“Who are you?” the man asks, his voice weak yet edged with cold venom. He squirms, tries to sit up only to flinch and collapse before making it so much as an inch off the pallet. Alfyn watches in trepidation as the muscles in the man’s shoulders contort, working to free his hands, to no avail. He gives up after a few moments, exhaling softly.
“Just get it over with,” he says in frustrated resignation. “Darius sent you, didn’t he? I’d rather die here than see his face again.”
“N-now hold on!” Alfyn says, throwing up his hands in a gesture of peace. “I don’t know who this Darius fella is, but he ain’t got nothing to do with me. Name’s Alfyn,” he adds by way of introduction, “traveling apothecary, at your service. Happened to find you collapsed outside Bolderfall in that sorry state, so I brought you to this here inn and fixed you up.”
The man narrows his visible eye; the other is curtained by hair. “Really,” he says, his disbelief almost tangible. “Then why the hells am I tied up? Or is that how you normally treat your ‘patients’?”
Alfyn stands and moves to the table, pouring water from the jug there into a chipped clay cup without taking his eyes off the man. “Most of my patients ain’t criminals,” he says neutrally.
The man at least has the discretion to look humbled at that. “Right,” he says tonelessly. “Then what, exactly, do you plan on doing with me?”
“I don’t know,” Alfyn admits.
Alfyn brings the cup to him. “Here,” he says, holding it to his lips. “Drink.”
The man turns his head away. Alfyn clucks his tongue.
“Come on, now. You gotta get some fluids into you.”
“Maybe I will once I can trust you, but first, you can start by telling me your name. And, y’know, about how you got that band strapped to your arm.”
The man’s expression hardens. “Therion. And it’s none of your business.”
Preview of my piece for the upcoming @bromance-zine, starring Alfyn and Therion of Octopath Traveler!