Chapter Text
Alfyn fell to his knees next to Therion as the air began to settle. The first one Therion traveled with, and the first to reach his side now. He frantically tugged and yanked, revealing Therion’s chest beneath his clothing.
Flecks of snow hung in the air like the stars fallen to earth, glimmering brilliantly in the rising moonlight. The silence of winter hung over the cathedral, broken only by Therion’s ragged breaths. Darius was nowhere to be seen - he had fled in the white out. Primrose and Tressa made their way over. Primrose bled from several shallow cuts. Tressa’s eye was blooming black.
“Alfyn?” Primrose asked. She hit her knees too. Her fingers ran through Therion’s hair, trembling.
Therion didn’t think it was from the cold.
“There’s nothing I can do,” Alfyn said. His fingers traced blackened veins across Therion’s skin, right to his heart.
“Outta time,” Therion sighed. “I won’t be able… to get the last… damn stone.”
“If it’s any consolation, I’m pretty sure Cyrus is killing Heathcote right now.” Tressa’s voice was wet and shaking.
“Mm,” Therion said. He didn’t have the energy to worry about that. He could trust Cyrus to handle a rogue mage anyway. “Wanted to tell him…”
“Just hold on,” Alfyn said. “He’s on his way. Just a little longer.”
Therion breathed, in and out. “Best months of my life,” he said. “Thanks for keeping my secrets, brother.”
“Of course,” Alfyn said. “Of course, Teri.”
“Prim,” Therion said. “I’ll tell Yusufa for you. I’ll -”
Tears splattered across Therion’s cheeks from above. “She’ll watch out for you,” Primrose said. “She always watches out for newcomers.”
Therion could feel the rot in his veins. Could feel each thump of his own heart. It was getting slower.
…He didn’t want to die. He didn’t want. He didn’t want to leave them.
“Therion.”
Cyrus crossed the cathedral faster than he’d ever moved in his life.
“Cyrus,” Therion breathed.
Cyrus looked him over. Traced the black veins. Therion’s right side was so dark with the curse entire patches of skin were hidden beneath it. His right eye was dark, the green popping even more vividly against black. Long, stretching veins crossed his chest to pierce his heart, moving raggedly up and down. His lips were tinged blue.
“Did you win?”
“Naturally,” Cyrus said. “I could hardly let one fallen so far from humanity defeat me.”
Therion snickered faintly. “Cocky,” he said. It sounded soft and fond. “I like that in a man.”
“As it happens, so do I,” Cyrus said. He could faintly hear Primrose weeping, H’aanit murmuring lowly. Olberic pulling Tressa away. “Cocky, stupid, reckless, invariably dangerous -”
“Lucky… me…” Therion said.
“-and frequently good,” Cyrus said. “How could I - how could I not?”
“Sorry.” Therion lifted his good hand to run over Cyrus’s jaw. It was as cold as the stone beneath his knees. “Never meant to find people to love, in the end.”
“Never apologize for that. Never,” Cyrus said.
“Mm,” Therion said.
“I love you,” Cyrus said. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”
“Don’t let Prim fight Simeon alone,” Therion said.
“I won’t.”
“Don’t fight Lucia alone.”
“...I will endeavor to obey.”
“Liar.”
Cyrus pressed his forehead to Therion’s. His own ragged breathing matched Therion’s - only Therion’s grew fainter, and fainter. “Love you… too,” Therion sighed.
Cyrus wanted to taste it just once. He caught Therion’s last breath with his lips. Therion’s lips were cold already, moving gently against his own. It was a kiss hello. It was a kiss goodbye. It was the only one he would ever get. It was nothing more and nothing less than -
“Oh my fuckin’ god,” Alfyn said. “Really? This whole fuckin’ time -”
“Alfyn,” Tressa hissed.
“Fuckin’ hell Therion, I’m gonna kill you myself -”
“Alfyn!”
“Huh,” Therion said. He drew in air. A deeper breath. “I’m tired.”
“You fucker -”
Cyrus watched in awe as the black lines began to recede from Therion’s heart. As his eyes closed and his skin flushed and the darkness leeched from his veins. As his breathing steadied, and his lips regained their color.
“True love’s kiss,” Ophilia said. “The bane of any dark magic.”
“Let go of me, I’m gonna kill him -”
Therion kept breathing, the darkness receding as his eyes fell shut.
Cyrus collapsed on top of him. “You drama queen,” he said, fondness in every word. The exhaustion of the day crashed over him. Therion had the right idea, Cyrus thought. A nap sounded marvelous.
Gentle fingers stroked through Cyrus’s hair. He felt warm, a soft blanket tucked in around his shoulders. There was some magic in it - like a coiled snake, sunning on a stone.
“-scared him. Scared us.”
“Sorry,” Therion said. “It wasn’t on purpose.”
“As long as you don’t do it again,” Primrose replied. “Finish your soup.”
“Ugh.”
“If you keep the soup down, I’ll sneak you some toast.”
“Alfyn’s going to hover for ages.” Therion’s hand paused. “Hm.”
“Well, you’ve got a lot of healing to do, curse reversed or not.” Cyrus heard footsteps and the sound of a door opening. “I’ll be right back.” The door closed.
Cyrus opened his eyes, blinking against the light. Cyrus looked up at Therion. Therion was still too pale and gaunt, and had light shadows under his eyes. His hand on Cyrus’s hair was weak. But his eyes were clear, green on white, and only a few faint grey tracings of veins remained, pale as healed scars. The constant furrow of pain across his forehead was smooth.
“Idiot,” Therion murmured. “Can’t you go one day without magically exhausting yourself?”
“Oh, like you have room to talk,” Cyrus grumbled. He yawned and sat up, pulling the blanket in around his shoulders.
“I suppose that’s fair.” Therion shifted, leaning back against the pillows piled behind him. “Go on, let it out. Everyone else has had their turn already, and you’re sure to get some lectures of your own.”
“I find I do not feel like lecturing,” Cyrus said. Instead, he reached out and wrapped his fingers around Therion’s wrist, finding the heartbeat there.
“It would detract from the prince charming aesthetic you have going on,” Therion said.
“You think I’m charming?”
Therion didn’t have his shawl, and his aborted shift of movement did nothing to hide the pink flooding his cheeks. “I didn’t say that.”
“I think you are rather charming,” Cyrus said. He watched the pink deepen into red with delight.
“Stop that,” Therion said.
“Hm, no,” Cyrus said. “I don’t think I will.”
Therion ducked his head a little. “Good,” he said, very quietly. Then, louder, “I heard you put on quite a show fighting my mortal nemesis on my behalf.”
“Our nemesis, love,” Cyrus said. Mostly to see if Therion would blush again, which he did. “Naturally I defeated him in grand fashion.”
“I suppose that means it’s my turn. H’aanit said we were planning to stop in Duskbarrow next. Something about a mage with a book you’re after?”
“Ah, yes.” Cyrus sighed. “The woman who ambushed me in Stoneguard. We should be on much more even footing now that you’ve released three of the four great elemental spirits from captivity.”
“...I did what now?”
There was still a long road ahead of them. The mages waiting in Duskbarrow, and the last Dragonstone, and Alfyn said something about looking into a miracle cure deep in the Cliftlands. As Cyrus lifted Therion’s hand to press a kiss to the clear, unblackened skin, he found himself rather looking forward to it.
By the intrigue and curiosity in Therion’s eyes as Cyrus launched into an explanation on elemental spirits, his theories on their role in the growth of dark magic in the past centuries, and the renewed possibilities of earth magic, Therion felt the same.
Cyrus’s lips curved into a smile that Therion matched helplessly. The road ahead looked much shorter, with love coiled over his shoulders, feeling like a snake basking in sunshine. It would be frequently dangerous, Cyrus was sure.
But invariably good.