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"Can I?"
Varel looks up from his cut hand to Warden Commander Caron's attentive gaze and outstretched hands.
The cut was shallow, from carelessly swiping his hand along the rose bush as they did their morning walk across the grounds of Vigil's Keep.
It began after Varel was released from the healer's quarters. The ogre left its mark, broken ribs and stiff chest and arms, with a slew of other injuries. Anders and the other healers, once they were sure Varel wasn't a dead man walking, had him on a routine of exercises to ensure his body would recover and not end up with permanent stiffness and reduced range of motion. First a walk, then different sets, much like the drills Varel would have run in the past.
It was to Varel's surprise that the Commander, sitting in on the talk with the healers, volunteered to give him company with the exercises. Varel agreed to the arrangement.
As early risers, it was just them and a few guards up on the ramparts awake as the sky turned from a pink and blue hue into expectant orange with the sun soon following.
Both men stop by an alcove lit by a torch to examine the injury. It stung, but nothing more. Regardless, Varel offers his hand to the Commander–to Celestin.
His hands, dark and warm, were covered with his armored talons and gauntlets, gleaning metal cool to the touch, leaving only parts of his palms to touch Varel's skin without restraint. It was rare to see Celestin without any armor, and even then the least amount of armor he ever wears is in these mornings, tinted silverite arms and a padded chest plate over his dark purple robes.
It feels sacred, that he feels safe enough with Varel to lower his guard, even if to a small degree. Another part of Varel would think that his assumption of Celestin was egotistical.
Drawn from his thoughts, Celestin takes his arm. With one hand, Celestin turns Varel's hand gently to check for any other cuts, while the other holds a steady grasp on his wrist, right at his pulse.
Slightly smaller than Varel, he nonetheless ducks his head down to focus his attention solely on his hand, leaving Varel to stare down at the scene.
His long dark hair is in its usual braid, followed by smaller twin braids with Chasind copper clasps framing his face, much like how his tattoos frame his eyes and forehead. Varel knew that Celestin had trimmed his beard back to a thick stubble, always short and manageable. His eyes, black and intense, highlighted by the darkened skin around his eyes, were zeroed into the cut.
The attention is suffocating, the armor cool, and Celestin's breath on his skin, small puffs of warm air, ticklish. Varel shivers.
"I apologize," Celestin says, retracting his hands. "Let me remove these." And begins to unclasp his delicate gauntlets.
"Commander-" Varel starts, then tries, "-Celestin. It looks worst than it is. Don't worry about this scratch."
Celestin doesn't respond, and gently places his gauntlets, one by one, with a quiet clink on a ledge.
Varel sighs. Perhaps he was getting tired of everyone being delicate with him, despite his survival against odds over the decades, so he acts on impulse.
With the Chasind man distracted, Varel quickly holds one of his wrists with his other hand and pulls him closer, bending his head down, close to his face, making sure that eye contact is made with him.
Celestin doesn't quite flinch, but allows himself to be pulled in and blinks slowly.
"Commander, do not worry for me, you have much bigger things to think of instead of me."
It was just a cut, Varel thinks, the Warden Commander has seen worse, but alas. They're at a standstill, with Celestin's wrist still in Varel's hold. He hadn't pulled away nor looked at him.
"I have heard you say that before Senechal," Celestin says finally. He grasps Varel's injured hand with his free hand again, now a tangle of hands and elbows between them, but meets his eyes underneath his lashes. "With the arrow from the assassin, and the healers said you said something similar with the ogre. And yet I can't help but worry regardless."
Varel... is at a loss for words. Luckily, Celestin continues, his Orlesian accent, coloured by his Chasind heritage, a touch more heavy.
His lips twitch. "I'm giving you direct orders to not get yourself killed anymore. Or, at the very least, do it when I'm there so I can heal you." His eyes flutter and looks away when he says: "I wish I could have been here when the attack happened, if only to minimize your injuries earlier on."
Varel begins to protest when he's cut off.
"I...Varel. Can I heal this for you? With magic," he clarifies, as if there was any confusion on the matter. His fingers figet in place.
"Of course, Commander. I would be grateful."
"Celestin, please," he murmurs and casts a small spell. A faint glow rises from Varel's hand and then disappears, revealing not even a scar on his palm.
The tangle of hands, each holding the other, stays between them. Varel feels the sun against his skin, now rising with the new day.
"Celestin," Varel echoes softly.
Varel makes sure to meet his eyes when he says it, and relishes the smile that flickers onto Celestin's lips.