Jon can’t help but chuckle nervously, watching Gabe right himself and settle on the bed. The lad is putting a lot of confidence in him, and he can’t help but be nervous about it. What if the cure fails? What if something horrible happens to make things worse? What if… what if Gable doesn’t make it through the week? It’s a lot of pressure, all this trust that’s being placed in him, and it comes both from within and without.
“If there is anything I am not, Gable, it is a physician.” The wizard snorts, an unreadable expression contorting his face. It’s a sour look, but it doesn’t stick around long. As he speaks, he fishes the little silver vial out of his pocket, handing it off to the younger man. “It isn’t anything complex. One vial of the cure daily, taken after food and washed down with water, preferably. I’m told it leaves a metallic taste in one’s mouth, I was just about to grab a pitcher from the kitchen when you arrived. As I said, you may not see any effects until the second or third day, but we really have no way of knowing, so… lie down only if you want to, but it might be easier to drink the cure if you’re sitting upright.”
It feels so strange to him, being in this position. Any other archmage would have a hundred spells arrayed in the room, watching for changes and anomalies, they’d have their notebook and pen out, ready to write down their observations on this as-yet-untested combination: a cure for infectious lycanthropy on a hereditary lycanthrope. But all Jon can think of right now is how scared he is for Gable.
“There… is also this.” He continues after a minute, his voice softer, more timid, as he holds out the gold cuff they’d discussed using multiple times by this point. “If you still want to use it, it’s yours. This isn’t the kind of device I’d ever want to force on anyone, let alone someone I care about, but if you want to keep yourself completely separate from Lee right now… this would be the way to do it. Just remember that you’ll be blocking me out as well.”
“If there is anything I am not, Gable, it is a physician.” The wizard snorts, an unreadable expression contorting his face. It’s a sour look, but it doesn’t stick around long. As he speaks, he fishes the little silver vial out of his pocket, handing it off to the younger man. “It isn’t anything complex. One vial of the cure daily, taken after food and washed down with water, preferably. I’m told it leaves a metallic taste in one’s mouth, I was just about to grab a pitcher from the kitchen when you arrived. As I said, you may not see any effects until the second or third day, but we really have no way of knowing, so… lie down only if you want to, but it might be easier to drink the cure if you’re sitting upright.”
It feels so strange to him, being in this position. Any other archmage would have a hundred spells arrayed in the room, watching for changes and anomalies, they’d have their notebook and pen out, ready to write down their observations on this as-yet-untested combination: a cure for infectious lycanthropy on a hereditary lycanthrope. But all Jon can think of right now is how scared he is for Gable.
“There… is also this.” He continues after a minute, his voice softer, more timid, as he holds out the gold cuff they’d discussed using multiple times by this point. “If you still want to use it, it’s yours. This isn’t the kind of device I’d ever want to force on anyone, let alone someone I care about, but if you want to keep yourself completely separate from Lee right now… this would be the way to do it. Just remember that you’ll be blocking me out as well.”
Eat a bite, ingest a vial, have a drink. The process sounds straightforward enough... in fact, its simplicity almost makes Gable doubtful that this will work. He had envisioned this moment dozens of times in countless configurations and always pictured some sort of fanfare, golden scrolls, and strange mutterings accompanying the ritual. But, he muses, perhaps it's more fitting that the cure is just as plain and savage as getting infected had been.
His mouth twists downward and off to one side as he stares at the lustrous poison. He can tell by just looking at it that this will burn.
"Hm?" Oh, yes. The cuff. In his dread and shame and joy, he'd forgotten all about its existence.
It's funny to think that mere weeks ago, Gabe would have laughed if someone told him he'd be afraid of wearing a magic-dampening bracelet. He'd thought he had no magic to dampen. Even the tie between himself and his father, his half-brother, and his child didn't seem magical to him; it was just a well-kept secret oddity in a small, suspicious town. But now as he weighs it in his hand, and weighs Master Eris's warning as well, he swallows thickly. The unassuming piece of jewelry feels hard, and cold, and heartless. Some erenow undiscovered instinct tells him to dislike the thing bitterly. Gabe doesn't hold it for long before handing it back.
"Maybe I'll wait for that part, sir. If I need it, if things start to look bad, I'll put it on so that he can't feel me. But cutting him off now might upset him unnecessarily…" The truth of the matter is that he doesn't want to be cut off from feeling Master Eris. That soothing thrum he's become so used to is more than just white noise. It's a lifeline as he faces down this seven-day war.
There's a pause between them as he waits for something more, some kind of official words or a prayer or permission to begin. But Gabe quickly realizes that he's the one holding all control over this moment. Over his future. His gut plummets as a spike of cold dread hits him, urging him to let this cup pass and find some other way, but he defies it just as fast, uncorking the vial, glancing at the wizard, and tipping the liquid down his gullet.
Master Eris was right about the metallic flavor. It's like sucking on a coin. A filthy, seething coin.
Gabe's face screws up in a combination of pain and disgust and his hand chokes the innocent glass vial until it shatters. The cut in his leathery palm barely registers in comparison to his saliva and esophagus boiling him from the inside.
"Ugh!" The guttural syllable is followed by a dry-heave, which is followed by a less-dry-heave that he reflexively swallows, the taste of which prompts a rude belch. He'd blush if he weren't doubled over and writhing. The cool water Master Eris offers him does little to actually soothe his discomfort, but he still gulps down two-thirds of the pitcher gratefully. His tongue feels as dry as a scrap of felt.
When the sensation of being lit on fire from tummy to nose finally subsides a few minutes later, with barely more than a ripple released from his mind at the worst of it, Gabe laughs tiredly and wipes his sweating brow. His voice is soft, rasping, as though his organs of speech got singed as well. "That felt about as useful as eating coals from your brazier, sir. But I feel… fine. Really fine."
With a reassuring smile, Gabe fans his tunic a little and takes a stand beside the bed, intending to demonstrate how strong he feels. His own height and the power of gravity overwhelm his head, though, and he quickly sinks back down at an odd angle, forced to catch himself on an elbow. His hand bleeds on the nice quilt without him noticing. "Well. Maybe I'd like to take a nap now. But I think this might work. Really, I do. Please don't look so worried."
His mouth twists downward and off to one side as he stares at the lustrous poison. He can tell by just looking at it that this will burn.
"Hm?" Oh, yes. The cuff. In his dread and shame and joy, he'd forgotten all about its existence.
It's funny to think that mere weeks ago, Gabe would have laughed if someone told him he'd be afraid of wearing a magic-dampening bracelet. He'd thought he had no magic to dampen. Even the tie between himself and his father, his half-brother, and his child didn't seem magical to him; it was just a well-kept secret oddity in a small, suspicious town. But now as he weighs it in his hand, and weighs Master Eris's warning as well, he swallows thickly. The unassuming piece of jewelry feels hard, and cold, and heartless. Some erenow undiscovered instinct tells him to dislike the thing bitterly. Gabe doesn't hold it for long before handing it back.
"Maybe I'll wait for that part, sir. If I need it, if things start to look bad, I'll put it on so that he can't feel me. But cutting him off now might upset him unnecessarily…" The truth of the matter is that he doesn't want to be cut off from feeling Master Eris. That soothing thrum he's become so used to is more than just white noise. It's a lifeline as he faces down this seven-day war.
There's a pause between them as he waits for something more, some kind of official words or a prayer or permission to begin. But Gabe quickly realizes that he's the one holding all control over this moment. Over his future. His gut plummets as a spike of cold dread hits him, urging him to let this cup pass and find some other way, but he defies it just as fast, uncorking the vial, glancing at the wizard, and tipping the liquid down his gullet.
Master Eris was right about the metallic flavor. It's like sucking on a coin. A filthy, seething coin.
Gabe's face screws up in a combination of pain and disgust and his hand chokes the innocent glass vial until it shatters. The cut in his leathery palm barely registers in comparison to his saliva and esophagus boiling him from the inside.
"Ugh!" The guttural syllable is followed by a dry-heave, which is followed by a less-dry-heave that he reflexively swallows, the taste of which prompts a rude belch. He'd blush if he weren't doubled over and writhing. The cool water Master Eris offers him does little to actually soothe his discomfort, but he still gulps down two-thirds of the pitcher gratefully. His tongue feels as dry as a scrap of felt.
When the sensation of being lit on fire from tummy to nose finally subsides a few minutes later, with barely more than a ripple released from his mind at the worst of it, Gabe laughs tiredly and wipes his sweating brow. His voice is soft, rasping, as though his organs of speech got singed as well. "That felt about as useful as eating coals from your brazier, sir. But I feel… fine. Really fine."
With a reassuring smile, Gabe fans his tunic a little and takes a stand beside the bed, intending to demonstrate how strong he feels. His own height and the power of gravity overwhelm his head, though, and he quickly sinks back down at an odd angle, forced to catch himself on an elbow. His hand bleeds on the nice quilt without him noticing. "Well. Maybe I'd like to take a nap now. But I think this might work. Really, I do. Please don't look so worried."
“That’s reasonable.” Jonathan nods, taking the gold band back and looping it over the wrist of his uninjured arm for the time being. It makes the hair of his arm stand on end, simply for knowing that it’s there, but otherwise nothing changes. The cuff retains its present shape and size, and nothing about the aura of the wizard’s magic is altered. “I’ll keep it on hand. Hopefully this will all go smoothly, and we won’t need it at all.”
Theres a long stretch of silence where neither of them speak. Then suddenly, Gabe matches his gaze, uncorks the vial and tosses its contents back. Jon’s eyes go wide with a sympathetic hiss seeing the lad’s face warp with pain, and like a lightning bolt, he dashes out of the room and up the stairs to the kitchen, where the water he had meant to bring earlier is snatched up and taken back. Seconds later, he pours a glass and offers it to the heaving lycanthrope, free hand resting on the lad’s shoulder and offering words of encouragement.
“It’ll pass, Gabe. Deep breaths, it’ll help, I promise.”
“Easy does it, have a little more water.”
“Good, good. You’re doing well.”
The wizard sighs with relief when Gabe finally catches his breath enough to speak, and he can’t help but let out a shaky chuckle and give the boy’s shoulder another squeeze. That’s good that he feels well, given what just happened, although the stumble when he tries to stand immediately throws that into doubt. Jon rushes forward to catch him when it happens, even if he knows he’d be entirely useless if Gable fell on him. Luckily, the stable boy catches himself just fine.
“I imagine it does right now, but I think you’ll be glad for it in a week. Then, at the end, I read out a blessing scroll to purge the last of the curse from your body, and you walk out of this room a new man. A free man.” He offers Gabe a hopeful smile, but even that is still tinged deep with worry. “But yes, I think a nap and possibly some bandages might be in your future.”
He raises his eyebrows and gestures nonchalantly to the lad’s shredded palm and where it rests on the blanket, but there’s no ire in his gaze, only concern.
“I’ll head upstairs and find some forceps to pick out the glass, you stay here and get settled.” Jon announces turning toward the door. “And don’t you dare fuss over the quilt, blood is easier to get out of fabric than you think.”
Theres a long stretch of silence where neither of them speak. Then suddenly, Gabe matches his gaze, uncorks the vial and tosses its contents back. Jon’s eyes go wide with a sympathetic hiss seeing the lad’s face warp with pain, and like a lightning bolt, he dashes out of the room and up the stairs to the kitchen, where the water he had meant to bring earlier is snatched up and taken back. Seconds later, he pours a glass and offers it to the heaving lycanthrope, free hand resting on the lad’s shoulder and offering words of encouragement.
“It’ll pass, Gabe. Deep breaths, it’ll help, I promise.”
“Easy does it, have a little more water.”
“Good, good. You’re doing well.”
The wizard sighs with relief when Gabe finally catches his breath enough to speak, and he can’t help but let out a shaky chuckle and give the boy’s shoulder another squeeze. That’s good that he feels well, given what just happened, although the stumble when he tries to stand immediately throws that into doubt. Jon rushes forward to catch him when it happens, even if he knows he’d be entirely useless if Gable fell on him. Luckily, the stable boy catches himself just fine.
“I imagine it does right now, but I think you’ll be glad for it in a week. Then, at the end, I read out a blessing scroll to purge the last of the curse from your body, and you walk out of this room a new man. A free man.” He offers Gabe a hopeful smile, but even that is still tinged deep with worry. “But yes, I think a nap and possibly some bandages might be in your future.”
He raises his eyebrows and gestures nonchalantly to the lad’s shredded palm and where it rests on the blanket, but there’s no ire in his gaze, only concern.
“I’ll head upstairs and find some forceps to pick out the glass, you stay here and get settled.” Jon announces turning toward the door. “And don’t you dare fuss over the quilt, blood is easier to get out of fabric than you think.”
Ah, so there is a scroll and some muttering involved. Gabe has a dim recollection of Master Eris mentioning the blessing in the library, maybe, when he had first arrived at Black Pine and made the request on behalf of his 'friend' in need. That nervous deception and distrust feels so long ago now… almost like the words had been spoken between two entirely different people.
"Ohh, blast…" Gabe pouts when he sees the mess he's created on such a lovely quilt. But then he chuckles at the nicest reprimand in the world. "No, sir, I won't fuss too badly. As I told Mr. Rex back when I thought I had to clean, and cook, and garden… I've been working magic on stains long before I met you. The trick is to rinse blood out with cold water."
He'd learned this kernel of wisdom from his mother, when she made him clean up some sheets after a young female cousin stayed the night. He'd thought poor Isabelle had been stabbed in her sleep (likely by Darren) and it still makes him chuckle to recall the way he'd blanched and prayed for her on the spot. But he imagines Master Eris had come to the glean the same insight about blood stains through an entirely different means: the war.
Gabe watches his mentor's back recede through the doorway, then lets loose the exhausted sigh he's been keeping reined in. His limbs and head feel heavier than a bucket of ale could ever make them. As he sinks lower onto the mattress, his cheek brushes something soft. A pile of bear fur, dusty, oily, and wild-smelling invites him to nuzzle in. He does. And he breathes deeply.
When Master Eris returns to him, Gabe is curled up on his side looking like an entire mountain range covered in fur. His bloody hand peeks out from underneath the pelt to hang over the edge of the bed, while An Account on the War of Frozen Fires balances in the other hand very close to his face (his head is also wrapped in fur—not to fend off fever, but simply for the joy of it.) When some small noise the wizard makes pulls him from his drowsy reading, Gabe shuts the book and tucks it against his chest, pulling it beneath the pelt. His eyes drop to the mean-looking forceps with a grimace. "Those would've come in handy the day I tussled with a porcupigeon. Nobody warned me about those quills."
Time stretches on while Master Eris digs for shards, but the silence between them is comfortable and tired, broken only by the rasping of glass on metal and Gabe's own breathing, which sounds a bit whistly and dry.
"Would you tell me about the war some time?" He's quiet. Still rasping. Nearly asleep, but not quite, riding somewhere in the in-between state that makes pain and unpleasantness more tolerable. "I can read about what you did, sir, but not how you felt." He swallows a few times, but it seems he's not winning the fight against cotton mouth anytime soon. He clears his throat instead and winces when it scrapes him back. "You were about my age, weren't you?"
"Ohh, blast…" Gabe pouts when he sees the mess he's created on such a lovely quilt. But then he chuckles at the nicest reprimand in the world. "No, sir, I won't fuss too badly. As I told Mr. Rex back when I thought I had to clean, and cook, and garden… I've been working magic on stains long before I met you. The trick is to rinse blood out with cold water."
He'd learned this kernel of wisdom from his mother, when she made him clean up some sheets after a young female cousin stayed the night. He'd thought poor Isabelle had been stabbed in her sleep (likely by Darren) and it still makes him chuckle to recall the way he'd blanched and prayed for her on the spot. But he imagines Master Eris had come to the glean the same insight about blood stains through an entirely different means: the war.
Gabe watches his mentor's back recede through the doorway, then lets loose the exhausted sigh he's been keeping reined in. His limbs and head feel heavier than a bucket of ale could ever make them. As he sinks lower onto the mattress, his cheek brushes something soft. A pile of bear fur, dusty, oily, and wild-smelling invites him to nuzzle in. He does. And he breathes deeply.
When Master Eris returns to him, Gabe is curled up on his side looking like an entire mountain range covered in fur. His bloody hand peeks out from underneath the pelt to hang over the edge of the bed, while An Account on the War of Frozen Fires balances in the other hand very close to his face (his head is also wrapped in fur—not to fend off fever, but simply for the joy of it.) When some small noise the wizard makes pulls him from his drowsy reading, Gabe shuts the book and tucks it against his chest, pulling it beneath the pelt. His eyes drop to the mean-looking forceps with a grimace. "Those would've come in handy the day I tussled with a porcupigeon. Nobody warned me about those quills."
Time stretches on while Master Eris digs for shards, but the silence between them is comfortable and tired, broken only by the rasping of glass on metal and Gabe's own breathing, which sounds a bit whistly and dry.
"Would you tell me about the war some time?" He's quiet. Still rasping. Nearly asleep, but not quite, riding somewhere in the in-between state that makes pain and unpleasantness more tolerable. "I can read about what you did, sir, but not how you felt." He swallows a few times, but it seems he's not winning the fight against cotton mouth anytime soon. He clears his throat instead and winces when it scrapes him back. "You were about my age, weren't you?"
"Aye, cold water and a cantrip will do it." He chuckles, partially closing the door behind him on the way out. There's more than one way to get bloodstains out, but given the relatively non-urgent state of the quilt, it'll be fine to leave it until it needs replacing before he fusses with getting it cleaned up.
A few minutes later, the wizard returns bearing a tray laden with simple medical supplies: forceps, bandages, a towel, and a little jar of salve. He can't help but smile, seeing Gable curled up under the old bear pelt, his nose already buried in a book.
"Glad you like the pelt. Don't look too closely at it, though, it's full of holes. Chilled already?" Jon asks, his tone a blend of humor and concern as he balances the tray on the edge of the nightstand and pulls up a stool to sit on. He drapes the towel over his lap, and settles Gabe's bloody hand, palm side up, on top of the towel, then picks up the forceps. "They are fairly handy to keep around. Pulling out splinters, peeling off egg shells, removing quills, picking out glass shards... the list of uses goes on."
Jonathan is thorough as he picks through the skin of the boy's palm, making sure that every little cut and abrasion is free of glass. The last thing he needs is a festering wound because he left something in there, and so he slowly extracts every piece he finds and sets it in a bloody little pile on the tray.
"I was... twenty-six, I think, when the war started." He sighs, giving each wound in Gabe's palm one more check before wiping up the blood and covering the broken skin with a fresh-smelling ointment before he starts wrapping the whole hand in bandages. "I was terrified. All my life I was prepared to take over my father's shipping business. Then suddenly I'm being told that I'm the one being shipped off to fight in some war that I barely know anything about, leaving everything I've ever cared for behind and knowing I might never come back. But I knew they'd come after me if I didn't, so I went."
"My father sent me with a parcel to give my commanding officer when I arrived in Saltport, and the day after I gave it to him, I was promoted. Foot soldier to cavalry. I assume it was a bribe in the parcel, but I'll never know for sure. All I cared about was knowing that my chances of coming home alive were higher in the cavalry. Harder to hit someone when they're on horseback. Training was rough. I had never even ridden a horse before that day, but I learned quickly. I knew I could be demoted just as easily I had been promoted if I couldn't keep up, and so I spent as much time in the saddle as I could. I ended up with sores in places you do not want to know about, but it was worth it, in the end."
A few minutes later, the wizard returns bearing a tray laden with simple medical supplies: forceps, bandages, a towel, and a little jar of salve. He can't help but smile, seeing Gable curled up under the old bear pelt, his nose already buried in a book.
"Glad you like the pelt. Don't look too closely at it, though, it's full of holes. Chilled already?" Jon asks, his tone a blend of humor and concern as he balances the tray on the edge of the nightstand and pulls up a stool to sit on. He drapes the towel over his lap, and settles Gabe's bloody hand, palm side up, on top of the towel, then picks up the forceps. "They are fairly handy to keep around. Pulling out splinters, peeling off egg shells, removing quills, picking out glass shards... the list of uses goes on."
Jonathan is thorough as he picks through the skin of the boy's palm, making sure that every little cut and abrasion is free of glass. The last thing he needs is a festering wound because he left something in there, and so he slowly extracts every piece he finds and sets it in a bloody little pile on the tray.
"I was... twenty-six, I think, when the war started." He sighs, giving each wound in Gabe's palm one more check before wiping up the blood and covering the broken skin with a fresh-smelling ointment before he starts wrapping the whole hand in bandages. "I was terrified. All my life I was prepared to take over my father's shipping business. Then suddenly I'm being told that I'm the one being shipped off to fight in some war that I barely know anything about, leaving everything I've ever cared for behind and knowing I might never come back. But I knew they'd come after me if I didn't, so I went."
"My father sent me with a parcel to give my commanding officer when I arrived in Saltport, and the day after I gave it to him, I was promoted. Foot soldier to cavalry. I assume it was a bribe in the parcel, but I'll never know for sure. All I cared about was knowing that my chances of coming home alive were higher in the cavalry. Harder to hit someone when they're on horseback. Training was rough. I had never even ridden a horse before that day, but I learned quickly. I knew I could be demoted just as easily I had been promoted if I couldn't keep up, and so I spent as much time in the saddle as I could. I ended up with sores in places you do not want to know about, but it was worth it, in the end."
Cantrips! of course. Well, that puts the last naggle of guilt to bed for Gabe. Though it does keep him preoccupied wondering how differently that childhood memory of his would have gone if he'd been able to banish the stains secretly, in an instant. Maybe he and Isabelle wouldn't have been so embarrassed by each other going forward. She'd been good company up til then.
No, he isn't chilled, he explains. Just comfortable. And after a shy pause: "It smells like you."
Barring the times when his eyelids slip closed against his will, Gable watches Master Eris as he works. Mostly he watches the wizard's face, since the sight of forceps digging around in his flesh is not a comforting one on which to linger, but that face… Compassion, concentration, something softer than downy beside something sharp as steel. They're all arranged in such a way that Gabe can hardly take his eyes off the older man. No one has ever looked at him like this. Like he's fragile.
Gabe recoils at the sudden coolness of the salve. It doesn't hurt, just sent a light chill up his arm, and now his skin is pebbled. "Sorry. Go on."
As soon as the bandages are in place, he tucks that arm, too, into the bear's comforting shelter.
The focus in Gable's eyes becomes gradually softer and darker, until finally his eyelids slip shut and remain that way. But he listens. He hums soft responses.
"No cantrips for saddle sores, sir?" A rhetorical question spoken with the ghost of a smirk, but a genuine answer would intrigue him. "What about Blackstaff? How'd you meet her, exactly?"
No, he isn't chilled, he explains. Just comfortable. And after a shy pause: "It smells like you."
Barring the times when his eyelids slip closed against his will, Gable watches Master Eris as he works. Mostly he watches the wizard's face, since the sight of forceps digging around in his flesh is not a comforting one on which to linger, but that face… Compassion, concentration, something softer than downy beside something sharp as steel. They're all arranged in such a way that Gabe can hardly take his eyes off the older man. No one has ever looked at him like this. Like he's fragile.
Gabe recoils at the sudden coolness of the salve. It doesn't hurt, just sent a light chill up his arm, and now his skin is pebbled. "Sorry. Go on."
As soon as the bandages are in place, he tucks that arm, too, into the bear's comforting shelter.
The focus in Gable's eyes becomes gradually softer and darker, until finally his eyelids slip shut and remain that way. But he listens. He hums soft responses.
"No cantrips for saddle sores, sir?" A rhetorical question spoken with the ghost of a smirk, but a genuine answer would intrigue him. "What about Blackstaff? How'd you meet her, exactly?"
"It smells like you."
That phrase pricks something in Jon's heart. In him it feels fragile, but it's the same thing that fuels his need to protect the young man before him, to make sure that, even though he must walk through fire to become whole again, he at least has a soft landing when he's through. He isn't sure what to call it, but in this moment, it makes him want to cry happy tears.
"Alas, no." Jon snorts as he folds up the towel on his lap and sets it beside the tray on the nightstand. "Not only did I have no idea how to ride a horse back then, I also didn't know a lick of magic. It was... Crosswytch, I think, a little village south of Pylaz-Prus. Six months into the war proper. We had gotten word that enemy forces had taken the town, corralled any civilians that couldn't escape into the catacombs beneath the temple of Mutos there. We were sent to liberate the town, save as many innocents as we could, that sort of thing. The city wasn't well-fortified, didn't even have walls, it was so small, and so we charged it from two sides. It was empty. Completely empty, not a soul in sight, until they all came rushing out at once. They knew we were coming, and set a trap."
"Their mages hit us with a chained thunder-wave, it scared the horses so bad most of us were thrown off before they bolted. It kept us where they wanted us, and that's when they started picking us off. Khalla... she was Blackstaff's wielder before I was... I watched her drop like a sack of potatoes, shot through with more arrows than I could count in that moment. It was clear she was their primary target, the rest of us were just collateral damage. My ears were still ringing when I scrambled toward her. I didn't know much about magic back then, but I knew her staff was valuable, and I had only thought to grab it in order to keep it out of enemy hands. When I wrapped my fingers around that black wood, it was like lightning shot through my body. I tried to drop it, but I couldn't. The rest of that skirmish was a blur, as Blackstaff used my body to her ends, casting complex, dangerous spells through hands that had never touched magic before. I came back to myself hours later, miles away in a healer's tent, my fingers still locked around her shaft."
"--go, soldier. You have to let go." He remembers Coryn's voice filtering in through the haze, kind, but insistent, with one hand on Blackstaff and the other on Jon's wrist. "I won't take her away, I promise. But I need you to let go of her for a moment, soldier."
"Is he back with us yet?" someone had asked from behind the towering elf before him.
"Almost. He's still catching up, I think. Start on his other hand while I work on this one." Coryn moved the staff, then, barely a nudge, and Jon cried out as his fingers sprung open, bloody and raw as the charred skin that had glued him to the staff sloughed off.
"She burned my hands." He explains while looking down at his hands as they are now, one thoroughly encased in bandages and not looking so different than it had back then. "Took the skin right off. Turns out magic takes some getting used to. Most mages don't have to worry about it, as their bodies acclimate to the energies used to cast spells as they learn to do so. But when you've got a sentient staff suddenly pushing highly destructive magic through you and you've never even cast a cantrip before? I couldn't even let go of her without help, she had practically melted my skin to her."
That phrase pricks something in Jon's heart. In him it feels fragile, but it's the same thing that fuels his need to protect the young man before him, to make sure that, even though he must walk through fire to become whole again, he at least has a soft landing when he's through. He isn't sure what to call it, but in this moment, it makes him want to cry happy tears.
"Alas, no." Jon snorts as he folds up the towel on his lap and sets it beside the tray on the nightstand. "Not only did I have no idea how to ride a horse back then, I also didn't know a lick of magic. It was... Crosswytch, I think, a little village south of Pylaz-Prus. Six months into the war proper. We had gotten word that enemy forces had taken the town, corralled any civilians that couldn't escape into the catacombs beneath the temple of Mutos there. We were sent to liberate the town, save as many innocents as we could, that sort of thing. The city wasn't well-fortified, didn't even have walls, it was so small, and so we charged it from two sides. It was empty. Completely empty, not a soul in sight, until they all came rushing out at once. They knew we were coming, and set a trap."
"Their mages hit us with a chained thunder-wave, it scared the horses so bad most of us were thrown off before they bolted. It kept us where they wanted us, and that's when they started picking us off. Khalla... she was Blackstaff's wielder before I was... I watched her drop like a sack of potatoes, shot through with more arrows than I could count in that moment. It was clear she was their primary target, the rest of us were just collateral damage. My ears were still ringing when I scrambled toward her. I didn't know much about magic back then, but I knew her staff was valuable, and I had only thought to grab it in order to keep it out of enemy hands. When I wrapped my fingers around that black wood, it was like lightning shot through my body. I tried to drop it, but I couldn't. The rest of that skirmish was a blur, as Blackstaff used my body to her ends, casting complex, dangerous spells through hands that had never touched magic before. I came back to myself hours later, miles away in a healer's tent, my fingers still locked around her shaft."
"--go, soldier. You have to let go." He remembers Coryn's voice filtering in through the haze, kind, but insistent, with one hand on Blackstaff and the other on Jon's wrist. "I won't take her away, I promise. But I need you to let go of her for a moment, soldier."
"Is he back with us yet?" someone had asked from behind the towering elf before him.
"Almost. He's still catching up, I think. Start on his other hand while I work on this one." Coryn moved the staff, then, barely a nudge, and Jon cried out as his fingers sprung open, bloody and raw as the charred skin that had glued him to the staff sloughed off.
"She burned my hands." He explains while looking down at his hands as they are now, one thoroughly encased in bandages and not looking so different than it had back then. "Took the skin right off. Turns out magic takes some getting used to. Most mages don't have to worry about it, as their bodies acclimate to the energies used to cast spells as they learn to do so. But when you've got a sentient staff suddenly pushing highly destructive magic through you and you've never even cast a cantrip before? I couldn't even let go of her without help, she had practically melted my skin to her."
Master Eris describes things well. Very well. It's nearly as good as mindspeak, painting pictures on the backs of Gable's tired eyelids while his keen ears remain fully in tune. He's heard plenty of yarns on the trail and in the saloon, some mediocre and some quite talented, but there have been very few he ever believed. Too many cowboys add a hundred pounds to the bull they faced down; too many travelers have seen the (truly) impossible. Fiction is entertaining for a while, surely, but it can't ever haunt you like fact. Especially fact told through the eyes of those who lived it.
Gabe's brows lift high, but his eyelids just refuse to budge open again. His nostrils flare as if to start yawning, but he rubs his nose to stifle it. "What did you do?"
He sees while he listens.
Horses scream in terror. Men's shouts are drowned out by thunder so thick and heavy, it reverberates through the city's structures—through his own bones, rattling his teeth and making it difficult to breathe. To the left of Gabe, the younger boy from his home town is struck through by two arrows. On his right side, that one cavalry man he never liked falls like a brick onto his face, but Gabe is deeply sorry to see him die like that. Ahead of him is yet another man, a very still man, one that isn't clambering or crouching or gasping like the others.
The man is Jonathan Eris, merchant sailor, and his eyes are locked on something Gable can't quite make out. Then the dust clears just enough for him to see it, too: the fallen mage and her staff of horrors.
Gabe shakes his head in quiet pity for young Jonathan, already knowing that Blackstaff is a force better off left alone.
Burned. Bloody. Probably disoriented and confused as well. And now melded to the Rude Stick.
"No offense, sir, but this makes me glad she hates my guts." His eyes do manage to crack open for a moment as he shares a small smile. His next words come out even softer, not much above a whisper, and more earnest. "And it makes me count my blessings that you're my teacher. ...I think I have to sleep now. Will you come back later?" His face has already begun to relax into the peaceful neutrality of those who yearn to fall headlong into a deep rest.
Gabe's brows lift high, but his eyelids just refuse to budge open again. His nostrils flare as if to start yawning, but he rubs his nose to stifle it. "What did you do?"
He sees while he listens.
Horses scream in terror. Men's shouts are drowned out by thunder so thick and heavy, it reverberates through the city's structures—through his own bones, rattling his teeth and making it difficult to breathe. To the left of Gabe, the younger boy from his home town is struck through by two arrows. On his right side, that one cavalry man he never liked falls like a brick onto his face, but Gabe is deeply sorry to see him die like that. Ahead of him is yet another man, a very still man, one that isn't clambering or crouching or gasping like the others.
The man is Jonathan Eris, merchant sailor, and his eyes are locked on something Gable can't quite make out. Then the dust clears just enough for him to see it, too: the fallen mage and her staff of horrors.
Gabe shakes his head in quiet pity for young Jonathan, already knowing that Blackstaff is a force better off left alone.
Burned. Bloody. Probably disoriented and confused as well. And now melded to the Rude Stick.
"No offense, sir, but this makes me glad she hates my guts." His eyes do manage to crack open for a moment as he shares a small smile. His next words come out even softer, not much above a whisper, and more earnest. "And it makes me count my blessings that you're my teacher. ...I think I have to sleep now. Will you come back later?" His face has already begun to relax into the peaceful neutrality of those who yearn to fall headlong into a deep rest.
Jon can't help but snort his laughter. In a way, he's glad Blackstaff hates Gable too. In one fashion, it means she won't abandon him for the younger man, in another, it means he'll never have to experience the agony of her consciousness squeezing itself into his skull alongside his own thoughts, blending them together until neither is distinct enough from the other to tell the difference.
"Yes. I'll be back in a few hours around dinner time to check on you and bring you something to eat." He nods, reluctantly standing up and pausing just long enough to adjust the bear pelt around the lad's shoulders before turning toward's the door. "Rest well, Gabe."
The wizard shuts the door softly behind him, more than a bit sad that he's left the room. But he knows that if he didn't leave quickly, if he lingered, he would have stayed, and Gable doesn't need him hovering. He deserves a quiet place to rest, wasn't that the point of setting him up in that room, with all of the comfortable trappings of home? There's no reason for him to insert himself into that environment, the lad deserves his space.
But now he needs to do something with himself until dinner time.
He doesn't have much energy for a ride. But neither is he in the right frame of mind for a nap (sleeping so soon after visiting memories of the war is bound to bring on nightmares he doesn't need). Maybe he'll compile another stack of books for Gable to burn through when he inevitably finishes what he's been given? It's... a possibility. But there's no guarantee that he will get through all of them, if he starts to decline faster than expected. With how administering the first dose had gone, he's not optimistic. He knew there was a chance the cure would burn his throat, given the hemonated silver compounds it contained. He makes a mental note to hold the bottle himself for tomorrow's dose.
Jon blinks, realizing that his feet have carried him out to the barn. Frost nickers at him from the door of his stall, and he crosses the aisle with a sigh to give the stallion's nose a rub. The horse closes his eyes and blows air out of his nose, relishing the attention.
"Guess you're stuck with me and Madds for a few days, boy." That's it. That's what he'll do to pass the time: evening feeding and turnout. Someone has to do it, and it's a mindless enough activity that it won't matter how distracted he is by the afternoon's events, at least to a point. As long as he doesn't fall into the water tank, nobody ought to be complaining.
By the time dinner rolls around, Jonathan is more physically exhausted than he is mentally exhausted, and he counts that as a win. His arm is still tender, and so the evening barn work has taken a little longer than it would have Gable, but it's been done just as thoroughly. He only heads indoors once everyone has been fed and exercised, and the barn is full of happy horses. He doesn't head to the dining hall immediately, but stops upstairs to wash up so as not to offend Ari. It is a brief affair, though, cursory, really, and he can't do anything about the dirt that's caked itself into the bandages supporting his arm. Ah well.
"What have you been up to all day?" Maddox asks, spying him enter the dining hall. "I was looking for you earlier, meant to ask how things went with Mr. Kendall."
"Gabe was fine, last I checked." The wizard doesn't stop to chat, and so Maddox ends up following him as he peruses the table's offerings and fills a bowl with hearty stew, and grabs a few warm rolls as well. "I gave him the first dose, and we chatted for a while before he laid down for a nap. I was just about to bring him supper."
"Well put it on a tray or something." Maddox searches for one in exasperation and failing to find one, calling after Jon as he heads back out the door. "And don't forget to feed yourself!"
Jon pretends not to hear, balancing the spoils of his theft in one hand as he heads downstairs, and lightly knocks on the door to Gable's temporary residence before letting himself in.
"Gabe? I've brought dinner."
"Yes. I'll be back in a few hours around dinner time to check on you and bring you something to eat." He nods, reluctantly standing up and pausing just long enough to adjust the bear pelt around the lad's shoulders before turning toward's the door. "Rest well, Gabe."
The wizard shuts the door softly behind him, more than a bit sad that he's left the room. But he knows that if he didn't leave quickly, if he lingered, he would have stayed, and Gable doesn't need him hovering. He deserves a quiet place to rest, wasn't that the point of setting him up in that room, with all of the comfortable trappings of home? There's no reason for him to insert himself into that environment, the lad deserves his space.
But now he needs to do something with himself until dinner time.
He doesn't have much energy for a ride. But neither is he in the right frame of mind for a nap (sleeping so soon after visiting memories of the war is bound to bring on nightmares he doesn't need). Maybe he'll compile another stack of books for Gable to burn through when he inevitably finishes what he's been given? It's... a possibility. But there's no guarantee that he will get through all of them, if he starts to decline faster than expected. With how administering the first dose had gone, he's not optimistic. He knew there was a chance the cure would burn his throat, given the hemonated silver compounds it contained. He makes a mental note to hold the bottle himself for tomorrow's dose.
Jon blinks, realizing that his feet have carried him out to the barn. Frost nickers at him from the door of his stall, and he crosses the aisle with a sigh to give the stallion's nose a rub. The horse closes his eyes and blows air out of his nose, relishing the attention.
"Guess you're stuck with me and Madds for a few days, boy." That's it. That's what he'll do to pass the time: evening feeding and turnout. Someone has to do it, and it's a mindless enough activity that it won't matter how distracted he is by the afternoon's events, at least to a point. As long as he doesn't fall into the water tank, nobody ought to be complaining.
By the time dinner rolls around, Jonathan is more physically exhausted than he is mentally exhausted, and he counts that as a win. His arm is still tender, and so the evening barn work has taken a little longer than it would have Gable, but it's been done just as thoroughly. He only heads indoors once everyone has been fed and exercised, and the barn is full of happy horses. He doesn't head to the dining hall immediately, but stops upstairs to wash up so as not to offend Ari. It is a brief affair, though, cursory, really, and he can't do anything about the dirt that's caked itself into the bandages supporting his arm. Ah well.
"What have you been up to all day?" Maddox asks, spying him enter the dining hall. "I was looking for you earlier, meant to ask how things went with Mr. Kendall."
"Gabe was fine, last I checked." The wizard doesn't stop to chat, and so Maddox ends up following him as he peruses the table's offerings and fills a bowl with hearty stew, and grabs a few warm rolls as well. "I gave him the first dose, and we chatted for a while before he laid down for a nap. I was just about to bring him supper."
"Well put it on a tray or something." Maddox searches for one in exasperation and failing to find one, calling after Jon as he heads back out the door. "And don't forget to feed yourself!"
Jon pretends not to hear, balancing the spoils of his theft in one hand as he heads downstairs, and lightly knocks on the door to Gable's temporary residence before letting himself in.
"Gabe? I've brought dinner."
It isn't lost on Gable that his master adjusts the pelt the same way a father might tuck in a child. The same way he might tuck in Lee. It tugs a small smile into his heart, if not on his lips.
"Thank you, sir. Good night."
As the door clicks shut, Gabe regrets the wizard leaving him. He didn't really want him to go. But he didn't really want him to stay and watch the exhaustion color his face pale, either... After a little rest, just a little sleep, he'll be feeling like himself again and they can talk for hours and hours and hours, all without the guilt of feeling as though he ought to be doing something else. Something more productive. Like his job. His only job for now is to be a good patient. There is comfort in that.
Once Gabe is alone with only the sound of his own whistly breathing, his sense of time and place quickly languishes into a dreamlike state. Bombardic flashes of a war he's never known, a coast he's never visited, muddy flood plains and familiar grassy prairies, magic magic magic that burns and heals and defends; rocky game trails and bleeding, toothsome venison… then biting the wrong flesh. Conflicting longings and terrible fears all jostle together. Then he falls. And he jolts. But the bed is still beneath him, and he hasn't moved an inch in the waking world.
"Sir?"
The light in the room is different than he remembers, but otherwise it's as if no time has passed for Gabe. His limbs are just as heavy. His tongue is just as dry. There's a warm, foggy feeling behind his eyes that makes them seem as though they've receded into his skull. Dehydration, maybe. Everything is dehydrated. That's nothing new, either. And the dizziness when he sits up has gotten a little worse, but thankfully, it clears.
Gabe replies to the wizard's call with a mild answer that might not be fully heard or understood from the other side of the door. When Master Eris enters, he's propped up in the chair beside the window, which is cracked open, still wrapped in the pelt from the bed and looking out at what he can see of the barn. It's a slightly different view from this room than what he and Lee enjoy from theirs, but it's no less beautiful. "I was watching you out there. Just for a little while, then I… I think I fell asleep again."
Gabe's eyes do appear a little sunken when he turns his face back into the room. They're duller than usual, a bit droopy. He's sweaty and still just as sleepy—or more so—than before his nap. Glancing at the dinner tray, he motions to the dresser with a shake of his head.
"I hope you don't find taking care of the horses so enjoyable that I'm out of a job when this is all through, sir." His smile is wan, but happy.
"Thank you, sir. Good night."
As the door clicks shut, Gabe regrets the wizard leaving him. He didn't really want him to go. But he didn't really want him to stay and watch the exhaustion color his face pale, either... After a little rest, just a little sleep, he'll be feeling like himself again and they can talk for hours and hours and hours, all without the guilt of feeling as though he ought to be doing something else. Something more productive. Like his job. His only job for now is to be a good patient. There is comfort in that.
Once Gabe is alone with only the sound of his own whistly breathing, his sense of time and place quickly languishes into a dreamlike state. Bombardic flashes of a war he's never known, a coast he's never visited, muddy flood plains and familiar grassy prairies, magic magic magic that burns and heals and defends; rocky game trails and bleeding, toothsome venison… then biting the wrong flesh. Conflicting longings and terrible fears all jostle together. Then he falls. And he jolts. But the bed is still beneath him, and he hasn't moved an inch in the waking world.
"Sir?"
The light in the room is different than he remembers, but otherwise it's as if no time has passed for Gabe. His limbs are just as heavy. His tongue is just as dry. There's a warm, foggy feeling behind his eyes that makes them seem as though they've receded into his skull. Dehydration, maybe. Everything is dehydrated. That's nothing new, either. And the dizziness when he sits up has gotten a little worse, but thankfully, it clears.
Gabe replies to the wizard's call with a mild answer that might not be fully heard or understood from the other side of the door. When Master Eris enters, he's propped up in the chair beside the window, which is cracked open, still wrapped in the pelt from the bed and looking out at what he can see of the barn. It's a slightly different view from this room than what he and Lee enjoy from theirs, but it's no less beautiful. "I was watching you out there. Just for a little while, then I… I think I fell asleep again."
Gabe's eyes do appear a little sunken when he turns his face back into the room. They're duller than usual, a bit droopy. He's sweaty and still just as sleepy—or more so—than before his nap. Glancing at the dinner tray, he motions to the dresser with a shake of his head.
"I hope you don't find taking care of the horses so enjoyable that I'm out of a job when this is all through, sir." His smile is wan, but happy.
Jon smiles, entering the room and seeing Gable upright, if looking a little worse for wear. He looks a bit peaky, but that's to be expected. It's just... a little early for that sort of symptom to be showing up. Something to note, but not necessarily worry over, he supposes.
"That's good!" The wizard declares with quiet enthusiasm while he arranges the bowl of stew and accompanying rolls on the dresser. Noting also the lad's rough voice and sunken eyes, he fills a glass with the last of the water out of the pitcher, and adds it to the dinner spread. "Sleeping is good. It gives your body a chance to absorb the treatment and fight off the infection. Try to remember to drink water as well, when you can. I'll fill up your pitcher in a bit so you have plenty for tonight."
The pitcher he sets by the door, so that he won't forget to fill it, but he quickly returns to Gable's side, leaning against the wall to chat.
"As much as I would love to abandon the stacks of bureaucratic malarky on my desk in favor of caring for my animals all day, I can name at least three, no, four people who would actively object to such a decision. If Maddox didn't beat them to it, I'd have Duchess Andelar, Ramona, and Archmage Harvarys showing up to drag me back indoors by the scruff of my neck. Believe me when I say your position in my household is quite secure."
And even if something did happen that allowed him to be with the horses full time, he wouldn't dream of sending Gable away. In spite of the rocky start they had, what with the half-truths and the biting problem, the wizard finds that he's grown quite attached to the rugged young man, and isn't keen to see him leave.
"That's good!" The wizard declares with quiet enthusiasm while he arranges the bowl of stew and accompanying rolls on the dresser. Noting also the lad's rough voice and sunken eyes, he fills a glass with the last of the water out of the pitcher, and adds it to the dinner spread. "Sleeping is good. It gives your body a chance to absorb the treatment and fight off the infection. Try to remember to drink water as well, when you can. I'll fill up your pitcher in a bit so you have plenty for tonight."
The pitcher he sets by the door, so that he won't forget to fill it, but he quickly returns to Gable's side, leaning against the wall to chat.
"As much as I would love to abandon the stacks of bureaucratic malarky on my desk in favor of caring for my animals all day, I can name at least three, no, four people who would actively object to such a decision. If Maddox didn't beat them to it, I'd have Duchess Andelar, Ramona, and Archmage Harvarys showing up to drag me back indoors by the scruff of my neck. Believe me when I say your position in my household is quite secure."
And even if something did happen that allowed him to be with the horses full time, he wouldn't dream of sending Gable away. In spite of the rocky start they had, what with the half-truths and the biting problem, the wizard finds that he's grown quite attached to the rugged young man, and isn't keen to see him leave.
"I reckon you're right, sir, but I'd rather be doing something else." Gable thanks him for the offer to refill his pitcher, though it's awkward to be served by the older man, and he'd rather have something warm to drink instead—but can't bring himself to ask for it. Not from Master Eris.
Gabe laughs softly at being told his future is secure. If the words were coming from anyone else (and they have) he wouldn't quite trust them. But it's touching to hear them from the wizard. He's come through on every other promise so far.
The furry outline of Gabe's body trembles a bit with hidden movements and there's a rasping noise while he scratches at his lycan branding, not for the first time since waking up. When his nail inevitably snags on a knot of the scarred tissue, he finally grits his teeth and forces himself to stop. Maybe airing the hot, bothered skin in the cool air of the window will help it?
He draws his arm out from beneath the pelt to do just that, setting the back of his wrist against the window sill with his inner forearm up, unavoidably putting a livid, bleeding hatching of nail marks on display. Underneath all the pink lines, the gnarled scar has rings like a tree stump: a record of all the times it's split open and sealed again. Each transformation has stretched, skewed, and widened it over time. The newest rings are in the middle and more puckered than the edges.
Intercepting Master Eris's glance before he can express his concern, Gabe clears his throat to prime his faded voice. "Not so bad as it looks, sir. It's always finicky after a shift, so I s'pose it only follows that drinking poison would bother it, too. Silver wounds don't ever heal right. …Could you teach me another one of those sea songs?" Maybe an appetite for fun, if not for food, will be enough to allay any worry.
He's feeling fine, more or less. Hopeful, too—if not strong—and that's the first half of the battle, isn't it?
Gabe laughs softly at being told his future is secure. If the words were coming from anyone else (and they have) he wouldn't quite trust them. But it's touching to hear them from the wizard. He's come through on every other promise so far.
The furry outline of Gabe's body trembles a bit with hidden movements and there's a rasping noise while he scratches at his lycan branding, not for the first time since waking up. When his nail inevitably snags on a knot of the scarred tissue, he finally grits his teeth and forces himself to stop. Maybe airing the hot, bothered skin in the cool air of the window will help it?
He draws his arm out from beneath the pelt to do just that, setting the back of his wrist against the window sill with his inner forearm up, unavoidably putting a livid, bleeding hatching of nail marks on display. Underneath all the pink lines, the gnarled scar has rings like a tree stump: a record of all the times it's split open and sealed again. Each transformation has stretched, skewed, and widened it over time. The newest rings are in the middle and more puckered than the edges.
Intercepting Master Eris's glance before he can express his concern, Gabe clears his throat to prime his faded voice. "Not so bad as it looks, sir. It's always finicky after a shift, so I s'pose it only follows that drinking poison would bother it, too. Silver wounds don't ever heal right. …Could you teach me another one of those sea songs?" Maybe an appetite for fun, if not for food, will be enough to allay any worry.
He's feeling fine, more or less. Hopeful, too—if not strong—and that's the first half of the battle, isn't it?
Jon frowns, hearing the sound of nails on skin, and that frown only deepens when Gabe reveals the angry brand on his arm. It makes sense, as much as he hates to acknowledge it; just one more discomfort the lad must endure to be free of this curse. Just one more thing for him to feel guilty about bringing on, even if the vial was in Gable's hands when it was emptied.
"Well... in case you were unaware, I'm no stranger to irritated scars." He gives the younger man a genuine chuckle to hide the worry and guilt that lurks beneath. "I may have a trick or two that can help. Besides, if you want a song I'll need an instrument... As much fun as we had last night, shouting songs in a tavern full of people is a bit different than reciting them by yourself in a quiet room. Matters less if you carry the tune, in the first case. Give me just a moment."
The wizard steps out just then, taking the pitcher with him, and returns a few minutes later with a full pitcher of water, an equally full washbasin, and his mandolin slung across his shoulders, along with a towel draped over his arm. He leaves the pitcher back on the nightstand, but brings the washbasin and towel over to the dresser and lays them out next to Gable's dinner (which Jon gives a side-eye toward when he sees how much of it is left). The towel is quickly dipped in the water of the basin and wrung out so that it is just barely damp, and then wrapped with great gentleness and care around the younger man's irritated arm. Tendrils of magic weave into the fabric of the towel, making it grow stiff as the water within it freezes solid, soothing and cold.
"It won't do anything to help it heal," he sighs, stepping back and drying his hands cursorily on his robe. His bandages have gotten soaked, but he hardly cares. Maddox will, but that's a problem for another time. "But it should at least help with the irritation. The towel will warm up eventually, of course, but it's an easy spell to reapply. Now, about that song..."
He settles himself on the corner of the bed, not far from Gabe, and slings the mandolin around his shoulders so that it rests in his hands. It only takes a minute to tune, and soon he's strumming chords and humming the notes to a song that, while far more subdued than the one sung the night before, is still beautiful. Soon enough, his voice joins in:
"Oh, I bid farewell to the port and the land,
As I paddled away from The Speale's pearly sands,
To search for my long ago forgotten friends,
To search for the place I hear all sailors end.
As the souls of the dead fill the space of my mind,
I'll search without sleeping 'til peace I can find!
I fear not the weather, I fear not the sea!
I remember the fallen, do they think of me?
When their bones in the ocean forever will be."
"Well... in case you were unaware, I'm no stranger to irritated scars." He gives the younger man a genuine chuckle to hide the worry and guilt that lurks beneath. "I may have a trick or two that can help. Besides, if you want a song I'll need an instrument... As much fun as we had last night, shouting songs in a tavern full of people is a bit different than reciting them by yourself in a quiet room. Matters less if you carry the tune, in the first case. Give me just a moment."
The wizard steps out just then, taking the pitcher with him, and returns a few minutes later with a full pitcher of water, an equally full washbasin, and his mandolin slung across his shoulders, along with a towel draped over his arm. He leaves the pitcher back on the nightstand, but brings the washbasin and towel over to the dresser and lays them out next to Gable's dinner (which Jon gives a side-eye toward when he sees how much of it is left). The towel is quickly dipped in the water of the basin and wrung out so that it is just barely damp, and then wrapped with great gentleness and care around the younger man's irritated arm. Tendrils of magic weave into the fabric of the towel, making it grow stiff as the water within it freezes solid, soothing and cold.
"It won't do anything to help it heal," he sighs, stepping back and drying his hands cursorily on his robe. His bandages have gotten soaked, but he hardly cares. Maddox will, but that's a problem for another time. "But it should at least help with the irritation. The towel will warm up eventually, of course, but it's an easy spell to reapply. Now, about that song..."
He settles himself on the corner of the bed, not far from Gabe, and slings the mandolin around his shoulders so that it rests in his hands. It only takes a minute to tune, and soon he's strumming chords and humming the notes to a song that, while far more subdued than the one sung the night before, is still beautiful. Soon enough, his voice joins in:
"Oh, I bid farewell to the port and the land,
As I paddled away from The Speale's pearly sands,
To search for my long ago forgotten friends,
To search for the place I hear all sailors end.
As the souls of the dead fill the space of my mind,
I'll search without sleeping 'til peace I can find!
I fear not the weather, I fear not the sea!
I remember the fallen, do they think of me?
When their bones in the ocean forever will be."
Last night. Gable's eyes crinkle fondly at the memories. All those shouting voices. He had been mostly terrified, but so many good things had happened that he can savor in hindsight. Master Eris's flushed cheeks nearly make him chuckle again as he recalls that sparkling demeanor; the succulent white fish stirs his appetite; and that strange, wild tang of salt in the air reminds him there is a whole blue world to explore. If not for the danger of it, he'd suggest going back to find that portal again in a week or two. They could toast to their future with a couple of those murky ales (just a couple.)
He deeply hopes that if Whitecliff exists anywhere in their own world, they'll find it someday.
"You're a lark, sir. I could listen to your tunes all day long." It isn't flattery. The older man's voice really can carry a melody better than most. But even if he couldn't, Gabe would haggle his last ration of bacon away for songs and poems and stories of any kind. The wizard could have a rapt audience from now til the last shaking of the world, if he wants it.
Gabe grimaces sympathetically and nods. "I've seen a few of those scars for myself. I'd be very grateful to learn your tricks." He would have licked his wounds closed for himself by now if he could, but as of this moment, he's plumb out of magicky healing spit.
During the short time he's alone in the room again, Gable opens the window wider to let in heaps of cool air. He basks in it for a moment before returning to the bed. As he passes the dresser on the way, he unknowingly gives the uneaten, untouched dinner the same askance look that the mage will give it when he returns. He pauses there, staring mournfully at the tray and swaying slightly on his feet despite his best efforts to keep the world steady. The thought of disappointing Master Eris's efforts to nurture him brings on a prickling guilt, but ultimately he decides it isn't worth the risk of choking down each bite through a sore, dry throat.
…Well.
Maybe just a few sips of broth. For strength. For Master Eris. The stew bits he can't avoid slurping up are more grating than he could have imagined, but he gets down at least two spoonfuls. Good work for now.
Gabe makes a soft, hissing noise like a hot iron touching water before humming gratefully as the cold fabric soothes his stinging flesh. "Oh, that's much better."
A little of the gray in his eyes is replaced by a spark of intrigue while he examines the magic woven into the cloth up close. What words had the wizard mumbled, if any? What exactly did he do to make this happen? How exactly does this work? Gabe can't focus well enough to remember anything beyond the initial searing of the ice, so he makes a mental note to pay closer attention later when the spell is refreshed—or better yet, ask for a detailed explanation when he can try it himself.
Gabe settles back into the mountain of soft pillows and remembers with a giddy flutter that they were placed here just for him.
The hand that's wrapped in bandages remains still at his side, but his bare fingers thread through the weighty bear pelt, kicking up little scents of familiarity: the Black Pine forest; his mentor; his home. Gabe's gaze is still heavy, but intrigued, and it waltzes over the musician and his instrument while he tunes up and begins to play. The cowpoke smiles softly as he thinks, This is the richest I've ever been.
Although he's wary of pushing the wizard's nerve and making him sick of the activity, Gabe requests several recitations more than truly necessary to memorize the song for himself. In the middle of a verse, when he has well and truly exhausted what little energy he had left, he interrupts with a murmured thanks. "You made this day better, sir. Much better."
He deeply hopes that if Whitecliff exists anywhere in their own world, they'll find it someday.
"You're a lark, sir. I could listen to your tunes all day long." It isn't flattery. The older man's voice really can carry a melody better than most. But even if he couldn't, Gabe would haggle his last ration of bacon away for songs and poems and stories of any kind. The wizard could have a rapt audience from now til the last shaking of the world, if he wants it.
Gabe grimaces sympathetically and nods. "I've seen a few of those scars for myself. I'd be very grateful to learn your tricks." He would have licked his wounds closed for himself by now if he could, but as of this moment, he's plumb out of magicky healing spit.
During the short time he's alone in the room again, Gable opens the window wider to let in heaps of cool air. He basks in it for a moment before returning to the bed. As he passes the dresser on the way, he unknowingly gives the uneaten, untouched dinner the same askance look that the mage will give it when he returns. He pauses there, staring mournfully at the tray and swaying slightly on his feet despite his best efforts to keep the world steady. The thought of disappointing Master Eris's efforts to nurture him brings on a prickling guilt, but ultimately he decides it isn't worth the risk of choking down each bite through a sore, dry throat.
…Well.
Maybe just a few sips of broth. For strength. For Master Eris. The stew bits he can't avoid slurping up are more grating than he could have imagined, but he gets down at least two spoonfuls. Good work for now.
Gabe makes a soft, hissing noise like a hot iron touching water before humming gratefully as the cold fabric soothes his stinging flesh. "Oh, that's much better."
A little of the gray in his eyes is replaced by a spark of intrigue while he examines the magic woven into the cloth up close. What words had the wizard mumbled, if any? What exactly did he do to make this happen? How exactly does this work? Gabe can't focus well enough to remember anything beyond the initial searing of the ice, so he makes a mental note to pay closer attention later when the spell is refreshed—or better yet, ask for a detailed explanation when he can try it himself.
Gabe settles back into the mountain of soft pillows and remembers with a giddy flutter that they were placed here just for him.
The hand that's wrapped in bandages remains still at his side, but his bare fingers thread through the weighty bear pelt, kicking up little scents of familiarity: the Black Pine forest; his mentor; his home. Gabe's gaze is still heavy, but intrigued, and it waltzes over the musician and his instrument while he tunes up and begins to play. The cowpoke smiles softly as he thinks, This is the richest I've ever been.
Although he's wary of pushing the wizard's nerve and making him sick of the activity, Gabe requests several recitations more than truly necessary to memorize the song for himself. In the middle of a verse, when he has well and truly exhausted what little energy he had left, he interrupts with a murmured thanks. "You made this day better, sir. Much better."
Jon happily obliges the request, looping the song back around several more times, each rendition growing quieter as he notices Gabe drooping further toward sleep. When the lad speaks, oh so softly, he resolves the chord and ends the song, even if it’s only halfway done. He lets the instrument fall into his lap, and he gives the younger man a fond look.
“I’m happy to have been able to help, Gabe.” He wants to say more, about how he wishes he didn’t have to go through this suffering, how making sure he’s comfortable while he works through the cure is the only humane thing to do about it, how he owes Gable that much for being willing to give up a piece of himself for the chance at living peacefully in his household. He wants to say all of it and more, but he says none of it. Instead, he gets up and adjusts the bear pelt around Gabe’s shoulders again, giving the lad’s arm a gentle squeeze beneath the fur. “Rest well. I’ll see you for breakfast in the morning, and we’ll fight this thing another day.”
He slips out quietly, then, taking the bowl of uneaten stew with him. He leaves the roll, relocating it to the nightstand in case Gabe gets hungry in the night. He doesn’t think it’s likely, but he wants the option to be there in case it’s needed.
When he returns to the kitchen, everything is quiet. It’s later than he thought, and the place is deserted. Dishes are washed, leftovers stowed, and there is not a soul to be seen. So he cleans out the stew bowl himself, dumping what’s left down a bin, and rinsing it out with soap and water before hanging it up to dry with the others.
For a long time after that, he stands in the kitchen, his hands on the counter, and reflects.
Things are starting out well, it seems, for Gable. He hasn't run a true fever yet, but the difficulty he had in getting the elixir down is worrisome, as is the general malaise that seemed to have overtaken him almost immediately after. If this is the worst it gets, then that's just fine, but if this is the herald of something more sinister? He worries about how much of Gabe will be left when they're through.
“I’m happy to have been able to help, Gabe.” He wants to say more, about how he wishes he didn’t have to go through this suffering, how making sure he’s comfortable while he works through the cure is the only humane thing to do about it, how he owes Gable that much for being willing to give up a piece of himself for the chance at living peacefully in his household. He wants to say all of it and more, but he says none of it. Instead, he gets up and adjusts the bear pelt around Gabe’s shoulders again, giving the lad’s arm a gentle squeeze beneath the fur. “Rest well. I’ll see you for breakfast in the morning, and we’ll fight this thing another day.”
He slips out quietly, then, taking the bowl of uneaten stew with him. He leaves the roll, relocating it to the nightstand in case Gabe gets hungry in the night. He doesn’t think it’s likely, but he wants the option to be there in case it’s needed.
When he returns to the kitchen, everything is quiet. It’s later than he thought, and the place is deserted. Dishes are washed, leftovers stowed, and there is not a soul to be seen. So he cleans out the stew bowl himself, dumping what’s left down a bin, and rinsing it out with soap and water before hanging it up to dry with the others.
For a long time after that, he stands in the kitchen, his hands on the counter, and reflects.
Things are starting out well, it seems, for Gable. He hasn't run a true fever yet, but the difficulty he had in getting the elixir down is worrisome, as is the general malaise that seemed to have overtaken him almost immediately after. If this is the worst it gets, then that's just fine, but if this is the herald of something more sinister? He worries about how much of Gabe will be left when they're through.
When Master Eris finds Gable the next morning, the air in the room is stagnant and significantly warmer. The window is shut and insulated with one of the extra quilts; the man on the bed is covered with every sheet, blanket, quilt, and pelt in sight, adding to his already mountainous shape; even his head is wrapped, so that his face is receded into a shadowy hood. What little fluffs of hair peek out from it are frizzing upwards at odd angles. The rest is hidden from view, plastered to his forehead. But the cowpoke is sitting upright with his back to the headboard and a book in his bare hands. Two more tomes drown in the folds of fabric across his lap.
The room smells a bit sour. The dinner roll on the nightstand is where the wizard left it.
Gabe doesn't seem to notice the other man's presence until they're within spitting distance from each other; then he blinks out from his cocoon and smiles in a way that suggests he'd rather be alone. Sheer politeness, with a touch of dread.
"Mornin', sir. Is all that for me?" His voice is fuller again. More body to it and not so scratchy, but still soft. Fatigued.
But it takes mere seconds for him to clear away the detached smile in favor of a more welcoming one and he gestures with a nod to the nearby chair, inviting his master to stay.
"Boy, that fever you warned me about came through last night, and it wasn't taking its job lightly. I woke up to it as though it was standing over me, shaking me by the collar. Thought about trying to call you or something in case I went sort of delirious in the way you had gone when I'd bit you, but I was afraid I'd reach Lee instead or wake one of my neighbors..." So he had locked his mind and mouth tight and writhed alone for a few hours. Teeth grit, skin tender, chin trembling... Tears streaming.
"It broke a little while ago. That's good, I think. Have... you got the next dose with you?"
The room smells a bit sour. The dinner roll on the nightstand is where the wizard left it.
Gabe doesn't seem to notice the other man's presence until they're within spitting distance from each other; then he blinks out from his cocoon and smiles in a way that suggests he'd rather be alone. Sheer politeness, with a touch of dread.
"Mornin', sir. Is all that for me?" His voice is fuller again. More body to it and not so scratchy, but still soft. Fatigued.
But it takes mere seconds for him to clear away the detached smile in favor of a more welcoming one and he gestures with a nod to the nearby chair, inviting his master to stay.
"Boy, that fever you warned me about came through last night, and it wasn't taking its job lightly. I woke up to it as though it was standing over me, shaking me by the collar. Thought about trying to call you or something in case I went sort of delirious in the way you had gone when I'd bit you, but I was afraid I'd reach Lee instead or wake one of my neighbors..." So he had locked his mind and mouth tight and writhed alone for a few hours. Teeth grit, skin tender, chin trembling... Tears streaming.
"It broke a little while ago. That's good, I think. Have... you got the next dose with you?"
Come morning, Jonathan is hopeful, if exhausted.
The night was spent in only very shallow sleep, constantly feeling for the quiet, steady presence he's come to recognize as Gable's. It remained present through the night, apparent to him even with two floors and half the house between them, but that didn't stop him from losing sleep over it anyway. Especially when it seemed to tremble and waver in the early hours of the morning.
Much as he wants to head immediately for Gabe's room to check on him, the mage knows that both of them need to eat, and so he reluctantly stops by the kitchens, another silver vial sitting heavy in his pocket. Ari is there, of course, and gives him a sour look.
"You missed dinner last night." Her accusation flies across the room like an arrow, silencing the chatter of the others helping to prepare breakfast.
"I know." He doesn't elaborate, and that drives Ari to close the space between them. She looks him up and down appraisingly before responding in a soft but insistent tone.
"I'm well aware what stress can do to an appetite. But it'll do none of us any good if you make yourself sick as well, especially not Gable. No matter what happens, sir, we still need you. You can't let yourself go down with him."
Jon sighs, closing his eyes as he grinds his teeth. He knows she's right. Gabe needs him to be strong enough to support him through the treatment, whatever that ends up looking like. Much as it irks him to have it shoved in his face this way, taking care of himself is just as important as taking care of Gable right now. So he relents when Ari shoves a bowl of overcooked porridge at him, and simply asks for another bowl to take to the ailing lycanthrope.
"The treatment burned his throat quite badly." He explains when she lifts a questioning eyebrow. "I'm hoping something softer will be a little easier for him."
So she sends him off carrying a tray with two identical bowls of soft mushy food, two spoons, and two glasses of cold apple juice. He knocks softly before slipping into Gable's room, and can't help but make a face at the distinct scent of illness that permeates the room. The lad is upright and reading, though, and that gives the wizard hope. Maybe he's recovered a bit from whatever happened overnight? Just in time to start the suffering anew... the thought makes him grimace, but he knows this is how things must be.
"Half of it." Jon answers, setting the tray on the nightstand. "I wondered if something softer might be easier on your throat, so I asked Ari for some porridge. Thought I'd come and drop off your breakfast before taking mine in the library... I don't want to intrude."
The last sentence is an abject lie. He had hoped to stay and have breakfast with Gabe. But he's been around long enough to notice when someone doesn't want him around, and the last thing he wants is to intrude on the lad's privacy, even if it hurts to leave him alone like this. But then his expression turns more welcoming, and he gestures toward the nearby chair, and Jon has to actively fight down the urge to turn and run, believing the sudden change to be a ruse. Just being polite. He doesn't really want him there. But he sits anyway, telling himself that Gabe is just tired, and that's what the original expression was.
"It'll likely come and go over the next few days." The wizard admits solemnly. He wants to mention how he listened for Gabe all night, waiting for a call or a sign of serious trouble, how the younger mage could have whispered, and he would have come running immediately. But he stays quiet, feeling like such an admission would make him seem overbearing. He fidgets with the edge of the dirty bandages around his arm, dreading the next words he must say. "I do. I was going to let you eat and have some peace first before bringing it up, but, well..."
Reluctantly, he digs into his pocket and takes out the little glass vial.
The night was spent in only very shallow sleep, constantly feeling for the quiet, steady presence he's come to recognize as Gable's. It remained present through the night, apparent to him even with two floors and half the house between them, but that didn't stop him from losing sleep over it anyway. Especially when it seemed to tremble and waver in the early hours of the morning.
Much as he wants to head immediately for Gabe's room to check on him, the mage knows that both of them need to eat, and so he reluctantly stops by the kitchens, another silver vial sitting heavy in his pocket. Ari is there, of course, and gives him a sour look.
"You missed dinner last night." Her accusation flies across the room like an arrow, silencing the chatter of the others helping to prepare breakfast.
"I know." He doesn't elaborate, and that drives Ari to close the space between them. She looks him up and down appraisingly before responding in a soft but insistent tone.
"I'm well aware what stress can do to an appetite. But it'll do none of us any good if you make yourself sick as well, especially not Gable. No matter what happens, sir, we still need you. You can't let yourself go down with him."
Jon sighs, closing his eyes as he grinds his teeth. He knows she's right. Gabe needs him to be strong enough to support him through the treatment, whatever that ends up looking like. Much as it irks him to have it shoved in his face this way, taking care of himself is just as important as taking care of Gable right now. So he relents when Ari shoves a bowl of overcooked porridge at him, and simply asks for another bowl to take to the ailing lycanthrope.
"The treatment burned his throat quite badly." He explains when she lifts a questioning eyebrow. "I'm hoping something softer will be a little easier for him."
So she sends him off carrying a tray with two identical bowls of soft mushy food, two spoons, and two glasses of cold apple juice. He knocks softly before slipping into Gable's room, and can't help but make a face at the distinct scent of illness that permeates the room. The lad is upright and reading, though, and that gives the wizard hope. Maybe he's recovered a bit from whatever happened overnight? Just in time to start the suffering anew... the thought makes him grimace, but he knows this is how things must be.
"Half of it." Jon answers, setting the tray on the nightstand. "I wondered if something softer might be easier on your throat, so I asked Ari for some porridge. Thought I'd come and drop off your breakfast before taking mine in the library... I don't want to intrude."
The last sentence is an abject lie. He had hoped to stay and have breakfast with Gabe. But he's been around long enough to notice when someone doesn't want him around, and the last thing he wants is to intrude on the lad's privacy, even if it hurts to leave him alone like this. But then his expression turns more welcoming, and he gestures toward the nearby chair, and Jon has to actively fight down the urge to turn and run, believing the sudden change to be a ruse. Just being polite. He doesn't really want him there. But he sits anyway, telling himself that Gabe is just tired, and that's what the original expression was.
"It'll likely come and go over the next few days." The wizard admits solemnly. He wants to mention how he listened for Gabe all night, waiting for a call or a sign of serious trouble, how the younger mage could have whispered, and he would have come running immediately. But he stays quiet, feeling like such an admission would make him seem overbearing. He fidgets with the edge of the dirty bandages around his arm, dreading the next words he must say. "I do. I was going to let you eat and have some peace first before bringing it up, but, well..."
Reluctantly, he digs into his pocket and takes out the little glass vial.
The authenticity of Gable's smile strengthens while they talk. All it takes is a little mental effort to separate his friend's presence from the wizard's role as harbinger of unpleasant times. And he genuinely is happy to have company; the night had been long and lonely with the other man so far away. "Oh thank you, Master Eris. That's very considerate. My throat's a bit better now, but still tender."
Gabe nods and shrugs, accepting his miserable fate; he won't let the prospect of a reoccurring fever dampen his resolve to continue with the treatment. The aches and spasms were taxing, but nothing he's not felt before with a nasty flu—and under cold, pelting rains on the back of a steed in the middle of nowhere to boot. "It'll pass. It all will pass."
After indicating that he'd like to try the porridge Master Eris brought him, Gabe sheds the coverings around his head and loosens the ones wrapped around his arms. He shudders a little, pauses for a while to let it pass, then presses on. More of the sour smell is released into the room from his bare arms and the sweat-stuck fabric of his tunic, but to his great relief, the slightly cooler air actually refreshes him.
A red and mud-colored stain on his forearm bandages indicates that more bleeding took place overnight. He scratches at them absently.
"Let's not make our friend feel unwelcome." Gabe chuckles while he stirs the gummy porridge. "That little vial, and the next, and the rest are all a blessing. …I only wish that what's inside them came in strawberry flavoring."
His appetite is better than he could have hoped for it to be, especially given the unappealing grayness of the paste in his bowl. Maybe it's because his body recognizes the bland meal as necessary fuel. Or maybe, more likely, it's the stroke of camaraderie he feels while sharing the wizard's gruel.
Save for a few negligible scrapings left in the bottom of it, the bowl is bare when Gabe returns it to the tray. He drinks all of the apple juice and several glasses of water, too; he knows dehydration is a real threat to this whole plan of continuing to live and he'll try his hardest not to be the one to tear the Master's efforts down with his own hands.
When all the boxes have been checked and there's no more productive procrastination left to stall the inevitable, he sighs and takes the little vial in his hands thoughtfully. He keeps his eyes on it while speaking, choosing the truest words he can.
"I think that, if not for Lee, if not for you, I might have kept the disease in me, given the choice. I might have let it wear my body out til there was nothing left. Til my bones and organs all gave up rearranging themselves properly. It's true that I could feel it eating me away a little more each time I let it run my body, but then I always felt how I imagine new mothers feel: the pain gives out to this kind of joy… Ecstasy. If I had nothing else to live for… that would be my purpose, I think. Chasin' that feeling. Losing myself to it." Losing his life to it.
Gabe blinks. He's frowning a little, but in a pensive way. He isn't disappointed in himself like maybe he ought to be. It's self-pity that he feels, or maybe a small inkling of compassion, even. Outside of these walls, outside of this household and outside of his role as a father, he really is alone.
But thank the gods he's right here and Master Eris is right there and little Lee is... somewhere, but still very much in need of his father. Gabe has every reason in the world to put the beast to rest. He sighs and glances over at Master Eris without lifting his chin. "Will you stay for a while again today, sir?" Please?
Gabe nods and shrugs, accepting his miserable fate; he won't let the prospect of a reoccurring fever dampen his resolve to continue with the treatment. The aches and spasms were taxing, but nothing he's not felt before with a nasty flu—and under cold, pelting rains on the back of a steed in the middle of nowhere to boot. "It'll pass. It all will pass."
After indicating that he'd like to try the porridge Master Eris brought him, Gabe sheds the coverings around his head and loosens the ones wrapped around his arms. He shudders a little, pauses for a while to let it pass, then presses on. More of the sour smell is released into the room from his bare arms and the sweat-stuck fabric of his tunic, but to his great relief, the slightly cooler air actually refreshes him.
A red and mud-colored stain on his forearm bandages indicates that more bleeding took place overnight. He scratches at them absently.
"Let's not make our friend feel unwelcome." Gabe chuckles while he stirs the gummy porridge. "That little vial, and the next, and the rest are all a blessing. …I only wish that what's inside them came in strawberry flavoring."
His appetite is better than he could have hoped for it to be, especially given the unappealing grayness of the paste in his bowl. Maybe it's because his body recognizes the bland meal as necessary fuel. Or maybe, more likely, it's the stroke of camaraderie he feels while sharing the wizard's gruel.
Save for a few negligible scrapings left in the bottom of it, the bowl is bare when Gabe returns it to the tray. He drinks all of the apple juice and several glasses of water, too; he knows dehydration is a real threat to this whole plan of continuing to live and he'll try his hardest not to be the one to tear the Master's efforts down with his own hands.
When all the boxes have been checked and there's no more productive procrastination left to stall the inevitable, he sighs and takes the little vial in his hands thoughtfully. He keeps his eyes on it while speaking, choosing the truest words he can.
"I think that, if not for Lee, if not for you, I might have kept the disease in me, given the choice. I might have let it wear my body out til there was nothing left. Til my bones and organs all gave up rearranging themselves properly. It's true that I could feel it eating me away a little more each time I let it run my body, but then I always felt how I imagine new mothers feel: the pain gives out to this kind of joy… Ecstasy. If I had nothing else to live for… that would be my purpose, I think. Chasin' that feeling. Losing myself to it." Losing his life to it.
Gabe blinks. He's frowning a little, but in a pensive way. He isn't disappointed in himself like maybe he ought to be. It's self-pity that he feels, or maybe a small inkling of compassion, even. Outside of these walls, outside of this household and outside of his role as a father, he really is alone.
But thank the gods he's right here and Master Eris is right there and little Lee is... somewhere, but still very much in need of his father. Gabe has every reason in the world to put the beast to rest. He sighs and glances over at Master Eris without lifting his chin. "Will you stay for a while again today, sir?" Please?
"Glad to hear you're feeling better." The wizard says, relaxing a bit as Gable becomes a bit more welcoming, and hands over one of the bowls, taking up the other himself. Then, he finally settles back in the indicated chair, and stirs his bowl the same as the younger man stirs his. He can't help but chuckle at the request. "I'll have to tell Aza that you're unhappy with the flavor. She's a miracle worker when it comes to alchemy, but she's no gourmet. As long as it works, she doesn't care how things taste. I'll recommend strawberries when I write to her to thank her for sending the cures."
It's easier to eat in Gabe's company. He finds himself taking more frequent bites of his paste, not even noticing the flavor, or the texture even. Soon, he scrapes the bottom of the bowl, the food gone without even noticing it. Reluctantly, he takes up the remaining glass of apple juice and sips on it. He wrinkles his nose at how sweet it is, this isn't something he drinks often, and for good reason.
"I... understand." Jon nods slowly, tilting the half-full glass in his hands and watching the liquid within. "Theron Hern describes such feelings in his book of transformations. It's a good reason why many lycanthropes never seek a cure. They're content to live in their fur as it takes them, letting their blood boil every full moon... but I'm glad you've chosen differently."
The wizard sets his empty bowl back on the tray, adding his half-finished glass after a minute as well. He sighs, pulling at the edges of the bandages around his arm until they come loose and begin unraveling. The gauze is promptly balled up in a mess and added to the tray. He'll take it all back to the kitchen later. Right now, though, his priority is Gable.
"If you want, I can stay as long as you like." He nods, eyeing the books strewn across the nest Gabe has made. "Have you been enjoying the books? Just let me know if you need more, I can bring you another stack."
It's easier to eat in Gabe's company. He finds himself taking more frequent bites of his paste, not even noticing the flavor, or the texture even. Soon, he scrapes the bottom of the bowl, the food gone without even noticing it. Reluctantly, he takes up the remaining glass of apple juice and sips on it. He wrinkles his nose at how sweet it is, this isn't something he drinks often, and for good reason.
"I... understand." Jon nods slowly, tilting the half-full glass in his hands and watching the liquid within. "Theron Hern describes such feelings in his book of transformations. It's a good reason why many lycanthropes never seek a cure. They're content to live in their fur as it takes them, letting their blood boil every full moon... but I'm glad you've chosen differently."
The wizard sets his empty bowl back on the tray, adding his half-finished glass after a minute as well. He sighs, pulling at the edges of the bandages around his arm until they come loose and begin unraveling. The gauze is promptly balled up in a mess and added to the tray. He'll take it all back to the kitchen later. Right now, though, his priority is Gable.
"If you want, I can stay as long as you like." He nods, eyeing the books strewn across the nest Gabe has made. "Have you been enjoying the books? Just let me know if you need more, I can bring you another stack."
It brings Gable a little comfort to hear that the destructive cravings he feels might be considered normal. But only a little. Mostly he just regrets to think of how many have succumbed to that lonely life throughout history, and he wonders earnestly if the one who bit him has found any peace yet. Could he ever bring it to her? Would she want it if she knew what it costs?
She'd seemed so happy, giving him those eager half-whines and play-bows with a tail beating the air like it was whipping eggs. Briefly, he smirks. She'd been pretty persuasive right up til the point she tried taking what she wanted by force—and even then, Gabe's sure seeing him bleed out in a bush wasn't her goal any more than it had been his when he'd tried to play with the wizard. No, he knew exactly what she'd wanted.
Gabe's smile falters and he rubs his unbandaged hand across the cover of the closest book. "I'm afraid I was having a bit of trouble just reading this one, sir. I kept having to mull over what I'd already lingered on for minutes at a time. I… I'm strugglin to make sense of it. Probably just tired, is all. Maybe you could–" Gabe hesitates with the request locked firmly behind his teeth. But… why not? If Master Eris had been disposed to sing him to sleep, of all things, then would reading to him as though it's from a tome of children's tales be any more inappropriate?
He finishes the thought with a smile that could only be described as sheepish hopefulness. "I could listen. If you're willing."
Gabe is slow about ingesting the silvery liquid this time. He uncorks it, examines it, smells it. Unsurprisingly, it doesn't smell like much. But then again, he's had the sneaking feeling his sense of smell isn't cooperating with him much better than his vision and mind have been. Everything is muted. Tired. But he isn't so gullible as to hope this means his tongue and throat will be indifferent, too.
After a deep breath to steel himself, he draws a little sip off the vial, trying to learn from his previous mistake of taking it all at once. Maybe it's a bit like eating hot sauce: smaller quantities burn less?
There is food in his belly and a relatively peaceful feeling throughout the rest of his body and then, abruptly, these things are no more. A slush of gray porridge and water dumps violently on the floor, opposite the side as where Master Eris is seated. Gabe nearly spills the rest of the vial's contents all over the bed as a coughing fit seizes him too, but he has just enough presence of mind to thrust it out to the wizard as he twists to heave again. These strained attempts happen several more times in futility; everything that was in his stomach is not, now. Including the silvery threads of this morning's dose.
When he's caught his breath from the forceful expulsion, Gabe's eyes remain glued to his vomit in shame. He rasps an apology.
"I'm sorry, sir… Sorry you had to see." Sorry that the breakfast was pointless, sorry he wasted half a dose of something so precious, and especially sorry he has to get the rest of it inside of himself even if it must be forced down his throat.
If not for the sudden weakness that drags him down like the undertow in Lake Trickster, he'd offer to clean the floor himself. But if he tried to get up now, he'd only land on his face. He knows this because as he lifts his trembling hand to wipe acrid wetness from his lips, it barely cooperates with him before he must drop it again. He drops the rest of his body back against the headboard, too, and squeezes his eyes shut.
He won't cry. He won't. It would be a waste of energy.
When he opens his eyes again, he lifts his head and gestures for the vial. "Will I… have to make the rest of the dose up? I will."
Whatever the wizard's answer, he's still got at least this vial ahead of him, and not enough resolve to do it with a roiling gut. "You remember what that Namon Root looked like, sir?"
She'd seemed so happy, giving him those eager half-whines and play-bows with a tail beating the air like it was whipping eggs. Briefly, he smirks. She'd been pretty persuasive right up til the point she tried taking what she wanted by force—and even then, Gabe's sure seeing him bleed out in a bush wasn't her goal any more than it had been his when he'd tried to play with the wizard. No, he knew exactly what she'd wanted.
Gabe's smile falters and he rubs his unbandaged hand across the cover of the closest book. "I'm afraid I was having a bit of trouble just reading this one, sir. I kept having to mull over what I'd already lingered on for minutes at a time. I… I'm strugglin to make sense of it. Probably just tired, is all. Maybe you could–" Gabe hesitates with the request locked firmly behind his teeth. But… why not? If Master Eris had been disposed to sing him to sleep, of all things, then would reading to him as though it's from a tome of children's tales be any more inappropriate?
He finishes the thought with a smile that could only be described as sheepish hopefulness. "I could listen. If you're willing."
Gabe is slow about ingesting the silvery liquid this time. He uncorks it, examines it, smells it. Unsurprisingly, it doesn't smell like much. But then again, he's had the sneaking feeling his sense of smell isn't cooperating with him much better than his vision and mind have been. Everything is muted. Tired. But he isn't so gullible as to hope this means his tongue and throat will be indifferent, too.
After a deep breath to steel himself, he draws a little sip off the vial, trying to learn from his previous mistake of taking it all at once. Maybe it's a bit like eating hot sauce: smaller quantities burn less?
There is food in his belly and a relatively peaceful feeling throughout the rest of his body and then, abruptly, these things are no more. A slush of gray porridge and water dumps violently on the floor, opposite the side as where Master Eris is seated. Gabe nearly spills the rest of the vial's contents all over the bed as a coughing fit seizes him too, but he has just enough presence of mind to thrust it out to the wizard as he twists to heave again. These strained attempts happen several more times in futility; everything that was in his stomach is not, now. Including the silvery threads of this morning's dose.
When he's caught his breath from the forceful expulsion, Gabe's eyes remain glued to his vomit in shame. He rasps an apology.
"I'm sorry, sir… Sorry you had to see." Sorry that the breakfast was pointless, sorry he wasted half a dose of something so precious, and especially sorry he has to get the rest of it inside of himself even if it must be forced down his throat.
If not for the sudden weakness that drags him down like the undertow in Lake Trickster, he'd offer to clean the floor himself. But if he tried to get up now, he'd only land on his face. He knows this because as he lifts his trembling hand to wipe acrid wetness from his lips, it barely cooperates with him before he must drop it again. He drops the rest of his body back against the headboard, too, and squeezes his eyes shut.
He won't cry. He won't. It would be a waste of energy.
When he opens his eyes again, he lifts his head and gestures for the vial. "Will I… have to make the rest of the dose up? I will."
Whatever the wizard's answer, he's still got at least this vial ahead of him, and not enough resolve to do it with a roiling gut. "You remember what that Namon Root looked like, sir?"
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