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

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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"We failed her."

Myr has no ready response for that, neither comfort nor hope for the future--because neither of those hold much of a candle to the truth. They had failed Sina, and he is willing to shoulder a part of the blame for that for all he's been with the Inquisition scant months. There is always more they could have done-- But. "Often it's not the length of time we've had to study the problem for but whether we've the fortune to stumble across a critical piece of the solution," he says quietly. "When it comes to learning the theory behind things no one on Thedas has ever seen before. And those insights are something no one can force."

He gives Garahel's head another pat before stepping away, moving cautiously toward his owner. Not quite hugging distance, but close enough one or the other of them could reach out. "We failed her," he echoes, owning it. "But if we failed her while doing our utmost, then there's only so heavy the blame can rest on us. If not--then we've got cause to strive for better and beg her forgiveness. That's something I'd leave to you to judge for all of us, though I know--I've been distracted from my duties more than is my wont."

If the anchor shards were the only mystery they had to study, if the only urgency lay in saving the shardbearers, if there weren't half-a-hundred other things to pull him away from his research (if he could still read), it would be so much easier.

Grateful that Myr doesn't try to shift blame away or provide meaningless platitudes, she listens, unable to deny the truth of his words any more than he could her own. They could study the anchors all day, but without a critical revelation, the fears of the future would come to pass regardless. Garahel grunts as Myr pets him, and as he steps forward, Inessa reaches out to rest a hand on his harm.

"You've done all that I asked of you, Myrobalan. I have not had cause to complain once since asking for your support. You're right, though; we must strive for better, before more succumb. Simply reacting is not enough; after the new year arrives, I think it time for a round-table discussion as to how we can be more proactive."

He won't argue with the reassurance, frustrated as he might be with himself; if Inessa's judging his contributions worthy, then it's his own self-assessment that requires gainsaying. (Even so, he promises quietly, I'll do better.) The hand on his arm merits a wan smile from him. "That's a wise idea--and I think we ought to be planning more experiments like the magister's. For all his didn't come off so well."

A small vindictive part of him wants to suggest they keep Atticus on that particular track of study--but it's a petty impulse, quickly squashed. "With one of our own taking the lead; Maker knows why he volunteered for it in the first place, but if he wasn't dissuaded by a concussion..."

He lets that trail off. They've discussed how much there is to mislike about the magister's eagerness before; no sense in rehashing it.

"That magister is technically part of the project now." And yes, she doesn't bother to hide her distaste. He is -was? still is?- a Venatori, why should they trust him in any respect? It grates at her, but the decision is ultimately not her call. "But yes, I would prefer another take the lead in such matters. That can be brought up in the discussion as well, though if you have any recommendations ahead of time, I'll take them."

"Don't remind me," Myr mutters, rubbing briefly at the bridge of his nose. (Though it's less the fact Atticus is their coworker and more the role he played in leashing the magister so he could be a coworker that he doesn't want reminding of.) But--the man's a resource even so and there's no point refusing that out of unease. He heaves a brief sigh and sets the thought aside.

"I'm afraid I've not much else to offer." It's been a miserable month for simply sitting down and thinking the way he'd like on the subject of shards--but one particular recent bit of that misery tickles at his memory suddenly. "--Except--mm. When--when Sina died, her shard went out, didn't it?"

A little ghoulish to ask now, but he's been caught by an idea and they're so often slippery.

"It did, yes. I wasn't there to bear witness, but I spoke with others who had seen such. They said it was as though it had never been there at all, afterward. One would never know what had killed her." Garahel whines at that, and Inessa pauses to stroke him, comforting the mabari.

If Myr had any trace of doubt left about how much the mabari knew of what went on around him, that whine would dispel it. "Me too," he says quietly in reply, reaching out to brush fingertips against Garahel's short fur. He's felt exactly that way often enough in the past few days--but there wasn't sense in indulging it when so much remained to be done. (Later. Always later.)

He nods for Inessa's answer, though, and is silent for several seconds as he fits pieces together in his head. There's no way to guess the timing of dreams, when something might've happened in the Fade relative to something that happened outside it, but...

"I think," he picks up, once his thoughts are in an acceptable order, "we'll want a closer study of what happens to shardbearers in the Fade. When they're dreaming or--otherwise."

Garahel rumbles quietly and gently leans into Myr for a moment. Inessa's quiet, listening and considering. At length, she speaks up. "That is a fair point, and one which I'll be certain to mention. Perhaps mention of that should be added to the survey, once we hammer out exactly what should take place. I don't want to request anything without giving full disclosure from the beginning."

"Good thought." Myr's silent a moment then, tucking his hands into his sleeves against the winter chill. "...It's too easy to get impatient with how careful we've got to be," he finally confesses. "Even knowing we'll do more harm that good if we simply run roughshod over the shardbearers rather than let them have a say in the process.

"But knowing now how little time we might have--" He cuts himself off, shakes his head, and dismisses the maundering with a wan smile. "--well, we'll make the best of it without making ourselves into Venatori. We've got to."

"It's a frustrating balance that we must maintain, to be sure. At some point, we will need to risk more...but I want to be certain that when we do, it's done because we have educated ourselves as thoroughly as possible, not out of impulse." That time hasn't come, but Inessa knows it will. It's just a matter of preparing beforehand.

"We have some time, but I don't want to take any of that for granted. In fact--" She stops herself, noting his movement and likewise feeling the chill. "Would you care to join me inside? I have a sudden desire for some mulled wine by the fire."

It's a tempting offer--and now that the bees have been told, there's no reason for him to stick around outside in such inclement weather. "I'd like that very much," Myr admits after a moment's consideration. "Certainly easier to talk plans when our teeth aren't chattering."

He slips his staff from off his back, doing his best not to expose his hands overmuch as he does. "Lead the way."

"Those are my thoughts, as well." Garahel, hearing these plans and hoping for treats by the fire, barks eagerly and darts ahead. Inessa herself lingers by Myr, preferring to take it slower rather than risk slipping on any ice. Besides, she knows the mabari will just circle back when he gets impatient.

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

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