Author's Note: Ah, and here's the biggest Dad Olberic chapter. It hurt a bit to write, but in a good way, haha. Anyway, this obviously takes place after Olberic and Alfyn's third chapters (as well as H'aanit's), but you're free to imagine who else has gotten past their third chapters at this point, too.

Chapter Two: Reversal

The party gathered at the tavern in Stillsnow, a little worse for the wear after helping H'aanit fight off the dragon guarding the Herb-of-grace field. A drink or two would be a relief after that fight. However, Olberic still had a vague sense of awe about the whole thing. The dragon certainly left a lasting impression, if nothing else.

He eyed his companions as he sipped at his ale. Primrose and Cyrus in particular were sporting some heavy gashes that would need tending to. In fact, Ophilia was already trying to heal Primrose between drinks. The dancer seemed grateful—and Ophilia drank so lightly that she'd still be able to focus on her work—but Primrose insisted on downing her goblet of wine before letting Ophilia get a good look at her arm.

Olberic couldn't help being vaguely amused as his assessments. He was already thinking more like an apothecary. In the past few weeks, he'd made some good progress, and Olberic was rightfully proud of himself. Healing people wasn't much different from defending them, was it? Maybe he hadn't been too far off the mark with that old thought, after all. There was some overlap there, and Olberic could easily tie that into his newfound sense of purpose.

"Ugh, it's painful to watch, isn't it?"

He was shaken out of his thoughts when Therion plopped down into the seat beside him. The thief's eyes flickered over towards Alfyn as he took a deep swig of his mead. Olberic followed his gaze; Alfyn absently sipped at his drink and talked to the others when prompted, but he was far less animated than he usually was.

He'd been that way for a while, and Olberic couldn't blame him. Their encounter with Miguel had left the apothecary shaken. Still, Therion had a point—Olberic hoped that Alfyn would've regained his confidence by now.

"Aye," he agreed, pausing to take another sip of ale. "I can't fault him for it, but it's quite unlike him to be down for so long."

Therion rolled his eyes. "I almost liked him better when he was louder."

Olberic cracked a small grin at the remark; Therion was showing concern for the other man in his own unique way. It was kind of touching. Therion glanced at Olberic out of the corner of his eye, caught his expression, and promptly buried his face into his mug.

"Don't get the wrong idea," he groaned.

"Certainly not," Olberic replied. "I'll speak to him later and see if I can get him to stop annoying you."

"Good; I'd appreciate it."

Olberic kindly refrained from mentioning the relief on Therion's face as they finished their drinks. One by one, their companions followed suit and set their payments down on the bar counter. Finally, they collectively shuffled out of the tavern and headed to the inn.

Once they arrived, H'aanit and Tressa pooled together some leaves and paid for a few rooms for the night. Ophelia stopped everyone, quickly tending to the worst of their injuries before allowing them to head away. Then, they fanned out and headed for their rooms.

Olberic instinctively followed Alfyn. They'd often roomed together recently so Alfyn could give him a few quick pointers or let him go through the notes he'd stuffed into his satchel. Tonight, however, it was Olberic's turn to help him.

He initially remained quiet, slipping out of his boots and armor as he prepared for bed. Then, Olberic strode into the washroom, giving his face a quick wash down. He'd clean up more in the morning, but the warm water felt nice on his skin. Finally, Olberic returned to the room, glancing over at Alfyn as he sat down on the bed.

Alfyn had set his satchel aside and changed into his bed clothes, and he was sitting on the edge of his bed. He was staring down at the floor, a distant look on his face. Olberic cleared his throat, and Alfyn jumped at the sudden noise.

"A leaf for your thoughts," he said carefully.

"Aw, it's nothing you need to worry about, Olberic." Alfyn sighed, running a hand through his hair. "It's just…I…"

He was silent for a while, a frustrated grimace working its way onto his face. Eventually, Alfyn shook his head and sighed again, glancing back up at Olberic. While he remained quiet, Olberic looked at him in a way that he hoped was pressing. He knew well how unpleasant it was to dwell on one's failings; Alfyn needed to let his thoughts out.

"I don't know how you did it," he finally said, voice sharper than usual. "Just forgave the guy you were pissed at for years and moved on to something else! You ever just—gods, I don't know—feel like you should've been going after the right guy from the start, or feel like it was all so pointless, or—"

He cut himself off and closed his eyes. Admittedly, some of those thoughts had occurred to Olberic, too. It would've been nice if he'd known the truth behind Erhardt's motives sooner, and stewing for eight years hadn't helped him either way. But the fact remained that the encounter had given Olberic the new perspective he needed, and that was what mattered to him.

"Well, I'm not sure if I forgave him, but I suppose that's not the point." Olberic shrugged. "I cannot speak for your situation, but I do, at least, have something else to aim for now. And I reminded myself of something I'd lost sight of—something I had in front of me this whole time."

After all, wasn't defending people what he'd been doing for the past eight years? Olberic had simply taken too long to realize he did have a new purpose. It would've done much to ease his mind if he'd come to that conclusion sooner, but the journey had done something good for him… Olberic had gained more people to protect, more people he cared about. And now, with Alfyn's training, he could help people in more ways than one.

"Something you lost sight of, huh…" Alfyn swallowed. "Guess I'm losing sight of myself real bad right now, ain't I? But what am I supposed to do about that when keeping my sights on what I want is just causing more trouble?"

He took another deep breath and covered his face with his hands. It truly was hard to watch; Olberic wasn't sure if some kind of physical contact would help, or if it'd just make Alfyn feel worse. But he could keep trying to use words, at least.

And something was slowly turning in Olberic's head; perhaps catering more directly to the situation would help.

"Alfyn…did you know I've lost track of the number of men I've killed?"

Alfyn looked up at him questioningly, likely wondering what his point was. However, he didn't interrupt, so Olberic kept going.

"I spent years telling myself that their lives didn't matter. What separates me from anyone else who makes a living off murder? Do you think my life isn't worth saving?"

"'Course not!" Alfyn replied, his voice suddenly passionate again. "You ain't like Miguel—you're not out there striking people down for the fun of it! You did it 'cause you had to, and to keep them from hurting anyone else!"

Olberic nodded. "But suppose I killed someone who had a wife at home, or a young lad to feed, or who was only a soldier because his village needed the money. Then what?"

"Then…then…" Alfyn paused, his face scrunching up again. "Gods damn it all, Olberic, I don't know! I wanna say you're helping people now, and you're better than all that, and you're my friend, but…am I just being like Ogen in that case? Am I picking and choosing who's worth it and who isn't?"

He was close—he was so close to striking at Olberic's point. It was both relieving and a little frustrating, in a way. Olberic couldn't rightly criticize someone for taking a while to get over things, but he could do a little more prodding anyway.

Olberic held out his arm, rolling the sleeve of his bed shirt up to his elbow. Alfyn looked at him curiously, and then leaned forward to examine his forearm. There was a cut running from his wrist to about an inch or two from his elbow. It was fortunately shallow, but it still needed attention.

"Heal me, Alfyn," he said simply. "If you think I am worth saving, is that not what you should do?"

Alfyn took a deep, shaky breath in response. Then, he averted his gaze and nodded. Olberic watched as he dug through his satchel, taking out some bandages and a few assorted ingredients. Slowly, Alfyn mixed everything together, chewing his lip in concentration.

Finally, he reached for Olberic's arm, holding it still with one hand and spreading the salve over the gash with his other. The mixture wasn't quite as smooth as usual; even Olberic, with his lesser experience, could tell. Still, he could feel the soothing coolness of the salve against his skin, and he knew it was starting to work.

Alfyn gently bandaged up Olberic's arm and put his ingredients away. While Olberic pretended to examine his work, he looked at Alfyn out of the corner of his eye. The apothecary was silent, his face was downcast, and his shoulders were slumped. Yet, at the same time, there was that small glimmer Alfyn always got in his eyes when he was patching someone up.

Some of his eagerness to help others remained in Alfyn's heart. Olberic knew it was there. Although Alfyn would have to hang onto that and return to his prior state on his own, Olberic hoped that he'd helped.

Alfyn laid down, staring up at the ceiling. Olberic leaned over to turn off the lamp, wondering if Alfyn was ready to sleep. Before he could, Alfyn shifted slightly and glanced over at him. Olberic paused, hand halfway to the light, and met his gaze.

"Olberic?"

"Yes, Alfyn?"

"…Thanks."

The exchange was simple, but Olberic knew the gratitude was genuine. There was a very brief smile on Alfyn's face, but it was nonetheless a smile. Then, he rolled over to face the wall, and Olberic finally shut off the lamp.

He knew Alfyn wouldn't change his mindset overnight, but maybe this was a start.