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WHO: Cyril and OPEN.
WHAT: Merrick is suffering from the posion. This is the place for people to worry about him.
WHEN: During the Crow Plot
WHERE: Merrick and Cyril's room.
NOTES: Merrick has been poisoned, so there's that. Also; talk of grief and death as that brings back bad memories for Clan Ashara, and Cyril's inability to self-care.

Sam had brought Merrick in from the cold. The healers had done what they could. Now all that was left was to wait for the poison to make it's way through Merrick's body.

They knew by now that Zevran was missing. There was this strange ache in Cyril's chest when he thought about that, strong enough that he could notice it over the overpowering anxiety he felt about Merrick. He was aware they were coming up with a plan to get Zevran back, but most of that talk wasn't sticking when Cyril heard it.

It wasn't that he didn't care about the rescue. He cared a great deal about what happened to Zevran, it was that any new information just felt jumbled up in Cyril's head. He could only really focus on the way that Merrick looked. He was in pain, everyone could see that, but he couldn't wake or break free from it.

Cyril was stuck to the side of their shared bed. He sat in a chair with his legs folded up towards his body. He had reached out one of his hands clasped it over Merrick's. He wasn't planning on moving until his brother woke, not unless a healer needed the space by the bed. Nothing else really mattered to him. He didn't need to sleep, or eat, or do anything other than watch and wait.

Anyone who saw him could see that his body was very tense and stiff. He looked like someone who was just on the edge of a flight or fight reaction. His eyes were wide and staring down at the bed. Merrick's body was sweating and suffering. It reminded Cyril too much like how members of his Clan described the plague victims of past. He had no memories of that time, other than a dim impression of his mother's last moments, but it was enough to leave him feeling anxious and devastated.

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"I see." Metaari frowns a bit as he lets his hand hover near Merrick's face. That someone could so easily take him down--and he's heard of this Zevran. Any rogue worth his salt has heard of him. He had been with the Hero of Ferelden. Stories get told of groups like that. That someone could take out both of them...

His hand finally just lightly grips Merrick's arm, his gaze never falling away from that pained face. "I know," he whispers, his voice thick with barely contained emotion. "He's told me he won't disappear. I'm holding him to it."

It's comforting to hear, because Merrick keeps his word. He nods, accepting that, and then takes a shaky breath. "He's not one to break promises," he explains to Metaari.

Then, after a moment, he unfolds his body a bit. "You really care about him, don't you?" he can hear it in his voice and he wants to know how real that is.

It's comforting to hear that from someone who's known Merrick for--well, he can only imagine as long as the two of them have been alive. He never breaks his promises. Metaari will have to make sure he's worth keeping the promise for.

The question catches him off guard and he blinks, tearing his gaze away from Merrick's face to glance up at Cyril. The surprise is there for a moment before it fades away and he looks back again, swallowing hard with a nod. "I do," he finally says, the first he's admitted it out loud so succinctly. "It snuck up on me, but... yes. I haven't allowed myself to care like this for so long I almost forgot what it felt like."

Cyril tilts his head a bit as he watches Metaari. "He does that," he says after a moment. "Just when you think that you can't love or that your heart is too caged up, he does something or says something and you realize that your ability to care has no limits."

He frowns as he admits that to someone who is little more than a stranger to him. He doesn't usually talk about Merrick in those terms, because they usually go without saying. He shifts a little uncomfortably and then clears his throat.

"He just needs to wake up and start doing that again."

The words resonate within him, sounding against his chest and making it flutter. Cyril is right. That's exactly how it is, isn't it? Others would see an angry, stab-happy elf, but Merrick is so much more than that. There's a spark there, and Metaari wants nothing more than to ignite it.

"I haven't even gotten a chance to tell him yet." He finally says, pushing back some of Merrick's hair again. "You know more about it than he does, now. I'm... afraid, I suppose. It happened so quickly..."

He sits up on his knees and leans down, pressing his lips to a fevered forehead. "Someone is going to pay for this. You need to wake up so you can enjoy their fall."

Cyril watches and for just a moment feels an odd pang of jealousy. It passes quickly though, easily overcome with the worry that had been so present since Sam had called him to tell him something was wrong.

"He's going to be so pissed off that he couldn't kill them himself," he comments lightly. He doesn't know if Merrick will actually be in a state to feel that way once he comes back, but it's hard to imagine him waking and being anything other than angry.

That makes the corners of Metaari's lips twitch into a faint smile before it fades again just as quickly and he lets out a breath, pushing himself up to his feet. "Well, I suppose I'd best go find myself a chair. What can I get you from the kitchens?"

He isn't just stopping by for a short visit, here. He plans on being in this for the long haul, and he isn't about to be uncomfortable during it.

He shook his head at the offer. He didn't think he could really stomach anything right now. It is not, however, a denial for Metaari to stay. What he says next lets Metaari know he's welcome to stay.

"Just get yourself whatever you need. You should grab some blankets as well. It gets rather drafty in here." It was bound to happen since they had a room with holes in the walls.

As soon as Metaari leaves the room Merrick begins to stir. His brow furrows and he makes a distressed sound, one hand opening and closing its fingers in a jerky motion.

Cyril gets up and goes to Merrick. "Hey, you're okay," he says. He puts a hand on Merrick's forehead, moving wet hair off of his face. "You're okay," he repeats, his voice low.

He really isn't sure if he believes that, or if Merrick can hear him or respond at all. He wants this to be a sign that he's waking. He almost thinks about calling after Metaari to get him back into the room sooner.

He isn't gone terribly long. The easiest part was finding the blankets. Convincing the kitchens to let him walk out with a small basket of food (bread, a few fruits, plus a small covered pot of stew) was a little bit more difficult. Mentioning that it was for energy for people staying in a sick room did the trick. Finding an unoccupied chair proved to be the most difficult part of it all, and Metaari had to resort to looming over someone until they got up so he could nab it.

But he's back once he has everything, the blankets thrown around his shoulders and the chair and basket in either hand. He has to back into the door to open it but he eventually manages it, finally putting everything down near the bed. One of the blankets gets dropped around Cyril's shoulders before he lowers himself into his chair at Merrick's side with a faint sigh, setting the food on the floor. "There." He pauses, frowning, as he gives Cyril a closer gaze. "Did something happen?"

Merrick lets out another faint whimper, and his body curves toward Metaari. His stress seems to lessen slightly now that he's returned.

Cyril looks up at Metaari when Merrick moves to him. This time, the jealousy sticks in his throat. He feels very selfish for it though, and swallows hard.

"He didn't like that you left," he says, because that's really the only way he can think to describe it. "Come over here. See if you can get him to react to your voice." He focuses on that possibility more than the weird possessiveness that keeps cropping up. He needs his brother awake and well, he can worry about his silly feelings later.

Edited 2016-02-10 05:36 (UTC)

Metaari shifts closer, pulls his chair up right next to the bed, his eyes slightly wide. There's a glimmer of hope behind them when he looks up toward Cyril with the same thought. Had he really had such an effect? Something like that even being possible...

But still, the reaction alone is enough to say that Merrick is still desperately clinging, fighting to be here. Metaari reaches out for Merrick, lets their hands twin together as he places his other on that sweaty forehead. "Merrick? It's alright. I'm here. I won't go anywhere again if you don't want me to."

It's obvious that Merrick isn't fully conscious or anywhere near it, but he responds to Metaari instinctively. He clutches Metaari's hand and his breathing slows at the sound of his voice.

The flood of emotion at that is overpowering. Cyril makes a noise as his breath is choked out of his throat. That Merrick is responding is wonderful but there is that jealousy again, gripping his heart.

He looks up at Metaari wondering why this new presence could get so much more out of Merrick when he's been sitting in this room this whole time without being able to get so much as a groan.

He pushes that aside because he can't comprehend what it means. "You did it," he says. "He's reacting to you."

He's torn between wanting to hug Metaari and wanting to hit him.

Please don't hit him. He would much rather have a hug.

The implications of it all are almost too much for Metaari to handle. Merrick is unconscious. He's sick and out of it and yet still, somehow, he knows that Metaari is there. He squeezes Merrick's hand back, at a loss for words.

His jaw works in silence for a moment before he tightens it. The muscles in his neck visibly flex as he seems to swallow some intangible thing down and he closes his eyes, tight, in an attempt to keep the flood gates on lock down.

"You'll wake up, Merrick. You have to. There are people out here waiting for you. And we-- I have so much to say." The last part comes out at a bare whisper, as though Metaari's voice gave out halfway through what he was saying, and he sucks in a slow breath before sitting back. The hand on Merrick's forehead draws away, but the one tangled with his fingers remains firmly in place.

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