CLOSED: a prayer that will be answered

[byblow]

WHO: Adelaide, Alistair, Anders, Hercules, Kaisa, Lena, Sabine, Teren, Velanna
WHAT: Some safety precautions
WHEN: Solace 1-7
WHERE: The Deep Roads beneath the Western Approach
NOTES: OOC post.

Comments

Let's have a caravan | OTA

[fleurdesel]

[ Hobbling Along ]

The best treatment for her leg at this point is rest and truthfully, she ought not have come. But this was something that needed to be done, an opportunity to perhaps wring out more answers from the Wardens, and an excuse to leave Skyhold. She'd been twisting herself in knots going slowly mad with the inactivity that came from spending her days hunched over a desk. It'll be amusing, later, when she remembers that is simply how she'd been in the Spire, that was life for her. To be stir crazy hadn't ever occurred, but now? Now she was active enough that simply sitting all day without a moment or two to walk or train was aggravating.

The hovering of her students did not help all that much either.

Even so there are times when leaning her weight on her staff and moving stiffly simply is not quick enough to keep up in the massive halls, when weaving through the rubble makes her stumble, when the effort of keeping pace without jarring her leg causes her to slow and stop for a moment, leaning against whatever is closest to take the weight off for as long as it takes her to catch her breath before she hobbles along. Perhaps coming was not the wisest choice, but she's come all the same.


[ Fighting Darkspawn ]

Never let it be said that limited mobility would hamper Adelaide's effectiveness in battle. So long as she kept to the middle were they surrounded or the rear as long as they were not, she could work; ice crackling along her fingers and spidering across the ground to erupt in walls to defend her allies or impale, the wispy blue glow of rejuvenation soothing hurts and urging them on to cut through the darkspawn. Afterward she makes a point to check everyone over, to mend cuts and bruises- and to make certain no one was spattered with tainted blood.


[ Insomnia's a Bitch ]

The few hours they have in camp to rest should be used for just that- resting. But be it the environment, the discomfort of the break, or her general unease with the possibility of darkspawn attack at any hour- Adelaide finds sleep does not come easily. She writes by wisp her observations- of the Thaig, of the wardens, of the darkspawn. If she is to be awake? She might as well attempt to be productive.


[ Wildcard ]

hobbling.

[twelvelabours]

"Councillor."

Herc isn't blind, and her struggle over a particularly rubble strewn, treacherous slope in their path isn't lost on him. She's barely made any headway on it when he's jogging a few paces from his place in their procession to catch up with her. "Can I offer you some help?"

Quite how much help she accepts is up to her, but he's watching her carefully. They need her, but Maker be damned if he doesn't think they've set her up for a bloody difficult time, if not outright failure by dragging her down here in this state.

[fleurdesel]

"Warden Hansen." She offers with a touch more chill than she offers most Wardens. For the sin of being unsuitable and yet thoroughly entangled with her friend, he suffers an extra portion of condescension and judgement.

Alistair might think she likes Herc better if he sees this. Frankly- she does not care. "..."

The slope and debris is given a long, withering look before she sighs and considers the pace they must set. "If you would be so kind?"

[twelvelabours]

Senior Warden he could say, but instead he exhales, resisting the urge to let a laugh out with it. Rank didn't matter all that much in the Deep Roads, so long as you were all keeping each other alive. What mattered was not being an idiot. He's pretty sure he and the Councillor can manage that well enough.

"I'm happy to offer you an arm, or carry you. Whatever you'd be more comfortable with. Arm'd give you more room to steady yourself. Carry'd be faster."

Simple, not apologetic, but the decision is in her hands. If darkspawn appear he can hoist her over his shoulder no matter how elaborate her swearing (and he has heard a thing a two.)

[fleurdesel]

"I don't know. The last time a Warden saw fit to carry me some mysterious happenings occurred in a room and one of my friends was miraculously among their number." She is and forever shall be touchy about that particular moment. "I've no associates that are not already wardens down here but I'm certain your order is more than creative enough to make up for it."

That is unkind when he is attempting to be helpful- but it still burns, that coal. That she was not allowed to do her work. That she was not told what was done or how. Secrets that must be kept for...reasons.

'Just Because' has never been a good enough excuse. Ever.

"...In the interest of not delaying the group- carry me. Just. Don't let Alistair see us."

[twelvelabours]

Ah.

Well.

He clears his throat. "Happens, sometimes. Funny thing."
Apologetic, to a certain extent. Not a limitless one, though. He gives her a look. "But with a cheerful attitude like that," he continues, "you'd fit right in. Ever considered signing up?"

With little hesitation but with a lot of care, Herc rests one hand at Adelaide's back and bends to scoop her up in something that's far too practical to be classed as a bridal carry... and yet. "Don't worry. If he does, you can start strangling me. That should shut him up."

[fleurdesel]

Her eyes narrow slightly- but it does not seem as though he is mocking her.

But then she does not know him and cannot read him. Yet. There will be time to learn his sincerity from his sarcasm, time to sort out if she is right to be so wary on her friend's behalf. "While I am quite fond of blue- I do not care to spend my days fighting darkspawn. I am a healer first."

And a politician, and a noble finding her feet in the Game and- Warden would not suit.

He's delicate, after a fashion, and some of the tension at being held eases. "I would rather strangle him but I understand we need him alive for this venture."

insomnia.

[byblow]

Sleep is for the weak. Alistair is weak. (Or he has nearly a year of tossing and turning and nightmares to make up for. Or both.) But down here he manages to sleep less like a rock than he has been on the surface, periodically opening his eyes to scan the bedrolls and make sure everyone is present and accounted for, the watch is still being kept, the fire isn't at risk of burning out. And when he wakes up feeling vaguely alert, he heaves himself up and stumbles to sit next to Adelaide, bag in hand.

However mild and respectful his dislike, it is dislike. He isn't here for a friendly chat. But he does start with, "Are you all right?"

[fleurdesel]

"I'm miles underground exposed to the most terrifying illness known to Thedas in the company of men I do not rightly trust on a good day while hoping to find what is, apparently an old god and prevent or at least delay it's waking." While she'd managed to be mostly civil during the first few days- it's slid quickly into being quiet and weary and irate. She has little enough time to herself down here- and that is for the better, being alone means being vulnerable, but it does grate. "And my leg is broken. 'All right' is not precisely the word I would use, Stable boy."

[byblow]

"I never took you for a whiner, Lady LeBlanc."

He knows whiners--he is a whiner--and she is not actually a whiner. Those are all very legitimate complaints, which he might betray, somewhat, by leaning forward to squint at her leg in the wisp's faint blue light.

[fleurdesel]

"And I never took you for a fool-" A beat. "Oh, wait, I have."

Often at that. Down here with what they'd be digging through, with needing to be mobile and needing to have armor and tools on hand it will not break her heart to lose or burn afterward to avoid being blighted, she's dressed simply, the muslin of her robe falling in light folds around the brace she has strapped to her thigh.

"What do you want? I am not much in the mood for telling bedtime stories."

[byblow]

"Orlesian folktales give me nightmares," Alistair says, because otherwise now that she's mentioned it he might have insisted. "All that backstabbing."

But he's opening his pack, fishing out a battered journal—he writes, sometimes. Sort of. The pages he flips through are equal parts messily scrawled lists and notes, sketched maps, and stick figures or cartoonish mabari. The pages he slows for are the denser ones, until he stops on a page filled mostly with numbers and symbols. Mostly. There's also a doodle of a stick figure with scribbled dark hair and something dark across her nose running away from another figure with horns, with a face like :O.

"I don't understand this at all," he says. That isn't true. He understands half of it, give or take, and he definitely knows what it is: instructions for blood magic seals. Not the ones that bound Corypheus, precisely, but some like them, copied out of the archives while he was being nosy.

[fleurdesel]

There's a response on the tip of her tongue for his cheek, something about Betrayal not being the sole property of Orlais when the book comes out. No, Journal. Some of the sketching looks familiar, Alistair's hand- but the rest...

"...This is-" Blood magic. Seals to hold something old and powerful. She had wondered why he'd allowed her to come aside from needing a healer. Wondered what, exactly, they were going to do other than collapse tunnels behind them to make certain that this thing remained asleep. Perhaps she should not have wondered so much. Perhaps she ought to have asked more. "I do not perform blood magic."

insomnia

[doneisdone]

As most in the warden camp have discovered, Teren likes the night watch. Between the song and her age and the darkspawn blood roiling through her veins, she doesn't find a lot of rest these days, but that's no excuse to not make herself useful.

Spotting Adelaide by her strange light, Teren approaches, her footfalls silent as she pads along the stone. "Lady Leblanc," she says, gruffly but quietly, shrouded in darkness beyond the wisp, "we will know before any darkspawn arrive." There are dreams. And she, well, she'll be awake to hear them approaching. They're not tremendously subtle.

[fleurdesel]

"I do not doubt your vigilance." That would be most unkind, for all that she doubts Alistair in general. "Sleep does not often come to me easily."

Less so down here than normal, but it is better to attribute it to a constant issue rather than point out 'you and your fellows are strange and secretive and it does not inspire confidence when I must trust you with my life'. That...is not entirely politic to say.

[doneisdone]

"Ah."
No need to say more, for Teren already understands. After hesitating a moment, she folds down to take a seat beside the mage, where she reaches toward the fire and the hot kettle. After pouring herself a cup of tea, she holds out the kettle to Adelaide in silent offer.

[fleurdesel]

Adelaide resumes her notes, pausing only to hold her half empty cup of cold tea out for a top up. Wardens in general she might find questionable but Teren has proven herself reliable, relate-able, and reasonable. "...Are you permitted to explain how it is you know they are coming?"

[doneisdone]

Teren pours, then sets the kettle down and lifts her own tea to inhale its steam while it's too hot to drink. "I am not," she says plainly, "though even if I were, I'm not certain I could. It's a magic of some kind, like many inexplicable things of this world, and I haven't the words for it." Perhaps a mage would, but Teren has never claimed to be educated on magic or any of the business they get into.
"...you've heard of the Calling?"

[fleurdesel]

"I should not be so surprised." Wardens and their secrets. But that Teren is more honest and less condescending is something of a relief. "...Not much. But-"

'The song doesn't end. I can't ignore it.'

"...it is connected to the old gods, yes?"

Hobbling along

[justice_is_blond]

He glances after her when she slows, eyes on her leg. It's not just that it's his fault. It's that she's a friend and she's in pain. Anders heads over and jerks his chin toward her leg.

"I'm guessing it's giving you trouble. Can I give you an arm? ...Or a back. I'm rested enough, I could carry you." Maker knows she's carried enough for him, really.

Re: Hobbling along

[fleurdesel]

"Could you?" It's skeptical more than anything else. Anders is not half so broad as the warriors in the party and while he has filled out since his arrival in skyhold-

She is not so light and dainty a thing to make the carrying easy.

[justice_is_blond]

"Not for a long time, but I could. I'm not a twig." He's also not burly, doesn't quite eat as much as he often should, but he's carried people before under worse conditions. "I'm not even a sapling. I'm a branch. A pretty branch at that, that woodn't want to see you struggling more than is absolutely necessary."

His expression is faintly amused and a little proud of himself as he waits to see if she picks up on what he did there or continues to make fun of the fact that he's definitely no Alistair or Herc.

[fleurdesel]

"...Perhaps down the next slope." They have been giving her the most trouble. She squints down the next bit of the path and roughly follows along his commentary and for a moment she cannot quite tell why he looks so quietly pleased with himelf.

And then.

Woodn't.

"...Anders." Please.

[justice_is_blond]

He looks even more pleased with himself when she catches on.

"Adelaide?" There's a look like butter wouldn't melt in his mouth as he offers her his arm for the part coming up. "You said Anders for some reason there. I hardly think it's because you're feeling sappy."

[fleurdesel]

"You think you are funny." He isn't. Not even a little. It doesn't keep her from hooking an arm across his shoulders to ease herself up, broken leg held stiffly to one side.