#noncanonical

Frey jumped and cursed again in Gnim. “Apologies,” he said quickly. “The initial sleep spell was entirely an impassioned misfire on my part. I suppose I could recast it, but the pain would likely wake you right back up.” He seemed gleeful as he said this.

“May I have a sedative, then?” Gale said. He was feeling lightheaded, but he was already lying down, so he simply closed his eyes and tried not to tense the muscles in his leg too tightly. “And where is the cleric?”

“Tending to the others,” Frey said, and his voice was closer than Gale had anticipated. “You are my responsibility.” Gale wasn’t quite sure what he meant by this, but did not feel well enough for banter, so he simply listened as the sorcerer shuffled around and vaguely wondered when the pain would return. A few moments later, he felt a cold compress laid across his forehead. At the same time, the faint scent of frankincense reached him. The effect was immediate. “You’ll still feel it,” Frey said, his tone almost apologetic. “But you can relax a bit.”

Gale tried to do as he was told, but relaxation was difficult when six stitches were being sewn into the skin of one’s thigh. He got by with only a few undignified grunts and yelps, and he managed to remain mostly still. When Frey finally tied off the suture, Gale exhaled and opened his eyes. The tent was a bit smokier now, and Frey was deeply concentrated on packing a salve of herbs into the gash before he wound a new bandage around Gale’s thigh.

“There,” he said, satisfied. He looked up with such an expression of care that Gale nearly closed his eyes again in embarrassment. They had not spoken about anything at all beyond magic and strategy since Gale had shared the Weave with Frey a few nights ago. Not talking did not dissipate the longing, however—it only made it keener.

“Thank you,” Gale said finally, clearing his throat. He tried to sit up, but Frey flicked his right hand carelessly and Gale found that he was unable to move. The spell’s signature was pure chaos—as was typical of wild magic—but he knew it to be a hold person charm instantly. “Why, I—”

“Bedrest!” Frey said cheerily, standing and brushing off his robes. 

He reached back and released his hair from its practical updo, dark waves tumbling over his shoulders in a more familiar style. Gale sighed inwardly watching him. Whether or not he understood where Gale’s mind was, Frey lingered in the tent for a moment longer; he rearranged the pillows on Gale’s cot so that he would lie more comfortably, and he used the cloth from the compress to wipe away beads of sweat that had cooled on Gale’s face.