Chapter Text
Temenos’ breath escaped him in hazy puffs in the air, just one more sign of winter’s icy clutches wrapped tightly around the village he called home. There hadn’t been snow, yet, but Temenos was certain that it wouldn’t be long; frost lingered on grass and cobblestones alike, crystalline webs of ice spun across windowpanes, remaining through the heat of the day, and gloomy, gray clouds hung heavy in the sky, ready to lighten their load.
It was a good thing, then, that he’d escaped his duties at the cathedral on time, for once. The mountain road was light on travelers, this time of year, and without having to stop and guide anyone to or from the village, or to fend off any particularly foolish beasts looking for an easy meal, it was as though he were being hurried along by the path itself, his silent, unchanging companion of many years on the lonely trip home.
Most days, he and Crick would walk together— to the outside eye, nothing more than the Inquisitor and his loyal Godsblade on the road back to the village after dark. One to light the way, and one to guard against the potential dangers of the journey. Those who were slightly more observant— or slightly less fearful of his title— might instead see two old friends, keeping each other company after long days at work in comfortable silence or familiar, teasing conversation. Anyone who knew better, however, would see the truth, illuminated by the gentle glow of Temenos’ lantern: soft touches and exhausted, longing stares, hushed discussion of dinner plans, and the quiet, unyielding support between two people who knew each other better than anyone else.
Temenos walked alone that day, on his way home before the sun set, as he had promised when he left that morning. Crick had the day off; Temenos had coerced a promise from him that he wouldn’t go out of his way to escort him home from the cathedral and would instead take the time to relax. In turn, Crick had insisted that he return at a reasonable hour. Neither of them were in the business of breaking promises to each other— Crick took his vows too seriously by half, and while most of the time, Temenos wasn’t particular about saying exactly what he meant, Crick’s devoted, wholehearted trust in him had inspired him to, if nothing else, offer him his honesty— his respect. After spending so long by his side, it seemed the least that he deserved.
The little cottage they shared came into view not a moment too soon, the smoke rising from the chimney enough to send a relieved, muted thrum through his chest. He didn’t quite smile, but it was a near thing. It was for the best that he didn’t; he had a reputation to maintain, after all, and of late, people seemed to have a knack for spotting him just when he least wanted to be—
“Inquisitor Temenos!”
— found. Temenos resolutely did not sigh, schooling his expression into the perfect image of serenity when he turned to see who had called for him. A courier, it seemed, rummaging through the satchel at their side as they approached, hand emerging with a small envelope.
They held it out towards him. “A letter for you, sir.”
“Oh?” Curious. He lifted his brows and accepted the letter, narrowing his eyes at familiar, scrawling script that simply read, Inquisitor Temenos Mistral and Ser Crick Wellsley. “Thank you.”
“Certainly. Stay warm, sir.”
They left with a tip of their hat, and Temenos hummed, continuing on the sloped path back up to the chapel, and, beyond, his home.
Stepping through the threshold was a comfort all of its own. The heat hit him first, blowing across his face the very moment he opened the door, as though to chase away the worst of the chill. Crick had lit a fire, it seemed— good. It wouldn’t do for him to have needlessly frozen all day, and Temenos didn’t have any interest in defrosting a knight in his spare time.
Not again.
The smell came next, something wonderful and sweet that was surely baking in the hearth, and the lingering scents of dried pine needles, no doubt another gift from Ort up in the frozen wastes around Stormhail that Crick had unearthed and put to use somewhere around their home.
Temenos’ eyes flicked around as he stepped out of his shoes. The room was spotless: everything in its proper place, blankets and furs straightened on the bed, books perfectly aligned on the shelves instead of their usual places, left scattered on tables or counters or stacked wherever they were most convenient for one or the other to reach. Crick had been busy, indeed.
Crick looked up from where he stood by the hearth, mixing something in a bowl, and met Temenos’ eyes with a wide, guileless smile. “Welcome home, Temenos. How was your day?”
The sight chased the last remainders of the chill from his heart. He hummed, setting his staff off to the side. “Just as perfectly uneventful as ever. That doesn’t seem to be the case here, however… you’ve been rather busy, haven’t you?”
Crick’s flush was enough of an answer all on its own.
Temenos sighed, put-on. He shrugged out of his cloak, pointedly leaving it cast across the foot of the bed to make the place feel lived in again. “Remind me to teach you how to take advantage of a day off work, Crick. You’re meant to use them to relax, you know.”
“I did!” He laughed, pouring the contents of the bowl into the pot hanging above the fire before setting it aside, wiping his hands, and crossing the room to stand near him. “I read a book this morning. But then… the chapel door wasn’t sealing correctly, so I went over to help fix it— it’s too cold to let the sisters freeze in there, to say nothing of the children. And then they needed water, so I went and fetched them some from the river, so they wouldn’t have to go outside. Once I made it back, I thought you might appreciate coming home to a clean house, so I picked up a little… and I noticed that some of the fruit was going off, so I found a recipe for a dessert that I think you’ll enjoy—”
The longer he spoke, the more intense the swirling warmth in Temenos’ chest became, blooming just under his skin. It was a nearly unbearable fondness, a comfortable and familiar longing, that finally had him reaching up to press the winter-chilled fingers of his free hand to Crick’s cheek; he fell silent at the touch, making a face at the cold, but nonetheless obliged Temenos’ silent request, covering that same hand with his own and leaning in for a kiss.
Temenos dragged it out for as long as he could, but eventually, Crick pulled away, something soft and quiet and aching in his voice when he repeated, “Welcome home. I’m glad you’re here.”
“I’m rather glad to be here,” Temenos smiled.
Crick’s eyes dropped down to his other hand. “Did you get a letter?”
“Ah, yes,” he said at the reminder, eyes flicking over the envelope once more. “It’s for both of us.”
“Oh?” Crick wrapped his arms around his waist from behind and settled his chin on his shoulder to see. Years of such instinctive, simple touches had done nothing to dull the overwhelming peace that Temenos felt when they happened; he leaned back into Crick’s chest with a deep, satisfied sigh.
Temenos tapped the little wax seal. “Yellow. That will mean it’s from Partitio.”
“Unusual for him to call on us. Open it up, let’s see what he wants.”
Temenos did as asked, ripping the envelope open with little fanfare and pulling out the card inside. They read it in silence, until—
“An invitation?” Crick asked.
“So it would seem.” Temenos tamped down a subtle bit of amusement with a hum. It seemed that his efforts earlier that year hadn’t been in vain, after all. He did so enjoy getting what he wanted out of people, and Partitio was particularly easy to manipulate for these sorts of things— dreadfully sentimental, was his favorite merchant. “'A gathering of old friends, to celebrate the tenth anniversary of our victory'. How quaint.”
He could feel Crick smile against his cheek. “That sounds nice. We should go.”
Temenos made an unconvinced sound in the back of his throat just for the sake of being contrary. He let out a weary sigh. “I suppose it would be nice to catch up with everyone. But the travel, Crick… My bones ache with the mere thought.”
“Do not even start with me, Temenos,” Crick audibly rolled his eyes, and Temenos couldn’t resist a snicker.
“Oh, very well. Since my little lamb seems so taken with the idea, I suppose it’s only right that I take up my shepherding crook once more and guide you there.”
“Thank you.” Crick swayed side to side once or twice before releasing him. “We’ll need to make arrangements. Oh, and we can’t show up empty-handed…”
Temenos put the letter away and watched the love of his life flit around the room, already working himself into a frenzy of logistics for an event that wouldn’t be for another several months. It was so painfully characteristic of him; a deep, unyielding warmth bloomed within him at the sight.
In truth, even if the gathering hadn’t been his idea, Temenos would have been pleased at the invitation. It was a rare occurrence for them to get to see any of their old friends, cast across the known world and each busy with their own lives, and it was rarer still to get to see all seven. It would be worth the days spent traveling, if only for the opportunity to catch up…
… and, of course, so that Temenos could finally put the first step of his plans into motion.