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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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"Zevran was taken by the people who attacked you," Cyril replied honestly because he knew that Merrick hated it when people were indirect. "They sent a rescue party after him."

Even just that little bit of movement exhausts Merrick. He sags back down onto the bed, feeling sick and worn out as if he'd run a marathon. He's frustrated beyond belief, his skin prickling it-- frustrated that he'd been bested so easily, frustrated that he'd allowed people to steal Zevran right out from under his nose, frustrated that he can't do anything to get him back...

"Damn it," he grinds out between his teeth, and presses his free hand against his face.

Edited 2016-02-14 08:16 (UTC)

"His rescue is in good hands. It almost felt like half of the Inquisition went after him." Metaari probably would have gone if he'd been here, would have went after the people who had done this to Merrick in the first place.

But then, maybe it's for the best that he hadn't.

"You need to worry about yourself for now."

Cyril moves to the bed next to Merrick and puts a hand on his arm. "You're still alive," he says. "You were poisoned. It... it was a little touch and go."

Their words would have ordinarily been enough, but Merrick is far more vulnerable than usual. He's in pain, exhausted, and confused. He lets out a ragged, frustrated groan, the hand covering his face now digging nails into his skin.

The hand in Metaari's starts to tremble, and Merrick presses his teeth into his lip, sinking further into his own head.

The tent flap twitches aside. Pel comes back in.

"All right. The healer will be here before long, but in the meantime she says he needs water."

She takes the cup of water and moves her fingers over it. Then she pokes her fingers into the cup and pulls out a chip of ice and wraps it in an elfroot leaf. She touches it to Merrick's lips.

"Here, da'len." The herb will help pain and nausea, and the ice will be easier to take than straight water--a tip from the healer.

The moment he starts to feel that hand quaver he grips it tighter. The only way he'd be leaving now would be if he were forcibly removed--or if Merrick told him to, he supposes.

His eyes flicker up when Pel returns and he watches her, how careful she is. Merrick has so much support in his life, it's easy to start to feel like an intruder. But his resolve is solid and he clenches his jaw a little tighter.

There's a moment where he hesitates, because there are people and Merrick's awake now, but he pushes it aside so that he can lift that hand, his lips going to the knuckles in a light brush. Stay here.

Cyril can tell that Merrick is close to slipping away. He sits up a bit straighter and focuses on Pel, sharing a look between her that tells her they should be ready for anything from him.

He watches Metaari too, because he needs to make sure that he doesn't do anything to upset Merrick more, but his touch is as gentle as ever.

"Stay with us, da'mi," he says softly. It's very rare for him to say that name with anyone other than clanmates around. It's meant just for him and Merrick and he prefers that strangers not hear it. Metaari has gone far past being a stranger though, by this point. As he speaks, he reaches up and takes the other hand. He's very gentle though, so Merrick can pull it away if he needs. It's much less about restraining him at this point as encouraging him to make the choice to not hurt himself. He lets go to allow him to take what Pel is giving him.

"Pel has something to make you feel better and it's just the two of us and Metaari here. You're safe. You don't have to go away."

Edited 2016-02-15 04:15 (UTC)

When Pel comes in Merrick visibly relaxes, but only a fraction. In a show of utmost trust, he lets her put the ice to his lips. He's still trembling, but he manages to get some of the water down his throat without heaving.

The presences around him are all calming in their own way. He hears the endearments, da'len, da'mi, feels the brush of lips against his hand. All of this--along with his own exhaustion--causes tension to leave his body in inches.

He stops biting his lip, but a droplet of blood slides down his chin from where he'd punctured it.

Pel's eyes flick up to Cyril and Metaari, and she remember what she learned from the time of the plague--that while it is most important to meet the needs of the ill, it is also important for all loved ones to feel useful. She hands the cup full of ice chips to Metaari, who is newest to this circle.

"Here. One chip at a time."

She moves to the head of the bed, touching Merrick's hair and cradling his head.

What perfect timing. Metaari was just about to defer to the two of them, to ask what he should be doing to help. He needs to help. He felt useless enough already when he heard about what happen, the feeling alleviated only slightly when Merrick had responded to his presence. But this was something he could do.

He really should have paid more attention when Shavera would heal the company...

He sets the cup down next to him as he takes it from her, casting her a thankful glance as he does, so that he doesn't have to release Merrick's hand but can still work. He pulls one out and presses the cold chip to Merrick's lip. "Here..."

Cyril rubs Merrick's back while Pel holds him and Metaari offers him the ice chips. Merrick has stopped trembling so that's a good sign.

"Metaari was here the second that he heard about what happened to you," he says now. He wants to fill Merrick in on a lot, but right now he feels like highlighting how nice it was to have someone tend to Merrick who wasn't part of the family. "He ran straight here and helped Pel and I look after you. Now that I'm thinking about it, it was really cute."

He really wants to give them all something else to focus on too, to make things less dire.

Merrick manages to take in some more water. Some of the blood he'd drawn from his lip ends up on Metaari's fingers, but he isn't in a state to notice. He leans against Pel, breathing in the scent of her hair, slowly relaxing more and more.

It's enough that when he hears Cyril talking, he manages to level a glare at him.

He feels his heart flutter though, just a little. Had Metaari really done that?

"It was really cute," Pel agrees, smiling. Her hand flits down to Merrick's lip to heal where he bit himself. "You found yourself a pretty good one. I'll be watching."

Her smile tightens in Metaari's direction. Not threatening, but she definitely means what she said.

You both suck.

Metaari doesn't embarrass easily, but it's clear the light ribs in his direction get to him, if the slight discoloration of his cheeks is any indication. He glances away, stares at the far side of the room as though there was something particularly interesting on the wall.

"I hate both of you," he finally says, though there's a lightness to his voice all the same, a teasing tone. "I was just making sure Merrick kept his promise. A man's nothing without his word."

Metaari might be embarrassed but it was successful in getting everyone to think about something much more pleasant than Merrick's poisoning.

"You don't hate me," he replied to Metaari's words, grinning a bit. "Just like Merrick doesn't hate me even though he's glaring like he could murder me."

He focuses on Merrick then, and offers his brother a small smile. "We can talk more about it later. I'll share all the details."

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