MOD PLOT ↠ NONE TO RETURN

[faderifting]

WHO: All characters signed up to participate in the Battle of Ghislain
WHAT: The Inquisition regroups and heads home
WHEN: Covers the period immediately post-battle (11.28) through the journey back to Kirkwall (11.29-12.1)
WHERE: North of Montfort, Orlais, and on the road to Val Chevin
NOTES: This is Post #2, covering the immediate aftermath of the battle and the journey back to Kirkwall. It's a free-for-all. Post #1 covers the battle itself. More info on the OOC post.

The Inquisition and Orlesian armies eventually limp to a halt along the Imperial Highway north of Montfort, where wide fields and gentle hills offer clear lines of sight and a sparsely equipped fortress provides some shelter and fortification. It's a soundly strategic location—if Ghislain is lost, Montfort is the last major city between the invaders and Val Royeaux—but among the rank and file there may be too much chaos to appreciate it.

For the remainder of the day and well into the night, the fortress and surrounding land are a frenzy of activity. The wounded who were not left on the field must be triaged and tended to with limited supplies, while many healers and surgeons out of commission themselves and the remainder worked to the bone. Scouts, soldiers, and even support staff in sturdy enough condition to keep working may be tasked with assembling camp from the few remaining supplies, taking reports on known casualties or acquired intelligence, or further fortifying the new location. The Orlesian army sends one of its battered cavalry units toward Ghislain to attempt to provide some warning, and from the Inquisition's number a few patrols are sent back toward the battlefield or toward Ghislain, with stern orders not to re-engage, only to watch for signs of pursuit, and to direct any stragglers.

Those who remain in the fortress are in for a long, miserable night, with meager rations and makeshift bedding, if any of either, while the wind shifts directions and grows colder. By morning a number of the wounded have died, but attempts to build a pyre are hampered by the sudden swell of a storm that starts with freezing rain and then transitions to early and unpredicted thick, heavy snow.

For a few hours that morning the two armies attempt business as normal, but it soon becomes clear that the storm is getting stronger, and they risk being snowed in with more people than they can feed. Many, including the Inquisition's Gallows contingent, are ordered to disperse. Many crowd into wagons, with any transportable wounded receiving further attention en route and neighbors hunching close to preserve heat whether they like one another or not, while those able to do so follow on foot or horseback over the rough, flash-frozen highway toward Montfort and then west toward Val Chevin. The storm doesn't abate until they've nearly reached the city, but once there they're able to stop, eat, and spend a few hours indoors thawing out before proceeding home.

Comments

[foundmyselfagain]

Another blanket. If it were someone Gareth didn’t know, didn’t like, maybe if it had been asked rudely, Gareth would have easily replied: No, there isn’t, does it look like we've spare blankets? So many injured, and no one had expected cold like this. But Colin is a friend, and one that Gareth would prefer didn’t freeze to death. So he looks down, gives Colin's hand a quick squeeze, and nods.

"I'll see what I can do."

He's gone for a minute or two, looking around, muttering to the other healers. Then he comes back, blanket in tow, which he's quick to toss over Colin. It's not cold, like it might be if Gareth had retrieved it from storage, and it's not quite warm, like it would be if Gareth had pulled it from someone still giving off body heat. Any possible explanations for the in-between are left to Colin's imagination.

"This is all I could find. If it doesn’t work, I can try using fire magic. You might come out of it smelling a little charred, but I doubt anyone would notice right now."

[keenly]

Colin has too many things to think about besides where the blanket came from, though he knows supplies are short and the dead do not need to be warm. The added weight of the blanket hurts, but if he bends at the elbows and tucks his hands beneath his jaw, the blankets are lifted a couple of inches off his ribs.

"Th-th-th-thank you-u-u," he hisses through chattering teeth. And while he has eyes locked with Gareth's, before his friend has time to turn away, he whispers, "Don't let me die."

The bleeding on the inside can be the beginning of the end. At any time, he might suddenly find it impossible to breathe. And of course the worst part is that he knows that. He knows what he has read in his books, what Anders has told him, and at the moment none of it is doing him any good. All it's doing is stressing him out.

[foundmyselfagain]

That fear of death is far too familiar to Gareth. He's felt it hanging over him for a long time, and he's done a lot of things--some of them downright awful--in order to assuage that fear. In order to make sure that he's strong enough to survive, that no one can kill him.

But it's always been about him, people come and go, people die, and it's always been all Gareth can do to make sure not to join them. He can't do much to save other people, and the more he stays in the Inquisition, the more he finds that this bothers him. He's traveled some pretty dark paths in order to escape the helplessness that now gnaws at him, but that dark path can't help him this time.

He'll have to go at this with a little less wanton murder.

So he sits next to Colin, puts his hands together for a few moments, letting a ball of fire flicker between them. "I won't," He whispers, and it's a promise that he's not sure that he can keep, but at least he can try his damnest. His hands come apart, and he reaches to touch Colin, with a leftover warmth from that fire. "You're not going to die, Colin. Not after everything else you've survived."

[keenly]

That spot of warmth from Gareth’s hands brings more comfort than he could have imagined before. The shivering begins to ease as the blanket draws in that heat and keeps it. Colin turns his head to rest his cheek on Gareth’s knee.

“You comforted me like that when we first met,” he sighs. “And when I...you keep doing it. Over and over. I’m a bit tired of needing that. But you’re a good man.”