The volume of Hakon’s snoring was a badge of honor for Ajax. He’d done so well that he’d put his man into a deep sleep. To be fair, Hakon was still recovering from his injury but Ajax took the credit.
After a few minutes blissed out and catching his breath, Ajax found he wasn’t tired. It was still only morning, after all. For a time he occupied himself in the bed. He mentally reviewed the day's events, critiquing his performance and making notes for the next time. He gave himself a middling grade, though he expected his inexperienced partner would rate him higher. Ajax was a clear-eyed critic. Hakon wasn’t the only man devoted to relentless self-improvement in his chosen discipline.
After a time he got bored, even if it was nice lying close to Hakon and playing with his single chest hair. Ajax got up and put on some underwear and a light tunic. He considered going out for some fresh air, perhaps to run an errand or just to explore. He even briefly considered popping down to the tavern to see if there were any cute boys around to chat with. But he thought better of all of it.
The last time they had spent the night together as lovers, Ajax had fled before the sun rose and left Hakon abandoned, dejected, enraged. For cause, but still. Hakon nursed the anger and pain for years and extracted a promise that Ajax would never do it again. Ajax didn’t want to leave Hakon to worry even for a moment that he’d violated his oath, so he would stay close. There would be other times to demonstrate his independence. This was a time to demonstrate loyalty.
Ajax wanted to be right there in the bed when Hakon woke up. He rummaged through their luggage to find something to keep himself busy. Hakon had brought a tedious religious text and a military manual from Grisc with details about their imaginative new weapons. Hakon was enthralled, but no thank you. Ajax had a trashy novel he’d long since finished and a copy of a forgotten epic poem from his homeland, recorded in some remote mainland village by a traveling scholar.
Ajax was slowly memorizing it and setting it to music to make it part of his repertoire. It was a good way to feel connected to his old life in Teos, and the story was entertaining. It would be a hit when it was done. He decided to put some work into that and brought it over to the bed.
First he recited a ten-stanza section slowly just to get the meter, then replaced outdated vocabulary and made. Next he decided which of the three melodies he was working with was most appropriate for the text. Finally he sang it three times to memorize it - under his breath in deference to his sleeping companion.
It kept Ajax occupied for a while. Hakon had heard all the work he’d done so far and Ajax looked forward to singing this latest section for him when he woke up. But he kept getting distracted by the folded paper he was using as a bookmark and eventually picked it up to examine it instead.
He shouldn’t have swiped it. The letter was addressed to his mother, after all. It was rude to open people’s mail. Now she wouldn’t see it for six weeks and it might have been important. And unfortunately Ajax had no idea what the contents were despite weeks of effort, because he couldn’t understand a word of what was written. The letters were clear as day but made no sense. The words weren’t even pronounceable. It had to be a code, not another language. No language looked like this.
The envelope had been addressed in a blocky print style that felt somehow familiar. Ajax couldn’t place it, but it was enough that he’d opened it out of a niggling curiosity. The letter itself was in a hand he couldn’t possibly mistake. Elegant and decorative but still crisp. A beautiful hand that he’d spent his childhood learning to copy before developing a style of his own.
The letter had been written by Fell Oxenfrey, now several years dead. When was it written? Who sent it to his mother? What else was she keeping from him? These questions ran through his head as he puzzled fruitlessly over the letters and listened to Hakon’s contented drone.
