Chapter Text
Roman met Virgil in the gentle mist of morning, dew bejewelling every blade of grass and drooping flower in the meadow sloping down from his farm. The mist lay over the fields like a breath in cold air, blurring the details of the landscape, until up close each blade of grass was picked out in brilliant silver droplets. He occasionally found people sleeping under the hedgerows, most of them travelling for work, but usually they made an effort to shelter themselves from the elements.
This man lay in the middle of the field, droplets of dew clinging to his eyelashes and fingers dug into the earth at his sides. He was pale as the fog over the hills in the distance, and his thin white shirt fluttered in the breeze. Deep eyebags shadowed his eyes.
"Hello!" Roman called over to him, hurrying down the slope to get to him.
The man startled awake and scrambled back.
"And what the fuck do you want?" he snapped, wide eyes darting back and forth between the gate and Roman.
Roman halted. "Nothing! Nothing!" He laughed, trying to diffuse the tension. "You looked like a corpse."
"Thanks."
"No, like..." Roman cut himself off with a shake of his head. "I was concerned! You're not dressed for the weather."
The man ducked his head as he snickered, damp hair hanging into his face.
Roman was thoroughly confused but, well, there was no use getting hung up on that. "Do you want breakfast?"
"What?"
"Breakfast!" Roman said brightly. "My farm is just up on the ridge. Come and have breakfast with me."
"For...what?"
"Free?" Roman tried.
The man unfolded, rising onto his feet with an airy grace. He was taller than Roman, but looked thin enough to be blown away with a strong breeze. "Free," he repeated warily. "Just as a gift?"
"I promise," Roman said, raising up his right hand. "On my honour!"
"I'll settle on wagering your farm instead."
Roman wasn't entirely sure whether that was a joke but, well, he wasn't planning to play any mind games over eggs. "On my farm, you'll owe me nothing."
"Okay," the stranger said. He wrapped an arm over his chest. "Thank you."
"No problem," Roman said, setting back home. "Where did you come from?"
"The, uh, road. Just trying to make the next town." Roman glanced at the man's hands, delicate and pale as though he'd never done a day's work in his life.
"Which town?"
"Do you usually ask so many questions?" The stranger complained, though he didn't sound too annoyed.
"Just making conversation," Roman said lightly.
"Huh. Alright."
He led him back up the hill, to his home. Roman's house was comfortable and cosy, a haven of well-fitted logs and patterned curtains, and had smoke drifting from the chimney. With a flourish, he opened the door. "Come on in and dry off."
At that, the stranger flinched back. "Oh, I- I don't really- wouldn't that be- I don't want to impose."
"Sir, I think you need to calm down just slightly," Roman said. "It's alright!"
The stranger bristled like a cat, drawing his shoulders up to his ears. "Maybe I should go."
"I’m confused," Roman admitted.
"I'll go," the stranger repeated more firmly. He turned away from Roman, looking at the misty mountains in the distance. "Sorry."
"Can you...tell me what’s wrong?"
"I won't sit down and join you for a meal."
"At least get dry?" Roman offered. "You're soaking wet."
The man rubbed the back of his neck with an earth-stained hand. "I'm fine out here."
Roman closed his eyes for a moment and prayed for the strength to not insult the man, even though he badly wanted to. But, he did not have that luck. "I came to give you breakfast, not play cryptic-crossword puzzles with someone as pale as the paper they’re printed on."
The stranger let out a huff of laughter. "Fine. Whatever. It's the house. I don't want to be in it."
"What's wrong with my house?" Roman asked indignantly.
"Nothing!" the stranger assured him. "Nothing. I just...prefer not to have a roof over my head; dumb, I know."
"A little," Roman admitted, "but nothing I can't work with. Is that why you were...sleeping under the stars?"
The stranger made a sound of assent.
Roman shrugged. "You could’ve just said so. Sit! Sit down on the doorstep and I'll get you something!"
The stranger folded down to sit cross-legged a few steps away from the doorway. "Thank you. I do appreciate it."
"Chivalry is my middle name! Well, it's really Patton, after my dad, but we don't need to quibble about particulars."
That made the stranger laugh again, and Roman felt a rush of excitement at the sound. Maybe knighthood was out of bounds, but he liked to romanticise his father's hospitality. Now that he was an adult he was finally free to help others in the most dramatic way he could.
Roman crouched to stoke the fire, keeping the door open to talk to the stranger. "So, where are you hailing from?"
"Here and there."
"How about your family?"
"All over. Yours?"
"A few valleys over, actually," Roman said, cracking an egg into a pan with a pleasant sizzle. "We came over to stake this land for me when I was twenty."
"Anyone else here?"
"No, no-" Roman carefully put in a second egg. "I would have liked to live out here with friends, but everyone else had their own plans: marriage, town jobs, helping their families."
The stranger shrugged. "Eh, friends are overrated anyhow.”
“What’s better? Romance?” Roman scoffed.
“Spirits, no.” The stranger pulled a face. “Not my thing either. Friends are nice; being alone is nicer.”
“How stoic and standoffish off you.”
The stranger laughed. “I’ll be your friend here, then, for a little while.”
“That might be nice,” Roman said softly.
A playful breeze blew through the grass. He sneezed as it tumbled inside and tickled his face. He reached for a plate and piled it with the eggs, some bread, and cheese.
"Do you have a name?" the stranger asked him.
"Roman- unless I misremember."
"I'll remember."
"That's a little ominous," Roman said with a laugh.
"No, it's not," the stranger said simply. "Hospitality is not a bad thing to be remembered for." He stood up to take his plate from Roman, then settled back across from him.
"How about your name?" Roman asked.
"What begins with the end and ends with the beginning?" the stranger said.
"What?" Roman said slowly. "I don't know."
"Figure it out," the stranger said with a smirk, tearing off a hunk of his bread and popping it in his mouth. "Fuck," he breathed out, face suddenly losing about ten layers of cryptic protection and instead devoting itself to staring lovingly at the bread.
The shift in behaviour startled a laugh out of Roman. "It's still warm from baking."
"It's not bad," the stranger said, tearing off another piece and dipping it into the yolk of his egg with one hand while feeding himself some cheese with the other.
Roman decided to leave him free to eat, puzzling over what in the world began with the end and ended with the beginning. An ouroboros?
By the time the stranger had wolfed down the whole plate -which admittedly didn’t take very long - and regained a bit of colour in his face, Roman was as stumped as he had been in the beginning.
"So? What is your name? A...full stop, maybe?"
"Fucked if I know," the stranger said cheerfully. "I just didn't want you to bother me while I was eating. You can call me Virgil."
"You could have just asked me not to talk to you! You said you would be a friend!"
The stranger shrugged, almost embarrassed. "Thought you liked the cryptic thing." He answered after a beat too long.
"You could be more polite since I home-cooked that meal for you," Roman said indignantly.
"I don't owe you anything for the meal," Virgil said coolly. "That includes manners."
Roman rolled his eyes. "My deepest apologies."
"Don't need 'em." Virgil got to his feet and handed Roman his plate back. "Thank you very much for the meal. Genuinely."
"Well, keep the windows open for luck to blow in," Roman said. "Or the, uh, metaphorical windows anyhow."
"And open to let it take its leave again," Virgil finished the traditional farewell. "Literal windows for you."
"Do you want anything for the road?" Roman asked. "I could pack something?"
"Nah, I'll be fine," Virgil replied. He tugged the edges of his shirt over his wrists and slouched before he gave Roman a parting salute. "Bye, Roman."
Roman watched Virgil's back disappear down the road as he washed up, then threw open his windows to air his home as he began his day in earnest.
*
Roman did not expect to see Virgil again, as was the way of these things.
But a month or so later, as he dragged his chair outside to watch the sunset, a figure in white made its way up to his farm from the road. The evening was still and heavy, no clouds in the sky to block the oppressive heat.
The figure stopped just in front of him. "Hey Roman," he said, cupping the back of his neck. "I'm Virgil. Again."
"I remember you," Roman said, surprised. "No rooves, no manners, no cloak- if I'm not wrong?"
Virgil laughed through his nose. "And I still haven’t got any of those."
"What brings you here?"
"You do, I guess-" Virgil was still just wearing his white shirt, but he lifted it up to reveal a hidden leather pouch he'd tied around his middle. He opened it up and pulled out a handful of shining silver, which he tipped into Roman's palms. "A gift."
"Shrieking spirits, that's a lot!" Roman said. "I can't take that just for breakfast!"
"It's not a payment." Virgil folded his arms in offence. "I just said it's a gift."
Roman frowned. "But why?"
"Good things should come to good people," he said simply.
"Don't you want to keep that?" Roman's brow furrowed. "At least buy a cloak, dude, it won't be summer forever. You could even buy land-"
"I don't want land, or a cloak." Virgil put a clammy hand over Roman's and closed the farmer's fingers over the silver. "Good things for good people, that's the only aim."
"...you're a good people."
It wasn't clear if Virgil was shaking his head to dispel his laughter or because he disagreed."Just take it. Okay?"
Roman did. "How did you come by it?"
"It’s a gift.” Virgil looked at Roman as though that settled the matter completely.
How would a vagabond know someone giving gifts like that? “From whom?”
“A friend.”
"Is it stolen?" Roman said nervously. "I don't want to get in trouble with the law. That would not be a good thing."
"Promise you won't," Virgil said breezily.
"Okay," Roman said. "Okay." He turned over the smooth pieces of silver in his hand. "Luck blew in, I suppose..."
"It blew in for you, because I let it go out," Virgil said, as easily as he finished the farewell before. "That's the way to go."Overhead, there was a slight movement in the sky; an unreliable promise of rain and reprieve from the heat. "How's your farm?" Virgil asked.
"Alright," Roman said. "The soil is a little dry for the time of year, but I'll manage if it's back to normal soon. Hoping they bring me rain."
"It's all we can do," Virgil said with a nod. "Well, use the silver for whatever."
"Stay a little while?" Roman asked him. "Come on! We should celebrate! I have food leftover from dinner- I should thank you!"
Virgil wavered, then moved to tiptoe to reach the windows near Roman’s head. Time and food, presumably, had flushed his skin the same pink of the distant sunset against his white shirt- bang.
He jumped as Virgil opened his shutters.
Without a word, he then set out to the other side of Roman's house, and there was a corresponding bang as he opened the shutters on that side too.
Virgil made a full circuit to where Roman was sitting in thorough confusion. "For the spirits," he said simply. "You need rain, don't you? Silver won't buy you that."
"I must admit, Virgil," Roman said. "that you are beginning to worry me somewhat. Luck is a superstition. I do love a good story, but that doesn’t mean you have to go around just giving people things."
"Why not?" Virgil shrugged. "I could eat, if there’s food going. And your meadow is nice."
"I can keep the doors open," Roman offered. "And just drag my mattress to the doorway for you to have a decent rest, at least."
"No rooves," Virgil said.
"...can I at least ask why that is? Or how long you've done that?"
"No and no," Virgil said, crossing wrapping his arms over his chest.
"Maybe it's an avoidance thing," Roman posited. "If you tried a little bit of a roof-"
"No rooves," Virgil repeated firmly. "No rooves, no walls."
Roman got up from his chair and went into his kitchen for food. "No manners," he added, in a teasing tone. "And no cloak. Got it, got it-"
"Took you long enough." But Virgil was mollified.
By the time Roman came out, Virgil was sitting on the chair watching the sunset, the light of it reflecting against his skin.
"Seat-hog," Roman said, handing him the plate.
Virgil sat cross-legged and rested the plate in the middle of his legs. There was some spicy sausage, leftover cold potatoes, and a pile of preserved fruit with a little wall of bread crust around it so he could save it for dessert.
Virgil happily dipped a potato in the fruit, eliciting a pained noise from Roman.
"Why would you mix those?" he cried.
"Why not?"
"But why?"
"Why not?" Virgil repeated, carefully sandwiching some fruit between a piece of sausage and potato.
"But you're- it's all wrong-"
"Don't knock it till you try it."
"But I made a little battlement to keep the fruit separate-"
"I just gave you silver, don't tell me what to do."
"I tried so hard to make it nice-" Roman said with a melodramatic sigh.
"But I don’t care," Virgil said with a mischievous grin. "Fuck you." He popped his stack of food in his mouth, seeming to relish the clashing flavours and teasing Roman in equal measure.
Roman threw his hand to his chest with a dramatic noise of offence.
Virgil laughed, leaving off the fruit and tucking in properly. He had the same single-minded focus on this meal as he had the last one, an unabashed joy in it which, like anything else about him, was just to the left of normal.
"Have you been having enough to eat?" Roman couldn't help but ask.
"Me? Oh, sure," Virgil said. "I've been travelling here and there; don't worry about me."
"Any plans?" Roman asked, settling on the doorstep since it seemed Virgil wouldn't move from his chair. "Future dreams? For me- I want to set up an orchard! And long term...I don't know, I want to do something big and grand and heroic. It varies on the day, really."
There was quiet for a moment as Virgil finished his mouthful, then he stretched his arms upwards and held it for a moment, content. "I might head up the mountains, tomorrow. See what's there."
"Nothing else? Really?"
A breeze brushed against Roman's ankles, although the rest of the night was still, and it wound upwards to ruffle Virgil's hair before it disappeared again. "Maybe I'll find more good things for good people. Can't promise anything, though."
"How old are you, even?"
"Why's it matter?"
"Well, you won't be young forever," Roman pointed out. "I'm all for great and noble journeys! But- I see people in old age sleeping outside like you with no money, no savings, nowhere to go-"
"Great," Virgil interrupted him. "Maybe I'll meet some more of them and find some silver for them."
"Not my point." Roman was uncharacteristically serious.
Virgil ignored him and returned his focus to the food.
Roman was beginning to feel distinctly guilty for the silver in his pockets. "Even if you don't want to get tied down, at least get… get a horse, or something-"
"I'm happy," Virgil said firmly. "Okay?"
"On your own head be it," Roman grumbled.
"Which it is."
"You're insufferable," Roman said lightly.
"I know."
Roman waited until Virgil had finished up before he broached conversation again. "How far away have you gone? I've not been beyond these few valleys, I was hoping to travel more, but," He shrugged. "the farm needs me."
It was the right question. Virgil tilted his head and considered it. "I've been to the sea on both sides. Up to the mountains in the West. Didn't like the desert. Don't do cities anymore, but I went to as many as I could before now."
"The capital?"
"Yup."
"You have to tell me about it!" Roman said, excited. "The theatres and museums and...all of it."
Virgil rubbed the back of his neck. "Uh, I'm- what do you want to know? I can't tell you anything a book wouldn't. Less, probably."
"What's your opinion?"
"I, uh- I liked the marketplaces. The people and the colours, and the more exotic goods...the theatre was alright too. I like tragedies, war stories, that kind of thing."
"Have a favourite?"
"...I dunno."
"What do you like about them?"
"Sad and scary stuff can be interesting, cathartic, you know- I think that you can do more with them, I guess."
"I can see that!" Roman said. "I like a happy ending though."
"I think they're overrated."
"Do you have a favourite sad ending?"
Virgil began to talk more about a famous love tragedy and its subversions of genre, and Roman, genuinely interested, drew him out on the subject until it was exhausted. Just as it seemed they were done, Virgil ventured a story about an incident on the Northern Road of his own accord, and the flow of the conversation continued.
Once the sun had well and truly fallen down from the sky, Roman began to yawn. "I might have to turn in; there's work tomorrow. Sleep over, let's have breakfast together tomorrow."
"Sure," the vagrant said, pushing himself to his feet with a fluid movement. "I'll see you then."
Roman resisted the urge to offer a blanket, and waved Virgil goodnight. He closed his door but not his shutters, figuring he might as well invite in the spirits of luck and rain. When he was younger he’d wanted to believe in them, leaving the shutters open and sometimes waking up with his dad’s homemade candy under the pillow. But now he knew that if they weren’t kids’ fairy stories they were at most metaphors about opportunity and the vagaries of fortune.
Roman woke up to gentle pattering on his roof and the wind spitting raindrops onto his face through the windows. He stumbled up to bang the windows shut before tucking himself back in.
He felt like he was forgetting something. Had he fed the chickens...
Virgil! Oh, that was it. He tugged his bedclothes into a cloak as he opened up the door and peeked out at his fields.
There was still a pale figure lying in the middle of the meadow.
"Fool," Roman said, between fond and exasperated, and checked the sky for what the pattern of rain would be that day. Not long; it seemed. The clouds were already mostly centred above the farm; the distant sky was blue and clear.
He cupped his hands around his mouth. "Virgil!" he yelled over the pattering rain. "Oh, Virgil!"
The figure startled up, throwing his hands over his head as if the rain would beat him.
"Virgil!" Roman yelled again. "At least find a tree?"
After a moment, Virgil uncurled and looked over to where Roman was.
"What?" he snapped.
"It's raining!" Roman called, a little redundantly. "Find a tree!"
"Find your own bloody tree!" Virgil threw himself back onto the ground, pointedly turning away from Roman.
"I am going to murder him," Roman muttered to himself. "The art of chivalry! The gratitude of a guest! Oh, but these things are so passé..."
He closed the door and started getting ready for the day. Pulling on his cloak, Roman headed out to feed his chickens. He went through his morning chores, trying to focus on the smell of petrichor and damp earth as well as the hiss of rain in the way his father had taught him. Simply paying attention to his senses helped him to dispel anger or anxiety.
He had just scattered the feed when- "Rabid roosters!" Roman screamed as Virgil appeared at his elbow.
"I've not got time for breakfast," Virgil said. He looked like the victim of a poorly-executed drowning. "I'm leaving."
"All because I woke you up?" Roman asked, pressing a hand over his racing heart. "No need to try and shock me!"
"Didn't try, I succeeded," Virgil said with a small smile. "And no, I do actually have to leave."
"For what?"
"For nothing; I'll go for free," Virgil quipped. He turned and walked away. No wonder he had surprised Roman; he made barely any noise as he walked.
"I think you quite like being dramatic," Roman said. "And I think that you could do quite well in one of your tragedies, you have a talent for theatrics."
"Oh really?"
"I'm sorry I woke you up- I just didn't want you to be soaked through. Is that so evil?"
Virgil spread his arms. "Because I wasn't soaked through before."
"Just stay for breakfast," Roman asked. "Why are you making such a big deal of it?"
Virgil's eyes narrowed. "I'm not; you are."
"Someone woke up on the wrong side of the meadow," Roman said, sotto voce.
Virgil mimicked his tone, widening his eyes for emphasis. "Someone woke up being yelled at."
"Fine!" Roman said. "Keep the windows open for luck to blow in."
Virgil folded his arms. "And open to let it leave again."
So Virgil left in anger, and Roman was left to mull over it as he startled the chickens with a handful of violently thrown feed.
*
The third time Virgil came was only three weeks later.
It was a day where the sky seemed higher than usual, wide and blowsy with scudding clouds in patchwork colours. Wind rippled an ocean of grass into rolling waves.
Roman was pacing the perimeter of his property, checking the fences for damage, when a distinctive white-shirted figure came into view on the road from the mountains.
"Hey." Virgil saluted Roman with two fingers as he reached him, leaning over his fence. "Are we good now?"
Roman blew out a breath with a laugh, waving a hand. "That was ages ago, ages and ages and ages."
Virgil raised an eyebrow. "You don't sound that good."
"I admit, I was somewhat...perturbed."
"Sorry.” Roman figured that was as much of an apology as he’d get, but at least it sounded sincere. “I was passing this way and I figured...might as well say hi."
Well, it wasn't like Roman got a lot of visitors. "Hi," he said, "I'm a little busy for now, but you can come around with me."
Virgil hopped over the fence with ease. "Okay."
Roman carried on his stroll. "So- did you see those mountains?"
"I did," Virgil said, "The sunrise was pretty from up there, but I don't know if all the climbing was worth it."
"I guess you have to do the climbing to know."
Virgil looked at Roman properly. "Smart."
"Oh. Thank you." Roman grinned. "And I used your silver to plant my orchard. I'm starting with apples."
"Nice."
That time, Roman didn't so much as offer for Virgil to come inside, and he let Virgil sleep in as long as he liked out in the meadow.
It rained after Virgil left, and Roman began to wonder.
A few months later, Virgil came back. He gave Roman sticks of cinnamon from distant markets for his apples, and wouldn't take a blanket for the night although his skin was freezing to the touch.
Maybe if they had to spend more time together then Virgil's contrary ways and Roman's short fuse would spark fights of more consequence. As it was, if Virgil left after a fight then both were over it by the time he returned for a plate of food and some conversation. They both liked theatre, they could bicker like anything, and friendship grew easily between them.
*
It was an autumn day, and Roman was picking apples when he heard the lightest of footsteps behind him.
"They look good."
Roman turned with a grin and tossed an apple down to Virgil. "All thanks to you. How are you?"
"Alright." Virgil bit into the apple and gave Roman a thumbs up. "Not bad."
"Not bad? Rubies are not redder! The grass is not more green! Honey not swee-" The ladder wobbled as Roman threw his hand out, and Virgil rushed forward to grab the base. Roman teetered in the air for a moment, until he grabbed onto a branch.
"Idiot," Virgil snapped, though Roman could hear the worry in his voice.
"Honey," Roman repeated breathlessly, "is not more sweet."
"Idiot." Virgil picked his apple off the ground and brushed the dirt off on his shirt.
"Let me guess," Roman said, climbing down the ladder, "you've already hit no manners."
"I never left no manners," Virgil said through a mouth full of apple.
"Charming."
Virgil grinned at him. "You know it."
Up close, Virgil looked exhausted. His permanent eye bags were dark as rain clouds, and he seemed to have lost the colour in his face that summer had given him. But there was nothing Roman's stranger hated more than a direct line of questioning. "What have you been up to?"
"This and that," Virgil said. "Trying...new things."
"What kind of new things?"
Virgil shrugged. "Helping more people in a bigger way."
"But I'm your favourite person you help?" Roman teased with a grin.
"Shut up," Virgil said, ducking under his overgrown fringe, and that was more of a confirmation than a yes would have been.
Roman laughed triumphantly. "Ah! You do love me!"
Virgil scowled. "You just have food."
"That's what they say about stray cats, but I chose to believe I can speak in feline whispers."
Virgil laughed through his nose. "So you can cat-whisper me?"
"When you hiss it means 'fuck off'," Roman said solemnly.
Virgil laughed again. "That it does."
"Who are the other people that are feeding you throughout the land?" Roman asked.
"There's an innkeeper in the West," Virgil said. "She always says I'm too skinny, and she collects little figurines so I bring them to her from all over. And, uh, if I need to buy things there's a pie shop I like who'll take shiny rocks for their kid. And anyone who lets their trees grow over into the road is kind of giving the fruit. Sometimes I offer to help out people and they offer food."
"But spirits forbid they pay you with it."
Virgil shrugged. "I don't mind jobs. I just prefer not to get stuck places."
"See? Cat."
"Maybe so." Virgil tugged another apple off Roman's tree without asking, then tossed it into the basket. "Can I stay tonight?"
"Of course."
Virgil smiled at Roman, eyes scrunching up.
Roman gave him a slow blink back in cat-smile, before breaking off with a laugh. "You know, you can help me out here or keep on talking from where you are, I don't mind."
"I'll help, as long as I get to go up the ladder."
"Sure."
Virgil scaled the ladder easily, and the leaves murmured contentedly among themselves as he began to stretch for the fruit Roman had missed. They worked together through the golden afternoon, chatting easily and piling the basket with apples.
As they reached the final tree, Roman moved around to the back of it, showing Virgil where a crack in the bark had begun to let in rot. "I tried everything," Roman said. "I think it might just become a glorious martyr for the others, so the rot doesn't spread."
Virgil tilted his head as he looked at the tree. "It's still mostly good...maybe it will go away by itself."
"You really think so?"
"I mean, I'm not sure, but maybe." Virgil nodded his head in consideration before turning back to Roman. "If that's us done, let's get dinner."
"Let's make Roman make you dinner, you mean," Roman teased.
"Or that," Virgil said. "I have, uh-" He opened up his hidden pouch and pulled out some twists of paper. "More spices for you. Also-" He pulled out a little sparkly rock. "Cool rock!"
"Thank you! It is cool!" Roman said, accepting the gifts. "Come on, you can sit outside and peel potatoes with me. Earn your keep."
"I don't have a keep to earn," Virgil said sharply. A shadow fell over his face. "Not even as a joke."
"Fine, fine." Roman rolled his eyes at Virgil’s touchiness. "I'll do all of the potatoes, again-"
"I didn't say I wouldn't help you, just- forget it." Virgil set the apple-basket on his hip and started back to the house ahead of Roman. "How's your dad doing these days?"
"He's well." Roman chose to take the obvious diversion. "The family dog had puppies, so he's delighted at that."
Roman brought out a low stool for Virgil and they worked through the pile of potatoes together.
Roman liked to be neat, but Virgil was almost obsessive, carefully scraping off the thinnest layer of skin he could and digging out eyes with the very tip of his knife.
"You have done three in the time it took me to finish my pile."
Virgil looked up, as if surprised Roman was still there. "I'm just doing it right!"
"I thought you were hungry."
"I can do them quicker if you like, jeez." Virgil took off a more reasonable strip of skin. "Look, you lose half the potato."
"Must you argue about everything?"
The corner of Virgil’s mouth quirked up. "It takes two to argue, Roman."
"You argue enough for two people," Roman teased back, standing up and going over to the fire. "I'm going to start or the sun will start setting by dinner-time."
"Alright, alright!" Virgil said."I'm speeding up."
The afternoon began to slip away into a cool evening as they settled down to eat. Roman sat near the fire, leaving Virgil to balance his plate on the doorstep.
"Where are the spices from?"
"One from a peddler, one from a shop, one...I think was a gift?"
"You'd better not be poisoning me," Roman said, giving Virgil a mock-stern look.
Virgil laughed. "I make no promises."
The fire snapped and danced with the wind. Roman shifted closer to the fire and started on his potatoes. "So- where next?"
"I don't know," Virgil said. "Maybe the coast again, before winter sets in."
Roman met Virgil’s eyes, voice softening with his concern so as not to spook his stranger. "Do you have somewhere to stay when it snows?"
Virgil shrugged. "No, but I'll figure things out."
"You could stay here," Roman offered. "Not for long, just so that I know you're not freezing somewhere."
"I'll be fine, Roman," Virgil said, meeting his eyes. "I appreciate it, I really do, but I'll be fine."
Roman had a few snarky responses to that lined up, but he didn’t want the conversation to be carried away into bickering. He needed Virgil to know he was serious. "I worry about you."
"I worry about myself; I don't need you to. I always come back here in one piece, don't I?"
"I suppose so." Roman took Virgil's empty plate in for washing. "Still, you also come back hungry and cold, so forgive me for not being entirely convinced."
Virgil shrugged. "Not that hungry and not that cold. I'm going to go and sleep for now, if that's okay?"
Roman sighed. "Sure, but we'll finish talking in the morning."
Virgil rolled his eyes.
"All I offer is to help you!" Roman protested.
"And I appreciate it," Virgil replied earnestly before he got up. "Goodnight."
"Goodnight.”
Roman woke up to the sound of rain and banging on his door.
He stumbled out of bed, tugging open the door to see Virgil, silhouetted by the darkness. "Roman! Roman- something's happening-" Virgil broke off as if the air had been pulled from his lungs and he reached out a hand to grab Roman's as he fought for breath. "I- you need to get me out of here, you need to try and move me and I can't- no time to explain just-"
The instant Roman stepped forward to take Virgil's hands his vision flashed white.