Chapter Text
Cobbleston was a quaint, quiet village on Orsterra’s highlands. A small community of mostly pastoral farmers and hunters, with the occasional traveling merchant passing through. A fine community that had been watched over for the last eight years by a knight of a fallen kingdom; a lovely little hamlet that most people found very hard to hate.
Unfortunately, none of these things suited Therion. Smaller communities meant standing out more. Standing out more meant a higher risk of getting caught. Getting caught meant not finishing the day with enough to eat, if not facing prison time. Not that it mattered- the most valuable thing he’d found that day was a necklace, already half-falling out of some bookworm girl’s pocket, and the tavern wasn’t turning up any better leads. He knew better than to get his hopes up, small villages rarely had anything worth anything, but he thought he’d end the day with a little more than a pocket full of herbs. So there he sat, in the dinkiest tavern he’d ever seen in his life, nursing an ale that was, if he was being honest, a lot better than he had expected.
“Heeey, Therion!” An all-too cheery voice greeted him from across the tavern. Therion sighed heavily as Alfyn pulled up a chair, undeterred. “Drinkin’ alone, are we?”
“Yeah. I tend to like it better when I can hear my own thoughts,” he snarked.
“Maybe you do, but I like havin’ a spot of company when I’m in a tavern. Mind if I join ya?”
“I do mind. Believe it or not, I’m doing my job. You know, making sure we have enough leaves to sleep under a roof tonight.”
“Oh!” Alfyn exclaimed in surprise. He looked around, unsure what kind of work the thief would be doing by sitting alone in a tavern, but not the least bit skeptical that he was doing it. “Well, how’s it going?”
Therion considered retorting, and then remembered his haul for the day. He said nothing and took a sip of his ale, avoiding eye contact.
“Sounds rough,” Alfyn dropped his satchel by his feet. “Tell ya what – lemme make you feel a bit better. Drinks on me?”
Therion raised an eyebrow at this. “On you? With actual money? What, did you hit your head and decide charging your patients might be a good idea?”
“Haha, not quite.” The thief wasn’t sure why Alfyn laughed at this. “Nah, it’s a small town, there’s not a lot of people in dire need of help. People do like to have preventatives, though. Ointments, premade poultices, stuff that keeps for a while. I don’t mind charging a bit for those.”
“Wow. Maybe you do have something rattling around in that head of yours.”
“Aw, shucks.” Alfyn smiled and scratched the back of his head in a small show of shyness- did he think that was a compliment? Alfyn was a bit of an anomaly in Therion’s book. He’d never met anyone in his life who was so unable to take a hint, who wouldn’t know an insult if it stabbed him in the ribs. But here he was – some goodie two-shoes backwater dipshit doing his damnedest to befriend a thief, of all people. Alfyn Greengrass, rookie traveler, who had never known a day of real, actual suffering in his life (by Therion’s standards, anyway), all starry-eyed and empty-headed, traipsing around Orsterra like the world wouldn’t chew him up and spit him out someday.
Fuckin’ hick, Therion thought to himself.
“But, hey, mind if I sit with ya? You don’t gotta talk to me or nothin’, long as you don’t mind me talkin’ to you.” The apothecary smiled at him, expectantly.
Therion mulled it over. He wasn’t very interested in whatever Alfyn had to say, but it wasn’t like he had anything better to do, and had enough alcohol in him that he could probably tolerate one or two of his boring-ass stories. Besides, he did offer to pay…
He offered a shrug. “Sure,” Therion said. “Knock yourself out, medicine man.”
“Great!” Alfyn’s face lit up with excitement. Why was he so damn enthusiastic about everything? “How’s that ale you got?”
“It’s fine.”
“Ooh, must be real good then.” Alfyn turned to the barkeep and ignored the other’s pronounced eyeroll. “‘Scuse me, a pint o’ the house ale, please! And lemme open a tab.” He turned back to Therion. “Man, though, you wouldn’t believe some of the stuff I see.”
I bet I would. Therion sipped his ale in silence.
“So what happened?” Therion sat on the edge of his seat, eyes wide in anticipation of the climax to Alfyn’s current gruesome medical tale. If he was sober, he’d be a bit more reserved, maybe even embarrassed about how eager he was to know what happens next. But he was five drinks in, realized about three pints ago that Alfyn was actually a damn good storyteller, and no longer possessed enough shame to pretend he wasn’t fascinated with the goriest details of the apothecary trade.
“Well, whaddaya think?” Alfyn asked, louder and more animated than he would sober. Already two drinks further in than Therion, his distinct Clearbrook accent amplified by the drunken slurring. “I start wadin’ through this big pile a’ vomit on the floor an’ start lookin’ fer that family heirloom necklace she’d been cryin’ ‘bout! I bend over an’ start lookin, but this thing is a thin lil’ chain with a pearl attached, an’ I can’t see SHIT through a week’s worth a lunches. So I put on my pretty lil’ customer service face, an’ I go ‘Aw, it’s no thing miss, we’ll find that necklace!’ An’ in my head I’m prayin’ to Dohter harder than I ever have in my life, hopin’ and wishin’ that he has even a grain of compassion for me in that divine satchel o’ his so I can just find this thing and be done with it.” His wild gesturing struck the tankard in his hand against the table, perhaps a bit too hard; enough to spill ale and visibly annoy the next table, at least. Alfyn flinched – slightly too late – to prevent more of his drink from spilling.
“...Well?”
Alfyn hung his head and groaned. “Well. I got on my hands an' knees, wavin’ my hands through this lady’s absolutely obscene amount of puke. I’ve seen a lot of fuckin’ puke in my day, but I ain’t NEVER seen someone puke like this. An’ every few minutes she’d cough up a fresh batch! The whole damn time, every five minutes she’d go - HURK- huHURK- BLUAGH-”
His impression was enough to send Therion into a fresh fit of hysterics, an event that shook his whole body but began soundless, broke into a wheeze, and finally into a full-throated laugh as he doubled over, holding a hand over his face as Alfyn contorted his face to match the sounds. Other patrons gave the thief sidelong glances at his outbursts, and by the graces of whatever gods presided over that alehouse, Therion simply did not care for perhaps the first time in his life. He allowed his eyes to fill with tears and his sides to ache with laughter, other people be damned.
“Gods, you-” He struggled to push the words out between laughs, reduced to a breathy falsetto, “how does that even HAPPEN?”
Alfyn looked him in the eye before dramatically throwing his arms up in frustration and smacking the table hard enough to send another splash of ale over the side of his tankard, loud enough for the table beside them to start whispering. Once again they were ignored, and once again Therion was reduced to a laughing mess, struggling to keep himself above the table. “I ain’t never had a patient before OR since react that badly to an emetic. You'd think I made ‘er swallow a bullfrog, fer all the good it did though. Criminy. Ugh – and the smell-”
Having finally managed to calm down enough to pull himself above the tabletop, Therion wiped the tears from his good eye and asked, “Did you – did you ever find that necklace?”
The answer he got spoke for itself, somewhere between fury and frustration and exhaustion. Lips pursed, brows furrowed, eyes screwed shut as Alfyn took a deep breath – another bout of laughter from Therion. “No,” Alfyn growled, “I did not find the fuckin’ necklace. I crawled on her floor for a good half hour pickin’ up bits of her leftovers. Her daughter saw me. I had an audience. Did not offer to help, by the way. And I did not see a single gods-forsaken trace of that necklace. For all I know it ended up in her privy the next day. Hells- maybe it was just buried in her jewelry box, maybe it never fell in her food to start!” He leaned back in his chair and groaned. “That. Was one o’ the few times I ended up chargin’ a patient in need. I'm a patient man, you know that. But even my patience only goes so far, and THAT was how far it fuckin’ went. Holy SHIT.” Alfyn punctuated his tale with several large swigs of ale and a deep breath, and relaxed in his chair.
Now done reliving one of the most harrowing experiences of his career, Alfyn watched with some satisfaction as Therion tried desperately to pull himself together after laughing so hard. He’d anticipated that the thief would be a tough nut to crack, but Alfyn was nothing if not persistent. It was hard to get a good read on Therion, and he suspected he liked it that way – bristling and jabbing at anyone who gets too close wasn’t something people did for no reason, he knew.
The thief had caught Alfyn’s attention the day he strode through Clearbrook, storm clouds above his head, determination in his eyes. Despite all appearances, Alfyn wasn’t stupid- he knew what a shady character looked like, and he knew when to steer clear of someone. If it had just been one man rolling through town on his way to do who-knows-what, he would’ve thought nothing of it.
But Therion stopped to help. In the middle of his brooding, he heard the commotion of Nina’s poisoning, and silently followed Alfyn on his way to the caves to find an antidote- he even held down the snake while the apothecary milked its venom. Alfyn still wondered why Therion decided to stop and help. Curiosity? Pity? A good chance to snag whatever was in the cave? Thought it’d be useful to have an apothecary owe him a favor? Maybe he actually cared about a child in danger? Who knew. Alfyn didn’t. He wondered if Therion even knew.
Either way, that had been the start of Alfyn’s fascination with him. He wanted to understand this man, see what hid beneath that brooding surface, if he was really as prickly and rough as he made himself out to be. Therion wasn’t a ‘project’ to be fixed or a creature to be studied, per se, just…a curiosity.
After the whole ordeal, he’d practically begged Therion to let him tag along as a travel companion (with no ulterior motive besides help with monsters and company on the road, no matter how much he wanted to find out what makes him tick), and the thief had begrudgingly allowed him to tag along in the end, making it clear the whole time that he had no intention of becoming anything close to a friend. Not that something so simple would deter Alfyn. The apothecary had tried every method he knew to get Therion to warm up to him – or at least not treat him with open hostility. Patience, kind words, help, and offerings were nice, they were Alfyn’s bread and butter, but they only work if the other is receptive to them – and the thief was decidedly not. He had an idea of what might break that barrier, but it wasn't guaranteed to work, so he hadn't wanted to risk it; the already fragile trust he had earned for just bandaging and healing him was far too precious to lose.
But seeing Therion in the bar earlier that evening provided a golden opportunity. After all- alcohol brings people out of their shell and makes it harder to stay mad at someone after sobering up. So, Alfyn thought, Therion is blunt, rude, and snarky. A lot of that was likely a protection method, but at least some of it was genuine, otherwise he wouldn’t make his wisecracks. So…why not match his demeanor?
Luckily for Alfyn, this particular gamble had paid off in spades. He’d mustered up every ounce of weird, rude country boy he had in him, and now he had his prize- a thief undone, his stoic, aloof persona gone after a few ales and a slew of vulgarities. True, he was no closer to knowing him than he had been the day they met, but Alfyn considered it progress on his part. Maybe on both of their parts- Alfyn had been practically living in his customer service face since he took up the apothecary’s mantle. It felt good to shake it off once in a while and bare the roughness around his edges, and even though it wasn’t the thief’s intention, Alfyn still found himself grateful enough for it to say something.
“Y’know what, Therion,” Alfyn said once the thief had recovered enough to respond, “You’re- you’re my best friend.” He thought for a moment, realizing his words had been filtered wrong through the alcohol. “Mm- no, that ain’t right. That’s Zeph. But you’re a GOOD friend.”
“What are you talking about?” Therion scoffed back, but not with the same venom as usual. Yeah, definitely progress. “I’ve hardly said more than a few sentences to you before tonight.”
“Sure, but- well, I can’t talk to nobody else ‘bout this stuff, y’know? Certainly not any of the others. Don't feel like I ever get the chance t’ stop pretendin’ that nothin’ bothers ol’ Alfyn, the best apothecary in Clearbrook. Not that I ain’t already a cup-half-full kinda guy, but when the medicine guy starts gettin’ worried or upset, that freaks everyone else out, so I don’t never show none o’ that.”
Therion raised an eyebrow in thought, still paying attention- a silent tell for a massive shift in perspective. He hadn’t considered Alfyn, optimist extraordinaire, might also be wearing a mask of sorts. It wasn't unreasonable, he knew. He wasn't the only person in this world who put on different faces for different purposes. But empty-headed, starry-eyed Alfyn...it was almost hard to imagine what would be underneath that - or, at least, it would be, had Alfyn not spent the evening letting it slip.
It was a real show of trust. It was almost enough to make Therion consider letting his own slip. Though he wasn't quite sure if he had anything beneath that mask anymore.
Alfyn slouched back in his seat, swirling his ale in thought. “The apothecary trade’s some real gory work. Don’t feel like I can tell anybody else ‘bout the crap I see all day, ‘less they’re one too. People get squeamish, don’t like thinkin’ about sickness an’ disease an’ all the ways shit can go wrong.” He took a drink and leaned forward onto the table.
“Not that I blame ‘em, of course. Studyin’ medicine an’ anatomy’s a great way t’ have a few existential crises. Realizin’ that you’re a hunk a meat with opinions that’ll die one day ‘n all.” He looked up from his drink, smiling at his companion. “Still. Nice to have someone I can complain to without gettin’ all melancholy or wantin’ to change the topic.”
“Huh. Sounds like that’s THEIR problem, then.” Therion took a swig of his own drink. “People don’t like to think about how fucked up things are. Or can be. Whatever. Doesn’t matter, it’s all inevitable. Not talking or joking about it won’t keep it from happening.”
“I guess that’s one way o’ lookin at it. Bein’ able to have a sense o’ humor ‘bout the darker side a life makes the blows a lil’ less hard, don’t it?”
“Exactly,” Therion swept his arm out in approval, splashing some of his ale over the rim of his tankard. “If you only ever think about good things and never spare any thought for the bad, you leave yourself unprepared for the next time shit goes south. That simple.”
“Yeah, I hear that. But nah, I definitely think a’ you as a friend. Y’ain’t too hard to talk to, once ya have a few in ya.”
“Whatever you say, medicine man.” Therion shook his head. “Look, you’re clearly flattering yourself, but you’re obviously not gonna listen to whatever I have to say about this. Gods know you’d try to befriend a brick wall.” He took a long drink of his ale. “You can think of me as whatever you want, but don’t think that means I consider you a friend.”
“Hm, then…” Alfyn stroked his chin in thought. “Would you perhaps consider me…someone t’ commiserate with?”
“Hah. Yeah, that I think I could do.” Therion held his tankard up. “Here’s to complaining?”
Alfyn grinned- if he was a bit more like H’aanit, he might consider this having caught his quarry. More like Tressa, he might consider it the most lucrative deal he could close on. More like Therion himself, he might even consider it a treasure in the palm of his hands. But he was none of them. He was Alfyn, traveling apothecary and unerring optimist. And Alfyn considered this a wall broken through. Not fully destroyed- but a brick or two gingerly removed, enough to exchange words through, enough to start really seeing the person on the other side- and he considered that just as good as any quarry or treasure.
“Here’s to complainin’.” Alfyn struck his own tankard against the thief’s, the impact sloshing the contents of both over both of their rims to pool together on the table below. Their toast completed, they both busied themselves emptying their respective cups. “Shucks,” Alfyn exclaimed after plopping his empty cup on the table, “I was startin’ to think I wasn’t never gonna get through to ya. Good to know we make good drinkin’ buddies, eh?”
Therion laughed incredulously. “You’re flattering yourself again.”
Alfyn just shrugged. “Maybe I am. Maybe I’m just happy I finally made friends with that brick wall.”
“Whatever you say, medicine man,” Therion just shook his head, flagging the barkeep down for another drink.
“Tressa, dear, would you mind putting some of this away?” Primrose asked the next morning. “This inn has guests besides us, you know.”
“Yeah, I know, I just gotta finish taking inventory first.” Tressa had spread her wares over half the surfaces the inn’s common room had to offer, going back and forth between meticulously counting her stock and furiously scribbling notes in her ledger, ignoring Linde eyeing her supply of dried meat. The snow leopard was intimidating, but she knew that H’aanit had her well trained enough to prevent more than one or two slabs of jerky from disappearing.
“I’m just saying,” Primrose sighed and shook her head as she brushed Ophilia’s hair, “I’ve already seen at least one person try to find a place to eat their breakfast and give up. Could you not do this on the road, or something?” She turned toward Cyrus, picking at a plate of eggs while reading his book. “Cyrus, can’t you teach her a more efficient way to do this, or something?”
“Mm – sorry,” Cyrus swallowed his eggs before looking up, “Did you ask me something?”
“Let her work,” Ophilia gently told Primrose. “I think it’s admirable how diligent she is about her trade.”
Primrose shook her head and sighed again as she began working on the other side of the cleric’s hair. “Ophilia, you could find something to admire about a dirty dish rag.” As she spoke, the stairs towards the front thumped as someone trudged down from the second floor. “Speak of the devils,” Primrose laughed under her breath.
Therion dragged himself into the common room, squinting in the light, scarf wrapped around his face as if he were avoiding the rays of the Sunsands.
“Ah, Therion, good morning,” Cyrus greeted him cheerily, earning a hungover grunt in reply.
“Ah, behold who finally hath decided to joineth us,” Ha’anit smirked, her hand still on the back of Linde’s neck, only barely restraining her. “I taketh thou hadst a merry time last night? It seemeth thee did drink enough for two.”
“Shut it,” Therion snapped wearily as he shuffled towards a couch in a darker corner of the room. It, too, was coated in a fine layer of Tressa’s wares.
“Hey, wait,” she looked up at Therion, who was already staring at the couch, “I haven’t counted those yet!” Unmoved, the thief shoved everything to one side and plopped himself down, continuing to ignore Tressa as she groaned loudly at his carelessness.
“Can you keep it down? I’m trying to get the inn to stop spinning,” Therion rubbed his face wearily, “and all the noise you’re making over your mountains of crap isn’t helping.”
Tressa huffed as she walked over to straighten out her supplies. “Why do you even drink that stuff if it makes you feel so bad? And act so mean?”
Primrose chuckled. “Maybe you’ll get it once you’re older.”
“I’m an adult!” Tressa shouted, making Therion wince.
“Whatever you say.” Primrose muttered and adjusted Ophilia’s bangs.
“Ugh, I just told you to keep it down.” The thief massaged his temples and hunched in his seat. “Where’s medi- where's Alfyn?”
“Alfyn?” Tressa hummed in thought as she gazed upwards. “Um… he said he was gonna make the rounds of the village before we left. Something about making sure everyone was taken care of.” She looked back at her stock and adjusted the items in her arms. “Why?”
“Great,” Therion groaned, “I could use some taking care of myself. Feels like my head’s gonna split in half.” He winced again and swore as Tressa picked up a stack of pots, clanging loudly.
“If it hurts that bad, I could ease some of the pain,” Ophilia offered, turning her head towards Therion before Primrose turned it back to apply some blush. “It’s a bit outside my area of expertise, but…”
Therion waved his hand, dismissing her offer. “Nah. Save your divine healing for someone with something more important than a hangover.” He dug his waterskin from under his mantle and started drinking in large gulps.
Watching this, Tressa paused to consider the exchange, and shook her head. I don’t understand him at all, the merchant thought. What kind of person does something they know will hurt, then complain when it hurts (like they knew it would), and then turn down an offer to make the pain go away? He didn’t seem like he was enjoying the pain, or acting like he’d get something out of turning Ophilia down. Did he just…enjoy complaining?
Before Tressa could ponder this further, she was interrupted by a chipper “Morning, all!” from the doorway. The medicine man himself strode into the room, followed by Olberic (who had to duck under the doorway). Alfyn put his hands on his hips and surveyed Tressa’s inventory, giving a low whistle. “That’s a lot of stuff, Tress. You better make sure you aren’t bothering the other patrons, takin’ up all this space.”
“That’s what I’ve been saying!” Primrose shook her head as she continued fussing over Ophilia’s appearance.
“Anyway, I’ve finished my rounds for the morning,” Alfyn groaned and arched his back, earning a few pops. “How’s everyone feelin’?”
“Bad,” Therion piped up from his corner of the room. Tressa braced herself for the incoming mood shift, for Therion to start needling and barbing the man who only ever wanted to help. Maybe if she was lucky, his hangover would mean he was just grumpy, instead of antagonistic.
“Oh, mornin’, Therion- got somethin’ for ya, to help with the hangover.” Alfyn pulled a bottle out of his satchel. “Here, catch.” He tossed it to Therion, who caught it without looking. “Homemade hangover remedy, Zeph’s recipe. Hasn’t failed me yet.”
“Zeph this, Zeph that. Why don’t you just marry the guy?” Therion snarked, uncorking the bottle and downing the contents.
“Nah, that wouldn’t be no fun, he’d be pinin’ over Mercedes the whole time. You think I wanna spend my life with a guy that’s gonna call me someone else’s name every night?”
Therion snorted a laugh (a LAUGH?) in response, wiping the corner of his mouth. “Maybe you could divorce him. That might get his attention.”
“Now I gotta get a divorce? Sheesh, this is gettin’ expensive.” Alfyn joked back before continuing their banter.
If Tressa didn’t understand Therion before, she definitely didn’t now- she suddenly wasn’t sure if she ever understood anything about him, actually. He spent all morning complaining, turned down Ophilia’s help, took Alfyn’s, and JOKED with him? Wasn’t he supposed to tell Alfyn where to cram his ‘remedy’ and call him a ‘fuckin’ hick’? Did those drinks have something in them? Was she imagining this? This was weird, right? She looked at H’aanit – she’d know if something was off. H’aanit made an unsure face – that was a new one on her – and looked at Cyrus. Cyrus looked between the two and offered a shrug before looking at Primrose. Primrose Azelhart, patron saint of social cues, simply looked at the apothecary and thief before smirking back at the others, Ophilia smiling behind her hand the whole time. Olberic simply glanced around, confused.
“Well,” Cyrus cleared his throat, “it’s…certainly nice to see the two of you acting chummier,” he said skeptically and closed his book, “though it’s about time we start planning for the journey ahead.” He extended a hand to Tressa. “The map, if you please.”
“Oh – uh, right, just a sec.” Tressa had been so distracted she had lost her place in her inventory. She dug through her bag and pulled out a large parchment in a wooden tube, handing it to Cyrus.
Cyrus unrolled the map from its case and spread it on the table, taking a moment to locate where they are. “Right. Our next destination is Noblecourt, yes? It may be a bit of a trek through the mountains, but I believe our fastest method would be to take the road north through Rippletide.”
As Cyrus illustrated their path on the map, the others gathered around, absorbing the information- Tressa opted to instead half-listen while frantically trying to complete her inventory, a task made more difficult as H’aanit was no longer watching Linde. Finally, she noticed the others were murmuring their agreement over a plan she had ignored in favor of keeping a snow leopard from eating her jerky, and Cyrus had stood up and clapped his hands. “So we’re in agreement, we head north, stop off in Rippletide and Atlasdam, then make for Noblecourt. Wonderful. Tressa, start packing up, we’ll move out as soon as we’re able- the mountains will be a hike, so a head start would be best for all of us.”
“R-right…” Tressa sighed, dejected, her inventory incomplete, realizing now just how much she had to pack. Mercifully, Ophilia and Olberic had seen her plight and now assisted her, but she still muttered resentfully about her ledger, her eyes occasionally shooting daggers towards a fully oblivious Cyrus.
After some time and effort, Tressa had finally packed her wares, and now busied herself with securing the straps of her pack. The others had taken the opportunity for any last-minute preparations, and Therion, it seemed, had finally recovered from the night before and was now polishing one of his daggers.
(She considered asking Alfyn for the recipe to his cure and offering to split the profit, but she already knew his answer- he wasn’t in it for the money.)
No sooner had he put the knife away than he was approached by the apothecary once more, who draped an arm around his shoulder, as if they were old friends and not…strangers? Enemies? Bitter allies? Whatever they were – or whatever she thought they were.
“Few days on the road,” Alfyn said, “then we’ll be back in civilization, that ain’t so bad. We could even hit the tavern again!”
“Sure,” Therion replied halfway enthusiastically, brushing Alfyn’s arm off his shoulder in a…normal way, not giving him a death glare, or smacking him, or growling threats like he would have before. “Don’t expect me to cover your inn fees if you spend all your leaves on booze next time, though.” He even helped Alfyn out? Were they sure this was really the right Therion?
“Aw, you’d just leave me out in the cold like that? You wound me, Therion!” Alfyn laughed. And Therion laughed back. Tressa couldn’t help but stare as they resumed their banter – it wasn’t what she was used to hearing from the two. She was hardly used to hearing anything at all out of Therion; but she knew she liked it far better than his usual one-word snips and seething jabs.
It was…different, for sure. It didn’t feel quite right, seeing the thief joking around and willingly talking to people, but she was far from opposed to it. She knew Alfyn had a gift for getting people to open up, but this seemed almost too good to be true. She had long thought that Therion would be the one person immune to his natural charm, but if the apothecary could get through to him, well…maybe there was something there for Tressa to understand, after all.