( 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

[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.