On day five of the cough, Solas put his foot down as the one tasked with her healthcare.
Even as the biting chill receded to the relative warmth of the early spring Orlesian heartlands at the base of the Frostbacks, it changed from the occasional hack to a deep, barking convulsion that nearly threw her from Stormhart's saddle. At his insistence, Fen'lath resigned herself to riding in front of Solas on Elgar'assan, held safely in his arms as they traveled back to Skyhold from the Emprise. Every time her body shook with the force of her coughing, his lips pinched and the groove between his brows deepened.
"I'll be fine, vhenan, I just need to sleep in my own bed for a night or two." Her voice was husky from the congestion as she attempted to assist in setting up the tent for the night. Scout Harding and a few of the other scouts finally waved her off to sit by the fire.
Solas wanted to agree, say that was the truth, but he couldn't. Rest wasn't the only thing she needed. It was the Anchor reacting to the magically-enhanced cold of the Emprise, and the unholy amounts of red lyrium that had been growing there. The magical energies of Skyhold would certainly help, but he needed his books and the herb garden to help purge the illness from her. It was too dangerous to use magic for this. "Even so, I would not have you exert yourself at all, as doing so will only extend the illness."
"You worry too-" Fen cut off on another racking cough, grimacing as tired muscles in her sides pulled with each burst.
The disapproving frown grew deeper.
"Fine, you win." She slumped over, putting her head in her hands. "Do you have a clean handkerchief?"
"Several." He stood up and went over to the pile of saddlebags, digging in his own and pulling out the hankies. He stood over Fen and placed one into the hand she held out, then sat down next to her with the others in his lap. Sitting up, she blew several times with long, loud honks.
"Ugh. I can't wait for this to be gone." She grabbed one of the clean kerchiefs and wrapped the used one in it, then handed them over to the scout that dashed over to take scraps of fabric to be washed.
"What herbs does she need, Solas? I talked to Harding and the Requisitions Officer, they might be able to do something for her." Bull was holding up a tent one-handed to allow the scouts helping him to thread the poles through the fabric.
"What Fen'lath really needs is fresh Prophet's Laurel and Royal Elfroot to make a salve for her chest," Solas mused, "Barring that, Amrita Vein roots soaked in boiling water would make do, for a steam inhalation."
Bull grunted, "Damn, hard herbs to get even when you aren't about to go up the ass-end of the Frostbacks. Would Prophet's Laurel and regular elfroot work?"
"It is not as efficacious as Royal Elfroot, as it lacks the several of the medicinal compounds that are in Royal, but it will do until we get to Skyhold and the gardens."
"I'm pretty sure Boss has a few stalks of Prophet's Laurel from outside Suledin, lemme check."
Solas grimaced. Prophet's Laurel grown in the middle of the red lyrium riddled hellhole could go either way, but if it was the only thing available... Another cough from Fen broke into his musings. There were dark circles under her eyes, and she had unhealthy undertone to her normally ruddy, dusky skin.
She let out a pitiful sniffle, and attempted to smell the stew over the fire. "I miss being able to taste things. And breathe."
"Soon we will be back at Skyhold, vhenan, and I will be able to tend to you properly. Are you hungry?"
Fen gave him a weak grin, "Not really. Very tired. Just wait til you catch this from me, and then I have to play nursemaid."
With a direct look, Solas took a kettle from its place next to the stew-pot, then poured it into a finger-bowl that had a small amount of cold water. He dipped the pads of his fingers in, testing the temperature, then pulled a sliver of soap out of the pouch at his waist. After sudsing and rinsing his hands, he shoved the bowl at her.
"Wash your hands, it will help prevent others from getting it."
He had to have a way to explain why only Fen, with the Anchor in her palm, was afflicted by the cough. She shot him a glare.
"I know to wash my hands."
"Then do so."
As she sudsed up and rinsed, Solas tasted the stew. Druffalo, root vegetables, some crunchy stalks he didn't recognize, onions, and garlic. Spooning out a small bowl, he asked Fen, "I know you have no appetite, but eat as much as you can. Lack of food will only hurt."
She was nodding over the half-empty bowl by the time Bull approached Solas. "Got the Prophet's Laurel."
He took the stalks from Iron Bull with a nod. "Thank you, Iron Bull. I would suggest you and Dorian maintain minimal contact with Fen until we get to Skyhold."
Bull's eyebrow rose, "That bad?"
"Preventative measure."
"Gotcha. By the way, Solas, you might want to put Boss to bed."
He looked over at Fen, who was wavering in place. Solas caught the bowl from her fingers and set it aside. She only made a weak groaning noise at him as he swept her up in his arms and carried her to their tent. The Inquisition had been in place long enough that they had cots to sleep on instead of bedrolls on the hard ground. He helped Fen change from her riding clothes to a sleep shirt and leggings, then tucked her into their cot while he removed his tunic and changed into fresh leggings.
She was dead asleep as he slid in next to her, tiny, honking snores escaping due to the congestion. He pillowed her head on his shoulder, guilt making his heart clench as she slid the Marked hand to rest on his chest. She wouldn't be this ill if the Anchor hadn't made her vulnerable. He had to make her well again, to make up for what his magic continued to do to her.