Archive of Our Own ^beta

     Clear blue stretched beyond sight. Foliage covered the horizon, lining a lake with waters the kind of green-blue one would imagine the finest of turquoise to be. Under the brush, rabbits rustled about, foxes lying in wait to strike. But, sleep took them sooner than they could pounce, the warm of the sun lulling them into a wholly unexpected but most definitely welcome afternoon nap.

     Clearbrook was no city of riches, nor center for trade, but its people got by and shared in the wealth of peace and contentment the Riverlands provided. The cattle graze without worry. The children laugh and play without care.

     All as Alfyn could hope for.

     Yet, a part of his heart had hoped for some change, in the time since he’d left on his journey. Coming back, he’d subconsciously expected to see some place left for him to fill. A need to satisfy.

     Alfyn shook his head and his thoughts away. Dwelling on the dark feelings that festered was no good. It was not like he was unwelcome here. Zeph and Nina were all smiles just to see his face again.

     Still, a sort of discontent sat heavy in his chest.

     Snapping him out of his thoughts, Therion nudged Alfyn in the ribs.

     “Hey. You said we would go to the tavern. Keep it moving.”

     Alfyn looked over for a minute, a dumb look on his face. Therion simply pulled the edge of his scarf up to cover his face more.

     “Right…”

     Alfyn held his tongue, though wanted to say he didn’t need to worry about being seen here. Everyone was like a nice warm family in Clearbrook, so he didn’t need to be so cautious… right? Alas, Alfyn decided against mentioning it since Therion always had something to say back. He sighed to himself, his feet sluggishly moving towards the tavern.

     It was a small establishment. Quiet, cozy. Just how Alfyn remembered. A perfect place for an ale and few laughs, or even just some time to mull over his thoughts.

     Therion was quick to look around the place, eyeing doors and windows, mapping out the quickest routes in and out. His hand hung loosely at his side, inconspicuous, yet ready to draw his dagger at a moment’s notice. Calm places like these never failed to rub him the wrong way.

     Something about the people, the way the didn’t have any wariness or hostility around one another.

     It put him on edge, the normalcy of it all.

     Sat at a table in the corner, he and Alfyn got a couple of ales. The liquid was a dark amber and bitter enough to make his brows lift the slightest bit. Therion’s gaze wandered over to his companion, who was guzzling down the ale like water. As much as the thief wanted to roll his eyes, he knew Alfyn would be fine. He’d been on par with Olberic earlier in their travels, so there was little to worry about.

     The evening went on just about as ever: Alfyn talking and laughing and spouting off whatever came to mind while Therion just drank slow and stared, occasionally adding in a snarky comment when Alfyn sounded a bit too self-righteous for his liking.

     It was… nice.

     The banter never felt malicious. Alfyn was never malicious. Hell, Therion was sure that the man didn’t have a malicious bone in his body. But by the gods if Therion didn’t love him for it. That stubborn, goody-two-shoes fool of a man was probably one of the only people he’d trust with his life. Maybe even the only person he’d trust with his heart.

     Alfyn was a good man. Too good, if Therion had any say. And for that, he was tempted. Tempted to share, that is.

     Would Alfyn still look at him the same if he knew what Therion had done to survive?

     Would he be afraid if he knew the worst of Therion?

     No. No, he wouldn’t be. He wasn’t that kind of person. To be warded off by a bloody, filthy past shrouded in darkness. But, Therion couldn’t help the seed of worry that had planted itself in his heart. It had only grown since the start of their travels together. He should’ve weeded it out before it grew so big he could practically feel it coming up his throat.

     Ah, no, that would be the vomit.

     Vomit?

     Alfyn had one hand holding the strands of white out of Therion’s face, the other rubbing his back in gentle circles. Somehow or other, they were outside the tavern now, Therion hunched over a bush and emptying his guts.

     “There you go, just like that. You’ll feel better once you’re done. You’re doing great.”

     Alfyn’s gentle praises were like a drug straight to Therion’s brain.

     “Shut up…”

     He grumbled, the sounds slurred together in his drunkenness. Though, his words didn’t match his thoughts, a desperate and growing need for Alfyn’s approval that had him laughing at himself inside. Since when did he become such a pathetic, sentimental bastard, huh? He wasn’t some sap that got to live a happy life with people that actually cared. He was a thief. A murderer. A criminal that did bad things without a care in the world for whoever they affected.

     Not this… this miserable mess sobbing into his companion’s shoulder while drunk off his ass and probably smelling like garbage.

     And the man just let him! Like this was okay. Why? Therion just couldn’t understand. He didn’t want to understand, it was just too warm.

     Alfyn held him close, but not too close, just enough to not make him feel trapped. He cooed in hushed tones, reassuring Alfyn even though the words were all garbled up by the time they reached his brain.

     The next time he opened his eyes, he stared unblinkingly at the wood beams of an unfamiliar ceiling. He didn’t recognize the place, but the subtle scent of herbs, the one that always surrounded Alfyn, was all around him. Therion turned his head, quietly taking in a breath of air, the scent of eucalyptus clinging to the pillow under his head.

     Morning light dappled across the bed, a light breeze drifting in from the window that had been left slightly ajar, birdsong from outside faint. Therion sat up, quickly wincing at the harsh pain of a hangover.

     “Damn it…”

     He had really let himself go last evening. Rarely did he get so drunk as to pass out. That would be like asking to get robbed, back in Borderfall.

     A hand reached out to brush the hair out of his face.

     “Therion? How are you feeling today?”

     The big brown eyes looking up at him from the bedside had his heart nearly jumping out of his chest.

     “Fine,” He looked away, out the window. A second longer, and Alfyn might’ve caught sight of the begrudging affection in his eyes. The affection that Therion tried so hard to bury, yet failed time and time again.

     Silence stretched between them. Alfyn stood, then the sound of retreating footsteps echoed in the thief’s ears. The smallest sliver of his heart felt saddened by it, but just as quickly leaping for joy as those footsteps came back.

     “Here, some water. It should help with your hangover.”

     Alfyn carefully placed a mug in Therion’s hands, fingers brushing against his own.

     The water was cold, fresh from the well, or the river, Therion didn’t know. It slid down his throat smoothly, cooling him down inside enough to think.

     He glanced at Alfyn, harsh words on the tip of his tongue, yet none fell forth.

     Instead, a soft, “Thank you.”

     The two words were nothing special, but they hit Alfyn like a wave crashing against the shore. The emptiness he felt from returning to Clearbrook vanished in an instant. Vanished, however, was not quite right. It would be more accurate to say a hole had been filled. Alfyn’s place in the world wasn’t here, in Clearbrook; he knew that. Clearbrook had been the place where he grew up. The place that had shaped him into the man he grew to be.

     And yet…

     He stared his home straight in the eyes, with that stupid look he always had on his face when he was with this mysterious not-stranger.

     Alfyn gave Therion a bright smile, and left many words unspoken. They had time.

     “You’re welcome.”