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Sunlight streamed through the high windows of the large, rounded room. The harsh sound of metal against metal rang across the walls and echoed against the lofty ceiling. Once, twice, the heavy footfalls of the two males following the ringing as they danced around each other.
The Templar slipped and stumbled backwards against the force of the blow inflicted by his Tal’darim opponent, skidding slightly against the mat. He managed in his suddenly disoriented state to keep his footing, only to be scoffed at as Alarak leant against the metal pole he had been given to spar with.
“Come now, Artanis, you are going easy on me.”
“I am not.” The words came out harshly, more so than intended. His head was pounding with the lack of sleep. How long has it been since I last closed my eyes…?
“As if I am to believe that. You are usually far more offensive in these little matches, and you never stumble…” His irritated tone made Alarak’s eyes narrow. “What has got into you? I understand your irritation if I am deserving of it, but I fail to see what I have done to draw your ire at this moment.”
Artanis sighed softly, his shoulders slumping slightly. He was trying desperately to keep his eyes open after days upon days of constant working; he had hoped that maybe a little spar would have kept him awake just a little longer, but…
He softened his voice, shaking his head a little. “Nothing, I am fine. I am sorry, I didn’t mean to be so harsh.”
“… Hmph.” The Tal’darim rolled his eyes, waving a hand towards the set of benches that were sat just outside of the arena, bathed in the golden sun. He didn’t believe him for a second, and the Templar knew it. “If you need a rest, take one. You certainly look as though you need it.”
Artanis shook his head again, giving himself a small shake and readying himself for another round, hands gripping the weapon tighter. “No. I can continue.”
Once more, Alarak’s eyes narrowed, and he hesitated, looking over his friend with suspicion before he shrugged and nodded, beginning again. “Suit yourself.”
Artanis felt the muscles in his arms shake and protest as he blocked another set of heavy blows, becoming sore far more quickly thanks to his already weakened state. Alarak, as always, showed little mercy in his strikes, wanting to prove he had become better than before, and usually Artanis would be able to answer, but this time… it was as though he were trying to prove that he was lying.
The pounding in his head increased, a dull, skull-splitting ache falling over his eyes. Under another blow, his legs buckled, and he fell to the floor, first on his knees and then onto his side. The room began to spin, gold and white filling his vision in an odd blur.
Red joined the kaleidoscope of colours, and Alarak’s oddly warm, calloused hands pulled him carefully back into a sitting position, holding him steady, leaning him back against his chest.
“Artanis.” The Tal’darim couldn’t hide the hint of worry in his voice. “You had better not be sick.”
It took a few moments before the room stopped its dance, and the Templar was able to focus again without the odd cartwheeling in front of his eyes.
“I am fine.” Was all he could reply, trying to wave the other male away.
“Yes because collapsing in the middle of the room is ‘fine.’ I will not be fooled.” Alarak rolled his eyes and lifted him with a bit of an annoyed grumble. “Get up. Carefully.”
He pulled the exhausted Hierarch to his feet and led him to the benches, helping him seat himself before straightening and looking at him with barely masked concern behind his usual resting frown, arms crossing over his chest.
“I am not sick, Alarak, I can assure you of that.”
“Tch. If you are not unwell, then…” Suddenly, he raised a brow, tilting his head. “How long has it been since you last slept?” His foot lightly tapped against the mat impatiently, his fingers joining the rhythm against his forearm.
Artanis shrugged, frowning a little; of course he had figured it out. He couldn’t quite look his companion in the eye, knowing that his answer would not please him, and it made him a little ashamed to have to admit it out loud.
“I am waiting for an answer, Artanis.”
There was no use in lying; the irritated tapping of the Tal’darim’s foot against the mat didn’t help the pounding of his head either. He didn’t have the energy to lie. “… I do not remember.”
“You ‘do not remember’?” Alarak rolled his eyes, his frown deepening. “What do you mean you do not remember? Why are you even here if you have kept yourself conscious for so long that you cannot remember resting?”
“I prefer to keep a routine; besides, you wished to spar.” He shrugged slightly.
“Yes, I wish to spar with one that can barely stand up.” The Tal’darim seated himself beside him. “It is an insult to think that I would wish to fight one at such a disadvantage. And it was your idea today, so do not blame this on me.”
Artanis couldn’t say anything to that. His voice was quicker than his usual drawn out growl; urgent in a way that he rarely heard. He must have looked worse than he thought if the Highlord were this worried for him.
The silence only irritated Alarak more as he gave another, heavier roll of the eyes and gestured to nothing in particular. “Ugh, you are just as bad as Ri’kara; do you enjoy being pushed to the brink of collapse all the time? Go and rest. Perhaps then you will be of some use.”
“Alarak…”
He lifted a hand, stopping him from speaking. “I will not take no for an answer. Unless you would prefer I tell the Matriarch what you are doing to yourself?”
That stopped him. The idea of Vorazun’s harsh but worried gaze pointed towards him bothered him far more than Alarak’s annoyance at his actions. With a sigh, Artanis stood carefully and nodded. He didn’t have the energy to argue either. Automatically, Alarak had his hands there as he stood with him, ready to catch if need be.
“Alright… I will rest since you are so worried.”
“Concerned.” Alarak snapped. “I simply do not wish to have to babysit the both of you. I thought you were smarter than letting yourself get to such a state.”
Artanis couldn’t help but laugh a little at the defensive reply, rolling his eyes slightly and giving Alarak a brotherly pat on the shoulder. “Thank you for the ‘concern.’ We can continue this another time.”
It took a moment, but he returned the pat, his frown softening just a little. “Yes; now go. Unless you require me to carry you.”
Quickly, he shook his head, though that made the room spin a little again, and he stumbled, holding onto the Tal’darim for support.
“That was meant to be in jest—”
“You do not need to carry me, Alarak; I will be fine.”
“… If you are certain. Do not allow me to find you unconscious in the corridor.”
“I won’t.”