A Doctor Without Borders [Healer | Slow-Burn | Medical Fantasy]

Dorian entered the Common, the vast dining hall practically empty at this time of day. That would change quickly, in a matter of minutes, once the shift rotated, but for now, only a few servers milled around the back tables, preparing for the dinner rush. He scanned the room, looking for one person in particular. The short bundle of energy was moving around far too fast for someone not using a skill.

Always pushing the limits—even now.

He took a deep breath and started to approach.

Please, gods, let her not be annoying.

Dorian had only made it three-quarters of the way to her when she turned and gave him a pointed look. "What are you doing here, Archonides?"

Dorian couldn't help but glance around and then winced at his reaction. There was no one nearby. Even if there had been, it was a bit of an open secret. Still, she knew better, which meant she'd done it only to annoy him.

"Come on, Thalia. We've talked about this."

She just shrugged. "No one's here. Nothing to worry about."

He didn't have it in him to argue. "I'm here to pick up some food for Daniel."

Her eyebrow rose. "Your Human friend? Is he okay?"

"Yeah. It was a rough morning, but it worked out. Took a toll, though. Figured we'd do an early dinner."

"Well, I can manage that. The food's already made. Doesn't take much to reheat."

"Yeah. He doesn't even know what the good stuff really is." He waited while Thalia fetched a tray for both of them. He'd already grabbed himself a drink—but he might need something a little stronger, at least for him. It would do for Daniel.

He leaned forward, elbows on the table, shooting her a beguiling smile. "You wouldn't happen to have anything a bit stronger than the usual swill they serve here?"

She gave him a flat look. "Just gall. You know we brew that."

"Doesn't make it taste any better."

She rolled her eyes. "Is that how you talk to someone when you want something? I think your sisters taught you better. Or maybe just never needed to."

He scowled. He didn't need his background dragged up, especially not his sisters'. As the baby of the family, they'd always doted on him, smothered him in expectations. Half the reason he'd joined the expedition was to carve out his own path—and to escape their long, brilliant shadows.

Thalia snickered. "Aww. Did I hit a sore spot?"

"Listen, you—" He stopped, took a breath, and gave her the smile she was fishing for. "Fine, you win. I could have asked nicer, but let's be honest with each other." He lifted the mug. "You know this stuff is crap."

"Obviously, but you don't get to say it. Only I do."

Dorian resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Look, I also know that there are a few other people in the expedition who appreciate the finer elements of a good drink than you. I know you've got your hands in whatever backroom alcohol production is going on here. Don't try to deny it. I've seen the numbers. That honey isn't matching the wax we've collected."

Her eyes widened, catching the subtext. If Dorian had noticed the discrepancy, the Quartermaster had too. If Thalia hadn't already set aside a few of the new brews for his auntie, she would now.

She gave him a small nod. "Thanks for the heads-up. I've got something I can spare—one of our earlier batches. Not quite up to standard but far better than the swill we're serving."

She walked to the back and flipped over a crate, pulled out a small wooden bottle, and set it next to the trays. "It isn't much, but it's got a bite."

"That seems perfect, Thalia."

"We aim to please, Archon—"

"Enough of that, Thalia."

She chuckled but cut off abruptly, eyes flicking to the entrance. Dorian followed her gaze and spotted a group of Volki entering.

"They causing trouble?"

"Nothing I can't handle." She rolled her eyes. "You know how it is when the Alfa's gone."

"Yeah. That's why I'm asking."

"I've got it handled."

Dorian gave her a long look. She could be a pain, but he didn't want her hurt.

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Her face hardened. "It's covered, Pe—You don't need to worry. They all push the limits, thinking they'll be the next in charge, but they know better if they want food and drink." Dorian opened his mouth, but she cut him off. "I might not be in the mines, but I can take care of myself."

She just humphed when his skeptical look didn't fade. "Take your food and go. I'll be fine."

She stomped off without another word.

Dorian looked down at the tray and sighed. What a day...

Dorian walked the dusty path toward Daniel's longhouse. How many times had he made this trek?

So much the same. So much different.

His pace slowed to avoid sloshing the drinks. He adjusted his grip on the tray, its weight not quite right.

Too many plates, not enough bottles.

Those were different days. The darkness came from the longer nights, not the mood.

Not your responsibility.

Those words rang hollow despite the number of times people had said them. After all, hadn't he encouraged them?

The young Human [Miners]—eager, ambitious—had left their land behind, chasing venture and glory. He'd seen promise in them from their first chance encounter. They had talent, and they'd proved it in the ventures that followed—ventures he had personally funded. They did everything they needed to earn a name for themselves, and this trip would have made that dream a reality.

Instead, that dream was cut short by a monster they never expected—politics.

They had only survived a few weeks!

He resisted the urge to spit. He wasn't a fool. He understood how power worked. He had borne witness to its necessities and excesses from his earliest days. The Humans hadn't. Their informality was refreshing, but it should have been a warning. They had never moved in the halls of power. Not truly. At their Tier, they must have met nobles and maybe even the king, but they had never wielded authority. They had never seen what a person must do to preserve it.

Only a fool provokes a Volk. It brings the whole pack.

He had warned them. But should he have done more? Could he have?

And here I am again... Gods give second chances, but they don't make them easier.

He closed his eyes for a beat. Then kept walking.

He and his avinja were due for a talk—but that was for another time.

He crested a small rise and saw more evidence of how different things had become. A tall, dark-green Ættar stood guard outside the longhouse.

Rægnor.

A Human befriending an Ættir? Stranger things had happened, but he struggled to come up with—actually, that wasn't exactly true. Daniel's position with the Ættir couldn't be much stranger than a Tier-I Human showing up in a high-tier zone without an explanation.

He let out a breath through his nose. Daniel had a story to tell. The only question was—how much did Dorian want to hear?

He had duties. Humans were becoming allies, but not so much that Auntie deemed it worth intervening to shield those in danger. Even he couldn't convince her that Daniel had ties to any Human groups nearby. No, she was right. His only chance lay with binding himself tightly to the Ættir here—whatever the risks.

Dorian schooled his expression and stepped forward, stopping at a respectful distance from the young Ættar. "Greetings."

Rægnor nodded. "Oresian. You bring food for Daniel?"

"Yes. I…didn't bring anything for you. I didn't realize you were posted here."

His expression remained as unchanging as a stone wall. "I will manage."

Time to build better ties.

"I can keep an eye on him so you can get food. The Volki would try anything with me around."

Rægnor's silence stretched.

Ættir and their honor...

"I will stay until you return. I may not have a debt to him, but I consider him a friend."

Enough of one that I would have helped if anyone had told me his situation with the Volki.

Rægnor hesitated, and Dorian played his next card. "I am probably more protective than you are."

Rægnor grunted but didn't deny it. He glanced longingly toward the Commons. "I will put my trust in you." Rægnor stepped forward, making their height difference more apparent. "Do not be the reason my honor gets besmirched."

Dorian didn't back down. Rægnor may have more than two heads on him, but if push came to shove, he would bury the Ættar before he could blink. Of course, that would mean such a waste of good food and booze. "You have my word."

Threat made, Rægnor headed toward the Commons. Dorian didn't wait for the Ættar to disappear from view. He stepped forward and knocked. "Daniel, it's me."

Daniel opened the door quickly, eyes searching for the other person he likely expected. Dorian tilted his head toward the retreating figure. "Your bodyguard's off duty. I'm taking over."

Daniel snorted, and Dorian teased him. "What? You don't trust that I can handle it?" Daniel started to reply, but Dorian just nudged him lightly with a shoulder. "I'm just messing with you." He raised the tray he carried. "You hungry?"

Daniel hurriedly took the tray of food from Dorian and set it down on a table far too big for the two of them. He tried to ignore all the little reminders—the dust, the untouched beds—of his failure.

Had the gods given him another chance?

Daniel dug in before Dorian had even sat down, and Dorian couldn't help but smile at Daniel's sheer delight.

He doesn't even know what is considered good. It's all new to him.

It seemed unbelievable, but it had to be true. Daniel's gear had implied a null zone or something close to it. The high-grade delicacies Dorian and his family often enjoyed would overwhelm him, burning him from the inside out. Sure, grade wasn't everything. [Chefs] could turn even poor cuts into something sublime. However, Daniel couldn't get enough.

It didn't make sense. The low-grade scraps Daniel consumed here would be fine dining for Human nobles. He should have had some exposure. Yet, he acted as if he had never eaten food at this grade.

Does he come from a disgraced noble family?

It just didn't fit. The way he ate, the lack of manners, was striking. No noble ate like that, especially not those families trying to work their way back into prominence. Of course, Dorian hadn't set the best example, but then again, most didn't try to hide their heritage.

What were the odds that Daniel was doing the same?

"So," Dorian said, "I figure we're due for a conversation." Daniel paused, giving Dorian a long look. His hesitation was obvious, making Dorian reconsider. "Actually... It's been a long day. Maybe this isn't—"

"It is," Daniel interrupted. "It's just hard to talk about."

He put down his fork and took a deep breath. His finger drifted to his untouched mug, giving it a slight twist once, then twice. He cocked his head. "Is that what I think it is?"

"If you mean booze, then yes."

Daniel subtly shifted away. "Will it knock me out again?"

Dorian chuckled. "I can see why you'd be hesitant, but you'll be fine. It is the swill—the normal stuff they serve at the Commons. Can't be too strong."

"Good. I think this will be necessary. This might be a long conversation."