Setting his tea down, her master nodded his permission. She touched his shoulder first, a hand on each side, then moved one hand gingerly along his collarbone and chest while the other slid down his shoulder blade to his back. When both hands reached his waist, she slowly made her way back up his side, stopping under his arm.

“These are old scars, old wounds, but the pain is fresh.” She winced only slightly at the feeling and kept her voice steady, trying to hide her empathy.

He made no sound and she asked no questions. Taking her time, her warm, healing hands traveled over every part of his left side. As she healed, strands of hair were drained of their color, until she had multiple white strips running through her messy bun. This was more healing than she had done at one time and she could feel herself grow weary, but she also knew the visible wounds were not the only things on this body that needed her care.

“I know there is more you aren’t showing me.”

Her master looked at her, the smallest hint of surprise and concern in his gaze. His eyes drifting to her hair, he extended a hand to trace one of the lines.

“You really don’t know why that happens?”

“I really don’t. But it’s only visual. It does nothing to me.”

That was a bit of a lie. The whiter the hair, the less energy she had, but she didn’t need him to worry about her. He accepted that response and stood, untying the string at his waist until the linen pants became loose and dropped to the floor. A’nallia should have been shocked, her shyness overtaking her as she stared at a naked man for the first time in her life. Instead, her eyes were fixed on her master’s leg, a mangled mess of old scars many times worse than his torso. In some places, it was impossible to see where one ended and the next began. Along with the normal injuries, she saw stitch marks and signs of previously twisted knees, snapped muscle and tendons, and fractured bones.

Without asking, she kneeled on the floor and placed both hands around a thigh. Through the thick muscle, she could sense his old wounds, and she firmly moved warm hands from just below his hip down to his ankle, drawing out whatever pain or discomfort she could find. To have this number of scars, from so many injuries, he must have been in countless fights. Or perhaps one very long war. Concentrating on the healing, she didn’t allow herself to dwell on it.

When she finished, she sank to the floor, resting at his feet. She was exhausted and breathed deeply for many moments as her hair slowly regained color and her strength slowly returned. When most of the white had gone, she turned to look at her master, pants back on, sitting again on the edge of the bed. She stared at him for a long while until he finally broke the silence.

“Go ahead. Ask.”

“Ask?”

She had a million questions - about him, his life, his past, his wounds. She didn't even know his name. Why was he so beaten up? What had happened to him? How old was he? And those were only the pertinent questions for this moment. There were so many more she wanted to ask that had nothing to do with healing.

“You have questions for me.”

He didn’t show any feeling but the statement touched her heart. Instead of asking, she looked up into his eyes and smiled sadly.

“I cannot heal these wounds. They are old and deep, and my power is not strong enough. The best I can do is ease your pain. Take away some of your discomfort.”

“That is not a question.”

His face, as always, was distant and expressionless, but she knew there was something underneath. She had seen his scars and felt his pain. There was a sorrow that came with wounds like those. Perhaps that was the reason everyone was so serious around him - why they jumped at his commands and acted afraid to anger him. Maybe it was pity, not fear, which made his servants loyal and obedient. So she asked a question.

“Do you want me to stay?”

She was a little nervous, but no longer trembling. She wanted to stay, and her heart began to race, thinking he might tell her no. Her magic had done the best it could, but he needed more than her basic healing. He needed comfort, a retreat from everything that came with those old scars. She was no less broken, and she selfishly wanted the same thing.

For the second time since they had met, she saw emotion cloud his dark grey eyes, though she couldn’t pinpoint what it was. Sadness, uncertainty, or perhaps loneliness.

“The best I can do is ease your pain and take away some discomfort,” she repeated.

Her master shifted, silently laying down and rolling over to his side. She got up from the floor and snuffed out the light on the bedside table before curling up tightly against his warm, bare back.