As Serina looked on through taint lacquered eyes, it appeared as if the single man on foot was heading for the disbanding group of new Wardens. Still walking slowly, the Dalish of the Warden entourage was left alone as Margot, the last of the group to linger, departed on swift strides. A dainty laugh that sounded more like a haggard sigh, with just a hint of bubbling phlegm audible if one were close enough, came from her at the irony. Relatively speaking, the young mage was the closest to death in the proximity, and still she seemed to be the only one not in a rush. Hopefully, that was attributed to the fact that she was sick, not lazy. The large bird of prey perched on her lithe frame rustled at the sound, and Serina shook her head as if in response to the bird's movement. She turned back toward the general encampment, only to see that the lone advancing man was still moving forward, and the only person he had left to confront was her. She had turned just in time to see him stop a few feet away, and give her an unexpected honorific gesture. She returned the gesture with the hand that was not supporting her on her staff and a slow head bob that lingered in the downward position due to vertigo.
Blinking a few times, for she had not expected his approach, her dark eyes focused slightly. He wore pristine, glittering armor, and the grinning countenance that was customary for young human males. He was ensnared in a harness that held close some weapon, or two or more, that she could not see. His grin melded into a smile, and he spoke to her in an articulate voice.
“My lady,” he began, “my name is Joras Telrik, I'm a fellow Grey Warden. Commander Duncan has informed me that you are ill. He’s tasked me with ensuring you are looked after by the healers here, until we can proceed with our ritual.”
“My name is Serina. May I call you Joras?” she asked in response to his first statement. Her voice was only slightly raspy and could’ve been much worse considering the intensity of her illness. “I really hope this mysterious Joining ritual is soon,” She laughed, a small and marginally nervous sound that brought out a short yet rattling cough which the elf covered with a cupped hand. Groaning, she pulled out a handkerchief and wiped her mouth and hand. She used the moment to sort through what he was saying as he continued.
“I suggest we hurry so that we miss the Queen and the Teyrn. Teyrn Loghain is not fond of us Wardens even in the best of times.”
It was not as though she did not understand him, she just took a moment to let her befuddled mind formulate a coherent response. At the further mention of a name, Teyrn Loghain, her head cocked curiously to the side. “Well, if you’re taking me to some healers, I can manage to hurry. I’m sure I’ve already kept you long enough.” She straightened and slipped her staff into a belted pocket on her belt, opposite the clawed feet of Mercury clinging to her shoulder. As they got underway, she asked in a discordant tone, “Who is Teyrn Loghain?”