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Entry tags:
i. infirmary
ii. bedroom
iii. bath
iv. baths
v. outside
vi. wildcard
It's the first place the lot of them go upon their return, but Athessa waits until those who've sustained worse than a dislocated shoulder have been tended to before offering herself up for healing. If she hadn't used her arm so much fighting and carrying dead bodies and digging graves, she might not have exacerbated the injury.
If.
ii. bedroom
The first night back is also the first night that Athessa notices that someone fixed her bedroom door while they were away. It strikes her as less comforting in a way than having to forcibly dislodge the door from the jamb, because now someone might enter without being heard. She hadn't heard the murderer, Medrod, when he arranged her unconscious form on the rack.
She may not sleep this night.
iii. bath
Athessa has used the bathtub in her room perhaps once before, for the novelty of it. Getting enough water to bathe in up to the fourth floor is hard work, and then that water has to be heated in the fireplace and hauled across the room, hefted, and poured.
Even though the ligaments were healed, Athessa's shoulder still aches from overuse. She can barely lift a water bucket a few inches off the floor, nowhere near high enough to fill the tub.
She sits in the empty tub, knees hugged to her chest, and stares off at nothing until her eyes go blurry with tears.
iv. baths
Since using the tub in her room by herself is out of the picture, Athessa instead takes to the heated baths below the tower.
The heat helps with some of the pain and stiffness, but she's still a few days out from being able to comfortably wash her back. The bruises on her shoulder, her back and her stomach will fade a bit more slowly.
v. outside
The Gallows may have been home for nearly two years at this point but the fact that the island used to be a prison is inescapable. Cold stone walls and brutalist architecture, grim statuary and chains everywhere.
It's enough to make Athessa want to run away, sometimes. She copes with the urge by wandering about, through the halls and gardens to the battlements and beyond. Tonight, she sits on the ground staring out over the sea and shivering. She didn't bring a jacket, and the blanket of smoke settling around her is hardly a source of warmth.
vi. wildcard
[ come at me, doesn't have to be h/c but who doesn't like a little-a h/c, as a treat? ]
It's not the shoulder Colin notices first--the swelling, the way she holds it, the little signs of pain. It's the look in her eyes. It's that look. He sees too much of it these days, and seeing it on her cuts to the quick.
He wears his profession like a suit of armor into this war, approaching her and checking her over for other injuries first. There's a soft little glance at her face just before he speaks.
"What happened?" he asks quietly.
He wears his profession like a suit of armor into this war, approaching her and checking her over for other injuries first. There's a soft little glance at her face just before he speaks.
"What happened?" he asks quietly.
She shakes her head slightly, as if at a loss. What did happen? Brows furrowed, eyes shut, concentrating very hard on sorting out the answer, Athessa starts with the obvious:
"Dislocated my shoulder trying to get off a rack, talked Barrow through popping the bone back into place. Couldn't really...afford not to use my arm, though. Got kicked in the stomach, but I think it was too low to break any ribs," she sniffs, scrubs the back of her hand across her nose, notices the blood under her fingernails. "Pretty sure none of this is my blood."
"Dislocated my shoulder trying to get off a rack, talked Barrow through popping the bone back into place. Couldn't really...afford not to use my arm, though. Got kicked in the stomach, but I think it was too low to break any ribs," she sniffs, scrubs the back of her hand across her nose, notices the blood under her fingernails. "Pretty sure none of this is my blood."
There'll be a point, sometime after they arrive there and he's settled in a bed, where she's maybe near enough that he can reach out to gently touch the elbow of her good arm.
"Make sure you get that shoulder looked at."
And whatever else; that's just the most obvious, but it's not like they ever took a tally of injuries, with everything going on.
"Make sure you get that shoulder looked at."
And whatever else; that's just the most obvious, but it's not like they ever took a tally of injuries, with everything going on.
Athessa starts slightly at the touch, but doesn't move away. She rolls her eyes and scoffs and says:
"You sound just like Derrica, laying there perforated and worrying after me." It's wry, more fond than annoyed, but the veneer of good humor is thin. The disquiet sits in the furrow drawn between her brows and the way her forced smiles don't quite light her eyes.
Perhaps to hide the way hers still shakes, she clasps his reaching hand and squeezes it gently. Reassuring, she hopes.
"I'll be fine. Our healers are the best, both at what they do and as people."
"You sound just like Derrica, laying there perforated and worrying after me." It's wry, more fond than annoyed, but the veneer of good humor is thin. The disquiet sits in the furrow drawn between her brows and the way her forced smiles don't quite light her eyes.
Perhaps to hide the way hers still shakes, she clasps his reaching hand and squeezes it gently. Reassuring, she hopes.
"I'll be fine. Our healers are the best, both at what they do and as people."
"I know how I'm doing," he points out, giving her hand a squeeze in turn. "It's the rest of you I'm worried about."
He pulls out a smile, bracing, and it comes easily. They're back in Kirkwall, everyone survived, and Medrod will never hurt anyone ever again. There will be the repercussions, the aftereffects, like there always are. He'll do what he can to make that better, starting now.
"Hey. I didn't get a chance to say it before, but: thank you. I wouldn't be here without your help."
If she and Barrow hadn't found them when they did, if Richard hadn't pulled him out of the fucking iron maiden, if not for their collective agreement that no one gets left behind, if not for Sawbones's expertise, if not for — there's a lot to be grateful about.
He pulls out a smile, bracing, and it comes easily. They're back in Kirkwall, everyone survived, and Medrod will never hurt anyone ever again. There will be the repercussions, the aftereffects, like there always are. He'll do what he can to make that better, starting now.
"Hey. I didn't get a chance to say it before, but: thank you. I wouldn't be here without your help."
If she and Barrow hadn't found them when they did, if Richard hadn't pulled him out of the fucking iron maiden, if not for their collective agreement that no one gets left behind, if not for Sawbones's expertise, if not for — there's a lot to be grateful about.
"You don't need to thank me," she says on a sigh. "I said before, we look out for our own."
It's an easy assurance to make here, now, when everything has ended for the better and none of them are dead. But a familiar thread of guilt pulls taut. Shouldn't she look out for her own? Could she have somehow prevented the deaths of those elves, stopped a madman from butchering her kin?
Probably not. But what if is pernicious.
"I'm sorry you had to go through that."
It's an easy assurance to make here, now, when everything has ended for the better and none of them are dead. But a familiar thread of guilt pulls taut. Shouldn't she look out for her own? Could she have somehow prevented the deaths of those elves, stopped a madman from butchering her kin?
Probably not. But what if is pernicious.
"I'm sorry you had to go through that."
Mhavos shouldn't be outside.
Mhavos is outside. He's always hated rest, healing. Which poet compared sleep to death? Too many, and all his favorites. Every time he's taken for himself, he is owing instead of gaining.
He walks with a cane, which he can't quite make dignified because it's not readily obvious how quickly he could turn it into a weapon.
The air is brisk. Athessa is alone. Mhavos puts his coat on her shoulders, a faded thing that's seen more years than it ought, but warm nonetheless. He doesn't want to talk about Ostwick. He assumes she doesn't, either. It sits between them like a dead thing, rotten.
"I found the song."
Mhavos is outside. He's always hated rest, healing. Which poet compared sleep to death? Too many, and all his favorites. Every time he's taken for himself, he is owing instead of gaining.
He walks with a cane, which he can't quite make dignified because it's not readily obvious how quickly he could turn it into a weapon.
The air is brisk. Athessa is alone. Mhavos puts his coat on her shoulders, a faded thing that's seen more years than it ought, but warm nonetheless. He doesn't want to talk about Ostwick. He assumes she doesn't, either. It sits between them like a dead thing, rotten.
"I found the song."
There's a flash of emotion that breaks through his professional composure before his expression evens out again.
"I'll check once we've seen to that shoulder. I'm going to make sure it's properly in place by moving your arm. It might hurt."
With a delicate touch, he takes her arm and gently, slowly begins to rotate it.
"I'm proud of how strong you are," he says quietly. "But if you need someone to not be strong around, I'm always here. For future reference."
She's probably still a bit numb.
"I'll check once we've seen to that shoulder. I'm going to make sure it's properly in place by moving your arm. It might hurt."
With a delicate touch, he takes her arm and gently, slowly begins to rotate it.
"I'm proud of how strong you are," he says quietly. "But if you need someone to not be strong around, I'm always here. For future reference."
She's probably still a bit numb.
She doesn't quite flinch at the coat falling upon her shoulders, senses dulled and heightened by the haze of root smoke, but she turns her head to look at Mhavos.
And slowly, his words filter in and her numb expression gives way to some shade of relief.
"Did you? Which one was it?"
And slowly, his words filter in and her numb expression gives way to some shade of relief.
"Did you? Which one was it?"
It feels vulnerable to discuss this. It feels vulnerable to talk at all. Perhaps vulnerability is alright, if it is shared, acknowledged as an acceptable feature.
He moves closer to Athessa, weathering against the cold.
"The one about stars," he says, "and how they guide one home."
He moves closer to Athessa, weathering against the cold.
"The one about stars," he says, "and how they guide one home."
A sharp intake of breath confirms that yes, it does hurt, but beyond her grip on the edge of the infirmary bed tightening she makes no complaint to that effect.
"I know," she says. And she does know, has been reminded many times of the fact that Colin and Bastien are two people around whom she never needs to be strong if she needs to break down. But because she knows it, she doesn't want to. It's hard to shake the shame of vulnerability, of feeling like a failure or a burden for relying so much on someone else.
"I'm...I'm alright."
"I know," she says. And she does know, has been reminded many times of the fact that Colin and Bastien are two people around whom she never needs to be strong if she needs to break down. But because she knows it, she doesn't want to. It's hard to shake the shame of vulnerability, of feeling like a failure or a burden for relying so much on someone else.
"I'm...I'm alright."
The range of motion in the shoulder is good. The muscles are tight, but that is to be expected. He nods at her statement--she probably is all right-ish for now. That's what the numbness is for.
"I'm going to heal you now. That'll repair a lot of the damage."
And he does, the blue glow emanating from his hands and phasing into her shoulder. It should greatly reduce her pain.
"How does that feel?"
"I'm going to heal you now. That'll repair a lot of the damage."
And he does, the blue glow emanating from his hands and phasing into her shoulder. It should greatly reduce her pain.
"How does that feel?"
The coat isn't quite big enough to cover them both, but when Mhavos scoots a bit closer, Athessa still tries to make it work. They can sit shoulder to shoulder and share.
"I think I remember how that one goes," she nods, conjuring up some memory of the melody to sing the first few lines.
"I think I remember how that one goes," she nods, conjuring up some memory of the melody to sing the first few lines.
"You did," he agrees, "and you have."
She said so; she followed her words with action.
It hadn't been until later, after he'd realized they were gathering bodies, that he'd found out the extent of Medrod's predation on elves. Had the chance to consider how horrific that place had to be, for Athessa and Mhavos and Vanadi in particular. He can't even imagine the feeling, only knows it secondhand. Naomi would have a better idea of what Athessa has to be going through.
"I'm alright." Give or take some blood loss, some nightmares, but what's a little more at this point? "I'm just glad that place won't be happening to anyone else."
She said so; she followed her words with action.
It hadn't been until later, after he'd realized they were gathering bodies, that he'd found out the extent of Medrod's predation on elves. Had the chance to consider how horrific that place had to be, for Athessa and Mhavos and Vanadi in particular. He can't even imagine the feeling, only knows it secondhand. Naomi would have a better idea of what Athessa has to be going through.
"I'm alright." Give or take some blood loss, some nightmares, but what's a little more at this point? "I'm just glad that place won't be happening to anyone else."
It's warmer than nothing. Mhavos allows it, despite normally being rather prickly about his personal space. He relaxes quite obviously when she hums the tune. "I'd dreamt it for years, but never well enough to remember it."
"Better."
For many things, healing just feels like a balm. Cuts and scrapes, burns, punctures sometimes, they just feel soothed and smoothed away. But broken bones and torn ligaments are different. The pain goes, but there's still that feeling of being stitched back together, of things under the surface shifting, and that's what cuts through some of the shock.
"There was a woman looking for her son," she says, thinking about the crude stitches that held closed inexpert incisions in leathery skin. "We found...his body on our way back, when we stopped for the night. Him and his...his bride."
For many things, healing just feels like a balm. Cuts and scrapes, burns, punctures sometimes, they just feel soothed and smoothed away. But broken bones and torn ligaments are different. The pain goes, but there's still that feeling of being stitched back together, of things under the surface shifting, and that's what cuts through some of the shock.
"There was a woman looking for her son," she says, thinking about the crude stitches that held closed inexpert incisions in leathery skin. "We found...his body on our way back, when we stopped for the night. Him and his...his bride."
Outwardly, Colin's face doesn't change. Inwardly, he feels a kick to the stomach and a gratitude that he's not usually on these kinds of missions. He reaches for a clean stretch of white linen cloth and folds it.
"That's a horrible thing to have to see," he says in soothing tones. "I'll give you something to help you sleep tonight. You can take it if you like, or not if you'd prefer. Hold your forearm straight across your body."
He demonstrates with his own arm.
"That's a horrible thing to have to see," he says in soothing tones. "I'll give you something to help you sleep tonight. You can take it if you like, or not if you'd prefer. Hold your forearm straight across your body."
He demonstrates with his own arm.
"I learned not to think on it," Mhavos says, "I learned not to think on anything that didn't help me move forward. It's quite an empty life." He leans into her slightly, nudging her shoulder. "I don't recommend it."
A little more nightmares, a little less sleep, a deeper purple under the eyes. They're on the same page in that respect.
"Yeah," Athessa agrees, quietly. "Can't help but wonder how long he'd been at that, though. If there were others."
More bodies, more souls that will wander the Fade forever or worse, come back as ghosts. Clearing her throat, she tries to turn things back towards offering assistance where she can.
"Isaac has a concoction to help you sleep, if you need it."
"Yeah," Athessa agrees, quietly. "Can't help but wonder how long he'd been at that, though. If there were others."
More bodies, more souls that will wander the Fade forever or worse, come back as ghosts. Clearing her throat, she tries to turn things back towards offering assistance where she can.
"Isaac has a concoction to help you sleep, if you need it."
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