faderift | CLOSED - So here I stumble home to you to find the words to use

Entry tags:

CLOSED - So here I stumble home to you to find the words to use

WHO: Pel, Anders, and Cyril.
WHAT: The turmoil in Skyhold causes an elf to suffer the consequences.
WHEN: Present, evening
WHERE: Skyhold
NOTES: TW: Violence. Someone is attacked and beaten. This is not within public knowledge yet.

The worst thing is that she could have been fighting the entire time. Maybe. If she'd just...thought about it. It's not that she couldn't do anything, it's that she didn't.

He grabbed her from behind and slammed her against a wall. Twice. Then he flipped her around and started hitting her while she didn't even make a sound. Screaming has been conditioned out of her since she can remember. It draws unwanted attention. Human attention. If she had screamed, she could have brought more attackers to the fold. Creators forbid she had used magic against him, or he could have claimed he was defending himself. But there must have been something she could have done.

It was the man's commanding officer who tackled him and brought him down, allowing her to escape. She fade-stepped as far away as she could, then stumbled in the direction of the healing tents. In the gloaming, nobody could see how hurt she was, nor how shaken. There was only one tent she could go to.

Anders' tent has less traffic than it once had, and is unoccupied now but for the healer himself. It's the safest, most private place for her to go for healing. She's not thinking about...well, much of anything, but certainly not her own life. She's oddly driven by how many people need to not know about this.

She has no idea how she looks. Not so very bad, compared to how she'll look when the bruising and swelling catches up. There's pain, but she barely knows it. Hard to breathe, but she's not sure if it's adrenaline or something else. Something for certain is that there is blood running down from her forehead, from her lip, welling into abrasions on the side of her face.

Knees buckle as she arrives, and she sits down hard on the floor of the tent, eyes glassy.

"I'm actually fine," she announces in a voice that is strangely calm, but for a tremor that almost sounds like bleating.

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

"Actually fine," he repeats in a tone of voice that asks her if she thinks he's an idiot. There's only blood on her face and she's dropped to the floor of his tent. Yes, that's perfectly fine.

Anders kneels down next to her and places a hand under her chin, casting, trying to get an idea of what damage has been done to her head first before the rest.

"Keep breathing for me, all right? Through your mouth, though." Her nose is broken and that's easy to see even without Creation magic, though the good news is he's not finding a concussion. There are other breaks and bruises that he and Justice find together, and he can feel Justice's cold certainty that a wrong has been done here that must be mended here, and dealt with elsewhere. He'll ease the latter drive later. Pel's injuries come first. And the broken clavicle comes above everything else.

Anders closes his eyes and focuses inward, hands glowing green as he and Justice got to work. Knitting the thicker bones back together without leaving sharp pieces was one of the more complicated things he'd mastered, and it still took a little time.

Opening her mouth makes blood drip into it. She spits, trying to keep it out of Anders' face, at least. Really nothing is so impossible, though, as moving her head. Or...anything else above the waist. Every movement, even stillness makes something hurt horribly at the base of her neck, near her shoulder. She impacted with the wall there. Twice.

"I'm fine," she repeats. "I'm cold though," she guesses aloud. That must be why she's shaking so hard. Maybe if he gives her a blanket, she'll stop.

If Merrick wasn't away, she would never be able to come here.

She comes as a wolf because it's the only way she feels safe travelling, even across Skyhold. From the healing tents to Cyril's quarters, ears twitching toward every noise. Once at his door, she whines and paws at the wood, whimpering just loud enough to draw his attention.

Cyril isn't sleeping because it's hard for him to sleep without Merrick around. He hears the movement outside of his door and gets up to open the door. He seems surprised by the appearance of the wolf.

"Cold," he echoes, fitting that word into the space that comes from working this closely with Justice on injuries. People, especially the injured, needed to be warm, not cold. Anders splits his attention so he can grab one of the blankets from the corner and gently try to wrap it around her, moving slowly so the process of healing isn't interrupted. The blood spatter on his robes doesn't matter so much, nor does blood getting on the blanket itself. He's a healer. He knows how to deal with bloodstains.

"You're not fine. Don't argue with the healer." But he does need to keep her talking, or trying to do so, to lessen the risk of shock. Anders gently wipes some of the blood away from her mouth with a corner of the blanket, searching for topics that won't set Justice off. "How are the gardens?" There. That should do it.

The wolf walks in like a tame dog, then suddenly becomes...Pel, on all fours, disheveled and pale, one eye swollen shut, face beaten and bruised. She flips into a sitting position and presses her back to the wall.

"Don't call anyone," she slurs. "Already seen a healer."

Cyril is instantly there, mouth open, but then Pel speaks and cuts him off. "What happened?!" he asks after a moment. He gently touches her as he comes closer.

The gardens? The gardens, of all things? She has no idea how the gardens are. Until this moment, she'd forgotten there are gardens. How is she supposed to educate him now? It angers her, but at least she knows it's irrational to be angry at him.

An involuntary shudder causes her to cry out in pain. The fracture in her clavicle has been incredibly painful, but she's only now becoming aware of it. The veil between her and the rest of the world is still obscuring everything else.

"Iss fine," she slurs, mouth too badly beaten to enunciate properly. She pauses, swallows, and tries again, more slowly. "The garden is fine. Sina...someone needs to make sure Sina's all right. He attacked b'cause...he said... Is Nahariel guarding Sina? No wait--he was taken away already. I promise I can...be coherent if I try. I'm just thinking."

She stiffens at the touch and raises a hand.

"Don't...don't touch yet. Um. He...I wasn't raped, if that's what you're worried about. Just some soldier who thought elves and elf mages can't be trusted. I'm fine, he was stopped and taken away, but I need to lie low for a bit. I don't want anyone to see me like this."

Cyril pulls back automatically and listens to what she has to say. He looks horrified and angry. He curses in elven and then focuses on her again. "You said you say a healer? Who?"

"Anders. What I need...can you help me ta-take a bath? I can still smell him everywh--"

The breath all goes out of her at once. She squeezes her eyes shut, not daring to breathe lest she start crying.

"Hang on." She's feeling it now, going by the cry, and he stops to step quickly to the counter and find something for the pain. It's only going to cause more problems, and if she can relax just a little it will help her as well.

"Drink this," he says gently, holding the potion up to her lips. "It's going to ease the pain." A guard taken away? The name sounds Dalish, too. Does this have anything to do with the claims of another elf being locked up? ...He can't afford to get worked up on this. Adelaide had been right, and they need to focus on the elf in front of them.

Once she's had a sip he can resume work, making sure no bone fragments get away, starting to work on the other injuries as he can divide his attention. The nose is the next project, once the potion's had the short time it needs to start working.

The potion is a horrible thing to swallow, but it's not long before she starts feeling calmer and warmer. That's at least as important as the pain easing up. When he sets her nose, though, it's difficult to remain still and calm. When he's finished, there are tears in her eyes.

"Listen," she whispers, finally having thought through what she needs to communicate. "The man who attacked me was dragged off by a superior. I heard something about him being put in a cell. If it gets out that an Inquisition soldier attacked an elf mage for being an elf mage, my people will go mad. Even though he was stopped by the Inquisition's people. This has to be kept secret."

"Yes. Of course," he says, focusing on her needs and wants first is important. "I'll go get some water. Are you going to be okay waiting while I do?"

She nods, breathing stilted, slowly gaining control over herself.

He comforts her for a moment before he pulls away to get the water. He's careful to be quick and when he comes back with it he checks on her first.

When he returns, she's a silver wolf again, huddled by the fire with eyes closed. His return wakes her, and she lifts her head and changes back into an elf once the door is closed.

"Sorry, I just...feel safer as a wolf." She rubs her eyes.

"You don't have to explain," Cyril says. "I'd imagine having those fangs would make you feel better." He goes over to her and carefully touches her arm. "Any chance you can heat up the water? Then I'll wash you and use some of my oils to help with any lingering ache."

She nods, uncurling and passing her hand over the water. After a moment, steam begins to rise from it. Then begins the difficult task of undressing. Anders healed the fracture to her clavicle, but there is still bad bruising there and at her ribs. The break in her nose was also healed, but it is swollen and crusted with blood. And there's sweat, both hers and her attacker's.

"Cy..." She needs his help undressing. Her throat has closed, tightening her word into a croak.

He's there to help her. "It's all right, Pel. You're safe. I'm here to help you with whatever you need. He has no shame in seeing her body, they're family after all, but seeing her wounds is upsetting. At least he's managing to control his anger in favor of focusing on her needs.

It's a long, painful process, stripping and bathing. Seeing the marks on herself brings home what happened, how terrifying it was, and how helpless she felt. How helpless she still is, in the face of everything. She thought a fearsome reputation would protect her, or respect among her peers, or her work for the Inquisition. It turns out she's no cleverer or braver than any other elf, and she hasn't figured out the trick to keeping alive in a world that loves to kill elves. Hot tears roll down her cheeks as the sponge scalds her brutalized flesh.

But when it's done, she feels better. She dresses in one of Merrick's clean shirts and moves to settle gingerly against Cyril.

"He said," she says quietly, "that the Inquisition is arresting elves and elf mages. He said we can't be trusted."

For being an elf mage. She's been beaten for being an elf mage and he can feel Justice's fury as white noise in his ears. But she's also asking for confidence as a patient and that's one thing he works so hard to give. What justice means to her is her call. Not his. Justice thinks she's making a foolish decision, a weak one, but Justice isn't the one in charge here. Not right now.

Anders takes a slow breath, closing his eyes for a moment before he nods. Let Justice rail all he wants. Anders will avoid sleeping with anyone for a few days, get up earlier, all the little things that the spirit wants, and Justice will settle down, be appeased. More or less.

"All right," he finally says before reopening his eyes. "I'll tell no one." He won't even ask for a name that would lead to that man potentially never touching a mage again. "But let me heal you, and tell me you'll rest after. Here, or somewhere safe, where he can't find you again or you've someone to watch your back."

The breaks are mended; he starts to work on the lesser injuries. The man had done a number on her, and he could only hope the man soon met a bear. Or ten.

She shakes her head.

"His captain, I think, tackled him right off me. I'm the one who escaped, not him. But I get what you mean. I'll find my cousin."

"Cousin will do." It doesn't make Anders less frustrated, but at least she'll have someone watching over her. His magic has made a difference, and hopefully his suggestion will too.

Scalp and lip are more surface injuries than anything else, but they often carry a mental weight so they're next. He grabs a clean cloth to dab away the blood once the scalp wound is closed, confirming with his eyes that it's gone, before finishing with her lip.

"You've still more than a few bruises and scrapes. They tend to take more time to mend, which is not a problem for me. I've the time. But I want to know if you feel secure enough here for the healing."

Anyone could come into the tents, and if she's trying to avoid people knowing, then this isn't the best place.

Every mark, ever sign that he is in pain, fills Cyril with a cold, quiet sort of rage. He had told them that something like this would happen. He had known they were all in danger. He hated more than anything that his cousin was the one to suffer through it. He would have rather been the one to be targeted.

"I warned them," he said. He was careful to do whatever he could to soothe her, carefully cleaning her and applying the oil. "We have to tell the leaders. They have to know what their choices have done."

She doesn't respond for a moment, fighting internally with what that means. Being paraded in front of those people to tell them what happened, risking the news getting out, getting to Merrick. She wants to be done with this already. She wants to get through it and pretend it never happened.

"You're right," she croaks. "I don't want you to be right, but you're right. I don't want to deal with this again. I want it to be done."

"We might have to tell Leliana. She was very responsive when I spoke to her last and she's very good at keeping things under wraps."

She struggles to breathe without crying, simply leaning against him and burying her face in his shoulder.

"He came out of nowhere, Cy. And I didn't do anything. I didn't fight him at all. He could've killed me and I wouldn't've even put up a fight."

Cyril wraps his arm around her and reaches up to soothe her. The thought that they almost lost her is painful but it's worse knowing it was someone who should be an ally. "You're safe now."

She curls close against him, holding her breath...and it releases with a sob. She starts crying for real now, harsh sobs wracking her, arms circling his neck.

But it doesn't last long. The strongest storms are the shortest.

After, she just keeps hold of him, drifting on a calming sea. And she doesn't say anything, but she eventually can be eased flat as she falls asleep.

He keeps his arms around her, giving her a safe place to sob without judgement. He rubs her back lightly to calm her. When he realizes she's asleep he carefully moves to tuck her into their bed.

He's still furious, but he's there for her to watch over her and help he with any possible bad dreams.

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

CLOSED - So here I stumble home to you to find the words to use

no subject

no subject

Cyril

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject