astrid hawke (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
wittyskepticism) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
sixthiterationlogs2017-08-28 04:06 pm
wittyskepticism) wrote in sixthiterationlogs2017-08-28 04:06 pm
Entry tags:
even a rogue's heart can break
WHO: Astrid Hawke
WHERE: House 49
WHEN: during the plague stuff, backdated
OPEN TO: Fenris
WARNINGS: will update as needed. Likely talk of death to start.
Days have passed since Fenris fell sick, since his fever and hallucinations and whatever else began to manifest. Days since Hawke started to really worry for him. She's not a healer; she can't cure this. Even if she were a healer, her power would have been stripped from her and she wouldn't be of any use. If only she could find some decent elfroot here, she could make a potion or a poultice to help him. But she's got nothing but time and energy, both of which are fading into exhaustion.
She keeps a compress on his forehead and water by the table, but it never seems to be enough. If he's dying, she can't tell, but she might lose herself if he is.
The Champion of Kirkwall ― the woman who never broke in the face of a crisis, not even when her own lover turned out to have used her to help him destroy the Kirkwall Chantry and was responsible for the deaths of countless innocents in what was no more than a power play to force a war ― had long ago taken Fenris' hand in one of her own, her head and arms resting against what little space is left to her on the bed. He's asleep, she knows he is, but she can't find it in her to try to rest herself. Instead, she's let the mattress and sheets get wet, the only sign that she's let tears fall at all.
"Fenris," she croaks out after a while, her voice thick with worry and fear and pain. "Maker, please. Please let him survive. Let me wake up tomorrow to him as he always is. I miss his grumpy self already. It's endearing."
It's more than endearing, but that's too hard to admit. His grumpy self is comforting to her, the one constant in a sea of confusion and turmoil. He and his friendship are the two constant things she knows will stay with her, but this sickness of his has brought up her fear of losing everyone. Of forcing them away. Her life is like a trash fire. Eventually, she loses everything.
But...
"Not Fenris. I can't lose him, too."
WHERE: House 49
WHEN: during the plague stuff, backdated
OPEN TO: Fenris
WARNINGS: will update as needed. Likely talk of death to start.
Days have passed since Fenris fell sick, since his fever and hallucinations and whatever else began to manifest. Days since Hawke started to really worry for him. She's not a healer; she can't cure this. Even if she were a healer, her power would have been stripped from her and she wouldn't be of any use. If only she could find some decent elfroot here, she could make a potion or a poultice to help him. But she's got nothing but time and energy, both of which are fading into exhaustion.
She keeps a compress on his forehead and water by the table, but it never seems to be enough. If he's dying, she can't tell, but she might lose herself if he is.
The Champion of Kirkwall ― the woman who never broke in the face of a crisis, not even when her own lover turned out to have used her to help him destroy the Kirkwall Chantry and was responsible for the deaths of countless innocents in what was no more than a power play to force a war ― had long ago taken Fenris' hand in one of her own, her head and arms resting against what little space is left to her on the bed. He's asleep, she knows he is, but she can't find it in her to try to rest herself. Instead, she's let the mattress and sheets get wet, the only sign that she's let tears fall at all.
"Fenris," she croaks out after a while, her voice thick with worry and fear and pain. "Maker, please. Please let him survive. Let me wake up tomorrow to him as he always is. I miss his grumpy self already. It's endearing."
It's more than endearing, but that's too hard to admit. His grumpy self is comforting to her, the one constant in a sea of confusion and turmoil. He and his friendship are the two constant things she knows will stay with her, but this sickness of his has brought up her fear of losing everyone. Of forcing them away. Her life is like a trash fire. Eventually, she loses everything.
But...
"Not Fenris. I can't lose him, too."
no subject
When he stirs, it's late, dark outside, and he's still hot, lightheaded, damp with the sweat of fever. The room is unfamiliar to him, like so many he's been in over so many years, the memory of this time, this place displaced by delirium. Danger, he thinks, because there's been so much of it over the years, and he tries to sit up, to assess his surroundings, but the disjointed sense of time is disrupted when he realizes Hawke is there. Hawke, who he hadn't seen in so long in Thedas.
"Hawke?" His voice is dry, croaking, but a confused surprise is still clear in its tone.
no subject
It's the sound of her name that breaks her out of her tears-induced almost-sleep. For a few seconds, she doesn't think she's actually heard it or felt him getting up. But then she lifts her head to see him and realizes that at least he's awake again. Not that she expects him to be coherent or lucid or any of that.
"I'm right here, Fenris," she says, her smile wobbling in spite of herself. She knows she looks like hell, but he's probably not in the frame of mind to notice. "You're not alone. Not that this house is large enough for a proper game of hide and seek, but I promise I haven't left you."