Therion

THWACK

The axe reverberated as it struck into the tree. Therion gritted his teeth as he yanked the axe out of the wood.

“Fucking Miguel.”

It was probably the hundredth time he had said it since going out to chop wood for their group. He had warned Alfyn about trusting a man like that. Ogen, the other apothecary, had warned him. But Alfyn, stupid, kind, everyone-has-good-in-them Alfyn had ignored them and sat for hours in a damp barn treating Miguel.

Who kidnapped a child as soon as he was able to stand.

They had brought the kid back, thankfully unharmed, but Alfyn had been different since then. The once happy apothecary had been quiet on their way out of Saintsbridge.

And he had treated Therion differently too.

Therion was used to people treating him differently because he was a thief, especially now with that damned fools bangle stuck to his wrist, but Alfyn never had. Even when Alfyn found out that the stupid shackle indicated he was a thief that had been caught, Alfyn smiled at him, treated him, joked with him, and didn’t treat him differently than anyone else in their ragtag group.

“That’s not entirely true,” his traitorous mind supplied. “He treated you better.”

No matter how much he tried to tell Alfyn he wasn’t here to make friends, that he’d be gone as soon as the dragonstones were recovered and the stupid shackle was off his wrist, Alfyn would always offer to accompany him to the tavern after a battle. Would always room with him. When he had asked why, Alfyn blushed and would say, in that infuriatingly kind way, “Gosh, Therion, just want to get to know you better is all,” and he’d smile at him.

The worst thing was Therion was starting to like it. It had been so long since someone had even appeared to care about him, and, despite his best efforts to shake the apothecary, Alfyn could just look at him with that stupid smile and Therion would agree to almost anything.

But that was before Miguel.

On their way out of Saintsbridge, the group had encountered a group of River Froggen, nothing they hadn’t seen before, but one got a decent swipe in while Therion had been protecting Tressa.

The old Alfyn would have rushed over and fussed over him. This Alfyn just looked at him sadly and asked Ophilia to heal him.

He could almost hear his former partner laughing at him, “Stupid little tea leaf, you thought he cared about you. You thought he liked—”

“Damn it!” Therion shouted as he slammed the axe into another tree.

He was interrupted from his chopping by a buzzing sound from behind him. He froze. He was at least 10 minutes away from the rest of the group, having gone far out to collect wood, and he was next-to-useless with an axe. He reached for the small dagger by his belt and turned.

A gigantic river fly buzzed above him. It probably thought he’d be easy prey.

“He might not be wrong. You’re on your own.”

“I’ve been on my own before,” Therion thought, as he drew the dagger and lunged.

Ophilia

Ophilia was patient to a fault. Which was why the surge of frustration towards Alfyn surprised her.

After Therion hadn’t come back, Primrose and Olberic had offered to check on their thief. It was odd, though, usually Alfyn usually volunteered for “Therion retrieval” whenever the thief went missing. And while Alfyn had been a bit out of sorts after the entire Miguel incident, it still stuck her as odd.

Not for the first time, she hoped Alfyn wasn’t worried about Therion betraying them like that. Sure, he was a thief, but he was their thief – the one that dropped coins in poor children’s pockets when he thought the rest of the group was distracted. Regardless of his skills, Therion wasn’t a bad person – even Tressa, who threw a fit when she noticed the fool’s bangle on Therion’s wrist, would begrudgingly admit that.

When Olberic came running back with a bleeding Therion tossed over his shoulder, she still expected Alfyn would do something. And he did, he yanked out a container of grape wound dressing, only to drop it almost immediately.

Ophilia could use her powers to stabilize Therion, but Alfyn was their apothecary. She had seen Alfyn work many times on their journey – he could clean a wound, make a dressing, and apply it within a minute. But, for some reason, with Therion bleeding in front of them, Alfyn seemed paralyzed.

“Olberic, could you come over here and help Alfyn,” Ophilia said, trying to keep the frustration out of her voice as she began to pour healing magic into him. Their warrior had been getting basic apothecary training from Alfyn and could at least bandage the wound if Alfyn couldn’t.

And, with how much Alfyn’s hands were shaking, she doubted he’d be much good right now, even if he wanted to treat Therion.

The thought caught her off-guard. She really hoped he did want to treat their companion – while Miguel’s betrayal stung, it would be horrible for Alfyn to take it out on Therion.

“We need to get him to a town,” Olberic said as he worked, taking the medical satchel from Alfyn.

“Clearbrook is nearby,” Cyrus chimed in, hovering over Olberic. “I think we could be there in half an hour if we hurry. And there’s another apothecary in that town, Alfyn’s friend. We may need him, Therion looks a little green.”

“River fly poison,” Alfyn said softly, and if Ophilia wasn’t standing over them she doubted she would have heard.

“Linde and I shall go, then, and tell them we will needth their aid,” H’aanit said, grabbing her bow from its place near their fire.

“I’ll go with you,” Primrose offered. “We shouldn’t travel alone.”

“Thank ye.”

“We’ll make haste too,” Cyrus said, “as soon as Olberic and Ophilia are done we’ll follow.”

Ophilia made a quick prayer to Aelfric that they’d be safe as she continued to cast.

H'aanit

“We are in needth of thou aid,” H’aanit said as Zeph opened the door.

“What’s wrong… wait, you’re Alfyn’s friend, aren’t you,” Zeph asked, ushering H’aanit and Primrose inside. He froze as Linde walked past him but calmed as the giant cat claimed a spot near the fireplace.

“Indeed. Our companion hath fallen ill in the forest nearby. The others are bringing him here.” H’aanit replied.

“Is Alfyn alright,” Zeph asked worriedly.

“Yes, he’s fine, well, mostly anyway,” Primrose cut in. “It’s Therion, I think you two met when Alfyn started his journey with us. Sullen, kind of prickly, purple cloak? He got attacked by a river fly while getting firewood.”

“I definitely remember Therion,” Zeph said with a smile as he walked towards his cupboard of ingredients. “And even if I didn’t Alfyn mentions him in every letter. I think he’s taken quite a liking to your friend…”

H’aanit shared a glance with Primrose. “Thou think so?”

“Oh, definitely,” Zeph said as he rummaged through the various vials. “Though I wonder if Alfyn realizes what it is – he’s never been the best at—Ah! Here we go! River fly anti-toxin,” he said as a placed two jars down on the table nearby. “And a basic grape poultice to help with the wounds. Truth be told, this is an easy mix – I remember learning it with Alfyn when we were younger. I’m surprised he didn’t have the materials on hand. You must have been traveling for a while to be running that low on supplies.”

H’aanit was about to answer when there was a thudding at the door and Zeph rushed over to let their other companions in. As Olberic laid Therion onto a bed, Zeph grabbed the jars and got to work.

As Zeph started to look at the bandages, he paused and looked over at Alfyn. H’aanit noticed that Alfyn refused to meet his gaze and looked the floor. Zeph seemed confused, before shrugging and returning to the bandages and beginning to unwrap them.

Primrose placed a hand on H’aanit’s shoulder, “Perhaps we should see if the nearby inn has rooms?”

“Aye. Come Linde,” H’aanit said as they walked towards the door. “Will thoust get us if there is a change?”

“Of course,” Cyrus said from his position near Olberic.

After the door closed, H’aanit took a moment to enjoy the cool night air of Clearbrook. She missed the sounds of the dense S'warkii forest, but she could appreciate the gentle quiet of this town.

“I think I should speak to Alfyn in the morning,” Primrose said as they walked through the small hamlet.

“Aye, that would be best.”

Primrose

Primrose understood Therion, or at least she thought she was probably better at understanding him than anyone else in the group. She knew what the scars of betrayal looked like.

And, truth be told, he had grown on the dancer. He could sit quietly with her at a tavern, and she’d feel comfortable. He’d never ask about her past, and she’d never ask about his. It worked for them.

So, it was with no small amount of protectiveness that she approached Alfyn the next morning and said, “we need to talk.”

He followed her easily to the riverbank outside Zeph’s cottage – it was still early and no one from the sleepy little hamlet was out yet. She almost thought of taking out a dagger and twirling as they spoke, but figured that might be pushing it, even for her.

“What the hell happened back there,” she asked angrily. “Therion was dying, and you just sat there.”

“…I’m sorry,” Alfyn said sadly, refusing to meet her gaze. He clutched his ever-present satchel, as though it would protect him. “Not bloody likely,” she thought to herself.

“Sorry? Therion nearly died and you’re sorry?” When Alfyn didn’t reply she continued, “we all get that Miguel’s betrayal hit you hard, but Aelfric help me if you start taking this out on Therion then—”

“What?” Alfyn cut her off, looking as though he had been slapped. “You think I… You think I didn’t treat him on purpose?”

“Therion’s a thief, like Miguel.”

“Therion is nothing like Miguel!” Alfyn shouted, his intensity shocking both of them.

“You don’t know what he did before he joined our group,” Primrose dug.

“And I don’t care!” Alfyn shot back. “I know he doesn’t trust me like he does you,” he said bitterly. “But this is Therion, the one that has saved us more times than I can count. He could have betrayed us at any time. He’s been on watch alone enough times he easily could have made away with everything we have. We’d wake up the next morning and he’d be gone.”

Alfyn paused for a moment, before settling on something, “but he never has. He’s always been there for us. It’s why I’m, idiot that I am, hopelessly in love with him.” He looks Primrose in the eye, “so, no, I did not try to kill him last night. I failed to heal him because the man I love was bleeding out in front of me and I didn’t know what to do.”

Alfyn seemed to sag after the last statement, as though all his courage had been depleted. Primrose looked him over, before walking over, and placing a hand on his shoulder.

“Good.”

“…Uh, what?” Alfyn asked, confused. “You’re not going to tell me to get lost or something. I thought you two were…”

Primrose smiled as Alfyn tried, and failed, to find the words. After a moment, she decided to take pity on the apothecary, “No, dear. We’re not together.”

“Uh… oh… okay?” Alfyn stammered. “Do you know if he’s, uh… well… into… you know,” he said, hands waving about.

“I’m not sure,” she replied. As Alfyn’s face fell, she added, “but, having seen him near you, I think it might not be as hopeless as you think.”

Tressa

“He will be fine, Tressa,” Olberic said softly.

“I know, but I’d prefer to be here anyway,” Tressa said, starting her ritual of going through all their old gear and appraising it. She had become their expert in how much gear should cost.

“Though Theri was pretty good at it too,” she thought.

She had given Therion a hard time at first. In her defense, thieves were the natural enemies of merchants like her. She always had this idea in her head of what thieves were – they were like the pirates that prayed on the ships around her port town – rich, greedy bastards who took from those for their own gain.

That was before Tressa had seen Bolderfall.

There were poor people in Rippletide, of course. But nothing like Bolderfall where a third of the populations was written off to starve.

Tressa couldn’t sleep that night in the inn. Bolderfall changed something in her, it shifted how she saw her work. Prior to that, her desire to become the greatest merchant had always been about the journey – the money was almost irrelevant – just a sign of doing well. But the more she saw Bolderfall, the more she thought “have I ever really worried about money?”

The answer was clear: no.

And, with that, she could see how someone could end up a thief here. Because if your options were to steal or starve, she’d choose to steal too. It wasn’t hard to see how a good person ended up in that position.

A good person like Therion.

She had apologized that morning in Bolderfall, before anyone else got up, she found Therion and said she had been wrong about him.

“Whatever,” he replied, before walking off.

She was livid. But, later that day, there was a new, beautiful feather for her merchant cap sitting on her pack.

Therion was a good person. So, she’d keep watch nearby and wait for him to wake up.

Cyrus

“Now who can tell me the economic significance of the river?” Cyrus asked to his somewhat captive audience. Therion sat on the bed looking as though he’d do anything to get Cyrus to be quiet, while Olberic chopped an apple for him.

“Trade, obviously,” Tressa chirped from her place on the floor. She had almost finished inventorying gear. There was probably a decent profit to be made from it at the next city.

“Indeed,” Cyrus said, excited Tressa was paying attention. “The river connects all of the Riverlands and allowed early trade to flourish in the region. Now, what city became the central trading hub in the region? Therion?”

“If I answer will you let me get back to sleep,” Therion growled.

“Of course not,” Cyrus said with a grin! “You’ve been sleeping for an entire day, and while your body is still healing, this is an excellent time for learning! Have you started the text I left by your bed?”

“No. I was sleeping,” Therion said with a groan.

“You’re missing out, Therion. There’s such interesting history in this region. Even in small towns like this, there are things for us to learn!” Cyrus did enjoy hosting a lecture, and Therion’s sullen mood was not doing to deter him! He was about to launch into the history of Clearbrook when there was a knock and Alfyn came into the small room.

“Hey guys, do you mind if I chat with Therion here for a moment?”

“Of course, Alfyn! Please, pull up a chair! We were about to discuss Clearbrook’s fascinating history and its place in Riverlands trade and… Olberic why are you picking up those books we’ll need those!

Olberic ignored Cyrus and carried the stack of tomes out of the room. Tressa quickly followed behind him, having bundled all the gear into a sack.

“Uh…”

“Come along, Professor,” Olberic said, returning and ushering Cyrus out of the room.

Olberic

“Think Alfyn’s going to finally man up and tell Theri how he feels?” Tressa asked them.

“Wait— What?” Cyrus asked.

Tressa gave him a look, “you really didn’t pick up on it? It’s been going on for months. Heck, I thought all of us knew.”

“Please Tressa, this is not some sort of tawdry romance novel.” After getting an eyeroll in response, Cyrus huffs, “well, let’s ask what Olberic thinks. Olberic?”

Olberic sighed, “it was pretty obvious. Alfyn asked Therion to dance when they were in Sunshade – it was right before we met Primrose.”

“I was there,” Cyrus protested. “Therion said no!”

“He also turned so red he clashed with his cloak,” Tressa added gleefully.

Olberic watched as Tressa and Cyrus bickered. He had missed this in his self-imposed exile. This kind of comradery. This friendship.

And perhaps, as he watched Cyrus pull at his braid in frustration, the hint of something more.

“You’re an idiot, Professor,” Olberic said bluntly.

As Cyrus let out some sort of strangled sound, Olberic added, “it is rather cute, though.”

Tressa, gremlin that she is, howled in laughter.

Alfyn

Alfyn clutched at his satchel as he looked at Therion. “How are you feeling?”

Therion made a gesture at the bandages on him. “How do you think,” he asked bitterly.

“I can mix up something for the pain if it’s bothering you,” Alfyn said, slowly shifting towards the side of the bed. “I know Zeph does good work, but if there’s anything you need,” Alfyn reached toward one of the bandages to check it.

Therion flinched away, “If there’s anything I need you’ll call Ophilia for me?” Alfyn froze.

“I was conscious, you know,” Therion continued. “Not for all of it, but I remember Olberic carrying me, and I remember Ophilia calling for him to bandage me.” Therion glared, “finally realized you should save your medicines for someone more worthy?”

When Alfyn stayed silent, Therion sighed. “It’s fine. It’s what that other apothecary, Ogen, would have done too.”

Alfyn looked at his hands for a moment, before sitting down in Olberic’s chair near the bed. “I’m not Ogen.” Therion looked at him, and while he still looked wary, Alfyn hoped he’d listen.

“Miguel made me question a lot – should I care about who the people are that I heal? Does it matter if the person I’m treating is a good person…? The thing is… I don’t know. I used to believe it was simple, you know? I’d go out there and help people like the apothecary that saved me. I never imaged someone like Vanessa would exist, or Ogen, or even Miguel. And, knowing what I do now… I don’t know what type of apothecary I want to be.”

Alfyn looked directly a Therion, “but I do know this – I want to be able to save the people I care about. The people I love. And I failed. I saw you there and I froze.”

The implication of the statement slowly dawned on Therion. His eyes went wide.

“I want to continue my journey, with the rest of the group, and with you, if you’ll let me.” Alfyn blushed as he rubbed at the back of his neck, “I still need to figure out what I want to be, but, please Therion, you need to understand, I don’t care who you are or were, you’re you. And I will always, always try to save you.”

Alfyn took one of Therion’s bandaged hands and was thankful he didn’t flinch away this time.

“Will you let me try,” Alfyn asked.

“Do what you want,” Therion said. And, while to anyone else, it would seem like a dismissal, Alfyn could see the hints of a blush on Therion’s pale face. And he smiled.