"Why are you sitting in the middle of a field, at night, on your own, blindfolded?"

A sliver of hesitation twitched in Evans' voice.

"Because Astred told me to."

Percy closed the distance between them and sat next to him. A thistle bit its teeth right into his backside. Somehow, he ignored it.

"That hardly seems like a good enough reason to do something so stupid" he said. He didn't really know how to speak softly, but he tried to.

"No other reason would compel me do to this" Evans replied.

It surprised Percy, how dark and buried Evans' voice sounded; tomb-like.

"Why did he tell you to do that?"

"He said that I might cross paths with a certain sorceress one day, and that if I did, she would try to tempt me into giving her my sight. And so I should keep my sight from her, and have my eyes covered from dusk till dawn."

Percy blinked. None of it made sense, but he was slowly starting to accept that.

"Alright, but – that just sounds like the perfect instructions to put you in harm's way" he protested. "What if this sorceress attacks you? Why did you come all the way out here, away from us?"

"Well, in fairness, that was my decision. I didn't know if she might be dangerous, and I didn't... want to get you all in harm's way."

There was just no getting used to Evans as he was now: silver-plated by the moon, crowned by amber hair, the blindfold hiding his eyes and revealing other things that Percy had never truly noticed before, his clean-cut cheekbones, the adam's apple claiming a forceful curve in his neck. Percy had never once thought that a blindfold could reveal quite so much.

"You're an idiot."

"Sometimes" Evans nodded.

"And what Astred told you to do is idiotic, too. Couldn't she just rip the blindfold out if she wants your... sight so much?"

"Oh, no, she was very reasonable about it, actually. Nice, even."

"She – wait, what? You've already seen... I mean, she's already appeared to you?"

"Yes. You've seen her too."

Percy waited, very still, for the realization to come to him, slithering through the tall grasses.

"You can't mean that old peddler woman."

"Yes. Astred told me to watch out for a sorceress with scraps and old trinkets, or broken things. I knew it was her the moment I saw her. So I got ready and came here."

"Oh, gods... the yarn and needle Valeria bought from her... the scarf Myrtle is knitting for me is definitely going to strangle me in my sleep."

He had meant for it to sound as horrified as he felt, but Evans chuckled gladly, scaring away the moonlight for a moment.

"I think that was perfectly normal yarn. Although... one should never be too certain" Evans added with a knowing grin.

"You said she was... nice?"

Evans nodded.

"She didn't insist when I told her I didn't want to give her my sight."

"She just... asked politely and left? But why would she ever think that you would want to give her your sight willingly?"

Evans waited, waited a long while, for the night-wind to pick up again and sigh over the field. Then he pretended the wind had replied in his stead. Percy didn't push.

"But then, if you've already spoken with her, and she's left... why are you still here, blindfolded?"

"Astred told me to cover my eyes from dusk till dawn."

His voice was pained by an uneven strain.

"You're scared" Percy murmured.

His words were full of wonder, as though he had just been given cause to speak to a statue, 'you moved'.

"Of course I'm scared, Percy. I don't know this sorceress, her methods, if she's tricking me into removing the blindfold and lying in wait. I'll do as he told me to."

This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

"When we were first on the road, when we crossed paths with other fae... you sounded so sure of what to tell them and how to pass their tests."

"It was usually like that, yes. But I've been feeling less sure now. I think it's been... ever since you joined us."

Percy stared at him, mouth gaping. There was no trace of an accusation in Evans' voice, and there was even a smile on his lips. But Percy was more than capable of fabricating recrimination himself, even when he could hear none.

"I'm sorry that I've come along and spoilt your certitude" he muttered.

"I never said it was a bad thing."

Something in Percy turned to ash. He knew all too well the purpose he had been given, but he had lied to Astred when he had claimed he was doing his best to hinder Evans. He wasn't trying at all. So how could his presence alone be Evans' undoing? Surely, mused a dark corner of his mind, he must have considerable hidden talents.

A strange silence stretched between them. Percy could feel its tautness, hear it, almost, fraying at the edges.

"Percy?" Evans said at last, his voice just one blade of grass hiding amidst others.

"Yes?"

"Do you remember what you offered to help me with last night, at the inn? You said... If I needed help checking myself, as you've seen me do before..."

"Yeah, I remember."

Percy sat very still, so as not to scare away what Evans was trying to tell him. Whatever it was, it was furtive, but near.

"Do you think you could do that for me now? I would like to check, and I... can't do that with..."

"Do you mean the chosen one is no match for a blindfold? I'm disappointed" Percy said with a mocking grin. But he was only trying to disguise his joy at Evans' request.

"Well, alright, but what if this is 'the chosen blindfold'? The only piece of fabric that can defeat the chosen one?"

"I'll stop you when you get to 'the chosen underpants', shall I?"

It was only when Evans chuckled that Percy realized, bewildered, that he had joked about the chosen one. It would have been unthinkable to him mere weeks ago. Destiny and jokes did not mingle: each had nothing but contempt for the other.

"What am I looking for, then?" he asked.

"Anything that looks unusual" Evans replied at once. "On my chest, back, and arms."

His chest, back, and arms, Percy repeated to himself. Yes – he could do that. He watched as Evans fumbled out of his tunic and bared his skin to the night's pale touch.

"And where do you... usually start?"

"My arms."

There was no hesitation in his response. Percy remembered the methodical frenzy he had spied on Evans in those moments. He reached for Evans' left arm, flinched slightly at how warm it felt, and held it up to the light. He started at the wrist and worked towards the elbow. He applied his full attention to that skin with beautifully etched veins that coursed through it in hidden rivers. But no, that was not where his focus was meant to be. He returned to the wrist, started again.

"Alright, there's nothing on your arms. Shall I move to your back?"

Evans nodded and shuffled a little. The sight of him kneeling there, blindfolded and bare under the moon, caught Percy undefended, tripped him gently. He held his breath for a moment, just long enough to crawl back up. Only then did he return to his task.

"There's something here – it looks like some kind of birthmark?"

"Yes, that's normal."

He continued, pouring his attention down Evans' back. He lingered over the well-trained muscles of his shoulders and the tense curves of his shoulder-blades. He realized that Evans had had that very same view of him last night. How frail Percy must have seemed to him, a brittle branchlet crooked in over itself and ready to snap. Nothing like this.

He moved wordlessly to check Evans' chest. It nearly tripped him over again, but he was readier now.

"It would be easier if I knew why I'm even doing this" he murmured. "What are you afraid of exactly?"

The lines on Evans' skin tensed under his gaze.

"A curse. Signs of one."

"A curse?" Percy repeated, recoiling despite himself. "Placed on you by whom?"

"I don't know."

It was a frustrating vagueness, but Percy knew there was nothing but honesty in it.

"Alright, I'm all done. There's nothing."

He looked away as Evans slid his tunic back on.

"You know, the whole thing of 'keep your eyes covered so that the sorceress won't steal your sight' – fine, I can accept that, I suppose. But I really don't see the point in you staying away from the rest of us for the night. Come back with me."

Evans didn't move.

"I'm afraid of not doing as he said" he whispered.

"Yes, I've gathered that much" Percy smiled. "But he doesn't need to know, does he."

They stared at each other, even past the blindfold.

"Shit. The royal seers, of course" Percy mumbled.

"Yeah. It's hard to tell what they know and don't know most times."

"Well, clearly they don't see everything, otherwise they wouldn't need to follow us around to ask us how you did this and that. And you wouldn't have asked me to lie to him about what Myrtle did. If he ever finds out, just tell him you wanted to prove you weren't afraid of the sorceress or something. Yeah. Tell him you wanted to prove something, that should do it."

"You're beginning to know him" Evans smirked with a certain grimness.

"Yes. I think I am" Percy murmured.

Evans placed a hand on his shoulder, and Percy guided him back to the campfire. He could feel the doubt in Evans' gait, each foot lingering on the dry earth as though hoping it would take root there, and be spared the decision of moving or staying put. Every step forward needed weeding. But, little by little, they reached the camp.

Percy led him to his bedroll and watched on, perplexed, as Evans laid down. What would Evans have done, had he not turned up? No, not just turned up; gone to find him. Would he have spent the entire night awake, blind, in that forgotten field, in the company of weeds and things that cracked and snapped in the dark? Yes, he would have, Percy realized with horror. And the following day, Evans would have ridden with them as ever, saddled with his exhaustion and carrying it wordlessly. Not, Percy was beginning to understand, because Evans believed that to suffer in stoic silence was the duty, the privilege, and the mark of heroes; but rather because he thought so little of his own suffering that he rarely graced it with a voice of its own.

He sat down by Evans' bedroll.

"Evans... what did it smell like to you in that tent? His tent?"

But Evans was already asleep.

With a sigh, Percy stood up. He turned, and was hit head-on by the full brunt of Valeria's wide-awake stare as she lay by the fire.

"Gods, you frightened me" he heaved.

She scoured him with her stare, picked his bones clean with it, and only softened when she was satisfied she could not find any malice in Percy.

"There's a thistle on your – "

"Yeah, I know."