[Fic: Clarity]
Title: Clarity
Author: arysani
Pairing: Greagoir/Wynne
Rating: K
Summary: Last chance before she goes off to be a hero.
Author's Note: So I was trying to be a good fan and since I partake of the kinkmeme, thought I'd be all participatory in filling a few. And totally misread someone's Irving/Wynne post-Broken Circle before Wynne leaves hurt/comfort request as GREAGOIR/Wynne and wrote 80% of this fic before I noticed I wasn't actually addressing the request. SO yeah. I've never written for this pairing or posted here on this comm before, but ya'll seem like G/W lovin' folks, so...here? Concrit welcomed and encouraged (b/c WTF am I DOING?)
"Thought you were leaving with the little hero," Greagoir grumped, trying not to dwell on the fact that Wynne had just invited herself in and he was...not in uniform.
"Stop it," she replied, only slightly indulgent.
He clenched a fist at his side, as though he held his pride in his hand, and just glowered at her. "Should get on the road, you know. Blight and darkspawn and all that," he muttered, turning away from her and trying desperately not to limp back to the armoire near his bed.
"Let me look at your ribs."
"No," he said, not turning around, and trying to get the heavy tunic off so he could sleep.
"Greagoir," she chided, and went to him, and gently guided his arms up despite his grunt of pain, to slip the heavy padded thing off, leaving him in just a thin linen shirt and his drawstring undergarments. At least they kept his modesty intact.
Though, he thought to himself, modesty and this woman are hardly bedfellows.
She lifted his shirt and gently prodded the large bruise. He endured it with as much dignity as possible, and with equal dignity, bore her gentle push to have him sit on the end of his bed.
"Why didn't you have someone look at this before?" she asked, and went back towards his office, opening cabinets and drawers, searching for something.
"Few things on my mind," he quipped, watching her be so familiar with his things, though they hadn't been familiar since he'd moved into this office.
"You're no spring chicken, Greagoir. Hardly the time to be acting macho and hiding broken bones."
"They're not broken," he insisted, touching his side gently and letting out a hiss.
"At least two of them are cracked," she equivocated, and made a little 'ah-ha!' at finding whatever it was she was looking for. She strode back to him with a small, indulgent smile on her face, waving the little bottle.
He eyed her and then the bottle. "And what are you going to do with that."
"You're going to drink it. You don't want to feel what I'm about to do."
He stared at her for a moment, still not wanting to appear weak, and then grabbed it out of her hand and tossed it back, wincing at the dosage just as he felt the bed dip and felt her press tingly fingers into his side.
Tonic aside, he definitely felt that.
"Maker's breath woman! I thought you said I wouldn't feel it!"
She smiled and prodded with gentler tingling fingers around the lighter parts of the bruise in an ever-widening circle. "I said you didn't want to feel it, not that you wouldn't."
"Witch," he muttered.
"Prude," she jibbed back, pulling his shirt down. "Anywhere else it hurts?"
He raised an eyebrow. "After that you expect me to tell you?"
She snorted. "Last chance," she wiggled her fingers at him with a smile, and finally got an approximation of a little smile out of him.
"You leaving in the morning?" he asked, trying to be casual. It lasted for three whole seconds before he got up and started rummaging for a bandage to wrap around his ribs, if only to give himself something to do.
"Yes, I should think so."
"Mm," was all he replied.
She watched him from her perch on his bed. "So I suppose this is goodbye."
"Have fun on your grand adventure," he waved his hand at her dismissively.
"Greagoir."
"Don't you have someplace to be?"
"Look at me."
He sighed and was forced to admit that there were never any bandages in that drawer. He turned to face her, and wanted so very much to cross his arms over his chest, but at the first flinch of his arms, realized he was still a little sore, even after her magic fingers.
"What?"
"I...something happened today, and I may not come back."
"Lots of things happened today," he quipped. "And why wouldn't you? Going to go apostate on me?"
She snorted lightly, smiling, and looked down at her hands. She sighed. "Okay." She looked up and used her hands on her knees to lever herself into standing. "Okay," she repeated, looking at him and giving him a strained smile before moving to walk past him and out of his room.
He ground his teeth, letting her do it, and she was out of the room, but not out of his office suite before he called her back. He stood in his doorway and tried to do something with hands and all that came to mind was clasping them behind his back like when he addressed his boys.
"Wynne."
She turned and faced him, hands clasped in front of herself. "Yes, Greagoir?"
"Don't do anything stupid."
She smiled. "And why would I do that?"
"Come back. You're needed here," he tacked on awkwardly. "Irving can't run the place without you."
"Irving has been running the place without me for some time now."
"Yes, well, he's been injured. The Circle is a mess. He could use your help."
She narrowed her eyes and gave him a little smirk. "I think he'll do fine without me."
She was going to make him say it, and he didn't like being forced into things. He nodded and walked towards her, as though to open the door for her. His hand was on the knob, ready to show her the way out.
"Come back, Wynne," he said softly.
"I can't make any guarantees," she replied quietly.
He turned his head to look at her - her porcelain skin didn't show all the sun she got, but there was a silky look to it, age gathering at the corners of her eyes and her mouth. He looked down at her clasped hands, and they seemed bonier but stronger than he recalled, and some of the stains embedded in her cuticles from various herbs would never go away.
A reluctant sigh escaped him. "Come back to me."
Her brow twitched, as though she didn't actually expect him to say as much. She lifted one hand to his cheek and leaned in to press her lips against the other. "I'm glad you made it."
His eyes fluttered closed at her touch. "You cannot know how light my heart was at seeing you come through those doors," he confessed, as though not looking at her when he said it would make it less scary to say. He reached up to take her fingers in his, and leaned up to kiss her forehead. "Come back to me, Wynne."
"I'll do my best," she said, and he opened the door for her.
"Now get out of here. You shouldn't be in here. You should be...somewhere else. Go," he said irritably, shuffling her out the door, and she was still smiling damn her! "Go have your adventures. Leave the rest of us to clean up this mess," he grumbled.
"Stay safe, Knight-Commander."
"You as well, Enchanter."
She disappeared down the hallway, and he watched her the entire time, only closing his door when she was out of eyesight and earshot.
Author: arysani
Pairing: Greagoir/Wynne
Rating: K
Summary: Last chance before she goes off to be a hero.
Author's Note: So I was trying to be a good fan and since I partake of the kinkmeme, thought I'd be all participatory in filling a few. And totally misread someone's Irving/Wynne post-Broken Circle before Wynne leaves hurt/comfort request as GREAGOIR/Wynne and wrote 80% of this fic before I noticed I wasn't actually addressing the request. SO yeah. I've never written for this pairing or posted here on this comm before, but ya'll seem like G/W lovin' folks, so...here? Concrit welcomed and encouraged (b/c WTF am I DOING?)
"Thought you were leaving with the little hero," Greagoir grumped, trying not to dwell on the fact that Wynne had just invited herself in and he was...not in uniform.
"Stop it," she replied, only slightly indulgent.
He clenched a fist at his side, as though he held his pride in his hand, and just glowered at her. "Should get on the road, you know. Blight and darkspawn and all that," he muttered, turning away from her and trying desperately not to limp back to the armoire near his bed.
"Let me look at your ribs."
"No," he said, not turning around, and trying to get the heavy tunic off so he could sleep.
"Greagoir," she chided, and went to him, and gently guided his arms up despite his grunt of pain, to slip the heavy padded thing off, leaving him in just a thin linen shirt and his drawstring undergarments. At least they kept his modesty intact.
Though, he thought to himself, modesty and this woman are hardly bedfellows.
She lifted his shirt and gently prodded the large bruise. He endured it with as much dignity as possible, and with equal dignity, bore her gentle push to have him sit on the end of his bed.
"Why didn't you have someone look at this before?" she asked, and went back towards his office, opening cabinets and drawers, searching for something.
"Few things on my mind," he quipped, watching her be so familiar with his things, though they hadn't been familiar since he'd moved into this office.
"You're no spring chicken, Greagoir. Hardly the time to be acting macho and hiding broken bones."
"They're not broken," he insisted, touching his side gently and letting out a hiss.
"At least two of them are cracked," she equivocated, and made a little 'ah-ha!' at finding whatever it was she was looking for. She strode back to him with a small, indulgent smile on her face, waving the little bottle.
He eyed her and then the bottle. "And what are you going to do with that."
"You're going to drink it. You don't want to feel what I'm about to do."
He stared at her for a moment, still not wanting to appear weak, and then grabbed it out of her hand and tossed it back, wincing at the dosage just as he felt the bed dip and felt her press tingly fingers into his side.
Tonic aside, he definitely felt that.
"Maker's breath woman! I thought you said I wouldn't feel it!"
She smiled and prodded with gentler tingling fingers around the lighter parts of the bruise in an ever-widening circle. "I said you didn't want to feel it, not that you wouldn't."
"Witch," he muttered.
"Prude," she jibbed back, pulling his shirt down. "Anywhere else it hurts?"
He raised an eyebrow. "After that you expect me to tell you?"
She snorted. "Last chance," she wiggled her fingers at him with a smile, and finally got an approximation of a little smile out of him.
"You leaving in the morning?" he asked, trying to be casual. It lasted for three whole seconds before he got up and started rummaging for a bandage to wrap around his ribs, if only to give himself something to do.
"Yes, I should think so."
"Mm," was all he replied.
She watched him from her perch on his bed. "So I suppose this is goodbye."
"Have fun on your grand adventure," he waved his hand at her dismissively.
"Greagoir."
"Don't you have someplace to be?"
"Look at me."
He sighed and was forced to admit that there were never any bandages in that drawer. He turned to face her, and wanted so very much to cross his arms over his chest, but at the first flinch of his arms, realized he was still a little sore, even after her magic fingers.
"What?"
"I...something happened today, and I may not come back."
"Lots of things happened today," he quipped. "And why wouldn't you? Going to go apostate on me?"
She snorted lightly, smiling, and looked down at her hands. She sighed. "Okay." She looked up and used her hands on her knees to lever herself into standing. "Okay," she repeated, looking at him and giving him a strained smile before moving to walk past him and out of his room.
He ground his teeth, letting her do it, and she was out of the room, but not out of his office suite before he called her back. He stood in his doorway and tried to do something with hands and all that came to mind was clasping them behind his back like when he addressed his boys.
"Wynne."
She turned and faced him, hands clasped in front of herself. "Yes, Greagoir?"
"Don't do anything stupid."
She smiled. "And why would I do that?"
"Come back. You're needed here," he tacked on awkwardly. "Irving can't run the place without you."
"Irving has been running the place without me for some time now."
"Yes, well, he's been injured. The Circle is a mess. He could use your help."
She narrowed her eyes and gave him a little smirk. "I think he'll do fine without me."
She was going to make him say it, and he didn't like being forced into things. He nodded and walked towards her, as though to open the door for her. His hand was on the knob, ready to show her the way out.
"Come back, Wynne," he said softly.
"I can't make any guarantees," she replied quietly.
He turned his head to look at her - her porcelain skin didn't show all the sun she got, but there was a silky look to it, age gathering at the corners of her eyes and her mouth. He looked down at her clasped hands, and they seemed bonier but stronger than he recalled, and some of the stains embedded in her cuticles from various herbs would never go away.
A reluctant sigh escaped him. "Come back to me."
Her brow twitched, as though she didn't actually expect him to say as much. She lifted one hand to his cheek and leaned in to press her lips against the other. "I'm glad you made it."
His eyes fluttered closed at her touch. "You cannot know how light my heart was at seeing you come through those doors," he confessed, as though not looking at her when he said it would make it less scary to say. He reached up to take her fingers in his, and leaned up to kiss her forehead. "Come back to me, Wynne."
"I'll do my best," she said, and he opened the door for her.
"Now get out of here. You shouldn't be in here. You should be...somewhere else. Go," he said irritably, shuffling her out the door, and she was still smiling damn her! "Go have your adventures. Leave the rest of us to clean up this mess," he grumbled.
"Stay safe, Knight-Commander."
"You as well, Enchanter."
She disappeared down the hallway, and he watched her the entire time, only closing his door when she was out of eyesight and earshot.