[open] and I miss the days of a life still permanent

[doneisdone]

WHO: Teren and you
WHAT: misc, convalescence
WHEN: Wintermarch
WHERE: the Gallows
NOTES: cussin

I.

Likely to the dismay of some, Teren is up and about again. She is, however, much slower than she's ever been, and has to use a cane to propel herself around, which does a person's image no favors when she's as intent as she is on defying her age.
The cane is, hopefully, temporary, but anyone who comments on it, or on its wielder, is sure to feel its impact sooner or later.

II.

With mobility being rather difficult still, Teren isn't about to go on any major excursions to the mainland. This means she has to occupy herself right here in the Gallows, and when Warden business or other similarly shady ventures aren't calling for her attention, she's lounging in the dining hall, stitching elaborate patterns into her Warden's armor or playing bones with whomever wants to join in.
Excessive talking is frowned upon, but she can't exactly run away, so it's really up to one's discretion.

III. (closed to Sister Sawbones)

There is absolutely no way anyone could convince Teren to go to a healer of her own volition, so the best way to go about ensuring she actually receives medical care is, much like a disagreeable cat, to either trick her into thinking it's something else or tranquilize and restrain her before she can slash anyone's throat.
It's honestly a wonder she's in as good of shape as she is, though it helps to remember that Anders, after years of pressure, finally became the one person she would allow to inspect and heal her injuries at great risk to his self-esteem. Unfortunately, Anders is gone now.

Apparently intent on willing her pain away, Teren has resisted any and all summons to a healer, and is currently making the mistake of taking an early evening rest in her room.

IV. (closed to Caspar)

Non-magical healing is slow and exhausting, and the older one gets, the more true that becomes. Teren finds the process dismal and demoralizing, but has found that going out to the training pitch to practice throwing knives at the dummies is an all right way of cheering herself up and staying sharp.
This is where she is now, sitting on a stool that she dragged over and idly chucking blade after blade into the blank face of a dummy, clearly bored but at least doing something.

V. Wildcard

Comments

[katabasis]

"Would you prefer I have Alistair or Ellis stay behind to do it? I can just issue the order to either of them."

He looks at her, pausing in the process of sorting through a series of dark colored shirts. This is, he thinks, ostensibly a certain kind of favor already - a series of nominally sensitive documents bound for the desk of leadership outside her own division, over which she might otherwise have no visibility whatsoever until Forces, her Wardens included, were directed to act on them in some way.

[doneisdone]

"Told you I'd do it," Teren replies with a touch of irritation, "you're like to need both meatheads up there with you." Now if she can just get rid of Barty too, it'll be a perfect staycation.

[katabasis]

Apparently satisfied, he returns to the perfunctory task of sorting through the selection of clothes laid out at the end of the bed - a series of twill and wool and some sensibly sturdy coat.

"I'll do my best to return them to you in the same condition as when they left." And, lightly, with every appearance of being more thoughtless than his selection between two shirts: "In the unlikely event of some issue making itself apparent while we're away, I might recommend Mr Silver as an able hand to assist you."

[doneisdone]

Don't bother, she almost says, but even in jest it's best not to have to kill him for returning Alistair in any shape but whole.

"Mr. Silver?" she asks, "not sure that we've met." They probably have, or at least spoken over crystal, but she'd remember if anyone had introduced himself with a name like that.