She was tired. From what she saw when she last drew water, Asala looked how she felt as well. Stark white hair frazzled at the ends and sticking up and out in places, dark bags settling in underneath her eyes, and a flush to her cheeks. At the very least she had managed to wash all the blood off of her hands, though the same could not be said for her robes. The injuries sustained by both Inquisition and Warden were not minor in any capacity of the word. Some had required more than what a potion and a liberal application of healing magic could provide. Shrapnel was the worst injury to try and treat. She closed her eyes and winced, trying to force her mind elsewhere.
It had only been two days since the siege on Adamant had ended, but her work still wasn't over. They'd moved as many of the injured as they could back to Griffon Wing Keep. The treatment tent had to be enlarged to fit them all and give enough room for the healers to work. Donovan and Millian looked a lot like she had when she left them, though they'd never complained, and never would. None of them would, because they worked with the reminder how much worse it could really be for them. They were still attending to some of the worse cases when she left. Asala would have remained with them, had she not a different job to perform at the moment.
Asala clutched a folder of papers to her chest as she left the treatment tent and headed toward the command tent. For the last couple of hours she had been collecting those reports from the attendants and working on her own to present to Leon. The folder contained the list of casualties the Inquisition had suffered during the siege, and even just carrying it put her in a morose and melancholy mood. They were... heavier for her than she'd ever let on. There was so much more to worry about at the moment than her own mental state.
As she approached the command tent, she passed Leon's lieutenant, Reed. She offered him a weak smile and nod of her head as they passed. Afterward, she gently pulled the back flap that led into the tent and called into it. "Leon?" she asked, stepping through the entrance, "I have the casualty report," she said, finally peeling the folder away from her chest at last.
The Commander sat at a desk, one of the more mobile folding ones that ended up in all the more official tents or occasionally usable rooms of the keep. They were still working on converting it for longer-term use, which was why most of the force were yet in tents instead. A rather large stack of paperwork sat on the right side of the desktop, a slightly smaller one on the left.
When she entered, Leon set his quill upright in the inkwell near his hand and glanced up at her. He frowned slightly, but it was swiftly gone. “Miss Asala. Please, take a seat." He gestured to the lonely extra chair in front of the desk, and then tilted his head at her. “Can I call for something to eat and drink, or have you already partaken this afternoon?"
She couldn't actually remember the last time she had sat down and ate. She wasn't even sure if she had eaten that day, but the pit in her stomach suggested not. Her eyes lingered on the chair for a moment before she shook her head in the negative, but... "I am sorry, but I have to get back..." she said, and for a moment she felt even more tired.
The frown returned, this time evidently more deliberate. “I'm afraid I must insist. Mage I may not be, but I understand the toll magic can take on a body. You cannot afford to neglect yours. If it helps, you can think of it as a vital step in providing the best care you can to those who are injured." Standing, he bypassed her to lean out of the command tent. Someone responded pretty quickly, and Asala could hear him conveying orders of some kind or another before he reentered.
He paused before resuming his spot. “Please. At least sit to deliver the report. You don't have to stand because it's official."
She looked down at the report in her hands and hesitated again. There were others that were far worse off than her, and she felt... wrong for wanting to rest. However, she felt as if she no longer had a choice in the matter, Leon did not seem he was going to accept no as an answer this time. So finally she sighed and relented, nodding her head and graciously accepting the empty seat. With the weight now off of them, she was keenly aware of how much fatigue had seeped into her legs, and now that she was no longer in motion, they felt like leaden weights. She sighed heavily and gave one last look to the folder in her hands before she gingerly placed it on the desk in front of her.
"I collected the reports from the other medical teams and organized them into the folder," she said, glancing at the folder, "There were a... substantial amount of wounded. We counted around five-hundred injured. Most will pull through, thankfully but..." she trailed off. It was enough seeing it first hand, repeating it did her no favors, "About one-hundred did not. We still do not yet know the full extent of our losses, and many are yet to be... accounted for," she said the last part with a wince. That meant that they were probably still out there somewhere, laying on the battlefield. She sighed again, and pinched the bridge of her nose while she slunk deeper into her chair.
Leon slid the report towards him, opening the folder with his bandaged hand. He looked to have been worn down by the past few days as well, though he seemed to hide it better than she did. The circles under his eyes were dark by comparison to his fair complexion, and his shoulders held slightly too far forward in a bit of a slump. He still sported heavy bandages; they'd had to swath not only his right arm, but also most of that side of his body—the dragon had bitten down at an angle, creating a half-moon of very deep punctures that had thankfully been kept short of his vital organs by the presence of his thick plate armor, which was now useless. He'd refused any further treatment until they were no longer dealing with patients in critical condition.
He flipped through the accumulated documentation, scanning each one carefully, then nodding and setting it aside. “Thank you for the update," he said. “It seems Vesryn and Cyrus still haven't woken. Could you explain what the situation is there?" From the report alone, all he'd know was that they hadn't died or left the care of the healers.
Asala shook her head and rubbed her face. She had taken those two and the other injured irregulars into her team's personal care. "Cyrus is still in critical condition," she said, the melancholy seeping into her voice. "He... He lost a lot of blood before we could staunch it. We put him in a tent by himself so that he can have clean air and... Estella and he can have their privacy." Estella had remained in the medical tent almost as much as Asala, keeping not only Cyrus company, but the others as well. "I have Millian attending to him personally and to let us know if anything changes."
Her hands eventually went to the collar of her robes, so that she would at least have something to hold on to while she spoke. "Vesryn... We were worried for a while, but fortunately his condition has stabilized. But he... should have woken by now," she said, her tone bleeding worry. In fact during the entire report her tone read worry. "The others are relatively fine, however," she said with a bright note. "I suggested bed rest for Khari but..." she was not the type to just lay in bed, and they both knew it, nor did she have the personnel to assign someone to watch her.
Leon managed a bit of a huff at that, a little sliver of amusement working its way onto his face. “I doubt she'd stay in one spot if I told her to," he admitted.
At that point, a throat cleared outside the tent. “Enter," Leon called, and two of the Inquisition's staff did just that, bearing what looked like two meals and then some. Lean cuts of meat, heaps of leafy greens and colorful vegetables, and heavy dark bread, baked with grains still in and slathered with butter. Exactly the sort of thing one should be eating if planning to undertake difficult labor.
When it was laid out, Leon took pieces of everything except the meat, leaving that quite untouched. “I'm glad to hear that your team is looking after them," he said, returning to his desk once the aides had left. There was a slight emphasis on the word 'your,' but it seemed he felt no need to make the point more acutely than that.
After a short pause for her to settle again with her food, he changed the topic slightly. “And how are you, Miss Asala? The battle with the dragon was difficult for you... in more than one way." That part, at least, was not a question. His tone suggested he was quite certain of it.
Asala had initially reached for the food, but saw a glimpse of her robes out of the corner of her eye. It was not the crimson one she had been gifted from Leon, but rather a standard white one she used while she worked with patients. Splotches of red stained various parts of the bleached cloth. She felt it in bad taste to eat with bloodstained clothes, so before started, she politely peeled the robes off and gently laid them on the back of her seat.
She sighed. She supposed he would've seen the glint in her eye when the dragon appeared. She was aware that everything she felt wrote itself clearly onto her face, especially so when she saw that thing. She did not answer the question immediately, picking at her food for a time first. "I was... angry," she admitted. Rage was always an unfamiliar feeling, but she couldn't mistake the burning she'd felt. "I... I remember when they told me how Meraad had died fighting it, and seeing it with my own eyes? I... I hated it," she said ashamed.
"I wanted... I wanted to make it pay."
Leon dipped his chin, taking a bite out of the rye bread and chewing methodically before he swallowed. When he did, he regarded her for a moment. His expression, as it often seemed to be, was a mild one. The revelation that she'd hated the foul creature, that she'd wanted to exact vengeance upon it, left him apparently unfazed.
“That's not an unusual way to feel," he observed. “I'm sure you saw, for example, how Khari behaved with Pike. Or even how Captain Rose and Sparrow did." Carefully, he cracked open what seemed to be some kind of nut with his fingers, setting the shell aside. “I've felt that way before, myself. I'm..." He trailed off, brows furrowing for a moment. “Sorry, that you know what that's like, now. It isn't a feeling I'd wish upon anyone, the way it sits and festers as it does."
Asala had looked up to him before he trailed off, but eventually returned her eyes to the plate in front of her. The thing was, she didn't regret how she felt. Meraad deserved justice, that thing deserved to pay for all that it had done. It was a pawn of Corypheus, and there was no doubt that they would face it again, so long as the Inquisition stood against Corypheus and his plans. They would have to get through it to get to him. Still, it was as he said. She did not like the way it felt inside her, and the burning she felt when she thought about the dragon, and about how it had taken her brother from her, and from Tammy.
"How do you..." she trailed off quietly, unsure of what to even ask. How to live with it? How to make it go away? She had no idea what words to put to the question, only that there was one she wanted to ask. Her hands had fallen from her plate, and now clutched the lip of the seat below.
“Don't let it define you," he replied, just as quietly. “That feeling—it's yours. It's part of you. I've found that it's better not to deny that." He said it with the tone of someone whose knowledge was of a personal sort. “But it need not be any more than that. A passing feeling. It might seem strange, but I think accepting it makes it easier to let it go, when the time comes."
Clearing his throat, Leon glanced back down at his plate. “Sorry. I don't mean to tell you what to do. Bad habit, I suppose." He tried for a smile, but it looked uncomfortable on his face.
Asala smiled despite herself. "Well... You are the commander. From my understanding it is... kind of your job?"
He actually rolled his eyes, there, his expression easing until it was something a bit more natural. “As I am often reminded. Takes a bit of getting used to." He exhaled heavily through his nose. “But while I'm giving out orders, I'll add another: take care of yourself, Miss Asala. And make sure your healers take care of themselves, too. The work you have to do is hard, but if you neglect yourselves in the process, it will only get harder."
"Yes. I will," she nodded. "Thank you, Leon," she added with a genuine smile.
It had only been two days since the siege on Adamant had ended, but her work still wasn't over. They'd moved as many of the injured as they could back to Griffon Wing Keep. The treatment tent had to be enlarged to fit them all and give enough room for the healers to work. Donovan and Millian looked a lot like she had when she left them, though they'd never complained, and never would. None of them would, because they worked with the reminder how much worse it could really be for them. They were still attending to some of the worse cases when she left. Asala would have remained with them, had she not a different job to perform at the moment.
Asala clutched a folder of papers to her chest as she left the treatment tent and headed toward the command tent. For the last couple of hours she had been collecting those reports from the attendants and working on her own to present to Leon. The folder contained the list of casualties the Inquisition had suffered during the siege, and even just carrying it put her in a morose and melancholy mood. They were... heavier for her than she'd ever let on. There was so much more to worry about at the moment than her own mental state.
As she approached the command tent, she passed Leon's lieutenant, Reed. She offered him a weak smile and nod of her head as they passed. Afterward, she gently pulled the back flap that led into the tent and called into it. "Leon?" she asked, stepping through the entrance, "I have the casualty report," she said, finally peeling the folder away from her chest at last.
The Commander sat at a desk, one of the more mobile folding ones that ended up in all the more official tents or occasionally usable rooms of the keep. They were still working on converting it for longer-term use, which was why most of the force were yet in tents instead. A rather large stack of paperwork sat on the right side of the desktop, a slightly smaller one on the left.
When she entered, Leon set his quill upright in the inkwell near his hand and glanced up at her. He frowned slightly, but it was swiftly gone. “Miss Asala. Please, take a seat." He gestured to the lonely extra chair in front of the desk, and then tilted his head at her. “Can I call for something to eat and drink, or have you already partaken this afternoon?"
She couldn't actually remember the last time she had sat down and ate. She wasn't even sure if she had eaten that day, but the pit in her stomach suggested not. Her eyes lingered on the chair for a moment before she shook her head in the negative, but... "I am sorry, but I have to get back..." she said, and for a moment she felt even more tired.
The frown returned, this time evidently more deliberate. “I'm afraid I must insist. Mage I may not be, but I understand the toll magic can take on a body. You cannot afford to neglect yours. If it helps, you can think of it as a vital step in providing the best care you can to those who are injured." Standing, he bypassed her to lean out of the command tent. Someone responded pretty quickly, and Asala could hear him conveying orders of some kind or another before he reentered.
He paused before resuming his spot. “Please. At least sit to deliver the report. You don't have to stand because it's official."
She looked down at the report in her hands and hesitated again. There were others that were far worse off than her, and she felt... wrong for wanting to rest. However, she felt as if she no longer had a choice in the matter, Leon did not seem he was going to accept no as an answer this time. So finally she sighed and relented, nodding her head and graciously accepting the empty seat. With the weight now off of them, she was keenly aware of how much fatigue had seeped into her legs, and now that she was no longer in motion, they felt like leaden weights. She sighed heavily and gave one last look to the folder in her hands before she gingerly placed it on the desk in front of her.
"I collected the reports from the other medical teams and organized them into the folder," she said, glancing at the folder, "There were a... substantial amount of wounded. We counted around five-hundred injured. Most will pull through, thankfully but..." she trailed off. It was enough seeing it first hand, repeating it did her no favors, "About one-hundred did not. We still do not yet know the full extent of our losses, and many are yet to be... accounted for," she said the last part with a wince. That meant that they were probably still out there somewhere, laying on the battlefield. She sighed again, and pinched the bridge of her nose while she slunk deeper into her chair.
Leon slid the report towards him, opening the folder with his bandaged hand. He looked to have been worn down by the past few days as well, though he seemed to hide it better than she did. The circles under his eyes were dark by comparison to his fair complexion, and his shoulders held slightly too far forward in a bit of a slump. He still sported heavy bandages; they'd had to swath not only his right arm, but also most of that side of his body—the dragon had bitten down at an angle, creating a half-moon of very deep punctures that had thankfully been kept short of his vital organs by the presence of his thick plate armor, which was now useless. He'd refused any further treatment until they were no longer dealing with patients in critical condition.
He flipped through the accumulated documentation, scanning each one carefully, then nodding and setting it aside. “Thank you for the update," he said. “It seems Vesryn and Cyrus still haven't woken. Could you explain what the situation is there?" From the report alone, all he'd know was that they hadn't died or left the care of the healers.
Asala shook her head and rubbed her face. She had taken those two and the other injured irregulars into her team's personal care. "Cyrus is still in critical condition," she said, the melancholy seeping into her voice. "He... He lost a lot of blood before we could staunch it. We put him in a tent by himself so that he can have clean air and... Estella and he can have their privacy." Estella had remained in the medical tent almost as much as Asala, keeping not only Cyrus company, but the others as well. "I have Millian attending to him personally and to let us know if anything changes."
Her hands eventually went to the collar of her robes, so that she would at least have something to hold on to while she spoke. "Vesryn... We were worried for a while, but fortunately his condition has stabilized. But he... should have woken by now," she said, her tone bleeding worry. In fact during the entire report her tone read worry. "The others are relatively fine, however," she said with a bright note. "I suggested bed rest for Khari but..." she was not the type to just lay in bed, and they both knew it, nor did she have the personnel to assign someone to watch her.
Leon managed a bit of a huff at that, a little sliver of amusement working its way onto his face. “I doubt she'd stay in one spot if I told her to," he admitted.
At that point, a throat cleared outside the tent. “Enter," Leon called, and two of the Inquisition's staff did just that, bearing what looked like two meals and then some. Lean cuts of meat, heaps of leafy greens and colorful vegetables, and heavy dark bread, baked with grains still in and slathered with butter. Exactly the sort of thing one should be eating if planning to undertake difficult labor.
When it was laid out, Leon took pieces of everything except the meat, leaving that quite untouched. “I'm glad to hear that your team is looking after them," he said, returning to his desk once the aides had left. There was a slight emphasis on the word 'your,' but it seemed he felt no need to make the point more acutely than that.
After a short pause for her to settle again with her food, he changed the topic slightly. “And how are you, Miss Asala? The battle with the dragon was difficult for you... in more than one way." That part, at least, was not a question. His tone suggested he was quite certain of it.
Asala had initially reached for the food, but saw a glimpse of her robes out of the corner of her eye. It was not the crimson one she had been gifted from Leon, but rather a standard white one she used while she worked with patients. Splotches of red stained various parts of the bleached cloth. She felt it in bad taste to eat with bloodstained clothes, so before started, she politely peeled the robes off and gently laid them on the back of her seat.
She sighed. She supposed he would've seen the glint in her eye when the dragon appeared. She was aware that everything she felt wrote itself clearly onto her face, especially so when she saw that thing. She did not answer the question immediately, picking at her food for a time first. "I was... angry," she admitted. Rage was always an unfamiliar feeling, but she couldn't mistake the burning she'd felt. "I... I remember when they told me how Meraad had died fighting it, and seeing it with my own eyes? I... I hated it," she said ashamed.
"I wanted... I wanted to make it pay."
Leon dipped his chin, taking a bite out of the rye bread and chewing methodically before he swallowed. When he did, he regarded her for a moment. His expression, as it often seemed to be, was a mild one. The revelation that she'd hated the foul creature, that she'd wanted to exact vengeance upon it, left him apparently unfazed.
“That's not an unusual way to feel," he observed. “I'm sure you saw, for example, how Khari behaved with Pike. Or even how Captain Rose and Sparrow did." Carefully, he cracked open what seemed to be some kind of nut with his fingers, setting the shell aside. “I've felt that way before, myself. I'm..." He trailed off, brows furrowing for a moment. “Sorry, that you know what that's like, now. It isn't a feeling I'd wish upon anyone, the way it sits and festers as it does."
Asala had looked up to him before he trailed off, but eventually returned her eyes to the plate in front of her. The thing was, she didn't regret how she felt. Meraad deserved justice, that thing deserved to pay for all that it had done. It was a pawn of Corypheus, and there was no doubt that they would face it again, so long as the Inquisition stood against Corypheus and his plans. They would have to get through it to get to him. Still, it was as he said. She did not like the way it felt inside her, and the burning she felt when she thought about the dragon, and about how it had taken her brother from her, and from Tammy.
"How do you..." she trailed off quietly, unsure of what to even ask. How to live with it? How to make it go away? She had no idea what words to put to the question, only that there was one she wanted to ask. Her hands had fallen from her plate, and now clutched the lip of the seat below.
“Don't let it define you," he replied, just as quietly. “That feeling—it's yours. It's part of you. I've found that it's better not to deny that." He said it with the tone of someone whose knowledge was of a personal sort. “But it need not be any more than that. A passing feeling. It might seem strange, but I think accepting it makes it easier to let it go, when the time comes."
Clearing his throat, Leon glanced back down at his plate. “Sorry. I don't mean to tell you what to do. Bad habit, I suppose." He tried for a smile, but it looked uncomfortable on his face.
Asala smiled despite herself. "Well... You are the commander. From my understanding it is... kind of your job?"
He actually rolled his eyes, there, his expression easing until it was something a bit more natural. “As I am often reminded. Takes a bit of getting used to." He exhaled heavily through his nose. “But while I'm giving out orders, I'll add another: take care of yourself, Miss Asala. And make sure your healers take care of themselves, too. The work you have to do is hard, but if you neglect yourselves in the process, it will only get harder."
"Yes. I will," she nodded. "Thank you, Leon," she added with a genuine smile.