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The kingdom was silent and dark, even as the sun painted the sky behind the craggy cliffs gold. The valley lay in thick shadow, with little pools of pale blue light illuminating the path around the scattered lampposts, while the peaks were gilded with the dawning light. The rushing of the waterfall was almost the only sound. Its gentle music surrounded the castle and echoed up from the lake below, while the brook wound its babbling song through the gently swaying wheat fields.
Nom’s armour creaked and clinked as he stretched on the walk to his blacksmith. It was still a hollow shell of a building, unfit for serving the kingdom. He’d resolved himself to rise early to work on it, before any passing travellers or citizens willing to play dice would be around to distract him. He yawned as he trudged up the path and beneath the repaired gatehouse, pushing his glasses aside to rub at his bleary eyes. Early mornings were not uncommon as a knight. When he was young, he’d spend them in drills with his sister. When he got older, he’d practice alone. These days, he avoided training in the morning altogether and left the time to care for his arms and armour. Being beyond his home before the sun had risen set a familiar twinge off in his chest, and he duly ignored the cleared courtyard before the blacksmith, where the memories of having sand kicked up into his eyes and his wooden practice sword bouncing off another haunted.
He was in the process of setting his shield down against the half-built wall when a spot of light across the water caught his eye. Tension set in his shoulders, eyes darting across the fields and forests on the far bank. His shoulders dropped when he found no foreign figure walking by lantern light, but rather a bright arch peering through the trees. The small cottage Scott had built sat almost directly across from his blacksmith, tucked amongst the forest and far from the bustle of the kingdom’s main thoroughfare. Light emanated from within, warm amidst the brisk and dewy morning. He made a surprised hum at the sight.
Most mages he’d known were chronic night owls, staying up by moonlight to study and prepare their spells and then dozing deep into the morning, not emerging until well after the knights completed their drills. Had Scott stayed up through the whole night? He sighed as he hoisted his shield, slinging it over his shoulder, but couldn’t help the slight smile that tugged on his face.
Babysitting a mage was hardly a chore he relished, but Scott lacked the pompous and obnoxious attitude that made them so grating. Instead, he was sweet and stammering in a way that set off his unfortunately unshakable instinct to fret and care beyond his battlefield duty. Like finding a small, soft, defenceless animal one couldn’t help but want to pick it up and tuck it somewhere safe. It wasn’t his job, and it was hardly necessary given Scott seemed just as able to slip from trouble unseen as bubble it into the air and dunk it in a river until it gave up. No one in the kingdom had needed him like that since… Well, for long enough that the tendency should have faded, but he found himself walking back the way he came regardless.
The new bridge creaked gently underfoot, wheatbeards snagged and snapped in the joints of his greaves, while the wind stirred up his cape in an attempt to tangle it underfoot. He passed by the partially reconstructed windmill, then up through the winding path beneath the old dark oaks. Dew was glimmering on his sabatons by the time he reached the cottage. It was a quaint little thing, its walls laced with flowering vines and roof overgrown with moss and lichen. Most might have overlooked it, but most people didn’t know the seemingly entrenched building had sprung from the ruins in a matter of mere days. Nom had been astounded the evening he’d left the blacksmith and turned to see a brand new house across the lake that had certainly not been there that morning. Closer inspection revealed the marvel, however.
The support beams arched gracefully from the ground, not cut and positioned but grown right from the earth, while the branches were woven like fabric to form walls. Rather than the roof being overgrown, there was no roof at all, merely a frame which hosted a blooming colony of plants. What materials couldn’t be grown had been salvaged. The bricks of the foundation were weathered and mismatched, gathered from the ruins of the old town, while the windows were made of shattered shards of glass. Some were warped from fire, or stained with eclectic colours, and others were as clear as the lake water. Light still shone from within, glimmering in slow shifts as though the interior were full of waltzing fireflies.
His armour and heavy footfalls on the porch made enough clamour to alert anyone inside, but he knocked regardless. Three sharp raps which rang from his gauntlets.
“Scott,” he gently called, in case the mage was asleep and merely forgot to douse his candles. “You awake?”
A muffled clatter sounded within, followed by soft muttering and hurried steps. The door swung open on its knotted root hinges, and all at once Nom was hit with an overwhelming wave of warmth. Orange-gold light glinted off his dark armour and forced him to squint, heat seeped into the cold dawn, and a familiar, faintly sweet scent wafted from within. Fresh bread, and maybe even a hint of some spices. He took a deep breath, savouring it as he looked down.
Scott was holding the door tight, his brows furrowed and hair askew like windswept clouds at golden hour. He lacked his usual blue cloak, replaced instead by a linen apron. Both it and his face were lightly dusted with white powder. It smudged on the tip of his nose and his right cheek, masking some of his pale freckles and flush. His eyes were focused and bright, lit with the flickering light within , not tired as he’d expected.
“Oh, Nom, hi. Is something wrong? Are there people here?” he asked, tugging at his sleeve as he glanced around the shadowed forest.
Nom raised a hand to stop him before his worrying swept his mind and visibility away. “No, no, it’s fine. I just saw the lights in your window. I didn’t expect anyone else to be up this early. Have you, uh…” he looked the shifting mage up and down for the usual signs of rumpled clothes, ink stains and dark circles beneath the eyes. None were apparent. What he guessed was flour dusted his hands, and rather than dark circles, the warmth had tinted his cheeks a petal pink. If anything, he appeared livelier than the knight. “You’ve slept, haven’t you?”
“Yes, yeah. I usually go down when the sun does, not that it really works with the orb these days, but I’m fine. I just got up to do some work, for the kingdom,” he added, straightening like a squire on his first day of training. He glanced inside, then back at Nom, floundering in silence before he creaked out, "Would you, ah, like to come in? I can show you.”
He pulled the door open wider and hastily stepped aside, allowing the knight to squeeze past him with a smile. “Yeah, thanks. You’ve certainly been busy recent— Oh…”
He trailed off as he stepped inside, whistling low. What he’d assumed was merely fire or candlelight was instead little glowing motes. They bobbed in a lazy dance about the living rafters, their light glimmering on the hanging vines and mossy ceiling like fresh dew. Occasionally, leaves would drift down, forming a soft carpet over the knotted floorboards that cushioned the clinking of his steps. To the left, the room opened up into a small conservatory, similarly overgrown and bursting with colour. In front, a stone oven roared. It filled the space with golden heat, wispy wood smoke, and the home invoking smell of baking bread. Beside it was a basket already full of golden brown loaves and a tray of buns dusted with sugar. He paused just beyond the door, neck craning to look around.
The door clicked shut behind him, and his armour audibly creaked as the remaining tension in his muscles faded. He set his shield against the wall and set to unstrapping his gauntlets, the harsh metal knuckles and sharp fingertips unbefitting of the space. Damaging rather than protective.
“This is lovely, Scott, you’re really making this place feel like a home,” he mused, still looking around as he trailed after the mage, who started pulling a batch of loaves from the oven. “So this is what you’ve been up to? Baking?”
“Mhm, for the kingdom. People keep running out of food it seems, so, I figured bread would be easy enough to make and carry around. It’s not fancy, but it’s a staple for a reason. We should have enough for everyone here at the moment,” he said, setting the new loaves to cool near the others.
Nom leaned against the counter, gauntlets abandoned by the door, and the wood worn and smooth against his bare palms. He offered the mage a smile. “Thank you, really. And trust me, fresh bread from the kingdom is plenty fancy for us knights. The rations we make do with are a lot more… utilitarian.”
“Thanks, uh,” Scott ducked his head, though not quick enough to hide his flush darkening to a rosy hue, “Just trying my best.”
“Then it’s a blessing for blue that your best is great,” he said, his smile crinkling his eyes and skewing his glasses just a fraction.
Scott cleared his throat before replying, still refusing eye contact as he often did, but Nom caught the slight smile on his angled away face. “That’s very nice of you. You’re… doing great too.”
“It’s what I’m trained for.”
He hummed, focus returning to his goods. He took one of the buns dusted with sugar and proffered it in the knight’s direction. “Would you like something then? Training burns energy and all.” He frowned, glancing up to the high shelves on the neighbouring wall. “I churned some butter yesterday, it should be up here somewhere…”
Nom took the treat eagerly, though just as quickly set it down as he saw the mage step up to the shelf, then onto the lowest one, clearly intent on scaling a couple to reach a pale jar sitting near the top.
“Oh, no.”
He crossed the space in quick strides, pulling Scott back before he could go higher. Reasonably, he understood no major harm would likely occur, but dragging people back from clambering on tall precarious things was instinct for one used to dealing with rogues and little sisters. Somehow, Nom nearly flinched at the contact he’d initiated. Scott’s clothes were soft, with warmth and a strange tingling sensation he could only attribute to magic radiating from him. It was stark against his bare hands. How long had it been since he’d touched someone without the gauntlets? He supposed it would be his match with Apo—to which he could attribute the faint bruises and half-healed abrasions marring his knuckles—though it hardly seemed to count.
He pulled Scott back more gently than he’d been going to, guiding him aside. The mage let it happen, though was left blinking dumbly at Nom.
“Here, uh, let me—” He braced himself on a beam and, with a short jump, reached to knock the jar from the shelf. He caught it easily. Shaking it, he turned to Scott with a grin. “Huzzah! No minor injuries sustained. Maybe get a ladder, or a step.”
He opened and closed his mouth before giving up and taking the butter with an amused huff. “Okay, noted.”
The air shivered as the mage passed by, the floating lights and various flowers leaning after him. Nom drew up next to him, humming to himself as he cut and buttered the warm bun. Scott paused in his work, making up his own piece and leaning against the countertop, his shoulder bumping the knight’s.
There was powdered sugar on his fingers and probably his face, but Nom ignored it in favour of savouring the taste. Sweet and warm, soft with the tiniest spark of salt from the butter. Usually, he’d scarf whatever food he could down between skirmishes, training bouts, or whatever game had ensnared his focus, but for once, it felt as though nothing was begging for his attention.
Through the glass of the greenhouse he could see the valley in all its morning glory. Sunlight slowly lit up the cliffs, like a fall of molten gold. Scott’s garden of bright flowers framed the late and wheat fields, the bridge and town, the winding river and the old growth trees shading the road. The misty layer of dew made it all glitter as dawn finally fell upon the valley. He finished eating at some point, though he didn’t stop watching. Birds were twittering in the surrounding forest, and Scott had returned to work with quiet shuffles and clinks. He barely noticed as a cup of something warm was placed in his hands, merely humming in appreciation and attention fixed on the glint of light off the crystal blue lake.
“It’s very pretty, isn’t it,” Scott said, voice so soft it barely disturbed the quiet.
Nom took a sip of what turned out to be some kind of tea, softly floral and sweet with honey. “Mm, yeah, even after the battle. You should have seen it before, it's a pity it’s gone now.”
“Well, I probably never would have otherwise, but we can rebuild now. Fixing broken things, and all.”
He huffed at the call back to their conversation, the advice Scott had given him on his sister still sitting groundingly heavy in his chest. “Yeah. I suppose that's all we can do.”
He turned back to Scott and found the mage at his side, apron discarded for his cloak and some of the flour cleaned from his face, though he’d missed a bit high on his cheek. The light hadn’t quite reached their side of the valley and likely wouldn’t until midday neared, but the light motes and what little sun shone through the mosaic windows dappled him with gold and white and pale rainbows. His expression was, for once, relaxed. Nom found he preferred it greatly to the worried furrow he otherwise wore.
He gently bumped Scott’s shoulder, taking care not to hurt him with his armour. “You’re doing a lot better than me, I’ve barely been able to finish the blacksmith.”
“Maybe stop playing Farkle then,” Scott scoffed, a small teasing smile hidden behind his own mug of tea.
“I’m making money for the kingdom!”
“And losing it.”
Nom mock gasped at the muttered words. “If you were a knight, I’d challenge you to a duel over that. My honour has been insulted.”
Scott’s smile, already badly disguised, crinkled his eyes in a way that made the light turn their green to gold. “I guess I’ll have to find a knight willing to fight on my behalf.”
“Mm, you’ll need a very gallant one for that.”
“I think I’d ask you in any other circumstance,” Scott mused, tilting his head. “But you can hardly duel yourself.”
Something bright, maybe pride, warmed in his chest at the words, even if some part of him felt decidedly undeserving of the mage’s sentiment. Scott was generally nice though; he could imagine he felt much the same about Graecie, if not Owain.
Nom had to clear his throat before he could reply, and didn’t quite manage to keep the light tone he’s jested with before. “If you ever needed someone, I would.”
“I’ll keep it in mind,” Scott said, still smiling.
Sipping his tea, Nom turned back to the view, noting how some of the flowers in the greenhouse were blooming as the light grew. Movement was starting to stir in town; other members of the kingdom passing each other as they rose, birds taking to the air and circling the broken windmill, the silhouettes of fish darting about in the lake below, and their banners billowing in the rising breeze that swept from the valley entrance. He took a deep breath, the air still warm with the smell of fresh bread and bright florals.
Maybe he could get some work done while the day was still young, pass up the challenge of rolling dice against 4C or the errant merchant visiting town. He probably wouldn’t, but it was easier to pretend. Something about the mage always imparted the feeling that things would turn out all right. Like he stood a chance at fixing the far too many broken things in his life. He supposed magic’s whole deal was making miracles seem possible. Maybe it fitted into Scott’s evident alignment toward light and growth. Or maybe it was another of his illusions.
Nom took a deep breath, forcing the thoughts from his mind. Beside him, Scott was watching the flowers in his garden bloom with a distant expression, the petals unfurling far faster than was natural. The knight held his mug in both hands, sipping slowly as the heat bled into him. Whether the comfort was real, magic, or an illusion, Nom settled on visiting more often. Scott seemed to like the company, if the relaxed slope of his shoulder and soft expression were to go by. Maybe they could make tea a habit.
Something nice, if only for a little while.