Work Text:
The monster gives a deafening roar, mouth wide agape, its rotting teeth flashing in the light of his torch. It looks ugly like hell and stinks of death and decay. But he has fought the likes of it before. They seem to be spawning out of the soil like pests these days. Well, they are well fed in these times of contempt, and he himself has provided them with ample dinner. If their mission was not as secret as it is, he would, of course, burn all the corpses of the soldiers and waggoners that accompany the caravans they raid and that end up dead and rotting in the woods. But fires like the ones necessary to cremate a dozen or so dead humans at the same time are too conspicuous, and they cannot bury every body deep enough for those corpse eaters not to get to them. At least they try to with their own casualties. Which is more than enough hard work with all the rocks and stones and roots in the forest soil. A pity, these brainless beasts do not appreciate the service they and the Scoia'tael are providing them and keep to a dead-meat-only diet instead of attacking their benefactors.
He swings his sword and brandishes his torch at the ghoul. The beast roars again and charges at him, the elf lying spreadeagled and dazed on the forest ground, forgotten. Cahir ducks and spins, then stabs the ghoul in its massive thigh. The monster does not even seem to notice. Despite its natural fear of fire, it lunges at the human. But it is too slow and stupid to do any damage. Cahir evades the monster by jumping to the side at the last moment, then he spins around and sinks his blade into the negrophage's back. This time, the monster does notice. Growling and snarling, it turns around, its ugly face a grimace of deadly fury. Then it pounces at the human again.
The elf, in the meantime, has raised himself into a sitting position and, still somewhat woozy from a blow to his head, watches the deadly fight. Deadly for the creature that attacked him, he notes with relief. Proud as a king, he witnesses 'his' human dispatch of the grotesque, stinking creature with a dozen more skilful blows of his blood-dripping blade, the monster's severed head landing in the grass right in front of the onlooker's leather boots.
"I see, you're still as good with a sword as I remember, old friend," Gallatin says with a lopsided grin when Cahir turns toward him. The left side of his head hurts like he had a run-in with a tree trunk and he can feel blood trickle down his ear and into the collar of his shirt. But he has had a lot worse. It could have been a lot worse, too, if not for Cahir appearing out of nowhere just in the nick of time. Again. If he was as superstitious as many humans believe elves to be, Gallatin would swear the young Vicovarian and he must be some kind of secret soulmates or celestial twins or some such nonsense for this to happen so often. Is it for the third time? Fourth time? No, shit, including the occasion when first they met years ago in Nazair, it must be the fifth last minute save already.
"You, however, seem to have lost your touch, pointy," Cahir teases. He puts the torch down and reaches out his hand toward his friend. The human is panting and sweating from the fight and his face and clothes are splattered with ghoul blood, but he is grinning back at Gallatin. "How come that fucker had you sprawling on the ground? As long as they don't attack in groups, any girl could slay a ghoul."
"Aye, these corpse-eaters are not exactly geniuses or exceptionally fast. But that would have to be a hell of a skilled warrior girl," Gallatin laughs, taking Cahir's hand and letting the human pull him to his feet. With satisfaction the elf notes that Cahir is wearing the leather strap in his hair that he gave him when last they met. "The beast took me by surprise. Seems a man can't even take a leak in peace these days."
"You shouldn't be out in the woods alone, especially not during a full moon. Didn't I tell you to get yourself a nanny?" Cahir jokes while he sizes Gallatin up. To his relief, it looks like the elf is okay enough to stay on his feet on his own and definitely in much better shape than after the cannibals or the bear pit. "What're you doing here anyway?" he then asks.
"Wanted to check if you blunt-eared bastards survived the winter alright. I see, you did."
"Some of us did. Had to eat most of our horses though." Cahir's expression darkens for a moment at the memory. His black stallion is still alive, but he hated to have most of the other mounts slaughtered for food. Half of his men perished, too, killed during a raid or eaten by famished wolves or monsters. Well, winter is over for good now and this evening's hunt was successful. Accidentally running into one of his very few friends and being able to help him has made this lucky day even better.
"Come, friend, spring is here and I've just shot a nice roebuck." Cahir points toward the spot between the trees where he dropped his quarry when he heard the ghoul roar, his mood lightening up again. "Help me schlepp it to our camp and you're invited for dinner," he adds. "It's not far."
"Sounds tempting. And thanks for the save. Yet another one."
"Can't let my favourite elf be eaten by a ghoul," Cahir says, "or anything else for that matter."
"And I can't have my favourite human run around looking like a ghoul." Grinning, Gallatin holds out his canteen to Cahir. "Here, clean yourself up a bit or your men might think I hit you over the head."
"As if you could," Cahir scoffs, but he takes the flask, pours some water into his open hand and washes the worst of the ghoul blood off his face. Then he shoots Gallatin a worried glance. "Are you okay? You're bleeding."
"It's just a scratch, nothing to fret about."
"Let me clean that scratch up though. You don't know where those ghoul claws were before they cleaved your scalp open. Probably deep inside of someone's rotting guts."
"Fuck, can we talk about something less disgusting? Like reminisce about our fun times in the Nazairean Highlands?"
"Right, very fun times," Cahir says dryly while having a closer look at the gash in Gallatin's scalp. "I totally miss that giant albino lobster."
Gallatin chuckles, then hisses through his teeth when Cahir pours something cold onto the injury.
"Damn, what the hell was that? Liquid dragon breath?" he curses.
"Something like this. Turns out one of my men is serving a penance for moonshining. One guy with a useful talent at last." Cahir presses the torch into Gallatin's hand, produces a curved needle and thread from his belt pocket and douses both with more of the apparently very strong alcohol. "Now hold still and stop whining, elf," he adds and starts to apply stitches to the sluggishly bleeding cut.
Gallatin grunts softly, but otherwise he does not stir. It hurts, yes, but it is nothing in comparison to when his friend performed a similar job on his face a few years back. And it is over after no more than a few minutes.
"Done." Cahir looks at his work critically. "Don't think you need dressings," he then decides, "just some more drops of that dragon breath."
To Gallatin's relief, the moonshine does not burn even half as badly with the wound closed as the first time. It just stings a little.
Cahir puts the small, now empty flask back into his pocket.
"Isn't there a saying about how the best things come in threes? Hope it's right and that's the last time I have to stitch you up, friend," he says, giving Gallatin's shoulder a comradely clap. "Ready for a walk through the woods?" Cahir then asks. "Unfortunately, I didn't bring my horse and I don't see yours."
"Mine ran off like chased by the devil when the ghoul attacked. Don't think I'll see her again." Gallatin pauses for a moment. He liked the mare and would not want anything to happen to her. Well, she might be lucky and find back to their camp on her own. "By the way," he then adds, "I wouldn't exactly count you poking a needle through my skin as a best thing, but a romantic full moon stroll through the spring forest? Sounds almost as good as sharing a horse."
"Ah, yes, very romantic, with a dead buck as company and a few necrophages on our heels if we don't get a move on soon."
"Hate that you're always so prosaic." Gallatin pokes Cahir in the ribs playfully. "Can you blunt-eared savage not for once appreciate the beauty of the night and the magical atmosphere like any normal person?"
"Says the elf while standing a few feet away from the stinking corpse of a ghoul," Cahir laughs. "I fear that blow to your head has addled your brain worse than I thought. Now let's get going." He heaves his kill - the buck, not the ghoul, of course - onto his shoulders with a grunt. "Before you, my pointy-eared friend, start reciting love poetry, or - the Golden Sun forbid - break out in Minnesang."
"Minnesang? You know that it was elves who invented it? A knightly love-song about my knight in shining armour." Gallatin grins. "Only that you, Cahir, look more like a half-starved vagabond than a knight. Time you get some meat onto your scrawny ribs. My stomach feels painfully empty, too."
"And here I thought poets could live on love and thin air alone," Cahir says with a wink, then he starts to walk toward his camp with long strides.
"Maybe human poets can. However," Gallatin says, following his friend, "elven poets know about the inspirational power of a nicely barbecued piece of venison. I can already taste its delectably delicious, juicy essence on my tongue. Hmm, come to think of it, I might compose a ballad about a steak instead of one about you. The steak will surely not be as tough as you and probably more inclined to satiate my appetites."
"Oh, shut up pointy, or I'll leave you to the ghouls next time," Cahir says, blushing crimson. Luckily it is too dark for Gallatin to see.
"No, you won't. You like me too much." Gallatin grins confidently. "And anyway, next time it's my turn to save your bacon, old friend."
"Right, and you'll be coming back here from far up north just in the very last moment to do that. You are aware how unlikely that is?"
"We are two very unlikely friends, aren't we? So why not?"
Yes, why not? Stranger things have happened and perhaps they are bound by destiny somehow after all their adventures together. Who knows? Cahir would definitely not be opposed to it if they were.
They keep on walking through the forest in companionable silence. It is not far indeed and Cahir does not need any help with his burden, although Gallatin, of course, offers to take turns carrying the buck. Still feeling a little dizzy, he does not insist, though.
When they get closer to the camp's location, Cahir begins to grow increasingly uneasy. At first Gallatin wonders why, but then he realises what is wrong. There are no guards. But there should be. Something must be wrong.
It does not take long for them to find out. And it is not a pleasant surprise for the young commander. Well, it neither is for Cahir's men, for Gallatin has never before seen his friend livid like this. And understandably so. He comes down at the soldiers who lie sprawled in the grass as drunk as lords on their comrade's moonshine like a thunderbolt out of a clear blue sky, cursing and kicking them and threatening to cut their worthless necks with his blood-stained sword. If there were not so pitifully few of them left, maybe he would have executed the one or other, too, to set a warning example. The barely more than half a dozen men struggle to their feet and stand to attention on booze-wobbly legs, trembling and almost shitting themselves with fear.
Damn, he would not want to be on the receiving end of Cahir's ire, Gallatin decides. And luckily, he is not. Yet, it does not look like a pleasant night of good food and company around a merrily burning campfire is on the cards any longer. What a shame. As this might be their last night together for a long time, maybe forever, for you never know who will survive the next couple of weeks and months in these times of contempt.
"Sorry for the mess," Cahir apologises after he has straightened out his subordinates and calmed down a little.
"You know you're always welcome with me and my men if you should decide to kill off yours."
Cahir huffs. Gallatin said it more like he was joking, but he knows his elven friend means it. However, the White Flame would not be amused if he did kill all his men and joined the Scoia'tael. Although, come to think of it, he definitely feels like doing exactly this. And not for the first time. How he wishes he had soldiers here like Vach and Ogiff. This could have been a beautiful night under the stars, maybe the last one spent together with his best friend for a long time. But he is far too upset for anything remotely enjoyable tonight, and his appetite is thoroughly spoilt. Cahir sighs. Then he cuts the buck in two with one strong blow of his sword.
"Heads or tails?" he asks, wiping his blade off in the grass.
"Guess I'm more into tails, you know." Gallatin winks at Cahir, and this time he can definitely see his friend blush.
"I gathered that. I'm not totally daft, you know," Cahir says so softly that nobody but Gallatin can hear him.
"Then you aren't? Into men, I mean?"
"I— I don't know. It's complicated."
"But our date in the cave after the war is over, is it still on?"
Cahir nods. If they are both still alive then. Perhaps if they are, it means that destiny wants them to be together?
"See to that you don't snuff it then, friend," Gallatin says jokingly, but the expression in his eyes is one of concern. Tender concern. For him. Cahir swallows down the lump that has formed in his throat.
"You can take one of our horses. I'd recommend the chestnut colt. We'll get us more mounts in the next raid."
Gallatin nods and picks up the rear end of the dead buck. His men will be overjoyed to get some decent meat between their teeth before leaving for the north, even if it is not much for so many. Wordlessly Cahir helps him saddle the chestnut and fasten the quarry to his saddle. Then Gallatin mounts.
"Thank you for everything, Cahir," he says.
"You're welcome. And, if you ever consider my proposal to take charge of the elves, you know where to find me."
"Aye, I do. Take care, old friend.
"You too, pointy. See you around."
"And if not, you know where the cave is." Gallatin gives Cahir one last smile before spurring his horse into motion. Then he disappears between the trees, riding north.
Cahir stares after him for a long while. Will they ever meet again? He does hope so. And perhaps he will have untangled his mess of emotions until then. Or maybe not. He has always been hopeless when it comes to love. Raging and hating and killing is so much easier.
But maybe, with Gallatin, it could be different. One day.