A Tale as Old as Time

IX

It had been several weeks since Francis had run out of the castle and the two had encountered the wolves. Arthur was sick with a bad cold for a couple of weeks after that, leaving the Frenchman beside himself as he did everything he could to take care of the poor master. In that time, their relationship as friends had grown stronger, and Francis no longer feared Arthur's outbursts. They had, for the most part, vanished.

The two were outside enjoying the castle grounds, which were bathed in the sunlight of a late summer day. Francis was humming as he carried a woven basket, Arthur lagging behind with his arms crossed.

“Would you just tell me why you insisted on us coming out here? I don't enjoy being kept in the dark,” the serpent grumbled, but the Frenchman only chuckled.

“Quiet, you. I'm not going to ruin the surprise just because you don't like to wait,” he replied, guiding him into the trees. There was a clearing with an excellent view of the castle not far from the grounds, and he wanted to show Arthur. Besides, they could both use the fresh air. Both of them had been cooped up in the castle for far too long.

The serpent stayed quiet after that, taking in the scenery. Out here, his tongue was flickering rather frequently, enough for the Frenchman to notice. He glanced over his shoulder at Arthur, who curled up and mumbled something under his breath when the two made eye contact. Francis only smiled at him and slowed his pace so the two could be side by side and so Arthur could better sightsee.

At last the sightseeing had to come to an end. Francis pulled out a thin blanket from the basket and laid it out for the two of them to sit on. “Make yourself comfortable,” he told Arthur, who silently cleared some sticks away before curling up on his own little corner of the blanket.

Sensing the master was going to stay quiet, Francis continued. “I had some help with this since I couldn't read the cookbooks, but I thought you would like to have something English to remind you of home, so there's tea sandwiches with some pastries. How do you say it? Scones? We have those with wild berry preserves,” he explained, wearing a bright grin on his face.

Arthur gave a small smile at his enthusiasm and intently watched him unpack the basket. The Frenchman laid out several different sandwiches and explained what they were, all sliced neatly like how the cook showed him. Then, Francis set out the scones with the preserves. He hadn't even poured their drinks, sparkling apple cidre from Brittany, before Arthur had taken a scone and was nibbling away at it, his sharp green eyes never leaving Francis.

“I take it you like it then?” Francis asked with a smile, receiving a nod in reply.

Arthur set down the half-eaten scone and wrapped himself up in his tattered cloak, which he refused to part with despite its state of disrepair. “They aren't nearly as good as the ones in Strathclyde, but they're still lovely,” he mused, then reached for a sandwich only after Francis had taken one for himself.

To Francis’ relief, the master seemed to be opening up more. The two talked as they ate, but they didn't discuss anything personal at first. They simply talked about things like their favourite flowers, or what time of year they liked best. Arthur talked about the weather in Strathclyde, which Francis thought sounded awful, and he didn't know how anyone could ever miss it.

“And you've never been outside of the village before?” Arthur asked after taking a sip of his cidre.

The Frenchman shook his head, looking up at the grand but eerie castle. “I've been in the forest plenty of times, but being here is the first time I've been anywhere from home,” he explained, and suddenly, he felt a pang of homesickness in his chest. Though he didn't know for certainty where the village was from here, he scanned the trees as if looking for a sign. What he wouldn't give to see Matthew again…