Chapter Text
The winters in North Nestoria were as cold as ever, yet they were magnificent and scenic at the same time; if one were not fazed by the blistering cold, one would learn to appreciate its beauty.
There were the frozen-over ponds, with its white frost covering the surface of the water like frosted glass, while the koi fish swam underneath, forming a current of orange and red like a rumbling, tumbling wildfire spreading in the water.
In those months, the towering evergreen trees and the land seemed to be covered in a veil of white, reducing the usual vibrant greenery and life into a monotonous, grey slate.
Tristus now regretted giving his mate his cloak, because the howling wind had clearly stolen all warmth from his bare body. On the other hand, his mate was bundled up snugly in a scarf and two thick, wool-woven cloaks with the hood pulled up.
Arcass was obviously not prepared for the change in temperature, yet, he was cunning enough to convince Tristus to give him another cloak. Minx.
Being raised in the Northwind, where temperatures constantly plundered to inhuman levels, the snow continuing to fall even in summer, Tristus thought he would be able to withstand the Nestoris winter-- which was considered mild compared to all the winters he had been through.
But evidently, he wasn’t as tolerant as before. Perhaps he was getting too comfortable in the southern province of New Voltaria after the war, so accustomed to this hard-earned warmth that he had almost forgotten the cold he had endured for decades. Now? He thought it was the southern heat he wouldn’t be able to be accustomed to, but to his dismay, it was the cold that was now a foreign sensation to him.
He chuckled to himself, feeling giddy for no reason.
Hand in hand, the two men trudged through the ankle-deep snow, heading towards the home that Arcass hadn’t stepped in for almost a couple of weeks. It was just the night prior when Arcass had come back from the south; barely having any time to prepare for his mate’s arrival: He was deployed to solve an undead crisis in the south, which took him longer than imagined.
“So what injury did you acquire this time?” Tristus teased. “So that your superiors forced you to take a break?”
“I actually took the leave myself this time,” Arcass stated as plainly as he could, seeing a flash of surprise going through his mate’s eyes which diminished as fast as it appeared. “Sometimes I might assume the undead are capable of empathy;” He said dryly, “After all, their attacks have diminished just before the winter solstice! Just in time for Snowfall. ” Arcass drawled. He let out a soft laugh, creases forming in his smiling eyes, dimples forming on his cheeks. Sighing contently, he breathed out a puff of white air.
Tristus snickered as well, finding himself gazing at Arcass half-absentmindedly, “I think your home is right ahead.”
“Ah, right,” Arcass replied, but he was annoyed when he saw the amount of snow that had accumulated -- in just a few hours! He shook off his hand from Tristus’ grip, which the Voltaris reluctantly let go of.
“Just a moment.”
Using the glaive on his right hand, Arcass aimed his polearm at the pile of snow and charged Supporokinesis effortlessly, the familiar hum of the Song fading into his ear. Green, bubble-like particles appeared near the snow in mere seconds, an indicator of well-refined expertise. The sudden sting of pain was almost unbearable. Almost.
With a seeming leisure gesture from the wielder, the snow split open, revealing a clear dirt and gravel path which led directly into the cave.
With another gesture, Arcass charged the Song again, and the snow which found its way inside the cave was lifted out. He breathed out, readjusting his weight around his legs after a temporary loss of balance, then held Tristus’ hand again, leading him down the stairs into the cave.
“Welcome,” Arcass said, “To my humble abode.” Then he blushed, realising this was the first winter the both of them had spent together in Nestoria. “I’ll fetch something to block out the wind! It was not this cold last week!” He gritted, tugging on his layers of cloaks as he stumbled to the other end of the cave, thrashing through his storage.
Sitting down wasn’t Tristus’ best suit, so he tried to make himself useful. After plopping down the bucket of water he had obtained from the well, he couldn’t resist doing something else. Seeing some bundled firewood near the entrance, he unbundled them and took them inside the cave, placing them down near the fireplace.
He opened the damper of the chimney and stuck his head in, feeling a cold sensation overtaking everything else in his nerves. Definitely clear. He then ducked and came out. Using a flint and steel in his rucksack, he lit up a small stick to prime the flue, so the smoke wouldn’t blow into the house when he started the fire. Later, he arranged the firewood into an orderly structure and set it ablaze. Soon, the small flickering flame spread through the stack of wood and lit up the fireplace, its heat warming up the room.
At the same time, Arcass just returned from blocking the entrance by cramming an assortment of panels and boxes towards it, the wind’s howling slowly dimmed down to a whimper while the gentle crackling of the fireplace grew louder.
He paced to the bucket, scooping up some cold water to fill the teapot, then he started a fire in the furnace. With the water now boiling, Arcass reached to a shelf nearby, dragging out a container-- it held a dried tea brick, a gift from a Sendaris merchant he had saved. The tea brick had clearly been used, the uneven shave marks indicating how frequent its owner had drunk tea.
Afterwards, he shaved off a bit of the dried teacake into the mortar, then grinding it into a coarse, green, powder-like substance. After some time had passed, the water in the pot was bubbling with vigour, with white steam pouring out from the inside.
Arcass lifted it from the stove and set it on a mat on the table, then he poured the ground tea leaves into the pot to brew. He took two cups and set both on the table, before realising Tristus was nowhere near the table-- Tristus was in fact taking out the potatoes from the sack.
Arcass shuffled over to Tristus’ side, placing his hand and head on him. “I’ll go make supper, you stay put. It must be tiring travelling all day.” Arcass sighed.
“Not as tiring as fighting monsters without rest, love,” Tristus said, with Arcass’ full-body coming into his view at the moment. He looked down, now realising the fresh bandaging on Arcass’ ankle.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
And Arcass thought he had hidden it well, but oh well, nothing could escape the eyes of a trained killer.
Tristus’ heart had felt a sting of pain, of being unable to notice that his mate’s leg was injured even though they had been walking together for the past hour. Immense guilt washed over his body. He remembered Arcass had been carrying some of his belongings and was using a Song in pain! How could he not notice that Arcass had been hiding a limp this whole time? Perhaps his perception was certainly getting rusty.
An uneasy silence filled the room as a white lie was shattered, its broken entrails falling onto the ground. Tristus had gotten used to Arcass’ lack of self-preservation over the years, but that did not mean he could just turn a blind eye to the towering wall that had arisen between him and his mate when Arcass’ health condition was brought up.
“I’ll handle it.” They both said in unison, and they sighed together. Upon a silent agreement, they had agreed to prepare supper together, for it would be more efficient than doing it alone.
Other than the tea they had made prior, on the wooden table sat a steaming pot of stew, two bowls, and a basket of sliced bread bought in the morning.
Tristus filled a cup with hot tea, then slid the tea towards Arcass. Instantly the room was steaming with a delightful aroma.
Finally feeling hot enough, Arcass peeled off his scarf and Tristus’s cloak from his back, while limping towards Tristus, finding no reason to hide it anymore, which caused Tristus to let out a long, concerned breath, again.
Arcass then covered Tristus’ back with the cloak, mouthing a soft apology near the man’s ear.
While the Nestoris sat down on his cloth-covered chair, he reached towards the cup in Tristus’ hands.
But as their fingers brushed against one another, Arcass, for no reason, looked up and his gaze met Tristus’. Even after Arcass and Tristus had been together for years, Arcass still found himself frozen like a young girl in a sappy romance play-- or a scared child under the threat of a razor-sharp blade, it’s obvious who in the relationship had made the former comparison and who made the latter.
Tristus did not comment on the fact that it took Arcass, who usually had an exceptional reaction time, ten whole seconds to take the cup. He merely smiled elusively upon realising the effect of his eyes on the flirt, and the next thing he knew, the Nestoris poster boy’s face was fiery red.
In an attempt to quench his embarrassing blushing fit, Arcass took a swig of the boiling tea.
“ARCASS, THE TEA-”
Arcass’ eyes bulged open the moment the searing liquid hit his tongue.
“Shit! Ow ow ow-” Arcass huffed, his hand politely covering his mouth, yet all sorts of profanities spewed out of it in an instant, “Fuckitsactuallyburningmytongue--” Arcass started fanning his hand while inhaling and exhaling at groundbreaking speeds.
Tristus, who was already amused by his mate’s blushing, started cackling with laughter at the scene. His gaze softened just by looking at Arcass, who was free of the burden of the world on his shoulders, even if it were just a moment.
Arcass frowned, faking his irritation as he stood up from his seat, pretending to start a fight with Tristus, “Shut up,”
Then his unhealed twisted leg had got the better of him, his leg lost its strength from prolonged activity, his balance wobbling.
As he stumbled and fell, Tristus scrambled up at an instant and held Arcass in his arms, reprimanding him like a child. “Alright, alright, sit down and eat now,”
Sometimes, Tristus could see Arcass’ inner child seeping out from the cracks of the countenance of a soldier; and perhaps it was those times where the Nestoris could reclaim a little bit, just a little bit of the childhood he had lost decades ago.
Despite hailing from distinctively different clans, Tristus Voltaris found that Arcass was not so different from him: both were raised as trained killers, fed with nothing but hatred and malice towards the other’s clan-- except one was hailed as an eminent war hero, while the other had to hide and bury his real identity, always on the run from it.
Perhaps in those similarities and differences did they find solace with each other. The old Tristus would have scowled at the mere thought of a living, breathing, non-Voltaris Ardoni existing near him.
Arcass sat down next to Tristus and stuck his bandaged ankle on a vacant stool nearby. When Arcass’ sight slid down onto Tristus’ worn and battered cloak, a glint flashed in his eyes, as though something had come upon his mind.
“So, I had actually made you a little something, for your arrival,” He found himself stumbling on his own words, his sentences wobbling in his mouth, “Obviously-- I’d already finished it before the mission-- but I thought it would better to give it to you in person,”
He pulled a meticulous package from a pocket in his cloak, wrapped with discoloured paper and bound with a rope, then slid it into his mate’s hands.
Tristus handled the package with care, cradling it in his hands as if he was handed a newborn, “I… Thank you-- you shouldn’t have,” He leaned towards Arcass and gave him a gentle peck on the cheek. “May I?” He pinched the rope.
“Wouldn’t make sense to wrap the gift if you’re not allowed to open it,” Arcass mused, returning the kiss.
Tristus gulped as he slowly undid the rope, removing the paper wrapping as his eyes widened in awe and sparkled in delight due to the gift inside it. He looked at Arcass with an incredulous gaze, not believing that Arcass had actually gone out of his way to make this on his own--
“Ah, yes I’d made this, but it’s nothing too impressive!” Arcass rambled, his composure slipping out of his hands, “I-uh-I obviously didn’t have much time, because of my work and such, so don’t expect much!” His voice lowered into nervous murmuring.
Tristus lifted out the folded fabric from the box as the both of them stared intently, watching it unfold: It was an intricate, dark-grey cloak brandished with a silver fastener, with golden-yellow embroidery snaking up from the bottom ends of the cloak. It reminded Tristus of the luscious, golden ears of wheat on a bright autumn afternoon, or the last threads of glimmering rays of a setting sun.
“Ah,” Tristus said blankly, dumbfounded by the craftsmanship, “It’s a cloak.”
Both of them did not say a word, their silence carrying more weight than their words. Arcass suddenly found himself twiddling his fingers, looking down in insecurity.
“The embroidery is simpler than what you would most likely see in commissioned pieces because- I- I’m not as skilled, the stitches are all over the place-- aren’t they?” The words were subconsciously pouring out of Arcass’ mouth, his nervousness showing, “I mean you can return it to me if you don’t like it--”
“I love it." Tristus interrupted. “You must’ve spent so much time on this piece." He beamed, an excited grin appearing on his face. "Would you mind?” Tristus asked, handing Arcass the new cloak, then removing his old one, throwing it onto the chair.
He then draped Arcass’ gift over himself, finally fastening it together at the centre of his chest, which allowed plenty of room for both of his arms. “So, how do I look?” Tristus spun around, holding onto the ends of the fabric.
Arcass smiled, his heart bundled on his chest and his stomach in knots-- the familiar feeling of adoration drowning him in happiness.
Tristus pulled Arcass into a tight embrace, a silent way of showing his love towards his mate while he was greeted by Arcass’ familiar grip. He buried himself in Arcass’ warmth for just a few seconds. He took off his cloak carefully afterwards, then folded it back into its original shape and tucked it into the box, making sure that even a tiny speck of dirt or dust would not be found on it.
Tristus said, “Now I feel guilty for my gift to you-- because clearly, you had put in so much more effort preparing yours,” Reaching for a sizeable tome from his rucksack, he shifted his hands to evenly balance its weight, “The fourth and final. I know how much you wanted it because you kept on staring at it that time we visited Ky’Alvitr, so…”
Before Tristus could even finish the sentence, Arcass snatched the book, as if it would turn into ashes if it wasn’t in his hands immediately. His eyes swept the book like a prowling wolf: it was bound by leather and thread, its paper carrying weight and durability, “No way! The fuck-” Arcass examined the book again, flipping it over and over, “It’s the real thing, no?” He stared at the diagram-filled pages, “Where did you even get it?”
“I just… Found the right people who were willing to sell it to me,” Tristus shrugged, “ But that’s a story for another time.”
“You have to tell me.” Arcass said, pocketing the book, “Now. This is not just something you can-- pick up -- from a book shop! What did you do!?”
Tristus choked, looking sideways, “Soooo,” He pondered over to the stew, intentionally ignoring Arcass’ dark gaze, “I think we should finish it before it cools off,” trying to steer Arcass away from the topic using food. He dipped a piece of bread into the meaty, gloppy stew, allowing half of the bread to absorb the semi-viscous liquid, then he took a bite of the bread.
He hummed in approval.
Arcass picked up a piece of bread as well, but to Tristus’ dismay, he instead bit on the piece of bread, all dry, without stew nor tea to wash it down, not even batting an eye to his actions.
“You should dip the bread in the stew,” Tristus mumbled, with food in his mouth.
“Nah, I like it dry.”
Tristus smiled as if he’d anticipated this to come, “That’s not what you said when-”
Arcass stared at the stew for a moment, then he groaned in annoyance, reliving the memory. “Really, Tristus Voltaris? Really?”
“Sorry. Sorry!” Tristus said between jovial laughter, “But you’re an Honour Guard, no? These jokes are the norm there.”
“Not when they’re coming out of your mouth, you dull-horn,” Arcass replied while dipping the bread into the bowl of stew. As he chewed it down, a pleasant countenance appeared on his visage, feeling the savoury taste of the seasoned vegetable stew.“Wait, it’s actually good!” He reached for another, eager to try out his new discovery.