It was ironic, really, for the Alienage's healer to come down with a sickness so severe that it had her bed ridden. Araniel's strength faded over the days of her illness, and although the Hahren had tried everything he knew and Naraian had brought home a variety medicinal herbs; nothing seemed to help her. Araniel hadn't been the only one to fall ill, but she'd been one of the first to lose health so quickly.

She knew it wouldn't be long until she passed, and she tried to stay awake as best she could while she was granted her final moments on Thedas. Quinn was nine then, but he felt no more than a babe with how helpless he was in this situation. He was losing his mother, and there was nothing more he could do but weep by her side.

Araniel lay on their single bed, a wet rag pushing her unruly red hair off of her forehead. Sweat ran down her pale face, and her eyes fluttered with a stubborn attempt to keep them open. Despite her ailing health and inevitable death, she offered both her son and husband a small smile. Naraian had a sad look in his eyes, but did not weep. Death was not something to fear, as his Keeper would say, and it was not an end; but instead, a beginning of a new adventure. He only wished she could have embarked on her second journey much later. She was still so young.

"May Falon'Din guide your path and the Dread Wolf not find you, Lethallan." The man spoke softly, the words coming off of his tongue with delicate care. He managed to return his wife's sad smile with his own, his golden eyes shining with the threat of tears. He held them back however, reaching a hand to Araniel's face. His dark fingers brushed over the wet skin of her cheek, pushing a few strands of sticky red hair behind her ear.

While his father did not weep, Quinn did. He clutched at his mother's hand, fat tears rolling down his dirty cheeks and falling onto the top of her hand; where they slid down her fingers and onto their maker's lap. He hiccuped softly, trying to keep in his noises of sorrow. He wanted to be strong, to be like his father, but he didn't understand how. How could his father not cry at the slow loss of his wife? Quinn wanted nothing more than to yell and scream and cry about how unfair it was.

"M-mum," He mumbled, bringing her thin hand closer to his cheek and nestling it gently. "I don't want you to leave. Can't you.. can't you stay longer?" A part of him knew that it was selfish, but he couldn't bring himself to care.

Araniel's smile faltered, but she held it still. Her fingers moved weakly against Quinn's grasp, twisting to the side and opening slightly to run through his messy bangs. "No, love." She breathed heavily, voice hollow with sickness. "But it's.. it's alright. You have your Da and I will," a pause as she turned her head to cough. "I will always be, in your memories."

She rubbed her thumb over her son's eye, trying to wipe his sadness away. Her calm facade fell momentarily, a stray tear creeping down her cheek as she watched Quinn with glossy eyes.
"You're strong, Quinn. You're my child, after all." Araniel gave a short, shallow laugh before letting her hand go limp. "..I love you. Both of you.."

He wanted nothing more than to yell and scream and cry. And when Araniel finally left her earthly vessel, he did. Hugged close to his father, he wept and wept and wept.