The gates of Denerim loomed ahead, the city sprawling beyond with its bustling streets and varied districts. Deyran, his breath labored and brow furrowed with pain, urged his horse forward with determined urgency. His injured arm hung limply at his side, blood seeping through the makeshift bandage hastily applied on the road.
As he approached the city gates, guards eyed him warily, their curiosity piqued by the disheveled appearance of this lone rider. Deyran pulled back his hood, revealing a face lined with weariness but hardened by resolve. I seek a healer, he called out, his voice hoarse yet commanding.
I've traveled far and I need urgent assistance.
The guards exchanged a glance, assessing the urgency in his tone and the severity of his injury. One nodded, signaling the other finally allowing Deyran to pass.
Deyran navigated the bustling streets of Denerim, his steps purposeful despite the ache in his injured arm. The city hummed with activity around him—merchants hawking their wares, children playing in narrow alleyways, and the distant echoes of a bard's music filling the air. The midday sun beat down on his back, casting long shadows that stretched across cobblestones worn smooth by countless footsteps.
Despite his urgent need for a healer, Deyran couldn't help but pause momentarily at the sight of a group of street performers. Their lively music and skillful acrobatics momentarily distracted him from the pain, reminding him of moments from his past when life had been simpler and less burdened by duty and strife.
Shaking off the reverie, he pressed onward. He needed to find a healer quickly.
Passing through the crowded streets, Deyran kept his gaze focused ahead, his senses a complete mess as his vision began to blur, Well- that can't be good, he said while desperately looking for any sign of a healer's shop or clinic
Alaric meandered through the bustling streets of Denerim, his thoughts drifting like autumn leaves caught in the wind. The city was alive with the sounds of commerce and conversation, a vibrant tapestry of life that had always fascinated him. Yet today, his mind was elsewhere, flitting between memories of old friendships and the bonds he was beginning to forge anew.
As he wandered, his feet carried him to the market square, where a group of street performers had gathered. Their lively music filled the air, drawing a small crowd. Alaric paused, a smile tugging at his lips as he listened to the familiar tune. Without thinking, he began to sing along, his rich baritone blending harmoniously with the musicians' melody. For a moment, he lost himself in the music, his worries and thoughts fading into the background.
The performance ended to applause and scattered cheers, and Alaric nodded appreciatively to the performers, slipping a few coins into their collection bowl. He turned to leave, but something caught his eye—a young man standing at the edge of the crowd, swaying unsteadily. The color had drained from his face, and his eyes were unfocused.
Alaric's healer instincts kicked in immediately. He watched as the young man stumbled away from the square, his movements growing more erratic. Concerned, Alaric quietly followed, weaving through the crowd with practiced ease. As he neared the young man, he could see the signs of impending collapse—shallow breaths, trembling hands, and a glazed look in his eyes.
Alaric sprang forward, reaching out to him so that if he did fall, the Alaric would be able to easily catch him and hold him upright. Easy there, Alaric said gently, trying to think to himself where he could take the man, the room he rented wasn’t far. You’re alright. Just take a few deep breaths. Do you think you can make it a bit further? I mean I could try healing you here in the street, but it would be cleaner and easier if we can make it back to my room.
Deyran's vision blurred and his steps grew unsteady as he fought to stay upright. The pain in his arm became unbearable, cold sweat breaking out across his forehead. Just as he was about to collapse, a steady hand caught him, and a soothing voice echoed in his ears.
Doing as instructed, he inhaled and exhaled. The pain became just a bit more bearable.
He blinked, trying to focus on the man before him. The sight of the handsome face stirred curiosity within him. Never had he thought he would become the damsel in distress—but he liked it. Despite his condition, Deyran couldn’t resist a quip. Oh, already taking me to your room without a first date? he murmured, a weak grin flickering across his face.
The half-elf’s smirk widened, his eyes dancing with playful light. Guess I'm special then, he replied. The man's firm grip felt unexpectedly reassuring to him.
A sweet moment turned sour as the pain intensified, Deyran's bravado crumbled, tears welling up and spilling over. The city's vibrancy seemed a cruel contrast to his current state, the lively streets mocking his agony. Gritting his teeth, he forced himself to put one foot in front of the other, each step feeling like a thousand needles. I think I still got a few steps in me, he said, his voice strained.
Alaric chuckled at Deyran's quip, his amusement genuine despite the severity of the situation. Special indeed, he replied with a reassuring smile. This wouldn’t be the craziest date I’ve been on, but it would be up there. Let's just focus on getting you patched up first.
He kept a firm grip on Deyran, supporting his weight as they navigated the bustling streets of Denerim. The market square's lively energy seemed a world away from the intense focus Alaric needed to keep the injured man steady. He led them through a series of winding alleyways, each step calculated to avoid the throngs of people. Then came upon some two and three story buildings, he was renting a room on the second floor of a tavern. He led Deyran around to the back entrance, as Alaric didn’t want to get stopped by the tavern owner wondering why Alaric was bringing a near dead bloke back to his room.
Here we are, Alaric murmured as he walked up the stairs, his tone soothing. Here let’s get you set down on the bed. What happened to you any way? Feel free to tell me to fuck off if you don’t feel like answering, it won’t effect whether or not I heal you, I’m just curious.
Deyran winced as he eased himself onto the bed, the soft mattress a stark contrast to the unforgiving road he’d endured for days. His breath hitched as he searched for a comfortable position, his injured arm throbbing with relentless, fiery pain. Exhaustion was catching up to him, dragging him closer to the edge of unconsciousness.
A bitter chuckle escaped him, quickly turning into a grimace of pain. Not sure any sane man would ever dare fuck you off— in the bad sense, that is, Deyran muttered, clenching his teeth against the agony.
He swallowed hard, the frantic battle flashing through his mind. Then again, I doubt you’d want to hear this story, he added, his eyes darkening at the memory. The sight of the colossal, red creature was still fresh, its monstrous strength seared into his thoughts.
Deyran’s eyes fluttered shut, the toll of blood loss finally dragging him under.
Alaric's concern deepened as he watched Deyran succumb to a state of semi-consciousness, no longer struggling against the pain. He worked quickly, his hands moving with practiced precision. He carefully removed the makeshift bandage, assessing the severity of the wounds. Oh, I don’t know about that, I’m always up for a good story. He said warmly as he worked. He figured it would be good to keep Deyran’s mind off the healing process, and if he was recanting a story, that should do the trick.
Rummaging through his satchel, Alaric pulled out a small vial of a potent herbal tincture. He poured a few drops onto a clean cloth and pressed it gently against the wounds, murmuring an incantation under his breath. The cloth glowed faintly, and the bleeding slowed, the edges of the wounds beginning to knit together. The magic flowed through his hands, channeling into the wound and accelerating the natural healing process.
His teeth clenched against the surging discomfort, his jaw locking tight as waves of pain crashed over him. The agony jolted him awake, and his eyes snapped open, struggling to focus. A flicker of determination cut through the haze, but his strained smile faltered, his lips trembling as if the effort to hold it was too great.
His face, pale and drawn, glistened with sweat, beads trickling down his temples. Each shallow breath came with a visible shudder, his chest heaving under the strain. His gaze grew distant, eyes losing focus as they wandered, searching the dim room for a semblance of stability.
It was as if his entire existence was narrowing down to a single thread, stretched too thin. A tiny, fierce flame of resolve burned in his eyes, warding off the tears that welled up and threatened to spill over. His fingers, white-knuckled and trembling, gripped the edges of the bed, knuckles blanching as he fought to keep his grip on reality.
Drawing a ragged breath, he forced out, Let’s make a deal, his voice cracking as he spoke. The playful edge in his tone barely masked the struggle behind his words. If I make it out of this... alive, drinks are on me. His lips curled into a wistful, faint smile.
His head lolled to one side, the motion slow and heavy, and his body sank into the bed. The brief flicker of hope and resolve vanished as the exhaustion overtook him, leaving him limp and still, the playful glint in his eyes fading to a soft, serene sleep.
Alaric's heart clenched as he saw the flicker of defiance and pain in Deyran's eyes slowly give way to exhaustion. The young man’s words, though tinged with bravado, spoke volumes about his condition. Alaric nodded, his expression softening as he continued to work on the wound, his touch gentle yet firm.
That’s a deal I can get behind, Alaric said quietly, his voice steady as he finished applying the healing salve. But let’s make sure you get through this first, alright? I’m not about to let you go on me now.
Alaric continued to channel his healing magic, his hands glowing with a warm, golden light that seeped into Deyran's wound. The bleeding had slowed significantly, and the edges of the torn flesh were beginning to mend. Still, the process was taxing, both on him and his patient. He could feel the strain it was taking on Deyran’s body, and he knew that while the magic could help, the rest would be up to Deyran’s will to survive. The healer wiped the sweat from Deyran's brow with a clean cloth, his movements tender and careful.
You’ve got more fight in you than most I’ve seen, Alaric murmured, though he knew Deyran likely couldn’t hear him. Just hang on a bit longer, and we’ll have those drinks you promised.
Satisfied that the immediate danger had passed, Alaric sat back in the chair next to the bed, his eyes never leaving Deyran's face. He would stay by his side through the night, monitoring his condition and offering what comfort he could. The bustling city outside felt like a distant memory, the lively streets and busy markets replaced by the quiet, determined focus of keeping this stranger alive. He would probably need to do more healing magic, at least a bit, but for now he needed to rest and partake of a potion.
The clash of steel echoed in his ears, bone splintering beneath the weight of unseen blows, and the thick, metallic scent of blood clung to the air, choking him. It all felt too real. In the midst of it, he stood—a lone figure in the chaos—cutting through bodies like a scythe through overgrown fields.
"Deyran!", his liege, screamed in the distance, a sound that twisted the air with raw desperation. It pierced through the cacophony, pulling him forward. Heart pounding, he surged toward the cry, cutting down anything in his way. His arms stretched out, fingers mere inches from Deyran’s grasp, but just as they were about to touch—he was ripped away, hurled violently backward by a colossal red creature.
Fergus! The name tore from his throat as his eyes snapped open, his voice fading into the stillness of the room, the last echoes of the dream dissipating like smoke.
Ugh! A sharp sting jolted him, a reminder of his wounded arm— but not how it got that way. The dream’s grip loosened as reality slowly settled back in. He exhaled shakily.
Where— His breath hitched as fragments of memory returned, flickering in his mind like lightning strikes, each one leaving a dull, throbbing ache behind.
Alaric leaned casually against the doorframe, arms crossed, his gaze fixed on Deyran as he stirred awake. With a bemused smile and a quirked eyebrow, he sauntered over to the bedside. His expression was equal parts curiosity and amusement, with just a touch of concern—enough to show he wasn’t entirely indifferent to the man's condition.
Ah, you’re back, Alaric drawled, his voice smooth as silk, with that familiar undercurrent of mischief. For a moment there, I thought you were going to sleep through the entire month. But I suppose even the most resilient of heroes need their beauty rest.
He sat on the edge of the bed, close but not imposing, and gave Deyran a quick once-over, checking for signs of improvement. His fingers glowed faintly with residual magic, but the major healing had already been done—now it was just a matter of waiting for Deyran’s body to catch up.
You certainly gave me quite the scare, darling, Alaric continued, his tone light but his gaze sharp. I was starting to think I’d have to carry you out to the tavern for that drink you promised. But, seeing as you’re awake now... He let the sentence hang in the air, his grin widening.
Alaric’s easy manner belied the gravity of the situation. Despite his teasing, he was watching Deyran carefully, gauging how much strength the young man had regained. He was all too familiar with the bravado that injured warriors put on—he’d seen it countless times before. But beneath the wit and charm, Alaric was a healer through and through, and he wouldn’t let Deyran take another step until he was sure the man was well enough to handle it.
So, he said, sitting back a little, crossing his legs, care to share what—or who—got you into this mess? I have a feeling it’s more than just a bad run-in with a drunkard in a tavern. You’ve piqued my curiosity.
His eyes sparkled, not with judgment, but with genuine interest. Whatever had brought Deyran to the brink of collapse intrigued Alaric, and in his experience, a good story could heal the soul just as much as magic could mend the body.
And besides, he never could resist a bit of drama.
A whole month, huh? Deyran rasped, his voice hoarse from disuse.
Shame on me for keeping you waiting that long for a drink. I don’t think I could live with that kind of guilt.
Deyran blinked, his head swimming as Alaric's voice anchored him somehow. The half-elf winced as he tried to sit up, his arm protesting sharply against the movement. The pain felt duller now, but the memory of the battle loomed, heavy and raw in his mind.
With a grimace, he finally spoke, his voice hoarse. It wasn’t a tavern brawl, though I wish it had been. Would’ve been easier.
Deyran exhaled shakily, memories of that red lyrium nightmare clawing their way back into his mind. It was… a giant, he said slowly as if speaking the words aloud made the horror more real. Made of red lyrium. Huge. Stronger than anything I’ve ever faced. I’ve heard about red lyrium before, but this—this was different. Corrupted.
Deyran gave a weak laugh, his voice tinged with bitterness. I was lucky, made it out alive. He looks at Alaric with the sweetest smile, Thanks to you,
The thing nearly ripped me apart though. Felt like I was fighting a mountain.
The memory of the battle flickered through his mind—a monstrous figure, towering and grotesque, its body glistening with shards of red crystal, like some twisted nightmare pulled straight from the Fade. Deyran had fought hard, pouring every ounce of strength and skill into surviving. But it hadn’t been enough.
Deyran closed his eyes briefly. He could still feel the ghost of its presence lingering in his thoughts, a silent promise that it would haunt him again.
He opened his eyes, meeting Alaric’s gaze. If you ever face one of those things, you’ll need more than just magic and steel. It’s... wrong. There’s no other word for it. It shouldn’t exist.
Alaric’s expression shifted subtly, his customary smirk giving way to a look of intent focus as he processed Deyran’s words. The mere mention of red lyrium sent a chill up his spine; he’d heard enough to know it was far more than just another magical oddity. He sat up straighter, his gaze sharpening as he considered the implications.
Red lyrium... he repeated, the word falling from his lips with deliberate weight. Well, that certainly explains the state you arrived in. Nasty stuff, and as far as I’m concerned, it’s the kind of magic that should have been left in whatever dark corner it came from. He paused, studying Deyran thoughtfully, his fingers tapping lightly against his chin. A giant made of the stuff, though? That’s a whole new level of twisted.
Alaric looked away, his eyes narrowing slightly as he considered the impact such a creature could have, not only on Deyran but on anyone unlucky enough to face it. His mouth pressed into a thin line, as if the thought had disturbed his usual calm facade.
You’re lucky to be alive, truly, he said, finally breaking the silence, his voice carrying a warmth that softened his otherwise cool demeanor. Though I’d like to think I helped tip the odds in your favor. He offered Deyran a wink, returning to his usual banter for a moment before his expression grew serious again.
But if this thing is wandering around unchecked, we’ve got a bigger problem on our hands. Red lyrium doesn’t just corrupt flesh, you know. It changes people, and not for the better. Twists their minds, warps their spirits. And you’re telling me there’s enough of it out there to make something like that? He shook his head, his voice dropping to a murmur. That’s a disaster waiting to happen, if it hasn’t already.
After a pause, he looked back at Deyran, his eyes gleaming with curiosity. But you... I have to admit, I’m surprised. Surviving something like that takes more than just stubbornness. It takes skill. And more than a little luck. So tell me, darling—what is it you’re after, that you’d put yourself in the path of a creature like that? Because from where I’m standing, you don’t seem like the reckless type.
Alaric’s gaze held steady on Deyran, the light of intrigue mingling with respect. Whatever had driven Deyran to that point, it had to be something worth risking everything for. And he was dying to know what it was.
A slow smirk curved Deyran’s lips, his fingers tracing the back of his hand with deliberate ease, as if he were testing the patience of the moment itself. His sharp, teasing eyes caught Alaric’s in the dim light, holding them just a second too long before he tilted his head slightly, the gesture almost conspiratorial.
You’re right, he murmured, his voice laced with that signature, daring charm. I don’t play in the shallow end.
Deyran’s gaze flicked down for just a heartbeat before returning to Alaric’s, his words rolling off his tongue with an edge of playful arrogance. Stubbornness, skill, luck— he let the words hang, lowering his voice enough to draw Alaric in closer, mischief sparking in his eyes as if he were sharing a dangerous secret. I’ve got them all.
He leaned in slightly, blurring the line between them, the air crackling with unspoken tension. But what I’m after? Well... Deyran savored the moment, letting the silence thrum with anticipation. Let’s just say I don’t mind a little danger if the reward is worth it.
The pause that followed wasn’t simply an absence of words; it was deliberate, simmering. Deyran’s gaze lingered on Alaric’s, then slid—subtly, almost lazily—down the length of his body. He paused just long enough at Alaric's behind for a mischievous glint to flash in his eyes. It was a game, and Deyran played to win.
When his eyes finally returned to Alaric’s, the smirk softened, but his intent remained sharp. There was something almost possessive in the shift, a quiet hunger wrapped in silk.
Though... he said clearly, biting his lower lip, an enticing offer spreading before his eyes. Truth is... some things are truly priceless.
Deyran’s expression shifted slightly, a hint of reflection softening his gaze. If only I’d thought that way before, he considered, as he might not have gotten as hurt.
Hope I didn’t cause you too much trouble.
He let the weight of his words sink in, the corner of his lips lifting in that maddening, knowing smile—the kind that promised mischief and magic in equal measure.
Alaric watched Deyran intently, every subtle shift in the man's body language like a carefully played note in a melody he knew all too well. The smirk, the teasing, the barely-concealed flirtation—it was a game they were both playing, and Alaric was more than happy to join in. His lips quirked up at the corners, eyes twinkling with amusement as Deyran's words hung in the air between them, thick with tension and something unspoken.
Oh, darling, Alaric began, his voice smooth and rich like velvet, if you think this is trouble, then you clearly haven’t spent enough time around me. He leaned in just a fraction, enough to close some of the space between them, his eyes locking onto Deyran’s with a mischievous gleam.
Trouble is what I do best. But you? Alaric’s gaze flickered downward, deliberately slow, before returning to Deyran’s. You’re something else entirely. The weight of the words wasn’t lost in the playful tone. There was admiration there, mingled with curiosity, and maybe a bit of something deeper—though Alaric wasn’t one to dwell on such thoughts for too long.
He straightened up, his smirk widening as he gestured casually toward the door.
But before we get too lost in our... conversation, he continued, his voice taking on a lighter, teasing edge, how about we start with that drink you promised? You can regale me with tales of your reckless adventures, and I’ll try not to swoon at how heroic you are. His wink was accompanied by a flash of genuine amusement, but his tone softened just slightly, betraying the concern that still lingered beneath his charm.
Of course, if you need more rest, I’ll have to hold off on swooning until you’re back on your feet. Wouldn't want you passing out halfway through our first drink. He grinned, waiting for Deyran's response, already anticipating another round of their verbal sparring.
The pain lingered, but it dulled like a far-off whisper, his body surrendering to the miracle woven by the mage’s skilled hands. A low, throaty hum escaped him.
Alright, as you wish. Deyran lifted the white sheet, the cool fabric sliding away to reveal his body—a living canvas of color and form. As he turned to retrieve his gear, his perfect assets, and many scars were exposed, accentuated by the subtle flex of his muscles. Scars flickered in the light, each one screamed to battles fought and pleasures indulged. He wore them with pride, a series of victories and mistakes that made him who he was—an exquisite piece of art
The garments he wore hung loosely, deliberately unfastened in places, teasing the imagination. A few items lay carelessly forgotten in the corner. Deyran smirked, confidence surging through him like a tidal wave.
'Going out with such a handsome guy—better take him somewhere nice,' he thought, a predatory glint igniting in his eyes as they roamed over Alaric, savoring every detail. His lips curled into a sultry smile, stretching wide. Ready? Let’s go! His voice dripped with playful authority, hands rubbing together in eager anticipation.
Oh! And leave that there, he added, a mischievous sparkle dancing in his eye as he pointed to his belt left near the bed.
