WHO: Felix, assorted Grey Wardens, and some concerned friends. WHAT: Felix Alexius is too cute to die. WHEN: Nowish. WHERE: Felix's room and the hallway outside it. NOTES: Broken into pieces, with starters in the comments.
By now, Dorian has found a place to sit, unceremonious and thus at odds with how he normally is. His resting place is on the floor, back against the wall, one leg stretched out in front of him and the other bent, braced against linked hands. At the sound of foot steps, and then Ellana's querulous question, he doesn't look up.
"Not yet."
Which might be unexpected. He looks shattered, regarding the closed door as if staring it down. Somewhere behind it, there's some unknown miracle at work. Supposedly.
Hours. Less, most likely, and they banished for the sake of an oath wrapped around some manner of Grey Warden Miracle. Bullshit.
It is all bullshit.
But it is bullshit she must endure and after her initial inelegant snapping upon being set down and locked out Adelaide reigned everything in and took vigil next to Dorian. Compared to her earlier frustration and near rage her expression is practically placid; the only sign of discomfit the rather rapid creation and reformation of figurines of ice in one palm.
A focus exercise, to take her mind off of whatever is happening in the room. "Apparently the Grey Wardens can pull miracles out of their-"
Her eyes are already filling with tears, and she tries her trick of staring up at the ceiling to keep them from sliding down her face. Felix isn't gone yet. As much as she doesn't want to lose him, she doesn't want him to suffer anymore either. Wanting him to stay for her benefit is selfish, she knows, and yet the thought that she'd arrived too late to see him one last time had nearly gutted her.
"The Wardens are in with him?" she says, pausing to sniff and get in control of herself. Ellana doesn't know Felix has the Blight; only that his illness is incurable, and so she hasn't made the connection yet between Felix and the Wardens. It just seems very strange.
"They have so many secrets," she continues. Alistair has been willing to reveal a few to her, and she's curious what they could be revealing to Felix now. Could it be true? Could they really save him with a secret miracle? The optimist in her wants to grab hold of this and answer yes.
Dorian glances up towards her and sees giant glittery elf eyes and returns his focus back to the door. It's not surprising to him personally that he managed not to notice that Felix had developed even more meaningful relationships than he'd accounted for, nor is that in itself a surprise. But as a result, he doesn't quite know all that Ellana does and does not.
As he speaks, it's for both her benefit and Adelaide's. "Alistair had been asking after him," he says, quietly. "Odd questions. Like whether he was any good in a fight.
"I said no," he adds, a little dry in humour. "Save for his combat with the Blight."
"The great blighted fool and his compatriots are in there, yes." Wardens and their secrets, their crests, their fools. The ice in Adelaide's palm melts from the rose it had been to twist into a griffon rampant. That Alistair has asked after Felix now rather than before- something set this off and it wasn't merely the fact that Felix was nearly dead.
For him to wait so long otherwise speaks of something else afoot.
"Is that not all that matters as a Warden?" To combat the blight, to remain vigilant against it. To be useless in the face of treating it until it is convenient for them.
"I trust Alistair." It's said without an ounce of doubt in her voice. He trusted Ellana with Warden secrets, and she will trust him in return. She's still puzzled as to why the Wardens are in with Felix, but as she mulls it over, the pieces begin to fall into place. The revelation that Felix has the Blight isn't so shocking, and she would think that the Wardens are doing something to make sure it doesn't spread after his death, except for the fact that Alistair asked if Felix was good in a fight. Did they want to recruit him? Now? Would that reverse the damage his illness had done to him?
Ellana finally moves to sit on the floor, cross-legged. Whatever is happening in there, she wants to know the result.
"A Warden sacrifices everything to keep others safe. They suffer, but never complain." She thinks back to that day on the battlements: Alistair drinking straight from the bottle as he revealed that all the Wardens were hearing the Old Gods call to them. If Felix becomes a Warden, then he will have to endure it too. But at least he'll be alive, and there could still be a way to stop the Calling. One that doesn't involve blood magic.
"Do you think he'll say yes?" she asks after a brief pause. "That's what Alistair is offering isn't it? Why else would he ask if Felix could fight? Wardens are connected to the Blight and something about being one makes them immune to the darkspawn's Taint. But would Felix agree to become a Warden?" He had been ready to go. He's accepted it. Would he take a second chance?
There are Wardens within, and wardens without, too. Here is at least one of the latter. Maybe Scipio isn't trusted with pulling miracles out of his thin air. Maybe someone just needs to stand by and keep watch on the door. Maybe he's supposed to cheer the room up, or, in this case, corridor.
And so whatever his reasons or his orders, Scipio is without, wearing half a smile (slightly sheepish) as he comes to stand beside the door. He has some bread to eat and he has his lute slung over his back, which he adjusts carefully toward a safe position before he settles back against the wall. He's here for the long haul, a guard in spirit and possibly by orders, if not by appearance, at least.
"But they complain only a little. Mostly of the cold, until they are given their Warden socks, which are very warm indeed. You can be assured, bella--" Ellana seems easiest to speak to, and far less likely to be sharp with him, so it is she who gets the benefit of his knowledge. "Alistair will help if he is able. And he is able. That, I know. Your friend, he is in a good hand, I think."
As good a hand as he can be, probably. If Rafa were to come along, maybe he will give more cynicism. Scipio is ever more cheerful, even at solemn occasions.
"If he hasn't said yes, then they're taking an awfully long time seeing themselves out."
But Scipio is here, now, softening a little some of the edges in the silence, sharp around Dorian's tensely delivered words. He does believe that Felix has said 'yes', and that's the sort of knowledge that breaks his heart. That Felix was prepared to do this one last thing, this one last bid to survive, and he really is going to throw Alistair from a great height if it's just another failed gambit.
Just march him out by the ear. Whatever. He's not so big.
As Scipio speaks, Dorian's attention wanders up towards him, and he gets to his feet, one hand guiding his balance up the wall. Scipio is nice. Polite. Cheerful. Maybe even bullyable.
"You're very certain. Was he there, when you went through the same?"
Aside from a quirked brow and a snorted sigh at Ellana's rather sincere show of faith, Adelaide remains silent. What is being done is out of her hands for the moment, though the question of what is being done at all remains. Warden secrets. Oaths, Alistair had said. He didn't mean to break them-
But Scipio spoke fast and thought faster; from what she has seen of him. Dorian's standing she notes with a calculated wariness; less for what he might do and decidedly more for what he might say. Dangerous as he is with his magic- his tongue can be far more cutting if given cause. Where Felix is concerned? He has rampant cause.
"Forgive my skepticism of how good a hand he is in as last I knew none of the wardens in that room are healers." Let alone Spirit Healers. If magic is to be done- for what else could be used as some manner of cure but magic- it is not one that she knows of. Not a song she has heard.
When Scipio jokes that Wardens complain of the cold and lack of socks, Ellana has to smile at him. It's small, and doesn't quite reach her eyes, but all she can think is how he must be hearing the Old Gods call to him, and he's not complaining about that. She's not about to change her mind about the bravery of Wardens any time soon, even if the majority are following orders that are leading to madness.
But Dorian is right. Alistair wouldn't make them sit out here as Felix slips away if Felix had said no. Which means he's willing to try it. In her mind, she says a silent prayer to Mythal to keep Felix safe and let him make it through. She would pray to Falon'Din as well, but she's not sure he has anything to do with human souls.
"They believe they can help. And they are not without feelings. None of them would make Felix suffer, or make us suffer waiting out here, if they didn't think they knew a way." She knows she has to prepare herself for this plan of theirs failing, and she feels her throat tighten.
"They are trying, and... and that means something to me."
The trouble is, Scipio likes very much to be liked. If he can't be liked, he likes then to slink away--though not after having tried very hard to be liked. So it is very easy to warm to Ellana's smile and good faith, because he is likewise shrinking a little from Adelaide's chilliness, and at the same time, trying not to notice Dorian's sudden interest.
Perhaps he should not have spoken at all. Perhaps he should have stood by the door with great dignity and solemnity, still and reverent, but then perhaps they would have decided to try the door. Or simply been unhappy. Another thing difficult for Scipio to bear: a mood of general unhappiness.
"Well, it is more than one hand," he points out, helpfully, without looking at Dorian, "and of those hands, there are many skills. Too many to name. What goes on, has gone on before. And we are Wardens, yes?"
So that, too, means something, even if he's leaving the exact 'something' vague. As confident as he is, and as confident as he is behaving, there is a time and a place for false hopes, and it is not here. Should it go wrong, Ellana might lose her smile forever.
Instead, he sighs, and leans back against the wall. "And it is all true, yes; I cannot lie. Alistair was there, when I became a Warden." Which is a lie, but he is nothing if not convincing. "What goes on behind that door, I cannot say. Yet what I can say is that when it is finished, and Alistair emerges, you must not stare. Who knows what form his assistance will have taken. He had a beard long past his knees, you see, after I became a Warden--bright white, full of stardust and snowflakes. It crumbled away after only a day, but it was truly a sight that beheld. I would not be here before you, if not for that beard. I keep a strand still, to remind myself of his aid."
Dorian isn't, by nature, a man given to a lot of physical intimidation -- it's not really how the Imperium worked, what with all the magic and such, but he's rattled around enough in its less than savory corners to know how to throw a punch, well enough that he has to stem the urge to do so now.
Which he does. His hands curl into fists at his sides in restraint. He met Adelaide when he punched a Templar; it's been known to happen. (Granted, he'd been somewhat drunk.)
For now, he just stares at Scipio as the other man speaks, his grey eyes flat and unimpressed in his neutral expression. He wants to extract information, and he can tell this man is weaselling away from the prospect. "What a charming fairytale," he says, very droll. "How many more of those can you spin before you remember you're surrounded by mages with a vested interest in what's happening to our friend on the other side of that door? Because I think you'll find you can say what goes on."
He's not taller that Scipio, but he can act like it despite his smile and symmetrical white teeth.
"They certainly are trying." Adelaide murmurs to Ellana; though the tone is less that of praise and more that of exasperation. Not even her usual fond exasperation with Alistair (which is not that fond, she does not like him).
Scipio doesn't earn himself much room for favors or fondness- there is a time and place where such foolishness might be permitted- this is neither. Slowly, carefully Adelaide levers herself up with her staff, standing just to the side of Dorian. The tension is thick enough to serve as a reminder of the night they met- the clench of his fist doesn't help with the echo. "Dorian."
There is no need for violence.
"Were I you I might attempt something closer to the truth. Or at least a bit less blatantly disrespectful, were I a lesser woman I would assume you are attempting to provoke us." That they've any patience for this at all is- well. They don't. So it is no miracle.
"Fenedhis," Ellana mutters under her breath from her spot on the floor. She doesn't jump to her feet like the others, but there's a certain something in the air. The charge of static electricity. She's in control of herself, but it's a warning. Scipio is a new acquaintance and hardly a close friend yet, but she's not about to throw a punch at him for trying to lighten the mood. She will, however, knock Dorian's ass to the ground with a lightning bolt if he turns to violence.
Ellana is a gentle soul, but she is not in a good mood either.
"And here I thought I was the optimist. He's not going to tell you how Wardens are created, so don't bother. If they're taking this long to do whatever it is, then Felix has consented and we should respect that." She pauses to rub at her temple, and her voice goes softer. "Perhaps you should just stand silently, Scipio."
Why mages? Nothing against mages. Scipio, generally, likes mages, just as he generally likes nearly everyone. And you can still, of course, run from mages. If you run very fast. But Scipio's immediate mage knowledge is like pop culture, and comes mostly of tales, where punishment and retribution are quickly meted out. What if he's turned into a centipede, and smashed with a hammer? And that's only an example of consequence in the more lighthearted tales. There are worse, more dire consequence that might be visited. The prospect of being surrounded by impatient mages is not one that he relishes.
To be fair, he would not want to be surrounded by impatient anyones. Mages, Templars, Qunari, Dalish, Seekers, Crows, pirates, brigands, peasants, fellow Antivans, fellow Wardens. Impatient Rafael is even difficult. Scipio has made a career out of weaseling out of situations very much like this one. Unfortunately, his current career involves obeying the order to stay posted at this door.
But he is nothing if he is not an actor. Foreboding is quickly switched to affront, and he looks around at Adelaide (and not Dorian's staff, or face, or Adelaide's staff, or approaching impatient mages, or the door, or anything else). "Disrespectful! Never. I would never. I know that your friend, he is dear to you. But I have spoke truth, that--"
Well. Not true truth. And perhaps Ellana's suggestion is right. He considers the door out of the corner of his eye. Who knows how long they will be. Slowly, he nods. "Ye-es. Yes, perhaps. I can try to stand silently."
And does. Try, that is. Not silent. The silent part lasts maybe a quarter of a minute before he breaks. "But it was not disrespectful, you see. Alistair does really look beautifully with a beard. I can show you the strand if you like. For proof."
After all, he has made a career out of not standing silently. Why start now?
Dorian's hands go out, taking Scipio by the shirt-front or the edges of his armor or really whatever is available for grabbing firmly, and with a heft of only slightly surprising strength, he drags him around to slam his back into the wall opposite the door. Look, he's not punching anyone, having tolerated Adelaide's gentle warning and gone so far as to respect it, and barely endured Ellana's attempt at reason and diplomacy.
But with a gilded invitation such as the one Scipio's handed them by being a twerp, how could Dorian refuse? Save for the set of his jawline and the heat in his stare, the tendons pulled taut in fists that hold Scipio in place, he manages to keep his anger leashed. It's locked into his shoulders, the coiled strength down his arms and wrists.
He glances back at Adelaide. "What do you think, a weasel or a rat, or are they both slightly too on the nose? Perhaps an eel -- this one's already slippery."
He isn't ignoring Ellana so much as she's an unknown quality; if her loyalty to Felix is outweighed by that of Alistair, well, Dorian can handle that if he must. (A part of him knows already how this is going to end, which is with disappointment, but it's kept muffled beneath the sound of his own heart, pounding along with his temper.)
"Ellana." Peers, of a sort, and to that end she does not use the 'cross Enchanter' tone. The one she uses on her students- but it is the same low warning she'd given Dorian. She has her frustrations and her words- but that is all she has loosed and all she means to loose. Frustrations. Words. Not fists-
And not magic.
The crackle of ozone has her fingers twitching; if she must dispell the both of them to make certain nothing more than a few bruises comes to pass; she shall. They are Councilors of the Inquisition in a public hallway.
Though Dorian has more wiggle room than either of them for expressing his displeasure. Which he does. Forcefully.
"Dorian." That is the Disappointed Enchanter voice. Well- he did not swing. It's a victory she will have to take. "You are not helping."
He or Scipio, honestly. But if this is the tack he wishes to take- fine. "Whatever it is, something quiet. Mute, preferably."
When Dorian shoves Scipio to the wall, Ellana jumps up and moves to stand in front of the door to the room now that it's no longer guarded. She turns, crosses her arms, and frowns at the Warden. She'd tried to help him from getting beaten, and he kept running his mouth. If that is the way he wants to be, then so be it.
"May I remind all three of you--" Yes, you too, Adelaide, "That Felix must have agreed to this? We are going to respect his choice no matter the outcome. That means no silly jokes from you during this difficult time." That is directed at Scipio. He may be trying to lighten the mood or deflect questions, but he's being disrespectful. "No committing violence in his name, even if it'd make you feel better." Directed at Dorian, of course. "And no throwing around blame when Felix was going to die anyway." A look shot at Adelaide. "This will either end with Felix being alive, or end like we all knew it would. We all need to accept that." Her included. It's been very hard for her to want to let go when she's found someone that she wants so much more time with. But more time would mean more pain for him. She's kept wanting just one last time to see him before the end, and when she first entered the hallway, she thought she'd missed her chance. It's worth reminding herself that no one can choose the moment they die, unless they're running head first into battle alone. She can't schedule one last time.
"Aghk," says Scipio, as he is hoisted up off of the floor and slammed into the wall. He is still unused to armor, so the fabric of his shirt crumples easily under Dorian's hands, easy enough that he gets the impression of a strength greater than he might have guessed. The force of it also drives up the knot and brooch keeping closed his cloak, which presses uncomfortably into his throat. (This explains the aghking.)
"Aghk!" he repeats, with more urgency and panic, as the list of animals is rattled off. Just as he feared. No cockroaches, but to spend life as an eel? With no water around? Death, death with ugliness first. And no one seems too inclined to intervene--Adelaide even suggests mute, which means eel, probably. Do eels make sound? Secret eel language, known only to eels? Scipio has only ever eaten eel before, never made study of their tongue. Admittedly, eel is delicious. He wouldn't mind being delicious, but he doesn't want to be an eel.
Chilly fear is working its way up from his gut, sweat and panic and, yes, a little bit of tears, mostly because the brooch is really pressing quite hard against his throat. He's got a hand on one of Dorian's hands, and the other scrabbling sort of at the wall, trying to find-- maybe a weapon, but probably not; he could scrabble at his belt and scabbard and go for his dagger, if he truly wanted a weapon. No: a hole would be better than a weapon. Preferably one large enough to crawl through.
Maker bless Ellana. Even if she isn't speaking up for him exactly, she is trying to diffuse the tension that has Scipio held against a wall, also known as, An Angry Yet Still Attractive Tevinter Mage With A Very Nice Moustache and An Angry Yet Still Attractive Orlesian Mage With Lovely Golden Hair, Both of Whom Would Like Scipio to be An Eel.
Well, hang on. "Aghk," he tells Ellana, a little indignantly. 'Silly jokes'. So dismissive! But, ah, yes, all right, "Aghk," more plaintive and pathetic. Listen to reason, Ye Mages. She's so right.
Near throttling Scipio is a lot more politically correct than doing the same to Ellana, but the look Dorian shoots back at her -- without yet lessening the hard grip he has tight and high at Scipio's chest -- is one that judges her close to culpable in getting in the way of his attempt to discern what's going on.
But it's a small victory for reason, when Dorian pulls Scipio back from the wall just to release him again. He turns to Ellana, drawing himself up.
"Fine," he says. "It's out of my hands. Have word sent my way when the little matter of whether Felix is alive or dead as expected is sorted out, will you?"
A glance includes Adelaide in that, his token towards not quite blazing his temper at Ellana through eye contact alone, before Dorian goes to swan his way out of the hallway in an imperious strut. He needs to take his feelings elsewhere.
"Felix hasn't been given much opportunity to refuse if he wished to do so. You have heard of the right of conscription- wardens do not like to hear 'no' if they feel they shouldn't have to hear it." There hasn't been an instance that Adelaide has witnessed herself but one read things. Heard things. Wardens have a peculiar reputation and the leave they are granted to simply take or do what they like without repercussion-
In a time of blight? It makes sense. In a time such as this? Less so. Adelaide's already shaky opinion of the Wardens (aside from Sabriel who has ever been forthright), takes a downward slide it cannot truly afford.
"Dorian-" Again, the emotional dramatics. Adelaide shoots Ellana a puzzled, frustrated look- the sentiment may be appreciated but the place she and Adleaide have here to make any manner of commentary as though they've a right to Felix, his life, his pain, and his death over Dorian? Is exactly none. Perhaps they have both been fortunate enough to be removed from such situations as to be overcome. A tiny part of Adelaide envies them that. The rest of her snakes a hand out to grasp Dorian's arm before he stalks off too terribly far-
Though given his stature and the momentum offered by the opportunity for a truly dramatic exit- he drags her along for a few steps until she is able to plant her feet and lean subtly backwards against it as she has when wrangling students in the past. "You will be more upset at yourself for leaving."
Ellana feels an ache in her temple once more and lifts a hand to rub at it. She may not be a great traveler of the world yet, nor has she had libraries at her disposal before now to read up on Wardens, but she's inclined to believe that Adelaide just wants reasons to hate them and Ellana is not going to argue anymore. It's pointless. She believes that Felix was given a choice, because she thinks that's what Alistair would do. He's not the type who would force a dying man to go through it-- for what? Adelaide doesn't know what Wardens are going through right now, but Ellana does. Alistair is doing this to save Felix's life, not to gain one more recruit forced to hear the Calling in his head. He wouldn't do that to a person if they were healthy. He's giving Felix a chance in the hopes they can stop this Calling.
She dips down her head and closes her eyes, still rubbing her head. The waiting is the worst part. She just wants to know the result, no matter what it is, because then she'll know that Felix is alive, or has found peace beyond the Veil. As expected. Her nose burns with the build up of tears she's trying to hold back, and she squeezes her eyes shut tighter, saying nothing.
A shout of terror comes from the room. It's loud but short. The yelp of someone waking up from a nightmare and realizing shortly after that it was just that, a fleeting dream.
It's probably pretty similar to the cries of mage children who encounter their first demons in the Fade. Felix had never really been strong enough with his magic to remember anything more than vague images of the Fade. He had some nightmares when he first got sickened, when the memories of his mother dying had been fresh and too easy to conjure, but he had woken from those dreams silently, sweating and scared but quiet.
This dream, forced onto him by the taint in his blood and Corypheus's False Calling, had been enough to force a scream from him. That's all the sound is though, him waking from a dream fueled by the song in his head telling him he's gone wrong. He bolts upright and sees the faces in the room and realizes he's still alive. There's a noise in his head he can't ignore, but otherwise he's okay.
However, it might be as easy to tell that's all it is when you're on the other side of the bedroom door.
It's not a sound Ellana had known to prepare herself for, and the force of his scream nearly has her jumping out of her skin. This whole time, she hasn't doubted for a moment that the Wardens would try to save Felix, but she hasn't bothered to consider that helping him would hurt him. What's happening in there? She can no longer wait to find out since whatever it is means Felix is in pain, and without another thought, she whirls around and flings open the door.
"Felix?!" She's been in his room before and knows straight away where his bed is, so her eyes don't linger anywhere else in the room as she enters. They're completed focused on him, and he's sitting upright. Is he... did they? Is Felix cured?
Alistair steps into her line of sight as quickly as he can cross the room, arms spread to herd her and anyone else back. They cleaned up while he was sleeping, put away the chalice and cleared away any evidence of black, tainted blood, but there are still matters to attend to. Like, "Don't say anything." He aims it over his shoulder at Felix, whom they did not debrief on the issue of what was and wasn't a secret before handing him the cup. Alistair adds, "Sabriel," too, in a pleading sort of tone; he means, Sabriel, don't let him say anything, because she's nearest to him and knows him best, and Alistair trusts her to understand.
He glances at Kaidan, too, who is the real adult here, then over the heads of anyone in the doorway in search of Scipio. He had one job.
But it's a lost cause, really, and the impulse to stop them gives way to resignation. He stays in the doorway as a matter of principle, but he lowers his arms and says, "He's fine," like they're silly to have ever thought otherwise.
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"Not yet."
Which might be unexpected. He looks shattered, regarding the closed door as if staring it down. Somewhere behind it, there's some unknown miracle at work. Supposedly.
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It is all bullshit.
But it is bullshit she must endure and after her initial inelegant snapping upon being set down and locked out Adelaide reigned everything in and took vigil next to Dorian. Compared to her earlier frustration and near rage her expression is practically placid; the only sign of discomfit the rather rapid creation and reformation of figurines of ice in one palm.
A focus exercise, to take her mind off of whatever is happening in the room. "Apparently the Grey Wardens can pull miracles out of their-"
A beat. Her lips twist.
"Out of nothing."
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"The Wardens are in with him?" she says, pausing to sniff and get in control of herself. Ellana doesn't know Felix has the Blight; only that his illness is incurable, and so she hasn't made the connection yet between Felix and the Wardens. It just seems very strange.
"They have so many secrets," she continues. Alistair has been willing to reveal a few to her, and she's curious what they could be revealing to Felix now. Could it be true? Could they really save him with a secret miracle? The optimist in her wants to grab hold of this and answer yes.
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As he speaks, it's for both her benefit and Adelaide's. "Alistair had been asking after him," he says, quietly. "Odd questions. Like whether he was any good in a fight.
"I said no," he adds, a little dry in humour. "Save for his combat with the Blight."
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For him to wait so long otherwise speaks of something else afoot.
"Is that not all that matters as a Warden?" To combat the blight, to remain vigilant against it. To be useless in the face of treating it until it is convenient for them.
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Ellana finally moves to sit on the floor, cross-legged. Whatever is happening in there, she wants to know the result.
"A Warden sacrifices everything to keep others safe. They suffer, but never complain." She thinks back to that day on the battlements: Alistair drinking straight from the bottle as he revealed that all the Wardens were hearing the Old Gods call to them. If Felix becomes a Warden, then he will have to endure it too. But at least he'll be alive, and there could still be a way to stop the Calling. One that doesn't involve blood magic.
"Do you think he'll say yes?" she asks after a brief pause. "That's what Alistair is offering isn't it? Why else would he ask if Felix could fight? Wardens are connected to the Blight and something about being one makes them immune to the darkspawn's Taint. But would Felix agree to become a Warden?" He had been ready to go. He's accepted it. Would he take a second chance?
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There are Wardens within, and wardens without, too. Here is at least one of the latter. Maybe Scipio isn't trusted with pulling miracles out of his thin air. Maybe someone just needs to stand by and keep watch on the door. Maybe he's supposed to cheer the room up, or, in this case, corridor.
And so whatever his reasons or his orders, Scipio is without, wearing half a smile (slightly sheepish) as he comes to stand beside the door. He has some bread to eat and he has his lute slung over his back, which he adjusts carefully toward a safe position before he settles back against the wall. He's here for the long haul, a guard in spirit and possibly by orders, if not by appearance, at least.
"But they complain only a little. Mostly of the cold, until they are given their Warden socks, which are very warm indeed. You can be assured, bella--" Ellana seems easiest to speak to, and far less likely to be sharp with him, so it is she who gets the benefit of his knowledge. "Alistair will help if he is able. And he is able. That, I know. Your friend, he is in a good hand, I think."
As good a hand as he can be, probably. If Rafa were to come along, maybe he will give more cynicism. Scipio is ever more cheerful, even at solemn occasions.
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But Scipio is here, now, softening a little some of the edges in the silence, sharp around Dorian's tensely delivered words. He does believe that Felix has said 'yes', and that's the sort of knowledge that breaks his heart. That Felix was prepared to do this one last thing, this one last bid to survive, and he really is going to throw Alistair from a great height if it's just another failed gambit.
Just march him out by the ear. Whatever. He's not so big.
As Scipio speaks, Dorian's attention wanders up towards him, and he gets to his feet, one hand guiding his balance up the wall. Scipio is nice. Polite. Cheerful. Maybe even bullyable.
"You're very certain. Was he there, when you went through the same?"
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But Scipio spoke fast and thought faster; from what she has seen of him. Dorian's standing she notes with a calculated wariness; less for what he might do and decidedly more for what he might say. Dangerous as he is with his magic- his tongue can be far more cutting if given cause. Where Felix is concerned? He has rampant cause.
"Forgive my skepticism of how good a hand he is in as last I knew none of the wardens in that room are healers." Let alone Spirit Healers. If magic is to be done- for what else could be used as some manner of cure but magic- it is not one that she knows of. Not a song she has heard.
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But Dorian is right. Alistair wouldn't make them sit out here as Felix slips away if Felix had said no. Which means he's willing to try it. In her mind, she says a silent prayer to Mythal to keep Felix safe and let him make it through. She would pray to Falon'Din as well, but she's not sure he has anything to do with human souls.
"They believe they can help. And they are not without feelings. None of them would make Felix suffer, or make us suffer waiting out here, if they didn't think they knew a way." She knows she has to prepare herself for this plan of theirs failing, and she feels her throat tighten.
"They are trying, and... and that means something to me."
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Perhaps he should not have spoken at all. Perhaps he should have stood by the door with great dignity and solemnity, still and reverent, but then perhaps they would have decided to try the door. Or simply been unhappy. Another thing difficult for Scipio to bear: a mood of general unhappiness.
"Well, it is more than one hand," he points out, helpfully, without looking at Dorian, "and of those hands, there are many skills. Too many to name. What goes on, has gone on before. And we are Wardens, yes?"
So that, too, means something, even if he's leaving the exact 'something' vague. As confident as he is, and as confident as he is behaving, there is a time and a place for false hopes, and it is not here. Should it go wrong, Ellana might lose her smile forever.
Instead, he sighs, and leans back against the wall. "And it is all true, yes; I cannot lie. Alistair was there, when I became a Warden." Which is a lie, but he is nothing if not convincing. "What goes on behind that door, I cannot say. Yet what I can say is that when it is finished, and Alistair emerges, you must not stare. Who knows what form his assistance will have taken. He had a beard long past his knees, you see, after I became a Warden--bright white, full of stardust and snowflakes. It crumbled away after only a day, but it was truly a sight that beheld. I would not be here before you, if not for that beard. I keep a strand still, to remind myself of his aid."
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Which he does. His hands curl into fists at his sides in restraint. He met Adelaide when he punched a Templar; it's been known to happen. (Granted, he'd been somewhat drunk.)
For now, he just stares at Scipio as the other man speaks, his grey eyes flat and unimpressed in his neutral expression. He wants to extract information, and he can tell this man is weaselling away from the prospect. "What a charming fairytale," he says, very droll. "How many more of those can you spin before you remember you're surrounded by mages with a vested interest in what's happening to our friend on the other side of that door? Because I think you'll find you can say what goes on."
He's not taller that Scipio, but he can act like it despite his smile and symmetrical white teeth.
"Try."
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Scipio doesn't earn himself much room for favors or fondness- there is a time and place where such foolishness might be permitted- this is neither. Slowly, carefully Adelaide levers herself up with her staff, standing just to the side of Dorian. The tension is thick enough to serve as a reminder of the night they met- the clench of his fist doesn't help with the echo. "Dorian."
There is no need for violence.
"Were I you I might attempt something closer to the truth. Or at least a bit less blatantly disrespectful, were I a lesser woman I would assume you are attempting to provoke us." That they've any patience for this at all is- well. They don't. So it is no miracle.
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Ellana is a gentle soul, but she is not in a good mood either.
"And here I thought I was the optimist. He's not going to tell you how Wardens are created, so don't bother. If they're taking this long to do whatever it is, then Felix has consented and we should respect that." She pauses to rub at her temple, and her voice goes softer. "Perhaps you should just stand silently, Scipio."
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To be fair, he would not want to be surrounded by impatient anyones. Mages, Templars, Qunari, Dalish, Seekers, Crows, pirates, brigands, peasants, fellow Antivans, fellow Wardens. Impatient Rafael is even difficult. Scipio has made a career out of weaseling out of situations very much like this one. Unfortunately, his current career involves obeying the order to stay posted at this door.
But he is nothing if he is not an actor. Foreboding is quickly switched to affront, and he looks around at Adelaide (and not Dorian's staff, or face, or Adelaide's staff, or approaching impatient mages, or the door, or anything else). "Disrespectful! Never. I would never. I know that your friend, he is dear to you. But I have spoke truth, that--"
Well. Not true truth. And perhaps Ellana's suggestion is right. He considers the door out of the corner of his eye. Who knows how long they will be. Slowly, he nods. "Ye-es. Yes, perhaps. I can try to stand silently."
And does. Try, that is. Not silent. The silent part lasts maybe a quarter of a minute before he breaks. "But it was not disrespectful, you see. Alistair does really look beautifully with a beard. I can show you the strand if you like. For proof."
After all, he has made a career out of not standing silently. Why start now?
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Dorian's hands go out, taking Scipio by the shirt-front or the edges of his armor or really whatever is available for grabbing firmly, and with a heft of only slightly surprising strength, he drags him around to slam his back into the wall opposite the door. Look, he's not punching anyone, having tolerated Adelaide's gentle warning and gone so far as to respect it, and barely endured Ellana's attempt at reason and diplomacy.
But with a gilded invitation such as the one Scipio's handed them by being a twerp, how could Dorian refuse? Save for the set of his jawline and the heat in his stare, the tendons pulled taut in fists that hold Scipio in place, he manages to keep his anger leashed. It's locked into his shoulders, the coiled strength down his arms and wrists.
He glances back at Adelaide. "What do you think, a weasel or a rat, or are they both slightly too on the nose? Perhaps an eel -- this one's already slippery."
He isn't ignoring Ellana so much as she's an unknown quality; if her loyalty to Felix is outweighed by that of Alistair, well, Dorian can handle that if he must. (A part of him knows already how this is going to end, which is with disappointment, but it's kept muffled beneath the sound of his own heart, pounding along with his temper.)
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And not magic.
The crackle of ozone has her fingers twitching; if she must dispell the both of them to make certain nothing more than a few bruises comes to pass; she shall. They are Councilors of the Inquisition in a public hallway.
Though Dorian has more wiggle room than either of them for expressing his displeasure. Which he does. Forcefully.
"Dorian." That is the Disappointed Enchanter voice. Well- he did not swing. It's a victory she will have to take. "You are not helping."
He or Scipio, honestly. But if this is the tack he wishes to take- fine. "Whatever it is, something quiet. Mute, preferably."
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"May I remind all three of you--" Yes, you too, Adelaide, "That Felix must have agreed to this? We are going to respect his choice no matter the outcome. That means no silly jokes from you during this difficult time." That is directed at Scipio. He may be trying to lighten the mood or deflect questions, but he's being disrespectful. "No committing violence in his name, even if it'd make you feel better." Directed at Dorian, of course. "And no throwing around blame when Felix was going to die anyway." A look shot at Adelaide. "This will either end with Felix being alive, or end like we all knew it would. We all need to accept that." Her included. It's been very hard for her to want to let go when she's found someone that she wants so much more time with. But more time would mean more pain for him. She's kept wanting just one last time to see him before the end, and when she first entered the hallway, she thought she'd missed her chance. It's worth reminding herself that no one can choose the moment they die, unless they're running head first into battle alone. She can't schedule one last time.
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"Aghk!" he repeats, with more urgency and panic, as the list of animals is rattled off. Just as he feared. No cockroaches, but to spend life as an eel? With no water around? Death, death with ugliness first. And no one seems too inclined to intervene--Adelaide even suggests mute, which means eel, probably. Do eels make sound? Secret eel language, known only to eels? Scipio has only ever eaten eel before, never made study of their tongue. Admittedly, eel is delicious. He wouldn't mind being delicious, but he doesn't want to be an eel.
Chilly fear is working its way up from his gut, sweat and panic and, yes, a little bit of tears, mostly because the brooch is really pressing quite hard against his throat. He's got a hand on one of Dorian's hands, and the other scrabbling sort of at the wall, trying to find-- maybe a weapon, but probably not; he could scrabble at his belt and scabbard and go for his dagger, if he truly wanted a weapon. No: a hole would be better than a weapon. Preferably one large enough to crawl through.
Maker bless Ellana. Even if she isn't speaking up for him exactly, she is trying to diffuse the tension that has Scipio held against a wall, also known as, An Angry Yet Still Attractive Tevinter Mage With A Very Nice Moustache and An Angry Yet Still Attractive Orlesian Mage With Lovely Golden Hair, Both of Whom Would Like Scipio to be An Eel.
Well, hang on. "Aghk," he tells Ellana, a little indignantly. 'Silly jokes'. So dismissive! But, ah, yes, all right, "Aghk," more plaintive and pathetic. Listen to reason, Ye Mages. She's so right.
No eels. Please.
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But it's a small victory for reason, when Dorian pulls Scipio back from the wall just to release him again. He turns to Ellana, drawing himself up.
"Fine," he says. "It's out of my hands. Have word sent my way when the little matter of whether Felix is alive or dead as expected is sorted out, will you?"
A glance includes Adelaide in that, his token towards not quite blazing his temper at Ellana through eye contact alone, before Dorian goes to swan his way out of the hallway in an imperious strut. He needs to take his feelings elsewhere.
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In a time of blight? It makes sense. In a time such as this? Less so. Adelaide's already shaky opinion of the Wardens (aside from Sabriel who has ever been forthright), takes a downward slide it cannot truly afford.
"Dorian-" Again, the emotional dramatics. Adelaide shoots Ellana a puzzled, frustrated look- the sentiment may be appreciated but the place she and Adleaide have here to make any manner of commentary as though they've a right to Felix, his life, his pain, and his death over Dorian? Is exactly none. Perhaps they have both been fortunate enough to be removed from such situations as to be overcome. A tiny part of Adelaide envies them that. The rest of her snakes a hand out to grasp Dorian's arm before he stalks off too terribly far-
Though given his stature and the momentum offered by the opportunity for a truly dramatic exit- he drags her along for a few steps until she is able to plant her feet and lean subtly backwards against it as she has when wrangling students in the past. "You will be more upset at yourself for leaving."
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She dips down her head and closes her eyes, still rubbing her head. The waiting is the worst part. She just wants to know the result, no matter what it is, because then she'll know that Felix is alive, or has found peace beyond the Veil. As expected. Her nose burns with the build up of tears she's trying to hold back, and she squeezes her eyes shut tighter, saying nothing.
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It's probably pretty similar to the cries of mage children who encounter their first demons in the Fade. Felix had never really been strong enough with his magic to remember anything more than vague images of the Fade. He had some nightmares when he first got sickened, when the memories of his mother dying had been fresh and too easy to conjure, but he had woken from those dreams silently, sweating and scared but quiet.
This dream, forced onto him by the taint in his blood and Corypheus's False Calling, had been enough to force a scream from him. That's all the sound is though, him waking from a dream fueled by the song in his head telling him he's gone wrong. He bolts upright and sees the faces in the room and realizes he's still alive. There's a noise in his head he can't ignore, but otherwise he's okay.
However, it might be as easy to tell that's all it is when you're on the other side of the bedroom door.
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"Felix?!" She's been in his room before and knows straight away where his bed is, so her eyes don't linger anywhere else in the room as she enters. They're completed focused on him, and he's sitting upright. Is he... did they? Is Felix cured?
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He glances at Kaidan, too, who is the real adult here, then over the heads of anyone in the doorway in search of Scipio. He had one job.
But it's a lost cause, really, and the impulse to stop them gives way to resignation. He stays in the doorway as a matter of principle, but he lowers his arms and says, "He's fine," like they're silly to have ever thought otherwise.
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