Something is wrong with Alexander.
He spent the entirety of last night in a state of anguish, without being able to get a single minute of sleep.
David had been awake, too. The enchanter could sense it, he knew. And although Alexander hadn’t held any fears regarding the bard potentially assassinating him, what he was afraid of, were the shameful feelings of longing, that this man had evoked deep within his mind.
And now, he has truly done it—under David’s watchful gaze, he has managed to fail at the simplest of tasks. If only the bard had not interrupted, by complimenting him…
Alexander sighs as he recalls the incident, which ended with him explaining that he was not cooking an egg, but disinfecting it. “What you think I am, David?” he had said, with a scoff, and the roll of his eyes. “A peasant? Gods, of course, I would not eat it just like that! I don’t want to be sick, and trust me, neither do you!”
Well, he had refrained from stating that he’d learned this from his mistakes, but David did not need to know that. Alexander had already humiliated himself far enough today.
The two stand outside Alexander’s cave, after having eaten a rather unfulfilling meal that consisted of miserable pieces of bread. Alexander did not want to take the risk of wasting yet another egg; he had a feeling he wouldn’t be able to control his powers much today anyway, with how David’s voice makes him feel, each time he hears it.
Something howls in the distance, a wolf, perhaps. The young enchanter rubs at his tired eyes. He prays for safe travels, then visualises himself returning to his humble abode in a few months’ time with his eyes shut. The young enchanter cannot say for certain whether or not this will do anything to aid him in his journey, it is merely a trick he has heard can sometimes help one achieve their unattainable goals.
The spirits that had been haunting the young enchanter throw a myriad of complaints at him in the form of whispers, and in the shape of twigs that go flying at him and David’s figure. However, unfortunately for them—and, thankfully, for Alexander—these pesky voices cannot do more than that, for they are bound to the terrain across which they died.
At first, Alexander would feel guilty for turning them away. Yet, as the years went on, he learned that if he were to answer to every call—every beckon and request—he would not have time to live his own life, not pursue any of his dreams, as little as they may be.
It is cruel to think this way, he admits, but it is also necessary. No one man could ever match the number of lost souls which roam these lands, this world.
Although if it feels like weeks since they set off—the young enchanter cannot stop staring at David’s bare arms; the way the bard’s armor tends to give him a much larger frame—their first journey is shorter than what Alexander initially expected.
Alexander’s gaze trails off to the world around them, a small town he has never been to before, one far from everything he has ever known. This is by far the most bizarre incident that has happened to him in his life…finally accepting that he would be alone forever, only to have this charming stranger walk in to his life and sweep him away from the mundane? This is like the vulgar plot of a romance novel he had once stolen from his beloved library, and Alexander will not let his guard down no matter what, for his life is not fiction, and this is no dream—if it is too perfect, then surely, there is more to this than meets the eye.
He isn’t getting his hopes up, nor has he accepted David’s proposal in order to grow closer to the bard in such carnal ways—only, refusing would have meant that Alexander would have never known the end of David’s story. He would have likely thought about the bard for the rest of his days. And what a curse that would be.
Yes, the young enchanter would much rather get this over with, help David, then bid him farewell forever.
That is how things should be, and he will make sure it is how they finish, by the end of their quest.
Alexander bites his lip. Carnal ways… He knits his brows together then cringes, as the mental image of him and another man come to mind. Even if Alexander wanted to—and in the case that the bard were to accept—the young enchanter doubts he could go through with such an act.
As tempting as David is, the young enchanter still cannot stand the sight of himself without his undergarments, nor could he expect to be taken seriously as a man, in the case that David were to touch his nether regions.
David is lucky, in that aspect—he does not need to fight to convince the world, of who he truly is.
“Hey? Hello?”
Someone waves a hand before the young enchanter’s face. Alexander blinks, as he realises then and there, that he’d been lost inside the labyrinth that had become his thoughts. “My apologies.” Alexander clears his throat. He straightens up, then dusts a leaf that had fallen onto his cape, away. “What was it that you were saying?” he asks David, who has now long retreated his hand from the enchanter’s cloak.
The bard lets out a sigh of relief. He presses an open palm to his chest. “I thought you were having some weird, magical-curse-moment for a bit, there! You scared me!”
Now, it is Alexander’s turn to huff; though, in his case, it is in exasperation at David’s words. “I was thinking, that is all…” he mutters, whilst he crosses his arms, and looks away again.
“…Well, whatever.” David shrugs. “As long as you’re okay, that’s cool.” He motions at a faraway building. “There’s a renowned painter who lives nearby. I was thinking we could ask him to draw my friends, so that it’s easier to show people what they look like, when we start questioning the other villagers.”
“And waste how many coins?” The young enchanter cackles again; this earns him a few judgemental glares from David, and the other citizens nearby. And, Ah, that’s right, he thinks to himself, He had almost forgotten—all of these unspoken, whispered rules.
Alexander is not alone anymore. He must behave, here, in this world, that isn’t just his own.
David leans his weight against his better leg. “Do you have a better idea?” he asks the young enchanter, in a rather clueless, confused tone of voice. “It might be a few gold coins, yes, but it’s definitely worth it. We aren’t paying for a mere drawing, we are paying for his time, and his talent. You have to understand that—”
“I am not trying to belittle art, David.”
The bard cocks his head to the side. He frowns again. “Uh—” He pauses. “You’re not? What? But then, why did you say—”
“Because,” the young enchanter smirks; he points to himself with pride, “I’ll draw your friends myself!”
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