[open] you'll come back when it's over

[eolasemah]

WHO friends and family of Sina Dahlasanor
WHAT: post-mortem interactions
WHEN: the evening of 7 Haring and onward
WHERE: the infirmary and elsewhere
NOTES: CW for death and illness. Apart from the main post I will not be tagging in. This thread is for wake/funeral/burial arrangements and anything else you guys want to play out pertaining to Sina's death, so feel free to make top levels or do whatever else!

It was the evening of the sixth when Galadriel paid her visit to Sina, after which the girl became mostly unresponsive. Still breathing, she slept through the night and day, waking up in the late afternoon just long enough to reach for Nari's hand and whisper something to her before falling away again. The candles grew dim and the shadows long before she stirred again, pulling in a last rasping breath, her lips moving soundlessly to form two unknown words as she exhaled and fell still.

It was hardly ten minutes later when, witnessed by friends and clan, the glowing green patch of magic that had plagued them all for the last couple years simply... vanished from the elf's sternum, as though it had never been there. Lying small and wasted away, destroyed from the inside out, anyone who looked at Sina for the first time would not understand what had killed her.

The room was then vacated by all but Keeper Thalia and Sina's parents, a balding large-eyed man with a quivering chin and a plain, sandy-haired woman, neither appearing all that much more vital than their late daughter. It was they who prepared the body for the resulting rites, silent and weary, their miracle baby laid to an untimely rest.

Out in the hall, Nari found herself surrounded in a collective embrace by a sea of russet-haired Dalish, her family. Even in a time like this, being with their daughter and sister brought comfort, and they hoped she might find some as well.
Sedi and Nymii stood as sentries on either side of the door, permitting only mourners and scowling down otherwise unrelated onlookers.

At last, at long last, it was over.

Comments

[writteninblood]

"Fern?"

Sorrel was not expecting this.

Not Fern, not Sina's Fern, who she'd spoken of with such fondness and sorrow, here in the wake of everything. He regards Fern with enough surprise that when she pulls away, he doesn't react in time to stop her.

"You're Fern," He repeats, and she's so... Well, Sina had called her Little Fern, and now Sorrel can see why. He reaches out to her, a mirror of her own comforting touch, "I'm glad to meet you, that you were here, and-- I'm glad. Thank you."

For the tea? No; for everything else.

[wheretheferngrows]

And clearly, Fern was not expecting to be recognized.

She blinks her very large, very expressive blue eyes right back at Sorrel and sits, stunned, when he reaches out to touch her. She doesn't understand--not completely, not as she perhaps should. Sorrel knows her, knows of her, and isn't angry?

Nervously, she quirks a little smile and drops her eyes. She swallows. "I don't understand," she starts, "why you're thanking me.."

[writteninblood]

"For being here, for her. When she needed you," He says, haltingly, awkward, as if uncertain of each word even as he says it, "When-- How I couldn't be."

Fern, why are you making this more complicated than it has to be? Sorrel hardly knows how he feels, let alone how he feels about the complicated soup of emotion and regret surrounding Sina, Fern, and all else. He considers just bolting his tea and running, really doing it instead of just fantasizing, but the first sip is too hot.

"You were a good friend. I wish..." Creators, he's so tired, "...Well, it doesn't matter, anymore. Still."

[wheretheferngrows]

Already she's kicking herself for putting him in such an awful position, right on the heels of everything he's just gone through. What they've both gone through.

"She talked to me a little bit, about you," she blurts out after a pause, then drops her eyes back to her tea again. She brings it up to sip from it. "I was sitting with her in the Chantry forest one day, and she told me that if I'd been born Dalish, I'd've been a First, and a Keeper one day. She told me she'd teach me some of the magic but... well, we never had time." Another thing lost, but she forges on; that's not what she's trying to say. "But, she told me to talk to other Dalish in Kirkwall, and talked about Nari, and then you and your vallaslin." A pause, before she ventures almost hesitantly, as though certain she's gotten it wrong after all this time, "...Dirthamen? The keeper of secrets?"

So many words, so many thoughts, pouring out of her when perhaps she should have kept some of them back. But she can't now, not now that they're coming out of her all at once. She swallows hard and ventures tentatively, "I promised her I'd learn about the People, I promised. I still want to, but I don't know how. Not without her." She searches his face, hoping that whatever his feelings about her might be now, he'll understand what she's asking for--guidance. Help. Acceptance.

[writteninblood]

Sorrel wasn't expecting this kind of outpouring. The more usual response to his awkward declarations is a polite demurring and a hasty retreat; Fern is speaking as much as overflowing, less like a river than an open wound. He manages a nod at the appropriate place-- yes, Dirthamen, the Keeper of Secrets.

Were it any other day, he'd pause, and breathe, and begin a lesson almost without meaning to. Were it any other day. Today he just blinks and doesn't know if the prickling pain of tears forming is a good or bad thing anymore.

"I'll teach you," He says, after that silence, a little stunned, "And, if I can't, I'll-- we'll ask Pel, or Beleth. If you want to know, then you should be allowed to learn. It's... it's what Sina would have wanted."

[wheretheferngrows]

On any other day, she'd be eager to learn. Today, it is enough to know that this promise to Sina can be kept, even if no others can be.

Grateful, she only nods. There's more to say, but not now. For now, she sits beside him quietly, keeping her thoughts to herself.