Old Friends and Unfortunate Circumstances
This is my gift for @aeolian-mode, with her wonderful wonderful character Khyran!! I am so so so sorry that it’s late. I am terrible and put it off for too long, and then when I thought I’d finally have time to do it (between break starting and New Years) a bunch of shit came up and I found myself incredibly busy and I am so so sorry. Give me a little while longer and I’ll sweeten this with a drawing to make up for it. I thought it would be cool to maybe do a follow up on the story that I wrote with Khy a long time ago, so this is that addition. It’s a bit of a monster, (almost 4,000 words, holy shit) and I had a lot of fun writing it. I hope you enjoy it. Merry belated Christmas, and Happy belated New Year!!! <333
As the last light of day cast a reddish glow all about the clean white granite of Minas Tirith, and the smells of mulled wine, roasted ham and fresh baked bread filled the crisp autumn air, and the laughter of men and women floated out of a nearby pub and echoed through the narrow alleyway, Khyran Oisin couldn’t help but wish he were in there with them. His stomach lets out a low groan, as if the hunger pangs weren’t enough to let him know that he’d hardly eaten at all the last two weeks. He had been travelling, stopping only to sleep and eating whatever scarce food he may scavenge along the road. Hunger was not an unfamiliar feeling to him. Indeed, he spent most of his life malnourished and eating only enough to sustain him, a habit which left him with a gaunt, even skeletal appearance. His dark hair only served to make his look more ghostly, as it fell in dark curtains about his pale, angular face. A black leather eyepatch covered his left eye, and his visible eye that seemed to sink into the socket and a large hooked nose were the only things that seemed to give his near colorless face depth. However, despite his regular habits, now that he had arrived in the Great White City, he wanted nothing more than a good hot meal and place to rest his weary feet.
He reached into his coin purse to see how much he had, but even just the noise when picking it out of his satchel let him know there wouldn’t even be enough for a meal, let alone a place to sleep. His skeletal fingers reached deep into the fabric, only to come up with three small coins. Hardly even enough for a cup of tea, he sighed to himself, and replaced them in the bag. His hollow stomach growled again, and he placed a hand on it. He must eat something…
Down the alley, he saw a large man in an apron dump a bunch of something in a bin outside the kitchen door of the pub He waited a minute, looking both ways down the alley to make sure the coast was clear, before hurrying toward the door, hoping the clanking footsteps of his metal leg wouldn’t alert the pub owner to his presence. He began to rifle through the bin as quietly as quietly as he could manage. He found some stale rolls, half a loaf of burnt bread, and some potato peelings. It was more than he’d had in weeks, and he stuck the rolls in his satchel, with a pang of shame. He started to shove the bread in on top of them, but the large man he had seen before suddenly appeared in the doorway, and saw Khyran with bread and potato rinds in his hands.
Khyran turned to flee, but the peg of his metal leg slipped in the juice that was leaking out of the rubbish bin and he fell, cracking his nose on the rim of it on the way down. His ears rang with the force of the impact and he felt warm blood dripping down his upper lip as he struggled to his feet. He heard the large man calling some other names, and by the time he was upright and beginning to scramble away, two more younger, muscular men were bearing down on him. One grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and forced him against a wall, pinning him there while the other pulled out a dagger and held it against Khyran’s throat.
“Thief!” cried the pubowner. The man with the dagger began to berate him, but Khyran could hardly hear what he was saying over the ringing and buzzing in his head. The man who was pinning him jerked Khyran’s face toward the man with the knife, and he saw malice and anger in the small, beady eyes of his attackers. He turned his head further to the side to shift his gaze away from that of the men before him, and the knife pressed in harder, slicing through the upper layers of skin on his throat. He closed his eyes against the pain, but didn’t struggle.
“LOOK AT ME WHEN I’M TALKING TO YOU!!!” the knife man bellowed. Khyran opened his eyes, but didn’t meet the other’s hard gaze. Out of the peripherals of his good eye he saw the knife man nod to his accomplice, and a knee met his gut with a thud. He felt bile surging up his throat, burning as it came. It dribbled down his chin, and a fist found his ribs with a sickening crack and a harsh cough as the air was forced from his lungs. Another blow came down on his cheek, and his legs limp under him. The accomplice released his shirt and he crumpled to the ground with a wheeze, coughing and gagging desperately as he tried to catch his breath. One arm went to cradle his aching gut, but a sharp pain in his right shoulder paralyzed him, and he cried out. When he looked up, he saw his attackers reeling back, the anger and hostility in their eyes replaced with terror. Khyran could just barely make out their hushed words over the buzzy throbbing in his head.
“You weren’t supposed to actually stab him!! We were just supposed to rough him up a bit!” said the first.
“I thought he was reaching for a blade! It was self defense!” the second spat back. They bickered a few seconds longer and both took off running, eager to flee the scene.
Khyran looked for the knife as they fled, but it wasn’t in his attacker’s hands anymore. The pain radiated through his chest as he moved to touch the wound, but his hand met warm blood and cold steel. He gasped as the blade in his shoulder shifted at his touch. He clenched his jaw and yanked the dagger from his flesh with shaking hands. He felt the blood begin to pour freely from the wound, and the dagger clattered onto the stone ground beside him. He felt cold. His ears rung and his head buzzed as he tried to collect himself. He shook his head in an attempt to clear it but found the movement only served to worsen the dizziness. He tried to take a deep breath but the pain in his broken ribs and torn flesh stopped the inhalation short and turned it into a strangled cry. He felt the warm blood pooling on his shirt and trousers, cooling quickly in the chilly night air. He pressed the heel of his hand hard into the wound to staunch the blood flow. He needed something else. Something else…
He grabbed the dagger from the ground and used it to cut off a sleeve from his shirt. The sharp blade cut easily through the fabric and folded it into a square, leaving an end free on the bottom. He stuffed the free end into the mouth of the wound, gasping as it seemed to burn like acid. He changed hands and cut off his other sleeve and tied it around his shoulder as best he could. Hopefully that would serve as an adequate bandage. He moved to stand, but the twinge in his ribs forced him back to the ground. He was so tired. His eyelids grew heavy, and the smell of good food and the sound of music and the throbbing in his shoulder and head lulled him into a fitful sleep where he sat.
He awoke the next morning to find that the wound in his shoulder had inflamed greatly, and was shooting pains all down his arm. He cautiously peeled back the corner of the bandage to reveal the taught, red skin beneath. It was already beginning to fester. Perhaps the dagger was contaminated. He forced himself to his feet, and the floor seemed to dip beneath him. Steadying himself on the wall, he took teetering steps down the dimly lit alley, his knees knocking about as though he were a newborn foal.
The dull throb of a fever settled heavy in his head as the day crawled on, and by night he was half delirious with it. Dark things crept by in in the shadows, eyes peered out of every nook and cranny. He looked back over his shoulder constantly, walking, then running from unseen terrors until his feet could move no longer. He slumped heavily against a wall, unsure of where he was or what he was doing. The pain in his shoulder throbbed heavily with the quickened pace of his heart, and every breath seemed to be a new adventure in agony. Stars began to dance around his field of vision, and the last thing he heard before the darkness found him was a familiar voice calling his name.
The next day and night were spent in a haze, a dizzying fight between consciousness and unconsciousness, the lines between which were so completely blurred that he could no longer tell them apart. When he was asleep, terrors haunted his dreams. When he was awake, the same monsters seemed to crawl all about him, and he was hardly aware of much else. Demons of his past hunted him, wrapping their slimy tendrils about his throat and driving their long black claws into his shoulder with such intensity that he screamed aloud. He alternated between murmuring nonsense and sitting upright in a fit of screaming and sobbing, unaware that any of this was actually happening. The only thing he noticed outside of this realm of nightmares was a pair of strong hands holding him and a cold cloth that was periodically applied to his face, neck, and chest.
He awoke the next morning much more aware of his surroundings. The warmth was the first thing he noticed. He was sweating, but chills still wracked his slender frame and his muscled spasmed as they ran up and down his spine. He heard someone shush him gently, a sweet and calming but unfamiliar voice. He opened his eyes, blinking slowly. His vision was fuzzy, and it took a minute for his gaze to focus on the figure leaning over him. It was an elf, with long red hair pulled back from his face in intricate braids. He was applying some kind of poultice to his shoulder, and Khyran felt the pain keenly as it shot down his arm, across his chest, and through his gut, wincing as it seemed to reverberate about his entire abdomen. The sensation twisted his stomach, and he felt his entire body flush. He was all at once burning and freezing. His stomach roiled, and he groaned, moving to wrap an arm around the churning organ. The elf caught his hand and stilled it, then called out softly in Sindarin. Another face appeared over him, but this one was familiar.
“My dear man, we must stop meeting like this,” it said, and Khyran’s pained grimace twisted into an awkward smile at the sound of the voice.
“Aldwyn!” Khyran rasped. He had never expected to see the kind stranger from Bree again, and yet here he was, standing over him for the second time in his life. He opened his mouth to ask why he was there, or where he was, or what had happened, or how he had come into Aldwyn’s care again, but at that moment the Elf pressed hard into his shoulder and the pain twisted his stomach. The only sound that he produced was a weak heave that tore at his throat. Aldwyn helped Khyran onto his side and held a small bowl under his chin as he retched, but nothing came up save a trickle of bile and splash of water.
“You’re alright, Khyran. I’ve got you. I’ve got you...” Aldwyn said as he rubbed the sick man’s back. He could feel every vertebra even more acutely than the last time, and a worried frown crossed his ruddy features. “You know, that’s the longest it’s stayed down since we found you? The water I mean.”
Khyran panted and coughed as the retching abated, and Aldwyn helped him to lie back down. His ribs creaked as he shifted and his brows knit in pain. The Elf started to place the poultice back on his shoulder, but Aldwyn shooed him away gently, taking over the position at Khyran’s side. He began working on applying a fresh bandage to the wound, which was an ugly shade of purple when Khyran glanced at it. The smell churned his stomach and he gagged shallowly again, but he was well and truly empty. Aldwyn pressed a cool cloth to his forehead, and brushed a strand of sweat soaked hair behind Khyran’s ear.
“How did I get here?” Khyran asked when he was sure he could open his mouth without retching. His voice was hardly more than a hoarse whisper, and he attempted to clear his throat, wincing when the action irritated the already sore and swollen tissues therein.
“Lirion and I carried you here,” Aldwyn said simply. Khyran raised his eyebrows questioningly, prompting Aldwyn to continue. “I saw you down an alleyway the night before last, and called out for you, but I don’t believe you heard me. As soon as the name left my lips you collapsed, and when I reached you, what did I find but a high fever, festering knife wounds, bruised face, and cracked ribs.” He paused, concern creasing his features. “What happened to you, my dear friend? How did you come to be in such a situation?”. Khyran turned away from Aldwyn’s questioning gaze, guilt written across his face.
“I--” he started slowly, and choked back a sudden sob. “I stole a loaf of bread from outside a kitchen.” He closed his eyes, not bothering to conceal his shame. “I deserved this. I didn’t earn the food, and this is my punishment.” A tear leaked out from the corner of his eye, which Aldwyn promptly thumbed away.
“You stole bread, and were attacked this brutally for it? Dear heart, this… You don’t deserve this at all,” he said as he cupped Khyran’s gaunt face in his hand and stroked his cheek with his thumb. “I wasn’t sure whether you’d last the day yesterday; that kind of punishment seems hardly fitting for taking a loaf of bread from a rubbish bin…” However, Khyran had began to weep in earnest, overcome by shame and guilt. Aldwyn carded a hand through Khyran’s sweaty hair. The quivering breaths and choked sobs soon became too much for Khyran’s churning stomach, and he started gagging afresh. Aldwyn fished out the basin again, and helped Khyran to sit then held it beneath his chin again. The frail man gagged helplessly over it, only bringing up spit and bile that dribbled into the bowl, joined by his tears as they dripped off the end of his long hooked nose. All the while Aldwyn rubbed his back and whispered soothingly to him until the fit ended with one last gurgling retch. Khyran collapsed back against the headboard, and Aldwyn wiped his eyes, nose, and lips.
“I’m sorry,” Khyran croaked out.
“My dear man, there is nothing to be sorry for. I’m glad to do this,” Aldwyn replied sincerely. Both men fell silent for a good long while, each caught up in his own thoughts. Aldwyn broke the silence after a few minutes.
“How long has it been?” he asked.
“Oh, years. Five? Six?” Khyran ventured.
“And yet we find ourselves back where we started,” said the gaunt man. He chuckled wryly.
“So it seems,” Aldwyn responded, grateful to see his friend smile. Silence settled again, but this time Khyran was the one to break it.
“I owe you doubly now,” he said, raising his dark eyes to meet Aldwyn’s blue ones.
“Nonsense! You owe me nothing, dear heart. I’m only too happy to help out.” His eyes sparkled, and Khyran saw that he was telling the truth.
“Nonetheless, you must allow me to do something for you. I don’t yet know what. But I must repay you somehow.”
“You mustn’t--!” Aldwyn started to say, but Khyran raised a hand and cut him off.
“Please, Aldwyn. It would set my mind at ease,” he said, and smiled gently when Aldwyn sighed and nodded.
Just then, the elf returned with a steaming cup of tea, which he handed to Aldwyn. “How do you feel?” he asked Khyran, his voice calming and melodic.
“Much better than I did,” Khyran replied. “Thank you for all you and Aldwyn have done for me. I truly appreciate it.”
“You won’t appreciate it quite so much when you taste this concoction he brewed for you,” Aldwyn chuckled, holding the cup far away from his face. The elf slapped him gently aback the head, and left the room again. “It’s quite rank, but it’ll help bring your fever down and clear up the rest of the infection. If you can get it down, that is…” Aldwyn held the mug out to Khyran, who accepted it warily. He held it under his nose and inhaled.
“It’s not that bad,” he said, and took a tentative sip, nearly spitting it out. He coughed a bit and held his sore ribs. “I take it back,” he said with a grimace, which quickly turned to a gently smile when Aldwyn chortled.
“Just get it down fast if you can. Better to have it than not. It’s an Elvish remedy, and it works like a charm provided you can hold it down, which might be a struggle.”
“I’ll do my best,” Khyran replied as he took another sip. “No promises,” he added.
Twenty minutes of cautious sips later, the cup was drain and Khyran was feeling thoroughly nauseous, but he could already feel his fever starting to come down. He handed the cup back to Aldwyn, and smiled weakly. He felt terrible. His stomach gurgled and churned, his shoulder throbbed, his ribs ached, and he wanted nothing more than to sleep. Aldwyn helped guide his head back onto the pillow and pulled the covers up about Khyran’s shoulders.
“Sleep well my friend,” he said as he left the room. Khyran turned onto his side and wrapped his arms around his churning gut, willing to tea to stay in place. He drifted off into a fitful sleep, only to awake an hour later as the tea rushed back up his throat and splattered across the bedspread. Aldwyn heard the noise and ran into the room with a fresh pail, shoving it hastily into Khyran’s trembling lap. He pulled Khyran’s long hair back from his face and held it out of the way, while rubbing his friend’s heaving back with the other. A gurgling retch brought a wave of tea up into the bucket, and the taste alone had Khyran burping up another mouthful immediately after. The movement hurt his cracked ribs and he cried out in pain, which only made him retch harder. He gagged and spluttered until he was completely empty, and even then continued to dry heave until his head was pounding and tears of exertion streamed down his face. Slimy tendrils of spit and bile clung to his nose and lips, and he spat heavily to rid himself of them. Aldwyn handed him a glass of water, which to gratefully accepted and rinsed the foul taste from him mouth before taking a small sip to soothe his throat. Finally he pushed the bucket away, and Aldwyn set it on the floor. Aldwyn released his hair, allowing it to fall back about his face, and offered him a damp rag to clean himself with.
“How do you feel?” Aldwyn asked, placing a comforting hand on the sick man’s shoulder.
“Terrible. Nauseous. In pain.” He considered his answer for a moment. “But better than before. The pain in my shoulder is much less than it was, and my head is clearer. And the chills are gone.”
A relieved smile broke across Aldwyn’s face. “Good! It had time to work it’s magic.” He clapped the Khyran on the back, causing the sick man to wince. “Sorry,” Aldwyn said sheepishly, and retracted his hand. “You should be just about good by the end of tomorrow, if things go well. For now, just rest and recuperate. I’ll be here should you need anything.” He helped Khyran to lay again, picked up the bucket, and turned on his heel to leave. As he turned, Khyran caught him by the wrist.
“Aldwyn,” he said. “Thank you. For everything.” Khyran’s eyes sparkled with unshed tears, and Aldwyn paused for a moment, looking at Khyran with a quizzical expression, as though he were debating something. He then leaned down and planted a gentle kiss on Khyran’s forehead. “Of course.” Aldwyn’s own eyes shown were moist, shining in the grey light of the bedroom. He brushed Khyran’s hair out of his face once more, and quietly left the room. Khyran quickly fell into a deep, dreamless, restful sleep.
As promised, Khyran was just about back to full health in two days time, any lingering effects of the infection gone. The elf returned and changed the dressing on his wound one last time before bowing deeply and wishing Khyran well. Khyran thanked him sincerely, and the elf went on his way.
Aldwyn stepped into the doorway just as Khyran finished getting dressed.
“I suppose it’s goodbye again, then,” Aldwyn said sadly.
“Yes, it is.” Khyran’s eyes met Aldwyn’s, and they both stepped forward into a tight embrace.
Aldwyn chuckled against Khyran’s neck. “I would say that I prefer ‘Until next we meet again’, but with how things have gone I’m not sure that would be the best for your health.”
“Indeed,” Khyran said as he pulled away, keeping his hands on Aldwyn’s shoulders. He smiled sadly. “So shall we promise to meet on better terms next time?”
“It’s a deal,” Aldwyn said as he wiped a tear from his own eye. “Perhaps sooner than later.”
“Yes, of course.” Khyran pulled back from his friend and rummaged around in his satchel for a moment, before grabbing Aldwyn’s hand and placing something in his palm. He closed Aldwyn’s fingers around them and held them there. “I want you to have this. Consider it my repayment for what you have done for me. It’s a relic of a time long past, and I have cherished it, but I want you to have it now.” He released Aldwyn’s hand, and the other opened his fist to reveal a beautiful medallion on a long silver chain. The stone in the middle was pure white and shone like starlight, and it was held in place by detailed silver filigree.
Aldwyn stammered, at a loss for words. He had never been given so beautiful a gift before, and found tears welling up in his eyes once again. He stepped forward and pulled Khyran into another embrace, simply whispering “Thank you. It’s beautiful.” He pulled back for the last time, and said “It was good to see you again, Khyran Oisin.”
“Same to you, Aldwyn Telperien.” Khyran’s smile seemed to shine out from deep within his eyes, that same smile that Aldwyn had not forgotten from before, nor would he ever. A beautiful, sincere smile. He then started off down the long unending road, humming a familiar tune.
“Take care! Until next time, my friend!” Aldwyn called from atop his cart. They both paused, smiled at each other once more, and waved as they went their separate way, each hoping to see the other again, but both unsure as to whether it would ever happen.
