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クラゲ

hi, hello; how are you?

Love Interests + Inquisitor’s Illness

lafaiette:

• Cassandra lingers near the bed, nearly babbling, wishing her lover a fast recover and good health. She listens with a deep frown as the Inquisitor coughs, sniffles, and thanks her with a nasal voice, but she believes in the healers’ ability and doesn’t doubt that what they are doing is right. She hesitates a bit longer, the gift she brought heavy in the hand half-hidden behind her back, and only when the Inquisitor asks what she has there, she gives up, run to sit on the chair next to the bed, and asks with glinting eyes, showing the cover of a book:
  “Do you want me to read you a poem?”

• Blackwall sits near the bed, too, but there is a wet cloth in his hands, not a book; he uses it to dampen the Inquisitor’s forehead and when she is comfortable enough, he sits back and starts cutting an apple with his trustworthy knife. He hushes his lover when she says she is alright and doesn’t want to eat; he listens to her gruff complains about her “stupid headache” and “potions that always work so slowly” with a smirk and when the cloth is dry and sloppy, he replaces it and gives her a bowl filled with fresh fruit.
  The pieces of apple and pear are cut like tiny, simple animals, rabbits and dogs making the meal more enjoyable for the Inquisitor’s sore throat.

• Josephine requests all the most comfortable and heaviest blankets and pillows, her eyes scanning with worry the Inquisitor’s room. Is it warm enough? Should they add more fire in the hearth? Close the windows with fabric on the corners of them, so that drafts won’t enter? She remembers how her family - and nannies - used to take care of her when she was younger and how she took care of her sister Yvette, so her instructions to the servants are rather detailed and precise. She still finds something is amiss, though, and gasps when she realizes what it is; she excuses herself and runs away, promising to come back immediately, ignoring the Inquisitor’s comment about her being “an adorable mother hen”.
  When Josephine returns, her lover is already sleeping, weakened by the fever, and she delicately places her two favorite dolls in their arms.
  

• Solas comes to Lavellan’s quarters with a tray of food: hot soup, vegetables, and tea with milk and honey (which he requested to the cook, because he doesn’t trust his ability in preparing that stuff). He feeds her until she has eaten everything - or at least a decent amount enough to sustain her and help her recovery. He smiles and kisses her - even though she complains because she is dirty and doesn’t want him to catch her cold - and rests down on the bed with her, his back against the headboard, an ancient tome in his hand, the other gently caressing the Inquisitor’s hair and back. Her head lies on his chest and he isn’t bothered by her fits of cough or running nose; when it’s necessary, it takes out a crisp, clean handkerchief and personally dries the snot on her face. He reads to her, soft words flowing fluently from his tongue, and Lavellan’s eyes slowly close, her breathing steadier, her cough almost gone thanks to the tea and Solas’ soothing magic on her back.
  “Sleep, ma vhenan.” Solas whispers, slipping under the sheets and holding her close to his chest, his lips on hers. “I will join you in the Fade and show you the most beautiful of dreams.”

• Dorian uses perfumed balms to soothe the heavy ache in his amatus’ body; he applies them with care, asking him to breathe with his mouth open to check the state of his lungs. He frowns - and his mustaches shudder - when the Inquisitor sneezes so loud the noise echoes in the room for endless moments, but he has seen blood, guts, and Maker knows what else during their journeys through Thedas and a little bit of mucus is nothing compared to those horrors. So he keeps massaging his beloved’s back even though he whines and whimpers (”I am disgusting!”) and promptly confirms that “yes, amatus, you truly are.”
  But his voice is so full of fondness and love that he knows the Inquisitor doesn’t believe him for one second and he stops pretending immediately; a peck on his sweaty neck, then Dorian gently pushes him down on the soft mattress and covers him with a blanket and many, many other kisses.
  

• The Iron Bull storms into the room with a “personal remedy” that will bring the Inquisitor back on their feet in a day. The smell is atrocious and the mere sight of it is enough to make his kadan puke on the floor, their already weak stomach unable to handle that vile concoction. He sheepishly helps his lover to go back to bed, then takes care of the defiled carpet the best way he can: he throws it into the fireplace together with the drink, happy to see how well Orlesian fabric burns thanks to it. He grins when the Inquisitor laughs and tells him he did good because “that damned rug was awful” and he goes to sit on the edge of the bed, his big hand placed over theirs, his eyes scanning for any anomaly on his lover’s face and body. Just when he is about to kiss their forehead - and check for fever at the same time -, the Chargers enter and climb the stairs, each of them carrying a cup of the special drink, grinning and shouting that it will help the Inquisitor in no time.
  “Oh no.” The Iron Bull mumbles when his kadan presses their hands on their mouth and gags.

• Cullen never leaves the Inquisitor’s side. He asks the healers what he needs to do, what he can do to help, and when he and the Inquisitor are finally alone, he does it, fretting over his lover, surrounding them with furs and blankets - even his mantle -, making them drink all the potions left on the bedside table. He asks again what he can do, if they need something in particular - he is willing to swim across the Waking Sea and go back to Kirkwall if there is where the Inquisitor wants him to go. But they smile at him, brush back his unruly, a bit curly hair, and pat his cheek, saying they only want him here.
  Cullen blushes and smiles in return, replying tenderly: “I can do that.”

• Sera doesn’t seem to take the Inquisitor’s illness very seriously. It’s just a cold, that’s true, but when the powerful Herald of Andraste coughs weakly like a granny and grumbles because her bones ache, she can’t help but laugh and joke, mocking her with a toothy grin and playful jabs at her sides.
  But when night falls and the Inquisitor wheezes in her sleep, her body too hot, Sera bites her lips until they bleed and tries to come up with good ideas that may help the other woman rest better. She knows that ill people need a lot of sleep and much, much good food, but she has no idea how to ease her breathing; she never read that anywhere nor anyone ever told her how to take care of someone like that. She can’t be quiet anymore and wakes the coughing woman with an impatient, worried shake.
  “You aren’t dying, are ya?” Sera asks, eyes wide with fear. “This is not a bad illness, right? Like, the Blight or some shit like that? I saw people cough like this before and they died right away and you can’t die, dammit, because… because…”
  Her Inquisitor laughs - the sound is hoarse and different from usual, but it’s also the same and Sera loves it - and she reassures her. No, she is not dying, she just caught a bad cold. Sera gulps and nods and lets her go back to sleep, pressing her head against her breasts, mumbling an awkward prayer to Andraste.

Bonus:

• Varric visits the Inquisitor with a signed copy of Hard in Hightown - “Thought you could use it to pass the time.” he jokes with a wink -, then sits near their bed, hands on his knees, a paternal look on his face. It’s like he has already done this before - keeping an ill person company, waiting patiently for them to get better while he narrates stories, hoping his words and voice can bring them some comfort.
  When the Inquisitor falls asleep, their mouth open, snoring a bit, he chuckles and fixes their sheets and pillow, his eyes filled with nostalgia because they remind him of a faraway friend.

• Cole brings medicinal herbs and flowers to the Inquisitor, but when he sees they already have their potions and salves, he changes strategy. At first, healthy food, but the Inquisitor has that too already; then furs and new blankets, so many there is no more space on the bed and they have to remove some. The spirit paces back and forth, playing with his hands like he does when he is anxious, and asks: “How can I help? Your body is tired, cold, something doesn’t work in it like it used to. There is a heavy cloud inside your chest and head. It’s temporary, it’s simple, but you don’t like it, you want it to pass soon. How can I help?”
  The Inquisitor smiles and reaches out for him; Cole gives them his hand and blinks, confused. Just this?, he asks. Just this, the Inquisitor replies, and Cole sits on the edge of the mattress, holding their hand and returning the smile from under his hat.
  

• Vivienne doesn’t often visit the Inquisitor, but she makes sure to send them many gifts and rare food to make their recovery happier and somehow easier. However, when she knows their fever is worse than before or their stomachache still hasn’t passed, she joins them in their room. She keeps herself at a certain distance, clean, perfect as always, and safe, but there is a comforting smile on her lips when the Inquisitor assures her that they are feeling better and there is no need to worry.
  “Oh, I am not worried, my dear.” Vivienne lies with incredible ease. “I know you are perfectly capable of handling a minor cold. You have had much worse after our missions in Thedas, after all.” Still, she hurries to give them a potion she made, orders the servants to change the Inquisitor’s bed sheets every five hours, and gives the cook a list of healthy ingredients she absolutely must use in her recipes.

• Leliana tries to find a free moment to spend with the ill Inquisitor whenever she can. She knows how they are feeling, what medicines and potions they are taking, she even knows how they sleep at night, but being there with them, giving them her support, is better than just looking from afar, receiving news from the servants of Skyhold and her scouts.
  Sometimes she brings her old lute and sings; she knows her voice is different than ten years ago, and so is the audience, but she is still a bard at heart and she can express her wishes of good health better with a cheerful song rather than with an awkward, overused phrase.