Buqingshan

────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────── "I heard you were looking for me?"

The voice cut through the quiet, pulling Indris from his mind though only momentarily. Oh, poor, poor Indris. His eyebags were deeper than the mines and dark circles became tangible evidence of his sleepless nights. The once-imposing figure wore its weariness plainly now, exhaustion seeping through the frown settled on his handsome face.

His mouth parted slightly, as if searching for words but nothing substantial came out except a slow, tired sigh. It was then followed by a simple rebuttal afterwards. 

"I did not."

Merlin cocked an eyebrow, not surprised, just wondering why Ravion had said whatever he did when they crossed paths at the altar.

"You didn’t? Then I’ve fallen for Ravion’s scheme yet again."

Indris exhaled once more, his back sinking further into the plush chair and secretly hoping it would swallow him whole. His gaze drifted toward the ceiling, looking anywhere but the stack of papers begging for his attention.

"To do his work on his behalf, it seems," he muttered, equally not surprised. Not anymore, definitely not after years of working alongside the Imperator.

Sal’thorin had undergone radical changes after centuries of tyranny, yet some things remained the same. Ravion was meant to be here, guiding Indris on the responsibilities he had to bear for the time being. But the Imperator had always slipped free like an eel covered in oil, and Indris had neither the energy nor the patience to chase after him and drag him back to where he was supposed to be.

Merlin walked closer towards the desk, eyes narrowing at the towering stacks of paper. She could have sworn his ass had been glued here for days, yet the documents remained stacked just as high as the last time she visited. It was impossible to tell whether Indris had actually made any progress at all. Hell, she could barely make out his forehead from behind the stacks. 

"Do you need any help—"

"I dare not ask you for help, Merlin,” his voice came from somewhere behind the barricade of barely untouched paperwork, even Merlin could already smell the stinking smell of bureaucracy from where she stood. "You’ve done so much for Sal’thorin already. I could never burden you with more."

Merlin sighed, “You’re so stubborn. I offered, you know? It’s not like you forced me to do it.” 

Their gazes had finally met although just very briefly, he had finally made an effort to find her eyes from behind the stacks of paper. But Indris turned away almost immediately as something instantly prickling his pride as a proud Essail. Merlin, a toplander, stood there with eyebags almost as dark as his now. 

A toplander, of all people! 

She had been pulled into chaos not belonging to her, left to fester for a long, long time. And yet she came and helped unravel the messy knots both the Essails and the Dwarves had tied themselves into, doing more than those who should have been fixing it.

His fingers pinching his own nose bridge, Indris definitely could not ask her to do beyond what she had already done. Not when she had already given too much. Not when she had to help Zanie and the dwarven settlements above as well. 

It was a disgrace that intervention by a toplander had been necessary at all.

(Indris knew someone had to clean up their messes, but not her.)

"Your eyebags…," he pointed out but ended up trailing off. 

For someone who was known for his imposing presence, Indris now resembled something closer to a house of cards ready to collapse at any moment. For much of his life Indris had guarded Sal’thorin like a steadfast wall, his back straight, his resolve rarely shaken even in the face of choices that were against his morals. Indris had dismantled the vicious grip from a tyrant who had kept her subjects shackled in lies for centuries. 

But who would have thought that the fierce captain guard would crumble under the relentless weight of bureaucracy, in the form of paperwork?

" Something to match, yes? Though mine aren’t as dark as yours yet, I’m getting there," Merlin shrugged, barely paying attention to his very obvious observation, "It’s trendy these days. Merchant Shelvy herself told me."

Barely a response other than the man’s eyebrows knitting together.  “What, you’re not in the mood for jokes? Come to think of it, you never were!” 

"Rarely woven into my nature, Merlin," he stated a fact almost everyone already knew. He was rigid, built almost like the dwarven automatons above. "I can't thank you enough for all you've done, yet I can't help but wonder why you would go this far for Sal'thorin."

"A bit too late to wonder about that, isn’t it?" She chuckled at his puzzled expression. "I’m always tangled in everyone’s messes, always have been. Trust me, this isn’t my first rodeo and it sure as hell won’t be my last."

Indris knew that. She had been there with him and Zanie every step of the way. Merlin had never faltered, not even once, and yet the instinctive response he had was questioning her dedication and sincerity, albeit only briefly. He should have known better.

"Besides, you’re my friend now. Friends help each other out, don't they?"

There was a shift in his usually still expression as he looked at her. Something caught in his throat, uncertainty flared in his gaze as if unsure how to tread further. Meanwhile, the poor Magister mimicked his uneasiness from where she stood. Had she overstepped a boundary she hadn’t known existed?

“Apologies, this is not quite a common concept for me," he cleared his throat. "I only had Feli to confide in, and when he—when he left, the concept felt foreign once again."

Merlin didn’t answer right away. She knew the weight of grief but understood that her loss couldn’t compare to Indris’. Feli had been his best friend, his confidant.

"I won’t pretend I knew him the way you did," she whispered, careful. She wouldn’t claim understanding where she had none, but she wouldn’t let him carry it alone, either. "I just meant to say that you don’t have to face the grief alone."

Indris exhaled sharply and promptly followed by a silent sigh. The past few days had worn them down, the constant weight of events making it hard to breathe steadily. He wasn’t sure what he had expected her to say but it definitely wasn’t that.

Indris was prepared for the standard condolences, the kind he had his own rehearsed response for. 

(But Feli had died in her arms, his blood splattered across her. The memory played over and over in his mind—the misery in her trembling hands as they pressed against Feli's neck, desperate, half-screaming every healing spell she knew, in a fruitless attempt to defy fate.

Surely she was hurting too.)

"That’s—" 

he stopped himself, ran a hand over his face, exhaling through his nose as if the breath alone could clear the tension from his shoulders. Oh, both of them knew he was being more vulnerable than he was letting on.

"I don’t—" 

He tried to string a proper, coherent sentence before halting once more.

Indris wasn’t used to this. Wasn’t built for it.

Then he fell back to the standard reply he knew best. One he wasn’t sure he even understood, but it was all he could give: "...Understood. Thank you."

Merlin knew damn well her words hadn’t lifted his spirits in the slightest. His broad, sturdy shoulders still slumped, his face showing signs of extreme exhaustion. His hands hovered over the paperwork again, just  like a man bound by duty, but even she could see how unfocused he was. His eyes narrowed at the words, scanning them without comprehension, hoping the words would magically start making sense without him putting in the effort.

"So, give me something to help you with, and then you can rest."

"You have done enough, go rest, Merlin."

"Indris," Her tone was sharp, "I don’t think you understood what I said, what I poured my heart into. I really mean it when I say to share your burden with me. A burden shared is a burden halved, or something along those lines."

His fingers twitched slightly, but he didn’t look up. She squinted. Was this man seriously just going to out-stubborn his own exhaustion?

If he wasn’t going to help himself, she would have to do it for him.

"Will a hug help you?"

She blurted it out without thinking, a mistake she instantly regretted. She hadn’t thought it through nor considered how it would sound outside of her own head. 

Wasn’t comfort supposed to be simple? Apparently not.

The silence stretched longer than she had anticipated, dragging out painfully. She wished she could vanish into the lava lake below, or maybe just ask the dragon to swallow her whole. Both were nice, viable options that would result in a quick, painless death. 

Indris stared back at her in disbelief. Then again, his life had been tossed around ever since Merlin arrived in Sal'thorin, so maybe this shouldn’t have surprised him. And yet, his mouth opened slightly, doubting if he should say anything at all.

He hesitated, fingers twitching as he placed the paperwork back onto the desk. The man seemed like he was not entirely resistant to the idea, just bewildered by how straightforward it was despite being the most direct creature in all of Sal’thorin. 

"I don’t know."

And double down she did. "Shall we find out?”

The pause stretched, and Merlin was leaning towards the option of letting the dragon swallow her whole. Or maybe it was the right moment to entertain another possibility. Zanie was a genius, perhaps her machines could make Merlin disappear in the blink of an eye! There had to be a way to bury this shame somehow, right?

Then, by Dura’s grace, the careful nod came. Tentative, measured—like a cat testing the water, like a scout carefully stepping into uncharted territory. He didn’t trust the idea that warmth could make anything better. 

But in this very moment, he allowed himself to try.

Merlin stepped closer, and now it was her turn to hesitate as if she had forgotten how to do this entirely. And then it hit her: she was just as bad at this as he was.

The hug was brief, almost distant, even she herself had forgotten the point of doing it in the first place. She leaned down toward Indris, still seated upright in his armchair, her arms settling lightly at his back. The man returned the gesture with a remarkably stiff pat, his movements uncertain as if bracing for something far more dangerous than comfort.

A final squeeze on his shoulder, then a soft pat as she pulled away.

Nothing deep, nothing lingering, just enough.

Merlin barely had time to process what had just happened—the world’s most formal, transactional, maybe-she-should’ve-not-done-that hug—before she stepped back, rubbing her own arms absentmindedly. It was so painfully awkward she nearly exploded.

"Well?" She tilted her head slightly, as if expecting a full review after delivering the most subpar service imaginable. "Did it help?"

She meant it as something to break the tension, to pull them both back into a more familiar ground. Maybe his usual straightforward ‘no’, or maybe an awkward shake of the head. Hell, the best possible outcome of this man-made predicament was Indris at least chuckling at how mortifying that had been.

Merlin did not expect the way his fingers lightly caught at her wrist, steady this time, steadier than moments ago when he doubted anything and everything, where he hesitated at every turn. His grip tightened as he pulled her toward him, dangerous for both of them. The way his certainty had returned, albeit only briefly. 

The way his presence felt like the man she had first met in Sal’thorin: he knew what to do and what he wanted. The start of it all.

Then, she was in his lap.

It happened so suddenly that the mage blinked rapidly, her chest heaving as if trying to catch up with reality. Her brain short-circuited at the closeness, the sheer certainty of it all hitting her at once. His arms folded around her first this time, his movements stiff as always, wired into his very being. The tension still clung to him, lingering in his frame with no sign of letting go.

Merlin froze in his embrace. Then again, who wouldn’t? 

Even before she could think it through, her arms moved on instinct, wrapping around his back, pressing way firmer this time. His grasp tightened on her shoulder in response, and it struck her then: Indris’ hand was huge against her frame, it made her feel so, so small.

The man rested his forehead in the crook of her neck, his breath warm and heavy against her skin as he sighed slowly. His grasp latched as he pulled her in, holding her steady. But it wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough.

And Merlin did not pull away.

"I’m tired," he murmured quietly against her skin, those words definitely carried the weight of something long unspoken.

"So tired of it all."

"I know," her response came as a whisper meant to linger in the air between them.

"You have carried enough, Indris," she continued, but the way his name rolled too easily off her tongue left her unsettled. "You know that too, right?"

Neither moved nor spoke for a moment. Even the very environment around them seemed to understand and dared not interrupt. She felt the subtle rise and fall of his chest against hers, his breath staccato, as if chasing steadiness to the best of his abilities.

"I never hug people when I’m sober," he noted abruptly, stating a fact few knew, but one Merlin was privileged enough to be aware of.

"I know. Ravion gave us a little demonstration a while back," she teased as she recalled the absolute disaster of that encounter. Indris hummed in response, giving a slight nod at one of the things he was not very good at.

"It feels nice, this," he admitted vaguely, though his grip remained secure around her. 

"Stay with me a little longer."

It was not a commanding tone he used, but more of a quiet plea. Should Merlin choose to leave, he would let her. But would she? The way her fingers slowly ran through his hair offered no indication that she intended to.

“I will, but under one condition."

"That is?"

"You must rest after this."

His hands settled against her waist now; it felt like just the right thing to do. Indris pulled away just enough to meet her gaze, though it faltered for a moment, as if he were about to say something, but the words never left. And that’s when she noticed the faintest flush on his cheeks, barely there despite his pale skin. Yet somehow, she felt it creeping across her own face, mirroring his.

Never in her life had she imagined seeing him like this.

Ex-nobles of Sal’thorin would have thrown coins for just a moment with Indris. Yet here she was—a toplander—in his arms now. It felt strange, like she had won something bigger than anything she had ever dared to claim.

"You know I can’t," he sighed as the words slipped out quietly, "There’s still much to do."

Her fingers traced his striking features, as if sculpted by Misarte herself, it was no wonder he was idolized by many. She memorized him through her fingertips though there was no need; a face like his was unforgettable.

"A quality that makes you, you. Something I adore and hate all at once," her voice softened as she leaned in closer, closer than they had ever been, "That you’re so stubborn to a fault, Indris."

And then the words spilled out as quickly as the way he’d shot his arrows, straight to the mark: “Do you do this to your friends, Merlin?”

Yet the retort came instantly, her voice not wavering in the slightest bit. "Well, do you pull them to your lap?"

Indris couldn’t even begin to argue back as he bit the inside of his cheek. This was the consequence of letting himself feel, and yet, the only thing he wanted now was more. The gears in his head wouldn’t stop turning. Where did this end, and did he even want it to?

Her thumb brushed against his bottom lip, lingering longer than it should. She shut her eyes and whispered, her words slipping between them, lulling him in a way he couldn’t quite place. It reminded him of an incantation, a prayer he had once uttered solemnly for his queen. Indris didn’t recognize the language as it sounded foreign to him, perhaps from a place he had yet to set foot in.

He’d ask for the meaning later. For now, he only wanted to listen.

But then it hit him when heaviness slowly creeped in and forced his eyes shut. His breath caught sharp in his throat, and for a fraction of a second, he really looked at her in disbelief, a tinge of betrayal now residing behind his eyes.

She looked back, a quiet smile of victory on her lips.

"Merlin—"

Before he could protest, sleep had already taken him quick, like a newborn drifting off to dreamland without a fight. And that's how you fight a stubborn man, by using ways equally just as stubborn.

Merlin sat still on his lap, watching Indris finally claim his well-earned sleep despite some dirty-handed tactics that had to be involved. He looked completely at peace, though she noted the dark circles beneath his eyes wouldn't be fading anytime soon. It wasn’t until the adrenaline wore down that she realized that something was tugging at her senses. 

"Wait.”

Her breath hitched as her pulse kicked up again, and suddenly Merlin was carefully shifting away from him, desperate not to wake him up with her movements. Was she supposed to do the things she did? Regret crashed into her like multiple waves of avalanche, how was she going to face him tomorrow?

“What the fuck."

Maybe they weren’t supposed to do that and she wasn’t supposed to enjoy it. But the warmth of his skin still lingered on her fingertips, and she’d be a liar if she didn’t want more.

Well! Tomorrow's problems belong to tomorrow’s her. Right now, there was a more pressing matter. Her gaze now remained fixated to the stack of bureaucracy she barely understood and waited eagerly to be dealt with. Even the ever-respectable Indris had crumbled before it.

It was clear that she needs to drag Ravion over by his pointy ears. If she was drowning in paperwork, she was taking him down with her.

────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────

Indris snapped awake with his pulse racing, and the first thing he did, naturally, was demand an explanation from the mage. A sleeping spell? That was beyond excessive!

His eyes darted towards the paperwork which was still there, however now stacked neatly and arranged very differently from how he had left it. On top of the pile sat a note, its handwriting unmistakably familiar to him.

It read:

"This, Indris, is the last time I shall clean up your mess. I suggest you cherish the effort for the entirety of your life, for it will not happen again, no matter how you beg nor bat those irresistible eyes of yours. I assure you, my dear, I have built resistance against that handsome face of yours. Now, be a good boy and handle the rest yourself!"

Indris cringed at the note, he could feel the anger was so potent it practically bled through the ink. Perhaps he was better off not knowing what method she had used to drag Ravion into this and even convince him to help. He couldn't help but imagine Ravion and Merlin working together in front of him while he slept under the spell’s influence. The thought gnawed at him, and he could only hope no altercation had taken place in his absence. Still, he needed to go to them and check.

Other notes had been placed atop the stacks, marking where to sign, who to consult and what still needed to be dealt with. The handwriting wasn’t familiar, but he already knew the culprit. The weight on his shoulders felt a little lighter with his dearest friends helping him out.

A note stood out, placed with such precision that he couldn’t miss it.

"You owe me dinner."

The words barely settled before the events of last night came rushing back, clearer this time, and even more humiliating now that he remembered everything

Heat rushed into his cheeks and he bit the inside of his mouth in a useless attempt to fight it. Nothing could be undone, and he did regret it—or at least, that’s what he told himself. He berated himself, knowing he hadn’t thought things through nor stopped himself when he should have. How would Merlin see him now? A man so simple, solely driven by lust and desire? 

But the way his pulse still thrummed beneath his skin, the way the memory curled deep into his chest, said otherwise. If given the chance to repeat it, he was sure he would have done it all over again.

Indris glanced left and right, before slipping the note into his pocket. He had every intention of collecting his prize before the day was over.

Oh, was there ever any doubt?

────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────