⟡ Master’s apprentice ⟡
✦ Summary - After searching long and hard Caranthir finally meets the sorceress he had been teaching from across worlds
⟡ Caranthir x reader
✦ Content - apprentice/teacher dynamic - Warnings - reader is a human sorceress, master dynamic, power imbalance, elf/human hate, not proofread
The Skellige seas were dark, almost black apart from the white foam topping the rough waves. Cold winds whipped at your face as you stood on the shore, overlooking the raw beauty of it all. The skies above were nearly as dark, foreboding more downpour. It could be any moment now, you sensed it. The air crackled and the scent of ozone hit your nostrils first, then it came. Before your eyes space itself tore open like a fresh wound, cold pouring out and freezing even the unruly waves.
The black bough of ship breached the portal first, adorned with heavy, metal reinforcements. The Naglfar. It crashed through and dropped into the quickly growing patch of ice. The metal groaned as the ship pushed through the frozen growlers before it finally came to a halt close to shore.
The portal closed but the cold lingered, making you tug your fur-lined cloak tighter around you. By now the water around the ship had frozen over, allowing the armed soldiers of the Wild Hunt to walk to shore. They were following clear orders as they formed smaller groups to scout the island.
Before long a familiar figure appeared among them, beelining toward you with clear intent. You quickly bow your head respectfully and keep your gaze lowered. “Welcome, master.” You speak as the elf comes to stand before you, observing you with a clinical look. After an uncomfortable silence his armored hand takes hold of your chin. Your head titled up and to the sides as you’re inspected by your master.
Caranthir takes his time to examine every inch of you, his gaze lingering especially long on your rounded ears. Still wearing his helmet his expression was impossible to read. “You’re a dh’oine.” He eventually states with a rough voice, not bothering to hide his disappointment. You nod softly, not daring to look him in the face, letting your gaze linger on his intricate breastplate instead.
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She came to him when he least expected it. While searching for Cirilla and jumping through time and space again and again he had been at his limits. Then suddenly, while trying to set a course to Cirilla’s homeworld, he felt it. It was like a bright star in dark, endless void, almost calling to him. At first he could do nothing but assume it must’ve been a trace of Cirilla’s magic but when he allowed himself closer he felt it. Another consciousness, magic in nature like many who practiced sorcery. Though this one seemed to have strayed into the dark, away from their physical form, curious to a dangerous extent.
He had reached out in a trance, consciousnesses brushing past each other before he sunk in his talons. Leaving no escape he examined, instead of struggling she submitted like a dog eager to show its belly.
Useful, that’s what he had told himself it was. A sorceress usable as an anchor once they needed a quick return to Cirilla’s homeworld. So during the day they pursued the girl of the Elder Blood and when he slept his mind sought hers, teaching her, molding her. When the time came he’d use their growing bond to the hunt’s advantage.
She was eager to learn, eager to please her master and teacher. She must be lonely, he thought, yet strong. Clearly she must’ve been one of his kind, an elven sorceress with tremendous potential.
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So now, when faced with the truth he felt conflicted. You were what he had always hated, inferior and fragile. A round-eared, meek, pathetic little dh’oine. He had had such high hopes, this was a disappointment. Yet you could still be useful, in a way, he supposed. If only for your loyalty. You’d throw yourself into whatever hell he asked of you, he knew that.
“-your tent, lieutenant?” A voice shook him from his thoughts. Caranthir whipped his head towards the soldier addressing him. “…What-?” He asked with a low voice. The soldier repeats himself. “Will the dh’oine be staying in your tent, lieutenant?” Caranthir wanted to snap back that of course not, no filth would be sleeping in his tent. Though he holds his tongue and forces himself to think rationally. “Yes, make it so.” He replies after a moment of silence, his hand still holding your chin.
That is how you found yourself whispering spells under your breath, enchanting the lining of Caranthir’s tent on his behalf. Something to keep out the cold, some words to repel the downpour. Caranthir watches quietly, his eyes lingering on your lips. The way you whisper is so gentle, almost loving, like you’re performing some great miracle.
A camp bed awaited him. Peaceful, uninterrupted sleep. On the other side of the tent a less impressive bedroll was laid out on the floor for you. “That’s enough.” The tall elf commands and you finish casting the last spell. With a quiet sigh his shoulders relax a little for what feels like the first time in a decade. His helmet slides off his head and he sets it on the small table beside him. You couldn’t help but watch as the blond hair spilled past his shoulders. He has a handsome face that made you want to reminisce over every detail. To mourn the helmet that would hide such beauty from view.
“Help me with these.” He groans softly as his hands fidget with the straps of his armor. You are quick to take over for him, loosening them one by one and carefully taking away the pieces. Up close he looked more exhausted than you had initially realized so you tried to be quick about it. Carathir appreciated that, straight to the point, just as he liked. Once freed he sat down onto the bed with a small groan. It felt like the bed was still swaying slightly but for once his feet were planted on solid ground instead of aboard the Naglfar.
“Will you be able to sleep, master?” You asked him softly. The way you said it gave away how you truly did care, like you weren’t just asking because it was expected of you. The elf nods before gesturing at the bedroll. “You should get some sleep as well, tomorrow we’ll continue your teachings.”
Once the sun had set the weather outside had turned unforgiving, cold winds lashing at the encampment. The bed however was warm, yet Caranthir still had a hard time falling asleep, his mind not yet willing to be put to rest. At some point his gaze had come to rest on you, rolled up tightly in your cloak. It made no real difference, you were shivering still. Eyes pressed shut as if to will away the cold seeping into your body.
Caranthir had reluctantly come to realize that in certain lights you looked somewhat comely, despite being human. Even now, when his body yearned for rest but his thoughts were elsewhere, he could imagine you’d perhaps even be pretty. Had you been born as an elf maid of course, he quickly reminds himself. Truly it was his own fault, he had assumed a great many things while your minds had conversed over impossible distances. He would not make such a mistake again. Though you were sweet, if anything, and you meant every word of it too. Even while tapping into your mind he could find nothing but adoration and wonder. Naturally of course, he was something unique after all.
His aimless cogitating is cut short when he too feels the cold seep through the furs and blankets around him. For a moment he contemplates simply casting a quick incantation but he did not wish to exert himself more. Besides, however much he wished to deny it he yearned for a different warmth now, one that no quick spell could imitate. Not like Imlerith, he wouldn’t stoop so low, just… something to hold. He looks over again and with a reluctant sigh he throws back his covers.
“Come here.” He mutters softly. It takes a moment to register his words but with the way you’re slowly freezing up you don’t hesitate for long. Before long you’re under the covers with him, laying perfectly straight while staring at the canvas above you. You weren’t sure how to act, what to do nor what was expected of you. Luckily Caranthir doesn’t wait long to give instructions. “Turn over, back to me.” He murmurs, after which his arms soon curl around you and pull you back against his chest.
Your hair tickles his face as he buries his nose in the back of your neck. For now he’ll ignore how fast your heart beats in favor of the shared warmth. He’ll ignore how your scent is not totally repulsive. It’s something sweet with something floral that makes him want to breathe you in shamelessly. It’s because the hour is late, because he is exhausted and because he misses the comforts of home. He’s not himself, that is what he convinces himself.
So for now he will hold you close and relishes this simple comfort. Perhaps tomorrow he shall do the same and the day after that. It meant nothing after all, though it was getting harder to persuade himself of that.
⟡ Notes - This is lowkey ass but I really wanted to write for Caranthir and I’m having a creative block, womp womp
