38. Epilogue

Epilogue

Silvyr

"Wait. You're telling me that the guy who shot you is still walking?"

Salthu laughed, loud and booming, as Silvyr dabbed the last of the blood away from her shoulder and began to set ointment into the wound. It wasn't terribly deep, but Silvyr was still glad she sought him out to get it treated, regardless.

"You may be surprised to find that I can show mercy," Salthu told him, matching Silvyr's smile.

Silvyr shot her an amused look. "Something tells me you're going to torture him instead." Salthu shrugged her shoulders, though the grin on her face told him that he was right and he chuckled. "Either way, Ascal is visiting soon, so you have to heal up for your rematch. Ascal won't fight you if you're already hurt."

"All that fucking ‘knight's honor' shit," Salthu grunted, watching Silvyr wrap up the wound. Once he finished, she lifted her arm, flexing the muscle. "Feels good."

"Oh, I also have this for you to test out," Silvyr said, digging through his pockets. He had been formulating an ointment specifically for Salthu, and it was just his luck that she managed to injure herself in time to find use for it. When he found the jar, he set it in her hands with a wide smile. "I think you'll like this."

"What is it?"

"Look." Silvyr lifted his sleeve to show Salthu his forearm where two small scars were present on the pale skin. The first was long faded and barely pink against his pale skin. The other was dark velvet and shining against the milky white. "It still heals, but it darkens the scar."

Salthu grabbed his arm to examine the scars, running a finger over each one. "You are something else," she laughed, slipping the ointment in her pocket. "I imagine the chief was not pleased with your self-experimentation?"

"Oh, gods no," Silvyr chuckled, pushing his sleeve back down, "but they're small and I'm fine. So, he'll be fine too."

"Thank you. Will this work on older scars too?"

"Maybe, I haven't tried. But if you want to, please do," Silvyr said. Salthu wore her scars like a badge of honor, and the chance to display them and make them more visible was something Silvyr knew she would love. Her reaction, while mild to anyone looking in, told him that he was correct and she would make use of the ointment. "I have the recipe, so if you need more, let me know and I'll make some."

Salthu ruffled Silvyr's hair, now falling to his mid back. "I'm glad you're here, pipsqueak," she said, smirking as Silvyr smoothed his hair back down, adjusting the braided leather holding it in place. "But if you tell anyone I said that, I'll toss you into a river before you know what's happening."

"I won't tell," Silvyr laughed with a shake of his head. "I might tell Brokil, but I think he already knows, right?"

Salthu didn't say anything, only stood up, helping Silvyr to his feet as well. The light smile told him that he was once again correct. "Speak of the devil," she chuckled, and Silvyr turned to see Brokil, his Brokil, approaching them.

Silvyr snatched up his basket of supplies and hurried to meet him, easily falling into his arms and wrapping his own around the orc's middle. "How was your meeting?"

"Good," Brokil said, nodding in Salthu's direction as he slid an arm over Silvyr's shoulders. "Let's go home."

In the three years since returning, Silvyr had left his mark all over their home. Evident in the plants that hung from the ceiling and draped along the walls, little flower pots that decorated the shelves and surfaces, an herb garden that hung over the windowsill. Silvyr's jewelry box, filled with beads and necklaces, sat beside Brokil's box of ceremonial jewelry. Even his basket had a hook now by the door, which Silvyr used as soon as they stepped over the threshold.

He toed off his shoes and hurried to the kitchen to fill his watering can, one Brokil had purchased for him after realizing his own was far too big, and set to work caring for his plants while Brokil started their dinner.

This little bit of routine, mundane and simple as it was, filled Silvyr with a joy that nothing else could. He was home, not just in this house, but with Brokil. Even if they remained in a tent forever, if Brokil was by his side, he was home.

The nightmares still came, but over time they were less frequent. On the rare occasion they did come, Brokil was always there to rescue him and bring him back to Ghizol where he was surrounded by warmth and love. Every time he was pulled out of his nightmares, he was greeted with kisses and tight embraces that pushed the terrors of the night away.

During the day, Silvyr made himself useful. True to her word, Urzul made him her apprentice, and under her mentorship, Silvyr thrived. Day by day, when Brokil worked with the Elders or the warriors, Silvyr worked in his garden, creating various ointments and salves for the people of Ghizol, treating the injured as they came. Wounds anywhere from hunting accidents and unavoidable battles, to children roughhousing in the farmlands, Silvyr was there to patch them back up.

Thankfully, boar wounds were incredibly rare, and friendly-fire arrows were few and far between.

"What were you talking about with Salthu?" Brokil asked over the sizzling meats in the pan.

"One of her new recruits accidentally shot her with an arrow while she was collecting them down range," Silvyr replied, laughing when Brokil's head snapped over to him.

"And he's still alive?"

"He is," Silvyr said, sprinkling water over his herbs after collecting what Brokil would need for his stew. "But I think Salthu will make him pay for it in ways he can't begin to imagine."

Brokil laughed, taking the herbs from Silvyr and sprinkling them into the pot. "I'm sure she will."

Silvyr set the watering can aside and grabbed his most prized possession: a hand carved step stool. Setting it behind Brokil, he stepped up and wrapped his arms around his orc's middle, resting his head on Brokil's shoulder to watch him cook.

"You said the meeting with the Elders went well?" Silvyr asked, slipping his hands under Brokil's tunic, letting his fingers run along the rough skin.

"It did. Athowen sent an emissary with the request to create refined ore trade with Ghizol," Brokil told him.

"And? Are we?"

"We are," Brokil said, a hint of a smile in his voice that brought one to Silvyr as well. "They made a generous offer, and the Elders agreed to send them a portion of our ores each season."

Once the lid was set over the pot, Brokil turned around in Silvyr's arms. He tapped a finger on the bottom of Silvyr's chin until it tipped up enough for him to capture his lips. Silvyr smiled against him, leaning in closer. "How long until dinner is done?"

"An hour, maybe more," Brokil replied, a shimmer of something devious in his eyes.

"Good." Silvyr grinned, reaching around to grip Brokil's ass and draw a laugh out of him. "Take me to bed, that's plenty of time."

Without question or hesitation, Brokil obeyed, scooping Silvyr up and all but dropping him on the bed as soon as they reached the room. He wasted no time in climbing on top of him, lips pressing against Silvyr's neck and hands pushing at his linens to feel his skin.

"Silvyr," he murmured against his neck, and gooseflesh rolled over him, like it did every time Brokil laid him down and said his name, low and gruff.

"Yes?" Silvyr whispered, running his fingers through Brokil's hair, untying the ribbon holding it in place.

Brokil lifted his head, cupping Silvyr's face in one hand, staring into his eyes with a glimmer of adoration. When they first met, Silvyr struggled to keep his gaze, but now he could only fall deeper into those amber eyes, letting them bore into his very soul and see whatever he desired. "What would you say if I told you to be my husband?"

Jaw dropping, Silvyr slid his hands from Brokil's hair to cup his face in return, holding him there. Heart racing and stomach churning, Silvyr's lips blossomed into a bright smile. Part of him wished he could go back and tell himself that his future would be this perfect. That everything would be worth it. That the hard days and nights and torment would lead to something more beautiful than he could ever imagine.

That he was worth fighting for, and he was strong enough to fight for himself.

"Why didn't you ask me sooner?"

"So that's a yes?" Brokil chuckled, a sound so beautiful that Silvyr wondered if he was in heaven. "It would involve a wedding, and I think weddings in Ghizol are different than what you might have seen in Atho—"

"Of course, it's a yes," Silvyr cut Brokil off, bringing him down to kiss his lips.

They could talk of wedding customs later. It didn't matter, not nearly as much as it mattered that Silvyr would be Brokil's forever. That it would be known to everyone who witnessed them that Silvyr and Brokil promised each other forever.

Beyond the taste of him, the delicious burn of his beard, and the way he pressed against him, Silvyr tasted nothing but love, and he knew he belonged.