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Therion hates the Frostlands.
His fingers are numb and his joints ache a storm. They left Stillsnow hours ago, and every bone protests the drop in already-freezing temperature. Soon, he would associate the frigid north with ‘partner’, one who sent him plummeting off his ascent to the top.
He stares at the cave’s ceiling, thoughts keeping him awake as they always do. The others are asleep, cocooned in blankets as if they’d metamorphosize and fly away. Therion’s wings were clipped long ago, freedom hindered by the shackles of his past.
He packs away his shawl in favor of standard Frostlands garb, but wraps the scarf closely around his neck. They all invested in winter coats to prepare for the trek, yet no clothing protects him from the biting voice in his head.
I’ve never seen anyone as good as you.
...shut up.
But then you started to doubt me, to question me…
Get out of my head.
Everything woulda been fine if you just did what I said!
Get out get out get out-
He clutches his dagger with a white-knuckled grip, the way Primrose does before a murder of crows. A part of him wants vengeance, wants him to scream. The thought alone scares him. He cannot forget the hollow look in Primrose’s eyes after the plunge of her dagger. What would become of him? But why did it matter? He’s lived as a former shell of himself, a shadow in the night. What does he know?
There is one thing.
This is his burden, and he must bear it alone.
He steals a final glance at the huddled forms, sheathes his dagger, and pulls over his hood. The crunch of footsteps mix with howling wind as he enters the darkness.
Beady eyes soon notice the abandoned blanket.
It takes a blast of snow and wind against his face, but Therion acknowledges that he fucked up.
The winds snuff out any attempts of producing a flame, and he crosses his arms together with a huff. Accompanied only by splintered fencing and snow-laden branches, it’s a lonely road to the top. The scarf whips behind him and the numbing cold seeps through his thin boots. He’s breathing heavily, counting his progress with each sluggish step. Everything’s wrong about this situation, yet why does he keep going? He thinks of him - another terrible decision. Maybe this is all part of his twisted game: a journey to Orsterra’s northern peak proves how far he’s risen without him.
Another harsh wind blows, and Therion anchors his feet to the ground until it subsides. The path grows precarious with each step, but some urge possesses him to climb higher. He accepts that he’s not going back. Maybe it’s better this way.
Therion’s mind proves his worst foe when it wanders along a darker route. He imagines his former partner descending from his high throne, off to plunder the world when he greets him midway. They close the distance, eyes lock, and a hand caresses his face (so gently that it makes him sick). The hand stills, and for a moment, Therion can see the warmth that once existed in those eyes. A gale whips his face, and the expression twists. The hand roughly grips his chin, locking him into leering eyes.
So cold and guarded…
...stop.
Distrusting and wary.
Stop it.
Does my betrayal still haunt you?
“Stop!”
And then his foot skids against ice, and he’s tumbling down, rolling, branches snapping, limbs tangling, face smashing against the snow as he flails for a grip.
He finds one - hanging from the edge of a cliff.
A foot jams into a crevice, and fingers claw themselves into ice. He’s slipping, and within his pounding heart, his younger self cries out. The yell erupts from his chest and into the frigid air.
Unlike the Cliftlands, this is his own damn fault.
A growl greets the yell. Footsteps stomp against snow, coming closer and closer -
- and halt when Linde’s beady eyes meet his own.
The eyes leave, and a figure appears. Hands clutch, a force tugs at his coat, snow crackles beneath him, and he no longer dangles from the edge. The same hands hold him steady, and the same force appears at his legs, pushing him away from the cliff. Only when they are far from the edge does H’aanit allow a moment’s rest, panting from the exertion.
“Why-”
“Art thou hurt?” She cuts him off without edge, scanning his shivering form.
His head shakes, but his brain is elsewhere (somehow not against the rocks below). He sneaks out like a fool, strands himself in a blizzard like a fool, and nearly plummets to his death like a fool. And she only asks if he’s hurt. All he can ask is why?
A thick fog leaves H’aanit’s mouth as she turns toward her companion. She maintains a firm grip on Therion’s arm, which he doesn’t resist.
“Linde.”
Though Linde spent most of her years in S’warkii, the Frostlands beckon a part of her soul. Her lithe form slinks about, guiding her companions toward the nearest shelter she can find. Leaping between snow-capped ledges, she waits for them to catch up. H’aanit’s normally keen eyesight struggles against the blizzard, while Therion only sees white. His head throbs and thoughts flit in haphazard directions as he grasps H’aanit’s coat. One foot - a stagger - in front of the other. She positions herself beside the cliff’s edge at every turn, supporting each buckle of his legs.
Even in unexplored lands, Linde navigates them with little issue. Finding no signs of danger in her chosen shelter, Linde emerges with an affirming growl. H’aanit thanks her, guarding Therion’s head from the icicles hanging above the cave’s entrance. Aside from slabs of rock emerging from the snow, the site is barren.
H’aanit guides Therion to the farthest corner of the cave, away from the winds. He’s shaking. While he ignored the muscle aches in Stillsnow, the chill of the Northreach wilds exacerbates the pain. Trembling fingers scratch at the glacier of a bangle locked around his wrist, adding insult to injury. They’re petty issues compared to what transpired moments ago.
Noticing his behavior, H’aanit offers her beast’s hide with an outstretched arm. He stares for a moment, but accepts the gesture. She backs off and Linde tries to take her place, but even she meets resistance. H’aanit kisses Linde’s forehead and assures her that she will handle matters from here. Linde’s tail drops, but she takes the hint and occupies herself with the snowy landscape.
Therion attempts to ignite a flame, groaning in frustration as the spark fizzles in his palm. Wrapping his arms around himself, he can only brood.
A strained atmosphere fills the cave, with both unsure of how to start the conversation. H’aanit knows Therion wanders from the group during restless nights, but this was a foolish walk into death’s grasp. He had a reason. Reasons often revealed themselves as excuses, but he had a reason for everything.
Short breaths soon replace the sound of chattering teeth, and Therion tightens the hold around himself.
She senses he doesn’t tremble from the cold alone.
“...Are you mad?” he muffles into his scarf, avoiding eye contact.
Questions threaten to spill, but H’aanit bites her tongue. The blur of recent events clears - how Linde nudged her awake, how she left with nothing but an axe and the beast’s hide upon her shoulders. She lifts a hand to brush her unkempt hair away.
“Nay.” She repeats it again, shaking her head.
“I am… troubled.”
She waits for a reply, but it doesn’t come.
“That man…”
Therion bristles at the mere mention of him, and the air thickens with a tension that threatens to suffocate them.
H’aanit recalls the chaos of Wellspring’s black market. The lizard beasts proved a larger nuisance than expected, and when Linde retreated from heat exhaustion, she ventured in alone. Weaving past flipped tables and lowly brigands, she found Therion frozen in his tracks. A cloaked corpse lay beside him, slain by his hand. The blood staining his hands did not faze her, but as he stared beyond the escape route, the look in his eyes did.
Those who accompanied Therion shared how his voice lost its edge, how the man in question responded with insults and mockery. Those eyes make sense now. Behind the walls guarding his heart was a scared, young boy.
“I hath sensed a great fear in thine heart. He is the reason?”
She hears him hold his breath, letting it out with a shaking sigh. He stares at an icicle hanging from the ceiling, his gaze beyond what she can see.
“He was… my partner. Things didn’t work out.”
His tone is flat when he once thought the world of this man. When matters fell out of alignment, he shoved Therion out of orbit, leaving a jaded youth to float among a space of lost light. He didn’t know if he could find the light again.
“‘Tis the reason thou waketh in the midst of the night?” She omits the part where he screams.
Therion murmurs a “yeah” as he drops his gaze toward the floor. It was a telling sign when he awoke to Linde curled beside him. Nightmares often plagued his sleep, more frequently after the fateful reunion. He tried to hide it; he tried to hide everything. He sensed the questions caught in everyone’s throats, never to reach his ears. And if they did, he would deny them, deny it all.
Save for the howling wind, the cave is silent for some time. He can’t bear the silence anymore.
“H’aanit,” he takes a breath. “What’s love to you?”
Perplexed, she glances in his direction. There’s some motive if he asks her, of all people, about the subject. Stern as she appeared, she prides herself on patience regarding matters of the heart. Perhaps Therion understands that, too.
“This love is thy first?” She's cautious in tone.
It takes a moment, but he hums to affirm.
“Bearen with me, for I observen love through a different eye,” she revisits the past with a nostalgic air about her. “When I hath metten Linde, ‘twas a vulnerable time. From that day forward, ‘twas not mine life alone to caren for.” From food rations to sleepless nights tending to ill health, she thinks of the sacrifices for Linde’s sake - ones she would repeat without question.
”Oft we hath disagreed. Yet, we worketh through the obstacles together, from which we hath forged our love. ‘Tis difficult work, to understandeth the heart of another. Not all aren willing to putten forth the effort.”
She glances toward the cave’s entrance, where Linde observes the heavy snow with wonder. How endearing, even in these circumstances. It’s the seemingly mundane actions that reassure H’aanit of their bond.
“When thou setten thine eyes upon him, dost thou feelen at ease, or dost thou feelen like prey?”
Therion sighs, resigning himself to something he needs to hear out loud.
“...Keep going.”
She senses the conversation’s path and ponders her words with care. In this context, it’s a tale she hoped to never tell.
“I thinkest of how prey avoideth detection. A mouse hideth beneath the ground, a snow hare blendeth with the land - such tactics aren essential to survival.”
Therion nods at the comparison, the memories stinging his chest. A lone street rat, he skittered among the alleys when the world tried to beat him down.
“The predator may even enjoyeth the chase. They feigneth good intent to luren their prey-”
“- and then he strikes,” he finishes with a voice unlike his own. Like a mouse to a trap, like a dagger to the eye. He fell for it all; he fell, in the end.
“Therion…” Within those words lies a burden H’aanit cannot comprehend. All she can do is speak sympathy with silence.
Therion thinks of the day Linde accepted his affections, cold bangle and all. She sensed his pain and offered warmth that false promises never gave.
He thinks of his companions. During lonelier times, he stared daggers at them, even unsheathed one when they wouldn’t back off. No, they came closer, knocking at the walls, prodding, throwing an axe against them until they crumbled, bit by bit. They stayed despite his resistance, carrying the pieces away, offering to plant apple trees in their place - but only if he didn’t mind. They always asked what he wanted, wanting nothing in return.
Well, there was one thing - his happiness. Genuine smiles, however small. They’d celebrate any sign, and it makes him wonder who really was the sentimental one.
It’s among this onslaught of good that the bad comes to light. All the times Therion snuck around, hoping he didn’t catch him. And if he did, he braced himself for the impact.
It wasn’t love.
All the sweet words had a catch that he could never grasp. Words that left him scrabbling, clawing for meanings that never came. In the end, he meant nothing to him.
It wasn’t love.
It wasn’t.
And he realizes the true beast lay in his nightmares, striking him again and again, laughing as he carved his parting gift, leaving shattered bones among a shattered heart.
It takes him all his strength, all the air from his lungs, to admit the truth he denied for years.
“He hurt me.”
He repeats it, if only to reassure himself.
There’s no edge, but the broken voice cuts her deep.
H’aanit wants to say something, but words don’t roll off her tongue so easily. Therion’s words beat against her, provoking her. If there is one man who has earned her wrath, then by Draefendi, she’s found the one. Yet, this isn’t what her dear friend needs.
“If thou may allowen...” she speaks gently, holding out an arm.
Hesitation clears when he eventually leans against her shoulder, and she takes this as her signal to close the distance. She’s still cautious. They shuffle a bit until she rests an arm around him, checking for any signs that she should back away.
No signs come. He even relaxes. And so she follows suits.
“Feelen comfortable?”
“Mm-hm.”
Linde joins her companions, resting her body over both of their laps. She drops her head upon Therion’s, nuzzling him for comfort.
“Thou hast bearen a heavy burden on thine own.”
He hums as he scratches behind Linde’s ears.
“If thou dost approven, I wish to carryen it upon mine shoulders.”
Therion stills his hand.
“Thy friends aren here and shall fight beside thee.”
The silence concerns H’aanit.
“That’s exactly why I had to go alone,” Therion finally speaks, raising his head from her shoulder. A thick mist leaves his mouth, and his voice is uncertain. H’aanit is ever patient.
“I’m all take and no give, yet you’ve all stuck around,” he begins. Pieces of his past emerge with every word and attempt to smother him, but he takes a breath and pushes the regrets back.
“The old me would’ve asked why - why the hell you’d do that, and keep doing it.” There’s an unseen tenderness within the edge.
“Now that I know why… I can’t bring you all into my mess. I can’t.”
H’aanit’s gaze softens at the realization. She, alongside the others, protected Therion’s heart as they crumbled its surrounding walls. If he didn’t mind, she hopes she may continue doing so.
“We aren all a mess, aren we not?” H’aanit mimics Therion’s aura of speech. He catches on and manages a small smirk. He’d give her that one.
“Thou didst not bringeth us,” she reassures. “We hath cometh by choice and shall continue until thou achieven thy closure. And...”
Despite the darkness, Therion can feel the warmth of H’aanit’s smile.
“Thou hast given thine heart. A soft heart in an oft cruel world is-”
“Hold it. I know what you’re gonna say.”
She can’t help but chuckle.
“So thou dost believen mine words as true?”
Suddenly, his face doesn’t feel cold anymore.
“...I’m getting there.”
In the past, doubtful remarks coated Therion’s tongue. It’s all too much, yet as he takes in all the warmth, the kindness, he can make amends with his soft heart.
“H’aanit... can I be with Linde?” It’s a gentle request.
Linde’s already shifting her position. Her ears droop as she sniffs Therion, and she cozies up to him. Therion’s hands find comfort in her soft fur.
H’aanit understands. She doesn’t separate until Linde takes her place, after which she seats herself near the cave’s entrance.
Therion glances toward the ceiling, then down again as he slowly wraps his arms around Linde’s form. She leans into the crook of his neck, nestling her face there.
H’aanit makes out the sniffle or two among Linde’s deep purrs. Gazing into the blizzard with a somber expression, she thinks of her companions. She thinks of Therion, of the man who sullied her friend’s heart. And she envisions her newfound target with an axe through his flesh.
But of course, she will give Therion the final word. It’s what he deserves.
She will thank Linde for her true act of kindness. And she will thank Therion for sharing another part of his heart. It’s a treasure worth protecting, after all.
When Therion awakes, his hands feel the familiar beast’s hide over his chest. Something’s snoring beneath him. Fur tickles his ears, and he realizes Linde props his head up like a makeshift pillow. A disheveled H’aanit sleeps beside him, one hand resting against his arm, and the other grasping her axe. She rarely wields it during sleep.
His thoughts are quiet, subdued from what feels like a decent rest. Sure, he’d have to explain why the three of them left: a ‘stroll through the blizzard’ probably wouldn’t cut it. It doesn’t seem as daunting anymore, knowing they intend to stay beside him. After his journey ends, he’s not so sure. Still, it’s in the present that he can work on building a better future.
Carefully, Therion slides half of the beast’s hide over H’aanit before relaxing against Linde’s body. His head rises and falls with each even breath.
For now, he understands what it’s like to be protected. To be trusted - and to trust others. It eases his heart.