Post #2572300 in The City of Chains, a roleplay on RPG

When Cor had run to her with advance warning of an incoming patient, Nostariel had fortunately already been in the clinic. Halfway through her routine visits for the day, but it was easy enough to tell all those remaining that she would be happy to see them whenever was convenient tomorrow, and send them on their way with potions in the meantime. That was all most of them honestly needed anyway. She had noticed a strange fascination with her magic, though, and people seemed to prefer the application of it to being sent away with a tonic that would do the same thing just as well. She supposed it was a good thing that they weren’t afraid of it anymore, because the situation had once been the opposite way around. Even those with grievous injuries had been too nervous to let her use the magic around them.

In any case, the extra practice proved useful with the patient Lucien brought in. The young woman was in bad shape—nothing as terrible as Sophia had been, of course, but she’d also gone untreated for at least a day, and that was doing a damage all its own. The work necessary took Nostariel the better part of a day, and every few hours, one of the Lions would come by with food and water, asking after the young woman. Lucien himself showed up again right after sunset, fortunately just as she was ready to take a break anyway. She’d done all she could for the girl—the rest of it was up to her.

Sitting heavily in one of the chairs at the front of the clinic, right next to her friend, she tipped sideways slightly until she was leaning against his arm. No armor at just the moment, which was something she was quite grateful for. She probably looked exhausted, and a bit silly using him for support, given how tall he was, but she was far too tired to care, readjusting so that her shoulder pressed into his bicep and accepting the food he’d brought along this time. Bread, cheese, fruit. Simple, but exactly what she needed right now. “You’re the best.” She said it in a tone of reverence usually reserved for people talking about the Maker or something, but just right now, it was about right.

She was tucking into the food shortly thereafter, slightly inhibited on her right side by their contact, but apparently fine with that. It forced her to eat a little more slowly, which was probably good for her anyway.

“Don’t let Ashton hear you say that,” Lucien returned with good humor, shaking his head slightly as he watched her dig in. He supposed that healing took a lot out of a person. It only made sense—the energy for all those closing wounds and such had to come from somewhere, and it seemed like it might have been a bad idea to take it from a heavily-injured person. Lucien had no idea if magic even worked like that, but for the moment, it was a sensible explanation and seemed to fit with what little he did know.

He ate his own dinner a little more slowly, glancing from time to time over at where their foundling lay, still but clearly much better than she was when they found her. The rising and falling of her chest was visible now, indicating that her breathing had evened out, and was no longer so shallow. Nostariel’s magic really did seem like the stuff of miracles, sometimes, but then… she’d had a lot of practice bringing people back from the cusp of death. Perhaps too much.

“How is she?” He’d waited until she seemed to pause in her eating to ask the question, not wanting to force her to try and answer the question while chewing. He did have some manners, after all, even if he was quite hoping for good news about the patient’s state. He doubted his Warden friend would have been acting so casually if the girl’s life were still in immediate danger, there were still a lot of possibilities between that and ‘fine.’

Nostariel swallowed, pursing her lips together slightly. “I’ve done everything I can do, for the moment. It looks good, but… I can’t say for sure.” She paused a moment, turning her head to look over at her unfortunate patient, debating whether she should tell Lucien. To a certain extent, Nostariel believed the girl’s injuries and history were her own business, but she also knew if there was one person who could handle such delicate matters with the care they demanded and also be of help with resolving them, it was probably him. Nobody else she knew had quite the right balance of traits. Not even her.

“Lucien… some of those wounds were old. Weeks old. They’d been healed, kind of, but there’s no way they weren’t still painful. She clearly hasn’t eaten properly in at least that long… my guess is, she was either travelling by herself, or with people who didn’t much care for her condition.” Nostariel hesitated again, biting her lip, then continued. “She’s also a mage. I felt her magic react to mine. There was something strange about it, like it was raw, somehow. I’m not sure she’s had much training, to be honest.” Which was very peculiar, really, but would account for the fact that the healing she’d done wasn’t particularly good. Good enough to keep her moving, maybe, but not much more than that.

Lucien absorbed this information carefully. A scarcely-trained mage, with weeks-old injuries, likely traveling by herself? It was hardly a wonder she’d been attacked by bandits. She wouldn’t have appeared to present any kind of threat, and she was dressed just well enough to be worth the time. He felt another stirring of sympathy, and wondered just what had led her here, or where she had come from. Still, all of that was her information to keep as close as she wanted. He was just glad that Nostariel seemed to think she would pull through.

He was about to go back to eating when a sound caught his attention. A hitch in breath, followed by a soft groan, pained, but not agonized. He immediately set down what he was eating and stood, Nostariel doing the same, and moved over to the table where the young lady was beginning to stir.

Pain. It was the last thing she remembered, and so perhaps it was…right?... that it was the first thing she encountered. The pain was different, though, duller, like a low-frequency throb in time with her heartbeat rather than a thousand stinging needles. A pitiful sound escaped her, and, had she the energy or the wherewithal, she would have laughed at herself for it. This was how she ended up, was it? She’d promised him she’d survive, that she’d never stop running until she felt safe, and it was bandit scum that did her in. Well… she’d never been destined for greatness or importance like him, but this was an ignominious end, even for her.

Only… it didn’t quite feel like an end, did it? This was not the oblivion she’d fallen into when the pain stopped, and something was wrong with it. It didn’t match. The ground underneath her was hard and unyielding, not soft. She couldn’t feel the wet slick of her own blood anymore, either. Something was wrong. Her eyes cracked open, and she flinched against the brightness, but not before she made out a shape above her. Forcing her arms to move, she threw them up in front of her, gasping when the motion pulled at something barely-healed, her muscles violently protesting the suddenness of the action. Had they captured her? She’d thought…

“Ubi sum nunc?” she demanded, though her tone lost much of its force, considering how dry her throat was. Swallowing, she tried again, attempting to drag herself into a seated position, only to be held down by arms a great deal stronger than she was at this point. “Quid factum est?” With several more attempts at blinking, she could tell that the shadowy shape above her was actually two: a human man with a scar bisecting one eye, and an exceptionally-pretty elf woman. She was not reassured.

Seeing as how she continued to struggle, Lucien continued to hold her down by the shoulders as gingerly as he could. “Tevene,” he said, his brows knitting together. His Tevene was pretty terrible, but he could manage the basics. “Et salvi facti sunt. Sumus amici.” It was apparently accurate, or at least close enough, because she stilled a little, looking from himself to Nostariel and back again, her expression wary but no longer outwardly hostile. Carefully, he let go and stepped back. “Do you speak the trade tongue?”

She nodded slowly. “Where… where am I, exactly?”

Nostariel decided to field that question. She could read a little Tevene, from books in the Circle, but she certainly couldn’t speak it, so it was a relief that the girl knew the trade tongue. “You’re in Kirkwall, in the Free Marches. I’m Nostariel, this is Lucien. He and his mercenaries found you out on the Wounded Coast and brought you to me.” She smiled reassuringly and carefully checked over a few of her patient’s wounds. Thankfully, her thrashing didn’t reopen anything, though it might have made her a little sore.

“You should be all right to sit up now, if you let us help you.” She’d also probably be hungry, if her current state of thinness was anything to go by. She looked like she hadn’t had a good meal in a month, probably just barely subsisting for that span of time.

The girl nodded, letting the both of them help her upright, though she was tense under their hands, unmistakably uncomfortable, either with her infirmity or just contact, it was hard to tell. “Estella,” she said quietly, breathing through her nose to steady herself. “My name is Estella.” She gave no more than that.

For the moment at least, Lucien didn’t think any more was necessary, and retrieved the last of his dinner, handing it over to Estella, who accepted gratefully. “I’m… going to go get some more,” he said, mostly to Nostariel, observing the way their guest was wolfing down what was available. “I’ll be back in a quarter candlemark or so, if that’s all right?”

“Of course.” Nostariel smiled and started in on tidying up a few things. It would seem the awakening of her patient had banished some of her own fatigue as well, at least for now. His absence would also give her the chance to inquire of Estella a few things that she might not feel entirely comfortable talking about with more people present. Lucien could be intimidating, even if he was, in reality, one of the kindest people she knew.

Once he’d exited, she finished putting away the few remaining odds and ends still out on the counters, then hopped up onto the examination table beside Estella. Leaving a gap of several inches between them, Nostariel figured the girl could use her space. “Estella… you don’t have to tell us any more than you want to, and I know it isn’t easy to trust strangers, especially when you’re a mage. But… if there’s anything else you do feel comfortable saying, we would be glad to help you however we can.”

Perhaps contrary to the reaction one would expect at being told something like that, Estella’s eyes narrowed in suspicious displeasure. “I’m not a mage,” she snapped, her jaw tightening. Suddenly not hungry anymore, she set aside the rest of what she was eating and shook her head. “And there’s no way that’s true. You don’t know anything about me. Why on earth would you want to help? I could be a psychotic magister for all you know.” Wasn’t that what they thought, in the South? That Tevinters were all either bloodthirsty, cutthroat mages or else crushed under the heels of such?

Truth be told, she had no reason to suppose that either of these people could be trusted. She was hungry and desperate enough that she supposed it really didn’t matter, because she needed to eat and heal before she could do anything about her situation, but she wasn’t inclined to let that soften her guard any more than she already had. Estella could feel her heartbeat pick up in her chest, thundering against her ribcage as she waited for… something. The hammerblow, maybe. Confirmation, defensiveness. Anything.

Nostariel had indeed not expected that reaction, and was quick to react herself, putting both of her hands in the air in a placating gesture, not allowing her voice to rise above the soft tone she usually used with children. Estella was young, but she used the tone more because her emotional state seemed quite volatile. “Hard to be a psychotic magister if you aren’t a mage.” There was a thread of gentle amusement in the words, but she let it fade when she continued. “But Estella… whomever you are or whatever led you here… honestly, it doesn’t much matter. Everyone has a history, and some of them are… unkind. I won’t ask about it unless you want to tell me, and neither will Lucien, I am sure. So whether you intend to stay or go, well, you’ve nothing to fear from us.”

“You know, usually when people lie to me, they at least try to say something believable.” Estella wasn’t sure if that made what this woman was telling her more or less likely to be true. She wasn’t sure of anything, in all honesty. She’d heard most of her life that people in the south were afraid of mages, hated them for what they could do. And even though she barely considered herself one, she knew they wouldn’t bother with the nuance here. But… judging from her current state of not-death… they had saved her life, whatever their reasons. And this Nostariel had to be a mage too, if she’d healed her.

“If you’re just helping me because I’m like you…” she started, unsure how to finish and trailing off into a shrug. “You should know that I’m not. There’s no advantage to helping me. I’m not a mage, and I’m not important where I come from. There’s nothing to be gained from this.”

Nostariel sighed. She’d met plenty of people who were resistant to the idea of being helped before, and she wasn’t exactly surprised that this was how things were going, but that did leave her in the unenviable position of trying to decide how to deal with it. “Estella… we’re not going to force you to do anything. If you want to, the moment you’re well enough, you can walk right out that door and never come back. We won’t stop you. We won’t even blame you.” Folding her hands in her lap, she swung her legs back and forth slowly, dangling as they were from the edge of the counter.

“I understand why you’re skeptical. I’m not sure what I would think, either, if I were in your situation. But Lucien’s a good person, and his intent in bringing you here was to save your life, that’s all. I did what I could as well, and here you are. It doesn’t have to be anything more than that. You can leave before he gets back, if you think your legs will carry you far enough.” They might well, considering the evidence. Estella seemed to have been fighting through injuries for the better part of a month. Nobody did that unless they had to, and to do it alone… that was the act of a desperate person. A person afraid.

“But you don’t have to.”

Kindness. She wasn’t unfamiliar with it. An act of benevolence when she’d been expecting some kind of punishment. If that was indeed what this was. Estella tried to make sense of her situation as well as she could. She remembered the beach, this coast Nostariel had mentioned probably, and stumbling along it as well as she could manage. Being accosted by… some number of bandits, seven or eight, maybe. She’d reacted from surprise, more than anything, and it was really only by luck that the magic had hit the front cluster of them. The half flanking had been… much more difficult. It became very indistinct after that, she remembered being hurt, and then hurting herself, when she got hold of someone’s knife and started stabbing with it. She’d just been thinking of what he told her.

Run, Stellulam. Don’t stop until you feel safe again.

She wasn’t sure she would ever. Pursing her lips together, Estella decided to test the woman’s words. Lowering herself slowly from the table, she hissed softly when her feet hit the ground, taking her weight again for the first time since she’d fallen on the sand, supposedly to be rescued by utter strangers. A few more seconds, and she was letting her hands fall to her sides, no longer necessary to support her. The first step threatened to buckle her knees, but she sucked in a breath and braced herself, continuing the pattern until she made it to the clinic door. Raising an arm, she pressed a palm against it as if to push it open, but then turned to look over her shoulder at Nostariel, who had not moved from her position on the table.

“I can really go? Whenever I want? Even right now?”

“Whenever you want. Even now, though as your healer, I’d rather you didn’t.” Nostariel made no move to enforce her preference, however, merely shrugging both shoulders, as if to indicate that it was all quite out of her hands. And it was, really—what Estella chose to do was entirely up to her.

It seemed to be the right thing to say, at least after a fashion. After a long moment of what seemed to be very intent—and slightly incredulous—scrutiny, Estella had the good grace to look slightly ashamed of herself, and shook her head. “I… sorry. It’s just… I’ve only ever been able to trust two people, and I had to leave both of them, so… I’m a little off-balance at the moment.” Her smile was decidedly more of a grimace, but it was all she had at the moment. At the very least, she removed her hand from the door, sinking into one of the chairs at the front of the place. She still wasn’t sure how she felt about all of this, but if Nostariel was lying to her, she was doing a very good job of it. Estella also knew that, realistically, if she tried to keep going at this point, she’d just end up in a similar situation—one she might not survive this time.

There was a silence then, one that stretched out awkwardly, and she wasn’t really sure what to do, so she tried for something innocuous to discuss. “So… this Lucien guy, then. You said he’s a mercenary?” Her attempt at a non-stilted manner of speech only sort of worked, somewhat ruined by the very-obviously-educated accent Tevinter accent she had. She was going to have to learn to speak like… anyone else. Eventually. When she stopped.

“He is.” Nostariel was relieved that the tense moment hadn’t turned for the worse, and she’d even managed to get something out of Estella that wasn’t a question. Justified as her suspicion was, it really wasn’t going to help her in this case. “His company is called the Argent Lions. They’re only quite new, but they’re doing well.” She hesitated, unsure if this would provoke a reaction like her first assurance had, but here in Kirkwall, it needed to be said.

“Estella… I know you said you’re not a mage, but… you should be careful here. Right now, the Templars more or less run Kirkwall, and they are... quite strict.” Whatever the girl said she was, Nostariel was almost certain she was a mage. Healing someone who had their own magic just felt different from healing anyone else. Being unwilling to admit it might be wise, here, but she had to deliver the warning even so.

Estella’s brows furrowed, but she nodded, a short, jerky motion that was as much acknowledgement as she would give that the information had been both new and useful to her. Fortunately, it was at about this time that Lucien reappeared, burdened down with more food and smiling broadly, something that she found she could actually answer, albeit only with a tiny quirk of her lip.

Maybe, just maybe, she’d found her destination.

Snippet #2572300

located in Kirkwall, a part of The City of Chains, one of the many universes on RPG.

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