"Hey. Stay awake."
For rook/davrin
this... went in a slightly unexpected direction... Storm is being very werid about my whump and angsting him recently 😂 he seems very determined to get fluff and romance and stuff. Honestly I think he might have actually gained sentience, or at least opinions.
Also I have a feeling this might expand into a full fic as I have thoughts! anyway...
some Storm (Rook) being totally incapible to being a normal sensible human for @dadrunkwriting
“Rook, I really must insist.”
Storm ignored Emmrich’s continued protests, stumbling again as they crossed the gutted shop.
“Rook. Listen to him.”
Davrin had a hand on his shoulder.
When had that happened?
Storm blinked, staring at it for a moment before shaking his head. “We’re almost at the Eluvian. No sense stopping now for more Venatori to find us.”
Davrin frowned—but didn’t argue.
Good.
But his hand also didn’t move.
Less good.
And he wasn’t looking at Storm’s face anymore.
Storm followed his gaze.
His arm.
The bandage he’d wrapped earlier was soaked through, dark red spreading steadily through the linen.
Right. That tracked. It neede stiches. He’d already assessed that, and filed it under later.
Nothing to be done now.
Eluvian. Debrief. Pass out.
That was the list.
Maybe—after the debrief —he could stitch it. If his hands were steady enough. Compression at least. Yarrow tincture. He had some in his room. Probably.
Storm shook his head, harder this time, forcing the thoughts down as nausea curled low in his stomach.
It was fine.
If he were actually bleeding out, he’d have collapsed already.
“We’re almost there,” he said again, firmer—and pulled away from Davrin’s grip.
He stepped around a charred table.
Limping, he noted absently. Whatever had hit his calf earlier was burning now. Minor concern.
Assan trotted up beside him, giving a soft, worried whine as he bumped his head against Storm’s leg.
Not helpful.
Storm nearly tripped again, catching himself on the threshold.
The griffon whined, wings fluttering.
“Here, boy,” Davrin called. Assan hesitated, head tilting as he looked back at Storm—then turned and bounded over to Davrin.
Storm exhaled and pushed forward.
The Eluvian waited in the far room.
Still. Silent.
He limped toward it, pulling the lyrium dagger from his belt and lifting it to the glass.
It flickered.
Glowed.
Finally. Something today was actually going right.
He glanced back—Davrin close behind, Emmrich lingering by a pile of scorched books seeemingly distracted, Assan watching with too intelligent eeyes. He turned back towards the Eluvian— —The floor slipped sideways as the world tilted.
Edges smeared.
“Rook?”
Colour bled across Storm’s vision. Teal. Gold. Smoke-dark shadows.
His knees buckled.
Something solid caught him—hard—and the jolt sent pain flaring white-hot through his arm, his ribs, his wrist.
“Rook?” Davrin's voice echoed slightyl.
“I’m fine,” Storm muttered automatically. The words sounding oddly slurred. He had no idea why, but suddenly the entire day just felt… funny.
He laughed—thin and breathless.
“Hey—stay awake.” Davrin’s voice was far too close now. Right at his ear.
Almost as if Storm was leaning against him.
Maybe he was.
Hard to tell.
Everything had gone soft at the edges, details slipping out of focus except for a few stubborn things: the smell of smoke, the rough press of armour against his back, the ache in his arm—
Davrin’s hand braced hard across his ribs. Davrin’s voice. Davrin’s scent. Davrin’s breath warm against the back of his neck.
The Eluvian’s glow painted everything in shifting teal and silver.
It was… pretty.
“Emmrich!” Storm winced. Too loud.
He
felt the lyrium dagger slip from his slack fingers, heard it clatter somewhere distant. He should say something about that—important—but all that came out was another thin, breathless laugh.
Maker.
That was embarrassing.
He sounded drunk. Or concussed. Or—
Blood loss, something in the back of his mind supplied.
Right.
That.
And no mana left.
That too.
Don’t pass out. Don’t pass out. Don’t—
His head sagged back against Davrin’s shoulder.
The world narrowed—warmth, pressure, the sharp, frantic edge creeping into Davrin’s voice.
Movement.
The floor rose toward him. Or he was lowered?
His hip pressed into cold floor. Then his shoulder. His head found something soft and warm, smelling of lether.
Davrin’s thigh?
Considerate. Embarrassing.
Emmrich’s robes swept into view. Rings flashed as fingers caught Storm’s chin, tilting his face.
Storm squinted. “You’re very… close.”
“Yes. That is generally how examining an injured person works.”
Storm hummed, faintly aware of Emmrich moving—pressure at his arm. Sharp pain.
He hissed, trying to pull away on, but Davrin’s hand pressed firm and steady against his good shoulder, holding him in place.
Emmrich muttered something about blood loss that Storm bearlty heard. The spinning softening into a thick, distant fog.
A hand tapped his cheek. “Eyes open.”
Storm groaned—but obeyed.
Davrin’s face hovered over him. Upside down. Blurred at the edges.
Dark brown eyes locked on his.
Sharp. Focused. Too intent.
Emmrich was still doing... something—another sharp sting that cut clean through the haze.
Storm jerked, breath catching, but Davrin held him steady.
This is bad, his mind supplied. Distant. Not spark of panic. That’s worse, his mind added.
That was… funny.
“Eyes open,” Davrin ordered again.
Storm tried.
Focused—clumsily—on those eyes.
Too close. Too intense. Too—
There was a sudden, irrational urge to sit up and kiss him.
Ridiculous.
Inconvenient.
He tried to move—
The room spun.
Tilted.
Everything collapsing to grey.