An Ill-Advised Decision

by gremlinbehaviour (Onehelluvapilot)

Summary:

Murray is woken in the middle of the night to a heavy knock on her door.

Murrray never used to be quick to wake. She wasn’t a layabout, by any means; she could work as hard as the best of them, and usually did a much better job. And she wasn’t averse to staying up late when the situation called for it. But mornings were her time. As soon as she’d gotten to the Penteveral and gained some measure of stability in life, she’d prioritized taking a lazy morning at least once a week, letting herself doze for hours , relishing sweet dreams and having an Unseen Servant bring her breakfast in bed.

Recently, though, there’d been simply too much to do. She had to be extra careful to never be seen slacking off even slightly at work, to give them no excuse to fire her. So she arrived early and stayed late, and took lunch at her desk more often than not. And then working behind the scenes with Hal, Azune, and Bolaire against the Sundered Houses in general was also far from restful. She’d had to give up her slow mornings in bed long since, and started jumping to her feet as soon as she woke.

But this was a little early, even for her. Someone was pounding on the door to her walk-up apartment, despite the fact that it was fully dark outside. She wasn’t even sure if it was morning, not still night. It certainly didn’t feel like she’d had a full night of rest yet, or even most of one.

Murray clambered out of bed, quietly. If they were knocking on her door, it probably wasn’t someone trying to ambush her, but she still wasn’t planning to announce her location just in case. She crept to the door and checked the peephole, conveniently located at the eyeline. Her apartment wasn’t properly dwarven-sized, as those were rare and expensive in the predominantly orcish city of Dol-Makjar, but it had been fixed up for someone of her height with modifications such as built-in step stools in the kitchen and was filled with right-sized furniture.

It was Azune outside, though it was hard to tell from the view she got with the way he seemed to be leaning against her door. Out of an abundance of caution, which the Arcane Marshall himself advised, she cast Detect Magic. She felt his distinct signature as both an exemplar and sorcerer, so it was definitely him and not someone disguised in his visage, but there was something just slightly… off about his aura. She cast Mage Armor on herself before opening the door.

Azune collapsed into the apartment immediately. Murray was barely able to step back in time to avoid being crushed as he fell to his knees, but then darted in to grab his shoulder and stop him toppling over completely. At least he seemed conscious enough to support himself upright once he was on his knees, of a height with her. He wasn’t wearing his Marshall’s uniform and instead had a plain cloak wrapped around him with a hood covering his head. So not on patrol, then, and clearly trying to be nondescript to avoid drawing any attention to Murray.

“Shit, sorry,” he swore as he tried to stumble back to his feet. Normally, Murray hated anyone putting their hand on her shoulder, as it was too close to her best ‘look but don’t touch’ assets, but she let him do so for support. She didn’t even object when his hand landed and yanked on her loose hair, as clearly he was in no state to be careful about it.

“What in the world happened to you?” She asked as she helped him stumble towards the couch. As she did, she cast Mage Hand to quickly close and lock the door behind them. Azune reached out to clasp the arm of the couch as soon as they were in range of it, leaning on it heavily. He seemed to try to use the grasp to lower himself more lightly to the piece of low furniture, but didn’t have the strength and all but collapsed onto the cushions. Good thing dwarven furniture was sturdily built, even when it was made of wood rather than stone. Murray pulled over a footstool to sit in front of him.

Azune’s hood and cloak had fallen back from around him when he sat down, revealing that he wasn’t in his armor but in civilian clothes. Not likely that he’d been in a fight, then. For a second, Murray wondered if he was just drunk. There was a flush across his cheeks below his scars and birthmark, and he was breathing heavily. But when she touched his skin, she realized he was flushed from fever, not alcohol. His skin was warm, and his right arm in particular was red and inflamed. 

Like Murray, Azune tended to wear clothing that kept his best assets on display. For him, this was his biceps. And today, that gave Murray a good look at what seemed to be causing the problem. She took hold of his right arm and turned it over to see that there were bright red streaks emanating from his tattoo. Or rather, from the new part of it. ‘May the Light’ had been added above ‘Have mercy on those I send you.’ Aside from the grammatical inaccuracy, it did not seem like a sentiment Azune would have willingly inked onto his skin. From the physical reaction to the new lettering, it appeared that his body also disagreed with it.

“You didn’t strike me as the type to let a new tattoo get infected, kid,” Murray said. Even if he hadn’t had time to take care of the raw skin as needed, the exemplar had multiple healing abilities. It shouldn’t have gotten to this state. Not to mention that she’d seen him two days ago, and he hadn’t seemed sick at all then. He also hadn’t had this new part of his tattoo. 

Murray cast Prestidigitation on an empty metal mug left on the side table beside the couch, cooling it down to ice-cold, and pressed it to the inflamed area. Azune groaned, but it seemed to be as much in relief as surprise. He dropped his head back onto the backrest of the sofa. It was too short for him and the position left his throat bared to her. For someone raised the way he had been, Murray knew that showed how much he trusted her. Along with the fact that he had come to her apartment in the first place.

“It’s- not infected,” Azune sighed. “It was done with Filament as the ink.”

“Filament?!” Murray all but shouted. “Why would you-” The two of them, along with Hal and Bolaire, had been investigating what Filament was capable of, what it even was, tracking the trade of it throughout the city as well as shipments outside Dol-Makjar. It was not something any of them should have trusted enough to inject into their bodies. 

Oddly, though, from what they knew of Filament tattoos from Wicander, this one wasn’t glowing like it should have been. Murray couldn’t decide if she thought that was a good thing or a bad one.

“It wasn’t- exactly my choice,” Azune said. “There’s new guards from House Halovar in the Revolutionary Guard, brought in to replace the layoffs. And they’ve been getting… a little suspicious about my exemplar abilities. I’m not the greatest liar, and they didn’t believe my skills came from the Light. It was about to get bad if I didn’t do something to back up my claim of having converted to the Candescent Creed.”

“Well, I don’t think this reaction against the Filament is going to help with that claim,” Murray said, with a curse for good measure. “How long ago did you even get this?”

“Earlier tonight. And yeah- I know. I think my inherent magic is fighting against it. I didn’t want to be discovered with this fever, which is why I came here.”

“Fuck, kid.” She sighed. “Do you think it will… well, I suppose you probably have no idea what’ll happen with this next, or else you wouldn’t have gotten it in the first place.” 

She wondered whether his body would successfully fight off the ‘infection’ of Filament, and what that would mean for the tattoo. Would the new lettering remain, even if it didn’t glow? Or would it disappear entirely? Neither would be inconspicuous to his new coworkers. He may have exposed his innate magic further in his attempt to conceal it.

“Yeah. Not my best decision. Sorry.”

“Ain’t got nothing to apologize for,” Murray said. “We all do impulsive shit without thinking it through sometimes. Hells, you know I do that all the time. Just means we have to figure out what to do about it now.”

She gave him a grin, exposing her gem teeth.

“And I can’t say this isn’t a fascinating research opportunity regarding Filament. Mind if I call Bolaire in, too?”

Azune shook his head. “I suppose the more eyes we have on it, the better,” he agreed.

“Alright. Sit tight, then, while I send a bird. Anything I can get you while I’m up?”

“Some water?”

“‘Course.” Murray passed him the cold mug to use on his arm, repeating Prestidigitation to get it as cold as was bearable, before standing. She got him a glass of water from the kitchen and then went to the attic to send a bird.

When she returned downstairs, Azune had closed his eyes. His inflamed arm was draped across his lap, his other hand cradling the elbow. He cracked his eye open for a moment at the sound of Murray’s footsteps. At the sight of her, a weak smile broke across his face, and his shoulders dropped a fraction as he seemed to relax more. It was ruined a moment later by a shiver, and Murray detoured to her bedroom to grab a blanket from her bed. She wasn’t the type to keep a throw on the couch, unless someone was staying the night. Which Azune probably would be, now that she thought of it. She shook the blanket out and tossed it over him. Even without the top being pulled up to his chin, the bottom edge didn’t reach quite to his feet. 

Murray sat down next to him on the couch, as he had propped his legs up on the stool she’d been sitting on before. “You mind if I do a little identification magic on that Filament in your arm? Shouldn’t hurt or anything, and you can still sleep if you want.”

“Go for it,” Azune agreed. He stuck his arm out from under the blanket towards her. “I might… I might nap, though. I don’t feel so good.” His face remained flushed, although he had drunk all of the water she brought him, and his skin had lost none of its feverish heat.

“Yeah, can’t exactly imagine that you would,” Murray said. She tucked the blanket in tighter around him. “Get some rest, babe, I've got you.” As she set up to cast Identify ritually, his breathing gradually eased and his form slumped deeper onto her too-small couch. Relaxed in trust, he didn’t wake when she touched his arm or pressed a kiss to his forehead.

Notes:

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