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Ellya dipped her head and ran across the open battlements, feet splashing loudly through the puddles with each step. Summer had come quickly to Skyhold, and with it, its thundering storms. However, the elevation meant that the snow and the sleet never quite went away; so, when the freezing rain poured heavy onto her cloak, it seeped through and chilled her to the bone, despite the thick treatment of oil across the hide. Clasping the garment tighter around her shoulders, she hastened her stride.
Ducking through an archway, Ellya skirted along the wall and finally made it to the row of wooden doors that had been her destination. She hugged the small rucksack in her arms closer to her chest and hurried to the door at the far end of the walkway.
She raised her hand and quickly knocked, shivering as the rain sloughed off the angled roof and onto her back, try as she might to hover under the overhang.
When there was no answer to her knock, Ellya frowned and tried again, louder.
“Abelas?” Ellya called through the closed door and waited. Her ear twitched when she heard a muffled cough and a rasping wheeze.
“Abelas?” she tried again. Her brow furrowed, as her concern grew. “The cook said you hadn’t been down to eat all day.” She paused. “I brought you some food.”
Another wracking cough answered her words and Ellya tentatively reached forward. Slowly pushing the door open, Ellya glanced nervously around the small room. It was dark, the atmosphere and lighting made worse by the thundering storm outside, but a lone candle, burned almost to the nub, flickered on the desk in the corner.
Ellya took a step inside. Abelas’ armor and leathers were strewn haphazardly across the floor and the small bedside table was overturned, a glass goblet shattered at its feet.
“Abelas?” Ellya called out, suddenly very concerned.
A slight wheeze drew her attention to the darkest corner of the room, causing her to gasp as her eyes finally found him. Abelas was hunched over, his arms resting on his drawn up knees and cradling his head. His hair was down and lay in a matted and tangled heap around his shoulders.
Taking another step forward, Ellya closed the door behind her and set her package of food on the nearby desk.
“Do not come any closer,” Abelas whispered into the dark of the room.
Pausing midstep, Ellya tilted her head back and forth and tried to get a better look at him.
“Why not?” Her voice was hurried and she took in the state of the room once again. “Abelas, what’s wrong?”
Abelas groaned and shifted, but still wouldn’t look her in the eye. “My muscles have become weak, protesting even the slightest movement of my joints,” he croaked. “And my throat is raw beyond measure, even a whisper is torture to my lungs, causing them to rage and sputter.” He coughed again as if to prove his point, and then slammed his fist against the stone floor. “I cannot think properly against the fog across my mind! And my body refuses to obey my commands, wishing instead to waste away in lethargy.”
Ellya’s mouth opened and she fought against the relieved humor bubbling in her chest at the endearingly ridiculous picture he made. “Are…are you saying you’re sick?” She asked carefully.
Abelas mouth hardened as he scowled and took a wheezing breath in through his nose.
Looking around the room again, at the upturned furniture, the broken glass, the belongings scattered everywhere, Ellya wrapped her arms around her waist. It was too much: his petulant tone, his refusal to come out of his room, his skulking in the dark. Doubling over despite her best efforts, Ellya began to shake with laughter. “By the creators, Abelas,” she gasped loudly between giggles, “this is how you react to a little seasonal cold?”
Abelas turned his head away at her words, her laughter ringing in time with the rain as it echoed around the dark room.
Biting her lip, Ellya fought to control herself. Reaching for the rucksack and pulling out a container, she spoke to him over her shoulder. “Well, it’s a good thing I brought you some soup, then. It’s just the thing to prevent people from wasting away in lethargy.“ She tried to speak with as much seriousness as she could muster, but couldn’t resist the slight tease. “Haven’t you ever been sick before?” She chuckled offhandedly.
“Immortals do not get sick.”
Ellya’s heart and movements froze and suddenly nothing was funny anymore.
She swallowed and turned to look at him, aghast. "But if immortals don’t get sick…” The words felt clumsy and stuck in her throat.
“Then I must no longer be immortal,” Abelas finished for her in a whisper.
Ellya felt stunned. The canister of soup scalded the palm of her hand but she barely noticed. She could only stare at Abelas and hang on the implication of his words. Her heart quickened and her mind raced, trying to think of anything to say. Now, his suspicious absence during the day was no longer pouting. Now, his destroyed room was no longer a childish tantrum about weakness. Now, his outburst was no longer dramatics in the face of a small cold.
“But…I thought…how…” She sputtered and her words failed.
Abelas turned away and shrugged, as if trying to feign nonchalance. “Perhaps it was ignorant of me to believe that I alone would remain untouched by a sundered world.” He sighed. The low candlelight cast his profile into flickering shadow and made his sad demeanor more stark. “I should have known Mythal’s preservation would extend only so far after leaving the protected solitude of Her temple.” Ellya watched as his body began to tremble and his hands shook almost violently. “The presence of the Veil…” His words became quicker, the wheezing more pronounced. “I should have known. I should have…"
"Hey,” Ellya cut him off and raced forward to kneel at his side, “don’t.” She hesitated only briefly before wrapping an arm around his bicep. His skin was hot beneath her touch, abnormally so, but not so much as to be concerned about a serious illness. “It’ll be okay,” she murmured.
Abelas gave her a slight incredulous glance and clenched his jaw, but said nothing. He was afraid, she could tell, but she didn’t know what to say to make him feel better. Death had always been an inevitability for her, a constant assumed by all mortal life. She couldn’t imagine what it would be like to live for centuries knowing that death was just a remote possibility and one only brought about by the tragedy of battle. And to suddenly have to face it in even the smallest of circumstances? Ellya’s mind shrank at the emotional turmoil he must have felt at awakening to such obvious mortal repercussions.
Clearing her throat, Ellya settled her other hand against Abelas’ cheek. “I don’t know if it makes any difference,” she said, her voice quiet and sincere, “but I’ll help you in whatever way you need."
The distant look in Abelas’ eyes focused for a brief moment at her words, a small, sad smile gracing his lips. With a soft exhale, he folded her hand in his own.
They sat quietly for a moment, simply holding each other near and listening to the rain and thunder as it stormed outside of the quiet room.
"Are you hungry?” Ellya asked eventually, breaking the silence and the mournful tension.
“No, thank you,” Abelas replied, his voice tired and hoarse.
Rubbing her hand down his arm, Ellya nodded. “Then maybe try to get some rest,” she suggested. “You should feel better in the morning. Colds don’t usually last too long.” It wasn’t much in the way of assurance, and didn’t even touch the real issue, but it was all she could do.
Abelas swallowed roughly, but dipped his chin to hide a yawn. “Perhaps you are right,” he replied with a resigned sigh.
Helping him stand, Ellya walked with Abelas to his bed and straightened out the small upturned table while he crawled under the blankets. Abelas watched with heavy lids as she scooped up the broken glass and straightened the room as best she could. After bringing a fresh waterskin and cup to the bedside, Ellya turned to walk towards the door.
“Wait,” Abelas called in a strained whisper at her back. Ellya turned expectantly to face him and watched as he wet his lips before speaking again. “Will you stay?” He asked lowly, barely above a sleepy murmur. “At least until I fall asleep?”
Feeling her heart break, Ellya smothered the tears that threatened to spill. “Of course I’ll stay,” she replied and walked to his desk to retrieve the chair.
After settling in at the side of his bed, Ellya watched as Abelas slowly closed his eyes. The earlier tension and sorrow that had been so evident across his face slowly melted into peaceful slumber.
Yes, she would stay, and when she closed her own eyes and felt Abelas gently twine their fingers over the coverlet, she knew she didn’t just mean for the night.