"Smile at strangers and you just might change a life." — Steve Maraboli
TMR Messenger!Newt x MapMaker'sApprentice!Will Byers 𑣲 WC: 806
A/N: Y'all seemed to like this crazy idea, so why not? Also it's medieval AU. Also because why not? Also I'm calling this ship 'Newill', also because why not? I know this is short. I'm sorry :(
William had learned the river before he learned most people.
It bent like a spine through the valley, a good place to sit when the village felt too loud. He'd brought his board and inks with him, knees drawn up behind his cloak, a map half finished in his lap. The parchment fluttered faintly in the breeze, edges smudged where his fingers had fiddled.
The road to the nunnery was giving him particular trouble today. Roads were practically living things to William. They shifted when no one was looking. Every time he corrected an error on one of his maps, he'd swear the path moved itself out of spite.
He was a mapmaker's apprentice by trade, though his master preferred the word 'copyist'. The old man valued accuracy above all else. He had no patience for William's 'embellishments', as he called them.
'The world is not like your imagination, William.' His master would often say. 'It need precision.' William learned to simply nod and keep quiet.
He dipped his quill again, listening to the water.
That was when the footsteps came.
He froze for a moment, not in fear, but awareness. He'd always been able to feel people before he saw them, and he turned his head, careful as a startled deer.
The boy on the path looked worn by travel in a way which wasn't seen in merchants. Mud darkened the hem of his cloak, and a satchel swung low on his hip, heavy with letters. His hair caught the light like spun gold.
He walked carefully, favoring one leg, though he didn't seem to even notice he was doing it. When he saw William, his expression softened with relief.
"Sorry to trouble you, friend." The stranger spoke with an unfamiliar accent. "Would you happen to know the way to the abbey of Saint Cillian?"
"...Yes." William nodded. "It's another mile upriver. You have gone past the turn."
"I thought so." The boy chuckled faintly. Not embarrassed. Just tired.
"I can show you." William hesitated, waiting a moment for protest before beginning to gather his things. "It is easier if you walk along the river."
"Only if it is not too much trouble."
"It is not." William replied, and he meant it.
They walked together along the bank, the river rushing beside them. William was sure to adjust his pace, slowing so the stranger wouldn't have to hurry.
"Are you a scribe?" The blonde questioned, glancing at the board tucked under William's arm.
"Mapmaker." He answered. "Apprentice."
"That explains it. You look like someone who listens to the land." William paused and looked up at the boy's earnest eyes. People didn't usually say things like that. "I'm Newton." He added. "Messenger."
"William."
Newton repeated the name, savoring it on his lips.
They reached a bend in the river where the tall grass parted and a narrower, more overgrown path revealed itself. Nunnery bells chimed in the distance.
"Do you ever draw things aside from maps? Ever draw things that do not exist?" Newton asked carefully.
"Sometimes." William admitted, fingers tightening around his board. That was exactly what he was so often scolded for: Creating the things no one else could see.
"I think that is how all which is profound is born. From things imagined first." Newton nodded. "I walk the same roads over and over again, and some people think that makes them dull, but I think they change depending on who walks them. Some days they feel heavy. Other days they feel kind," Then he shrugged, almost apologetic. "But I do not know much. I am only a messenger."
William didn't answer right away. He only felt... Warm: An unfamiliar warmth which spread from his face to his fingertips, like standing close to a hearth.
Then, they reached the road leading to Newton's destination, and the warmth was fading just as quickly as it came, replaced by something eerily similar to disapointment.
"Well, here we are."
"Here we are... Thank you, William." Newton bowed slightly. "For the guidance, and the company."
"Safe travels." William replied, already turning away. He told himself not to look back at this half-stranger who did catastrophic things to his heart.
"William?" Newton's voice rang after him, and how could he not look back now? "I deliver this road often. May I... Come back this way? On occasion?"
"Yes." William replied without hesitation. "Of course. I hope to see you."
"As do I." Newton smiled, something gentle and graceful, before continuing on.
William returned up to the riverbank and sat where he had been before. He opened his board again, staring at the unfinished map. After a moment, he reached for his bag and pulled out a fresh scrap of parchment.
He didn't draw the road.
He drew a face instead: Soft eyed, sunny-haired, and familiar already.
Bartholomew odeia música. É uma das poucas coisas que ele diz odiar que o garoto realmente não gosta. Seu problema com a música vem do âmbito familiar: suas mães são famosas cantoras e sua irmã é uma exímia musicista, enquanto Bart fracassou na prática de todos os instrumentos que tentou aprender e foi um desastre nas aulas de canto. A música é só mais um ressalto do quanto ele é diferente de sua família; o quanto ele é errado naquele contexto.
