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He wakes up slowly, as though from a dream.
It feels like he's floating, physical sensation a distant memory. There's a rushing in his ears, like a river or a waterfall; loud enough to ground him, but soft enough to fade into the background. He is calm, effortlessly and completely serene in mind and body- too calm, artificially and cloyingly so. He knows this feeling. The haze of magic has him in its grips. But this is not the oppressive, electric muzzle on his mind that he is still so used to. It's kind and warm, a gentle hand in his palm rather than a manacle around his wrist. It fills his breath, sparking against his lips and his tongue. The taste of it is... familiar.
With effort, Simon opens his eyes.
There is no golden glow hanging in the air. No peaceful water feature, no lingering sparkles of magic. There is instead a familiar canvas wall, the faint taste of blood, and a fairly irate Nahyuta Sahdmadhi.
They don't notice him at first. They're bent down over a table near his feet- he's lying down, he realizes, with his upper body propped up against something- they're working some kind of witchcraft over there, muttering under their breath as they flip through a book far too fast to actually be reading any of the pages. But as though they could hear his internally labeling them with that word they hate so much, their eyes flick up and meet his. They narrow.
"Of course you're already awake."
The barb, at least, is familiar. But try as he might, he can't retort. His tongue and jaw are still, his breath fighting itself. There's a muted ache running through his whole body, synchronizing with his heartbeat. A flare of panic rises in his throat before rationality takes over. No, it's not the magic keeping him immobilized. His body is doing that (or, rather, not doing that) all on its own. Clearly, though, his efforts are at least visible.
"No, no, don't speak. You're in no condition for that." Sahdmadhi sets down their tome and approaches him properly. "No condition to be awake, honestly, damn your constitution..." One would think, he muses, that they should be grateful for its robustness for keeping him alive in the first place...
...it's coming back to him now. They'd been surrounded. Whatever devilry the others were cooking up, it wouldn't go off in time. One of the horrible things lunged, turned its claws towards Athena- he'd moved even before he felt the pull, that familiar lurch in his chest, but his arms were empty and bare- two horrible shrieks, the glint of a talon, a bright flash from behind him- then nothing. Rationality gives rise to the fear this time. It overwhelms him all at once, enough to all but completely dispel the hold of whatever spell is upon him- one hand reaches towards the tent flap, the other trying in vain to push the wretched body it's attached to upright.
"Stop that. Stay still." The stern voice in his ear does not help. If only he had the strength to shove them to the floor like they rightfully deserve!
The adrenaline, the anguish, it's enough that he manages a faint "A-Athena-"
"Athena is fine." A firm hand on his shoulder, keeping him in place; another on his jaw, forcing his face to turn, forcing eye contact with that fierce emerald gaze. "Everyone is fine. You were the only one harmed- and very badly harmed, so please, will you stop fighting me?"
...he's not sure whether it's the relief from the news or the shock at the genuine note of concerned distress in Sahdmadhi's voice that has him giving in, body relaxing and eyes slipping closed. The dull, distant ache does not fade- in fact, it's becoming more pronounced, more localized, that's probably not good- but the pull subsides, and that is enough.
"Thank you." They sigh with genuine relief, guiding his head back into place. "I'm going to have to put you back to sleep, alright?"
He wrenches one eye back open, fixing the man with a glare.
"Would you rather feel every stitch?" They return to their table, waving one hand and causing a nearby case to open itself. Simon's heart sinks.
Their traveling party is small. Four people. So it has to be precariously and meticulously balanced, every role filled with fragile efficiency. Athena Cykes, artificer and machinist, weaponsmith and kitwitch, in charge of the camp itself. Apollo Justice, avid scholar and reluctant sorcerer, bearer of the quest that brought them together in the first place. Simon Blackquill himself, infamous dark highwayman, rogue falconeer, and general shady character, in charge of every manner of hunt. And Nahyuta Sahdmadhi. Insufferable holy man. A cleric from a far-off land (that draws closer every day). Gifted spellcaster with a sharp silver tongue. Team doctor.
Simon's first instinct is to clutch his coat shut. But when he raises his hand to grip the fabric, he finds his chest bare, bandaged, burning. Ahh, so that's the source of the pain. Yes, that lines up with his memories. Of all the places, though... At least they don't seem to have noticed anything amiss. A small mercy. Unlikely to last.
"Yes." He snarls.
"Don't give me attitude. You woke up far too early, I've barely been able to attend to the main wound. I was not being hyperbolic, there will be stitches."
"I'd rather that than you touch me with that arcane devilry." He managed most of the syllables of.
"Must you continue to disrespect me even as I attempt to save your life?" They scoff. Instruments and reagants begin to rise out of the case, and they've settled on a page in the book. He's running out of time.
"Have you no tinctures? No draughts?"
"Do not quote that damn penny dreadful at me."
"Do not come near me with that." Sahdmadhi's right hand has begun to glow, gold and green and lavender lights swirling around each other in a soft, tranquil warning beacon.
"I have no alternative sedative prepared, Blackquill. And I will not subject you to the pain of waking surgery."
"Sahd- Just let me- Nahyuta, don't-" He pleads, he shrinks back as best as he can, but it's no use- the treacherous spell draws closer, motes of light falling, dancing against his bare skin-
...and white light glows against the gold.
The reaching hand stops short, draws back, the cleric's face twists in confusion and then melts into shock as they realize what they're seeing. Simon can't stand it. He turns his reddening face away, averting his eyes despite the uselessness of the gesture. As if he doesn't know the symbol by heart, can't feel every line draw itself in the air nor the involuntary swell of pride and security in his chest as the lines connect to each other, as the symbols complete themselves, as his paladin's sigil spins slowly above his form. It's inviting. It signals a body ready to flow with magic, not just receptive to whatever benevolent witchcraft is at the door but ready to boost its power with his own. In a greater sense, it signals one bound by a sacred oath, loyalty and devotion so strong as to crystallize into magic.
It does not exactly belong on the party rogue.
There is a long moment of tense silence.
"...Blackquill?" Sahdmadhi's voice is quiet, hesitant.
"...forget it. Do your worst." He relaxes his body, speaks dismissively- but as much as it's a giving in, it's also a silent plea. Thankfully, it's received. He glances back just as they nod, face hardening as their hand passes through the sigil to press against his chest, warm and impossibly gentle.
Another deep breath, and the world falls away.
When he wakes again, he is alone. The lamps are low, he's flat on his back, and he's loosely wrapped in an unfamiliar blanket. (It's very soft.) The awakening itself is natural, no sense of pushing through a fog. And rather than a tide churning, violent and enraged, against a flimsy dam, the pain in his upper body is... negligible. Bearable. Ebbing and flowing with the rising and falling of his chest as he breathes. The sigil, traitorous thing, is long gone, but its warmth still embraces him, mingling with the lingering traces of the surgeon's magic in the air.
True comfort is impossible to find out here in the wilderness. But somehow, despite it all, this is close.
But the moment passes, as all moments do. Once he's lingered long enough, he pushes himself up with much more ease and swings his legs over the edge of the makeshift operating table- they're bandaged, too, he notes with some small alarm. Not as heavily as his chest nor his arms, which is a comfort, but still... what had actually happened while he was out?
Further self-inspection reveals no more surprises- none on his body, at least. The surprise comes a few minutes in when the tent flap opens without warning, tranquil silence giving way to fabric rustling, footsteps, voices. Of course the damn thing has been soundproofed.
"-rest assured, Miss Cykes, I will hail you the moment I know anything more. A thousand gratitudes for your invaluable assistance." It's Sahdmadhi, of course, returning to the scene in a much different state. When he'd first awoken, the cleric was still in their traveling robes, the now-soot-tarnished garb he'd been wearing when the group was set upon. But he's dressed much lighter now, bare arms on display for perhaps the first time since they'd met. (Although the glove remains, ominous (and clashy) as ever.)
They snap the fasteners on the tent door closed with a sigh- ye gods, the man looks exhausted- before opening his eyes and affixing Simon with a world-weary glare.
"Of course you're already awake." Deja vu.
"And just what is that supposed to mean?" His voice comes out fully, if a little hoarse. (Or a lot. Ouch.)
"You know very well what I'm talking about." With notably less vigor than before, the healer returns to his post, setting down a well-laden basket- Athena's, the woven one that had once belonged to that faerie friend of hers, filled to bursting with herbs, bottles, tools of a... variety of relevance and usefulness. Another pang at his heart. Knowing the both of them, Sahdmadhi had quietly requested a couple of leaves off one plant, and Athena had returned all of this in half the time... speaking of which.
"I thought you were going to inform her as soon as my condition changed." The remark is cooler than he'd intended as it passes his lips, but could you blame him? Watching someone lie to Athena's face so casually like that...
"I thought we'd have a little chat first. After all, so quick a recovery time after what you've been through might raise some suspicions, might it not?" Their response is equally as chilly- but they steal a glance in his direction as they hold out a bottle from the basket towards him, and it's worried as much as it is stern. "Drink this."
He takes it with caution, uncorking it and bringing it to his lips slowly. But it's only fresh water, clear and crisp; a little too cold, if anything, but he finds he doesn't mind as it soothes his parched throat.
"A hundred apologies for that. I haven't quite mastered the sleeping spell yet..."
"Truly? One would think you'd learn to keep a patient properly subdued before you learned to cut them open." Simon saves half the bottle- best pace himself.
"I was a field medic long before I had any magic to my name." Sahdmadhi rolls their eyes. ('Long' before? Aren't they half a decade younger than he is?) "I have to overshoot, rather than risk it wearing off early- especially in your case- and the intensity tends to cause side effects... mildest I've seen it, though, if all you've got is a sore throat."
"What's the worst you've plagued someone with?"
"A week of hives." They shudder.
"I shall consider myself quite lucky, then."
"Luck? Perhaps. But it's not like your constitution is operating unaided..."
"Oh, is that what all your moaning has been about?" A smirk plays on his lips. "Are you jealous?"
"I- I am not-" They stammer, though the color suddenly rising in their cheeks suggests otherwise. "You're deflecting."
"That makes two of us."
"Enough with the mind games." They slam one hand down on the table, fixing their eyes directly on his.
"Enough with the implications." He folds his arms. "Be direct for once in your life, or you won't get anywhere."
"You're a paladin." It's an accusation, but it spills over his lips like a plea to the heavens. Simon maintains the eye contact for a long moment... then turns away.
"I am."
Further silence. Simon continues to glare a hole in the tarp wall. He will not break first.
"...and do you keep this secret from everyone, or just those you have to collaborate in battle with on the regular?" Clearly, the topic hasn't left their mind once since they witnessed the sigil. Their voice is beyond bitter- it's marinated, pickled sour, dripping with vinegar.
"It's not like you were looking for a reason to make me the muscle of the group. Nor are we exactly wanting for spellcasters. What does it matter?"
"What does it- Blackquill, you can't possibly be serious." At the end of their rope already?
"Why shouldn't I be?"
"Fifteen stitches, Simon." One hand in the basket; the other slams down again, harder, fiercer. The acidity evaporates, leaving naught but salt water behind. "Perhaps if you hadn't spent your time masquerading against your actual combat instincts, you would own a shield."
They've... got a point. And Simon's not a fan of how haunted they sound. "...it worked, did it not? You fought them off fine after I bought you time."
"We would have had an easier time, I imagine, if you had been conscious to assist. Or if Miss Cykes hadn't been thrown into a panic at the sight of you bleeding out." They spit, and Simon's eyes widen. He finds his hand over the wound again- truly, that hadn't crossed his mind. He'd been trying to protect her, as always, but the realization of what he inadvertently made her witness is like being thrown into a frozen lake. "I had heard you held little care for whether you live or die, but I hadn't expected it to come into play at the first, most minor opportunity."
Simon is silent. Part of him is helpless against a looming fog of guilt creeping up around his heart. This far removed from the moment of action, he can see how what he'd done can, perhaps, maybe, a little, be described as... reckless. Careless. Impulsive. Mm. Yeah. Still, another part wants to stand up for himself- the 'minor opportunity' comment in particular has him bristled, defensive. After all, if he has to face judgement for his actions, he would much prefer it be based in a full understanding of the situation, and this guy clearly does not get it.
"...may I make an attempt to explain, or would you prefer I skip straight to groveling?" He takes another sip of water, bracing himself to be shut down. But Sahdmadhi, in the middle of angrily grinding something up in a mortar and pestle, looks up and silently raises an eyebrow. Permission to continue, it seems. "You're a scholar of theocracy, yes? Of all the world's deities, not only those of your homeland?"
"...I am."
"Tell me, holy man. When you so helpfully summoned my sigil, did you happen to recognize any of its components?"
"...I did not." Their hands stop, and they glance over, warily curious.
"So if the iconography in the crest was entirely unfamiliar to you, a scholar of the gods, what would that imply?"
Sahdmadhi's brow furrows. Simon can almost hear their train of thought- what he wants them to ask is clear as day, where he's leading their train of thought and how, but the why is as much of a mystery as the... "...Blackquill, who is your patron?"
He smiles. "Athena Cykes, of course."
The cleric's jaw drops. "...that's impossible."
"How so?"
"I- she is a mortal, first of all. And an artificer, of all things." (Magic not her own, but borrowed, harnessed from the earth and the air.) "How in the world-"
Simon cuts them off with a self-satisfied scoff, shaking his head. "You holy men are all the same."
"-I beg your pardon?!"
"Contrary to the layman's understanding of us faithful types," (He's going to remember that incredulous look on their face forever,) "the differences between the two of us run deep and vast. Even if we were of the same faith- if I'd sworn fealty to your precious Holy Mother- the two of us would still be night and day."
"Get to the point."
"Your magic was given to you." He holds a hand out in front of him. "Bestowed upon you by a higher power who deigned to glance your way and judge you worthy of service and loyalty. As if such a thing need be granted at all."
Sahdmadhi is very quiet. "...and yours was not?"
"No. When you swear the oath- when you truly devote your whole being- the power wells up from inside. Like you've struck flint and set a fire with your own soul as the kindling." He curls his fingers, clutching something imaginary. "We are few and far between. I'd wager that of those boastful men who walk about advertising their oath with white armor and grand crests, vanishingly few are actually bound by one." (The king's guard especially.)
"That's- that's astounding. And they get away with that?"
Simon shrugs. "Those of us who know the full truth benefit from the secrecy. So the pretenders are free to lie and weather what it brings them."
Sahdmadhi is staring at his chest without trying to hide it, now. It's quite unlikely they're just inspecting the bandages.
"...I am willing to give my life. Not to throw it away for any reason, but to put it on the line in service." His voice lowers. "Only for her."
"...and does she know?"
"She is aware of my protective disposition." He folds his arms.
"Does she know of the oath?" Unsatisfied, Sahdmadhi makes eye contact... but Simon looks away.
"...she does not."
There is a long silence.
It ends with a gentle hand on Simon's shoulder drawing his attention- Sahdmadhi is suddenly quite close, and they're holding up the mortar with something green inside. "I need to apply this to your bandages. Turn this way."
"Hm. Are we stalling for time?" Slightly bemusing, the ease at which they seem to have accepted this.
"Not quite yet." The look in their eye is sly, nearly mischievious. "But if we want to keep her from catching on, my medicine case does need reorganizing..."
They restore the medicine case to perfect order, and break down the operating room setup as well out of sheer momentum. (Despite his best attempts and worst instincts, neither his horrific tales of the king's surgeon-jailor nor his jokes about using his own blood to bait fish are enough to get him kicked out early.) Having run out of ways with which to stall, then, they exit the tent- or, they try to. Sahdmadhi is first, just by way of proximity, but they stop short in the doorway.
"Oh, my."
"What? What is it?" Their tone is pleasantly surprised, but given the prior topic of conversation, Simon can't help but be nervous, and he pokes his own head out next to theirs just as they reply:
"It's snowing."
"...so it is." So it is. While they'd been wasting time, a gentle snowfall had begun. Or, while they'd been arguing, more likely, given that it's been long enough to form a light blanket on the campsite. Thankfully, Athena's ingenious design had kept the tents elevated on wooden platforms above the freezing ground and the walkways covered with canopies for shelter, but it left the open center of the camp still subject to snowfall... as well as the tent canopies themselves. Annoyance settles itself behind Simon's eyes- snow means a lot of extra work for all of them, through the night and afterwards, keeping their little compound safe and standing. Sahdmadhi's expression brightens, though, and they cross forward to the edge of the platform, holding out one hand to catch some snowflakes.
"How beautiful. I knew we were coming up on that time of year, but I hadn't expected our first snowfall so soon..."
"Traveling north will do that to you, yes." Simon remarks as he joins them, leaning on the railing and gazing down at the ground below rather than up at the sky. And only then do his spirits lift to match, as he catches sight of the firepit area. "Ha. Look." He points, nudging Sahdmadhi with his shoulder. Their gaze follows his towards...
...Athena and Apollo, full-on frolicking in the snow. The amount that's accumulated is not really enough for snowballs yet, but they're making a valiant effort, dashing back and forth around a magically-insulated roaring fire and attempting to pelt each other with meager handfuls of slush. The chill in the air makes the scene's heartwarmth ever stronger...
"...she's been worried about you." Sahdmadhi murmurs, as though their voice could carry all the way down and disturb the moment. (With Athena around, even wearing that helmet of hers, it's not out of the question.) "Even once we were certain you'd be alright..."
"I figured as much." Even in the thick of the action, even from up here, Simon's keen eyes miss nothing. The way she holds herself, the shadow behind her expression. He'll have to properly thank Justice later for helping her destress. "I imagine you didn't request quite so much in 'assistance' as she provided, hm?"
"Not nearly." Their laugh is as bright and airy as the falling snow. "I thought I was going to have to enchant the tent to prevent her from breaking and entering during the surgery, to be honest."
"Sounds like her." It raises an answering chuckle in him. "You know she was the one who broke me out of gaol?"
"Personally?"
"No magic, no gadgets."
"Wow." Sahdmadhi watches her closely, eyes wide. "What do you think the odds are that she's harboring some secret oath of her own?"
Simon claps a hand over his mouth and steps back, else the force of his laughter might draw attention.
"What? Don't tell me I'm still so uneducated on the topic that-"
"No, no. It's funny precisely because it's so plausible." More plausible than he likes to consider... If not for that sprite spilling all her personal business whenever it speaks, that is. (In truth, he desperately hopes not. It's a weighty secret to bear for someone so young. (And he's not worth it.))
"Well, it's good to see you in high spirits again already." Sahdmadhi smiles, pushing themself off the railing like Simon had done- but their expression goes distant all of a sudden, and they have to catch themself on it again. Simon's eyes narrow, and he finds himself reaching a hand towards them without thinking.
"Are you alright?"
"Yes, yes, I'm fine. Dizzy, all of a sudden, that's all." They wave their gloved hand, attached beads quietly clinking against each other.
"...you haven't had a moment of rest since the battle, have you?" Simon breathes, eye for detail now trained on the cleric.
"I've had a moment. Perhaps not two..." It's an attempt at a joke. Keyword 'attempt'. "There is far too much to be done for me to idle yet, in any case."
"I wouldn't say that."
"Hm?"
"They haven't noticed us yet." Simon heads down the walkway to a section of platform where a once-broken fence has been fashioned into a sort of bench and takes a seat, beckoning for them to follow and copy. "You saved a man's life today, did you not? Catch your breath, at least."
"...well, when you put it like that." They sigh and roll their eyes, but there's a small smile on their face as they join him.
"The snow's not going to let up, is it?" The bench is still under a canopy, but it's close enough to the edge that snowflakes have already begun to land on Simon's shoulder.
"Mm. And it'll only become more frequent as we enter the northern territories." Sahdmadhi shakes their head. "We should find a settlement around our route quickly, regroup and better prepare for the weather." A pause. "Get you a shield."
"Not such a bad idea, I reckon." Simon chuckles. "Will we be delayed any, or did you take the weather into account when planning this trip?"
"If we can properly equip ourselves for the heavier snowfall, we should arrive at Tehm'pul with minimal delays." (They speak with that special annoyance only a local can summon.)
"That's good." He brushes more snow off his shoulder. "We'll be arriving right around Yule, won't we?- although, I suppose few there will be celebrating it."
"Few if any. Our closest equivalent festival is at the other end of the season..." They trail off.
"...but?"
"Well, our visit won't be entirely bereft of festivities, if you're interested in some downtime. Provided we make it on time, we'll arrive just in time for the crown princess's birthday." Ah, yes. Rayfa Padma Khura'in, the future ruler of the kingdom. (Queendom?) A powerful spiritual sorceress able to commune with the dead... and a fifteen year old girl. A priestess renowned for her benevolence and kindness... and her not-so-secret hair-trigger temper. A powerful political figure whose assistance would benefit them greatly, and...
"...your cousin, yes?"
Sahdmadhi stiffens, staring straight ahead, folded hands suddenly clutching. How curious. "Yes."
"...apologies if I gave you a fright."
"No, no. I shouldn't be surprised you've done your due research on me."
"Would you believe Athena had to fill me in, actually?"
"Ha. That's more what I was expecting, yes..." They've shrunk in on themself a little now, shoulders raised and hands wringing. "I... would quite like to arrive in time for the celebrations. I am not exactly welcome at court, still, but exceptions can be made for things like this, and..."
Of all places, they're still looking through the slats of the railing, down towards the firepit. Towards Athena.
"Well, given everything you've entrusted me with today... Surely you understand."
He doesn't. Not one bit. The broad strokes of the complicated sociopolitical backstories at play are unclear and uninteresting to him, let alone the fine details. He is little more than a bodyguard on this journey, and Sahdmadhi is a friend of a friend of a friend.
But at the same time, given everything- the gentle, trembling plea in their voice; the way they continue to stare at Athena so resolutely, as if they're trying to draw attention to the action itself; the way they'd gone along with his charade so quickly... he does understand. Not completely, but enough.
"...of course. Thank you for trusting me, and..." It feels clumsy, dealing with feelings like this, even to just reach out with words. The warmth on his cheeks is not entirely from the frost. But it must be said. "For everything else, as well. I am truly in your debt."
They smile (a bright, grateful thing that makes all their previous expressions look like lightning bugs against the sun), but give no verbal response, so he returns to watching the snowfall, fairly certain that's it... until he feels a weight on his shoulder, and turns to discover it's Sahdmadhi's head.
"Oi. This is a little more than 'catching your breath'." A minor shoulder wiggle does nothing to dislodge them. "What, is this part of my repayment plan?"
They're still smiling, eyes closed. What a demon. And to think, he'd almost begun to like them. "Sure. Why not?"
"What in the world will the others think when they inevitably come charging up the stairs and discover you behaving like this?"
"Pretend to be annoyed or something. You're good at that."
Suddenly, he's grateful they can't see him. "Bah. Everyone here thinks they know me so well..."
"I do now, don't I?"
"True... Perhaps the debt is mutual."
"Oh? You want to know my story?"
"I never said that." He responds unconvincingly fast.
"Mm." They don't sound convinced, shifting so they can better use him as a cushion. "Maybe sometime soon."
If he didn't know better, if he couldn't see evidence to the contrary with his own eyes... from the comfortable warmth in his chest, he'd swear they'd summoned his sigil again.