It was shortly after noon, and she had just finished lunch with the rest of the infirmary staff. Asala thought it was near enough the time to begin her lessons with Cyrus to start heading toward his workshop anyway. In addition to their usual curriculum, they had added work to devise a way for her to find her own way to Compassion's garden. It hadn't been long since she had passed Ethne's test and had not yet managed to enter her garden on her own. That was not to say she wasn't making progress, but progress happened in steps, not all at once. She'd hope to at least glimpse the garden soon.
By the time she reached his particular tower, she noticed that his door was slightly ajar. That was odd, she decided. Cyrus's door always seemed to be securely shut every time she arrived, usually awaiting for her to knock first. She hesitated at the top of the stairs, wondering if she should just push the door open now, or knock first. Instead, she just decided to do both, and she knocked on the door before taking the handle gingerly in her hand. "Cyrus, are you in here?" She asked, slowly swinging the door open.
"Cyrus!" she exclaimed. She found him on the floor, clearly in pain. Whatever reservations she had about intruding were gone now, and she shoved the door wide open to run inside. She slid to a stop beside him, healing spells flaring to life in both hands. She was without her pack for the moment, having left it in her room thinking she would have no use for it inside Skyhold's walls. Foolish, she thought. "Cyrus, listen to me. I need you to help me," she said firmly, hoping he could hear her.
"I need to know what it is," she said, infusing his body with a general healing spell. She would need to know what was attacking him specifically in order to treat it.
His breathing was harsh and shallow, his eyes unfocused, glazed over, the usual vibrancy of the indigo color muted. He was covered in a sheen of sweat, his expression waxy and wan. Curled in on himself, as though he were trying to take up as little space as possible. He looked but a step from expiration—she'd seen soldiers lose near half their blood and seem healthier than this. The only evidence of what might have done it was the shattered glass, red wine glistening darkly on the stone.
“—sala." His voice was hoarse, weak, the volume barely enough for her to hear. “Don't touch—wine." He took a shuddering breath, squeezing his eyes shut. His breaths increased until he was panting softly, apparently unable to muster more energy than it took to keep doing that. Her spells seemed to be having little, if any, effect.
Regardless, she cast another healing spell, and against his own advice reached for the wine. She went to it quickly-- but carefully, so as not spill any on her. She had no idea if whatever it was spread through ingestion or skin contact. The vessel that held the liquid was unnaturally warm, and further drove the point that getting any on her would be inadvisable. Instead, she drew it in and wafted it towards her nose to try and get a scent of whatever it was. It did not take much as it turned out, with the first inhale catching in her throat and she felt violently ill. She coughed and shuddered, taking it as far away from her face as she could before gently sitting it back down.
She hacked and shook her head, trying to recover from its scent. She still did not feel well, but it was enough to return to Cyrus and begin casting more healing spells. If that was her reaction from simply smelling it, she felt her stomach drop at the thought of Cyrus actually drinking it. But she still didn't know what it was. It couldn't have been poison, not of the usual sense. Poison usually didn't have such an immediate and severe impact.
"Cyrus, what is it? Please, can you tell me what it is?" she asked again, putting more power into her healing spells.
He shook his head almost violently. “Leon. Need Leon. Has to burn—" He trailed off into a wheezing cough. It probably would have been violently-hacking if he'd had the strength for it. A trickle of fresh blood escaped the corner of his mouth, running over what was already slowly beginning to dry and crack on his lips and chin. “Hurry, plea—" The rest of the word got lost in a groan.
She was conflicted, for a moment. She really didn't want to leave him in his state, but if Leon was necessary. She nodded, but before she ran out, she summoned a barrier-- it was experimental, but had the same idea as the person barriers she had practiced with him in Crestwood, only larger. She did not know if someone had done this to him or what, but the barrier would hopefully ward off any further tampering until she could fetch Leon. With the spell in place, she rose and bolted out the door toward Leon's office.
It did not take long for her to make it, many of the Inquisition personnel simply gawking at her as she ran by. Reed was the only soldier guarding his door, but by the way she must have appeared, he let her through without question. She didn't wait to knock on his door, simply opening it and swinging it open as quickly as she could. "Leon! Its Cyrus. He's been poisoned, he needs your help," she said, putting the words succinctly as she could.
Leon looked about as thunderstruck as she'd ever seen him, lips parted in surprise and eyebrows inching towards his hairline, but to his credit he reacted quickly nevertheless, his expression hardening. He stood at once, abandoning whatever he'd been working on. “Lead the way." His tone was terse, brisk and efficient. He gestured Reed after them on their way out, and the three of them ran back towards Cyrus's tower just as quickly as Asala had come from it.
She took down the barrier on their way back in, and Leon was the first inside, immediately going to Cyrus's side and kneeling. “Cyrus. What do I do?" He glanced for only a moment at the spilled wine and broken glass before moving his eyes back to the other man's prone form.
If anything, he looked a tiny bit better since she'd left—perhaps all the healing she'd been trying had bolstered him a little. His voice cracked when he spoke, though, still barely more than a breath given vague shape by his lips and tongue. “Red lyrium. Burn it—nngh." His whole body shuddered. “Burn it out."
“Shit." Leon's expression was one of obvious uncertainty. “I could kill you." He seemed to realize the obvious problem with this line of thinking almost immediately, though, and his features hardened. He glanced back at Asala. “Stand back. I don't want to catch you in this by mistake. I'm going to hurt him—a great deal. But you mustn't interfere."
"But..." she sighed before biting her lip. She wanted to do... something, but she couldn't. She felt so helpless, and taking a step back only made the feeling worse.
“Reed. Hold his legs. Don't touch the wine." Leon either didn't hear Asala's protest or ignored it in favor of focusing on what he had to do. His aide moved into the room and complied immediately, taking a firm grip on both of Cyrus's ankles. Between them, they turned him around so he was on his back, and pinned his limbs to the ground.
Leon's chest rose and fell with a deep breath. “Forgive me," he murmured, leaning over Cyrus from his spot near the mage's head. Pinning both of his hands under a knee, Leon took hold of either side of his face and made deliberate eye contact. For a few seconds, nothing happened, but then Asala felt a strange shift in the Fade, as though she'd suddenly come to stand a bit too close to a bonfire or a forge, but in the realm of magic instead of physical space. It was uncomfortably hot, but the nearby burn was not the same as putting her fingers too close to a candle. Rather, it seemed poised to singe something beneath her skin. There was a light in Leon's eyes, behind the violet of his iris, something reddish and uncanny. His jaw was tight like he was gritting his teeth, but his attention did not leave Cyrus, not even for a moment.
Whatever it was, it was immediately clear that Cyrus felt it in full, not just the glancing version Asala was getting. His back arched up off the ground, a raw shout tearing from his throat. If Leon or Reed had been any less strong than they were, it was unlikely they would have been able to hold him. When he ran out of air to yell with, he collapsed back onto the ground. The thud of his impact was drowned out by a shuddering split as a nearby armchair exploded, raining fabric and wood debris down on all of them. Cyrus swallowed more air, only to cry out again, the noise cracking into an almost inhuman pitch at the end. The bookshelves collapsed, dozens of heavy tomes spilling onto the floor, loose parchments flung into the air.
Once more she felt fear. It wasn't the splintering furniture that frightened her, but Cyrus's scream. She felt like she could almost feel his pain. The fear was so real and so close, closer than she'd ever felt it before. Instincts took over and she closed her eyes, her hands wrapping around her head, and she dropped to the floor. Unconsciously, a barrier sprung to life around enveloping her in a small bubble, but she could still hear his screams. She gently rocked back in forth in her shields, just hoping that he would be okay. "Please be okay, please be okay," she repeated to herself. She did not want to lose anyone else.
Despite being the one inflicting the pain, Leon remained steady, his grip on Cyrus unrelenting. His fingers trembled at Cyrus's face, but he was otherwise perfectly still—his face might as well have been cast in iron, for all his expression changed.
With what seemed one final, desperate wrench, Cyrus tore one of his legs free of Reed's grip. Pure, elemental lightning flung free of his body at the motion, lancing upwards towards the ceiling and crashing against it. The whole tower seemed to shudder against the force of it, shaking the stones to their foundations. A wooden beam creaked with a great screech above their heads, splitting clean in half where the bolt hit it, drooping with a precarious whine.
But the last burst of magic seemed to have robbed Cyrus of everything he had left, and he went limp. His shouts became little more than breathy whimpers, tears streaking freely down his face, gathering where Leon's fingers held fast until they spilled over the Seeker's scarred knuckles. He was mouthing words, but they were too soft to hear. Perhaps too soft for anyone but Leon himself, if there was any volume to them at all.
Asala had collapsed to her knees, but the cracking of the beam brought her face up out of her hands. Her vision was blurry, but she could still make out the steadily sagging ceiling. The beam lurched dangerously and she shuttered. She threw her hands out wide, and the barrier that had surrounded her quickly began to expand past Leon and Cyrus until it struck the walls on all sides of them. Then she lifted her hands, the barrier raising with it until it alighted on the ceiling, molding with its shape until it reinforced the damage area. As she held the ceiling together, her arms trembled, and not because of the effort.
"Le-Leon?" she asked, her voice cracking in desperation.
He didn't answer directly, and it was several long moments before anything changed. At last, though, he sat back on his legs, taking his knee off Cyrus's arms. “It's done," he said softly. “The lyrium is... it's out. He's not... injured, but there's likely to be lingering pain. If you can do something about that, then..." The commander shook his head, almost as though he wasn't sure what to do with himself for a moment, then stood carefully, backing away to give her room to work.
“Reed... go find the Lady Inquisitor. Bring her to my office. We'll move Cyrus as soon as it's safe to." Probably a great deal wiser than remaining in this building any longer than they must—there was no telling how long the roof would hold. The other man nodded, stepping around Asala to duck out the door.
Asala looked down at him and nodded, before returning her gaze to the ceiling above. She attempted to slowly remove the barrier, but after a point, the ceiling began to creak again. She reapplied the barrier, and instead worked it into a static spell. The barrier remained when she let go of it, but she did not know for how long--hopefully long enough to get Cyrus somewhere she could better treat him.
She inched forward on her knees until she was at his side. She reached for the healing spells and began to apply them with as much strength as she figured was safe. She paused for a moment in her work to wipe her face on the shoulder of her cloak, leaving behind a line of moisture when she returned her focus back on the spell.
Gradually, his breathing grew regular under her care, and while he still looked half-dead, wan, and weak, he mustered the strength to smile thinly at her. “What's the phrase?" The question was still a rasp. No doubt his throat was raw and painful at the moment. “Atta girl." He coughed softly, lifting one shaking hand to knock a forearm against hers, after which it fell heavily back to the ground.
He turned his head to the side, his eyes stopping when they alighted on Leon. “Leta did this—Livia. Kitchen girl, but she's—" A stronger cough, followed by a soft groan. “My notes, on the Breach. They're gone. If Corypheus gets them..."
He didn't need to finish the sentence to be understood.
"Maybe..." she said, quietly. At the moment, she couldn't find it in herself to care about the notes, or the who, or why. Corypheus was the farthest thing in her mind. That wasn't the most important thing right now...
"But they will not get you."
By the time she reached his particular tower, she noticed that his door was slightly ajar. That was odd, she decided. Cyrus's door always seemed to be securely shut every time she arrived, usually awaiting for her to knock first. She hesitated at the top of the stairs, wondering if she should just push the door open now, or knock first. Instead, she just decided to do both, and she knocked on the door before taking the handle gingerly in her hand. "Cyrus, are you in here?" She asked, slowly swinging the door open.
"Cyrus!" she exclaimed. She found him on the floor, clearly in pain. Whatever reservations she had about intruding were gone now, and she shoved the door wide open to run inside. She slid to a stop beside him, healing spells flaring to life in both hands. She was without her pack for the moment, having left it in her room thinking she would have no use for it inside Skyhold's walls. Foolish, she thought. "Cyrus, listen to me. I need you to help me," she said firmly, hoping he could hear her.
"I need to know what it is," she said, infusing his body with a general healing spell. She would need to know what was attacking him specifically in order to treat it.
His breathing was harsh and shallow, his eyes unfocused, glazed over, the usual vibrancy of the indigo color muted. He was covered in a sheen of sweat, his expression waxy and wan. Curled in on himself, as though he were trying to take up as little space as possible. He looked but a step from expiration—she'd seen soldiers lose near half their blood and seem healthier than this. The only evidence of what might have done it was the shattered glass, red wine glistening darkly on the stone.
“—sala." His voice was hoarse, weak, the volume barely enough for her to hear. “Don't touch—wine." He took a shuddering breath, squeezing his eyes shut. His breaths increased until he was panting softly, apparently unable to muster more energy than it took to keep doing that. Her spells seemed to be having little, if any, effect.
Regardless, she cast another healing spell, and against his own advice reached for the wine. She went to it quickly-- but carefully, so as not spill any on her. She had no idea if whatever it was spread through ingestion or skin contact. The vessel that held the liquid was unnaturally warm, and further drove the point that getting any on her would be inadvisable. Instead, she drew it in and wafted it towards her nose to try and get a scent of whatever it was. It did not take much as it turned out, with the first inhale catching in her throat and she felt violently ill. She coughed and shuddered, taking it as far away from her face as she could before gently sitting it back down.
She hacked and shook her head, trying to recover from its scent. She still did not feel well, but it was enough to return to Cyrus and begin casting more healing spells. If that was her reaction from simply smelling it, she felt her stomach drop at the thought of Cyrus actually drinking it. But she still didn't know what it was. It couldn't have been poison, not of the usual sense. Poison usually didn't have such an immediate and severe impact.
"Cyrus, what is it? Please, can you tell me what it is?" she asked again, putting more power into her healing spells.
He shook his head almost violently. “Leon. Need Leon. Has to burn—" He trailed off into a wheezing cough. It probably would have been violently-hacking if he'd had the strength for it. A trickle of fresh blood escaped the corner of his mouth, running over what was already slowly beginning to dry and crack on his lips and chin. “Hurry, plea—" The rest of the word got lost in a groan.
She was conflicted, for a moment. She really didn't want to leave him in his state, but if Leon was necessary. She nodded, but before she ran out, she summoned a barrier-- it was experimental, but had the same idea as the person barriers she had practiced with him in Crestwood, only larger. She did not know if someone had done this to him or what, but the barrier would hopefully ward off any further tampering until she could fetch Leon. With the spell in place, she rose and bolted out the door toward Leon's office.
It did not take long for her to make it, many of the Inquisition personnel simply gawking at her as she ran by. Reed was the only soldier guarding his door, but by the way she must have appeared, he let her through without question. She didn't wait to knock on his door, simply opening it and swinging it open as quickly as she could. "Leon! Its Cyrus. He's been poisoned, he needs your help," she said, putting the words succinctly as she could.
Leon looked about as thunderstruck as she'd ever seen him, lips parted in surprise and eyebrows inching towards his hairline, but to his credit he reacted quickly nevertheless, his expression hardening. He stood at once, abandoning whatever he'd been working on. “Lead the way." His tone was terse, brisk and efficient. He gestured Reed after them on their way out, and the three of them ran back towards Cyrus's tower just as quickly as Asala had come from it.
She took down the barrier on their way back in, and Leon was the first inside, immediately going to Cyrus's side and kneeling. “Cyrus. What do I do?" He glanced for only a moment at the spilled wine and broken glass before moving his eyes back to the other man's prone form.
If anything, he looked a tiny bit better since she'd left—perhaps all the healing she'd been trying had bolstered him a little. His voice cracked when he spoke, though, still barely more than a breath given vague shape by his lips and tongue. “Red lyrium. Burn it—nngh." His whole body shuddered. “Burn it out."
“Shit." Leon's expression was one of obvious uncertainty. “I could kill you." He seemed to realize the obvious problem with this line of thinking almost immediately, though, and his features hardened. He glanced back at Asala. “Stand back. I don't want to catch you in this by mistake. I'm going to hurt him—a great deal. But you mustn't interfere."
"But..." she sighed before biting her lip. She wanted to do... something, but she couldn't. She felt so helpless, and taking a step back only made the feeling worse.
“Reed. Hold his legs. Don't touch the wine." Leon either didn't hear Asala's protest or ignored it in favor of focusing on what he had to do. His aide moved into the room and complied immediately, taking a firm grip on both of Cyrus's ankles. Between them, they turned him around so he was on his back, and pinned his limbs to the ground.
Leon's chest rose and fell with a deep breath. “Forgive me," he murmured, leaning over Cyrus from his spot near the mage's head. Pinning both of his hands under a knee, Leon took hold of either side of his face and made deliberate eye contact. For a few seconds, nothing happened, but then Asala felt a strange shift in the Fade, as though she'd suddenly come to stand a bit too close to a bonfire or a forge, but in the realm of magic instead of physical space. It was uncomfortably hot, but the nearby burn was not the same as putting her fingers too close to a candle. Rather, it seemed poised to singe something beneath her skin. There was a light in Leon's eyes, behind the violet of his iris, something reddish and uncanny. His jaw was tight like he was gritting his teeth, but his attention did not leave Cyrus, not even for a moment.
Whatever it was, it was immediately clear that Cyrus felt it in full, not just the glancing version Asala was getting. His back arched up off the ground, a raw shout tearing from his throat. If Leon or Reed had been any less strong than they were, it was unlikely they would have been able to hold him. When he ran out of air to yell with, he collapsed back onto the ground. The thud of his impact was drowned out by a shuddering split as a nearby armchair exploded, raining fabric and wood debris down on all of them. Cyrus swallowed more air, only to cry out again, the noise cracking into an almost inhuman pitch at the end. The bookshelves collapsed, dozens of heavy tomes spilling onto the floor, loose parchments flung into the air.
Once more she felt fear. It wasn't the splintering furniture that frightened her, but Cyrus's scream. She felt like she could almost feel his pain. The fear was so real and so close, closer than she'd ever felt it before. Instincts took over and she closed her eyes, her hands wrapping around her head, and she dropped to the floor. Unconsciously, a barrier sprung to life around enveloping her in a small bubble, but she could still hear his screams. She gently rocked back in forth in her shields, just hoping that he would be okay. "Please be okay, please be okay," she repeated to herself. She did not want to lose anyone else.
Despite being the one inflicting the pain, Leon remained steady, his grip on Cyrus unrelenting. His fingers trembled at Cyrus's face, but he was otherwise perfectly still—his face might as well have been cast in iron, for all his expression changed.
With what seemed one final, desperate wrench, Cyrus tore one of his legs free of Reed's grip. Pure, elemental lightning flung free of his body at the motion, lancing upwards towards the ceiling and crashing against it. The whole tower seemed to shudder against the force of it, shaking the stones to their foundations. A wooden beam creaked with a great screech above their heads, splitting clean in half where the bolt hit it, drooping with a precarious whine.
But the last burst of magic seemed to have robbed Cyrus of everything he had left, and he went limp. His shouts became little more than breathy whimpers, tears streaking freely down his face, gathering where Leon's fingers held fast until they spilled over the Seeker's scarred knuckles. He was mouthing words, but they were too soft to hear. Perhaps too soft for anyone but Leon himself, if there was any volume to them at all.
Asala had collapsed to her knees, but the cracking of the beam brought her face up out of her hands. Her vision was blurry, but she could still make out the steadily sagging ceiling. The beam lurched dangerously and she shuttered. She threw her hands out wide, and the barrier that had surrounded her quickly began to expand past Leon and Cyrus until it struck the walls on all sides of them. Then she lifted her hands, the barrier raising with it until it alighted on the ceiling, molding with its shape until it reinforced the damage area. As she held the ceiling together, her arms trembled, and not because of the effort.
"Le-Leon?" she asked, her voice cracking in desperation.
He didn't answer directly, and it was several long moments before anything changed. At last, though, he sat back on his legs, taking his knee off Cyrus's arms. “It's done," he said softly. “The lyrium is... it's out. He's not... injured, but there's likely to be lingering pain. If you can do something about that, then..." The commander shook his head, almost as though he wasn't sure what to do with himself for a moment, then stood carefully, backing away to give her room to work.
“Reed... go find the Lady Inquisitor. Bring her to my office. We'll move Cyrus as soon as it's safe to." Probably a great deal wiser than remaining in this building any longer than they must—there was no telling how long the roof would hold. The other man nodded, stepping around Asala to duck out the door.
Asala looked down at him and nodded, before returning her gaze to the ceiling above. She attempted to slowly remove the barrier, but after a point, the ceiling began to creak again. She reapplied the barrier, and instead worked it into a static spell. The barrier remained when she let go of it, but she did not know for how long--hopefully long enough to get Cyrus somewhere she could better treat him.
She inched forward on her knees until she was at his side. She reached for the healing spells and began to apply them with as much strength as she figured was safe. She paused for a moment in her work to wipe her face on the shoulder of her cloak, leaving behind a line of moisture when she returned her focus back on the spell.
Gradually, his breathing grew regular under her care, and while he still looked half-dead, wan, and weak, he mustered the strength to smile thinly at her. “What's the phrase?" The question was still a rasp. No doubt his throat was raw and painful at the moment. “Atta girl." He coughed softly, lifting one shaking hand to knock a forearm against hers, after which it fell heavily back to the ground.
He turned his head to the side, his eyes stopping when they alighted on Leon. “Leta did this—Livia. Kitchen girl, but she's—" A stronger cough, followed by a soft groan. “My notes, on the Breach. They're gone. If Corypheus gets them..."
He didn't need to finish the sentence to be understood.
"Maybe..." she said, quietly. At the moment, she couldn't find it in herself to care about the notes, or the who, or why. Corypheus was the farthest thing in her mind. That wasn't the most important thing right now...
"But they will not get you."