#fe forsyth

Lukas had battled demons and witches and dragons, he had charged a mad god head-on with his lance, and yet, this black parchment on his desk bested him in a matter of minutes. Forsyth was taking revenge for days of lance drills with Lukas as his lieutenant; he now paced behind the writing desk, forbidding Lukas a moment of respite from the task at hand.

It was the first beautiful day all season – the Rigelian spring had proven nearly as cold as it’s winter. Lukas wished he could enjoy the warm breeze that finally drifted through the open window instead of feeling the childish itches of avoidance that prickled at every inch of him. He was reminded of his days studying under a tutor, yearning to join the children outside instead of burying himself in more penmanship.

“I did not say I’d lie to her,” he explained. “I simply plan on offering a limited, and gentler version of the truth.”

Forsyth remained unimpressed. Though Lukas was often the best spoken in an argument, his opponent had a lifetime of arguing with the smoothest talker in Valentia. He tried again. “This method is efficient and spares her undue heartache.”

“Your goal isn’t to find some efficient trick! This is an expression of your revelations. You said yourself how much you respected this woman. You trusted her to agree to the betrothal in the first place. Shouldn’t you trust her with your honest thoughts?”

“I do respect her, so I do not wish to break her heart by convincing her she’s undesirable. If she believes I’ve found partnership with men, she may think her only shortcoming is her sex. She will have far more doubts if I try to explain… this.”

“This is who you are!”

“Precisely.” He slumped his chin into his hand. “My family has never been very receptive to that…”

Forsyth grew quiet. The faint sound of the birds outside was the only stirring in the room. For a moment, Lukas wondered if he had won after all.

Then, he felt a firm grip on his shoulder. He was turned gently, so that Forsyth could grasp both his shoulders. His eyes were burning with intensity, but there was melancholy in them, too.

“Listen to me. I am aware you survived your upbringing with secrets and – and those limited, gentler truths. As did I. As did Python. Many adolescents must hide, in some sense of the word.”

He inhaled.

“But you are not a child anymore. You have nothing to fear from anyone. You must hold your head high. You must not think of yourself as something to be hidden. You must raise your voice,” he took his own advice, “and speak boldly of yourself! Because if you do not speak of your own legacy, how shall anyone write ballads of you?”

Lukas knew he’d lost his title of the most eloquent long ago.

He nodded. Though his expression remained subtle, he picked up his pen with a new vigor in the motion.

Python entered, reliably summoned by Forsyth’s volume. (Whether the habit stemmed from his constant nosiness or it was a protective measure, Lukas could never be sure.)

He strolled to where the two leaned over the desk. “Whatcha working on?”

“Don’t you bother him.”

“I only asked what you were up to, sheesh!”

“Lukas is writing a letter to break off his engagement.”

“Ooh~” He peered over the man’s shoulder. “You should totally lie and say you died all heroic-like in the war, that’ll do the trick.”