A Drink Before Battle [MxM] ✅

25: There Will Be No Dying

25: There Will Be No Dying

In the infirmary quarter, Meira led Sevei to a large tent that had been dyed a muddy green color to block out more sunlight than the usual white canvas. A man standing guard outside pulled the door back for them. Sevei rushed in, but came to an abrupt halt as he took in the scene, his heart seeming to climb up into his throat.

The dim interior was softly lit with the glow of many candles placed about the space. Incense wafted through the air, carrying notes of spices and flowers over something more acrid and sulphuric.

In the center of the tent, Yeresym lay in a single bed. He wore a white silk tunic and his legs were covered with white blankets, his hands folded over his waist at the blanket's edge. There were bundles of herbs, both fresh and dried, tucked all around him under the edges of his body. His head rested on a bouquet of purple flowers, their petals curling around his temples. His face was peaceful and soft, the usual hard edges of his jaw and brow relaxed in his slumber.

Face of an angel, Sevei recalled Kyrzhan saying.

Sevei had once witnessed a Derician funeral where the deceased was laid into a boat on a soft bed of greenery, wrapped in furs and embroidered wool blankets and surrounded by treasures. Yeresym's current appearance brought that to mind, but Sevei pushed the thought away.

That's not what this is, he assured himself. He's not dead.

His lips twisted into a joyless half-smile as he turned to Meira.

"Are these treatments working?" he asked in a trembling whisper. "Why doesn't he wake up?"

"The process is delicate," Meira said. "We can only give him enough energy to stimulate his own. If we give him too much and he wakes up with excess energy, that energy will want somewhere to go, and he may not have the mind to know what he's doing. There could be a rampage, and you've seen how powerful he can be even normally."

"That... would be bad," Sevei agreed.

"Mm. We've done what we can for him now. The rest is up to him."

Meira crossed to the bed and sat down on its edge beside Yeresym. On the bedside table sat a bowl of water and a pile of towels. She dipped a towel into the water and, pinching Yeresym's chin to open his lips, squeezed a small amount of water into his mouth.

"You can do this while you're here," she said, "just a little, once in a while. And talk to him. He may hear you." She dabbed the damp cloth over Yeresym's face before standing again. She turned to Sevei and gave him a squeeze on the shoulder as she passed by him. "You can take your time."

When she had gone, leaving him alone in the tent with Yeresym, Sevei approached the bed hesitantly and stood looking down at Yeresym's eerily still and serene form.

"Hey," he said quietly, "it's me. I don't know if you've been wondering if I made it out of all that mess, but I did. Here I am."

He sat on the edge of the bed very gently, then laughed at himself for being so gentle and quiet. He wanted Yeresym to wake up, right? As he sat, some of the bundled herbs shifted out of position, and Sevei hurriedly tucked them back, looking around as if someone might reprimand him for it. Meira hadn't been careful about them, though, so he guessed it was alright.

"Look at you," Sevei chuckled. "They've got you done up like they plan to roast you." He plucked a tuft of herbs and brought it to his nose. Its fragrance was strong and earthy and smelled like it would be delicious in a stew.

"So... you plan on waking up any time soon?" he asked in a conversational tone. "You heard the Sergeant. It's all up to you now. I really hope you're fighting in there." He dragged a hand down his face. "There is an incredible lot of work to do out here. I could really use your help with it. All these Alchemists need to be whipped into shape. They won't listen to me."