Ghost Story

[Varric]

"Oh." Right, that makes sense. "Yes. Probably. Could be-- Could be environmental. Something inert. Enchanted object. Lingering ritual effect."

[Marian Hawke]

"I've been living here for years and I've never seen such a thing," counters Emma. "It must be something new."

[Varric]

Varric shrugs, the movement weak and faltering. "Could be you weren't doing the right-- wrong-- thing. Maybe needed dwarf. Or two people. Owner."

[Marian Hawke]

"Maybe," admits Emma. "Do you think it could be a demon? Left over from the Plagues?"

[Varric]

"Possible," Varric allows. "Didn't get that vibe. Unlikely. Should have attacked me after."

[Marian Hawke]

"Sorry," she continues. "I'm-- I should let you rest."

[Varric]

"No!." Varric winces, the sharp, loud word a painful action to his weakened diaphragm and larynx. He swallows, then continues in a far more mild, softer tone, "talk good. Use mind. Need activity."

[Marian Hawke]

*Okay," she says quietly. Thank you for being alive. I didn't realize how much I hated being alone until I almost lost you. She can't say it; she can only hope he knows. "Can you help me understand the subjunctive in Sylvan? I'm not sure I have it right."

[Varric]

Eyes brightening, Varric flashes a smile. "Love to. Explain what you know. I'll critique." Good kid really. Hurting real bad (you would know) but still trying. Lonely. Real damn lonely if she's so glad to have a crusty, bitter (broken) old dwarf like me around.

[GamesMaster]

Over the next week, Emma is quiet, but more appreciative then before. She volunteers to help out in little ways, asking more questions and taking in more tasks. As Varric steadily improves, she soaks up what knowledge he can give her like a sponge, eager and capable.

And then she falls ill.

It's a common enough thing, of course. People get sick. But she grows steadily more listless as Mileen's day approaches, until the day before she doesn't rise from her bed at all.

[Varric]

Varric would rather set his hair on fire than admit it but he thrives from Emma's company just as much as she does from his. More than just having someone around, teaching her linguistics, maths and basic alchemy-- more herbalism and cooking as this stage-- feeds a need in him that he's been denying for a while now. Books, puzzles and routine brewing only do so much, especially when they're done by himself. As much as he can easily entertain himself for days on end, non-interactive activities can only provide so much mental stimulation. 

So when Emma starts getting ill, Varric doesn't restrict his reaction. Nutrient and energy tonics are pressed on her after the second day. The morning of the fourth, he starts a Cure Disease potion. Noon the next day, he finishes the brew only to realize Emma hasn't emerged from the library-- he hadn't been able to convince her to take a room for herself but he had installed a cot suspended from the ceiling. Agitated but masking, he knocks crisply on the door frame, then steps into the room. "Emma"?" 

[Marian Hawke]

She tries to pull herself together, tries to rouse. She flickers in and out of consciousness, struggling to rise from the bed. She fails; she manages only to keep herself together, somewhat coherent, as she gives a weak, hopeless smile.

[Varric]

If she hadn't taken as long as she did trying to rise and then force that smile, Varric would have missed it entirely. Given how dearly he holds his own privacy, he's loathe to infringe on the privacy of someone he likes and respects. Clan would be different, as their happiness and safety would be more important than most degrees of privacy, but he doesn't have any Clan. He can't anymore.

"Emma," he repeats, wincing as he takes in the sight of her. Gods, she's so pale she almost looks translucent around the edges (if she weren't so clearly, deeply arcanaphobic, I'd suspect an illusion). Dazed too. "Emma, I have," don't say magic potion, "more medicine. Need you to sit up. Can you do that?"

[Marian Hawke]

Emma lifts her head just a few centimeters, letting it fall back onto the bed with a small whimper. Her second try is more successful, as she struggles to a sitting position.

[Varric]

Good. Despite their slowly growing friendship, the pair still shy away from each other due to their respective pasts. He quickly slips a pillow behind her for support, then gestures for her to tip her head back. Going slow, he drips the potion into her mouth, then does the same with some mellow herbal tea. "How's that feel?"