When Aleanna falls Regis is there to catch her. He had seen her face suddenly go pale. He wishes he could say that he is surprised but he isn't, though sometimes he hates it when he is right.
He cradles her close with one arm as he sinks to his knees, lowering her down. His free hand is by her neck, feeling her racing pulse and rising temperature. He doesn't at all like what he finds. “Brave and stubborn people really doesn't make for good patients,” he murmurs softly as he brushes away wet locks of red hair that have plastered themselves to her face in the fight.
Looking up he seeks out Cassandra. “We must seek out more safe and sheltered ground. She must have rest if she is to break this fever. She is in no state to travel, let alone fight.” A place to grant respite for as long as is needed? Regis knows this won't be cured by a mere good night's sleep. Where to find such a place, here in the mire? Finding a place to set up camp for such a large group as this can be challenge enough each night.
She falls into a space somewhere between conscious and unconscious, a sort of space between waking and whatever it is the fever is doing to her head. Visions of all kinds leap about before her eyes, along with concerned whispers and muted discussions over what must be done next.
Cassandra says something to Regis about having the group split up for ease of travel. Something about Aleanna and Regis catching up with the others once she's well enough to travel again, or something to that effect. Aleanna can't quite make out the words, but she can hear the concern and the meaning within Cassandra's words.
She groans, her head aching, and she clutches at what she can of Regis as he holds her up. She can feel herself shivering; it feels as if all the progress she's made so far from her illness has entirely vanished.
She doesn't hear Regis' response to Cassandra, but she appreciates his presence all the same.
There is a flurry of activity for a time. Scouts are sent out and a decent location found nearby, where a slightly higher ground makes it less damp and soggy if not exactly dry and a small copse of gnarled trees and denser underbrush can provide shelter both from the wind and from sight while still giving just enough space for them to pitch a tent. Just the one. They will have to make due.
The group helps to get everything quickly settled, leaving behind supplies before they go; rations for a week that Regis knows he can make last for two since he himself doesn't actually need much of it. There are also a clothes and blankets kept mostly dry by the bags of oiled leather they have been packed into. These will now initially be very important, as Aleanna is soaked and chilled to the bone.
"I apologize for this breach of your privacy," he mumbles after he has carried her into the tent, unsure if she can even hear him or not in her fevered delirium, "but it is necessary. I can't leave you chilled like this." Now safely out of the rain he wastes no time in methodically stripping her of her armor and soaked clothing. Just as quickly he dresses her in dry garments before wrapping her up in the blankets they have. He doesn't think he can get her to swallow another dose of the medicine as it is now. Even if he could it is still too early for it; too much medicine will only make it a poison.
Still, there are other things he can do and will do. Hastily he sheds his own cold and wet clothes and redresses in a dry set of trousers and tunic before he too lies down, gently gathering Aleanna against him and wrapping the blankets around the both of them. Yes, she is running a fever but a prolonged chill like this won't help matters. He must get her warmed and this is the best way he knows how in circumstances like this.
Aleanna instinctively wants to protest at being handled like a child, picked up and carried as though she might fall apart otherwise. But the fact of the matter is that, even in her current state, she can tell she's rather fragile. She doesn't even have the energy to thank the rest of the group as they provide them with supplies and rations, or to say good-bye as they prepare to set out on their own.
She doesn't even have the energy or will to make a smart remark about Regis getting her out of her clothes as he helps to dry her.
All she can is lie still and let Regis take care of her. It's such an odd feeling; as though she were a prisoner in her own body. She might as well be, for all the fever does to render her helpless.
But soon enough, Regis is changing himself, and he's pulling her close, throwing warm blankets over the pair of them. Aleanna lets out a sigh, snuggling up to the warmth out of instinct.
"Well," she says, when she does manage to find the strength to speak at last, "this is one way of getting to know each other better." She hopes it's obvious from her tone that she doesn't mind in the least.
That she can seek out the comfort of bodily warmth and that she is lucid enough to speak is a great relief. Even more than her little quip it is that relief that has him breathe out a short, quiet laugh.
"Yes, well..." He clears his throat while rubbing a hand in circles over her back to get her circulation going. "It is an unorthodox method to be sure but will no doubt prove effective. The others have gone on ahead. We are as sheltered as we can be, but there simply wasn't room for the others to stay." It will only be the two of them, for however long it will take for Aleanna to recover.
"I could have wished for a better place for you to recuperate but we shall simply have to make due with what we have. This time I do not intend to let you be so hasty in being on your way. We shall reunite with the others in due time but for now you must simply allow yourself to rest."
The sound of his laughter, soft as it may be, does just as much to help put Aleanna at ease as does the comforting presence of his warm body. She smiles, glancing over at him, very much hoping she'll get the chance to hear that particular sound again. Maker, he really is lovely.
Her eyes flutter closed a bit as he begins rubbing circles on her back, a gesture she very much appreciates. She might feel as bad as she did yesterday, if not worse, but she must admit she is quite fond of this more intimate treatment.
"I would rather they move on," she says, considering for a moment. "They won't be able to close rifts without me but they can still help in other ways that don't require me. I just hope they don't run into any trouble." Which is both sweet and hypocritical of her, given how often she tends to attract trouble herself on a daily basis.
At that, she has to smile sheepishly. If she weren't already flushed from the fever, she would be blushing.
"Well of course," she says, "because that's what I'm here for. Extended recoveries."
There is a peculiar scent to him, normally hidden under the fragrances of the herbs and spices he always carries and works with but detectable up close like this; a strange, earthy smell, like open, rainwashed soil.
Holding her the way he is, her head tucked in under his chin, he has to crane his neck to peer down at her. "Dear lady, with how you have been pushing yourself I am not so sure I shall not think you are merely jesting."
His rubbing of her back had halted just for a moment but he resumes it now, in slower, less vigorous and more comforting strokes. He breathes a sigh, closing his eyes and letting some of the tension drain from his body. She will be alright, with time and care. He will make sure she gets both.
"Try if you can to not dwell on the rifts. They will still be there when you have recovered and is better able to see to them."
Aleanna winds up snuggling further into him, his earthy scent settling over her senses easily, like the rain. It makes her smile, as she thinks of all the puddles she's ever jumped in back home, and all the days she spent rolling around the wildness of the earth. His scent is as comforting as the way he is holding her, and she appreciates him all the more for it.
"I always do like to keep handsome men on their toes," she says, smiling. "A bad habit I've yet to grow out of, I'm afraid."
She lets out a sigh as his strokes slow, become more comfortable. His care and attention are doing wonders for her spirit, if not her health, as they remain comfortable in the tent. Or, as comfortable as they can be, at any rate.
Her smile turns a little wry, at that. "A little hard not to think of them, when I have a piece of the Fade stuck in my hand."
Handsome men? That has Regis raising an eyebrow in equal parts puzzlement and surprise. He has no issue with his appearance - what he knows of it as he can't see his own reflection in a mirror - but he is aware that he looks to be in his middle age, or even older still after events in the not too distant past that he's still recovering from. He looks worn and haggard because he truly is. All in all, it doesn't make for what spirited, young women would normally find very attractive.
He lets that topic go, though, both for the fact that he doesn't quite know how to reply to it - again, the foolishness of old men - but also because their conversation takes a more serious turn.
For a moment his arms tighten around her, as if wanting to provide comfort for the momentous and unasked for task that has been given her. But how does one express sympathy for something like this? The Fade itself, lodged in the palm of her hand. Even he, with all his centuries of life lived, doesn't really know. He doesn't want her to feel as if he pities her. He truly doesn't; if anything he admires her, for shouldering this burden and keeping her spirits high.
In the end, he ends up softly echoing words from the night before. "Remember, dear Lady, that you do not walk this path alone."
Aleanna's never been one for being afraid of speaking her mind. She knows her own mind and her own heart, and she knows them well, from all the years she's spent honing both. Even if she weren't currently burdened with a fever, she would not hesitate in stating what she thinks of Regis; she's never been one from holding back, regardless of whether she likes a person or not. (To say that this has gotten her into trouble on more than one occasion is something of an understatement, particularly when one speaks with Josephine on the matter.)
His arms tighten around her, and it feels so wonderful; so warm and supportive, in a way that reminds her of the comfort she found in the embraces of her fellow mages that first night in the Circle at her young age.
She smiles, and without realizing it, she leans back into his arms, nuzzling him slightly.
"It feels good, you know," she says, in a moment of vulnerable honesty. "To hear that. I appreciate it. Thank you, good sir."
He probably shouldn't read too much into this. The light, flirtatious banter from before is probably just who she is as a person, and her snuggling up to him like this is most likely no more than seeking friendly and freely given comfort and warmth. And, if there is more to it than that, he should put a stop to it, sooner rather than later. For her sake. He doesn't wish such grief upon her, or to deceive her more than he already is. What getting to know her, this bright, spirited young woman, might have started to make him wish for should be of no consequence.
And yet... Even as she nuzzles against him, he does nothing to create distance between them. Her breath is warm and sweet against his throat and for now, just for now he allows himself this brief moment to enjoy it, not helping matters at all by brushing back her mass of red curls.
"Please, just call me Regis. I would not call myself sir of anything."
He should get up and leave her to rest. Just as soon as he's sure she's warmed up. Just as soon as...
Aleanna sighs as he brushes back her hair, a comforting gesture that reminds of her happier memories at the Circle, back when they would all nest together in one of the dorm rooms, usually all on the floor in a giant pile of pillows, blankets, and bodies. She winds up snuggling closer against him, a small smile on her lips. He feels so warm and sturdy, a rock warmed by the sun. And even through the warmth of her fever, she can feel the way her heart cackles with unspent electricity in his presence.
"Regis, then," she repeats, her lips curving in a genuine smile. "I like it. It's not a name one hears too often, these days."
She sighs, and it's likely that her breath falls on him in some capacity, given how closely they are entwined together.
"Thank you, Regis," she says. "It means a lot to me that you're here with me."
"I could not very well leave you," he says, smiling as he repeats the gesture, not blind to her enjoyment of it. "A doctor's place is with his patient, wouldn't you agree? Though I must confess that this is not the usual treatment I would give." No, far from. He could get up now. She would be fine if he did, and there are many other useful things he could and perhaps should be doing. And yet he lingers.
It is with a somewhat guilty feeling that Regis enjoys this moment. It has been so very long since someone last took comfort in his arms and he allowed in turn to find his own. He is finding it here, drawing his own comfort just as much as he's giving it to her, most likely. And he's not even the one suffering an illness, though admittedly, he is suffering a deep and prolonged weariness, and years upon years of solitude.
So he focuses on the senses involved now, to store away a detailed memory of the moment to recall another day; how she feels where she lay against him, her heat and shape from head to toe, her breath on his skin. Her scent, made wild by the lingering traces of wood smoke from their campfires, from the air of the mire and the rain. He files away every sound his sharp ears can pick up; her voice when she speaks, the air flowing in and out of her lungs, the steady and strong beating of her heart.
But... There is something more, something that had been hidden under the smattering of the rain against the canvas of their tent, some other sound that he can hear now when he's actively listening. Something from outside, something drawing nearer. Frowning he pulls back somewhat and pushes up to lean on one elbow, eyes at the small gap by the tent flaps. He can only hope that it is only some animal that will soon be on its way, but if it isn't...
"Well, I'm very fond of this sort of unusual treatment, just so you know," Aleanna tells him with another smile. She turns her head and breathes him in, letting out a small sigh in the process.
She's never really felt close to someone like this. Not in anything other than a friendly way, of course. It was a dangerous game, in the Circle, to develop feelings for anyone else; the templars could and did so very easily hold that power against you. And so she's rather used to guarding her heart more carefully than this. But something about Regis makes her want to open up; she feels safe with him, and warm. Like she can take a moment to catch her breath and not carry the weight of the world on her worn and weary shoulders, for once.
Aleanna herself is too out of it, still, to be able to pick up on the sounds of approaching intruders to their tent. But the scent of darkspawn...well. It creeps up on her rather suddenly, and even with her nose stuffed, she can detect the scent of decay and rot. Alarmed, she sits up abruptly.
"Regis, be careful!"
But a moment later, a gnarled hand is pulling back at the tent from the other side, and all peace and tranquility is, for the moment, lost.
It is funny, sometimes, how quickly things can change. One moment Regis is a warm and comforting presence right there next to her, in all appearance a simple man. A bit odd in some ways, perhaps, but just a man. But in the next moment...
Where he had lain next to her is suddenly nothing but smoke, or mist perhaps, thick and gray and dark. It moves, twisting like something living, rising and staying gathered like a cloud. Then it rushes forward with such speed and presence even without solid form that it sweeps the still-warm blankets right off Aleanna. It hits the darkspawn even before it is fully visible with the sound of a body slamming into another, knocking the creature out and away from the tent.
Then there is the sound of battle, but not like those the group has fought in their travels. There is no sound of magic, of spells, no sounds of weapon striking. No, this is different. This is the sounds of claws against claws, ripping and tearing; wet, awful sounds.
From the moment Regis had joined them he had stated clearly that he is not a fighter. But he can fight and now he does, because he must. He fights like the beast he is by nature; the veil of humanity fallen aside to reveal hands where claws like blades sprout from his fingers, his face monstrously twisted, eyes solid black and bottomless, ears swept up into long points and a mouth full of nothing but sharp teeth.
Everything seems to happen in an instant. One moment, Aleanna is curled up with Regis, resting comfortably in his arms against the cold damp of the world outside. In the next, she finds herself suddenly alone; she registers the abrupt lack of his presence before she can bring herself to roll over and see it with her own eyes. At the same time, she feels the rush as the blanket is swept from off her body.
And what she does see makes her eyes widen.
Regis is...well, he is suddenly more than what she knows him as. He fights viciously, and intensely, from what she can see. She's reminded of the tales of werewolves some of the elves in her Circle had whispered about after dark.
But she gets over herself a moment later; like hell is she going to leave him to fight this on his own.
She pulls herself up, gathering what mana she can in the process. She reaches for her staff and is quickly shooting off ice spells as fast as she can cast them in her state.
The ice and frost slamming into the darkspawn certainly doesn't go unnoticed. It causes him to find just a brief lull in the battle, just a gap between foes where he stands with his back towards her, a hand up in a halting gesture. "No!" His voice is rougher now than it has been, more gravelly. "You do not need to fight! Rest!" He doesn't want her in this fight, not when the last cost her so badly.
And, indeed, he doesn't need her in this fight. It is no more than he can easily if admittedly viciously handle on his own. When he returns to the surge of the battle it is like he's everywhere at once, fully corporeal one second and no more than dark fog the next, flowing and darting between foes, his claws as hard and sharp as any steel stabbing and cutting into the darkspawn and tearing them apart.
It is over as quickly as it had all begun. For a moment he stands in the middle of it all, of all the fallen and dismembered bodies, looking around, listening with claws still out. Then as he turns it is like it all melts off him, the veil of his disguise falling back into place and returning him to the more human shape he's had until this happened. He looks tired but not as in exhausted from the fight. No, it's something other than that, something far deeper. And, he looks sad. Regretful.
He lifts his hands as if to clasp them around the strap of his satchel in his habitual stance. But there is no strap there across his chest, the satchel still in the tent and his hands are still covered with gore. He lets them drop back to his sides again as he takes a few hesitant steps towards Aleanna, as if unsure that he is welcome. There he stays, a distance away from the tent, barefoot in the rain, the fabric of the tunic he wears plastering itself against him as it soaks through.
"I apologize for my deception," he says softly. "If you would allow me, I would explain myself."
Aleanna wants to argue; she wants to protest and put up a fight. She detests sitting out on the sidelines; she hates feeling helpless and leaving others to fight without her. But the fact of the matter is that she is exhausted. And what brief energy she could expend is very much now spent after the brief spells she cast at the invading darkspawn. So all she can do is pout, really, as her body gives way and she curls in on herself, unable to do more.
He throws himself into the fight with such an intensity, she can't help but be captivated in the viciousness of his movements. He tears the creatures apart as though they were made of cheap fabric, bits and pieces of the darkspawn flying everywhere in his wake. It ought to be purely disgusting; instead, Aleanna is fascinated.
He fights so well, the battle ends soon after it starts. She pulls herself up onto her elbows to look at him, back to the form she knows him as, as he stands in the rain.
"You will indeed," she says. Her tone is firm enough, but with an underlying friendliness that she hopes he can understand. "Though, you will do so out of the rain. I don't want to see you become ill."
She doesn't hate the way the tunic clings to his chest, though. Quite the opposite, in fact, as her gaze keeps returning to the soaked fabric and the outline of his chest it presents so nicely.
There is a touch of a returning gentle smile to his expression when Aleanna makes her request. "There is no risk for that," he assures but nevertheless bows his head in acquiescence and resumes his slow walk back to the tent. Be pauses briefly before entering, crouching down to wipe his hands as clean as he can on the wet moss covering the ground.
Once they are both back under the shelter of the canvas of the tent and he's assured himself that she's settled and safe - if not well - he takes his own seat, keeping as much respectful distance as the tent allows. It puts him kneeling by the very entrance; a good thing perhaps, should more darkspawn decide to rise. He remains dressed in his soaked clothing. The one change of clothes he has available to him at present is the one he had changed out of just before. He doesn't seem to feel the chill, though.
But, he owes her an explanation, as he had promised her. "I... Hmm. I scarcely know where to begin." He truly doesn't, for there is so much. And, for the simple fact that he is, in a way, rather worried. Afraid, one could even say. It shows in the frown that creases his brow, the unusual hesitance with which he speaks. He is used to the deception, to the masquerade, because that is what is needed to be able to remain among people. To not have them scream and run at the sight of him, should they see him for what he is. Now Aleanna has seen and while she isn't running away from him - not that she can in her present state - he is still facing the possibility of rejection and expulsion.
"Perhaps I should start with an assurance, that, despite the monstrous appearance of mine that you just now had to witness, and despite the fact that my kind are not originally of this world, I am not of the Fade. I am not one of the darkspawn." He glances briefly out through the slight gap, out to the bog where the remains of the battle still lie scattered. He will need to clear that up, soon. "I am not one of them. In what I have told you before now I have not lied. I am indeed a barber-surgeon and I do truly wish to aid in this effort, this quest I have followed you on. But lies do not only come by falsehood, they come by omission. This I must rectify."
He sighs and shakes his head. "Perhaps I should start by properly introducing myself." He lays a palm to his chest and bows, managing a somewhat formal gesture even with the way he sits. "My name is Emiel Regis Rohellec Terzieff-Godefroy. I am four-hundred and thirty-eight years old, by your calendar. What I am is not widely known here; hardly known at all. I have in my years and travels seen only few possible references, inaccurate ones at that. The name may not mean much to you but I shall give it to you regardless. I am a higher vampire."
It doesn't take Aleanna long to settle back into the tent, drained of energy as she is. She clings to the various blankets and other materials she wraps around herself, savoring the warmth that spreads from the fabric to her skin. Even with her fever, the chill in the air makes it so that she seeks out warmth instead of cold. She can feel the rain and wind outside deep in her bones.
She snuggles into where she's laid her head, watching Regis with a smile that she hopes comes across as encouraging.
She doesn't fail to notice how tentative and nervous he seems, though. She wants to reach out and take his hand, to squeeze it. She wants to let him know that it's alright, whatever it is he wants to tell her.
But she doesn't know if such a touch would be welcomed, nor does she truly have the energy for it. Instead, she settles for listening to Regis to the best of her abilities.
Her eyebrows both arch at his full name, and the corners of her mouth twitch. He mentions his age, which, while shocking, hardly phases her at all.
"I can see why you prefer Regis," she comments, when she does decide to speak. She tilts her head, considering him gently. "What is a higher vampire, exactly?"
"That is much like asking an elf or a dwarf or a human what they are." He gives her a brief, small smile. "I can list traits and and abilities, but that paints no more than a small part of the picture."
He is encouraged by her smile and her humor. He just isn't so sure that those will remain.
"In those references I mentioned I have seen it written about the dead rising from their graves in search of blood, or demons possessing the living for much the same reason. But let me assure you now that I am no less alive than you are and that the only thing possessing this body is myself. There is nothing demonic about me. Bestial, perhaps, as you have just seen. This I might concede. However..."
His eyes turn distant as if gazing through time and distance. "A long way from there, set into the hillside of a faraway land is a cave. In this cave is a doorway, sealed shut in a time long before any man or dwarf, elf or qunari can remember. Through this doorway once came a few beings, not many at all, stepping through from another world. When the doorway sealed they became trapped here. I am a descendant of those few. I was born on this world, but I do not belong to it."
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He cradles her close with one arm as he sinks to his knees, lowering her down. His free hand is by her neck, feeling her racing pulse and rising temperature. He doesn't at all like what he finds. “Brave and stubborn people really doesn't make for good patients,” he murmurs softly as he brushes away wet locks of red hair that have plastered themselves to her face in the fight.
Looking up he seeks out Cassandra. “We must seek out more safe and sheltered ground. She must have rest if she is to break this fever. She is in no state to travel, let alone fight.” A place to grant respite for as long as is needed? Regis knows this won't be cured by a mere good night's sleep. Where to find such a place, here in the mire? Finding a place to set up camp for such a large group as this can be challenge enough each night.
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Cassandra says something to Regis about having the group split up for ease of travel. Something about Aleanna and Regis catching up with the others once she's well enough to travel again, or something to that effect. Aleanna can't quite make out the words, but she can hear the concern and the meaning within Cassandra's words.
She groans, her head aching, and she clutches at what she can of Regis as he holds her up. She can feel herself shivering; it feels as if all the progress she's made so far from her illness has entirely vanished.
She doesn't hear Regis' response to Cassandra, but she appreciates his presence all the same.
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The group helps to get everything quickly settled, leaving behind supplies before they go; rations for a week that Regis knows he can make last for two since he himself doesn't actually need much of it. There are also a clothes and blankets kept mostly dry by the bags of oiled leather they have been packed into. These will now initially be very important, as Aleanna is soaked and chilled to the bone.
"I apologize for this breach of your privacy," he mumbles after he has carried her into the tent, unsure if she can even hear him or not in her fevered delirium, "but it is necessary. I can't leave you chilled like this." Now safely out of the rain he wastes no time in methodically stripping her of her armor and soaked clothing. Just as quickly he dresses her in dry garments before wrapping her up in the blankets they have. He doesn't think he can get her to swallow another dose of the medicine as it is now. Even if he could it is still too early for it; too much medicine will only make it a poison.
Still, there are other things he can do and will do. Hastily he sheds his own cold and wet clothes and redresses in a dry set of trousers and tunic before he too lies down, gently gathering Aleanna against him and wrapping the blankets around the both of them. Yes, she is running a fever but a prolonged chill like this won't help matters. He must get her warmed and this is the best way he knows how in circumstances like this.
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She doesn't even have the energy or will to make a smart remark about Regis getting her out of her clothes as he helps to dry her.
All she can is lie still and let Regis take care of her. It's such an odd feeling; as though she were a prisoner in her own body. She might as well be, for all the fever does to render her helpless.
But soon enough, Regis is changing himself, and he's pulling her close, throwing warm blankets over the pair of them. Aleanna lets out a sigh, snuggling up to the warmth out of instinct.
"Well," she says, when she does manage to find the strength to speak at last, "this is one way of getting to know each other better." She hopes it's obvious from her tone that she doesn't mind in the least.
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"Yes, well..." He clears his throat while rubbing a hand in circles over her back to get her circulation going. "It is an unorthodox method to be sure but will no doubt prove effective. The others have gone on ahead. We are as sheltered as we can be, but there simply wasn't room for the others to stay." It will only be the two of them, for however long it will take for Aleanna to recover.
"I could have wished for a better place for you to recuperate but we shall simply have to make due with what we have. This time I do not intend to let you be so hasty in being on your way. We shall reunite with the others in due time but for now you must simply allow yourself to rest."
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Her eyes flutter closed a bit as he begins rubbing circles on her back, a gesture she very much appreciates. She might feel as bad as she did yesterday, if not worse, but she must admit she is quite fond of this more intimate treatment.
"I would rather they move on," she says, considering for a moment. "They won't be able to close rifts without me but they can still help in other ways that don't require me. I just hope they don't run into any trouble." Which is both sweet and hypocritical of her, given how often she tends to attract trouble herself on a daily basis.
At that, she has to smile sheepishly. If she weren't already flushed from the fever, she would be blushing.
"Well of course," she says, "because that's what I'm here for. Extended recoveries."
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Holding her the way he is, her head tucked in under his chin, he has to crane his neck to peer down at her. "Dear lady, with how you have been pushing yourself I am not so sure I shall not think you are merely jesting."
His rubbing of her back had halted just for a moment but he resumes it now, in slower, less vigorous and more comforting strokes. He breathes a sigh, closing his eyes and letting some of the tension drain from his body. She will be alright, with time and care. He will make sure she gets both.
"Try if you can to not dwell on the rifts. They will still be there when you have recovered and is better able to see to them."
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"I always do like to keep handsome men on their toes," she says, smiling. "A bad habit I've yet to grow out of, I'm afraid."
She lets out a sigh as his strokes slow, become more comfortable. His care and attention are doing wonders for her spirit, if not her health, as they remain comfortable in the tent. Or, as comfortable as they can be, at any rate.
Her smile turns a little wry, at that. "A little hard not to think of them, when I have a piece of the Fade stuck in my hand."
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He lets that topic go, though, both for the fact that he doesn't quite know how to reply to it - again, the foolishness of old men - but also because their conversation takes a more serious turn.
For a moment his arms tighten around her, as if wanting to provide comfort for the momentous and unasked for task that has been given her. But how does one express sympathy for something like this? The Fade itself, lodged in the palm of her hand. Even he, with all his centuries of life lived, doesn't really know. He doesn't want her to feel as if he pities her. He truly doesn't; if anything he admires her, for shouldering this burden and keeping her spirits high.
In the end, he ends up softly echoing words from the night before. "Remember, dear Lady, that you do not walk this path alone."
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His arms tighten around her, and it feels so wonderful; so warm and supportive, in a way that reminds her of the comfort she found in the embraces of her fellow mages that first night in the Circle at her young age.
She smiles, and without realizing it, she leans back into his arms, nuzzling him slightly.
"It feels good, you know," she says, in a moment of vulnerable honesty. "To hear that. I appreciate it. Thank you, good sir."
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And yet... Even as she nuzzles against him, he does nothing to create distance between them. Her breath is warm and sweet against his throat and for now, just for now he allows himself this brief moment to enjoy it, not helping matters at all by brushing back her mass of red curls.
"Please, just call me Regis. I would not call myself sir of anything."
He should get up and leave her to rest. Just as soon as he's sure she's warmed up. Just as soon as...
Foolish, foolish old man...
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"Regis, then," she repeats, her lips curving in a genuine smile. "I like it. It's not a name one hears too often, these days."
She sighs, and it's likely that her breath falls on him in some capacity, given how closely they are entwined together.
"Thank you, Regis," she says. "It means a lot to me that you're here with me."
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It is with a somewhat guilty feeling that Regis enjoys this moment. It has been so very long since someone last took comfort in his arms and he allowed in turn to find his own. He is finding it here, drawing his own comfort just as much as he's giving it to her, most likely. And he's not even the one suffering an illness, though admittedly, he is suffering a deep and prolonged weariness, and years upon years of solitude.
So he focuses on the senses involved now, to store away a detailed memory of the moment to recall another day; how she feels where she lay against him, her heat and shape from head to toe, her breath on his skin. Her scent, made wild by the lingering traces of wood smoke from their campfires, from the air of the mire and the rain. He files away every sound his sharp ears can pick up; her voice when she speaks, the air flowing in and out of her lungs, the steady and strong beating of her heart.
But... There is something more, something that had been hidden under the smattering of the rain against the canvas of their tent, some other sound that he can hear now when he's actively listening. Something from outside, something drawing nearer. Frowning he pulls back somewhat and pushes up to lean on one elbow, eyes at the small gap by the tent flaps. He can only hope that it is only some animal that will soon be on its way, but if it isn't...
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She's never really felt close to someone like this. Not in anything other than a friendly way, of course. It was a dangerous game, in the Circle, to develop feelings for anyone else; the templars could and did so very easily hold that power against you. And so she's rather used to guarding her heart more carefully than this. But something about Regis makes her want to open up; she feels safe with him, and warm. Like she can take a moment to catch her breath and not carry the weight of the world on her worn and weary shoulders, for once.
Aleanna herself is too out of it, still, to be able to pick up on the sounds of approaching intruders to their tent. But the scent of darkspawn...well. It creeps up on her rather suddenly, and even with her nose stuffed, she can detect the scent of decay and rot. Alarmed, she sits up abruptly.
"Regis, be careful!"
But a moment later, a gnarled hand is pulling back at the tent from the other side, and all peace and tranquility is, for the moment, lost.
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Where he had lain next to her is suddenly nothing but smoke, or mist perhaps, thick and gray and dark. It moves, twisting like something living, rising and staying gathered like a cloud. Then it rushes forward with such speed and presence even without solid form that it sweeps the still-warm blankets right off Aleanna. It hits the darkspawn even before it is fully visible with the sound of a body slamming into another, knocking the creature out and away from the tent.
Then there is the sound of battle, but not like those the group has fought in their travels. There is no sound of magic, of spells, no sounds of weapon striking. No, this is different. This is the sounds of claws against claws, ripping and tearing; wet, awful sounds.
From the moment Regis had joined them he had stated clearly that he is not a fighter. But he can fight and now he does, because he must. He fights like the beast he is by nature; the veil of humanity fallen aside to reveal hands where claws like blades sprout from his fingers, his face monstrously twisted, eyes solid black and bottomless, ears swept up into long points and a mouth full of nothing but sharp teeth.
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And what she does see makes her eyes widen.
Regis is...well, he is suddenly more than what she knows him as. He fights viciously, and intensely, from what she can see. She's reminded of the tales of werewolves some of the elves in her Circle had whispered about after dark.
But she gets over herself a moment later; like hell is she going to leave him to fight this on his own.
She pulls herself up, gathering what mana she can in the process. She reaches for her staff and is quickly shooting off ice spells as fast as she can cast them in her state.
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And, indeed, he doesn't need her in this fight. It is no more than he can easily if admittedly viciously handle on his own. When he returns to the surge of the battle it is like he's everywhere at once, fully corporeal one second and no more than dark fog the next, flowing and darting between foes, his claws as hard and sharp as any steel stabbing and cutting into the darkspawn and tearing them apart.
It is over as quickly as it had all begun. For a moment he stands in the middle of it all, of all the fallen and dismembered bodies, looking around, listening with claws still out. Then as he turns it is like it all melts off him, the veil of his disguise falling back into place and returning him to the more human shape he's had until this happened. He looks tired but not as in exhausted from the fight. No, it's something other than that, something far deeper. And, he looks sad. Regretful.
He lifts his hands as if to clasp them around the strap of his satchel in his habitual stance. But there is no strap there across his chest, the satchel still in the tent and his hands are still covered with gore. He lets them drop back to his sides again as he takes a few hesitant steps towards Aleanna, as if unsure that he is welcome. There he stays, a distance away from the tent, barefoot in the rain, the fabric of the tunic he wears plastering itself against him as it soaks through.
"I apologize for my deception," he says softly. "If you would allow me, I would explain myself."
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He throws himself into the fight with such an intensity, she can't help but be captivated in the viciousness of his movements. He tears the creatures apart as though they were made of cheap fabric, bits and pieces of the darkspawn flying everywhere in his wake. It ought to be purely disgusting; instead, Aleanna is fascinated.
He fights so well, the battle ends soon after it starts. She pulls herself up onto her elbows to look at him, back to the form she knows him as, as he stands in the rain.
"You will indeed," she says. Her tone is firm enough, but with an underlying friendliness that she hopes he can understand. "Though, you will do so out of the rain. I don't want to see you become ill."
She doesn't hate the way the tunic clings to his chest, though. Quite the opposite, in fact, as her gaze keeps returning to the soaked fabric and the outline of his chest it presents so nicely.
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Once they are both back under the shelter of the canvas of the tent and he's assured himself that she's settled and safe - if not well - he takes his own seat, keeping as much respectful distance as the tent allows. It puts him kneeling by the very entrance; a good thing perhaps, should more darkspawn decide to rise. He remains dressed in his soaked clothing. The one change of clothes he has available to him at present is the one he had changed out of just before. He doesn't seem to feel the chill, though.
But, he owes her an explanation, as he had promised her. "I... Hmm. I scarcely know where to begin." He truly doesn't, for there is so much. And, for the simple fact that he is, in a way, rather worried. Afraid, one could even say. It shows in the frown that creases his brow, the unusual hesitance with which he speaks. He is used to the deception, to the masquerade, because that is what is needed to be able to remain among people. To not have them scream and run at the sight of him, should they see him for what he is. Now Aleanna has seen and while she isn't running away from him - not that she can in her present state - he is still facing the possibility of rejection and expulsion.
"Perhaps I should start with an assurance, that, despite the monstrous appearance of mine that you just now had to witness, and despite the fact that my kind are not originally of this world, I am not of the Fade. I am not one of the darkspawn." He glances briefly out through the slight gap, out to the bog where the remains of the battle still lie scattered. He will need to clear that up, soon. "I am not one of them. In what I have told you before now I have not lied. I am indeed a barber-surgeon and I do truly wish to aid in this effort, this quest I have followed you on. But lies do not only come by falsehood, they come by omission. This I must rectify."
He sighs and shakes his head. "Perhaps I should start by properly introducing myself." He lays a palm to his chest and bows, managing a somewhat formal gesture even with the way he sits. "My name is Emiel Regis Rohellec Terzieff-Godefroy. I am four-hundred and thirty-eight years old, by your calendar. What I am is not widely known here; hardly known at all. I have in my years and travels seen only few possible references, inaccurate ones at that. The name may not mean much to you but I shall give it to you regardless. I am a higher vampire."
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She snuggles into where she's laid her head, watching Regis with a smile that she hopes comes across as encouraging.
She doesn't fail to notice how tentative and nervous he seems, though. She wants to reach out and take his hand, to squeeze it. She wants to let him know that it's alright, whatever it is he wants to tell her.
But she doesn't know if such a touch would be welcomed, nor does she truly have the energy for it. Instead, she settles for listening to Regis to the best of her abilities.
Her eyebrows both arch at his full name, and the corners of her mouth twitch. He mentions his age, which, while shocking, hardly phases her at all.
"I can see why you prefer Regis," she comments, when she does decide to speak. She tilts her head, considering him gently. "What is a higher vampire, exactly?"
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He is encouraged by her smile and her humor. He just isn't so sure that those will remain.
"In those references I mentioned I have seen it written about the dead rising from their graves in search of blood, or demons possessing the living for much the same reason. But let me assure you now that I am no less alive than you are and that the only thing possessing this body is myself. There is nothing demonic about me. Bestial, perhaps, as you have just seen. This I might concede. However..."
His eyes turn distant as if gazing through time and distance. "A long way from there, set into the hillside of a faraway land is a cave. In this cave is a doorway, sealed shut in a time long before any man or dwarf, elf or qunari can remember. Through this doorway once came a few beings, not many at all, stepping through from another world. When the doorway sealed they became trapped here. I am a descendant of those few. I was born on this world, but I do not belong to it."