#( émilie is always so contained in all replies that I do and I felt the need to write her in a situation where she loses it for a hot second

[mercysought]

She didn’t know if there was anything more that she could do.

For the first time in a week she had been able to walk to her tent. Bare and without much (or any) of her own personal possessions because she didn’t have any. She had given most of the things that she had towards the small infirmary, to the people that they had found along the way that had children, others with illnesses that clearly needed it more than she did. This tent was small, with a single bedroll that was too short for her but she made do. 

    “Émilie, are y—” 

   “Unless someone’s condition has really deteriorated, I want to be left alone, please.” she replies immediately. Looking over her shoulder and pushing aside part of the wild straight platinum hair. She had caught some leaves which had been promptly disposed off. It caught itself in clumps, tightly against her scalp where it was long. In dire need of a washing but the only thing she had done truly of washing recently had only been her hands.

   “No, there’s no— Are you alright?“ his name is Gaspard, not unlike the Grand Duke, she guessed that it was likely something to do with it. He was also one of the best hands when it came to scouting ahead. He took another step forward with an expression that sunk as he caught a good look at her.

   “I’m fine, just want to be alone.” she looks away, finishing undoing the braid that she had her hair in. And yet she knew that he would not leave, she could feel it, hear it. In the concern that thrummed so loudly within his chest and the want to be sure that she was ok and well taken for.

She could take care of herself, she just needed to left alone!

   “Are you—” he said, taking another step forward, one hand raising as a small flame appears within his palm.

   “I said I’m fine!” she shouts in the small tent, feeling her toes curl and her feet sink deeper into the fabric that separated the cold grass from her own bare feet “I haven’t slept in four days!” her voice raises and she feels it scrape at her throat for the underuse of such a volume. Her eyes burnt, sclera red with small short lines of veins and burning with weight with each blink. She was always this close to feeling she was going to do a mistake, that she was going to end up killing someone instead of saving them “Do you understand how tired I am?! I just want to be left alone!“

That she was not trained for this and that at the smallest mistake they would turn and point her fingers to her. That she should know better! But it wasn’t even that which kept her awake at night! No! What worried her sick was the amount of bodies that were resting wounded or near death’s doors and how they cried! How they begged for family that they hadn’t seen in years or for people that they had lost! How all of these people would likely die alone except for Émilie standing beside them unable to aid them or make their death any more comfortable!

They were dying, dying in her care in the middle of a field where she had to ration elfroot and any small other weed! When she wasn’t there, taking care of the wounded mages she was out there. Praying that she wouldn’t be caught in the middle of a fight of mercenaries hunting for mages or templars that had gone off their lyrium! She was out there! Looking for whatever plants she could find both to feed them all and to keep them from failing completely! 

Her right hand is drawing circles in her hand before she rises it to the side of her head, past the shaved side, over the burnt scars and baby grey hairs that were once again growing. She wanted to scream all of it. Shout in his face as concern grows in intensity. What did he wanted her to do?! To keep her cool even as he pushes her?! She rarely got a moment to sleep much less a moment for herself! Émilie turns on her heels, turning her back towards him and feeling her breathing race “Why is that so hard to understand?!“

Around her, she hears the shifting of her patients. She can hear the riptide that her voice had in the camp. The fear and concern swelling like loud and dissonant pieces pressed in a piano. And she had caused it. Émilie’s eyes close and she holds her breath. One, two, three-

   “Of course, I’ll...” his voice fades and her fists turn into fists and a bitter taste fills her mouth, a churning sensation settling cosily in her stomach. Crap. Why did I do that? “I’ll just leave you to it.“

She doesn’t turn around when the flap of her tent is once again closed. Émilie’s thin frame remains, standing and straight with her eyes closed. Her teeth knit against her lower lip, peeling off dry skin. It hurts as she does it but it is better than the voices she hears all around them, the guilt of having added more to the stress. Why did she do that?