In a small village outside of the bigger cities, such as Cendra and Emberi, was where a certain tall man had settled down and made a living for himself by healing the inhabitants as best as he could. Mostly it consisted of helping to break a fever, popping a shoulder or foot back in place and sometimes setting bones. It was rare he got to be involved more than diagnosing when it came to the elder, he eased their pains and aches, but when their time came the families prefered to be alone when he was involved he enjoyed the control it gave over the rest of the patient's life. It was those moments he lived for. But lately, his existence had here had been boring. Often he would get clients from the ruins with some injury, but not even that had he seen in a while. So when a knock on the door came in the small cottage he looked up from his herbs and got up. The main room was big, there was room for a table which could have himself, an almost two-meter tall man, lying outstretched on it with room to spare. A few chairs, a fireplace with a crackling fire, shelves with jars and herbs hanging from the roof. A scent of lavender was everpresent in the room from the herbs and gave the room a relaxing atmosphere. Éamon was clad in a simple white shirt and dark trousers.
When he answered the door he was ready to greet an old, forgetful lady who had yet to pick up her remedy for her aching bones. It was funny how frail and helpless the humans became with age. But when he swung the door open he was greeted with a slender man, with a face which would make most men and women jealous, he as handsome and judging by his appearance he was not a man, so if his features were any guidance he was either fae, elf or hybrid. The tall man draped himself in his professional guise of a gentle smile, his brown hair was swept back and curled lightly around his neck. "You heard correct. I'm no miracle worker, but lets have a look at it, shall we?" A charming smile came to life on his lips. This was just what he needed. A stranger, one who didn't live in the village. The stranger could still avoid the dangerous desires of the dragon, if he was lucky. Èamon stepped asid and held the door open for the creature. Lightly gesturing for him to step inside, so they could fix his fingers. "I havn't seen you around before, what brings you to our small village?" He was refering to all teh villagers, he knew just about everyone, since they either had been here to see him or they had been relatives of his clients. He made sure to sound interested and even though he had done this countless of times, his fingers started to itch at the promise of a harmless traveller in his house. 

The man wore a smile, which might as well been a smirk, full of confidence. Despite the man's delicate features and the unmistakable beauty which tried to hide under the rough and tough exterior of a brawler. He could see that the man, now in his house, was used to take a hit and had probably seen more than his share of the ugly underbelly of the world. It wasn't the first time a frequent visitor to the ruins came by, but none of them was nearly as talkative as this guy. The behaviour brought a smirk to the physician's lips. He pushed a stray lock of brown hair behind his ear as he closed the door. The everyday sounds of the world outside blocked out. He listened to the man's story and nodded lightly. His lips split in a small grin. One filled with warmth and humour. It would be a lie to say he hadn't been approached by some of the elderly women of the village with suggestions for what other things he could help them with. He didn't give a response to the man's words, but simply walked up to him and carefully placed a hand under the outstretched hand. He barely touched the hand, but he was ready to grab the mans wrist if he tried to pull back. He listened to the man's words and a constant smile lingered on his lips. His hazel eyes wandered up to the strangers and he held the gaze for a moment, before returning to the injured hand. With his other hand, he gently let the fingers ghost over the bruises and they made their way down between the injured fingers and as he examined it he started to answer the man's questions. "They call me Éamon and I am not as young as I might look. " His eyes wandered back up to catch the blue pools. "What about you, what do they call you? " He paused for a short moment, remembering that some didn't want to give their name out of fear for him to withdraw his offer to help them if he recognised the name from a wanted poster or something similar. "Or what can I call you?" 

He straightened up and let the mand have his hand back, before he walked over the a cupboard and crouched down taking a moment to judge the inventory. He grabbed what he needed and returned to the table where he placed a few small, straight wooden pieces, some cloth. He looked at the man once again. "This might take some time, so why don't you make yourself comfortable? Take your coat off, take a seat, do you want something to drink?"  He looked at the man shortly again before making his way over to the fireplace where a pail of water stood. He poured some water in a pot, which he then hung above the fire. He might need to relieve the pressure in the fingers, at first it didn't look like there had been any bleeding, but he had a nagging feeling there was. So the next thing he did was find a roll of leather and rolled it half way out between his hands, hopefully the darkhaired stranger hadn't moved to be able to see the impressive display of knives in various sizes. He rolled it back up and turned back towards his client.  

Age was a funny thing, the mortals were all so concerned with it, but mostly it was a hassle to remember how old you were and how old your species got. The dragon had laughed at the humans worry about not managing to do something with their life. They lived for such a short time, to the dragon thought they were expendable and due to their large numbers, they were the species which most often acted as his playthings. They had so much to lose, that their sorrow to see their life or their loved one die was the only thing which could bring the dragon much joy these days. He enjoyed playing with the minds of others, so when the elven, he presumed, man in his house kept giving him those interested looks he had half a mind to play along and see what it would bring him. 
He walked over to the table where Djinn had sat himself down. His lie was so painfully obvious that it almost brought a smile to the dragon's eyes. A fire was keeping the autumn chill at bay, considering that Éamon was wearing a simple shirt and trousers and still didn't feel the chill, the stranger spoke of. Well, his human body temperature had always been on the warmer side. A comment many, who had shared his bed had made.
He put down the roll of leather before answering the man. A gentle smile dancing on his lips and a serious and cool glint in his eyes. "It might be a long process and it will hurt. It looks as if you have managed to twist, and maybe even a small break, in your fingers. The bruises will fade but you will need to rest your hand for a considerable period of time."  He turned toward Djinn and his hazel eyes seemed to shift between green and golden. He crossed his arms over his chest and look the man in the eyes. He wanted to make sure he understood, so he would be surprised when the pain hit him. 
He studied the man's face for a couple more moments, before turning away to walk over to the pot over the fire. The water was still not boiling, so he went towards a small room off to the side, the door revealing the dried and salted foods stocked up for winter and on the floor, there was a wooden trapdoor. Metal enforcing it on both sides.  As he made his way to the trapdoor he talked "I do have something, excuse me for a minute"  He pulled the trapdoor open and disappeared down the stairs into the cellar. The cellar was dark, the only light was from above and the cellar held more than herbs, wine and animal skins. There were things he valued, such as mementoes from his past, maps, even a couple of journals about his life. He rummaged around for the bottles of amber liquid. It was of a good quality and with time it had become a rare drink, but he still had a few stored away from when they were the most common drink. 
When he returned he closed the doors after himself and went to another cupboard near the fireplace. He found two cups and made his way to his client again. He stopped behind him, his coat still bothered him. He had kindly told him to take it off and yet he didn't... So the dragon reached forward over Djinns shoulder to place the cups and bottle on the table. As he straightened up he let his fingers brush the edge of the man's coat collar in the back. It was tempting to just slide his fingers under the material and down to Djinns shoulders to help him get it off, but he didn't want to scare the elven man away. It was his choice to keep the coat on... So the dragon left it alone for now. Instead, he went to the fire and took the pot off the fire with a piece of cloth. Walking back to teh opposite side fo the tabel and placing the pot beside him on the tabel. 

Éamon waited patiently as the dark-haired man drank from the cup. He turned all his attention to the man's hand. He chuckled and flashed the man a grin of white teeth. How amusing. "It is simply to relieve any pressure there might have build up. It will help with the healing. " He tried to sound as reassuring as possible. He didn't want the man to pull his hand away and go seek help from a mage, who might heal his injury with magic rather than binding the hand and letting time heal it. Magic was faster, but a mage would without a doubt charge Djinn a hefty sum for the treatment. Éamon did most of his work for free or at the price of a food or coin, he wanted to remain in this village, so he had deemed it best if he didn't demand much from them in payment. Most were happy to share their harvest with him or trading their services in turn for remedies and council. 

With gentle hands he examined the hand once again, this time adding a pressure the damaged fingers and running his finger down it only to confirm the build up. He looked up at Djinn shortly, before he continued, this time with featherlight touches. He didn't want to harm him more than necessary right now. As he worked his voice filled the silence between them. "The procedure will look worse than it is. But it is necessary. " He held the hand in one hand and with his index finger, on the other hand, he traced the swollen fingers as he explained. "You have a buildup of blood here, you didn't break the skin, so it is pressuring the twist. The throbbing should be gone - or at least bearable - when I'm done. "  He gently let go of the hand again. 
 
He reached over to his cup and raised it to his lips, as he simultaneously reached for the cloths, bandages and splits he had fetched earlier. Placing the closer to himself and setting the cup back down after having taking a few sips of the amber liquid. The burning of the liquid in his troath reminded him of the sensation generating fire brough with it. It was welcomed with a small smile on his lips. He spread a cloth out on the table and fetched the knife from the boilin water with a  tong. He placed it on the cloth, before turning his attention back toward Djinn. 

The Dragon made no attempt to comment on the mans words about how he had come by his injury. He simply answered with a small smile. "Quickly? No. If you want a swift recovery a mage would have been more helpful than I" He started to measure out the splits for the damaged fingers and put the ones he needed aside. His eyes watched the man with an almost mischevious glint as he spoke again. He could hold his liquor just fine, the Dragon was massive even as a man and he would need considerable amounts of wine before the effects started to show. "I would be able to drink you under the table any day" He answered with a cocky smile. Sometimes humour could ease the tension and bring focus somewhere else. Or at least give his patient the illusion that he was worried about the amount of pain they were, or would, be in.

As he saw the visible signs of distress on the man his eyes darkened. His heart fluttered in anticipation of what was about to happen. He reached for the knife on the cloth, the heat still lingered on it, as he grasped it."I wanted to help, the village I came from had a highly skilled physician, he tended to my brother as he succumbed to a poisoned arrow from a fae... He made the pain easier to bear for him, while we said our goodbyes." He talked in a gentler voice, remembering how he had slain his own kin, how he had drugged him as he left this world. It brought the right emotions to his voice and eyes... He looked briefly at him again, before he turned his attention to the hand, he grasped it with a firm grip before he set to work with the knife. A few careful cuts later he put down the bloody knife on the cloth. His eyes had fluttered from the hand to its own a few times, as he worked. The desire to catch a glimpse of what the man looked like when in pain and to see if he was even worth dedicating time to. He wanted to at least have some idea of what to expect if he dragged the man down the stairs to the cellar.

"What made you want to fight unpleasant folk in the ruins?" He asked as he proceeded to slightly message the skin around the cuts to encourage the blood and other fluids to run freely. It was shallow cuts, so he picked up a clean cloth and started to slowly wipe the blood away. As he watched his fingers work, his eyes became dark with need. Need for the flesh and the iron scent of blood.

A small laugh left his lips in the form of a sigh, at his company's reaction to him being able to out-drink just about anyone. His eyes never left his working hands, but he still answered in a slightly absent tone. "Perhaps when you are well again, you can see for yourself." He listened to the man's condolences, it was the first time anyone had ever said that they were sorry for his loss. It was wasted on him though, he had no reason to believe the dark-haired stranger felt sorry for the Dragons loss. It had been thousands of years since he lost his last brother, his last living kin. What he regretted the most was letting himself get ensnared by the woman. She had had more power over him than he had ever intended for her to have. He had yearned for what he once had with the elven girl with hair red as blood. "He returned home from a fight with the elves, but he saw the wings of a fae on his killer..." Perhaps the man knew of the fact that the elves had taken in refugees, but eventually they had to fight for the elves. Èamon had not experienced it, but he had read about it. He had still been imprisoned at that time...

As the man hissed the dragon's eyes fluttered up to look at his face. Briefly, the eyes glimmered with malice and hunger. Spoke of an empty pit. And then it was gone, then there was only the calm and collected physician. He couldn't let his prey get away just yet. He couldn't reveal himself until he had full control of the man before him. And he would have the control. Taken or given, it did not matter to the giant of a man.
As Djinn more or less growled as the pressure was lessened in the fingers. He had to suppress a smug, victorious smile. Se h was a tough man, the dragons favourite kind to have under the knife. He could make a grown man beg on his knees and he could make a frail man believe he had the power to subdue a dragon. Total submission from his victims was always a nice thing, but the ones who could put up a brave front were what kept the game interesting. So he continued to wipe the cuts. " Almost. " He said as he put the cloth aside and started to attach the splits to keep the fingers in place. As he bandaged the fingers together his eyes wandered up the man's arm, over his torso and until he reached his blue eyes."Not too bad, I hope?"