Re: As Silver as the Stars [Menel & Javed]

[Javed]

The tension between their bodies was palpable. The distant part of Javed's mind was aware that Menel seemed to be feeling whatever it was that boiling over and out of Javed's mouth and skin. But that tiny corner of his conscious self was trapped in the same storm. This was the worst fit of... prediction that he had experienced save his own. That day he had thought he was going to burn up from the inside out, knowing he should never have attempted reading his own fate. But pride was a harsh mistress and Javed hadn't known better.

This though, was like being locked in a vortex of his own creation. His skin felt both like it was shredding him inside and scraping his skin from the outside. His hands on either side of the singular one was an anchor, but it was also feeding into the magic. 'Fire affinity' he thought briefly before more words tried to rip themselves from his throat. He was losing the fight against himself, and he wasn't sure how long his strength would hold out as his body devoured his resources both magical and physical. Surely there couldn't be more to say, surely the magic would let him go before he ran out of life?

Quick as a viper, the blond's left hand shot out and grasped Menel's face, golden nails digging into his skin and pulling him closer so that they were close to each other's face. Only then did he meet the blue eye'd man's gaze. His stare was hard, not cruel and cold as they had been earlier. But like there was no one there, or someone else. Like he could see straight through Menel and was sifting all the parts that put him together between his hands. Turning everything over like it was fascinating.

"You will chose, in the end. Your fires will not let you have it any other way. Will they die as the price of your love or will you be the killer you're afraid you might be? You will chose between action and failure. Both will be bitter ash on your tongue." The words burned, seared, left marks on his tongue and would have him screaming if he could have made his mouth move on his own command. But they were also a whisper. Like Javed knew these were the answers to Menel's questions. Like he knew this could break him apart but didn't dare stop.

[Menel]

It was almost pleasurable. This tinging sensation which had spread through the whole of his body, he might have even believed that if only he could move. Even his breath seemed captured inside him. Caught. He knew it. He knew that he had felt this sensation before. Just... never for this long. This was usually a moment that lasted only a moment drawn out to long. Made painful.

He couldn't describe the expression on Javed's face, or properly think of words to explain the way that the other man's tense pose made him feel. He felt helplessly like he was watching someone being hurt. Torn apart by magic far, far beyond his comprehension.

Javed's hand shot out fast, faster than most men should have been able to react, but Menel... He saw the motion coming and tried to move. It was like he was trapped beneath the weight of a mountain. His teeth clenched down behind his opened lips. It didn't matter that his instinct was to dodge the perceived and almost expected attack. Nails dug into his skin, over his cheek and the edge of his short white hair. Pulling him close. Dragging him toward copper eyes that were melting ores never meant to be held by a mortal. Black metals that gleamed in the firelight.

Javed wasn't looking at him at all.

Javed could see him.

It was like he wasn't being seen at all but he was. Javed was looking inside him. Past the confidant exterior of a swordsman who was at ease with everyone around him. Past years of training and everything that could be seen at a glance into him. It was more than what Menel did. More than reading micro-expressions and body language. More than knowing instinctively that this was the way someone felt. He could almost feel the other man shifting the layers of his being through fingers that were not cruel but unfamiliar. A ghostly touch that made him wish he could move enough to shiver.

And then kindly Javed destroyed him.

Such simple words to destroy the world around him. To destroy the past, the present, the future. The golden-haired man plucked out from within himself his single greatest fear, his single greatest regret and spoke it. Made it everything.

The most horrifying thing was that it was truth.

He wanted to scream. He wanted to yell at Javed and tell him it was a lie even though he could not deny that it was truth. Even if he could have yelled... it wasn't Javed's fault. He no more made the future than did a leaf falling from a tree. Fire burned inside Menel. Not a blazing flame but a cool one. A calm and even flame that ate away his flash of anger so quickly that he didn't even feel it..

The swordsman lifted his own hand. Not the one that was still captured by Javed but the other. Touching Javed's bared face. His fingers tingled tightly at the contact and it was only then that he realized that he had done it. Menel pushed. Pouring fire through himself and through the skin contact that they shared. Their hands, their faces. Every finger. Poured the flames like a cool healing salve. He did it out of instinct. He wasn't even sure that Javed would feel it, that the other man would accept it but they were bound so... perhaps like him the other man would have no choice. He didn't even know what it would do.

Tears streamed down the swordsman's face. Just tears. They stained his tanned cheeks but the darkness hid them from everyone but Javed.

These were his answers. The terrible truth of his life. He wished he could think that Javed was just reading his past badly, but his heart knew the truth.

"I'm sorry." The spell was fading. Or something was fading because though the weight remained he could speak. He had moved his hand... or something inside him had. "I'm sorry you had to see that. I'm sorry you had to see me."

[Javed]

The instant Menel moved his hand, reached out for Javed he knew that he desperately did not want the touch. If he could have made himself react he would have wrenched away, grasped the wrist and squeezed until bones creaked in protest. But he could not, still trapped and being eaten away by the power pushing words out of his mouth. His breath was coming in short, panicked bursts when the pressure of skin finally reached his cheek.

And it was a cold flame. Cool, like balm on a sunburn. He could feel it seeping in, trying to fill up where the light inside of him had emptied every reserve he had. Like it was trying to help him, heal him. Stop the hurts that erupted from within him. All it did was make his skin crawl, an intrusion that was quickly shunted away to fuel the spell that kept them locked hand in hand. Javed was wracking his brain, gnashing his teeth in his own mind as he struggled to think of a way to end this nightmare. There had to be a way to break free. If he just thought hard enough...

All of this in a few moments, and his gaze was still fixed to Menel's. He saw the tears burst from his eyes, searing down and vanishing under the swordsman's chin. Heard the words of apology crying out to his ears. As if it was his fault and not Javed who was the one laying him bare. As if the wounds went two ways. Sympathy.

That was what he needed, the swift horrifying kick between his eyes that gave Javed the strength to bare his teeth. Sharp and feral fangs that snapped as words that had nothing to do with prophecy or fate or anything but Javed's will spring forth.

"Stop!"

There was an audible snap, like a thread wound too tight had finally broken. Hands released and eyes no longer trapped. And Javed was propelled backwards, the spell coiling back and tightening it's grip on him. He meets the ground as the memories flicker and overlap with the sight of the night sky. Doesn't even notice the words spilling through his lips in his shock.

An explosion like a supernova, stars erupting in the space behind his eyes. Staring at his hand and seeing the pain and pleasure and sorrow and rage all rolled together, seeing his footsteps as he walked alone, ran alone. Alone alone alone there was never going to be a place for him. Even when there was, it would be a trap. Knowing he had to erase his fate, knowing that no one could ever see this. A young man screaming in his mind as he falls to the perfect marble floors and can only dimly hope someone saves him or lets him die. Just not alone.

The memory like corrosion around the edges of his mind. But Javed closes his eyes, pushes it down. Pushes it away with nails digging into his palms. The pain is enough to ground him. If he can just breathe. Feel the grass and dirt and the rocks digging into his back and hips. He feels hollow and heavy. But sane. Clear eyed, even as he doesn't want to see. So he rests his arm over his eyes and huffs out a laugh as bitter as the taste in his mouth.

[Menel]

Hate churned in his stomach, eaten away surely by that cool flame that burned inside him. Cleansing him even as it was birthed. Not hate for a fate, not for the past, the present, or the future that he couldn't change. Not for this man who had been forced to see the parts of himself that he wished did not exist; that were the darkest secret of his life. It was self-loathing. He was sorry, irrevocably sorry that anyone should have to see any part of that. Hated that his life even in this way had hurt this man before him.

Javed growled at him, flashing white teeth and Menel felt the flash of anger deep inside himself.

"Stop!"

He wished he could. He didn't know how and his lack of ability made him wonder just for a second how much of what he had done had been him at all.

Then it snapped. Menel could hear it, feel it. It rocked him backwards, and like Javed he would have hit the ground if not for years of training had not caught him just a little. The swordsman felt his arm impact with the ground, his vision swimming. He felt like his ears should be ringing, but he could hear. Hear the sound of Javed's voice.

Blue eyes blinked and by Javed's distant expression alone he realized that the man wasn't entirely conscious of what he was saying. Sharp edged memories bled Menel's mind, shadows trying to pull him down but he was used to bleeding. He let himself shudder now. Let the pain course through his body just for a moment. Acknowledging it in the way that a warrior acknowledged any pain. Pretending that it wasn't there would only hurt more later.

It was easier said than done. Every motion was a small torment. His breath was harsh and unsteady as if he had been running. He holds himself above the earth. Looking at Javed. Looking at the golden-haired man laying on the ground so close to him. So far away. Making a bitter sound that seemed to Menel as though it was laughter only because Javed refused to make any other sound.

The swordsman didn't dare touch the other man again. Not after whatever he had done.

His breath huffed out. Stirring the ground as he pushed himself to his knees, kneeling just to Javed's side. Without meaning to he touched his own leg and jerked his fingers away from himself. His fingers felt... No. It was just a memory. He pushed the sick feeling in his stomach aside but it wouldn't leave him entirely. Just like the memories that kept trying to surface.

"Forgive me." Menel's voice croaked out, so pained that he couldn't hide it. He felt like he had in fact been running. His body drained not only from the use of his own magic but from the reading. I'm going to fail. I'm going to watch it all over again. The despair was crushing. Wasn't once enough? He was going to fail again. Just like someone was going to fail Javed. It almost seemed better to never love at all. If he never loved, he couldn't end up with their blood all over his hands again. He pressed the tears off his face with dirtied fingers, erasing them.

Some small part of him wanted to beg Javed to answer his questions. Ask him what the point was to loving if it was going to end like that. What the point was to loving someone, anyone if he was just going to get them killed in the end. He wanted to get up. To fix what he had broken, to apologize but the tears wouldn't stop falling down his face. His shoulders shook and the memories finally took him.

Memories of holding her. Of her blood bubbling over his fingers crimson and hot. Her eyes looking up with him with such love. The way that the light glimmered in them and then it was fading away and nothing he could do would stop it from leaving. He had screamed then, hollowly, brokenly. Like a child.

Now the swordsman made a small broken sound and sobbed silently, tears spilling out over his fingers. He'd gone on in hope. The hope that some day he might find a way to protect others. To keep them safe as he had failed her. It had been in fact a small fragile hope that filled every day of his life. He'd known it might be an impossible task, but he couldn't bear the thought that he might fail that badly again. That he would be forced to watch someone he loved die.

I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.

[Javed]

He was silent, after the little laugh escaped his lips. The only sounds the soft creaking of leather and wood shifting. The animals snuffling and doing whatever it was that beasts of burden did when they weren't earning their feed. The silence of the night was a comfort to Javed. He could breathe again, could wiggle his toes and burst into song if the urge came over him. There was a massive headache brewing between his brows from the backlash of using too much of his  own magic. So instead of indulging in any further exhibitions of madness he remained where he was. Arm flung over his eyes, hair all over the place. Still but housing only mundane thoughts.

It was in that stillness that he could hear the swordsman moving, hear the hitching breath and the sound of feet moving closer to his side. Javed wanted to make the effort to tell the poor man 'I'm fine' or 'go away' or any number of things that would keep him in the state of unreality. But he couldn't. If he was being honest Javed wasn't sure he could move if he wanted to. He heard more than felt the sound of Menel's breath hitch, heard his voice cracking and asking for forgiveness again.

And then he was weeping, unabashed and broken sounds muffled by something. And with a sigh, with a frown to the effort it took to attempt movement, Javed moved the arm from his face, letting it reach out and touch the pale haired man's fingers where they cupped his face. There was dampness from tears, and Javed brushed his warm fingers over the backs of the knuckles he could feel.

"Stop," he murmured, a gentle voice that sounded destroyed in his own ears. He continued to brush his fingers gently along the hands hiding his companion's face before sliding them up and into the pale hair and making soothing sweeps along the scalp. Willing any light inside of him to heal the marks he had left on Menel's face. "Stop tearing yourself into pieces for no one." Javed watched the stars above their heads as he spoke, his accent slipping into the sounds of his youth against his will. The stars at least, he thought, never seem to betray us.

He stayed silent, stroking the head of the man bent over in grief. Wondering how this seemed to be a reoccurring thread in his life's tapestry. Tearing people apart and then trying to heal the wounds. Ha almost laughed again before deciding better of it. Instead he spoke, voice a quiet rasp against the backdrop of tears and silence.

"When I was young and stupid, I read my own fate. Saw the path I might walk on, and ran screaming from it." He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. It didn't come back as a cough and Javed took that as a good sign. "I ran as if I was being chased, and landed in exactly what I didn't want." He watched the stars for a moment longer before turning his head and looking at the man kneeling beside him. "It was both exactly what I read and nothing of the sort. It hurt, it broke something deep and personal I had cherished. But it did not destroy me." Tired amber eyes took in Menel's shape, and he sighed softly. "Fate isn't the future, Menel. It's a price we pay to become what is needed." He did laugh then, soft and careless.

[Menel]

He could hear Javed moving beside him and tried to still his tears, but they would not stop. He was crying truly now; silently as some people who learn young to cry quietly do. The swordsman could not so easily still the river of tears. He never expected Javed to touch him however. Didn't expect the soft warm touch of fingers on his. Menel bitterly remained still. This kindness was something he didn't deserve and all that touch did was remind him of the blood that stained his fingers.

Javed's words drew Menel's eyes up a little.

No one?

His heart ached painfully. They were for someone. For the woman who was dead because he was not able to protect her. For that person who he would love and fail. For Javed who knew now what he really was. For the man he had killed.

Javed's fingers in his hair were so comforting, and he hated himself for feeling it. For feeling any kind of goodness at all.

He let Javed talk. Talk about the pain that touched his past because it was better than thinking about his own. Better than anything he felt inside himself. When those copper eyes turned back to him, his own flinched. He didn't want Javed to see the pain on his face. To see how he felt written in his eyes, but he couldn't hide it. His expression wrote it out as clearly as Javed's magic had lain bare his soul.

"I'm not willing to pay that price Javed." His voice was soft, hurt. Perhaps that moment hadn't broken Javed, but Menel wasn't that strong. The first time... it had broken him. It had all but killed him and he couldn't do it again. His fingers slid down his face, leaving the tears only in his eyes. Leaving all his pain there and visible to this man who really there was no point in hiding from. "I've already watched someone I loved die because I could not protect them. I let anger carry my blade once and I can not do it again."

"How could I go looking for love knowing it would end like that? Knowing that loving someone would mean that I would have to watch them die? My love would be a curse."

Firmly he pulled away from that comfort. Not jerking away from it but resolutely leaning back so that Javed's fingers weren't touching him anymore. He didn't deserve it. "You've been to kind to me... you've seen what I am. What I could be. You shouldn't sully your hands out of kindness I don't deserve." Fresh tears slipped past his control but he ignored them. They were just wetness spilling free.

[Javed]

"Then don't. Let yourself be tossed about and have some inkling of freedom." His response to Menel's sudden bereavement was to the point. When the pale hair retreated from his touch Javed reached out and grasped his arm instead, using the counter weight to pull himself upright. It was a strain, and he grunted once he was in a position to release his grip on Menel. "I see very little, despite what you're trying to make me believe. A person. Tiny and standing on his own two feet but startling at his shadows like a rabbit." He felt a twinge of guilt that the poor boy had been hurt so deeply at the reading, but at the same time it had been out of his control as well.

Prophetic words might be done and over with now, but Javed was a story teller as much as he was a fortune teller. Words rolled of his tongue with ease as he set himself to wresting open the pouch at his waist. His fingers were still shaking and he cursed once under his breath before continuing with his narrative. His rings tapped together in a soft melody from the trembling.

"Did I say 'slay all that would oppose you, great warrior. Bathe in the blood, become a beast to be feared'? No. You know what it means when you swing your blades. You said so yourself. So you're frightened, we all are. There will always be moments where the choices are hard. You can't always know the right path." Finally the catch gave and Javed felt a flash of relief as he rummaged about in it's contents. He was lucky nothing had been damaged when he was tossed like a rag doll.

Fingers slipped over odds and ends, a few coins, a rectangular bundle wrapped in red silk that he let his fingers linger on for too long, not allowing the feeling to surface. And then a small silver object was lifted free. A flask, decorated with curling lines and designs that might have been hares or birds springing to the skies.

"Do you live a life of idelic comfort? Is that why you wander where the coin takes you, protecting others?" The cap was off and Javed pulled a small sip and closed his eyes when it seared in just the right way. The strongest alcohol he could lay claim to, and then he had made sure to find someone to imbue it was some healing properties. It had knocked lesser men down before. He gave Menel an appraising look before offering the drink, one eyebrow raised. "You talk like I'm some gem made flesh, not a used up monster wandering around to make sure no memory can make me feel again. Why would you think that, I wonder? My hands are caked in more filth than you need to know."

[Menel]

It was some small comfort in a way that Javed could so easily tell him not to let the reading affect him so powerfully. Perhaps it wasn't written in stone. Perhaps there was some way that he could change his future yet. By passing on the chance for love or by finding some other path that would allow him to save that person without killing. He had to have hope didn't he? The swordsman had in spite of a few moments of weakness never been terribly good at giving up. He could have pulled away, refused to let Javed use his body as leverage but this time he didn't withdraw from the touch. Letting it come and go.

The other man rummaged through a few of his things as he spoke and Menel remained silent, choosing to listen rather than speak. Wiping away the few more tears on his face and enough of the dirt that he wasn't a smudged mess. Javed finally found what he was looking for, a small silver flask among his other things.

"No." He managed half a smile and a small amused noise. It wasn't easy, never had been but the challenge was part of what he enjoyed. Javed took a small drink and offered the flask to him. Menel accepted it. In truth the reading had left him horribly parched and though he had his own water... The swordsman took a deep swallow and a half before his body realized that it was not water that he was drinking. Quickly he tilted the flask back down, blue eyes a little wide. He let out a harsh breath, his throat feeling oddly numb as the flash of heat spread from his chest through the rest of his body even to the ends of his fingertips.

Menel coughed, practically pushing the flask back at Javed. "Oh, sweet stars." His voice was hoarse and it wasn't just from the reading or from crying. He took a little breath shaking his head and looking back up at Javed.

"I don't know much." As if that wasn't painfully obvious. He swallowed, eyes steady in spite of the warmth that thrummed pleasantly through his body. Chasing back memories and the feeling of despair that had been crushing him. "But I know you aren't a monster Javed. If you were... you could have just left me. You care. I don't know why, but you do."

[Javed]

He smiled in amusement when Menel almost choked on the spirits, plucking the flask from his hands and nursing another sip, eyes half lidded when the warmth curled down to his toes. "You think it's not horrible that I took your soul and shredded it, and now I get watch you as you try and put yourself back together?" He laughed and took another sip before closing the lid tightly and replacing the flask in his pouch. "Care is a strong word, Menel." He raised his eyebrows and let his idle hands comb through his hair, shaking free any debris from the ground. "I suppose I feel a sense of responsibility after I traumatize someone, yes."

He looked at Menel and blinked, face closed over. "Monsters can feel, that's part of the problem you see." He could care and still feel the need to destroy, to shove others away. To make sure he wasn't pinned down by his past. "Monsters are just the names we give men so that we can pretend we don't have the same darkness within us." He rolled his shoulders, attempting to ease tension from his body. Did not focus on memories of a love in black, a love that crumbled him to dust once.

"But enough of my maudlin thoughts. What you need to understand is that you shouldn't let anything I said rule you. Honestly what I remember was all very vague anyhow." He waved a hand dismissively, even if he wasn't sure he believed his own words. "Maybe your magic just reacted badly to  mine. Maybe something capricious decided to pull the wool over our eyes. Maybe I'm getting old and my magic got out of control." Javed smiled at his own joke, finally freeing the last bit of grass from his curls.

[Menel]

As far as he was concerned Javed simply didn't give himself enough credit. He watched the other man run his fingers through his golden hair, freeing a bit of dirt and a few small twigs from amid the unruly locks. The swordsman couldn't help noticing the way that the firelight reflected off of the other man's hair. Smoothly he leaned forward, picking a little crinkled leaf out of Javed's hair without even thinking of it and smiling lightly. Really what Javed probably needed to do was brush it, shame that Menel didn't have anything like that on hand. The brief period he had touched the other man's hair he had noted that it was very nice.

Idly he rubbed his fingers together.

No, Javed wasn't a monster. Perhaps they all capable of some manner of evil. Perhaps everyone could do as much evil as they did good, but that didn't make them monsters.

"I can't forget." His voice was gentle. He doubted he would ever forget those words. Nor did he believe for a moment it was some mistake. It was to... Real. The swordsman rubbed his fingers idly against his pants and leaned forward a little. "If you really want to forget your thoughts... I was thinking before well..."

He smiled suddenly, easily pushing aside his own dark thoughts, offering his hand to the other man. "Do you like to dance?"

[Javed]

The fingers that plucked a stray bit of debris from his hair didn't startle him as they might have if he was in better shape. Instead he leveled a disapproving stare at the offending hand before attempting to settle his hair with a sharp shake of his head. There was no doing anything with it until he could get to a comb and some water to remind the curls what their shape was supposed to be. With a disparaging sigh Javed gathered the mass of yellow hair and with several efficient twists had it knotted at the nape of his neck. The action exposed his ears and the myriad of golden metal that adorned them. A small snake wound from his left ear lobe and through his ear before resting at the crest, teeth appearing to be embedded into the skin. A poisonous strike made of metals and softly lit jewels. Javed wore his fortune on his body, it seemed.

He blinked lazily at the swordsman crouched besides him, a blasé expression hiding trepidation. The touch on his hair and the idle rubbing of fingers was enough to make him wary of Menel. This wouldn't be the first time someone who had been through a huge amount of emotional trauma had attempted to cling to him. The sudden appearance of death sometimes did  that to a body. Made them want to cling to something solid, to remember life was still all around them. But Javed was not exactly solid no matter what the expanse of muscles across his chest proclaimed. In all honestly escaping was at the forefront of his mind, if only his belongings weren't tucked carefully in a small wagon awaiting his destination. At the same time he was loathe to break the poor lad further than the night already had. What to do...

With care for his abused muscles, Javed accepted the outstretched hand by clasping it at the wrist. He reminded himself that he might not have been able to get the leverage to stand without help and had no desire to remain sitting on his rear in the dirt for the rest of the evening.

"Dance? Well..." Javed feigned thought, lips pursed as he stared into the night. "I used to dance quite a bit, in my wild youth." He looked back at the pale eyed young man and raised one eyebrow, the sun on his forehead wrinkling slightly at the action. "But without music I doubt very much I could be convinced to do anything more than stand here and be glad my limbs aren't entirely made of grass." A gentle reminder that he had just spent quite a bit of his body's strength not that long ago, and that they weren't in the most comfortable settings.

"I take it you do enjoy a bit of dancing then, swordsman? Sweeping the ladies off of their delicate feet to a jaunty tune?"

[Menel]

The swordsman did not fail to notice the further flash of gold. He had never seen someone wear quite so much of the rare metal. Even those who he knew to have money rarely chose to wear quite so much gold on their bodies. It was an invitation to thieves. Almost a challenge really. It made the bodyguard instincts that Menel had been cultivating for most of his life tightly aware of what was going on around them.

Thankfully no one else was taking particular notice of them in spite of the mild display that they had put on. He caught a few furtive glances, and suspected that some were rather purposefully ignoring it. Choosing to be oblivious to what was going on around them to preserve the illusion of peace. Menel ignored them in return.

Javed's words drew a small chuckle from the swordsman. "I'm sure that we could get a little music going. I think it's good after... Well something like that to stretch the body out a bit." He couldn't help comparing the experience to a fight. His body certainly felt like he'd fought something, but it was a sensation that for him at least was fading quickly. Menel trained and fought on a regular basis and his body was used to taking a beating and continuing on.

"I take it you do enjoy a bit of dancing then, swordsman? Sweeping the ladies off of their delicate feet to a jaunty tune?"

Menel smiled. "I do enjoy dancing quite a lot yes." He glanced toward the fire with a little shrug before looking back at Javed. "More often I do it to expand my skills more than anything else, but I've been asked to dance a time or two."

It was more rare an occurrence than those who knew the swordsman might suspect. Perhaps it was because he was usually out patrolling when the dancing began, or perhaps those who were interested were too shy. For whatever reason... it was something that simply didn't happen very often.

The swordsman lifted a hand to unhook the cloak from his shoulder, he could toss it with the small pack that held the rest of his belongings. It would just get in his way while he was moving after all. "What do you say Javed? Will you join me?"

[Javed]

Hoisting himself off of the ground wasn't quite as hard as Javed had feared. And a gentle pulse of golden light raced over him as he soothed his exhausted muscles. Through their still clasped wrists he sent a second healing charge to Menel. Not erasing the damage done, but giving the muscles the resources to repair themselves a little faster. Undoing any damage instantly might have been possible at this point but Javed suspected unwelcome. The body needed to process what had happened to it and put itself back together. But he was not above helping it along. "There, just a little boost for us both." He released Menel's arm and stepped back, careful not to trod on his skull helm that remained on the  ground near the pair.

He was a little curious on what Menel meant when he said he used dancing to expand his skills. Though dancing was great at building muscles and staying limber. Which is part of the reason Javed himself danced. It was so much easier to focus and yet be aware of the world around him. The thrill of executing an attack or a send a burst of magic out while moving to the music in his head was something he was familiar with and very much so enjoyed. It wasn't always practical, but he knew it looked as good as it felt.

But it had been a long time since he'd danced just for fun, and just to cheer up those around him. Maybe it would be worth lowering his guard just a bit. Javed suspected it might help him lose the last threads of trepidation the reading had left clinging to his shoulders.

"Alright, I yield." He said, laughing a little ruefully at his caving in to Menel's request. "If you can find us some music, I'll see if you can keep up with me my friend." He flashed a grin, and looked over at the remaining people. Curious as to what kind of music they might produce.

[Menel]

Javed sent a little thrill of magic through his body, it made his body warm and the light tension in his body, the ache of his muscles fading away quickly. He felt reinvigorated. When the other man agreed to dance with him Menel's smile brightened. He felt like both of them needed it. Needed something to cleanse those dark thoughts and memories away. For Menel, action always worked quite well for that.

"Keep up with you?" Menel laughed. Javed must be a rather good dancer if he thought he could outpace Menel... but then it wasn't as though Javed had any way of knowing how good Menel was.

The swordsman made a small motion. "Give me a second." Menel walked a little away, waving to the leader of the caravan.

"Hey Maman. How would you feel about bringing out your drum? I think the night could use a little music don't you?" The swordsman flashed the older man a smile and Maman shook his hand. It took only that much to convince the man to bring out his drum. A low lying beat already beginning by the time that Menel made his way back to Javed.

One drum quickly became two. Other members of the caravan bringing out their instruments and beginning a deep thrumming song. The music beat through the night, sounding like a heart. As if the darkness was alive. Menel was free of his cloak now, but he was still wearing both of his swords. They were after all a part of his body. He motioned with his fingers toward the other man, his broad smile cheerful.

[Javed]

The only response Javed gave to Menel's laughter and disbelief was a smug smile before watching him go to speak with some of the older men that were still lingering. Sure the swordsman might be a good dancer (though that remained to be seen at this point) but Javed.

Javed loved dancing in a way that surprised even him. And he loved showing off. Even if the other man proved to have talent as well, there was no way Javed was going to disappoint. When his companion gestured to join him, Javed laughed and almost denied his request at the last moment. If only to see his reaction.

Instead he rolled his neck on his shoulders as he padded towards the light and the sound of the drum as it began to play. The closer he stalked the more he stretched his limbs. First his arms, his singular sleeve shifting when the muscles flexed underneath it and he reached behind his back to limber them. Then his legs. He considered losing his boots for a moment, then changed his mind. As much as he preferred dancing barefoot there was no way he wanted to stumble onto a sharp rock and slice his feet to ribbons. No, boots will remain on this time around. The leather was soft enough he wouldn't be too thrown.

"My thanks," He murmured with a pleasant nod towards the people beginning to gather and play their music. He closed his eyes and soaked up the sounds flowing around them, lines of strain finally smoothing away from his mouth. He inclined his head towards where he could hear Menel shifting, waiting for the right moment in the music that he knew was coming. A sudden drop when one of the drums began a new pattern.

When it happened, he dipped backwards bonelessly, knowing it looked like he was collapsing but grinning all the while. Catching himself almost bent in half, his core muscles standing out in sharp relief as they pulled him back upright and he shifted almost lazily, like dancing through water. He met Menel's eyes and dropped him a slow wink and a feral smile before turning out his palm, gesturing with a flick of his fingertips for the swordsman to begin at his leisure. How the other man chose to move and dance remained to be seen, and Javed found he was interested in what he could do with two swords still strapped to his hips.

Javed continued to move, slowly, but showing just how much control over his body he had. Each dip and sway was like a offering  to the witnesses, and when the drums circled around once more he dipped again. This time he continued his decent and rested his hands on the ground behind his feet, lifting his feet and using the momentum to bring them overhead and complete the flip before continuing the dance. His necklaces clattered and the swath of fabric wrapped round his shoulders had shifted, and for a moment he considered removing them. Instead he adjusted the rose colored material so it settled. There would be time to toss the damned thing when he could feel himself really using his muscles.

[Menel]

Close to the fire the night air was quite warm. The snap and rustle of the flames a distant hissing echo of the rhythm that built forth from the drums. Menel could feel it. First in his feet, and then resonating through his bones. His mind felt loose, as warm as the night air around him, and he was glad when Javed moved forward. The other man's smooth, graceful gate told Menel that this man knew how to move his body. That his confidence was not born from some kind of arrogance, but from actual talent.

Already he could feel the rhythm creeping into his body, calling him to move but like Javed he waited. Perhaps... He was waiting for Javed. After all, he was a swordsman, and much of his own skill demanded a partner. He could emphasize, make another seem more talented than they were by enhancing what was already there, but he could only give as much skill as he was given. Menel felt a small thrill in his veins that Javed might rise to that challenge, that he might push Menel to the limits of his abilities.

Javed moved, bending backwards so that his hair fell in a golden waterfall, his exposed muscles contracting and holding him just there and then moving forward again. Menel knew from personal experience that as difficult as it was to go into a controlled fall, that it was even more difficult to be able to rise slowly from that same pose. Javed did it lazily, smiling and beckoning for him to begin.

Menel stalked forward. His leather armor hid well the wealth of muscles that his long training had given birth to, save perhaps those on his arms.

For the swordsman, the dance began in his steps. In the perfect set of his feet upon the ground carrying him after Javed. He moved like a man stalking prey, his own body responding to Javed's motions. The swordsman turned Javed's dance, his beautiful movements into a story. When Javed was pulled backwards, Menel let the motion pull him forward, as if their bodies were tied together on invisible strings. He remained close, almost close enough to touch, but he never did. When Javed back-flipped slowly, Menel followed the motion almost without thinking. His body was merely part of the dance now, but he made the motion slower. When he rolled upwards, he held himself on but a single hand until the other fell to the ground, it was exactly how Javed had moved, but so much slower that those watching had to see every single second of it.

Then he fell back almost in a rush, moving in the same strange echo of Javed's dance, the heat making his body begin to sweat lightly. He was wearing far more in the way of clothing than Javed was. Slowly but surely the swordsman could feel the tempo beginning to pick up. This dance would become more and more of a challenge. More and more difficult to mirror Javed's movements perfectly, but that... that was part of the allure.

[Javed]

Javed almost hadn't noticed when Menel moved into his space, dancing not just along side him but with him. Each step controlled and fluid and in it's way complimenting his own. Instead of startling or moving away he barely suppressed a laugh of excitement. It was one thing to dance and see others dancing and enjoying themselves. Or even challenging another to test their skills and see who was superior. But when you could dance and have someone step into the space to make it a partnership...

Javed felt the surge of adrenaline and knew he was going to push himself as hard as possible to see what the swordsman could come up with.

So they moved, and Javed circled the fire while keeping Menel on the invisible chain that trembled between them. The backflip had been a test, a challenge and when Menel not only rose to it but with using just one hand instead of Javed's two the dark skinned man couldn't stop the widening of his eyes and the smile curling his mouth up. There wasn't space to stop, not with the music crashing down around them and pulling Javed to move, to sweep one leg back with a flourish before pressing close into Menel's space. Closer than the other man had dared.

He leaned in, one hand flat against Menel's chest and the other on the younger man's neck before he brought their faces together. Just a hairsbreadth between them with the heat and the smell of leather, sweat, and metal in their nostrils. Only then did Javed open his mouth, the small golden sphere under his lip catching the light as he whispered. "So you want a challenge then, my friend?" In the brief pause after those words Javed grinned savagely and shoved Menel away, far more gently than the action seemed. "Come." The sound of the music was in his blood, in his breath. And he snapped away from the other man as the beat became faster, giving one last thought on how much more fun this would have been in bare feet.

But still, his feet began to pound out the rhythm and he splayed one hand out towards Menel, pulling the other man back towards him with a sound half snarl and half laughter. They moved faster, Javed leading and keeping up dizzying pace that forced the musicians to speed up as well. Instead of the prey leading the hunter, this was becoming a battle. Javed would grasp Menel's hand, only to slip through under his arm and dance away. He wasn't trying to cause the swordsman to stumble, or even trying to make the man angry. Each little move, each sway of hips or twist of the torso was to see if he could keep up. Push the boundaries. Burn out anything but right here and right now. To see if one or the other could be caught.

Javed's skin was starting to show the sheen of sweat, and the knot he had tied into his hair to tame it had come undone. But his eyes were lit up and the smile refused to leave his mouth. He wanted the music to go faster.

[Menel]

It didn't take long for Javed to realize what Menel was doing, and exactly as the swordsman hoped, Javed led him. When Javed swept a leg back, pushing far into Menel's space. Menel did not think at all, his own body moving on instinct and bending like a willow. He arched his back, his muscles contracting as Javed leaned into him. Fingers pressing into Menel's chest. If he had breathed deeply they would have been more than touching. Menel's blue eyes were bright with the light of the challenge that sped his heart. He never felt more alive than in moments like this.

"Yes." He wanted the other man to push him, and as if in response to that desire Javed did. Physically giving him the gentlest of pushes. Menel let it carry him, body twisting in response even as Javed was carried away from him. He regained his footing, smiling brightly at the way Javed lured him forward.

Menel took a beat to undo his leather vestment, tossing it far outside the circle they had circumscribed onto the ground and rather than running to Javed he took a step that led him into a flip. The motion landed him neatly only a short breath away from Javed.

This was not a contest that his armor could offer him any protection in. Though it formed to his body well enough to move to his whim, it had some small weight and more importantly... it was warm to wear. Now there was nothing between him and the night air. The flames lit the edges of the muscles that years had carved in his flesh. His chest was particularly well defined, but every line of his stomach was perfectly formed to his art. Now when he danced the fine control of which he was capable was bare for everyone to see. He danced shamelessly with a smile.

Certainly he never thought twice about the fact that now anyone could see the scars that marked his back. Faint tracery lines that wrote themselves everywhere from between his shoulder blades to the base of his spine.

No matter how Javed teased him twisting and turning always out of reach Menel chased after him relentlessly. For all of Javed's efforts his steps never stumbled or hesitated. His world had burned down to nothing but Javed and the music. He didn't care about the sweat that ran freely down his body, he laughed more and more when Javed teasingly ducked beneath his own arms.

The drummers seemed to sense it. Seemed to know that the dancers were pushing for more, building the sound into a roll, like thunder echoing on the horizon. It sounded like a storm, as though they were part of an elemental thing. Pushing, pulling. Menel back-shifted his weight during a turn and managed to capture Javed's hand. He twisted just once, leading Javed for only an instant in a turn before he let the other man slip from his grasp again. A spark of living gold twisting in his arms and then leaving him to chase after it again.

To those watching, the dance had become a dizzying thing. Reaching the point where every motion caught the breath just shy. Wondering if this time would be the time that one of the dancers faltered. It became almost impossible to see every step save where the dancers slowed to painful clarity that made the bones ache to watch it. It was that beautiful.

[Javed]

The world had become the narrow circle around the fire, the thrumming in his bones from the music, and the other dancer moving with him. Every muscle was beginning to burn, warning Javed that he was succeeding in outdoing himself. The healer couldn't bring himself to care. Each breath was harsh and blessed and wild as he wound in and out of Menel's grasp to the drums.

He saw the scars on the paler man's back and dismissed them, a part of history that was for none but the one who bore them. Instead he focused on where to place his feet, his hands. He saw Menel crowding into his space and dropped into a controlled tumble that quickly resolved into him jumping back onto his feet, the sound of the drums synced with the dull thud of leather meeting earth. The smile on both of their faces were wild with abandon and entertainment, passing each other once and twice. While Javed was a whirlwind, tumbling and turning and twisting to be freed of hands grasping after him Menel was as steady as he was quick. Instead of flickering and using guile to elude the other man he used grace and control only a life time of training could afford.

It still remained to be seen who would begin to lag first.

Every trick seemed to spur the other on to try something harder, something newer, something to make the crowd that had slowly grown as the dance continued gasp. A grasped arm that resulted with the intended victim flipping the other and watching as they caught themselves and refused to fall. Leg sweeps that caused back flips and laughter when they were foiled. Around and around the pair danced, singing and stamped feet joining in with the breakneck music's unyielding beat.

There was a moment when Javed was sure he would either have to use his magic again or give up. Using a spell to bring them both back to full stamina seemed taboo. It would have undone what they were trying to do here. Relax and forget about the problems neither can solve. So he pushed himself, sweat racing down his back to be lost in the furs around his waist. He found his second wind as Menel pressed himself into Javed's space once more. And in a fit of inspiration Javed grasped the swordsman's bare shoulders and lifted himself, arching his body up and over. As he made the pass and they were face to face he winked vivaciously at Menel, the laugh bubbling up through his chest a reverberation through his arms rather than sound.

And then he was gone, twisting his grip so that as he moved through the air he landed facing Menel rather than baring his own back to him. and then he was nothing but a series of back flips, moving hand over foot and away from his dancing partner. His breath was coming hard and fast now, and finally the scarf he wore around his shoulders was discarded to the side, baring yet another gold ring through his nipple and a tattoo that was the shape of someone's palm pressing over his heart. The need for more freedom and air outweighing the need to cover something private.

[Menel]

Not only was this an ever growing test of his reaction speed, his dexterity and his strength, it was a test of stamina. Javed was enjoying ever second of it, just as he was. It made each of them push harder, faster, more than they ever would have. Menel hadn't been wrong. Neither of them was thinking of anything beyond this moment. Even their bodies weren't feeling it now. Only the pulse of the music. Of hands pressed together and feet slammed into the earth.

His breath was starting to come heavier, his heart pounding to the rhythm of the music. It was exactly how he wanted it to be. That feeling in his muscles as they were pushed. Not quite there yet but he could feel it.

Suddenly Javed grabbed his shoulders, Menel's body tensed and when Javed used his own momentum to flip up Menel automatically shifted his own balance to support Javed's weight. Like a well-practiced gymnastic's team Menel supported Javed's body and then it was gone. The swordsman turned, watching the other man flip away nimbly. He felt a breath in his chest at the sight of it.

He returned the favor in kind. Unlike Javed he took an extra step, muscles bunching and on his last flip he twisted in midair. Turning so that he landed facing Javed. The turn had been necessary in order to face that direction, but it also took Javed's impressive stunt one step further. Menel let out his breath, smiling at Javed. He wanted to say something, but now was not the time. That would come one one of them failed. When Javed failed to push him further or when he failed to rise to the other man's challenge. He could see that Javed was close to the edge, see it in the rise and fall of the other man's chest which was marked by a golden hand print.

The swordsman flashed a grin. Motioning with his hand a simple come-hither motion. Telling Javed silently to bring it up. To push him harder if the other man could.

[Javed]

The damned swordsman just had to one up him once again. Javed couldn't even feel irritated by Menel's actions, instead he barked out a breathless laugh and threw a mock-challenging glare at the man. The smug grin and hand coaxing him to come along had him shaking his head and keeping his distance. Though his grin matched the other man's.


If the younger man wanted to play and see how much stamina Javed had left, he'd get a show. 


Holding a breath and leveling a challenging look at Menel Javed dipped much like he had in the beginning of their little duet, exhaling as he reclined. But instead of agonizing slowness this time he was driven by the rhythm of the music, fluid and still graceful as he raised himself back up only to dip again. While this was more shallow he also raised his hands, jewelry glittering as he rolled his wrists in time with the beat, his fingers weaving invisible strands together. Each hard drop of the beat had his body rolling, hips rising from side to side. As he righted himself his hands slipped down his body, shoulders and chest moving in alternating patterns, sometimes jerking as if the music physically struck him. Sometimes he let them move with languid slowness. His feet swept out, swinging him around in time with the song that was in his blood even more than his ears.


Turning on his heel he attempted another dip, feeling the burn in his abdominal muscles. His body was protesting now, warning him that he wasn't a teenager anymore. While he was fit he was also owner of a body beginning to know it wasn't limitless. But as his companion was still keeping up with him Javed wasn't willing to give in just yet. 

[Menel]

When Javed bent backwards Menel realized that simply following the other man would not provide a significant challenge. His role in such an effort would have been far to easy so instead he shifted slightly so that he could stand at Javed's side.

In truth Menel had no training in this kind of dancing, and that was made evident in the less-graceful arcs of his hands as he mimicked that which Javed created. It was an incredibly difficult task, every muscle in his core was stretched taunt as he bent, rolling his hips to the tempo of the music. For him the challenge was not so much in the maintaining that tight control, but rather in effectively recreating the motions that Javed did.

It took every ounce of training he had to do it, but the more he did, the more naturally it came to him. His fingers felt slick where he touched himself, the music pounding through him. This dance felt... right. As though it was made for the music. He looked at Javed, shoulders, hips, fingers and toes telling him in the space of half a pounding heartbeat what he would have to do next. His body reacting almost before his mind had time to realize what it was that he would have to do.

He couldn't help thinking that the other man was beautiful. That he was in his element as surely as Menel was when he was in the midst of combat. Menel might be able to mimic for a time what Javed did here, but Javed... It was Javed who was creating this. Who was pushing them harder and faster. His skill showed in every line of his body which bent to his every command. More than that though... Menel could see how much Javed enjoyed this. He enjoyed it just like Menel did.

Javed fell into another dip and Menel followed suit. His muscles were definitely starting to burn. He wasn't as used to these particular sorts of movements, but the burn was a good thing and the swordsman was well-versed in pushing past that pain. He had to be able to in order to fight longer and harder than others, to keep moving when injured. Like most who spent their lives fighting, there was a small part of Menel which was willing to push harder, further than other men because he knew he could. Because in the back of the mind he had a supreme confidence in his body's ability to do whatever he needed it to do.

He never once thought to himself that he was doing exactly what Javed was. That to those watching it looked as though Javed and him had choreographed this entire dance. That he in his own way looked just as beautiful as Javed did.

[Javed]

There was a distinct pleasure to see Menel moving in tandem with his dance. Each synchronized drop and flex of limbs made the performance more and more pleasing to Javed. The battle of wills had ebbed away and left instead pure joy of entertaining, He could have laughed if he didn't need every breath to count, now.


Javed liked the control of leading the pair, enjoyed that the other man was looking to him to see what the next move would be. It was a subtle nod from someone who recognized that Javed was in his element. More than magic, more than healing and telling fortunes or tales. Dancing was bred through the blond's bones. And he relished in the freedom. There had been a time where being the one everyone had eyes on had left him with a frozen hand around his heart. But each gesture and flick of hair as he kept up the slower but just as agonizing pace meant they were admiring what he could do. Not what they could do to him.


It was a freedom he would never get enough of, it seemed.


But Menel added a delightful element. Silver and tan, but much paler than Javed with his gold curls. Scars on one and garish paint on the other, moving together and completely different. Like two shadows or reflections of each other. Sharing the spotlight wasn't irritating, instead it was an easy roll to fall into. So Javed swayed, did the lowest dip yet with his head thrown back and his arms behind his head as he felt his hair brush the ground. The counterweight of his arms away from his body meant he could swing them up and help straighten his torso, but he could feel the sudden tremor in his thighs while executing the move. It was time to wrap this up.


He turned to face Menel again, not touching him but allowing the swaying of their bodies to crowed each other again. One hand raised as if to run down the younger man's face, while the remaining made a lowering gesture towards the musicians. A sign to begin winding down. The beat slowed, and Javed slowed with it. He was drenched in sweat, his hair sticking to his shoulders and back and making them itch. The paint under his eyes was bleeding and smeared but he seemed not to notice. Instead he was mimicking the way their dance had begn. Moving into Menel's space without touching, bending over him when the blue eyed man pulled back and having the action repeated over himself. 


The music was now back to the solitary drummer, the slowing heartbeat that still thrummed through their feet. With one final controlled fall Javed's hands moved up over Menel's core and chest. He pulled the other man down over him while still not touching skin to skin. Up and over the shoulders to brush the ends of sweat darkened hair and then pausing. The last pulse of sound faded away and he didn't move, a living statue. Only the steady rise and fall of his chest and his eyes twinkling in silent laughter up at his companion.

[Menel]

When Javed closed the space between them, Menel followed suit in the way he had all along. He could almost feel the breath of Javed's fingers near his face, though that had a lot to do with how hot he was. His whole body was warm from dancing so much, his chest rising and falling with controlled speed. The swordsman didn't miss Javed's motion toward the musician's.

He was both glad and somewhat sad that the dance was winding down. He wasn't sure how much further he could have pushed his body, but he acknowledged that it wasn't to terribly much further. For some reason... he wasn't sure he cared that much.

Javed was covered in sweat as well, his curls sticking to his neck and shoulders, the makeup on his face which Menel had not even realized was makeup had gotten almost ruined by it. They danced closely together, to the dying rhythm of the drums as they had in the beginning. As though invisible strings bound them together. More and more the drums were fading, until there was only one. Only one leading Menel over Javed. The other man's fingers low on his stomach. Their bodies close enough for a breath that never came to spill them together but both men were to controlled, to talented for that to happen.

By the time Javed's fingers touched his hair the drum's were gone but they did not move. Menel did not even realize until then that he had slid his own hand around Javed's waist, holding it against the other man's lower back to offer some support, and to mirror in a way the way that Javed was touching him.

Someone started clapping and Menel gently touched the edge of Javed's hair where it stuck to his neck. Pushing it back. He smiled brightly, muscles shifting and that warning was what he gave before pulling Javed back up; both of them back to their feet. "Thank you." The words were pitched low, just for Javed's ears.

[Javed]

Menel pulled Javed upright as the small group that had witnessed their dance broke into clapping and back slapping. Of the musicians at least, there was no way Javed was going to allow for so many strangers to smash their hands all over his sweaty back and shoulders.

Mind, if Menel hadn't righted him the blond suspected he would have been watching the stars from where he had been just shy of collapsing. Every move made him feel worn and wobbly but pleased with the entire ordeal. So much so that he didn't snarl at Menel touching his hair, instead slinging an arm over the swordsman's shoulders companionably.

"You are quite welcome. Let's not do that again any time soon, yes? I'd like to be able to walk tomorrow." While Menel spoke quietly and surely meant more than just helping to entertain the caravan, Javed answered the underlying thanks by squeezing the bare shoulder  his hand rested on before releasing the other man and running a hand down his face. Some gold paint came off on his hand and he almost sighed at the prospect of having to remove and then attempt to reapply the designs on his face. Tragedy, but he supposed the artistry they had gifted their audience made up for the waste.

"And really, thank you fine people as well." This was directed at the musicians who were putting away their instruments. Strings given slack and drums stored safely where they belonged.   "It wouldn't have been half as exciting without you." The last of his energy was bleeding away and the pleasant numb feeling that remained was a sign of a good night's sleep in Javed's immediate future.

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