Hey guys! Welcome back to Hear a Tale! Got a bit busy last week, but I'm here now, so let's start with review time!
Thanks so much to CitrusChickadee for reviewing! Poor Therion has no idea that this'll be the start of a trend XD He and Cyrus are a surprisingly fun duo to write for! Hope you continue to enjoy :)
With that, on with the tale!
Relevant Events: Alfyn's Backstory/Chapter Four
43. Dying
Everything hurt.
His head, his chest, his throat, every muscle in his body…the boy had never before known pain so absolute and all-encompassing. At this point, he couldn't even remember how long things had been like this.
How many days (weeks?) had he been trapped in his bed, barely able to breathe, barely able to see? He could hardly move, and his burning throat discouraged him from speaking. If he tried, would he even have a voice left to speak with?
He couldn't recall the last time he had seen his mother. His best friend's father was the only one allowed to visit him now, and he only did so with a cloth wrapped tightly around the lower half of his face, so that through the boy's blurry vision, even he looked like a stranger. He would speak gently to the boy, though his words were often a garbled mess through the haze of the boy's weary mind, and he would carefully have him drink all manners of strange-tasting liquids. Sometimes, they would ease the pain or cool his fever for a while, but never for long. He liked it best when the liquids sent him straight to sleep, so that he didn't have to think about the pain anymore.
The man also tried to get him to eat whenever he visited. He could never manage much.
The boy had heard about death before, and how most people were scared of it. He had agreed, once. Now, however, he realized that the final death would be far, far preferable to the drawn-out experience of dying.
But really, what could he do? He couldn't move to speed things along, nor could he tell anyone that he was ready for all of the pain to be over with. The only choice he had was to simply lie there and wait for the end.
…
"Oh, my…yes, I believe I know exactly what this illness is…"
Was that…a new voice?
"Mhm…it seems to have progressed quite far. Fortunately, we are not out of time yet, and I happen to have just the thing to cure it. Hm? Oh, no, you have already risked your own exposure for long enough. Do not worry - it should take but a moment to prepare the concoction. The boy will be just fine."
The sound of a door shutting, then footsteps. The boy could hear the unfamiliar man's words, but was having trouble understanding them fully. His mind was just too fogged to pay close enough attention…
"Hello there, Alfyn. My name is Graham - I'm a traveling apothecary, and I'm here to help you feel better. One moment, please…I have the proper elixir right here."
Lightly clinking glass and the soft rush of stirred liquid. A slight pressure at the side of the boy's bed as the man leaned over him. A hand under the boy's head, propping him up. Cool glass pressed against his lips, and a bitter liquid sliding down his throat. It did not taste good, and the boy was barely able to swallow, but at least it hurt less than coughing it up would have.
"...there. That should do it."
He was carefully lowered back to his pillow, his mouth twisting into a grimace as the man stepped back. There was a soft, rasping sound in the back of the boy's throat, accompanied by a sting of pain - but somehow, it seemed slightly less sharp than before.
"You're a lucky boy, Alfyn. The disease had all but taken over. You had a day or two, at best."
Lucky? That was hardly how he would describe it…
"That I happened to come along when I did, with this potion in hand…"
A deep sigh, and retreating footsteps.
"...fate works in mysterious ways. How long did I labor to brew this elixir? And from ingredients that I may never see again…to tell the truth, it was meant for another. But…that hardly matters now. If it saves your life, it will have more than served its purpose."
More footsteps, and suddenly, a cool cloth was draped over the boy's forehead. It felt nice…and was it just his imagination, or was the weight that had crushed down on his chest for so long just a little bit lighter now?
"Sleep tight, son. You'll be feeling better on the morrow."
Sleep…it was the only thing he'd been able to do for so long, and his only real source of relief from the suffering that plagued him. Normally, he would slip willingly into that still darkness, eager for the release that was unconsciousness. Now, however…for the first time in recent memory, he found his energy slowly returning to him.
The clouds drifted from his mind, and he gradually became aware of what had just happened. A traveling - pock-a-therry, had he said? - had just given him medicine. And, against all odds, this medicine was actually beginning to work.
Here was a man that went around the world, helping people who were hurt or sick, just like the boy was. And he had finally reached their little village in the Riverlands, elixir in hand, all to make the boy feel better at last.
Shucks…I hope I can do that too someday!
The boy opened his eyes.
()()()()
"I'm back, old man!" Alfyn threw open the door to the inn room, letting light spill in and cut through the thick gloom.
The sole occupant of the room groaned, weakly throwing an arm over his eyes. "Can you keep it down? My head is throbbing something terrible…" Ogen mumbled gruffly. He was clearly attempting to sound irritated, but his fatigue stole most of the bite from his tone.
Alfyn smiled sheepishly as he took a moment to tie a cloth around his nose and mouth. "Whoops, sorry about that. Anyway, time to get to work!"
He moved to Ogen's bedside, whistling lightly to himself while digging around in his satchel for the proper ingredients to mix with the precious Ogre Eagle feather he'd collected. As he put his mortar and pestle to work, the older apothecary's arm slid away from his face, his fogged eyes squinting up at Alfyn skeptically.
"You really believe you can save me…?" he rasped. He gave a snort that turned briefly into a coughing fit. "Ugh…ridiculous…how could you ever…"
"A man saved my life years ago," Alfyn interrupted softly. "A man not so different from you, come to think of it."
Ogen's eyebrows creased in confusion, but he did not try to speak again. The man only swallowed dryly, wincing at the pain that was surely shooting through his throat by now.
"Listen here, Ogen. I may call you an old man, but it's too soon for you to go."
The medicine was beginning to resolve into a fine syrup, and Alfyn risked a glance in Ogen's direction. The man's eyes were closed, but Alfyn was sure he was still listening.
"People are suffering out there. Dying." Another splash of water to thin the mixture. "There are plenty of lives you can still save." A bit of Olive of Life extract to further promote healing. "Trust me…I've seen many of them for myself." A few more strikes with the mortar to dissolve the feather completely. "There'll always be people who need apothecaries…people who deserve to live and be healthy. And sittin' around feelin' sorry for yourself isn't gonna help a single one of them."
As Alfyn worked, Ogen was eerily still and silent. Only the slow yet shallow rise and fall of his chest indicated that he was still alive, though Alfyn was beginning to wonder if the man hadn't slipped back into unconsciousness during his speech. The younger apothecary grimaced behind the cloth that hid his face, hoping his words hadn't fallen on deaf ears. Though he was determined to do everything in his power to treat Ogen's illness, he still would prefer to do it with permission if possible.
"You've gotta want to stay alive, Ogen," he found himself murmuring under his breath. "If you don't…then there's nothin' else I can do for you. Just…" He sighed softly. "Dyin' like this doesn't suit a stubborn old man like you."
A quiet rush of breath escaped Ogen's nose, and when Alfyn glanced over, he was surprised to find a wry, crooked smile had made its way onto the sick man's lips. That sound…had it almost been a laugh?
"Stubborn? Heh…you're one to talk, kid." His voice was still a rasp, but seemed a bit softer somehow. "But…you know what…?"
When he opened his eyes, they were still bloodshot from fatigue, but clearer than before. Alfyn felt his hopes rise as Ogen, with that small smirk still on his face and more life in his eyes than Alfyn had seen yet, fixed him with a sharper gaze and spoke.
"...maybe you're right."
A simple statement, but it was all that Alfyn needed. This disease hadn't managed to take him all those years ago, and he wasn't going to let it take Ogen either.
No one was going to die that night.
See you guys next time for Tale 44: Two Roads!