"Lady, running down to the riptide
Taken away to the dark side,
I wanna be your left hand man.
I love you when you're singing that song and
I got a lump in my throat because
You're gonna sing the words wrong."
"Riptide" ~ Vince Joy
When the dispensary's door creaked open, she saw light and heard footsteps. Still rattled, she instinctively retreated.
"Ava?" Adan's voice called. She emerged from behind the door, somewhat confused. For a moment his expression softened, but he quickly crossed his arms and chided her. "Had I known you were gallivanting about Skyhold, I wouldn't have made such an effort to be quiet!"
She noticed he was wearing his heavy cloak over a nightshirt.
"Why are you here?" she asked, shutting the door.
He poured liquid from two different vials into a beaker and then blended the solution briskly with a glass stirring rod.
"I was given a special request," he replied dismissively, his face cast in stern concentration. She sat down and observed him as he worked with graceful fluidity, taking pinches of ingredients from different containers scattered throughout the shelves. She found his flurry of activity behind the counter reassuring, even soothing. It was a welcome distraction from an evening filled with odd twists: from considering to perform blood magic to almost being hurled down from the ramparts. The image of Cole haunted her thoughts and she became overwhelmed with guilt.
A spirit walks among us in the guise of a man doing Maker knows what. I need to tell someone.
"What happened to you?" he asked suddenly, bewildered. She startled from her thoughts and peered down at herself. The hem of her robe was torn.
"Nothing—this is just an older robe I need to mend," she lied. It was a bad lie, she realized, noticing her cloak was damp, smeared with soot and moss— probably from where it had rubbed against the parapet. She brushed her hand over it.
"Somehow I find it hard to believe you would have donned a torn robe to cavort through the fortress," he muttered.
"Increase my pay and I'll be glad to replace my current wardrobe," she suggested.
She focused on Adan's nightshirt: heavy brushed flannel, cream colored and striped with thin red lines. She discretely raised her hand to her lips to conceal a grin.
"So who is that tincture for?" she asked when he set down the mixture. "Is it to revive the unfortunate soul who dared to wake you up from your rest?" she teased him, imagining the icy glare of disapproval anyone bold enough to rouse him from his sleep would have been skewered with.
He peered down at his nightshirt disconcertedly.
"First of all, it's an elixir, not a tincture. If you had been studying your Materia Medica you would have realized that." He poured the viscous solution into a small glass flask. "And need I remind you of never violating a patient's confidence?" he continued patronizingly.
She smirked.
He must think of me as such a burden.
"It has to be Seeker Pentaghast!" She turned to Adan again, glancing at him sideways. "If that woman tells you to jump, you only ask, 'How high?'"
Her comment annoyed him. It wasn't subservience; there was a distinct difference between that and gratitude. But she couldn't know. How could she? he reasoned, slowly swirling the elixir around its flask, the glass becoming coated with a translucent green liquid.
"It's not for her," he muttered, keenly focused on the swirling. He had to maintain a steady hand or the mixture would separate. "It's for someone else who is waiting up for me…"
Ava's eyes widened at the sudden gentleness in his voice and she felt a small pang of alarm. She knew so little of the alchemist's life outside the dispensary and the infirmary. She thought of an ailing beauty, sprawled across a four-poster bed, eagerly anticipating his return. She turned to glimpse the striped night shirt once more and barely stifled a giggle.
Improbable!
"What is so amusing?" he asked crossly.
"Nothing, nothing…" she offered vaguely. "Do not keep your secret lady waiting," she grinned suggestively, rising from the chair and stretching her arms over her head.
Secret lady? Whatever gave her the idea?…He grimaced, realizing that he'd left reasonable room for misinterpretation.
He set the flask down, observing the contents settle properly. What did it matter? Why should he care if she misunderstood?
Let her. Wasn't she out and about around Skyhold, probably up to no good? he sulked, smarting from the rather flimsy cover-up story justifying her shabby entrance earlier.
A heavy knock rattled the door and startled them both. Before either one could respond, a commanding voice boomed behind it.
"Open up, by order of the Skyhold Guard. "
Ava froze. Adan's brow furrowed, concern in his brown eyes.
"One moment," he replied cautiously, directing a questioning look at Ava.
He stood between her and the door as he opened it into the frigid night. Although the two men standing before them wore the Inquisition's tabard, there was no mistake about who they really were: their armor, weapons, even their stance as they examined the two mages indicated they were templars.
"Ava Meverell?" one of the men asked in an all-too-familiar foreboding tone.
She nodded weakly, as if rooted in place.
"You must come with us," the templar announced.
She gripped the back of the chair to steady herself. Adan's eyes narrowed.
"You are proposing to abscond with my apprentice when she is needed to fill orders for the infirmary?" he asked irritably. "Can't this wait until morning? We are working through the night as it is!"
"No," the man retorted.
"Then I would like to know the reason behind this, so my complaint to your superiors is thorough," he declared defiantly.
"Ava Meverell, you are under suspicion of performing blood magic."
She blanched as she heard the accusation. Adan peered down at her torn hem in disbelief.
Maker, Ava! What have you gotten yourself into?