All Apologies

Tracking Seldan down takes a bit of legwork, but isn't actually hard. Anyone looking for him is directed to the Soldier's Defense, west of the river. Asking for him inside gets a frown and an uncertain look. "He probably should not have visitors at this time, master, and if he does, I cannot say how coherent he will be. Is this important?"

Malik already looks impatient. It's precisely that kind of question that he would normally roll his eyes and ignore. But in this particular case, he at least tries to exercise a bit more restraint, taking a breath and trying to keep his face stoic. "I understand," he begins, keeping his voice as pleasant as possible. "But yes, it's important. And I think that he'd want to see me." He clasps his hands respectfully in front of him, but already starts to fidget a bit, the anxiousness clear enough to those who know what to look for.

The robed girl at the entrance to whom Malik spoke turns away, to confer with another, older man. He'll have to wait a minute or two, but finally the girl returns. "We will permit a brief visit. We have not been able to heal him yet, so if you can keep him quiet and keep him from moving more than absolutely necessary, that will help. Come with me."

A brief walk through the quietly bustling halls brings him to Seldan's bed. On the way, they walked past a Sentinel in full armor and weapons, a no-nonsense woman with a curly blonde ponytail that poofs down her back who peers at them closely, and is apparently on guard not far off from where Seldan is.

For himself, Seldan looks quite the mess. His left shoulder is immobilized, his torso tightly wrapped, his breathing shallow and careful. It's not entirely clear whether he is awake or not. "Saneta," the girl nods to the Sentinel, "can assist you if there is a need, but has the right to remove you as well. Do you understand?"

Off in the corner, several feet away, are Seldan's pack and adventuring gear, and are they ever a fright. There is no sign of shirt, but boots, trousers, and surcoat are covered in mulch, foul-smelling compost, and a multitude of kinds of garbage. A shirt of very fine, light chainmail that would cause little trouble to an arcanist is set aside, along with his sword in an equally-dirty scabbard and a pack that has seem slightly less nasty stuff.

Malik follows dutifully, taking in the scene. Plenty of clerics-in-training, clearly. More than a few paladins and rough-and-tumble types. Check. Not the place that he wants to make a scene, if push comes to shove. He gives the sentinel a respectful nod in passing, listening to the girl's warning with a solemn nod. "I understand," he says. "Be on my best behavior." Which, for Malik, may or may not be a good thing.

Turning back to look at Seldan, Malik pulls the sheet partially closed behind them. Enough to block the view, at least, but perhaps not enough to block the occasional glance from the passing sentinel. He moves quietly to Seldan's side, looking the man over. "Tarien's balls," he whispers in a barely audible voice, concern in his tone. "What happened to you?" He reaches for the edge of the sheet covering Seldan, moving as if he's going to pull it down to further assess the injuries, seeming to take no note of the clothes in the corner, though he's already using his free hand to rummage around in the bag.

It takes a moment, but Seldan's eyes flutter open, and he looks up, blinking a few times to focus. "Malik?" He tenses abruptly as he processes the identity of the visitor, and starts to try to sit up. That's clearly a bad idea, and he desists with a hiss and a wince. "What do you want?" His voice is breathy and shallow, his words short.

Malik reaches out to put a gentle hand on Seldan's chest. Fingertips more than anything, really, but he at least is -trying- to keep him from sitting up and injuring himself further, the intention in the gesture clear enough. "Hey," he greets the man, a small, warm smile replacing that clinical gaze. "Don't get up." The tension in Seldan, and those terse words, make the wizard wince a bit, though he keeps the small smile on. "Here," he tells the man, rummaging around in his bag until he finds a small bottle, a pale, glacial blue liquid with a small cork stopper. "Drink this. It'll help."

No worries on the getting up score - Seldan seems to have found his wits enough to know better than to try again. He'll do as instructed, although moving appears to hurt like a thousand kinds of hell. When the potion takes effect, though, he relaxes - it clearly does help. "Thank you," he says, relaxing back into the cot. He is silent for a moment, the wheels in his mind turning slowly.

He certainly isn't stopping Malik from doing his assessment, although he does shiver if the blanket is pulled away. What Malik will find is that something ridiculously strong hit him several times. The mail clearly didn't help him much - best guess would be several broken ribs and something wrecked that left shoulder, from the way it's been immobilized. He's one giant bruise, more or less, suggesting possible internal injuries as well.

Saneta, meanwhile, has quietly moved to where she can see them both, although she hasn't said anything yet, and seems to be satisfied at the moment.

Malik watches as the magic takes effect, sees some of the tension melt from the paladin as at least some of the bruising recedes. The wizard checks the man head to toe, carefully, before pulling the blankets back up and giving a satisfied nod. "Bad," he says, "but not as bad as it could have been." He moves for the nearby stool with a toe, dragging it closer with a foot as he sits down on it next to Seldan's bed. "Went to the temple to find you," he tells the man, a bit of a sheepish tone finding its way into his voice. "Was thinking about the last time I saw you. Out in the park," he explains. "Reva and I had an -- interesting conversation, after you left. I realized that I was an ass to you."

He runs a hand through his hair, exhaling slowly. "Look, I'm not -- good with people. I try. I do. But I always say the wrong thing, or do the wrong thing. I make the wrong kinds of jokes, and read the room the wrong way. Social graces aren't really my strong point. They never have been. But I know when I was wrong," he admits. "And it was wrong of me to say that to you. So, I went to the temple to apologize, and they told me that you were here. So... I'm here. To help. If I can. If you want it." He clears his throat, color rising to his cheeks. "Because you're the closest thing I have to a friend in this city. Even if I'm pretty much guaranteed to mess this up, somehow."

Silence for several moments, and Seldan closes his eyes, but his expression reads pensiveness, not rejection. A minute later, and he re-opens them, nodding carefully. "I understand. My mother used to tell me that if my brain was not engaged, my mouth and my sword should not be, either." He pauses. Breathing too deeply, or talking too much, is clearly unpleasant. "You are honest and honorable, and of good intent. You may be rude at times, but at least you are not a petulant and irresponsible child." There's irritation in that, but not aimed at him. "I accept your apology, and your aid. We had none other who could close with the beast, and ... at least none other were seriously hurt."

Malik's smile grows a bit, chuckling at the transmitted advice. "Yeah. Mine used to say something like that, too. Pretty sure that it wasn't my sword-arm she was referring to, though." His eyes travel back down to those bandages again, the cuts and bruises and other signs of grievous injury. He sighs again, shaking his head. "So you put yourself in the way to keep others from getting hurt." Just for a moment, there's something in his expression that's a bit different from the mild amusement that he always seems to wear. Something like admiration. "Yeah. That sounds like you."

He reaches into a pocket, pulling out a black, shining wooden box. About a foot long. "Figured that I'd come bearing gifts," he tells the man. "Apologies tend to go better when there's something more than words involved. In my experience, anyway." He lays the box very gently next to Seldan, trying to not bump the man too hard. Inside, a white branch, carefully carved with runes of mending things that are broken, can be found, the runes seeming to occasionally shine with the same sort of blue light as the potion when viewed in the right light.

Seldan is about to move to get the box, but Saneta abruptly stands and walks over, speaking for the first time. "Let me." Old enough to be a mother herself, but not a grandmother. Her voice is rough and hoarse with the years, her brown eyes sharp with experience. She doesn't wait for an answer, but picks up the box and examines its contents with a shrewd and experienced eye before showing Seldan, and looking back up at Malik. "A fine gift, and one this one is likely to need if he is working with the Guild." There's respect and appreciation there. "I'd also suggest better armor than that little thing. Why so many of the Silver Guards insist on things like that, I don't understand and never will."

Malik gives the woman an appreciative nod, looking over to Seldan. "What do you say?" he asks the paladin. "Wanna get patched up and get out of here? Go get some food? I hear that fighting monsters is hungry work." Though there's that typical Malik glint in his eye for just a moment. "Besides," he adds, clearly not entirely serious, "I just saw you naked. I owe you dinner. It's the law, or so I'm told."

That last comment gets Seldan, his eyes flying open, but Saneta simply laughs. "It isn't fair to make jokes with a man whose wits are half-addled," she tells Malik. "I'll see to it, if I may?" She looks to both for permission, even as Seldan settles down and nods his assent to both of them. "One less thing for Mollaen to do, and it's something I can do that isn't sitting here."

Malik nods, standing up. "You're right," he tells her. "I should wait until he gets better." He gives the pair a nod, that sly smile still there. "I'll leave you some privacy," he says, though can't help but add, "not that there's much left to the imagination..." Again, in that playful tone. "I'll wait for you out here."