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Chapter Text

Levinsday, Brand 27, 1618

Ophilia waited until after she was certain that she would go through the Kindling in Lianna’s stead before collapsing to the ground in sobs. Up on the hill, it was unlikely that anybody would hear her.

Ever since Archbishop Josef had taken her in, he had treated her with nothing but kindness. Ophilia had believed that nobody could fill the void that her parent’s death had left, but the man had become almost a father. She was part of a family again, and that family could be gone so soon.

She was too distracted by the racing of her thoughts to hear the approaching footsteps. The cleric looked up when she saw a pair of dark leather boots covering bandaged legs to see a man standing above her, his head tilted as he looked down at her. A dark purple scarf and a lighter colored bandana covered his chest and neck, and dirty white hair fell around his tanned face.

Ophilia quickly got to her feet, wiping the snow off of the bottom of her dress. “O-Oh, hello, sir.” She wiped her eyes with the back of her gloved hand. “I-I apologize for my, um, behavior, and for being away from the cathedral. Is there anything I might help you with?”

The man’s eyebrows shot up. “Anything you can help me with?” He asked.

Ophilia clasped the jewel that held her cloak in place. “Y-yes. It is my job to provide assistance to people, after all. I can only assume that you came here because you have need of something.”

He tilted his head again, his eyes crinkling slightly. “What in the hells are you talking about?”

Ophilia was taken aback. “I am a member of the clergy at the Great Cathedral. My name is Sister Ophilia. Again, sir, how may I help you? You look to be from out of town.”

The man let out a surprised bark of laughter before sticking out his arm. “The name’s Therion, Ophilia. I don’t need any assistance, and I don’t know why you think I would. But considering that I just found you crying on the ground, I think you might.” He sat down on the edge of the hill and patted the ground beside him, his hand making an imprint in the snow. “Come and sit. You can’t expect me to ignore a pretty lady in distress."

Ophilia hesitantly sat down beside him, blushing at his words. She felt that maybe she shouldn’t be sitting with a strange man, but despite how it felt, the hill was quite close to town. If need be, she could call for help. “I really am alright, sir. If you do not need any assistance, I really ought to be leaving. I have to prepare for…” She faltered as she remembered that she was not supposed to be going on the Kindling. Therion, however kind he seemed, wasn’t someone she could trust. Telling him about her plans would likely only get her in trouble and ruin them.

Therion noticed her hesitance to speak. He turned away from the view of the cathedral towards her. “Prepare for what?” He leaned in closer, propping an arm on his leg. “What could a pretty girl like you be hiding?”

Ophilia’s face flushed at the compliment. Most men knew she was to be wed to another man of the clergy whenever she was ready, and thus stayed away from directly pursuing her. She had heard whispered praise of her beauty on some occasions, but never had a compliment been so direct. “I-I’m afraid I cannot tell you, sir.”

Therion leaned back, setting his hands behind him. He appeared completely at ease, unlike Ophilia herself. She wasn’t used to men being so forward with her. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone your secret. My friends and I are in town only until we…find what we’re looking for.”

Ophilia turned at his pause. “Sir, you cannot berate me for my secret-keeping and then hide something of your own!” Her eyes widened at her rashness. What would the archbishop think? But Therion just laughed.

“Well, you’ve got me there.” He chuckled as he gazed down at the town, in the direction of the tavern. “I suppose that I can be sparse with the details and tell you.” He looked back up at her. “But you’ll have to keep it a secret, alright? Can you do that for me, priestess?” Ophilia nodded. 

“Well, my friends and I heard about a prophecy, and we’re fairly sure it’s about us. I don’t know what the prophecy means for the world, but I do know where I fit in and what I need to do to hold up my end of the bargain, so to speak. We need to find a couple other people to complete part of it, and then we’ll head on our own adventures. I’m here in town because we’re looking for somebody else that will help fulfill it.” Therion looked back at Ophilia. “And yourself, priestess?”

Ophilia looked down at her lap. Surely, Aelfric would disapprove of her being so trusting of a stranger, and of one that said such seductive words, too. But he had just told her his intentions, and she couldn’t very well back out of their agreement.

Ophilia took a deep breath. “The archbishop Josef is my adoptive father, and he has taken ill. My sister, Lianna, is supposed to begin the rite of the Kindling tomorrow, but she is greatly impacted by his sickness. I plan to go to the Cave of Origin in her stead, so that she may stay with His Excellency.”

Therion let out a breathy laugh. “Holy shit, Ophilia. That’s…it’s not what I was expecting. Isn’t the Kindling dangerous?”

Ophilia winced slightly at the curse. She was unused to people saying such words. The archbishop would say that speaking them strengthened Galdera and weakened the Flame. But she tried to shrug it off. “Thank you, Therion. I know it is a dangerous journey, but I believe that the trials Aelfric will set before me is His way to show me the light He and the Flame bring upon this world.” Just then, the church’s bells began to ring, signaling that it was three o’clock. Ophilia startled as she realized how soon she would have to set out if she wished to return before nightfall. “Now then, if you’ll excuse me, I have to leave to go prepare. It was lovely talking to you, Therion.”

Ophilia stood and began to walk towards town. She heard Therion clamor to his feet behind her as she descended the hill. “Priestess, wait!” He ran after her and wrapped a hand around her arm. A large, clanking bangle rested on his wrist. She hadn’t noticed it before, but she recalled that he had kept his right wrist hidden for much of the time they spent talking. He quickly pulled his arm back once he noticed her stare.

“Ophilia, I think you should come to the tavern to meet my friends. Just for a moment.” His eyes were slightly wide, and he had a victorious smile on his face.

“Therion, I must prepare to make my way to the Cave of Origin.” Ophilia resumed walking down the hill.

He stood in front of her, preventing any further descent down the hill. Despite the fact that he was only slightly taller than her, he managed to effectively block her progress. “Ophilia, please. It’ll take just a moment. And we might be able to help you with your Kindling.”

That made her falter. Having allies on her pilgrimage would certainly help. Ophilia was not a strong woman, and Orsterra could be a dangerous place. “...Very well.”

Therion grinned. “Excellent choice, beautiful.”

Chapter Text

Darksday, Sealticge 18, 1618

Ophilia let out a cry as one of the Ratkin’s arrows pierced her shoulder. She stumbled backwards, breath heaving. With some difficulty, she raised her staff, bowing her head. “ Oh, sacred light !” She cried, calling upon light from the heavens. A beam of holy light crashed into the Ratkin, who shrieked and collapsed to the ground, vanishing into purple dust.

Alfyn ran over to her, already pulling a jar of salve out of his satchel. “Did ya get hurt by anythin’ other than the arrow?” He asked.

Ophilia shook her head. “No. Sir Olberic did a good job at warding them away from me.”

She rolled the sleeve of her dress up and let the apothecary rub salve into the wound, hissing as it stung. He quickly wrapped a bandage around the injury, before patting her on the other shoulder. “It oughta recover quickly, but it might be hard for you to use that arm for a couple days.” The apothecary turned towards Cyrus. “Professor, how long until we reach Victors Hollow? I don’t want Phili to overexert herself in more fights.”

Ophilia smiled at Alfyn’s consideration as Cyrus flipped through his notebook. Among his spells and the transcript of the prophecy, Cyrus had revealed that it held an enchanted map that would show their location in proximity to towns and other areas. It had proven quite useful whenever someone was injured or when they wanted to plan their pace.

“It appears that Victors Hollow is only about two miles away. We’ll likely reach it in less than an hour.” The scholar shut the book and tucked it into his pack, before looking back up at Alfyn. “What time is it?”

Alfyn checked the watch on his left arm. “6:45. We’ll have plenty of time to relax at the tavern once we get rooms at the inn. Although we’ll have to wait ‘til tomorrow to look for Gustav.” Alfyn looked at Olberic sheepishly as the group got into their formation. “Sorry, Your Lordship.”

Olberic looked back at Alfyn and smiled. “That’s alright, lad. It’ll be nice to relax on a Darksday for once.”

Ophilia let out a small gasp. “It’s Darksday?” She asked. She hadn’t been keeping up with the calendar when they were on the road. It was far too much effort. And the days they spent on the road began to blur together after a while.

“Yep!” Tressa said from behind the cleric. “At least, that’s what it says according to my calendar. I got it back in Atlasdam,” she added proudly.

Ophilia smiled. “Well, I’ll need to head to the Victors Hollow church when we arrive. I have to do my Darksday prayers.”

“I might join you,” Primrose said. “I haven’t been to church since I began working for Helgenish. It would do me good to try and find my way back into the god’s graces.”

Ophilia smiled. “I’d love to go with you, Primrose.” The cleric and the dancer had quickly become friends after Primrose’s initial kindness in Flamesgrace. Even if the time was spent in prayer, it would still be nice to spend time with her.

“I would go if it wasn’t my job to help Tressa and Cyrus get rooms at the inn.” Olberic said. “You know, King Alfred was a quite religious man. He often said that Erhardt and I were blessed by Brand himself.” His faint Highlands accent grew thicker. Ophilia had noticed that it did whenever he spoke of Hornburg.

“I do not prayen oft to gods otheren than Draefendi,” H’aanit said. “Linde and I hath been blessen by her knowledgest of hunting. I feel a strongereth connection to her everen since we visitedst her shrine. ‘Tis not to sayen that I dost not believen in thy otheren gods. They art simply not my patrons.” Linde purred in agreement as Tressa began to speak.

“Ma and Pa had me go to church on Darksday back when I lived in Rippletide. But I pray to Bifelgan most of the time. Ask him to grant me prosperity and all that, y’know?” The young merchant said, smiling.

“Same for me, Tress!” Alfyn said. “The Riverlands are a pretty religious place ‘cause Saintsbridge is there, so I went to church. But as an apothecary, I serve Dohter, so I pray to him a lot more than I do to Aelfric and the Flame.”

“As a scholar, believing in the gods is an interesting point of contention, as most faiths are not based on fact. I personally am of the belief that the Orsterran pantheon is real. After all, what other explanation is there for the Sacred Flame?” Cyrus added.

Ophilia smiled as Cyrus began to talk some more about the texts he read that proposed different theories about the gods, but she startled when Therion interrupted the professor.

“Professor, I swear…you never miss out on an opportunity to turn a topic into a brag about how much you know.”

Tressa began to laugh as Cyrus scoffed indignantly. “Well, Therion, this is a very interesting topic that I happen to have read about! Besides, I’m sure that Sister Ophilia is quite interested in hearing this, seeing as it pertains to her work and the Kindling.”

Therion rolled his eyes. “Yeah, well, priestess here isn’t the only one who has to listen to your boring lectures. Besides, nothing you’re saying is gonna convince me the gods actually give a shit about what happens to us.”

Ophilia’s eyes widened and her jaw dropped slightly. Primrose’s head whipped around towards the thief, Tressa muttered a sailor’s curse, and Linde growled.

Ophilia exhaled shakily. “Whatever do you mean by that?” She asked, trying to keep a level tone. Her right hand clutched her staff tighter.

Therion laughed, but it was hollow, unlike his regular cocky chuckle. “I’ve been through shit, priestess. The gods had their fucking chance to be benevolent and help me out, but they didn’t. Do you expect me to praise them when they’ve never done anything for me?” His eyes blazed with anger.

“Therion, that is enough!” Olberic yelled, his voice cutting through the thief’s.

“I’m not done, Olberic!” Therion yelled. “Maybe you should think about this too! Your king was a religious man but died at the hand of one of the people he trusted most! Where do the gods and their kindness fit in there?”

Ophilia felt her chest rise and fall with the panting of her breath. She had never seen the thief so angry. He never showed much emotion, even when in combat. She saw Olberic clench his fists, the leather of his gloves straining.

“Therion…” Ophilia began. The thief’s head snapped back toward her.

“What, priestess? Are you gonna give me a sermon? Tell me about all the good Aelfric has done? Or did you finally pull your head out of your ass and realize the truth?” He yelled.

In a flash, Primrose had her dagger pressed against Therion’s back. “Enough, Therion!” She yelled, her tone a far cry from her normally calm demeanor.

Ophilia clutched her staff as she stepped back from Therion. Without thinking, she turned and ran away along the trail, leaving the yells of the party behind.

Chapter Text

Darksday, Sealticge 18, 1618

Therion weaved through the lively tavern crowd toward the table Ophilia sat at. Ever since Primrose had finished her dance, the patrons were noticeably more excitable. It made it easier for him to get there unnoticed.

“Prim, you did incredible!” He heard Tressa exclaim. The young merchant could make her voice heard in any room. It was sometimes funny how different they were.

“Thank you, Tressa,” Primrose said, sitting down at the table, beaming. Therion had noticed shortly after they began traveling together that she only looked truly happy when she danced. The two of them were more similar than he had originally thought.

Therion cleared his throat once he had reached the table, standing behind H’aanit. Ophilia looked up at him and blanched, her eyes widening.

“Therion.” Primrose’s voice was cold, any hint of joy gone.

“Primrose. I was wondering if I could borrow your priestess for a moment.”

“Why, so you can be a jerk again?” Tressa said accusingly.

Therion glared at her. “If you must know, I’m trying this thing called apologizing.”

Tressa opened her mouth to speak, but Ophilia held up a gloved hand. “It’s alright, Tressa. I will go.” The cleric stood up, following Therion out of the tavern.

The thief breathed in the crisp evening air as the tavern door swung shut. He turned to face Ophilia, who was nervously looking around their surroundings.

“Everything fine?” The thief asked.

Ophilia nodded. “Yes. I’m just a bit concerned that someone will try to duel us. Fighting is common here, after all.”

Therion smiled at her. “I’ve got my dagger. We’ll be fine.” He cleared his throat and scratched the back of his head. He really wasn’t used to apologies.

He took a deep inhale. “Ophilia, I wanted to say sorry for what I said on the way here. I…I shouldn’t have said that. Even though I have some…opinions on the gods, I need to respect that you have different feelings.”

Ophilia smiled. “Thank you, Therion.” Her blonde hair glowed in the lanternlight. She reached a gloved hand up to the gemstone that held her cloak over her shoulders. “Why did you say it, though, if you know you shouldn’t have?”

Therion let out a breathy laugh. “That’s the question of the day, isn’t it?” He looked over Victors Hollow. The tavern was near the edge of town, but he could see the dense forests of the Woodlands border the buildings. “The things I’ve been through, priestess…how could the gods have let that happen?” His voice broke near the end of his sentence.

Ophilia bit her lip and reached her arm out, her fingers grazing his forearm. “Therion…what happened to you?” She asked, her voice full of concern.

Therion looked away from her. “Don’t, Ophilia.” Hearing those words felt like a stab in the heart as he remembered a hearty laugh.

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t act all kind. Like you care about me. Like my past matters to you.” Therion clenched his hand into a fist.

“Therion, I do care about you. We’re traveling together. Why would I not?”

Therion let out a shuddering breath. “Because people only ever have their own interests in mind.” He hated being this vulnerable, this raw. Why couldn’t everyone just mind their own business?

“Just because I care about the Kindling and its success doesn’t mean that I will ignore your search for the dragonstones. I will gladly aid you when we get to Noblecourt.”

“You don’t understand, priestess!” Therion snapped, turning back towards her and stepping backwards once. “Nobody in this world cares about anyone but themselves. People only care about other people when something’s in it for them.”

“I don’t have anything in it for me! I am doing this because I care!” Ophilia exclaimed. “Why won’t you trust me, Therion?”

Therion felt his anger flare. His fists clenched tighter. “No matter how much you trust someone, they will always betray you. Better that you learn sooner rather than later.”

Therion could see tears well in Ophilia’s eyes. “Therion…”

“I’m going to the inn, priestess. Leave me be.” His voice quivered.

Therion walked past the cleric towards the inn, leaving Ophilia behind as she called his name.

“What happened to you?” Therion asked, shuffling through his pack in search of a healing grape.

“Hell if I know!” Darius exclaimed, dramatically flopping onto the ground. “One second, I was creepin’ out the window! Then the ducks and geese flew in and knocked me right over. One of ‘em got me with ‘is spear.”

Therion rolled his eyes as he tossed the grape to his partner. Darius’ odd accent was, according to him, common with Highlands brigands. Therion didn’t have much experience with people from the Highlands, so he wasn’t able to tell if it was the truth. “Sorry for making you go out on your own. But growing pains make it hard to run when you need to.” He had been fourteen then, Darius three years his elder. He had hit a growth spurt, and his ankles ached all the time. He hoped he wouldn’t grow much more. It was easier to steal things if you were small.

“It’s all good, mate. Normally I’m good to do it Jack Jones, but the Ciannos must’ve called in the guards.” The thief stood and went to grab his pack from where he had thrown it deeper in the alley. 

“Bastards,” Therion muttered. “I’ll make sure to come on the next run.”

“They sure are!” Darius laughed, swooping his bag up from off the ground. “But look at this necklace! The watch couldn’t half-inch this off of me!”

Therion cracked a grin. The necklace was silver, with a thick piece of topaz in the center. It was easily worth at least ten thousand leaves. “Think it’ll buy us a night at the inn? I’m tired of sleeping on the streets. And the watch might’ve followed you. They could bust our spot!”

Darius tossed the necklace into the air. “Aye, it’ll likely get a good price. We can arrange for a day at the inn. A soft bed rather ‘n the streets sounds like a right treat!

Therion slammed the door to the inn open, his breath ragged as the memory of the night flashed through his mind. Gods, why did Ophilia have to say that of all things

He quickly ran up the stairs towards the room he and Alfyn shared, fishing the key out of his pocket. If he was lucky, the apothecary would be at the tavern for a while longer. The apothecary tended to get deep into his ale, so it was likely he’d stumble in after the sun had fully set.

Therion yanked the door open after he had unlocked it and shoved it shut, collapsing against it. “Fuck,” he whispered, clenching his fists.

He felt like he would never escape the memory of Darius, especially now that he was traveling with people. Of course they would start asking about his past. But he couldn’t trust any of them. Just because Ophilia wore a holy cloth didn’t mean she wasn’t going to leave the second the Kindling finished.

Therion looked down at his bandaged legs. He had last changed them in Bolderfall, and they were dirty from the week they had traveled since then. He would grab some from Alfyn’s satchel when the apothecary slept and replace them from a shop in town. He needed to buy more scar tincture as well. He’d do that when they were around town looking for Gustav.

He reached down to scratch at one of the scars, startling when he heard a timid voice call his name from behind the door.

“Therion, are you well? You ran off so quickly…” Ophilia said. Therion could hear the worry in her voice.

Therion looked down at his calf. The bandage still covered his skin. She wouldn’t see the scars that marred his legs. With a sigh, he stood and opened the door. “Wasn’t expecting you to follow me,” he said simply.

“Might I come in?” She asked, clutching her staff tightly. He supposed the lanthorn was back at the tavern with the other travelers.

He smirked. “Asking to come into my room? A bit forward of you, priestess.”

Her face flushed bright red, causing his grin to widen. He enjoyed teasing the cleric. She was really the only one he could. Primrose had dealt with enough of it with her eight years in Sunshade, Tressa was just an annoying brat, and he was worried H’aanit might shoot him if he said anything too suggestive to her. “I-I…Oh, you know that’s not what I meant!” She said furtively, eyes wide.

“Of course. I’m only joking. Make yourself comfortable.” The cleric quickly walked inside, sitting on the edge of the bed closer to the door. “So, what do you wanna ask me about? Or are you coming into my room for other reasons?” He grinned at her as she blushed once more.

“Therion, that is quite enough! I am a member of the Order!” She protested.

He sat down next to her. “But you must have so much pent up inside you. I gotta say, you picked a good guy to release the tension with.”

Ophilia began to stammer. “I-I…I do not wish to…to have relations with you or any other man until I am finished with the Kindling!”

“A pity. After all, what use is such a pretty face when not put to use?” Therion looked into her deep brown eyes, framed by light brown lashes.

Her lips parted slightly, and Therion felt a fire begin to burn in his chest. He dug his fingers into the sheets as she spoke. “I…Thank you, I suppose. But that is quite enough! Now then, I came here to see if you were alright. You ran away from the tavern so quickly. I was worried for you.”

Therion let out a sigh. “I’m fine, Ophilia.”

“Are you sure?” She pressed.

Therion wasn’t fine, by any man’s standards. But she didn’t need to know that. She was still so naïve. And he would guard his past as much as he could. “I’m sure.”

“Therion…I can tell that you’ve been through some tragic events. If you need somebody to listen to you, I am willing.”

Therion was surprised at the earnest expression on her face. He wasn’t used to kindness from people. They usually treated him like scum on their boots. “Ophilia, you don’t want to know my past. It’s an ugly thing.”

“Therion…”

“You should go. It’s late, and we’ve got a lot of work cut out for us tomorrow.”

Ophilia let out a dejected sigh. “Very well.” She stood and walked towards the door, turning back to him. “Good night, Therion. Sleep well.”

“Good night, priestess,” he whispered after she left.

Chapter Text

Windsday, Sealticge 26, 1618

Ophilia unlocked the room she shared with Primrose. Entering the room, she quickly set the lanthorn in the chest provided in the room, locking it shortly after.

“Ophilia. Wasn’t expecting you to be in here already,” Primrose said from the doorway. Ophilia turned around and smiled at her.

“I was just putting the lanthorn in a safe spot before I went out on a walk,” Ophilia said, straightening her cape around her shoulders. She needed to work through her thoughts.

Primrose smiled weakly before collapsing onto her bed, her dark brown hair spilling into a halo around her head. “Well, I hope that the cold is kind to you.”

The cleric looked at the dancer in concern. Even after a full day of traveling, she rarely seemed this exhausted. “Are you well, Primrose?”

Primrose nodded as she began to unbutton her red vest. “I am. I’m just a little overwhelmed, seeing Arianna and thinking about the left crow again. But I will be alright. You can go on your walk. I can find Alfyn if I truly am unwell.”

“Alright, Prim. I’ll see you later this evening.”

Ophilia walked out of the inn, grasping her staff. Now that she knew what the sleepy Frostlands hamlet hid, she was more than a little wary about walking around alone. She hoped her vestments and her staff were enough to ward off those who would try to recruit her.

She decided to walk downtown, towards the houses and shops. She had only been in the tavern. Maybe she would go to the chapel. And that area was farther from the brothel, and hopefully people that would want her to work there.

Ophilia startled when she heard a voice behind her. “Where are you off to, priestess?” Therion sidled up to her, grinning.

“Therion. You startled me,” Ophilia said, bringing a hand to her chest. Her heart hammered in her chest.

“My apologies.” The two of them walked in silence for a few moments, before the thief spoke again. “You’re worrying, priestess. I can see it on your pretty face. What’s the matter?”

Ophilia felt her face flush at the praise, her heart fluttering. “I…I was just thinking of Arianna’ and Primrose’s…situation.”

Therion hummed in agreement. “That’s understandable. Do you want to talk about it?” He asked, looking down at her.

Ophilia thought for a moment, before nodding. It would do no good to keep her feelings bundled up inside her. “It saddens me, the fact that they had to do that kind of work. I do understand why Primrose did it. She needed the information about the crows. But Arianna…she simply had no money and was desperate. And now she has to bear witness to the worst sins of man.”

Therion reached a hand out and squeezed her shoulder. Ophilia inhaled softly as the thief gave her a reassuring smile. “I understand. People are shitty, and the two of them deserve better. I don’t like nobles much, but gods above do I wish that Prim could’ve stayed in Noblecourt. But I have an inkling it’ll work out in the end. After we kill the left crow, the brothel’ll probably collapse, and Arianna can find work elsewhere.”

Ophilia found that his words gave her a bit of comfort. The two continued to walk through the town, snow crunching beneath their boots. Therion reached his left arm out and stealthily pulled a bracelet off of a woman passing by them, before shoving his hand back into his coat pocket.

Ophilia opened her mouth to admonish him, but Therion held his hand up. “Be quiet, priestess. We’ve gotta make money somehow. Tressa’s bartering won’t get us far if we don’t have money at all.”

Ophilia sighed, the Frostlands air turning her breath into a cloud. “Very well. If you must.” She was quiet for a few seconds before she spoke again. “Are you worried about your job tomorrow?”

The travelers had decided that, in order to get to the parlor, Primrose would ride in the carriage to a secret entrance, with Ophilia, Tressa, Olberic, H’aanit, and Alfyn tailing the carriage and meeting up with her at the secret path. Therion and Cyrus would pretend to be customers to get into the parlor and distract the left crow, as they would be the most believable patrons.

Therion shrugged. “Not particularly. I’m a believable actor, and Cyrus cares about Primrose enough to know he can’t fuck this up.”

Ophilia turned to him in surprise. “You mean you’ve never partaken in a brothel’s business before?”

Therion raised his eyebrows. “You think I have, priestess? Interesting.”

Ophilia felt a blush crawl over her face. “I-I just meant that you’ve done…done things that are, you know…things that are similar to that.”

Therion seemed to be suppressing a grin. “Well, priestess, I’ve never been with a whore. They’ve all been through enough. They don’t need another shitty guy to add to their list of traumas.”

Ophilia considered the thief’s words as they reached the church. She supposed it made sense that he didn’t wish to be with prostitutes. “Do you mind if we pray for a moment?” She asked.

“No. I probably won’t pray much myself, but you can.”

The two entered the church. It was a simple building, with a small stained glass window behind the altar. The cleric on service smiled at them, which Ophilia returned as she sat down on a pew, Therion at her side. Ophilia bowed her head.

Aelfric above, hear my prayer. 

May you bless Primrose on her quest to avenge her father, and may her father continue to rest peacefully in your care.

May all of my other companions be blessed in their journeys, and may they see fruit.

May you bless the journey of the Kindling for me, and may you keep me safe from the darkness of the world.

May you bless Father. May he recover quickly.

Amen.

Ophilia breathed in slowly as she lifted her head and remembered the archbishop. She wished she could’ve stayed with him. But it was impossible. The Kindling had to be done, and Lianna deserved to stay more than she did.

She stood, grabbing her staff from where she had rested it against the pew in front of them. She made for the door, with Therion shortly behind her. The pair walked back out into the chilly evening air, snow whirling around them. Even in late Sealticge, the Frostlands bore a freezing cold, especially this far in the north.

“Shall we make for the inn?” Ophilia asked.

Therion nodded. “We’ll need to be rested for tomorrow.”

The two walked towards the inn in companionable silence, snowflakes gently falling around them. Therion held the door of the inn open for her once they reached it. “Thank you, Therion.”

“Of course. After all, a pretty lady like you deserves to be treated well.”

Ophilia blushed. “Oh, you just can’t quit teasing me, can you?”

Therion grinned. “You make it so easy, priestess. If you’ll excuse me, I must be going to my room. Feel free to join me.”

He sauntered off, leaving Ophilia standing in the lobby, heart beating quickly. Normally, his teasing didn’t affect her so.

Ophilia entered the room she shared with Primrose, surprised to find her already in bed. Her dancing clothes were hung up on the wall, likely to be used tomorrow when she pretended to be a worker at the brothel.

Ophilia quickly prepared for bed, pulling the covers over her body. She closed her eyes and quickly fell asleep, but in her dreams, there was a thief wearing a purple scarf.

Chapter Text

Frostsday, Steorra 11, 1618

Ophilia stepped out of the tent she shared with Primrose. “Well?” She asked.

Primrose looked at her and beamed. “Oh, Phili, you look beautiful!” The dancer walked over with a deep blue vest in hand. “Let me help you put this on.”

The travelers stood outside of Noblecourt. They would soon be entering the town in the hopes of finding information about the ruby dragonstone and the second crow. They had decided to split into pairs. Olberic and Tressa would masquerade as father and daughter, leaving Primrose and Alfyn, Cyrus and H’aanit, and Ophilia and Therion to pretend to be couples. To help with the guise, Ophilia had changed from her vestments into a spare dress that Primrose had. It felt odd to be without her typical clothes, but she knew that a cleric traveling with her husband would be too memorable for a job that required thievery.

Primrose finished buttoning the blue vest and adjusted it. The dress was a little short on Ophilia, seeing as Primrose was a few inches shorter than her, but it would do just fine. “There. All done.” Primrose turned her head towards where the rest of the group stood. “Therion, your girlfriend is ready!”

Ophilia’s cheeks flamed. “Primrose!” She scolded. Primrose merely grinned and sauntered off towards where Alfyn was, throwing her arm around his shoulders. She barely succeeded. The apothecary was taller than all but Olberic.

Therion walked over to where Ophilia was. “Well then, priestess, shall we head into town?” He asked, smiling and offering her his arm.

Ophilia blushed, but she took his arm. They would be the first pair to enter town. Therion himself had decided to remove his purple scarf and bandana, leaving him in a simple white shirt. The neckline offered the barest hint of skin tanned from the Cliftlands sun. “You can’t call me priestess now,” she said. “What ever shall you do?”

“Hmm. Love, maybe? Or my darling.” His eyes slid to hers, a grin spread across his face. “Which do you prefer?”

Her face was bright red. “I, um, love is just fine,” she said.

“Wonderful.”

The two entered Noblecourt, and Ophilia couldn’t help but let out a small gasp of wonder. They were in the lower town, where most of the common folk lived. The grass had been removed and cobblestones had been placed in, leaving a path that led to a sprawling market in the center of town. The road from the market led to a high-walled area that Ophilia could only assume was the wealthy district. A separate road headed towards groups of blue-roofed houses.

“Oh, it’s such a beautiful town, isn’t it?” She said in awe.

“It reeks of rich nobles who don’t have anything better to do than spend their money on stupid shit.”

Ophilia let out a sigh as they entered the market. “Must you be so negative? Try to be a little happier, if only for the sake of the act.”

“Very well, love.” His eyes flickered down to her lips on the last word, and she felt herself grow warm. 

“That doesn’t mean you ought to be indecent,” she muttered, staring at the cobblestones.

“We’re pretending to be lovers, Ophilia. We have to act the part.”

She knew he was right. It was just the fact that his flirting felt so…well, indecent. He had the power to make her blush in a matter of seconds. And if they were pretending to court, she couldn’t know how far he would go with his words. But she could hear a small part of her saying that it really wouldn’t be so bad to have him flirt with her. “Alright. Just don’t flirt too much in front of others, please.”

“If you insist. Now then, let’s look around this place. Merchants are sure to know things we can use.”

They meandered through the market. It was quite crowded, which made sense. People would be preparing for the following Darksday, whether it be buying food for supper or gifts for each other.

“Fine jewelry here!” A merchant called. “Get something for your sweetheart!”

“If he knows about jewels, he might know about the dragonstone!” Ophilia whispered.

“Already one step ahead of you.” He guided her towards the stall. The merchant there was tall, around Cyrus’ height. He had on a blue hat, the signature merchant’s feather sticking up. “Good day, sir.”

“Good day to you! Have you come to buy something for your lady love?”

Ophilia blushed. “Oh, this one is beautiful!” She pointed to a ruby necklace. She hoped that Therion would get the hint to talk about the dragonstone.

“It sure is!” The merchant said. “That ruby is from the mines near Cragspear. Where are you two from?”

“A small town on the coast called Greenbay,” Therion said. He had slid his arm around her shoulder. Ophilia was finding it increasingly difficult to stay focused on the necklaces and bracelets in front of her. “We’re here visiting her sister.”

“That’s lovely! Now then, you liked the ruby necklace?” The merchant turned to Ophilia expectantly.

“Oh yes!” She said, hoping her acting was good. She had helped the children in Flamesgrace whenever they wanted to put on little shows, but nobody there was expecting her to be convincing. “I just adore rubies. In fact, my sister told me that there was a great big ruby stone here!”

She could see Therion smile out of the corner of her eye. She must have done well at bringing the dragonstone up. The merchant, however, seemed to stiffen. “Oh, yes, there is a big ruby stone here.” He leaned in, his voice becoming a whisper. “But I wouldn’t go around talking about it. The man who owns it, Orlick…some say that he’s gone mad. He spends all day locked up in that manse of his.”

Ophilia could feel the muscles in Therion’s arm tense. This was good information, but it would look suspicious if they asked more questions. “Oh. Alright then.” She looked back up at Therion. “Maybe we could come back later once we’ve gotten our rooms at the inn?”

Therion nodded, holding his hand out to shake it with the merchant. “It was lovely to meet you, sir.” They walked off, and Ophilia saw him grin as he pulled a pair of emerald earrings out of his pocket.

“Therion!” Ophilia said. “That merchant was so kind! Why would you take that?”

“My lady deserves only the best,” he said with a cocky grin. “And he’ll never know.”

The merchant was likely more aware of his surroundings than Therion gave him credit for. Behind them, they heard a yell. “THIEF!” He was quite loud as well. “Someone has stolen my earrings! It was that man, with the white hair!”

Therion froze for a moment, the earrings glimmering in the sunlight. Then he gripped Ophilia’s hand. “C’mon, Phili!”

They began to run as they heard the clamor of a city guard’s armor. Ophilia didn’t have time to think about the fact that he had called her by her nickname as she was pulled along.

She overcame her surprise and began to run in tandem with Therion as they headed down a set of stairs towards where the houses were. Therion guided her towards a neighborhood full of houses clustered together. He moved with a practiced ease that could only have come with experience. She wondered if one of the scars visible from the slit in the front of his shirt was from an escape gone awry.

Without warning, he pulled her into a small alleyway between houses, pressing her close to him. “ Cloak ,” he muttered, his voice deep. She saw wisps of magic snaking from his hand and floating around them.

“What did you just do?” She asked, her voice quiet. She was keenly aware of how close he was to her, the way his chest felt underneath the hand she had pressed against him, how his breath was hot on her cheek.

“It’s a thief's cantrip.” She felt a small shiver go through her at the sound of his whisper. “It’ll disguise us from view. I had to wait until we were hidden, because people who see you when you cast it can see through it.”

He turned back to her. He was so close. If he moved forward just a little, their lips would touch. She didn’t quite know what she would do if that happened.

His eyes flickered down to her lips. She saw his pupils dilate slightly. Her breath hitched. “Priestess…” He murmured, his hand reaching up to her face. She could feel the callouses on his fingers as he brushed a piece of hair out of her face. She wondered what he would do if he kissed her. If he would be gentle, or if he would push her against the wall and bruise her with his lips.

She startled when she heard the cry of a guardsman. “Where’s that damn thief?” He yelled.

Therion tensed, his hand frozen on the side of her face. Ophilia’s breathing quickened. What if the spell didn’t work, and they were thrown in the Noblecourt gaol?

But the guard didn’t poke his head into the alleyway. He let out a grunt of frustration before walking off, the clank of his sword in its sheath fading into the distance.

Ophilia stepped back from Therion, breathing in deeply. If she had spent another minute pressed against his chest, she didn’t know what would happen.

“I’m sorry, priestess,” Therion said after a moment. “I shouldn’t have stolen the earrings. I didn’t think he would make such a big deal out of it.”

“You’re right,” Ophilia said. “You shouldn’t have stolen it. But it’ll all work out in the end. We know that a man named Orlick lives in a manse and owns the dragonstone.”

“Hopefully the others got some more information. We should keep our eyes peeled for guards. Let’s go see if Tress and Olberic got our rooms booked at the inn.”

They left the alleyway and began the walk towards the inn. After a few minutes, Therion pulled the earrings out of his pocket and handed them to Ophilia.

“Why are you giving these to me?” She asked, staring at them. They were quite pretty. Two gold, tear-shaped earrings with a similarly shaped emerald stone laid in them.

“I meant it when I said my lady deserves the best.” He gave her a teasing grin.

Ophilia blushed. “We don’t have to pretend to be lovers anymore.”

Therion shrugged. “If you don’t like it, you can give it to someone or sell it. But I think you should keep them.”

“Why?” She tucked the earrings into her pocket.

“Pretty girls deserve pretty things.”

Chapter Text

Darksday, Steorra 12, 1618

Therion dipped the quill he had borrowed from Cyrus into the inkwell, continuing to write. They were too far from Bolderfall to give the Ravuses the dragonstone, so Therion would be writing to Heathcote to find out the location of the next.

He heard a knock at the door. “Therion? May I come in?”

It was Ophilia. Therion grit his teeth at the sound of his voice. Of course the one knocking was the girl who had been consuming his thoughts the past two days. He couldn’t forget the feel of her body pressed up against him. The way her palm had pressed against his chest drove him mad. “Come in.”

She entered the room. She was still dressed in the simple dress she had borrowed from Primrose, the deep blue vest fitting snugly over her chest. She looked carefree when she dressed like this. Like she didn’t need to remember a thousand rules.

“What are you doing?” She asked, sitting down in a chair on the right side of the desk he sat at.

“Writing a letter to the Ravuses. I need to know where the next dragonstone is.” He gestured to the ruby dragonstone. “We’re gonna give them that one on the way to Quarrycrest.”

“The dragonstone is so beautiful,” Ophilia murmured, staring at it.

Therion leaned back in his chair, setting the quill in the inkwell. “...Huh. Wouldn’t have thought you’d have much interest in gems, with how you’re supposed to give up earthly possessions and all.”

“Well, I care not for its material wealth, if that is what you mean. But I sense a strange power inside the stone.”

He shrugged. “I’ll have to take your word for it. It’s not exactly my area of expertise. But whatever the reason, it’s not exactly a bad thing for someone like you to be interested in pretty gems.”

Her eyes narrowed on him suspiciously. “Whatever do you mean by that?”

Therion grinned. “Well, most girls your age like to wear brooches and bangles, right?” He leaned forward. “If you ask me, a better place for these gems would be on the wrist of a lovely lady like yourself.”

Her face flushed a bright red. “Th-Therion! Now you’re just teasing me!”

He leaned back in his chair, his smile wide. There was no feeling in the world like seeing a blush rise as the result of his words. “Look, priestess. You’ve already got yourself a pretty pair of earrings. A nice bangle to match? You’d have gentlemen lining up to get a glance at you.”

Ophilia stared down at her lap. Therion wondered for a moment if he had gone too far, but he knew she would tell him if he had. Despite how shy she got when he teased her, she was perfectly capable of speaking her mind.

She spoke after a few moments. “When you spoke with Orlick, you talked about how you knew what it felt like to not be able to trust anybody.”

Her words were like cold water rushing over him. He didn’t know that her and the others had been listening. They had been cloaked outside the entrance of the room, only to come in if things got hairy.

“Ophilia, what’s your point?” He asked, harsher than he intended. Why was she bringing this up?

“I’m just saying that if you have things you wish to talk about, I will listen.”

What could he say? That his best friend had tried to murder him for a chance at making it big? That he couldn’t trust anybody because now he knew that they would never stick around?

“It’s nothing you want to hear, priestess.”

“But I do want to hear it,” she protested. “Therion, I can tell that you’ve been through hard times. So have I. I just wish to help you.”

“Don’t pretend to understand what happened to me!” He snapped, standing up. “You and I both know I’ve had it rougher than you’ll ever experience.”

Her eyes widened, her mouth turning into a small frown, “Therion, please, if I could just–”

“Leave.” He pointed towards the door. “I can’t deal with you preaching about whatever you think will fix me.”

Ophilia’s mouth dropped open, but she stood up and walked towards the door, closing it behind her with a click.

Therion sighed and fell onto the bed. Gods, why did she think that she could erase his problems by just listening to them? She was infuriating sometimes. And he couldn’t stop thinking about her, the way her body felt against his. What was wrong with him? He’d had his fun with plenty of women before. Why was she so hard to get out of his head?

He gripped the fool's bangle on his wrist. It was a reminder. He had one dragonstone. He’d get the other two, and then he’d never have to think about these people again. They could do what they needed to without him.

But part of him told him that he shouldn’t cast them aside. They wanted to help him. Alfyn, bless his stupid heart, tried so damn hard to be friendly. Primrose always sided with Ophilia when he messed up, but she understood Therion. They lived their life out of desperation. Tressa was an annoying brat, but he would miss ruffling her feathers whenever she was mad at him.

And Ophilia. She was so damn naïve. And she asked him too many questions. But she was also someone who forgave him time and time again. She was kind to him, even when he knew what he had said didn’t deserve kindness. She tried him like someone, not scum from the gutter.

He would miss her when he left them all behind.

Chapter Text

Windsday, Steorra 26, 1618

“What do you intend to do about her?”

Alfyn turned his head towards Therion. They were nearing Goldshore again, having put Vanessa to sleep with the slumberthorn. Olberic had her slung over his shoulder, ready to deliver her to the town’s gaol.Alfyn turned his head back to the road as he spoke. “I reckon I’ll let her stew in gaol and let her ponder all she’s done.”

“Gaol or no, she doesn’t strike me as the type to turn introspective.”

Alfyn grinned. “Maybe, maybe not. But I figure she’s tossing and turning somethin’ fierce right about now.”

Therion quirked up an eyebrow, intrigued. “What do you mean by that?”

Alfyn was beaming now. “See, slumberthorn has other effects that’re less well known. It can prick a person’s conciousness, for example. If there’s somethin’ in your heart you’d rather avoid, it’ll come out in your sleep…”

“...As a nightmare,” Therion finished. He had to admit, he was impressed. Alfyn had planned this out well. Though he did wonder what Olberic felt about Vanessa’s thrashing.

“That’s right. How she’ll deal with that when she wakes up is up to her. But I’d warrant she’s havin’ second thoughts about what she did.”

“I hope so,” Therion said. He wouldn’t call himself moral, but he was glad Vanessa would be behind bars. Hurting people just to make money was despicable. Hell, if she wanted a fancy lifestyle that much, she ought to just steal to get it.

“Why? For my sake?” Alfyn’s look was teasing, but Therion felt caught off guard by the agreement that threatened to break free from his lips. He shouldn’t be caring about these people. But he did.

“...Just be careful. All right?”

Alfyn smiled. “All right.”

They split up when they reached the town. Alfyn went with Olberic and Primrose to the gaol, while the rest of the party went to the inn to prepare to leave town. Therion waited for a moment in the lobby, before he headed up to Ophilia’s room and knocked, wincing as he raised his arm.

Ophilia opened the door, her smile flickering for just a moment. Therion swallowed roughly. He had apologized for yelling at her in Noblecourt the day after, and she had forgiven him. But she seemed just a little more reluctant than usual to speak with him. “Priestess.”

“Therion. Is there anything I can help you with?”

“One of Vanessa’s sellswords nicked me. Can you patch me up?”

Ophilia’s eyes widened in concern. “Yes, of course! Come in, come in.”

Therion walked into the room Ophilia shared with Primrose. It was neater than his and Alfyn’s, with Primrose’s bags resting under the window and the lanthorn burning on the table.

Therion began to remove his scarf, throwing it onto the bed. He reached to pull his shirt off, startling when he heard a squeak from Ophilia.

“Something the matter, priestess?”

Her face was bright red. “I, well, is that strictly necessary?” Her voice was higher than usual.

He barked out a laugh. “The cuts are on my arm and chest, and I know you can’t heal through fabric. So yes, it is necessary.” He shucked off his shirt and sat down on the bed he had thrown the scarf on.

Ophilia walked over hesitantly, sitting down next to him. “This will be easier if you lie down,” she murmured.

Therion obeyed, adjusting himself so his feet weren’t hanging off the edge of the bed. Ophilia raised her hand and ran it over the first of his wounds, whispering a prayer. Therion shivered as he felt the thrum of holy magic run through him.

“Some of these might scar,” Ophilia warned, moving to the next wound.

“I don’t mind. I’ve already collected my fair share.”

Ophilia’s eyes swept over his chest, staring at the raised scars and divots that covered him. “Which one was your first one?” She asked.

Therion was surprised by the question. He was used to scornful looks and thinly-veiled insults about his scars, not curiosity. But he answered her, pointing towards one on his left arm. It was a short one right above his elbow. “I was seven when I got it.”

Ophilia’s jaw dropped slightly, her eyes widening. “That young?”

Therion swallowed the tightness that gathered in his throat whenever he thought of his parents. It wasn’t as often as it had been when Darius was around. Maybe his former partners’ betrayal haunting him still wasn’t such a bad thing. “I told you that you wouldn’t want to know my past.”

Ophilia seemed reluctant to let the subject go, but she continued to heal the scratches on his arm. Her hands were warm through her gloves, and he felt a buzz run through his body each time her magic seeped into his skin.

He took advantage of her focus on his wounds to look at her. He couldn’t deny that she was beautiful. Her warm brown eyes shone the color of toffee in the sunlight. He’d loved toffee long ago. It felt like looking into someone else’s life when he remembered his past.

Ophilia stood. Therion belatedly realized that she had finished stitching up his wounds. He felt a strange longing for her to sit back down. To listen to him a little longer. To trail her fingertips over his chest, dipping into the divots.

“I got it when my parents died.” He’d never spoken the words aloud to anyone. Never told anyone, not even Darius, that he remembered his parents and that they had died. That he hadn’t always been a gutter rat.

Ophilia turned around, shock written clearly across her face. Therion was shocked too. He didn’t quite know why he had said it. Maybe he was just trying to make her trust him more after he had yelled at her just over two weeks ago. Or maybe he just wanted her to stay.

“I…I didn’t know that.”

Therion swallowed the urge to roll his eyes and say something sarcastic. “Do you…want to hear more about it?”

Ophilia didn’t answer. But she sat down next to him again. Therion sat up, his shoulder brushing hers. He realized that it would probably be a good idea for him to put a shirt on again. He got up and quickly threw his layers back on, the scratchy fabric of his scarf a comforting warmth.

He inhaled slowly. He remembered that night so vividly, but he’d never said what happened before. “It was…fuck, fifteen years ago? When Riven and Edoras were fighting. I lived in Riven.” In Riverford. It was the town he and Darius had gotten up to most of their mischief in. Darius had always wondered how he knew where to break into. Therion claimed it was good guessing.

“I was out late. I don’t know why, it was some stupid reason, but I came back to my house later than I would’ve on a typical day. My parents weren’t in the kitchen, so I started looking around the house. I didn’t find my parents. I found Edoran soldiers.”

His father had been a lieutenant colonel in the Riven army. It made sense why he had been a target, but he still hadn’t learned why they killed his mother or why they had chased him. Part of him wondered if they had just wanted more blood to stain the floor, to send an even greater message to King Riven.

“They chased after me, and one of them caught me on the arm. I was always quick and small, and they were wearing heavy armor, so somehow I escaped. I left town after that and just wandered. I learned how to steal, and eventually…ended up in Bolderfall.” He had thought just for a second to tell her about Darius. But he couldn’t go that far. Part of him already felt like he shouldn't have even told her this much. He felt like that seven-year-old kid again, the one cowering in a damp alley, holding a cloth to his first real cut and crying over his parents.

Ophilia was looking at him, her brown eyes wide. The fabric of her glove brushed against the side of his hand. He found that he didn’t mind. “I’m…I’m sorry,” she said at last.

Therion turned away from her. Of course she had to pity him now. That was the last thing he wanted. “It’s in the past.”

She spoke again after a few moments. “I lost my parents in the war too.”

Therion looked back at her in surprise. Her eyes had dropped down to her lap, where her hands clutched together. “I’m from a small town called Creek. Though it doesn’t exist anymore. Someone from the Knights Ardante found me and took me to the Archbishop. And he took me in.”

It had never crossed Therion’s mind that the reason she referred to the Archbishop as such and not Father was because he wasn’t her father. She had said she was adopted the first day they met, but he hadn’t been focusing on her personal life much.

“You got lucky,” Therion said. Bifelgan had won the coin toss, Tressa would say. She loved to tell sailor’s tales of the gods and how they meddled with the human world. He pretended to dislike them, but a part of him liked hearing the merchant talk about how Balogar, Brand, and Winnehild had fought once, creating the rocky terrain of the Highlands.

Ophilia nodded. There wasn’t much for her to say to that, he supposed. So they sat in silence for a few moments, startling when Primrose opened the door.

“Vanessa’s in gaol now, so we need to pack up while Alfyn helps Flynn. H’aanit really wants to be in Stonegard within a week.” She stopped talking as she noticed Therion sitting on the bed. “Oh, Therion. What are you doing here?”

“I had some cuts. Priestess here healed me.” He could’ve said her name, called her Ophilia. But he already felt raw and exposed, like all his cuts had opened up again.

“I’m glad you’re fixed up. You should go pack your things. Alfyn’s too.”

Therion nodded. “I will.” He stood and walked out of the room, but not before stealing a last glance at Ophilia. In another life, he could have ended up like her. But fate had other plans for him. And so he headed back to his room, two of Primrose’s necklaces in his hand. After all, he was only a thief.

Chapter Text

Firesday, Balogar 4, 1618

Therion sighed as he sat down next to Alfyn, the ale in his tankard sloshing as he set it on the tavern’s table. “Thank the gods H’aanit’s letting us have one evening before we go into the Whisperwood,” he muttered, taking a long sip.

Alfyn gave a short laugh as he ate a spoonful of lamb stew. Therion did the same. He was glad to have something warm to eat. The summer was finding its end, and the damp chill of the Highlands had begun to seep into his bones.

Therion looked around the tavern. All of the other travelers were sitting at a table in the center. They were all laughing as Olberic told a story about something, an amused expression on the warrior’s face. Alfyn would typically be cackling right there with them, but instead he had chosen a table off to the side.

“Alright, Alf. Spit it out. Why’d you come sit over here?”

Alfyn looked up from his bowl and at Therion. The apothecary was smiling. “I knew ya’d sit with me instead of them, and I wanted to talk to you without Tressa listenin’ in.”

Therion felt a twinge of panic at how predictable his behavior had become. But a part of him, deep in the back of his mind, whispered that it was okay for Alfyn to know him. That the apothecary was trustworthy. Therion tried to stamp out those thoughts. It was for his own safety that he ignored them.

“Well, what is there to talk about?” Therion asked, his tone harsher than he intended.

Alfyn looked slightly surprised at Therion’s aggressive tone too, but he covered it with another easy smile. “Have ya ever fallen in love with someone?”

Therion’s eyes widened. He hadn’t been expecting the conversation to be anything like this. “Do you think I ever had the chance?”

Alfyn let out a bark of laughter. “I guess not.” He was staring down at his stew again.

Therion was quiet for a moment before he responded. “Who is it?”

“Primrose.”

Therion really shouldn’t have been surprised. Primrose was beautiful, after all, and she and Alfyn had found a comfortable friendship with each other. But he was still caught off guard.

“Why?”

Alfyn looked back at Therion. “She’s…incredible. She’s beautiful, and so smart, and just…when I’m around her, I just feel at peace. Does that make sense?”

Therion was surprised at the agreement that threatened to break out of him. He fought not to glance over at Ophilia. He took a drink of his ale, his throat bobbing as he swallowed. “Yeah, I guess.”

Alfyn looked over at Primrose. “I want her to be happy, Therion. She’s seen so much awful stuff…”

Therion scoffed. “You think you’re gonna fuck her up? You’re one of the nicest people I’ve ever met. She’d be lucky to be with you.”

Surprise flickered across Alfyn’s face at the kind words. “That’s kind of ya to say.”

Therion shrugged. “Don’t mention it.” He was only speaking the truth. Primrose was one of the few people who had been through worse shit than he had. He didn’t speak with her as much as he did some of the others, but she didn’t judge him for what he did or what he had done. And she understood betrayal too. The deep sadness in her eyes reflected what he sometimes saw in the mirror. But when Alfyn was with her, he saw some of that sadness and the walls she put up melt away.

Alfyn continued to eat his stew, Therion slowly sipping his ale. His thoughts eventually found their way to Ophilia. They always seemed to do that, ever since they had hidden in the alleyway together and even more since she had healed his wounds in Goldshore.

She had been talking with Cyrus on the way to Stonegard. Irritation prickled in him as he thought of her smiling and nodding along with whatever he had been saying. He tried to stamp those feelings down too, but it didn’t work.

He was so tired of feeling. He had been feeling so much recently. He felt sad, remembering his parents’ death. He felt tired of how he had let his guard down. He had felt happy having easy conversations with Alfyn. He felt like he was in love with Ophilia.

The realization hit like water rushing over him. Of course he was in love with her. He was just that stupid, wasn’t he? To fall in love not just with any girl, though that would be bad enough in its own right. No, he had to fall in love with a priestess. A priestess that was fucking beautiful and just incredible and on a sacred journey and who probably barely tolerated him.

His grip on the tankard tightened, his knuckles turning white. Alfyn looked over at him, concern spreading over his face. “You alright?” He asked, a drop of soup spilling out of his mouth.

“I’m fine,” Therion muttered as Alfyn wiped his face with the back of his hand. “I just…thought of something."

“Leaf for your thoughts,” Alfyn said, digging into his coinpurse. Therion took the coin Alfyn offered and slid it into the bag hanging against his hip.

“It’s about Ophilia,” Therion said after a beat. Alfyn’s eyebrows shot up, his mouth dropping open, but he quickly reverted his face to a more neutral expression.

“What about her?” Alfyn asked.

Therion swallowed the knot in his throat. He could trust Alfyn. He willed the thought to echo around in his head. He’d been traveling with the apothecary for three months now, and they’d been through shit those three months. So he opened his mouth and let the truth fall from his lips.

“I’ve fallen for her.”

Alfyn choked on the bite of stew he had been in the process of swallowing. Therion thumped him on the back as he began to cough. Primrose looked away from Ophilia and over at the two of them in concern.

“Is everything alright?” She asked.

Therion nodded. “Went down the wrong way.” Alfyn cleared his throat and wiped his face with his sleeve, frowning when dark blotches of soup began to stain the white fabric.

Alfyn waited until Primrose had turned away from the two of them to continue to talk to Therion. “You fell for Phili?”

Therion nodded slightly, staring at his warped reflection in his ale. “She…she’s something else, Alf. She’s kind to me even though I"m a jackass to her all the time. And she’s pretty.” The pale gold of her hair, the soft swoop of her nose, the curve of her lips. Her brown eyes that glimmered the color of toffee in the sunlight.

Alfyn smiled at him. “Hey, don’t act all somber. This is a cause for celebration!” Alfyn gestured at the bartender to bring them each another ale.

Therion let out a short laugh. “Sure you want to be drinking more the night before we go into the woods on a hunt?”

Alfyn laughed, an easy smile spreading over his face. “Hey, I can keep my drinks down. It’s you who I’d be worried about.”

Therion smirked. “I’ll let you keep wondering about how much I can take,” he said. He’d learned at fifteen that getting drunk led to people taking advantage of you. The scar below his floating rib ached as he recalled the cruel smirk of the man from the Cragspear tavern.

Alfyn shrugged. “More for me, then!”

The two settled into a comfortable silence as Alfyn began to drink his second ale. Therion excused himself to the inn when the apothecary started his third. As he left the tavern, he stole a glance at Ophilia from over his shoulder. Her hair practically glowed in the light of the tavern, a smile spread across her face as Primrose regaled the table with a story.

Therion turned away as he walked down towards the inn, the fall chill of the Highlands stinging his face. He pulled his scarf up and continued to walk, the soles of his boots clicking against the harsh landscape.

And try as he might, the whole time he walked, he thought of her.

Chapter Text

Firesday, Balogar 4, 1618

“Cloak,” Therion whispered, tendrils of magic seeping out from his fingertips and obscuring him and the girl who was pressed up against him.

“What did you just do?” Ophilia asked softly. Her hand was pressed against his chest, the fabric of her glove soft against his skin.

“It’s a thief’s cantrip,” he whispered. He felt her shiver slightly. He gripped her even closer to him, telling himself it was only so they would remain hidden. “It’ll disguise us from view. I had to wait until we were hidden, because people who see you when you cast it can see through it.”

He turned back to face her and was slightly startled by how close they were. He could barely see the brown of her eyes, her pupils were so wide. Her face was flushed red, her hair slightly wild from the chase. Her breath came in pants, her lips parted slightly. He wondered what she would taste like if he captured her lower lip in his teeth. What sounds she would make if he buried his face in her neck and bruised her with his mouth.

“Priestess…” He murmured. He didn’t exactly know what he was trying to say. He reached his hand up and brushed a tendril of blonde hair out of her face. Her breath hitched.

“Therion…” She whispered, and that was all it took to break his self-restraint. He crashed his lips against hers, his hand threading into her hair. A gasp sounded from the back of her throat. He stepped forward, pushing her back into the opposite wall.

Her hands shot up. One of them laced itself into his hair. The other came around to his back, sliding under the rough fabric of his scarf. He ran his tongue over her bottom lip. She tasted like apples. Fuck, she tasted like his favorite fruit.

He let out a soft groan as he lightly bit her lip. Another gasp bubbled in the back of her throat, her head falling back slightly. He pulled back and stared at her for a few seconds. She looked like Sealticge herself, her golden hair slightly mussed and her cheeks flushed bright red.

He lowered his head down to her neck. Most of her skin was covered by those church clothes of hers, but her neck was blissfully available. She gasped again as his teeth ghosted over her neck, the sound thankfully unobstructed this time.

Therion’s blood turned to ice as he felt the tip of a blade against his ribcage. Ophilia vanished as he turned around and was met with Darius’ smug grin.

Darius stepped forward. Therion scrambled back to avoid the sword, his back hitting the wall. “Ye let down yer guard, mate. Gettin’ sloppy, are ye?”

Therion startled awake, cursing under his breath. He sat up, gaze snapping towards the window. He relaxed slightly at the sight of stony peaks. They were in the Highlands. Darius wasn’t here.

He looked at the clock that rested on the wall. It was just past midnight. With a sigh, he stood up and got out of bed, moving silently so as to avoid waking Alfyn. He pulled on his scarf, picked up his dagger, and exited the room. He grabbed a glowing lantern off of the front desk at the inn and made his way outside.

It never did him good to stay inside when his thoughts were whirling like this. He’d probably have robbed the inn blind. Or he’d have found his way to Ophilia’s room, tempted to make what happened in his dream a reality.

He grit his teeth. Was admitting he had feelings for the girl all it took for her to begin to haunt his dreams? It had been nearly a month since they’d been in Noblecourt. He should have brushed off the way they had been pressed together in the alley. He’d been far closer to other people whose names he couldn’t recall. Why couldn’t he get her out of his head?

Therion froze as he saw the outline of someone else sitting on one of the bluffs. They had their own lantern as well, but their figure was hidden by a cloak. Therion cautiously slid his hand down to grip the handle of his dagger. He’d been using his sword more recently, but the knives were reliable. You had to be closer to use them, but swords were more fiddly. And they brought back memories.

“Who’s there?” Therion called. His voice was unfamiliar to Stonegard. If it was someone dangerous, which it likely was, considering the time, they wouldn’t recognize him. And that would give him an advantage.

The figure stilled. Their head cocked to the side as they turned around. “Therion?”

Therion tensed at the sound of his name, but he relaxed as he saw Primrose’s face appear, bathed in lanternlight. “Primrose.”

She smiled. “What are you doing up so late?”

Therion made his way towards the bluff she sat on. “I could ask you the same.”

Primrose looked out towards the town as Therion hoisted himself up, setting his lantern down next to hers. He could see the pale linen of her bed shirt under the dark black of her cloak. Her hair was down, and her wrists were unadorned by bangles. It felt odd, seeing her this bare. “I couldn’t sleep.”

“Bad dreams?” He understood the feeling. The year following Darius’ betrayal, he had woken up in cold sweats nearly every week, the memory of their spar and the fall haunting his sleep.

“I…some. It’s hard to sleep, knowing that Simeon is so close.”

Therion swallowed roughly at that. He remembered the day Simeon had stabbed her vividly. The bastard’s laugh had echoed around the manor. Therion had chased him, but he’d escaped. And then there had been Primrose’s injury. He’d watched over her only once, the dark red of her wound matching the color of her dancing clothes.

“We could go to Everhold after this,” Therion said. He was almost surprised by the declaration. He wouldn’t have offered to go somewhere else before Wellspring for Cyrus or Tressa. But Primrose was different. She had seen things even worse than him. He remembered the hollow shell of herself she’d been in Sunshade. He cared enough about her, and about Alfyn, to go and kill the playwright before they headed to the desert.

Primrose, however, was surprised. She turned to him, her brown eyes slightly wide. “You would delay getting the next dragonstone?”

“I know how much he hurt you, Prim. The rock ain’t going anywhere. And Olberic cares about you too. From what Gustav said, it sounds like Erhardt will be staying in Wellspring for a while.”

Primrose looked away from him and down at her lap. “Truthfully, I don’t think I could confront him yet. It’s not even been a month. My wound’s barely finished healing. I just…facing him now, knowing why he treated me like he did when I was younger, it’s hard.”

Therion felt his hand wandering towards his dagger. He didn’t know much about Simeon’ and Primrose’s story, but the betrayal had cut her almost as deep as his knife. “Time will help.” But that was a lie, wasn’t it? It had been six years since he had last seen Darius, but Therion was far from over him.

“I hope so.” Primrose turned her head back to him, mischief gleaming in her deep brown eyes. “Now then, what’s keeping you up?”

“Bad dreams,” Therion muttered. Though bad maybe wasn’t the right word to describe it. Before Darius had shown up, it had been a wonderful dream. He wished that he’d been paying more attention when they had been in the alleyway. That he had memorized the way she felt against him.

“What happened?” Primrose asked.

Therion swallowed. He didn’t want to tell her about Darius. He didn’t want to tell her about Ophilia’s presence either. But he supposed that she would understand why the cleric had been plaguing his thoughts.

“I kissed Ophilia.”

Primrose’s jaw dropped. “Therion!” She gasped. “You’re sweet on her?”

Therion’s face felt warm. He was blushing, dammit. “I…might be.”

“Then why was the dream bad?”

“She wasn’t the bad part.” She was the most wonderful part. He would’ve been content to imagine that day gone different forever, to feel the ghost of her hands on him just a moment longer.

“Do you want to be with her?” Primrose asked softly.

“Desperately.” He whispered the words, meaning them with the whole of his heart.

“Do you have experience with loving?”

“I have experience with women. They’ll say anything after a good fuck. But she’s different. I don’t just want her for the way she looks or for what she might know. I want her because she might just be the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

Primrose had looked away from him. “I don’t have much advice to give you. I’ve only fallen in love twice. The other men…” Her voice cracked as she trailed off.

Therion moved his hand to rest on hers. He’d seen Alfyn do that plenty of times before, and while he wasn’t as close to her as the apothecary was, he was fairly sure she wouldn’t try to stab him.

“Good luck with whoever your new man is,” he said after a pause.

“And good luck with Ophilia,” Primrose said. “Treat her well, Therion. She’s the greatest friend I have.”

Therion could see the way the memory of Yusufa washed over her then. “I will.”

The two made their way back to the inn in silence. Therion set his lantern back on the desk and made his way upstairs, slipping into the room quietly. He shucked off his scarf and set his dagger on the table.

He glanced over at Alfyn as he began to settle into bed. Part of him wondered if he was the one Primrose had fallen for. She always kept an eye over him, and she seemed to open up to him in a way she didn’t with everyone else. They would be good for each other.

Chapter Text

Frostsday, Balogar 17, 1618

“Therion!” Primrose called.

Therion’s head turned as she walked over to him, her arms full of fabric in all sorts of colors. “I had an idea for entering the Black Market.”

“Other than the masks?”

“No, we’ll need those too. Oh, and Olberic said to steal an extra because Erhardt’s coming along as well. But I thought that the girls and I would wear dancing outfits.”

Therion’s eyebrows shot up. “You want us to do that? We’re trying to be inconspicuous.”

“And you think a cleric in a black market isn’t noticeable? A hunter too?"

Therion sighed. He had been worrying about how Ophilia and H’aanit stuck out, but he’d assumed they’d change into regular clothes like Olberic and Cyrus planned to do. “Dancing clothes will be memorable. Why not have them wear regular clothes, like in Noblecourt?”

Primrose let out an exasperated sigh. “My clothes are nearly too short for Ophilia, and they’re barely decent for H’aanit. We’re close to Sunshade. We’ll pretend that we’re loaned out to you while you’re in the market.”

“That assumes I agree to this plan. And ignoring how ridiculous it is, you’d be willing to act like a whore again?”

Primrose straightened her spine. “If I can survive being stabbed by the man I was closest to in childhood, I can pretend like I still work for Helgenish.”

Therion bit his lower lip. The more he thought about it, the more the plan worked out in his head. It would explain why there was such a large group of them. And the dancing clothes weren’t that uncommon in the desert, especially with Sunshade so near. He’d heard that it’d become a much better place after Helgenish’s death, with the tavern’s girls no longer being sold for the night. But they still danced, and Helgenish hadn’t been the only one in the city to run a brothel.

“The others agreed to it?” He asked.

Primrose nodded. “Of course they did.”

“Even Ophilia?”

“She’s willing to if it means you can get the dragonstone.”

Doubt must have passed over his face, because Primrose spoke up again. “She cares about you and how this goes, Therion. She knows it’s important to you.”

Therion fought the urge to blush at the thought of her caring about him. Instead he sighed and tilted his head towards the inn. “Get them changed, then. I’m going to go and steal some masks.”

Therion pulled his bandana up over his nose and mouth as he made his way back towards the market. His white hair was memorable, but with one eye covered by it and the help of his bandana, his face wouldn’t pop up in the memory of anyone who tried to recall a thief. 

Therion spied a group of men speaking, their masks resting on a rock behind them. Their clothes made it clear that they were all nobles. Pretentious bastards. Therion swiped the masks from where they had stashed then and grabbed the remainder from a crate full of them. He slid one over his face and tucked the rest into his scarf and his satchel.

He made his way to the inn once he had arrived back in town, tucking his mask back into his clothes. Alfyn, Olberic, and Cyrus were in the lobby, with Erhardt slightly off to the side. The two warriors had resolved to bury their grudge, but Erhardt wasn't by any means a part of the group. Alfyn had removed his green vest, leaving him in clothes that were much less noticeable. Cyrus had also removed the fancy clothes mandated by the Royal Academy for some of Alfyn’s simple tunics and trousers. They were a bit big on the scholar, but they fit well enough. Olberic wore the simple brown outfit that he’d worn when living in Cobbleston, and Erhardt had changed into something similar.

Therion threw a mask at each of them. “Happy Flamesday,” he said.

Alfyn barked out a laugh as he put the mask in his satchel. “The girls shouldn’t be much longer. Prim’s helping them sort out some of the ‘finer details’.”

“What exactly will we be using these costumes for?” Erhardt asked. It was the first time Erhardt had spoken to any of them except for Olberic, Alfyn, or Primrose.

“We’re pretending that they’re prostitutes from Sunshade we’ve rented out,” Cyrus said. “My understanding is that I will be with H’aanit, Alfyn with Primrose, Therion with Ophilia, and Tressa with Olberic. You, Sir Erhardt, will be without one of our companions since none of us know you that well. Except for Olberic, of course.”

Therion didn’t miss the way the two warriors’ eyes flicked towards each other at that. He tucked the information away for later. His own eyes snapped to the staircase as he heard the sound of clinking jewelry.

Primrose stood at the top of the stairs, a wolfish grin on her face. Her hair had been tied back like it had been in Sunshade, and she was back in her dancing clothes, gold bangles on her wrists and coins on a chain around her hips. “Hello again.”

She sauntered downstairs, the confident walk she had done in Sunshade on full display. Alfyn’s face was a bright red as she sidled up to him.

Tressa was the next to come down. Her sandy brown hair had been tied up into a ponytail, and she wore a long yellow skirt and a short matching top. A few of Primrose’s necklaces clinked against each other as she made her way to Olberic, a smile on her face. “Hope you’re good at acting, Sir Olberic!” She said.

Olberic gave her a small smile as he ruffled her hair. The two were like father and daughter, Olberic’s stoic nature contrasting with Tressa’s uncontrollable energy. He would treat her with the utmost respect. While it wasn’t the best regarding their act, Therion was glad that Tressa felt comfortable around Olberic.

H’aanit came next, golden chains wrapped around her black skirt that was cut similarly to Primrose’s. She wore a black top with gold trim along with matching sheer gloves. Her hair had been let out of its braid, and Cyrus seemed slightly awed as she walked towards him. “Doe I looken alright?” She asked, worry painting her features.

Cyrus gave her a smile that caused a bright flush to erupt on the huntress’ face. “You look lovely.”

And then Ophilia appeared at the top of the stairs, and Therion was sure that he was dreaming because there was no way she was really here, in an inn in Wellspring, wearing that.A white veil covered part of her golden hair, and a short white top showed a glimpse of her cleavage. A tight white skirt with teal lines wrapped around her thighs, and Therion thought he might faint when he saw the emerald earrings he had gotten her hanging from her ears.

He willed himself to have a normal expression as she walked over to him, her face a bright red. She tugged her top down slightly, showing just a sliver more of her breasts. He inhaled sharply. “I’m sorry if I don’t look convincing. I’m not used to wearing clothes like this.”

“It’ll be fine. I’ll pretend you’re new to the business.” Therion was more concerned about remembering who she was. No matter how she was dressed, she belonged to the Order. He couldn’t flirt with her nearly as much as he’d like to. He couldn’t do any of the things he wanted to.

He handed her a mask. “You’ll need to wear this.”

Ophilia slid the mask on. Therion took advantage of the distraction and distributed them to the rest of them. “A word?” He asked Primrose once he reached her.

Primrose nodded and they stepped outside. “This was a terrible idea,” Therion muttered.

“You still think the plan won’t work?” She let out an exasperated sigh.

“I’m not talking about the plan,” Therion bit out. “I’m talking about Ophilia wearing that.”

Primrose gave him a wicked grin. “It’s pretty, isn’t it? I thought it would suit her. It’s a bit more modest than I would’ve liked for her figure, but I do have to respect her wishes.”

Therion bit his tongue. “You think that’s modest?”

Primrose sighed. “Therion, you agreed to the plan. Ophilia’s wearing that because she wants to help you. They don’t get much more coverage than that. If you want her to wear something else because you think the plan won’t go well, be my guest. If you want her to change because you’re getting hot and bothered seeing her in those clothes, man up.”

Therion clenched his hand into a fist. He knew Primrose was right. He knew he could be professional. And he knew if he made only Ophilia change, then she would know that his flirting wasn’t just a game anymore. “Fine,” he spat. “Let’s get ready to go.”

Chapter Text

Frostsday, Balogar 17, 1618

“They’re just up ahead!” Therion hissed, pressing his body against the rocks. “Be quiet and listen to what they have to say.”

Ophilia nodded as she settled next to him. Everyone else found a spot behind some of the boulders that marked the edges of the path. Their masks had been discarded when they began to chase after the thieves who had stolen the dragonstones, and Ophilia was glad for it. She wasn’t used to wearing sandals, and she likely would’ve tripped on the uneven ground of the Black Market if her vision had been impaired.

“We should be safe here,” one of the thieves panted. “Ain’t nobody stupid enough to chase us this far. Now to hand this to the boss–”

Therion took that as his cue to stand and speak. “Aw, come on. What’s the hurry?” He said, leaning against the rock Ophilia had pressed herself behind.

“Wha–Who’re you?” The thief demanded, shock evident in his voice.

“Someone who needs that stone.” Therion disappeared from Ophilia’s line of sight as he walked towards the thieves. “So hand it over. Pretty please.” His voice was dripping in sarcasm.

The bandit laughed. “Yer a fool for askin’, and an even bigger one for comin’ here alone!”

Erhardt stood up at that, his sword drawn. “I wouldn’t be so confident.”

Ophilia stood up as everyone around her did, gripping the staff she had grabbed from one of the vendors’ booths. It was easy to take it after the chaos of the murdered merchant.

They all walked towards the thieves. Erhardt and Olberic stood in the middle, with Alfyn and Primrose to Ophilia’s left. She was on the far right. Ophilia startled when she heard a voice echo through the chamber. “The real fool is the one who leaves a trail back to his hideout.”

The thieves all startled. “B-boss!” One of them said, backing up towards the wall. Therion was frozen still, his breath coming in ragged pants.

Two men walked down a hill to the right of Ophilia. The first was cloaked in a purple hood, his face obscured by a black bandana. The second was outfitted in a green tunic. He had long red hair, and a scar that slashed under his eyes and across his nose.

Therion’s breath sped up even further. He was pale, and his eyes were wide. “Darius?!” He spat out.

Recognition dawned on the red-haired man’s face. “Wait…I know ya.” The thieves stepped to the side as he made his way down the hill and stepped closer to Therion, whose grip on his dagger had grown tight. Ophilia could see that his knuckles were white.

The red-haired man, who was evidently Darius, let out a laugh. “Well, if it isn’t Therion!”

Therion’s eyes were murderous. “I never thought I’d see you again, least of all here,” he bit out.

A smile spread on Darius’ face. It was a sinister smile, one that sent chills down Ophilia’s spine. “Likewise.” He had a thick accent. It sounded vaguely like that of the inhabitants of Stonegard. But it was rougher than theirs, like a gemstone that hadn’t been sanded down.

Darius continued. “I’d ‘eard rumors of another tea leaf after the dragonstones.” Ophilia saw Therion flinch at the words tea leaf. “But I never thought it’d be you.” He let out another laugh. He seemed at ease. Therion seemed like he was about to stab the other man. “I’m amazed you’re still kickin’!”

Therion froze again. Ophilia felt dread creeping over her, settling into her bones. What did Darius mean by that?

Therion spoke again. “I see you’ve found yourself some new partners in crime.” His voice was tense. Everything about him was tense.

Darius shrugged. “I wouldn’t call ‘em ‘partners’. They work for me.” Darius’ gaze swept over her and everyone else. A smile split his face. “So have you, it seems. A bunch of whores you’ve got there.” Ophilia saw Primrose draw her dagger out of the corner of her eye. “You’ve changed, Therion. Six years ago, you refused to ‘ave anything to do with girls like those.”

“Don’t talk about them like that,” Therion snapped. Darius laughed.

“It ain’t like they’re really whores. Ya think I don’t know how to recognize a costume? Only real one is the girl in red, and you stole ‘er right out of Sunshade. Don’t think I didn’t hear ‘bout Helgenish’s prized girl going missin’.”

Alfyn stepped in front of Primrose, his axe drawn. Darius grinned at that. “So that one ain’t your girl.” Darius’ eyes roved over Tressa, then H’aanit, and then they found her. He grinned. “It’s gotta be this one.”

Darius stepped forward. Ophilia tightened the grip on her staff as she stepped back, her eyes widening. She didn’t know what she would do if he got close to her. He was obviously untrustworthy, but she wasn’t good at melee fighting. “Don’t take another step, Darius!” Therion yelled, his voice echoing through the cavern.

Darius turned back to Therion, his expression smug. “Hit a nerve there, did I? Don’t want me takin’ yer girl?”

Ophilia felt anger flare through her. If he thought she would ever go anywhere with him, he was mad. “Leave them alone, Darius,” Therion hissed.

“Fine then.” Darius walked back towards Therion. Ophilia noticed the scabbard hanging from his belt. “So, how has life been without me?” A wicked smile slowly spread across his face as he caught sight of Therion’s wrist. “It must be excitin’, if that fool’s bangle is any indication!” He let out another laugh.

Darius gave another step towards Therion. Ophilia saw Olberic and Erhardt tighten the grip on their swords. “I wonder if that could be why you're after the dragonstones.”

Therion didn’t speak, but Ophilia didn’t miss the low growl that came from deep in his throat as Darius took another step forward. He set a hand on Therion’s shoulder. “You’ve gotten sloppy, mate. Stealing used to be your only talent. It’s the reason I kept you around for so long.”

Darius said the words matter-of-factly, but Therion recoiled like he’d been slapped. His inhale was sharp, and Ophilia watched a smirk spread over Darius’ face. “Enough, Darius,” Therion grit out.

Therion shoved Darius off of him. Darius raised his hands in mock surrender. “I guess you’re right. There’s really no point in reminiscing.” He turned his head towards the thieves who were standing in wait. “They’re all yours, boys.”

The thief in the middle nodded. “Leave ‘em to us, boss!”

Darius walked towards the man with the purple hood, and the two made their way further into the market. Therion turned to face the thieves. Olberic began to walk forward, his sword drawn, but Therion held up a hand. “This is my fight,” he said.

Therion stepped back from Gareth, his chest heaving. The purple-cloaked man staggered back, clutching his hand to the wound by his ribs. “N-No,” he grunted out before he collapsed to the ground, growing still.

“Let’s go,” Therion panted. “We can still catch Darius.”

“Are you mad?” Olberic yelled. “He’s long gone. If we try to go after him we’ll just run ourselves ragged.”

Therion turned to Olberic, his eyes blazing with anger. “I have to go after him.”

“No, Therion. Let him go.”

“You don’t understand, Olberic.” Therion’s tone was dangerous. Ophilia clutched her staff tighter.

“I understand betrayal, Therion,” Olberic said in a low voice. Ophilia didn’t miss the hurt that passed over Erhardt’s face, before the former knight fixed his expression to be neutral again.

“No, you don’t!” Therion yelled. “You don’t know what it’s like, Olberic! Whatever the fuck happened between you and Erhardt, it’s nothing–”

Olberic interrupted Therion, fuming. His voice was the most angry she had ever heard. Even when Olberic had confronted Erhardt, he had been controlled. “Just because we have had different experiences does not mean that I don’t understand–”

“He tried to fucking kill me!” Therion yelled. “He tried to fucking kill me, and you will never understand that because you had a home and a family when you were ten!”

Ophilia let out a gasp, her mouth dropping open. Her thoughts were a whirl as she thought about what Darius had said.

I’m amazed you’re still kickin’!

It’s the reason I kept you around for so long.

You just refuse to die, don’t you?

Does my betrayal still haunt you?

Therion continued to talk, his eyes wild. “I’ve lived six fucking years with what that bastard did to me.” He pointed to Gareth, lying dead on the ground. “He used me like he used that son of a bitch, and then he was done with me and so he got rid of me.”

The edges of Therion’s voice were raw. “I’ve waited for years to do to that bastard what he did to me. I am not letting him get away again.”

“You don’t have a choice, Therion!” Primrose’s voice echoed through the cavern. Ophilia looked at her for the first time since the fight had begun. She stood over the body of one of the low-level thieves. Blood was smeared across her pale skin, the red staining her skirt. “Do you think that any of us like waiting for revenge?”

Therion opened his mouth to speak, but Primrose held up her hand. Her eyes were intense. “I waited ten years to kill the first crow. I still haven’t gotten Simeon. I hate having to wait, but it’s what I have to do! I am not the only person here. We’re all here because we need to do something. Let Darius go.”

Therion’s chest rose and fell with the pants of his breath. “You don’t know anything, Primrose.” He walked over to Gareth and pulled his dagger out of his gut, before he walked out of the Black Market.

Ophilia let out a shuddering breath. Primrose tensed her jaw, before she pulled her dagger out of the thief’s throat and threw it at the wall. It sank into a crevice with a resounding thunk. “Why won’t he listen?” She yelled.

“He needs time,” Alfyn said softly. “This was hard for him.”

“That’s not an excuse for him to be an asshole!” Primrose yelled. “He’s not the only one who’s experienced stuff like that.”

“But he’s the only one that still feels scars from it,” Ophilia said softly. “You’ve seen how he refuses to get close to us.”

“Let’s head out for now,” Alfyn said.

And so they left the Black Market behind, leaving spilled blood and truths behind them.

Chapter Text

Frostsday, Balogar 17, 1618

Ophilia pulled Primrose’s black cloak over her shoulders, clasping it as she walked towards the door. She supposed she could’ve grabbed her own cloak, but she felt it was a better idea to wear Primrose’s. She would be entering a man’s room after dark. Doing that while wearing a cloak from the church seemed like a bad idea.

Ophilia heard Primrose stir awake as she turned the door handle. “Phili? What are you doing?” Primrose asked, her voice thick with sleep.

“I was going to talk to Therion,” Ophilia said, turning to face Primrose.

Primrose sat up, rubbing her eyes. “Are you sure that’s a good idea? Alfyn tried to and now he’s sleeping on the floor of Olberic and Cyrus’ room.”

Ophilia swallowed the doubt in her throat. “I’ll be fine. Go to bed, Prim.”

Primrose stared at Ophilia for a few moments more before she burrowed back into her covers. Ophilia took that as her cue to leave the room, walking quietly down the hall. She reached Therion’s room far too soon. She felt anxiety buzzing through her, but she swallowed and raised her hand and knocked.

Therion opened the door. He was backlit by moonlight, his white hair almost angelic. He had cast off his purple poncho and bandana, leaving him in just a thin white shirt and worn trousers. Ophilia felt her face flush, but she was able to muster up the courage to talk. “Hello, Therion."

“Ophilia.” His voice was hoarse, likely from all the yelling he had done earlier. “What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to talk to you. You seemed upset earlier.”

Therion opened his mouth to speak, but he shut it shortly after. His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed. “Fine.” He stepped to the side, and Ophilia entered the room.

She looked at the two beds in the room. One of them was neatly made. The other’s blankets and sheets were disheveled. She sat down on the edge of the disheveled one. Therion sat down beside her.

“What did you want to talk about?” He asked.

“I’d think it would be obvious,” Ophilia said. “I want to talk about what happened in the Black Market.”

“Of course,” Therion muttered, averting his eyes away from her and towards the wall.

“Therion, who is Darius? I’ve never seen you so upset.”

“Someone from my past,” Therion ground out.

“Therion, you cannot continue to ignore your past like this!"

He turned back to her. “I can do what I want, priestess.”

Ophilia tried to ignore the hurt that washed through her at him using that nickname. He had been using her name more and more recently. “Therion, whether you like it or not, we’re traveling together. If Darius made you so upset, I need to know why.”

Therion’s hands clenched into fists. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Maybe not. But I could try,” she offered.

He looked away from her. When he spoke, his voice was distant. “We met ten years ago. You know that my parents died. I’d been living on the streets, stealing to make a living. I ended up in jail for it, and I met Darius there. He was thirteen. I managed to steal the key off of the guard and spring us. A partnership seemed natural.”

“We traveled all over the Riverlands, taking as much as we could,” Therion continued. “I was damn good at it, and he was too. The two of us were unstoppable. But one night, in Riverford, we stopped this gang called the Ciannos from pulling a big heist. The two of us knew that they would get revenge. And they did. They recruited him.”

Therion turned back towards her. “We made our way to the Cliftlands. He said it was better to branch out, go somewhere where people wouldn’t recognize us, and I fucking believed him. And then he…he lured me up to the top of this high cliff. And then we fought and then…”

He trailed off, looking away. Ophilia gasped as all of the pieces began to slot into place. Why Darius had been shocked he had been alive. Why he had so many scars that didn’t look clean. Everything he had yelled in the Black Market was true. “He tried to kill you,” she whispered.

“It was six years ago. And I learned a good lesson then. I learned that people only have their best interests at heart. I learned that trusting people is a mistake.”

Ophilia reached out and laid her hand on his. “You’re wrong, Therion.”

He turned back to her, his expression doubtful. “Really, priestess? How so?”

Ophilia felt a blush grow at the intensity of his gaze. “Trusting people is one of the most important things we can do. Sometimes, it’s hard to trust people.” She thought of Lianna. How determined she had been to get Ophilia out of her shell, even when Ophilia turned her away countless times. “But most of the time, they just want to help you.”

“Not always,” Therion said. His expression was still stormy.

“Yes, there are always people like Darius. Those who see others as objects, instead of real people with real feelings. But I haven’t encountered someone like that in a long time, Therion. And I think you haven’t either.”

“You don’t know that,” Therion hissed. But his voice was less harsh.

“You trusted me back in Flamesgrace,” Ophilia said. “You told me about the prophecy. You trusted Alfyn when you met him in Clearbrook.”

“Why are you telling me all this, Ophilia?”

“Because I care about you, Therion. It pains me to see you hurting.” She looked up at him and was startled by how close they were. “I trust you. I hope that you can find it in yourself to keep trusting me.”

Therion took a ragged inhale, and Ophilia really felt how close they had grown. He was only a few inches from her face. With how close they were in height, it would take no effort for her to meet his lips.

She expected that thought to scare her, but she instead felt excitement rush through her. What if he really did bend down and kiss her? She wouldn’t turn away like she would have two months ago. She felt her eyes flicker down to his lips.

She saw his pupils widen, just like they had back in Noblecourt. She felt a rush of pride at the thought that she had done this to him. She had broken down his walls, and she could tell that he wanted to move forward. She could feel it in the way his breath came in short pants, brushing against her check.

Ophilia moved ever so slightly forward, and she saw his pupils dilate further. They were so close now. She felt his fists release their hold on the sheets.

“Ophilia,” he whispered. His voice was barely audible, but she shivered as she felt it run through her. “What are you doing?”

“I don’t really know,” she admitted, her voice as soft as his. “But I want to find out.”

He looked at her with an intensity that made her squirm. It was nothing like how he’d looked back in the Black Market. It was a look of wanting, Ophilia realized.

Suddenly, Therion’s expression changed. It was like a cloud had passed over his face. Ophilia blinked in confusion as he stood up and walked towards the window.

“Therion? What’s wrong?”

“You should leave.” His voice sounded tense, like each word was a struggle to get out.

The rejection stung as Ophilia stood and walked towards her. “Therion, why are you saying this?”

Therion turned back to her. “You should leave, priestess. It’s late."

His expression wasn’t like it had been thirty seconds ago. Gone was the awed way he had looked at her. All that remained was harsh determination.

Ophilia swallowed the lump in her throat, fighting the tears that pricked at the back of her eyes. “Well then. Good night, Therion. Thank you for trusting me.”

And with that, she swept out of the room.

Chapter Text

Firesday, Balogar 28, 1618

Therion sighed as he stared down at the fire, its orange tongues licking at the sky. The Riverlands nights were much more pleasant than the ones in the Sunlands. Sure, the cold from the water liked to wrap around him, but it was far better than the chill that the desert nights had brought.

Though one night hadn’t been quite so cold.

Therion huffed out a breath as he recalled that night. He had been confused when she’d come to his room. He hadn’t known why she would have wanted to even be near him that night. After everything he’d said in the Black Market, after everything he’d done, he’d expected everyone to keep a wide berth from him. But she had come knocking at his door, and like the love-struck idiot he was, he had let her in. And, in a show of even greater idiocy, he’d told her about Darius.

That hadn’t been something he was expecting to do. He’d been hoping he could just sweep his past under the rug when anyone asked about it. But she had a way of making him talk that nobody else had.

And then she’d been close to him, and she’d looked at him in a way nobody else had. Like she wasn’t horrified by his past. Like she wasn’t about to go and shut him out. Like she cared about him. Like she wanted to listen to him.

Like she loved him.

And gods, he had wanted to kiss her. He had wanted to kiss her ever since they had been stuck in that alleyway in Noblecourt and he’d first thought about it. He wanted to do something he doubted anyone else had ever done. To press his mouth to hers and draw her close to him. To lay her back on the bed and let himself forget all about his troubles and lose himself in the feel of her lips.

But he couldn’t really do that, could he? Because she was a priestess. She belonged to the church. It was a ridiculous idea to think that he could do anything with her. She would likely never marry, and if she was one of the rare ones who did marry, it would be someone in the church. And she wasn’t going to be having any flings in the meantime.

So he stood up and walked away. It had been one of the most difficult things he had ever done. He had wanted to kiss her so badly. But she was a woman of the church, and he was a thief. A thief who, earlier that day, had stabbed a man through the stomach and threatened to do the same to another.

Therion snapped out of his thoughts at the sound of approaching footsteps. He sprang up, drawing his dagger.

“It’s just me!” Alfyn said, stepping into the firelight.

Therion relaxed, sheathing his dagger. “What are you doing up? You don’t have guard duty tonight.” Therion was the third of four guards that night. Cyrus would be up soon to keep watch until the morning.

“I know. But I woke up to take a drink, and I remembered it was your shift. You’ve been actin’ strange ever since we were in Wellspring.”

Alfyn walked over to the log Therion had been sitting on and took a seat. Therion sat as Alfyn took a drink from his canteen.

“Darius,” Therion said. The lie came easily to him.

Alfyn looked down at him. “Somethin’ tells me it’s not just that.”

Therion scowled. “What else would it be?”

Alfyn shrugged, returning his gaze to the fire. His blonde hair gleamed orange in the firelight. “Hell if I know. But I’d like to know. We’ll be in Clearbrook in a couple days. I don’t want ya being rude to the whole village.”

Therion didn’t speak for a few moments. He stared at the flames, thoughts whirling through his head. Part of him wanted to deny Alfyn the knowledge. The old part of him cried that he couldn’t be trusted.

But that old part of him had been growing quieter and quieter the past four months. And part of him knew that Ophilia had helped him to silence it. Ophilia, with her pure heart and her trusting instincts that he was sure would lead to something bad in her future. Ophilia, who had put her trust in him.

So he put his trust in Alfyn. For her sake. “I almost kissed Ophilia.”

Alfyn’s head snapped towards Therion, his mouth hanging open. “You what?” He hissed.

Therion continued to stare at the fire. “I almost kissed Ophilia the night after the Black Market.”

“Gods, Therion. You…Is this why she keeps ignoring you?”

“Probably.” He wasn’t sure if he would ever forget the hurt that crossed over her face when he got up.

“What happened?” Alfyn asked, his voice soft.

Therion swallowed the knot in his throat. “She came to my room in the evening to talk. I told her about Darius and how it was stupid to trust people. And then she just told me off, telling me how important it was to trust people. How she trusted me and how she cared about me.”

Alfyn was quiet. Therion let out a shuddering breath as he remembered how close she had been for the thousandth time. “And we were…close, and I think she wanted to kiss me. And I wanted to kiss her.”

“Why didn’t you?” Alfyn asked.

Therion finally looked up at him. “Because she’s Ophilia Clement. Flamebearer. Daughter of the fucking Archbishop. I can’t get involved with her.”

Alfyn sighed. “You’re an idiot, you know that?”

Therion’s jaw dropped as Alfyn continued. “Ophilia knows damn well what she can and can’t do. It’s not like she suddenly forgets all the rules the church has the moment she sees you.”

“Then why would she ever consider kissing me?” Therion snapped.

“Because she cares about you!” Alfyn said. “She wants to be with you. She might be bound to the church, but she could easily find a way to be with you. Don’t deny yourselves what both of you want just because you think you know better than her.

Therion tore his gaze away from Alfyn’s and stared down at the fire. He knew Alfyn was right. Ophilia was twenty years old. She was able to make her own decisions. But that didn’t mean those decisions weren’t bad ideas. That he wasn’t a bad idea.

Therion was snapped out of his thoughts at approaching footsteps. He tensed for the second time that night, but his hand was slower to reach towards his dagger than it had been earlier. “Cyrus?” He asked.

“I’ve come to take watch,” the scholar said, sitting down between Therion and Alfyn. Cyrus looked at Alfyn curiously. “Alfyn, what are you doing out here?”

“Just havin’ a chat with Therion,” Alfyn said in that breezy way that made people forget about their troubles. Therion was sometimes jealous of how Alfyn was able to put people at ease. It would’ve made his job a hell of a lot easier if he could do that.

“Well, you both ought to head to bed now. If we keep going at the pace we are, we’ll arrive in Clearbrook in two days’ time. It’ll be easier to keep the pace if you’re rested.”

“Yes, Professor!” Alfyn said, standing up and stepping over the log. Therion followed Alfyn, and the two settled into the tent they shared.

“Therion?” Alfyn said as Therion pulled his blanket around himself.

“What?” Therion muttered, turning towards the wall of the tent.

“You don’t need to kiss Ophilia if you don’t want to. But keep in mind what I said. For her sake.”

Chapter Text

Windsday, Aeber 14, 1618

Ophilia gazed down at the water flowing beneath her feet. The sun hung low on the horizon, casting everything in a soft golden glow. She let out a soft sigh, staring at her distorted reflection.

The day had been a tiring one. The Kindling had been successful, but those children had fought. And yes, it was normal for children to fight. But then Emil had run off into the woods to find Derryl’s brooch. And so she had gone with Derryl, Primrose, H’aanit, Cyrus, and Tressa to keep him safe. And Hróðvitnir had been driven back, and all was well.

Or at least it should have been. But Therion had stayed behind. She knew that Alfyn was busy helping Miguel, and that he needed assistance. But Olberic should have been enough to make sure everything was okay.

Part of her wished that she hadn’t visited his room that night a month ago. Yes, she wouldn’t know as much about him, but they would be able to talk to each other. To just be around each other without having tension fill the air.

She sighed as she pulled out her canteen and began to drink. They’d taken the water from the town’s rivers, and Alfyn had made sure to purify it. Part of her wondered why he was so intent on doing so, but she supposed it was none of her business.

Ophilia startled out of her thoughts when she heard footsteps approaching her. She turned her head, expecting to see someone from the church. She was surprised to see Therion, who sat down next to her.

“Priestess,” he said, giving her a nod of acknowledgement. Ophilia’s throat suddenly felt very dry, despite the water she had just drunk.

“Hello, Therion. What brings you here?” She asked, setting her canteen down.

Therion didn’t answer her for a moment. His gaze dropped down to the waters below them. “You did a good job with the Kindling today,” he said. “It was impressive to watch.”

Ophilia felt a blush spread over her face. “Thank you. I’m glad you were able to see it.”

She looked over at him in time to see a small smile spread over his face. “Yeah, you sure had your fair share of admirers. Especially those kids.”

Ophilia smiled. “I’m glad I was able to help them. Isn’t it just so heartwarming, seeing quarreling friends make good again?”

“Yeah, I guess.” Therion’s gaze dropped back to the river.

“Is something the matter?” Ophilia asked.

Therion shook his head. “Seeing them kinda reminded me of my own childhood.”

“Really?” Ophilia asked.

He nodded. “Those kids are a little bit like me and Darius. We fought a good amount, but we would’ve stuck together no matter what. Well, I would’ve stuck with him no matter what.”

Ophilia felt sympathy stirring in her heart. “You grew up in the Riverlands, did you not?”

Therion nodded. “We didn’t spend much time here, though. I came from Riverford and spent most of my time there. I was never particularly religious, but it just felt wrong to steal from a holy town.”

“I grew up in this area too,” Ophilia said after a few moments of quiet.

Therion looked over at her. “That’s right,” he murmured. Something about the tone of his voice sent a shiver through her.

“It’s nice, being back in the Riverlands,” she continued, ignoring the flush that was spread over her face. “I love Flamesgrace, but sometimes I miss the warmer weather and playing in the water. Oh, and the food is just heavenly here! It was just wonderful in Clearbrook, to eat those foods again.”

Therion had a small smile spread across his face. “Who knew the way to the Flamebearer’s heart was to feed her fish?” He teased.

Ophilia felt her blush deepen. “Well, I suppose that’s true.” She averted her gaze from his. “How was it here, with Miguel?”

Therion huffed out a sigh. “Boring. Alfyn went around helping more people, and Olberic went with him because he won the coin toss. So I just had to stay in that old barn with him for hours. I wish I could’ve gone with you and the others to fight that wolf.”

Ophilia felt a small smile spread across her face. Maybe he hadn’t stayed behind just to avoid her. “It was quite a fight. It’s always impressive to see H’aanit’s hunting prowess.”

“I’m just glad the kids are safe. They seem like good ones.”

Her smile grew wider. “They’re all lovely. I truly believe that now that they’ve been reminded about how important their friendship is, they’ll stay close for quite some time.”

“They’ll at least be telling the story of Sister Ophilia to anyone who’ll listen for the next three months.” 

Ophilia laughed. “Well, as long as it keeps them out of the Murkwood.”

A comfortable silence settled in between them. She reached her hand up to touch the clasp holding her cloak around her shoulders. It was a habit she had grown used to doing whenever she was nervous. It was a reminder that Aelfric was looking out for her. And recently, it was a way to help remember Lianna and the Archbishop back home. They were why she was on this journey, and they were the reason why she would see it through.

“So, where are we headed next?” Therion asked, breaking through her thoughts.

She turned her head back towards him. In the evening sun, his white hair looked almost like a halo. “Well, I suppose once Miguel is healed we’ll head to Bolderfall so you can talk to the Ravuses. And then we can head to Quarrycrest, since Cyrus and Tressa need to go there.”

Therion let out a soft laugh. “I meant for the Kindling.”

Ophilia blushed. “Oh! Well, the next stop in the Kindling is in Goldshore. And then we’d head back to Flamesgrace.”

“So once you finish the Kindling, you’ll just head back to Flamesgrace and stay there?” He asked.

She nodded. “Currently, that’s what I plan to do. The Archbishop is sick, after all, and it’s important that I’m there for him when I can be.”

“Makes sense,” Therion said, his voice distant as he gazed off towards the horizon.

“Therion, is something the matter?”

“You make all this talk about trusting people and sticking together, but the moment you finish with your journey, you’ll leave us for home.” His voice was hard and closed off, like it had been when he had spoken about Darius.

Ophilia’s jaw dropped. “Therion, I–”

He interrupted her. “Enough, priestess. If my time with you is limited, I might as well make the most of it.”

And then he leaned forward and kissed her.

Ophilia froze as her eyelids slowly fluttered closed. Every nerve in her body felt like it was on fire as his hand reached up and slid behind her head. The other wrapped around her waist and pulled her close to him.

After a few moments, she tentatively raised her hand and tangled it in his hair. A low hum came from his throat, and Ophilia felt a shiver run through her as he tilted his head and continued to kiss her, his mouth persistent.

His teeth grazed her lower lip, and she let out a small gasp that was captured by his mouth. She could feel the corners of his lips trying to shift into a smile. His hand around her waist tightened, and she found her other hand making its way to his shoulder. She shifted to steady herself, one of her legs wedging its way between his.

After what felt like an eternity, he pulled away from her, though he stayed close to her. “Fuck, Ophilia,” he murmured, his voice raggedy.

Ophilia’s chest rose and fell with the pants of her breath. Every inch of her felt like it was on fire. Had that really happened? “Why?” She whispered.

Therion smiled at that. “Why not?” He said, in a low tone that made her want to press back into him.

Therion suddenly leaned forward and gripped the back of her head, pulling her into another searing kiss. It was done within a few seconds, and then he stood.

“It was nice talking to you,” he said, before he walked off towards the inn.

Ophilia raised her fingers to her lips. She slowly stood, her legs shaky. She needed to find Primrose. She needed to do something, anything, because Therion had kissed her.