"Wulfstan, get out 'ere! I know 'ear me." Leofric's voice cut through the twittering of the birds in the early morning. It had been almost silent but, of course, there could never be quiet past dawn on a farm. "Shitting 'ell!"
Wulfstan's mind wandered far past the sounds of the Leofric's voice. A rare, impossible occurrence, but it had been a hectic few weeks of harvest and he was trying his hardest to enjoy the quiet of sunrise.
It had been three years since the farmers and their son had found the odd, amnesiac boy on that forest road and they had integrated him readily into their family. With very few questions and a short survey of the area to see if they could find any family, they took him as their second son and, if any passerby asked why they had a son that looked nothing like them, they were more than ready to defend him. It had happened more than once that someone had accused him of being a changeling, urging Ita and Donngall to leave him to die. That he was bad luck.
The Smythe's were a broad, stocky family, barely the height of the average and filled with hardened muscles from years of tough labour. Wiry brown hair and sun-beaten, reddened cheeks gave them an earthy, rugged look. Homely and plain, though Leofric had a childish handsomeness to him. Anyone with eyes would look at them, then look at the boy – willowy, angular, skin like fresh snow and hair like hellfire – and be in the right mind to wonder how he could be their son.
It had taken only a handful of days for them to decide the boy from the woods was the same age as their first son and give him a new name – Wulfstan. After that, they had simply said to anyone with concerns that he was as good as their flesh and blood, a son of the same status that Leofric was. Nobody could argue with them and, in the village they had settled in, which was under the control of some nobleman, everybody had long since accepted the freemen farmers, all way the way from Éire, and their strange, extra 'son'.
Throughout the years, Wulfstan had learnt how to farm the land and how to charm his way into a deal at the market. Something about his bottomless, earthen eyes compelled an intense admiration and trust in the serfs and freemen of the village alike. It made it easy to overlook his obvious strangeness, if only for a moment, long enough for a sale. Never long enough for a conversation, though, for a friendship. One second too long and those eyes became strangely unsettling.
That was why, at that very moment, Leofric was hollering and threatening to bang down Wulfstan's door to drag him to said market – showing his face always helped the selling of their wheat and barley. A handsome face was far more convincing than only words.
"Coming, Leofric." Wulfstan lazily called back, barely speaking above a whisper but something about his words seemed to spread further than any other person's would. Since he could remember, he rarely spoke louder than a gentle, hushed tone, incredibly soft-spoken but easy to understand – it
was a juxtaposition to the brash tones his adoptive family had. He moved from where he had been standing before the window for several hours, watching the sunrise.
Throughout the time he'd been with the family, he'd noticed that, even though they had to sleep every night, Wulfstan never felt what they called 'tired'. He always spent the nighttime watching the world or playing board games by himself. In fact, he had so much free time that he had managed to brute force his way into learning how to read the few scrolls and
manuscripts he could find around the village. Outside of the clergy in the Church and the nobles in their distant manor on the hill, he was likely the only person who could do such a thing in a 10-mile radius. Though he didn't talk about it, didn't want to bring that attention to himself as he stood out more than enough for his comfort.
Stepping out into the main body of the home, he was faced with the mud-smeared, dishevelled face of an exceedingly peeved-off Leofric. Hardly giving Wulfstan a moment to process his appearance, Leofric exasperatedly yelled, "Pissing 'ell, man. Have you gone deaf? The pigs got loose, and you didn't come to 'elp!" Waving his arms, panting in exertion, Leofric looked quite the sweaty state. Red stained his cheeks heavier than it usually did. "By God's bones, I 'ave to get this shit off my face now before we go to market." His chest heaved, trying to catch his breath as he looked at Wulfstan. There wasn't any real anger in his eyes, just mild frustration stretched thin over something else.
Wulfstan's normally mildly sullen, but stubbornly
unblemished, face curved up into an affectionate smile. His hooded, youthful eyes almost vanished as he gazed at Leofric's mud-smeared face. "Forgive me. I was consumed with my thoughts; I didn't hear the pigs." That wasn't a lie, surprisingly – he really hadn't heard what had been happening, as unlikely as it was. There had been a family of foxes frolicking in the fields that had enraptured him, their cackling, screeching cawls blocking out everything else. Without hesitating, he brought up his hands and took the other boy's face in them, wiping away some mud clumps with his thumbs. "Ah, it's not bad. Just rub yourself down with cloth and water, then we can head out." Gently tilting Leofric's face side-to-side, Wulfstan hummed a satisfied noise at the fact he had gotten the worst of the muck off.
Even though that muddy face was mostly fresh now, neither boy moved. Wulfstan's long fingers still cupped Leofric's sun-beaten skin and Leofric leaned heavily into those still uncalloused hands. They stared at each other with a crushing weight in their chests that they'd felt since the very first day they had met. Neither of them could figure it out. Wulfstan had read medical texts, and it didn't seem to be an affliction caused by disease and Leofric wasn't worldly enough to assume it was anything other than peculiar. There wasn't a word for what the feeling was, nor did they know what the other thought at any given moment – it was a topic that didn't breach the surface.
With a sigh, Leofric took a step back and shook his head. "You know what, 'ow is it that, even after spending every day in the fields working with me and Da, your palms and face 'aven't 'ardened at all?" He rolled his eyes and frowned dramatically before turning away to find the water basin. "Truly, you must be one of our Lord's favourites to be born so beautiful – it's good you weren't born a woman or you'd 'ave been spirited away by some ne'er-do-weller by now. What are we to do when my dear brother starts getting marriage offers? There'll be brawls in the street.
Watching Leofric wander off, Wulfstan felt a pit open in his stomach, threatening to eat him from the inside out. Leofric had begun to bring up marriage more often since they'd become the age of majority and every time he did, an awful, revolting apprehension drowned Wulfstan. The idea of Leofric
going off with a woman, starting a family and possibly moving out of the village, away from the family, was something that plagued Wulfstan's eternally waking mind. He had never spoken with the other man about feelings, never talked about what girls the other man liked because Wulfstan had never once thought of living with anyone away from home but Leofric. He, Donngall and Ita were all Wulfstan needed to be happy – there didn't need to be the complication of marriage and children. Why would his eyes ever wander to a stranger?
As Leofric was only across the room, Wulfstan, against his better judgement, asked, "You talk about marriage so often. Is there… is there a girl you wish to wed already? Or do you have a type of woman you like most?" He was terrified to hear what Leofric would say but he didn't know why – they had something of a brotherhood, at least from what Wulfstan could judge, and it wasn't like they would stop talking or seeing one another when Leofric wed. Wulfstan just did not like the thought of them being separated one bit.
"Huh?" Leofric dropped the rag from his face and spun around to face Wulfstan, confusion painting his face. He sucked air through his teeth. "Ah… Not really? Do I 'ave to like the woman to marry her – it's just what I must do. We can fall in love later."
Wulfstan was conflicted by that answer. The fact Leofric didn't have an eye on any woman in particular meant they would likely spend a few more years together with no one between them. However, it didn't seem right that he would force himself to wed someone he didn't even like. "But your Mam and Da married each other for love. Is that… is that not better? Why would you get stuck with a lady you don't like?"
"I've not thought about it." He wandered back across the room, coarse brown hair stuck to his skin, face beading with water. As he got closer, he looked up at Wulfstan, who was still taller than him even after Leofric's growth spurt, and smiled. "Well, I'd like a lady that's like you – a ful friend¹. I think I'd be 'appy then." Leofric reached his hand up and
ruffled the ginger curls on Wulfstan's hair and, in a muted whisper, said, "If we'd been man and woman, my parents would 'ave 'ad us betrothed, I think. Would have been improper otherwise. That would have been… ideal."
As the years passed, Wulfstan had long since realised he didn't breathe or have a heartbeat like every other person and animal he'd met – of course, he just thought it was a peculiar quirk of his. He couldn't remember anything from before the Smythe's, so he assumed he had been born like that. However, if he could gasp, lose his breath; if his heart could thunder in his chest or skip a beat, it would have just then.
Dizziness swept through his head, and he swallowed back that uncomfortable feeling. Looking down at his god friend², as captivated by Leofric's looks as he always was, Wulfstan let out an awkward laugh. "What a silly thing to say! Neither me nor you are a woman." He glanced away now,
finding it easier to look at the snuffling pigs than Leofric's piercing, familiar yet unfamiliar, golden eye. "There is no possibility we could ever marry."
There seemed to be something melancholic in Leofric's voice when he answered, "Obviously. By God's bones, two men? 'ow strange. 'eretical"
His voice seemed to catch on the last word like he didn't quite understand or believe what he said.
Unable to understand the strange way this conversation had gone, Wulfstan pulled his head back slightly, removing Leofric's hand from his hair, and took a few long-legged steps until he was in the main doorway. "Come on, we need to get to the market so we can set up our stall. Your Mam will whip us to hell and back if we don't sell at least half our stock by nightfall."
Leofric was silent, still standing in the doorway of Wulfstan's off-shooting room. Nothing was said as he stared at the deserted spot that Wulfstan had been standing in only a moment ago. His lips pressed together into a thin line, the corners pulling back, as he let out a harsh exhale from his nose and finally dropped his empty hand to his side.
"I know." He looked over, a molten light in his golden eye dimmed, like ashes of a fire the morning after it went out. The embers no longer glowed invitingly. "Let's go then."
-
Leofric lounged on the mostly empty cart, counting the silver coins they'd bartered for their sacks of wheat and barley. It was just about nightfall and it had been one of the more lucrative days they'd had out of the last couple of market trips. He smiled, flipping one of the few full silver coins they'd earned in his hands, chuckling proudly every time he caught it.
If Wulfstan ever became tired or sore, he was sure he'd be having a very bad time as he dragged the wheeled cart behind him with the weight of the wheat, barley and Leofric on it. He knew that Leofric had long since pawned the job of pulling the cart off to Wulfstan because he couldn't, despite being so well-exercised, pull the damn thing for more than a few streets before he was huffing and puffing. Always sweating buckets and so red-faced Wulfstan was worried Leofric would actually start bleeding from his nose or eyes.
Wulfstan's mind stopped for a moment.
It hit him suddenly that Leofric could very well have been faking that reaction. Wulfstan had been the one who had offered after watching the other man suffer. He didn't have to rack his brain much to find a handful of instances of Leofric becoming inexplicitly incapable, hapless, when Wulfstan happened to walk onto the scene around the farm. The man had gotten wise to Wulfstan's strangely impressive constitution that he had ever since he'd woken
up with no memories in the woods. Leofric was also aware that Wulfstan cared for his health and wellbeing far beyond his own.
Scoffing in disbelief, Wulfstan rolled his eyes. He couldn't help but think that Leofric was fortunate that he cared for the man so, or he'd beat him black and blue all the way home.
Rounding the last muddy corner, their home appeared in front of them. Donngall was sitting on the bench, a bowl of mead in one hand, the other scratching the top of one of the scraggly stray dog's heads that sometimes wandered around the house, begging for scrabs. Through the open door,
Wulfstan saw Ita lit by firelight, bustling around the hut as she prepared dinner for the four of them.
His momentary irritation was washed away as he grinned at the scene of his family being so happy. However, the closer they got, the iller he felt as he smelt the food.
Wolfgang still couldn't understand why he couldn't tolerate the smell or taste of any of the food his family or the other villagers exalted the deliciousness of. No matter what he ate, he would have to go out to the furthest corners of their fields to retch it back up unseen, the acrid taste burning him even hours after consumption. No matter what he ate, a pit remained gnawing at his stomach.
It grew louder, more aggressive every year.
Every day, Wulfstan felt more and more confused.
¹ ful – a friend of the most intimate sort
² god – a true or intimate friend