Healing a Healer

[Maladan]

69th Frost, 4621

It's been a tough day, happily closing to the end.

Sitting by the dressing table, looking at his reflection in the mirror dominantting piece of dark wooden furniture, Maladan still couldn't believe he was out of the prison. The elf looking back at him was somewhat strange, changed. He tried to smile, but the elf didn't looked happy at all. He looked worried, his eyes somewhat without the fire they once had, flickering; his features somewhat torn, but the remnants of boyish handsomeness were still there. With some care, he'd be able to resurrect them.

Wiessen liked his face, so he usually mercifully left it alone. Maladan was thankful for that. Though he never grew much hair and the best he could hope for was stubble, he still shaved his face smooth.

It was carefully and slow process, in which he tested the surety of his hands. It was a struggle to keep the shivering under control, and it took him about a clean fifteen minutes to gain his composure while watching his own reflection hold the razor under his throat.

Having gotten over this episode, he moved his nightstand and table over to the mirror and spread his necromantic and healing tools out on them, lining them around. Foams, Threads, Needle he wasn't quite sure how to use with precision, Carving Sickles, scalpel, needle with threads, bandages, bottle of antiseptics and painkillers, set of vials for dosing....
He knew Latham would come to help him, but he was not going to embarrass himself by sitting idly by. This was his chance to prove the man that he is actually quite good at something.

Undressed of rags, clean after a bath, only in his newly washed underwear, he set to work carefully and methodically:

He started with the most delicate areas he didn't want to show Latham ~ his underbelly and thighs. Unfortunately, there was great concentration of wounds in those, as Wiessen loved to play with these parts of body. He reopened the old scab so he could clean them with alcohol. It hurt and burned as alcohol washed over the living flesh of reopened wounds, but Maladan was more than willing to take it. Only occasionally a groan of pain escaped from under his clenched teeth, and had to stop for a moment and catch his breath and sureness of hands.

Fortunately, most of the wounds weren't deep, Wiessen wanted to get to his nerves, not kill him. Some of them, however, were long and deformed as body healed with no assistance, scaring Maladan for life without the aid of necromancy. Oh, but he had necromancy and he intended to use it to eradicate all the marks of Wiessen from his body and therefore his life. Once there was no trace of that horrible month upon him, he knew his mind could finally feel free and begin to heal too.

The largest of deformities was on his left side quite near the hip; unfortunately it already healed, but... very unsightly. He knew the procedure – he needed to damage the skin again and use Sinew Threads to create a skin implant, therefore replacing the shriveled tissue.

There was a lot of blood. Strange, his body must have made the new one like crazy to ensure the replacements. He originally wanted to do all the job by night, welcoming the sunset as new elf, but maybe that idea was quite hasty. A second pair of hands to take care of the bleeding would really help.

When Latham joined him, Maladan quickly tied a cloth around his waist and stood up from his seat to greet the man with a smile.

"I've tried to do something already, but... it looks like a lot of work; Wiessen was running his business... daily. I don't think there's any reason to start with the freshest, the bleeding has stopped and I intend to finish the work by morning. I'd hate to rob you of your time though, I'm sure Thomas will be very grateful for your company and I can manage on my own." he gestured towards his collection and already bloodied water in the bowl, as well as bandages over his lower abdomen. The bottle of antiseptics were opened and some of it were already used. However the bottle containing analgesic was still full and apparently intact.

Also, he didn't feel it was quite right to stand there somewhat very... exposed in front of a man who not long ago was fulfilling his commitment with Thomas. The two of them still had a lot to say and express to each other, from Maladan's perspective they should definitely be spending time together. Maldan still believed that keeping his distance was the best he could do for now. He really didn't want to mess this up.

He felt a kind of... inclination to hug and hold onto them both, to latch onto them like some kind of emotional parasite, like a moth being lured to a light. He knew that, like the insect, he would be annoying. With all their problems, this couple certainly didn't need another: emotionally deprived elf plagued with neurosis.

Though he was still drawn to Thomas on the basis of shared moments, and to Latham on the basis of feeling secured, he decided that those emotions must not affect his behavior and attitude.

[Taelian Edevane]

As he slowly opened the door to Maladan's room in the hotel, the man lifted a hand to wave, only to pause for a moment as his eyes flicked up-and-down, examining his body in a relative state of undress, both wounded and bandaged alike. He noticed the bloodied bowl and curled his lip, sighing softly before taking a seat beside him. Latham was dressed in a deep brown vest with a simple white dress shirt beneath, and black slacks. Gripped idly by his offhand was a briefcase with Necromancer's tools, one he set on the ground before reaching out to examine the state of the Sil'norai's wounds.

"You're not robbing me of my time -- I elected to come here; this is where I wish to be at the moment. Thomas is perfectly content for me to do so, as well, so you needn't worry."

The man appeared somewhat solemn as he eyed the damage done to him. He was glad that none of it appeared particularly debilitating or disfiguring, but it was worse than he'd initially thought when they first met at the manor, and wading through the forest on their way back. Most of the damage was obscured, the abuse easy to conceal. While it wasn't necessarily illegal for Weissen to act in the way he was, it was gauche, even scandalous. He did not want others to know of his abhorrent proclivities.

The man reached down, opening his briefcase before pulling out the gun-like instrument that would release Sinew Foam into Maladan's wounds. He reached further to grab a Carving Hook, merely to serve as a sort of scalpel to ensure his wounds did not heal unevenly. "I'm sorry for what happened to you," he said, peering down before slowly getting to work. Without so much as asking, he began to trace along the exterior edges of the wounds with a finger-tip, not directly touching them. He released the somewhat grainy fluid from the gun onto his fingertip, setting down the Carving Hook for a moment before lathering a cut along Maladan's midsection with the foam. The wound almost immediately began to seal, first into what appeared like scar-tissue before a regenerative epidermal layer slowly began to form along the exterior.

Before it fully solidified, he pulled out a wiry, coiled metal string from the lower handle of the Hook and began smoothing it over the foam, shaving off the excess. Nodding, the man watched the foam set, a hypodermis forming into a dermis, into the stratified layers above. It was a rapid and benign healing process, one that would reduce the prominence of any scarring. Some wounds had healed on their own, and someone of his skill could not mend them, but he was more than capable of performing the 'first aid' element of Necrodoctoring.

"Thomas and I have a... unique and interesting relationship," he said, lips smoothing as a small smile appeared to form over them. "He's not a very honest man, but he is a caring one. He cares for you -- I can tell as much. He'd want you to be better."

Searching for the next wound to tend to, the man sought out the deepest; the ones most prone to infection, irritation and scarring. Observing another above his abdomen, he roughly repeated the process.

"Besides: I'd be a bad man if I let you out onto the streets, wounded and cold. You deserve a life of dignity. Don't let all those bastards take that from you just because you've knife-ears and silver hair."

[Maladan]

"In that case... thank you." He sat back down as Latham walked to him, and began to examine his wounds. Maladan didn't hide himself or resist in any way, though wasn't he certainly relaxed. He tried to focus his attention on elf's tools and his work, comparing and learning from it.
"Me too... but It's over now." he said, smiling softly.

Seeing that Latham was successful in his work, and handles it quite proficiently, he began to mimic the process himself, picking another wound on his chest, far enough so as he doesn't interfere with the other elf's work.

"I noticed that." Maladan chuckled. "I don't know much about Thomas, honestly. All I know is that he helped me; he reminded me how it's like to be out there... just by standing in cell, sharing it with me and being... I'd say fancy, but it's more like him. Which was all that happened, besides the conversations and help with treating my wounds as you do. He was... kind. Just kind." he added and get visibly nervous, as Latham's words of infidelity came back to his mind.

He paused for a moment, as tending to a deep wound wasn't.. the most pleasant. The tissue burned and tingled as it recovered with the foam. Latham's next comment, however, made him chuckle lightly.

"And here I was beginning to think that leaving the wounded die in the streets was considered the decent thing to do in Lorien." he laughed carefully enough not to disturb Latham's work on his wounds. "I must say, though, that even when Thomas was talking about you... I didn't expect you to come. For him, sure... but not for me. I didn't expect you to be a Sil-Norai, either. But you two seem to be full of surprises." He moved his hands to his own work again.

"I think I'll leave the inscription... to you. I don't want... to look at it." Maladan said, his eyes flicking to the long slashes piecing together the MINE inscription on his chest. It was the freshest and most extensive wound.

[Taelian Edevane]

The man chuckled, thinking back to all of the times he'd shared with Thomas in the midst of adversity. He had a way of sort of... cheering him up, intentionally so, even if his motives were sometimes questionable. 'Fancy' was a good word for it; there was something to him that was always very bright, illuminating. Even when he was being something of a brat, Latham didn't mind him. He found charm in it, even endearment. There were few other men he'd rather share a cell with, he supposed.

"You don't need to worry; I'm not jealous or suspicious," the man clarified, meeting Maladan's eyes for a moment. He could sense some degree of nervousness in him -- the way he clarified that they'd done nothing but shared in kindness, for example. "Even if you had engaged in physical intimacy, I wouldn't be upset. You are a handsome man -- I could not blame Thomas for garnering some... interest in you." He narrowed his eyes for a moment, trying to determine whether his words sounded remarkably odd or not. Inevitably, he decided that it did not matter.

Nevertheless, he smiled faintly as Maladan mocked the haughty nature of Lorien; the selfish way in which people tended to act. He was not wrong, but a part of this civil war -- he believed -- was about restoring the soul of their nation. The Kindred were much to blame for Lorien's fragmented social order, and when they were gone, he believed that would -- or at least could -- change.

"I always come," he said, returning his eyes to the wounds. He glanced over the inscription, a weariness in his eyes as he viewed its scale and depth. The pain Maladan must have felt as it was being inflicted -- it was harrowing. "What matters to me more than anything is protecting those I love, those I care for. And I care for a lot of people; those who need me, depend on me. To be honest, Maladan, that includes you now. I'm not going to let Lord Weissen take you again."

Despite barely knowing one another, it was difficult to interpret his words as anything but earnest. Latham wore a deeply intensive look, seemingly enraged at the thought of their torture; Thomas' pain, of course, but Maladan's too. A large part of it was a moral quandary on the abuse of nobility -- the failure of 'noblesse oblige' -- though beyond that, much of him also didn't like knowing that good people had suffered for nothing.

He began to work at the inscription, slowly as to not incite any pain. Frequently, he would look up to meet Maladan's eyes, ensuring he was alright.

"I'm not sure where you intend to go, but my doors are open to you," he said softly. "I'm sure Thomas and I would both be terribly elated if you would remain with us. He needs a friend, and honestly... so do I. There's a certain loneliness in these lands. I miss having my own kind around -- being able to speak my natural tongue, and sharing in old memories from Sil-Elaine. You're a welcome companion, my dear."

[Maladan]

Maladan had expected this to be difficult, but Latham with his intense glare, suggesting he wouldn't mind if Thomas cheated on him with Maladan because he was handsome, despite all the scars... that was heavy caliber. His face flushed and he looked away from Latham's face, speechless. He didn't know what to say. The worst thing was that such words should have outraged him; instead he was in some strange bizarre way... pleased. The memories of how ugly he felt next to fancy Thomas, man in beautiful clothes with alluring charm and the knight, rushing to his salvation, came back to him all too vividly. It was true, he envied Thomas, he still did, even after he was saved. Maybe even more. He envied him for everything he'd mentioned he'd teach him. He envied his freedom, the fact that he was never bound by anyone or anything, had no masters – on the contrary, he played with his 'masters' like a kitten with a mouses. He would know what to say now. Maladan had a feeling that no matter how he'd answer, he'd either appear ungrateful or start flirting with a double taken man; neither of which he wanted.

Finally, he just smiled and moved his shoulders. He'd always come, someway he believed him. He did for Maladan and Thomas and as Latham continued, Mal's was getting more sure and sure of that. It was strange, but there was a peculiar warmth in both Latham and Thomas which he was not accustomed to, and which surprised him, urging him to act and think similarly open. When the innkeeper took him in, he felt a reserve from him and his family, though he had saved his daughter. They were good people, but this was different.

Although Maladan was quiet, he was not difficult to read. He smiled at Latham's during his work and sensitive looks.
"It's alright, I can take... a lot, after all." Working on the inscription was not pleasant, but non of it was. Still, far better than the times when scars were inflicted.

"Thomas said he would support me staying with you... both of you. I am seriously considering it. It's crazy, but so far I've never felt... so welcome. So safe. Bu toigh leam fuireach còmhla riut, cho fad 's as toil leat." I would love to stay with you, as long as you like. He was beginning to love the man and his lover, and all it took was a few expressions of sympathy and pity. Mother would have told him: he was pathetic... but he felt happy.

[Taelian Edevane]

"Then stay," he said, flashing a warm glimpse of a smile down at him as he worked away at the long, elaborate wounds. He ran out of foam in the gun eventually, reaching down into the open briefcase to grab another capsule before continuing. It almost became a rhythm, his mind drifting from focus, though he made sure to keep sharp, not wanting to wound him or aggravate the inflamed state of his damaged dermal layers.

...with you.

The man met his eyes again, pausing as he finished with the inscription, setting down the instrument. Their eyes continued to linger upon one another's as Maladan spoke in Silvain, his words spurring a warmth in the larger man's chest. Taelian reached, slowly, to place a hand upon the man's side, smoothing over his soft skin with his thumb before responding in kind.

"Mar bu toigh leam fuireach riut, Maladan." As I would love for you to stay, Maladan.

Moving toward him, the large man gently wrapped his arms around the other Sil'norai's back, settling his chin atop his silky, white-colored hair. It was difficult for him to avoid the pull of physical intimacy -- of some kind, in some way. Maladan, of course, was making it all the more difficult.

"Tha thu sàbhailte, agus bidh thu. Nì mi cinnteach dheth." You are safe, and you will be. I'll make sure of it.

He pondered for a moment, before pulling back somewhat and meeting Mal's eyes again, clearing his throat as he quite visibly worked up the courage to speak. "...I should be upfront in saying that I--I think I quite like you, Maladan. I don't know you very well, but... I'd like to know you. I'd like to know you very well, in fact," he admitted, the man's face flushed a rosy shade. "Uh--in fact, I'd really like to kiss you. ...Would you want that?"

[Maladan]

"Ceart gu leòr. Nì mi sin." All right. I will. He took a deep breath. That was it. Thomas agreed. Latham agreed. He stays here. Can he live like this? Why couldn't he? He's not going back to Mother with a plea, he's caused enough trouble for the innkeeper. These two want him here and... let's face it, Maladan wanted to stay with them too, for various reasons.

The touch on his hip made him uneasy, but not that much as before. Touches were geting to grow normal again. Latham was a touchy man and Malada needed some time to adapt. The hugs were... too much? Probably. Maybe. Maladan would protest, but having his face in Latham's chest and neck, being held gently but firmly in his arms, being somewhat... hidden, protected. His words, in a language he himself had not spoken for a very long time, were reassuring.

He shuddered, still not entirely decided whether to push the man back or not – this was too much, wasn't it? Maladan moved his hands on Lathams chest and then he found that... he didn't really want to push him away. He exhaled, relaxed. This... was actually good. Felt good, warm. Latham smelled nice, somewhat heavy, but delicate at the same time – the noble warrior indeed.

"Tha thu a’ ciallachadh sin uile, ceart?" You mean all that, right? Latham believed adamantly strong every single word he was saying. It was hard not to get carried away, get inspired. Maladan wasn't sure he want to resist that feeling anymore. Some things are just meant to be taken, when they are given. This was one of them.

"Uhm... whow." Maladan chuckled, looking up to Latham's eyes again. The smile disappeared from his face shortly after the taller man began to speak again. He and Thomas are really similar in the way they can get him blush. When Thomas was confident in his boots, playing around, Latham looked somewhat... at a loss. Maybe a little vulnerable, for all his strength; cute. Maladan felt like his heart was about to jump out of his chest.

"Yes. No! Maybe.... I mean... Taelian, you have already two men to know – do you think it is wise to add another?" he asked Latham. It hurt; it hurt a lot, but this was for his protection, as well as for Maladan's. The fact that he almost couldn't thought of anything else than to kiss him was the deciding element for what he did, what he need to do. "Isn't a husband and a lover enough for you?"

Too many people, too many problems.

Thomas was interested in him, Latham was interested in him, Maladan was interested... in both of them, Wendall was Latham's husband, probably slept with Thomas on occasions, and now he doesn't like him, because Thomas ashamed him and he is angry with Latham, cause Latham was... Latham was.

Fuck it...

Maladan stands on tiptoe and layed his lips to Latham's, holding on him closer.

[Taelian Edevane]

He was glad Maladan didn't pull away. For a moment, he perceived a brimming hesitance within him, but it was quickly enough swept away in lieu of the comforts of his body. Their embrace was prolonged and warm; difficult to pull away from, perhaps precisely because Maladan struggled to find a grasp on safety. The point of their embrace was to ensure to him that he was safe; that he would continue to be so, that Latham was devoted to his protection. As he asked whether the man meant all of his words, he merely laughed.

"Gu dearbh tha mi a 'ciallachadh e." Of course I mean it.

The query that came after was -- direct, and challenging, quite visibly making Latham nervous in responding. He frowned for but a moment, before his expression flattened and he answered as honestly and accurately as he could.

"Wendell is not truly my lover," he said. "Our marriage is a business arrangement. We, of course, engage in physical interactions with one another, but there is little to it beyond that. I love him the way I would a trusted friend, not in fact a husband. He is only that in name."

It was the truth, though he wasn't certain it would assuage all of Maladan's doubts. Perhaps it did not need to, he thought -- Maladan would learn over time what the truth was; Latham did not need to spell it out. His reservations would subside as things became more transparent, Latham could only assume. As complex as his life tended to be, it certainly had room for one more man.

"With you, though, I think I'll be all capped out," he chuckled. "No trying to court a royal, for me. Another lover and my mind might erode."

Wearing a casual smile, the man's brows lifted as Maladan suddenly brushed his lips against his, their faces meeting. He held onto his waist, firmly, closing his eyes as he pressed his lips into the other man's, kissing him with patience and care. After a few, long kisses, he pulled away, settling Maladan into his broader frame as he stroked along his back, breathing out against his hair and taking in his scent.

"Just remember, Maladan -- no fear. Fear is a hindrance of our design, a weak form of caution. You've been hurt, but you must not become an animal in the face of that. You will be safe, here; with me, with Thomas. Exercise what judgment you must to protect yourself, but remember that you are not alone."

He breathed in, deeply, and settled his cheek against Maladan's hair, simply remaining that way for a time.

"If necessary, I will kill Lord Weissen," he added. "He should know that, and he should -- in turn -- leave you be. We will go forward from here, not backwards. Alright?"

[Maladan]

Of course he meant it. He meant everything he said to Maladan about his husband too. The elf didn't understand it much, but he knew that loveless marriage was one of the excesses of the Lorien upper class. It was very difficult, even impossible, not to feel like a thief for him right now.

"Would you say that to Wendell's face? Does he feel the same way - a marriage without affection, just a trade of favors?" It was obvious that the whole concept was alien and bizarre to Maladan.

Latham's next words about two lovers being his limit, had really made Maladan laugh.

Dating a member of the royal family: was that his Latham's plan? Was he going to marry for the throne?

The kiss put most of those thoughts to rest. It was something special to Maladan, something he still had no control over and didn't know what to do about it, or even how to do it properly; if Latham hadn't taken the initiative in long caressing kisses, he probably would have been just fine with simply keeping his lips on the other's.

"Think carefully... it's me, little elven healer, against the Lorien royal with throne and all that fancy stuff. Unless you want to marry again without love." He said partly as a joke, and yet these things were hard to solve in Latham's embrace. He resolved to wrap his arms around the larger man's waist and simply... rest, while Latham had his face buried in the Maladans white hair, smelling of lavender and mint.

No fear – that sounded like a good life credo.
"I won't change for him, don't worry about that. As for the help of others... it may take some time. This is weird, but... nice, I must admit." He replied into his neck, trying not to think how vulnerable he is right now. "What about Thomas? What... should I tell him?"

"I know. For the first time in my life, I've... thought about actually killing someone. But what good would it do? Solving violence by violence only encourages brutality as a solution – I don't want to set that message. It's not the way I want to live my life."

[Taelian Edevane]

"I have said it to Wendell's face," said the man. Judging by the way his face became expressionless, the man was clearly not wholly comfortable with discussing their... arrangement, but he knew he needed to for clarity's sake. "We agreed at the very beginning that we were marrying for mutual benefit -- we discussed the possibility of love, and for a moment perhaps we felt it, but we've since agreed to pursue others. Wendell and I... we are simply not meant to have that sort of relationship. I am too passionate, and he is too cold. I think he regrets his stony exterior now, to some extent, but it's too late now I believe. Whatever we did have is dead, and I'm not keen to reignite it."

As much as he enjoyed the man, Wendell was not the same as him. They both held great ambition, though it veered into many different directions, and few of them intersected. Wendell wanted power, but it was for little more than vanity. He did not care for the Nameless, or even for advancing the right of mages, despite being one himself. He sought to persecute the Omen and its most devout, culling all Kindred until none were left, and mending Lorien of its perpetual frost. He was a radical reformer, but his motives were mostly driven by spite and rage. Their two positions were untenable to one another, as much as they both aligned in so many other ways.

"...Don't worry about the throne bit, and the Prince -- I was merely joking. If I ascend to the throne, I intend for it to be of my own merit, not through royal marriage. If I simply marry Franz, he will always be the reigning King, and I his consort. I am not content with that, and I will achieve power of my own credibility, and will."

He sighed, tension leaving his body as he became a proper cushion for Maladan. The man kept him against his chest as he moved and adjusted to lay against the mattress, tucking the other into his frame and looking up at the ceiling. "You can tell Thomas the truth -- and should," he said. "For this to work, we must be transparent. Any man left in the dark -- untended -- will grow envious. Be honest with him."

He listened quietly to Maladan, stroking his skin as he expressed his self-driven philosophy against murder and vengeance. Latham appeared to find it somewhat bemusing, in an endearing way. "You are young," he said. They weren't all too far apart in age, he assumed, but he imagined he had a great wealth of experiences that Maladan did not. "You will learn eventually, I believe, that sometimes you must end a life in order to save one. There are many evil people in this world who kill without a second thought, and I don't want a good one like you to die for their sake."

As if to shift the subject, the man kissed him again, grinning warmly after doing so. "You're incredibly cute, you know," said the Knight. "I wouldn't mind just laying with you, here, for a while. Would you like that?"