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The One Kingdom of New Valentia was a mouthful to name. Few people called it by its true name, as it came much more naturally to simply say “Valentia”, but Forsyth was one of those few people. Whenever he introduced himself, it was as Lieutenant-Knight of the One Kingdom of New Valentia, which annoyed far more people than Forsyth probably realized.
Python thought it amusing, but he wasn’t going to mention it. He’d had enough uphill battles just getting into the barracks of the former Capital of Zofia (a city now simply named Zofia, because there was only so much adjustment people were willing to do when the world changed on a dime). It was one thing to tear away from all the similar titles the royals had tried to throw onto Python, and an entirely different thing to try and worm your way back in.
As it turned out, “I am the captain of the vigilante archers that do your bandit-killing work for you, the least you could do is let me in” did not work very well. Saying “I am the retired lieutenant of Deliverance recruits, archer division” only sort of worked, at least long enough for the patrols to let him stay on the threshold and wait for an hour.
Maybe it made sense for the Valentian knights to be suspicious and careful, with all that a new world entailed, but how Forsyth could enjoy such tedious protocol was beyond Python to understand. Most things about Forsyth were beyond him, but dragging him out of this city was not.
A promise was a promise, and Forsyth had promised they would take time off to explore the world. Sure, Forsyth hadn’t been entirely sober while making that promise, but while they were on this particular night out, Forsyth had rented estate from a Rigelian and that stuff wasn’t easily backed out of, so now they’d arranged for a few days off to enjoy it.
Sharing a living space with Forsyth was as obnoxious as it was intoxicating, and Python missed it like hell. Enough to stay loitering against the barrack wall even as the winter rain began to pour. Enough to tell the squinting patrols that ‘no, for the last time, he wasn’t lost’.
And finally seeing Forsyth, all smiles and rowdy hugs with pats on the back and kisses on the cheek, made all that worth it.
“Python!” Forsyth guffawed with his usual perkiness. “I didn’t think you’d come!”
“Credit where credit is due,” Python said, wondering if Forsyth regretted this idea. It had spurred so suddenly, just as a third party (Python couldn’t be bothered with remembering their name) suggested they were former partners.
And once Forsyth got the idea in his head to prove someone wrong (against the odds, preferably), there was no stopping him. Especially not when his thinking-filter was a bit damped by spirits.
At the moment, though, Forsyth didn’t look like he regretted anything. He grabbed his rucksack, saluted the (still confused) patrols, and pulled Python toward the stables, one arm slung over his shoulder.
“Haven’t you brought anything with you?” Forsyth asked.
Seeing as Python sported more hidden pockets than most, and Forsyth knew it, it was a bit of a weird question. Maybe he just wanted small talk.
“You said the estate would be all-inclusive,” Python jabbed back, but reached into his breast pocket, fishing out a bag enclosed by a striped ribbon. “I got you this, though. For the road.”
Forsyth drew a sharp breath. “Browned butter caramels? You shouldn’t have.”
Python grinned at him. “Because you’ll eat them all before we’ve even left ol’ Zofia?”
“More like before we’ve even left the city,” Forsyth laughed and hugged the bag to his chest, getting to his toes to give Python a peck on the lips.
For an established couple with years to its name, such small gestures were rare. Could be because they saw each other just as rarely, but regardless, those moments never ceased to feel extraordinary. Python wasn’t one to talk about lofty specialness, but some things were too pretty for cynicism.
The war had been richer in that regard, strange as it may sound—but sharing his space with Forsyth was always nice, living more together than apart. The constant threat to their lives wasn’t that great, obviously, but with Forsyth warm and quietly snoring on his arm, Python had had surprisingly little to complain about.
Getting out there again, just the two of them on a journey to a luxury house in a snow-covered town—they had barely begun, but Python was pretty sure he could live with doing this again sometime.
---
It got colder up north, which figures, old Rigel being mostly tundra and mountains. Old Zofia didn’t get more snow than tiny sugar sprinkles on the rooftops—up there though, everything was covered in thick meringue-like stuff.
A first time for everything, and a nice one, too. Forsyth trotted through the snow until he was covered in the powder that sprayed around the horse’s hooves, a wide grin on his face. He knew how to look both confident and innocently overjoyed, in his own way. He’d always been like that—in their childhood village, Python had somehow found himself beside Forsyth, a kid proclaiming tall tales and who just as quickly burst to tears when someone snapped at him.
(Those ‘someone’s may or may not have been shoved to the ground by Python as a direct consequence, which people who knew Python nowadays would have trouble to believe—but some things were worth fighting for.)
It may have started all the way back then, really. Python wasn’t sure. Neither of them was big on grand promises when it came to relationships, some things were just what they were, and bickering as they may have been, the core of most of their actions was a simple ‘I love you’. Python wasn’t sure what people meant when they claimed romantic love was different somehow, but that didn’t complicate things too much.
They were what they were, present even when they were apart. Different values and goals didn’t matter when their core was the same.
“Okay,” Forsyth called over his shoulder, steam surrounding his face as he spoke. “We should be getting close!”
The path had narrowed significantly. There was no sign of light or life, with dark trees stretching to the sky as the sun was sliding down the horizon (Python had heard from former Rigelians that the sun was a slippery bastard in the winter, and now he realized how right they were).
“You sure you didn’t get scammed?” Python said with an arched brow. “I dunno. I’m kinda expecting to get attacked by a bear anytime, now.”
“Patience, my friend,” Forsyth grinned, speaking in his pompous lieutenant voice. “There’s always a possibility to have faith, and I shall not shy away from that choice!”
“Uh-huh,” Python muttered, reining the horse in. “It’s cute how you trust a random man to keep his word. I can’t say I do. That’s the place?”
Forsyth stood up in his saddle, stretching his neck. “It—it is! I mean… it must be?”
He rummaged through his backpack, fished out a neatly folded document and eyed the clearing ahead of them.
“Well,” Forsyth continued, his spirits visibly dampened. “It’s… the right spot. And it is… a house?”
It sure was—or it had been one at some point, surely. Whether it was a house now depended on how generous you were about your definitions.
It had a roof and walls, made of wood that was once painted with black tar. The window covers hung loose, and the door was… relative.
Shadowed by the large, snow-covered trees, it looked even more hollow. To top things off, there was no ‘luxurious village’ close by, just a forest and setting sun.
“Cosy,” Python said and dismounted, his boots sinking into the snow. “I like the rustic feel.”
Forsyth didn’t answer; he folded his document again, face stern as stone. He dismounted and stepped up to the house, gently swaying the door aside, as if expecting the house to hold what they expected if he was nice enough in his approach. No such luck, because the inside of the house wasn’t more than an empty floor and a cabinet.
“Ah, hell,” Forsyth muttered.
“Yeah,” Python agreed. “You got—”
“Don’t say it!”
“—totally scammed.”
Forsyth sighed through his teeth, leaning his head back and staring into the sky like a prayer for strength and patience. His cheeks were bright red, and not just from the cold.
Keeping a level head was something Python was good at, since reacting strongly to stuff was nothing but an unnecessary emotional load to him. So really, this didn’t bother him as much as it maybe should.
“Lookin’ on the bright side,” Python smiled and rubbed the back of his head, removing his cap. “No bears, yet.”
“By Mila’s bones, Python.”
“Yeah, fine,” Python said and opened the door wider. “I get it that this isn’t ideal.”
“Good,” Forsyth huffed, a shaky breath. “So let’s turn around and find another place.”
“Sure, if you want to get lost in the darkness together. I’m game.”
The shadows were getting longer, yawning into one another and making even the steam of their breaths right by their own faces harder to see.
“Always classy with your sarcasm,” Forsyth said without looking at him, throwing the backpack on the floor. “But it’s a fair point. We did not make it through Ser Ezekiel’s Survival Training for nothing, and turning our back on sufficient wind protection would be folly. We shall make this work!”
He’d gotten his pompous voice back, at least a little bit, and it was a relief.
“Aye-aye,” Python responded with a salute he almost put effort into—it might get Forsyth in a better mood, which, fun as it was to tease him, would help. This was about survival, after all.
Forsyth almost smiled, so Python would consider his effort a success.
“We’re losing light fast,” Forsyth said, rubbing warmth into his gloved hands. “We have to find firewood and get our horses through the door—maybe find them some feed, if we can.”
“I’ll do the salvaging,” Python shrugged. “I’m used to bein’ out in the wilds, anyway. Granted, I have a whole crew to find most of the stuff for me.”
“Just don’t wander off,” Forsyth said, patting his shoulder. “I’ll get the horses and try to cover up the windows.”
Python saluted him again, far less seriously, before he hopped back down into the snow, cracking his knuckles.
It sure got dark quickly. Finding dry branches was difficult when everything was covered in frozen water of all kinds, but Python got a lot of bark from an old stubble, and pulling the moss off, it was relatively dry underneath.
Plus, there were some blueberry bushes he could bring with him that the horses could potentially gnaw on, aside from the limited fistfuls of hay in their saddlebags (Forsyth called them ‘emergency rations’, though they functioned more like snacks).
He got back to the house pretty well-stocked, and was greeted by Forsyth’s spoiled brat of a horse grabbing a piece of bark with its lips and dropping it on the ground.
“I see you got the horses in,” Python sighed.
Forsyth was in surprisingly high spirits, considering their situation—he was smiling as he propped up the windows with old blankets he’d probably found in the cabinet. “And you got the firewood!”
“Don’t sound so surprised.”
“Impressed, more like. It’s dry?”
“Close enough,” Python answered and traded the piece Forsyth’s horse had dropped with blueberry branches and moss. He arranged the firewood in the fireplace, heard Forsyth rummage through his pack for flint and knife.
“I did not expect us to need these,” Forsyth admitted, but he was obviously proud of himself for bringing them anyway.
He was less proud as he struck the flint a dozen times without success.
“Come on, did you lose your touch?” Python crouched beside him. “City life messing with your skills, lieutenant?”
“Shut up,” Forsyth sighed. “My hands are cold!”
“Give ‘em here.” Python didn’t wait, only clasped Forsyth’s hands with his. It could have been a smooth thing to do to wait, but a fire would be pretty smooth, too.
He struck the flint once, twice, and the sparks took.
“Still got it,” Python chuckled. “You’re welcome.”
It was so quiet around them, Python could hear their core echo back at them for every little word, every little action. I love you. I love you. I love you.
It wasn’t so bad here, despite it all, because it was just them. For the first time in a long time, Python had space to really pick up on those echoes.
“I provided some as well,” Forsyth defended himself half-heartedly. “I got us blankets. Courtesy of whoever rented us this estate, we have blankets. Full of holes, but still.”
“His kindness surely resonates with me,” Python smiled and put the blankets on Forsyth’s shoulders, as the fire crackled.
Forsyth lifted his arm, inviting Python in. The wind was picking up, howling against the fabric-covered windows.
“So you really don’t know who the mystery estate man is?”
“I don’t,” Forsyth promised. “And if I knew, I wouldn’t dare to tell you. I fear you’d seek him out and shoot an arrow into his thigh out of spite.”
“Your faith in my work ethic is nice and all, but that really sounds like too much effort.”
Forsyth snorted a laugh, huddled closer. The flames were already hunting the worst of the cold away, and with four living, breathing creatures in the same room, the warmth spread easily.
They sat like that for a few moments, Python merely listening to the unspoken statement in their breaths. I love you. I love you.
He considered asking to bring over the beef jerky they had brought as travel snacks, but he didn’t want to break the silence. Being this close to Forsyth was rare, and he didn’t get why it was so rare. They were a couple, had been for years and years, but they couldn’t live with one another, and that made closeness difficult to achieve.
Sure, maybe it was a personality thing too, but Python enjoyed this far more than he would ever admit to anyone else.
He felt Forsyth’s head thud onto his shoulder, coupled with a moan of silent distress.
Python bobbed his head against Forsyth’s in response. “You okay, there?”
Forsyth laughed again, quietly. “We’re here because of me. So no, I feel extremely bad.”
The focus that came with fixing survival-stuff was clearly lifting, which was probably what prompted this. And Forsyth had never been good with failure. Python didn’t get how success was so important to him, but it was, to the extent that Forsyth might wither like a flower in the shade over the smallest failures and blame himself for the most ridiculous things.
This was Forsyth’s fault, though, so he held the blame, but the epitome of their little journey wasn’t that surprising. Paying ahead to a shady merchant making high promises in the middle of the night didn’t exactly equal a guaranteed good deal. Part of Python had expected this outcome, actually.
“It’s no biggie,” Python shrugged, lifting Forsyth’s head with the movement.
“It is, though! I messed this up so much,” Forsyth complained beneath the covers. “Hell, I could’ve avoided all your discomfort if I’d just waited until daytime for a less shady deal.”
“What do you mean my discomfort? I’m pretty comfy.” He pressed Forsyth closer for emphasis, and the small sigh he got in response made his heart swell with an inaudible ‘hell yeah’.
“I mean… With a little less thoughtlessness, we could have huddled around a real fireplace with blankets that don’t have holes in them.”
“You’ve always been a driven man, but that sounds like a too lofty goal.”
“You’re mocking me.” Forsyth smiled, then sighed. “I don’t know why I hurried so much… I’m usually better at keeping my impulses in check.”
They were quiet for a bit after that, and while it felt like an eternity, it was probably no more than a few seconds. Forsyth trailed his hand over Python’s, biting his lip as he did.
“I guess it just hit me pretty hard,” Forsyth continued. “You know, what that barkeep said? He called us former partners. Just because we meet about once or twice a week.”
“Honest mistake on his part,” Python shrugged again. “Can’t blame the guy.”
“I don’t,” Forsyth assured him. “But the thought that we might drift apart honestly spooked me. I know we had a deal to see each other often, but it doesn’t feel like often enough when you’re not all up in my business all the time.”
Python grinned. “You want us to move in together, is that it?”
“In my dreams,” Forsyth chuckled. “You on the road all the time, me in the army—where would that house even be to accommodate both of us? But all I’m saying is, being with you like this… is nice.”
“Let’s get stuck in the woods more often, then.”
“Sarcasm. Classy, as always,” Forsyth mumbled sleepily.
“That was just flirting, you doof.”
Forsyth breathed another short laugh. The warmth spreading all the way to Python’s fingers, their bodies safe and close beneath the fuzzy blankets.
---
The sun shone in through the slits of the not-entirely-fit door. The fire was still going, as they’d taken turns to stay awake, but it was no more than weak embers. The horses were getting restless, throwing their heads and snorting anxiously, but Python stayed under the blanket, Forsyth mumbling on his lap.
For a military man, he sure loved his sleep-ins.
Python brushed his hair, stirring a small reaction, then patted him gently on the cheek. “Wakey-wakey, man. Time to leave this ruin.”
“Hmmm,” Forsyth agreed, without moving.
I love you, the beat of silence echoed. I love you, I love you.
Python patted his check again, and Forsyth opened his eyes, met his gaze.
“Stop that,” Forsyth laughed. “I just don’t want to leave.”
“You say that after every night we spend together.”
“I always mean it,” Forsyth grinned, then sighed through his nose, sitting upright without losing their blanket-connection. “We’ll be going back to our usual lives, and honestly… I’ll miss you.”
Python was reluctant to shrug the blanket off them, only hugged him close.
“Maybe we should get a place, then.”
“Python—”
“No, I’m serious. A place like this, where we could go from time to time.”
Forsyth held his breath, then leaned in to kiss him, a hand on the back of Python’s head.
“I’d like that,” Forsyth whispered, trailing his thumb along his jaw.
The wind had stilled, the sun’s rays strong along the floorboards, writing the silent and unspoken that still resonated in every breath between them.
I love you.
I love you.
I love you.