#it's still kind of a rough draft but i'm p proud of it so far!!

[sladez]

Happy anniversary to the OT3 of all time!!

(in honor of the anniversary of our WoLs' ot3, here's a short excerpt from a fic i'm working on about how they all met! Bertram belongs to @waveknight and Styrnrael belongs to @meguhime!)

Searing pain shot through Seishin’s left calf like a bolt. He cried out a guttural curse as the slimy form of a black eft slithered out from the reeds and leapt back into the Yugr’am river with a splash, kicking its tail quickly to escape, or perhaps to rear back and strike again. In one fluid motion Bertram drew his blade and stuck it into the dewy flesh of the eft’s back, twisting his wrist to cut short the beast’s scream until its last breath bubbled to the surface. He flicked the sword to remove its black blood, splattering it across the muddy riverbank.

“Seishin, I’ve got you!” Styrnrael ran to catch him before he could topple over, putting a hand on his back and easily supporting his much larger frame. Seishin winced as Bertram and Styrnrael each linked one of his arms like a chain and lowered him down onto a log to rest. Each tension of his calf shot another hot knife up his leg and side and split him from the inside out, and he ground his teeth together to keep from crying out. The pain snuffed out the rest of his senses like water on a fire. Bertram knelt to his side and removed Seishin’s boot with a practiced hurry and care, and pulled the leg of his trousers up to his knee, careful to avoid the wound. “What happened, Bertram?” Styrnrael placed a hand on the Viera’s shoulder, peering down with him at Seishin’s leg. “Did it bite him? Will he be okay?”

“Hmm,” Bertram hummed as he inspected the bite, hovering his scarred hand over the gash as though tracing its jagged route with his finger. “Ja, it’s definitely poisoned. Look at the redness here around the bite. Luckily it isn’t too deep… and the venom wouldn’t have spread far yet.” He quickly tied the hem of Seishin’s gaskin below the knee as a makeshift tourniquet. “You don’t move,” he said, firmly locking his stormy gray eyes with Seishin’s.

Seishin nodded, trying to focus his feverishly swimming mind on Bertram’s words. Cold shivers were beginning to run up his back and neck. His ivory scales felt like they were clattering against each other. The twisted orange skeins of the Burning Wall overhead tried to double in his vision, and he shook his head to ward off the dizziness. He had been in this part of eastern Thanalan before, gathering herbs outside Highbridge for pennies for the Alchemist’s Guild. Severian had told him about eft venom and the special unguents that could neutralize it. Seishin looked up at Styrnrael, not wanting to distract Bertram from his ministrations. “Styrn, there’s a plant that grows around these parts,” he grimaced. The words tasted metallic and he struggled to get them out. Styrnrael looked between them both with a wide-eyed nervousness. Were this a foe to be bested with a blade or a strategy she would not be outdone, but identifying and gathering herbs was far outside her element. “Yellow ginseng,” Seishin continued. “It… it grows in clusters of three to five leaves. The flowers are star-shaped—”

Bertram waved a hand towards Styrnrael. “No need,” he said, continuing to inspect Seishin’s wound. “I have some in my pack, ja. It’s in, umm, the third pocket on the right side. Beneath the strap. It’s a yellow-brown, kind of amber root in a little pouch. Could you grab it Styrnrael? I’ll need my mortar too, in the main compartment at the top. Better yet, could you bring me the whole thing?”

“Right away,” Styrnrael nodded, relief writ plain on her face as she ran to grab the satchel.

Bertram looked up at Seishin, who couldn’t stop the flush spreading across his face. “What? You didn’t think you were the only herbalist here, did you?” he smirked.

When Styrnrael returned, Bertram took the bag and motioned for her to take over. “Hold his leg steady,” he said as she took his place, kneeling and resting Seishin’s ankle on her thigh. She ran her fingers softly across his lower shin in a soothing motion as they watched Bertram add the roots and several oils to his stone mortar and start mixing them into a thick ochre paste. The sweet, earthy smell emanating from the mixture already seemed to ameliorate Seishin’s cold sweats.

Bertram knelt and looked up at Seishin. “This is going to sting a little. Let me know if you need to bite down on anything, ja?” Slowly, methodically, he scooped a small bit of unguent from the bowl and started spreading it along the wound, rubbing it in gentle circles with his middle and forefinger as Styrnrael watched intently. Seishin hissed, gripping the bark of the log so tightly that the wood began to crack. As Bertram continued massaging the salve over his skin, his hands gradually began to relax. He wasn’t sure what was more soothing: the coolness of the ointment against the burning of the venom, or Bertram’s and Styrnrael’s fingers gently rubbing his leg; calming, comforting. Seishin closed his eyes and breathed deep, relaxing and allowing their tender touches to wash over him until the pain at last subsided.

Bertram and Styrnrael carefully lowered Seishin’s leg back to the ground, and Bertram unwound the gaskin from his knee, hinging his leg back and forth slightly to allow the blood to flow freely. “Good as new. Now I just need you to relax for a while. You do know how to do that, don’t you?” He raised an eyebrow and smiled. “Could you keep an eye on him for me, Styrn? I’m going to wash up and make us all some dinner.”