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“Tell me about Forsyth.”
Though usually his favorite topic in the world, Python’s eyes narrowed at the question. A noble never had good reason for asking such a thing – especially a noble that held their futures in his hands.
His gaze flicked across the mess hall to ensure Forsyth was still busy introducing himself to some of the new recruits. Python would usually trek over there, drag him away by the collar, and call out his apologies to the newbies for the bother. Now, he hoped Forsyth would take his sweet time with all of this meeting and greeting. The last thing he needed was to return and hear his idol questioning him.
“What do you want to know?”
Clive took a sip of his drink, oblivious to the suspicion in the other’s voice. Or maybe he was just clever enough to ignore it. Python couldn’t stand that prying look in his eyes. “Oh, just anything! I’ve witnessed his skill with a lance, but I must know more of his personality if I am to assign him a position here. Does he work well as a leader, or better as a member of the party?”
The hell kind of question was that? “He can do both. He’s a knight, he knows how to do his job.”
“Ah… alright then. What about… Does he prefer to discuss solutions with others or fix things himself?” Python’s scowl deepened. “Does he offer up kindness or is he more of a–”
“He’s all of those things,” he finally spat. “He can lead, he lifts up his fellow man, he can give orders and follow orders, he can do fucking anything, you hear me? Don’t you think for a second that he can’t.”
The conversation ended abruptly as Forsyth joined them. Clive hid his surprise quickly; Python hated how easily he snuck into a new topic.
It was only much later, once Python had gotten a better read on the kingdom’s famed knight, that he realized the question wasn’t backed with any lack of faith like he’d thought. It was only at that point, then, that he took it seriously enough to answer it genuinely.
“Clean up duty? Really?” Python groaned. “You’re gonna ask an injured man to trek around camp carrying around dirty dishes?”
Mathilda wasn’t easily swayed. “I saw you in the healing tent earlier, I know you are perfectly alright. I shall not let you weasel out of any more duties.” She gave him a smile that meant he wasn’t going to get in trouble for trying, at least. “Now go, it sounds as if they’ve all finished eating.”
He still mumbled to himself about his aches and pains as he made his way through the darkened tents to where the others were gathered around the fire. He wasn’t sure if Mathilda had really heard everyone, or if it was only Forsyth she’d mistaken for a whole battalion. His voice carried loud over the campsite, booming with laughter and intensity. Python could clearly follow the conversation, albeit only his half.
“My, but you must have! … Never? You jest. … Oh, so did my father. The man was as sour as unripe grapes on a good day! … Of course. … No, no! More likely because you didn’t have a single kind soul to take you along! … I shall find you a suitable companion myself. … Me? Mother Mila, once was plenty for me. … I hear you laughing, Gray! I have no shame in admitting it!”
Python couldn’t help but gape at the sight before him.
There, across the fire, Foryth was leaning into a laughing Lukas. He went on about whatever festival or event they’d been discussing. Lukas’s eyes brightened the more he talked.
Python had spent all this time trying to get the stud to open up; he’d used every last flirtatious remark in his inventory, every pickup technique he’d learned to get Lukas to let his guard down, all to no avail. And yet, here he was, laughing freely over Forsyth’s casual battle-weary conversation. Letting his smile spread across his face, Gesturing with his hands as he replied.
Although Clive had certainly got the clear picture by now, Python suddenly wished to point over and insist, this is the type of person he is! Forsyth would come along, chatty and enthusiastic and always with the most innocent smile you’ve ever seen, and go tripping straight into the walls people put up. The sheer force of his misstep would cause it to crumble down, and he’d just waltz right in, oblivious there had been a wall up in the first place.
The moment of silent awe was just that – he’d been caught.
“Python! Come over here,” Forsyth beckoned. “Remember that time we snuck out to the Harvest Parade? You must tell Lukas how you did it, it was absolutely ingenious!”
“Ah, it wouldn’t have been possible without you recruiting the baker’s daughter,” he said, taking a seat beside the pair.
“Me? I hardly did anything!”
Python turned to the group, mock-whispering around his hand. “It was all him. I tried bribery, but all Fors had to do was flash those big ole’ eyes, and…” he slipped naturally into the tale. The others leaned close as he went on about the daring journey from his bedroom to the town square.
“... So I stuff as much of those sweets in my pockets as I can manage. Mind you, I’m still wearing Fors’ cloak because mine had that tear in it from Pops, remember? And –”
“And!” Forsyth suddenly picked up the story, caught up in an anecdote branching off from the topic of his childhood cloak.
Python held off on scolding his roundabout storytelling, unexpectedly at a loss for words. When was the last time he’d talked about his father to so many people? When was the last time he thought of that torn cloak, much less told a single soul about it?
He looked beside him. Even after seeing it before his very own eyes, he could still find himself at the hands of Forsyth’s beautiful destruction.
“Again!”
The cry carried over the field, probably waking every sleeping critter and camper in the vicinity.
“Just take it easy, will ya?” Python was tired of drills, a state of mind completely foreign to Forsyth.
“How can I, knowing that your poor form is going to get you killed one of these days?”
“My form is gonna give out into a heap of bones if you keep pushing me!”
Forsyth looked to Lukas. The man had been his accomplice all morning. He was right there helping to drag Python out of bed, keeping in time with all the running and conditioning and melee drills, and had a ready answer for every question Forsyth threw at him about his formal training in weaponry.
It surprised both of them when he flashed his smile in favor of Python.
“Part of training is to become familiar with our own limits. We mustn’t push ourselves to more than we can handle – that’s just as dangerous as an incorrect stance.”
“So you agree he needs to work on that…”
With an exaggerated roll of his eyes, Python flopped down into the damp grass. “Just take a breather. It’s just about time to get back to camp, anyways. I’m heading into town today, remember?”
The comment caused Forsyth to physically start. “That’s right! I need to gather my things…” Already picking up speed back to camp, he called out over his shoulder. “I’ll meet you back at the tent!”
Python chuckled to himself, reclining back into the grass. He’d have at least a few minutes of peace. Peering through one eye, he saw Lukas lower himself first with the poise of a noble, then collapsed back with far less care. His breath heaved.
“And here I believed my brother was a strict trainer…” He glanced sideways at Python. “He does realize he doesn’t need to come with you?” Only a small party was needed for this particular hike to the nearby town. “I thought he was set to rest these next few days.”
“Oh, he knows. It’s not like I can stop ‘em. I tried, sometimes. Back before we joined up here, I’d cross the valley to get some stuff from the neighboring town.”
“ You would volunteer?”
“Don’t get me wrong, I used it as an excuse to wander around the market and get a day off the carpentry stuff, but Forsyth would insist on tagging along. And once he was there, Mother Mila, I think I worked twice as hard as if I just stayed home!” He laughed. “We talked to just about every person in that square, and ended up doing odd jobs until I forced him back on the horse.”
Lukas joined in his chuckling, still sounding winded. “And you’ll do the same today?”
Again, Python was struck with the need to sit up, gesture back towards camp and tell him, yes , because that’s just the kind of person Forsyth was.
He was a friend like a secondhand shirt. Even without siblings, Python was used to hand-me-downs from the village neighbors. He knew that those early days of wearing it were the worst. It was uncomfortable and didn’t fit right and caught some people’s attention when you would rather fade into the crowd.
“He was laid up with a fever, once, and I was thrilled to have a break from all his pestering when I went out alone. And you know what happened?”
The thing about secondhand clothes is they become bearable. Then comfortable. Then you can’t live without it. You spend your time patching up tears and meticulously mending hems rather than separate from it. You grow used to the stares, feeling more confident under them.
“That day I did four times the work, and didn’t even have anyone I could whine to about it!”
“You two fought.” Lukas said it matter-of-factly. Python didn’t think he was that easy to read. Then again, leaning over Forsyth’s sickbed like this, sleepless and near-hysteric at each sign he could wake, he wasn’t thinking much about what was written across his face.
His voice was hoarse when he replied. “I don’t know what to do... We argue nonstop, but we never fight , ya know?”
“I know.” He came to stand beside Python. “I take it you tried to talk him out of the Brotherhood position they were discussing?”
“I just – I don’t see why he wants to keep doing all this!” He gestured around to the discarded bandages soaked with blood, and the magic-blasted armor pieces cast aside. “He got his taste of this knightly dream of his, isn’t that enough? He got such a damned taste of it that he’s here.”
The healer’s tent was bigger than the others, but still felt suffocating to Python. Forsyth lay on a cot in the corner, in an unnaturally quiet sleep. His breathing was barely audible. His face showed no sign of dreaming or waking. Bandages peeked out from under the sheets, covering up a painful and self-sacrificial wound on his chest.
“And even if we do make it all the way through and succeed, even if we save the world and all this crap – he wants to keep throwing himself into danger! I don’t fucking get it, Luke…”
For as long as he’d known Forsyth, that was something he understood about him, though never understood why . Couldn’t he see he didn’t need to do everything, save everyone? Didn’t he know the universe’s battle of good and evil wasn’t on his shoulders, specifically?
Python clenched his fists. This time, he didn’t want to speak to anyone else. He only wished Forsyth would open his eyes so he could whisper to him: “don’t you know what kind of person you are? You are the sun.”
He wouldn’t have cared if he sounded like a sentimental sap; it was the truth. Forsyth radiated light like no one else he’d ever met. He kept things alive, and growing, and warm. Even when he wasn’t meaning to, he had the kind of presence that affected everything else – from lighting up the moon to changing the seasons across the land.
Python cursed himself for ever thinking he was too bright to look at. How could he ever squint? How could he ever have wished for shade?
“I shouldn’t have argued before that battle.” He clenched his fists, careful not to disturb any of the bedding under his hands. “What if… what if that’s why…?”
“You mustn’t think like that.”
“I shouldn’t have said those things. What if he charged ahead like that to prove me wrong?”
“Ask yourself, is he the type to do something reckless?”
“Yes.”
Lukas offered something between a smile and a wince. “I should rephrase. Is he the type to do something reckless, knowing there’s a chance he’ll leave you behind?”
“I… I don’t know…” He put his head down. “Not on purpose. But… I just... I need to talk to him again. I need…”
He trailed into silence. Thankfully, Lukas understood. With a squeeze to his shoulder and a gentle, “I’ll give you some time alone,” he was gone.
Python was left with only his strained breaths and Forsyth’s shallow ones. His heart raced each time the pause between them seemed too long. The lantern nearby burned out, but he didn’t dare leave to get more oil. He just kept sitting. Listening. Holding on. Trying to keep himself from panicking. Failing.
After all, ever since childhood, he’d been afraid of the dark.
The night dragged on. He paced the length of the tent for some hours, then returned to his seat. He greeted Silque and Tatiana as they checked in periodically, but the conversations were all terse in their state of stress.
At last – Forsyth shifted.
It was the tiniest of movements, as faint as the bluing sky, but Python noticed it immediately. He scrambled up in his chair. He opened his mouth to call for a healer, the air dying out in his throat when Forsyth made a sound instead.
His eyes opened. While hazy from the sleep, they still lit up upon recognizing the anxious face in front of him.
“Python…?” Recollection washed over his face. “Oh…”
“I know. I know and I’m so sorry. Listen, I–”
Forsyth managed a weak smile. “You’re alright! Gods, I was worried.”
“You were worried?” He lurched forward into an embrace. “You idiot!”
That was the thing about the sun – no matter how rough the night, dawn always arrived.
“What’s that?” Forsyth nodded his head toward the parchment.
Python paused his contemplation. He leaned back in the fancy castle chair, kicking his legs up on the desk. “Usually the king chooses your knightly title alone, but I thought I’d jot down a few ideas to run by them. I’ll let Alm run the country if he really wants, but I’m not letting some kid choose the name you’ve been dreaming of. What if he picks something lame?”
“W-what?”
“Y’know, something that sounds cool when you’re like twelve but is actually –”
“You’re writing a list?”
Forsyth’s face flushed a deep red at the mere thought of the collection of adjectives. He coughed, failing miserably at hiding his embarrassment. “Well, uh, may I see?”
“And ruin the surprise? Of course not!”
“His Highness may not even choose one of yours – you can show me!”
“Nah…” Python dipped his pen in the inkwell. He drew out his humming and hawing until Forsyth leaned forward to try and steal a glance at the page. “Well, I guess I can add impatient to the list.”
“I am not!”
He made a face and mimicked writing. “What about… Loud? Ooh, or maybe Snores Really Loud? Is that too long?”
“Oh, come now! Take this seriously!”
“Ah, I see. Tight-assed.”
“You’re just messing with me! Let me see…”
“My, my – Nosy! And Pushy.”
“Oho, would you like to see pushy–?!”