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This isn’t what Throndir wanted. That’s all he can think, in those first few hours, as the world shifts around him. He goes through the motions to keep up, but numbly.
He can’t bring himself to look at Ephrim.
The group stops and makes camp for the night, and Throndir sets up his tent a little way away from the others, then sits on the damp ground outside it as dusk falls. He almost jumps when something soft touches his palm, but it’s just Kodiak– soft and warm, the dog whines and presses his nose into Throndir’s hand again.
“Shh, it’s okay,” Throndir tells him, reaching to sling an arm around him. He presses his face into Kodiak’s fur, and closes his eyes.
All he can see is the way Ephrim had looked, sprawled out and bloody and so horribly, unmistakably dead, for an awful instant. Ephrim, always so full of fire and life, finally still, it– Throndir hadn’t known what to do. He’d panicked. He’d–
The worst thing is that he feels good, now. Physically, even though each breath feels like a struggle. More alert, stronger, like he’d been starving himself for so long and finally got to–
“I’m going to be sick,” he tells Kodiak. Kodiak woofs. “I can never speak to him again. I should–” Kodiak woofs more intently, and a footstep crunches on the leafy floor.
“I’d appreciate it if you’d consult me before making any decisions about how much you can speak to me,” Ephrim says, and Throndir looks up slowly.
Ephrim’s got cleaned up, now. He isn’t covered in blood anymore. That’s good. He looks better, too, cheeks full of colour, eyes sharp, Throndir remembers when he’d just been turned and for a moment felt more alive than he ever had before. “Hi,” Throndir manages.
“Hey. Can I…” he gestures at the ground, and Throndir shrugs, so Ephrim sits across from him on the damp leaflitter. “I wanted to talk to you.”
“Yeah,” Throndir says. “I– you would, after–”
“Yeah.” Ephrim draws a breath. “I just– I know there’s a certain weight of… tradition. In your Golden Lance. And I just wanted to say, you don’t have any, like, obligation to me. Or anything. It was a rough fight, you needed people on their feet, you did what you had to, you saved my life, but…” He trails off, studying Throndir’s face. “I’ll leave, if that would help resolve this situation.”
Throndir stares at Ephrim like he’s grown a second head. “What are you…?”
Ephrim makes an impatient gesture. “You said, when I… woke up. You said, ‘I’ve made a mistake.’ I know we’re friends, and have been travelling companions for some time, but there’s no need to sacrifice anything over it.”
“I– of course it was a mistake. Now you’re– you’re like me.”
It’s Ephrim’s turn to look at him in confusion. His eyes are a warmer brown than Throndir’s ever seen them before.
“I think we have very different ideas of the definition of mistake,” Ephrim says carefully. “You saved my life.”
“I– you know what I’ve done to you, right? It’s not… I haven’t saved you. Just cursed you, differently.”
“Throndir,” he says. “When– what did it feel like? When you were turned?”
“I was dead,” he says, fingers still wrapped in Kodiak’s fur. Kodiak nuzzles against him, sensing his distress, and Throndir leans on him. “And I saw a woman I didn’t know, but then I– it felt like being picked up by the scruff of my neck, you know, but not in a bad way, in a, like, I was a rowdy kitten kind of way. Victoria’s like that. And then I was awake again.”
Ephrim draws his legs up to his chest and pulls his cloak tighter around his shoulders. Throndir looks at him and begins to realise that he doesn’t look angry or outraged, just… scared and tired. “It didn’t feel like that for me,” he says. “For me, it was like when you put your arm over my shoulders when we’re at a tavern or have been drinking or something. And then I could breathe again. But now you won’t–” the frustration bleeds through into his tone. “Now you won’t look at me. I won’t be your burden.”
Throndir pats Kodiak’s side and nods towards Ephrim, and the big dog pads over and puts his head on Ephrim’s knees. He doesn’t know how to offer any other kind of comfort, hopes Ephrim can read the gesture for what it is. Ephrim pets Kodiak’s head, not taking his eyes off Throndir.
“That isn’t what I meant,” Throndir says. “I just. I panicked. I didn’t think. I just wanted you here again. It was selfish, I didn’t ask–”
“I was dead, Throndir,” Ephrim says dryly. “You couldn’t have asked if you wanted to.”
“That’s exactly the point, I– you were dead. You were– Fuck, what have I done?”
Ephrim gently nudges Kodiak til he can reach forward and grab Throndir’s hand. He squeezes it, before pulling back. Neither of them have pulses anymore. “You saved my life.”
“Okay,” Throndir says miserably.
“I’m not angry,” he continues. “And I can still leave, if that’s what you’d prefer. You don’t owe me anything.”
“No,” Throndir says, a little surprised by how rough his voice comes out. Wasn’t that the point of all of this? He wants Ephrim close. “No, stay.”
Ephrim looks relieved despite himself. “I will.”
“You know, then, that the Golden Lance, they’ll probably make us partners or something.”
“You say that like it’s a warning,” Ephrim says, “Not like you’re a trusted friend.”
Throndir almost laughs out of sheer incredulity. “I turned you into a monster and I still count as a trusted friend.”
“Stop it,” Ephrim says, standing and brushing himself off. “You saved my life. I won’t hear anyone say otherwise, not even you.”
Throndir doesn’t say wait til you see what it's like before you decide this is a life. But he knows Ephrim can see it in his eyes.
–
The matching badges feel oddly like a promise. They travel quick and light, Kodiak padding by their side, and Ephrim wasn’t built for endurance like Throndir was, but he finds he doesn’t have any issues keeping up now. Hunting Arrell wasn’t something they needed to talk about. Wordlessly, side by side, they’d started packing.
Ephrim can’t stop looking at the collar of Throndir’s jacket, though, where he knows his Golden Lance badge is tucked on the inside. They pass through wild lands and then back into villages, following whispers of a strange wizard. Ephrim’s badge is on a chain tucked into his coat pocket. He doesn’t think he trusts the Golden Lance, but he trusts Throndir, and if this lets them hunt down the wizard that did this to them, that’s alright with him. It’s enough, for now.
They travel by night. Throndir doesn’t sleep, and Ephrim knows he doesn’t need to either anymore, but it’s a hard habit to break, so he dozes by Throndir’s side as the sun sets. When they pass back into villages, they stay for a while, asking around, listening for tell tale signs – slow justice, so slow it makes Ephrim dig his nails into his palms with frustration. He wasn’t built for endurance, and definitely not for patience.
“A wizard!” the barkeep exclaims, pausing as she pours another drink and passes it to Ephrim. He’d been letting Throndir do the talking, sitting sullenly by his side and casting glares at anyone who’d looked at them too hard. Throndir had chatted, friendly, worked up to the real question, and now the barkeep puts both her hands on the bar and leans closer. “Well,” she says, “It’s funny you should mention, actually.”
“Oh?” Throndir says, smiling warmly. He doesn’t think he’s any good at this kind of stuff, but Ephrim knows he’s wrong. Throndir’s charm is not like Ephrim’s, but it works on everyone, honest and uncomplicated. Ephrim still winces to think of those awful hours after he’d first been turned when Throndir was avoiding him and the world had turned upside down.
“Yeah, yeah, the next village over, they’ve been having some trouble, actually. People going missing, sometimes so thoroughly that people can’t even remember their names. A real bad situation, that one. I’d steer clear, if I were you gents.”
“We appreciate the warning,” Throndir says. He glances at Ephrim to see how much of his drink he has left, and Ephrim takes another swig. It tastes awful, and Ephrim relishes it. Maybe he’s feeling a little self destructive tonight. Self destructive, and hungry.
“What did you say you do, again?” the woman asks, and Ephrim drains his glass and puts it down with a clink.
“We’re hunters,” he says, before Throndir can answer– the first time he’s spoken that night, beyond courtesies.
As they leave the inn, Kodiak bounding up to them the moment they step out the door, Throndir leans in to whisper, “One of the men in there was looking at you.”
Ephrim just raises his eyebrows. “That does happen, yes.”
“No, I mean–” Throndir sounds flustered. “Like he was looking for a mark.”
“Ah,” he says. “Damn.”
Throndir snorts, and Ephrim elbows him as they walk. “Don’t pretend you didn’t know what I was like when you signed up for this,” he says, then realises the accusation that sounds like, and sighs. Neither of them had exactly signed up for this. Throndir’s gone tense by his side, but he lets Ephrim take his arm. “That isn’t what I meant.”
“I know,” Throndir says. “Don’t look, but he’s still following us.”
“Two against one,” Ephrim murmurs. “A bold choice.”
“Three,” Throndir corrects. “Don’t forget Kodiak.”
“Of course.”
Kodiak is walking by Throndir’s side, and Ephrim can see the dog resisting the instinct to bark at their shadower, but he follows his training well, giving no sign that they know they’re being followed.
“Do you think he knows what we are?” Ephrim says. They’re talking quietly, heads close, arms still linked, and he knows how it must look and that almost makes him feel more reckless than ever.
“If he did, I can’t imagine he’d be trying to rob us at swordpoint.”
They reach the end of main street, turn off into an alley, unlit. They both know what they’re doing. A chance to turn back. Their shadow doesn’t take it.
They feed. Not enough to kill this man, this hapless thief, and not enough to quench hunger, really, but enough that this man will think twice before attacking a pair of strangers leaving a bar next time. It’s Throndir who grabs Ephrim’s shoulder, and pulls him away, still out of breath, saying “Enough, leave it.”
“Fine,” Ephrim says, almost a snap, but he lets it go. Throndir’s right, and he knows it.
They travel onwards all through the night, moving towards the village with the stories of the rogue wizard. These stories spread and spiral, and the likelihood of finding Arrell here is low– what would a wizard of his calibre be doing tormenting a village in the middle of the plains, after all– but they can’t afford to miss the chance for another piece of the trail.
Ephrim plays with the badge in his pocket. The badges feel like a promise, or an omen. He doesn’t think it’s one that signals any kind of a happy ending.
“Throndir,” he says, stopping. The road is deserted, dawn just beginning to tint the frosted ground with the first hints of sunlight, and Throndir stops too and squints against the horizon at him.
“You good?”
He takes a step forward and puts his hand on Throndir’s cheek. His face is cold, frost crystals caught in his beard. Throndir stares at him with wide eyes.
“I–” he says. Then he lets his hand fall. He turns away, and says “No, it doesn’t matter. Let’s keep going.”
“Okay,” Throndir says, voice very soft. “C’mon, Kodiak.”
–
So while there was still no sign of Arrell, that village hedgewizard had been a nasty piece of work, and that’s how Throndir finds himself leaning on Ephrim as they limp up the stairs into a tavern room Ephrim had paid far too much gold to get on short notice with no questions asked. Throndir’s jacket is drawn tight, and it’s dark enough that no one has spotted the blood.
“Is he dead?” Throndir wheezes, as Ephrim pushes the door open and almost drags him inside. It had all got a bit blurry after he’d taken the magic blast to the chest.
“Yes,” Ephrim says, clipped and angry, and he helps Throndir sit down one of the twin beds in the low attic room and turns to lock the door. Once he’s certain no one can disturb them, he turns and lights the lamp, and brings it over to the bed. “He– I lost my temper.”
“I’m alright,” Throndir says. He pulls his hand away from his chest and looks at it in the flickering lamplight, sees his hand is soaked red with blood, and grimaces. “I think.”
“You’re a self sacrificing bastard,” Ephrim says. He sits on the bed next to Throndir and pushes his hands away from his chest, carefully begins to pull his jacket clear. “Let me see.”
Throndir lets him do whatever he likes. The thing is, since he’d turned Ephrim, he knows they’ve both been aware of the other in a way they never had before. Like a thread of spidersilk suspended between them, not a tie, just a connection– it’s what he feels with Victoria, too, but he’s never had the chance to speak to anyone else about it. But this wizard, while being no Arrell, had been kidnapping and sacrificing people to the name of some long forgotten god, and as such, he’d got angry at being disturbed. Ephrim had moved quick, but the wizard had moved quicker, and for a heartbeat, all Throndir had been able to feel was panic, his own and Ephrim’s mirrored. Throwing himself between Ephrim and the blast was the easiest choice he'd ever made.
Now he sits on the bed and bleeds and shivers as Ephrim tugs away his jacket and fumbles with the blood soaked buttons of his shirt.
“I heal fast,” Throndir says. Beside him, Kodiak whines. “I think it looks worse than it is.”
“Yeah,” Ephrim agrees. “I– fuck.” He pulls open Throndir’s shirt and searches around for the washcloth and the alcohol, hands him the bottle to take a drink from first before taking it back. “This is going to hurt,” he warns.
Throndir nods tightly.
When Ephrim’s satisfied that the wound has been sterilised, and when Throndir’s managed to wipe the tears from his eyes at the sting, Ephrim bandages his chest carefully.
“I’m going to have a collection,” Throndir says weakly, gesturing down at the twin scars that already run across his chest, ones that he knows he shares with Ephrim, from surgeries long, long ago, before they’d both grown fully into the men they are today.
“If you want to start collecting something, I wish you’d choose something different,” Ephrim says. “This upsets Kodiak.”
“Yeah,” Throndir says, and he can feel Ephrim shaking. “Eph, I’m not going to apologise.”
“You should have let me take it,” Ephrim insists.
“Like you wouldn’t have done the same.”
“That’s different.”
“Is it?” Throndir says. “Listen, I know we’re on what might well end up being a suicide mission. And I know you already know this, and I don’t know if I have any right to say this after what I’ve done to you, but you should know, I love–”
“You’re a self sacrificing bastard,” Ephrim says again, and cuts him off by kissing him, just for a second. Then he just rests his forehead against Throndir’s, and Throndir puts his arms around his waist, holding him closer. “We are not going to die,” he tells Throndir, not like he believes it, but like he's going to make it true by force of will. “Not to Arrell. Not again. He’s already taken too much.”
“He won’t be able to take anything more from anyone,” Throndir says, and he doesn't sound like he believes what he's saying either, but despite that, Ephrim can hear the promise in the words. They are not going to die.
Ephrim finds he can’t get the words he wants out, but that’s okay. Throndir was right when he said that Ephrim already knows how Throndir feels about him, and he knows that goes both ways. They’re partners. They love each other. That had started well before the Golden Lance put a name to it for them.
Kodiak snuffles and squeezes in between them, and Throndir laughs and puts an arm around his dog, but doesn’t let go of Ephrim either. That night, they all sleep, and for the first time since he became a vampire, Ephrim doesn’t dream.