fadewalk | Evelea

It probably said a lot about him that, after landing sprawled in the eluvian's chamber and determining where he was again, the first thing he did was check the journal he'd kept tucked in his belt. It hadn't worked in that cell...wherever in the world that had been...and part of him expected this to just be another trick. A punishment of some sort, continually inflicted for crimes he had long been ready to confess.

But he saw the writing appearing, saw the trouble, and the emotion that wended its way through him was complicated at best.

Cullen dashed off a message, hand trembling almost too hard to hold the quill, then focused on forcing his body to obey him. Weeks without food, with barely enough water to survive, with only enough space to pace six steps in any direction in the often absolute dark, had left him impossibly weak. He quaked and shook like an old man as he used the wall to pull himself to his feet, back to that damned mirror, teeth gritted.

His first step nearly sent him crumpling to the floor.

The second was only a little steadier.

But he kept going because he had to keep going, and by the time he reached the courtyard, he was able to keep his forward momentum by sheer bullheaded determination alone. (Even as the world swam around him with every blink of his eyes, a watercolor blur of sensation and shapes.)

He was needed. He needed to know everyone was all right.

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Something was wrong. Evelea had known that for several days, as her mind tried to grasp and catch at where she had last seen Cullen. They had drank tea, of all things, awkwardly enough to seem normal. Then...

Then she had no idea.

She had spent the last several days (she thought it was days, but how could she be sure?) staying within the confines of her quarters, with occasional forays to the garden. The plants weren't growing, she knew that. Which presented a problem for their longterm supplies.

She was moving through the courtyard toward the stillroom with a fresh sample of cuttings that she could preserve, when she saw Cullen striding unsteadily across the flagstones. She dropped the basket in surprise and startled into a run toward him. "Maker's name, Cullen, are you--"

She broke off; it was obvious he was not well, and she turned nearly as pale as he was looking at the gaunt hollows of his cheeks.

His head jerked up at the sound of her voice (he hadn't even known she was there until then; his focus was so deeply turned to keeping upright that everything else was muffled as if he were underwater) and he nearly collapsed, catching himself against the wall just in time.

"Evelea," he said, voice a croak. He hadn't spoken since he'd disappeared. "Is this real?"

He had to know, and despite everything between them, he still trusted her to tell him.

Cullen, strong and stoic, purposeful nearly falling as he noticed her drew a panicked little noise from Evelea. She took several more steps toward him, hands raising, though she hesitated to touch him.

The sound of him saying her name however, drew her in and she reached to steady him. "Yes. Well, as real as a Fade construct castle on the wrong side of a broken Eluvian can be, I suppose." She studied his face, feeling ill.

"You've been gone." She said it like she'd just realized it, sounded shocked to learn it. "Maker, and you're more than half dead. May I use magic on you?"

"No," Cullen said, though he didn't pull away from her. Instead, he reached up without full awareness of what he was doing and brushed his knuckles against her cheek. "I am glad you're real. I'd begun to doubt."

Evelea sighed softly when Cullen denied her request, but she didn't argue. She wasn't going to push it on him if he refused. The touch on her cheek made her eyes widen slightly, color returning in the form of a faint blush.

"Of course I'm real. You might not be much longer if we don't get you help. Would you accept healing from Anders instead?" She began rummaging through the pockets of her light jacket, then her pouch, until she withdrew a flame-orange vial. "Rejuvenation. It'll steady you at least."

"I'll have to. Meredith is here." He let his hand drop, fingers tightening into a fist, then relaxing. He shouldn't have touched her like that.

Why had he let himself touch her like that?

"Will you ask him to meet me in the dungeon? I have to--" He stopped, closed his eyes. Refocused himself. "I have to go there."

"First, I need you to take this potion." Evelea frowned at him, reaching to press the vial into his hand. "Please. I will ask Anders to meet us there as soon as you do." She pulled her journal from her belt, showing it to him.

He was going to fall down. Or die. She tried to keep her hands steady, but the thought of him suffering this way - again - was impossible to bear. "Can you tell me what happened?" she asked quietly.

He took the potion, nearly choking on it before he forced his tortured throat to relax around the thick liquid. And then--

Maker, then he had to close his eyes and focus against the sudden rising tide of nausea, his body rebelling even as the potion began to take effect.

"I was," he began, pausing to clear his throat, eyes still closed. "Here, and then without warning I was before the eluvian. It pulled me through, to a cell of some sort. I was there for...weeks. I don't know how many. I lost count of the days after the first ten or so."

"Weeks?" Evelea's voice was soft, appalled and she shook her head sharply. "That isn't..." She bit her lip, looking at his face, the starvation apparent in it.

"That would be insulting to us both actually, given everything that's happened, to claim it wasn't possible." She pressed a cool hand to his forehead. "You need food and water and rest, and you're not going to do any of those things until you've seen about Meredith, are you?"

He looked up again, meeting her eyes. "I have a duty," Cullen began.

"I know." Evelea's eyes were sad and resigned. "Give me one moment to write Anders a note, and then we'll go." She pulled out the quill and began scratching quickly in her journal on a blank page.

Cullen couldn't help but watch her. She had been in his thoughts a great deal over the last weeks. There had been a surprising number of regrets thinking he would die there without seeing her again.

A...shocking number, really.

Evelea looked up from her writing, snapping the journal closed (the wonders of magical pages meant no blotting required) and found Cullen watching her. She dropped her eyes, cheeks coloring again. "Now, what are we going to do about Meredith?" She tucked the book away, and moved to steady him, to lead him toward the main keep and the dungeon. Her mouth was set in a determined line, the soft curve of it gone. She wasn't going to fight him, to waste his strength, but she wasn't going to let Cullen do any of this alone.

He'd been alone, tortured, starved, far too often in his life.

He was grateful to have her there to lean on. It was ironic, considering their past, and yet strangely inevitable too. "It depends on how taken by madness she is," Cullen admitted. "And whether she can be coaxed into coexistance. I am not certain she can be, especially if she has reached a point where the lyrium is deep in her thoughts."

Evelea frowned faintly and then nodded. "She demanded that all the mages in Skyhold submit to her for testing, and Harrowing if they have not already been. I have to admit I have been avoiding her, even before she tried to kill Leliana and Neria. But they're convinced if she is killed their timeline is destroyed." She gave a soft, sad laugh. "Of course, no one considered that before they killed Envy, but I suppose no one wanted to preserve that timeline."

"The both of us are doomed either way," Cullen agreed. "But they need not be. I can see why they would hesitate."

He hesitated for other, more complicated reasons. For all he had fought to defeat her before, for all he despised many of the things she held dear, there had been times over the years before the madness had taken her that Meredith had been someone he cared about. There was something in her that still had the power to move him.

"We need Dorian to piece together what will happen with a paradox," he added. "Should Corypheus appear...there's no world in which we would let him live in our dungeons."

Evelea squeezed Cullen's arm, silent, sad. When she'd told him she felt as if she were already a ghost, that was why. Her future, his past, all rended into little bits.

"Dorian. The Tevinter?" Another mage that Cullen trusted who was not her. She refused to let herself feel bitter. "I haven't spoken with him, but he seems to be confident of his own intellect."

"He's brilliant," Cullen said, lips quirking a little. "Just as brilliant as he claims, though don't tell him I said as much."

Even that much of an expression on Cullen's face was a relief to Evelea, and she smiled wanly, nodding. "No, wouldn't do for him to get an even bigger head I suppose." She wanted to ask when had Dorian joined the Inquisition, whether this was from a world he would know her as a tyrant and a monster, but she didn't want to make Cullen think about any of those things. "Ready to tackle these stairs?" Her hand pressed against the small of Cullen's back.

He wasn't, not really. But he was used to digging deep and finding reserves of strength he didn't know he had. He'd manage.

"Yes," Cullen said, one hand bracing against the wall.

Sometimes even Evelea forgot that before the Circles rebelled she had primarily been a healer and an herbalist. The voice she used now was clearly meant to brook no arguments in intractable patients.

"I don't believe you, but we'll try. If you are going to fall, I need you to sit immediately. Don't worry about dragging me down. If you tumble and pull us both down the stairs we're going to wind up with cracked skulls and that will be far worse than a couple of bruises on my shins."

She pulled Cullen's arm over her shoulder, ignoring the bite of his armor into her neck, or the sour smell of fear sweat that he had been marinating in for weeks. His warmth and bulk was something to be grateful for. He was alive. She could focus on that.

He gave a low, surprised laugh, looking at her. "Sometimes, when you talk like that, you remind me of this woman in my village. She terrified me as a child." He allowed Evelea to help him, though he tried to keep as much as his weight off her as he could. "And sometimes you're the sweetest person I've ever met. Strange how you can be both."

"Yes, well, caring about things... about people... that can sound a little snippy sometimes." Evelea's face dipped to hide the blush that his completely unlooked for compliment had caused. She set the pace slow as they climbed up toward the keep, one arm around his back, the other on his chest.

She really had no hope of catching him if he fell, but hopefully having her as an anchor would make his dizziness less severe.

Meredith was tired. Her limbs ached, her armour dug into her shoulder through the surcoat she’d wrapped around it, and she was missing something that was making her teeth ache and her skin crawl. She had no idea where she was in this strange castle, and no way to check the maps in the enchanted journal because she could see nothing more than greyish blurs, and only then when there was strong light nearby.

She stopped under a torch to catch her breath, leaning hard against the wall and straining to see what was around her. There was a gap in the wall ahead. A corner? A door? The Viscount posing in a pretty frock?

No, that would give Dumar too much credit for good taste. Never mind that it was beneath her to think ill of a dead man.

Meredith was about to allow herself a heavy sigh, but then she heard something. Voices. Coming from… somewhere ahead.

She scowled and set down her armour as quietly as she could. She hopped forward a step to bring herself just next to the gap. It was a corner, and the voices came from… below. Stairs, then. Meredith took the chains of her shackles in each hand, taking up the slack and holding the metal plate that had chained her to the floor well out of the way. It was a poor garrotte, but Meredith would make due.

((OOC: Is it alright if I join the order here?))

Edited Date: 2015-09-07 03:49 am (UTC)

(OOC: Sorry! Lost track of the thread.)

"Perhaps," Cullen said, glancing at Evelea. It was so strange how easy it was to be around her sometimes--and then at others, how impossible. "But more to the point, I was thinking..."

He hesitated just a moment, head tilting at the not-too-distant sound of chains, quickly muffled. It could be nothing, of course, but he wasn't trained to take anything for granted.

He continued as if he had just been searching for his words. "Well, I was thinking that you have the feel of one of the Chantry sisters I knew." He actually visibly winced at the words, because wow, how unflattering--and also untrue. He had just fumbled for the first thing to fill the silence. Before she could take offense, he touched his finger to his ear, then pointed up the steps. "Younger, of course."

Oh, that just made things worse.

"I-- well, that's--" Evelea frowned up at him in confusion, watching him touch his ear and then gesture toward the stairs. She followed his gaze, trying to sort his words from his action, color rising under the freckles.

She gave him a flat look, and then slipped out from under his arm, untangling her staff from his surcoat and her twisted sling. Honestly, trying to half-carry a grown man with a staff, and Maker's breath, younger?

She got it untangled and stepped up and in front of him. "What was her name?" she asked a bit crisply, hand flexing out to her side.

Meredith paused, ears straining. One of the voices seemed almost familiar. They spoke of… Sisters. A sister? The echo from the stairwell was no aid to her. Then there was another uncertain sound; fabric against something else.

She couldn’t be sure.

The chains bit into her hands, the only solid thing left to her. Her stance wobbled and she had to lean her elbow against the wall to keep from falling against it. Was she hearing footsteps? Was that breath on the back of her neck? The headache building in the base of her skull pounded in time with her pulse, and she couldn’t be sure!

She mouthed the words of Trials 1:10 and waited.

(OOC: Okay, I think I'll jump in here once Evelea and Cullen make it to Meredith, if you guys don't mind.)

(OOC: I am so sorry, but I can't keep up with an action scene right now. I'm giving control of Cullen to Evelea. Pop in whenever, Anders!)

(OOC: Alrighty, here goes. I'm going to rep from Eve's POV but with Cullen's actions/dialogue included for sake of thread cleanliness and not making too many assumptions about how much he wuvs her *coughs* j/k cullen don't smite me.)

Evelea took another step up the stairs, jaw set, snapping the fingers of her free hand and holding her finger up at Cullen when he tried to climb with her, step past her. He was truly, literally ready to collapse, had refused her healing, and he thought he was going to protect her?

"Ah. Her name. Sister Anais." Cullen stared up the stairs past her, and Evelea heard the faint scrape of... something, against the stone.

The unsteadiness with which he stood was more pronounced since she'd dropped his arm. If he fell... "Interesting." Which it wasn't, hatchet-faced bossy Chantry sisters that were younger than her. Honestly. she took two more steps, preparing to cast a barrier at the first flicker of danger from the shadowed doorway at the landing.

Sister Anais.

Meredith’s grip on her chain relaxed ever so slightly. She didn’t know the name, but the voice who spoke it…

If she was mistaken, it was likely a trap and she would be dead the instant she gave away the element of surprise. Given that she had been surrounded by Abominations, traitors, Blood mages and demons practically since she had first written in that damn book, the possibility was extreme.

The beginning of Transfigurations 10:1 flitted through her mind. Meredith exhaled.

“Knight-Captain?” She called out, and did not lower her only weapon, nor step out into view.

Evelea's arm was caught in a tight, sudden grip as Cullen stumbled up a step to reach her. She looked down at him, saw the set of his mouth, grim and tight, the rest of his face a mask.

She opened her mouth and he shook his head sharply. "Knight-Commander," he acknowledged. His fingers stayed on Evelea's arm as he took another step up so that he was next to her. "I was recently made aware of your arrival. Do you require assistance?"

Evelea kept her eyes on Cullen. He looked even shakier than before. Maker's ass if he failed now and fell down the stairs she'd be stuck dealing with Meredith on her own. She hoped he remembered her admonition to simply sit if he felt faint.

Anders made his way towards the dungeon with his staff in his hand, fingers twitching up and down its grip restlessly. This was by all accounts a terrible idea. He didn't even like Cullen, not now, not in Kinloch Hold, not in Kirkwall. For some Maker unbeknownst reason he'd managed to impress himself on the man as a fair and reasonable person, which was simultaneously accurate in Justice's estimation and laughable.

Well. Anyways, their last interactions had been fairly civil and Anders felt he owed it to him to make an appearance, although that could just be his healer's instinct kicking in.

He tried not to appear too apprehensive as he approached the voices.

"Evelea?" He called, thinking it was much safer to address the mage instead of either of the two templars.

Meredith despised asking - and those who asked - for help. It was an undignified admittance that one was giving up on their own ability, and begging for someone else to fix their problem for them. She had expressed her opinions on the subject to her Knight-Captain some time prior to his earning that rank; years before when he was newly transferred from Kinloch. He’d countered that there were many tasks a single person could never hope to complete without assistance. And Meredith had expressed her agreement, saying there was no shame in knowing one’s limits, only in giving up when those limits are reached and expecting others to carry on for you.

That conversation, and the outcome of it - that she would never ask for help, but would accept assistance when offered - was something no demon could ever know.

Meredith slumped against the wall, taking all weight off her broken leg. She only held to the chain with one hand and let the rest hang from her shackle once again. “Your assistance would not be unappreciated at this juncture, Knight-Captain.”

There was a noise. Meredith’s head turned, trying to catch it more clearly. Another voice? It had a rising tone at the end, so most likely a question. She shoved herself off the wall again, determined to face whatever it was.

Evelea watched Cullen's expression stiffen, harden, become resolved. He gave her a small flick of his eyes, but he was plainly spending all of his energy to just keep standing. "Evelea Trevelyan, Enchanter of the Ostwick Circle, this is Knight-Commander Meredith Stannard of Kirkwall. Knight-Commander, Enchanter Trevelyan-" His voice faltered for a moment and he swayed. "-is a capable mage and I am..."

"Cullen!" Evelea called out in alarm as he swayed more deeply, and then thank the Maker, followed her orders and let his legs fold under him. His armor clattered and scraped as his face went gray and he hit the steps, dragging her to her knees next to him. "Maker's breath." Her hand found his neck and his pulse was fast, a little erratic, and his skin was clammy.

She twisted until she could catch Anders eye, only just approaching and she gestured toward he toppled, unconscious man. "Help him, please," she mouthed, and then extricated herself, drawing her spine up as straight as possible, and continued climbing the steps.

"Knight-Commander? I'm Enchanter Trevelyan." Maker how that title burned in her throat. "The Knight-Captain has been unwell, and there is another healer attending him at his request. May I approach?" She needed to separate this situation. Without Cullen conscious to defuse it, anything involving Anders and Meredith was likely to literally explode.

Anders felt his stomach tie itself in knots when he rounded the corner and saw a collapsed Cullen and only Evelea standing between him and Meredith, alarm for Cullen mixing with violent fear and also rage at the sight of her, alive, mostly well, standing there. Justice stirred, just beyond the edges of his already frayed control, ready to swoop in at a moment's notice.

He hurried towards Cullen and dropped to his knees beside him, ignoring Meredith. Or, not ignoring, but rather not greeting and pretending to ignore while he actually kept a close watch on her from the corner of his eye. His hands shook. He missed Hawke, his Hawke, abruptly, fiercely, a low ache in the center of his chest for the way she would have stood guard over him like always and practically dared Meredith to try something.

"All right, you silly templar, you've got me down here, no dying on me now, you hear?" he muttered. He put a hand to Cullen's forehead, risked another glance at Meredith, and then placed his other hand on Cullen's shoulder and closed his eyes, a cool bluish light arcing between his hands as he healed him.

Meredith’s eyes were as wide as they could possibly be, little good though it did her. Cullen had not sounded steady, and when he faltered her instinct was to regroup with him and fall back to somewhere more defensible than these Maker-forsaken stairs. The Enchanter sounded alarmed, but not surprised. Was her Knight-Captain as badly injured as she? Were there concentrated attacks being carried out against Templars in this fortress?

The quick, noisy footsteps of a mage climbed the steps from below, stopping presumably next to Cullen to tend him as the Enchanter had said. A lower voice, presumably male, speaking too softly for her to make out. Unfamiliar, which set her teeth on edge even more than the taste of his magic in the air. Was this unknown mage even a healer of any talent?

Meredith had too many questions and not nearly enough answers. But if the Enchanter would cooperate - if she is the ally her Knight-Captain appears to believe she is - Meredith might be able to risk letting her ignorance show, however slightly. Long enough to gain a proper understanding of the situation, and get them somewhere safe.

“You may approach, Enchanter.” Meredith adjusted her grip on her chains and limped forward to the top of the stairs, bringing her under the torchlight. It threw her condition into easy view, but at least this way she would be able to see the form of anyone approaching.

Evelea gave one backward glance at Anders and Cullen, fear easily read in her wide blue eyes, but her mouth set in firm resolve and she turned to climb toward the Knight-Commander.

Cullen was immobile on the steps, the symptoms of dehydration and starvation easily read, as well as extended sleep deprivation. The man was a no-long-walking study in privation, actually. It made Evelea's teeth ache her jaw clenched so had as she forced herself to walk away from him and toward the woman that half the world seemed to revile and fear.

She'd read Varric's book, spoken with him about it, the stories of the Gallows' statues come alive, fighting under some strange lyrium enchantment, fueled by the sword that drove her mad. But as Evelea came close enough to see her injuries, she gasped softly at the extent of them.

She put her staff back into her sling with a practiced motion and hurried the last few steps, every line of her posture one that spoke of someone rushing to help, not to attack. "Blessed Andraste, how are you even standing?" she murmured under her breath. Where did she even start to help?

Anders opened his eyes after a few moments, a vein in his forehead pulsing slightly as he pulled away, looking drained. "Maker's breath, Cullen," he muttered. The wounds he could and did heal, but most of this? Only time and rest, food and drink, was going to fix.

He glanced at Evelea and Meredith, but they seemed preoccupied.

"We need to get you to a bed, Knight-Cap...er. Commander," he told his patient instead, not much seeming to care that Cullen couldn't hear him. He cupped Cullen's cheek in one hand and sent out a probing tendril of magic just to be sure he'd done all he could for now.

Meredith hid her flinch in a shuffling half-step as the shape of the Enchanter seemed to suddenly appear out of the darkness. She was as tall as Meredith herself and with the delicate frame typical of most mages. Wearing dark clothing? That might simply be her vision, or lack thereof.

From what she could judge, one good Smite would send the Enchanter toppling back down the stairs before she could get a spell off. It helped Meredith relax her shoulders, though that did mean that her gambeson and undershirt slid down again. She shrugged the garments back up and lifted her chin.

“Training, Enchanter. What is the status of my Knight-Captain?” She demanded, voice firm. “If my leg is somewhat repaired, I am capable of aiding in taking him elsewhere. Preferably somewhere more easily defendable, and with a modicum of comfort.”

Evelea clasped her hands in front of her as she listened to Meredith with her head cocked very slightly to the right. It felt so strange to slip back into the mannerisms of a respectable Circle mage after all that had happened over the years between Ostwick's fall and now, but it seemed the easiest way to manage the situation.

She hoped. Even as injured as Meredith was, Evelea wasn't sure she was strong enough to defend herself from a Templar of her rank and legendary focus on her own. She ground the heel of one hand into the palm that held the mark and then nodded before letting herself report.

"He is currently attended by an accomplished Spirit Healer, being treated for dehydration and starvation of a incapacitating degree, as well as various minor injuries. He..." She wet her lips, glancing back down the stairs to where Anders was attending him. When she began again the worry was plain in her voice. "He went missing. Time is funny here, but I believe he was gone more than a week. He has returned in this condition, apparently having been imprisoned against his will. His first request upon his return was to be apprised of your situation."

She turned her attention back to Meredith. "If the break is clean, I will be able to set the bone and start the healing. May I use magic to ascertain the degree to which it is injured, Knight-Commander?" Oh how that burned in her throat, but Evelea had always been able to bow her head, and toe the line. It was why she was made an Enchanter, given apprentices of her own so young; she was good at helping younglings acclimate, to keep them safe, to show them how to avoid the worst elements of the Order.

This was not good, this was definitely not good. Anders wanted to get Cullen out of here; he wasn't going to help anyone unconscious on a stone floor. He needed real rest in a real bed and it would probably be for the best to see if Anders could get some water and maybe broth in him, even while he was unconscious. His body was going to have a difficult time repairing itself if it didn't have some kind of sustenance, and soon. But there was Meredith, being her usual demanding self, and Anders really wasn't sure how she would react if he just stood up and swung Cullen's arm over his shoulder and attempted to carry him off. Also. He didn't give a nug's ass what her condition was, and he certainly hadn't signed up to heal her, so there was nothing for him really to do but wait and hope that he'd be allowed to leave with his patient soon.

Which was a problem, because waiting near a dungeon with a half-mad Templar giving him the stink eye was already making him twitchy and panicky, his palms sweating and his heart pounding in his ears. He could feel Justice pushing at the edges of his control, radiating concern and just anger, but Anders knew if Justice manifested even for a moment that would only make matters much, much worse. It was difficult to keep him back, however, distracted as he was by his own fear and his own rage, and the curious sort of queasy feeling, like he was going to be sick, that Evelea's sudden deference brought out in him.

Meredith could feel the skin around her eyes tighten while she heard the Enchanter’s report, even as she listened for what this ‘Spirit’ Healer was up to down below. She’d heard of ‘Spirit’ Healers before; they commanded healing magic of extraordinary power and ability, but put one foot into a demon’s maw in order to gain it. That he was accomplished likely meant he was clever enough to have kept mostly out of the demon’s grip thus far, but even the canniest mage would succumb to temptations eventually. He would have to be observed, closely.

Cullen’s status chilled Meredith’s blood, ever so slightly. Imprisoned and left to starve, as she had been. And where she had fought, he’d likely been taken by surprise and left unable to effect an escape, given the difference in their injuries. She always had been more cautious around mages than he had, except perhaps for a short period of time after his transfer to Kirkwall where she had needed to teach him temperance. A lesson learned too well, clearly. But there was something about the Enchanter’s voice as she told Meredith this, a concern out of place for a bystander or stranger. Meredith’s brow furrowed, and then quickly cleared when it affected her vision even more negatively.

“You have my permission, Enchanter. My leg was partly crushed in battle and healed a little some time afterwards. I believe it to be a clean break for it does not grind, and I can partly use it to walk on.” Her frown intensified. “But then, what do I know of broken bones but how to inflict them. Do hurry, Enchanter. I would see to my Knight-Captain myself.”

She clearly needed to remind him of his duty. His first thought should never have been for her, but for himself and his charges. But she could admit, if only to herself, that his concern was… appreciated. Misplaced, but gratifying.

Evelea took a very deep breath and stepped forward toward Meredith. This was terrifying. Her palms were sweating and her heart was racing and she was certain that Meredith would at any moment reveal she knew all about her bout with the Envy demon and strike her head from her shoulders with a brutal chop of her bloody hand.

She went to one knee before the Templar, trying not to laugh hysterically as she did so, blinking her eyes rapidly. Oh, such a little liar, she'd been when she'd defended her apprentices in the Circle when the Templars came to purge them and swore she would never bow her neck again. Maker's Grace, she was such a coward.

Hands raised she did not touch the injured leg, but held her palms out toward it, summoning the small skirls of healing magic that would let her see inside, see the injuries. Meredith was right, the break was clean and had been set. Not quite true, but enough that it was bearing her weight. It would need to be broken again if it was going to be healed properly.

The tinge of the Fade was stronger than normal in her magic, the Anchor lending its own strange timbre to the vibrations.

"It's set crooked. It will need to be broken again to be properly healed. I can knit the bone further now to give it strength and ease your pain, but it will be worse breaking it later. My recommendation is that you allow me to escort you to the infirmary where Cu- the Knight-Captain is being taken and allow us to treat your leg there." She could take the woman to the infirmary and sedate her and they could do whatever Cullen needed either there or in any number of beds throughout Skyhold.

Meredith’s first instinct was to step away when the half-familiar half-disturbing undertones of the Enchanter’s magic hit the back of her throat. Well, no, her first instinct was to loop her chain around the mage’s throat, throttle her and then snap her neck. Instead, Meredith let a Cleanse focus just under her skin, ready to be let loose the moment the Enchanter should attempt anything. Intelligently, she did not, merely pulled back and reported her diagnosis.

It was as Meredith expected. She strongly desired to demand that the Enchanter simply reinforce her broken bone so she would be better capable of defending them, pain being the least of her concerns for the future. But with her eyesight so poor and she unused to compensating, and with her body shaking badly from lack of something she was desperately craving, there was no real value in insisting beyond her own comfort.

“Very well.” Meredith said. She limped by the Enchanter over to the lighter spot back down the hallway where she assumed her wrapped armour still lay. It took a few long moments of fumbling before her fingers found her surcoat, and she hoisted it quickly over her shoulder to hide her hesitation. “Lead the way to the infirmary, Enchanter Trevelyan.”

Evelea watched Meredith gather her armour and surcoat, frowning faintly as she did. She nodded, turning to give Anders one last look of worry, eyes cutting to Cullen, before she straightened her spine and did as she was told.

She kept her pace slow enough for Meredith to follow, hoping the woman wouldn't flag too badly. The stillroom and the patient's quarters were below the requisitions office, facing the lower courtyard if she remembered correctly. From where they were it was one flight of stairs, which was a better choice than either the guest rooms or the dungeons, given Meredith's state.

Her knuckles ached from how tightly her hands clasped and she paused before the stairs that would take them down to a level. "There are stairs here, Knight-Commander. Do you wish me to carry your armor so you have your hands free?" She didn't think the woman would accept her hands on her in assistance, but she also didn't relish the idea of her falling on top of Evelea if she lost her balance and couldn't right herself.

If she were a braver person she might just give her a push and hope for the best. Instead she would play her part and hope someone with a sterner stomach would rescue her soon.