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Cyrus hurts. His head’s spinning, his ears ring that annoying ‘eeeeeeeeeeee’ sound almost louder than he can bear, and his body aches like he’s fallen several levels in the Necropolis again. He’s disoriented and confused and can’t quite think of what he was doing before this. Jim’s presence pulses in the back of his mind like it always does, but with more insistence.
Managing to drag an eye open, Cyr almost wishes he didn’t with the way that makes everything worse. It’s a miracle he’s managed to keep hold of his breakfast.
There’s a pair a familiar boots in front of him. Elven in design, to match the armor. He blinks.
“Come on, Cyr.” It’s desperate and scared. “Get up!” That sounds like more of a hope than an order. Kos probably doesn’t realize he’s conscious at all. Hell, Cyr’s surprised he’s even made it this far with how he feels.
Groaning, he manages to peel himself off the ground enough to realize that he’s probably broken his leg.
“Cyr! If you can move, we need to go!” Blinking heavily through the pain, Cyr manages to get a good look at Kos for the first time. His armor's ripped and torn, showing off that glorious grey skin below layers of darker blood. His armor's missing an entire arm, letting Cyr see as those muscles flex and move with each flick of the man’s heavy staff. He’s hot.
Slowly, the sounds of darkspawn and battle fill his ears. The chill of ice reaches his skin. Magic vibrates against his skin.
Right. They were very much in the middle of something. “Not sure that’s going to happen right now.” Cyr manages, reaching unsteadily for his magic. It makes his head spin even more, but he does manage to set the bone in place and hold it there. He doesn’t have the focus or attention span required to heal it while holding it in place like this, so it’ll have to do for now. At least it doesn’t hurt to move so much.
Finally getting to his knees, a pang of something unfamiliar and terrible shoots through him as he watches the blight slip right through Kos’ defense to throw him back into the blighted wall behind them. “Kos!”
Kos is out cold. There’s a horde of darkspawn surrounding them. Cyr’s not going to be able to kill them all before he’s overwhelmed, and he doesn’t have the focus for casting the proper spells, at any rate. He swallows, gets shakily to his feet, and casts his arms out to project whatever flimsy excuse for a barrier he can manage over the two of them.
Where’s Emmrich? He distinctly remembers Emmrich following them through this mess. Did the darkspawn get him while Cyr was out? Was he thrown off the path, and Kos followed him? He doesn’t know, and that eats at Cyr more than he thought possible.
He’s not going to let Kos die because of him. A chuckle escapes. How strange that his beliefs and values have shifted for this man. He doubts there’s anyone else he’d bother enough to save besides Emmrich. Well, whatever, he can have a crisis of faith later if they survive. For now, he has a barrier to hold until Jim or the others find them.
Blighted, twisted hands beat at his barrier, warping and weakening the magic but never able to break through. All of his limited focus goes toward maintaining that last little bit of hope they have, even as the battlefield spins and his leg aches with the effort. Cyr already knows deep down that they’re not going to make it out of here.
He’s… Not sure what he’s feeling right now. There’s the excitement death always brings to him, sure, but there’s something unpleasant clouding it that he doesn’t understand. He…
A crack appears, spreading through his barrier as it fragments into pieces. The entire thing shatters moments later. This is it, then? He manages a cocky grin despite the inner turmoil. A silent apology forms in his head, even if he’s not sure why he wants to apologize to Kos.
The Archdemon roars, popping up over the rank and file of darkspawn to stare them down. For just a moment, he makes eye contact with the beast.
Time slows.
Cyr finds he doesn’t want to die. He might even be a little scared. He doesn’t want to leave Kos or Emmrich or Ches or any of the friends he’s made. He wants to see his Dad again. He wants to have the chance to properly date the men he loves.
Cyrus Ingellvar does the thing he’d never thought he’d do: he runs from his impending death in the hopes of having just a little more time.
His leg aches more and more as pain spikes through it with every step. The dragon cries out as the flap of its blighted wings closes in. Fire flares up around them, prickling at his skin as his spell finally wanes.
“Kos!” The desperate, needy cry rips from his throat as he collapses on his would-be boyfriend, as his leg snaps in half from the pressure. He holds Kos tightly as the heat of flame closes in on him.
The last thing he’s aware of is Kos against his chest as a cool void takes them.
Emmrich Volkarin is not a man often taken by the whims of emotion, let alone momentary flights of fancy. He’s certainly flattered by Cyrus’s bold flirting and Kostara’s quiet affections, but that’s no reason to let himself be overcome by infatuation! Not to mention that no one’s seen them in days!
In all likelihood, Cyrus and Kostara are dead, and Emmrich simply needs to accept that. It hurts, but he’d be a poor excuse for a Watcher if he couldn’t come to terms with it.
“Emmrich?” He blinks, pulled out of his melancholy by Sparrow. “Is everything okay?” He considers his words for a long few moments. What could he even say to explain how he’s feeling right now?
Before he has the chance, the space beside them warps and twists in the way only Jim can manage before the amorphous blob of bone and shadow appears beside them.
“Jim?” Emmrich greets. “I hadn’t expected to see you back here. Would you happen to know what happened to Cyrus or Kostara?” Jim blinks at him, shifting in unnatural and impossible ways before melting back to reveal both of their missing comrades. They’re unconscious and injured, but a quick check shows that they’re still alive.
Emmrich let out a breath he wasn’t aware he’d been holding for days. They’re still alive. They’ve come back. It’s far more of a relief than it should be.
Kostara’s littered with cuts, bruises, and gashes, a few of which are still bleeding slowly to drip on the stone below. Blighted blood and fluids been splashed across his face and body, but as far as Emmrich can tell, none of it has reached his open wounds. Turning to Cyrus, who’s still holding on to Kostara as much as he can in his unconscious state, his main injury on first glance is the obviously broken leg. He’s got a rather nasty bump on the back of his head and he’s scratched up, but barring a severe concussion, Emmrich doubts he’ll find anything seriously wrong with his fellow Watcher.
“Jim, would you mind helping carry the two of them into the infirmary? I’m afraid it would aggravate their injuries if we transport them normally. Jim stares at him silently for a moment, the bird skull making up his primary face shifting to an open position before a mouth forms under it.
“Yes.” The sound rings as distinctly wrong, even to him, but Emmrich’s seen enough in his years of service to the Necropolis that he’s able to put it out of his mind immediately.
They watch as Jim shifts, forming a mostly steady platform of shadow, fog, and bone under the wounded pair before gently escorting them to the infirmary for assistance. Emmrich follows behind them. He’ll do what he can for them before taking the time to sort through his emotional state.
Jim gently deposits each of them on a cot before shifting to sit on the pillow at Cyrus’ head. Such a loyal companion. It’s wonderful to see, even if Emmrich’s certain that Jim knows so much more than he lets on. Well, it’s hardly an issue if an unknown creature has the knowledge to match. If anything, it’s a boon that they simply haven’t seen the end of yet.
Cyrus and Kostara are still alive thanks to Jim, after all.
Emmrich rewards the creature with the head scratches he likes so much before getting to work. Glancing between the two, He decides he needs to check out Cyrus’ head injury before he does anything else. Sure, Kostara’s covered in bli— where did it go? Jim chirps at him. Well, regardless, there’s nothing Emmrich can do if Kostara’s already blighted. A few hours won’t make much of a difference. Though there is a small crack in his horn that should really be looked at before it gets worse…
Head injury first. Then the leg. Then he’ll see what he can do for Kostara.
Healing Cyrus was more difficult than he would have thought. There’s just something about his biology that didn’t want to accept Emmrich’s magical assistance in a way that he’s honestly never encountered before. A oddity, especially since he knows he’s seen Cyrus healing his own injuries before. It’s not a resistance to his attempts to heal, more like a resistance to outside magic at all. Emmrich files that away. Hopefully, he’ll get a chance to ask about it later.
“Em?” Cyrus’s tired, flat voice calls quietly.
Emmrich smiles slightly, pulling some of his attention from mending the splintered bone properly to glance up at those slightly cracked eyes. “Cyrus! You’ve wakened. Good. I was concerned you were more hurt than I’d thought.”
“Where’s…” Cyrus rasps painfully. “Kos?”
He turns enough to check on his patient in the next bed. “Kostara is fine. I haven’t been able to heal him yet, but none of his injuries were in need of immediate healing like yours were.”
Cyrus turns to look at the Qunari in the other bed with an expression full of love, worry, and something similar to regret. It’s clear the three of them are long overdue for a proper conversation about their feelings.
“He’ll… Be okay, though?”
“As far as I can tell, yes.” Cyrus smiles, then pulls himself up into a sitting position despite the weariness clearly dragging him down. “You know as well as I do that you shouldn’t jostle a broken limb.” Emmrich chides.
“I’ve got it,” Cyrus states. “It’ll be faster if I do it, anyway.” Emmrich’s surprised that the elf can even manage a spell as exhausted as he must be, let alone heal his own broken bone. “Focus on Kos.”
He sighs. “Fine. But first, I insist you drink this.” He passed the other man a tea infused with healing and revitalizing herbs that he had Manfred brew while he worked. “It will help with your weariness.” Emmrich gets one of those warm smiles from the elf before the shorter man takes the cup gratefully and drinks it with zero hesitation.
As much as he’d rather continue himself, Cyrus is right that Emmrich’s magic is not as effective on him as his own. It’s simply a better use of his time and effort to work with Kostara instead, no matter how his heart might feel about the matter.
Emmrich sighs, leaning back in his chair. He’s exhausted and low on mana, but at least both of his patients are in a much better state then they’d arrived in. The conversation he’s having with Cyrus is even enough to ward off the worse of his fatigue.
“Kos?” Cyrus’ attention is now fully on the Qunari. Emmrich follows his gaze to where Kostara is clearly awake and looking around tiredly.
“Cyr?” Emmrich prepares a warm cup of tea for Kostara while the other two share a meaningful glance. He helps the taller man into a sitting position, and then to sip on the tea. It’s clear Kostara will need to rest again soon, but Emmrich refuses to let this moment go.
“Now that the both of you are awake, I believe we have something important to talk about.” They both look at him with their equally captivating eyes. This should prove to be an interesting and engaging conversation.