Mahanon is forced to accept the truth about his cough and hopes that Hyndel's potions will help.

It was the coughing that woke Mahanon the following morning. He was curled up against Bull's chest, the big qunari snoring softly, so he tried to suppress it, not wanting to wake him. He clenched his teeth tight and swallowed as he carefully untangled himself from the blankets and pushed away, wincing as his weight briefly transferred onto his arse, even as it made him smile a little; last night had been the best sleep he had had in a long time and, were it not for the coughing that was still causing his chest to spasm with him trying to stop it, he would still be peacefully sleeping away.

Going to the fireplace, he moved the grate aside and knelt down to poke at the dying embers and put another log on from the stack sitting in wait beside the hearth. He stood then and replaced the grate but that was as far as he got before he could hold back the coughing no longer. Holding on to the mantle for support, he tried to keep it as quiet as possible. He need not have bothered; a blanket was wrapped around his shoulders and Bull in turn wrapped his arms about him.

"It's getting worse, isn't it?" Bull said.

Mahanon smiled and shook his head, putting on a brave face. "It's fine," he said when he got his breath back. "Just a cough."

"Mahanon," Bull growled and he turned him around, hands still on his shoulders, to look him in the eye. Mahanon was surprised; Bull rarely ever called him by his first name. It was always Boss, or Kadan (and he still didn't know what that meant, some qunari term of endearment he figured), and rarely Lavellan. That he said 'Mahanon' made him suspect that Bull was either quite serious or annoyed with him. "Tell me the truth."

Mahanon looked away and considered lying again, but then decided against it; Bull only asked because he cared, Mahanon knew that. And Bull was also the only one who knew the whole story of what was happening with his clan even if he had been drunk when he made the decision to tell him. If there was anyone he could be entirely truthful with, it was Bull. "Yes," he said.

"How often?"

"Once or twice a day like that. Annoying, tickling coughs more often," Mahanon admitted. Saying it aloud like that made it seem worse and so much more real; he had been able to ignore it and pretend it wasn't happening up until now, pretend that what it was wasn't obvious. "I can hide it for the most part, clear my throat, take a drink. Walk away to be alone or use the privy if I can't hold back actual coughing any longer."

Bull made a low rumbling sound in his chest. "Why didn't you tell me?" he demanded.

Mahanon shrugged a shoulder. "Didn't want to," he said. He sighed. "If I pretend that it's not happening and hide it when it does then I can just go on with things like normal. Bad enough that I'm reminded every day of how I'm failing my clan, I don't need the pity of having other people know. And if word got out, there would be a panic. As it is just by being here I could be spreading it to the whole Inquisition." A couple more coughs decided that now would be a good time to surface, though this time Mahanon didn't try to hold them back. He merely looked aside and tried to ignore how Bull's face creased with concern.

"Come on," Bull said, letting his hands drop from Mahanon's shoulders and leading the way into his bathroom. Knowing what he had in mind, Mahanon followed him. The door shut and hot water turned on, the room soon filled with steam. "I don't think you need to worry about it spreading," Bull said as he did so.

"How do you figure?" Mahanon asked. "Every illness I know of is spread through contact with someone who has it. Even if it's just breathing the same air. And you and I have shared a lot more than air."

"You've been with the Inquisition several months now, and in close contact with me and your other friends and advisers. And we are all fine. You said your Keeper tried all the healing magic and potions she knew and none of it did more than delay the inevitable."

Bull sat on the bench in the room and pulled Mahanon into his lap, causing the elf to wince at the contact at first but then settle against him, breathing deep from the steamy air. The warmth helped, he thought, and the steam eased the burning in his chest. Bull's words though triggered a memory of something his keeper had said before he left for the Conclave. "She said her magic skitters away from what she can sense is wrong," he said. "I just assumed that was because she was exhausted; she hadn't slept for days by that point."

"You should tell one of our mages," Bull said.

"No," Mahanon said firmly. He pushed himself away from Bull's chest to meet his eye. "No one can know. Especially now. It will cause a panic. Please."

Bull was silent, staring at Mahanon, then said, "I won't tell anyone for now, while it's not interfering with anything," was all Bull would promise.

Mahanon wasn't happy with that but he knew better than to try to push the issue. Instead he leaned back against Bull once more and closed his eyes, resting, and mentally resolved to continue hiding the coughing, even from Bull.

"You not being able to breathe properly with your cough. That was what made you say katoh yesterday?" Bull asked after they had sat in silence for several minutes.

"Does it bother you? That I couldn't handle it?" Mahanon asked. He was aware that he was dodging the question but what would bother him more would be the thought that he had somehow disappointed Bull or let him down for having that weakness.

Bull tightened his grip around Mahanon and said, "Nope. Not at all. You've handled everything else though, so I wondered."

"Only just," Mahanon said, the corner of his mouth twitching in a half smile as he thought back to last night.

Bull laughed. "Only just is enough," he said.

Mahanon sighed and, closing his eyes, rested his head against Bull's shoulder as he tried to gather his thoughts. "You remember back at Haven how I told you about Faerel? How I wasn't able to save him?" Bull grunted in acknowledgement so Mahanon continued. "During the fight the slavers got a rope around my neck, strung me up. I was right on the verge of passing out when they let me down and forced me to watch as they slit Faerel's throat. That's what I saw when breathing became difficult. Faerel's eyes locked on mine and the blood." Mahanon shivered with the memory of it and Bull once more gave him a squeeze, reminding him that he was still there, keeping him grounded in reality. "What do the Qunari do if you're having trouble dealing with crap like that?"

"Send you to Saheron till you work out your anger and calm down. Like Gatt," Bull answered. "Failing that, there's always re-education," he said and, with a slight smirk, gave Mahanon's bruised backside a none too gentle tap, causing the elf to squark in a rather undignified manner.

"Well, being that my arse has had just about as much re-education as it can handle, I guess that means we should go kill some stuff," Mahanon said.

"Works for me, boss," Bull agreed.

And kill some stuff they did. Demons to be precise. "Because when can worshipping a rift that spits out demons ever turn out to be a good thing?" Mahanon complained as his mark snapped the rift inside Winterwatch Keep.

They were back in the Hinterlands again, helping to further stabilise the area. It had settled down a lot since the warring mages and templars were brought under control but refugees were still pouring in and needed the help of the Inquisition. Since there were still several weeks until Empress Celene's ball and Josephine was still working on getting their invite, Mahanon had opted for a field trip to help out. And to avoid clothes fittings from the tailor due to arrive at Skyhold any day now.

Cullen had also had words with him about acquiring horses for the Inquisition. Every week, Mahanon received a 'Things Requiring the Inquisitor's Attention' list and each time acquiring horses had been included. It had started with Mahanon simply being distracted by more important things at first; recruiting the templars, closing the breach, and dealing with the grey wardens had all had top priority. After that though, Mahanon had started ignoring that point solely to mess with Josephine, to see what kind of oh-so-polite ways she could come up with to get him to do it. The latest report had been written in angry capital letters and had the request underlined several times. That had given Mahanon a chuckle and he thought that was the end of it until Cullen bailed him up to say that she had complained to him about it. Cullen, in turn, had pointed out that without horses their soldiers were at a disadvantage and more would be killed. Like a lightning bolt, Mahanon's fun had been killed with that realization. He still remembered the letter in the Fade and his resolution to treat his soldiers more like individual people and here he was putting said people's lives at risk just to get a rise out of his ambassador. They had set out for the Hinterlands the next day.

Master Dennent had agreed to allow the Inquisition to use his horses after Mahanon had complained that they would never live up to the standards he was used to with elven harts. It became a matter of pride for the man to prove the Inquisitor wrong. But the Inquisition also had to complete a ridiculous amount of tasks to ensure the horse's security first. Apparently just sending guards along wasn't good enough. Mahanon decided that they could mark the best locations for watch towers and other members of the Inquisition could complete the rest of the tasks.

It was when they arrived back at the Crossroads to send a bird to Skyhold with that update that Bull overheard a conversation of interest. A woman was having trouble breathing and her son was capable of making a potion that helped, only he had run off with some cult. "He may be able to help your clan," Bull pointed out quietly.

Mahanon had eagerly agreed, willing to try anything and so their next stop was to visit the rift worshipping cult holed up in Winterwatch Keep. After convincing Anais to get the cult to help the refugees in the area, something that was infinitely more useful than demon worship, Mahanon requested that the others to wait for him in the tavern saying they would spend the night here rather than traipsing over rocky hills in the dark. He, meanwhile, asked around until he found the alchemist son, Hyndel.

"Hyndel?" Mahanon asked, approaching the elf who had been pointed out to him.

"Yes? Can I help you?" he asked, looking up from the book he was reading.

"I spoke to your father yesterday. Your mother, she's very sick, and he said you could make a potion that would help?"

"She's sick again? I mean, yes, of course. I can make another potion, I'll make a few if you'd be able to take them to her for me?"

Mahanon nodded, then hesitantly asked, "Your potions... do you think...that is, um... I know your mother's illness is that she can't get enough breath but what about coughing? Do you think your potion could help with that?"

"Possibly," Hyndel said, seemingly oblivious to Mahanon's nervousness with the question as he started separating the herbs he would need out on his workbench. "I would have to know more though and it would need to be tweaked. What sort of a cough? What triggers it? Does anything come up with it?"

"It starts as a tickle which becomes a deep kind of cough if ignored. Phlem comes up with it and, as it gets worse, blood. I don't know what triggers it, cold perhaps? I'm not sure," Mahanon said. He kept his voice low; though he hadn't said anything that would identify the fact that this cough was affecting his clan, he didn't want anyone to overhear anyway.

"Sounds serious," Hyndel said, with a concerned glance over to Mahanon.

Mahanon gave a single nod and was glad that, so far at least, he had hidden any of his own coughs on the journey, that he hadn't been too bad so didn't look unwell or tired. "Anything you could try would help. We haven't had any success with so far; the most a potion or magic has been able to do is ease some of the symptoms but they always got worse, too bad for things to treat."

Hyndel nodded. "If you're willing to wait a week, I'll give you the potion for my mother then start on something that may help your friend. Come back then and I'll have it plus a few spares."

Mahanon nodded, not bothering to correct the elf. He waited for Hyndel's mother's potion to be made then sought out his friends.

As far as the others were concerned, the extra potions were ones for Clan Lavellan; Mahanon had been willing to admit to these few people he trusted that two of the three mages the clan had relied on had been killed, one at the conclave and one just prior. So the potions were to help out however he could especially since, if he were still with his clan, he would be using his ranging to gather the ingredients for them anyway.

Wandering around the Hinterlands, helping the refugees and closing any fade rifts they came across was soothing to Mahanon. While he was fighting he didn't have to think. He wondered if the Qunari were really on to something with the Qun, with how to deal with crap as, the more days passed and the more he was actually able to help people, whether they were aware of his hand in helping or not, the more he was able to put what happened in the Fade behind him. Nightmares started to bother him less even as his cough started to bother him more.

When they returned to Hyndel the elf had made him a bag full of potions. "I've included the recipe as well," he said. "Just in case it works. If it does, please let me know. I... I will be returning to my family soon. They need me more at the moment, so you'll be able to find me there."

Back at Skyhold, Mahanon took down a copy of the recipe for himself and tried one of the potions one evening when his coughing was bad in the privacy of his room. It tasted foul and burned all the way down but he was able to take a deep breath afterwards.

Smiling, he finished the rest of the potion and wrote down in a letter to his keeper what they were and his hope that they would help. He didn't mention the fact that he was trying them on himself to relieve his own symptoms; if she knew that he too was starting to become ill she would lose all hope that a cure could be found. He couldn't do that to her.

The following evening the cough returned again. Mahanon was disappointed but at least the potion continued to relieve the symptoms; it should at least give Keeper Deshana a chance to rest and, for now, he was content with that until he found something more permanent.