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Reynauld was thankful it was the Weald this time. He would have gladly chosen the suffocating smell of decaying foliage and fungus over the eye-watering stench of the Warrens. Silently, he thanked the Holy Light for today's success as he looked on at his party members who were exhausted but smiling, eager to return to the Hamlet with heavier pockets. The last of the lost medicine was found and that marked the end of their quest.
Reynauld took note of their provisions and their abundance of food that had been salvaged from carcasses they had stumbled on. It was thanks to Paracelues's efforts that saved them from rationing what little they brought. He pondered for a moment. As the leader of their party, he should seize this moment to properly celebrate today's victory. All of them had fought well with their hearts racing from tactical combat and bodies still in one piece. They deserve a little respite once in a while.
"We still have a bundle of unused firewood. Let us camp for the night before returning. It is a shame to let the food go to waste."
Reynauld's orders were followed by a hearty laugh from Bariston as he clapped him forcefully on the back, barking out his approval at the idea. Paracelues simply nodded but Reynauld could tell she was infinitely proud of her usefulness outside of battle. Reynauld felt the movement of an arm sliding onto his shoulder. He turned to see Dismas as he gave out a dry chuckle. Those deep brown eyes were shining with mirth despite the bleakness of their surrounding.
"What's gotten you in such a good mood, eh? Normally you'll be the first to leg it back to the Hamlet," asked the highwayman.
The playfulness in his voice was infectious that Reynauld couldn't help but break into a smile. He was glad that his old helm shielded whatever ridiculous expression he was wearing and huffed back in reply.
"Tis nothing. Wasting food is a sin after all. It is good we should have some rest before the trek back home."
Dismas shrugged and proceeded to make quick work of the last firewood, striking his blade onto a slab of flintstone. The sparks turned the waiting wood into a small flame and soon they sat comfortably around the roaring campfire with enough food to last them another three days. They ate heartily and with much talk of how they plan on spending their unexpected wealth of coins and diamonds.
Bellies full and eyes heavy with sleep, they set their beddings onto the forest floor. Thin blankets and moth-eaten linen were better than whatever fungus-covered grass lay within the old forest. Reynauld watched from his spot as the good doctor shuffled between the sheets, taking considerable care not to sleep on her wounded arm while the old war general fell into a deep snoring slumber as soon as he laid down.
Reynauld sighed as he took off his helm, feeling a gentle breeze upon his brow. He closed his eyes, relishing whatever fresh air he could taste in this wretched tangling woods.
"I'll take the first watch."
The crusader opened his eyes to see Dismas sitting beside him, his worn red neckerchief pulled down to reveal his rugged face. Reynauld's gaze was drawn to the prominent scar that ran down the ex-brigand's lips. He had always been curious to know the tale of how Dismas managed to receive such a scar. One day he might muster enough courage to ask him.
"No, it is no trouble. I'll take the first watch."
"I ain't gonna go back and forth on this. Let me handle this. You've done enough for this expedition. Go rest that head of yours before I put you to sleep myself."
The offer to sleep uninterrupted was a tempting one when he could feel his body finally caught up to its own exhaustion. The feel of his gauntlets weighing down on him as it always did after each expedition. Surrendering to the call of sleep, he nodded to Dismas, sheathing his long sword and placing it beside his bedding, always within arm's reach.
"Wake me at the first sign of threat," he whispered, laying down on the soft linen as his eyes settled on the thief.
"I know," he answered softly.
Dismas fell back to his methodical task of cleaning his flintlock and blade. Deft hands working away at his weapon that spoke years of experience. It was mesmerizing to watch and soon Reynauld felt his breathing slowed and his mind drifting into sleep. The last thing he remembered was the sound of Dismas humming a somber melody in the night.
///
Reynauld woke some time afterward to the sound of scribbling and frustrated mutterings. A familiar voice that he can recognize even in pitch darkness.
"... 'flood with tears?'... No, no, that ain't right."
The crusader slowly rose from his bedding with bleary eyes, his sight focusing on the highwayman who was wholly engrossed in his task that he did not notice Reynauld had woken from his sleep. Dismas sat crossed-legged with an open thin book resting on his lap, twirling a feathered quill in his gloved hand. His eyes stared wistfully at the dancing fire in front of him. The orange glow of the flames softened his naturally hardened features, enveloping the thief with a certain warmth that made the crusader’s heart quicken. Soon, Reynauld found himself entranced by the sight of Dismas who looked....at peace with himself.
Reynauld sat up carefully. He was surprised the amount of noise his armor made didn't alert Dismas from the very start. He crept up as quietly as he could manage, thinking to himself it would be very amusing to surprise the unsuspecting rogue.
"Up so soon, Rey?"
Reynauld felt his ears warmed slightly at the call of his name, feeling like a fool for believing he could out-sneak an actual thief. He made a noise in response and scooted closer to Dismas. As soon as Reynauld sat next to the rogue, the smaller man was quick to grab his book, shielding it away from Reynauld’s prying eyes. The move only managed to fuel Reynauld’s curiosity even more as he craned his neck to catch a glimpse of what his friend was writing.
“What are you writing, if I may ask?” Reynauld tilted his head further to see but was met with a disgruntled look from Dismas.
“None of your business.”
“Hmm? More of your depraved jokes then?” Reynauld could see a few words written, the light from the fire certainly helped him catch a fleeting glance at the pages. The thief was quick to pull the book away before finally closing the entire thing and storing it away in his coat.
“Yes, it is. Will you stop talkin’ now?” Dismas sounded just about ready to bolt up from his spot and bid Reynauld a hasty goodnight.
Reynauld hummed to himself as he recalled the words that he managed to read from Dismas’s book. It sounded all too flowery to be some beginnings of a crude joke. Words like ‘praise’, ‘tears’, and ‘love’ were much suited if he were writing…
“Poetry?”
Dismas was silent as he took out his blade from his belt and proceeded to sharpen it. Reynauld felt his mouth curl into a smile. He knew he got it right by the way Dismas was feigning indifference, his eyes fixed entirely on his blade.
“I didn't expect you to–”
A flash in the dark and before Reynauld's mind could fully process the blur of movement, a freshly sharpened blade was pointed at him.
“Not. Another. Word.”
He wasn't phased by the sudden threat and instead decided to prod the flustered highwayman even further. Reynauld had many things in life that gave him joy and teasing Dismas was certainly one of them.
“I wonder how Audrey will take this news about your secret pastime?”
“You're treadin’ on my patience, Holy Man,” warned Dismas in a low voice which had had no effect on the crusader whatsoever other than causing Reynauld’s smile to grow even wider. Reynauld chuckled at such a dramatic reaction.
“T’was only a jest, Dismas. Do not fret. Your secret is safe with me.”
For now, at least. How can Reynauld simply pass up a perfectly good blackmail material on the highwayman? Still, Reynauld was a man of his word and reassured the thief again on the matter. Although, this newfound revelation of Dismas’s interest in poetry has certainly piqued his own interest. Dismas scoffed in response, obviously not believing the knight would not use this information against him. They sat together, huddled in front of the campfire, in quiet contemplation before finally Reynauld decided to break the silence.
“May I read whatever you were writing?” It was a stupid ask, knowing the thief was far from the type of man to readily show his vulnerability so openly. Especially, the things he seemed to fondly guard. Reynauld was expecting a solid and stern ‘no’ but the answer that fell from the thief’s lips caught him by surprise.
“I-It’s not finished. Yet.”
Silence fell between them, stifling this time. Reynauld suddenly wished he never asked in the first place.
“Perhaps when–”
“I have–”
They both spoke over each other in haste. Upon realizing it, they stopped and stared. Reynauld could feel the air between them grow heavy with unspoken words. The fidgeting thief cleared his throat and tried to not let his nerves show.
“I-I have a few lines done. S’not anything worth my time anyways. Thought I’d just scrap it. Here.”
The rogue tore out a piece of paper from his book, folded it in half, and handed it to him. Reynauld reached out and took the torn piece. For a second, their fingers brushed against each other. A fleeting insignificant touch. It should not have meant anything to him and yet Reynauld felt his heart clench. The pious life that he has led would crumble so easily if he continued further on this path and Dismas would be at the center of his ruin. Time and time again, he has fought hard to disregard any of these wayward thoughts. Why were his eyes always drawn to the rogue across the dim tavern? Why did his laughter come so easily whenever he was within arm’s reach? Even in the blackest depths of those Light-forsaken dungeons, he knew he’d be alright as long as Dismas was by his side.
Reynauld felt the coarse texture of the paper beneath his fingertips. Carefully, he unfolded the paper and saw the scraggly lines of writing that he had grown to recognize as Dismas’s handwriting. The paper was stained with splashes of ink and words crossed out hastily as if in frustration. He traced the words and began to read.
Since first I saw your face I resolv’d
To honor and renown you;
If now I be disdain’d I wish
My heart had never known you.
What I that yearned longed and you that loved,
Shall we begin to wrangle?
No, no, no! my heart is steadfast
And cannot disentangle.
There, oh there! Where e’er I go
I leave my heart behind me.
If I desire cherish or praise you too much,
That fault you may forgive me;
I asked you leave, you bade me love;
Is now the time to chide me?
No, no, no! I'll love protect you still,
What misery fortune e’er betide me.
He read the last line aloud in a hushed tone.. He felt the beating of his heart quicken its pace, his head swimming with those words he could not fully understand. It was a sharp contrast to the many scriptures and psalms that he had learned by heart. Its meaning was pure of intent and therefore, left no room to be picked apart. Poetry was nothing like that. He could spend days reading over a line of a simple poem and still he would be no closer to grasp its meaning.
Reynauld finally turned towards Dismas who sat rigid by his side, his eyes cast toward the dying flame.
“What does it all mean?” he asked.
Dismas turned to face him, his deep brown eyes softened under his gaze. He rose swiftly to his feet. Dismas's shift to keep watch has ended.
“That’s for you to figure out, crusader," he whispered back.
The thief made his way to his waiting spot among the thin blankets, leaving Reynauld to ponder Dismas’s words by himself. Reynauld folded the paper with careful hands and stashed it safely away between the pages of his prayer book where there it may be guarded.
He read the lines again.
Since first I saw your face I resolv’d
To honor and renown you;