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ancientechos · 4 years ago

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The Apothecary

Emet-Selch/Arianna ♡ 3782 words ♡ Revenant AU

Sequel to Omen of Beginning

Solus herds the woman into her home, shutting the door behind them both. The rain drumming upon the roof sounds strangely calming here. Or maybe it’s simply the house in general.

Sighing wearily, he drops her gloved hand and throws himself into the kitchen chair he’s sat at so many times before. He leans back; the front legs lift into the air. If he wants, he could probably count the leaves of the dried herbs that hang from the ceiling. He throws an arm across his face.

The clicks of he -- hooves on the floorboards rattles within his mind as she walks cautiously around him. He finally understands.

The question that instinctively comes to his lips is why did you never tell me?

But he knows the answer without having to ask.

The Garlean Empire hates her kind. Savages, revenants...the sort of humans with very inhuman features. And far more likely to be in possession of the “gift” of magic.

Slowly, he lowers his arm and lets the chair legs touch the floor once more.

“Whether you believe me or not, I have no intention of turning you in.” He presses his palm hard against the bridge of his nose. Staring at her through narrowed eyes, his gaze roves from her apprehensive expression to the hat she has yet to remove.

And the gloves...he’s never seen her so covered before. He’s seen her hands plenty of times. He is achingly curious. There must be a reason why she’s chosen to hide them.

But even he knows it would be terribly inappropriate to ask.

So instead an awkward silence drifts across them; the woman fidgeting nervously, as if she’s unsure of what to do, while Solus teeters precariously between simply letting his eyes shut and pretending this was all a dream, or getting up and leaving entirely.

Oh, he knows he can’t do that. Not in her...condition. It’s too -- dangerous to leave her like this...

Not to mention he should be getting back to his post. He can’t let the next watch catch it empty.

“It is...it’s all right...” he murmurs, though he’s not sure whether it’s to reassure himself or her. She doesn’t speak, of course. Arianna hasn’t even moved for what seems like years. He glances at her again, brows furrowing. Whatever it is that ails her...

“Just...I think you should likely stay here...until you, ah, turn -- turn back to...normal...”

The words feel like ash on his tongue, bitter and vile, and he cannot for the life of him discern why. He is simply stating facts.

He feels even worse when she turns her face away with nothing more than a stiff nod, her lips formed in a thin line. But then something like alarm or shock blooms across her features, and she quickly turns back to him with wide eyes.

Arianna’s mouth opens, then shuts; she pulls the cloth off her basket, removing her book.

I was going to the market. I need to buy something.

Such had been his assumption, of course. Though he knows not what -- it’s plain as day that she can’t go anywhere as she is.

“Perhaps I could get them for you. Just...” He speaks over her stare of blank astonishment. “Make a list for me, and I’ll bring them over.”

No need for coin, is what he wants to say, but the thought of not knowing what she needs makes him pause.

“What were you looking to buy? Or get?”

His intention is to leave no room for argument, and yet she musses gloved fingers over the creases of her book anyway. Does she not wish to burden him? Or is she anxious for another reason? Solus shifts upon the chair, armour creaking lightly.

“As I said before, I shan’t report you. There’s no need. So...” He clears his throat. “Please, don’t be afraid. All right?”

Arianna’s green eyes peer at him from beneath the brim of her hat. Her teeth sink into her lower lip. But eventually, the tenseness seeps from her limbs, and she gives him a small nod.

Ah, good. She trusts him.

He isn’t sure whether he’s relieved or...pleased by this revelation.

It’s a few moments before she begins to write for him. Never before has he ever been bored waiting for her, but this time he finds himself almost restlessly anxious, awaiting her neatly printed words. It feels like an eternity until she wordlessly pushes the book toward him.

Down the second alley on third street, there is a small herb shop with a large bell in the window. An elderly woman owns it. I need the following ingredients: 3 stalks of blabberwort, 1 vial of pixie dust, 2 bunches of foxmittens, and 1 pouch of pumpkin seeds.

________

Solus has never heard of any of those ingredients, apart from the seeds, but then again he has never been especially interested in potionmaking...or witchcraft, anyway.

Because, that is what it is -- he’s sickeningly aware. Witchcraft. These likely aren’t normal ingredients.

Aside from the pumpkin seeds.

Alchemy, he confesses, he has been curious about, but never had an opportunity to try.

She had endeavoured to give him a pouch of coins, though he had pushed it back to her. There would be no need. He -- doesn’t want her to have to pay for this errand. It’s the least he can do after she had nearly been caught.

Though there is no particular reason he should be doing this. He simply. Wants to.

Cyrus is already where Solus should be, his hair tied back in its customary ponytail. His grin is easy and friendly beneath the lamplight.

“Lucky it was me coming on after you.” He tilts his head in curiosity. “Where were you? Chasing after ghosts?”

“None of your business right now, Cyrus.” Solus sighs, coming to a halt in front of him. His shoulders sag. “...But I’d appreciate you not breathing a word of it.” Whatever sting there is behind his words, Cyrus doesn’t seem to feel it.

“‘Course not -- I wouldn’t dream of it.”

Solus believes him. Why ever would he not? “Thank you.”

“Nonsense! However...” He trails off uncertainly, his gaze worried. “Everything all right? It’s not like you to just leave your post.”

Yet another sigh. There’s that -- prickly feeling again, but not because of Arianna this time. “I’ll explain...another time.” Briefly, he pats the other man upon the shoulder. “All right?”

This might be a lie. He’s not really sure if he can even explain this. Or if it’s his place to. But surely, if anyone could understand, it would be his best friend, no?

-- And yet he grimaces to think of the danger this would undoubtedly put him in.

“Hey, it’s okay.” Cyrus’ smile is just as effortless as it always is. “Whatever you’re dealing with right now, it’s fine.” His expression turns mischievous. “Even if you just needed an impulsive romp with the tea girl.” His utterly hilarious joke is punctuated by mirthful laughter as he slaps a hand against Solus’ shoulder in kind.

Solus, meanwhile, grits his teeth, exhaling loudly. Cyrus can already tell that he’s completely unamused by his harmless jab. How does he even manage to be so enthusiastic in this weather?

“Oh, come now, don’t be so sour.”

“...I have some business to attend to,” the Garlean soldier says smoothly, doing his best to straighten his furrowed brows. “So, if you’ll excuse me...”

“Oh, surely, I wouldn’t want to keep your rendezvous waiting.”

“Do shut up, Cyrus. I’ll see you shortly.”

He counts the streets as he walks. It doesn’t take him long to realise she hadn’t mentioned which side the alley ought to be on, but the bell isn’t difficult to notice. From the outside in the dim lighting, the place seems to be some sort of dingy, tiny apothecary. He’s somewhat surprised it’s even still open at this hour.

Though -- perhaps only a few people would know to look for it.

That sense of prickly unease returns; for some reason, Solus holds his breath as he grips the handle to drag himself into the unassuming shop. It’s not too much larger than Arianna’s parlour, though instead of being...a house and a treatment area, this is very much simply a store. There’s none of the amenities he associates to her cottage, albeit the scent is...similar.

Not exactly the same.

His gaze quickly finds an elderly woman toward the left side of the store, behind a large counter. And, for all her years and her wizened appearance, she’s not slow to notice him, either. Her gaze is piercing as the Garlean soldier puts on his best plastic smile.

Instead of approaching her, he takes his time to wander through the shelves of dried and boxed herbs and other eccentricities. The pumpkin seeds are not difficult to find, and he quickly snatches up one bag, as had been asked of him. But the painful minutes pass, and he cannot find anything even remotely approaching blabberwort, pixie dust, or foxmittens. It’s becoming disconcertingly clear that he’ll need to ask that old woman for help...

And that these are not the sort of ingredients they want Garleans to see.

Pixie dust. Not a single man of Garlemald would admit to the existence of “pixies”, much less their dust.

With a heavy sigh, he finally makes his way to the woman behind the counter.

“Good evening, ma’am. Terrible weather we’re having, no?” No response. He resists the urge to shrug, and clears his throat, setting the seeds upon the counter. He’s read over the piece of paper Arianna had given him countless times before, and recites it calmly. “I was informed I could find...blabberwort, pixie dust, and foxmittens here. I can’t seem to find them on your shelves, however; would you mind giving me a hand?”

He had thought the amounts for each to be somewhat...small, for whatever it is she needs them for, but perhaps she thinks this is the best way to not trouble him. He hadn’t been about to argue with her.

The silence stretches on uncomfortably; Solus thinks he can hear the rain outside.

“Blabberwort...?” the woman echoes, her brows knitting together. “I’m afraid I have no idea what you are talking about. There is no such herb, as far as I know.”

Ah, of course. She knows nothing. Her gaze flicks from his face to the hilt of his gunblade for the barest of instances.

“I know...I know, I am far from your regular customers,” Solus says, after a moment of thought. “But I -- know, from a reliable source, that I might find what I seek here.”

The woman crosses her arms, her eyes narrowing further into near-indiscernible slits. “And who might this ‘reliable source’ be?”

His jaw clenches, teeth grinding together. He had hoped he wouldn’t have had to reveal her name. But -- surely the herbalist must frequent this shop...if she had asked him to come here, no...?

“...Miss Rowen requested I retrieve these items for her.”

“Arianna?” Her hands slam upon the counter with more force than expected, jangling metal bracelets. “What have you done with her?”

“Nothing, I have done nothing, she is fine -- ”

“Then why is she not here herself?”

“She asked me to -- she’s -- ”

“Forgive me if I don’t believe you, Garlean.”

A low growl builds at the back of his throat; this old harpy is testing his patience. Regardless that she has every right to be wary of him.

“Listen to me,” he hisses out, “if I had truly wanted to, I could have simply burnt this shop to the ground. I’ve no intention of harming or hurting anyone here, she -- she -- ”

He fumbles with his satchel pocket and pulls out the neatly folded note, spreading it upon the counter for her to see.

“She asked me to bring them for her. See?”

The woman stares at the parchment with narrowed eyes. Her fingers trace the edge.

“It certainly looks like her handwriting...”

“Because it is. And no, before you ask, I didn’t press a gun to her head and demand her to write it for me. She asked. I promise this.” At the very least.

“Why isn’t she here?”

Oh, for the love of --

“And how long have you known?”

The soldier rolls his eyes skyward. “She’s sick, I’ll have you know. Which is why I’ve come in her stead.” Not technically a lie, he supposes. “And I’ve -- ”

“And don’t you try to lie to me, young man.”

Solus’ jaw clenches as he glares at her, arms crossed. “...She told me just a few bells past.” If telling and falling over pavement could be considered the same. A sharp exhale leaves him. “Now, I am trying to help her, so if you wouldn’t mind” -- he slams his coin purse on the counter, the coins within jingling -- “I would like to buy what she asked for.”

Instead of responding, the old woman levels him with a sharp gaze. Not about to be cowed, the man stares back.

The tension breaks as the woman smirks, though she does not speak to him. She claps her wrinkly hands together.

“Shtola! You heard the man. What do you think?”

A woman with eyes as silver as her hair shuffles out the back of the shop, her fingertips gently dragging along one of the shelves as she moves to lean against the wall. Something feels off about her -- her -- movements...? She does not look directly at him --

“He seems honest.” Her head tilts. “But that is just what I can assume from his voice. There’s far more, I recall, that can be discerned from a man’s expression.”

“He certainly has spirit...more than I can say about most of them.”

“And I don’t think Arianna would ask simply anyone. Come to think of it, she did mention talking to a ‘charming Garlean soldier’ last she visited...”

“Psh. I’ve seen nothing charming about this one.”

The silver-haired woman begins to laugh.

-- More than the apparent revelation that Arianna had described him as charming, he’s somewhat confounded as to how a mute and an apparently blind woman might even begin talk to one another at all. But more importantly than that --

“Forgive me for the interruption, but I really must be getting back to her...”

“What is your name?” the younger of the two women (Shtola?) suddenly asks. Her gaze is unseeing and yet still manages to be sharp as flint. “We will at least know if you are lying then. I doubt she would have had the inclination to mention her beau’s name to someone who held her hostage.”

Beau...? They certainly do take great joy in teasing him.

“...My name is Solus dus Galvus.”

The old woman glances at the younger. “I believe she did mention a ‘Solus’.”

“But perchance he has betrayed her trust...?”

“Mmm...too true...there is no way to properly tell, is there -- ”

Do they really intend to just sit around gossiping like old women while Arianna waits white-knuckled in her own home?

“The longer you two stand prattling about,” Solus snaps, breaking their musings, “the longer it will take me to return to her, and the larger the chances of her being discovered are. Are you going to allow me to help her, or not?”

Even Shtola’s eyes seem to widen. Then her lips curve into a knowing smile.

“...I will get what you need. How many of each was it, again?”

He wants to ask how a blind woman should be taking any of his orders, but bites his tongue. The old woman reads off the list, and the silver-haired woman gives a nod. Solus leaves the shop a few minutes later, small brown bag in hand.

“Take care of her, will you?” the old woman asks just before he reaches the door.

“...Why would I not?”

The air outside is crisp and welcoming after the cloying stickiness of that little hovel. Cyrus’ gaze immediately finds the nondescript little bag as he exits the marketplace.

“Sol, I had no idea you had it in you...to buy...”

“...What?” He can practically hear the laughter threatening to break free from Cyrus’ throat. He has a feeling he won’t like whatever he’s about to say, but he bites anyway.

“Contraceptives...”

“I swear to whatever gods are left in this sorry world...”

________

The soldier knocks upon the door to make his presence known, then lightly touches upon the doorknob; it is unlocked. He makes his way within.

Not much has changed in the cottage -- except the scent of it all is far more welcoming than before. And -- she has gotten a fire going. Arianna stokes it gently, glancing up at him with first a hint of wariness, and then a shy smile.

“I’ve brought what you asked for,” Solus says as he approaches, carefully holding the bag out to her. She takes it from him gently, peering into it, and giving him a tiny nod of satisfaction. Placing it upon her table, she quickly retrieves her book for him.

Thank you, very much. I will give you money back in compensation.

Solus shakes his head, sighing slightly. “I’ve already said, there’s no need for that.”

Her brows furrow, but she does not try to argue.

Do you mind waiting here for a bit? I will not be long.

“Not at all. Take whatever time you need.” He still feels the chill and the stifling unease of his impromptu adventures; it should be nice to warm up by the hearth before he has to go. He stoops to sit near the fireplace upon a cushion laid out beside it. After a moment’s thought, he decides to remove his gauntlets, and draws his chilled hands near the flames.

He almost doesn’t notice when Arianna leaves, the crinkling of the bag the only indication she has gone. He wonders what she’s doing with those ingredients. And, come to think of it -- how has she...avoided detection for so long? The unease he had felt around her before...

Even now, he can feel it disintegrating, burnt away by the fire, stifled and snuffed out by the calming scents within her home. It almost makes him not want to think.

He has no idea how much time passes, but he more feels than hears her return. Glancing upward, he nearly jolts in surprise upon finally seeing her --

She’s removed the hat, the gloves and now -- now she simply stands before him as she always has. There’s not a thing strange or inhuman about her -- he suspects that even if he were to lift the hem of her skirt, he would see naught but human feet there.

“Ah, you are...back to -- normal, then...” Just like before, the words have an unpleasant taste to them. He’s not sure why.

Things should feel normal now, too, but instead they simply feel...off.

Arianna gives another small nod, arranging her skirts as she comes to sit near him. Her fingers push a few strands of dark hair behind her ears; he can’t help but wonder how her hands had looked earlier...beneath those gloves of hers...

And what had she been hiding with her hat?

Green eyes meet his, before she looks away, biting at her lower lip. Her hands quickly find her book once more. This time, it takes her a while to write, though the wait is not at all unpleasant. The crackling of the fire and the sound of her writing utensil against the paper put him at ease. He smiles at her faintly once she passes the book to him.

I suppose I should explain. The ingredients I asked you to get -- the blabberwort, pixie dust, foxmittens, and pumpkin seeds -- are used in a sort of alchemical potion called a glamour. I normally still have some, but this time I was careless.

There’s a strange flush to her cheeks, he notes as he reads. Or perhaps simply the firelight?

Our kind -- I believe you call us “revenants” -- use this potion to hide our inhuman features. It is simple enough to make, and typically lasts a while...and the ingredients are not too difficult to find, if you know how. Still, I was not did not think properly, and I apologise. I apologise that you had to go through this trouble for me.

This time, he has to speak, sighing lightly as he shakes his head. “It wasn’t any trouble.” Much of one, anyway. That is not a lie. “So please, don’t worry about it.” He looks up at her over the book, and offers her another smile. Instead of nodding, or even smiling in kind, she looks away skittishly. Had he done something wrong...?

And I must thank you, for not wanting to tell anyone about it. And for helping me. I truly cannot properly convey my thanks to you. Or my appreciation, for not throw casting me aside. Thank you, Solus. Is there anything I might do for you?

As he reads the last few lines of her note to him, he hears Cyrus’ treacherous voice at the back of his head. Idiot --

Clearing his throat, he has to resist the urge to slam the book shut. It would do naught but alarm the innocent herbalist sitting all too close to him.

Innocent. Perhaps in the past, he would have scoffed at the word. And yet...

Yet he knows without a doubt that he would never tell anyone else about this secret of theirs. Certainly no one he wouldn’t trust with his life.

“All I ask for is a cup of tea before I leave. Couldn’t possibly leave without one of those, eh?”

Her expression of bewilderment fades into a relieved smile, punctuated by a soft blush. Gently, she tears out several pages from her book. Holding the parchment in her hand, she glances toward her fireplace, and then hesitates.

May I have the list of ingredients I gave you, please?

“Of course.”

He watches as she quietly burns the evidence of their forbidden conversation.

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