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--Inside Pockets--
The tavern is busy, as the evening reaches its peak. Workers are ending their shifts, and quickly spend their earnings on booze and enjoying the familiar faces of the usual tavern crowd.
Therion, Cyrus, Primrose and Ophilia sit in the corner of the tavern; Therion’s choice. Primrose and Ophilia talk between themselves, laughing at the stories they’re sharing. Cyrus is hunched over one of his books, scribbling down notes, as usual, and Therion observes the other people in the room.
“How’ve you even got that book Cyrus?” Primrose asks, turning to the Scholar.
“Yes, you ever so kindly, let Tressa borrow your satchel.” Ophilia adds, and Cyrus peers up from his writing.
“Oh, I always keep a notepad on my person!” Cyrus explains, “I’ve got pockets on the inside of my cloak, so I keep it in them. They’re very useful, you never know when inspiration strikes and you need to note something down.”
Therion’s eyes brighten at the revelation. Cyrus’s cloak has pockets inside them. That would be useful for a thief.
“Of course, you do.” Primrose laughs, and turns back to Ophilia, letting Cyrus continue to flick through his notes. Therion keeps his eyes trained on Cyrus’s chair; more specifically, the cloak hanging off it.
“It’s late,” Ophilia says eventually, glancing out the window, into the dark. “We should probably get to sleep soon. We’re meeting the others early tomorrow morning.”
“You’re right,” Cyrus agrees, closing his book, and sure enough, slips it inside his cloak. “Have a good night you two,” He says to Ophilia and Primrose. They leave the table, heading towards their shared room.
Cyrus stands from the table himself, holding his cloak. “You coming, Therion?”
He nods, and follows Cyrus to their own room. He throws himself onto his designated bed, and watches at Cyrus carefully puts his cloak and outer clothes onto the chair.
“Have a good night Therion,” Cyrus says with a smile, “Don’t stay up too late.”
“I won’t.” Therion replies, and Cyrus slips into bed, and closes his eyes.
Therion watches the other for a while, and listens to the faint sound of the people still drinking in the tavern below. It’ll be a while before all the townspeople quieten for the night, which will be good for Therion’s pockets.
Cyrus’ breathing evens out, so Therion silently gets up from his bed. He goes over the chair, and takes the folded cloak, slipping it over his poncho.
He pokes at the pockets, taking out the notepad that sits in one of them. He puts the book safely with the rest of Cyrus’s clothes. The cloak is, nice. Therion pulls it tighter. It’s not even a cloak, he laughs to himself, as he puts his arms through the sleeves.
The sleeves completely cover his hands, which practically, is useless. He takes them back out, and wears it as Cyrus does; it hanging over his shoulders. He then slips out the room’s window, and takes to the streets.
The sun has completely set, but the city is still busy. Therion moves through the alley’s naturally, heading up the hill towards the Scholars district. Merchants will be closing stalls around this time, and Scholars and other townspeople will be heading home, or having social events.
He smirks at the sight of the street, and flits in between people, his hands slipping into the pockets of every potential target. After moving through the street once, he tucks himself back into another alley to sort through the items.
Bracelets, necklaces, watches, coin pouches; the usual hoard. He starts to dump them into Cyrus’s pockets. The items fill the pockets nicely, and Therion supresses a smile. He looks over towards a large building further up the hill. The garden has neatly trimmed hedges, and a fountain.
They can survive being stolen from, Therion thinks to himself, and heads towards the mansion.
The sun begins to rise, and Cyrus wakes up with a yawn. He stretches his arms above his head and looks over towards Therion’s bed. It’s empty and looks relatively untouched. He sighs in worry but isn’t surprised. It’s not the first time he’s woken to the thief’s empty bed.
“As long as he’s not in trouble,” He mutters to himself, before swinging his legs off the side of the bed, and reaches for his clothes. He goes through the routine of getting dressed, ties his hair loosely, and puts on his boots. He looks for his final item, his cloak. He looks around in confusion, eyes heading from the chair, to the hook on the door. He looks on the floor in case, before giving up.
I must have left it downstairs, He berates himself, before leaving the empty room, and going down the stairs. Primrose and Ophilia are already awake, waking up with some coffee by the bar.
“Good Morning,” Cyrus greets, coming to sit next to Ophilia.
Ophilia smiles politely, nursing her drink and Primrose replies with a stifled yawn.
“Therion not awake yet?” Ophilia asks.
“Don’t think he slept at all,” Cyrus answers honestly, “I must admit, I’m a little concerned for his health.”
Just then the tavern door opens, and Therion walks through. Cyrus’s eyes immediately lock onto his cloak, currently wrapped around the thief. He notes how, big it looks on him, and pointedly coughs.
“Ah, so that’s where it ended up.” He says, voice definitely not stuttering over the sight of Therion in his coat.
Therion pulls his scarf over his mouth to cover his smile, though his eyes and blush are still visible. He slips the cloak from his shoulders, and hands it back to Cyrus.
“Yeah, here you go.”
The thief makes a quick exit, turning back to wait outside. Cyrus holds his cloak, focusing on the warmth still clinging to it, before slipping it over his shoulders. He goes to put his book back in its usual pocket, until he realises, he can’t.
He tries again, but it cannot slip in. His focus changes from the cloak’s warmth, to its weight, and he tentatively puts his hand in one of the pockets. He touches something metal, and pulls out an extravagant necklace.
“Oh my god,” He mutters, his brain clicking into place. He starts checking all the pockets.
“Oh goodness,” Ophilia chuckles, watching as Cyrus pulls out stolen item, after stolen item. Primrose laughs, and slams her now empty mug, onto the bar.
It draws the attention of the few early risers in the tavern, and they look at Cyrus suspiciously. He blushes, and quickly puts everything back into his pockets, before speeding out the door.
“Therion! Therion! I don’t know what to do with these…” He calls out, leaving Ophilia and Primrose chuckling at the bar.
--Cold--
The eight travellers are walking up to Northreach, through the snow. Ophilia leads, used to the cooler climates, as the rest of them struggle behind her.
“It’s too cold…” Tressa complains, huddling close to H’aanit, trying to hide under her fur cloak.
“Indeed, it is,” H’aanit agrees, wrapping an arm around the Merchant.
They continue forward, making slow progress. Therion buries himself in his scarf, face practically invisible. He slows down, already at the back of the group. He looks up at the white sky, and wonders how Primrose is still alive; she’s wearing an additional coat, but still.
“Therion?” Cyrus calls, and turns round. The other’s keep walking, and Therion speeds up to the waiting Scholar.
“Sorry, I’m fine.” He brushes off and concern and keeps walking. Cyrus holds back for a moment, so Therion turns around to face him. “What’re you doing?”
Cyrus produces a small flame in his hand, concentrating to make it slightly larger and walks over to Therion. Therion quietly admires Cyrus’s control and precision with his magic.
“Here,” Cyrus says, holding his hand out.
“What?” Therion takes a step back from the flame.
“Take it,” Cyrus takes a small step closer, “It’ll help you warm up.”
“I don’t have that level of control,” Therion shakes his head, “This will end badly.”
“It’ll be fine, I’ll stay with you and help you sustain the flow of energy.” Cyrus smiles, “Trust me.”
Therion looks at Cyrus, before relenting, and holding his hand out. Cyrus moves his hand over to Therion’s, and transfers the flame. He immediately feels the warmth on his frozen fingertips, and it travels up his arm slightly. This flame isn’t as burning as a natural flame is, and Therion briefly wonders if Cyrus can control its temperature.
“If I may,” Cyrus asks, and takes hold of Therion’s other hand. Therion doesn’t protest, so Cyrus holds it more securely. Cyrus starts to transfer a steady flow of magic into Therion, and controls the flame with him.
The magic also feels warm, Therion notes happily. The proximity of the Scholar is also helping him warm up.
“Ready?” Cyrus asks, and Therion nods. They start walking to catch up with the others, holding hands.
The flame healthily simmers above Therion’s palm, and he doesn’t feel the biting cold anymore. He still buries his face into his scarf to hide his blush though. He hopes Cyrus thinks he’s just cold.
Night falls over them, and the snow turns heavier, verging on a storm. Northreach is still a while away.
“We should probably stop for the night,” Olberic says, stopping and turning to look at the group.
“That can’t be an option,” Primrose shakes her head, “There’s nowhere to take shelter.” They look around at the scenery, barely seeing anything past the snow.
“There’s a small valley east of here,” Ophilia says, “Perhaps there’s a cave we can wait in?”
“That’s an excellent idea,” Alfyn nods, “It’s better than us wandering around, and getting lost for the whole night.”
“Lead the way then,” Primrose gestures with her hand, and Ophilia and Olberic take point.
They start to walk again, and Therion focuses back on his flame. Cyrus is still holding his hand, helping him maintain the fire. As the wind and snow increase, Therion feels more magic being pushed through him.
“And then, much to my surprise, I found my notes scattered around the field. That’s what you get for loosing focus when teaching students about wind magic.” Cyrus laughs, using this time to talk Therion’s ear off with his stories and research.
The group walk for a few minutes before noticing the terrain change, and form into a valley.
“Straight ahead,” H’aanit points, still with Tressa clinging to her. “A shallow cave,”
“Nice find,” Alfyn nods, “That’ll suit us perfectly. Let’s go.”
They quickly walk towards the cave, it is large enough for everyone to fit comfortably and leads nowhere. It’s got a tall entrance, most importantly though, provides shelter from the wind and snow.
“Well, this’ll do nicely.” Cyrus comments, and still holding Therion’s hand, uses his other to produce another flame. He sends this flame to the cave floor, and throws some wood on it, letting it burn naturally.
Everyone sits down, sighing as they do, and start taking off their bags, rummaging around for food. They shed their various cloaks and coats, quickly making themselves comfortable in the quickly warming cave.
Cyrus gives Therion’s hand a final squeeze, before allowing his flame die, and letting go. Therion flexes his hand, before sitting down himself by the fire. Cyrus settles next to him.
“Thanks,” He says, bringing his knees up to his chest, letting his head sit on his knees as he stares at the flames.
“You’re most welcome.” Cyrus says, and removes his cloak. He accepts the wrapped food package from Alfyn, and Therion takes one from Ophilia.
The cave warms them up, especially without the biting wind cutting into them. Tressa and Alfyn lay down, deciding to sleep through the storm. The others talk around the fire, H’aanit braving the storm to gather nearby wood to keep the fire lit. She comes back, successful, and joins the others.
Therion lies down, and moves a little away from the group; not want to take up too much space by the fire. He moves his scarf to cushion his head a little and curls up.
The cave floor is cold, hard and uncomfortable. But Therion is tired and knows he won’t be sleeping much when they reach Northreach, so shuts his eyes stubbornly. He folds his legs to fit inside his poncho, but still shivers. He waits for minutes, trying to ignore the howling wind, and instead focus on his friends chatting and laughing, hoping to drift off. It doesn’t work.
He opens his eyes, and sits up; almost giving up on the idea of sleep. Until he spots a familiar cloak laying beside a bag on the ground.
Therion looks over at Cyrus, who still has multiple layers on, and doesn’t seem cold in the slightest. He’s sat by the fire, drinking something Primrose handed to him, which Therion half wants to stay awake for; but doesn’t. Instead, he shuffles over to the cloak, and pulls it over him. He puts his arms through the sleeves, and this time lets the material envelope his hands.
He lays back down, and adjusts the cloak to more securely wrap around him. It takes a minute for his body heat to warm up the cloak, but it does, and finally, he’s comfortably warm . He drifts off to sleep quickly.
Therion wakes up to someone lightly shaking his shoulder and calling his name.
“Therion, Therion? The storm’s passed, we’re leaving shortly.” Cyrus mutters, “You better not be ignoring me on purpose.”
Therion opens his eyes with a chuckle, “I’m up.” He yawns. Ophilia slowly wakes up Tressa and Primrose lightly kicks Alfyn to get him up. Olberic and H’aanit pack away anything laying around. Everyone starts to layer themselves up, and Therion goes to take off Cyrus’s cloak.
“I hope you didn’t get too cold.” He says, shrugging off the cloak.
“I’m fine thank you; I find I don’t get cold easily,” Cyrus replies, adjusting his cloak more securely wrap it around Therion. “Keep it. Until we get to Northreach.”
“C’mon you two,” Tressa says, from the entrance, “Let’s go.”
They turn their heads to everyone waiting, and Cyrus grabs his bag. They follow them out and continue on their way. Therion brings the large sleeves up to uncover his hands and holds his hand out to Cyrus.
“Ah, of course.” Cyrus laughs, producing a small flame again. He passes it to Therion who takes it without hesitation and holds Cyrus’ other hand.
--In Need of a Disguise--
Therion darts through the house, bursting out the front doors, and taking the steps quickly down. The dog continues to bark behind him, and the alerted mercenaries follow him down.
“That way, don’t let him escape!” One of them shouts, pointing directly at Therion. Therion doesn’t slow down enough to see who’s she’s shouting too. He just runs.
He climbs over the gate, narrowly missing an arrow that soars past him.
“Shit,” He mutters, jumping down from off the gate, and running into the crowd. People start screaming as arrows continue to fly at him; people fleeing from the scene.
“Get him!” A group outside the gate yells, and Therion curses again. It’s not his day.
He turns into an alley, darting through, hoping he doesn’t reach a dead end. It’s a new city, which Alfyn mentioned wanting to visit for some reason. Regardless, Therion’s got limited options with where to hide; not knowing the area well enough.
He looks over his shoulder; still seeing a group chasing him. The arrows have luckily stopped, the archer must have been stopped by the gate. But this group all have swords and seem to be rather coordinated.
He slows his pace, as he reaches another busy street. Stalls are set up, and people are bustling around. He slips into the crowd, and starts looking for any escape. His senses are fully engaged and working intensely.
“He’s the one with white hair, and a purple scarf! Find him.” He hears from the mercenaries.
Therion tucks himself further into a crowd, and not for the first time – wishes his hair wasn’t so noticeable.
“It’s a marvellous tome, is it not? I’ve never had the pleasure of reading a first edition though, and the binding on this is delightful.”
Therion turns instantly to the voice, and has never been happier to see Cyrus; the nerd. He’s in an engaged conversation with an elderly gentleman, running a book stall of some sort. Therion immediately shuffles through the crowd to him.
He stands by Cyrus’s side, the Scholar not even noticing; too busy moving on to fawn over another book.
“Where is he? Look for anyone with a purple scarf.” He hears.
Therion looks at Cyrus, and then at his cloak. He quickly undoes the clasp of his cloak and tugs at it; finally, Cyrus notices his presence.
“Excuse- oh, Therion.”
“Keep talking books.” Therion snaps quickly, sliding the rest of the cloak off, quickly covering himself in it. He pulls the hood over his identifiable hair and pretends to browse the books lining the stall.
“What’s the matter, is everything alright?” Cyrus asks, putting a concerned hand on Therion’s shoulder.
“How can a guy with white hair, just disappear!” A voice shouts, “He can’t have gone far.”
“Oh,” Cyrus nods, and turns back to face the stall, stiffly.
“Yeah, oh.” Therion says, and pulls the cloak around him tighter, as he feels eyes skim over him. He continues to look at books. He glances at Cyrus, who is still rigid, and looks nervous. Therion sighs. He pulls a random book of the table.
“What’s this one about?” He asks, “Ever read it?”
Cyrus immediately smiles, and relaxes, “Oh yes, one of my first students loved this tome. I remember having to order in several for the library, because he kept taking them out, so no one else could read it. It’s about how elemental-“ He starts talking, and Therion takes a deep breath.
He tunes out Cyrus, and keeps an ear focused on the crowd.
“He can’t have gone far, let’s split up.” He focuses on the hurried footsteps, and hears them scatter in different directions. None appear to be coming towards him.
“-Then he demanded he teach the lesson instead. I obliged of course, I always love when the students get so passionate and involved in a lesson. I find it really helps them learn the material.”
“That’s great.” Therion cuts in, then turns to leave. He should probably leave the city swiftly; these Mercenaries will likely be checking all the inns and taverns tonight.
“I’m going to have to lay low for a while, leave the city.” He quickly explains to Cyrus. “I probably won’t see you for a few days. But I should be back before you all leave.”
“Why, where are you going?” He asks, and Therion starts walking away. He hears a hurried thanks and apology from Cyrus to the bookkeeper, and him running up to catch him. “Therion!” Cyrus catches him easily, and walks with him down the street.
“I’m coming with you.” Cyrus says, and Therion looks at him with surprise, before remembering what he’s wearing.
“Oh, you want your cloak back?”
“No, that’s not why.” Cyrus sighs, “Let’s talk about this later, who should I be looking out for?”
“Who?” Therion asks, confused.
“The people after you? What do they look like?”
Therion stops walking, “You’re helping me? You do realise I’m a thief; I’m not in the right here.” He says worriedly, “I don’t want to get you involved in this, it was my stupid mistake.”
“Therion,” Cyrus says, taking Therion’s hand. “You’re my friend. Of course, I want to help you. Besides, travelling the world with you has taught me that not everything is black and white. It’s okay to break the rules, sometimes.”
Therion stifles a laugh. “Who are you, and what have you done with Professor Albright?”
“Let’s go,” Cyrus rolls his eyes, and tugs Therion down the path.
They make it out the city, with only a small encounter, where Therion tugged them into an alleyway until one of the mercenaries passed. They walk down the road, Cyrus still holding Therion’s hand. They walk for a few miles, deciding to climb a hill that overlooks the city.
The sun sets, as they finally reach the top.
“So, what happened?” Cyrus finally asks, getting his water bottle out of his bag, and takes a sip; offering it to Therion afterwards.
He accepts the water and takes a long drink. Therion doesn’t offer an answer, so Cyrus sits down by a fallen log, leaning against it to look at the cityscape.
“There was a dog.” Therion says eventually, sitting down next to Cyrus.
“Let me guess,” Cyrus says, mind racing through possible events. “The mercenaries had a guard dog and sent it after you. It kept on barking as you ran, so they always knew where you were, but you didn’t have to the heart to kill the dog.”
Therion laughs, “Almost.” He shakes his head, “More stupid then that.”
“Therion, you’re an excellent thief. I don’t believe it can be that stupid.”
“I entered the house through a bedroom window,” Therion starts, letting the story out, “And the dog was already there, laying on the bed, watching me.”
“It didn’t bark?” Cyrus asked, already fully engaged with the tale.
“No, it looked sad.” Therion says, shaking his head fondly, “After grabbing a few items, I went to another room, to sweep it. And he followed me. He followed me around the house for a bit, until it laid down in the corridor, defeated.”
“Was he ill?”
“I don’t know, I think he was just lonely.” Therion says sadly, “So I went to check on him. As soon as I started petting him, he perked up. I thought I cheered him up, so I went to leave, but he started barking to get me to pet him again.”
“Ah, so then the mercenaries heard.”
“Yep. I went to leave through the bedroom I entered, but a hired guard turned the corner. So, I had to bolt.”
“Therion. Master Thief. Caught by petting a lonely dog.” Cyrus chuckles, “It’s rather sweet of you to help the dog though. You could’ve just left it.”
“I should of.” Therion sighs, he leans his head against Cyrus’s shoulder and looks out over the small city. Cyrus brings an arm around his shoulders. They watch the sun set, and stars begin to appear in the sky.
“You know, you’ve been wearing my coat more often than me lately.” Cyrus mentions.
“It was convenient,” Therion quickly answers, “They knew what I was wearing, and my hair is very recognisable. It would be better if it were brown, or black, or something normal.”
“It wouldn’t be better; I think your hair is beautiful. I’ve never seen anything like it.” Cyrus answers honestly, “And I don’t mind when you wear my coat. It looks rather adorable on you.”
Therion lightly kicks Cyrus foot with his own.
“Shut up.”
--Sickness--
“Ughhh,” Therion moans and sits up from the bed. The sunlight pours through the curtain-less window, and he covers his eyes with his hands. His head spins, and he goes to stand and slowly get dressed.
Olberic’s bed is already made, and his stuff gone; so, he’ll be waiting downstairs in the public area. He starts shivering, as he wraps on his scarf, and moves his aching legs towards the door.
He walks down the corridor, feeling very dizzy. He pulls his scarf up to cover his face, hoping to conceal how he feels. The tavern is busy, and Therion briefly wonders how late in the day it is.
“Therion. Good Morning,” Cyrus greets, standing up from where he was waiting in the corner. “Everyone else left already, Alfyn wanted to get to the village as soon as possible, so I told them we’d catch them up.”
“Let’s get going then.” Therion says and starts slowly heading towards the door.
“Right,”
The light sharply hits Therion’s eyes as he walks out the tavern, immediately flinching, and despite the sunshine, Therion feels cold as he huddles further under his poncho for warmth. He should have stayed in bed.
“Is everything alright Therion?” Cyrus asks concerned, he watches as Therion shrinks into himself, and hold his head painfully.
“Just a headache, don’t worry.” The thief brushes off, stumbling in the direction of the village. He doesn’t make it far before swaying unsteadily.
Cyrus rushes over to stabilise him, “Therion,” He wraps his arm around his shoulders, and without meaning too, Therion leans in.
“I’m fine,” He replies sharply, contrasting how he turns to hide himself in Cyrus, away from the light and away from the cold. “Just need a moment to catch my breath.”
“We should find you some help,” Cyrus says worriedly, looking around the area. The tavern’s the only building in the area, situated on a crossroad, mainly for travellers.
“We’re not going to find anyone around here,” Therion coughs, “That’s why Alfyn has so much work, everyone’s ill.”
“Can you walk?” Cyrus asks, “I believe our best bet is to catch up with the other’s. Alfyn should be able to treat you.”
Therion pushes himself away from Cyrus and walks a few steps to prove himself.
“Yes, I can manage.”
They start walking down the path, Cyrus hovering around Therion nervously. Therion takes a few steps, before keeling over.
“I’m sorry,” Therion mutters, grabbing his head and giving up on walking. “It’s hurts.”
Therion rarely admits to any injuries, or pain he’s in, so Cyrus is immediately worried. He kneels down next to him, hands hovering over the thief, not knowing how to help.
“Don’t apologise,” He says softly, not wanting to aggravate his headache anymore. “It’s okay.”
Therion starts shivering and grabs at Cyrus unconsciously. He holds Cyrus’s cloak, and starts tugging at it. Cyrus lets it fall off his shoulders and Therion wraps the extra layer around himself.
“Therion,” He says softly, as gently strokes his white hair to comfort him. “It’s going to be alright.”
Therion leans himself against Cyrus and grits his teeth at the wave of pain that pulses through his head. Tears appear in his eyes, and he curls up. His hands tightly pull at his hair, in desperation.
“…Fuck.” Therion grits out from the pain.
Cyrus gently unclasps his hands from his hair, and Therion lets his hair go, clutching tightly to Cyrus’s hands instead. Cyrus gently rubs Therion’s hands with his own in an attempt to relieve the tension.
“Here,” Cyrus says, and pulls Therion’s hood up, to shield his eyes from the light. He guides Therion back onto his feet and slowly walks them off the path slightly, under a large, shady tree.
Cyrus sits down, and Therion follow him. Cyrus starts playing with Therion’s hands, to keep them occupied from pulling his hair, as Therion pushes through the painful migraine wave. He keeps his head in Cyrus’ cloaks hood, and leans his head against the scholar’s shoulder.
Therion doesn’t know how long they wait, but it feels like a while. He drifted off to sleep at some point, but Cyrus doesn’t attempt to move him, start a conversation, or wake him up. He just lets Therion rest.
When he wakes up, the sun is still out, but it’s not as painful to his eyes; thank god.
“Cyrus?” Therion calls, sitting up slowly.
“How are you feeling?” The scholar replies quietly, helping Therion sit up. “Ready to move?”
Therion blinks himself move awake, taking down the hood, and unfurling from his poncho. He does a mental evaluation of how he’s feeling, pleased to find the pain much more bearable.
“Yeah, I’m alright.” He answers, and Cyrus seems a little suspicious, but realises they can’t spend all day resting near the side of the path, so starts standing up. He watches as Therion stands himself, pleased to see him more stable than before.
Nonetheless, Cyrus gives him a canteen of water, and chunk of bread.
“Eat this as we go,” He orders, “We’ll take it slowly, so don’t push yourself.”
Therion sees no reason to argue, so follows his orders and they slowly walk down the path together; the thief still wearing the cloak.
--Tiredness, and Sharing---
It’s not often they have to camp outside; usually Ophilia or Olberic take the time to plan their routes around inns to stay in, but it is inevitable they have nights spent under the stars.
“I’ll collect firewood,” H’aanit offers, as they reach an appropriate clearing. They’re surrounded by trees but have enough space for them to comfortably fit a temporary camp.
“Thank you H’aanit,” Ophilia smiles, “I’ll start cooking. We should have enough for a nice vegetable soup.” She says, Tressa already walking over with the pot she carries to help.
“I can help collect wood,” Olberic says, putting down his belongings down.
“I want to come too, see if I can find any herbs and ingredients” Alfyn says, “Apparently this area is known for having a quite the variety.”
“Primrose, could you go back to that river, and collect some water to boil?” Tressa asks, handing over several canteens.
“Well, I guess that leaves us with setting up our sleeping arrangements.” Cyrus announces, turning to Therion as everyone starts busying themselves with their own jobs. They drop their bags and take off several their outer layers. The weather is warm, and they’ve been walking all day.
Therion looks up at the sky, there isn’t a cloud in sight. “It’s not going to rain,”
“I agree, we won’t need all the additional covers then.”
They silently start to pull out sheets, tarps and ropes. Therion immediately starts suspending the ropes, tying them around trees, as Cyrus lays down the sleeping mats and blankets.
The evening progresses quickly, as the group routinely build a fire, cook and eat the food Ophilia and Tressa prepared, and finally settle down to sleep; taking turns to keep watch.
“Therion,” Primrose shakes Therion, she keeps quiet as to not disturb the others. “Therion, it’s your turn. I’m turning in for the night.”
Therion rises from his ‘bed’, leaving his pile of blankets. He gives Primrose a nod, confirming he’s awake and watches as she tucks herself in between Tressa and Olberic. He then shuffles out of his pile of blankets, and winces at the cold.
His body shivers, but allows him to wake up properly, his grogginess from sleeping slowly vanishing.
The night sky is beautifully clear, with the stars clearly visible in the clearing. The trees sway gently, as the wind passes through them; the only sound Therion can hear in the calm night.
He eventually moves away from the designated sleeping area, aiming to warm himself by the dying ashes of the fire. He blindly reaches for a blanket as he leaves. His hand finds a heavy material, and he grabs it, wrapping it around his shoulders as he walks over to the fallen log the group moved near the fire.
He adjusts the blanket, and quickly notices the familiarity of the material. Cyrus’s cloak – of course, it is. Therion’s eyes crinkle subtly as he smiles, pulling the cloth up to his face. He takes a deep inhale, finding comfort in the familiar scent of Cyrus, paper, parchments, ink mostly.
“Therion?” A voice calls, as a figure slowly sits up from the pile. Therion looks over his shoulder, as a tired Scholar ruffles his hair, and slowly rubs his eyes.
Therion smiles at the adorable sight.
“Go back to sleep Cyrus,” He whispers, loud enough for the other to hear.
Cyrus blinks several times, the moonlight making him barely visible, and focuses his gaze on the Thief.
“Are you on watch?” He asks, instead of following Therion’s advice.
“I am.” Therion confirms, “Just woke up myself.”
Cyrus nods slowly, “That makes sense then. I seem to only be able to sleep with you nearby; Hence why I have awakened.” He sleepily explains, more to himself then Therion. The Thief hears the admission anyway, and turns back to face the embers, hiding his blush.
Cyrus moves around behind him quietly, shuffling blankets.
“Have you seen my- oh.” He begins asking, “Never mind, I found it.”
He moves over to join Therion by the fire, sitting on the ground, against the log next to Therion. Cyrus yawns, resting his head back on the log, looking up at the sky. He tilts his head after a moment, looking at the Thief.
“You like my cloak, don’t you?” He says, and Therion pointedly looks away.
“You can have it back, if you’re cold.” He offers but Cyrus shakes his head and closes his eyes peacefully.
“No, it’s quite alright. I wouldn’t like for you to be cold without it.”
Therion looks back at Cyrus, who is shivering himself, though looks content. He didn’t bring over another blanket, or anything else to stave of the cold air. Therion shifts the cloak from his shoulders and drapes it over Cyrus.
“Therion-“ Cyrus says, jumping slightly at the weight dropping onto him.
“It’s your coat,” Therion replies, shrugging. “You have priority.”
Cyrus contemplates the statement for a moment, before lifting up the coat, holding his hand out for Therion.
“Come here.” He offers, inviting Therion under the cloak with him. “We might as well share.”
Therion hesitates, before Cyrus rolls his eyes.
“And people say I overthink everything,” He shakes his head, “Just get down here.” He grabs Therion’s poncho, and lightly pulls him down. Therion lets himself get pulled in Cyrus, as he settles in between his legs. Cyrus then drops the cloak around them both.
Therion immediately feels the warmth from being under the cloak and pressed against Cyrus.
“There we go, we can both use the cloak.” Cyrus says softly and leans his head against Therion’s. Therion stiffens, before finally accepting the contact, and relaxes into the Scholar’s hold.
“I rather enjoy seeing you use my coat,” Cyrus admits, whispering against the shell of Therion’s ear.
“Hmm,” Therion hums, finding Cyrus’s hand under the cloak, and lacing their fingers together. Cyrus squeezes them pleasantly.
“It suits you, and,” Cyrus hides his face in Therion’s hair, lowering his voice so that Therion can barely hear his next admission, “It shows everyone that you’re mine.”
Therion’s heart warms at the confession and turns his head to face Cyrus. Their faces are so close, they can feel the warmth of the other’s breaths ghosting over their lips.
“That’s good to know,” Therion mutters back, matching his quiet volume.
“Yes?”
“Because I don’t mind that at all, being yours.” Therion admits, and watches as Cyrus’s tired face light’s up with happiness. Before Cyrus can reply, Therion finally closes the gap between them, softly pressing his lips against the others.
Cyrus smiles, bringing a hand up from under the cloak to cradle Therion’s jaw, gently stroking his cheek. Therion hesitantly opens his lips, Cyrus following, and they deepen the kiss.
Therion clutches Cyrus’s shirt, and Cyrus hums contently, before pulling away. He moves his lips over Therion’s forehead and presses a kiss against it.
“Therion, I love you.” Cyrus whispers, “I think I have for a while.”
Therion’s chest flutters, “I love you too, you and your cloak.” He adds quietly, as a tease.
Cyrus laughs quietly, before it turns into a yawn, he brings his hand away from Therion’s face to stifle it.
Therion laughs this time, before turning and settling down, his back against Cyrus’s chest.
“You should get some sleep,” He says, feeling Cyrus nods against him.
Cyrus rests his head on Therion’s shoulder, hiding his face in Therion’s neck. He brings his arms up to clutch at Therion’s waist, tightening his hold before relaxing.
“Goodnight Therion,”
Therion sighs contently, securing the coat around them, settling into his watch.
“Night Cyrus.”