Backdated to April 18
Julian spent the first hour of his day on Dering with Cyril, who patiently walked alongside Julian as he guided him to the river. Julian marked the path this time, again with colorful ribbons. They talked about simple, easy ways to mark the path without 'such boorish displays of color'. Julian hadn't thought the ribbons were so terrible, but Cyril thought the garish colors clashed too much with Dering's natural landscape.
Julian didn't think it was important to tell him that it helped mark the path, but only because he was certain he'd learn it by heart the same way Cyril already had. One day.
He took his time to examine the river, though his expectations had been low before he arrived. Cyril, and the cameras, reported no sightings of fish, nor any other signs of life in the river. The eggs seemed mostly unchanged, and though some seemed a little bigger--or even appeared to move a bit--this could have just been the current.
There wasn't much time to lament the lack of progress. Julian had a packed schedule for the day, and a long list of things he wanted to do while visiting his Wonder. Though Cyril had, in his own way, reassured that his absence hadn't harmed Dering, the effects of it were too noticeable to ignore. The grass in the clearing had grown rapidly, and the tall, soft blades snagged on Julian's tunic and tangled around his ankles. It might not have been a problem for Cyril, but it made things difficult for Julian.
The rest of the morning was spent taming the overgrowth. The push-mower needed maintenance several times, but Julian dutifully tended to it, and carried the excess overgrowth off to the side. It would have made good fertilizer, eventually, if he'd had anything to grow.
It wasn't like he'd had good luck with that so far, anyway.
Every visit, he checked on the roseberries, and every visit he was greeted with an unchanged pot of dirt.
Except this time.
Having expected another unexciting check-in, Julian hadn't gotten his hopes up. Tired and sore, he dragged himself to the pots--and froze.
There were three pots. Two had sprouted.
Not much--one was two and a half inches tall, and the other one was just barely half an inch.
Julian stared down at them, and slowly dropped to his knees so he could see better. He'd thought his eyes were playing tricks on him--maybe a leaf had fallen, or mold was growing, or something, but--
The taller of the two sprouts had three small leaves unfurling already, while the other just had a miniscule bud.
Julian stared for five minutes before he remembered that they weren't going to grow just because he was looking at them. He pushed himself to his feet quickly, looking around.
Cyril was nowhere to be seen, but he played his lyre in the distance, out of sight but easy to find.
He'd been in and out all day, sometimes chatting with Julian, sometimes giving him space. The only constant was the music.
Julian found Cyril strumming his instrument, looking up at the clouds through gaps in the tree. He noticed Julian before either had to speak, and half-turned to meet him without missing a beat.
"Cyril!" Julian was softspoken, even when hurried and breathless. "They sprouted. I don't know if they look right. Can you please come look?"
It was strange to hear such urgency from Julian, who was vibrating with cautious--excited?--energy.
"What did?" Cyril asked, lowering his lute and fastening it to his belt as he walked towards Julian.
"The roseberries," Julian explained quickly, wringing his hands together. He waited for Cyril to reach his side before they started walking together. "There are two sprouts. Well--I don't know if they're roseberries. But something is growing there. I was hoping you could tell me if they look right."
Cyril rarely emoted, but despite his general stoicism, he lifted his head curiously. "Oh, have they? I was there only yesterday." He paused, and then shook his head. "Maybe the day before. I've been spending most of my time by the river."
Julian nodded understandably--they'd been spending a lot of time trying to figure out how those fish eggs got there. He hadn't given up on the roseberries, but if Cyril said something was different, Julian understood that meant important.
Cyril wasn't bound by human limitations. He could have reached the sprouts faster by will than by walking, but he chose to stay with Julian.
The roseberries had been planted in pots at the base of a large tree, whose canopy had shielded them from brutal showers while still allowing ample sunlight. Julian stopped two feet before they reached the pots and looked up at Cyril hopefully. He hadn't stopped wringing his hands together.
Like Julian had, Cyril slowly sank to one knee. He rested his elbow on his leg and leaned close to the plants.
They were already a deep, healthy color, and they looked strong, and sturdy. Like they wanted to grow.
...But he wasn't sure they were roseberries.
"It's too soon to tell," he reported, expecting Julian might deflate. To his surprise--and relief--Julian just nodded.
"I know. But it's possible? It could be?"
"It could be." Cyril extended a hand like he might have tried to touch a leaf but caught himself and returned his hand to his side. "We'll have to see what they look like when they grow a little more. They look healthy, though."
Julian nodded again, finally crossing the distance between himself and the pots so he could mimic Cyril's stance and kneel next to him. "I was worried. I should have been here to take care of them."
Of course he was worried. Cyril was completely unsurprised. 'Worried' seemed to be Julian's natural state, and he was already beating himself up for not handling a thousand obligations he self-assigned without giving himself any safeguards or leniency. No human could complete the to-do list Julian assigned himself, but getting him to see that was a slow process. "They were fine, Julian. If they survived a few hundred years in a box, being left to the dirt wasn't going to hurt them. I'm surprised to see them grow at all. I was sure those seeds were dead."
He'd said it several times, but Julian remained hopeful despite it.
These might have been weeds. Honestly, Cyril wasn't sure, and he had long ago learned to err on the side of caution to spare himself disappointment later.
Julian, however, seemed to pour all of his hope into this.
The last few weeks hadn't been good for Julian, and though Cyril knew very little of the circumstances, he had witnessed the effects of it. Seeing Julian's timid, tentative excitement, he couldn't imagine any situation that would inspire him to shut down that hope. It wasn't a perfect solution--none of this was--but Julian seemed more like himself when he had a task at hand.
He'd worked hard to get these seeds--roseberries or not. Whatever they were, their growth was worth celebrating.
"Do you think they have a chance?" Julian asked.
Truthfully, Cyril didn't know. There was no telling what the circumstances of their preservation included. Maybe the plant would grow but never flower. Maybe it would never bear fruit. Maybe they were poison now. Maybe the unicorns wouldn't come.
Maybe saying any of that would break what fragile optimism that had possessed Julian.
Cyril hummed. "I think they must. They've sprouted, so they must want to live." He eyed the third pot, where nothing was growing.
Julian looked there, too. "Do you think I should move them so they get better lighting? Just for today. I'll put them back before I leave."
"That's a good idea."
So, Julian did. And when he suggested getting some water from the river, Cyril told him that was a good idea, too. Julia fetched the watering can and went by himself, following the markers along the trail. He returned in only a few moments and found Cyril watching the sprouts contemplatively.
Julian watered them meticulously, as if a single drop of water would be too much and might drown them. Several times, Cyril had to encourage him to do a little more. Then, when Julian had finished that, he sat on the ground before the pots and asked, "Is there anything else I can do for them?"
Crossing his arms over his chest, Cyril hummed. He stood in the sunlight, but with the brightness of the day he didn't seem particularly ghostly. Parts of him caught in the sunlight, and cast a brilliant, silver lining around him. As the sunlight passed through him, parts of him sparkled, like glitter hovering in the air.
Julian tried not to stare, and startled when Cyril turned to face him. "Play them some music," Cyril suggested.
"What?"
Cyril gave him a patient, but exasperated look. "There are songs for everything. Peace, health, growth. When Dering was more alive, there were plants that would respond to the music I played. You won't be surprised to know that there is a reason your magic is channeled from an instrument."
"Oh."
The excitement dimmed, and Julian smoothed his hands over his robes.
Cyril tilted his head. "You used to play all the time. I know you can."
"Well--I mean, yes," Julian agreed, but it seemed like a struggle to get that much out of him, "But that was different..."
"Not really. It does not escape me that you play less when I'm around. Why?"
At first, Julian shrugged. Then, when met with Cyril's silence, eventually admitted, "I'm not very good."
Cyril scoffed. "You most certainly are."
Julian's cheeks colored pink. He looked away, but it wasn't enough time to compose himself, so he shrugged. "I could be better."
"I could be better, too. That doesn't mean you aren't good."
"I don't want to disappoint you."
"What an extraordinary burden you've put on yourself, Julian. That doesn't make any sense to me. How could you disappoint me with music? If you're worried about how you play, I'll teach you what I know. You're a good student."
Julian shrugged and countered meekly, "You're a good teacher."
"Ah. But I can't be any teacher if I don't have a student. Go get your lute, let me teach you a song. You think too much about your music. I liked it more when you let it flow through you."
Before Julian knew Cyril was there. Before he started overthinking it.
Though Julian was flooded with doubt, he was quick to comply. His lute rested against the trunk of the tree, back where the pots had been, and he obediently fetched it.
Cyril had already found a comfortable place for them to sit, on soft grass and under the shade, but where they could still feel the soft breeze blowing through. Comfort meant little to Cyril, but a great deal to Julian, who waited until Cyril sat down before fussing with how he wanted to hold his lute.
After a moment, Cyril leaned forward. "Julian, this isn't a test. It's music. There isn't a wrong way to play it. The plants won't care about anything more than the attention they'll get. Just relax. I don't want you to be perfect. Just be whatever feels comfortable."
"Well, it feels more comfortable if I'm not worried about messing up," Julian mumbled, still trying to remember how to hold his lute.
He had it right, but Cyril didn't tell him. He let Julian figure it out, and watched as his shoulders finally eased, and his fingers relaxed.
"You're not going to mess up. You played perfectly well when you weren't worried about pleasing an audience, you know."
He had. Back before he knew he shared his Wonder with a ghost, Julian used to play all the time. He liked the way the strings bounced off of the trees. He hadn't worried about how he played because--he thought--no one was there to hear him. He'd messed up often, or stopped in the middle of a song, or just played something to see how it sounded.
He'd stopped doing that now that he met Cyril, in the same way he'd stopped doing the same with his violin in Destiny City.
Julian shrugged, but Cyril wasn't deterred. Rather, he took it as a good sign.
"You cannot do this wrong, Julian. Besides, I need someone to learn these songs. They cannot die with me."
A topic Julian didn't like, because he looked up with a worried, dejected expression. "You're not going anywhere," he insisted, but Cyril heard the question in it.
He didn't think he was going anywhere. He didn't feel like he was going anywhere.
For too long it felt like a curse. There was no good in it.
Except, maybe, to make sure that the next Knight of Dering had someone to push him in the right direction.
"...No, I'm not going anywhere, Julian. But humor me, anyway."
This time, Julian nodded, and whatever tension he'd been carrying in his shoulders lightened. His hand rested over the strings, and he matched where Cyril positioned his fingers on the lyre.
Cyril might have laughed, but he limited himself to a bemused half-smile, instead.
Julian was a better student than he gave himself credit for.
And Cyril was a better teacher, too.
