#and giving him his mantle in northreach…

[beantothemax]

I hate him.

The first feelings Therion had towards Alfyn Greengrass were hatred and bitterness.

How could this yokel country boy have so much optimism about everything? Even that kid, Tressa, knew that not everything was fine and dandy in the world, and she had dreams of becoming a merchant, of all things.

But this overly-generous grass-stained bumpkin insisted on being grossly positive about everything, even going so far as to refuse payment for his services.

It was infuriating.

Yet, as the days passed, that overly cheerful demeanour began to grow on him.

Alfyn's smiles and bad jokes were commonplace, and eventually a welcome thing in the group. Even H'aanit joined in the joking. If the stoic, righteous do-good hunter could appreciate Alfyn's humour, why the hell couldn’t he?

Then something shifted. Therion couldn’t even pinpoint when.

Maybe it was when he gave Alfyn his shawl in Stillsnow. At the time, Therion had brushed off the tender moment as him trying to keep the resident Medicine Man alive since he seemed incapable of self-preservation.

But had that really been true...?

Therion remembered their time in Wellspring, when the heat grew unbearable and he’d had to take his shawl and scarf off. Until that time, he had kept them on stubbornly, even in Sunshade when they found Primrose. Now, he knew he had to take them off lest he die of overheating.

He had heard enough horror stories (and complaints about his choice of garment) from the local apothecary in Boulderfall to know that overheating meant a slow, painful death was guaranteed. So, he (albeit reluctantly) took off his precious purple shawl and scarf, and tied them both around his waist.

Therion remembered the look Alfyn had given him. Automatically assessing all the scars that littered his forearms and neck, and furrowing his brow when he saw the more gnarly ones, the frustrating ones that hadn’t healed right or had gone untreated after an infection. It was really a miracle Therion hadn’t died yet, in all honesty.

Therion would never forget the way Alfyn had sat down in their room at the inn and asked if he had any injuries that needed tending to. He would never forget the feeling of Alfyn’s surprisingly gentle fingers working at a cut he’d sustained from a Ratking. He’d nevee forget the warmth that bloomed in the cold pit of his chest for the first time since-

....Green was starting to change for him.

What had really changed Therion’s view of Alfyn, though, was after the fight with Darius in Northreach. The thief was shivering from the cold and his own tears freezing on his cheeks, when he felt an added warmth on his shoulders, and smelled a familiar scent. Grass and herbs.

Therion looked up from the ground at Alfyn’s face, concern and kindness etched deep into his eyes.

“...Really...? You’re giving a thief your mantle, a symbol of trust?” He’d asked.

Without missing a beat, Alfyn had replied with: “I trust you.”

“...Oh.”

Oh.

That night, Alfyn had held him close and let him sob until he could cry no longer, Alfyn had messed up his hair and traced the scar on his face and kissed it and suddenly Therion knew exactly what that warmth was in his chest.

Love. Love, love, love, love. He loved Alfyn. Aeber help him, he had fallen in love with Alfyn and Alfyn loved him too.

And now here they were, years and months later, back in Alfyn’s little town of Clearbrooke. Therion wore green and had the Riverlands' drawl and clipped his hair out of his face while he concoted tinctures and salves with the man he loved so dearly. Now here he was, with sleeves rolled up to reveal gnarly scars long since healed, however incorrectly.

Now here he was, not quite a faded scar, but healed in all the right ways.

And all the thoughts and emotions Therion had towards Alfyn were as different as he himself was from the beginning of his journey.

I love him.

MAV YOU CAN’T JUST HIT ME WITH THE FIRST AND LAST SENTENCE CONTRAST!!!!!!!!!!! GAH!!!!!!!!!