AUTHOR'S NOTE: FORGIVE MY LATENESS! I am so sorry for taking so long to update, but I have had a lot on my plate.
Shout outs to mythlover20, Ickypicky892
Not much else to say, just that I'm working out some of the kinks in the plot. To be honest, I kinda didn't have a lot of the mystery elements in this fic plotted out, but now I do and I think it'll be good ^w^
Anywho, on with the story!
Not since the destruction of Haven had the Inquisition's people experienced a night of chaos such as this. It was a night filled with people scattering around looking out for anyone else afflicted with whatever malignity has found its way into the keep, and everyone else in a state of panic believing the man next to him was infected and about to pass it on.
While that was happening, the inside of the keep was an even greater cesspool of fear and dread. A quarantine area was established in one of the many spare guest quarters meant for visiting nobles; it would have been foolish to put the affected in the infirmary where there were wounded soldiers and ill servants, and they needed a large room. The head healers, the apothecaries, and a handful of mages who were well versed in healing magic, gathered in the room, trying to find out what the illness was while keeping their patients alive at the same time.
By the time dawn came, no other cases had been discovered and the realization that this was no epidemic came as a relief to the people of Skyhold. However, that did little to comfort the group waiting outside the treatment room. The remaining members of the Inner Circle camped by the door, some in "borrowed" chairs, some parked on the floor, and some standing.
The door had not opened since the team of healers sealed themselves inside, and despite their pleads, demands, and threats, the Inner Circle had yet to receive any updates. All were greatly concerned for their friends fighting for their lives, but it was obvious who was affected the most.
Nimwen sat hunched in her chair, elbows on her knees with her chin resting on her knuckles. Her usually tidy hair was a mess of black tresses, and her red-rimmed eyes were accentuated even more by her anxiety-pale face. She picked absentmindedly at the white bandages that were wrapped around her fingers. Earlier, as the waiting got longer and longer, the Inquisitor had started to bite her nails. She only became aware of this when Cassandra snatched her hand away from her lips, and that was when she realized she'd chewed her nails down to bloody nubs.
Now her bound fingertips stung something fierce, but that was nothing compared to the painful vice gripping her chest. She still wore the bloody clothes the guards had found her in, and despite everyone's pleading, she did not go to her quarters to change. In fact, she had not spoken at all since the others were taken into the room. She would have been the first to try and keep everyone calm, giving comforting words and embraces, and so her behaviour, verging on catatonia, was beginning to worry the others.
While her suffering had been mostly silent, the Iron Bull was on the opposite spectrum. He'd been pacing back and forth in front of the door, a fearsome scowl on his face as he growled to himself like a rabid beast. As time passed he became more and more unsettled, and refused to sit down when the others encouraged him to. Every few minutes he would bang on the door demanding to be told what was going on, and three times he threatened to break the door down. Once more Cassandra had to step in and, with the help of Blackwall's muscle and Josephine's pleading, managed to calm the Bull enough to, at the very least, keep him from smashing the wooden door down with his bare hands.
The Seeker tried to be the voice of reason, but the burden of keeping an emotionally distraught group of Thedas' most dangerous fighters in relative order was not an easy task. Tempers kept flaring, the smallest things provoking arguments, and even passing on blame actually occurred; not to mention the matter of making sure that the silent of the group were not succumbing to shock or dark thoughts. By the time hints of the sun were coming into the sky, everyone was silent. The effort to remain angry became too much, pointing fingers of blame became pointless, and the Circle's worry and anguish were now stewing together like the most miserable of soups.
Cassandra sat with her back against the wall, trying to fight off sleep. Twice she almost nodded off, but each time she snapped her head up and rubbed her eyes, ordering herself to stay awake. Her eyes glanced over the Inner Circle. Josephine was the only advisor present, the other two busy investigating and maintaining order. The Ambassador and Sera, of all people, shared the seat of a windowed alcove, and had actually ended up asleep leaning against each other. In hindsight, the image was rather amusing. Josephine was at a diagonal lean, her cheek pressed against the stone wall of the alcove, and Sera mimicked the same position, except that in her case the wall was actually the body of the sleeping Antivan woman.
Blackwall was propped up against the wall, a small block of wood and a knife in his hand. For most of the night his face was scrunched up in concentration as he chipped away at the wood, trying to distract himself from his emotions, but after a while he too succumbed to sleep, block and knife still clutched in his hands. Cassandra looked down the hall. In the shadow beyond the dim torchlight, she saw the imposing figure of the Iron Bull facing the wall. From the occasional 'thuds' that would sound out, the Nevarran woman could tell the Qunari man had been hitting the wall with his fist. She was just grateful it was not the door, or somebody else.
The Seeker looked at the Inquisitor, and was relieved to find that she had finally fallen asleep. Cassandra was not used to seeing the usually cool and rational elf in such a state. It had almost frightened her, seeing the Dalish woman covered in blood screaming like a madwoman when the medics were forced to tear Solas away from her. Cassandra had to grab her about the waist to prevent her from chasing after the healers, and the struggle the tiny elf had put up matched that of a rabid wolf. Still, it seemed that even the world of dreams was not providing much comfort for Nimwen, judging by the scowl on her sleeping face, and the occasional distressed noise that would come out of her lips.
Cassandra was surprised when a blanket was suddenly draped over the Inquisitor. The Seeker looked up and saw that it was Varric who did it. She didn't even realize the dwarf had left, and yet here he was smoothing the fur blanket over the elf's hunched frame. He murmured something in her ear, and whatever it was seemed to iron out some of the worry on Nimwen's face. Cassandra observed silently as Varric then took another blanket and wrapped it around the shoulders of Josephine and Sera, who in their sleep subconsciously snuggled into the blanket's warmth. Cassandra's eyes followed him as he sat back down where he had been when she last saw him. The dwarven man seemed to sense he was being watched and looked up at the Seeker.
"Sorry, couldn't find you one," he said with a smirk. The expression was hollow.
"That was kind of you," Cassandra said quietly to avoid waking anyone. Varric shrugged dismissively. He glanced down the hallway.
"How's Tiny?" he whispered. Another 'thud' echoed from down the hall.
"On his way to getting broken knuckles," Cassandra replied. Varric sighed, running a hand through his auburn hair.
"And here I thought we could go one night without shit hitting the fan," he said as he picked up something beside him. Cassandra realized that the thing the dwarf was messing was a hat, Cole's hat.
The Seeker quirked a brow.
"Why do you have that?"
Varric made a snort.
"You know how the kid feels about this," he said, turning the wide brimmed hat around in his hands.
"If someone so much as takes it from his head he acts like he's been caught without his smalls," the dwarf chuckled to himself.
"He'll want it when he wakes up."
The Nevarran woman's gaze softened.
"If he wakes up," Cassandra knew that was more accurate, but the fact hung in the air between them, remaining unsaid for the small hope that this all would turn out differently.
The sound of creaking wood brought everyone to attention. Those sleeping awkwardly tried to collect themselves from their sleeping forms, and everyone else straightened themselves up to try to hide their exhaustion and worry. Seven pairs of eyes watched with rapt attention as Fiona came out. Everyone noticed the blood on the Grand Enchantress' gloves and apron, but they waited as she removed the scarf that had been tied around her mouth and nose.
"Well?" asked Cassandra. The tired mage eyed them all.
"We've managed to stabilize them," she answered. Sighs of relief rang out, but they were short lived.
"However they are not out of the woods yet," Fiona added.
"What's wrong with them?" asked Josephine.
"We don't know," the elf admitted
"That's it?!" Sera objected.
"You and your pals spend all that time doin' your healy stuff and your magicy stuff and you don't even know what the frig it is?"
The enchantress squinted her eyes in irritation.
"We searched for any causes, but we were unable to find any source of the bleeding or the seizures. There were no bruises, no internal bleeding, and we were unable to find any signs of poison or magic."
"So this is an illness?" Cassandra asked.
"Like I said, my Lady, we have no idea. If it is a sickness, it is one I have not come across before."
"But you said they were fine, right?" Iron Bull prodded.
Fiona's eyes turned grave.
"As I said before, we managed to stop the bleeding, for now at least, but that is not the biggest problem."
"Andraste's tits, what is worse than spewing out blood?" Varric snapped.
With a sigh Fiona removed one of her gloves and smoothed out her hair.
"At first we believed it was the blood that was causing them to choke, but even after we stabilized the bleeding, they continued to have trouble breathing. We've tried to find a cause, but there are no obstructions in their throats, and there seems to be nothing in their lungs. They simply are unable to take in enough air."
"So tell us what is happening now." Nimwen pleaded.
"We've got them on potions and have casted spells that are assisting their breathing, but I fear that this will not last long. Without knowing what ails them, these treatments are only temporary solutions."
"What can we do?" the Inquisitor asked. Fiona looked at her fellow elf with sympathy.
"My colleagues will continue searching for long term treatments to keep them alive, however the only real solution is if this affliction is identified and a cure is discovered, and discovered fast."
"What will happen if a cure cannot be found in time?" inquired Cassandra.
The Grand Enchantress began to speak, but hesitated. Gathering herself, it was apparent that the mage had to force the truth from her lips.
"What is happening to them now, it is not unlike being smothered. Right now we are forcing them to take in the proper amount of air, for they are unable to do it on their own. If we are unable to find a cure, what will most likely happen is that overtime our treatments will fail to work, and they shall slowly suffocate."
A strangled gasp forced itself from Nimwen's lips before she forced herself back into silence. Josephine placed a comforting hand on the elf's shoulder, not that she noticed.
"I am sorry, Lady Inquisitor." said Fiona.
"May we see them?" asked the Dalish woman. Fiona looked conflicted.
"I am afraid not, your Worship. We are still unsure whether or not this is contagious, and we cannot afford to spread it-"
"For fuck's sake, we were all there when it happened!" yelled Iron Bull.
"If it was going to affect us we'd all be on the ground covered in blood, so let us in!"
Fiona flinched against the Qunari's rage, but the elven woman remained firm.
"I am sorry, but we cannot take the risk. As soon as we confirm that this isn't contagious, we shall let you inside."
"Fiona is right," said Cassandra.
"I am going to my study to collect some tomes," Fiona said.
"Hopefully I can find out if these symptoms are akin to something we have in our knowledge."
"Very well," Cassandra said. The mage took a bow, and the group parted to allow the elf to stride down the hall.
"For now," Cassandra began.
"We must decide how we should go about investigating this. Everyone meet in the war room."
Everyone was tired and in need of a good night's sleep, but duty and the urge to help their friends had the tired group shuffling numbly to the large doors of the war room.
As they gathered around the wooden table, Josephine excused herself.
"It is vital that word of this incident does not spread or grow out of proportion, and I must work to ensure that rumours are contained and that we remain in control," the Antivan explained.
Once she left the room fell into silence. They waited for Nimwen to start talking, as she was the one who usually led meetings such as these, but the Dalish woman was quiet.
"Inquisitor," Cassandra said to the mage. Nimwen looked up at the Nevarran with tired blue eyes.
"We need to find a starting point if we are to get to the bottom of this."
"Well why the fuck are you asking me?! I don't fucking know!" Nimwen snapped. The sudden hostility, and profanity, from the ever gentle elf had everyone startled more than if Coryphaeus were to suddenly burst in and started dancing the Marigold. At the sight of her surprised companions, the anger in the Inquisitor's eyes quickly turned to regret.
"I-I'm so sorry, Cassandra," she apologized to the warrior.
"I didn't mean to-it-it's just that…" The Dalish woman stopped when her voice began to catch. Silently Varric put an arm around her in a side hug, and she looked down at the dwarf with appreciation.
"You idiots, it's obvious what we need to figure out."
Everyone turned to Sera.
"Well let's hear it, Buttercup," said Varric.
The yellow haired elf rolled her eyes like she was talking to ignorant children.
"Look here's how it is: see, if a bunch of people get punched, and you don't know who did it or why they did it, or why those people were the ones to get punched, you don't start looking for the puncher, you ask why all the punchees got punched."
"That...actually makes sense, sorta," Varric agreed.
"We need to start by figuring out what they had in common that made them targets."
"Anyone else think that it's one hell of a coincidence that all of the Inner Circle's mages were attacked?" asked Blackwall.
"But what about me?" interjected Nimwen.
"I'm a mage and I'm fine. Also, regardless of who was attacked, if whoever is responsible was able to get close enough to attack Solas, Dorian, and the others, why did they not just go for me directly? It seems if they could get to them, they could have just as easily gotten to me."
"That is a good point," said Cassandra.
"And as for your theory, Blackwall," she said to the Warden.
"It is a good idea, but not only was the Inquisitor, a mage, left unharmed, but Cole was attacked as well, and he is no mage."
"Yeah well, it's still a demon thingy. Ya know, mages, demons, kinda similar," said Sera.
"That's another thing," Varric came in.
"How in hell's name did they manage to affect him as well? I know the kid's more human now, but up until now I didn't think he could get sick."
"That is why I think that this cannot be a natural affliction," Nimwen said.
"Magic?" asked Iron Bull.
"Maybe, but Fiona and her people should have been able to tell if magic was involved." The Inquisitor yawned and rubbed her eyes, trying to stimulate them to remain open.
"I think we rest, and convene later," said Cassandra, noting the shadows under almost all their eyes.
"Are you kidding me?" Iron Bull growled.
"You heard what Fiona said, they don't have any time to spare, and we need to get our asses in gear!"
"Well our "asses" are useless to them if we cannot stay awake," Cassandra retorted, staring Iron Bull down firmly.
"I too wish to get started, but our minds need to be sharp. In the meantime, Leliana already has her people in every corner gathering information, so time will not be wasted while we rest."
There was little room for argument, despite many still feeling like they should be doing something.
The Inner Circle adjourned and retired to their respective quarters. Despite their fatigue, sleep did not come easy, and dreams were plagued by the shadows of fear and blood.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: …
To be honest, I'm too tired to write an author's note =_=
FAVS FOLLOWS AND REVIEWS ARE MOST APPRECIATED!