It hadnât taken them very long to return to Griffon Wing Keep with the way they flew across the dunes. Mightâve been because theyâd pushed their horses so hard. Zahra supposed even her tight-lipped, jaw-clenching stoicism wasnât enough to fool anyone. As hard as she acted at times, she wasnât immune to pain⊠at least not of the physical variety. Truth be told, sheâd acquired more scars and wounds since joining the Inquisition than all of her journeys combined. Whether or not it was her because of her careful, meticulous means of conducting business at sea, or else, the fact that she had to temper her tongue, and blade with so many people fighting at her elbows. An army at her front and back certainly wasnât something she was used to. Neither was facing dragons and Fade-creatures, capable of burning her to a crisp.
Sheâd been ushered to the medicinal ward as soon as they passed through the gates. Led by the flustered Qunari-woman; all nattering hen-hands, adorable as it was. It was only then that she began to feel woozy on her feet. A fever, sheâd said. Nothing to worry about. By the pinched draw to her eyebrows, it was difficult to tell if she wasnât just trying to make her feel better. Honestly, everything looked grave when she was frowning like that. She still allowed the much taller woman to help her into the quarters, and into one of the makeshift cots. It wasnât much different from the beds in Riptideâs belly. Without lavish pillows; a shame, having such a big keep without any decorations at all. Only sand and dust and bloody ruins.
She made a humming noise in her throat and plopped her head down on the pillow. An unintentional hiss of pain followed. Fortunately, she hadnât needed to tear off any of her clothes, seeing as her vest was sleeveless. Picking off pieces of cloth and leather plastered to her blistered arm had been bad enough. So it goes when facing dragons, she supposed. Better not to stand in its way when its gorge flexed with lyrium-fire. A mental note, next time. It appeared that there was always a next time. Zahra held her arm slightly off to the side, so that it couldnât touch her, though it still stuck somewhat to the sheets. Pity the bastard who needed to clean them. She glanced up at Asala and sifted a sigh through her lips, âSeems like Iâm always keeping you busy.â
A smile tugged its way there, accompanied by a raised brow, signaling that it was a joke.
"I... have been busier," Asala replied with a flash of a little smile. It only lasted half of a second however, before it was replaced by that worried frown. She had went to a nearby table and reached for a nearby vessel, turning it over on top of each hand washing the blood and vitaar from her fingers. Once they were clean enough, they flashed in a white glow, a disinfecting spell from what Zahra had seen before. She then began to pluck various vials from the assortment organized on the table and placed them on a wooden tray, along with a few new bandages. Once her supplies were collected, she went to Zahra's side, tray in hand.
Asala took a red vial from the tray, a healing potion and held it out for Zahra to take as she set the tray down onto a nearby stand. "At least you are not one of my more frequent patients, yes?" she said with a consoling smile. Her other hand already floated over Zahra's injured arm, a spell lighting up Asala's fingers. The pain in her arm bled away to a more manageable state, at least for a moment. The painkilling spell would not last forever.
âGood. Then Iâm not such a nuisance,â Zahra lamented with a thin-lipped smile. In any other circumstance, she mightâve welcomed the attention. In this case, however, she would have much preferred being in one piece, avoiding any medical help whatsoever. It almost seemed as if she hurt even more afterward. Sheâd asked why once, mostly as a joke. Apparently, it was just a part of the healing process. Even so, she avoided looking at her burnt limb. It was an ugly enough sight to beholdâcertainly not one she wanted to frequently visit. Physical imperfections irked her. Of course, only when it came to herself. It was a pettiness she held close to her chest, idling just beside her pride. A pirateâs truest treasures. Hers, at least.
Without even an inquisitive sniff, Zahra took the healing potion from her hands, and sunk it back in one gulp. As if it were a goblet of ale, rather than medicine. Wasnât much different if she thought about it. The potion filled her belly with warmth and made her feel⊠less. She flexed her fingers and let out a sigh as soon as the prickling burning sensation ebbed away, âOh, I wouldnât mind that if the wounds werenât so foul.â She paused for a moment and spared her arm a glance, wrinkling her nose, âLike a small paper cut. I donât suppose⊠thereâs a way to make it look less beastly.â She studied Asalaâs face and arched an eyebrow.
Asala smiled apologetically, "It will be... better when I am finished." Better, but not gone. She seemed she wanted to add something to it, decided against and instead focused the brunt of her attention on Zahra's arm. Both hands were enveloped in the healing magic now, slowly passing over the afflicted arm a couple of times. With each pass, the pain and burn lessened, but it would take a while yet before it would be complete. "I am... sorry, my skill set is not yet to the point where I can... erase them." The look in her eyes were clearer than any words she could've said. But I wish they were.
âThatâs alright, kitten.â As teasing as her words came off, Zahra meant them. Sheâd never trusted anyone with her well-being. Joining the Inquisition and allowing such things was jarring. Medicine? Mangled limbs? Cuts and boo-boos? A large part of her would rather slink in a dark corner and suffer out of sight. Sheâd lived so long relying on herself that anything outside of it⊠was uncomfortable. Garland hadnât made anything easier, either. Sheâd rather toss herself to the sharks than have him sit by her bedside, prodding threads and needle through her flesh. Even if he knew what he was doingâhis bedside manner idled between crooked grins, and a look that made her skin crawl. Constantly asking questions to things sheâd rather forget.
âYouâre already doing a lot better than I expected. Not that I expected any less from you.â Compared to that bearded bastard, Asalaâs manner was much better. She focused on the task at hand andâdespite being generally sheepishâher kindness radiated throughout the room. Besides, while he relied on his hands, and his cold tools, she operated by using her magic to heal wounds. Sheâd always thought it unusual. Magic. How someone could wave their hands and knit flesh back together. Or summon shields, conjure fire, and the like. No one in her family had any inkling of talent when it came down to it. Simple fishermen seldom did.
Asala tried to blink away the red blossoming across her pale features, but if anything it'd only made it more noticeable. In spite of the growing embarrassment in her face, the healing spell in her hands remained constant and steady. It was fortunate she was able to split her focus between healing and both listening and speaking.
âI never asked before,â Zahra glanced down to Asalaâs hands, âHave you always done this? Mend wounds, instead of causing them. Yâknow, Cyrus is like a hurricane, and Iâve always wondered⊠why some mages choose this, over that.â She tried to keep her squirming to a minimum, despite the tickling sensation drifting up and down her arm. Perhaps, it was like choosing between being a pirate and a fishermen. Or maybe, it wasnât a choice at all.
"I did not have many options," Asala confirmed. "Meraad and I were the only saarebas-- mages in our home." She paused for a moment and bit her lip, before shaking her head. "No, that is not correct, there was another, but he traveled with the Saarethost, our mercenary company, and was not able to consistently teach us. We had to mostly work out our magic on our own." She had finished another pass, and the afflicted red areas were beginning to fade, but the scar tissue unfortunately remained. Asala frowned for a moment, apparently debating on something before she decided and continued to speak.
"I apprenticed underneath our herbalist, it was from him I learned herbs and how to brew potions but..." she paused to look toward the empty vial on the bed stand nearby, "That method alone requires more time to effectively heal wounds. I felt I could do it quicker and more efficiently if I could somehow use my magic in the process." Asala laughed gently in remembrance, "As you could guess, Tal-Vashoth are not eager to let a young, inexperienced saarebas experiment with her magic on their wounds. So I had to find... other ways to practice."
The magic in her hands finally faded away, and under the natural light, Asala inspected the wounds. Nodding to herself satisfactorily, she reached for a ceramic jar on the bed stand. When the removed the lid, the scent of honeyed aloe filled the air, and she began to gently cover the wounds with the ointment. "I started to ask for fish from our fishermen when they returned from the sea. I used to take them to the beach and practice reviving them there."
Zahra snorted. Loudly. She hadnât meant to, though withholding the laughter brewing in her chest was the result. She waved her good hand to dismiss it and tempered her grin into a soft smile, âSorry, sorry. Itâs just⊠the thought of you trying to resuscitate fish.â She tilted her head to the side, and studied Asalaâs face, âThis suits you thoughâmagic and potions. Smelly herbs. Helping people. I feel like we donât thank you enough.â
She slipped her hand behind her head and sunk back against the pillow. She could think of worse places to be. Besides, her arm actually felt⊠better since coming through the doors. Whatever sheâd smeared on felt cool against her skin. A far cry from the brittle heat sheâd felt earlier. She almost felt comfortable. Tipping slightly to the side, enough to face her properly but not upset Asalaâs work, Zahra allowed a silence to stretch between them before smiling again.
Meraad. He was probably often on her thoughts. That they both had something in common beyond living in the same village sounded nice. Even if she couldnât quite grasp how their society functioned. All those strange words. Even so, that connection was something sheâd always wanted with Aslanâmore history, at least. A better understanding of where heâd come from. She was pleased that she could reflect back on him and smile, laugh. It was a good sign. She, too, had healed since Haven, since leaving Asalaâs village.
âI feel like we donât say this enough. Thank you, Asala. I mean it.â
Asala shook her head as she replaced the ceramic jar and replaced with with a roll of bandages. "You do not need to say it, seeing you alive and well is thanks enough," she said with a smile.
Sheâd been ushered to the medicinal ward as soon as they passed through the gates. Led by the flustered Qunari-woman; all nattering hen-hands, adorable as it was. It was only then that she began to feel woozy on her feet. A fever, sheâd said. Nothing to worry about. By the pinched draw to her eyebrows, it was difficult to tell if she wasnât just trying to make her feel better. Honestly, everything looked grave when she was frowning like that. She still allowed the much taller woman to help her into the quarters, and into one of the makeshift cots. It wasnât much different from the beds in Riptideâs belly. Without lavish pillows; a shame, having such a big keep without any decorations at all. Only sand and dust and bloody ruins.
She made a humming noise in her throat and plopped her head down on the pillow. An unintentional hiss of pain followed. Fortunately, she hadnât needed to tear off any of her clothes, seeing as her vest was sleeveless. Picking off pieces of cloth and leather plastered to her blistered arm had been bad enough. So it goes when facing dragons, she supposed. Better not to stand in its way when its gorge flexed with lyrium-fire. A mental note, next time. It appeared that there was always a next time. Zahra held her arm slightly off to the side, so that it couldnât touch her, though it still stuck somewhat to the sheets. Pity the bastard who needed to clean them. She glanced up at Asala and sifted a sigh through her lips, âSeems like Iâm always keeping you busy.â
A smile tugged its way there, accompanied by a raised brow, signaling that it was a joke.
"I... have been busier," Asala replied with a flash of a little smile. It only lasted half of a second however, before it was replaced by that worried frown. She had went to a nearby table and reached for a nearby vessel, turning it over on top of each hand washing the blood and vitaar from her fingers. Once they were clean enough, they flashed in a white glow, a disinfecting spell from what Zahra had seen before. She then began to pluck various vials from the assortment organized on the table and placed them on a wooden tray, along with a few new bandages. Once her supplies were collected, she went to Zahra's side, tray in hand.
Asala took a red vial from the tray, a healing potion and held it out for Zahra to take as she set the tray down onto a nearby stand. "At least you are not one of my more frequent patients, yes?" she said with a consoling smile. Her other hand already floated over Zahra's injured arm, a spell lighting up Asala's fingers. The pain in her arm bled away to a more manageable state, at least for a moment. The painkilling spell would not last forever.
âGood. Then Iâm not such a nuisance,â Zahra lamented with a thin-lipped smile. In any other circumstance, she mightâve welcomed the attention. In this case, however, she would have much preferred being in one piece, avoiding any medical help whatsoever. It almost seemed as if she hurt even more afterward. Sheâd asked why once, mostly as a joke. Apparently, it was just a part of the healing process. Even so, she avoided looking at her burnt limb. It was an ugly enough sight to beholdâcertainly not one she wanted to frequently visit. Physical imperfections irked her. Of course, only when it came to herself. It was a pettiness she held close to her chest, idling just beside her pride. A pirateâs truest treasures. Hers, at least.
Without even an inquisitive sniff, Zahra took the healing potion from her hands, and sunk it back in one gulp. As if it were a goblet of ale, rather than medicine. Wasnât much different if she thought about it. The potion filled her belly with warmth and made her feel⊠less. She flexed her fingers and let out a sigh as soon as the prickling burning sensation ebbed away, âOh, I wouldnât mind that if the wounds werenât so foul.â She paused for a moment and spared her arm a glance, wrinkling her nose, âLike a small paper cut. I donât suppose⊠thereâs a way to make it look less beastly.â She studied Asalaâs face and arched an eyebrow.
Asala smiled apologetically, "It will be... better when I am finished." Better, but not gone. She seemed she wanted to add something to it, decided against and instead focused the brunt of her attention on Zahra's arm. Both hands were enveloped in the healing magic now, slowly passing over the afflicted arm a couple of times. With each pass, the pain and burn lessened, but it would take a while yet before it would be complete. "I am... sorry, my skill set is not yet to the point where I can... erase them." The look in her eyes were clearer than any words she could've said. But I wish they were.
âThatâs alright, kitten.â As teasing as her words came off, Zahra meant them. Sheâd never trusted anyone with her well-being. Joining the Inquisition and allowing such things was jarring. Medicine? Mangled limbs? Cuts and boo-boos? A large part of her would rather slink in a dark corner and suffer out of sight. Sheâd lived so long relying on herself that anything outside of it⊠was uncomfortable. Garland hadnât made anything easier, either. Sheâd rather toss herself to the sharks than have him sit by her bedside, prodding threads and needle through her flesh. Even if he knew what he was doingâhis bedside manner idled between crooked grins, and a look that made her skin crawl. Constantly asking questions to things sheâd rather forget.
âYouâre already doing a lot better than I expected. Not that I expected any less from you.â Compared to that bearded bastard, Asalaâs manner was much better. She focused on the task at hand andâdespite being generally sheepishâher kindness radiated throughout the room. Besides, while he relied on his hands, and his cold tools, she operated by using her magic to heal wounds. Sheâd always thought it unusual. Magic. How someone could wave their hands and knit flesh back together. Or summon shields, conjure fire, and the like. No one in her family had any inkling of talent when it came down to it. Simple fishermen seldom did.
Asala tried to blink away the red blossoming across her pale features, but if anything it'd only made it more noticeable. In spite of the growing embarrassment in her face, the healing spell in her hands remained constant and steady. It was fortunate she was able to split her focus between healing and both listening and speaking.
âI never asked before,â Zahra glanced down to Asalaâs hands, âHave you always done this? Mend wounds, instead of causing them. Yâknow, Cyrus is like a hurricane, and Iâve always wondered⊠why some mages choose this, over that.â She tried to keep her squirming to a minimum, despite the tickling sensation drifting up and down her arm. Perhaps, it was like choosing between being a pirate and a fishermen. Or maybe, it wasnât a choice at all.
"I did not have many options," Asala confirmed. "Meraad and I were the only saarebas-- mages in our home." She paused for a moment and bit her lip, before shaking her head. "No, that is not correct, there was another, but he traveled with the Saarethost, our mercenary company, and was not able to consistently teach us. We had to mostly work out our magic on our own." She had finished another pass, and the afflicted red areas were beginning to fade, but the scar tissue unfortunately remained. Asala frowned for a moment, apparently debating on something before she decided and continued to speak.
"I apprenticed underneath our herbalist, it was from him I learned herbs and how to brew potions but..." she paused to look toward the empty vial on the bed stand nearby, "That method alone requires more time to effectively heal wounds. I felt I could do it quicker and more efficiently if I could somehow use my magic in the process." Asala laughed gently in remembrance, "As you could guess, Tal-Vashoth are not eager to let a young, inexperienced saarebas experiment with her magic on their wounds. So I had to find... other ways to practice."
The magic in her hands finally faded away, and under the natural light, Asala inspected the wounds. Nodding to herself satisfactorily, she reached for a ceramic jar on the bed stand. When the removed the lid, the scent of honeyed aloe filled the air, and she began to gently cover the wounds with the ointment. "I started to ask for fish from our fishermen when they returned from the sea. I used to take them to the beach and practice reviving them there."
Zahra snorted. Loudly. She hadnât meant to, though withholding the laughter brewing in her chest was the result. She waved her good hand to dismiss it and tempered her grin into a soft smile, âSorry, sorry. Itâs just⊠the thought of you trying to resuscitate fish.â She tilted her head to the side, and studied Asalaâs face, âThis suits you thoughâmagic and potions. Smelly herbs. Helping people. I feel like we donât thank you enough.â
She slipped her hand behind her head and sunk back against the pillow. She could think of worse places to be. Besides, her arm actually felt⊠better since coming through the doors. Whatever sheâd smeared on felt cool against her skin. A far cry from the brittle heat sheâd felt earlier. She almost felt comfortable. Tipping slightly to the side, enough to face her properly but not upset Asalaâs work, Zahra allowed a silence to stretch between them before smiling again.
Meraad. He was probably often on her thoughts. That they both had something in common beyond living in the same village sounded nice. Even if she couldnât quite grasp how their society functioned. All those strange words. Even so, that connection was something sheâd always wanted with Aslanâmore history, at least. A better understanding of where heâd come from. She was pleased that she could reflect back on him and smile, laugh. It was a good sign. She, too, had healed since Haven, since leaving Asalaâs village.
âI feel like we donât say this enough. Thank you, Asala. I mean it.â
Asala shook her head as she replaced the ceramic jar and replaced with with a roll of bandages. "You do not need to say it, seeing you alive and well is thanks enough," she said with a smile.