riverviewlogs | And maybe tomorrow is a better day

In all her exploration of the Quarantine (which Iona fully admits isn’t anywhere near complete), she’s found no tavern that she enjoys quite as much as the Inquisition’s own Herald’s Rest, although that might be because she’s finding herself missing Cabot far more than she expected to. Between his particular brand of dry, almost deadpan humour and the fact that the rumours that reached his ears always seemed to be a little more reliable than others (although the importance of some of them was... questionable). That would be useful, here.

For both her and Cullen.

But there are bars and clubs that will suffice for a drink or two, and she’ll go to any one of them depending on the occasion. The Apothecary and the Quarantine Bar and Grill are the two she frequents most often though. She usually finds herself a booth in a corner or a bar stool at the end of the bar and relaxes, sipping at her drink.

That’s where she is, now, sitting at the bar in The Apothecary, a drink nearby that she occasionally sips from as she sits, one of Varric’s novels sitting on the bartop. That she’d found a familiar book here had been an unexpected surprise. One she very much appreciates.

It starts benignly enough. A feeling of malaise, exhaustion, but nothing truly attention grabbing. Iona doesn’t pay it much mind; she hasn’t been sleeping altogether that well more often than not, after all. So it makes sense. So she goes about her life. Working at Gramarye. Going swimming at her favourite little corner of the river. Spending time with Dorian.

Spending time with Cullen, too.

The belief that she should run, that she should keep a distance between them is still there, still intense in moments of closeness, in moments of intimacy... but she doesn’t listen to it. Not frequently, anyway. She can’t. She doesn’t want to. No matter how much it might be the more sensible idea.

She slips into the barracks, clad in a sundress (she’s been feeling a little warm, but nothing serious), and carrying dinner for the two of them. She knows where his room is, so it’s easy to find him. Instead of breaking and entering this time, though, she knocks lightly and waits for him to answer.

Ever since their trip to the hot springs, things between Cullen and Iona have been progressing. Not well mind you, but they have been going along. She's willingly spending more time with him, seeking out his company.

Like this evening. When the knock sounds on his door, he sets aside the book he's been reading and gets up to answer it. There's still only himself and another in the barracks, so that means there is plenty of space so that he doesn't have to see anyone else unless he wants. Opening the door, however, reveals someone he definitely wants to see.

"Iona," her name is still something that he can't help but say with a smile. Seeing her is always something he enjoys. "I see you also carry the idea that I cannot feed myself." He moves aside so she can enter. "I assure you, that is not the case."

He says her name and she ignores the way it affects her. As much as she can, anyway. Which is not nearly as much as she should. “I think no such thing, Cullen,” she retorts, playfully arch as she slips into his room. “Now, that you perhaps forget to do so at times, that I do believe.” Not that she can talk, necessarily, as she’s done the same. But still.

“And as such I decided to bring dinner to you.” With that she sets their dinner down on his table, giving him a warm smile.

He chuckles at her teasing, watching her as she moves intently. "Well, I suppose I shall have to follow your train of thought. I haven't eaten this evening."

But she's considered that.

"And what did you bring for us to enjoy?"

He could get used to her coming and taking care of him. Without making a huge deal of it like others might have.

The malaise is a little bit stronger, now. As is the exhaustion. But it’s fine. She’s fine. Perhaps she’s come down with something. It does happen, and she’s in a place with people from a wide variety of worlds. There’s no doubt as wide a variety of illnesses. Regardless, it’s not very severe if she has. It’ll pass soon enough. So she goes out for a walk. To enjoy the fresh air and to try and get her blood pumping a little. To try and find some energy.

She swings by a store or two as she makes her way back home, picking up some fruits, and vegetables. Some soup. And coffee, as well. There are other ways of finding energy. She’ll just cheat a little.

She’s FINE. She’s perfectly fine. It doesn’t matter how pale she is, or how her lilac eyes are bright with fever, or that she’s dizzy quite a lot, anymore. She’s fine. She’s a stubborn woman. She refuses to let this stop her. Avoiding Dorian, in an extremely rare occurrence, to try and hide just how unsteady and unwell she absolutely isn’t from her best friend and adopted brother. She doesn’t like it, but she doesn’t want to worry him.

She’s fine.

Iona's not the only one who's been in denial. Even as she's known deep down that something's not right, she's used to stubbornly pretending that everything is okay and with the one person who might have been able to call her out no longer here, she sees no reason to change her behaviour.

Besides. She's still wary of trusting any medical professional who isn't Adam, and he's not here.

That's not to say she's not in the mood for distraction. She hasn't been sure what that is, but when she spots a familiar face she's quick to make her way over.

"Hey. How's it been, being back behind city walls?" They haven't really spoken since the temple, but right now Shalimar can use all the familiar faces she can find.

Iona turns at the sound of a familiar voice, smiling at Shalimar despite how badly she isn’t feeling. They haven’t spoken much since their first meeting, but she’s glad to see her. And it’s good to get out of her own head. ~~It’s good to have a distraction from. Certain matters.~~

She laughs, ignoring the slight rasp it has and the way it sends the urge to cough rising in her chest and throat. “I wish I was still there at times, truthfully. I’m used to being able to lose myself in forests at will. Being surrounded by city constantly is... frustrating.” She tilts her head curiously. “And you?”

Shalimar can't help but smile a little at Iona's honesty. "I don't mind city life so much but I do know what you mean. Sometimes it's nice to go somewhere different, scratch the wandering itch, so to speak."

And now she wishes she hadn't said that, because she swears she can feel a tingle across her skin that suggests a rash she's refusing to acknowledge. So maybe she needs to find a new laundry detergent, that's nothing to worry about, right?

"Doesn't really help that everything's so morbid right now. Not sure I'm really feeling the whole share the misery thing." She's got enough of her own to deal with, frankly, even putting aside the sickness she definitely does not have.

She might not have been quite so honest normally, but it slips out easily, now. Not that she’s feeling poorly, that’s not the cause of her honesty in the slightest. “It would be nice. I’m far too used to having more space to work with. I’ve gotten used to the lack, but I still miss it.” She even misses the Hinterlands. Not so much the bears. But the vastness of it.

“Creators, no. I’m not much for sharing, when it comes to things of that sort.” No, she keeps it to herself. The way she does most things that are bothering her. It’s better that way.

"Mm. I can imagine it must be even worse if you're not used to being quite so cooped up. If you ever decide you need to explore a little further out, let me know."

Especially now she doesn't have anyone she feels a need to answer to, Shalimar's keen to see what else they've missed outside - but she's still not quite so reckless as to go entirely alone. This seems the perfect solution.

At least, for a time where she doesn't feel like just standing and talking is draining what little energy she has. Not that it means anything.

"You and me both. Not that there's anything wrong with an independent streak." Apart from times like now, not that she'll admit it.

“I will absolutely take you up on that.” Just not today. The exhaustion that seems to have seeped into her very bones makes the thought of venturing outside the wall today... a less inviting prospect than it usually is. Not that her exhaustion is important. She’s fine.

“Not at all.” There’s a grin on her face, although it’s more tired than it usually is. “I find mine has served me well so far. Although I suspect it has vexed Dorian a time or two.” But he’s family, vexing him is in her sisterly job description.

"Well where's the fun if it doesn't vex our nearest and dearest?" Shalimar's equally guilty of frustrating her teammates, one in particular - though he's not here any more to get vexed over what she does.

Which is probably just as well, because Shalimar knows how he would have responded to the current situation and she'd be climbing the walls of her apartment by now. Because she's fine. Absolutely fine.

"Then again, sometimes I think it upsets them more because they know we're right and don't like to admit it." Now maybe not being one of those times. But usually, at least in Shalimar's experience.

“My thoughts exactly.” There are up sides and downsides to having familiar faces and family, here. And the downsides mostly involve the vexing and worrying each other. But she’s never hidden her recklessness (that’s a lie she’s totally hidden her recklessness as best she can; she doesn’t advertise it, anyway), and she cannot help how... contained the Quarantine is, despite its size, and how much the enclosed space makes her itch at times.

Although the worrying each other is a problem. Not that Dorian would have anything to worry about. She’s fine. This is nothing. She’s absolutely not hiding from him. She’s fine.

“That is very true. They really should just accept it.” No... now wouldn’t probably be one of those times. If, of course, there was anything wrong. Which there isn’t.

"They should. But guys can be stubborn like that." Not that she knows for certain that Iona's referring to a guy but it's something that Shalimar herself has found to be the case often enough that it's an assumption she doesn't mind making.

Not that she can't be just as stubborn. But she's hardly about to admit that.

Nor is she willing to admit she's beginning to tire just from standing and talking, though that's not to say she's not going to attempt a solution. Just, subtly and trying to mask the raspiness catching the edge of her voice while she's been talking.

"Hey, listen. I don't know if you're busy right now but I was thinking of grabbing a drink somewhere, if you wanted to join me?" And what the heck, maybe self-medication will cure whatever isn't wrong with her.

“Yes they can.” And yes, Iona is. There are only two familiar faces in the Quarantine for her currently, one of which is terribly complicated (and getting simultaneous more complicated and less all the time), but they are both terribly stubborn men. As much as she might love the one.

Sitting down is sounding better and better. Not that she would ever admit that this simple a task is exhausting her, but sitting would be better. (Lying down would probably be better yet but she refuses to that.)

“I’m not busy at all. And a drink sounds lovely.” Surely it won’t hurt. Perhaps the alcohol will kill whatever it is that she hasn’t come down with. At the very least she’ll stop caring somewhat. If she was actually ill she ought to try a Dalish cure or two. They’ve always worked for her.

But she’s not. She’s fine. There’s no need.

"All right, then I know just the place."

Somewhere not very far, that should have plenty of seating and hopefully a corner they can commandeer and chase off anyone who tries to intrude on their totally not an attempt at medicinal drinking session. With any luck, people will think twice about approaching anyway.

Not that there's a need to, of course.

Either way, she'll make a move towards the nearest bar as soon as she's sure Iona's accompanying her, unable to resist a further wry comment. "And if we're really lucky, we'll have missed the latest round of miserable story sharing."

“Lead the way.”

And when Shalimar starts moving she falls into step beside her easily. Well, it appears easily, but she’s far more weak-limbed than she would like. She’s far more weak-limbed than she would ever admit.

The wry comment earns an amused, tired laugh. “We can be so lucky,” she says. “I’m afraid I’m in no mood for sharing tragic stories. Just drinking.” Medicating with alcohol is perfectly healthy. And normal. And an appropriate way to react to suddenly finding oneself not sick at all.

"Don't need to tell me twice. Going out of my way to make myself miserable is never on my agenda."

God knows her life conspires often enough to make her miserable without her assistance - a trend she hasn't failed to notice has followed her here given that Brennan is no longer here.

She makes a point of finding some seating first, because she definitely doesn't want to be standing too much longer and it lets her build up some strength before she heads for the bar. Though for now, at least, she'll just lean against the table.

"So, what's your poison?"

“Considering life usually does an impressive job all on its own, without our help? We might as well try and enjoy ourselves while we can.” Iona doesn’t realise that her words are echoing Shalimar’s thoughts; her own thoughts have turned, just slightly, towards Adamant. Which only makes her more determined to indulge heavily.

It is a relief to reach their destination, and to find seating without difficulty.

“Usually? Mead. At the moment? Whatever the strongest.” Not that mead can’t be strong, but if she’s going to medicate her completely nonexistent illness with alcohol she’s going to start with something guaranteed to be stronger.

The only indication Shalimar gives of Iona's thoughts reflecting hers is a wry smile; her energy, for the moment, is focused on getting them to a bar and getting them drinking.

Her expression shifts more to a grin at Iona's response. "Knew there was a reason I liked you. I'll be right back." Not so much for the mead, that's not something Shalimar tends to drink, but she's definitely in the mood for something strong and that's always better when she has company.

She heads for the bar, then, returning with a bottle of inexpensive scotch and two glasses - a little extravagant, perhaps, but it's kill or cure, whatever illness they don't have.

"Figured this was easier. Less chance of getting caught up in story time this way."

While Shalimar is gone getting alcohol Iona sinks wearily down in a seat. Not that she needs to. No. She’s fine. But they’re going to be drinking, she might as well make herself comfortable. That’s the only reason.

She can’t help but smirk in amusement when Shalimar returns with not just a couple drinks, but an entire bloody bottle and two glasses. Not that she’d expected any less than the two of them finishing an entire bottle in their attempts to self-medicate, but this is a bit of a shortcut. And she likes it.

“Much easier. And avoiding that is a very good plan.” And less need of them repeatedly getting up and going to the bar with the state that they’re not in. It’s a smart move.

"I had a feeling you'd see it that way."

And yes, the fact that they don't have to move between the bar and the seats all the time may have definitely been a factor in her decision too. Not a factor she'll admit to, but it does feel good to sit down in the knowledge she doesn't have to move for a while.

She'll feel even better in a moment, once she's poured out measures for the both of them. Perhaps a little more generous than the bar would give but she's not a bartender and never has been.

She pushes one glass towards Iona before lifting her own. "To focusing on only the better things."

Generous is hardly a bad thing. Not when they’re doing their best to medicate with alcohol and stave off whatever illness they absolutely do not have right now. Generous is probably the better way to go about things.

Iona picks up her glass and lifts it. “To focusing on the better things.” Her thoughts turn, despite the illness that she doesn’t have, to Dorian. And Cullen. No matter how complicated things with the latter might be. He’s still one of the better things.

There’s no longer any real pretending that she’s fine. Because Iona isn’t. Her symptoms are much the same as they have been from the start, only far more intense. Far more debilitating. There’s a bone deep exhaustion the likes of which she hasn’t felt before, weakness she can’t seem to shake sapping all of her strength, her muscles aching. Every time she stands, or moves, or does anything at all, the room tilts and swirls around her, the dizziness almost constant.

Somehow she manages to both be sweating and burning up and shivering as chills wrack her body all at once, shifting between one or both without any rhyme or reason and she is adding and removing layers almost all the time. Her appetite is gone, too, the thought of eating anything making her stomach turn.

The irritability she does her best to keep a handle on, even if she does sometimes respond a little more sharply than she means to and it’s followed closely by an apology.

The hallucinations are new, though. She hasn’t told anyone, has done her best to ignore the Red Templars that accost her, the Venatori she’s seen stalking her steps. They’re not here. They’re not real. Not that hallucinating them is much better, but it’s safer than if they were truly there.

Despite the lethargy, despite how difficult it is for her to move without stumbling, without catching herself against something, she’s taken with the need to move, to go outside and feel the sun on her face and the wind in her hair.

And to escape the Red Templars that are once again haunting her. (They’re not real, but it’s becoming harder and harder to remind herself of that.)

Breath coming in odd, hitching gasps, she makes her way towards the outside. Where doesn’t matter. Just... outside. Away. Until she’s not sure where she is anymore, but there’s sand beneath her feet and the river a few steps away, and she sinks to her knees when the weakness in her limbs becomes too much, so dizzy she can barely see.

The last few weeks have been rather awful. His latest birthday was filled with a sickness he's never experienced before. He's always enjoyed good physical health, aside from the weeks immediately following his decision to stop taking lyrium.

The only upside is that he didn't have to worry about random gifts from his sisters, alerting massive groups to his birthday. He's sure that he'll never live down Leliana's "thoughtful" reminder to Mahanon and the entire army. He will get that woman back one day.

Now that he's feeling better—with Dorian's assistance—his goal is to find Iona and make sure she's okay. She's been attempting to deflect how she's feeling and he's not letting her. After checking her place of employment, the barracks, the common floor she and Dorian share with others, he wanders down to the river where he saw her swimming all those weeks ago.

He makes it in time to see her stumble in the sandy shore. His feet start running before he thinks about it and he's in time to help her ease herself down without any harm coming to her. He can see the sweat pouring off of her forehead and he places his lips against the vallaslin and pulls back in shock.

"Iona, you're burning up. What are you doing out of bed?"

Someone catches her before she hits the ground and she would know him anywhere. No matter what Thedas he’s from. She feels him press his lips to her forehead and blinks glassy eyes up at him; for a moment she doesn’t see him as he is. No, she sees him, twisted and torn with red lyrium, and the sight is enough to twist her up inside in ways she’s not quite lucid enough to contemplate. Horror and terror well up in her chest, because she knows all too well what it does to people, she’s seen it, first hand, in the future that she experienced with Dorian.

To see him in the same way...

It breaks her heart and hammers home just how much of a failure she is. For a moment she cannot breathe. No. Not him too.

And then, in between one moment and the next, the hallucination fades, and he’s himself again. He’s fine. It’s wasn’t real. It’s not real. She frowns. He’d asked her a question... “I didn’t... I’m not...” She takes another hitching breath and shakes her head. “I needed air. That’s all.”

He watches her, amber eyes sweeping back and forth to find any sign that she's actually lucid. It's difficult to tell, considering he's still not 100% himself and the fact that she'll lie even if she was dying. He's not going to let that happen.

When her breathing hitches once and then twice, he feels a well of panic roil around in his stomach that is physically painful.

"Flames, woman, you're sick. You should be resting."

With a shaky step, he stands, arms keeping her close to his body.

"Don't move so much. I don't want to drop you."

And maybe tomorrow is a better day

Let's raise a glass or two ➤ {pre-illness} OPEN

Feel the distance bring us closer ➤ For Cullen

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Present a solution to the problem ➤ OPEN

Talk some sense to me ➤ For Shalimar

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I grow so weary I'll surrender ➤ For Cullen

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