David truly hopes Alexander isn’t trying to poison him. Though, honestly, at this point, he doesn’t care that much. He’s still slightly tipsy, and the enchanter has the face of an angel—so, even if he were to die here, the bard figures this is the closest to the heavens he would ever get. It would not be a bad deal.
Or, perhaps, that is merely the growing bulge in his pants talking. It has been a while, after all, since David has laid with another. He is, in the most simplest of terms, quite lonely.
From across his modest table, the enchanter pushes a cup of tea toward the ex-mercenary. “Drink,” he tells David. And David brings the cup to his lips, blushes at the idea of feeling the enchanter’s gaze on him. David, the bard thinks, truly, you are a fool. A stupid, horny fool!
“You say you were accompanied by comrades, then, is that right?” the enchanter continues, as he leans back against his chair, then takes a sip from his own cup.
“Y-yes…” David cringes. The tea is a tad bitter; it isn’t bad, however—just… slightly surprising. He’d expected something sweeter. Or, at least, a little more bland.
“And I wish I could tell you anything other than that, but…” David’s shoulders tense. He purses his lips together, then stares down at the smoke rising from within the small, circular stone mug. “I’m not sure what happened, after we were separated.”
“Are you aware these woods are haunted?”
After Alexander says this, there is a brief pause between them. David is hesitant—if he shows that he is knowledgeable when it comes to this place, this may or may not end up being the answer that will cost him his life.
His instincts tell him to lie.
And so, he does: “Define haunted,” he tells the young enchanter.
Alexander lets out an exasperated sigh. He brings two fingers to his temples. Shuts his eyes. “No matter,” the enchanter mutters. “All that is important for you to know, is that this is no place for people like you.”
Something clutches of David’s heart. A small part of him cannot help but take offense at the words. He crosses his arms. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Last time I checked,” Alexander traces the ex-mercenary’s figure with his gaze, “you were not well acquainted with magic.”
“What about you, then?” the statement leaves David’s lips before he has any time to ponder on it. “Are you still getting acquainted? B-because it—” The bard begins to stutter and stops himself, as he immediately regrets the unintentional reproach he has just thrown in Alexander’s face.
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However, Alexander does not seem intent on letting this slide. He raises a brow, tilts his head to the side. “It?” he echoes, with an inpatient of his foot against stone. “Yes? Do go on,” he clicks his tongue, “kind Sir.”
David bites his lip. He stares down to his knees and lets out an elongated huff. I’m doomed, he thinks. If this enchanter does not slay me, I will come out of here with more than ten curses. “Because…” the bard finally mutters, through gritted teeth. “It did not seem like magic wanted to obey you much, either.”
Around them, the air grows colder. David finds himself shivering. He wonders if the weather being oddly tied to the mood of their conversation is a mere coincidence, or, if it is… something else. Alexander’s powers.
“You’re right,” the young enchanter mumbles, under his breath. He grasps at his elbow and squeezes it once. Outside, an owl hoots against the unforgiving wind, until the sound is swallowed by another one of Alexander’s sighs. “Magic has not been a kind friend to me,” he tells David.
“May I—” David gulps. “May I ask why?”
To his question, Alexander scoffs. “Is it not obvious enough, David?” he snaps, as he glances up to look David’s way. “Anyone with basic knowledge of how this works, would understand the predicament I find myself in.”
He isn’t wrong. David has heard many stories—the fact that an enchanter’s emotional state usually affects their ability to cast certain spells, is what he assumes Alexander is referring to. “Can’t you fix it?”
There is anger in the young enchanter’s gaze now. He lowers his voice. In a sharp, menacing tone, he asks, “And how exactly would I go about that, David?”
“I don’t—” David’s breath catches from within his throat. The bard bites his lip, then looks away and recoils in on himself. Although he does not want to mention the journals again, the bard has an inkling that it may be partially related to Alexander’s current dilemma. “I am… not sure,” he whispers. “Perhaps, have you…” David averts his gaze. “Talked about this to someone?”
The young enchanter rises to his feet. He turns his back on David with a roll of his eyes. “This is ridiculous.”
David can tell he has upset him. A pang squeezes at his heart. “Sorry,” he says.
“What for?”
“Everything?” David shrugs. He rests his palm behind his neck and scratches at his short, dark hair. “It is… unfortunate, that you feel this way. I wish I could help.” A smile takes his lips. “Magic is quite something. You are… lucky, to be blessed with it.”
The young enchanter turns to face him once more. There are tears in his eyes. And his face is red. David fears he may have angered him again. Yet, when Alexander’s voice trembles, and he replies, “Is this you being sincere, or are you merely trying to flatter me so that I won’t set you on fire, traveler?” David understands, that perhaps this young man is just lonely, like him.
The ex-mercenary gets up in turn. He abandons his tea that has long grown cold by now, then holds out a hand for Alexander to shake, and smirks. “How about you and I make a deal, Alex?”
Alexander glances down warily at David’s palm. His lip twitches, before he stares back at David once more.
Although David is much taller than him, the bard—oddly enough—feels as if the young enchanter is staring down at him. “Pray tell, David—what kind of deal would I possibly want to make with you?” the young enchanter snaps, with venom in his tone.
And whatever is about to happen, David thinks to himself, this does not bode well…