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If anyone had told Graf Urtica that he would one day find himself woken up before dawn by Herr Czerny himself to hike to a lake, he would've been torn between relentless mockery and laughing until he passed out. What a fanciful delusion! As if he would ever agree to something so foolish, and as if a legendary composer would deign to talk to him about anything other than music.
Now here he is, sunscreen slathered over his pale skin and a backpack tugging at his shoulders, as he tries to keep pace. Turns out that, even when Czerny isn't trying to hurry, those long legs of his make him rather fast. Lovely view from behind, but hell to actually follow. Ebenholz is pretty sure his own legs are about to splinter and snap.
"Quite pathetic of you, my descendent."
"As if you ever walked more than two feet out of your Spire, you shitty old man. If you aren't going to help, stick to watching the scenery and shut the hell up."
Truly, the landscape here is gorgeous. There are more shades of green here than Ebenholz had ever comprehended, and the trees seem to tower even taller than the spires. Sunlight streams in through gaps in the branches above, illuminating spores and buzzing insects. Small beasts of fur and of feather flit along branches and through the underbrush. They chitter, sing, snap tiny branches underfoot, rendering this world far louder than expected.
Ebenholz is used to looking over the world from far above, but even more than when walking the streets of Vysenheim or the hallways of the Rhodes Island landship, wandering these woods makes him feel so small.
Czerny is so far ahead that he'll occasionally hop off the path to get a closer look at something, like a fallen long with more tiny trees growing out of it or a patch of mushrooms frilled like a fungal cravat, then bound back before Ebenholz is even halfway to catching up. Ebenholz would call him out for taunting him without even speaking, but then he notes how the composer hasn't actually spoken much at all, taking in the woodland ambiance with a soft smile and a humming tune. And he looks so damn happy , with the light catching his hair and eyes, sun exposure accentuating the dusting of freckles along his cheeks, that any complaints die right on Ebenholz's tongue.
Oh, he knew that Czerny had wanted to go swimming in "an actual lake, not one of these damn chlorinated pools" for awhile now, and the composer's health had bounced back enough that his doctors had finally cleared him to go on short excursions around the local town without a medic on hand. But he hadn't expected to be woken up this morning by the Elafia, dressed in hiking gear with a backpack already packed, asking if Ebenholz would join him.
Ebenholz had been more than happy to accept, especially since he was normally the one who initiated their adventures. Though this is a bit more...strenuous than the excursions Ebenholz normally plans, which tend to be explorations of nearby towns or social gatherings in the landship. Also more private. Which Ebenholz is thankful for, both for the romanticism of it and so no one else will see him if he passes out before even reaching the lake.
"Czerny, are we almost there?"
"Warte kurz..." The Elafia unfolds a truly gargantuan map, so he appears to be a white square with legs and antlers. "About two kilometers left. Not too long at all."
The thought of anything longer than a few more steps makes Ebenholz groan. He stumbles off the path and practically collapses onto a log. "Ich brauche Urlaub. My legs are going to fall off."
Czerny takes a seat beside him. "I suppose you did not have to walk much, living in the Spire most of your life. But did they not include any physical exercise for Caster certification?"
"If a Caster has to travel long distances alone in a hurry, then a mission has gone horribly wrong." Ebenholz leans back with a groan, wiping sweat from his brow. "There were a handful of physical tests, and I had to retake a couple after some...intense training with Frau Dobermann." He shudders from the memory alone. So many laps...and that damn obstacle course..."But Casters are trained more for bursts of movement if anything. Just enough to get out of immediate danger."
"Mmhmm. Mine was much the opposite as a Defender, but I was fortunate enough that my old stamina reprised swiftly enough, once I resumed exercise and received professional medical care."
"Right. You'd said you used to be fairly active so you could play longer concerts, yes?"
Czerny nods, gaze growing distant as he speaks. "That was a fortunate side effect, yes. I simply...enjoyed being out of doors. There is much inspiration to be found outside one's home after all. After all, you can't tell me you've encountered anything like this in the Spire."
Ebenholz looks up at the endless green, at birds flying overhead and a couple leaves softly drifting down to the forest floor. His gaze follows it down to the underbrush, to ancient gnarled tree roots breaking through the earth. A memory that feels just as old crawls to the surface.
"Not in the Spire, no. But when I was small...back in the orphanage. Where the experiments happened. I grew so scared that one day, I fled to the nearby forest. A few bedtime stories had been about children stumbling upon salvation in the woods, and I'd thought...well, I'd been very young and foolish, back then." He chuckles. Czerny does not laugh with him. He continues, "I tripped on a tree root. Twisted my ankle pretty bad and gashed my knee on a rock."
He rolls up his pant leg to show a faint silver of a scar along his left knee. "I...did not react well. I hid in a bush and tried to cover the wound with leaves, blubbering all the while. So I was in quite a state when they found me. Didn't go outside much after that."
Czerny doesn't say anything in response, nor would Ebenholz want his partner to; so many people react to his stories with pity or reassurances, which only pisses him off more because he knows that what he went through wasn't right or fair. He's not explaining for sympathy, he just wants others to understand where he's coming from. Czerny knows not to treat him like he's so fragile.
Instead, a warm hand comes to rest on the back of Ebenholz's neck, fingers slowly massaging the tendons. A habit that had first begun as a way to help combat migraines, even before the two of them had become so close. Now it seems to be Czerny's way of quietly communicating what his words so often fail to do. His steady pulse and the even breathing are a calming contrast to the ever-present cacophony of the Voice of Terra and Ebenholz's own taunting thoughts.
They sit like that awhile, passing a water bottle back and forth, watching the world flit by around them. Czerny eventually removes his hand and digs through his backpack in search of a notebook to jot down a quick composition idea, humming along as he tries to keep the melody intact before transcribing it. The song seems to attract some of the birds, and soon a couple have come to rest on his antlers, causing the Elafia to freeze in place.
It takes almost too much effort for Ebenholz not to laugh. "A pretty voice, bright plumage...perhaps the birds think you are one of their own."
Czerny does not seem to find the humor in this situation as he carefully raises a hand to shoo the birds away. "Flattering, but I am already taken. Also, you are far less likely to make a mess of my hair than they are."
"Ah, but you looked so sweet, mein Liebe! Like a fairytale prince surrounded by sweet woodland beasts."
"And in another two seconds, I would have been covered in bird shit." He snaps his notebook shut. "Are your legs feeling better now?" Ebenholz nods in response. "And your head? No migraines, I hope?"
"My new medication has been working well, so as long as I do not push my arts, I should be fine. Though on the off-chance that we somehow...I don't know, get ambushed by wild hounds or some Reunion splinter group hiding out in the lake, you did tell the rest of the branch where we went, right?" Czerny stands up without answering and without meeting his gaze. Ebenholz asks again, "You...told them. Right? You didn't just leave without warning?"
Czerny's ears twitch in that particular way they do whenever he is being cagey about something; his body is as bad a liar as his mouth. "I put in notice that I'd be taking a day off with you ahead of time. And I'd left a note on my door that we'd be back before dark."
Oh, the rest of the Rhodes Island branch are going to kill them. Especially the medics. Especially Hibiscus. "And it didn't occur to you that in case of emergency, this might have been a bad idea?"
Czerny exhales a long and low breath. "I am aware. Believe me, I wrestled with myself for quite awhile over doing something so selfish as this. Since I had the idea, in fact. But I wanted...I wanted to share this with you, alone. No other squadmates, no medics looking over our shoulders as if we might turn to dust at any moment. Who knows when we'll be in a place like this again?"
And who knows what condition either of them might be in the next time such an opportunity comes around?
Ebenholz says, "I have often told you that you are too selfless for your own good. So I understand, and I will help vouch for you when the medics invariably try to, I don't know, handcuff us to our own beds for the next week so we don't wander off again." He holds out a hand for Czerny pull him back up to his feet, then reaches up to cup his partner's cheek. "Besides, how can I say no to a face like this?"
Czerny frowns at that. "Do I truly look so pathetic?" Almost comically, his ears droop when he asks this.
"Like a kicked cloudbeast." Ebenholz smirks and reaches higher to muss some of that red hair. "I kid, liebe. Even had I known, I still would have come along. I feel like I am seeing a new side of you out here, you know? I wouldn't dare miss out on that." He never got to see his partner in the prime of his youth, after all. But even now, he looks so much younger and happier under this dappled woodland sunlight with the promise of a lakeside swim so close at hand.
Czerny sighs even as he leans into Ebenholz's touch. "How can you be so rude yet so sweet in the same breath? You truly do baffle me sometimes."
"I believe you once told me you like having someone who keeps you on your toes."
"You have me there." This time, Czerny offers his arm for Ebenholz to latch onto. "Here, we can keep pace for the rest of the journey. And if you do start feeling unwell, you will let me know immediately."
"Of course. Lead the way, liebe."
"Kalt!" Ebenholz practically leaps back, his now-damp foot suspended over the water. "Es ziemlech kalt...!"
"Kälte ist ein relativer Begriff," Czerny says, as if he didn't also wince when he first touched the lake water. "It may feel overwhelming at first, but you will acclimate quickly enough. Faster, if you decide to dunk your whole body in."
"Sure, sure. Do you plan on demonstrating this, my bravest one?"
"Once I am certain you won't lose your nerve and retreat to the beach, then yes, I plan to." Czerny's already up to his knees, submerged grass swaying around his legs. He holds a hand out. "Come on now. A little bit of cold won't kill you."
"Considering some of the foes we have faced, I would argue otherwise." Ebenholz casts one last look at the shore, where their clothes and a pair of towels rest in the grass, and the rest of their supplies rest under a nearby tree. It would be tempting to simply while away the afternoon with his latest book in the shade, especially after all that hiking. But even if he weren't interested in swimming with his loved one...he refuses to be labeled a coward.
That isn't to say this makes the lake any less cold. Czerny had even explained on their way up that much of the water around here comes from snow melting off the mountains, a far cry from the temperature-controlled pool or the warm waves he'd learned to swim for. The water's grittier too, with dirt and bits of algae, and even a couple fish that dart away as the Caprinae half-steps and half-hops through the cold.
"Almost there, liebe." Czerny holds out a hand that looks so invitingly warm. Ebenholz reaches for it. Too late does he catch that they're both now thigh-deep in the water. A hand comes to rest on Ebenholz's back. Then Czerny smirks in an uncharacteristically mischievous way.
"Don't you dare!" Ebenholz screeches mere seconds before Czerny tips backwards and they both plunge under the water. He sputters before he's brought back up for air, teeth chattering and cold seeping through every pore in his body. And Czerny is laughing at him. "You fiend! You vile, wretched bastard!"
"Who, me? For helping you get used to the water?"
"Don't play innocent with me!" Ebenholz splashes at his partner, but the force of his blow causes him to topple over and nearly fall back in. Which only makes Czerny laugh harder, one of those rare bouts of mirth where he's clutching his sides as his voice booms like an oboe. It is...incredibly hard to stay angry at that.
Still, Ebenholz can't take this entirely lying down, so he half-heartedly splashes the composer again. "Mark my words, I will have my revenge later. When you least expect it. Sleep with one eye open."
"As if you don't always fall asleep first." Czerny brushes aside his hair, finally remembering to tie it back with the hairband around his wrist, and he looks so stupidly pretty with the sunlight catching his hair and little drops of water trailing along his body that Ebenholz could kiss him.
...Later. Not now, that would defeat the purpose of his claims of vengeance. Though much as he hates to admit it, the water around him doesn't feel quite so frigid any more.
"Look, you got your wish. Now we're both soaked. What else is there to do at a lake? I mean, I've read a bit about it in books, but it seems to mostly be splashing or fishing." Ebenholz narrows his gaze. "Tell me you did not bring me here to fish."
"Never. I handled a hook once and pricked my finger so bad I nearly cried. Though in my defense, I was only eight." Czerny hums as he surveys the lake. The light glistens off the faint waves, and while the water closer to them is cast in murky browns, the lake at large is a deep and fathomless blue like it's trying to reflect the sky overhead. A couple islands dot the lake, though Czerny quickly nixes the idea of swimming over to them; "We should stay within sight of the shore, to ensure nothing gets into our supplies. Also swimming too far with your limited stamina is...inadvisable."
"I am not sure if I should be insulted or thankful."
"You should be thankful I am not Frau Dobermann. Let's see...you learned to backstroke, correct? Good. Then lie back, arms out, just like that...and listen."
Has the sky always been so blue? So fathomless? It seems to go on forever. Bright too, what with the rising sun, but its warmth is a comforting contrast to the cold water against his back. His ears dip under, uncomfortable for that first moment.
Then he hears it: the sound of the lapping waves, the currents underneath, a low and slow pulse like a far-off heartbeat. The minute shifts of the water as fish dart through. Wind in the trees around them. Distant animals and creaking branches.
"It's music," he whispers.
"It is." Czerny's fingers intertwine with his, loosely connecting the two of them as they float. He sighs like a river finally reaching the ocean. "I have long wished to repeat it on my own. To somehow capture it with my pen. Translate it to strings and keys. But listening to it again after so long...perhaps that is a task too mighty, even for me."
"You are too modest. If anyone could do it, it's you."
"Doubtful. I could live twice as long as the Witch King and still not get it down."
Curious, Ebenholz mentally prods the Witch King for a response, but even that bastard in his head is soothed into silence by the waves. In fact, if he feels anything from the Witch King, it is...contemplation. Almost serene but uneasy about it. Can a shred of a man's soul, turned into a melody, feel regret over what he'd missed in life? Would he allow it even if he could?
"Do not pity me, boy."
"I'm not the one clinging to being miserable here on the water." Ebenholz doesn't want to dwell on the dead, anyway. He wants to dwell on the life surrounding him right now. "Suppose you did live that long. Or at least, long as you wished. If we were not Infected. Would you settle down here, on a lake like this?"
"I am unsure. I never thought about it before." There is a brief but sharp prick of the skin as their shoulders bump together, courtesy of a new crystal they'd found on Czerny's skin just a week before. "When I was young, I thought I would find myself wrapped in the finery of the Spire, as that is what everyone else wanted for me after a university education. Then I became Infected and resigned myself to never leaving the Afterglow. Never leaving the home I'd been born in. I had been ready to die without hearing this song again."
Ebenholz knows that feeling too well; after all, he'd been prepared to do the same at that fateful concert. "And it hadn't seemed fair at all. Because you could see life going on right outside your window, or read about it in a book, but you couldn't just...go out and experience it for yourself. Right?"
"That is correct. But now, we have left. All those places we dreamed about are so close. And that makes it...difficult, to remember that we still aren't as free as we wish to pack up and leave. We are still Infected." Czerny squeezes his hand, and his eyes are as glossy and blue as the water below and the sky above. He whispers a confession: "I want to see it anyway. All of it. Even if it means I never see Vysenheim again, or even another concert hall. Given the chance, I would love nothing more than to travel the world with you."
"You'd have us be vagabonds? Sleeping under the stars and performing our music in seedy bars across Terra?" Ebenholz tries to imagine it. His mind cobbles together fragments gathered from movies gleaned in the A/V room and grainy photographs, radio songs and the handful of places he's visited on his travels so far. "That sounds...wonderful, actually. No borders and no nobles to contend with. Maybe we could even take that motorbike of yours, if you can get it running again."
"Maybe." Czerny closes his eyes. His grip falls slack. "Some fantasy, hmm? It is always easier to dream, drifting away like this."
Ebenholz tightens his hold on his partner's hand. "It does not have to be a dream, you know. Didn't you once tell Kreide that he should fight for what was rightly his instead of giving up? He...he didn't get that chance, in the end. But we do. Promise me you'll stay well enough that we can do this again. We can work up to the rest, but at the very least, I want to come back here with you."
Czerny is silent for so long it borders on unnatural, and Ebenholz has to wonder if he somehow crossed a line, broken the fragile peace of the present with that ever-looming future. They drift together again, shoulder to shoulder, crystals to skin, black hair intermingling with red.
He finally says, in a voice deep as the lake holding them aloft, "I promise, we'll come back here. And I also promise we will both travel this world that was denied to us. I will fight for that so long as I draw breath." He pulls Ebenholz's hand to his face, kissing wet knuckles. "Thank you. For...everything."
"Of course. We've got to keep ourselves from sinking somehow."
The shore is far away now, but Ebenholz does not worry. He knows that no matter where they drift, they'll help each other back to solid ground somehow.
For now, it is fine to merely float.