AUTHOR'S NOTE: I'M NOT DEAD!
Hey so I am so sorry it's been so long since I've updated. I've had the worst case of writer's block and procrastination, not to mention I've had to spread out my creative juju across four stories ^^; But, here it is, and I promise to make more of an effort to update more frequently.
SHOUT-OUT TO: koolcat400, krislea15, Flamewing80, Darkness is where I thrive, fleagirl125, maggied1985 and everyone else who have been so awesome and supportive of this story!
Any who, on with the story~!
Fiona was startled awake by a hand shaking her shoulder. In a daze, Grand Enchanter snapped to attention, and almost head-butted the startled mage, who managed to jump out of the way just in time.
"G-grand Enchanter!" the girl squeaked.
"Wh-what?" the elven woman slurred as she tried shaking herself out her sleepy stupor.
"Grand Enchanter, you, uh fell asleep," the girl stuttered.
"Oh." Fiona arched her back, trying to work out the kinks caused by sleeping in the stiff chair.
"You should sleep in your bed, ma'am, that can't be good for you," the other mage said meekly.
"No, no, it's fine, Tristessa," said the elven woman. Fiona rubbed the sleep from her eyes and took in the appearance of her underling. The girl was still young, having only just completed her Harrowing before the rebellion began, and despite being human she was almost as short as Fiona. She was a mousy thing, with a freckled face, wide blue eyes and wavy auburn hair tied back in a sloppy bun. Fiona noted the exhaustion on the girl's face, the bags under her eyes and the way she slouched on her feet.
"You should rest, Tristessa," said Fiona.
"N-no I'm fine," said the mage even as she yawned. "The others are resting right now, and I offered to stay and monitor the patients."
"What are their conditions, by the way?" Fiona asked.
Tristessa glanced over to the four beds on the far end of the room.
"Stable," said the mage, eyeing the invalids with part pity, part anxiety.
"Did anything progress while I was asleep?"
"We still are doing what we can to treat them, but there is some good news."
"What is it?" asked Fiona.
"We are pretty sure this is not contagious."
"Really? How do you know?"
"There have been no other cases reported, even with those who had direct contact with the afflicted, and Clair accidentally came back in from the privy without her mask, and even hours later has not developed any symptoms."
Fiona let out a breath of relief.
"Thank the Maker," she said. Though their situation was still bleak, the knowledge that they no longer had to worry about an epidemic peeled off a thin layer of the Grand Enchanter's worries.
She stood up, smoothing out the wrinkles in her robes, and made her way over to the beds. Fiona did her best to remain clinical and detached, as any professional knew to do, but it was hard given the severity of these circumstances, as well as her relations to the patients. Each of them was still as a corpse, and only the tiny rise and fall of their chests, and the wheezing sound of their breaths were tells that they still lived. The floor under each bed glowed faintly from the wards placed there to send magic to help them breathe. These wards had to be re-casted every hour, and judging by the glow being stronger than when she saw it last, the wards had been re-casted while she slept.
"There was trouble with Lady Vivienne earlier," said Tristessa. Fiona turned to the other mage.
"What trouble?" she asked with concern.
"Th-there were issues when we were re-casting her ward. Her own mana was interfering with the energy transfer. We were able to fix it before there was injury, but I still felt like I should inform you in case it happens again."
"Very good, thank you my dear."
Fiona looked down at one of the beds and chuckled hollowly.
"Oh Vivienne," she said sadly to the woman. "You always have to try and outdo everyone with your magic, don't you?"
Though they did not always get along, it brought Fiona no satisfaction at seeing Vivienne reduced to such a state. Her warm chocolate skin was dull and greyed, and she looked like she had aged a decade. The makeup that seemed like a permanent part of her face had long since been wiped away, and she lay wearing a simple infirmary gown, so unworthy of being on a Lady like Vivienne, who seemed to survive only in the finest silks and robes. Occasionally a choked wheeze would escape the enchantress' lips, and her chest would shudder.
Fiona looked solemnly over the others as well.
Though he was from Tevinter, Dorian had proved to be a charming acquaintance, and of course had helped Fiona be free of Alexius. Like Vivienne, seeing the man, who was normally such a force of personality and confidence that was impossible to ignore, so subdued and weak made him look almost like a completely different person. She didn't know Solas very well, but he was kind enough to her, and the two elves occasionally exchanged words in the library. From what she could tell, he was a gentle intelligent man, and her heart went out to the Inquisitor.
Finally her eyes glanced to the last of the four beds. She had the strangest feeling that she had met the boy before, but she couldn't recall where or when. Regardless, she couldn't look at him without her heart clenching. For reasons they couldn't tell, the boy, Cole she remembered his name being, was in the worst condition.
The other three all bore the same symptoms; pale sickly complexions, cold skin, lack of movement aside from the occasional coughing fit, but for the most part they acted as though they were in a deep sleep. Cole however, was another case entirely. He did have the pale skin, or at least paler than his usual complexion, he had the coughs, and he remained unconscious. But unlike the others there were shadows under his eyes dark as bruises, his breaths came out in constant pained wheezes and pants, the opposite of the others who were mostly quiet. He was far too skinny for Fiona's liking, and she feared that he would be even worse off if they could not find a way to give him nutrients. He looked like a wraith, a skeleton of a person, and if Fiona had to guess, he would be the first to fall to this sickness.
The tiniest of whimpers came from him, pained and pitiful, and Fiona had to swallow back her emotions. She'd always had the protective instincts of a mother bear, and children were her worst weakness. Though she knew he was no child, he looked so small in that bed and it hurt her to see someone young going through such a horrible ordeal. She brushed some of his shaggy hair out of his face, murmuring to him in a comforting voice as he rode through this bout of pain. His face gravitated towards her hand, unconsciously pressing his cheek into her palm. Fiona felt the burning sweaty skin under her hand and sighed.
"Is there we can do for the fever?" asked Tristessa.
Fiona sighed.
"We've been giving him elfroot potions along with the other medicine, but nothing's working,"
"And he's the only one with a fever." She added.
"What does that mean?" Tristessa asked.
"I don't know," admitted the enchanter.
There was a knock at the door and both women looked up.
"I'll get it," said Fiona.
"You can freshen the cloth on his head."
"Alright," Tristessa nodded.
Fiona made her way over to the door, the clicking of her shoes echoing off the stone floor as walked. She cracked the door and was surprised by who she saw.
"Inquisitor?"
The Dalish woman stood in the doorway, hunched like the weight of the world rested upon her. Fiona noticed the shadows under her eyes, and knew that if she had managed to catch a bit of sleep at all, it was not peaceful. Fiona was surprised to find that the Inquisitor was not wearing her signature colours, since the Dalish woman was known for her fascination with the colour blue. Instead, she wore a rather a baggy green tunic that looked too big on her, and appeared to be meant for a man.
"Morning Fiona," the Inquisitor said tiredly. "I know you said no visitors, but I just wanted to check in-"
"Actually my Lady there is news."
Nimwen perked up.
"What, what is it?" she asked, her eyes a mix of both hope and worry,
"We no longer believe that this is contagious."
"Truly? Does this mean that there can be visitors?"
"Yes visitation will be allowed, however, they must be short and-"
"Please let me in!"
"Please my Lady, be calm," Fiona urged, trying to keep Nimwen from busting down the door.
"You may come in, but I must warn you, while they are stable, their appearances may startle you."
"I'll be fine, Fiona," said the Inquisitor. Despite her words, Fiona still hesitated to let the Dalish woman in. Still, she knew better than to refuse the request of the Inquisitor, and let the woman inside, praying to herself that the other elf was able to keep it together.
Tristessa, who had been tending to her patients, jumped to attention at the sight of the Inquisitor.
"My lady!" the girl squeaked, trying desperately to make herself look presentable. The Dalish woman gave the young mage a reassuring smile.
"It's alright you can relax. I'm not the Empress of Orlais after all," she said with a laugh.
"R-right, forgive me milady," Tristessa stuttered. Nimwen glanced over to the far side of the room, where the four beds stood. She looked back at Fiona, and the grand enchanter gave her a small nod. Fiona watched with dread as the Dalish woman approached the beds. She felt a knot in her throat watching Nimwen struggle to maintain her composure as she looked over her fallen friends.
Her already stiff frame tensed further when she forced herself to look upon Solas. The sight of her ill lover made her brow furrow and forced her to bite her lip. She slumped down into the chair next to the elf's bed, her wintery eyes heavy.
"Are they in pain?" asked Nimwen quietly.
"We're doing everything we can for them," Fiona answered. She purposefully avoided a direct answer. She was uncertain whether they were aware of what was happening to them, but if Cole was any indication, if they were aware, they would most definitely be suffering.
The Dalish woman reached over and gently took hold of her lover's hand. She entwined her thin fingers with Solas' much longer ones, rubbing her thumb over the top of his hand.
"What is that?" Nimwen asked.
"What do you mean?" replied Fiona.
"That." Nimwen pointed to the pale green paste that covered most of Solas' neck and chest.
"It's on all of them," the Dalish woman noted.
"It's a salve that helps them breathe," Fiona explained. "It's made from herbs that have a strong odour, and the vapours help stimulate the lungs and keep the airways open."
"I've never heard of such a thing," said Nimwen.
'Well, you have her to thank for it," said the enchantress, gesturing to Tristessa. The young mage jumped when the Inquisitor's eyes were suddenly on her.
"You invented this?" asked Nimwen.
"I-I uh, y-yes, your Worship. Before I c-came to the Circle I lived in a mining town. A lot of the miners d-developed breathing problems due to the dust in the mines. I wanted to find a way to help them, and I thought of this when one day I had a cold and when dealing with certain herbs it uh, made my nose clear up."
"That's amazing," said Nimwen. Tristessa bowed her head bashfully.
"N-not really. I-I mean this is a bit more than what the salve was intended for, a bit like putting a bandage on a beheading."
"Regardless, this seems to be helping, and so I am eternally grateful," Nimwen said sincerely.
Tristessa blushed.
"Th-thank you," she replied.
Nimwen looked down at Solas.
"Fiona, if it's not too much to ask…"
"Say no more," the mage replied. She gestured to Tristessa, and the other mage silently understood. The two women excused themselves from the chambers, allowing the Inquisitor privacy.
Nimwen held Solas' thin hand tighter, hoping to bring warmth to his chilled flesh. It wasn't right for him to feel so cold. He usually had a pleasant warmness to his skin, a stark contrast to her always cold hands. He joked that her skills with frost magic was the reason her hands were always cold, and she started to think it was true. Now she wished she had been a fire mage, if not to just warm his icy fingers.
"You're going to be alright," she whispered to Solas.
"You can be so patient and gentle, but I know that under that you are as stubborn as a Druffalo, and that you won't let a sickness keep you down."
His eyes remained closed, his face remained unchanging. Still, she kept talking.
"Remember when you got that cold after we were in the Fallow Mire? You had to be the worst patient I've ever met. You refused to stay in bed and kept tripping over everything."
Nimwen laughed, trying to make the noise meaningful.
"And when your fever picked up you started spouting nonsense. You told Cole that he looked a carrot and insisted that Cullen had two heads."
She laughed again.
"I still remember when you started howling and said that you were Fen'Harel, and that's when I knew you were out of it."
She felt her throat tighten.
"Please wake up, ma vhenan," she whispered as she blinked back tears.
"I need my silly wolf here with me."
She stroked her fingers along his cheekbone, wishing that her touch would bring colour back to his sickly coloured skin. She thought she saw his eyes twitch, but still he remained asleep. She gingerly cupped his face in her hands.
"I will save you, my love. All of you," she swore. She kissed his forehead, and sent a prayer to the Creators, pleading with them to keep her love and her friends safe while she found out who did this to them.
The private moment was invaded by a groan that startled Nimwen. She whipped around and stared as another one of the sounds came from Cole.
"Cole?" She rose from her seat and crouched by the spirit boy's bed. His brow was wrinkled as he whimpered in his sleep. She shushed the boy and held his trembling hand, hoping her presence could help in some way. As he began to convulse his throat bobbed, and with a gurgling noise he coughed up a trail of blood that leaked from his lips.
"Cole?!" Panicked, Nimwen looked to the door.
"Fiona!" she shouted.
The enchantress rushed into the room with Tristessa on her heels.
"What is it?"
"He-he's bleeding!" Nimwen cried.
"Oh dear. Tristessa get a rag." Fiona knelt down beside the Inquisitor and held her shoulders.
"Relax, my lady," said Fiona as she guided the anxious Dalish away.
"Relax?! But he's-"
"We know," Fiona interrupted. "We stopped the heavy profuse blood flow, but they still bleed occasionally. It is minor and not a threat to their life."
"Fiona, the magister is bleeding as well," Tristessa said as she dabbed the blood from Cole's lips. Nimwen looked over and her heart clenched when she saw blood trickling from Dorian's nose. Fiona hummed in acknowledgment as she grabbed another clean rag.
"Alright, allow me to-"
"I'm doing it."
Fiona was startled when Nimwen grabbed the rag from her hands and knelt beside the Tevinter mage.
"Your Worship there no need for you-"
"I said I'm doing it," said the other elf.
"Oh Creators, it's getting in his moustache," she said as she wiped away the blood.
"And there's blood dried in it! Didn't you make sure to keep his moustache clean?" she whipped around to glare at the other elf.
"Well I-"
"Get some hot water so I can clean this!" Nimwen snapped at the Grand Enchanter.
"He'll have a fit if he wakes up and sees…" the Dalish woman hunched her shoulders.
"He-he'll be so mad when he sees…"
The Inquisitor's voice was choked and she took a shuddering breath. Fiona watched with sympathy as the Dalish woman stopped her cleaning to stroke the Tevinter man's wavy hair. Nimwen stood up all of a sudden.
"I can't let them die," said Nimwen. She turned around to look at Fiona. Her wintery eyes were glassy.
"I can't let them die, do you understand?"
"Of course," Fiona replied.
"Everyone is working to get to the bottom of this, but I fear there aren't any leads so far…"
The mage bowed her head as her shoulders shook.
"W-what if I can't save them in time? What if-"
"Inquisitor." Fiona knelt in front of the other mage and grasped her shoulders.
"You mustn't doubt yourself. You have accomplished more feats than all of us combined. You shall find the one responsible for this and you will bring them to justice."
Nimwen looked into the Grand Enchanter's eyes and saw the confidence and sincerity behind her words.
"Y-you're right," the elf nodded.
"Yes, you're right. I mustn't give up now. They need me to be strong. Thank you."
Nimwen stood up.
"I-I'm sorry for snapping at you earlier," she murmured.
"It's quite alright, your Worship," Fiona said gently.
"I-I need to go check on progress, to see if anything has developed."
The Inquisitor turned to leave, but not before taking another look at her four companions.
"Please, make sure you-"
"We will do everything we can for them," Fiona promised
Nimwen nodded.
"Thank you," she murmured.
When the Dalish woman left the room Fiona let out a tired sigh.
"G-grand Enchanter?"
The elven woman turned around to look at her subordinate.
"Yes Tristessa?" she asked the girl.
"Do you really think that they will be able to find a cure in time?"
Fiona rubbed her eyes.
"By the Maker I hope so," she sighed.
"Now come," she said to the girl.
"We need to continue with treatment."
"I shall rouse the others and prepare more salve, as well as re-cast the wards."
"Thank you, Tristessa," said Fiona.
"You have been such a help. You're the one who truly made all of this happen."
The girl smiled sheepishly.
"Thank you, Grand Enchanter, it was my pleasure."