"You sure did." Jon chuckles, tugging Timber along up the mountain. It isn't far now, and he's let Frost have a bit more of his head to quicken the pace toward home. Even if Maddox isn't in any real danger, haste is probably best in this situation. No need for him to suffer any more unnecessary stress. "We're all fine, though. Timber's still watchy, but he's always been the higher-strung of these two. He'll be fine once he's had a chance to realize there's no threat outside the one in his own head."
"There's nothing that says you can't be happy about this, it sounds like something important to you. Just knowing what I do about you and him, I'd say that the noise was justified, it just caught us all a little off guard is all." While they wind their way up through the canyon, the wizard continues to chatter, filling the cold evening air with the sound of his voice. It helps the horses settle, hearing the familiar voice of their master, even if that voice isn't being intentionally soothing. In fact, the chatter probably helps Jon settle too. He talks about the snow, how he loves the soft edges it gives to the world, how he never saw true snow until winter hit while he fought in The War of Frozen Fires, how he wishes he could have known its beauty before he knew it as a deadly threat to troops and horses alike, how he's glad he can enjoy it now.
Frost finally comes to a halt in front of the barn door, and Jon dismounts to open it and lead everyone inside. No sense having Gable off his horse when he can't see yet, and so he waits until everyone is indoors and the barn door is shut before announcing their arrival.
"The floor to your left is clear, Gable. I've tied Timber at the ring on the wall. Frost is on your right, but he isn't likely to move until his tack is off." This he says as he starts peeling off the stallion's saddle and pad, both of which are damp from the snow and stick a bit to his hair. Oh well. Things will dry. "Don't worry about untacking, I can take care of Timber. It... might be best to wait before heading inside if you can. I don't want you lost in a snowstorm overnight because you couldn't see your way to the house."
"There's nothing that says you can't be happy about this, it sounds like something important to you. Just knowing what I do about you and him, I'd say that the noise was justified, it just caught us all a little off guard is all." While they wind their way up through the canyon, the wizard continues to chatter, filling the cold evening air with the sound of his voice. It helps the horses settle, hearing the familiar voice of their master, even if that voice isn't being intentionally soothing. In fact, the chatter probably helps Jon settle too. He talks about the snow, how he loves the soft edges it gives to the world, how he never saw true snow until winter hit while he fought in The War of Frozen Fires, how he wishes he could have known its beauty before he knew it as a deadly threat to troops and horses alike, how he's glad he can enjoy it now.
Frost finally comes to a halt in front of the barn door, and Jon dismounts to open it and lead everyone inside. No sense having Gable off his horse when he can't see yet, and so he waits until everyone is indoors and the barn door is shut before announcing their arrival.
"The floor to your left is clear, Gable. I've tied Timber at the ring on the wall. Frost is on your right, but he isn't likely to move until his tack is off." This he says as he starts peeling off the stallion's saddle and pad, both of which are damp from the snow and stick a bit to his hair. Oh well. Things will dry. "Don't worry about untacking, I can take care of Timber. It... might be best to wait before heading inside if you can. I don't want you lost in a snowstorm overnight because you couldn't see your way to the house."
The wizard's voice does something to soothe Gabe along with the horses. It feels a bit like being charmed, he imagines, and it occurs to him that this may be the most anyone has said to him at one time (besides Lee, of course.) His head tips thoughtfully, and visions of the snowy world and distant battlefields interpose with the images his son continues sharing with him. He does his best to push impressions of comfort and reassurance to the cub, which must be working to some extent because Lee's grip slowly turns into another conversation rather than a terrified monologue.
The blindness begins dissipating by the time Lee can feel how close they've come to the estate. Once they're at the barn door, Gable can hear his own thoughts with clarity and see well enough that it's only as if he has sun spots dancing in his eyes. But even if he couldn't see, he can smell and hear exactly where they are: Home. Or very nearly.
"Sir, your arm. Let me help. I can see, sorta. I think he's getting the hang of things now." The young father can't suppress his glowing pride. He dismounts with only a slight stumble of dizziness, then hurries to steal the saddle and pad before Master Eris can do any more damage to himself. "For heaven's sake, Mr. Rex is going to hang me if he sees that sling off! With respect, sir, please put it on and go inside." A bit gentler he adds, "You're soaked. I'm close behind."
Determined to perform his duty, Gable insists on the wizard leaving and reassures him he does not believe Lee will overpower him again—but if they don't see each other in half an hour, he's welcome to come fish him out of the water trough. Hopefully this is taken as the joke he intends it to be.
-
Gable arrives in the library with wide eyes and flushed cheeks. He greets Ms. Ari and Mr. Rex and tosses the pastry bag to the latter without looking at either of them, then bee-lines for a specific chair and kneels on the floor to peer underneath it at his furry offspring. "Now what're you doin' under there, little muskrat?"
The chair produces a happy yipe moments before it releases a waggly, over-excited puppy. Gabe rolls to his back on the library floor and grins as the cub licks every crease, dip, and orifice of his face including his mouth—which still tastes like the soul of a delicious baked good. He makes no attempt to close his lips.
After a little while of relishing in that nonsense, he sits up and scoops the pup into his arms (Lee still trying to kiss him everywhere) and beams at the chief of staff. "Golly heck, that must have been a rude surprise for you two. How did it happen?"
The blindness begins dissipating by the time Lee can feel how close they've come to the estate. Once they're at the barn door, Gable can hear his own thoughts with clarity and see well enough that it's only as if he has sun spots dancing in his eyes. But even if he couldn't see, he can smell and hear exactly where they are: Home. Or very nearly.
"Sir, your arm. Let me help. I can see, sorta. I think he's getting the hang of things now." The young father can't suppress his glowing pride. He dismounts with only a slight stumble of dizziness, then hurries to steal the saddle and pad before Master Eris can do any more damage to himself. "For heaven's sake, Mr. Rex is going to hang me if he sees that sling off! With respect, sir, please put it on and go inside." A bit gentler he adds, "You're soaked. I'm close behind."
Determined to perform his duty, Gable insists on the wizard leaving and reassures him he does not believe Lee will overpower him again—but if they don't see each other in half an hour, he's welcome to come fish him out of the water trough. Hopefully this is taken as the joke he intends it to be.
-
Gable arrives in the library with wide eyes and flushed cheeks. He greets Ms. Ari and Mr. Rex and tosses the pastry bag to the latter without looking at either of them, then bee-lines for a specific chair and kneels on the floor to peer underneath it at his furry offspring. "Now what're you doin' under there, little muskrat?"
The chair produces a happy yipe moments before it releases a waggly, over-excited puppy. Gabe rolls to his back on the library floor and grins as the cub licks every crease, dip, and orifice of his face including his mouth—which still tastes like the soul of a delicious baked good. He makes no attempt to close his lips.
After a little while of relishing in that nonsense, he sits up and scoops the pup into his arms (Lee still trying to kiss him everywhere) and beams at the chief of staff. "Golly heck, that must have been a rude surprise for you two. How did it happen?"
Jonathan can't suppress the eye roll that accompanies Frost's saddle and pad being taken away from him. Neither can he really suppress the wince as the weight of the tack is taken off his arm. Now that they're home and everything has calmed down, relatively speaking, he's beginning to feel the ache again.
"It's probably buried in a few inches of snow by now, unfortunately." He shrugs, looking somewhere between nonchalant and almost, almost repentant. "I'm afraid I didn't hold onto it after I... actually I think I may have ripped it as well. So I probably couldn't tie it back up if I had kept it anyway. Ah well, old habits die hard, I suppose. I'm sure he'll forgive us eventually."
Ideally, with the shock of dealing with a wolf puppy, Maddox won't even notice the sling's absence, but Jon knows better than to bet on that sort of thing. Had he overreacted by tearing the sling off and tossing it to the ground? Possibly. But also, if there had been a real threat? The thing could have been a death sentence. He could still cast magic with one hand, quite easily, actually, but having his other arm bound close to his body was horrible for keeping balance, and an easy target for more sentient foes to grab, knowing he was hurt. Yes, throwing it away had been the right decision, he's convinced.
The only sound Jon makes to the joke about the water trough is a rough grunt as he reluctantly shambles into the house.
-
"What are we going to do, Ari?" Maddox is sprawled dramatically across the sofa with his arm over his eyes, after trying just about everything they could think of to try and convince Lee to turn back into a human child. Alas, all they've managed to do is scare him under a chair.
"Wait for Gable to get back." The elven woman shrugs, nudging his legs off the couch in order to make room for her to sit next to him. He just scrunches his knees up instead. Good enough. She sits down and takes a similar pose to his. "He should know what to do, right? It's his kid after all."
Both of them sit bolt upright when Gable enters the library, and even though both of them have their eyes on him, the pastry bag still hits Maddox in the face when it's thrown. The impact is, shockingly, not enough to snap the redhead out of his stupor. The emergence of the furry little toddler, however, does the trick. Only then does the chief of staff glance down at his lap where the bag of pastries has fallen, and stiffly, automatically, even, takes one out and sticks it in his mouth.
"He was asleep, actually." Ari supplies, seeing as Maddox's mouth is quite full of dough and icing at the moment. "Having a nightmare, near as we could tell. And then it just sort of... happened. His bones all popped out of place and then... the fur..."
-
It takes a minute or two for Jon to warm up once he steps into his quarters, during which he stands and stares at a spot on the wall while he waits for his mind to reset itself. Gods, when did he get so tired? He releases a long, deep sigh as he sheds his coat. It's absolutely saturated. He's still freezing, even after stripping down, toweling himself off, and changing clothes completely. He spends some time in front of the fire. It doesn't help. His bare toes are chilly and pink, but the thought of putting socks or slippers on makes his teeth itch.
Eventually, he just accepts the chill and heads downstairs to the library.
Luckily, he finds Gabe already there and cuddling his puppy (it's... smaller than he anticipated). If he hadn't made in yet, it would have been Maddox's bad fortune to be sent out into the cold to look for him. The wizard is already barefoot and content to stay indoors for the night, and he has no plans to change that. Perhaps also luckily, the redhead seems occupied with the pastries they brought back, and so doesn't immediately notice the absence of the sling. At least, not yet.
Quietly, he pads over to his desk and sits down, burying his toes in the fleece rug beneath his feet.
"It's probably buried in a few inches of snow by now, unfortunately." He shrugs, looking somewhere between nonchalant and almost, almost repentant. "I'm afraid I didn't hold onto it after I... actually I think I may have ripped it as well. So I probably couldn't tie it back up if I had kept it anyway. Ah well, old habits die hard, I suppose. I'm sure he'll forgive us eventually."
Ideally, with the shock of dealing with a wolf puppy, Maddox won't even notice the sling's absence, but Jon knows better than to bet on that sort of thing. Had he overreacted by tearing the sling off and tossing it to the ground? Possibly. But also, if there had been a real threat? The thing could have been a death sentence. He could still cast magic with one hand, quite easily, actually, but having his other arm bound close to his body was horrible for keeping balance, and an easy target for more sentient foes to grab, knowing he was hurt. Yes, throwing it away had been the right decision, he's convinced.
The only sound Jon makes to the joke about the water trough is a rough grunt as he reluctantly shambles into the house.
-
"What are we going to do, Ari?" Maddox is sprawled dramatically across the sofa with his arm over his eyes, after trying just about everything they could think of to try and convince Lee to turn back into a human child. Alas, all they've managed to do is scare him under a chair.
"Wait for Gable to get back." The elven woman shrugs, nudging his legs off the couch in order to make room for her to sit next to him. He just scrunches his knees up instead. Good enough. She sits down and takes a similar pose to his. "He should know what to do, right? It's his kid after all."
Both of them sit bolt upright when Gable enters the library, and even though both of them have their eyes on him, the pastry bag still hits Maddox in the face when it's thrown. The impact is, shockingly, not enough to snap the redhead out of his stupor. The emergence of the furry little toddler, however, does the trick. Only then does the chief of staff glance down at his lap where the bag of pastries has fallen, and stiffly, automatically, even, takes one out and sticks it in his mouth.
"He was asleep, actually." Ari supplies, seeing as Maddox's mouth is quite full of dough and icing at the moment. "Having a nightmare, near as we could tell. And then it just sort of... happened. His bones all popped out of place and then... the fur..."
-
It takes a minute or two for Jon to warm up once he steps into his quarters, during which he stands and stares at a spot on the wall while he waits for his mind to reset itself. Gods, when did he get so tired? He releases a long, deep sigh as he sheds his coat. It's absolutely saturated. He's still freezing, even after stripping down, toweling himself off, and changing clothes completely. He spends some time in front of the fire. It doesn't help. His bare toes are chilly and pink, but the thought of putting socks or slippers on makes his teeth itch.
Eventually, he just accepts the chill and heads downstairs to the library.
Luckily, he finds Gabe already there and cuddling his puppy (it's... smaller than he anticipated). If he hadn't made in yet, it would have been Maddox's bad fortune to be sent out into the cold to look for him. The wizard is already barefoot and content to stay indoors for the night, and he has no plans to change that. Perhaps also luckily, the redhead seems occupied with the pastries they brought back, and so doesn't immediately notice the absence of the sling. At least, not yet.
Quietly, he pads over to his desk and sits down, burying his toes in the fleece rug beneath his feet.
"Asleep? So that's why you were so fouled up," Gable murmurs to the child with a pitying chuckle. A nightmare is an obvious catalyst; and then it must have been a disorienting shock to wake up in a different body for the first time. Lee probably doesn't even know what it had felt like or how to change back. Gable concentrates silently for a moment, doing his best to send a mental prompt without letting his own body change shape. The feeling he tries to convey is a bit more complex than learning how to write the alphabet or whistle, though… and nothing happens. The puppy yawns.
Gable sighs. How had Melchiades always forced him to shift when he was a child? It used to feel like having a button pushed at the back of his skull, or someone's warm hands pulling it out of him; like being helped out of a muddy ditch, or being filled up with a pitcher of cool water... But none of that makes any sense to him now. Looking up, Gabe nods to the bag Maddox is holding, then looks to the cook. "Please help yourself, Ms. Ari. I've already had mine. Thank you both for all you've done. I think I oughtta get dried off and try to convince this pipsqueak to change back in time for dinner…"
Carrying the cub by the middle of its back like a sack of small potatoes, he grins at Master Eris on his way by and lifts the limp puppy to show him off. Lee's tail continues to wag unceasingly.
-
In the privacy of their room, Gable is eventually successful in coaching Lee on how to shift and de-shift at will, but it comes at a cost: the boy insists on remaining naked in order to exercise his free will at every whim. Following a brief, patient explanation of why this would be very rude to their host as well as the rest of the household (and a not-so-untrue statement about dessert foods making little wolves sick but little boys happy) Lee attends dinner in his twoleg attire. Everyone at the table hears about his library adventure. His father sits quite rigidly and avoids eye contact with anyone who shows interest, disdain or… any other emotion in their general direction.
After the tot has been tucked in for the night (although unlikely to fall asleep any time soon) Gabe returns to the library to see if Master Eris might still be awake. The arcane primer the wizard had lent him is tucked against his chest and his thumb worries restlessly over the wolf-shaped tuner.
Gable sighs. How had Melchiades always forced him to shift when he was a child? It used to feel like having a button pushed at the back of his skull, or someone's warm hands pulling it out of him; like being helped out of a muddy ditch, or being filled up with a pitcher of cool water... But none of that makes any sense to him now. Looking up, Gabe nods to the bag Maddox is holding, then looks to the cook. "Please help yourself, Ms. Ari. I've already had mine. Thank you both for all you've done. I think I oughtta get dried off and try to convince this pipsqueak to change back in time for dinner…"
Carrying the cub by the middle of its back like a sack of small potatoes, he grins at Master Eris on his way by and lifts the limp puppy to show him off. Lee's tail continues to wag unceasingly.
-
In the privacy of their room, Gable is eventually successful in coaching Lee on how to shift and de-shift at will, but it comes at a cost: the boy insists on remaining naked in order to exercise his free will at every whim. Following a brief, patient explanation of why this would be very rude to their host as well as the rest of the household (and a not-so-untrue statement about dessert foods making little wolves sick but little boys happy) Lee attends dinner in his twoleg attire. Everyone at the table hears about his library adventure. His father sits quite rigidly and avoids eye contact with anyone who shows interest, disdain or… any other emotion in their general direction.
After the tot has been tucked in for the night (although unlikely to fall asleep any time soon) Gabe returns to the library to see if Master Eris might still be awake. The arcane primer the wizard had lent him is tucked against his chest and his thumb worries restlessly over the wolf-shaped tuner.
Jon can't help the tired smile that escapes him at Lee's little tail wagging like crazy as he's held aloft in his father's hand. In all honesty he wasn't expecting him to be so small, given what he knew of Gable's shape changes. But then again, if the father had two forms of lycanthropy and the son had only one, it would make sense for there to be differences... The wizard sighs once the stable master leaves, rubbing his hand over the side of his face. He's far too tired to think about the nuances of such things right now.
When he looks up again, Maddox has lost his dazed expression and is looking at him with something between disappointment and... actually no, it's just disappointment. It's been tinged slightly with a bit of bliss from the pastry, possibly, but the emotion is there nonetheless. Ari, luckily, is lost completely in the joy of consuming her share of the sweet treats, and so doesn't join Maddox's accusatory interrogation.
"What happened to your sling?"
"Lost it." He shrugs, deciding that deception won't get him anywhere good tonight. "Gable shouted when he felt Lee turn, I thought he saw something in the woods somewhere, so I tore it off in case we needed to fight. Forgot to pick it back up once he told me what was happening, figured it was more important we get back here quickly..."
Jon stares at his splinted arm where it rests on his desk. It hurts, but not worse than it did this morning. Hopefully that means he hasn't exacerbated anything, but it still isn't a pleasant feeling. He shivers, wrapping his robe a little tighter around himself. Still chilled, then.
"Guess I'll go find you a new one." The redhead's response is tired more than anything, apparently ceding the point that Jon's actions had been warranted at the time. The wizard quietly counts that as a victory, while Maddox shuffles out of the room and down to one of the supply closets.
"I imagine you'll be wanting to take your supper in here tonight, sir?" Ari asks politely as she rises from her spot on the couch. There are crumbs on her dress, but she brushes them off.
"Please. I don't think I have the energy for conversation this evening."
"Understood. I'll bring it over in half an hour or so. Is there anything else you need before I'm off to the kitchen?"
"Would you mind passing me that blanket? I'm freezing"
She frowns. "It's covered in crumbs, let me get you a clean one."
Jon shrugs, but doesn't argue when she bundles up the gray throw and totes it out to be washed.
-
By the time Gable returns to the library, Jon has finished his own dinner and is bundled up in a clean blue throw made of thick, heavy knit. Maddox has affixed a fresh sling around his shoulders, so his arm is back where it belongs. The tray that previously bore his dinner is perched at the edge of the desk, empty bowl and clean spoon sat next to the little brown bottle filled with little white tablets that Maddox ensured would be available. He hasn't taken any, yet, but he plans to once they've taken care of the shield issue.
"Oh good, you didn't forget." He gives the man a tired smile, and gestures to the seat he previously occupied the first time they built his mental barriers. Normally he might take the time to make this another lesson, another teaching moment. But tonight he is far too tired to bother. "Shall we get down to it?"
When he looks up again, Maddox has lost his dazed expression and is looking at him with something between disappointment and... actually no, it's just disappointment. It's been tinged slightly with a bit of bliss from the pastry, possibly, but the emotion is there nonetheless. Ari, luckily, is lost completely in the joy of consuming her share of the sweet treats, and so doesn't join Maddox's accusatory interrogation.
"What happened to your sling?"
"Lost it." He shrugs, deciding that deception won't get him anywhere good tonight. "Gable shouted when he felt Lee turn, I thought he saw something in the woods somewhere, so I tore it off in case we needed to fight. Forgot to pick it back up once he told me what was happening, figured it was more important we get back here quickly..."
Jon stares at his splinted arm where it rests on his desk. It hurts, but not worse than it did this morning. Hopefully that means he hasn't exacerbated anything, but it still isn't a pleasant feeling. He shivers, wrapping his robe a little tighter around himself. Still chilled, then.
"Guess I'll go find you a new one." The redhead's response is tired more than anything, apparently ceding the point that Jon's actions had been warranted at the time. The wizard quietly counts that as a victory, while Maddox shuffles out of the room and down to one of the supply closets.
"I imagine you'll be wanting to take your supper in here tonight, sir?" Ari asks politely as she rises from her spot on the couch. There are crumbs on her dress, but she brushes them off.
"Please. I don't think I have the energy for conversation this evening."
"Understood. I'll bring it over in half an hour or so. Is there anything else you need before I'm off to the kitchen?"
"Would you mind passing me that blanket? I'm freezing"
She frowns. "It's covered in crumbs, let me get you a clean one."
Jon shrugs, but doesn't argue when she bundles up the gray throw and totes it out to be washed.
-
By the time Gable returns to the library, Jon has finished his own dinner and is bundled up in a clean blue throw made of thick, heavy knit. Maddox has affixed a fresh sling around his shoulders, so his arm is back where it belongs. The tray that previously bore his dinner is perched at the edge of the desk, empty bowl and clean spoon sat next to the little brown bottle filled with little white tablets that Maddox ensured would be available. He hasn't taken any, yet, but he plans to once they've taken care of the shield issue.
"Oh good, you didn't forget." He gives the man a tired smile, and gestures to the seat he previously occupied the first time they built his mental barriers. Normally he might take the time to make this another lesson, another teaching moment. But tonight he is far too tired to bother. "Shall we get down to it?"
"Tough to forget what's buzzing in your own head, sir." Gable means no disrespect in stating the obvious and adds a small smile to promise as much. He hurries to obey the wizard's gesture and takes his place in the chair, but pauses to set the tuner and primer on the desk (and line them up neatly, with the miniature wolf's face pointed in full attention at Master Eris) then Gabe leans slightly forward on his crossed arms. There are stars in his eyes again.
"Lee's a natural," he gushes quietly. "He wanted to run around buck naked but I told him that would be impolite, so we've made an agreement that he can do so in the privacy of our room whenever he pleases. And maybe the barn, too, since I'm sure he'd spend all his time in the fur, anyway. I was the same way. But he has to ask permission before stripping there. And that little dragon of yours seems awful thrilled to have a playmate his own size, you bet, and he even picked Lee up—which is a bit worrisome, to be honest, but I still trust him somehow. He's like a little… hen."
He studies the wizard bundled in his blanket with his arm in a sling. His gaze dips over to the brown bottle, then he notes the exhaustion drawing Master Eris's face. His smile falls and he sits back. "You're hurting."
"Lee's a natural," he gushes quietly. "He wanted to run around buck naked but I told him that would be impolite, so we've made an agreement that he can do so in the privacy of our room whenever he pleases. And maybe the barn, too, since I'm sure he'd spend all his time in the fur, anyway. I was the same way. But he has to ask permission before stripping there. And that little dragon of yours seems awful thrilled to have a playmate his own size, you bet, and he even picked Lee up—which is a bit worrisome, to be honest, but I still trust him somehow. He's like a little… hen."
He studies the wizard bundled in his blanket with his arm in a sling. His gaze dips over to the brown bottle, then he notes the exhaustion drawing Master Eris's face. His smile falls and he sits back. "You're hurting."
"A fair point." He says with a soft smile. The wizard watches as both the book and the tuner he had previously given Gable are set out on the desk, meticulously lined up as most things on the dark wooden surface are. He sits and listens to the man gush for a moment, happy to see a little light in his eyes for once. It's probably the most animated he's seen him since before the whole moon incident. "I'm glad to hear he's adapting so well to this newfound part of him. I never would have pegged him for the sort, but it's good that Jasper seems to be keeping himself busy doting on Lee. If it keeps his mischievous streak in check, I'd happily call that a success."
Jon doesn't know how to respond to Gabe's last comment, and so he doesn't, at least not up front. A fleeting expression of frustration mixed with something like regret is all he gets for now, fleeting because it is promptly replaced with a disdainful glare toward the brown bottle. Why can't Maddox just leave the blasted thing in his quarters where it belongs?
"Because even if you need it, you won't use it if it isn't within arm's reach." The redhead's voice reminds him, filtering in out of memory. "Any excuse not to take it, even if that excuse is that you have to get up to go get it. You'd rather be in pain than be inconvenienced."
The correction to that assumption had been swift and stern, but it still hurt that Maddox had said it. He didn't like being in pain. But he'd rather be in pain than be reminded of his own fragility. As long as he could bear through it without the crutch of that little brown bottle, he could at least still think of himself as a man still worthy of living life, not yet the decrepit elder he feared to become. He doesn't like that it makes him feel vulnerable.
"I... am." The admission is probably more painful than the bodily ache itself, but he's demanded honesty from Gable, and it would make him a hypocrite to start hiding things himself. "I've overexerted myself these past few days, and now I am paying the price for it. This old body doesn't bounce back the way it used to, to my great regret."
The wizard pushes himself out of his chair with a grunt, adjusting the throw around his shoulders as best he can with only one free arm. Much as he wants to just sit in front of a warm fire bundled up in his blanket and read a book, there are shields to construct, and he's the only one who can build them. Gabe has gone long enough without, it'd be cruel to make him wait any longer, and so he ambles around his desk to stand behind the man, like he did the first time they went through this process, feeding a little of his magic into the wolf to wake it up. The tuner starts its song, and Jon presses his only working hand to the back of the younger man's head.
"Just like last time, let me know when the wolf goes silent."
When he reaches for the arcane energy he needs to build the shields, he finds his reserves shallower than expected. He sucks in a breath at the realization: there won't be enough. He can make it work, though. He always has. Even if it isn't as robust as the last one, even if he has to borrow from Blackstaff, he can at least make something, that much he's confident in.
Jon doesn't know how to respond to Gabe's last comment, and so he doesn't, at least not up front. A fleeting expression of frustration mixed with something like regret is all he gets for now, fleeting because it is promptly replaced with a disdainful glare toward the brown bottle. Why can't Maddox just leave the blasted thing in his quarters where it belongs?
"Because even if you need it, you won't use it if it isn't within arm's reach." The redhead's voice reminds him, filtering in out of memory. "Any excuse not to take it, even if that excuse is that you have to get up to go get it. You'd rather be in pain than be inconvenienced."
The correction to that assumption had been swift and stern, but it still hurt that Maddox had said it. He didn't like being in pain. But he'd rather be in pain than be reminded of his own fragility. As long as he could bear through it without the crutch of that little brown bottle, he could at least still think of himself as a man still worthy of living life, not yet the decrepit elder he feared to become. He doesn't like that it makes him feel vulnerable.
"I... am." The admission is probably more painful than the bodily ache itself, but he's demanded honesty from Gable, and it would make him a hypocrite to start hiding things himself. "I've overexerted myself these past few days, and now I am paying the price for it. This old body doesn't bounce back the way it used to, to my great regret."
The wizard pushes himself out of his chair with a grunt, adjusting the throw around his shoulders as best he can with only one free arm. Much as he wants to just sit in front of a warm fire bundled up in his blanket and read a book, there are shields to construct, and he's the only one who can build them. Gabe has gone long enough without, it'd be cruel to make him wait any longer, and so he ambles around his desk to stand behind the man, like he did the first time they went through this process, feeding a little of his magic into the wolf to wake it up. The tuner starts its song, and Jon presses his only working hand to the back of the younger man's head.
"Just like last time, let me know when the wolf goes silent."
When he reaches for the arcane energy he needs to build the shields, he finds his reserves shallower than expected. He sucks in a breath at the realization: there won't be enough. He can make it work, though. He always has. Even if it isn't as robust as the last one, even if he has to borrow from Blackstaff, he can at least make something, that much he's confident in.
"Whatever mischief Jasper's got in him, I think it's been exactly what Lee needed in a friend. He's had his share of upset this past week, but I see some changes in him for the better. And I'm very grateful."
Catching the dirty look Master Eris shoots to the sinless brown bottle, he gives the wizard a taste of his own medicine—not the bitter kind, but an eye roll—and chuckles in friendly exasperation. "I sure hope caring about you isn't grounds for dismissal, sir. You won't have any staff left."
Gable nods his head wisely at the wizard's admission, though he is full of youth and cannot relate personally to the aches and challenges of a body wearing thin. He has spent plenty of time in the presence of old folk, however, and they all sound much the same: dispensing wisdom and complaints in turn. Likewise, the bubbling fount of youthful passion and rage must all sound the same to someone who's been around for over two hundred years... Taking the wizard at face value, Gable never would have guessed so much history lived inside of that mind. But looking into his eyes, feeling the weight of his magic… It gave one the sense of standing in a sacred place, the way abandoned structures in the middle of a wide spaciousness could feel sometimes. Like their souls had weathered every storm imaginable while the world around them disintegrated, and yet they would stand firm for a few more storms yet.
But one never knows which storm will be the last.
"Sir," Gabe murmurs, ducking away from the comforting touch on his head and the relief he knows it will bring. He turns in the chair and studies Master Eris for a moment with his lips parted, hesitant to assert his opinion, no matter how friendly they seem to have gotten over the past few hours. But it's more than just an opinion, and if they truly are friends, then he'd be negligent not to speak his mind. "You look a bit… gray. I don't like it."
Catching the dirty look Master Eris shoots to the sinless brown bottle, he gives the wizard a taste of his own medicine—not the bitter kind, but an eye roll—and chuckles in friendly exasperation. "I sure hope caring about you isn't grounds for dismissal, sir. You won't have any staff left."
Gable nods his head wisely at the wizard's admission, though he is full of youth and cannot relate personally to the aches and challenges of a body wearing thin. He has spent plenty of time in the presence of old folk, however, and they all sound much the same: dispensing wisdom and complaints in turn. Likewise, the bubbling fount of youthful passion and rage must all sound the same to someone who's been around for over two hundred years... Taking the wizard at face value, Gable never would have guessed so much history lived inside of that mind. But looking into his eyes, feeling the weight of his magic… It gave one the sense of standing in a sacred place, the way abandoned structures in the middle of a wide spaciousness could feel sometimes. Like their souls had weathered every storm imaginable while the world around them disintegrated, and yet they would stand firm for a few more storms yet.
But one never knows which storm will be the last.
"Sir," Gabe murmurs, ducking away from the comforting touch on his head and the relief he knows it will bring. He turns in the chair and studies Master Eris for a moment with his lips parted, hesitant to assert his opinion, no matter how friendly they seem to have gotten over the past few hours. But it's more than just an opinion, and if they truly are friends, then he'd be negligent not to speak his mind. "You look a bit… gray. I don't like it."
“Sit down, Gabe.” The wizard does his best to be reassuring, reaching forward to grab the man’s shoulder and turn him back around. It’ll be easier to concentrate if he doesn’t have to think about being watched, especially if things don’t go smoothly. “It’s nothing to concern yourself with. I am simply tired and chilled from riding through the weather this evening. I’m not about to expire just from being out in a little snow.”
He waits patiently for the lad to settle back in his seat before he tries again, opening the floodgates to pour forth his magic into Gable. It comes out as a trickle when there should be a roaring river. He’s spent more of himself today than he had planned to, with needing the mage hand so much and the extra time spent maintaining the fire in his other hand whilst shoeing the horses. Simple, low-cost spells normally, but having to continually feed magic into them all day had come at a cost. And that isn’t even considering the physical energy he’s spent today. It isn’t anything compared to what he would spend in the sparring circle, but it isn’t insignificant either, especially combined with the arcane exhaustion.
Jon takes a deep, steadying breath, then gets to work.
It goes alright, at first. He starts the same way as he did the first time, with a loose, gauzy structure that resembles a fish net. But as he starts filling in the holes, stretching and twisting the material into something stronger and less porous, it resists. There is not enough. So he gives more, urging the last dregs of what he has left to come and fill in the gaps, and it feels like he’s peeling off his own skin. He winces, and his eyes water. Just a little more, he can feel his heart speeding up. Nearly, nearly there. He almost has enough, it’s still too flimsy to hold up to much. He needs more, but not from Blackstaff, at least not if he can help it. She doesn’t like Gable, she won’t approve, and so he gives more, scraping everything he can out of himself, making himself hollow. He can hear himself breathing hard, but it sounds far away. It isn’t enough.
His vision flickers gray, but only for a moment before it is gone entirely, and he collapses, unconscious, on the library floor.
He waits patiently for the lad to settle back in his seat before he tries again, opening the floodgates to pour forth his magic into Gable. It comes out as a trickle when there should be a roaring river. He’s spent more of himself today than he had planned to, with needing the mage hand so much and the extra time spent maintaining the fire in his other hand whilst shoeing the horses. Simple, low-cost spells normally, but having to continually feed magic into them all day had come at a cost. And that isn’t even considering the physical energy he’s spent today. It isn’t anything compared to what he would spend in the sparring circle, but it isn’t insignificant either, especially combined with the arcane exhaustion.
Jon takes a deep, steadying breath, then gets to work.
It goes alright, at first. He starts the same way as he did the first time, with a loose, gauzy structure that resembles a fish net. But as he starts filling in the holes, stretching and twisting the material into something stronger and less porous, it resists. There is not enough. So he gives more, urging the last dregs of what he has left to come and fill in the gaps, and it feels like he’s peeling off his own skin. He winces, and his eyes water. Just a little more, he can feel his heart speeding up. Nearly, nearly there. He almost has enough, it’s still too flimsy to hold up to much. He needs more, but not from Blackstaff, at least not if he can help it. She doesn’t like Gable, she won’t approve, and so he gives more, scraping everything he can out of himself, making himself hollow. He can hear himself breathing hard, but it sounds far away. It isn’t enough.
His vision flickers gray, but only for a moment before it is gone entirely, and he collapses, unconscious, on the library floor.
Plenty have died from the chills, Gable thinks, but turns obediently to face forward again. Master Eris has lived this long without him playing mother and he doesn't need him to start now. He lets his eyes close and tries to relax his shoulders. As soon as they're finished here, he'll make sure the wizard goes off to bed and he'll do the same. They both could do with a long winter's sleep.
The Master's power feels different this time and it takes Gable a moment to realize the work has already begun. The impression of soaring mountains and rushing gorges he'd felt last time is now diminished to the bubbling stream that winds its way through the garden. It is still Master Eris, still cool and wise and comforting, but almost…
Quicker, shallow breathing at his neck sparks him with alarm. "...Sir? Is it safe to stop now? Take a rest?" When the man ignores him, he figures it's pride until he feels the tremor in the hand at the base of his own skull.
"I-I can't hear it anymore. It's gone, you did it. Thank you." The lie is in one breath, almost desperate to make it stop even as his mind nearly reaches absolute peaceful quiet once again. Before he can twist around to beg Master Eris to stop, the wizard's weight knocks against him from behind and he grunts at the impact. There's only a moment to react—to reach backwards over his head with both arms and cling (cling) to a scrap of fabric. The position is awkward, his shoulders cramp immediately, and he's left holding the thick blue blanket as the wizard's body pulls away. The meaty clatter of bone edges and a skull meeting hardwood floor resounds like a gunshot in the silence.
"No." He's afraid to look. Petrified. He doesn't smell blood yet, but that isn't what he's afraid of seeing. Disbelief anchors him to the chair for as long as it takes to draw the next gasping breath, then Gable gets to the floor on his knees and hands beside the limp form.
"Sir? Sir. Sir, please. Master Eris." Waxy skin, pale lips, faint breath. Gable checks the signs just like he'd been taught: Hands are cold and damp. Pulse is thready. There's a heartbeat, but it's whispering. He unfastens the sling to move the weight of a useless arm away from the lungs, then rubs the chest in rough circles to warm the torso and stimulate the heart.
"Mr. Rex." The words are no louder than a kitten's mewl. He tries again a minute later, finding his voice while scooping the Master's slack body into his arms to move him to the couch. "Maddox! Ariathel!" The raspy bellows don't seem to draw the slightest bit of attention from any of the staff, let alone the ones he's calling for. Of course: The library's silencing spell.
Gable forgoes the couch and carries his unconscious mentor into the hallway, where his shouts garner a bit more attention. A maid with the largest round eyes he's ever seen vows to find their administrator and ducks off immediately. A kitchen aid offers to get a bowl of ice water to sprinkle on the Master's face.
"S-smelling salts," Gable hears himself say. "That would be better."
-
Although it was already open, Lorelei throws Mr. Rex's office door out of her way with such force, it hits the wall upon her entry. "It's Master Eris! That giant new man is haudin' him in his arms, yelling fir ye by the library. Something is terribly wrong, sir. He looked…" She stops short of uttering what they all fear.
-
Back in the library where he can get a solid piece of furniture under him before his knees give out, Gable takes a seat with the man cradled against his chest and continues rubbing life into him. He balances Master Eris's forehead along his cheek and takes count of the soft, soft breaths that hit his neck while holding his own. His eyes move without jerking the rest of his head away from its important position to look at Mr. Rex and the others when they file in through the library door.
He takes this as his cue to lay the wizard gently on the couch with his chin tipped back, then stumbles backward to let the others crowd around and do their best to rouse him.
Trembling fiercely he tells Maddox about the pallor, the Master's insistence, and all that followed. "It was like his magic ju-just-it just–" He makes a gesture like powder vanishing in the wind, then motions to the floor where the man went down. He sits heavily.
The Master's power feels different this time and it takes Gable a moment to realize the work has already begun. The impression of soaring mountains and rushing gorges he'd felt last time is now diminished to the bubbling stream that winds its way through the garden. It is still Master Eris, still cool and wise and comforting, but almost…
Quicker, shallow breathing at his neck sparks him with alarm. "...Sir? Is it safe to stop now? Take a rest?" When the man ignores him, he figures it's pride until he feels the tremor in the hand at the base of his own skull.
"I-I can't hear it anymore. It's gone, you did it. Thank you." The lie is in one breath, almost desperate to make it stop even as his mind nearly reaches absolute peaceful quiet once again. Before he can twist around to beg Master Eris to stop, the wizard's weight knocks against him from behind and he grunts at the impact. There's only a moment to react—to reach backwards over his head with both arms and cling (cling) to a scrap of fabric. The position is awkward, his shoulders cramp immediately, and he's left holding the thick blue blanket as the wizard's body pulls away. The meaty clatter of bone edges and a skull meeting hardwood floor resounds like a gunshot in the silence.
"No." He's afraid to look. Petrified. He doesn't smell blood yet, but that isn't what he's afraid of seeing. Disbelief anchors him to the chair for as long as it takes to draw the next gasping breath, then Gable gets to the floor on his knees and hands beside the limp form.
"Sir? Sir. Sir, please. Master Eris." Waxy skin, pale lips, faint breath. Gable checks the signs just like he'd been taught: Hands are cold and damp. Pulse is thready. There's a heartbeat, but it's whispering. He unfastens the sling to move the weight of a useless arm away from the lungs, then rubs the chest in rough circles to warm the torso and stimulate the heart.
"Mr. Rex." The words are no louder than a kitten's mewl. He tries again a minute later, finding his voice while scooping the Master's slack body into his arms to move him to the couch. "Maddox! Ariathel!" The raspy bellows don't seem to draw the slightest bit of attention from any of the staff, let alone the ones he's calling for. Of course: The library's silencing spell.
Gable forgoes the couch and carries his unconscious mentor into the hallway, where his shouts garner a bit more attention. A maid with the largest round eyes he's ever seen vows to find their administrator and ducks off immediately. A kitchen aid offers to get a bowl of ice water to sprinkle on the Master's face.
"S-smelling salts," Gable hears himself say. "That would be better."
-
Although it was already open, Lorelei throws Mr. Rex's office door out of her way with such force, it hits the wall upon her entry. "It's Master Eris! That giant new man is haudin' him in his arms, yelling fir ye by the library. Something is terribly wrong, sir. He looked…" She stops short of uttering what they all fear.
-
Back in the library where he can get a solid piece of furniture under him before his knees give out, Gable takes a seat with the man cradled against his chest and continues rubbing life into him. He balances Master Eris's forehead along his cheek and takes count of the soft, soft breaths that hit his neck while holding his own. His eyes move without jerking the rest of his head away from its important position to look at Mr. Rex and the others when they file in through the library door.
He takes this as his cue to lay the wizard gently on the couch with his chin tipped back, then stumbles backward to let the others crowd around and do their best to rouse him.
Trembling fiercely he tells Maddox about the pallor, the Master's insistence, and all that followed. "It was like his magic ju-just-it just–" He makes a gesture like powder vanishing in the wind, then motions to the floor where the man went down. He sits heavily.
Maddox is out of his chair and down the hall before Lorelei is even finished speaking. Her urgency and the location of their master is all he needs to know that something is terribly wrong, and he’s been around Black Pine long enough to know that in these sorts of situations, seconds count. It’s only a few strides for him and his long legs, but it still feels like far too great a distance for the circumstance.
Jon is unconscious, that much he can see from the doorway. Otherwise he’d never let himself be cradled so close to another. The old wizard is always shoving off touch like it burns him, keeping a strict distance between himself and others. The way his limp body settles on the sofa as Gable carefully arranges it makes his stomach flip. His hands are everywhere a heartbeat later: neck, wrist, chest, arm. The touch is cursory, quick and analytical. He knows what to look for, he can’t waste time being careful. He’s breathing, shallowly but it’s there. Heart still beats, albeit faintly. There’s a bruise forming on his temple, must’ve fallen hard, then. The realization that they might be dealing with a major head injury on top of everything causes him to go a bit pale himself.
“Dried up.” Maddox supplies, taking Jon’s clammy fingers in his own to bring a little more warmth into them. There is improvement, it’s just slow. He lets out a relieved sigh. “Coryn wrote it more eloquently than that. ‘As if the great deluge of the soul had dried to a trickle and then to nothing, leaving a barren, dusty riverbed in its wake.’ I’m not sensitive to magic the way you are, Mr. Kendall, but that’s how it was described to me. I think he’s just exhausted himself, between all the physical activity and spell casting he’s done today to aid with that, and the broken arm on top of it all… too much, too fast. Has anyone seen Ari?”
“I’m here!” She pipes up, parting the crowd of folks that have gathered in the library at hearing the commotion. She does her best to shoo people away as she can, back to work, back to your business, anything to get them out of the way so that Jon doesn’t come to with a sea of faces staring back at him. He’ll probably be fuzzy-headed enough without the added stimulus. The only people she doesn’t try to get rid of are Gable and Maddox.
“Do you have—“
“Yes.”
She presses a tiny glass bottle into his hands. The contents are mostly clear, but glow a faint blue in dimmer light. Maddox is gentle as he moves, peeling back Master Eris’s lip and pouring a few drops of the bottle’s contents into his mouth. The wizard’s throat bobs as the liquid goes down, and color blooms back into his cheeks a moment later, while his breaths audibly ease and deepen. By now Ari has managed to clear the room and latch shut the library doors, and it’s just as well, because the master of the house is beginning to stir.
“Jon?” Maddox calls softly when he sees the wizard’s eyelids flutter, then open as his gaze roves around the room, confusion evident in his expression.
It takes Jonathan a minute to remember. Where he is, what he was doing what happened… but it eventually comes back in trickles. Library. Shields. Gable. Then… a yawning chasm of black emptiness that makes his bones ache.
“Jon?”
“Mm.” He grunts back at Maddox, not quite confident that he has the kind of control over his tongue that he needs in order respond with words quite yet. Everything is still sort of… loose.
“Look at me, Jon.”
Begrudgingly, he does.
“Hm, good. Pupils are even and not absurdly large. Looks like you managed to avoid a concussion.” The redhead gives a relieved sigh.
"You alright, hun?" Ari asks as she finally takes notice of just how rattled Gable is, resting what she hopes is a comforting hand on his shoulder. "I know it's frightening, but he'll be alright. This isn't the first time this sort of thing has happened."
Jon is unconscious, that much he can see from the doorway. Otherwise he’d never let himself be cradled so close to another. The old wizard is always shoving off touch like it burns him, keeping a strict distance between himself and others. The way his limp body settles on the sofa as Gable carefully arranges it makes his stomach flip. His hands are everywhere a heartbeat later: neck, wrist, chest, arm. The touch is cursory, quick and analytical. He knows what to look for, he can’t waste time being careful. He’s breathing, shallowly but it’s there. Heart still beats, albeit faintly. There’s a bruise forming on his temple, must’ve fallen hard, then. The realization that they might be dealing with a major head injury on top of everything causes him to go a bit pale himself.
“Dried up.” Maddox supplies, taking Jon’s clammy fingers in his own to bring a little more warmth into them. There is improvement, it’s just slow. He lets out a relieved sigh. “Coryn wrote it more eloquently than that. ‘As if the great deluge of the soul had dried to a trickle and then to nothing, leaving a barren, dusty riverbed in its wake.’ I’m not sensitive to magic the way you are, Mr. Kendall, but that’s how it was described to me. I think he’s just exhausted himself, between all the physical activity and spell casting he’s done today to aid with that, and the broken arm on top of it all… too much, too fast. Has anyone seen Ari?”
“I’m here!” She pipes up, parting the crowd of folks that have gathered in the library at hearing the commotion. She does her best to shoo people away as she can, back to work, back to your business, anything to get them out of the way so that Jon doesn’t come to with a sea of faces staring back at him. He’ll probably be fuzzy-headed enough without the added stimulus. The only people she doesn’t try to get rid of are Gable and Maddox.
“Do you have—“
“Yes.”
She presses a tiny glass bottle into his hands. The contents are mostly clear, but glow a faint blue in dimmer light. Maddox is gentle as he moves, peeling back Master Eris’s lip and pouring a few drops of the bottle’s contents into his mouth. The wizard’s throat bobs as the liquid goes down, and color blooms back into his cheeks a moment later, while his breaths audibly ease and deepen. By now Ari has managed to clear the room and latch shut the library doors, and it’s just as well, because the master of the house is beginning to stir.
“Jon?” Maddox calls softly when he sees the wizard’s eyelids flutter, then open as his gaze roves around the room, confusion evident in his expression.
It takes Jonathan a minute to remember. Where he is, what he was doing what happened… but it eventually comes back in trickles. Library. Shields. Gable. Then… a yawning chasm of black emptiness that makes his bones ache.
“Jon?”
“Mm.” He grunts back at Maddox, not quite confident that he has the kind of control over his tongue that he needs in order respond with words quite yet. Everything is still sort of… loose.
“Look at me, Jon.”
Begrudgingly, he does.
“Hm, good. Pupils are even and not absurdly large. Looks like you managed to avoid a concussion.” The redhead gives a relieved sigh.
"You alright, hun?" Ari asks as she finally takes notice of just how rattled Gable is, resting what she hopes is a comforting hand on his shoulder. "I know it's frightening, but he'll be alright. This isn't the first time this sort of thing has happened."
Gable's teeth chatter and his arms are crossed tightly to keep himself from falling apart at the joints. His fixed stare never leaves Master Eris's position, even when there is a wall of other bodies blocking the view. He hangs on Mr. Rex's every word but shows no sign that it registers.
Death. It has such a particular look to it. Incomparable in every way, he'd been certain he recognized its grim signature written across the wizard's motionless face. Thank the gods he'd been mistaken; it was just memory playing tricks on him. But that dip in magic had felt like a spirit departing, and the sudden aloneness he experienced as Jonathan Eris's essence left his senses continues to reverberate as though it really happened.
He had dropped Master Eris on the floor. The floor. How that even happened, he couldn't remember, only that it had been in his power to help him and he didn't. He couldn't. Just like he had stood powerless as a different man had gasped his name, and Death, that ugly thing, took over those soft green eyes and made them like colorless stones. How many times he'd relived Prokopis's death he'd lost count, but in every version except reality, he shook off the frozen panic and did something to prevent it. Today he really did do something, but was it enough? Would Master Eris really be all right? Would it have gone any differently if someone better had sat in his place?
Of course it would have. They wouldn't have let him continue with the spell.
Gable's hundred-league stare lifts to the cook's face and blinks twice as he realizes she's speaking to him. He tries to form a smile in response to her reassurance, but it only passes for a grimace. His rasping whisper is even less convincing. "That's good. 'Scuse me."
While Mr. Rex's attention is still focused where it belongs, Gable turns his face away and attempts to slip out of the library unnoticed. His fumbling hands make discretion impossible, however; the rattling of the latch echoes softly like the quiet desperation of a trapped sparrow. If he can just make it to his own room, if he can avoid being seen anymore or spoken to or asked any questions about how he could have let this happen, and not think about the Master's pale lips and icy hands and that gut-wrenching clatter… the desolate riverbed that tasted of ash. "Sorry. I'm s-sorry," he murmurs, and pushes his way out of the heavy room.
The few who linger in the hallway rush him, but he denies knowing anything and hurries away.
-
Lee is not in the bed when he enters their room some time later, smelling of cold air and forest floor. The tiny naked boy is fast asleep on the floor with his favorite pine figures and the pseudo dragon guarding him from bad dreams. Gable considers how fortunate he is that Master Eris completed the shields before turmoil struck, or else Lee would have had to endure another big upset. On the other hand, none of them would have faced tonight's episode if the shields had just been left for another time. Stubborn old man.
He drapes the blanket from the bed around his son and Jasper, then curls himself around them.
-
In the morning, a turbulent mixture of shame and resentment guides Gable back to the library. Although he hoped to see Master Eris upright and sorting papers (fit enough to hear a piece of Gable's mind) he isn't surprised to find the desk empty. Hopefully this means the wizard is finally getting the rest he needs. He tips his head into the doorway of Mr. Rex's office instead and taps lightly to announce himself.
"Did he get to bed all right?"
Death. It has such a particular look to it. Incomparable in every way, he'd been certain he recognized its grim signature written across the wizard's motionless face. Thank the gods he'd been mistaken; it was just memory playing tricks on him. But that dip in magic had felt like a spirit departing, and the sudden aloneness he experienced as Jonathan Eris's essence left his senses continues to reverberate as though it really happened.
He had dropped Master Eris on the floor. The floor. How that even happened, he couldn't remember, only that it had been in his power to help him and he didn't. He couldn't. Just like he had stood powerless as a different man had gasped his name, and Death, that ugly thing, took over those soft green eyes and made them like colorless stones. How many times he'd relived Prokopis's death he'd lost count, but in every version except reality, he shook off the frozen panic and did something to prevent it. Today he really did do something, but was it enough? Would Master Eris really be all right? Would it have gone any differently if someone better had sat in his place?
Of course it would have. They wouldn't have let him continue with the spell.
Gable's hundred-league stare lifts to the cook's face and blinks twice as he realizes she's speaking to him. He tries to form a smile in response to her reassurance, but it only passes for a grimace. His rasping whisper is even less convincing. "That's good. 'Scuse me."
While Mr. Rex's attention is still focused where it belongs, Gable turns his face away and attempts to slip out of the library unnoticed. His fumbling hands make discretion impossible, however; the rattling of the latch echoes softly like the quiet desperation of a trapped sparrow. If he can just make it to his own room, if he can avoid being seen anymore or spoken to or asked any questions about how he could have let this happen, and not think about the Master's pale lips and icy hands and that gut-wrenching clatter… the desolate riverbed that tasted of ash. "Sorry. I'm s-sorry," he murmurs, and pushes his way out of the heavy room.
The few who linger in the hallway rush him, but he denies knowing anything and hurries away.
-
Lee is not in the bed when he enters their room some time later, smelling of cold air and forest floor. The tiny naked boy is fast asleep on the floor with his favorite pine figures and the pseudo dragon guarding him from bad dreams. Gable considers how fortunate he is that Master Eris completed the shields before turmoil struck, or else Lee would have had to endure another big upset. On the other hand, none of them would have faced tonight's episode if the shields had just been left for another time. Stubborn old man.
He drapes the blanket from the bed around his son and Jasper, then curls himself around them.
-
In the morning, a turbulent mixture of shame and resentment guides Gable back to the library. Although he hoped to see Master Eris upright and sorting papers (fit enough to hear a piece of Gable's mind) he isn't surprised to find the desk empty. Hopefully this means the wizard is finally getting the rest he needs. He tips his head into the doorway of Mr. Rex's office instead and taps lightly to announce himself.
"Did he get to bed all right?"
Jonathan grunts, trying to push himself upright as his eyes follow Gabe’s form to the door. He recognizes guilt when he sees it, he needs to make sure the man doesn’t blame himself for what happened, but Maddox’s stern words and strong hold on his shoulder mean he won’t be following the stable master right now.
“You can get up once you’re with it enough to utter a full sentence, a coherent one, and even then we’re taking things slow.”
“Hmph.”
“I know.”
“How are you feeling?” Ari asks, after giving the library door a concerned look. She’s worried about Gable, but she’s more worried about Jon right now. “Head alright? Looks like you probably hit it when you fell.”
“Hurts.” The wizard grumbles, clenching his fists to try and coax feeling back into them. He drags his hand lightly along his shoulder, arm, and hip. It’s the same side that the bruise at his temple is on, and unluckily enough the broken arm as well. “Here too.”
Maddox hastily peels back what he can of Jon’s clothes to inspect the indicated areas. From what he can tell, it will probably end up developing into a mosaic of bruising over time, but there doesn’t seem to be any more severe damage than that. The discovery fills him with even more relief. Just bruises. No concussion. The arm still seems to be set correctly, although he’ll verify that once Jon is in bed and properly resting, hopefully with a pain pill on board to keep him comfortable. And asleep.
It takes another few minutes for Jon to gather his faculties, during which he almost falls asleep twice but is woken by soft touches from Maddox. Eventually, he clears his throat:
“I’d like to get up now, if I may.”
“I suppose we can allow that.” Ari responds with a smirk, while the two of them help their master to sit up, then shakily stand to his feet.
“Cheeky.” He grumbles and sticks his tongue out, but the effect is somewhat lost with him supported between his two senior staff members this way, especially every time he winces after being jostled wrong.
By some miracle, the three of them manage to trudge up the stairs to the third floor without being gawked at too much. There are people around, of course, but they make a point to look away as their master passes, and he makes a point to look at the floor, so he doesn’t have to look them in the eye, and so he can keep his balance. The second the door to his quarters latches behind them, he feels like a weight has settled on his shoulders. He feels atrocious. Shaky and weak, his entire body hurts, and he can’t focus on any one thought long enough to decide where he wants to land for the night. He doesn’t complain when Maddox guides him toward bed.
Sapphire immediately knows something is wrong. Her master, her caretaker, he smells all wrong. She bounds up to him and sniffs every surface she can reach without jumping up on him: he’s too fragile for that right now. He smells stale, like the magic that leaks from him like water is… tainted. Barely there, and unusable, like wet firewood. She lets out a little whine, following behind as he shuffles to the bed, waiting just long enough for for the red-bearded man to help him out of his coat before he sits down with far more force than he ought to. His legs are shaking, and this makes the dragon matriarch worry more.
Eventually, after a long and intricate dance of holding, grabbing, wriggling and supporting, Ari and Maddox manage to get the wizard tucked into bed and medicated. That he doesn’t even complain when presented with the little brown bottle and a cup of tepid tea is a testament to how much pain he is actually in. He falls asleep not long later, with Sapphire sprawled out across his legs, and leaving his teacup half full.
-
Maddox looks up when Gable knocks on his door the next morning, luckily intercepting him during his brief interlude in his office. The smile he gives the man is strained, but it’s a smile nonetheless. Looking closely, it’s clear from the dark circles under his eyes and the somewhat unkept lay of his hair that the redhead didn’t sleep well last night, if he slept at all, considering he’s in the same clothes he wore yesterday.
“He did.” The chief of staff starts simply, fiddling with the handful of books and loose papers he’d been about to carry. “Sapphire is keeping him company right now, but I’m planning to take some work up there so I can sit with him for today.”
He doesn’t say anything about finding the skin of the wizard’s arm red and hot when he checked to make sure the bones didn’t move when he fell. He doesn’t mention how their master shook like a leaf all night, babbling in a language neither he nor Ari understood or even recognized as his fever burned hotter and hotter. He especially says nothing about how many times they both thought about how to word the letter to The Court if Jon didn’t make it through the night.
“You can get up once you’re with it enough to utter a full sentence, a coherent one, and even then we’re taking things slow.”
“Hmph.”
“I know.”
“How are you feeling?” Ari asks, after giving the library door a concerned look. She’s worried about Gable, but she’s more worried about Jon right now. “Head alright? Looks like you probably hit it when you fell.”
“Hurts.” The wizard grumbles, clenching his fists to try and coax feeling back into them. He drags his hand lightly along his shoulder, arm, and hip. It’s the same side that the bruise at his temple is on, and unluckily enough the broken arm as well. “Here too.”
Maddox hastily peels back what he can of Jon’s clothes to inspect the indicated areas. From what he can tell, it will probably end up developing into a mosaic of bruising over time, but there doesn’t seem to be any more severe damage than that. The discovery fills him with even more relief. Just bruises. No concussion. The arm still seems to be set correctly, although he’ll verify that once Jon is in bed and properly resting, hopefully with a pain pill on board to keep him comfortable. And asleep.
It takes another few minutes for Jon to gather his faculties, during which he almost falls asleep twice but is woken by soft touches from Maddox. Eventually, he clears his throat:
“I’d like to get up now, if I may.”
“I suppose we can allow that.” Ari responds with a smirk, while the two of them help their master to sit up, then shakily stand to his feet.
“Cheeky.” He grumbles and sticks his tongue out, but the effect is somewhat lost with him supported between his two senior staff members this way, especially every time he winces after being jostled wrong.
By some miracle, the three of them manage to trudge up the stairs to the third floor without being gawked at too much. There are people around, of course, but they make a point to look away as their master passes, and he makes a point to look at the floor, so he doesn’t have to look them in the eye, and so he can keep his balance. The second the door to his quarters latches behind them, he feels like a weight has settled on his shoulders. He feels atrocious. Shaky and weak, his entire body hurts, and he can’t focus on any one thought long enough to decide where he wants to land for the night. He doesn’t complain when Maddox guides him toward bed.
Sapphire immediately knows something is wrong. Her master, her caretaker, he smells all wrong. She bounds up to him and sniffs every surface she can reach without jumping up on him: he’s too fragile for that right now. He smells stale, like the magic that leaks from him like water is… tainted. Barely there, and unusable, like wet firewood. She lets out a little whine, following behind as he shuffles to the bed, waiting just long enough for for the red-bearded man to help him out of his coat before he sits down with far more force than he ought to. His legs are shaking, and this makes the dragon matriarch worry more.
Eventually, after a long and intricate dance of holding, grabbing, wriggling and supporting, Ari and Maddox manage to get the wizard tucked into bed and medicated. That he doesn’t even complain when presented with the little brown bottle and a cup of tepid tea is a testament to how much pain he is actually in. He falls asleep not long later, with Sapphire sprawled out across his legs, and leaving his teacup half full.
-
Maddox looks up when Gable knocks on his door the next morning, luckily intercepting him during his brief interlude in his office. The smile he gives the man is strained, but it’s a smile nonetheless. Looking closely, it’s clear from the dark circles under his eyes and the somewhat unkept lay of his hair that the redhead didn’t sleep well last night, if he slept at all, considering he’s in the same clothes he wore yesterday.
“He did.” The chief of staff starts simply, fiddling with the handful of books and loose papers he’d been about to carry. “Sapphire is keeping him company right now, but I’m planning to take some work up there so I can sit with him for today.”
He doesn’t say anything about finding the skin of the wizard’s arm red and hot when he checked to make sure the bones didn’t move when he fell. He doesn’t mention how their master shook like a leaf all night, babbling in a language neither he nor Ari understood or even recognized as his fever burned hotter and hotter. He especially says nothing about how many times they both thought about how to word the letter to The Court if Jon didn’t make it through the night.
The strain in the man's smile, his exhaustion, his concern… it all registers with Gable, though he doesn't know how to interpret it. So far Mr. Rex has appeared to be a level-headed man, if a little prone to worry—and after last night, this whole week, they all have reason to be worried. The question is, how much reason? Gable steps inside the room and watches the other man's fidgeting.
He nods, then wets his lips. A moment passes.
"I should have stayed with you last night," he begins quietly. "Should have helped get him upstairs. Shouldn't have left like that without saying anything more to you and Ariathel. I'm sorry." His lips part again to explain himself, to explain why he couldn't stand to be in that room any longer or even look into Master Eris's face or Mr. Rex's eyes. But he swallows instead.
"I told him I was worried, but he gave me the same brush-off as he does with you. I felt a bit like it would be insulting to him if I insisted. But I knew when I looked at him…" Just like he'd known something had been wrong with Pinny the day of his death. Something sinister in the gray cast of their faces. "Can I… do you think it'd be all right if I came up with you to see him? I'd only stay long enough to see if he's awake, and to tell him I'm glad he's all right in spite of that mule blood in his veins." His smile is soft, fondly aggravated, and worried.
He nods, then wets his lips. A moment passes.
"I should have stayed with you last night," he begins quietly. "Should have helped get him upstairs. Shouldn't have left like that without saying anything more to you and Ariathel. I'm sorry." His lips part again to explain himself, to explain why he couldn't stand to be in that room any longer or even look into Master Eris's face or Mr. Rex's eyes. But he swallows instead.
"I told him I was worried, but he gave me the same brush-off as he does with you. I felt a bit like it would be insulting to him if I insisted. But I knew when I looked at him…" Just like he'd known something had been wrong with Pinny the day of his death. Something sinister in the gray cast of their faces. "Can I… do you think it'd be all right if I came up with you to see him? I'd only stay long enough to see if he's awake, and to tell him I'm glad he's all right in spite of that mule blood in his veins." His smile is soft, fondly aggravated, and worried.
Maddox shakes his head, but it isn’t a dismissive gesture. Rather, it lands somewhere between understanding and disappointed. Gable’s tale is one he is all too familiar with, though usually he’s the one in the young man’s shoes.
“One of many things to fall under the umbrella category of ‘perils of caring for a wizard’, I’m afraid.” He explains with a tired sigh. “Especially this one. You’re quite right in that he’s about as stubborn as they come. Most mages understand and are quite sensitive to their own limits, I’m told. But not Jon. It isn’t often that something like this happens, but this certainly isn’t the first time, either. He has all the power of the archmage that he is, but he never got the formal training any of his peers have had. His stubbornness has kept him alive through several wars and countless deadly encounters. But this time it nearly did the opposite.”
The redhead chews his lip, debating the request for a moment. He and Ari are the only ones who can access the third floor. The wards at the top of the stairs would just turn him around and he’d find himself back down on the second floor, ordinarily. But if Maddox guided him physically, they could be bypassed. That left the question, then: should he? Part of him says no. It’s safer if Jon stays secluded, if his space stays quiet so he can rest properly. Yet there’s another part that says he should. Gable saw Jon fall last night, and it clearly unsettled him. And then Jonathan, who was barely conscious at the time, had tried to get up and follow him. Perhaps… perhaps letting the two see each other could be good for both of them, especially if their master is awake.
After all that’s happened, even just this morning, he knows the chances of that are slim.
“Just for a moment.” Maddox asserts firmly, gathering up the stack of work he plans to take up with him. Much as he hates to admit it, there’s an unfortunate letter he needs to write today. “He’s still… fragile. He needs as much rest as he can get right now.”
-
Ariathel hums a quiet tune as she stirs the little bowl of warm water mixed with honey and salt. She hasn’t been able to get Jon to drink any yet; he hasn’t been quite conscious enough for her to feel like it’s worth a try.
Even now, he’s mostly asleep, head and torso propped up on a mound of pillows to keep Sapphire from lying on his chest, his splinted arm supported by even more pillows off to the side to keep it out of the way. His shirt is gone, peeled off in the small hours of the morning when the fever was highest and the two senior staff members had to get creative in trying to cool him off. The worst has since passed, but she still dabs his skin with a damp cloth to keep him from warming up again. The fever hasn’t spiked again since then, but neither has it released its grasp completely.
“One of many things to fall under the umbrella category of ‘perils of caring for a wizard’, I’m afraid.” He explains with a tired sigh. “Especially this one. You’re quite right in that he’s about as stubborn as they come. Most mages understand and are quite sensitive to their own limits, I’m told. But not Jon. It isn’t often that something like this happens, but this certainly isn’t the first time, either. He has all the power of the archmage that he is, but he never got the formal training any of his peers have had. His stubbornness has kept him alive through several wars and countless deadly encounters. But this time it nearly did the opposite.”
The redhead chews his lip, debating the request for a moment. He and Ari are the only ones who can access the third floor. The wards at the top of the stairs would just turn him around and he’d find himself back down on the second floor, ordinarily. But if Maddox guided him physically, they could be bypassed. That left the question, then: should he? Part of him says no. It’s safer if Jon stays secluded, if his space stays quiet so he can rest properly. Yet there’s another part that says he should. Gable saw Jon fall last night, and it clearly unsettled him. And then Jonathan, who was barely conscious at the time, had tried to get up and follow him. Perhaps… perhaps letting the two see each other could be good for both of them, especially if their master is awake.
After all that’s happened, even just this morning, he knows the chances of that are slim.
“Just for a moment.” Maddox asserts firmly, gathering up the stack of work he plans to take up with him. Much as he hates to admit it, there’s an unfortunate letter he needs to write today. “He’s still… fragile. He needs as much rest as he can get right now.”
-
Ariathel hums a quiet tune as she stirs the little bowl of warm water mixed with honey and salt. She hasn’t been able to get Jon to drink any yet; he hasn’t been quite conscious enough for her to feel like it’s worth a try.
Even now, he’s mostly asleep, head and torso propped up on a mound of pillows to keep Sapphire from lying on his chest, his splinted arm supported by even more pillows off to the side to keep it out of the way. His shirt is gone, peeled off in the small hours of the morning when the fever was highest and the two senior staff members had to get creative in trying to cool him off. The worst has since passed, but she still dabs his skin with a damp cloth to keep him from warming up again. The fever hasn’t spiked again since then, but neither has it released its grasp completely.
Master Eris had mentioned that his education came to him in a tent, in a war, far from the traditional means. Considering he'd been fighting for his life already, one would think his mentor would have taught him to gauge his own resources… or else face a swift death on the field.
Gable's smile becomes more genuine in its relief, dispelling a little of the shadow from his eyes. "Yessir." He dips his head in a grateful and submissive nod. "I don't want to disturb his rest a'tall. Only say hello."
-
When Mr. Rex explains to him that they'll be passing through the wards soon, Gable holds on a bit too tightly and steps past the threshold as if plunging into ice water. Luckily enough, he does not spontaneously combust, split in half, or turn into a rabbit, but he does experience a momentary sense of dread; his stomach flips as though he'd missed a step, too. Whether it's due to nerves or magic he cannot tell.
In the wizard's chamber, Gable freezes a fair distance away from the bed and stares intensely at the form reclined there. There's no mistaking the odor of sour sweat baked into the sheets that radiates into the air, but the real shock is to see the mage's bare arm and torso and temple painted in blooms of green and blue—and in the worst spots, a deep purple webbing. Gable can feel the thump of weight against his back again; the muted clatter plays for him as though it's happening now. He sucks in a breath. The knots of scar tissue look plenty old and less worrisome once he recognizes them for what they are, but for one fleeting instant he suspects it's some kind of raised rash. Then the obvious settles in: War upon war. He tears his eyes away.
"Good morning, Ms. Ari." Gable moves almost silently in her direction and speaks at a whisper. Politely he inquires if she got any rest and if she would like him to do anything or bring something to eat. Some hot tea, even. "You treated me awful kind last night. I didn't mean to act so ungratefully, I... I got scared, but we all did, and... I should've stayed."
With a grimace he tips his head to Master Eris without looking at him. "He smells like fever." Likely from being out in the cold and so exhausted, he figures. Just worn down. He hopes. "Has it broken yet?"
Gable's smile becomes more genuine in its relief, dispelling a little of the shadow from his eyes. "Yessir." He dips his head in a grateful and submissive nod. "I don't want to disturb his rest a'tall. Only say hello."
-
When Mr. Rex explains to him that they'll be passing through the wards soon, Gable holds on a bit too tightly and steps past the threshold as if plunging into ice water. Luckily enough, he does not spontaneously combust, split in half, or turn into a rabbit, but he does experience a momentary sense of dread; his stomach flips as though he'd missed a step, too. Whether it's due to nerves or magic he cannot tell.
In the wizard's chamber, Gable freezes a fair distance away from the bed and stares intensely at the form reclined there. There's no mistaking the odor of sour sweat baked into the sheets that radiates into the air, but the real shock is to see the mage's bare arm and torso and temple painted in blooms of green and blue—and in the worst spots, a deep purple webbing. Gable can feel the thump of weight against his back again; the muted clatter plays for him as though it's happening now. He sucks in a breath. The knots of scar tissue look plenty old and less worrisome once he recognizes them for what they are, but for one fleeting instant he suspects it's some kind of raised rash. Then the obvious settles in: War upon war. He tears his eyes away.
"Good morning, Ms. Ari." Gable moves almost silently in her direction and speaks at a whisper. Politely he inquires if she got any rest and if she would like him to do anything or bring something to eat. Some hot tea, even. "You treated me awful kind last night. I didn't mean to act so ungratefully, I... I got scared, but we all did, and... I should've stayed."
With a grimace he tips his head to Master Eris without looking at him. "He smells like fever." Likely from being out in the cold and so exhausted, he figures. Just worn down. He hopes. "Has it broken yet?"
Maddox leaves Gable at the threshold, letting him take in everything the dimly lit room contains. It isn’t pretty. Bruising. Sweat-slicked hair. Sickly pallor. A fresh splint, since the last was damaged in the fall. At least Jon isn’t struggling to draw breath anymore, so the sound that carries in the otherwise quiet room is deep and rhythmic.
“Morning Gable.” She offers him a tired smile while she lays a cool, damp cloth over the wizard’s forehead, at which he releases a soft sigh. “I managed to get a bit. Maddox and I took turns during the quiet hours. One of us would catch a nap on the sofa by the fire, the other kept an eye on… on Jon.”
She swallows, looking at their master with a complicated expression. She’s afraid, though, that much is clear. “We’re alright up here, but I’ll need to head back to the kitchen soon. And last night wasn’t any fault of yours. In fact, I did the same thing first time I saw him like this. Ran straight from the room and back to my own, hid under the covers until Bral came in and made me tell him what was bothering me. We had barely been here a year, and I thought we were about to lose everything…”
The wood elf rubs her face, trying to conceal the few tears that remain and continue threatening to fall. Most of them already have. Maddox chimes in, drawing attention away from her as he answers what he feels are the more important questions.
“I think he’s through the worst of it. He’s still warm, but the fever hasn’t gotten any worse since early this morning when it first started falling. As long as it doesn’t creep up again… he should be alright. Just needs to rest and recover. It might be another day or two before he’s up and getting into things again. The fever probably set him back quite a ways.”
“Morning Gable.” She offers him a tired smile while she lays a cool, damp cloth over the wizard’s forehead, at which he releases a soft sigh. “I managed to get a bit. Maddox and I took turns during the quiet hours. One of us would catch a nap on the sofa by the fire, the other kept an eye on… on Jon.”
She swallows, looking at their master with a complicated expression. She’s afraid, though, that much is clear. “We’re alright up here, but I’ll need to head back to the kitchen soon. And last night wasn’t any fault of yours. In fact, I did the same thing first time I saw him like this. Ran straight from the room and back to my own, hid under the covers until Bral came in and made me tell him what was bothering me. We had barely been here a year, and I thought we were about to lose everything…”
The wood elf rubs her face, trying to conceal the few tears that remain and continue threatening to fall. Most of them already have. Maddox chimes in, drawing attention away from her as he answers what he feels are the more important questions.
“I think he’s through the worst of it. He’s still warm, but the fever hasn’t gotten any worse since early this morning when it first started falling. As long as it doesn’t creep up again… he should be alright. Just needs to rest and recover. It might be another day or two before he’s up and getting into things again. The fever probably set him back quite a ways.”
The quiet hours. That one little phrase summarizes an entire night of fear and unrest counting every breath, discussing in hushed, urgent tones the next course of action… every moment a tightrope walk over the chasm of eternity. This is much more serious than a chill from a wet ride. Gable's brows pull together and he scratches the fine bristle on his cheeks.
Hearing Ariathel's story, seeing the way the Master's exhaustion frightened her back then and grieves her now, he frowns at the wizard's pallid, nearly angelic sleeping face. The fever may be new, but the reckless self-sabotage is an old tune. Possibly the only tune the wizard knows by heart.
He nods along to Mr. Rex's report and grunts softly in agreement: Master Eris certainly won't be singing and tapping his toes by tomorrow morn… But with any luck he'll be conscious soon, then an appetite will return, then strength, then humor, and then… That might put them out another week at least. Another week closer to the next moon.
One problem at a time.
"I've fed the herd and crossed off the morning chores," he tells Mr. Rex, though he glances at Ariathel, too. "Maybe I could… stay. Keep his head cool and watch for any signs of progression one way or the other, while you two…" He makes a gesture toward the door with an open palm. "Cook and manage the house, then rest, if you can. You won't be any good to the house or the Master or each other if you're both worn thin." Seeing the uncertainty in Mr. Rex's expression he adds softly, "Plenty of boys caught fevers on the ranch. I'll know what to look for."
Hearing Ariathel's story, seeing the way the Master's exhaustion frightened her back then and grieves her now, he frowns at the wizard's pallid, nearly angelic sleeping face. The fever may be new, but the reckless self-sabotage is an old tune. Possibly the only tune the wizard knows by heart.
He nods along to Mr. Rex's report and grunts softly in agreement: Master Eris certainly won't be singing and tapping his toes by tomorrow morn… But with any luck he'll be conscious soon, then an appetite will return, then strength, then humor, and then… That might put them out another week at least. Another week closer to the next moon.
One problem at a time.
"I've fed the herd and crossed off the morning chores," he tells Mr. Rex, though he glances at Ariathel, too. "Maybe I could… stay. Keep his head cool and watch for any signs of progression one way or the other, while you two…" He makes a gesture toward the door with an open palm. "Cook and manage the house, then rest, if you can. You won't be any good to the house or the Master or each other if you're both worn thin." Seeing the uncertainty in Mr. Rex's expression he adds softly, "Plenty of boys caught fevers on the ranch. I'll know what to look for."
The two senior staff members of the house look at each other, a symphony of expressions crossing each face as they seem to have a silent conversation between each other. There are a few noises made, too, little grunts and hums, and it isn't so hard to imagine the same language being spoken in the dead of night while a certain wizard struggles with a fever not far away. Eventually, Maddox speaks up and breaks the odd not-silence.
"You go, Ari. Make sure Madge has lunch and dinner figured out, though I'm sure she'll handle things just fine. Catch another nap, if you can, then we can switch off when you bring lunch up."
The wood elf nods, standing up from her stool by Jon's bedside with a creak and a pop from her back. She's been sitting too long, but too afraid to get up and move while Maddox was taking care of things earlier. Although she isn't thrilled to be leaving her post now, it's easier knowing that Gable will be there with Maddox in case something does happen. That way one can come and find her while the other... well, she doesn't want to think too hard about it. Suffice to say that knowing there will be two people with their master is a comfort she needs right now.
"Cold water for bathing." She says, quickly gesturing to a larger basin of water on the nightstand. There are dry rags stacked beside it, and one currently hanging off the side of the bowl, halfway submerged. She then points to a handful of other items on a side table not far away. "Honeyed saltwater, it's warm, try and get him to drink some if he wakes up. There's a glass of plain water if he can't stomach that. Maddox has his pain pills."
At the mention of his name, the redhead nods, and after one more minute to look over her charge, Ariathel reluctantly heads back downstairs.
"It's best if at least one of us stays with you." Maddox explains to Gable as he sets out his work across the table Jon usually eats at. "You won't be able to get back upstairs if you leave for any reason, thanks to the wards."
"You go, Ari. Make sure Madge has lunch and dinner figured out, though I'm sure she'll handle things just fine. Catch another nap, if you can, then we can switch off when you bring lunch up."
The wood elf nods, standing up from her stool by Jon's bedside with a creak and a pop from her back. She's been sitting too long, but too afraid to get up and move while Maddox was taking care of things earlier. Although she isn't thrilled to be leaving her post now, it's easier knowing that Gable will be there with Maddox in case something does happen. That way one can come and find her while the other... well, she doesn't want to think too hard about it. Suffice to say that knowing there will be two people with their master is a comfort she needs right now.
"Cold water for bathing." She says, quickly gesturing to a larger basin of water on the nightstand. There are dry rags stacked beside it, and one currently hanging off the side of the bowl, halfway submerged. She then points to a handful of other items on a side table not far away. "Honeyed saltwater, it's warm, try and get him to drink some if he wakes up. There's a glass of plain water if he can't stomach that. Maddox has his pain pills."
At the mention of his name, the redhead nods, and after one more minute to look over her charge, Ariathel reluctantly heads back downstairs.
"It's best if at least one of us stays with you." Maddox explains to Gable as he sets out his work across the table Jon usually eats at. "You won't be able to get back upstairs if you leave for any reason, thanks to the wards."
Growing up in a family where silent conversations flashed rapidly and frequently between brothers, the exchange Gable witnesses both fascinates and endears him. Neither of his superiors thrum with a signature that identifies them as other thropes or anyone else with telepathy, yet they seem not to need the help in sharing a bond all the same. It's admirable, and... enlightening.
He steps closer to examine the contents of the side table as they’re being explained to him. If he had any questions he would ask them now, but the only one he wants to ask is something none of them can answer: Will cold rags and honey be enough?
Promising Ariathel that they will tell her the moment anything changes, he gives her shoulder a squeeze and sends her off with an encouraging nod. "Bye, hun."
He hums his understanding about the wards and watches while Mr. Rex carefully arranges his parchments and ledgers on the table. Does he insist on working because he must, or because he doesn't know what else to do with himself? Glancing toward the sofa and the fireplace Ariathel had mentioned Gable remarks gently, "If you'd like to rest while I'm here, sir—if you think you can—I won't mind in the least. I'd be glad for it."
He rolls his sleeves up to his elbows (the hideous branding that's now visible should come as no surprise to Mr. Rex or to Ariathel when she sees it) and bends over the reclined form. He tests the rag on Master Eris's brow with the tender skin of his wrist, determines it has grown too warm, and refreshes it with the cold water. Then he sits and watches the rise and fall of the wizard's pale chest. On a curious whim, Gable spits on his fingertips and rubs the saliva (gently, so gently) over the deep purple bruising on the man's shoulder. Then he waits.
Gable clears his throat a little before speaking after such a long silence. "Ain't it funny you nearly sent Ms. Ari away when you first saw her? Now you two have grown so close, I reckon neither can imagine life without the other. Not comfortably. ...I don't think Alice ever looked at me the way Ms. Ari looks at you." This is a bitter revelation, of course, but his smile is soft and sincere.
It could be a trick of the light, but… the bruising seems to have eased a little when a few minutes have passed. So long as Master Eris isn't aware of his surroundings and the humiliation of being smeared with spit, Gable figures it can't hurt to try it elsewhere. Forehead, arm, hip, with a sip and swish of water in his mouth between each.
He steps closer to examine the contents of the side table as they’re being explained to him. If he had any questions he would ask them now, but the only one he wants to ask is something none of them can answer: Will cold rags and honey be enough?
Promising Ariathel that they will tell her the moment anything changes, he gives her shoulder a squeeze and sends her off with an encouraging nod. "Bye, hun."
He hums his understanding about the wards and watches while Mr. Rex carefully arranges his parchments and ledgers on the table. Does he insist on working because he must, or because he doesn't know what else to do with himself? Glancing toward the sofa and the fireplace Ariathel had mentioned Gable remarks gently, "If you'd like to rest while I'm here, sir—if you think you can—I won't mind in the least. I'd be glad for it."
He rolls his sleeves up to his elbows (the hideous branding that's now visible should come as no surprise to Mr. Rex or to Ariathel when she sees it) and bends over the reclined form. He tests the rag on Master Eris's brow with the tender skin of his wrist, determines it has grown too warm, and refreshes it with the cold water. Then he sits and watches the rise and fall of the wizard's pale chest. On a curious whim, Gable spits on his fingertips and rubs the saliva (gently, so gently) over the deep purple bruising on the man's shoulder. Then he waits.
Gable clears his throat a little before speaking after such a long silence. "Ain't it funny you nearly sent Ms. Ari away when you first saw her? Now you two have grown so close, I reckon neither can imagine life without the other. Not comfortably. ...I don't think Alice ever looked at me the way Ms. Ari looks at you." This is a bitter revelation, of course, but his smile is soft and sincere.
It could be a trick of the light, but… the bruising seems to have eased a little when a few minutes have passed. So long as Master Eris isn't aware of his surroundings and the humiliation of being smeared with spit, Gable figures it can't hurt to try it elsewhere. Forehead, arm, hip, with a sip and swish of water in his mouth between each.
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