faderift | Be the one who stays

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Be the one who stays | Open

WHO: Nahariel (sort-of), and yooooou
WHAT: Wintermarch Catch-most
WHEN: Haring (post Sina’s-death) through Wintermarch
WHERE: Kirkwall
NOTES: CW: self-harm, intense grief, depression, dissociation, suicidal ideation; Nari is likely to snap in and out of sudden cruel rages even when interacting with people she’s close to.

There comes a point when enough is carved away from a statue that it ceases to be what it was and can’t be put back again. In the fervent desire to put it right it becomes smaller and smaller until the only choices left are to doggedly whittle the ruined work to nothing or scrap it and begin again.

So it was with Nahariel Dahlasanor.

She looked smaller. Her frame was more gaunt than slender, her shoulders hunched and curled inwards to make a hollow of her chest as if she held something at her breast to protect it from the wind. Every emerald glance, when caught at all, was dull and brief before returning to the ground or some far off point known only to her. The sleek short cut of her hair had turned to uneven shag as it grew as it would, lank and uncared for. The whole of the erstwhile kind and genial elf looked like a plant left to blight, marked heavily by the absence of the hand that had nurtured it. Like a ruin, she had housed something once... but that thing seemed to be gone, replaced only by wind.

I. The Chantry Forest

By all appearances, Nahariel had continued to live in the home she’d shared with Sina. But with a lifetime as a Dalish scout behind her, those appearances meant less than nothing. Each night found her, instead, curled tightly in a clutched blanket with her knees drawn up, a knife in her fist, her back pressed against the feet of Andraste. Each morning with the sun she uncurls, and makes her heavy way back to the docks to start again; just another grain of sand waiting to pass through the hourglass.

Last night it had been colder, she’d slept longer, and when you come upon her she hasn’t yet woken. Under a thin layer of last night’s brief snow, Nahariel looks much like the incomplete statue that supports her—stiff and still, her skin dark as the burnished wood. Only the small unconscious movement of her hand clutching the blanket tighter around herself signals that life is one of the differences.

II. The Docks

Despite the bitter wind that often blows from the expanse of water that is Kirkwall’s harbor, Nahariel can often be found sitting with her back to a stack of crates, her eyes full of the grey of the winter sky and trained on the horizon. The whittling work so often in her hands is conspicuously missing, her thin fingers dry and cracked from the salt still in the wind and holding only her knees.

She doesn’t turn at your approach.

III. Elsewhere!

She moves between the Docks and Hightown each night and morning like a silent shadow, feet dragging just a little more each day, although thus far she’s apparently been quite able to avoid being caught by the patrols.

You, on the other hand, she isn’t keeping watch for.

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The scarf is soft, Lux or not, and still warm from being wound around Korrin’s neck. Perversely, it makes her shiver. The mage’s offer is kind, but Nahariel only shakes her head—how to explain that warmth brought comfort she could ill-afford? The biting chill, the stinging salt, the paper-dryness of her hands, the gnawing hollow hunger; they kept her in her body. The aches, the pains, they were safe. Warmth meant relaxing, meant peace, and with peace came rushing memories of other peaceful days—dappled sunlit forest, back warming as it braced against her back, soft sounds of leaves, grass, saying something that made her laugh with delight and the brief beat of joy in her heart to have caused it and then the sudden seizing of loss that squeezed the breath from her lungs and refused to let it return. Black, like a sucking whirlpool, the frantic reach for other memories to fill the pool, the loss from them, building and building and building and building until the only thing that could cut through it was the sharp intensity of the knife. Perhaps, after enough thin lines, she could carve herself into a vessel that could hold it all.

Nahariel shivered again. Better the cold. But the memory of it... she clutched her knees to her chest and buried her head in them, hands grasping hard enough to break open one of the cracks in her raw hands and set it to bleeding thinly.

Edited 2018-01-04 19:51 (UTC)

That bleeding is noted and Korrin's lips form a thin line of worry as she nonetheless tries to keep her smaller friend as warm as possible. She doesn't have magic that can heal, or supplies on her person to help with those cracks. All of the wonderful body oils and such are back in the apartment, after all. Perhaps she could leave and bring them out here, but against the chill wind, would they protect for that long? Not to mention she's more than a little afraid that Nari might run off and she might not find her afterward.

"Nahariel...please, let me help you. You'll freeze to death, before long. I can't just watch that happen." If she wants to hate Korrin for pushing, that's alright. The Vashoth woman can take it; but she'd rather have Nari alive and upset rather than find her frozen corpse the next day.

She does hate the Vashoth mage for pushing. She longs for her to keep pushing.

She wants to be left alone to freeze. She wants to be picked up and carried kicking and screaming and clawing back to warmth.

Sina was out here. She should be out here. Warmth was betrayal. Friends were betrayal. Every beat of her heart took her farther and farther away from the last moment they’d shared, like fighting against wave after wave inexorably washing her out to sea. Nahariel’s entire body shivered—although not with the cold. With the exertion of trying to slow time, to stop each moment and force her way back through them.

From the outside, she was gone again; although her hands continued to tighten and tighten, another split opening, a quiet choked keening of effort rising from where her head was burrowing into her knees.

Edited 2018-01-05 02:12 (UTC)

And Korrin can't bear to just sit and watch her suffering like this any longer. Sighing, she stands up and activates her crystal, relaying a brief message to Araceli. That done, she moves to scoop up Nahariel as gently as she can, hoping for her friend's sake that she doesn't try to fight it. The sooner they can get her inside, the sooner she can tend to those hands.

Edited 2018-01-05 03:30 (UTC)

For a moment, it seemed as if Korrin’s hopes would be rewarded. The woman in her arms was light—too light—and despite her clenched stiffness settled easily against the mage’s chest. And then she fought. It was the weak and easily subdued struggle of a kit, and the fists she slammed into her rescuer’s shoulders wouldn’t leave even the smallest of bruises... but the hoarse wail of anger and betrayal that accompanied Nahariel’s feeble twisting was another kind of assault.

Rather than taking her to safety, it sounded like Korrin was pulling the elf away from her clansister’s body. For all the Vashoth knew, in Nari’s mind, she was.

Nari didn’t have the energy to keep it up for long, although she did so longer than would be expected. By the time they’d made it to Korrin and Araceli’s door, the artisan was out cold and no longer mounting any resistance.

Bundled up as Korrin is, she barely feels those fists anyway, but that doesn't stop her from wincing as Nahariel's wail reaches her ears. It doesn't doesn't stop her, of course, Nari needs to be removed from the harsh weather outside before it does irreparable damage. That Nari falls silent after a bit is no relief, and concern overrides heartache as Korrin opens the door with a free hand. After closing it behind her, she strides forward to deposit the inert elf on the couch. Carefully, she removes Nari's shoes -worried about circulation- before slipping a thick blanket over her and starting a fire. Warming up the kettle will be next, so there will be something warm for Nari to drink when she awakens, and those oils will be fetched as well. At least those hands can be tended to while Nari rests.

As it turns out, Korrin was right to be worried. Stripping off Nahariel’s boots reveals the tips of her toes much lighter than the rest of her skin, a couple of tiny blisters speckled across them; a tribute to how long and what hours she’d been keeping outside, given that the weather hadn’t become as cold as it could have been for this time of year. Still unconscious, the thin elf begins to shiver beneath the thick blanket—a good sign.

It's a good sign, but it still makes Korrin's heart ache to watch her friend in such a state. Reaching for the oils, she'll work on Nari's hands, those cracks looking rather painful. Her touch is as gentle as she can make it and still have any effect, only stopping when it's time to pour some water before it heats up too much. That done, she'll prepare a warm compress and work on those toes, carefully working on them as she reaches for her crystal with a free hand. This might need more of a healer's touch than her first aid skills can manage.

Christine wastes little time in preparing her medical satchel and coming to the house, knocking on the door and shifting from foot to foot out in the cold. From the quick call, it sounds like a case of possible frostbite, but hopefully nothing worse. She'll want a look at the elf's other extremities to see if they've been affected too. Even standing here in her warm clothes and hooded cloak, Christine feels the cold seeping through due to the wind. Nahariel must have suffered quite a bit and the thought of it is making Christine anxious to start treating her.

Even in sleep, Nari still winces when Korrin gently works the oil into the windchapped surfaces of her hands. While the deeper seams are still a sullen red in places, a good bit of the superficial roughness will begin to smooth back to its proper color and feel under the warmth of the mage’s larger hands. Her toes, on the other hand, are a different story. Bone-cold at first touch, there’s not even a small grimace in response to the compress despite their blistering—they seem to have gone quite numb.

As soon as she hears the knock on the door, Korrin strides over to throw it open. She instantly relaxes a little upon Christine has gotten there so quickly, and steps aside. She casts an anxious look to the sleeping Nari, sighing.

"Thank you for coming on short-notice, Christine. I've done what I can, but I'm not sure my first aid will be enough. I think her toes are numb, she hasn't reacted at all to my attempts to warm them."

Entering the warm home, Christine sets back her hood and immediately goes over to Nari's side, kneeling on the floor. Looking up into the elf's face and seeing she's asleep, Christine gets straight to work rather than rouse her. Eyes glow blue as the Spirit of Faith lends Christine her energy and also helps to examine Nari. There are some things a spirit can see in a person that a mage can't, but Faith still needs Christine to interpret it for her, because there are some things about the world the spirit can never understand.

Finding the toes as numb as Korrin said, Christine gives her a nod and gently places a hand over Nari's lower foot, working in healing magic to hopefully stimulate the tissue inside.

Nari's feet weren't as far gone as they could have been; perhaps the Dalish affinity for going barefoot could be thanked for that resiliency. They respond well to Christine's healing, enough so that her face twists into a pained grimace as sharp needles of painful feeling break through their comfortable, albeit dangerous, numbness.

The deeper injury however is somewhere else, and much more ephemeral than frostbitten extremities.

Korrin simply hangs back, only leaving to bring forth any other supplies that Christine might need. Otherwise, her anxious gaze remains on Nari, responding to the pained grimace with a wince. She crouches by her, out of Christine's way, and strokes Nari's hair gently.

Please, Faith. Do what you can.

Her glowing blue eyes flick up towards Nari's face to gauge her response and she's quick to add a spell to relieve pain as well. Now that she seems aware that her body is healing, Christine wants to hurry this up and take away both injury and pain before Nari is too awake.

"All right," she says finally, feeling she's done all she can on the feet. "Let's get some socks on her. Is she in need of me anywhere else?"

A cursory check will reveal that although Nahariel's hands are still cracked and chapped - although looking much less angry after Korrin's ministrations with warm oil - her fingers are only frostnipped, as are the very tips of her ears. Checking her hands more closely will reveal some thinner curving raised lines beginning just above the pulse points on her wrists that curl up to disappear into her sleeves. As for the rest, she very obviously hasn't been eating. It seems her feet were in need of the most immediate attention.

Quickly, she departs and returns with Araceli-sized socks that should fit Nari far better than her own. It's after returning and slipping those socks over her feet that she looks Nari over with a sigh.

"She's so thin...." That's not the only thing Korrin notices, but she averts her gaze, not wanting to tear up right then and there. "Is...is there anything Faith can do for her, mentally? She's hurting so much, and I'm afraid this will happen again."

Christine lays down one more healing spell that covers a wider area and can heal minor wounds. This should take care of the hands and ears, but as for Nari's weight, that's something that a mage can't fix.

Her work complete, her eyes return to their normal appearance, and she gives Korrin a thoughtful look.

"Nahariel won't be able to communicate with Faith as I do, but perhaps the spirit can speak to her in her dreams? I cannot say if it will work, but I could ask."

The bond Christine shares with Faith means the spirit is always at Christine's side, divided from this world by the Veil. But as they've agreed to help each other, Faith can speak in Christine's mind. It was a long process to teach Faith to speak in full sentences as opposed to vague thoughts, but the spirit is at a stage now where she should be able to communicate with Nari... if she can reach her.

Will you go to this elf, Faith? She is hurting from losing someone. Remember how I felt losing my father? She hurts. Can you talk to her in her dreams?

The response is immediate: She hurts? Yes. I will go. Faith searches the Fade around her, because surely this elf must be close. In order to make Nari more comfortable, Faith takes the form of a woman, tall and elegant, wearing a cloak like Christine's over a tunic and pants. If only she could come upon her goal, but when people are hurting, sometimes they don't wish to be found.

She is young here. No more than nine, her dark hair long and loose, her face still retaining some of the roundness of youth and as-yet unmarked by the vallaslin she will wear. Even so, she has a small whittling knife and a crudely shaped wooden halla in her hands, the tip of her tongue sticking out, a look of intense concentration on her face as she painstakingly takes curl after curl of wood from the sculpture.

At Faith's approach, the little elvhen girl looks up and starts, her face filling with fear and distrust. She wields the knife differently, her other hand still gripping the small statue.

"You're not supposed to be here!"

Edited 2018-01-11 03:52 (UTC)

Faith stands still, having no need to move. She only has legs because the little girl would expect legs. The spirit senses this is the one who hurts, though her form has changed from what was viewed earlier from looking into Christine's world and seeing the patient. And so Faith will stay right here where she is needed.

"Where are we? Is this a secret place?"

The girl frowns stubbornly but looks suddenly unsure, as if she'd taken her surroundings for granted and having them called into question made her realize she didn't know.

"We're..."

She grips the small halla tighter for reassurance and then repeats herself petulantly; this she was sure of.

"You're not supposed to be here!"

"I am sorry. I'm afraid I'm lost. Have you ever felt lost before?" Faith examines the form before her, taking interest in the halla figure in Nari's hand. What is it, and what does it do? It's one of those things she would try to recreate herself in this place, though since she started her connection with Christine, she prefers to know what the objects are.

Lost? That was a little different. A little. Enough different that the child lowers the carving knife and looks at Faith with a sort of grudging curiosity.

"One time when I was shorter than the grass, and I couldn't find a tree to climb. And one time when we didn't know where to go, but we were all lost together."

She thumbs the halla statue's neck a little.

"My sister is lost," she says quietly in the serious way that only children have.

She considers this carefully, recalling what Christine said of her father and how she now believes he watches over her. Faith can only relate to others by examining what she's already learned from Christine. Spirits don't have the creativity to come up with these things on their own.

"Perhaps she is not alone. Perhaps she joined with others who were lost, and they are together."

The thought that Sina wasn't alone - wherever she was - was almost enough to mollify the young Nari. Then her face crumbles.

"But I'm lost alone."

Saying it makes it real, and she says it again more forcefully, tears in her wide green eyes.

"Come back!" she screams into the sudden ocean beside them, feet sinking into the sand of Sina's beach.

The tiny sculpture splinters in her grip, and abruptly the child is gone--

--And Nari wakes with a wide-eyed gasp and begins to weep brokenly.

Re: II

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going to call Christine

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sleep nari

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