Work Text:
Words of my heart:
"What words do you use? How can you say it? I feel...inordinate want. The closer I get, the more it hurts. If I say too much, everything might break forth violently, shatteringly from prolonged exposure. I try to say, stay away from me. But every second, I want to get closer. And closer."
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A man enters the inn. A voice he recognizes, looking up from his reading and scribbled notes. Unsure, should he say something? Lothar probably wouldn’t want to see him, as irritating as he knew he was to the commander. He decides to sit quietly, observing from the corner of his eye as the man greets some other patrons at the bar.
“Bookworm!” Enthusiastic, loud.
I’m dying, thinks Khadgar, glancing around to see if anyone noticed the fuss. Literally dying. Weakly nodding a greeting, resigned to his fate as the commander of the king’s army flopped cheerily next to him at the table, too close, and the mage refuses to move an inch. Be damned if he’ll fluster me that easily. This is my inn. I’m not moving. He can see that Lothar has been drinking – this doesn’t appear to be his first stop of the evening.
“How goes the reading?” Lothar nods to the heavy tome. Seeing Khadgar open his mouth to respond with a serious reply, he changes his mind. “Actually, I don’t want to know. Let’s have a drink.” Calling the tavern wench, ordering some pints of a strong-smelling ale, ignoring quiet protests.
Even Khadgar lightens up eventually. The ale helps. The commander is teasing but friendly, sharing stories from the barracks and on the road, re-living the flight to Karazhan and other encounters. They’re both getting tipsy. They’re both having a good time. The surprise at this is mutual.
...several drinks later.
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“Tell me what it’s like. Wielding magic.”
The mage blinked, fiddling with his tankard. “What do you want to know?
An exasperated sigh. “What do you see? What do you feel?”
“It’s hard to describe.” The younger man was bashful, objecting, “It’s an innate ability. Like seeing color. How can I describe that?”
“Stop resisting. Answer the question.” Khadgar wondered how it was possible to swagger without actually moving. Lothar persisted. “C’mon, bookworm, use some of those fancy words you read. I could tell you how it feels to battle like a warrior.”
Khadgar exhaled. Insufferable man. “I haven’t been in many battles… But. When a battle gets close to me, or threatens to get close, my conscious mind goes blank. I feel nothing, I hear nothing.” His eyes had taken on a faraway quality. He stared as if into an abyss, remembering. Lothar was entranced by every word, eyes lingering on the younger man’s face. “My eyes watch, my body calls the arcane. I move – like a mage moves, like I move; I don’t tell it to move or how to move or where, I don’t know it’s moving, I don’t feel it move – yet it moves. And when my eyes watch my opponents, I see things I don’t know I’m seeing. I see weapons and shields and spells as they approach, I see them in my path or unthreatening. I see something in the way the warrior holds his sword, in the way his body angles and turns, in the way he’s parrying, in what he’s done before that tells me what he’ll do – and spells weave. I let them move. I trust them and the unconscious mind that moves them.”
“Well.” Despite himself, Lothar was drunkenly impressed. “I don’t think you’ve ever said that many words all together.” A moment later, persistently, “…But what does it feel like?”
The mage looked at Lothar balefully. “That’s the best I can do.”
“No. You described how you channel the magic. But how does it feel? That bright blue light that comes out of your face and hands --” Lothar gestured. “It’s got to feel like something. Heat? Buzzing?”
“You don’t know what you’re asking. It’s very personal to each mage.” Khadgar’s voice snapped with uncharacteristic irritation. “Even if I tried to explain, you wouldn’t understand.”
“Try me.” Serious now, curiosity tempered.
Khadgar’s reply was gentler, relenting. “Imagine yourself running, as fast as you can. You’re almost flying. But suddenly, you need to run even faster. So you reach inside yourself for more – you can’t see it, but it’s there, and it responds when you ask. You are reaching into a place where everything is crystal and cold, silence, and ice. That’s where the arcane is.” Lothar opened his mouth to ask a question, receiving an elbow jab for his interruption and a disapproving look that said, You asked. I’m answering. Be quiet.
The familiar azure light flickered in Khadgar’s eyes, five points of light appearing in his outstretched hand on the bar, demonstrating as he spoke. His voice grew louder, the light growing brighter. Patrons were beginning to stare, some moving closer and others edging away warily.
“In the silence, there is a song. It’s my essence, inside. It surges and swells with power. It’s every shade of blue and white, precision embodied. It throbs, vibrates. It moves with my intentions. Calculating. Mathematical. The humming of it is…relentless, layered, driving forcefully, but I’m in control. When I cast, the arcane becomes one with my essence. Layers upon layers. Infinite. Powerful.” He looked at Lothar intensely, lifting his hand and letting the blue light wash over the table. “That is what arcane feels like. At least to me.” The azure light faded and the mage blinked, seeing the crowd for the first time. “Other kinds of magic feel different. Fire, frost…” He muttered, suddenly embarrassed, voice trailing away.
“You’re drunk,” Lothar accused. He’d been unable to look away during Khadgar’s speech, finding every word sensual in a way that lapped on the edges of his consciousness. Thinking, By the light, I want those lips and eyes surging and swelling on my cock. Desire rose, the heat in his groin building as he stared at the serious young face, thinking how very kissable a face it was. I want his dick throbbing and vibrating to come for me.
“I think we’re scaring the locals.” Uncomfortable with the attention he’d garnered from the other patrons, Khadgar was attempting to disappear behind his nearly-empty tankard. He seemed innocently unaware of the other man’s arousal.
“Aye. Another round? No?” Lothar eyed his own empty stein as the mage shook his head. “I reckon it’s time to go.” He stood, swaying, chair scraping on the wooden floor.
The mage impulsively grabbed his arm. “Lothar.” Enormous brown eyes looked up beseechingly. “Stay here with me. I’ve got a room upstairs. You don’t have to ride back tonight.” I don’t want to be alone.
They both felt surprise when Lothar agreed.
...To Be Continued...