[ the road to camelot from ealdor isn't a particularly arduous one -- but it is a very long one. ealdor sits on the edge of cenred's kingdom, just beyond the ridge of ascetir, and had stan not been feeling up to the task of traipsing through mountains to get to camelot, he most certainly would not have found a particular (beautiful) young man in the forests surrounding his destination nearly bleeding to death. ]
[ that is, he was bleeding to death, quite quickly, until stan found him and set about making sure he wouldn't continue to decorate the forest floor with his blood. truthfully, the young man should be very grateful. if any normal person had happened along, they may not have been able to do anything for this poor soul except maybe make him a little comfortable and hold his hand while he died. camelot is still a far way off -- there's no way, even with a horse, that anyone could have made it back in time without aggravating his wound further, likely causing him to die even more quickly. ]
[ no, it is good that stan was the one to see to him. fate, even, perhaps, if not simply chance. he can't help but wonder if this is the beginning of something, the thing he came all this way to find. a calling, some would say. stan has only ever wanted to do good, and this is just as good a start as any. he couldn't stay in ealdor anymore -- he didn't belong there, never had quite fit in. he can't say whether he belongs here or not, tending to this wounded young man, but it feels like he might. like this is where he was meant to be. like destiny brought him here for a reason. ]
[ he doesn't even know the man's name. he's been in and out of dazed moments of consciousness, probably due to all the blood loss. stan may not be a physician (yet, if his mother's friend, camelot's very own court physician, has anything to say for it), or a very skilled sorcerer (another yet), but his mother managed to acquire a book before he left (the only thing she had left of his father's), and he's been studying it ever since, trying to memorize the spells and practice them when no one else is around. there hasn't been anyone else around for miles. days. until now. ]
[ honestly, he wasn't sure he had it in him. at the worst, he could have killed the man almost instantly. at best, well -- they're both pretty lucky he managed something close to best. the herbs have helped with the fever, a remedy he learned from his mother, and he's been sharing the last of his water supply to make sure the man doesn't die of thirst. it would be a complete waste to have used so much of his own energy on magic only to have the man die of something completely within his power to cure. ]
[ it's been about a day since he made camp inside the mouth of a cave, and the young man still hasn't entirely roused, but stan remains confident. if he just gets a little rest, he'll have more strength to try something else if the man still hasn't pulled through. for now, he can't do anything more than wait, sleep, and hope for the best. ]
( the prince has always been well known for his rowdiness -- and his unmistaken talent for being able to get outside the city's walls even when his father poses guards outside his bedroom to keep him locked in. mind you, the way he often gets out of it is by sleeping with them, but -- his father either doesn't know or won't admit it. the more he leaves, the more people start knowing his face, his name, the dragon symbol left decidedly off his clothes. rather than lessen his trips outside, he opts to travel further, later at night, when no one is out. he's never mistaken it for a good idea, but it is the one he makes, which is all the same.
unsurprisingly, the bandits who jump him aren't content with the little gold he has in his pocket and the shoddy blade he nicked off a blacksmith in the lower town of camelot before heading out. he manages to hold his own as one of the better swordsmen in the royal guard, but number outweighs talent -- even if he offs and kills a handful, there's a dozen more poking swords in his back, through his stomach. there's a smile and an aw, shit that leaves his mouth as he sinks to his knees, bleeding out. stubborn even in death, he at least manages to see the next sunrise before giving in, lying in a puddle of his own blood and the sun baking it on his face, smiles cracking the hard lines of red where they lay. it's the worst death he can think of, which is probably suitable. maybe his father will be happier with him gone. he's always been a disappointment, right?
it's interesting, dying. there are flashes, quiet and secretive enough, of warm hands and a bastardly handsome face holding him, looking at him, glowing eyes purring magic against his wounds like some sort of fucking angel, healing him before he goes straight to hell. really sweet of god, he'll give him that. this last pleasure is well worth an eternity of damnation -- fuck, man, the angel is really hot. maybe if god is really cool --
he doesn't wake with any semblance of grace, sitting up with a sudden jolt and gasping largely, as if he hasn't taken a proper breath in however long he's been out. he honestly doesn't think he has as he glances sharply around to all sides of him, distantly aware that he isn't dead, and that thinking his guy was an angel was some fucked up stupid dead guy reasoning ( still hot, though, he can definitely have that ). a hand touches at the bandages around his stomach, prodding them before panicking enough to rip them off, finding his skin bare of any wound, or of any mark to suggest something healed.
[ needless to say, stan might be a little cranky when kenny actually wakes up. he hasn't had a lot of sleep, has spent most of his energy keeping a total stranger alive, and has had very little to show for it until just this moment. and, as attractive as this stranger may be, especially without a shirt (hell, with or without all the sweat and blood), stan would really rather still be asleep and recovering his own strength. if they're both going to make it back to camelot, he's going to need more than five minutes. maybe he should have reconsidered this whole saving lives thing. ]
[ groggily, he opens his eyes, and is instantly awoken by the sight of bandages being strewn across the cave floor. he has his own moment of panic, thinking his patient may have just made things worse -- until he notices the work of what was none other than his own magic: smooth skin, no discoloration, not even a hint of a scar. well. he didn't think he was that good. either that was one hell of a spell or he just got really, really lucky. ]
[ he stares across the dying fire at his handsome stranger, never for a second wondering if he might be anyone important. why would he be? the only thing stan marsh happens to be wondering at the moment is when this attractive young man whose life he just saved will actually notice his company. a thanks would do, too. but beggars can't be choosers, as they say. ]
You're welcome. [ he finally says, dryly. ] You might want to give it a rest, just in case. I'm not entirely sure ... how this healing thing works, exactly. But you're alive, so that's a start.
( it doesn't feel great, he'll be honest. it feels like what's on the tin -- he hasn't moved in some measure of time and all his limbs are cranky, underused and upset at the progression of things. he doesn't pay much mind to stan at first if he's honest, working only at sitting himself upright and then standing, using the cave's walls as support while he gains his balance, coughing while his lungs gasp for air. it feels just as bad as all those knives, but he feels steadily more aware now -- alive, yeah, which is maybe for the best. probably for the worst, but hey, you can't fault the guy for trying.
after a moment he glances over his shoulder and offers a toothy grin, misplaced and likely gross seeming, just as an effect from everything else that's happened. true, he's mainly used to getting what he wants with a bat of his eyelashes because he's pretty enough -- he doesn't like dropping his last name as a pickup line, doesn't like guilting people into liking him, because what the fuck. he's alone enough and without friends, he doesn't need to scare off the entire world by using his princely status to get laid. )
Thanks, sorcerer. ( leaning his back against the wall, he shakes his head. that's great, that's really fucking great. ) Surely I needn't tell you that magic is a crime punishable by death in our lands? Apologies for this being the first thing I say to you, honestly, usually I'm much more of a charmer. ( he shrugs his shoulder, the name kenneth pendragon sitting there on his tongue. nah. ) I'm Kenny. You'll need to take me back to Camelot, so I can arrange some form of payment for you.
( and his smile grows sleazier, )
Unless you'd appreciate your payment right now ...
[ honestly, it's kind of insulting how idiotic kenny is being -- moving around and such, straining things that probably ought not to be strained -- after all the time and energy stan spent to keep him alive. but, hey, what does stan know? maybe this is part of the healing process. laying about won't work out the kinks in his muscles, but by this point it's far be it from stan to offer to help with that particular task. tending to kenny while he was unconscious was one thing; it's entirely different now that he's awake, and giving stan that grin that makes him feel like meat on a stick. stan isn't sure how he feels about that, only knows that it makes his cheeks feel a bit warm, either from anger or embarrassment. ]
[ kenny definitely isn't winning any personality points just yet. stan liked it much better when he was unconscious. ] It's Stan, [ he interjects when kenny calls him sorcerer. not that he's disagreeing or denying that he is, in fact, a sorcerer, but he does have a name. ]
[ he tenses a bit when kenny goes on to say magic is a crime, even though his mother warned him about it before he left. she'd been there at the start of the great purge, she said, and fled with his father. she never did tell him why, or why his father had to leave. stan can only assume it had something to do with the book in his pack, but his mother would never confirm or deny whether his father practiced magic or not. she always made it seem like stan was special, like that book was always meant for him and no one else. maybe he'll never really have all the answers he's looking for. ]
[ now, he's starting to wonder if he should have just stayed in ealdor. he isn't afraid of getting caught, but he is a bit worried about kenny blabbing to the whole court. he stares at kenny with a look of mild horror at the proposition of payment -- which is only worsened by the fact that he's still standing there shirtless, the sunlight from the mouth of the cave gleaming off his skin. his stomach twists uncomfortably and his voice very nearly cracks. ]
No. [ he swallows hard, trying to regain some form of composure. ] No, that won't be necessary. I just did what any decent person would. [ but you're about ten steps away from making me regret it, he thinks. he can only imagine what the remaining trip is going to be like, especially since, between the two of them, there's only one horse. stan would walk the rest of the way on his own, but he should stay with kenny to make sure he doesn't almost die again. he finally pushes himself from the ground, dusting off his pants, giving kenny a scrutinizing look. ] Are you sure you can ride? You can barely stand.
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[ that is, he was bleeding to death, quite quickly, until stan found him and set about making sure he wouldn't continue to decorate the forest floor with his blood. truthfully, the young man should be very grateful. if any normal person had happened along, they may not have been able to do anything for this poor soul except maybe make him a little comfortable and hold his hand while he died. camelot is still a far way off -- there's no way, even with a horse, that anyone could have made it back in time without aggravating his wound further, likely causing him to die even more quickly. ]
[ no, it is good that stan was the one to see to him. fate, even, perhaps, if not simply chance. he can't help but wonder if this is the beginning of something, the thing he came all this way to find. a calling, some would say. stan has only ever wanted to do good, and this is just as good a start as any. he couldn't stay in ealdor anymore -- he didn't belong there, never had quite fit in. he can't say whether he belongs here or not, tending to this wounded young man, but it feels like he might. like this is where he was meant to be. like destiny brought him here for a reason. ]
[ he doesn't even know the man's name. he's been in and out of dazed moments of consciousness, probably due to all the blood loss. stan may not be a physician (yet, if his mother's friend, camelot's very own court physician, has anything to say for it), or a very skilled sorcerer (another yet), but his mother managed to acquire a book before he left (the only thing she had left of his father's), and he's been studying it ever since, trying to memorize the spells and practice them when no one else is around. there hasn't been anyone else around for miles. days. until now. ]
[ honestly, he wasn't sure he had it in him. at the worst, he could have killed the man almost instantly. at best, well -- they're both pretty lucky he managed something close to best. the herbs have helped with the fever, a remedy he learned from his mother, and he's been sharing the last of his water supply to make sure the man doesn't die of thirst. it would be a complete waste to have used so much of his own energy on magic only to have the man die of something completely within his power to cure. ]
[ it's been about a day since he made camp inside the mouth of a cave, and the young man still hasn't entirely roused, but stan remains confident. if he just gets a little rest, he'll have more strength to try something else if the man still hasn't pulled through. for now, he can't do anything more than wait, sleep, and hope for the best. ]
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unsurprisingly, the bandits who jump him aren't content with the little gold he has in his pocket and the shoddy blade he nicked off a blacksmith in the lower town of camelot before heading out. he manages to hold his own as one of the better swordsmen in the royal guard, but number outweighs talent -- even if he offs and kills a handful, there's a dozen more poking swords in his back, through his stomach. there's a smile and an aw, shit that leaves his mouth as he sinks to his knees, bleeding out. stubborn even in death, he at least manages to see the next sunrise before giving in, lying in a puddle of his own blood and the sun baking it on his face, smiles cracking the hard lines of red where they lay. it's the worst death he can think of, which is probably suitable. maybe his father will be happier with him gone. he's always been a disappointment, right?
it's interesting, dying. there are flashes, quiet and secretive enough, of warm hands and a bastardly handsome face holding him, looking at him, glowing eyes purring magic against his wounds like some sort of fucking angel, healing him before he goes straight to hell. really sweet of god, he'll give him that. this last pleasure is well worth an eternity of damnation -- fuck, man, the angel is really hot. maybe if god is really cool --
he doesn't wake with any semblance of grace, sitting up with a sudden jolt and gasping largely, as if he hasn't taken a proper breath in however long he's been out. he honestly doesn't think he has as he glances sharply around to all sides of him, distantly aware that he isn't dead, and that thinking his guy was an angel was some fucked up stupid dead guy reasoning ( still hot, though, he can definitely have that ). a hand touches at the bandages around his stomach, prodding them before panicking enough to rip them off, finding his skin bare of any wound, or of any mark to suggest something healed.
his dad is going to be really pissed. )
M-magic ... nnn ...
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[ groggily, he opens his eyes, and is instantly awoken by the sight of bandages being strewn across the cave floor. he has his own moment of panic, thinking his patient may have just made things worse -- until he notices the work of what was none other than his own magic: smooth skin, no discoloration, not even a hint of a scar. well. he didn't think he was that good. either that was one hell of a spell or he just got really, really lucky. ]
[ he stares across the dying fire at his handsome stranger, never for a second wondering if he might be anyone important. why would he be? the only thing stan marsh happens to be wondering at the moment is when this attractive young man whose life he just saved will actually notice his company. a thanks would do, too. but beggars can't be choosers, as they say. ]
You're welcome. [ he finally says, dryly. ] You might want to give it a rest, just in case. I'm not entirely sure ... how this healing thing works, exactly. But you're alive, so that's a start.
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( it doesn't feel great, he'll be honest. it feels like what's on the tin -- he hasn't moved in some measure of time and all his limbs are cranky, underused and upset at the progression of things. he doesn't pay much mind to stan at first if he's honest, working only at sitting himself upright and then standing, using the cave's walls as support while he gains his balance, coughing while his lungs gasp for air. it feels just as bad as all those knives, but he feels steadily more aware now -- alive, yeah, which is maybe for the best. probably for the worst, but hey, you can't fault the guy for trying.
after a moment he glances over his shoulder and offers a toothy grin, misplaced and likely gross seeming, just as an effect from everything else that's happened. true, he's mainly used to getting what he wants with a bat of his eyelashes because he's pretty enough -- he doesn't like dropping his last name as a pickup line, doesn't like guilting people into liking him, because what the fuck. he's alone enough and without friends, he doesn't need to scare off the entire world by using his princely status to get laid. )
Thanks, sorcerer. ( leaning his back against the wall, he shakes his head. that's great, that's really fucking great. ) Surely I needn't tell you that magic is a crime punishable by death in our lands? Apologies for this being the first thing I say to you, honestly, usually I'm much more of a charmer. ( he shrugs his shoulder, the name kenneth pendragon sitting there on his tongue. nah. ) I'm Kenny. You'll need to take me back to Camelot, so I can arrange some form of payment for you.
( and his smile grows sleazier, )
Unless you'd appreciate your payment right now ...
no subject
[ kenny definitely isn't winning any personality points just yet. stan liked it much better when he was unconscious. ] It's Stan, [ he interjects when kenny calls him sorcerer. not that he's disagreeing or denying that he is, in fact, a sorcerer, but he does have a name. ]
[ he tenses a bit when kenny goes on to say magic is a crime, even though his mother warned him about it before he left. she'd been there at the start of the great purge, she said, and fled with his father. she never did tell him why, or why his father had to leave. stan can only assume it had something to do with the book in his pack, but his mother would never confirm or deny whether his father practiced magic or not. she always made it seem like stan was special, like that book was always meant for him and no one else. maybe he'll never really have all the answers he's looking for. ]
[ now, he's starting to wonder if he should have just stayed in ealdor. he isn't afraid of getting caught, but he is a bit worried about kenny blabbing to the whole court. he stares at kenny with a look of mild horror at the proposition of payment -- which is only worsened by the fact that he's still standing there shirtless, the sunlight from the mouth of the cave gleaming off his skin. his stomach twists uncomfortably and his voice very nearly cracks. ]
No. [ he swallows hard, trying to regain some form of composure. ] No, that won't be necessary. I just did what any decent person would. [ but you're about ten steps away from making me regret it, he thinks. he can only imagine what the remaining trip is going to be like, especially since, between the two of them, there's only one horse. stan would walk the rest of the way on his own, but he should stay with kenny to make sure he doesn't almost die again. he finally pushes himself from the ground, dusting off his pants, giving kenny a scrutinizing look. ] Are you sure you can ride? You can barely stand.