A/N: Warning for some violence in this chapter.

Gareth was only out for a moment. He blinked awake to find Tag standing over him with the knife and came to very quickly after that, biting back tears and holding a hand out. “Don’t!” he slurred. “Don’t kill me. Listen. Please, you need to let me live.”

Tag hesitated and looked at the vendor. Even through the pain, Gareth could tell who the smarter brother was. He wondered if he could use that to pit them against each other.

“Do we?” The vendor asked.

“Yes. I have more money, it’s just not with me. Let me live and I’ll reward you. But you won’t get any of it if I’m dead.”

“And how do we know you’re gonna—,”

The vendor cut off mid-sentence with a gasp and looked down at his chest, the gasp turning to a gurgle when he saw the blade sticking out of it. The glint of the blade retracted, a dark stain taking its place. Then, a hand wrapped around the side of the man’s head from behind and slammed him sideways into the wall. Gareth flinched at the cracking sound his head made when it hit the brick.

The vendor collapsed on the ground, a man with a bloodstained sword standing over him. He glanced at Gareth but didn’t otherwise pay him much attention, instead focusing on Tag.

“Watch out for his knife,” Gareth mumbled from his spot on the ground. Tag’s blade flashed in the moonlight as its owner lunged, but the newcomer dropped his own weapon and sidestepped the attack easily, looking more like a dancer than a fighter, and caught Tag’s forearm. He twisted the limb until Tag cried out and dropped the knife.

The newcomer moved so fast Gareth almost couldn’t follow.

But then, maybe it was just the head wound.

Losing his weapon left Tag wide open and barely able to put up a fight when the man grabbed him by the hair, yanked his head down, and brought his knee up until it met the Tag’s face. The thief collapsed onto the ground, motionless.

Gareth squinted. “Did you kill him?”

“No. I don’t think so, anyway.” The man glanced at the brother’s body, where long fingers of blood snaked along the ground toward him, reaching for him. “I try to limit myself to one murder a day. Are you alright?”

The man’s voice sounded familiar, as did his accent— it was the softer, rounded accent of the north. Gareth peered up at the man, trying to place him, but the alley was dark and his right eye was beginning to swell shut. “I will be, thanks to you.”

The man hummed and retrieved his sword, a sleek, narrow thing that he wiped off and tucked into a sheath at his hip. When he started toward Gareth, Gareth shrank back, and the man slowed, held his hands up between them. “Come on, it’s alright,” he said, voice gentle. “I only want to check your injuries.”

“Can I trust you?”

The man tutted. “You really did take a wrong turn somewhere, didn’t you? You shouldn’t trust anyone in Greysdale. But,” he continued cheerfully, “You don’t really have a choice, for now.”

“I’m looking for Kramer Street,” Gareth mumbled as the man knelt beside him.

“You’re quite a way off. Come on, it’s too dark to see here. Let’s get out of this alley before your friend wakes.”

The man helped Gareth to his feet, then let Gareth take a few stumbling steps on his own. When Gareth stumbled, the man caught him.

“Bit woozy,” Gareth said.

“Clearly. Hold onto the wall,” the man said. Gareth did, grimacing at the grime he felt under his fingers. He watched the man retrieve Gareth’s pocketbook and cigarette case.

“You’re going to rob me, too, are you?”

The man raised an eyebrow and rifled through the pocketbook before shrugging and passing it back to Gareth. “Nah. There’s not enough in there to make it worth it.”

Gareth squinted. Without better seeing his face, he really couldn’t tell whether the man was joking.

He led Gareth away. Gareth normally wouldn’t have accepted the help, but everything hurt and he could barely see the path ahead of him, so he leaned into the man for support as they hobbled to the end of the alley and emerged onto a sparsely crowded street.

The man pushed Gareth gently onto a bench. “Sit. Let me get a look at you.”

He knelt in front of Gareth, studied his face. It gave Gareth a chance to study him in return, but past the pounding in his head and the blur to his vision, all he really noticed were the man’s wide, dark eyes. His overall impression didn’t make it past young and earnest.

“Atiuh and the Three, you’re lucky I was following you.”

“What?” Gareth asked.

“I said you’re lucky I found you,” the man repeated with a bright smile. “I’m Roman, by the way. Roman Hallisey.”

“I wish I could say it was a pleasure, Mr. Hallisey, but given the circumstances…” Gareth trailed off. “Name’s Gareth Ranulf.”

“I’ll say it, then! It’s a pleasure, Mr. Ranulf.”

“Have we met before? You seem terribly familiar.”

“No, I don’t think so,” Roman said, smile turning sly. “How could I forget a pretty face like yours?”

“Is that some sort of jest?” Gareth reached up to touch his nose, but Roman batted his hand away.

“Don’t do that,” he said. “Touching will only make it worse. It’s stopped bleeding, at least.”

“Is it broken?”

“I can’t tell. I don’t think so.”

“And my eye? Is it bad that it’s swollen like this?”

Roman laughed. “You have a strange idea of what’s good if you have to ask, Mr. Ranulf. But you’ll live, if that’s what you mean.”

“How long is it going to be like this?”

“The swelling? A couple of days. Weeks to heal completely, I think. You’re going to have a nasty bruise for a while.”

“You seem to know a lot about how this works.”

Roman nodded, his expression too deliberately innocent to be genuine. “I’ve seen some similar injuries in my time.”

“Right,” Gareth said, unsure how to respond. “Thank you for the help.”

Roman patted Gareth. “Of course. You’re going to be just fine, Mr. Ranulf. Anywhere else hurt? They didn’t stab you or anything, did they? I assume you would’ve mentioned it already.”

“No, they just…hit me a few times.”

“Are you dizzy?”

“No. Yes. Maybe when I was standing,” Gareth admitted.

“You might have a concussion. Or be in shock.” Roman tilted his head to one side, dark eyes wide. “I dunno; I’m not a doctor. Let’s go. Kramer Street, you said?”

“Yes,” Gareth said, accepting Roman’s help up. He hadn’t been up for ten seconds before he turned to the side and hurled.

“Ah,” Roman said, wrinkling his nose. “Maybe a hospital is a good idea, after all. Come on. There’s one on the way.”

Gareth nodded, the taste of bile too fresh on his tongue to argue, and let Roman lead him down the street.

“Interesting name,” Gareth commented, once he’d recovered enough to speak.

“Mine? Thanks, I think. Romanos is a celestial being in Troasian mythology. Ro- meaning ‘above’ and –manos meaning all personkind, or the like,” Roman said, waving his hand grandly. “My mother was a bit fanciful, with a particular idea about who I should be. You know, mothers. She thought ‘Roman’ was a name for someone who’d do great things.”

“And have you? Done great things, I mean?”

Roman’s smile fell a little. “That depends on how you define ‘great,’ I suppose.”

“I would say saving a man’s life qualifies as great.”

“They wouldn’t have killed you,” Roman said. His tone stayed flippant, but he looked away from Gareth, embarrassed by the praise. “Just robbed you blind.”

“Speaking of blind, I can’t see a damned thing out of this eye. I can barely tell what you look like.” Gareth went to touch the eye in question, which was swollen completely shut, but Roman again batted his hand away. “You’re human, aren’t you?”

“Don’t touch. To be fair, I can’t tell what you look like, either. Right now you look like an ogre who’s been painted red and stung by too many bees.”

Gareth scowled, which pulled a laugh from Roman. “I’m human,” Roman said.

They walked in silence for a minute, until Gareth asked, “So why’d you do it?”

“What, save you?”

“Yes. I’m not sure anyone else would have.”

Roman shrugged with one shoulder, the other supporting Gareth. “I was there; I heard your shout. That’s it.” He looked over at Gareth, grinning at the man’s affronted expression. “Not the answer you were expecting?”

“I admit I hoped for something more heroic. It’s not particularly comforting knowing I’m only alive because of a young man’s whims.”

Roman laughed, then steered Gareth out of the way of a large hole in the pavement. “I told you, they wouldn’t have killed you.”

“I am glad you did it, anyhow. Thank you, Mr. Hallisey.”

“Mm.” Roman stopped suddenly. “We’re here.”

Gareth squinted up at the squat, prison-like building Roman indicated. “This is the hospital?”

“You’re still technically in Greysdale. This is the best hospital you’re going to find.”

“I…I should be getting home,” Gareth stammered, hesitating when Roman tried tugging him toward the hospital. “I can have the maid call for a physician there.”

“You want to go home looking like that? Do you have a wife, Gareth? I’m guessing you do. Kids, too. You seem the type. You don’t want to show up at home looking like—,”

“An ogre stung by bees?” Gareth finished. “Maybe you’re right.”

“I usually am. Now, be reasonable. They’re not going to hurt you; they’ll just clean you up and make sure nothing’s broken,” Roman said, patting Gareth on the back.

“You won’t—,” Gareth began, biting his tongue when he realized how silly he was about to sound.

“Won’t what?”

“You won’t leave me, will you? I’ll never find my way home alone.”

Roman’s expression softened. “I’ll stay. Do you need me to hold your hand?”

“Oh, stop. Just make sure they sterilize everything,” Gareth grumbled, pushing past Roman into the building.

“Sure, but if you need stitches, I’m waiting in the hallway,” Roman called, trailing after Gareth.

Gareth led the way into the surprisingly bright foyer and stopped just inside. It was well-lit and clean; the sterile smell that flooded his nostrils, while unpleasant, was familiar. “It’s much nicer inside,” he observed.

“You don’t judge a dragon by the shine of their scales,” Roman said. “Sit. I’ll go talk to the nurse for you.”

Gareth did as he was told, sliding into the closest seat and cringing at the sharp pain that trilled up his side. While the lights made his head pound, they did make it easier to see. Gareth’s attention wandered across the room, to where the nurses sat behind a great stone desk. Roman spoke with them, leaning against the desk like it belonged to him. Gareth couldn’t make out what was being said, could only hear the songlike cadence of Roman’s accent.

Mr. Hallisey was one of those individuals whose age was hard to place. He was easily younger than Gareth’s forty-two, everything about him exuding an almost childlike exuberance. If Gareth were pressed, he’d guess under thirty, over twenty, but couldn’t say where the man fell within that range.

Roman wore tight-fitting trousers tucked into tall boots and an open waistcoat without a jacket. His hair was at a length between the two currently popular styles— too long to fit the close-cropped style of younger and working men, but not long enough to tuck behind his ears, a look the upper class adored. It was too messy to be fashionable, at any rate. The curly mop seemed permanently ruffled, and Gareth understood why when he watched Roman reach up and tangle a hand through it. Nothing about Roman was fashionable, really, but he had the charm and natural attraction to excuse it.

The nurse nodded at something he said, then looked over to where Gareth sat. Roman beckoned him over.

“Mr. Ranulf?” the nurse asked as he approached, pushing several forms and a pen across the desk toward him. “Sign these for me, please. Do you need someone to read them for you?”

“No, no,” Gareth said, brushing her off with a wave of the hand. “I can do it.”

“The nurse will take you back right away, but your friend will have to wait here.”

Gareth’s hand hovered just above the signature line. He glanced nervously at Roman.

“I told you I’d wait,” Roman reminded him.

“If I’m keeping you from any prior plans, I—,”

“You’re not.”

“Oh, good. Of course, I’m happy to compensate you for your time.”

Roman shrugged. “If you’re offering.”

“I’m insisting.”

“Even better. Now Gareth, stop making this poor nurse wait on you. I’ll be here when you get back. You can thank me more then.”