Aleanna Trevelyan is a lot more stubborn than people give her credit for. When she's determined, she's dedicated until the very end, or until she gets caught and/or found out, at least. It makes her a good student with a tendency towards veering off into trouble at any given opportunity, one of the many traits that endears her to her various professors. (Though that might not be the word they'd personally choose.)
Hogwarts is no different than the children's home in which she stays during the summer in this regard.
Perhaps she let the joy of returning to what she always considers her true home go to her head; perhaps the strange mixture of giddiness and sorrow at this being her sixth year, her second-to-last before graduation, has provoked her into making as much of her time remaining as possible.
Either way, in the afternoon, after her first day of classes (and a particularly dreadful Charms class in which she almost set her partner on fire oops), Aleanna makes her way to the edge of the lake, a glass of pumpkin juice and pastry balanced in one hand, her wand in the other. Quidditch practice hasn't started yet, either, so she finds herself with a fair amount of free time, especially given that she's already finished her homework for the day.
She offers the part of the pastry to the giant squid, smiling as she watches the tentacle sink back into the water with the treat. She turns her gaze to the castle grounds, where students of every year wander and catch up with old friends. She feels the sunlight warm her bones.
As for herself, Aleanna is waiting. She needs to plan her first big adventure of the year, and she can't do it alone.
So she sits. And waits. And she hopes her message has been received as she begins to consider the possibilities. Ghostly tea parties? Sneaking into Hogsmeade? Or perhaps into the Forbidden Forest? The possibilities are endless.
Neria debates ignoring the message. She debates this for all of two minutes over her afternoon snack in the Great Hall. She really sees no point in seeking out adventure just for the hell of it. If adventure comes upon her then sure, she'll ride it out and see what happens. But she knows if she doesn't see what Aleanna wants this afternoon, then before she knows it, Neria will be slap dash in the middle of something she didn't even ask for. Might as well have a bit of a say.
Finishing her pumpkin juice and wiping her mouth with her napkin, she rises from the Slytherin table and heads out towards the lake. The sunlight makes her squint and raise a hand to shield her eyes as she searches for that familiar mop of hair. Students of all different houses and years are milling about here, but she's looking for one troublesome Hufflepuff in particular -- ah, there she is. Lowering a hand to run along the strap of her shoulder bag, Neria inhales deeply and prepares herself for what's to come. If they're lucky, they'll accomplish things without getting caught. If they're not, it's detention in the Forbidden Forest. Only she's sure Aleanna would love that. Might actively work towards it. Why were they friends again?
"Here I am, as summoned," she says dryly on reaching the Hufflepuff's side.
Aleanna finishes up her own snack just as she catches sight of Neria making her way out of the castle proper. She beams, standing up and waving wildly in greeting. They might seem like complete opposites but she thinks that's why their friendship works so well. Neria has helped her avoid detention more times than she can count; as much as she loves adventure and toeing the line, her friend has helped for her own head to remain firmly between her shoulders.
"Prompt as ever, I see," she says, all but bouncing on her feet. Merlin, but the day is too fresh and bright to waste.
"How about a race?" She suggests, a twinkle in her eyes. "To the edge of the forest?"
"What? Seriously?" Neria huffs out a laugh of disbelief, tugging on her bookbag strap. "I've got all these books. I can't run with them. And I'm certainly not leaving them here for someone to snatch." In her experience, Gryffindors don't care who the Slytherin is; they'll target any of them for a lark, and stealing her books -- especially when she has a few she checked out of the library -- would get Neria in loads of trouble.
"What about a nice, leisurely stroll towards the gamekeeper's hut instead? Fang might be out." Neria's love of big, slobbering dogs might seem at odds with her short stature and slightly cold manner, but dogs melt her heart like no other.
"Well, I didn't ask you to bring your books with you, did I?" Aleanna replies with a snort and a shake of her head. But she relents, after a moment. She might enjoy teasing her friend, but she would never outright force her into anything she didn't want to do.
"Alright, but only because I am rather fond of big, slobbering animals just as much as I am of racing," she agrees. She is smiling brightly as she says it, though.
In another moment, she has her arm linked through Neria's, making their way to Hagrid's hut.
"It is much too nice a day for you to be stuck inside, on that, I think we can both agree," she says as they walk.
But if Neria hadn't brought them, she wouldn't have a ready excuse as to why she couldn't take off racing across the grounds! So she's secretly glad she came straight from study hall.
Neria adjusts her steps to fall in line with Aleanna's. Being that she's only five feet tall, Neria often has to take long strides to keep up with people. She's used to it now.
"It's not raining, so that's good. Not too warm, not too cold." She honestly can't believe she's discussing the weather like this. Maybe it's an attempt to stop Aleanna from getting to the meat of the conversation, which she knows is coming. What will they do this year to get on Filch's bad side?
As the descend the hill towards the hut, Neria takes a moment to appreciate the quiet. It's not like this at home. Her aunt and uncle have way too many children with way too powerful lungs. The peace and quiet that can be found at Hogwarts is refreshing, and not one of her cousins is old enough to attend school here yet. She's sure they'd find a way to ruin her solitude.
"No, it rather is the perfect sort of day, isn't it?" Aleanna agrees, although she does raise an eyebrow at the obvious attempt to delay the conversation. Between the pair of them, Aleanna is the troublemaker; the one always trying to find a new adventure and new rules to break. What few other friends Aleanna has always wonder aloud that she didn't wind up in Gryffindor for her steady habit of rule-breaking.
For a moment, she takes the chance to enjoy the quiet herself. The children's home where she lives never allows for this sort of peace, what with the wide variety of children running rampant about the place. Aleanna hardly ever gets the chance to be alone with her thoughts, and, for the most part, she prefers it that way, given how melancholy her thoughts can so easily become.
But that fleeting moment is gone as quickly as it comes, and Aleanna is grinning mischievously at her friend once again.
"So I was thinking. I don't know how we can top the end of last year, but we ought to try," she says. "That last night in the Forbidden Forest, running from that horde of giant spiders." She sighs, and it's obvious from the look on her face that it's a fond memory for Aleanna. "I've never felt so alive."
"I wonder about you sometimes," Neria replies. "And if maybe you shouldn't head to St. Mungo's for a head exam. You've never felt more alive? We were seconds away from death! I thought my heart would burst out of my chest. I was glad when the whole business was over and done with." Because then things could get back to normal over the summer holiday and she could recover. It hadn't been a quiet vacation, but at least she wasn't in peril for it.
"At least we can agree on one thing: we don't know how to top last year." So hopefully they don't try.
At first glance, Aleanna thinks little of the crumbling cabin in the Hinterlands; it is, after all, a shack. If that, even. But they are currently being pursued by a horde of Dragonlings and a Great Bear, and they're all exhausted from recently slaying the high dragon previously terrorizing the northern Hinterlands.
So they run, and Aleanna dives towards the little shack. It's not much cover, but it should provide her a moment to breathe, just a little.
Except that, when she pushes past the door, she is very much not inside a crumbling cabin in the woods.
"Maker's breath," she says, eyes widening at what she sees. The interior would put even the Winter Palace to shame, she thinks. Gold and gilded at every corner, with a floor covered in marble, the Inquisitor takes a moment to try and understand what's just happened.
"Hey," she turns around, to try and draw her companions' attention. This will provide shelter enough for them, and then some, provided she can draw everyone in.
Except that the door she previously stumbled through is now solid wall.
"What?" She says, gaping a little. She has to wonder, now; did she somehow stumble into the Fade?
Alex really is losing her mind. She's figured that's the case for months now, ever since she was up to her elbows in Aydin's bloodied guts, but now she's reached Lolly's levels of lunacy as she finds herself not in the greenhouse in the prison's yard but instead somewhere impossible.
And not just impossibly glamorous.
It's even more fancy than any hotel that Kubra ever set them up in, an almost exact opposite to where she'd woken up this morning. There's a mixture of relief and confusion within her, a wondering as to whether she ought to relent to whatever kind of breakdown this is if it's going to be this beautiful. For a terrible moment, she wishes Piper were here, but she doesn't let the thought linger.
Especially not when she realizes she's not alone here. "What the hell?" she folds her arm, defensive. "Where did you come from?"
Aleanna starts when she finds herself facing another young woman in the halls of what seems to be some kind of palace. Or so she would assume, judging by the lavish decor surrounding them currently.
The stranger is just as fascinating as this new environment, if not moreso altogether. She finds herself staring.
"From the Hinterlands," she explains, as though it were obvious. She tries to piece together where this stranger and her odd clothes might have come from; she seems to resemble some kind of escapee, from what she can tell. "And yourself? This isn't...I didn't stumble into Orlais by accident, did I?"
The staring should faze Alex but several years in women's prison have made it so she's more or less used to any number of pairs of eyes watching her at any given time. She's grown more paranoid of who, exactly, is watching her... but she doesn't get the impression that there's anything immediately threatening about the woman standing before her.
The entire situation, on the other hand...
"I don't know any Hinterlands," she says, shaking her head and wondering whether it's more likely that this is the aforementioned descent into insanity or if she's gotten high as fuck and somehow can't remember it. Hallucinating isn't a side effect she's used to, though, and she's done the best to stay aboard the sobriety train for the past several years.
She just can't figure out what else would explain this. Strange place, strange (albeit not unattractive) girl... "Or Orlais. Last I checked I was walking around the yard," she says, then pauses to add: "The Litchfield yard, and as far as I'm aware that's supposed to be the case for a long, long time."
"Oh," Aleanna says, frowning in confusion. So this place is...not in Thedas, then? Or so she would assume, given her companion's reaction. Aleanna, without thinking, reaches for her staff, just in case. One never knew where or when one might encounter giant spiders, after all, and from what she can tell of this place, it seems rather...vacant. A perfect space for any number of vicious creatures, but, knowing her luck, they'll likely, sooner or later, run into a nest of poison spiders. Either way, Aleanna would rather be prepared than not.
"Litchfield?" She tilts her head, considering. It sounds like...a Circle, if she's being honest. But this woman carries no staff with her; is she even a mage?
"I'm sorry," she says, shaking her head. "I've never heard of a Litchfield. I was at the Circle at Ostwick before...well, before a lot of things, and certainly before this, whatever this is." She gestures with the hand that isn't holding her staff, indicating the strange palace they both seem to have wandered into.
"I don't suppose you know where this is, by any chance?"
"Your guess is as good as mine," Alex says, pushing her glasses up onto her head so that she can scrub her hands over her face. The feeling of skin on skin assures her that she's not sleeping, hallucinating or coming down from anything, but it's hardly reassuring.
It's meant to be a joke but Alex already gets the impression it's going to fly straight over the woman's head. Just like the staff had apparently flown over Alex's – she's only just realizing its presence now. While she still doesn't get the impression that she's facing a threat, she takes a subtle step backward. "What are you carrying that around for?"
The woman wears spectacles, which is also a novel sight for Aleanna. Not many people wear them, back home; those that do typically are of the wealthy sort, which doesn't seem to be the case with this stranger, if Aleanna is of any judge.
"I know of the Emerald Graves," she says, tilting her head curiously. "I've never heard of any Emerald City there, though." It sounds as pretty as the Dales, truthfully. But she wonders what secrets a city within the Emerald Graves might hold.
She sees the woman take a step backwards; once, it might have bothered her. Now, she's far too used to the sight, having years of experience with people backing away from her at any sign of magic.
"This is my staff," she explains, calmly and quietly. Her time in the Inquisition (and as the Inquisitor) has helped to cultivate a quiet sort of bravery in her; she can project confidence she doesn't quite feel more often than she used. "I am a mage. I promise, I'm not going to hurt you. I just thought...my magic might be helpful, here."
Now, people intruding on her personal space in terms of tents and rooms? That Aleanna is very much used to, given the lack of privacy in the Circles. Were she more fully in control of herself and less at the whims of her current illness, she might teasingly protest upon the good healer's intrusion.
As it happens, she can do little more than squint over at him as she pushes herself up on her bedroll, shivers running through her.
"Oh," she grins, waving at him in the dark. Seeing that he's attempting to shed some light on the darkness of the tent, Aleanna makes a gesture with her hands, lighting the lanterns with her own magic.
Which turns out to be a mistake when, a moment later, she nearly falls back down on her bedroll from the depletion of energy.
"Is that better?" She asks him. She starts coughing again, and even she cannot deny that she is likely in some trouble from pushing herself too much from the previous day.
"It is lighter but I'm not so certain about better," he grumbles as he comes to kneel beside her bedroll and placing a steadying hand on her shoulder. "Please, dear Lady, no more magic until you are much recovered. Do not waste the energy you need to recover, certainly not on such mundane tasks."
Finding a waterskin and a mug he carefully measures out a dose of the medicine and dilutes it with some water. Still it will taste foul but it won't be so harsh on the throat going down. "Here. It should help with bringing the fever down, or at least keep it from rising further as well as help ease the fever aches."
He sighs, then, looking at her, seeing the fever-flushed face and the shivers wracking her. "I held back in its potency as to not have it interfere with your cognitive functions, suspecting you would wish to be able to stay alert. But I shan't hold back in dealing with your cough. Sadly, this is no mere cold you are suffering." Bringing his ever-present satchel into his lap he opens it and starts looking through its contents. Poppy tears? A small dose, yes, why not?
His hand on her shoulder helps; she comes to find herself appreciative of such a kind and firm touch. She nods as she waits for the coughing to pass. Ugh, Maker. To be able to use magic and yet feel so helpless and weak in the face of illness...
It's a frustrating situation for her, overall.
But she does as Regis says, moving to lie back down again. He is right; she shouldn't be expending energy on magic. Not until she's at least somewhat better. She'll have to make do without, which...will be interesting. She hopes Regis is a patient man, although, from what she's seen of him so far, she suspects that to be the case already. And she is grateful for him.
She wrinkles her nose at the medicine, necessary though she knows it is. She can anticipate how terrible it will likely taste. (And she can hear her brothers' teasing in her thoughts, telling her how her face will get stuck like that if she isn't careful. She aches a bit, thinking of them and worrying about where they are.)
"Well, it's the thought that counts, right?" She says, taking the mug he offers. She sits up a bit so as to better be able to drink; she hesitates a moment, staring down at the contents within. Then she tosses her head back, downing the liquid in one go.
"Yes, it tastes awful, I know," he says sympathetically. "Medicine always does, it seems. Let it be a lesson for the future, to seek me out early enough that I will only ply you with medicinal teas rather than give you brews like this." At this gentle chiding his lips quirk up into a smile at her before he again focuses on his tasks.
Taking the mug back he pours in more water. Then from his satchel he takes out a small packet of fine powder that he adds to it, giving it a good swirl before adding a few drops from a carefully packed glass vial. Setting it aside to let the powder fully dissolve he turns back to his patient, leaning over her to lay his fingers to the sides of her neck, pressing gently and feeling for swelling in the lymph nodes. His fingers may be tipped with long and pointed fingernails but there isn't so much as a single prickle of them.
"So we have the fever, coughing and a congested nose. Is there anything else that you haven't mentioned? Any further swelling of the throat that you can detect? Any pains?"
She's still shaking her head, trying to get the bitter taste off of her tongue; her face scrunches, in the process. She casts him an amused, if wry, look.
"Yes, well, I have to convince myself that I am actually sick, first," she says. "Before that can happen."
She watches as he works, fascinated by his process. She knows the basics of making potions for herself (lyrium and healing draughts are her particular specialties, given how often she relies on them for battle), but the way he prepares the medicine seems like the work of an expert to her. Of course, that could very well just be her fever talking.
She considers his questions for a moment before shrugging. "My throat is raw but I think that's from all the coughing," she admits. "But I am no healer. I suppose I can admit that now." She smiles sheepishly at him, tucking a stray strand of sweat-soaked hair away from her face.
"No, the healer would be me, I do think." The wrinkles around his eyes creases further with the smile he gives her in return. His eyes are dark enough to almost appear black but in the light of the lanterns there is almost a shine to them. "If you insist on being stubborn, I will simply have to keep a closer eye on you."
With that said he sits back again and reaches for the mug, giving it a final swirl to assure that everything is mixed together before giving it to her. The preparation had looked easy, certainly, but then it had been made with substances prepared beforehand.
"There is a tincture of opium in this; it will likely make you somewhat drowsy. Some might experience some sensations of euphoria. Nausea is also not so terribly uncommon if regrettable, but if you start to feel very ill you must tell me straight away." With things being what they are, he isn't planning in leaving her side at all this night.
"If you must, I suppose," Aleanna smiles, the corners of her mouth quirking upwards as she feigns the kind of sigh she's observed Orlaisian noblewomen make when they insist they're about to faint. She enjoys the darkness of his eyes, the way they look entirely without end, even in the shine of the lanterns. There's something ethereal about the man and his appearance that she quite enjoys.
"Though I feel I must warn you: I make a terrible patient." Something he actually likely knows already, given everything that's recently taken place.
She accepts the mug, grateful for the warmth of it between her hands. She considers what he says and she nods.
"I don't suppose it tastes any better this time?" She doubts it, but she can still hope. She braces herself before bringing the mug to her lips. She downs it in one go.
They all knew the Exalted Council was going to be a shitshow, but not even Varric could have predicted just how much of a shitshow said Council ended up being. Clara is still reeling over the revelations - Solas as the Dreadwolf, Solas as an ancient Elven deity, and Solas planning on tearing down the Veil and possibly ending the world. In the days since getting back to Skyhold, Clara's been struggling trying to rectify the Solas that she knew - the fellow mage, one of her favorite people to have a conversation with - with what Solas is planning to do now. It hurts.
But as much as she struggles, she's also going to do her part to help. She starts organizing some of the other mages into groups, the better to try and research what kind of magic Solas has at his disposal. Clara throws herself into her work, an attempt to stave off her feelings of inadequacy and of being taken so thoroughly by surprise.
During the moments that she takes to catch her breath and grab a bite to eat, Clara's usually checking in with those she's working with or the Inqusitior and his advisors, outlining their next moves. Today finds her with an apple standing on the balcony outside of the Inquisitor's rooms, waiting for him. She has so many things that she wants to say to him, but she also wants to check in on him and make sure he's okay. After all, he is family, in addition to being the Inquisitor.
The reality of everything that's happened still hasn't exaclty sank in, and, much like sister; Aedan has taken to throwing himself into work as a way to try to deal with the more complicated emotions simmering beneath the surface.
He'd never been particularly close to Solas, not like he was with his other companions and advisors; their personalitiies were a bit too different for that. But he'd been friendly with him, and he knew Clara thought well of him, trusted him. Which made Aedan trust him as well. Solas had never given him reason to doubt that trust, up until he'd revealed his true intentions and idenity.
And needless to say the shock of betrayal and the anger were just the tip of the iceburg. He can't fathom the why of it, of Solas' aim to tear down the veil and subject everyone to the horrors that would result in.
After leaving a particularly heated council with his advisors, Aedan heads for his rooms to get a bit of a break from it all; a moment to sort out his thoughts. When he reaches the top of the stairs and sees Clara on the balcony, he relaxes a bit; grateful that she's there. He'd been meaning to talk to her one on one after everything went down, but it had been a flurry of activity with little time in between.
"I think Cullen's about to go blue in the face," he says in a somewhat light hearted tone as he steps out onto the balcony to join her; looking out toward the snow capped mountains. "That was the longest council ever and all we did was talk in circles," he says with a sigh; then places a hand atop her shoulder and gives it a squeeze. "How are you dealing with things?" No matter how many titles he's collected over the course of being Inquisitor, he'll always first be just Aedan, the older brother that wants to make sure she's alright no matter what.
"I can imagine," Clara says between bites of her apple. She reaches behind her, where she has a second apple she snagged from the kitchens just for him. She tosses it to him. (Ducking away to avoid the cook's wrath just in time, which seems to make the apples taste all the sweeter in her opinion.) "I wonder who was getting closer to changing colors: Cullen or Cassandra?"
She imagines Cullen; Cassandra has always been more level-headed than most in the Inquisition. With the exception of the whole...Varric hiding where Hawke was the entire time incident.
Clara smiles at the familiar weight of Aedan's hand on her shoulder. Above all else, it's a relief just to be able to have this brief bit of peace with her dear older brother.
"I'm...I think I'm doing better than I expected, honestly," she says, letting herself be honest with her brother in ways she never lets herself be with other people. "Working on trying to find solutions is helping, at least." She turns to look at him, concern clear in her expression.
"And dear brother, how are you holding up?"
He's the Inquisitor; he carries the whole weight of the world on his shoulders every day. She doesn't envy him that, especially not now, not after...everything that just happened at the Exalted Council.
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Hogwarts AU for @spellpower
Hogwarts is no different than the children's home in which she stays during the summer in this regard.
Perhaps she let the joy of returning to what she always considers her true home go to her head; perhaps the strange mixture of giddiness and sorrow at this being her sixth year, her second-to-last before graduation, has provoked her into making as much of her time remaining as possible.
Either way, in the afternoon, after her first day of classes (and a particularly dreadful Charms class in which she almost set her partner on fire oops), Aleanna makes her way to the edge of the lake, a glass of pumpkin juice and pastry balanced in one hand, her wand in the other. Quidditch practice hasn't started yet, either, so she finds herself with a fair amount of free time, especially given that she's already finished her homework for the day.
She offers the part of the pastry to the giant squid, smiling as she watches the tentacle sink back into the water with the treat. She turns her gaze to the castle grounds, where students of every year wander and catch up with old friends. She feels the sunlight warm her bones.
As for herself, Aleanna is waiting. She needs to plan her first big adventure of the year, and she can't do it alone.
So she sits. And waits. And she hopes her message has been received as she begins to consider the possibilities. Ghostly tea parties? Sneaking into Hogsmeade? Or perhaps into the Forbidden Forest? The possibilities are endless.
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Finishing her pumpkin juice and wiping her mouth with her napkin, she rises from the Slytherin table and heads out towards the lake. The sunlight makes her squint and raise a hand to shield her eyes as she searches for that familiar mop of hair. Students of all different houses and years are milling about here, but she's looking for one troublesome Hufflepuff in particular -- ah, there she is. Lowering a hand to run along the strap of her shoulder bag, Neria inhales deeply and prepares herself for what's to come. If they're lucky, they'll accomplish things without getting caught. If they're not, it's detention in the Forbidden Forest. Only she's sure Aleanna would love that. Might actively work towards it. Why were they friends again?
"Here I am, as summoned," she says dryly on reaching the Hufflepuff's side.
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"Prompt as ever, I see," she says, all but bouncing on her feet. Merlin, but the day is too fresh and bright to waste.
"How about a race?" She suggests, a twinkle in her eyes. "To the edge of the forest?"
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"What about a nice, leisurely stroll towards the gamekeeper's hut instead? Fang might be out." Neria's love of big, slobbering dogs might seem at odds with her short stature and slightly cold manner, but dogs melt her heart like no other.
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"Alright, but only because I am rather fond of big, slobbering animals just as much as I am of racing," she agrees. She is smiling brightly as she says it, though.
In another moment, she has her arm linked through Neria's, making their way to Hagrid's hut.
"It is much too nice a day for you to be stuck inside, on that, I think we can both agree," she says as they walk.
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Neria adjusts her steps to fall in line with Aleanna's. Being that she's only five feet tall, Neria often has to take long strides to keep up with people. She's used to it now.
"It's not raining, so that's good. Not too warm, not too cold." She honestly can't believe she's discussing the weather like this. Maybe it's an attempt to stop Aleanna from getting to the meat of the conversation, which she knows is coming. What will they do this year to get on Filch's bad side?
As the descend the hill towards the hut, Neria takes a moment to appreciate the quiet. It's not like this at home. Her aunt and uncle have way too many children with way too powerful lungs. The peace and quiet that can be found at Hogwarts is refreshing, and not one of her cousins is old enough to attend school here yet. She's sure they'd find a way to ruin her solitude.
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For a moment, she takes the chance to enjoy the quiet herself. The children's home where she lives never allows for this sort of peace, what with the wide variety of children running rampant about the place. Aleanna hardly ever gets the chance to be alone with her thoughts, and, for the most part, she prefers it that way, given how melancholy her thoughts can so easily become.
But that fleeting moment is gone as quickly as it comes, and Aleanna is grinning mischievously at her friend once again.
"So I was thinking. I don't know how we can top the end of last year, but we ought to try," she says. "That last night in the Forbidden Forest, running from that horde of giant spiders." She sighs, and it's obvious from the look on her face that it's a fond memory for Aleanna. "I've never felt so alive."
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"At least we can agree on one thing: we don't know how to top last year." So hopefully they don't try.
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Twilight Hotel PSL
So they run, and Aleanna dives towards the little shack. It's not much cover, but it should provide her a moment to breathe, just a little.
Except that, when she pushes past the door, she is very much not inside a crumbling cabin in the woods.
"Maker's breath," she says, eyes widening at what she sees. The interior would put even the Winter Palace to shame, she thinks. Gold and gilded at every corner, with a floor covered in marble, the Inquisitor takes a moment to try and understand what's just happened.
"Hey," she turns around, to try and draw her companions' attention. This will provide shelter enough for them, and then some, provided she can draw everyone in.
Except that the door she previously stumbled through is now solid wall.
"What?" She says, gaping a little. She has to wonder, now; did she somehow stumble into the Fade?
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Alex really is losing her mind. She's figured that's the case for months now, ever since she was up to her elbows in Aydin's bloodied guts, but now she's reached Lolly's levels of lunacy as she finds herself not in the greenhouse in the prison's yard but instead somewhere impossible.
And not just impossibly glamorous.
It's even more fancy than any hotel that Kubra ever set them up in, an almost exact opposite to where she'd woken up this morning. There's a mixture of relief and confusion within her, a wondering as to whether she ought to relent to whatever kind of breakdown this is if it's going to be this beautiful. For a terrible moment, she wishes Piper were here, but she doesn't let the thought linger.
Especially not when she realizes she's not alone here. "What the hell?" she folds her arm, defensive. "Where did you come from?"
Sorry for the delay! <3
The stranger is just as fascinating as this new environment, if not moreso altogether. She finds herself staring.
"From the Hinterlands," she explains, as though it were obvious. She tries to piece together where this stranger and her odd clothes might have come from; she seems to resemble some kind of escapee, from what she can tell. "And yourself? This isn't...I didn't stumble into Orlais by accident, did I?"
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The entire situation, on the other hand...
"I don't know any Hinterlands," she says, shaking her head and wondering whether it's more likely that this is the aforementioned descent into insanity or if she's gotten high as fuck and somehow can't remember it. Hallucinating isn't a side effect she's used to, though, and she's done the best to stay aboard the sobriety train for the past several years.
She just can't figure out what else would explain this. Strange place, strange (albeit not unattractive) girl... "Or Orlais. Last I checked I was walking around the yard," she says, then pauses to add: "The Litchfield yard, and as far as I'm aware that's supposed to be the case for a long, long time."
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"Litchfield?" She tilts her head, considering. It sounds like...a Circle, if she's being honest. But this woman carries no staff with her; is she even a mage?
"I'm sorry," she says, shaking her head. "I've never heard of a Litchfield. I was at the Circle at Ostwick before...well, before a lot of things, and certainly before this, whatever this is." She gestures with the hand that isn't holding her staff, indicating the strange palace they both seem to have wandered into.
"I don't suppose you know where this is, by any chance?"
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She might not want to be in Litchfield but she wants to at least know where she is. "Although I haven't really had much time to consider the possibilities. Is it too much of a cliché if I say maybe... Emerald City?"
It's meant to be a joke but Alex already gets the impression it's going to fly straight over the woman's head. Just like the staff had apparently flown over Alex's – she's only just realizing its presence now. While she still doesn't get the impression that she's facing a threat, she takes a subtle step backward. "What are you carrying that around for?"
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"I know of the Emerald Graves," she says, tilting her head curiously. "I've never heard of any Emerald City there, though." It sounds as pretty as the Dales, truthfully. But she wonders what secrets a city within the Emerald Graves might hold.
She sees the woman take a step backwards; once, it might have bothered her. Now, she's far too used to the sight, having years of experience with people backing away from her at any sign of magic.
"This is my staff," she explains, calmly and quietly. Her time in the Inquisition (and as the Inquisitor) has helped to cultivate a quiet sort of bravery in her; she can project confidence she doesn't quite feel more often than she used. "I am a mage. I promise, I'm not going to hurt you. I just thought...my magic might be helpful, here."
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Continuation of Sick-Day PSL for @mandragoraspiritus
Now, people intruding on her personal space in terms of tents and rooms? That Aleanna is very much used to, given the lack of privacy in the Circles. Were she more fully in control of herself and less at the whims of her current illness, she might teasingly protest upon the good healer's intrusion.
As it happens, she can do little more than squint over at him as she pushes herself up on her bedroll, shivers running through her.
"Oh," she grins, waving at him in the dark. Seeing that he's attempting to shed some light on the darkness of the tent, Aleanna makes a gesture with her hands, lighting the lanterns with her own magic.
Which turns out to be a mistake when, a moment later, she nearly falls back down on her bedroll from the depletion of energy.
"Is that better?" She asks him. She starts coughing again, and even she cannot deny that she is likely in some trouble from pushing herself too much from the previous day.
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Finding a waterskin and a mug he carefully measures out a dose of the medicine and dilutes it with some water. Still it will taste foul but it won't be so harsh on the throat going down. "Here. It should help with bringing the fever down, or at least keep it from rising further as well as help ease the fever aches."
He sighs, then, looking at her, seeing the fever-flushed face and the shivers wracking her. "I held back in its potency as to not have it interfere with your cognitive functions, suspecting you would wish to be able to stay alert. But I shan't hold back in dealing with your cough. Sadly, this is no mere cold you are suffering." Bringing his ever-present satchel into his lap he opens it and starts looking through its contents. Poppy tears? A small dose, yes, why not?
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It's a frustrating situation for her, overall.
But she does as Regis says, moving to lie back down again. He is right; she shouldn't be expending energy on magic. Not until she's at least somewhat better. She'll have to make do without, which...will be interesting. She hopes Regis is a patient man, although, from what she's seen of him so far, she suspects that to be the case already. And she is grateful for him.
She wrinkles her nose at the medicine, necessary though she knows it is. She can anticipate how terrible it will likely taste. (And she can hear her brothers' teasing in her thoughts, telling her how her face will get stuck like that if she isn't careful. She aches a bit, thinking of them and worrying about where they are.)
"Well, it's the thought that counts, right?" She says, taking the mug he offers. She sits up a bit so as to better be able to drink; she hesitates a moment, staring down at the contents within. Then she tosses her head back, downing the liquid in one go.
She...almost manages not to wince at the taste.
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Taking the mug back he pours in more water. Then from his satchel he takes out a small packet of fine powder that he adds to it, giving it a good swirl before adding a few drops from a carefully packed glass vial. Setting it aside to let the powder fully dissolve he turns back to his patient, leaning over her to lay his fingers to the sides of her neck, pressing gently and feeling for swelling in the lymph nodes. His fingers may be tipped with long and pointed fingernails but there isn't so much as a single prickle of them.
"So we have the fever, coughing and a congested nose. Is there anything else that you haven't mentioned? Any further swelling of the throat that you can detect? Any pains?"
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"Yes, well, I have to convince myself that I am actually sick, first," she says. "Before that can happen."
She watches as he works, fascinated by his process. She knows the basics of making potions for herself (lyrium and healing draughts are her particular specialties, given how often she relies on them for battle), but the way he prepares the medicine seems like the work of an expert to her. Of course, that could very well just be her fever talking.
She considers his questions for a moment before shrugging. "My throat is raw but I think that's from all the coughing," she admits. "But I am no healer. I suppose I can admit that now." She smiles sheepishly at him, tucking a stray strand of sweat-soaked hair away from her face.
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With that said he sits back again and reaches for the mug, giving it a final swirl to assure that everything is mixed together before giving it to her. The preparation had looked easy, certainly, but then it had been made with substances prepared beforehand.
"There is a tincture of opium in this; it will likely make you somewhat drowsy. Some might experience some sensations of euphoria. Nausea is also not so terribly uncommon if regrettable, but if you start to feel very ill you must tell me straight away." With things being what they are, he isn't planning in leaving her side at all this night.
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"Though I feel I must warn you: I make a terrible patient." Something he actually likely knows already, given everything that's recently taken place.
She accepts the mug, grateful for the warmth of it between her hands. She considers what he says and she nods.
"I don't suppose it tastes any better this time?" She doubts it, but she can still hope. She braces herself before bringing the mug to her lips. She downs it in one go.
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For @firstimpression
But as much as she struggles, she's also going to do her part to help. She starts organizing some of the other mages into groups, the better to try and research what kind of magic Solas has at his disposal. Clara throws herself into her work, an attempt to stave off her feelings of inadequacy and of being taken so thoroughly by surprise.
During the moments that she takes to catch her breath and grab a bite to eat, Clara's usually checking in with those she's working with or the Inqusitior and his advisors, outlining their next moves. Today finds her with an apple standing on the balcony outside of the Inquisitor's rooms, waiting for him. She has so many things that she wants to say to him, but she also wants to check in on him and make sure he's okay. After all, he is family, in addition to being the Inquisitor.
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He'd never been particularly close to Solas, not like he was with his other companions and advisors; their personalitiies were a bit too different for that. But he'd been friendly with him, and he knew Clara thought well of him, trusted him. Which made Aedan trust him as well. Solas had never given him reason to doubt that trust, up until he'd revealed his true intentions and idenity.
And needless to say the shock of betrayal and the anger were just the tip of the iceburg. He can't fathom the why of it, of Solas' aim to tear down the veil and subject everyone to the horrors that would result in.
After leaving a particularly heated council with his advisors, Aedan heads for his rooms to get a bit of a break from it all; a moment to sort out his thoughts. When he reaches the top of the stairs and sees Clara on the balcony, he relaxes a bit; grateful that she's there. He'd been meaning to talk to her one on one after everything went down, but it had been a flurry of activity with little time in between.
"I think Cullen's about to go blue in the face," he says in a somewhat light hearted tone as he steps out onto the balcony to join her; looking out toward the snow capped mountains. "That was the longest council ever and all we did was talk in circles," he says with a sigh; then places a hand atop her shoulder and gives it a squeeze. "How are you dealing with things?" No matter how many titles he's collected over the course of being Inquisitor, he'll always first be just Aedan, the older brother that wants to make sure she's alright no matter what.
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She imagines Cullen; Cassandra has always been more level-headed than most in the Inquisition. With the exception of the whole...Varric hiding where Hawke was the entire time incident.
Clara smiles at the familiar weight of Aedan's hand on her shoulder. Above all else, it's a relief just to be able to have this brief bit of peace with her dear older brother.
"I'm...I think I'm doing better than I expected, honestly," she says, letting herself be honest with her brother in ways she never lets herself be with other people. "Working on trying to find solutions is helping, at least." She turns to look at him, concern clear in her expression.
"And dear brother, how are you holding up?"
He's the Inquisitor; he carries the whole weight of the world on his shoulders every day. She doesn't envy him that, especially not now, not after...everything that just happened at the Exalted Council.