What followed was grim, quiet work. It was obvious that they could go no further with both Wardens and Ashton incapacitated, and besides that, the fatigue was beginning to wear even on the least-injured of them. No one really said anything, but by unspoken accord, they moved to set a meager camp with the few supplies they had carried into the cave or could scrounge. There was no wood to be found, and so they were without fire, but managed to arrange everything centrally, their backs to a stone wall for protection against any darkspawn that might approach.
With Amaliaâs help, Lucien moved Ashton from where heâd fallen to the camp area, but he left her to tend the other manâs injuries, since sheâd brought a few potions and their healer was currently out of commission. He couldnât say what state Nostariel and Stroud would be in when they woke, but he sincerely hoped that their periods of unconsciousness would free them from whatever had taken hold of them. Once everything was as settled as he could make it, he sat heavily upon the ground, his sword laying next to one outstretched leg, and absently watched the methodical movements of Amalia, who had moved to bandaging Ashtonâs wounds, having chipped the worst of the ice away, presumably trusting that the rest would melt. Lucien imagined it was helping clot the wounds, at least.
âI didn't know that could happen,â he murmured at length. âThat darkspawn could influence Wardens that profoundly.â With a weary sigh, he leaned back against the stone, letting the back of his head fall against it too. Even he was tired; it had been a full day of nothing but hard travel and combat, after all. That would wear anyone down. He was certainly no exception.
âIf that is what happened.â Amalia tugged firmly on the bandages she was tying, makeshift as they were. Mostly cut from the bottom of Lucienâs own cloak, which heâd volunteered for the purpose. It was, after all, the largest. He supposed no one had really planned for a medical emergency that Nostariel would not be there to solve.
âWhat else could it be?â he asked slowly, tilting his head back down to meet her eyes over Ashtonâs prone form. âYouâre not suggesting that this was intentional.â
Amalia shook her head. âNo. But Darkspawn are not the only forces at work down here.â
âYou mean the magic.â He paused, considering it. âI suppose it could be. But a strange coincidence, that magic should affect only the Wardens. Perhaps it is some combination of things. Whatever the case⊠itâs troubling. How is he?â He nodded to indicate Ashton.
Amalia pursed her lips, tying off what appeared to be the last of the bandages. âHe will live. ButâŠâ Her eyes moved to Nostariel, and Lucien took her meaning. For all the shock the rest of them might have felt at what happened, his was bound to be the greatest, if only because of what was between them. Now that the actual fight was over, Lucien could admit that it was deeply unsettling, to have to fight allies, friends. If it really had been the darkspawn, then he couldn't blame them, of course, but⊠even knowing that didnât quite ease the ache. He dearly hoped they woke up as themselves. Otherwise⊠well, he wasnât sure of what would happen, but he would not enjoy it.
After helping to move Nostariel and Stroud as well into their meager camp, Ithilian was able to begin treating his own injury, his bleeding left arm. The ice from Nostariel had pierced through it, thankfully a weapon that left little behind when removed. He bound the wound as best he could, to put a stop to the bleeding. The arm wouldn't be the most useful in fights for the moment, but his strong arm was still functional, and he was willing to bet he'd still be able to use his bow if need be. It would be painful, but Ithilian was nothing if not accustomed to that.
He chose not to join in on the discussion Lucien and Amalia began about the nature of that last fight, for he had no thoughts that were anything more than speculation and guess work. Clearly the Wardens had been affected by something that the rest were not vulnerable to, but that was as far as his knowledge went. All he knew was that he held nothing against them for their sudden attack. It was not hard to forgive, when they were forced to fight under the sway of magic. They'd done the same for him.
What was more troubling, indeed, was that while the event had been unnatural and hopefully temporary, it was still a glimpse into a Warden's future, of a sort. There was no choice involved in the madness that would claim Nostariel's mind eventually. It would come to pass, and it would not be pretty. To see it arrive so suddenly was a shock to the senses for those who cared for her.
A sputtering coughing fit erupted from Ashton who had finally begun to come to. He made an attempt to move, but shuddered and stopped, the pain in his chest too much to fight through. Even the little movement that he did manage only served to cause him to cough any more, every tremble only adding to the discomfort. "Am I dead?' he said, just barely above a whisper. He tried to move his arms this time, but only after barely raising them from the ground he let them fall right back down. His eyelids clenched tighter and he bit into his lips.
"No... Death wouldn't hurt this damn much," Ashton wheezed. Instead of trying to move any more, he decided on the opposite and tried to stay as perfectly still as he could. The pain in his chest throbbed with every beat of his heat, and the amount of it rose and fall with every minute, wincing with the particularly rougher rises. His head felt like it was stuck in the mud, a thousand thoughts bombarded him at once and it was difficult to grab one and focus on it. "Nos? Is she okay?' He asked. For the time being, he'd forgotten how he'd ended up like this.
âShe lives.â The answer was Amaliaâs, and though it was terse as ever, it was spoken in a surprisingly soft tone. âShe and Stroud are both unconscious for the moment, but I expect they will wake eventually.â She looked briefly as though she were considering saying something else, but in the end she didnât, moving instead to make sure his bandages had remained intact. But her knots were good and he hadnât moved overmuch, so everything was as yet intact.
âYouâve been out for a couple of hours,â Lucien added, guessing at the next possible question. âIf you can get any more rest, you might want to. Iâll let you know when she wakes.â
It took about another hour for that to happen, but when it did, both Wardens stirred at roughly the same time. Stroud was the first to reach full consciousness, raising a hand to his head and slowly sitting up. He noted the presence of the other three, then scanned the campsite until he found Nostariel, who was herself starting to twitch. Gingerly adjusting his position so he could sit comfortably, a confused look passed across his face. It passed, however, as his attention was drawn back to his fellow Warden, who pushed a pained groan out with her breath, attempting to push herself upright.
Nostariel wasnât by comparison extremely injured, but she felt exhausted, drained in a way that she hadnât since the aftermath of the Arishok battle. Her limbs were leaden, and her thoughts sluggish. At first, she wasnât sure how sheâd gotten there, though the familiar sight of her friends, and their apparent lack of alarm, meant that she felt no need to panic. Still, there was something wrong. This was⊠the Deep Roads?
Sluggish as her thinking was, it eventually caught up with her, though what had happened immediately before she lost consciousness was foggy at best. She remembered⊠her eyes went wide, and snapped to where Ashton lay, still prone on the ground. Had she reallyâŠ? âMaker, I⊠did I⊠do that?â
"Yes," Ithilian said, though his tone was undoubtedly gentle, "and no. Your mind was not your own." Even sitting, his posture had become more tense when he'd seen the Wardens stirring again, as he erred on the side of caution, and wanted to be ready in the event that they needed to subdue the Wardens once more. Seeing that it was not the case, he visibly relaxed, and tried to soften, both in tone and appearance.
His effectiveness at that was middling. He did not think it right to try and sugarcoat what had happened, nor was he the best at delivering hard news, but he did truly think this was not Nostariel's or Stroud's fault. It didn't make it any easier to see the results, though. Lucien was waking Ashton gently, and Ithilian had to admit some nervousness for what would come next.
Her mind was notâŠ? Nostariel frowned, for a moment unsure of what he meant, but then she remembered, the oppressive feeling of being weighed down by something, followed by the sudden intrusion upon her mind, like cold steel claws digging into her thoughts, clamping with a viselike certainty and strength. The insistence that she forget, that she disappearâit was a little like drowning, she supposed. But sheâd fought to stay near the surface, to move her limbs herself, and moments of awareness had broken through the haze. Sheâd shot him. Sheâd shot him, and that was why he was laying on the ground like that.
The Warden drew in a breath. âI can fix this. I can make it better. I canââ she cut herself off with a shake of the head, hauling herself to her feet. Better to do it than to say it. Hopefully her hands would not shake as badly as her voice did. Her steps were far from steady, but they only had to carry her across the small campsite, and then she could fall to her knees beside Ashton. Lucien had moved a small distance away by that point, leaving her space to work.
The wound was bound, evidently with pieces of Lucienâs cloak, from the dark red color of them. It made it difficult to tell how much heâd bled, but she was sure that if theyâd just left him to rest, he was in the best condition they could manage. She reached for one of the knots, and despite her best efforts, her hands held a tremor. âI can fix it. I can. Everythingâs going to be okay.â It was hard to tell if the whisper was more for his benefit or hers.
The gentle prodding in his shoulder caused Ashton to groan. He tried to shoo the annoyance away, but that only resulted in a half-hearted shrug. Still, the act managed to bring him around enough to get his eyelids to flutter, before he shook his head slowly. He'd taken Lucien's advice and tried to get as much rest as he could get in an hour, but he still hurt and the soreness was beginning to kick in. He coughed again and stirred, but didn't try to sit up. He'd been slipping in and out of consciousness, and the moments where he were lucid came with a layer of blur.
Eventually, he felt something at his side again and turned toward it. "I'm up, I'm--" instead of finishing the sentence his eyelids flung open wide and he winced hard. Nostariel was above him, and for a moment a sense of fear gripped his mind. He tried to back away on an elbow before collapsing and sending him into another coughing fit. In a moment of clarity he remembered. Nostariel had shot him. The memory of the ice cold arrow penetrating his chest struck him, made fresh by seeing Nostariel's face again.
He tried to cover the bandaged wound with his hand but inadvertently brushed against Nostariel's. The touch caused him to seize and close his eyes tight.
It was, she supposed, an understandable reaction. Justified, even, considering that he might not yet be fully awake. That didnât mean it was painless for herâquite the contrary. But now wasnât the time to be thinking about that. âAshtonâAsh, itâs okay. Itâs me. Iâm not⊠Iâm not going to hurt you. I need you to relax so I can heal this. Please.â She went to lay a hand on his shoulder, but drew up short, pulling it back. It might only make things worse. She didnât want him to startle any more severely than he had already, because he was still at risk of reopening his wound if he thrashed at all.
When the death blow he was expecting never came, Ashton let one eye slide open. Satisfied with what he saw, he let the other follow. The hand that was frozen above his wound fell onto his belly instead, his body losing its tension soon after. Though he still felt on edge, the thrashing had stopped and he seemed as calm as he could've been under the circumstances.
"Am... Am I the only one hurt?" he asked, arching his head back so that he could see past her. While not completely whole, the rest of the team weren't laying on their backs either. "Typical," he muttered, before slipping into another cough. It didn't surprise him, really.
With Amaliaâs help, Lucien moved Ashton from where heâd fallen to the camp area, but he left her to tend the other manâs injuries, since sheâd brought a few potions and their healer was currently out of commission. He couldnât say what state Nostariel and Stroud would be in when they woke, but he sincerely hoped that their periods of unconsciousness would free them from whatever had taken hold of them. Once everything was as settled as he could make it, he sat heavily upon the ground, his sword laying next to one outstretched leg, and absently watched the methodical movements of Amalia, who had moved to bandaging Ashtonâs wounds, having chipped the worst of the ice away, presumably trusting that the rest would melt. Lucien imagined it was helping clot the wounds, at least.
âI didn't know that could happen,â he murmured at length. âThat darkspawn could influence Wardens that profoundly.â With a weary sigh, he leaned back against the stone, letting the back of his head fall against it too. Even he was tired; it had been a full day of nothing but hard travel and combat, after all. That would wear anyone down. He was certainly no exception.
âIf that is what happened.â Amalia tugged firmly on the bandages she was tying, makeshift as they were. Mostly cut from the bottom of Lucienâs own cloak, which heâd volunteered for the purpose. It was, after all, the largest. He supposed no one had really planned for a medical emergency that Nostariel would not be there to solve.
âWhat else could it be?â he asked slowly, tilting his head back down to meet her eyes over Ashtonâs prone form. âYouâre not suggesting that this was intentional.â
Amalia shook her head. âNo. But Darkspawn are not the only forces at work down here.â
âYou mean the magic.â He paused, considering it. âI suppose it could be. But a strange coincidence, that magic should affect only the Wardens. Perhaps it is some combination of things. Whatever the case⊠itâs troubling. How is he?â He nodded to indicate Ashton.
Amalia pursed her lips, tying off what appeared to be the last of the bandages. âHe will live. ButâŠâ Her eyes moved to Nostariel, and Lucien took her meaning. For all the shock the rest of them might have felt at what happened, his was bound to be the greatest, if only because of what was between them. Now that the actual fight was over, Lucien could admit that it was deeply unsettling, to have to fight allies, friends. If it really had been the darkspawn, then he couldn't blame them, of course, but⊠even knowing that didnât quite ease the ache. He dearly hoped they woke up as themselves. Otherwise⊠well, he wasnât sure of what would happen, but he would not enjoy it.
After helping to move Nostariel and Stroud as well into their meager camp, Ithilian was able to begin treating his own injury, his bleeding left arm. The ice from Nostariel had pierced through it, thankfully a weapon that left little behind when removed. He bound the wound as best he could, to put a stop to the bleeding. The arm wouldn't be the most useful in fights for the moment, but his strong arm was still functional, and he was willing to bet he'd still be able to use his bow if need be. It would be painful, but Ithilian was nothing if not accustomed to that.
He chose not to join in on the discussion Lucien and Amalia began about the nature of that last fight, for he had no thoughts that were anything more than speculation and guess work. Clearly the Wardens had been affected by something that the rest were not vulnerable to, but that was as far as his knowledge went. All he knew was that he held nothing against them for their sudden attack. It was not hard to forgive, when they were forced to fight under the sway of magic. They'd done the same for him.
What was more troubling, indeed, was that while the event had been unnatural and hopefully temporary, it was still a glimpse into a Warden's future, of a sort. There was no choice involved in the madness that would claim Nostariel's mind eventually. It would come to pass, and it would not be pretty. To see it arrive so suddenly was a shock to the senses for those who cared for her.
A sputtering coughing fit erupted from Ashton who had finally begun to come to. He made an attempt to move, but shuddered and stopped, the pain in his chest too much to fight through. Even the little movement that he did manage only served to cause him to cough any more, every tremble only adding to the discomfort. "Am I dead?' he said, just barely above a whisper. He tried to move his arms this time, but only after barely raising them from the ground he let them fall right back down. His eyelids clenched tighter and he bit into his lips.
"No... Death wouldn't hurt this damn much," Ashton wheezed. Instead of trying to move any more, he decided on the opposite and tried to stay as perfectly still as he could. The pain in his chest throbbed with every beat of his heat, and the amount of it rose and fall with every minute, wincing with the particularly rougher rises. His head felt like it was stuck in the mud, a thousand thoughts bombarded him at once and it was difficult to grab one and focus on it. "Nos? Is she okay?' He asked. For the time being, he'd forgotten how he'd ended up like this.
âShe lives.â The answer was Amaliaâs, and though it was terse as ever, it was spoken in a surprisingly soft tone. âShe and Stroud are both unconscious for the moment, but I expect they will wake eventually.â She looked briefly as though she were considering saying something else, but in the end she didnât, moving instead to make sure his bandages had remained intact. But her knots were good and he hadnât moved overmuch, so everything was as yet intact.
âYouâve been out for a couple of hours,â Lucien added, guessing at the next possible question. âIf you can get any more rest, you might want to. Iâll let you know when she wakes.â
It took about another hour for that to happen, but when it did, both Wardens stirred at roughly the same time. Stroud was the first to reach full consciousness, raising a hand to his head and slowly sitting up. He noted the presence of the other three, then scanned the campsite until he found Nostariel, who was herself starting to twitch. Gingerly adjusting his position so he could sit comfortably, a confused look passed across his face. It passed, however, as his attention was drawn back to his fellow Warden, who pushed a pained groan out with her breath, attempting to push herself upright.
Nostariel wasnât by comparison extremely injured, but she felt exhausted, drained in a way that she hadnât since the aftermath of the Arishok battle. Her limbs were leaden, and her thoughts sluggish. At first, she wasnât sure how sheâd gotten there, though the familiar sight of her friends, and their apparent lack of alarm, meant that she felt no need to panic. Still, there was something wrong. This was⊠the Deep Roads?
Sluggish as her thinking was, it eventually caught up with her, though what had happened immediately before she lost consciousness was foggy at best. She remembered⊠her eyes went wide, and snapped to where Ashton lay, still prone on the ground. Had she reallyâŠ? âMaker, I⊠did I⊠do that?â
"Yes," Ithilian said, though his tone was undoubtedly gentle, "and no. Your mind was not your own." Even sitting, his posture had become more tense when he'd seen the Wardens stirring again, as he erred on the side of caution, and wanted to be ready in the event that they needed to subdue the Wardens once more. Seeing that it was not the case, he visibly relaxed, and tried to soften, both in tone and appearance.
His effectiveness at that was middling. He did not think it right to try and sugarcoat what had happened, nor was he the best at delivering hard news, but he did truly think this was not Nostariel's or Stroud's fault. It didn't make it any easier to see the results, though. Lucien was waking Ashton gently, and Ithilian had to admit some nervousness for what would come next.
Her mind was notâŠ? Nostariel frowned, for a moment unsure of what he meant, but then she remembered, the oppressive feeling of being weighed down by something, followed by the sudden intrusion upon her mind, like cold steel claws digging into her thoughts, clamping with a viselike certainty and strength. The insistence that she forget, that she disappearâit was a little like drowning, she supposed. But sheâd fought to stay near the surface, to move her limbs herself, and moments of awareness had broken through the haze. Sheâd shot him. Sheâd shot him, and that was why he was laying on the ground like that.
The Warden drew in a breath. âI can fix this. I can make it better. I canââ she cut herself off with a shake of the head, hauling herself to her feet. Better to do it than to say it. Hopefully her hands would not shake as badly as her voice did. Her steps were far from steady, but they only had to carry her across the small campsite, and then she could fall to her knees beside Ashton. Lucien had moved a small distance away by that point, leaving her space to work.
The wound was bound, evidently with pieces of Lucienâs cloak, from the dark red color of them. It made it difficult to tell how much heâd bled, but she was sure that if theyâd just left him to rest, he was in the best condition they could manage. She reached for one of the knots, and despite her best efforts, her hands held a tremor. âI can fix it. I can. Everythingâs going to be okay.â It was hard to tell if the whisper was more for his benefit or hers.
The gentle prodding in his shoulder caused Ashton to groan. He tried to shoo the annoyance away, but that only resulted in a half-hearted shrug. Still, the act managed to bring him around enough to get his eyelids to flutter, before he shook his head slowly. He'd taken Lucien's advice and tried to get as much rest as he could get in an hour, but he still hurt and the soreness was beginning to kick in. He coughed again and stirred, but didn't try to sit up. He'd been slipping in and out of consciousness, and the moments where he were lucid came with a layer of blur.
Eventually, he felt something at his side again and turned toward it. "I'm up, I'm--" instead of finishing the sentence his eyelids flung open wide and he winced hard. Nostariel was above him, and for a moment a sense of fear gripped his mind. He tried to back away on an elbow before collapsing and sending him into another coughing fit. In a moment of clarity he remembered. Nostariel had shot him. The memory of the ice cold arrow penetrating his chest struck him, made fresh by seeing Nostariel's face again.
He tried to cover the bandaged wound with his hand but inadvertently brushed against Nostariel's. The touch caused him to seize and close his eyes tight.
It was, she supposed, an understandable reaction. Justified, even, considering that he might not yet be fully awake. That didnât mean it was painless for herâquite the contrary. But now wasnât the time to be thinking about that. âAshtonâAsh, itâs okay. Itâs me. Iâm not⊠Iâm not going to hurt you. I need you to relax so I can heal this. Please.â She went to lay a hand on his shoulder, but drew up short, pulling it back. It might only make things worse. She didnât want him to startle any more severely than he had already, because he was still at risk of reopening his wound if he thrashed at all.
When the death blow he was expecting never came, Ashton let one eye slide open. Satisfied with what he saw, he let the other follow. The hand that was frozen above his wound fell onto his belly instead, his body losing its tension soon after. Though he still felt on edge, the thrashing had stopped and he seemed as calm as he could've been under the circumstances.
"Am... Am I the only one hurt?" he asked, arching his head back so that he could see past her. While not completely whole, the rest of the team weren't laying on their backs either. "Typical," he muttered, before slipping into another cough. It didn't surprise him, really.