(no subject)

[howtoactfereldan]

Sometimes the unfamiliar environment helps. Sometimes it doesn't.

The bucket he requested isn't made out of wood, but some material that isn't as cool to the touch as metal, but is more flexible by far. More than that he hasn't examined, because Cullen feels terrible.

The room is close to the top of the stairs. It's small. The windows have thick drapes that block out light, which helps; a single candle (a thick pillar, should last a while) burns by the door.

He knew to expect something like this.

The bucket stays by the bed, just in case. Cullen hasn't had to use it yet, but it's better to be safe -- leave as little mess as possible in case he's not here to clean it up. He's not sure how long he's been in here, and the lack of natural light isn't helping. He could catalog his symptoms -- fever and chills, dizziness, nausea, trembling hands, a pain in his chest like someone's closed him in a vise -- but it's like this:

Either he will come through by Andraste's grace (and her grace alone, because he refuses to trouble anyone with this punishment he deserves), or trying to stop taking lyrium will kill him, as it has so many others.

There seems to be little point in cataloging, in light of that.

Comments

[freedom_is_grey]

Andraste's bloody and battered ass. If the lyrium doesn't kill him, Ysalwen is certainly going to.

At least that's how she feels as she stomps up the stairs, Liranan and Ci left behind her with food, water, and a tug rope. She may be occupied for some time.

Several deep breaths help a little, and also clears her head of her anger (and fearful concern) long enough that she can start to try to strategize. Then she gives up, reaching forward to knock on Cullen's door.

"Cullen?"

If he's actually dead in there she's going to kill him twice.

[howtoactfereldan]

He cracks an eye open. The air seems still, and heavy; perhaps it's the fever.

"Yes," he says, as loudly as he can. It's faint, but still.

The door's unlocked, which might be convenient.

[freedom_is_grey]

"I'm coming in."

She says that even as she's trying the handle, then pushing the door open very quietly and slipping inside.

And once the door is closed --

"Andraste's bloody bouncing knickers, you look awful."

At least she keeps her voice quiet as she says it.

[howtoactfereldan]

"I warned you off."

Carefully, he shifts a little, from his back to his side, facing her. His face is flushed, his eyes glassy.

"Can't blame me if you don't like what you see."

[freedom_is_grey]

"You know me too well to think a warning would keep me away."

She worries.

"Do you need some water? Or -- cool cloths for your head? Or maybe a warm compress on your neck, if -- if your head hurts?"

[howtoactfereldan]

"I'd hoped," he mutters, and shifts his head on the pillow to a patch of the pillowcase that feels cool.

Just ignore the questions. "Did you -- have you seen Ci?"

[freedom_is_grey]

"She's well. I have her and Liranan playing tug-of-war downstairs while I'm here talking to you."

She lifts her hand a little tentatively, moving to rest it on the edge of the pillow.

A faint chill moves from her fingertips to the cloth, and then she steps back.

"I left them with water, too, and a bit of venison. So."

[howtoactfereldan]

Cullen sighs in relief, turning his face into the pillow, before he realizes what he's doing.

...but it feels good.

He mumbles something muffled that sounds affirmative.

[freedom_is_grey]

She doesn't smile, really. But --

"Try to sleep, if you can? It makes the time pass faster."

Or so she remembers from times she has been ill. It's -- not at all the same, but --

"Shall I tell you a story about redeemed werewolves and the spirit of the forest that saved them? There are elves, too, and a silly girl and boy trying to win each other's hearts, and also a tree that only speaks in rhyme."

[howtoactfereldan]

Cullen cracks open an eye.

A very baleful eye.

"No rhyming."

[freedom_is_grey]

Hastily --

"I'll paraphrase."

The Grand Oak never has to know!

[howtoactfereldan]

Much softer:

"Nothing that makes the dreams worse."

Cullen doesn't want to try to sleep it off. Being awake is -- easier.

[freedom_is_grey]

"All right."

That means the Sylvans are right out, but that was always going to be the case. The Great Oak's ridiculous quest can probably stay in, as can the hermit and his stump for hiding things.

The elves being turned into werewolves and the resultant deaths are also right out.

But the Lady of the Forest, and Witherfang, and the calming affect she had on the afflicted -- that can probably stay. So --

"The Brecilian Forest is a beautiful place, and has a few old ruins from the time of Arlathan. The Dalish travel there frequently, because most humans don't like it much, and the depths are safer than the edges by far. The forest had werewolves, too, and an animating spirit that cared for all the creatures within. She had been given shape as both a woman and a wolf, and she sought only peace between werewolves and the rest of the world."

[bringspeopletogether]

So it'd been pretty obvious, last time they spoke, that something bad was going on with Cullen. Alistair figured it was...you know. The typical stress of terrible things. Of which there'd been a lot.

Lyrium withdrawal, though? The last damn thing on his mind.

Did Cullen get stuck here without his kit? It seems unlikely, but Milliways is strange enough that it also seems like the most probable option. Except -- why not just get a kit from the bar, if so?

Yeah, this is not good. This is all kinds of not good.

(And of course Cullen's letter insisted that no, no, he'd be fine, everyone just go ahead without him and leave him to get his face melted off. Ass.)

Alistair raps his knuckles on Cullen's door, then folds his arms tight. "Cullen?" he calls, just loud enough to carry through the wood.

He didn't bring Ci with him. This is one of the very few things a mabari can't improve. But he did get a lyrium kit, after some wheedling with Bar, and jammed it in a free pocket on his way up the stairs.

[howtoactfereldan]

"It's open," comes a wavery croak from the inside.

He's in a phase with chills, wrapped up in a wool blanket, huddled in bed up against the wall.

Is it actually helping. Maybe. Talk to him in an hour.

[bringspeopletogether]

Alistair nudges the door open. Closes it behind himself as quietly as he can.

For a moment, all he does is lean against it as he watches Cullen.

Milliways didn't catch him by surprise tonight: he had time to ditch the crown in his room at the palace. But he's still got the heavy fur draped around his shoulders that looks entirely too big for him, like a child playing dress-up. Cullen would probably make better use of it than Alistair would -- but for now, he doesn't take it off.

Maybe later.

"Oh good," he says. It comes out a bit too bright, a bit too brittle. "Your nose hasn't fallen off yet."

[howtoactfereldan]

Cullen squints at him. His eyes are reddened.

Then, with a small sigh, he closes them and leans his head against the wall.

"You'd clearly like it to," he mumbles, without any heat behind it. "Sorry to disappoint."

[bringspeopletogether]

Deadpan: "You'd certainly look better than you do now."

Alistair pushes himself away from the door. He reaches into his back pocket as he approaches Cullen; there's no place to sit except on the bed, so that's where he sits, keeping a few feet of distance between them.

In that empty space, he sets the lyrium kit.

"Here. If you need help with it, I can...you know." An awkward shrug. "Help."

Alistair may have bailed on the Order before taking his vows, but he absorbed enough knowledge outside the classroom to have some understanding of what to do.

[howtoactfereldan]

Cullen opens his eyes -- and flinches away. "No. No -- get it out, now -- "

He'd feel better so fast if he just took a draught. It shouldn't be such a big temptation.

"I can't -- I can't."

His head hurts. He presses the heels of his hands against his temples, hard. "Take it away. Please."

[bringspeopletogether]

Cullen's vehemence makes him jerk back in surprise; his pleading makes Alistair snatch up the kit without a moment's questioning, shoving it out of sight.

But in the brief quiet that follows, the questions start to percolate. A slow-dawning horror settles over Alistair's face as he stares at Cullen. This...what he's doing isn't a mistake, then. Or just some quirk of being in a place outside of Thedas, where there's no lyrium to be found.

It's deliberate.

"What are you doing?"

[howtoactfereldan]

Cullen risks a look, and sees the kit is gone. He relaxes, just a little -- only to have his headache wash over him like a wave.

He breathes, carefully, and sits up straight. The better his posture, the less he can feel his blood pulsing in his skull.

"I'm leaving the Order. Wholly. I've got -- " He winces, rubs his forehead. "The Divine's declaring an Inquisition. Her Right Hand wants me to command the forces. Assuming I make it through."

[bringspeopletogether]

Wow, there's a lot to unpack in those five and a half sentences.

Alistair opens and closes his mouth a couple times, still staring.

"Oh," he manages eventually, "is that all. An Inquisition and you trying to kill yourself for it. I thought it was something serious. Well, you've certainly reassured me this isn't anything to worry about, well done."

[howtoactfereldan]

Growls Cullen:

"I don't need your approval. Or your worry."

[bringspeopletogether]

Yeah, no such luck, Cullen.

"I suppose the Divine's got a second choice lined up for when you rot from the inside out? How long has this been going on? You're -- " He shoves a hand through his hair, fury spiking hot behind his ribs. The old anger at the Order, anger at Cullen, anger at -- at everything, really.

(How bad it must have gotten, for Cullen of all people to run from the Order. To form a bloody Inquisition for the first time in centuries.)

"You're supposed to be the brilliant one."

[howtoactfereldan]

He shivers, and draws the blanket tighter around him. "You know that stopped. You were there." And tips his head forward, damn the headache. "Someone thinks I'm not -- worthless. Why wouldn't I follow?"