Archive of Our Own

I yawn, roll over—and smack into a wall of muscle. Dias, of course, is sleeping beside me. He grunts, but doesn't move.

I'm awake enough to be amused. So for fun, I do a kind of lazy flop on top of him to see what'll happen. The bed creaks loudly, and one of the pillows dangling perilously close to the edge falls to the floor. He grunts again, but otherwise doesn't react. He sleeps like a log these days. I guess that's what happens when you get used to a proper bed.

Judging from what I can tell of the sun's height through the window, it's late for us. The main reason is because we got back late yesterday from accompanying old man Hearn to Cross. His son is still out with a broken foot from the recent horse-training mishap, and Maragan, his daughter-in-law, had been the one to ask us.

It was a no-brainer; we were happy to help. The main part was convincing Hearn that it wasn't a bother, which wasn't that hard. I told him how much we'd appreciate going, that Dias was looking for an excuse to get out of the village, and I could drag along some stuff I made as well.

It was nostalgic, riding with Dias in the covered back of the wagon. We tried not to jostle everything as we bounced along the bumpy roads, periodically tumbling into each other. It was like we were wandering mercenaries again, hired to guard the goods. Well, we were hired to guard the goods, just that payment was a round trip to the big city. The Arlia Village extended family discount.

We had only one bandit scare on the way. As in, we scared some bandits. As soon as the wagon stopped and we heard Hearn curse, Dias and I were out with swords drawn—and found ourselves facing four men with terrified expressions on their faces. They swore and yelled and ran away. They were gone in seconds, leaving us standing next to the wagon and staring at the empty path.

For some reason I said, "Bye!" in a voice that was way louder and more cheerful than necessary. Next to me, Dias cracked up. It's always nice to hear him laugh in such a laid-back, relaxed way. Something that would've been hard to imagine years ago.

Behind us, Hearn said, "Well I'll be—slay me with a funny. Never seen that in all my years."

I turned to Dias. "They even recognized you with your haircut!"

Dias rolled his eyes. "They probably thought it was easy pickings and didn't expect a swordsman, much less two. Now they'll be wondering what's so valuable in this wagon."

I grinned. "Award-winning root vegetables. And some real nice kitchen knives."

He laughed again. "You made good spoons and forks too."

"And the frying pan! I'm extra proud of the frying pan."

"All right," Hearn interrupted. "You boys get back on before they bring their friends over or something. Not that you can't deal with 'em, but I'd rather we get to Cross while everything's still fresh."

We hopped back onto the wagon, and Hearn coaxed the horses to start again.

We split up in Cross. Hearn went off to find his usual contacts in the market, while Dias and I headed to the Royal Hunt to sell a sword and a few pieces of armor. I don't make them as much these days since demand in Arlia is more for nails, horseshoes and plough repairs. But it seemed I hadn't gotten too rusty (haha), because the owner, Sotto, made me a higher opening offer than I was expecting. I would've been fine with it, but Dias stepped in, and we ended up with even more fol than that. It was good—the money would go towards repairs and upgrades around the village: the church, the well, and the oldest bridge.

After that, we popped by the Kingdom Hotel to deliver a letter from Westa. Aunt Rachel's hair is mostly white now, but she greeted us with the same bustling energy as the first time I met her. She told us how we just missed Rena a few days ago, and shared the latest news of Rena's work leading Cross' first academy as its preeminent royal researcher.

"Isn't this all a delightful reversal! Our little Rena off on such big adventures now, while you two lovebirds play the homebodies!" After a bit more gossip, she sent us on our way with a massive peach pie. It was freshly-baked, and smelled amazing.

We wandered the capital, watched the gondolas in the canals circling the castle, and narrowly avoided getting pooped on by a pigeon under the clock tower. We caught up with Hearn at the Kinkoncan trinket shop. He was swapping dad jokes with Bel about giving change to customers. When he spotted us, he looked pleased, and clapped me on the back.

"I sold all your cutlery!" he told me with glee. "You make more, I'll trade you shop credit for all of it again!"

"That's great! How about my frying pan?"

Without a further word, he handed me a lumpy, suspiciously frying-pan-shaped bag. Dias burst out laughing at the look on my face.

After that, I picked up some supplies for the workshop, and we headed for home. The return trip was uneventful save for Dias and me wrestling in the back of the wagon, trying not to let each other sneak a bite of the pie. We both failed, but at least we didn't eat all of it.

I laze against Dias, smiling at all the recent memories. It was such a simple, wonderful day. And today's already just as wonderful—sleeping in and not having to work at the forge, flopping on Dias, remembering the ordinary fun of our trip to Cross. Looking forward to spending time however we want, with no predefined plans.

As it does every so often, it hits me how crazy it is that this is my life. That I'm here. That I've been here for decades now. That I get to live this as my normal, everyday reality, instead of hurtling through space endlessly climbing a Federation ladder.

And then I think about Mom. And how long it's been since… everything.

I feel an ache in my chest. It's not as strong as it used to be, but it's there. Faint regret, guilt, and anxiety. That I haven't seen her for so long, and might never see her again. That I'm doing all this here while she probably still doesn't know what happened to me or to Dad; that the Calnus may very well have gone into the Federation records as missing in action. That I've never been able to make contact. That they've never been able to find me.

But also, the fact that I can't assume it won't ever happen. Because I have no idea what's happening out there, beyond Expel's atmosphere. Any day could be the day that the Federation comes—and pulls me out of this life.

It's a good reminder to never take anything for granted. Which is true for everyone, really.

I hear Dias say quietly, "Morning. What's on your mind? "

I quickly dismiss the 'today-could-be-the-day' spiral. It's easy when you have more immediate things to take up your attention. Like lying face-down on top of your partner while he's asking you questions.

I laugh. "Morning. What do you mean, what's on my mind? You can't even see my face."

"I can tell. You feel thoughtful."

"What, did I flop on you extra thoughtfully?"

"No, it started after that." I feel his arm move, cross over me, ruffle my hair gently. "You're thinking about something. What is it?"

"Are you saying I don't normally feel like I'm thinking?"

He chuckles. I feel the rumble in his chest, against my cheek. "If you don't want to talk about it, I'll leave it at that."

"Wow, I'm really offended. But on your question—nothing much." I turn my head so we can see each other's expressions. "Just that I'm glad you decided to live in Arlia again."

"I decided that years ago. What brought this up now?"

"The world's not ending, and we have pie for breakfast."

He pauses, and then he smiles. His eyes are full of love. "It's good to think about both of those things."

He looks so peaceful, so content. With everything he's been through, everything he's lost, it amazes me how he's been able to find a way to smile like that.

The only thing that crosses my mind is: for as long as I can be here on Expel, I want to do everything I can to make him happy.

There wasn't one specific thing that made me decide to return and stay. It was more akin to water dripping onto a stone, slowly softening and reshaping it over time. Perhaps the reason, in the end, was simply that I could do it with Claude.

These days, the years I spent alone after my family's deaths seem like an anomaly. In truth, there are still times when I don't feel completely comfortable here. The awkward sense that I shouldn't have been able to return, to be with these people, to live as if nothing happened. But Claude's presence eases it. It's strange to think there was a time he didn't exist in my life. If I think about it for too long, it becomes almost frightening.

We'd missed the sunrise and most of the morning, thanks to sleeping in. The village is wide awake as we stroll through it. We walk by Westa's house, where she's outside hanging laundry. When she spies us, she immediately flags us down, thanks us again for delivering her letter, and for the news from Rachel.

Just when we think she's done, she says, "Wait." She darts into the house, re-emerging with a plate of rich apple butter cookies with slightly-burnt edges that I know will be marvelously crispy. Exactly as she did when I was a child.

As we make our way through Arlia, we're stopped by chatty elders with nothing to do. Villagers discussing plans for the upcoming harvest, or asking about help fixing farm equipment. Children clamouring to show off insects they've caught, flowers and leaves they've found. A few of the older ones demonstrate backflips they learned from Claude, or sword stances they've been practicing from my lessons.

A stray named Tiny the Second—by the children, in honour of Rena's tales—joins us briefly and snuffles about. We scratch it behind the ear and rub its belly. A butterfly catches its attention, and it jumps to its feet, giving chase. The children run after it, abandoning us. It's clear they've decided this is far more interesting than talking to a pair of retired mercenaries with a fishing pole and a basket.

When we pass the waterwheel in the middle of the village, Claude glances at it and smiles. Before I can ask him why, a voice calls out to us from the door of the church: "Claude! Dias! Thank you for your generous charity! May Tria bless you!" Father Marshall strides over with some large pears from the tree in the church's orchard, light green streaked with gold wrapped in a patterned cloth, and insists that Claude put them in the basket.

After the priest returns to his duties, we continue south. We take a path that cuts through the village cemetery, as we frequently do. I stop in front of the graves and bow. Beside me, Claude does the same.

"Cecille, Mother, Father. It's a beautiful day today."

"Rachel's peach pie," Claude murmurs, as if I were writing a letter and he's reminding me what news I need to include. "Westa and Father Marshall gave us cookies and pears."

I dutifully recite, "We had Aunt Rachel's peach pie for breakfast. We ate Aunt Westa's apple butter cookies. We have church pears from Father Marshall. Don't worry, Mother. We'll have proper meals too."

Claude laughs softly. I feel him take my free hand, the one not holding the fishing rod. "We're going fishing," I continue. "Help me catch something worthwhile."

"A clear sky trout would be nice," Claude comments playfully. "Oh, maybe even a black lotus. No more shrimp, please."

"This isn't a shopping list," I tell him, and he giggles, then wraps his arms around me in a hug. I do the same and squeeze him, then lean back, lifting him up off the ground. He squawks adorably, indignant.

We find a spot at the river by the wheat fields, near the forest. I set up my line and then make myself comfortable for however long it takes the fish to bite. Claude sits next to me, alternatingly sketching the scenery and doodling ideas for things to make, sometimes showing me for feedback. It's quiet and pleasant, especially with the light, warm breeze.

"How about something like this?" he asks, holding his notebook out to me.

I glance over at his sketch of a cane. It has a comfortable-looking handle at the top, and four wide feet at the base. "Looks like it would work well for stability and balance. But what about the weight? For prolonged use?"

"I was thinking I'd ask Bossman to carve the top and middle, and I'd do just the feet. Maybe it screws on, so Regis could take it off when he doesn't need it. And when it's on it should be stable enough to leave standing, and he can hang things on it."

"Ah. Clever."

"Does it look weird?"

"No weirder than what some nobles prance around with."

"… I don't want to make Regis look like a prancing noble."

"All I'm saying is that it doesn't look weird."

Claude smiles, pulls the book back and sketches a bit more. After a while he says, "I've been thinking—maybe I should talk to Lou and Elmyra. About Mael."

"He's in the workshop quite often, even when we're just cleaning. Is he disturbing you?"

"No, it's not that. He's a great kid. Really thoughtful and smart. I thought about taking him on as an apprentice but… I don't think being a smith is what he actually wants to do."

"More that he's curious and wants to figure out how things work."

"Uh-huh. He asks a lot of questions that… I don't think I should be the one answering. I try to throw more questions back at him, get him to work out his own ideas, but…" He lowers his voice. "One of these days I worry I'm gonna slip up. More than I usually do."

"Mm. Perhaps Rena could take him on as a student. Or recommend a colleague as a teacher."

"Yeah. That's what I was thinking of suggesting." Claude makes a few more lines in his book, and then says, "But is it overstepping?"

"Why would it. If Rena were here, she'd suggest it herself. That's what any of the villagers would do, if we felt one of the children had the aptitude for something. Point it out. He and his parents can decide the rest. If that's really his interest."

"Yeah, you're right." Claude runs a hand through his hair. "I'm overthinking it."

"It's fine. You're not overstepping."

Claude sighs. "When I'm at the forge, when I'm making anything that doesn't already exist in the village… sometimes I second-guess everything. In my head it's like… 'Is this okay? Is this too alien or too advanced?"

"'Is this fancy spoon too advanced?'"

Claude laughs at my gentle mocking and throws his stick of graphite at me. Then he bends over, picks it up from the ground, and sighs again. "No, seriously. I was thinking about it after we came home. I'm kind of relieved no one bought the frying pan."

"A tragedy. Your masterwork."

He laughs again. "Shut up."

"You were tired of forging spoons?"

"I was tired of forging nails."

"We have frying pans."

"Not that-kind-of-composition frying pans."

"Is it really that bad?"

"I have no idea. I have no objectivity anymore. I don't even remember the details of the U3P—" He frowns slightly, then squints. "—U…P…3—anymore. Maybe there's a clause that takes care of it. Or not."

"People discover and invent things all the time. Why can't you?"

"Am I discovering and inventing? Or am I just recreating what I already know?" He shrugs. "Ehh. I'm being ridiculous. It's not like I'm whipping up antimatter weapons in the kitchen. Anyways. I'll talk to Elmyra and Lou. Thanks." I can tell from his tone and manner that he's regretting the direction our conversation has gone in, that it's turned into a bigger deal than he meant for it to be, and he doesn't want to discuss this any further. He starts drawing again, but judging from the wrist movements, he's making mindless loops and squiggles, not actually rendering anything.

I turn back to the line bobbing in the water, giving the tightness in the air time to breathe. To loosen.

When I first decided to come back to Arlia and stay, Claude was supportive without being pushy. He never gave the sense that he'd prefer a rustic backwater village to our mercenary life, or vice versa. Or anything else. Just that whatever I wanted, he would be there.

Once we'd cleared away the weeds from my family's neglected home, made sufficient repairs and settled back in, he busied himself finding ways to be helpful around the village. He quickly became indispensible, and not only as Arlia's smith. He gets along with everyone, and the entire village adores him. If he ever left, his absence would truly be felt.

And I know if I ask, 'Are you happy?', he'll reply 'Yes' without any hesitation. "I love Arlia," he's told me repeatedly, shown me, with utmost sincerity. "I love you."

But as much as all the villagers, all of Arlia—all of Expel—has accepted him, as much as he may have let go of the idea that he doesn't belong here… it's obvious he's never been able to shake the awareness that this isn't where he comes from.

I have some understanding of what it means to feel… out of place. After all, it's why I originally left.

But it may also be how he hangs on to who he is. In many ways, his discomfort about acting as he wishes without reservation is the only reminder he has of his world. His past. His identity.

He's stopped scrawling, both hands resting on the open book, his head bowed as if in deep thought. I reach across his lap, place my left hand over his left hand and clasp it firmly. He looks over at it for a few seconds, at the matching meteorite rings we had crafted together decades ago. Then he tilts his head up at me with that warm, beautiful smile.

The fishing line jerks, just barely. I instinctively turn my attention to it, pulling it up with no struggle whatsoever—and then I laugh.

Claude says, "What? Did you catch a shrimp?"

I hold up a wriggling, gleaming-dark fish. It's barely the width of my palm—but undeniably a black lotus.

He stares at it, and then he smiles again. "It's a baby. Let's put it back."

I nod, and release it back into the river.

Mere moments later, the line jerks again—vigorously.

This time, it's a clear sky trout. A giant one, far longer than the span of my shoulders. It's a fighter, forcing me to my feet as it jumps and flaps wildly. It even smacks Claude in the side of the head as he tries to help. The impact surprises him enough to send him tumbling into the grass.

I instantly drop the fishing rod to tend to him. Naturally, the trout escapes, leaping back into the river with a splash.

Claude's fine, only miffed at the loss of a giant fish. "I can't believe you let it get away!"

"You're more important. And I would've released it back into the river anyway. Out of respect for it being able to knock you to the ground."

He looks at me. Then he starts laughing, and kisses me.

As the sun begins to sink in the sky, Claude pulls out his harmonica and plays a few tunes. We practice a song for the upcoming harvest festival, then feast on the food we'd packed in the basket—some bread and meat, a bit of hard cheese, pickles. For dessert, we wash two of the pears from Father Marshall. They're perfectly ripe, full of bright honeyed sweetness, and we laugh as we eat, wiping our mouths and chins as the juice drips down our faces.

Following that, we lie down together in the field, holding hands. Doing nothing more than enjoying the cooling, early evening air. Watching the stunning colours of the sunset in silence.

After a while, I glance over at Claude. He has a dreamy, serene half-smile on his face. His hair, tousled by the wind and his encounter with the trout, is the same pale gold as the fields all around us. His light eyes reflect the changing colour of the sky.

Eventually the sky grows dark. The stars come out. Or, as I understand it, they've simply been revealed. All the heavens are a glittering veil. My thoughts drift like the fireflies that emerge as Arlia falls asleep.

Out of nowhere, Claude says, "This view reminds me of being… you know, living on a planet like Expel isn't all that different from riding a gigantic, self-sustaining spaceship."

"Oh?"

He looks over at me, and I can make out a smile.

"On Earth, 'planet' is a very old word for wanderer." There's silence, as he lets the words hang, then sink into the night air. Then he says, "I guess no matter where we are, we're always wandering."

I pull him close to me, embrace him so that his head is resting on my chest, our positions not unlike how we were lying in bed together in the morning.

"We are, aren't we," I murmur. "It must be our nature."

"Mm-hmm."

The only thing that crosses my mind is: I'm grateful that we stayed. That he stayed. And all I can do is try to make it so that whenever I ask if he's happy, his answer is 'Yes'.