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| Details |
| Author: | Athena |
| Summary: | After the battle of Deepholm, two of the healers, Mordecai and Colson, finish up their longer day, and head back home to consider if Colson can have a little guilt, as a treat, and what to do about the strange jewelcrafting idols found in Deepholm. 3100~ words. |
| Rating: | T for Teen |
Arc: Deepholm
Chain: Morson
The storming of the Earthen Ring stronghold of the temple was brutal and intense, a close quarters battle filled with waves of forces appearing from thin air, and giants of stone with feet the size of carts crushing those beneath them with sometimes only a tentative grasp on friend fleshling to foe fleshling. But, if it had one thing going for it, it was that the battlefield was small, and the space between place of wounding and healers area short, allowing triage to proceed with little interruption or sudden new influx from those carried far and grave wounds having too long to set.
There is an orderliness in this time, the rush and swift responses of those accustomed to this life, shamans and priests and at least one paladin. The loudness of the space has dulled from the ear-ringing battle and the immediate after roar of success proclaimed loudly, to a murmur softness of people speaking in low, calming tones, and some resting, quieter for now in this space of healing and recovery before the inevitable raucous celebratory cheering and regaling of a battle won will overtake the space.
Colson has healed the last of his allotted patients, a dwarven woman of the Explorers' League who had been too close the cavern wall when a stone lord crushed a Twilight's Hammer invader into it, and received a horrible gashing cut on her shoulder from a sharp rock that fell from the impact. She has just finished telling Colson her third new joke on an extended bit about the "chip on her shoulder off the old block," the paladin politely and calmly listening as he checks the mobility of said shoulder, when he gives her a nod with a healer's appraisal. "You should experience no lingering negative effects," he tells her as he rises from the kneel he has been in for some several long minutes. "Light be with you."
This done, Colson turns his full attention to locating Mordecai, which is not too difficult a task for the paladin in even the worst of times.
Mordecai is speaking with a tauren shaman about Maruut Stonebinder. It seems the fallen shaman's body will be brought to Thunder Bluff and he will be buried there with proper tauren funerary rites, a luxury currently easily available to them through the power of portals.
When Mordecai turns from the conversation, he looks directly at Colson, and his grave expression softens into something fond. He makes his way over.
Colson makes his way towards Mordecai, which means they meet in the middle, in a space between pillars of naturally socially made senses of hallways where people have been walking amongst the wounded and the tired. Off to the side, a troll coughs.
What it lacks in natural romance, Colson brings with him, as he draws close, lifting his hands to cradle Mordecai's face between them, gazing with soft eyes on the priest as though if in drinking in his features with this look Colson drinks more deeply to replenish himself than any water for his mana could ever do. His thumb caresses an arc that speaks of relief and succor both.
"Hi," he says, low and deep, almost a sigh. There's a touch of tiredness to the paladin, something around his eyes and his shoulders, but he seems to be rallying with every second this close to Mordecai.
Mordecai reaches up and gently brushes some of Colson's hair away from his face. "Hello, beautiful," he says, unconcerned about being overheard. He's not shy about calling his husband beautiful, that's just a fact. "Are you ready to leave?"
"Yes," Colson answers simply, eyes fluttering closed for a moment as he leans into the touch. "There is nothing more I can do here as a healer or paladin, and I am not needed any longer for the day." That day is already long — his work with Cobalt Company ended hours and about thirty patients ago.
"Then let's go." Mordecai takes Colson's hand and leads him towards the portal to Stormwind. "How much longer can you march for, sweetheart? We need to pick dinner up on the way home, but I could get that by myself if you'd prefer to rest sooner."
Colson is happily towed, a paladin tugboat, his strides sure and easy. "For several hours yet," he reports. "I would be happier accompanying you than resting."
"In that case, we'll go together." Mordecai smiles. "Fortitude," he says just before they step through the portal, and the Power Word rings out throughout their smaller chamber and into the central chamber of the Temple of Earth, empowering a good number of its inhabitants. Gone are the days where Mordecai once needed sacred candles to amplify his prayers.
On the other side of the portal, Mordecai waits patiently for Colson to open his eyes. Their rented room is in the Cathedral district; it is less of a walk from here than it would have been from the mage tower.
It takes Colson only an extra second or two to open his eyes, and get his new bearings from the abrupt portal shifting of them. He smiles gently at Mordecai, before carrying on towards their destination.
Time Passes
The room the Aspenwoods are renting is on the second floor, and the cathedral bells chime eleven o' clock at night while the two of them are climbing the stairs. The hallway light is dim above them. Their landlord can only be in bed at this hour.
Mordecai opens the door to their room, since Colson is carrying their food. Unlike the front door of the building, this room does not stay locked when they're gone. It has a latch to shut it from the inside.
The room is very simple. There is a desk-sized table with two chairs, a nightstand, and a bed against the far wall. To the right of the door is a shelf. In the back left corner is the wardrobe. Everything is made of mismatched wood, no two pieces of furniture quite the same color except for the chairs. There are only a few bright colors in the room, the string of purple crystal lights above the bed being one of them. The curtains are a soft green.
Colson enters the room first, as he always does, the habitual safety check, before he crosses to the table to set down their simple fare of dinner, a sigh escaping him as he lets the fatigue of the day catch up with him. He turns in place, not quite fully leaning back against the table, as he starts in on removing his armor with one hand, the other held out to Mordecai. "Welcome home," he says.
Mordecai latches the door behind him, steps out of his boots, and hurries closer to take Colson's hand. "Welcome home, love. What a long day. May I help?"
"Of course." Colson doesn't hurry at all, taking his time to draw Mordecai closer for a welcome home kiss, allowed and permitted by the Rules, a soft, lingering kiss that seems more for a comfort of a touchstone for grounding the paladin after such a day, rather than an attempt to lead the kiss into something more.
Mordecai enjoys his welcome home kiss for as long as it lasts and then moves to help Colson with his armor, piece by piece. He has gotten better at this over time.
"Thank you," Colson says after a period of quiet armor removal. "For staying where I could see you when the battle started. I know it was entirely the best strategy, tactically speaking, but it set me at ease all the same." This is not news to Mordecai; they have been through large battles before, and each time, Colson has been willing to sacrifice perfect military tactics in favor of keeping his wedding vows more perfectly.
Mordecai smiles gently. "Of course. You had enough to worry about." His smile goes a little sad. "And the one we lost in the end was still… within both our reach. The shamans I couldn't see turned out fine."
Colson nods. "I have seen shamans call upon their ancestors' strength to return to life, but I felt nothing remaining of Maruut. He may have felt his work complete, trusting in his fellow shamans to attend to the last of it. Was Mansia well after, do you know? I meant to see if she was, but she was not part of my triage, and I did not see her after."
"Mm… Mmhm. I think so. I saw her among the healers, rather than the patients." Mordecai finishes stacking armor pieces neatly and looks over his own robe for dirt and bloodstains. This one is definitely going to need to go in the laundry bag.
Colson nods again, one more check in the checklist. His under armor clothes are dark with sweat, and in the joints where his armor has gaps, blood, but none appears to be his. "That is good to know." He breathes out a slow breath that isn't a sigh. There is something in it, in the way he reaches again for Mordecai like a lodestone he needs to have to stay steady.
"The Stonemother may not have had much experience with Twilight's Hammer specifically, but it is clear that she and her Stone Lords know war well. Her leadership is why we saw so few casualties today. She had intelligence on the leaders of the strike, and sent us first into eliminating them while her army occupied the bulk, to undermine the organization of the strike on the temple with the final piece. The only one of the three leaders that we were unable to stop before the assault on the temple was the one dealt the fatal blow to Maruut, High Priestess Lorthuna. Had we managed to halt her as we were sent to do, he may very well have survived the battle," Colson says, a hand on Mordecai's hip, his eyes soft and tired as he looks to his priest for a decision on what guilt Colson should bear, as per his outsourcing agreement.
Mordecai steps closer and takes Colson's face in his hands, leaning their foreheads together. "She had intelligence about the leaders," he repeats quietly. "So much for us fleshlings all looking the same. Don't get trapped inside the could haves today, my love."
"We were warned specifically with her, as if the Stonemother had prescience. She told us to strike swiftly against the Priestess, and to not let her escape, or we would regret it later," Colson reports. "The Stonemother spoke true."
Mordecai hums acknowledgement. "You were warned, so I can't imagine that the four of you would have been careless. She just would have been… too fast? Already prepared her escape route?"
Colson must concede the point. "We thought we had her by surprise, but we did not have enough of it, it would seem. She was aware that the Stonemother had been waiting to launch her strike, and we were outmaneuvered. If I had been faster, stunned her sooner, perhaps…"
Mordecai kisses Colson on the nose. "Perhaps. Or Cressidha, or Sil, or Sir Atley. But we'll never know. So. You can forgive yourself the what-if, sweetheart, can't you?" That request is promptly followed up with a bonus task, as a treat: "Here, you can take this off of me if you'd like. I should change and wash my hands before I eat."
Colson does like both undressing Mordecai in general, and a task of it in specific. It's enough at least to have the paladin consider if he can forgive himself the what-ifs as he devotes time and attention to this task. It's in the slowness of it, the unnecessary amounts of skimming his hands over Mordecai's body to lift the robe off that speaks of the lingering sense of guilt waiting for its final judgment. "We were successful with the others, though I am afraid that Bunny will be… somewhat put out for a time again. We were encouraged to take wing on drakes to prevent the escape of one Zoltrik Drakebane, who was incidentally more of a drake rider."
"Oh, dear. She saw that?" Mordecai wraps his arms around himself as soon as the robe is removed. "Oh, it's cold," he says, hurrying to the wardrobe to find something warm to put on. His first choice is one of Colson's shirts, a pajama top that Cressidha made for her brother after the Cataclysm, not knowing that Colson is allergic to shirts.
It's a tragic condition, currently incurable, so sad.
"She made the point of keeping up with the drake I took," Colson says, shamefacedly and wryly both, watching Mordecai, a faint smile warming his eyes at the use of 'his' (ostensibly) shirt. "I had misjudged the speed of both."
Mordecai laughs quietly. "Oh, dear." He changes out his pants for a pair of his own pajama pants, leaves them in the laundry bag, and touches Colson's arm. "I'm just going to wash my hands," he says. The door to the bathroom is in the hall, and it's the only bathroom in the building - shared with their landlord.
Colson nods, that slightly perceptible lean into Mordecai's touch, his eyes following the priest.
Colson uses his time apart wisely, and by that it is to be understood that he removes the rest of his clothing, opting to at least put on the clean pajama pants that match the shirt Mordecai wears. Colson is still in the middle of setting the food out onto the table by the time Mordecai returns, the paladin not moving at any particularly quick pace.
Mordecai is as quiet as he can be in the hall, opening and closing doors with the skill of someone accustomed to keeping their volume down. He does not take too long, and when he returns - and shuts the door behind him - he gives Colson an amused look. "You aren't cold at all, are you?"
"Hm?" Colson looks over, and after a small pause, perhaps of assessing it himself, shakes his head. "No." His aura shifts to [Warm Cozy] all the same. The Paladin Teachings may have merged the elements into a general resist aura, but Colson remains old school. He's been a paladin for a decade, he's allowed to be slow to change his ways with those young uns.
"Unfair," Mordecai teases, smiling. "Thank you, love." He takes his seat on the left.
"Of course," Colson says, taking the teasing in stride. He sits gracefully, and then ungracefully begins to shovel food into himself at a would be alarming speed for someone who hasn't spent years in the army. It's the inhaling food technique, mastered by all soldiers who have ever lived their lives in shifts and rotations where their off time must encompass all their needs in a time often considered 'enough sleep if they go to sleep immediately.' With midnight fast approaching, Colson's training has kicked in.
Mordecai pats Colson's arm once and starts eating as well. He is in less of a rush, but he's clearly hungry.
When Colson is done — swiftly enough to make one wonder if he even tasted the food — he carefully wipes his face and hands with a napkin, and sets his hand on Mordecai's thigh, resting. "I believe you heard the Stonemother's decision regarding the Earthern Ring, and Cobalt Company. We are being held distinct from them, and we may be allowed to return for a time, to stay longer. Do you wish to do so, past these days of transporting the wounded and the dead out of Deepholm, or would you rather spend time here in Azeroth before our next deployment?"
Mordecai hums, considering. "There are… a few places that I'd like to go see with you? But, um, I don't know if it's appropriate to just… wander around and look at the crystal formations. Do you think that's within the scope of what the Stonemother would, um, tolerate?"
"I believe," Colson says slowly, giving the question due consideration in turn, "given what we have done to demonstrate our dedication, and the way she spoke to us of our welcome, that she would. I have the feeling that she is aware of all that happens in her domain, more than what we expected, but so long as we are not harvesting anything to take with us, I expect we have permission to wander, for now. Perhaps while we are out, we may meet Pebbles once more."
Mordecai smiles and says more confidently, "Then yes, I'd like to go back. With you."
"Then we will go," Colson decides, with a soft smile. "I have been hoping to have more time to examine the obsidian that forms in Deepholm. I believe it may be part of the key to understanding the construction of the idols." Ah, yes, the broken artifacts Colson has found periodically, which he has been diligently attempting to repair, with several scholars of jewelcrafting weighing in, most of whom do not agree with each other. It's been a slow process, but Colson is nothing if not patient.
"What are you going to do with those things once you put them back together…?" Mordecai asks once he finishes eating. He places his hand on top of Colson's.
"It will depend on what they do, when they are functional," Colson answers. "Some may be of use, and I could field test them to possibly provide feedback to those who have grown interested in the outcome." At least three draenei, and one extremely enthusiastic Explorers' League dwarf, so far. "I do not have the skill to reverse engineer how they were made to reproduce one exactly, but we could make the attempt to understand them to improve upon other designs already in common circulation."
"Ah. I see." Mordecai leans closer. The chair creaks under him. "Don't let the Explorer's League peer pressure you into donating them. You found them first."
"I will not let them persuade me to something I do not believe will help the most people," Colson agrees. "Display for interest has its place, but I do believe these can be helpful, as powerful relics, if I can only solve the matter of restoration. They were meant to be in use, and I will see that done, if I can." Colson can relate, as a non-museum piece paladin who wants to be of use in the field.
Mordecai smiles at him, pleased. "Good. That's my Colson."
That gets a wider smile from the paladin, enough to show the faint smile lines growing stronger by the year by his eyes, a flash of his teeth to show the slightly crooked incisor, as he leans in closer. "Always yours," he avows.