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[open] a little truth arrives in the dying of each day
WHO: Sina and you
WHAT: here we go
WHEN: mid-Harvestmere
WHERE: Hightown and then the Gallows
NOTES: All Sina logs from this point onward will involve discussions/dealing with death and illness, so if you're sensitive about those topics I recommend passing these by.
WHAT: here we go
WHEN: mid-Harvestmere
WHERE: Hightown and then the Gallows
NOTES: All Sina logs from this point onward will involve discussions/dealing with death and illness, so if you're sensitive about those topics I recommend passing these by.
I. Just outside the Forest Garden [single thread please, 1-3 people max]
Sina still looks like Sina, but if Thedas had photographs, and the ability to compare a person's image of two years ago to their image today, only then would it become achingly clear how much mass she's lost. As the weather grows chill, she has to bundle up more and more just to go to work in her gardens, and even then is constantly cold. But she's been all right, all things considered; she's still upright, at least.
Until she isn't. Having felt a little strange since they found the elf children in the warehouse, Sina has chalked it up to the usual business and the gut-wrenching trauma of what they found. Her chest has felt a little heavier, her step a little slower, her hands a little colder, nothing worth calling a healer about until today: she's nearly down the stairs of the former Chantry when she abruptly loses consciousness.
Crumpling like a doll, Sina scrapes her leg on the last few steps and collapses to the ground, basket of herbs on its side, its contents splayed everywhere. She wakes up at once, but with bleary confusion, disoriented and burning with fever.
II. The Infirmary [ota]
Those who spent any significant time with the rescued elven children may also have caught what ails Sina now, but with a body already so ravaged by weakness, fighting it is clearly difficult for her. She's asleep most of the time, coughing when she's awake, and unable to keep food down.
It's not the first time she's been in this position, but it may be the last.
II
But it's been difficult to find her place in the numerous visitors that Sina has received since her collapse--people from all walks of life, so many different backgrounds, who have known Sina and cared for her for far longer than Fern can possibly claim. Who is she to Sina anyway, but some city elf who sat with her in the Chantry forest from time to time?
This morning, at least, she brings a little bit of the Chantry forest to Sina.
It's quite early when Fern creeps in and takes a seat at Sina's bedside. She places a little potted orchid on her nightstand and spells into existence a little glyph beneath it, just to compensate for the lack of sunlight inside the tent. It emits a faint glow, rather like that from a candle, but it isn't too distracting. That task finished, Fern glances despondently at Sina's sleeping face, then reaches into her satchel to tug out her mending. Best to keep her hands occupied.
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"Aneth ara," she says in a hoarse whisper, with a touch of amusement, since Fern looks absorbed and she'll likely be surprised.
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She tugs her chair a little closer to Sina's bedside, then settles into it again, and tries to smile like the sight of her friend's condition isn't wreaking havoc with her heart. (Which it is.) "Did you want me to fetch you a cup of tea, or something?" she offers, in lieu of asking the obvious questions like 'how are you feeling' or 'what happened?' She knows the answers to those questions now, having hovered around the periphery of the infirmary long enough to catch the gist of it from the healers who have been in and out tending to Sina's needs.
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"No," she whispers, "...thank you. I had some not long ago." Maybe it was hours ago, but regardless, she doesn't like people fussing over her. It feels strange, as always, to be partaking of her own medicinal tea blends.
"Did you bring this?" she asks, looking again at the orchid, pleased.
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Shyly, she looks from the orchid to Sina's face, and fidgets her fingers together in her lap. "...do you like it?"
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She cautiously reaches out one hand to rest it atop Sina's on the blankets. "It--was frightening," she admits, regarding her with worried eyes, "watching you fall like that."
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Curling her fingers around Fern's hands, she smiles uncertainly. "I don't remember," she admits, "I was in the forest, and..." And now she's here.
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It seems supremely unfair to dislike the man who'd rushed to Sina's side in such fear for her health. Some part of her had hoped he was secretly a negligent or otherwise unpleasant person, but no. He'd been kind, and gentle, and--
"--he seems to love you, very much," she says at last and forces a little smile onto her face, telling herself not to be childish now, of all times.
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Fern's eyes grow very wide at that, and she's quick to duck her head, blushing furiously. "Oh--thank you--"
She's talking out of her head, that much is clear, and surely once she's feeling better, she won't recall any of this. Fern has had fevers like that before; a sweating sickness nearly took her away when she was quite small, and in the worst of it, she'd spouted delirious nonsense she couldn't even remember once she was well. Still, the compliment stirs a delicate, fluttering feeling of warmth in her chest.
"I think you're very pretty, too," she says with the tiniest of smiles, and strokes the back of Sina's hand.
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"I wish I'd known you," she says dreamily, and leaves it somewhat cryptically at that.
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"...I should let you rest, shouldn't I, I'm sorry," she says softly, then rests her hand back down atop the blankets.
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