faderift | The rose I sickened with a scarlet fever [Open]

From under the desk comes a quiet whuff, and the thump of Franklin’s tail against the floor. Herian doesn’t look for him, but smiles a little. “I brought something up. Milk with lavender and a little vanilla.”

It’s worrying to see Cosima like this. Tired she could cope with, but the blue tinge is such a constant, unending reminder that things aren’t okay, that something is amiss that she’s no idea how to fix. What she can do, though, is draw ice magic to her fingertips, and slowly trail her fingers down the back of Cosima’s neck. “Does that help?”

Cosima closes her eyes with a little sigh, leaning back into Herian's touch. "Yeah, that's nice." Herian can feel the tension in her neck and shoulders, in contrast to her somewhat relaxed demeanor. It's not an act, exactly, but it is an effort.

After a moment, she says, "I wanted to apologize. About earlier."

"You did nothing to be apologised for."

Which doesn't mean it wasn't a little difficult, and she sets both her hands on Cosima's shoulders, gently starting to press in with her fingers, a slightly cautious massage with the cool touch, before stopping. "Would you like a massage?"

Cautious only because she doesn't to overstep with how Cosima's feeling, especially when she feels so tense.

And, again: "I did not... act as well as I might have."

Edited (words) 2018-02-07 02:03 (UTC)

"I was a jerk," she says, "but I will totally take a massage from you anyway if the offer stands. I know I wasn't myself, but it still sucks," Cosima adds, softer, a moment later. "I didn't mean to make you feel ignored."

“Come sit on the bed, then.”

She kisses Cosima’s neck, just below her jaw, and stays close for a couple of moments. “I adore you. It was hard, but I understand.”

As she gets up, she turns to kiss Herian properly. (The fleeting thought -- what if this is contagious after all -- is quickly dismissed. She's already sleeping in Herian's bed half the time; a little affection won't make it worse.)

"You're amazing," she says, quietly. "And very, very patient. I got so lucky with you."

The odds of them even meeting were so overwhelmingly small that everything since seems like a windfall sometimes. If Cosima believed in miracles, it could almost be that.

Herian does not, as a rule, blush. It's not really a thing. At some point in her life she decided blushing was not knightly, and thus not a behaviour she would indulge. (Or maybe it's just very hard to make happen, although the other option could well be what can be heard on the rumour mill.) In this instance, however, it is possible that her cheeks go very slightly pink, as she trips over navigating her words.

"I'm— I, um." I am not worthy of such praise, she means to say, put instead rubs her knuckles against her jaw briefly, wrangles an unbidden smile, and gestures slightly awkwardly towards the bed, as if it were possible Cosima were unfamiliar with its location.

"I am also extremely fortunate," she finally manages, after clearing her throat. Smooth recovery.

Cosima kisses her cheek, lightly, before moving to lie on her stomach on the bed. "I really thought I might never see you again, after you left Skyhold. So really, we got lucky twice over. And we've had all this, since you came back." They don't really talk about what they are to each other much -- Herian's temperament doesn't allow for it, and Cosima respects that -- but the days do have a bit of a now or never feeling to them that gives Cosima a small shove toward speaking her thought. "I'm really glad I haven't had to go through this without you."

Edited 2018-02-11 00:36 (UTC)

Herian's brow flickers a little. She pours a cup of the milk and lavender infusion, lightly steaming, and sets it on the bedside table within Cosima's reach, silent for a few moments. Franklin, with all the movement, ambles from his place under the desk to flop in his basket in the corner - a little further away, but keeping an eye on both of his humans, apparently.

"You will survive this," Herian says, softly. "Pray don't— do not imagine that there is finality in this sickness. You will persevere. I have faith in that."

She prays, lights candles in chapel, works with a sort of desperation even though the things that she can help with cannot directly help Cosima, because she doesn't know how else to address it. "You are—" Herian stops, her jaw working for a moment as she sits on the side of the bed next to Cosima, trailing a hand down her back. It takes her a moment longer to resume speaking, after swallowing uncomfortably. "You are the most important person in this world to be, Cosima. I will not see our time together cut short, when we have been so lucky as to find one another."

Cosima looks back over her shoulder, without getting up. "Hey. I'm not saying goodbye just now, promise. I'm going to do whatever I can to help them figure this out, as long as I'm up to it." She shifts enough she can reach back and take Herian's hand. "I'm not going to leave you if I have anything to say about it."

She can't help thinking, though, that she'd only just stopped thinking about Thedas as stolen time. It hardly seems fair, that they should have an answer for her chronic condition, only for something else to threaten to cut her life short. (Of course, she knows better than to think illness is anything to do with fairness, at least in her head.)

"I just don't feel great, don't let me scare you."

A nod, and Herian gently squeezes Cosima's hand, leaning forward so she's bracing herself over Cosima a little, not resting her weight on her. She presses a kiss to Cosima's shoulder, and the back of her neck. "Good. I can't begin to fathom it."

Silence hangs in the air a moment, a kind of tension pulling at the space between words. Bringing words together in ways that have meaning and are not trite or sound insincere for how often they have been recycled by others is hard. Words that are true and express honestly are hard to work out. Some things can be laid out more plainly.

"I love you."

She tries to shift, if Herian lets her, enough so she can look at her properly. "I love you too. We're gonna make it through this, okay?" Whether or not she feels properly confident... it seems like the promise to make, in the face of that declaration. Despite everything, Cosima glows with it, a little. She'd thought so, but hearing it said is something else.

Adjusting to accomodate the movement, Herian feels—

more exposed to what she's just managed to say, with Cosima looking at her. It's not bad, far from it, but it is the first time she's made herself say it aloud, lain it out for acknowledgement and possibly disaster. (She is glad this hasn't been a disaster.)

"We shall." And a bit of a smile tugs at the corner of her mouth, which she does nothing to correct. The smile isn't the half of it, really, when she feels all light. Hearing it is something else. Saying it is something else. She bites her lip, and leans forward to kiss her again.

"I did promise you a massage," she murmurs, and its kind of a reminder for both of them, though she's happy to keep kissing Cosima a few moments more.

"You did," Cosima says, softening a bit and laying down again after one more kiss. "Can you do that ice thing with your fingers again? That was great, actually."

Under other circumstances, Cosima might be inclined to tease and fondly press at the revelation. But she's tired, and she's worried, and she knows Herian is worried. Maybe a few quiet moments together are best, here and now.

With a quiet chuckle, Herian leans her forward on her elbow, holding her hand where Cosima can see it laying down. For a moment, heat glows under her fingertips, before a very light buzz of lightning flares across them, and then a very light frost crawls over them.

"I can do many things," she advises, momentarily teasing, heavily bordering on the lands of flirtatious, before she leans back and kisses Cosima's shoulder. "But I will stick to the 'ice thing'."

She feels simultaneously the odd adrenaline rush that comes with important words being spoken, with wondrous news being delivered back to her, the entirely unknightly flurry of butterflies, all mixed in with the worry and trepidation that this fever has brought on. They are not out of the woods - they are not safe, not yet, but in this moment she can try to help and make Cosima more comfortable, and that will do. Ice magic rises in her skin, and she slowly works her hands own Cosima's back.

The rose I sickened with a scarlet fever [Open]

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject