Chapter 1: Lucian
Summary:
Lucian reflects on the past fortnight since the Fall of Gurindeck. During this, he experience the first startling effects of the powerful strike of magic used to knock him from the boulder. It may not have just scarred his body and his face, but it may have affected his mind, as well.
Notes:
This is only the start of a wild journey for Lucian.
His storyline is honestly completely separate from the rest of the main cast, specifically because he has to flee north. He is on a totally different journey and has his own separate conflicts, as you will soon find out.I also have a playlist ><
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Part One
Fourteen Days After the Fall of Gurindeck, in the Year 1271
Lucian
Four knocks. That was the signal.
I was not to answer the door unless I heard four knocks. Thump-thump, thump-thump. Like a pulse.
The longer the stretch of silence was between each visit, the more my nerves began to fester. How was I supposed to sit here in this weathered little room and do nothing?
This had been my life for the last fortnight. We settled within a poor village in Adinely not long after the Fall of Gurindeck. Well. They settled within a poor village, but we will get to that.
Oskar and Aeryn had been gathering intelligence, intending to settle here and wait for further instructions. At the slightest hint of danger, I was to leave with Finn for Brømkhald. We were just sitting within the border. We had already procured survival supplies—tents, winter clothing, rations, and the like. Meanwhile, Finn also was keeping a constant eye within the town square. There was no way of knowing how quickly Iantinus’ mages would get this far north.
The three of them were able to contribute. So, what tasks were I left with to take on?
Teaching Brømkhaldic. Studying a map. Sitting here and doing nothing. Hiding.
I could not risk being out in public anywhere in Sunderland, even with my hooded cloak. The moment someone recognized my complexion, or my hair, or especially my scars, all these efforts to escape would be for nothing.
I had to give up on several comforts. For one, bathing regularly was simply not an option. I still grew self-conscious of my own odour, and having my clothes laundered was exceptionally rare. The soap I had purchased recently did not have any fragrances. It was practical. That had to be enough.
Another was how much coin I was allowed to spend. Even though I had the foresight to think ahead and procure a sizable wealth from my father’s treasury before leaving home, I had to be smarter about purchases. Any expensive items or use of platinum marks would be a sore tell. Of course, I understood that the lifestyle I led was a privilege, but it took being forced to become frugal for me to truly appreciate how well I used to have it.
The one comfort that I was most grieved at losing was no longer being able to rely on my appearance. My own reflection was still dissonant, and I avoided it whenever I could. Wicked, black tendrils were etched into the right side of my face. The scars from that strike of maleficium stretched across my brow, my cheek, down my jaw, and even through my lips. And if I dared to change my clothes, I would see more of them on my right shoulder and down my arm, as well as snaking along my torso. Maximus’ assault on my wrist blended in with the new afflictions from Moira, Tobias’ mother.
I always kept a patch over my wounded eye, now that I had it. I refused to look at it, only knowing that it was still there. If it was not covered, then I did not dare look at my reflection. It was best to keep it hidden.
Thump-thump, thump-thump.
Relieved, I rose from the bed and crossed the room to open the door. Finn stepped through, shivering as Brya followed right behind him.
“You were gone an awful long time,” I frowned, keeping myself upright when Brya attempted to jump up. I indulged her with loving strokes to her head. “What did you see?”
“It was all mundane,” Finn assured with a sigh. “I just got caught up while eating lunch and conversing with the locals.”
I nodded. “…Did you send it?”
While I could not personally send a letter and risk exposing that I was still alive, Finn could. I arranged for him to prepare a package to send to the Druiminn estate, with a letter from him saying that we were alive and well and heading for Brømkhald. We would not be able to write again until we reached the closest town, which according to our map was somewhere in the northwestern region of the country called Berusær. It was by a large body of water, which was an interesting location for me considering how landlocked Gurindeck was. I wondered what it would be like to stay near the sea. But between here and there, there were hundreds of miles of uncharted wilderness, even larger than the Wilds ever was. It was undoubtedly a risk, but we had no other options for asylum.
“I did,” he assured me. “It may not get to them for another month or so, with how turbulent things are now. The post might not want to take any risks to deliver it in haste.”
“So long as it gets delivered, I care not how long it takes.” It had torn me open, knowing that Tobias believed that I died during the Fall of Gurindeck. He needed to know the truth, if anything just so we could begin to fix what had been broken.
“Do not fret,” he tried to assure me. “I told them that we were going to Berusær, so whenever they get our package, they can send their response to the town where we can pick it up.”
“I hope it will not feel as long to hear back from them,” I sighed. “The sooner we get out of Sunderland, the better. I want to be outside.”
“I understand.”
“Do you? We cannot let this meandering go on for much longer, Finnigan. I am languishing in this room.”
Finn grimaced. “I wish I could be of better help, but neither of us are survivalists. Brømkhald’s climate is unforgiving. It may not be wise to go there at all.”
I fidgeted but inclined my head. “You are my keeper. You know best.” I could feel a dull throb beginning at the side of my head. It was always at the right side, lately. I turned my face away from Finn, pulling off the patch over my eye. “I almost wish I lost it over whatever the blazes this is.”
“Another attack?”
I huffed, massaging right over the scars by my temple. “It feels different. Usually, my attacks encompass most of my head.”
Finn stepped back as Brya restlessly paced. I could hear him start stripping off his cloak and settle on his bed. “I would do anything for a proper shave.”
I chuckled, shaking my head. “At least your beard actually looks like a beard.” Only a fool would call the grotesque, patchy stubble on my chin and along my jaw a “beard.” It was a wonder that Gideon was surprised I never wanted to grow one.
My heart ached as I thought of my brother. I could still see how his body withered to nothing in its final moments. I thought of my mother. My sister… gone, as well. It still did not feel real. Prince Lucian, the sole survivor of the Sunderish Royal Family. It felt like a cruel joke.
The throb in my head suddenly sharpened right behind my eye. I gasped, failing to suppress a cry as I clutched it and dropped to my knees.
“Your Highness?” Alarmed, Finn rose from the bed.
The pain only multiplied. I let out a scream, finding my gaze flicking right towards the door.
I blinked, startled to see the exterior of the inn. I recognized the weathered sign at the top, the one broken window, and the patches of dying grass. Three men were standing right outside it and entering. They all had dark cloaks that I recognized being used by the mages.
When I blinked once more, those same three men were storming down the hall with purpose. One held a sword.
The vision changed once more with another blink. They were all standing in front of a door now. One dared to knock. At length, dread coursed through me, for in the last vision, I saw Finn lying dead with his throat slit and heavy burns on his skin.
I drew a sharp gasp once that vision was gone. I was back in the room, staring right at the door. Whatever I just saw, whatever happened, I did not want to take the risk that it was some outlandish delusion.
“Prince Lucian?”
I jerked to Finn, relieved that he was alive and unharmed.
“We have to leave.” I rushed to lock the door before gathering my supplies, quick to refill my pack. At Finn’s hesitation, I was quick to start packing his belongings, as well. I shoved the map into his pack, and I hurried with shuffling my coin purse, flint, and survival knife into mine.
“What’s this about?” He came closer to me. “Your Highness, wait. Oskar and Aeryn won’t know what’s going on.”
“There’s no time. We must leave now.” As Brya started to get excited, I ran to the window.
Just down the road, I saw three cloaked men.
“Your Highness!” Finn took hold of my wrist. “What’s happening?”
“I cannot explain it right now, but we’re running out of time!”
We both started when there was a commotion downstairs. Some yelling, followed by several crashes.
Finn ran towards the further window facing the border. “Here. Quick!”
I threw on my eyepatch once more and hauled the cloak over myself, the hood pulled heavily over my face. I coaxed Brya to follow us as Finn opened the window. He threw our packs and supplies out first and let them fall to the ground.
“I’ll go out first,” he said. “When I get down there, I will catch you.”
I nodded, glancing back as I heard footsteps. “Hurry,” I hissed and kept my voice down.
Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump.
The colour drained from my face.
Finn was quick to heave himself out the window. When he jumped down, he did it after allowing himself to lower down enough where there was less distance in his drop. He still fell hard, though there did not appear to be any serious injuries.
I looked down at Brya with dread. She had to go out through this window, as well.
Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump. This set of knocks was a little louder than the first. It was followed by harsh rattling of the handle.
It was a terrible struggle. She kept protesting, growling and trying to nip at my arms. But I hauled her out.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” I gasped. “I will make it up to you, sweet girl, alright? I swear it!”
Her hind legs scrambled against the wall in an effort to keep herself in the room. I strained, continuing my torrent of apologies as I forced her the rest of the way out. My heart lurched at her startled yelp, but to my relief Finn caught her.
He dropped her once more on the ground from her weight. “You need to stop feeding her that extra mutton!” he hollered while Brya shuffled to her feet. Thank the gods, she was all right.
Thump-thump-thump-thump.
Much faster, harsher knocks now. Whoever was doing it then began to break the door down. Several hard bangs resulted, and my hands shook as there was frantic shouting.
Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!
“Prince Lucian!”
I gasped, looking out the window. I perhaps had a few seconds before those mages would be upon me. Resisting hesitation, I climbed out. My fall was not graceful in the slightest. I had lost my grip on the ledge almost immediately.
Finn barely caught me. I was quick to keep my hood over my head, collapsing on top of him once I landed on the ground. I struggled to get up off him, my heart pounding as we heard more clamouring leaving the inn.
“Run, Your Highness!” He was quick to help me get my pack over my shoulders. “Run! I’ll catch up!” He drew his sword.
I nodded, turning on my heel and sprinting out towards the forest. Brya ran out ahead, and I was quick to just follow her, running as far as my legs could carry me. The bustle of the town was fading.
By the time I found myself within Brømkhald’s southernmost wilderness, I heard nothing more from Adinely behind me. I stopped there, hiding with Brya. I waited for Finn. I waited even as the sun was beginning to set.
He was going to try and find me. I knew he was. But where would he know to look for me? I had given him no way of knowing, except the map.
My blood chilled with horror. “O-oh no.”
Finnigan had the map.
Notes:
Absolutely No Soliciting.
Any comments advertising or offering services will be ignored.
Chapter 2: Declan
Summary:
Inquisitor Declan Sutharlan is given a proposition that can please His Majesty if he succeeds.
Notes:
An introduction to Declan's perspective.
This lad's been through a lot.Disclaimer: all of Declan's chapters display symptoms of trauma and the effects of brainwashing.
Declan is a trans man (and he will refer to himself as a self-made man). His Da, Aeryn, is also trans.Content warnings include inhumane punishments (using magic), misgendering and gender dysphoria (and he also unsafely binds his chest, NEVER use bandages!!)
This basket case also gets a playlist. >>
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Declan
“Now, I will ask you this one final time. Where is your contribution?”
The weary blacksmith in front of me groveled. “Please,” he blubbered. “I already gave you all the money I had last week. And we just ran out of food. I don’t have any more to give.”
I frowned, looking down at my hand. There was grease on my palm from when this man attempted to grasp it and beg for mercy.
“See, that is where you are wrong,” I mused. “You are still drawing breath. Clearly, you have not lost everything.”
The blacksmith paled and shook his head. “No, no! What of my family? My wife. I-I have three daughters!”
I hummed in thought. “A shame.” I reached into my pouch, fidgeting with the ashes. “I feel sorry for you. Truly. It pains me to come here this evening, but the law clearly states that a weekly tithe of your resources must be surrendered to His Majesty to ensure Sunderland’s safety and tranquility. You must understand the situation I am in. If I let your disobedience slide, then everyone else will take advantage of that. And it would lead to further chaos.”
“H-have mercy, miss! Please.” He trembled and sniveled.
I stiffened, my lip curling into a grimace. I could feel the scars there stretching with my sneer. I took the ashes still lingering on my fingertips and leaned forward, making a quick swipe to trace the ashes over his brow. He flinched, not having any time to react.
“My patience has worn quite thin.” I stepped back. “Cadhan Smith, you are hereby under arrest. Due to your disregard for His Majesty’s tithe and your refusal to willingly contribute to the safety of Sunderland, you have forfeited your rights as a subject and must carry out your sentence under the servitude of His Royal Majesty, King Iantinus the Third.”
Before I could listen to him protest and beg for yet another second, I snapped my fingers, activating the spell. The blacksmith let out a scream that was cut short, for his mind was now dulled. He had just enough faculties to breathe and walk, nothing more. I glanced back towards the guards, their helms concealing their undead nature.
“Take him away,” I muttered, pushing the husk forward. They did not hesitate to grab him by the shoulders and take him towards the direction of the prison.
As I left, I could faintly hear muffled weeping towards the back of the house. Must have been his wife and daughters. Here was to hoping that they could scrounge enough for the next tithe.
Cadhan Smith was the last subject to collect from for the day, so I made my way back to the barracks within the Castle of Gurindeck. That side of the grounds was in perfect view of what remained of an oak grove.
As I walked, I replayed his last words over and over.
“Have mercy, miss.”
What tripped him?
“Have mercy, miss.”
I ruffled my own hair. Perhaps, it needed to be cropped once more. My hands wandered over my torso. The wrappings were secure and bound tight. My voice? I grumbled and hissed under my breath at the thought. I thought I’d trained it well enough. Perhaps, I needed to run through my exercises once more.
I was Declan Sutharlan. Declan. A man.
“Inquisitor Sutharlan?”
I started. Ahead I saw one of my superiors, Mistress Morwenna, approaching me as I arrived at the barracks. I dipped my head low.
“Evening, Mistress,” I said. “What can I do for you?”
“I have come to congratulate you, Inquisitor. You have turned in the most husks out of anyone in Gurindeck to date.” She regarded me with a tight smile. “Twenty-six. Most impressive.”
“Oh?” I flushed. “Much gratitude to you, Mistress.” Twenty-six husks? I had not realized how effective I was.
“Our Lady, Dame Siobhan, has proposed a new initiative,” Mistress Morwenna continued. “Gurindeck has successfully acclimated to our rule, but we need to make sure all of Sunderland follows their lead. We have already sent Inquisitors Belling, Pryce, and Lewin north to Adinely. Inquisitors Moresson, Arasgain, and Perrot are on their way to Cranbury. Both groups have been making quick work. And you, Inquisitor Sutharlan, are just the kind of man we need in the east.”
“The east, Mistress?” I frowned.
“You are from there, are you not?” After I nodded, she continued. “The people of that region have been the most resistant to our rule. They have the idea in their minds that being so close to Moorish Country means that we are unable to enforce our laws out there. Since you are the most effective, you will be among the group we send in the first wave. You will station yourself in Kressie, and you will collect from there and from Balhreid. Once they have been dealt with, you will take a sweep through Moors.”
A knot began to twist in the pit of my stomach. Balhreid was where I grew up, only a couple of miles away from the outer reaches of Kressie. That was too familiar. I did not know if I could bring myself to question people that I used to see every day. Old friends, possibly even my own family.
“That is…” I stammered. “Mistress, that is a generous offer, but—” I cut myself off, grimacing. “But perhaps, you should find a more impartial Inquisitor to fill my place. I may not be much use there.”
“You are exactly what we need out there.”
I felt myself stiffen up. I could not move. My eyes were drawn to Mistress Morwenna’s, and she held my stare with hers. I was lost in her eyes, which now glowed a swampy green.
“You should not be so quick to doubt yourself, Inquisitor Sutharlan. Unless, of course, you think that you will be non-compliant?”
My heart thudded in my chest. “Not at all, Mistress.” I was still held in place.
“So, there is no reason why you cannot go to Balhreid. You will do your job and do it well.”
“Yes, Mistress. Of course, Mistress.” The assent came easily enough. “I will be most faithful.”
“Remember how we found you, Inquisitor?” Mistress Morwenna’s eyes softened with sorrow. “A poor lamb, wounded and abandoned by his fellow man, left to die in the Wilds. Starving, covered in brambles, ailing from the most debilitating sicknesses. We nursed you. We fed you. We clothed you. We affirmed you. We took care of everything for you. Can you say the same about the Usurper’s Army?”
The answer was instinctual. “No, Mistress.”
“Nay…” She smiled. “Not at all. And I am sure you are aware that such offerings are not charity. We were merciful with you, but we can just as easily take that away.”
My blood chilled. “O-of course, Mistress,” I stammered, trying to suppress a nervous sweat. “I will always be forever grateful to the Inquisition and His Majesty.”
“Remember. You are a crucial asset, and you will be rewarded most handsomely for your efforts. For every husk you send back to Gurindeck, you will receive twenty platinum marks.”
My jaw dropped. “T-twenty marks?” That was more money than my father had ever seen in his lifetime, even with his highly acclaimed books.
Mistress Morwenna chuckled. “I see that I have your attention. A promotion may also be offered to you.” She dipped her head in a nod, and the glow in her eyes faded.
I found that I could move the rest of my body once more, relaxing. “For His Majesty, I will do whatever is asked of me,” I assured her.
“Most excellent.” She grinned. “You will be joined by Inquisitor Niclas Prothero and Inquisitor Sinéad Robasan. Once you arrive in the east, you will be staying in the old Kressie outpost and travelling from there to Balhreid each week to collect the tithe. Here is your advance.” She handed me a hefty coin purse. “You will do us proud, Inquisitor Sutharlan. Your caravan will leave on the morrow.”
“Many thanks, Mistress.” I dipped my head once more and made my way to the barracks. All at once, my shoulders relaxed.
Passing by my quarters, I overhead both Niclas and Sinéad speaking to one another and making their own preparations. I ignored them for now, focusing on packing my own belongings. I had my essentials to travel throughout Sunderland under the new rule.
When stuffing my pack, something on the floor gave me pause.
“Tales of Mythos and Fancy, Vol. One” by Oskar Reknas.
Father… When did I bring this here? I held it in my hand, shaking as I opened it to the first page. He wrote a little note for me in this copy:
To help you think of home. We will miss you always, Declan. Don’t forget to write to us.
With Love,
Father, Da, and Brigit
I felt tears in my eyes, and I was quick to swipe them away. I would have to fix the kohl when my face dried. Here they claimed they would miss me, but if they did, then they would’ve fought for me. They would’ve made sure I was found and brought me home alive.
They abandoned me. They all did. And I hated them for it.
The only home that I had now was here.
I threw the book across the room, shuddering as I finished packing. Damn them. Damn all of Sunderland’s traitors and usurpers. They had it coming, when His Majesty took his throne back. And all of the east was going to learn what happened if they continued to resist.
Despite myself, an ache in my heart festered at seeing that I had broken the book’s binding. I hurried to pick it back up, and I clutched it to my chest.
I was weak.
Notes:
Fun Fact:
When I first created Declan, he was originally supposed to be a side character you see briefly. But then I got to thinking about what must be going on in his head, with the reader knowing little of what he went through. Then, my gears really started turning when realized the implied friendship between him and Mícheil could lead to something more. Thus, their storyline was born.
And now that Iantinus has taken over the kingdom, of course he's going to put in effort to keeping the people down. And what better way to do it than with his ilk spreading throughout the kingdom branded as an "Inquisition."
Chapter 3: Mícheil
Summary:
Mícheil Dunaidh is an unwilling participant to Tobias' downward spiral. At least, now they can begin to formulate some kind of plan.
Notes:
The first chapter in Mícheil's perspective.
He's got a playlist (they all do lmao)His narration is also in UK English, similar to Lucian's, though his is still mostly informal. It reflects that he was born of higher class but is nowhere near as refined as he should be.
Content warnings for referenced alcoholism and implied child abuse
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Mícheil
Colonel Druiminn called a meeting. Even if the King’s Army was no more, he was still my Colonel, and I treated him as such.
Arthur was with me to run and get Tobias from his room. Neither of us wanted to be the one to knock on the door.
“It’s your turn,” Arthur muttered.
“No, I called him down last time,” I grumbled. “Besides, you’re his cousin.”
“What’s that got to do with anything?”
“I dunno, blood being thicker than water and all that?”
“Mícheil, you are a right fool.”
The door opened anyway, startling the both of us.
Tobias looked like shit. His eyes were sunken from lack of sleep, his hair overgrown on his head and chin. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, either.
“What?” He muttered, watching us both with narrowed eyes.
“We’ve gotta meet Colonel Druiminn downstairs,” I said. “Says it’s urgent.”
He sighed, limping over to his bed and grabbing an old shirt off the floor. The damn thing was stained. “Fine. But if it’s another trick, I will kill you.”
Arthur raised his hands defensively. “Come now, Tobias. I can vouch that it’s urgent.”
“Very well.” He took hold of his cane, rubbing his head as he started his trek to the lower floor.
Both Arthur and I were giving him a wide berth. We knew better at this point than to push anything. He was still torn up over the death of Prince Lucian, and I don’t blame him. It took me three years to try and accept what happened to Declan. Even thinking about him now had me wincing. We tried to cheer Tobias up, or at least to get him moving. Nothing ever worked. Master Alasdair assured us that time healed all wounds, but this one was downright putrid.
Mine were no better.
Colonel Druiminn was waiting for us in the parlour. He stood beside Alasdair, who was seated in one of the chairs. We let Tobias have the other one, on account of his leg. On the table before us were several maps. I saluted to the Colonel, though neither of the others did, afterwards standing at attention.
“Afternoon, gentlemen.” The Colonel’s face was neutral as he focused on the map once more. “I have received grave news from Sergeant Sealy.” He pointed towards Gurindeck. “Iantinus is sending out groups of practitioners to all the surrounding cities and towns in Sunderland. They have renamed themselves ‘His Majesty’s Inquisition,’ and they intend to make us all submit to their tithes.”
“Fuck.” Arthur grumbled and ran a hand over his face. “What do we do?”
“First, our priority is protecting Kressie,” he continued. “The best I can muster is sending people further east, but with tensions still high with Trethial, that might not be the best plan.”
“What other options do we have?”
“We could try north,” I offered. “Perhaps Brømkhald will be more willing to take us in.”
“That’s another major risk. We’d have to travel for days in dense woodland.” Colonel Druiminn looked down at the map. “But it may be a risk worth taking.”
Tobias stared at the table, his fingers curling tighter at the handle of his cane. “We could always just… kill them. Counterattack these mages head-on.”
“Tobias, no.” Colonel Druiminn frowned. “We still do not know what their weaknesses are.”
“I can name a few.” He glared at him. “Theodulf’s sword, for one. You saw how easily it took down most of those shambling bastards.”
“That is one weapon. And I don’t know how Theodulf crafted it, so we may not be able to make any more like it.”
“Perhaps we can look into it? Do some research.” Arthur offered. “I’ll take on that initiative.”
“I will allow it.” The Colonel focused his attention on Tobias again. “I know what you are thinking, and no.”
“I hadn’t even said anything yet.”
“But I know that face,” he said. “We are not counterattacking when we don’t have the proper means. It is far too risky.”
“I can figure it out,” he snapped. “I’ll do it myself, if I have to.”
I stepped back. “Oi, Tobias. We’ll figure it out, but you can’t fly off the handle—”
“Fuck off, Mícheil!” Tobias shoved hard at the table, the force pushing his chair back.
The sound alone made me wince. I couldn’t hear too loud of noises without blinking to find myself cowering and snivelling under my father’s boot.
Tobias seemed not to care that I was unfocused. “Why are we just sitting around with our thumbs up our arses when they’re out there getting stronger?”
“Tobias!” Colonel Druiminn kept his voice level and controlled. “Step outside. Now.”
He hauled himself up to his feet, growling as he took hold of his chair and shoved it down to the ground. Another flash. He nearly tripped on his way out.
Colonel Druiminn waited a moment before letting out a soft sigh. “I apologize. He’s drinking again.”
I could smell it on him before he even said anything. I knew the smell of spirits too well. Most got all wistful and thought back on their time as children when they smelled baked breads or roses. Not I.
The only thing I could think of doing was getting the conversation back on track. I picked the chair back up. “Did you find out which of those practitioners are coming here?”
He nodded. “Sealy saw the caravan. It’s three days’ out. They are all people that were reported missing. Officer Niclas Prothero.” As he said the name, he set down a page of notes. “His mother is the sister of Baronet Finnigan the Second of Baumshore. After a battle last year, Officer Prothero disappeared. His superiors suspected he was killed that day, after fellow officers saw him go down from an arrow. When they did a sweep of the field, there was no body to recover.”
Another note was placed down before he continued. “A woman from Cranbury named Sinéad Robasan was reported missing by her father back in 1265. Master Robasan was a lowly merchant, so it went largely ignored. The third”—The page had the most notes jotted down on it—“is Lieutenant Declan Sutharlan.”
Time stopped. Declan? I could hear Colonel Druiminn explaining what happened to him, but I’d heard it from him before. I lived it. I still remember when he went missing.
He didn’t come back to the tent. We always shared one, for I was afraid that anyone else would be disrespectful to him. Hearing him drop to his bedroll and that disgruntled little sigh when he’d sometimes forget to take off his bindings was a routine. Teasing him for being so loud was the first thing I did nearly every dawn. That morning, I’d woken up late.
I questioned every soldier on duty that night, and none of them had seen him. I practically tore apart the surrounding Wilds looking for him, until I received a scathing warning from the Grand Marshal himself to stop wasting His Majesty’s resources. Declan was gone, and I was supposed to accept that.
He was the only friend I had when I grew up in Balhreid, a smaller hamlet near Kressie. I’d try and sneak out to play with him and his sister, or I’d have dinner with his family. Sometimes, I even stayed the night when I was sure my father drank too much to notice I was ever gone. Before I left for Gurindeck, I found myself wishing that I could take Declan with me, because he was the only thing I missed about Balhreid.
I couldn’t believe that he was dead, but seeing him alive and well but practicing maleficium was a cold stab in the gut.
“Sergeant Dunaidh?”
I blinked, snapping out of it. “Sorry?”
Colonel Druiminn regarded me with a strong amount of patience. “I was saying that I need you and Arthur to keep a close eye on those mages. They might even be bringing those undead soldiers with them. They are unpredictable and dangerous. Protect the good people here with your lives.”
“Of course, Colonel,” I stammered, clearing my throat and giving him another salute. “You can rely on me.”
Arthur patted my arm. “Come. Let’s get Tobias to blow off some steam.”
I sighed, turning to follow. “How’re we supposed to cheer ’im up?”
“Well, no drinking,” he frowned. “Perhaps we can spar?”
“Absolutely not!” I couldn’t help but snort. “Do you kiss a wet cat after you’d just dunked it in water? Get that man far away from a blade.”
“Well, what do you suggest?” He brought me outside the estate. “We need to calm him down before those mages show up.”
“Right. So, how ’bout we tell a good jest?”
“Mícheil, you are the most ill-humoured oaf I ever met—”
Arthur cut himself off when we saw Tobias leaning against a tree. He’d dropped his cane, just staring out at the ruins that remained of the Wilds. He didn’t pay us any mind.
“Oi, Tobias!” I waved and came over first. “What do you call a dark mage with a bad temper?”
He frowned, turning his head to me. “Blazes, if I know.”
“An immolársehole!” I grinned.
He blinked, just letting out a low snort. “Good one.”
“Nice going.” Arthur cuffed me on the shoulder and dared to step closer. “Tobias? You alright?”
“Fine,” he muttered. “Just sick of wasting time out here.”
“Well, let’s look at things a little differently. We are gathering resources, doing research, and we are keeping Kressie safe from these mages. And once we can evacuate the people, you can shed as much blood as you like.”
I missed Finn. He would’ve been better at talking Tobias down.
Tobias huffed. “All well and good, until we decide to sleep one night and those bastards wipe the entire town out.”
Arthur winced. “That’s the most extreme case, Tobias.”
“Oh, is it?” he muttered. “So, what would you call what happened in Gurindeck?”
“Tobias?”
“Hundreds of people getting torn to shreds by those undead fiends is just the worst case? What about all those that survived, now being turned into shells of what they once were so Iantinus can maintain power? Or the fact that the entire Royal Family was slaughtered?! Is that just an extreme case scenario, Arthur?”
Arthur’s jaw clenched. “We are trying, Tobias. There is no easy way to tackle this. But getting pissed off at everyone is not going to bring Lucian back!”
Tobias shrunk back while still leaning against the tree, looking away from us.
I glowered at Arthur, daring to lean beside Tobias. I hoped that I could get through to him. After all, he was the one that got through to me. I could return the favour.
“Listen,” I started. “You planning for the worst is a good trait to have. While the rest of us louts are sitting around with thumbs up our arses, you are focused. Now, your Da in there needs you to cool off and keep yourself from drowning. Got that?”
He shrugged his shoulders, reaching under his tunic and taking out the tiny sword replica that was always around his neck. He fidgeted with it in his grasp. “I didn’t get to tell him I’m sorry.”
Arthur and I both helped him up to his feet when he started tearing up. “We know,” I said. “But he wouldn’t want you to turn to the bottle, either.”
Tobias shrugged his shoulders. I grabbed his cane for him, and we helped him back inside.
* * *
When my mum was still alive, she used to take me to Balhreid’s town square. The last time was when I was six. She was heavy with child—a child I never got to meet. In either case, it was a brief moment of peace we had whenever my father was drunk.
“Mum, Sister needs a cradle!” I tugged on her arm.
“Well, I suppose you’ll have to make her one,” she teased.
“But I don’t know how.” I frowned, looking towards the carpenters’ shop. There were several half-done chairs and the bare bones of a cradle in there. “Da won’t show me.”
I winced at a cramp in my shoulder. He made me try to hold a shield out in front of me for three hours. Every time I would drop it, or my arm would get tired, he made me start all over again. When my mum noticed this, she reached down, slowly massaging the ache.
“Perhaps someday, you’ll make a great one,” she assured me. “Good men create things, not destroy them. Remember that, my sweeting…”
I wish that I held onto that advice a little tighter. I’d nearly forgotten it in my efforts to never follow my father’s lead. I’d strayed some, tripped in others. If my mother was still alive, would she have said I became a great man? Part of me feared that she’d turn me away. I just had that feeling in my gut.
Notes:
Mícheil's character is an interesting one for me. In the first draft of Love, Death, and Revolutions, he was an unlikable asshole. Like, I didn't like him. He'd argue himself that he still kinda is, though for entirely different reasons. I toned down the toxic dude bro and douchebaggery that was originally part of his personality, and instead he's just not as sensitive with his words while his heart was in the right place (with the exception of course being his behavior while he was grieving over Declan's presumed death). He will be working through those emotions during his chapters.
His life was shaped by his upbringing, similarly to Tobias, but he had Declan's family as a support system. So, even though he had a lot of issues when first coming to terms with being bisexual, he at least had positive role models in his life through Oskar Reknas and Aeryn Sutharlan.
Chapter 4: Tobias
Summary:
Consumed by grief, Tobias has an epiphany when seeing the love he had lost.
Notes:
Tobias is not okay.
Content warnings for grief and implied alcoholism
His playlist is kinda depressing. ;;;
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Tobias
“There we go.” Mícheil and Arthur hauled me up to my room. “Perhaps, after you sleep this off, we can go into town and prepare for whenever these Inquisitor bastards arrive.”
That had me rolling my eyes. I had my cane in my grip now, shrugging myself away from them once I was by the bed. “Aye, why not. Nothing better to do than prepare.”
I waited for them to close the door and leave me alone in the darkness. When their footsteps went down the hall, I slouched on the bed. Right beside me, I still had some ale I’d been drinking since yesterday. What none of them knew wouldn’t hurt them.
The heirloom was still sitting right on my chest, now a heavy weight tugging on my neck. It was the only piece of Lucian I had left. He was gone… I lost him. I lost Brya. Finn was gone, too. And my father wanted us to take our sweet time figuring out what to do.
It was a fucking waste of energy, all this unnecessary planning. Guzzling down more ale, I reached out an arm, lifting my hand up and snapping my fingers.
Above my head now was a dim, green light. I figured out how to do that when we first got back home. I’d been having a hard time accessing other spells. The mages during the Fall were shooting fire from their hands, summoning lightning, stopping people’s hearts… and currently, all I could do was bring out a little ball of light. I presumed it was because I didn’t have many resources.
Thanaturgy… the only sure way to counteract maleficium. If my father wasn’t going to support my efforts in getting rid of those bastards, then I was going to have to take care of it myself.
I let the little ball of light drift around the room. Sometimes, when it was dark and quiet like this, I could still hear his voice. I could hear his laugh and listen to him tell his stories. If I had said I was sorry that day, would he have changed his mind? Would he still love me?
“You should not scowl like that.”
I jumped, the ball of light stuttering. I heard his voice. It wasn’t just in my head.
“L-Lucian?” I sat up straighter.
“Tobias.”
Right at the door, Lucian slowly entered my room, phasing through the door. I didn’t know how I was seeing his ghost, but there he was. And there was his smile. His hair was down, flowing out behind him in a wispy breeze. If I squinted, I could still see his freckles.
“Love…” I got up from the bed. “M-my love. Lucian!”
I limped forward, but when I reached to take his hands, I went right through them.
“Oh, Tobias,” he chuckled. “I am afraid that we cannot touch. I am not of your world anymore, after all…”
I grimaced, my eyes watering. His ghost was still so beautiful. “I-I’m so sorry, Lucian. If only I can fix things.”
“Perhaps, you can,” he insisted. Now that I was really looking at him, I could see that he was not fully there. Pieces of the room were visible through his body. “You have a plan, and you should stick to it. Iantinus cannot be stopped with a little light.”
I blushed, shaking my head with a grin. “What about two little lights?”
I snapped my fingers again, a twin light revolving around the first. Lucian’s ghost started to laugh, and gods, how I missed his laugh.
“You need someone in your corner, Tobias.” He was still smiling. “And so long as I am able to visit and see you, then I will be the one in your corner.”
I managed a sad smile. “I knew I’d always be able to count on you, love.” I sighed. “But I don’t have any way to train myself. There are no resources.”
He tilted his head. “What about right out there?”
I turned to look out the window. There were sparse trees, some shrubs, possibly some small animals. I could just barely see some of Alasdair’s garden. “Oh… No, I can’t.”
“But if you decline, then how will you ever improve? How could you ever see your true potential?”
I leaned against the wall, staring at the garden. My fingers fidgeted with the heirloom again. “I suppose you’re right.” I sighed. “I mean, Alasdair’s garden won’t be missed that much.”
“And there is still a vast amount of land out there.”
There was a shiver coursing through my arm, as if he was trying to touch me. “You’re right.” I smiled. “And once I figure it out, then we will get rid of all those mages, hm?”
“Whatever your heart desires, Tobias,” Lucian hummed right against my ear.
I felt another shiver run down my spine, and I grinned. “If only I could kiss you right now.”
I heard his laughter, but soon the presence faded, and I was left alone with the little lights.
I was holding myself back. It took Lucian’s ghost to help me realize that. If I could just lose whatever resolve I was having about taking from Ewan’s land, then I’d be more advanced in my craft. Now, I was kicking myself for never taking Maximus’ advice as a child. Whatever skills I would have now, I’d never know. But there was one thing I knew for certain.
Three Inquisitors were coming to Kressie, and they were bringing their cohorts with them. I’d imagine that they’d be housed at the old outpost, now that the King’s Army had been disbanded. It’d be so easy to pick them all off, one by one. And once we made examples out of them, we could move on to the next town and do the same there. This would continue until Gurindeck was left vulnerable. And that was when we should strike. If were actually thinking about what to do with them.
I failed to protect Lucian, but I was going to do all I could to save the rest of Sunderland.
In the middle of the night, I skulked out to the garden. Alasdair had this patch of beets that he found difficult to keep alive. I decided to start with them.
I pulled them out from the ground with my bare hands, ignoring the ache seeping into my fingers. My hands were covered in soil. Getting away from here with my components was an even bigger chore. I could barely move my hip. Perhaps that could be my first lesson.
Clutching one of the beets tight in my hand, I took the measures I did when killing Moira. I pulled from it, taking in deep drafts. It was easier to do when I could focus on it. It filled me, but I was nowhere near sated as I watched the beet shrivel and rot. I dropped it, grabbing another one right away. More magic pooled through me in a reserve. I could channel it well enough.
I took a deep breath, savoring the sensation. I felt whole, complete. I couldn’t believe I fought using thanaturgy for this long. It was like a piece of me that had eroded was melding back into my flesh.
When I glanced down at my leg, I found that I could bend it a little easier. The cramps let up. I didn’t have to lean on my cane as much.
I stopped next to the tree I was leaning against earlier that day. Glancing up at the boughs, I curled my fingers into the bark and began to pull from that as well. My reserve was filling up once more, just as the great tree withered under my touch. I wanted to try that one trick Declan did back at The Moorish Cup. He’d vanished. Perhaps, if I only wanted to bring myself back by the cellar, I wouldn’t need as much magic to cast it. I tried to remember that word, looking right at where I wanted to go.
“Éalaíya.”
My body felt freezing for a moment, and I feared it didn’t work when I found myself shrouded in darkness. But when I blinked open my eyes, I stumbled upon not expecting to stand right in front of the cellar. I held onto the wall, nearly dropping my cane.
A startled laugh burst from my mouth, and I found myself grinning, staring down at my grimy hands. I did that. I could do that. There was more to this stuff than healing and bringing back dead things. There was so much more I could do.
I thought back to when I was a young lad and first brought back that dead bird. I was frightened yet thrilled, trying to process all the different possibilities even back then. I was stifled, told that it was forbidden. I was discouraged from ever using it again by everyone around me.
But now, I could feel how incredible thanaturgy was. The magic thrummed in my fingertips. It made my heart race. And just like when I was a young lad, only one question was on my mind.
What else could I do?
Notes:
Now, all the introductory chapters have been posted! That's it until the story really begins! Hopefully Monday, around 4pm EST I'll post Chapter 5.
There's no real pattern to the alternating chapters btw. It might seem evenly split, but soon enough the narrative will call for someone's voice to be heard a little more than the other.
Chapter 5: Lucian
Summary:
Lucian tries to cope with being lost in Brømkhald's wilderness. Not well, but he's trying.
Notes:
I found some flexibility in my schedule! I adjusted the scheduled days for uploading to include Mondays.
For context, this behemoth is already 120K words and closer to 40 chapters than humanly necessary. But as I'm actively working on this story and I'm approaching the third quarter of the year at my job, the thrice weekly schedule is more of a loose guideline for myself (I'm a creature that needs structure).
With that out of the way, here are some further notes about this chapter!Lucian's about to be shoved way out of his comfort zone.
Any quotes spoken in Brømkhaldic will have «these quotation marks» to avoid confusion
Mild content warnings for suicidal ideation and eye trauma
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Lucian
Finn was wrong about how unforgiving Brømkhald’s climate was. It was worse.
Even though there were still two months left before the Winter Sunwane, the temperatures here were frigid at night. The days were already shorter the further north I went, which meant that I had less ground to cover before I had to settle and hope I could find food and firewood.
I knew how to tell which direction I was going, and I remembered that Berusær was northwest. Though, that did not help much, considering that I had no way of knowing how much further I had to go and how northwest I needed to travel. As it turned out, years of tutoring and education were entirely useless here in the wilderness.
At least I had Brya. She kept me warm at night whenever I would fail miserably at putting up the tent, and she was an exemplary hunter. A shame, then, that I was a terrible cook. The first night, I burnt the coney she fetched, and the night after that I did not cook it enough. I had the most severe reaction that night.
I should have just stayed close to Adinely, so that Finn could at least know where I was. Now, it was too late to turn back, and that was if I even knew where to go. I was hopelessly lost in the Brømkhaldic wilderness.
Such an immediate regret befell me on this day, four days after I first left Adinely. I was caught in the first snowfall. Snow in the middle of autumn! I thought that it was cold back home, but up in Brømkhald it was brutal. I underestimated how much firewood I was going to need, and I was feeling intense hunger pangs that were enough to give me an acute attack.
My hands were trembling as I tried to light a fire. My gloves were not adequate. Even these “winter clothes” were not enough to keep me warm. I could feel the wind biting at every patch of exposed skin. To my relief, the fire caught this time. The night before, I nearly froze after I realized with dismay that the firewood I grabbed was too wet.
Brya whined softly at my feet as I huddled myself while sitting on a rock. I tried to let the heat of the fire warm up my hands, my teeth chattering. This kind of cold was known to kill a man, and it was not even the worst that this northern edge of the world had to offer.
“I-I know, girl,” I crooned, shivering as I reached down to stroke her fur. “F-Finn will find us. I’m sure of it.”
I felt the wolf’s tooth on my necklace, hoping that Tobias was all right. Perhaps, once he read the letter, he would want to come up here to find me. We could work things out then, and I had to hold onto hope that I would make it through this. I had to. And it was being alone out here that made me miss him the most. I was kept just warm enough at this moment, but nothing felt warmer to me than one of his embraces. He was my own personal hearth.
I then tried to once again cook my food, hoping that I would get it right this time. Brya found two coneys this afternoon, and I did not want them to go to waste. As it was warming up, I pulled off my eyepatch, the ache in my head now too much to bear. The band of the patch sometimes was too tight, and I had the comfort of at least not having to worry about anyone seeing the eye.
The violet haze encompassed that side of my vision, even as it was getting dark. Startlingly enough, I did not find it difficult to see in the dark when it was exposed. The thought made me hiss under my breath, and I shielded the right eye with my hand. I tried not to linger too long when touching the scars there, but it was difficult. I was now marred, disfigured. I did not need to see my wounded eye to know that much.
I closed my eyes for a moment, but what greeted me was a nightmare.
I dreamed of Tobias. Or, at least he looked like Tobias. But his eyes were colder. His scowl was permanently etched to his face. He was standing in the middle of what looked like the ruins of Gurindeck Square. He was screaming, “Death! Death!” over, and over.
And no one answered.
He had the power of death within his grasp, masses of black tendrils extending throughout the earth. As he pulled the magic to him, the world was slowly corrupted by rot. The city was levelled and reduced to rubble. Not even the castle was still standing. There were no trees, no plants, no animals, nor were there any people. The sky had a terrible hue, overcast and tinted red. It looked like the end of the world. Smoke was billowing around him.
The smell was acrid.
I was startled awake, gasping as I realised that the smoke was coming from the coneys I tried cooking. I yelped and tried to shove them out of the fire with a large stick, coughing when the smoke went straight through me. I was starting to truly lose it, and I could not help but sob as I cowered away from the campfire. And here was another night where I was going to go hungry.
Now that I was wide awake and grieved, my mind kept drifting back to how I somehow knew that those mages were going to come into our room to kill us. How did I know? How could I see it happen before it would come to pass? What was happening to me? It made me wonder if that nightmare I just had was no ordinary nightmare. Could that have been another vision? It made me feel sick, the nausea clawing at me.
When Moira attacked me, it was possible that instead of killing me, some of her immense power must have done something to corrupt me. But whatever was happening, I just wanted it to stop. As my belly howled and twisted with starvation, I found myself wishing that the strike she dealt me had killed me.
The snow was coming down harder, and my sobs persisted. Brya tried to comfort me by nuzzling my leg, but it was no use this time. And just when I thought it could not get any worse, another sharp pain behind my eye made me scream. I clutched my face, vaguely knowing that I was doubling over and getting sick. But the sights and sounds around me were falling away and replaced with another of those waking nightmares.
I was trapped in a snowstorm, stumbling and feeling even colder than I ever had in my entire life. The wind was biting and cut through my whole body. It was so strong that trees were starting to tilt and drop from the force of it. I struggled and struggled, soon stumbling down to the ground and collapsing. I was freezing, starving. I could not handle it anymore. I was tired. My hands were frostbitten. I succumbed to sleep.
Before I could take in the finality, I was back to sitting by the campfire, but the forest was rapidly moving around me faster than I could ever run. It was following a path through the forest, just as the wind was picking up.
It did not stop until I was seeing a group of people wearing heavy hides travelling through the snow. Six men, one woman. They were shouting to each other in Brømkhaldic, marching with purpose. And based off the path my vision sped through to get there, it was not that far from my camp at all.
When I came back to myself, I nearly fell back from the rock, trying to catch my breath. I had to catch up with that group.
After pulling my eyepatch back on, I fought through my hunger pangs and my headache to pack up my camp, dousing the fire with some snow. I made sure my coin purse was out, right at my belt. These people could be mercenaries, if they were travelling this deep in the wilderness. There was one thing that I knew about mercenaries: all they cared about was money. And I still happened to have a small fortune from my father’s treasury.
I was relieved to find how accurate that vision was as Brya ran beside me. I soon could hear some chatter, and I steeled myself.
There they were, just like my vision. Six men, one woman. Covered in hides, conversing with each other, and right in my path. They all wore helms that concealed most of their faces. Several of them held axes, but one of the men had an impossibly large sword sheathed at his hip. That had to be the leader.
I was frantic, the frigid air making it hard for me to breathe as I waved my arms. “Heill!” I gasped, the wind almost taking the voice right out of me. All at once, I was grateful for my gruelling Brømkhaldic lessons. This would not have worked in my favour otherwise. “Heill! Halló!”
“Staðr!” The man that I presumed to be the leader had a hand at the hilt of his sword, stepping in front of the group. «Don’t move.»
I stood rigid, my hands up in defence. The travellers were further on edge when Brya started to bay and bark at them.
“Brya, hold.” I scolded her, my heart racing when she growled as the leader started to step closer.
«Who are you, foreigner?» The leading man glowered at me. His voice was hard and commanding in the Brømkhaldic tongue.
«F-fear not. I mean no harm.» My voice was shaking from the cold. «My name is Lucian. I-I am from the Kingdom of Sunderland, and I was hoping that you could help me.»
«Sunderland?» he laughed. «What’s a Sunderish fool doing up here in Brømkhald?»
Two of the men, both startlingly looking quite similar to each other, took glances at me and snickered.
«What’s he wearing?» asked one. «Doesn’t he know summer is over?»
«Sunderish fool took a wrong turn at Adinely,» the other chuckled.
«No meat on his bones,» the woman huffed. «I’m surprised he isn’t dead.»
I ignored the further jeers and mocking laughter from further back, still maintaining my stance.
«Gurindeck has fallen,» I began. «The throne has been usurped, and my kingdom is in grave danger. I got separated from my group, who are on their way to Berusær. We are seeking asylum, but I am lost. I do not have much experience to withstand the elements on my own, as you can tell. I-I may not survive another night.»
The leader removed his helm as I spoke. He had a stern face, dry from the cold winds. His straw-coloured hair was shorn at the scalp, save for a long mass of braids held together down the centre. «What makes you think I will help you? Haven’t your people done enough?»
I winced, reminded of my education on the Sunderish-Brømkhaldic War that took place when I was still cared for by a wetnurse. It was a gruesome conflict that only ended with Brømkhald surrendering the territory of what was now known as Adinely and Olnahd.
Still, I kept my head held high. We stared each other down, our eyes level. His were a startling shade of blue. «You may sneer at me or mock me all you like. However, I believe money is something that we can all agree on.»
He scoffed. «You do not have enough, Sunderish fool.»
«Name a price.»
He frowned, pondering and scratching his bearded chin. «Forty silver. Per man.»
I tried to suppress a relieved grin. He was selling himself short, with the funds I had procured from my father’s treasury. «What about forty platinum marks per man?»
All of them went slack. They murmured among themselves, eyeing me with scrutiny. The leader, however, tensed up at the shoulders and clenched his jaw. He took a tight hold of my collar, and I jolted forward as he yanked me to him.
Brya growled deeply, her hackles raised, but I tried to stay calm. I had nothing to fear, for I never bluffed.
“What are you playing at?” he hissed in fluent Sunderish. His accent was guttural and heavy. “I do not care who you are. I will make an example of anyone that claims to have money they do not have.”
“Who says I do not have it?” I hummed. “Check my purse for yourself.”
“You are either mad or stupid.”
“Neither.” I did not flinch. “I never lie when I make an offer. Take the purse from my belt, if you must, to see for yourself.”
“How do you not know if I would just take the money and run?”
“I don’t.” I still kept eye contact with him. “I have a foolish amount of trust.”
He frowned, staring back at my own eye until he let go of my collar. “Sýn mér.”
I took a breath, reaching down to my belt and taking hold of the purse. It was heavy in my hands, but I untied the pouch. For all of them to see, I produced ten platinum marks and set them in my palm. Their make was universal, with a round hole in the centre of each triangular coin.
The leader took hold of one of them, frowning at it. He then tested it by biting down, blinking when it of course did not bend. “Huh. Gæfumaðr.”
Lucky bastard. My eyes narrowed.
He then eyed me, fidgeting with the coin in his hand. «Who did you say you were?»
Now, I had his attention. «Before I begin, understand that this knowledge stays between us.»
He frowned. “Speak plainly, in Sunderish. None of them behind me know the language.”
I kept my voice low. “I am Prince Lucian of Sunderland, second son of His Late Majesty, King Richard the Third.” I then showed my right hand to him, displaying my signet ring. I tried to ignore the scars that stretched from my forearm downward. “I am the sole survivor of the Sunderish Royal Family.”
The surprise on his face was subtle, just a slight raise of his brow. “Sole survivor, hm?”
“Now, you understand why I am willing to pay at such a high rate,” I said. “I must meet with the rest of my group and seek refuge in Berusær. And, with the promised funds, I hope you will escort me safely and provide food and shelter during the journey. Each of you will be paid forty platinum marks for your work. You have my word.” I then extended my hand.
He huffed, regarding me for a moment. With a deep sigh, he met my hand in kind. His gloved palm was warm, after suffering out here in the cold. “Auðunar Thrandsson.”
Still holding the purse, I counted out each mercenary’s pay in increments of ten. I still had at least a few dozen platinum coins in here, as well as some silver. Each person was satisfied with the earnings, though I did hear a couple of them discussing if they should just take the money and run.
Auðunar was not among them. He instead placed his helm back on, gesturing a nod to me. When he spoke, he reverted back to Brømkhaldic. «I have one condition. We have to complete our assignment before your escort. I am the leader of this company, and you will work for me, nobility be damned. Do you understand?»
I inclined my head. “Já. Skilinn.”
Satisfied, he looked up at the sky. «Alright, then.» He called to the rest of the group. «There’s a storm coming. Set up camp. And give our benefactor here a hot meal. He will be no use to us frozen to death.»
I shuddered in relief, following close behind them. I had to coax Brya into following close behind me, for she was still wary. And even though this worked out better than I expected, knowing that yet another vision came true frightened me. I began to wonder if I was cursed.
Notes:
I'm so sorry I named my child that, but it fit him the best! Auðunar has been my son for many many months, and the name stuck.
It's pronounced "OW-THoo-nar" (with a strong "th" sound)
His name is considered the Old Norse pronunciation.A big shoutout to the developers of "Hoenir," an Old Norse translator run by Valhyr that has helped me with the structure and guidelines necessary for a good chunk of the interactions with the Brømkhaldic mercenaries.
Translations:
Staðr - Halt
Sýn mér - Show me
Gæfumaðr - Lucky bastard
Skilinn - Understood
Chapter 6: Declan
Summary:
Declan is immediately hit with dread upon arriving in his hometown.
Notes:
Content Warnings
Inhumane punishments, trauma flashbacks, PTSD symptoms, allusions to torture
Chapter Text
Declan
“There it is.” Niclas looked out ahead in our wagon, pointing at the remnants of civilization. “Balhreid.”
My stomach clenched at the sight. It was exactly as I remembered it. The same buildings were in their exact places, and people were going about their business without noticing our arrival.
Sinéad frowned, leafing through a small tome. “Mistress Morwenna informed me that these easterners are simple. We need not stress ourselves with lengthy interrogations. Just demand, receive, and punish when necessary.”
I pursed my lips, trying to quell my disgust. It was people like Sinéad, those that looked down on us country folk like we were lesser, that heightened my parents’ desire for change. I was willing to stand alongside them, before I left for the Trethian skirmishes.
Before I realized that their love was conditional.
“Not all of them are as simple as you think,” I muttered.
“Ah.” Niclas cleared his throat. “Did you forget that he’s from here, Inquisitor Robasan?”
“I did not.” She pursed her lips, running a hand through her dark hair and straightening her crimson robes. “Once we stop in Kressie, we will unpack, settle in, and prepare for a long day on the morrow.”
“Of course,” I sighed.
Twenty marks per head. Twenty platinum marks per soul that I grew up beside. I had to just focus on the amount. Twenty marks. Life-changing money. Money that I desperately needed.
Kressie was not much better, though. My family always went there for most of our commerce. In the weeks following the Fall of Gurindeck, it looked like a shell of what it once was. The Moorish Cup, for one, had some boarded-up windows despite seeing the occasional patron. The market had mostly been closed up, as well.
“Not much to this place, hm?” Sinéad frowned, keeping the sneer on the people around us. “The sooner we complete our task, the sooner we get back to Gurindeck.”
We stopped in front of the old outpost. Many of these windows were boarded up, as well, and patches of the roof were missing. But I knew from frequenting this place that the interior had enough space to house the three of us. There were some pallets, but it felt more like the barracks back at the castle. So, as it was, adequate enough.
Niclas stopped the wagon, and we stepped out to stretch our legs. We would soon be making our first announcement here.
In the center of the square, there was a podium that Sinéad had me set up. Much to my chagrin, I obliged her. She stood, gathering ashes from her spell pouch and blowing them out through her hand.
“People of Kressie!” Her voice boomed throughout the square, projected by the spell. I flinched back from standing so close.
Some that were outside began to falter. I noticed some people leave their homes or peer to listen from open windows. They all stared at the three of us. Most had dreadful sneers, while the rest began to clamor and whine.
“His Majesty, King Iantinus the Third, has noticed a severe lack of cooperation here in the east.” Sinéad continued without any regard to further reactions. “As such, it is our task as members of His Majesty’s Inquisition to make sure all of his subjects follow through on his demands. That means weekly tithes. Money, food, belongings, anything of value.” She paused when there were some jeers thrown our way. “Those who do not comply will forfeit their rights among Sunderland’s subjects and carry their sentences serving under His Majesty.”
Niclas grimaced as further outcries followed. I didn’t look at any faces in particular, just keeping a cool stare at the general crowd.
“Go back to Gurindeck!”
“Traitors!”
“Usurpers!”
Sinéad frowned. “Perhaps, I have not made it clear enough.” She raised a hand, snapping her fingers.
At the sound, several of the undead guards that traveled with us made themselves known. They marched towards us, and I heard a woman scream and several children cry. One of these guards got close enough to one of the heckling men to yank him down swiftly. It made quick work of him, bringing its mace down on his skull.
Several more shrieks followed as the guards formed a circle around us, daring anyone to come close to express their outrage.
Sinéad smirked. “Alright. On the morrow, prepare your tithes. We will be making a sweep through Kressie and Balhreid once a week. Do not come up empty.”
Niclas took a glance over at me. I could feel it from the corner of my eye. I refused to look back.
“His Majesty is grateful to you for your contribution.”
I had the next tithe tucked away as I moved to the next house. I’d gotten several dirty jabs all day, but so far, the people had been compliant. I’d seen it all before, back in Gurindeck. Once they’d get a steady rhythm going, they would soon realize that they no longer had enough money. So, they would then refer to their food stores, then their water supply, then the very clothes off their backs. But none of that could fully satisfy His Majesty. None of these things ever did.
I heard Sinéad’s less than sympathetic scolding as she was dealing with an old beggar. I observed from the other end of the street. I recognized that man. It was Old Farmer Tiernan. He used to let me and Brigit bring home eggs from his chickens. He must’ve been displaced from his farm when we needed the land’s resources to build our army.
He was cowering before Sinéad, his hands shaking as he was begging and imploring her. But she gave him no reprieve. He didn’t offer anything for the tithe. And he was about to realize what happened when he did not pay it.
Her ash work was quick but sloppy across his brow. He cowered and gagged on the dust. But with a snap of her fingers, he’d become a husk of his former self. Guards hauled him up to his feet.
Why was my face wet? I cringed and wiped away tears. What was wrong with me?
As I began my walk back to Kressie, I felt eyes on me. I stood rigid, a hand coming to my spell pouch. A quick jerk of my head towards the forests didn’t draw my attention immediately. But I could feel myself bristling.
“Show yourself,” I snapped, my fingers curling as I reached to gather some ashes in my fingers.
A twig snapped towards my left.
“Immolá!” I thrust my hand forward, shooting fire from my palm in the direction of the noise.
There was a quick deflection of the fire with a strike of a blade. The figure leapt from the foliage, just as light embers caught on the ground. The man’s boot snuffed the flame.
I drew further back, readying another spell. “Dunaidh?”
Gods, I’d hoped I would never see this bastard again. Ever since I saw him this past summer, he’d been a thorn in my side. I couldn’t stand looking at him. His black curls, his easy smile, his infuriatingly blue eyes. Damn him.
Mícheil still had his sword drawn, breathing hard as he watched me. “Surprised?”
“Shouldn’t be,” I muttered. “You were never good at hiding.” I had a handful of ashes in my palm. “Where’s your tithe?”
He snorted. “You’re not gonna make me pay it.”
I frowned. “Do you want to become a husk?”
“Is that a threat?”
“You should know that I am one of the most efficient Inquisitors in all of Sunderland,” I said. “I never make empty threats.”
“Ah,” he mumbled, “congratulations.”
“Fuck you.”
“Come now, Declan.” He started to hold his hands out, blade still in hand. “Can’t we just talk?”
“I don’t talk to people that leave me for dead.”
“Declan…”
I made ready, rushing forward. “Dealhrach.”
Mícheil yelped as I struck at him with bolts of lightning. I caught him in the wrist, and he groaned and righted his stance before striking forward with his sword. I thought quickly, drawing life from the ground beneath my feet to deflect his blow with a shield. It still held when he struck again. When I released it, he struck at me with the hilt of his sword, catching me in the shoulder.
I stumbled, quick to release another burst of fire, though it was not as effective. With no recourse, I drew a dagger from my belt. Damn this new profession and not offering anything more adequate. He met my pathetic blade with his own, the pair of them singing and screeching as I wrestled with his strength.
“Declan, I don’t wanna hurt you,” he groaned.
“Do it, you coward.” I spat at him, trying to think quickly. I dug my feet down to the dirt, struggling with how Mícheil hunched over me and pinned me down.
“I want to help, dammit! I wanna do somethin’ to snap you out of whatever the fuck’s goin’ on in your head.”
“Bold of you to assume that I am under any influence,” I sneered. “I’ve never thought more clearly in all my life.”
His strength was faltering, and he shook his head. “I looked everywhere for you, Declan. I would’ve searched all my life, if I could.”
“Liar!”
“Declan.” His brow was furrowed.
At last, he was distracted. Now that I’d drawn just enough from the ground, I muttered a quick spell under my breath.
The effect was immediate. The spell caused an icy claw from the grave to stop Mícheil’s heart—only for a moment—but it was enough. Now off his guard, I kicked him hard in the gut to shove him off. He was thrown back, gasping on the ground and clutching at his chest.
I was quick to pin him, swiping a line of ash across his brow while he was still struggling to breathe and center himself. I held up a hand.
“Now. Your tithe,” I hissed.
“B-bastard.” He was grimacing up at me, struggling to reach for his sword.
I pinned down his arm with my other hand, seating myself on top of him. “With a snap of my fingers, you will lose all your faculties. Would you like that? Only able to breathe, walk, or piss? Cos that’s what you’re asking for. No ability to talk, think, or feel, all for the rest of your miserable existence. Your service will only be to give your life to His Majesty.”
He struggled, relenting with a disgruntled sigh. “F-fine. Fine.” He tried to wrestle me off him, but I wouldn’t let up.
“If you stalk me again, I won’t hesitate next time.”
“Alright!”
I then let him go, standing up. He sat up, grumbling and digging into his strapped satchel.
“Here.” He shoved the coins at me. “Three silver.”
I counted them in my hand. “Now, was that so hard, Dunaidh?” I stuffed them into my purse, along with the rest of the town’s tithe. “You may go.”
“Wait?”
I was about to turn and leave. “What now?”
Mícheil hauled himself up to his feet. “I’m sorry.”
“…What?”
“I’m sorry.” He stored his blade back in its scabbard. “For abandoning you. For making you think that none of us cared about you. That I didn’t care about you. We were all sick inside. Your family was devastated. If I’d just kept looking for you, perhaps none of this would’ve happened.”
I stared at him. For a moment, I saw the same bruised up boy I first met all those years ago. The same one that wept into his bloodied knuckles as I tended to a large gash from a spar gone wrong. Mícheil Dunaidh, the boy that laughed to hide his pain. The boy that never asked to be the son of a cruel knight. The boy that wanted to go on adventures. He wanted to see the world with me.
I thought that boy was long gone.
Mícheil.
“Mícheil!”
Distantly, I recalled being unable to move. I thrashed and kicked, screaming that name over, and over as primal fear seized my entire body. I was held down, screaming for help. Where was Mícheil? He would come. He would notice I was gone. He would save me.
But he never came.
My hands shook as I blinked back into focus. What was I doing? Where was I? I looked down at my hands. They were dirty, coated in a thin film of ash. Whose ashes were these? Where was my family?
Oh. Right. They left me to die.
“Declan?”
I jerked my head, stepping away. “Remember your tithe next week,” I muttered, turning and running from him.
Mícheil called after me, but I ignored him. I needed to be back at the outpost, back to where I could clear my head. I knew that I shouldn’t have come here. I should’ve fought my case harder to be placed somewhere else. I could’ve gone to Adinely, or even a settlement out west. Anywhere but here.
I needed Mistress Morwenna. She would know what to do to get me out of this stupor. Talking to her helped.
“Declan?”
I was greeted to the sounds of Niclas preparing food in a center pit once I arrived at the outpost. I tried to focus on just breathing.
“I’m fine,” I muttered through gritted teeth.
“I don’t doubt it,” he assured me. “Declan, you got a letter today.”
“Today?” I blinked. “We’d only just arrived this week.”
He shrugged his shoulders, reaching back to where a flimsy envelope was. “Says it’s from Olnahd.”
My heart stopped, my body growing cold. “Give me that.”
“Here you are.” Niclas held it up to me. “Is it about the Inquisitors going up there?”
“Mind your own,” I snapped, quick to snatch the letter out of his hand. “Don’t ask about it again.”
“Alright.” He kept a defensive stance. “I’m just starting on supper.”
“That’s fine.” I rushed to my room, quick to open the letter. I tore the envelope in my haste. “Forwarded to Inquisitor Declan Sutharlan from the Castle of Gurindeck, Sunderland” was written in Mistress Morwenna’s script.
23 Penemph in the Year 1271
Olnahd, Sunderland
To Master Sutharlan,
It is with great pain that I remind you that I have not received payment from you in the last week. Please send the agreed upon weekly settlement of five platinum marks to fulfill your obligation—
I shuddered and crumbled up the letter, shaking my head. I did send the marks, shortly before I left Gurindeck. That greedy little…
When I came back into the main room, I handed Niclas a small box. “Here.”
“What’s this for?” He looked down at it.
“I need that sent to Olnahd to a Mistress Teleri Moore on the morrow. Reinforce it so that no thieves get any bright ideas.”
“Consider it done. Who’s Teleri Moore?”
“Never you mind.” I sat with him at the fire pit just as he was setting the meat down. “Just an old friend.”
Niclas brushed some of his locks away from his eyes, drawing his attention away from his task. “It’s harder than it looks, isn’t it? Collecting the tithe, enforcing order, and all that. Being away from Gurindeck and trying to keep everything under control.”
I sighed. “You could say that. How many husks did you turn in today?” I needed to distract myself.
“None.”
“Inquisitor Robasan already sent over five. Soon enough, you’ll be sending them out.” I ran a hand through my hair, remembering who I was and where I was all the while. An ache that started to settle in my chest eased. “Niclas?” I crouched with him at the fire pit. “Do you ever feel like you’re losing your head, working so closely around people you used to know?”
He shook his head. “No. Well, I haven’t been near the south in some time. So, that could have been a different answer. Why?”
I frowned. “No reason in particular.” I took in the sights and sounds, the smell of meat cooking over an open flame. “Just a momentary lapse in judgment.”
Chapter 7: Mícheil
Summary:
After his encounter with Declan, Mícheil has an idea, though he isn't sure how well it will be received.
Notes:
There's some gross imagery involving bugs and filth within.
Tobias needs a hug. Or a good shake. Either one is acceptable.
Chapter Text
Mícheil
Colonel Druiminn was shuffling with some papers while we ate supper together. Thinking about what happened in Balhreid earlier that day made my stomach twist into knots. I felt surer than ever of my new idea. I saw how Declan’s stance changed and how his eyes softened just the slightest bit when I spoke to him.
Well, it wasn’t enough to be considered proof, but it was a start.
Tobias entered the dining hall well after everyone else. His sleeves were filthy, and sweat clung to his brow. “Sorry I’m late.”
“I know you are not tracking mud in my house,” Alasdair huffed, crossing his arms.
“I’m not a child, Alasdair.” He plopped himself down in the chair.
Colonel Druiminn didn’t look up, but he did set the papers aside. “So. What did you find in Balhreid, Sergeant?”
“Inquisitor Robasan did somethin’ to three men and two women. She used these ashes, and within seconds the people became mindless. They almost looked as dead as those guard that skulk around with them.” I winced, remembering how Old Farmer Tiernan begged for mercy. “They call ’em ‘husks.’ The mages? They’re turning these people into husks for not paying the tithe.”
“Such a horrible punishment,” he frowned, clearing his throat and turning to Arthur. “Was there any other information?”
“Inquisitor Prothero isn’t as experienced as he seems. He collects the tithe and uses the land for smaller bursts of magic. Nothing more.” Arthur picked at his meal. “Still no word from Master Reknas?”
He shook his head. “Perhaps we will hear from him soon, or from his partner.”
“Fat chance,” Tobias scoffed, barely touching his food.
Should I ask now? Judging by the way Tobias was acting, perhaps it wasn’t the best idea. But none of us came up with anything better, short of resorting to killing.
“What of Inquisitor Sutharlan? Anything from him?”
I winced, and Arthur noticed right away. “Well.” I stammered. “He attacked me today.”
Colonel Druiminn frowned. “Bold of him. Why?”
“I needed to pay my tithe. Three silver pieces.” I found myself reaching to grab my chest, right over my heart. It still chilled me that it stopped beating for several seconds too long. “He threatened to turn me into a husk if I didn’t. They all take these ashes and coat you with it right here.” I pointed to my brow, where there could still be some stains.
“That’s horrifying,” Alasdair grimaced. “Well, I speak for everyone when I say that I’m glad you’re alright, Mícheil.”
“Thank you.” Here went nothing. “But I got to thinking, on the way home. Do you think, perhaps, there’s a way for these mages to stop following Iantinus?”
“What?” I felt Tobias’ eyes on me as he spoke.
I sighed, taking a bite from my food before continuing with my mouth full. “Dunno. Sumfin’ ’bout these solyur…” I swallowed. “They all become mages, but surely it’s not their choice. Right? They were captured, taken, and who knows what? I mean… what if we could talk to them?”
He scoffed. “You can’t talk to these mages.”
“But I did, today.” I looked at him. “I was able to talk to Declan.”
His eyes narrowed. “He’s just trying to get into your head, Mícheil.”
“What for? He could’ve just killed me. He hesitated in trying to kill me, actually.”
“Don’t trust a word from those mages, Mícheil. They’re just buying time before you let your guard down. They’ll turn you in the first chance they get.”
“Maybe not. Perhaps, if what you’re saying about needing to fight these bastards with their own magic is true, then shouldn’t we recruit some of them to our side?”
Colonel Druiminn sputtered a bit, choking on his drink. “Come again?”
Tobias grumbled. “Don’t listen to him, Da.” He glared at me. “They already made their beds the day they joined Iantinus in the Fall of Gurindeck. Have you ever heard of any one of them defecting before? Have you ever seen one renounce him and his power?”
I blanched. “Well… you did.”
Arthur dropped his knife, jerking his head to me. “Dammit, Mícheil,” he muttered under his breath.
“That’s different,” Tobias snapped. “I never interacted with Iantinus. Those mages bend over backwards for him. We are not the same.”
“But what if we could convince them? Perhaps I can keep talking to Declan and warm him up to joining our cause. It’ll be proof that they’re still the same people they were before they became mages.”
“Are you mad?” Tobias jerked up from his seat, his bum leg shaking from the effort.
“Tobias—”
“No, Da. You have to know how idiotic this plan is!” He glared at me. “They’re dead, Mícheil.”
It cut into me. Just like the fucking Grand Marshal. “He is dead. There is nothing you can do.”
Tobias continued. “They died the day they became those mages. They’re Inquisitors. You said so yourself. They turn people into these lifeless husks and send them straight to Iantinus! Hundreds of people are dead because of them. Our land is dying because of them. And you want to talk to them? You want to talk to the people that murdered the Royal Family?”
I frowned, losing myself for a moment. I recognized that terrible sneer on his face. A face from long ago that I ran away from.
“You are far too soft, Mícheil,” my father once told me. “You must be hard as stone. Cold. Unforgiving. Only soft knights coddle and jest.”
“Yes. Yes, I do.” I stood right up, as well. “We don’t have any other options. I can talk to Inquisitor Sutharlan. Perhaps I can learn the mages’ plans and their weaknesses all the while. That could aid us better than just killing them outright. We know nothing ’bout how to get rid of ’em.”
“That’s…” Colonel Druiminn trailed off.
“A ridiculous plan?” Tobias finished for him. “I couldn’t agree more.”
“Actually, I think that’s a brilliant idea.”
He gawked. “You cannot be serious.”
“No, no. This is good.” The Colonel regarded me. “You think you can talk to Inquisitor Sutharlan?”
I nodded. “We grew up together in Balhreid. And I think somethin’ about being back in the east is letting his guard down. The Declan that attacked us in Kressie wouldn’t have hesitated in killing me or turning me into a husk. This’ll be the perfect time to try. And whatever I can gather, I’ll send straight here.”
He nodded. “This is the best idea we’ve had since the Fall of Gurindeck.” He pursed his lips. “I suppose, then, that it would be difficult to try and talk with the other Inquisitors?”
“Based off what I saw? Inquisitor Robasan should be avoided at all costs. And I think Inquisitor Prothero is too strict in his task to listen.”
Colonel Druiminn finished his meal, getting up from the table. “In that case, excuse me for a moment.” He left, presumably to go into the parlour.
Tobias frowned, his glare still stabbing at me even when I didn’t look at him. “You’re making a mistake, Mícheil.”
“The bigger mistake would’ve been not to try, if I knew that there was a chance it could work.” I turned my head to him. “And if it don’t, then you can gloat all you want.”
“That won’t matter much, once you’ve turned into a husk.”
“Declan won’t turn me into a husk,” I snorted. “He would’ve done it already, if he really wanted to.”
“Inquisitor Sutharlan cannot be trusted, Mícheil. Sooner or later, you’ll realize that I’m right. These Inquisitors are no longer the people they once were.”
I shook my head. “I think you’re wrong.”
“Prepare to find out the hard way, then.”
Colonel Druiminn came back into the dining hall. He was holding a small chest. “A tithe, you say?”
“Yes, Colonel.”
He set it down on the table in front of me. “In here is two hundred silver pieces. Carry twenty on you per week. Perhaps, this should tide you over for the next season.”
I resisted the urge to hold one of the coins between my fingers, just offering a salute. “Thank you, Colonel.”
He inclined his head. “Is Sir Hamish’s estate still fully functional to live in?”
I blinked. Didn’t think that far ahead. “I suppose so.” From what I’ve heard, the home was barely taken care of in the months following my father’s death in the Trethian skirmishes. He barely took care of it after Mum died, either.
“Settle yourself there, then. Best to be close to them while they’re interrogating in Balhreid. You have the option of taking Lieutenant Selleck or Tobias with you.”
“Never,” Tobias snapped.
I ignored him. “Thank you for the offer, but I should go alone. They’d suspect something otherwise.”
Colonel Druiminn nodded. “Alright.” He clasped my shoulder. “Be careful, Sergeant. If you suspect that you are in danger, come straight back here.”
I nodded. “Yes, Colonel.”
Later after supper, Arthur came to see me. He helped pack my satchel.
“This could work,” he offered. “Honestly, I didn’t know you were smart enough to come up with an idea like that.”
“You flatter me,” I teased, though Tobias’ doubt still festered. What if he was right?
“We’ll mis you round here.”
“I’ll only be a couple miles away.” I laughed, setting the satchel aside. “It’ll be like I never left.”
He started to smile, only to trail off with a sigh. “If only Tobias wasn’t so stubborn.”
“I don’t blame him. He’s just hurting. Someone needs to keep an eye on him.”
“Aye. I just can only do so much to help. I never know what he’s thinking anymore.”
I shrugged. “I don’t know if he’s thinkin’ much of anything right now. Try to look after him while I’m gone. And cut him off when he drinks. Write to me if you need me to come back for ’im.”
He sighed. “All right.” He glanced over at the door. “Speaking of Tobias, where did he go, anyway?”
“Outside, I presume.” We stepped out together, going through the grounds. “Oh. Before I forget. Arthur, make sure you’re eating right. And no staying up too late.”
“All right, Da,” he snorted, pushing me away.
I nudged him back with a grin. “What? Finn can’t remind you now. So, it’s my job.”
“On who’s authority?”
“On account that I’m older than you louts.”
He grinned. “I miss him.”
I nodded. “Me too.”
As we rounded the corner, Arthur stopped. “Oi, look.”
We were facing the cellar to the Colonel’s estate. The stone slab was hauled out of the way. Perhaps Tobias was in there.
“Is that where he’s been hiding lately?” he grumbled. When we got closer, we could see that the sconces were lit. “What’s he doing?”
As we approached, the first thing I noticed was that Tobias’ cane was in the middle of the floor. We slowly went down the steps. The next thing I saw made me stumble on a step.
Clumps of dried soil and earth littered the walkway. There were shrivelled roots and rotted stems from shrubs. The further down I went, the more concerned I got. There were more wilted plants, scatterings of mulching leaves, and filth from thousands of bugs and pests that festered in the soil.
The walls were no better. There were dozens of scorch marks on them and the ceiling. Splatters of blood were found on different areas of the floor. And on the table were poorly written scribblings of methods, components, and tactics. Battle plans involving using bolts of fire or withering strikes. Most of it made no sense to me, but soon enough, I saw that Tobias was standing under one of the sconces watching us. Arthur beside me was trying not to throw up.
I, for one, was not sure how to react. I saw what he did to the witch that killed Lucian. I saw how he caused an entire tree and the ground beneath his feet to wither so he could attack her with that magic. I was willing to put that behind me, willing to accept that it was just one time and that he fully renounced Iantinus. But this?
“Ah. Seems you found me,” Tobias teased, watching our faces. “Been working on some things down here. What do you think?”
This was making me sick to my stomach.
Chapter 8: Tobias
Summary:
Tobias gets confronted about his less than conventional plan.
Chapter Text
Tobias
“Tobias, what’s all this?”
I frowned. “What does it look like? I’m learning.” I walked over to the table, placing my dirt-riddled hands on top of the pages.
Mícheil shook his head. “Upstairs, you said you’re nothing like those mages. Now, look at what you’re doing.”
“What do you mean? My mother said herself that the best way to fight thanaturgy was to use thanaturgy. I can use it, therefore…” What was so confusing about that? “You were there. You heard what she said just as well as I did.”
“But this ain’t the way to do things, and you know it.” Mícheil looked round the cellar. “Look around you!”
“Like you’re one to talk. You’re the one that wants to collude with them. I’m using this to fight them.”
“I’m not colluding with anybody. I just want to help.”
I rolled my eyes. “Dress it however you like.”
“Tobias, this is madness. You must stop this.”
I turned my head to Arthur when he spoke. “What? You, too?”
Arthur was holding his stomach. “How long have you been doing this?”
“Almost a month now.” I shrugged my shoulders. “It’s only recently that I started using the cellar. I’m still trying to figure out how it works, but once I’m strong enough, I can use it to end all this.”
“Tobias…”
“You know what?” I groaned. “I knew I should’ve fucking moved the slab behind me. I knew you’d both act this way.”
“Tobias!” Mícheil came closer, taking hold of my shoulders. “Whatever’s going on, you need to snap out of it.”
I winced, not meeting his eye. I didn’t have to listen to him. He was willing to lie down with those fuckers. He was being a snake. My cause, meanwhile, was noble.
I bled for these experiments. I tore out more of Alasdair’s vegetables and his flowers, uprooted several shrubs, and gathered whatever I could, just to expand my skills in thanaturgy. It turned out to be quite effective. So long as I gave up an equal amount of life for whatever I wanted to do, I could will it. If I say, nicked myself in the arm while clumsy with a blade, I could heal that right up using patches of flora. And that was just a vague example. The plants would immediately wither and rot, of course. That couldn’t be helped.
I also learned better how to cast fire from my hands. That was only because I knew the proper word. That sure was a far cry from just healing, reviving things, or preventing the occasional sickness after a long day of drinking here and there.
“Someday, you’ll realize that I had it right all along,” I muttered.
Arthur sighed. “I can’t take much more of this. Tobias?” He glanced at me. “I won’t tell Uncle Ewan what you’re doing only if you clean this shit up.” He then marched up the steps.
I didn’t bother to watch him leave, and I reached into my shirt to pull out the heirloom again. The little steel blade hanging from the cording felt cool against my palm.
Mícheil let go of my shoulders. “Here.” He stepped back, taking hold of some of the rotted roots off the floor. “I’ll help you clean up.”
“You don’t have to,” I grumbled, wincing as I crouched down. “It’s my mess. I don’t need help.”
“I want to help.” He kept taking hold of some more stems and clumps all the while. “Look… I get it. I do.”
“No, you don’t,” I snapped.
“I do.” Mícheil stayed knelt down, patches of shrubs in his hands. “I know that look. I know that anger. I felt it, too. I wanted to tear apart the whole world to get him back. And I know that’s where your mind’s at. But this? Whatever you’re doing, it’ll only end badly.”
I huffed, using the table to haul myself up and start bringing the mulch outside. “You should just stick to telling jokes.”
“Hah.” Behind me, he laughed dryly. “Good one.”
It took us until nightfall to clear out the mess. The scorch marks couldn’t easily be washed away. Mícheil and I tried wiping off the dirt on our hands, but there wasn’t much luck.
“I should’ve buried him,” I sighed, after a while. “I should’ve buried his body. Or burned it. Just something so that those mages wouldn’t harvest him.”
Mícheil sighed. “He wouldn’t want you to turn to this, y’know.”
I just glared. “You don’t know that.”
I did. I heard what he wanted from his own mouth.
Once we were both inside, I brought Mícheil to the cabinet Ewan kept his ale. His supply was dwindling, with so few brewers left. “Want some?”
“You shouldn’t be having any, Tobias,” he chuckled, but he didn’t stop me.
We sat together at the servant’s nook in the kitchen, where Lucian and I had once talked over tea. The night that we first had sex. I shook my head out of that memory to focus on my drink.
“What do you think about moving up to Brømkhald?”
“You’d have to teach me the language, Mícheil. But we must deal with these mages first.” I downed my mug, needing another right away.
“Right.”
“You are a stubborn oaf, Tobias.”
I suppressed a chuckle. I loved whenever Lucian’s ghost would come and spew his quips. I could hear his incensed huff, or his snorty laugh, or I could see his sweet grin.
“Mícheil?” I curled my fingers around my mug. “There will be an end to this.” I tilted my head to him. “Right?”
“Gods, I hope so.” He frowned. “Look. I know we don’t agree on what to do with these Inquisitors, but perhaps both of us could be right. It’d be worth it to have more mages on our side than just you.”
I glared. “I am not a mage.”
“Well, you’re practicing.”
“That doesn’t mean anything.”
“Tobias, you can’t yell at me for wanting to talk to Declan when you are out there desecrating your father’s land.”
My frown deepened. “Well, you need to pull your own head out of your arse and stop chasing Sutharlan around like he gives a shit about you.”
“Watch it, Tobias.”
I shook my head. “Just admit it. You’re not looking to do this as some noble cause for peace. You’re just looking for an excuse to talk to Declan because you’re still in love with him!”
I knew I struck a nerve in the way his posture changed. His shoulders tensed up, and he clenched his jaw.
He glared at me. “Y’know what? Fuck you.” He finished his mug, getting up. “I can’t talk to you when you’re drunk. I’m taking this.” He grabbed the tankard from me.
“Mícheil, come now…”
“No. You’re done. Good night.”
I watched him leave with a roll of my eyes. “Safe travels, arsehole!”
I looked down at the empty mug with a grimace. They would all see soon enough that I was right. They would all beg for me to take these mages out myself. And I would do it gladly, without a hint of mercy.
None of them showed mercy during the Fall of Gurindeck.
None of them showed mercy when they killed the Royal Family. When they killed Lucian.
I needed to take matters into my own hands, one way or another.
“So, why did you drag me to Olnahd, of all places?”
“To get you out of the house,” Arthur muttered. “That, along with other things.”
I sat uselessly in the back of the wagon while Arthur drove. It was two days’ travel to Olnahd from the estate, and we were only just arriving. The northern town was not too far away from the Brømkhaldic border.
“We’ve received a few tips that there is another group of Inquisitors setting up here at their outpost.” Arthur reached into his satchel, handing me some papers. I just kept them in my hand. “We are to observe them and report back. Under no circumstances are we to approach.”
I rolled my eyes. “Right. Just sitting with thumbs up our arses. An apt strategy.”
Arthur sighed. “I also got some clues on perhaps what materials Theodulf used to craft his sword. I traced some of the runes along the edges of the blade, and I don’t recognize the script.”
“Oh?” I glanced up. “So, those weren’t Moorish runes?”
He shook his head. “Their runes are rigid and angular. These are more fluid.”
Theodulf’s sword was sheathed in the back with me. I drew it out and took it in my hands. I observed the runes a little more closely. They were fluid, with several curves and edges that were too intricate.
“My working theory is that these are Brømkhaldic runes, and the only selection of books other than among Gurindeck’s archives are up here in Olnahd. I intend to speak with an interpreter that lives up here.”
When we reached the town, we cut through the western gates. They were the least guarded by those shambling corpses. Olnahd itself was roughly the size of Kressie, and it hadn’t yet suffered the terrible hit of these bastards’ tithes. The people wore thicker clothing to withstand the cold, and many of them were either hunters or worked in lumber.
We were to stay with a former Captain here named Crag. Most of his earnings from his time in the King’s Army were being used to give the working people here more time before they could face the risk of being turned into husks. There wasn’t much for me to do round here—at least, not what I wanted to do—so I settled with sticking close to Arthur during his research.
It was strange, not carrying Theodulf’s blade anymore. Arthur had spent so much time with it that I half expected him to claim it was his eventually.
The interpreter was formerly a Brømkhaldic ambassador named Jorund Thorvardsson. His home was not too far from the town square. Arthur was able to find it easy enough, taking a breath as he knocked on the door.
“Master Thorvardsson?” Arthur knocked again. “Are you there?”
I didn’t understand the gruff response behind the door. It sounded something like, “Fara braut.”
“Master Thorvardsson, may you please come to the door?”
There was an exasperated grunt in what I assumed was Brømkhaldic, followed by heavy footsteps. The door did not open. Rather, a thin strip of wood slid back, so we could now see an aged pair of gray eyes. “I already gave my tithe, mage!”
“W-we’re not mages, sir,” Arthur stammered. “My name is Arthur Selleck, a former lieutenant in the King’s Army. And with me is my cousin, Tobias. I believe you’ve received a letter from my uncle. Ewan Druiminn?”
The man stared at him for a moment. “I may have received such a letter.”
“I brought the weapon,” he continued. “I’d appreciate it if you took a look at it.”
After a moment, the wooden strip slid back into place, and the door was opened. Jorund Thorvardsson was an older man with a severe face, though some signs of a formerly hardy build were visible in his mass. He stepped back, letting us both in.
Inside there was a wide arrangement of weapons, either strewn to the side or mounted on the walls. He kept a couple of trophies on the walls, as well, one of them being the head of a strange looking wolf. He had a fire lit at the hearth, and there were some books stacked on a wooden chair.
Master Thorvardsson stepped back, gesturing to a long table. “Place it here.”
Arthur withdrew the sword from its scabbard, careful when setting it down in the middle of the table. He stepped back, letting the other man observe it better.
He leaned down, looking at the runes. His eyes then flicked towards the hilt. At once, Master Thorvardsson’s severe look faltered. His eyes widened, and he glanced up at us. “Where did you get this?”
Arthur immediately gestured to me. When I just stared, he waved towards Master Thorvardsson and cleared his throat.
I shuffled my feet. “It belonged to the man that first raised me as his son. I took it with me, after he was murdered by Iantinus himself.” I found myself staring at the hilt, as well. “His name was Theodulf. He made this sword.”
“Theodulf?” He stood up straight, staring at me. “As in, Theodulf Isulfsson?”
I blanched. “I-I don’t know that name, sir. I only ever knew him as Theodulf.”
“Of course,” he chuckled. “Of all the places he would run off to, I never imagined it would be here.”
“I don’t follow.”
That only made him laugh harder. “If we are talking about the same man, Theodulf Isulfsson was one of the fiercest warriors in the Kollshamrar Tundra. He has not been seen in Brømkhald since The Knife bested him in a duel and he took off.”
Arthur and I were further speechless. Arthur tried to speak for the both of us. “Forgive us, we don’t understand. You mean to tell us that you knew Theodulf from Brømkhald?”
“I never forget names,” he said. “His father, Isulf Gunnulfsson, was a devout follower of Ulfgir, the Brømkhaldic God of Strength.”
Master Thorvardsson walked over to that stack of books. He shuffled through until finding one with weathered pages. He set it down in front of us, opening it to a page with a crude drawing of a giant with the head of a wolf. I couldn’t read the words on the pages. It was all nonsense to me, but here Arthur was standing in awe.
I, for one, could never believe all this shit about the man I first knew of as my father. Theodulf was Moorish. He looked Moorish, he sounded Moorish, and he acted Moorish. He was a Moorish blacksmith. He never talked about Brømkhald in the ten years that I knew him. He never spouted anything about the north or whatever “tundra” was out there. This was all nonsense.
“Can you read this?” Master Thorvadsson asked, catching my attention once more. When we both shook our heads, he rolled his eyes. “Eldhellír, these Sunderish fools take our land but bother not with who they stole from.” He jerked his head to us. “Come back here on the morrow. I will be more prepared, then.”
“Can you answer us just one thing first?” Arthur removed the sword from the table. “My Uncle Ewan said that this sword was imbued. Does this Brømkhaldic god have anything to do with it?”
“Perhaps, it could. I will find whatever I can about the knowledge you seek. Now, do not linger too long in the square. The mages will hound you for the tithe the first chance they get.”
“Thank you for your help, sir.” Arthur sighed, leading the way out. “Imagine that.” He looked at me with a grin once the door was shut behind us. “A weapon imbued by a god? No wonder it cut through those guards!”
“Keep your voice down,” I muttered. “For all you know, all that shit that Northman spewed was all nonsense.”
“What other explanation can you come up with, Tobias? Or are you so clouded by your mad experiments that you can’t listen to anything that challenges what you know as truth?”
I snapped my head in his direction, my eyes narrowing. “I suggest you watch yourself, Arthur.”
“What can you say that’ll cut into me?” he sneered. “I heard how you talked to Mícheil the other night. Do you want me pushed away, too?”
I said nothing, just keeping a hold on my cane as we made our way through the outer edges of the square.
“This is only a lead. A small theory. And if it turns out that this is all nonsense, then we’ll just have to start over again,” he said. “There’s no harm in just following wherever our research leads us.”
“You mean, your research.”
“This is your sword, Tobias.” He gestured to it. “Aren’t you at least a little curious? Wouldn’t you want to know more about it? Perhaps if you did, then you won’t have to resort to those experiments.”
“My experiments are my business.”
“Wait,” Arthur hissed, jerking his head southwards as he stopped moving. “There they are.”
Sure enough, there were three mages dressed in robes that I didn’t recognize. They were given names, but I didn’t bother reading the papers Arthur gave me. I didn’t need to know who they were before the Fall of Gurindeck. They were good as dead anyway, once I get my hands on them.
Two of them were women, one of them missing an arm. They both had hard faces as they did their sweeps for the tithe. The third mage was merely a boy. Scrawny, mousey hair, not the least bit hearty. That boy was lucky I had to be held back. If I had the choice, he would be the first one of these mages to die. It would be so easy.
The one-armed mage began questioning an older woman with graying hair. She was wearing a tattered dress and a distressed cloak. She was wringing her hands together as she was herding together a group of small children.
“You mean to tell me that you have no resources for His Majesty’s tithe?” the mage snapped.
The woman’s legs trembled. “I couldn’t possibly. Everything I receive is through charity. Many displaced children have come under my care after the arrests began. Where will they go, if I am turned in?”
“Frankly, that is none of my concern,” was the less than sympathetic retort. “We have expressed to the entirety of Olnahd that everyone must submit to the tithe. You are no exception.”
“Oh, but please…”
I found myself stepping forward as the argument continued.
“Tobias, don’t.”
I ignored Arthur’s warning, crossing the road. It wasn’t like I could do much to attack, for Arthur didn’t give me enough time to gather components before we left. But perhaps I could send a message.
“Oi!” I stood in front of the older woman while the young children cowered in distress. “Have you no shame?”
The mage scoffed, her fingers curling. “I suggest you step aside. To interfere with the tithe collection is a crime with a severe penalty.”
“Try.” I glared at her. “You heard the woman. She only receives charity.”
The other mages stood on either side of the first.
“If you insist on defending her, then perhaps you should perform an act of charity.” She held out her one hand. “Your contribution is required.”
I spat on her hand. “Here’s my fucking contribution.”
The other woman rushed forward, attempting to strike me. I took an iron hold of her wrist in response. She struggled, trying to pull it away, but my fingers curled tighter around it.
“Stop!” Arthur ran towards us. “Hold! I-I have both our shares of the tithe!”
I refused to let go.
The first mage glared at Arthur. “Hand it over, then. For your friend’s insolence here, you may also be responsible for this caretaker’s contribution, as well.”
“Of course.” He blanched, reaching into his coin purse. “I’m terribly sorry for all this. We only just arrived here, and my friend is weary from the journey.”
“Be sure to not create such an outburst in the future,” she snapped. “The guards will be forced to diffuse the situation next time such barbarous defiance is made.”
“I understand.” I didn’t see how much money Arthur gave her, but I did hear his voice drop to a whisper as he leaned close to me. “Let go of her arm, Tobias.”
I maintained a glare, still gripping her wrist. I was ready. I already had my feet planted hard in the dirt. All I needed was to fill my reserve and make an example of these bastards.
“Let go.”
I gritted my teeth, harshly releasing the mage’s wrist. To my satisfaction, I could see fear in her eyes. That wretched boy’s eyes, as well.
“His Majesty is grateful for your contribution,” the first mage muttered before she led the others away from us and back towards the outpost. She fiercely wiped at her robes to clean her hand as she walked.
I turned to look at the older woman. The children were all cowering behind her, but now she was holding one of them in her arms. It was a little girl with messy hair and blue eyes, and she was staring right at me.
“Bless you, sir,” the older woman shuddered, giving me a relieved smile.
“No need to thank me,” I insisted. “These mages don’t belong here. This is only a small way to set things right.”
“Well, it’s certainly appreciated here,” she insisted. “Thanks to you, I can still help children like little Branwyn here. These tithes are especially cruel to families, after all.”
The girl in her arms gave me a small wave before hiding against her bosom.
I tried to give her my best smile. “This is a good thing you’re doing for them. I hope you will still be shown mercy.” I could feel Arthur still glaring at me, and I sighed. “Take care now.”
I heard the woman chiding to her little brood before they started walking away from the square. Arthur seized my shoulder, dragging me towards Crag’s home.
“How am I supposed to keep you from pulling shit like this?” he gasped. “You could’ve been turned into a husk!”
“I’d love to see them try,” I seethed. “They’re all on borrowed time.”
“You can’t do anything that reckless again. You won’t be allowed to come into town with me.”
“You saw how they treated that woman. You can’t expect me to keep taking it like a dog while all these good people are getting bled dry!”
Arthur sighed. “Worry not. We won’t be in Olnahd for much longer. As soon as we have everything we need from Master Thorvardsson, we’re leaving.”
I shrugged, glancing back towards the square. His scolding didn’t deter me. All it did was challenge me.
Notes:
Translations:
Fara braut: Go away.
Eldhellír: the Brømkhaldic term for, "Blazing Hells."
Chapter 9: Lucian
Summary:
As Lucian tries to get used to being surrounded by mercenaries, he gets further unnerved when he realizes that his end of the deal involves him joining a raid.
Here's the problem: Lucian can't fight.
Notes:
Poor Lucian is a fish out of water. He'll just have to adapt.
When I wrote the first version of this chapter back in April, I felt that this chapter had the best banter that I had ever written. Then, when I started writing the second draft in June, I made it even better.
One thing that I've loved about writing this story is how often I challenged myself.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Lucian
«Are you going to eat that?»
I frowned, translating the Brømkhaldic in my mind before looking up from my mess. Brya was able to bring down a stag, and while before Auðunar constantly admonished me for keeping a hound around when I was having a hard time feeding myself, he was notably silent around the subject now that she proved to be useful.
Speaking to me was one of the other five men, Eyvald. He always wore his helm, even though we had not fought anything.
«Of course, I am.» I shuffled on the log I seated myself on. «I had only just sat down to eat.»
«Spending an awful long time waiting to eat, one-eyed fool.» He took his own mess kit and found himself another place to sit.
All the while, I grimaced while trying to focus on my meal. We had been travelling in the wilderness together for over a week, at this point. These people were out here with a specific goal in mind that I was still not privy to. However, I was assured ad nauseum that I would be escorted to Berusær once the work was done. Whenever that would be.
I will admit this much now, in hindsight. I should have given half of their pay upfront and the rest once we were brought safely to town. On more than one occasion, I feared that this group would leave in the middle of the night.
It was getting even colder. Not even my cloak helped me much with the biting winds. I could feel my hands drying up and cracking underneath my gloves. They had never looked this weathered before. If only Gideon were still alive to see me in such a state, especially now that my so-called “beard” was growing in even more. He would get a real kick out of it all. But at least I was proving to my father in his grave that I could handle myself. I was surviving in the middle of the Brømkhaldic wilderness.
With some help, of course.
Auðunar had finished setting up his tent, that glowering scowl of his regarding me before he got his helping of venison. “Comfortable?” He was not genuinely asking.
I shrugged my shoulders. “I would do much better if I was not called a ‘one-eyed fool’ by your men, after the small fortune I dropped in your laps.”
He huffed, sitting down beside me on the log. “Well, you do have one eye. And you are a fool. Look at what you are dressed in.”
I rolled my eyes, almost tempted to show him that I did still have both of them. “Not many runaways from Sunderland have access to adequate clothing for a Brømkhaldic winter.”
«It’s not even winter yet.» Auðunar sighed, setting down his tray. «Wait here.»
I watched him get up, frowning after him. Whatever could be said about this group, Auðunar proved that he was a reasonable enough leader to look after me. The other six, however, I was wary about. They still did not know I was a prince, and I intended to keep it that way.
There was Eyvald, a pair of twins named Sigehere and Sigmund, Ulfrik, Bjorgolf, and Svala. All six men were rugged in build—with the twins being on the thinner side. Svala was not too much shorter than I was and was a proficient survivalist, and she was the most scrutinous of my capabilities the moment I joined them. Bjorgolf was the healer of the group, often patching them all up after brawls and having extensive knowledge on herbs and remedies. Ulfrik could often be seen conversing with Auðunar until they both laughed and jeered at each other. They all had strong presences, but it was clear that Auðunar made all the decisions and reeled the others in on any given day.
«Another night like this, and we’ll have to find better shelter,» I heard Eyvald muttering. «I’m freezing my fruits off out here.»
Svala rolled her eyes with a smirk. «That’d be a shame.»
Sigehere snorted. «The nearest town is a day away, I think. Hard to tell in Víldurlant.»
«Víldurlant?» I asked softly. I soon recalled from my tutelage that that was the same of this region. «Is this place like the Wilds?»
Bjorgolf chuckled. «If your Sunderish Wilds had dreadwolves, bears, and wild cats abound, then yes.»
I felt a shudder course through me. Four days out here alone, and I had no idea of the dangers. I was either absurdly lucky or incredibly stupid. «That sounds... dangerous.»
«Nothing a little runaway like you can’t handle, huh?»
Ulfrik watched me with narrowed eyes. «He doesn’t have the guts to handle shit. Look at him. He can’t even grow a proper beard.»
I bunched tighter into myself, fidgeting. «Perhaps you are right. I have never been on my own like this before.»
«What happened to your eye anyway?» he pressed. «Those scars look nasty.»
«I do not want to talk about it.» I hoped to leave it at that.
«How did you get all that platinum?»
My blood chilled. I did not like Ulfrik’s line of questioning. I was foolish to think that none of them would grow suspicious, but from what I knew, my title was still being kept a secret.
Bjorgolf grunted. «Lay off, Ulfrik. You’re spooking the little hare. Besides, he’s got guts. Don’tcha, Sunderish fool?»
I jumped a bit when he nudged my shoulder. I cleared my throat, finishing up my meal. «W-well, I suppose I will soon have a chance to prove that I do.»
The twins both laughed, speaking to each other in hushed tones. In the little bit that I heard, they were amused by my oblivious disregard of Víldurlant’s dangers. Honestly, the sooner that I was able to get to Berusær, the better.
I stiffened when I felt something heavy drape over my shoulders. I jerked my head to see. Auðunar stepped back and held his hands up.
“You were cold,” he grumbled. “That is the best I can do.”
I blinked, my hand coming to touch what exactly was wrapped around my shoulders over my hooded cloak. It was a large mantle, lined on the underside with a thick hide while the outside was dense fur. Was it wolf’s fur? A bear’s?
“…Thank you.” I clutched at it and brought it tighter around myself, unable to deny how much warmer I already felt.
Brya came to sit at my feet, cleaning herself and making sure I always felt her presence in the process.
Auðunar was still nearby as the others talked among themselves. “She is a beautiful animal,” he offered in Sunderish. “Most of us would kill for a hound like her.”
I chuckled, sheepish. “She is in her element here, I think.” I reached down to stroke her head. “I am pleased to have her here with me. It helped brighten the journey for me. She reminds me of home. Of her owner…”
“You do not own her?” He tilted his head.
“Well. In a way, I do.” I shrugged my shoulders. “She is Tobias’ hound.”
“Who?”
“Tobias.” I frowned as I thought of him. I hoped he was doing alright, despite the bitter circumstances. The sooner I could get to Berusær, the sooner I could prove to him that I was still alive. “He… He is my…”
I was worried to finish my sentence. There was no way of knowing how a man like Auðunar would react to hearing that I had a man as my lover. While I did not ultimately care what he thought, it was different to divulge that kind of information to a stranger that could hurt me for something as simple as loving another man.
“Your friend?” He blinked at me when trying to finish my sentence for me.
I sighed. “My lover.” I glanced back down at what was left of my food. I did not notice a sharp tension, so my shoulders relaxed. “Or, well… my former lover. Things ended poorly between us, last we spoke. We were then separated during the Fall of Gurindeck, and I have not heard from him since.”
“Oh.” He shuffled and sighed. “Sorry.”
“Whatever for?” I could not help a rueful smile. “You did not cause our separation, nor was it you that convinced him I was dead.”
“I am just sorry.” He finished his food and got up. “So, Sunderish fool, can you wield an axe?”
I shook my head. “I never had the opportunity to learn.”
“A sword, then?”
“I have experience with steels, yes,” I said. “Though, it has been a few years since I last held one.”
Auðunar nodded. “Well, you had better figure out quick how much you remember. You need to be battle ready within the week.”
“F-for what?” I got up, as well, but he was already starting to walk away. «Wait!» I ran after him. «For what?»
«For the raid. The reason why we are out here in the first place.»
«A raid?» I blinked. «As in, raiding a village?»
«A camp.» He whipped back to face me just as he stepped into his tent, shooting me a withering glare. «We’re not that kind of company, Sunderish fool.»
“S-sorry…” I stayed back, watching him shuffle through some of his belongings.
Auðunar came back over to me with a hefty blade, though not as massive as the one he always carried. «How does this feel in your hands?»
When he handed it to me, the sudden weight of it nearly made me drop it. «Y-you will have to forgive me,» I strained. «Strength is not my strong suit. I am more of a learned man, you see.»
He paused, quirking a brow. «As in... books?»
I blanched. «Well, yes. I was in training to be an archivist. It involved extensive tutoring. How do you think I am fluent in your language?»
He frowned. “I thought you were a prince.”
“I am. I was the second prince,” I clarified. “My elder brother had combat training as Sunderland’s heir. My job was to be a Master Archivist among the King’s Council.”
Auðunar groaned, throwing his head back and rolling his shoulders. “Ach. Eldhellír.” Blazing Hells. “Just terrific. Stuck with a scrawny scholar.” He turned to go back in his tent.
“Excuse me!” I was quick to follow after him. “See here, you ruffian!”
He glanced back with a roll of his eyes. «Don’t waste my time, Sunderish fool.»
“I am not just some scrawny scholar! I was a revolutionary, fighting for better conditions for our subjects!”
“Oh. So, can your subjects also freely drop three hundred marks at a moment’s notice?”
“Well, no,” I grimaced, “but that is beside the point!”
He was not looking up any longer, crouching down. He tossed some strips of leather in my direction. «Here. You will need some armour.»
I frowned, looking down at the hides. “Very well.” Shrugging my shoulders, I started to try and figure out for myself how to strap the leathers to my arms and legs. It did not seem too complicated, and I heard Auðunar still grumbling and muttering under his breath.
He soon glanced up, pursing his lips. «You’re putting them on backwards.» He came over. «I will show you.»
I flinched when he touched my leg at the knee. Before I could instinctively kick him, he deflected it and just resumed. «You have a lot of nerve,» I snapped, «speaking to me like I am some oblivious cur. I studied your history and your maps for hundreds of hours of my childhood. I know more about this land than you can comprehend!»
He blinked at me, not even trying to stifle his amused laughter. «Is that so?» He shuffled back once the leather was correctly in place.
«That is the benefit of having an overbearing tutor. It should be no surprise.»
He smirked. «You got lost.»
My face heated up as I bristled. «Just so we are clear, my companions have the map.»
Auðunar shook his head, going back over by his weapons. «You claim you are so educated, yet you don’t know the first thing about combat.»
«I have had combat training!»
«Oh, sure. But have you ever seen battle?»
I blanched. «W-well, no.»
«That tells me all I need to know,» he muttered.
I rolled my eyes. «I apologize that my brother was the fighter and not me. You will just have to settle.»
He chuckled. «Fat chance you are going to a raid with that little knowledge. With how weak your wrists are, alone, you will get yourself killed.»
«What are you trying to imply?»
«That you are weak.» Auðunar swapped the blade out, and he then handed me a thinner sword. «What about this one?»
It was still long, but it was easier to hold. It was not such a strain on my untrained wrists, either. «I can work with this. It almost feels like my practice steels, only longer.» I tested it with a light swipe at the air.
Auðunar watched, letting out a snort.
«What now?» I frowned.
«You will be dead in a minute with that swing, that’s what.» He led me away from camp. «Come.» Still holding the original sword, we went a few dozen paces away.
I followed, still huddling the cloak close. «I did not realize that the wilderness here was going to be such a vast distance.»
Auðunar shrugged. «Sunderish maps never got the full scope of it during the war. Most of our settlements are further north. It is too dangerous within Víldurlant to expand. That is where people like us come in. I work for my uncle, taking care of dirty jobs in places most men will not go.»
«But surely, you would prefer to keep yourself safe.»
«In an ideal world, perhaps. But in this one, not everyone is lucky enough to be the son of a king.» He stood in a defensive stance. «You are in Brømkhald now, Sunderish fool. And you need to survive out here. We are going to spar, and you will do as I say. Understood?»
I took a breath, my hand shaking a little as I held the sword. «R-right.» I cleared my throat. «Right. Understood.»
He inclined his head. «First of all, two hands.»
I faltered, bringing my other hand to the hilt. “Two hands.”
«Now, swing at me.» At my hesitation, he sighed. «Go on. Swing. I assure you, you’re not skilled enough to touch me.»
«It is not me striking you that I am worried about,» I huffed, trying to remember how Captain Fritz taught me to stand. I was squeezing the hilt of the sword tight in my hands, and I proceeded with my first swing with all my skill behind it.
Quicker than lightning, my strike was blocked and parried. My wrists ached at how harshly the blades collided. At the same time, I felt an intense rush as I stared at Auðunar, losing my breath.
«See? No issue,» he hummed, not even breaking a sweat. «Try again. Like you want to hit me this time.»
I stepped back, still struggling to remember. When I sparred with Tobias, I was quick on my feet. But I also was thirteen years of age with a blunted steel that was dexterous enough to only need one hand. This sword was different. I needed more than just quick feet. I needed force that I did not think I possessed.
I swung again, putting my whole body into it. When it was deflected, my shoulders were tense.
«Do not hurt yourself,» he chuckled. I resumed trying to strike at him, and his parries seemed as simple to him as breathing. And during the spar, he kept critiquing me. «Tighten up here.» He gestured to his abdomen. «Relax your shoulders. Not that much. All right. Better. Try stepping closer as you swing. Get an advantage in. Good...»
I was already out of breath, my arms aching. At some point, Auðunar’s cloak fell from my shoulders. «Th-this is a lot harder than I remember it being, Auðunar.»
«Believe it or not, you are decent,» he mused. «You may be able to beat my youngest brother in a match.»
«Oh?» I sighed in relief. «Well, that is good to know.»
«Right.» He smirked. «He is eleven.»
My face grew hot as I bristled. «Perhaps we should work on a defensive stance, Auðunar?»
«You may want to keep being offensive for a little longer.»
«Nonsense. I trained with the most skilled soldiers in the King’s Army. And I will not have my skills be compared to a boy eleven years of age—»
I flinched when Auðunar suddenly struck hard, thrusting his sword forward. I just barely parried, the sword nearly knocked from my hands. Our blades clashed with a metallic screech.
Auðunar watched me with narrowed eyes. “You were saying?”
I gulped. “I-I was not ready.”
“Your enemy will not wait for you to be ready, Sunderish fool. Focus.” He struck out with another swift motion towards my legs.
My next parry was still weak, and I barely had a moment before he came at me once more with another swing towards my side. I found with annoyance that my current vision made it difficult to see the world around me and judge where to keep parrying and where his swings were coming from. I saw nothing from my right side with the eyepatch on, after all.
By the end of the spar, my body was sore, and my hand was bruised when deflecting too harshly and smacking my hand against the hilt of Auðunar’s blade. Infuriatingly, Auðunar did not look the least bit perturbed. He just tucked his sword back into its scabbard and rolled his shoulders.
“So?” I was panting, trying not to look so winded. “How did I do?”
«So long as you don’t have to deflect anything, you might not die.»
«What?» I scrunched my nose. «That does not give much hope for me.»
«You are working with disadvantages,» he said. «Low stamina, weak arms, and one eye. We can keep working on it up until the night before the raid.»
I frowned, making sure the cloak was back around my shoulders. «May I ask why we are raiding this so-called camp in the first place?»
He glanced over. «Does it matter?»
«To me, it does. I paid you and your company to protect me, so I would like to not die and have that pay be a waste.»
Auðunar snorted. «And for the last time, we will get you to Berusær, after I prove to my uncle that Halmund Paulsson’s head is lobbed off from his shoulders and his Grey Dogs have been dealt with.»
«While I do not know what Halmund Paulsson or these so-called ‘Grey Dogs’ did to deserve a raid thrust upon them, you had better keep me alive.» With the blade still in my hands, I levelled it at Auðunar’s abdomen. I kept it hovering there. «I deserve forty marks’ worth of protection, Auðunar Thrandsson.»
He stared down at the blade for a moment, and he soon gave me a small smirk. «How about this? Give me twenty more, and I will make sure you never die.»
I blanched. «What?»
«It’s not that difficult, Sunderish fool. You are worried about getting killed out here. But, if you pay me twenty more marks, I will be a guardian to you.»
«But I am not made of platinum!»
He shrugged. «Twenty platinum marks, and you will never meet another man in Brømkhald more loyal than I.» He crossed his arms.
I stared at him, flushed as I was trying to think quickly. There was no way that I would last long in Brømkhald without his protection. He was right. I was hopeless with a blade. He was the most qualified of this company to keep me safe. But not for twenty marks. Absolutely not. «How about three platinum marks?»
He outright scoffed. «Come now, you one-eyed fool. You can do better than that.» He turned to leave me.
«W-wait!» He stopped as I called after him. «Five platinum marks.»
He turned to regard me. «Eighteen marks.»
I winced. «Seven.»
«Fifteen.»
«Ten.»
«Deal.»
«Ele—» I stopped. “Wait, deal?”
He nodded. «I’ll do it for ten.» He held out his hand, and I started to reach for my coin purse. «No, your hand first.»
«O-oh.» I stammered while reaching out to shake it. I looked around to make sure no one noticed before dropping the ten platinum marks from my purse into his open palm. «A pleasure doing business with you.»
«It helps that you pay so handsomely.»
«You will not think so once my purse comes up empty.»
«We will wait for when that time comes.» Auðunar left me with that, standing in the middle of the camp with his cloak around my shoulders and his sword in my hand.
Notes:
Translations:
Eldhellír: The Brømkhaldic term for the phrase, "Blazing Hells."
Chapter 10: Mícheil
Summary:
Mícheil regrettably finds himself lingering too much on the past.
NSFW
Notes:
Full disclosure, this was supposed to be a "less is more" sex scene, but it quickly turned into something else entirely. I blame Sleep Token (Specifically "The Summoning" and "Ascensionism"). You can thank them instead, if you want.
Declan does not practice safe binding (trans men and transmascs, NEVER use bandages to bind your chest. Don't be like Declan.)
Content Warnings:
Homophobia (including the use of an antiquated slur), internalized biphobia, toxic masculinity, gender dysphoria, internalized transphobia, unsafe binding practices, past child abuse, referenced alcoholism**Also, for a bit of context, Mícheil uses language to describe Declan's body that Declan himself would use. Declan as a character prefers a blend of amab and afab language to describe his own body and his genitals.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Mícheil
“Captain Dunaidh?”
I blinked, glancing behind me when I was called. One of my newer recruits, Officer Uljahn Pendry, had his pike at the ready and shuffled his feet.
“Officer, you must stand at attention when addressing a superior,” I teased. “Legs straight.”
He faltered and did as he was told. “Major Kastil needs to speak with you.”
The first thing I felt was dread. “…Did he say what for?”
What had I done now? If it was about Colm’s gauntlets getting thrown into the latrine, I had nothing to do with it. This time.
“Don’t know, Captain. But I saw a coach pull in this morning. Could be related.”
I maintained my posture, though if I wasn’t careful, my knees could start shaking. “Thank you. I’ll see him at once.”
I stepped away. I tried to take deep breaths, heading back into my tent. That did nothing to calm my nerves. Who else was here? Was it Colonel Vaughn? One of the royals? What if it was Father? The thought made my skin crawl. He shouldn’t know I was here. I tried to remember if he owned a coach that warranted an excited buzz.
“Mícheil, must you wake me up every time you come in here?”
I blinked, looking down at where Declan was fidgeting in his bedroll. He rubbed his eyes and sat up.
“Sorry.” I blushed, rubbing the back of my neck. “It’s Major Kastil. He wants to see me, and he’s got friends.”
That had him waking up a little more. “You didn’t put Colm’s gauntlets in the latrine again, did you?”
“No. And I resent the accusation,” I snorted. “But Uljahn says he’s got friends with him. I dunno what for.”
“What if it’s about the Sergeant’s examinations?” He sat up, wincing when he shifted a certain way.
“Dammit, Declan, you slept in your wrappings again!” I knelt down to his level. “Come now, you dolt. Sit up.”
“I’m fine,” he muttered as he tugged off his tunic.
“No, you ain’t. Remember last time?”
“Look. It really wasn’t that bad.”
“Two bruised ribs is not fine. I hate to disagree with you.” I waited for him to give me a nod before I started helping him take them off. “You think so? The Sergeant’s examinations, I mean… I probably got the shittiest marks.”
“You’re too hard on yourself,” Declan snorted. “If Colm Sealy can pass, then you certainly can.” He looked down at his chest once the wrappings were removed. Thankfully, there were no bruises this morning. “See? I was fine.”
“No, you were lucky.” I got up, running my hands through my hair. My breathing was still a little too rapid. “Don’t do it again, y’hear me?”
He smirked, giving a half-hearted salute with a hand at his brow. “Aye, future Sergeant in the King’s Army.”
“Shut it,” I laughed. “All right.” Another deep breath. “All right. I’m going.”
“Good luck, Dunaidh.”
Meeting with Major Kastil was never a pleasant experience. He was the hardest on me, even harder than Major Druiminn. But I tried to stay calm. The worst thing I could do was show fear. I’d made that mistake before. And upon entering his tent, I was further concerned at seeing not just him but Colonel Vaughn and Grand Marshal Corfield, the commanding chief of the entire King’s Army.
“Captain Mícheil Dunaidh? Son of Sir Hamish Dunaidh, the Bladesinger?”
“A-aye.” I saluted, my heart hammering faster than a rabbit’s.
The Grand Marshal eyed me up and down after addressing me, squinting. “Beg my pardon, Captain, but the moment I saw your marks, I had to see you personally.”
I gulped. That bad?
Colonel Vaughn chuckled. “Didn’t I tell you, Grand Marshal? He is a perfect fit.”
Perfect fit?
“He’d improved exponentially over the years,” admitted Major Kastil. “I’m sure you’re proud of yourself, Captain.”
“I…” I stammered. “I-I’m sorry, I don’t follow.”
“A modest man, at that,” the Colonel laughed. “Captain Dunaidh, we are here to congratulate you. You had the highest marks out of all the other candidates in this season’s examinations.”
“A near perfect assessment across the board,” supplied the Major. “Impressive work.”
“I-I’m sorry?” I blanched. “Highest marks?”
“I dare say, you have the makings of a Major among our ranks. A pleasure having you promoted.” The Grand Marshal stepped forward. “Come now, lad, at ease.” He held out his hand.
I stared at it like it would bite me. Sheepish, I reached out to shake it but still kept a rigid posture.
He had a firm grip. “Congratulations, Sergeant. We will have your battalion arranged first thing on the morrow.”
“Y-yes, Grand Marshal.” I managed to smile, my shoulders relaxing. “Th-thank you, sir. It’s an honour.”
“Of course, Sergeant Dunaidh. You have made your father and all of Sunderland mighty proud this day.”
I tried not to let my face fall. Out of all the things my father felt for me, pride was never one of them.
I was still in a daze when going back to the tent, holding my new uniform. I must’ve been gawping like a fish for what felt like hours, and soon word would spread of my promotion, if it hadn’t already. But there was one person I wanted to tell over anyone else.
“Mícheil!” Finn stopped me with a grin, Tobias standing alongside him. “Is it true?”
I blushed but tried to focus on where my tent was. “Aye. Here’s my new uniform.”
“Well, congrats, you bastard!” Tobias clapped me on the shoulder with a grin. “Don’t lose sight of us on the bottom, now.”
“I didn’t even know you did the examinations this year.”
“I didn’t wanna say anything in case it didn’t go nowhere, Finn.” I fidgeted. “I should get my stuff in my tent.”
“Don’t let us slow you down,” Finn smiled. “Best of luck to you, Sergeant.”
“We’ll tell Arthur and get some grog for ya.” Tobias gave a playful salute before sauntering off, leaving me to continue about my way.
Entering my tent, I saw that Declan was still dressed down but now sharpening his sword. He recently had his hair cropped and shaved, only leaving some fringe at the top and front to get into his face. When he was hard at work, his brow furrowed and his nose would scrunch up when he was frustrated. This was one of those times.
“It’s sharp enough,” I teased.
He started, shooting me a glare. “Mícheil, you nearly made me cut myself.” He dropped his whetstone.
“Liar,” I grinned. “I know you better than to get yerself nicked like that.”
“Well.” He puffed his cheeks. “You’re in a good mood. I take it you weren’t framed for causing mischief.”
“Not this time.” My shoulders felt rigid. “You were right, actually. It was about the examinations.”
Declan paused, eyeing the bundle right away. “So…?”
“I-I passed.” Saying it to him aloud made it real. “Declan, I passed.”
He stood straight up, grinning from ear to ear. “You passed?”
“I-I did. I passed.”
“You passed!” He cheered, quick to take me into his arms. “See? I knew you’d get it!”
“Declan, you beautiful bastard!” I laughed and held him close, dropping the new uniform on the ground. “You fantastic, beautiful bastard.”
I didn’t know how close I was to his face, but seeing him smiling and feeling how proud he was of me, I felt too thrilled to stop myself. I gave him a big, excited kiss right on the mouth.
Declan didn’t make any move to push me away. In fact, even though we were both startled, he took hold of my shoulders and pressed firmer kisses to my lips. For a moment, I let myself melt into this, pulled into a rush each time I tried to stammer for breath.
Then, dread seized my gut the moment that a memory I never wanted to relive cropped up in the back of my mind.
A different boy’s lips on mine. A thrill of excitement that one liked me enough to kiss me in the first place. The look of murder in two men’s eyes when they caught us. Fists barrelling, boots cracking against ribs. Cruel laughter.
“Bugger boy.”
My eyes widened, and I pulled back so fast that Declan was in a further daze. His cheeks were flushed, his lips parted.
“I-I’m sorry,” I gasped. “Fuck, I’m so sorry.”
“No. No, it’s all right. Mícheil…” He reached out to take my hand.
I flinched harder. “I’m gonna be sick.”
Declan froze, but he let me run out of the tent.
Battalion Camp Thirteen faced the Wilds on the western side. Everyone was too chicken shit to come out here, except for people that guarded here during the night rotation.
That was where Declan found me, after I’d thrown up and curled myself tight against a tree. It was ringing in my head, over, and over.
“Bugger boy. Bugger boy...”
I heard him sit down, but he didn’t touch me. “Finn was looking for you.”
I said nothing, hugging myself at the knees.
“Do you… want to talk about it?”
I squeezed my eyes shut. “I shouldn’t have done it. I’m sorry. I should’ve read the room a little better.”
“But I’m not upset.” Declan’s eyes were still on me. “We’re still fine.”
I shook my head.
“Mícheil?” His voice sounded small.
That was when I looked at him. He seemed in pain, though it looked like it wasn’t from his ribs.
“Is it because it’s me?”
I blanched. “I-I just…” Sighing, I lowered my head. It could’ve been so easy to tell him what happened. “You didn’t ask for it. And I don’t want you thinkin’ that I saw you in a way that you ain’t.”
“I trust you.” He shifted a bit closer. “If you think about it, I can see why you’d kiss me.”
“I don’t follow.”
“Well.” His cheeks were flushed again. “We’ve been stuck in close quarters for a while. We haven’t gone to town in a few months. You’re pent up, I bet. So, you just got a little too excited, huh?”
That felt wrong. I looked down, seeing his hand just inches away from mine. “I suppose so. Gets awful lonely out here, not havin’ a way to blow off steam.” As soon as I spoke it, I knew I was lying to myself.
“Well, sure,” he snorted, lowering his head. “I get like that too, sometimes. But, well…” He shrugged. “Not many people want a woman pretending to be a man.”
I snapped my head right up. “Where in the blazes do you get an idea like that?”
“Isn’t that what I am?” He frowned. “Too much of a woman to where the other officers don’t listen to me, but too much of a man to scare away anyone that'd wanna fuck a woman.”
There were two modes to Declan, when it came to his manhood. There was the real Declan – confident, strong, and proud of who he was. He held conviction, and he could kick anyone’s arse that dared say he didn’t belong among the rest of us.
Then, there was this Declan – full of doubt and not daring to look at his own shadow. He sometimes said that when this Declan came out, it was because he could feel another set of skin suffocating him. And he couldn’t take that skin off, so it festered.
“That’s just the devil in your head talking,” I grimaced, turning to face him. “Look at me.”
He sighed, straightening up. His eyes couldn’t quite get level with mine, but I could see tears.
“Don’t let whatever happened in that tent make you think I don’t see you. Here. Take my hands.” I held them out, waiting for him to take them. I squeezed them in a gentle grip. “Now, repeat after me.”
He rolled his eyes. “Not this again.” He tried to look away.
“Nope. Look at me.” I waited until he did. “Repeat after me. I am a man.”
Declan shuffled, his palms getting sweaty when clasped with mine.
“Go on.”
He bit his lip. “I am a man.”
I gave him a smile. “I am a self-made man,” I continued.
“I… am a self-made man,” he grumbled.
“I am a brave man.”
He blinked a couple times, his eyes watering. “I am a brave man.”
“A strong man.”
“A-a strong man.” He took a deep breath.
“That’s right,” I grinned. “Declan Sutharlan, you are the best of them. You are as much a man as I am, and nothing your mind will try to tell you is gonna change that. Don’t ever forget it, y’hear?”
He sniffled, shifting closer to give me a hug. “What’d I do to deserve you?”
“Save me.” I held him while he looked back at me. “So. Are we alright?”
“I never said we weren’t.” He chuckled through his tears. “Like I said. I-it happens. And, besides.” He was flustered again. “You’re not that bad a kisser.”
“I wasn’t even trying with that one,” I teased, my face growing warm.
We helped each other up to our feet. “By the way…” Declan walked with me. “If you ever really needed to blow off steam, well…” He cleared his throat. “I-I mean, we could, if you want.”
I blushed brighter. “Declan, come now.”
“No, I’m serious,” he said. “We’re both lonely out here, right? And it won’t have to mean anything. And I wouldn’t want to see any of those other louts’ cocks anyhow.”
That made me laugh. “You’re not just makin’ an offer to make me feel better, are you?”
“You think I’d offer sex just to make you feel better?” When I laughed, he elbowed me in the ribs. “Honestly.”
“Look, I’ll think about it. Alright? So long as you’re being serious.”
Declan was quiet at first, but he leaned into me once we made it back to our tent. “I am.” When he turned to me, he gave me a lopsided smile. “Now, no more sulking. You’re a Sergeant now.”
I smirked, leading us both in and grabbing my new uniform off the ground. “Thanks for helping me study.”
“Oh, I only asked questions.”
“No, seriously.” My smile softened, and I watched his face. “Thank you.”
Declan’s cheeks grew flushed again, and he diverted his eyes. “Aye. You’re welcome…”
* * *
“Just admit it. You’re not looking to do this as some noble cause for peace. You’re just looking for an excuse to talk to Declan because you’re still in love with him!”
I was pulled away from the memory, startled during my walk. Damn Tobias. Damn him for trying to ruin any good memories of him that I had.
He was wrong. He was wrong about why I wanted to do this. It was not because I was in love. I’d do the same for any of those other mages. Declan was just the one that I knew the best. I knew him well enough to try and get through to him. That was all. Tobias was just being an arsehole.
Using the cover of night, I soon arrived in Balhreid and snuck down to the estate. There were several guards posted at different corners of the town, though thankfully I was able to use my key and enter without drawing too much attention.
It was a lot worse for wear in here than I thought. The southern wing was worthless, after a hole in the roof caused too much damage. The master bedroom, however, looked well enough. It was a little dusty, and I could hear scratching in the walls from rodents and pests, but I could fix this place up. Perhaps I could use materials from the southern wing to save the rest of the home.
I had enough flint to light one candle for the evening. I would have to go to Kressie in the morning. But before anything else, I made sure the chest was hidden under the bed. I couldn’t trust the Inquisitors not to try and raid the estate if I wasn’t there.
There were a lot of memories in this house, and almost none of them were good. This was the famed home of Sir Hamish the Bladesinger, the most ruthless knight in that band of fools. Ruthless and cold, he cleaved through traitors and vagrants threatening Sunderland’s peace. But sometimes, The Knights of the Crown’s ideas of peace were skewed. That didn’t seem to matter to Sir Hamish.
The only thing he loved more than spilling blood was drowning in his drink. That there was a man that never should’ve been a father. But he was mine.
Father was never kind. I never knew love from him. But after my mum and sister died in the childbed, his cruelty was emboldened. I had no safety, no barrier. There was no place I could hide within the home. And there were soon no places to hide among the grounds.
We used to have a large conifer close to where the farmers tended the fields. A great owl liked to build its nest there, and on nights when Father favoured the bottle, I’d sneak out there to climb up and talk to it. It was my friend, before Declan. When Father found out about it, he ordered for the tree to be cut down. I could see the great stump of what’s left of it out the bedroom window.
He tried teaching me all he knew about being a knight—about being a man. Those lessons stuck around for long enough, but I thought that I was drawing them away with my mirth. As it turned out, some of those jests were a way for Sir Hamish’s spirit to live on. And I was disgusted.
I truly didn’t want Tobias to hate himself with those terrible jokes I made about him and Prince Lucian. Looking back, they were entirely uncalled for and downright nasty, especially with me being bent myself. But I thought they were helping me. After all, it helped me not to think of when I was called a “bugger boy.”
It helped me forget about when my father and Sir Bartholemew beat me for kissing the tanner boy. I still don’t know how they found out about it. We tried to be careful. But I was thankful that Captain Fritz found me and took me in not long after that.
Father’s taunts and barrelling insults rang through the walls. They closed in round me. Years of pain and anguish were built into this house.
A knock at the door made me jump.
No one in Balhreid was supposed to know I was here. How did word travel that fast? I reached for my sword, keeping my steps light as I went down to stand behind the door.
“Who goes there?” I muttered, trying to disguise my voice. Or my dread.
“Mícheil, open up! It’s cold out here.”
I blinked, propping my sword against the wall and hurrying to answer the door. “…Brigit?”
There Brigit Sutharlan was, rubbing her hands together as she tried to warm herself up. Her curly hair was a mess, her cheeks flushed from the cold. She gave me a teasing smile. “Did I come too late at night?”
I sputtered, stepping back. “Hurry, come in.” Once we were both inside, I shut the door and locked it. “What are you doing ’ere?” I gave her one of my cloaks to bundle her up.
“Arthur told me what you were planning.” She watched me for a moment, clinging tightly to the cloak. “Is it true? Is my brother alive?”
I winced, rubbing the back of my neck. “Yes. But he’s… changed.”
“But you’re going to help him?”
“I very well will try,” I insisted.
“And that’s what I’m doing here.” She gave me a tight hug. “You shouldn’t be sleeping in this crummy place all by yourself.”
I blanched but obliged her with a gentle hug. “Thanks, Brigit.”
“Besides, you need to make up for being a complete arsehole this summer,” she teased.
My cheeks reddened. “S-sorry.” I cleared my throat. “Do you want my father’s room? I can stay in my old room.”
She shook her head. “I believe there is at least one other knight’s room still intact. They had the better beds.”
“How would you know?” I snorted.
She shrugged. “An abandoned estate is ripe for exploring.”
“Fair enough.” I led her up the stairs. “Watch your step. I gotta make some repairs in here. And don’t go in the southern wing.”
“Aye, Sergeant.”
“Brigit,” I laughed, lightly nudging her shoulder as I led her to one of the old rooms. Even if I never wanted to be back here again, at least I wouldn’t be alone.
* * *
It took a fortnight before I made the decision that would end up changing my life.
I was frustrated after a long meeting with Colm and Major Kastil. Working with him turned out to be a right slog. He was already a better Sergeant than me in every way, even if I had the higher marks.
Declan had the night off. He was resting in our tent, keeping a lamp on so he could read his father’s book. He liked to do that whenever he missed his family. We had a larger tent now, thanks to my promotion, and I still only wanted the two of us to share it. When he heard me come in, he gave me a weary smile and closed the book.
“Rough night?” he murmured.
I nodded, my hands shaking from the nerves of what I wanted to say. “I don’t wanna talk about it right now.”
“That’s fine,” he insisted and sat up. “You alright?”
I nodded, pulling off my coat. “Declan? That offer’s still open, right?”
“What offer?” It took him a moment, but I could tell when it clicked. His face turned bright red, and he lowered his head. “Aye. It is.”
“Do you think…” I groaned softly, already feeling stupid for wanting to ask. “Never mind.”
“No. Talk to me…” He reached up, holding out one of his hands.
I looked at it before taking it, nervous about squeezing it. “Can we… blow off steam tonight?”
He watched me for a moment and nodded his head, his cheeks still flushed. “All right…” He pulled back a bit to open up his bedroll, his hands shaking now too as he held them both out to me this time. “You should probably know I’ve never done this before. I don’t know what’s good.”
I took his hands after settling on my knees in front of him. “We can figure out what works for you,” I assured him. I helped him onto his back. “Now, you’re sure this is all right?”
He nodded, giving me a shy smile that was rare on his face. He guided me slowly to kiss his lips. It was relieving that he was just as nervous as I was.
It started out slow. I took his cheek in my hand, each kiss light and careful. That was easy enough. He coaxed me on top of him, and I shivered as his breaths wavered. A soft moan tremored against my lips.
“Bugger boy.”
I winced, breaking the kiss and shifting to distract myself. I trailed my lips down to his neck and along his collar, taking in his little gasps all the while. I sat up so we could both pull off our tunics, and my hands couldn’t stop shaking when I helped him unravel his bindings.
His chest rose and fell in a shaky rhythm, and he took my face in his hands to pull me close for another long kiss. My heart was racing. I wouldn’t mind kissing him like this all the time.
“Bugger boy.”
When I pulled back again, I grunted and hid my face in his shoulder. I didn’t want him to see my pain. Even when Father was miles away from me, his voice got into my head when I didn’t want it.
“Mícheil.” Declan touched the back of my head.
“I’m fine,” I hissed. “It’ll pass.”
“No, it won’t.” He turned my face to make me look at him. “What’s going on?”
I diverted my eyes. “If I tell you, it’d kill the mood.”
“Well, what you’re doing now is killing it enough,” he teased. “Talk to me.”
The confession sat down hard on my chest. It was constricting. “Y-you figured out that I’m bent, right?”
“A bit of a crass way to say it,” he chuckled, “but I’d hope that you are.”
“W-well.” I tried to distract myself. Running my hand up and down his arm helped, and I felt him shiver under me. “I kissed a boy, back in Gurindeck. He was kind. His mother was the widow of a tanner, and he and I liked to sneak away from the square to kiss. We did it a few times.” I sighed. “Sir Bartholemew lived out there. He hated anything different, so we had to be careful. And I thought we were. But I guess we chose the wrong place to meet.”
Declan’s face hardened. “Did those wolves hurt you?”
I looked away. “Just him. And Father.”
His breath caught. “He found you? Mícheil…”
My eyes burned. “I thought I was gonna die. He was so angry. They roughed the tanner boy up quite a bit, but me?” I huffed, fighting tears. “He broke a couple of my ribs. Bruised some others. He messed up my face. I thought he beat me before, but that?” I gave his arm a gentle squeeze. “A-and they kept calling me a ‘bugger boy.’ Over and over. ‘Bugger boy, bugger boy, bugger boy—’”
“Mícheil.”
I snapped out of it, tears blurring my vision. “I’m sorry.”
He stroked my cheek once more. “Why didn’t you tell me this sooner?”
“I-I dunno. Thought you’d laugh at me, I guess.”
“Why would I do that?”
“Everyone else did. The other Knights of the Crown. Their serfs, too. Even the tanner boy pushed me away, blaming me for the shame he felt. He went on to marry a nice girl, by the way. They’re happy, while I’m just…”
Declan’s hand was still gentle. “There is nothing wrong with you, Mícheil. I hate your father for what he’s put you through. Fuck him for ever putting that into your head. He’s the one that deserves to be laughed at.”
“But I couldn’t get away from him.”
“That doesn’t mean you’re any weaker or less of a man.” He leaned up to press a kiss to my brow. “You deserve to feel however you want about whomever you want. Man, woman, neither, doesn’t matter. Don’t let him make you feel so afraid.”
My body relaxed on top of him. My tension eased, and I kissed his lips. “I wished you were there afterwards. I needed you. I-I tried to remember some of the herbs your Da used and how you wrapped the bandages, but it wasn’t the same. I missed when you did it. I missed you.”
“Well, I’m here now,” he whispered, “in whatever way you want me to be.”
“Right now?” I kissed him again, my hand moving to his waist. “This is good.”
“Good.” He gave me a smile.
We tried those soft kisses again. Now that I told him what happened, Father’s voice was gone. Relieved, I gave him more heated kisses, shivering and taking in his breathless sounds. It helped me feel bold enough to strip off the rest of my clothes. Declan let me pull off his breeches, though he squeezed his thighs shut once bare.
“Declan…” I smiled and kissed his neck once more, teasing with a little nip. That had him gasping, his fingers tangling in my hair. I got the sense he was afraid to make much noise. Every time I heard his voice get higher, he would cover his mouth and look away. “You alright?”
He wheezed, his fingers curling around his jaw. “Just tryin’ not to be loud, is all.”
“Don’t be nervous. It’s just me,” I grinned.
Declan scoffed. “Bold of you, when you’re built like that.”
“Oh, that’s not fair.” I started to laugh. “We don’t have to do this.”
“But I want to.” As he said it, he at last parted his legs. He let me settle between them.
I ran my hands up and down his thighs, watching his own tension begin to fall away. I gave him more kisses. As I heard a soft sigh against my mouth, one of my hands moved lower until it was right between his legs.
He broke the kiss with a gasp as I stroked him. He glanced down, flustered when taking a hold of my wrist. “N-not there,” he shivered. He guided my hand up, my fingers careful against his skin. “Here.” His thighs parted wider. My strokes there had him nodding, and he covered his mouth again.
He kept guiding me. Firm strokes against his small cock in quick circles felt best. He was still doing his damnedest to keep quiet, like moaning too loud or too high was something he shouldn’t be doing. I tried to reassure him with more kisses against his lips, his neck, or down his collar. That helped some. I focused on how his body rocked to chase more friction, how his head would press back as his thighs trembled. Anything to make him feel like that was something I knew I needed to keep doing.
Declan was still too tense when I tried to go further, just pressing one finger inside him. He gripped my wrist once more, shaking his head.
“What’s wrong?” I whispered, apologetic when he coaxed me to stroke him again.
“N-nervous,” he muttered. “My own damn fault. I keep overthinkin’ it.”
I looked down at our nethers and let him squeeze my wrist again. “Can I do something else to help you relax?”
“If you think it’ll work.” He sighed. “Gods, I can’t even fuck right.”
“Don’t feel bad about it. It’s a learning curve.”
Declan quirked a brow. “Sex has a learning curve?”
“Not a very steep one.” I grinned when that made him smile. “Do you trust me?”
He nodded.
I kissed his lips once more before I began my descent. I’d done this one other time, and I quite enjoyed it. And I hoped Declan would, too. At first, he was shivering with each kiss I pressed to his body, but he started to tense up once more when my trail went past his navel and against the coarse hair at his groin.
“M-Mícheil?”
I glanced back up. “Don’t like this?”
His teeth dug into his lower lip. “I-I just didn’t expect it.”
I waited for him to relax again before I kept going. I settled myself easily between his legs, keeping them spread. I made sure he always knew where my mouth was, each kiss slowly bringing a trail from his thigh to the centre. Part of me did worry that he wouldn’t like this, that I wouldn’t be good enough.
But this was Declan. Declan would tell me if he didn’t like something. He wouldn’t let me feel that doubt. I wanted nothing more than to know what it was like to be with a man like this, and I found myself mighty glad that the first man I was with was Declan.
The response was immediate, almost startling. As my lips and tongue worked lightly at his cock, right where he guided my hand when we began, one of his hands grabbed at my hair. His fingers curled into my scalp, and before I could pull back and ask what was wrong, he pressed my face closer and nearly smothered me.
I didn’t expect him to take control like that, but I was smitten, moaning into his skin as my mouth worked him. This time, when I tried to use my fingers, there was far less tension, especially once I kept teasing him with my tongue again. I worked both my mouth and my hand in tandem. His thighs shook, and one sound I was desperate to hear finally rang out like a song.
He was moaning.
His voice was breaking with each gasp, and he was no longer covering his mouth. After all, one hand was tangled right into my curls, and now the other was slapping at the bedroll for some kind of leverage. I was getting riled up so much that I felt I could get myself off from all this alone.
He tipped over the edge faster than I expected, squeezing his thighs around my head as he shuddered and cried out. I didn’t even care that it was more likely than not that the rest of the camp could hear us. Let them.
Declan collapsed on the bedroll, his legs going limp. I rested my head on his hip, my fingers now lazily still inside him. “You alright?”
“Fuck,” he gasped with a grin. “I-I never thought it’d be like that.”
My heart began to swell. I didn’t know what it was. His giddiness, how relaxed he was, or perhaps even just the sound of his voice. But I felt something in that moment. A spark. Something that’d been buried the moment that my father first called me a “bugger boy.”
Declan was perfect. He was handsome and lovely all at once. My life was brighter with him around. For years, I felt it. But now it had a name.
Love.
It frightened me, but Declan’s smile pushed away the storm. He helped me move back up so I could kiss him, and I chuckled when he scrunched his nose. One of his legs moved around my waist, teasing me. He brought my hand to settle on his chest, right over his heart. It was thundering under my palm.
“You’re shaking…” Declan held my face, kissing my lips.
I grinned into the kiss, finding closeness with Declan to be so easy. “I-I think I’m nervous too,” I admitted. “Never been with another man before.”
“Do you… like it?” His smile was wavering, but he still held my face.
I nodded my head, almost too eager. “Never had it this good.”
“That so?” he teased. “You haven’t even put your cock in me yet.”
“Don’t matter.” I kissed him again. “When you’re ready, I’ll see how much better it’ll get.”
“All this pressure,” Declan chuckled. He took a couple shaky breaths, his body relaxing once more.
Admittedly, it took a couple tries before I could press inside him. He was nervous. I was nervous. It muddled our focus. I was afraid of hurting him. He was afraid of disappointing me. But as we kissed each other, pressed our bodies close, and held one another, we found some comfort. It’d be alright, no matter what happened. We’d be alright.
The sensation alone had me gasping, my face pressed against his neck. I couldn’t move. Declan’s legs were squeezing too tight around me for me to try. He clung to me, his nails digging into my shoulders. I held him right at his hips. And when at last I could grind and begin to thrust, he moved with me.
I startled myself from how loose my voice was as I moved, shuddering gasps and deep moans muffled against his skin. He answered me with that perfect song of his. I could listen to it for my whole life and never get tired of it. And when his jaw wasn’t slack to let out these wordless sounds, he was saying my name. My name, over, and over in between his moans.
And as our bodies rocked and writhed together, the both of us too breathless and far too loud, I knew that this wasn’t going to be the only time I’d want this. Far from it. This wasn’t just blowing off steam. Not to me. Even if it was clumsy, trial and error, and a bit uncomfortable at times—on part of our muscles cramping up from how wide I had his legs spread—I wouldn’t have changed anything about that first night with him.
I cried when my pleasure crested, too stunned to move. And as my body shuddered, all at once afraid that I was too vulnerable, Declan held me. And we learned how to breathe again together.
* * *
“Bugger boy.”
“You fuckers didn’t bother looking for me!”
Stop.
“I don’t talk to people that leave me for dead.”
“You worthless wandocht.”
Stop!
“Bugger boy.”
I woke up drenched in sweat, shooting up in bed. My face was soaked with tears. I couldn’t take it. I couldn’t take this grief consuming me in my dreams. Whether I was awake or asleep, it followed me.
I hoped I was right. I hoped it was still Declan. I hoped the man that I loved was still in there.
He hated me.
He didn’t need to say it for me to know it. It was in the way he looked at me. Father’s hatred was blunt and ever present, beating me to a pulp until I was nothing. Declan’s was a molten hot iron stabbing itself right through my heart. I wanted it to stop. I didn’t want him to hate me.
I truly hoped that Declan was still in there. I couldn’t handle losing him again. For the first time in weeks, since the man I thought was my friend snapped me out of my spiral, I longed for the bottle.
I wondered not for the first time if Father truly felt peace after it was empty. If he did, then I wanted that sweet oblivion, too.
Notes:
Friends with Benefits that quickly turn into feelings has entered the chat.
Chapter 11: Declan
Summary:
Declan reflects on what he has lost, what he gave up, but also what he can gain, after he is given a proposition from Gurindeck that could hopefully shift his focus back to where it needs to be.
Notes:
Another chapter that ended up longer than I expected it to be, jeez.
I have for you a ship playlist as a peace offering.Expand for Content Warnings
Content Warnings for gender dysphoria (both minor and graphic), unsafe binding practices, body dysmorphia, implied trans pregnancy, deadnaming (use of a past name before coming out and another use after coming out that is quickly corrected), self harm, misgendering, child abuse, referenced alcoholism, trauma flashback, implied torture, emotional manipulation
Chapter Text
Declan
Sleep was almost impossible lately. My mind was more troubled than I expected it to be. But focusing on tasks at hand helped keep my wits about me.
Within the first fortnight, I only turned in two husks. One was an older tailor in Kressie that refused to comply with the tithe. The other was a widow. She didn’t have anything left to her name. At least, she had a pulse. That would be more than enough for His Majesty.
But I was right that it was something I could overcome.
“Boris Miller, you are hereby under arrest. Due to your disregard for His Majesty’s tithe and your refusal to willingly contribute to the safety of Sunderland, you have forfeited your rights as a subject and must carry out your sentence under the servitude of His Royal Highness, King Iantinus the Third.”
“Jole Benson…”
“Friya Byrch…”
“Nellyn Hayward…”
I would have a far better report to send this week, but that did not matter much with what Mistress Morwenna would have to say with this first sum of earnings.
“Only six husks?” Sinéad huffed. “Far cry from twenty-six, hm?”
I frowned, counting the coins we received this morning. “We should have all the eastern towns leveled before the start of the new year, right?”
Niclas stifled some light laughter, covering his mouth.
Sinéad just glowered. “With the next hunting season proven to be scarce, it should not be long at all.” She looked out in the distance, where what remained of the Wilds was shriveled and dry. “Not long at all, indeed.”
As we were about to leave and start this week’s sweep, a group of guards approached us. Always silent, always smelling of rot. Three of them carried chests, while a fourth also held a letter.
“Oh, look. Our first reward,” Sinéad hummed, instructing them to enter the outpost. “It should be easy to tell which one is yours, Inquisitor Sutharlan. It’s the lightest one.”
I winced, shaking my head and sidling up to my chest. I didn’t need to count. This only accounted for my first two husks, for there were forty platinum marks. Meanwhile, Sinéad was gloating while counting out each individual one.
Niclas was not counting, just sitting back and leaning against his chest. “It’s alright, you know. You’re having a hard time.”
“I am not having a hard time,” I muttered, clenching my jaw. “Sinéad just got lucky that most of the people she interacted with refused to comply.”
“I was struggled at first, too.”
“You turned in ten.”
He blushed. “Well, I got lucky with three of them, is all.”
I sighed, realizing that the guard holding the letter was still there, standing right in front of me. There was a moment where I felt dread. Perhaps this was Mistress Morwenna ordering me to return to Gurindeck for my own bout of questioning.
“I guess that’s for you?” He reached out, grabbing the letter for me. “Just take deep breaths.”
I rolled my eyes. “Thank you, Niclas.” He still settled beside me, not exactly hovering but just there for when I opened the letter.
12 Sanguinus in the Year 1271
Gurindeck, Sunderland
Inquisitor Sutharlan,
I expected more progress from you during your stay in the east. Two husks in a fortnight is not an adequate average. Closed within the chest are your earnings, however miniscule they appear to be.
However, you do have another opportunity to aid His Majesty, should you find your primary assignment too difficult for you.
Dame Siobhan is concerned about the intentions and treachery of a man previously known as Colonel Ewan Druiminn of the Usurper’s Army, a long-time detractor of His Majesty. He is stationed in the east, though we could not gather his whereabouts. However, both he and his son, Tobias Druiminn, have begun a rebel group with other former soldiers of the Usurper’s Army.
We have called their group, “The Talons,” for they still wear the Usurper’s crest. The Talons are infiltrating different postage routes and outposts throughout Sunderland. One of them has been accosted, though fortunately their efforts were unsuccessful.
The Talons are a dangerous group. You and Our Lady have told us that you encountered Tobias Druiminn in Kressie. Based upon that, we suspect that their main sanctuary must be within the east. Many of these rebels could be there.
You are still responsible for meeting your previous obligations with the tithe. However, you will also be responsible for finding out more about The Talons, gathering a list of members, and potentially turning each one in for a more substantial reward.
Remember what we have done for you, Inquisitor Sutharlan. Your loyalty has been invaluable, but we cannot encourage inadequacy or failure. Our generosity is finite, if you continue to be ungrateful. We may be forced to relinquish some of our more charitable acts towards you, as much as that would deal us great pain.
Each week, you will write what you gather and send that information to the Castle of Gurindeck directly. It is our hope that we will gather enough to subdue this rebel group in one fell swoop.
Do not fail.
Mistress Morwenna
Head Thanamancer of His Majesty’s Inquisition
“What does it say?”
Niclas must’ve noticed how pale I was. I cleared my throat, covering the latter half of the letter. “Here.” I showed him the proposition but urged him not to draw attention to it with Sinéad being on the other side of the room.
“…A special assignment?” Niclas kept his voice at a whisper. “You survived an encounter with the Druiminns?”
“You could hardly call that an encounter,” I huffed, folding up the letter. “Remember Dunaidh?”
“Aye, Sergeant Dunaidh.” He nodded. “Your former partner.”
“He was never my partner,” I hissed, my face growing hot. I jerked my head to make sure Sinéad wasn’t listening before clearing my throat. “Anyways, Dunaidh was the one that tackled me to the ground and punched me in the head.” I frowned at the memory.
“Grisly business. I worked with him before I was left for dead,” he said. “He was good friends with the Druiminns, I heard. It wouldn’t surprise me if he was part of these Talons.”
At that, my stomach twisted in knots. Would Dunaidh be with The Talons? Come to think of it, why else would he be back here in the east? He’d moved to Gurindeck before those Trethian skirmishes for a reason.
“Though, frankly, I thought Sergeant Dunaidh would’ve been better than that,” he continued. “He was loyal to the Army, not the Usurper’s Crown.”
“Being in that army made you loyal to the Usurper’s Crown. We know that well enough, Niclas.” I grimaced as I turned my body a certain way, feeling an ache in my chest where I had my bindings wrapped. After what happened with that blacksmith, I’d been wrapping myself tighter again.
“You alright, Declan?”
“Fine. I’m fine.” I got up. “Let me take my measly forty marks up to my room.”
Niclas reached out, taking hold of one of my arms. “Be careful around those Talons. I’d hate to see you get hurt dealing with them.”
“I’ll never put myself in too much danger, Niclas.” I let him hold my arm, at least for now. “Thank you for worrying.”
“You’re one of the only Inquisitors left from my time in the Army. We have to stick together. No one knows how bad we had it with them like we do.”
I inclined my head, pained by the memories. I had a rough start in the King’s Army. Even though no one ever made any untoward threats towards me, I always stayed with Mícheil in his tent just to be safe. I was the only self-made man there, and I had a lot to prove. With the Inquisition, I never had to worry about that. I was less afraid of them doubting me or my skills.
“You’re right,” I assured him with a nod. “We have to stick together.”
“Will you two stop meandering in here and get moving?” Sinéad called to us from the doorway as she pulled her hair back. “We are here to maintain order, not exchange pleasantries like a couple of girls.”
“I beg your pardon?” The way my body stiffened was so visceral that even Niclas winced.
She seemed to not notice how I felt. Or care. “Well, now that I have your attention, let’s move.”
Niclas sighed. “Once we both show better progress, she’ll go easier on us,” he said after she was out the door.
“She’s not the one I need to prove anything to,” I reminded him with a mutter. “I’ll be in Balhreid after I put this shit away.”
“I’ll cover for you.”
I stalked into my room, hauling the chest behind me. There was nowhere really to stick it than right against the far wall. But the more that I moved my body around in all sorts of angles shifting and hefting shit around, the more uncomfortable my torso felt.
Grumbling in frustration, I tore off my robes, wrenching with the bindings. The wrappings were too tight. I could feel it in the way my chest ached whenever I tried to breathe in. I had a broken mirror in my room, and I used that to try and help me fix them.
My eyes lingered a little too long on my body, making me drop the bandages. I never liked what I saw anymore. I would always first look straight at my left breast, right over my heart. There was a large, jagged burn mark there. A brand. I didn’t remember how I got it. The Trethians must’ve done something to me while I was wounded, marking me as something dead for them to desecrate.
I had many other scars, too, like the one on my face. They were all marks from failed spells, wounds from the skirmishes, sparring matches between the other mages gone wrong. Things like that. But they were everywhere. My skin was marred with dark, vein-like patterns. They were on my legs, as well. One of my hands moved to my waist, and my fingers stroked each individual scar. They shook a little too much when lingering on paler marks near my stomach and hips.
That was enough insecure self-molestation for one day.
I finished with my wrappings, quick to shield myself away from my reflection and pull my robes back on. If I wanted to stay on Mistress Morwenna’s good side, I needed to keep my mind present. No more dwelling on questioning gaps in the past. I couldn’t afford to be distracted.
But my mind was forced to drift, whether I liked it or not.
* * *
My father named me. It was a name fit for a queen, he’d said. He had a couple of characters in his books named after me. And though that name would soon no longer fit me, he was never upset about it. In fact, he helped me pick my new name, sitting with me until we found the right one. He always insisted that I was going to do great things. I had his cunning mind and my Da’s courage. And for the longest time, I believed that.
On the day Brigit was born, I was nearly five. I remember pacing outside the hut as my Da cried in pain, and I begged my father to help him feel better as he was fetching some water.
“I cannot help him,” he’d told me. “He’s working hard in a way that I will never understand. The best we both can do is be strong for him, be brave with him, and pray for him. You can do that. Right, dear?”
And I had nodded, though I would never understand the full weight of what my Da had done for both me and my sister for many years.
I grew up wearing simple skirts, remiss with the way they flowed down to my ankles. It made it hard for me to run. Brigit seemed never to mind them, even when she toddled to and fro outside. Soon, I was taking her with me to fetch eggs for Old Farmer Tiernan, though my Da was incensed that I would take her that far from home when she was only so small. So, I settled with having to wander the path through my neighbors’ yards alone.
I passed Sir Hamish’s estate every day to see Farmer Tiernan. There would always be yelling, always frequent strikes with large sticks or with swords. One day, I even heard shattered glass. Whenever I’d recall with fright to my parents what I’d heard while passing through, they always said never to go near there. I would be all the safer for it.
But one day, around the age of seven, I heard someone being thrown out of the estate.
“No good wretch!” Sir Hamish was a beastly man, tall and severe. He had a gut from his drinking, and his dark beard was always unkempt. “Think long and hard about what a wandocht you are!”
I hadn’t seen at first who he’d thrown out. For a moment, I thought he was talking to nothing. But as I stammered and drifted further from the house, I heard a small voice crying.
I dared to turn around, faltering at the sight of a little boy curled up near a tree stump. He was shaking, rubbing a smarting spot on his face. This poor boy was hurt, and after watching my Da tend to my cuts and scrapes from rough play, I knew that he would be the best person to help him.
Being careful not to be seen by Sir Hamish, I dared to come closer. Just enough so that he could hear me when I’d hiss to get his attention.
“Psst!” The first thing he’d see was my face and unruly hair. It was long and curly back then, almost impossible to untangle and take care of.
The boy flinched, looking up. “Who’s there?” His voice was small, frightened.
“Oi!” I still tried to keep my voice a little quiet, but I waved to him. “Over here.”
He followed the sound of my voice, his eyes widening. He glanced back towards the door, then to me. “Who are you? Y-you shouldn’t be here.”
I shrugged my shoulders. “I’m not on his land. He can’t hurt me.” I came out from my hiding spot a little better so he could see me.
“That won’t stop him.” He sniffled and rubbed at his nose with his sleeve. He had a terrible bruise on his cheek and a cut on his lip.
“I’d love to see him try. My father can take him. He’s a writer!”
That made the boy smile. “A writer’s no match for a knight.”
I scrunched my nose. “My father makes knights in his stories.”
That made him curious. After one more glance at the door, he got up, trembling a little when approaching me. He was a bit taller than me. “You’re not the least bit afraid?”
I shook my head. “Why should I be?”
“He’s the Bladesinger.” He whispered it like a secret. “And he don’t like anyone that can’t fight. And he won’t be soft on you either, just cos you’re a girl.”
“Well, I’ll just have to grow up and be big and strong to fight him myself.” I watched as that made him smile. He had a sweet smile, even when he was reserved and scared. “Do you wanna come home with me?” I asked. “We can fix you right up. And Da makes really good roasted pheasant.”
He started to think about it, but he frowned. “Wait. Ain’t you from the house with two fathers?”
I nodded. “What ’bout it?”
He shrunk a little. “Father says I shouldn’t go near them. Says they’re different.”
“Well, you’re different from us,” I countered. “Differences can be good. If we were all the same, life would be boring! That’s what my Da always says.”
The boy started moving further away from his house as we were speaking. “I don’t know…”
“Your father will never have to find out. But you won’t know how good supper is if you don’t come.” I outstretched my hand. “I’m Deirdre.”
He blinked and just stared at my hand. I still waited for him to take it.
“It won’t bite,” I grinned. “Come on!”
With one final look back at the house, he took my hand. His fingers were shaking a little before he squeezed it with a nervous smile. “I’m Mícheil.”
At the age of ten, I began to notice that something strange was happening to my body. I started to not recognize it. I’d moved around in the world so sure of myself, but suddenly it was changing. I didn’t like it.
When I asked my parents about it, my father was sheepish. My Da nudged him with his elbow, all affectionate like, but he soon took me aside to talk. That was how it struck me that I was born a girl. It didn’t feel real, like some strange joke. I never really saw myself as a girl. Brigit was a girl, not me. But Da never lied to me before.
He explained to me that people changed as they got older. Boys became men, and girls became women. That meant that I was going to one day become a woman. And as I listened, I grew frightened. At first, I thought it was because I didn’t really know any women.
Women were strange to me as a child, in an otherworldly sense. They often had long, flowing hair. They walked differently. They talked differently. They had breasts that needed support to go about their days, and many women seemed proud of them. It was alright to embrace how beautiful my body could become, my Da had said. But I didn’t find any beauty in it.
“However,” Da started as he continued telling me what to expect as I’d become a woman. “Not everyone grows up the same way. Perhaps, a person was raised as a boy but feels more comfortable as a woman. Or, they were raised a girl but live authentically as a man. Perhaps, a person feels more comfortable living as neither man nor woman.”
“But…” I trailed off, fighting tears. “How does a girl become a man?”
“One wouldn’t have to do much.” He handed me a steaming cup to drink as we talked. “Perhaps, such a man is uncomfortable in his own skin. It can be sometimes or all the time. But there are ways for him to get rid of that discomfort that can involve changing how he looks, how he speaks, or how he carries himself. These self-made men may want to do what they can to live as their authentic selves. It’s the same with self-made women, just on the other side. But remember, Deirdre, there is no right or wrong way to live. However you feel about who you are shouldn’t be determined by other people. They don’t get to make you conform, just because the world claims you should live a certain way based on how you were born.”
“But how do you know all that?” I asked.
He gave me a soft smile. “Because I am one of those kinds of men.”
My eyes widened. “Really?”
He nodded. “My family was not as understanding of how I felt. In fact, they wanted to force me to live as a woman. It made me unhappy, because I knew with all my heart that it wasn’t the life I wanted. I did whatever I could to break away from that, sometimes even putting myself in danger to do it.”
“But you’re alright now, right?”
“Yes.” His smile broadened. “I am much happier with my life now. I have your father, you and your sister, our home, and everything within it. And I wouldn’t change any of it.”
As he held me, the doubt settled in. He loved how everything was now, so would me not wanting to be a girl ruin that? After all, he took the time and effort to explain everything to me. So, I tried to just accept what I was going to become. And each day that passed filled me with dread.
My breasts were already beginning to grow, and I was afraid of them. I would be further horrified later when Da would soon explain the monthly bleeds to me. I still remember having my first one and how I cried because I thought I was dying.
The more time that passed, the more I was wrought with despair. I was afraid that people would look at me and already see a woman. I was terrified that people would treat me like a woman.
One night, I had a terrible nightmare where I was a grown woman. In hindsight, it was a horrifying version of one. I’d had matted long hair and large breasts that put heavy strains on my back. I was bleeding between my legs. Even so, I was ogled by men that looked like the monsters in my father’s stories. They leered at me as I stood before them naked.
They all proudly claimed that I was a woman. The more that they called me it, the more that my body began to change and fall apart until I was no longer recognizable as my authentic self. Before I was captured, that was always the worst dream I ever had.
It was still the middle of the night, but when I awoke I ran out into the main hall. I was in tears, hurrying to try and get rid of the matted knots I could still feel clinging to my head. I’d found a knife I’d seen my Da use to prepare food. Taking it in my hand, I began to cut.
I was tugging too hard on my hair, so I’d sobbed while wrenching it out and hacking at it. I nicked at my ear in my haste. That made me scream as blood pooled into my hands. But I still kept cutting at my hair.
My parents both rushed out of their room. They hurried to take the knife out of my hand and tend to the wound, but I was still crying profusely.
“I-I don’t wanna be a woman!” I didn’t even give them a chance to ask what was wrong. “I don’t want it!”
After my ear was covered to stop the bleeding, my Da pulled me tight into his arms, holding me as I cried. I clung to him and kept telling him I was sorry. He wanted nothing to change, after all.
“That wasn’t what I meant.” He was quick to assure me. “I’m not happy you’re in my life because you’re my daughter. I’m happy because you are my child. Never make yourself fit somewhere that doesn’t feel right just to make someone else happy. You hear me? This is your life.”
Both my parents held me. After the panic ebbed, Father evened out my hair, far more tender with the shears than I was with the knife.
We had a real talk afterwards. When asked what I did want, I told them that I wanted to be like Da. I wanted to be a boy and grow up to be a man. And it was the first time that they called me their son. They did whatever they could to help me. Once I had my cropped hair and was given new clothes, I felt a little safer in my own skin. It wasn’t much at the time, but it was enough to make me feel confident. And the first person I told outside of my own family was Mícheil.
He was outside sparring by himself. I gave a little wave to show that I was coming by, but he was confused. He didn’t recognize me.
“Look, Mícheil!” I grinned, keeping in mind that Sir Hamish was nearby. “I’m a boy now.”
He blinked, putting down his blade. As he came closer, his eyes widened. “…Deirdre?”
I shook my head right away when I heard that name out of his mouth. “I’m a boy now,” I repeated. “My new name’s Declan. Look!” I showed him my clothes. I wore trousers that were a little too long at the ankles, and I had a vest on that helped me feel a little less afraid of my own chest. “And see?” I played a bit with my shorter locks.
He was curious, and as he listened, he gave me a little smile. “You are a boy.”
“Aye!” I couldn’t help myself, giving him a big hug. It was much easier for me to hold him and be friendlier when Brigit wasn’t nearby where I had to watch her.
My embrace had him grinning. “Declan.” He said my name so easily. “You know what that means?”
“What?” I was already guiding him away from his house.
“It means you can be a soldier, just like me!” He took my hand, already letting me lead the way. “I don’t wanna be a knight. I’m gonna be in the King’s Army someday. And now, you can join me!”
“Join the army?” I giggled. “We’ll have to stay together. I don’t know anyone else there.”
“We will stay together.” He squeezed my hand, smiling as he kept close to me. “I won’t wanna be with anyone else.”
“That settles it, then,” I insisted. “I’ll join you in the King’s Army.” Delighted, I hastened my pace back towards my hut. “My parents will be so thrilled!”
Two years later, I woke up to light knocking against the wall of the hut. Only one person would know exactly where I slept, so even though I was groggy, I grabbed some blankets and bandages without thinking twice. Stepping outside, however, I was startled to see what I saw.
Mícheil had a bloody nose and blooming bruises on his arms where he presumably tried shielding himself. He also had a cut on his head that was still bleeding. He had a satchel slung over his shoulder.
“Mícheil.” I hurried outside as he was fighting tears, quick to start fretting.
It was a routine for us at this point, to patch him up and check for broken bones. This night, one of his arms was a little tender but nothing more. Mícheil was quiet, save for some pained sniffles. We soon sat outside, leaning against the hut.
“You can stay here tonight,” I whispered, resting my head on his shoulder. “Da will make you breakfast.”
He fidgeted with his satchel, which now was in his lap. “Declan, I…” He broke off, his voice sounding small. “I-I’m leaving.”
I sat up. “Leaving your house?” I felt hope building in my chest. He shouldn’t have to stay somewhere that hurt him so badly. I already knew that my parents would be more than happy to let him stay here.
“Balhreid.”
I blinked. “Why?” I reached for one of his hands.
He squeezed it, leaning his head back against the wall. “There’s a King’s Army outpost among the Royal Guard. Gurindeck’s the best place to get recruited.”
“…Gurindeck?” I couldn’t help it. My eyes began to burn from tears. “But that’s so far away. We’ll never see each other anymore.”
“I know.” He shivered. “But that’s where I need to go. Tonight. I-I can start on the road on foot and meet with one of the merchant caravans headed west.”
“Mícheil, you can’t leave.” I shifted to sit in front of him. “I don’t want you to go.”
“I can’t stay here anymore.”
“But if you leave, I’ll have no friends here.”
Mícheil frowned. “I’m sorry.”
“W-well, what if you stay here with me?” I asked. “My parents will take care of you. Brigit and I will help make sure you get into the army. A-and we’ll leave together, just like we planned.”
“Declan.” His voice came out sharper, which silenced me at once. Even he seemed concerned by the sound of his tone. He shrunk, looking down at our hands. “My father doesn’t go to Gurindeck much. H-he prefers it out here. I know your family would take care of me, but it’s too close to the Bladesinger. He’ll still find me. He’ll still come by to berate me. H-he’ll still…” His eyes watered.
“Mícheil?” I stopped arguing. I squeezed both his hands.
“I don’t wanna go either, but I have to. Declan, if I stay here, he’ll kill me. H-he’ll kill me one day. I…” He whimpered, looking at me as tears rolled down his cheeks. “I-I don’t wanna be hurt anymore.”
I pulled him into a careful hug, and we both cried together. I no longer could be selfish.
I went back inside, just to give him my pay from the last time I tended to Farmer Tiernan’s chickens. He was going to need it more than I did. And using the cover of night, we both walked together to the outskirts of Balhreid. With each step, I found myself not wanting to let go of my friend’s hand. But he was right. He needed to leave. I just had to hope that someday we’d see each other again.
“I’ll miss you,” I whispered, not wanting to cry again in front of him. We were at the western edge. This was the furthest I could go. I held him as tight as I could without hurting him.
“I’ll miss you too. Always.” He watched me, wiping at his eyes. “Declan?”
“Hm?”
“I’m not gonna be like him. Am I?” He had more tears rolling down his cheeks as he asked. “I don’t wanna be like him.”
I shook my head. “You’re nothin’ like him. You’re not mean or bull-headed.” I huffed. “You’re not a Bladesinger. You’re Mícheil. And Mícheil Dunaidh is kind and gentle. He is my dearest friend.”
I was relieved that it made him smile. He leaned close, pressing a soft kiss to my cheek.
That made me blush. “What was that for?”
“For being you, Declan.” He gave me a tighter hug. “I’ll see you in the army.”
“Aye, you will.” I smiled, lingering to watch him leave. I stayed right where I was until I could no longer see him in the distance.
* * *
Today’s collection went rather smoothly. No husks were sent to Gurindeck. After the final sweep through Balhreid, the three of us split up. Sinéad seemed keen on getting new supplies and components. Niclas was gathering a report together to send to Mistress Morwenna.
I, however, found myself walking down a street that was more than familiar to me. I knew the way to my childhood home with my eyes closed. Now that Old Farmer Tiernan was turned in, no one lived on this side of Balhreid anymore.
Only… there was hammering.
I pursed my lips, a hand moving to my spell pouch as I stepped forward. Sure enough, someone was hammering. The closer that I got, the more nervous I felt. Who in the blazes would be squatting in one of these houses? As if that would get them out of the tithe. I knew it was a good idea to check out this area—
“No…” It couldn’t be.
The hammering was coming from the rundown estate that belonged to Sir Hamish the Bladesinger. Sir Hamish… well, he was dead. Good riddance. That could only mean…
Mícheil leaned against the side of the house, puffing out hard blows. He wiped sweat from his brow.
“Harder work than I expected,” he chuckled, as if anyone was out there to respond.
“Oh, you’ll get the hang of it.”
My blood chilled.
Brigit?
My legs began to shake. How dare she show up here, after she and our fathers abandoned me. Did she think she was clever? Did she also think I would not make her pay the tithe? I would turn her in to His Majesty in a heartbeat.
It was time to remind them who was in charge now. I steeled myself, gathering ashes into my hand. I brought the tips of my thumb and index finger together, blowing the ashes out through the center. This spell, similar to how Sinéad used it, could project my voice.
“Oi!” It certainly worked, echoing off the barren trees. “Trespassers!”
Mícheil perked right up. “Ah! There he is.”
“There he is—” What kind of game was he playing?
“Where is your tithe?” I snapped. “You do not get to skirt past it by squatting here.”
“DECLAN!” My sister, who usually had a level but jovial tone to her voice, was positively shrill when she cried my name and rushed out from the house. “Declan!” She had a big grin on her face—a grin, of all the abominable—
I wheezed, yanked into a tight hug. She was wrinkling my robes, and I was smothered into her bosom as she was quickly devolving into sobs.
“B-Brigit.” I bristled. I didn’t want her to cry for me. I did not want her tears. “Let go of me.” I hauled myself away from her.
“Declan!” She was still in tears. “D-Declan, you’re really here! You’re alive!”
“I was alive this whole time,” I muttered. “You would know that, if you had bothered to look for me.”
Brigit frowned. “We were only going based off what the Grand Marshal released, regarding casualties.” She tried drying her eyes. “We were told you were dead. Killed in battle.”
“What?” That was such an obvious lie. Did she think I was stupid? I jerked my head to Mícheil. “Anything else you care to tell me, Dunaidh, while you’re avoiding the tithe?”
“I’m not avoiding it,” he chuckled. “Just didn’t wanna get in the way of such a touchin’ reunion.”
“Eat shit,” I spat, looking down at my spell pouch. “Seeing as you refused to comply—”
“Oi, whoa, whoa! No need to get hasty with your dead people dust!” He held up two silver coins. “There.”
“There’s dead people in there?” Brigit recoiled, staring right at the pouch.
“It’s not always dead people. These once were herbs and a few rodents. But so what, if they were?” I huffed. “Components are components.”
“So, it is true,” she gasped. “You’re one of them.”
“Well, when you have people that are willing to take care of you, you will do whatever needs done to pay back their kindness.”
“But we took care of you!” Brigit pleaded with me. “I’m your family, Declan.”
I shrugged. “Only to a fault, as it turned out.” I took the silver coins from Mícheil. “And where is your tithe, Miss Sutharlan?”
Her eyes narrowed. “What if I don’t have any?”
I sighed, unsure if this was her just being difficult to get a rise out of me or a genuine act of defiance. “Do you have food? Clothes? Possessions you otherwise could live without?”
She turned her face away from me. “What if I don’t want to give you anything?”
“Brigit, come now.” I grimaced, shaking my head. This almost sounded like how it used to be. “You are not a child. Hand over your tithe, or you will leave me no choice but to turn you in to His Majesty to forfeit your rights.”
“You wouldn’t dare,” she scoffed.
I was readying the ashes.
Brigit blinked at me. “You would seriously turn me in?”
“You have a pulse, do you not?”
She winced. “You’re an arsehole.”
Mícheil came forward, waving out two more coins. “Here. I got it this time.” He set them in my palm. His hand was warm.
“Well?” I shoved the coins in my satchel. “What are you doing here?”
He paused. “What you mean?”
“You expect me to believe that you returned to Sir Hamish’s estate willingly for no reason at all?”
“…Yes?”
I covered my mouth. I didn’t want to laugh in front of him. Bastard.
“Hah!” he grinned when he heard just the slightest huff from between my fingers. “I knew I’d make you laugh.”
“I wasn’t laughing,” I muttered.
“Could’ve fooled me,” he teased. “Oi. Since you’re here, what about some supper?”
Once again, I found myself amused when I had no right to be. “You cannot be serious, Dunaidh.”
“What?” He pursed his lips. “Don’t think I can be a good host?”
“There’s a giant hole in the roof, for one.” I crossed my arms, tilting my head up towards the roof. “Second, neither of you know how to cook. I learned my lesson, after you and Brigit both nearly burned the hut down.”
“There he goes again,” Brigit groaned. “That was one time! How were we supposed to know not to let those eggs sit for too long?”
“Three hours?”
“Well, you can’t cook either!”
“I learned enough.” I blinked. What was I doing? “And third, in case you have not noticed, I have no desire to carouse, befriend, or otherwise entertain the notion of spending even half a minute of leisure in your company.” I didn’t want to spend a moment longer with the people that left me for dead, but that went without saying so.
“Gods.” Mícheil feigned a snore. “You’re starting to sound like Prince Lucian.”
Brigit grinned. “He is!” She covered her mouth and giggled.
“Brigit, how would you know how he—n-never mind!” I threw my hands up. “I’m leaving now. Be more prepared for the next tithe.” I turned to leave. “If you are this flippant about your enemies, I’d hate to be your friends.”
I overheard them talking as I headed back down the road.
“Well, that didn’t work,” Mícheil said.
I heard a smack. “Of course, it didn’t, because that’s not my Declan.”
“It is. He’s in there, somewhere.”
That had me rolling my eyes.
“Well, you might want to reconsider staying in Balhreid, now that he knows we’re here,” Brigit continued. “Did you hear anything from Tobias?”
I stopped walking.
Mícheil sighed. “Not in the last couple days. He’s been acting so strange and doing these weird experiments. No one can get through to him.”
I took a glance back. So, Mícheil was involved with The Talons. At least, he was involved with them well enough to be in direct contact with the Druiminns. A frightening and frustrating coincidence. He was just the man I needed to gather information from.
“Perhaps, we can find another way to talk to him, once things start calming down here.”
As Brigit suggested that, I fully pivoted to face them both once more. “I will not eat whatever you try to feed me.”
Mícheil looked up. “…Alright?”
“However, if I make something, I will bring it over.” I frowned at my own words. It was leaving a sour taste in my mouth, having to interact with either of them again. “Do not expect me. I will arrive whenever I please.”
“W-well, alright.” Brigit sputtered, smiling. “I knew you’d come around.”
“It will be strictly to gather the tithe and eat.” I held out my hand to stop her from approaching me. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have collections to tally out.”
I couldn’t stop my shoulders from cringing as I heard the two of them grinning and tittering once I truly left them for good. They must’ve thought that it would be like when we were children again, back when life was filled with idyllic dreams. The three of us playing games and sneaking Mícheil back to his house when he stayed out too late. Brigit constantly getting herself into situations that required the two of us to help her.
But they must’ve realized that it was never going to be like how it used to be. Never again.
* * *
I truly believed that what Mícheil and I had together was love.
I gave him everything. I was there for him whenever I could be, from our time together in Balhreid to when we shared a tent in the Wilds. He had to have known that I was screaming for him to save me. He had to have known how frequently my voice went raw. He had to have known everything that I had sacrificed. I didn’t want to believe that he was complicit in my disappearance.
I gave him more than just my trust. At the time, I had no regrets. Each night we blew off steam, each time we came together, each night we fucked like animals, each time we only needed to kiss to pass the time, I thought it was love. He was the only one that I ever let have every piece of me. He was the only one that I ever let take care of me. Foolishly, I thought that it was love, for he was the only one that I thought saw me in a way that no one else did.
But in return…
“He never loved you.”
I whimpered softly, still in agony as the words were spoken to me.
“He never came for you when you called. That is not a man worthy of your respect.”
“B-but he will come.” I felt empty, exhausted. A piece of me was extracted that I could never get back. I had no fight left. It was too difficult. “He’ll take me from this place.”
The voice tutted. I recognized it. Dame Siobhan.
“Do you truly believe that? Would he come find you, if he knew what you did? What we took care of for you?”
“But you said I had to.”
“He may not see it that way. Perhaps he already knew, and that is why he will not come.”
The thought made my blood chill. “N-no…” I tried to think about someone else. If Mícheil wouldn’t come… “My family will. Th-they will come find me.”
“Dear Declan. Your parents already gave your funeral rites.”
“Y-you’re lying,” I snapped. “You’re lying!”
“I have never lied to you before, Declan Sutharlan.”
Still in agony, I shuddered and squeezed my eyes shut. Dame Siobhan stroked my head as I sobbed, right where I had just been struck not too long ago.
“We will take care of everything for you, Declan. We will never lead you astray. We will never betray you. You are safe here, well and truly. We can be your family.”
I let her hold me, for I had no one else. I had nothing left. I was broken. But I had to hope that the Inquisition would put me back together.
Chapter 12: Tobias
Summary:
Tobias will deny that he is a mage until he is blue in the face, but that will not stop him from being tempted by what Lucian reveals is hidden in the cellar.
Notes:
Things get a little freaky deaky.
Content warnings for self harm and implied necrophilia. If you need it, expand for further explanation on the latter (spoiler warning)
This chapter is the start of the implied necrophilia between Tobias and what he believes is Lucian's ghost.
Any sexual acts between them will never be explicit on page, but Tobias knowingly and repeatedly will engage in sexual acts believing that Lucian is dead and not caring. Therefore, even though it's only really implications and indirect references, I felt that the content warning was necessary for those that need it.
Chapter Text
Tobias
After what happened with those mage bastards, I was surprised that Arthur let me go back to this Thorvardsson Northman’s hut. I propped myself against the wall, gritting my teeth while the old man leafed through several of his old books.
This was getting me nowhere. Arthur claimed he wanted to get me out of the house when that was the worst thing he could’ve done. In the time that I’d been in Olnahd, not once had I heard or seen Lucian’s ghost. I had grown so used to the sound of his voice and his laugh, his smile, and especially the way his presence sent chills down my spine. With each day that I hobbled around this town in silence, the weight of his death began crushing me once more.
I wanted to go home. I wanted to see Lucian again. Whatever tales this Northman spouted about Theodulf were simply that. Tales. Perhaps there truly was a different man he was speaking of that had the same name. Theodulf was a skilled blacksmith. I’d seen him at his forge. I held the dagger he gave me as my final gift from him. He made that. And he made that sword. There was nothing else I could accept.
And here, this Northman was rewriting history. And Arthur was eating it up, like the fantastical fool he was.
“Ah. Hér er Þat.” Thorvardsson cleared his throat. “That there in your possession is Ulfgírðafang – Ulfgír’s Fang.”
Arthur’s eyes widened. “It has a name?”
My own eyes were rolling.
There was a curt nod. “I knew I recognized the runes on the edges. There is a passage about it in this book. Here reads, ‘The wielder of Ulfgírðafang harnesses a piece of His strength. One strike can bring down ten men.’” He squinted at the blade. “Perhaps the scribes wanted to bolster its worth.”
“I’ve seen Tobias bring down several soldiers in quick succession when we were stationed in Trethial. That man there is skilled with the blade.”
My eyes narrowed. “Perhaps you are bolstering my worth, Arthur.”
“He’s modest,” he insisted. “Even during the Fall, he slew several of those living dead guards. Some even crumbled to dust. A mage shrieked when it barely touched her!”
“Arthur.” I cleared my throat, shifting my focus to Jorund Thorvardsson. “He’s trying to see if there are any more like these. It could help us build an army against Iantinus.”
Thorvardsson stuttered on a deep chuckle. “You cannot find more of a weapon like this. There is only one of its kind.”
“Blast!” Arthur sighed, leaning his head back.
“However.” The interjection gave my cousin pause. “Should you find yourself in need of such a weapon, you can always commune with the gods.”
I rolled my eyes. “The gods don’t give a shit about us. Look what they let happen in Gurindeck.”
“You Sunderish fools see your gods as decorations. There is no guidance to be had here.” The Northman stood up. “Whether it is land or faith, you people only see what you want and take it. You do not trouble yourselves with its worth. The gods do see all. You just do not bother to know them or commune with them.”
“Well, to be fair, Master Thorvardsson, we do have a High Minister and several temples dedicated to the gods.”
“Which ones, Master Selleck?”
Arthur blanched.
“That is what I thought.” He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You want to have an even fight with these devils? You will need help that no man can provide. I suggest travelling north and seeking out a temple dedicated to Ulfgír.”
“We will do no such thing,” I scoff. “Sunderland needs us here. We have enough resources to handle our own without going on some wild hunt for some Brømkhaldic temple in the middle of the so-called Koltalsrer Tundra, or whatever.”
“Kollshamrar Tundra, you Sunderish fool.”
“Will you stop calling me that?” I threw my hands up. “I’m through with this. Arthur, I want to go home.”
Arthur frowned. “But we’d only just broken ground.”
“Nay. You have broken ground. My research is back home.” I shoved myself from the wall, keeping myself balanced with my cane.
“Well, your research is sacrilege.”
I jerked my head to him. “Say that again.”
He didn’t break eye contact with me. “What you’re doing is sacrilege, Tobias. It’s going against everything we’re trying to do here.”
“What are you talking about?” Thorvardsson frowned, watching us both.
“Mind your own.” I stormed towards the door. “Well, my research will guarantee Iantinus’ destruction, along with all his vultures. And you’ll soon be thanking me for how quickly I get rid of those fuckers.”
The Northman squinted. “Eldhellír…” He glanced at Arthur, handing him the book he was just looking through. “Do what he asks. Send him home. He is not welcome here. I do not want any mages in my hut.”
“I am not a mage,” I snapped.
Arthur just gave me another disapproving frown. “Yes. You are.”
Clutching my cane tight, I turned away. “Consider me gone, then.” I stormed out of the hut, lumbering down the path. I didn’t need this place. I didn’t need to know about swords or some tundra or gods. Those could not help me. Arthur might have lost sight of what was really important, but I hadn’t.
On my path towards Crag’s home, I saw the older woman again with the orphaned children. They were this time near a large building, which I presumed was where these children stayed.
“Oh. Sir?” The woman saw me, giving me a polite wave as she smiled.
“Afternoon, miss.” I dipped my head to her. Most of the children were too shy to look in my direction. “How have things been faring?”
“Much better, thank you.” She reached out, clasping my hand in hers. “I cannot thank you enough for stepping in when you did. I truly feared the worst.”
I shook my head. “I only wish that a place like this existed back in Gurindeck when I needed it. Are you in need of some charity?”
“Oh, I couldn’t possibly accept it, after what you have done for us.”
“Nonsense.” I reached into my coin purse. I would never give a single penny to the mages, so I still had a decent amount of silver. “Here we are.” I handed her ten coins. “Hopefully, this will help tide things over for you.”
“How generous of you,” she beamed, her eyes lighting up. “This will go a long way to help these little ones.”
I saw the little girl again among them. Branwyn, I think her name was. She was fidgeting with her hair while one of the older children kept an eye on her. She mostly kept to herself otherwise. I didn’t know why, but something felt familiar about her. I couldn’t quite place it.
Even though the caretaker let me on my way, I decided to come around to one of the shops still open in Olnahd. They sold toys and dolls. Perhaps this kind of offering for the orphans would further bring them relief.
“These tithes are destroying Sunderland,” I heard a man muttering as I walked.
He was speaking with a woman that responded with, “I don’t know how much longer I can stand it.”
“We will be penniless by the Winter Sunwane, at this rate. Then, where will we be?”
“Dead, that’s what.”
I frowned, turning to face them. “Unless something can be done about it,” I said.
They both frowned at me. “These mages are persistent,” muttered the man. “Unstoppable.”
“Nothing is unstoppable.” I gestured towards the outpost. “Those mages in there? They mean nothing, so long as we still fight. Never stop fighting. You hear me?”
The woman sighed. “You’re still young yet. Some fire still stoked within you. Don’t lose that, lad.”
“Thank you, miss.” Their discussion did give me an idea. I couldn’t take on those mage bastards alone. We were stronger in numbers. Sunderland would be stronger in numbers. Something had to be done. I just had to figure out how to gather everyone together. I needed proof that fighting against them could be done. That was something to work towards, once I got back to Kressie.
I found the caretaker once more on the way back, now with some toys to hand out. They were thrilled just by the sight of them, but they didn’t clamor. I gave most of them wooden toys or baubles. For little Branwyn, however, I gave her a small doll. It was made of cloth. Seeing the curly yarn on its head made me think of the way she fidgeted with her hair. Perhaps that would help give her something else to do with her hands.
She was too shy to take it from my hand, so the caretaker held onto it for her. I gave the girl a gentle smile. “That’s alright. I was nervous around people too, when I was young,” I assured her.
“Once more, I am grateful to your generosity,” the caretaker insisted with a grin. “I must do something for you.”
I shook my head. “No need. I’m not staying in Olnahd for much longer, anyhow. Just keep taking care of these children, and I will consider that repayment enough, Miss…”
“Moore.” She smiled at me. “You may call me Mistress Moore.”
I gave her a bow of my head once more. “Tobias Druiminn.”
“A pleasure, Master Druiminn.” Mistress Moore stepped back, gathering up the children to head inside.
Little Branwyn was trailing behind most of the group, too enraptured by her doll to pay much attention. It was as she took a glance back at me with a shy wave before heading inside that I realized why she felt so familiar.
She was the second person I had ever seen with blue eyes.
The soil was caked under my fingernails now. I didn’t bother trying to clean them out anymore. What good would it do? It wasn’t like I had a hand to hold anymore.
My hair was getting shaggy and starting to get into my eyes again. I had no desire to cut it. I barely had any will to change clothes. It wasn’t like I needed to put myself together. The only one that I’d put that kind of effort in was a ghost that I couldn’t even touch.
“What are you working on?”
After I blessedly returned home from Olnahd, Lucian’s ghost was the first to greet me. The sound of his voice was enough to bring me near to tears. I missed him. I was only away for a week, and it’d been too long. Damn Arthur. Damn that hellish Northman. And damn that sword. None of that mattered. What was more important was the work I was doing here.
Lucian’s ghost came around a lot more often, now that I’d started to delve deeper into my experiments. I sometimes slept down in the cellar now, finding more comfort here in the cold and damp space.
“I can’t seem to get any more improvement,” I grumbled and curled my fingers into my hair. “This is one of those times where I regret not taking Maximus’ offer in the first place.”
“Oh…” Lucian gave me that pout that I always adored kissing away. “Well, he is dead now. No use lingering on past mistakes.”
“I wish you were really here,” I mumbled, lowering my head.
“But I am here.” Lucian’s ghost came behind me, and I swore that I could feel a chilling presence right at my back. “Perhaps I can help?”
“It would help more if you were here to kiss me,” I teased.
“You and that vulgar mouth of yours.” I heard a tittering little chuckle. “But I could offer help more prudent to your work.”
“How so?” I turned my head to look at him.
“While you were focusing so much on war and brooding over your leg, Druiminn left something out in your combined research.” Lucian’s ghost drifted from the back of my chair and hovered near some shelves. “It is something that will open up a whole new age of discovery for you.”
I blinked, intrigued. “Right, then.” I slowly stood, almost forgetting to grab the cane. “Lucian?”
“Hm?” His ghost was giving me a pleasant smile, but it was not like the one he always gave me. I couldn’t see my favorite freckle of his moving with it.
“Do you think these secrets will tell me a way to bring you back to me?” My voice shook as I asked. “I don’t want to talk to your ghost anymore. I want to see you. I want to touch you.”
His smile softened. “Anything is possible, Tobias.”
I watched as he pointed to a specific book. It was leatherbound and ancient, the pages so stained from age that the edges were brown. I pulled it off the shelf and brought it with me to the table. “Why didn’t you tell me about this before?”
“You never asked,” he teased.
I rolled my eyes. “Just like you to be cheeky with me, even in death.”
At that, the ghost grinned.
I looked at the front cover, seeing the title carved into the leather and traced in paints the color of blood. “The Black Book.”
“What is this?” I flipped through the first few pages. There was an extensive amount of notes in rushed script:
“To manipulate death, you must pay a price. The toll must be paid its equal weight in blood…”
“This tome is rumored to belong to Iantinus the Third himself,” Lucian’s ghost whispered, the lightness tickling at my ear. “Everything you need to know is in this book. The incantations, the words to use, the amounts of components you will need. All of it. It is right here.”
I frowned. “This is too good to be true, love.” I turned to him, just as I was on a page listing different rejuvenation spells. “Why would I not already know about this?”
“Perhaps Druiminn feared you would use it to your advantage.”
“That’s ridiculous,” I muttered. “I never wanted to follow Iantinus. I want him to pay for what he did to you.”
“But remember what Moira said.”
I blinked. He was not alive for that. Or, perhaps being a ghost made it so that he would have my thoughts. “But to follow Iantinus? I can’t.”
“You would not have to. You would just be following the same craft. Thanaturgy can be difficult for novices, but you are excelling at a rate far faster than any of these other mages around you. Do you see any of them able to rend flesh with naught but a few beet roots?”
“Nay,” I said.
“You have a great gift,” he assured me, “and this will help.”
Lucian’s ghost was right. He was always right. I missed him so terribly that I could scream from not being able to touch him. I inclined my head, looking down at the book. “You’re right. This is perfect.” I smiled at him. “I love you.”
His smile was still fond. “I know something that can help you with your fear of not being able to hold me.” He looked down at the book. “Check the middle pages.”
I tilted my head but did as he asked. Amongst the scrawling was a spell called, “Rend Corporeal.”
The spell’s excerpt read: “With a few drops of blood, you can at will allow an apparition to become corporeal for a short time. More blood may extend the time, but for no more than an hour.”
My eyes widened. Just a few drops of blood?
Just a few drops of blood, and I could kiss Lucian again.
I faltered at the thought. Arthur had forbidden me to use animal blood. “Can’t I use plant matter for this spell?”
The ghost shook his head. “It must be blood, Tobias.”
I didn’t need to be told twice. I had my dagger sheathed at my belt. I withdrew it, gripping the hilt. The blood needed to be spilled in the center of a drawn circle. I decided to use the soil on the ground as my anchor, tracing the pattern in a heavy arch on the floor. My leg throbbed, the more that I stayed knelt like this.
“There,” I grinned, breath shaky with excitement. “And I can do this as many times as I want?”
“Do not try to hurt yourself too much for me, Tobias.” Lucian’s ghost reached for my hand, but I couldn’t feel his fingers.
“It’s never too much, when it’s you.” I smiled, bringing the dagger to my palm. “Ready?”
He nodded.
Without a moment’s hesitation, I brought the blade down on my palm. I hissed, the cut too deep, but I didn’t falter, not until the blood began to drip into the center of the circle. It only required a few drops, but I gave more, and more, wanting an hour with Lucian.
One hour would never be enough.
I heard him let out a soft gasp, and he extended his arms. I watched his transparent form gain color. It was waxy and pallid, but it was still his skin. He appeared before me wearing one of his long nightgowns, his hair unbraided and flowing down to his waist. He didn’t breathe, only letting out little sounds of excitement. Perhaps a dead man didn’t need to breathe.
But he was real. He was real.
It brought tears to my eyes as I reached out, taking his hand. I could touch it. He was cold, but I didn’t care. This was Lucian. My Lucian. The Black Book’s spell had worked. The possibilities were endless. And if I read it long enough, perhaps I could truly bring him back. I could see that becoming a reality with each second I was squeezing my lover’s hand again and tears were streaming down my face.
I pulled him down to the floor with me, grinning when he let out a flustered little huff. I missed him so much. I needed to make every second of this hour count.
I cupped his cheek in my hand, feeling more tears when he nuzzled into my touch. His hair was real, tangling between my fingers. His lips were very real as I leaned in and gave him the fiercest kiss I could after all this time without him.
I didn’t even mind the cold. My kisses were feverish, passionate, and he met me in kind, gripping at the collar of my tunic. If I could make Lucian real once more for an hour with just a few droplets of blood, how much more could I learn? How much of this can I use against the mages? How could I use his own book to bring down Iantinus once and for all?
Soon, I no longer had any plans or questions. My focus was just on pulling this nightgown off him and fucking him right here on the floor.
It felt almost as good as it did when he was alive.
Chapter 13: Lucian
Summary:
Lucian questions his abilities and self worth, as tensions build the day before Auðunar's raid.
Notes:
We have now reached Part Two of Passion, Survival, and Revenge.
Content Warnings for animal death (NOT THE DOG), mental health struggles, references of past child abuse, and sexual assault
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Part Two
One Month After the Fall of Gurindeck, in the Year 1271
Lucian
Auðunar ran me ragged with all this “training.” Each day, after setting up camp, he had me join him for more sword lessons. I felt that I was improving, but he never said as much. He was a stern instructor, worse at mincing his words than Captain Fritz ever was.
«Adjust your grip. That’ll get you killed.»
«One-eyed fool! You have to work twice as hard watching around you. Don’t forget that.»
«You have to commit to your swings. One moment’s hesitation, and your opponent will take it.»
«Well, now you’re dead.»
Introducing hand-to-hand sparring was even more of a nightmare. We never struck each other’s faces, thank the gods, but he relentlessly bruised me up with how many times I missed deflecting kicks or punches.
This evening, however, I had enough.
«Dead again.»
I was already fighting with more of those pains in my eye the night before. I kept wrestling with more of those frightening visions that I was not sure were dreams or not. I kept feeling my body tear apart in gruesome arrays of viscera. So, perhaps they were nightmares, though they were frighteningly vivid. The visions and sensations stopped after I pulled my eyepatch back on, blessedly, but it was difficult to sleep while wearing it. Whenever I tried to, I would always feel a perpetual discomfort, whether from an acute attack or the world feeling all the more disorienting.
I grunted in frustration with the present moment, shoving the sword back into the scabbard I had acquired. «Fine. You made your point.»
Auðunar frowned as I was stepping away. «Get back here, Sunderish fool! The raid is at dawn, and you are not prepared.»
«We have been doing this all week!» I hollered back. «All you are doing is battering me! If you still think I cannot fight, then what good are you?»
He reached out, taking hold of my arm. I turned to him, seeing an amused quirk in his brow.
«But you are improving. Now, you can beat one of my brothers that is fifteen years of age.»
«Oh, you are impossible!» I wrenched my arm out of his grip.
Auðunar chuckled. «See? You can get out of my grasp no problem now.»
«I hate you,» I snapped.
«Fortunately, Sunderish fool, you did not pay me to like you.»
«The sooner we get to Berusær, the better, for I will then be miles away from you!»
«You’re sure about that?» he smirked.
I rolled my eyes. «Surely, you’ll soon after meander around these forests for more work for coin.»
«You know me so well, little princess.»
I reared back. «Don’t call me that.»
«Or what?» His eyes narrowed in challenge. «Princess.»
I withdrew the sword from its scabbard again, gripping it tight in two hands as I swung hard. I shrieked in frustration as he parried it far too quickly for me to match it. I tried again. And again. He was just too strong, and I was too slow for him. And he knew it.
I deflected when he thrust forward, jumping back and pivoting around him. He tried to catch my blind side, for I heard the swinging Whoosh! before it could touch me. I snapped on the next parry, our blades screaming as they scraped together. My breathing grew ragged from the exertion and irritation roiling in my blood.
Auðunar stared me down, the further forward I pressed. After maintaining his stance, he grinned. «There we go. Figured a fighter was hidden somewhere in that thick head of yours.»
«Oh, you.» Once we both ceased our struggle, I dropped the blade and gave him a hard shove in the chest.
To my growing fury, that only made Auðunar laugh. He shook his head, sheathing his own sword. «Fight like that tomorrow, and I think you’ll survive.»
“Oh, my gratitude is endless,” I huffed in Sunderish, picking up my blade. “Money well spent indeed, you bumbling beast of a man.”
“I can understand you, you know!”
I grumbled, ignoring him and beginning a limp back to camp.
«Sunderish fool, wait!»
I rolled my eyes. «This session is over, Auðunar.»
«No, look out! On your right!»
I jerked my body to the right, barely having a moment to react before a large beast charged forward. It looked like a wolf, though it was far taller and had a horrifically large maw. One bite, and it could rip my body apart. And it was just moments away from doing so to me. I had just enough time to leap back, falling hard as the monster circled around the pair of us.
“Hrjóstulfr!”
Dreadwolf.
As I shuddered, trying to figure out how to move, another dreadwolf sprung from the same direction as the first. They both growled deeply, their razor-sharp claws driving vicious divots into the earth. There was nothing but primal murder in their eyes, but something about their stares sent shivers down my spine. It was as if they were truly seeing us, aware of what we were and what they could gain from tearing us apart.
My hand was shaking as I tried to reach for the sword. I had dropped it when I stumbled. But the more that I tried, the harder my fingers trembled and the louder the dreadwolves growled. It was a challenge. “Go on,” they seemed to tell me.
«Ulfgír, guide my hand.» Auðunar had his sword at the ready. He stood over me in a defensive stance, following the beasts’ motions. «Stay still, Sunderish fool. I’ll handle them.»
“W-what do I do?” My hands were shaking. The dreadwolves’ terrible sneers were following my every move, my every breath. I was helpless. This was far more frightening than being chased through the grove by a shambling dead fox. “Auðunar, what do I do?”
“Just stay still and stop snivelling,” he snapped.
I grew more aware of the sword on the ground, like it was laughing at me. I had a weapon, yet I could not use it. I could not even be bothered to gather the courage to pick it up. I was facing certain doom, but I was forced to rely on someone else to save me. Someone else had to protect me. I was too helpless, too pathetic to do anything to save myself.
The dreadwolves growled, and one of them sprang forward with such dizzying speed. Even so, Auðunar met it just as fiercely with his blade. He struck at its flank, throwing off its pounce as it shrieked. When the other tried to attack from behind, he was ready for it with a quick jab backwards. They both pivoted in his direction, the latter launching forward with its opened maw. Auðunar’s reflexes were swift, even with his stature. He dodged and wove away, slashing at them both again.
At another lunge, Auðunar dropped, sliding underneath the dreadwolf while it sprung and driving his blade into its chest. After it struck true, the momentum caused him to carve deep into it all the way down to its belly. It collapsed in a heap, with Auðunar showered in its blood and entrails.
He relished in it, standing upright and keeping his shoulders back. «You picked the wrong man to fuck with,» he seethed, his breathing hard.
I covered my ears when the remaining dreadwolf howled, shrinking tighter against myself. It was a terrible noise, echoing throughout the clearing and off the mountains in the distance. Auðunar’s shout in response was feral. A battle cry. I watched his every move, how he was able to face the beast with such speed and precision.
He avoided another killing bite, wrestling away from it but just barely missing when attempting another swipe with his blade. He refused to lose focus, keeping his eyes on it the whole time.
«Come on!» He taunted it with a glare.
At some point in the struggle, something dropped from Auðunar’s belt. It was his battle horn, something I had not seen him use personally but knowing its importance. It was lying in the patchy snow. One wrong step, and either one in the fray would crush it.
An idea came to me, then. I was not entirely helpless. I could do something to help, even if it was just to get the rest of the company here. Auðunar already exerted himself far too much with killing the first dreadwolf. He could not possibly face this remaining one alone.
I crawled forward, reaching out. Blessedly, the dreadwolf did not notice my movement. Once I had the horn in my grasp, I curled back just as the beast gnashed its teeth at Auðunar’s face once more, narrowly missing it.
Facing the direction of camp, I brought the battle horn to my lips. I held it tight, blowing so hard into it that my jaw ached. The sound was choppy from lack of refinement, so I tried again, this time the horn emitting a tenor call.
Auðunar stiffened, jerking his head back to me. «What are you doing?»
I ignored him, releasing another loud call. Surely, the camp could hear us now.
“Sunderish fool, what are you doing?!”
I cut off another call when Auðunar let out a pained shout, jerking my head. The dreadwolf dealt a heavy swipe to his shoulder, blood pooling over the torn shreds in his sleeve.
«Don’t worry, Auðunar!» I stammered when cowering back. «Help is coming now!»
«Do you not realize what you’ve done?!»
Before I could answer, I heard cries coming towards us. Sure enough, the rest of the company had arrived, save for Eyvald. Out Svala sprang first from the brush. She swung a large axe in the dreadwolf’s direction, narrowly missing one of its haunches. The shriek it let out cut through the air as arrows were firing in its direction. Sigmund and Sigehere kept shooting them, a few striking its hide.
Auðunar straightened his stance, ferocity flashing across his face as he swung at the beast again, and again. Bjorgolf and Ulfrik had it fully surrounded. They moved as one unit, taking down such a horrible creature that could tear any one of us to shreds when standing alone.
I was enraptured. Never had I seen a real battle up close, but this was what it felt like. It was nothing like how it was described in the countless books I have read. A sore piece of me ached, for I did not want to simply watch.
Ulfrik dealt the killing blow, stabbing it deep in its throat. The dreadwolf gurgled and choked before collapsing in a limp, bloodied heap. Despite the thrill, no victory seemed to be had. But I was trembling with excitement.
“Remarkable,” I gasped, my eyes wide.
At the sound of my voice, Auðunar jerked his body to me. Despite the deep wound in his shoulder, none of his strength left him. He stormed towards me, snatching the battle horn right from my grasp.
«You one-eyed fool,» he seethed. «Do you not have any fucking sense?»
My face fell. «You were outmatched, Auðunar. You needed help—»
«I decide whether I need help or not!» Auðunar gripped me by the arm and hauled me back up to my feet. «I told you to stay still!»
«B-but I wanted to help! I couldn’t just sit there and do nothing!»
«Well, thanks to your idea of ‘helping,’ our position has been compromised! The Grey Dogs will know we are here!»
I looked around, hoping to see that any one of the others were on my side. All I was met with were withering glares. «I’m sorry. I... I just wanted to help.»
«Then help us by not helping,» Ulfrik snapped.
Svala was still wielding her axe. «If I end up sent to the earth tomorrow, it will be your fault.»
Auðunar frowned, ignoring my presence as he walked past me. «Bjorgolf. Have Eyvald come here to harvest what we can. Ulfrik, check our perimeter. Make sure we still have some chance they didn’t hear all that. I’ll take this useless Sunderish fool back to camp.»
My chest ached, but there was nothing I could do but follow behind him and endure the cold sneers. At least I would have Brya to keep me company. She would not turn me away.
“I’m not useless,” I muttered once it was just the two of us once more.
«You would be dead if not for me.»
«I don’t need you to tell me that.» I glared. «I already knew it myself.»
«Don’t talk back to me.» He pivoted to face me. With him being bathed in the dreadwolf’s blood, it made his constant scowl all the more vicious. «I have half a mind to leave you out in that clearing, so I can prove to you how useless you truly are.»
I flinched at the wounding words. «I-I do not need to be some ferocious brute to prove my worth.»
He scoffed. “You think that sitting in some cushy castle, never going outside, and having your nose buried in books means that you have worth out here?”
“Shut it! You don’t know me,” I muttered. “You don’t know what I have been through. You do not know what I have survived!”
«Survived.» He curled his lip like he tasted something acrid. «You know nothing of survival, Sunderish fool.»
«What in the blazes is wrong with you, Auðunar? What gives you the right?»
«You would not survive an hour living my life,» he retorted. «You can’t fend for yourself. You have no instincts. You can’t fight. You are good for nothing but sitting there like a little poppet.»
My eyes burned. «That’s not true!»
He simply glared and turned away from me, already resuming our walk. «You should have never left Sunderland. You don’t belong out here.»
I was seeing red. Even out in the middle of Víldurlant, I did not belong. I did not belong anywhere.
I sprang forward, shoving Auðunar with all my strength. Perhaps it was only because he did not expect it, for I brought him down. I tackled him, though he easily was able to turn onto his back. I used that, grabbing him hard by the shoulders and shaking him.
“Damn you!” I cried. “Damn you, Auðunar, to the Blazing Hells! I will not let you, or Tobias, or anyone tell me where I do not belong! Do you understand me?”
He stared up at me as I was breathing hard in my rage and budding tears. His eyes were still narrowed, and he simply sat up and gave me a light push to get off him.
“You have not convinced me, Prince,” he muttered.
I stayed on my knees on the ground, watching him get up. “I will prove it to you! I will prove it at dawn on the morrow.”
“That is if you even survive on the morrow.” With one last glance back, he rolled his shoulders and soon after clutched his wound with a grimace. «Fucking Sunderish fool...»
A wide berth was kept around me during supper. As it turned out, dreadwolf meat could be eaten as means for survival. It was gamey, but now we had food to last us another few days. I kept close to Brya while I ate, regretting what I had done with each passing moment.
“Perhaps Auðunar was right,” I mumbled to Brya tears in my eyes once more. “I do not belong here.”
As I sniffled and kept my head down, I heard someone sit beside me. I turned my head to the left, surprised to see Sigmund. His rougher looking twin sat at my blind side.
I wiped at my uncovered eye. «S-sorry. I can sit somewhere else.»
Just as I went to rise, Sigehere grabbed my shoulder and brought me back down on my bottom.
«We sat here for a reason,» Sigehere grumbled, tossing his twin a tankard.
After Sigmund took several gulps, he handed it right back to his brother. «Your heart was in the right place, you know. Either one of us would’ve done the same thing.»
«I wouldn’t’ve.»
«I didn’t ask you, Sigehere,» he snapped, keeping his attention on me. «I messed up when I first joined this company, too.»
«You did?» I frowned. «What did you do?»
«See, my brother and I were thieves. Stole from unsuspecting Brømkhaldics to survive. We had nobody but each other.» Sigmund sighed. «Auðunar took us in while he saw us begging on the streets of Dolfrar, so I wanted to repay that kindness in any way that I could.»
«You mean, he was kind to you?» I tried to tease, but Sigmund did not seem to appreciate that.
«He asked us to keep watch right before an assignment where we were tracking goat thieves. He had this idea that because we were thieves, then we’d be quieter on our feet.»
«Then, this dolt here went and nearly crushed his foot,» Sigehere smirked. «Dropped Bjorgolf’s maul.»
«Well, if you didn’t hand it to me, then I would never have dropped it.»
«How was I supposed to know that you had weak wrists?»
Sigmund rolled his eyes. «I swear, if I didn’t promise Mama that I’d keep an eye on you, I’d be halfway to Trethial by now.»
«You wouldn’t last a day in Trethial without me, arsehole.»
I tried not to laugh while I listened. Their banter reminded me of the constant feud I had with Gideon. I remembered how often he would pester me or rile me up, and in return I would get on his nerves. I never thought I would miss that. But with each day that passed, my brother’s death was weighing me down in ways I could barely comprehend.
«Anyways,» Sigmund sighed, «I screamed so loud I alerted the entire forest. The goat thieves got away, and we had to spend another week tracking them down. Bjorgolf was so pissed with me. He never likes to be away from his wife and children too long.»
I blinked. «He has a family?»
«Most of us do.» Sigehere gestured to where the others were eating and carrying on. «Svala has a wife and three daughters. I think the eldest is nearly grown. Eyvald takes care of his niece. And Ulfrik? He’s one of the only people among us that was here from the very beginning, along with Bjorgolf. He was there with Auðunar when he first left the Tundra and formed this company. They’re brothers in all but name.»
«And I have a partner back in Hjanalír,» Sigmund said. «They get antsy if I take too long to get home.»
«What about you, Sigehere?»
Sigehere shrugged. «Ah, my partner wasn’t too happy with me when I left. He has it in mind that I intend to leave him for good.»
I found myself relaxing. After so long in Sunderland knowing few people like me, Brømkhald all at once felt safer for me to be open. «I am sure he misses you deeply and will be thrilled when you come home.»
«I hope so.» He rubbed the back of his neck. «But we shall see.» He watched me. «What about you? Do you have family?»
I shrunk and felt for Brya’s head to pet her. I started to shake my head. «My family was murdered,» I confessed, though I did not want to speak on it further. «It was one of the reasons I left Sunderland in the first place. And my lover, well...» I trailed off. «I-I suppose he is content with thinking that I am dead. He was supposed to meet me in Adinely and leave Sunderland with me.»
Sigmund winced. «Sorry to hear that.»
I shrugged. «That is my lot in life now. To be alone. To not belong anywhere. My lover said as much. Auðunar said that, too.»
«Auðunar’s just pissy. He never likes to admit when he needs help,» Sigehere chuckled. «He cares about the lot of us, so it was more likely that he was upset you could’ve put us all in danger.»
«But his words were so cruel.»
Sigmund sighed. «I shouldn’t be saying this...» He leaned close. «Cruelty is all that man has ever known. His father has dominion over the Kollshamrar Tundra. It hardened him in ways that most of us couldn’t imagine.»
I frowned. «That is not an excuse.»
«Not an excuse. Just an explanation.» He looked over at Brya, and when he tried to stroke her head, she let him.
«This does not leave our little log here,» Sigehere whispered. «I would like to not die tonight.»
«I would not dream of betraying that kind of trust.» I sighed, finishing up my meal. «So, perhaps he was right. If I am not cruel enough to withstand Víldurlant, then I do not belong anywhere in Brømkhald, after all.»
«He doesn’t truly mean that,» said Sigmund. «If he really didn’t think you belonged here with us, he wouldn’t have been spending all this time sparring with you.»
I grimaced. «He’s just doing all this because I need to do my part in the raid.»
The twins shared a look before Sigehere spoke. «If that was all, then he would’ve left you to figure out how to use a blade on your own. He wouldn’t have given you that one.»
I glanced down at my belt, registering the weight of the blade sheathed there once more. I moved to hold the hilt, just gently touching it with the tips of my fingers. «I suppose so.»
I looked back towards Auðunar’s tent. He had not come out after Bjorgolf patched him up, which meant that he had not eaten. I stood up with a sigh.
«Thank you both. Truly.» I gave them both a sheepish smile.
Sigmund nodded in the middle of a mouthful. Sigehere waved at me. Meanwhile, I went to Eyvald as he was still cooking the meat, nervous when telling him that I was bringing food to Auðunar. Despite the tension, he was amicable when presenting a portion to me.
I was careful when bringing it to Auðunar’s tent, gently shooing Brya back when she tried to stay at my legs. Upon opening the flap and letting myself in, I saw Auðunar was sitting up and shirtless. Most of the dreadwolf’s blood was cleaned off, but there were still some remnants in his hair, which was loose from its braids. It hung a little matted, some fringe getting into his eyes. Thick bandages were wrapped around his shoulder. Other than that wound, he also had many other smaller scars along his torso. They looked like they were from stab wounds or strikes from arrows and spears. He also had another mass of claw marks across his chest.
Upon my entry, he lifted his head with a scowl, not saying a word.
“…I’m sorry,” I began, not knowing what else to say. “I truly thought I was helping. No one has ever put this kind of faith in me before, like you have given me in the last few days. And I no longer want to do anything more to lose it.”
His scowl wavered. He tilted his head down. “I should not have yelled at you in front of everyone.”
I moved closer to his bedroll, careful not to jostle the food as I sat down. “There are some things you were right about. I would not survive an hour in your shoes. I am not strong. Perhaps I am not as smart as I was led to believe. And my life back home was a sheltered one. I cannot survive on my own.” I sighed. “But that does not mean that I have no worth.”
He frowned, still not quite meeting my eye. “I was wrong about something else. You are not a poppet. Far from it.”
I tried not to smile, just offering the tray to him. “You have not eaten, Auðunar. No use in sulking on an empty stomach when you are leading a raid at dawn.”
He eyed the food, wary when glancing up at my face. “…Right.” He took the tray from me. His dry fingertips grazed over my knuckles in the process. “You know, you should channel all that anger of yours at the raid. Put that rage to good use.”
I blanched. “I am not usually that uncouth. I apologize.”
He huffed in amusement. “That was not an insult.”
My cheeks warmed. Uselessly, I wrung my hands together. “W-well. I very well will try.” I got up, starting to back away.
“Ah, bíða?”
I stopped moving. “Yes?”
Auðunar reached behind himself, wincing when aggravating his wounded shoulder. He grabbed a horn. It was not the same one at his belt, this one a little smaller and paler in colour. “Here.” He handed it to me. “So you do not have to borrow mine again.”
I took it, reverent with it. Even if I did not belong here, at least I could be treated like I did. “Thank you.”
He inclined his head. «Get some rest, Sunderish fool. We will all be up early to prepare.»
«Right.» I cleared my throat. «Good night.»
Stepping out of his tent, I made my way back to mine. Brya went back over by the log, perhaps too tempted by the smell of meat to want to linger near me. The fatigue of the day was hitting me. I feared I would have another attack, and that would make things especially difficult on the morrow.
Before I could step into my tent, I was grabbed by the wrist. I turned, only for another hand to come to my waist.
Ulfrik frowned as he took hold of me. «What are you doing with Olaf’s horn?»
I blinked. «Who?»
His grip on my waist tightened, trailing lower to my hip. «You’re a little tense, Sunderish fool. Not good, especially not right before a raid.»
«Unhand me,» I snapped, jerking my wrist away from him.
«Oh, come now,» he hummed. «After that stunt you pulled today, it’s the least you can do for us. You are lucky the Grey Dogs didn’t hear you.»
I reared back, staying close to my tent even as he further pressed. «Get your hands off me,» I repeated with more conviction, though I could not wrench myself away.
His face was alarmingly close. «I don’t think I will.»
«What gives you the right to touch me?»
He frowned. «The ‘right’ being that you nearly ruined our mission. Besides, I heard you’re bent. Perhaps you’ll enjoy it.»
«Bent? How dare you—»
I gasped as the hand at my waist moved to my backside. He groped me, trying to grip the hem of my trousers. His groin pressed against mine in a degrading manner, trying to stir me. It filled me with visceral disgust.
Finding my courage, I jerked back and gave him a shove. «Don’t you ever touch me again. And don’t you dare try to come in my tent. I sleep with a knife under my bedroll, and my hound will snap at you.»
To my dismay, Ulfrik did not seem the least bit intimidated. He reached to take hold of my arm. «Tell me where you got your platinum, and perhaps I will decide not to make it painful.»
I shuddered, ready to bolt into my tent. «I will tell you nothing.»
«You will, if you know what’s good for you.»
«Sunderish fool?»
I tensed up at the sound of Bjorgolf’s voice.
Ulfrik glared at me, his eyes having that same cold, calculated stare that I saw in the dreadwolves. «Go on. Call for help.»
A wave of fear coursed through my whole body, and I did not dare look towards the direction of Bjorgolf’s voice. The risk of being further harmed was too great.
The gods were on my side, for Bjorgolf found me. Ulfrik let me go before we could be spotted in a lustrous position. Ulfrik feigned a light chuckle, as if we were talking to each other in jest this whole time.
«This Sunderish fool can be witty sometimes,» he grinned, glancing over at Bjorgolf. «Need something?»
He shook his head. «Just checking to see if the Sunderish fool needed armour.»
I gulped. «I-I do.» It was hard to keep my voice even. «I just have the leather straps Auðunar gave me for my knees and elbows.»
Bjorgolf had a helm under his arm. It looked around my size, perhaps a little large. He offered it to me. «You’ll want to protect your head on the morrow. That’s the best I can offer, other than what you already have.»
I took the helm, all at once relieved when Ulfrik walked away. I wanted to say something. I was frightened, my heart still thundering and my skin feeling putrid where it was touched. But the only words that could come out of my mouth were a nervous, «Thank you. I appreciate that.»
«And, erm...» He saw my gifted battle horn. «That’s Olaf’s horn.»
That name again. I did not know who that was. «Auðunar gave it to me.»
«He did?» Bjorgolf blinked, looking at my face a moment before shrugging his shoulders. «Make sure you don’t use that when we need to keep quiet. All right?»
«Right.» I blushed. «O-of course.»
Once left alone, I hurried into my tent. I could not even bring myself to change clothes for the night, for I feared that I would truly be preyed upon. I could not stop my panicked breathing, even as Brya reunited with me that night to snuggle close. Ulfrik was right. Who could I tell? He seemed well liked. Would anyone here not even believe he would do something to me? Would Auðunar not believe me? Would that jeopardize my already tenuous position here?
The best thing for me was to never have to find out.
Notes:
Slightly off topic, but I might start sharing short stories and one-shot works in this series' universe in the near future. They'll have their own separate series so the canon order of The Art of Malignance doesn't get cluttered. I have some ideas that just wouldn't fit in the official narrative, whether it's from a different character's perspective or it's something that takes place in the past. Sometimes, they might be entirely divergent from the plot (AU potential), mostly for exercises when I have writer's block.
The first will be posted under this Pseudonym on Saturday, August 30th. It's a birthday present to myself.
Translations:
Hrjóstulfr - dreadwolf (combining the words "horrible" and the suffix form of "wolf" in Old Norse)
Bíða - wait
Chapter 14: Mícheil
Summary:
Still wrestling with what he had with Declan in the past versus their clashing relationship now, Mícheil finds it hard to forget their history. How does one go from seeing someone as their favorite person in the world to now being forced to see him as his enemy?
He doesn't think he can.
Notes:
EDIT: There was a scene that I had drafted that was supposed to go in a future chapter that was cut, so in the final draft of the work, I added it to this chapter. To reflect that change, I edited this chapter here on Ao3.
I could go on and on FOREVER about the dynamic between Mícheil and Declan during their time in the Trethian skirmishes, but this book is already SUPER long. Both these men are working through things from their past.
There's some mild sensuality for a split second.
Content Warnings for unsafe binding practices and gender dysphoria
Chapter Text
Mícheil
“Sergeant Dunaidh, do you know what’s happening in Olnahd?” Colonel Druiminn invited me back to the estate for a brief meeting.
“Not quite,” I admitted, shaking my head.
“Arthur sent me a startling report when he returned from his research there.” He placed some papers in front of me. “He was originally there about the sword, but I had some sources tell me that Inquisitors had already taken over that outpost. The ones up there are more aggressive about the tithe than they are down here, if you can believe it.”
“To be frank with you, I can’t,” I chuckled. “How much more aggressive are we talkin’?”
“Tobias was there with Arthur, and he intervened when they questioned the caretaker of an orphanage up there. It is a home for children displaced by Iantinus’ ruling in particular, which makes their interrogation all the more egregious.”
I scrunched my nose. “A pack of wolves, the lot of them.” As I took in my own words, I blushed. “I wish I could say that things were faring better with my efforts, but Inquisitor Sutharlan hasn’t offered me much. Just that they are also trying to take further initiatives with tithe collection.”
I was getting both somewhere and nowhere with Declan, in the weeks since I moved back to Balhreid. Nowhere, because he was like a steel trap when it came to the other Inquisitors. Somewhere, because he did take up on mine and Brigit’s offer. He was far cagier than when we were younger. He hardly spoke to Brigit, and he was still strict about what he was doing whenever he visited. He collected the tithe and ate.
Granted, that was all he said he would do, but it still was underwhelming.
He seemed incensed to be there, but I could tell that there was at least a small part of him that enjoyed spending time with me and Brigit like we used to. It was slow going, but I felt sure that we could get him to talk a little more if we kept tensions low whenever he visited.
“That’s better than no information at all, I suppose.” He sighed. “Despite that, you’re doing good work, Sergeant.”
“I’m trying, Colonel, honest. Brigit Sutharlan has been helping me with getting tensions between us to ease at least a little.”
“That is good to hear.” Colonel Druiminn offered me another mug of ale, but I refused it. “Do come back when you break more ground with Inquisitor Sutharlan. And let me know if you need more funds.”
“So far, we’re just fine. But thank you, Colonel.” I gave him a salute as I stood. “I’ll ask Inquisitor Sutharlan about Olnahd, if I have the chance. Perhaps we’ll learn more.”
“Excellent idea.” Colonel Druiminn stood with me. “You don’t have to be as formal with me anymore, you know. The King’s Army had been disbanded.”
I shook my head. “You are still my Colonel.”
His eyes softened. “Take care of yourself, then, Sergeant Dunaidh.”
After I was dismissed, I couldn’t help but take a glance at the cellar on my way out. Was Tobias in there working on his experiments? How far was he willing to take this? Would he still insist that he was right about Declan? But I still had a chance to prove to him otherwise.
I was finding it hard, though. The more that I saw Declan, the more that I thought back to the life we used to have. Back to when we were good friends. Back to when I longed to see him daily in the army. Back to one of the best years of my life.
It made Declan hating me at present all the more painful. But this couldn’t be proof that Tobias was right.
* * *
Declan’s body clung tightly to mine, his thighs trembling as he fell apart with me. I slumped hard on top of him, struggling for an even breath.
“Fuck.” I grinned into his hair, pressing kisses. “That was intense.”
“Aye.” Declan shuddered, his body starting to relax as he panted. “It’d be better if there wasn’t a rock under my arse.”
“Shit,” I laughed, careful when sitting up and withdrawing. “I’m so sorry. You alright?”
“I will be.” He stayed lying back, shuffling so that the bedroll could be on even ground.
We’d been seeing each other like this for over a year. Gods, we tried to keep our voices down, but the other men weren’t even trying to hide that they knew about us. After this long, I didn’t care.
I never felt the way I did for Declan about anyone else. It didn’t matter what we did. It was easy. It felt so easy. I didn’t have to try so hard, and he was able to let his guard down for a little while. After only the first month of this on and off, we started fucking each other because we couldn’t sleep, or because we were bored, or simply because we could.
But the more that we did it, the more that to me it felt like this was more than just us blowing off steam. Sometimes, I wanted to take things a little slower, but I was too bashful to ask. But I also wouldn’t change the way we had things for anything.
Declan pulled me closer to his bedroll, helping me settle back on top of him. He pressed a deep kiss to my lips, still holding the back of my head after he pulled away. “What’re you hoping for next, once those stupid kings on high decide it’s not worth fighting after all?”
I shrugged. “Don’t know. Go back to Gurindeck, probably? I think I might get into carpentry.”
“Carpentry?” he chuckled.
“What’s so funny?”
“Nothing. Just can’t see you building a chair, let alone a house.”
I felt the pout on my face before I could stop it. “I bet I could.”
Declan rubbed his chin. “All right. Build a chair. One that you can sit on. I don’t want it to fall apart the moment my arse touches it. Once you can do that, then I’ll support your carpentry dream.”
“As if you’d have no faith in me,” I teased, leaning down to kiss his chest. “Well, I have faith in me.”
“That’s what matters—d-dammit, Mícheil!” He laughed as I teased one of his nipples with my tongue. He shoved at my head. “Does your cock ever go to sleep?”
“I dunno. You could ask.” When he shoved me again, I laughed but relented, just resting my head right above his stomach. “Perhaps… you can come to Gurindeck with me.”
Declan sighed, running his fingers through my hair. “I’m not a fan of larger cities. Too many rich, stuffy people.”
“Right.” I glanced up. “Well, perhaps we can stay in Kressie instead?”
“‘We?’”
I nodded but faltered. “Well, unless…” I sighed. “Unless you’d rather we’re not in close quarters anymore.”
“I never said that.” He frowned, running his fingers through my hair. “Oh, Mícheil… don’t look so wounded. You’re like a kicked pup when you’re sad.”
I managed to give him a little smile. “I’m not sad. Just thinkin’.”
“Well, stop it,” he grinned, hauling me back up until we were face to face once more. “We’re alright.”
I gave him a soft kiss. “I know.” I then gave him another. “We’re alright.”
* * *
“Ach, dammit!”
Another attempted chair fell apart the moment I tried to test if it was stable. I heard Brigit passing the hall before I saw her. I could feel her attention on me as she stepped into the room.
“Mícheil, I hate to ask, but what are you doing?”
I sighed, glancing up at her. “What does it look like? I’m tryin’ to build a chair.”
“Any… particular reason?”
I shrugged. “Figured I’d try it.” I tossed the old tools aside. “I blame the wood. It’s shit.”
Brigit was on the floor with me, bringing her work with her. “You’re thinking again.”
I blinked, looking over at her as she was hemming someone’s tunic. “How can you tell?”
“Because you look like you’re about to take a shit,” she teased.
I frowned. “Oi, planning takes hard work.” I slouched back. “So does building chairs, apparently. Can’t quite get it right.”
“Mícheil, why do you wanna build a chair so bad?” she laughed.
“I want to prove to Declan I can do it.” It was out before I could stop it. I grimaced and looked away before I could imply any other deep secrets. “Just some stupid bet we made while we were near Trethial together. I told him I wanted to be a carpenter, and he thought I couldn’t do it.”
‘That sounds a lot like Declan.” She looked towards the door. “Do you think he’s coming tonight?”
“Hard to say,” I shrugged, hauling myself up to my feet. “Guess we can use this shoddy chair for firewood.”
“Or, you can try again and make another chair.” Brigit stayed on the ground with her hemming. “You know why he said you couldn’t do it? It’s because he wanted you to prove to yourself that you could. He was always thinking ahead like that. He did that with me all the time when we were children.”
I’d already started taking apart the splinters of wood. “What’re you trying to say?”
“I’m saying that if you want to prove it to him, then build the damn chair.”
I shrugged my shoulders. “Even if I make a good one, he’ll just say it’s shit.”
“You’re looking at it wrong.” She sat back. “See on the bottom there? You need some other pieces to hold it all together.”
I watched her point, tilting my head and squinting. “All right. I’ll try again.” I sat back down on the floor. “I can take some more material from the southern wing, I think.”
“Good idea.” She continued her work. “If only there were other ways to get Declan to come around.”
“Right.” I relented with a sigh.
* * *
“Declan? You don’t look so good.”
He glowered at me, wiping at his mouth. “Nay. It’s because I’m not. I swear, Finnigan’s cooking is worse than yours.”
“Ah, it’s not that bad.”
“You must’ve developed an immunity to it, or something.” He rubbed at the sides of his head. “Gods, the night rotation is getting to me.”
I sighed, coming closer to hold his sides from behind. “Perhaps I can talk to Major Kastil to move you to days with me?”
“Mícheil Hamish Dunaidh, you better not try to use your Sergeant privileges to undermine everyone’s rotations.”
“But it’s only a little tweak.” I tilted my head down to peck a light kiss at his neck. “Move you round a bit, put one of the newer recruits in your place, it’ll be nothin’.”
He grimaced but leaned into me. “Were you serious about wanting to move to Kressie?”
I tried to hide the grin while he couldn’t see it. “I could be. Have nothin’ to my name in Gurindeck anyhow. I’m already stationed here. And I can use my Sergeant’s bonus to get a nice house, perhaps even a farm.”
“Whatever happened to wanting to build chairs?” he teased.
“I can build them on the side.” I pressed more little kisses up his neck.
Declan shuddered, shrugging me away. “I need to rest. I have a long shift tonight with Officer Lowell transferred to Camp Eleven.”
“I’ll stand watch with you.”
“No, Mícheil.” He guided me into the tent. “You already have far too much to do.”
“All right, fine.” I shifted to help him lie down, pressing a kiss to his brow.
“And I don’t want sex right now.”
“I don’t either,” I snorted. “I’m just giving you kisses.”
He squinted. “Just kisses?”
I shrugged. “Why not?”
“Oh.”
“Is that alright?”
Declan paused, nodding his head. “That’s fine.” He closed his eyes. “Can you rub here, actually? I have a terrible cramp.”
He guided one of my hands to his lower back, and I shifted behind him to massage the muscles. I watched him relax, just giving him another kiss on the shoulder.
“I can get used to this,” he said with a smile. “I like ordering you around.”
“Well, I like it when you order me around.”
“If you’re this good at following orders with a massage, I can’t wait to order you around while I fuck your arse.”
I blanched. “W-what?”
He winced. “Did I say that aloud?”
“You did,” I laughed, nuzzling him. “That would have to wait until we both aren’t working the next day. I’d hate to try and march after that.”
I heard Declan snicker while shaking his head. He was close to dozing, so I just stayed beside him until I had to take care of my other obligations.
The next day, he was incredibly sick again. I went to Major Kastil himself to try and excuse him.
“He can’t keep anything down,” I said. “He’s in a lot of pain, too.”
“Has he gone to the physician?” Major Kastil didn’t look at me once.
I frowned. “He can’t even get out of his bedroll. How’s he supposed to go?”
Only then did he meet my eye with a glare. “You are not Lieutenant Sutharlan’s keeper. He has been having issues for the last several weeks. Get him to the physician.”
When I did try to get Declan to sit up, he bemoaned an incredible headache and began to cry. He couldn’t eat anything except bread. He complained that the camp was too loud, though that was out of my control.
“Should I get the physician in here?” I asked. “Major Kastil wants you to see one.”
“Major Kastil can lick my cunt,” he grunted.
“Declan…” I took hold of his hand. “I’m worried about you. I hate seein’ you so sick. What can I do?”
I saw that he was tearing up once more, and he squeezed his eyes shut. “Stay with me?”
“The whole day.” I pressed a kiss to his brow, trying to make sure he was as comfortable as possible. “I’ll call off my plans.”
He was on the mend by dusk, but I didn’t want him to do this night’s rotation. So, I stayed with him in his bedroll while he relaxed. I fed him some more bread, since that was still the only thing he could keep down. He had me massage his cramp again, and I kept my body close while we settled down.
“Will you see a physician soon?” I asked softly, nuzzling his shoulder.
He sighed, rubbing the side of his head. “Perhaps I will, on the morrow. I’m not getting any better.” He shifted so his back was pressed against my chest. “Mícheil?”
“Hm?”
“Why do you want to be a carpenter?”
I sighed. “The truth?” I got no further response, which told me all I needed to know. I caressed his side while I spoke. “Before my mum died, she always used to tell me that good men created things, not destroyed them.”
He turned to face me, his expression softening. “And you think creating things from wood will make you a good man?”
I winced. “N-not a good one, perhaps. Just at least the makings of one.”
Declan frowned. “I didn’t mean any harm by it. C’mere.” He took my face in his hands. “You don’t need to build things to create them. It may not even have to be things you can touch. It can be things you can feel. Things you can think about.” He managed a small smile, stroking my cheek. “Like memories.”
That made me blush. “And you think I can create good memories?”
“You’ve certainly created many good ones for me.” He leaned close, kissing my lips. “You already are a good man, Mícheil. The only one that needs to see that is you.”
I held him close, breathing out deeply while kissing his shoulder. I wished I could tell him how I felt, what I’d wanted to say to him for over a year. It’d been trying to claw its way out from my mind, and it wanted to be let out, but I kept my mouth shut.
That night, we did the closest thing to making love that we would ever get.
* * *
Brigit was busy at work in the room with me during my next attempt at a chair. She just finished a row of stitches before perking up. “I have an idea.”
I flipped the chair over now that the legs were all set in the right places. They were all the same height. When the legs were planted on the floor, the chair was level. That was already better progress than the last two chairs. With a sigh, I glanced at Brigit. “And what’s that?”
“You could try and soften him up.”
“What?” I sputtered, trying not to laugh. “I can’t do that. He’d kill me.”
And he would, given that the previous attempts on my life by his hand were almost successful.
“Oh, come now. You give him way too much credit. He’s just as human as the rest of us.” Brigit turned to face me. “Perhaps we should give him a supper that will remind him of how life used to be. That could help bring him back around, even a little bit.”
“That would have to be a hefty reminder.”
I looked out the window, seeing what remained of Old Farmer Tiernan’s crop, which wasn’t much. If only those chickens were still there. That would’ve been a nice surprise to try and make those murderous eggs that had banned me and Brigit from cooking for him in the first place.
“Or. Mícheil, listen.” She got up. “What if you were more… affectionate?”
I blinked. “…How do you mean?”
“You know,” she insisted, keeping the same grin on her face from when she first suggested it.
It clicked too late.
“No!” My face burned as I looked away. “No way, Brigit. That’s not an option.” I covered my face. “A-absolutely not. He’d really kill me.”
“Oh, come on! It’d work.”
“The blazes, it will.”
She puffed her cheeks, placing her hands on her hips. “I thought you said you loved him.”
I coughed, still not looking at her. “I know what I said.” I nearly forgot she was there when Tobias confronted me this past summer. “But it can’t go nowhere, Brigit.”
She pursed her lips. “Give me one good reason why not.”
“For one, he hates me.”
“Mícheil, he does not hate you.”
“What convinced you?” I smirked. “Was it all those times he nearly killed me or the times that he swore in my face and told me to eat shit?”
“As Declan’s younger sister, I know things,” she said, as if that explained everything. “I’ve noticed that he used to get annoyed whenever I stood by you on our walks. I’ve also noticed that whenever I laughed at your jokes or you held my hand when we had to all walk home together, he would get real pissy and moody.”
“Pissy and moody,” I repeated with a wry chuckle, shaking my head. “This does nothing to make me think that it’s a good idea. Besides, even if you think there was somethin’ there, we were children.”
Brigit pouted. “Well, it was just a thought. Don’t have to be so dismissive.”
I sighed. “Besides, Brigit, there’s another reason why I know it won’t work.”
“Well?” She scooted closer.
“Look.” My face felt hotter. “This stays between us. If he knew I told you this, he’d kill us both. You hear?”
She nodded. “I never tell secrets.”
I blinked, my eyes narrowing. “Right.”
“I’ll keep this one.”
I sighed. “All right. While we were at Camp Thirteen together, we shared a tent. We’d been sharing it for a couple years, and after a while we got…” I groaned, tilting my head back. “I can’t believe I’m telling you this.”
“Wait.” She stared at me, wide-eyed. “…Did you sleep with my brother?”
I blanched, covering my face once more. “That’d imply it was only one time.”
“You slept with my brother?! Gods!” Brigit shoved me, exclaiming in disgust. “For how long?”
I stammered. “A year.”
“A year?”
“Shut it!” I hissed, glancing back at the door. “If he’s comin’ tonight, he’ll be here any minute.”
“I can’t believe you!”
“What? It was only an arrangement between us as friends, that’s all. It didn’t mean anything.”
“Oh no, no,” Brigit frowned. “You dense arsehole! With how he felt about you, you slept with him for a year, and you say it didn’t mean anything?”
“But he never said otherwise! How was I supposed to know what was in his own head, Brigit?”
“Do you have eyes?”
I groaned, getting up. “But he was so flippant!”
“He’s Declan!”
There was a knock on the door downstairs that startled us both. “We’re never discussing this again, y’hear?” I hurried across the estate before she could answer.
I was reeling. There was no way. That whole time… Declan? Having feelings for me? There was no chance. He gave me no hints or clues. For one, he was more put together and didn’t laugh at my jokes. Whenever I’d tell him one back in the Wilds or in Trethial, he’d just roll his eyes and give me this smirk. Didn’t people that truly liked someone laugh at their jokes?
He never said he felt anything more, even while we were fucking. Sometimes, he’d even bemoan at whatever state of undress I was in, even if his cheeks got red sometimes. We were just blowing off steam, nothing more. That was how it always was for Declan.
However… there were times that he would laugh, most of them being at my expense. It happened whenever we tried to carouse during breaks in Kressie and I tried to flirt with women. I would always blow up in my face, either with me getting slapped or the woman asking if I was sick. And that would be when Declan would howl and hold his gut or slap a knee. And he had his unique laugh that shuddered through his whole body whenever he was particularly tickled by something.
Of course, I wouldn’t have passed my examinations for the Sergeant’s promotion, if it weren’t for Declan. He’d stay up with me the whole night before, helping me strategize a proper battalion and recite all the codes and laws. And each time we came back to the camp alive, he’d give me this tight hug, one that I rarely ever wanted to break away from. His face would always rest at the crook of my neck, and he would take the time to just breathe. I thought that those moments with him were even better than whenever we’d pass time in the tent.
I slowed my steps as I frowned at that memory. It made me feel ridiculous. I never got to tell him how I felt. I should’ve, but perhaps now it was too late. If he did somehow feel any other way about me than just being that oafish friend from when we were children, surely I’d lost that favour. Perhaps even after we started our arrangement, if what Brigit said was true.
The next set of knocks were a little louder, firmer. It made me snap out of it.
“Oi, open up!” Declan sounded more and more disgruntled by the second. “I’m freezing my tits off out here!”
I found myself snickering as I tried opening the door. I tried to make sure I wasn’t blushing before he stepped through. “Sorry. Didn’t think you were coming. I could’ve cleaned up.”
He stared at me, unimpressed. “I believe, in my terms, I told you not to expect me.” He rubbed at his arms to quell a chill. “Your tithe?”
“I already ran into Inquisitor Robasan earlier in the day.”
His eyes narrowed, and he looked me up and down. “You’re lying.”
I sputtered. “I am not.”
“You are.” He shook his head. “The utter dishonesty towards His Majesty’s Inquisition.” He held out his hand while tutting, his eyebrow quirking up. “Shame on you, Dunaidh.”
I cleared my throat and shuffled into my coin purse. “How’d you know I was lying?” I set the silver down into his palm.
He stuffed those same coins on his own person. “You have a tell.”
“I-I do not,” I stammered as I led him down the hall.
“You do,” he huffed. “Your brow furrows and your face twitches.” He reaches up, poking at the side of my head. “Right here.”
I didn’t want him to be right, but that was so specific that he had to be. “W-well.” I cleared my throat. “I’ll work on it.”
“Be sure you do.” He didn’t say anything to Brigit when she met with us. The two of us had grown to expect that by now. He showed that he was holding a basket. “I prepared coneys and some roasted beets.”
Brigit scrunched her nose. “Did it have to be beets, Declan?”
“They’re good for you,” he scolded.
We’d taken up the habit of eating on the floor together with a blanket under our legs. I lit some candles when it started getting dark. I had to admit this to myself, but Declan’s cooking was far better than anything I could’ve conjured up.
“You two had made me pick up a regular routine with my meals.” Declan was taking his time with his meal. “I almost couldn’t make it tonight. I didn’t have a good enough excuse for Inquisitor Robasan.”
“Well, I’m glad you’re here,” Brigit insisted.
He said nothing to her in response.
“It’s getting a little harder to live out here,” I admitted. “I dunno what to do when winter comes. I almost wanna go back to Kressie. The Moorish Cup had this amazing roasted pork.” I faltered. “Well. Before all the livestock got wiped out.”
Declan inclined his head. “A shame.” He focused on his food. “We take and take, but whatever for? It doesn’t benefit me. It doesn’t benefit any of us Inquisitors on the bottom.”
I blinked. Was he…? This almost sounded like he was giving me information.
“Well, who does it benefit?”
“Who do you think?” he huffed. “Everyone at the top. It’s no different than how the Usurper ran things. We still suffer under the weight of the King’s Purse.” He winced, as if quoting his own father brought him pain. “Except this purse is filled with ashes and corpses. That’s what these tithes are for. The King doesn’t want your coins or your clothes or your food. He wants you. Your bodies. He needs husks.”
Brigit blinked. “So, you three are just waiting for people to keep getting arrested?”
“Those were my orders,” he muttered. “And like I said, I am indebted to them. To not follow their directions would be an insult.”
“It don’t have to be this way, Declan.”
He glared at me. “Well, it doesn’t particularly matter what you think, Dunaidh. And sooner or later, we will shift our tithe collecting to twice a week instead of once.”
“Twice a week? Why?”
“Because you people won’t give His Majesty an inch.” He gritted his teeth. “They need to take by any means necessary. One of those means happens to be more tithing. And they’ll continue to send Inquisitors and enforce stricter collections, if it means that His Majesty will have what he needs.”
I needed to back off from my questioning. One wrong move and I could assure that he’d never come back here.
“I can understand a bit of what it’s like.” I tried to diffuse the subject. “Tobias has become a mean bastard after Prince Lucian died. You know how you said he gave up his chance to join Iantinus?” I watched him perk up from the corner of my eye. “Well, he doesn’t pray to him or anything, but he is doing something sinister. There’s these experiments he’s been doing with maleficium, and they are disgusting.”
“Thanaturgy.”
I blinked. “Come again?”
“The magic. It’s called thanaturgy.” Declan then waved a hand, like he wanted me to continue.
“Anyways, he’s been doing these weird experiments back at Colonel Druiminn’s home. He’s destroying plants and turning the whole estate into a house of horrors. It’s become his personal mess for tests, creating all sorts of destruction. He’s going mad with it, I’d say. Arthur wrote to me the other day that he thinks Tobias is seein’ things that aren’t there.”
Declan frowned at that. “Any idea what he might be planning?”
I shrugged. “But I did hear from the Colonel that there were some issues that Arthur and Tobias ran into in Olnahd.”
“Olnahd?” Something about mentioning the town seemed to sober Declan up. He stopped eating, his face going pale. “W-why were they in Olnahd?”
“Somethin’ about doing some research up there. But the Inquisitors up there were messin’ with this orphanage caretaker.”
“What? Did anything else happen?”
“I dunno. I wasn’t there,” I said.
“You had enough knowledge to say what Selleck and Tobias saw. So, what the fuck happened in Olnahd?”
“Shouldn’t you know? It’s Inquisitor business.”
Declan blinked, looking at me and taking a shaky breath. He slouched, looking back down at his dish. “It may be hard for you to believe, Dunaidh, but we are not a monolith.”
“A what?”
He sighed, gathering up the empty platters. “Never mind.” He still seemed shaken. “I must be going. Thank you for enjoying my meal.”
“Wait.” I lifted a hand up. “Can I walk you home?”
Brigit watched the two of us, and she squinted at me in particular.
He scrunched his nose. “I’m not a child,” he scoffed. “I can walk on my own.”
“But what if I want to walk you back?”
At my insistence, he turned, looking me up and down. “You may show me the door. Nothing more.”
I led the way with a sigh. Perhaps I could give him a minor delay. I didn’t want him to leave just yet. “Oi, Declan?”
He grumbled, not looking at me.
“I’m building a chair.”
“Huh?”
“I’m building a chair. Remember?” I tried to give him a little smile. “You’d believe I could be a carpenter if I could build my own chair.”
Declan pursed his lips. “Why you choose to focus on such remedial tasks is beyond me. You can barely tell the difference between a hammer and a mallet.”
“Mock me all you want, but I’m building you that chair. Come, I’ll show you.”
He groaned. “Dunaidh, I have to get back.”
“It’ll only take a few minutes.”
“Fine.” Declan set his pack down.
I started to lead him upstairs, where I had that chair. I tried to avoid looking at the splinters from failed attempts lying round all over the place.
“What, are you gathering firewood from the southern wing again?” he snorted.
“No. But here.” In one of the old knights’ rooms, I had it. It was still upright.
Declan frowned, squinting. “Dunaidh, what is this?”
“It’s a chair,” I grinned. “And it’s the best one yet. I’ve been workin’ hard on it.”
He looked at it, then at me. His frown only deepened. “I told you, I don’t care what you did regarding chairs.”
“Nope. I don’t buy it.” I held up a hand. “You said that if I could build a chair and you can sit on it, then I could be a carpenter.”
“That was three years ago, you dolt.”
“But see? I stuck to it.” I gestured to the chair again.
He stepped closer, reaching out and touching the wooden frame. His hand ran over the seat. “Well, you’re right about one thing. It looks like a chair.”
I nodded with a grin. “Now, sit on it.”
“I’m not sitting on it.”
“Come now, I won’t win the bet if you don’t.”
“It wasn’t a bet, it—n-never mind.” He crossed his arms. “You sit on it. And if it doesn’t break under you, I’ll sit on it.”
“Fine. Fine. But you’ll be eating your words.” I shuffled, standing right in front of it.
Let’s hope it doesn’t break.
I sat down in the chair. So far, it was holding my weight. I shifted. The legs didn’t even scrape. I crossed my arms, leaned back, and held my breath. It was holding my weight!
“I don’t believe it.” Declan blinked, coming closer. “You actually did it. You made a chair.”
“See? Told you I could do it.” I grinned and leaned back once more. “It only took a couple tries.”
There was a horrid creaking underneath my arse.
The next moment, the legs caved in. I dropped right down on top of the wood. Some of the wood was digging into my back as I groaned.
“Dammit!” I shuffled, wincing until I managed to move away from the chair. “Dammit. I almost had it that time.”
I blinked, looking up as I heard Declan sputtering. He covered his mouth, looking away as he burst into laughter. He laughed so hard that he had to hold his stomach. His cheeks were growing flushed.
“S-sorry!” he gasped. “Sorry. It’s not funny. I-it’s not…” He trailed off, wheezing as he cackled. “I-I can’t breathe!”
My embarrassment tripled as I found myself laughing along with him. I shook my head, coming up to help hold out his arms. “Dammit, Declan,” I grinned. “I’m gonna get it right!”
“Sure, you will,” he snickered with a shake of his head.
I was still holding his arms, standing in front of him as he tried to calm down. As he watched me, taking even breaths, his smile started to waver. He looked out the window, clearing his throat.
“I need to head back,” he managed, coughing a bit when his voice sounded hoarse. He turned to leave heading downstairs.
I walked right behind him, trying not to exaggerate how slowly I wanted to move. “Oi, Declan?”
He grumbled, not looking at me.
“Why didn’t you kill me that first time?”
There was silence for a moment. “You took me by surprise. I didn’t know you’d be there.”
“What about the second time?”
He huffed. “You met my demand for the tithe.”
“I mean, if you really wanted to kill me, you would’ve done it,” I teased.
Declan whipped around. “What are you playing at?”
“What?” I held my hands up. “I’m not playing anything.”
“What are you trying to imply?”
“Nothing,” I insisted.
“Cos if you think I am soft on you, Mícheil Dunaidh, you are mistaken,” he snapped. “I’m not that weak-willed.”
“Never said you were,” I grinned. “I think your will is far stronger than mine.”
“Are you trying to placate me?”
“N-no.” I flushed. “I’m innocent.”
He squinted at me. “You are far from innocent, Dunaidh.” Declan was reaching down. Was he grabbing his ashes?
I reached down, taking hold of that wrist with a grin. “Oi, if you wanted to fight me, you should’ve given me a warning.”
“Get your meaty hands off me.” He yanked his arms out of my grip.
“Meaty?” I grimaced and held that same hand up to my chest when letting go. “I’m wounded. I’ve been told I have a gentle touch.”
“By whom? Your own cock?”
I couldn’t contain a stifled snort. “I was once told that by you.’”
He glared, rearing back. “As if there is anything gentle about what you’ve done to me.”
“Declan, what are you—”
“Gods, stop looking at me like that,” he muttered. “I feel sorry for any women that were foolish enough to fuck you.”
I frowned. “Declan, you’re giving me far too little credit.”
He frowned. “Stop talking about it.”
“Declan, you do know that every time I was with you, I was with a man, right?”
“Fuck off,” he snapped. “You were just blowing off steam. It wouldn’t have mattered what I was to you.”
“That’s not true.” I reached to take one of his hands. “I wish we’d gotten to talk, the night you disappeared.”
He snatched his hand away from me, glancing down at his ashes.
“Declan?”
“I was only gonna stop your heart for a few seconds.”
“What, again?” I stepped back. “Why? Because I’m trying to talk to you?”
“No, not just that. I can’t stand the sound of your voice right now.”
Brigit’s strange theory was starting to make less and less sense. “Fine. I’ll stop talking.”
“Good. Because I’m bored.” He was starting to walk out the door now, running a hand through his hair and muttering under his breath.
“Can I ask you one last thing?”
“What, Dunaidh?” He had just opened the door. “I’ve had it with your inane nonsense tonight.”
“Just really quick,” I insisted. “What did you wanna tell me, Declan?”
He paused, standing frozen at the threshold. “What are you talking about?”
“The last night I saw you, you needed to tell me something. What was it?”
Nothing else was said for a moment. When Declan snapped out of it, he glared at me. “It’s been three years. How am I supposed to remember? If you think I will tell you something even as meaningless as the last time I took a piss, after everything you put me through, you are denser than rocks. Now, for the last time, good night.”
I stepped back and sighed. “Very well. Good night, Declan.”
He was already walking away when I shut the door.
Tobias was wrong. He had to be. But the Declan I knew and loved wouldn’t have been so cold.
* * *
Over the next few days, Declan suddenly stopped speaking to me.
I didn’t know what I did wrong. I tried to greet him in the morning when he’d come back in from his rotation. I’d offered a “good night” each time before he’d leave for the next one, but he was avoiding me.
I tried to figure out on my own what I did. Perhaps it was the way we made love the other night. Our bodies were closer than they’d ever been. I even made Declan cry. I felt so awful about it that it made me cry, which in turn made him smile. Nothing else seemed out of the ordinary.
Everything was fine, at least on my end of things. It didn’t seem to have anything to do with our arrangement, either, because there was a night in between that we did have sex again. But it was strange, since he refused to talk to me, look at me, or kiss me. He just wanted to bounce on my cock.
I wanted to try and talk to him before he went out to his next shift. I started dressing down for the night, sighing while Declan was working on his bindings. “Everything alright, Declan?”
He didn’t look at me, fidgeting with the bandages.
“You’re wrapping those too tight again.” I got up, sighing and coming behind him.
When I reached out to help him, he winced but didn’t stop me. His hands were shaking.
“Declan, what’s wrong?” I asked, careful and keeping them loose.
I heard an intake of breath, but he didn’t let it out right away.
“Whatever it is, I can help.” I stayed right behind and wrapped my arms around him.
Declan sighed. “I don’t think you can help me with this.”
“Perhaps I can.” I was just relieved that he was talking again. I nuzzled his hair. “But I can’t if I don’t know how. Just tell me what’s going on.”
He hesitated. “I can’t.”
“Declan, don’t make me guess.” I took one of his hands. “Did someone say something ’bout you? Cos you and I both know that you’re just as much a man as all them out there.”
He huffed out a dry laugh. “While touching, no. Nothing like that this time.”
“You’re not being reassigned, are you?”
He shook his head.
“Is it Colm?”
Another shake of his head.
“Is it…” I trailed off. “Is it us?”
He stiffened. “Mícheil.”
My heart stuttered. “I knew it.” I let go of him, worried that he didn’t want me to touch him. I knew that making love ruined it. It ruined everything. Why did I think he’d like that? I ruined everything.
“Mícheil, don’t.”
“No, it’s alright,” I assured him. “It really is. I’ve noticed some things. You’ve not been wanting sex much lately, and then this whole week has been hard. I miss being able to just talk to you. I don’t wanna ruin our friendship, so if you don’t wanna do all that stuff no more, it can stop.”
“Mícheil, it’s not us.”
I stopped. “It’s not?”
“No.” He turned to face me. “It’s something different.”
I saw that he was starting to cry. I stepped closer once more, reaching to take his hand. “Declan?”
“It’s something a lot different. All right?” Tears welled up in his eyes, and he didn’t bother to hide them. “It’s putting me all out of sorts. A-and if you leave my side right now, I will make you fucking regret it.”
“I ain’t going nowhere.” I took hold of his arms. “Never. I’m right here.”
“I-I’m sorry. Just. Please.” His breath hitched. “I don’t know what to do. It’s frightening.”
I pulled him close as he let out a sob, letting him cling as tight as he wanted. His nails were digging into my back through my tunic, and his tears were already dampening my shoulder.
“I don’t know what to do, Mícheil,” he whimpered. “I-I’m scared.”
I pressed a kiss to his hair and rubbed his back. “I’m here. Alright? I’ll help take care of it. No matter where I am, I’ll be there to help. Always, Declan.”
He wheezed on another cry, just clinging to my tunic. His shift was going to start soon, but they would just have to drag us both out together, because I wasn’t letting go of him for anything. Not when he was like this. He only started to calm down the longer that I tended to him and comforted him.
“I can’t say it,” he mumbled at last. “I can’t tell you what’s wrong right now. I’m too frightened. But…” He sighed, looking up at me. “I can use this rotation to parse through my thoughts. When I get back from my shift tonight, I’ll try to tell you then. Alright?”
I nodded. “A great use of your time.”
He smiled through his tears. “If we have to kick Trethian arse, you’d better stay alive. Because I’ll kill you.”
“Hah.” I pecked a light kiss to his nose. “Now, you go guard that barricade. You’re the best at it.”
He rolled his eyes. “Aye, Sergeant.” When I blushed at that, he just laughed and kissed my lips. “You’re adorable.”
Left in a daze, I settled for bed after Declan left. And as I was dozing off, content with the thought that he’d wake me up the next morning, I started to wonder if I should finally tell him how I felt. Perhaps he’d appreciate it, if he wanted me to stay. Maybe he felt the same way I did.
Only, that next morning was when I woke up late.
Chapter 15: Lucian
Summary:
Nervous about the outcome of this morning's raid, Lucian is frightened by the knowledge he receives in his latest vision. What can he do to change the fate of the company responsible for his safety?
Whatever it takes.
Notes:
Here is when you'll start to notice that there really is no pattern to the POVs. Sorry for that ^^;
Next chapter will be in Declan's POV.So, here's a funny thing. Originally, these Brømkhaldic mercenaries were just a small influence to the plot. But as I developed Auðunar Thrandsson as a character, I grew SO attached. And as his development became more realized, his dynamic with Lucian developed alongside it.
Auðunar is one of my favorite characters that I've written. And I couldn't have given him life without the help of my patient and encouraging friends that I have spouted all of my ideas to.
I have a playlist for him too! In case you couldn't tell, I just love making playlists.Content Warnings for violence and gore, including decapitation
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Lucian
It was not too difficult to wake up before dawn. I had another restless night, and Brya kicked me in the stomach in her sleep. The frigid weather was still difficult to get used to, and Auðunar was right the previous week. I knew not how much worse it could get, the closer that the Winter Sunwane loomed. Even with my warmest clothes, including the cloak lent to me, I was still freezing.
I thought about Tobias back home and about the family I lost. I thought of how Sunderland was quickly and surely falling to ruin. Even once King Iantinus the Third was dealt with, the kingdom may never recover from happenings so catastrophic.
That thought was enough to rouse an angry heat within my blood.
I tested Auðunar’s sword in my hands once more, swinging at a nearby tree. It was still far harder for me to strike with this eyepatch on. My perception was skewed and weak. It was difficult to judge. I could never see anything coming at me from my right side. The stress of it alone began to trigger a headache.
In frustration, I yanked the patch off from my head, flinging it down to the ground nearby. In my haste, my ribbon came undone, my hair falling limply. My filthy state was the last thing on my mind.
All at once, I was overwhelmed by the different sights I had not noticed in the darkness. It was a clear night, and the violet haze reflected off the snow. I puffed out a few tense breaths, the vapor gathering around my face.
Despite the disorientation, I felt some relief in my mind. The acute attack that I could feel the edges of fell away. It was a comfort to fully see the world around me, even if my horrific eye had changed how it looked. Keeping a tight grip on the hilt, I resumed my strikes once more.
Everything was clearer, sharper. While I never had the desire to strike someone with a sword in true combat, I was doing far better than with the eyepatch on. Which was a shame, considering that I needed to keep it hidden. No one could ever look upon it.
I was breathing hard after roughly a half hour of my sparring. I stepped back from the tree and dropped the sword on the ground beside me. Why did this have to happen to me? What did I do in my life to deserve this? It would soon push everyone away from me. Perhaps even Tobias would eventually revile me for my curse.
With that thought fresh in my mind, I felt that sharp pain behind my right eye once more. I whimpered, clutching my head and starting to double over just as my vision clouded.
I saw chaos in the middle of a forest. People were striking each other left and right, gore melting the snow beneath our feet. Such a display of violence up close startled me. Was the upcoming raid being shown to me?
The vision changed to focus on Auðunar. He stabbed a man right in front of him through and through, but there was another coming towards him while he was distracted. He had a large axe in two hands, his hair matted and his eyes cold. The man drew it back and swung hard.
When it struck true, Auðunar’s head was lobbed clean off from his neck.
In horror, I covered my mouth as the vision faded. I was going to be sick. I started to step further away from the tree, a wave of nausea clawing at my stomach.
I bumped into something behind me, and I flinched back and turned around.
Auðunar was awake and alert. «I’m surprised you’re awake, Sunderi—what the?»
«Don’t!» I stiffened, quick to cover my eye. «D-don’t look at it!»
«What happened to your eye?»
“Leave it be!” Tears were falling freely down my face, both from the vision and from someone else knowing how disgusting and ugly my eye was. “I need to focus.”
“It is impossible to focus on shit if you keep crying like that.” He took hold of my shoulders, his grip firm. ”What happened to it? Can you see out of it? Perhaps it may help you in the fight.”
«It will not,» I muttered. «It is hideous. It’s a curse.»
“Let me be the judge of that.”
“No.” I jerked my head away again. “Let go of me.”
He took his hands off my shoulders. He shrugged, going over to grab the sword I was borrowing. “No eye, an aberrant cursed eye. No matter, Súndriska fífl. Calm yourself. And stay armed. I had better not see this on the ground again.”
I stiffened as I took the sword in my hand. I tucked it into the scabbard, my heart racing as I kept seeing that vision over and over. He was already walking away. I did not get a chance to warn him. “Wait! Auðunar?”
“What now?” He turned around with a grumble.
Still covering my eye, I felt my fingers trembling. “…Don’t get distracted.”
He scoffed, shaking his head with a smirk. “I am never distracted. Now, come along. We need to be battle ready.”
I was quick to put the eyepatch back on after he walked away, failing to suppress another whimper. He called my eye “aberrant.” It was aberrant. Frightening. I loathed it with every fibre of my being.
It was not long at all before the other mercenaries were awake. They gathered around the dying embers of the campfire. The site was reinforced with sharpened stakes to keep wildlife and outsiders from entering. Eyvald gave me a lead to keep Brya here while we were away. While I did not like the idea of her being alone, it was better for her to be here and not risk her getting hurt. The entire time we prepared, I could feel Ulfrik’s eyes on me. It gave me chills, and part of me wanted to try once more to speak to someone about what happened the night before. But I knew I could not.
Everyone donned their armour together. It seemed to be a practiced ritual between them all. I tried not to intrude, but the twins did bring me closer into the fold.
Sigmund helped me properly get my helm on. I expected it to be heavy, but it was quite comfortable. «You don’t look like the type to wear paints,» he then commented as he backed away.
«Paints?» I frowned, shifting the helm so my left eye had better vision. I saw that Sigehere already had smears of ash and charcoal from the fire smudged against his cheeks.
«It’s a simple rite.» Sigehere grinned. «To pay tribute or to help you blend in.»
I frowned, looking around to see that the rest of them were all decorating their faces. Most used Sigehere’s method, and none of them had the same patterns. For example, Ulfrik took his hand and smeared it diagonally across his face.
Meanwhile, Auðunar used actual paints. Smudges of coal grey and deep blue were smudged right across his eyes, and he decorated his brow, nose, and cheeks with runic patterns. I recognised a few sigils from Master Pritchards’ lessons:
“Megin. Styrkr. Hugr.”
Power. Strength. Courage.
«Auðunar’s are to pay tribute,» Sigmund said. «Do Sunderish fools know about our gods?»
«My lessons briefly touched upon them,» I supplied, though it did not seem too helpful.
«His family’s Patron is the God of Strength. Legends say that his family line descends from Ulfgír Himself.»
I heard a light cuff, turning to see Svala had struck him. Her eyes were touched up with kohl, and she had some dark paint smudged across her lips. «Shouldn’t be spreading rumours, Sigmund.»
He groaned softly and rubbed the back of his head. «Did you have to hit so hard?»
«Only because it’s too easy,» she snorted. «Are you ready for your first raid, Sunderish fool?»
I blanched. «A-as ready as I will ever be, I suppose.»
«You’ll be fine.» Sigehere nudged me with a grin. «Are you confident?»
I gulped, turning to face him better with him being at my blind side. «To be frank with you? I am quite nauseous.»
«That’ll go away in time,» he insisted, patting my shoulder. «The important thing to remember is not to show fear.»
«Or hesitate.» Svala’s gaze hardened. «Hesitating will get you killed, Sunderish fool. They’ll be on you like a pack of wolves.»
«And don’t forget what we worked on, for the gods’ sakes.» Auðunar came over to get our attention. «We are leaving now. Their camp is northeast from here.»
When I tried to focus on him, all I could see was him being beheaded repeatedly. The vision was visceral. It seemed set in stone.
«Auðunar, you must listen to me.» I tried to warn him again on our way there. «You cannot let yourself get distracted. Keep your eyes peeled at all times.»
«Who do you think I am?» he snorted, turning his head to me. «Look at you, giving me lessons.»
«I’m serious. If you lose yourself to this raid, then it will be the last thing you will ever do.»
Auðunar frowned, pulling his helm on. «If this is about what you pulled with the dreadwolves, I assure you that I do not need any help. Especially not from you, Sunderish fool.»
«Would you just...?» I trailed off when he walked further ahead, grumbling to myself.
We walked for almost an hour before we arrived at the outskirts of this camp. There they were. The Grey Dogs. Eyvald told me that they were a malicious group of ruffians that stole from hunters and farmers, among other deplorable things that bore not repeating. In either case, it made me feel better about attacking them, though there was a pit in my belly at knowing how involved in this I was about to be.
There were eight tents. Moving around the camp were nearly a score of men. They were just getting up and starting their days. From further back, I saw the man that intended to kill Auðunar. Tall, older, matted dark hair. His eyes were harder to see from this distance.
“Skítr,” Eyvald muttered. «They’re already awake.»
«No matter.» Auðunar drew out his massive sword that I saw him wield when we first met. He hefted it in two hands. «We have them right where we need them to be. Far from anywhere to hide.»
I frowned, bringing my hand down to grab hold of the hilt of my own weapon. The only time I ever killed anyone was an accident. I still had terrible dreams about Maximus falling down those stairs to his death. But here, I was expected to help kill these strangers like it was second nature. It was unnerving. Was this how Tobias felt when he was fighting against Trethial?
Sigehere took hold of an axe while Sigmund had his bow. Bjorgolf carried with him that maul the twins alluded to. It looked heavy enough to crush someone’s skull.
«Now. Surround the camp,» Auðunar hissed, jerking his head in either direction. «At my cry, advance. And may Ulfgír guide your hands.»
I blanched as everyone began to move and encircle the camp. I was too slow to follow Auðunar, so I stood rigid in my place near a tree, trying to formulate a plan of my own.
Somehow, I had to prevent Auðunar from losing his head. He was not going to notice the attack with how intent he was on his own goals. If I could get to the axe wielder in time before anyone else could intercept me, then I perhaps had a chance.
I saw Auðunar a couple hundred feet across from me. The others were hidden in the snow and behind other trees. It was quiet, with only the men’s light murmurings and distant calls from snowbirds being the few sounds in the forest.
That was, until Auðunar let out a guttural, blood-curdling roar loud enough for some of those snowbirds to take to the skies.
I watched the other mercenaries spring into action, letting out their own battle cries. With no other choice, I ran into the fray with my heart hammering in my chest. All these people around me had skills I had no hope of replicating. Reflexes were the only thing I had going for me, and it was used to dodge and weave past harsh swings and bashes of shields.
Ahead, Svala bellowed in the face of a man as she slashed at his chest before driving her spear into his neck. She struck out at the next person right behind her. Eyvald kicked his attacker straight in the pelvis and snatched a ghastly looking polearm from his grasp. He used that to skewer the man through his chest and out between his shoulder blades. The twins fought side by side, with Sigehere striking at sleep-addled warriors while Sigmund shot at others repeatedly with his arrows. Ulfrik was brutish with his strikes, not hesitating in slashing each of his opponents while wielding a blade in each hand. One even barely had enough time to pull his breeches up.
I yelped, jumping aside when I heard a warrior approaching me from my blind side. I only barely got away, feeling a quick slash across that would have been far worse if I had not flinched. I pivoted with a pained cry, just as I saw the edge of his blade coated in my blood. When he swung to strike again at my chest, this time I parried it.
He was stronger, but I was quicker. I used my footwork to not give him enough time to react as he swung again. And again. My arms trembled from the effort, each deflection threatening to snatch the blade out of my hands. I blew some strands of hair away from my eye as I stared at the man sneering at me.
«I didn’t know the Butcher recruited little girls to fight,» he cackled.
I glared, my stance stiffening. I broke our wrestle for the upper hand, hearing him laugh as I whipped around him and used a quick flick of my wrists to catch him just behind his knee.
The man hissed, dropping now that one of his legs lost almost all function. I had to act quickly, or I would be overpowered. I swung again at his portly gut, fighting the urge to recoil as his blood sprayed back across my clothes. The sensation was horrid. The man gasped, gripping his sword tighter in his hands as he attempted another hard swing.
I used that chance to lunge my sword point right under his throat. There was a choked, gurgling sound before the man collapsed limply and was no more. All at once, I was struck with the knowledge that I had killed another man, but the dread needed to be pressed to the back of my mind. The corpse’s sightless eyes stared back up at me in disapproval.
All around me, glimpses of bloodshed and gore were sprayed across the field. Not one stretch of the camp’s grounds was free of some sort of viscera. Ulfrik was covered in blood, making grisly work of someone’s face even though they were already dead. Bjorgolf crushed a fighter’s groin, making him scream and bellow. Sigehere hacked another man’s arm off, using that as leverage to do a lethal blow while he was distracted. I could hear enraged, boisterous laughter from Svala as she swore and slew. Eyvald headbutted someone before skewering him with that same polearm.
Too much was going on at once. Where was Auðunar?
There, at the other end of camp. He was locked in heavy combat with the man he stabbed in my vision. With that in mind, I looked for the one that was going to kill him. He was not too far off, giving ferocious orders to his men that were still standing. He had his massive greataxe in hand.
I did not have much time left. I sprinted forward, dodging past another attacker. My eye kept following the would-be murderer and how he tested the weight of his axe in his hands.
Auðunar let out a triumphant shout as he stabbed his opponent through and through. Desperate, I struggled for breath in the last stretch of my quick sprint behind his killer just as he began to swing his axe. With all my speed, I used that to drive further force behind my blow as I lunged with a yell and stabbed him right between two of his ribs.
The swing of the axe was too wide, narrowly missing Auðunar’s head.
“Skítr!” Auðunar jerked back, turning around.
The other man bellowed in pain. «Fucking rat!»
As I drew the sword away from the wound, the man struck me hard across the head with the handle of his axe. The pain made my vision go white as I dropped, the helm falling from my head. My vision blurred, and I was unable to focus too well on the sudden duel that broke out between the two men. Auðunar kept dodging the heavy axe, and while the other man’s wound slowed him, he was blocking each strike of the sword with just as much ferocity.
It was fortunate, then, that the man was weakening with each swing. His breathing was laboured, harsher. His reflexes slowed. But even so, he was getting the upper hand fast. He was larger than Auðunar, stronger, and he still had more than enough stamina.
Unless I could do something about it.
My heart lurched as the warrior struck at Auðunar’s ribs with a brutish kick, knocking him to the ground. He dropped his sword as he collapsed, and it clattered in front of me.
The ruffian laughed, though it was weak as he was coughing up blood. «If I must return to the earth today, I am dragging you down there with me, Butcher!»
He readied his axe for a killing blow, just as I reached for Auðunar’s sword. It was far too long and bulky for me to handle, but I had one goal in mind. Gathering whatever courage I had left, I dragged myself to my feet. I wobbled, the world beginning to sway, but I moved closer to Auðunar’s prone body. I gripped the hilt of his sword tight in both hands.
«What?» The man faltered, his stance loosening. «Why aren’t you dead ye—»
With one monstrous heave, I swung.
Half of his head flew messily in the air as I dropped the massive blade, his blood and brain matter spilling out from the open wound and some of it spraying back in my face. My chest burned as I struggled to breathe. I doubled over and retched.
I was reminded with sickening clarity of the wound at my side. I clutched it with a weak cry, my head aching terribly. Vaguely, I heard a call to retreat that was cut off, presumably by one of the twins.
“Ói. Sunderish fool!”
I started, my vision blurry once more as I tried to look at Auðunar.
He was clutching near his ribs after yanking off his helm, his brow pinched in pain. It looked like it hurt to breathe, and most of his paints were smudged from sweat and grime. “What you just did was fucking stupid.”
I gawked, my hands still shaking. “I did what I had to.”
“You held a blade that you clearly could not wield.”
“The one you gave me would not do much to him! You saw how he was still standing.”
Auðunar grimaced, getting up onto his knees in front of me. “You nearly got yourself killed. Twice.”
The gall to reprimand me after what I did for him! “You were the one that made me fight, you ruffian! I swear, if you utter one more word about my tactics—Don’t touch me!”
I bristled when he clasped my shoulder with a hand. As he was scolding me, I realised for the first time that he was no longer scowling.
“But you risked your neck for me, no matter how reckless that was.” He stared at my face. “Do not ever pull anything like that again.”
I jerked away, unable to stop trembling. “I told you not to get distracted, Auðunar.”
He huffed. And he smiled. It was a small one, and despite his clear pain, his shoulders relaxed. “Thank you. You saved my life, Lucian. I will never forget that.”
My cheeks grew flushed. I shook my head, trying to stand. Immediately, I swooned. There was a wobble to my gait, and before I could collapse, I found myself being held up by Auðunar.
“Careful. You are wounded.” He kept his arm around me, keeping that cloak of his wrapped tightly over my body. “Allir!” I heard him call out as my senses began to blur once more. «Back to camp. We head for Berusær at first light. And here’s to Lucian, for bringing down Halmund Paulsson, the Tyrant of the South!»
There were several cheers and chants, all for me. I felt jovial clasps to my arm. But all I could focus on was how loud everything was and how bright the sunlight felt against my face as I drifted in and out of consciousness.
Notes:
Updates will start slowing down soon. Now that I've developed so much of these past fifteen chapters, the others need more development than I have time to post thrice a week. Plus, I'm doing more writing warm-ups to keep my mind sharp and to focus on something else.
Translations
Súndriska fífl - "Sunderish fool"
Megin - Power
Styrkr - Strength
Hugr - Courage
Skítr - Shit
Allir - Everyone
Chapter 16: Declan
Summary:
Cracks are beginning to form and fester in Declan's mind, as a secret he'd been desperately trying to repress comes back to the forefront.
Notes:
Gabe, WHAT ARE YOU DOING posting another chapter?
Well, me @ me, I can't help myself. Yes, I know that I have obligations and bills to pay, but posting on ao3 is a lot more fun. Honestly, I'm appalled that you even question my motives.I have been astonished by the amount of attention and hits that The Art of Malignance has been getting on here. I was expecting zeroes across the board, ngl. Something original that I wrote because I wanted to read a series with all my favorite tropes checked off has more eyes on it than me??? It's unfathomable to me. Thank you so much!
***Declan doesn't bind safely (NEVER use bandages to bind your chest! Don't be like Declan), but don't worry! It's finally being addressed.
Content Warnings
emotional abuse, financial abuse, unsafe binding practices, physical assault, gender dysphoria, internalized transphobia, misgendering, and past trans pregnancy
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Declan
My throat burned from each wheezing breath of air on my brisk walk back. My mind was reeling from what Mícheil told me about what happened in Olnahd. I almost made too much noise getting back in the outpost. Blessedly, Niclas and Sinéad were asleep.
When stepping in my room, however, prepared to dress down, I jumped at the sight of a silhouette standing near the bed.
Mistress Morwenna was here. She stepped out of the shadows, crossing her arms. “Ah. Inquisitor Sutharlan. So kind of you to return.”
I wrung my hands together, having barely removed my cloak. “I-I apologize, Mistress. I didn’t know you’d be paying a visit.”
“You should know better than to ever expect me,” she mused. “This was a sudden decision on my part. But enough about that. Did you enjoy yourself on your little walk?”
I blanched. “I was simply engaging in the inquest as you ordered, Mistress. I have a contact from the Talons I have been speaking with at present.”
“This late in the evening?” Before I could respond, she sighed and waved a hand. “Never mind. We have more pressing matters.” She glanced towards the door. “I had already discussed this with the other Inquisitors, but it appears that Olnahd is having difficulties with compliance.”
I swallowed thickly.
“Detractors in the eastern territories are becoming a problem. There is no way to discern their turbulence, come the turn of the season. But before any further rebellions can be fostered, they must be dealt with immediately. I need one of you moved up there for a fortnight, or until the Inquisitors there can get their situation under control. There is heavy resistance and repeat offenders.”
“I have an idea as to why,” I offered, but it was clearly the wrong time.
She shot a glare at me. “Do you, now, Inquisitor?”
“There were some men from the Talons settled up there for a time.” My throat was dry, and I tried to clear it before continuing. “They must’ve caused a stir before they left.”
She frowned. “Perhaps you would be better suited up there, then, since you have that advantage.”
“I-it would be an honor, Mistress,” I insisted. “Of course.”
“And you have brought in a more satisfactory array of husks, Inquisitor. Soon, you will be up to par once more.” She eyed me for a moment. “I see that you served food?” She gestured to my now mostly empty basket I had at my arm.
I winced. “Aye. The reconnaissance requires some deception on my part. The Talons believe that I am engaging in pleasantries while gathering my information.”
“Who exactly are you interrogating? Do you have direct contact with the Druiminns?”
My skin was growing clammy. “N-not yet,” I started. “But I have more names, besides the Druiminns. Arthur Selleck and Colm Sealy.”
Mistress Morwenna pursed her lips, and a green glow started at the edges of her narrowing eyes. “You are not being forthcoming, Inquisitor.”
I stuttered when an icy grip seized my chest. A flick of her head in my direction let me know that she stopped my heart. I clamored, trying to hold my chest, but I found that I couldn’t move.
“You have more names than you are letting on,” she said, her eyes glowing. “You will reveal them to me.”
I opened my mouth to speak, startled to find that I still couldn’t breathe. She still had that icy grip on my heart. She needed to let go, or I’d die.
“You, alone, are entrusted with such an imperative task for Our Lady. She needs names, Sutharlan. She needs the Druiminns’ location.”
Her grip loosened just enough for me to cry out. “I-I understand!” I wrenched away best I could, still paralyzed. Not knowing what else to do, I listed the names. “Arthur Selleck. Colm Sealy. Alasdair Druiminn. Ewan Druiminn. Tobias Druiminn. Brigit Sutharlan. Mícheil Dunaidh.”
She let go.
I heaved for breath, clutching my chest right over the brand. It was burning as if it’d just been inflicted. I dropped to my knees in front of Mistress Morwenna.
“A Miss Brigit Sutharlan?” She raised a brow.
“M-my sister,” I hissed.
“You still want to protect your old family, Sutharlan? After they abandoned you and gave your funeral rites?”
My eyes burned with fresh tears. Why did I want to protect her? “J-just a weak piece of myself, Mistress. It can be extracted.”
Her real hand now gripped my throat. Her nails dug into my skin. “Have we not provided enough for you, Sutharlan?”
I was too afraid to move. I ignored the instinct to try and pry her hand off me, to try and breathe again. It would only end poorly for me, if I tried.
“Y-you have,” I croaked with what little ability to speak I still had.
Mistress Morwenna glared at me. “Perhaps you were the wrong person to assign this to. You were protecting Mícheil Dunaidh. Where have I heard that name before?”
I tried to shake my head, but I was frozen in place. “I feel nothing for him.”
She let go of my throat, letting me drop to the ground. “You need to be away from Balhreid for a while. I would never have chosen you to go to Olnahd, but you are too attached here.”
I could’ve told her that weeks ago, but she wouldn’t have listened. “My loyalty is to His Majesty, Mistress. No one else.”
Mistress Morwenna didn’t look the least bit convinced. “Tell me what you have learned about the Talons.”
I did as she asked. They operated in a remote estate outside of Kressie, though I still didn’t know exactly where or how far away. Colm Sealy was in charge of sifting through the post for messages between other Talons members. Ewan Druiminn was their acting leader, and many other soldiers in the Usurper’s Army were all in on it throughout Sunderland. Lastly, what I learned that evening, was that Tobias Druiminn was learning the craft on his own.
With how vitriolically Tobias cursed His Majesty’s name and renounced him, it would’ve had to take an incredible feat to get him to practice thanaturgy. I thought about how nervous Mícheil sounded when he started speaking about the “house of horrors” that Tobias Druiminn had rendered his own father’s home to. What kind of madness had been inflicted upon him?
“So, it worked?”
“…What worked?” I asked.
Mistress Morwenna pursed her lips, not answering my question. “Pack your coach and prepare to leave early on the morrow. Be in constant communication with Gurindeck during your stay. Understood?”
“Aye, Mistress.” As she was walking away, still leaving me crumpled on the ground, I found myself speaking before I could stop myself. “Why does she have to pay the tithe?”
She glanced back. “To whom are you referring?”
I just stared at her, tears rolling down my cheeks at the mere thought. That wasn’t a part of our deal.
“Oh, Declan…” She sighed. “No one outside our Inquisition is exempt from the tithe.”
“For how long?” I stammered.
“Since Olnahd had begun their collections.”
“But…” I rose to my feet. “Dame Siobhan assured me that she’d be immune. She needed to keep her faculties for—”
“Times have changed, Inquisitor.” At a hitch in my breath, Mistress Morwenna stepped closer. “Oh, no need to get yourself worked up over it, dear Declan. You are tethering yourself to something that shackles you with great pain.”
I shook my head. “Y-you said…”
I felt her arms wrap around me as I shuddered. Her embrace didn’t bring me comfort.
“Focus on what’s more important, Declan. Stop clinging to the past. You cannot go back to that life. You know that as well as the rest of us. They will never accept you like we can.”
All I could do was nod. The Inquisition took care of everything for me. They took care of me. They gave me a home and a life when no one else would. They never led me astray. They never betrayed me—
But wasn’t what they had just done to me a betrayal?
They betrayed me by not keeping their promises. They promised.
She let me go, leaving me to wallow in silence. I tried to focus on something else. Breathing. Breathing was not too difficult. Only, the bindings were starting to grow uncomfortable after I’d worn them for most of the day.
As it turned out, she came here personally to also drop off our rewards for the week. I counted my platinum marks that I’d received since the first pitiful batch. I’d turned in eleven husks total. Alone with the six before my proposition, I turned in an additional five. Two beggars, a young courtesan that ran out of business, an older woman, and her grandson. While all a terrible shame and that they would all be missed, I was more relieved that I had a hundred-eighty platinum marks.
And I was bringing half of those marks to Olnahd with me.
Before I was set to leave, I packed up my satchel and had my substantial wealth tucked into a smaller chest and underneath a blanket. I fed the horse just as I heard Niclas coming from behind me.
I gave no signs that Mistress Morwenna interrogated me. Thankfully, neither of them paid any mind if they saw any scratch marks near or around my throat. I didn’t want to draw attention to them, either.
“How long will you be gone?” he asked.
“Until things start to settle down in Olnahd. It may take a week, more likely a fortnight. It’s bitter cold up there.” I sighed, bunching my heavier cloak together around myself.
“Before you leave, something was brought here to you.” He held up a small package.
I frowned. “From whom?”
He shrugged. “It was here when I first walked out here. Thankfully, Sinéad didn’t find it first.”
Who in the blazes would send a package to Kressie’s outpost? Someone with a death wish? Someone hoping that they would get out of the tithe by bestowing gifts? To answer that, nay, that was not how it worked.
I took the package from him, sighing and waiting for him to get back inside before opening it. The contents within gave me pause. There were a couple of small garments. A note was hidden underneath them.
Declan,
You left in such a hurry that I didn’t get a chance to give these to you. Since the last time we saw each other in Trethial, I talked to your Da. He agreed with me that the way you flattened your chest was unacceptable. He even said it was outright dangerous and that you knew better…
I winced, my fingers trembling a bit as I continued to read. I never wanted to tell Da how terribly I hated the way my chest looked when I was out in public. I never told him what I was doing to alleviate it. Dammit, Dunaidh.
…He told me a better solution. So, I had Brigit make these for you. I hope these fit. You’re supposed to wear one of these under your tunic, and they have laces on the side to tighten it up. And it should be flat. I know you don’t like the way your chest looks when you don’t bind.
Don’t tie the laces too tight, don’t wear it when you go to sleep, and make sure you can take deep breaths while wearing it. Tell me if they don’t fit. Brigit can make adjustments.
I hope you start wearing these instead of using your bandages. No more bruised ribs, you hear me?
Here’s to a step in the right direction to taking better care of yourself again.
– Mícheil
What was going on with my heart? It was fluttering and racing in ways that it shouldn’t. It made my face hot. Why would it matter if Dunaidh performed this gesture? He probably just had fabric from old rags lying around, and he had them fashioned to stave off my ire. A pity gift.
Even so, I found myself wanting to see if these garments worked.
I went back inside, claiming that I’d forgotten something in my room. I avoided looking at my body when stripping off my robes, like I had been doing more and more lately. When letting the bandages loose, they unraveled and fell uselessly to the floor. The new garments were soft, but I could also feel some firmness presumably for the purpose of support. That immediately made me skeptical. Were these just another kind of stays that Mícheil manipulated me into wearing? What if these made my chest appear larger, not flatter?
“You are a man, and nothing your mind will try to tell you is going to change that.”
Mícheil had told me that so many times that the line of questioning slipped from my grasp. He would never do that to me…
“He never loved you.”
I shook my head, ignoring Our Lady’s claims just for the moment. Even if he never did, I could hold onto this small affirmation from our friendship.
My arms fit easily through the thick straps. I wrapped the material around my torso, seeing where the laces could be tied at the side. It was a little tricky to figure out on my own, but I managed it. I had to adjust a little, finding that the garment itself was a bit large on my person. But as I tied the laces and tightened it up, I found that it was better that it was large.
I turned to the side in the broken mirror, and I set a hand over where the breasts would normally swell. To my astonishment, my chest was still flat. When I pivoted my body, twisting my torso this way and that as if to stretch, I didn’t wince.
I left the bandages discarded on the floor, pulling my robes back on and leaving to head north. For the first time in a decade, it no longer hurt to breathe.
Of the three Inquisitors stationed in Olnahd, only one took the time to greet me and set me up. It was a younger man called Inquisitor Kindrick. He offered to help me with my belongings, but I insisted that I didn’t want anything touched by anyone else. Their outpost was a little less rundown than ours, so my sleeping arrangements weren’t terrible here. I found out quickly why they were having such difficulty.
Olnahd’s resources had been crippled by the loss of sections of the Wilds. The lumber they would normally gather was rendered useless, too brittle to create anything from them. Less grounds for hunting meant food was scarce, lest they wanted to try and cross the Brømkhaldic border. It appeared that they were trying to preserve what little they had. Though, it was a wonder why they thought that could work.
The other Inquisitors, Foirbeis and Ruahd, were the ones that handled most of their collections. They informed me that not too long after arriving, a man with a heavy limp accosted them when they demanded the tithe. After they mentioned that his “friend” took care of their offerings, it confirmed that those two men were none other than Tobias Druiminn and Arthur Selleck.
I made sure to inform Mistress Morwenna of this. I didn’t want to disappoint her or the Inquisition again.
For the first two days of my stay, all I did was try to parse through their system and arrange their guards. I directed that they should surround the perimeter. Once that was done, already the townsfolk were less inclined to even mutter harsh criticism under their breaths. The three Inquisitors also soon had their own districts to sweep through divided amongst themselves. This was to make sure they didn’t stretch themselves too thin.
“I don’t believe I can handle my own section,” Inquisitor Kindrick told me on the third day.
“What makes you say that?”
“Well, I’m only a newer recruit.” He fidgeted with his hands. “I began serving His Majesty as payment for my tithe, after my family had all been arrested.”
How many more Inquisitors were like him? How many more would soon follow in his steps?
“The other two say that I just get in the way,” he continued. “I don’t have as strong of a grasp on thanaturgy as they do.”
I shook my head. “That matters not, Kindrick. Everyone starts from somewhere. You contribute to His Majesty’s cause just as well as they do. And I can see that there are other ways you were able to settle affairs here. If not for you, I wouldn’t have a grasp on who is dutiful with the tithe and who we need to keep an eye on.”
“You’re sure?”
“I never give false compliments.” I watched his tension start to ease. “You can very well fit the same role that Inquisitor Prothero does at my outpost. He has a firm grip on all the inner workings back in Kressie and Balhreid. He also sends all our reports and has a direct line of communication to Mistress Morwenna. Any role among the three of you has a purpose.”
That made Kindrick smile. “I-I appreciate that, Inquisitor Sutharlan. I’ll keep that in mind, then.”
“Of course,” I assured him. “You hold value here in Olnahd, Inquisitor Kindrick. You are doing fine.”
As we spoke, he led me back over to the main room. Thanks to him, I helped them establish names and tally how many subjects they were in control of, and those records were all kept in here. We began to work together parsing through them while Foirbeis and Ruahd commenced this week’s collections.
I sighed in the middle of the task. “So, there is one matter of affairs I need to take care of while I’m here. I need to speak with one of your residents. A Mistress Teleri Moore?”
“Oh. Teleri Moore?” Kindrick had to shuffle with some parchment. “That name sounds familiar.”
My throat went dry while I waited. Based off what Mícheil told me, she was the primary suspect of whose interrogation Tobias Druiminn intervened. I didn’t want it to be true.
Kindrick leafed through a couple more pages, and his brows rose when he seemed to find what he was looking for. “Ah. Teleri Moore.” He perused briefly. “She is on our repeated noncompliance list.”
“What?” I blinked. “Let me see that.” As soon as it was in my hand, her name right in front of me was still too dissonant. “That can’t be right. She has resources. She has money. She…” I dropped the paper to the floor. “Th-that’s not possible.”
She had never contributed to the tithe. Did she have any self-preservation? I had given her fifty marks since His Majesty’s ascension.
“Is something wrong?”
“Something is very wrong.” I was seething, going back to my room.
“Inquisitor Sutharlan?” He rushed behind me. “Inquisitor? Is there anything I can do to help?”
“When is she supposed to be arrested?” It wouldn’t be long, at this rate.
“If she doesn’t submit to the tithe soon, she will be arrested on the morrow.”
“On the morrow?” I fidgeted to get as much platinum on my person as possible. I had my spell pouch on my belt. “Let me see if I can persuade her. Just point me in the right direction.”
It didn’t take long for me to find it, after that. Her establishment was situated within the outer edges of the square. It had three stories, the tallest structure on this side of Sunderland. She needed all the space she could get, especially after more and more people were being displaced from their homes. There was no reason for her to be behind on her tithe.
I pounded on the door, my knuckles turning white. My eyes tried not to linger too long on her sign.
Miss Teleri’s Home for Displaced Children.
I knocked harder on the door, my jaw clenched. “Mistress Moore?”
“Hold! I’m coming!”
Hearing the woman’s voice did not satisfy me. “Open the door!” I banged on it once more.
I stepped back when the knob turned, glaring straight at the older woman. She had dull, thinning hair and bright eyes. Though her attire would make her seem like she was destitute, I knew this was a ploy. She was far from destitute, all thanks to my own money.
“May I help you?” Her voice was hard, cold.
“Mistress Moore, I have come to question you regarding your compliance with His Majesty’s tithe. Or, should I say, ‘lack thereof?’”
She blinked at me, pursing her lips. “I have already told your other mage friends. I run an honest establishment here. Everything I receive to run this place is from charitable donations, and I do not make an income. It would be impossible for me to pay the tithe under these circumstances.”
My eyes narrowed. “If you do not pay your tithe by the morrow, you will be turned in. They will come in here, arrest you, and take away all your faculties. Now, you don’t want that. I don’t want that. So, how much is it going to take for you to comply?”
Mistress Moore blinked. “Pardon me, who are you?”
I took a breath. “I am Inquisitor Declan Sutharlan, overseer of Kressie and Balhreid as well as your benefactor.”
Teleri’s face turned white as snow. “Uh…” She broke into a nervous grin. “Oh, of course! M-Master Sutharlan, what a surprise! I was wondering when you would come to visit—”
I stepped right into her establishment, reaching into the spell pouch and looking around the foyer. “What exactly is going on here?”
“I don’t know what you mean,” she laughed sheepishly.
“Why are you not paying the tithe?” I snapped. “I’ve given you more than enough. What are you doing with my money?”
“Nothing nefarious, I assure you,” she gasped. “I simply must use all your supplied funds to provide food and shelter.”
“Fifty marks?” I shot her a glare. “You spent all fifty platinum marks?” Her audible gulp told me all I needed to know. “You expect me to believe that it costs that much a month to house some impoverished children? Do you take me for a fucking fool?”
She looked away. “W-well…”
I took her by the throat, not hard enough to choke her but enough to supply the threat. “They will come on the morrow and take you straight to Gurindeck as a husk. Is that what you want, Mistress Moore?”
Teleri stammered. “Look, it’s nothing personal, Master Sutharlan. We all need to make a living. M-Master Sutharlan, you wouldn’t harm a kindly old woman, would you?”
“There is nothing kindly about you.” I pressed her against the wall, my other hand coming up from my pouch. “Perhaps I can save them all the trouble and arrest you now. If anyone should receive a reward for turning you in, it should be me.” I had the ashes ready to swipe across her brow.
“W-wait!” She struggled, lifting one of her hands. “I will pay you. I-I’ll pay the tithe!”
I stared at her, watching her eyes. “Good. Hand it over.” I didn’t let go yet, waiting to see if she was bluffing.
She fidgeted, her shocked expression morphing into one of annoyance. “You know, Master Sutharlan, you run into a problem here. If you get rid of me, who will take care of her?”
My heart stuttered. “I’ll find someone else.”
“Who, exactly?” she chuckled. “And you will have nine other children without anyone to take care of them. Where will they go?”
“What, are you willing to use these children as your shield?” I gritted my teeth. “That won’t work on me. I have turned in entire families back in Gurindeck.”
“Then, it should not be too difficult for me to submit to the tithe in my own way. I could start offering these children as payment. Perhaps, I should start with yours.”
I struck her hard across the face. She thrashed, but I now held fast to her with both my hands. The ashes were starting to smear on her clothes.
“How much more will it take?” I hissed. “Ten marks? Twenty? A hundred? What do you need?”
She stared me down, even as a red mark started blooming on her cheek. “Frankly, for harboring a usurper soldier’s bastard child, it’s going to take far more than what you have to protect her.”
“Damn you!” I shook her shoulders. “Dame Siobhan chose you. You were picked as her guardian. I gave you everything I had for three years!”
As I raised my voice, I heard shrill, distant cries and sobs from upstairs. They were all high in pitch, desperate for comfort.
Teleri glared. “I suggest you leave. You are scaring the children.”
“Not until I see her.”
“I’m afraid, that’s not possible. You abandoned her. You gave her up.”
“Lies!” I shoved her harder into the wall. “It’s only until tensions settle!”
“And when do you think that will be, exactly?”
I faltered. “I…” My hands shook, and I let go of her. “Just tell me how much you need.”
She watched my face, rubbing the smarting spot on her cheek. “How much did you bring?”
“Tithe first,” I muttered.
She sneered, stepping back. “Follow me.” I was taken up to the second floor. She had an office that betrayed her need for opulence. Fine silks and jewels caught my eye. It made my blood boil as she approached a chest.
“I see that my money is being used wisely here.” I maintained my glare.
“Naturally. You cannot fault me for enjoying beautiful things,” she grinned, setting some coins into my hand. “Here you are.”
I looked down at them in my hand. “…Two platinum?”
She shrugged her shoulders. “I had twenty marks left from what you had given me. That is my tithe.”
I grabbed the bag of coins I brought with me, tossing it onto the floor. “You are despicable.”
“A pleasure as always, Master Sutharlan.”
“That makes one of us.” I was escorted out of the room. I turned my head to look further down the hall. “Now. May I please see my daughter?”
When I looked to her, she was shutting the office door behind her. She gave me a wry smile. “If you can point her out, then perhaps you may.”
My heart ached. I clutched at my chest where I knew the brand was, squeezing it through my new bindings. The children weren’t crying as much anymore, the perceived danger gone. I even heard some playing.
“It shouldn’t be that hard,” Teleri murmured as she led the way. “You’re her mother.”
“Father.” I shot a glare at her again. “I’m her father.”
She just shrugged once more, bringing me to an open room. Blessedly, this woman was good at one thing: taking care of children. None of them were dirty, and their clothes were not tattered. They looked well fed.
The eldest among the ten of them looked around the age of eight, and he was playing with some wooden toys on the floor. The youngest was an infant. She looked barely weaned, fidgeting in a cradle. I stayed back, not wanting to startle any of them too much. A pair were playing a game involving counting and clapping hands. There was a game like that I remember playing with Brigit.
On the floor in the corner, a little girl was messing with a cloth doll. She played with the yarn of its hair, grinning when some of it got tangled between her fingers. She looked the right age. Two, soon to be three. Her birthday was the seventh of Dailaph in the Year 1269. The last time I saw her. Her complexion was a little lighter than mine, but I recognized the hair. But that was not the tell.
She looked just like him. She even had his eyes.
“That’s her,” I whispered to Teleri, my voice softer than I expected it to be. I gestured in the girl’s direction. “That’s my Branwyn.” It brought tears to my eyes to see her again.
I’d been so terrified that the Usurper’s Army would expose and shun me, when I found out I was pregnant. It wrought me with despair during the last week of my enlistment. I was told by Dame Siobhan, in the end, that raising her while training as a thanamancer was not possible. I couldn’t afford to have my time divided. So, she was sent here.
I had worked tirelessly to gather the funds to take her home with me. Soon, I will have enough, I would tell myself. Soon, once I turned in a few more husks, I could get a house of my own and give her a better life. Perhaps, I could then feel like a father.
Every time I felt I had enough, I remembered my arrangement with Teleri Moore. In order to take care of her, she needed to garnish my earnings. There was nothing left for me to save.
“Ah, congratulations,” Teleri grinned. “Most parents forget what their children look like after two months.”
“I’d know that face anywhere.” I took a shaky breath.
What should I say to her? Could I hold her? Would she want me to? Would she be happy to see me? Would she know it was me? Perhaps not, but I could hope. Should I have her call me, “Da?” Did I have the right to ask that of her?
I looked at Teleri. “Is there somewhere private that I could talk to her? Or, perhaps there’s somewhere else in the room where I can say hello.”
She blinked. “Did you appoint a specific time to visit her?”
“Well, I’m here now. I am here on Inquisitor business. I don’t know when I’ll have another chance to stop by.”
“Oh, Master Sutharlan. Rules are rules. You can’t visit the children without appointing a specific time in advance?”
“What?” I faltered. “That was never a rule. I-I was told I could see her whenever I had the time.”
“I presume that was before you forced yourself in here and attacked your child’s guardian.” That cold stare I first saw when meeting her was now staring back at me.
She then nudged me out of the room. I struggled, trying to get another look at Branwyn, but she blocked my view and shut the door. She had half a mind to shove me down the stairs.
“Wait!” I protested the whole way down, even as she kept pushing and nudging. “I just dropped another sixty marks at your feet, and you’re not going to let me see her?!”
“Perhaps, you will think better than to simply attack people to get whatever you want. I run an honest establishment here, Master Sutharlan. Good day.”
“Mistress Moore, w-wait!” I had the door slammed in my face. I tried to shove it, banging rapidly at it again, but nothing. No answer. I kicked the door. That did nothing except bruise my toes.
When I returned to the outpost, I dropped those two platinum coins into Inquisitor Kindrick’s hand. “There. She won’t be trouble now, I hope.”
He fidgeted with the coins. “A measly sum after never paying it before now, but it’ll have to do.” He added them to the day’s tally. “We appreciate everything you’re doing for us, Inquisitor Sutharlan.”
“Anything to help His Majesty.” He passed my test. I could trust him out of the three of them. It made me feel better about giving him the section of Olnahd that included the orphanage. “If I ask you for a favor, Kindrick, would you do it? I’d pay handsomely, if that’s required.”
“Well, what is it? Surely, it’s not too big of a favor?”
“It depends.” I took a nervous breath, my voice threatening to wobble. The pain of being denied seeing my child was still too raw. “I want you to come for Mistress Teleri Moore’s tithe personally. That is why I gave you that district. And whenever you go, tell her that Master Sutharlan is keeping an eye on her.”
Inquisitor Kindrick pondered a moment, sitting back. “Do you think she would take me seriously? I’m not as experienced.”
“That will not matter, so long as you mention me each time. She will not refuse, if she values her life.” I looked away to rub at my eyes. “In the event of her not complying and being placed under arrest, I will need you to help me with the latter half of this favor.” I’d gone back to my room, so I held up another purse of coins. “Twenty marks for the safe transport of one child under her care. A little girl, nearly three years of age. Have her sent to Kressie’s outpost right away.”
He stammered and took the purse in his hands. “I-I take it that this girl is important to you?”
“More than you know.”
“Very well.” He cleared his throat. “I will do what I can. Just give me a name, and I’ll make sure to remember it.”
I inclined my head. “Branwyn.” I wrung my hands together. “Branwyn Dunaidh.”
Notes:
*whispers* in case you were wondering, Mícheil has no idea. But let's just keep that between us.
Disclaimer: Mistress Teleri Moore is basically the Thénardiers from Les Miserables if they were one person.Song vibes of the day come from "Dove" by antihoney, which I have listened to many times while writing Declan's chapters.
A little reminder that I'm on Bluesky! And occasionally, I post WIP screenshots when I feel like screeching into the void about thesepoor little meow meowsbasket cases. It's the best way to get sneak peeks. Most I share via the #WIPSnips tag ^^
Chapter 17: Tobias
Summary:
Everything is falling into place, and Tobias is ready to begin his plan to take back Sunderland.
For Lucian, the love he believes he has lost.
Notes:
Hand me my shovel. I'm going in.
iykykSo, my hours got cut at work and I almost got fired today over something dumb, so what better way to cope than to edit??? [throws up glitter]
Just in time for Tobias to start crashing out! How fitting.
I swear, I'm running really close to the road block that is the latter portion of this story in rough draft hell, so there's that. If chapters pump out rapid fire, just assume that I'm tunnel visioning. This is what happens when you've got untreated ADHD and a whole lotta energy in all the wrong places. It's okay tho, I decided I wanted to try and edit something else that I had shelved and work on some drabbles, so there's that too.
There will be another chapter tomorrow (one of the darkest ones in the story so far, as a warning), but after that I'm genuinely not sure when the next one will be because I gotta fix and revise a bunch of stuff.Content Warnings
descriptions of infected wound/necrosis, alluded necrophilia (not explicit on page), self harm
Chapter Text
Tobias
These Inquisitors being in the east have proven to be a good motivator in my research. With my growing knowledge from The Black Book, I was able to form proper plans for staging potential attacks. If those bastards found Druiminn’s estate, I was going to be ready for them. If they continued their assault on the good people of Sunderland, I was going to tear them down, one by one.
It was harder to gather components for my spells as the season was growing colder. Most of the animals were going to soon begin their long sleep, and most of the plants had withered until spring. But I found out how effective having a supply of ashes was.
I learned a thing or two, both from the Book and from those dark mages. Having a pouch to stow ashes on my person was a decent substitute. I wasn’t even allowed to cremate leftovers from our hunts. Arthur forbade any use of animals of any kind. So, I had to settle with burning shrubs and twigs. That had to be enough.
I was studying the Book again this afternoon, jotting down some notes. I could feel Lucian’s ghost eyeing me from the corner of the cellar. There were many different kinds of attacks, not just fire and lightning. There was one spell that involved emitting a corrosive charge that you could attack someone’s armor or weapons with. I learned how to make my own shield. I could manipulate the earth to sink someone down into it, inch by inch. Similarly to the spell that let me be with Lucian nearly every night since I learned it, the more matter I gave to cast something, the stronger it could get.
“Find anything else that can aid you in your cause?”
I smiled a bit at hearing Lucian’s voice. “Just perusing. Some of these look like they can be most effective.”
I stopped when turning another page. The first thing my eyes were drawn to was a drawing of what looked like a black blade. It reminded me of the sword Iantinus wielded. It was the same blade that killed Crown Prince Gideon. It was a category of spells labeled, “Crippling Knives.”
I could either imbue a blade or create one for the moment needed to cast it, though these spells looked complicated to pull off. “The Knife of Draining,” for example, would allow me to harness the life source of whomever I kill with it. “The Knife of Dread” was designed to maim its target’s mind to the point where they take their own life to escape its wrath.
“The Knife of Rot” was the nastiest one. Whenever the target was struck with it, the wound it left behind would immediately become infected. It festered and putrefied, rotting the person from within. The infection would already be in their blood, so not even amputation could save them. Eventually, the infection would kill them, but it was a slow and agonizing death.
Reversing the spell seemed impossible: “Should you find yourself struck with the Knife of Rot, only a colossal debt can cure it. Thousands of lives lost will not matter if you need to save yourself…”
“That is certainly a dreadful one.” Lucian’s ghost hovered over me, making me pause in my reading. “Just imagine the utter havoc it would bring.”
“I don’t think that one is necessary.” Perturbed, I went to flip the page once more. “Seems a little… excessive.”
“After everything they had done to me?” He sounded so pained. “Think of what we both had to sacrifice. What we both lost.”
My heart ached as I glanced up at him. “I’m sorry.” I went back to that page. “Perhaps they can be useful when we need them.”
“Excellent decision, my dear,” he hummed as I continued jotting my notes.
“I’m going into Kressie to speak with the people soon,” I continued as I was finishing up. “You always know what to say. Do you think you can help me prepare?”
“Of course, I can,” he smiled.
I relaxed my shoulders. My dagger was on the table, so I reached behind myself to grab it. “The circle from the other night is still there. Do you think you’re prepared for another hour?”
“For you?” His ghost grinned coyly. “I am always prepared.”
That had me chuckling as I limped towards the circle, Lucian staying right within it as I brought the blade right to my gut.
Now that I was armed with knowledge, I had to engage in the next phase of my plan.
Pain wasn’t a big issue today, so I braved the trek to town. The patches of forest were starting to look like what happened to the Wilds. As it turned out, putting a ban on the use of animals cost a devastating amount of plant life in its place.
The town was a shell of its former self. Many homes had boarded up windows, and there was no longer a marketplace. Nothing was how it used to be. The Moorish Cup’s door was broken, leaving the entire establishment open to the elements and thieves.
Some men that’d seen me around here recognized me, giving me half-hearted nods. The low morale had my stomach in knots.
“Where are those bastard mages?” I muttered, looking towards the old outpost.
One man shrugged his shoulders. “One headed north. The other two? Balhreid, perhaps. Today’s when they go there.”
I nodded. “Have the people gather round the square, then. I have an announcement to make.”
The other beside him jerked his head, looking from one end of the square to the other. “What about them guards? They’ll kill you on the spot, if you cause a scene.” He kept his voice at a whisper.
I grimaced, rolling my eyes. “Fine, then. The Moorish Cup. Gather as many people as you can into The Moorish Cup.”
I hobbled right for it, first met with the grime and debris on the ground. The constant breeze from outside left little to be desired. The windows were all broken from the inside. Tables were flipped or splintered. The stores at the bar were empty.
I snapped my fingers, letting an orb of light rise to the ceiling. I started brushing some dust away from the bar.
Lucian’s ghost was leaning against it. “Are you sure that it is a wise idea to get these simple people involved?” he hummed. “They may not understand your vision.”
“I’ll make them understand,” I insisted. “There has never been anything more important than our cause right now.”
“But what if your magic frightens them too much for them to listen to you?”
I hadn’t thought of that. “I will just have to convince them.” I paused as footsteps began to approach. I hopped up to sit on the bar, my cane propped against it.
More people recognized me. I hadn’t come back to town since Kressie ran out of ale. My father’s stores were nearly gone, as well. I was starting to get jitters throughout the day and cold sweat at night.
“People of Kressie,” I started as more men and women began to file in. “I have a proposition for all of you.”
I heard some light murmuring. Some of them looked between each other.
“For those that don’t know me, my name is Tobias Druiminn. I was an officer in the King’s Army.” I waited for the crowd to settle. “I was there during the Fall of Gurindeck. I was there when the Royal Family fell. I was there when that devil king usurped the throne. I watched him and his ilk slaughter those good people one by one.”
One woman piped up. “Is there truly no hope for us here?”
“I’m running out of money,” cried a man.
“I won’t have enough for the next tithe!”
“Where do they take us?”
I raised my hand, trying to get them to settle.
“Did you hear that they may take tithes from us twice a week now?”
“I don’t know if I can handle twice a week!”
“My children will starve.”
I sighed. All the clamoring was bleeding together. I reached into my pouch, remembering a spell to project my voice. As far as I knew, no one saw me cast it before I tried to get their attention again.
“I understand your concerns,” I said, my voice startlingly louder than usual in this room. “And I also understand that what remains of the King’s Army is doing little to help you all. They are frightened. They are cowards.”
There was a stunned silence. I felt that none of them would try to clamor again.
“But I have a solution.” I broke into a grin. “Numbers. How many of us are still here in Kressie?”
I waited for an answer. Only one managed to reply.
“I used to be a lord here. Lord Vendrual.” The man’s clothing was in tatters. His facial hair was patchy and overgrown. “Before the Fall, there were three hundred people here. Now, I believe there are two hundred and twenty. That includes children.”
“Two hundred and twenty. That’s still more of us than them.” I tilted my head back. “Balhreid is a smaller town, but how many would you say reside there?”
“Erm. About a hundred.”
“A hundred…” I trailed off. “And there are how many of those Inquisitor bastards here?” I didn’t wait for an answer. We all knew it. “Three. Three people in charge of over three hundred? That is bound to overwhelm the lot of them, aye?”
I saw some light nods, some pondering…
“Their guards are stationed around the town. They move at their command. What do they do when those bastards don’t sic them onto people? Do we know?”
A collective shrug.
“I suppose, we’d better find out.” I hopped down from the bar, careful not to land too hard on my bad ankle. “Here is what I propose. The Army will do nothing to help all of you. All they plan to do is talk and work behind closed doors.” Another round of disgruntled muttering. “That’s right. Every time I told them that we needed to plan a counterattack, or an initiative to take these fuckers out, I was shot down. They all claim that there’s no way to stop them. But what if I told you that I knew a way?”
Lord Vendrual stepped forward. “Well, what is it?”
“Not only do we have more in numbers, but I know a secret. The most effective way to kill them is by using their own magic against them.” That was when I then snapped my fingers, dousing the light above their heads.
Several people stepped back. Others shook with dread.
“Are you one of them?”
“Are you going to demand a tithe from us too?”
“Why should we trust you?”
I waited, still maintaining my posture. “It was not my choice. I was forced into this life. But here is the difference between me and them.” I looked around. “I rejected the devil king. I refuse to work for him. I have been using what was forced upon me to put an end to their tyranny. But I need your help. I cannot do this alone.”
Lucian’s ghost let out a satisfied hum behind me. “Spoken like a true visionary.”
It was exactly like we rehearsed.
Lord Vendrual stood beside me. For a moment, I feared that it didn’t work, that he would make me the first target of my own plan. But instead, he clasped my shoulder. “What must we do?”
My body relaxed. “Alright.” I limped closer to the center of the room. “We have to come up with a plan together. First, we need to keep as many resources as we can. We may need to evacuate. Don’t offer everything you have to the tithe. Leave some for yourselves. They’re powerless without their guards. We can find a way to take them out while they’re visiting each town. Let’s open communication up with Balhreid and put them in the know. We’ll need them for this plan.”
A man rose his hand. “I deal with the post between here and Balhreid. You may leave that to me.”
“Perfect.” I grinned. “We should continue meeting here at this same day, the same time, every week. While they’re not here to enforce anything. I will travel between here and Balhreid. And as the guards fall, one by one, we close in on them. I may first need to find one of these inquisitors and make an example out of them.”
They were even more receptive to that. Some were grinning, others nodding their heads.
“Once they see that they’re not immune, they will have no choice to surrender. And there is only one way for them to surrender.” When I stumbled as my ankle was failing me, one of the men reached out to hold my arm. I let him. “How do we punish Sunderland’s traitors?”
I recognized a baker, who raised his hand. “Death.”
“That’s right. Death,” I chuckled. “What happens to people that assassinate members of the royal family?”
“Death,” answered a carpenter.
“And what do we do with spies that assume power over the good people of Sunderland?”
A young man, possibly still a teenager, rose his hand. “They get put to death, sir.”
“Exactly.” I turned to face the rest of the crowd as the boy’s mother praised him. “And these mages are no different. That devil on King Richard’s throne is no different. All of them are traitors. All of them assassinated the royal family. And all of them are spies. So, what shall we do to them?”
The answer was unanimous. They all began to agree with each other. Death. Death was the only option.
“The only way to stop them is death!” I cried. “And we can make that happen if we all work together. Get rid of them once and for all. Restore order to Sunderland. Kill all of them, no matter the cost. And we won’t just stop at Kressie.” As I continued, the murmuring grew louder. There were resounding agreements, assents, and cheers. “We won’t stop at Balhreid. And we will take back Olnahd! The Moors. Baumshore. Lethemal! And we’ll continue west. We will take back Sunderland! Take back Gurindeck! End this maleficium once and for all. And we will do it together!” I took a breath, keeping my head held high. “Now, who’s with me?”
My ears rang with how loudly everyone cheered. We all agreed. Together. We were going to take them down together.
“Enough is enough!” I cried.
There was a resounding echo. “Enough is enough!”
A thrill went through me. “The only way to stop them?”
“Death!”
My heart raced. Lucian would be so proud of me. He was proud of me. “Death!” I answered back with a louder cry.
“Death!”
“Death!”
“Death!”
We were one step closer to destroying this tyranny. I could almost taste it.
Chapter 18: Lucian
Summary:
After one of the most frightening visions yet, Lucian tries to keep his guard up best he can. There is only so much he can do, however, should the rest of Auðunar's company find out his secret.
Notes:
Content Warnings
attempted rape, sexual violence, sexual assault, graphic violence, castration, C-PTSD symptoms(spoiler warning) Some context and information for those that need it. Please, take care of yourselves.
It would irresponsible of me to say that this chapter can be glossed over or skipped. Surviving the assault will have a profound effect on Lucian for the rest of the plot. All of his previous traumas combined with this one, as well as his emotions and symptoms throughout the narrative, would altogether diagnose someone with C-PTSD should Lucian have lived in a world with modern medicine.
The scene itself is quite graphic. The aggressor takes great lengths to try and overpower him. Lucian does fight back against his attacker and get the upper hand.
He gets taken care of after the assault. However, you will see that he clung to what Auðunar told him about not knowing what it is to survive. That will be corrected in the future, but in the immediate aftermath that sentiment lingers in his mind.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Lucian
Despite all that Master Pritchards taught me about Brømkhald, I truly knew nothing until I saw it for myself. For example, even though I knew the names of all the major towns and cities, there were smaller settlements unrecognized by Sunderland.
As soon as we at last got out of the northwestern edges of Víldurlant, we reached one such settlement called Tørnalt. It took us four days to get there, on account of my wound slowing us down. Most of the journey was a blur.
I faintly recalled having to bite down on a strip of leather while Bjorgolf stitched up my wound. I suspected that I suffered another commotion from that blow to the head. Something about my faculties gave me that impression deep down. According to Sigehere, Svala and Auðunar both kept watch over me throughout that first night. I was in and out of sleep during that part of the journey, so it was a wonder that we broke any ground during my haze.
Once reaching the settlement, we were fortunate enough that there was an inn that let us stay there as the first major snowstorm of the year was pelting the walls outside. We so far had spent an additional three nights here because of it.
This evening was the most coherent I had been. I registered the howling winds as I opened my eyes. Auðunar insisted that I should have my own room, on account of my ailments. There was a raucous bustling downstairs, filled with boisterous laughter and music from instruments, some of which I had never heard before. But it was a comfort. As I settled on the pallet to keep warm, I was reminded of that summer night at the Moorish Cup.
Thought about the dancing and the mirth. I could almost taste the cider, the more that I thought of it. I was so happy. I felt free. I thought about how wonderful it felt to spend that evening with Tobias and to make love together.
“You don’t belong out here.”
The memory was sullied as I heard one of the last things he said to me. I covered my mouth, curling up best I could. He did not believe that I was capable. He needed me locked up. All that talk of showing me the world, us going on adventures together just like in those stories was simply that. It was all just talk.
I thought he understood me.
I started when I heard a knock on the door, turning to see Auðunar enter the room.
“You look much better already,” he started. “That is a good sign.”
I had a hand over my right eye, now that someone else was in the room. “It is a relief. The last time I had a commotion, I was ill for over a month. Already, I can get a sense of the world around me.”
“A relief, indeed.” He stepped away from the door. “The storm is starting to slow down. We may get back on the road by the morrow.”
I inclined my head, looking towards the window. “How much further?”
“So long as there is not another storm, perhaps another two days’ worth of travel,” he offered. He moved closer to the pallet. “We can only cover so much ground as the season turns.”
“I am not complaining. I understand.” I kept my head turned away from him, so that he could not see my horrid eye. It was dark outside, right in the middle of the evening. “What day is it? I lost track of time being out in Víldurlant for so long.”
Vaguely, I heard Auðunar sit down. I tried not to look at him. “The twenty-fifth of Sanguinus.”
My breath caught. Had it truly been that long? Over a month since the Fall of Gurindeck. The significance of this day, in particular, saddened me. “It’s Tobias’ birthday.”
“Your former lover?”
I nodded. “He is now one and twenty.”
When I took a brief glance, keeping my right eye covered, I noticed he was watching me with a softened expression. “You miss him.”
“Of course. I just can only hope he misses me just as much.” Knowing how immense his grief could be made me shiver. “How are your ribs, Auðunar?”
“Better. Only one of them was cracked.” He sighed. “Would you… like to join us tonight? We are about to eat.”
I blinked, sitting up to look at him. Blessedly, I was less dizzy this night, as well. “You want me to?”
“Well, of course.” He faltered, clearing his throat. “I mean, we all do. You slew Halmund Paulsson. A victory like that deserves to be celebrated.”
“Really?” My other hand held my wounded side. The bandages were recently changed. “Even though I am not a real warrior?”
Auðunar shrugged his shoulders. “Whether you think you are a warrior or not, you did well. This is your victory. You deserve to bask in it.” He rose from the pallet, turning to leave. “The offer is open.”
I stared at him and uncovered my eye as the door closed one more. My victory? I never had a compliment like that given to me before. It brought a warmth to my face. Perhaps, I could enjoy myself this night, though none of my clothes were clean. I still felt dirty, even with most of the blood and gore cleaned off my face and body. The only pleasant thought I could think of was that at least there were no mirrors in here to gaze upon my reflection.
I chose to wear one of my more formal sets of attire that I packed before the Fall. Perhaps I looked more like a wild dog stuffed into fine silks than a prince, but it would have to do. For once, it felt… soothing to not be seen as royalty. I was an ordinary man here. No one gave me a wide berth because of status. They were amicable, and I earned respect instead of it being expected. I fought for it. I never had to do that before.
As I looked out the window once more, I clutched at my head. There was another sharp pain in the back of my eye.
I was outside, far colder than I should have been with my layers. All at once, I realised I was being restrained. Someone was holding my arms behind my back, my face nearly buried in the snow. My throat burned from screaming. There was a weight on top of me. I could not get up. My wound was reopened. There was a familiar pressure gathering below my waist, but it was not one of pleasure. I was being stabbed repeatedly. Speared. The pain was unbearable.
My eyes widened as the vision faded. It felt so real. I felt violated to such a horrible degree.
I took a wary glance towards where I could still hear the laughter and music, panicked. No… That had to have been just a dreadful waking nightmare. None of those men out there would… hurt me like that.
I thought about Ulfrik and his threats. He had not made another advance while I was infirmed, but it was my hope that he thought better than to try that again. They were just threats. Nothing more. Auðunar would protect me. I paid him well enough to do that. I would be fine. No one here would hurt me.
Despite that, I decided to take out the survival knife. I concealed it in its holster at my belt after putting my eyepatch back on. I also decided to carry my horn, now that Eyvald gave me a strap for it. Best to be prepared, just in case.
When I stepped out, I searched for Auðunar, finding him with the other mercenaries seated at a large table. Eyvald noticed me approaching first, raising his mug with a laugh.
«Oi, look! He emerges!»
There were several more cheers, and I blushed at the attention. I sat beside Auðunar when he gestured to an empty chair.
«We already ordered for you,» he admitted with a sheepish smile. «I figured you would want to come out here.»
I listened to the music thoughtfully. Closer to the hearth, someone was playing a set of drums made of hides while another had a string instrument that I realised was a fiddle. It sounded different from the viols back home. A woman was playing a set of pipes. The sounds they made together were slow but pleasant to the ear.
«The Grey Dog Slayer returns!» Bjorgolf laughed, raising his mug to me. That was the name I was given after killing exactly two Grey Dogs—one of them, of course, being the reason why I was praised to such an astonishing degree.
«Glad to see you up and about again,» insisted Svala. «That blow to your head still smarting?»
I shook my head. «I am feeling much better.»
«Here’s to good health.» Eyvald raised his glass to me before taking a gulp. The rest of the table did the same. «Come now, Lucian, join the toast!» he teased.
I blanched. «I will admit, I do not often partake in ale.»
«This ain’t ale, Lucian,» Bjorgolf grinned. «Mead. Brømkhald’s finest.»
I looked down at my mug, taking hold of it.
Auðunar set a hand on my shoulder, making me pause. “Don’t let them pressure you, if you don’t want to drink,” he said.
I shook my head. “I will try it.” I brought the mug to my lips, cautious when taking my first gulps of it. “O-oh dear,” I gasped as it went down, making the others laugh.
«Poor lamb can’t handle his liquor,» Bjorgolf teased.
“Ói.” Auðunar gave him a hard look. «Leave him be.»
«No, it is alright,» I smiled. «I will admit it myself. I only really drank wine. And back in Sunderland, there was this delicious cider that went straight to my head.» I pointed right at one of my temples as I spoke. It further amused the group.
«Drink slowly, then,» Auðunar smiled. «Savour it.»
«I shall.» I took another gulp. «Come to think of it, this is quite good.»
«You can be a true Brømkhaldic, yet.» Svala raised her glass to me once more.
This time, I partook alongside them.
I was at Auðunar’s right side at the table, and Ulfrik was at his left. He watched me, engaging in pleasantries at the appropriate times but otherwise quiet.
When he did speak, he managed a question. «What are you hoping to find in Berusær, anyhow?»
«My companions, perhaps, if they set out on their own. I am worried that they will have a perilous journey.»
«Most that don’t know the land have a difficult time,» said Eyvald, «as you’ve learned.»
That made me blush. “Já, hefi ek.”
“Hvíla sik.” Auðunar watched for when our food arrived. “Your shoulders are all tense. Njót sjálfr.”
“I am,” I chuckled. “No need to worry. I just…”
In the back of my mind, the vision I experienced in the room persisted.
“Never mind,” I amended, trying to focus on something else around the table.
The twins were silently playing a game. They were using a wooden checkered board, moving around bone-carved pieces in certain manoeuvres. Even after we got our food, I was watching their game. Sigehere at one point exclaimed in annoyance while Sigmund was grinning.
“What are they playing?” I asked.
“Hnefatafl.” Auðunar glanced over. «A strategy game.»
That had me perking up. «I like strategy games.»
«Oh, do you?» he chuckled. «I am terrible at them.»
«A shock, considering your leadership skills,» I teased. When that earned some light laughter around the table, I focused on the game pieces. «I think I would like to try it.»
Sigehere sighed, leaning back. «No matter how good you are at your Sunderish strategy games, you won’t be able to beat Sigmund. He is the best among us.»
«Won again.» Sigmund grinned. «Let him play. I will teach him.»
I hesitated, but Auðunar nudged me to trade seats with Sigehere. I brought my food with me and sat, taking pauses to eat while getting situated. «How do you play?»
«You can play the soldier pieces first. They’re the dark ones.» Sigmund reset the board. «Your objective would be to capture my King piece before he escapes. My objective is to get the King to either one of these four corners. Our pieces can only move in straight lines.»
«All right.» I studied the board. «Simple enough.»
That earned an amused snort from Sigehere, and I smiled. I was soon instructed to make my first move. Each of us were tentative when moving our pieces, and as I played, he gave me some tips and instructions. After a couple dozen moves, I had captured four of his pieces while he captured seven of mine. His King piece was coming dangerously close to one of the four corners, and I had a disadvantage with how he lined his defences.
It felt so good to focus on something that required more of my mind. I rubbed at my chin, looking over the whole board.
«Don’t feel bad if you lose,» Sigmund hummed. «We will play another round with you being the defences, so you have a fair shot.»
I gave him a wry smile. «Perhaps I should tell you that I spent many of my formative years with a strict education. Strategy is in my blood.»
«Oh, is it?» he grinned. «You are doing well for a first time.»
«It is all about making sure you are thinking at least two steps ahead.»
«I bet six silvers that Lucian wins,» I heard Eyvald mumble to Sigehere.
«Only six?» Svala snorted. «I bet ten.»
«You’re on. Sixteen says that he loses,» was Sigehere’s response. «No one can beat Sigmund.»
Two of my pieces were close enough to the King now. Judging by where they were on the board, I surmised that he had about four moves left to win.
«Did you know that Sunderland has a wealth of archival information?» I asked, striking up conversation as I captured one of his pieces close to the King. «That was my lot in life, before the Fall. I was to be an archivist.»
«We have no record keeping like that here, that I know of,» Sigmund admitted. «We’re too scattered. Most of our shit is word of mouth.»
«I will admit, it is a privilege to have that much knowledge of our own history. But I believe, on my end of things, that having that upbringing has paid off. My tutelage was how I learned so much about this region before coming here. It is why I am fluent in the language.»
I looked as he moved his King closer to the corner. I heard some laughter coming from Auðunar, taking a brief glance and seeing that he and Ulfrik were speaking to each other in hushed tones. Whatever was said, it had Auðunar laughing even harder.
«You are a devil, you know that?» was what I heard from Auðunar as he nudged Ulfrik.
«I try my best,» Ulfrik grinned, leaning back in his chair and drinking more mead.
I did not want to be distracted for very long, focusing on both the board and my conversation with Sigmund. «It is also why I beat both my brother and sister at chess each and every time we played.» I tried to suppress a grin as I noticed that I could block the corner he was heading towards. I used that to my advantage, moving the piece.
«Fuck,» he grunted. «Dammit, Lucian, you’re distracting me.»
I chuckled, bringing another piece close to the King after his next move had him at the edge. «My tutor loathed me, you know. I think he thought I was too intelligent. In books, anyhow. We all know that my survival skills leave much to be desired.»
That earned another round of laughter at the table, and I could not suppress the grin on my face even if I tried.
I had him now. Sigmund had no way of capturing any more of my pieces. He was stuck at the edge, and I had one more move before I captured the King. He tried to bring another piece closer to defend it, but it was too late. I had him completely surrounded.
Sigehere’s jaw dropped. «How the...?» He glanced at me. «You won.»
«I was going easy on him,» Sigmund grumbled, though I could see by the pout on his face that he was not. Despite his annoyance, he had a glint to his eye. «Finally, a worthy opponent. Another round?»
I nodded. «This is fun,» I smiled.
Every mercenary was watching this time, even Auðunar. Whenever I looked at him, he was watching the board with rapt attention. Eyvald, Svala, and Bjorgolf started another pool with Sigehere to see who would win. Meanwhile, Ulfrik was silent once more, taking glances between me and the game.
Playing the defences was harder, as it turned out. I struggled in the beginning, having to focus on Sigmund’s pieces surrounding where I was at the centre of the board. I was quiet for a while, concentrating on what moves I should do.
“How long were you tutored for, exactly?” Auðunar asked the question in Sunderish.
I hummed, responding in the same language for my secret’s sake. “Since the age of four, up until my tutor’s death. At that point, I was nearly eighteen and my father did not bother with hiring another one.” I looked over. “What about you? You seem educated.”
He rolled his eyes with a smirk. “Just in languages. My father thought I needed to learn basics to prepare for raids, but most of my fluency comes from my uncle.” He sat back. “Combat training was more important. I was taught to wield a blade from the age of seven, for I had to be an integral part of my father’s company by thirteen.”
“No wonder,” I gasped. “But so young…”
He shrugged. “That was my lot in life.”
I prepared a line of defence for my pieces on the board. So far, Sigmund captured five of them already. “What is your age now, Auðunar? I am curious.”
Auðunar paused for only a moment. “Five and twenty.”
“Really?” I glanced over, looking him up and down. “I thought you were older.”
He blushed. “How much older?”
I stammered, tilting my head to the side. “My first guess was three and thirty.”
“Three and thirty?” He threw his head back and guffawed in a hearty fit. “I would be more offended if you were not such a lamb.”
I gawked. “I am not a lamb.” I huffed, grimacing as another piece of mine was captured. “Well. How old do you think I am?”
“Hmm…” My own blush began to bloom as I could register Auðunar leaning closer to me. He was watching the game over my shoulder. “Nineteen.”
I scoffed, lightly nudging him away so he could not hover. “I am one and twenty, Auðunar Thrandsson. You are either flattering me or insulting me, and I cannot tell which.”
He grinned. “Well, my guess was far closer than yours.”
“Perhaps it’s the beard,” I teased.
I had to switch tactics in the game. Sigmund had one corner I was heading towards surrounded, so I had to travel towards a different one.
“Honestly, Auðunar,” I continued, “if not for our sparring, I would not have survived the raid. Even with my teachings, I was wholly unprepared.”
“I figured as much,” he chuckled. “It is your arms.”
I puffed my cheeks. “Well, need I remind you that I was not entirely without any training. I was taught by the best soldiers in my father’s army. Tobias was among them as my guard.”
He failed at suppressing a grin. “Compared to us, none of those Sunderish fools are fighters.”
That made me titter, and I covered my mouth. “What does that make me, then?”
“Simply this.” Auðunar leaned a bit closer to speak lowly in my ear. Feeling his presence made my heart race. “You are better than them.”
“Careful, Auðunar. Saying things like that may get to my head.”
“Worry not. I will give you the skills to back up your arrogance.”
He left it at that, and I failed at quelling the flush to my cheeks. It was barely a compliment, but it still bolstered me.
Shifting my focus on the game once more, I noticed a window to get closer to the new corner. It was small, and it was a risk, but it was there. I distracted Sigmund by moving soldier pieces to create a subtle path of diversion.
«Were you taught by a wizard, or something?» Hearing Brømkhaldic once more made me turn my attention to Sigehere. «Perhaps we all have a thing or two to learn.»
«No wizardry,» I insisted with a grin. «Just an overbearing tutor.» My breath caught as I saw Sigmund catching on to my plan and starting to intercept it. «I hoped to use my education for good, back in Sunderland. But there was only so much I could do, with my father restricting me. This was the most that I have seen the world in my entire life, and there is still so much I do not know.»
«You will be all the better for it,» Bjorgolf said. «Not many Sunderish fools can say that they lived to tell the tale of how they survived in Víldurlant.»
«Aye. I’m impressed.» Svala reached over to clasp my shoulder as I played. «You’ve got some fire in your blood. Almost enough for you to truly be a warrior.»
I took their words in, a thrill coursing through me. They believed in me. They saw something in me that not even Tobias could. I felt my confidence rising. «I have read so many books about adventures and battles and fighting monsters. The real thing is nothing like those stories.»
«It never is,» Eyvald teased. «It is better.»
I had to agree. Since my flight from Gurindeck, I had the sense that despite all the danger, I was truly on an adventure. The peril and the risks were simply a part of it. It was nothing at all like the storybooks. It was nothing like the games Tobias and I used to play. In some ways, it was far more dangerous. But to see everything for myself and be the one to create my own story, it made the drawbacks seem insignificant. Because I was living it.
Sigmund made a poor move, and I was able to reach the corner with one more move. I barely heard the others either concede on their bets or rejoice in their spoils, for I was more focused on the amicable way we ended our game.
«I need to improve, it seems,» Sigmund grinned, shaking my hand. «I have gone soft.»
«You are still the expert,» I assured him. «Thank you for letting me play. If only defending my father was as easy as it could have been in this game.»
He paused at that. «I’m sorry.»
«Don’t be,» I said. «We never saw eye to eye. In fact, he probably would have kept me sequestered if he was still alive. And I never would have met all of you.»
His expression softened. «Well, I think I speak for all of us when I say that I’m glad you’re here with us instead of stuck in Sunderland.»
«I am, too.» I got up from the table, throwing the cloak over my shoulders. «I will be back. I need to step outside.»
«Don’t be long,» Svala called. «It’s colder than a witch’s tit out there!»
I shook my head with a grin as I stepped outside, heading for the privy. It was a bit of ways from the inn, but Eyvald had recently reinforced my boots to endure the snow. Thinking about how well they have been treating me made me smile. These mercenaries were all far nicer than I realised. Auðunar was right. I felt more like one of their own than I did being one of the most powerful men in Sunderland.
After relieving myself, I heard the winds picking up again. I clung a little tighter to my cloak, taking in the night air as I stepped out of the privy. The snow was falling at a gentler rate than it did this afternoon, and it was easier to enjoy it when there was no immediate peril. The way it blanketed the forest and clung to the trees was enchanting.
There was suddenly a tight grip on my arm.
I yelped, slammed hard against the privy wall. I was held fast there, the weight behind me too much to squirm away from. Pressure against my backside made my breath catch as I struggled.
«Not as clever as you seem. Are you, Prince?»
Ulfrik. As he spoke, he had me restrained, his hips pressing harder against me.
I felt faint, my knees turning to water. «W-what are you talking about?»
I was swiftly jerked around, my back against the wall. Before I could try to get away, I was pinned once more by his full weight, both his hands gripping my throat.
Ulfrik glared at me, his grip tightening as he choked me. «Do you think I’m stupid? We all heard you in there, Sunderish bitch.»
I paled, realizing my grave mistake.
“If only defending my father was as easy as it could have been in this game.”
«So, how much more platinum do you have from your dear Papa, hm?» he sneered. «A hundred? Two hundred?»
My hand started to claw at his on my neck. I could not breathe. I needed to breathe! My vision was darkening at the edges. He was crushing me.
«Tell me, Prince.» Ulfrik’s glare hardened. «How much would Sunderland pay to have you brought back?»
My lips were parted uselessly, desperate for some kind of air. But it hit me.
My knife!
It was at my belt. I struggled, slapping my hand at my waist as he was speaking to me. I tried desperately to take hold of the hilt.
«I’ll tell you what. If you don’t struggle, perhaps I will only take what’s left in your purse once I’m through with you.»
I struck at his face with my knife.
Ulfrik grunted, letting go of my throat and holding the deep gash I left on his cheek. I nearly collapsed, coughing and heaving for breath. He recovered too quickly, well enough to deliver a swift punch at my wounded side. The searing pain made me shriek, and he struck me there again with his cleated boot while I was on the ground.
The knife was still held tightly in my hand. Ulfrik grabbed my ankle, yanking me closer to him as he leered. I slashed at his arm, trying to make him let go. That was not as effective as I would have liked, and his hand came to grip my jaw, the other pinning my wrists down into the snow.
“L-let go of me.” My voice was raw as I protested, too terrified to translate.
«I suppose we are doing this the hard way,» he muttered.
As I thrashed, he let go of my jaw, only to seize my leotard. He tore it open like it was made of paper, and I drew in a sharp breath at the bitter cold.
«I like a good fight,» he huffed, «but you’re a tough one to break.»
“Stop!” I was still wheezing. When I tried to struggle once more, to kick him away, he pressed his whole weight down onto me once more. He was too heavy for me to wrestle away from.
His grip on my wrists held fast in his one hand, and he slotted himself between my thighs. My body went stiff. He was trying to pull off my trousers. I kept shaking my head, my grip wavering on the knife, and I could not move. All at once, I was too terrified to struggle.
“Go on. Call for help.”
His goading tone from that evening filled me with cold fear once more. Even if I did try to fight, try to call, who would answer? Who would save me? Who would believe me? Why was I out here all alone? Where was Auðunar? Did he not notice Ulfrik leave? Or did he expect something like this to happen?
My strength was fading, for my side was bleeding once again. I was still frozen, and my body stopped fighting All I could do was stare. Even breathing was difficult with this cold.
«That’s better,» Ulfrik grinned, lifting up my hips to gather my braies. «You be a good little prince, now.»
As his hands found purchase on my bare waist, the ice that constricted my heart thawed with a brewing rage. It spread through my veins. How dare he. I was more than just a “good little prince.” I was more than just some learned scholar. I was not weak. I was a fighter now. A warrior. The only one that seemed to not get that was this brutish wretch above me.
He thought he could have the upper hand. He thought he could doubt me. But he did not have the right. I did not have to take this. No one should ever doubt me again.
Before he could strip me, I bunched my legs close, delivering a swift kick to his gut.
Ulfrik was still heavy, so all it did was confuse him and catch him off guard. He sat up, and I used that. I took hold of his chest and shoved him down with all the strength I could gather. Before he could struggle or pin me again, I took the knife and delivered a swift stab to his shoulder. He howled in pain at that, though he could not act as I kneed him in his groin.
«I told you not to touch me!» I shrieked.
He growled and wrestled underneath me, trying to recover. He reached to take hold of my knife, but I was quick, stabbing him again right through his hand. That had him howling once more, but I felt a hard blow across my cheek as he struck me with that bloody palm. I tried to move past the white-hot pain, even as I was thrown off him. I had to run. I had to call for help.
My legs were shaking, my exposed skin red from the cold as I ran towards the inn. I took hold of the horn, bringing it to my lips. My calls were weak, but I hoped they were still loud enough to be heard. I was losing balance, the blood loss from my reopened wound weakening me.
I heard him chasing me. He ran with full speed, and I dropped the horn in the middle of the final call to scream as he shoved me hard to the ground. He took a painful hold of my ankle, and he began to drag me with my face buried in the snow.
I had an iron grip on my knife. I was not going to let that vision come to pass. I could change it. I raised enough hell. I had a knife. I was going to prove once and for all to this entire company what would happen if any of them tried to follow Ulfrik’s example.
Thinking quickly, I whipped myself to turn over just as Ulfrik started to loom over me. I swung hard with all my might, striking true right into his groin.
The scream he let out was high and visceral. He collapsed hard to the ground, but I was not through. With a wild fury, I crouched over him as my body trembled from the cold. I yanked the knife out of him, ignoring his snivelling bellow as I stabbed him again. And again. And again. His blood was soaking my knife and my hand. It was splattering on my bare skin. The skin he dared to touch. My already unclean body could not be sullied any further than he already attempted.
Someone grabbed me by the shoulders, hauling me away from Ulfrik. Fear whipped through me once more as I screamed. No. I was not going to let another wretched beast try to rape me, either. I whirled around, ready to strike this next ruffian.
I was halted when Auðunar seized my wrist before I could slash at his throat. His eyes were wide. It looked like he ran out here in a hurry.
«What happened?» His voice was hard, blowing out puffs of vapor as he spoke.
I tried to wrestle out of his grip, my hands shaking. He was holding me too tight. “D-damn you, Auðunar! Where were you?!” My voice was shrill and broken. I could not let him hurt me, too. He was going to hurt me!
Ulfrik was sobbing amidst his screams. «H-he stabbed me! That bugger bitch fucking stabbed me!»
«I did not ask you, Ulfrik!» Auðunar raised his voice, snapping a glare in Ulfrik’s direction. «Speak another word, and I will tear off what’s left of your cock and feed it to his hound!»
My breathing was picking up, my eyes burning. The cold was truly getting to me. I was soaked from the snow. I was too exposed. My side was throbbing, freely bleeding.
“Lucian.” Auðunar was still holding my wrists. “Líttu á mig, Lucian.”
I needed to defend myself. He was still holding my arms. I struggled harder, glaring at his face.
“It is alright.” His voice was a little softer.
My attention shifted to the inn when I saw movement. The other five mercenaries also ran out here, watching the display. A couple audibly winced at Ulfrik’s state, but none of them made any move to help him. They were instead looking to me.
“Lucian.”
I jerked my gaze to Auðunar once more, my vision blurring. I could not let my guard down. Not ever.
His eyes were sad. “It’s alright,” he repeated. “You are safe now. Please. Put down the knife, Lucian.”
My hand trembled violently as I dropped it. I was shivering harder from the cold. “He…” My voice was shaking too much. More tears rolled down my cheeks. “H-he tried to…”
As I let out a weak sob, trying to cling to Auðunar, he glanced back towards the others. «What are you lot standing there for? Help him! Get him inside!»
I shook my head, gripping tighter to him. “D-don’t leave me alone. Please!”
Svala and Eyvald rushed forward, picking my cloak up off the ground. I was wrapped in it, each motion tentative. Bjorgolf picked up my knife, and Sigehere got my horn. I could not stop crying, my breathing so panicked that I thought my chest was going to burst. My legs were shakier than a newborn fawn’s. Nothing about the way I moved felt natural, like my body was not my own.
I kept taking glances back at Auðunar, but he was not joining us. I did not see much of what happened next, but Ulfrik never came back inside.
I bit down hard on the leather during Bjorgolf’s new round of sutures, trying to ignore the horrific dread of the twins holding down my legs and Eyvald restraining my arms. Even with Svala talking me through it and holding my hand, I found no relief. I kept seeing Ulfrik above me, the helplessness making me cry more than the pain of the needle.
A more ignorant version of myself would not have been strong enough to fight back. Would the old Lucian have been able to withstand the pain? Could he have endured? I hoped that he would have, but I was more relieved that he never had to find out. I protected him. I protected myself.
To my relief, the rest of the company was on my side. They warmed me up, gave me a hot drink, and made sure I was alright. I was given a warm and dry set of trousers, and a nightshirt was ready for me once the wound was bandaged once more. Whatever amicable feelings they had for Ulfrik before the assault were gone.
«So, you really are a Sunderish prince?» Sigehere asked.
My eyes watered as I nodded. Were they going to use that against me, as well?
Sigmund shrugged. «Makes a lot of sense now.»
«My wife’s never gonna believe I was in the presence of royalty,» Bjorgolf chuckled.
«What are you doing up here, then?» It was Eyvald that asked that. «Should you not be in Sunderland being all princely?»
Bjorgolf finished the sutures. One of the twins took the leather out of my mouth. I was still shaking, sweat beading on my brow. Speaking was difficult, for my throat still burned. I was told by Svala that I should try not to speak too much for a couple days, but there was just too much to explain.
«I am the sole survivor of my family,» I rasped, my voice hoarse. «The throne was usurped. My kingdom believes I’m dead. If the wrong person back home knew I was still alive, they’d hunt me down to finish the job.» Some more tears rolled down my cheeks. Sigehere helped me drink some water from a tankard when I coughed. «Ulfrik was going to ransom me. And he... h-he wanted to do despicable things to me.»
«Fucking bastard,» Sigmund muttered. «He fooled all of us. I should’ve known.»
«We should’ve known,» Bjorgolf frowned. «We are sorry, Lucian.»
«That could’ve been any one of us.» Sigehere grimaced. «I never thought he’d do something like that.»
«Some men can be bold when they are hungry enough for power,» I muttered. The mere concept sickened me.
Svala spat on the ground. «That fucker deserved what he got. Good thinking with that knife. I’d have told my daughters to do the same thing.»
I nodded, looking around the room. «Thank you. All of you. I was not sure if I’d be safe, if you all knew my secret. But I was wrong. I’m forever grateful. You are all a fine group of people.»
«Oh, we wouldn’t go that far,» Sigmund teased.
«You are one of us now, Lucian,» said Sigehere, «prince or not.»
I felt a small smile form on my lips. “One of us.” Even after all that, they felt that I belonged with them. I belonged here.
There was a knock at the door as the wound was soon being wrapped in bandages. The twins helped me with the nightshirt as Auðunar stepped into the room. He had blood stains on his sleeves and up his neck. He kept a distance from the pallet, watching all of us.
«How is he?» I could see that his body was still tense. Was he concerned?
«There’s risk of infection, but it’s sutured up once more,» Bjorgolf said. «We need to keep this area dry. His bandages must be changed nightly before bed until we see progress in healing. We should stay here another day to make sure it doesn’t reopen again.»
He sighed. «Very well. Whatever must be done.» He turned his attention to just me. «Are you alright?»
I watched him, relaxing significantly now that I was no longer restrained. I was no longer in danger. I wiped at my uncovered eye, inclining my head silently.
«Good.» Only then did his shoulders relax. «That’s good.» He looked around. «Everyone, head to bed. We will regroup on the morrow.»
The twins left the room first, wishing me good night. Bjorgolf trailed after them, and Svala gave my shoulder a gentle squeeze before leaving. Eyvald lingered for a just a moment longer, watching me.
«You are safe with us now, Lucian,» he said. «We’ll keep a better eye on you.»
After Auðunar closed the door behind them, he stayed in the room with me. “I’m sorry.”
I watched silently. He made no move to leave or come any closer.
He lowered his head. “I should have suspected something, the moment Ulfrik made an excuse to check on you.” He ran a hand over his face. “I knew him for many years, and my judgment was not where it should have been. If I knew he would do something like that, I never would have kept him around. I would have left him in the Tundra. People like that are not welcome in my company.”
My eyes narrowed. “You promised me protection.”
“I know.” He winced, meeting my eye. “I got too comfortable. It will never happen again.”
I sniffled, not bothering to sit up due to the wound. “Your lapse in judgement is forgiven. If anything, I should be thanking you, Auðunar.”
He frowned. “Why?”
“If you did not push me to fight, I never would have realised that I could.” Weary, I closed my eyes. “What did you do to him?”
“Some dreadwolves nearby were hungry,” he said. “They are attracted to the smell of spilled blood.” I heard some shuffling coins. Footsteps came closer to the pallet, and those coins were dropped into my palm. “Here.”
I opened my eyes briefly, seeing ten platinum marks. “What is this for?”
“I did not meet my end of the deal.”
I watched him. He was ready to turn and leave. Instead, I held the coins in my fist and reached out, tapping his side. It made him pause and look down.
“Keep them,” I said. “Consider this me giving you one more chance to prove yourself, Auðunar Thrandsson. Also.” I managed a weak smile. “If you want, take the money I gave to Ulfrik and split whatever is left amongst yourselves.”
“I am sure that is already being done,” he chuckled. “You will be far safer from now on. All right?”
I nodded, settling down. “Thank you.” I turned my head away from him as I removed my eyepatch.
Blessedly, he doused the lamp for me and did not ask to look this time. “Góðr nátt.”
My heart raced once more as I watched him begin to walk away in the dark. The shock from the assault was still lingering, and it would only get worse if I was left alone. It brought tears to my eyes, thinking about how close to death I was.
I missed home. I missed Gideon and Terryn. I missed Tobias. At least Brya would be here to cuddle with me, but I needed another person. I did not want to be alone. I wanted to be held, to be assured I was alright.
“Wait.”
Auðunar stopped as he was opening the door. He looked back at me. “Is something wrong?”
I felt pathetic all at once, expecting Auðunar Thrandsson to offer comfort. He had better things to do. He would not want to waste his time on a spoiled, sheltered prince that snivelled and broke when he knew what true hardship was. But I could not stop myself.
“P-please, stay with me?” My voice broke once more, the moment that left my mouth. My hands shook as I reached out. “Please. I-I don’t want to be alone. Please, stay with me, Auðunar.”
I could not read his expression. He frowned, glancing back at the door. “Give me a moment.”
My face fell as he left, closing the door behind him. He was not going to come back. He would not come back. Why would he? If I could not get comfort, then I needed to be the one to do it myself.
I held Brya, feeling a sob burst forth while I carefully massaged my throat. I had to remember that I could breathe, that I was no longer choking. I was alright. I was safe.
The door opened once more a few moments later. Auðunar stepped back in dressed for bed, the blood wiped off from his neck. He carried with him a thick blanket. “You need to be kept warm, Lucian.”
My resolve broke further. I burst to tears. I did not want him to still think I was weak. “I-I’m sorry.”
He shook his head, joining me on the bed. Brya was settled between us both, and he pulled the blankets over me. “You have every right to cry. You hear me? Even the bravest warriors cry.”
My lower lip wobbled as I nodded. He spoke softly to me in Brømkhaldic as I closed my eyes, for he knew more soothing words in his mother tongue than he did in mine. I did not mind. His comfort made me feel the safest that I had felt in weeks.
Notes:
Emotionally, for me, this was one of the most cathartic chapters I ever wrote. But it also takes a toll.
Now, I'm gonna take a much needed break to read books, work on some other things, and eventually continue editing this behemoth.For some comedic relief, I can't believe that after posting this I was ONE WORD AWAY from 69,000 words. Dammit, Gabe. DAMMIT.
Translations
Já, hefi ek - "Yes, I have"
Hvíla sik - "Relax"
Njót sjálfr - "Enjoy yourself"
Líttu á mig - "Look at me"
Góðr nátt - "Good night"
Chapter 19: Tobias
Summary:
Things are not always what they seem, in Tobias' mind. But whenever he tries to question it, he finds that his goals and aspirations to avenge the one he loves are more important.
Notes:
A shorter chapter today. I'm enjoying my little break (but I am side-eyeing my friend for getting me into Transformers after MONTHS of him trying to get me to watch/read it).
I really hate writer's block. It's annoying. But I'm hanging in there, albeit a struggle.Content warning for referenced necrophilia (not explicit on page), eye trauma, and rapid body trauma
Chapter Text
Tobias
I knew this was a dream, because when I was with Lucian, he moaned for me.
I thought using that spell would make it feel the same as it was, but there were slight differences. Sometimes, I didn’t want to feel frigid. The fact he didn’t need to breathe was startling, in the moment. And I missed the way tears rolled down his cheeks when he was lost in it or desperate.
When it was over, I held him tight, feeling his arms wrap around me. For an instant, I felt the warmth of his embrace, and I began to weep.
“Oh, Tobias…” He touched my face, guiding me to look at him. “Please, don’t cry.”
“I miss you,” I gasped, giving him a tender kiss. “I miss you so much that it hurts, love. I don’t want to wake up.”
He smiled at me with such bittersweet fondness. “I am not gone forever. You can feel me here.” He touched my chest, right over my heart. “And no matter what, I will always be here.”
“I wish you were like this in the waking world. Your real self.” I ran my fingers through his hair. “You’ve changed, when you died. I’m trying so hard to fix you, but I don’t have the skills yet.”
“Fix me?” Lucian’s smile fell. “Why do you need to fix me? Tobias…”
I faltered. “I-it’s nothing bad. I just… You’re colder now, Lucian. And sometimes, you say things that scare me.”
I thought back to whenever I’d gone through The Black Book. Lucian’s ghost knew which spells I should look at. Some of them were more devastating than I could possibly imagine. He wanted me to use them. He wanted me to perfect them. All for the cause. All to enact the justice he rightfully deserved. This much power frightened me.
But why, in the waking world, did the idea of wielding it thrill me beyond words?
“I never want you to fear me, Tobias.” Lucian brought my face close and pulled me in for another kiss.
My eyes fell closed, and I cupped his cheek in my hand. I didn’t want to wake up. I wanted to stay here forever.
When I pulled back to look at him again, Lucian’s face had changed.
It shifted, starting from his right eye. It was where he was struck the day he died. It changed color, the normal silver transforming to a dramatic spectrum. His pupil was pale, brighter than the moon. And it stared at me as vicious tendrils of dark scars radiated from the point at his eye right around the side of his face.
He was writhing under me, whimpering as those scars carved jaggedly at his neck, his shoulder, down the length of his arm. His chest. He clutched at my shoulder as he began to cry.
“Lucian?” I held him, helpless in watching his suffering.
“Tobias?” His voice sounded far away when he spoke. His breathing picked up from panic. “Tobias, h-help me.”
“I’m here.” I didn’t know what to do. I tried to touch the scarred arm, but Lucian began to scream. It grated against my ears.
“Help me!” he sobbed. “Please, help me!”
“Lucian, I’m trying.” I let go of him, not wanting to hurt him again with my touch. “I-I’ll fix everything.”
As Lucian curled up in his agony, I felt a cold, clammy hand clutch my bare shoulder. Turning around, I saw his ghost regard me with a stare of cold intent as he seized my throat.
* * *
Arthur coaxed me out of my room just as I was about to leave. I was still shaking from my nightmare. I’d been having tremors lately from lack of ale, waking up in cold sweat and with jitters that made it difficult for me to get dressed.
But I was determined. Our rebellion had just begun to take root in Balhreid, and we were beginning to spread out to Olnahd and Baumshore. I was going to begin laying traps along trade routes. But I obliged Arthur, for now, only because he was so insistent about seeing me. I had my satchel ready, the Book safely tucked inside.
“What’s going on?” I grumbled, rubbing sleep out of my eyes.
“You won’t be disappointed.” He brought me down to the dining hall. “I still have Master Thorvardsson’s mythos book, and it appears that Ulfgír is known to reward brave warriors with a piece of his power. That must be how the sword was forged in the first place.”
“Right, right,” I sighed.
“Well, here’s what I propose.” Once he had me in the room, I saw that the sword was sheathed in its scabbard right on the table. “We can recruit Mícheil in this, too, should what’s going on in Balhreid not get him anywhere. We’ll head north and pay tribute at a temple up there.”
“What?” I snorted. “That’s absurd. There’s too much to do here.”
“It can take place after we see to a proper evacuation plan down here,” he continued. “Then, we will gather supplies for safe travels. If all goes well, we can end up right back here before the Winter Sunwane.”
My eyes narrowed. “You’re serious.”
“What other options do we have?”
“Anything based in reality.”
Arthur’s face fell. “Like whatever options you have come up with are based in reality?”
“It’s better than sitting around with thumbs up our arses or chasing tall tales!”
“But it could very well lead to something that’ll help us without dying from exhaustion. Tobias, whatever you’re doing is not healthy. Look at you!”
I frowned, just taking a brief glance down at myself. My clothes were a little sloppy. My hands were stained from soil. I could see the bandages around my wrist. I’d just spent an hour with Lucian last night before bed.
“There’s nothing wrong with me.”
“That’s a crock of shit, and you know it,” he muttered. “You’re sick, Tobias. I don’t know what else to do. I’ve tried being patient. I tried to help you. I wanted to get you out of the house to do something more productive with your time!”
“All you have done was waste my time. I’m the only one here that seems to get what we must do here. I’m needed here. Sunderland needs me here.”
“Well, you can’t help Sunderland if you kill yourself!”
“I don’t have to fucking listen to this.” I turned to leave.
“Tobias!” I heard Arthur leave the dining hall, as well. “Tobias, wait!”
“Don’t follow me.”
“Just wait a moment!”
I tensed, feeling Arthur grab my satchel. “Let go!” I flinched away, taking hold of it.
“Tell me what’s going on, Tobias,” he begged. “Please. We can help you.”
“I don’t want your help!” I jerked back, tensing when the strap of my satchel tore.
It dropped to the floor, and the Book fell out. I couldn’t crouch down without my leg spasming, so to my dismay, Arthur beat me to it.
He held it in trembling hands. “…What is this?”
I reached out to take it from him, but he yanked it away from me. “What do you think? Give it back!”
He had a look at it for himself, his face losing color. “Where did you get this?”
I glared, finally having a grip on it while he was stricken. “It doesn’t matter.”
“It does.” He couldn’t bring himself to try and get it back. “Uncle Ewan had it hidden.”
“Aye. He hid it from me so I couldn’t get stronger.”
“Are you mad, Tobias?” Arthur looked ready to hit me. “He hid it because it’s a direct link to Iantinus! It’s his book! He feared that if we even so much as touched it, then he could use it to manipulate us.”
“That’s ridiculous.” I forced myself to crouch down and grab the satchel, hissing from the protests in my knee.
“Oh, really? With how fucked you’ve been behaving, now it all makes sense!” Arthur helped me back up to my feet, though a bit forceful. “You’ve very well damned yourself, and you’re taking all of us down with you!”
“No. I’m using this to save Sunderland. It’s just spells. And I’m using them wisely! If you’d just let me work and stop taking me from home or distracting me, then you’d get to see for yourself!”
“I’m telling Uncle Ewan.”
My heart stopped. “Don’t.”
“Why not?” he sneered. “If this is as virtuous as you claim it is, then he’ll see no issue, right?”
“Arthur, don’t.” I couldn’t run after him. “I need more time!”
“Time for what?”
“You wouldn’t understand.”
“Of course not, because you don’t talk to us!”
“Why should I?” I snapped. “You and Mícheil judge me for breathing wrong.”
“That’s not what we’re trying to do. We’re not judging you. We care about you!”
“Oh, I certainly feel the love.” Favoring my leg a little too much, I blew off another protest from him to stay here and made my way out of the house. “I’m running late.”
“Late for what?” It didn’t sound like Arthur was making any move to follow. “Tobias!”
I slammed the door on my way out, shuddering and concealing the Book once more. I’d have to get my satchel mended. But for now, I tied a haphazard knot just so that I could sling it. I could feel Lucian’s ghost watching me from behind.
“That was frighteningly close, my dear.”
“I know,” I muttered. “He’s not like the others I’ve recruited. He’d never understand how important this is.”
“Certainly not.” His scolding tone made me turn around. “Do you fear me, Tobias?”
I faltered, thinking about last night’s dream. “N-nay. Of course not.”
“Tobias, if you fear me, then perhaps I should depart for a while.”
“What?” I shook my head, hobbling closer. “No. I need you here. I-if you go, I don’t know what I’d do.”
“Know that what I have done to aid you is out of love,” he muttered. “Your growth is far more important than whatever rebellion or politics Druiminn and his ilk are engaging in. You are too distracted.”
“Lucian?” I felt more jitters, perhaps from the lack of spirits. “Perhaps I can’t make them understand, but I know better than to let them steer me away. See?” I showed that the Book was still in my satchel. “I’ve not gone astray. I’m doing well. And I won’t let them in there keep me away. This is all for you. I’d tear apart the world for you, Lucian.”
Lucian’s ghost didn’t seem satisfied. He brought himself closer to me, his hand reaching out with laxed fingers. “I want you to look in that book once more. Towards the back. I know the exact spell you need to meet your needs once and for all.”
I shuddered. Could it be…? Perhaps, I could finally bring him back. I took it out, following his instructions. Unfortunately, it was not a spell for resurrection.
“Baleful Detonation.”
The descriptions underneath grew more bizarre. It was supposed to cause some kind of explosion of maleficium against the target, and it required a lot more of my reserves than any other spell I had seen thus far. It was destructive, but it was intriguing.
“Why are you showing me this?” I asked. “What about all the other ones I’ve been learning? They’d suit well enough.”
Lucian’s ghost shook his head. “This will put an end to what you seek to destroy. You will not need to plan too hard or wait too long. This will do the trick. And you can then show everyone that doubted you what you are capable of.”
I blinked. “An end to all this? Why…” I kept reading as I trailed off. All in the detonation’s path would be destroyed. Like, perhaps, a group of mages. “This is perfect.”
When I looked up, I saw he had a satisfied smile on his face. “I knew you would agree, Tobias.”
I wished I could kiss him. But something told me that I’d have the power to do so, sooner or later. “Thank you, love.”
“Anything for you.”
Lord Vendrual showed the old trading routes. He was willing, with a group of three other men, to take me to different posts in our small tour. We were currently a couple miles west of Balhreid.
“Now, this is the road where they transport the husks to Gurindeck?” I asked, holding onto my satchel.
“It’s the safest route to get there,” he insisted. His hands wrung his tattered sleeves. “This is also where they transport their tithes. And if those bastards were to call for reinforcements, they would come through here.”
I got down from the wagon, keeping a firm grip on my cane as I stepped out to the center of the road. The first thing I was hit with was how barren this area was. The trees were dryer than bones. Even the paved dirt was brittle.
“We could lay a trap here.” I gestured down to the ground beneath my feet. “And we should have one further west. Another few miles.”
“I have a better idea.” One of the former merchants, Donovan, joined me on the road. “Another twelve miles down, there’s an intersection. The crossroads can lead you north towards Cranbury or south towards Baumshore. If we lay the second trap there, it’s more likely to take out more of those mages.”
“Excellent.” I inclined my head. “We should have another group stage an ambush there. Send them a message. We will need at least ten of them, depending on how many mages go through there at one time.”
“Right, then.” Lord Vendrual gave a satisfied nod. “We may very well turn the tide yet.”
“That’s the idea,” I chuckled, looking down the road. I fidgeted with the Book in my satchel. “We will surround their caravans. If they want to tear us down, then we will fight back twice as hard.”
Chapter 20: Mícheil
Summary:
Mícheil gets a surprise visit in the middle of the night from someone that he never thought he'd see again.
Notes:
As it turns out, Transformers fanfiction turned out to be a great way to get rid of writer's block. I know. I'm just as disappointed in myself as I'm sure you are. Unless you're into that kind of thing. That's cool, too.
Half this chapter was written before the block, which makes things SO much easier. But because of that writer's block, a lot of things that I planned to post short story wise have been shelved for now. Probably for the best. Maybe I'll get around to it in the future.
And now there's a whole new chapter I need to start from scratch. Hopefully, I can pull it off.Just watch out for brief mentions of self harm and grief.
Chapter Text
Mícheil
Grand Marshal Corfield glared at me the moment he entered my tent. His eyes were narrowed to slits, his jaw set.
“This has gone far enough,” he snapped straight away. No mincing words here. “Your battalion has done nothing but scour the opposite side of the border for a month! Where is your head at, Sergeant?”
My uniform was a mess. I already knew it. I hadn’t slept in two days, trying to find any kind of lead. Declan was still missing. He was missing. I needed to find him. I was starting to see the appeal, why my father loved the bottle so much. It dulled things well enough.
“I ain’t going nowhere without Lieutenant Sutharlan, Grand Marshal.” I didn’t bother trying to be formal. I didn’t care. I stormed out of my tent. “He’s the best man I’ve got. I’m gonna find him.”
“Stop.” He reached out, pressing a hand to my shoulder before I could get too far. “The search has been called off.”
“Called off?” I stared at him. “What you mean, ‘called off?’ I hadn’t even begun. There’s still hundreds of acres of woodland to search!”
“Remember your place, Sergeant.” The Grand Marshal raised his voice, cutting through the entire camp. “You work for me, not the other way around.”
I challenged him, my head held high. “I’m not leaving Declan behind.”
“Then, you will leave me no choice but to have you discharged in disgrace.”
I shook my head. “You can’t do that.”
He didn’t have to say it again. He could. He ran the entire army.
He continued, like nothing was amiss. “Your efforts were noble, Sergeant Dunaidh, but you can no longer waste my army’s time on one man when I have thousands to manage. Have your men resume their posts in the watch rotation. They need to work double, for all the hands we have lost. Report to Major Kastil for your next set of commands for the front. We are looking for new recruits. Lieutenant Sutharlan’s death will not be in vain.”
I was seeing red. I needed to move my hands. I needed to scream. I needed to bash this man’s skull in for even considering that Declan was dead. The search wasn’t over. I was not done. We didn’t even break ground. I knew this. He knew this. Did he really think he could make me stop? Give up?
Just as the scream left my mouth, someone held my hands back before I could touch the Grand Marshal. I was hauled backward, and I thrashed. I thrashed and wrestled and demanded to be let go.
“No one rests until Declan is found!” I hollered, my eyes darting around the skulking bystanders. “Y’hear me?! No one! He’s not dead! Until I see a body, he’s not dead!”
“Disregard Sergeant Dunaidh, men,” the Grand Marshal called, ignoring my protests. “The man is grieving. Leave him to his devices. He will return to himself soon enough.”
“He’s not dead!” I screamed.
“Mícheil. Mícheil, stop it.” I realized that it was Arthur that was holding one of my arms. Jerking my head, Finn was right at the other one.
“Mícheil, you need to calm down.”
“Fuck off!” I wrestled with them again. “I’ll go look for him myself!”
“Mícheil!” It was Finn. He stood in front of me. Colm was now in his previous place, while Finn took my face in his hands. “Listen to me. You did your best. You did all you could. You searched for over a month. You did well. He would be proud.”
“H-he’s not dead!” My voice cracked as I said it. My eyes burned from tears.
“He fought hard. He went down swinging. You know it.” He was still looking right at me. “But we need you now, Mícheil. You need to focus. You need sleep. You did all you could.”
I shook my head. “I ain’t done enough.”
“You did all you could,” Finn repeated, his voice gentle.
My legs stopped working. I dropped hard to the ground, but Arthur was still holding me. Finn knelt with me, but I kept shaking my head. I couldn’t speak. I was crying too hard. I didn’t even care how many people saw me. Let them watch. Let them see that giving up on Declan was a mistake. He never got to talk to me.
And I never got to tell him I loved him.
* * *
A rapid knock started in the middle of the night. I was startled right awake, fearing the worst. Was it the other Inquisitors? I didn’t think Declan would make our presence here known. I barely had time to change before I groggily rushed downstairs.
“Mícheil?” Brigit called to me from the hall. “What’s going on?”
“Just stay there for now, ’til I know what’s wrong.” The knocking persisted. “Hold! I’m coming!”
When I answered it, I saw a dishevelled Arthur standing beside a cloaked figure.
“Arthur?” I rubbed my eyes. “Couldn’t this wait?”
“Certainly not.” He gestured to the other person.
When they pulled back their hood, my heart lurched. I never thought that seeing such a familiar face would bring me this much joy. He got thinner, and his face was harder, but it was still him.
“Finn?!” I couldn’t help the grin on my face as I pulled him into a tight hug. “By the gods, Finn! You’re alive!”
“W-we’ll get to that.” Finn stammered and pulled back. “I need your help.”
I brought him inside, lighting the hearth. Brigit came down with a blanket wrapped around herself. She was just as surprised as we were. I only had some stale rations for him to eat this night, but Finn’s appetite was ravenous. He devoured it, shivering underneath one of my father’s old cloaks.
“I rushed here as fast as I could. I needed to use discretion, you understand.” Finn shivered, running a hand through his overgrown locks. “After the Fall, we commenced our escape route as planned.”
I shook my head. “You didn’t have to do that. We feared that you had died, like His Highness.”
Finn stopped, looking up at me. “It’s just as I feared. Our package never arrived?”
I frowned. “What package?”
Arthur blanched. “We’ll find out from Colm soon, if he gets it.”
“Gets what?”
Finn paused, taking a breath and regarding me. “His Highness is alive.”
Brigit and I both stood aghast.
“Alive?” I couldn’t believe it. “But that’s impossible. I was there. We both were, me and Arthur. We watched him die!”
“Just like you believed that I had died without checking otherwise?”
I flinched, all at once sitting with Declan’s hatred for the exact same thing.
Finn shook his head. “Forgive me. I didn’t mean it like that. I just was saying that it is possible that you think he died because you did not check his body.”
“But that killing blow… he hit the ground hard, Finn.”
“I know. It’s a miracle. His body is scarred, including his face. He has to conceal a frightening looking eye with a patch, but otherwise he’s unharmed. He is alive.”
Winded, I ran a hand through my hair. “By the gods… Well, where is he now? And why ain’t you with ’im”
“That’s the problem.” Finn wrung his hands together. “We were supposed to all flee north to Brømkhald. And once we reached Berusær, we were going to try and contact Colonel Druiminn. But we ran into a problem in Adinely. Three mages came, and they were running amuck.”
“Aye. Inquisitors,” I nodded. “We’ve got ’em here, too.”
“They’re everywhere. I could’ve gotten here much faster, if not for them,” he muttered. “Prince Lucian went out ahead with Tobias’ hound, but he ran too far. I tried to head north to find him, but he was gone. No trace of him.”
I tried not to assume the worst. Father had no kind words to say about the Brømkhaldic wilderness he traversed through during the war. Most men died from the beasts and monsters that lurked within. I’d heard tales from him of wolves that almost felt human whenever they stared at you before dealing the killing blow.
“And you believe he’s gone to Berusær?”
“Knowing His Highness, he would have found a way to traverse. I must have faith in that. He is Sunderland’s last hope.”
The thought that our future was in his hands twisted my stomach into knots. “So, what do you need our help with?”
“Oskar and Aeryn are not too far from here, in Olnahd. They’re waiting there for me. I am trying to gather as many able-bodied people as possible to get through the wilderness. We need all the hands we can get.” Finn gestured to Arthur. “I’d ask him, but he must stay here.”
“I have to look after Tobias. There’s something wrong with him,” Arthur said. “He’s not doing well. At the estate, we hear things when he thinks no one is listening. He speaks to himself, engaging in long conversations. He has new cuts on his arms. He is limping heavier than usual.”
My skin crawled, the more that I listened. “Is he still drinking?”
“Uncle Ewan’s stores have run dry. If anything, the lack of spirits is doing him in. But his experiments are getting worse. Alasdair’s catching on. He knows that Tobias ruined his garden. They’re pointing out how poorly the woods on their property are doing. I need to stay here and make sure he doesn’t do anything to further harm himself or them.”
I gulped. “What can I do to help?”
“I’d help Finn, no matter the cost. Abandon Balhreid, if you can. I’ll tell my uncle that it’s necessary, should Colm not find this package. His Highness’ safety is far more important. He knows that well enough.”
I sighed. “I got some details from my mission here, but sooner or later he’ll stop being so forthcoming.”
Brigit frowned. “I want to join you, Finn, but I don’t wanna leave Declan behind. Do you think we can get him out of here? Save him that way…”
Finn blinked. “Isn’t Declan a mage now? One of those ‘Inquisitors?’”
“He is.” I nodded. “But Brigit and I have been seeing him. We might get him to switch sides.”
“I’d just be careful, Mícheil.”
“I’m aware.” I tried not to snap.
There was another set of knocks on the door. I let Arthur get up to answer it. Perhaps my hope was misplaced, after all. Perhaps trying to get Declan to join us was a waste of my time. Perhaps I was clinging to the past a little too tightly.
“I don’t wanna leave him behind either, Brigit,” I said. “I don’t. But I can’t do much if he won’t accept being with us again.”
Brigit lowered her head. “I get it. But he’s still my brother. I’m not willing to write him off. Not again. If he knows we truly abandoned him this time without giving him a chance to join us, then it’s just the same as leaving him for dead.”
I winced. “You’re right. I’ll try to convince him to leave with us. I promise.”
When Arthur came back, he had Colm right behind him. He was out of breath, holding a small crate.
“Got it!” he gasped. “I-I got it.”
“Thank the gods,” Finn grinned, approaching him. “This is the right one. I see our markings here.” He pointed to some score marks round one of the edges. “Hopefully, it hasn’t otherwise been tampered with. That needs to be sent straight to the Druiminns. It was a risk putting that together in the first place, but His Highness insisted that we needed to give Tobias proof that he was still alive. But, with him being unwell…”
“No.” I put my foot down. “You will not keep this from him. He has the right to know, no matter how sick he is. If I knew that you lot had kept it a secret that Declan was still alive, I never would’ve forgiven you.”
Colm sighed. “He’s right. Tobias needs to know.”
“Hopefully, we will get through to him, then.” Arthur took a breath. “I’m afraid of how he’ll take it. He’s been obsessed with avenging Prince Lucian’s death. Knowing that he’s been alive this whole time… I don’t know what that’ll do to him.”
“You won’t know if you don’t tell him,” I retorted.
“Very well. But we’ll have to wait until he comes back.”
“Back from where?”
“I don’t know. He left without so much as a hint to where he was going.”
I grimaced. “Right, then. Be on the lookout for him, Arthur. And be ready for anything. There’s no telling what he’s been planning.”
Arthur nodded. “Aye, Sergeant.”
“Finn?” I turned my attention to him. “You head up to Olnahd straight away. I have to tie up some loose ends down here, and then I’ll join you. If I’m not up there before the end of the week, start without me. I’ll meet you on the road.”
Finn gulped, inclining his head. “Right. We have a map. We’re getting more supplies up north. We should be ready to leave soon.”
“Excellent. His Highness’ safety is imperative. Waste no time in finding him.” I then turned my attention to Colm. “Are you joining this little quest?”
Colm nodded. “I was nearly caught this time. I must make myself scarce.”
“Let’s hope the gods are on Prince Lucian’s side,” I insisted. “And by their will, we’ll make sure he’s alright.”
Arthur nodded. “There are some former soldiers living in Olnahd. Ask among them to join you, Finn.”
“Good plan.” Finn took a breath. “Good plan, indeed.” He held out his hand to me, and I clasped it before he pulled me into a tight hug. “I was at my wits’ end, Mícheil. I don’t know how you gather the sense to lead anything, with how shot my nerves are.”
“You’re doing fine,” I insisted. “Even the best leaders need help sometimes.” I gave him a smile. “It’s great to see you.”
“You too,” he grinned. “The both of you.”
I patted his shoulder. “Don’t go far.” I went upstairs briefly to sift through the remaining silvers from my time here in Balhreid. They were dwindling, and there wouldn’t have been much time before my arrest. But soon, that wouldn’t matter much. I came back down with a pouch full of them to give to Finn. “Here. Use these to help pay for supplies. You’ll need plenty of rations, warm camp supplies, and heavier clothes. It already will feel like winter up in Brømkhald. You don’t wanna get sick in the wilderness.”
“Good to know.” Finn took the pouch. “Thank you again, Mícheil. I hope to see you at the end of the week.”
“Here’s to hoping. But remember, leave without me if I don’t come to Olnahd by the end of the week.”
“I will.” With that, Finn said his goodbyes and was off, wearing the hood once again.
Colm sighed. “I’ll take this crate to the Druiminns now. Then, I’ll take my leave.”
“Before that, Colm?” I waited for him to pause in his steps. “I want you to join my group. I’m hoping to have Inquisitor Sutharlan come with us. Should things get a little worse for wear than I thought, I’ll need you there to balance things out.”
“Right.” I saw his hesitation. “I’ll put my trust in whatever plan you’ve got, so long as it doesn’t endanger His Highness.”
“I’ll make sure it doesn’t.”
After Colm left, Arthur stayed behind with me and Brigit. We stood in silence for a little while.
“Now that it’s just us…” Arthur’s voice grew quiet. “There’s something seriously wrong with Tobias.” He looked at me. “We’ve done all we could, Mícheil. But I think that he’s beyond our help now. I’m not strong enough.” As he said it, I could see his eyes glistening.
Brigit came closer to us. “What makes you say that?”
He sighed. “Uncle Ewan had this book he found during his research. It’s said to be Iantinus’ very inner workings and research into maleficium and how to use it. Dark spells. After the Fall, Uncle Ewan hid it in his cellar. He only told me what room it was in, but not where in it exactly. He wanted to make sure no one touched it.” Arthur shuddered as he paused to breathe. “Yesterday, before Tobias left, I saw that he had that book.”
“What?” I blanched. “What’d he need that for?”
“I don’t know. But his change in behaviour and his growing anger are all starting to make sense. And whatever that book is teaching him, it’s making him very sick.”
“The only thing you can do is try to stop him,” I insisted. “It’ll only get worse, the longer he has that thing. And if he’s now leaving home doing whoever the blazes knows what, you’d have to act quickly.”
“He’s been speaking of eradicating all these mages. He’s been holding meetings on days that the Inquisitors are out of sight. And it doesn’t stop there. Many people around Kressie are all saying the same things. They want to do it his way.”
“He’s gone mad,” Brigit gasped. “He’s gonna get them all killed.”
“That’s exactly what I’m afraid of,” he said. “I’ll do whatever I can here, but as soon as things get far worse, I’ll have no choice but to get as far away from him as possible.”
“Right. You need to take care of yourself,” I assured him. “Have courage, and know your limits. Not everyone can be saved from whatever path they’re on, should they keep refusing the help.”
Arthur nodded. “And I extend that same advice to you, Mícheil.”
I looked away from him. He was right, but I didn’t want to give up yet. It was part of why I didn’t want to leave Sunderland right away with Finn. I had to hold out hope for a little longer. I was so close. Brigit and I both were. Just a couple more evenings with him should do it. It’d be settled, then.
“I’ll do my best to follow it,” was all I could manage. “Need anything, before you head back?”
He shook his head. “I’m fine. Just… thank you, Mícheil. We can get on a little easier with you ordering us around.”
I snorted. “What a shoddy group of scouts we make,” I teased. “Get home safe. All right?”
“I will.”
Brigit saw Arthur out, this time. She leaned back against the wall, taking a brief look up at me. “You really will try to get through to him?”
“If he’ll listen,” I said. “He’s still in Olnahd, but he should be back any day now, I think.”
“I hope so.” She bit her lip. “This is a chance for him to be saved. I hope he’ll take it.”
“Aye.” I looked out the window, shivering at a light chill. Even if everything we felt for each other was gone, he deserved to be saved from all this. He deserved his freedom. “Me too.”
Chapter 21: Declan
Summary:
This was supposed to be a routine interrogation. But what seemed like a normal day to Declan quickly turned into a steep downward spiral.
Notes:
This is another quite heavy chapter. Full of a lot of dread and capturing what it feels like when your mind is racing way too fast and you get lost in your head and the world is moving well beyond your reach.
Having a panic disorder is great! /s
It's been an easier week at work, actually. We'll see if my mood gets any better though lolContent Warnings
panic attacks, gender dysphoria, past trans pregnancy, trauma surrounding pregnancy, referenced childbirth (also traumatic for the narrating character), trauma flashbacks, torture, burn injury, emotional abuse, implied sexual abuse/sexual assault, general brutality, forced familial separation, PTSD symptoms, anxiety disorder/panic disorder symptomsDisclaimer: I wrote a lot of Declan's internal monologue during his panic and more anxious moments based off how my own mind works as someone that lives with a panic disorder and has certain panic or trauma triggers. Not everyone experiences anxiety and panic the same way. Please, do take care of yourselves.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Declan
I didn’t have long here.
Things were on the right track with Olnahd’s outpost. In fact, I finished ahead of schedule. I was so ready to curse myself for it, not wanting to leave this town without seeing her.
I kept myself busy to not think of her. She was just a few minutes’ walk from where I was staying. I could very easily try again to visit Teleri Moore and arrange a time. But after feeling so embarrassed and troubled with the way things ended at our last meeting, the chances of me ever seeing her again were steadily decreasing.
Inquisitor Kindrick stopped by my room as I was beginning to pack. “Sutharlan?”
I dipped my head. “Kindrick. Don’t mind me. Just cleaning up here.”
“Actually, there’s something I need help with, before you leave.”
I faltered. “Is it Mistress Moore?”
“No, thankfully.” He shook his head. “It’s a different person on our noncompliance list. He’s a foreigner from Brømkhald. Whenever I reach him to make the demands, he refuses to answer the door.”
“Does he threaten you?”
“Nay.”
“How long has it been since he paid his tithe?”
“A fortnight, Sutharlan.”
I nodded. “I’ll see what I can do, then.” I threw on a cloak over my robes. “This should be settled shortly.”
I heard him following close behind, and I let him. Perhaps seeing how it was done would give him the confidence he needed to not ask others for help with difficult tasks.
“How do you get them to submit so easily?”
“Simple, Kindrick. Brute force.” I made sure I had my ashes. “Interrogation. A quick hand. A cunning mind. And above all, a stone-cold resolve. All this together will serve you well.”
There was a part of that answer that I left out. It wasn’t relevant to him. But something to work towards, to fight for, was what helped me strive to be among the best of the Inquisitors. I didn’t need accolades or high praise, like Sinéad did. I just needed to earn my keep.
“I’ll try to remember that,” he insisted, gathering his own ashes. “Do you think we’ll need to arrest him?”
“Perhaps not,” I said, “but it’s best to be prepared for anything.”
I had to leave Olnahd on the morrow. I didn’t want to go back. Part of me wished I could stay here. Perhaps Ruahd would get a kick out of it further south. She bemoaned the cold so much, after all.
Kindrick and I headed towards the town square, closer to where the orphanage was. This Northman we needed to speak with was a man called Jorund Thorvardsson, someone that was seldom seen. His home was in the same district. I had to take a breath when passing by the orphanage, resisting the urge to linger. Longing or worrying wasn’t going to get me anywhere. I needed to focus.
“This girl you need me to assure the safety of…” To my chagrin, Kindrick began the conversation as we passed the building. “Is there are reason why you cannot do it yourself?”
I wanted to lie. I wanted to just say that it was a matter beyond my control and leave it at that. But my heart was still sore and raw from not being able to speak to her. Thus far, Kindrick was the only other soul that knew my secret besides our superiors. I had no idea how much I’d yearned to confide in anyone about it, until I’d set foot in this town.
“There are certain limitations to my… rights.” I cleared my throat. “I had to give her up to stay among the Inquisition. My hope was to take her home once I had the proper means, but the demands asked of me are too steep. In either case, I had recently been barred from seeing her without appointing a time. And after accosting her to collect the tithe, I doubt she will ever let me visit her again.”
“That’s not right.” He grimaced. “Perhaps I can help you get at least one visitation with her. If you intend to have her back, then she should know who you are to her first.”
I had to remember that Kindrick was a younger man. Nineteen years of age versus my five and twenty. “While true, it’s not that simple, Kindrick.”
“Well, what if I can make it that simple? I’ll arrange the meeting for you myself.”
“Please, let’s not speak of this now.” I could feel a tightness in my chest. I pressed my hand to it, frowning. It wasn’t my ribs, this time. The garments were a more comfortable solution, by far. “Let us focus on our task at hand, please. Interrogating Jorund Thovardsson.”
“Right.” He stepped up to the door once we found the hut. The windows were boarded up, and there were sharpened posts around the small property. “If you don’t mind, Sutharlan.”
“Certainly.” I knocked on the door myself with a firm hand. There was nothing for a moment, so I tried again.
“Fara braut!” I didn’t recognize what the words meant. Perhaps, Mícheil would’ve told me what that meant.
“Master Jorund Thorvardsson?” I projected my voice. “You have but half a minute to answer this door, or we will forcibly enter the premises!”
“You will do no such thing, mage.” The Northman’s voice was hard, grating, when he spoke through the door. “I do not answer to you.”
“As a subject living among Sunderland’s borders, you do answer to us,” I continued, my voice still stern. “Ten seconds.”
The door opened, and I had to tilt my head up to look at the man. He glared down at me with nothing but contempt.
“Damn you mages,” he snapped, “disrupting the natural order. Destroying the balance of life and death.”
“Yes, yes. Leave your opinions out of this interrogation,” I muttered. “Unfortunately, for you, I will not be swayed by your idea of morality. I follow the laws to the letter, and you, sir, are in violation of one of the most punishable ones in Sunderland.”
Master Thorvardsson’s eyes narrowed. “I do not have to give you a single penny of my wealth.”
“If you don’t want to be turned into a husk, you will.”
“You are a hard one to drive away, hm? Your weak livered friend over there cracked after a minute.”
“I’m made of thicker skin,” I retorted. “I do not fear you.”
He looked right into my eyes. He regarded me for a moment, pursing his lips. “You have the eyes of a soldier.” He leaned back. “What in the blazes are you doing working for these mages?”
I frowned. “That is not your concern. And frankly, that is not relevant.” I started to reach into my pouch. “If you do not pay a tithe this instant, we will be forced to place you under arrest. You have not submitted your payment in a fortnight. Perhaps these other Inquisitors think that because you are not from Sunderland then you deserve leniency. I am not one of them.”
The Northman huffed, crossing his arms. “I will give you this much. You have guts. I admire that in a soldier.” There he went, mentioning my old life. I was no longer a soldier, and he shouldn’t be calling me that. He stepped back, beckoning me. “Come. I have my earnings back here.”
I frowned. “Stay out here, Kindrick. If I need help, I will holler.” I tried to assure him, but I was growing more unnerved. Despite it, I stepped into the house, leaving the door ajar.
His home was full of old books and weapons, as well as trophies from hunts. He was shuffling through a chest against a far wall, and I stepped over to join him.
“You know, most people would lure victims into their houses to kill them,” I remarked.
“Then, why did you come in?” he asked.
“Something tells me that you don’t actually intend to kill us mages.”
“Not true,” he hummed. “I only do not want to kill you. You are not like the others.” He glanced back at me, holding a handful of silver coins. “You have drive. You fight. I see it in your eyes and on your face. None of those other mages out there can handle shit. Now, what does not add up is why a fighter will give in and join this cause.”
“I didn’t ‘give in,’” I muttered. “I am content in my role.”
“Are you?” He held out his hand. “What do they have on you? What do you have that they want? What do you need that they can give you?”
That tightness in my chest was persisting, nearly suffocating me. “I don’t have to answer to you,” I muttered, taking the coins from him. Through gritted teeth, I told him, “Thank you for your contribution.”
“Suit yourself.” He stayed where he was, his arms crossing once more. “Should you decide to leave their company, and you need assistance, I may offer you entry.”
“Why?” I found myself asking.
“Because I do not believe being a mage was your first choice.”
That sat with me as I left the hut. I didn’t look at Kindrick as I left, not stopping to address him.
“Sutharlan?”
I didn’t stop walking. My feet moved wherever they wanted me to go. I didn’t stop them. I didn’t try to change my course. And when I looked up, I saw the orphanage come into view.
“Inquisitor Sutharlan?”
I winced, clenching my fists.
“I do not believe being a mage was your first choice.”
The world around me changed. I was thrashing while prone on the ground, screaming until my voice was raw. I was strapped down to a stone slab, my wrists and ankles bound in heavy chains. I could feel my life draining from me. It was as if thousands of needles simultaneously were stabbed into every inch of my skin and sucking my blood dry until I was shriveled and lifeless. But it was never enough to kill me.
I’d begged for them to kill me. I begged to be let go. I begged for Mícheil to find me. But my pleas and cries would always be ignored, even with dozens of people surrounding me and reveling in the power I was giving them. I was observed like an animal, prodded at like I was meat, violated to the utmost degree. My life, my autonomy, my dignity, stripped. Gone.
I was broken.
“I do not believe being a mage was your first choice.”
The people in the square walked around me, the further I was sinking into the hole in my mind. I couldn’t stop thinking about the time before I was inducted. Before I was given the offer for my life to spared. My life was spared, by joining the Inquisition, as if I had a fucking choice in the matter. I had just given up my child, my way of life, and they made me never look back on the people that I used to know and love. It was after I had been imprisoned. Imprisonment was the only word I could use to describe what they had done to me, back in the Wilds.
It wasn’t my first choice. I hated that he said that to me, because that was all I could think about. If I hadn’t been taken in the first place, would I still have had my daughter? Would Mícheil and I have been able to build a life together?
I couldn’t think about that now. That was all in the past, something that was never meant to be.
As I was staring at the orphanage, trying to focus on what was going on around me—what was going on around me?—I saw something from the corner of my eye that made me pause.
Two men were walking into the square, hand in hand. I hadn’t seen them in Olnahd before. I blinked a couple times, trying to make sure this wasn’t another bend in reality. One was taller than the other, his hair graying a little more than the last time I saw him. The other had tired eyes, and they both looked like they had seen better days.
My parents.
Oskar Reknas, a man that always fought for what he believed in, even when he struggled with selling books to the higher classes that would spit in his face. A man with set principles that did everything he could to provide for his family. A man that always saw how he could make the world better. He used to hold me when I cried from bad dreams. He was the one that showed me how to wear my uniform, supporting my decision to join Mícheil in the King’s Army. He put far too much faith in me, but I used to be so proud to call him my father.
Aeryn Sutharlan, someone so selfless that he was fulfilled being a caretaker for me and my sister. He was a hard worker, instilling my desire to put everything I had into my jobs. He fought hard to prove himself, and he was proud of what he achieved. He was a visionary and a force to be reckoned with. My Da was the kind of man that I always strived to be.
He taught me everything I knew. He showed me how to properly compress my growing chest, even when I was so distressed by the sight of my figure that I just wanted to wrap it up and tighten the noose around my ribs. He taught me how to manage my bleeds, even when I would burst to tears at stained trousers. He showed me how to fight back against anyone that would try to spew venom or conform me. He taught me to keep my head held high, because even if the world could try to fit me into their molds, I had every right to forge my own path.
I had loved them both so fiercely, and I wanted to make them proud. And I thought that they were proud of me, too. I suppose, then, that it was why it broke my heart to hear otherwise from Dame Siobhan.
I saw them at the Fall of Gurindeck, but they did not see me. I made sure of that. Tobias Druiminn was with them, so I knew he had to have told them what became of me. They did not look for me. They did not try to get my attention. They showed no sign of knowing that I was there, lying in wait. Would things have been different if they did? Would it have made an impact at all?
I had my chance to show them that I was there. I had the opportunity to make them see what happened to me and make them choose how they should proceed. But I couldn’t do it.
At some point, I found myself pressed back hard against the wall of the orphanage, trying to hide myself away. All the warmth left my body in a sharp exhale. That tightening sensation in my chest was pure agony. It affected my heart, each spasm and pulse of it feeling dissonant. My body shook. It took all my power to try and keep my bursting sobs silent.
I couldn’t breathe. I tried on my own, but it was impossible. Did they see me? Did they know I was here? No. I was dead to them. Remember? They gave my funeral rights. They gave up on me. They gave up. Dame Siobhan said so. But why were they here?
Dread pooled and festered in my gut, twisting around my insides. Just the thought of seeing them again was painful. When it grew even harder to breathe, I let out a sob, trying to will it away by covering my mouth.
What would they even say to me, if they saw me now? Would they not want to call me their son? Would my father look away from me? Would my Da wish he never gave birth to me? If they knew what I had to do to stay alive, would they disown me? What if they found out about my daughter? Would I be called a coward? Would my Da not feel the least bit sorry for my pain? Would they both say that I deserved not having the family I tried so desperately to keep?
I didn’t want to know. They were better off with whatever they already thought of me.
I bit back a scream, the harder that it was to breathe. I couldn’t think, just spiraling on how my parents hated me and how I would never get to see my daughter and knowing that Mícheil gave up on me far too quickly and how Brigit was content not having her brother anymore.
Finally, the tears came. I didn’t know if they were from sadness or pain. But I wanted them. I wanted my father and my Da. I wanted Brigit. I wanted Mícheil, of all people. I wanted to hold Branwyn and take her home. What was I doing with my life? Why was I stuck here?
“I do not believe being a mage was your first choice.”
“Inquisitor Sutharlan?”
I jumped, suddenly letting out a heaving gasp. The constrictions were still there, but now I could fill myself with air. My head throbbed as I covered my mouth. Kindrick was there, but I couldn’t address him. I couldn’t speak.
“Are you alright?” he asked.
Clearly, I wasn’t, but I nodded. I didn’t know how long he was standing there for. I didn’t know how much he saw me break.
“I have good news for you, Sutharlan,” he started after a moment’s hesitation. “I talked with Mistress Moore.”
My heart lurched. “Why? Why did you do that?”
“To return the favor. You got the Northman to pay the tithe.”
It did nothing to ease my dread. I suppressed a whimper, trying to dry my eyes. My heart was still thundering, but it wasn’t as painful. I tried to breathe. It was still difficult. “R-right. Really, you didn’t have to.”
“I wanted to,” he insisted. “Are you sure you’re alright, Sutharlan?”
I nodded. “Yes, yes. Don’t change the subject. What did you talk to Mistress Moore about?”
“She’s allowing you a brief visit with Branwyn Dunaidh.” As my stomach twisted once more, he continued. “She’ll meet you right outside the orphanage. I have to supervise, as does she.”
“Outside?” I shook, trying to take a glance around the corner. Were my parents still there? Would they see me approach and run the other way? Would they jeer while I tried to get my one chance to connect with the one person that I hoped would care if I lived or died?
Kindrick moved a little closer. “Is that something you would still like to do?”
“Yes.” I didn’t hesitate. After all, I didn’t know when I would get another opportunity like this. “Take me to her?”
Calming down was easier said than done. The tight sensation in my chest was still there, and I wasn’t sure if that would go away any time soon. But at least my body wasn’t thrumming with dread and pain. At least I could move forward. And I had to hope, or pray, that this meeting would go well.
One thing in my life had to go well. Please.
In an effort to keep her safe, I couldn’t allow myself to get close to her. In fact, there was a time where I tried to forget her. I didn’t get to hold her for very long, and I’d cursed myself for years for doing it in the first place. Perhaps I wouldn’t have felt so attached.
I didn’t have many memories of the time I carried her. There were gaps during my imprisonment, and my pregnancy was among them. It was for the best. I was so terrified when I found out that I couldn’t bear it. My body was growing and changing into something that I despised. And with no support, no help, those terrible thoughts festered.
I wished I had my Da’s courage, but it turned my insides to glance down after only feeling like I was asleep for a few minutes to instead see a vessel for a creature that knew not of my pain. The only thought I had before my capture was that the other soldiers would never look at me the same.
Would the Grand Marshal have disgraced me? Would they still see the same Lieutenant that fought alongside them? Would Mícheil have stayed? Would my family have supported me?
The only thing I wished I could forget was the horrible birth. It felt like I was half-dead, stuck in a long nightmare, only to wake up and feel such indescribable agony. I almost hoped that Mícheil would finally find me in that moment so that I could kill him. I had no comfort. I was still restrained. I thought I was going to die. It was the worst bout of torture I’d ever been dealt in my entire life.
I didn’t know it was over until I heard the first cries. I saw her, and I was horrified. Horrified that she came out of my body. That she was housed within it, after months of barely being conscious. Horrified that she was breathing despite all the torture that my body she’d been using as a vessel was grappling with.
But she was here. She was mine. My child… I didn’t care that it seemed impossible she survived to term while I was in such a wretched state.
My hands were strapped down on the slab, but I wanted to hold her. I begged to see her, still in shock that I’d done it in the first place. My body was weak.
One of the nicer mages took pity on me. My legs were still held down, but she released my arms. The newborn was shivering when I held her. I remember how she trembled. But when I laid her down on my chest, careful with her tender head, she settled. She no longer cried, only letting out little whimpers. And I was beside myself.
I held her for an hour. It was enough time to nurse her, to name her, and to let her listen to the sound of my voice with one of my father’s stories. I wished Mícheil was here to see her. She was just a shriveled little thing, but I thought that he’d be thrilled, ready to proclaim that she looked just like him. And I would’ve laughed, because he’d just admitted to looking like a tiny, wrinkled crone.
When Mistress Morwenna came to take her, I begged for more time. I didn’t want to lose her. She was mine. I wanted her to stay. I held onto her as tight as I could, protesting with pitiful weeping. That earned me a hard strike to the head. It was enough for my grip to go slack for Mistress Morwenna to take my Branwyn away.
If I had never held her, then not having her all these years wouldn’t have been this painful. I liked to think that I would’ve forgotten her, eventually. But I made so many promises to her. To us both. But there was no chance that I could ever be her father. Why did I feel such grief over someone I never had?
We rounded the corner, and to my relief, my parents were gone. Perhaps they were never there, just figments from my mind to torment me. But I heard their voices. I saw changes in their appearances that weren’t there the last I saw them.
My warring thoughts ceased when I saw Teleri leave the orphanage, holding a little girl’s hand. She held that doll again in her free hand, her grip gentle.
Branwyn.
She took one look at me, and I knew that she was staring at the scars on my mouth. She started to hide behind Teleri and whimper, that little noise sending a dagger through my heart.
Teleri glared at me. But to my astonishment, she just looked down at the child and ran a hand through her hair. “It’s alright. Don’t be frightened. This is the man I told you about. He wants to see you.”
It brought me even more relief that Teleri didn’t refer to me as her mother this time. This was going well. It almost felt amicable, but I remembered that Kindrick was watching. Perhaps “tenuous” was the better word.
Branwyn peeked once more, still painfully quiet. Her blue eyes were a little watery from fresh tears.
“Don’t be frightened,” I repeated, but my voice was raspy. I tried to clear my throat, but it could only do so much to help my nerves. “Hello, Branwyn. Do you know who I am?”
She shook her head right away.
Another ache throbbed at my heart. “I go away a lot, so I don’t get to see you. But today, Mistress Teleri is letting me say hello. Does she treat you well, my sweeting?”
Such an endearing term felt foreign on my tongue, but she was receptive. She gave me a silent nod, still hesitant to leave the caretaker’s side.
“Good. That’s good.” I smiled, all at once settled. “My name is Declan, Branwyn. I’m your father.”
She blinked at me, which I didn’t know if that was a good or bad sign.
“That’s right,” I tried, my voice softening. “I’m one of your parents. You have another father, far away from here. But if he saw you, I know that he’d love you fiercely.” I reached to my belt, remiss that I didn’t have anything to give her. Nothing to show her that I could be trusted.
When she looked up at Teleri again, I watched the woman gesture to get closer. It was a gentle nudge, but I feared that it would spook her. But Branwyn did take a look at me once more, shy when starting to step closer. I knelt down to her level, once moving a couple paces.
“I… I like your doll,” I offered, for I didn’t know what else to say. “She’s pretty.”
I was relieved to see that it made her smile. She then looked at my hands. “Wha’s that?”
I blinked, realizing she was speaking of the thin film of ashes on my fingertips. “Sometimes, my work makes my hands a little dirty,” I said. “I didn’t get a chance to clean them.”
She scrunched her nose. “Take a bath.”
“Must I?” I found myself chuckling. “I suppose, I should. Don’t want to stink, do we?”
That made her giggle, the sound soothing my tension. She held out her doll to me.
“Oh. Thank you.” I was careful with it in my hand, the other coming to touch its hair. “Did you name her?”
She shook her head.
“Let’s give her one together.” I sat down on the ground, looking at the doll all the while. “My own father loves telling stories. He writes books, you see. And this doll here looks like one of those princesses he wrote about. She had flowing red hair.” I looked up to note how curious she was. “Her name was Talya. Do you like the name Talya?”
Branwyn nodded. “Tah-lee-ah,” she repeated, her voice small.
“That’s right.” I held back tears, thinking about when I first held her in my arms. She’d grown up so fast. It didn’t feel appropriate to hold her now. She didn’t know me. “You keep taking good care of her.” I handed the doll back to her. “I wish I could see you all the time, Branwyn. I’m sorry that it took this long.”
She didn’t seem to mind or take notice. Perhaps, she didn’t quite understand what I meant.
“Do you know what me being your father means?” I asked her, and she shook her head once more in response. “It means that we are family, you and I. I am your parent. It’s my job to take care of you. But sometimes, parents and their children can’t stay together. That’s why you don’t live with me, like other families. But that doesn’t mean I don’t think of you or miss you. And perhaps, someday, we will be able to stay together. It may just take more time.” I worried that I wasn’t getting through to her, that this conversation was well beyond her understanding. I realized quickly that I didn’t know how to talk to children. Would I ever be able to learn how? “Does any of this make sense to you, my sweeting?”
Despite my worry, she outstretched her hand again. It appeared that she wanted me to hold it. But as I stared down at my own hand, ready to take hers, all I could think about was how many lives I ruined with this very same hand. How could someone this small and this young regard me with this amount of trust? It was such a delicate thing. With all her heart, she was not afraid.
I was hesitant when holding her hand. It was so small. I had to be careful, which was always beyond my purview. Mícheil was the gentler soul of the two of us. I saw a lot of him in her.
And just when I feared that I wouldn’t be able to hold her again, she came closer to snuggle up against me. My heart ached, my resolve crumbling. I was quick to bring her close into my arms, making sure not to hug her too tightly. For a fleeting moment, it made all of the hell I’d been through to get to this moment worthwhile. I had her again. She was in my arms. I could hug her and tell her I love her and be her father.
“Thank you,” I whispered to her, pressing a tentative kiss to her hair. “Thank you, Branwyn. I needed this.” I was in tears, but I didn’t want to dwell on that. “I love you.”
I let go of her when she started to squirm, glad that I read that correctly. She was still close to me, but she just didn’t want to feel squished. That was understandable. Smothering never did anyone good.
“Branwyn?” I waited for her to look up. “Would you like to know more about your family, my sweeting? About my home and all the people in it. People that would love you so much, perhaps more than you can imagine.”
She tilted her head. “Like a story?”
I smiled through my tears. “Aye. Perhaps, it is a bit of a story. But it’s a good one made just for you.”
“I’m afraid we are running out of time.”
Teleri cutting in broke the comforting air. It was icy water being sprayed in my face. This was too short. I didn’t want her to get taken from me again. I just had her. I just got to talk to her, to hear her voice.
Branwyn looked back at Teleri. “Story.”
“Branwyn, I’m afraid your father has much work to do. Isn’t that right, Master Sutharlan?”
I shook my head. “I-I have time. Please. I only just got to see her.”
“Mistress Moore, just a moment longer.” Kindrick stepped closer.
“Out of the question.” Teleri then reached down, scooping Branwyn up.
I watched her struggle and squirm, letting out a discontented whimper.
“Wait, don’t hurt her!” I begged, reaching out to her.
“She’s fine, Master Sutharlan.” Her caretaker gave me a glare. “I expect my next payment on time next month.”
I gritted my teeth, shaking my head. “Branwyn?” I was forced to stand rigid as she was taken from me again. “Branwyn, I’ll come back. I’ll see you again. I promise.”
This was torture. Pure agony. Why? Why did I get so attached? Did Teleri even know how much this was killing me? Did Branwyn know how desperately I wanted to keep that promise? Did she truly know how much I loved her? How could she? I only had less than five minutes with her.
Teleri all but slammed the door when going inside. My heart ached even worse than it did before this meeting. I could feel Kindrick watching me, but I didn’t look his way.
“I’m sorry, Sutharlan,” he said.
“Just be sure to meet your end of the deal,” I snapped, making my way back to the outpost.
Fuck waiting until the next day. I was leaving right this instant. I couldn’t stay in Olnahd another minute. I could deal with the consequences later. I just didn’t need any more distractions or reminders. I had them back in Balhreid, enough to last me a lifetime.
Before I could get to the outpost, I heard Foirbeis having trouble with some people on the way. Her voice was commanding.
“I do not care if you are just passing through. Every person residing in Olnahd must pay the tithe.” She was the harshest of the three Inquisitors, turning in the most husks.
“But I’m afraid we don’t have any money.”
My blood chilled. Father. She was interrogating my father. She wouldn’t hesitate to arrest him.
“We would pay if we had the means.” That was my Da. “We’re heading north. We had to pay for provisions. Have some—”
His words were silenced with a hard thud. Foirbeis struck my Da. My back was still turned, but my body was alight. I didn’t have a lot of coin left on me. Perhaps, just enough.
“Aeryn?” My father sounded concerned. How hard did she hit Da?
“I will have no choice but to place you both under arrest.”
I was moving. I whipped back around and sprinted, my legs jittery.
Foirbeis’ one hand was coated in ashes. My Da was on the ground, struggling to get up. My father was hunched over him, moving his arm up to shield them both. I had just enough time to cut in.
“Stop!” I blocked my parents, feeling Foirbeis strike me with her ashy palm. I still held firm.
Behind me, I heard my father gasp. “…Declan?”
“Sutharlan, what are you doing?” Foirbeis snapped. “This is an interrogation. Justice must be swift. You taught us that!”
“But they just don’t have the proper means!” I reached into my purse. “H-here.” My voice was trembling too much. “I have five platinum marks.”
“D-Declan?” That was my Da. It was getting harder and harder to ignore them.
Foirbeis shook her head. “They need to pay it themselves. We are not a charity.”
“Take it!” I shoved the coins into her palm. “What, do you need more? I’ll double it.” I reached down to grab more. “You won’t be the first debt I’d owe.”
“Inquisitor Sutharlan…” Her brow furrowed. “I must report this to our superiors.”
“Do it, then. What do I have left to lose?” I couldn’t stop myself from speaking. “Arrest me now, if you are so inclined.”
“No, Declan!” Father’s voice was pained, but I refused to look at either of them. They might’ve just been upset that their “dead” son was truly in the flesh and that it was not merely a rumor.
“I very well might,” Foirbeis hissed, gathering more ashes. “For your insubordination!”
Her thumb swiftly dragged across my brow, like I myself had done to dozens upon dozens of people. And in that moment, my mind took a sharp turn.
The first night of my capture, waking up naked and being prodded at. Questioned. Beaten. Screaming Mícheil’s name, over, and over. Screaming for my father, my Da, my sister. A wooden dowel splintering between my teeth. The smell of my own burning flesh as a flame stabbed right at my heart. The very same gesture of a person’s hand. The ashes across the brow. Nearly gagging from the pain and the fear. My desperation. The snapping of fingers, feeling like someone was stabbing right through my skull, then no more.
A husk.
The gaps. The struggles between what was real and what was not.
Waking up to my body growing for Branwyn but my ribs jutting. Suffering through blow after blow. Shuddering under the toxic malaise of their spells. Countless spells, all used against me. While I was vulnerable, lost. While I was with child. What did this mean for Branwyn?
They turned me into a husk.
It could be undone. It could be reversed. And why did it happen so often to me?
What had they done to me?
I screamed, my arms jutting forward. I needed to keep Foirbeis away. I shoved her hard, almost too aggressively. She fell to the ground before she could snap her fingers.
“You will not make me a husk again!” My voice was shrill, exposing my terror. “Leave me alone!” Like the ashes were corroding me, I was quick to rub them away, to rid myself of it, but still I was unclean. I could never be clean again.
Foirbeis was disoriented, struggling to rise with her one hand.
I needed to get out of here. I needed to go home. Far away. I had to run.
“Inquisitor Sutharlan?”
“Don’t touch me!” I cried. Kindrick had grabbed me by the shoulders, and I flinched back so hard that I bumped into my father. “Stop touching me!”
“Declan, please.” It was my father. He was watching me, his eyes glistening from what had to be hatred.
I ran from them all. I ran as fast as I could. But it wasn’t fast enough. I could hear my parents calling after me, wanting to continue their ire for a few moments longer. I could hear Inquisitors frantically calling guards. I gathered my ashes, unable to ignore how the grime felt under my fingernails. I was holding ashes. Dead things.
“Éalaíya!” I shouted the command, quick to think of the outpost as I transported myself out of the square.
Even within my room, I was dirty. I was unsafe. They were going to take me again, to do tests on me, to torture me, to touch me. Their hands on my naked body, poking and prodding and I didn’t want to know what else. And there wasn’t a soul left in the world that I could turn to.
The brand over my heart felt hot and newly inflicted. I let out a sob, clutching my chest and struggling to gather my belongings. I didn’t have much time before they would catch up to me.
I loaded up my cart, hitching it up and readying my horse in haste. I hoped everything was attached properly and secure, for I didn’t have time to check. I had to run. Run.
I couldn’t let them take me again.
With a quick whip of the reins, I had the beast moving. At least none of the other mages had horses of their own. They couldn’t catch up to me.
And it was not until I was several miles away from Olnahd, with Sinéad Robasan’s face fresh in my mind as she pressed that red hot iron into my breast, that I began to weep.
Notes:
When I wrote this, I completely forgot how hard writing a child character was. How do you have a nearly three-year-old person sound like a three-year-old without it being cringe? And how do you avoid being cringe without making the three-year-old sound older than she actually is??? That middle area you wanna reach is so TINY and difficult to hit, but I hope I did decent enough ^^;
Chapter 22: Lucian
Summary:
After waking up from a vivid nightmare, Lucian finds himself confiding in Auðunar once more when he nearly freezes in his panicked state. And on this night, it appears that the two of them truly see eye to eye for the first time.
Notes:
This is my SECOND time trying to post this chapter (I fucked up lmao)
So, tomorrow is my birthday (I know, not relevant). And what I always like to do around/on my birthday is make myself "presents." This is the first half, since I've been vibrating with excitement trying to get THIS specific chapter uploaded so that I could publish the OTHER half of my present. I'm trying to parse through a spicy drabble that I wrote that is set in the same universe as The Art of Malignance but isn't really a main point of the plot. Such short stories and drabbles will go in their own separate series (where I will have canon short stories or AUs with the characters in it), when the time comes for me to post it.
Content Warnings
referenced necrophilia, references to past sexual assault, body dysmorphia, minor mention of ableism (related to chronic pain), self harm, trauma flashbacks, grief, past domestic abuse, past unhealthy relationship, emetophobia, self-shaming behavior, descriptions of death and rot
A BIG Disclaimer (spoiler warning):
I don't like love triangles. I'm not a fan of the trope. I'm very much camp "Why choose?"
That being said, Lucian doesn't know it yet at this point of the story, but he is polyamorous. Hence the "not actually a love triangle, pre-poly" in the tags. It's actually a big part of his journey and self-discovery. Now, you've heard it from the author himself. And funny enough, among my friends, I do still have people that are "Team Tobias" and "Team Auðunar." Healthy banter about it is good, but please don't start saying that he needs to choose one person or that one man is worse for Lucian than the other. I do not approve. Because honestly, Lucian would rather die than choose. Don't tell him I said that, though.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Lucian
After the night Ulfrik attacked me, we stayed in Tørnalt for an additional two nights. Then, we were off once more. The five remaining mercenaries never brought it up again, and I was grateful for that. Despite them earning my trust, I could not imagine letting my guard down with them as willingly as I did with Auðunar. Everything that needed to be said was exchanged. He stayed with me throughout the night, and he made sure I was on the mend.
But we were not friends. We simply had a more amicable partnership. We had an understanding. He was meeting his end of the deal far more dutifully than he did in the past.
Despite that comfort, there was a piece of me that still felt that what happened to me was unresolved. I had terrible nightmares involving Ulfrik, some of them with him succeeding in strangling me to death, and others with him succeeding in violating my body in the exact way he intended. I was left in tears, the cold loneliness in my tent adding to my shame. It was only I, on these nights, that could remind myself that I fought. I was still here. Still alive. I survived. No one could take that away from me.
Once back on the road, I was being taught by the group different methods of survival that I wished I had known before I got myself lost in the first place. They taught me how to hunt and how to build traps. I even was successful in cooking one of our suppers. I felt at home among them. I had come to regard all of them as new friends.
However, I still found myself sleeping alone at night with Brya. She was enough of a companion for me, and that was all right. I would not ask any of them to stay the night with me, already feeling a twinge of guilt that I took Auðunar away from whatever was more worth his time that night. At least, I was growing comfortable with this routine. Some nights, I was so exhausted after a long day that my sleep was dreamless.
This particular night was not one of them.
It was so vivid that I thought it followed into the waking world. I once again saw Tobias laying waste to the world. But the horrors did not end there.
I saw him in the middle of Colonel Druiminn’s cellar slicing into the palm of his hand with his dagger. The blood dripped onto the floor, and from a far corner of the room, I saw this terrible spectre looming with milky white tendrils extended towards Tobias. But as the blood dripped onto the ground, that same spectre was becoming more solid, more surreal to look at.
The spectre began to look like… me. Only, I looked wrong. My body was too thin. My arms were too long. My hair was stringy. My skin was pallid and waxy. What was that thing, and why was it wearing my face?
And why was Tobias kissing it? Why was he stripping it of its clothes? It had a mockery of the body I used to have. It felt more like Tobias was trying to bed a corpse. But he revelled in it. He loved it.
It was enough to make me nearly vomit all over myself when I awoke with a scream.
I tore at my own skin in shock, suddenly feeling like I was that corpse. I tugged at my hair, felt my nails dragging across the scars near my eye. Everything was clinging to me. I reeked of death. I felt Tobias’ hands caressing rotted flesh. I felt Ulfrik’s weight on top of me. Everything needed to come off. I needed to be cleansed.
I nearly tore open my bedroll, and in my haste, I began tugging off my clothes. I was filthy. Unclean. When was the last time I bathed? There was too much grime. Too much blood lingered on my skin that I could not scrub or wipe away without scratching. I curled up with my knees bunched close to my chest, shivering both from the cold and from terror as I sobbed.
“Eldhellír. Hvat eru Þessi læti?”
I flinched, curling tighter and trying to quell my cries. Despite myself, the tears continued to fall and spill down my face. It was bitter cold, but I needed to feel something other than disgusting and wretched. I wiped at my face to no avail.
“Ói.” Auðunar opened up my tent with a groggy glare, a lamp in hand. «Even the owls can’t sleep. What’s got you—»
“Don’t look at me!” I cried, trembling as the sobs came out harsher than before.
I could feel his eyes on me. I yanked the bedroll up so that I could cover my naked body. He could see the scars and the filth. I should say something to make him not fret anymore and go back to sleep. He should not have to take pity on a spoiled, hideous wretch like myself.
“I-I’m sorry,” I whimpered, feeling more tears. “Just a nightmare. I’ll s-settle down.”
Auðunar looked more awake, and he held out one of his hands.
I noticed it and only retracted further. “I will be fine,” I insisted, though my voice came out harsher than I wanted it to. I could not be bothered to try and translate my words, like I so often did lately among his company. I was too upset to think in any other languages.
“This is not a suggestion,” he grumbled, this time speaking in Sunderish with me. “You will freeze to death like that. Come with me.”
“What, a-and stand outside naked?” I scoffed, the sound wet in the back of my throat.
“The cloak.” He gestured to where it was lying on the ground. “Besides, my tent is bigger. It is warmer than this one.”
I frowned, though this conversation was doing one thing. It was distracting me enough to make me stop crying. The sniffles were still there, as well as some tears, but breathing was starting to come easier. I threw on the cloak, clinging it tight around myself to stay decent. Then, I took his outstretched hand.
“What about Brya?” I whimpered, my hand trembling as I held his.
“She will be fine,” he assured me. “Hounds can handle this cold better than we can.”
His tent was indeed larger, with enough space for potentially a third person. He brought me to his bedroll, and I found that it was far warmer than mine, as well. It was made for this kind of weather.
“Get comfortable under there,” he said, and he pulled off his tunic.
“What are you doing?” I was quick to cower back, remiss that I did not bring my knife in here with me. “D-don’t you dare!”
He held up his hands. “You need body heat to warm you back up. Skin-to-skin.” He kept his voice relatively calm. “I am keeping my breeches on. I will not harm you.”
His relaxed posture allowed me to settle, seeing that he was truthful and leaving his breeches on as promised. I took it all in, trying not to linger too long on his frame, on his physique. He was a strong warrior, through and through, and his extra weight on his torso and belly seemed to help him adapt to the chill.
I kept the cloak over my nether region as he sat with me. His lamp was still lit but kept in the centre of the tent.
“Do you get nightmares like that often?” he asked. “I never heard you scream in the middle of the night.”
I gulped, nodding my head. “Not as much if I am sleeping next to someone. But, of course, I’ve lately been sleeping alone.” The thought brought tears to my eyes once more. “I-I feel so alone, Auðunar.”
“But you are not alone.” He watched me. “You have all of us. And I can help you.”
“While kind of you, I already asked too much of you.”
“You paid me fifty platinum marks. And that is not including my piece of Ulfrik’s share. You could ask me to kiss my own arse, and I would do it.”
“I would never make you do that.” I sighed, rubbing my head. With dread, I realised that my eyepatch was still in my tent. I whimpered and hid my eye, covering that side of my face with my hand and hair.
«You don’t have to do that.»
«I do,» I snapped. «I-it’s this cursed, hideous looking thing.»
«I would not know that unless I looked at it for myself.»
«You called it ‘aberrant.’»
«Only because you yourself insisted it was ugly without giving it a real chance to be seen.» He shrugged. «Just let me look at it.»
“No.” I shivered, feeling quite cold.
Auðunar was now looking at the hand I had raised. He reached over, his fingers running over the scars Maximus inflicted. I started to flinch, and he let up, watching me. “You had quite a few run-ins with death.” He traced over them once more, and gooseflesh began to bloom under his touch. “I have seen marks like these before, on animals near the border. But you survived the touch of death.”
Realising that he was impressed, I tried to quell any amusement with a dry chuckle. “Other than these last few weeks, I have actually conquered death three times.”
He blinked. “Three?” He looked me up and down, jerking back when I reached forward to slap him for daring to sneak any glances. “No, just.” He huffed. “Looking at you, you cannot tell if you fought anything before now.”
“You would be correct. Sometimes, people nearly die from no fault of an aggressor on a battlefield, you know.” When that made him grin, I continued. “When I was eleven years of age, I fell off my horse. It was my own fault. I gave it quite a fright, you see, with my temper,” I added with a flourish. “I hit my head hard enough to render me lifeless. I was resurrected, which is a separate conversation for another time.”
“What?”
“As I was saying, ever since—”
“Nei, nei. Bíða stundar.” Auðunar held up his hand. “You mean to tell me that you died?”
I blinked. “W-well, I would hardly be able to gather much insight to that.”
“You know that most people do not come back from that. Right?”
It made me shiver, him exposing that part of my… life so plainly. “I am aware. I-I, erm.” I lowered my head. “I try not to think about that. About how unnatural it is to be brought back from a point of no return. The fact that I am here now and speaking to you should be impossible. I…” I trailed off. “Sometimes, I think I do not deserve it.”
Auðunar was quiet for a moment. “Well, I think it is a relief you are here. Otherwise, I would have been sent back to the earth at the raid.”
“You would have.” I tried to relax.
“Perhaps, there is more to this turn of fate than you think.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Sorry. You were saying?”
Relieved, I resumed with a bit more confidence. “Ever since that day, I have had these terrible nightmares. Some nights, they are easier to cope with. Others, like this night, are so terrifying that they feel too real.”
He inclined his head. “I have some experience with that. The dreams, I mean. I do not sleep well some nights, either.”
“Did you find a way to make them go away?”
“Not yet. The horrors your mind sees will sometimes never leave you. And those are what make your dreams all the more terrible.”
“Right.” I sighed. “That is also where my acute attacks came from. Those headaches that debilitate my entire being? After living with them for so long, I have found ways to function when I must, but it does not make it any less unbearable. My parents and colleagues never believed me when I told them of my pain.”
“They are fools. I have seen your body so tense and tight from those pains. I have seen you throw up from just turning your body the wrong way. If that is not real, then I must be in an endless sleep.”
“That would make you even smarter than the most seasoned scholars back in Sunderland,” I chuckled, sharing a brief moment of mirth with him. “The second was not until this past summer. My own valet, Maximus, tried to kill me. He was a practitioner of dark magic, and he was using it to drain my life from me for years. That is where this scar is from.” I gestured to the one on my wrist that he had touched.
His lip curled like he tasted something sour. “I have heard legends of death magic. Enough to make your skin crawl. Is that what those markings are from? Death magic?”
“Yes.” An ache of grief resurfaced as I thought about the Fall. “That is the fate of Sunderland. Dark mages that practice maleficium—this death magic—are bringing it all to ruin.”
I then began the tale of the Fall of Gurindeck, as I experienced it. How we had come there with a plan to make Sunderland safer and offer more relief for the people, only for it all to be a trap set by an ancient king. It sounded fantastical as I said it, but there was no other way to describe the dread at realizing that a monster that lived for nearly two centuries usurped the throne from my family.
“My brother died right in front of me,” I whispered, my voice shaking as I was getting to the end of the tale. “After I fled, my mother and sister were killed, as well. And I waited for Tobias. We used to play together in this oak grove among the grounds, and there was this boulder that I loved to stand on. I was on top of that so he could see me. But that was when I was struck down by a mage with lightning.
“It was horrible, Auðunar.” I could feel tears, then. “It felt like it was burning my flesh.” I moved my arm just enough so he could see the gnarled, blackened scars on my neck, shoulder, and chest. “And the worst part of all is my eye. I have never looked at it, not once. I refuse. I just know that it is horrific.” I shuddered. “Forgive me. Here, I am making such a terrible deal about my circumstances when you have survived true horrors.”
“Hold.” Auðunar frowned, his eyes narrowing. “I do not want you to use those words against yourself right now.”
“But you said—”
“I know what I said. And I never should have said it. Your path and mine should never be compared that way. You know not what it is to be whittled and broken as a child until you are no longer human but a useful tool for war. And I, myself, will never know what it is like to have someone you have placed your trust in for your whole life slowly kill you while everyone was watching.”
I felt more tears. “I did cling to what you said. I clung to it after Ulfrik assaulted me the first time.”
He sat rigid. “What first time?”
“After I apologised to you in your tent. He cornered me and grabbed me. He tried bringing our bodies close, and he was cross I had Olaf’s horn.” I still did not know who this man was.
Something about bringing that name up made him even tenser than before. «That fucking prick. Bear shit would have been a better friend than him.» He glanced up. «Why did you not tell anyone?»
I held myself tighter. “I did not think you would believe me.”
He shook his head. “He knew damn well to never lay an unwanted hand on anyone. I have never allowed it. He had no right to make you think you could not come to me. And I worry that my behaviour was also to blame. For that, I am deeply sorry, Lucian.”
I tried wiping at the tears under my left eye. Stunned to silence, I felt more shivers from the cold as I bunched myself closer together. I hoped that he could sense my relief and gratitude.
Blessedly, he brought the subject back around once more. “So, your eye. You truly have never looked at it?”
I shook my head. “It is for the best. My friend said it was frightening to look at. I do not have to see it to know that it is true. And to make things worse, I am now cursed with these terrible visions that had not yet come to pass.”
Auðunar paused. “Visions? Is that…” He frowned. “Is that why you attacked Halmund?”
I blanched, but I was not going to lie. “Yes. I saw him behead you.” I bit my lip. “I also saw you and your company in Víldurlant. That is why I sought you out in the first place. That is also why I carried my knife and your horn the night Ulfrik attacked me.”
He pulled back, his brows furrowing. “That does not sound like a curse to me.”
I gawked at him. “Well, what else could it be?”
“Here. First, get under that damn bedroll before I have to bring you back from death a second time. Eldhellír, you make me nervous sometimes.”
I blushed as he guided me to lie down, soon joining me under the bedroll. He kept the cloak over us and wrapped his arms around me. I shivered, finding myself clinging to him in my frigid state. I could not deny that the warmth was soothing. He was right. This was helping.
«In Brømkhald, sages of our faith have the gift of prophecy. We call them ‘seers.’ We hail them as being speakers for the gods.» Auðunar looked down at me in the low lamplight. «My patron god is Ulfgír, as it has been for my father, and his father, and so on. So, for blessings of strength and assurances of a good battle, I take my company to one such seer dedicated to Him before every assignment.»
«What does that mean to you?» I asked. «To have a patron god. Not many of us Sunderish follow one to such a degree.»
«It just means that we look to one of the gods for guidance, for guardianship. It does not necessarily mean that we don’t follow the others or think of them as less than. But Ulfgír has given many blessings to my family. We are rewarded for our strength and our skills in battle.»
I listened with great interest. It was nice to hear him speak of something that was this important to him.
Auðunar continued. «If we gave the seers favourable offerings for Ulfgír, then they would speak of our fates. Before this last raid, I was told that mine was uncertain, shrouded by blood and blades.» That small smile from after the raid was coming back to his face. «And here, you tell me that you changed my fate with your own gift. You changed your fate, when a vision showed you how to stay alive.»
I frowned. «Well, when you put it that way...» He seemed so certain that I should be proud of this new ability, this curse. «But it has maimed my face.»
«And that is reason enough to call it a curse?» he chuckled. «Scars only tell me one thing. They are a sign that you survived. And you survived multiple brushes with death.» As he said that, his fingers stroked over the bandages on my wounded side.
I started to flinch once more, shivering as my right hand came down to hold his arm. “Oh, honestly.”
I had uncovered my eye.
I shrunk back as I realized my mistake. I let go of him, but it was too late. Auðunar reached up, his fingers lacing with mine to keep me from placing it back over my face.
“Auðunar?” I could feel tears in my eyes, the burn of it almost unbearable while I was this vulnerable. I had to remind myself that he said he would not hurt me. He was not going to hurt me. But still, I was prepared for him to tell me that I was right. My eye was hideous, just like the rest of my unclean body. I could not bear the confirmation.
“Þat er allrætt.” His voice was soft, at a whisper. He gave my hand a soft squeeze before letting it go.
I started to flinch again when he reached out, his fingers tracing along the scars on my neck. But when he hesitated, I did not stop him this time. I was watching his face, so very frightened but confused as to why his face was not contorting with disgust.
Auðunar was then looking right at my eye with a frown, his hand moving to touch my cheek. His fingers felt warm against my face. I should admonish him for touching me. I should be furious at the way he was looking at me. But I was taken aback by the tenderness. His touches were gentle. Come to think of it, he had been quite gentle with me lately.
He wiped the tears away from my eye with his thumb. “You say your friend was frightened by it?”
I nodded, struggling to find my voice. “Rightfully so.”
“No, no, no…” He tutted, still looking at it. “You can see out of it?”
“Yes.” I shivered from more than the cold. “I find I can see quite well in the dark now, so long as it is not covered. And the world looks different, like someone had released rays of violet across the sky. The visions only come when the eye is exposed, as well.”
He hummed in thought. «You speak like a poet.»
I blushed, casting my head down. «I just read a lot of books.»
Auðunar still had his hand on my cheek, and he tried coaxing me to look back up at him. «You have a seer’s eye. Their powers of prophecy work almost like your visions do. And you should be lucky you still have it. If these scars are anything to go by, you should have lost it altogether.»
A seer’s eye… I felt the impulse to look away again, embarrassed. But still, he was watching me.
“No one here would shame you for this eye,” he said, sounding so sure. “And if they do, I will kill them.”
I laughed, helpless despite my tears. “Must you always resort to violence, Auðunar?”
“If it means defending your honour, then yes.”
“Honestly,” I huffed, feeling more tears. “Auðunar?”
“Hm?” He let go of my cheek at last, and he left behind ice in its wake. Even so, he still held me. To keep me warm, surely.
“What if I see Tobias again and he thinks my eye is hideous?”
“If he does, then fuck him.”
“That seems counterintuitive, if he thinks I am ugly.”
That made Auðunar laugh. “I mean, it will not matter what he thinks. If he loves you, he will still think you are beautiful, right?”
I blushed, keeping my head down as I nodded. “I suppose so.” I let out a deep sigh. “I do hope that we can rekindle things.”
“You are more than worth it, Lucian,” he assured me. “Not many of us get the kind of miracle that you two have.”
I blinked. “What do you mean?”
He frowned, then. “Nothing.” To my surprise, that had him not meeting my eye.
It was my turn to reach out. I held one of his shoulders, my hand on the scars from the dreadwolf fight. “You don’t have to tell me. Just know that I am sorry for whatever happened to you.”
He must have realized I echoed the sentiment he had once given me. I did not understand it like I did now. Auðunar still would not look at me, but he let out a soft sigh.
«Olaf was...» His brow pinched in pain. «He was everything to me, Lucian. One of the few joys in all the Tundra.»
As I understood, my hand stayed on his shoulder. I rubbed it slowly, wanting to soothe the pain he was wrought with.
«My father, Thrand Ulrichsson, is a warlord. He’s known as ‘The Knife,’ and I was his butcher. I fought many battles for him. And among his men was Olaf.» He paused. «We, along with Ulfrik, were an inseparable group. But I had taken a liking to Olaf more. I went to him for companionship, for whenever I needed a friend, or whenever I wanted to feel human.»
«He was your lover, then?» I asked.
He hesitated. «One could say that. But it was not like how you have it with your Tobias. I loved him. And I would tell him such. And when he would hit me while saying it back, I thought that it was real love. I was the son of The Knife. I could handle it.»
My heart ached. «Auðunar...»
«I know.» He lowered his head. «While working for my father, I made it on the other side of a battle that I didn’t want my name attached to. It made me question everything, and I wanted to leave. Just for the mere thought, my father excised me in disgrace. I was left to try and make it out of his territory alone. If not for Bjorgolf, Ulfrik, and Olaf defecting, I would have died out there.»
I watched his face as he spoke to me. His resolve was thin, and his eyes glistened. «Do you wish you could go back to your father?»
He shook his head. «I never looked back. I want nothing to do with The Knife.»
«Right.» I settled beside him. «So, did you and Olaf still...»
«Often. We fought each other as much as we made up for it in our tent. I cannot explain it. Even with how much it hurt, I loved him.»
«So, what happened?»
A pause. «A raid gone wrong. We were outnumbered. The leader of the other camp knew we were coming. They ambushed us. And Olaf, he... They severed his shield hand, and they were soon upon him like a pack of wolves. All I could about was the night before. He told me he hated me for leaving the Tundra. If we had stayed there, then we wouldn’t have to be struggling with odd jobs for coin. We would’ve been taken care of.»
«But your safety was important, too.» I tried to get him to look at me. «I can see how much you loved him. I know that grief. But you mustn’t cling to someone that hurt you this deeply.»
«Neither should you.»
I paused. I was never open about the way things ended with Tobias, just that it was a sour affair. «I am very sorry that this happened to you, Auðunar. If I can do anything to help you let go of that pain, tell me.»
«You already did.» He blinked, some tears welling up in his eyes. «You have his horn.»
«Oh.» I blanched. «If you need it back, I—»
He shook his head. «I wanted to have a piece of him. It was the last one that I had. I held onto that damn thing for so long. He’s been dead for three years, Lucian. I was looking for an excuse to get rid of it. But now, it’s in your hands. It is no longer his. You are its owner.»
I sat with that. «I am glad, then. Glad that you are able to move on. But perhaps, we should let it rest forever. You should not be burdened with the reminder, even if it’s on my person. We can bury it. I have enough coin to get my own horn, one that won’t have such a troubled past.»
To my relief, he seemed receptive to that. «We can bury it on the morrow.»
«Good.» I managed to smile. «You are a good man, Auðunar Thrandsson.»
He jerked his head to look at my face, letting out a wry laugh. «I am not, Lucian.»
«But you are being one to me.» I tried to give him my best smile. «If you were not a good man, you would have hit me to make me stop crying. You would have berated me for my fear and left me to freeze. Or worse, you could have seen me at my most vulnerable and tried to hurt me.»
«I would never.» Auðunar frowned. «But that just makes me a terrible man that has done a couple good things.»
«What makes you say that?»
«I have blood on my hands.»
I rolled my eyes. «By your logic, I am a terrible man, too. I pushed my valet down a flight of stairs.» I decided to leave out that it was an accident. «I stabbed a man in the throat, after slicing through his guts did not kill him. I stabbed another man in the cock, leaving him to bleed out.» That made Auðunar laugh. It honestly felt good to make some light of what Ulfrik did to me, to take some power back. «And I killed...» I sighed. “Oh, what was that bastard’s name?”
He grinned. “Halmund Paulsson.”
“Yes, him.” I relaxed when his smile did not fade. “We have both done terrible things. But that does not have to define us, Auðunar.”
“Most of your deeds were in self-defence, though.”
“Does that matter to anyone else?”
He watched me, his eyes thoughtful. Now that our faces were so close, I realised just how blue they were. I had never seen such eyes back in Sunderland. The closest set were Sergeant Dunaidh’s, but Auðunar’s were as vibrant as they were icy.
“That is the nicest thing anyone has ever said about me,” he hummed, impressed. He reached behind himself to get the lamp, dousing it and plunging us into darkness. “Your Tobias is a lucky man.”
“And someday, if you ever wish to have it in the future, you will find yourself just as lucky.”
His face softened. “Thank you, Lucian.”
I smiled, feeling myself beginning to doze. “Do you like stories, Auðunar?”
“I will admit, I have not heard many legends in some time. Not since I was a child.”
“Perhaps I will tell you some,” I assured him. “Another time…” I yawned, finding myself relaxing. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For being kind.” I tilted my head up, scrunching my nose when his beard started tickling my brow. “I will try to keep in mind what you said about my eye. If anything, I will feel less compelled to cover it when it is just you.”
He looked down at me, his eyes tired once more as he smiled. “A beautiful man like you should not have to hide anything about yourself. But I understand the need.” He had a hand pressed to my back and sighed, closing his eyes. “Get some sleep. We will reach Berusær by midday.”
“Oh?” I blinked. I had nearly forgotten. I was so caught up in the moment that Berusær was only a fragment in the back of my mind these days. Now that we were almost there, it did not feel as reassuring as it once would have. “I will be honest. I did not think we would get there.”
Auðunar snorted. “Consider it fifty marks worth of protecting you during a scenic trip in the Brømkhaldic wilderness,” he teased before letting out a yawn of his own. “Góðr nátt.”
“Good night,” I whispered, the last of my tension leaving my shoulders. Before I could drift, however, something gave me pause. My eyes shot open, and I felt heat creep up to my cheeks.
Did he…?
Did he call me beautiful?
The next day, all at once I realised I was lying naked in a bedroll with Auðunar Thrandsson. My heart began to race, and I kept quiet while he was still asleep. I did not know how to feel. He was kind to me, of course, and despite the rough start and his background as a mercenary, he proved his loyalty to me. I had his friendship. The previous night proved that.
But my heart belonged to Tobias. It always belonged to Tobias. No one else. And soon, I would see him again and make things right with him.
I did my best not to disturb Auðunar as I slipped out, quick to keep that cloak clinging around my body. I shivered, teeth chattering as I tried to creep back to my own tent. Hopefully, no one would see me.
The twins were sharpening their axes. Bjorgolf was packing up his tent. Eyvald was pulling his breeches up while coming back from the latrine.
«Well.» Bjorgolf’s eyes widened, a grin sprouting on his face. «Good morrow, Lucian.»
My face heated up, and I diverted my eyes. «G-good morrow,» I muttered. «I gave myself a chill last night, so I stayed with Auðunar.»
That had Sigehere grinning. «...Naked?»
I sputtered, shuffling into my tent as quickly as possible. «N-nothing happened!» I rushed to put on some clothes.
«Nothing at all?» Sigmund pressed.
«Precisely.» I felt much warmer in my winter gear as Brya stirred awake. «We just had to share body heat.»
Eyvald snorted, and I heard a round of fitful laughter.
«Right. Body heat,» Sigmund laughed.
«Nothing happened!» I did not mean to raise my voice so high, but I was getting flustered.
«Oh, leave the poor boy be,» I heard Bjorgolf chuckling. «The worst thing we can do is make him feel uncomfortable about what’s going on between him and Auðunar.»
I peeked out from the tent with a glare, once I had my eyepatch back on. «There is nothing going on between me and Auðunar.» The last thing I wanted to do was jeopardize reconciling with Tobias before it could even begin.
But why did it warm my heart to remember that Auðunar thought I was beautiful?
Sometime later, we were ready to head out. I found that my hair was so knotted and tangled that it was near impossible for me to do anything with it than to let it dangle it clumps. It would have to wait until I could get a proper bath, which hopefully would be soon.
Before we left the camp for good, I gave Auðunar back the horn. We stood together, and I let him bury it in the snow. Few words were said, but it took a moment for Auðunar to feel strong enough to leave the grounds. And once we reached the road, he stopped looking back.
He walked beside me towards the back of the group while Brya went out ahead. He was still wearing his hides for armour, but the attire was a little more refined. That assured me once and for all that we truly were out of the wilderness.
“There it is.” He pointed out ahead. “Berusær.”
I blinked, pulling up my eyepatch for a better view. The haze made the landscape appear more vibrant than it should have been, but that was not what my eyes were focused on. There was one grand estate towards a coast. The coast. We were near the ocean, with water as far as the eye could see. I had never seen anything more breathtaking in my entire life.
“Wow…” I gasped, grinning and stepping out ahead.
“That is where I live,” he added. “In that estate.”
My eyes widened. “You live there?”
He nodded. This man was full of surprises.
“Well. Most fortuitous.” I cleared my throat. “I suppose, then, that you will have good recommendations for an inn I could stay at?”
“An inn?” he laughed. “You think I would let you stay at an inn when I have a perfectly good home there?”
“What?” I blinked. “Are you serious?”
“Of course. I want you to stay in my home. O-or, well.” He coughed. “Well, it’s my uncle’s home, but you are my guest. Besides, once he hears that you are the one that took down the leader of the Grey Dogs, he will insist you could stay for as long as you like.”
“You’re sure?”
“I can bet my life on it.” He clasped my hand in his. “And perhaps your Sunderish friends, as well. You will all get a noble welcome.”
“Noble welcome?” I repeated.
“Ah.” Auðunar rubbed the back of his neck. “I should tell you who my uncle is. His name is Asmund Ulrichsson, Stormänner of Berusær.”
I gawked. “A stormänn? As in, a lord, stormänn?”
He nodded. “And he never had any sons.” With that, he continued to lead the way. When we arrived at the gate, no one questioned him or his group. We were let right in.
Here we were… Berusær, Brømkhald. I had made it. And soon, Finn would reunite with me.
Would he come find me here? Or Oskar and Aeryn? Did they even think I was still alive? Part of me hoped that I was truly left for dead. I no longer needed any reminders of Sunderland and its problems.
I blinked. What was I thinking?
This was all according to plan. There was a lot that needed to be said, once I could write to the Druiminns again. I hoped that we would get a response to our packge soon, perhaps within the next couple of weeks if the gods were on our side. I could plan the next step, whatever that means to turn the tide in our fight with Iantinus and his cohorts. I should be focusing on that.
And I needed to keep my wits about me, when it came to the complex friendship I was developing with Auðunar Thrandsson.
Notes:
I can now FINALLY get excited in the notes and updates over Lucian being poly!! I have been waiting for LITERAL months!
And in case you are wondering, yes, they have a playlist. This one is the most niche of them all, with a lot of songs in Old Norse, Faorese, Icelandic, and other such languages from that region. Some songs also have their English translated counterparts, don't @ me.
And a lot of Eivør. Don't forget Eivør.Translations:
Eldhellír - "Blazing Hells"
"Hvat eru Þessi læti?” - "What is all that racket?"
Nei - No
"Bíða stundar" - "Wait a moment"
"Þat er allrætt" - "It is alright"
Góðr nátt - Good night
Chapter 23: Interlude
Summary:
Urgent News from the Castle of Gurindeck
Notes:
Just a short interlude before another break! This signals the end of Part Two of Passion, Survival, and Revenge, as well as a small time jump where all the POVs will be in sync once again.
I also have begun to share little extras as their own separate series! I actually followed THROUGH on something! You can find it here! I posted the first of what's sure to be several/many one-shots set either within this story's canon or as AUs.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
An Urgent Message from the Castle of Gurindeck
By Order of His Majesty,
This message is for our esteemed thanamancers among His Majesty’s Inquisition. Long May He Reign. There is a concerning rise in dissidence emerging from the eastern dredges of Sunderland. You have all been made aware of the dangerous tactics of the group known as “The Talons.” Their tactics may seem minimal, but as a whole, it brings risk of a tide turning in their favour.
Ewan Druiminn is the de facto leader of said rebellion. He has a home base somewhere within Kressie. Find it. Destroy it. Cut off their supply at the source. Druiminn is not one to be allowed any platform, should we wish to preserve the safety of His Majesty. Long May He Reign.
The traitor known as Colm Sealy has mastered an art in tampering with the post. He has his men stationed in all major towns and cities, attempting to gather intelligence by means of our own letters. They are able to devise secret messages that Our Lady, Dame Siobhan, is trying to deduce the cypher of. His tactics have made the gathering of information on our end nigh precarious. Should any of you point out and find him along the postal routes, apprehend him and make a due example of him for all of Sunderland to see.
It appears that there are several other persons of interest to maintain supervision of at all times. Alasdair Druiminn, Mícheil Dunaidh, Arthur Selleck, and Brigit Sutharlan are all known defectors and rebels working among the “Talons.” Their goals and motives are, at this moment, unknown. Find out what they are planning. If there is resistance, arrest on sight, and have them sent to Gurindeck immediately.
There have been sightings of a former soldier that has travelled suspiciously from Adinely to the northeastern edges of Sunderland. He was last spotted at the Reclamation of Gurindeck with two accomplices. His currently known whereabouts were on the road to Olnahd. He answers to the name “Baronet Finnigan.” Should you come across this man, apprehend him and bring him straight to Gurindeck immediately. Husk him, if you must, to maintain his compliance, but leave the questioning to Our Lady.
We are beginning a search for one of our eastern Inquisitors, Declan Sutharlan. He caused a great disturbance in Olnahd, resulting in insubordination, aggression against His Majesty’s Inquisition, and the spread of misinformation in regards to our Rule. If spotted, do not provoke him. Read him his rights, engage in an arrest, and have him return to Gurindeck immediately for reconditioning.
There is a faction of “The Talons” led by the Blood of Iantinus, Master Tobias Druiminn. He and his group of rebels have gained traction along the trade routes, intercepting caravans and eliminating our guards. Your duty among the Inquisition is to preserve the safety of His Majesty, Long May He Reign, and his assets. Kill these rebels on sight, and bring their remains to Gurindeck for harvesting.
Tobias Druiminn has been an invaluable asset. You should all learn to strive for his level of advancement. Our Lady and His Majesty, Long May He Reign, have never had a more dedicated pupil. At any cost, at any sacrifice, no harm shall come to him. Leave him alive and unspoiled.
His Majesty, King Iantinus III, is grateful for your cooperation.
Long May He Reign.
Notes:
I realized I made a grave error in editing, so I had to fix Chapter 14 to add a snippet that should've made the cut but almost didn't. ;; I am a sham, an utter fool. But hopefully, that's the ONLY time I mistakenly cut something. Right?
Chapter 24: Tobias
Summary:
Tobias has been leading a rebel campaign. But time away from home has him seeing little cracks in what was thought to be the perfect plan.
Notes:
Man, Labor Day Weekend was AWFUL. But how are you? Did you have a nice holiday?
Anyway, I think(?) we are reaching the final arc of Passion, Survival, and Revenge. At least, we're getting close to the intended end point. But I'm excited! I don't wanna add a denominator to the chapters yet, just in case I end up adding an extra one (or two).
I already have a title for the third part of the series, which will be revealed at a later date!This sucker punch of grief-related angst was brought to you by "The Silence" by Manchester Orchestra
Content Warnings
graphic violence, fire injury, grief, depression, toxic relationship dynamics, suicidal ideation, self harm (graphic, on page), emotional manipulation, delusions (related to grief), implied necrophilia
Chapter Text
Part Three
The Desolation of Balhreid – Late Autumn in the Year 1271
Tobias
This was about to be the eighth successful ambush against these mage bastards. I stood just beyond the tree line, lying in wait for the caravan. Across the road, five other rebels were waiting just as impatiently. I caught their glances from where I stood, giving a nod of my head.
Any minute now…
Since the start of my campaign, we managed to take down two dozen of the Inquisitors’ guards. It wasn’t that hard, once I found the spells that allowed them to shamble around and taught the rebellion how to deal with them.
Bash it right in the head to damage the brains. Sever the neck from the spine. Go for the legs to make it harder for them to get up. The work wasn’t done if they were bisected, for both halves were still “sentient” and could very well still attack you.
A group of us would pick the guards off. Perhaps, these conquests would’ve been far easier for me if I had Theodulf’s sword, but Arthur was still holding onto it.
On my side of the road, there were seven other rebels. Two of them were not combatants. Another was Lord Vendrual, who was right at my side. He’d gotten rid of the tattered rags of his formal wear and donned more practical clothing, looking just as much humbled as the rest of us.
“What if this doesn’t work?” he whispered, a nervous edge to his voice.
“It will work.” I didn’t look at him. “This’ll be just like the last one.”
“But there were far less mages last time.”
“Vendrual.” I sharpened my tone to quiet him. “Have I ever steered any of you wrong before?”
“No, Master Druiminn.”
Only then did I look at him. “Leave the most aggressive line of attacks to me. Our offensive group already knows what to do with finishing off the guards and pilfering their armor. And you will lead the next group to take their spoils and bring them back to the people.”
“Right. Thank you, Master Druiminn.” He wrung his hands together, perking up when we both heard a distant sound. “Here they come.”
The caravan consisted of three wagons and a cart that was hauling a large cage affixed with iron bars. That’d be where they kept their husks before sending them off to the prison in Gurindeck. There were fifteen guards and seven mages, none of the latter being the frequenting Inquisitors on this side of Sunderland. Lord Vendrual was right. This was a larger group. But there was nothing to it.
“On my mark,” I hissed, waving my hand towards the others across the road, “surround the cart.”
I pressed my hand to the tree I’d leaned against, starting a long drag to siphon into my reserve. I glanced up, watching the bark dry out and the branches go brittle. I’d grown to like this part, after so many time doing it.
I whispered a command word, still gathering my reserve using the next tree. On the road was one of the many warding traps I’d set. Now that I’d uttered the command, it was activated. As soon as the first sign of life touched it, a massive burst of energy would ignite.
The unfortunate soul that stepped on this one was one of the younger mages. I watched him go up in nasty, green flames. He let out a scream that made Vendrual beside me wince, but I snapped him out of it with a nudge.
“Now!” I shouted across the road, having to be helped up by Vendrual.
Both groups rushed to surround the cart. The offensive group made quick work at advancing on the guards. They were bashed at with clubs and less refined blades, but they still did the job. The collecting group had to wait for the guards to all be slain, lest they risk injury or death. And I was facing the mages. I continued to attack them with flames, shooting them out from my palm. The ground beneath us shriveled and died with the whole of us fighting.
Two more of them were easily dealt with. One got shot right in the face, and I watched the fire melt it off from their skull from how close I was when casting it. The other I must’ve shot right in the heart, for they’d dropped unceremoniously.
“It’s the Blood of Iantinus!” One of the remaining mages cried with terror.
That title left a bad taste in my mouth.
“Fuck, what do we do?”
“Stand down!” was the answer from one of my rebels. “Stand down, and face justice!”
Another of them joined in. “The only way to justice is death!”
“Death!”
I couldn’t help but grin. We’d killed mages for less.
“Fuck this.” One of the mages made ready with her ashes. “I don’t wanna die! Immolá!”
I deflected the blast with a shield. With a quick burst, I let the flame volley back at someone else. It struck down one of the guards.
I’d gotten a different blade to wield during my campaign. This sword I had now was serrated, which at the very least did well to make these bastards’ deaths all the more painful.
“Death to you mages!” I cried out, raising the blade high. “Everyone, close in!”
My men all let out battle cries. The offensive group swarmed with such ferocity. Half the guards were reduced to lifeless heaps on the ground. And still, we were going strong. I had to let loose another shield before I struck out with the sword, slashing right through a mage’s throat. I watched them scramble at their neck before they collapsed.
While I was turned away, I felt a shock course through my left arm. I grunted when whipping around, spying the mage that had her ashes. I was honed in on her, and she realized that as she let out a panicked cry. But she didn’t react fast enough, for I lashed out with a swift strike of my own. Lightning reached for her and clutched her like tendrils, and I watched her jolt under my spell.
For a moment, her thrashing form was replaced by Lucian’s. Oh, how he jolted and screamed right before he died.
My hand shook when the spell ended, and I stared down at it. It still tingled from the little shocks. Would he take offense to using this kind of spell on another person? Then, I remembered how eager his ghost was when showing me the pages in The Black Book that detailed different incantations that caused mass destruction.
He wouldn’t mind.
With that thought, I struck out at another one, just as he was about to pull from the earth. His eyes were set on my men. I had all their backs. Never had I lost a single person in my cause, and that wasn’t going to change this day.
It didn’t kill him, but he did let out a terrible scream as he was knocked back into the cage. He twitched, jerking his head from side to side. He was seeing that we dealt with their guards, and it was only him and a young woman left. He was weighing his options, just as I was gathering ashes in my palm.
“Retreat!” He waved the other mage towards him. “Back to Gurindeck! Retreat!”
While some of the rebels cheered, others were readying their clubs as the mages started to break into a full sprint. I waved a hand up.
“Nay, let them go,” I called. “They’ll be calling for reinforcements. That’s what we want.”
Vendrual frowned. “But I thought we were trying to keep them away from the east.”
“We are. But first, we are sending a firm message.” I gestured around at the unguarded carts. “Sunderland is not theirs to take. It’s not theirs to destroy. We will fight back with everything we have. And if they still try to push us down, then they will find out the hard way what we’ll do to them.”
“Death to all mages!” one of the others cried out.
“Death!” I responded with a resounding cheer. I hoped the whole forest heard me.
“Death!” was the full-bodied refrain.
* * *
On the road back to Kressie, I dreamed of Lucian again.
He was scarred like he was the last time, covering his eye with a thick patch. His braid was a little worse for wear, and he looked frigid. He had Brya with him, wherever he was. She was right beside him, watching the surrounding forest, protecting him.
I couldn’t imagine Lucian in the real world looking this haggard. He wouldn’t last an hour out in the wilderness, at least not on his own. But after he told me his deepest wants and desires, I figured that he would at least try if he knew that there was going to be safety by the end of that hour.
After a moment of watching him from the brush, Lucian tugged off the eyepatch in frustration. He shielded his face for a moment, as if he was staring right up at the sun. I could see that wounded eye once more, the spectrum of colors and the pale pupil. He looked so frightened while hugging himself.
I wanted to comfort him. I wanted to reach out and hold his hand, to tell him that everything would be alright. I was there for him. I was going to help him out of whatever hell he’d found himself in. And as I walked forward, the snap of the twig I’d just stepped on echoed throughout the forest.
Lucian jumped, startled, and he looked right in my direction. “Who’s there?” His breathing picked up in his panic.
Could he see me? I brought myself out to the clearing, still cautious. “…Lucian?”
He tilted his head up, his eyes meeting mine. They widened before tears quickly began to fill them. He held his arms out. “Tobias?”
I rushed forward, quick to take him into my arms. Despite the cold air, his body still held some warmth. It made me squeeze just a little tighter, and I hid my face in his neck as he cried.
“Tobias.” He whimpered, his hand clutching the back of my head. “Where were you?”
“I’m sorry,” I found myself saying, my voice shaking. “I’m trying, love. I’m really trying. I’ve been ridding the world of those mages.”
“But I need you.” Tears rolled down his cheeks when I looked at his face. His eyes glistened, the wounded one’s reflection tinged with violet. “I need you with me. Why didn’t you follow me?”
I winced. “I can’t follow you where you went. I have too much to do here. I couldn’t save you, but I could save the rest of Sunderland.”
He emphatically shook his head. “Follow me. Find me. Please. I want you with me!”
“What is going on here?”
Hearing a twin of Lucian’s voice from behind startled me. It didn’t hold the same warmth that the man holding me possessed. I turned, seeing Lucian as I truly knew him. His dead, pristine visage. The one that hadn’t survived the suffering that the Lucian I was holding was grappling with.
As I thought of him, the Lucian I held was suddenly too far away from me once more. I felt cold from the loss, but my eyes were still on his ghost. “I guess I just began to imagine what could’ve been,” I said. “If you’d survived, that is.”
He frowned. “While a pleasant thought, you cannot afford to think back on what could have been. You must focus on the now.”
“I know,” I said, undeniably dejected.
“Tobias?” It was the other Lucian. The scarred one. His voice was both so close and too far away. “Don’t listen to him. Look at me!”
Part of me did want to look back. When I tried, a cold, clammy hand gripped my jaw. Nails dug into my skin.
“You need to keep your wits about you,” his ghost snapped, his voice oddly venomous. “Do not lose sight of your cause. Do not forget who you are doing this for, Tobias.”
I trembled.
“Tobias!”
Despite my impulses to look back again, I held the ghost’s hand. “Forgive me,” I whispered.
Behind me, the other Lucian screamed.
I tried to turn and look, but something was holding me back. It was my own neck. It was stiff, brittle. My body chilled, and my grip on his hand didn’t feel as firm. When I glanced down at my own hand, I saw my skin drying out within seconds. I was quick to roll up my sleeve, just in time to see my flesh begin to crumble and fall away to a thick powder.
When I tried shaking my head, my neck snapped. Lucian’s ghost held the sides of my head with a pitiful scowl.
“You are getting stronger, Tobias. Do not let yourself fall astray.”
That was not Lucian’s voice.
* * *
I awoke at the inn with a scream, jolting up in bed. The motion caused a deep cramp in my leg, and I clutched it as it spasmed. My free hand hurried to hold the heirloom still around my neck. I had to focus on breathing. I needed to breathe.
It was just a dream. It was only a dream. Lucian was dead. I was working with his ghost on ending Iantinus’ tyranny. I was loyal to the cause.
But why did I hear his voice coming out of Lucian’s mouth?
The thought alone made me want to vomit. I needed a drink. I needed to clean myself up. I needed to have my wits about me. Perhaps thinking about the coming plans would help calm me down or snap out of whatever terrifying nightmare that was.
After the latest skirmish, the chances of Iantinus retaliating to a swift degree were imminent. But I had a plan. Now that I had a tally of how many mages had died by my own hand, I was going to take it out on the Inquisitors collecting the tithe. I needed to choose my targets wisely.
It couldn’t be the Kressie Inquisitors. Robasan was notorious. She was said to be one of the founding mages, taken within the first wave of abductions. Her skillset could very well be above mine. Prothero was weak, but he had allies. And even if Sutharlan wasn’t the same man anymore, Mícheil would probably kill me if I targeted him.
That left me with possibly the Inquisitors from Olnahd or the ones from Baumshore. I’d dealt with the ones from Olnahd before. The one I could see myself easily overpowering was the pathetic young man in their group, but what were the chances that I would get alone with him? It’d have to be a perfectly timed meeting.
Going over my plans did help me calm down some. My breathing was even once more, and I didn’t feel as hot. I wiped some sweat from my brow, relaxing my bum leg. As I tried to lie back down again, I thought about the scarred version of Lucian that I saw in my dream. His body was always warm whenever I touched him. He was always fretting over me, always trying to get through to me.
Very much like how he did when he was alive.
I began to wonder if this was how Mícheil thought whenever he had to talk to Declan. He was so sure that this was the man he loved that he was sacrificing his alliances and friendships to try and get through to him. He was trying to cling to something that was lost years ago. It had only been nearly two months since Lucian died, and his loss wholly consumed me. Perhaps, this was what he meant when he said that he knew what it was like. And he did. He certainly did. In that moment, I wished he was here to help get through to me.
I felt the tears but didn’t try to dry them. I missed Lucian. I missed how he used to be. I wished I could be more grateful for the time I did have with him, but I couldn’t deny that something about him was different. Something was wrong. Did death corrupt him? Did existing as a ghost take away the vibrancy of his personality and the kindness in his eyes? Why was he so cold to me now? Even when he was a child, he was never this cruel to me whenever he spoke.
There were moments that he could be sweet and endearing, just like how he used to be. And whenever I made his body whole for those hours together, he was elated whenever we could kiss or touch or fuck. But during my research, during critical moments of my experiments, he seemed wholly different. He was more calculated and frigid. He had his goals, and he intended on me reaching them.
But I’d accepted these terms, the moment I first welcomed his ghost back into my life. This was his vengeance. These were his parting wishes. And I loved him so much that despite how much it hurt, I could tear the whole world apart for him.
I just never realized just how devastating the destruction could be.
We got to Kressie by following afternoon. Even though I entertained the thought of seeing Mícheil, I decided not to. It was different, now that I was nearly home and could return to my cellar. I had much work to do. Why did I even consider diverting my attention from that?
The closer I got to the house, the closer I was to seeing Lucian’s ghost once more. It was the one fault of spending this much time away. Seeing him once more would help me snap out of whatever rattling emotions I was dealing with. Holding him again would help me focus. Getting to kiss him would remind myself who I was doing this for. No more nonsense. Avenging Lucian was more important to me than my own life.
Vendrual’s coach dropped me off in front of the estate, but I didn’t bother to find anyone in the household. I just went straight down to the cellar, the Book in hand. I didn’t even need to look at the page. I knew it by heart.
There were faint tracings of the sigils on the ground. I reworked them with some charcoal waste from the candles. Standing back from the circle, I waited for his presence to come back, relieved when an icy breath ghosted my face. I took a knife in hand, one that was sitting right on the table. The blade was cool against my wrist, but I was no longer nervous about the drag. I let it press deep into my skin. The blood pooled out, dripping onto the floor.
My breathing wavered for a moment. It’d been a while, and I supposed that my body wasn’t used to giving blood like this again. I’d adjust once more with time.
I watched the magic work, soon able to see my Lucian’s beautiful body take form once more. He was standing in front of me, his hair a little stringy but still those same auburn locks. His eyes stared right back at mine, symmetrical and perfect.
This was Lucian. This was the man I loved.
“Welcome home,” he whispered with a delighted grin on his face.
I took his cold body into my arms, running my fingers through his hair as I kissed him.
Chapter 25: Mícheil
Summary:
Mícheil is prepared to leave Sunderland with Brigit. However, after a very weak and terrified Declan comes back into their lives, he grapples with an old grief and new, life-altering realizations that have him fearing the worst about their friendship.
Notes:
Mícheil and Declan's conflicts are FINALLY intertwining! And it's going off with a BANG. Cue the Ghostbusters warning us about what could happen if the streams are crossed. Be careful, friends!
Content Warnings
referenced child abuse, panic attacks, trauma-related symptoms, suicidal ideation, emotional manipulation, past trans pregnancy, talk of abortion (no actual abortion), brief physical violence
Chapter Text
Mícheil
I noticed it when walking round Balhreid in recent days, waiting for Declan to come back from Olnahd. I was being watched. When passing through the streets, guards followed my every move with their eyes. None have approached me yet. But I was keeping on my toes. Was it because of Finn’s visit? Was it because I was a soldier? Did Brigit have reasons to worry?
This would be a good time to run. I was getting ready to leave Balhreid. Hell, leave Sunderland altogether. There was no further point in staying. I was starting to believe that Tobias was right, after all. I could go back to Colonel Druiminn, admit defeat, and go meet with Finn. I’d be a few days behind, since he was supposed to leave this morning. But I was better suited helping His Highness. That was where I should have my focus. Brigit would never forgive me if I didn’t try to help Declan, though.
Where was he, anyhow? I thought he’d be back already, but he wasn’t here. There was dread pooling in my gut as I thought about the last time I lost him. I didn’t want to make those same mistakes again.
“Mícheil?”
I glanced up at the sound of Brigit’s voice, seeing her in the doorway. “Hm?”
“Can you go by my parents’ old hut?” She fidgeted with her sleeve. “I looked out my window this morning, and there was a cart.”
I stood, perplexed. “Anything in it?”
She inclined her head. “Some crates that I could see.”
“Was there a horse?”
“If there was, I didn’t see it.”
“Right.” I headed down to the door, making sure to grab my sheathed blade. “If anything happens to me, make your way straight to Olnahd.”
“All right.” She paused when I gave her a club. “What’s this for?”
“Protection, obviously.” Giving her a tense but playful smile, I stepped out in haste.
Most of the road leading to the old Reknas-Sutharlan residence was pocked with roots and budding weeds. I had to step carefully. The walk felt much shorter than it did in my youth, when I felt I could walk for hours if it meant being away from home. I didn’t miss the beatings or lashings I’d get for being caught running off.
“Where are you going?” he’d ask in that cold, loveless voice.
“Out to Farmer Tiernan’s,” was my usual response. When he started to suspect otherwise, I’d switch it up to instead say, “to get firewood.”
He’d then cuff me so hard that my head would spin. “I know you’re out cavorting with those bugger-loving Sutharlans. Did I not forbid it, yet you disobey?”
I wouldn’t know what to say. I never did. I just knew that he could see my terror, and he would sneer.
He locked me in my room once, barring the door so I couldn’t get out. He trapped me in there for three days with no food or water.
My old room was where Brigit ended up staying. I knew, because from that room, there was a clear view of their home. During those three days, I’d stare with such longing, wondering if someone from Master Reknas’ storybooks would come and save me from this misery.
Back in the present, I soon saw the abandoned cart, as Brigit described. There was a horse tied to a nearby tree, and it beat its hooves on the ground in agitation. The front door to the hut was closed, though not locked. I let myself in slowly.
“Hello?” I called out with a frown. “Anyone here?”
No answer. I slowly stepped through, down the hall. It wouldn’t take long for me to reach the other end. There were only two bedrooms.
“Hello?” I called again, my hand at the hilt of my sword.
Declan and Brigit’s old room was opened ajar. I froze, gripping my hilt.
“I know you’re in there,” I said with a stern tone. “Come on out, or I’ll force my way in here.”
At that, I heard shuffling.
I stepped back, expecting a cross tone or an attack. But as the door opened and the stranger stepped out, leaning hard against the door, I realised that this was no stranger at all.
Declan’s eyes were tired, and he looked thin. His robes were frayed at the edges, and his hair was stringy, like he hadn’t cleaned himself up in days. There was something in those eyes that frightened me. Or, rather, what wasn’t in his eyes.
They were hollow, void of feeling, and they stared out like I wasn’t right in front of him.
“…Declan?” I let go of my sword, cautiously holding out a hand to him.
He took a step forward, then stumbled.
I was quick to catch him. His body was dead weight, and I had to adjust my grip.
“Shit,” I grunted, holding him up. “All right. Steady, now. You’re alright.”
He said nothing, his breathing raspy as he held onto my arm.
“You’re alright,” I assured him again. “The walk’s not long. Come on.”
Still keeping him held up, I tried escorting him back to the estate that way. But the further we moved, the weaker his legs were. I had to settle with carrying him. When he didn’t fight it, I knew then that something was wrong.
He wasn’t just tired. He was… empty. No reactions. No response to my voice. No questioning where we were going. No threats on my life with that new attitude of his.
“Brigit?” I called as I brought him over the threshold. “Brigit, come help!”
She rushed to the landing, quick to cover her mouth. “What happened?” She ran down to meet me. “Declan?”
“I dunno, but he’s exhausted. Help me get him upstairs.” Shifting his weight between the both of us, I started the climb up. “Just don’t hurt him.”
Halfway there, Declan squirmed, letting out a panicked cry that spooked the both of us.
“Declan?” Brigit was holding him by the shoulders as she spoke to him. “Declan, it’s me. Brigit. You’re alright.”
He shook his head with a whimper, looking at her but not really looking. There was a worried confusion on his face as he shook his head.
“Declan, look at me.” I kept my eyes on him as we got him into my father’s room. We coaxed him to lie on his back. “It’s me. Mícheil. You’re alright. You’re in my father’s estate with me and Brigit. It’s just the three of us. Can you hear what I’m telling you?”
Declan stared between the two of us, his breath quickening as his eyes darted round the room. He opened his mouth, trying to speak, but the words were lost.
“Just relax,” I tried again. “Have you slept?”
He didn’t answer, but his eyes were still unfocused. That told me all I needed to know.
“Rest here, Declan.” I knew better than to try and get him changed. I just brought the sheets over him as he shivered. “You’re exhausted. Do you need me to get those other Inquisitors for you?”
His face lost more colour as he shook his head rapidly with a stuttering whimper.
“I won’t, I won’t.” I held up my hands. “Just try to sleep. You’re safe here. I promise.”
He stared at the two of us for several moments, with Brigit tearing up and I holding my breath. As his panic ebbed, his eyes rolled back before he limply settled on the bed to sleep.
Declan slept for two days straight without any change. On the third morning, he woke up with a scream and was thrashing under the sheets. He was clutching his chest, right near his heart. Neither Brigit nor I could get him to snap out of it. As his voice grew hoarse, it was then that he collapsed back again.
On the fourth day, we got him to eat. It was a watery broth, but he accepted it, even letting Brigit feed it to him. He still hadn’t spoken, his eyes still empty. At least he no longer flinched whenever we entered the room. He only started to speak on the fifth day, and it was only to Brigit. He asked her to help bathe him, but he did so with a wariness that exposed his fear.
I didn’t know what happened to him in Olnahd, but once I found out who made him this scared, I was going to hunt them down.
Perhaps a further delay wouldn’t be so bad, if it meant that Declan was all right. After a washing, he was able to get up from the bed but hadn’t left the room. He hadn’t asked for me yet, and I wasn’t going to force him to talk to me.
Worried for his recovery, I found myself listless. Colm had asked when we planned on leaving Balhreid. Soon was the answer. As in, this week soon, so long as Declan was better by the end of it. For now, I settled with trying to focus on the chairs again.
Most of the scraps left of those failures I refused to call chairs were long since used for firewood. For this last attempt, I was up all night. I kept fidgeting with the pegs. I purchased a better hammer, a rarity round these parts now. It was my hope that I could give it the proper support it needed to hold my weight. I used sturdier wood for the legs. The back of the chair was lighter. My eyes were barely open by the time I felt it was finished.
I tested it at first by firmly placing my hands down on the seat, leaning into it with my whole weight. It did not budge. So far so good… I rubbed my eyes, turned round, and lowered myself to sit. So far, just like with the attempt Declan saw, I stayed in it. I was sitting. Only time would tell if it’d collapse right underneath me again.
I waited, leaning back with a sigh. I couldn’t deny how exhausted I was. I wished Declan would speak to me. I needed to know from his mouth that he was all right. I hated seeing him this frightened and being able to do nothing. Was this how he felt, all those months he screamed for me to rescue him? Was I even too late this time around?
Our situation here in Sunderland was growing dire. The Inquisition was doubling down, now having people pay the tithe twice a week. It was just like Declan had warned us. An additional eight people here in Balhreid were turned into husks and sent to Gurindeck. The town was growing restless. Whenever I went there lately, I’d hear them grumbling and muttering about things needing to change. If only I thought better about the words that came out of my mouth. I’d learn more on how to help the villagers. We were not going to be able to evacuate them, if we didn’t have the means to relieve their suffering in the first place.
“Mícheil?”
I blinked open my eyes, gasping with a start. It was a bit brighter in this room. My neck and arse were sore beyond measure. I rubbed a smarting spot at my lower back, muttering to myself. “Damn chair…”
I blinked. How long was I sitting here?
Brigit was watching me. “How long were you up last night?”
Trying to think, I shook my head. “Too long.” I stood up, grimacing. “Is it morning already?”
“Mícheil, it’s after noon,” she laughed. “I wanted to wake you earlier, but you looked so peaceful.”
“Peaceful, sitting on that?” I snorted, looking back at the chair. “Well, what do you know. It didn’t break.”
“Lemme sit!” She scooted past me, planting herself right down on it. She grumbled while trying to get comfortable. “You could’ve used better wood.”
“I wanted to make sure it stayed.” My eyes lit up. “It’s still not breaking!”
“Well, congratulations,” she teased. “You’ve made a chair.”
“I’m a real carpenter!” I gave a swift kick to some flimsy splinters of wood on the floor. “Take that.”
Brigit giggled. “Do you know what we could do with this chair?”
“No. What?”
“Have Declan see it.”
I shook my head. “He doesn’t wanna speak to me. Was there any change since yesterday?”
“Now that you mentioned it, he’s venturing out of the room. I thought maybe he was looking for you.”
“You think so?”
She huffed. “Just go out there and see him. And show him the chair! He’ll love it.”
I sighed, thinking it over. “I have to go to Kressie today. If I see him before I leave, I’ll talk to him. Need anything from town?”
“Oh! See if they still have that fabric from last week. Let’s hope the Inquisitors didn’t already pilfer it. I want to make a new cloak for the winter.”
“I’ll see what I can find.” I counted out how much silver I’d need to bring before stepping out of the room. I was shaking my head with a little smile. I couldn’t believe it. I pulled it off. A real chair.
I bet my mum would be proud of me, for once. Doing something good with my life. I could be a good man. The Bladesinger had no hold over me now.
“Dunaidh?”
I jumped, turning round. Declan had changed, wearing what looked like one of Master Reknas’ outfits. Brigit and I had gone down there to get his things in the interim, and his horse was being kept in the stable. As for the man himself, he still looked tired. He was leaning against the wall outside my father’s room, watching me.
“Afternoon, Declan.” I cleared my throat. “How’re you feeling?”
“Better.” He sighed wearily. “Listen, I…” He shuffled his feet. “I’m sorry I made a fool of myself. If you need me to leave, I’ll go.”
“No. You can still recover here.” I gestured to my father’s room. “How’s it feel, sleeping in the Bladesinger’s bed?”
He snorted. “It’s not fair that his mattress is that soft. It’s doing wonders for my back.”
“Right?” I was relieved. He was acting like his former self, from before he went missing. “I’m just glad you’re safe now. All right? Take the time you need.”
He nodded his head. “Thank you.”
I suddenly didn’t really want to leave. I’d stand here and talk to him for hours. “I gotta go to Kressie and pay the tithe.” I stepped back. “Want anything from town?”
“Actually, there’s one thing. Can you just see if there were any letters for me?”
“Can do.” I waved, leaving the estate.
I tried to ignore the way the guards looked at me once I was seen round town. I kept quiet, not drawing too much attention to myself. I just needed to gather supplies, go about my day, and leave.
Turns out, there were letters for Declan at the post. Two of them. I gathered them both up and kept them in my coat. As for the fabrics, there were none left. It was such a shame. Kressie used to be a great town to do business. It was now a shell of its former self. Perhaps the rest of Sunderland wasn’t much better these days.
On the road back to Balhreid, I kept getting that same sinking feeling. How closely was I being watched? Did it ever go away? The sooner I left this area, the better, for I didn’t know how long it’d be before I’d truly not feel safe anymore.
“Well, if it isn’t the Usurper solder.”
I stopped, looking behind me at the sound of a woman’s voice. It was one of the Inquisitors by the name of Robasan. She had one hand at the ready near that spell pouch of hers, her eyes narrowing at me. There was a sharp flash of green across them, making me go still.
“…Afternoon.” I frowned. The sinking feeling was still there, though not quite as oppressive. “If you’re worried, I got my silver here.” I held the coins out to her.
“Prompt.” She took them from me with ease. “See, more Usurpers should follow your example. Ever obedient, yet I seldom see you at the tithe. Have you been paid a visit?”
I blinked. “You don’t have to call me that. Dunaidh works just fine,” I muttered.
“Hm, of course.” She pursed her lips. “Dunaidh, Dunaidh…” She trailed off, then her eyes lit up. “Oh. I knew I recognised that name. You are quite infamous, you know, what with your work and all.”
“What work?” I frowned.
“Being one of the Usurper’s soldiers, of course,” she teased. “Working alongside them, even still. You are even wearing the uniform now. What did you think I meant?”
“I don’t know what you think I do round here, but I’m following the law as much as everyone else.”
“I find that difficult to discern.” Robasan squinted, crossing her arms. “Dear me. Where are you residing? I only ever see you walking through the square, but I have not seen where you live.”
“If I’m payin’ my share, you don’t have to know anything more.”
“It is just a simple curiosity.” She counted the silver coins in her hands. “On the subject of curiosities, I have heard some startling claims. Is it true that you are working alongside a Miss Brigit Sutharlan? With the very family of one of our Inquisitors? How interesting.”
I stopped, stark still. “What are you on about?”
“I just find it interesting that you would keep yourself wrapped up with the Sutharlan family, seeing as you Usurpers think we’re all traitors.”
“Well, Declan’s sister’s a good friend of mine. They both were.”
“So, you are still tied to them? Even after everything?”
I gave a slow nod. “Well, sure.”
Robasan nodded. “So, I take it, since you have not made a fuss about it thus far, that you aren’t upset by what Inquisitor Sutharlan has done?”
“There are things I disagree with, but his misgivings aren’t Miss Sutharlan’s fault.”
“Of course, of course.” She regarded me. Her eyes then narrowed. “You should know, then, that we at His Majesty’s Inquisition do know your whereabouts. Down the winding road, through a patch of forest, there is an old farm. Further down the road you go, you will find the ruins of what once was an estate. I believe the roof is caving in on the southern end.”
My face paled. She got everything down to the letter, yet I had seen no guards. I did rotations twice a day to make sure of that. How could she know? Unless…
“We know that you have been talking to Inquisitor Sutharlan. We have known for some time now. We only allow it, because your insight has been invaluable to His Majesty.”
I shook my head. “I didn’t tell him shit.” Nothing they didn’t already know. I was careful.
“You didn’t need to,” she chuckled. “We observed his strange disappearances and followed your scent. You give away far too much, Dunaidh. And we will make this easier for you if you tell us everything that you know about what The Talons are up to.”
“I don’t have to tell you anything.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You still think you can trust Inquisitor Sutharlan, do you?”
I could’ve answered that easy enough. There was a time where I trusted him with my life. Perhaps I needed to sleep with one eye open now, but I didn’t have to watch my back constantly. “We fought together. If it came down to it, we’d put aside our differences.”
“Such a gentleman.” Her grin was almost wolfish. “I am sure it was not easy, then, hearing that you never got to meet her.”
I was about to snap at Robasan, thinking that she’d crossed a line with Declan. But then I fully heard what she said. “Meet whom?”
She gasped. “Oh.” She set a hand to her breast. “You did not know? You mean to tell me he never told you?”
“Told me what?” I shook my head. I hated the way she was skirting.
“Oh, goodness, you don’t know.” She managed an apologetic smile. “I should have said nothing. How dreadful of me.”
“Whatever it was, you meant to say it,” I snapped. “Speak plainly, or walk away.”
Her smile grew sad, but her eyes were hollow, still glowing that intense green colour. “I knew of your name, one other time. When we found poor Inquisitor Sutharlan, left for dead, he carried such a heavy burden with him. The poor thing was with child. When asking him who the father was, that name was what he gave us.”
I blinked, not expecting that. Outright, I let out a scoff. “That’s a load of shit.” He’d have said something. He’d have told me years go. “You’re lying.”
She winced under her breath. “And just as calloused as he said you would be.”
“What?” The air grew a lot colder, whipping right through me. My limbs grew heavy for a moment, but I stood my ground. The world stopped, beginning to close in around me. It was enough to make me feel sick. “He wouldn’t say that.”
“Oh, but he did,” she sighed. “See, I can look at you now and see a respectable man indeed. But the picture our dear Sutharlan gave us was ghastly. A cruel man with a terrible temper.”
“He wouldn’t say that,” I retorted again, more firmly.
She shrugged her shoulders. “I have several other Inquisitors that bore witness that would give the same statements.” She cast her head down, taking a brief glance up at me. “He had the child terminated. It was supposed to be a daughter, but he had us get rid of her. There is a root that you can steep into tea that would make it all go away.”
“So?” I stammered. “That makes no difference to me. If he didn’t want it, then he didn’t have to have it. We were in the middle of a war. I would’ve never forced him to keep it.”
“Really?” Her brows arched up. “He told us otherwise, tearfully. He begged for us to take him in, after he was abandoned by you. He feared your judgment the most. He said it was in your nature, that if your infamous father was anything to go by then you could never be trusted around children.”
“Now, I know you are lying!” I clenched my fists.
Robasan flinched back almost immediately. She threw her hands up, eyes wide in alarm. “Exactly as he described… Fine one moment, then a Bladesinger the next.”
A Bladesinger?
She could’ve said any other word. A beast. A scoundrel. A monster, even. But she said, “Bladesinger.”
My arms went slack at my sides. I had to look down at my hands. Would these hands have been just like his? Would my words be just as cruel? Would I grow to love the bottle more than my own blood? The Declan I knew and loved would never say something like that. He never would’ve claimed I’d be just like him. He’d have said that I was better than him. Unless he never saw me as a friend at all.
My hands, capable of so much harm, were shaking. My eyes burned.
“I’m so sorry, Dunaidh.” Robasan relaxed her shoulders, the green flash in her eyes falling away. I’d started to loosen around the same time. “I loathed telling you all this. But you had the right to know. Inquisitor Sutharlan’s judgment can no longer be trusted.” She watched me with a smile, but I felt nothing but hatred for her. “He has been out of sorts lately. If you see him, be sure to let us know. We know where to look for you.”
“Right,” I muttered, turning on my heel.
I wished she never had told me. I wished she wasn’t so careless with her words and let that awful truth slip. He didn’t have to carry a child. I knew that. That wasn’t why I was upset. I was upset that he lied about me, that he would think I’d make him keep it. That there was a chance he would’ve called me a Bladesinger.
I would never want to hurt a child. Never. But if Declan didn’t trust me…
I found myself looking down at my hands again. Calloused fingers, nails brittle from the cold, sparse hair on the knuckles. Working hands. Fighting hands. Hands that wielded swords, that strangled men, that knocked teeth out. Hands like Sir Hamish’s.
I bit down on my knuckles, glancing behind me to check if I was being followed. My heart was vacant, robbed of what made it beat by the man that I’d given everything I had to. I couldn’t bear it. I didn’t want to grieve it.
I was just like him. I was just like him. Yet he still wouldn’t be satisfied, if he saw me now. I was always a pathetic thing to him. I could hear him now, berating me for going astray, for being weak.
“A disgrace to my name!” he’d always say as he’d let up just a little on blows to my face. “A good for nothing wandocht’s what you are! Useless wretch!”
Each blow would strike true, no matter how far away I’d cower. Even as that tanner boy watched back in Gurindeck, his fist would always find me. And as I cried and begged, he would just laugh and laugh.
“…Dunaidh?”
Someone touched my shoulder, and I whipped round to give a fierce strike back.
My fist throbbed, but at last I fought him back. Sir Hamish deserved it, right in his face.
“Back away!” I snapped, but when I blinked, he was gone.
Declan was on the ground, clutching his jaw with trembling fingers. While crumpled on his knees, he stared at me with wide, tired eyes.
Startled, I stared down at my fist, unclenching it. It felt locked. My father would always want me to keep at least one ready. But not at Declan. Never at Declan. I struck him. I hit him.
He was right. He was right about me, too. It was true. I was a monster. A true, dyed in the wool Bladesinger. And I just proved it. It was just as well. Perhaps I could never be a good man. Or a good father. Hell, I wasn’t even a good sergeant, and that was all I had left. He had every right to keep away from me. He knew better than to trust me. No wonder he never wanted to tell me, why he never would’ve if he had the chance.
I flinched away from him so fast when he struggled to stand. What else could I do?
“Dunaidh.” Declan was still holding his jaw, shuddering when closing his eyes. He was pulling that magic again, this time from the ground under his feet. He grunted, some of his pain seeming to ease. The pain I caused him. “I should’ve known better. I’m sorry.”
I jerked further back. “Right. That’s what you’ll tell your mage friends, right? Havin’ a good laugh of how right you were ’bout me?”
“What?” He let go of his jaw. “I just never should’ve approached you like that, given how jumpy you are.”
“I’ve heard something else,” I said. “Heard that you called me an abusive prick. That I couldn’t be trusted. That it was in my nature?”
“What are you talking about?” He stared at me. “Dunaidh, don’t put words in my fucking mouth. I never said that.”
“You don’t have to lie, Declan. Or should I be calling you ‘Inquisitor’ from now on? Robasan told me everything.”
I watched the colour drain from his face. “…What did she tell you?”
“Everything. Down to begging them to terminate the child cos you think I never would’ve let you. And how you said that because of my father, I should never be trusted around children in the first place.”
“What?” His eyes widened, and he was still pallid. “And you believed her?”
“What else am I to think? You never told me anything!”
“I was going to! Honest.” Declan moved closer. “Mícheil, you have to believe me.”
“Why should I? You told them all where I was staying!” A fire was being stoked in my blood, and I needed to let it out.
He shook his head. “I-I did not—”
“You know, I only invited you to the estate in the first place just to get information out of you. Since we have a knack of stabbing each other in the backs, I figured you should know.”
Declan grimaced. “You’re not that cunning, Dunaidh.”
“How come, then, that Colonel Druiminn now knows that the tithe is a load of shit? How come they know that your precious King is expanding? And where the husk prison is, how they control the guards, who’s in charge of running you lot like little poppets?”
He bristled. “So, the dinners. The stories, the meddling, that shit about the fucking chairs. Those garments? Those were just so you could get me to talk?”
“And you sure can get talking when someone does something nice for you,” I snapped. “And I thought I was an arsehole for doing it, but now I see that you’re an even bigger one.”
Declan went still. He glared at me, his hand fidgeting at that pouch of ashes. “You really are going to believe Robasan’s word over mine? After everything?”
“Well, now I know better than to ever trust you again—”
My breath caught in my throat as I felt my heart stop.
There was no blood pumping through my body. There was no pulse. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t move. One moment I was upright. The next, I was dropping to the ground and clutching my chest. That lasted longer than the first time he did this. Was that five seconds? Ten?
Declan pounced on me before I could get up, his hands coming to grip my throat. His fingers curled round it, cutting off my air. I struggled and wrestled under him, trying to get the upper hand, but before I could he let out a scream, another spell making pain ignite throughout my entire body.
My noises were strangled. I couldn’t move, and still I couldn’t breathe. I didn’t want to hit him again. I didn’t want to hurt him. I tried to give a shove, and it was only after Declan’s nails dug into my neck that he finally loosened his grip.
“I hate you, Dunaidh! You are a fucking fool! To even let myself think that I should ever feel anything about someone as uncouth, as childish, as dense, as crass, as vapid as you are! You are dead to me. You’re worth less than shit under my boot. To let myself think that you cared about me makes me just as vapid and naïve, Dunaidh.”
Breathless, I stared up at him. “I loved you, once.”
“And you think I care? Read my lips, Dunaidh.” Declan crouched right over me, his hand on my chest. “You are nothing to me.”
“Nothing?”
“Nothing.”
We were both breathing hard—with me trying to regulate my body and Declan growing more furious by the second. He was staring down at me, his face getting red in his anger.
“Fine, then.” I shrugged. “If you’re gonna kill me, do it. I haven’t a worth left in the world.”
He was still glaring down at me. “Perhaps I will.” He was readying another spell. “Any last words?”
I nodded. “I’m sorry that I hurt you, Declan.”
He paused, just as he’d gathered ashes in his hand. I waited for him to kill me, but he hadn’t moved. He just kept staring down at me, his hand starting to shake. He was looking at my face. Really looking at it.
“D-damn you,” he stammered, and I swore I could hear his throat tightening on his words.
“Declan?”
“Damn you!” He threw the ashes hard away from us, some of it still getting in his face. Tears welled up in his eyes. “Why did you believe her?! Why would you ever believe her? And you’d let yourself fucking die thinking that I thought that about you? What is wrong with you, Dunaidh? Why have you never learned?!”
He slammed his hands down on my chest, but it didn’t hurt. He looked like he was trying not to cry, but he was failing.
“If anyone has nothing to live for, it’s me, Dunaidh! Me! I let the fucking Inquisition take everything from me! My home, my family, my money, our child. And I let them, because I didn’t want to die! I just wanted to survive. And in turn, they broke me. They ruined me. They…” He trailed off with another broken sob.
“Declan.” I reached up, my hand finding his cheek. My thumb was at the scars on his lips. “I’m so sorry. I never wanted to hurt you.”
He tugged me upright to sit on my lap, his arms clinging around me so tight that they were almost crushing me. He buried his face against my neck. His nails dug into my back.
“M-Mícheil,” he cried, and for the first time, I noticed how weak he still was. He was so frail. His body sagged against mine on a harder sob.
“Are you in trouble?” I found myself asking.
“They’re gonna take me again,” he gasped. “Don’t you see? She’s using you to arrest me, Dunaidh! They’ll take me and imprison me again! They’ll torture me and break me. I-I can’t go through that another time. I don’t wanna go back, Mícheil. Please.”
I watched his face. His eyes, still wild and watery, were more alight with desperation than rage. So many years of pain that I couldn’t possibly imagine where laid bare. He began to tremble harder, as if he was waiting. Waiting for what? For me to say no? To act on what Robasan asked of me?
Robasan… Why was I so quick to believe her?
“Did you really not tell them where we were?” I asked.
He shook his head. “My superior made me tell her I was speaking to you, but that was all. I didn’t want them to come here.”
“And you never called me a Bladesinger?”
“No.” He was pleading with me. “I don’t remember much. Just enough to know that they were extracting whatever they could from me. Perhaps my own memories. They must’ve seen you and me talking about your father and twisted up a story.” He had more tears running down his cheeks. “Mícheil, why would I do that? I’d begged so much for you to come help me that I lost my voice for months. I screamed for you to find me. I said you weren’t a Bladesinger for years, and I meant it.”
The worry hadn’t left his face. He loosened his grip on me, starting to back away while still crouched on the ground. He was ready to run.
“It’s not safe for any of us here,” I said. “Brigit and I are fleeing north with Colm to Brømkhald. We’re setting out on foot by the end of the week.”
“Not on foot,” he whispered, shaking his head. “I have my cart.”
“Even better. We’re meeting Finn on the way. If you’re looking to hide, there’s nowhere else better.”
“So, you’re not turning me in?”
“No, Declan. I’d never make you go back there.” I reached to take his hand. “No matter what happened between us, I promised myself I wasn’t gonna lose you again.”
He nodded, his shoulders relaxing. “Thank you.”
I slowly stood and helped Declan up to his feet. He shivered from a chill. “And Declan?” He stayed beside me. “I’m not angry, y’know. About the child?” His whole body tensed up again. “I’m not angry you got rid of it. I would’ve never forced you to have it. We never talked about it. And there was a lot going on, what with Trethial. It wouldn’t have been the right time. And if you never wanted to be with child again, I’d never make you change your mind. I hope you know that.”
He watched my face. “Do you still believe that much of what Robasan said?”
I shrugged. “Whatever you do with your body is no one’s business but your own. Maybe she was lying about all the other nasty bits, but that? That’s no concern of mine.”
He took my hand as I spoke. He squeezed it, fingers twining with mine. “We need to talk. Inside. All right?”
I nodded my head, letting him lead the way. “All right.”
He walked slowly, staring at the door. “Brigit’s inside, right?”
“Aye. And Colm will be here tonight.”
He inclined his head. “Let me just talk to her first.”
Chapter 26: Declan
Summary:
After three years of conditioning and being beholden to His Majesty's Inquisition, Declan at last is willing to hear out the people that he thought for sure abandoned him and left him for dead - his sister and their best friend that he used to love. Either he will live with the fact that the Inquisition was right, or he will never have been so happy to be proven wrong.
NSFW
Notes:
A lot of terrible tension between these two will FINALLY be resolved(?) EXCELLENT.
This chapter has gone through a LOT of rewrites and is one of the few that have stayed the most intact throughout every draft. So, I'm SO excited that it's finally being posted!
(once again, I'm only a little sorry at how long it is)Content Warnings
trans pregnancy, traumatic past pregnancy, miscarriage anxiety, discussing potential death of an infant (no actual death occurs), PTSD symptoms, implied past child abuse, referenced transphobia, internalized transphobia, anxiety symptoms, gender dysphoria, grief, implied torture, forced familial separation, references to generalized brutality (including remorse over said brutality), family estrangement,explicit sexual content,
cis man as a service top, versatile positions, anal fingering, cunnilingus, vaginal fingering, vaginal sex, PIV sex, rough sex, multiple orgasms, overstimulation
***Note: Declan uses afab and amab language interchangeably to describe his body. His personal preference is a blend of both.
Chapter Text
Declan
My thoughts were far simpler, before I was sent to Olnahd. They were easy to comprehend and explain. They didn’t feel so hard.
To simply explain how I felt in the days since I fled, it was as if every wound that was ever inflicted upon me was reopened all at once. How much of what they told me was real? Was all of it lies? Were there some truths that I was now uncertain of parsing through? I found myself questioning everything over the last three years, and it led to such a break that I wasn’t sure I would ever recover from.
But then, Mícheil found me. I was in my old home, though I didn’t remember how I got there. I thought I was dreaming. Sometimes, I still couldn’t tell what was a dream and what was not. But I let him take me from the house. I let him move me. It didn’t matter where I was going, because I thought I was just going to wake up back on that stone slab. Back to when I was pinned and shackled. I was going to wake up and find out that none of these three years have ever happened.
Mícheil wouldn’t come for me. He never did. He never loved me. He scorned me and left me for dead, just like the rest of my family did. And I had to disregard every good piece of our friendship that I ever clung to. None of it mattered anymore.
Not even when he used to defend me as children, whenever the other boys in our village started to tease me once I made it known that I was no longer a girl. Not even when he was so encouraging of my appearance and how I wanted to live my life. Not even when it warmed my heart that he was willing to keep me safe while we were in the military together.
Not even when I was the one that suggested that we should blow off steam. Not even when he learned to know exactly what would make me feel good before I even had to say it. Not even when he’d hold me afterwards, when my body was still trembling. Not even when we kissed each other on cold nights and simply huddled together, just enjoying each other’s company without having to resort to sex.
I did it to help Mícheil, and what resulted was all of my past feelings for him building up this image of what I thought our life could be together. I thought, perhaps, that there would be a future where I could live the rest of my days with Mícheil Dunaidh. I’d even marry him, if that was possible for us while I lived as a man. I used to dream of having a family with him.
Reality was colder, harder. Nothing went according to plan. And my superiors assured me that never feeling anything for him again was the right decision.
He was crass and jested far too much. He was all smiles, even when the situation could never call for it. He saw too much hope in the world. But none of that hope seemed to extend to me. Or, at least I thought it didn’t.
I was in a daze, still rubbing my sore jaw on the way back to the estate as I absorbed what just happened between us. I pulled enough into my reserve to heal most of the blow, but I was still weak.
For a moment, I did fear him. The look on his face was similar to the one Sir Hamish wore when he was particularly cross. The last time I saw it, it was when he threw Mícheil out after a bad spar. He threw his bottle at him as well, but he missed, the glass shattering with thick shards spraying alongside the flooding spirits.
But at the same time he struck me, Mícheil looked like a cornered animal. He was not acting on aggression. His strike was for his survival.
I knew how complex the mind could be well enough, after everything we both experienced. It was why I tried to kill him shortly after our fight began. Out of all the things I expected to happen after that, I didn’t expect us to lay everything bare. And after I was sure our friendship was truly finished, we agreed to hear each other out. But first, I needed to speak to my sister.
“Brigit?” I let go of Mícheil’s hand, searching the estate for her. I was still trembling. Whether it was from weakness or dread, I didn’t know. But I had to know. I needed to know if the Inquisition lied about my family.
I didn’t find her right away. Part of me feared that she left. Where would she go? What if she couldn’t take all that I was wrought with? She was a capable woman, and here I made her take care of me and nurse me and bathe me when I had nothing but scorn for her. Why did she even do it?
“Brigit?” I raised my voice. Was I crying? I touched my cheek, startled to find tears.
“She’s here,” Mícheil insisted. “Try looking upstairs.”
I was already running up there, my heart racing. “Brigit?”
“I’m here.” She came out of one of the rooms, but I didn’t give her a chance to absorb what was going on before I rushed forward to wrap my arms around her. “Declan?”
I couldn’t say anything, just holding her a little tighter. I was trying to breathe.
“Declan, what happened?” She took my face in her hands. “Gods, who struck you? Mícheil.” She immediately shot him a glare.
“I-it’s alright.” I was still holding onto her. “I just need to be cleaned up a bit.” I glanced back at Mícheil, hoping to see that he wasn’t upset again, but he had a hard time looking at me.
Brigit brought me into his old room where she’d been sleeping. She filled another small basin with water from the nearby well. It was how she’d washed me the other day. I stayed still when sitting on a chair she brought into the room, trying not to flinch from how cold the cloth was.
“Are you alright?” she asked after a few moments, her voice soft.
“I…” I avoided looking her in the eye. “Why did you help me?”
She frowned, pursing her lips. “Because we’re family, no matter how many times you try to reject me.”
I winced. “I thought you stopped looking for me. That you left me for dead, like everyone else did.”
Brigit sighed, setting the basin down. “I didn’t leave you for dead, Declan. None of us did. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.”
I wanted to pry. I asked for this. But just hearing that alone had everything in my mind screaming at me to run, to deny it. That couldn’t be true, after everything I was told. It was bored into my skull well enough.
I fidgeted, shrinking a bit further against the chair. “Can you tell me what happened, then?” My voice was just as small. “What happened when you all found out I was dead?”
She hesitated a moment before resuming to clean my face. “Father got the casualty notice. It was straight from the Grand Marshal himself. It said that you were killed on the border of Trethial in a battle that summer. They couldn’t find your body among the carnage, so they couldn’t send you home to us.” Her eyes started to water. “Declan, Father was heartbroken. Inconsolable… He cried for weeks. Da didn’t want to believe that it was true. They almost didn’t want to tell me, but I found out not long after. I prayed that it wasn’t true, for there was no body to give the rites to.”
My hands began to shake, and I clenched them into fists to quell the tremors.
“You’re my elder brother. Why would I ever willingly leave you for dead, if I’d known there was even just a chance you were still alive?” Tears rolled down her cheeks. “I will never know how scared you were. I can only imagine it. That alone is enough. To not know that we missed you. To be tortured and told that everyone was better off with you gone.”
She started to clean some sweat from my brow, occasionally wringing the cloth even when it didn’t need it. She sniffled, and I found myself unable to focus from how blurry my vision was getting.
“I don’t remember much from that time in the Wilds,” I confessed to her. “For the longest time, I could only see glimpses. The other mages helped me fill some of the gaps, but what I’ve been seeing lately is making me wonder how much of what they said was true. And I’m afraid to think about what they’d done to me when I can’t remember it.”
She covered her mouth as she listened. “Declan…” She reached across to take my hand.
“I had a child.” I tried to ignore her further shock. I just couldn’t stop myself from divulging. I missed my sister. I needed her comfort. “I don’t remember carrying her. I tried thinking about Da and how brave he was, but I was terrified. Terrified of what the world would think, of what Mícheil would think. I thought…” My breath hitched. “I thought I’d lost her. I was so sick, Brigit. And the gaps were horrible. One minute I would be prodded at, and the next my body would change so much that I wouldn’t recognize it. It was a nightmare.”
“Declan, I’m so sorry.” She took me into her arms, and I fell limply against her.
“They made me have her but wouldn’t let me keep her.” I lowered my head. “I’m not allowed to have anything from my past. I lost everything to the Inquisition. And I’m afraid I’ll never get any of it back. I have no one to blame but myself.”
She pulled me into a tighter hug as I started to cry. I hid my face into her shoulder, shuddering and unable to quell my grief.
“That’s not true, Declan,” she sniffled, giving me a tighter squeeze. “I’m still here. Mícheil’s here. We’re going to help you now. We’ll keep you safe. And when we find our parents, they’ll help you, too.”
“No.” I shook my head, my trembling growing more violent. “They hate me. They never want to see me again. You should’ve seen the way they looked at me back in Olnahd. I saw them. I think they’d hoped I was dead over what really became of me.”
“What are you talking about? They missed you.”
“Even if you think they did, they know now what I’ve done. They saw it for themselves. Do you think they’d truly be happy to see me? Do you really think they’d take me back?”
“Yes. We love you, dammit.” She pulled back to look at me. “Listen to me. They didn’t believe Mícheil when he told them that you were still alive. They were in Kressie the same time that you were, you know. They were at The Moorish Cup.”
“They were?” I stammered.
“When he told them that you were there right before the people began to panic, Father was so distressed that he missed you that he wept. Da could barely console him. They both begged him to tell them where you were, but none of us knew. He had to explain to them that you were a mage.”
I shook my head, looking away. “Don’t tell me anymore,” I whimpered. “Please…” I didn’t want to keep hearing how much they hated me now.
Brigit just squeezed my hand. “The first thing Da asked of everyone at Gurindeck that day was to spare you. Father begged for them to get you back. They wanted you to come home. They held out hope for you. They still do. They must.”
“But what if you’re wrong?” I tried wiping at my eyes when the shame really took hold.
She squeezed both my hands now. “On the off chance that I’m wrong, then I’ll stand with you. The two of us need to stick together. But I have a good feeling.”
“Can I really face them again?”
“You don’t have to do it alone. Not anymore.” She smiled at me. “You’re safe now, Declan.”
“I missed you,” I whispered, finally feeling most of my fear subside. “I really missed you, Brigit.”
“I missed you too.” She leaned close, pressing a kiss to my brow. I hoped our parents really did miss me as much as she did.
I wiped at my face once more, now that I was no longer crying. “Where’d you get this chair?” I huffed, shifting a bit. “It’s so firm on my arse.”
“Mícheil made it.”
I stopped, holding onto the seat. “…He did?”
She nodded with a smile. “I told him to show it to you. He was so excited that he could finally prove to you that he did it.”
“Oh.” I kept my head down, getting lost in thought once more. If I truly was lied to about what my family thought of me, then who was to say that what they said about Mícheil was just as much of a trick? Was it possible that this entire time…
“You should talk to him. A real talk and not just another big fight.”
“I know,” I said. “I’m going to talk to him tonight.”
“Good.” She helped me up to my feet, taking my hand to bring me out of the room. She started swinging our arms like she used to when we were children. “You two will never heal if you don’t.”
I sighed. “You’re right.”
“I always am,” she teased, just as we heard the front door opening and closing with a quick flourish.
“I got supper!” I heard Mícheil call out.
“Really?” I stepped down in front of Brigit.
Mícheil was holding up a possum by the tail. “We’re eating like kings tonight.”
Brigit grinned. “That’s the most meat we’ve had in days. Now, go ahead. Skin and dress it.” When he made a face at that, her grin widened. “What, are you scared?”
He blushed. “No. Just thought that one of you were going to do it.”
I rolled my eyes. “Hand it here.” I met him at the bottom of the steps. “You did kill this one, right?”
He scoffed. “Nearly with my bare hands.” His face twitched, right at his brow.
“Don’t lie,” I teased with a smirk, taking the possum by the tail. I noticed a puncture wound right at the side of its head. “I’ll take care of it.”
The possum was gamey, but we all ate without complaints. Just like we had been since I started visiting in the first place, we sat by the hearth in the main room to stay warm. Throughout the meal, I kept taking glances at Mícheil. Part of me feared that he would change his mind and not let me talk to him. I kept thinking about how angry he was with me when he thought I’d lied about him. But once he knew the full truth, would he still want me around?
Brigit went to bed first. I paced the floor in front of Sir Hamish’s room, trying to figure out how to begin and what to say. While alone in here, every one of my acts and crimes were haunting me. When those weren’t festering, the brief flashbacks did. It was all a terrible combination. They gave me chills, and I was stricken by them all ever since they began joining as one to torment me. How was I supposed to talk about all these things when I was still trying to process horror after horror?
I tensed up when hearing Mícheil come upstairs. He’d checked the perimeter before bed, like I’d noticed him do every night since I arrived here.
“Coast is clear,” he said. “No guards or spies.”
I nodded. “Can we talk in here?” I gestured towards the door.
He said nothing, just opening it for us. He lit a lamp at the bedside, and he sat down first. I kept fidgeting, trying not to back out of this. He gestured for me to sit with him, but I was too nervous to take up the offer just yet.
“Where should I start?” I asked, keeping my head down.
“Wherever you want.” Mícheil’s voice was soft. “Just remember what I said outside.”
I nodded my head. It was impossible for me to forget. With one last deep breath, I began. “In the weeks before I was taken, I already suspected it. That’s why I didn’t want to go to the physician in the first place. I didn’t want it to be real. I was afraid. Afraid of everyone finding out, of what the Grand Marshal would do, of what you…” I trailed off, wincing. “I didn’t know how to tell you. We had this easy arrangement for so long, but then it was getting more complicated. I didn’t want to get thrown out of the army. People accepted I was a man, but after that? Some would look past that if they saw what was being done to my body.”
“Declan?” He was looking at me. I could feel his eyes on me. But still my head was lowered. “I never would’ve thought any less of you. You know that. Right? And who gives a fuck what the army thinks anyhow? You think they have the right to say what makes someone a man or not?”
“I was still afraid,” I whispered. “But I was going to tell you. Honest. I think you were the only person that I could. You’d set me straight. You would’ve known what to do. You’d shown me that earlier. But at the time, I kept thinking about my Da and how I wasn’t as brave as he was. I didn’t want to be disgraced. You’re right that it wasn’t the right time.” It was only then that I looked up. “But I think we still would’ve been alright, deep down.”
“I’m only angry that I couldn’t have been there for you,” he said. “You must’ve been terrified, going through that alone.”
“I was.” He hadn’t the slightest idea yet. But soon, he would. “When you found me this past week, it was after I had to flee Olnahd. Something happened up there. I started to remember things about my time being captured, things that I wish I could forget all over again.” I had to sit down, but still I was too nervous. I did inch a bit closer. “That thing with the husks? It turns out, it’s reversible. It can be undone. A powerful enough mage can turn it on and off at will.”
“What? How’d you figure that out?” He paused, studying my face. His brow furrowed. “…Declan?”
I started to choke, then, covering my mouth. When he offered his hand, I clutched, squeezing it so tight.
“I had no idea,” I cried. “And to think that they had me do it to so many people. So many fucking people are suffering the way I did, and it’s all my fault.”
“That’s not true. They made you do it.”
I shook my head. “I cannot excuse what I’d done. Being forced in the beginning doesn’t mean I’m absolved. It gives me no right to not take any blame. I worked for the Inquisition. I had a hand in this kingdom’s destruction, no matter how small. Everything that has happened to Sunderland is just as much my fault as it is His Majesty’s. But I don’t know how to reverse it on my own. I don’t know how to give these people back their lives, if there’s any hope for them left.”
“We can try to figure that out,” he insisted. “Once we’re safe from here, we can look into it and do some research. Sunderland can’t be the only place where we’d learn about how this magic works.”
“I hope so.” I squeezed his hand. “Gods, I hope so. I don’t want to think about what’s happening to those other people, if my memories are anything to go by. And even then, there are gaps.” My eyes watered. “Do you have any idea what it’s like to feel like you’re half-dead in a perpetual nightmare? To wake up from it and not know what year it is? To not know how many hands were on you or how many eyes stared at you like you were an animal ripe for slaughter? To look down at yourself and see all the torture, all the scars, the starvation, to see your body look nothing like it did when you last closed your eyes?”
“Declan.” He coaxed me to join him on the bed. I sat beside him, feeling his arm wrap around me. I was still too afraid to lean into his embrace.
“And that’s just what I remember.” I emphasized it with a distressed cry. “And I was so very sick after they took me. Those first few months were the worst. I’d get taken out of the husk state weeks apart, and I’d see how much I was changing without a reason how it was possible. I thought I’d lost her the night they took me. They beat me and branded me.” As I said it, I clutched at the scar over my heart. “But somehow, she was still there. It shouldn’t have been possible.”
“…What?” Mícheil’s hold tightened, and I started to flinch. “Declan, what are you trying to say?”
I gulped. “I think they kept her alive.” I squeezed my eyes shut, my body tightening up in its tension. I didn’t want to see the disgust on his face. “They made me carry her, but I don’t remember most of it. I think they kept me as a husk constantly during that time. Because the only real memory I had was when she was born. It was the worst night of my life, Mícheil. And I still relive it all the time.”
I choked when Mícheil suddenly let go of me. Was he going to throw me out, after all? I had no recourse but to just keep going.
“I only had her for an hour. One of the mages let me hold her. When my time was up, my superior, Morwenna, came to take her away. I didn’t want her to. I wanted to keep her, because I got attached. I know I was so frightened the whole time, but it all changed. I wanted to try. I thought that perhaps I could be a parent that would make my Da proud, or perhaps I’d feel less alone in a place where I didn’t have any of my family to keep me safe.
“But Mistress Morwenna and Dame Siobhan forbade it. I was supposed to work for them, now that she was born. It was either join them, or be a husk forever and die. And if I’d chosen not to work for them, they would’ve killed her. But I still gave them a hard time. She was all I had left. I didn’t want to lose her.”
I turned my whole body away from him, ready to bolt if he threw me out of his home. “After they took her away, that was when Dame Siobhan told me that you all left me for dead. She reminded me that I screamed for you to save me, every night, and that you still hadn’t come. And now that I had your child taken away, then you’d never want to see me again. And my family would never take me back. And I believed her. What else was I left to believe?”
The longer that Mícheil was silent beside me, the worse I started to feel. I rose from the bed, trembling as I felt him hurry to take my hand. I still couldn’t look at him.
“I’m so sorry, Mícheil,” I whispered, practically begging for his forgiveness.
“You said you screamed for me to come save you.” His voice was softer than I expected it to be. “What I never told you was that when you first went missing, I was a wreck. I cried each day that we couldn’t find you.”
“Mícheil—”
“I did, Declan.” His voice cracked, making me flinch. “I cried every day. I cried to Major Kastil. I cried around all my men and my superiors. Blazes, I cried in front of Corfield and threatened to kill him multiple times. I cried so much that I thought my eyes would dry out.” He paused, his breathing shaky. “I think that’s where I went wrong. Losing you made me lose myself, for a good while. With you and Brigit both gone from my life, I…”
Concerned at how thick his voice was from emotion, I turned to look at him. His eyes were red as they glistened, tears freely falling from them. He was as much of a wreck as he’d just described while I was missing. He was squeezing my hand, now that we were finally looking each other in the eye.
“I think that’s why I was so quick to believe Robasan. I always thought you trusted me. You were the only one there whose opinion mattered. Fuck the rest of them. You believed in me. You believed that I could be better than who my father was.” He stiffened a bit. “But I became everything he always wanted me to be. I drank a lot. I was cruel. Sure, it was just with words, but that’s more than enough. And I’d like to think that I’d never lay a hand on anyone, especially not my own child. But I just proved myself wrong today by hurting you. I really don’t think I should be trusted, Declan. Perhaps it was better this way.”
I shook my head, quick to take his face in my hands. That made him shudder but not flinch away. “Dunaidh, look at me.” I stood right in front of him. “Look at me.”
When he glanced up, he was further breaking down.
“Don’t believe that shit for a second,” I said with such conviction. “You’re not some brute. You never were. And you are not a Bladesinger. Never forget that. I always knew you weren’t what he wanted you to be. You are a good man. And you know it too, deep down. It was why I fell in love with you.”
Mícheil pulled me into his arms, devolving fast and just wanting to keep me close. And I held on just as fiercely. “I’m sorry,” he sobbed. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you when you needed me.”
I shook my head as I wept. “And I’m sorry I ever doubted you.”
We were quiet for a little while, just trying to calm down while listening to each other’s breathing. But it was a good quiet. A calm one. In that time, I sat back down on the bed so he could hold me better. It was just like how he used to, with his arms around me while I settled on top of him with my head on his chest. His fingers slowly carded through my hair.
“Do you have any questions?” I asked after a while, my voice soft. “Don’t be afraid of hurting me.”
There was a pause. “They didn’t… harvest her, did they? When they took her away…”
I blinked. It didn’t occur to me that he still thought that she was gone. No wonder he was so heartbroken. I tilted my head up. “Giving her up was one of the hardest decisions I ever had to make. But I was hoping that it’d be temporary. I thought that if I did well enough among the Inquisition that maybe I could get a house and take her back in.”
“What?” He froze, glancing down at me. “What you mean? Is she…?” he stammered.
I turned my body a bit so I could face him better. One of my hands reached up to take hold of his cheek. “She was sent to Olnahd, to Miss Teleri’s Home for Displaced Children. That’s where she’s been staying this whole time. She’s nearly three, you know. She was born on the seventh of Dailaph. You’d better not forget.”
“W-wait.” He sat up a little more. “You mean that you… w-we…?” It saddened me that he was starting to cry again. “Declan, are you serious?”
I nodded, growing nervous once more. “She’s well taken care of up there. I’ve seen her. She seems like she’s happy, because if she’s anything like you, then something will always make her smile.”
His lower lip quivered. “We have a daughter?”
I nodded again. “Please, don’t cry, Dunaidh. You’ll make me cry all over again.” Despite the warning, my eyes weren’t dry in the slightest. I stroked his cheek, and he held me a little closer.
“Well, what’s she like?” A smile began to slowly form on his face. He was sniffling despite it. “You’ve seen her?”
“Yes. But I only had a small visit,” I confessed. “I wish I got to talk to her more. But she has this adorable smile. She’s shy, but she can be funny, too. And she’s perfect. She looks just like you.”
He laughed, quick to try and dry his eyes. “No way. If she’s perfect, she can’t look like me. Have you seen me?”
I shook my head. “She has my nose, perhaps. And the same-colored hair. But that’s all. She’s a lot like you in every other way. And she has your eyes. They’re just as beautiful on her.”
His cheeks got a little flushed. “Now, you’re just blowing smoke up my arse.”
“Dunaidh.” I snorted, giving his shoulder a light smack. “Take the fucking compliment.”
“Make me.” As he grinned, he started to falter. “D’you think I’ll ever get to see her?”
“I want you to,” I said. “I wish we didn’t have to leave in such a hurry. I’d take you right to her.”
He sighed, leaning close. Our brows pressed together as he settled. “Do you think she’d like me?”
I smiled. “I think she’ll soon enough have you wrapped around her finger.”
“Perhaps, she will,” he chuckled. “You’re a good father, y’know, for what it’s worth.”
I wanted to deny it, but I let it stick. “And you’ll soon be a better one than I ever could hope to be.”
“I doubt it,” he teased. “What’s her name?”
“Branwyn.” I watched his face, relieved that he was reacting well to it. “Branwyn Dunaidh.”
“You…” He breathed out, and he was careful when holding my face. His thumb stroked over the scars on my lips. “You named her after my mother.”
“I did.”
We shared a long look after that, our breathing in time now. Mícheil’s joy crested beyond his sadness, and his strokes grew more tender. With us being this close, I felt myself relax. I hadn’t realized that I pressed a kiss to his mouth until I felt him hold me just a little tighter.
Dread started to set in. I didn’t want to do this again if it was only the two of us having an arrangement. I needed more. I retracted a little too fast, feeling an icy chill down my spine. But Mícheil was blushing, his infuriatingly lovely blue eyes wide in surprise.
“I-I’m sorry. Fuck…” I shuddered, all at once too embarrassed to look at him. “We’d just talked through everything, and I don’t want to ruin it all over again—”
I gasped, cut off as Mícheil took the back of my head in his hand and brought me closer for another kiss on the lips, this one fierce. I was frozen, too afraid to do anything. But as he kissed me, his other hand held my waist.
I parted from him to stutter. “L-listen, don’t do this to take pity on me.” I shivered when he kissed me again. Or did I kiss him? “W-we need to talk about this…” Another kiss. “…before we do something we regret.” Another kiss. My lips were drawn right to his. “I’m serious.”
He hummed softly against my lips, his grip on my waist tightening. My arms reached up to take hold of his head, my fingers curling into his hair.
“If you thought that I’d regret that, you’re mistaken.” A small smile was forming on his face once more.
“You jest at a time like this?” I tried to deflect, to draw him away from looking at me. This wasn’t real. This was a dream.
“Declan.” His touch was still tender on my face, his gaze flicking down to my lips once more.
I cupped his cheeks in my hands. “Mícheil?” His face was real. The way he looked at me was real. His lips? Definitely real. But still, I needed to deny it. “I don’t want to wake up.”
He shook his head. “This isn’t a dream.”
“But this is too good to be true.” I tried to suppress a whimper. “After everything I said… everything I did.”
“After everything I did to you, you still kissed me.”
“I love you.” I could feel tears again as I confessed with no room for him to try and deflect. “I loved you for all these years, even when I tried to hate you. So, this can’t be another arrangement. I won’t go through that again.”
Mícheil’s thumb was still gentle against my scars, almost reverent. I looked down to see him take my hand. “What can I do to prove that this is real? That I love you too, Declan Sutharlan, and that I should’ve told you that a long fucking time ago.”
My heart pounded. “Kiss me?” The full request was starting to die on my tongue, but I forced it out. “Kiss me again. Like you mean it. Like you love me. Like you would die before you got to do it again.”
His face got redder. “If this wasn’t a dream, I’d do more than just kiss you.”
“Then, do it.”
I lost my breath as I was pulled by the waist, seated now on his lap. Before I could protest, insist that he didn’t have to take it this far, he guided me for a heated, passionate kiss. It was more lascivious than I expected, so breathtaking and more than I could’ve expected.
If this was a dream, then it was about to be the best one I ever had.
I clung to his shoulders, gathering up his shirt in the process. I waited for a break in the kiss to pull it off him. I tossed it away as he made quick work with mine. My body twitched and jolted while his hands roamed over bare skin.
For a moment, I feared that his eyes would linger too long on my scars. I thought that he’d point out the pale marks where my body was stretched as it grew. I thought he would make a comment about the brand on my breast, which soon was exposed as he unlaced the garment. It was the only article of clothing that he was gentle with removing.
However, despite the visible shock on his face, he didn’t say a word. I was relieved at that.
“I missed you,” he whispered as he pulled the garment away, his hands roaming up my sides as he pressed hot kisses to my neck and shoulder. “I missed you so fucking much, Declan.”
I trembled above him at the attention, failing to suppress a moan. I was just as desperate to hold onto him, to know that I could touch him and was being touched. I missed him too. I missed how he took care of me and how much he loved my body. His tenderness and affirmations were why I never slept with anyone else. I only trusted him to take care of my body the way that it deserved.
Whatever I was thinking to tell him was lost. I tilted my head back, focusing on how slowly his hands glided down to untie my breeches. Mícheil lifted his hips up so I could yank his down, and it was a struggle getting mine off while we were desperate to keep contact just like this.
Soon, I was flipped. He had me on my back to pull the rest of my clothes off. His lips were soon on me once more, coaxing me to arch into his touches.
“Oi, Dunaidh.” As the thought came back to me, I couldn’t help but grin. “How pissed would your father’s ghost be that we’re fucking on his bed?”
He smirked. “Well, he’ll certainly be boilin’ in the Blazing Hells while I do this.” His lips trailed lower down my body. “And this…” He parted my legs, kisses lingering just under my ribs.
I pushed at his head with a snort. “You’re insufferable.”
That made him laugh once more, his stubble scratching under my navel as he kissed lower, and lower…
I choked, covering my face for a moment as I felt his mouth on me. Gods, how I missed that, too. His lips made quick work to give me pleasure, his hands parting my thighs on either side of me. “F-fuck,” I gasped, my hand coming down to grip his curls. Mícheil was determined, like a man starved, to feast upon me like it was the last meal would ever have. And perhaps it was, because if he tried to tease me, I was going to kill him.
His arms moved and changed positions. One still held me open, a grip tight on my thigh as it was bent back. His tongue was doing devilish work against my cock, and he pressed intermittent hot kisses against it while soft hums gave it rippling tremors. As I reached back to grip the headboard behind me, I felt where his other hand roamed.
His fingers stroked me, coaxing my attention to see if I wanted them inside. My hips rutted, and I wheezed while trying to look down at him and nod. He was oddly gentle, one finger pressing slowly into my cunt.
I shivered, feeling each thrust in and out coupled with the work done with his mouth.
“Th-that doesn’t—” I tried goading, but I was cut off by a moan. “D-do it like you mean it, I said. That’s not… hah.”
He pulled his mouth off my clit, gasping for breath as his kisses ran up my thigh. “You said to kiss you like I meant it, sir.”
“I changed my mind. I hate you,” I muttered, though I was losing my bite. I lost it a long time ago. “Now, you get smart?”
My hips jolted as his finger pumped faster, in and out. I tried nodding my head, though my body was useless to do anything other than impulsive responses.
“Better?”
“Fuck off!” I breathed out a whine. Despite my annoyance, he kept increasing the pace, his thrusts firm. But I needed more. “Use your mouth again?”
Mícheil made no further jabs, showing mercy as he coaxed another finger to press inside me. Soon, nothing could come to mind. All I could think about was how good this felt. Even the slight burn from his stubble against my thighs felt nice. At least I could feel something. Something other than stressed or troubled.
I tried to keep quiet, mindful that we weren’t alone. But as he was fucking me with his hand and humming against my cock, there was little resolve I had left. My legs began to thrash, a foot pressing into Mícheil’s back. I was desperate to cling to something, and I pressed his head closer between my legs so that he couldn’t pull away from me this time.
I didn’t know I was close until it was suddenly upon me, a fiery rope coiling tight and threatening to consume me. My thighs began to close around his head, trapping him there. From there, keeping quiet was not an option as I found myself begging, just like I used to when he’d fuck me like this.
I let out a cry as it all released, and not once did his movements stop. It made the sensation drag through me and choke me.
My legs were shaking by the time Mícheil pulled his mouth away, his fingers still inside me. He was catching his breath. I was in a daze, observing the softness to his eyes and a reserved submission. It was a look I rarely saw on him. It ignited a new urge, one that coursed through my entire being.
I wanted to make this man squirm.
“Declan?” He withdrew his hand. “Are you alright? Was that…?” He trailed off. “Was that what you wanted?”
I took him by the shoulders, hauling him up to face me properly. I brought him close to kiss me, shivering at how hot his body was against mine. I tried to ignore the taste of myself on his tongue, focused more on rewarding him.
“Turn over,” I mumbled against his lips, eliciting a confused sound out of him as I ran my tongue over his lips. “On your back.”
Mícheil started to nod, following my instructions. As he rolled over, he brought me up on top of him. I could still feel a tremor in my thighs as I slowly sat above him, taking deep breaths. I was caught by how flustered he was. It was endearing.
“Nervous?” I hummed, reaching back. His cock was stiff in my hand, and I teased it with slow strokes.
He shuddered, his hips rolling up. “Well, you look like you’re about to eat me right now,” he gasped, letting out a shy laugh.
I grinned, letting go of him in favor of leaning down. I felt his body relax as I gave him a deep kiss, and I held his head in one hand and his shoulder in another.
“Oh, I’m not going to eat you,” I breathed, giving him another kiss. My hand caressed his cheek, and I coaxed him to part his lips with my thumb before letting my fingertips settle in its place. “I’m going to fuck you. And then you’re going to fuck me so hard I’ll see stars. Got it?”
Mícheil sputtered, letting out a yelp of surprise as my other hand reached down to grope his arse. He was quick to nod his head, letting me press my fingers into his mouth.
I sat up once more, letting him relax. At the same time, I felt him touch me with his fingers, and I welcomed it with steady rolls of my hips. He watched me all the while, his vision unfocused and hazy.
“That’s enough,” I hummed, letting him retract his fingers as he released mine. I shifted to let him turn on his hands and knees. “Gods, I’ve been wanting to do this for so long. Does your dear ol’ Papa have oils in here?”
“Gods…” He hid his face in the pillow for a moment. “I have some in that drawer. Arsehole.”
I grinned, quick to grab them. “How lovely of you to be prepared, Dunaidh.” I rewarded him with a soft kiss to one of his shoulders. I took my time with getting my hand ready, watching him squirm while waiting. “Ready?”
He nodded, his face red as I kneaded his arse and pressed a kiss to his hip. His fingers curled into the pillow when I stroked against him as a warning, and I was careful with my prodding, easing one digit inside him.
I heard him hiss and felt him tense up against my hand.
“You alright, Dunaidh?” I whispered, my free hand caressing his thigh.
I watched him nod again. “S-slow?”
I pressed another kiss to his hip. “Slow. We’ll stick to two if it’s too much.”
My hand moved to stroke his cock again, and I didn’t try to move my finger until I felt him shudder and heard his first little groan. It was gradual, just like the first time I took him inside me. His breath kept hitching and stuttering, and his moans were flustered and bashful.
“D’you like this, Mícheil?” I stroked him faster as a reward, ramping my pace up a little with the other hand. “You like when I fuck you?”
He was quick to nod. “Yes,” he gasped, his voice higher than I ever heard it. “Declan. M-more?”
I was careful when pressing in another finger, rewarding him with more tender kisses. He whined softly, making me pause for a moment, but he urged me to keep going. My fingers stroked deeper inside him, the faster that I moved. I paid attention to his sounds, making sure he wasn’t hurt.
Even his moans were higher in pitch, and his hips rutted back to fuck himself. As I pressed deep inside him, I suddenly felt him jolt under me, letting out a startled cry. I started to worry I hurt him, but he was clinging tighter to the pillow, his body moving with my hands.
“Declan!” He moaned as I crooked my fingers once more. “Fuck, right there! That’s so good.”
He was writhing under me now as I fucked him. I did everything he begged for, relishing in the way he cried for me and squirmed. There was a rush of satisfaction, knowing that I was the one that got him to look like that, to sound like that. And one day, I was going to make him scream for me. If he thought this was good, I couldn’t wait to ruin him.
But tonight was not that night. He was close. I could tell. I wanted to say aloud that it was time to change things up, but I fancied the idea of him making me change it. So, after another soft stroke of whatever lovely spot inside him was making him cry, I retracted my hand, goading him to make the next move.
He was boneless at first, near to tears. But when he noticed that I was letting go of his prick, as well, he seemed to take the hint. His legs were a little shaky, but soon he sat up, practically pulling me to him. The kiss he gave me was feral, desperate, and I was quick to grab him by the hair once more. His teeth tugged lightly at my lower lip.
When the kiss broke, he switched our positions with a dizzying speed. I was pressed down into the bed on my back. He stayed over me, spreading my legs wide.
“Like we could die tomorrow?” He was breathless, squeezing my thighs as he held them down. He still had such an adorable haze to his eyes.
I was still in charge.
I nodded briskly, pulling him down to kiss me. “Like I will die right now if you don’t fuck me,” I muttered.
My mouth fell open as he pressed inside me with a swift motion. Even if it’d been way too long, the burn gave me a thrill. He was going to break me, and I wanted him to. My hands scrambled to take hold of his shoulders, but he gave me little reprieve as he drew his hips back before thrusting forward once more.
It started out slow but firm, each slam of his hips forcing a strangled moan out of me. He nuzzled his face against my neck just to abuse it with hot kisses and bruising nips, his hands gripping tightly at the pillows on either side of my head. I clung to him with my legs and desperately clawed at his back.
“M-Mícheil,” I stammered when I could form coherent words. It was all I could say, just like the very first time he fucked me. “Mícheil… Mícheil!”
My cries grew more stuttered as he fucked me, thrusting hard into my cunt over, and over with such speed that I couldn’t recover. I found myself screaming, goading him and encouraging him. The bed started to jolt with the force, ramming repeatedly against the wall in quick succession.
“That’s it!” I cried and nodded my head. “That’s it! Yes—yes! Harder. H-harder!”
The cresting wave was white hot as it began to build. It was geting tighter, and tighter, not quite peaking. It went on for an eternity, making me sob over broken cries. His own rushed, desperate moans were muffled into my shoulder.
One of my hands darted down between us. I couldn’t take it, shuddering as I rapidly stroked myself. If I died right now, I wanted it to be right at the end of the climb, not during it.
I was wailing, my throat raw. It peaked in a sudden freefall, and I convulsed and thrashed with each tempestuous wave.
I was falling, falling…
When I could catch my breath, I felt Mícheil shudder as he was coming undone, as well. He panted hard, holding me so close that I couldn’t help but still cling.
Not much was said after that. Mícheil did so well that the poor thing was exhausted. I didn’t tease him for it, this time around. I just let him relax and hold me as he was dozing. I snuck a couple kisses to his lips, amused that it gave him this drowsy little smile.
“Mícheil?” I stroked his hair. “Did you end up seeing if there were letters for me?”
“Mhm.” He mumbled and nuzzled my shoulder. “My coat…”
“Thank you, dear.” I gave him one more kiss. “Get some sleep. We’ll talk more in the morning.”
I waited until he was fast asleep before attempting to get up. He truly did a number on me, but I missed the ache. I kept the lamp on so that I could read the letters.
The first one had me stricken. It was from my father. I didn’t have the strength to try and open it, let alone read it. I was afraid that perhaps Brigit truly was wrong after all. So, I put it away. The other, however, took whatever fatigue I was starting to feel and killed it.
It was from Inquisitor Kindrick.
I was quick to open it, my hands shaking.
10 Sialy in the Year 1271
His Majesty’s Outpost, Olnahd, Sunderland
To Inquisitor Declan Sutharlan,
I don’t know what lies in wait for you, once you return to Kressie. I don’t know if this letter will reach you well. But a deal is a deal. You paid me twenty marks to treat this situation with care.
It is with great regret that I inform you that Mistress Teleri Moore is once again noncompliant with the tithe. Not only that, but with tensions suddenly rising on account of the Blood of Iantinus’ rebel faction, it appears that she has chosen to side with their cause. Such crimes are not to be taken lightly, Inquisitor.
She has been placed under arrest. I have located Branwyn Dunaidh for you, and I am bringing her to you as promised to Kressie’s outpost. I wish you the best of luck, given your current predicament.
Sincerely,
Inquisitor Marc Kindrick
I dropped the letter after reading it, taking a glance at the bed. Mícheil was still sound asleep, but my heart was pounding. According to that letter, he should’ve arrived with Branwyn today. Sinéad wouldn’t have tried to manipulate him with what she ended up telling him. Instead, I could see her trying to ransom her, or put her life on the line, or make Mícheil face a truth he hadn’t been ready for.
An Inquisitor bringing a child with him to Kressie would’ve been the talk of the town. But it was quiet there. It was quiet in Balhreid. Where is Kindrick?
I felt sick, even as I tried to get some sleep. Perhaps he was just running late. Right? We could try and find him in the morning. That was all. But something told me that it wasn’t that simple. With our lives in danger, I couldn’t help but fear the worst.
Where was my daughter?
Chapter 27: Tobias
Summary:
Tobias is entering the final phases of his plan.
His family is catching on, and they try to warn him.
Once he follows through on his act of revenge, there is no going back.
Notes:
This AWFUL downturn in this negative character arc was brought to you by "The Noose" by A Perfect Circle.
Content Warnings
Graphic Torture, descriptions of rot and decay, graphic violence, fire injuries, emotional manipulation, Animal Death, implied/referenced necrophilia, Self Harm, Grief, self-destructive behavior
Chapter Text
Tobias
One of my spells was triggered in the middle of the night.
I’d figured out how to place wards of detection near my father’s estate before I started my crusade. I had them on the grounds, down the road, and even in the far corners of Kressie and Balhreid. I was preparing for the final phase of my plan. The Baleful Detonation. With all the pieces lining up, the Inquisition would have their best mages sent our way. And I would be ready for them.
I had to travel quite a bit to find where it was triggered. It was further up the road from the estate. The closer that I got to it, the quicker I realized that I had my mark.
It was a cart with a broken wheel. The man that drove it was not of the main Inquisitors around here, though I recognized him. That could only mean that he was the pathetic one from Olnahd. I heard his flustered whines as he struggled with lifting the cart.
“Oi.” I called out to him, leaning hard on my cane. “You alright there?” It was not too terrible of a pain day, but I wondered if displaying my ailment better would let his guard down a little more.
The mage stood, shivering from the cold. It seemed that he didn’t recognize me. “O-oh, thank goodness,” he smiled, taking a breath. “Please. I need some help. A-as you can see, my cart’s a lost cause.”
His horse snorted and whickered, its tail swishing. Inside the cart’s bed was a large bundle of blankets.
“What’ve you got there?” I pointed towards the cart, coming closer.
“Uh.” He blanched, staying right beside it. “J-just some precious cargo. I need to send it to the outpost.”
“Precious cargo, ay?” My eyes narrowed. “Y’know, you’re a bit far off from the outpost. Heading the wrong direction, in fact.” I approached, reaching to grab the blankets.
“Please, don’t!” He reached out, grasping my arm. “It’s imperative that this cargo goes straight to the outpost. I-I was paid handsomely to bring it there.”
I matched his grip with my own on his arm, slowly squeezing tighter. “Any cargo for you Inquisitors is just more resources you’re stealing from the lot of us.”
At that, all the color began to drain from the mage’s face. “Not this one!”
Just as I reached for the blankets once more, the mage struck me with a burst of smoke.
I flinched back, sputtering and clenching my fists. “You’ll regret that.” It was the only warning I gave before I gathered my own ashes up in my palm.
At that, the mage’s already paling face was stricken with horror. “You… y-you’re the—”
I imbued my serrated blade with the Knife of Draining. I took it from the hilt, swinging hard with one hand and cursing when that missed. The mage ducked, feinting to the left before attempting to strike at me again.
I muttered the command for a shield to be placed around me. When I swung the sword again, he flinched back with a startled cry. I’d nearly nicked him in the side that time. He was quick, and my body was nowhere near as fit as it was in the army days, so he had several advantages. But there was one thing I had that he didn’t.
There were several different ways to cast Baleful Detonation, some that didn’t require nearly the amount of matter to cast it. Smaller bursts of it could kill just one man, if done correctly.
The mage struck out at me with an unseen tether, grabbing me by the back of the neck. I was tugged to the ground by it, and my bum leg took the brunt of the fall. I nearly bit my tongue at the impact. Jerking my head up, I took in drafts from the earth beneath me before shooting back at him with bursts of fire.
He let out a cry, clutching his neck when I aimed a little too high. His hands were shaking, blood seeping out from his fingers. I used this distraction to haul myself to my feet using the cart. My fingers curled into the wood.
The full cast of Baleful Detonation required a constant pool of life sources. I had to concentrate on it in order to keep channeling it. This was my first time attempting to cast a smaller version. I could already feel all the life around me begin to siphon into my reserve. It took from the surrounding trees, the grass and shrubs, and I was startled to hear the horse suddenly drop to the ground.
The mage, who’d previously been stunned, was stricken once more as his eyes widened. “No! S-stop! You’re taking too much! My cargo, it—”
Before he could finish, I released the spell.
Even a small burst had me shielding my eyes. It blasted through the forest, destroying everything it touched. The trees were husks of what they once were, ready to crumble and fall away. Several animals that were settled in those trees collapsed hard to the forest floor. Their bodies were merely bones and spoiling meat, the flesh rotted away. The ground below them was black and charred.
I’d missed the mage.
He was just shy of the spell’s path, trembling violently and staring out at the cart with hollow eyes.
“W-what was that?” he gasped. “What have you done?”
I glared at the mage.
He only looked more horrified. “What have you done?”
“Something that I should’ve done the day you bastards took everything from me.”
With that, I struck him hard with my cane across the side of his head.
He dropped right away, collapsing on the ground. I tested that he wouldn’t wake with a light kick of my boot. I did a once over of the cart, albeit brief. It was still a little too dark to make much out. Perhaps I would check it later, if bandits didn’t get to it first. Shrugging my shoulders, clutching tight to my cane, I prepared for the long haul as I dragged the mage back to the estate by his ankle.
My sheets were stained with my blood. After so many rituals to touch Lucian for only an hour at a time, I found myself not caring. This ritual’s stains were no different.
I’d just climaxed, shuddering after having Lucian bent over with his face buried in the pillow. I was still catching my breath, trailing kisses up my spine.
“An hour’s not long enough,” I grumbled, nuzzling his hair.
“But you handle it with such grace,” he grinned.
“Only for you, love.”
He shifted onto his back, reaching up to stroke my cheek with a frigid hand. “You should ask Druiminn for permission to go to Olnahd. Just to get a rise out of him,” he smirked.
I chuckled. “Perhaps, I will.” I stroked his left cheek, looking to run my thumb over my favorite freckle. Only…
I frowned. I couldn’t see it. I’d memorized every aspect of his face. But something was wrong. It was bothering me, a pin prick on the back of my neck. That mark was not there…
“Tobias?” He frowned. “Are you alright?”
Shaking my head, I shrugged. “Must be tired, is all.” I got up from bed. “Our hour’s almost up. And I need to question my prisoner later.”
“Don’t start without me,” he teased.
One last kiss before he’d fade. “I love you, Lucian.”
He smiled his fondest smile. “I love you too, darling.”
Another pin prick. Lucian never called me anything other than my own name. Before I could ask him what that was for, he was gone.
My tunic had dirt stains, and my bum leg throbbed where I’d cut it. The blood would seep into my trousers. Alasdair would just have to keep his comments to himself. Rolling my shoulders, I headed downstairs for lunch.
Ewan and Alasdair had Arthur with them in the dining hall. Arthur was fidgeting with Theodulf’s sword again. I knocked on the doorframe, and they all looked up.
“Ah. Just the man I wanted to see.” Ewan gestured to one of the empty chairs. “Come sit, Tobias.”
I frowned, doing as I was told. “I hope this won’t take long. I was hoping to start my way up to Olnahd today.”
He frowned. “What’s up there in Olnahd?”
“Some supplies.” I shrugged. “I need to bring them down here, since the people in Kressie are starving.”
“Well, I’m grateful for their resources, then.” He sighed. “Well, this afternoon I have tidings that I think will please you.”
“Oh?” I tilted my head. A change in pace… however brief. “What is it?”
“Tobias.” Arthur was giving me this small smile. “We got news from Finn.”
“Finn?” I frowned. “Nay.” I shook my head. “Finn is dead, Arthur.”
“I saw him,” he insisted. “He was here while you were away. He arrived from Adinely, and he’s heading north.” He held up a letter in his hand, waving it like a banner. “Read this one first. That’s the one we all got.”
My frown hadn’t faded. No one had heard anything from the group Lucian was supposed to travel with. How could this be? If it was the real Finn, then why did it take so long?
“It is a trick.” Lucian’s ghost was guiding me. “Do not heed their words.”
I shrugged my shoulders. “Well, I’ll see what it says for myself.” I held out my hand.
Arthur handed it to me from across the table. As I unfolded it, Ewan and Alasdair were speaking about some kind of traveling group or other. I didn’t care to listen to further details. Whatever it was, it wouldn’t further my cause.
The letter was written in our military cypher, which Lucian had taught to me when he was exchanging letters with his brother this past summer.
27 Penemph in the Year 1271
Adinely, Sunderland
To Colonel Druiminn and Company,
This letter will come as a shock to you, for we presumed that we were left for dead at the Fall of Gurindeck.
That had only ensured our own safety as we fled following the intended escape plan. We had been in Adinely for the past fortnight, gathering reconnaissance before we continue our flight further north across the Brømkhaldic border. It is better for us all if we flee Sunderland indefinitely.
His Highness survived his injury, and he is under our protection. He intends to preserve what little of the true royal lineage is left and lie low. Perhaps one day it will be safe for him to return. Let us hope that there will be a Sunderland to go back to by then.
Oskar Reknas and Aeryn Sutharlan are also alive and well, as well as Brya. She is a handful, but she is a reliable hound.
We will be heading for Brømkhald soon, once we have procured sufficient supplies. There is a port town called Berusær in the northwest. Any other correspondence should be posted there for us to receive it, should the means be feasible.
I hope that this letter finds you well.
Sincerely,
Finn
I was tempted to tear this letter to shreds. Lucian’s ghost was right. How dare they conjure this story up. Lucian, alive? They were either mad or playing me for a fool. I glared up at the group, who seemed to have no clue how furious I was.
“Is this some kind of joke?” I snapped. “Who wrote this? Arthur?” I pointed an accusing finger at him. “Alasdair?” He frowned at me in response. “Perhaps any of the other cohorts were behind this. What about Sealy? Isn’t he in charge of the post?”
“Tobias.” Ewan’s eyes widened. “Sealy himself brought these correspondences safely to us at the risk of his very life. Show a little more respect.”
“Respect for a fake letter?” I threw it at him.
“It’s not a fake, Tobias!” Arthur held that same letter like it was the greatest treasure in the world. “I know Finn’s handwriting. I know how he writes, too. Almost like how he talks.” He held it closer.
“Well, one of you is lying.” I heaved myself up from the chair, holding onto the table for leverage. “It’s not possible that Lucian survived. I watched him die!” I jerked my head to Arthur. “He was there. He saw it, too.”
“Tobias, we never actually checked—”
“We watched him die!” My anger broiled right beneath the surface. “I would never have left him, if I knew there was any chance he could’ve survived.”
“I can’t take much more of this.” Alasdair got up, holding Ewan’s hand and squeezing it. “I’ll be in the parlor.”
“Oi, while you’re over there, why don’t you tell those other soldier fucks not to pull a joke like this on me again!” I shouted after him, even as the door slammed.
Ewan glowered at me. “Something is wrong with you.”
“Is that a question or a fact?”
“Tobias?” He winced, taking a deep breath. “Look. Anyone that lived through your situation would understand what you are going through. The anger and the denial… I know what you’re feeling.”
“You don’t know shit.”
“Tobias, I need to talk to you about what you’re working on in the cellar.”
I blanched, staring right at Arthur. “You told him?!”
“I-I didn’t say anything!” He held his hands up. “I tried to stop him from going down there. He needed to grab something from his stores.”
I grimaced and pinched the bridge of my nose. “So, what? You want me to stop? You want me to lie down like a dog and let those Inquisitors fuck us?”
“No. I want you to be honest with yourself.” He got up. “Come with me.”
I glared after him, limping while following. I could hear Arthur walking, as well.
They both brought me down to the cellar. In the middle of the day, it looked worse than it actually was. I still could not get rid of the scorch marks on the walls. The floor was grimy from the soil. I had bloody bandages on the table.
Ewan stood in the middle of the cellar and stared right at me. “What have you been doing down here?”
I glowered. “You wouldn’t understand.”
“Then, help me understand,” he said. “When I first took you in, you swore to me that you never wanted to use that magic again. Now, you are performing experiments with it? Alasdair is furious with you, now that he knows it was you that destroyed his garden. And the side of the forest untouched by maleficium is dying, uprooted. Are you bringing animals down here, as well?”
“No.” Arthur answered that for me. “I put a stop to that.”
“Animals would offer more sustenance for my magic than plants. I wouldn’t have had to destroy Alasdair’s garden, if he’d let me bring in a rabbit. Or a rat. Hell, I could bring in a cluster of snakes.”
Ewan appeared more concerned. “If there are no animals involved, where did the blood come from?”
I didn’t want to say anything in response, but I thought about where it came from. I had to test how well I could heal wounds with my spells. I wanted to see how far I could push it. As it turned out, I only nearly died twice.
Plus, all the rituals. So many rituals. Some days, I performed four of them, just so that I could be with Lucian a little longer.
“Where did the blood come from, Tobias?”
I looked away from him.
Seeing as he was not getting an answer, he stopped pressing. “Very well. Then, help me understand your plan.”
I still couldn’t look him in the eye. “I killed Moira.” I never admitted that to him before.
That made him go slack. He lowered an arm. “You did?”
I gave a curt nod. “I used my magic to do it.” He was stunned to silence, watching me. “I killed her for what she did to you. And I killed her because she was the one that killed Lucian.”
“Tobias, we just got confirmation from Finn—”
“And you believe that?” I scoffed. “Anyone could have impersonated Finn and wrote in his hand. The Inquisitors are trying to get information out of us, are they not?”
“Why would an Inquisitor tell us to send a letter to Berusær, Brømkhald, of all places?”
“To intercept us, obviously,” I muttered. “For someone that claims to be on top of their nonsense, you sure don’t have a large enough imagination to see the bigger picture.”
“Tobias, what are you planning?”
I crossed my arms. “Moira told me, before I killed her, that the only way to stop them is by using thanaturgy against them.”
“Not true,” Arthur clipped back. “I’ve gathered enough research into Ulfgírðafang. Weapons like it can be used to combat them. Divine weapons. I still think we should’ve gone north!”
“I’m not chasing a wild tale,” I snapped. “I’m focused on the now. We don’t even know how that imbuement even works. What would be the point of going on some fool’s errand to rely on that?”
“It’s something that doesn’t involve destroying all of Sunderland with that Book of yours.”
“Watch it,” I snapped.
Ewan froze. “…What book?”
“Tell him, Tobias!” Arthur glared at me. “Tell him how you’re even doing these experiments in the first place.”
I started shaking with my growing anger. “I have The Black Book.”
Sweat began to bead at my father’s brow. “But… how? Where did you get it?”
I shrugged my shoulders. “Down here in the cellar. Where else?”
“I had it hidden.” Ewan’s hands shook. “Where is it now?”
“Up in my room.”
“Gods.” He clutched at his scalp. “I knew I should’ve kept it locked away where no one could find it.”
“What, afraid that I’d become too powerful and defeat Iantinus myself?”
“You think that book will help you defeat Iantinus?”
“Well, that’s how I’ve been improving!” I argued. “And soon, I’ll be strong enough to wipe out all his ilk!”
“So, that’s what you’ve been doing this whole time?” he asked. “Obsessing over following our enemy’s tome to the letter while the rest of us were busy preparing to evacuate?”
I bristled. “I wasn’t trying to ‘follow our enemy,’ or whatever the fuck. I was trying to use it to our advantage!”
“You can’t!” He shook his head. “You can never use a tool like that for good. Ever. Its only purpose is to corrupt.”
“That’s what you think,” I spat. “Well, I know better. Lucian and I have been studying it thoroughly while the rest of you had thumbs up your arses.”
“…Lucian.” He didn’t repeat it as a question.
“Aye. Lucian’s ghost.” I couldn’t look at him. “He showed it to me.” I gripped my cane tighter. “That’s how I know that he’s dead. I started seeing him about a fortnight after he died. And we’ve been studying that book and improving. We’ve stayed together. There’s this spell that lets me have him for an hour as if he was alive.”
Arthur looked as horrified as Ewan did. They both stared at me. I could see hints of disgust on their faces.
Ewan swallowed thickly. “Arthur, get that book. Keep it far away from him.”
As I watched my cousin start to move, I jerked towards him. “Arthur, don’t you dare leave this room!”
He stiffened. “Are you threatening me?”
“I’m not going to let you two ruin everything that I’ve built! Not when I’m this close to defeating Iantinus.”
Ewan frowned. “You are sick, Tobias. Very sick. But we can help you. This is not the way to do things. You know it, deep down. What is destroying more forests, mutilating your body, and… whatever you’re doing with what you think is Lucian going to do to bring you peace?”
“Peace?” I laughed, my voice harsh. “You think I want peace? I wanted them to pay for what they’ve done to Sunderland.”
For what they’d done to me, I kept to myself.
“But this plan you’re formulating could endanger innocent people’s lives, Tobias. What are they all going to do, once your crusade is over and there is nothing left to make a living?”
“They’ll figure it out, when the time comes.”
“Tobias!”
“What?” I reached down to my spell pouch, feeling the ashes inside. “They should have fought harder to be heard. You should’ve fought harder!”
Ewan blanched. “It was not the simple, and you know that.”
“It was that simple. You let them kick you around like a dog. And I will not let anyone do that to me.” With ashes gathered up in my palm, I lifted up my hand. “You should have fought. Fought with your blade, not with your words. Words don’t work. If you want something done, you have to force them to make that change.”
“Tobias?” He stepped back.
“We have to kill these mages, one by one, Da. And you know it. The weaker they get, the easier they will be to overthrow. Waiting around, talking with them, rolling over, fucking ourselves waiting for something to happen? That is not the way to do things, either. But I think my way will be far more effective.”
Ewan and Arthur both jumped when they heard a thud in the far corner.
Shit. He was awake.
“What was that?” Arthur frowned.
I groaned softly. “Fine. You want to see my plan, then?”
The color was draining from Ewan’s face. “Tobias…?”
I ignored them both as they called my name. “So, I intercepted a mage this morning. He was heading towards Kressie’s outpost, and his cart broke down. Fortunately, he wasn’t nearly as competent as the other Inquisitors. So, I lured this one quite effectively.”
In the shadows, I saw him. The pathetic young man with blood caked to his hair as he thrashed against bindings and grunted into a gag. His mage robes were tattered after the beating I gave him before shoving him down into the cellar. My bum leg was still sore from how hard I kicked him.
I hauled him over by the collar, not paying any mind to the strangled groans and choking as I pulled him.
Arthur was stammering in panic. “I-I didn’t—Uncle Ewan, I would never have let him do this. I thought it was just plants!”
I shoved the mage into one of the chairs, keeping him seated. He was pale, his eyes glassy as he thrashed and frantically shouted wordlessly into the gag.
“Tobias.” Ewan’s voice was still level. “Who is that?”
I shrugged. “I didn’t bother to get his name. It doesn’t matter who he is. What matters is the information.”
I untied the gag. The young man sniveled while trying to catch his breath.
“Help me,” he gasped outright. “Please, h-help me. He’s mad!”
I cuffed him hard across the face with the back of my hand, shutting him right up. “We are going to try this again one more time, mage. What were you bringing to the outpost?”
“I can’t say,” he stammered quickly. “I can’t. Please, let me go. I need to get back to the cart!”
“Is it something for Iantinus?”
He whimpered. “I’m new. I wouldn’t know anything yet about what he wants. It was either surrender to the tithe or work for the King!”
“That demon on that throne is no king to me.”
“I know this man,” Arthur gasped, interrupting my questioning. “Uncle Ewan, this is Marc Kindrick. He’s the young man that had his family ransomed!”
“Tobias, let him go,” Ewan snapped.
I ignored him, gathering more ashes in my hand. “Do you want to try again, mage?”
“Tobias, stop.” Ewan pressed forward. “This is not how we do things here.”
“Well, your way was useless.”
“This could jeopardize everything we had here!”
“Like what? You mean having a hardened soldier playing host to the most prolific Inquisitor in Sunderland? What did that give you?” I muttered. “This way is much faster.”
“Please!” the mage continued. “I don’t know anything!”
“Tobias, stop!” Arthur warned.
I muttered softly to myself, tracing a large line from the top of the mage’s head and down his ribcage.
“N-no, no, no!” he screamed. “No! I-I don’t know! I swear, I don’t know! Please! Let me go!”
“What are you doing to him?” Ewan reached out to take hold of my shoulder.
I jerked back, muttering a command word. “Teascherah.”
At that, two things happened. First, his skin began to tear, starting from his chest. It was a slow process. If I said the word again, his bones would start to crack. A third time would then split his body down the middle.
The second thing that followed was a throat-tearing scream as he tugged harder at the bindings.
“Stop this!” Ewan grabbed me once more. “Whatever you’re doing, stop it!”
The young man was sobbing and begging for his life, tears streaming down his face.
“Still not willing to say anything?” I frowned, ignoring my father. “Very well.”
“Wait!” The mage’s voice was shrill as he begged. “W-wait! It’s for Declan Sutharlan!”
I paused. “What is?”
“The cargo. The cargo’s for Inquisitor Sutharlan! I-it’s urgent. I need to get back to the cart!” He was sobbing. “If anything happens to his cargo, he’ll kill me!”
Finally. We were getting somewhere. I shot a glare at Ewan. “And you thought it was a bright idea for Sergeant Dunaidh to keep talking to him?”
“Wait.” The mage blubbered. “D-Dunaidh?”
“Quiet!” I struck him in the face, still glaring at him. “Whatever Sutharlan’s planning for that devil, I’ve got them now.”
“But this has nothing to do with Iantinus!” The mage was begging again. “Please, let me go! Please! It’s dire! Life and death!”
“That both tells me everything and nothing,” I frowned. “You will need to give me more to work with.” Without warning, I said the command word again. “Teascherah.”
I watched as his ribs began to break and spread apart from the ghastly opening in his flesh. He bit down hard on his tongue before screaming, blood dribbling from his mouth. His voice was nearly gone.
I didn’t hear any more protests from Arthur or Ewan. Were they even in the room still?
There was barely any life left in the mage, after a spell like that. He was whimpering, a dark stain in his breeches now.
“What are you all planning?” I seethed.
He gave a feeble attempt at talking, but with how broken his ribs were, he was having a hard time breathing. A shame.
“Fix this,” Ewan muttered in my ear.
The young man’s breathing was growing more ragged, and he could barely string two words together. “I-I don’t… w-wanna die.”
Realizing I was not going to get much more out of him, I sighed deeply and reached over to the wall where that serrated sword was being kept. I took hold of the hilt.
“If there is a pit of hell below the earth, that’s where you’re going,” I muttered before giving one quick swing across the mage’s neck.
The body twitched and convulsed after the head was knocked off, before finally it collapsed in a violent display of gore. I dropped the sword on the ground, just turning to see how distraught and horrified both Arthur and Ewan were.
“Well?” I shrugged my shoulders. “I got more information than Mícheil would ever get just talking with that snake of his.” I wiped some blood off my hands. “I’ll clean this up.”
“Out.”
I frowned, reaching down to grab the severed head. “It’ll be like he was never here.”
“Out.”
Ewan’s hands were shaking, an intense fury written all over his face.
I took hold of the head by the scalp and used my cane to trudge back up the steps. I intended to use the whole body for ashes, but having the head for now would do.
After making myself a fire pit, I sat close by, feeling the heirloom steel around my neck between my fingers. The air around me still stunk with burnt hair and flesh. This was one less mage in the world. One less monster responsible for Lucian’s death. And soon, there would be many more, if my plan worked. I was going to see this through. And within the next couple of days, I was going to make them all pay.
Arthur dropped the body right outside the cellar door. His face was still ghostly white, and he stared at me with a new terror.
“What?” I muttered. “It worked, didn’t it? Now, we know that those Inquisitors down there are planning some secret shit to doom us all. Mícheil played right into their hands.”
“That was the wrong way to go about it, Tobias,” he muttered. “What you did in there was barbaric. It was horrific.”
“It got us information, didn’t it?”
“You cannot do that again.”
“I’ll just find somewhere else to interrogate the next one.”
“No, Tobias.” He stepped forward with a glare. “I don’t think you realize how horrified Uncle Ewan was by what you just did. What happened in there makes you no better than the mages that tortured their prisoners!”
“How would you know?” I snapped. “What I did was justified. He was a mage.”
“He was barely an adult!” Arthur shook his head in disbelief. “What are you going to do, if it turns out that Lucian really is alive?”
“If such a thing could happen, I’d drop everything.”
“Then, stop this!” He took hold of my shoulders once he was close enough. “He wouldn’t have wanted you to do this.”
“You know nothing about him.”
“You truly think that he would’ve wanted you to torture and execute mages indiscriminately? You think he would’ve wanted you to destroy more land and more lives for your cause? And once you realize that he wouldn’t have, it’ll be too late to go back and fix this!”
“Fuck off, Arthur!” I got up, leaning my body against the tree. “I have no regrets.”
“Well, here’s how it’s going to be, then.” Arthur stood rigid. “If you ever do that again on my uncle’s property, he will throw you out of his home with just your cane and the clothes on your back and not care what happens to you. And if you ever try this again somewhere else, and I find out, I will not hesitate to execute you myself.”
“Try.” I glared at him.
As we argued, a distant sound made me twitch.
It was far away but high in pitch. It almost sounded like screaming. Perhaps, a dying animal. Too bad Arthur banned me from using them as materials. I could’ve put the poor bastard out of its misery.
Arthur stepped back, the hurt not leaving his eyes as he walked away from me. “I’m going to check that out. When I get back, this shit better be cleaned up properly.”
I rolled my eyes, hearing his footsteps drift further from my spot. No one was going to stop me. In fact, tomorrow was when I decided the riot would begin. My group of rebels and I were going to lead the charge, and those fucking mages were going to quiver in their boots.
Before what remained of the corpse could fester on the ground, I walked over to it and hauled the body to my fire pit. I needed the ashes.
Arialily056 on Chapter 1 Wed 03 Sep 2025 01:03AM UTC
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Alex_Sky on Chapter 4 Mon 28 Jul 2025 01:28AM UTC
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GT Anthony (TheElderVampire) on Chapter 4 Mon 28 Jul 2025 08:05AM UTC
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Alex_Sky on Chapter 4 Tue 29 Jul 2025 04:45PM UTC
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GT Anthony (TheElderVampire) on Chapter 4 Tue 29 Jul 2025 06:10PM UTC
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Alex_Sky on Chapter 4 Mon 04 Aug 2025 03:00AM UTC
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(Previous comment deleted.)
GT Anthony (TheElderVampire) on Chapter 5 Mon 18 Aug 2025 08:41PM UTC
Last Edited Mon 18 Aug 2025 08:41PM UTC
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MelindaEclipse on Chapter 15 Fri 15 Aug 2025 04:02PM UTC
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Sophia_Rose10 on Chapter 26 Sat 06 Sep 2025 10:51AM UTC
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