Work Text:
The newly Awakened was a woman of a middling age. Sturdy in build, indeed, sturdier than the cancer that had been eating her throat out would suggest- for when the transformation was complete, and the light faded, the Herald fell hard to his knees, and she only stumbled.
A pair of companions came forward at once, murmuring assurances to her- a blanket for her shoulders, a wreath laid gently into her hands. She didn't understand at first, eyes wide, fingers running over her own flawless, silvered skin- then she looked down, a maternal concern crossing her face, reaching for the one who had cured her. The others were quick, of course, to pull her back- one of the few rules of the commune, rules she had yet to learn- after a Miracle, the Herald couldn't be touched.
Yet as the others guided her away, Huck remained. He stood at the Herald’s side, hands folded behind his back, silent, waiting.
…it wasn't that he had any special authority, not really. The Awakened were all equals, at the heart of things- but still, there were some who looked to him as though he possessed a- particularity. He was, after all, the first. The one who bore the marks of the original Blessing. He who had been here at the very start of the commune, constructing the first shelters, planting the first seeds- feeling each new soul as it was added to their collective light, each soft, distant pang in the back of his awareness. Somewhere along the way, it had become custom for him to wait, after a Miracle. A measure of his post.
…it was taking longer than usual. He noticed this.
Oh, the trembling depths of anxiety that had so ruptured Huck before- the constant fear and jittering inside of him, that chemical imbalance of nerves- that condition had been cured during his own Miracle. It didn't mean he was incapable of having any misgivings. Didn't mean he couldn't feel a kind of discomfort, looking down at the slumped and motionless body of his Lord.
Like a puppet with its strings cut- or a switched-off animatronic doll. From the thread that Huck had within himself, the one that tied him to the Herald and marked his belonging, there was no feeling at all. Perhaps, a very faint ache, dull and numb.
Suddenly, the Herald shuddered back to life. A series of mechanized clicks and whirs, adjustments in his neck and joints and spine, raising his head and blinking glassy eyes around at the midday light. A soft exhalation of steam from the hollow beneath his chin, where the parts that were machine met what was flesh.
It was getting worse. More difficult, every time- Huck could see that. Miracles had always weakened something in the Lord, but these days they left him nearly incapacitated.
“My Herald…?” Huck reached out slightly- then withdrew his hand. A gentle self-scolding; he knew better than that.
The Lord’s head ticked towards him, abrupt- but his expression was innocent, and confused.
“Huck,” he sighed, the tone of his voice a fractured chorus, sibilant and electronic. “...how long was I unconscious? And how is Anne?”
Anne- the new member of the commune. It was soothing, in its way, to see the Lord ask after her so swiftly.
“She’s fine,” Huck replied gently. “She’s grateful. The others are showing her around. And- it was only a few minutes.”
The Lord hummed softly, a sound like steel purring against itself. Considering. But Huck could feel him again, a proper stabilizing of that tie; this, too, was comforting.
The Herald braced himself on his staff, pulling his body to stand; this motion did not seem too difficult, although his joints still made certain uncanny noises, like the realignment of clockwork pieces.
“...is there anything…” A presumption. Huck’s voice came out soft. “...anything I can do?”
The Lord had been turning away- vague and tired-looking, too much of his weight pressed into his staff- but at this, he blinked back. Dark metal fingers curled through one of the golden strands in his long hair.
(Pretty- no, banish the thought. Inappropriate.)
“No,” was the answer, lightly given. “There is nothing. But thank you, Huck.”
Huck bowed, stepping aside. The dismissal was clear enough, another faint, dull thrum from his thread.
…but Huck had never been the type of man who could do anything, had he? Never been the one to actually help- always accepting it from others, instead. Not strong enough for anything good. Such a weak person, only ever existing in the shadows of others-
-the unhappiness of these thoughts faded abruptly, pulled back by a cool, serene wave. A calmness that, breath by breath, leached out the bile. Of course, it wasn't possible to linger in such dark places, not since his Miracle. Another thing for which he would always be grateful.
And there were things he could do- he shouldn't need to remind himself of that- harvest preparations were well underway, and that labour was intensive. Perhaps Mikala, the commune’s overseeing farmer, needed some more hands.
And Huck had able hands, now. He could do that much.
The battle for the beast had been bloody. Bodies littered the field before the gates of the commune, scattered and scratched-up golden armour, torn flags. Pools upon pools of thick red ichor, refusing to sink into the hard stone ground.
…but only a few of the Awakened had perished, in the end- they were gathered on stretchers of clean linen and sprinkled in flowers, a solemn ceremony held before the laurel-chamber. It could have been far more. Indeed, Huck struggled to think of how many more it could have been- the fear in the notion, the dread, skittered inside of him, bright yellow and peaking- then, just as quickly as it had arrived it pulled back. Such baseless anxiety was an aspect of his old self, and through his connection to the other Awakened, it was gently siphoned away.
What could have happened, hadn’t happened. And his faith in the Lord reassured him that it never would.
(Old prophecies- symbols that gained meaning through hindsight- but the Herald’s birth name, Huck knew, had meant victory.)
There had been a traitor in the Noxian general’s den. This, the sharp-eyed young woman- he remembered her from his past life, remembered that she had once embraced him. She stood at the side of the carnage now, surveying. She was held by Vander’s older daughter, Vi; a strong arm around a narrow waist, soft words Huck had no intention of trying to make out.
Vander himself had been brought back within the walls of the commune, encouraged by the guiding hands and urgent murmurs of his younger daughter, and the little girl-child she had brought with her. Blue braids in disarray, blood-smeared white cheeks and wild violet eyes. It was Vander who had done most of the damage to the enemy, after all- strange, that they had thought they could capture him- a power they had wanted to use which, in its refusal, had turned its violence against them.
Huck would have preferred it if they’d cleansed him before taking him back inside. It hurt, abstractly, to see the massive, bloodstained pawprints passing the gate- but this wasn't so dire. Vander was one of them, and he needed the comfort and restoration of familiar surroundings; Huck would never begrudge anyone that.
The Herald himself wandered through the field of bodies, the staff steadily tapping, a graceful mechanical ghost. He had come across a few survivors already- barely alive, eviscerated, throats halfway torn out or spines fractured- before these he knelt, bringing his fingertips to their foreheads. Four so far, wrapped in blankets by the Awakened and guided gently inside. Eyes wide in the awe of their Miracles- brought back from the brink of death- in their own way, resurrected. Yes, their new lives began now.
…Huck could feel something from the thread of his connection- a low, contented throb- some permeating kind of pleasure. But for whatever reason, these Miracles weren't leaving the Herald too weak. When Huck looked closely- his vision, which had been so poor in his old self, now cured to crystalline perfection- he could see a slight, satisfied smile curled upon the Lord’s pale lips. Like a cat with a canary in its mouth.
Well, maybe it was because of their triumph- a threat to the commune had been eliminated, that was cause for a certain kind of joy- or maybe it was another thing.
The man. Huck didn't know him, and wasn't entirely sure where he had come from. Tall and broad- young, still, someone in the peak of his adult strength- but filthy and haggard in a way that suggested he’d been so since well before the battle had started. He carried a weapon with him, a massive monster of a hammer, the head shaped like broken teeth and soaked in blood. Yes, something about him seemed savage- yet he followed the Herald around the field like a chastised dog after its master. Doing, occasionally, what was forbidden- touching the Lord in the wake of his blessings.
…but the Lord didn't stop him. Didn't brush the hand from his shoulder, or tilt his head in a cold, warning glare; didn't make any dismissal. The look on the strange man’s handsome face was one of utter yearning, and tender adoration.
That much wasn't shocking, necessarily- it was a kind of worship- and the Herald certainly merited worship. What surprised Huck was the response.
The Lord stilled at the edge of the field, turning to his companion; head cocked, mechanical, something eerily sly about the curve of his lips- raising bloodstained metal fingers, but not in a Miracle touch- running the tips of them across the man’s bearded jaw. The stranger pressed his face into the Lord’s palm, clearly murmuring something, and the satisfaction Huck felt thrumming across the thread only grew deeper.
He wasn't worried- not really. It was good that the Herald seemed strong, good that something had pleased him- before, the dominant feeling conveyed through the connection had always been one of melancholy. But something in Huck was still- uncertain.
Well, it did little good to stare. Really, he’d been wasting time, watching for so long- and there was an awful lot of cleaning up to do. Bodies to clear away, burials to hold. Defenses, perhaps, to reinforce.
He rejoined the other members of the Awakened, their minds and bodies humming in unison, and set himself to the task.
Meals were served on low, round tables around which people gathered; stews and boils and paellas, made for sharing, for companionable conversation between bites. Simple breads and light ales, crushed herbs and flower petals for seasoning.
Huck was a little late to join, but no one minded, easily parting to let him sit- and there was always enough to go around. An instinct as natural as anything for those with Miracles; no one ever took more than they needed, and everyone looked out to ensure the unblessed in their midst were still cared for.
“...well, I think it's romantic.” Braun was speaking, a young man whose face had been torn off during a factory explosion- now all his features were whole again, glimmering silver and gold. It was still possible to see something of a flush on his cheeks, a slight bashfulness to the raising of his shoulders. “I mean, they definitely knew each other before, right?”
“It's still strange that he won’t accept a Miracle,” this counter from Juana, an old woman who had nearly died of Gray-rot in her lungs; even with the glitter of divine fingertips on her forehead, she was a stern, goodly matron. “You’ve seen how frightened he gets sometimes- poor thing just runs off like a wounded animal- and surely the leg hurts him.”
Huck had been serving himself, scooping stewed dumplings into a bowl from the pot in the middle of the table; he caught the topic of conversation, now. Jayce Talis, the Lord’s particular- companion.
(Unusual, to have a long-term unblessed resident- but of course, there was something different about him- anyone could see that. Different in that the Lord would always turn to look whenever he entered a space, and allowed his lingering touches on those elegant shoulders, that tiny waist- accepting assistance from that hand after a particularly taxing effort. Different, in that Jayce Talis kept no tent in the common area- he slept in the laurel-chamber, instead.)
(Huck had caught sight of them once, passing through the grapevines. The Herald had been sitting on the edge of the fountain, the staff resting untouched at his side- and the man had been kneeling, posture entirely relaxed, head resting in the Lord’s lap. Such tenderness, in the way that dark metal fingers stroked through ragged brown hair. Such bliss on the man’s scarred, handsome face.)
“If the Herald accepts him like this, then all is as it should be,” said Huck. And he felt, as much as heard, the murmur of comfortable agreement as it passed through the other Awakened at the table. Of course, that was right- they all had the utmost faith in their Lord- there was no way to stay disquieted about anything for long. Calmness and serenity always flowed in from their connections, soothing everything like the gentlest wave.
Huck believed it, too, and wholeheartedly. He trusted the Lord’s judgement, held his every decision in confidence. Thanks to him, Huck had been saved.
(The doubt he had was so small and vague, he didn't even have a name for it- didn't even know what it was he doubted, really.)
(No point, then, in worrying.)
Huck wasn't sure what the sound was, at first.
He was passing around the far side of the greenhouse, through the shrubbery that grew thick against the windows- looking for the lavender-plant he’d been told was growing here, hoping for a few sprigs to make tea. He hadn't thought anything of it- no, he wasn't sneaking, he wasn't that man he used to be. He pushed through the spines of a lilac bush, the stems catching slightly in his bun- but there it was again. A soft, aborted cry- someone in pain-? No, were it one of the Awakened, he would have felt it already, had the urge to go and help- and there was no such thing, in fact, the thread within him thrummed more warmly than usual, more contented…
But there was the greenhouse wall, the glass window ajar, surface long-dirtied by mineral rain and spiderwebs. There, through the gap Huck could see inside, where-
-oh.
Oh.
Huck froze; even the soothing pull of his blessing couldn’t quell the bolt that shot down his spine.
Long, elegant doll’s legs wrapped possessively around a sturdy human waist; tan skin and a bare, muscular back, slicked with sweat. Steel fingertips scoured thin red lines into broad shoulders, like cat’s claws, tearing through dark hair and across the nape of a damp neck…
“Aahh- !”
The Herald rolled his head back, long hair in tangled disarray, a messy halo on the work table upon which he lay. The robe had not been stripped off in its entirety- just unwound, some of the golden buckles snapped apart, giving the impression of rude, unceremonial passion. The man- Jayce Talis- still had his pants on, undone and yanked roughly down around his hips- the shirt, Huck noticed then, was shredded in tatters on the ground around his boots. Entirely abrupt, and animal, this careless, brute fucking-
-yes, fucking was definitely the word for it. Deep, rapid thrusts, broad hands clinging to that narrow metal waist- holding him in place for it, dragging him close, so that each jolting penetration barely pulled out at all. The presumption of it was surely obscene- but nothing in the Herald’s posture seemed insulted- indeed, he pushed eagerly back, those delicate, ball-jointed hips lifting to meet each thrust-
Even through the window, Huck could hear it- the wooden legs of the table grinding against the greenhouse floor, that abrasive, thudding scrape- and beneath that, something else, the wet, sloppy noise of slick flesh, sucking, smacking against itself.
“Harder- harder, Jayce, fuck me, yes-”
It was the Lord making those sounds, his body producing that wetness- his uncanny mechanical voice letting out those sweet, lewd cries. He who was on his back, bent in half, taking a man inside him like he was desperate for it-
Huck knew he shouldn't be watching this, but he couldn't move. There was a heat clenching around his windpipe, prickling in his cheeks- and a little bit elsewhere- he wasn't sure what this was making him feel. He’d never really been sure of what the Herald made him feel, in general- beautiful, in a way, no one could deny that, but Huck had only ever been attracted to women- and the Herald was not the kind of creature one could be attracted to, not like another human being, no, he was something else. Divinity, distant and otherworldly and untouchable- though, someone was definitely touching him now.
…and he appeared to be enjoying it a lot.
The man- Jayce Talis- tried to obey this last command, hips moving at a feverish pace, one hand stretching up to brace himself on the far edge of the table behind the Herald’s head. Pulling them together, deepening the harshness of that slick contact, the angle changing in a way that made the Lord purr and mewl- there was a blush on those flawless white cheeks, a rosiness Huck would have previously sworn was impossible, heavy lidded eyes and panting, swollen lips.
“That’s so good, darling, fuck, your cock feels so good inside me-”
Crude words choked on that rolling accent Huck had come to associate with solemnity.
Jayce Talis, around his heavy, exerted breathing, let out a whimper- puppyish under this praise- but of course, when Huck’s gaze flicked to his face, there was only devotion there. Fidelity, and adoration, and an overwhelming desire to please.
Something about that soothed Huck, unexpectedly- the uncertain, overhot tension that had been mounting in his chest relaxed- so it wasn't anything wrong, what was happening here- just a little- unconventional. No true usurpation or blasphemy. This was just another kind of worship, and if the Herald wanted to be worshipped this way, well, it certainly wasn't Huck’s place to protest…
He should leave. Shouldn't he? Forget the lavender, forget the whole picture, better just to slip out and pretend he hadn't seen anything- pretend there was no significance to the distant pulse of warmth he felt from the thread tying him to the Lord. Yet still, it was as though something had paralyzed him, rooting him to the earth where he stood. Dizzy and more than a little breathless, hands clasped tight around the medallion at his chest- thoughts spinning off in directions he hadn't expected them to, down paths with a little too much honesty.
…always, always, Huck had been small- an inadequate man, his feeble limbs, his difficulty in gaining muscle- never impressive, not as those who bullied him. Not the kind that knew, should things not go his way, that he’d have his own physical strength to fall back on- the weakness that had caused him to seek out Shimmer in the first place- that kind of biological inferiority that had plagued him from the moment he’d become aware of it, in adolescence.
(‘I just…wanted to feel what it was like- to make other people afraid-’)
…perhaps, some of his confused feelings towards the Herald came from this- a lingering of his past self that hadn’t faded away- for wasn't the Lord weak in that same manner? Wasn't he so thin, his every appearance frail and dainty- the kind of body that bigger, better men naturally looked down upon, that was dismissed for its helplessness- yet the Herald wasn't helpless at all. Indeed, the strength in him was almost frightening- Huck had been frightened by it, before the Miracle touch. Huck saw that strength now, a bruising grip on broad shoulders, pulled into a kiss that was a bite, white teeth tearing at a soft lower lip. A figure as brittle as bones, a soft voice, hell, a walking aid- and yet he was made of steel, and anything that sought to break him shattered itself, instead. Antifragile.
But still, something low in him murmured, disquieted- that contradiction of things wasn't what Huck had dreamt of. Not the usurpation of hierarchy, what he'd longed for, but a better place within it- no, Huck had always wanted to be a man like Jayce Talis.
Tall and broad and naturally strong, a person that commanded automatic respect when he entered a room- the kind of man no one would doubt, or feel confident swindling, or think an easy target for pushing around. A man who could protect others just by being there, not needing to curl up in the shadow of his superiors, not needing to bend and flinch and beg…
…Huck wasn't sure what he was feeling, watching this kind of man pant through such obvious, ardent sexual submission. Submission to a body like the Herald’s. All of this was confusing, dredging up complicated things Huck didn't really want to think about, confrontations to himself he didn't want to engage in. Still, his eyes caught on the pulsing muscles in Jayce’s back, the raised, rippling scar tissue- masculinity in its extreme- tension in the sinew wrapped around firm hipbones, the swell of a paler cheek, only just visible over the pulled-down hem of his trousers. No way, from here, to see exactly what he had mounted between his legs- what nature of instrument was being applied to that earnest penetration- but the Herald sounded so happy with it, it was probably impressive-
-suddenly, ice. The shadow of a hawk above him.
A tremendous golden eye opened in Huck’s chest. A vast, swooping steel jaw closed in around his consciousness, and he felt it bear down, sharp and shearing against the edges of his essence- and he knew he’d been caught. Sweat on his altered forehead, the back of his neck, a spark of uncertain panic in his dry throat.
-Well, what do we have here? My wandering little priest…-
The voice was a thousand voices, hissing and choral; it sounded only inside his head, and yet reverberated through every atom in his body. Power in each accented syllable, enough to make the world tremble. The thread, when split open, became a door- and through it poured the Lord- a presence more brilliant, more consuming than the sun, and colder than any winter Huck had ever lived through.
-I didn’t take you for a voyeur, Huck.-
Amusement, the edges of a laugh- it felt like having a vast, icy tongue lave across his soul. Caught in the maw of some massive otherworldly creature and rolled around in there, clicking against the teeth like he was a piece of candy- unharmed, so far, but entirely helpless. Husk shuddered, each new breath a struggle, pinned high in his chest.
On the table in the greenhouse, the Herald threw his head back again, an uninhibited, slutty, pleasure-struck cry.
“I- my- my Lord, I- I didn’t mean-” A fervent whisper, the words barely audible over his own pounding heart- but of course, the Lord heard them.
-Didn’t mean what? You were admiring him.-
Huck could see stars in his mind’s eye- a vision that only barely imposed upon the physical world before him- clouds in strange colours, and a silvery, opaline deity that curled around him like a dragon.
-And he is, certainly, admirable.-
Jayce Talis bent his head, pressing sloppy, fervent kisses to the elegant golden ridges on the Herald’s throat. That steady, masculine voice reduced to a soft whine.
“Are you close, baby? God- I am- I’m almost-”
The Herald gathered his face in trembling metal hands, cupping that strong, bearded jaw to draw the kiss up to his lips.
“Yes, yes- inside- give it to me, like that-"
Huck’s palms were clamped so tightly around the medallion he felt the skin stinging, surely pierced. Adrenaline had his head spinning, and tension rang in his ears, a single note as clear and high as a faint.
“I’m s-s-sorry,” he whispered, the stutter long cleansed from him returning with an unexpected force. “I sh-shouldn't have- I’ll g-go-”
-Why apologize? And I didn’t say you had to leave.-
Another wicked, frigid little laugh- Huck felt it in his head just as he saw it on the greenhouse table, the Herald’s lips curling up in mischief as he pressed Jayce’s head into the hollow of his throat, the barest suggestion of something sharp to his crooked white teeth…
Huck was burning- arousal, he supposed, but the kind of arousal that shared a few too many borders with terror- hot, confused feelings he didn't have an adequate name for. Did he really want to be Jayce Talis- did he want to have his God in this way- or was there some other source- something to do with this held, ensnaring feeling, with the swallowing fangs he felt wrapped around his soul-
The Herald seized, Huck saw it, saw how he grit his teeth and pulled his lover closer to him, brow furrowed and dark lashes fluttering shut- but that- a crackling electric flare across all the violet lights in his delicate, mechanical body- Huck’s head was whirling, so dizzy he wasn't sure he could keep himself up. But fuck, he’d just watched his Lord cum-
-and felt the edges of it, too, a sparkling vibration along the thread-
-Jayce Talis didn't stop. The wet slapping was almost too much, now- so, too, the desperation with which he mouthed along metal collarbones- clinging and groping like a drowned man, trying to reach the air.
“You’re so perfect, Viktor- I love you- oh, baby, I love you so much-”
…at this, Huck felt the Lord drawing away from him, a rumbling, cosmic purr as he coiled back through the divine space to the man inside the greenhouse- his attention on Huck waned. Drawn away, as he ought to be, by that more important prayer; the teeth released him, no longer interested.
Well, that was for the best- Huck, somehow, was finally able to tear himself away, stumbling back through the brush on jellied legs, breath heaving in his chest as though he’d just run a dozen miles. The sweat on his upper lip felt feverish, waves of it ran down his back, alternating between heat and ice. But he didn't need to stay for the rest of it- didn't need to see the two come down from their orgasms and hold each other, tenderly kissing and cooing love- that was far too personal. He’d intruded too much already.
He hid for a time, after that- working himself down from that hot-edged insanity by weaving a blanket in the mid-afternoon privacy of his own sleeping tent. When dinner time rolled around, he went out to help prepare the food, and if any uncomfortable flush lingered in him the other Awakened didn't see enough of it to comment.
…and before long, his worries over this, too, were subsumed. The moment grew distant enough to be drained away, soothed within the peace of his Miracle. So Jayce Talis had a special position in the commune- unblessed, still, and yet perhaps that was why he could do it- the only one who could love the Lord as a man, instead of as a god. It wasn't something that Huck had to worry about. Everyone had their part to play, and Huck was happy to accept his. Anything for that perfect, wonderful-
(-awful, horrifying, glorious-)
-divine entity who had saved him.
(Really, anything at all.)
Huck had prepared a tea with the vanilla flowers that grew around the edges of the commune. He carried a warming-pot of it, and a ladle, a late-afternoon offering as he passed through the tents. Smiles, accepting murmurs, the occasional laugh of delight. But this was not the kind of life he’d ever thought would be possible for him- peace, clean air, a beautiful place and an accepting community- and the comfort of knowing he was just where he belonged. For all of it, Huck would be eternally grateful. Dissatisfaction had no home in his altered heart- he was happy.
At the fountain, a domestic scene- father-and-daughters with a picnic blanket spread out across the soft, mossy ground. Wild Jinx was playing out some brutal theatre with a pair of brightly coloured toy ponies, while little Isha watched with wide eyes, hands clapping; Vander hulked at their sides, clearly dozing, the remnants of pink dye and sparkling ribbons braided into the thick fur around his head. Huck approached them with no fear, to offer the pot as he had everyone else.
“Oh, look, now it can be a real tea party, Isha,” Jinx said in her scraped out voice, kneeling to dole the tea into their empty cups. Vander blinked awake, scratching under his chin with a claw, a bestial snuff from his snout. “I guess this place really isn't so bad, huh?”
Vander took his own cup carefully from Huck’s hands, and Huck smiled at him. The gesture couldn't really be returned- his physical form, it seemed, was the one thing the Herald could not restore- but there was a softening to those animal eyes that Huck understood, and recognized.
“Thank-you,” Vander rumbled, the words dragged out with difficulty around his fangs. “Hughh…Huck.”
“It's good to have you here,” Huck told him. A truth that throbbed, soft and honest, inside of him.
“Yeah, one big happy family,” said Jinx, head lolling to one side in that dazed way that sometimes came over her- another one who refused her Miracle- but no matter, there. Given the comfortable trade relationship that had opened up with the Firelight clan, such people were becoming common in the commune, and accepted just as easily as anyone. “Now Vi just needs to get back here- stop screwing around topside with her Piltie girlfriend-”
Vander rumbled in a slightly scolding way at this remark, and Huck smiled again before leaving them. The colourful family was popular in the commune- Jinx for her sense of humour and inventions, she was especially liked by the children- and Vander had long ceased to be a threatening thing. No more was he a beast on the bare edge of lashing out, that monster ‘Warwick’- instead the good, kind, intelligent man he had been before, only occasionally plagued by memories and odd animal instincts. The tenderness of him, perhaps, had surprised some others- but Huck had already known it was there.
On the steps of the laurel-chamber, another conversation was being held- Huck still had tea to share in his pot, so he approached comfortably. Even if the Herald, as a mechanical creature, did not eat or drink, perhaps his guest would appreciate the offer.
“...but how did you solve the problem of your depleting power?” This, the visitor spoke- a thin, old man, the lower half of his face hidden by a shawl. A scarred, bald head, and one unnaturally gleaming, clever eye. But this was a regular guest, the old mad-doctor, who Huck supposed was an uncertain kind of friend. “You never followed my procedure, I can see that.”
The two were sitting in the matching wicker chairs the Herald had set before the chamber, for semi-formal audiences such as this. The Lord looked content, Huck thought- as he usually did, these days- playing with a gear between his fingers. He acknowledged Huck’s approach with a slight smile before responding to his companion.
“There is another entity here, touched by the Arcane,” the Herald began; Huck, now at their sides, offered a ladle of tea to the doctor- a look of slight surprise, and then it was accepted, his empty water cup held up in reply. As Huck poured, the Lord raised the gear, pressing its edge into the plush of his lower lip- a little sly, the hooding of his eyes, as he continued:
“...one possessing a- fluid- that performs a similar restorative effect. Of course, it is not so potent as your Warwick’s blood would have been- so more regular, ehm, injections are required-”
Huck realized quite suddenly who- and what- the Herald was speaking of, and startled so hard his hand actually shook, spilling some of the tea around the sides of the cup. A flush raged through him as he tucked the ladle aside, murmuring a soft apology- but the old scientist was hardly paying attention to him, anyway.
Huck dared to look at his Lord- utterly wicked, the mischief on his pale, flawless face.
“...but it is an arrangement that suits us both well enough.”
Huck decided he ought to take his leave then- he could tell the old man had questions- and he didn't particularly want to hear the answers to them. Something he had decided he was, ultimately, much better off not thinking about.
As he departed, the tail of the conversation caught his ear, the Herald’s lilting voice:
“But let's not speak of this. Tell me about your daughter- how has she taken to her last treatment…?”
Huck still hurried on, moving at a quick trot until his ears stopped burning. But by the time he remembered himself he was not far from his own tent- and when he took stock of his pot he found there was left, perhaps, enough for one more cup.
So he sat in the dim sunlight and poured it for himself, taking in the sweet, still-warm dregs. Despite what some rumours said, there was no doctrine that demanded the Awakened spend all their time in sacrifice, and save nothing for themselves. That wasn't what it meant, to share.
Huck leaned back against the pole of his tent, breathing in the clear air, and drank his tea. And that was enough for him.