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.
"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.
Backing up by several moments, Dorian doesn't freeze at the feeling of Adelaide's hand on his arm, prepared to pull himself free when he feels actual resistance attempt to drag him back into the undignified scene he's left behind him--
--but she says something true, a certain accuracy to her statement of fact that only comes with familiarity. He regrets a lot of things in life, and doesn't need one other thing.
"If this doesn't work," he starts to say, quietly, but then it's all drama at the other end. Felix's cry, which has Dorian look back sharply, unmoving, and Ellana's attempted barging in. Alistair's voice. But there was something oddly familiar as to Felix's shout, less because of Dorian's friendship with him, and more because it sounds more like fear than it does pain.
For all of his shoving Scipio around, one might expect him to barge in, throwing elbows. Instead, he stays where Adelaide caught him, silent and still.
If you were to look at Kaidan closely, you would see a man who was obvious fighting pain. His brow was furrowed, the skin around his eyes seemed tight as he tried to ignore the growing migraine.
He had things he had to do before he could go and crash in a heap somewhere.
What remained of the blood from the Joining had been destroyed. The chalice had been hidden. To all intents and purposes, it seemed as if they did it simply by magic. Let it be one more mystery surrounding the Wardens. If anyone wanted to question him, feel free.
"He will be fine," he said, reiterating Alistair's comment. "There will be no dying here today." He glanced at those gathered there. "Can someone send word to the kitchens to bring up food for him? I gather he hasn't eaten for a while." And Maker knows, he'll be eating a lot over the next couple of days. His body had a lot of recovering to do.
He didn't know many of the people here, but he could tell that they were going to have questions. Lots of questions. Something about this Inquisition seemed to gather strong personalities here.
"Off the fucking ramparts, you were very clear the first time." And while Adelaide is very much of the mind hat it wouldn't be entirely unfair- it seems as though candid defenestration isn't going to be the next item on Alistair's schedule for the day. Door wide open as it is- Adelaide can see just past Alistair's shoulders and to where Felix is on the bed.
Alive.
Well.
And the tinge of ache that usually surrounded him gone.
What in Andraste's name?
A secret of some sort she'd already known with Wardens and their oaths but- it is gone. The Blight is gone from Felix as though he hadn't been wasting to nothing before her for the better part of the month. Her hand goes warm against Dorian's skin- eyes glowing as she pulls on Compassion's power for a better look at what's happened. Aside from a distinct lack of physical discomfort in Felix and a spike of it in one of the other Wardens nothing seems amiss. That in and of itself is horrifically suspicious.
She releases Dorian to weave in, pausing long enough to nudge Scipio with her staff. "Perhaps now would be a good time to actually make yourself useful- and fetch Felix a meal."
For her part she pauses just outside the door, glaring at Alistair. There is room enough for her to squeeze past but honestly? She should not have to do so. "Move."
Felix is rubbing at his face as he makes sense of where he is and the commotion all around him. He looks up at the flurry of movement by the door. He just seems more confused for a moment than anything. "That's right. I am fine," he confirms, though he isn't sure that's the right word. There's all of the noise inside of his head and around him. It's disorienting. "Just... very hungry." Another confirmation of what Kaidan had said.
Then his stomach makes a loud, desperate noise of hunger and his hands go there, pressing against his abdomen. "It's a feeling I haven't felt in a long while," he adds, mostly to himself this time. Too much is going on for him to full process right away and the pitiful excuse for a joke is trying to buy him time to come to terms with it. He's still all skin and bones, still too weak to stand on his own. His stomach feels like it's ready to gnaw on itself. His head is pounding to this the tune of a disturbing song.
"Where's Dorian?" he asks when he looks up to give a half smile at the humor he's trying to put into this and notices that Dorian isn't visible from his vantage point on the bed. He likes seeing Ellana, of course, and he can hear Adele, but he's worried for his friend. More than worried, though, he wants to know for sure that he's real, that this is real. Dorian has a way of centering him in ways no one else can. Admitting all of those emotions in front of so many people somehow seems far too crass so he adds, in an exhausted sort of mumble, "I need him here to properly complain about how you Southerners flavor your food..."
He's fine? Ellana stands frozen, just staring at him as Adelaide speaks, and then when Felix confirms he is in fact fine, something tight in her chest loosens and she's flooded with relief. She shifts her weight to move forward, but then he's asking where Dorian is, and Adelaide will want to check on him, of course, and suddenly Ellana fears she'll be in everyone's way. She doesn't have any sort of claim on him or his time, even now that he's been granted more of it.
But she's so relieved and happy that she needs an outlet for it, and Alistair is right there blocking the way. If Adelaide wants in the room, it may just be that Ellana will inadvertently help her, because she flings her arms around Alistair's neck in a tight hug. Whether that pushes him back into the room depends on whether he's ready for the full body slam of a tiny elf or not. As someone who fights with a shield, perhaps he can still stand firm.
"You did it!" she whispers fiercely, trying not to cry, or laugh, or whoop in delight. "You really saved him." She presses tight to Alistair, pouring all her gratitude into the hug, and even that doesn't feel like enough to thank him or the other Wardens here. Bringing her mouth closer to his ear so no one else overhears, she whispers, "I know how hard things are for you right now. Thank you for doing this."
So many things happen at once. Mages flouncing, voices crying out, doors opening, Ellana pushing past to throw herself toward Alistair. People look tired and happy and angry by turns. Scipio doesn't need a nudge with a staff to put him along down the corridor. If Dorian hadn't started to leave first, he probably would have done, unguarded door and all. There's duty, and there's a charge to guard, and then there's getting as far away from everything here as possible. How he ever got himself into the mess remains a mystery.
(Rafael. It was Rafael. Not that Scipio blames him, but Rafa never should have claimed that they were Grey Wardens, because it was their own conscription that started them down this path in the first place.)
(Anyways.)
Scipio, flattened guiltily against the wall, is very careful to avoid Alistair's eye (one job, one job that was very hard, as it turns out, and he is not good at the hard work). "Food," he agrees, though no one is paying him much attention any longer, good, "yes," Felix will be hungry; he is always hungry now. If he returns some hours later, when no one in the hallway or the little room of secret rituals is present--that will suit him fine.
Goodbye to all this. Scipio slinks away for the kitchens, as hangdog as he can be without attracting any more attention.
Honestly, Sabriel would have liked more time; Felix screams once and everyone on the outside has a want to get in. Which she cannot blame. She stays frozen in her half movement towards Felix, which isn't fair, given she was alongside him anyway, but she doesn't get any closer, or back off. There's a nod to Alistair's unsaid instruction, and that's reallly why she would have liked more time - time to explain, specifically. The sheets are long since ash, the Chalice gone, and the only hint as to them having done something the tiniest scent of something have been burned. That's not a worry. It'll be some time before they - she - can really explain what he saw, what made him cry out in the first place. The fear of what causes those dreams, that they all hear it, and then the relief in that it isn't the real thing, even if it seems and feels that way.
The biggest worry is the onslaught of questions; they can handle it, they know what's a secret. Food is a safe subject, though. Her eyes wander to the retreating Scipio (it was one job, yes, but he should know that he should not feel guilt over it) but she's too late, he's gone, and Adelaide's making inside and Ellana's embracing Alistair and she has a couple of seconds.
She looks back to Felix. "I'll explain everything, best I can, when there is time," she whispers. Her half smile is encouragement. Safe subjects, stay on the safe subjects. "We'll answer what we can of everyone else's, if you're not certain of what to say."
Not that they'd appreciate Wardens butting in more than they have already, but it's easier than stumbling through. Somewhat.
And, back to the door - "They should be able to see he is fine for themselves," she voices. The unsaid is that there's nothing for them to see, even magical, so Alistair can move, if he's able, and hasn't already.
Alistair, when so ordered, does not move. He's busy looking past Adelaide at Scipio first—Scipio, who avoids his eyes and looks miserable enough that Alistair more or less forgives him on the spot, though he won't admit it—and then at Dorian, frozen in the corridor, before he cocks one eyebrow at her in a way that communicates, clearly, Nah. Felix may be her patient, but he's their Brother.
But his attempt to make a principled (spiteful) stand out of it is abruptly ruined by a small elven missile. He takes a step back with her out of surprise more than necessity, looking first startled and then mildly uncomfortable.
"It was Sabriel's idea," he says, now that it won't get her thrown off any fucking ramparts; Sabriel's idea, mostly Sabriel and Kaidan's effort. And the darkspawn blood? One of Dorian's kills. He'll never be allowed to know, but Alistair likes the thought of it. "She wanted to do it a long time ago."
And they almost waited too late, but only almost. Felix is asking for Dorian, Scipio has a handle on the food, but it's Sabriel's confirmation that it's safe that finally prompts him to move aside.
Dorian doesn't fuss with standing fixed in place for long. He starts back down where he came at an authoritative clip, past Alistair and his entanglement of elf (maybe that's the term of venery he's been after), past or perhaps just around and aside of Adelaide. A wolfish glance follows, one that includes Sabriel and Kaidan both in acknowledgement, sharper on Sabriel as if taking note, before his focus settles properly on Felix.
He smiles, showing only a glimmer of white, symmetrical teeth. There is a stillness behind his eyes, guarding against optimism. "They flavour their food with pig fat and horseradish," he says, a jarring reversal of the sharper edge he'd taken with Scipio, or even the quiet reflection he'd muttered to Adelaide. "What's not to complain about?"
But all the exuberance can't quite disguise the hunting look Felix gets, trying to tell not only visually but with that innate sense of magic what's gone on here, but it's impossible.
Ellana is celebrating already, and the Wardens seem satisfied. Finished. Dorian glances to Alistair, not exactly brimming with gratitude -- more suspicious than anything else, even as he settles down near the bedside and cups his hand over Felix's wrist. Next, it's Adelaide that gets his attention, disinclined to ask Felix the ever repetitive 'how are you feeling?' in favour of listening to the healer's assessment.
"And you chose to wait until now...why, precisely?" Not that it stops her from stepping into the room- not that it stops her from lifting an almost casual hand glowing with Compassion's blue light to flick a soothing spell of rejuvenation Kaidan's way. Contractual obligations. She'd let him keep the migraine and cope otherwise but- Compassion dictates. Even if he's earned it doing something that none of the other Wardens feel fit to explain. At least one answer has come to her- or at least the only one that seems to make any kind of sense. Felix is no mage, no warrior, no best of any best. He is studious and kind but he is not what one thought of when one brought up the Grey Wardens.
"To test if you could still cure the Blight at so late a stage?" It is what she would do. If something must be done you might as well learn from it; the offhand cold, pointed cruelty directed more at Alistair than at Sabriel. Of course Sabriel wished to do it sooner- she is a kind soul, her association with the Wardens may be frustrating but Adelaide does not hold it against her. Or at the very least attempts to not.
She stops at the foot of Felix's bed, face stern, eyes glowing but narrowed. No ache. No blight. He is, in fact, well- and however they've managed that? Is either some manner of secret, forbidden magic (else they'd be willing to discuss the matter and find a proper cure that didn't make wardens of the recipients) or a fucking miracle. In a world with demons, magic, and dragons- with rifts and frustrating Northern mages and men from other worlds- the former is still far more likely than the latter. Miracles simply did not happen. Least of all at the hands of a fool. "What of the song he heard that kept him from sleep? Have you cured that as well?"
"That was my fault," Kaidan said, stepping forward, though as the spell hit him he staggered a little, his headache suddenly clearing. He'd had healing for migraines before, but never quite like that. He murmured a quiet 'thank you' then carried on. "I wasn't ready to perform the ritual. As the senior Warden present, that responsibility lies on my shoulders." No confirmation that he was a mage, though that would be easy to work out, no confirmation of what was done.
He looked at Felix. The song wouldn't go, just be... morphed into something else. Blame Corypheus and his false calling, but he had to say something to veer this woman off the path. "The song he heard... No. No one can cure that fully. Once you have heard it, it will always stay with you. But it will be quieter." An easiest explanation for now until they have a chance to talk to Felix, to explain just what happened to him without any prying ears. They needed to take him out of Skyhold, soon.
Felix nods a bit, acknowledging Sabriel's words, though he already knows he'll have questions later. He almost brings up the sounds in his head now, almost asks about them, but then realizes that's probably one of the things they were trying so desperately to keep him from saying. After all, even he, in his drowsy post dream state, could figure out they were being tight lipped on purpose.
He found himself leaning a bit towards Dorian, pleased that his ploy of making fun of the South had given Dorian something to say that wouldn't embarrass him. They would have time for genuine emotion when they were alone.
He wants to come to the defense of the Wardens against Adele's accusation, to point out that it seems unfair to accuse the people who just brought him back from death of using him as an experiment. But he can't bring himself to say anything for fear of upsetting her more. "I'll be all right, Adele." He isn't sure that's entirely true in every way, but he is trying to reassure everyone present.
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no subject
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.
no subject
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."
no subject
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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--but she says something true, a certain accuracy to her statement of fact that only comes with familiarity. He regrets a lot of things in life, and doesn't need one other thing.
"If this doesn't work," he starts to say, quietly, but then it's all drama at the other end. Felix's cry, which has Dorian look back sharply, unmoving, and Ellana's attempted barging in. Alistair's voice. But there was something oddly familiar as to Felix's shout, less because of Dorian's friendship with him, and more because it sounds more like fear than it does pain.
For all of his shoving Scipio around, one might expect him to barge in, throwing elbows. Instead, he stays where Adelaide caught him, silent and still.
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He had things he had to do before he could go and crash in a heap somewhere.
What remained of the blood from the Joining had been destroyed. The chalice had been hidden. To all intents and purposes, it seemed as if they did it simply by magic. Let it be one more mystery surrounding the Wardens. If anyone wanted to question him, feel free.
"He will be fine," he said, reiterating Alistair's comment. "There will be no dying here today." He glanced at those gathered there. "Can someone send word to the kitchens to bring up food for him? I gather he hasn't eaten for a while." And Maker knows, he'll be eating a lot over the next couple of days. His body had a lot of recovering to do.
He didn't know many of the people here, but he could tell that they were going to have questions. Lots of questions. Something about this Inquisition seemed to gather strong personalities here.
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Alive.
Well.
And the tinge of ache that usually surrounded him gone.
What in Andraste's name?
A secret of some sort she'd already known with Wardens and their oaths but- it is gone. The Blight is gone from Felix as though he hadn't been wasting to nothing before her for the better part of the month. Her hand goes warm against Dorian's skin- eyes glowing as she pulls on Compassion's power for a better look at what's happened. Aside from a distinct lack of physical discomfort in Felix and a spike of it in one of the other Wardens nothing seems amiss. That in and of itself is horrifically suspicious.
She releases Dorian to weave in, pausing long enough to nudge Scipio with her staff. "Perhaps now would be a good time to actually make yourself useful- and fetch Felix a meal."
For her part she pauses just outside the door, glaring at Alistair. There is room enough for her to squeeze past but honestly? She should not have to do so. "Move."
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Then his stomach makes a loud, desperate noise of hunger and his hands go there, pressing against his abdomen. "It's a feeling I haven't felt in a long while," he adds, mostly to himself this time. Too much is going on for him to full process right away and the pitiful excuse for a joke is trying to buy him time to come to terms with it. He's still all skin and bones, still too weak to stand on his own. His stomach feels like it's ready to gnaw on itself. His head is pounding to this the tune of a disturbing song.
"Where's Dorian?" he asks when he looks up to give a half smile at the humor he's trying to put into this and notices that Dorian isn't visible from his vantage point on the bed. He likes seeing Ellana, of course, and he can hear Adele, but he's worried for his friend. More than worried, though, he wants to know for sure that he's real, that this is real. Dorian has a way of centering him in ways no one else can. Admitting all of those emotions in front of so many people somehow seems far too crass so he adds, in an exhausted sort of mumble, "I need him here to properly complain about how you Southerners flavor your food..."
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But she's so relieved and happy that she needs an outlet for it, and Alistair is right there blocking the way. If Adelaide wants in the room, it may just be that Ellana will inadvertently help her, because she flings her arms around Alistair's neck in a tight hug. Whether that pushes him back into the room depends on whether he's ready for the full body slam of a tiny elf or not. As someone who fights with a shield, perhaps he can still stand firm.
"You did it!" she whispers fiercely, trying not to cry, or laugh, or whoop in delight. "You really saved him." She presses tight to Alistair, pouring all her gratitude into the hug, and even that doesn't feel like enough to thank him or the other Wardens here. Bringing her mouth closer to his ear so no one else overhears, she whispers, "I know how hard things are for you right now. Thank you for doing this."
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(Rafael. It was Rafael. Not that Scipio blames him, but Rafa never should have claimed that they were Grey Wardens, because it was their own conscription that started them down this path in the first place.)
(Anyways.)
Scipio, flattened guiltily against the wall, is very careful to avoid Alistair's eye (one job, one job that was very hard, as it turns out, and he is not good at the hard work). "Food," he agrees, though no one is paying him much attention any longer, good, "yes," Felix will be hungry; he is always hungry now. If he returns some hours later, when no one in the hallway or the little room of secret rituals is present--that will suit him fine.
Goodbye to all this. Scipio slinks away for the kitchens, as hangdog as he can be without attracting any more attention.
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The biggest worry is the onslaught of questions; they can handle it, they know what's a secret. Food is a safe subject, though. Her eyes wander to the retreating Scipio (it was one job, yes, but he should know that he should not feel guilt over it) but she's too late, he's gone, and Adelaide's making inside and Ellana's embracing Alistair and she has a couple of seconds.
She looks back to Felix. "I'll explain everything, best I can, when there is time," she whispers. Her half smile is encouragement. Safe subjects, stay on the safe subjects. "We'll answer what we can of everyone else's, if you're not certain of what to say."
Not that they'd appreciate Wardens butting in more than they have already, but it's easier than stumbling through. Somewhat.
And, back to the door - "They should be able to see he is fine for themselves," she voices. The unsaid is that there's nothing for them to see, even magical, so Alistair can move, if he's able, and hasn't already.
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But his attempt to make a principled (spiteful) stand out of it is abruptly ruined by a small elven missile. He takes a step back with her out of surprise more than necessity, looking first startled and then mildly uncomfortable.
"It was Sabriel's idea," he says, now that it won't get her thrown off any fucking ramparts; Sabriel's idea, mostly Sabriel and Kaidan's effort. And the darkspawn blood? One of Dorian's kills. He'll never be allowed to know, but Alistair likes the thought of it. "She wanted to do it a long time ago."
And they almost waited too late, but only almost. Felix is asking for Dorian, Scipio has a handle on the food, but it's Sabriel's confirmation that it's safe that finally prompts him to move aside.
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He smiles, showing only a glimmer of white, symmetrical teeth. There is a stillness behind his eyes, guarding against optimism. "They flavour their food with pig fat and horseradish," he says, a jarring reversal of the sharper edge he'd taken with Scipio, or even the quiet reflection he'd muttered to Adelaide. "What's not to complain about?"
But all the exuberance can't quite disguise the hunting look Felix gets, trying to tell not only visually but with that innate sense of magic what's gone on here, but it's impossible.
Ellana is celebrating already, and the Wardens seem satisfied. Finished. Dorian glances to Alistair, not exactly brimming with gratitude -- more suspicious than anything else, even as he settles down near the bedside and cups his hand over Felix's wrist. Next, it's Adelaide that gets his attention, disinclined to ask Felix the ever repetitive 'how are you feeling?' in favour of listening to the healer's assessment.
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"To test if you could still cure the Blight at so late a stage?" It is what she would do. If something must be done you might as well learn from it; the offhand cold, pointed cruelty directed more at Alistair than at Sabriel. Of course Sabriel wished to do it sooner- she is a kind soul, her association with the Wardens may be frustrating but Adelaide does not hold it against her. Or at the very least attempts to not.
She stops at the foot of Felix's bed, face stern, eyes glowing but narrowed. No ache. No blight. He is, in fact, well- and however they've managed that? Is either some manner of secret, forbidden magic (else they'd be willing to discuss the matter and find a proper cure that didn't make wardens of the recipients) or a fucking miracle. In a world with demons, magic, and dragons- with rifts and frustrating Northern mages and men from other worlds- the former is still far more likely than the latter. Miracles simply did not happen. Least of all at the hands of a fool. "What of the song he heard that kept him from sleep? Have you cured that as well?"
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He looked at Felix. The song wouldn't go, just be... morphed into something else. Blame Corypheus and his false calling, but he had to say something to veer this woman off the path. "The song he heard... No. No one can cure that fully. Once you have heard it, it will always stay with you. But it will be quieter." An easiest explanation for now until they have a chance to talk to Felix, to explain just what happened to him without any prying ears. They needed to take him out of Skyhold, soon.
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He found himself leaning a bit towards Dorian, pleased that his ploy of making fun of the South had given Dorian something to say that wouldn't embarrass him. They would have time for genuine emotion when they were alone.
He wants to come to the defense of the Wardens against Adele's accusation, to point out that it seems unfair to accuse the people who just brought him back from death of using him as an experiment. But he can't bring himself to say anything for fear of upsetting her more. "I'll be all right, Adele." He isn't sure that's entirely true in every way, but he is trying to reassure everyone present.
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