing the whole of things, is hard. Far easier if I'm simply a violent abomination and nothing more."

"Stay still, Merill. He's right, you are too weak to sit up and you need to stay awake until your magic returns." James soothed, squeezing her hand in turn. "Let him take care of you. Besides being a complete ass, he is a good healer."

His eyes narrow, "Oh yes, let's use Tevinter as the great example of what mage culture can be. Let us forget that they encourage blood magic and human sacrifice, just for power. Let us forget that they were the ones who started the Blights. Let us just sweep under the rug that it is now, a Tevinter Darkspawn Mage who murdered the Divine and ripped open the sky. Beyond that, I didn't bring her here - she brought me to you - I am guessing for your help with my ... overdose. I put her first because she is ill."

Now there's a sore spot, and one he's going to answer right now, "Let's make one thing clear. Meredith was not 'my kind'. Her, and the other monsters like her, were not my brothers and sisters. Not those who broke every single tenant I believe in. They were murderers, yes, and they should have been punished by the Seekers sent to investigate who clearly did a shoddy arse job, if they missed Meredith's corruption. But beyond that ... how many blood mages rose to power in Kirkwall, Anders? How many people were sacrificed for those who thought magic gave them the right to rule over other people? What about Hawke - did her mother deserve to die the way she did - at the hands of a madman? And Orisino - that man killed his own charges and used them to become a ... a thing."

He lifts his chin, "I can count corpses just as high as you can, ser. I won't say there were not mistakes made -- innocent lives lost before that could have been saved. There are sins that the Order must bear on its own, and make amends for ... but those of us who are left, who are true to our principles and our beliefs? We are not your boogeymen. We live to serve the people of Thedas, to honor our vows and take on the burden of crimes that we did not commit. You have no right to condemn me for the sins of others, or any of my people here."

Eyes flashing, "As for you - you have never taken responsibility for what you have done. The people you murdered. Not once have you offered to make amends for Kirkwall, for Grand Cleric Elethina. All you do is say 'it was necessary'. Your contacts were killed, and that gives you the right to murder innocent Chantry brothers and sisters? How do two wrongs make a right?"

He finally looks over to Meredith, his eyes quiet. "... As for her, yes you, she can tell me in her own time, what her sins are. But at least I can trust Meredith to atone for what she has done, and not blame others for her own mistakes. She owns them."

Anders shakes his head, eyebrows going up at first before he snorts as the man keeps going on. He'd been right, here. Again.

"I knew you wouldn't listen. Your kind never do." It's satisfying to use 'your kind' again, because Norrington is the same kind as those in Kirkwall. Blind, certain in themselves, proud to the point of ignorance. And wrong in every single way. Almost impressively so. If there weren't a danger of Justice taking him to task, Anders would consider bothering a little more, but as it is? Not worth his time.

"How are you feeling, Merrill? Talk to me."

Her free hand does to her head, face scrunching as the two continue, for a moment, to bicker. If she still had magic, she'd consider mildly shocking the both of them, but as it is, she just grumbles under her breath. "Dirthara-ma. Fen'Harel ma ghilana."

Anders has dragged her into it and James speaks of blood mages and Merrill has never been so grateful for Anders changing the subject in her life. She feels terrible, of course, but not all of it is physical now. It's mental, emotional -- someone who had sought help and ended up in a worse scenario because no one can stop bickering.

"Like I would like to sleep, except being awake might be the only thing keeping the two of you from killing each other." It would sound more cross if Merrill didn't feel so miserable; instead it mostly comes out like a petulant whine. "Or- three of you." She turns her head, blinking owlishly at Anders -- or, more accurately, at Justice. He's very blue, isn't he? And very possibly the only thing keeping every other Pride demon from coming to converge upon James and Anders, considering the way the two of them were going at it, so she's just not going to mention anything else about him.

"Could I get something to drink?"

James feels his chest expand out - but then Merrill speaks and it's all he can do not to in fact, feel sheepish and embarrassed. Like he is before First Enchanter Lydia again, chiding him for getting caught up in his own pride. She is right - he has let himself get drawn into a fight that isn't going to go anywhere, and is not helping Merrill, but impeding her care.

"Of course." He goes to get her a glass of water, putting his hand behind her head so she can drink. "I am sorry, Merrill. I did not mean to let my temper get the best of me."

Then he looks over at Anders for a long, hard moment, before he states simply.
"They tell me you gave yourself up. That you didn't even fight, after the explosion. So, I offer my apologies, for my assumptions that you felt no guilt. A truly penitent man ... would have stayed for his own judgement. Sometimes it is not easy to see past one's own grief ... and anger."

He looks down at Merrill, addressing them both, "Perhaps it was Meredith's kind that would see you all die, for what you have done, whatever it might be ... but my kind only wishes to serve. To protect, and do the Maker's work."

He's ready to entirely ignore the man from here on out, rolling his eyes at the apology to Merrill like a five-year-old (or Carver,) and then he gets an apology too. Anders stands there, wordless for a rare moment, frowning. What's he even supposed to take from this? The man who just said he'd not taken responsibility is now admitting that he did, and Maker, could things just be simple? So Norrington's not an idiot now? He'd known and he was just angry? It's a familiar enough situation that Anders dislikes it just for the familiarity.

Anders takes a breath to respond and stops, looking back down at Merrill. There's no reason to stop for the sake of a blood mage, but she's been kind and she's ill. A little mercy wouldn't be the worst thing. He won't open up any further, or give any other sort of an opening, not here, but he won't snap.

"The problem is that that's exactly what she said." His voice is neutral as he picks up a small packet and holds it out. "Add this to her water. Meredith said all along she wanted to protect and do the Maker's work. The Templars who wanted me dead long before I did anything save run for my own freedom wanted to protect and do the Maker's work. It's exceedingly difficult to know what that means when it's been used against everyone I've cared about for so very long." Barely, just barely, he refrains from adding a snipe in there about how yes, he has cared for people.

"What you're saying sounds pretty but it is meaningless." He stops, closes his eyes, and takes a breath. "Let me rephrase. It has meaning to you. In a room of twenty people it likely has twenty-five different meanings. To me, it has none because I have heard it out of a thousand mouths for a thousand things. What does it mean, to you? What is your kind? What is protection? What is the Maker's work?"

"It's okay," she tells them both, even if James is the only one who apologized. They're passionate people, and when it comes to the problems Thedas faces, isn't it better to be passionate than not to care at all? The problem, of course, comes when one is too passionate and gets carried away...

But Anders regrets. He should be allowed to make up for it. Merrill has always believe that to be true.

"Humans do like to say everything is because or for the Maker, don't they? Not that faith isn't a good thing, but- I've always thought there has to be more than just that. It can't be the only reason to do something."

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OPEN: Cloudreach Event

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