17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17

Silvyr

It wasn't a surprise that the healing process for such a large gash wouldn't be easy. Silvyr should have known, since he harped to Brokil often enough about his own wound, but still he wasn't happy about it.

The first few days were awful. Every movement pulled at the stitches, and more than once he nearly brought himself to tears. Raising his arms above his head was completely out of the question, though it didn't stop him from trying.

The salves were worse. Yes, they were meant to heal, but the process of applying them was painful, and the first few times made Silvyr's head spin, and black spots filled his vision when he refused to breathe through it. He tried to do it himself, but the process took too long, and by the second day Brokil had taken it upon himself to apply them instead. His touch left much to be desired when it came to being gentle, but he worked quickly and efficiently, compared to the way Silvyr tried to take his time. To his credit, Brokil didn't make the wound worse, and by the time he was done, the pain had subsided enough that Silvyr no longer worried about blacking out.

Perhaps the best part was that when Silvyr wanted to go into the living area to read for the day, Brokil would pick him up without argument and carry him to his usual nest of blankets and pillows in front of the fireplace. It was oddly sweet, and Silvyr certainly wasn't going to complain.

Well… Not about that anyways.

"Gods, do you have to be so rough?" Silvyr winced away from Brokil's hand, but the other strong hand on his shoulder held him in place.

"If you stopped moving, it would be a hell of a lot easier to put the salve on," Brokil grumbled through his teeth. "Stop squirming, or you're going to rip your stitches."

"Well stop trying to slather me like you're marinating meat!" Silvyr huffed, not missing the way Brokil rolled his eyes so hard it must have hurt. Regardless, he chomped on his lower lip, trying to hold still while Brokil finished applying his ointment.

Brokil screwed the cap back on the jar. "There, you're done," Brokil said. He screwed the cap back on the jar and stood to return it to the shelf. "Get dressed. You're going out today."

"I am?" Silvyr blinked, but stood anyway. His stitches still pulled, and the pain still lingered in a low buzz, but it was much less than before. "Where are we going?"

"I'm going out of Ghizol for the night. You're going to stay with Urzul while I'm away," Brokil told him.

Silvyr could guess why he would have to stay somewhere else. Brokil seemed to trust him enough to stop using the bar for the door, but leaving him overnight would be too much. Too risky. He doubted any of the elders would approve of something like that. He was thankful at least that he'd be staying with Urzul, and not someone like Salthu or Murzush. Or worse, the cells beneath the Council Chamber.

It was better not to argue, lest the orc change his mind.

Mindful of his stitches, Silvyr pulled his linens on, thankful that Brokil had thought to bring him button up ones to keep him from lifting his arms too high. By the time he stepped into the living room, Brokil already looked ready to go, standing at the door in his travel leathers, a pack slung over one shoulder.

Silvyr couldn't help but stop and admire him for a moment. He hadn't seen Brokil in leathers since they returned to Ghizol, and he had nearly forgotten how good they looked on him. He had to force himself to look away before Brokil could see the heat in his cheeks.

"Let's go," Brokil said, and instead of waiting for Silvyr to follow, he scooped him right off his feet.

Silvyr couldn't stop the yelp from erupting out of him as he grabbed at Brokil's shoulders. "What are you doing?"

"It's too far for you to walk, so I'm carrying you," Brokil said as he closed the door behind him with his foot.

Silvyr couldn't argue with him, even if he wanted to. Walking, simple as it should be, was still too much for him on good days. The short distance from the bedroom to the living area, sure, but he'd never so much as make it to the end of the path, much less all the way to Urzul's. So even though he could feel the other orcs staring at him as they passed, he ignored them in favor of taking in the cloudy skies.

Did they know about Silvyr's injury? Did word spread around Ghizol as quickly as it seemed to in Athowen? Had Brokil told his Elders about it? Would Brokil answer, if Silvyr asked?

He couldn't linger on it too long, as they reached Urzul's home before he could get too lost in his thoughts. Brokil set Silvyr on his feet when they arrived, knocking once on the door before opening it himself and nudging Silvyr inside.

Through the haze of pain, Silvyr hadn't been able to appreciate Urzul's home the first time he was here, but this time he made a point to. The small, but comfortable, living space seemed filled to the brim with stuff. Herbs, books, medical implements. It was so different from Brokil's minimalistic approach to home décor, but it held a cozy warmth to it all the same. Silvyr couldn't tell what he preferred, all he knew was that he loved it.

"You're late," Urzul said when she stepped out of the kitchen area. Though she admonished Brokil's punctuality, the lovely smile on her face was nothing short of fond as she untied the apron and hung it on a hook on the wall.

"If the elf had behaved while putting the salve on, we wouldn't be late."

Silvyr's cheeks flared with heat, but before he could deny his fault in the matter, Urzul tutted loudly. "Do not blame him. While he is injured, the blame is not his, that is the rule. Come then, Silvyr. I plan to make use of our time together."

There was no point in arguing, and Silvyr hurried, as much as he was able anyway, to stand beside her. She, much like Brokil, was much taller than he was, though Brokil was still the tallest of the three. When he looked at Brokil, the man appeared to be fighting back a grin.

"Behave yourself. Should you act up, I will know about it," Brokil warned, and Silvyr nodded without thought.

He liked Urzul already and had no intention of making her life more difficult. He probably should, Father would want him to use this opportunity, but he couldn't bring himself to even think of it.

"He'll be fine. I can handle him," Urzul spoke when Silvyr didn't respond, setting her hand on Silvyr's shoulder. "Go now. You're wasting daylight, and Silvyr and I have work to do."

"Okay, okay. I'm leaving. Silvyr, behave," Brokil said once again before leaving.

He expected some kind of worry to come once the man left, but alone with Urzul, Silvyr felt oddly calm. Safe even. It surprised him. Even though he liked her, she was still someone he didn't know. There was still the potential for danger. Yet as Urzul guided him to the living space and helped him sit on the ground, he found the anxieties washing away.

She said nothing as she walked over to a wall of shelves and began pulling items down. Silvyr watched her gather them in a small basket while she mumbled to herself, though he couldn't understand what she was saying. It was probably the orcish tongue, and while he could pick up on a few words now, Urzul wasn't saying anything he recognized.

When she returned, she took a seat across from him and set out the items in the basket. "I need to restock a few of my salves and poultices. You're going to help me."

"I am?" Silvyr's jaw dropped. "I mean—yes, I want to help."

While Silvyr knew much about salves and poultices, he'd never been able to make them himself. He had wanted too more than nearly anything, but he'd never been allowed. His fingers twitched, buzzing with excitement. Urzul's smile made his heart flutter.

"Good, because we have quite a few to make," she told him, setting a mortar and pestle in front of him. Silvyr took it in his hands, rolling it over to examine every square inch. It was far larger than he expected, though part of him wondered if it was just him that was small. That seemed more likely. "You haven't made a salve before."

She said it so simply, with no hint of judgment in her voice. It made it much easier for Silvyr to nod in confirmation. "Never. I know a lot about them, but I've never been able to make them," he confessed. He couldn't help the heat in his cheeks, despite how Urzul only smiled at him. "But I'm a quick study! I can learn."

"Then I'll teach you." Urzul hummed as she set aside a few jars filled with various herbs and flowers, one even holding small seeds. "What do you know of medicine?"

"A lot," Silvyr started, "but not nearly enough." Urzul smiled when he said that, and something in his chest tightened. He couldn't quite parse out her expression, but it made him feel seen. "I've actually been reading the books Brokil has. He said his mother gave them to him, and they're full of medicinal herbs and flowers. A lot of things I've never learned, so I know I have a lot to discover."

"And you want to?" Urzul uncapped the jars and set them between herself and Silvyr.

"I do."

He didn't know why he was so willingly confessing this to her. Father would be livid if he knew that Silvyr spoke so freely to someone who should be in enemy. He knew he shouldn't trust her, and Father's voice in his head berated him for thinking it could be possible, but Urzul felt warm. She felt safe. Perhaps he was just a fool, because he desperately wanted to keep talking.

He could blame the loneliness. Yes, he had Brokil's company, but most of the time Brokil was out in Ghizol, leaving Silvyr to himself for the day. There were maybe two or three hours in the day when he got to speak to Brokil, but most of the time, the orc was dealing with paperwork and other things he wouldn't talk about for The Elders.

So yes, he wasn't alone, but he was lonely.

"Then follow my lead, Silvyr." Urzul pinched a few leaves from the first jar to sprinkle into the mortar, waiting for him to copy her before adding seeds to the bowl. "The seeds help break down the leaves. As you grind them, they'll become a paste."

Silvyr grasped the pestle and ground into the leaves. It was awkward and unwieldy, but he didn't complain. He only adjusted his hand to hold the pestle with better leverage, despite how massive it was for him to use, and ground into the leaves. When Urzul took a few petals to add to her mixture, Silvyr did the same.

It was oddly soothing. The motion of grinding and scraping, mixing the paste until all the ingredients were fully combined. Like a ritual of sorts, repetitive and easy to fall into. For a time, he could forget where and who he was, focusing on the ever-changing mixture in his bowl.

After a few minutes of work, the scent wafted up to Silvyr's nose and he snapped his head up in surprise.

"This is what you gave me for my injury," he blurted.

Urzul laughed. A bright sound that filled the home with light. "So, you do have a good nose. I was told you were able to discern the ingredients of an ointment through scent. I'll admit, I didn't believe it at first," she said. She leaned over to inspect his work and gave him an approving nod. "Good. You have potential."

Did he? Silvyr could have cried. Not only because she complimented him so kindly, but because despite who he was, she chose to say something so sweet. As though he wasn't a prince, but an apprentice. A student. Someone with an open future who could choose what he wanted to be and what he wanted to do.

"I—" Silvyr swallowed thickly. "Thank you." He tried to offer her a smile. It was all he could do to express the building warmth in his chest. He didn't know where it came from or why, but the feeling that built was something he wanted to keep. He wanted to tuck it up inside him and press it between his ribs forever.

Urzul set an empty jar in front of him, and he copied her motions to fill it with the mixture they made. He was grateful for the distraction, and when they finished, Silvyr finally holding his creation in his hand, he nearly laughed. He made this. He followed Urzul's instructions perfectly and was able to make something that could be used to heal. It was beautiful. A pale yellow against the bright sunlight streaming in through the open windows.

"I have more I need to make, if you're ready," Urzul said, and Silvyr eagerly nodded.

"Yes, I'm ready." Silvyr wiped the mortar clean, just as Urzul did. "Are these going to be the same one?" he asked, sprinkling more leaves into his bowl.

"Yes. I need to keep many portions of this in supply. With so many reckless fighters around here, you never know when you'll need it. Or when a silly elf will throw himself into a boar pen." Her voice carried a playful edge, and a small laugh bubbled out of Silvyr's lips. Hopefully boar pen antics weren't common in Ghizol.

They fell into a comfortable silence, only the sound of grinding pestles surrounding them. Silvyr kept his focus on the mixture ratio, mumbling each step to himself and listening carefully when Urzul offered corrections. He whispered the names of each plant as he added them, trying to remember what the books in Brokil's home said about them. He could remember the drawings, the elegant scrawling that described each plant, yet he made a mental note to return to those books the moment he returned to Brokil's home.

He didn't count how many jars he filled with the mixture, but before he knew it, Urzul's hand covered his the next time he reached for more leaves.

"Time to take a break," she told him when he gave her a quizzical look. "You need to stretch your hands, or they'll cramp. If you're going to keep helping me, I'll not have you ruining them."

Silvyr wasn't going to risk it, immediately clenching and unclenching each hand, stretching them slowly as she suggested. To his surprise, he could feel the ache in his fingers. He never imagined that mixing medicine could cause such a deep ache in his very bones. Despite the mild pain, it felt nice, like proof of his ability to create something good. He couldn't help but think of all the other possibilities.

"Urzul," Silvyr started, turning his gaze back on her. "What else do you make?"

The woman thought for a while, humming softly. "Many things. Creams for rashes and wounds, poultices for pain, tinctures for illness. If there is an ailment, there is a treatment. Whether or not it's a cure is a different story, but there are always treatments to help, so that is what I do."

"That… That's a lot." Silvyr's mind immediately wandered. He had done research before on specific medicines to help with something that wasn't an illness or a wound, but they were created nonetheless to prevent pain of a different kind. He swallowed dryly. "Is there anything that can help fix… a person?"

"Fix? In what way?" Urzul's eyes met his, seeking understanding in his words. "Is there something that can fix someone that doesn't have the correct body?"

Full understanding filled her face, followed by a smile that could only be described as fond. "There is no need for fixing," she started, and though Silvyr's heart sank, he remained silent for her to continue. "However, I do know some mixtures that help with comfort. It doesn't require the mortar, I'll show you."

"Really?" Silvyr moved to follow her, but her hand on his shoulder kept him on the ground.

"You are injured so you will stay there. Don't worry, once you've healed, I'll put you to work more, so don't get too comfortable." She grinned and turned away from him, taking more jars from her shelves while Silvyr settled back on the floor. He tried his best to be patient, but excitement bubbled in his stomach and he couldn't help fidgeting with the pestle before him.

Finally, Urzul returned and set the jars in front of Silvyr, pushing aside the others they had been using before. One by one, she went through each herb, letting Silvyr fill an empty jar with each type of dried leaf. Most of them, as Urzul explained, were tasteless, so the last few types were meant for flavor over effect, but wouldn't prevent the tea from its intended purpose.

As the jar filled, so did Silvyr's heart. He couldn't wait to try the mixture and see what would come of it. From his own knowledge on the used ingredients, and from what Urzul told him as he worked, every person reacted to the tea in different ways. Silvyr was eager to find out how it would affect him. It would take weeks, maybe even months, before results would be noticeable to him, but he was willing to wait. He could be patient for this. Patient and diligent. It would be worth it.

"I don't know what I can do to thank you for teaching me how to make this, but once I'm able, I'd like to try," Silvyr told her, hugging the jar to his chest.

"Consider this a gift," Urzul replied immediately.

"A gift?" The idea was ridiculous. He hadn't done anything to deserve a gift, let alone one like this, but Urzul's smile said she wouldn't be argued with, so he simply nodded. "Thank you. I'd still like to help you make your salves though. I enjoy it."

"I can see that," she said while putting away the jars in their proper place. "I won't argue with more help around here. It would do well for us to make use of you instead of keeping you holed up by yourself all day. Reading those books will only get you so far."

"I'd like that. I'm sure Brokil wouldn't mind it either. I think I might be driving him a little crazy," Silvyr admitted with a laugh.

"Don't worry about him. He's serious about everything, but he's not cruel." Urzul returned to the floor across from him. "I'll talk to him when he returns tomorrow. He's been harassing me about an assistant for months anyways."

"Has he?" Silvyr could imagine it, though he did wonder why Solaro wasn't assisting her if that was the case. It wasn't his place to question that decision, he supposed. "It does sound like him though." He hadn't seen much of Brokil's interactions with the people of Ghizol, but what he did see was enough to know that he cared about them on a personal level. It was odd. He didn't know how a chief could have that much time. Father would never—

"I know you don't want to be here." Urzul broke through Silvyr's thoughts, "but the chief is doing what it takes to help out people. He reminds me of my late husband in many ways. He was much the same."

He knew that. He could see every time he walked the streets at Brokil's side, watching him greet each passerby with the familiarity of a friend. But something she said still irked at him, prodding at a feeling in his chest he'd been trying desperately to smother.

She was right, he didn't want to be here. He shouldn't want to be here. So why did saying so feel so wrong?

"Is that why you're so fond of him?" Silvyr asked.

Urzul laughed, a beautiful sound. "You could say that."

"What was your husband like?" Silvyr tried to lean forward, but winced as the movement caused a spike of pain. Urzul eyed him, and it was much like when Ascal gave him a look that said ‘be careful you idiot.' He smiled at the thought.

"He was a good man. A better husband. Hard-headed, but kind. Stubborn and sweet. He often times returned home with flowers, knowing full well I would destroy them for my tinctures," Urzul said, voice a bit wistful as her eyes trailed up to the ceiling. Silvyr tried to imagine a man like that, and a deep heat settled in his chest and burned the tips of his ears. Luckily, she didn't seem to notice as she continued. "He was a warrior, one of the best, but preferred peaceful resolutions."

"Do you think he would have come up with the same plan as Brokil?" Silvyr knew it probably wasn't smart to ask, but he couldn't help himself. "The plan to hold me here?"

"It's hard to say, but I do think if he did, it would have been a last resort," Urzul spoke slowly, carefully. Silvyr couldn't blame her. "He would have exhausted every option short of war."

"Like Brokil did," Silvyr mumbled.

"Yes, like Brokil did. Now, I think it's time for tea."