Argath sat, his hands resting face-up on his knees as if in offering. Ramza took one hand in his, drawing it closer to the firelight so he could see the redness on Argath’s palms, skin red and angry in the delicate webbing between his fingers. “Does it hurt?”

“It stings, a bit,” Argath said. His fingers curled inward at Ramza’s touch. “There was a burning, before, but Jeremiah’s magics soothed that. But I can feel it catching when I move my hand.”

Ramza took up Argath’s other hand. “Jeremiah and Aldebrand have both told me that it’s common for novice mages, and that your hands should toughen up over time should you choose to keep pursuing magic. But I had always thought it was a bit of chafing, not this-- tenderness and blistering as if you’d grasped a hot poker.”

“It felt as much when I was casting,” Argath admitted. “But Aldebrand said I had good technique. It’s focus that I need, which is difficult when one’s hands are burning up like a sweet potato in a harvest fire.”

“I shall ask Jeremiah if there’s anything he can make to help. A balm, or-- or some kind of salve, to speed the healing. He was a member of a guild of chemists, before he joined us. He must have heard of something.” Ramza looked up at Argath, who was looking a little pink in the heat of the fire. “I am sorry, Argath. I wouldn’t have pushed you to learn black magics if I had known it would affect you this badly.”

Argath’s throat moved in the flickering light. “Perhaps I’m not suited to it.”

“I think you’re suited to anything you put your mind to,” Ramza said. “I know you take to new things more quickly than Delita or I do. It’s why I asked you to study in the first place. But if it leaves you in pain…” He stroked his thumb over Argath’s palm, eyebrows knitting.

“They said I would ‘toughen up’ over time, didn’t they? If I just push through, I can manage it.”

“Perhaps. But I would understand if you preferred to return to training with the crossbow. You’ve got terribly good aim,” Ramza smiled. “Truthfully I feel honored to fight alongside you no matter which role you choose.”

“You do?”

“Of course I do. You fight bravely, even for a cause that isn’t your own. You might have gone straight home to Limberry after seeing the Marquis freed-- by the Father, I would have, after what you’d gone through!-- but here you are with us chasing bandits into the hills in a terrible storm.”

“I-- feel honored to fight with you as well,” Argath stammered, looking away. Ramza pulled his palms a little closer to look at them again, and he felt the boy’s gaze return. “In fact I feel… blessed to have met you. Not only because of your help saving the Marquis. But also because… because I…”

Ramza, examining the blisters on Argath’s hands, didn’t realize how long the silence had grown until something popped in the fire and he looked up. Argath had come very close, closing the gap between them. The fire turned his pale face to gold and his eyes to flickering amber and he had gone very still, breath held, lips parted.

“I am always lucky to meet a new friend,” Ramza said, breaking the silence. “Sometimes, as a son of a noble house, good friends can be few and far between. But I feel blessed to count you among them.”

“I-- y-yes,” Argath said, straightening up. “Yes. So do I, of course.” He drew his hands back, cradling them in his lap with his fingers curled over his palms. “If you’ll, uh, talk to Jeremiah tonight about that salve, I would be grateful. In the meantime I think I should retire.”

Argath was already standing up before Ramza could reply, so he simply saw him off with a wave and a smile. Alone, he looked down at his own hands, one roughened from the grip of a sword, and hoped they could all keep their hands clean of blood in the coming days.