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All the way to the market, I could not keep my heart from pounding.
“Don’t forget to give merchant Merrick the gift for his daughters,” Beloved had said while he slipped the pair of toys he spent the recent evenings carving at our kitchen table into a small bag, tied the highest on the saddle of my horse. He had not said so in chiding, merely reminding. As he had fastened the bag to a close, the wind that was upon us today set his unbound hair drifting, like a chime gently swaying in answer to a long wished brush of a breeze. Light had peeked through the clouds that obscured the brilliant summer sky, bringing into vitality every single one of his colors: the golden streaks that still glimmered in his darkened hair, the polished bronze of his skin, even the colors in his simple yet carefully cared for clothing, and it set my heart to a stop. I did not like leaving him, despite his insistence that he was not a delicate glass ornament, that would leap off the table and shatter on the floor if left unsupervised, not even for something as routinely as a trip to the market. He had long recuperated, and the severity of his nightmares had lessened, even if they did not stop completely, yet a part of my heart always felt I was abandoning his fragile, beaten body between ice radiating walls whenever I left his side. It was a difficult feeling to quiet, and I was not sure if I would ever be successful in doing so.
My worry and reluctance to leave him must have shown on my face, because he had stepped closer, grass whispering against the hems of his trousers, and cradled my face with both hands. “All will be well, Beloved,” he said, and pressed his lips to mine. My packs, full of vegetables from our garden, fell to the earth as I engulfed him in my arms, clutching hard at the back of his shirt. His lips were a kiss of coolness against the rising warmth around us, and my lover was bright as the summer itself, light as the breeze that set the world to a flutter.
I could have spent the entire day embracing him, but he had always been the more pragmatic one between the two of us. He parted from me, with no clear joy of doing so, yet his eyes softened to an unbearable degree when he said, “now go, before I will be tempted to whisk you inside, and we shall have very little to eat for the next week.” The cadence of his voice lifted a smile on my face, and I stole another kiss before I finally mounted my horse. I glanced over my shoulder at my Beloved, who leaned against the door of our cabin, our little haven, and he raised his arm in farewell. I watched him slip inside and close the door behind him, right before the path took a turn that masked our cabin out of view.
The forest gradually closed around me, until the sun was barely peeking through the canopy of leaves, lush and full of life at the height of summer. I let nature surround my senses; I could almost feel a thin branch as it shattered beneath my horse’s hooves, taste the richness of the fertile earth and feel the air giving way to a bird’s wings as it launched from a tree near me. All calmed my heart, which was for once beating not with dread or apprehension, but simple excitement. I thought of Beloved’s smile when I would place my gift in his hands, and could not help but grin. His reaction strengthened my spirit and lifted it with contentment, and when the town was revealed to me, the ride seemed to be over as quickly as it had started.
As much as I wished to walk to Merrick’s stall first and discover if he managed to attain what I had sought, my packs were heavy with produce that needed to be exchanged, and walking all the way to the end of the market just to return would needlessly tire me when the stalls I frequented were posted at the opening of the street. As if Beloved was standing beside me, I could hear his voice telling me that for once fate offered me the easier path and that I should take it, and so I left my horse with the young lad who tended to several others at the opening of the market, and stepped to the first stall I recognized.
The town of Forest Crest was understandably named, residing in a valley of a hill upon which a forest stretched all the way to our cabin, and its people were just as simple. The only advantage the town had was that it happened to be on the way to Tradeford, and so people traveling to the keep spent their coin here on a meal or a bed for the night. I had been suspicious the first time I had approached the town, as I often was when entering places not yet visited, my hand a moment away from grasping of my dagger, but the people were amenable enough, and my weekly appearance was soon greeted with a smile or a wave, much like how I was received now.
Through Riddle, I received a sum of money large enough to never need to trade our goods and produce, but neither I nor Beloved would be so careless; I traded some carrots and a handful of eggs for half a wheel of cheese, and several of the peppers Beloved had planted himself for a fresh loaf of bread. He always complained the food I made myself lacked in any flavor other than salt, and so took the task upon himself. I was ever glad for it, for he always seemed so at peace while preparing our meals, humming as the world itself changed to his calling, to make the most satisfying dinner from such humble ingredients, and to take such joy in doing so. I often watched him as he leisurely moved around our kitchen, thinking about how he alighted every small moment, and how dull the cabin would’ve been without him. The earrings he had carved to look like ivy leaves, I traded for a square piece of cloth, indigo blue with red-painted edges, and a sunburst weaved from golden thread at the center. I smiled to myself as I retrieved it from the lady and carefully tucked it inside one of the pockets sewn into my cloak; lately, during our evenings, he had been working on making a quilt, each patchwork square unique from another. The last piece I had brought him had been as turquoise as deep waters touched by the sun at the height of summer, with tiny seashells made of thread. It had delighted him, and I very much hoped this one would as well. Perhaps tonight I would get to watch him curl in his chair by the fire and join the new addition.
Having unburdened myself of most of what I have brought, I finally reached Merrick’s stall. His was Beloved’s favorite, and therefore mine as well, for the spices and fruits as sweet as honey he had imported from the Mountain Kingdom and further south. On his wares I did allow myself to spend the coin Kettricken had delivered to us; I could already see the sweet smile on Beloved’s face as he picked up the exotic fruit and brought it to himself to smell its aroma, saying we shall have it later with his good brandy. That sight alone was worth the few coins I lost.
“Tom!” Merrick called out as I approached. He was a hearty man, and large as well, with a frame so wide it put Burrich to mind. I had never seen the man glower, but I had no doubt he would resemble the one who raised me in that as well. In truth, Merrick looked more like a lumberjack or a miner than a merchant, but he seemed content in his current trade. I returned his greeting, and we clasped each other just below the elbow, as warriors did. It was obvious from the scarring on his hands that he had been in battle, but I did not ask, and in turn he did not question my scars either. “Good to see you, my friend. How have you been faring?”
My training as an assassin, instilled into me during all those nights in Chade’s secret chamber, commanded me to lie to him, smiling all the same. To never let out any piece of information that could be used as a dagger towards me and my own, who was tending to our garden, or working on another carving at our kitchen table. But that instinct was long branded into me and no longer needed; Merrick was an honest man, and I had no reason to distrust him, and so I answered truthfully.
“Well enough, I have managed to trade most of what I brought with me. How is your youngest, did the healer manage to set the bone right?”
The cheer left Merrick’s face at once, and tiredness creeped into his gaze. His youngest daughter had fallen while playing outside with her sisters and broke her arm. I had listened to Merrick tell the tale with much anxiety. I had seen little bone setting within the stables or the rest of the castle at Buckkeep, but suggested she’d be kept hydrated with broth and meat, to speed along the healing, despite the sickness the injury may cause. Merrick wiped his brow and said, with great relief, “yes, she did, thank El and Eda. My wife nearly collapsed from worrying until the healer arrived. But she said the fracture was clean, and that Alyssia will heal quickly because of her age.”
Despite myself, I could not help but grin, sharing in his relief. “I wish her a fast and easy recovery. And I have something I think will lift her spirit, and the spirit of your other daughters as well,” I said, and drew from my belt the pouch that had been fastened to my saddle. Beloved was saddened to hear of Alyssia’s injury, and had started working on the carving a little after I had returned from the market. It was not the first gift he had made for Merrick’s daughters. While I maintained that honesty and fairness were qualities one should abide by without expecting a reward, Beloved argued that in a world so full of cruelty, those who remained on the right path while so many others beaconed them to go astray should have their integrity seen. And so, every couple of weeks, I came bearing another gift for Merrick’s family, a reminder from my Beloved that good still existed.
Merrick took the pouch from my hands, and from it drew two wood-carved horses, each the size of a palm. One was rich chestnut, richer than the wood itself, and its coat gleamed in the sunlight as Merrick slowly shifted his palm, a testimony of Beloved’s careful, loving work. Its tail and mane were as golden as Beloved’s hair, its hooves smoothened to precise curves, and the mane crafted so meticulously each strand was visible to the eye. The other horse was stark white as Malta had been, a snowflake amidst summer. My breath momentarily caught and my chest filled with a slow rush of warmth as I witnessed the handiwork of my Beloved. He had shown me the pair of horses when they were done, but to see them clearly under such deserving light was something else entirely. At that moment, I felt incredibly happy to belong to someone who could bring such beautiful things into existence.
“Tom, my friend, these are exquisite. Your companion made them?” He lifted his eyes off the horses, and I nodded, biting the inside of my cheek to not grin too widely. “Will I ever get to meet him to thank him personally? My daughters are so delighted to receive his gifts, and you never allow me to give you something in return.”
I did allow myself to smile unguarded this time, a gentle kind of pride coursing through me. “There is no payment needed, Merrick. Your fellowship is more than enough. My companion truly enjoys crafting these gifts to your family, so he does not see this as a labor that requires payment,” I said, and some of my ardor seeped away as I recalled the many times I offered, nearly pleaded Beloved to join me, to walk under the heat of the sun and be around the presence of others, only for him to refuse, saying he might be recognized even though we were miles away from Buckkeep, or during the early months of his recovery, that he didn’t have the strength for it. It ached me to leave him, for I knew the road to isolation was a treacherous slope from loneliness under the guise of contentedness. He had brought back the world to me when he returned; I did not want him to ever lose his own. But I also knew it was not a boundary for me to force him along. He would cross when he was ready to. “My companion has not yet fully recovered from his illness. Some days are still… difficult for him. I’m sure he’ll join me, soon, and that he will be most glad to finally meet you.”
Merrick bowed his head. “And I him. And speaking of gifts, I found what you requested from me,” he reached lower behind his stall, and my heart leapt over a beat. All my worries vanished the way an autumn breeze sweeps fallen leaves from the road as Merrick placed a round, wooden container between us. I picked it up. It seemed plain at first glance, but upon a closer look I found it painted green, with a pattern of lines carved into it. I opened the box, and inside it was a handful of seeds, bulbous and golden-brown, and suddenly it dawned on me, possibly, why Beloved loved this fruit so much. It had the same coloring as he did. “Apricot seeds, as you asked.”
I might have looked like an idiot as I grinned over a box of seeds, but I grinned all the same. I had gotten the idea a few weeks ago, when Beloved and I were having an idle nightcap, lying by the hearth, and he engulfed his nearly empty glass between both hands and savored every sip, and even the sharp smell, musing about how he missed the real fruit. I promised him I would raid the kitchen stores of every last one of them the next time we would go to Tradeford, and he laughed, the flames dancing against the side of his face, hair tucked behind one ear. And now I would give him his own, to have in his cherished garden, so he might step down from our porch in his leisure and pluck an apricot whenever he wanted to. Foolishly, the thought tears to my eyes. I blinked them away. “Yes, this is—perfect. Thank you, Merrick. What do I owe you for your trouble?”
He waved his hands in protest. “Nothing, my friend. It was not a trouble at all to get them. Your companion has gifted my family plenty, so consider this my gift to you,” he said, and I found my heart too full to argue. Our conversation shifted to his wares, and I purchased our usual things and some others, but some moments later after I reclaimed my horse from the lad who watched him, and gave him a few coins, I could not recall the specifics of our talk. All I could think of was hurrying home to Beloved, the box of apricot seeds tied close to my person on my belt, and still I kept my hand closed around it. I brushed my horse’s mane before spurring him with my heels, and forward we galloped home.
The journey back was lost to me, and soon the forest opened to reveal our cabin, an oasis within a desert, a patch of sunlight amidst a thunderstorm. My feet barely landed on the grass before the door creaked open and Beloved stepped from within, clad in his robe above his homewear and his slippers. If our cabin was a lone patch of light, he was the sun itself, his presence filling with me immense warmth, a balm over all wounds, a soft hand against old aches. “Fitz, welcome home,” the words scarcely left him before I crossed the short distance between us and captured his lips. His cheeks and nose were cool against my face, and I smiled at the familiarity of the sensation, and resolved to kiss him later until they warmed, in our bed. Beloved brought his arms around me, and was breathless when we parted, wisps of hair escaped from his braid caressing his temples. “Well. One would think you did not see me for fifteen years again. Did you have a particularly good trip to the market, or are you simply happy to see me? I certainly feel something poking at me,” he joked without his usual sharpness, astonished and openly delighted, and his joy flowed into me.
I backed so my surprise wouldn’t be discovered so soon, and ran my hands over his arms just to feel him. “Both, but I did miss you. Were you alright here?” I asked, hands resting on his shoulders, searching for any sign of concealed pain in his eyes.
But Beloved only smiled. “Of course, Beloved. Why don’t you tend to your horse? I’ll bring everything inside.”
Ever the stable boy, I relented. Beloved was as strong as I was, possibly even stronger, to carry the bags of goods by himself, and he did enjoy putting everything in its proper place. I had gotten a rebuke for returning a jar to a certain shelf instead of another a few times before. As I led my horse towards the humble enclosure, I heard Beloved exclaim “oh, we shall feast tonight!” and smiled at the far tree line.
Inside the stables, I brushed my horse’s coat until every last tangle was smoothened, released tiny pebbles from his hooves, and spread out fresh straw and some of the less comely vegetables from our garden. I brought in a bucket of fresh water, and one my way back, scattered grain for the chickens.
When I entered our cabin, any evidence of my trip to the market was neatly put into place, as if by sleight of hand. The basket on our kitchen table was full of the fruits I got, the bread was covered on the counter with a cloth Beloved had embroidered months ago, the vegetables were, no doubt, arranged inside the cabinets. Even the spices I bought were already resting side by side on a low shelf. For a moment, I felt guilty for leaving him to put everything away on his own. I had planned to help him when I was done with my horse. “You put everything away quickly,” I said, still standing by the entrance, and hoped my self flagellation didn’t slip into my voice.
From his chair, Beloved said, “I am nothing if not efficient, my love,” and his tone, light and full of satisfaction, brought a smile to my face as our eyes met. Still wanting to be useful, my gaze wandered and landed on the kitchen counter, where the meat I got was laid on a cutting board, with several spices by it, and a knife as well. “May I help you with that?” I asked, already folding up my sleeves as I crossed the room.
“Actually, yes. I can’t exactly take off my glove, and I don’t believe I’ll be able to take out the stain of the spices from it. Thank you, Beloved,” he said, and as always, his name for me warmed me as I did my task, slicing the meat into thin stripes and coating each with just the amount of spices he liked. Halfway through my work, he unfolded from the chair and set a pot of water over the fire, and stepped to my side to chop some vegetables, most that were from our garden. I could feel air shifting in the little space between us, and more than once leaned to brush against him, then he against me, our bare feet linking as we worked.
I leaned my back against the counter once we were done, wiping my hands dry on a cloth. The pot was simmering over the fire, the vegetables Beloved had cut softening inside, and I had nothing else to do. I did not know how to approach the matter. I had thought about it for so long now and wanted to make it special. Should I tell him now, or perhaps before our bed time, while we were having a cup of tea? But I could not, would not wait for another moment.
“Fitz, is everything alright?” Beloved pulled me from my thoughts, standing on the other side of the table. He anchored me to my body, which was thrumming as if a hive of bees inhabited it. I realized I was biting on my lip and let go of it; I laid the cloth on the back of a chair and stepped to him.
“Yes, it’s just that… I got you something,” I released the box from my belt when I reached his side, and held it out to him. My heart thundered as he took the box from me, cupping it in his delicate hands, graceful and long-healed. I watched him study it for a moment, the tip of one ungloved finger tracing the carving on the lid.
“I guess that was what was poking me then, so you weren’t happy to see me at all,” he looked up with a mischievous smile that had no bite to it, and I knew what he was doing, and loved him all the more for it. Unable to resist myself, I wrapped an arm over his back and brought him to me in a kiss that tasted of his grin, and let myself bask in this moment when he was alive and healthy and safe with me.
“I’m always happy to see you,” I murmured against his brow. “Go on, open it.”
With an eagerness he could not quite mask, Beloved slid his hands from me and opened the box. I watched him as he studied its contents, tilting it so one of the seeds rolled over another, to reveal more underneath. Finally, he lifted his eyes to mine, a measure of misunderstanding in them, but ever mindful of my feelings. “Are those apricot seeds?”
“Yes,” I nodded, and at last spoke the words I had held so dearly since dawn broke over the sky. “Apricots aren’t as common here as in Buck, and I know how fond you are of them, so I wanted you to have as many as you want, whenever you want. We are going to plant an apricot tree for you, Beloved.”
The transformation of his face was ethereal, a change so celestial and divine one would only read in a poem, for I did not know such beauty existed until it came to life on his face. It was like the changing of seasons, how the winter wind and rain slowly lost their strength to the kinder warmth of spring, by such small degrees it was not even noticeable, until one stepped outside to see the world washed alight again. And still, the brightness of that sun could not hold a candle to the shine of his eyes, the broadness of his grin.
In one swift movement, Beloved thrusted the box on the kitchen table and all but threw himself into my arms. “Oh, Fitz,” his voice was muffled as he spoke into my shoulder, and I quickly wrapped my arms around him and held him just as tightly. “This is… wonderful. The most wonderful gift I have ever received. Thank you so much, Beloved.”
I did not say anything, for I wanted his sweet words to linger between us for as much time as I could steal, and only held him, my grip vice-like and relishing in every place where we touched. He deserved this, and much more, all the finest food and most elegant clothes and whatever else he desired, deserved everything good and kind and fulfilling this world had to offer after he had died for it, and I vowed he need only speak and I would get it for him. I kissed the crown of his head as we swayed in each other’s arms, his heartbeat against mine, and only loosened my hold once he did.
Beloved came untangled from me with a breath, his waterfall of golden hair brushing my cheek as he slipped from my arms. Our bare feet whispered against each other as I set him on the wooden floor, his hands falling to rest on my waist, and my own did the same, reluctant to break our contact. I had expected to see tears streaking his face, and was ever relieved I did not. He had shed enough tears for a lifetime, and I did not wish to see him cry again, even for a joyous reason, though I would have wiped and kissed his tears away all the same. I tucked an errant lock of hair behind his ear, and brushed his golden waves once, waiting for him to begin.
He did not let me wait for long. “Shall we plant the seeds right now? Or wait for tomorrow morning when there’s more light?”
His voice was gentle and demure, but it was obvious which answer he craved, and if reassurance was what my Beloved wanted, who was I to deny him? “It is your world we live in now, Beloved,” I said, and released his waist to take his hand and bring it to my lips. I kissed the inside of his palm, like he had done to mine, so many moons ago. “Let us live in it completely.”
Beloved jumped to kiss me sweetly, and sweeping the box from the table, he hurried us to our cabin door, and so we did.