Takes place February 7th
"You look more lively today than last week."
Julian arrived with a stack of different pots, in shapes and sizes Cyril had never before seen. He had a watering can, a small bag of fertilizer, and two large bags of soil. "I got supplies," he said brightly.
"I see. Those bags look heavy."
"Not so much right now. They were heavier before I got here."
"How's your arm?"
Julian stacked the bags neatly and rolled his shoulders, instinctively rubbing his forearm. "It's okay. It healed up really well. It wasn't that bad. Sessrumnir's springs helped, and Ephesus used his magic, and Lysithea, and--well, I had a lot of people looking after me." He made a fist and then stretched his fingers out. He wasn't wearing a bandage anymore, though it had hardly been noticeable when he'd arrived last week.
More honest about it this week than last, Julian patted up and down his arm--not just to prove to Cyril, but to test it, too. He'd been all over the place last week when he visited, and it had taken half the day to circle back to Cahir. In part, because Julian fell asleep in the underground cavern, surrounded by soft, glowing flowers.
When he woke up sore, Cyril asked about the way he held his arm. Julian dismissed it, but it took very little prying for him to admit that his arm had been 'a little torn up'. Julian insisted it wasn't the fresh injury, but rather the way it agitated an old one.
Julian told Cyril how he'd fallen down the stairs before, and last week he'd repeated the story with the exact same wording as the first time he'd heard it. Cyril had only asked the first time because he criticized the way Julian held his instruments. He didn't ask again.
"Well, take it easy. I don't want you to get hurt up here. The last thing I need is for Lysithea to come snooping up here because she thinks it isn't safe.""
"I'll be careful," Julian promised, picking up the pots and watering can and carrying them in both arms. "You don't think we'll be ready to plant anything today, do you?"
"I suppose that depends on how quickly you can dig," Cyril hummed, trailing after him.
"Should I bring the big shovel or the little one? I have a wheelbarrow, too."
"You'll probably need to trim the grass if you're thinking about using a wheelbarrow. The grass will get tangled in the wheels."
Julian paused on the first step, looking over his shoulder and sizing him the very-tall grass growing wildly in the clearing. "You're right. I'll bring something next time. Are you going to stay up here?"
"I suppose not. You're going to my instruments?"
"Yes. Oh, Soleiyu brought me a dehumidifier, too."
"I don't know what that is."
"Oh, sorry. It's--well, he explained it a lot better," Julian said. His voice softened when he descended the stairs and started off towards the long path underground. The room containing Cyril's instruments, and Julian's gardening supplies, wasn't much nearer to the entrance than the chamber with the Code was, but Julian always treated the area with great reverence, and always kept himself quiet. "It's a machine that sucks the moisture out of the air. I told him about the fog and he said that the weather was probably damaging the instruments down here. He asked if he could come visit again."
"And...?"
"Oh, well--I told him it was raining a lot. I told him I'd try to get things a little more cleaned up and then I said..." Julian shrugged. "...Well, I told him that we could figure something out. I'm sorry, I hope that's okay."
"Yes, it's okay. Just tell me before he comes. I'll give you two some time alone."
"Are you sure?" Julian tried to judge Cyril's expression but the hall was too dark. He was equipped with only a small flashlight, dangling from a strap around his wrist. It swung slightly with every step and would have been too obvious if he'd aimed it at Cyril to examine him, and his arms were full anyway.
"Yes, I haven't changed my mind. Let Lysithea tend to her own affairs, I don't want anyone meddling around here. Least of all a princess."
"Oh, okay," Julian said. Disappointed.
Cyril cocked his head and observed the teenager with a great deal of scrutiny. Julian wasn't looking at him; the door was just up ahead and Julian's attention alternated between where he was going and where his feet were landing.
"It's not forever," Cyril said. "Just until I get a few things sorted. Don't look so sad about it. I know how much she means to you. She isn't asking, is she?"
"Well--not exactly," Julian said, half-stumbling over an unevenly laid stone. He didn't drop anything, but took the last few steps to the door rather quickly, and stooped to open it with two fingers. "But she's curious. And I don't want her to think I don't want her here. I don't know what to say if she asks if she can visit."
Cyril hummed, quiet and low, and followed Julian into the room. A motion activated light by the door triggered as soon as Julian entered, so he hurried over to his corner of the room and placed the supplies in a careful pile on the ground. He organized it swiftly, but everything here was already neatly arranged. Even Cyril's instruments--what of them didn't look too fragile--had been dusted and organized somewhat.
When Julian turned to Cyril, the man was looking at the wall longingly. As soon as he noticed Julian's eyes on him, he grumbled. "The shovels?"
"I've got them," Julian promised. He grabbed both, but Cyril hadn't moved yet.
"Should I do something with them?"
"No. Well, yes, eventually. Is it damp in here?"
"A little. Oh--right." Julian rested the shovels against the wall by the door to free his hands. He promptly extracted a round, white plastic ball from subspace. "Um, the dehumidifier. So--well, Soleiyu made this," he said, presenting it to Cyril.
Julian pressed a button on the bottom and two ear-like triangles popped out from the top of the ball--shaped like a white cat head, with a golden star on its forehead.
It hummed to life as soon as he set it in the center of the room.
"...And what's it going to do?" Cyril asked.
"Um, so it just sucks the moisture out of the air. I know the instruments have some damage already, but it'll stop things from getting worse. You know, um--mildew, and mold, and rot. Soleiyu told me those things are bad for wood. And he said that I should put one in any room with a lot of paper, but--well, I told him I hadn't found anything like that."
"You might not. Dering's been playing a lot of tricks lately."
Julian still needed to bring down the soil and fertilizer, but he waited until Cyril went to the door before he picked up the shovels by the door and made his way back towards the stairs. "What kind of tricks?"
"The kind where things aren't where they should be."
"It can do that?"
Cyril shrugged. "Either that or I'm losing my memory."
Julian fell quiet, but after a few seconds of his silent worrying, Cyril exhaled. "It was a joke, Julian. I've made it this long mostly intact, I doubt I'm going to forget anything important."
"Oh, okay. I'm sorry, I was worried," Julian said, with such soft honesty that Cyril didn't doubt he meant a word of it.
Still, he tilted his head. "Why? I'm dead, what more can happen to me?"
For a moment, the only sound between the two of them was the soft step of Julian's shoes on stone, and the slight clamor of metal when he shifted the shovels. "I don't know," Julian answered, just when Cyril thought he might not even try. "But I'm still going to worry about you. You're important to me, Cyril. If there's anything I can do for you, I hope you'll tell me."
But there it was, the same as always. The tender offering of 'something,' anything probably, if only Cyril would name it.
There were a thousand things he could ask for, but few that meant anything, and fewer--if any--that he could stomach asking of Julian. Not now, at least. Maybe not ever.
But Cyril was grateful all the same.
"You do enough. I'll tell you if anything more comes to mind. Watch your step here."
Julian did, stepping over the uneven stone with a soft word of gratitude, and climbed the stairs two at a time. Above ground, he swapped the shovels for bags, but just as he was going to lift all three at once, Cyril interrupted with a stern, "No, no. One a time."
"Are you sure? It's not that heavy."
"No, but it's dark. Don't make me watch you fall down another hole, Julian. There will be plenty of time for that when I send you into the shrines."
Julian didn't protest. One bag at a time, he carried them downstairs and to the supply room.
The conversation persisted, not about anything important. Julian learned that it rained for half a week after he left, but the sun had been out for long enough that everything had dried out. Cyril wanted to know if there had been updates on Cahir and was pleased to know that Julian nor his friends had encountered even so much as a youma.
Cyril's questions dominated for a few moments--was Julian sleeping well? How was school? Had he restrung his violin? Was he eating well?
Yes, good, no, yes.
Had he been to visit any other Lysithea Wonders lately?
No, but Julian asked if Cyril had been to many others. He didn't get a quick or easy answer, and while Cyril considered it, Julian stopped by the uneven stone on the ground--which Cyril had told him to watch out for every time he passed. The stone only protruded about an inch and a half, and it sloped from the highest point back into the ground.
"I suppose I can't say I actually visited many Wonders. A few, but not while I was a Knight. I hardly left at all. And never for long enough to get far."
Julian nodded, but he knew that much about Cyril's station already. "You didn't get to take vacations?"
Cyril snorted. "No. I suppose some might think that my whole tenure as a Knight was a vacation. There was very little actual work to be done here."
Dirt was packed against the wall near the entrance; it was obviously supposed to look as natural and unassuming as possible. Julian listened, but also scooped a large handful and carried it to the uneven rock, where he began to pack the area around it. When he finished with that, he went back for more. "Sometimes I don't think I really understand Knights," he confessed. His voice didn't carry as much as Cyril's. The Code was much further down the path, and in a hidden room.
It wouldn't hear him. He whispered all the same.
Cyril too spoke a bit quieter, not because he feared the Code hearing him, but because Julian had a way of drawing out a softer side of him. "What don't you understand?"
"Well," Julian got another handful of dirt and packed that around the stone, too. "There are some places I understand protecting. Because they come under attack. Or because something bad might happen to them. But I've never heard any stories about war on Lysithea, or of anywhere being in danger. It just seems, um. Really strict? I mean...has anyone ever attacked Dering?"
Julian got a third handful of dirt, but by the time he'd packed that, Cyril still hadn't answered. "...Cyril?"
"Once," Cyril answered abruptly. "That I know of."
"Really?" He stood and brushed his hands together, but the dirt had stained his sleeves and had packed under his nails. The stone, now buried in soft dirt, had a gentle slope. Julian walked over it a few times, but it seemed impossible to trip over now.
"Yes. It was a man I knew, actually."
Julian could tell by the way Cyril spoke that he was choosing his words carefully. There was no playfulness this time, just a somber recollection. Cyril was sifting through ancient memories, parsing what he could recall and stringing together something of a coherent story.
It came slowly, but Julian listened intently, and patiently.
"Power has a strange effect on people," Cyril began. He drifted towards the steps, and Julian followed. "It can make good men wicked, and wicked men worse. When you become a Knight, there is always the promise of power. You are entrusted with it, and it cultivates within you. Not all Knights are good, you know."
Julian nodded, but only because Cyril looked at him expectantly. He didn't think he'd met a bad Knight, unless he counted.
His hands were filthy. He tried to wipe them off on his legs, but all he did was make a mess there, too.
Cyril lingered by the shovels, so Julian collected them, and then followed him into the woods.
"The Code is not infallible. It makes mistakes. But it is a Knight's duty to follow his heart to the best of his ability. And yet, even with the best intentions, he can still be led astray."
Cyril spoke with an unusual heaviness and would not look in Julian's direction. This seemed like an important lesson, but Julian was already having a hard time following along. He nodded anyway.
"Sometimes, you make a choice. In the moment, it seems fine. But you'll only find out it was a mistake when you're facing the consequences."
Julian nodded again, but Cyril's gaze was ahead, and faraway. A part of him wanted to ask what happened when Dering was attacked.
A part of him already knew.
Not the details, exactly, but looking at Cyril's semi-translucent back, he knew.
Cyril was skirting the subject, like he was maybe trying to build up to saying something more precise, but he'd gotten quieter, and colder.
Not angry, just distant.
"I'm glad I have you," Julian said suddenly, hurrying a few steps forward so he could walk next to Cyril instead of behind him.
Cyril blinked, turning his head. "What?"
"I'm really glad to have you in my life, Cyril. Thank you." Julian adjusted the shovels in his arms, balancing them as he hopped over a large shrub. "I'm really excited to be here with you. And I'm grateful you're able to show me around. I've learned so much from you."
Cyril, unburdened by buckled roots or tangled vines, had been walking at an uncomfortably fast pace compared to Julian--who navigated each obstacle without protest."...Is that so."
Julian nodded, attention split between Cyril and Dering's underbrush.
The fog wasn't so bad right now, though it clung to the distant trees and formed a dense, white wall. The sun was warm, and dappled shadows danced on the ground below. It was a pleasant day, in a mostly pleasant forest--and Julian was excited because Cyril was leading him away from the clear--to somewhere in the forest.
It was an exploration--an excavation.
"I like coming up to visit," Julian explained. "I like getting to do things with you. I know I'm not very good at them, but I'm going to practice. I'll work hard to get better. And, um. Well--I'm better with you. I mean, thanks to you. I really love Dering, but I--well, if I hadn't gotten to meet you, I wouldn't even know about the shrines. Or roseberries. I wouldn't have had that metallic bracelet, so maybe my friends would have gotten hurt. I might have gone too deep into the forest and gotten hurt. I don't know," he chewed on his cheek a little, but not enough to hurt. "I wouldn't know the songs you taught me. Or your stories. I think about those things, a lot. About how good you've been to me. How lucky I am to have you."
Cyril fell into silence, but it was far from uncomfortable. His chest was warm.
Warm.
There was a shrine up ahead, entrance hidden amongst a smattering of large rocks. He didn't know if there were roseberry seeds, or anything, worth salvaging. But, it would be easy to clear compared to some of the other collapsed or well-hidden passages.
Cyril was not a fortunate man, not by any stretch of the word. He didn’t even think he was a good man.
The universe must have made a mistake assigning Julian to this half-rotted, sickly, unyielding Wonder.
He deserved better than this.
But, Cyril was glad he was here.
Right now, he felt lucky too.
