( closed ) No longer I can justify the bloodshed in his name

[fightingale]

WHO: Leliana & various closed threads (for now - open stuff later)
WHAT: Wicked Grace night goes horribly wrong and Leliana is kind of dying
WHEN: forward dated to the night of the 22nd, post-assassination attempt
WHERE: Leliana's creepy Rookery chamber place
NOTES:
1. Pretentious images in the main post and starters in the comments because I'm a bit ridiculous.

2. Content warning for attempted murder/violence/poison/all that implies.

3. Party style threading is welcome and encouraged, it might make it a bit easier to discuss side matters after the initial discovery.

4. This will probably open up for including other threads and stuff that can be forward dated, but initially just closed.

5. There will be some terrible poetry in here and I'm not even sorry; it is only one in a series that will be left around Skyhold and will be posted later. Belle, Jansen & Libby are beautiful humans for enduring my rambles.

Comments

[fightingale]

It's a strange relief that Dorian is here. Of the three he is probably closest to the realm of friend, even if it is a camaraderie born of mutual torment and laughing about the exploits of the Herald. A strange thing, not a true friendship perhaps, but Leliana is learning there is little room in her life for friends.

Morrigan, she realises, very abruptly, and there is an urgency twisting in her gut, even as she nods to Dorian's instructions and, to the best of her ability, shifts her hand under his as she looks at him, a poor effort at returning the offered comfort. She is not sure what is in her expression.

Despite his instructions she does try to swallow, does mean to try to speak, but the swallow alone makes her wince.

[fleurdesel]

"If he was going to do something he would have already." Adelaide does not stand aside- but she does make room. Dorian knows Leliana better, might know what this is as it is entirely unlike anything Adelaide has encountered.

Of course it's Tevinter.

Of course it reacts badly with magic. Adelaide allows herself a moment, little more, of swearing violently under her breath in Orlesian. "Is there an antidote?"

It being from where it is- her coin would be on no. But she would rather know for certain what their options might be instead of hopelessly guessing.

[justice_is_blond]

The gentle touch on Leliana's hand sways him more than Adelaide's words. There's always a possibility of a delayed attack, waiting for guard to drop, but Dorian's careful. Anders exhales and sets the tincture down. If it won't do any good, then it won't do any good.

"And if we've not got an antidote just yet, some way to relieve the symptoms while she fights it off."

He's never heard of this poison before, but it's no surprise. Simply frustrating. That there is an antidote he has no doubt - magisters wouldn't stop at anything to find a cure to a poison designed to help them - he's simply worried about what it might entail. ...And also worried by the way Leliana looks.

"I know it's terribly dull to lay here and focus on breathing, but that's the best thing for you right now, Leliana."

[liberalum]

"The good news is that wine isn't remotely magical," Dorian says, with the kind of brisk chirp with which he can talk about almost anything, even if those that know him better can sense that undercurrent of sharper worry -- in his voice, around his eyes. This is addressed to Leliana and the healers both, with the latter, a little flatter, "The bad news is, I'm not entirely certain of what else there is to do without further research. Herbal remedies to slow damage -- royal elf root might buy us a little time, yes?"

He straightens slightly. He does not say, right now, how much time he anticipates that Leliana has. "I have some contacts in the Imperium who ought to have better insight. This isn't exactly my forté."

[fightingale]

Stubbornly she tries again to speak; she may not have time, this is important, the Inquisition and their safety is important.

But her head feels foggy. The words seems warped out of shape and strange sounds that are sharp against her eardrum, and Leliana sets her teeth. She can't grasp the word, something so simple as a word.

Thorn.
She can hardly even recall why it is significant or why she must say it, only that it truly must be given voice-- her eyes shut, and she forces a sound past her throat.

It is a hoarse, rasping breath that only the first syllable survives.
"Ép--"
The 'p' is incompete, evident in her lips more than in the sound that passes them.

Again she tries, but it is weaker on the second effort. For Dorian's efforts or for someone who needs to be warned of a threat she doesn't remember clearly, thorns . Leliana shivers, and her breath catches audibly, painfully.

[fleurdesel]

"Write it if you must but do not attempt to speak." Not that Adelaide is all that certain Leliana can write- but anything would be better than trying to force her way past words she cannot manage in a voice that pains all to hear. "Send a runner for it- we've a fresh plant ready for harvest in the garden."

Only one at the moment, truly, but if there is anyone hat has need of it? It is Leliana. None would question its use for her health. "Then why are you still standing there?"

Dorian, the woman on the table is quite likely dying. "Go write them- we will do what we can without magic until we know more."

[justice_is_blond]

His lips are pressed flat as he turns to get quill, ink, and paper. She wants to speak, clearly, so if he can't actually heal at least he can do this. Anders inks the quill, puts it in her hand, and guides it to the paper.

"Breathing comes first." There's a little sternness in his voice now. They can't ease her symptoms just yet, but at the very least she can stop making things harder on herself. "And yes, please move, Dorian." They might not have much time, and he's already lost one person this week.

The aide he'd sent away earlier returns with honey, and is promptly dispatched for royal elfroot instead. "And once you've written and caught your breath a little we can still try honey for a protective coating on your throat."

[liberalum]

Really, friends? Are we to bait the mouthy Tevinter into sassing them at a time like this? It's Adelaide, more so than Anders, that is treated to a sharp look of incredulity, which is definitely as important as Leliana's problems, but he stays his tongue for the occasion.

Someone mark it in a calendar.

But he's dispensed with what he knows, and it appears no one has questions. One last squeeze to Leliana's fingers follows Dorian absenting himself from the chamber. "I'll notify the rookery to forward you on any reply directly," he says, over a shoulder, an echo as he crosses the threshold.

[fightingale]

Her fingers flex in response - weak, but an effort made. She owes Dorian her life already, it seems, if she is managing to selected the right meaning from the various possibilities and combinations of words that seem scattered before her. Meaning feels as thought it is becoming an increasingly more difficult, nebulous thing to grasp, the effort as effective as trying to cup water in your hand with your fingers splayed.

The looks to Anders and Adelaide are not quite apologetic. Understanding, grateful mixed in with the pain, but not apologetic, even as she nods.

Dorian is gone, and in her other hand there is a-- a something, a something she knows the word for but can't remember. It feels... strange to the touch. The texture is all wrong, or her hands are wrong, can't quite seem to figure out how it is one ones an instrument for writing. Her grip tightens, pressing to the parchment in a way that she is certain is too hard and will break the nib, if she is not careful.

The pressure is barely enough to make a mark on the paper; her hand waves, and though she is concentrating hard, giving it all her focus and precision, what ends on the paper rather than an É and a p is a loose scrawl that doubles back on it's and wanders lost across the paper, ink bleeding out and smearing under her hand. Épine she writes, but cannot translate to a form other people can understand, before her ability to grasp the pen falters.

With the ceasing of magic the marks across her neck have slowed to a stop, receding just slightly with the loss of power to fuel them.

[fleurdesel]

"Thank you, Dorian." It could be sarcasm- it could be condescension. It is neither. That someone, anyone knows anything that might be of use? That he could send word and bring them some manner of solution? Is nothing short of miraculous. Adelaide makes a mental note to buy him a very nice bottle of Tevinter wine when she next has the opportunity. He will have more than earned it.

Her hand lifts to trace the strange marks on her neck, barely there, an attempt to discern what they were. Scarring? Inflammation? A rash? Using magic to find an answer is right out but if they know how it is strangling her perhaps they can help ease the strain.

"What has she written, Anders?"

[justice_is_blond]

Dorian gets a nod of acknowledgement and thanks, as he heads out the door but it's easy to miss as Anders' attention returns promptly to Leliana. More specifically, what Leliana's attempting to write. He catches the pen and takes the paper gently, expression growing pained before he looks up at Leliana's face.

"I'm sorry. I know you tried your best, but I can't read this." The paper gets held out to Adelaide just in case. "Can you do a... a tapping thing, Leliana? For letters. I can go through the alphabet, slowly, and you tap when I get the right one. If that's all right with you, if you're willing to try it, tap your fingers twice. You don't have to do anything if you don't have the energy for it."

It isn't like he has anything better he can do for her right now, when nothing they have will help.