"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.
"Not much, I fear." This concoction does taste different, more sour than bitter but still far from pleasant. Regis is pleased that she swallows it all down all the same.
"Brave and stubborn people rarely makes for good patients," he says in an amused tone of voice as he takes the now empty mug from her to set it aside. "But thankfully I am rather stubborn as well." He's sure he can work with her even if they might butt heads at times. He has enough patience to not be put off by it.
"But now, my dear Lady," he brushes cool fingers over her brow to encourage her to lay back down, brushing back stray locks of hair, "you should seek your sleep once more. I shall sit beside you tonight so should you need anything I will be right here."
Hopefully things would look better in the morning. Still, with their dreary surroundings and how fast and high Aleanna's fever had risen, Regis feels it prudent to be both cautious and watchful.
She makes a face as she finishes swallowing the medicine. No, indeed, it does not taste any better than the previous medicine she's been given. Alas. She suspects all medicine, especially effective medicine, is destined to taste like the questionable substances that might be found here in the Fallow Mire.
"Indeed," she agrees once she finishes the medicine. Ah, well. The perils of being sick, she supposes.
"You're the good kind of stubborn though," she points out with a wry grin. "I'm just obstinate."
His fingers glance cool and refreshing against her fevered skin and sweat-soaked hair; she lets out a small sigh, nodding her agreement as she moves to lay back on the bed. She finds herself feeling rather sleepy now, in face.
"Will you be comfortable?" She asks, turning on her side to face him. "I don't want to have you become sick in watching over me."
"Oh, don't you worry about me," he assures and makes a gesture at the tent around them. "I am out of any wind and rain there might be and the ground is pleasantly dry for once. I have no complaints and I may even slumber a bit, myself. But I thank you for your caring."
It isn't likely that he will sleep, though. It isn't that he doesn't sleep; he just doesn't need it the same way a human does. A prolonged period without would be uncomfortable to say the least but a night's vigil won't harm him. As for him becoming sick... It simply isn't possible. He can't tell her any of this, though. He must stay in his masquerade.
Moving from his kneeling position he extinguishes all lanterns save one that he leaves burning low, if only for show. Then he resettles, cross-legged for comfort this time, to wait out the night. From his satchel he takes out a pocket-sized leather-bound notebook and a small writing kit with ink and pen. He may spend the time writing notes, to help keep track of her symptoms and treatments.
"If you're sure," she says, watching him with tired eyes that keep slipping open and shut every few moments. She's on the verge of sleep now; she can feel it creeping up behind her, wrapping around her like her blankets. "I don't want to cause you any more trouble."
The words are the last she speaks before falling fully asleep.
She sleeps well; or, at least, better than she has been. Due to his medicine, of course. But she still tosses and turns, and she wakes up coughing at least once before falling back asleep. All things considered, it's a bumpy road of improvement. But it is, at least, improvement.
When she wakes in the morning, she's coughing less. She feels as though she still has a fever, but she is in much better condition than the day before; she can sense it in the way she sits up without much trouble.
"Good morning," she says, blushing when she realizes that he really is still here. "Thank you for last night; I really was in worse shape than I realized."
He doesn't leave her side even once throughout the night, keeping silent vigil over her as she tosses and turns in her fever dreams. She pushes herself so hard, this woman, but then she would have to. She carries heavy burdens, far too heavy for such young shoulders. Such strength she must have to manage them as well as she does. He admires that.
But still she is only human, with a frail human body. No matter her strength, there is only so much she can take.
When the first blushing light of dawn creeps in through the gasps in the tent flap he is still there, sitting with one knee pulled up and an arm resting on it when she starts to stir. He's always looked a bit tired and worn since he joined them, but even after a night of wakefulness he doesn't look more so now than he had the evening before.
"Good morning," he greets when she sits up. She still has a fever, of that he's sure even without touching her skin to feel for a temperature, but it does seem lowered. Perhaps it is simply that she has had a chance to rest that has her looking less worn but Regis still dares to hope that things are going in the right direction.
"You were indeed," he agrees, "and you are not out of the woods just yet, I dare say. But how are you feeling this morning? Sleep has done you well, I think."
"Sleep has done me very well, indeed," Aleanna agrees, letting herself take a moment to stretch. She feels considerably better, even if her face still flushes warmly. She throws her blankets off to begin the process of getting up completely.
"I feel much more able to handle myself, today," she says, stretching again as she stands before reaching out for the glass of water by her bedroll. She downs what remains of it in one steady gulp, grateful for the cool refreshment of it.
"I hope you slept well?" She asks, studying him. "I feel like we can begin where we picked up off yesterday, before my whole unfortunate illness thing." As she speaks, she moves to start combing her hear, a tangled, sweaty mass of bright red curls.
Ignoring the question if he slept well - he hadn't slept at all - the barber-surgeon breathes a sigh and reaches for the flask of medicine brewed up previously, measuring out a new dose into the same mug used the night before.
"If we were elsewhere, I would strongly recommend that you keep to your bed for at least a day to recover from your - as you put it - unfortunate illness thing. But knowing where we are, I am aware that remaining stationary is not advisable. Still..." Another measure of the fine powder he had given her before sleep, but no drops from the vial. No tincture of opium. She will need her wits about her, he's sure.
Then water into the mix and a good swirl, waiting for the powder to dissolve while he speaks on. "I do feel a need to urge you to pace yourself today. This... Unfortunate illness thing is not yet behind you, even if you do feel better now. If you overdo it too quickly, it could very well become worse."
He stands, giving the mug another swirl before silently holding it out for her to take, his expression tolerating no argument.
She doesn't miss the sight of the medicine he prepares for her, but she does her level best to ignore it for the time being, concentrating instead on readying herself for the day ahead. Given that they are in the Fallow Mire, Aleanna makes sure she has the proper clothing set out for when she needs to change, including her armor.
Once done with her hair, she sighs, facing the medicine. Still. Better to get it over with, and better yet to not have to think about it too much. She accepts the mug he offers, though she can't help but make a slight face.
"I suppose not," she agrees. Better to be safe. Even she can see that. She tosses back the concoction with a wince, but she swallows it entirely, all the same.
"Maker," she says, nose wrinkling. "I can keep hoping but it will never start tasting better, will it?"
"Do you erm. Mind waiting outside?" She asks moments later, glancing towards where she has her clothing spread out. "While I change?"
At first Regis just blinks owlishly in confusion as if he doesn't understand. When it does dawn on him his expression gives it away clearly, his eyes widening and even a touch of color creeps over his pale cheeks. "Oh. Oh yes, of course! I'm sorry, yes, please excuse me."
Looking a bit awkward he ducks out from under the tent flap to give her the privacy to change. Standing there he notices a couple of odd looks from the others, who he supposes wonder why he's coming out from the Inquisitor's tent at this early hour.
It's not that he's been unaware of the fact that she is a woman and a fine one at that. But ever since he noticed her coughing the day before and since he brought her the mug of medicinal tea, he's mostly just viewed her in the light of a patient. Man or woman simply doesn't matter in such lights. She has reminded him now, though, expressing her need for privacy and why. And, damn him, for having more than enough imagination to picture why.
There's something amusing in the way it takes Regis a moment to understand her meaning; Aleanna has to bite back a smile, though, in fairness, her own cheeks tinge pink as well.
She has the courtesy to wait until he exits the tent to let out a small giggle, though, it must be said, said laughter is more flushed with nervousness than she would ever care to admit.
She's a bit distracted as she prepares herself for the day ahead; she misses the laces on her trousers several times, and her armor takes her longer than usual to adjust. She spends more time than she normally would assuring that she looks decent. After all, she is feeling better. Why shouldn't she look her best? And if her appearance just so happens to please the man helping to ensure she feels better, well then. Another bonus.
She notices the odd looks thrown her way once she exists the tent but pays them no mind. After some time now with the Inquisition, she's used to her every movement being watched. Indeed, the Inquisition is no different than the Circles in that regard.
"Shall we eat first and then head out?" She asks the group at large. When everyone nods, Aleanna makes her way over to Regis.
"I do feel so much better," she says quietly. "Thank you again."
Regis knows what it could look like, him exiting her tent at such an early hour and she following not so terribly long after. He has seen gossip start for far less. But he is their healer and surely the others can't have failed to notice that Aleanna had not been feeling well?
"I am only glad I could help," he replies to her as they steer towards the small cooking fire, so they can break their fast before setting out again. "Again I implore you; do no push yourself today. You are still not well, no matter how much better you feel in this moment. Simply the fact that you are now rested will make you feel better even if you are not recovered."
But they have to push on, don't they? They can't stop here and rest. The various beasts of the bog would be drawn to a group like this. He knows that his very presence is a deterrent for some but not for all. Not for the undead, not for the corpses flocking to them every time someone missteps into the water. Even if they stopped here for a day they would likely not get much rest.
It irks him that he knows he could do more but dares not. Fighting has never been his way, not if he can help it. But that does not mean that he can't. He is - by the very nature of what he is - more lethal than most things they have encountered. And yet he dares not act, must hold back and trust that they can handle themselves. For if they learned about him? Then he is absolutely sure that they would at the very least drive him away. It has happened before, after all.
Gossip, it must be said, travels through the Inquisition faster than Corypheus' pet dragon breathes out red lyrium. It doesn't take much, either, for them to start, and Aleanna certainly isn't unaware of the whispering and mutters that flutter in the wind like so many butterflies. She chooses to ignore them.
She makes herself comfortable before the fire, preparing food to help cook. Learning to cook for herself has proven one of the most satisfying aspects of life outside of the Circle. She smiles to herself as the meat roasts, the smell of it spicy and delicious in the morning glow.
"I will do my best," she says, turning a moment to look at him. "I cannot make promises, however. We might encounter just about anything in the wilderness out there. I cannot give less than I expect of my friends and companions."
She smiles. "But that doesn't mean we have to rush, either. I think a nice bit of calm before any potential storms will do us all good, no?"
Tea has become something of his responsibility in the mornings. After a trip to his tent for a pouch of dried leaves and a quick detour around the camp to pick a few select fresh weeds, he comes to join Aleanna there by the fire.
"That it would, dear lady, that it would." He smiles at her as he takes a seat beside her, close-lipped but still genuine, eyes crinkling with it.
"A compromise, then?" He goes on to suggest as he measures both fresh and dried leaves into a pot of water and sets it to boil. "That you at least do not go out of your way to give even more, in an attempt to spare the rest of us."
He looks at her knowingly. It isn't that he disapprove of her ways, her wish to do her very best to spare her companions. In fact he rather approves of it, even if it is a cause of some worry in the present. That turns his expression from anything close to a reprimand to something milder, and honestly rather fond.
Not that that will slow the starting rumor mill any...
"And do tell me if you start feeling worse again."
Aleanna appreciates Regis' taking on the responsibility for providing the tea in the mornings. At least, tea of the non-medicinal variety. She'll drink his healing teas, of course; she's grateful for how they seem to make her all that much more better, in spite of their taste. But there is nothing quite like a warm cup of tea that isn't designed to make you feel better that just does it for her.
She returns his smile, very much charmed by it and the way his eyes crinkle with it. He's such a kind, gentle man; she very much appreciates his company.
Aleanna opens her mouth to make an argument but decides the better of it at the last minute. She would very much give every last inch of herself to save the lives of her friends; she knows this truth deep in her heart.
"I can, at least, promise that for today," she says, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear and blushing at the way he looks at her. She'd like to tell herself that said flush is the lingering affects of the fever but she knows herself too well by now.
"I will," she says, turning back to the roasting meat. She turns it over slowly, letting the fire sink deep into it. "I promise. I'm feeling so much better for now, though."
Not all things Regis brews that has medicinal uses has to taste bad. There are good reasons for the various herbs and berries he usually puts in their morning tea beside their pleasant aroma and taste. The mint and ginger, the raspberry leaves and blackcurrants and even pine needles. All there to in some small way help to boost the immune systems of this small, traveling band, to help ease upset stomachs and calm coughs and nausea. As the others do seem to appreciate the taste of the tea he brews for them, he's seen no need to inform them of this.
But when it comes to the more concentrated brews, the potent medicines he has now taken to giving Aleanna, those there simply is no way to make taste good, or even less horrid than they do.
He studies her briefly when she turns her attention back to the roasting meat, his keen senses taking in the flushed cheeks and the slight but very real increase in her heart rate. He wonders... But, to save her any further embarrassment - was that what it had been? - he turns to the pot of tea and pours her a mug of it, careful to keep the leaves in the pot.
"As well you should," Regis says, falling into that tone he sometimes gets, that heralds a bit of a lecture on some subject coming on. "First of all, you have slept. That in itself will always do wonders to improve ones sense of well-being. But also, the salicin found in the willow bark that is one of the key ingredients of the medicine I gave you last night as well as this morning, is both an effective analgesic and antipyretic. That is, a painkiller and will help lower fevers. Now, I will try to not lecture you too much of the very real importance that you do not strain yourself more than is strictly necessary, but I do also think it is important for you to be aware that while the medicine is of actual help, it is also masking your symptoms. It is not likely that you would feel as well without it. I do like to think that you are on the mend, as it were, but the illness is still present."
Aleanna gratefully accepts the tea he offers to her, letting the warmth of the mug sink into her hands. Whatever sort of tea he's brewed this morning smells delicious; much more fragrant than the medicinal brews she'd downed last night and this morning. She looks forward to a good, hearty breakfast, pleased by both the food and drink on offer as well as the company.
She keeps her gaze focused on the fire, biting back a smile as she deliberately ignores the butterflies in her stomach. Lingering affects of the illness, they've got to be.
Her smile turns teasing, a bit, at the shift of his tone.
"Duly noted, serah," she says, turning back to look at him as the meat finishes cooking. She hands him a plate before taking her own, balancing both food and drink on her knees. "I will make sure I only strain the parts of myself that are unmasked." She winks at him, unable to help it. Teasing him is proving to be such fun, after all.
He blinks at her in startled surprise at the teasing as he accepts the plate, but quickly his lips twitch in amusement. "Then I suppose I had best be grateful for your armor."
He starts to eat, pondering to himself about the foolishness of old men, though of course in his case age is wholly relative and not at all what it seems to be at first glance. Still, he has hundreds of years at his back and she but some and twenty. Is it then wise to allow these notes of flirtation that he is starting to detect in their banter?
Still, his thoughts are interrupted by a gust of chilly wind blowing through the camp. His eyes go up from his plate to the utterly gray skies seen through the bare twigs and branches of the trees in this mire and he has to stop himself from visibly sniffing the air like some manner of hound. "It looks like rain, doesn't it?" He smells it on the wind too. As if the mire isn't awful enough as it is...
"It is rather sturdy," Aleanna says, smiling around her own meal as she pops a bit of meat in her mouth. "And has served me well these past few months. Though not nearly as well as some other weapons at my disposal." She sips at her tea next, marveling at the way it so compliments the meat.
Probably, she shouldn't flirt so openly. Probably, she'll be expected to make some kind of political alliance through marriage for the benefit of the Inquisition as a whole.
Still, fuck that, she thinks. She should be able to follow her own heart, after everything. She will give all that she can to the efforts in fighting the evil of this world, up to and including her own life. But she refuses to tame her heart for anyone, no matter the necessity of it. And she very much enjoys the company of the man sitting beside her. Life's too short not to grab it by the horns, really.
His mention of rain pulls her out of her own thoughts, for the time being. She follows his gaze towards the sky, which, even for the bog, looks thick and heavy, ready to burst at any moment. The air is also heavy with the scent of rain, a promise all but spoken.
"Well, but of course," she says. "Because the bog has just been such a desert, so far. The weather is obviously compensating."
"Yes, quite clearly that must be the case." From the look of things there really is no hope that they will be spared a downpour until the evening. Normally that would have simply been an annoyance, but with Aleanna's health being momentarily fragile, Regis finds these gray and heavy skies to only add to the existing concerns.
He doesn't go on about it, though. She already knows his worries about her and there is no need to speak on about it.
"Then I suppose we should try to make some headway before the skies open up on us." He tucks into his breakfast, not wolfing it down by any means but rather eating like someone taught good manners during his upbringing. This isn't the fact of things but there is a reason he wouldn't tear into a piece of roasted meat with his teeth; allowing his fangs to be seen would quickly reveal him to be something other than what he makes himself out to be.
Manners or not he still makes quick work of his breakfast, after which he excuses himself to go take down his tent and get his pack in order. Getting himself sorted out for departure quickly leaves him with time to assist Aleanna in her tasks. She might not think she really needs the help but he still plans on insisting.
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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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"Brave and stubborn people rarely makes for good patients," he says in an amused tone of voice as he takes the now empty mug from her to set it aside. "But thankfully I am rather stubborn as well." He's sure he can work with her even if they might butt heads at times. He has enough patience to not be put off by it.
"But now, my dear Lady," he brushes cool fingers over her brow to encourage her to lay back down, brushing back stray locks of hair, "you should seek your sleep once more. I shall sit beside you tonight so should you need anything I will be right here."
Hopefully things would look better in the morning. Still, with their dreary surroundings and how fast and high Aleanna's fever had risen, Regis feels it prudent to be both cautious and watchful.
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"Indeed," she agrees once she finishes the medicine. Ah, well. The perils of being sick, she supposes.
"You're the good kind of stubborn though," she points out with a wry grin. "I'm just obstinate."
His fingers glance cool and refreshing against her fevered skin and sweat-soaked hair; she lets out a small sigh, nodding her agreement as she moves to lay back on the bed. She finds herself feeling rather sleepy now, in face.
"Will you be comfortable?" She asks, turning on her side to face him. "I don't want to have you become sick in watching over me."
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It isn't likely that he will sleep, though. It isn't that he doesn't sleep; he just doesn't need it the same way a human does. A prolonged period without would be uncomfortable to say the least but a night's vigil won't harm him. As for him becoming sick... It simply isn't possible. He can't tell her any of this, though. He must stay in his masquerade.
Moving from his kneeling position he extinguishes all lanterns save one that he leaves burning low, if only for show. Then he resettles, cross-legged for comfort this time, to wait out the night. From his satchel he takes out a pocket-sized leather-bound notebook and a small writing kit with ink and pen. He may spend the time writing notes, to help keep track of her symptoms and treatments.
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The words are the last she speaks before falling fully asleep.
She sleeps well; or, at least, better than she has been. Due to his medicine, of course. But she still tosses and turns, and she wakes up coughing at least once before falling back asleep. All things considered, it's a bumpy road of improvement. But it is, at least, improvement.
When she wakes in the morning, she's coughing less. She feels as though she still has a fever, but she is in much better condition than the day before; she can sense it in the way she sits up without much trouble.
"Good morning," she says, blushing when she realizes that he really is still here. "Thank you for last night; I really was in worse shape than I realized."
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But still she is only human, with a frail human body. No matter her strength, there is only so much she can take.
When the first blushing light of dawn creeps in through the gasps in the tent flap he is still there, sitting with one knee pulled up and an arm resting on it when she starts to stir. He's always looked a bit tired and worn since he joined them, but even after a night of wakefulness he doesn't look more so now than he had the evening before.
"Good morning," he greets when she sits up. She still has a fever, of that he's sure even without touching her skin to feel for a temperature, but it does seem lowered. Perhaps it is simply that she has had a chance to rest that has her looking less worn but Regis still dares to hope that things are going in the right direction.
"You were indeed," he agrees, "and you are not out of the woods just yet, I dare say. But how are you feeling this morning? Sleep has done you well, I think."
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"I feel much more able to handle myself, today," she says, stretching again as she stands before reaching out for the glass of water by her bedroll. She downs what remains of it in one steady gulp, grateful for the cool refreshment of it.
"I hope you slept well?" She asks, studying him. "I feel like we can begin where we picked up off yesterday, before my whole unfortunate illness thing." As she speaks, she moves to start combing her hear, a tangled, sweaty mass of bright red curls.
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"If we were elsewhere, I would strongly recommend that you keep to your bed for at least a day to recover from your - as you put it - unfortunate illness thing. But knowing where we are, I am aware that remaining stationary is not advisable. Still..." Another measure of the fine powder he had given her before sleep, but no drops from the vial. No tincture of opium. She will need her wits about her, he's sure.
Then water into the mix and a good swirl, waiting for the powder to dissolve while he speaks on. "I do feel a need to urge you to pace yourself today. This... Unfortunate illness thing is not yet behind you, even if you do feel better now. If you overdo it too quickly, it could very well become worse."
He stands, giving the mug another swirl before silently holding it out for her to take, his expression tolerating no argument.
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Once done with her hair, she sighs, facing the medicine. Still. Better to get it over with, and better yet to not have to think about it too much. She accepts the mug he offers, though she can't help but make a slight face.
"I suppose not," she agrees. Better to be safe. Even she can see that. She tosses back the concoction with a wince, but she swallows it entirely, all the same.
"Maker," she says, nose wrinkling. "I can keep hoping but it will never start tasting better, will it?"
"Do you erm. Mind waiting outside?" She asks moments later, glancing towards where she has her clothing spread out. "While I change?"
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Looking a bit awkward he ducks out from under the tent flap to give her the privacy to change. Standing there he notices a couple of odd looks from the others, who he supposes wonder why he's coming out from the Inquisitor's tent at this early hour.
It's not that he's been unaware of the fact that she is a woman and a fine one at that. But ever since he noticed her coughing the day before and since he brought her the mug of medicinal tea, he's mostly just viewed her in the light of a patient. Man or woman simply doesn't matter in such lights. She has reminded him now, though, expressing her need for privacy and why. And, damn him, for having more than enough imagination to picture why.
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She has the courtesy to wait until he exits the tent to let out a small giggle, though, it must be said, said laughter is more flushed with nervousness than she would ever care to admit.
She's a bit distracted as she prepares herself for the day ahead; she misses the laces on her trousers several times, and her armor takes her longer than usual to adjust. She spends more time than she normally would assuring that she looks decent. After all, she is feeling better. Why shouldn't she look her best? And if her appearance just so happens to please the man helping to ensure she feels better, well then. Another bonus.
She notices the odd looks thrown her way once she exists the tent but pays them no mind. After some time now with the Inquisition, she's used to her every movement being watched. Indeed, the Inquisition is no different than the Circles in that regard.
"Shall we eat first and then head out?" She asks the group at large. When everyone nods, Aleanna makes her way over to Regis.
"I do feel so much better," she says quietly. "Thank you again."
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"I am only glad I could help," he replies to her as they steer towards the small cooking fire, so they can break their fast before setting out again. "Again I implore you; do no push yourself today. You are still not well, no matter how much better you feel in this moment. Simply the fact that you are now rested will make you feel better even if you are not recovered."
But they have to push on, don't they? They can't stop here and rest. The various beasts of the bog would be drawn to a group like this. He knows that his very presence is a deterrent for some but not for all. Not for the undead, not for the corpses flocking to them every time someone missteps into the water. Even if they stopped here for a day they would likely not get much rest.
It irks him that he knows he could do more but dares not. Fighting has never been his way, not if he can help it. But that does not mean that he can't. He is - by the very nature of what he is - more lethal than most things they have encountered. And yet he dares not act, must hold back and trust that they can handle themselves. For if they learned about him? Then he is absolutely sure that they would at the very least drive him away. It has happened before, after all.
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She makes herself comfortable before the fire, preparing food to help cook. Learning to cook for herself has proven one of the most satisfying aspects of life outside of the Circle. She smiles to herself as the meat roasts, the smell of it spicy and delicious in the morning glow.
"I will do my best," she says, turning a moment to look at him. "I cannot make promises, however. We might encounter just about anything in the wilderness out there. I cannot give less than I expect of my friends and companions."
She smiles. "But that doesn't mean we have to rush, either. I think a nice bit of calm before any potential storms will do us all good, no?"
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"That it would, dear lady, that it would." He smiles at her as he takes a seat beside her, close-lipped but still genuine, eyes crinkling with it.
"A compromise, then?" He goes on to suggest as he measures both fresh and dried leaves into a pot of water and sets it to boil. "That you at least do not go out of your way to give even more, in an attempt to spare the rest of us."
He looks at her knowingly. It isn't that he disapprove of her ways, her wish to do her very best to spare her companions. In fact he rather approves of it, even if it is a cause of some worry in the present. That turns his expression from anything close to a reprimand to something milder, and honestly rather fond.
Not that that will slow the starting rumor mill any...
"And do tell me if you start feeling worse again."
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She returns his smile, very much charmed by it and the way his eyes crinkle with it. He's such a kind, gentle man; she very much appreciates his company.
Aleanna opens her mouth to make an argument but decides the better of it at the last minute. She would very much give every last inch of herself to save the lives of her friends; she knows this truth deep in her heart.
"I can, at least, promise that for today," she says, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear and blushing at the way he looks at her. She'd like to tell herself that said flush is the lingering affects of the fever but she knows herself too well by now.
"I will," she says, turning back to the roasting meat. She turns it over slowly, letting the fire sink deep into it. "I promise. I'm feeling so much better for now, though."
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But when it comes to the more concentrated brews, the potent medicines he has now taken to giving Aleanna, those there simply is no way to make taste good, or even less horrid than they do.
He studies her briefly when she turns her attention back to the roasting meat, his keen senses taking in the flushed cheeks and the slight but very real increase in her heart rate. He wonders... But, to save her any further embarrassment - was that what it had been? - he turns to the pot of tea and pours her a mug of it, careful to keep the leaves in the pot.
"As well you should," Regis says, falling into that tone he sometimes gets, that heralds a bit of a lecture on some subject coming on. "First of all, you have slept. That in itself will always do wonders to improve ones sense of well-being. But also, the salicin found in the willow bark that is one of the key ingredients of the medicine I gave you last night as well as this morning, is both an effective analgesic and antipyretic. That is, a painkiller and will help lower fevers. Now, I will try to not lecture you too much of the very real importance that you do not strain yourself more than is strictly necessary, but I do also think it is important for you to be aware that while the medicine is of actual help, it is also masking your symptoms. It is not likely that you would feel as well without it. I do like to think that you are on the mend, as it were, but the illness is still present."
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She keeps her gaze focused on the fire, biting back a smile as she deliberately ignores the butterflies in her stomach. Lingering affects of the illness, they've got to be.
Her smile turns teasing, a bit, at the shift of his tone.
"Duly noted, serah," she says, turning back to look at him as the meat finishes cooking. She hands him a plate before taking her own, balancing both food and drink on her knees. "I will make sure I only strain the parts of myself that are unmasked." She winks at him, unable to help it. Teasing him is proving to be such fun, after all.
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He starts to eat, pondering to himself about the foolishness of old men, though of course in his case age is wholly relative and not at all what it seems to be at first glance. Still, he has hundreds of years at his back and she but some and twenty. Is it then wise to allow these notes of flirtation that he is starting to detect in their banter?
Still, his thoughts are interrupted by a gust of chilly wind blowing through the camp. His eyes go up from his plate to the utterly gray skies seen through the bare twigs and branches of the trees in this mire and he has to stop himself from visibly sniffing the air like some manner of hound. "It looks like rain, doesn't it?" He smells it on the wind too. As if the mire isn't awful enough as it is...
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Probably, she shouldn't flirt so openly. Probably, she'll be expected to make some kind of political alliance through marriage for the benefit of the Inquisition as a whole.
Still, fuck that, she thinks. She should be able to follow her own heart, after everything. She will give all that she can to the efforts in fighting the evil of this world, up to and including her own life. But she refuses to tame her heart for anyone, no matter the necessity of it. And she very much enjoys the company of the man sitting beside her. Life's too short not to grab it by the horns, really.
His mention of rain pulls her out of her own thoughts, for the time being. She follows his gaze towards the sky, which, even for the bog, looks thick and heavy, ready to burst at any moment. The air is also heavy with the scent of rain, a promise all but spoken.
"Well, but of course," she says. "Because the bog has just been such a desert, so far. The weather is obviously compensating."
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He doesn't go on about it, though. She already knows his worries about her and there is no need to speak on about it.
"Then I suppose we should try to make some headway before the skies open up on us." He tucks into his breakfast, not wolfing it down by any means but rather eating like someone taught good manners during his upbringing. This isn't the fact of things but there is a reason he wouldn't tear into a piece of roasted meat with his teeth; allowing his fangs to be seen would quickly reveal him to be something other than what he makes himself out to be.
Manners or not he still makes quick work of his breakfast, after which he excuses himself to go take down his tent and get his pack in order. Getting himself sorted out for departure quickly leaves him with time to assist Aleanna in her tasks. She might not think she really needs the help but he still plans on insisting.
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