In the quiet room 019 in the tavern, the Chosen One was tending to the weirdo’s wound.
Arlene, wrapped in bandages, tried her best to pick out all those embedded glass shards off Wattyson’s back, from the health potion so lovingly thrown by Rond.
Within her hands were boiled water, some clothes soaked in holy alcohol, and iron tweezers. Next to her were more cloths bandaged (taken from Rond’s stash), healing runes, an iron bucket and resin paste.
She was being meticulous in removing the glass shards, but they were too small. Tiny. Her hands would clumsily tilt it to the side by accident.
“Bear with me, Watty” she whispered, her eyes concentrated. Her tongue slightly peeking out. “Almost got it… Ah”
The glass shards were slippery and frail. Her pressuring on the iron tweezer trying to get it out, sometimes broke it in half. The shards still entombed in his back.
Wattyson could feel it, his ears would twitch at the slightest of snap.
“Good things, you’re not a doctor…” He was able to get out before gritting his teeth every time she would begin again.
“Would you rather I leave the glass shards in while I just slapped it with the healing runes?” she playfully retorted, eyeing the shard carefully and her strength measured.
“Watty,” her voice was barely a whisper. “Do—do you think it’s wise to go and… lie?”
Lying to protect? That’s not her ideal. She believed the truth would empower people, for them to better protect and safeguard themselves if no one else was around.
Arlene saw the man did not budge, but his shoulder loosened.
“No,” after he let out a tired sigh. “If… if we had live in a better world, I would share everything I know to the world. Unfortunately,” his gaze upward. “This is one of prey and treachery…”
“And Rond, the poor soul, is already doing well telling the fabricated tale.” His voice found no pride in saying that. “At least this way, we can remember Neciel and the Elder for who they were before…”
Arlene sucked in her lips silently, now finally able to take out the shards without issue.
“How… how do you continue on?” her voice trembled. “I… If it was me… I don’t think I can.”
“I don’t,” his voice resolute yet remorseful. “I—I don’t know. I just have to. I remember it all, every tragedy… I have to carry their stories.”
Without waiting for it to sink in, Wattyson continued. “Dealing with the supernatural isn’t like dealing with the mundane—killing goblins, orcs, exploring dungeons or fighting a dragon” he tilted his head just enough to see her troubled expression.
“It’s having the resolve to face your friends and families, the people behind the monsters, and… just a person down on their luck choosing damnation. The willingness to act despite all of these.”
He tilted his head back, away from her.
“I’ll ask you again, Arle” he paused with a deep sigh this time. “Are you willing to kill those you know or love?”
Arlene did not reply. How would she reply to that? She fought armies, demons and of course there were people too traitor to their own races, but people that willingly turn just to better themselves? How could she find the strength to do that?
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“You don’t have to do it,” his voice interrupted her. “I’ll deal with it.”
He could feel the tense grip on his back. It was obvious to him now, Arlene was conflicted.
“I…,” she let out. “There are merits to what you say… That this isn’t the world I’m used to” her voice went from stammering to coherent and well spoken. “I chose this. Watty. I will find the resolve to do what is right. Even if… if… I have to cut someone I know. Even if that person… is a bundle of joy like Neciel.”
With her declaration, the last glass shard had been taken off. She moved on to washing the wound and bandaging him.
“Even Harvess?” asked Wattyson.
Arlene didn’t reply, she flinched at the question. She bit her lips before finally, “Yes. Even Harvess, or any of my old party members.”
Wattyson simply nodded, and let her finish the bandaging.
“I sense something else is troubling you,” pressed Wattyson. “It’s not good to let it boil inside you, you know?”
Arlene finally let out a weighty sigh from earlier resolve. Her voice was solemn now.
“Yes, I—I got asked by a little girl from the village, Lini, before arriving back to the tavern. She asked me if I looked sad despite killing a demon to save everyone else?”
Arlene broke a small smile. “I… I told her because I failed to save the people there, but I lied to her anyway after—that I’m happy.”
A few rogue tears lingered on her eyes. “People around me as they were going to clean up that tragedy—to give everyone burials. They all looked at me with such pity, forgiveness and… loneliness and—and understanding.”
“I’m supposed to be the Chosen One, the hero who save” her voice cracked. “I carry the expectation of people to always be the best and there to save. Yet… I failed, but everyone isn’t putting the blame on me…”
“Like people always do?” interrupted Wattyson. She could feel his arm, warm and welcoming on her head. “You’re confused… why do people not blame you for being there to prevent this.”
“It’s ok. Those people don’t know any better, don’t know how to channel their grief. Here?” he tapped the floor a few times. “Tamare knows better. How taxing and stressful life can be, even for the Chosen One.”
“This town used to be a desolate place, banditry and demon raids occurred all the time” continued Wattyson. “They understand hardship better than most… and are grateful to you for bringing them peace after the Dark Lord’s fell.”
Arlene’s gaze was still downward; the floor had seen a few droplets.
“You’re not the chosen one anymore, your prophecy has ended. You can live freely and still choose to be one anyway, without other expectations.”
Arlene’s gaze finally up, her expression was softened.
“Now please hurry up and bandage my back. I would like to… find a new robe” grumbled in a seething voice. “That damn Rond” he muttered to himself.
Arlene wiped away her rogue tears, scoffed at his comment and continued to bandage him.
“What are you going to do today then?” she asked, finding her voice again. “Beside finding a new robe.”
“Probably going to the stable and apologise for our late check in for horse. We booked for a day and it’s been three days. I’ll… put in another day for tomorrow.”
“Huh? Why?”
Wattyson turned and booped her nose really quick then turning back. “So you can run around and be a normal person.”
Arlene started blankly before wearing a wide smile. “I’m not a kid you know.”
“You might as well be one.”
“Thanks but… I don’t think I can be one in this village after what happened.”
“You’ll be surprised at how fast they bounce back.”
Arlene gripped. “Then… I guess I’ll take your suggestion to stay for another day here and” she exhaled out. “Ohh I don’t know… go eat out I guess?”
“That’s the spirit.”
Few minutes went by and she finished bandaging.
Wattyson immediately stood up before Arlene even inform him it finished.
“Good as new” he stretched around, twisting his torso left and right. “Now you” he stepped to her, gently nudging her to bed. “Take a rest. It’s already afternoon and you didn’t sleep much yesterday.”
“Ehh? I’m fine.”
“Sure,” he rolled his eyes. “Tell that to your weary face. I could tell from how you’re bandaging me you’re way too tired.”
She opened her mouth to argue, but found no strength. She was tired!
“Ok… and what will you be doing after… that two agendas you have?”
“Convincing Rond to be the new village chief. Elder’s family… did passed away after all.”
Arlene nodded slowly before turning to bed.
“Will you wake me up for dinner? I could get something to eat by then.”
He chuckled, “Sure”
Wattyson took out his staff from empty space, that black hole of his.
“For now sleep tight, I need to get a new robe…”
Arlene watched as the weirdo, now companion she was travelling with, limping to exit the room. She murmured a quiet hush only to herself.
“Thank you” with small smile before succumbing herself to slumber.