Aurem woke blearily to a world of pain. He felt and heard the sound of a groan leaving his lips, feeling a faint rush of heat as blood pulled on the cracked surface. His eyes opened, vision swimming for a moment, aware of a stiff, but shivering body pressed at his side. The biting cold was the worst of it, although he felt no wind. So he couldn’t have been outside, and the ground below was too soft to be snow.

His vision cleared after a moment, and Aurem shook his head slightly, closing his eyes once again. His senses slowly returned, bleary and duller than they should have been. He felt furs beneath him, his wrists bound behind him, muscles aching at the position he must have been for an extended period of time. He had no idea what the hell happened, or why his head hurt so damn much. And pretty much every other part of him. They only thing that didn’t were probably his feet, and…

Aurem’s eyes snapped open again, as everything came flooding back to him. His magic surged, and then choked- and finally fizzled out, as it met the force of the silencer around his neck. Wriggling slightly, with a low growl, Aurem tried to crane his head around at an angle, to catch sight of the collar. His blood pounded in his ears, both fury and fear fueling his movements. But all it earned him was a rush of pain and nausea as his head swam again.

So, it wasn’t smart to move that much. At least not his head, until everything settled down. He heaved once but then swallowed hard, his throat feeling dry as a desert, before forcing his muscles to relax. What he could manage, anyways. Instead, he let his amber gaze shift around the room, taking things in. He was inside a tent- that much he knew. Small, and crowded with boxes and other things. It seemed to be a sort of storage tent, though nothing of note caught his eyes.

It wasn’t until his gaze shifted to the side, where he saw another figure bundled and collared like he. A flash of dark hair, and pale skin caused Aurem to narrow his eyes. He sort of recognized this mage- though not by name. He was one of the others who had been with the army at the same time as him. They were almost always separated from each other at night, and mingling was discouraged. Many mages ignored the rules, since they were honestly lax. But Aurem had no wish to interact with other people. Not when the basic meetings often gave him headaches. And this was a headache of another kind entirely. So, though he had scene the mage once or twice had didn’t know the man’s name. Or kid, rather. The boy could only have been just over eighteen, even if he looked young for his age.

Aurem’s frown turned into a scowl, though, as he caught a flush on the man’s cheeks, and wriggled closer. He hesitated a moment, before he managed to press his cheek against the others’. He was burning hot. Aurem cursed slightly, eyes darting towards the flap of the tent. A cold draft blew through, and he caught the faint rays of sunlight filtering in. Whoever this mage was had a horrible fever. Either from the snow, or exhaustion, Aurem didn’t know. But if the Undari had taken them prisoner…

Aurem’s heart sank. Of course they had. Goddesses damn his luck. He grit his teeth, shifting his gaze back to the unconscious mage. He wetted his dry lips with his tongue, and continued to frown. Without his magic, he couldn’t heal even the simplest of fevers. And somehow, Aurem doubted they would care. He’d heard Undari had no sympathy for the sick or weak. Tales of sickened children being thrown into the forest, to be torn apart by beasts, came to mind as Aurem lay there. They had certainly been brutal enough to ambush the army in the middle of a storm, Aurem recalled bitterly. There was no telling how they would deal with a sick enemy. Especially an enemy mage.

They had been taken for some reason Aurem didn’t know. But it didn’t mean they wanted the both of them. Distant as he might be from the others of his own country, he wasn’t so heartless to think they deserved to die. Especially someone as young as this.

“Barbarians…” he muttered under his breath, starting to try and sit up. There were weapons off to the side. If he could crawl over, and cut the ropes binding him, he could do something. He couldn’t use his magic, but he could try to help in some way.

Aurem grunted, though, as even trying to sit nearly sent him sprawling back onto the furs below. Blocked from his magic, it was like all the life had been sucked from his limbs. He could feel it there, tantalizingly out of reach. Pulsing beneath the surface, and yet so far away from him. He didn’t know how in the six hells the Undari got hold of one, let alone two, of these cursed collars. Salvaged them from another battle, perhaps. Or from desperate traders who had come from Delfin cities. He imagined the Undari would deign to trade with outsiders, if it gave them an edge like this.

Aurem huffed lightly, but managed to crawl close to one of the boxes nearby, where a metal hinge was sticking out. Whatever else they might be, Aurem knew the Undari were not stupid, but it was a mistake on their part- a mistake that gave him an opportunity to possibly free himself. Or maybe they expected the mages to be too weak to do anything. Aurem wasn’t stupid enough to try escaping- not when he could hear movement and voices from outside. The sun was high, and it would be rather obvious if he managed to step out of the tent. Escape wasn’t an option, but it wasn’t his current intention.

His only goal right now was to do what he could to help the unconscious mage with him. Perhaps not being alone would make this somehow less terrifying than it was. The stories alone were enough to chill his blood. He doubted all of them were true, but some of them had to be- he had witnessed some of them himself. A memory of burning red eyes caused Aurem to shudder, and then grit his teeth. He cleared the thoughts from his mind, and continued sawing through the ropes as best he could. His muscles strained, and ached from the position he was forcing himself into. He vaguely remembered the spear wound at his back, and the blood on the snow around him. It would explain the burning pain and the growing dampness against his back. He must have opened the wound again. Sighing sharply, Aurem nearly collapsed with relief when he managed to cut through the rest of the rope.

Gingerly rubbing his wrists, Aurem scooted back towards the unconscious mage, and rolled him to his back. There were a few visible bruises on the man’s face, and Aurem gingerly checked for any breaks. So far as he could tell, without magic, he didn’t seem seriously injured. No bones felt out of place, and he hardly stirred at all of the poking and prodding. Which probably wasn’t a good sign, considering. But most likely his deep sleep was a side effect of both the fever and the silencer.

Aurem tested his temperature again, and then pursed his lips once more, wiping away a layer of sweat from the mage’s forehead. “Won’t know until you wake up,” he said quietly, giving another glance around the room. He spotted what looked like a healer’s kit, and shuffled his way over there, crawling on his knees to remain quiet as possible. Sighing in relief, something finally going right, Aurem lifted the lid and saw bundles of herbs inside. Familiar ones, too. He clutched the box to his chest, and then crawled back over to the dark haired mage, and knelt by his side for a moment. It was either a stroke of luck, or the gods were on his side. He couldn’t imagine one of the Undari had left this there on purpose- it was a supply tent it seemed, and likely there were weapons, furs, and anything else extra the warriors might need.

Though he usually relied on magic, he did recall some of the classes the tower had forced on them, about healing without magic. Not everyone had access to healing magic- just like he couldn’t summon a creature to save his life. But healing, he could do. And rudimentary herbs, he could handle as well. As Aurem set to work making a paste for the fever first, he had a rather pressing realization that he should have had a few minutes ago. If the Undari found him unbound and free, what would they do to him?

Aurem snorted. Like this, he was hardly a threat. He’d never taken a physical lesson in his life. And running away on the streets was a far cry from being battle ready without his magic. Perhaps the only one less suited to fighting than him might be the mage he was tending to. The other mage was small, and slender, the very stereotypical idea of a mage that most soldiers had. Not that Aurem himself was much different- still, he at least had some meat on his bones. Aurem glanced to his arm, and then reconsidered his thought. Well, he was more than skin and bone, at least. He was healthy. Whereas the mage looked almost like he was wasting away. All things considered, his weight and stature didn’t bode well for his condition.

Rubbing the herbs into the mage’s forehead, Aurem wracked his brain for the man’s name again. Nothing came, and after a few minutes of sitting there feeling like an idiot, Aurem gave in. If the mage woke, then he would get his name then. If they were in this together, he might as well know his name at least. And if he didn’t make it- it might be better to not know his name. He pushed such thoughts away, and tore off a piece of cloth from his own uniform to make a makeshift rag for the other mage. His cloak had been taken sometime between when he fell unconscious, and when he awoke. Whether it survived the battle, he didn’t know, but at the moment it was among the least of his worries.

Aurem gingerly wiped up sweat from the man’s brow and neck, getting a closer look. He was young- younger than his own twenty five years. Give or take a few. He was hardly a child, but not really quite grown all the way yet. He felt a pang for the poor mage, knowing it might have been his first battle. His clothes were well made, and he had certain defining features that marked him as noble. The high brow, sharp cheek bones. At least, among the nobility he had seen, it was common. And really, he only knew the noble mages within the tower, since he rarely ventured out if he could help it.

Setting the cloth aside, Aurem dabbed more paste on the flushed skin and then leaned back, watching the rise and fall of the mage’s chest. He looked slightly better than before, though Aurem wasn’t sure if he was just seeing what he wanted, or if it was really working. “Undari bastards,” he grumbled under his breath, not for the first time. It would be so simple to just heal his own wounds, and then the other mage’s. But doing that would mean releasing the silencer, and he doubted that would ever happen.

Aurem’s heart gave a lurch when the tent flap suddenly opened. He whirled around, eyes widening, and then narrowing as an Undari man leaned into the tent. He met the man’s dark eyes, and cursed softly under his breath, as the man recognized he was free. Well, it wasn’t like he had expected it to go well- but he had hoped he would have had more time to take in everything that had happened…