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Who: Asra, Symon, and Lyr
When: Backdated to after this.
Where: Lyr and Symon's place
What: Lyr dealing with two dumbasses who got themselves injured
Warnings: Blood and possible gore

The trip back to the barracks was slow, but Asra was grateful that both Symon and his horse seemed to know the way instinctively, even with Symon's injuries. He tried to keep some occasional conversation going for both their sake, since either one of them passing out at this point likely wouldn't be particularly good, but with how his own head was swimming and aching he wasn't sure how well he'd actually managing it.

"Next time we go out, we need to be ready for if we run into those creatures again," he informed Symon, or more accurately the back of the other man's neck which seemed to be where his head kept dropping to. It was reassuring to feel the cool texture of Symon's scales against his skin, although the smell of blood was overpowering.

With a jolt, Asra jerked up, sending flashes of light and pain through his head that he did his best to ignore. "I should have bandaged your wound."

It was far too late now as finally the jolting motion of the ride stopped and he realised that the barracks were nearby. Asra didn't dismount so much as slide off the entirely too patient horse and leant against Jasper's flank, trying to figure out how he was going to help Symon down and get them both inside.

"Let me see if I can get Lyr."

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"And I should have bandaged yours." Symon replied back to Asra, his voice almost hazy. "So I suppose we're even." His head spun, blood loss, pain all of it twining together, but still his hand clenched spasmodically over the reins, while his knees guided his mount, second nature.

He looked down into Asra's bright eyes, the blood drying and caking over his tanned skin. "Go get him." He said, slumped in his saddle, swaying slightly. "I'm not moving." His mouth twisted a little. "Jasper will look after me."

"Alright," Asra murmured, then repeated it, louder this time. "Alright." He could do this.

His head ached and it felt as though his mind swayed in water as he turned and walked - stumbled at points - towards the building. The door seemed so far away and once he finally reached it, Asra leaned up against it before he banged against the wooden surface.

"Lyr! It's Symon, he's hurt!"

Lyr had been indoors, cleaning, which seemed sensible enough for the weather. He'd just managed to mix water and soap in a bucket burnished bright with recent use when he heard the pounding at the door...

... but the voice beyond was too muffled.

"Coming!" he called, frowning at the bucket, his cane... he left the soapy water behind, hobbling toward the door, and cast it carefully open.

"Dreadfully sorry, I couldn't hear wha.... Asra? Good heavens, you poor thing, sit down immediately, I... Jasper?"

He blanched, growing more frightened as he looked between the magician, the horse, and the felled knight. The cane dropped from his nerveless hands with a clatter. "Symon!? What the devil happened to the two of you?! You look half eaten! Come here, Jasper, lovely darling, I swear I'm going to make you fat on apples and honey for tolerating two fool men in this state. I..."

He was already beginning to summon his own magic in the first gestures of a simple but effective healing spell, his fretting fading to a mutter under his breath.

The horse, recognizing Lyr's voice, looked up, and with Symon's guidance, slowly walked forward. "Hello my darling." He said, almost idle. "We got to you just in time." He felt blood drip down his shoulder, slicking down to his hand, his fingers stained red. "We ran into a little trouble."

Asra ignored Lyr's instruction in favour of following after him, focusing still on Symon seated on Jasper's back and the pallor that had settled in his face.

"Give me a moment, I can heal him too," he offered, leaning against the door frame to try and stop the buzzing in his head. He felt decidedly ill, but imagined it could wait a while longer. There was magic still buzzing under his skin, so much of it these days, that surely it could do Symon some good.

Lyr... went still, just for a moment, at Symon's soft and idle address. His panic calmed, and he inhaled a slow and steady breath. His eyes didn't close, not quite, but they did unfocus, while he reached beyond his own emotion for something else, for the power found in calm, and the quiet, steady current of control which ran beneath all other things.

"Let me heal you first, Asra," he whispered, one hand poised to make the symbols to complete the spell.

"I'm not going to let either of you stay hurt. And when that's improved, you can show me how you'd work the spell to heal Symon. We can do it, and be more powerful, together."

Symon had just been about to say 'heal Asra first' when Lyr was already on it. His vagueness sharpened then, pleasure glinting in his tired eyes. Always on the same page.

He watched Lyr's slim fingers tracing sigils and power through the air, shimmering for a moment, and when he blinked they seemed to linger under his eyelids, an afterimage of magic.

"We'll have to remove that claw, first." He mentioned to the other men. They had kept it in his shoulder, a gruesome way to staunch the wound.

Asra hesitated but nodded slowly, seeing that Lyr's suggestion made sense and knowing that despite his words, he likely wouldn't be as skilled with magic now than if he were feeling better.

He closed his eyes as Lyr worked, curious as well to feel the touch of the other man's magic against his skin and get a sense of how his spellwork felt.

"Thank you, my darling, but please for the sake of my still-beating heart, preserve the energy you'd typically spend on marshalling us all into order on staying alive."

Deserts could not have been dryer than his tone.

But he gave himself a shake, and re-focused, re-oriented on the well of his calm. Imagined the swell of the sea, the soft curl of sun-gilded waves as they crashed in a pleasant hush onto the pale sand of the untended shores beyond the wharf. Inhaled a slow breath, imagining he smelt salt on the air, and reached very gently for Asra's upper arm.

"Take a breath, dear. As deep and calm as you can."

His fingertips, warm, slipped along Asra's bronzed skin, sketching the runes on the first-minted coins of the church. The same qualities which could heal a city, after all, were those which might heal a man, and he focused on them.

A sinuous movement and a dash, peace, and he threaded the sunlit warmth of his magic through the flesh of Asra's body. Like water soaking into sand, or light passing through a cloud.

A circular movement and three lines, strength, and he drew those threads together like a weaver, first seeking pain to deaden and deeper wounds to begin knitting. He touched the claw only then, with his free hand, slipped it out of the body as it healed.

Three contrasting angles, a drag of his fingertips, unity, and he poured himself into knitting rent flesh, sealing and bringing together again fractured bone. He let himself pull back like a wave receeding, and... puffed a breath, touched the back of a hand to his sweating forehead, and leaned one shoulder against the sill of the door, which still hung open.

Symon sighed lowly, eyes fluttering closed, feeling Lyr through the bond. He could feel the echo of his magic, the warmth of it seeming to tingle at his fingertips as if he had been the one to draw the sigils, flowing through him, a conduit for its power. But he reached deep, past the magic to feel for Lyr. He felt the roiling knot of emotions, the cool facade of calm like frost over a blade of grass, and underneath it, the raw hurting worry, almost-panic.

He could reach across the bond, and so he did, soft and soothing. I've had worse darling. You and Asra will patch me up and I'll be fine.

Asra took a breath and relaxed as best as he could despite his aching head and chest. The feel of another's magic against him was oddly intimate and a faint tremor ran through him at the first brush; he was suddenly grateful to have his eyes closed, fairly certain that he would have flushed at the sight of Lyr's face focused on him at that moment.

Eyes closed, he wasn't expecting the brush of fingers against his skin, his breath catching as a flush of heat spread through him, a mix of what felt like Lyr's magic - warm like summer sun against skin, heated sand beneath his feet, like being wrapped in furs by the fire - and his own embarrassment. It was distracting enough that he missed the first symbol that Lyr's fingers traced and only realised there was a pattern with the second and third, as his mind seemed to shed the haze surrounding it and the tight, sharp pain in his chest eased.

Asra's eyes immediately opened as he felt Lyr's magic receding and he moved to the other man's side, his brow creased with concern as he quickly checked he was alright.

"You didn't need to push yourself so far," he admonished quietly. "I think you need to rest before you do anything else. Don't worry, I can stabilise Symon and then we can both finish the healing once you've recovered."

Lyr returned that gesture of warmth across their Bond, spreading easy comfort to his partner through the strange sense they shared. He was not quite so skillful at it as Symon; could leave impressions, mostly, and feelings. Instincts. And he blinked, and smiled apologetically at the fair-haired magician.

"Oh," he murmured, voice thin, "I'm... I'm quite alright, my dear, only... only a little winded. Unpracticed. Let me scoop up my cane at least, and follow you, and attend to what you do. I should at the very least... at the very least learn something, if I cannot do something..."

He said it already leaning, one hand braced on the sill of the door, shifting one foot to the side, and rose a little stiffly, looking worriedly across to his partner.

"What... what happened to the two of you?"

"A lot of this we can do with traditional healing. I'll just need help extracting the claw. But boiling wine and bandages, we can fix it." He wasn't looking forward to it, but it would have to be done.

"Monsters, in the woods. Three of them." He sighed, "I'm not used to fighting in the forest." His entire life had been spent in Korvosa before now. "We got them in the end, thanks in no small part to Asra." His smile tilted, the expression almost strange, "He was very impressive."

"I think you've more than done enough," Asra murmured reassuringly, offering Lyr his arm to help steady him while he got his cane. His gaze flicked to Symon now and, with his mind clearer from Lyr's attention, he could focus more easily on what needed to be done.

"I can do something about the major wound," he said, "and after we've rested, Lyr and I can finish the rest of them."

He turned away, momentarily distracted with making certain that Lyr was stable on his feet before he returned to where Symon was still perched atop Jasper, and only then realising what the other man was implying. His cheeks flushed a little and Asra shook his head. "I did what I had to. I'd prefer to be better at healing than hurting."

Lyr saw Symon's expression, recognizing it well. A strange, prickling chill went up his nape, made his hitched stride just a little slower. He gripped Asra's arm, as they approached, very gently.

"I will follow your instruction to the letter," he murmured, by way of agreement. "But you must, indeed, have been impressive. My dear heart is not given to idle praise or effusiveness. Permit yourself some pride."

He lifted his hand away to draw it along Jasper's neck when they were near, and he hushed a soothing sound to her. "Was Jasper at least unharmed?"

"She wasn't a part of it, I kept her back, didn't think I could gather herbs from her back." He said, his gaze slowly refocusing Lyr, looking down at his lover. His clothes were stiff with dried blood, and he moved slowly, but still, he was able to brace himself with his good arm, and swung down from Jasper, leaning heavily against his mount.

"I should have acted faster," Asra murmured, frowning at the claw buried in Symon's shoulder still. "Then maybe this wouldn't have gotten so bad."

Reaching down to his bag, he drew out the skin of water he'd packed and opened it. His fingers curled through the air and a thin stream of water floated from the skin, coalescing around the wound and claw like a thin, shimmering coating.

"Try to relax," Asra murmured, his fingers moving to form glyphs in the air. His magic was different to Lyr's; where the other man's had been sunlight against his skin, Asra's was water, cool and refreshing as it washed over the wound, a sensation that bought to mind the first refreshing trickle of cool down a parched throat.

As he pressed his magic deeper to find the extent of torn flesh, the sensation shifted as well, a rush like plunging into deep, dark ocean depths, cold and robbing the area of sensation as the flesh knit back together.

"Lyr," Asra breathed, a faint strain in his voice as he guided the other man's hand to the claw. "Can you draw it out for me? And if you can spare a little..."

Lyr leaned close, while also trying to be unobtrusive. Remembered the glyphs Asra made, committed them to memory, and tried to sense how and where Asra directed his magic.

He touched the edges of the wound as directed, and with a field medic's brusque care; he had spent many years in the temple infirmary, when he was still young and not fully inducted to his order. He had treated many sewer-spider and shiver-saw wounds in those days... and this was not really so different.

"Anything," he whispered, looking up at Symon's face, while his fingers carefully touched the claw at last. He drew it out following the curve, seeking to give of his own mana to Asra, without reserve. "Touch... my shoulder or hand to help, I am... Forgive me, dear, I am unskilled. If you can make the scar small, I know... I know he would prefer that..."

Edited 2019-09-01 00:38 (UTC)

Symon shuddered as the twin sources of magic course through him, indelibly Asra and Lyr both, their essence pouring into him. His breath rasped at the back of his throat, and then stuttered, clenching tight as Lyr drew the claw free. His hands clenched, forearms flexing, shifting to grip at his lover's shoulder.

"Please." He gasped out. It was better than it was at his shoulder, easily hidden but he didn't like cracks in his mask.

Lyr opened to him and Asra felt his magic pulling at the other man's, his own dark and cold like ocean depths pulling at the heat of the sun. The energies mixed together, like sunlight dappling water, the heat of summer and refreshment of cool water as it curled about Symon's flesh.

The claw slipped free and the magic took its place, tugging the edges of the wound closed.

"I think I can manage that..." Asra murmured, and the magic continued to tug at the wound, cleansing and soothing until the edges drew together at last, leaving only a pale mark the size of a fingertip.

Asra exhaled then, letting the power go and swayed, reaching out to steady himself against Jasper. "How's that?"

The cessation of pain could be almost as sweet as pleasure. He sagged, eyes fluttering shut. "Better, so much better." He half-mumbled. Jasper whickered softly, and lipped at Asra's hair.

He forced his eyes open, looking between Lyr and Asra, all of them exhausted and worn thin. He had to laugh, the sound a thin, spare sort of sound. "We all look a mess."

"My fool men," sighed Lyr, fondly, and reached up to afford Symon his arm.

"Come. Let us be inside. I will give you cleaner shirts to change into, and rouse the fire, and tuck you into blankets. See to Jasper while I put a kettle on, and before you know it you'll be nodding off over hot tea, knowing the worst is well behind you now, and you are safe, and cared-for."

There was something about Lyr's words that Asra felt he should protest, that he wasn't anyone's and wasn't good at being tied down. But the thought was lost in a fog of tiredness and despite his concerns, he had to admit there was something nice about seeing Lyr and Symon together, casually intimate and happy.

He trailed after the pair of them inside and, aware of how little space there was in the room, sat curled by the fire. As the heat sank into him, his eyes half closed and he watched Lyr and Symon sleepily.

Symon saw to Jasper, settling her in her stall, murmuring softly, giving her some extra oats. She whickered at him, butting against him, affectionate as always. He smiled at her, exhausted, and then slowly made his way back to his rooms.

The smile lingered when he saw Asra there, and Lyr bustling around and he leaned in his bonded, pressing a kiss to the back of his neck.

Lyr bowed his head to accept the kiss to his nape. He was short enough that Symon needed to lean, a little, and his lips were pale against the dark, sun-bronzed skin there. He closed his eyes and melted to lean back against the other man, wholly trusting, calmed quiet and still under the liquid, sun-gold warmth of his presence. He moved the cups and errata for tea closer to the edge of the small table he stood before; within reach of Symon's hands, so that they could aid him.

They didn't need to speak, their two sets of hands moved fluidly around each other, tapping out leaves, pouring steaming water, measuring honey, adding cream to which cups wanted it.

One cup, he pressed toward Symon's weathered hand.

"Give this one to dear Asra, and coax him onto the bed to be bundled up. Asra, darling, you may wake while we sleep. I'll leave a key here, on the ledge by the door; come and go as you like."

It was such a gentle, caring moment that Asra couldn't help but smile, propping his cheek up on his knee and watching the way they moved together, both clearly trusting each other and that the other would be there when they needed the help. He almost felt an intruder for watching them both, and jumped in surprise at Lyr's words.

"Ah, I shouldn't intrude," he murmured, red sweeping his cheeks again. "I'll welcome the tea, but I can find somewhere else to rest. You don't need to feel worried about me."

Symon wrapped his hand around his own cup of tea, enjoying the warmth of it before passing another cup on to Asra. He sipped at his own, deeply breathing in the rich, malty scent of his drink, sighing, exhausted.

"Nonsense, Asra." He said, smiling tiredly, his eyes bright in the weathered lines of his face. "You've saved me twice over, giving you somewhere comfortable to sleep is the least I can do." He tipped his head towards their bedroom, "C'mon, before I fall asleep on my feet."

"Go on, the both of you," murmured Lyr, a light in his eyes, smile deep but subtle. "I'll be up a little longer to potter about and get a supper meal in order. The pair of you have been through quite enough for a sequence of days, I wager."

He waved them on goodnaturedly, pale sleeves fluttering about his wrists, and turned back to what he was doing.

With a cup of tea in hand, Asra could likely have nodded off right then and there, the magic that had felt like it was building up inside him for a while now momentarily released and allowing him some freedom from the pressure. A well-deserved nap was certainly appealing, but he still wasn't certain if it was a little much to ask to share Lyr and Symon's bed.

But Symon was making it clear that it didn't bother him and Lyr seemed to be busy elsewhere, and coupled with his own tiredness Asra ended up sighing and slowly rising to his feet, long fingers wrapped around his tea cup.

"Alright, when you put it that way," he said with a tired smile, following Symon's direction. "But by the fire would be just as comfortable and I've slept in worse places."

Symon drank his tea on the way there, an idle habit born of living in close quarters, and needing to be ready at a moment's notice. "Just because you've slept in worse places, doesn't mean you shouldn't enjoy it here." He opened the door to his and Lyr's room, ushering Asra in.

The area was neat and almost spartan, though there were little bags of coins scattered about the table next to the bed. There was also a small stand heavy with rings and necklaces that glinted in the late afternoon light. Symon stroked over the jewelry once before starting to undress. He undid his leather armor, sighing at its rather sorry state, putting it up on his armor stand. His tunic was next, careful and neatly folded and put away, followed by his pants, until he was just clad in his undergarments. His body was lean and strong, crossed with scars. He had more scales scattered over his torso and thighs, gills curving along his ribs, tightly sealed.

"C'mon." He went to the bed, pulling back the comforter settling in. Lyr kept sachets of lavender in their sheets and bedding, and it released their sweet, dusty scent. He scooted back, giving plenty of room for Asra.

Asra trailed after Symon, sipping fr his own cup but taking the time to enjoy the sweetness and honey. He stopped in the doorway to take in the room, noting the touches that spoke of Lyr and the few items that were clearly Symon's. After a moment, he set his tea cup down near the bed and turned his attention to the washbasin nearby, aware suddenly of the mud and blood caked on his skin. He washed the worst of it from his hands and face and turned to ask if Symon needed a moment.

Only to stop, his face flushing red as he took in the sight of Symon now. He was as muscular as Asra would have expected, but it was the beautiful trail of scales over his skin that drew his eyes along the sides of Symon's chest, down the powerful length of his torso and further still to his hips. He realised then that he was staring and Asra turned his gaze away, instead focusing on removing his own shirt and sash, both flecked with dirt and blood. His shoes and pants followed, leaving him in his own underclothes and jewelry.

Asra was surprisingly well muscled considering he claimed not to be a fighter, his time wandering and facing dangers in the wilds giving him his own definition, although healing magic meant that there were few scars to show for it. He was still rather flushed as he crossed to the bed, but gave an approving sniff as the calming scent of lavender reached him.

Still uncertain, Asra settled for curling near the opposite side of the bed from Symon, doing his best to give him plenty of room. "It's more comfortable than the fireplace I suppose," he admitted with a wry smile.

Symon didn't miss the flush in the mage's cheeks, and he smiled, his gaze soft and hazy through his pale lashes. "Tol' you so." He twisted a little in the bedding, settling in, the warmth from Asra and his bodies filling the enclosed space, turning on his space to look at the other man. "There's plenty of room you know." He offered, "You don't need to balance at the edge of it."

"Ah," Asra murmured, feeling slightly more embarrassed as Symon drew attention to his distance.

"It's not anything against you, but you and Lyr are bonded and together... This is your home. I don't want to seem as though I'm intruding."

"Oh," Symon propped his chin on his hand, so he could easily look at Asra, "Goodness, Asra. You wouldn't be intruding whatsoever. Lyr was the one who encouraged you to sleep here as well you'll remember." His smile deepened and almost turned soft. "And besides, Lyr is bonded to my heart, has been before here. He'll always be there, and you being here," He reached out, the back of his knuckles barely brushing against Asra's cheek,"Doesn't change or shift it. How could it?"

"Bonded to your heart..." That sent an ache through him and Asra's hand rubbed over his chest at the thought.

"It's the kind of connection you can't easily break, isn't it?" he sighed, and relaxed somewhat. Enough that, as Symon's knuckles brushed against his cheek, Asra sighed and half closed his eyes, sliding over closer and looking over Symon sleepily.

"...your scales catch the light beautifully, you know."

"No, it's not." A bond that would never be broken, he was sure. If it's broken then what would I be? Certainly not myself.

He smiled at the compliment, and turned in the light a little, giving Asra another view of the glinting scales as the ran over the curves of his body. "Why, thank you. Lyr says that same thing." As the mage shifted closer, Symon slipped his arm under Asra's neck, letting him cuddle closer if he wanted.

"Can I...?" Asra asked, reaching out a hand curiously towards the scales but stopping short of actually touching them. If Symon allowed it, he would run his fingers over the scales, marvelling at the smooth feeling of them against his hand and the way the colours shifted in the light. His touch gently skirted around the gills at Symon's ribs and Asra let himself be drawn closer still, pressing his palm against Symon's chest to feel the thump of his heart.

"Easy to see how any could be drawn in if they weren't careful," he remarked lazily. "Between your appearance and your voice... How could anyone resist? I don't envy you that burden."

"Of course you can." Symon turned into Asra's hand, a low rumble, vibrating up from his chest at the touching, the fingers slipping over his smooth scales. A little bit of gooseflesh prickled at his arms, as the other man's fingers drew closer to his gills, his skin was particularly sensitive there.

"Are trying to flatter me?" He drawled softly, the corner of his mouth turning up clearly...flattered.

"Hm, maybe," Asra admitted. "I'm not particularly good at managing these sorts of situations outside of a, ah, more physical intimacy."

His blush never seemed too far away with the current topic, and he distracted himself with running his fingers in patterns and remembered runes against Symon's scales.

"Not that I'm trying to start anything with you in that way but I've never had much other closeness before."

Symon, it turn, then ran his fingers over Asra's cheek, tracing over flush that crawled over his tanned skin. His fingers wandered up, then to the other man's pale hair, running through his short curls. He shivered at the tanned fingers running over his own flesh, his belly clenching a little with the touch.

"Well, physical intimacy is the easy one." He murmured softly, his words curling over the curve of the mage's throat. "It's just your body, mmm?" His eyes were drooping in his exhaustion, head lolling against Asra's.

"Hmm," he agreed, eyes closing as Symon's fingers threaded through his hair and against his scalp. He could sense the other man relaxing further as tiredness overtook him and finally the last of his own guard dropped in turn. Eyes still closed, he tucked Symon's head under his chin and murmured soothingly, his fingers continuing to trace lazy, rhythmic patterns over his scales.

Symon curled into him, his eyes slowly drooping closed. Just before sleep overtook him, he slung a lean arm over Asra's torso, warm, heavy and almost possessive.

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