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He had been on his way to doze off into blissful nothingness. A tree in his back, the sun warming his skin, and a gentle breeze playing with his hair.
"Python." The corner of his mind registered someone calling his name. He didn’t react, feigning sleep in the hope of being left alone.
"Python!" A hand roughly shook his shoulder. Damn, that was Forsyth. That one wouldn't give up as fast as the rest of the army. But maybe, if he just …
"I know you are awake!"
"No, I'm not," the archer mumbled. "Bother someone else."
"Please, Python! I need your help!" Now THAT got his attention. People simply didn’t come to HIM for help. The only thing they came to him for was juicy gossip; and he knew from experience Forsyth certainly wasn't looking for that.
Blinking, Python forced his eyes open. He stretched his arms over his head, let out a heartfelt yawn, and finally looked at the soldier who had the naivety to dare to interrupt his nap. A desperate face stared at him.
"Thank Mila, Python, you have to help me!" Forsyth let out a relieved sigh and a shimmer of hope appeared in his eyes. The archer raised one brow.
"Why me?"
"Well, imagine someone asked you to do something you do not want to do."
"I don't have to imagine, that happens to me all the time."
"Yes! I figured you would, that's why I'm asking you. You are an expert at avoiding doing things."
Should he take that as a compliment? Probably not, since Forsyth sounded kind of accusing, but he continued anyway.
"So, how would you avoid doing the something someone asked you to do?"
Oh, now he had Python's full attention. There were a few things in this world that simply got with each other. Like drinking and hangover, rain and soaked boots, and Forsyth doing favors. The guy would rather die than say "no". What a special day today was just becoming.
"That depends. You'll need to be more specific about your situation." He smirked.
Forsyth paled, his eyes went wide.
"D-do I really have to?"
After that question definitely. He could smell some good gossip behind those words.
"If you want my help, then yes. I need to know what I'm dealing with, Fors."
"A-alright." The soldier took a deep breath, braced himself. Python sat up straighter in anticipation. This was going to be good, good enough to forgive Forsyth for waking him.
"S-so I went into town today. You know, that little one like three miles from camp."
Indeed. Good ale, nice food. And it was the only one around.
"I looked around the market and met a vendor. She was very nice, we talked for ages, even gave me a discount on some sweets. After a while, she got a little … well not really a little … flirty. A-and then she invited me to go for "a walk in the woods" tomorrow a-a-and … "
Python couldn’t keep the grin from spreading across his face. Damn, that was much, much better than he had thought.
"You said yes. Oh, Mila, you said YES." He lost it. Python couldn’t remember the last time he had laughed this hard. Within seconds his stomach was hurting and tears had gathered in the corners of his eyes. Meanwhile, Forsyth was furiously blushing and trying to defend himself.
"I only realized on my way back!" he cried and buried his face in his hands. "Please help me."
Slowly, the archer managed to get a grip on himself. Still chuckling he said: "Alright, alright. Is she coming to pick you up at camp?"
Forsyth nodded and looked like he was about to cry.
"Well, just fake being sick or something, it's pretty easy."
"You can fake … wait, did you ever fake being sick?" Whoops.
"Uh … nooo. Never." He tried to look as innocent as possible. Forsyth took a deep breath, all traces of shame gone as he started a lecture Phyton ignored with practiced ease.
"If you're too much of a saint you can just eat some ipecac, no one will want to get close to you. So, you want my help or not?"
He must be truly desperate, Phyton thought twenty minutes later as they sat on their cots in the tent, because he could feel the guilt radiating off of the soldier. He had to be careful about this. Sensitive, patient. Forsyth was a total beginner after all.
"Alright, we're going with puking. Trust me, no one will want to get close to you this way. If she still wants to see you, I'll think of something to keep her out of the tent. Also, no one will be suspicious if you're feeling better tomorrow. Just something didn’t agree with you, and all done."
He got a nod in return, like a student listening in concentration. To be fair, it was kind of like that.
"You just have to make some noise, nothing more."
"Some noise?"
"Y'know, retching, and stuff. Maybe take a mouth of water and spit it out, nothing more. Think you can do that?"
Forsyth looked unsure and for a second Python was sure he would butt out, but then he nodded once more.
"Great! Now try it!" He handed his student a wooden bucket and a waterskin.
"Right now?!"
"Of course, a great performance needs training."
This is not going to work, Phyton thought after another twenty minutes. Forsyth had absolutely no talent. His fake-retching sounded like, well, fake-retching, and his water spitting like water spitting.
"That's enough," Python said, unable to listen and watch any longer. I will just think of something on the spot.
"And you're sure this will work?" No, never.
"Of course. You got this!" Absolutely not.
The next morning, Python was woken by a hand slapping against the outside of the tent. Caught up in routine, he almost ignored it but then he remembered it was probably Forsyth's "company". Well shit, time to put on a show.
He took one look at his friend who had curled up underneath his blanket, back facing him and the entrance, and looked dead asleep. Perfect, Python could work with that.
"Alright Fors, that's her. Just stay like that, I got this!" the archer whispered, softly patting the lump underneath the blanket, and got up. He didn’t get an answer.
Python put on his best "just woke up"-performance and pushed open the tent flap with a yawn. An only half-played surprised "oh" left him as he laid his eyes upon the girl standing in front of him. She was pretty. Cute. With a soft round face that suggested she was a couple of years younger than him and big brown eyes. Her blonde hair was braided artfully and a few flowers decorated her head. The dress she was wearing was simple but still lovely. Python was confident she could've gotten Fors if not for the existence of a certain redhead.
"Oh, I'm sorry, this must be the wrong tent. I'm looking for Sir Forsyth."
Sir Forsyth, Python suppressed a grin.
"No no, you're at the right one. Fors told me about you."
"H-he did?" A faint blush spread across her cheeks.
"Yeah, was really looking forward to seeing you again today. It's just that … he got sick."
"Sick? Oh dear, is he alright?!" She tried to look around him and into the tent, but Python had been prepared for that since the moment he had stepped outside and positioned himself in a way it was impossible.
"He's fine, just had a rough night. Dinner didn’t agree with him or something." Hopefully, that was enough to get her to turn around.
She looked like she was about to do so, but suddenly her face lit up. "Oh, I could make him some tea if he wants!" No. No no no. No tea. Just go! "It's a family recipe from my mother that's-"
A loud gagging sound, followed by a retch and something wet hitting the bottom of a wooden bucket sounded from inside of the tent. Damn, Python thought, now that was good! Desperation must've really pushed the acting.
The girl paled. Python used his chance.
"That's very kind of you, but he wouldn't want a lady to see him like this."
Her face fell a bit, but she nodded. After a second, she pulled some flowers out of her hair. With a smile, she gave them to Python and said: "Please tell him to get well soon from me."
"Will do!" A two-fingered salute, Python took the flowers. He grinned like a maniac the moment she had left camp.
Laughing, the archer turned around and stepped back inside. "Mila, what a girl! But I gotta say your performance was great, could've been able to even fool me, Fors!"
And that's when he locked eyes with Forsyth, who was sitting on his bed hugging the wooden bucket. Forsyth, who was white as a sheet, hair plastered to his forehead with sweat and strings of saliva and bile dripping from his chin.
The knight's feverish eyes met his.
"Python," he said, voice miserable and weak, "I th-think I'm sick."
Forsyth's throat bobbed and the next blink had him ducking his head again.
"Yeah, you don't say."