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“I’m fine,” the Warrior of Light replies with a smile when G’raha Tia dubiously hands her the vials she had requested. The red-haired Seeker had questioned her motives for wanting such resources from the Students of Baldesion when Melia was a perfectly skilled alchemist and already possessed the tools for creating concoctions and potions, but had delivered anyway at her insistence. As she turns and strides out the door with her collection of empty beakers and bottles, G’raha and Krile both frown, wondering exactly what she plans to do with them.
“I’m fine,” Melia assures Y’shtola and Urianger when they, surprised, ask her why on earth she would want to know where to find wild-growing belladonna among the lands of Eitherys. The red-haired Miqo’te tells them that it is only to document their location at the behest of the Botanist’s Guild, and Urianger reluctantly tells her of the patches growing in the far reaches of the Black Shroud, warning her to take note of the black-tipped leaves and to never, ever touch the berries which grow upon them.
Melia thanks them both and walks out of the Rising Stones. Only Y’shtola can see the Keeper’s wavering aether as the door shuts behind her.
“I’m fine,” she tells Alisaie when the younger woman finds her staring out to sea in Sharlayan a week later, looking farther away than the Elezen had ever seen her. The young red mage had heard from Alphinaud of Melia’s deep bouts of concentration whenever she was facing a problem, or otherwise occupied, but this. Something about the way Melia’s eyes looked shook Alisaie to the core. Normally so focused and sharp, Alisaie could barely see anything in the Warrior’s eyes; usually so full of love and kindness, her blue and red irises felt so… empty.
When Melia once more tries to reassure the Elezen, Alisaie smiles, nods, then makes a half-hearted excuse about going to the Last Stand. Instead, she turns on her heel and races back to the Levellieur estate to find her brother.
“I’m fine,” Melia insists when Alphinaud and Thancred both confront her at the entrance to her apartment the next day, clutching a picnic basket in her arms. Alphinaud does not miss the way her orange tail lashes; a sure sign that she is nervous, irritated, or scared. No amount of prying from either of them will break the Warrior’s silence about what is in the basket, and they both ultimately decide that it does not contain sandwiches or tea.
After the fifth question, she does something quite unthinkable — Melia growls at them both to leave, turns, and slams the door in their faces.
As Alphinaud looks on in worry, Thancred presses a hand to his ear and activates his linkpearl.
“I’m fine!” the savior of Eitherys chokes five minutes later, purple liquid staining the front of her chin, alchemist’s robes, and the carbuncle-themed carpet below her knees. Shattered glass, courtesy of Thancred, litters the floor — the remains of the deadly poison that Melia had crafted just moments before the Scions had intervened.
They had found the bottle pressed to her lips, and only a quick, well-aimed shot from Thancred’s gunblade had prevented the Warrior of Light from downing a draught that even the most well-versed healers couldn’t save her from.
Alphinaud broke first, stepping forward. Ignoring the glass crunching underneath his boots, or the way the nasty liquid seeped into his navy robes, the Elezen knelt down, reaching for her hands. With gentle, careful movements, he slowly pried away the remaining lip of the borrowed beaker from his best friend’s white-knuckled fingers.
“No, my friend,” he whispered. “You are not fine.”