fadewalk

Evelea had stared at the journal for a long time trying to decide what that meant. Wherever she was comfortable? There wasn't much comforting about this place. Finally she'd written back the garden? because she'd been working there each day and it was as familiar as anywhere else.

She sat cross-legged next to the royal elfroot bed, frowning down at it in forced consternation. Was it real? Real enough to smell when she gently rubbed the pad of her thumb across a leaf, real enough to ease the sting of a scratch she placed there. It's medicinal properties held up. But did it grow? If they harvested part of it would new buds form? How were any of these plants faring without sunlight?

The sound of footsteps, when they finally came, startled her. She had been half-convinced that he wouldn't appear, at least not today. She didn't look up right away, hair in her face and hands clasped in her lap, trying to figure out how to even meet his eyes.

Aria carried herself around Skyhold with a feeling similar to the first time she entered the sturdy fortress; curiosity, awe and a little bit of fear. But unlike her first time in Skyhold, when that little fear was about the unknown, Aria's fear had a solid identity: the Envy Demon. Her hands gripped thigh to her mage staff, her knuckles white. The sky was clouded and save for the lights coming from the tavern, everything was emerged in darkness.

Thank the Creators elfs could see in the dark.

Careful to not be noticed, she inspected the fortress, making mental notes about their visitors; Varric shared the same reality with her (which was a goddamn thing to celebrate) and apparently Sera too, though she hadn't met the archer yet. A Hero of Ferelden was present too, two Dorians (none of them from her own reality), an Anders (the Anders!), another Herald of Andraste (that was really confusing, to state the most obvious), two Cullens (guess someone in the elven pantheon is felling quite amused with this joke) and a pretty weird bunch with a pretty weird metal ship and pretty weird manners and clothing (too weird to think about them now, better skip it). Dagna had contacted Aria through her journal (and now the Eluvian is fixed! I didn't even now it was broken, to begin with!) and it was always good to have the Arcanist around.

She was in the lower courtyard, near the stabled, when a sound caught up her attention: something falling, something like a body falling. Aria rushed, running to find the location, mouth agape with what her eyes saw: Marian Hawke, Champion of Kirkwall, last seem in the Fade running to certain death. The Inquisitor scrambled her potions after a healing one, dropping her staff imediately and turning Hawke to lay on her back. Careful, she supported her head in one hand and with the other she gave her the potion; the woman was still breathing, good start, now to the injuries. Aria planted her hands over her shoulders, barely touching, and concentrated to cast a healing spell.

C'mon... c'mon, c'mon, c'mon... don't die under my watch again Hawke, not now...

Current Mood: anxious

There was a pallet, a bucket, an ewer of water, and Cullen's cloak. Evelea stared at it for an hour after he left. Sitting in silence, Silenced, she felt unsteady, hollow, her hands shaking and her stomach rebelling if she moved her head too fast.

Stars sparkled in the corner of her vision and she finally settled onto the pallet, pulling his coat around her, hunching down until her ears were covered with the fur. Sleep wouldn't come, or if it did it happened in snippets of blankness, head too muddy to tell the difference.

She must have slept at some point because the flavor of the Templar's silence changed. It was less encompassing, frayed and leaking around the edges, inexpert. The drips of mana that it allowed her were less that it would take to manifest a spark, but it made it easier to think.

To worry, really. About Cullen, about his trial, about the twisty nature of this place, and what had happened to her. It would be easier if Envy would speak to her directly as it had done before.

She pulled the journal out from where she'd tucked it in her belt pouch. "If I write in you is it learning? Or have I already lost and this is what is left?" She whispered the words at the book, then with a sudden hiss of frustration, threw it across the cell. The tears were back, vision swimming. She squeezed her eyes shut and started to pray.

Evelea had stared at that book for hours, pouring over the entries, the banter, the quips and doodles and jibes looking for clues. Her head ached and her eyes crossed and finally she'd admitted defeat. She wasn't going to be able to discern the verisimilitude of handwriting that she'd never seen.

The ones she recognized were worse.

She didn't know when she'd started to pray. She had rarely felt the need, never wanted to turn the Maker's gaze on her. She was a mage, and well, everyone knew the Maker had more than enough opinions about that. But somewhere as she crept along empty halls and peeked into abandoned rooms she'd started to whisper tiny, ardent pleas for help.

From anyone.

When she pushed open the door off the cloister garden her eyes focused up, fixing on Andraste's face. The short huff somewhere between a sigh and a laugh. "A statue certainly isn't going to fix this, but thank you for trying."

Tired. Evelea was so, so tired. She'd been stumbling down the twisting hallways of her own mind, guided only by the eerie, unmoored voice of a spirit named Cole, trying to find the demon of Envy that was hollowing her out like a worm in an apple.

She could feel the gnawing, see the cracks forming in her resolve, believing entirely for just a moment that she was watching Leliana actually draw the knife across Cullen's neck. She could smell the hot metal of his blood as it turned to ash in the air, and she wanted to scream.

Had to get out. She had to get out. She had to get back to them, make sure none of this, all this wrong ever came to pass.

This hallways was familiar. The panic climbed her throat as she turned and gripped the handle of the door nearest to her, pulling on it with a hoarse sob of frustration. She slapped the flat of her marked hand against it with a rising cry and the sizzle of that rippling green scar on her hand startled her.

There was the sensation of tearing. Of falling. When she hit the ground she didn't know why she hadn't broken into a thousand bloody-edged shards. The carpet under her hands as she shifted onto her knees was plush wool, the hard stone floor beneath it solid and real. Or more real than where Envy had taken her. She swallowed back the shifting bile, pushed her hair back from her face and looked up at the throne that loomed above her.

That was the Inquisition's heraldry, but this was not Haven.

Cole had never seen the courtyard so empty before. Even when Solas had lead the Inquisition through the gates for the very first time, Skyhold had already been thick with history. This was unlike any other part of the Fade he had ever been in.

As he descended Skyhold's steps, he realized that the castle wasn't as empty as it had been when he'd arrived. There were others here, now, coming in one by one, hurting and afraid.

Maybe Varric would know why. Varric knew about stories.

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Entries tagged with inquisitor

RP: Cullen (cullen_fadewalk)

RP: Hawke (Ground Zero)

RP: Open (In the dungeon of Skyhold)

RP: Cullen (cullen_fadewalk)

Private Character Introduction: Evelea Trevelyan

RP: Varric / Open to any near the Normandy

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November 2015

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