Chapter Text
Their meeting is an accident.
Therion's generally not a fan of those; they're too much trouble, too much effort to fix, especially when one is simply trying to pass through a town and leave. His sense of direction is good enough to know it's the opposite way of his destination, but "stocking up" in Bolderfall would've been...
He doesn't know exactly what it would've been, but he doesn't want to do it. Not with the outline of the Ravus manor looming in the horizon, its shadow over the town bringing with it a stab of shame in his gut. No, a quiet backwater village like Clearbrook is perfect for Therion to sweep through for a quick stack of leaves and some rudimentary supplies before he makes for Noblecourt. It's a fairly short walk, taking the better part of a day, but he arrives early enough that there are still people lingering outside for him to afford a room at the inn that night.
When he awakes, that's when the trouble begins.
He's heard of this sort of thing before - it's never happened to him, as he isn't the type to hold onto the things he steals if they're worth anything. But some others in the business, they keep things like jewelry. Armor. Weapons.
Some others in the business, they've got a peculiar sensitivity to the metal, and it's a common joke among the layfolk that it happens in retribution for theft. It's superstition of the most absurd degree, since just about any unlucky son of a bitch can have a reaction, stolen metal or no. Therion's never had one before. Then again, he's never worn any sort of jewelry before.
He frowns at the bangle on his wrist, picking at the inflamed flesh beneath it. There's no way to remove the damned thing, of course, and he doubts even this much would be enough for Heathcote to consider it. "Think of it as another incentive to hurry you on your way," he'd say, and he can hear that stupid, stuck-up, dignified voice in his head as he imagines it.
He'd do the same thing, in Heathcote's position, so it's not like he's one to judge.
Therion groans. He likes to travel light, and a few extra vials of salve won't break his back or anything, but the trouble with stealing from apothecaries and the like is they don't always label their things. Fortunately, it seems there's not one but two apothecaries in this town, so surely one of them will be willing to sell him something. And then once he knows what those damned bottles look like, he'll take the rest of them when they aren't looking.
Sometimes it takes a leaf to earn a leaf, but it's annoying.
Therion isn't quite looking where he's going as he heads in the direction indicated by a helpful villager - more helpful than he realizes, Therion thinks as he tucks the man's coinpurse into a pocket sewn into his mantle - and that's when he's nearly bowled over by another man, someone equally distracted from looking at where he's going.
An accident.
"Watch where you're going, you clumsy - "
"Shucks, I'm sorry!" Before he can finish his tirade, the other man's already extending a hand to help him up. "Don't know what I was thinkin', there...you alright?"
"I was better before you crashed into me," Therion snaps, pointedly refusing to take his hand and standing. He dusts off his mantle, frowning as the chain on the bangle jingles, drawing the attention of the man. "But I'll live."
"Hold on." The man gives him a scrutinizing look, eyes darting to the bangle. Therion sucks in a breath, ready to bolt if he makes to find any sort of authorities. Do sh*tty little villages like this even have authorities? He supposes now's as good a time as any to find out.
He ends up having to wait longer than anticipated for the answer to that question, because instead of calling for anyone, the man reaches out and gently takes Therion's forearm, eyes narrowing slightly. It's then that Therion realizes he's not looking at the bangle at all, but the swollen skin underneath it. "Don't touch me," he growls, pulling his arm back, and the man holds up his hands in a gesture of surrender.
"I didn't mean any harm by it," he says, giving him an apologetic smile, then reaches into his satchel. "Don't think I got anything on me for that rash, though, and it doesn't look like you'll be able to take that off anytime soon, huh?" Therion silently glares at him in response, so he simply continues, "There's an emergency goin' on right now, but if you stick around I can whip something up for it. Shouldn't take more than two shakes."
"What kind of emergency?" He has no interest in staying here any longer than necessary, but if there's some kind of plague going on, he's leaving.
The man - an apothecary, Therion notes, he must be - rubs the back of his neck, looking frustrated. "There's a little girl who got bit. I need to find the snake that did it."
"And you're going by yourself?"
"Well, sure. Don't want anyone else getting attacked by the thing." He points at a house. "If you don't mind waitin', I'm sure Zeph'll let you have a seat while I make my way there and back. He's an apothecary too, but...it's his sister who's got the snakebite, so he's in no condition to make anything right now." He leans in for a conspiratory whisper. "Truth is, I kinda want someone there to look out for him, anyway - "
Therion rears his head back, already disgusted at the disrespect his personal space has been receiving this whole time. "Like I care. The quicker you get this snake, the quicker you'll be able to make that salve for me, right?"
The apothecary nods.
"Then I'm coming with you. I don't have a lot of time to waste, so..." Without another word, Therion starts heading in the same direction the apothecary had been.
"Wait. Wait! We gotta at least introduce ourselves! I'm Alfyn," the apothecary says, holding out his hand for a friendly shake. Therion looks him right in the eyes as he completely ignores the gesture, just to make sure Alfyn knows he saw it, not even bothering to break his stride.
"Therion," he replies, and leaves it at that. "Try to make this quick, why don't you."
Not as quickly as he'd like, the two of them find themselves back in town, and Alfyn rushes off to Zeph's house, vial of venom in his hand. Therion heads for the tavern to wait until the ordeal is over with, frustrated as he picks at the bangle again. It's so damn annoying, and the more he thinks about it, the more annoying it gets. He's practically digging his fingernails into the surface of the table to avoid scratching it when he spots someone approaching him from the corner of his field of vision, whipping his head around to meet their gaze.
Much to his surprise, it's Alfyn, who gives him a cheerful wave. "Heya! Couldn't find you outside."
"I thought you'd be sleeping by now," Therion mutters, reaching for his tankard of ale.
"I thought I would be too, believe me! But I'm still just so..." Alfyn wrings his hands. "Guess I was more nervous than I thought. But Nina's outta the woods, now, and it's a real relief to - "
"Do you have a point?"
Alfyn stammers for a moment, not used to being interrupted so abruptly, but continues largely unfazed. "Well, shucks, Therion, I wanna get another look at that problem of yours. You know what kind of metal the bangle's made of?"
"No clue, but does it really matter? It's not like I can take it off anyway." The bitterness in his tone is nearly enough to flavor the air as he begrudgingly holds his arm out again. "I did help you out, you know, so if you think about stiffing me - "
"I ain't gonna do anything of the sort," Alfyn says, humming thoughtfully as he gently shifts the bangle. "You talk to the people who put this on you? This is real bad."
"Something tells me they're not going to care. And they're right not to. What are they going to do, take it off and risk me running off before they can put on a different one?" Therion snorts into his tankard.
Alfyn gives him a sad smile. "Well, that's what they should do." Therion turns to him, quite sure he can't be serious, but Alfyn's still examining his wrist, concern etched into his features. "If I can't take this thing off you, there's only so much I can do. It's gonna get worse, the longer this stays on...you sure you won't talk to - "
"We worked out a deal," Therion grinds out. "Once I...finish a job for them, they'll take it off."
Another quiet, thoughtful noise. "How long you think that's gonna take?"
"Hell if I know."
He finally lets go of Therion's hand, and the thief pulls his arm back like he's been burned, tucking it underneath his mantle. "Well, we got a bit of a dilemma here. I can't cure your rash here until these mystery clients of yours take off the bangle." He crosses his arms. "There's plenty of ways to stop the irritation, but like I said, that's about all I can do."
"So you're useless, then?" Therion asks dryly, putting his emptied tankard on the table.
"Now, just a minute. It's true that I can't cure you yet, but there's nothing useless about dealing with the symptoms." Alfyn motions to the barkeep. "So here's my proposal, Therion. There's not a doubt in my mind you're gonna need constant attention for that." Therion rolls his eyes as the barkeep places two tankards of ale on the table - one for Alfyn, and one for him, which he glares balefully at. He's not fond of the idea of owing anyone anything, even something as simple as the price of booze. "And I'm planning on leaving the village at daybreak. I wanna head for other places and help people out, the same way someone once helped me. If I come along with you, it's like killin' two birds with one stone, right?" He seems pleased with the suggestion, but Therion's already dire expression becomes even more severe.
"No thanks. I don't have time to drag a bunch of dead weight around - "
"But you got time to scratch up other people's furniture?" Alfyn asks, gesturing to Therion's unshackled hand, still digging into the table surface. "Your knuckles're gonna start bleeding any second if you don't let up." He sighs, and his arms fall to his sides. "I'm not gonna get in your way. If you need me to stay out of your business while you...finish whatever it is you started, that's fine, but I can't in good conscience leave you be. I can't even send you to another apothecary, not 'til this bangle's off of you. I might just be a beginner, but there's no one but quacks who'd claim they can cure you without taking the thing off."
"Great," Therion mutters darkly. "And the reason you can't just give me some salve for the road is...?"
"'Cuz I can't let a patient be until I know they're cured. It ain't right."
Therion groans, frustrated. "I don't care about what some hick apothecary thinks is right or not." He pulls his arm out from under the mantle, staring at the mottled, swollen flesh underneath the bangle. He swears it looks worse than it did this morning. "But if that's the only way I'll get treatment, it's not like I can refuse."
Alfyn gives him a grin so bright he has to look away, grumbling under his breath. "Then we'll leave on the morrow! I gotta wait until everyone's awake to say my goodbyes to the village. You're free to stay with me for the night, Therion," he says, clapping the thief on the back like they're old friends. "I'll get started on that salve for you."
"Use cheap ingredients, got it?" Therion calls after him as he makes to leave. Alfyn throws his head back and laughs.
"Don't worry about it. You helped me save Nina's life - that's more than enough payment for any medicine you could ever need from me."
Therion watches him leave, then turns his gaze back to the fool's bangle on his wrist. What a mess.
He's generally never been a fan of those, either.
