12 - Rest and Magic
Cassian
A sigh. A few steps.
He felt a sudden coolness on his forehead—a clean, lukewarm cloth—and easily recognized Tariel’s presence. The elf was sitting beside him, silent for a moment, focused. Then, calmly, he spoke. “Excessive and disproportionate.”
Cassian opened his eyes slightly, his muscles still sore, but a faint, amused smile played on his lips. He watched the elf press two fingers against his skin in careful assessment before replacing the cloth.
“What you describe as friendship,” the elf continued, “I see as loyalty from a people who owe you their lives… But I can understand where you’re coming from.
Our upbringings obviously differ. What I consider a service rendered in the hope of future protection, you see as an exchange that forms the basis of a mutually supportive relationship.
All these people seem to adore you, though, so you should be proud of that. ”
Cassian rolled his eyes, offering a barely visible smile.
“A debt isn’t the only thing that binds us. Pacts, promises, oaths… all of that is, deep down, of little consequence. You know nothing about me or my upbringing, and I don’t hold that against you, but don’t think I take any pride in it.”
He paused before continuing, studying the elf’s drawn features, “And sure, it’s something you can be afraid of. You’re afraid, Tariel. And that’s your right.”
He gently grabbed the glass of water the elf held out to him and tried to sit up, his muscles protesting painfully. A groan escaped him as he braced himself, his eyebrows furrowed, and Tariel placed a hand on his back to help him.
“When you fell,” Tariel started, “you erected that impenetrable barrier again. I had to modify it so the ladies could tend to you. I don’t yet know how to dispel it. Would you let me study it?”
“Go ahead,” he simply whispered, his tone neutral, his breathing still a little ragged. “I wasn’t planning on going for a late-night hike anyway.”
He let himself sink back onto the furs, closing his eyes for a moment. He winced at the bitter taste on his tongue.
“Seris has a knack for smearing filth on my lips. And don’t laugh. You did the same thing earlier.”
He pulled the blanket up to his navel, an amused smile on his lips.
“Tell me… were Rhazek’s girls the ones who washed me? Because I’m naked under this damn blanket, and it’s not the first time it happened. So if you could at least put a pair of socks on me, I’d appreciate it.”
Tariel raised an eyebrow, his gaze slowly sliding down Cassian’s bare chest before meeting his eyes with a mischievous twinkle.
“I’m so weak I can’t even stand up,” he declared in a theatrical tone. “If only you, the idiot that you are, had let me help you instead of forcing me to cast a spell so draining to save your life… Oh well, you’ll have to stay naked.”
A playful smile played across the elf’s lips, more sincere than anything he had shown thus far. Cassian rolled his eyes but didn’t protest. After all, he wasn’t a prude by any means.
Tariel suddenly summoned a massive grimoire in a faint blue glow.
A quill and an inkwell, shimmering with magic, appeared in its wake.
The elf knelt near his chest and placed his hands on him.
The grimoire opened of its own accord; the quill dipped into the ink and began to write in ancient Elvish.
Cassian could read it, but he barely peeked at it with a fleeting glance.
“This barrier seems to be forming on its own,” Tariel whispered. “In that case… how does it do that?”
Cassian gently took his wrist and guided it toward his heart, just above the Stone.
As the elf’s hand touched his bare skin, a familiar warmth spread through him.
His magic—his very essence—bound with Tariel’s in a deep, vibrant echo.
It wasn’t just a magical bond; it was a resonance. Something older. Something vaster.
He closed his eyes, listened to the elf’s heart respond to his own, and lingered on the ancient presence within him—so luminous, so vibrant.
“I am not a mage,” he said at last. “If my magic seems primitive to you, that’s because it belongs to none of the systems you know…
It evolves. It transforms and purifies—or corrupts—in the silence of an unchanging balance.
Excedo Carnem, you’ve heard me say that once or twice.
It means ‘I transcend the flesh; I cross the boundaries of the physical,’ it is alchemy. ”
He sighed deeply.
“You saw my blood make nature grow. That is all it is: giving in order to receive. Don’t feign surprise, Tariel… you are the one walking around with the Heart of Elhe.”
His hand glided over the elf’s chest, resting on that beating heart. At his touch, the bond intensified. A new warmth flowed between them.
He felt the subtle shiver that ran through Tariel. In the elf’s troubled gaze, he read the same question he had asked himself during his apprenticeship, when he was still a young man: what was that all about?
Magic fluttered between them, fluid and alive. It flowed from him to the elf, then returned enriched with a foreign yet familiar essence. A subtle synergy, an exchange between souls.
“It’s impossible…” whispered Tariel. “Only dragons, gods, or mythical creatures are capable of such magic… No offense, but I don’t see what any of them would be doing pretending to be a mere mercenary.”
Cassian chuckled faintly.
“You don’t offend me. My magic is the only truth—tangible and real. As for my status, it’s of little consequence… I’ve told you: my parents served the dragons. They learned from them, and I learned from my parents.”
He didn’t add anything about his own magic. It wasn’t time yet.
“There is a power within you,” he continued. “I can feel it. It comes naturally to you, while others must learn it, earn it. You are just unaware of your privilege.” He sat up slightly with effort, pain evident in every feature of his face. “You have it within you. Here. In your heart.”
A pale glow pulsed beneath his palm, still resting on the young elf’s warm chest.
“Only the Crystal responds to alchemy in this way… And I understand why you were chosen to slay the dragon: dragons are drawn to what is purest, to riches… gold, power, magical artifacts. And you… you bear the mark of them.” His voice grew deeper.
“You’re a target, Tariel. Whether you like it or not. I’m surprised you’ve made it this far…”
Perhaps he was saying too much, but the words demanded to be spoken.
Beneath his fingers, he felt Tariel waver inwardly, his feelings resonating like an echo between the two hearts: disbelief gave way to a painful certainty.
Magic didn’t lie; the elf couldn’t hide from Cassian—not that he didn’t already know that.
Finally, the elf took a long breath, lifted his chin, his gaze briefly misting over for a moment so fleeting that the mercenary might have imagined it. His grimoire snapped shut, the sound almost synonymous with finality. The silence grew heavy.
Cassian didn’t speak up. He knew that silence all too well. He could guess the thoughts racing through the elf’s mind: his parents, the quest, the possibility of a lie. Tariel’s rings clinked as he clenched his fists.
After a long, tense moment, the elf dispelled his magical barrier and pulled the blanket back up over Cassian’s chest with trembling gentleness.
“You shouldn’t be moving around so much. You’re exhausted. You should sleep… We should both sleep.”
He lay down on the furs, his back to Cassian.
“…I don’t want us to be too exhausted to react effectively. It would be a shame to die before we find that damn dragon.”
Denial.
Cassian didn’t respond.
Silence settled in. Then he felt fingers searching for his. Hesitantly.
He understood before they touched.
When Tariel’s hand closed around his, he gently squeezed back.
One’s distress resonated in the other. Cassian remembered all too well the collapse of a world—his world. His people, slaughtered. The promised peace that had never come.
Cassian lay down on his side, his voice a hoarse whisper. “I can’t wait to see you at full strength once you’ve rested.”
His hand slid through the elf’s long white hair, brushing the strands aside. Minutes passed, and his thoughts drifted back to Drakensyl, to the Malveth, to the impossible choices.
What was he to do with this elf? With this mage whose heart was so rare, so important, whose laughter was so crystal-clear, and whose spirit was so fiery?
Rip out his heart? Tie him up? Kill him?
None of these options seemed right, and Cassian knew it.
His chest tightened. What a cruel fate, he thought bitterly. For his people to finally awaken from their slumber of ashes, Tariel had to be the fuel.
Cassian let his thumb brush the elf’s temple, where life pulsed. The price of a race’s resurrection was the sacrifice of this bond, and every beat of the elf’s heart echoed like a countdown.
He didn’t immediately feel Tariel turn toward him. It was the pressure of a hand against his side that made him half-open an eye in the darkness. Moving on instinct, Cassian pulled him a little closer, sharing his warmth with his companion.
“If my nakedness bothers you, you only have yourself to blame,” he murmured with a subtle smile, light words spoken to ease the heaviness of the moment.
His hand slid down the elf’s back, caressing, comforting.
Cassian felt Tariel stiffen for a moment, probably surprised by the firmness of the body he had just pressed against.
He could almost sense the young mage’s bewilderment at the strength he was still displaying despite his exhaustion, but the elf offered no resistance.
To Cassian’s surprise, Tariel eventually let himself sink against his bare skin, letting out a faint, suspiciously wet laugh that died away against the mercenary’s shoulder as he slipped an arm over his chest to embrace him.
“If your nakedness were unwelcome, I would have brought you more clothing than was necessary to cover all of that skin,” Tariel replied in a hushed voice.