Blood Wound Chapter 9

[miri1984]

Title: Sodding, elf-lipped pansy...
Words: 1800
Rating: T+
Characters: Anders, Alim, Oghren
Summary: Alim gets a few pointers.

I must credit the gorgeous ScaryLady (who writes Trouble & Strife - a magnificent fic if you don't read it - you really must, it's fantastic) for the idea that magic has a taste. She wrote a story about it which is not safe for work, if you are feeling up for some very nice Anders.. it's on her LiveJournal page I do believe although I don't have a link handy, sorry peeps.

Smugglers, stopped. Information gathered. Alim hefted his pack on his shoulders and looked back at the city that he could now consider his with a small smile of satisfaction on his face. They had a day to reach the Knotwood Hills and possibly fight a horde of darkspawn. He found the prospect of letting loose some serious destruction extremely appealing. The number of times he'd had to stop himself from blowing things up recently were beginning to give him grey hairs.

Anders and Oghren made the miles go faster. He listened to their constant sniping, reminded inevitably of Alistair and Morrigan, or even Zev and Wynne in his happier moments. The elderly mage had never approved of Zev, had in fact, attempted to talk him out of pursuing a relationship with the man, and Zev had taken to tormenting her at every opportunity because of it.

When they reached the cavern Alim called a halt. They would camp on the edge for a night. Oghren complained of a strained muscle in his thigh and Alim offered to heal it for him - even though with the dwarf it was sometimes difficult for healing magic to take.

"Well, we've got two healers now, haven't we? Maybe the mad skirt wearing freak's magic won't hurt as much as yours does."

Anders shot Alim a look. "Hurt?" he said. Alim flushed and made a face at Oghren.

"My healing magic hurts, apparently," he muttered. Zev had liked it. Everyone else in the party had gone to Wynne whenever they could, unless they were in dire need.

"Well that's weird," Anders said, stroking his chin. "I've never heard of that happening before. What did the old stick have to say about it?"

"Wynne said it had something to do with the fact that I default so readily to destruction magic," Alim said. "I can't seem to completely separate the two. It was the reason they told me I couldn't heal, in the Tower…"

Anders' face had taken on a look of intense interest. "That is interesting," he said. "When you healed me after the joining I didn't notice anything like that though…"

"Minor headache," Alim said. "It only really comes out when I need to use a lot at once. Mhairi would have told you about it…" if she'd survived. "Although I suspect she'd never been healed by a mage before - she led a fairly sheltered life in the King's Guards."

"Let me feel," Anders said decisively. "Maybe I can help you with it."

"You're not injured," Alim pointed out.

Anders grinned. "Doesn't matter. Don't look at me like that, I can feel you jolting yourself with healing magic every now and then and I know you're not sick…"

Alim shifted uncomfortably. Dosing yourself with magic was one of those things not-approved-by-the-tower. If, by a random freak of accident, you ever required healing in the Circle, you always went to someone else.

"Look," Anders said, "I've been on the run more times than you can count. You think I hesitated to heal myself if I needed it? I know you have. Any mage who's spent any time outside the tower has done it. It's nothing to be ashamed of."

"Fine. Let's deal with Oghren first, then I'll show you what I mean."

Oghren grunted when Alim sunk his magic into his leg. Oranges and spice, Alistair had told him his magic tasted like. But hot, like being slowly pricked with a needle. Anders sat on the other side of Oghren, his hand resting lightly over Alim's, eyes closed and a slight frown on his face as he felt what the other mage was doing. Near the end, when Alim had done what he could, he felt a surge of magic from the other mage and was nearly overwhelmed with the flavours that poured from him - rich and dark and sweet, like an expensive desert, covered in chocolate and cream. He resisted the urge to lick his lips as Anders completed the spell.

"Feels much better, thanks," Oghren said. "But if you don't get your hands off my thigh soon someone's going to lose a limb." Anders laughed and sat back on his heels. Alim took the opportunity to squeeze the dwarf's leg and leer suggestively, before pulling back himself. "Sodding elf-lipped pansy," Oghren muttered, but there was no malice in it.

"What do you think?" Alim said.

"Wynne's right," Anders said. "All your magic has a hint of destruction in it. That's what that… fizzy taste is. You can't separate it out?"

"I've tried."

"Give me another healing spell," Anders said.

"Are you certain?" Alim said. Leliana had screamed the first time he'd healed a major injury of hers. He still shuddered when he remembered it.

"Hey, pain's fine, as long as it doesn't come with blood leaking out of me."

Alim shrugged and gathered his power for a strong heal, Anders took his hands and he released the magic, watching as Anders flinched back, gritting his teeth against the pain. He waited a moment, then felt a rush of Anders' magic wash back over him. "Let me see if I can show you…" Anders was saying, but Alim could barely hear him. His knees nearly gave out as the magic seemed to fill him up from the bottom of his feet to his eyeballs - so much richness, depth. Anders' magic had nothing of destruction about it, yet Alim had seen him in battle and knew that he was just as able in that regard as Alim himself. Does it work the other way? he wondered. Do the darkspawn give up and lie down just so they can feel more of this?

"Commander?" he blinked. "Commander can you hear me?"

He was sitting on his backside next to the campfire. His hands were his own again. He felt a bit like he'd been through a wringer - or given one of Zev's special Antivan massages… He hastily crossed his legs and put his hands in his lap.

"Yes, yes, sorry…" he muttered, rubbing his eyes. "That was just a bit… intense."

Anders was smirking at him. He repressed an urge to zap the man. "Did you get what I was trying to show you?"

"Levels," Alim muttered. "There are different levels to the magic. Wynne tried to show me the same thing. But there's always a level of mine that's tied to destruction - just like there is, I suspect, always a level in yours tied to healing," He shrugged. "It's just the way it is."

"I'm sure you can do something about it," Anders said, chewing his lip.

"Probably," Alim said. "When we're not in the middle of trying to rid the world of darkspawn I promise to give it some study."

Anders chuckled. "Well I'm happy to try to help. And in the meantime I'll handle the healing if you handle the blowing stuff up."

"Agreed," Alim said.

That night, in his tent, he sat cross-legged and examined his hands. He called forth spell after spell, examining the levels in them as he did so, trying to find why it was that he couldn't let go of that little fizzing spark of destruction. Entropy. Spirit. Creation. It was there in every single tree, every single spell. It was what made him such a force on the battlefield, he knew. But a part of him had always wanted to have what Anders had - that capability to heal instead of destroy. He'd worked so hard at it - he'd gotten so far… but not far enough.

His pack was staring at him in the corner of the tent. There was one school of magic he hadn't yet tried. The First Warden had given him the book, in Weisshaupt. Alim's circle trained soul had quailed at it, but he'd taken it, stuffed it in the bottom of his pack and not looked at it, vowed to himself he wouldn't even think of looking at it.

You're a coward, he thought. But he didn't move to take the book out. He suspected he never would.

He sighed and sucked in a breath, letting the energy fizzle away slowly, a small rejuvenation spell settling under his skin. He didn't mind the pain. It was comforting and soothing at the same time, like an old friend (or a lover).

"Il mio amante, the pain is exquisite. It is something you learn to crave, if you use it correctly."

Alim laughed, a short stutter of incredulity. "Crave pain? Are you crazy?"

Zevran gave him one of those looks. The kind that shot straight to his groin and stole his breath. The kind that had them sneaking into the woods amidst roving packs of werewolves, without a thought to their own safety. The kind that made Wynne roll her eyes and Alistair blush.

"A jolt of your magic, Alim," Zev said, tracing his hand over his hair and cupping him at the base of his neck with strong, calloused fingers "…at the right moment, could bring me to my knees and you would not even have to touch me. This is why I come to you and not to Wynne, despite the majesty of her bosom. Let Leliana and Alistair run to the old lady with the gentle hands." The Antivan dipped his head forward and captured Alim's mouth with his own, kissing him so thoroughly and deeply that Alim thought he would drown. "I wish to be handled by you."

When he woke in the morning, he felt the wetness of tears on his cheeks.