#teldryn

It wasn’t about the fee he’d paid, or the fact that he had no idea what else to do to get to Farkas. Something ached behind his sternum at the simple thought of losing someone who…seemed to care. Who even did that anymore, especially a sellsword, of all people?

I can’t leave him like this.

He fell to his knees beside Sero who was still face down in the ash. Athis turned him over, and, blessedly, the mercenary let out a groan, eyes fluttering open for half a moment, blind with pain. Then he was still again, but for the slow rise and fall of his chest.

Breathing, at least. There’s that.

Anxiety clawed up Athis’s throat as he peeled shredded fabric out of the gash on Teldryn’s ribs and more blood oozed out. The wound was already dark and coated with sand and ash, huge swaths of scarred skin going an alarming deep purple by the second.

I…I don’t want him to die.

Athis’s hands shook now, more with fear than anything else. It was ridiculous, he realized. Sero wasn’t a shieldbrother. He wasn’t really even a friend—not yet, anyway. Athis had lost so many in his line of work. All the Companions had, as did soldiers and bandits and everyone on Nirn, the way life was these days. Death was everywhere, and fighters of any kind knew the risk before they took on jobs. Rationalizing about this did nothing to calm him, nor to help him order his thoughts into any semblance of what the hell to do about this situation.

Athis didn’t know fuck all about Restoration magic—couldn’t even cast a basic Flames spell—let alone any Healing—even if he wanted to. He grit his teeth and stood on unsteady legs. No matter how tired he was, nor how sore, he’d have to get Sero to this Neloth person over in Tel Mithryn. A strange wizard could do more than Athis could ever do.

How fucking far away is that damned mushroom tower, though?

In the meantime, there had to be potions somewhere. At least, Athis hoped there were—but then again, he’d been stupid enough to wander into these wastes in leather armor, as was so graciously pointed out to him before. With the sound of Sero’s sarcasm ringing in his head, Athis walked through ankle-deep drifts of ash back toward the tent Sero had set up the night before, all the while stumbling over his own feet and tripping on shattered heartstones. He knelt on the furs that had served well enough as a bedroll and rummaged through both their packs until, blessedly, two meant for healing came tumbling out. Sero had brought it.