There were so many reasons for Irilen to be sad at this moment, but all she felt was the burden of her labored breathing. For weeks now, taking a breath of air was exhausting, and every new inhale only caused the effects to worsen. Deemed bedridden, Irilen had little she could do but drift back and forth between sleep and consciousness, for even moving her arm was a terribly daunting task in her state. Therefore, speaking was the easiest thing to do above all besides napping.
Over everything she was aware of, Irilen knew her days were numbered.
The look in Fenris's eyes gave everything away. The disease was incurable, and it was a slow death to sentence on an thirteen-year-old girl. Ever since that day, her father never looked at her quite the same way, and she understood perfectly why he would do so. Ever since she had run away, he had strived to take back her trust in him. As far as she knew, he would always be injured by what both she and her brother did, even though his blame only lay on her sibling's shoulders. Her older brother, Andrian, had lied to her, convincing her that their father and mother never cared for Irilen in the slightest and claiming that he was the favored child.
Of course it had taken many years of abuse and manipulation in order to fully convince the poor girl, but when he had succeeded Irilen's whole world split in two. Confronting her parents about her feelings brought about no compromise, for Andrian then lied again to them in order to keep his secret safe. Running away was the only choice Irilen thought she had, straight into the hands of Templar spies. They rescued her from their grasp, but Irilen was already infected with the poison carrying the disease, even though it took two years to surface.
She hadn't seen Andrian since then. Despite all she wanted to tell him, he had gone to become a young brother at the chantry, hoping to repent his sins against his sister and live a life of solitude. He frequently sent letters to the family, even though Fenris refused to look at them, and told of his life in the ways of the maker. Irilen would have responded if not for her crippling ailment, and no matter how much she begged Andrian to come and visit, he would always refuse.
She knew why, she always had known. Fenris's hatred-fueled anger always had a way of keeping Andrian away from the house, even though he had repented his sins long ago. Irilen tried to stave away the burning rage that her father felt towards her brother, but she would never be able to repair the trust between them.
Fenris loved his son, but how many lies had Andrian said in order to cover his love in so much resentment?
A quiet knock on the door interrupted her silent meditation as she answered with a small 'come in'. Careful as to not make a racket with the old door, a tall lithe figure stepped softly into the room carrying a large bundle of wood. Sweeping over to the open fireplace, the man dispensed the fat logs into the hearth and adjusted their arrangement before moving towards her. Despite the weary look in his eyes, he smiled at her before sitting down carefully on the side of her bed.
"Is there anything you wish of me, little one?" He asked quietly, holding her limp hand in his palm.
"No Father, I am fine for now" she responded, barely above a whisper in the incredibly warm room. All of her energy had been focused on breathing, not producing heat.
A worried expression crossed the man's face." Are you certain? Are you not hungry by now? Your last meal was two days ago. I can go see that something is made" he asked cautiously, scanning her for any signs of pain in her weakened condition.
"Father, I am perfectly content now," Irilen sighed," please, stay here and calm yourself."
His green eyes flickered across her identical pair and closed tightly. He knew that there was no way to save his daughter, but she had kept secrets from him in the past that he did not want to go through again. For two years now he had worked tirelessly to gain back a relationship he lost, and now in her time of need, he needed her more than anyone.
"Very well, but please tell me of anything you want. I just hope for you to be happy," He said desperately," I'm just-"
"Father, please" Irilen exasperated, rising out of her position against the pillows only to fall back again after an agonizing pain ripped through her core. Her whole body shivered and twitched out of control while her breathing became fast and ragged, each spasm sending another excruciating wave of torture coursing through her body. Her father was there in an instant, pressing her tightly against his chest in order to cease the fits of twitching and shaking that followed any time she used her muscles to move her abdomen. Slowly the spasms ceased and Fenris gently laid her down on the pillow, swiping away the dark hair from her eyes.
The compulsions were getting worse, far worse.
"Why do I always forget," She said weakly, giving a meager smile in return for his somber gaze. Even though he tried with all of his effort to make her currant struggle as easy as he could, not all pains could be wiped away. Fenris never cried even in the worst of times, and Irilen suspected that it had to do from his time in bondage. He was a battle-hardened man; strong willed and brave, and she had known that ever since she was a tiny child. But that fact still could not cover up the radiating despair that pooled in his eyes. All she wanted to do was relieve his own pain, not hers. But she knew that her wish could never be granted as long as she was condemned for death.
Leaning against his knees, Fenris looked into the hearth as his lyrium-branded figure was bathed in a warm glow, showcasing the dark circles under his eyes. Every day he fought a battle he couldn't win. Each night he protected a priceless fragment of his heart, painfully aware that it's rhythm would slow and cease to beat one day. This war he could not win, and this beat he could not keep, but that didn't mean that he could not savor it while he still had the chance.
"Anything; I will find a way to get it to you. Anything" He whispered, hanging his head in his hands as he looked silently into the fire. He had already taken away so much of what she deserved, somehow he had to pay it back.
"If I had a copper for every wish I wanted, I would be a beggar on the streets" Irilen responded, a glint of humor in her usually quiet demeanor.
"If I had a copper for every wish I wanted, I would toss every last one into the Waking Sea and join you," he said confidently, shifting his view to her and smiling slyly.
"See, I knew you were still there. I thought I'd better catch you before you started brooding again like Mother always says."
"Is that so?" He questioned "Then I'd better get started."
"Oh no you don't!" Irilen added daringly before reaching up to tickle his thigh, one of few places she knew made him laugh uncontrollably. He batted her hand away, returning her gesture with one of his own while failing to resist chuckling at her actions. Shrugging her shoulders, Irilen tried to work his hand away from the nape of her neck as well as trying to suppress her giggling, but his hand was far too strong to allow her to do such a thing. Her laughter slowly escaladed until her eyes filled with tears of mirth.
"Stop it Father, stop it!" she shrieked suddenly, her hands and feet beginning to shake again. Once more, he held her body tightly in his arms as the violent surges of agony and compulsion ravaged her thin frame. Desperately trying to calm the relentless tides of pain that crashed down on his little girl's hopeless form.
The pain didn't stop there this time.
Her throat seized up and dried, forcing Irilen to spiral into a torrent of desperate gasping and coughing. Her body froze, and she soon found herself unable to even turn her head while her father, still holding her tightly in his grasp, yelled out for help.
No more than five minutes had gone by before Hawke ran into the sweltering bedroom carrying a small vial of dark blue liquid. Holding open her mouth, she lightly poured in the elixir, trying to convince Irilen to swallow the vile-tasting substance. Lying her down onto the mattress a second time, the coughing stopped immediately.
Irilen didn't make any move. Her eyes closed, pouring her focus into her still rough breathing and concentrating on gaining control of her heaving body. Neither parent made a move until Fenris bent down beside her, kissing her forehead tenderly and rubbing her shoulder until she had control of her lungs and her voice.
"Is there anything you wish of me, little one?" He asked, his voice barely audible in the dying light of the fire.
"I…need rest," she breathed, opening her eyes to gaze into the deep emerald orbs of her father. The light was fading faster, and images soon blurred together as the light slowly dimmed.
"Very well," he said softly, his deep tone soothing her tense figure," good night, Irilen."
Her eyes closed once again, and she found her senses being numbed by the sweet oblivion of unconsciousness known as sleep. Leaning over, he placed one last kiss on her cheek, relishing in the feel of her presence before standing and following his wife out of the little room. Looking back, his eyes swept over her frail form, peacefully resting under the warm sheets as if there were nothing wrong at all. However much he wanted to run back into the room and stay by her bedside, Fenris let her rest alone.
"I will always be by your side." He whispered, letting a single tear fall from his eyes as he closed the old oak door.
His beautiful green eyes were the last things that Irilen ever saw.
...The Next Day...
A bright light poured in through the windows, stirring Hawke from her blissful slumber. The hazy sunlight did nothing to eliminate Hawke's overwhelming sense of tiredness, most likely because she had stayed up late in the night (again) worrying desperately about her daughter. Hawke always considered herself a night-lover, ever since her days of sneaking out at twilight to raid a mansion in Kirkwall or investigate a disappearance had gone by. In this time of her life, however, the nighttime was her enemy. If Irilen got too cold during her sleep, there was a high chance that she would not wake up again. Perhaps if Irilen went down into another coma, like she had done so a fortnight ago, they would have no way of knowing the cause. But the fact still remained that mornings brought no comfort for the couple either, for they never did know what they would find in the tiny bedroom that belonged to their dying child.
Steadying herself as she stood and slowly dressed, Hawke went over a mental checklist to be sure that she had not missed anything the previous day. Seeing that all requirements were met, she quickly came up with a brand-new checklist, however this had to be slightly adjusted with the arrival of Bethany, who insisted on seeing her niece before she went to the next life. Brushing aside her short, cropped hair, Hawke left the room, careful not to disturb her husband from his uneasy slumber. Another day had come, and Irilen had mentioned that she was looking forward to seeing her favorite aunt again.
But something felt different. Something felt, sadder.
Setting aside this blatant inference, Hawke focused her mind on other things before she dared wake her daughter from her chamber. Heading down to the kitchen, Hawke prepared a large breakfast for herself and her spouse (setting aside some cheese and two strips of bacon for Irilen) and got about her daily morning chores. Sweeping the floor, washing the tabletop, beating the rug, and feeding wood to the fireplace, Hawke was exhausted with her duties before she even bothered to wake the rest of the house.
Grabbing three of the thickest logs she had, Hawke lugged her load carefully up the stairs. It was no easy feat, however these hunks of wood were primarily what kept her daughter alive, so she offered no complaint to her work. Setting two of the logs on the ground to prevent them from knocking loudly against the door, Hawke gently rapped on the oak slab and turned the handle, not surprised at finding no response from her sleeping child.
She glided carefully into the room, avoiding certain floorboards, which she knew had an awful creak to them, and set the log firmly in the middle of the dead hearth. Taking out her trusty flint match and setting the wood ablaze, Hawke turned to the window and opened the curtains, letting the full force of the sunshine land right where the little body was resting.
Strange, that usually wakes her up in no time.
A terrible sense of unease filled Hawke, and despite the fact that she wished to dash out of the room and forget about this morning, that horrible curiosity made her bare feet walk ever so slowly to where Irilen lay. Had she gone into another coma? Could it be that the disease has taken its toll on her eyesight? So many hideous questions filled Hawke's head, and any one of them could be the case.
Her thin frame was curled over by the side of the mattress, almost falling off of the surface, and her left hand dangled over the edge limply. Her dark brown hair fell over her face, shielding her green eyes from view, and part of the blanket had been pulled back with some obvious effort on her behalf. The other arm seemed to be tucked tightly against Irilen's body, frozen in place by hours of pressure, and her lightly tanned skin was terribly pale. But the strangest thing was what was on the ground below her right hand, and it only led to one conclusion.
A stick of charcoal, used for learning how to write.
"She must've tried to write something down in the night." Hawke said aloud, hoping both to comfort herself and to possibly stir her child from a very deep sleep. Searching the ground, Hawke was not able to find anything besides the thin shaft, however it was not the only place she could look.
Lowering herself down from the bedside, she managed to squeeze part of her head and shoulders under the narrow headboard. It was strange that she would wish to write something down in the middle of the night, but what mattered was being able to find it. Seeing no paper under the bed, Hawke wiggled herself out of the tight position and sat up.
The nightstand. It had to be there.
Cautiously leaning over towards the little table, sure enough, a roughly folded sheet of parchment sat harmlessly on top of the wooden surface. Nothing good can come of this, Hawke thought, desperately wishing that it would be blank and that she would be able to go on without the burden of whatever lay on it's tan sheet. Reluctantly and hesitantly, Hawke picked up the little piece of paper, holding it delicately in her hands while she studied the exterior for any signs of blood. The outside was perfectly smooth, but as she unfolded the parchment, a new sense of fear came through her, forcing her to close her eyes while the page cracked and the crease faded.
You will never be alone again. Ever.
The message was not intended for her, it was intended for Fenris.
Horror overwhelmed Hawke, causing her to run to the bedside and grab hold of Irilen's shoulder roughly. She recoiled when her hand touched the girl's skin, as the clammy texture of it was as cold as ice. Her eyes widened and she shook Irilen even harder, surges of tears rolling down her face and splashing onto Irilen's frozen body. But no matter how hard she shook, or slapped, or kissed her forehead, her child's eyes would not open.
"Irilen, wake up. Please darling, WAKE UP!" Hawke ordered, desperately trying to prove herself wrong, that everything was fine, that her daughter still had a chance. Her protests did nothing to change what had already taken place, and Hawke hugged her little girl's lifeless body tightly in her arms, unwilling to hold back the anger and hopeless grief that poured out of her.
There was no chance. She never had a chance, and now she was gone.
An agonizing scream escaped Hawke's lips, letting go of all the pain and hate she felt towards the ones who dared touch her beautiful child and who brought that horrid curse upon her family. In that one cry, she established the recognition of yet another family member lost to her, the one member of her life that meant more to her than anything else in Thedas. All of her efforts, no matter how hard she tried, were doomed from the beginning. Though she had always known this ending to the tale, she could never imagine what dark despair would emerge once the pages closed.
Fenris sat bolt upright in bed, cold sweat beading on his face and drenching the sheets beneath him as his finely tuned ears heard the lamenting shriek of a woman's voice. It had to be Hawke; Irilen doesn't have the energy nowadays to even breathe much less scream at the top of her lungs, Fenris thought to himself as he struggled to get dressed, pull on a shirt and sprint down the hallway. What could've gone wrong? What caused my wife so much distress?
He froze. It had to be the one conclusion.