[open] a little truth arrives in the dying of each day

[eolasemah]

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.

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.

Comments

[eolasemah]

The words comfort her to a degree, and Sina lets her head rest against Sorrel's hand, appreciating how it supports her when she's so devoid of energy.
Rather than argue her case for why she's bad at the whole partnership thing, she decides to let him be right, and gives a fond, tearful smile up at her husband. "Ar lath ma," she whispers, before she can stop herself.

[writteninblood]

Sorrel blinks, at first confused, as if he were expecting almost anything else. Her skin is both too cold and too hot under his hand, a tangible war between sweat and fever. He notices too, the pale blue veins under her skin, and the way her hair throws off light, and-- and the moment holds, just then, like a jewel in the sun. Still, and yet still sparkling.

Ar lath ma.

He has no idea what it looks like to her, but Sorrel feels as if he must bloom under the words, as surely as Sina can bring a forest to live in a Hightown ruin. I love you, she says, and he cannot help but to soften, and smile for her. Perhaps she is dying, perhaps everything is for naught, but they are both alive now. He is here, now. And she loves him.

"Var lath vir suledin," He returns, a little damp himself, then has to clear his throat, "Oh, Siuona. We're a mess, huh?"

[eolasemah]

Uncertain of what she expected from that, Sina is rewarded by Sorrel's reaction, and her smile mirrors his swelling of confidence. It's not an ideal situation in many respects, but all things considered, she's very lucky-- lucky that they could save the clans together, lucky to be bonded with someone so good, someone she can truly love.
She'll never have his children. But at least he's here.
"We've tried," she says weakly, in a tone that she hopes is reassuring. "Nothing can be easy. Not for the likes of us."

[writteninblood]

"Maybe not. But we're still Dalish; we struggle, and we endure, when no one else can," What other nation had lost its borders not once, but twice, and still lived on? None. And no other could; that spirit lived in them, in the both of them.

Keeper Deheune would say, it's the struggle that gives something its worth-- but she had never lived by those words. For her, it wasn't the struggle, but the victory. Sorrel folds his hands around Sina's, warming them, and puts aside the notion of victory in favor of this moment, precious in his eyes.

"I don't regret anything, if it matters. Being bonded to you is the best thing I've ever had. Don't tell Beleth though, she's still convinced that her birth holds that spot."

[eolasemah]

Sina nods, her expression warming, despite the pain of the situation. They struggle, they endure. Perhaps not for much longer.
She sighs with quiet relief when he presses his hands around hers, which are icy cold. She curls her fingers in, enjoying the warmth, glancing apologetically at Sorrel in case he didn't realize what he was inviting.
"Neither do I," she whispers, though her gaze lowers uncertainly. "...it's difficult not to. Not about our bonding, but not to regret." She blinks, trying to keep the tears back. "There's just..." A deep, hitching breath, and she pulls one hand back to shakily wipe her eyes with it. "...there's so much I..."

[writteninblood]

"Oh, no, no..." He doesn't know, exactly, what he's attempting to deny, only that he wants to make it better, somehow. To ease her sorrows, and to warm her. Impulsive, almost desperate, Sorrel reaches out, half with intention, half in invitation, to take Sina into his arms, "I know, I know. Please don't..."

Don't what? He doesn't know, after all. The regrets crowd around, for things that will never be. The idea of Sina as a mother, as a Keeper, as an old woman lined with age, still as stern and soft and sweet and steel-backed as ever, and as full of contradictions. Sina healthy. Elven children with green eyes, and grey, and a younger version of the fine delicate set of Siuona's ears. The stories, the lore of Dahlasanor told in Sina's voice, to those who had never heard it.

"It would have been beautiful," He has to stop, as if at the edge of a terrible cliff, because to go farther would mean a swift fall with an abrupt stop, "But we have today. I know it doesn't count for much, but it's got some good in it, doesn't it?"

[eolasemah]

Sina leans easily into him, almost too tired to cry, though she manages anyway. The sound is weak and cautious, stifled in an attempt to prevent a coughing fit. "I came to them," she rasps, "...for help." She grips the space around her shard, the green glow piercing oddly through the thin skin of her hand, making it look almost transparent.
"One person really tried. One." Her lip curls, an expression of genuine disgust that is suddenly disrupted by a violent cough. A few more, and she can clear her throat, resting exhausted against Sorrel, shaking now from both exertion and anger. "Adelaide," she whispers hoarsely, "who said such sweet things. Who brought me back, who..." She pauses to wipe her eyes. "...who left when I needed her most. She didn't say goodbye. She was just... gone."
A wheezing breath, followed by the hissed name: "Solas." She grits her teeth as she remembers. "He knows something. Knew. He was kind until he wasn't. Until he left. He had important things to do." A shudder of unexpected rage, then Sina's head lolls against Sorrel's shoulder, her little body convulsing with violent coughs that she muffles with the nearest blanket. When she pulls it away, there are spots of blood where her mouth was, and she stares at them for several seconds before resting against Sorrel again, worn out, eyes closed.
"Only the Tevinter," she whispers, her voice like fine-grained sandpaper, "only he actually tried. And it was already too late."
Tears continue to spill from her eyes, and she's too weary to stop them. "I could have been with my clan."

[writteninblood]

Sorrel doesn't speak. Can't. He hadn't known-- had no way to know, with Sina bearing up silent under her resentment and pain as she has always done. He sits with her, holds her trembling, retching shoulders and waits out the fit.

Solas. Adelaide. And this Tevinter? But no one else had look. Being here, walking again among his clan-siblings, Sorrel had briefly allowed himself to see the way that their lives had grown and flourished with the Inquisition, then made the cardinal mistake of assuming one naturally led to the other. Worldsaving or otherwise, the Inquisition was no more or less than what shemlen had always been to any of the People:

Fairweather friends, only willing to give half of what they should in return for twice the effort.

"Sina. Let us write to them, Nari and I. Let Keeper Thalia send those who want to see you-- to be here for you, even if only for a little while. They miss you, emma lath, and even if they can't be here, I--" He hesitates a moment, unwilling to provide censure, "It's better to tell them, isn't it?"

[eolasemah]

Now too exhausted to do anything but lie against Sorrel and listen to his heartbeat, Sina nods, squeezing her eyes shut in a pained grimace. "I want to see them," she admits, in half a sob, "they-- they must know I would never have left them, had I known."

[writteninblood]

"Alright. Alright, I'll write to them. Nari will know what to say. We'll make sure you see them again," This promise has a vow of iron in it, even murmured into the cool press of Sina's hair, arms loose and warm around her. He'll make sure Sina sees her family once again before their deaths if he has to march there himself and drag them back by their ears.

Not that it will come to that.

"You're exhausted. Please, just rest, I'll take care of this."