you still can't look me in the eye

[fightingale]

WHO: Leliana & various!
WHAT: catch all for July/Solace
WHEN: from roughly the 8th on throughout the month.
WHERE: Skyhold, various.
NOTES: set ups all in prose, but will happily match brackets if you prefer them! Open starters and a bit of a timeline on Leliana's health in the post (more to be added as we plod through the month), closed starters in the comments. If you'd like to do something that isn't in the open feel free to get in touch with me via pm or pp @karmacharging!
WARNINGS: Likely reference to illness, attempted murder, actual murder, and the range of terrible things that come with being the Nightingale. Will update as necessary, and endeavour to label subject lines.

OOC Recovery Deets.
After the team returned from the Brecilian Forest on the 27th, Leliana was given a series of potions with the ingredients that the team has acquired. Her recovery was not immediate, given the brutal effects of the poison, but the groundwork was laid. By the 1st of Solace she was able to speak again, although her voice sounded terrible, and some of the scarring had receded. By the 4th she was able to stand, although No One Approved. Since the 6th she has been walking, but only a very little. She normally has to sit in the presence of others, but from the 14th onward her strength has noticeably improved, although she's still thinner than she was before. Report on the Plot here.


OPEN.
8th - 11th - The Rookery.
It is safest to linger about her tower, still. Better that she be seen beyond it and that her recovery be confirmed, and yet if she were to falter or fall or appear weak that would only do harm. Her mind has recovered far more quickly than her body, and some motions still feel strange and foreign. Writing takes longer than it used to, but she is nothing if not determined. A hideous sort of stubbornness has been one thing that has never changed, not since she was a little girl.

She is writing or reading letters and orders and reports near constantly. Beleth and several scouts did much in the way of dealing with smaller matters, while Charter saw to other more pressing matters. Despite their efforts, however, there were a good many things that only the Nightingale could see to.

Pausing in her writing, Leliana flexes her hand, shaking it out a little, before looking towards the staircase. "Enter."


14th - the day after the Snow Battle Royale.
Though she did not stray down to the valley for the fight itself - such a move seemed a singularly poor decision. The Nightingale was not a social butterfly, and though it would have been an opportunity to assert her good health it would have been... inappropriate, she suspects, to attend.

That is not to say she didn't watch from the Rookery, and receive regular reports from her scouts on the progress and any Events of Note, whether they were interpersonal reactions or displays of skill, or just particularly amusing instances of people being decimated with snow.

Now she walks through the valley, observing the remains of the fortresses, still largely intact with the cold that always lingers this high in the Frostbacks, snow and ice crunching underfoot as she moves carefully, curiously, through the field. The cold bites into her lungs, and she swallows a cough that threatens to rattle her back, resting her gloved hand against the polished ice.

Comments

lexa. (timeywimey)

[fightingale]

Hearing reports that the Thorns of the Rose has initially approached and observed Skyhold by passing through Avvar land had been of no small interest to her, although her ability to pursue the matter had been somewhat... delayed. Despite having others to whom she could delegate such a task, the fledging nature of the Inquisition's relationship with the Avvar (if it could even be called such) demanded her own hand.

She wrote a letter as soon as she was able without a shaking hand, and Varric Feathras was deployed - a solid, stout raven with considerable chest plumage and a gently mocking sort of caw. It was brief, did not detail the events of the attempted assassination, but politely requested that Lexa Stone-Heart, thane of Towerhold, Commander of the twelve holds of the Avvar meet with her at the earliest opportunity.

Leliana sits, now, in her chambers off the Rookery, idly rolling a grape between her fingers until she realises the approaching figure, and eases herself up to stand. She is gaunt, cheeks hollow and lingering scars twisting around her throat, though her gaze remains as sharp as ever.

[heda]

Lexa Stone-Heart, Thane of Towerhold, Commander of the Twelve Holds of the Avvar does not usually come when called. But the request is polite, it includes the appropriate formalities, the fledgling nature of her relationship with the Inquisition requires her own hand, and she was looking for an excuse to visit Skyhold anyway.

She arrives soon enough not to seem deliberately insulting, but not so soon as to seem to have felt herself summoned. She has left her attendants--four warriors that have the combined mass and beard-hair of at least six normal men--below, and ascends the stairs into Leliana's presence alone. She is dressed much the same as she had been but clean, bare-faced but for the symbol between her eyes, and just the usual speckles of dust up her boots and at the hem of her long coat from the ride. Her gaze is too keen not to note the changes in Leliana, but she says nothing and her face betrays no reaction.

"Nightingale." She helps herself to the chair opposite the one from which Leliana rose, a smooth flick of her coat arranging it beneath her with practiced ease.

[fightingale]

"Commander. I thank you for your attendance." Not overly hasty, but timing was always deliberate. Lexa seemed to have a sound grasp of the give and take in, though that is hardly a surprise. How else could anyone old so powerful a position, let alone at such an age?

While Leliana is rather worse for wear, sharper, paler, she holds herself steadily as she catalogues the differences between the proud young woman slicked with blood and dirt, and the deliberate presentation of the Commander.

"It is a fine thing to see you so much improved since last we met. Your willingness to come here after such an... introduction to the Inquisition is much appreciated." And she inclines her head to the chair opposite her at the table, an invitation to sit, and Leliana sinks back into her own chair.

morrigan. ( ALSO timeywimey i have commitment issues i guess idk)

[fightingale]

Making her way down the stairs from the Rookery takes longer than she'd like, still, but it is done. It is possible that her scouts cleared the way to limit those who would be present to witness her slow descent. It is probable that they ensured the gardens were cleared so that she might be able attend them in some peace - silence. The sky is painted with hazy pinks that bleed into purples, and Leliana leans against the rough bark of a tree. She has pulled away one of her gloves and maps the coarse texture, the pieces that crumble and flake away and the soft, clinging mosses feeling strange and foreign under her fingertips. At least it no longer feels as though she is simply watching the actions of another's hands.

Her brow flickers a moment at the quiet sound of a a twig cracking underfoot, and she turns to observe Morrigan with the faintest smile. "I was not certain you would come."

[arcaneadvisor]

No matter what twists and turns life takes, everything must carry on; Morrigan has Kieran of course, and her own work, and when it became clear that Leliana would not die she spent longer and longer away. Allowed her to recover. Allowed them both time to breath and buried herself in work and distractions (she will have to find something for Gwenaelle to express her gratitude again for all her help with Kieran, for being so good to him, with him.) The gardens are often a refuge for her though; she grew up in the Wilds and she still misses them, preferring such spaces to towns or cities, even villages. To the noise of Skyhold.

For a moment she watches Leliana just to see her sitting outside. Away from that damned bed. Back in the garb she longed to get her out. Since the message came from Zevran he'd warned her that the worst might come and she had said she would be there no matter what though she had never believed it. This was Leliana, she would not be defeated and Morrigan is right. (Still, she would not wish to be tested again.)

Her smile is small when she sits by her, allowing Leliana her space after so long without it. "I am glad to see you well again." Glad doesn't even begin to cover it but it will suffice. "I am sure you are tired of being asked how you are or how you feel by now."

[fightingale]

"A good many seem afraid to ask," she replies, a little dry. Her voice carries a constant strain, a roughness that is too much to pass for a pleasing sort of rasp. It is the harsh scrape of gravel, the thin drag of something over metal.

Though she deduces it is actually a question, Leliana does not reply right away, staring a the colours splashes across clear sky and highlighted on clouds, brow creased and a frown dragging at the corners of her mouth. "I am ill at ease, but neither will I allow myself to be silenced."

More literally, however: "And my throat hurts." With an air of comedy, that, only barely.

14th

[demonicbeauty]

Earning trust was a difficult thing, made even more difficult by the shard embedded in Ariadne's hand. But a great deal of hard work had finally started to pay off. At least among the refugees. The food she brought them, the hours she spent entertaining the children had earned her enough respect that, today, when she offered to take some of the kids out to play in the snowy remains of the battle, a few parents consented.

Ariadne wasn't all that far removed from being a child herself, in many, many ways. And she played along in their games, shrieking and laughing just as much as the rest of them. And if she was just letting them win, well...they didn't know that.

While the children were chasing each other through one of the forts, slipping and sliding and enjoying every minute of it, Ariadne caught Leliana's scent. It had been awhile since she'd seen the other woman. And she'd had it from some very reliable gossip that she wasn't well.

Evidently, she was on the mend.

Ariadne walked over to her, snow in her hair and on her long lashes, offering her a polite, albeit bouncy, curtsy. "Lady Leliana."

[fightingale]

It is gratifying to see the children so vital and energetic in the wake of such trials. Up in her tower it was easy to forget in the haze of fevers and agonising pain that made unconsciousness almost desirable even when nightmares hounded her. Life went on. There was vitality yet.

Her mouth is caught in the most fractional of smiles as she turns to face Ariadne. It is not wholly a surprise to be greeted, and her memory and acuity are much recovered, but she still takes long moments to respond, as if she has to disentangle her thoughts from some other matter first.

"Ariadne," she replies, nodding slightly. "I hope you have been well." There is much to catch up on, and she is not entirely abreast of who has been doing what these past few weeks, beyond the most pressing missions.

[demonicbeauty]

"I can't complain," Ariadne replied.

There was plenty to be upset about, even forgetting the fact that she remained so far away from home. But really, Ariadne understood that there were far more pressing matters than her own predicament.

Also, she was pretty sure that was just a pleasantry.

Maybe ninety eight point six five four percent sure.

"I understand you've been ill," she added sympathetically. "I'm glad to see you up on your feet."

the 8th!!

[arlathvhen]

As soon as she hears that the Nightingale was up and about, or at least healthy enough to be attending to business in the rookery, Beleth makes the trip up to the top of the tower. It's a relief to see Leliana sitting at her desk, alive and whole. Her mentor had always seemed--almost otherworldly, to Beleth, a creature of shadow as much as flesh, and the idea that she was capable of nearly dying had been a shock.

At Leliana's call, Beleth nearly jumps out of her skin. At least Leliana hasn't lost her ability to do that to the Dalish. Beleth isn't sure if she appreciates it or not. But either way, she steps forward, and gives Leliana a small, slightly nervous. She's pretty sure that Leliana will appreciate the help, but it's also entirely possible that Beleth managed to somehow fuck up the whole organization system so spectacularly that it would have been better if she hadn't messed with it at all.

She wouldn't be surprised, honestly.

But Beleth shoves that worry aside to bob her head informally to Leliana. "Sister Nightingale, I'm glad to see that you're faring better. We were all quite concerned."

[fightingale]

Beleth will, of course, be delighted to note that as she draws closer a raven alights on Leliana shoulder. Not the stocky Feathras, nor the excessively chatty Squawke and Cawver, nor even the Baroness so seems to find remnants of glitter to roll in even when the scouts swear on their very lives at has all been cleared away. No. It none other than Baron Plucky, eyeing Beleth with a sort of smug disdain, an air of mockery. His beak opens, and he turns his head side on to eye her, intent.

Leliana ignores him, save to briefly brush her fingers under his chin.

"My... Recovery is ongoing," Leliana admits, leaning back in her seat to observe Beleth. "From my understanding you did a great deal to assist with some of the more administrative matters requiring our attention." Her smile is fractional, but definitely present. "Thank you."

[arlathvhen]

She is, naturally, incredibly delighted to see that terror on Leliana's shoulder. A demon in raven form, more likely than not. Look at him. He was mocking her. Mocking her! She could reach out, right now, and catch him, and turn him into pillow stuffing, and he was mocking her! If Fen'Harel had ever blessed a raven, surely it was this one.

Then, Beleth realizes that she had been staring intently at Baron Plucky while Leliana was trying to greet her--give her praise!--and the staring contest abruptly ended as she straightened, focusing on her mentor once more. The small smile is still a smile, and Beleth takes it happily, squaring her shoulders and trying to look worthy of it. She'd done something right. She was being thanked. All the extra work was worth it.

"Of course. It would be regrettable for you to be bogged down by trivial matters, when you've only just started recovering. I...wasn't able to assist in other matters, so it was my pleasure to be able to do at least that much for you." She hadn't been able to do anything important, go with any of the groups actually saving Leliana's life. But if she could at least do some minor administrative work, at least she'd had helped, somehow.

early??

[thecookery]

Avery may not be one for conversation, but boy did she get tired quickly of all the silent staring of Sister Nightingale's people over her shoulder as she works these days, preparing meals for one and carrying them up all these staircases over and over. She gets the caution after everything, really, but it's still frustrating on some level, and she has, perhaps pettily, taken to giving passive-aggressively detailed commentary on what she's doing as she cooks. Today for instance, there is at least one shadow who now knows how to perfectly spice lamb and pea stew, if they have half the memory for details the spymaster recruited them for.

At least getting to make them open doors for her the whole way up to the rookery is slightly satisfying.

As for Leliana herself, Avery just gives the woman the nod and tight-lipped smile of someone with service experience as she enters and approaches, saying nothing more than a quiet, "Ma'am," and making to simply leave the meal with her and then beat a hasty retreat.

[fightingale]

"Avery, isn't it?" Her voice is quiet, damaged, an unhealthy sounding thing unbefitting a bard. If Leliana is bothered by it she does not let it show. "Charter informs me you have been responsible for all my meals."

Since she has been able to eat, at least, which really comes down to since she was given the antidotes. She watches the young woman with a very calm kind of curiosity; it is not every day Charter elects someone as trustworthy, nor that kitchen staff are forced to endure the presence of scouts and spies.

[thecookery]

She freezes briefly at the words, halfway to the desk, before continuing more stiffly than before. Since the initial discussion of the task, Avery has rarely spoken of or during it to anyone, and she's surprised to be addressed about it now. Especially by Leliana herself.

Unsure of how this conversation is going to go, she answers awkwardly, "That's right. I hope it's been..." Maker, how do you talk to important people? "...acceptable?"

11th

[mythalenaste]

Pel creeps toward Leliana and quietly sets a request on her desk. More accurately, on the pile of requests Leliana already has. She stands there for a moment, then quietly speaks.

"Did we get the little shit that did it to you?"

[fightingale]

"Pel." By way of greeting, though she's still looking at the requests before her, and is automatically reaching for the request to give it a cursory look before turning her focus to Pel.

"The order they belonged to has been dismantled." Not an insignificant euphemism, that. "The two particular individuals who enacted it are in our cells. I requested a voice in their judgment, when I am better caught up."

the rookery

[qunari]

She hasn't been the only one off their feet in a bad way, but that's just what happens in their line of work, sometimes. The wound's healed, the infection cleared, and Bull is walking around like nothing happened, save perhaps a shiny new scar across his belly that he doesn't even bother trying to hide.

Leliana's approach to her own brush with death is different, but everyone's is. No judgement there.

"Hey, Red." It's impossible to mistake that giant frame for anyone else, even before he gets close enough in the dark gloom of the rookery to be seen clearly.

ahhh sorry for my slowness

[fightingale]

"Bull."

Her smile is fractional, more the suggestion of a smile than anything that can truly be observed and concretely confirmed as a smile. In fact, the suggestion of it wasn't even there - it was probably Bull's imagination.

Her gaze does not drop to the scar, but she is well aware of its presence. "You have recovered from your," and she pauses, eyebrow quirking just slightly as she considers how to address the matter of near deaths and how they both avoided them, "... indigestion?"

That sounded mildly funnier in her head.

[qunari]

"That what we're calling it? Had a bad lunch, found out I don't have a taste for demons?" Bull snorts, vaguely amused. They can make light of it as best they can, he's got no objection to that. Better than dwelling on how serious it could have been.

It still unsettles him. Have to get better about that shit, might not be so lucky the next time.

( closed ) Dorian.

[fightingale]

Leliana did not have a sneaking suspicion that she was indebted to several members of the Inquisition so much as a burning awareness. Some matters could not be easily overlooked as borrowing a book for a longer time than was polite, or being brought a generous number of drinks in the tavern. No, Leliana was well aware that her life had been saved by the efforts of many, but that all might have been for nothing without Dorian's hand.

She sends a runner to him; a chicken had been tempting, but the message was rather pressing, and she did not trust Eggbert (fine rooster as he was) not to get lost.

And then it is a matter of waiting, Leliana in the Rookery, writing letters and reading reports and slogging towards what she hopes will be the sweet victory of being caught up in her work, but that she knows better than to truly expect.

[liberalum]

When Dorian arrives, he doesn't swan in, gesticulating with a bottle of spiced wine, announcing his arrival with some remark about Leliana's taste in company and how it's drastically improved. Instead, he slips into the Rookery as unassuming as anyone coming to and fro, and in his hands are a collection of scrolls. He's dressed for a day of sitting down and reading and writing, robed with discreet smears of ink on his hands, and that sort of thing is wont to put him in a comparatively serious mood.

Comparatively. He approaches and takes a seat, kicking one leg over the other, and tossing the documents he brought with him on to the desk. "A very long time ago," he starts, before Leliana can even think about beginning, "a man named Tiberius of House Pavus proposed before the Imperial Magisterium a piece of legislation that any enslaved individual who demonstrated magic should automatically be granted their freedom. To do anything otherwise, it was argued, was a perversion of our wretchedly northern understanding of the Chant.

"Of course," he adds, with a gesture, "this never accounted for elves, because we can't be too crazy, now can we. But nevertheless, the suggestion that the value and agency of a slave might warrant some interrogation was enough to create quite the stir. As you might imagine."

Does she herself have wine? He darts a look about the desk to see if there's anything to pour something into something else.

[fightingale]

Leliana, perhaps understandably, is a little reticent by reflex when it comes to taking offered wine. The scent of wine in general makes her stomach still churn uncomfortably, so instead of the warm, rich comfort of a heavy red wine with honey and spices, Leliana has to hand some brandy. She has a fondness for it, even if that has its own more painful attachments. It is not Antivan plum, and thus it is not reserved for more serious events. The bottle (horribly expensive, horribly delicious, and a Tevinter vintage to honour her company) and cups stay to the side, Leliana leaned back in her chair to watch Dorian's performance (it is never simply an entrance, with Dorian) with a brow just slightly quirked.

"Maker forbid," she murmurs very quietly and very archly at the mention of elves, head canted to the side as he goes on.

"I, for one, find it hard to imagine any member of House Pavus making a stir." The faintest hint of a smile lurks at the corners of her mouth, though. "Shocking, indeed."

The Rookery

[obi_wanmanshow]

Obi-Wan did not make a habit of monitoring anyone's habits. He was no kind of assassin, and a poor spy at best; no, Kenobi was uniquely well suited for the duty he found himself usually occupying. That is to say-- he was here, only by the sheerest coincidence: her office hours.

Rather, he was here to ensure she does not overwork herself, and to check up on her, as best he knew how, knocking gently on the door to announce his alteration from the steady stream of official informants and runners that had been in and out all morning. Well, it was afternoon now, and look! He brought tea.

"Just a short break, I promise," He said, without waiting to be asked, "One cup. Then I'll let you get back to work."

[fightingale]

"Master Kenobi."

Her voice still carries a rasp from the damage that poison inflicted, a strangeness it that results in words and sound rolling from her throat in a way that doesn't seem right, and certainly isn't melodic. She watches him with might be bemusement, or sharp analysis. At least that, her sharpness, remains intact.

"I am sure I can spare time enough for a cup," she continues, faintly dry, "especially with one of those who helped to ensure the Inquisition's safety."