Not dead, just very very busy with other stuff lately

After weeks of struggling with a slowly growing headache, on the first day of them being home again Phil woke up with a full-on migraine.

He wanted to stay in bed rather strongly. They'd spent long enough on the road that his bones were feeling the echoes of it, age making it so Phil could not travel as he used to. And normally, there would be no objection. Wilbur and Tommy were able to look after themselves, cleaning the cabin could wait and he was sure that between Niki and Wilbur, the pantry would be stocked in due time - at least enough for those two not to starve if Phil took an extra day recovering. The pounding between his temples was vicious and constant, a combination of dehydration and him neglecting his sacred duties.

He needed to speak to Kristin soon.

But there was the more pressing issue of their unexpected companion. Blade had slept on the couch for one night, and while Phil was sure that man was used to worse, much worse, he wanted to clear out the spare room and give him a more permanent place to sleep. And probably do some proper grooming too, before the villagers started to think he'd brought a vagrant home.

Well, not that Phil particularly cared about what they did or didn't think about him. But still. Reputation went a long way in a place as small as this town.

Also, he'd need to get in touch with the person who had given them their information, who had sent them into that ruin to find what they had described as a 'legendary weapon'. Whether they had been aware of the nature of said weapon - a person, it was a fucking person. Phil did not want the notion of referring to Blade as anything else even taking root within his mind - was unclear to him. But it was something he should get to the bottom of. Getting in touch with Pete should be one of his main priorities.

All these thoughts swirled in the confines of his mind as he lay there with closed eyes, pulling the blankets up so the sharp almost-noon light of late morning wouldn't aggravate his headache. He could hear Wilbur snoring loud enough to be heard through not one but two closed doors, still asleep. Tommy was probably awake, he often was up before Wilbur.

Like a chicken, Phil thought to himself in private amusement. Waking up with the first rays of the sun. Speaking of, that was as good a place as any to start.

Phil managed to force himself out of bed and pulled an outer coat on over his sleeping clothes, slipping into his shoes barefooted. He wasn't planning to go out today, just far enough to check up on their garden and such. While they were away, Niki and Tubbo took care of the animals and plants. But mostly they did the bare minimum. Since they had their own chores to attend to, making sure nothing died was about the extent of what Phil could ask of them.

Blade's pillows and blankets had been left on the couch. Phil could only imagine the poor guy had been immediately kidnapped by Tommy upon waking, probably dragged off Prime knows where. Phil hoped he was okay since he hadn't exactly spent much time in the outside world for at least a century, maybe even longer if Phil's suspicions were true. It could be an overwhelming thing to adjust to. But Tommy had to be aware of that too, wouldn't he?

He visited the chicken coop first. There were only two eggs, Niki had probably taken the rest for her bakery. Knowing her, Phil was sure they'd be receiving a basket of her baking in return soon enough. Tommy must have checked on Henry, so that left only Carl, the old draught horse. Phil stepped into the stable, already pulling a carrot out of the bag that hung near the door.

Carl came over to the door of his paddock, nuzzling his nose into Phil's chest as soon as he got close enough.

Way back, before Wilbur and Tommy, Carl had been Phil's main form of transportation. The dark-brown Shire horse had been with Phil through many ordeals, bearing the scars from the battlefield as any war steed did. But these days the only work he did was pulling carts around or helping Phil plow the land - if that. Most of the time he was stuck in his stable, spoiled to the high heavens.

Phil petted his fur for a moment longer, until he heard footsteps coming up the road to the house.

As expected, Tommy had taken Blade with him into town. He had brought both Tubbo and a basket covered in cloth back.

"I made sure we wouldn't starve by getting us some breakfast!" the boy announced loudly when he spotted him.

"Hm, all on your own, did you?"

"Well, Niki might have helped a little bit." Tommy said it so off-handedly, Phil couldn't help but laugh. "But I did most of the heavy lifting. Literally." He hoisted the basket higher in his arms, pretending he was being crushed under its weight.

"Go wake Wilbur up then, he's still in bed," Phil said. "I'm going to check the garden, but I'll be right there."

Tommy and Tubbo started to go inside immediately but Blade hesitated, shuffling on the spot. Phil guessed he had a hard time deciding who to follow without outright instructions. He gestured to get the man's attention.

"You should come with me, I'll show you around a bit."

Blade nodded, skipping over to him quickly. "Yes sir."

"You don't have to-" Phil stopped. He wondered… well, it might be worth a shot. "Do not call me sir, please."

"Oh," Blade said, a small little exhale. "I'm… sorry?"

"I've gone my entire life with nothing but my name for other people to call me. You don't have to be the exception." Well, it wasn't a complete lie.

Nervously messing with the sleeves on Wilbur's sweater, Blade nodded. "Okay… Phil."

He said the name as if he was swallowing a bitter pill and it almost made Phil laugh again.

"Names are the one thing most people have from birth and keep until their death," Phil said as he started walking. "The first thing they're ever given. Do you remember yours?"

Previous experience had taught Phil that prying answers out of Blade all at once or in a direct fashion wasn't smart. The man would clamp up. But scattering questions into casual conversation seemed to have better results. Phil knew that with enough time and patience, they would get to know more about Blade.

"I don't."

Even if his answers would remain short and to the point.

"Do you know if you ever had one? I suppose not everybody does."

There was a beat of silence, the expression on Blade's face blank not because of disinterest or confusion, but because of a memory buried so deep, it was almost painful to unearth. A memory that he must now be revisiting. Phil waited, feeling this was progress at least.

Blade nodded vaguely, eyes trained on the distance instead of meeting Phil's own. "I think so. Before the arena."

"A very long time ago then," Phil said.

Ever since finding out, Phil had been wondering if he could find that arena again. If it was even still around - there was no certainty that it would be. The place Blade described as his home before that sounded like the Nether, though that was a bit of an obvious thing seeing as he was clearly some kind of piglin hybrid. Phil would love to figure out how old Blade was when he was taken as a child.

Phil led the way around the house and between the stable and the barn. Behind there was a small plot of their land earthed up to make a vegetable garden. It wasn't super big, just big enough that they could grow what they needed to feed themselves easier and not rely completely on money to afford food. There was probably room to expand it, but Phil had never bothered.

"Most of these won't be ready to be harvested for a while," Phil told Blade. "We planted them not long before we set out."

Ah, there was the return of that confused expression Phil was quickly becoming familiar with. He laughed a bit.

"I'm aware our home might be quite different from what you're used to. If you have questions about anything, I'd prefer you ask them to avoid issues later." He hoped that framing it like it that would make Blade feel able to answer his questions without intruding.

And true enough, the man did clear his throat after another second of watching Phil inspect the ground for weeds. There were none, Tubbo had done an amazing job.

"What… are these exactly?"

Phil stood up, brushing his dirty hands on his robe. "What?"

"These plants. What vegetables are they?"

"Uh, mainly carrots and potatoes. We also got some lettuce, radish, green beans, and similar things in there. Stuff that's very easy to grow, basically." He walked back over. "I also grow my own flowers near the front of the house, you probably noticed them."

Blade nodded.

"I take it you have no experience growing vegetables, then?"

"I can learn," Blade said immediately, eager to please.

"I'm sure you can, mate. We all pull our own weight around here." That made Blade frown again and Phil chuckled. Was the idea of dividing the work so everybody helped each other out really such a foreign concept to that man? Probably. "The reason I asked is because I didn't know if it's the sort of thing you had to do at the estate we found you at."

Phil refused to refer to the owner of said estate as Blade's former 'master' though. The mere thought made a knot tighten up in his throat.

Seeing another person as a possession was downright sickening to Phil.

"There were a lot of gardens around the castle but I never tended to them. And they were all flowers and shrubs. Food was brought on carts."

Phil figured as much. The castle was near enough to enough farm-based towns that growing their own vegetables was obsolete for them. It would just waste space and servants. "I'm assuming that's true for all produce then."

"Tommy laughed because I had never seen a cow," Blade said softly - sounding close to petulant, saying it more to himself than to Phil. In fact, he most likely hadn't meant to say it out loud at all. He drew his shoulders back, spine straightening and face going pale, quickly glancing at Phil as if scared he'd notice that Blade had spoken out of turn.

As if Phil was an inch away from punishing him.

Which is why Phil pretended to be distracted by the garden. From the corner of his eye, he could see Blade relax again when he thought Phil hadn't heard him.

"Let me show you something else."

If Blade had never seen a cow before, Phil was pretty confident he had never seen chickens either. The coop was lively, smelling of upturned hay and chicken manure. It was always noisy in there. Chickens weren't shy animals and they didn't care if their scampering about ended with you getting knocked in the face by their wings. Phil was used to getting a mouthful of feathers.

"You know what chickens are, right?"

"They're louder than I expected," Blade said, raising his voice perhaps to an unneeded degree just to be heard over their clucking. It made Phil grin.

"Yeah, that's why they remind me of Tommy."

It was hard to hear over the ruckus, but Phil could have sworn that got a little chuckle out of the usually so impassive man.

Regardless, Blade clearly didn't like the chicken coop so they moved on rather quickly.

As they passed by the barn, Phil nodded toward it. "You met Henry, right?"

"Yes sir- Phil."

Phil didn't acknowledge the slip-up. "Then there's only one more animal yet to meet."

Carl neighed softly when they entered the stable. He probably hadn't expected anybody to visit again so soon. The horse immediately came over, probably hoping that it would earn him another carrot. But Phil wasn't going to give him more treats, Carl had already put on an impressive amount of weight over the years he hadn't been ridden into battle anymore.

Phil stayed at the door, watching Blade step forward without waiting for directions. "This is Carl. He's a bit of a lazy sod now, but you should have seen him back in the day. He could run like the west wind and jump across rivers easily."

A bit of embellishment never hurt anyone, did it?

Slowly reaching forward, Blade didn't actually move to stroke Carl unprompted. Which was a good thing, because the horse would definitely not have liked that. Instead, his hand hovered in the air, waiting for Carl to curiously sniff at it and decide if he wanted to be petted. After a moment, he did. Blade ran his fingers gently along Carl's downturned snout. Then around the side. When he went a bit too low towards the neck, Carl exhaled through his nostrils and Phil opened his mouth to warn Blade that Carl didn't like to be touched there. He'd learned that the hard way.

But Blade had seen the horse's ears flick back in annoyance and adjusted his course accordingly, reaching his palm up instead to scratch between the horse's ears. Carl eagerly leaned forward, bumping his head into Blade's chest affectionately.

"You're good with horses," Phil said.

"My master had a lot of horses," Blade explained. "I spent a lot of time in the stables."

Phil frowned at how Blade still referred to somebody who bought him and treated him like an object rather than a person in any positive manner. It rubbed him all the wrong ways. But he supposed the road to Rome wasn't paved in a day either, so Phil decided not to mention it. They couldn't expect Blade to be able to shed centuries of conditioning in two weeks of being treated like a human being. And the fact he seemed to be catching himself volunteering information more and more often without prompting was already an improvement.

Every day, Phil felt as if he was able to see a bit more of the real person that hid beneath. He just had to persist in chipping away at that rough exterior.

"Let's go inside," he said, "before those three eat an entire basket worth of cinnamon buns between them."

They hadn't, though they came damn near close. Phil was able to save one for himself and one for Blade - who going by his face had never had one before. When they were done eating, Phil finally thought it was wise to start on that storage room, so Blade wouldn't be confined to the couch yet again tonight.

"Why did we hang on to so much crap?" Wilbur asked. He was holding up what appeared to be a coat that hadn't fit Tommy in over half a decade. Maybe even the one Wilbur had gotten him before meeting Phil.

"I don't like throwing things away," Phil said. "You never know when something you thought was trash suddenly comes in useful, and then you'll be happy you kept it around."

"When will eighteen blank notebooks ever become useful? Like, all of them at once?" Tubbo was holding up one of said notebooks, leatherbound and expensive.

Phil plucked it out of his hands. "That notebook is probably older than you, that's staying."

"You kept our first father's day present?" Tommy asked, the humor laced through his voice not entirely concealing how touched he was by that discovery. He was looking at the brightly colored stone he was holding fondly.

Phil snatched it from him too. "It's the first gift you boys ever gave me, of course I kept it."

He remembered that day. They'd still been on the road, sleeping in tents mostly or sometimes an inn when Phil could afford it. Life had been hard, a lot harder than it was now. Wilbur found a large, round rock on the riverbank and then he pickpocketed enough money to buy a paint set in the next village they visited. He had Tommy paint the rock so they could give it to Phil for an arbitrary holiday Phil didn't even think they knew about.

"You're such a sentimental old man," Wilbur accused. "This is why we have a guest bedroom that's being used as a storage room close to overflowing."

"Yeah, we really need to let go of at least some of this stuff," Phil admitted. "Not the rock though."

They settled on a bunch of clothes that could be given away to the town's seamstress. Almost all of them were items that didn't fit any of them anymore, and which Sally would be more than happy to use for scraps. With those gone, they had a lot more storage space for anything Phil wanted to keep but had to put away properly in closets and chests. Mostly books and memorabilia of a time long gone. And weapons. A frankly ridiculous amount of weapons.

Seeing as Blade would be using the room to sleep in, Phil decided to move those to the barn instead. There was an upper level where they kept hay. He could fix up a weapon rack or two quickly enough.

"Do we give this away as a clothing scrap?" Tubbo asked. "It's really cool looking."

"It's a flag," Phil said. He handled the delicate fabric with care, the blue and white faded with time but the emblem on it was plain as day. Just holding it made the smell of snow blossom in his memory as if it were a real thing. "The nation it belongs to doesn't exist anymore." he smiled down at the frayed edges. "Most people probably don't remember it ever existed, actually."

"Oh, so it's completely worthless. I take it you're keeping it," Wilbur asked. Phil tried not to let it show that his comment actually stun a little.

(how could he, when they didn't know and never would if Phil could help it)

"Oh, fuck off. You can just say you don't like history." Phil rolled his eyes at him, and all of them laughed.

Well, all of them except Blade, who was staring at the flag rather intently.

"It's pretty, right?" Phil asked, spreading it open so the empire's insignia was more visible.

Blade looked away quickly and pretended to be busy sorting through a heap of shoes, for once not even acknowledging that this atypical reaction was the type of thing Phil could imagine the dead lord punishing him over.

Phil looked down at the flag again, fingers clenching slightly in the fabric. "Well, I suppose it does mean the atrocities of that nation were also forgotten. So maybe that's a good thing."

(was that how it worked? Were any wrongdoings committed only a burden for as long as others remembered them? It was a nice thought for somebody like Phil, perhaps. Even if he did not believe in the same sentiment)

"What are we going to do with all these books?"

Phil looked up, making an effort to pull out of his own thoughts. "We can fit them in chests, probably. A lot of them are first editions that aren't published anymore." Wilbur threw him a glare. Phil could see the remark burning on his tongue, about Phil holding on to useless things. "What?! They're valuable!"

"Sure they are." Wilbur walked over to the stack and picked up the top book. "I'm sure this first edition farmer's guide about growing potatoes is going to be relevant somehow."

"It has some very informative illustrations in it," Phil said halfheartedly. Wilbur put it back down on the desk with a sigh.

"Well, I think we cleared up enough stuff for you to be able to sleep in here at least. Now all you need is a bath and it almost won't be like we have a homeless guy living with us." Wilbur had meant it as a joke, but Blade did not take it as one.

"Thank you," he said, bowing his head a bit. Wilbur crossed his arms and turned away, uncomfortable.

"Let's get you washed up then," Phil said as he got up. "Wil can share his wardrobe with you for the time being too, but we should probably go into town and get you some proper clothes soon."

Getting Blade cleaned up turned out to be a harder undertaking than Phil had anticipated. He flinched away from the washcloth not unlike a cat would with any type of water and his hair was a pain to detangle. It crossed Phil's mind that it would be easier to cut or even shave off the whole mess and call it a day. But given how prone Blade was to messing with the strands, it seemed like a bad idea. Plus, change was best introduced slowly and gradually.

Besides, when he was finally done combing it out, it actually didn't look half bad. Phil braided it, figuring that it would keep from knotting that way. Blade stared at himself in the mirror, turning his face this way and that.

Phil smiled watching him. "I barely recognize you without all that filth, mate."

Predictably, jest didn't hit the mark with this guy. Blade looked down, a bit ashamed. "I tried washing up in the river. I'm sorry."

"No, that's-" Phil shook his head. Yeah, this was not the hill he could die on, explaining every joke he made. Phil's hand trailed down and when his fingers came close to Blade's throat, the man stilled, swallowing uneasily.

They still didn't know how to deal with the collar.

"Do you like gold?" Phil asked. The question took Blade off-guard, leaving him blinking at the mirror.

"I… I don't…" His back tensed up, breathing speeding up a bit.

"I know, you don't 'like' anything," Phil said quickly. "But do you find gold soothes you?"

Those red eyes looked down at their owner's lap guilty, as if caught misbehaving. "Yes."

"That's normal for piglins," Phil said. "I'm glad you found gold to soothe you. Look after it well."

Really, Phil could imagine things would have been harder to bear without the collar. In fact, it was likely the lord who purchased a living weapon knew this. You didn't need a chain. Giving a piglin gold bound them to you just as effectively.

Especially a child. Phil was nauseous at the thought.

But once given, getting a piglin to relinquish their gold was even harder. And Phil was not going to pry away the only thing in the world Blade had decided carried any worth to him. He wasn't ready to give that up.

"Thank you… Phil."

Phil met those eyes in the mirror again. He smiled. Subtle, with only the slightest upturn of his lips, Blade smiled back.

Road to Rome, indeed.