Transfigurations [ Brayton ]

"Pssst."

The unfortunate downside of the dark-clad, Elven mage sitting in the pews of the most well-trafficked Chantry in Orlais was that he was bound to be noticed. Perhaps not by another mage, especially one with such close, political ties, but on this day, and at this specific hour, Canicus would find himself victim to a certain noble's concern.

"I noticed you were under... pressure."

Brayton had not initially come to Val Royeaux to visit the Grand Cathedral, but the realization that she was to miss the small morning service she normally attended due to the mission she had set out on to obtain magical goods, she made every effort to not be too late. Fashionably late would be alright, she resolved, as she had moments prior slipped in through the door just after the Mother began the Chant. Now only three or four of the Trevelyan ancestors would roll in their graves, as opposed to the whole lot, who would have done so if she were five minutes late as opposed to two.

Seating herself in the back, as to interrupt as few people as possible, the young mage set about her prayers, mouthing the words to the Chant as the Mother spoke, hands clasped together. In her determination to join the prayer would have ensured that Canicus went about his day unnoticed, but it would not be so, as his subtle discomforts were noticed by the mage, who choose to sit next to him on availability of seating alone.

Popping an eye open to take a sideways scan of the troubled man, Brayton frowned, but not because he interrupted her chant. Instead of taking offence, which he likely did not have any purposeful hand in attempting to cause, she subtly slipped a hand into one of her pouches, producing a small vial of greenish-red liquid from the depths, and sliding it the short distance on the pew over to Canicus.

"Spindleweed root and elfroot vine, with just a hint of mint," she informed him, "It soothes the stomach and alleviates the runs."