Injuries – Physical and Emotional
Elsa reformed the Serpent Clan lines, her beast-kin tortoise form slow and methodical, her ancient nature magic a bastion of stability and eternal power against the encroaching chaos of the battle. Meanwhile, Marcus and the other commanders took charge of the wounded Serpent Lord. Varric was massive, his Beast-Kin form—even shrunk from his colossal serpent size—was still bigger and heavier than any other serpent Beast-Kin, a dense coil of muscle, bone, and scale. It took all the commanders plus some of their seconds—over twenty Beast-Kin, grunting with effort—to carry the unconscious Lord back to the relative safety of the rear lines.
The entire time, Varric slept in darkness, his body limp, his mind quiet and his spirit deep in slumber. His powerful healing factor was stalled, struggling against the massive, poisoned wound left by the Cobra Empress.
Then, deep within the obsidian darkness of his unconsciousness, he saw the flicker of a soft, amethyst flame, and his dormant awareness smiled. The purple flame was Ardyn, and it had found the core of his consciousness—the swirling, intensely metallic, silver liquid flame that was his inner self. The soft purple flame warmed, and it sent a stream of life-giving warmth and magic through his body, bypassing the poisoned blockage.
This pure, gentle magic flowed and found his cooling silver liquid flame. Varric's Beast-Kin awareness can take on multiple aspects—part brutal instinct, part calculating intellect, part protective soul. The soft purple flame surrounded the pulsing liquid silver and it seemed to feed it, not with brutal force, but with absolute, selfless energy. Varric's awareness smiled more.
It did not matter that he was hurt, or that his soul itself had been briefly injured by the Empress's final, desperate attack. All he knew, with primal certainty, was that his Ardyn not only sought him out in the vastness of his spirit, but she found him. She was weaving her power into his essence, tying them tighter than any magical knot.
Elsa arrived, intent on healing her Lord – her student. But when she sensed the delicate, new, and impossibly pure amethyst presence of her newest student flowing into deepest parts of Varric's wound, she nodded slowly. Her mouth twitched, in realization. She could see the deep soul bound that had formed between her students before, now it was knotting and weaving into something more powerful than she could've ever imagined. Varric, with a pulse of their combined, unseen magic, vanished from before her, whisked away to where his healing could continue undisturbed.
[Tortoise Repel]. Elsa returned to leading the war, knowing the only true doctor Varric needed was already at his side.
Ardyn was sitting on her favorite wide patch of moss in her cave, deep in meditation, when she sensed Varric's sudden, weighty presence before her. She didn't open her eyes; she just made sure she helped him as much as she could, focusing her amethyst fire on the task of sustaining his silver core.
She then called in several of the cavern guards with a thought—a subtle, non-verbal command—and they moved Varric's immense, unconscious body to a large, prepared patch of cool moss. Ardyn, eyes entranced – by a bit of worry and fear - by the huge wound, began the physical work of cleaning and tending to Varric.
The wound was massive, grievous - a tear running from his right shoulder across his chest, and her heart seemed to tear with it as she looked upon it. It was so deep, long, and jagged that she wondered how he was still alive. It was the color of rot and poison, a mark of the Empress's malicious power. The shallow rise and fall of his chest was her only solace, the proof that the heart within was still beating.
She applied her thick, newly created golden salve—the one she had been reading and mixing all morning—and watched, breathless, as a wave of silver and purple light washed over the wound. Varric's flesh healed before her eyes, the jagged edges knitting together with astonishing speed until only a faint greyish purple scar remained. She breathed a deep sigh of relief, the tension leaving her body in a shuddering wave, and began preparing him the highest-nutrient, concentrated food she could find—anything that would further help his internal recovery.
Varric's awareness stayed deep within him, content to bask in the gentle glow of the purple flame. No matter how much Ardyn coaxed him with quiet pleas and gentle touches on his hand, he would not move from this deep, hidden place within himself.
Suddenly, a soft, desperate, almost heartbroken whisper flowed around his silver liquid flame and it flared instantly in response, its peace shattered.
"Do you not love me anymore? Has that passion died?"
The silver flame raged, its protective instinct triggered by her sorrow, and it burst forth four times larger, swallowing the purple whole. Varric's silver eyes snapped open and he saw Ardyn, she had just finished preparing him food and decided to meditate and bathe. Her long legs extending toward the pool.
He wanted to get up and hold her, to pull her into his chest and tell her the passion was stronger than ever. But three things stopped him in agonizing sequence: First, he was still in great pain; the core wound was healed, but the physical drain was intense. Second, she was naked, her body gleaming with moisture and power. Third, and most powerfully, he saw them—scars, deep and horrific, crisscrossing her back and the back of her upper thighs, the faint, silvered lines of old burns, whip slashes.
Rage, pure and absolute, rolled from him like a volcanic eruption. It was a terrifying, murderous energy that cracked the stone floor beneath him. Ardyn quickly spun around, covering herself instinctively, rushing to his side, her amethyst eyes wide with confusion and fear.
Varric was not done killing. Not until he found the monsters that had left those hateful marks on his most precious jewel.