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Feeling In-Patient [Complete]

Niamh

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#1
[Harvestmere 23, afternoon. @Nathaniel Howe.]

In the grand scheme of things, losing part of your finger wasn't that horrible. That was particularly true with darkspawn; losing the tip of your finger was the least of possible outcomes. But no matter how many times Niamh told herself that she was lucky, she never truly felt it. Laying down in her infirmary bed, the elf mostly felt depressed. She thought about the moment over and over. How she broke rank to rush to her comrades aid. How she'd overextended her attack in her own haste. How the darkspawn responded in turn and quickly brought their gnarled teeth down to claim her free hand. Sure, she was a survivor. She'd walked away from the darkspawn and finally had her first real battle as a Grey Warden. But she didn't feel any more experienced or skill than when she was first learning her forms with Hahren Olcán.

Most of her day has been spent in between full out sleep and a sort of drugged haze. There was still a fair bit of pain, some of it real and some of it belonging to a phantom portion of her finger. It was bed to rest for now. No doubt that trying to return immediately to action would only lead to more disaster. Niamh sighed, a heavy and sorrowful display full of worry. It wasn't as bad as losing the whole finger but she wondered what it would mean for her ability to server her comrades. Would her arrows fly true? Would her dagger grip hold firm? What if, when all of this was taken care of, she was not as good as before? When she left her clan, her mind was full of glorious thoughts. Answering the Creators call, going on grand adventures, starring in tavern songs around the word. What she'd found was something much less glamorous. Her duties were harsh and the responsibilities crushing. But it had been her choice, naive as she was. And the idea of not being able to help her comrades or, worse, become a burden to them was sobering. It was all she could do to stop her mind from imagining the worst.

Niamh couldn't let go of her aspirations. She wanted to be brave as the heroes in the stories. She wanted to be a strong as Cauthrien. She wanted to be the Grey Warden everyone talked about. What if she couldn't be that now? What if even this was enough to end all that? She took a deep breath, trying to push away those thoughts. The heaviness of draughts and healing magic pressed on her and she slipped somewhere between the waking world and dreams. There would be more time to worry later.

Much, much more.
 
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Nathaniel Howe

Warden Commander of Ferelden
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Noble
Grey Warden
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Posts
183
#2
Nathaniel slept longer than he could remember sleeping in a single night in a long while. Perhaps it was the company in his bed, the warmth of Velanna at his side the most soothing comforts. Or maybe the road wore him out more than he thought. The ride back to Denerim had been without incident (mostly) but the weather had not been as kind as he would have preferred. Rains mudded up some of the roads, making the horses work harder to keep up a good pace. Whatever the reasons, Nathaniel did not wish to question or complain. He woke refreshed and in good spirits.

Duties he might have seen to at Vigil’s Keep, he did not need to at the Denerim compound when Cauthrien was in residence. People that might have approached him with questions about feed orders for the horses or guard rotations left him be as he walked the hallways of the compound to the dining hall for a late breakfast of many, many meat pies. While he was rested, his stomach was not.

There were some things he did need to see to, however. Cauthrien’s report the night before had been a troubling one. The uptick in darkspawn activity left Nathaniel nervous. He was faced with more questions than answers these days when it came to the darkspawn. For now, things seemed handled. But what might happen in a month? In a year? They would need to remain vigilant.

The combat experience the newest recruits got during that mission into the Arl of Denerim’s basement would help with that. It was to one of those newer wardens that Nathaniel went to visit after his meal. Niamh had been injured, losing the tip of a finger to the quick bite of a hurlock.

Entering the infirmary, Nathaniel lingered with the door frame for a moment, not wishing to wake Niamh if she was asleep. She seemed peaceful, lying there upon the cot and Nathaniel went to leave and allow her the rest. Unfortunately, his shoulder brushed against a shelf near the doorway and knocked a clay container down upon the ground. White powder peppered the floor at his feet and he let out a quiet, “Dammit."
 

Niamh

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#3
Niamh wasn't quite asleep. Not really. From time to time, she would slip close to the edge and dip into the strange ether that was sleep before having the room come back into focus. It was hard to know where she started and everything else began, or what was real and what was not. The infirmary walls took on a coat of grease and dust—the same as in the Arl's basement—and the air began to stink of rot and blood. Then it would shift away. Images faded in and out, eroding all sensible qualities. Things turned abstract; the sensation of watching eyes calling up a wave of heat that broke as she caught the faint smell of mess hall meals. And underneath it all, there was the ever-present threat that darkspawn might burst forth and take her away.

A small part of her knew that was impossible. Whatever rational piece of her mind clung to the waking world did its best to calm her. You are a capable fighter. You are surrounded by Grey Wardens. You are safe. No matter what she reminded herself in her half-cogent shiftings. In time, se grew tired of fighting and relaxed in defeat. She was too sore, too tired to fight even in her sleep. But that didn't mean she couldn't be surprised.

There was a sudden clatter and everything came rushing back to her again. The fighting, the darkspawn, the blood. And for a moment, the walls transformed again. She was back, stuck in that horrible basement. Her eyes snapped open and she gave a fearful yell, rising up to look around at whatever was coming to get her. She gripped her blanket close, all semblance of warrior spirit lost in her half-awake and confused state. Eventually, the room came back into focus. Nathaniel was here.


Niamh immediately sat up straighter. "Ser, I ain't..." What? She didn't really have words but she continued regardless. "Ye cannae just knock on the door or summat?"
 

Nathaniel Howe

Warden Commander of Ferelden
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#4
The scream that followed Nathaniel’s accident startled him, causing him to stand up suddenly and hit his head upon the shelf he shouldered a minute earlier. More containers crashed upon the ground and others opened to spill their contents upon him, dusting his shirt in yellow and blue.

Nathaniel rubbed at the back of his head as Niamh admonished him, "Ser, I ain't… Ye cannae just knock on the door or summat?”

Knocking on the door instead of into a shelf would have been better. He could not disagree on that front. Whatever doused his shirt caused a tickle to form deep within his nose. A single sneeze gave him relief from the itch before he went about swiping away what powder he could from his shirt with the flat of his hands.

“I’m sorry,” he offered, long stride carrying him toward the bed Niamh sat upon. “I had not wanted to wake you.” A corner of his mouth lifted in a weak smile. “Good intentions and all that.”

A glance over his shoulder revealed an empty cot across from Niamh’s. Nathaniel lowered himself into a seat atop it and rubbed at the top of his head once more. Hopefully a knot would form there. His pain was not what mattered here, though. The woman sitting across from him hurt herself in battle and that was what Nathaniel wanted to hear about.

“How are you recovering? Cauthrien told me of your injury,”
he explained.
 

Niamh

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#5
Niamh took a few deep breaths, letting the room come further into focus. Her heartrate began to slow and she once again felt the comfortable warmth of her medications. Whatever fear she had dissipated; she was here and alive and nothing was coming for her. Instead, she found her commanding officer before her, dusted in a powder that elicited a massive sneeze. It was a silly sight, all things considered. But she was not quite in the mood to laugh.

“I’m sorry,” he offered,walking over. “I had not wanted to wake you. Good intentions and all that.”

The elf nodded and resisted the urge to roll her eyes. In spite of her pain and frustrations, she was not a child in need of babying. If her commander has wanted to wake her, she wouldn't have tossed and fussed. She gave a shrug. "Weren't as good sleep as it were like to look, I imagine," she said. "Half here, half there. Seein' things such that I thought you were.." She didn't finish her explanation.

Nathaniel sat down on a nearby cot. “How are you recovering? Cauthrien told me of your injury,” he explained. No doubt the Warden-Constable had be exhaustive in detailing the night's events.

"Niamh looked at her hand, feeling the tip of her finger in spite of its absence. "I'm fine," she said although she did not know if it was true. "Feels strange 'an there's sometimes bits of pain what the potions dun soothe but s'fine..."

The elf took a moment to sit in thought. She never felt as comfortable about Nathaniel as she did Cauthrien. Ever since the situation with Anders, she held a suspicion that he held her in lesser regard. Perhaps not much, but enough. And here she was, having broken rank and paid for it with a foolish injury. What a bumbling Grey Warden she was.

After a moment, she spoke up. "I'm sorry, ser," she finally said. "I shoulda stuck with Asha Velanna, as the Warden-Constable ordered." A fresh frown fell across her face. "But Llewella were in trouble 'an I just..."

Niamh didn't think it was the wrong think, but it still felt like a mistake. "I weren't gunna let no one get hurt by no darkspawn, y'know? I ain't ever."
 

Nathaniel Howe

Warden Commander of Ferelden
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#6
Niamh’s gaze wandered down to her injured hand. "I'm fine. Feels strange 'an there's sometimes bits of pain what the potions dun soothe but s'fine..."

“I’m sure you’ll be back to things soon enough,”
he offered, trying to reassure Niamh.

Nathaniel incurred his fair share of injuries from battle. There had been the deep gash in his side from the genlock that managed to get him from behind. There were the various cuts he incurred, the scars etched deep into his skin in memory. Everything had been healable. The loss of a body part, however, was not, not entirely. Skin could be knitted together with magic but body parts could not be regrown.

A quiet fell between them that Nathaniel did not seek to fill. He had never been one for idle speak and he was not about to begin now. Niamh ended the quiet for them both. "I'm sorry, ser.” Nathaniel’s brow arched at the apology. Sorry for? Before he could ask for clarification, Niamh pressed on, "I shoulda stuck with Asha Velanna, as the Warden-Constable ordered.” Her mouth curved into a frown. "But Llewella were in trouble 'an I just… I weren't gunna let no one get hurt by no darkspawn, y'know? I ain't ever.”

Ah so that.

“Sometimes the hardest thing a person can do is to do nothing. It is admirable that you wanted to help your fellow warden, but learn from the experience, Niamh.” Nathaniel did not lecture Niamh. She had done what many others had done in the past would, no doubt, do again in the future. She paid a price for her recklessness and that was more than enough lesson.

His chin crooked back, eyes settling upon Niamh’s hurt hand. “You will need to learn to adjust. The tip of a finger may seem a small thing to be missing but it may still effect your combat abilities all the same,” he noted.
 

Niamh

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#7
“Sometimes the hardest thing a person can do is to do nothing." Niamh didn't much like the sound of that. Nathaniel spoke with an authority heavier than anyone else's and yet the elf did not want to fully accept how true his words were. She'd made a mistake, but would doing nothing have been better? It was hard to say, and for all of her guilt there was also a very real part of her that stubbornly believed she'd done little wrong. "It is admirable that you wanted to help your fellow warden, but learn from the experience, Niamh.”

She looked down for a moment, sorting through a torrent of contradictory thoughts. "I ain't never fought a battle like that," she explained. It was true, the times she'd encountered darkspawn with her clan, the scouts had very intentionally kept a distance. "It were all blood and sweat and blurs."

A pain shot through her hand, which she fought off with by clenching it slowly closed and then open. "Truth is, what I dun like admitting it but.. I were scared," she said. "And I guess I wanna know how t'rid meself 'that. I told Asha Cauthrien such, what I'll tell ye too that I wanna learn as t be a leader. Part 'o that is learning how not to be scared." She sighed a bit, looking at her hand. "Though I suppose I should focus on holding a bow again first."

“You will need to learn to adjust. The tip of a finger may seem a small thing to be missing but it may still effect your combat abilities all the same,” Nathaniel's confidence in her recovery was appreciated, although she knew it would be harder than they wanted to admit. Even for such a small thing.

"How'd we know when I'm ready?"
The question was truly worrying. "What says when I'm good 'nuff that ye trust me facing off with them nasties again?"
 

Nathaniel Howe

Warden Commander of Ferelden
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Noble
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#8
"I ain't never fought a battle like that,” Niamh stated. "It were all blood and sweat and blurs."

Nathaniel nodded in understanding. Fighting darkspawn was one thing. Fighting darkspawn as a Grey Warden another all together. The blood thrummed not only with battle adrenaline but also from the connection shared with the monsters. The first time Nathaniel felt the pulse of darkspawn within his veins he had been taken aback. He scouted ahead of Aedan, Anders and Oghren. The sensation started nothing more than a tickle, so faint he ignored the feeling at first as nothing more nerves. The closer he got, however, the stronger the song strummed within.

To face darkspawn as a Grey Warden was not only to face monstrous creatures but also to face your self.

Niamh flexed her fist. "Truth is, what I dun like admitting it but.. I were scared. And I guess I wanna know how t'rid meself 'that. I told Asha Cauthrien such, what I'll tell ye too that I wanna learn as t be a leader. Part 'o that is learning how not to be scared.” A sigh brushed against her lips and she peered down at her injured hand. "Though I suppose I should focus on holding a bow again first."

Nathaniel let her comments of fear go for a moment instead addressing the adjustments Niamh would need to make now that she lost the tip of her finger.

"How'd we know when I'm ready?”
she asked. "What says when I'm good 'nuff that ye trust me facing off with them nasties again?”

“I already trust you to,” Nathaniel offered without hesitation. If Niamh wanted Nathaniel to tell her he was disappointed in her, that he thought she failed the Grey Wardens somehow in battle, she would find herself disappointed.

His lips pressed together thoughtfully, eyes narrowing not in anger but understanding and concern. “I am always scared when I go into battle. That is natural. There is fear to be found in the unknown,” he admitted. “But, I do not let that fear rule me. I use it to my advantage. The person that goes into battle without some level of fear is a person that is likely to die due to their own arrogance.”

He let out a long breath before managing a whisper of a smile. “Bravery is acting in the face of that fear, Niamh. Leaders are brave and I would say beneath the Arl of Denerim’s estate, you showed great bravery."
 

Niamh

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#9
“I already trust you to,” Nathaniel said, as Niamh worried if he'd be comfortable with her facing on darkspawn again soon. Provided she could practice, she'd settle for some slight difficulty and adjustments if it mean she could return to the fight. In some ways, she was drained. In others, she was eager make up for her mistakes. That Nathaniel trusted her was affecting, almost to the point of tears. The silly elf had always worn her heart on her sleeve.

As such, Niamh paused for a moment as she took in the statement. She was not, by any means, close with her commander. Not in the same way she'd gotten close to Cauthrien. That Nathaniel so readily trusted her was a surprise that she didn't know how to take. "Means lots t'here that," she admitted. "And I tell ye truthsome that even with doubts and nightmares and such, I wanna get back out 'an stop them nasties."

“I am always scared when I go into battle," Nathaniel added. "That is natural. There is fear to be found in the unknown,” he admitted. “But, I do not let that fear rule me. I use it to my advantage. The person that goes into battle without some level of fear is a person that is likely to die due to their own arrogance.”

Niamh nodded. "I ain't such a boast what I dun feel that too," she admitted. "But the worst is from the Joinin' 'an what it makes ye feel. Asha Velanna tried to gives us sprigs what helped but that weren't enough. Dun think it ever will be. Ye just gotta be brave, I s'pose."

“Bravery is acting in the face of that fear, Niamh," Nathaniel explained. "Leaders are brave and I would say beneath the Arl of Denerim’s estate, you showed great bravery."

That gave Niamh, proud little devil that she was, an idea. "Well, sir, what iff'n maybe I tried followin' you or the Warden-Constable as to be learning t'lead what the time comes? Ye cannae be 'round forever, sad to note, 'an we fresh folks gotta be ready."
 

Nathaniel Howe

Warden Commander of Ferelden
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#10
"Well, sir, what iff'n maybe I tried followin' you or the Warden-Constable as to be learning t'lead what the time comes? Ye cannae be 'round forever, sad to note, 'an we fresh folks gotta be ready.”

His head dipped into a nod of understanding as Niamh was not wrong. Nathaniel’s own mortality was something he was face with almost daily. Each pang of hunger, each time he awoke in the middle of a nightmare, each time he felt the prickle of taint whenever a Grey Warden was near, he was reminded of the expiration date upon his life. His time, as would the time for any other Grey Warden, would come sooner or later. He might die in battle or deep within the Deep Roads. Either way, his end was pre-decided and he did not have the luxury of thinking himself to live into old age.

Cauthrien and he would need to find others to step in and take command when they no longer could. Nathaniel had thought Fiagai might step into such a role in the future. He had started to groom his friend for the burden of leadership. He would need to look in other directions now.

There were many things Nathaniel looked to in leaders. Some were naturally gifted. Others had to work at it. And yet others, such as Aedan, should have not been leaders at all. Niamh would not be a person of his choosing but that was not to say she could not grow into what he thought a good leader with time.

Shadowing him, though… That he was not quite so sure Niamh was prepared for. There was an innocence in her, a naivety, that had yet to be stripped away and he was in no hurry to destroy that particular light.

“Let us focus on getting you healthy and back to being battle ready first and then we shall see what comes next,” he offered with a gentle smile. “I’d prefer to not have Velanna strangle me with a plant."
 

Niamh

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#11
Niamh didn't know what pushed her to make the suggestion, but she grimaced a bit as Nathaniel seemed to mull it over. It was clear that he'd thought of what sort of order he would leave behind, whenever that was. But Niamh wasn't sure if she'd ever factored into his thoughts, at least recently. And yet, between her time with Velanna and Cauthrien she had seen the kind of aid and strength that leadership and mentoring could provide. She had a long way to go, particularly since she'd be in the infirmary for a least a few more days, but she wanted to be able to provide that kind of support too one day.

“Let us focus on getting you healthy and back to being battle ready first and then we shall see what comes next.” Nathaniel was smart to focus on the here and now. “I’d prefer to not have Velanna strangle me with a plant."

That elicited a laugh, which Niamh finished with a smile. "I ain't gonna say nuthin' 'bout that," she teased. From what she'd gathered, the two were close. "'Cept that Asha might try to get me arse outta bed fast-like so as to toughen me up."

That was entirely possible. Velanna was many things but she didn't coddle, and if that meant sneaking Niamh out a day early and placing a bow in her hand before she was probably ready, so be it. "I'll do as needed, ser," she added. "Such as I ken get back 'an ready to fight again."

Yet, that made a frown come to her face. "Ser? Do the dreams go away?" It was an innocent enough question; she'd nearly thought him a darkspawn when she'd woken from her sleep. Not them ones from the Joining but them others what sprout from battle? I cannae rest but for drinkin' draughts and such. It goes, yeah? It ain't forever?"
 

Nathaniel Howe

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#12
A dusting of laughter escaped Niamh’s lips. "I ain't gonna say nuthin' 'bout that. 'Cept that Asha might try to get me arse outta bed fast-like so as to toughen me up."

Niamh had an excellent point there. Velanna was certainly one to push rather than coddle. She would not put Niamh in any kind of danger; however, once she knew the woman recovered enough, he had no doubt Velanna would have Niamh out there practicing until she was drenched in sweat.

"I'll do as needed, ser,” Niamh assured. "Such as I ken get back 'an ready to fight again."

Nathaniel nodded. Niamh may not have been someone he would have picked to make a Grey Warden. The hero worship she had for the order as well as her general innocence would have caused him to send her away. That had not been his decision though. It was good he had been away at the time. The Fereldan Grey Wardens would be stronger for her presence.

A troubled look took root in Niamh’s expression. "Ser? Do the dreams go away?” she asked. "Not them ones from the Joining but them others what sprout from battle? I cannae rest but for drinkin' draughts and such. It goes, yeah? It ain't forever?”

One of Nathaniel’s fingers and thumb cupped his chin. All warden recruits eventually asked this question. “The dreams are different for each person. Our own experience seems to color the effects of the taint.”

His hand returned to his lap, lacing with the fingers of his other hand. “They come and go in my experience. They are stronger when in the Deep Roads, for example. I think that has to do with proximity to darkspawn. The more recent the contact, the more often and stronger the nightmares.”

Dreams were often happy things; something someone aspired to or wished to come to be. Grey Wardens were plagued with nightmares; visions and realities no sane person would wish to come to pass.
 

Niamh

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#13
Nathaniel's taciturn nature was most readily noticeable when he gave advice. He was already a man of few words, although Niamh had gather he was a man of many more after some whiskey, and it made her attempt to glean more insight from him occasionally frustrating. He said what she needed to know, but always directly.

"The dreams are different for each person," he told Niamh. The elf was left to wonder if that meant. "Our own experience seems to color the effects of the taint.”

Niamh nodded. She wondered if they were malevolent enough to shift and twist according to a Warden's vulnerabilities. The elf was ever eager to form connections, to take lovers, and to make close friends. Many were the nights where her dreams involved her body shifting, cracking and deforming into a ghoulish form that destroyed everything and everyone she held dear.

"I keep sliding back into that tunnel under the Arl's estate," she said darkly. "Cept I'm one of them shrieking things what rages 'til all me comrades are dead. Mind slippin' into black waters.."

“They come and go in my experience,
" Nathaniel added. It was a small relief but relief nevertheless. "They are stronger when in the Deep Roads, for example. I think that has to do with proximity to darkspawn. The more recent the contact, the more often and stronger the nightmares.”

"Might 'splain it,"
Niamh mused. "Right after such close fightin'. Both having the fears of normal folk 'an the poison churning in our blood."

The elf screwed herself up, trying to look tough although there was a clear exhaustion to her posture. "Ain't nothin'," she lied, looking to her injured hand. "Gimme a day or so such I 'ken rest and get sorted, 'an I'll be back out and ready. Believe that, yeah?"
 

Nathaniel Howe

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#14
"Might 'splain it," Niamh conceded to Nathaniel’s point. "Right after such close fightin'. Both having the fears of normal folk 'an the poison churning in our blood."

Fatigue pulled at the posture Niamh appeared determined to steel, "Ain't nothin',” her gaze panned down to her injured hand. "Gimme a day or so such I 'ken rest and get sorted, 'an I'll be back out and ready. Believe that, yeah?”

Any confidence Niamh had lacked in herself was not experienced by Nathaniel. The small elf was much stronger than she gave herself credit for. It did take a certain fortitude to bed Anders, after all.

Nathaniel pushed off the bed; a single thought of Anders enough to threaten a souring of his mood. Niamh did not deserve any ire that might creep into his manner whenever his thoughts drifted towards his once good friend.

“I will leave you to your rest,” he offered, a small but warm smile creasing his lips. “We will have you hitting the center of targets again in no time with your bow."
 

Niamh

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#15
Niamh felt a small wave of fatigue hit her, be it simply the last vestiges of whatever linger high came after battle or caused by the smattering of tinctures and potions she'd drank. The elf shifted a bit, sliding into her bed a little more while keeping her eyes on Nathaniel. He was right in front of her, but she honestly felt sometimes that they were worlds apart. They'd led such different lives that only intersected thanks to the fact that both of then had drank from the Joining chalice. He was her commander and she respected him immensely, but even in times like this she never quite knew how to bridge whatever remaining gap their was.

In spite of that, she watched as a small flicker of... something flash across his face and she saw it move from a kind of nostalgia to genuine pain. She did not need to say it, but she had a suspicion of what it meant. The thought caused her own personal twinge of sadness. It felt like yesterday since they'd lost Anders. The elf was left wondering if he'd be proud of her. If he was to walk through the door, would he praise her bravery or start to preach about how it wasn't too late to leave the Grey Wardens and their foolishness behind?

“I will leave you to your rest,” Nathaniel thankfully filled the growing silence. His tone was even more familiar and Niamh felt her sorrow replaced by safety. No, the Grey Wardens were her family now. "We will have you hitting the center of targets again in no time with your bow."

The elf grinned tiredly. "I owe ye a rematch from our last spar," she noted. "Gotta kick yer arse what so all them ladies 'roud here get impressed."

Whether or not she cared for that sort of renown or even really wanted a rematch, the elf was good a bluster. It helped her ignore all of her worries. And as she smiled at the thought, she slide further into her bed and closed her eyes. This was her life now, and she could either get use to it or let it destroy her. Might as well get used to it. After all, there was still a lot of a darkspawn to kill.
 
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