It was unbearable to see you suffer, sick in your bed as Hadrian tries to reassure you’ll be okay. Yet he knew what was inflicted on you. It was a magic only elves can cast and he knew who had caused it. Healers could not ease your pain and the priests couldn’t remove the curse. Useless, all of them. He didn’t want to stand by and watch you wilt. His patience ran dry when he overheard the mockery of your foolishness by his kins.

Dark arts was not something he was a stranger to, a risk he was willing to take if it meant saving you from the horrible fate that bound you in its grasp. Reading from the tomes and spell books, he found the answer to cure you from what you suffer.

It came with a cost that almost made him pause but it had the result he needed to achieve.

You don’t know what Hadrian has been doing these past days, often you see him working on his alchemy and studying intently while he searches for a cure. Days pass like that before you one day feel decent, able to lift your body to even sit up. Whatever magic or alchemy he’s been brewing was slowly helping you recover. The relief he held in his eyes seeing his methods was working. He tends to continue his work but also keeps quiet of how the method was, playing it off as an alternative cure he found from an ancient book.

“Sleep, you will need to take the medicine bit by bit. Soon you’ll be fine.” Hadrian whispers to you. Being awake was a chore for you, never knowing when you’ll never wake up again. All you need is comfort and loving words.

As Hadrian watches you slumber, he wasn’t surprised when he heard the panicked news that a high priest was killed in Asybilona. Words spread fast even from where you both reside. How amusing. He glances at his red gloves on his desk, eyes narrowing as he thinks of the next ingredient. It was all for you though and he’s willing to get his hands dirty even against his own kind.