She saw the red bloom like a delicate flower from the wound as Sadiq fell and the sword pulled from his body. In that moment, the old man sagged before her and the life drained from him… and she could see it. A field of bloody flowers, red as roses...
And then it was all red she saw.
Her body moved because she willed it to. Despite its screaming of fatigue, she managed to stab that offending brigand… but she… couldn't kill him… couldn't avenge Sadiq… Instead, she was pathetically tossed aside.
And then it was all dark.
Her eyes cracked open hearing a gentle voice rousing her, and something wet and cool on her head. Her eyes opened to see a blur at first, which focused to show Alfyn's worried face. He told her not to move. There was a sharp pain radiating from her head. Getting hit in the face by Gaston was just asking for a concussion. She felt it… but she was almost grateful. It numbed out the whirlwind of emotion howling inside her when her eyes fell to Sadiq's body on the cold cavern floor. Any other noise in the background suddenly was drowned out by a moment of her own heart skipping a beat.
"Ah…"
"Oh…" Alfyn gives her an apologetic look, on the verge of tears himself, "S-Sadi… he…"
The dancer didn't seem to fully register his words anymore. But her lips trembled despite her silence, and her eyes were wide, still with disbelief despite the truth which was bearing down. Her head shakes a little and the tears begin to gather. Alfyn holds her tightly in a sudden hug, muttering reassurances, all the while choked up himself.
"...It's ok... It- it's ...ok..."
She clings to him a little, sobbing bitterly in a low voice onto his shoulder.
The thief barely glances their way. He'd tied up most of the brigands with some rope he found in their stash. His step was still wobbly as he fumbled through their goods. But he felt hollow as he found things that normally would have made him at least smirk. The brigands had a nice bundle of leaves hoarded away, along with small trinkets he could sell. But all of it suddenly just seemed so cold and useless.
He doesn't look back towards the reinforcements. He doesn't want to see them hauling away the living and dead. He'd felt the need to kill just thinking about it.
A villager goes to pick up Sadiq's spear. The thief grabs the shaft before he does. When the villager is about to protest, the thief silences him with a single glance. Therion didn't even know what face he himself was making.
"Sir Berg!"
"Hm?" Berg stills his head a little with a hand. Even turning slightly aggravated his vision still. Alfyn told him it might be a day or so before he felt completely fine.
"Those people who came with you, the outsiders..."
"... Leave them be to come back with us. Their apothecary is treating the brigands as we speak."
"What- So he's the bloke who treated these animals? But why?"
"Don't ask too many questions, Doyle," Berg sighs, "But they must face their crime. Death is an escape. We will determine their fate with the townmaster, so for now we must swiftly deliver them."
Doyle nods and they get on with the transport. Berg watches from the side as the thief brings the spear over to the dancer and apothecary. Alfyn says something before going to treat some others. The thief lingers before walking off to loot more. The dancer … Berg's eyes lay on her.
On the battlefield, it was hell. If you could develop a taste for it, for blood and carnage, that would make you stronger than most. Revel in your enemy's weakness as they bleed and charge to no avail. That thrill of the fight … it's only "barbaric" if you were weak.
"A battle is truly joy."
King Alfred was giving the recruits a talking-to. That was one of his admirable traits. Alfred had been a knight before he was adopted into the royal line. He knew the ways of battle unlike the lofty nobles who ruled afar in their towers.
"As long as you feel that, you will want to continue fighting, and no one will be able to stop you, my brave squires."
In their first real battle, Olberic bellowed like a madman. It was supposed to be a rallying cry. But somewhere down the line, his voice got caught in his throat. His mouth felt dry. All around him were men dying, and the stench of blood rising. His own allies lay with wounds littering their bodies, never to rise again. When the bloody banner of Hornburg was hoisted above, there was a cheer for victory.
Erhardt was silent next to him. They both were. The cheers drowned out the cries of others cradling their brothers in arms.
He learned to numb himself to it. Killing soldiers became easier, until he could do so without thinking. He was becoming it, the unthinking, unfeeling weapon he desired. The Unbending Blade.
One who has committed so many sins as well, that they are inured to it and all its consequences...
"You do not hold any of their welfare in regard… or any human life, for that matter."
Which one of them did that statement apply to? Him, the cold-blooded murderer? Or her, the temptress?
He did not answer the question. But with the battle over and his mind clearing, the useless thoughts were returning to stay.
...
I killed him.
Just like how I killed Yusufa.
And I … …
Why do I always have to... helplessly watch others die... I'm always being … protected it seems...
I'm just sitting here feeling sorry for everything. My hands are curled around the spear shaft. My eyes won't leave the body of Sadiq, covered by the sackcloth. Nothing else... everything around me seems to melt into a messy blur.
Therion calls me a princess sometimes. I hate that. Because it's true. Like a princess, I am sheltered. I thought my experience in Sunshade would change that. I thought I was taking my fate into my own hands. I thought I knew… all the pain and depravity the world had to offer. But I still can't protect anyone, even those I dragged with me out of my own selfish whims. And now... their blood stains my hands.
It would have been better if I had left Sunshade on my own, without a word to anyone. Yusufa and Sadiq would probably...
"... Hey," Therion's voice pulls me out of my thoughts and I look up to his weary face. Despite his usual front, I couldn't help but think he looked as miserable as I must be. Behind him, I see the brigand leader led out of the cavern.
The thief runs a hand down his face and sighs, "We're going back... to town."
"... ok..." My voice acted without me needing to feel anything. It is hollow and detached, like I'm possessed. Slowly, I drag myself to stand, leaning a little on the spear for support.
"...Have you thought about..." Therion says in a low voice, leaning in a little, "Where he would want to be buried..."
"Sunshade," I say with no hesitation and sudden clarity, "Next to Yusufa."
"...You're crazy," He scoffs.
"Hey guys, we're uh, about to be going..." Alfyn trots back over, blood staining his clothes and hands. He seems pale.
Before me or Therion respond, he wraps his arms around both of us in a hug. Beside me, I don't feel the thief push against him like he normally would. He seemed to just accept it as Alfyn now slowly cried a little onto the both of us.
I slowly go to rub the back of his head. My bloodied hand shook a bit.
…
Returning to the town, Berg was greeted first when Philip fought through the crowd giving him a hero's welcome. The boy barreled through the legs of the crowd to tackle the man into as large a hug on the waist as he could muster. He was, however, promptly pulled off by his mother, who would never let the boy out of her sight ever again. She was thoroughly apologetic to the hedge knight.
"Thank you so much... Thank you, Berg... for saving my boy..." She babbled a bit tearily.
"It is nothing..." Berg manages, completely spent. Even the boy's hug actually made his stance waver a bit from fatigue.
The village headman comes forth and nods with a small smile under his graying whiskers, "You're too modest, Berg! Everyone owes you their livelihood after you've taken care of the bandits in one fell swoop! Not only are the hostages safe, but we need not live in fear of the animals any longer..."
"I... did not accomplish this alone," The man says solemnly and gestures towards the outsiders mixed among the village watch behind him, "Sir Alfyn and his friends were... more than instrumental to our victory."
"Ah, of course!"
There is a ragged cheer for the party. Alfyn chuckles a bit halfheartedly. Therion and Prim are as grim and silent as ever.
"Let them rest!" The headman bellows with unusual vigor, "Tonight we shall hold a feast in honor of this great battle in our favor!"
There is another round of cheering.
"For now, however..." His voice lowers and the crowd quiets at his gesture, "We must lock up the criminals and attend to any wounded. And the dead must be lain to rest with dignity."
The crowd agrees with a somber round of nodding heads and murmurs. They move to help take the bodies and lead the defeated to the gaol. Others aid with moving the loot taken from the den, probably to redistribute it.
"Alfyn!"
The party sees the familiar barmaid run up to them. She stops just short of hugging Alfyn.
"You saved us!"
"Uh, ehe... Therion got to you guys first," Alfyn gestures to the recalcitrant thief behind him, "We all helped!"
"Yes... you all should go rest and... I'll see you all tonight? I'll buy all your drinks!"
"Sounds great," Alfyn gives a tired smile. Noelle blushes before scurrying off again.
Prim's eyes watch lifelessly as the bodies in sackcloth are taken away. But she stops the movers when it comes to Sadiq.
"Ma'am, uh, what are you..."
"Ah, it's alright..." Alfyn lightly pulls Prim aside, "Can you guys um... make sure he's set aside from the others? He wasn't from here, so we'd like to bury him elsewhere..."
"Oh, ok..." The movers seem slightly confused by the interruption, but they go on carrying.
"... C'mon guys..."
Alfyn coaxes the other two back towards the inn. Berg watches as they go.
Again, those thoughts surface...
After that hard battle, he saw one of the soldiers of his bunk vomiting his guts out. The man wanted to leave the military, but to do so was utter disgrace. Such young, able bodies were crucial in a time of war. The enemy nation of Ventus was not one to be taken lightly despite its size compared to Hornburg.
"Me best … I jus' lost me best friend today too... Gods, this is the Hells..."
Olberic didn't know really what to say. There were too many things he could say, that they jammed into each other in his mind. He just patted the man's back. When he felt like he could take it no longer, Erhardt appeared.
"...Come on then. What say we buy you a drink?"
The three of them walked, with Erhardt's arms looped around the backs of him and the other soldier. Those three were... very similar...
The man sighs wearily. His wounds ached still. But he couldn't rest just yet. He still had to claim his prize. Slowly, Berg made his way to the town gaol.
…
Gaston wasn't in the most comfortable place in the world. He was by no means a petite man. The cell afforded to him would have made him feel claustrophobic if he was the kind of person who cared. Instead he mused to himself a little with just what fate this town would decide for him and his men. The other brigands were being locked into cells here as well, but he had this one all to himself. How lucky. It was even isolated from the others in its own little room.
He'd made up his mind in the cave that he'd beg for his men's lives. They were all the family one was going to get in the business, and it wouldn't hurt to end his useless life doing something nice maybe.
There was the sound of brisk, heavy footsteps. The door to the room swings open and he sees the hedge knight, Berg standing there, face stern as stone. The keeper closes the door behind him. He ignores the stool offered, instead standing firmly before the bars of the cell.
Gaston chuckles and shifts on the straw on the cell floor, "Nice to see you again so soon."
"I bested you and now I will ask my questions," Berg's face and tone were not playful in the slightest.
"…Aye. Twas my wager lost," Gaston raises his hands, "Ye wanted to know about Erhardt?"
"Yes. How did you happen to come across his sword?"
"He bequeathed it to me, frankly. I learned the ways of the sword under the man, an' when our times were up, he gave it t' me as a partin' gift."
"How did you know him?"
"Part o' the same band o' mercenaries, we were… Hehe. 'Course I never asked what 'e was 'afore then."
"He became a sellsword…?" Berg whispered that with slight venom. It seemed so disgusting to him, that Erhardt not only was a true traitor, he also was just a money-grubbing swordsman in the end, no better than these maggot brigands.
"You seem t' have quite a passion fer the man, eh?" Gaston says with slight amused interest. He rubs his unshaven chin as he watches the other man carefully.
"…Where is he now," Berg ignores his quibbling.
"Damned if I know."
Berg takes a step menacingly towards the bars of the cell.
"Hang me, I really dun know," Gaston sighs, arms raised in resignation, "After our merry band was broken up, we all went our separate ways. Haven't a clue if he's still on this terra even."
Berg gnashes his teeth a bit in silence, and his fist clenches beside him.
"… There's that fire again."
Berg looks to the brigand. Gaston points at him.
"Yer eyes were like a dead fish 'til y' saw the sword and mention o' Erhardt," The brigand leader says astutely, "The man means somethin' an awful lot to ya."
"…" Berg does not affirm nor deny his statements.
"Wait… Wait…!" Gaston wheezes suddenly with laughter and clutches at his wounds, "Ugh- oh boy… ow…"
"… What's so funny," Berg says tersely, unamused.
"Hehe… I thought it was weird but… no it couldn't be… your sword and everythin' … The Unbending Blade of Hornburg, Olberic Eisenburg…"
The title and name, even off the tongue of a brigand, held an incredible power. Olberic felt himself shiver slightly. He knew why but did not want to acknowledge the sensation.
"You died though… back in the war, when Hornburg fell…" Gaston chuckles, "A legend... Erhardt spoke of ye... from time to time..."
"… I am no longer that person," Berg closes his eyes, "If that is all you can tell me-"
"No longer eh? If only it were so easy t' shed one's past like snakeskin," Gaston scoffs, "Nay, I'd say Olberic's still up and itchin' fer a fight with the Burnin' Blade o' Erhardt. 'E's only dead so long as e's all locked up behind a hedge knight guise, playin' mercenary!"
"Silence," Berg growls, "You and your men have committed many crimes against the people of Cobbleston and-"
"And what? Hang me, sure, but we had t' eat didn't we? The gods played a joke and din't bless us with none wits t' perform the honest work," Gaston leers from behind the bars, "It's not a life chosen always, t' be looked down upon like the dirt o' society."
"That may be so. But you still need to pay. And maybe… After you have, you can be hired by towns in need of your sword arm," Berg says with a slight distaste, "If you don't get executed first."
"Hehe… What about you, eh? Lemme tell you…" Gaston leans in now, "I may not know where Erhardt be, but there's a man, Gustav, who might. 'E's travelin' a bit after our group went, a champion takin' names if ye will… But last I heard, 'e might be up near the Cliftlands area."
"… Surely you don't think I'm such a fool to fall for such half-baked lies," Berg says as he turns to go, "You won't save your skin that way."
"Lies? Haven't told a single one in this cell," Gaston lets out a laugh, "It's just whatever ye wants t' believe. Does the great Olberic Eisenburg not want to bare his fangs once more in pursuit of his old enemy?"
Berg almost paused in step as he moved to exit. Nonetheless, he tears himself from the conversation and walks out the halls of the gaol. Gaston's words continued even as he walked.
"A dead fish y' were until his name was said! Makes me mighty curious what happened betwixt ye both..."
He tunes the bandit out as he exits the gaols. The thoughts were suddenly paused. Now, there was only two words on his mind.
Erhardt, Gustav. Erhardt, Gustav. Erhardt, Gustav…
…
In the inn, Primrose lay in bed, passed out. Therion lay beside her.
The two desperately needed rest after the strikes to the head. But their minds were too restless after the battle, even after Alfyn finished treating their wounds. So Alfyn had the brilliant idea of steeping some sleepweed in the water he offered them. That sent them straight to dreamland and he made sure they were both able to fit on the bed. It was better for the head to rest on something soft after being nearly cracked open like a nut.
The apothecary slaps his hands together a bit before looking a bit transfixed at the dried blood on his fingers. He could still vividly recall the sensation of the warmth in the body and the cold pervading it when he couldn't save…
He clenches his hands and shakes his head. Taking a whiff of his sleeve, he makes a face. He inquires with Elias at the inn desk about the baths and is directed to the communal one in the back. It is empty like when Prim used it, but the water is warm and already drawn.
Grateful, Alfyn undresses and winces halfway as he goes to lift his shirt. The bruise from the viper is still there. Gaston and his men's rough treatment was not helping it heal. Battle scars from the road, he fancied.
This time though… exactly what had he done?
Quietly, he puts down his clothes and satchel. He sinks into the tub with a slightly perturbed expression on his face. The water felt nice after days in the desert, in the mountains, and with human bloodshed. He rubs out the blood on his body and lets down his ponytail to wash his hair. He looks to see his clothes still dirtied. Those will need to be cleaned too.
"Haha, sorry Zeph…" He says to no one in particular, "I don't have any soap…"
It felt good to laugh a little, even if it wasn't real. But that didn't stop the question from resurfacing in his mind. What had he done?
He'd helped Berg rescue Noelle, Philip, and the other villagers. Did he really though? He kind of froze up seeing Therion's head bashed in, or Berg collapse, or Sadiq get hacked to pieces…
In the end, he did the only thing he really knew how. He healed. He made sure the brigands didn't die, in particular Gaston, and he made sure those with concussions got proper treatment.
Then why did he still feel so empty and useless, like he hadn't made a difference?
Sadiq.
It was the same as with Fiona. He couldn't save them. This time it was even worse, because Sadiq was right there. He was right in front of him and he could only watch as his life faded away and listen to his final words.
"Dammit…" Alfyn splashes some water on his face. The drops that rolled down his cheeks and dripped off his nose and chin were mixed with his tears as they dropped back into his reflection in the bathwater.
All it takes is one to slip through your fingers, and suddenly the world looks like it's falling down.
That's probably what Gertas would say to scold him. He half-chuckles again and gets the grit out of his scalp.
Misery was a constant companion to apothecaries. The burden of saving life could crush one's spirit. It was already hard enough financially. But losing in the classic battle of life and death … chips away at the point of the adventure to begin with. He can't complain though. After all, his hero certainly didn't, even when surrounded by the adversity of the illness. The memory of his role model cheered him up a little and he resumes vigorously washing.
After he washed himself, he proceeded to wash his clothes. Then, realizing his mistake, he sighs and slaps on his wet, but cleaned, shirt and trousers. He goes back inside, slinging his satchel back over his shoulder.
"Hey, Elias, know any good place for me to dry my clothes?"
"Oh, just outside is the fence post you can use. We're also nice and high up so breezes'll blow by often. Watch out that you don't lose anything in the wind!"
Alfyn chuckles and thanks him before stepping out. He plops his wet garments on top of the fence and lifts his arms a bit so the underside of the shirt could dry a bit too. It was quiet as people were probably preparing for the feast that would occur tonight. He smiles a bit and stretches some more as he waits for the air to do its drying job.
"Alfyn."
The apothecary turns at the familiar voice. He sees that weary, scarred face.
"Oh, howdy, Berg…!" Alfyn smiles, then quickly looks worried, "Eh- why ain'tcha in bed? Yer head got knocked around an' y' sound like y' might keel over from that fight! Even Therion and Prim're-"
"Thank you for the concern, lad," Berg wearily chuckles, "I just wanted to thank you for what you did. Those brigands are now in the gaols where they will face their crimes rightfully."
"Ehe, don't sweat it! 'Course if it weren't fer…" Alfyn falters in his sentence.
"Hm? What is wrong?"
"… Can I be honest with ya, Berg?" Alfyn puts his hands on his hips and looks to the ground slightly, sighing.
"Why, of course," The question surprised him.
"You gotta…" Alfyn looks up at the mercenary, "I want you to apologize to Prim."
Berg raises an eyebrow with skepticism, "… Why?"
"Cuz… Because it wasn't right of ya t' say all those things about her… 'specially since they ain't true."
"...What?" Berg frowns slightly, "How can you say that so surely after we witnessed that display of dark magic…"
"Prim isn't as cold as y' said. An' ya didn't exactly hafta go on callin' her names… She hasn't had it easy, her or Therion," Alfyn sighs, "But they're good people. She used that po'er t' protect us."
"That doesn't … always justify taking another person's will away, lad."
"... Well, she helped out y'know. Even after you two fought, she still wanted t' come along an' save the hostages. Ain't that meanin' she does care fer people?" Alfyn steps up to Berg, feeling a bit more confident in his words.
Berg pauses, then opens his mouth to speak. Just then, the both of their bellies growl ravenously. With the attacks in the morning and the rescue mission taking well into the afternoon, they had barely eaten anything. The gruel from breakfast seemed so many days ago.
"D'aw... it ain't feast time yet, hehe..."
"... Let's discuss further over some small morsels maybe..." Berg sighs.
…
Alfyn didn't expect to be invited into Berg's house. It was a small abode located at the north edge of town, but at a lower flight of stairs than the inn. In a way, it reminded him of his own home back in Clearbrook. Everything was very bare, with nothing superfluous. Just a bed, a table, and a chair for furniture. A simple fireplace has been neatly upkept, so the hearth isn't dirty with ashes. Bundles of firewood lean on the pilasters. There aren't any decorations on the mantle; no pictures, nothing. A jumble of boxes is stacked in the room corner. Alfyn sees a single wooden plate, an old cracked clay pitcher, a candle, and what look like makeshift weights as well as wooden swords and a shield.
Hanging on the wall is one short sword and another empty holster for a longer weapon. Berg takes off his belt and blade, hanging that across the holder. He also takes off his leather armor, leaving just his cotton tunic and brown trousers.
"Please," Berg gestures at the one chair, "Make yourself comfortable. I apologize for the state of things. I never have many guests."
"Oh, no, that's fine!" Alfyn chuckles and sits, holding his wet clothes still, "It's a lot like my home back in Clearbrook actually, hehe!"
"Ah yes... you mentioned that town before."
"Yep, it's where I was born an' grew up!"
"I see…"
"You ever been t' the Riverlands, Berg?"
"Nay, I have not. Rarely can I say I ever left the Highlands. On occasion I had been to the Coastlands and Sunlands."
Berg pulls out two cups and an extra plate from the crates and pours them both water from the pitcher. Alfyn takes the cup gratefully and thirstily downs it.
"I'm afraid I have only some bread to offer you with jam. I hadn't gotten butter for a few days."
"That's fine, hehe. I'll eat anything right now!"
Berg nods and fetches the crusty loaf from a sack in his food crate. With a kitchen knife, he cuts four slices and plates two for Alfyn and two for himself. The jar of jam is placed on the table with a wooden spoon. Berg himself sits on the edge of a crate, as Alfyn occupies the only chair. He eats his plain while Alfyn happily munches on his with the jam spread.
"Is this local jam? It tastes great!"
"Mm. Yes. Lila made it," Berg says quietly between bites, "She picks the berries from some bushes that grow on more temperate parts of the Highlands."
"I can relate. It's dangerous work though, gatherin' materials with more monsters around every day..."
"Indeed. But with less bandits, it might be a little easier."
"You've looked over this town for a while, haven'tcha, Berg?" Alfyn smiles a little.
"It's been eight years," Berg sips his water, "I suppose it has been a... considerable stay."
"I mean, y' know all the folks an' they seem t' love ya an' all! Philip really admires ya... Is there anywhere else ya'd rather be?"
"... I suppose not," A small smile sneaks onto Berg's face.
"Hehe... I was a bit of a rascal that took the whole town t' raise," Alfyn chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck, "But I love all those guys. Wouldn't trade 'em fer nothin'."
"Mm..." Berg only nods in thought. In his head, he saw his old platoon of men. But the image slowly changed, and he saw the people of Cobbleston instead.
"But ya know," Alfyn looks up, "Even without a place like that to return to... Therion and Prim've helped out a lotta people."
Berg pauses before taking another bite silently.
"Therion... He ain't got a home really t' return to. Livin' on the streets is all 'e knows."
"..."
"An' Prim," Alfyn continues, "Ya called Prim like a slaver... well, she was held in a brothel fer ten years in Sunshade. They don't really treat 'em well down there... leadin' 'em like animals with ropes 'round the neck an' all..."
The apothecary shuddered slightly at the memory.
"...But she's still got a good heart 'spite all that. I don't know really what her magic is or anythin'... but even though ya said all those things about 'er, she still helped, didn't she? Hells, I dunno if we'd be eaten t'gether if she weren't there!"
"..."
"I'm sure she didn't ask fer the power t' control others... But I got a feelin' she hadn't a choice in that kinda dangerous business..." Alfyn ruffles his dirty blonde locks pensively, "What 'm tryin' t' say is … Ya really hurt her. So ya oughta apologize."
"...Alright, alright, lad," Berg sighs, "You have made your point heard. I will see the vexing woman and apologize the next time I see her..."
"Great! Cuz I'd hate fer bad blood t' keep! We oughta be makin' friends as we go, not enemies!"
"Hm. You are heading to Rippletide next, correct?"
"Yep!"
It was a port city in the Coastlands. More likely than not, Berg was thinking about catching a boat to the Cliftlands to find Gustav... But what to tell the townspeople of his departure?
"... Say, you alright, Berg?" Alfyn tries peering at the man's face a little, "Ya seem a bit... distracted. Izzit yer head hurtin'?"
"... Nay..." Berg rubs his forehead a little, "I suppose I am merely tired. There is still much to be done... and I fear I must soon leave Cobbleston."
"Huh?" Alfyn's eyebrows arch upward, "W-why?"
"I must find a certain person. Until now, I had no thought that they were still alive. But now that I know they are out there in the world still... I will search for them."
"... Was it that, uh... Ertart guy you mentioned?"
"Erhardt. And… Yes."
"Ohh... Say, why don'tcha come with us, if it's on your way? Like ya said, 's better t' travel in groups nowadays."
He hadn't been expecting such a quick invitation. Alfyn was an unnaturally kind person, even compared to everyone in Cobbleston.
"Indeed..."
"All the more reason y' oughta make up with Prim, hehe!"
This time, Berg chuckled a little as well.
…
The tavern has an abutting hall attached to it. Normally, it would hold liquors and kegs of fermenting beer, as well as sausages and other cured meats. For the grand occasion, these things were all moved so the entire building could be used to its fullest capacity. All drinks were put on tap and you could have as much as you wanted. In the kitchen, many of the cooks from around the village were hustling to deliver on their food. There were no designated waiters. People help out with carrying food to their tables and for others who were still injured. It was nowhere as giddy as Clearbrook's tavern, but there was still a somber happiness in the ambience.
"I knew that 'buying drinks' thing was bullshit…" Therion grumbles as they enter, "It's all free."
He had surprisingly awoken before Primrose. He did not appreciate Alfyn's thoughtfulness in placing them both in the same bed.
"Haha, cheer up, Therion! It's a party!" Alfyn chuckles.
The thief irritably sighs and scratches a little at the bandages on his head. Alfyn quickly puts an end to that by swatting down his hands.
"It's itchy…"
"It's healing, Therion!"
Primrose has bandages on her throat and parts of her body that her skimpy dress does not cover. There is also a patch of gauze on her face. Her eyes are a bit dull as she looks about the merry beer hall.
"…" Alfyn puts a gentle hand on her shoulder. She looks to him with a weak smile in response.
Noelle practically runs up to them.
"Hey, you came!"
"Hehe, wouldn't miss it!" Alfyn chuckles.
"Come on, I save you guys a table!" She leads them to a nicely sized table with stools, "Everyone's been whispering here and there about you guys, you know, how you helped Berg and all!"
"Aw shucks… We-"
"It'd be nice to get paid for it," Therion butts in, bored.
Alfyn elbows him a little, but not in a recovering area. It shuts the thief up regardless. But Noelle just laughs.
"Haha, well I can pay you in pretzels, grog, and sausage!" She grins and goes off to get them food and drink.
"Geez, Therion…!" Alfyn says, exasperated, after Noelle is out of earshot.
"What?"
"That was just rude!" Alfyn balks a bit at the thief's bluntness, "She's jus' got back after bein' kidnapped!"
"I almost got my head punched in, remember?" Therion rolls his eyes.
Alfyn sighs and is about to object when foaming mugs of beer are plunked down before them, along with a platter brimming with pretzel buns, sausage, cheeses, and fruits. The party looks up to see Noelle is not alone. There is a whiskered, older gentleman next to her. He was unfamiliar.
"Dad, this is Alfyn and his friends!"
"O-Oh! You're Fiona's father…!" Alfyn fumbles a little to stand from his seat.
"Hahaha, no need to kowtow or anything!" The old man chuckles, "I jus' wanted t' thank ya fer helping get Noelle back. Terrible affair, the whole thing. Thank the gods you were able to handle it!"
"Ehehe," Alfyn chuckles, rubbing the back of his head, "Aw shucks…"
"Alfyn's come all the way from the Riverlands, dad! He's like my age and he's off walking the continent already!"
"Now don't you start!" The old man wags a finger in her face, "You and yer silly ideas in the great big world!"
Noelle pouts. Her father gives her a playful pinch on the cheek before waving to the party and going back to his own table.
"It was nice meeting all of y'all. Thanks to you again."
"Pleasure," Prim says tersely. The facts she spoke at all surprised the other two, particularly Alfyn, who was about to say similar.
"So! I'll leave you guys to dig in!" Noelle huffs a bit and stomps off.
Alfyn chuckles a bit, picking up a bun, "Hehe… Well this is a nice event…"
"… hm," Therion is emotionless as he rips into a wurst, "It's the minimum."
"It's a bit like when we left Clearbrook, right?" Alfyn sips his beer, "Had a big party then too."
"Yeah, yeah…" Therion waves a hand dismissively, "Just glad we're leavin' tomorrow."
"Oh yeah…" Alfyn leans in, "What about Sadi's … burial?"
"…"
"…"
"… Prim, I know you wanna bury 'im in the Sunlands right…"
"… Yes."
"Oh great," Therion groans, "Well, have fun with that. I'm not going back to that stinking desert anytime soon."
"Therion!" Alfyn sighs.
"…I'll find a way somehow…" Prim bites her lower lip. She really could not afford any more delays as it was. But this was… It felt like she had to do something.
The local bard strikes up a merry, yet mellow tune to go with the dinner. The watch, which was so somber when the party first arrived, seemed relaxed for once. Some who were lucky enough to be able, stood and did a small Highland jig with their partners. Alfyn sees Colton sitting with Lila and can't help but smile a little.
Therion eyes the dancer a little. It was weird seeing her now so still and not even as aloof as she usually was. Normally, she'd be flaunting her moves about them and goading him to dance maybe.
When her lifeless eyes look up a bit, he averts his own. She stands and walks out of the tavern. Some heads watch as the dancer goes, since she still sticks out like a sore thumb. Alfyn makes a small move to go after her, but the thief holds him back.
"Buh-" Alfyn looks to Therion, who merely shakes his head. The apothecary sits down, a bit glummer now.
"She knew him first," Therion sighs, drinking his beer.
"Yeah… it's gotta be harder…" Alfyn sighs and takes a bite of sausage, "Maybe I shoulda thought t' have 'im wait a bit…"
"Hm? Who?" Therion quirks an eyebrow.
"Oh, Berg. I told 'im t' go and make up with Prim after the whole thing."
"… You really like to meddle, huh…" Therion sighs.
…
Berg saw the dancer leave the hall. But he couldn't approach her just yet. The headman, Phillip, and Phillip's mother occupied seats at his table. And he needed to tell them about his departure tonight. It was best during a happy event like this.
"… good fortune, no?"
"Aye, indeed. We are so very lucky for the brave watch. All trained up by Berg," The headman chuckles.
"Phillip!" The woman looks to her son stuffing a pretzel in his mouth, "Manners! Ye could choke!"
Berg smiles a little. He could not delay it any longer. He looks to the headman solemnly.
"Headman, I would like to make a formal announcement."
"Hm? Well that's … alright, let's hear it," The headman stands, scraping his seat against the floor loudly, "Ahem! May I have all your attention!"
His voice, naturally loud, was one of the things that made him a good headman. All heads in the room turned to face him after settling down.
"Thank you," He nods and gestures to Berg, "Cobbleston's finest combat instructor has some words to say."
Berg stands now. He couldn't be nervous now. With a deep breath, he quickly cuts through the mess of thoughts in his head of what to say.
"I will be leaving Cobbleston."
The hall's silence only increases as dissonant whispers die down as well. Some people stare, and even the headman had not expected that. Philip is the first to speak up, a little shrill.
"W-What do you mean, sir?"
Other voices raise their concerns following the boy.
"Y-yeah..."
"Sir Berg, you're leaving?"
Berg nods grimly, "You have all shown me such kindness in my stay here. I am forever in all your debts."
"What?"
"But why?"
"There is... something I discovered... I had left undone in my past from 'fore I stepped foot here," He sighs, "I … I will do what I must."
Many people in the room seemed unsatisfied. They wanted to ask more. But none had the real courage. Alfyn and Therion are watching quietly. Alfyn would have spoken up maybe if Therion hadn't shushed him multiple times. This was a thing involving the townspeople, not them as outsiders.
"... It is we who are in your debt," The headman says solemnly, standing with a scrape of his chair, "You have delivered Cobbleston from many dangers, and equipped us with the tools we need to stand on our own feet."
Berg was a little speechless. He looks to the headman with eyes of respect, not having expected such a gracious statement. Others in the room seem to arrive at the same conclusion.
"You will always have a home here, no matter how far your quest may take you," The headman smiles warmly, crinkling the skin around his aged eyes, "When you are finished with whatever business have you, why not come back and visit us? We'll keep your house tidy for your return."
"… I will," Berg nods, "Thank you."
"We'll never forget what you've taught us!" One watchman calls out.
"If we see any more troublemakers, we'll give their rears a lickin' in your name!" Says another.
Then many of the watch began to stand and salute him like they would after one of their training sessions. Berg felt the sickly warmth in his head move and spread throughout his chest. He would not cry, however. He merely bows his head slightly in gratitude.
Philip looks around at the adults in the room with his mouth a little aghast. His mother seemed to look at him worriedly as he hung his head a little. Then he sudden salutes as well, with a resolute, yet teary look in his eyes. At the top of his lungs, he shouts.
"I'll keep training until you return! And then… I'll be worthy enough that… even against you…!"
The boy's voice cracks in several places and his tears and snot leak down his face as his salute trembles. The sight moves several other onlookers, who try to restrain their own emotion. Berg felt the hard tug at his heartstrings. He found himself walking to Philip, who just looks up at him with a trembling lower lip. With a soft smile, Berg ruffles the boy's head. His mind was made up.
"… Aye, lad. I'll get stronger as well. And we will see each other again."
"Y… You better not forget!" The boy now goes to wipe his face in futility as his tough façade breaks, "Y-You keep your word, sir!"
"Yeah!"
"Tell 'im, Philip!"
Berg can't help but chuckle at the enthusiasm. Over at the outsider's table, Alfyn smiles dumbly, watching the scene.
"Hehe… it really gives ya a warm an' fuzzy feelin', don't it?"
Therion merely rolls his eyes, "This is the stuff for saps like you."
"… Say, Prim's been gone a bit…"
"She'll be fine," Therion mutters, drink in hand.
Across the room, Berg straightens and makes eye contact with the apothecary. The headman laughs a little and gestures to the bard.
"Come now, let's make this a going-away party as well… to celebrate all that Berg has done! No more dour faces! Clean those tears lad, tis a celebration!"
The bard smiles shyly and resumes playing, strumming up a rather chipper tune. The headman raises his goblet, and others follow in suit to raise a toast.
"To your health, Berg! May you find what it is you seek."
"Hear, hear!"
"Thanks for all you've done! We'll be alright, so don't you sweat it!"
"Aye!"
"Cheers!"
The merriment resumes. At first, people gathered to bid Berg a fair trip, and promised him lots of goodies for the road once daybreak came. When enough admirers had their fill and he had some time, Berg slipped out of the hall in search of the dancer when he would not be missed.
…
Out in the billowing night wind, Prim stood over one of the higher points in Cobbleston, looking out over the town. She leans on the low stone wall and takes out something from the folds of her dress. It looks like a bundle of metal rods at first glance. Upon a closer look, one can see it is actually Sadiq's spear.
It is not an uncommon quality of Sunland weapons. The daggers are commonly colorful yet hiding edges that tore straight into tendons. Some blades were hollow to increase their speed, and it also allowed them to be filled with things like poison. Sunlanders liked their weapons exotic, yet still practical. Sadiq's spear was no different, being collapsible, yet lacking any weakness to bend and buckle. He had it with him all this time as he watched over the walls of Sunshade…
Prim unfolds the spear. She grasps it with both hands, feeling its weight a little before planting it beside her. Then she seems almost to lean on it a little as she gazed out towards the surrounding Highland mountains. The cold did not bother her. The loneliness did. In the wind, her dress flapped. It still was red as blood despite the wear and tear of their journey, with all the battles to this point. She stood like a lone crimson flag over most of the town.
There was a small sound of movement behind her. It was not hidden with any intent. The steps were from a heavier person. She could smell the musk. Though she didn't sense ill intent, she still allowed her paranoia to sweep her away. When the next step came just that much closer, her dagger was in her hand and she whirled to point it at whoever it was.
Berg blocks her strike with quick reflexes, using his metal brassard as a guard against her weapon. There is a slight chink sound as the dagger fails to pierce the metal and is deflected.
"...!" Primrose conceals her surprise well and withdraws herself hastily with a sigh, "Oh... it's you..."
"... My apologies if I startled you," He says, lowering his guard.
"... So, what do you want?" She turns away from him, "... We'll be getting out of your precious village soon enough, o'righteous knight … Or did you come to throw me out by force?"
"... Nay," He sighs, "I came to apologize. My words were uncouth and … unrefined. I spoke out of turn in anger, not knowing the circumstances of your actions."
She doesn't answer.
"While I can never truly condone your practice... I understand your necessity behind it. A little."
"Oh?" She hides the surprise in her voice well, "Do you now?"
"Yes. Sir Alfyn divulged of it to me, your history. But please do not hold him in ill. It was at my behest."
"That silly boy..." She mutters, feeling exposed. Knowing Alfyn had stood up for her though also somehow spread some warmth through her body. But she resists a smile.
"That being said... Even as I feel revulsion for your act... Your aid was invaluable through this trial," He tries to keep his voice level and ward off any awkwardness, "For that I never properly thanked you. So, I do so now. You have my thanks."
"... Think nothing of it."
"... I think you should also know... that I will be accompanying your party on your departure from the Highlands."
"... I see," Alfyn must have invited him. She says nothing more but her lips purse in displeasure. Not that she faces him.
But then, there was an uncomfortable silence between them as they stood there in the night air. She started to wonder why he was still standing behind her.
"... Don't you have a party in your honor to return to, hero?" She says a little icily.
"…You are a guest as well."
"I'm an outsider."
"I am not from here either. The people of this town are kinder… than I."
Another bout of silence. He fumbled through his mind for an icebreaker.
"… Some of my men spoke of a dancer in red a night or so ago, before the brigands struck."
Prim maintains her quiet.
"They said how unlucky I was to have been on patrol that night that I missed it. It was… quite a spectacle apparently…"
Berg folds his arms a little, like he doesn't know what else to do with them. He hoped his words were not too slow despite his hesitations.
"…Won't you come dance again?"
"…"
There is nothing but the wind for a few long seconds. Berg is about to accept it as refusal until the dancer's free hand raises so he can see her index and thumb fingers rubbing together. He scoffs a little before laughing.
"Here is your first fee then…" He flicks her a leaf, which she catches. She faces him with an exasperated, somewhat wry smile. Without another word, she goes to walk back to the tavern. He follows beside her, walking through the streets.
"… That spear…"
The dancer doesn't say anything.
"… I am sorry for you and your party's loss. He seemed like a good man."
"He was… is."
"Might I ask why you put him under your thrall-"
Her pace quickens at the question. Ah, a stupid question. He decides it's not worth it to dig up the hatchet again and strides to follow until they are about the same gait again. She slows to stop, allowing him to pick his words carefully.
"… My apologies. I spoke out of turn."
"… Do you know how to use a spear?"
The question surprised him a little, "…Well, yes. I am trained in the spear as well as the sword…"
"Good," She suddenly thrusts the weapon out to him like an offer, "If we are going to travel together… then you will… have more use of this than I."
He blinks, "But… this is…"
"Sadiq is no longer with us. I'd rather not have to pawn this off… It is better…" She murmurs, looking to the side a little, "That it finds a new use in able hands."
After a small moment of silence, he takes the weapon gently from her hand, which shook a little, rattling her bracelets. The tremor slips to her shoulders a bit and she does not look at him as she drew back. He saw her vulnerability lain before him, shielded by the gesture only.
"…Thank you."
He took a moment to look at the weapon in his hand. It was lighter than the polearms he used back in his days in Hornburg. But there was still a feeling of weight nonetheless… He glances at her and his throat seizes.
"…I … I was wrong to… say human wellbeing had no meaning to you…" Berg says a little with difficulty as he looks down at the weapon, "… He protected you like a shield… but you… did not relish it, did you…"
He blinks slowly and his hand closes around the weapon's area of grip. It felt worn and tested by battle.
"You see people for who they are in earnest."
"…"
"It could not… have been easy… seeing him…"
"… Of course not…"
"He was a fine warrior. I can see it in this weapon…" He nods slightly, "I will try to do justice to his skill."
"… Good."
Her steps resumed to the tavern after the brusque conversation. He follows in silence. By the time they arrived back in the warm light of the hall, her shudders stopped. Some people raised their mugs to the two of them. On her face was a brilliant smile, and she began to dance.
Only the thief saw the slightest hint of a grimace.
…
The day of their departure, the town had gathered to see Berg and company off. The party stood by the exit of Cobbleston, rested as well as could be after a fight and party. An ass pulling a cart loaded with some crates brays next to them. Prim's gaze is fixed on a wrapped bundle behind the crates. Alfyn puts a hand softly on her shoulder but she does not respond. The cart driver is talking to Berg.
"… by a mound of sand. Supposedly just outside the Sunshade Catacombs."
"Aye, I see," The driver nods, "I'll try me best t' get the man t' his restin' place fer ya, Berg."
"Thank you," Berg nods.
He'd changed into his old clothes now for the journey. No longer in leather armor, he was sporting his old cobalt and black tunic, with his metal bracers and spaulders, as well as the brassard of his old regimen. It was old and scuffed so that reading the original Hornburg writing on the metal would be a feat in and of itself. But he remembered what it meant, and the honor it bore onto him. How he had not felt such since the start of the last war. It was amazing what emotion simple clothing could elicit in the old warhorse.
There was no way they were going to make such a huge trip back to Sunshade. Prim and the others would have to settle for letting someone cart Sadiq's body back to find Yusufa's grave so he could be buried next to her. The dancer did not trust anyone to do the task, but even she knew she had to be realistic in the face of her goal.
"Alfyn! Take this…" Noelle hands Alfyn a parcel wrapped in paper, "It's nothing much, just something for the road…"
"Gee, thanks, Noelle!" Alfyn smiles.
Noell blushes and blurts, "Please come back anytime! I'd love to hear your stories from the road!"
Some onlookers in the crowd laugh a bit and make some small talk about Noelle. Alfyn merely nods.
"Sure! We'll meet again when I pass by."
"Are you ready then?" The headman approaches, "I must say my old heart does ache with this parting… You shall be missed, Berg."
"Aye, but tis not a farewell forever."
"Then pray we shall your business shall be swift so you may return safely to us."
Before Berg could respond, a little ball of energy comes running right at him, wooden sword raised. He fends it off with his burly arm, though the strike did sting.
"Phillip!" The boy's mother gasps, "Where have you been!? And why are you-"
"It's alright!" Berg declares and smiles at the little surprise attacker, "That was a good blow. You are getting stronger."
He rubs the boy's head. Phillip bites his lip, "You… will definitely remember your promise, right?"
"…Aye lad."
The boy then just hugs his waist. Some people go "aww" at the display. Therion taps his wrapped bangle impatiently.
"Take care, all of you."
Waving, Berg and his new companions start out of the village, with the cart right alongside them. Eventually, Cobbleston vanishes from view as they descend to a lower elevation.
"Gee that was a nice town…" Alfyn chuckles, pocketing his gifts. Noelle hadn't been the only one who gave him a present. Some of the soldiers he treated and other townspeople also showered him in thank-yous and gifts. He had refused monetary presents.
"We can go as far as the crossroads," Berg says, "But there we must head north. And Orwell will take the goods to the Sunlands."
Prim says nothing.
Eventually they make it to the signpost indicating the crossroad. Orwell directs the cart towards the southern path. Berg looks to the others.
"Have you said your goodbyes?"
Therion doesn't answer, merely scoffing. Alfyn nods, answering for the thief and dancer, who remains silent. She only watches as Orwell begins to drive away after reassuring them of his care.
"… I should tell ya, Prim," Alfyn says in a low voice as the cart gets smaller and smaller, "What Sadi told me… his last words…"
Prim trembles a bit but nods. Therion looks back at the two of them lagging behind as Berg forges ahead towards the north Highlands first. Alfyn leans in a little, but not too close, and gently relays the message.
"He wants you to know… he's very happy you met Yusufa."
Primrose sucks in a breath and covers her mouth with a hand. The emotions wracked her such that she could barely walk in a moment. Slowly, her mask slipped a crack, and a few tears fell, sliding down her cheeks. Alfyn readies to steady her if she wavered. The thief looks away. A wind blows past them and she looks toward where it goes. Southward. To that cart winding its way down the mountain. Down the mountain to the sands. The sands where she met Yusufa and Sadiq…
"Are you lot coming?" Berg calls from the front.
"Ah- y-yeah!" Alfyn replies. He looks to the dancer, "…You okay, Prim…?"
Crisply, her lips move as the few tears shed slip from her chin. She nods silently.
"Thank you… for everything."
Then, they continued onward.