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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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He had been away when it happened, on a hunting and gathering trip with a few others to restock some of the dwindling food supplies. There were so many soldiers now a few extra trips had been necessary. But there was worry in the eyes of the people in the Hold as he walked through the camp, more than usual, and word of an attack and kidnapping reached his ears soon enough. Metaari was curious, mostly, but when he heard Merrick's name attached to it (poisoned, unconscious, is he going to make it?) his world narrows to a sharp focus.

Tired as he is he still very nearly runs through the camp, making a bee-line for the room he's staying in. It's unceremonious, the way he throws open the closed door, his gaze landing on the bed. "Merri--!"

His voice cuts off when he sees the form seated next to the bed and his urgency deflates from him. Of course someone else would be here, watching over him. But still the worry remains etched across his face even as he hesitates in the doorway. "Sorry. I'm-- I only just heard--" His words fail him and he just stops, his arms dropping down to his sides. Helpless. Useless. What can he do against poison?

There's a soft knock on the door before Sam pokes his head in, not at all surprised to see Cyril still perched on his chair next to the bed, though nonetheless bothered by the sight. Sighing, he enters, making sure to close the door and make as little noise as possible, a small basket in his hand.

Peering at the bed he can see that Merrick was still suffering, but unlike before it was easy to see that he was breathing, even if it was labored. Looking to Cyril, he lightly touches his shoulder with the tips of his fingers, trying to grab his attention without surprising him too much, since he looked rather out of it as well.

"Cyril."

A soft knock on the door, and Nahariel will peek her head in--followed by the rest of her. She's carrying a small loaf of fresh brown bread and a bowl of simple rabbit stew. She didn't know what had happened, only that there was a hubbub, and eventually she had emerged blinking from Sina's small garden tent and asked Sam what had happened.

She didn't know Merrick, but she knew enough of Clan Ashara by now to be concerned for him simply by virtue of association. And, of course, for his caretaker.

If she did what she could for them, perhaps she'd forget to worry for Zevran.

"For the first three days I was sitting with Siuona," she said quietly, "I didn't eat unless Adelaide or one of her students made me."

She had been irritated by having to think about anything besides her clansister, but... eating had given her the energy to better watch over Sina. And so she'd come.

She'll sit crosslegged on the floor beside the bed and tear chunks of bread, setting them in the stew to soak up the meaty broth. After there are enough to cover the top of the bowl, she'll set the remaining loaf in her lap, and lift the bowl towards Cyril, holding it in such a place where he's able to eat easily with one hand, not requiring him to let go of Merrick's hand for even a moment.

Edited 2016-02-06 02:23 (UTC)

Cyril jerks up when the large form comes crashing into the room. His hand automatically goes for a weapon, filled with the need to defend, but then he realizes who it is and watches the huge frame deflate.

"You don't have to apologize," he says, his voice is hoarse. Then, after a moment, "You're Metaari, aren't you?"

Cyril looks up when he hears his name and is surprised to see Sam there. He hadn't heard him come in. "Sam?" he asks. "You came back?" He looks pretty out of it, exhausted but unwilling to close his eyes for longer than a couple seconds.

At first it's not sure that Cyril heard her, but then he reaches out and takes the bread. "Ma serannas," he mutters softly before finally taking his eyes off his brother's form to look at the food.

"You're Nahariel, aren't you?" he asks, trying to figure out who this stranger is. They haven't met, but he knows the names of several of the other Dalish here, and she had mentioned Sina. He was assuming they were from the same Clan.

As she answers, he takes a bite of the food and admittedly feels much better for it.

The question earns Cyril a rather odd look, brows furrowed, lips pulling down into a frown, and his eyes searching the Elf's face in a mixture of concern and unease. "Of course I came back. Why wouldn't I?"

As concerned as he is for Cyril, Sam makes a point in checking on Merrick first, hand reaching up to touch his forehead. It was good that he was no longer ice cold from being out in the snow for so long, but now he was burning up, a fever brought on probably from both the poison and cold. Sighing he puts the basket down and removes the cloth on Merrick's forehead, already warm and dry, and moves to wet it again with the cool water from the bucket.

"Have you been sitting in the chair this entire time?" he asks, putting the cloth back on Merrick's head.

"I don't want him to be alone," Cyril explains by way of answering. "What if he wakes up and is still out of it? He could end up hurting himself." And now that Sam has seen Merrick undressed, he knows that isn't just an empty concern.

"He's in a lot of pain. I don't like the idea of just leaving him to deal with it alone." If he could take any of it onto himself, he would. Merrick would be angry at him for such a thing, but at least he wouldn't be forced to deal with all of it alone.

Cyril watches the way that Sam checks Merrick, waiting to see if Sam has any news.

Sam sighs when he hears Merrick groan a bit, whether from the pain or the comfort of the cool cloth though was to be seen. "He shouldn't be alone, but that doesn't mean you should be the only one watching him. Being out of it because of a lack of sleep isn't going to help if he does wake up and starts to hurt himself... or even you." He turns and looks at Cyril then, a mixture of personal concern and healer's duty on his face.

After a few moments Sam sighs, bringing a hand up to rub at his face at the way Cyril is looking at him. "He still has a very high fever. We need to make sure he's being cooled down safely. He's sweating a lot so we should wipe him down, and get fresh clothes and bed clothes."

Metaari steps further into the room, letting the door fall closed behind him as he does. His feet are light against the floor, almost nonexistent, as though he fears any more sounds could disturb the healing process. His eyes fall to Merrick's face when he gets close enough to see him and he stops moving, swallowing thickly with a vague sort of nod at the question. "Yeah. Yeah, that's me."

But then it really pierces the fog quickly surrounding his mind and he blinks a few times, finally dragging his gaze away to really give Cyril a look. "How did-- scratch that. You are?"

"I'm Cyril," he explains. After a moment, he unfolds his body a bit and scoots his chair over to give Metaari room to sit by the bed. "Come closer. Maybe hearing your voice will help him."

He wishes that they had met under different circumstances, but he is relieved to see that Metaari came here straight after hearing. When he has the mindset think about it, the fact that he barged into the room would be something he'd appreciate too.

"He would never hurt me," Cyril says automatically, and honestly he's a little offended that Sam would even say such a thing. He doesn't have the energy to argue though so instead he focuses on the directions.

"Show me what to do," he says. "I'll make sure it gets done."

"I'm not suggesting he would do it on purpose." Sam can see that Cyril is offended by that, but he's staying firm on what he said. It was clear to see how close Cyril and Merrick were, and he had no doubt that normally Merrick would not harm Cyril. Right now though? Merrick might not be of his right mind when he woke up, or might not be able to control his strength if he struggled like Cyril had suggested.

Cyril needed to get up and move, and eat something first. For a moment Sam stares, trying to figure out a way to say it that wouldn't have Cyril getting upset at him further. "If you could get a clean set of his clothes and another rag."

Cyril nods. He's not so offended that he won't do what Sam says. Honestly, Sam's suggestions are one of the few that could get him to stand up and move. He trusts Sam's expertise in the manner and trusts that Sam will only do what is best for Merrick.

Getting a new pair of clothes and rags is simple as well. His body aches a bit as he moves it because he's been in one spot for too long. It feels good to stretch for a bit.

He brings the clothes back over to Sam and looks up at him. "Should we change him?" he asks. He frowns a bit. He knows that Merrick wouldn't really want someone to see him exposed over and over. Sam had already seen him once, but seeing him again might be too much. "Or maybe I can and then you can help with the cloths?"

As Cyril moves to grab the items, Sam purposefully moves the chair back away from the bed, half because they would need the space and half because it would not tempt Cyril to sit back down once he came back. He's slow to answer at the question, noting the way Cyril frowns after doing so. Clearly there was something about stripping Merrick that had the Elf concerned.

"He needs to be wiped down, cleaned up from all the sweat he's been building up. You're going to do that?" Alone? Cyril doing something would help with how inactive he's been, but he doesn't look all that steady himself.

Cyril thought about that for a moment and then nodded. "Yes," he said. That's what Merrick would want. He doesn't care how shakey he feels, he wants to protect his brother. "But you should stay close, in case I need help. That and you can check him over after."

Bruce had heard the gist of what happened from Samouel. News of Zevran's disappearance had reached him too, of course, and as much as Bruce wanted to help he knew that staying in Skyhold was probably the best course of action. Besides - Detlef was with them, and having a healer will be better than a surgeon who wasn't going to be able to magic things better.

This, though, he could at least still do. With a tray of items in hand Bruce makes his way to where Merrick is, knocking softly at the door and speaking just as quietly. "Hello? May I come in?"

If Cyril isn't careful and doesn't start taking care of himself, he's probably going to end up on a bed unable to take care of himself or Merrick. Even so Sam gives a sigh and a nod of his head. Seeing as Cyril said 'close' but didn't say 'outside' Sam simply grabs the chair and moves to the far end of the room, turned so that he can still see Cyril alright, but Merrick was out of his sight.

Cyril looks up at the sound and then nods. "Yes," he says. The human the voice is attached to is very attractive and if Cyril had been in any other mindset he would have taken note of that. As it is, he only really cares about what the human has to offer.

"Are you a healer?"

Cyril makes sure that Sam really is turned to the other direction and then focuses on undressing and cleaning Merrick. It does require a lot more work than he thought, but he manages. He needs to be the one to do this. Pel or Beleth might be able to help if they were here, but for now it was just Cyril.

He wipes Merrick down carefully and then works to get him back into the new clothes. "Okay," he tells Sam. He also sits down on the edge of the bed and bows his head to catch his breath.

"What else?"

"Cyril." He pauses for a second, the name sparking an off-handed mention, and he finally nods as recognition settles in. "Ashara. No wonder you haven't moved." Metaari knows the look of someone dwelling; he's been there himself.

He finally moves next to the bed and lowers himself to the ground beside it, sitting up on his knees to get a closer look at Merrick. He looked-- Metaari closes his eyes for a moment with a faint curse before he opens them again to bring up a hand. There's a gentleness to the touch as he brushes back a bit of wet hair sticking to Merrick's forehead and he glances up, his voice low. "What do we know about what happened?" He's quiet, yes, but there's a frosted edge to his voice. Someone is going to answer for this.

Beleth doesn't bother to knock, but she doesn't slam in, either. She just shows up, looking haggard, and makes a beeline for Merrick. Her fingers ghost over his face gently, then through his hair, touching and feeling to make sure that he's still there, with them. It's terrifying to see him like this, prone and fragile. She kneels down next to the bed, fingers slipping to his hand, gripping it tightly.

"We promised we'd stick together," She whispers to Merrick, eyes intent on his face. Can he hear? It doesn't matter. "Don't break that promise, Merrick, or I won't forgive you."

She pauses for a few moments, staring at him, before she turns to Cyril. "We're going after Zevran. I am. So are others. We're going to be leaving soon, but--I wanted to tell you. And I wanted to see him." Another pause, taking slow breaths. "We're going to find who did this. I'll find them. No matter what."

The white-haired elf in the room with the unconcious Merrick is one that Bruce has seen around a few times but never really talked with. But judging from his weary state and the worry visible on his face, he must be somebody close to Merrick. Another person from Clan Ashara? More than likely.

"A surgeon," he clarifies, just so not to cause any confusion. Bruce steps into the room with his tray, quietly moving to set it down at the bedside table. After he's done that he straightens back up and glances at the unfamiliar elf, continuing to speak. "But I'm not here on business. Unless you need me to look at something...?"

He certainly wouldn't mind doing it - he had heard that the poison Merrick had been afflicted with was rather bad. If he could help in anyway, Bruce would be more than willing to do it.

Katniss is utterly useless at sick-beds. She's got absolutely no bedside manner, she's typically tense at the sight of the blood of others and honestly she tends to be pestimistic about such things. Call it too much time spent within healing tents with Prim. Prim was the one who was good at these sorts of things, and Katniss wished her sister was here.

But it was Merrick.

And Merrick was important, just as Zevran was important. So she went to the kitchen, put together a tray, and went to knock on the door waiting for Cyril to answer. When he did, she offered him the tray.

"I'm Katniss." Is her simple greeting. "I brought you food -- and I came to see if I could figure out what kind of poison it is, so we can make an antidote."

"I am," she replies. "A hunter, from Sina's clan."

She says little else, content to continue to hold up the bowl within easy reach and offer support with her presence. Nahariel wanted to ask after Merrick, but also remembered how the unending inquiries--to which she'd had to answer 'unchanged, unchanged, unchanged' again and again--had nibbled away at her. She was here, that was proof enough of care. If Cyril wanted to talk about it, he could.

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look, what a great time to finally meet Cy

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yeees Bruce <3

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:>

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