WHERE Their room on the train WHEN Thursday morning, May 11 WHAT Jacob and Serefin wake up much older, with a ton of memories from home, and some really awkward revelations. STATUS Complete! WARNINGS Some talks of violence and mentions of eye things.
It had been about twenty years since Jacob Frye had woken in this bed and yet in the moment his working eye opened, it felt like none. It was a startling feeling, meshing two worlds together from across an ocean of time. He was a different person - physically evident in the eye patch and still healing injuries from his recent near death experience, and psychologically evident in how he carried himself with less youthful swagger and more regret these days.
Still, something thrilled through him at the recognition of where he was and he rolled sharply to look at the space next to him. Sure enough, there was a man there. A man he hadn't remembered yesterday but who's memory felt all too visceral now. He looked older, of course. But Jacob remembered the time event where he'd gotten to meet Serefin at this age now too. Vallo had a terrible way of mashing memories into one's head.
He was grateful. It meant his instincts at waking up somewhere strange with someone who wasn't his wife only got as far as him abruptly sitting up and reaching for the blade that was usually under his pillow. It all happened in a blur but he unclenched his fingers as he stared down at Serefin, swallowing the lump of emotion that threatened to keep him silent.
"Oi, wake up," he murmured shakily. "We've got some business to sort out."
Loud. Everything was too loud. Before even being close to awake, Serefin was already reaching blindly to cover where the noise was coming from. At nearly forty, Serefin didn't drink his days away to have a hangover, but he was extensively tired. He was always tired. Becoming king of Tranavia and actually fulfilling the duties he was born into and wanted—after a few crises of personal faith—did not make court easier. His own people still disliked him. And he could swear that at least one-third, if he was being generous, of Kalyzin, despised his existence. The rest, lukewarm. He'd take it.
Serefin groaned, and rolled over, one eye still closed, the other covered with his own eye patch for sleeping purposes, and so that no one stared at where it was missing. "I was told I didn't have to meet with any pompous or self-righteous slavhki before noon today, barring acts of war, and even then, I fully intend on exercising my right as king to choose if—"
Oh, wait. He was waking up now, despite his best efforts not to. That was a voice he had not heard in decades. And now the memory of Jacob Frye was real and visceral, enough to sober Serefin into immediately sitting up in bed. Their bed. On the goddamn train.
"Blood and bone, you have to be kidding me," Serefin said, tossing the blankets off him, seemingly ignoring Jacob's request as he swore a long line of frustrations in Tranavian. He was already out of bed pacing in their tiny room. "Do you think it's too early to drink? Don't answer that, I'm not but—"
He paused, only to point accusatory at a much-older-than-Serefin-remembered Jacob. "What in the hell happened to your eye?"
Serefin's voice and mannerisms were both familiar and startling. Jacob couldn't help the fondness that filled him. Or the desire to let Serefin rest simply because he'd asked for it. But then he was up and moving, and Jacob moved quickly to his own feet as well. The train at home would've been too narrow to escape each other's space, but this one had been through a series of renovations over the years. It was a home. It was their home.
"I don't think it's ever too early to drink," Jacob grumbled, raising a self-conscious hand to his face. It was stupid to be awkward about it; Serefin had lived this way most of his life. But it was still fresh for Jacob and carried an assortment of inadequacies with it."Especially not if we're digging into the meat just like that right out of the gate."
He stepped around the bed to the liquor cabinet on the wall and pulled down two tumblers like it was something he'd done every day. But collecting a bottle took him a second. Apparently not everything was second nature still. He had to hold the glasses carefully and stare down at them with one eye to fill them without making a mess.
Mission accomplished, he turned and held out a full glass of whisky. "Did you say king?"
For just waking up, Serefin's attention was acutely aware of every minuscule movement of Jacob through their room. The years had been rough and unkind to his ex—were they exes? Did only remembering the relationship here, in Vallo, count? But they were together here before? Currently? It didn't make sense. With all the memories becoming a heinous mix in his already god-addled mind, he didn't think he could have an existential and moral crisis this early. Not with all the love in his heart for Jacob pumping urgently into his veins, like it had never left.
"I thought we weren't getting into the meat of things right out of the gate," Serefin said, taking the offered glass of whisky. He knocked it back immediately, too quick for comfort, and it burned all the way down. His alcohol consumption had waned each year, much to the assistance of Kacper who was—well, not here. He set the empty tumbler on their cluttered nightstand, and sat back down on the bed in an attempt to forcibly soothe his troubled nerves.
"Now that we've settled that, yes. King. Of all of Tranavia, and I haven't managed to burn it to the ground yet which is a feat really considering my enemies and my proclivity for metaphorical self-immolation. But—" He beckoned Jacob closer with his left hand, almost arrogantly so. A gesture of someone who had been royalty longer than he wanted to admit.
"Let me see. It's new, yes?" Serefin asked. "Who did it? I assume they aren't alive anymore to tell the tale. You wouldn't have let it stand, someone getting that close to you."
Jacob blinked at Serefin downing hard liquor and then raised his eyebrows, following suit with a quick swig. He'd wallowed in his drink for a few days after everything went down but Evie had made faces and fussed and he'd eventually pulled his head out of his arse long enough to take proper medication alone. Still, the sting helped a little to soften the edge of longing that was churning in his gut.
This life had been stolen from him and he hadn't even known it. Now that he did, he found it infuriated him. He wouldn't give up his son, of course, and his wife was a good woman, but there was no deep all-encompassing love there. Mutual regard and concern, friendship and solidarity. Serefin was something else.
"Well. Suppose I should ignore your old demands to not call you your majesty then." He followed Serefin to the bed and sat down, knocking their knees together gently by instinct. "It's…yeah. It's new." He took the eyepatch off slowly. The eye wasn't gone, but it was damaged, clouded, and the scar tissue was healing around the edges of his crows feet. "I had a ward. He grew up twisted in a way I could fix. I tried to stop him from hurting more innocents. Evie came to the rescue."
An old habit of crawled up into Serefin's bones—was it old or was it simply usual for them?—and he was already putting a placating hand on Jacob's knee when he sat beside him. Serefin had been so wrapped up in curiosity, he hadn't realized he had done it until it was too late. He tried to be casual about moving it away, but he suspected he was not as nonchalant as he hoped.
"The demand still stands. I'm starting to suspect my court doesn't remember my real name and calls me Kowesz Tawość to get around it," Serefin said distractedly as he inspected Jacob's injury. He wanted to touch his face, to hold him still, and feel Jacob's jaw working under his palm, but he resisted. It was a horrible feeling to do so.
"It's not so bad. The way you received it could have been better, but I suppose no one believes the best in losing sight in one eye. It's usually a terrible reason or a stupid one, and you were dealt the latter. Unfair when it is one of your own."
He took in more of Jacob now that they were close, and the alcohol stopped burning and started warming. His nerves weren't so chaotic. Mostly. "Is that all your ward took from you? Are you missing any fingers? Toes? What other unkindnesses have you endured while I didn't remember?"
One eye or not, Jacob was still an assassin, highly attuned to changes around him. Possibly better than when he'd been here. He pretended not to notice Serefin withdrawing his hand but he watched him too closely to be very convincing.
"Stupid, terrible, and only a matter of time, really." He sounded self-pitying and he knew it but God help him, he was feeling more maudlin by the second. "I'm not missing any toes or fingers, but I'd say I've suffered a rather unfair unkindness in the fact that I wasn't allowed to bloody miss you until I woke up here again next to you."
It was too honest, too fast, but it was out there before he could do anything about it. Jacob sighed and turned his face away. "I suppose that would've been crueler. How is your court treating you? Besides calling you names." He looked back, softer. Trying to calm himself. "Are you alright?"
That look from Jacob was enough to wither every ounce of resolve Serefin had. Not remembering was crueler, having all of his feelings for Jacob come barrelling forward while Serefin's feelings for his husband were tucked in right beside it was painful. He didn't have the capacity to love both of them suddenly, irrevocably, without burning himself out. He wanted to be anywhere but here, he wanted to be only here.
He didn't comment on it, only hummed in modest agreement; Serefin didn't trust his tongue to slip up and ruin it.
Serefin exhaled, long and low, as he allowed himself this one nonsensical thing—he reached up to touch Jacob's chin, the ghost of Serefin's fingertips along his jaw, keeping Jacob in place without any effort so that he wouldn't look away again. Blood and bone, he loved this man so much, and he had missed everything.
"I have all my fingers and toes, too, for the record, if you were wondering. The eye is gone, but that is an old injury. My brother is alive—" Serefin made a small ah-ah noise, as if to stop any complaints about the news. "Alive-ish, but less of a threat than he was two decades ago. We have a peace treaty with Kalyazin which is tenuous but no one is killing one another over old gods so I count that a win, though my court does have opinions about the ceasefire."
He opened his mouth to continue babbling, going on about innocuous details and boring filler commentary. His life in Tranavia was not nearly as exciting as it has been in Vallo, but it was not what he needed to say. "I am also married."
Jacob wanted to close his eyes at the touch, but he resisted being so cowardly. Just barely. His eyelashes fluttered before he locked eyes again and startled. "Your brother's alive. Christ." Less of a threat was good, of course, but he could only imagine what Serefin had gone through in the process. He didn't want to ask. Not when their time here would likely be brief. Not when Serefin was saying the words I am also married and the world was slowing to a crawl.
He looked down at Serefin's hand for a ring on instinct and found his own hand instead. His own ring. He lifted it near his chin. "Me too," he admitted quietly. "It's not, we aren't...." He breathed out. "I care for her deeply but it isn't like it was with us. I hope for more for you, honestly. A torrid steamy affair. Come on. Spill."
Jacob Frye was apparently a glutton for punishment. Evie would probably say she'd known that since they were in nappies.
Serefin tried to be happy for Jacob, even managing something close to a smile, but he could hear that hesitancy in Jacob's voice. The way he spoke about his wife wasn't encouraging. Serefin didn't want to assume but marriage of convenience had been what he had been running from his whole life; he hated that it had caught up with Jacob.
"He is not you. He is quite the opposite of you, actually," Serefin said slowly. It was hurting him to speak about his husband, because he knew it was hurting Jacob. Serefin could never escape it could he? In the same ways he dragged Kacper through all of his godly, chaotic shit, Jacob had been through the same. Their relationships ran parallel to one another, an alternative universe with similar events. If Jacob had been in Tranavia, he was certain he would have been married a decade to him instead.
But that was not how the story went, did it?
He cleared his throat and stood up; the closeness was suddenly suffocating. "He was, still is actually, my lieutenant. Kacper Neiborski," Serefin said, waiting for recognition to filter into Jacob. He had spoken about Kacper when he was in Vallo, when he remembered he was, but his and Kacper's relationship had not nearly been this close. Not close enough to marry.
"I was against arranged marriage, have been for quite some time, but traditions of court are painfully nonconsensual when it comes to political arrangements. They said I needed someone to show a consolidation of power, I said only if I get to pick. They regretted saying yes to me, but Kacper was my consort by then, they had to have known." Serefin shrugged, half-heartedly.
The look he gave Jacob was sad, regretful, as he said, "I was king, I could do whatever I wanted, and I chose to marry out of love."
Well, he had asked for it, hadn’t he? Jacob tried not to wince. He was glad, really. The ache in his heart was just to be expected. He nodded slowly and managed a smile that was bittersweet but still sincere.
“Don’t make that face, Serefin. I’m grateful to hear it,” he promised. “Your world has never been very kind to you. And I know the number of people you trust is small. That you found love in a friend, a confidant, and didn’t get wrangled into a loveless marriage for the security of the state is better than good. It’s all I could’ve hoped for.”
He wished he’d brought the whisky bottle to the bed. Or stayed standing so he could pace. He occupied his hands with taking one of Serefin’s instead and lifted it to kiss his knuckles. “Can’t pretend I’m not horrifyingly jealous, but I’m only human,” he smirked, lowering Serefin’s hand. “Well…mostly human.”
"I can still hate it for you," Serefin corrected. Whatever else he had intended to say died on his lips, when Jacob pressed his to his knuckles. Serefin wished he had the real years worth of time to forget, to move on from the loss of Jacob Frye so that this didn't feel like a reunion and a goodbye at the same time. He loved Kacper, there was no denying that—Serefin had vehemently argued it when his own husband still tried to find his footing in a court he was not born into—but he loved Jacob. He had always loved Jacob.
So, Serefin could not stop making that face. Mostly because every urge in his body wanted to close that distance, to comfort Jacob, to tell him it should have been you, and how wrong it all was to feel it at once. His hand had still lingered in the air even after Jacob dropped it.
"I should not say what else I am thinking right now, in an effort not to make your jealousy worse. I know I cannot police your feelings, as I can barely figure out my own, but if Vallo continues its usual antics, you won't have to worry about it for too long. We will forget all of this and go back to our respective homes, none the wiser."
Sensing the whisky was needed again, he snatched the bottle and offered it out to Jacob for them to share. "You could tell me about your wife. Your life. Anything that will make me horrifyingly jealous. I promise it will not take much."
I don’t want to forget.
The thought came so sharp and sudden that it left Jacob winded. He blinked back the emotions that came along with it and forced out a strangled little laugh.
“I’ll tell you about my son, how’s that?” He claimed the bottle and sat back on his elbows, as nonchalant as he could. See, look, everything’s fine. Of course, the swig he took wasn’t convincing but he did actually want to talk about this. “His name’s Oliver. Olly when he’s up to mischief. And if I had a shilling for every time he did something kind and thoughtful when I wasn’t prepared, I’d be a rich man…”