Vigil for Waiting in Camp

Blood.

The Fade did wonderful things to the humans who dared to step into it unprepared. Sophia had tried to skirt around the more... disconcerting areas, but nightmares which would have otherwise stayed away from her had clustered close, tongues flickering, drawn by the scent of Fremelda's blood as it wove patterns in the dusk-hued air. Crimson shards coagulated into gleaming mirrors, reflecting flashes of her ward's turbulent life: her abandonment, the brothel, the bloodbath that had finally freed her. Gore overflowed in torrents from the ruby glass to drown demons and spirits alike, filling the dreamscape with the stench of iron.

It had been a welcome distraction.

Now, without any rose-stems to lash at her feet or the weight of Fremelda in her arms, all that Sophia could think about was that blood. The droplets that still spattered her cheeks, that were gradually leaking out of Aria as the snow-white ribbons repelled them, that were still trickling from Fremelda's wound even as Jezarine wove her damaged flesh back together. Blood, sparkling in the firelight. Sophia lent back against a tree, her perpetual smile tugging at her lips as she watched her comrades scurrying to and fro, struggling to save Fremelda's life. Some of them stared at her, or averted their eyes. Scared. Afraid. Frantic. Amusing. It was nothing but amusing. It couldn't be anything but amusing.

For to admit otherwise would be to admit that Fremelda might die.

She might die. Fremelda might die. Jezarine's spells aren't infallible: she's mortal, able to panic, just like the rest of them. Just like you're doing now.

The realisation caused Sophia's smile to shatter on her lips. Biting down on what was left of it she turned her face away, leaning against a nearby tree as she fought to control her breathing, just in case her knees decided to betray her too. She had to resist the temptation to dash to Fremelda's side, to add her magic to the healing: if she did, she would only get in the way.
All she could do was wait, and hope, and do her best not to cry.

"Don't you dare let her die." The Smiling Princess's voice was flat, almost harsh. "If you let her die, I will never forgive you.

Roy began to pout. Jez's attention was no longer on him.

Magic was not something Roy feared. It was just advanced smoke and mirror tricks, just a little more dangerous. The others fussed about. But he did not. He was a gentleman (sometimes), and would not run about like a chicken with it's head cut off. Such things were very uncool.

While Jez tended to the mage, and Ianto fluttered about looking, Roy looked about. Arms crossed behind his head, the (dashingly handsome) rogue pondered the angry little elf girl off to the side. Others were dealing with the current situation, but this little blonde muttered about in her own frustration. Roy felt pitty for her, being so self absorbed, and closed off by her rage. He had yet to have a conversation with the woman, though he had yet to have a conversation with a lot of people in the camp. Although he made an effort to converse, circumstances were sometimes beyond control.

Circumstances like the events happening just before his eyes.

Ianto looked to him, the man's beautifully tanned skin was flushed from fretting. A light pink tone lingering at the joint where his jaw meet with his cheek bone. Quiet a fine face, Roy smiled to himself as he truly looked at the Templar. His light eyes looked into the dark ones full of worry. And he nodded. Anything he could do to bring peace of mind back to those brown eyes.

"Lead the way." He said with a bit of a bow of loyalty. "I have your back, handsome."

Cold. She felt it like a rush of icy water buckets on naked flesh. Everything swam in her vision. She could hear panicked voices, and smell the unfamiliar musk of exiting the Fade bodily. What she dimly recalled in that twisted realm terrified her. It made her feel like a little girl again, quivering under her covers from the nightmares she had growing up in the brothel. She felt the hands, the groping, prodding hands. She felt the pain of the whip, the chafing of the bindings on her wrists and ankles. She felt the blood run down her back and wrists anew as she relived her tormented childhood, it came in a rush, as if the floodgates had opened up to her repressed memories.

She felt the bitterness. The hatred. She clawed for those feelings again, clung to them like a lifeline among the crushing depths of pain and sorrow of years of abuse. She was only dimly aware she was no longer in the Fade, but in camp. Her breathing quickened, her heart raced. She grit her teeth as the pain from her abdomen and back throbbed and bellowed in her. She felt the gentle caress of Jezarine's frantic healing magics. She recognized the magic signature as her's. She had been healed by Jez before.

Then she fell asleep due to some spell from the dark skinned elf. Her body was shaking from the shock of being run through. The Darkspawn spear lay at her side, its black tip broken off a bit.

Even unconscious, she could feel through her inexplicable (to her) link to Sophia. Sophia was worried. How? She was a perpetual smiler and had an eerie lack of fear of anything. Her head was swimming too much to make sense of it, and she slipped into blissful blackness.

The former Templar paused, frowning sourly at the red-headed man before taking a cautious step back and motioning forward with his hand. "Actually, I think I'd prefer if you went ahead first." Not at all because he was worried that 'having his back' was necessarily something he wanted Roy to do. Nope.

Of course, they were going back to his tent, and as much as he'd prefer keeping his eyes on Roy at all times, he'd have to lead the way (unless Roy already knew the way, which was a mildly frightening thought in and of itself).

And none of that was even touching the 'handsome' comment. He would have thought he'd be used to that from Royce by now.

"Just . . . come on," he finally settled for, turning his heating face away to start walking back to his tent. Things were a bit too dire for him to spend time floundering like that, Royce's typical behavior notwithstanding. Anything he could do to help Jez, to help Sophia with Fremelda, he'd do it.

Luckily, his tent wasn't too far, and he cast one last glance at Roy before ducking inside, barely holding the flap aside to sneak in under it. The lyrium he had with him was in a small chest, and he opened it, reaching for three glass vials. For Jez's healing, it should be enough, especially since the elven mage didn't depended on lyrium nearly as much as Circle mages did. Or Circle Templars. He could feel his fingers already shaking just reaching for the box, and he swallowed hard as he closed it, the vials in his hand for Jez and Jez only. He clenched his hand to keep it from shaking (though he suspected that it was a semi-futile gesture), and stepped outside of the tent.

"Here. These should be good for Jezarine. I don't think she'll need more." He handed them off to Royce, though he seemed to barely notice that he'd done so. A reflex action, getting the temptation further away from him than it would have been if he'd just been holding them. He wasn't even aware of that sub-conscious decision as he met the red-headed man's green eyes. "If she does, or if Sophia needs any or something, I can come back and get more." He tore his own eyes away, glancing off to the side, and bit his lip.

Roy moved along behind Ianto, hugging to the flank so he wasn't completely behind the man like a lost little puppy. He could see the gears working along in the other man's head. Click click click was almost an audible sound to him. Perhaps he was uncomfortable with the handsome comment.......oh wait Roy didn't care.

"Actually, I think I'd prefer if you went ahead first."

Roy cocked an eyebrow and smirked. Perhaps the back comment had gotten to him. "No Sir, following you. I don't know what we're doing." he stated with a cheeky grin. "Your tent right?" This brought about a whole other grin for the Nobel. Oh but what a naughty thought to have Ianto's back in such a different way.

Unluckily the tent wasn't too far from the group. And the ex-Templar seemed to fly through the flaps and be out in a matter of seconds. Roy sighed, That was totally on purpose he mused to himself. A little disappointed in the other man's reluctancy. And with not much else said other than his darling Jez needed it, a tan pouch was forced into his hands, a bit of glowing blue dust sprinkled a bit out from the movement. What a flimsy material.

"Why not bring more? Just incase, if not Margaid can stick her nose in it again and get high." he suggested. "I'll carry it if it bothers you that much," he said moving closer to Ianto, putting his hand on the man's cheek and stroking the apple of his cheekbone with the ball of his thumb. "But are you alright Ianto?"

The former Templar moved to take a step back from the nobleman, but, against even his own better judgement, stopped. His hands fisted at his side to keep them from shaking, even that small amount of escaped lyrium a tempting call - it was pathetic, really. As much as his hands were aching for the pouch, though, gold eyes remained steadily on green, and he didn't lift his shaking hand even to push Royce's away from his face. Instead, he stared with a kind of tired intensity, a question in the look that he'd been meaning to ask for a long time but hadn't figured out how to word until just now.

"Why do you do that?" he finally managed, and the words might have been simple but they would have to do. On Andraste's pyre, he couldn't think of anything more intelligent to say.

He was painfully aware that Jezarine needed them to come back as quickly as possible, and there was nothing in the world that could keep him from her side, but as much as he knew that, he couldn't move, not yet.

A sneer of stubborn defiance came upon the healer's face as she fought against death for Fremelda and even though Jezarine could never look intimidating it was noticeable that she was determined to save the other woman. This was no easy task as being skewered and taken through the fade had weakened the woman to the bone. If it had been another healer attempting this procedure it would not have gone so well but Jezarine was a master of her healing, dedicated almost to the point of madness.

Infection had already begun and was trying to get a foothold within the Queen of Thorn's body but the coloured half-elf drove it back again and again. She was expending more energy than she had but she continued, determined not to allow her patient to be swallowed by the abyss of death.

"Do...What?" Roy was completely confused, as Ianto questioned his very nature. But the noble shrugged it off as he retired his hand to his pocket. He did not dwell too much on the question, because if he did it would surely end in him taking it as an insult, and it starting a brawl (which while they WERE entertaining there were other matters to attend to first).

Roy shook his head and smiled. "We shall think on questions once the darling Jez is taken care of. Her magic is weakening without this grand ol' substance isn't it?" he held tight to the little pouch and started to walk back to the mage, knowing Ianto would follow his lead.

Of course, she dreamed of the usual Warden Dreams mixed with her own memories, like she had explained to Macha some time prior. The twisting figures of the Darkspawn, clawing at her. She bit her lip, starting to rock back and forth slowly, moaning in her sleep from the nightmares coming to her. She was dimly aware of the warm feel of magic knitting her insides closed, but things were getting intense in her dreams. She recalled the faces of her parents and brother, their smiles turning to glares. They muttered words she could not understand. And there was father's sword.

The sword.

Deathscream.

Black as an Archdemon's heart. Three feet in length, with golden runes up the flat of the blade. Silent screams echoing from within. Crafted for her family alone. Their most ancient blade, as ancient as the clan itself. She could feel the yearning for it. The uncontrollable craving to hold it. Shes started to sweat as the broken tip of the spear was pulled out of her body, but she wasn't aware of the pain.