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Amalric read long into the night—more so than he should have, perhaps, but hours had a way of getting away from him at such times, and he couldn’t have been sure when it was exactly of course that he blew out his light, but the moon was high and bright with the surrounding stars. At least he fell to sleep instantly, and he had almost forgotten in earnest that he had company.

He might have, but for the occasional, light interspersion of snoring, before it would fade again. Fortunately, it wasn’t obtrusive, and little louder than the wind.

Besides, his youngest cousin snored like an avalanche. It was almost more odd to have something so intermittent. His brain was happy, though, to mostly ignore it, and it didn't impede him in getting his rest.

The following day he spent entirely away. Though he was generally bookish and inclined to dwell in private spaces when the opportunity presented itself, he simply could not afford it at present. He needed work, coin, direction, information—a great deal of things, truth be told—and he had a limited amount of time and funds within which to work out the details. So he returned first to the ‘crash’ site and ended up devoting most of his day to that. Being new to the area, and not having arrived quite as intended, there was much work to be done and opportunities to offer a helping hand.

It allowed him to be up close, to see, and talk with them. It was impossible to absorb all at once, but he did make best efforts, and the more he learned of Belrea, the more he wanted to learn. Since he worked and ate there, he couldn’t know when or if his ‘room mate’ returned or if he intended to stay again, but by the time Amalric did return that evening, the room was at least for the moment uninhabited.

It wasn’t, however, empty of the other man’s belongings. Perhaps they would be in for another night of half-cost and ignoring one another. It wasn’t the worst possible outcome, he supposed, but he still managed to feel a small wedge of irritation at the man’s existence as he toed off his boots and settled to his bed. Leaning over the side, he fiddled with the pack beside it—dedicated almost exclusively to books and personal journals—before drawing out one such journal and sitting back with a pen.

There was much to take down for the day. Additionally, the girl he had met — Maritza, with her tangerine curls and lilac eyes — continued to flit back through his mind. Whenever the man did return, he was bound to find him still there, tucked back against the headboard, black hair a loose and partial curtain to his work as he worked over his journal, pen scritching to parchment.

Amalric hadn’t intended to look up—and perhaps he wouldn’t have, if the entrance had been normal. A rush in, staggered steps, and retreat immediately to the washroom. Amalric had only just glanced up from his journal, frowning to catch the tail sight of it, and-

Was he bleeding?

Though tempted by instinct and a gut curiosity to investigate, Amalric held still on the bed, journal perched, forgotten, in his lap as he eyed the wash room door. The sound of shuffling cloth was not unusual, but he felt near sure he heard a collapse after that, and his legs shifted reactively—he really ought to go look. What if the man were seriously hurt? He could need a healer, and little as Amalric had time or patience for rudeness, he didn’t want the man suffering for his-

But, Amalric reminded himself with sudden stubbornness, he hadn’t asked for his help. He hadn’t even looked his way. And he still did not know the man’s name. Frowning and with these thoughts in mind, he pulled his feet back onto the mattress, and he resolved to resume what he was doing. His attention, though, never fully left the door, and when the iceling emerged, Amalric’s gaze followed him over the edge of his book.

Goddess, he was a mess…

Amalric’s eyes narrowed, observing with suspicious and mounting disbelief. He still wasn’t acknowledging him. Clearly, he had only minimal understanding of how to bandage himself and he still—then, he glanced. For half a moment, Amalric held his gaze, and then snorted when he looked away again.

“You know, if a man had a name he’d deign to share with me, it’s possible I might care enough to wonder what in the goddess’ name happened to him and inform him he’s doing a shoddy job of tending to himself—you-” He frowned, losing partial track of his thought line as his eyes skimmed down the man’s back. “Do you need a healer? I could go ask for one—though you know if you just did a cleaner job of wrapping it, you might not need…”

In spite of himself, it was not his obligation to help—he folded his bookmark into his place and set his journal aside, lips pursed as he shifted his legs off the bed and stood.

I could help with that, lingered near to the tip of his tongue — he’d bandaged up more than enough banged up cousins after escapades they didn’t immediately want to share with their mother. But it still lingered on his mind that if the man didn’t want to share his name, he likely didn’t even want him in his space, and far be it from Amalric to be so selfless as to insist on aiding at the cost of being ridiculed and fed distasteful looks for it.

Amalric supposed he’d half expected something unpleasant, dismissive—anger, or excuses, demands he mind his own business. But he was so it wouldn’t hardly be fair for him to say-

And he didn’t.

It’s Ergon.

In spite of himself — and much, even, to his own chagrin — Amalric felt his cheeks heat. Surprise, he decided, that the man—Ergon—had answered at all. The admittance that assistance would be welcome, however, was all that it took to relax the air between them enough for Amalric to move forward, and with easy familiarity he settled himself at the cot’s edge just beside the other. He reached without asking—Ergon had said aid would be welcome—and took up the man’s arm carefully, inspecting the wrap job up close to confirm his suspicions.

Huffing quietly, he worked it loose with ginger movements, attentive not to pull at the damaged skin or aggravate anything before beginning to precisely re-wrap. He wasn’t especially quick about it, but the gauze lay flat and tighter, neatly as he went.

“It’s been an experience meeting you, Ergon,” he said at length as he worked. “What did you do? Besides walk about looking especially proud, wealthy and muggable, or was that all? Did you inform the authorities?” He paused on a thought, frowning and laying flat another wind around with his thumb. “I don’t suppose I’d be surprised if they were overburdened, inefficient, or non-existent now that the official event is concluded.”

Amalric snorted beneath his breath, but said nothing more aloud with regard to the authorities, or Ergon’s perspective on the tale. Regardless of what exactly had gone on, it had left him in a foul state—enough so that Amalric wasn’t certain he wanted to be out and about himself alone again any time soon, but that thought could be dealt with at a later venue. For the moment, after finishing off and tucking the first set at Ergon’s arm and wrist, he surveyed his back more critically.

The man had tried and done a partial job of cleaning and tending to it initially, but it was clear that in the state he’d been, he hadn’t managed to handle it as well as could be done with a second set of hands. Tucking down a sigh to himself, Amalric pushed off the bed and retreated to the washroom, taking up a shallow basin there and filling it with clean water before fetching a towel and setting those by atop the bed’s desk. Then, he went to his own pack.

His personal supplies were limited, and he really oughtn’t be using his resources to patch up a man who valued him less than his heeled boots. But his aunt and uncle had not raised him do a poor job of anything he undertook, or be sparing with those in need. In this case, some of those cuts would benefit from ointment, and he had it, so a little wouldn’t kill him to use.

When he returned to Ergon’s bed, he settled at his back, wetted the small towel he’d brought over, and re-cleaned those areas that looked in need of it before taking up the ointment.

“What brought you to market? You’re a bit far south…for someone with so much distaste for southerners.”

“Trade associates…” Amalric repeated it almost absently at first, but he was actually quite familiar with Zena’s trade routes, particularly between the capitol, outer cities, and with their nearest neighbors, Sauti. “My aunt and uncle, who raised me, are the heads of a long line and reasonably expansive business as cobblers, primarily to Zenan customers, especially from the capitol…home is Coeld, Zena.”

He wasn’t sure why he brought it up at first. Generally, though his aunt and uncle loved to boast about their status — they were decently wealthy, by Sautian standards — Amalric was far less fond of it, and generally associated himself with their name as little as possible. In this instance, however, he supposed he at least wanted the man to know:

“I know something of Zenan trade because of it at least. I traveled with my uncle on business a time or two before beginning school, so it’s not surprising you have work here if you’re in trade—you just don’t seem especially suited to it so far, in getting yourself attacked, in any case, so I suppose it is a bit odd…”

But enough about that, since the man had asked. “I’m here to work, or seeking it. I came to the festival in hopes of finding opportunity, and I think in some senses it fell from the sky.” Hopefully. If he could involve himself in any opportunity to further the Belrea home effort, that seemed like a promising area to start that could be both enlightening and self-sustaining, assuming they paid for intelligent labor. But, too, was a thought for another time. “I suppose it remains to be seen though how long exactly I’ll stay, I’m…at a bit of a flexible point in life I suppose.”

Far more flexible than he’d like, but Ergon didn’t need to know that. Personally, Amalric generally preferred to have far more of a planned and regimented forward scheme than what he was working with, but this was what life had handed him.

Amalric took the glare in stride. He had at least said something to earn that one, and if anything, it was good to be acknowledged. The grace with which Ergon took it after was the more surprising part, and Amalric raised his eyebrows. “Behind a desk,” he repeated with some soft amusement, and perhaps he shouldn’t have, but he tisked and flicked an uninjured portion of Ergon’s upper arm. “With biceps like these? And after ‘defending yourself from stalking filth…’ Tch…” He dabbed a finger gingerly to an open cut, spreading the cleansing ointment as carefully as could be managed. “I take it there was more than one, and you don’t look armed…but they made a rather rough job of you and you managed to make it out just the same. That’s fairly impressive…”

After working over the ones that looked most in need of the extra help, Amalric cleaned his fingers and then took out a stretch of fresh gauze, beginning to work it around as needed, much as he had with his arm.

“When I last saw you, you were carrying about a spear, though I took it for a practice weapon. It looks to me from your shoulders though that you’ve continued to work from there. You have some good definition, and must be at least passable at handling yourself in more exciting places than desks…”

But, at the mention of flying ships, any attention spent on Ergon’s biceps or shoulder definition was entirely derailed in an instant.

“I did! And by the goddess are they fascinating—the level of complexity and refinement in the craftsmanship—I don’t even pretend to begin to understand yet the areal physics of maintaining lift on a vehicle of that size without the internal propulsion of a living organism to power the interworking parts—of course if it were just hot air and attached sails perhaps it would be possible to gather enough, but it wasn’t just that, it seems they had these sort of…artificial hearts inside the ships, ‘engines’ they called them, that power the craft, and I…”

He realized his fingers had stilled temporarily as he’d begun to speak more animatedly, and he flushed, refocusing his hands on the process until he was near finished. “Well, what I mean to say is yes, in some portions, though I would like further opportunity to study them. It seems they know so much more than us…”

It was a bit of a heavy thought to level on a near-stranger, but it had left his tongue about as quickly as it had come to him, and it was too late now to pull it in the air. So long as their intentions were peaceful, and Amalric at this point trusted that they were, it wasn’t much reason for concern, so much as an avenue for growth. He wanted to learn as much from them as possible.

Already he felt far too much like a bumpkin.

Ergon was blushing.

He supposed under the circumstances it was merited—Amalric was well aware he was flirting, if mildly (and even if he oughtn’t, but that was another matter entirely). But he was surprised just the same. Perhaps simply because Ergon was more or less exactly what he was used to, personally — snobbish iceling boys with incumberingly over-inflated egos — and most of them, including this one at first, weren’t keen on giving him the time of day, let alone flattered or surprised by such advances. In the instances where there was interest, they still presumed themselves deserving and took charm in stride.

This was different, and Amalric found himself smiling. At the latter commentary, however, be certain that we know more about some things as well… he cast the boy a stray glance, and held his immediate thoughts to himself. So far as he could tell thus far, their knowledge was not simply ‘different’, but very clearly advanced. How much so or what that would mean for them was impossible to tell at present, though, and there seemed little need to argue the point.

If Ergon wanted to convince himself they were separate but equal bodies of knowledge, that was his business.

Aloud, all he said was, “Perhaps.” Then, tucking and fastening off the last of the gauze, he sat back and shifted his legs across the mattress so he was seated more at Ergon’s side again. “That should hold together until you next need to wash. Hopefully they will have healed much by then.”