Epilogue: What comes after?

"Cure for festering molds of the... oh gross!"

Svier looks up from his journal, rubbing tiredness out of his eyes. "Hm? Oh, that. Yeah, you should probably learn to make that one, too. People need it more than you'd think. Or hope."

You shiver, trying to erase the horrifically detailed sketch from your mind. "I liked it better when we were doing potions of stamina and health. I don't want to know what strange diseases people have when they come in."

"Well, most people don't fight monsters for a living. Cures for diseases and maladies are much more useful for most folk. Besides, you'll likely make most of your money off of nobles who need cures after their sexual misadventures. 'Festering molds' aren't so bad when it's the other guy's problem, eh?"

You frown. "You're being gross again, Svier."

He rolls his eyes, leaning his head against his hand. "Aren't you the one who grew up on a farm?"

"My noble blood is very offended by your commoner tastelessness."

A groan echoes from across the room, and you smile slightly behind your textbook. "I wish I'd never told you that, you bastard."

"Oh, you're too kind," you coo.

"Whore-son."

"How sweet."

"Bah! Why I bother teaching you is beyond me," he mutters.

"Isn't it the cooking?" you tease, turning the page.

"The sex, actually," he says evenly. Your stop turning the page and glare at him from across the room. It takes the shirtless half-elf a moment to realize, looking up at you like a startled animal.

"... The cooking's good, too," he amends.

"Better," you say, smiling to yourself. How a farm boy learned to cook better than an alchemist twice his age is beyond you, but you learned very quickly that you were easily the better of the two. So, you made the food and helped in the lab, and in turn, he taught you how to make the potions and not blow yourself up in the process.

"You know," you start to say a few pages later in the evening, "I gave the whole shop thing some more thought. I know you said I should get the experience, and I understand that, I do. More than that, though, I want to help more with the money, and I could really do that working in the city proper. It's just..." you trail off, eyes on the paper without really seeing the words.

"I don't want to be apart for that long. It's a little childish, I suppose, but it's the truth. Maybe you feel the same way, maybe you're just more mature than me, I don't know. But, I thought, what if I waited a little longer, and got my Master's license? I bet if I tried hard enough, I could get it before winter, and then I could have an apprentice there at the shop! It'd mean even more hours at first, sure, but once he was ready I could come back to the hall earlier... what do you think?"

You look up, and Svier is fast asleep, head propped against his arm and jaw slack. "Of course," you sigh, smiling ruefully as you stand up. You walk across the room, the air cool against your exposed body. His journal is about to slip out of his hands, so you gently take it, intending to place it back on the side table. Curiosity gets the better of you though, and you glance at the open page. On the left, Elvish characters in neat rows, entirely unreadable to your unlearned eyes, except for one word, the only one you've learned to read. Your name appears multiple times on the page, and you can only wonder what it says. The contents on the right, however, are perfectly clear to you.

"The Prince"

Below it, is a careful drawing of you, down to the most intimate detail, poring over your texts by the lamplight. You blush at the accuracy and care of the drawing, and quietly place it beside the artist. "Drawing me nude without me knowing, Svier," you chide softly. "Pervert."

You drape a blanket over him and blow out the light.

GOOD END.