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Chapter Text

The first time the burlap sack was torn off his head, Titus growled at the fingers that had snagged his hair, glaring up insolently at the men around him.

Only three of them, dressed in cobbled together ensembles of furs and leathers. The two on either side appeared to be bigger and better armed than their leader in the middle. Pale, pockmarked face. Dirt thick under his nails. Bandits.

The back of his head pulsed from where one of them must have cracked him, Titus feeling a bit of tacky blood resting along his collar. He knew he already had a scab on his brow from the scuffle before he was ambushed. On his knees, ankles and wrists bound, Titus snarled and flexed against the ropes but he was restrained securely. Fuckers might not bathe, but they knew their knots.

“Oi, yea, boys. That there’s a Witched-Marked, for sure,” The bandit leader sneered, not at all intimidated by the man before him. “Ain’t think I ever seen one that big before, ‘owever.”

Balefully glaring up, Titus was aware of what the men were staring at; vines crawling from his wrist up against the side of his neck, caressing his bearded jaw. Assholes had stripped him down to his chemise and torn one of the arms to inspect the growth.

Witch-Marks were rare, symbols that signified a soul’s other half, etchings that said that on the other side of the bond was a soul that was touched by the Æther. Most were only blessed with a small symbol or possibly a word; said it was symbolic of how powerful their Bonded was. Some even said that you could feel things through these marks, touch, emotions, pain. Anything from the other side of the tether.

Titus’ simply always felt cold.

He remembered when it all began, watching with the awe only found in children. As if a drop of ink fell in to water it sprawled and twisted over his wrist, coalescing to a small etching on his flesh. It started off as a sweet little flower, something he could imagine a princess scribbling in a book. Over the years one blossomed into a fertile field of petals that encircled his wrist, he got older and vines climbed up in tendrils. Then vines turned to thorns, they stretched past his elbow, then his shoulder, then up onto his neck and coming to soothe along his jaw.

A sweet little flower evolved into a brier, something that grew to stain him with its mark. Its curse.

Just as it marked him for another, it marked him as a pariah. Dangerous.

Æther-Touched were not looked upon kindly in the tiny village he was from; too close to lands once scoured by war. Stories of husbands, brothers, sons lost to the flames and the screams still fresh on many a widow’s tongue. Large swaths of land were near impossible to sow seed, beasts that grazed there grew sick, monsters sniffed more around places tainted.

Even without magic of their own, those promised to ones that did carried a stigma. A threat, even if they were just a small boy with a flower upon their wrist.

Titus was just the son of blacksmith. His father was a soldier of the wars who —aged and weary— retired to a quiet little settlement where wandering eyes wouldn’t judge him for loving his wife. Simple folk didn’t care if a Northerner wed a woman from the Southern Isles. Didn’t begrudge them their happy son who looked like the perfect mixture of them both. He inherited his father’s large stature and his mother’s complexion; black, curly hair and ecogite eyes, handsome if not for his Mark.

“’Ow much do ye think the Crown will pay for this one?”

“Worth a few Silvers at the very least,” One Bandit smirked, accent clearer than their leaders. “This one ain’t even split.”

“’Ooever he’s tied to must be a big fucker,” The bandit chief walked up and tilted Titus’ chin to see more of the vines on his neck, saw the bits now crawling along his clavicle. “Might get a bigger bounty of ‘im up North.”

“With the Witch-King?” One bandit protested, stepping back a little.

“’E’s got bounties out too,” The chief hummed, circling Titus. “’Erd ‘e pays better for em.”

“That’s a long journey for one bounty,” The one with a clearer voice grumbled, a possibly Southerner accent peaking through. “He better.”

“Ain’t saying we can’t find a few other purses along the way,” The chief stopped before Titus and grinned down, leaning into his face. “’Side, this one’s awful easy on the eye, might be able to earn a bit of coin that way too.”

Titus growled and slammed his forehead directly into the man’s already bent nose, the blood splattering onto his face assuring it was broken yet again. Yowling the chief tumbled back, his men laughing at him as he fell into the dirt. Reopening the wound on his brow was worth it, watching the man scramble on his back like a tortoise.

“Oh, yer gonna pay for that, Petal...” The chief grit as he drew his dagger, stopping only when one of his men grabbed him back by his wrist.

“Witch-King doesn’t want any marks,” The taller man reminded in a deep voice. “Better not.”

Titus leered back as the man pointed the dagger at him in warning, ignoring the twinge he felt over his heart. A questioning mark that he’d only received a few time over the years, an almost absent inquiry.

“Hope ye can ride a horse,” The chief growled, turning away and nodding to someone else to deal with it. “We ain’t slowing for ya if ye can’t.”

Titus, in fact, could not ride a horse. They’d had one when he was a child, an old war beast that had the personality to match. After she passed, a new one was too much of an expense to attain another. Not many people in the village had much in the means of large livestock, mostly fowl and sheep.

For him that meant he was tugged along behind, led on a rope like a dog.

They trudged along for what felt like hours before he was bagged again and lead into what was some sort of camp. Titus was shoved ahead and tied to some pole to keep him contained. He hadn’t expected this was how it was going to go when he offered to travel to the next village over to drop off an order for his father. The man had been pleased with the ceremonial dagger he’d commissioned for his soon to be fiance, a beautiful filigree engraved piece that had a pearl inlaid handle.

Luckily, his father would at least miss him more than the final half of the payment. Not that it would equate to much, the Crown didn’t care much for when peasants found themselves kidnapped by bandits.

Night came and Titus was tied up just far enough out of the fire’s aura that the evening’s chill had begun to seep in. The burlap was more gently removed this time, the man before him setting down a small bowl of mysterious stew. It was the same one that calmed the chief down from relieving Titus of his innards.

“You gonna bust my nose if I untie you to eat?”

Titus wet his teeth. “Might.”

“Fair enough,” The man chuckled. He was probably about on par with Titus for size, more lanky but still strong, skin darker than his own and hair shorn close. “Dellman.”

Narrowing his eyes, the younger man huffed. “Titus.”

“I’d say well met, but…” The other chuckled, going to his hands. “Boss has got eyes on you; Irvin ain’t strong, but he’s a Mage. No sense in running.”

Hearing there was a Mage in the camp was sobering, cutting down any plans for escape forming in his mind. Titus wasn’t a soldier but he could fight off a man or two, years of smithing with his father had given him strong arms and the know-how of how to swing a weapon. Magic drastically changed that.

“Here,” Dellman gently pressed the bowl into his hands, Titus’ eyes snagging on branded mark on the other man’s hand. “Ain’t a royal feast, but I’ve yet to poison anyone yet. With food, at least.”

The pins and needles in his hands slowly abated, hazel eyes staring at the chunks of meat and root floating about. Dellman sat down next to him, pulling out a small piece of wood and starting to whittle at it. The two sat in a calm silence, neither showing any interest in disturbing it. There weren’t too many men wandering about the small camp, perhaps six at the most, a few horses tied out on the outskirts.

Setting the bowl to the side, Titus rubbed at his wrists and looked up at the canopy overhead.

“You all really selling me to the Witch-King?” He asked, calmer than he should have.

“That’s the plan,” Dellman huffed. “Don’t much like traveling through the Witchlands, too many extra eyes watching. But Boss is right, bounties are a lot higher than those offered by the Crown.”

Pulling his a deep breath, Titus sighed and continued to stare upward, hoping to perhaps spot a few stars. It was the kinder fate, he supposed. Tales didn’t come down from the mountains very often, those who went up seemingly never came back down. Rumors drifted around, there was known to be a stronghold for Mages and other magically inclined beings, the various foothills around commonly called the Witchlands. Being sent to the unknown left a better feeling in his gut than being handed off to the Crown.

King Urlich wasn’t known for being a forgiving man. Much less to those who were Marked. It was common practice in Ribæl to Sever their children, said to protect them from the luring calls of the Æther, to cut them off from their Bonded. Titus found it ghastly, had met others that felt so...empty, aided only by the Familiars at their side. A strange mockery of how Mages themselves had Familiars at their beck and call.

Both sides held an air of mystery about them, but one had a much more lingering threat.

“Odd living for a man who was once sold himself.” Titus commented after some thought.

A much thicker silence settled between the two, Titus almost feeling sorry for bringing up something that was no doubt a painful point in the man’s past.

“We should get you tied back up,” Dellman spoke softly, already testing out the ropes. “Irvin’s getting a little twitchy.”

Rolling his eyes, Titus calmly put his arms behind his back, the other’s rough hands binding them as carefully as he could without harm. Knots were still damn tight, though. Must have been a sailor in a past-life. More likely a pirate.

“I’ll toss a couple more logs on the fire before tucking in,” Dellman smirked a bit as he stood. “Try not to let the night bugs eat ye too heavily.”

“Just might,” Titus flatly snarked, raising a brow. “Out of spite and all.”

Dellman chuckled and flicked a finger a salute to him as he waltzed away.

Watching through the branches eventually got boring, so Titus let his eyes wander to the fire it’s rhythmic movement almost hypnotizing. The soothing movements danced calmly as it crackled and consumed, proving warmth to those in its glow. Eyes drooping, Titus made a brief mental note of his chin touching his chest before he sank into slumber.

The camp was colder when he opened his eyes again, a low fog rolling along the ground. Moonlight drifted through the gaps in the leaves, a gentle wind playing with the mist. Something felt off, as if the edges of his awareness was just slightly blurred, the air feeling too heavy and full. Wispbugs danced between the trees in the dark, but…that was wrong, they didn’t get wispbugs in this part of Bælia.

“Are you going to sit there and gawk or do you actually want to get out of here?” A gruff voice snarked dryly from his side.

Turning his head he was met with the sight of a large boar standing where the voice had come from. Of all the magics in the world, Titus had never heard of speaking beasts. Furrowing his brow, Titus peered at the boar, unlike the ones in the village this one was covered in wiry fur. Wild. The fur moved slightly with the wind, underneath there was something…other, peeks of the cosmos slipping through. Scars scattered across its body, a large one in particular through the right brow. Intelligence sat behind its eyes, whispered something to the memories sitting in the back of Titus’ mind.

Voice low, the human wet his lips.“Do I…Know you?”

“You should.” The beast gruffed.

Looking back around, Titus noted that there were more things that were off; the fire’s glow was still, none of the men sleeping out in the open were breathing, moonlight was too bright as if it were full but when Titus had fallen asleep it wasn’t even half that.

“Where are we?”

“Same place,” The boar spoke, voice familiar but…older. Resonated in the back of his psyche. “Nowhere. Anywhere.”

“That’s…surprisingly unhelpful.” Titus turned his attention back to his companion. Noted the sharp tusks and clean hooves.

“Yes, well, there are rules, Piglet,” The boar shuffled closer, nosing between Titus’ hand and the pole behind him. “Now hold still.”

“What are you doing?” Titus felt his heartbeat race, the edge of one of those tusks whispering on his back. The beast’s jaws were working around, causing him to try and twist to see for himself.

“Trying to help you,” The boar grumbled, voice muffled around the rope in his mouth. “Now if you want to keep all your fingers, you’ll hold. Still.”

“Can I at least get your name?” Titus inquired, exasperated by the strange beast and the situation on a whole. Facing forward and holding as still as possible.

“H’ktr.” Teeth working through ropes didn’t make for solid conversation.

The garble didn’t mean much to Titus but his shoulder sagged as his hands came free. Rubbing at his wrists, he leaned forward to sit up more comfortably.

“You used to call me Tor,” The boar introduced, spitting the gnawed rope out of his mouth. “But it’s been a long time.”

Flashes came across Titus’ mind, images of a small striped piglet and him playing as children; another of the two running through some flowers —his mother’s field—; hiding in a room with the piglet now curled up as a mouse; a puppy pulling at their old hound’s ear. A friend.

“Who…?” Titus shook his head, wondering if perhaps he was struck too hard in the past.

“Not now, come on,” Tor grumbled, trotting away. “The magic we put up isn’t going to last forever.”

“We?” The human stood, shaking himself off, legs numb from being forced to sit for so long.

“You’ve got friends.” The boar stated nonchalantly, only casting a look back at him.

Moving to follow, a sharp pain shot through his mind, causing him to gasp and grab his head.

“Fuck. You need to run,” Tor looped back, nudging him —shoving him— with his side, ridge coming up to the human’s elbow. “I can hold the illusion a little longer. Get some distance between us before they wake up.”

“Run? Run from what?” Titus hissed, recovering from the anguish that crackled between his ears.

“Fuckers got a Mage,” The bristles on the boar rose. “I warned him they might, does he ever listen? No.”

The words didn’t make much sense to him but he could feel the boar’s urgency. Turning to look at the treeline, nothing was stopping his escape. Looking back, Titus felt a sense of regret, not wanting to leave this long lost friend behind.

“What about you?”

“Piglet,” Tor snorted roughly, head tilted back to give the human a glance. His voice softened. “I ain’t even here.”

Maintaining eye contact for a moment, Titus felt conviction, a sense of comfort soothing over him. Giving the beast a firm nod, the human turned on his wobbly legs and made his way towards the border.

“When am I going to see you again?”

“You will. Can’t say when, but you will,” Tor comforted. The world around them giving a sharp ripple. “Now, Piglet! Go!”

Passing the treeline, the wispbugs tittered around Titus for a moment before vanishing completely. Looking over his shoulder, Titus saw the camp how it was before; fire dimmed but dancing; dust motes floated on the air; no giant boar glittering in the moonlight. Normal.

Stumbling, Titus was at least a good fifty meters away when he heard the commotion, torches lighting and shouts bouncing through the trees. Now running, the human avoided as many tangling roots as he could, the occasional one still managing to snag him. Branches reached out to swat him in the face. He wasn’t dressed for a late night run through the woods, his tunic taken from him when he got nabbed. Fortunately, they hadn’t taken his boots, pine needles weren’t known for being kind to bare feet..

An arrow lodged in the tree next to his head, Titus jolting away from it and panicking.

“You ain’t gonna get far, Petal!” The bandit chief shouted into the wilds.

Tripping over an extended root, Titus hit the leaf litter and growled at the feeling of of the stones underneath digging into his hands. Something looped over his thighs, holding him in place. Trying to twist free of it, Titus ended up on his back and saw he was fighting against the wood that had tripped him. Frantically he started clawing at it, feeling the moss tear away under his nails but the bark stood firm.

Panic filled Titus’ chest, rumors of magic shouting in his mind. Reminders of the scars on his father’s body of where it was once licked by mystic flames. The twisted image of a tree trying to grow on tainted land. Poisoned beasts gasping for air as it was deprived from them.

The bandit chief stomped over, looking pissed and snarling. He kicked Titus firmly in the chest onto his back.

“Don’t know how ye did it, Pretty,” The man stomped over and bracketed Titus between his feet, one boot making point to step on his hand. “Fancy fucking trick. But ye ain’t going to get to do it again.”

Dellman tripped into vision, out of breath. “It ain’t worth it, Boss. He’s more to us alive.”

“Could rough ‘im up,” The man growled out past his rotting teeth. “Got weeks before we get to the Calderan Mountains. Could always convince ‘em that we found ‘im like that.”

Faced with just a man, Titus snarled, decided to fight back. Fingers grasping at a loose branch he took the opportunity and swung. The resounding crack was glorious, the rotting wood splintering against the side of the chief’s knee, causing the limb to buckle. The man yowled and stumbled off.

“Shit!” Dellman scurried forward, securing Titus’s arms above his head. “Fucking don’t, trying to save yer life. He ain’t gonna be inclined if you keep hitting him.”

There was a panic in the man’s dark eyes, something more than just the thought of an escaped payday. Titus wanted to rebel, lips thinning in rage. But he knew when he was beat.

“Tie him up,” The chief spit —literally spit!— hitting Titus on the cheek. “’E tries anything else, we’re gutting ‘im and selling whatever’s left to Ulrich.”

Ever since his failed escape effort, Titus hadn’t tried again, and he was kept under much stricter lock and key. He wasn’t given the opportunity and he hadn’t seen his dream visitor again, it left him…worried. His captors kept him fed just enough to ensure he could trudge along behind a horse, barely letting him any privacy to even piss and only occasionally tossing him in the creeks when he began to stink too heavily. His feet were no doubt blistering and the ropes had eroded away at his skin, the scabs occasionally tearing and causing him to bleed again. Titus hadn’t lived in the lap of luxury as a peasant, but not even in the roughest of winters had he ever felt like this.

Dellman tried to speak to him occasionally, but most the time Titus wasn’t in the mood for it or one of the others warned him off. It left him to wonder more about the man, he had more of a conscience than any of the others. Didn’t earn him any favors in Titus’ book, but it kept him out of his ire.

The icy coldness along his right arm felt distant, tiny hints of worry and attempts at comfort coming through. It made Titus wonder what his Bonded was getting from his side, he’d never spent much time trying to communicate through the Mark. The constant indifference throughout his life had taught him not to.

The trek through the outskirts of Crynnberg and to the Witchlands was uneventful, the bandits staying mostly off the beaten path, leaving in small groups to cause other mischief only rarely. The woods faded to more open fields the closer they got, still a good week’s ride out. Small villages were passed, but each time the bandits made sure to throw the burlap sack over his head again. Chatter about bounties were made when guards asked too many questions.

The lack of fluster over that was interesting, made him wonder just what these bounties were for. Under the Crown it was said that those that were Witch-Marked were ill omens and were to be rounded up, most likely to be Severed, if not simply executed. Titus didn’t know, had never met anyone who had been turned over, but rumors traveled far on the winds. Men often dumped to the streets, dirty and soaked in blood, left without any sanity in their heads. Most didn’t survived past their first winter. A pity, one traveling midwife had said, Ribæl had been such a pretty place before all the lepers started clogging up the place.

But why would the Witch-King put out bounties, brand them as criminals?

The closer they got to the border Titus started getting dreams, or perhaps memories. They were things he’d never really considered before, vague visions and feelings from his childhood. Just like that night before, there was a surety that it had happened, that his mind wasn’t lying to him. It all blended with the life that was quickly slipping out of his grasp.

He was just the son of a blacksmith. A nobody. He woke each day, did his chores, helped his father around the forge, ran errands for his mother. Just another peasant in a small village that had loose ties to a lesser duchy.

His Witch-Marks said that he could be a somebody, and if anything that only scared him more. Whoever was on the other side of the bond was strong, was constantly growing stronger. There were only so many Mages like that on the Continent. None of them would anyone dare call a nobody.

If anything, Irvin proved that Mages didn’t only live among the Courts, there were plenty who had simple lives. But even Titus knew that being Æther-Touched changed things, elevated plenty of lives. He had seen a Sorceress once, elegant and head held high as she rode a perfectly white stallion through town. Adorned in gems and fine silks, she spoke of nothing but elegance, yet a danger exuded from her.

Titus never wanted that. He just wanted to live his life, maybe marry a nice lady or fella, have a few kids, and then pass on to whatever afterlife was waiting for him. He wasn’t worth more than that.

He was twenty three when a pretty blonde first accepted a day lily he offered her. Twenty five when a knight passing through ruffled his hair and bought him a beer. Not many in the village offered him much time, wary of the vines wrapped around his arm. Titus tended to prefer wearing long sleeves to keep it covered at all times. Word traveled, wasn’t hard to miss a person with Southerner heritage in this part of the Continent.

They were staying in a small inn on the edges —Titus had the joy of being stowed in the stables with horses— when he dreamt of the first time he tried to reach out across his Bond.

Titus had been young when the Mark first appeared, just past his seventh birthday. His mother had smiled, unseen worried glances to his father going over his head; His father had frowned and left the room. The flower was small and sweet, an unfamiliar blossom with three pointed petals, it had made him deliriously happy at the time.

As the years passed and the Mark spread it began to fill him with apprehension. He had heard the rumors, everyone knew the tales, that he should be able to feel his Bond-Mate through a magical connection. A childish part of him thought it might be fun to maybe find a way to pass notes back and forth. Learn more about his Bonded. To have a friend.

Whoever it was must have lived somewhere cold, was the first thought he’d gotten when he searched and noticed how that one hand was always a little chillier than the other. He inquired and pestered, tapped at that invisible door, begging who ever it was on the other side to let him in.

His mother warned him not to be a nag, that his Bonded would reach out when they were ready. His Father told him to ignore it completely.

Finally it happened, one night when he was tucked away in bed but he couldn’t sleep. Tor was with him, a piglet that still held onto its stripes —he had been so small back then— as he so often was these days. Titus had been tapping at that bond again, could almost feel the wall in between them, solid and sturdy as it always had been. He almost did it absentmindedly, just hoping for something to come back through.

Ultimately it did.

Scorching through him like the time he’d been playing in his father’s workshop and an ember caught on his shoe, a sudden sensation of revulsion and hatred tore through him. Like a door slamming on his soul, it was definite and shattering.

Titus had screamed and recoiled to no avail and Tor squealed, bolting away to hide under the bed. His parents came rushing in, his mother quick to soothe and pull the sobbing boy to her. Neither of them noticed his father scowling down at the terrified piglet still on the floor, a fresh mark across its face as it if were lashed. The worthless beast that couldn’t even protect his boy from himself.

“Shouldn’t let animals sleep on your bed, son,” His father scolded, going back to the door. “Never know what kind of things they’ll track in.”

The door shut softly behind him.

Titus jolted awake shortly after, unable to go back to sleep for the rest of the night.

Chapter Text

Crossing across the border of the Witchlands went without much fanfare, passing through a short moss-covered stone wall signified it. A simple sign pointing at the crossroads. The bandits seemed a little jumpier, especially Irvin, many showing that they didn’t want to be there. Even the horses seemed spooked.

History wasn’t a topic covered too much by the elderly crone that passed for a school teacher in Titus’ village. But Titus had liked to look at the maps of the continent though, his father had spent a lot of evenings teaching him the roads and parts of the kingdoms. They had all been older, from back before the wars, before the Witchlands had been founded.

There was a lot of tumultuous history there, although Titus knew the basics. They bordered the Northern lands his father was from, centered around what was once a massive volcano. Supposedly the Mages had a massive fort there somewhere, a place where the Leylines were strong. A place they were strong. People weren’t fond of talking about it in Bælia.

Trade was good though, plenty of merchants and caravans came and went through the Witchlands. Titus had spoken with a number of them, they commonly stopped through Belyn for wares, his father often had orders of various ores delivered from them as well. One even had a family in another little settlement in the foothills of the Calderan Mountains, said winters were cold but the land was solid. A safe place to live.

People up north had much tamer opinions of Mages, leaning even towards positive if they came from the Witchlands. That trader’s son had stared at Titus’ Witch-Mark in awe, a little gap-toothed smile that he found himself wanting to return.

Titus admitted, looking around, there wasn’t much to fear. Long rolling fields, bracketed by the scenic view of the mountains off in the distance. Had it not been for the whole kidnapping ordeal, he might have even enjoyed it. Something thrummed under the surface, Titus could only compare it to how the sky felt charged before a storm. The air smelt fresh.

“Several more days ride before we get to the mountains,” Dellman commented, pulling up next to him. “Will be a little slower after that. ‘Bout a week more.”

“You’ve been there before?” Titus cast him a look.

Dellman shook his head. “Not all the way, tend to stay at an inn just before the mountains.” The man looked nervous, glancing back towards their destination.

“But you’ve been here before,” The younger man pressed. “Why’s everyone so jumpy?”

“You don’t feel it?” Dellman gave him an inquisitive look.

“Feel what?” Frowning, Titus shook his head.

“It’s…like an itch,” Again the man stared off. “Like something don’t want us here.”

Hazel eyes trailed over the empty fields, what looked like sheep off in the distance, scrubby shrubs popping up here or there. The ground was covered in charming little poppies and other wildflowers blooming. Songbirds chirped merrily. All Titus got was a sense of ease.

“I like it, seems nice.” He commented.

“You would.” His companion gave a knowing glance to the dark vines swirling on Titus’ arm.

It wasn’t something he’d noticed at first, but the sensation started from his arm. An emotional cloak draped over him to ease the choler, a promise of…something. Safety? Comfort.

His marks had been feeling…more lately. Ever since they crossed the border Titus had been getting more of those little question marks, but also encouragements, nameless hints of something that he just couldn’t put a finger on. Titus hadn’t been brave enough to try and send anything back, he’d learned that lesson well enough even without the memory fresh in his mind.

Beside, what would his Bonded want with a coward that couldn’t even brave a couple of bandits? Let alone possibly befriend one of his captors.

Evening was met with more stars up in the night sky than Titus had ever seen before, the cosmos twinkling like it should but ablaze with color. Ribbons rippled across the heavens, like oil on water in hue.

“The Æther is strong here,” Dellman gently explained as he came over with a small offering of grouse. One of the men was highly proficient with a bow and had shot down a few of the birds for supper. “In the air, under the stone. It’s why magic is so powerful in these lands.”

As he came to sit down next to him Titus studied the man again. Not as old as his own father, but working well into middle age, Dellman’s skin held some wrinkles but no gray. A chip was taken out of one of his ears, as if years ago a ring was forcibly removed.

“You seem to know a lot about it.” Titus said lowly, watching how the man looked up at the sky with… sadness.

Dellman tilted his chin down, then moved to pull a sleeve up to reveal a Witch-Mark. It was a small dove, in the style that Titus had seen on plenty of men at the docks, faded and leaking out.

“My Emily taught me a few things,” A thumb petted over the mark before the sleeve was lowered again. “She heard of a safe place to be, that the wars were ending and there was finally a place she could be free.”

Titus watched as empty eyes stared back out into the celestial ichor, searching for something. Anything.

“She never made it.”

Standing the man gave Titus a soft look, head tilted slightly and giving a minute smile.

“Try to sleep tonight, we’ll be passing through the small village of Millow and then hitting rougher terrain.”

Sleep did come to him a little easier that night, under the stars, the sounds of crickets and marsh-wills calming Titus more than he would have expected. Something blanketed him in his slumber, causing him to stir but a soothing voice hushed him before he could be fully roused. The slightest pressure pressed gently in his hair.

Millow was an adorable little village surrounded by fields of flowers, small ones and large cheery ones that faced the sun, the evidence of a recently celebrated festival on the streets. Dellman had tossed a heavy furred cloak over Titus’ head and warned him to keep his head down, they’d sat him up on one of the horses but it was lead by its owner. Children ran about merrily, the buildings were well crafted and clean, store keeps hung goods from stalls and beckoned to travelers and residents alike.

The guards, however, stood out in the crowd. Titus had seen at least three now, standing a head above the rest, fur-lined cloaks and large swords, danger emanating from them.

“Don’t stare, they’ll see you.” Dellman warned lowly, riding at his side.

“Who are they?” Titus kept his head down.

“Witch-King’s army,” The older man informed, voice still pitched low as if afraid someone might overhear. “Pretty common on the roads around these parts. Just...just don’t look at ‘em, they can be prickly.”

A few of the others broke away to barter for more supplies, Dellman went to talk to the innkeep about a couple rooms, and Titus was left atop his horse. If his hands weren’t fastened to the saddle he would have almost thought about making an escape. There was also the whole dismounting business he’d have to deal with, which after a previous attempt he knew would only end embarrassingly. Looking around as covertly as he could, Titus spotted another one of the soldiers standing off to the side of the square.

He was big and broad shouldered, with a narrow waist that would almost made Titus wonder if the man wore a corset under his armor. A raven sat upon his shoulder, eyes constantly moving among the crowds. A Mage’s Familiar. The two looked severe, the man’s lip bisected by a scar that leaned up across his nose, disappeared into his dark beard.

Titus near thought him a threat but watched as a little girl, no older than seven, skipped up to the soldier and tugged at his hand. No frown met his face as he redirected his attention, just the slightest raising of brows. A daisy was pressed into his hand before the girl giggled and twisted a little spin, then gleefully ran away. The soldier smiled softly at the gift in his palm, bringing it up to show his companion. The raven clicked and snatched at the flower, tucking it into the braids on the man’s head, the soldier laughing at something.

Hardly a fearsome figure. Imposing, sure, but monsters didn’t accept frilly flowers from little girls and weave them into their hair.

“Was able to haggle them down,” Dellman huffed, having ran back to him after securing lodging. “Irvin’s gonna be pissed about having to put on a light-show, but it’ll earn us a free meal.”

Staying indoors after so long having gone without was a blessing. The promise of even well used bathwater a luxury that almost made him weep. The inn was charming as the rest of Millow and the bar maid was a happy, busty lass that looked like she could go against ten bears and win. A bard played jauntily in the corner as they ate, a simple but hearty stew and still oven warm bread. The others drank ale while Irvin did indeed whine about being sold for his skills, but the Mage didn’t complain when he finally went to the makeshift stage and wove a tale alongside the bard.

The locals seemed enthralled by the illusory birds and bugs that flitted about, images of a prince and princess falling in love. Titus had to admit, it was amazing to see, not too familiar with actually seeing magic. Nobody here seemed afraid.

The door shuttered again, admitting three large men. Three of the Witch-King’s soldiers. One was the same that Titus had seen earlier, but the other two were unknown. The raven still perched on a shoulder as its other half sauntered up to the bar and gave the barmaid a kiss on her cheek. He still had the daisy in his hair, looking fresh as the day it bloomed. The other two harried him for it, but neither seemed to mind.

Titus noticed that the bandit chief’s face soured when they came in.

One turned with a drink and their eyes snagged, something piercing through the back of Titus’ brain. Panic. Danger! No, Friend. Trust. Fists curling on the table, he quickly looked away but heard boots make their way over.

“Been a few years since I’ve seen Irvin around these parts,” The man’s voice was oddly high for as large as he was, Titus would have expected something deeper. “Last I recall, you were run out of T’lmerak, Cletus.”

Snickering without a thought, Titus ducked when the chief’s eyes pinned him, a snarl on the man’s face. But, fucking Cletus?

“Better contracts out west,” The man sniffed. “Less uptight.”

“Less likely to get hanged for cutting purses, too.” The soldier commented airily.

“Anything we can help you with, Sir?” Dellman cut in, drawing attention to himself and his more easygoing smile. Titus had no doubt the man had weaseled them out of trouble with it numerous times before.

A little black nosed ermine poked out of the soldier’s furs and sniffed at them, blinking with glassy eyes. It quickly swirled into a mist of stars and color and flew over to another soldier’s shoulder, now a small bird and pecked at his ear.

The other two were now watching them.

Titus felt the soldier’s eyes on him again, an earnest, earthy brown. It gave the towering man a surprisingly welcoming look alongside his dirty-blond tousled hair. A Northerner.

“Just wanted to check in,” Those eyes stayed on him. “Been getting reports of highwaymen coming this way.”

A foot caught on Titus’ shin, causing him to hiss and glare at Cletus.

“Just passing through,” The bandit lied. “Picking up a contract in Helmshire.”

“Odd path.” The soldier commented.

“Showing the nephew around,” Dellman grinned, leaning across the table to clasp a hand on Titus’ shoulder. “Poor lad grew up in Pola, ain’t ever been out of the city before. If you believe it?”

There was the briefest moment where Titus thought about ruining the whole scam and speaking freely, but the tiniest shaking of Dellman’s head stilled his tongue.

“Ne’er been to the Witchlands b’fore,” He leaned into an accent that resembled the western coastal city.

That, apparently, wasn’t a good answer as it caused those brown eyes to narrow, but then Daisy-Hair came over and dumped his weasel back on his shoulder. There was a brief silent conversation between them before the dark haired man bumped him with his forehead and sauntered back to the bar.

“Welcome to T’lmerak,” The soldier grumbled, ignoring the ermine as it coiled around his neck but vanished down the back of his collar. Eyes cut to Cletus and the others. “Keep out of trouble.”

“Cross my heart.” Dellman promised, toothy grin revealing a metal tooth.

With one last dubious look, the soldier turned and went back to his comrades. The barmaid greeting him again with a pint and a blown kiss, even from behind the poor lad’s ears burned.

“Yer a shitty liar, Petal.” Cletus sneered.

Raising a brow, Titus sniffed and looked back to the show the Mage was putting on.

“I’ll work on it, Cletus.”

The shorter man growled but his men laughed around him.

Setting down for the night, Titus ended up in a room with Dellman and a few of the others. There weren’t nearly enough beds to go around, but he was content enough to just be inside. Laying on the cloak that was loaned to him, he stared out past the window, ignoring the others still playing cards in the corner.

He’d gotten rather good at ignoring them, tuning out the taunts and warnings they gave. It was pretty often that he’d overhear them ruminating on just what it was exactly that the Witch-King wanted with the Marked. One was convinced it was part of some dark ritual, that the man cannibalized their souls to gain more power. Another thought the warlord was forming a harem. It was even suggested it was just easily ensnared labor; outside of the Witchlands —T’lmerak, apparently— those with Witch-Marks weren’t too well liked.

Even Dellman proposed that it could be an easy way of keeping his troops in line, what better way than threatening their promised lovers?

Legends of the Witch-King had traced back to the wars Titus’ father had fought in. But that had been at least thirty years ago now, more so from the very beginning of it all. Time affected Mages different than the common man, but still that would surely mean the Witch-King was an old man by now. Back during the wars he was scourge on the battlefield, had a monster for a Familiar that bit and tore into knights and peasants alike. A phantom that soldiers worried about at night, an unbeatable foe, a master of the elements and of war. He could cast fire colder than ice, bluer than even the brightest of embers, the earth ruptured at his call, and showers of frost pelted his foes and froze them solid. It wasn’t men he slew, but armies.

Some said that he crawled himself from the deepest pits of the Void, teeth stained from the demons he consumed. That his soul was so foul that the very Æther spat him out in disgust. Tales told of a giant with a sword larger than a grown man, of colorless hair and chilling eyes. Cruder stories even spoke of his tastes, ranging anywhere from gorging himself on the blood of men to stealing squires away to his own bedrolls to sully. An abomination and a blight, a curse upon the land.

It was a miracle that King Urlich was able to stop him at all.

Those tales and songs were widespread, known by bards and children all over the Kingdom. Embellished, for sure, but there had to have been some truth to them. A modern day slaying of a dragon. A thought to be impossible task. Heroic.

The battle was won, but the wars had touched most of the continent before they were over. The Witch-King retreated to the mountains to lick his wounds and a tentative peace was formed. It hung over the heads in Bælia for some time, fearing a retribution that even their King could not endure, but it never came.

Instead the Witch-King focused on smaller lands, spread his influence. Not all through bloody war, some where known to reach peaceful accords, found themselves under the watchful gaze of a tyrant’s eye. More were known to simply be neutral towards the Mages residing in the mountains. There was talk that King Urlich hadn’t rode against the Witch-King again due to a strong alliance between the Witchlands and the J’arls of the North. No army would stand against the Mages and the Berserkirs of the Mountain Folk.

Sleep didn’t come as easily that night as Titus had hoped, a constant tapping at his consciousness kept him just on that edge of being able to slip into slumber. Far past midnight something put an end to it, pulling him under and snarling at the unknown intruders, a mental bramble of thorns protecting him from outside forces. Dreams of warmth met him after, something deep purring in content.

Titus was sad to watch Millow fade in the distance, not only had it indeed been a darling little settlement, but also because once they were out of sight he was once again kicked off the horse and forced to walk.

Up ahead Irvin was chatting with the chief, Titus noticing something. Or, rather, the lack of something.

“Irvin’s Familiar.” He said, looking over to Dellman, the other man keeping his mare at a sedate pace to stay nearby.

“What about it?” The older only spared him a glance.

“Where is it?” In all the time traveling with this band of thieves, Titus couldn’t think of a single thing that would even pass as one.

“Eh, Sasha’s around, always is,” The man sounded very disinterested in the conversation. “Normally some sort of little creepy crawly, small, hidden.”

“Why?” Titus thought to the ermine and the raven on the guards, they hadn’t been particularly shy.

“Leaving your Familiar out to the world is dangerous,” Dellman said gravely, staring down to the gravel path. “People are cruel, do hateful things.”

Thinking to what he knew —which was limited, mind you— Titus didn’t recall anything negative or harmful about things happening to Familiars. Or else it would be such an easy way to kill a Mage, wouldn’t it?

“There are worse things than death, kid,” His companion huffed mirthfully, having caught on to his line of thinking. “A Familiar? It ain’t like some fancy pet the nobles all like to tote about. It’s the purest form of yourself, but also everything wish to be, the things you lack, your soul. Losing that, it’s like losing everything.”

A bitter topic, something the man had no doubt seen and suffered. Titus felt guilty for bringing it up, head tilting down in apology.

“Emily’s liked to be a tern,” Dellman sighed with a heavy breath. “She always loved to sail.”

Finally reaching the foothills of the Calderan Mountains, the whole group was ragged around the edges. A few had even broken off to meet with another part of their band more eastward, whittling the group down to just four. The boss and Irvin continued to lead, Dellman and a fella Titus had gathered was called Ruggard maintained the rear. The other man was quiet, but that was mostly due to the fact that he’d had his tongue cut out at some point, a common punishment in Bælia for treachery.

Irvin mentioned the vast amounts of igneous rock in the soil being a grand foci for fire magic, a deep thrumming of the Leylines converging here. It hadn’t meant much to Titus, but if that was what made the fire seem to burn a little brighter he was thankful for the warmth.

Another small village sprawled at the base of the mountain, this time a grand gate blocking the entrance, guards up in the tower and down below. More of the Witch-King’s men.

“Halt,” A redhead with a daring eye scar ordered. “State your business.”

“Bringing a little present for the Witch-King.” The boss grinned, tipping his head back Titus’ way.

Lords Above, he loathed that man. Judging by the look on the guard’s face, it was a shared feeling.

“The Lord doesn’t deal in bodies,” He informed grimly. “If you’re seeking an audience with him, I’m afraid his time is very precious.”

“This one is Witch-Marked.” Irvin spoke up.

“Came in for a Bounty,” Cletus continued. “’Eard there was a fair bit of coin still on those.”

There was a shared glimpse between the two Mages on the ground, the wolf at one’s side growled, the other’s kestrel much more stoic.

“Is he injured?” The one with the falcon inquired.

“No more than when we found him,” The boss snarked. “Got a little roughed up in a bar brawl before we snatched him up.”

It was the second time that was brought up, his own well-being. Something peculiar if a man was just collecting slaves.

“Alright,” The redhead stepped back, hand on his sword at his hip. “Travel safely, stay to the path. It’s been snowing more than usual lately.”

The horses shuffled through the gates and Titus looked around at the village they had entered. Once again rather clean and brimming with life. The buildings here were made more out of stone, built to be a little larger. For the king’s men he saw plenty more of.

“Never lie to a Mage, Titus,” Dellman advised lowly. “They’ll know.”

They didn’t stay in the little settlement that Dellman had dubbed Ashweald, instead beginning the trek up the mountains and coming to rest at one of the safe posts. Titus had gathered it was not known for being a kind trip but had at one time been much more perilous. Snow capped the mountains ahead of them but was so far absent on the ground here, thick coniferous trees stood around them. An icy freshness on the air beyond the smoke of the fire. Ruggard had gone out hunting and returned with a few snow hares, made the rations go a lot farther.

Several more nights were spent like that, traveling between posts, coming across small settlements that nestled where it was safe between the peaks. A grand stone bridge stretched over a yawning chasm that no doubt cut the trip down a week, Titus marveled at the masonry and inlaid metals. Free of snow unlike everything else around them.

“Troll-Forged,” Dellman had informed as they crossed, having had to pull Titus out of his fascination. “They’re rare, but still found in these mountains.”

Titus had only heard of them in myths, never thought that they still roamed the lands. He kept his eyes on the lookout on the off-chance he could spot one, not that he knew what to be looking for.

A heavy snowstorm caught them out and made them hunker down for a few days, cramped in one of the stone bunkers along the way. It had been fortuitous to be so close to one, even if they had to backtrack a quarter of a mile to reach it.

By the end of the third day Titus was wondering how lucky it really was, the building stinking up with the filth of five well traveled men. If he woke up one more day being forced to smell Cletus’ stink he was going to do something stupid.

Sunlight greeted them the next day.

“Should be able to be at the gates by midday at the latest.” Irvin chirped happily.

Ruggard grunted, the man trudging off into the woods. He did that, typically came back with some sort of animal to eat. He always caught up.

“That’s good, the tack we bought at the last place wouldn’t last us much longer.” Dellman’s shoulders sagged in relief. Even with the other’s contributions the eating had been pretty bare the last bit up the mountains.

Sure enough, by the time the sun was directly above, the large craggy walls of their destination rose before them, another grand Troll-Forged bridge stretching before it.

The Calderan Mountains were dubbed such as they were the backbone of a range that was once held a massive volcano at its heart, long ago erupted and dormant. The event must have been utterly cataclysmic, but also so long ago that the sleeping titan had become a home to dozens of civilizations since. Obsidian splashed on the nearby peaks, the former shell continuing to tower in the distance like a regal crown. A river ran far down below, deep under the bridge, fed by falls tumbling down almost like a dam. Large statues of volcanic stone stood as guards along the bridge, of various beasts standing strong. The craftsmanship was awe inspiring, done with a reverence that Titus wasn’t sure a chisel could achieve. A gold metal threaded through the stone in veins, a display of wealth and power.

Stone walls stood vigilant, ramparts and guard towers watching like baleful sentries. A large gatehouse had bars bared like teeth. Titus could see smaller settlements among the outcrops, what maybe looked like fields or orchards, some even had livestock. An eagle swooped over their party to a window in one of the towers.

Numerous guards stood at the ready, a figurative bear of a man stationed next to a literal one. The maul held over his shoulder was equally intimidating.

“Heard there was a little band coming to bring tribute to the king.” His voice tumbled out like an avalanche.

“Told the others it was a Bounty.” Cletus fearlessly tried to stare the man down, nearly eye level even from atop a horse.

“A Bounty.” The guard repeated flatly. A few of the others snickering beside him.

“Word traveled that the Witch-King was looking for Marked folk, saw a post in Rentild last year.” Irvin spoke up, looking at least a little more cowed than their leader.

“Swore those were all torn down,” The guard rubbed at his scruffy jaw. “But alright. The king could probably spare at least a few minutes. We’ll put you up in the barracks while I wrangle up an audience, can’t bring you before royalty smelling like a hog’s rear end.”

The portcullis rose, funneling them into a smaller room looked over on all sides by walkways and another gate sank into the stone before they could step out further. The sun was almost blinding, but the sight that met them was breath taking.

The hollowed out core of the volcano had a river running along the perimeter providing a natural moat. A small village sprawled through the center, a large castle rising up towards the back. Once again, pockets of life poked along the walls, tunnels and bridges used for traversal.

The platform they stood on hovered over the water, Titus spotting something moving under the crystal waves. From where they were there didn’t appear to be any way to get to the island until one of the guards walked over, tapping a staff on the ground. Glyphs brightly shined along the stone, a small rumbling announcing the rising of other platforms, appearing up out of the water but dry by the time they met the landing. A solid descending bridge leading to a landing on the other side.

“Welcome to Dhane Reothein.” The Mage with the Bear Familiar stoically said.

Chapter Text

CH 3

Escorted through the streets of Dhane Reothein, Titus watched as the locals peered up at them. There was an...eclectic mix of various folk rarely seen across the rest of the continent. They seemed wary of the strangers being marched down the thoroughfare on foot, surrounded by six guards. Titus also noticed a distinction between the lead of the guard and the others flanking them; the man at the head of the procession was a lot bigger, his armor and furs differed slightly to signify rank, his Familiar had stayed at the gates. But there was also an aura around him, pecking at the edges of Titus’ awareness. They were all Mages, but something about him was More.

One of the other guards kept casting Titus curious looks, making him uncomfortable so he pulled his cloak tighter around himself.

The reality of the situation began to settle on Titus’ shoulders, his fate —as ambiguous as it was— nearing closer with every step they took. Constricting in his chest, the young man wasn’t sure what to feel. Panic was an obvious answer, trepidation closely following after. He didn’t know what to expect and there wasn’t anything guiding him to know what it should be.

“You can stay here for now,” The large man rumbled, opening the door to a room that already had a few others milling about in it. “Free bunks are near the back. Someone will tell you anything else you need to know.”

Ruggard was the first to grunt and hitched his bag over his back, shouldering passed the guards and into the barracks.

“Don’t cause any trouble.” The towering man warned, pointedly looking down at the bandit leader and the Mage at his side.

Dellman was ushering Titus in when a large hand shot out and barred entry.

“Witch-Marked, huh?” Those eyes were focused down on him, a rich amber like molten gold. “Mind if I verify that.”

Under that gaze there was no denying the ‘request’, Titus feeling too similar like a bug beneath a glass. Dellman’s hand on his shoulder offered him a little comfort. Pulling up the sleeve of his borrowed jacket, he bared his wrist for the other to see.

Gilded eyes considered it for a moment, narrowing a little before he reached out and manipulated Titus’ hand around to see the extent of the mark. Tugged the sleeve up even higher.

Titus’ heartbeat shot into his airway, wanting to pull his limb back into the shelter of his cloak, but at the slightest pull the grip tightened. Not painful, just immovable. Thick callouses rode on his fingers and palm, yet his touch was somehow...gentle.

“Interesting.”

Titus cleared his throat, watching how the man’s gaze was still locked on his Mark.

“Apologies,” The man let go and took a half-step back, a little reverent nod given. “I’ll go see when the king can see you.”

Watching the man carefully as he strode away, Titus was nudged by Dellman and herded into the building.

“C’mon, let’s get settled.”

The barracks were simple lodging, but effective, warm. The stone walls shared similar marks to the bridges and other buildings in the town, evidence of also being Troll-Forged. A large fireplace blazed against the far wall from where Titus had set up. There were twenty bunks in the room, but not all of them had been claimed if the lack of personal belongings around a few of them meant anything. Ruggard had claimed one right next to the fire, but Titus and Dellman set up in the corner. A few soldiers were milling about, minding their own business.

Titus subtly tried to study them, most were down to just their pants and shirts, but a few were still wearing the base of their armor. A couple were even walking around shirtless. The men were all familiar with one another, joking and chatting amicably. Scars looked to be decently common, as to be expected of warriors, but most of them also bore other markings. Not Witch-Marks, but tattoos. Not many across the continent also wore such symbols, typically contained within sailors and those of other lands.

“You keep staring they’re going to get ideas.” Dellman snickered from his bunk, still laid flat and eyes closed. That charmingly arrogant smirk on his face.

Titus wanted to throw his pillow at the man but didn’t want to risk the chance that Dellman would then add it to his own.

A young man approached them, wearing the same blue and black that Titus was learning to quickly associate with the keep. He looked to be on the very end of his teenage years, hair shorn at the side but blond strands atop longer and tied back. A healthy glow lit his cheeks.

“Hello,” The boy stopped before them, hands clasping in front of him. “My name is Armin. I’ve been assigned to you by Bairre, to assist you with anything you’ll need during your stay in Dhane Reothein.”

“And Bairre is?” Dellman sat up.

“Big fucker with the bear?” Armin hitched a thumb over his shoulder as if the man were standing right there. “He’s the Knight-Commander around here.”

Immediately Titus decided he liked the kid, grinning up at him and holding a hand out. “I’m Titus.”

The boy happily took his hand and shook it, not so subtly sneaking a glace at his marks. Titus spotted one of his own, the visage of a howling wolf and stars.

“Dellman,” The older man introduced, standing up with all the sounds a man of his age typically did. “Seem pretty familiar with the Knight-Commander, ain’t afraid he’ll tan your hide for calling him names?”

“Hard to be afraid of a man who raised me since I was this small,” The blond held his hands only about a foot apart. “His Familiar used to even sneak into my crib to keep me warm.” Armin grinned.

Armin honestly wasn’t all that big, decently shorter than Titus and still gangly from youth.

“He’s a gentle giant,” Armin waved off. “So long as you aren’t a custard pastry or cheat at cards.”

“Forgive me if I don’t believe it.” Dellman snorted.

“Ah, you’ll learn,” The boy assured. “Sure, him and some of the others fought in the wars, but now they’re all pretty content to retire and grow fat.”

Titus eyed one of the shirtless soldiers stretching, arms extended overhead as vertebra popped, and his very trim mid section showing.

“Sure.”

Rolling his eyes, the boy just smiled. “Is there anything I could help you with before supper?”

“Bairre said something about being able to get cleaned up,” Dellman hedged. “Unless he expects us to roll around in the troughs out back.”

“We got proper baths,” Armin scrunched his nose up in glee. “But if that’s what you want, I won’t stop you.”

“A proper bath would be nice,” Titus sighed, as it did indeed sound delightful. “We’ve had a long journey.”

Armin nodded in commiseration. “The Calderans can be rough this time of year. Not quite like in winter, mind you, then it’s near untraversable,” The he gave a little bow. “Follow me.”

Titus felt the bandit leader’s eyes follow him as he left the room, Irvin and him set up by themselves near where Ruggard had passed out on a bed.

A number of corridors later, they were led to a large circular room that had numerous doors. There was a large fir pit in the middle flickering away and the door towards the back was open.

“Hot springs are out back, if you’d like to soak longer after you bathe,” Armin pointed. “All the baths are open right now, so have your pick.”

There was an uneasy feeling on the air, Dellman’s eyes going to Titus. If there was ever a better chance to attempt an escape again, it would be here. But where would he go?

“I’ll watch over your friend,” Armin assured with another smile. “I’m the best swimmer in my class, won’t let anyone be drowning on my watch.”

With a sigh, the older man shook his head and wandered off to one of the doors, whistling as he opened it. The last Titus saw of him was as the door was closing and the man was already stripping off his shirt.

“Shall we?” His young steward nudged, choosing a door for him.

Seeing what Dellman did, Titus had to let out a whistle of his own. The room was simple, but the stone was pristine. A large window let light in and gave the view of large trees and flowering shrubs, snow gently drifting down outside. Set into the floor and raising above it was a stone bath, large enough for even a man the Knight-Commander’s size to comfortably lounge. A fine selection of soaps and oils sat on little shelves etched into the walls.

Going to the bath, Armin turned a small lever and water began filling from the bottom, already giving off steam. Indoor plumbing like that was still a marvel, often only found in the households of lords and kings, often founded on enchantment.

“You’ll get used to that,” Armin waved to the rising water as if it weren’t at the peak of luxury. “Between the Trolls that built the place and all the Mages, there’s a lot of magic in the air.”

“Isn’t that…?” Titus was transfixed by the water, imagining how good it would feel to be able to bathe in warm water.

“Scary?” The younger boy snorted, face scrunching again. “No.”

“No?” Breaking his gaze from the tub, Titus looked to the steward.

“No,” The boy sated firmly. “Is fire scary because it can burn, or a dog because it can bite?”

Feeling utterly chastised by a youth an easy decade his junior, Titus looked away. “Sometimes.”

“Dad always has to remind me that not everybody grew up around it like I did,” Armin went and turned off the water, the tub sufficiently full. “Magic is a powerful force in this world, bending of the Æther and Her will. Sometimes She trusts someone with that power, and they must work very hard to not betray that trust. But my uncle likes to say that there is no such thing as bad magic, only bad people who use it as a tool to hurt others.”

“My father told me something very similar about swords once.” Titus mused, smiling a little. And damn, if he didn’t miss the man. Hoped he’d get to see him again someday.

“Sounds like a smart man,” The steward also shared a small smile. “But, there is such a thing as a bad blade, only that’s normally because it was forged by an idiot.”

The impetuous wink was joined by a flash of tongue on teeth.

“Now, let’s get you in the bath before others come looking for us.”

Peeling out of his road-weary clothes, Titus almost felt self-conscious for what his form no doubt looked like. He’d been in rather good shape back in Belyn, but after weeks of too little food and too much travel, he knew he was rather ragged. Beside, they were all men here, his surely wouldn't be the first man’s ass Armin had ever seen.

Moaning in relief as he sank in the water, Titus was pleased to feel it rise to the top of his chest as he reclined into the stone seat. When he opened his eyes he saw Armin gathering up his garments and folding them professionally. There was a calmness to the boy, content to be doing his chores, sleeves pushed up to once again reveal his Mark.

He’d never really gotten to talk to another Witch-Marked before, the topic seeming too raw to discuss with Dellman much.

“Do you have magic?” It wasn’t unheard of, two individuals, both Mages, being bound to one another. If anyone would have such a bond, it would be a boy raised steeped in magic.

The boy looked up from his duties. “Me? No,” He smiled. Kid was always smiling. “But my Wolf, well, they’re still learning.”

The way the kid spoke was mystified, a private little smile at the howling figure on his arm.

Wetting his lips, Titus tilted his head. “Do you know who they are?”

Bright brown eyes shot to his in shock, brows falling into a furrow. “Of course, don’t you?”

“Uh, no,” Titus felt drawn short by they boy’s surprise. “Never spent much time thinking about it.”

Liar. It felt like a taunt rather than an outright scolding, but it was felt all the same. A hint of smugness behind the sensation. Titus didn’t have much time to reflect on it, based on the downright horrified look on Armin’s face.

“You don’t even talk?!” The boy huddled close up to the bath, eyes large and watery. Kid didn’t need magic, that there was a weapon well enough. “Wolf and I couldn’t even go a few days without talking.”

Playing idly with the water, creating tiny waves on the surface, Titus watched them. “No… we… we don’t talk much.”

Sorry.

Armin sniffed primly, standing straighter. “Well, we’ll find ‘em. Set you two straight,” With a nod the boy collected his clothes again. “I’ll get these laundered, enjoy your bath. Just try not to drown, I did promise your friend you wouldn’t.”

Left to his own devices, Titus snagged a bar of soap that smelled like pine tar and gave himself a quick rub down while he thought. The closer they’d gotten to Dhane Reothein the more frequent the little tugs at his psyche had happened, he dreamt more, and while none of them had been as much of a revelation as the first they had been odd little peeks into a time his brain had long left to memory.

The door knocked before Armin poked his head back in, a new bundle of clothes in his arms as he came in.

“I couldn’t help but notice that the clothes you were wearing weren’t quite your size.” Setting down the bundle on a dry seat, Armin pointed to a few of the other toiletries.

Finishing up his bath and letting himself soak for just a little longer, Titus absently noted that the water hadn’t cooled at all since he got in it.

“We should wrap up here soon,” Armin advised. “Supper will be in a little bit.”

Taking the stewards advice Titus soon got out and dried off with the provided towel. Simple undergarments were handed over, as were black breeches and a white chemise. The style was a little different than he was used to, but he didn’t need help from the younger boy. A dark blue linen shirt completed the set, a little baggier than he usually liked, but Titus wouldn’t complain. But it was still his boots that sat next to the chair, brushed free of the mud and muck.

“Sorry,” The teen gave a shrug. “Didn’t have boots your size on hand.”

“’S alright,” Titus waved it off, lacing them back up. “They still got some miles in ‘em.”

Leaving the baths, a much more relaxed looking Dellman met them by the fire. He smelled of lavender and bee’s wax, had a fresh shave.

“There you are, was beginning to worry you got flushed down the tubes or something.”

“You haven’t the luck.” Titus snarked, rolling his eyes.

Led back to the barracks; Cletus, Irvin, and Ruggard were all bundled and playing cards and the room was fuller with more soldiers. Many of whom chirped at Armin and razzed the shorter boy, like a room full of older brothers.

“Was wondering where you got off to.” The chief snarked, tossing his cards down when he lost.

“Smelled so bad they tossed us in the river.” Dellman sniped back.

“Might need a toss yourself,” Armin gave a little judging brow. “I’ll be back to gather you for supper.”

None of the soldiers invaded their little huddle, although some of them were definitely eyeing Titus with interest.

“Surprised ye didn’t do a runner on us, Petal.” Cletus remarked lowly, picking up for another game.

“Where would I go?” Titus huffed.

To a degree, it was true. He was already in the stronghold of the man they were planning on selling him to and back on the road he wouldn’t have even known where to go if he had even been able to get away. There wasn’t much of a chance he’d be able to get back home on his own, probably ambushed by another set of brigands or even having the misfortune to come across some monster. At least with the bandits he mostly knew what to expect.

Now that he was at Dhane Reothein it wasn’t as if he was being treated poorly. But, even with that, there was no guarantee they’d help him.

Supper ended up being a mild affair, a nice selection of mutton, cheeses, and fruits. A honeyed mead flowed and made the men jolly. Titus noticed that a number of the men seemed close, picking from each other’s plates and playfully tussling. A number of Familiars also darted about the room, keeping themselves occupied while their partners ate. It was surprising to find that not all of the hundred plus men at the tables were Mages, though there were more than not. They didn’t give Titus much mind, a few seemed to be keeping a careful eye on Cletus, but some were giving Irvin plenty of attention. Dellman was able to engage his neighbors in conversation, hands waving around in elaboration for some story he wove.

Armin had dropped them off at the tables but disappeared shortly after. Titus also noticed that The commander wasn’t at any of the tables, only a few men of a higher ranking sprinkled throughout.

It made for a pleasant supper.

As the men started to disperse, their little troop didn’t really know what to do, staying in the feast halls to play cards and even a couple games of dice. The chatter among the few that did end up staying in the hall silenced as Bairre stepped into the room.

Even down to a black brigandine, the man was massive and intimidating. His auburn hair was slicked back from his forehead and a little fluffy animal rode his shoulder. Slowly the soldiers in the room returned to what they had been doing before, but Titus’s eyes were caught by that golden stare once again.

“The king has decided to give you time before sunset.” He informed, arms crossed over his large chest.

“How kind of him to squeeze us in.” Cletus sniped, scooping up the dice and pouring them in a pocket.

The domineering brow shot to him went ignored by the short man, even if it was warning enough for the others. A tapping on his arm tore Titus’ attention to his other side, Ruggard standing there and offering out a card between two fingers. It wasn’t a game he’d spent too much time on, not too common in Belyn, but seen often enough in the larger cities. The little hexagonal chips had values on each side, a simple match of larger numbers beating smaller, a bit of strategy on position and elemental advantages. People commonly played for a bit of coin or even the cards themselves.

Taking the offered token, Titus looked at the clean metallic boarder, the little image of a flying beast with curled horns bounding in the center. A Golden Luffalope, presumably a rather rare card judging by its design and sheen.

Glancing up at the man again, Titus caught Ruggard giving him a wink before going back to his own business. Tucking the gift into a pocket, Titus turned to the imposing Knight-Commander.

“Come along.” He snorted, motioning and redirecting on his heel, seemingly uncaring if they were actually following.

Passing through the buildings that housed the soldiers, there was an another gatehouse before they came to a large body of water. A clear view of the actual keep of the mountain. Tucked against the side of the caldera, it looked like it was carved from the very mountain itself, walled off and regal.

The commander led them to a platform that was becoming familiar by now, the small beast on his shoulder running down the length of his arm only to spin into a Great Grey Owl and be cast off. On silent wings, the raptor glided in a straight line, those blue runes glowing in its wake. Sections of the bridge rose, Bairre shepherding them along, partitions sinking back into the lake well after they passed. Another one of those large shadows swam underneath.

Armin was waiting for them on the other side, hands wringing in front of himself anxiously.

“I hope dinner was good?”

The man who raised him huffed, tussling blond hair fondly as he walked past. The same little gray rodent was clinging to Armin’s shoulder.

More large statues of carved obsidian stood like sentries, now adorned with the same warm colored metal. From what Titus could recall no two were of the same person or animal, always in respectful poses. These both had plaques on the pedestals they stood upon, made him wonder if the ones on the bridge had as well.

Going up a large flight of stairs and through another portcullis the open courtyard of the keep revealed a number of men sparring, both with blades and with magic. On raised walls guards patrolled, along the base looking to be more barracks. The men here had the same sense to them as their commander, that the ones back in Millow possessed, the something More that tickled at the back of Titus’ skull. Most of them paused as they passed, in reverence of the Knight-Commander or to watch their odd little procession was unknown but it was eerie all the same.

Dellman whistled lowly as a shirtless man with muscles to spare was seen gripping a large bull by its horns and actively wrestling it to the ground.

Bairre sighed, hands on hips and unimpressed visage on his face. “Bloody show-offs,” Shaking the sight off, he pressed on. “Hurry up, it isn’t wise to keep the king waiting.”

After more stairs, the entry room was grand, tapestries and paintings on the walls, suits of armor and more guards. Large braziers hung from the ceiling, glowing with blue fire. The commander muttered something under his breath that Titus didn’t catch, and as the large man approached the doors two guards smoothly opened them. Easy, as if each massive wooden door didn’t weight hundreds of pounds. Striding through their guide walked on, boots muffled on the blue and gold carpet that rolled all the way through the main hall to the throne.

And there he sat.

The Witch-King.

Perched on a seat of black wood and royal blue cushions, the back gilded with designs of filigree and flames, the man was in armor that made him look every bit the warmonger he was. Ice crept from a point by his left foot where his massive sword was stabbed into the stone, the black and blue gems in the hilt and pommel shone in elegance. Leaning to the other side, the Witch-King was propped up on one curled fist, mercurial eyes watching them apathetically.

Titus had a hard time not staring, feeling as if the man were the densest thing in the room and was pulling him in. While Bairre was big —Well, fuck, massive— there was something to the build of the Witch-King, even under all his armor, he gave the impression that there was nothing in excess. A weapon honed and edge perfected. Behind him burned a massive fireplace, once again roaring with azure flames. Titus couldn’t tell if that was what made the man’s snowy white hair tint with the barest bit of silver, or if it truly was that color. The only indicator of his age.

Where Titus had trained himself to expect an elderly man —perhaps not too dissimilar from a Lich— the one before him looked to be no older than his thirties. Even Dellman looked more affected by time. Though, as far as he knew that was impossible, for the Witch-King had been haunting this land for at least half a century.

Bairre strode to his side, arms folding behind his back, his Familiar swooping from the rafters to his broad shoulder. Armin jauntily tried to join his father figure at his side, but the stoic man rolled his eyes, tugged at the boy’s ear, and pointed him to a side door.

The boy’s pout was almost enough to distract Titus from his impending doom. Those empty eyes locked on him briefly, giving the slightest of glare before sliding away. Unlike in all the times in the recent past when panic began building in his chest, nothing came to soothe Titus’ fears. No little tug to assure him all would be well.

It wasn’t until Titus caught Irvin out of the corner of his eye kneeling did he realize it would be most rude not to bow, taking a knee and mimicking the Mage felt like the best bet. Neither Dellman nor Cletus bowed.

“Well?” The sovereign’s voice rolled out, deep and gravely, pulling Titus under like a riptide.

“Gentleman says he’s here to collect on a bounty. Brought you a nice little Witch-Marked.” His Knight-Commander informed.

“Bounty.” The king grumbled.

Bairre hummed a confirmation.

“Thought we tore those down because bandits kept dragging poor sods up here with faked Marks, hoping for some easy coin.”

“We did,” The large man nodded. “But I verified, boy’s Marks are true.”

“Interesting,” Once again the king’s eyes drifted over him, sending ice to his heart. “And what do you propose I pay for him?”

“Poster said you’re buying up Marks for forty Gilds.” Standing his ground, Cletus didn’t seem like the kind to barter well. Though, frankly, Titus was surprised to hear his life was worth that much. It was a pretty big step up from the Silvers Dellman had mentioned so long ago.

“Looks a little roughed up,” The Witch-King almost seemed to smirk, as if enjoying a game. “I’d say half that, at most.”

“We dragged that brat all the way up from the Drastwood,” The bandit argued. “Any scuffs and dents he got himself in a few bars fights along the way ain’t on us.”

“Could drop it down to coppers.” This time the man definitely grinned, a hint of teeth a little too sharp.

“Nae, we could’ve gotten triple that from the Crown.” Cletus declined furiously.

“Is that right?” A slow aura wisped around the man’s sword, the hilt long enough to look like a staff.

“Too true,” The chief nodded. “Now I don’t care if they take that little prick and Sever him, but if this is how your highness conducts business, no deal.”

Titus couldn’t imagine how a person could be so stupid to openly threaten a monarch and hope to survive, but, well… it was Cletus. And while Titus had gathered he was a snipe at cards and had a decent hand with a dagger, the short-statured man had plenty of flaws.

For the first time, Titus noticed the king’s Familiar, a large snowy bird with massive talons perched on one side of the throne. Attention keenly locked on him in return.

“Now, are ye gonna be a man of your word and give my men what they are owed, or are we dragging this prat back down the mountain and at least earning a little bit of coin off of him?”

“Oh, you will be getting exactly what you’re owed.” The Witch-King stated coldly, like a proverbial executioner’s ax falling.

Cletus clutched at his throat, gagging and trying to gasp for air. He writhed, frantically digging at his own skin for anything to save him. His skin began to turn blue, the finest of ice crystals forming along his flesh, crawling along glacier slow. A panicked whine escaped him as it clawed up on his face and his whole body went rigid. Unsteady. Titus had to look away as the encrusted figure toppled, and shattered on the unforgiving stone floor.

“Any other complaints?” The king stated disinterestedly, as if he hadn’t just killed a man.

“No, M’Lord.” Irvin said lowly, head pressed down to the floor, body shaking.

Those horrible eyes then drifted to Dellman, who had fastidiously not been looking at him this entire time, arms folded tight across his chest but quivering.

Jolting off his knees, Titus stumbled a little but spread himself in front of his friend.

“No!”

There was a short stunned silence in the throne room, only Dellman’s terrified whisper asking him if he’d gone mad coming through.

An amused brow rose. “No?”

“He’s a good man.” Titus stated solidly, bravely staring the warlord down.

“And what of that one?” The king tilted to the remains of the former bandit leader.

“Cletus was an ass, but I wouldn’t have wished him dead.”

The Witch-King considered him for a moment. “And would you say you are here of your own volition?”

Thinning his lips, Titus stood firm. “No.”

“Kidnapped?” Again that smug brow rose.

“Yes.”

That caused the man to hum. “You don’t wish to go home?”

The question caught him off guard, putting Titus mentally on the back foot. Surely the king couldn’t be offering to just send him back. Could he?

“I would, but…” Eyes drifting down to his arm, Titus’s brow furrowed.

“But you don’t belong there.” The Witch-King finished for him, their eyes meeting again. Something… softer there. Understanding.

A quiet filled the room, desolate and empty.

“The rest of you are free to leave,” The king finally spoke up. “I want you off my mountain by the end of morrow. Rest tonight and supplies will be given to you for the trip, but I want you to spread the word: I do not deal in bodies.”

Irvin couldn’t get up and out fast enough, the large doors barely cracking before he was through. Dellman left at a much more sedate pace.

“You’re alright?” He checked.

“I’ll be fine.” Titus nodded confidently.

Looking back to the throne, he saw the King watching him. All the eyes in the room were.

“And just what should we call you, my little offering?” The white-haired man smirked.

“Titus,” Giving a small bow, he wasn’t sure what the proper protocol was. Had never held audience with a lord before. Let alone a king. “Titus Smithsen, of Belyn.”

“Well —Titus Smithsen, of Belyn— you have a home here,” Sitting up straight, only to lean forward and weave his fingers together. “You belong here.”

“T-thank you, M’Lord.” Titus kept his head lowered.

“Any further requests of mercy before I retire for the evening?” The king again gave that lazy smile.

Wondering just how far the Witch-King’s generosity stretched, Titus hoped one last thing wouldn’t break their new truce. “There’s another one, Ruggard, doesn’t speak. He was nice to me.”

“Making friends with your kidnappers?” The man chuckled, silver eyebrow peaking.

Titus just shrugged sheepishly.

“Alright, I’ll make sure he gets first pick of all the supplies.” The king stated, final.

It was more than Titus was expecting, honestly, not that he was sure what exactly he was angling for in the first place.

Standing, the Witch-King showed just how damned tall he was, not to the heights of his commander but too close to it.

“Make sure someone cleans,” He did a little finger swirl at the collection of frozen viscera on the floor. “That up before breakfast.”

From its perch on the throne that brilliant white bird ruffled its feathers and swooped off. In one smooth action of ethereal blur it was a snow leopard before it hit the ground. Prowling on silent paws, Titus felt peeled under those icy blue eyes, right down to his bones, to his secrets and truths. The beast was large as it sauntered closer, studying him, looping around behind him only to bump his elbow on the other side with its head. More of the body made contact as it passed, a chirrup followed by a purr, long tail batting playfully at his face as it walked away.

Bairre was watching on with an impassive countenance, but the Witch-King have a much more severe look on his face. Confusion. Audacity. Rage. People didn’t just go around touching each other’s Familiars, an unspoken rule but known across the lands. Titus had seen others interact with another person’s Familiar, but it typically meant something, that they were close. Those soldiers in Millow came to mind, yet again.

The beast was back at the king’s feet, licking at a paw and ignoring the drama it just unleashed.

“Alo,” Fury seeped through every bit of the king’s voice. “Come.”

Ripping his sword out of the floor as he made his exit, a door slammed causing Titus to jump a little. The fires snapped out.

“Shit,” The Knight-Commander sighed heavily, rubbing at his face. “Not a single Æther damned day.”

Shaking his head, the Knight-Commander came back over. “Alright, I’ll walk you back. We’ll work on getting you set up better… tomorrow, or some other day. C’mon.”

Chapter Text

That first day had been hard, Titus seeing his two friends off after midday. Irvin had wasted no time fleeing from Dhane Reothein, but both Dellman and Ruggard made sure they were well equipped and packed for the journey down.

“I’d say I wish we meet again under better circumstances, but, well.” Dellman grinned, shrugging again and head tilted. Metal tooth and all.

“Fuck.” Titus had promised that he wouldn’t let himself cry, but it saddened him to see one of the few friends he’d ever made leave. Surging forward he hugged the older man tightly, the other laughing and patting him on the back.

Pulling away, he turned his wet eyes to Ruggard. “You take care of him.” Knowing the man needed no order to do so for himself.

The mute man rolled his eyes and ruffled Titus’ hair.

Watching them pack their way back across that bridge on finer steeds and in thick cloaks didn’t ease the pain in his chest, staying there until they passed a bend and he couldn’t see them anymore.

The Knight-Commander was solidly standing there by his side, his Familiar once again a large gray bear. He didn’t even need to look down to see Titus looking up at him with sad eyes.

“Don’t even think about it.”

Luckily, Armin was there to give him a firm hug and assurance his friends would make it down the mountains safely. Promised to have their men at the base send a letter through when they did.

Finding his place in a keep full of Mages was easier than Titus would have expected. The days after the first he spent feeling a little sorry for himself, and it was clear that the soldiers in the barracks were unsure what to do with that.

Titus himself didn’t really know what to do with it, he wasn’t typically one to mope.

“Alright,” Armin said one morning, setting a bowl of porridge before him because Titus had failed to show up at breakfast yet again. “Enough of this. What are you good at?”

“What?” Still drowsy from sleeping in too late, the dark-haired man scratched at his chest.

“Everybody’s got a job around here, everyone’s got to pull their own weight and work,” The blond spoke seriously. “So, what do you do?”

“Uh…” Rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, Titus tried to shake it out of his head. “I was apprenticing with my dad at the smithy. Ran errands or orders.”

Armin hummed, tapping at his chin. “Well… our blacksmith is a bit of an old goat, but he might need an extra pair of hands. You ever work with enchantments? Because trust me, at the rate our boys break shit,” He shot a glance to a couple of soldiers who had the decency to look cowed. “Having another person who can meld magic into metal would be nice.”

“Can’t say I have…” Titus gulped. He was no enchanter, he could forge a darn good blade, but it would just be mundane metal.

“Either way, we’ll find you a spot!” The steward clapped on his thighs, ready to start his day. When the boy wasn’t showing Titus around he was typically assisted various knights around the keep or shadowed his father.

Eventually the men in the barracks got used to him being around and started engaging him a little more. Taught him how to play cards and more complicated dice games, shared stories over a few ales, and never questioned him about the marks swirling up his arm.

When Armin said that the Forge Master was an old goat, Titus wasn’t expecting, well, a Minotaur. With the expected stature, and tints of gray sneaking into his fur and braided beard. Massive arms crossed over his chest, a heavy leather apron appearing to be the only thing the bull-man was wearing.

“This is Damascus!” Armin chirped, not at all intimidated by the bovine's bored stare. “Best damn smith on the continent and the one making sure our blades are the sharpest and the… the best!”

“Uh, p-pleasure, Sir.” Titus offered out a hand, trying to ignore how it shook.

“You ever work with Beast-Men before?” The Minotaur flatly asked, brow judging him.

“C-can’t say I have, Sir.” The sweat on his brow wasn’t just from the heat of the forge.

“He’s from Bælia.” Armin stage-whispered, scrunching his face in distaste.

The bull huffed. “Ever work a forge?”

“My father is a blacksmith in Belyn.” Titus nodded a little more confidently.

“Right,” Damascus huffed. “You start Monday, by eight. If you’re late more than three times, I’m kicking your ass to the curb. Don’t care whose dick your sucking.”

Armin cheered despite the man’s crude words.

“And you,” The bull pointed at the blond boy. “Tell your old man if he gives me any more armor with Gerne teeth in ‘em, I’m charging him double.”

Having something to actually do in the keep helped a lot in making Titus actually feel settled. He fell into an easy pattern of waking up, eating, going to work, then returning to the barracks as the sun was setting. Titus even managed to earn himself a little favor with Damascus by bringing the Minotaur an apple pastry in the mornings. He wouldn’t exactly say the man warmed up to him, but he seemed less gruff in his corrections after the habit was started.

“Y’er work is okay,” The old bull judged one day. “Good enough for people off the mountain.”

“Quite a few of the Crown’s men would come through our village,” Titus offered, working on wiping down a new sword. “Kept plenty of their gear in good shape.”

Damascus hummed. “Ever get to work with anything more than steel?”

Shaking his head, Titus looked up at his boss. “Worked a little bit with bronze once. My dad was the real artisan.”

“Wouldn’t say that,” The bull pointed to the little flourishes on the hilt. “Got a bit of orichalcum laying around somewhere, could let you play with that a bit.”

Titus’ eyes widened. Orichalcum was rare —not as valuable as gold or as mythical as mythril— but it made for strong blades and armor, held fast onto enchantments. His father once told him about how King Urlich’s armor was merely leafed with it, not even the Crown being able to afford a full set.

“Oh, I couldn’t do that,” He shook his head again. “I’m sure there are much better uses for it.”

“Not really,” Damascus scratched at his bare chest, the bull rarely ever wore more than a simple pair of shorts under his apron most days. “Practically a bit of slag left over from some project I had.”

“Isn’t it,” Titus’ ears heated up, ducking down a little. “Rare?”

“Rare?” The bull chuckled, tapping on the wall where a golden vein ran along. “Kid, it’s everywhere up here. In the walls, in the floors. Shit, it’s so common we can’t even use it for money!”

“But…”

“Down in the lowlands, sure,” Damascus continued his little tirade. “That’s just because the king is real protective of the shit, near refuses to let it off the mountains. Holds on too strong to magic, and he ain't letting that slip by.”

“If you’re sure…” Titus was still unsure how to feel about it, he wanted to be eager to have the opportunity, but he was also terrified of messing it up.

“I mean, you don’t gotta,” The bull huffed, going over to his various crates of scrap. “But it’d be good experience.”

“I just don’t want to mess it up.” The dark-haired man finally admitted.

The bull snickered, hefting a box filled with rich golden-colored metal over. “Good luck with that. Ain’t mythril or amaranthum, won’t shatter if you hit it wrong. Have fun.”

Then he was left with a box of valuable metals while his boss went out front to barter with a sylvan who’d just stepped in. It had taken Titus a little bit of time to get used to non-humans walking around —was still trying to wrap his head around it, if he was honest— the fear had eased quickly, but there was just something bizarre about talking to a man that was half goat or a woman who had bark for skin and flowers for hair. Titus had seen elves and dwarves before, not common in Bælia but around, but anything beyond that had been only lived in stories.

By the end of his day Titus had crafted a decent dagger out of the orichalcum, the metal had been easily malleable but held solid when cooled. It almost felt like he was playing more with clay than metal, had been able to etch in fine little details that wouldn’t have been possible with steel right out of the forge. The edge was fine but took to sharpening well. Polished up and setting on the workbench, it gleamed in a warm light.

“Not bad,” Damascus complimented as he examined it and tested the point. “Balance is off, but orichalcum weighs weird. A good dagger for a first attempt.”

The praise caused Titus to blush a little, happy to hear the Forge Master approved of his work. Cleaning up the bench and seeing to the last few duties for the day, Titus was surprised to see Bairre standing there when he had packed up and stepped out onto the street. Damascus was still keeping him primarily in the back, preferring to deal with customers himself and because the human hadn’t quite gotten a handle on how the Minotaur did his pricing.

The bull gently nudged him forward as he also left to lock up the door.

“Titus.” The large man nodded, Familiar content to be a little ball of gray fur tucked against his neck.

“Commander, hello.” He hadn’t really seen the man much, sometimes he was spotted talking to his men or was stationed at one of the gates. But from what Titus had gathered Bairre spent much more time in the keep, Armin saying that the man had a lot of duties on the council and was one of the trainers for the knights.

Damascus snorted and placed a hand on the human’s shoulder. “You end up stealing my apprentice I ain’t repairing any more pairs of your boots.”

“I’m sure we can come to an agreement.” Bairre politely said, though he did seem worried about the ‘threat’.

“Three days,” The bull gruffly demanded, fingers held up. “Rest of the time, he’s yours.”

“I, uh, don’t want to cause any trouble,” Titus worriedly looked between the two large men. “I… I could stay here.”

“Nonsense,” The Minotaur snorted, ruffling his head with a hand that eclipsed it. “Go do whatever Magey shit they want you do be doing, Kid. I can hold the fort down, done it before.”

“I do like working here.” Titus insisted.

“Then you’ll be back,” The bull shrugged giving the commander one more warning glance. “Don’t give me a reason to come calling for him.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Bairre grinned back, the two seeming to have an agreement.

“Good,” Damascus waved as he started to stomp off. “Oh, and you owe me extra for that broken blade yer boy dropped off yesterday. Could have said it was a screamer.”

Being jolted out of his work by a piercing howl had been an… experience. Damascus cursed in some unknown —and a few known— languages before he got the damned thing to shut up, disabling the enchantment. Once their heart rates had gone back to normal they shared a laugh over it. The Minotaur explaining that the enchantment was meant to simply warn others off —a polite little way to tell thieves to fuck themselves, his words—, but the blade had gotten snapped clean in half and well, sometimes that bent the magic too.

Titus knew next to nothing about the actual act of enchantment, but he hung on every rare word his boss liked to share about it.

“Ready?”

“Sure.” Titus nodded, following the larger man through the streets.

“Need anything immediately from your bunk?”

“Uh, depends,” The dark-haired man rubbed at the back of his head. “Where are we going?”

“King wants you up in the keep,” Bairre explained. “Armin can get the rest of your stuff moved over to your new rooms.”

That was a little surprising, the Knight-Commander had once said something about that weeks ago, but after so long Titus just figured that it had been forgotten about. Not that he minded, the barracks had grown on him and he was making friends. It was nice how easily he just fit into place there, feeling like people wanted him there even. It was also odd to hear that the king himself wanted him moved, he hadn’t gotten a particularly strong feeling that the man liked him much.

“I, uh, should probably clean up if I’m going to the keep.” It was true, Titus had just spent a day in a hot room, pounding on metals and sewing leathers. Not only was he smeared with ash but he definitely worked up a sweat during the day. Neither he nor Damascus minded the musky odor that they carried about the day, both too familiar how it was a hazard of the trade, the soldiers back in the barracks only teased but they razzed everyone. Titus, however, doubted that the king would want him stinking up the halls.

Bairre simply rolled his eyes. “There ain’t a single one of us who hasn’t been bollocks deep in Bloater guts before, Lad. A little bit of coal and sweat ain’t gonna rustle our jammies.”

Hearing the large man use a term like ‘jammies’ was amusing —a little endearing, actually— and it caused Titus to snicker. The man’s imperious brow shut him up right quick, but he did spot a small grin on his face. A thought —well, a constant occurrence, really— poked its head up as they were crossing the bridge to the keep.

“Armin’s your son, right?”

“He’s my boy, yes.” The tone Bairre said it was a place one could easily misstep but also asked the further question of ‘what of it?’.

Initially, he hadn’t meant it that way; calling their actual relation into question. Because, well, the boy looked similar to the man if he took more heavily after his mother. Just enough to not raise suspicion, but, well, Titus had questions. Of a different nature, but he wanted to revisit this someday.

“Well, you’re the Knight-Commander and live in the keep. But he’s my… steward? Or he’s in charge of all my stuff…” Titus frowned a little, the kid never actually said exactly what he was. Just seemed to spend a lot of time running things around for people.

“And?” There was amusement under the tone, but Bairre always seemed to have an overtone of threat about him.

“I mean, it’s not like he’s the king’s son. He’s not a prince or anything,” Titus dearly hoped he wasn’t about to ask something that would get him thrown from the battlements. “But I would have thought he’d at least be training to be a knight or have a higher station?”

Surprisingly, the man chuckled. “Kid’s more of a distraction than anything on the training fields, him and his Wolf get into too much mischief. Beside, it’s good for him to work his way up. The men respect him more for it and he understands their world better.”

That made sense, it wasn’t exactly a traditional way of raising a noble, but Titus wasn’t even sure if they had those here in Dhane Reothein. Beyond the king, anyways.

“No one will be mad at you for asking questions,” Bairre commented. “It is different here, we know that. Just… be mindful.”

Nodding, Titus followed him into the castle, trying to keep up but also wanting to observe his surroundings. All the braziers and fireplaces were lit with regular fire and things had a little more… life to them. Less sterile, more lived in. A few men were in the Main Hall, sitting at tables that hadn’t been there last time, no mark of a man losing his life there.

“Meals are served here at morning, midday, and evening, but there is generally always something available in the kitchens,” The man gave him regarding side-eye. “You didn’t hear it from me, but Róisín has a weak spot for puppy eyes and a stash of custards at all times.”

That recalled a memory of Armin once saying his father was fond of the pastries. Titus briefly wondered if he could get on the man’s good side the same way he had his boss.

“Most of the keep is pretty open,” The commander continued, opening a door at the back of the room. “If you aren’t supposed to be somewhere, the stone will let you know.”

Whatever that meant.

Going up a flight of stairs and several more hallways, Bairre came to a stop at a door. A little flick of his wrist had a sigil lighting and the lock disengaged.

“This will be your room.” Opening the door revealed much nicer accommodations than Titus had ever really been given before. Most of it was still rather utilitarian like the rest of the keep was, but the bed looked plush and the furs clean. A major improvement from having to share the barracks with so many other men.

Large windows looked out over the snowy environs, a beautiful scene over the castle town below. He even had a bit of a view of the bailey down below, able to just make out the shapes of men training. The glass was remarkably clear and offered no distortion, something that wasn’t seen often in the lowlands.

He had his own fireplace, a stash of timber and wood next to it, large enough to comfortably heat the room. The commander walked over to it, lighting the logs with another flick of his wrist. So easily there was a roaring flame already raising the rooms temperature. A casual show of magic that meant nothing to the man, where as Irvin had to work to get their campfires going each night.

“Armin will be up at some point with the rest of your belongings,” Bairre glanced out a window. “Might be some time, him and his Wolf tend to walk the ramparts this time of day.”

A small smile lit Titus’s face, hearing that there was some normalcy to the boy’s life. That it was so easily allowed to him. “It’s no rush. I don’t exactly have a lot.”

A sad truth. Weeks ago the only belongings he had that were actually his own were his road-torn boots. With his first pay he’d purchased some clothes and thicker footwear. Damascus had been beside himself and strode out, returning with more —weather appropriate— clothing and gave him back a good section of his coin.

“You’re one of mine,” The bull had grumbled and refused to take the money back. “I take care of my herd.”

The Knight-Commander studied him before nodding a little. Walking to the door, he tapped at a small section on the frame, a tiny sigil etched there. “You’re safe here, this room is yours. Tap this and not even the king can enter without permission. I’ll let you settle.”

Armin did appear, as the sun was well into setting and the sky filled with dusk. His hair was a little disheveled and there was beard-burn on his throat, looking like he’d been beset upon by, well, a wolf. As the boy organized Titus’ things into a chest at the foot of his bed he hummed a little tune.

“Have a nice evening, did you?” He couldn’t help but tease.

The blond boy’s pale complexion blushed adoringly. “Yes.”

Titus sat on his bed, still mildly baffled by the sheer amount of pillows. “You’re Bonded, tell me more about them?”

Brown eyes lit with joy and Armin practically skipped to the bed to join him. “Him,” He chuckled, flopping back onto the bed. “My Wolf. He’s...Well. He’s amazing! A little older, he’s from Ribæl, was a soldier there, kept his magic a secret.”

“Is his name actually Wolf?” Titus laughed, amused by how enamored the boy was.

Armin snorted. “No. But it’s what we call him, he doesn’t like his real name much.”

“How’d you meet him?”

“He was practically feral,” Armin’s voice quieted, a scared tone, afraid not of but for his Bonded. “My uncle came across him in the foot hills, damn near thought he was a Lycan,” Terror filled the boy’s words. “They tried to Sever him, he fought back and it failed. He escaped, but it has left him… changed. More beast than man sometimes.”

He chuckled. “Bairre was so pissed when my uncle dragged him into it all. Was adamant that I wasn’t to be anywhere near that ‘wretched mongrel of a creature’,” The boy’s impersonation was amusingly bad, too high pitched too be that of his father. “But I snuck out one night to see what all the flutter was about, found him kept in one of the cells under the keep. And, yeah, the fucker bit me,” Pulling aside his tunic to show the scar on his shoulder, Armin chuckled. “But we’ve been inseparable ever since.”

“How did you know…” Titus pulled up a knee to wrap around. “That he was your Bonded?”

“At first I didn’t,” Armin laughed. “Just overheard Bairre yelling at my uncle about bringing some flea-bitten wolf man into the keep. But I kept getting these dreams, feeling a pull. I can’t really explain it, but when I saw him for the first time, I just knew.”

Titus didn’t know exactly what to make of any of that. He’d been having dreams, reliving his memories, but nothing pointed towards who was on the other side of his Bond. The little prods he’d gotten never hinted at who they might be or even what their personality was like. After years of silence, Titus had learned to just ignore it all.

“Must be awkward, your Bonded working for your father.”

“Not really,” Armin snickered. “Bairre’s a fair man, and Wolf has drive. He want’s to be a Knight-Captain before we wed. Probably one of the hardest working knights we have.”

“And, I’m sure, you’re not just saying that.” Titus teased.

“No!” The boy jolted up, playfully looking affronted. “Wolf trains really hard, pushes himself to the brink and past it. Him and his Familiar fight with such a ferocity that we are thankful they are on our side.”

Chuckling, Titus let the boy calm down, rolling his eyes when the other shoved at him.

“Mine isn’t going to bite me, are they?”

“Probably not,” Armin snickered. “Unless you ask.”

Titus gave the boy a shove, laughing at the thought.

“You really don’t know anything about them?” Armin asked softly once they quieted.

“No,” Titus shook his head, laying back beside him, staring up at the stone ceiling. “Our Bond has always been pretty quiet.”

“How far does it go?” The blond asked, noting how he could see the bit peeking on Titus’ clavicle. Down to a chemise a lot of it was on display.

“That’s about it,” The older pulled the neckline aside. “Comes up along the side of my neck, noticed it’s starting to claim some of my shoulder blade.”

“A pretty big mark.” The blond commented.

Titus snorted, as if he didn’t know.

“Whoever it is must be pretty powerful,” Musing on it the boy tapped at his lips. “Only a few Mages I know have that strong of a hold on the Æther.”

“Any of them already know their Bonded?” Titus wondered, unsure if he wanted to follow the lead or not.

“Well, there is Bairre,” Armin stretched his arms overhead. “But him and my uncle have been together for decades. Like, literally forever.”

And, that was a relief. The Knight-Commander was an attractive man in his own rights, but he also seemed about as friendly as a boulder and laying with him would most likely feel like being crushed by one. A little sobering to hear the man was among the ranks of Mages that others considered ‘powerful’, but it made sense, as if the Witch-King would have anyone in his upper echelon that wasn’t.

“There is also Tansy,” Armin continued. “Her husband runs a little apothecary in town. I know some of the J’arls of the Northern Mountains are Marked.”

“Just how powerful are we talking about?” Titus asked, out of pure curiosity.

“Well, there isn’t a strict correlation,” Armin hummed, sitting up and looking more seriously at the dark-haired man’s marks. “But something like that, well, it would be really unlikely it was someone just coming into their power. They’ve probably practiced a long time.”

A horrible thought ran through Titus’ head, there was at least one person he knew of that fit that description. And it filled him with dread. Wetting his lips, he never thought he was ever more afraid to get an answer to a question like he was now.

“The, uh, Witch-King, is he Bonded?”

Armin pulled in to himself, looking down and away. “We don’t call him that here.” His words a near whisper, afraid.

“But no,” The boy’s voice suddenly sounded sad. Very sad. “They… They died when they were very young. A long time ago.”

Coldness swept through him, an inescapable chill. Titus wasn’t sure to make of it, the loss the man must have felt. He wasn’t sure if Armin meant that it happened when they were both young, but either way Titus remembered the utterly hollowed look Dellman had when he spoke of Emily. No wonder the man seemed so empty inside.

It stuck with him that night, unable to sleep until late, left staring at the stone above him. When he finally sank to slumber, it wasn’t an easy one.

“Put that thing outside,” His father ordered. “It has no place in my home!”

Titus had been so young, the first petals still unfurling on his wrist, clutching a tiny piglet in his arms. Tears poured down his face, his father had never yelled at him like that before. He didn’t understand why his father hated his new friend so much.

Taking the little shoat out to the barn, he tried to bundle it tightly with a blanket and some straw. The animal didn’t want to be left alone and wriggled, squealed. Cried. It was hard to leave him behind. Their dog had a cozy home that was built next to the house, maybe in the morning he could convince his father to let him build one for Tor.

Sneaking back into the house, Titus paused at his parent’s door, cracked open and frantic voices coming through.

“They’re going to take my boy,” Titus had never heard his father sound so broken, had never heard him cry. “They’re going to take him and hurt him. I-I can’t, let them, I can’t.”

Mother hushed him.

Titus didn’t know why his father thought Tor was going to hurt him.

He was never allowed to build Tor a little house, but sometimes he was able to sneak the piglet inside if his father went to bed early.

Stars were still high in the sky when Titus jolted awake. Mind still echoing memories of trying to hide his friend from his father. Still raw, heart pounding. Wetness at the corners of his eyes was wiped away, Titus tried to control his breath and pull his tender bits back in.

Safe. Comfort.

The little taps were almost even more shocking, having not felt them for a while now. A sudden sense of fury went through him, all his own. Because how dare whoever it was play with him like this. Pulling him along with the barest effort, a nearly absent amount of care. Bristling and hurt, all Titus thought to send back was a psychic Fuck. You.

A moment passed in the dark before a quiet —timid— Sorry came back through, and then he was left alone.

Sleep, once again, waited forever to take him. And when it did, Titus had only wished it hadn’t.

Something slammed, boots falling in the distance. A small hand reached out from the bars holding them back. The echos of whimpering children rang off the walls, some of them screamed out, some begs. Most only cried.

Pain followed, excruciating agony, like being dipped in molten metal. Hammered and reformed, broken and bent into a more preferable shape. Something was pulled out, like one would take straw out of a doll. Nothing was put back in.

Fear. Bitter and lost. Staring down a scarred man who held a blade. Blood, so much blood. A dead man at his feet. Something else was taken.

Monsters ate his brothers. People laughed. They threw rocks at him. Spit.

More was taken.

He felt empty.

Perfect.

Bolting awake, yet again, Titus clung to himself. It hadn’t been his life this time, his anguish or strife. But it was lived, he felt it all and it clasped to him, refusing to let go. Phantoms of that pain caused him to shake, gagging on it, eventually retching to the side of his bed. His body was sweaty like he had just worked a day in the forge, and he quivered. Despite the fire warmed room, he felt cold and cored.

Unlike before, nothing came to soothe him back to sleep.

Chapter Text

Life in the keep was different than in the barracks, Titus once again unmoored for a few days before he was able to get his footing. There were less people around, mostly servants that could be seen going about their duties, and guards doing their patrols. Everyone had been rather polite, redirecting Titus when he got lost or offering suggestions on what else there was to do in the castle.

Wandering the stone halls, he’d been able to come across a few interesting things. There was a massive library, books that went back ages and were in languages that were long since dead. He’d stumbled across a small garden with a gazebo that looked like it had once been a place of worship. Trying to go upstairs was met with a foreboding sense, a repulsion that felt like a solid wall.

That must have been what the commander had meant when he said the stone would let him know.

The only other place Titus had met with such a force had been a door that he was informed led to the dungeons below. Though, that wasn’t really a place that he wanted to explore anyways.

Meals had been nice, Titus finding easy company from some of the men who sat at the tables. He’d apparently worked on a few of their swords and word had traveled.

“Ye ever play Hexen?” One —he believed was named Jehan— asked, leaning forward from a few seats down.

“Can’t say I have,” Titus grinned back, a little loosened by mead and the camaraderie the men shared. “Not too popular in Belyn.”

“Makes sense,” Another man commented. “Prints tend to come out of Chelnmauer, take a while to travel that far.”

“Well, c’mon lads, we all got some extras,” Jehan roused. “Bet we could put together at least a somewhat decent deck for ‘im.”

The next half-hour was spent with the various guys at the table putting forth their spare chips and assembling something they could teach him with. Bickering about the pros and cons of each card they chose and chaffing one another for their own choices. A band of brothers, all able to have their own conversations going on while still staying engaged with the main one. Chatter around the table established that most of them were Bound Mages whose other halves lived in the town.

Jehan explained to him the basics, which were fairly simple, setting up a game with the knight across from him to display the rules. Titus had seen it before, Ruggard had played a few games with Irvin and strangers at the inn, but he hadn’t really been paying too close attention.

“Decks are pretty easy, twenty five cards at the most but gotta be at least twenty,” The eager brunet explained, shuffling his own. “You start the game by picking up five off the top. Different people have different ways of deciding who goes first.” Propping his elbow on the table, Jehan waggled his fingers at his opponent.

The show of strength was impressive, both men already fit with muscle but the struggle between them only exemplified it. Eventually Jehan won and the table cheered, though the knight across from him—Markeus—was a good sport of it.

Jehan placed down a chip with a green border, showing some sort of dryad. “You can set yer card down on any of the available spots,” He tapped at the glowing lines that formed on the table once the card had been set. Titus hadn’t seen that before, but Ruggard had a little leather map that he rolled out. “Each card’s got a number on each side, highest number wins. A lot of cards got a color too, that can add a point to that number or take one away. Forest Dryad here is green, so she is strong against yellow cards but weak to red,” Markeus played what looked to be a standard soldier. Little illusions of the creatures stood over their retrospective cards and fought, the soldier winning. The border around the dryad on the table changed color to match Markeus’, Jehan frowned a little. “You gotta be careful how you place your cards down,” He played a large beast that looked like a rooster mixed with a dragon, it burnt the soldier to a crisp. The table changed color again, cascading over into the Dryad also flipping. “If you’re lucky you can flip multiple cards like that, gotta keep an eye on the board as it’s constantly changing.”

A few more rounds played out before Jehan won but Markeus shook his head with a grin. It sounded like Jehan won a lot.

“Mostly, we play for chores around the keep,” The man drug a hand over his mohawk. “But the stakes can be pretty much anything, a lot of people in the lowlands play for cards themselves. There’s more to it than that, but you’ll catch on quick.”

Titus shuffled through the cards donated to him, a sturdy combination of what looked to be pretty common figures but a few strong cards were snuck in. The kindness of strangers willing to give this to him made his ears heat up a little, but it also made him remember that he had at least one to add to the pile. He didn’t keep it on him, worried about damaging it, but it would seem silly to not use it since he could play now.

“What about gold cards?”

“Gold cards?” Jehan tilted his head, a confused little smile on his face.

“Yeah, its border is shiny, like metal. Looks like gold.” Titus explained further.

“Shit, ye got a Metallic!?” The man perked up, leaning in eagerly. “Thought ye said ye don’t play.”

“I don’t!” The darker-haired man held his hands up in defense. “A friend gave it to me.”

“Well, go on, which one is it?” Like a school boy his face was lit up in excitement.

Titus scratched his memory for the creature that existed on the card, he knew he’d heard of such animals before, but the name just narrowly evaded him. He hadn’t looked at it in a while. “Uh, it’s like a big animal. Golden fur, long ears, curling horns.”

“Ye got a Metallic Golden Luffalope.” Jehan stated flatly, as if it were unbelievable.

“Maybe?” Titus’ shoulders met his ears in a deep shrug.

“Lad,” Markeus spoke up from where he was stuffing a pipe. “They only print five of those each year. Most of which stay among the collectors of Chelnmauer and other big cities. They’re pretty rare.”

“Awe, man,” Jehan whined. “I only ever saw one Metallic my whole life and it was just a bloody Copper.”

“Total card hounds like that one horde ‘em like dragons.” Markeus pointed to his colleague with his pipe before blowing little rings into the air.

“Don’t suppose you’d trade for it?” The man looked mulishly from where he was now dramatically splayed of the table. The others chuckling at him as if these antics weren’t uncommon.

“Uh, no?” Titus wasn’t really sure, he didn’t really care too much about the value of the card, but it had been a gift. It would be rude to trade that away.

Jehan whined but Markeus flicked him in the forehead. “Don’t be annoying,” He gave Titus a teasing wink. “Everyone knows your first one is special.”

Titus narrowed his eyes in return and flipped the man off. The double entendre not going unnoticed. Asshole had the audacity to laugh and blow a smoke ring at him.

“Can I at least see it?” Jehan’s big blue eyes were suddenly more dangerous that any spell he could sling and Titus felt himself crack under the pressure.

“Shit, if you were trying to get into his rooms, you should have just said so.” Another knight teased, a little more drunk than the others.

Titus blushed, turning his glare to the blond man who he was pretty sure was named Ashley.

“Nah, if I was trying to get in his pants I’d be a lot smoother.” Jehan shot back, picking himself off of the wood.

“Sadly, I’m spoken for.” Titus rolled up his sleeve a bit to show off.

“Well, shit, so am I,” Jehan lifted the side of his tunic to reveal what looked like a skull sitting in a boneyard, a blade of a sword jutting from them, the word Beloved scrawled along the edge. “We got an agreement, since the fucker is always away from the keep.”

“I, uh,” His mouth was a little dry, not only because Jehan was a damn fine looking man, but also hearing that some Bond-Mates weren’t exclusive had just shaken his whole understanding of how it worked. “I’m not sure.”

“Awe, no pressure,” Jehan lowered his shirt, an easing smile on his face. “I ain’t like that,” He gave Titus a gracious one over. “Just saying, wouldn't exactly be a hardship.”

“Not everyone is so open.” Markeus warned the other off.

“Anyone ever tell ye yer a real wet sock, Captain?” Jehan groused.

“You do,” The man twitched his mustache. “Frequently.”

Titus hadn’t been expecting Markeus to be a Knight-Captain, the others were so at ease around him; gave him so much shit. It was reassuring, for as ruthless as their king might have been, it didn’t seem like a similar mean streak went through his men.

Meals were a lot more comfortable after that, Titus finding himself under the wing of a gaggle of men who were willing to show him the ropes. It wasn’t common that they were all there at the same time, but there was always a spot for him at at least one of the tables. Titus even met a number of their partners over time, finding that Bond-Mates were split pretty evenly between men and women, leaning a little more towards those of female persuasion. He’d also learned that not all Bond-Mates were so in an intimate fashion, less common, but sometimes they were just two men who shared a very strong brotherhood. But there was one thing he really noticed missing among all the soldier and knights.

“I can’t help but notice there aren’t any women among the knighthood.” He commented one night, sitting next to Markeus, the two sharing a pipe. It wasn’t a common pastime for Titus, but the soft minty taste was a nice finisher to supper.

“Women are smart enough not to join the military.” Markeus joked.

“But, really, none of them?” Titus pressed.

“Eh, there’s more than you think,” The man pointed over to a far table where there indeed was a women in garb that showed her status as a knight. Titus hadn't noticed before as her hair was shorter and armor made her silhouette blockier. “Knight-Captain Elena is out on a tour right now, a lot of her squad are women. Most Mage women simply find a better living for themselves by improving their arts. Ever met a baker who can make biscuits better than sex itself, or a bard who’s music is a little too catchy? Mages.”

“Makes sense I guess.” Titus thought back, wondering just how many people he’s met out on the road who might have been more magical than originally thought.

“’Side, they didn’t take women back before the wars.” Markeus’ eyes were flinty, staring ahead but looking at nothing.

“Before the wars?”

Markeus sighed heavily, like a man who had lived far too long, patting him on the shoulder. “Another time, Lad.”

Most evenings, Titus spent in his room accompanied by Armin after the boy had his nightly stroll with his Bonded. Sometimes they just played cards or chatted about each other’s day. The boy was really growing on Titus, his never-ceasing enthusiasm was appreciated and kept him from delving into his own thoughts too much. The way his Mark had been acting up lately, Jehan told him that was a sign that his Bonded was somewhere nearby; most likely somewhere in the keep. But whoever it was kept that wall up even more solidly after that last night. The others asked him for hints, for anything they could use to hunt the fucker down —Jehan was rather committed to the act— they even started examining everyone they knew to see if they could find a matching Mark.

Not that they had to be identical, but there was typically a shared theme. They said something about magic knowing magic and left it at that.

“Wolf says you’re making friends.” Armin chirped one evening, having lost another game of Hexen. The guys had apparently set him up with a better deck than he originally thought.

“I guess.” Titus grinned, pulling over the little marble he had ‘won’. They never played for anything of value, just used with a set of five marbles that when one person collected all of or when they got bored they were done.

“Markeus wants to drag you to the training mats, see what your sword arm is like.” The boy eyed Titus’ exposed biceps, with good eating and exercise he’d been able to rebound fairly well from his poor trip across the continent.

“Not much of a soldier.” The dark-haired man commented.

“Maybe not,” The blond slapped down a card that showed some sort of fluffy little bird. “But you can swing a hammer, and that’s just as good in his book.”

“Why do I get the feeling that Markeus gave your dad a run for his money for his job?” Titus teased, calmly placing down a knight card and slaying the little bird.

Armin snorted. “Don’t know the half of it,” Tilting his head, the boy frowned a little. “You know he’s not, right?”

Titus’ eyes drifted up and met brown. “Not what?”

“Bairre isn’t my father…” Armin’s eyes went back to his cards. “Like, he raised me. But… we aren’t actually related.”

The thought had occurred to him before.

“Sounds like a father to me.” Titus confidently said, firmly but kindly.

The smile he got back from the boy was resplendent.

Knocking on his door the next day revealed to have the commander waiting on the other side. He was dressed very casually, in a black billowing shirt that revealed a good chunk of his chest; scars, hair, and all.

“Thought I’d come collect you for breakfast.”

Pulling on a clean tunic, Titus was quick to join him. Walking down the hallways in silence was almost a little intimidating, but Titus had long learned that Bairre was simply a man of few words.

“I wanted to thank you,” The man softly said, voice a warmer timber than usual. “For being so kind to my boy.”

Unexpecting it, the Titus chuckled a little. “He’s a good, kid.”

Fatherly pride rode on the Knight-Commander’s face. “Dah, he’s an imp and a half. But his heart is in the right place.”

Getting down to the Main Hall, Titus started for one of the lower tables where he saw Ashley tiredly trying to fend off a far too awake Jehan, but a thick hand landed on his shoulder.

“Join us up here today.”

Titus certainly hadn’t been anticipating an invitation to the king’s table, it would have been too bold to presume. Armin waved him over, pulling out a chair at his side. His father’s Familiar was sitting on the table, nibbling away at a biscuit held in its tiny hands. The Familiar comfortable enough to eat from the boy’s plate.

Titus didn’t think he’d ever seen a Familiar eat before.

“You get fat on snacks I’m making you run the ramparts.” Bairre fondly warned, the two sharing a stare-down before the small animal took another large bite.

The king sat on his commander’s other side, looking at him. Unimpressed. The the large man between them noticed, he turned a little and gripped the king’s shoulder and murmured something low to him. That caused the man to stop glaring and go back to his meal. The king’s familiar was stretched out by the fire, large feline paws wide and enjoying the warmth.

A servant dropped off a bowl of porridge and fruit before him, biscuits on the side. His new seating arrangement did not go unnoticed.

Unsure what to do about the silence, Titus ate a little but tried to start up conversation.

“I’m afraid I’ve never seen a Familiar quite like yours, Knight-Commander.”

“Bairre,” The auburn man mumbled around a mouth of food, swallowing before he continued. “He’s a chinchilla. Little creatures from the Southern Continent, soft as sin but only liking the cold mountains.”

“Although it is rude to ask.” The king snarked, words biting and deep.

“Sorry.” Titus hunched down. Really wishing he hadn’t earned the monarch’s ire.

“You didn’t know.” The commander eased, patting his shoulder.

“What were those pretty birds you saw down there again?” Armin cut through the tension easily. “Tansy has one in her shop.”

“Quetzal.” The Knight-Commander responded, again around his food.

“The Southern Continent,” Titus was awed. He’d only heard tales. “You’ve been there? What was it like?”

“Cold, wet, hot,” The large man shrugged. “’S more tropical down there when you ain’t in the mountains. Spent most of the time there sweating my bollocks off and trying to not get eaten by the giant bugs.”

Gulping, the Southern Continent suddenly sounded less appealing.

“Och, don’t listen to him,” The man sitting next to Titus piped up. “One teensy bug bites him on the ass and he complains about it for the next thirty years!”

“It nearly took off my leg!” Bairre protested, pointing at the offender.

“Yeah, yeah, spin your lies to somebody who wasn’t there, Fanbairre,” The man gave a roguish grin, dark hair flopping in his face. “Biggest creepy crawly we ever saw there was this big,” He held his hands about a foot apart. “Had too many damn legs and its venom could kill a cow, but the worst scare we ever got from one was finding ‘em in our boots in the morning.”

Grinning, Titus looked back to the man who’s ears were burning. Armin was laughing so all seemed okay. Whoever this other knight was, he decided he liked him.

“Varo,” The man promptly introduced. “These two ever give you any grief, let me know. I’ll set ‘em straight.”

The man’s accent spoke of someone from the Southern Isles, even if his complexion didn't. Dark hair, scruffy dimpled chin, slightly crooked nose, and bright green eyes.

A content calm settled after that, mild conversation floating around him. Having finished his meal and having nowhere to exactly be, Titus let it blanket over him.

“You work in the forge, correct?” The king’s voice rolled down to him, the man’s arctic stare once again locked on him.

And, shit, he sure hoped so. Titus hadn’t been expecting to be gone this long. “Uh, yes. With Master Damascus.”

“I hope we aren’t keeping you.” Those eyes drifting to the door not so subtly.

“Oh. I, uh, yes, of course,” Pushing back his chair a little, he wasn’t exactly sure where it all went wrong. “I simply thought… I thought I was brought here for a reason.”

Bairre’s look to him seemed deeply remorseful. “We like having those who are Marked a little more guarded. You’re the only one not from here, currently with us.”

“Ah,” Looking around, Titus saw how Armin was resolutely staring at his hands in his lap, but Varo looked pissed. “Well then…”

“You aren’t a prisoner,” The king growled. “Won’t stop you if you’d rather spend all day stinking up a smithy with some old bull.”

There was a venom in his voice that Titus had no idea what he had done to deserve. Equally, it seemed like most in the room were bewildered by their lord’s ire.

“Læsrin!” Bairre barked at the king, aghast at what he just said.

“I… apologize, M’Lord. For however I have wronged you,” Standing and giving a deep bow, Titus’ eyes felt wet. “I’ll take my leave. Thank you for breakfast.”

He refused to run, but Titus walked as swiftly as he could, just wanting to get out of that room as fast as possible. Could feel all those eyes burning him. Titus wasn’t stopped while leaving the keep, the guard at the bridge only giving him a questioning look as he summoned the partitions. Probably not too used to seeing men fleeing, crying, from the castle.

He was ‘late’ by the time Titus made his way to the forge, eyes mostly dry but face no doubt stained by tracks. Damascus was wrapping up some business with a dwarven woman, crossing his large arms over his bare chest.

“Was beginning to think you weren’t coming back.” His gruff voice was stern, hinted a bit with disappointment.

“I’m sorry,” Titus started at the cobblestone beneath his feet, noticing finally how he really wasn’t dressed for work like he normally was. “I just thought… I don’t know what I was thinking.”

The large bull sighed, walking around the counter to come closer. “It ain’t you, Kid. All them up there in the keep, they’re a little fucked in the head,” He pulled Titus to his side, covering his head with one of those mitts he called hands. Not quite petting, just covering. Offering shelter. “Not my place, but you’ll learn.”

Titus’ mind wasn’t much for forging that day, so Damascus set him to sharpening and polishing. Had him clean up the shop and crunch some numbers, easy work that kept his mind from wandering too far. Midday a man of a certain sort came and started talking to the Minotaur about the fashioning of a breathing apparatus, the bull telling him that he’d have to order parts from a glass-smith in Chelnmauer.

“Didn’t think you were one for sampling pink-flesh, Damascus.” The oddly aquatic looking man peered down at him.

“Ain’t fucking him,” His boss snorted. “He’s my apprentice.”

“Didn’t know you had one of those,” Blue lips grinned. “Just thought, with the way he was staring.”

Looking back to his work, Titus knew he was blushing. Hadn’t realized that he was.

“Never seen a Mera before,” Damascus snorted, stepping between them. “Off limits.”

“You’re no fun.” The Mera —?— sounded put out, playfully flirtatious.

“I ain’t on the menu either, shark,” His boss rebuffed. “I’ll send a messenger, write up a bill for ya when I hear back.”

“I’ll be hanging on every minute.” The filtered sounding voice purred before its owner walked away.

A heavy hand rested down on Titus’ head. “Lots of different folk down here away from the keep, don’t let them catch you looking too long.”

Swallowing heavily at the gentle reproach, Titus nodded, earning him a soft knock on his crown from those knuckles.

The Minotaur’s tail batted him as the bull walked away. “Also, I ain’t going to fuck you. So stop staring at my ass.”

Titus was going to apologize immediately, but the bull’s resonating laughter coming from the forge told him there was no need.

Worn and weary, Titus helped close up shop and started walking back to the keep but was intercepted by Jehan by the barracks.

“Oh, good,” He grinned widely, despite the fact that a huge section around his left eye was bruised near black. “Was beginning to worry I was going to have to hunt you down.”

“Fuck,” Titus wanted to reach out, because surely that was painful. “What happened to you?”

“Got into a bit of a tiff,” The brunet laughed, pulling him underarm. No small feat as Titus was actually taller. “Got the other guy real good, though. Think ‘e learned his lesson.”

All the way back to the keep Jehan griped about how hard Markeus was running them and how much he missed his Bonded. Apparently Ashley was a right cheat at cards and had taken one of Jehan’s favorite units out of spite, had sworn to win it back, vehemently. With a casual flick of his wrist the bridge rose, much to the guard’s annoyance.

“Couldn't help but notice you coming to breakfast with the commander this morning.” Jehan waggled his one brow, the other too swollen to move.

Giving his friend a suspicions side-eye, Titus slowly nodded. “And?”

“Ye gotta tell me,” Jehan continued to tease. “The Knight-Commander, he’s a big man, right?” Holding his hands crudely far apart.

Titus’ ears heated up, briefly wondering how much trouble he’d get in if he shoved a knight over the railings of the bridge. “I am not fucking the Knight-Commander!”

“Of course not,” Jehan roared with laughter. “Have you seen him? He’d be fucking you!”

Deciding it was worth the risk, Titus did shove the man. Jehan didn’t teeter over the safeguard, but he did theatrically act like he was going to. The two sharing a good laugh over it.

The look the guard stationed on the other side gave them was less than impressed.

Supper was a much calmer affair than breakfast had been. Titus had tucked himself between Markeus and Jehan, hoping that the Knight-Captain’s large shoulders would hide him from sight. While he was sitting down, Titus could have sworn that he saw a mild bruise on the king’s jaw. It shouldn’t have, but the thought brought a small smile to his face.

The next few days were spent fairly similarly; Titus would wake up and have a quick bite to eat, quickly make his way to work, have a break at midday to eat with his boss, and then head back to the keep by supper. He was getting better at figuring out the bull’s odd pricing system and Damascus had him converse with a few of the ‘safer’ customers. A friendly vampire offered to show him the nightlife of Dhane Reothein but a very stern eyebrow nipped that in the bud.

“She ain’t trouble,” Damascus had advised once she meandered away. “But vampires always want something.”

One evening Titus even got to meet Tansy, or more properly: Tanacelia. The woman had a powerful aura about her, but also brought a sense of calming sage and placidity.

“My dear husband had a bit of an accident and my favorite set of shears got broke in the altercation,” She wistfully said, sliding a pair of fine golden scissors over the counter. One of the handles, right before the thumb hold was snapped right off. “Æther knows how.”

Damascus hummed, picking up the larger portion and examining it. “Folded orichalcum. Sharpening enchantment?”

“Yes,” Tanacelia nodded politely. “I blessed them myself to never dull. Which was a right smart thing to do, foils my husband’s best efforts.” She gave a little laugh.

“Can get it done,” The bull mused, fingers playing at his beard. “Probably by morrow’s end, if it suits you, Tanacelia.”

“If that’s the best you can do.” The woman playfully put on.

“I’ll put my speedy boots on.” His boss stated flatly, taking up all the other pieces and the silk they were brought in.

“And, who are you,” Tansy’s voice purred, Æther filled eyes now focused on Titus. “Damascus, you didn’t say you had an apprentice.”

“You’re right, I didn’t.” The old man gruffed.

“Titus Smithsen, M’Lady,” Nodding his head, hopefully respectfully, Titus wasn’t sure how to feel about her entire focus on him. It didn’t feel bad, just, it felt like a lot. “From Belyn.”

“How darling,” She clapped a little. “At least this one has proper manners. As the old bull so politely introduced, I’m Tanacelia.”

“Anything else I can do for you, Witch?” Damascus’ tone was more sour than Titus had ever heard.

“Oh, you must have young Titus work on my project!” Tanacelia insisted.

“I’m, still just an apprentice, ma’am,” The younger tried to assure. “Master Damascus would suit your sheers much better.”

“Nonsense,” She waved him off politely. “Orichalcum shapes well and takes on traits of whomever crafts it. You have a strong soul, I can see it. I must have that might in this rendition.”

“If you insist.” Still feeling intimidated by the prospect, Titus warily nodded, hoping he could do the job justice. His boss hadn’t said no yet, so he had to have had some faith in his ability.

“Brilliant!” Tansy clapped again. “I’ll be back by tomorrow night to see how you’re doing.”

The woman’s heels clicked as she strode away, dress billowing in a wind that wasn’t there.

“So...what was that?” Titus timidly brought up once he was sure Tanacelia was gone.

“Bad blood between Witches and Minotaurs.” Damascus bluntly filled in.

Titus hummed. His boss wasn’t a verbose man, but he never seemed to shy from telling the truth.

“I got the feeling that it was distinctly more personal than that.” Titus pursed his lips, giving his boss a narrowed look.

“Where I wet my dick is none of your concern, Lad,” The bull warned, but not fully in it. “Beside, if she’d rather shack up with some clumsy Rock Troll, ain’t no skin off my nose.”

“Sure it isn’t, Boss,” Titus let the man have his funk, going to sit at the workbench. “So, what is folded orichalcum and how do I mend it well enough as to not piss off one of the most powerful women on the continent?”

Chapter Text

“Sent word to your boss,” Markeus stated as they were cleaning up from breakfast. “You’re with me and mine today. Gonna start your training.”

“Training?” Titus’ mind was still catching up with everything the man had just said. Luckily he had gotten Tansy’s commission done on time, to which she was delightfully pleased, but he wasn’t sure how happy Damascus would be to lose him again.

“You ain’t getting drafted, Lad,” The older man chuckled, shaking his shoulder. “Just want to work with you a bit and make sure you’re able to defend yourself should the need ever arise.”

Most of the knight’s training happened right there in the main bailey of the keep, Titus had seen them throughout the day working on swordsmanship and casting. It seemed like there was always something going on. Walking out with Markeus, it was settling on his shoulders just how out of his depth he was about to be.

“Get yourself fitted over there,” Markeus pointed over to the rack that held spare sets of leather armor and a few dulled blades. “We’ll get started once I give these rapscallions their orders.”

A little lost, Titus absently wondered how he knew so much about forming armor, but when it came to equipping it he was mindless. There had been plenty of times in the past where he helped his father buff out dents or mend splits, though he never found any reason to wear any of it.

“Need a hand?” Jehan sidled up to him with a grin. His bruised socket was still dark but much less so than it had been. Healing much faster than humanly possible.

“Just don’t know what I’ll need.” He felt foolish admitting it, but he long learned Mages had a way of sniffing out lies.

“Simple cuirass will suit ye just fine,” Jehan went over to find a properly sized one. “Maybe some bracers if ye want to be extra careful. Just a little training exercise, won’t bang ye up too bad. And if we do, Ashley will set ye proper.”

The blond man gave them a jaunty little finger wave, smug bastard that he was.

“Hate to say it, but he’s the best damn medic we got.” Jehan grumbled as he brought a chest piece over.

“I heard healing magic was…hard.” Mages capable of it were in high demand, even those in Bælia had been willing tolerate them if they could cure their ailments.

“It is,” The brunet snorted, assisting Titus into the armor he had picked. “That’s why the ass is so dedicated to sniffing his own farts.”

Titus snickered, shaking his head. Ashley was a decent enough guy, really, but there was some truth to the fact that the man had grown up in a more luxurious lifestyle than most of the others did. Had some fancy little title, some sort of viscount or dukeling. The man was a snit, but he had a decent heart in there… somewhere.

“Right,” His friend put his hands on his hips and examined his work. “Now, ye look like a short sword kind of man.”

Titus narrowed his eyes, unsure if Jehan meant it earnestly or in jest. He’d long learned that the man was flirtatious and crude from time to time, a prankster and a fiend. But he was a loyal friend and a damn good knight. Made him wonder why the man spent so much time bucking authority when he could have very well been on track to earning the title of Knight-Lieutenant.

“It’s a good place to start,” Jehan shrugged. Going to the rack and selecting one that wasn’t too banged up. “We even got a nice fresh one from our Forge Master.”

Titus weighed the blade, he remember working on this one. It was the first one that Damascus deemed good enough for their boys. It was still just a training blade, though, duller edges and expected to survive less stress. But, still, it was a badge of honor.

“All set?” Markeus checked in, casually inspecting Titus’ kit.

“Aye, our boy is good to go.”

“Great,” Markeus clapped Titus on the shoulders and guided him to one of the mats. “Now, do you know how to swing a blade or do we need to cover the basics?”

“My dad showed me a little.” Not that he remember almost any of it.

The next half hour was the longest of his life. Apparently any of what Titus could remember was so utterly useless that they were forced to go back to square one. Jehan made for a good training partner, keeping it light and from Titus getting too disheartened. Markeus was a harsh instructor, but not unfair, he didn’t expect perfection but he did demand commitment.

“You keep pulling your swings,” Markeus barked. “Don’t need to be afraid of hurting us, Lad. Follow through!”

Disarmed and on his back yet again, Titus was growing frustrated. He was tired and sore, in a way that not even a day in the forge made him. Bruises were no doubt littering his arms and legs from where Jehan kept swatting him.

His friend helped him up, steadying Titus with a hand on his shoulder. Frowning, Jehan crowded a little closer, hand shifting from shoulder to hip, but before Titus could comment on it the man tore a glove off with his teeth and pressed the back of his hand to Titus’ forehead.

“Ye alright?”

“Yeah, I feel fine,” Titus frowned. “Why?”

“Yer burning up.” The shorter man was searching for something, blue eyes dancing.

“Of course I’m all sweaty and shit,” Pulling away, Titus shook off the concern. “I’ve been getting my ass handed to me all day and I’m tired.”

Jehan didn’t look fully convinced, but he dropped it. “If ye say so.”

Markeus released them not too long after, warning the rest of the men that there was going to be a long run of the Calderans the next morning. There was a collection of groans at the announcement, but a quick leer shut them up.

“Titus!” He barked, smiling a little when their eyes connected. “Good work today, we’ll get you in shape in no time.”

Titus had never wanted to feel so grateful yet flip a man off before. Luckily, Jehan beat him to it and the two scampered off before he could be reprimanded.

“Ye ever been to the keep’s hot springs before?”Jehan impishly grinned, a sure promise of him being up to no good.

The hot springs were glorious and Titus was never leaving from this spot. Taking a quick rinse in the baths —as was required before going to the springs— he had been pleasantly surprised to find that they were some of the first to get to the pools. Jehan warned him that wouldn’t be the case for long and told him more about the springs. Some pools were hotter than others, but most of them were perfectly safe for ordinary humans. The only obvious exceptions were the few that seemed to be slowly boiling, Jehan even admitted to not particularly enjoying those ones.

“Water’s even got all these fancy minerals and shit in it,” Jehan hummed as they settled. “Accelerates healing and realigns your energies or something.”

Sprawled out in the same spring, they played a harmless game of footsie before the euphoria settled over them. It felt nice to have a companion again, Titus missed Dellman but he understood why the man couldn’t stay here. There was something… soothing about the masculinity offered, a brother-bond that was only strengthening each day. Titus had never had that, ever since his Mark came in none of the other kids wanted to play with him.

“So, what do ye say to wrapping up here in a bit, we steal some extra towels, and spend the rest of the day cuddled up by the fireplace in yer room?”

“You’re not spending the night in my bed.” Titus chuckled, rolling his closed eyes.

Although these days the playful flirts were completely toothless, there were times where Titus almost considered taking the man up on the offer. Jehan was handsome and rugged, kind and sweet under all his bluster. Titus couldn’t quite call it a crush, but he wouldn’t have been completely adverse to it if they did fall into bed together.

“Awe, c’mon,” Even with his eyes closed Titus knew his friend was pouting. “Ashley farts in his sleep and it keeps me up all night!”

Between training and working at the forge Titus was bone tired most days but he was committed to staying dedicated to both. Damascus was a good teacher and he was learning so much from the bull; and as much as he loathed to admit it he was enjoying his training with the knights. Titus still wasn’t good enough to best any of them but at least he wasn’t being completely decimated any more. He could tell Armin was a little jealous but the boy was a good sport about it, got private lesson from his father anyways.

“It’s so unfair that you get to hang out with the knights all day!” The blond had whined, plopping face down into Titus’ bed.

Titus patted his friend’s head consolingly, attention not moving from the book he found on swordsmanship. “Hey, you’re the one that gets private lessons from the Knight-Commander.”

Armin nuzzled up into his hand. “Yeah, but have you seen him? Would you want to spar against that?”

Braving the kitchen one morning, Titus did indeed beg Róisín for a small collection of apple pastries. The woman had been won over easily enough with what she had called his ‘Doe-Eyes’ but when she heard it was for the Forge Master she made sure to give him the ones freshest from the oven that very morning.

“That bull made me the best damn knives I’ve ever owned,” She assured. “I owe him a whole pantry worth of treats!”

The Minotaur had greatly appreciated the gesture, mooing —not at all in a way that was remotely cute, no sirree— and gorging himself on the pastries.

“Damn, Lad, bring me breakfast like that every morning and I might have to marry ya.” Damascus joked.

“Calm down, you randy old bull,” Titus shot back joyfully, enjoying his own custard. “I ain’t fucking you. Head Chef Róisín, though? More than a chance there, I’d say.”

His boss hummed, brushing some crumbs from his chin. “Might have to follow up on that.”

“Great,” The human stood and flapped his hands. “Now let’s get to work. You promised to show me how to fold amaranthum without snapping it today.”

Working with the other knights held a similar pattern. He wasn’t always able to work with Jehan, but he was getting to know a number of the others fairly well. Occasionally he spotted Bairre watching from the ramparts, one time even seeing the king by his side. Titus wasn’t sure, but he would have sworn he felt their eyes on him the entire morning.

The men were all trained in rotations, each Knight-Captain tended to have their own group of knights they saw over, had a few Knight-Lieutenants to keep the rabble under control. There were also plenty that were out on the road, doing patrols of T’lmerak but also allied lands. Occasionally a small group would be dispatched to deal with a monster or a particularly unruly band of highwaymen. Such was the life of a Knight of Dhane Reothein.

Just shy of midday, they were already working up a sweat, the sun out in full force. Sitting on the sidelines and drinking some water, Titus looked around. Saw a lot of knights practicing with their Familiars, either sparring with them or against another pair. Tilting his head and studying Jehan’s profile, he realized he’d never seen the man with one.

“Say, Jehan, where is your Familiar?”

Because he was sure the man was a Mage, meaning he should have one.

The brunet hummed, attention tearing from where Ashley and Pyotr were grappling. “Oh, he’s with Stieg,” Saying ever so nonchalantly. “Watches over him when I can’t.”

“Your Familiar can be that far away?” Titus was stunned. He didn’t know exactly how far away it was, but Jehan made it sound like it wasn’t particularly close.

“Sure,” Jehan shrugged. “It’s hard, took a lot of training. Feels like I’m missing my left nut. But I’d rather Elke be with my Bonded and keeping him safe than being stuck in this musty old keep.”

Titus let his eyes drift over to where Markeus was smoking his pipe and watching over some maneuvers. Jehan caught his gaze and snickered.

“Captain’s likes to pretend to be things, right now that pendant he’s wearing looks pretty suspicious,” The brunet pursed his lips, eyes narrowing. “Saw him eat a man once, dressed up like a treasure chest and just Snap! Fucker was gone.”

And if that thought wasn’t terrifying, Titus didn’t know what was. He wasn’t going to go around checking every chair he sat on, but he hadn’t even known that Familiars didn’t have to be animals.

Titus didn’t make it a habit to listen to the conversations of the servants, feeling it rude to eavesdrop. Would converse with them when polite, plenty of the maids blushed when he gave them a little bit of time, but he felt bad delaying their duties and didn’t want to force them into interacting if they didn’t want to. Until one day something just piqued his interest as two were walking past his room.

“Got a letter from my sister the other day,” One said, carrying a load of laundry to the wash. “Said things are getting really tense in Ribæl. King Urlich has been getting some strange visitors lately.”

“Well, that could mean anything,” The other waved off. “Besides, we’re safe here. Way up in the mountains, no army is getting through.”

War was certainly a worrying prospect, the lands were still recovering from ones decades past. King Urlich was a stubborn old man, hated Mages and magic deeply, but he didn’t seem to be foolish to ride against an enemy who had only been growing in power since. One victory had been a miracle and it was ludicrous to think history would repeat itself.

Training had been especially grueling, Titus had first paired up with a guy who swung a greatsword like it was a butter-knife and had gotten just stomped. Then Ashley and his daggers tossed him around a bit. Even at hand-to-hand he was falling short. Markeus hadn’t said anything more particularly cutting than he normally did, but Titus was so sick and tired of constantly losing. After being sent to cool off he was set up against Jehan.

“Are ye feeling alright, Titus?” The man asked as they were setting up on the mat. 

“Yeah.” Titus wiped at his face.

“Ye sure?” Jehan was… hesitant about something. “Yer looking a little red around the collar.”

“It’s a hot day,” The darker-haired man shrugged off, taking position. “Now are we going to do this or are you going to ninny at me all day?”

That got the man to square off. “Best two out of three?”

“You’re on.” Titus grinned.

His footwork was getting a lot better, and Titus had trained so much with Jehan he was beginning to learn his tells. It made them a little more evenly matched, Jehan still more skilled but he wasn’t able to get in as many hits as he was before. Eventually, however, Titus was disarmed and tripped to the hard-packed soil. Jehan’s blade tapped down on his chest for a second before his friend bent down to help him back up.

“You’re still too defensive,” Jehan advised. “You need to watch for openings and take them when you can without endangering yourself.”

Their second round went similar, except Titus was starting to fend off a migraine and he almost seemed to be getting the upper hand. One lunge put Jehan off balance and Titus was able to follow through, tackle the shorter man down with a shoulder. It wasn’t the cleanest match, but the brief tussle ended up with him pinning the brunet down.

“Gotta say, ain’t how I imagined getting under ye for the first time, but I’ll accept it.” Jehan grinned filthily up at him.

“Horndog.” Titus smirked, ignoring how the other rolled his hips a little at the accusation.

Helping his friend off the ground, Titus psyched himself up. Hyped from his first ever victory.

“Well, one each,” Jehan wet his teeth. “Winner of this round takes the match.”

“Worried?” Titus taunted.

“Only that yer a sore loser.” The shorter man jeered back.

Thrusting forward, Titus’ attempt at engagement was easily foiled and side stepped. Jehan batted him on his hip for his efforts. His retaliating swing almost connected, but Jehan was a fast fucker for as packed with muscle as he was. Several blows were shared, each clash of metal worsening the headache brewing. Titus grunted as they connected, each trying to push the other back. Teeth gritting, he put more power behind his push. Titus was able to disengage it safely, catching how it destabilized his opponent for just a moment.

An opening he could use to his advantage.

Surging forward, he put both hands into an upswing. Jehan had been able to block and not take the full brunt of the blow, but the blade connected with his lower ribs. There was a strange spark, a pulsing flash of lights, and then Jehan was blasted back. Like a cannon ball, it sent Jehan crashing into the keep’s wall, shattering part of it and causing rubble to pour on him.

“What the fuck was that?!” A voice roared in the distance.

Titus just stood there, shell-shocked, blade slipping from his grip. Others were rushing over to assist their comrade, pull him out of the debris. With horrified eyes, Titus face fell slack, no longer seeing the world that was currently around him.

He had been a little older, Tor had been a little bigger, the flowers hadn’t started growing too much yet.

His father had taken him camping in the woods, it was a two day trip to the next village over; there and back. Titus thought it was so much fun to spend time with his dad out in the woods. They ate treats they didn’t have at home and his dad didn’t even care that he’d brought Tor with him. His dad showed him how to pitch a tent, and set up a bed-roll, start a fire. He really liked the fire, it had danced so pretty unlike how it seemed so dull at home. The stars were nice to sleep under.

All he wanted was to see that fire again. His father had shown him how to make it.

He smacked his hands together, making sure his thumbs clicked like his dad had showed him. Maybe he was missing something? His father might have had something else in his hands, but he couldn’t remember.

Snapping his fingers he tried to remember.

But then there was a spark. A small one, but there.

Tor had startled, but Titus just smiled.

Happily, the boy snapped a few more times and created more sparks.

Then there was a fwoosh of flames, licking upward into the air, scorching the side of a tree.

There was a sparkle in the young boy’s eyes, but the shoat was scared.

His father rushed out. “What did you just do?” The man looked up in horror, at the parts of the tree that was singed and edges still smoldering.

“I made fire, daddy,” Titus cheered. “Just like you showed me!”

His father turned and grabbed his shoulders, fingers pinching down so hard it hurt. “Don’t you ever let me catch you doing that ever again. Promise me,” He shook the child. “Do you understand me? Ever!”

“Daddy, you’re hurting me.” Titus whimpered.

“Oh, Titus,” The man collapsed, hunched over him, grip loosened. Instead he was pulled tightly into the man’s arms. “My boy. My baby. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Back in the present, Titus snapped.

“Jehan!” He moved to run forward, but hands grabbed at him.

Struggling against them, the ringing in his head escalated as they shouted.

“No, no, no, no, Jehan!” More hands secured him back.

“Get off!” Flames erupted from his body, the men recoiling to avoid getting burned.

Now free, Titus ran forward but before he could get to the rubble the others were trying to move a forearm looped around his midsection and hauled him around. Slammed back into the dirt, the Knight-Commander loomed over him with a large hand on his chest.

“I thought you said you didn’t have any magic?” Golden eyes burned down at him.

“I-I don’t!” Titus writhed, panic and confusion settling in.

“The what was that?” The man growled.

“I don’t,” Titus’ minds scrambled for anything to explain what just happened. But he was more worried for his friend. “I don’t know!”

“I don’t know how you’re lying to me, boy, but you better stop right now.” Bairre warned, threatened.

The edges of Titus’ vision started going black, his lungs acting as if they failed him.

“I-I’m not. I don’t have magic! I’m not a Mage.” He shook his head, none of this made sense.

The commander’s eyes narrowed, frowning deeply. He made a little motion with a hand and Titus’ world blacked out.

~~~~~~~~~~

Commotion erupted all over the training yard, like ants after you kicked a hill. Several knights were stabilizing the rampart wall while others dug their brother out, one had run to go get Tanacelia if healing was needed.

Bairre still knelt over the young man that he had been learning to accept more of in his life. Brushing some of those dark curls off his forehead. Nothing seemed amiss, no hexes or curses, nothing nefarious lurking deep inside his skull. Armin had reported that the stranger had no sigils carved or inked into his flesh.

He hadn’t been lying when he said that he didn’t have magic.

Or, at least, he believed that he didn’t have magic.

“Alright, get off him,” Markeus grumbled as he marched over. “You’re likely to crush him if you sit there much longer.”

“He…” Fanbairre wasn’t sure what to say.

“He’s a scared young man and that won’t get any better with your ugly mug glaring down at him.”

“That kind of power, it could pose a threat to–“

“He’s not a threat,” The Knight-Captain interrupted, exasperated. “Lad’s Latent, but he’s not suddenly more dangerous for it.”

“He said he wasn’t.” Bairre insisted.

“We both knew this was a possibility,” Bullying the other man off, Markeus took a knee next to the unconscious man. Checked his pulse. “Considering who he’s Bound to.”

“You know?” Gold eyes widened a little.

Markeus shot him a pointed look. “Any of us who’ve seen the Mark should.”

Thinning his lips, Bairre looked down. He hated to admit it, but the man was right. Hadn’t known what to do with it, still didn’t.

“What’s our next step?”

“We get him up to his room, let him sleep it off,” Markus effortlessly scooped Titus off the ground and pulled him into an easy carry. “He’ll have a headache like nothing else in the morning. Give him some time to wean that off and we’ll go from there.”

Bairre took a step forward, wanting to take Titus’ slack body away from the man, but Markeus’ glare kept him at bay. The silent ‘You’ve done enough’ went unsaid. He wished Ruhig was closer, his Familiar always had a softer hand.

“What he just did, even by accident? He’s going to be strong,” The Knight-Captain warned, giving the Commander a deliberate look. “Titus is going to need a good teacher.”

“I…can’t guarantee he’ll be able to do that.” Wetting his lips, he truly couldn’t. Things had been so different lately.

“See what you can do,” Markeus softened a little, also tired from the situation. “Until then Jehan’s a damn decent Mage, can maybe help him keep it harnessed for now.”

“You’re not worried he’s…?” Looking to the stoney destruction, men were still diligently working at it.

The Knight-Captain snorted. “Only thing harder than that man’s dick is his head. He’ll be fine.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Waking to the softness of his sheets had been unexpected. Titus’ body felt jagged and his mind was killing him. He had thrown up earlier, cried for a good while, and let dread swamp over him. Titus didn’t know if Jehan was okay or even how he got back to his room. He remembered Bairre towering over him, gaze furious, and the pressure from his hand pinning him down.

The manacles on his wrists were also new, unbound to anything but locked surely to him.

“Looks like you got yourself into some trouble, Piglet.”

Titus looked up from where he was hugging his knees, saw Tor standing there. A sudden wave of relief washed through him, Titus had been so worried he wouldn’t ever see the boar again.

“H-how?” The door hadn’t opened or closed, Titus wasn’t even sure how a pig would use a door.

“Don’t insult me by assuming I need to use doors,” The grumpy boar grumbled, trotting over and tapping his wrist with his snout. The pulsing behind Titus’ eyes slowly faded. “It’s been a while.”

Months had passed since that night in the bandit camp. Their little failed escape attempt. But at least the boar hadn’t lied, it had taken time but here he was.

“I don’t know what’s happening.” Letting his head fall back into the cradle of his knees, Titus just wanted to sink in his misery.

“You used magic, Piglet.” The boar said simply, stated as fact. Sitting there like he wasn’t shaking Titus’ whole world.

Peering up at him, Titus shook his head. “Tor, I can’t use magic.”

Resolute eyes stared back. “Can’t or won’t?”

“I can’t,” The man insisted. “I’m no Mage.”

“Certainly not a trained one.” Snorting, the boar continued to stare at him impassively.

“Why are you pressing this?” Titus groaned, his own voice sounding whiny in his own head.

“I might let you lie to yourself, Piglet,” Tor stated firmly, a tiny thread of kindness woven under it. “But I won’t let you lie to me.”

Titus let out a shuddering sigh. “I don’t…” Wetting his lips, he shook his head. “I don’t understand. I can’t be a mage. My Bonded…”

“Is also a Mage, yes.” The boar filled in.

“So I can’t be!” Titus insisted.

The animal shook his head a little slowly. “You know that isn’t true.”

Flopping back on his bed, Titus stared up at he ceiling. “I just don’t understand…”

Hooves clattered on stone, Tor walking to one of the windows, popping up onto his hind legs to actually look out it.

“Your father loved you, Titus,” His voice was low, regretful. “But humans tend to hurt the things they love.”

“My father never hurt me.” Titus sat up, growling and glaring at the swine.

“He made you promise,” Tor gave him a slow look, then glanced away. “Made you forget.”

“Forget what?”

“Me,” Slipping down from the windowsill, Tor came back over to sit by the bed. “Us. Everything.”

“My dad wouldn’t do that.” Titus shook his head. His father was a good man.

“Maybe he didn’t mean to,” The boar sighed. “But he did.”

“How would he do that, huh?” Titus erupted. “Wiping people’s memories, tying them up in promises. What like…” He stopped mid rant, dread clutching at his chest.

“Like magic?” Tor pushed.

“My father isn’t a Mage.” Growling at the hog, Titus felt resolute. There was no way, his father was just a solider from the war that settled into life as a blacksmith.

Tor nodded a little, looking off again. “Let me ask you. That old dog, the one that had the little hut built on the side of the house?”

“Yeah, Otis, what of him?” Titus shook his head, face scrunching in confusion.

“You still have him?” The boar’s look was piercing, too knowing.

Blankness settled over him, a static nothingness that felt cold and unwanting. That didn’t make any sense. Of course they still had the old hound; dark brown and speckled fur, the dusting of gray around his muzzle that looked like a mustache. All rickety bones and long ears. But… they’d had the hound for as long as Titus could remember, and sure enough the dog had been there that morning when he left for his last job.

That would make the hound over thirty years old. Which was… impossible for the standard dog.

Pieces clicked into place, forming a damning picture in his mind.

“Tor,” Titus’ voice was quiet, afraid and worried about the answer. “What are you?”

“You know what I am, Titus,” The boar looked off, seeing something off in the unknown. “I’ve got to go. I’ll be back when I can.”

Fading away into wisps of Æther and starlight, only seconds later Titus found himself completely and utterly alone.

Chapter Text

Servants had been bringing him meals for the last few days, but beyond that Titus hadn’t been able to see a single other soul. He’d been escorted to the baths when needed and luckily he at least had an ensuite. But it left him awfully lonely.

A sturdy knock came shortly after noon on the fourth day. The runes that lit up the door and prevented Titus from leaving faded and the door slowly opened to reveal Bairre stepping through.

The man had bags under his eyes and his hair was less orderly than it usually was. He wasn’t wearing any amour, just the standard breeches and a soft looking tunic. In his hands he held a book, a tome thick with little notes poking from the pages.

“Firstly, I would like to apologize,” The commander’s thick voice sounded weary and eroded from the typical bass it normally held. “It has come to my attention that I have not been as kind to you as I should have.”

There was an uneasy quiet to the regularly stoic man, eyes refusing to meet Titus’ instead locked on the book in his hands.

“It has been so long, sometimes we forget,” Bairre wet his lips. “We forget what it was like to be young, and to be scared. That the Æther wasn’t always with us like she is now. That sometimes old wounds can reopen and not even we are immune from feeling that fear again.”

Titus wanted to say something, though he was unsure what.

“They took so much from us…” The Knight-Commander shook his head. “Had done so much to make us obey,” Anger tinted his voice, fingers tightening on the tome. But he took a breath and calmed. “I forgot that if I locked you away in this tower out of fear, I was no better than they were.”

Bairre stepped closer, reverently setting the book he brought on the end of Titus’ bed, tapping a finger on the cover.

“I was afraid for my family, of a threat coming to hurt them,” This time tired eyes did connect with his, a sense of pleading shivering down Titus’ spine. “One that I would very much like you to be part of,” He shook his head. “I’ve lost many things in my life, but I can’t lose my family, Titus, I can’t.”

Titus was unsure just what this man expected from him. Not knowing how to give him any peace of mind, except for saying the truth and hoping it was enough.

“I don’t want to hurt anybody.” He said earnestly.

A soft smile tinted at Bairre’s face, relief easing over his whole body. He was handsome man when he smiled.

“I believe you,” Stepping closer, he stood before Titus but for once the younger man didn’t feel intimidated by his size. The Knight-Commander tapped at his manacles. “Sorry about these, though. That ain’t about trust, just a safety precaution while we try to get things sorted.”

“I don’t know how I did magic.” Titus insisted.

“I know.” A hand landed on his shoulder, large and encompassing, a thumb softly petting his collar. It felt comforting, safe.

“We’re still working on it,” The Knight-Commander promised. “Latent Mages aren’t that uncommon, but they still normally manifest sometime during their teenage years.”

Smiling a little brittly, Titus tried to laugh it off. “I’ve always been a little different from the rest.”

Bairre huffed at least. “That you have, Lad. That you have.”

“Can I,” Titus gulped a little after some silence had passed. “Am I allowed to leave my rooms again?”

“Yes,” Fanbairre pulled back, standing a little taller. “I would like a guard to accompany you for now, but it was wrong of me to hold you prisoner like this.”

“You had cause.” Letting his eyes sink, Titus hadn’t liked it but he understood. Mostly.

“Hey,” Thick fingers raised his chin, hazel green meeting amber gold. “Don’t ever make excuses for me. I’m a grown man, I need to face my mistakes.”

Nodding a little, Titus was oddly sad when the man pulled away. Missed the warmth he provided.

“This book is a collection of everything we could think of to give to beginners,” The commander tapped the book again. “Won’t help you fling any more fireballs or anything, but it will help you understand.”

“What if,” The dark-haired man stumbled over his words. “What if I don’t want to be a Mage?”

“Sadly, we don’t get a choice,” The man’s eyes were sadder again, offering a small smile in recompense. “But we’ll help you through it. I promise.”

Leaving him with little more, those runes hadn’t reappeared after Bairre left. Staring at the book, Titus pulled it to him. The thing had been rebound many times by the look of it, a leather strap holding the contents together, odd pages sticking out from the edges.

Unsure if he wanted to open it, Titus hadn’t explicitly been told he had to read it, but it would help. Deciding to leave it until later, he set the book carefully on his bedside table and then left his room. The door hadn’t stopped him and nobody was waiting to ambush him when Titus poked his head out.

The halls seemed the same as they had always been before, though he wasn’t sure why it would be different.

Going around a corner, Titus slammed into another body, hands shooting out to stabilize the shorter man. The elf stuttered, apologized profusely, and then scurried off. It didn’t really occur to him until later that he hadn’t seen the man before, not that he knew all of the servants, but he’d lived in the keep long enough to recognize them.

Stepping into the Main Hall, he knew it was after lunch but he was hoping there might still be a few people loitering about.

“Titus!”

Standing up from one of the tables was Jehan, the man waving at him, a large grin on his face. Pressure he hadn’t known was riding on his shoulders suddenly lift and Titus made quick work getting to his friend.

“Jehan,” He wrapped his arms around the shorter man, hugging him tightly. “You’re okay.”

“Aye,” The other squeezed him back. “Luckily I landed on my head.”

“He got a shield up before the wall came down,” Markeus walked over, putting a comforting hand on Titus’ shoulder. “He was always okay, Lad.”

“But, how?”

“Bit of a flame sparker, myself,” Jehan grinned, leaning back. “Can’t say I expected it, but I know how to defuse a good combustion spell.”

“Jehan, I am so sorry,” Titus hung his head. “I didn’t…”

“Ye didn’t mean it,” The other gave a large smile. “No apologies necessary.”

“I don’t even know how I did it.” Looking to the others, he was hoping one of them might have a clue.

“Hard to say for sure, Lad,” Markeus guided them down to the table, one of the men sliding over a basket of rolls that had been left over. “Might not have been born with it, but with your Bonded being so powerful, it’s possible that their magic seeped over the Mark; gave you a touch of the Æther too. Either way, you’re Latent and we gotta get those powers under control before they hurt anyone.”

“My Bonded…” Looking down at his bared arm, Titus frowned seeking out Markeus’ eyes again. “You know who they are.”

“I do.” The Knight-Captain nodded.

“Well, c’mon, Captain, tell us,” Jehan insisted, leaning forward in excitement. “Who is it?”

“Can’t say,” The older man shook his head. “’S not my place.”

Titus ignored his friend shouting how that was bullshit, furrowing his brow, staring down at the table.

“It’s okay, Jehan,” He said quietly. “They haven’t wanted me in the past, why would they start now?”

His friend immediately started to protest, but the Captain held up his hand.

“It’s not a matter of not wanting you, Titus,” Tired eyes drifted off. “Your Bonded, they took things from him. More than the rest of us. It made him… distant. Cold. None of us left those dungeons without scars, Lad. Can’t say I agree with it, but I understand why he’s kept you at arms length.”

That was all similar to something Bairre had said to him earlier in the day, to something that he had felt once in a dream.

“I don’t…” Titus shook his head. “What are you talking about?”

“What do you know about the history of the Witch Wars?” Markeus’ head was tilted, watching, waiting.

“Not a lot,” Scratching at his jaw, Titus tried to recall the basics. “There was a Mage uprising I think? The, uh, Witch-K– Uh, King of T’lmerak, led an army of powerful Mages against King Urlich. It went on for a while, spread over most of the Continent. But eventually Urlich was able to best your king here and he retreated all the way to the Calderan Mountains.”

There was a little bemused smile on Markeus’ face, hiding almost under his mustache.

“He does have a name, you know.”

Pulled out of his thoughts, Titus questioned. “Who?”

“The Witch-King,” The tall man stood, tilting his head. Not at all seeming to care that he just used a term that was very much disliked here. “Let’s go to the library. You’ve got some basics, a few little nuggets of propaganda floating around in your head. I think it’s time you learned the truth.”

The Grand Library of Dhane Reothein was a large room; will lit by windows, multi-leveled with catwalks, balconies, and rolling staircases. There were plenty of places to sit, to lounge, and read. Titus hadn’t spent too much time there, purposely hunting down only very specific texts if needed. Markeus led him up to the second floor, taking a moment to peruse a specific section before pulling down a specific tome with a rich blue leather cover.

“You can read Common?”

Titus nodded. His ability at the skill was… limited, but he could get through most simple passages.

Again, Markeus gave that fond smile, mostly with his eyes, and flopped himself back into a plush chair sat next to a lowly burning fireplace. Nodding to the seat across from him, he propped open the book and flicked through it, considering the best place to start.

“I’ve got the day,” The Knight-Captain said. “We’ll see how far we can get and you can finish the rest in your own time.”

Titus nodded thankfully, sinking into his own plush chair, settling in as Markeus’ timbre washed over him.

The events colloquially known as the Witch Wars were a series of battles first occurring in the times of 18:07 through 32:10 of the Amarant Age. This was also the mark beginning of what scholars have dubbed The Liberation of the Beast-Men. The first battle was that of Vorte Arun, now known as Dhane Reothein, in which the figure of Læsrin of Dhane Reothein first rose to power and later earned the moniker of ‘The Witch-King’. The exact origins of the man are unknown, as there are no records of his birth, or even of his existence until the wars. This battle is also known as ‘The Massacre of the Silver-Born’ in which it is believed that the last of the Mhoer’Vorte were lost. It is unknown the exact events that led to the uprising, though it has been proposed that it was due to the gruesome experiments that Mhoer’Vorte scientists were said to have been participating in at the time.

The falling of Vorte Arun was followed shortly by the Siege of Hastir.

Titus sat there and listened for Markeus rumble on for hours on history of the world he lived in that was already not lining up with the tales that he’d heard in the past. Jehan came up at some point, delivering steaming mugs of tea and wiggling his way into Titus’s seat next to him. The two lounged —Titus refused to call it cuddling— and the touch was reassuring.

They had reached to about a mid part of the wars before Markeus decided they had covered enough for the day. Sharing a few more personal stories, looking up to the higher levels and smoking his pipe.

“You said something earlier,” Titus softly said, voice low as to not disturb Jehan who was slumped against him slumbering. “When you spoke of… the king, you said ‘us’. But wouldn’t that make you…?”

Markeus chuckled, leaning back and holding his place in the book with a finger. “Old?”

“Cap is old as shit.” Jehan mumbled under Titus’ chin.

“Time can affect Mages differently, I’m sure you’re aware of that by now,” The man teased, he looked to maybe be a little younger than Titus’ father; crows feet and a few forehead creases, brown hair still free of grays. “But yes, I was there too. Since the beginning.”

“So, this is all… accurate?”

“There’s still some gaps,” The Knight-Captain admitted. “Oddly, the scholars didn’t talk to any of us for our accounts. But the events are right.”

“Would have you spoken to them if they did?” Titus tilted his head.

Markeus looked down, thinking for a moment. “No. Most of us just wanted to be left alone. Even took Læsrin a few years to round us all up here on the mountain.”

“Why not just tell me now?”

“Why don’t you finish this, then we can talk about the personal side.” Markeus rumbled, that friendly smile easy on his face.

Titus groaned, head falling to the back of the his seat. “The commander already gave me a huge book about magic and shit. Didn’t know there was going to be so much reading in knight training.”

“Och, that one is so boring…” Jehan agreed drowsily.

Markeus laughed at their suffering, placing a marker in the history text and setting it on Titus’ lap.

“Læsrin likes to have his men to be well read.”

Later that night, sitting on his bed, Titus stared at the book that Bairre had loaned him. The history book was sitting at his side, the one on swordsmanship all but forgotten. Titus had decided he’d had enough of both of those, cracking open open the text on his lap and immediate met by diagrams and sigils that meant nothing to him. Small notes were annotated along the edges, transcribing things to more easy understanding.

A quiet knock interrupted before he could get any further. Armin poked his head in, smiling a little but looking timid.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” Titus waved him in, scootching further back on the bed. “C’mon in.”

The boy had a little plate of fruits and cheeses but he quickly slipped into the room and hurried over.

“I was worried you were going to be mad at me.” The blond kept his eyes low, looking more his age than he ever did before. Thinking on it, Titus was pretty sure that Armin was the youngest person living in the keep. There were children in town, but he’d never seen any running about the castle.

“Why would I be mad at you?”

Armin tapped at the manacles still sitting on Titus’ wrists. “My dad did kind of keep you prisoner.”

Titus chuckled, looping the boy under arm and shaking him. “He apologized.”

“Good,” The blond firmly nodded. “He should have.”

“Yeah? Were you going to fight him for me if he didn’t?”

“Thought about it,” Armin grumbled, snuggling in closer. “Jehan almost beat me to it, though. Markeus was able to keep him from it, already had a bit of an altercation with the king. Would look bad if he kept punching council members.”

“He really did that, huh?” Titus was a little amused, it made so much sense for the fiery Foothiller. It also gave an odd insight into the king, he had killed a man for a much smaller slight, but had seemingly only punched an insubordinate in the face for starting a fight with him. At least, assuming it was him and not a guard that got involved in the altercation. Nobody spoke about it as some stunning event, it was said and done and the world moved on. Jehan himself didn’t even bring it up, hadn’t boasted that he fought the king for his honor.

“Jehan’s always had an issue with authority,” Armin laughed. “Keeps the knighthood from getting too serious.”

The boy looked to the book Titus had set aside, pulling it over. “Oh! I remember this one, it was super boring.”

“Your father said I should read it,” Titus frowned at the small curling script. “Said that it would help me understand a lot more about my magic.”

Armin hummed, flipping through a few pages. “Most of it is in As’Mhoer,” The boy paused and looked at Titus’ blank face. “Uh, Ancient. I guess.”

“Ancient,” The dark-haired man frowned. “Fuck, I can barely read Common let alone something that nobody’s used in decades…”

“People still use As’Mhoer,” Armin initially protested, as if he was used to having to defend it. But then he calmed. “Can you really not read?”

“I can read,” Titus sniped back, eyes narrowing. Briefly a small flash of irritation burning through him, shame, Armin wouldn’t understand what it was like to grow up in a tiny little dirt poor village. He’d gotten to grow up in a castle, cozy, and safe, and cherished. But as quickly as it boiled up in him, it fizzled. “It just… wasn’t a skill I needed much back home.”

That seemed to bother the boy, frowning and a few other emotions rolling through before he nodded. “I could teach you, or… my father would be willing. He used to teach the younger recruits.”

“Might have to take you up on that if I keep getting more homework.” He smirked.

“The first few chapters look to have been translated,” Armin continued, trying not to displace any of the loose pages. “My dad wanted you to be able to read some of it at least.”

“How can you tell?” Titus leaned in closer, looking at Common scribbled across blank pages.

“His Mam was a Hill Giant, you can see it in how blocky his lettering is,” Armin pointed at how many of the letters were more squared that another set that was squeezed around the edges. “Looks like my uncle also put in some notes, his mother-tongue is As’Mhoer so his translations are less literal.”

Being Half-Giant definitely explained on why Fanbairre was so damn big, and luckily it seemed like it made his hand writing much easier to read. Whoever Armin’s uncle was had a much more flowing script that ran together and curled the letters in ways that seemed hard to follow, pretty, but unusable.

“Does it matter?” Titus asked, not wanting to miss out on anything valuable.

“Not really, once you understand the context,” Armin looked up at him. “The Mother of Magic, in Common she’s known as the Æther, but in Ancient she’s simply called Her. There is a couple other things that translate right across but don’t mean much in modern terms. Ancient writings are kind of… dry.”

Titus sighed. “I’ll take that over nothing.”

Armin handed the book back over. “My father and uncle are good people,” He said standing, nodding to the little tray of food he brought. “They… just have a hard time showing they care sometimes.”

Unsure of why the boy would bring that up, Titus was going to ask him but the blond slipped out his door again. Letting it simmer in his mind, instead the dark-haired man turned back to the book and decided to settle with it for the night before going to bed.

To understand magic is to understand a force just like any other in nature. Much like a storm or a quake, as real as gravity, magic can be studied and collected in the halls of academia. However, one must know that magic is not as predicable as the weather or stable as stone, that it behaves much of its own will and to Her boundaries. Magic can amend the other rules of reality, to manifest flame or call forth an illusion, one must know exactly what they are bending or suffer the wrath of wild magic.

It is understood that one’s ability to tap into Her will and alter the weave of nature is in the blood, that even those of great study can not grasp it without Her touch. Magic can lay low in a family, only presenting when certain stressors are applied. Such individuals are Latent.

Mages are the men and women of the gifted blood, although many disciplines have arisen to differentiate the strings of magic. More of such will be discussed later.

There is one recent feature of a Mage, and that is the Spirit (Familiars). All Human mages are accompanied by a companion, an extension of their soul, their tether to Her. Spirits can take many forms, flexible like quicksilver. One should observe that while a Spirit is an expansion of a mage’s being, they are not to be considered the same individual. Spirits act of their own will and power, often aligned with that of their mage but using logic of their own.

Many Spirits act as a mirror to their counterpart, to bolster their strengths and mitigate their weaknesses.

Experiments have been run to try and understand this phenomenon, although there is still much unknown of Mages and their Spirits. For further understanding of these experiments please see to chapter ——

The rest was scribbled out, illegible.

Titus had more or less known all of what was revealed in the first chapter, or had at least assumed. He wasn’t quite sure why the commander wanted him to read all of this, how any of this helped him understand magic any better.

“So. Magic,” Titus and Jehan were sitting off to the side of the training grounds, the younger man being put in charge of tutoring him in all ways arcane. “We’ll start small.”

Jehan had been waiting there right as Titus walked down, a grin on his face and looking smug. He had popped off Titus’ manacles with a wink and warned him that the next few weeks were going to be the worst ones he’d ever lived through.

“Fire is a more volatile element than the others,” The mohawked man instructed. “Stone is stubborn and water is slippery, but fire will backlash on ye if you give it half the chance.”

With a little swirl of a finger a small fireball formed and then sat in Jehan’s hand. “But, once ye learn how to handle it, it’ll keep ye warm, cook yer food, and scorch yer foes.”

Titus stared at the little ball of fire, rolling around and dancing as if it were alive. With a flick of Jehan’s wrist the ember was gone, the brunet chuckling.

“First we’ll work on how to start a fire,” A displaying snap let off little sparks. “Everyone’s a little different; some can get it with just the motions and intent, some need to ask directly.”

Titus looked at his own hands, echos in the back of his head telling him he’d done this before.

“Markeus talks all about crafting spells and manners and all that shite,” Jehan continued. “But it ain’t all that complicated. Æther already likes ye, She don’t care about flowery words or showy actions, She just gotta know what ye want. Ye gotta know what ye want.”

Frowning a little, Titus nodded. It made sense, there was the theory that magic was performed by asking the Æther for the permission to bend the rules. So he had to learn to how to ask.

“The more precise ye are with it, the better result ye’ll get,” His tutor continued. “Can take a bit of practice.”

“Alright,” Again Titus nodded. “Sparks. We’re starting with sparks.”

“Feels a little safer than yer first trick.”

Titus blushed a little, still feeling terrible about having sent his friend through a wall. The knight didn’t hold it against him, teased him over it as if he’d just tripped while training or something.

Snapping his fingers like Jehan had, nothing happened. Wasn’t like there was flint under his skin.

Snap. Nothing.

Snap. Nothing.

Sparks.

Still nothing.

Growing a little frustrated, Titus thought harder. He thought about sparks jumping from his fingers, of flames swarming up; Fire. Heat. Burn.

A firmer snap resulted in more than sparks, instead a bite of flames swirled out and hissed between them.

Jehan laughed jauntily, clapping on his thighs. “Shit, it ain’t sparks, but I’ll accept it.”

Smiling, Titus felt the residual heat under his fingers, looking up to see a matching grin on his friend’s face.

“I did it,” Elated, the dark-haired man laughed a little. “I made fire!”

“Aye, ye did!” Jehan laughed alongside him. “Let’s see ya do it again.”

It came faster this time, required less work, and the flame was bigger. Once he got the hang of just summoning fire, Jehan walked him through the basics of keeping it there. Fire needed something to consume, to feed on, to keep itself lit. With a forest fire it was the timber that met that need. With magic it was him. His power and his magic.

“It ain’t infinite,” His mentor warned. “But the old school thoughts on mana also ain’t quite it either. Once ye know yerself a little better ye’ll be able to feel it, yer limits.”

Jehan puffed out his chest, the two now standing. “I’m better at bigger, more explosive spells, ain’t got the stamina to maintain much,” Which his tutor gracefully ignored Titus’ snicker. “Cap is better at maintaining his magic, can keep up shields for days.”

Within a couple of hours Titus was able to reliably call forth a small fireball and hold it in hand without any negative repercussions. Him and Jehan started tossing it back and forth as the younger man spoke more about magic theory and spell crafting. The sky was the limit in a lot of ways, there were things that the Æther simply did not allow but beyond that it was just more on how one asked.

“I guess it turns out you don’t need my help after all.” The king’s deep voice rumbled from behind him.

Titus whipped around in surprise, having not encountered the man ever since that disastrous breakfast. The ball of fire in his hands jumped out, flaring bigger, but the king simply caught it in his hand but then extinguished it in a fist.

Titus was left gaping, feeling Jehan’s hand patting down on his shoulder. “Course not, e’s got a crack-shot of a teacher.”

The king only rose an eye brow, frozen blue eyes drifting between the two. Then he grunted.

“Anything we can help you with, M’Lord?” Titus asked, nervous from being stared at by such a man.

“Læsrin.”

“Pardon?” Titus had heard the man, recognized it as the name that others had prescribed to him, but it seemed off for the man to just state it.

“It’s my name,” Impassive features continued to stare. “Use it.”

Titus broke the gaze and looked down, nodding a little. “Y-yes, M’L–, Læsrin.”

The king just grunted again and started to turn. “Take a walk with me.”

Chapter Text

The view from the ramparts was nice, looking out over the lake that sat in front of the keep, the towering Calderan Mountains off in the distance. The town of Dhane Reothein down below. It offered a little solace to the constant thought nagging at the back of his mind that the king brought him up here to throw him off.

The man had been so silent the entire time, Titus wasn’t sure if he was supposed to be providing conversation or some other form of entertainment.

“How’ve you enjoyed your stay?” King Læsrin finally asked, arms behind his back and staring off in the distance.

Titus tilted his head, standing a respectful distance from the man but leaned onto the overlook.

“It’s, uh, been a journey,” He admitted, unsure just how candid he could be with the king. “Everyone has been kind, and I enjoy being able to work at the forge with Damascus. But I’m not sure how I feel about more… recent events.”

“Your magic?”

It felt like he was on unstable ground, unfamiliar with what might set Læsrin off or offend him. He didn’t exactly fear the man, but upsetting a monarch was always to be avoided.

“Mages aren’t… favored where I’m from,” Titus settled on. “I was ostracized enough just for being Bound to one. And, it’s come to my attention that some facets of my childhood weren’t exactly as I thought.”

The king was considering him, a softer look. He hummed, prompting Titus to continue.

“My… my father is a Mage,” Gazing out over the view, Titus spotted some sort of winged creatures in a small flock. Not fully convinced they were birds. “He possibly did something to my mind. Made me forget,” The dark-haired man sighed. “I keep having these visions, memories, from my past. But I’m still trying to piece it all together.”

“Who’s been telling you all of this?”

Titus chuckled. “This is probably going to sound crazy,” He smiled a little, looking over and only seeing an expecting brow. “It was a pig.”

“A pig.” Læsrin’s voice was flat, unbelieving.

“Well, a boar,” Titus shrugged. “I think...I think he might be my Familiar.”

Drifting off, he thought back to the boar, hoped he was okay. He wasn’t sure when as a Mage your Familiar was supposed to manifest, although, he supposed that his already had. Tor existed… somewhere. Titus just didn’t know why the hog wasn’t here now.

“How so?”

“I think,” Titus wet his lips. If there was one person who would have an answer for him, it would be the king of mages. “I think he’s always been there. Watching over me. But something is keeping him away.”

“Like what?” The king probed.

“My dad… didn’t like him,” Titus frowned. “I think he did something to him.”

Something Dellman had said, that things could be done to Familiars. That they could be hurt, killed. It made his chest hurt by just thinking about it. The thought that maybe Tor was stuck in some sort of spiritual torment, lost and unable to find his way back.

Læsrin tilted his head a little. “He’s fine.” The words were confident, although not necessarily in a way that made it seem like he was familiar with comforting people.

“You can’t know that!” Titus shot the king a look, only getting that unimpressed look in return.

“I just…” The younger sighed. “I want him back.”

“He can’t be here unless you want him to be.” Læsrin’s words were flat, but it felt like he was being scolded for something. Like Tor’s absence was his fault.

Irritation flared back, spinning on the man. “I do!”

Titus didn’t even care that he had to glare up at the king, meeting that expressionless face.

Both silver brows rose, nose scrunching in a sneer. Læsrin gave a little shake of his head. “Then why isn’t he here?”

Shoulders sagging, Titus’ felt the challenge leave him and his eyes fell. “I don’t know.”

“Are you sure about that?” Everything was being treated like a riddle and Titus was growing tired of it.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Shooting a leer back up, Titus wished the man would give him something. Anything.

“Being able to summon your Familiar would only solidify that you’re a Mage,” Læsrin gave a minute shrug. Bored, almost seeming insulted over nothing. “You could ignore your magic and just go back to being the boring son of a blacksmith from some little backwater village. Having a Familiar would change that. You couldn’t go back.”

Titus tried really hard to not let those words sting, but they struck so close to insecurities that had mocked him for years. This man didn’t know him, yet had been able to cut so deep without a care. Turning away, Titus frowned, ignoring the chill that was settling in.

“Plenty of people have Familiars without being Mages.”

“Those who have been Severed aren’t the same, and you know it.” The rebuttal came with brutal efficiency, not a drop of hesitation or remorse. It came out in a snarl, a fury that the king seemed to barely keep on a leash.

Refusing to meet the icy rage that he knew would dwell there, Titus gazed back over the keep. He wasn’t really sure how to reply, if an apology would help or only make things worse.

Wind curled around them in the silence, tension so thick Titus could have sworn he could see it.

“Your worry isn’t needed,” Læsrin’s voice came, calmer now. Back to apathy. The man’s boots clicked against stone as he turned to go. “Hektor has a home here.”

Titus’s head shot up, watching the king walk away. He’d never said his Familiar’s name, so how did he know it?

It stayed in his mind the rest of the day, unable to focus on training and getting sent to wash his failures off of himself when Markeus noticed he was too distracted. A long soak in the hot springs helped clear his head a little and eased some of the aches from his body. The time to himself was nice, letting him collect his thoughts and plan what to do with them. When the rest of the knights came in and started splashing around Titus laughed and took his leave.

Starting the fire himself bolstered his mood more, it was a small thing but it still brought a smile to Titus’ face. He still had to wear the manacles when he wasn’t around someone to counteract his magic, but Markeus had lifted a few of the restrictions. Titus couldn’t do much more than flick some embers, though it was enough.

Armin knocked and poked his head in shortly after, bringing with him a basket of fresh laundry.

“Your dad making you do the cleaning now?” Titus teased.

“Analee asked.” The kid shrugged, putting the basket down.

Titus smiled fondly and rolled his eyes. Going over he started pulling out articles and sorting them away.

“We’re going to need to get you something warmer for when winter starts settling in.” Armin commented as he hung shirts.

“I’ll get down to the tailor when I have the time.” The older chuckled, shaking his head.

“I’m serious,” The boy pouted at him. “It gets cold.”

“Well, we are on top of a mountain,” Nodding over to the fire then snapping his fingers and giving off sparks. “I’ll be fine.”

Armin didn’t seemed convinced, but the boy dropped it as he finished folding a pair of pants to be sorted away.

“How is that going?”

Titus hummed. “So far I haven’t blown anything up,” He winced a little. “Again, at least.”

Beaming with a smile, the younger blond nodded. “Wolf says that fire is a really tricky aspect to work with, so you’re already doing really good!”

“It’s just a few sparks, Kid.” Titus huffed, waving off the compliment.

Armin shrugged. “It’s more than I can do.”

Sitting back on his bed, Titus watched the fire. “Something else did happen today.”

“What?”

“The king came to see me on the training grounds.”

“Oh,” Armin frowned a little. “What happened?”

“Not a lot,” Titus admitted. “We talked a little bit about Familiars, he kind of insulted me, and then he stormed off.”

The boy let out a small laugh. “Yeah, he does that sometimes.”

“So, he’s always an asshole?” The older rose an eyebrow.

“Not always,” Armin scrunched up his nose. “But I wouldn’t say he’s a people person either.”

Huffing a little, Titus shook his head. That was putting it mildly, he thought, considering the first time he met the man the king killed someone.

“Why were you talking about Familiars?” Armin nudged, the boy ever curious.

“Something happened to mine, he’s still around,” Watching the flames, they twisted and burned contently. He’d have to go fetch more firewood tomorrow. “But, I think he’s lost.”

Armin excused himself a little while later, trying to make an early night since he was joining his father on a hunting party in the morning.

Left to his own thoughts, Titus thought back to what the king had said to him. That Tor couldn’t be there with him unless Titus wanted him there. But he did, almost desperately. The biggest problem was that he just didn’t know how to ask.

He didn’t know what magic words would bring him back. If Titus even could bring Tor back.

It kept him up late into the night, trying to figure out what he could do. Hektor never came.

“I don’t know what I’m doing wrong.” He moped, tired and drawn thin.

Jehan was teaching him about sigils today, or at least the basics. The man had said that they got rather complicated and if that was something Titus wanted to study he’d hand him off to Markeus or Bairre.

Sigils were a simple, but important part of magic that any Mage worth their salt knew how to form. A combination of symbols and forms, Sigils were Enchantment magic; each symbol had a purpose and an intention, and each form shaped the meaning. Stable magic that served as a Foci, bid their Mage’s will without them particularly needing to be there. They could be fashioned into things like locks, wards, or traps. It was also how one wove magic into mundane items.

“What do ye mean?” Jehan looked down at their slates. “Yer doing really well. Might have to pass ye on to Cap earlier than I thought.”

Titus looked to his tablet, chalk lines clear and established in Ancient. Easy symbols such as the ones for warmth or hold looked no different from the one’s his mentor had drawn. He’d been working on his forms, which were still a little shaky.

“Not this,” The dark-haired man shook his head. “My Familiar. I tried calling him last night.”

“Ah,” Jehan set his work down, frowning a little. “Sometimes Latent’s Familiars take a little time. Just like your magic, they need a little more time to bake.”

“I’ve met him before though,” Titus rubbed away at an eight-sided star that ended up being lopsided. “I don’t think I’m… Latent. I… I know I’ve done magic before, but something stopped me. Suppressed it I guess.”

“Suppressed it?” The shorter man scratched at his hair, the sides of it were braided today the rest fluffed up higher than it usually was. He nodded to the cuffs on the table. “Those there are one of the few ways to suppress magic; it’s awfully powerful magic to be able to strip another Mage from the Æther.”

Titus just shrugged. It didn’t make much sense to him either. He didn’t like to think that his father would do something like that to him, but he had. His father did… something, his memories served him that far.

“How’s it going, Lads?” Markeus strolled up to the bench they were sitting on, the man in a casual dark green jerkin.

“He’s good on some of the more basic symbols but we’re still working on forms.” Jehan reported easily.

The older man hummed, pointing out a few faults but giving tips on how to prevent them in the future. Today a thick tourmaline ring rode on his finger.

“Hey, Cap,” Jehan perked up as the other was done with his lecture. “How else would someone subdue a Mage’s magic? Without the cuffs?”

Markeus gave the fire-starter an eyebrow, frowning and staring at him for moment. Crossing his arms and taking a wider stance —as though he’d be there a while— the Knight-Captain huffed.

“Without cuffs, there’s a few ways,” The man spoke as if it was not a topic he wished to be discussing. “Severing is the most commonly used practice. But it’s also known that sometimes if a Mage were to experience a certain trauma, or faced some other mental block, their connection to the Æther might weaken.”

“Are those the only reasons?” The brunet pursued. “Is there something that could keep a Mage’s Familiar away, or prevent them from calling them back?”

“Jehan, you —of all men— know that a Mage’s Familiar isn’t leashed to their side–” Markeus paused and looked over to Titus, eyes narrowing. His mustache twitched as he thought. “You can’t call your Familiar?”

Frozen a little under that gaze, Titus shook his head slowly. “I’ve seen him before. But I tried last night. Don’t know how.”

“It’s just like any other magic,” Markus’ frown deepened. “There’s no ritual to it.”

The Knight-Captain studied him for a moment longer.

“Kopi, go get Læsrin.”

The green ring on his finger swirled off, darting off as some small bird towards the keep.

“What’s going on, Markeus?” Jehan seemed as baffled, watching after the captain’s Familiar.

A large hand came down to cradle the side of Titus’ head, those gray eyes staring at him but not looking at him. The gentlest touch of something in his head tickled, like a person was tapping a feather duster over his mind. Closing his eyes at the odd sensation, he absently leaned into Markeus’ touch. It occurred to him in the calmness that the older man was riffling through his thoughts, briefly felt like he should have been offended or possibly fought back but another wave of calmness washed over him. A brutal barb of irritation sharply snapped back, snatching the gentle inquisition out of his head.

It was a complete jolt for Titus, would have toppled out of his seat if Jehan hadn’t caught him.

Markeus chuckled but shook his hand as if it had been burned. Mumbling about spiky bastards.

“What’s going on, Cap?”

“Our boy here is Hexed.” The Knight-Captain rolled his eyes, stepping aside to reveal both Læsrin and Bairre barreling through the bailey.

It was the king who got there first, stopping right in front of Titus and gripping his chin. Rough fingers held him in place, tilting one way then the other.

“Explain.” He growled. Not the usual deep tone that normally resided there, but actually growled. Like a feral beast.

“Uh…” Titus couldn’t exactly do as demanded, not only from the grip on his face but also because he didn’t know.

Markeus swatted at the king’s hand and surprisingly Læsrin let go.

“Titus is Hexed.” The Knight-Captain stated.

“Impossible,” Fanbairre refuted. “I checked him myself. Not a mark on him.”

Markeus snorted, rolling his eyes dramatically. “Sorry, didn’t realize you specialized in hunting down Hexes and Hags.”

Titus continued to stared up at the man in front of him. The king was dressed simply; black leather breeches that showed just how large the man’s thighs were, and a loose white shirt with an unlaced collar that showed off acres of that almost too pale flesh and strong chest. He’d never noticed the necklace the man wore before, a small three-pointed pendant that looked familiar.

The two men on either side continued to bicker, Jehan getting dragged into it as well, but the two continued to stare into each other’s eyes.

“May I check for myself?” Læsrin’s voice was softer than he’d ever heard it, an attempt at being gentle. He wasn’t asking Markeus, the king was asking him.

Swallowing a little, Titus was trepidatious but he nodded.

It pulled him under more carefully this time, as if he was being placed down on a pillow of goose down and covered in a thick blanket. A soothing essence of winter-mint swirled around him, calmly cool but invigoratingly fresh. Like the first sprigs of spring bursting up through the frigid snows of winter. It wasn’t a stranger carefully riffling through the pages of his mind, it was the welcoming of a dear friend into his home.

Love. Care. Safe.

Easy, like the tide, it receded from his mind. Titus came to, not even realizing he’d been placed under, his head resting on the king’s firm chest. The man was standing closer than he was before, carding fingers through Titus’ hair, eyes firmly looking off elsewhere.

“How was this missed?” His words absolutely betrayed the serenity that his body portrayed.

Titus wanted to pull away, but something in him kept him there. This was nice, the closeness. It felt right. A drowsiness filled Titus’ mind, relaxed his muscles, everything he needed was right here.

“Isn’t standard procedure,” He could hear Markeus’ voice rumbling in the distance. “Didn’t think to check until he mentioned he couldn’t call his Familiar.”

The hand in his hair stopped for a moment then resumed.

“Go get Tanacelia,” Læsrin stated firmly. “And I want that Hag found.”

The shadow to his right faded as Bairre did as bid, the large man moving with hastened steps.

“Hags are tricky, Læz,” Markeus advised. “Squirrely at best, could take a while to hunt her down.”

“We’ve got a signature, we will hunt her down to the very edges of the continent if I have to do it myself.” The king warned.

“Calm down,” The Knight-Captain grumbled. “You’re putting the Lad back under.”

The fuzzy edges of Titus’ consciousness eased but the king’s fingers continued. Læsrin gave a small grunt, a possible apology.

“Well find her.” Markeus promised now that things were calmer.

“Hex isn’t in his hair.”

Those fingers stopped and Titus’ had to hold back a whine. It had felt so good. The king stepped back a little, once again taking Titus’ chin and checking him over, thumb brushing over his jaw. Questing eyes focused on the vines just under it, tracing down the side of his neck. A frown formed on the king’s face and he nudged at Titus’ tunic.

When he started pulling at the sleeve that was when Titus came back to himself and jerked a little.

“Hey!”

“I could always cut it off.” Læsrin’s eyes darted up to meet his, a small challenging brow joining it.

“Fuck,” The shorter man pulled back, working his tunic off self-consciously. “I only have so many shirts, can’t have you chopping them all up.”

The king huffed back but continued his search.

The touch on Titus’ Mark felt like flames and ice, sending a shudder across his frame. Thick fingers traced the vines and petals, stopping occasionally and pondering on something before moving on. Titus looked away, catching Jehan’s eye and the imp of a man had the gall to grin and wink at him. He was well aware that he’d been growing his strength back and more from his training, Markeus set them on a grueling path and it showed. All of the knights were bulked with muscle and Titus was no exception.

Titus hissed when a hand crested his shoulder, a deep pain sinking into him, as if he really didn’t want another person there. Læsrin’s searching fingers stopped, but then a hand from the other side pulled on Titus’ shoulder, causing him to bend over. He was thankful his head was already close to his knees because the next touch made him want to vomit.

It was a dreadful, sickening thing and bile filled his mouth. Titus could feel Jehan petting at his lower back and whispering him comforting words. A deep growling vibrated in the air.

“Here, on the back of the axilla,” One of the king’s large hands held firm on his shoulder, thumb reaching down to sooth along his collarbone. “Easily would go without notice.”

“Blended in with his Mark,” Markeus grumbled. “Hex is old, surprised she never came to collect on whatever was promised.”

“What kind are we dealing with?” Læsrin’s voice was stern, brooking no room for error.

The Knight-Captain hummed. “Looks to be the work of a Sumpf or Nacht Hag.”

Armored boots clanked in the distance, as his the sharper click of heels.

“Well, well, Læsrin, I thought the days of me stumbling across you looming over shirtless young men were long past us.” Tansy taunted as she stepped closer.

The king growled but stepped back again, allowing Titus to sit up. Unlike last time he saw her, the woman’s honey-gold hair was up in a messy yet elaborate style, new streaks of hibiscus pink and mint green mixed in. Large blue eyes still twinkled with the power of the stars behind them but looked much more human. Today she was wearing a very frilly blouse but pants that looked like she was about to go riding.

“Find yourself in a bit of a bind, Love?” The Witch walked closer, not so subtly shooing the king away and sitting next to Titus on the bench.

Feeling improper being so bare in front of a lady, the dark-haired man pulled his tunic closer to his chest. As if that would preserve him.

“Oh, aren’t you darling,” Tansy joyfully teased, eyes sparkling. “Don’t worry about that, I’ve seen all these men here in nothing but their fur. Though, it is sweet of you to care.”

The look she cast the others was dryly caustic.

“The Darling got himself Hexed by a Hag.” Markus stated flatly, equally unimpressed.

“Beneath his shoulder, in the crux of his axilla.” Læsrin guided, as if he didn’t want the Witch going and looking for herself.

Turning to give the woman a better view, Titus could feel a pressure —a warning— when her hands hovered too close. The king also grumbled, but that was ignored.

“Well, look at that,” The Witch sounded slightly surprised. “I didn’t even know that slug was still around.”

“You recognize the signature?” Markeus pressed.

“Can’t say I’m familiar with all the Hags on the continent,” The Witch haughtily said. “But, this is most definitely Solana’s work. Or at the very least one of her sister’s.”

“Where is she?” Læsrin grit.

“Last I heard, she had a little hut down in the bogs down south,” The woman cast a look up at him. The two having a stare off. “But you’ll have to forgive me, we aren't particularly close.”

“That gives us a place to start,” Markeus nodded thankfully. “Lieutenant Stieg and a few of the others are around those parts, I’ll send them a message. See what they can dig up.”

With the king’s nod the man walked back to his offices, now with a mission in mind.

“Is there anything else you can do, Tanacelia?” The Knight-Commander sounded worried, standing near shoulder to shoulder with Læsrin.

The Witch sniffed primly. “If I didn’t know you had such a large heart under all that fat I would assume you were second guessing me.”

Titus saw the man’s golden eyes narrow and heard Jehan’s under-breath muttering of ‘fat?’. Because, despite his size, Bairre was not the kind of commander who sat on the sidelines and grew gristle while his men fought.

“It’ll take me at least a fortnight, and I’ll need to check my reserves,” Tansy continued. “But I can brew a salve that should remove the Hex’s anchor.”

“Thank you.” Læsrin mumbled, though it sounded like it pained the man to say it.

“Ultimately, it will be the killing of the Hag that will break the spell,” The woman cautioned as she stood, dusting off her hands. “Tell your men I want as much of her hair as they can carry as payment.”

“You’ll get the whole head if this works.” Fanbairre grumbled.

“Don’t be vile,” The Witch scrunched her nose in distaste. “Though, if Stieg can sniff out any Bog Mallow I would be grateful.”

Jehan instantly nodded. “Elke will look too.”

“Wonderful,” She scuffled the man’s hair despite him trying to flail away from her. “I’d suggest a tea of Chamomile and Dew Berry, a touch of Clover Honey will fight the bitterness. It’ll keep the nightmares away.”

“I’ll have some made up.” Læsrin nodded firmly.

“Then I’ll take my leave,” Petting through Titus’ hair for a moment. “And you, try to get back to the forge soon, hmm? The old bull is much less fun to tease without you there.”

The Witch brushed past the rest of them, regally walking like a queen. With an elegant twist of a raised wrist, she dissipated in a mist of flowers and sparkles, flying away on a flurry of the wind. A chiming bell like laugh and the scent of tropical flowers in her wake.

“Witches.” The king groused, shaking his head.

“Don’t act as if you aren’t just as dramatic.” The Knight-Commander chuckled, shoving the slightly shorter man with a shoulder.

Læsrin grunted, arms crossing and looking down at Titus.

“Alright?”

“Uh, yeah,” Titus nodded, seeing the king do the same in response. “Thank you.”

Again the man made some small noise but then turned to leave. His Familiar swooping down from where it was watching from the ramparts, landing on Læsrin’s shoulder as he walked away. It turned into some sort of weasel-like creature to turn back and watch them as he returned to the keep.

Fanbairre was left standing there, looking down at the two. He pulled in a deep breath and let it out as a large sigh. “Well, the peace was nice while it lasted. Why don’t you two break off and get cleaned up, I’ll take over training today since Markeus fucked off.”

“He’ll be back,” Jehan comforted but was happily jumping at the chance to get out of training early. “Just likes to send his orders in private. ‘S all mysterious like that.”

The commander rolled his eyes but waved them off. No doubt happy to be rid of his two most common trouble makers.

Later that night Titus was having a hard time falling asleep, mind too busy with the events of the day and left over adrenaline. He’d soaked in the springs longer than he usually had, spent some time trying to read more, and sipped at his tea. It hadn’t been as bitter as he expected, but it wasn’t precisely a flavor he was fond of.

Supper had been nice, even if the others seemed to now be handling him as if he were fragile. Even Ashley was pleasant to him, which was odd on a whole new level. A couple rounds of cards and ale lifted the mood, but Titus knew there were two pairs of eyes watching him carefully from the King’s Table.

Feeling peckish and knowing that Róisín kept a stash of rolls to repurpose into bread pudding, Titus slipped from his room and made quick work to the kitchens. A few servants were down there, working and chatting by light provided by braziers, mostly they were catching up on dishes but a few were prepping food for the next day.

In his time at the keep he had learned that there were all sorts of little villages tucked around the various mountains and provided Dhane Reothein with the majority of its food goods. There were plenty of fields and orchards around the foothills, the volcanic soil made for hearty harvests and animals ate well in rotating pastures. Even in heavy winters it was rare that those of T’lmerak went without food.

Contently munching on a quarter loaf slathered with honey butter, Titus worked his way back up to his rooms but a noise caught his attention. Seeing light coming from the library, he decided to investigate. Commonly by this time the fires had been dimmed and most were asleep. Poking his head in the door what met him caused Titus to draw short.

Sitting in one of the chairs on the main floor, in front of a glowing fire, was Bairre down to his breeches and his shirt carelessly open. But more shockingly, it was the sight of the king straddling his lap that made Titus stare. It wasn’t unheard of, kings being intimate with some of the higher members of their council. Men laying with other men was commonplace enough that it didn’t turn an eye in most kingdoms. But Titus thought that the commander was Bonded… to a person Armin always just referred to as his ‘uncle’. Never by name. So that meant…

No… Surely not.

Fanbairre and Læsrin weren’t Bonded.

Armin had also said that the king’s own Bond-Mate had died. Died a long time ago.

But what purpose did the boy have to lie?

“You were so good with him today,” Bairre’s deep voice drifted over, low, private. One of those massive hands was resting over Læsrin’s ribs, the other carding through the long white locks that now cascaded past his shoulders. “Proud of you.”

The king only grunted, like he seemed highly prone to do, though he leaned forward and nuzzled at the larger man’s shoulder. He looked so comfortable there, like he had been there many times before.

“He’ll be okay.” Fanbairre hushed, hand moving to stroke along Læsrin’s spine.

“Jus’ worried.” The king’s voice was a little muffled, nosing now at the auburn’s jaw.

“I know, love,” The other assuaged his anxiety. “But he’s here with us now. We’ll keep him safe.”

It didn’t take a genius to figure out the two were talking about him, even though Titus didn’t know why. Seeing Læsrin lean in for a kiss, the younger man pulled away from the door and left them to their devices. Going back to his room, Titus attempted to not let what he’d just seen stick in his mind too long. Maybe he could sleuth around and see if it was supposed to be secret knowledge, not that he wished to gossip, but it seemed like an important thing to know.

Either way, he decided not to worry about it too much, drifting off to sleep with a full belly and pleasantly warmed by the fire.

Chapter Text

Life was lonely ever since the little flower showed up on his wrist. The other kids wouldn’t play with him anymore, their parents wouldn’t let them.

Mommy said to give it time, that they were scared right now but that they would learn. Daddy just frowned and went back to where he banged on things with a hammer.

The old dog kept him company most days, not that he was all that much fun. Titus spent a lot of time sitting in the little field next to their house where Mommy liked to grow flowers. She sold them to people and made drinks that made people feel better.

There were fun little bugs in the garden and butterflies liked to flutter about. Titus liked it here, it felt friendly.

Poking at the dirt with a stick, Titus was bored today. Daddy went to the city to deliver a whole lot of swords, taking the horse and a cart. Mommy said he’d be gone for several days, but she’d promise that they would have a lot of fun. Even without him.

But right now she was helping a woman with a large belly, she’d been really sick lately. Mommy was making her a warm drink. Mommy made good warm drinks.

Rustling coming from the prickle bush in the corner made Titus’ hazel eyes dart up. The village was safe, but his dad warned him a lot about the monsters.

Snorting joined the shaking, a little pink nose poking from the leaves. A small piglet stumbled out, tumbling head over butt.

“Oh!” Titus smiled. One of the people in the houses on the end had pigs, cute big round ones. Their babies looked like them though, pink or sometimes black. “Are you lost little piglet?”

“I’m not lost.” The piglet’s voice was high and squeaky, sounding upset.

Not that piglets were supposed to say anything.

Titus’ Daddy said that there were monsters that sometimes pretended to be other things to trick little boys like him.

“Why are you here?” Titus held his stick up like a sword. He didn’t have to be scared.

The piglet toed at the soil a little. “I don’t know.”

So far the little piglet didn’t seem dangerous. Maybe he could be a friend.

“I’m Titus.” He smiled, lowering the stick and kneeling down so that he wasn’t so much taller. He didn’t like when adults were so much taller.

“I’m Hektor!” The little animal giggled, trotting over and sniffing at his hand.

“Sorry I pointed my stick at you,” Titus patted his new friend. “Sometimes I get scared.”

“That’s okay,” Hektor stood proudly, puffing up his chest. “I can be brave for both of us.”

Titus’ eyes had been wet waking up after that. It made him feel horrible, how could he have ever forgotten? How much more had been taken from him, so many years of memories, so much of his and Tor’s past. He’d been so young, Hektor so small.

He’d always been able to somewhat ignore it as an adult, the whispers and sneers that went behind his back. But had the entire village really been like that to him as a child?

Going down to breakfast he felt shaky, disjointed still from the memories coming back to him. Titus’ had kept a cloak clasped to him, trying to stay warm even though it really wasn’t too cold that morning. Slumping down at one of the farther tables, he hadn’t noticed aureate and icy blue eyes following him, leaning into Markeus’ side for comfort. The man wasn’t known for being particularly cuddly, but he was warm and was good for at least an arm over the shoulder.

“Ye feeling okay?” Jehan checked in, sat across from him.

“Just didn’t sleep well,” Titus grabbed a roll and started tearing into it. “Weird dreams.”

“Nightmares?” The Knight-Captain was listening in, a small concerned frown forming. “Læsrin’s always been a pretty proficient brewer, tea he whipped up should have done the trick.”

“No,” The dark-haired man shook his head. “Sometimes I just get these… memories. Feels weird, I didn’t remember them before.”

“What did ye remember last night?” Jehan slid over a little dish of butter.

“First time I met Tor,” Titus almost felt childish talking about it, reverting back to that day in his mother’s garden. “Or, Hektor, I guess. He’s my, uh, he’s my Familiar.”

The brunet across from him smiled eagerly. “Aye? What was he?”

Titus smiled back, his friend’s enthusiasm infectious. “He was a little piglet, still had its stripes and everything.”

That got the Foothiller to laugh. “First time I saw Elke he was a puppy, all gangly limbs and ears.”

Markeus hummed, pulling a deep sip from his mug. “Kopi was a toad, hopped right out of my breakfast and gave me a proper fright.”

Laughing, it was nice to talk to the others about their Familiars. Like it wasn’t some dirty secret he had to hide away, the others so willing to be open and at ease about it.

“Whole clan tends to have canine Familiars,” Jehan started to ramble. “All sorts of wolves, and foxes, dogs. Though, of course, Elke’s gotta be all contrary and decided to settle on a Red Hart.”

“Likes to defy expectations, just like his human.” Markeus teased.

“Least he’s never eaten anyone,” Jehan shot back with a leer, but the Knight-Captain only smiled, poorly hidden by taking another drink.

“What about you, Titus, did yours ever change much?”

“A little?” Scratching the depths of his memory, Titus tried to recall. “Sometimes he mimicked our old dog, but as a puppy. Or I remember him being a mouse once. But I think he likes being a boar.”

Jehan grinned. “Can’t wait to meet him someday.”

“Yeah,” Titus smiled back, a little sad. “Me too.”

Training that day was lighter than it usually was, Markeus apparently taken pity on him for his day prior and had only set him with a tablet and a sheaf of symbols to copy. It wasn’t the most riveting work, but Titus wasn’t sure he could have kept up with the others even if he tried. The Knight-Captain hadn’t corrected him too much by the time he told them all to hit the baths, so Titus considered that a win.

The rest of the day passed in a bit of a haze, the young man spending some time reading through the historical tome he was loaned and trying to get more through the book on magic. There were little details that hadn’t really been covered by conversation yet. Distinctions that might help prevent him from insulting the wrong person. Most of it was about the various types of magic that he didn’t have much reference for, but he was grateful for the knowledge either way.

By the time Armin came up, Titus had completely forgotten about what he’d seen the night before, but seeing the boy suddenly brought it to the forefront of his mind. There was still plenty of sunlight and he didn’t really want to have this conversation in his room, desiring someplace a little more neutral.

That place ended up being the balcony off of the library, overlooking the garden. The two stood side by side, watching a few people tend to the plants or spotting various birds fly by. Titus had a hard time determining how many of them were Familiars or native species, but he assumed it was mix of both.

“So, you’re being awfully ominous and quiet.” Armin finally broke the silence.

Deciding to get right to it, Titus looked at the boy. “What’s your uncle’s name?”

“What?” The blond smiled, tilting his head a little. But he had a terrible betting face. “Why?”

“Just curious.” Leaning more on his side against the stone railing, he didn’t want to pressure his friend but he wanted answers.

“Oh,” Armin’s ears heated, purposely looking away. “Uh, I don’t really remember. He’s just always been ‘Uncle’ to me.”

Titus hummed, deciding to cut the boy loose. “He know your dad is stepping out on him with his king?”

That got him a shocked expression, but not precisely the one of someone who was just hearing something for the first time. Armin’s mouth fell open and then he began to stutter, starting over so many sentences before abandoning them.

“Saw ‘em over there last night,” Titus nodded back to the seats by the fireplace. “Just kind of wondering what that’s all about.”

“I’m not supposed to tell you.” The boy sounded every bit his age, pulling in on himself.

“Alright,” The older smiled gently, forgiving, he’d have to find another avenue. “I won’t force you to tell me anything. Don’t worry about it.”

With that avenue a dead end, Titus resolved to poke around at the knights and see what they knew. Surely there weren’t too many secrets in a place where more than half the inhabitants had two pairs of eyes.

Luckily, he was able to catch Jehan and Markeus more or less alone in the Main Hall the next morning before breakfast.

“So,” He set his mug down with a firm clack. “How long have the king and his commander been fucking?”

Poor Jehan spluttered, near shooting coffee out of his nose.

“Took that long to notice, did you?” Markeus hadn’t even looked up from the report he was reading, little half-moon spectacles riding his nose. The only movement he gave to show he was paying attention at all was to protectively put his hand over his drink from any projectile spittle coming from his knight.

“Either of you wish to offer some enlightenment to the issue?” Hazel eyes passed between them, focusing more on Markeus as he wasn’t the one actively choking on their own snot.

“It’s complicated.” The Knight-Captain offered.

“Armin told me his father was Bonded, and I’m going to safely assume that the man he always refers to as his uncle is actually King Læsrin.”

It still felt a little odd —presumptuous— to be using the king’s name so casually, but plenty of others did without repercussions and the man himself did give him permission. Sort of.

“Even after yesterday, you don’t know?” Grey eyes narrowed at him from over the man’s tablet.

“I mean, I caught them in the library,” Titus felt his cheeks heating up a little under the older man’s stare. “Seemed pretty incriminating.”

Markeus sighed and set his report down. “Those two have been together a long, long time. But I’d suggest asking one of them if you want more details,” His eyes scanned the rafters subtly. “Lot’s of wandering eyes and ears these days, and while it isn’t a strict secret, they do try to keep that knowledge within the keep.”

Another path ended before too much could be known mildly irritated Titus. But he did have a few things confirmed for him. Læsrin and Fanbairre were indeed together and it was to be held close. Although, Markeus implied there were more things to know about their coupling, but Titus wasn’t too eager to ask either man about it. There was also the odd little tidbit that Armin had told him that the king’s Bonded had died, which made no sense if he was the boy’s ‘uncle’.

Armin didn’t come to see him that afternoon, but he wouldn’t hold it against the boy, Titus had put him in a rather awkward position the other day and he was probably waiting for it to go out of his mind.

Sleep came easier that night, soothed by warm tea and the hope that maybe with one mystery on hold another from his past would open up.

Dreamscapes were different from memories. Where things from his past were always clear, if a little blended from his and Hektor’s perspectives, things in dreams were always just a little off. The edges blurred and details that existed in the waking world were absent.

Waking in the garden, Titus immediately identified it as a dream; the night sky above was more of a globe of midnight colors and little wisp-bugs flitted about the edges, the plum tree above arched and swirled more than it usually did and it’s flowers were far too big. Petals fell in a constant trickle, but never collected on the ground.

“You know, I spent a long time hating you.”

Hearing the boar’s voice was elating, despite the harsh words. Mournful but no less filled with conviction. Turning to see Hektor sitting there, just on the other side of the plum tree, staring up into the not-quite-right sky.

It reminded Titus of an easier time, when they were both so young, and they’d sit beneath an apple tree. Tell each other their secrets and fears.

“You’re the one who made me look like this,” Tor tilted his head, as if gesturing to the numerous scars that littered his body. “The one who sent me away. Left me in the dark.”

A soft wind played with the boar’s coarse hair, giving hints of the Æther under it.

“I had to grow and learn who I was, without you,” Hektor looked down but not at him. “I spent a long time hating myself too.”

“Growing up meant I had to forgive you for that, had to realize that there was nothing I needed to apologize for. I deserved you to love me, to keep me. I wasn’t the one who was broken, but I also wasn’t the only one with scars. You hurt me, you let him hurt me. But I let him hurt you too. I failed you, but you also failed me.”

Curling upon himself and hugging his knees, Titus wasn’t sure what to do with the grief, fury, and bitterness that hung on him. “I was a child.”

The look the boar sent him was cutting. “So was I.”

Tears welled in his eyes, accepting the hate that his Familiar was sending his way. But he supposed hate wasn’t the right word, similar but more resigned.

“I can’t fault you for the Hag, you couldn’t have known. She took your magic and your father made you promise to forget. He made you make so many promises. Every time you retreated more within yourself, you smiled less, you became more afraid. I promised you that I would be brave enough for both of us, but when I needed you to be brave, you failed me.”

“What did she do to you?” Titus asked even though he dreaded the answer.

“The Hag did nothing to me, Piglet,” Hektor huffed. “It was you.”

“Get out of here, you stupid animal!” His younger voiced shrieked in his mind, throughout the dream. “I hate you!”

It felt like it echoed, ringing too true in his head. Watching that diminutive shoat he once befriended, now a little less small and wearing less stripes, blink at him in terror then turn away and run.

“I…” Titus felt shaky, horrified with his former self. “I didn’t mean it.”

“But you did,” Hektor came around the back side of the tree coming to lay next to him. Not touching, but close. “You meant it. But you’re here, and I’d like to think that we’re both wiser now.”

“Tor, I…” Nothing he could say would ever express how much regret lived in his heart. Could make up for the damage he had done. It had all been when he was a child, but still, what kind of person did that make him? He’d seen the other Mages with their Familiars, the love and trust that dwelled there. “I’m sorry.”

“I know.” The boar stated simply. His sins weren’t abolished, or necessarily forgiven, but they were accepted.

Side by side they watched the sky swirl and several stars go shooting by. It wasn’t exactly peaceful, but there was a relief to it. That moment after a wound was cleaned, where is still stung but now it could begin to heal. It would leave a scar, but it would serve as a reminder to be more careful in the future.

“What ended up changing?” Titus asked, only getting a questioning grunt from the boar. “Why after all this time? I never had these dreams before.”

“Your idiotic ass decided to investigate a crying baby off the beaten path and ended up getting kidnapped.” Hektor dryly snarked.

“The bandits.”

Tor hummed a confirmation. “They weren’t going to kill you, might not have sold ya somewhere nice, but I wasn’t too worried. But you got cracked in the head pretty hard, nearly sent him into a spiral. He demanded that we step in.”

Narrowing his eyes at the boar’s elusive wording, Titus tried to pry more out of him. “Who?”

“Your Bond-Mate,” Hektor offered after returning an unimpressed eye. “Had to stop him from storming down the mountain and starting a whole new war because he was so scattered.”

“You know who my Bonded is.” This time it wasn’t a question. But Hektor just snorted in a manner that silently said ‘You’re really asking me that?’.

The boar had very purposely not used names, and it wasn’t like he was going to start now. Titus had more or less assumed it was a person somewhere up in the Calderan Mountains, but it was nice to have it fully confirmed.

“How long have you been up here?” Trying for a different avenue, Titus hoped that his Familiar would be more forthcoming with this.

“Grew up here,” Tor gave a little shrug. “Well, not in the gardens, but around. In the mountains, in the keep, anywhere and everywhere I wanted to be.”

“And, what? You’ve just been up here this entire time?” Titus shook his head, not quite understanding.

“Where else was I supposed to go?” Hektor shot him a challenging look in return.

“But why here?” The human emphasized.

“Figured, if I couldn’t be with you, I’d go be with the next best thing,” The boar nested further into the grass. “It’s safe here. He was kind to me. They both were.”

“Both? What do you mean?”

“Another time, Piglet,” Hektor ignored him. “Now, I think it’s time for you to go. Whoever is knocking on your door is pounding awfully hard.”

“Am I going to see you again?” Titus worried, too much of this almost felt like a goodbye.

“I’m not ready to face you in person yet,” The scarred boar heaved up onto his legs, shaking off and getting ready to leave. “Give it some time, drink your tea, and when the Witch gives you that salve just remember: be brave.”

The pounding on the wall was, indeed, rather loud. Titus had bolted awake, snapped out of sleep as if popping a bubble, and the heavy knocking was already grating.

Pulling on a tunic and stumbling to the door, groggily he opened it to reveal an extremely irate commander. The man was wearing his typical brigandine but he was unshaven and his hair wasn’t swept back as it usually was.

“I believe you and I need to have a conversation.”

Dragged from his room and forced to walk the ramparts with an incensed Half-Giant wasn’t how Titus thought he’d spend his morning. Fortunately, Fanbairre had been kind enough to let him get properly dressed and they had swung by the kitchens to grab some food and much needed coffee.

They came to a stop at a place that overlooked the entirety of the caldera, Bairre had yet to say much and Titus wasn’t going to interrupt whatever peace there was. It had snowed last night, a white blanket dusting the lower town and ice was forming on the lakes.

“I would kindly ask that you no longer make inquiries to my son about my romantic endeavors.”

The commander’s tone was stoney, not precisely unkind, but it held no room to be argued with. It wasn’t up for debate, the behavior would stop. This was Titus’ punishment for crossing boundaries; he wouldn’t be flogged for the indiscretion, but standing next to the man and hearing that distant disappointment in his voice was enough.

“If you have questions, ask me, but do not go around asking Armin or my men.”

So he knew about Titus’ sleuthing with Markeus as well. Titus’ ears burned, embarrassed at getting caught so easily.

The Knight-Commander nudged his mug a little closer to the shorter man, Titus’ long gone empty. Gratefully, he took the offering.

“I guess it’s not really any of my business,” Titus looked down at the lake, watching a large shadow shimmer beneath the ice. “I just got curious.”

“It is, more than you think,” Bairre rumbled. “You weren’t wrong to question. Just in the wrong place.”

Shifting his watch over, Titus studied the man next to him. Bairre was standing tall —as he always did—, guarding over the keep in silent sentry. Thick auburn hair, strong squared jaw, amber eyes; his padded armor added bulk to his already large size, but gave a...softness to him. Knowing that his Familiar also liked to often be a small, fleecy animal put an unexpected layer to the Half-Giant.

Familiars were made to mirror the personalities of their Mages, personified traits that they themselves might be short on. Hektor was brave, stalwart, stubborn; offered unflinching solidity where Titus himself was more likely to bend, shirk from adversity. So, what had happened to such a man that all his spirit wanted to be was unnoticeable and soft?

“Why did Armin tell me the king’s Bonded was dead when he’s his uncle?”

That got a huffing smirk out of the taciturn man. “I believe he’s hit an age where he’s embarrassed that he used to call Læsrin ‘Papa’.”

It was endearingly sweet, to think of a toddler age Armin waddling around after the two large men, calling them Daddy and Papa.

“He’s a gentle boy,” Bairre chuckled, fatherly pride thick in his tone. “But not a very good liar.”

“After we managed to cobble this place together and made it a home, gathered our brothers back with us, we decided that it might be for the best if others outside our walls believed that the king’s Bonded was dead,” The grim tone the man took was unsettling. “We try not to let others outside of the keep know of our relationship, nor have we tried to dissuade rumors among those that do know that it simply isn’t a union of convenience.”

“He was trying to protect you two.” Titus said gently. And, fuck, if he didn’t already adore that kid that would have cinched it. He’d have to hunt him down at some point and apologize. Maybe bring him a gift.

The Knight-Commander smiled fondly.

“But, you two are actually Bonded?” Considering the man offered and seemed content to answer any questions, Titus figured he’d try for more.

“Yes,” Bairre said simply. “Ever since we were young.”

“And how long ago was that?” The dark-haired man couldn’t help but tease.

Fanbairre gave him a slow side-eye. “A very, very, long time.”

A gentle wind blew around them, the chill causing Titus to shiver. Maybe Armin was right, he needed to get better clothes for the cold.

“The flowers on your Mark,” The commander continued after a few moments of silence. “They’re called Mountain Trillium, only found at high altitudes, they bloom as harbingers of winter. Three petals, three sepals, can be used in several balms and liniments. The Mhoer’Vorte Empire used them in their heraldry.”

Thinking on that, Titus had never heard of the flower before, had never been able to find them in a book or record of any sort. But, he had seen one before.

“King Læsrin wears one on a pendant.” Titus recalled, seeing the silver charm just the other day.

“Yes,” The Knight-Commander nodded. “As far as we know, he is the last of the Mhoer’Vorte people.”

Frowning a little, that rang further bells in the back of his mind. “Dhane Reothein used to be an Ancient settlement,” Piecing together the parts, there were so many little strings weaving together in his head; history and stories coming together. Bairre’s confirming little hum only pushed it further. “He was never a Warlord…”

“No.” The commander grunted.

“He came home.” The reality of it was sombering.

It all made so much more sense. People said that King Urlich was a good and just monarch, but his people suffered. Bælia had many problems that the Crown not only ignored but often fed into. T’lmerak, on the other hand, seemed to be prosperous, the people were happy. Hardly the lands of a man who didn’t care about his kingdom, that of some bloodthirsty behemoth.

“It’s easier if the people outside of our allied lands view him as a monster.” Bairre voiced lowly, clearly disagreeing with the statement.

It must have been a hard thing to endure, to have the man he loved be so hated —feared— across more than half the continent.

Other sections of the puzzle began to slot into place. Why the commander would know so much about his mark, why Titus’ arm always felt a little cold, what Hektor had meant last night.

“Three petals.” Titus stated, still unsure, unwanting to say it out loud.

“Yes.” The large man rumbled, letting him know he was on the right path.

Titus’ next words felt like a whisper, a dark secret that shouldn’t be shared. “Læsrin is my Bond-Mate.”

“Yes.” Bairre said softer this time.

“So are you.” Titus knew Triads were a thing, even if not through Marks but through choice. But, it made sense; Three petals, three sepals, three souls.

“...Yes.” The Knight-Commander’s head was lowered, shoulders a little hunched.

Anger wanted to swell up in him, betrayal and abandonment. Learning that he had not one, but two Bond-Mates and neither had seen fit to say a single thing to him.

“Why didn’t you say anything before?” Titus settled on, brittle. Hoping the answer wouldn’t break him.

“You are important to us,” Bairre kept his eyes resolutely locked on the stone. “But it wasn’t just Hektor that was hurt by the Hag impeding our Bond.”

The man held up a hand when Titus went to say something, asking for a moment to explain.

“It had been just us for so long, we never thought that someday the Æther would bless us with a third. When Læsrin realized that the person Bound to us was a child, he didn’t take it well. It frightened him, angered him, sickened him… He took it out on you, and that wasn’t fair. I should have done more to protect you from him then. I was still recovering from the wars, I wasn’t there to anchor him; because of that Læsrin lashed out and hurt you, hurt Hektor. That will always be my biggest regret, I failed both of you. Læsrin disappeared for a while after that, hid up here in the mountains like a wild-man, he’d become everything he feared, twisted and cold.”

“I tried to keep an eye on you, watched from a distance, but you lived a happy life back then. Still but a babe. I had to bring Læsrin back to us, not only because he was the man I loved, but because our growing kingdom needed him. I was so busy back then, Læsrin refused to even look back at that door in his heart. We didn’t mean to forget about you, but you were a child, you deserved to live a happy life full of your own memories free of our meddling. It was enough, a promise of something in the future. I told myself that someday I’d find you, bring you back to us. But one day, you were gone.”

“Læsrin truly thought you died that day, at first. It was the coldest winter that we ever endured here, he felt so… hollow inside. We mourned you, added truth to the lie that the Witch-King was so crooked because his Bond-Mate had been killed. But then Hektor showed up, a scared little boar that collapsed in his lap and cried. It was horrible that day, neither of us had ever seen such anguish come from a Familiar —not even from those who had been Severed— but it gave us a glimmer of hope. It meant you were still out there, somewhere.”

“I wanted to find you, to at least assure me that you were okay. Læsrin forbade it, enraged and only building up his walls more. He felt justified in shutting you out, had already mourned you and refused to do so again. He told himself that you were living a good enough life, that you didn’t need him. Hektor did. They’re close, bonded over their remorse, their grieving. We… agreed we wouldn’t go searching for you unless you really needed us. If you were in serious danger. Over time that anger simmered and settled, faded into resignation, into apathy. I still tried to keep tabs on you, tried to comfort you when things got bad, but I know it wasn’t enough…”

“Then I got kidnapped.” Titus absently finished for him, still trying to take it all in.

“Yeah,” The man chuckled a little, giving a small, sad smile. “Then you got kidnapped.”

“Hektor said that Læsrin got really upset about that.” The shorter recalled.

The Knight-Commander hummed in agreement. “He was ready to earn his title, but Hektor was able to talk him down. Gave him the idea to remind that Mage about the bounties with a dream. Pulled some strings to… encourage them to trek all the way here, bring you to us.”

Thinking back to the kindness that Dellman had offered him, of Ruggard’s silent support. Titus didn’t want to think that wasn’t real, that they had merely been bewitched to keep him safe.

“Irwin would have known someone was dabbling in his mind after too long,” Bairre subtly shook his head. “That bandit leader though? He was an easy mark, simple enough to implant thoughts in. The others acted on their own virtue.”

A new fear rippled through him. Just how many times had they been in his mind, how many of his thoughts were his own? Titus worried his lip, not wanting to sound accusatory but also wanted to firmly put that boundary in place.

Fanbairre chuckled. “Mind reading isn’t a particularly fond pass-time of either of ours,” A glinting eye winked down at him. “However, it is a little hard to ignore when it is our Bond-Mate and his thoughts are so loud.”

That part hadn’t really occurred to him, causing Titus to blush a little. His only experience with his Marks were vague feelings that had the vestiges of thought to them. But it made sense that two highly powerful Mages who were much more familiar with magic could garner more. After all, for all he knew, Bairre had hundreds of years to hone his skills, the man still very obscure about his real age.

“I’m not that old, ya little shit.” The commander grumbled down at him, but the look on his face was much gentler than his tone. A little half smile. Exasperated. Content. Fond.

Another chilling gust of wind billowed around them, the Knight-Commander sighing as it passed.

“Just like with Tor, give it time,” He advised. “Læsrin is a man with a lot of hardships and he doesn’t trust easily. There are still parts of him that are mad at you, and mad at himself for it. Pay closer attention to Alo, it’s been near torture trying to keep that bird away from you. Læsrin will come along, eventually.”

It felt a little bitter, finally being so close to his Bond-Mate —Bond-Mates— but being told he still had to wait. But Titus also didn’t know these men, not really. For as much as they have lived in the same castle together for several months now, it wasn’t like they had interacted much.

A hand settled over Titus’ shoulder, thumb stroking fondly. “I, however, would like the chance to know you better. If you’d allow,” Bairre’s voice was kind, allowing for room to be denied. “I very much need to keep the peace between us, but I would like to try.”

Titus held himself back from reaching up and touching that hand, return some of the comfort offered. But he didn’t, wanted to get his head in the right place before he committed to anything. He tried to assuage some of it, give back a glimmer of hope and cautious possibility across the bond. Bairre smiled gently in acceptance, so it must have gone through.

“Let me think on that.”

“Of course,” A large thumb brushed over Titus’ cheek, melting off a snowflake that landed there. “We’ll have to see about getting you a better cloak, I hear Islanders don’t do too well with the cold.”

Chapter Text

Several days later not much had changed. Markeus was still holding him from town until he had more training on his magic, which was going relatively well considering he’d hadn’t had it before. The Knight-Captain commented that he was more proficient in Enchantment than he was regular spell-casting, although he wasn’t too poor at that either.

He’d finally upgraded to training with a shield, Titus’ more defensive style of fighting benefited having the guard on one arm. Jehan, however, was getting tired of being shoved around by it. Markeus seemed content enough with that, so Titus accepted it as a win.

And, if he caught the commander floating around nearby out of the corner of his eye, he wasn’t going to say anything.

Titus had also noticed that the man shot him little fond looks during meals, often seen whispering things into the king’s ear. It also hadn’t been that uncommon to find Alo staring at him, aquiline eyes locked onto him whenever he was in the same room.

Now that he was looking, it wasn’t that rare to spot the Gyrfalcon perched in opportune places throughout the day either.

Sneaking away into town was a risk —Markeus’ disappointed frown was lethal— and, frankly, Titus was surprised he got away with it at all. Browsing the lower town of Dhane Reothein was calming, having not been able to do so in the past. Stalls offered all sorts of goods and there were plenty of shops to investigate. Titus wasn’t exactly sure what he was looking for, but he knew when he spotted it he would know.

Looping around the market, Titus decided to swing by the forge and see how Damascus was doing. He hadn’t seen the old bull in a long while and he missed him.

“Long time, no see, Kid.” The Minotaur crossed his arms.

“Yeah, sorry about that, Boss,” Titus grinned back, holding up a wrist for show. “Got myself a little tied up.”

The bull grunted, eyeing the cuff. “Might still have a key to those sitting around.”

“Nah, I get it,” The dark-haired man chuckled. “Just a safety precaution. Kind of blasted my sparring partner through a wall.”

Again, Damascus hummed. “Didn’t know you had magic.”

Titus shrugged. “Neither did I. Have gotten pretty good at Sigils, though.”

“Guess we’ll have to put that to the test some day,” His boss grinned. “So, did you slip your guard or are they letting you wander?”

“I kind of snuck out?” Grinning sheepishly, Titus ducked down. “Wanted to find a gift for a friend.”

The grunt the Minotaur let out could have either been impressed or disappointed, either way the bull waved him into the forge and set to trying to determine a good gift for the Knight-Commander’s son.

They ruled out a nice set of daggers or any other sort of blade; Titus wasn’t sure what the boy was trained with and he didn’t want to get him something that would go unused. Armin didn’t wear any sort of jewelry that Titus had seen. He thought about maybe scrounging up some rarer cards to help improve the kid’s deck, but that felt cheap. At the end of it, Titus felt bad that he perhaps didn’t really know his friend all that well.

They both poked their head out of the back room when the doorbell jangled. The man who stepped in was wearing armors and furs, had a large wolf at his side. Both had thick, black, shaggy hair.

Titus grimaced and sank back but Damascus —the traitor— shoved him out into the doorway.

“Uh, can I help you?” He tried, hoping that just maybe the knight was there for some sort of other commission.

“Knight-Commander sent me out to bring you back in.” The man’s voice was higher than expected, but gritty from lack of practice.

Nodding, Titus’ shoulders sagged a little. “Was just trying to find Armin a gift.”

The knight left out a small grunt that seemed to be their universal language. “He likes white peaches. We can stop by the fruiterer. Can’t get them at the keep.”

Trudging back through the town behind the knight, Titus noticed how people deferred to the man or seemed to outright avoid him. They had indeed stopped by a fruit stand, Titus chatting up the dryad that ran it while the other picked out the finest selection of stone fruits. His purse was a little lighter than he’d expected but Titus couldn’t say he was upset about it.

Returning to the keep he hadn’t been expected to see Bairre waiting there for him before the end of the bridge.

“Thank you, Wolf,” The Knight-Commander nodded to the shorter knight, a polite but simple dismissal. The man grunted and kept walking, paying the father of his Bonded little mind.

Titus smiled a little sheepishly when those golden eyes settled on him.

“Don’t disappear like that on us.” Titus was pretty sure there was a silent ‘please’ tacked on the end of it, but it was a very serious warning not to do something like this again.

“Sorry.” Lowering his eyes, he wilted a little.

“It’s okay,” His —possibly— Bonded stepped closer, reaching out and pulling Titus into a gentle embrace, one of the man’s gloved hands cradling the back of Titus’ head. “Just… next time, just ask.”

The closeness was nice, even if it was just his head resting against the other’s shoulder. Fanbairre was warm and he smelled pleasant. The man was large and sturdy and Titus knew he’d be accepted if he wanted to lean more of his weight on him. He didn’t, but he knew he could.

“Do I smell peaches?”

After sacrificing a fruit to the boy’s father, Titus then went on the hunt for Armin. It wasn’t too hard to find him, his typical schedule was pretty well known and it just took a little bit of searching. Titus found him and his Bonded tucked away, bundled up and close, Wolf’s Familiar curled up on their feet.

Wolf stiffened as Titus stepped closer, but didn’t pull away. If anything the man pulled the shorter boy closer to himself.

“Sorry for interrupting.” Titus paused, two sets of eyes glaring at him. Daring him to step closer.

Armin jumped in Wolf’s hold, wriggling around until he faced the ‘intruder’. A few elbows flew because the man seemed stubborn about letting the blond move freely.

“Oh,” Armin flipped a bit of hair out of his face. “Hey!”

The bright smile was genuine, telling Titus he was welcome and he smiled back. “I, uh, I wanted to apologize for the other day. I shouldn’t have put you in that position.”

Bundled up against the larger man, Armin shrugged as best as he could. “It’s alright.”

“It really isn’t,” Titus shook his head. Lifting up his bag of peaches in offering. “Just wanted to drop these off before they got mushy.”

Again Armin’s face lit up, reaching out as far as he could with Wolf’s arms bracketing around his middle.

“Are those peaches!”

Watching the sunset, sharing a few drinks, and getting to know Wolf a little better was a good way to wrap up his evening. The knight didn’t speak much, but Armin definitely talked up his Bonded’s best traits well enough. The man’s Familiar was watchful but placid, a large wolf named Argus.

It was sweet, watching the large man walk Armin to his rooms and bid him a sweet sleep with a gentle peck on the forehead. Or to at least the base of the stairs that led to the royal wing, neither Titus nor Wolf apparently had clearance to be there. There weren’t many places Titus had been barred from wandering and he was rather content to let that be.

Wolf also walked him to his room, the taller knight pausing and blocking the portal for a moment. Argus was giving a soft wag to their tail, so Titus felt rather sure that the man didn’t have ill intent.

“Thank you for being kind to him,” The man’s voice was rough. “Armin doesn’t have many friends.”

Titus wasn’t sure what to say to that, he’d heard from Bairre before that Armin was a little distanced from the other men of the castle. He’d seen it himself, the men were respectful and welcoming, but there was a professional distance to how they interacted.

“He is the Keep’s Pup,” Argus spoke in a deep baritone. Which, Titus was a little shocked, he’d never heard a Familiar speak before. At least not one that wasn’t his own, but that had always been in dreams. “They are Pack. A little brother that they are careful to not play too rough with.”

Nodding, Titus tried to not let it show just how bizarre it felt speaking with a wolf, ignored the hypocrisy since he often spoke to a boar. “He’s a good, kid.”

Wolf grunted, a slow blink and a nod of his own before he made his leave. Argus trailed after, giving a call to have a good rest over their shoulder.

Unlocking his door and slipping inside Titus went about his regular routine; he lit up a fire, slipped off his boots, and began stripping down for bed. Tossing his tunic aside, Titus noticed then that there was a bundle sitting on the bed. Approaching it, there was a folded note sitting atop it.

‘It’s getting cold. Wear this.’

The rolling script was similar to what was squeezed into the margins of his book on magic, what Armin had identified as his uncle’s handwriting. Læsrin’s handwriting.

Feeling the fabric, it was a softer wool, not as coarse as some less finely made textiles were, dyed a deep maroon. As the cloak unfolded it revealed that a matching jerkin was tucked inside, but also that it was lined with warm fur. The dark black pelt was thick and would mantle his shoulders when he was wearing it, keep him plenty warm through the colder months.

Stroking a finger over it, Titus smiled softly. It was a very nice gift, nicer than one he’d ever gotten before in the past. His family used to do small celebrations for birthdays and other holidays, gifts were rare but his mother would often make cakes or other treats.

It was surprisingly kind of Læsrin to get him something as fine as this.

Setting it aside on his trunk to wear the next day, Titus committed to finding the man and thanking him for it. He still wasn’t sure how he might approach him about their status as Bond-Mates, or even if he wanted to at the moment, but it would be impolite to not at least let him know the gift was appreciated.

Markeus had been polite enough to only give Titus a slow once-over when he came down for breakfast wearing the jerkin ending on a fatherly brow. A playful ‘Is there something you’d like to share?’ combined with a protective ‘Do I need to step in here?’ Jehan —as always— had less tact.

“Oi! What’s this?” The man was on him instantly, investigating the hems and fine stitching. “This is mohair…”

Titus had noticed that before he came down that morning. Both the vest and the cloak were made from wool that was considered much rarer down in the lowlands. Harvested from Luffalope, not many farmed them as they weren’t easily domesticated. Let alone shear.

“Was sitting in my room last night when I got back,” Titus commented, coyly smirking. “I think I might have a secret admirer.”

“After you had your little runner?” The Knight-Captain snarked, ignoring the dour look the younger man shot him.

“Nice vest like this?” Jehan continued his query. “Cost a couple Bars at the very least. Maybe even a Kearn or two.”

“You know you’re running the walls today for your little stunt, right?” Markeus continued to stare.

“I figured as much.” Titus shrugged, willing to take the punishment. It had been worth it.

“Stitching is Elven,” Fingers traced over the black patterned filigree stripes that ran parallel to the center front. “Hand-made.”

“And you’re sure?” Grey eyes were sharp, watching for lies. “Nobody is forcing you towards anything?”

“Dye is probably Night Currant,” Jehan added onto his little list of facts. “Could be mixed with Deep Ink.”

Both men were firmly ignoring their friend —not that he minded, off in his own little obsessive world— having a much more serious conversation going.

“Nothing is written in stone just yet, but I think I’d like to try.” Honestly, Titus did. He wanted to try, even if it was all platonic and he sought romance elsewhere, he wanted to know them.

There was a pause before Markeus gave an assenting nod. Finalized.

“It looks good on ya, Lad.” The older man relented, going back to his coffee and reports.

“Thank you, Sir.” Titus smiled. There was something about being under than man’s paternal protection, that he’d have at least one person at his back should everything else fall to shit.

“What?” Jehan pulled back to join them with the rest of the world, Titus ignoring him with a small chuckle and an easy grin.

The warm rolls with cinnamon and glaze even made a strong effort of making up for the fact that Titus spent the next several hours running. Not in his nice new jerkin, of course, that had been put away into a chest that possibly looked like it had too many teeth —granted, any teeth was too many— and the Knight-Captain promised him it would be safe and sound for the duration of his excursion.

He briefly thought he was saved when the Knight-Commander showed up on the training grounds, but the smile that definitely had too many teeth indeed promised he was not.

It made for a day that left him more exhausted than it had in a while. His legs felt like jelly and Titus was for sure developing a bruise on his arm from where Ashley had gotten in a particularly harsh blow. The springs were more than welcome after all that and he made sure to primp and prep himself a little more than usual. If he had to ignore a good amount of chirping from Jehan about it, nobody else had to know.

Not knowing where the king hid himself away most of the day, it took a bit of wandering and a few questions until he was redirected to the man’s study. Tucked away on the side of the library, the door was easy to miss and looked for as innocuous as any other. A few other studies even came off of the main room, but most of those were for public use. The whole place felt more and more like a Mage’s Tower the more Titus learned about it.

Knocking on the directed door, he waited for a moment before a voice beckoned him in. A small sigil flared on the knob before he touched it, a simple one of recognition. A good way to keep doors locked but also allowing a select group of people in.

Stepping in, Titus paused briefly seeing both Bairre and Læsrin in the room. The king was sitting behind a large desk, carved of a beautiful dark wood that matched the rest of the room. Fanbairre was perched on the corner of said desk, the two having some sort of conversation before Titus came in. A warm fire crackled behind them, illuminating the room with the aid of a few stained windows high above.

“I’ll take my leave,” Bairre stated, standing and taking the king’s jaw in hand. “Be nice.”

With his gentle warning the taller man walked to Titus and brushed a knuckle down the soft wool of his new jerkin. The smile on his face was so gentle and fond, it was almost hard to believe anyone thought the man was terrifying, that is if the man wasn’t at least a foot taller than him.

When the door clicked behind him, they were left alone in the room and it was easy to tell that neither of them knew where to begin. Læsrin looked good, more at ease than usually seen; down to an open white shirt, his hair was completely down, and he seemed relaxed. A good section of the man’s chest was available for view, his pallid tone showing a few older scars and a mild pelt of fine silvery hair.

“You like it?” Læsrin’s broke the silence, a gentle musing probe.

“I do,” Titus nodded, still nervous. “I wanted to come thank you.”

The man grunted but that only made the younger man chuckle. If he didn’t know any better he would have assumed that Wolf and the king were related.

“It’s my favorite color, how did you know?”

“Had an inside source.” The grin was small, but it was there, the tiniest quirk of a cheek.

Knowing he had never told Armin about his color preferences, that only left one option and Titus wasn’t completely sure how he felt about that.

“He… he talks to you?” The question was a little quaky, Titus not wanting to go down that avenue just yet.

“He does.” Læsrin confirmed but didn’t seem inclined to further explain.

“I, uh, I didn’t even know Familiars could talk until recently,” Feeling out of his depth, he let his eyes sink to the various papers on the king’s desk. “Wolf’s spoke to me yesterday.”

“They do,” Again the man’s words were simple. “Many just don’t find much need in talking to others that aren’t their Mages. Argus is particularly chatty.”

“Too chatty.” Alo commented from the rafters, the bird giving Titus quite the startle. The sound of ruffling feathers seemed to be a statement all on its own.

Læsrin huffed.

“Is Tor… how is he?” Worried about the answer, Titus hoped that he didn’t come off as too needy.

“He’s well.” The king nodded.

“I…” Titus truly had no plans to rush anything, push Hektor towards anything he didn’t want. But he had to know. “I haven’t seen him around anywhere.”

“You wouldn't,” Læsrin stated, hands folding on his desk. “The Hag’s curse, it’s a suppressor. Hektor won’t be able to be here physically until that is gone. It functions via proximity, the second you stepped on this mountain he faded back to the Æther.”

In a way, that was a relief, the Familiar wasn’t avoiding him out of spite. At least, not completely. But it left Titus with another conundrum, that his very presence alone drove the boar away. Took his home away from him.

“Am I allowed to know how that’s going?” Changing tracks, Titus wanted more time to reflect on what he just learned.

“The Hag Hunt?” Læsrin clarified, continuing when the dark-haired man nodded. “I’d say well, but Bairre has made me promise to no longer lie to you. Hags are slippery, the men have come across a few places that looked to be recent haunts, but they’ve missed her every time.”

“Ah…” Gazing, lost, at the fire behind the man, Titus would admit he had hoped to hear better.

“Knight-Lieutenant Stieg is one of our best trackers, and they now have a much better sense of the Hag’s signature. He’ll find her.”

Nodding a little, Titus was a little resigned. There was a lot hinging on that whole event and he felt powerless to help with it in any way. Doubted that either man would allow him to help if he could.

“Bairre has apprised me of another development.”

Giving a small huff, Titus grinned and redirected his eyes to the king. “If that’s how you want to put it.”

“I could attempt to be more vague,” A placid smile was returned. “I have been told that I am rather elusive when difficult topics arise.”

Narrowing his eyes, Titus spotted that little impetuous grin grow. The real Læsrin peeking through the curtains.

“You’re just a little shit who grew too damn big, aren’t ya?” He playfully accused.

“A downright menace.” Alo drying snarked from above.

Leaning back in his chair, muscular arms came to brace the back of his head, Læsrin’s eyes lazily drifting up to the ceiling.

“I will admit, I have some… hesitations about our relationship. I have spent a long time either pretending you didn’t exist, or scorning you. And I know that I carry some unfair grudges,” Ice blue eyes dropped and caught Titus in their grasp. “I know Bairre would like to bring you into the fold, wants to get to know you. But I can’t fairly make any promises to you.”

Swallowing thickly, Titus nodded. The honesty hurt, but he could understand. It was better than being lied to.

Watching the man stand was pure art in motion. Thick thighs were accentuated by the dark breeches he wore, striding over with sure steps. Læsrin was a large man, broad shouldered and muscular but tapering down at his waist. A masculine hourglass personified. Taller than Titus by about a head, he was eye-level with the king’s jaw, which was damning itself as Titus himself was already taller than average.

This close it was easy to be pulled in and soothed by Læsrin’s aura.

“I’m afraid we’ll have to continue this conversation at a different time,” The king offered. “I have a meeting that is, unfortunately, rather private.”

Having been lulled into a sense of security, the dismissal felt disjointing. Titus shook the haze out of his head, laughing a little, embarrassed. It seemed childish, but he didn’t need Læsrin to know how easily he affected him.

“Ah, of course.”

The king chuckled lowly at him, reaching out to brush a bit of lint off the shorter man’s shoulder.

“Just remember,” Læsrin turned and went back to his desk. “Don’t let Fanbairre sleep on his back, he’s a horrendous snorer.”

Titus took his leave shortly after, feeling… accomplished. They hadn’t had some massive breakthrough or would be running off into the sunset any time soon, but it was a step. A tiny baby step towards the rest of his future.

That night there was a moderate falling of snow, blanketing the keep and surrounding mountains. It put a deep chill on the air but Róisín served up a warm breakfast of porridge and heated cider. Titus helped some of the other Mages clear off the training grounds, flames licking along the ground and melting the snow. It left the ground a muddy mess, but Markeus stated it would be good practice to train on a different terrain.

Titus was paired with another greatsword wielder, a man that had Oruhk heritage and a strong arm. Gerran was a decent sport, gave tips and advice, had a hearty laugh, and was brutishly efficient at pounding Titus down into the mud. Before it would have drove the dark-haired man mad, but each time the more experienced knight gave him corrections on how to do better the next time. He shouldn’t expect to beat a much stronger opponent with strength alone, he had to be faster, smarter, find a gap and abuse it.

Even with that said, Gerran was fast too. It was no surprise when he humbly stated that he was actually a Knight-Sergeant and was working towards a promotion.

“Alright men,” Markeus called them to a stop. “I think it’s time to induct our newest trainee to some spell work. Any volunteers?”

A number of the knights shuffled around on uneasy feet, looking at each other unsure. They all ignored the shorter, mohawked, man jumping and waiving his arm to volunteer.

“I think I’d be up to the task.”

The crowd went silent as Bairre slowly walked up. He was wearing a simple iron armor over his usual padding, his Familiar plodding along as a large gray bear.

“Very well,” The Knight-Captain eyed him slowly. “Just try not to break him on his first day. The rest of you, pair up! I want to see some innovation out there, act like the king is watching.”

Directed to their own little court, Titus watched the man. The commander was calm and at ease, but the thrumming under his skin was easy to sense. Magic strong and raring to go.

“I understand you have only really studied with fire elements,” The Half-Giant spoke, flexing himself out for combat. “Do you wish to stay within that parameter, or would you like to expand on your training?”

“Uh…” Titus was a little tongue-tied, the stable confidence Bairre was showing was oddly attractive. “I could stand to learn a thing or two.”

Bairre chuckled, deep and dirty. “Alright, however, I will remind you said that later.”

Smirking himself, the younger man nodded, taking pose. “Ready whenever you are.”

Of all the things Titus had been expecting the Knight-Commander to start off with, a small little flurry of snow that just splattered on his face hadn't been it. Incited, Titus laughed but sent a fireball back at the man, it was easily swatted aside and from there the fight was on.

It was clear that the commander was going easy on him, was just using this as an excuse to play and show off. Bits of mud and snow were flung at him, little sparks or discombobulating lights, illusions and shields, at one point he even created a copy of himself and they both pelted him with bubbles.

Titus had laughed plenty, had a lot of fun. Bairre explained as they went, how magic was sculpted and how spells didn’t have to be harmful. A few times he even displayed that sigils could be remotely used, a glyph appearing on the ground under Titus’ feet before it erupted in a show of petals and glitter.

By the end of it all, Titus wasn’t all that worn but he was filthy. Bits of snow, mud, and twigs stuck in his hair and to his skin. It was a grand relief to be able to retire to the baths, but an even grander surprise when Bairre insisted he join him.

Walking to the baths, Bairre chose a room and gestured for Titus to enter. He couldn’t say that he was apprehensive about sharing the room with the Knight-Commander, but Titus wasn’t exactly sure what to expect. Hearing the man shed his armor behind him, Titus also slipped out of his shirts but was left standing there in his pants.

“I have nothing untoward planned,” The large man chuckled. “Just wanted to spend a little time with you, maybe wash your hair.”

Titus could handle that. Going over to the bath he activated the spigot and turned to sit on the ledge while the tub filled. His eyebrows shot up as he watched the man strip out of his shirts, gambeson already tossed to the side.

The Knight-Commander was thick, both in muscle and in grit. He wasn’t as defined as some of the younger knights, but his midsection was still firm. Solid. Abdominals there under a thin layer of fat and fur. Bairre’s body was hairy, a thick reddish tint that was mildly tamed. Titus himself had some body hair, black and wiry, mostly centered on his chest and trailing down. But Bairre had it near everywhere. Except from where there was also a scar, a barren mark that almost looked like it would have been from an arrow if it hadn’t been so large. As a warrior the Knight-Commander had all sorts of smaller scars, little nicks and slices that showed in darker raised flesh.

Whereas Titus’ complexion was a deep tan and Læsrin’s held a pale —near gray— undertone, the Knight-Commander’s skin was a warm peach, vibrant and golden.

“In you get, I promise I won’t peek.” Bairre fondly teased, playfully putting one of his large hands up over his eyes.

Quickly, Titus skimmed out of his breeches and slid under the water. Relaxing into the warmth and leaning back against the rim. Steam hovered around him and footfalls warned him before large hands brushed over his shoulders. Fingers picked out bits of filth from his hair, gently dealing with the tangles.

“Your training is going well,” Bairre complimented, pulling over a little basket of toiletries. “Might look into a different weapon, though. Your swordsmanship is fine, but from how you move something with more heft might suit you better.”

Titus hummed as a towel was dragged over his throat and down to his chest.

“Læsrin told me you two had a nice talk.”

“I think so?” Titus wasn’t fully convinced he was on solid footing with the man just yet, but the king didn’t seem to hate him. He could work with that.

The Knight-Commander hummed back, the towel dipping a little lower but still polite. “Don’t be too shocked if he’s more standoffish the next few days,” A hand cupped his jaw carefully, holding him in place as the man washed his face. “Emotions aren’t particularly his strong point.”

Chuckling, Titus relaxed under the caring touch. “So I’ve heard.”

“Deep down he’s a sweet man,” Over his eyes a hand guarded from the pouring of water, followed by strong fingers massaging soap and oil into Titus’ hair. “But it’s behind many scars and walls.”

“I got the impression that he’s also a bit of an imp.” Titus chuckled, recalling the king’s little smirk and wit.

“Armin had to get his sense of rebellion from somewhere,” Bairre also laughed. They took a moment to allow Titus to dunk under the water and clear the soap out of his hair. “I can’t even begin to tell you how many times that man’s smart mouth got us into trouble as kids.”

That brought a little smile to the younger man’s face. Even if he hadn’t been there, it soothed Titus to know that at least they had each other growing up.

“I’ve got to know,” Titus tipped his head back to look up at the strong jaw hanging over him. “His hair, is that from all the magic or time?”

“Uh, no,” Bairre gave a light chuckle, only giving a mild flick to the ear as a reprimand. “It’s gotten whiter as we’ve aged, but his hair was always silver. Pretty common with Mhoer’Vorte as far as we can tell.”

Smiling a little, Titus nodded. The easy affection and attention between them was nice, intimate in a way that he’d never experienced before, but it never progressed further.

“We should think about getting you out of here before you start turning into a prune.” Bairre’s nose tipped down among Titus’ freshly cleaned curls. They now smelled faintly of rose water.

There was a polite exchanging of a towel and some offered privacy as Titus covered himself back up. His clothes were already bundled up in a neat little pile by the door.

“Go ahead to the hot springs without me, I’ll take a quick dip and join you in a moment.”

Taking his leave before the Knight-Commander began to strip, Titus moved his clothing to sit on a trunk outside of the door to snag later. His underclothes were probably clean enough for the trek back to his room. Normally he’d send for a fresh pair to be brought down, but neither Armin nor any of the other attendants seemed to be available at the moment.

As he stepped into the springs Jehan was already there, waving him over and incidentally splashing Markeus in his fervor. Slipping into the pool they selected, Titus ignored the wagging eyebrows the Foothiller sent him.

“Don’t be a pest.” Markeus flicked his subordinate in the ear and Jehan pouted.

Catching up with the others, Titus could tell his friend was eager to pester him about his recent interaction with the Commander but Markeus kept him reeled in. Instead they spoke a little bit about future training plans and Jehan griping about being on the ledger to be on the next patrol. Titus would miss the man, had grown fond of spending time with him. Markeus also proposed that soon the younger man wouldn’t have to wear his cuffs and be allowed more freely into town. Which was great news to Titus’ ears.

“Room for one more?”

Tilting his head back, Titus saw Bairre looming over, towel providing the suggestion of modesty. A little closer and the man might as well have not been wearing one. Nodding a little shyly but looking away, Titus’ ears heated as Jehan chortled at him.

The water rose around them a bit, the Knight-Commander settling on Titus’ right, large arm draping over the rim behind him. Not quite touching but the offer was there. Being brave, the shorter man tilted a little and leaned against his commander’ s solid side. Surprisingly, nothing else happened. No one commented on it —although it looked like Jehan was dying to— and conversation around the pool continued as normal.

Markeus and Bairre seemed to have a good relationship, were friends outside their station and the Knight-Commander never treated Jehan like he was inferior. In general that seemed to be the mood about the keep, even the servants were treated politely, no matter by whom. There were moments of clear deferral, but there never seemed to be moments of punishment if respect wasn’t given when due.

After a long soak and the others begged off, Titus was walked back to his rooms by his possibly soon to be partner. He had chatted at the man the entire way, asking all sorts of questions that had been living on the edge of his tongue for weeks. For the most part Bairre seemed content to just walk and talk with him, but a few topics he politely shunted off.

“Well, it seems we have reached our destination.” Fanbairre placidly smiled, soft eyes watching him.

“Indeed we have.” Titus nodded, staring in return. He briefly entertained inviting the man into his chambers but decided against it. As fond of the easy affection they shared, he wasn’t quite ready to progress the relationship.

“I’d like it if you joined us at the High Table in the morning. Læsrin would too.”

Humming, Titus smiled a little coyly. “Would he now?”

“Even if he doesn't know what to do with you just yet, he enjoys having you close.” Bairre filled in.

“Well then, I suppose I just might.”

Leaning forward, the commander placed a soft kiss down on Titus’ temple, an easy feat as he was so much taller. “I bid you a good night then.”

“Good night, Bairre.” Feeling brave, Titus reached out and patted the man’s chest, right over his heart.

The easy peace that sat between them was broken by a man running up the stairs, out of breath and harried. “Knight-Commander, there’s been word from the foot of the mountains. Bælian soldiers have been spotted in the distance.”

Chapter Text

Watching the calm that Bairre held run off his back and him straighten up into the Knight-Commander he was, was interesting. Gone was the towering man who was soft despite his size and in his place the stone-faced commander of armies stood.

“Send out word to the King and the Council, I’ll assemble the Knight-Captains.” With that, the runner was gone.

Titus took a step to join him, but the commander placed a firm hand on his chest.

“No,” Sternly, the man said. “Stay here.”

“I can help.” Titus insisted.

Gold eyes peered at him, scanning for something. A small frown creased between his eyes before he sighed.

“Get dressed and meet me in the Main Hall,” The hand drifted up to squeeze carefully at his shoulder. “If Markeus says you’re not fit for this I need you to stay here.”

Accepting the olive branch for what it was, Titus nodded firmly. It was more than he expected, but it was enough. Darting into his room, Bairre didn’t wait for him and Titus quickly got changed.

There was a lot of commotion already going in the hall, several men were no doubt already there when the Knight-Commander went through. They were all confused but there was a strong undercurrent that they all knew something was going on.

“What’s got a bee in his bonnet?” Ashley sidled up.

Unsure how much he could say, Titus just shook his head a little. “Something is happening down in Ashweald.”

The blond man frowned, crossing his arms. “That… sounds bad.”

The doors opened again, Bairre coming through with a group of the Knight-Captains, a few of the Lieutenants trailing along. They were all debating, offering counterpoints and arguments for the best course of action.

The Knight-Commander let out a sharp whistle. “Everybody out.” Promptly the knights of lower rank filed out. Titus was unsure if he were to join them but Bairre caught his eye and nodded over to Markeus’ side. Walking over to them, the severity of their eyes was intimidating.

“He ready for this?” Bairre grumbled, looking down to the Knight-Captain.

“Can’t say how big this altercation is going to be,” Markeus crossed his arms. “But he’s been doing well. Can keep him towards the back lines, slip him out if it looks too bad.”

The commander didn’t look too pleased about the appraisal, but he eventually nodded.

“Reports say that the Bælian force is camped out about a day’s march,” One captain spoke. “As far as we can tell, it doesn’t seem that they know they have been seen.”

“Mostly just regular soldiers,” Another reported. “But they are accompanied by two Mages.”

“Any chance this might be just some big-wigs and their guards?” Bairre asked after a sigh.

“Unlikely, they’re not marching under a banner and they don’t have any sort of extra luggage.”

Nodding, the Knight-Commander rubbed at his jaw. “Alright, we’ve got options. Let the men know, I want a mobile camp up and able within the hour.”

Boots announced the king’s presence, Læsrin stepping into the room and surrounded by other influential looking people. Titus recognized Tanacelia, leading him to believe that they might be members of the Council he’d heard so much of.

“What’s he doing here?” The king’s eyes were locked on him, his tone cold and distant.

“This is my home,” Titus challenged, refusing to be cowed. “I will fight to defend it.”

There was a brief flicker down his spine, a subconscious warning of him forgetting exactly who he was talking to. He wasn’t talking to Læsrin, a possible Bond-Mate with emotional constipation; he was talking to the Witch-King of Dhane Reothein, Warlord of the Calderan Mountains, a noble now dealing with an invasion upon his lands.

Another mantled him, a warm feeling a lot like pride. Protection. And then there was Markeus’ hand clapping on his shoulder.

The king’s eyes flicked to his commander. “We’ll convene in the War Room. Make sure the knights are ready.”

It was a rather clear dismissal, and Titus was pulled away by Markeus. Bairre stayed with the others but the captains went to corral their men.

“Shit,” Jehan hesitated, sitting on his bed and rucksack at his side. “Ye think this is us actually going to war?”

“Might be,” Ashley commented, looking through and selecting various potions to pack. “Think Commander Bairre would like to avoid it, but there is only so far that the king can be pushed.”

“Is this kind of thing common?” Titus asked, leaning back against a wall.

“Urlich has been poking around our borders for a while now,” Jehan dragged a hand down his face. “Normally they get turned around pretty fast, never seen them this far before.”

“There aren’t any records of any sightings of them until now,” Ashley mused. “They’ve been awfully careful to not be spotted. Vianca said that she can’t even figure where they came in from.”

The Turtle Dove on his shoulder ruffled.

“Fuck.” Jehan aptly spat.

Markeus knocked before he stepped through. “Commander’s ready.”

“What’s the plan, Cap?” The Foothiller peered up at him.

“Setting up camp out front of the gates,” The Knight-Captain tilted his head. “The Commander was able to talk the king down from a full on assault, is hoping our presence there might be enough to scare ‘em off.”

“And escort them out?” Ashley grinned.

The Knight-Captain tapped his nose then turned his gaze to Titus.

“You fitted and ready?”

“As I can be.” He shrugged. Due to not being an official knight, Titus had never been assigned armor or had any specifically made for him. He had been able to assemble a kit with Jehan’s help, but he wasn’t sure how to feel about going in to battle without anything that was actually his.

“Good,” Markeus nodded. “Then let’s not keep the man waiting.”

Emptying out into the bailey there was already a large assortment of men gathered. About fifteen strong, Titus recognized a good portion of them but there were also a number that he’d never had a chance to train with. Two of the Knight-Captains were going with them, as was Bairre, but it looked as though Læsrin was staying behind. Which he did not look happy about.

Tanacelia was talking with a man who was withered and had a long beard, the two setting down stones with sigils carved into them.

“Ye ever portaled before?” Jehan asked, standing at his side.

“Uh, no.” Titus stared as a large bubble formed within the runes, swirling and distorting the air within. The Witch tapped it then stepped through, disappearing as if she had just stepped through a veil.

“It’s going to feel like yer guts are left behind for a few moments,” The shorter man grin was feral. “Try not to embarrass yerself by barfing ‘em up.”

The first group of men stepped through shortly after, then there was the loading of what would become their camp, and finally it was Titus’ turn to approach. As promised, portaling wasn’t an experience he wished to repeat. Bile rose in his throat and his knees almost gave out.

“It’s gets better,” Markeus patted him on the shoulder as he passed. “Go sit down for a moment to get your land-legs again.”

Ashweald had seen some snow in the last few days, still slush on the ground and a chill to the air. Sitting to the side, finding a toppled over log, Titus hung his head between his knees. It helped a little, his stomach settling eventually.

The men were bustling around to set up the tents and the camp, placed in front of the gates and standing firm. Some of the guards from the town came to help and keep the commander appraised of the situation.

“If you aren’t sure about this, I can portal you back or we could find you a place to stay in town,” Bairre checked in, standing next to him but watching over the knights. “No one will judge you for it.”

Titus looked up at the man, trying to not feel like he was being shunted off again. “I want to stay here.”

The Knight-Commander grunted. “We’ll have to see about getting yourself some better armor.”

“I think I know a place.” Titus chuckled. He hadn’t thought about it before, but Titus could craft his own plate. Probably would have to talk Damascus into ordering in some metal for it though.

“Læsrin isn’t happy you’re here.” Bairre informed, as if Titus wasn’t already distantly aware. There had been some feelings leaking through the Bond, not all positive ones.

“I meant it earlier, this is my home.” Standing —well, sitting— firm, Titus refused to be cowed.

The commander chuckled. “Oh, I know,” Pride. Bairre patted Titus on the shoulder. “You’re in my tent tonight.”

Watching the man saunter off, mildly stunned Titus was a little bit in awe. He wasn’t allowed to dwell in it for too long as Ashley came to gather him to help collect firewood. Dusk was rapidly approaching and several fires were lit, there was tension in the air but the men did a decent job of ignoring it. Warm drinks went around and the men played cards, some were tending to their weapons and others were checking their armor.

The sun had long set when a gray owl swooped down and landed on the log next to Titus. He’d gotten fairly used to random animals popping up, but it still surprised him how many times a new one would show up. The chatter at the ring went quiet, the men clearly recognized it and the bird’s presence meant something.

“Uh, what?” Titus asked, the owl next to him fluffing its feathers and preening itself. He’d seen the bird before, sometimes spotted up in rafters next to a put upon Gyrfalcon it was pestering. More common than not, though, the Familiar was curled up someplace small and furry.

“That’s Ruhig,” Jehan spoke up. “Commander’s Familiar.”

Ruhig reached over and nibbled along the edge of Titus’ sleeve, giving a slight tug once he was done.

“Must be bedtime.” Markeus smirked, slowly letting out a stream of smoke.

Titus’ ears blushed as the men heckled him. As he stood, Ruhig took off and he followed the low flying owl. The Knight-Commander’s tent was roughly in the center of camp, a little larger than the ones around it and a deeper blue. Ruhig shifted into a chinchilla at the door and slipped under the flap, Titus following cautiously.

Fanbairre was standing by his cot, stripped down to his shirts and talking into a Audmit Chrystal. He smiled gently as Titus poked in, hand down so his Familiar could jump to it and clamber up his arm. There was a separate cot set to the side, Titus’ rucksack already sitting on it.

“He just got in,” Bairre rumbled softly. “We’ll turn in here shortly.”

A muffled voice rambled back, distorted partially but Titus had a decent suspicion it was Læsrin on the other side.

The auburn haired man chuckled. “You too, my love,” The sigil faded and it was tucked away. Sitting down, the man smiled tiredly at him. “Hello there.”

“Hey.” Titus smiled back.

“Forgive the presumption, but I wanted you close tonight.”

The earnest tone to his Bond-Mate’s words were comforting, not that Titus assumed the man had ill intent.

“Cots seem a little small if you intended to share.” Titus teased, boldly deciding to flirt.

A jubilant laugh escaped Bairre’s chest, deep and hearty like the man himself. “Frankly, I’m lucky one of these things holds me, let alone, two of us.”

Pride rushed through him, knowing that he’d been able to make the rather stoic man full on laugh. It warmed him and the sentiment was mutual.

“Maybe next time.” Encouraged by the mood, Titus grinned a little as he sat.

Bairre hummed an agreement, laying back and toeing off his boots. “I wouldn’t be opposed, but mind Læsrin tends to show up at some point and he’s a wretched thief of furs.”

“Fair enough,” Unlacing his own boots, Titus kicked them off and flopped back. “Although he said you snore.”

The large man snickered. “The man sneaks into my rooms at night and complains when I snore. Typical.”

Rustling at the tent flaps caused Titus to tense, but Bairre didn’t seem to care. A snow leopard’s head nudging in explained why.

“Yes, well, perhaps if you didn’t sound like a lumbermill we wouldn't complain.”

Ruhig bounced from where he was perched on his Mage’s stomach, running up to the other Familiar and jumping up to great them. There was a small smile on the Knight-Commander’s face even if his eyes were closed.

“Always could stay in your own rooms.” He joked back.

“Læz gets cold.” Alo explained simply, scruffing Ruhig and carefully setting him back on Bairre’s cot. Then he came over to lay along the side of Titus’.

“So he gets to put his frozen feet on my back?” The commander hummed. “Seems like an unfair trade.”

“Stop fronting, you love it.” The snow leopard chuckled, stretching and showing rather sharp claws.

Again that little smile tinted Bairre’s face. “I do.”

Watching the little interaction Titus grinned. There was so much fondness between them, so much familiarity, a man talking calmly to his lover’s very soul.

“Uh, Alo?” Titus wet his lips, unsure how —or even if— he should address the Familiar. Bairre chatted well enough with him, but they also had much more history. Titus had been told that Alo was interested in him, but the Familiar had yet to really seek him out. “I don’t mean to be rude, but what are you doing here?”

A truly feline chuff left the beast, tail batting up at the cot and smacking his feet. “Hektor couldn’t be here with you, so we figured you could have the next best thing.”

The unsaid other half of the ‘we’ was obvious, and Titus wasn’t sure how to feel about Læsrin sending his Familiar to go protect him in battle.

“It could be dangerous.” He softly whispered, voicing some of his own fears.

“It’s war, Cub, it’s always dangerous.” Alo replied, voice gentle but warning clear.

“I am actively trying to prevent a war,” Fanbairre grumbled from his cot. “So maybe try not to start one, yeah?”

The snow leopard huffed but seceded.

Silence fell over them, followed shortly by sleep. Bairre did indeed snore, but it wasn’t as bad as the others teased. If anything it reminded Titus that the other man was close and that provided him comfort.

Titus woke up the next day only to open his eyes and find a massive snow leopard’s face far too close to his. The pink nose and bright blue eyes were inviting, the fur looked soft enough to pet. Then Alo yawned, revealing teeth that were dangerously large.

“H-hello.” Titus said.

“Good morning,” Alo smiled as much as a cat could. “Did you sleep well?”

“Well enough.”

The Familiar nosed at Titus’ hand, nudging it up onto his bridge. It was so… normal, Titus remembering a little barn cat near his house that would beg for pets the very same way. With trepidatious fingers he began scratching a little, pleasantly finding that Alo’s fur was as soft as it looked.

“You best not have wakened him because you wanted cuddles.” The Knight-Commander grumbled as he ducked into the tent, two bowls of porridge in hand.

“I would never.” Alo sniped back, voice purring but smug.

“He was staring at me when I woke up.” Titus said, finally moving to sit up.

“He does that,” Bairre chuckled, setting down the food but also taking the time to run a hand down Alo’s back. “Would almost think he was a dog.”

The snow leopard’s tail batted at him, the Familiar pulling away to playfully nudge the larger man. Titus never understood how cats moved like their bones were non-existent, watching even a large one loop casually around Bairre’s body and hop up onto the abandoned cot.

The Knight-Commander sat next to Titus on his bed, pulling over his own breakfast.

“You might seem some things today,” The man began after they had eaten, gathering the bowls. “Just… remember, we’re your friends here. No one intends to hurt you.”

Titus eyed the man, noting how Bairre wouldn’t meet his eyes and was almost… ashamed of something.

“You know, I kind of thought we were past saying weirdly ominous shit.”

“I just wished to warn you, if things escalate today you might see magic that you haven’t before.”

“Like what,” Titus snarked. “Are you going to tear open the Void and call forth some demons or something?”

Bairre huffed. “Evocation is a valuable discipline, but I’m afraid it has never been my strongest skill.”

“Wait, really?” The younger man reared back, confused.

“It’s possible,” The Knight-Commander rubbed at his jaw. “Although it’s more common to evoke powers of hero’s passed. Halana is quite good at it if you’d be interested in learning, she’d be a fit tutor.”

“I think I’m okay with what I’m doing now.” Titus shook his head, moving to put on his boots.

“Alright,” Bairre allowed. “Enchantment does sit well with you, once we have the time we should see if Leander could take you on as a pupil.”

Standing, Titus found the Half-Giant much closer than he was before. Fanbairre tilted his chin up gently.

“Stay close to Alo today, he’ll keep you safe.”

“I will.” Titus promised.

Nodding, the taller leaned down and pressed a kiss to his forehead. Shortly after he took his leave, Ruhig bounding after him.

“He’s quite fond of you,” Alo stated, slinking off the cot. “Even if Læz is being a stubborn git.”

Titus hummed, still a little enamored by the interaction.

“Alright, let’s go find Markeus,” The Familiar said. “He’s organizing the efforts this morning.”

Congregating with the knights ended up being rather anticlimactic, most were just milling about and passing time in low effort ways. Jehan was off gathering firewood but Gerran was there seeing to his greatsword. The Oruhk was wearing his blue gambeson and some of his armor, the chest-piece sitting next to his side.

“I think the blade is sharp enough.” Titus joked, squatting down on a log across from the knight.

Gerran grunted, shooting him a glance then to Alo at his side. “That one ain’t yours.”

“Mine’s in the shop,” Popping a shoulder, Titus wasn’t sure if the Oruhk knew who’s Alo was, but he had been able to recognize that it wasn’t his. Neither Bairre nor Læsrin had spoken to him all that much about keeping their connection secret, though it wasn’t like they were trying to either. “So this one decided to keep me company.”

The knight chuckled, shaking his head. “You Humans, all bundled up with your Familiars.”

Tilting his head, Titus gave a small glance around. He hadn’t really noticed, but now that he was thinking about it, Titus didn’t think he’d ever seen a non-human Mage with a Familiar.

“Do you… not have one?”

Again Gerran glanced up to him, brows furrowing a little. “No… Fey-Blooded don’t have Familiars. It’s a fairly Human experience.”

“Oh…” Titus didn’t know how he hadn’t known that. His reading hadn’t gotten far, too busy with other things and he had to admit much of Magical Theory didn’t really entice him.

“It’s a result of the Schism,” Alo spoke softly. “Human Mages were once punished for their hubris; a brand by the Æther to show them as Touched. It is why She is so present here.”

Titus had never heard of the event before, but the weight it was said with made it sound like something he should know about. Opening his mouth to ask, Alo cut him off gently and told him it wasn’t important right then and they could talk about it later.

It was almost agonizing, the waiting. Titus could tell the knights were anxious with nothing to do and seeing the leaders circle about was spine-tightening. It wasn’t until after the sun had peaked in the sky did one of the sentries call to them that Bælian troops were spotted in the distance.

With an enemy in sight the men began assembling their armor and took to their posts. Titus watched Bairre stride to the very front of his formation, Ruhig at his side armored in a dark metal that was lined with gold. Volcanic steel gilded with Orichalcum, matching that of his Mage.

Titus’ own was a simple set of steel plate and leather, padded in places and fortified with mail. It fit well enough, but when he glanced down to Alo and saw the snow leopard’s mythril armor he felt very outclassed. Armed with a simple short-sword and a shield, Titus stared ahead with the others, waiting.

The Bælian soldiers came to a halt as they crested the hill, spotting for the first time the force that waited there to intercept them. As reported, they were small in number; maybe two dozen men, some on horseback, others having to walk.

“You’re a long way from the border, friend.” Their commander called, voice booming with magic.

A more heavily armored man pushed his horse forward, the crest on his helmet showing that he was a man of status.

“Got a little lost, I’m afraid.” The Bælian commander called back, not a tremor to his voice.

“Compasses work and the night skies have been awfully clear.”

“Meant no harm, just surveying the lands,” From his horse, the man looked down at them, eyes impassive. “No different from your men that no doubt tour in our lands.”

“We honor old rites,” Bairre refuted, voice solid. “Those of the Calderans have long protected the continent from monsters.”

“Ah, yes, old tales of men made to slay monstrosities,” The knight laughed. “Nothing but stories told by scared old women to keep their children in their beds at night.”

Watching the men around him, Titus noted how uneasy many of them looked. How one’s pauldron slipped a little too far down his shoulder and an other’s mail was far too long. One was but a boy, younger than Armin, shakily holding a crossbow. Too many little irregularities, things that added up to the wrong conclusions.

“These aren’t soldiers.” He stated under his breath, leaning towards Gerran.

“No.” The Sergeant grimly replied.

As the two leaders snarked, it was almost like it slow motion when that bolt finally flew free. Titus could see the horror on the boy’s face, so many sets of eyes locked on that fired arrow. Before it could pierce into the Knight-Commander’s flesh it shattered into infinite shards of light.

*****

Silence sat thick on the air. Both sides tense. The wind blew sharply across their field.

Horse rearing, the Bælian commander drew his sword and began the charge. More arrows flew from the rear flanks as did an enormous fireball. Arrows proved to be pointless against Mages that could magic them out of the air, though the ball of fire crashed down on the field and scorched it. Embers flew in their faces but the men were unscathed, charging through and meeting the other army in the middle.

Blades clashed and those on mounts were quickly taken off. A man came charging at Titus but Alo intercepted him in a blur, beast and man tumbling in a crash of armor. Another was swift to fill the gap, a man wielding a large sword, and Titus found himself tied in combat.

Sword slammed on shield harshly, faster than Titus would have expected, with more power behind it than he’d encountered in his training. Tightening his stance from buckling, he caught the glint in the other’s eyes, filled with power from the Æther. Another Mage.

Shoving him off and back, Titus swiped at the taller man with his sword but it was deftly dodged. A broad swing followed by flame retaliated, which Titus barely had time to guard from. Their swords got caught together in the next clash and with a flourish Titus found himself disarmed. It had left an opening which he took to his advantage and slammed his opponent in the face with his shield.

Blasted back by an unseen force, Titus ended up on his spine and a little stunned. The opposing Mage stepped up and blade engulfed in crackling sparks, Titus rolled out of the way just in time. The attempted stab pierced deep into the earth and had managed to catch his shield, pinning it in place. Titus swiftly disengaged and rolled to his feet while his opponent tore his blade from the ground. Left without a weapon, he deftly dodged out of the next swing. Then the next.

Snapping out, Titus flung some embers up in the other’s face but the man just shook it off and laughed. Titus caught the formation of the glyph right before the man went to lash back out. Turning so that he wouldn’t take the brunt of the blow, a wall of rocks erupted up between them blocking the lightning that shot forward.

Spotting a stone spike sticking up out of the ground, Titus grasped it and wrenched it upward to serve as a makeshift weapon. Tracing a quick sigil on the wall before him, Titus kicked forward, sending the stones blasting out like cannonballs. The Mage on the other side caught up in the barrage.

“Titus!” Jehan’s hurried voice called, the shorter man ran over and delivered another blow to the mage with a spin.

Panting, Titus felt something in him tug, feel empty. Rolling his shoulders he shook it off, but the hollowness in his gut lingered.

Standing protectively in front of him, the Foothiller squared off with the other Mage. A cut was bleeding on the enemy's face.

Jolting forward with his friend at his side, the two worked in swift unison to take their opponent down. The Mage put up one fuck of a fight, getting in a number of good swipes and there was a spot that Titus knew would bruise something awful at the very least. Finally, they’d managed to deprive the man of his blade and Jehan was fast to end it shortly after.

Titus cracked the Mage in the back of a leg, causing him to fold to his knee, and Jehan followed up. Grabbing onto the man’s face, the Foothiller said something in his mother-tongue, and an explosion blasted from his hand.

The headless corpse collapsed backward, shoulders smoldering.

Jehan spat on his body, muttering out more curses. “Bloody traitor.”

Catching his breath, Titus warily scanned their surroundings. Most of the fighting was over, a few of their men bleeding but none dead. The same couldn’t be said for the men of Bælia, more of them passed on the ground than not. Those not dead were bound.

*****

A somber mood sat on the wind and Titus watched as Bairre dragged the deceased commander and tossed his corpse before the few remaining survivors. It soured Titus’ gut, they had won the battle but at the cost of lives that had never wanted to fight in a war.

“Collect your dead,” Their Knight-Commander growled. “I want you off this land by nightfall. You will be escorted from T’lmerak. Do not come back.”

The aftermath of battle felt… bad. Titus found the empty eyes of the boy who accidentally kicked this all off, dead before his life could even truly start. His body had already felt shaky, but that was what made him fear he’d wretch up anything he still had in him.

It may not have been him who had slain that boy, but he had helped kill a man today. The only comfort he got was that the man would have killed him first if he hadn’t.

Returning to camp, Titus was about to drop, slumping down onto a stump as soon as he could.

“He’s a little tapped out.” Jehan offered as others gave them concerned looks.

Alo came over shortly after, nudging at his hands and starting to lick at his exposed cheeks. Titus huffed but clung to the Familiar, letting the soft fur and low purring soothe him. The rough texture of the tongue wasn’t as appreciated, though he was too worn to fight it off.

None of the men seemed all too happy about the outcome of the events, most retiring to their own tents or just wandering. No once celebrated like one would think knights who won a battle would. Ashley was buzzing about, seeing to wounds and applying poultices.

Ruhig came to him just as dinner was wrapping up, the chinchilla bouncing up into his lap and snuggling into the portion that wasn’t taken up by Alo’s large head. Jehan was pacing just out of earshot, talking into a Audmit, looking much more world worn than Titus had ever seen.

“Good news,” He grinned tiredly as he returned. “Stieg and the others found the Hag.”

Titus tilted his head, very much intrigued but too tired to do much more.

“Bad news: she’s set up a ward that they’ve got to crack.” Jehan frowned as if he had been personally slighted.

Humming a little, Titus nodded almost absently. The update was nice, even if it wasn’t as uplifting as he might have hoped. Still, it was nice to know that others were working on it.

“Might be time to retire,” His friend chuckled, nudging his shoulder. “Commander should be wrapping up soon.”

Guided back to tent by both Familiars at his side, Titus slid in and was drawn up short. Bairre was down to a pair of pants, tending to an abrasion on his side. Even injured, the man was attractive and Titus noticed some dark markings on his back. He’d never spotted the man’s Witch-Mark before, had never asked. Wondered if they matched his.

“H-Hey.”

Bairre smiled softly, beckoning him closer. “You look drawn.”

“I feel like every part of me is weighed down by iron.”

“Used too much magic,” The larger man huffed. “You’ll learn.”

Leaning into the sturdy chest provided, Titus was so very done with the day. Ignoring the borderline unpleasant scent of a man who had only been able to wipe down after a battle, he dozed in the security that his Bonded provided. He grumbled and groaned as his Bonded worked him out of his clothes and remaining bits of armor, hissing when Bairre paid too much attention to where his ribs almost got caved in.

“War is never easy, Titus. You grow more familiar with death, but it will always stay with you,” Bairre soothed, offering sage words and sturdy comfort. “Take the time you need to process, no one will judge you.”

It settled a little bit of the guilt riding on his shoulders, knowing that even a man as seasoned at the Knight-Commander still carried the weight of death. That Bairre wasn’t trying to immediately rid him of the feeling gnawing at him. Titus knew that the life of a knight, of a soldier, had burdens, that there would be times he would have to fight and possibly kill. It was grim, and he didn’t like it, but he could grow to accept it.

With time, he could accept it.

Feeling himself being laid down, Titus noticed how Alo and Ruhig were cuddled up on the cot across from him. Bairre was finding a way to slide down behind him, the cot not even really having the room for the two of them but the man found a way. Held close, Titus didn’t have much time to think about how this was the first time they would have ever slept together, slumber coming to claim him too quickly.

Portaling back to Dhane Reothein wasn’t any more pleasant than it had been the first time, but at least now he had Bairre’s large body bracing him. Titus’ stomach still felt like where his lungs should be, though this time it didn’t try to run any farther.

Fanbairre stroked between his shoulders, humming a soft little tune. Others filtered around them, no doubt retiring to the barracks or grabbing fresh clothes to take a soak in the springs.

Across the bailey, the keep’s doors flung open and Læsrin stormed out. The Knight-Commander chuckled at seeing him, standing brave as the Warlord of the Calderan Mountains rolled down on them like an avalanche.

Titus took a quick step to the side to hastily get out of the way as the two men collided. Despite having several inches on the man, Bairre was snagged by his breastplate and pulled to the king; a brutal kiss following. It was fierce and biting, Læsrin dominating the action quickly but just as fast melting to passion. Titus felt like a voyeur, standing to the side as he watched the man calm and rest their foreheads together; Bairre’s ever so soft smile and adoring eyes.

Relief.

“If you ever leave me behind like that again, I will shove your club so far up your ass you’ll be spitting teeth.”

There was a quake underneath the absolutely foreboding growl in Læsrin’s voice. Something a lot like fear tickling along the whispers of his spine. Icy blue eyes then snapped over to him, Titus finding his own shirt collar snagged in the king’s grip and towed between the two taller men.

“You’re okay.” Læsrin muttered, more to himself. Head tilted down, his nose nestled in Titus’ curls and lips pressed a reverent kiss to his brow.

“He even did quite well for himself.” Alo proudly boasted, the Gyrfalcon riding along on Ruhig’s shoulder.

“Might make a Mage out of this one yet.” Bairre fondly said, one hand stroking up the side of his cheek.

Titus flushed under all the attention, so unused to the closeness of others.

Yeah, with enough time, he could get used to it.

Chapter Text

Titus often tried to ignore it, but there was a heavy tension that floated about the castle for several days after the battle in front of Ashweald. Both Bairre and Læsrin had been very present, but even with their silence on the subject Titus could tell that they had other things on the mind. They hadn’t really had a chance to discuss much, but the king seemed like he’d rather be sent through the Void than let either of them out of his sight for longer than he had to.

Bairre and him decided to make it easier on the man and tried to be near each other more often than not. Titus enjoyed the time with the commander as it gave him more time to learn the man underneath. He was a man who did not dice his words and enjoyed his quiet, but he was also rather affectionate and had no reservations to voice that. When he did speak, it was easy to notice that he was well read and Titus had discovered that the man spent a lot of his leisure time combing through tomes. Liked to read to others.

Titus also quickly learned he was an absolute monster at cards.

“Oh, come on!” Titus tossed his cards down as he lost yet another round. Wiggling to peel off another sock, the dark-haired man only glared as the other laughed at him.

“Thank you.” Bairre grinned as his ‘payment’ was slapped into his outstretched hand.

It had started as a joke, a playful flirt that Titus had thought would be harmless. But now, stripped to just his long-johns —because it was fucking cold— and Bairre having only lost his jerkin, Titus felt like he got scammed.

A polite knock at the door caused them both to pause and look at it. They had agreed to move their game from the Main Hall when it was decided the bet was real. Titus narrowed his eyes because Armin hardly knocked anymore these days and the only other person who normally did was sitting right across from him.

Pushing himself off the floor, he snagged his pants back —much to the commander’s protest— and shimmied into them before answering.

“Lady Tanacelia is calling for ye, Sir,” The messenger said. “She’s waiting for ye in the infirmary.”

Thanking the man and letting him go, Titus looked over to Bairre; silent question in the air.

“She’s probably got the Hag’s Bane with her,” He said, scooping up a shirt and tossing it to him. “Let’s go, keep her waiting any longer and she’ll come get us herself.”

Titus hadn’t really been to the infirmary before, a small section of the keep that was closer to the knight’s barracks. As far as he knew it wasn’t too heavily used, but it was maintained just in case they needed it. Medicine had a smaller part to play in a place with so much magic.

Tansy was cheerfully chatting with Ashley when they arrived, to no surprise. Titus had gathered that Tanacelia was one of the most powerful healers in Dhane Reothein, so of course, the only other medic Mage he knew would study under her.

“Oh, good, I won’t have to hunt you down,” The Witch smiled, nodding over to a bed. “Now, I won’t lie to you, this is going to be unpleasant.”

Swallowing a little heavily, Titus nodded and went over to where directed.

“Postponing it until we’ve had confirmation of the Hag’s death could alleviate some of the worst symptoms,” Ashley said. “But either way, you’re going to be in a fair bit of pain for a few days.”

Hoping for a little guidance, Titus glanced over to Bairre. The man was leaning against the far wall and crossing his arms, a furrow in his brow, displeased with the news.

“I can’t tell you the correct way.” The Knight-Commander lowly said once he caught Titus’ eye. The ‘I wish this didn’t have to be this way. I don’t want you to feel any pain.’ was unsaid, but he could hear it.

“How… How bad is this going to hurt?” Apprehensively, the younger man asked.

“You ever been bit by a blast beetle?” Ashley quipped.

He hadn’t, but the idea alone drained the blood from his face. But he could do it, he could be brave. For himself. For Hektor.

Nodding firmly before he could back out, Titus began mentally bracing himself. “Do it.”

Tansy walked him through a few more things, had him strip off his shirts and lay down. As much as she was talking to him, she was also providing coaching to her protégé. Her touch was soothingly cool and Titus could feel calming pulses rippling through his skin. Apparently, if they didn’t relax his muscles enough when he seized —and, yes, they promised he would— Titus could snap his own spine. Which, sounded fucking delightful.

“Should I summon someone else to help Titus through this, or are finished with your impersonation of a pillar?” Tanacelia primly gave Bairre a look.

The commander grunted but pushed off. “What do you need?”

“He needs someone to support him,” Tansy handed over a leather bite-guard. “Also, if you could get this to him so he doesn’t bite through his tongue, that would be lovely.”

With each prospective self-inflicted injury listed, Titus became less and less sure of his decision.

“You’re aware this could very well result in an extremely irate warlord storming down these halls, right?” Bairre said, taking up a post by Titus’ head and giving him the bit. It was relieving to have the man up close, more so when a large hand enfolded one of his.

“Oh, I am very much familiar with Læsrin’s theatrics by now,” The Witch huffed. “Which is why I sent him on a little quest to gather up some Toad’s Mist that I needed.”

“You devious creature.” Bairre chuckled, sounding damn proud despite his words.

“If he was so beside himself with the prospects of this salve finally being brewed he absolutely forgot that the lichen only grows in summer, well that’s his own fault.”

Thick fingers began combing through Titus’ hair soothing the anxiety that was boiling within him. The two bickering over him faded to the background, even if it made him briefly wonder just how long they’d known each other. It seemed like they were fairly familiar.

A sharper nail trailed over his skin, circling the section that bordered the mark by his shoulder. It burned, but just as a mild sting, nothing he couldn’t handle.

“Titus, we are ready to apply the salve.” Tansy calmly informed, her voice drifting to him as though through fog.

Humming a confirmation, getting a gentle squeeze back in his hand. He kept his eyes closed, but he knew Bairre was right there with him.

~~~ ~~~ ~~~

Tanacelia gave some more instructions, talking about the various properties of the ingredients in the potion. She gave a firm warning not to let it touch skin as it would cause the burning even to those not suffering from a Hex.

Even with all the talk, it couldn’t have prepared Titus for the searing pain that coursed through him. A brief chill touched him but then it was followed by an acidic singeing, not too bad at first but then it grew. Spreading along his nerves, it felt like burning coals were shoved under his skin, like a caustic oil was poured over him. Trying to buck away from the pain, a sense of horror flooded his mind when he realized that he couldn’t move, couldn’t get away from the thing hurting him. Screaming against the leather in his mouth, Titus sounded like a feral animal to his own ears.

Love. Comfort. Safe.

The attempts to calm him pecked on his mind, but Titus could barely focus on it. A firm hand cupped the back of his skull to keep him from bashing it on the bed, something else was keeping his legs pinned.

Panic. Rage.

Distantly, Titus could hear that Bairre was saying something to him but it was hard to get past his own tears and cries. It was torture.

With one last roar, all of Titus’ body flexed and then he was out.

~~~ ~~~ ~~~

“Well, that was bloody awful.” Ashley quipped, wiping off his brow. Titus had put up one damned of a fight.

“But it worked.” Tansy levitated a small dark blob over her fingers, it swirled and lashed out almost as if it was alive.

Bairre glared at it before turning his attention back to the young man laying on the bed. His otherwise olive skin lacking the warm undertone, dark Witch-Marks standing out starkly against his flesh. Snaking from his axilla, where the Hex once lay, veins were flared and flushed an angry red. It looked like roots had been torn out of his flesh. Stroking a careful hand over the marks, Bairre watched carefully at the shallow breaths that Titus took.

“The anchor is gone,” The Witch stated as she began picking up her things. “But Solana’s spell will linger until she is dead.”

“Then what was the point?” Bairre growled, angered over his Bonded having to go through so much pain for nothing.

“The point, dear Commander,” Tansy shot him a sharp look. “Is that she will no longer have a hold over him, can not find him, nor use his magic against us.”

She brushed herself off and handed her bag over to Ashley.

“Now, we better go. A portal just opened in the keep and I don’t particularly wish to be here when Læsrin comes bursting through like Minotaur.”

~~~ ~~~ ~~~

Every bit of Titus’ body felt like he’d been crushed by a boulder, his skin too tight and joints too loose. Even his hair fucking hurt. Cracking open his eyes, he instantly hissed when blinding light met him. His bones protested as he tried to move, feeling shaky.

“Shhh. Don’t try to move just yet.”

The comforting voice wasn’t Bairre’s like he expected, instead Titus was rather sure that was the voice of the king.

Fingers trailed over his exposed back, cool and calming. It still felt a little bit like static, not incredibly great, but it didn’t hurt either. Some rustling was heard in the distance and the room dimmed, tempting Titus to brave opening his eyes again.

His eyesight was blurry at first, but it focused on Læsrin sitting next to him. The man was wearing a black shirt with a gray jerkin over it, his hair was down, and a soft smile was on his face.

“Hello.”

The tone was so soft and caring that Titus innately smiled tiredly back.

“Bairre?” It was the first thing that came to mind. Seeing what he had must not have been easy on the man.

The king nodded to his other side, and Titus really wanted to turn his head to see for himself. His limbs, however, very much disagreed.

“He hasn’t left your side.” Læsrin quietly spoke.

“How long?”

“Only the night, Tanacelia said there would be some lingering side effects. You’re pretty bruised and you’ll be sore for a few more days. I brewed you up a pain reliever, but we should get some food into you first.”

Taking in the room a little more, Titus noticed that it wasn’t his. There were dark curtains over the windows, forms with different armors on them stood on posts, he could hear a fire crackling in the background.

“It’s mine.” The king filled in.

The King’s Room. He was laying in the king’s bed. The very thought almost made him faint again. Titus would have never presumed he would end up here, even after learning that the man was his Bond-Mate.

Læsrin chuckled. “It’s alright. I wanted you close and Fanbairre refused to be in the lower rooms that aren’t as guarded.”

That settled him a little. Titus still felt lost when it came to the man, there were so many times were it felt like he was dealing with two very different people. Læsrin was a sweet, if impetuous, man who treated him with caution. The Witch-King was a cold and uncaring royal who kept him at arms length. Bairre had explained that it was his way of protecting himself, that he was afraid of getting too close, that he was afraid to do something to Titus that couldn’t be taken back.

Being in his orbit the last few days had shown that when around his family, the king was much more gentle, had less sharp edges. But they were always there to a degree. He doted on Armin, and treated Bairre like a long cherished friend. He could often be seen petting Ruhig and Alo, would smile mildly when reading from books he liked, and was an absolute diva about how he dressed for the day.

He wasn’t a man that was good with his words, but made up for it with his actions.

“Læsrin?”

The small hum he got in return was enough to know the man was listening.

“Am I allowed to call you that?” Titus was still unsure. He’d heard others use the king’s name casually, a few even gave him a shorter moniker, but it still felt drastically improper.

The king gave a little snort. “It is my name. How would you feel about trying to sit up?”

He very much did not feel like trying to sit up, but Titus also didn’t want to just lay in bed and rot. Pushing up on to his elbows, the action was shaky but he did it, resting back on his knees Titus let out a heavy breath. His stomach roiled and he felt like a new born colt. Looking to the other side of the bed, he did indeed, find that Bairre had been stretched out along his side. The man looked cozy, wearing a loose shirt and his hair was all ruffled.

Bringing his arms up to rub at his face, Titus felt a strong tugging from his back. His muscles not being too fond of being used.

“Ashley gave you some salves to help reduce the swelling.” Læsrin nodded to the bedside table, littered with various pots, jars, and capsules.

“Maybe later.” Titus’ stomach grumbled and the king chuckled.

“Armin brought you up something not too long ago,” On silent feet the man went to another table and fetched a plate stacked with various breads and cheeses. The kid had definitely noticed his penchant for hording breakfast rolls. “I might have to have a conversation with the boy about what is considered a proper meal…”

Laughing as strongly as his lungs would allow, Titus shook his head. Turning carefully, he reclined back against the headboard and relaxed into the obscene amount of pillows there. Bairre snuggled a little closer, still in a deep slumber, plopping a large arm over Titus’ lap.

The king came and sat on the bed, still at a respectful distance but close enough to offer the food over.

“I’m glad you’re okay.”

“It fucking hurt like nothing I’ve ever experienced before,” Titus tore at a roll, contently applying butter before eating. “But I’m glad it’s over. For the most part.”

“The Hag’s days are numbered.” Læsrin viciously vowed.

A comfortable silence settled between them. Titus was focused on getting enough food in his body to keep it from eating itself, and the king seemed perfectly tranquil to just watch. Which, was a little… intimidating was the wrong word, but a lot. It was a lot. With one man slowly draping more and more over his lap and the other just staring at him, Titus started to feel a little constrained.

“Winter’s Dawn is coming up.”

It was a total non-sequitur, unexpected and without any base. Titus had rather lost track of time with everything else going on, but he had noticed that it was getting colder as the days passed and it was snowing more. But he hadn’t realized that much time had gone unchecked.

“Oh?”

“There is a festival, in town,” Confirming with a nod, Læsrin stood. “It would be nice if you could join us.”

Apparently the man had other duties because shortly after he grabbed a jacket and was gone. It left Titus alone with a snoring man and little else to do, so he decided dozing the rest of the day away wasn’t the worst way to spend it.

Armin disagreed and interrupted his nap several hours later.

“You and my dad snuggling is literally the grossest thing I’ve ever seen.” He griped as they trudged down to the baths. It was slow going as walking was not an enjoyable motion at the moment, but the younger boy was kind enough not to mention it.

“You know, I never told him about catching you and Wolf necking in the barracks,” Titus taunted back. It had been tame, all things considered, but Wolf had the blond hiked up and was gripping his ass like it would solve all his woes. “I could always let that slip.”

“Blackmail is beneath you.” Armin sniffed, stepping a little faster.

Titus laughed, regretting it instantly. “It’s really not.”

Returning to his own rooms for a change of clothes after and to gather a few things to stave of boredom, Titus was escorted back to Læsrin’s and he was happy to flop back down on the bed. His mental stores were woefully near empty, but there didn’t seem to be anyone there to comment on it if he cuddled up to the king’s pillows.

“You’re awfully cute all tucked up in Læz’ things.”

Or so he thought.

Casting a sour eye to the snow leopard at the foot of the bed, the feline pouncing up and laying to stare at him. Those two seemed to share their obsessing problem. Pulling an arm out from underneath a pillow, Titus tiredly flipped the large cat off and face-planted back into the comforter. Alo just chuckled and sidled up to him, his fur not aggravating against Titus’ bruises as much as he expected it to.

The Familiar let him nap, but woke him in the evening so they could go down for dinner. His fellow knights were happy to see him again, but under the baleful eye of their king, they didn’t jostle him as much as they normally would. Markeus updated him that Stieg and the others had requested assistance with the Hag’s wards, the Lieutenant was a damn good hunter, but a Mage he was not. Leander would be portaling out the next day to hopefully put an end to all this.

Dinner was good, it was fun to joke around with the guys and none of them begrudged him how languid Titus was. Even Jehan was taking it easy on him in cards, so Titus knew they were all worried about him.

“Your deck could use some work.”

Looking over his shoulder, Titus saw the king standing there. Læsrin had his hands tucked behind his back, studying the cards that were on the table with lidded but critical eyes.

“You play?”

The king didn’t answer, but he did smirk a little with a huff.

“The boys built it for him,” Markeus informed, the Knight-Captain busying himself with cleaning his pipe. “Was rather nice of them.”

The underlying ‘Don’t you dare make fun of my boy’s hard work’ hidden just barely under the surface.

Again, the king hummed.

“Ready to retire for the evening?”

Glancing between the looks Jehan was giving him and the game still laying on the table. He didn’t want to keep the man waiting —Bond-Mate or not, Læsrin was still a king— but he also didn’t want to interrupt his game.

“I’d like to wrap up here first?”

“Alright,” Læsrin allowed, giving a small nod. “Come get me or Bairre at the table when you’re done.”

Watching the king saunter back to the table, he caught the Knight-Commander’s eye and the man raised a tankard to him. A silent thanks, as it seemed like he wasn’t done with his evening either.

“So, uh, that’s a thing now, is it?” Jehan placed down a card as he said it.

“Could be.” Titus gave back a non-committed answer.

Jehan didn’t seem too inclined to let it go, but an elbow from Markeus shut him up.

A few more games passed before Titus was done for the night, herded up to the table by the Knight-Captain when he was nodding off. Bairre was pleasantly warmed from mead but Læsrin had a clear head. Together none of them died on the stairway up, though the Knight-Commander was a bit tipsy.

Which also made him incredibly cuddly.

Luckily it was Læsrin who became the focus of much of that affection. After applying some salves, drinking some tea, and taking a prescribed pill, Titus was stripped down to his pants and ready for the night. The king’s bed was clearly made with two large men in mind, with ample space for numerous individuals. Bairre placed himself in the middle, putting an arm underneath Titus’ head as he came to lay down.

Læsrin took a little longer to come to bed, but when he did he settled on the Knight-Commander’s other side. Titus was already getting enveloped by the drunken man, so he didn’t take it personally.

“Don’t let him crush you in your sleep.” The king’s chuckled, sounding quite happy that he wasn't the one having to occupy Bairre any more.

Said man just grumbled and Titus accepted that he was just going to have to deal with having a weighted blanket for the night.

In the morning, Titus found that he had somehow ended up in the middle and was being very viciously spooned by Bairre. Which revealed some… interesting things about the man. Læsrin was already up, passively sipping at a drink and reading from a tablet. He offered no help once he noticed that Titus was among the land of the waking.

When hips started rolling and Titus got a nip on the ear, he jolted and elbowed the older man. He wasn’t averse to it, exactly, but he was also not there with their relationship either. Blustering, Bairre was immediately apologetic, but they all agreed to let it fade to the past.

“I was hoping we could get to know each other a little bit more today.”

Titus looked up from the breakfast that had been brought up. “Uh, yeah, that could be nice.”

“Maybe we could make a game of it,” Læsrin gave a faint smile, fetching a box of Hexen cards from a bedside table. “Winner gets to ask a question that must be answered truthfully.”

“Why do I get the impression that I’m going to be asked a lot of questions?” Titus grinned back.

Læsrin’s smile got a little sharper, magicking the bed sheets to return to their proper place and then rolling out a leather mat to play on. It was fancier than the one Ruggard had, but it appeared to be well used and cared for.

Sitting on the bed was a little less stable than if they were at a table, but there was a youthful joy in it that Titus hadn’t felt in years.

The first game went pretty quick, Titus had a bad early draw and it seemed that Læsrin was a rather experienced player. The man’s deck seemed to be made mostly of creatures and beings fond of the cold. Ashley also had a more themed deck, but his was all mermaids and other sea monsters.

“What are your expectations from this relationship?” The king asked, shuffling his cards while watching him.

Letting out a deep blustered breath, Titus rose his brows. “Starting strong right from the start, huh? Honestly, I don’t know,” Looking down at his own cards as he shuffled. “I… never thought I’d have this, y’know? I was the only Witch-Marked in my village, it wasn’t much but I had a life there, never planned on leaving it. But I like what I’m doing here, working in the forge and training with the knights. I have friends and I’m learning about magic. I… I would like to at least get to know both of you, even if we don’t progress to a romantic level. You and Bairre have a great relationship, even beyond your bond, I wouldn’t want to impede on that.”

A small smile lit on the king’s face.

“I’d ask if us being men bothered you, but I’ve seen the way you stare.”

A peeved brow rose. “If anyone has a staring problem, it isn’t me.”

Not even bothering to deny it, the man merely locked eyes with him and held them there. A feral grin slowly growing.

“Also, I believe that was your second question.”

Læsrin allowed a small nod, setting up for a second game. This time it was a little more evenly matched, until the man placed down something called a Cryophoenix and flipped over half the board. The show it did of a tiny blizzard on the bed was worth it. The king was kind enough to only snicker mildly at Titus’ awe. He was also nice enough to consider that his win for the second question he alluded to.

The next game actually went in Titus’ favor, but he had a sneaking suspicion that Læsrin might have been throwing the match. Still, a win was a win, and he would take it.

Trying to think of the best way to formulate his words while he shuffled, there were a lot of things he wanted to ask and he wasn’t sure how many chances he’d get.

“If… I never ended up here… would you have ever come for me?”

The look that immediately fell over the king’s face said enough without words. Which wasn’t the best feeling, knowing that the direct answer was ‘no’. At least, the man had the decency to look abashed shortly after.

“Fully honest, no. You were living a normal life, there was no need for me to get involved, drag you into all of this,” Waving a hand at the room at large, Læsrin sighed. “There are things happening, Titus, that could lead to you being in a lot of danger being here with us. As far as we could tell, you were safe and I… that was enough for me. I had learned to live without you. I can’t say it was the best decision I’ve ever made, and before I met you, I can’t say I ever regretted it.”

It hurt to hear, but Titus could agree there was some sense to it. As a King, a Warlord, Læsrin lived a potentially dangerous life, from hints from the others he had been able to put together that his life was perilous even before then. There were plenty of people who never met their Bond-Mates and went on to live perfectly happy lives, Titus would have been no exception. He hadn’t lied, he had been happy in his life before.

That and Læsrin had proved that if he did become endangered, he would step in. He had stepped in. And the king was a man of actions.

Drawing his cards for the next game, as the round quickly went Titus wasn’t fully convinced that Læsrin was purposely playing poorly this time. When he won, the dark-haired man knew exactly what to ask.

“Do you even want me here?”

There was a long pause, Læsrin avoiding the question by staring at his cards and flipping them around.

“… Yes.”

His word had been so close to silent that Titus might have missed it.

“Titus, Lords Above, yes,” This time Læsrin’s words were louder, the man making eye contact now. “I know I can be a… difficult man. I won’t always remember to say the right things, and I may… forget that you are not like the rest of us. There may be times where I am not kind, where I might lash out. I have my faults and I am not an easy man to love, but I never want you to doubt that I want you here. I have wronged you, hurt you, I can never take that back, and for that I am sorry. I can not excuse it, but I can offer you an understanding of who I am,” The longer he spoke, the more Læsrin cast off his shell of being the king and showed more of the man underneath, baring a vulnerable underbelly that few ever saw. “Hektor and I, we bonded over a… distaste for you, out of spite. Him from pain, and I from wanting you here with me so strongly but telling myself that I couldn’t. That I wasn’t worthy of it. We’ve been working on that.”

He had never expected to get all of that out of the man, gave him a better impression of what to see more of in the future. He had been overwhelmed at first, when he was told who his Bond-Mate was. How should he ever meet the level of a man who was a king? But, underneath it all, Læsrin was just a man; a man with faults and mistakes, fears and regrets, high in station but a person all the same. Some of it still made him feel bitter, made him wonder what life could have been like if they had come for him, but it was in the past now and they couldn’t change it. They could, however, focus on growing what was happening in the now.

Titus smiled a little bit. “And people say you’re bad with your words.”

The king gave a puckish grin before looking away, visibly tucking back into his armor a little. “Yes, well, don’t get used to it.”

It was alright, Titus could let him have it. They would need to work on it together someday —both of them— but for now he was happy enough to get those small peeks into the future.

More games followed, gentler questions going between them. Læsrin won more than Titus did, but the man used his wins to mostly learn more about the simple things about his Bonded’s life. Titus didn’t have a huge preference for foods, having never been in a position to be picky. He liked geography but was limited in his ability to actually read maps. Shellfish —and, generally, anything with tentacles— freaked him out a little bit. His first real scar came from a mishap in the forge where a shard of metal broke off and caught him in the leg.

“Oh, absolutely not!” Titus stared in disbelief. Smugly, Læsrin had just set down a card that was in his very likeness. The armored monarch swung a mighty sword and cleaved his poor Copper Dragon in half. “How are you a card?!”

“Infamy comes with perks.” The smarmy bastard taunted as the rest of the board flipped in his favor.

“Helps when you fuck the man who decides what to print too.” Bairre jokingly added as he came into the room.

Titus had gathered in through their various queries that both Læsrin and Bairre had plenty of experience outside of each other over the years. Having been together since their early teen years, but spending a lot of time apart between then and now. Apparently, the king’s was significantly more colorful, but it also hadn’t been much of a shock when Bairre showed up one year with a baby on his hip.

There were still a lot of gaps in the men’s history, and in general, things Titus just didn’t know. But with days like this, he was happy to learn.

Chapter Text

Something woke Titus up the next morning, a strange pressure he felt in his head and a tightness in his lungs. Læsrin was already gone for the day —an early riser that went to go do...mysterious Mage stuff as the sun rose— but Bairre was still sawing logs, a large arm haphazardly tossed over Titus’ middle. Light came in from the middle window, still early daylight pouring through.

Wiggling out from under the limb that was laying on him, Titus sat up and tried to shake off the odd feeling. Hands came up to rub at his face, trying to sooth the encroaching migraine, but it only built. A whining growing louder in his ears, louder and louder until it was almost a scream.

Then it all ended, like when his ears popped from altitude changes, a booming pulse erupted in the room. All the pressure was gone, and Titus felt relief flood through him. Lighter, freer, but then he felt nothing but sick to his stomach. He barely had time to lean off the side of the bed and snag a waste bucket before he hurled his guts into it. Black foamy bile mixed with whatever had been left from dinner the night before.

A large hand settled on his shoulder, callous roughened but comforting.

“Hag is gone.”

Emptied of his contents, Titus felt himself pulled back and laid against Bairre’s solid front. A little shaky, Titus was thankful for the support, relaxing back into the hold. His Bond-Mate muttering through comforting words and praises.

Despite the rough start the rest of the day was shaping up, everything seemed a little brighter, a little clearer, smells were sharper, and Titus was hearing things more than he usually did.

Jehan excitedly reported that Stieg had been the one to strike the killing blow to the Hag —which, of course, made sense because the man was the best knight they had— and that they would be portaling back to the keep once they got all the other victims of the Hag settled. Titus could tell that the man was excited to have his Bond-Mate back, which was unfortunate because Jehan himself would be shipping out after the festival.

Læsrin wasn’t there at breakfast, but the king often wasn’t, off doing other things and Bairre would hunt him down with food later. Titus had almost expected the royal to come find him, since he seemed to these days when something major happened, but he also reasoned that it wasn’t anything bad, so Læsrin might not be concerned.

“So, found something out last night.” He teased, watching Gerran and Jehan play a round of cards. The Foothiller had gotten bold and bartered laundry duty and was now fighting for his life.

“King swings a big sword, we know,” Jehan absently snarked back. “Plenty of bards still sing about it from back when ‘e traveled the lands.”

“That wasn’t what I was talking about,” Titus laughed, ears heating a little. “Though, we are coming back to that. But, no, you know that list you’ve been working on?”

“The one on what makes the better bomb or the one about who has a better ass?”

Rolling his eyes at his friend’s antics, Titus shook his head. “Naw, the one that has all the Hexen cards on it.”

“What about it?” Jehan gruffed, staring down a battlefield that he was no doubt losing.

“Think I found out what that Diamond card is.”

“Shit,” The Foothiller swore as his defeat came to a close. “Wait, really?”

“Yep,” Titus nodded, stretching out a little. “Læsrin’s got a real interesting card in his deck. Based off himself.”

“No way,” Jehan’s blue eyes instantly lit. “The Diamond is our king?”

“Is called ‘Frozen Warlord’ but it’s no doubt his sword,” And Armor, Titus would bet, but he’d never actually seen Læsrin fully kitted out for war. “Blue card, tens all around, and boosts all other blue cards by one.”

“Fuuuuck,” Dragging a hand over his mohawk, Jehan laughed. “That’s mental.”

“His deck is pretty much all blue, a few colorless and black thrown in,” Smugly informing his friend, Titus grinned, watching Jehan get more and more enthralled. “Completely swept the floor with me.”

“Do you think he’d play me if I offered to do his laundry?”

Laughing, Titus shook his head, but promised to see what he could do.

Training in the bailey was invigorating, Titus found himself moving a little faster and swung a little harder. As suggested he swapped his sword out for a mace and it was serving him much better. Markeus had him switch over to Glyphs, wanting to see his progress but also his ability now that his magic was fully unlocked.

It had been a little shocking at first, Bairre had warned him this morning, but hearing the full extent from the Knight-Captain just how much he was missing out on was a surprise. He’d experienced enough of it for himself, and it was invigorating. Markeus had been working with him a lot on sigils and similar Enchantment magic, but he’d also been helping him with spell crafting. Jehan had explained to him that he didn’t need a specific word or action to gain the same effect, but the Knight-Captain explained that it built a better foundation to work from. So far, Titus was using a mix of both with satisfying results.

He liked Glyphs, they were simple but also very capable. So long as he could figure out the right combination of sigils and forms Titus was able to get them to do pretty much anything.

Markeus had not been impressed when Titus copied that trick that Bairre once played on him, the Knight-Captain stepping on a trap and then being blasted with petals and sparkling dust. The shuffling mustache and raised brow warned him of retribution, but there was a small smile of pride hiding under it.

After a well earned bath and soak, Titus was snagging some food from the kitchen when Læsrin did indeed hunt him down.

The cooks all bustled around the large man, completely uncaring that the king of the keep was ‘gracing’ them with his presence. Róisín, however, gave the man a very pointed look that said ‘Don’t. Touch. Anything.’.

“There is someone in the gardens who would very much like to see you.”

With a roll stuffed in his mouth, Titus tilted his head and made a little questioning noise. He had never gotten a visitor at the castle before. Læsrin rose his brows a little, gesturing his head before he made his leave. Catching up with him, Titus noticed how quiet the man felt. And, yes, the king was a quiet person, but he said more with his body language than he wanted to believe. Now, however, there was literally nothing coming off the man.

“I’ll chaperon, just so things don’t get heated.” Læsrin said at the door before pushing it open.

Despite it being near winter the garden was still full of life, something he’d once overheard referred to as Elven Magic, the plum tree was bare but there were plenty of other plants blooming or growing ripe with fruit. Unlike usual, the courtyard was empty, except for one individual sitting by the twisted fruit tree.

“Hello, Piglet.”

Something in Titus shattered. Tears welled in his eyes and he knew he let out some sort of noise. Seeing Tor, actually seeing him, returned that part to him that Titus hadn’t even knew he was missing. Scarred but perfect, the boar didn’t glitter in the sunlight like he did in his dreams, but he seemed bigger, healthier.

“Go on,” Læsrin encouraged, a comforting hand on his back. “He’s been waiting long enough.”

Twenty years. He’d been waiting twenty years, but now they were both here. Older, wiser, a little bruised and bent from the world, but alive.

His first steps were shaky, but Titus quickly stumbled into a run and skidded on his knees before his Familiar, looping his arms around the boar’s thick neck and hugging tight. Lacking arms of his own, the Familiar returned the gesture the best he could, careful not to nick with his tusks as Titus cried into his hair.

Tears wreaked through Titus, an utterly ameliorating sense of coming home washing over him. Hektor was here, and solid, and muttering words about being an embarrassment but Titus could feel the boar’s words weren’t meant. For the first time in so long, Titus felt whole.

“You’re a fucking ugly crier, Piglet.” Hektor shook a little, signifying that the hug was over. Respecting that Titus sat back on his knees, still close but not touching.

“Hektor, you’re here.”

“That I am.”

“I… I don’t know where to begin.”

“We’ll have time,” The boar stood and began trotting away. “Come walk with me.”

Wandering the gardens with the king drifting behind was an experience. Hektor didn’t say much, just seemed content to show him little secret places around the keep he’d sniffed out. He took him through some of the various tunnels that were attached, revealing living areas that Titus hadn’t even known existed, as well as viewing a few of the exterior points of the mountain that had balconies and walkways. There was a particular outcrop that was by a waterfall, not a large enough place for a person to homestead, but somebody had been living here. Soft grass covered the ground, the cave tucked in the back had some improvised bedding and other nesting materials.

“You lived out here.” Titus stated, looking around at the various bits and bobbins the boar had laying around. Not much, but what would the Familiar truly need?

“Læz likes to meditate here in the mornings,” Hektor filled in the gaps, an explanation for some of the items that a boar without thumbs couldn’t use. “Made sense to settle down in a place to keep him company.”

Looking over to the man leaning in the mouth of the little hollow, Titus spotted the fond smile hinted on his face. So much of his more surly attitude towards him made so much more sense now, he was protecting a friend. Even at the cost to himself. They had a bond, but Titus was being invited to be part of it.

“Try not to wander the tunnels until you get your bearings,” Tor warned on their way back. “It’s easy to get lost.”

“Guess it’s good I’ll have a guide.” Titus smiled down at him, Læsrin now walking alongside them instead of lurking in the periphery.

Hektor tipped his head down, guilt riding on his tone. “I… Don’t think I’m ready for that, just yet.”

It hurt a little, but Titus understood. They both had work to do to build that trust back. “That’s okay, we have time.”

His Familiar did join him for dinner, finally being introduced to Jehan and Markeus. The pig stood with pride when Gerran stated ‘That is the biggest damn boar I’ve ever seen’, and even begrudgingly accepted some intrigue from Ashley’s Familiar, Pidge. He made himself scarce shortly after, but he had bid Titus a farewell and promised that he’d see him again soon.

“He’s rather introverted,” Læsrin spoke for him as they retired. “Social settings aren’t his favorite thing, but he did well today.”

“Are we sure Tor isn’t actually your Familiar?” Titus teased, earning a playful cuff to the ear.

The following days were met with a similar pattern, Titus had decided to return to his own rooms after a few nights. He liked the closeness with his Bond-Mates, but it was starting to feel like they were skipping so many steps in their relationship and it was starting to get a little stifling. He could tell that Bairre was disappointed in the development, but Læsrin had whispered something downright filthy into his ear that quickly made the Knight-Commander change his tune.

Getting back to the forge with Damascus was nice, Hektor and the Minotaur got along swimmingly because they were both gruff old men at heart. Typically the Familiar would sit somewhere along the sidelines and make dry comments with his boss, sometimes offering Titus advice on things magical in nature. Damascus was impressed with his new skills and had swiftly begun tutoring him in the best ways to fold magic into metal.

They chatted a bit about what it would cost for Titus to assemble a set of his own plate, and even though his boss assured him that it wouldn’t cost him a single copper, the man wanted to find a way to repay him. First he had to sketch it all out and plan, then Damascus promised everything else would fall into place. With the exception of small personal effects, most of the knights bore very similar kits, even the captains all had fairly akin gear. Titus technically wasn’t a knight, but still he wanted to check with Bairre and see what would be appropriate.

Life in the keep was bustling, the upcoming festival lightening everybody’s spirits and it was easy to tell that the town was preparing for it. There wasn’t really one big event beside a speech that Læsrin gave every year in the town square, but there was music, and food, merchants came from all around to sell unique goods. Titus was surprised to hear that even some nobility from allied territories came to Dhane Reothein for the celebration. It all seemed a little much for the first day of winter, even if Titus himself was looking forward to it.

“Well, yeah,” Markeus nonchalantly shrugged, the two inventorying practice equipment while the others ran the walls. “Only once a year we get to celebrate our king’s Naming Day. He bloody hates it, but it already aligned with the Hibernal Solstitium.” The man gave an enigmatic shrug as if he hadn’t just informed Titus of a massive gap in his knowledge.

Summoned to the High Table for dinner, Titus spent most of it talking with Alvaro. The Mage was from the Southern Islands originally, and it was nice to talk to someone in his mother’s language. His skills were a little rusty, but Varo was forgiving enough, only teasing him a little for it. Titus was also relieved to hear that Varo would be leading the next tour, so Jehan would be in good hands. Not that Jehan wasn’t a perfectly good warrior all on his own, but Titus knew there was something more to the men that were from the same cohort as Læsrin and Bairre. He hadn’t uncovered that truth yet, but Titus was hoping to soon.

“So, when were you going to tell me your Naming Day was coming up?” Titus grinned up at the pale man, watching more color drain from his face somehow.

“When you’re almost a hundred years old, these sort of things slip by.” Læsrin grumpily went back to his pudding.

“Still, it would have been nice to know.” It wasn’t the biggest issue to Titus, not everybody celebrated their birth the same way. But there was a lack of communication that worried him, refused to back down on.

“Alright,” The king shot back snarkily, eyebrow raised. “When’s yours?”

“In the spring,” Titus tilted his jaw challengingly. “On the eighth of Mave.”

“Noted.” Læsrin tipped his mug to him, the word feeling just as much like a promise as it did a threat.

A day shy of the festival and Titus still didn’t have a gift for the man, or even really knew if it was expected. Læsrin certainly seemed to not care too much about it either way, but the man was aloof at best on many topics. Hektor hadn’t been much help, the boar stating that there wasn’t much a king would want for. Armin also didn’t have any ideas, they hadn’t done anything as a family since he was small and back then he could get away with doodling on a piece of parchment and it would be treasured. Alo said that Læsrin fancied figurines whittled out of obsidian, but Titus didn’t have time for that, and Ruhig didn’t speak.

“It just feels rude, I guess,” Titus complained to Bairre as they walked the battlements. “This would be the first year I’ve known him, so I feel like I should do something.”

The Knight-Commander chuckled. “You being here is enough for him.”

“That’s disgustingly sweet,” Heating a little around his neck, Titus bumped into the taller man’s side. “But I mean it. There’s got to be something I can do for him.”

“Well, he’s always liked it when I fu-” Bairre was shoved more aggressively, laughing as he looped Titus underarm. “Læsrin is a simple man, show him you’re happy and he’ll be happy.”

Titus sighed. “I guess Hektor was right.”

Humming a little, his Bond-Mate combed fingers over the back of his head. “You’ll commonly find he often is.”

The morning of the festival began with Armin bouncing on his bed and gleefully towing him out of bed. Dressed in his best, Titus was dragged to breakfast with two equally drowsy grown men.

“How in all of the Void does he have so much energy this early in the morning?” Titus groaned into a mug of coffee that was pressed into his hand.

“Æther only knows…” Bairre sounded as equally groggy.

Luckily they were saved by Wolf coming to claim the boy after morning training, although the man had given them a look when Armin expressed that he’d see them all in town before Læsrin was expected to give his speech.

Despite the beginning, Titus did indeed enjoy how the rest of the day was turning out. Walking through Dhane Reothein with Bairre at his side was nice, the man not the stern Knight-Commander but rather a person who helped build this town and was well liked among the populace. So many stalls were set up along the streets, merchants selling anything from foods, to trinkets, exotics pets, and more. Children ran about, happy and with streamers. Titus saw plenty of the knights patrolling but also enjoying their time. Music was common and there were plenty of bards singing the accolades of the famous King of the Calderan Mountains. Titus hadn’t heard too many of those before, but plenty of people hummed or sang along to them.

“Don’t believe everything you hear,” Bairre chuckled after hearing one of a particularly raunchy nature. “Læsrin has only slept with three dragons, at most.”

With narrowed eyes, Titus could honestly not tell if the man was joking with him or not.

Plenty of the songs focused on the man’s… proclivities, but they also told tales of heroism, rebellion, and artistically viewed history. Even Bairre had a song or two, but most of those spoke of his large size or how he bravely fought with a bear at his side.

Shortly after midday they gathered around the square. A large tree with almost blue leaves stretched towards the sky, pale silver petals drifting down from it slowly. Around the base grew an abundance of three-petaled flowers, Mountain Trillium, between them bright blue crystals sprouted. Læsrin stood up on the little stage built there, standing in fine clothes of black, dark blue, and silver.

“I thank you all for joining us today,” The king’s voice ringing through the courtyard. “I know as winter closes in the path can be difficult. I am happy to say we have all lasted another year, proud that so many have taken a dream and made it a reality. This mountain has provided more than shelter for us, but a home. From meager beginnings we have grown and we have prospered, have proved to the rest of the world that we belong and we are strong. I know many of you come here to honor my Naming Day, and as King of Dhane Reothein I see you and offer my thanks, but it is my people who should be honored. We could not be here without each and every one of you. So, please, enjoy this day for me and for yourselves.”

With a wave of a hand several large fireworks blasted in the air, raining down snow and glitter. And the crowd ate it up, cheering loudly and applauding.

Titus smirked and bumped up against Bairre’s side. Among the heads he noticed Damascus, Róisín happily hanging on his arm. Armin wasn’t far off, sitting up on Wolf’s shoulders and ignoring Argus begging at their feet for some of his candied apple. He even spotted a familiar knight with a small weasel familiar.

Visiting a number of other booths and snagging themselves various things to snack on, Titus was tickled when Bairre was dragged away by a gaggle of little girls who needed somebody tall to fetch down a ring they were tossing. He doubted they even knew who the man was, except he was vertically gifted and that was what they needed at the moment.

“I hope you are having a good time.”

Titus glowed as Læsrin sidled up to him, the king also having a placid smile on his face.

“Hard not to,” He nudged the taller man, chuckling when all it earned him was a raised brow. “Nice speech.”

“I try.” Læsrin dryly snarked.

Eyeing him from the side, Titus had to admit the king looked good. He always did, Læsrin took great care in his appearance but it was clear he put a little more effort into it today. Clean shaven, and his hair half held up in elegant braids, it showed how much of his hair was a light quicksilver gray and the rest was white. His overall pale complexion contrasted with his choice of dark clothing, muscles standing proud against the fabric.

The little smirk on his face spoke that he clearly noticed Titus’ staring, but Bairre came trotting back before either of them could comment on it.

“Well, we have a few more hours before the Hibernal Feast,” He grinned viciously. “I hear there is a Hexen tourney happening in the tavern.”

Sadly, the tournament had closed by the time they got there, but it was fun watching and seeing various strategies played out. If anything, Titus was surprised that Jehan wasn’t in the very guts of it fighting for his life. But word was that Stieg and the others got in late last night, so the man’s absence made sense.

With a little more time to burn, they perused more stalls and Læsrin was pulled into plenty of conversations. While a lady chatted to the king, a little booth caught Titus’ eye. A young Elven man was selling flowers and similar based accessories, things like flower crowns, hairpins, clasps, and the like. Sneaking over, he eyed the little series of Trillium decorations.

“See something you like, sir?”

“What are these made out of?” He recognized the silver and mythril easily enough, a few things crafted out of orichalcum or gold, but the green metal that made leaves and vines was unknown to him.

“Viridian, sir.” The elf nodded.

Elf’s Gold, Titus had never seen it in person before. It was rather rare, not seen among many human settlements, and it was notoriously tough to craft with. And whomever made these were quite skilled.

“Is the craftsman here today?” Because Titus really wanted to meet them.

The young man blushed a little, looking modestly down. “It’s a family tradition, sir. Made them myself.”

“They’re bloody grand,” The dark-haired man complemented. “How much?”

Happy with his prize, Titus was able to slink back without too much notice. Bairre, of course, had seen him come and go, but the Knight-Commander didn’t comment on it. Alo, however, had a little feline smirk. Deciding that he wanted to wait for a private moment, Titus slipped the gift into a pocket and leaned into Bairre’s side.

The Hibernal Feast was held in the keep, the Main Hall packed with more tables than Titus had ever seen. Not all of Dhane Reothein was there, but it was damn close. He was pulled up to the King’s Table, sat next to Alvaro a couple seats down from the Royal couple. Now that he knew, Titus wondered how anyone missed that they were Bonded, but he supposed he had never heard of the Witch-King having a Bond-Mate out in the world.

Róisín and the kitchen staff had gone all out; a large selection of candied fruits, various meats, different cheeses and breads, puddings, other mashed vegetables. Warm drinks were poured and many of them were spiced, a jolly mood was on the air and people of all walks of life joined them.

Titus spotted a large man with wolf pelts that Varo told him was the son of one of the J’arls from up north, talking to a man of similar stature at Jehan’s side. A man that looked like some sort of Elven nobility was entertaining a young lady as she talked his ear off. Damascus was sitting with the head cook, laughing over something that one of the other staff said. There were still cliques and castes, but in that moment everyone was equal.

Læsrin was quick to retire for the evening, thanking the room at large for joining him and that he wished to see them all again the next year. It didn’t seem like it was going to wind down anytime soon after, Varo informing Titus that the celebration often went into the early dregs of the morning. Staying for several more hours, he was warm and fuzzy from drinks and good food, then Bairre came to collect him.

Snuggling a little more into the man’s side than he usually did, Titus paused at his door glancing to the sleepy smile Bairre was offering him.

“I was actually hoping I could come up?” Tinting a little at how forward that sounded, Titus quickly tried to explain. “I-I mean, I have something I’d like to give Læsrin for his Naming Day.”

“So do I.” The Half-Giant grinned, causing Titus to shove him.

“Randy old man.”

Bairre laughed loudly, looping Titus under arm and taking him up the stairs. The king’s rooms were at the top of the tower —Fanbairre’s on the floor below, Armin across from him— and Titus knew the man not only had a balcony but also access to the roof.

Læsrin was down to his undershirt, standing at one of his windows, watching the stars and drinking from a glass of wine. He glanced over his shoulder at them and smiled fondly. Alo was perched up in the rafters, the bird huddled up with a bigger Ruhig, the owl still awake and watchful.

“Our boy says he has something for you.” Bairre presented, strolling in and pouring himself a glass.

Being introduced like that made Titus blush a little. It wasn’t something they had discussed, even if he was nearing his thirtieth year on this globe, it was pretty evident that he was significantly younger than both his partners. Even if it seemed like by only a decade physically, they all knew that both of them had been alive before even his father was born.

Læsrin turned to him, raising his brows expectantly.

“I, uh, know that you don’t really like celebrating your Naming Day,” Titus pulled out the little bundle from his pocket. “But, it’s our first year together so I wanted to do something. My family didn’t have much, but we always tried to make Naming Days special.”

Offering out the gift, Titus saw as the man’s face softened. Bairre watched fondly from the dresser. Læsrin took the package and unwrapped it, pausing when the hairpin came into view. His blue eyes drifted up, pinning Titus with their gaze.

“Titus, this is…”

“Lovely.” Bairre filled in for him, strolling over and admiring the piece over the king’s shoulder.

“It can be used as either a hairpin or on your lapel,” Titus rushed to explain. Even feeling the growing adoration building in their bond, the younger man was anxious to how the gift was being received. “I saw that you have a pendant that was very similar and I thought something that would match would be nice.”

Læsrin reverently passed the pin over and strode up close into Titus’ space, taking his jaw gently in hand and curling around him.

“Thank you.”

The words felt personal, private, the taller man tilting down and resting their foreheads together. It only felt natural as their lips touched, gentle and not pushing for more. So many feelings fed into him and Titus hoped that Læsrin understood what he sent back. When his Bond-Mate pulled back, he was smiling gently, which Titus returned.

“There’s going to be a meteor shower,” Læsrin began guiding him back to the windows. “Watch it with us.”

Bundled up on a bench that was out on the balcony, Titus found himself in the middle of the two older Mages. Bairre was tucked into the corner, supporting most of Titus’ weight, and Læsrin was bracketing him in from the other side. The night air had a sharp chill to it, but between the two men who felt like they put off heat like a fireplace, Titus wasn’t bothered by it. This high up in the mountains there were so many more stars and auroras rippling across the skies.

The first blip that shot across the night was exciting, Titus wasn’t sure he’d ever really seen a meteor shower before. But then more followed, starting as one at a time then more came bolting after. Soon a display of many at a time streaked in a bright cascade that was grander than any firework show he’d ever seen. It was a matter of hours before the last one zipped past, Bairre had drifted off at some point but Læsrin was still serenely staring at the stratosphere.

There was something Titus knew he was missing, the full significance of the event. It was more than a date, more than just a night under the stars. There was a clear importance to Læsrin about what they just witnessed, and he seemed pleased to be sharing it with them.

Dragging Bairre to bed was a little tricky, even with the king’s assistance. They could have just moved him with magic, but Læsrin softly shot that idea down stating that the man didn’t react well to being enchanted unawares. Titus briefly considered staying the night, had been informed he’d be welcomed, but instead he returned to his own rooms. He was lighthearted as he descended the stairs, the cozy warmth of the pair’s fondness distracting him a little from his surroundings.

Getting to his door, Titus smiled to himself. He wanted that feeling to continue and grow, become more to the couple than a tertiary satellite.

Hearing footsteps, Titus turned his head almost expecting to see one of his Bond-Mates pursuing him to drag him back upstairs. But he never did, instead feeling a force shove him against his door and a piercing burn slide up between his ribs. Words hissed into his ear by an unseen assailant.

“Long live the rightful Crown, Urlich the Hallowed.”

Chapter Text

Læsrin had very little need for fear in his life. He —and the others like him— had it taken from them, beaten from them. The Masters said that they were to be made into monster slayers, to not even fear death itself. Læsrin had spent years tied to his duty, empty of the things the Masters told him he should not have.

So little had meant anything to him back then.

Now, he still had little to fear for in his own life, but he had learned how to fear for others. So many of those around him were so… fragile. It worried him constantly, people he loved, cared for, could be so easily hurt. Killed.

Every bit of his being hated it, wanted to protect them, shelter them. He had built a whole world to do just that, had fought back against his jailers, rallied his brothers, clashed with kings. Dhane Reothein was the culmination of dreams he once had as a child, hopes that Alo still carried, it was a place where people like him —those scorned by society— could live in peace.

He knew many of his emotions were still muted, much more than his brothers who had been able to reclaim more of themselves over the years. Alo helped, was able to be his mask when his own face couldn’t bear to smile. Bairre did not expect sweet words and accepted gentle actions. Armin had brought a light into his life that none had expected, had given him a reason to fight harder to be a person instead of a weapon masquerading as one.

On bad days, Læsrin still sometimes thought of himself as just a thing.

He had yet to settle for the evening, still drifting on the feeling of success of the night. Even without knowing how much the passing of the meteors meant to him, it had been pleasant to have Titus there with them. The Mhoer’Vorte had once built so much of their lives around the stars, and as the very last of them Læsrin felt it his duty to carry their culture with him as much as he could. It filled him with contentment to share that with his Bond-Mate.

So when that fear and pain gripped him, Læsrin immediately knew it wasn’t from him. With Bairre loudly snoring on his back, that left him with only one other option. Bolting from his room, bare feet slapped against stone as he ran to Titus. Coming to the landing before the boy’s room, Læsrin froze at the sight that met him.

Slumped on the floor in a growing puddle of his own blood, Titus laid on the floor. The heavily burnt husk of his presumed attacker blasted back against the opposite wall. Skidding to his knees, the king was afraid to touch him, instead reaching out with his magic.

He had lost so much blood, but he was still alive. A punctured lung made his shallow breaths rattle. Læsrin was one of the most powerful Mages on the continent, though he was no healer, doing what he could to stem the bleeding and put his Bond-Mate into a stasis. It wouldn't save his life, but it would give them time to get someone in that could.

Bairre tumbled down the stairs, frazzled and only in his shorts. The man shouted, trying to get closer but Læsrin growled at him as he began cradling Titus tighter.

“I want everything known about that man.” He grit out, drawing Bairre’s attention to the smoldering body on the wall.

Shortly after Wolf came tripping down, armed with his sword and Armin firmly kept behind him.

“Go get Tanacelia!” Bairre barked at the younger knight, Wolf quickly running from the hall.

Armin came over with timid steps, able to get much closer to the king than his father was.

“Is he… Is he going to be okay?”

Læsrin had little use for fear in his life, the Masters had cored it out of him long ago. He was the finest of their kind; a powerful, brutal, killing machine held as a pinnacle of all their magic could achieve. He feared no monsters, bowed to no creature’s will, and carried the burdens of men long dead.

But for the first time in decades, the King of the Calderan Mountains found himself afraid.

~~~ ~~~ ~~~

Titus was put in a magically induced coma for a week. The knife he’d been stabbed with had been coated in a particularly vicious poison that was known for being especially dangerous for Mages. It had sapped the man of his magic and limited his body’s natural healing. Even with Tanacelia’s help the wounds weren’t sealing well and they had to be very careful when changing the bandages to not disrupt any of the meager recovery Titus did accomplish. So far they had been able to stave off infection and they had stabilized his damaged lung so he could breath.

Læsrin had spent a lot of time in Titus’ rooms, having settled him there because they had been too afraid to move him all the way to the infirmary.

Very little information was coming through about the assailant, some of the staff only knew the vaguest things about the man, but he had been prowling the castle for quite some time. Læsrin had tried to get one of the other Mages interrogate the body, but Titus had burnt it to a crisp so even the most skilled of Necromancers wouldn’t have been able to make it speak.

At this point the only person who might know more about the incident was currently unconscious on the bed.

Sitting as a vigilant sentry, Læsrin knew that at some point the council would send Bairre to bully him into making an appearance. Despite there being so little news about the assassin, there had been plenty of other little engagements along T’lmerak’s borders.

The news wasn’t surprising, Urlich had been sending them little taunts for years. However, the man was getting bolder in recent months. The council had been speaking plenty about it. They were in a difficult position, while T’lmerak had managed to gather allies they had to play things by the book to avoid garnering ire. On one hand, Læsrin’s prowess for battle made him look like a very valuable ally, on the other it sometimes made him look like a beast on a short leash.

So long as he sat on top of his mountain and remained completely fangless there would be no problems.

Reflecting on it wouldn’t help, Læsrin sighed and pulled a book to him. He knew Titus’ literacy skills were limited, but it brought a little smile to his face to see how far he’d gotten into the tome. Cracking it open to a fresh chapter, he began to read.

~~~ ~~~ ~~~

Everything in the keep was tense. Typically so soon after the festival there was levity on the air, even if their leader sulked about because he was a whole year older. Fireworks stayed common for several days, people danced in the streets, and winter was welcomed.

Now a blizzard ravaged around the mountains, impeding any who might be attempting the journey there. Some of the more influential people had to be portaled back to their home lands and all of the wandering knights had been called back. It was the fullest the keep had ever been in years.

But despite all that, the place was cold.

Varo fucking hated being cold.

He hated seeing what it did to Bairre and Læsrin more.

Læsrin was holed up in his young Bond-Mate’s room, only making brief appearances when the Council absolutely demanded it. And Bairre… fuck, Bairre was falling back into the old head-space he lived in after the wars.

Armin was doing his best and even Titus’ chirpy little Sergeant was trying to brighten the halls. Alvaro just hunkered down, Titus was strong and he’d pull through. He had to.

And once he did, Æther damn whoever it was that would earn their king’s wrath.

~~~ ~~~ ~~~

Armin was worried, his father hadn’t spoken in three days. Which, despite him being a reserved man, was unusual for his son. Even on rough days, the man always did his best to give him a smile and a quiet greeting. Wolf said it wasn’t too dissimilar to those who suffered from Combat Fatigue; Markeus warning him to be gentle with the man.

The war hadn’t been easy on any of them, many of the men who fought in them left with scars. Those who were fortunate only had new marks upon their flesh, but others —like Bairre— had gouges in their mind. Armin had never heard it, but Varo said that back before Ruhig used to speak quite often, was more often a bear. He never was told what, but… something happened and it changed both of them.

Wolf was too young to have been in the war, but he’d also faced horrors. Armin was familiar with his night terrors and how he’d withdraw, how some days he needed his space.

Læsrin allowed him into Titus’ rooms, although most everyone else was barred. Bairre sometimes poked in, but more often than not he could be found outside standing sentry. Tanacelia and Ashley were accepted begrudgingly, checking on Titus’ bandages and progress.

It was a somber mood throughout.

~~~ ~~~ ~~~

Fog.

A fog drifted through his mind, distantly putting everything in a shroud. Sometimes he’d see his boy and it would spark a little light in the distance, something to point towards. Armin was so precious to him, innocent. He wanted to preserve that.

But he’d been failing at protecting others lately.

He failed Titus. Failed Læsrin.

Occasionally Ruhig would sit with him, either cuddled to his neck or at his side. Hektor went through the door a few days ago, had yet to come out.

Markeus or Alvaro had taken to dragging him away to eat and bathe, one or the other staying in his stead. Neither could convince Læsrin to do the same, but he knew Armin was at least getting the man to eat.

None of it quieted the quagmire that swamped his mind.

Tansy expressed her worry, but even a Witch of her power couldn’t ease the scars on his psyche. Not that we would have wanted her to, his memories were what made him. Even the bad ones.

~~~ ~~~ ~~~

Words were the first things that faded into Titus’ consciousness, flowery and melodic in a language that he didn’t recognize. The voice, however, seemed similar.

Cracking his eyes open, they took a moment to focus before settling on Læsrin sitting on a chair by the bed reading. His voice had a calming purr underneath it, Titus finally picking out a word or two, he was speaking Ancient. Or, rather, As'Mhoer, his first language.

The man looked more pallid than he normally did, bags thick under his eyes and hair unkempt. For the first time ever, there was a thickening layer of scruff along his jaw, a silvery gray.

“I can understand if you don’t wish to sit up, but I’d like it if you’d at least say something if you’re going to lay there and stare.”

The dry tone the king carried wasn’t as harsh at it normally sounded, like his heart wasn’t truly in it.

“Be nice, Læz,” Hektor’s grumbled from the other side of the bed. “He was just stabbed.”

“I’m aware.”

Titus chuckled a little, for once enjoying not being the focus of the king’s snark. He immediately regretting it, his lungs seizing and pain scratching his spine.

“Careful,” Læsrin gently said. “You’ve a punctured lung, it’s still healing.”

“What… What happened?” His mouth was dry and throat was raspy.

“You were attacked by an assassin.” Hektor trotted into sight, giving Læsrin a pointed look towards the pitcher of water at his side.

Sheepishly, the man fetched a cup and poured a tinted drink into it. He didn’t let Titus hold it, but the man helped him take his first tentative sips. The drink was refreshing, soothing his throat and sending a cooling sensation across his whole body.

“You’re concernedly good at finding yourself in trouble, Piglet.” His Familiar scolded, fondness and worry hidden underneath.

“Never was before.” Titus tried to defend, but he had to admit, there had been a lot of… drama in his life lately.

“Got yourself a ruptured lung and a few fractured rips,” Hektor reported like any good doctor would. “Blade was tipped with a poison that is rather viscous to Æther-Touched, has impeded a good amount of your healing. Tanacelia has been doing her best, but your body is bent on trying to bleed out.”

“You’re on bed rest until everything seals up.” Læsrin informed, brooking no room for argument.

Looking about his room, Titus saw the fire lowly crackling and a small nest in the corner that Hektor must have been using. A few little things were laying around that indicated that another person had been making use of the room as well. But there was one thing that was missing that Titus would have expected, or rather, one person.

“Where’s Bairre?”

Silence sat on the room, both Hektor and the king looking uncomfortable.

“He’s just outside, Piglet,” His Familiar soothed. “He’s here.”

Læsrin was looking down at the book in his lap, a discomfited look on his face. The king wet his lips before he spoke. “Fanbairre is not in the best of head-spaces right now. He’s… upset that you got hurt, has told himself that it’s his fault.”

“What? Why?”

A sad smile face tinted Læsrin’s face. “Personal fault of his, I’ve always said. I know, and you know that he isn’t at fault, he couldn’t have known. Deep down I think he knows as well, but ever since we discovered your existence all he’s ever wanted was to keep you safe.”

Titus frowned. “He has.”

A tired yet wry look got shot his way. “You ever try explaining that to a seven foot tall man?”

Titus wanted to laugh, but he knew his ribs wouldn’t thank him for it.

“Could we go get him?”

When he said it, Titus immediately realized that it might seem like he didn’t want Læsrin here or that he wasn’t enough. Panic lit him quickly and he frantically wracked his mind on what to say so that the other knew that wasn’t the case, but a calm soothing petted at his mind. The king smiled at him softly, gentling him without words.

Standing, the man almost loomed, but he reached down and gently combed through Titus’ hair.

“I’m happy you’re awake,” The hand stroked along his jaw before giving a playful tug on his ear. “But next time you’re attacked, try not to completely burn your assailant into charcoal? It makes interrogation much harder.”

A little mystified, Titus watched the man slip out the threshold and listened to the rumblings on the other side. He only startled slightly when the door slammed back open and Bairre came rushing in. If Læsrin had looked disheveled, the Knight-Commander was downright slovenly.

“Hey, Big Guy.” Titus smiled at the Half-Giant, wishing he was propped up a little more but the others had warned him not to move too much.

“Titus,” Bairre took a shaky step forward, voice absolutely wreaked. “I thought we were going to lose you.”

“Still standing,” Grinning a little, the dark-haired man shrugged. “Well, lying.”

Stumbling deeper into the room, Bairre came and collapsed to his knees next to the bed.

“I’m sorry,” The man’s muffled voice croaked from where it was pressed into the mattress. “I’m so fucking sorry. I failed you.”

Titus’ eyes darted up to Læsrin’s in panic. Not knowing how to handle the larger man mumbling grovelingly at his side. The king wasn’t as impassive as he usually was, a deeply sorrowed look on his face, stepping closer he knelt by his Bond-Mate’s side and put an arm over his shoulder.

“He’s safe now. You didn’t know, wouldn’t have allowed him to be unguarded if you thought an enemy was prowling the keep.”

Reaching over to the best of his ability, Titus ran his fingers through greasy hair. “I’m going to be okay.”

“You were so pale,” Bairre trembled. “I…”

“It scared you,” Læsrin hushed. “That’s okay. You’re allowed to be scared. We’ve lost a lot of people over the years, it used to be easier back when we didn’t care. But you’re here now, Titus is here now. We’ll pull through this.”

Ruhig nudged the door back open, strolling up to the bed as a massive gray bear but bounced up as his usual, smaller, form. It didn’t take long for the Familiar to settle by Titus’ lap and Bairre’s head; Alo followed shortly after. Hektor was at a more respectful distance, but he was there.

Bairre didn’t speak much after that, Læsrin bullying the man up into the bed and the Knight-Commander promptly passed out. Titus had to stay on his side or back to alleviate pressure on his wounds, even unconscious Bairre took full advantage of that and huddled up against his back. Titus didn’t mind much, between that and the low rolling fire he was pleasantly warm, but with himself, a Half-Giant, and two furry Familiars there wasn’t much room on the bed.

Læsrin had been pulled away by the Council and Titus filled the time chatting with Hektor. Mostly on safe, impersonal, topics that Titus hadn’t had too much time to learn about. He assumed that Læsrin was a big factor towards that, given the boar’s broad knowledge in magic and other arcane adjacent topics. He also seemed to have a keen interest in astronomy, herbology, and history.

Several days passed like that. The two older men hunkered down in his room, Tansy visiting several times to keep him updated on his injuries. They were healing, but slowly. His ribs weren’t protesting as much when he took deep breaths, but it still wasn’t advised as the stretching could still disrupt his progress.

Bairre hadn’t liked it, but Titus had a few visitors. Markeus had come up first, given him a silly little card that all the others signed, gave him his well wishes. Jehan was a more stable presence, the man finding ways to keep him entertained throughout his days. He brought his card collection one day —which, frankly, was a large catalog— and the two of them spent the day building silly gimmick decks. Læsrin even amused him briefly and gave Jehan a complete smack down, but the Foothiller couldn’t even care because he finally got to see that mythical Diamond card.

Stieg also made an appearance occasionally, always dragged into the room by Jehan. The man was concernedly big, being damn near eye level with their king. Blond hair, warm brown eyes, and so muscular that it looked like he wrestled bears for a living. Apparently he was the youngest son of one of the J’arls up north and there were hopes that he might replace Markeus when the old man finally decided to retire. Stieg wasn’t a Mage, but there was a wildness in his blood that gave a feral edge to him.

When he wasn’t lurking in corners and doing his best impression of a statue.

He had been kind enough, however, to give Titus a little totem that he stoically proclaimed the Galdrakonur of his homeland had blessed for good healing. Titus hadn’t been familiar with the term, but Hektor had confidently informed him that it was the north’s version of a Witch.

One guard was posted at his door at all times, typically one of the Knight-Lieutenants or sometimes even the Captains. Wards had already been extended to include his rooms but neither of his Bond-Mates were taking any risks.

One evening Titus was stroking through Bairre’s freshly cleaned hair. The man was still more quiet than he usually was and seemed unsteady, but he was coming back around. Back to himself.

“Læsrin, can I ask a question?”

The king hummed, had taken to sitting at a desk in Titus’ room to get his paperwork done.

And, Lords Above, Titus was learning how to decipher the man’s various grunts.

“Hektor’s been telling me how most Mages specialize in a discipline. Both Markeus and Bairre think I have it in me to become a pretty good Enchanter, what about you?”

“You seem to be rather proficient,” Læsrin continued to multitask. “Is there something else that interests you?”

“Uh, no. Like, what discipline do you specialize in?”

The king hummed and set his pen down. “I don’t.”

“Is that allowed?” Titus chuckled. “I mean, it sounds like Tansy is the head of the Witch school and Leander is the same for Enchanters.”

“Houses,” Læsrin mildly corrected. “There is also a difference between Tanacelia and Leander. Tansy is a Witch as her magic is focused through nature; it comes innately to her, not through scholastic efforts. She uses many different disciplines of magic. She oversees the practices of all Witches under her watch. Leander focuses on Enchantment, is the Head of that discipline, but would be a Sorcerer as most of his connection to the Æther comes from study.”

Hektor had explained a lot of that to him, that modern day Mages were particular about their titles and pedigrees. A Wizard, a Witch, and a Sorcerer might all use the same spells, but it was how they used them that made the difference. Titus wasn’t exactly sure where he fit in, but his Familiar had said that it didn’t truly matter.

“So, what would you be?”

Læsrin folded his hands over his belly and looked to the ceiling. “I would most likely be a Witch, I suppose. My people had a more unique attachment to the Æther, but in modern terms that is the closest.”

“What did your people call them?”

“Reon Sulgair,” The king smiled softly. “Star-Chasers.”

Watching the man, Titus liked the fond little looks he got when he reminisced on positive memories. He didn’t talk about it much, his past, but Titus knew enough to know not to dig too deep.

“I suppose I am most efficient in Elementalism, but I’ve been alive long enough that I’ve dabbled in pretty much everything,” Pale eyes sank to address Titus more directly. “Not all magic easily fits into the little boxes that most Mages want it to. Too chaotic, malleable, personalized.”

“Jehan likes to say that there are too many rules about all of it.”

Læsrin chuckled. “I hate to admit it, but the little fire-starter is right. Many Mages these days don’t see the beauty in the Æther anymore, She offers so much, is so immersed in all we do, but they don’t see Her.”

“But you do.”

Once again eyes drifted off, this time more to the windows where there were no doubt auroras undulating in the sky.

“Hard not to up here,” The man said, almost in awe. “It’s in my blood.”

“Your people, the Mhoer’Vorte, Astronomy was important to them.” Titus had seen the telescopes and globes in the man’s room, had witnessed him project maps of the stars to search for answers.

“Yes.”

Smiling, Titus had learned to appreciate the man’s monosyllable sentences. Some of it might have been played up for comedic effect or out of sheer mischievousness, but for the most part Læsrin was also a very efficient speaker. He didn’t like dancing around his words and if he could limit the amount of time talking a point, he would.

“Tell me about them?” He wanted to know more, not only because the mystery of a people long lost was enticing, but also to maybe understand his potential partner better. “The Mhoer’Vorte.”

A soft sense of appreciation settled over him, a gentle look on the king’s face.

“We were a people of the stars…”

The evening darkened as the king spoke, detailing how his people were weavers of both magic and the sciences, practitioners of the arts, and writers of lore. There were many theories on where exactly they came from; they were very much human, but there had also been something more about them. Myth said that they were humans born from the dying of stars, but Læsrin theorized that at one point there was a much higher percentage of Elven heritage in them. Any truth to it was lost in the wars that he helped wage against his own people.

Magic was important to them, a factor of their everyday lives more so than many people of the time. The Schism hadn’t been as detrimental to them as it had been the lowlands, records spoke of it in great interest but not as a calamity that other historians did. There was a sacred bond between each of the Mhoer’Vorte and the Æther, considered themselves her preferred children.

It all sounded so pure, reminded Titus of tales of the old Elven Empire. Elite. Untouchable. But, of course, they had to have a nastier side.

Læsrin spoke of the experiments that the Mhoer’Vorte partook in. A lot of good had come from it, most of modern healing magic could easily trace itself back to studies and knowledge gained from them. Many things were developed in that time, but they also committed unforgivable sins.

“Monsters were everywhere after the Schism, so many humans died it opened a lot of territory and plenty of things were happy to move in. We had allies who were ravaged while we were safe up in the mountains, something had to be done.”

Even in the recesses of slumber, the topic was so harrowing that Bairre tightened his grip on Titus’ legs. The man snuffled as Titus stroked through his hair to gentle him.

“Before the wars Golems were decently popular, as were various other Thralls and Homunculi. But they weren’t… efficient in dealing with the encroaching issue. They weren’t capable of independent thought, couldn’t problem solve beyond their initial creation. It was too resource heavy for an inefficient solution. Other ideas were attempted, Necromancy was decently effective, but if the Mage controlling them was injured the Undead became useless. Living bodies were needed. Myself and the others were the solution.”

“Mhoer’Vorte were never warriors, but they were exceptionally good at creating things that were. We were… trained —changed— to be perfect killing machines. I… don’t want to go into details, it… isn’t a time I like reflecting on. But we were taken as children, tortured until we no longer cared what they threw at us, then threw us at the monsters. It… was effective, led to the world that you know now, but it came at a cost.”

Titus saw the mistiness in the king’s eyes, the stiffness of his jaw. He might have been in the room, but he wasn’t mentally there. Hektor trotted to his side and put his large head in the man’s lap, fingers going to comb through the bristles.

“Eighty-seven,” Læsrin’s voice was empty. Lost. “They successfully made eighty-seven of us. Only sixteen are left.”

Titus wasn’t sure what to say, didn’t think there were anything he could say. Læsrin seemed to be done, which after such a long string of words from him was to be expected. And what he had just said was a lot to process. That his own people had once taken him and molded him into what he was today, it… explained a lot and gave background to plenty of things that the others had said.

“Læz, get in the bed,” Bairre grumbled, voice vibrating through Titus’ belly. “Nap time.”

It took a minute, but the king did as told. He puttered about, checking the locks, stoked the fire, and closing the curtains. Then Læsrin huddled up behind Titus’ back, forcing an arm under his head and petting the Half-Giant’s hair. Titus felt a kiss ghost over his shoulder, the larger man tucking close. His bed wasn’t really big enough for all three of them and their Familiars, even with Hektor staying on the floor, but Titus couldn’t bring himself to care.

Chapter Text

It took several weeks for Titus to fully recover, or at least well enough that moving around in his usual life wouldn’t reopen his wounds. His lung capacity was still shit and his side was tender to the touch, but Titus could go up and down the stairs without hating his life over it.

Læsrin was being called away by the council more and more, which angered the man, but Titus told him all was well and that he had duties he needed to see to. Læsrin hadn’t exactly been appeased, but he wasn’t as grumbly about it when he was shooed away. Bairre was still more withdrawn than he usually was, but more and more his full personality was peeking though. Markeus had decent success in pulling the large man away and getting him to help in training the knights, and Titus could tell it was helping, the tired smile he often had by the end of the day told enough.

Everywhere Titus went now, he had a shadow. More often than not it was Stieg, but when it wasn’t him it was Alvaro. It was a little annoying, but Titus understood why his Bond-Mates had insisted. And while Stieg was a quiet man he had a vicious dry humor and an amusingly sharp wit; Alvaro kept him up to date about current events —or more accurately: Castle Gossip—, and kept things from getting too dark. Titus had learned that Varo was from a group of recruits behind the others and was one of the only survivors of his initial cohort. Markeus was older than them by a few years.

None of the men were particularly fond of talking about it, but they all had different approaches to how they reminisced. Bairre was resigned, Læsrin was almost academic, Alvaro held a lot of rage, and Markeus just got sad. Titus tried not to bring it up often. All sixteen of the remaining men from that time lived somewhere on the mountain, although one was actually the Alderman down in Ashweald. Sometimes they still roamed, too caught up in the past, too loyal to an oath they once took, but Læsrin had made a place where they could return to as home.

“He was the first one of us to care,” Markeus mused one night, the two patrolling the ramparts. “Læsrin, he was… noble. Took our oaths very seriously. Many of us looked up to him, saw him for the born leader he was. When cracks started to show in the façade, he defended us. It almost cost him everything, but when the time came, he stood for us.”

The exact nature of those events were still unknown to him, but Titus knew at some point one of them would tell him.

Winter was in full force now, although the blizzard around the Calderans had calmed. It didn’t snow too often in Bælia, so Titus was still adapting to having to feel it every day, but Damascus had shown him a fancy little warming enchantment that made the weather much more tolerable.

The old bull was seen around the keep a little more often, as much as he could while still responsibly operating the forge. Titus didn’t make any comments about how the Minotaur was adorably courting the Head Cook, nor mention when Damascus had cookie crumbs in his beard. Too much.

“Been talking to your Bonded.” The Minotaur started one day, the two of them walking to open the smithy.

“Yeah?” Titus smirked up at the bull, he knew that his boss damn well knew the men’s names but he stubbornly refused to use them. “Which one?”

“The big fucker, other one likes to act like he’s too good to speak with an old bull like me.”

Rolling his eyes a little, Titus smirked and nudged said bull. Ever since they had gotten closer, Damascus had taken it upon himself to take a fatherly —Herd Master, in his own words— role. Which also included approaching his ‘son’s’ prospective partners with speculative ire. He knew the bull had a few kids spread across T’lmerak, but they were all older, and somehow Titus had found himself now the ‘calf’ of that herd.

Minotaur politics were weird, but he joyfully went along with it. Damascus was a good sort, and it was nice to have someone watching over his shoulder. Even when down in the town, where people didn’t really know who he was in relation to the keep, people offered him more respect now that they knew he was under the bull’s protection.

“He said that you’ve been practicing with hammers.”

Unlocking the front door to the forge, Damascus went about lifting the blinds.

Titus watched him, the Minotaur was infamous for not holding secrets and being incredibly direct. So him shuffling awkwardly around was odd. More so him admitting that he’d been talking to Titus’ instructors about his combat training. Bairre was content to chat with the bull-man, the Knight-Commander wanting to have a good relationship with the keep’s blacksmith; Læsrin was professionally distant, not so secretly jealous of all the time Titus spent with Damascus.

“There aren’t many of us left anymore,” The Minotaur continued. “A Herd Master is responsible for those under his watch. We observe the rituals and rites, welcome young calves into bull-hood and help guide the heifers towards the right cows who can mentor them. It is an honor to do so, watch one of your calves grow into the Herd Members they are meant to be.”

Damascus opened a chest and pulled out an item wrapped in cloth.

“You’re not a Minotaur, but you’re one of mine. By every one of human standards, you are a man,” Bringing it over to him, Damascus held the bundle out to Titus. “I wanted to observe that in my Herd as well.”

Taking the gift with careful hands his arms sagged under the unexpected heft, unraveling the clean cloth to reveal a beautifully crafted war-hammer. Crafted of red and golden metals, laden with black and red stones, runes etched into the bevels. The striking side was opposite of sharp, curved spike that was reminiscent of a boar’s tusk.

“The gifting of a weapon from the Herd Master indicates that a calf is no longer to be seen as such, given by observing great bravery or proficiency in combat,” A large hand eclipsed Titus’ shoulder, the Minotaur’s immense head coming down to rest foreheads together. He was so much taller, it mustn't have been comfortable, but Titus could tell it was something sacred to the bull. “You’ve earned this.”

Sharing breath with Damascus for a few more moments, it was the Herd Master who backed away first but he still stood close. A bovine smile fondly joined by soft eyes. An oddly gentle look on the bull, but Titus found he liked finding himself in that aura.

“I… I don’t know what to say.” The hammer was weighted perfectly, haft long enough to use with two hands or one if desired.

“Then someone raised you right,” Damascus ruffled his hair happily. “It is an honor to welcome you into my Herd as the man you are.”

“It’s an honor to be welcomed in,” Titus’ eyes watered, surging forward and burrowing into the bull’s chest. “It’s beautiful, Damascus, thank you.”

Awkwardly, the Minotaur held him tightly and began rambling about the specifics. It was crafted with a base of mythril, mixed in with amaranthum and veined with orichalcum. Obsidian and garnet held volcanic elements and worked as foci towards such spells, enchantments were folded in to reduce vibrations and helped the hammer strike harder. A rune could be activated to make the face heat up and erupt with flame. It was a beautiful piece of work, worthy of a king or warrior of renown, and Damascus had made it for him.

“Damascus, I could kiss you.” Titus smiled up at his boss.

The old bull snorted, but didn’t shove him away. “Please don’t.”

It was cozy the rest of the day in the forge, Titus wasn’t allowed to work anything just yet but he met with customers and took orders. Damascus was very stern and was waiting on clearance — and then some—from Tansy before letting him even look at an anvil. Still, it was nice to be there and be with the bull. Anytime he spotted his gift, it brought a smile to his face and he wondered what he should call it.

“Did you name it?” He asked as Damascus was wiping himself down from where he got blasted with soot.

“What?” The bull looked up at him.

“The hammer, did you name it?” Titus grinned.

“It’s a hammer,” The Minotaur rose a brow, looking at him as if he’d gone insane. “Why would I?”

“Læsrin’s sword has a title, I guess.” And, yeah, he’d teased the man a little bit about it after he found out, but it wasn’t that unusual for unique weapons to be called something.

“That man is more dramatic than a court full of jesters,” The bull shook his head, fondly rolling his eyes. “Of course his sword has some flowery name that is meant to be as scary as he likes to think he is.”

Unexpectedly, that made Titus chuckle. Læsrin was treated as some sort of feared monster through so much of the lower lands, so much so that people didn’t even dare utter his name. The monstrous Witch-King, Warlord of the Calderan Mountains. Damascus never seemed to share that opinion, seemed to be perfectly willing to deride the man when the chance arose. Claimed he was a good man, but batted at the man’s more ridiculous habits.

“Name it whatever you want,” The Minotaur shook his head in the way he often did when he thought Titus was doing a ‘silly human thing’. “But if you call it something stupid, I ain’t ever telling anyone I made it.”

~~~

Gatherings with the Council were growing to be intolerable. Læsrin had never been one to want to lead, nor govern over thousands, but he had been chosen and now he had responsibilities. Ever since the assassination attempt, the others had been… jumpy. He hadn’t been much better, wishing there was an easy target to demand the head of, but for now all he could do was gnash his teeth.

“Apparently, word has gotten out that our king has gotten a consort,” Halana reported, the woman frowning at various missives she shuffled between. “We’re unsure of the original source, but it is causing quite the buzz down in the low lands.”

“How wide spread is it?” Markeus asked, arms cross and leaning back in his chair.

“Most of Bælia seems to be aware of this rumor,” Another advisor noted. “Some of T’lmerak’s allies have also seemed to pick it up, but are a little more skeptical.”

“Word travels fast.”

“More so when nobody is trying to dissuade it.”

“Is there any point in trying to stop it?” Tanacelia mused. “Surely, a king claiming a consort isn’t all that interesting.”

“Not typically, no,” Markeus frowned. “The Witch-King of Dhane Reothein is a different story.”

“Especially because his Bond-Mate is said to have died years ago.” Halana added.

“Lovers and Bonds aren’t the same.” Grumpily Læsrin put out.

Markeus hummed in agreement. “It still puts a target on whomever they decided his new lover might be.”

“If we hadn’t just had an attack in our own castle, I’d say that wasn’t a worry.” Leander finally piped in, the old Mage typically observing and only engaging when his advice was warranted.

“There has also been an expressed interest in guests coming to congratulate you on the nuptials.” The Elven woman tapped at her notes.

Læsrin shot her a dry look. “We haven’t gotten married.”

“You think the nobles care about that?” Markeus snarked, the Knight-Captain shaking his head. “It’s all about saving face, politics, politeness.”

“A dog and pony show,” The king snorted before sighing deeply to signify his displeasure. “Is there anyway to prevent this?”

“It might be… beneficial for the others to see this more human side of you,” Halana hedged, looking uncomfortable with what she was admitting. “We have been trying to improve our image for years now, be seen more than a band of warriors and instead a respectable kingdom.”

“So, what, we parade Titus around and put him in even more danger?” Læsrin growled. “Absolutely not.”

“No one wants to endanger Titus,” Markus assuaged. “But, Halana is right, this could be a valuable moment to garner more positive opinions towards us. Bælia is a lost cause, Urlich wouldn't piss on us to put out a fire, but there are other lands outside his reach that we could win over to our side.”

“Bairre could also be an option,” Leander suggested. “As far as we can tell, there haven’t been any descriptions of this supposed paramour.”

“Could be juicy,” Tansy teased. “A King and his Knight-Commander? My, the nobles would snap that up and weep.”

“The Commander isn’t in a particularly good place at the moment,” Markeus beat Læsrin to the punch, staunchly defending his friend. “He has never liked living in the limelight, cracks too easily under court pressure.”

It sounded callous, Bairre’s faults laid out bare for all to see so plainly. But, as much as Læsrin loved the man, there was plenty of truth to it. He was a simple man at the end of the day, a grand tactician and warrior that even the king had a hard time matching in pure skill, but a person for the courts Bairre was not. Under torture a state secret would go to the grave, but a little bit of social pressure and he shattered like an egg. Læsrin grew up in the castle, in aristocracy, had been groomed to live the life of ballrooms before… well, before. Bairre was a gentle farm boy who liked feeding the birds along the shoreline, and Læsrin adored him for it.

“It does go without saying, that this closer lens on your personal life means that… secrets don’t remain as such for long,” Halana warned. “There has never been this much intrigue in your bedroom habits as it was believed you were quite celibate.”

That drew a disbelieving snort from Markeus, Læsrin shooting the man who was in so many ways his older brother a look. There had once been a time when plenty of bards sang songs of how the Winter’s Blade was anything but.

“So, either way, word will inevitably get out that you have two partners and that you are all Bond-Mates.”

Læsrin frowned at that. He didn’t exactly revel in the idea that his personal life was potentially to be the next hot gossip among the halls. People too often thought it was wars and blood that toppled kingdoms, forgot that loose lips and rumors could do the job just as efficiently.

“What do you propose.” If there was no way around it, he’d rather face it as head on as possible.

“An announcement might be received well.” Leander suggested.

“Not a proper wedding,” Halana tapped at her lip in thought. “But a feast accompanied by a ceremony… that might work.”

“Your people had such a ceremony, I believe.” Tansy smiled smugly, pinning Læsrin with her gaze.

“Not for Bond-Mates,” Læsrin muttered. “But for engagements, I suppose. An acceptance after a courting period.”

“Courting…,” Markeus tilted his head in thought. “Yeah… that could work. Nobody has to know right away that Titus is your Bonded, but we could start letting little things slip, perpetuate some rumors of our own. Host a few feasts, maybe a couple balls, show off your more gentlemanly side.”

Leaning back in his chair, the king could only groan. Læsrin really liked the idea of being able to court Titus properly, in relation to his own customs, show the world that he was his. Him and Bairre hadn’t gone through that phase, bonded so heavily through necessity and trauma, scars and blood and fear. Loneliness. He didn’t want that for Titus, didn’t need to only offer that to him. These days he had more. A large part of him wanted to curl around the younger man and shelter him from the world, give him everything he could, but he was also so hesitant to get close. Læsrin knew he wasn’t soft like Bairre was, had a hard time being gentle, had given his own Bond-Mate’s soul a scar.

“I’ll talk with him,” Læsrin offered, trying to put the blocks of a plan into place. “See what Bairre thinks. I won’t move foreword with this if they don’t agree to it. We’ll have to figure something else out.”

“I think that’s acceptable.” Tansy smiled, effectively bringing a close to the topic.

“Moving on,” Halana shuffled more papers. “Reports say that more of Urlich’s troops have been spotted poking around the northern border. Elves aren’t happy about it.”

~~~

“You’re from Belyn, right?”

Titus immediately gave Stieg his focus. It wasn’t often that the man spoke, so it was always important to tune in when he did.

“Yeah.” The dark-haired man nodded, arms crossed comfortably.

“Traveled through to get to the Hag. Small village,” Stieg watched over the rest of the knights and their practice. “Nice people.”

Titus nodded, it wasn’t fancy living but it had been nice. Or, at least, he had thought it had been. More recent memories made that a little more questionable.

“You’re the blacksmith’s missing son.”

That drew Titus up short, he’d spoken plenty about how he had worked with his father in the past and where he was from. Nobody had spoken like they had any idea about the tiny little village he was born in, though. He knew damn well that Stieg chose his words very carefully, very pointedly, a man who could take all of Jehan’s chatter and condense it to a concise point.

“Father asked after you, had hoped some travelers had maybe seen a dark-haired young man with hazel eyes,” Stieg’s eyes drifted over a little. “He’s a good man, could always send word.”

He hadn’t really thought about it, finding a way to send a message to his family and let them know he was okay. His mother was most likely distraught, even after half a year had passed. Hearing his father was still actively looking for him though, that broke a little piece of him that Titus had forgot he still had.

“I… I’m not so sure of that last part.”

The Berserkir hummed. “In my entire life, my father only hit me once,” He crossed his arms and shuffling into a wider stance to get comfortable. “Do you know why?”

Studying his escort, Titus frowned a little from the change in topic. “No.”

“I killed a bird. Not a chicken or ptarmigan meant to be eaten. It wasn’t game. It was a blue jay, I struck it with a stone, crippled it. Watched it die. Slowly. Painfully,” Stoney eyes settled on him again. “I was a child, but I still did that.”

“I thought he would have been proud, my first kill all on my own. But he was not, said he was ashamed of me. Struck me once and walked away,” Stieg was watching his men again. “It was one point in time, and then it had hurt, but it hurt him too. It hurt him to hurt his son, but I was the one who had blood on their hands. My people find it dishonorable to harm innocents, to not treat nature as it should be, that is a burden that I still carry with me. Yes, my father hit me, but he did not want to and he still loves me. He taught me a lesson that day; that just like how I snuffed out that small bird’s life, I too could be hurt. That there was always something out there bigger that could harm you. I am not infallible.”

“Your father wronged you, Titus, gravely. But his actions were out of love. They were wrong, he could have found a better way, but he still loves you. Only you can decide if you wish to forgive him, but before you judge try to remember who he is as a man. Don’t view him as a father, ignore the pedestal that we wish to place our parents on, and remember he is a person. One with flaws, and a history, bears scars from his past just like so many of us do. There are wretched things out there in the world, Titus, —I have ended plenty of them upon my blade— but your father isn’t one of them.”

It gave Titus’ mind a lot to chew on, something to reflect upon heavily. Decisions he had to make, ones that wouldn’t be easy, but realities he had to face.

Huffing a little, he smiled ruefully. “You and Læsrin sure don’t talk much, but when you do damn if you don’t say a lot. You sure you two aren’t related?”

“One royal bloodline is enough for me,” Stieg drawled, a minute smirk on his face. “Whatever your decision, I’ll stand by you. Jehan too.”

Titus smiled back, knowing well enough that the man’s words were over. As a Northerner, words didn’t have as strong of a value as actions, so Titus bumped into the larger man’s shoulder in thanks. To the casual observer it wasn’t much, but Titus saw the tiny little grin grow fonder, knew that it meant the world to the larger man.

After his talk with Stieg he’d asked for a little room and had retired to the garden. Titus knew the other was lurking in a shadows like some sort of ominous phantom, but it offered him the illusion of privacy and he could accept that. A little part of him had hoped that maybe he’d find Hektor here too, the boar wasn’t always around but they’d been repairing their relationship. And, despite them being the same age —if anything the Familiar was younger— Tor held a lot of wisdom, gave him a good wall to bounce ideas off of.

Hints of concern had tapped at the back of his mind, a feeling Titus has come to associate with Bairre’s gentle care. Læsrin’s attempts were a little less… soft, more precise. A sharp ‘Problem?’, coming through before even Bairre jumped on the case. Titus was still getting used to the king showing care, even if he tended to handle things more aggressively.

“Mah dad was a right, shit, yeah?” Jehan sat down next to him, looking more withdrawn than Titus had ever seen.

Watching the shorter man, Titus frowned a little at the troubled look running across his features. He was freshly washed from training and no doubt summoned by his Bonded to smooth things over.

“He was a drunk, yelled at us kids too much, knocked me ma around,” Dark blue eyes focused on his clutched fists hovering over his lap. “Somewhere in his head he might have told himself he loved us, but a man that acts like that ain’t acting like he does.”

“Jehan…”

“Markeus came across me one night, hiding out in the wood shed, was winter. Mah parents were fighting, sisters were all married off by then,” Swallowing heavily, Jehan shook his head. “He kicked my dad out that night, warned him not to come back. I was fourteen.”

The man let out a shuddering breath, leaning back and looking at the sky with wet eyes.

“I don’t have any fond memories of the man and I can’t claim to miss him. I don’t know yer old man, don’t know anything you haven’t told me, but I know ye. Yer a good man, people there weren’t the kindest to ye, but yer kind and want to help others. Ye love yer old man, even after everything, his raising has molded you into the man ye are. Hard to believe the man that made ye isn’t a good one.”

“I…” Titus paused, thinking. He’d been reflecting on his memories of his life, after the ones that he’d gotten access to again. His mother was a gentle woman, aided others with their ailments, was swift to smile and had tumbling inky curls. His father was… not stern, but also not friendly. He didn’t have friends in the village, but people respected his work and were willing to overlook his surly nature. But Titus could remember his father making time for him as a child, would read to him, taught him how to do many things. He put family first, stood up for Titus when people were mean to him. Told him how much he was loved. Was his best friend.

“I just don’t know how to face what happened when I was a kid,” For years the man had been his only friend. “So much of it is still foggy in my memories.”

Læsrin had been sure to comfort him that was normal enough, not a lingering side effect of the Hag’s Hex. Memories were fickle, and it was a long time ago. Very few had a full recollection of their early years, Titus wasn’t unique there. Hektor had been able to fill in more, said that even with their differences, Titus’ father was honorable enough. That his actions were out of fear and wanting to protect his son.

“Ye ever get into a fight with someone ya love before?” Jehan tilted his head, grinning a little. “Ye can be angry with ‘em, doesn’t mean ya don’t love ‘em any more.”

“I don’t know if I want to be angry at him.”

“No one’s saying ye got to,” Jehan shrugged, looking back up to the sky. “I think the man owes ye an apology, a big one, but I reckon however ye decide to handle it is the right way for ye.”

Titus’ chest filled with warmth, grateful he had friends now that would so solidly stand by him, had faith in his decisions.

“I think,” He wet his lips, a little nervous. “I think I want to send a letter.”

“Alright,” Jehan clapped on his thighs. “We’ll get Stieg to help us, he’s better at getting words through on parchment. Besides, my handwriting is shite.”

~~~

“You look like you are trying to swallow your tongue,” Bairre teased, joyfully reveling in watching Læsrin’s unease. “You know me well enough by now, spit it out.”

A visit to the keep’s flock of Luffalope had been something he needed, the gentle giants having the scent of home deep in their wool, the memory of large hands and ancient words. His parents had been farmers, had Luffalopes and Storm Goats, gave him bits of bread to feed birds that collected on the water. A simple life so very, very long ago.

“I wish to court Titus.”

It was more the soured look on his Bond-Mate’s face than the way he bit off his words that caused him to laugh. A booming noise that Bairre hadn’t had in a while. It felt good to laugh.

“Alright.”

“I…” Læsrin always said so much with the few words he spared. Bairre had become an excellent translator over the years. “I never gave that to you.”

For all his strengths, his Bond-Mate could be a man of insecurities or worries grown wild in his mind. He distanced himself behind icy walls and sharp words, tried to pull back those scattered parts of himself that others had so callously torn out. Few got to know the man behind the titles, could remember him as the sweet, shy boy he’d once been.

“Læz, we were children when we fell in love,” He stepped closer, watching carefully so that the other didn’t bolt as he was prone to when faced with things that were too heavy. “No. You did not ‘court’ me, but you have loved me for as very long as you could. You built me a home. If you wish to posture, and puff, and shower Titus with shiny baubles, I won’t feel like our love has been diminished in the slightest.”

It was always thrilling when Læsrin tilted his head into the offered palm. That he’d let himself be that vulnerable. A cornerstone for their relationship, an unshakable trust earned from time. Pulling Læsrin into his embrace, Bairre adored the way the man tried to disappear into his chest. Out of embarrassment, difficulty with his words, desire of comfort. The last few weeks had been hard on both of them, draining, drew them both thinner than they would have liked. In times like this, when it could be just them, not king and commander, but just them, it reminded Bairre that it was all worth it.

“Council said that there are some rumors going about that I’ve picked up a lover.”

Bairre chuckled. “If I find out this is a repeat of the Mud Troll incident, I will be offended.”

The reproachful squeeze to his ribs was worth it.

“They say that it might be beneficial if others were to… observe my courting of this lover.”

“I know.” Bairre hummed, tilting a little to rock them back and forth.

“Of course you do.” Læsrin grumbled into his collar.

“Markeus and I do talk,” The man was a damn good second in command, had once been instrumental in teaching Bairre so much of what he knew. Was well into his teenage years when the Masters had brought him to the dungeons. “Secrets don’t live long.”

Læsrin hummed, no doubt plotting out words in his head.

“We were hesitant to suggest that you fill the role.”

Knowing the other meant no offense, Bairre chuckled. “Læz, should Titus wish to blossom in the limelight I will gladly wait in the wings.”

“He hasn’t agreed to anything,” The white-haired man was quick to say. “I just didn’t want you to hear it from anyone else, or to think that this meant anything more than purely political.”

A large nose tapped at his back, one of the beasts around them feeling ignored no doubt.

“Læsrin,” Tilting the other’s face up so that they could see eye to eye. “I know you love me. From your frigid toes, to how you think so heavily for your words, to how you clearly adore our son. I know. Titus is a change to our dynamic, but he doesn't change us,” He gave a playful little tug to a braid in the man’s hair. “And don’t go spouting off about how this is ‘purely political’, you have always wished to sweep someone off their feet like the prince you are. The show itself might be for others, but you can’t fool me into thinking that every thing you end up doing will be for him.”

It was not often that the mighty Warlord of the North blushed, a beautiful flush that warmed his cheeks and tinted his ears. Each and every time, Bairre cherished and hoarded them in his soul.

“I just don’t want you to feel left out.”

“Leave an extra custard for me in the morning and you’re in charge of rustling Armin up in the morning when Wolf stays over for the next month,” Leaning down to peck his Bond-Mate on the lips, Bairre grinned in the sense of relief that was pouring into him. “We’ll be golden.”

Something started tugging at his waste a little, feeling suspiciously like a calf chewing on his shirt. Bairre laughed again, a deep breath filling his lungs, and the feeling of love warming his heart. His world a little brighter, less surrounded by fog.

Theirs was a long journey, filled with hardships and loss, but he saw the family they had built together and he wouldn’t have redone any of it for the world.

Chapter Text

“Is anyone else not completely pleased with how slow things have been going lately?”

Sitting around in a circle, numerous of the keep’s Familiars had gathered to spread the gossip and complain about their human halves. Hektor was the gracious host this time, the soft grass feeling fresh under their feet and the brisk mountain air was invigorating.

“Were you expecting the romance between two traumatized war veterans and an extremely sheltered villager to go quickly?” The Boar snarked, eyebrow judging the snow leopard lounging about.

“Well, no,” Alo huffed. “But it could go faster.”

“Titus is very nice,” Elke nodded, wide antlers bobbing. “Læsrin hasn’t always been nice to him.”

“He’s never nice to anyone.” Kopi grumbled in all his toad glory, grumpy as usual.

“He’s nice to Fanbairre.” Ruhig said very —very— quietly.

“He’s learning,” Hektor redirected. “Titus is… softer than them. Than us. He’s also learning. It’ll take time.”

“Well, he’s out of time,” Kopi croaked. “Council wants to throw them to the wolves.”

Argus narrowed his eyes at the phrase.

“They aren’t,” Alo’s eyes rolled. “They just think it would be nice to show Læsrin off as a romantic gentleman.”

“And, trust me, he’s not exactly happy about it either.” Hektor remembered well enough the king coming down to have a shout about it instead of his usual meditation. It wasn’t often he got to see his friend so riled.

“It would be pleasant to have more life around the castle,” Elke commented. “We are awfully isolated up here.”

Kopi shuffled. “Purposely.”

“It makes sense,” The black wolf interjected before the two could begin to argue. “It isn’t just down in Bælia that people are… wary of our king. There’s a reason he hasn’t toured the lands since the wars. People getting to see him as a person would be good. We could garner more respect, open better trade with others, improve our position. Be more than a war beast.”

“Times are changing,” Hektor nodded. “More people are coming in from the eastern sea every day, it’s only a matter of time before their nobles reach out. Some from the southern ports have also reported that there is more interest in an upward migration.”

“Hard to do that when Urlich still controls the passage,” Kopi flatly commented. “Ships can sail up the coast, make port in the Southern Isles. It’s long, but not a horrible trip.”

“Urlich won’t give that control up, he’s already done a marvelous job of running most non-humans off the continent.” Argus flatly added.

“Not much we can do about any of that,” Alo sighed, stretching and rolling a bit in some loose dirt. Læsrin will be beside himself when he drags it all back to the room. “But, we can pull strings here to make sure things run as smoothly as possible.”

The grumpy toad gave him a bored look. “I’m not getting involved in the affairs of humans.”

“Oh, come on, Captain,” Elke gave surprisingly effected puppy eyes, too similar to the blues of his human’s. “Don’t be such a stick in the mud.”

“There isn’t much we can do on the matter, anyways.” Argus sighed, flopping dramatically in some daisies.

“Guys, come on!” Alo whined sadly, putting his head on top of Ruhig’s whole body.

“Titus is going to be scared of the commitment,” Hektor thought aloud. His human was still timid about many things, was still trying to find where he lived in this world. He was getting braver, but still liked to hide in the shadows of others. “He’s still learning to trust them, trust the bond.”

“Do you think he’ll say no?” Elke tilted his head.

“I don’t think he’ll say yes.” The boar frowned a little.

“That’s typically what ‘no’ means.” Kopi snarked.

“Læsrin wants this,” Alo quietly said. “He’s… still hesitant with Titus, but he doesn’t want to be. He’s trying.”

“He hurt us,” Hektor looked down, the others purposely not looking to the scar he was referring to. The boar was the only one who really bore them, Ruhig the only other but it was a white slash across his chest in his fur. Less noticeable. “It worries him that he might do it again.”

“He didn’t mean to!” Alo immediately went to defend.

“But he still did it.” Ruhig almost never spoke, not even at these meetings. Despite his small form his rare words often carried weight.

A heavy pause sat on the wind.

“Alright,” Kopi grumbled, but he clearly wasn’t happy about it. “We’ll need a plan. Argus, you and Elke are going to be on reconnaissance. Gather intel, report back, be our ears in this. Ruhig, you and Bairre are doing well, Titus feels comfortable with you two well enough. Bairre isn’t an obstacle, could be a valuable ally in this but he won’t like it if he thinks we’re trying to manipulate them. Make sure he stays on our side. Alo, see if you can convince Læsrin to open up more. I’m not expecting a miracle, but it’d be nice if the man stopped looking like he was passing a kidney stone any time he caught an emotion. Hektor, you’re in charge of getting Titus to understand his station. He’s not just the son of a blacksmith anymore; if this goes the way we hope it does, he’s about to become one of the most valuable people on the continent. Make sure he fully understand this.”

“I knew we could count on you!” Elke happily beamed.

If a toad could roll its eyes, Kopi for sure had found a way.

Alo had a new look of conviction on his face, serious and already running through plans. Ruhig cleaned at his whiskers, but the others could tell he was pleased. Argus stood and shook his fur out, ready to march with his new orders.

Hektor softly smiled, nodding to the others, thankful.

“Let’s move out, daylight is burning.”

~~~

Titus had lived in the keep long enough to know when something was amiss. Bairre had been rather attentive ever since they agreed upon their connection, finding small ways to make time together. Even if it was a simple sharing of a warm drink or a passing touch, the Half-Giant would hunt him down to make sure it was known he cared. The privacy of having his own rooms again was nice, even if Titus kind of missed those easy mornings; Bairre’s sleepy early smiles. Læsrin had been harder to convince to his own rooms, the king not wanting to part from Titus even after his recovery. He’d eventually vacated but his presence was constantly known.

Titus appreciated the man’s care, but it was beginning to feel restrictive. He wasn’t sure what Læsrin would do if he stepped a direction too far or if he did something the other man didn’t like. Hektor said that he’d have a word with him about it, but also advised that perhaps a conversation on proper boundaries was in order.

“He may be the king here, but you are his Bonded. You are just as important as he is, even if you weren’t. You’ve got concerns, make him listen to you.”

Hektor had been trying to bolster his confidence lately, reminding him often that Titus wasn’t just a villager anymore. He was an important figure now, even if he didn’t want to be. Or know how.

Titus had been talking with a few of the others about how to approach it all. Ashley offered tutelage for more courtly behavior, willing to give him an insider view of how to survive among the nobles without getting torn apart. Gerran didn’t care much about Human politics but told him about how Oruhk chieftains typically had many lovers and they were all treated with due respect. If anything, Læsrin might get more respect from them for having multiple mates. Jehan swore he’d keep the two other men in line —or else— if they even thought about treating his friend lesser than them.

Surprisingly, it was Stieg who gave him a better lens to view it all through.

“My mother is one of the most respected women in my clan. Not because she is the mother to my father’s children, not because she is the one he chose to raise us higher, but because she was capable on her own before he even caught her eye. She’s a warrior, a shaman of great renown, a philosopher, a caretaker. She is loved by my people not because she hangs on to my father’s arm passively, but because she clasps her hand in his and holds it high.”

“We all have our merits, our strengths to play, and our achievements to boast. You may not ever meet your Bonded’s strength in magic, or even physical prowess, but you are not worth less than them for that. Don’t focus on the things you can’t match, focus on the things you can. The important thing is that they care for you, and you are allowed to care for them. You will belong with them as long as you want to.”

He hadn’t said much afterward, apparently reaching his limit for the day, but Titus appreciated his words. Gave him something to think on, instead of focusing on his faults he could focus on his strengths. Bring those to a relationship while he worked on his shortcomings.

Even with that going on, it wasn’t enough to distract Titus from that observation that Læsrin was up to something.

Being called to the king’s study after training was new, Titus only having been there the once what felt like forever ago. The messenger hadn’t known what the reason for the summons was, simply that he was to be there as soon as conveniently possible.

Knocking on the door, a short call was given as a rune dimmed to let him in.

Læsrin was dressed in fine clothing as he often was, the pin Titus gave him being used to hold the bun his hair was braided into together. The fireplace behind the desk was lit, flames snapping and flaring as the king growled words into an Audmit Crystal, a language Titus didn’t understand but could recognize as angry.

He motioned to back out the room, but Læsrin shook his head slightly and waved him further in. Alo sat on the back of a chair, ruffling his feathers a little and inviting Titus to sit.

“Last minute call with Auren Deepstone,” The Gyrfalcon informed. “Trade agreement is going a little sideways.”

“And that is?” Tilting his head a little, Titus tried to recall if that name had ever been given to him before.

“Leader of the Cave Dwarves,” Alo chirped. “He’s pushier than his station allows.”

The imperious brow shot to him didn’t even phase the Familiar, but it brought a small smile to Titus’ face.

Shortly after the shouting match came to an end, Læsrin swept a hand over his hair and took a moment to settle himself.

“You’re lucky that man doesn’t speak a lick of Common.”

“I could have always given my scathing commentary in Elvish, but then Titus here wouldn’t have been able to enjoy it.”

Læsrin rolled his eyes but fondly stroked a few fingers down the birds back.

“Hello.”

Amused by the man’s stunted words, Titus smiled gently back.

“You called for me?”

“I did,” The king went to his seat and sighed after he sat down, fingers peaking by his chin. “There is something that I’ve been meaning to discuss with you.”

“Alright,” Catching to the seriousness of the tone, the dark-haired man nodded. Bairre had advised a while back that at times the king liked to approach things like he would a meeting, emotions shoved to the side as much as possible. “What would you like to tell me?”

“The Council has suggested to take advantage or our… growing relationship,” Læsrin announced, eyes watching carefully. “We aren’t sure how, but it is assumed that after the Winter’s Dawn Festival word began to travel that I have picked up a paramour. It has also been suggested that we embrace these rumors, act on them. With your permission —and only with your absolute approval— I would like to… advertise our courtship. The Council believes that it could help our relations with the other kingdoms to see me more… human.”

It wasn’t at all what Titus had been expecting to hear when he was brought in, and it was a little shocking. He hardly even had a relationship with the man; there was a promise of one, a show of interest and intimacy was offered, but they had yet to have a conversation on what exactly they were. But now Læsrin was saying he’d like to have what they did grow in the public eye.

“What about Bairre?” Titus threw up as a smokescreen to buy himself more time to think.

“We all agree that secrets won’t last long and trying to hide them would be foolish,” The older man countered. “Fanbairre doesn’t do well in the limelight, never has, and it is possible that there are others that know our history; could detect it as a farce.”

“No, I meant what about his feelings about this?” Frowning a little, Titus wasn’t sure he really liked this clinical persona the other was wearing. Too cold, too detached.

Læsrin offered a small smile. “Bairre is very aware that we are having this conversation, we decided it be best for it to be just you and I, but if it would make you more comfortable he could be here shortly.”

“That’s not needed,” Though the attempt was nice. “It’s… a lot to consider. Can you run me through what it would entail?”

“I could.” The tall man nodded, a taunting little smirk growing.

Titus leaned back and gave him a flat look. “Will you?”

That smirk got a little sharper, but Læsrin gave a tiny head bow. “I will.”

Crossing his arm with a sigh, the dark-haired man rose a brow. “Læsrin.”

“Alright, alright,” The king held up his hands, still smiling. “It would begin with an intention to court, an announcement followed by a feast should you accept. From there we would host a series of balls, at which people could bare witness to the progression of our courtship. As custom, I would bring forward gifts and compete in shows to display my fitness as a proper suitor. It would all accumulate towards a joining ceremony, whether that be a wedding or something culturally similar.”

Titus sat stunned, unprepared for all of… that.

“And… what would be my expected involvement?”

“As the passive partner in this event, you aren’t expected to do much. Of course, you are to be present at events, but the main thing would be to remain loyal during our courtship. Bairre is an exception, as he is already my paramour, but others would be… frowned upon.”

“This all sounds a little… formal. Don’t you think?” Titus didn’t want their romance to sound so artificial.

“I suppose,” Læsrin’s eyes drifted to the rafters. “I am taking influence from the rites and traditions of my people, so I’m afraid it would sound rather dry on paper. For as romanticized as the Ancients were, we were a very critical people.”

“Læsrin, I…I don’t know if that is something I want,” Titus was expecting some sort of backlash or feelings of disappointment coming to him but none came. “At all. Or for us.”

“Then we will figure something else out. I already told the Council I wouldn’t pressure you on this, they aren’t to do so either,” The king spoke calmly. “There are other ways of dealing with rumors than to lean into them.”

“I just,” The younger man paused, shoulders shrinking in and inadequacies resting on them. “I might not have ever expected to get married, but I also have never wanted one to be purely political.”

“Titus,” The scraping of the chair told him the king was moving, Læsrin coming to kneel beside his own. “I was raised to someday wed for some sort of gain, so I understand the distaste for the concept. But I assure you, this would not be purely political.”

Sure fingers slid along his jaw, aligning with his Marks, icy blue eyes staring at him with deep meaning. Læsrin’s touch always had a calming coolness to it, a strong confidence even under the lightest of strokes. Titus leaned into it, accepting the feelings of Care, Want, Ours.

“I,” Titus swallowed a little nervously, unprepared for the earnest feeling coming through their bond. “I think we should get Bairre in on this conversation.”

And like the absolute bastard Læsrin was, his returning grin was filthy, gracefully rising from his knees and pressing a kiss to Titus’ crown.

“Of course, Mo M’hoire.”

Titus couldn’t help but feel like the walk to their rooms was a pursuit. Alo had flown off to request Bairre’s presence, while the others went to the larger man’s rooms. Titus had never been there before, the three always retiring to Læsrin’s rooms instead. But he was amused by the difference between the two.

While Læsrin’s room was pristine, lordly, almost scholarly, Bairre’s was all comfort and home. Plush furs, thick rugs, lived in and filled with trinkets that showed a loving life. Traces of Armin were around, a childish drawing here, one of the boy’s spare shirts there. A little tower of platforms and pillows looked like a wonderful place for Ruhig to play about and sleep. Læsrin lit the fire place and the familiar scent of woodsy smoke and warmed apples filled the room. One that always rode over Bairre’s typical musk.

All the furniture was sized to the man of the room, offering plush cushions in a dark red. Titus happily sat in front of the fire as they waited, amusing himself by flicking little sparks into the stone maw. Læsrin went to look out the windows, arms casually clasped behind his back as he placidly watched.

Bairre didn’t keep them waiting long, pushing through the door and followed by two Familiars. Alo and Ruhig made brief nuisances of themselves, chinchilla and weasel bounding to wrestle on the structure that made up a large swath of the wall.

“Well, this is pleasant,” The auburn man smiled, looking briefly wiped down from training. “Have a nice conversation?”

Læsrin turned to consider Titus for a moment, brows raised searching for his answer. When Titus gave him a small nod, the king smiled softly back.

“We did.”

“Good,” Bairre smiled broadly, walking further into the room. “So then, have we come to an agreement?”

“I believe we hit a point where your involvement is required.” Læsrin fully turned now, arms still held behind his back.

“Alright.”

Titus shuffled in his seat, while the cushion was comfortable, he wasn’t.

“I just felt that maybe it’d be a good idea to get all three of us together when talking about this,” Glancing between the two, Titus was watching for anything that would prelude him getting shot down. “Læsrin has told me that you’re on the same page, Bairre, but I’d like to hear that from you.”

The tall man chuckled a little, going to sit on the edge of his bed. “I am. I know that this seems strange, is strange, won’t pretend it isn’t, but you have my full support here.”

Nodding a little, it did soothe some of Titus’ anxiety but he still didn’t know where he stood in all of this.

“I… I don’t want our relationship built on lies,” Titus muttered softly. “I’d rather be not involved at all than be some… puppet for the Council.”

“I like you, both of you, I like how we’ve been spending our time getting to know one another,” Sighing deeply, Titus glanced away. “Læsrin says that this won’t be purely political, but it’s a big step from where we are. I know we have a Bond, that the Æther has decided that we are fated to be together, but I want it to be more than that. I deserve to have someone who loves me for me, not some stupid marks on my arm.”

A thick silence settled on the air, discomfited and alien.

“Titus…” Læsrin softly spoke, voice saddened.

“Titus, darling,” Warm hands came and braced around his face, tilting up to see Bairre towering over him. “Those Marks on your body, they mark you as mine. They are an important part of who you are, but they aren’t why I care about you. I could spend hours explaining why, perhaps one of these nights I should, but know that you are not just some third thing trailing along as an afterthought. We want you to be part of the fold, to be as much of a part of us as much as we are.”

“Apparently, we have not done a good job of making that known.” Læsrin mused lowly as he sauntered over, caging Titus from the other side of the chair, hand coming to rest on his shoulder.

Bairre gave the other man a look, considering, before glancing back down to Titus.

“We are aware that your experience is limited and have been trying to be sensitive of that. We’ve let you have the reins and set the pace while you settled in, but perhaps we need to be more present,” Amber eyes studied him, Titus not feeling small under that gaze like he used to. “There is a very strong base to this whole charade, the balls and the clothes and the feasts, that’s all for show. But the feelings, the desire, that is real. Læsrin has always wanted to be a prince and sweep someone off their feet, let him have this, and behind closed doors we will kindly show you how much you are wanted.”

The deep growl in the man’s voice sent very good chills down Titus’ spine, a heat to his cheeks. There was a passion in Bairre’s eyes, solidifying his words. As did Læsrin leaning down to brush his cheek with his chin.

“We’ve lived a long time, have learned to be quite patient,” The king’s words husked in his ear, lips so close. “We’ll let you set the pace, but I believe it might be best if we guide the path.”

Titus’ shuddered with that tone —the threat, no promise— it felt nice to be held in such regard. So desired.

“I…I’ve never really dated before, had a night here or there, but no one has ever…”

“All in the past,” Bairre promised. “We want you, in whatever capacity you’re comfortable.”

“But,” The man leaning up proper and grinning wickedly. “If I had it my way, you’d be right there, every night. With me. Under me. Over me. And you would know how much you are loved.”

Læsrin purred, a deep growl mixed with a chuckle. “I think he’d look delightful between us, truly.”

A tightness in Titus’ pants warned him that they were getting to territory that he very much wanted but also could acknowledge he wasn’t ready for. Both Bairre and Læsrin were attractive men, fit molds that he’d long ago developed in preferences. Læsrin was strong, yet regal, beautiful like a wild wolf and just as dangerous. Bairre was strength in person, power buffered by comfort and gentle hands.

“It’s a big step for all of us,” Bairre stepped back, interest clear in his breeches, but he respectfully gave Titus his space. “Neither of us have much practice in early romance either, have simply had each other for decades. So, I will ask this: Titus, would you like to enter courtship with these two absolutely besotted old men?”

Titus chuckled a little, a smile growing on his face. These men. His men.

“I’d like that.”

“Wonderful,” Bairre reached down and pulled him to his feet and close to his chest, supplying a chaste kiss to seal the deal. “Then, with that sorted, I believe I would like some time to plan with Læsrin. Privately, that is, unless you’d like to stay and watch.”

The kiss had been simple, but sweet and drawing Titus completely blank. Swaddled into Bairre’s bulk and warmth, he grinned as he leaned back. The two sharing soft looks.

“You’re an absolute fiend,” Titus playfully pushed at the other’s chest, feeling as Læsrin sidled up from the behind. Large hands settled on his waist, nose teasing at the back of his head. “I should go. So you two ‘old men’ can make plans.”

“Appreciated,” Læsrin hummed. “I’ll let the Council know we’re moving forward with this, keep you updated as I can.”

“Thank you.” Titus leaned back into him a little, feeling a kiss pressed to his crown.

Slipping out between the two, Titus grinned as Alo and Ruhig also fled the room.

~~~

Patrolling the ramparts with Alvaro was always a treat; Titus always liked hearing about the Southern Isles as the man had actually been there, and he could tell Varo enjoyed being able to share a language with him. The man had a swagger to him, suave in a charming way without coming off as greasy, eager to pull Titus underarm and prattle on about all sorts of ridiculous things happening out in the world.

It wasn’t often that Varo spent this much time in the keep, typically out adventuring, swashbuckling, and in general being a positive menace out in the world. Titus was amazed to hear that the man was even a bit of an accomplished sailor, having visited other far lands that were still decently unknown. He hadn’t been brave enough to ask someone with so much wanderlust why he’d been hunkering down in one place for so long, but Titus was glad to have him around.

“Word is the Council is going to fluff you and Læsrin up and put on a show.” Alvaro grinned, face openly knowing but teasing anyways.

“Læsrin has promised to have more details for me soon,” Titus nodded. He was still trying to pin down precisely how he felt about it, but he supposed it might be nice to see what a courtly ball was like. Bairre had made it very clear that while the glitz and glamour of it all was for others, Læsrin was very dedicated to making sure it was built on true feelings. “We’re still trying to figure out how to approach it.”

“I’d imagine that Tanacelia and Halana have everything right up to the wedding planned out well in advance.” Alvaro smirked.

Titus had only briefly met the other mentioned woman, she was kind but also almost concerning intense. Not a hair out of place or an unwanted wrinkle on her. A critical eye had scanned over him quickly, but Titus had never felt so seen.

“Why do I get the impression that those two are the real threat of Dhane Reothein?”

“Because they are,” The other grinned. “We’d probably burned the place to the ground by now if it weren’t for them.”

“I’m just worried that it’s all going to get lost up in the show.” Titus admitted after a few more moments.

“Then don’t be a passive player in it,” Varo nudged him. “They want to turn this all into a game? Then beat them at it. The others think you young, inexperienced, timid. Why let them? If you spend all your time waiting for them to make the first step we’ll all turn into bone dust before anything gets done. I suggest a counteroffer, turn the pursuer into the pursued.”

“What, I should just walk up to one of them and demand that they take me on a date?” Titus shook his head. He couldn’t possibly be that bold.

“Of course not,” The older man looped an arm around his shoulders. “I’m saying you should walk up to one of them and tell them you’re taking them on a date.”

Titus hadn’t really considered that, brows furrowing. But, they were supposed to be equals, so why couldn’t Titus be the one to initiate an outing? They told him he was allowed to set the speed, so he was going to. Grinning a little to himself, a rough plan started to form in his mind. He’d talk with Hektor a bit to iron it out, but he could do this.

“I’d suggest Bairre,” Alvaro continued to speak. “Læsrin’s got a huge stick up his ass about not being in control.”

That made sense. Also, it would make sense for a new lover of the king to get to know an older one, right? Bairre would be easier to pull away from the keep as well, or at least make some time with. Then they could potentially conspire together and get some alone time with the king.

Confidence installed, Titus went to go hunt down his Familiar after his shift. He’d gotten decently good at finding his way through the tunnels on his own, only having to be ‘rescued’ three times since his introduction to them. Finding Hektor lounging out by his usual waterfall, Titus was a little out of breath and his heart was in his throat.

“Hektor, I need your help with something.”

~~~

“We’ve gotten a rather disturbing notice from Acerwood,” Markeus grumbled, pointing to a map splayed out on the table. “Bælian soldiers have been attacking settlements on their borders, refugees from several villages are already pouring into the capital proper.”

Læsrin frowned at that, the Elves were a proud people; didn’t like asking for help, even from allies. Acerwood was a smaller relic of a once greater empire, the last bastion of a time long passed. Elves had been fleeing in droves ever since Urlich took power and moved to drive them out.

“We’ve already rallied several troops and have sent them out,” Halana informed. “Elena has taken point, Sergeant Gerran and Lieutenant Stieg have gone with her. Queen Bel’Aceae has also requested that Læsrin make a presence.”

Queen Bel’Aceae was a friend, the daughter of a man who had once been kind to him when he was young. The Elven Empire had lost so much and he refused to let anything more be taken from them.

Nodding, Læsrin ran through the logistics in his head. He hadn’t left Dhane Reothein in years, but perhaps it was time for the Witch-King to remind the south why he was to be feared.

“We have to be careful,” Halana firmly put, no doubt seeing the dedication on his face. “You are to merely be a presence, to stand with Acerwood, show your support—”

“I disagree,” Markeus interjected. “We’ve been playing it safe for too long. Urlich has been trying us for years and we’ve let him. I think it’s about time his fingers get snapped.”

“A full out war with Bælia could go poorly.” Bairre mumbled from the sidelines.

“Only if we face him alone,” The Knight-Captain shook his head. “We have allies now, allies that he has also insulted. Tell me, just how would Prince Sebastian take to someone making a move against Bel’Aceae? Our skirmish went unmentioned, as our struggle with Urlich is personal, but now that he is acting against others I think it is time to remind him just who we are.”

“It was a rather… foolish motion on his part.” Halana mused.

“It could also be a trap.” Bairre countered.

“I’ll go,” Læsrin cut in before it could turn into a full argument. Catching Tanacelia’s eye, he saw her small smile. She had always been a strong supporter of his more noble aspects. “I’ll talk with Queen Bel’Aceae and try to have a conference with the others, gain a consensus. We have more important things to be doing right now than getting into a pissing match with an old man.”

“Don’t forget that ‘old man’ has the most technologically advanced powers on the continent and a disturbing amount of insight on us.” Bairre stared at him, a deep fear tucked in the corners of his eyes.

“Never.” Læsrin snarled. He’d been outplayed once, and he vowed to never let it happen again.

Chapter Text

Sending off a letter was more nerve wracking that it should have been, the magically sealed envelope was going to be delivered by Elke. Given his other forms, Titus had been surprised to see him as a Merlin, the bird just barely big enough to perform the task. Jehan assured him that everything would run smooth, the Familiar was no stranger to running messages for him and Stieg.

It had taken a few days to write, Titus wasn’t exactly sure what he wanted to say but just writing that he was alive and unharmed felt too shallow. Stieg had been surprisingly insightful, balancing out Jehan’s more… passionate wording. Markeus read through it quickly to ensure nothing was leaving the keep they didn’t want to.

When Elke vanished in the distance Titus felt a little bit of anxiety sit on his shoulders, worried about what the reply might be.

Fortunately, he hadn’t had much time to think about it.

“What do you mean Læsrin is going somewhere?” Titus crossed his arms, watching as Bairre paced the room. He didn’t seem to like it either.

“The Queen of Acerwood is a personal friend and his presence was requested.” The Half-Giant paused his steps.

“How long have you known?”

“Since this morning,” Bairre stepped past him to riffle through some papers on his desk. “Missive came through last night.”

Titus frowned, it wasn’t Bairre’s fault. Wasn’t fair to take it out on him. But it was upsetting, always being the last to know, that Læsrin hadn’t even come to him to tell Titus himself.

“When?”

“Portaled out shortly after the knights did, couple of hours ago.” Bairre at least seemed to understand that Titus was upset.

The darker-haired man sighed. “Do we know how long they’ll be gone?”

“No,” Bairre turned around and walked up to him, eyes tired. “Our forces will probably snuff it out pretty fast, it doesn’t sound like Urlich has that many men out there. Læsrin will probably stay a little longer to make sure things get smoothed over well enough.”

Nodding, Titus ignored the pull to lean into the man for comfort. “He should have told me before he left.”

“He should have.” The other agreed.

“If… if this is going to work, I need to be part of these conversations,” Hazel eyes looked up to meet amber. “I’m not okay with Læsrin keeping important things secret from me. Silly shit like themes for a ball or whatever, I don’t care, but him leaving for who knows how long? Why didn’t he tell me?”

“Titus,” Bairre gently took his hand. “If I wasn’t in the room, he might not have even told me until I caught him packing a bag. It’s not meant to be a slight against you, he just didn’t think about it. Knew that I would tell you.”

“And, what? I’m just supposed to accept that you’re forever going to be the mouthpiece for a man who is supposed to be my husband someday?” Titus felt anger swelling up inside him. Everyone was always making excuses for the man, seemed to want to pretend that this was all alright.

“Of course not,” Bairre soothed. “He knows it’s something he needs to work on, he does. Læsrin is trying, he’s going to fail occasionally, he has shortcomings. It’s sometimes easier for him to pretend that it’s back when nobody cared about us.”

“That’s fine,” Titus assured, some of that anger losing its focus. “I understand. But what about me? How long am I supposed to let him just trail me along like I’m not even a priority?”

A small bitter smile graced Bairre’s face. “That is a feeling I am most familiar with,” Guiding them over to sit on the bed, he placed a heavy arm over Titus’ shoulders. “He will learn. Once it fully sets in that he’s allowed to have you? You’ll be begging for another war to take him off your hands.”

Finally giving in and leaning into the man, Titus grumbled. “I’m still upset with him for leaving without telling me.”

“That’s fair,” Fingers played at his shoulder. “Feel free to give him your mind on it when he gets back. Heavily.”

“I intend to,” Titus sniffed, accepting the easy affection. “He’s going to be alright, right?”

“Yeah, Titus,” Bairre had the audacity to ruffle his hair. “He’ll be alright.”

~~~

Læsrin was furious.

Bel’Aceae was the closest thing he might have had to a little sister still alive these days, and to see her in the state she was in made him want Urlich’s head.

She was a powerful monarch, taking the strengths of her father and her mother, melding them into her own form of leadership. Bel’Aceae was firm but fair, led her people with head held high but never saw those under her as lesser. An accomplished Mage and swift user of glaves, Læsrin remembered training her in her youth fondly. Graceful, fierce, fearless. He was remarkably proud of the woman she had become.

One of the very few good things he could say he helped put out into the world.

Of all their relations with other kingdoms, this was the only one that ever felt secure, without conditions. Bel’Aceae knew who he was as a man, knew what to expect, saw him as more than a weapon.

He adored her for that.

Seeing her shaken, seeing her scared, it woke a beast that slumbered deep within him and it bayed for blood. He had promised her lands that would be kept safe, and now Urlich had made him a lair.

Acerwood, or rather the Maple Stand, bordered Bælia to the north, with a strip of ‘neutral’ land between the two. Læsrin had his men patrol the Peace Lands meticulously… until recently. Urlich had been waiting for that gap, an opportunity to take advantage of. One that Læsrin had played too well into. And now part of the woods were burnt to ash because of it.

“Urlich will pay for this.” He vowed, standing beside the queen and watching another caravan of refugees be guided into the city.

A smaller hand laid atop his, Bel’Aceae’s earthen tone contrasting so sharply with his. “All aspects of nature are welcome in my Kingdom, Brother. Fire will burn and cause scars, but from its ashes new life will form. We will recover, no less beautiful for the marks he has put upon us.”

Æther above, did he hate how she was right. Her people would not be helped by his rage, they might feel unity in the present but in the aftermath it would leave them no better. Bel’Aceae was always a bright girl.

“Sebastian won’t be pleased when he hears of this.”

And they would know. The High Prince of Chelnmauer was a master of sea and storm, when word finally reached him of this there wouldn’t be a sailor who didn’t hide from his wrath. His interest in Bel’Aceae was sweet, an enamored boy who had been trying to hold her hand since childhood. Returned deeply on her part as well, but a Queen couldn’t run off whenever she wanted to marry a man barely fancier than a pirate. No more could the Mera leave his waters for her. Star-crossed lovers who could only meet in dalliances and secrets.

He’d have to insist that both got invitations to his galas.

“Tree Father preserve them,” A small smile hinted at the Queen’s face. “To have both the Witch-King and the Deep Caller at their tails.”

“It might be time to have a meeting of our allies,” Læsrin hedged, knowing that while Bel’Aceae wasn’t as calm as her exterior portrayed, she was not one who took a call to arms lightly. “Urlich has been allowed to commit these… atrocities for too long.”

“I am concerned on his most recent weapons,” The elven woman said. “Ribæl has always been advanced, but I’ve never heard of such things that we encountered in this attack.”

Læsrin already had people on it. Smoke powder was no secret, fireworks were easily manufactured and were popular among the non-magical. Weapons had been proposed using similar tactics, cannons were decently common on ships and coastal cities. Mundane humans were constantly trying to find ways of defending themselves against the arcane. But there was something more to the weapons a few of Urlich’s troops carried, handheld like a crossbow but sleeker, firing pellets instead of bolts. Stieg had been struck by one, he would live but the wound was bad.

A few others weren’t as fortunate.

The artillery was specifically made to kill magic, and that was the part that worried Læsrin the most. Similar to the poison that was used on Titus, these pellets were tainted with something. And he needed to know where it was coming from.

“More reason to have it not lay in the hands of a maniac.” Læsrin’s fists tightened.

“The Accord won’t want to go to war,” Bel’Aceae softly said. “I… agree that things can’t continue like they are, but I’m not sure that’s the answer.”

“That’s all I can ask,” Taking a deep breath to stabilize himself, he brought their hands up to press a kiss to the back of hers. “Thank you.”

~~~

It had been well past a fortnight since Læsrin left the keep, and it was becoming clearer to Titus that his friends were finding ways of keeping him occupied.

“Wanna see something cool?” Jehan smiled broadly one day as training was released.

Titus grinned with an eye roll. “I’ve already seen your matching ‘lower mohawk’.”

“Och,” His friend playfully slugged him in the shoulder. “Not that. I was going to ask if y’ve ever tried the homing runes on that fancy hammer ye got.”

“Homing runes?” That certainly had his attention.

“Aye, anything of significance he makes, Damascus weaves that in,” The Foothiller nodded. “Takes a little bit of practice, but allows ye to not have to carry the thing everywhere ye go.”

Titus thought on that, in theory the magic would be simple enough, a combination of Evocation magic and scrying runes most likely. Calling items was a little more delicate, at least if one was going to do it gracefully. People tended to frown on things bursting through walls.

“Also lets ye throw stuff,” Jehan waggled his brows. “Might be fun.”

Yeah, that did sound like fun. Maybe not the most practical, but so far Markeus hadn’t told him he couldn’t throw things.

“Alright, you’ve piqued my interest.”

The sergeant hooted, arm thrusting in the air. “Yeah! Let’s go light some shite up!”

Titus had to go fetch his unnamed weapon, not one to carry it around, but then he met his friend back down on the training grounds. Jehan was set up in a section that had numerous straw bale targets, typically used for archery practice. Some also used it for things like throwing javelins, or axes.

Amusingly, Titus did actually have some practice throwing hammers. Small, crafting ones that his father would yell at him over, but it had been a way to pass the time and there was a satisfying smash when glass bottles were struck. He’d never thrown one as big as the one Damascus made for him though. Testing the weight, he knew it wouldn’t go as far as the smaller ones would, but the heft would definitely pack a punch.

“Why don’t we practice with the homing runes first?” Jehan suggested.

Titus nodded and set the hammer on the ground.

“Alright, like with all magic it ain’t an exact science,” The shorter brunet explained. “Just think of the item yer calling and tell it to come to ya.”

In demonstration, Jehan gave a sharp whistle and an axe lodged in one of the targets dislodged and came flying into his waiting palm.

“Luckily the trolls ain’t making weapons anymore,” Giving a wink, Jehan flipped the weapon in hand. “Things always have a mind of their own, don’t take too kindly to being called like that. Stieg’s Da has one, a downright snit on a good day.”

Looking to the hammer at his foot, Titus focused, not knowing just how precise he’d have to be. Opening a hand, he imagined the haft fitting firmly in it, willing the hammer into his hand. The weapon wobbled on the ground for a moment, dramatically flopping over before hopping back up into his hand. A warmth filled him, pride in being able to summon it successfully. Another feeling of glee caped over him, achievement.

“See, easy!” Jehan’s smile was wild. “Now let’s see how ye throw it!”

Markeus came to find them while they were still at it, both amused by their antics and disgruntled by the pile of disemboweled targets.

“I hope you two are having fun.” He said, arms crossing and brow raising.

“Plenty!” Jehan laughed.

Titus’ hammer slapped firmly back in hand. “Best trick he’s ever shown me.”

The Knight-Captain rolled his head, shaking his head and turning away so that neither of the them caught his own smile.

~~~

Titus was working with Damascus when he got the feeling that Læsrin was back in Dhane Reothein. He wasn’t precisely sure how, but he did. Still mildly miffed with the man for how he’d left near a month ago, Titus stayed the rest of his shift despite Hektor coming to fetch him. He didn’t want to welcome the man home with a confrontation, and he had no doubt that Bairre would forewarn his complaints.

Wrapping up for the day, Titus took a quick rinse in the baths before going to his rooms. Possibly they could meet at dinner, maybe after.

He hadn’t been expecting the knock at his door while he was changing.

“Hello.” Læsrin gave a little nod when Titus opened the door.

Titus nodded back and allowed the taller man in. He looked… tired. Still prim and pressed as he always was, but strained.

“I hear that you’re upset with me.”

Going to sit on his bed, Titus clasped his hands together and looked up at the man. Bairre commonly said that sometimes is was best to be blunt.

“I am.”

The look on the king’s face wasn’t too dissimilar to that of a man being marched to the gallows. But he seemed adamant to face it head on. Arms tucked behind his back, Læsrin nodded again.

“I left without saying anything to you. That made you feel like you were not valued.”

“It did,” The younger man agreed, sighing after and shaking his head. At least the man knew what he did that was wrong. Wasn’t downplaying it. “Læsrin, I want this to work, but if it’s going to I need you to talk with me.”

“Alright,” Læsrin nodded again, still not quite meeting his eyes. Avoiding the conflict. “I shall endeavor to do so in the future.”

Anger flared up in Titus, he didn’t want to be having this conversation with some political pawn, he wanted to be talking to someone who was supposed to be a partner.

“This is what I’m talking about, Læsrin! Stop treating me like I’m some general looking to yell at you. I know that’s easier for you, but I need to be talking to you, not your station.”

The shift in the man was immediate, a loosening of the shoulders and shading of his eyes. Brows rose as if inviting further explanation. Titus’ own shoulders fell, the younger man looking to the floor.

“Læsrin, I… can’t do this if you’re constantly shutting me out. I won’t expect the same amount of care that you have for Bairre, you two have built a life together, have a history, but I don’t want to be an afterthought. I don’t want to constantly be hearing things from him because you won’t talk to me.”

“You say you care,” Titus softly finished. “But I can’t say it feels like it most of the time.”

A heavy silence hovered between them. Titus hoping that he hadn’t just damaged whatever emerging romance there was between them before it could even begin. It was uncomfortable, the younger man feeling his resolve beginning to crack.

“I care,” Læsrin said lowly. “I care more than most people would expect. But, Titus, I need you to understand it’s not easy for me. I am not like Bairre, or Markeus, or Alvaro… I was gutted so deeply there are parts of me I will never get back. I try my best but the things inside of me are volatile; love tips into jealously too easily, morphs into rage. It feels like there is a monster inside of me that I can not tame, that I can not kill. It haunts me that the first thing I ever shared with you is pain, that I am the reason that Hektor had to learn to bear his scars. That was me, I did that. I hurt you, and I can never forgive myself for that, will do whatever I can to protect you from that ever happening again. Even if that means protecting you from myself.”

“I never asked you to protect me!” Titus bolted to his feet, fists clenched and glaring up at the man. “If I needed you to protect me I would have asked when I was a child, when people would look at me and sneer, isolated me in my own home, all those times I was scared. I don’t need you to protect me, Læsrin, I’m here now and I’m asking you to love me.”

“I know,” The king placidly sighed, reaching up to cup Titus’ jaw. Not so subtly embracing his Marks. “I will. I do. But I need you to be patient with me. I will do what I can, will distance myself if I need to, and you need to let me have that space.”

“Alright,” Titus nodded, emotions all boggled and mixed. Reaching out and putting his hands on the man’s hips he felt the strength underneath, but also how right it felt to just be touching him. “I can work on that.”

“When things are rough, don’t raise your voice to me,” Titus stiffened, ready to tell the man off for commanding that kind of respect from him. But then he saw how Læsrin had his eyes closed, seemed to be recollecting himself. “You can be mad, say to me all you need, but try not to yell. I can’t— it doesn’t help.”

Recognizing it for what it was, Titus nodded. Respect needed to be had on both parts, and if Læsrin needed that from him, he would do his best to figure it out. "I'm sorry for yelling."

Læsrin bowed a little to rest their foreheads together, pulling in a deep breath.

“I am sorry for leaving without saying anything, for being gone so long. I need to remind myself that I am allowed to tell you these things.”

“Thank you for apologizing.” Titus smiled, deciding he could put this behind them so long as they continued to move forward.

“Don’t get used to it.” That roguish grin finally made its appearance.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

A knock on the door broke the moment, Armin poking his head in shortly after. The young man narrowed his eyes and frowned at them.

“Dad sent me to collect you two for dinner,” Titus had never heard him sound so petulant before, the teen clearly not wanting to see them like this. “You’re late.”

Læsrin chuckled before he gave Titus a small kiss to the side of his head.

“Sounds like we’re being summoned,” Taking a polite step back, the king straitened out his shirt. “Alright?”

“Yeah,” Titus considered the man happily. “We’re good.”

~~~

“Heard you finally stood up for yourself,” Hektor had a little porcine smirk as he approached. “Good.”

Sitting in the garden had become an agreed upon pastime for the pair, sharing mild conversation and reminiscing on the past. Even Hektor admitted that it hadn’t all been bad, there were kernels of happiness hidden away. Their relationship was still a little trepidatious, but it was getting better and they were letting it heal.

“I don’t think Læsrin appreciated it much,” Titus huffed a laugh. “Probably not too familiar to it.”

“You’d be surprised,” The Familiar chuckled. “He functions amazingly well when someone else is holding his leash. Takes some of the stress of having to make decisions off his shoulders.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

Hektor hummed. “Læsrin has a hard time giving up control, I’ll give you that. There’s a reason he only loosens around those he absolutely trusts, like Bairre.”

Titus chewed on that for a moment. He wanted Læsrin to trust him —to a degree he was sure the man did— but he wanted to be a haven for the man. Titus wanted to be one of those people with who the king could shrug off his mantle and return to just being a man.

“I see you’re brain running, Piglet,” Hektor chuckled. “Give it time. Spend more time with him. Læsrin is sometimes better approached as a cantankerous barn cat than he is a person. Learn his patterns, his behaviors, respect his boundaries, he’ll come to you.”

“Somehow, I don’t think he’d like you comparing him to a barnyard animal.” Titus huffed, nudging the boar.

“You’ve met the man,” Hektor nudged him back, gentle for his size but still more aggressively. “Am I wrong?”

“I’ve been told you rarely are,” The dark-haired man smiled, happy to be able to have this. “Also, I’ve seen Alo lounge about as a snow leopard.”

“Bairre is a smart man.”

Titus appreciated that Hektor was spending more time with him, the boar still kept to his own spaces but he was accompanying Titus about his daily life more often. Argo had a reputation for being chatty, the wolf happily a mouthpiece for Wolf or to spread his own gossip, and if that was the case, then Hektor was a full-blown lecturer. The Familiar spoke to people more than Titus had ever seen, typically only when addressed first, but the boar was also not one to let inaccuracies slip by. In theory, it made sense, Titus hadn’t been around to talk for him so Hektor compensated, and it wasn’t like anyone thought it was particularly odd to be talking to a large pig.

A few men seemed decently familiar with Hektor, or had been at least familiar with his existence around the keep. Mostly those that lived in the tunnels, a good number of non-humans, Hektor almost functioned like an insider among them. A denizen of Dhane Reothein’s rich underbelly, of beings that didn’t want to live in the light but continued to thrive. Titus admired that most of all, Hektor’s solidity in who he was, what it took to survive, and damn anyone who thought otherwise.

“Hey, Tor,” Titus studied the boar for a moment. “Do you ever change shape? I remember you being things other than a pig when we were kids, but have never seen you like that since.”

“I can,” Hektor watched him in return. “But this is who I am. I refuse to change that.”

“I wasn’t asking you to,” The human quickly assured, not wanting to insult the other. “I just…”

He offered a weak shrug.

“But why a boar?” Hektor chuckled, relieving Titus of his discomfort. “Boars can represent abundance, a sign that one’s lands are a place of plenty, they also can evoke courage. They can be a fierce beast to hunt, will fight back, can fight back. Læsrin likes to say it’s because they portray stubbornness.”

Titus liked the sound of that, Læsrin able and willing to tease his Familiar. Not that anyone who spent any amount of time around the man didn’t face his sharp tongue in one way or another.

“The non-mystical answer is that it felt right.” Hektor shook his bristles a little in an approximation of a shrug.

“I think it suits you,” Leaning into the swine, not at all freaking out because it was allowed now, Titus looked up into the sky. “I kind of miss those stripes though, they were cute.”

Hektor grumbled as Titus laughed.

~~~

Being pulled into the decision making for his upcoming proposal immediately made Titus regret ever demanding that he be part of it all.

Læsrin had informed that traditionally there would be a promenade, followed by a gala, after which he would make his announcement of intent. It wouldn’t be until after that event that Titus would be officially ‘courted’, and from there several other events would be held to show the progression of their relationship.

Currently, Læsrin and Tansy were having a… disagreement over themes.

“I am just saying that hydrangeas would look lovely in your proposed colors!” Tanacelia crossed her arms, refusing to be cowed in her staring contest with the king.

“Queen Aurelia just used hydrangeas in her wedding last summer,” Læsrin refuted, as he had ever since Tansy brought it up. “I refuse to allow that woman to crow that she is a trend setter.”

Titus was leaning against a far wall, next to Bairre, as the two of them watched the others bicker. They had been doing so for near the last hour. At first Titus had thought it was interesting, but now he’d rather be anywhere else. Him and Bairre weren’t even allowed to play cards while the others debated.

“I think forget-me-nots would look nice.” Markeus added fuel to the fire, mostly to watch the world burn.

“Oh! That would be delightful!” Halana added, jotting it down on her ever present tablet of notes. She had been his accomplice in chaos ever since it was clear that Læsrin and Tansy wouldn’t be seeing eye to eye.

“Æther Orchids or Harpy’s Heart might also work, both would be in bloom around the right time.”

Of course, anything could be made to be blooming with the right amount of magic, but Læsrin wanted the early spring announcement to be more natural. Not jarring to the eye.

Titus side-eyed his companion, Bairre looking no more wishing to be there. If the man hadn’t been seven feet tall, Titus had no doubt that he would have tried to slip out unnoticed by now. Neither of them cared too much for flowers, but Titus could sympathize how Læsrin wanted everything to be just right.

Another hour slipped by before it seemed that things were figured out —mostly the work of Markeus and Halana— and plans were formed. Things would have to be ordered in, parts of the keep would need to be cleaned, some were going to need to attend lectures on how to behave in court. A lot of things were going to be changing rather quickly in a very short amount of time.

There was a tiny look of pride on Læsrin’s face though, so Titus supposed that made it worth it.

Bairre was quick to scurry out to the training fields, but Titus stayed behind. There were still plans scattered over various tables and samples were pinned together. It all seemed a lot for what was the planning of a party for the proposal of an engagement. But, Titus was from a village were people basically just exchanged gifts and then started making families, so what did he know?

“I never knew you were so opinionated on peonies.” Titus grinned, walking up to the taller man.

“Peonies are outdated,” Læsrin sniffed, unamused. “And marigolds would suit a more autumnal palette.”

“Orange and silver?” Hazel eyes rolled. “How gauche.”

Læsrin smirked at the sass, a silent agreement, approval. “Perhaps for a second wedding.”

“Planning on needing another?” Titus teased.

“Maybe if this first one goes sideways.” Almost bored eyes hid the impishness intended.

Titus scanned over the table, there was so much to do to get it all in order. He was very grateful that none of it was expected to rest on his shoulders.

“Any chance on just eloping?”

The king’s ever judging brow rose. “If you wish to get Halana to hunt you to the ends of the continent, sure.”

“She has put in a lot of planning…” Titus hadn’t spent much time getting to know Halana very well, but he understood she was not a woman to be crossed.

“All you’ll have to do is show up.” Læsrin gave as a faux promise.

It was his turn to raise a brow, crossing his arms in distaste. “And attend proper ball room classes.”

The king nodded, not even sorry about it. “In all fairness, those are more for Jehan. Can’t risk him biting anyone.”

Titus laughed at that. His friend surely had a certain… flare to him, even if it got him in trouble more often than not. Stieg could be trusted to remain silent as the grave around nobility —the man didn’t crack for anything— but his partner was a rebel on his best days and was generally put elsewhere when there was an event playing out in the keep.

“I’ve been thinking of reaching out to my parents,” Titus began. “Stieg said that my father has been looking for me when they went through my village. Is asking strangers if they’ve seen a person matching my description.”

The silence that followed was a little awkward, Læsrin’s focus solely on him as if he was trying to read his mind. He wasn’t, that was a boundary they all respected seriously, but it didn’t make Titus feel any less under the man’s study.

“Alright.” Læsrin finally said, slowly.

“I've already sent off a letter, let them know I’m alive.”

More consideration was given. Titus knew it was a trait the man held when he was trying to find the right words. “We could always portal you there, see them in person.”

“No,” Titus shook his head. “I… I don’t think I’m ready for that. I miss them, but I still don’t know how to deal with all I’ve found out since coming here.”

“Would you… like to talk about it?”

Titus laughed at the sheer look of discomfort on Læsrin’s face, he had no doubt that the man meant every word he said, but he didn’t have to like them. It meant a lot to Titus that he was willing to use his words for once. They’d been working on it, but Titus doubted the man would ever be a conversationalist.

“You’re off the hook,” The shorter man chuckled a little. “Jehan and Stieg have already offered to help me get it all sorted out.”

“Alright,” Læsrin nodded. “If you need any help, let me know.”

Smiling, Titus stepped up close into the taller man’s space not sensing the foreboding aura Læsrin was known for. It was amusing, Titus had always been considered rather tall, inheriting most of his father’s height, but Læsrin was still taller. Titus had built up a good amount of bulk, muscles formed from bending steel and training with the knights, ate too much to have the distinct abdominals some of the more slender men had but they were there. Jehan was fond of tapping it and calling it his ‘four-pack’.

It was different than it used to be when he first got here, no longer feeling exactly intimidated by Læsrin but respected the power the man held. Titus found himself within the protection of his maelstrom, was allowed to get close, see the man within.

“Yes?” Stoically brows raised, a simple motion that Læsrin often used to signify acknowledgment.

Pushing closer into Læsrin’s space, Titus playfully titled his head. “I was hoping I could ask my betrothed for a kiss?”

The eye roll that earned him looked painfully slow, but a smirk hid under Læsrin’s façade. “Technically, we aren’t betrothed yet.”

“I guess that’s a no then,” The dark-haired man shrugged, playfully going along. “I guess I’ll have to try at another time.”

Going to turn, Titus felt a large hand loop around his wrist guiding him back to face his Bond-Mate. Læsrin butted up against him, using his height advantage to crowd him against the wall. His other hand came up to cup along his jaw, a familiar motion Læsrin had taken to, holding his Mark in reverence. The kiss was gentle, unhurried but chaste, a tiny nip at the very end as the king leaned back.

“Never.”

Chapter Text

A date had been picked for their announcement and Titus was expected to attend a few classes to ensure he didn’t embarrass himself —or anyone else— during any of their events. He wasn’t exactly looking forward to it, but the look Halana gave him said that there was no way he could get out of it. Bairre made for a good dance partner, effortlessly guiding him and instructing him easily. Dancing wasn’t too different from fighting, it was all footwork.

Læsrin had taken point on near everything else. It meant spending much more time with the man than before, but it was pleasant. They spent a lot of time going over some relevant texts, Læsrin helping Titus work on his reading along the way, he’d also been helping him improve his sigils and showed him more about casting. A large globe in his room was a particular joy, showing to Titus the whole known world; so much more than he had ever seen before. Their continent was but one small part, islands were still being discovered, but most adventurers were convinced they had mapped all the larger landmasses.

Dinners were had in private a lot, Bairre hunting them down at some point during the evening to make sure they ate. One of the two often accompanying Titus to his rooms once it was time to turn in. Bairre lurked a little longer than Læsrin did, seeming to hope for an invite to stay, but Hektor had been steadfast in escorting the man out.

“You three need to have a conversation,” The boar grumbled, hooves clicking on stone. “That man desperately wants your attention.”

“I hadn’t noticed.” Titus chuckled, rolling his eyes at his Familiar.

It had definitely come up in little ways, Bairre was becoming openly affectionate and Læsrin liked to be close. They respected his boundaries, but Titus knew that the two retired together more often than not to to their own rooms to burn off some energy. The interest was there, Titus just needed to be the one to initiate it.

He just wasn’t sure how much further they should go with the whole ‘courting’ coming up. Titus wasn’t familiar with the traditions, but he assumed it might be frowned upon if it was found out that the participants had already bedded.

“I have a question.” Titus announced during the next day’s study session.

“Yes?” Læsrin’s tone had a small bit of amusement in it, the man not looking up from his own tome.

Titus was trying to choose his words wisely, use some of the lessons Læsrin had been drilling into his skull. “With these ceremonies happening, how does intimacy play a role?”

That certainly got the king’s attentions, the man stopping and looking at him directly. “Ideally, the courting partners wouldn’t have intimacy until the observation of their vows. However, we are already in a more socially gray area as it is decently well known that I have another lover, as is my history. You are more of an unknown, but it is assumed that you have had partners in the past.”

“A few.” Titus nodded, motioning Læsrin to continue.

“I believe that should you wish it to be, intimacy could be on the table without endangering our engagement.”

Titus chuckled, a small blush rising to his cheeks. “I’ve been considering it.”

“Alright,” The white-haired man nodded back and grinned, leaning back in his chair. “We’ve also been ‘considering’ it.”

Because Æther forbid the man not take the moment to snark if he could.

“Alright,” Titus countered, learning the best way of dealing with the man’s sass was to send it back in return. “Maybe I’ll ask Bairre to stay one night.”

The small brow he got in retaliation was worth the ‘punishment’ that would follow eventually. “If you wish.”

Grinning a little, the younger man leaned forward. “After all, between the two of you, he isn’t the one with with a rather… impressive legend.”

“I believe you’ll find his is just as grand, if just more locally known.” Flat tones and raised brows were all part of the act.

“Then I’m glad we’re on the same page,” Titus stood, walking slowly to the other, watching as Læsrin leaned back the closer he got to maintain eye contact. Touch was still a little new between the two of them, the king less physically inclined than his partner was, there was a respect that had to be honored. A small raise of his brows gave Titus clearance to proceed. Stooping down, he brushed gentle fingers along Læsrin’s shoulder, a minute bit of tension still lingering there. “May I kiss you?”

A tiny nod was given, so Titus leaned in and gave the man what he wanted. A little less chaste than they had been in the past, their kisses could be counted on a single hand, but each held a place in Titus’ heart. There were days where handling Læsrin was like dealing with a spooked horse, others there were times where he needed that closeness. The man was starved for touch that wasn’t painful, but he still had his demons and fears. Titus was honored to be in the very small circle of people who were allowed to touch him.

Stepping back, Titus smiled softly. “I promised Jehan I’d join him and Stieg for supper.”

“Alright,” There was an ease to Læsrin’s body, an almost twitterpated daze on his face. “I will discus this with Bairre?”

“Of course,” Titus gently said, not wanting to ruin the moment. “Might not be tonight, but soon?”

“I believe that’s acceptable.” The king allowed with a nod.

Things were calmer for the next few days in the keep. Titus took a few days to spend with Damascus, work in the smithy, and gather his thoughts. Hektor was helping him put a few things together, pulling some strings with the connections he had and set something up for an outing with Bairre. From what he had gathered, it would be a simple little picnic but that honestly sounded rather nice.

“I hear the king is going to make it official.” Damascus mumbled, wiping down a finished blade.

“It’s an announcement, but yes.” Titus tilted his head a little, fighting down the heating on his cheeks.

“Good,” The bull-man snorted. “About time.”

Playfully, Titus rolled his eyes. Walking over to the Minotaur he placed a hand on his shoulder. “Nothing’s going to change, I’ll still be part of your Herd.”

A large hand wrapped the back of his head and held him close, Damascus huffing. “Always.”

Missives were sent out a few days later, dark blue letters gilded in silver, to let other influential people across the continent know of the upcoming promenade. It grew a little intimidating as the days went on and the announcement grew closer. Læsrin had been great, offering even silent support when things got too tense, it became easier to hide away in the king’s office and be left alone. Bairre was fighting off the stress through training, running drills, and pushing the men harder. Titus appreciated the efforts there too, he was getting much better, still not able to meet the skill of the more advanced knights but he was able to go toe-to-toe with a good number of the others.

Finally the day came and Hektor gave him the notice that everything was put into place.

Finding Bairre was always easy, not only was he a hard man to lose but he also had a fairly consistent schedule. Tracked down to the barracks, Titus bumped into him purposely and leaned against the larger man’s bulk.

The unusual behavior caused the commander to raise a brow, even if he began to smile. “Hello.”

“Hello,” Titus smiled back. “I was hoping I could have a moment of your time?”

Chuckling a little, Bairre nodded. “For you? Always,” A large hand found his and fingers entwined. “Although, I have found myself suspiciously available.”

“How fortuitous for me.” Titus grinned.

Bairre fondly rolled his eyes, rocking them gently. “Titus, I am one of the most advanced tactical minds on the continent, I can tell when a trap is being sprung.”

“Yet you let it happen.” Titus singsonged, amusingly happy that everything was going to plan.

The Half-Giant hummed. “Be foolish not to regard you a threat,” He leaned in closer and nosed into Titus’ hair. “But, consider me intrigued.”

“Great,” Titus laughed, tugging him towards the door. “C’mon.”

Hektor’s directions led them to a grand little building that was tucked away on one of the exterior ledges of the mountain. It was like a green house, but so much larger, heated and crafted to look like a massive indoor garden. His familiar had called it an apiary and said it was where most of T’lmerak’s supply of Jewel Honey came from. Not just bees flitted about the flowers, but also butterflies as well as small gem colored birds. A stream ran through part of the path and a small pond had elegant fish swimming around it.

“I haven’t been here in a long time,” Bairre looked around with a fond smile on his face, the two still hand in hand. “It’s lovely.”

“It is,” Titus agreed, mystified by the grandeur. It reminded him of the garden at the keep, but more. He hadn’t even known the place existed. “Hektor knows the person who owns it.”

Bairre chuckled. “It was a gift to Læsrin from the Fae King before they relocated the Courts.”

“Ah,” The younger man paused. Of course Hektor never mentioned who his mysterious ‘connections’ were, although it made sense that if one were to take a man on a date who better to gather ideas from than his partner of numerous decades. “Well, I hope you like it.”

“I do,” Bairre leaned down to peck at his crown again, pulling them further into the building. “Thank you.”

As promised, a cute little setup of a blanket and basket was placed next to the pond. Things were covered to keep the various critters out, but it was still all as warm or cold as it was supposed to be. Bairre especially lit up when two little ducks landed on the pond, a beautiful coloring of oranges and greens, the birds gave cheerful chatter in the background.

The meal was simple but charming; breads, cheeses, and fruits mostly. Finger-foods that were easily shared and enjoyed. It wasn’t really enough to really be all that filling to two men their size, but it was the experience. Titus noticed that Bairre had been saving up his crusts, smiling at the softness the man had despite everything that happened to him.

“Growing up, my family owned a farm,” Bairre began, tossing out a few crumbs for the ducks that happily dabbled at the waterline. “Mostly for wool, some milk, eggs. My Mam was the last of her people, Hill Giants had been in decline for centuries, retired back into the land. My Pa was just a poor farmer from the Foothills. We lived off a large lake, I always liked playing with the shorebirds.”

Titus smiled, leaning against his Bond-Mate. The memories felt sad, but also fond, he could tell Bairre missed them but was happy to remember them.

“When it was her time, Mam returned to the soil,” Bairre smiled. “She was a lovely woman, my father followed shortly after of a broken heart. I was… older than most of the recruits to the Mhoer’Vorte experiments, have known Læsrin since I was thirteen. He was nine.”

One of the ducks grew brave enough to come nibble scraps from Bairre’s fingers, causing the man to chuckle.

“No matter what they took from me, I still remembered her smile.”

They stayed in the apiary for a long time, sharing stories and watching the animals. Bairre didn’t touch much more on what happened after his parents passed, but he spoke fondly of raising Storm Goats, of fonder memories he had from when he toured the continent. Regaled tales of some of his most honorable fights, of lovers he had once been fond of.

Titus shared his own stories when he could; the first thing he ever crafted, silly adventures him and Tor had as children, growing up in a tiny village. They had a surprising amount in common, both musing on the fact that Læsrin was royalty through-and-through, Titus was the most sheltered of the three of them but Bairre promised to get him out into the world if he wanted. Alvaro was going to be off again at some point, and while neither Bairre or Læsrin had the freedom to leave their stations whenever they wanted, the commander trusted his brother to keep his Bond-Mate safe if Titus wanted to join him.

Tours of the knights were to begin again after the announcement, but they were making them shorter, improving the rotation. There were talks about having a few more promotions and expanding their knighthood to help account for all of this. All things Titus hadn’t really needed to know, but Læsrin had been serious about letting him know more about the things happening in the keep.

Sadly, they hadn’t been able to hide away all day, but when they did return to the keep it was more due to the fact that both were getting hungry and not because some random horrible thing popped up and the Knight-Commander was needed to snuff it.

Læsrin made himself known briefly, joining them for supper. The man greeted them similarly, a fond hand and tired smile. The last few days had been exceptionally busy for him, last minute preparations for the upcoming event as well as all the correspondence that he was having to take point on. He had tried to get Halana to cover that, but the elven woman and simply given him a raised brow and reminded him how drastically different they sounded on paper.

Bairre eventually did have to break away, still having a few duties to see to before the evening ended.

“Today was lovely,” He cupped Titus’ jaw before he left, giving a gentle kiss to his lips. “Thank you.”

Titus floated on that until it was time to retire, he’d had a great day, wanted to see if he could convince his Bond-Mates to take more time just for themselves and worry less. He understood that they were important people to the keep, that it would be hard for them to not be affected by it all often, but Titus wanted to try.

Readying for bed, Titus had stripped down to a simple shirt and some long-johns, taken the time to briefly wash his face and clean his teeth. He was still working through a catalog of books he was expected to read and others he’d picked up in interest, choosing one to pick through as he settled in for sleep. Titus was just getting settled as a soft knock echoed from his door.

Answering, Titus was surprised to see Læsrin at his door.

“Hello.” The taller man nodded, his hair down completely and clothing stripped down to what one would retire in.

Smiling a little, the shorter man stepped back and welcomed him in.

“Bairre is spoken for tonight, so I was hoping I could spend the night with you?”

Titus caught something hidden behind the man’s eyes, built up stress and anxiety. His words weren’t meant as a slight, just a fact; Titus wasn’t lesser because Læsrin didn’t come to him first. Bairre was familiar, but Læsrin was learning to lean on Titus too.

“Of course,” Letting Alo pad through the door as well, Titus saw the snow leopard leap up onto his bed and claim the side closer to the crackling fire. “I was just settling in.”

Læsrin hummed, stroking over Titus’ jaw fondly. His posture was tired, loose, drained.

“Shall we?” He motioned.

Rolling his eyes, Titus huffed a laugh and strolled back to his bed. He knew well enough that the man was going to herd him towards the middle of the mattress regardless of where they started, Titus rolled over and bumped into Alo. The large cat purred and butted him with his head, Læsrin looking down on them fondly. Slipping off his shirt, the king left his pants on after toeing off his boots. Titus watched the muscles in his back ripple, wide shoulders narrowing down, small scars blemishing the otherwise marble-like skin. Familiar vines snaked up from his belt-line, poking up just slightly on his left side but reaching towards his spine, a small blossom peaking out.

He’d never seen the man’s Marks before, but actually putting his eyes on them felt solidifying. Like he truly belonged. Reaching out, his fingers stopped just before he actually touched, unsure if that was something Læsrin would have allowed. Alo nudged him reassuringly, the action bumping him forward and contact was made.

Stories made it sound like he should have seen stars, a jolting awareness that should have shaken him to his core. Instead it was like sinking into a warm bath, coming home to the smell of warm bread, hugging a loved one. It was comfort, belonging, home.

“I was wondering where these were.” He teased, hoping to ease some of the rigidity that had run up Læsrin’s spine.

“Not exactly in a place for polite conversation.” The man mumbled.

“How far do they go?” Titus stroked over his back, the king relaxing into it after a few moments.

“Almost to the ankle.”

“Almost to his dick.” Alo snickered, causing his Mage to shoot him a scowl over his shoulder.

Titus laughed at both of them. Leaning forward, he hooked his chin over the taller man’s shoulder and peered down his chest. Like all of his hair, Læsrin’s body hair was a pale silver and decently fine, trimmed meticulously to remain polite. There, on the left side, where his breeches were dipping a little lower than usual, was the hint of a petal. Floating on that line that ridged his lower abdominals.

“Cute.” Pecking a gentle kiss to his neck, Titus flopped back and let the man settle.

Læsrin grumbled as the other two chuckled, keeping his back to them but shuffling under the sheets.

Huddling up to him again, Titus noticed that while Læsrin was taller, he really wasn’t all that much broader than he was. Made wrapping his arms around him much easier.

“I had a really nice time with Bairre today,” Titus pecked at the king’s ear. “Thank you.”

“Thank you for taking the time for him,” Earnest words came back, Læsrin lifting a hand of Titus’ to his mouth for a kiss. “I have been lacking in that lately.”

“He doesn’t hold it against you,” Titus soothed, enjoying this softer version of the man. “And next time, it’s your turn. But I suppose I’ll have to go through a different broker, Hektor might be too biased.”

“I’ll help,” Alo chirped. “It’s fun keeping secrets from Læz.”

“Sounds nice.” Titus agreed, although Læsrin remained silent.

Settling in, it was surprisingly nice to hold his Bond-Mate in his arms. He hadn’t really expected Læsrin to tolerate it as long as he had, but the grip that the king had on his hand made it known that Titus wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon. It was amusingly charming, peeking under another layer of the man, one that to your face could present as an all intimidating warlord, but behind closed door silently demanded his snuggles.

Sleep claimed them after not too long, still entwined and held close. When Titus awoke it was his turn to be the one ensconced in limbs, Læsrin wrapped around him surely. Alo was butted up under his chin, but the feline was purring so Titus knew he was already awake.

“I’m happy he’s letting himself love you.” The Familiar said quietly.

Not knowing what to say, Titus groggily let his free hand pet through the soft rosette covered fur.

“He’s still very scared he’s going to hurt you again,” Alo continued. “He has a lot of feelings inside, but they build up sometimes, burst out because he doesn’t know what to do with them. Don’t let him hurt you, but understand that he doesn’t mean to.”

“I think I’m starting to realize that.” Titus honestly replied. It was a little tricky pinning the man down, to learn his mannerisms and his language, but as he did Titus found that underneath the bluster there was a good man hidden deep.

“Læz is learning, had to learn the best way to deal with Fanbairre, and has to learn how to deal with you. But he’s worth it. You’re worth it.”

“My father always said that anything worth having required work,” Titus smiled a little, recalling fondly. “And if anything, I’m a hard worker.”

The tantalizing sensation of morning stubble scraped on the back of Titus’ neck, followed by lips and a stretching roll that pressed Læsrin’s body along his.

“If you two are quite done gossiping about me as if I’m not in the room,” Læsrin’s morning voice was rough and devastatingly handsome. “I’d like a moment with my Bond-Mate.”

“I’ve shared your mind for eight decades,” Alo snarked as he excavated himself and stretched lazily. “I can tell when you’re just horny, Læz.”

Titus laughed, but a large arm reached over him and shoved the cat out of the bed with a tumbling of fur and tail. Irate blue eyes glaring back over the mattress as Alo righted himself.

“I’m leaving feathers on your pillow.” The Familiar threatened, head held high and he slunked away. Titus briefly wondered how he was planning on leaving the room when his body dissolved to a swirl of ethereal dust and slipped through the keyhole.

“And people call me dramatic.” Læsrin dryly huffed.

“You are.” Titus shot back, leaning further into the man’s embrace.

Snorting, the king nuzzled into the back of his head, hand sneaking under his shirt to cup at his chest and tease at the wiry hair there.

“This okay?”

Titus appreciated his Bond-Mate checking in, confirming it with a nod and small word. It wasn’t anything heavily sexual, some strong petting and enjoying the closeness, he could feel the other’s interest at the back of his thighs, Titus himself was also working towards being quite aroused.

“Can I go lower?”

Again nodding, Titus tipped his head back and was met with a kiss. His stomach tensed as fingers traced over the muscles underneath, nails trailing back up teasingly.

“You’re beautiful,” Læsrin husked into his ear. “Or handsome, if you’d prefer.”

Titus involuntarily gasped as a pinkie tipped under the hem of his pants.

“No one’s called me beautiful before.”

“Alright, Mo M’hoire,” Læsrin chuckled, nipping at his ear and kissing at his jaw. “My beautiful boy.”

He’d called him that before, the familiar curling tone that Titus was learning to recognize as the language of the Mhoer’Vorte. He hadn’t learned just what they meant, but they felt sincere.

More fingers teased at his waist, Læsrin rocking along with him.

“May I?”

Briefly thinking about it, the dark-haired man reached down and entwined the king’s fingers in his, bringing the hand up to his mouth for a kiss.

“You’ll stop if I say so?”

“Always.” There was a solidity to it, more than a single word but a vow. As if there were to ever be one thing Læsrin was to promise him, it would be this.

“Then I put myself in your hands.”

“Not yet you aren’t.” Titus could feel the grin pressed against him, nimble fingers going down to undo the laces on his leggings.

He felt himself gasp as Læsrin finally did take him in hand. Titus glanced down, absently admiring the contrast in their skin tones and soaking in the feel of another’s touch. From the limited partners in his past, Titus had gathered that he was well on the side of larger than average, plenty still peeking from the king’s wide hand. It had intimidated some, but the sensation he was picking up from his Bond-Mate was anything but.

“Well, isn’t that a pleasant surprise.” Læsrin purred, thumb teasing at Titus’ foreskin.

Titus had taken the time to hunt them down, kept his ears open to the tales; for as numerous songs as there were about the Winter Blade being quite the ‘swordsman’, there were just as many that spoke of him taking the part of the sheath. Bairre had eluded numerous times they were both flexible.

And wasn’t that something Titus planned on exploring to its fullest someday.

The first stroke was euphoric, the other rutting up against him in time with his hand. Titus could feel Læsrin’s other hand working behind him to get his own breeches open, a fresh heat making itself known when only one layer separated them. Læsrin’s kisses started to lean further into nips and then near on bites. Titus might have thought to scold him if it hadn’t felt so good.

Titus’ own pants started to get shuffled lower, tugged a little impatiently to his thighs, Læsrin’s own cock coming to rest between his glutes. It felt big —Which, logically, Titus knew it was— but he also felt something that was remarkably not flesh. Læsrin chuckled, presumably picking up on his confusion.

“A good friend of mine of a more draconic persuasion inspired me,” The king teased, letting the little metal studs drag slower. “Like it?”

“Yes!” Titus gasped without thought. It felt amazing, running along tender flesh. Made him wonder what it would feel like inside.

Chuckling, Læsrin nipped his ear again. “Nipples too, if you’re curious. Missed them last night.”

Pressed tight, Titus thought he could feel them through his rucked up shirt, two spots on the king’s chest that were a little harder than the rest. It felt tantalizing.

“Not going to put it in,” Læsrin mused aloud. “Not now. But next time, Titus, I’m going to make you feel it.”

A promise and a threat, scratched out in the sand. One that Titus wanted to lunge right across.

Læsrin dipped a little lower, forced his stiffness through Titus’ thighs, groaning at the tightness of the muscle and softness of his fur. Titus almost came then and there, feeling the large head of his lover’s cock brush past his balls and scrape along the underside of his own erection. Slow pumping was resumed, Titus joining the rhythm that was built, not wanting to be left behind.

Læsrin bullied his other arm under Titus’ side and used it to hold them tight, tease at the younger man’s chest. Titus snagged it when it grew to be too much, fingers interlocking strongly.

“Bairre’s going to be jealous that I am going to be the first to mark you.” Smugly, the king jested.

“Maybe I’ll just have to let him catch up.” Titus taunted back.

That got a hum that was so much like his feline counterpart, that it couldn’t be called anything but a purr.

“Now that would be a wonderful sight to see.”

Læsrin pressed in as close as he could get, his cock nudging along the underside of his and a large hand stretching to encompass them both.

“Would you have him like this? Let him rut betwixt your thighs like a fumbling beast,” More musing filth was husked into his ear. “Or, perhaps, on your back like the prince you’re meant to be?”

Titus laughed at the thought, as attractive as it was. “I believe between the two of us, you’re the pillow prince. If rumors are to be believed.”

“I,” A particularly hard thrust was given with a growl. “Am a King.”

Laughing a little, Titus just enjoyed the ride for a few blissful moments.

“I’ve had the thought,” He began, feeling downright naughty for voicing such fantasies. “Bairre, he’s so big, so strong. Against a wall or door would be no problem for him.”

“It isn’t.” The king chuckled darkly.

Because, of course, if there was an act of debauchery it was to be known by those two. Titus grinned at the thought, found it rather appealing.

“He’s a sweet, gentle, soft man,” Læsrin continued, rhythm getting a little jittery as he neared his end. “But he’s also one of the best damn lovers one could have on this sphere.”

A coiling in Titus’ core told him that he wasn’t all that far behind. “I’d imagine, what with being able to keep up with your scandalous ways.”

“Hardly a scandal if he likes to watch.” The king bit back, actions faster.

“Fuck!” Titus belted as he lost himself, heat flushing through him as his ecstasy peaked. It crashed through him, emptying his head of all other thoughts, feeling a sharp tightness at his shoulder but otherwise nothing but elation.

Settling back to himself, Titus felt a wetness between his legs and a particularly sore spot below his neck where Læsrin bit him. It was a happy ache and he sagged into the comfort of the other, the larger man’s free hand now soothing up and down his front.

“Well,” Læsrin teased, drawing attention to his other hand that was absolutely drenched in spend. “At least we know who’s to stud if we ever want another child.”

Titus groaned bonelessly as the other laughed at his expense.

They allowed themselves a few moments to bask in the afterglow, enjoying the other’s closeness but eventually agreeing to get cleaned up before things dried too far. Both nude, Titus took the time to study the other man. His nipples were indeed pierced through with tiny silver barbels, matching perfectly with his musculature and the other jewelry further down. Ample foreskin hid most of the ring through the tip, but as Læsrin displayed five other bars were ribbed on the underside of his cock, rounded at the sides to mimic the studs certain other creatures possessed. As stated, his Witch-Marks took up the majority of his left leg, looking to cup his manhood and teasing around his back.

Having spent so much time with the knights, Titus was no stranger to the fit male form, but Void consume him if Læsrin didn’t have the best ass he’d ever seen on a man. On a whole, the man was a piece of art, sculpted to appear perfect in every way. A living statue that no mortal could compete.

His ensuite didn’t have a full bath, but they were able to wipe down well enough and be presentable for breakfast. A trip to the baths might be in order for longer stays among the people, but for now they were fine.

Titus glared at the absolute mess of his neck, beard-burn and love-bites evident even on his darker tone.

“I believe we might have to have a word about the biting, Læz.”

“Oh?” Chuckling announced as the taller man drew near. “I thought you rather liked it.”

Hazel eyes snapped to the other man that sauntered into the reflection, Læsrin still bare chested and looking so damn smug. Like a cat happy with a saucer of crème. Titus wanted to be irritated, but only found himself feeling fond.

Chapter Text

Spring was quickly approaching, still a few weeks out, but Bairre was set to making sure all was prepared and ready to start receiving guests. This would be the first time that Dhane Reothein was to host such events in lifetimes, and he was determined it would go without a hitch. Wanted to give that normalcy to Læsrin, return that part of his life that had been so cruelly stripped of him.

Bairre tried not to remember those days, but he could still recall a small boy who had been promised to be a prince but got tossed down into the darkness. Back then Læsrin had been so scared, tended to hide behind Bairre’s wider frame or sought out Markeus’ comforting words. It would be a few years until they learned what their matching flowers meant, but even before that he promised that they’d get through whatever the Masters did to them. Together.

Now he stood on the battlements and watched the knights training below. There were plans to have an ongoing tourney to determine who was eligible for promotions, a bit of a show for the nobles who would be visiting. Candidates were already chosen for their own merits, but outsiders didn’t need to know that.

Currently Titus was paired against the sergeant he was so fond of palling around with, the two giving quite the impressive show. His Bond-Mate had been improving greatly since the Hag’s Hex had been fully lifted, had a knack for combat that hadn’t been expected. Not much a mind for large troop movements or the bigger game, but in the moment Titus was a swift thinker and could adapt a plan without notice. A spontaneous streak that made his motions less easy to track and kept him from being predictable.

Fire and stone got kicked up, both offensively and defensively, prone to laying down traps, powerful swipes were taken with minimal risk. Titus was a more defensive combatant than either him or Læsrin were, but as they said a solider who survived the battle got up to fight another day. Jehan was no pushover, was actually a very skilled knight in his own right, but it seemed that him and Titus were fairly even matched.

Bairre smiled minutely as Læsrin sidled up to him, as if summoned by thought. The last while had been stressful for him, but he was trying. It worried him that he’d draw himself too thin again, but Bairre was adamant that he’d step in before that happened. Titus had been a sure ally in that effort as well.

It had only happened the once, but Bairre was very aware of their coupling. It warmed him to know that they were getting along so well, if a little jealous. Not seriously, he’d have his own time with their Bonded, but he couldn’t help but feel a little competitive. Him and Læz had always had an agreement with other engagements outside of themselves, had long since turned it into some sort of game. One without a winner or a loser, but one that egged them on constantly.

“Makes sense he’d be a Volcanist.” Læsrin hummed after a bit of observation, noting how Titus most commonly used fire and stone elements. Both strong and stubborn.

“Have you seen his enchantments?” Bairre shot the other a grin. Both of them enjoyed watching their Bond-Mate grow. He knew that Læsrin had a bit of an influence on his Elemental spell-casting, could see it in the boy’s work, but even the king himself couldn’t alter natural affinities. “Made a needle even I couldn’t bend.”

Enchantment was by far Titus’ most attuned ability, coming to him easily and intention exceptionally clear. Bairre had been entertaining the idea of having Titus go over some wards to strengthen them, work with Leander at some point to improve on those abilities. He knew Damascus was teaching him things, traditions and skills that rarely left a Herd, and Bairre knew that the old bull was more than just a humble blacksmith. A warrior recognized a warrior, no matter how far from war they had been.

Titus had found himself an eclectic mix of tutors that gave him more edge than he was aware of.

“We should be expecting an entourage from Acerwood soon.”

Bairre smiled a little. He’d known that Læsrin had been in constant correspondence with his friend, had hoped that she’d be able to break away from her station for a longer stay. It was amusing seeing the man ‘excited’ for something for once, a tinge of eager energy on his aura.

“I assume that means we’ll also be hosting some delegates from Chelnmauer as well?”

Because where Bel’Aceae was to go, Sebastian was quick to follow. He’d have to make a note to keep Alvaro out of the strong ale and away from his partner in crime. Him and the Mera Prince together in one place always led to chaos, Bel’Aceae happy to watch in amusement.

Maybe he’d put him on Titus’ personal detail. Lieutenant Stieg was already assigned to shadow him for the duration of the events, but extra security was never a bad idea.

~~~

By the week of their announcement, Titus had several suits prepared for him in colors that would match themes and complement his complexion. It’d been a bit of a journey, when this was all proposed a man came in —Læsrin had said he was a fancy tailor from Helmshire— and the flamboyant cat-man had been the bane of Titus’ existence ever since. He didn’t know anything about high fashion and had almost no opinions on what he looked best in, but he didn’t like the tight collars or the frilly thing that got strapped around his neck. The Tailor would tsk and hiss at him for any adjustments that needed to be made, scolding him again for having to let things out again. It wasn’t his fault that he was packing on some more muscle since he was measured a few months ago.

He’d spotted a few of Læsrin’s in passing the last few days, and it made him a little nervous to see that his wasn’t much less grand than that of a king’s. Læsrin’s were a little more flowing, aristocratic, had more beading and he had more jewelry, but there was no doubt that they were meant to match. Bairre had chuckled, eyeing the laced sleeves and trailing coattails, claimed that Læsrin was adding a more feminine flair to the standard fashion. On the day of their wedding, neither of them would be walking down the aisle in a dress, but damn if Læz wasn’t going to peacock about.

“He didn’t want you to feel emasculated just because you are playing the more passive role in this endeavor,” The Half-Giant had chuckled as he fingered the Ember-Silk sleeve. “Beside, he’s always enjoyed being pretty.”

More and more important people kept arriving to the keep, Titus had been kept decently separate from them but he knew Læsrin was hosting them and thanking them for their attendance. It was amusing, watching them prim and proper walking about, the keep all dolled up for their visit. Luckily, Titus wasn’t expected to entertain them until Læsrin’s intent to court was announced, up until then, Titus was effectively a nobody.

Something he was more than fine with.

Each day that it grew closer, he got a little more nervous, afraid he was going to mess something up. Jehan was constantly at his side, Stieg shadowing in the background, assuring him that everything was going to be okay. Bairre and Læsrin had also been extremely present when they could be, the latter especially since their night together. Every morning and each night the man made some time for him, even if just for a few minutes here and there. Bairre had also been around, but it was clear that they had both been busy.

There was a constant at Læsrin’s side, a beautiful elven woman with oaken skin. Titus had almost been jealous watching her walk arm in arm with his Bond-Mate, but Stieg informed him that she was queen of the remaining elven society, and more importantly the closest thing Læsrin had to a living relative.

“She’s a spitfire,” He had chuckled, making sure they were well out of earshot. “Wouldn’t think it in all the dresses and frills, but she’s just as much of a trouble maker as Jehan is. Best keep them apart.”

It soothed him further the day after seeing a man waltz into the keep and hold his arms out widely to receive her in a tight embrace. The man was a Mera, dressed like if a pirate were to clean up and pretend to be a prince, had a breathing apparatus strapped over his gills so he could stay on land.

“Prince Sebastian,” Alvaro explained. “Oversees Chelnmauer for his father. One of the sphere’s best sailors and can drink anyone under the table. Penchant for Storm Magic, only has eyes for Bella there.”

He was the first to ever call the Queen anything but her full name, but it sounded like those of Dhane Reothein had a good relationship with the Acerwood.

Various other nobles from other places were venturing about, either set up in the keep or staying down in the town. Some were familiar with how things worked there, but others gawked in awe. Halana had managed to whip the keep into shape, made it look more than a resting spot for weary warriors. It was nice, still called back to it’s Troll-Crafted days but it felt warmer, more welcoming. It didn’t seem that many of the visitors were Mages, and plenty took advantage of that to wow them with simple parlor tricks. Pulling a flower from behind a maiden’s ear seemed to be a popular tactic, or —in Jehan’s case— producing a Silver from underneath a grumpy man’s mustache.

Armin woke him the day of the announcement, even the boy himself reeking of anxiety. Titus felt shaky, but held his head high, he knew he could do this. All he had to do was stand there and say yes when Læsrin asked for his permission to court. Simple.

Spring hit hard and the day was bright and cheerful, mist in the air producing rainbows constantly by the falls. Ice and snow still clung to the peaks and the lake was thawing, small flowers poked up from the soil and birds sang merrily. Titus had suspicion that it wasn’t solely in line with the natural order, but he couldn’t begrudge that he wouldn’t be getting proposed to in the muck.

They weren’t expected to be presentable until the afternoon, an hour after lunch would be when they would assemble. Titus had been accompanied by both Stieg and Alvaro all morning, Jehan floating in the periphery whenever he could escape Markeus’ clutches. But there was one individual that Titus had been expecting to be around but wasn’t. The others had said that he wasn’t especially good with groups, but Titus found that he really wanted his Familiar there with him today.

Not finding the boar in the garden, Titus trekked through the tunnels and found him in his little alcove.

“Hey,” Titus smiled softly, ducking a little so he didn’t hit his head on the low cave ceiling. “Everything okay?”

“With me, or on a global scale?” His Familiar grinned, not quite meeting his eyes. “Because you’ll often find that ‘everything’ is a lot to ask for.”

It was clear deflection, even if they hadn’t had their bond Titus could have felt that. The two didn’t share much yet mentally, might not ever, but Titus was getting to know the boar and knew he wasn’t one for evasion.

“Today’s a pretty big one,” Crouching down so he didn’t loom —because he now knew the other hated that— Titus finally caught Hektor’s eye. “Was hoping we could face it. Together.”

“You don’t want me there, Piglet.” Hektor rolled his eyes and shuffled a little.

“But I do.” Titus insisted, trying to impress how truthful he was in it.

“No you don’t,” The boar almost growled at him. “This is your day; one for flowers, and frills, and fancy dinners. For pretty dresses and shoes that have buckles that shine. It doesn’t have room in it for anything ugly like I am.”

Hearing those words cut deep, drug Titus up short. He’d never seen his Familiar so unmoored, so unsure. At least, not as adults. He had forgotten for as much of his own entity Hektor was, the Familiar was a part of him, shared his insecurities if at least in small parts. Just like how Titus had once felt small and unwanted, undervalued, so did Hektor. It was just that where Titus had been the one to bow under the pressure and keep his head down, Hektor had been the one to stare up into the face of adversity and grin.

Hektor needed him. He could be brave.

Pursing his lips, Titus grabbed the boar’s tusk and tugged so that Hektor was looking directly at him, not caring that the sharp fang dug slightly into his flesh. He’d take care of that later, currently he had something bigger to worry about.

It was clear that Hektor hadn’t been expected to be handled like that, shock allowing Titus to get away with it. For now.

“You are not ugly,” Titus’ voice was low, growling out, eyes firmly on those of his Familiar. “You have been hurt, and that pain has shaped you. You did not ask for it and you did not deserve it, but your scars do not make you any less of who you are. There is beauty in that. We are a part of one another; if anyone won’t accept you, they don’t accept me, and they can go fuck themselves.”

Raw emotions pulled between them, the distant tickles of his Bond-Mates checking in on him let Titus know more of it was leaking out than he wanted, but he also needed his Familiar to know this. They were a team, Hektor had stood strong for them for so long —alone— and now it was Titus’ turn to hold them up.

Hektor pressed in close after a moment passed, head tight to Titus’ chest but conscious of his tusks.

“I ain’t wearing any fancy shit.” His words were wobbly, but Titus would take it.

Huffing a small laugh, the Mage put his head down in those rough bristles. “I don’t quite think they have pants in your size anyways.”

After that, the pair spent some time sorting themselves again and by that point it was getting to be the time to get dressed for lunch.

“Dad says that Uncle wants to wear blue today.” Armin said from where he was lounging on Titus’ bed, playing idly with Ruhig’s little paws.

Letting out a large huff, Titus shot the blond a look in the mirror only getting a grin in response. He had just finished doing up all the buttons on the emerald jacket he’d chosen. No doubt the brat had done it on purpose.

“Any other notes from the peanut gallery?” He snarked as he —carefully!— begun undoing the front.

“Your cravat is on backwards.” Hektor smirked from where he watched on his pallet. It wasn’t often used, but a bed of sorts had been assembled for him; a mishmash of pillows, blankets, and other things the boar liked. Titus was pretty sure he’d seen at least one of Læsrin’s shirts tucked into the nest.

Pulling out his new selection, Titus was grateful he’d already decided to wear the black breeches as the cream didn’t look as nice with the blue. Overall, it didn’t suit his complexion as nicely as the green did, but the sapphire colored silk had some nice details stitched into it in an onyx that reflected the trio’s Witch-Marks. But he reasoned that these were the ‘official’ colors of the keep, a deep blue, black, and silver. He’d seen it ride on their banner and Læsrin looked nice in it.

As he fixed his collar and tie, Titus grumbled a bit over the fact that Bairre didn’t have to deal with any of this hassle, but he understood why.

Although it would be nice to see the man dressed up like this someday. Maybe for a more private showing.

Giving himself one last look over in the mirror as there was a knock on the door, Titus was a little mystified by the man he saw standing there. He wasn’t any taller —those heeled boots yet to be put on—, but his olive skin tone looked healthier, a sheen to his black hair that wasn’t just from the grease in it. Curls sat pleasantly on his head, sheared close to the sides but long enough on top to show and tease at his forehead. His beard was managed for once and his green-hazel eyes glowed. A few freckles making themselves known, more would return with the summer. A handsome man with a squared jaw and strong features.

“Damn, don’t you shine up with a little bit of elbow grease?” Jehan taunted as he poked in the room, giving Titus a teasing once over.

“Wish you could say the same.” Titus narrowed his eyes at his friend, hearing Armin laugh in the background.

“Ach!” The shorter knight clutched at his chest. “I’ll have you know I am one of the Foothill’s most handsome exports!”

“I’m sure it was a great loss to them.” Sagely nodding, Titus went to sit on his bed as he pulled on his boots. Fortunately he’d been able to talk Halana down on higher heels, a simple inch lift was enough for him but she had wanted him closer in height to his ‘betrothed’.

Said it would look better for the public, but Titus heavily suspected the woman had a particular taste for men in certain wear.

Escorted down to the Main Hall, Titus was sat a table with a collection of the higher ranking knights and their various partners. It was evident that he was of more importance than most, but Titus was glad to see he wasn’t the only one being forced into the frivolity. Markeus was wearing a rather dashing ensemble in gray, pins on his chest to show his station. Stieg was also wearing a nice uniform in the keeps colors. Most were in their cleanest and most polished armors. Many women were wearing gowns that indicated that they knew what they would be walking in.

Titus spotted Tansy at the head table, entertaining with a brilliant green and red bird on her shoulder, a show of flowers playing on the wind. She looked like spring incarnate; graceful, beautiful, strong.

Læsrin looked as bored as ever, Bairre a polite but blank smile in place. Queen Bel’Aceae was enthralled but could be seen impishly —sneakily— adding more flowers into the mix. Prince Sebastian was besotted with the beauty next to him. Others watched in awe, many of the women clapping as flowers wove into their hair and men blushing when a simple bloom was tucked behind their ear.

Titus grinned, damn she was good.

Halana sat on Bel’Aceae’s other side, a very strong familial resemblance between them. One Titus made a note to follow up on.

“Friends,” Læsrin stood up, arms outstretched, as the meal came to a close. “I am honored to have so many of you come to join me on this joyous day, and I am sure those who could not are here with us in spirit. As I am sure you have all heard, there is indeed truth to the rumor that I have set my eyes on a paramour, and I am overjoyed that you shall all be here to witness the beginning of our journey together. Once you’ve had your fill, I kindly ask that you all join us in the gardens where we will begin in an hour’s time.”

Titus would bet that the man’s smile was true, even if his words had been heavily influenced by their spymaster. Or diplomat, depending on who you asked.

Plenty from Dhane Reothein were gathered in the garden shortly after, perusing with the nobles as finger-foods were carried about by various servants or soldiers. The large fruit tree was in bloom as were most of the shrubs, an exotic floral scent on the air, numerous Familiars were songbirds up in the boughs or butterflies flitting about.

Titus was chatting softly with a dignitary from Helmshire —A professor from the city’s College of the Arts— Hektor at his side. A few commented on his Familiar, but not negatively, rather impressed by his size or suggested strength. Titus had seen Bairre walking about with Ruhig as his ursine form, but most others had seemed to be absent or unobtrusive.

A familiar face sidled up to him when Professor Larkin drifted off in search of a fresh champagne flute.

“Could have sworn you said you were from Pola.” Brown eyes slyly gave him a look as the knight sipped from his drink.

Titus sniffed. “Ain’t illegal to travel.”

That caused the man to smirk, his Familiar poking up out of his furs and blink at them. Still the same little weasel. Seemed awfully popular up in these parts.

“Name’s Otto,” The now named knight grinned. “The dark-haired one glaring at us like he wants you dead is Reiner.”

Letting his eyes drift off to where the tall man stood with a raven on his shoulder, Titus recognized him as well. Same with the barmaid who was in a delightful sunny yellow dress. An amusing contrast of light and dark.

“Well met,” Lifting his own drink a little to the distant knight just to see what he’d do. Glare harder was the answer. “Titus.”

“Oh, I know,” The other chuckled. “Jehan is a gossip.”

Nothing else was said, the two enjoying the moment of reprieve without any attention on them from the nobles wandering about.

“So, who’s the other one?” Otto asked after a moment.

Swallowing down difficultly as he was mid drink when asked, Titus cleared his throat. “Pardon?”

“Trillium,” The dirty-blond man nodded to the flower stitched on his lapel. “Three points. You’re the only new person in the keep that’s been around longer than a fortnight, have rooms up in the royal wing. King Læsrin is putting this all on for you, but there’s another too.”

Figuring there was no use in denying anything, Titus shrugged a little. “Bairre. But it’s meant to be a secret.”

Otto let out a low whistle. “King and Commander,” Tutting a little he gave a conspiratorial wink. “Greedy.”

Titus blushed a little but didn’t comment further, but he was curious. “How’d you figure?”

The grin the other man grew was too similar to Jehan’s when he was about to light something on fire. “Consider it a gift,” He pointed to where Reiner and the barmaid were talking calmly, leaning close and happily orbiting. “Triads recognize one another.”

Eventually Otto got pulled away by another knight, leaving Titus and Hektor alone, but it wasn’t long after that Læsrin made his entrance. He hadn’t changed since lunch, but now that Titus was getting a real look at him, he was a little smitten with how good Læsrin looked.

Generally the man always did, being meticulous about his appearance, but today he almost looked ethereal.

Taller than all in his entourage, the king’s hair was up partially in braids with gems and beads woven in. Silver and dark blue ribbons joined them and twisted into the bun that was held together with that pin Titus had gotten him on his birthday. A high collar in pure white and a matching cravat, the jacket over it a stunning sapphire blue, embroidered the same way Titus’ was but inlain with obsidian, sodalite, opals, and silver thread. Matching rings on his ears and fingers. Sleeves wide to let lace spill out, epaulets on his shoulders, a cape billowing behind him with the underside glittering like stars. White breeches with black detailing up the sides did the man every favor and his boots had a bit more heel than Titus’ did, coattails lined with more lace. Elegant, flowing, evanescent. A circlet that Titus had never seen on him before riding on his brow.

One that was similar to the one that Queen Bel’Aceae wore. A gift, cherished between kingdoms. For what was a king without a crown?

Titus smiled, warmth filling him as those glacial eyes settled on him. Læsrin smiled back. I see you. I care. This is for you. I love you.

“Friends,” Læsrin called, chatter in the garden dimming to a halt. “I am honored that I am able to share these customs of my people with you, for so long I have been the last, have held them close to me. But cultures are meant to be shared so that they are not forgotten. Today you join me for the announcement of my intent to court,” Pale blue eyes caught Titus’ again before drifting back among the crowd. “I am a fortunate man to have been blessed to have a loyal lover and friend in one of my most trusted companions, I have not known a day of loneliness with him at my side. He has given me a reason to keep my dreams alive, to rule this kingdom, an heir and a son.”

Those additions to the speech were not part of the plan, Titus knew, could see it in Halana’s eyes widen at Læsrin going off-script. But he could also see Bairre off in the corner, next to his son, golden eyes misty and smile widening. Titus sent him support, wanted the other man to know that he was honored to be sharing this moment with him. Læsrin too, he hadn’t needed say that he was, but he did.

“I will always love that man with as much of my being as he would allow,” Stepping down onto the cobblestone path, the king started to approach. “But the Æther has seen fit to gift me another, has returned to me something I long since thought lost. My heart, once ensconced by thorns has remembered that roses have blossoms just as they do spines.”

There was a silence that rippled through the crowd, all watching eyes could see who he was walking to. Who he was talking to. Alo prowled at his side, matching eyes locking on him and feline smirk in place.

Standing before him, there was a calm smile on Læsrin’s face, the man giving Titus a bowing nod and holding out a hand.

“Titus Smithsen of Belyn, would you give this king —no, this man— the honor of accepting his courtship?”

Whispers littered among the crowd, nobles no-doubt immediately gossiping about his lower station or his origin. Titus hadn’t met any others from the southern kingdom, presumed none were invited, knew that they weren’t well liked around these parts. But Titus didn’t care about any of that, simply looked at Læsrin’s hand and placed his in it.

“I would.”

An eruption of cheers rang from the knights and their familiars, flowers appearing to bloom harder and birds sang louder. For a moment it all shrank down to just the two of them, a feedback of elation and joy tingling over their marks.

“Beautiful,” Læsrin maintained eye contact as he bowed down to press a small kiss to the back of Titus’ hand. Right over a small scar that he got years ago, a casualty of working in a smithy. Fingers enclosed with his and Læsrin held them high for all to see, celebratory. “Now, my friends, shall we?”

Alo wove between and around them, similar to how he did the first time they ever met, the large cat bumping Titus a little closer and leaning into Hektor in a way the boar begrudgingly allowed.

The walk was pleasant, leaving the gardens through a path that was usually closed off, leading through a greenhouse that was filled with blossoms, through an orchard of numerous exotic fruits, passing through the apiary that Titus had taken Bairre on for their date, finally coming back through a more wooded part of the bailey and ending again in the Main Hall. It had been a loose promenade, at a leisurely pace so those attending could enjoy the scenery, pleasant chatter flitting between. Titus had caught on quickly that various doorways they passed through had been enchanted to create such a route, felt a tingle of magic each time but thought nothing of it.

The act had been for him just as much as the others, but he was probably one of the only to know that this wasn’t the actual layout of the keep. That the apiary and the orchard were on opposite sides of the mountain and required more than a simple stroll. It was as grand as it was ingenuous; should any of the attendees attempt to use this against them to describe a design they wouldn’t be able to.

Still, it had taken hours and by the time they returned it was time for an early supper. A splendid spread already awaited them, a few Bards playing about the hall for an easy ambiance.

Taken to the High Table, there was something sitting on the table at Læsrin’s place. Wrapped in a fine cloth, fastened with a bow.

“Traditionally, courting begins with a gift,” Læsrin announced once all were seated, picking up the package and holding it to Titus. “As a symbol of what can be offered, of what is promised.”

With the permission of a small nod, Titus took the offering and began to unwrap it. It was large and a little unwieldy, but he managed, the fabric falling away to reveal a deep red face and beveled edges. A boldly designed shield that matched the hammer that Damascus had made for him, a literal brother-in-arms. Titus was stunned, staring at it with a smile but also awe.

“Forged by our very own Master Smith, Damascus of Dhane Reothein, your Herd-Master’s blessing of our union,” Læsrin introduced. “A shield to guard you when I can not, an extension of the mountain you call home, a beacon to our people that you are one of them. That is my first gift to you.”

Tears started filling Titus’ eyes, the feeling of home slotting so solidly. Of belonging. Smiling, he nodded, setting the shield down on the table and stepping close to the king.

“You absolute bastard,” He grinned, voice low enough that none but those closest to them at the table could overhear. Titus wanted to grab the man by his silly, frilly, tie and pull him into a kiss, but that wouldn’t be proper, so instead he leaned up and pecked him on the cheek. “Thank you.”

Cheers erupted again, some of the knights even letting off magical facsimiles of fireworks. Totally not started by Jehan, if anyone asked.

Sharing as private of a moment as they could, Læsrin nodded back, enfolding their hands again as they sat. It was a little tricky to eat with only one hand, but Titus managed. Too happy to let go.

Chapter Text

Flopping back onto the plush covers of Læsrin’s bed Titus sighed, drained from the last few hours. “Æther Above, how many more months of that are we expecting?”

Læsrin smirked from where he was carefully disentangling himself from all of his grandeur. “Traditional courtships are expected to last at least a year.”

While the day had been more pleasant than Titus had been expecting, keeping a smile on his face for so long and talking with what felt like every rich person on the continent had been taxing. Many were incredibly curious about him, Titus being a complete unknown from the courts and it was fascinating how he was from such meager beginnings. He now understood how Bairre had absolutely no interest in being tangled up in it all.

Læsrin himself got plenty of questioning, particularly on the name of his other existing lover. Some clearly knew but were hording the knowledge for some reason, or simply reveled in watching those who didn’t suffer. Many simply seemed to want cuddle up to the king and earn his favor, which had been tolerated if not particularly given. Læsrin had a surprisingly silver tongue for a man who didn’t appreciate the verbal word.

“Right,” Titus huffed, placidly watching the man work himself out of his clothes. His own jacket had been quickly stripped off as soon as he slunked into the room, boots kicked off before the bed, and cravat loosened before be flopped. It wasn’t the peak of comfort, but it was enough for now. “Mind if I stay here tonight?”

“Never.” Læsrin sent him a soft look.

Titus returned the smile and rolled so he could continue to get out of his trappings. He had been getting better at asking Læsrin for things and the man had yet to really say no. Sometimes he’d ask for his own space or distance himself a little, but the younger man was quickly gathering that if he wanted something all he had to do was ask.

A gentle knock gave brief warning before Bairre poked his head in.

“Ah, good,” He grinned, slipping in the door and shutting it directly in Alo’s face. “I was hoping you’d both be up here.”

“Of course,” Læsrin mildly rolled his eyes, a small smile on his face. “Titus’ closet doesn’t have the space for all of my things.”

Titus shot the man a look, only getting a wink in return. It wasn’t his fault that the king had a whole walk in room dedicated to clothes and accessories. The man disappeared into said room to finish changing.

Bairre chuckled and waltzed further into the room. He’d taken off his armor and furs, down to a basic shirt and breeches. Coming to loom over Titus on the bed, he grinned down at his younger Bond-Mate.

“Need help?”

“I’ve got it.” Titus grumbled, working himself down to similar layers of clothing. He remembered as a kid how he always thought it might be fun to dress up like a prince, but now he wished he could go back and tell himself that it was nothing but a royal pain.

“You looked lovely today.” Bairre gently caught his shoulder when Titus began to tip over too far.

“I like to think I always look lovely.” Titus playfully sniped back.

“You come back from that forge looking like you rolled in a coal mine and smelling of bull ass.” Læsrin called from his ‘closet’.

Sneering in that direction, Titus was finally down to layers he might be comfortable sleeping in.

“Clean up nice, though.” Bairre soothed, leaning into his space and nuzzling in.

Now him keeping Alo out made much more sense. That and Bairre had a relationship with Læsrin’s Familiar where they were often playfully antagonistic towards one another, Titus had caught them play wrestling more than once.

Leaning back into the larger man’s embrace, Titus enjoyed the easy affection. Bairre’s bulk was warm and the man had a pleasant scent to him even after a long day. He’d been wondering how to approach the man about stepping up their relationship, not only in their day-to-day interactions, but also in the bedroom. Although, it seemed as if Bairre was beating him to the punch.

“You staying here tonight?”

Titus hummed in response.

“Was thinking of rewarding Læz for his good behavior today,” The Half-Giant purred, large hands petting at shoulders and chest. “You up for helping with that?”

Feeling his cheeks heat up, Titus was a little embarrassed by how up for it he was. “I could be convinced.”

Behind him Bairre snickered. “Oh, Cub, one of these days I am going to eat you up.”

Titus’ nose scrunched up at the nickname, fairly new between them and still testing it out. A few had already been vetoed, but both men had found that many were acceptable if rumbled into his ear in private.

A hand wandered a little lower as Læsrin strolled out of his closet in low-riding silk pants. His eyebrows rose and he paused, a shiver of Hunger meeting both of them. Need. Want. Desire.

Bairre chuckled, pulling Titus in tighter. It left the younger man feeling a little bit like a bone placed between two wolves, but he wasn’t really all that upset by the matter.

“I wanted to thank you for your lovely words today,” Bairre spoke softly, an earnest tone riding on the heat it had. “I know Halana is going to go for your ears for that.”

“A price I’m willing to pay,” Læsrin nodded his head a little. “The world should know how much I love you. Both of you.”

“Bit early for love, isn’t it?” Titus teased, flushing as those piercing blue eyes locked onto him.

“Is it?” Prowling forward, the man came to a stop when he was just about a foot away.

“It’s alright if the words are not yours yet,” Bairre assured. “But they are ours. Læsrin not as long as I, but I assure you it is no less passionate.”

“Alright, fine.” Titus huffed, crossing his arms. He narrowed his eyes when Læsrin smugly grinned and leaned in to nip at his ear.

“Thank you.”

Titus was proud of himself that he only yelped a little as Bairre stood up straight and lifted him off his feet, putting him eye-level with his other Bond-Mate. The white-haired man grinned sharply and took a step back to give Bairre the room to plop Titus down on the bed.

“It’s been a long day,” Bairre began, undoing the laces on his shirt. “Perhaps it is time to turn in?”

“Perhaps.” Læsrin smirked, seeming to know where the other was going. He kneeled up onto the bed, bullying Titus towards the middle as he made to be closer to the door.

Bairre rolled his eyes but tossed his shirt over the back of a chair. Going to the far side he crawled up onto the mattress and leaned over Titus to grip Læsrin by the chin.

“Titus and I have agreed that you deserve a reward for your good behavior today.”

“Have you now?” The king taunted.

The auburn-haired man hummed. “We have,” Guiding him into a warm kiss, Bairre pulled back until they were hovering in front of Titus, not that he was complaining. “Titus, what do you think his reward should be?”

“Could possibly have Damascus talk Róisín into making him a quiche.” He impishly teased, happily watching the two over him. A wonderful melting of silver and gold.

“Might be nice.” Bairre chuckled.

“Was hoping it might be something more personal.” Læsrin almost seemed to pout, absently chasing as the other leaned further back.

Titus saw the moment it all played right into Bairre’s hand, the larger man letting the other lean just enough to be off balance and then pull him into the gap between Bairre’s thighs and Titus’ side. The younger puffed out a breath as even only half the king was more weight than could be comfortably dropped on him, but they were all quick to roll into better positions once limbs were accounted for.

The brief anxious look Læsrin shot the door wasn’t missed, Bairre guiding his chin back to him.

“I’ll watch the door tonight, Bärchen,” The larger man soothed. “Let us take care of you.”

A large hand was on his chest, thumb teasing at the silver bar pierced through a nipple, keeping Læsrin effectively pinned. Golden eyes glanced over at Titus and tipped a head in invitation. Leaning in closer, Titus admired Læsrin up close in a way he hadn’t exactly been able to just yet. Stretched out and strong, on display with his chest and abdominals flexed.

“Hands up?” Bairre checked, already gathering Læsrin’s one hand in his. Moving it up to the headboard when he received a nod, clasping the other when its owner raised it. “Beautiful.”

“Think I’ve got everything up here covered,” Bairre chuckled, content to hover over the king’s face and pepper him with kisses, giving Titus a cheeky wink. “Feel free to explore.”

Even with Bairre’s instruction, Titus made sure that Læsrin was fully onboard with the idea. The man’s eyes were a little glazed over, but he gave a firm nod when Titus checked in. It was interesting, seeing him not in as control as he normally was, but Titus found it was oddly alluring. So much power held at bay, knowing that Læsrin could get out of Bairre’s grip —which admittedly was fairly loose— but didn’t.

Eyeing the other nipple that wasn’t occupied, Titus bent down to place a kiss there. He assumed they were fairly sensitive, the mild hiss from Læsrin confirmed this. As did the chuckle from Bairre. The man’s chest wasn’t as furred as the Half-Giant’s, but the trimmed silver hair was velvety soft and fun to nose at. Læsrin had a soothing scent to him, that of a man but also something sharp like a winter’s storm. It felt cool between their heated bodies.

Slipping a little lower, Titus studied the scars that rested on Læsrin’s ribs. They told a story, were more raised and harsh than the others that were scattered around the king’s body. Placing a reverent kiss on one, Titus vowed that he’d learn that story someday and then moved on.

Læsrin was tenting his pants amazingly, but Titus ignored that for now, instead taking a quick detour to the man’s stomach. His muscles flicked not too dissimilar to how a horse’s flank might against flies. Looking up, Titus saw how Bairre’s grip was tighter now, Læsrin’s muscles flexing a little harder.

“Bit pent up?” He taunted.

“It’s been a busy few days,” Bairre chuckled, nosing at Læsrin’s ear. “Haven’t had the time to take care of him like I should.”

“I guess we’ll have to fix that. Only seems fair,” Titus continued, sliding down giving reverence to Læsrin’s thighs and then pressing a kiss to the man’s calf. “After all, he’s been doing an awful lot for us.”

The king’s toes curled and Titus was almost tempted to continue the worship there, but trekked back up until he was teasing at Læsrin’s waistband. There was a moist spot where his eagerness had grown, Titus pressing a soft kiss there and earning a groan.

That knight that he’d had a brief dalliance with had taught him a thing or two, had hung around for a few winters and would occasionally swing by in the summer. His father hadn’t loved it, but Henry was always welcome under their roof. Titus had just been thankful to be loved.

Last Titus had heard, the man had proposed to a woman a few villages over and was expecting a son. That’d been a few years back now, and as much as he might have missed the man back then nothing they had compared to what he was growing here.

“You going to do anything with that,” Læsrin grit out past his teeth, shooting Titus a brow down his stretched out body. “Or are you going to just stare?”

Pursing his lips, Titus settled himself more firmly on the man’s legs. Trailing his finger along Læsrin’s hip, touch getting dangerously close before drifting away.

“I might.”

The two shared a heated look but it was broke by Bairre laughing at them.

“Enough of that,” He commanded gently. “He’s been good, let’s not tease him. We’ll keep him tied up for our amusement another time.”

And wasn’t that a wonderful mental picture?

Taking orders like a good soldier, Titus deftly undid the laces and then slipped his fingers under the band. Pulling the silk pants down wide thighs, he was briefly tempted to leave them there but continued to slide them down so that Læsrin could be free. Or, well, at least his lower half was. Just to tease, Titus snagged the king’s foot and placed a soft kiss on the arch.

“Careful,” Bairre chuckled, doing his best to keep Læsrin’s face occupied. “He kicks.”

“Ticklish?” Titus puckishly followed up.

“I could have you on your back before you even try.” The white-haired man’s voice growled fiercely, telling far too much.

“But you won’t,” Titus taunted back, but crawled back up his body. Coming to a stop before his manhood, he laughed at how the ring had been replaced from a silver one to one that would have matched the blue gems in his hair. “Hello, there.”

The silver tuft above was sculpted carefully to further the look of artificial perfection. It made Titus smirk a little, at the ridiculousness of the man, trying to picture himself doing all of this in the mirror.

Kissing in the cradle of his hip, Titus felt one of Bairre’s hand come to settle on the nape of his neck. Not pushing, just resting there in support. Fingers teasing into his hairline. The soft words to take his time.

Læsrin’s foreskin was nearly pulled back fully, his penis rigid and pulsing slightly with his heartbeat. Titus kissed at the root, taking in the man’s musk, then worked his way up. His first dip earned him a loud growling groan, Læsrin arching up to which Bairre moved his hand to firmly hold down the king’s hips.

Piercings felt a little odd in his mouth, on his tongue, but the ring was fun to play with at the tip. Læsrin certainly seemed to appreciate the attention, Titus eager to learn how to best tease each noise out of the man.

“Fuck, you two are beautiful.” Bairre purred, the man taking a moment to release Læsrin’s hands so that he could fish himself out of his breeches.

Titus wanted to take a break and look at the stroking that was occurring above him, but tonight was about Læsrin, not him. Hands sank into his hair, griping the side of his head as his Bond-Mate surged.

“Careful, Love, careful,” Bairre cooed, one hand claiming one of the king’s. “Let’s give Titus a bit of time before we actually break him in, yeah?”

His words were met with a growl, but Læsrin’s free hand gripped tightly in Titus’ hair and tugged him up his body. Which, wasn’t the best feeling in the world, and Titus made his displeasure known by giving him a biting kiss once he was in range. Not that it seemed the king minded.

“Fuck.” Bairre’s matching growl felt like it quaked the bed, the larger man pushing up on his arms to hover over the other two.

Titus was just in his chemise and smalls, could feel Læsrin’s heat sawing into the line of his hip, Bairre’s tucked into the cleft of his ass. It was mystifying being sandwiched between the two; Bairre’s stubble prickling at his neck as the large man nipped, Læsrin’s hands roaming greedily. Quickly he was shucked out of his shirt and Bairre lowered himself in closer. Covered by the man’s mass was comforting, sheltering, solid and secure. His body hair was thick, scratching softly at his spine as Bairre rolled into him.

“Thought tonight was about me?” Læsrin teased, holding Titus close to him and nosing at his hair.

“Could still be,” Titus assured, kissing at his jaw, vaguely wondering just what Læsrin would do if he nipped at his neck. “Let him rut away, I’m here for you.”

The Half-Giant on top of him seemed to disagree with that statement as he wrapped his arms around Titus’ mid and leaned back. Resting back in the cradle of his waist, Titus felt Bairre’s maleness stretch beneath him, much like Læsrin poking up to meet his own. Generously proportionate, Titus could only assume that he would have been about on par with the man, had Bairre not been seven feet tall. Unaugmented, the bulk was a little intimidating but knowing the man it was attached to made it less so.

“Ah, so that’s where the Half-Giant part comes in.” He laughed, trying not to focus on the strength that was so effortlessly holding him in place. Still, he clutched a little to the man, not wanting to be dropped.

Læsrin snorted. “Obviously.”

Titus nearly lost it as Bairre started rocking, a hand coming down to run knuckles under Titus’ length teasingly. The man chuckled, kissing at his crown.

“Think I have a type, Læz.” Bairre purred, running his cock smoothly between Titus’ legs.

Lounging back, the white-haired man happily watched the scene before him. “Oh? And what would that be, Darling?”

“Thighs.” The Half-Giant groaned, stuttering a little bit in his motions.

“Always been a tits and an ass man.” The grin Læsrin developed was filthy, bouncing his own chest for emphasis.

Bairre laughed, raising a bit onto his knees and rocked harder. Titus closed his legs to make it more enjoyable for him, to which the other groaned in appreciation. There was a moment where the younger thought that Bairre was going to take things further, but it remained completely intercrural.

“Gonna make a mess.” Bairre growled.

Pushing more forward, shuffling further up the bed, Titus felt the other stutter and tighten before a glorious show was made. Spend shot out with force, decorating Læsrin’s front in thick splatters. Bairre almost collapsed forward after, still leaking in weak pumps as Titus was slid off to straddle Læsrin’s hips.

Hands landing in the puddles, Titus recoiled a little and felt the other huddle into his back. Wetness leaked onto his back, and he watched as Læsrin smugly tucked his hands behind his head. Front to front, their cocks mingled and Titus met the challenge by reaching down and wrapping them in hand. It was a slight stretch, but manageable, eased by Bairre’s spend slicking them up.

The harder barbells ribbing Læsrin’s length felt amazing rolling along his, the warmth of Bairre’s guidance from behind. It all made short work of him, Titus himself letting out a grunt as he shot off. Læsrin tipping over not shortly after.

“Lords above...” Bairre chuckled, running fingers through the absolute sop that was covering his Bond-Mate’s midsection.

“Gross.” Titus wrinkled up his nose, between the three of them they had made quite the mess and he wasn’t used to there being so many fluids.

Læsrin only hummed, looking absolutely content to be the canvas on which they painted. They still rested close, Titus astride his hips and Bairre between his knees.

“Good enough?” Bairre’s tired voice was amused, chin coming to rest on Titus’ shoulder.

The man let out a large sigh. “I suppose.”

But he grinned and held out a hand for Titus to join him.

“I’m incredibly fond of both of you, but I’m not lying in all of that.” Motioning to the mess slowly cooling on Læsrin’s midsection.

Bairre snickered, nudging him to the side. “A good portion of ‘that’ is yours.”

A twirl of the Half-Giant’s hand had a glyph appearing in a golden glow, the mess lifting away in a glittering mist. Læsrin now completely spotless.

“You’re teaching me that.” Titus huffed, now taking the inviting arm and cuddling into Læsrin’s side. He was tired, bone-weary from the day already and then from having his soul shot from his body. Læsrin began petting fingers through his hair, lulling him deeper into comfort.

“Gladly.” Bairre agreed calmly, shimmying fully out of his pants and laying on his side to watch over them. His massive frame back to the door.

Læsrin purred as Bairre stroked over his jaw fondly. “Tournament starts tomorrow, you should get your rest.”

Even though his eyes were closed, the man scoffed. “The only ones that would offer any challenge are the Berserkir and possibly the Oruhk.”

“You know their names,” Titus saw Bairre playfully tug at a strand of white hair. “Don’t be rude.”

Titus huffed a laugh, too tired to commit fully. Goosebumps were beginning to spread over his arms, wriggling around to grab at the blankets.

“Think our boy needs to be tucked in.” Bairre murmured, Titus glaring at him from across Læsrin’s chest.

It took a bit of coordination, the use of increasingly unruly limbs, but they did eventually all end up under the covers in a satisfying manner. Læsrin was still in the middle, with Titus tucked close to him and Bairre guarding from the other side. Pillowed on the king’s chest, Titus eased happily into slumber.

~~~

Markeus wasn’t sure he’d felt his chest filled this heavily with pride in years. His boys had always done well by him, had been trained into men that would honorably represent their king, but watching them perform lit a warmth in him.

The tourney was a complete show, for stranger’s eyes to fawn at. Even the finest of the fine enjoyed watching soldiers fight for fame. Stieg was going to be given a well earned promotion to Knight-Captain, Gerran to fill his gap as a Lieutenant. As always Jehan was offered but the young man waved off and claimed the paperwork wasn’t worth it. He still fought like he was working for one though.

A few others were to be shuffled around as well, new routines being formed and Stieg needing to assemble his own trusted team.

Standing at Titus’ shoulder, they were up in the assembled stands that had been built for the tournament. The young man was purposely sectioned off, as the King’s Consort he was of the highest rank not in the ring. Bel’Aceae and Sebastian were to his other side, amusingly tittering and placing little bets on the men fighting down below. Bairre was overseeing the combatants, judging and prowling along the sidelines.

There was quite the show a few matches in when it was Jehan versus his Bond-Mate, people tended to underestimate the shorter Foothiller due to his happy-go-lucky behavior and impish nature. Very few knew that the man had spent plenty of time with Stieg in the mountains training with the other Berserkirs. While the Northern Prince liked to use a large blade, Jehan was a fan of short swords, both were agile —deadly— and their fight was like a dance. Markeus knew that Jehan was holding his magic back, was either waiting for the most opportune time to unleash it or had agreed with his Bonded before the match not to use it.

Stieg eventually won it, but damn if Jehan didn’t make him earn it. The Foothiller’s feral grin as he was helped up was filled with filthy promises.

After was a match between Gerran and a man that typically was posted down in Millow, the Oruhk winning after another riveting match.

There was a break between the matches for lunch and many of the nobles still at the keep were highly entertained, giving small favors to various knights and flocking about.

Markeus was relieved of guard duty for a short period, Titus going up to the High Table to sit between Læsrin and Bairre. Getting to eat in peace, he smiled to his boys who had saved him a seat and proudly commended them on their show. Jehan and Stieg were suspiciously absent, but Markeus knew better than to ask questions.

Watching his boys up at the Head Table Markeus had a small private smile. Læsrin had come so far since those early days after the wars, seeing him greet Titus with gentle care was inspiring. Bairre had always been the softer one, had so much anger and loathing coiled deep inside him, but knew that he could not let it out. A man tempered by his rage, ready to put himself in harms way so others didn’t have to. Læsrin was still learning to dull his edges so others could grow close without getting cut, but Titus was also learning how to avoid them, let the man keep his armor and work around the barbs.

Men like them weren’t often allowed to have happy endings, so many fighting until that was all that they had left, dying on the end of a blade or in a monster’s mouth. Their lives dragged for so long that even a cruel death felt like mercy.

It was easier now, times were changing, and maybe a few of them could could learn to live happy.

~~~

For as much as Titus found all the pomp and pizzazz of their courting rather ridiculous, he did enjoy the closeness it was affording him. Bairre was fairly upfront in his desires and actions, Læsrin was more subtle, but —now that they were expected to put on a show— Titus now found that the man was downright doting.

Sitting next to him during meals, he got a better taste of Læsrin’s sense of humor and what the feel around the keep was. Currently he was getting to see the man suffer through getting absolutely harassed by the woman he considered a sister. It was amusing to see someone treat him like a person, not dissuaded by his sour attitude or monosyllabic answers. Læsrin tried to ignore her, focusing on Titus instead, but he absolutely wouldn’t have it and happily sacrificed his Bonded to the elven woman for his amusement.

Plus, being able to lean into the man’s side and make doe-eyes up at him was fun.

Bairre had remained perfectly polite, didn’t play into being anything more than the king’s Knight-Commander. If anything, it amused him more to listen to the rumors flock about on who this other mysterious lover of the warlord was. Armin had chosen to stay firm to Wolf’s side and nary a noble was brave enough to approach him, even if they had sniffed out that he was possibly the mentioned ‘son’ that Læsrin was so fond of. Titus snickered when he overheard one propose Jehan as an option, suggested that was why the Foothiller was able to get away with his brash behavior.

None of them seemed to catch on that many of the Mages in the Keep had much broader hearing ranges than normal.

As lunch wrapped up, Titus remembered that he offered to fetch a record from the library for Sebastian. Something the Mera wanted to take a look at in reference to old trade routes. Why he had offered, Titus still wasn’t sure, but he wanted these people —or at least the ones who seemed close to Læsrin— to like him. Bel’Aceae was easy, if a little intimidating, as she was very kind and stated things very bluntly when needed. Sebastian, however, seemed harder to pin down, but Varo assured him that if the Mera prince didn’t like Titus, he would know.

Slipping away before one of his shadows could find him, Titus reasoned it was just a short little detour. He was in the keep, nothing would happen. Even after the assassination attempt he’d never felt unsafe in his new home and he knew that heavier security measures were implemented. Bairre might have something else to say about him shirking his detail, but Titus didn’t see the point in pulling Markeus away from his meal just because he wanted to hunt down a scroll.

Skimming through the various records was easy enough, Titus knew what years he was looking for and they were all expertly organized by location. Trade routes of the Eastern Seas from back before the Witch Wars would require some digging, but it wasn’t like he didn’t know the place to look.

Unfortunately, the selections Sebastian was looking for reached over the span of three scrolls, and by the time Titus found them and pulled them out he’d been away from the festivities for a little too long.

Trying not to drop the jumble in his arms, Titus almost stumbled upon the person who came to fetch him.

A shorter dwarven man stood before him, beard meticulously braided and mustache curling at the tips. He was wearing mostly black but accented heavily in gold to display his wealth. Most likely a leader of the Merchant Guild, if the insignia riding on his lapel meant much.

“Oh, my apologies, m’lord,” Titus quickly snapped out a hand to snag a scroll that made a good effort to get away. “I was a little caught up. Didn’t hear you come in.”

It was all polite, just like Halana had drilled into him. He was betrothed to a king, but it would still be wise to be mindful of his station. Without Læsrin, Titus was a nobody, and the rich of T’rnadrea would not be thrilled should he forget that.

Titus wasn’t exactly sure where the lines were, exactly, on who was and wasn’t important enough to be all courtly with so he erred on the side of caution.

“Courtier Titus, I was hoping I could have a word.”

“Of course,” Titus smiled, once again righting the ever slipping collection of scrolls. “Let me drop these off for Prince Sebastian and then I’ll come see you.”

“Oh, I’m sure he can wait a few more minutes,” The Dwarven man smiled, a fake tooth looking far too poor for his station. “I was hoping you could talk to your betrothed about a few trade agreements.”

Titus caught himself before he could narrow his eyes, there was something off about that smile. “I’m afraid I’m possibly not the best to speak on such matters.”

“Nonsense, boy,” Even only coming up to his chest, the man had an air of danger growing about him. “Why don’t we take a walk to chat?”

~~~

“Where’s Titus?”

Stieg’s sudden words almost made Markeus shoot out of his skin. The big fucker could be frighteningly silent when he wanted to be. Turning to look at his soon to be Captain, Markeus’ eyes widened when the casual scan revealed his charge to be missing. Both Bairre and Læsrin were still at the table, looking completely unconcerned, but the commander quickly noticed his panicked look.

“Kopi, find him.” He ordered lowly, the pendant on his neck slipping off and skittering out of the room.

“Markeus.” There was a warning under the lieutenant’s voice.

“I only looked away for a few minutes,” Standing, he started making way to the High Table. “He couldn’t have gotten far.”

Even without seeing it, Markeus knew that Stieg was silently storming behind him like a specter.

“Where did your betrothed go, m'lord?” He smiled tightly, not letting it slip in his voice that something was wrong. No need to let strangers know.

“Slipped off to the library,” Læsrin’s focus was on him fiercely, reading into the situation easily. “Prince Sebastian was hoping to look at some records.”

“I’ll go catch up with him then.” Stieg nodded a bow and walked off as quickly as would be polite.

Markeus gave a small panicked look and followed.

Getting to the library that level of panic elevated exponentially. Stieg stood in the doorway as well, Kopi flitting about the room and checking any possible alcove. The room was absolutely torn apart on the base level; tables were flipped and broken, a bench was cracked in half, embers spewed from the fireplace, rugs were torn. Whatever happened to Titus here, it was clear he didn’t let it happen without a fight. The lack of any significant spotting of blood was a good sign, in theory, meant that whatever they wanted from him wasn’t just his death.

Kopi fluttered back to him, perching on his hand and shaking his head.

“He’s not here.”

Stieg was also prowling the room, nudging things around to inspect them further.

“Captain.” He spoke gravely, nodding down at a small golden medallion that had been flicked under some wreckage.

Kneeling down to inspect it closer, Markeus noted how it was an insignia from the Merchant Guild, albeit an outdated one. Their dignitaries didn’t wear ones in that style anymore, hadn’t for a few years. Somebody had snuck in right under their noses.

Growling as he got to his feet, Markeus shared a brief glance with Stieg, both knowing what they were looking at.

The lieutenant cracked his neck, shoulder rolling. “Læsrin’s gonna be pissed.”

Chapter Text

Læsrin knew something was wrong the moment he couldn’t feel Titus anymore. While he wasn’t as prone to sharing over the bond as Bairre was, he kept tabs and he was generally aware of the things going on with his partners.

There was an amusing sense of mild irritation, Læsrin knowing it stemmed from Titus’ dislike of clumsily reading through the archives. They’d been working on his literacy, and it was kept very close to the chest that it was a lacking skill of his, but Læsrin had quickly learned that Titus simply didn’t enjoy reading like him and Bairre did. He liked being read to, but they had both picked up that unless if was for an express purpose, Titus wouldn't open a tome.

Suddenly there was a blunt force, almost feeling like a mental stubbing of a toe. Then, Titus was gone.

Not dead gone, but more like when one sent a letter and it came back saying ‘wrong address’. Something was blocking him off from their connection, not too dissimilar to how the Hag once had, but at least this time there was a small assurance that Titus was still alive.

Bairre seemed to pick up on it at the same time as well, the man not calming his facial features as quickly as Læsrin could. But Læsrin did get his sudden sense of panic, fear, loss. The Half-Giant shot him a panicked look and Læsrin nodded.

Interrupting the small debate going on between Bella and Sebastian, Alvaro by no means helping and throwing timber onto that fire.

“Excuse me, I’ve just been asked away for a moment.”

The two stopped and looked at him oddly, the prince more so than the queen, but he caught an alarmed look in his brother’s eye. Nodding as he took his leave, Læsrin quickly traced his Bonded’s steps and found himself in the library.

Markeus and Stieg were already there, the king catching on to the very end of the Lieutenant’s sentence.

“I’m going to be pissed about what?”

~~~ ~~~ ~~~

Portaling would never be Titus’ favorite form of travel, but being forcibly yanked somewhere while bound and gagged made it even worse. He was still pretty pissed that the Dwarf boasting over him managed to get the upper hand, realizing too late that he could have used magic instead of trying to grapple with a man that weighed as much as a boulder.

Now he was tucked away in a stone-walled room, the far wall having bars indicating that it was some form of prison or dungeon. The ‘dignitary’ was gloating, ignoring the bit of blood trickling from his scalp and his ruffled clothing. Titus had put up a fight, even if the mercenary eventually bested him.

If anything, Titus was more worried about the fuzziness that sat on the other side of his bond. It felt like cotton was shoved in his ears, something still out there but dulled.

“I would have thought the king’s precious little boyfriend would have offered more resistance.” The merc taunted.

Titus narrowed his eyes, unable to do much else with the gag in his mouth and limbs bound. Trying to observe his surroundings better, it was all too nondescript. Nothing gave away where he was or who could have been behind all of this.

Or, at least, anything too concrete. Dhane Reothein only had one significant political enemy, but little could be gained by pointing fingers without proof.

“Though, of course, I do hear that you are the back-up,” The Dwarf continued to mock. “Sounded like the Witch-King already had a cozy little life and you just kind of showed up.”

That was a small blessing. Titus would rather be the one here than have it be Bairre, or Æther forbid, Armin. If he’d gotten kidnapped in his stead, Titus wouldn’t know what he would do.

“My, my, how interesting,” A tall, willowy man sauntered up to the bars. His hair looked like it would have once been a light blond but was now streaked with white. Gaunt but like death incarnate. “Would have never expected that monster to settle for bedding a Southerner.”

“Secondary lover,” The Dwarf chirped. “Maybe he’s forming a harem.”

“Doubt it,” The other sneered. “Those marks indicate it wasn’t random. That does add another risk to all of this.”

The mercenary scoffed. “Humans waste too much time thinking about magic and those silly stains.”

The skeletal man gave his partner a slow side-eye. “Dwarves aren’t as removed from the Æther as you all would like to think.”

“Don’t got Mages popping up all over the place causing trouble,” Snorting, the short man went to the door and got himself out. “Now, there’s a matter of payment, I believe. I brought you one Prince Consort of Dhane Reothein.”

“My associate in the treasury will sort that out with you.” Dismissal as it was, Titus found he really didn’t like the man’s near black eyes focusing on him.

The Dwarf gave a condescending bow, a sneer on his face. “Know you can always call on the Deepstone if you have any more… extractions that need to be done.”

The blond gave him a little shooing motion, no longer caring about the mercenary in his midst.

That name, however, Titus vaguely recalled it. A clan of Dwarves led by an isolationist, worked with Læsrin only because the king held rights to large mining quarries and the Calderan Mountains were rich in minerals. It was a tumultuous relationship at best, and apparently treacherous at worst.

“Now, what are we going to do with you?” A sick smile slid over his captor’s face.

~~~ ~~~ ~~~

The nobles visiting Dhane Reothein were startled by the sudden thunderstorm that came rolling in, clouds darkening and rain pouring down. It soured the otherwise lovely spring air, and many retired to their quarters to wait it out.

Læsrin was worried about the rage he felt boiling on the other end of his bond with Bairre, it was uncommon for the man to feel so angry. His magic was always so controlled but now it leaked out and put static on the air. Others were giving him a large berth, careful not to meet his eyes or catch his ire. Markeus had already ended up on the end of his bludgeoning words, the two having a shouting match that shook the very walls.

No one was at fault except those who took Titus from them, but still tempers were high.

Gathered in the War Room, Læsrin had his arms crossed and was glaring at the map covered table. Plenty of markers had already been stricken off, locations they knew Titus wouldn’t have been. There was the obvious, glaring at him from the southern half, but there were a few others that couldn’t have been overlooked.

The fact that the man who snatched him was a Dwarf meant little, the outdated crest indicated sloppy mercenary work. Or possibility even intentional, that mocking tone of ‘you didn’t notice this minute detail and now you’ll suffer for it’. They were prickly little assholes like that.

Or, rather, the clans that picked up merc work were. The artisans and bards of Helmshire were wonderful, and there were plenty of smiths that did noble work. Just because he had a closer relationship with the Elves it didn’t mean he had to be biased. Bairre was a better route to go through with most of the Dwarven clans, his Half-Giant status practically earning him the title of a God.

Through his rumblings, they’d already scrambled most of the subterranean factions and they were quick to prove innocence. If there was one things the Dwarven Kingdoms loathed it was dishonor, and they were speedy to disprove inaccuracies. They were also putting all their efforts to sniffing out who would be stupid enough to invoke the Witch-King’s wrath.

Let alone Mac'Bheoir the Forgotten.

“Well, since Bairre has his network in a scurry, we should know rather promptly just who took the contract.” Halana spoke grimly, knocking over another marker that cleared the name of another J’arl. Stieg was almost insulted when they asked, stated that his people would never accept such sloppy work. But it was a swift note to his mother that allowed for open communication among the northern mountains. Most were just as incensed, hearing that a courting partner had been touched.

Bel’Aceae knew her people weren’t involved, would never have lowered themselves to ask the Dwarves for help. Læsrin trusted her on that, but there was also no reason for the Elven Empire to attack an allied force.

Sebastian just as equally cleared his people of guilt. King Choeridon and his other brothers in the Seadalian Kingdom were much more concerned on the Eastern front and expanding across the seas. The Mera monarch had vowed that the strength of their entire Navy would be at his beck and call when the need arose.

The longer it went on, the more Læsrin’s glare focused on Ribæl. Urlich wouldn’t be so stupid as to hide Titus in his own castle, would have stashed him some where else. He didn’t like entertaining the thought that his enemy had his Bonded, feared what it could mean for the younger man, but for now there was little Læsrin could do about it.

“We should formulate a plan for when we do locate him,” Tansy advised. “Should be prepared for the worst.”

Thunder crackled loudly from even within the walls of the keep.

Leander was working with Hektor as a Foci and was trying to scry, to figure out Titus’ location. So far they hadn’t been successful beyond the fact that wherever it was, it was fortified against magic. Though, as far as they knew, nobody outside the keep knew that Titus even possessed magic. It was most likely a precaution against them, obfuscate their location.

“Titus is alive.” Bairre grumbled, voice heavy like a storm.

“Fanbairre,” Markeus gently said, sorrowed and tempered. “We need to be prepared for the worst.”

“They won’t kill him.” Læsrin stated, still glaring at the map.

The room was silent, all eyes turning to him.

“Urlich knows us, knows that if he killed Titus it wouldn't win him any favor. He wants to hurt us. Hurt me. He couldn’t get to Bairre, so he went for Titus.”

“He was the easiest target,” Markeus regretfully agreed. “Fool didn’t even sling a spell.”

It had been a little shocking, but Læsrin knew that Titus was still adapting to having magic. It was fairly new to his life, didn’t use spells as casually as most around the Keep did. Even in combat he didn’t tend to rely on it, so it made sense that he wouldn’t when ambushed either.

They’d have to work on that.

Alvaro let himself in through the door, clothing wet from the storm. “Well. Damascus is pissed.”

They’d decided to involve the Minotaur into the matter, not only because Læsrin had promised Titus that he’d work on improving their relationship, but also because Minotaurs were strangely good at finding missing things. That and Damascus had a widespread Herd and rumors were prone to find their ways to Minotaur ears.

“His youngest is in the Venture Guild, said that there have been some odd contracts floating out of Ribæl lately.”

That would be something worth following up on. Plenty of rumors had been coming from the south for a while now, certain things had been seen coming from the area as well. Læsrin knew that Urlich had been stewing something up ever since the wars, had been working with lands across the sea and expanding their technology. It worried him, but he wasn’t exactly in a place to intervene.

“We’ve already sent word to their leadership to see if there are any leads,” Halana hedge. “But anti-mage fortifications aren’t exactly uncommon, especially in the south.”

“It’s only a matter or time,” Tansy promised. “We’ll find him.”

“Biggest problem is, we don’t know how much time we have.” Markeus stated much more grimly.

~~~ ~~~ ~~~

Titus was sure at least a day had passed by the time his captor came to see him again. Guards had come in to shackle him to the wall and drop off a very meager meal. Considering he grew up sometimes wondering if winters were going to be a little thin, Titus had grown rather spoiled in Dhane Reothein and always having access to food.

“So. Titus is it?” His captor smoothly asked, long robe dragging on the floor behind him.

Refusing to answer on principal, Titus just narrowed his eyes.

“Reports say you’re from Bælia, little village I’ve never even heard of. Father’s a blacksmith.”

It was all basic info, things a person could have gathered around the keep if the right questions were asked. Markeus once told him that it was a common tactic, trying to establish a rapport. Jehan had said that most of the higher ups went through some form of torture resistance training, but Titus had never been put through it.

“Your marks are impressive, don’t think I’ve ever encountered one so large,” The gaunt man continued. “Although, knowing who is on the other end of that bond, I suppose it makes sense.”

Titus watched him as he drifted through the room, almost eerily like he was floating, moving not quite human. His limbs a little too long, skin a little too pallid.

“And, I would say it is safe to assume that you’re tied to the other one as well?” A sick smile stretched to reveal oddly sharp teeth. “Urlich mentioned that the king and his commander were close.”

A finger trailed along one of the metal bars, yellowing fingernail scraping irritatingly sharp.

“Although, the Half-Giant would have been a more… desirable target, we had to make do,” Eyes pinned him again, gleefully filling and putting something sour in the pit of Titus’ stomach. “But, I suppose you might have a few interesting little tidbits to share.”

Under that gaze Titus felt himself shirking, wanting to get away, to not be within its intensity. Something ticking at his mind, a familiar sensation that Markeus had helped him learn to resist. It was paranoid, but Titus didn’t want anyone in his head; the Bond was different, that was more emotion less actual thought. Focusing on building up those mental walls he glared back at the man but all the interrogator did was smirk.

“Ah, so they did teach you a few things,” He purred. “That’s going to make this much more fun.”

~~~ ~~~ ~~~

Hektor was beside himself by day three. The boar was usually so stable, but since yesterday he started breaking down and mumbling ‘They’re hurting him’. It shook Læsrin in a way he didn’t even know he could have been, knowing that Bairre wasn’t doing much better.

He almost felt fortunate that nothing could come through their bond, because if Læsrin had to feel his Bond-Mate being tortured he knew it would have led to him doing something foolish.

Scrying had narrowed their search to a rough location, but it was simply too much area to cover and there was the risk that if they were spotted looking about something more drastic would happen. The Venture Guild was decently sure they had a good lead on who picked up the original contract, were sending out some of their best to investigate further.

Until then all they could do was continue looking.

~~~ ~~~ ~~~

Titus hung from the ceiling, toes just barely touching the floor and his shoulders aching. The man he’d come to know as Varis had taken to flogging him since he couldn’t get him to scream any other way. He hadn’t been able to keep track of the time, the lack of windows or a schedule made that impossible, but he knew it felt like days.

He’d been careful not to reveal more than what his captor knew, but had been trying to access his magic off and on since his second day there. Something in the walls made it feel like a distant memory, kept it just out of reach, and his hands hadn’t been free enough to draw any runes.

Shoulder joints aching and back feeling like it was aflame, Titus wondered what the others were getting from any of this. If anything. He hadn’t gotten a peep from their side, and he knew by now that neither Bairre nor Læsrin were that calloused. Titus was sure something was going on out there in the world due to his disappearance, Hektor had calmed the king once but he wasn’t sure his Familiar would be able to do it this time.

He’d tried to mentally call out to Hektor as well, see if he could perhaps induce a dream somehow and connect with him. But so far he hadn’t been successful.

Clacking boots rounded the corner and a guard came into view, the man’s scruffed face and damaged eye were familiar. Older, war-weary, and generally seeming to be sick of everyone’s shit. But, he was large, strong, and had been appointed his primary ‘caretaker’ ever since one of the other guards messed up and allowed Titus enough freedom to break his nose with his fist.

No such luck with this guy.

Titus’ limbs were too loose when he was lowered down, knees giving out without a second thought. The guard was quick to secure his hands again, still locked behind his body but less tight than they had been hanging from the ceiling.

“Looks like ye took a tumble with a Hag, hmm?” The man flicked where the scars laid. Like jagged roots the marks stretched out from his shoulder across the width of his back. They never hurt, but he knew that they were visible enough to make Bairre frown when he saw them.

Læsrin’s snark was rubbing off on him, as Titus’ first thought was to sass the man about it. But the rest of his mind caught up and told him to refrain. He refused to give these people anything more to hurt him. Hurt anyone else.

“Is a little sad, innit? Big ol’ king on top of his mountain, ain’t even strong enough to keep his beloved from the clutches of a wee fae.”

Titus only scowled further, trying to ignore the man’s sneer.

“Or, was it your pa? Maybe he sold you out for something in return,” His jailer continued. “Otherwise ya would have thought that Hag would have just gobbled ya up.”

“Shut up.” Growled out from between his teeth.

The guard’s smile only got sharper. “Lil Daddy’s boy, huh?” Snorting the man began strolling away. “Funny thing that, always seems to lead to issues.”

~~~ ~~~ ~~~

“Got an interesting note from the Guild,” Halana stated as they gathered again. Halfway into the second week of Titus’ absence and people were getting twitchy. “A character of interest they generally keep an eye on has given them the slip.”

“Unless it’s the Dwarf who kidnapped Titus, I don’t care.” Læsrin rumbled, voice tight.

“It’s not,” The spy-mistress eyed him. “But I would imagine one of the last Lamieds on the continent going missing would pique your interest.”

“Varis?” Bairre tilted his head, a wary look slowly developing. “What could that snake be up to?”

“Nothing good,” Markeus huffed, pipe swirling smoke to the ceiling. “Never is.”

Halana hummed, a similar frown on her lips. “Leander has found him before, could do it again. Creatures of his kind are generally easy to trace.”

“I don’t care what that vile monster is up to!” Læsrin roared, hands slamming on the table. “We need to be focusing our energy on locating Titus.”

The look the Elven woman gave him was reproachful, borderline scathing, but everyone in the room could feel the chill and rage emanating from the man.

“I think you’re forgetting his involvement in your previous tussle with Urlich.”

“He wouldn’t be so foolish as to use the same tactic twice.” The white-haired man shook his head, trying to collect himself again. Despair filling in where fury burned.

“Urlich was always a man of habit,” Bairre mused. “And, if you are looking for a torturer, Varis was one of the best of his clutch.”

“Knew I should have stomped the whole nest when I had the chance.” Markeus grumbled.

“And, yet, it gives him another reason to seek revenge against us.” The spy-mistress frowned.

“Lamia don’t need a reason,” Input Bairre. “Not saying all of ‘em are bad, but they did always seem to tip that way.”

“A snake is a snake, no matter how you cut it.” The eldest in the room shook his head.

“Anyway, it could be a lead,” Halana pushed on before another argument could break out. “We’ve been able to trace the mercenary down to the Deepstone Clan, but they’ve locked themselves down tight and aren’t giving us anything.”

“Then maybe it’s time I pay them a visit,” Straightening off the wall, Bairre’s bulk appeared to loom bigger. “Perhaps it’s been too long and they have forgotten why the Dwarves held the Giants in such regard.”

Læsrin shared a look, the two remembering a time when Bairre had to prove his blood. It had been… unpleasant. His lover wasn’t one to lord his heritage over others, to most he was just a man, but his relationship with the Dwarves was different. But Læsrin knew the man was ready to challenge the Lords Above and even the Æther itself to get Titus back.

~~~ ~~~ ~~~

The longer he stared at his captor’s face, the more Titus got the feeling that the thing in front of him was just wearing a human skin. Varis had him brought down to his knees, arms still shackled behind him, and was toying with a collection of blades in his periphery.

“You know, I spent some time with your beloved Mac'Bheoir,” A hissing chuckled escaped him. “Although, I suppose he doesn’t use that name much anymore, does he?”

Long robes dragged over dirty floors, something moving under them. Though, Titus supposed that could be delirium settling in. They hadn’t been particularly generous with food and water during his stay.

“He made the most lovely sounds when I dug into his flesh, it was such a shame that Urlich wanted to make his suffering such a spectacle,” Eyes that never blinked narrowed, pupils elongated unnaturally. “I would have loved to make him scream. Make him pay for what his siblings did to mine.”

A thin blade was plucked off the table, the edge gleaming dangerously.

“The king has forbade me from doing too much damage, for now,” Lips pulled back to reveal teeth that were sharp and completely inhuman. “And, sadly, there is absolutely nothing that you could know that would be of any interest to us.”

Circling him, the man’s robes made a ring around him, somehow Varis looming even taller when he came back around.

“It’s almost sad, really, what they say about you behind closed doors,” Taunting, his to be torturer leaned in, acrid breath fanning over his face. “A simple lad, of lower birth, rough hands, can’t even read. They mock you, only smile to your face because of the men behind you. What’s it like knowing without others you’d be nothing?”

Narrowing his eyes, Titus bit his tongue. If he had been just a little closer he could have possibly gotten a good headbutt in.

A vile fingernail traced his jaw, his Witch-Marks, Varis letting out a rattling hiss.

“You know, I’ve always wanted to remove this from one’s skin. A tad, macabre, no? To hang one up as a tapestry. Perhaps start a collection!” The man chuckled completely unhinged. “But, Urlich wants your body identifiable by the time I’m done with you, so I suppose yours get to stay.”

The first cut was shallow, but still stung, a thin line that barely bled up on his shoulder. Varis’ finger pressing into it made Titus yelp and try to shirk away, but all it got him was a shuddering laugh.

“Yes, you poor thing,” Something shifted under that pale skin. “Scream for me.”

~~~ ~~~ ~~~

Bairre sat upon a throne that once homed the Deepstone Crown, the metal and brick structure buckling under his weight and it wasn’t in the least comfortable but it made a statement. As did the shattered body of the previous leadership at his feet. His golden eyes glimmered in the dark, something ancient awakened in his blood, lurking close to the surface and biting to come out.

Læsrin had wanted to come with him, but Bairre had been able to convince him to stay at the keep should anything come through one of their other channels. He didn’t need to see the carnage that laid under this hill, the monster that lived inside his lovers bones. An old part of him reveled in the violence, bayed for blood, ached for more to quench a never ending thirst. Bairre had only ever whispered to a single other soul that there was a part of him that missed the old days where he was allowed to be a thing. When he’d been ordered to kill without question, had been allowed to slay monsters and unjust men alike, without qualm he could snuff out a hive of Redcaps or a nest of Griffons. Not a person could judge him then for it.

Now, Bairre liked to tell himself that wasn’t who he was. He wasn’t a monster. But a dark part of him missed all of that. A part he kept a tight leash on. A part he no longer wanted to be.

Læsrin was a man of muted emotions that flared up when they got too much to bare, but Bairre was a man of constant anger and self-loathing boiling under the surface.

A literal sleeping Giant.

The doors to the throne room cracked open, two Dwarves dragging in another who was kicking and cursing. The guards were in Orichalcum lined armor of the Golden Guard, on personal loan from the Dwarven Sovereign.

“This is him, Sir.”

Tossed before him, Bairre glared down his body at the much smaller man. Nothing noteworthy, a standard Dwarven man in rough leathers that showed lower social caste. Simply, that standard mercenary fare.

“I hear that you picked up a rather interesting contract,” The Half-Giant’s voice resonated through the stone. The flicking of his hand dismissing the two guard who bowed and steadfastly exited. “Been spending much time in Bælia?”

Scrambling not too dissimilar to a beetle flipped on their back, the merc ended up nose to nose with their now dead king and he shouted in shock. Then he looked up and his eyes locked with Bairre’s.

“Fuck the Pillars!” In thick Dwarvish, he immediately started to backpeddal on his hands but a motion from the Half-Giant hand him freezing, unable to move. “M-My Lord, I-I-I know nothin about no contracts.”

“Do not lie to me.” The stone around them shook, Bairre’s voice echoing in a tongue older than Ancient. Older than stone. One that he’d only ever heard his mother speak in.

Flipping to bow, the Dwarf shivered. “I’m just a humble blade for hire, M’Lord.”

Switching back to Common, Bairre frowned. “I am perfectly aware of who you are. But who you continue to be will depend on what you can tell me.”

“Please, M’Lord, I can’t…” The mercenary sniveled. “If word gets out, my reputation will be ruined. I’ll never find work in the Tunnels again.”

Ignoring how he begged, Bairre reigned himself back a little. “You have taken something very dear to me, I would like to know where you took it.”

“I...can’t. There are mighty powerful people who would be most upset.”

Studying him, it took a moment to see the Hex coiling around him like a constrictor. Familiar work that only fed Bairre’s fear and rage. Cracking his knuckles, he considered his options, his desires, Bairre stood from the throne.

“You speak of powerful people, but you forget that you are nothing but a pebble in my shoe. That a tired old king with a few tricks up his sleeve hold no power when compared to a God,” It was a power and lore that Bairre hated to lord over the people of the stone, tried to let distant relatives fill in the gaps of their fallen pantheon, but if it would earn him what he needed, Bairre could play the part.

“No, I believe you are mistaken. You have knowledge that I want and if you won’t tell me,” Taking a step forward. “I will take it.

The caves and tunnels around them shook and moaned, like the lungs of some great beast. Bairre towered over the Dwarf, his already large frame larger and head near touching the ceiling. Grabbing the mercenary around the chest in a single hand, he just barely restrained himself from turning the man into a bloody pulp on the stone, instead pinning him there and staring directly into his eyes. At first the Dwarf struggled as one would, but once their eyes locked he fell limp, lost in the gaze.

“Now, let me ask again,” Tendrils already snaked into the smaller man’s mind, shredding through anything that seemed irrelevant. “Where did your contract have you take the young man you kidnapped?”

Hours later Bairre emerged from the Tunnels, striding through an ancient stone gate that would now be decommissioned and allowed to crumble. Markeus was standing there, waiting for him as promised. A grim look was shared between them, but then the Half-Giant gave a small nod.

“Fanbairre,” The shorter man strode up to him, fearless, and clapped him on the shoulder. “You did good, Son.”

There was a lot he wanted to say in relation to that, buck the thought of anyone other than his long passed father calling him son. Pulling those ill thoughts deeper down, Bairre clapped Markeus back.

“Let’s get going,” Already striding away, neither of them tried to notice that it was only Dwarves in golden armor leaving the Tunnels as they collapsed behind them. “I have a location.”

~~~ ~~~ ~~~

Blood was tacky on the stone floor in front of him, not enough to kill him, but enough to definitely make Titus more lightheaded that he wanted to be. Varis had either gotten too confident in his own work or was seriously underestimating his captive, as now Titus’ hands were in front of his body and only fastened with rope. It chaffed like nothing else, but it was just rope, not chain. There was still one of those holding him to the wall by the means of his ankle.

Focusing on it, he just needed a spark. Just a little singe to get the sisal going, not a full flame but an ember would suffice. Calling up everything within himself, remembering those days with the manacles and how he learned to flick sparks into the fireplace, Titus tried everything he could to try and reason with the Æther for this one thing. Fingers numb not only from blood loss, but also from being snapped together so much.

“C’mon, c’mon, c’mon,” He was starting to feel frantic, not knowing how much time he had left until one of the jailers returned. “C’mon, you fucking Bitch!”

A small flicker happened at that and he couldn’t stop himself from cackling a little.

“Saucy lil thing, ain’t ya.” Chuckling, Titus felt a warmth filling him up inside, coiling around his core and waiting to burst free. Grinning all too much like how Jehan would when he set off an explosive, Titus reminded himself he had to play this somewhat smart. He had no idea where he was, or who else was in this place, but he knew one thing, he was getting himself out.

Chapter Text

Læsrin had been worried when Bairre returned to the keep, blood on his knuckles and unwilling to look him directly in the eye. Had grimly accepted when it was stated that the Deepstone Tunnels were now defunct. Glared at the map when a location was pinned.

It had almost been startling how quickly Halana was able to scrape up information about the little summer castle that was once belonged to the royal family before Urlich took over in Ribæl. It had been constructed back before the Schism, coincidentally made from granite that was rich in tourmaline and that put a muzzle on most magic on the premises. The queen at the time had simply found it pretty.

According to word of mouth, the castle had been abandoned ever since the Witch-Wars but recently Bælian soldiers had been seen coming and going from there. The Venture Guild had helped clear out a nest of Void Crawlers a few seasons back, the nasty arachnids gaining a foothold in the human’s absence.

For once, Læsrin wished the Venture Guild wasn’t so good at what they did.

After hours of debate —and yelling— it was finalized that neither he nor Bairre would be involved in the rescue efforts. Beside the fact that it could all be an all too obvious trap, the two of them marching down the mountain and so deep into Bælian soil would be seen as nothing but a declaration of war.

The castle was small and easy to overlook, not yet a ruin, set not too far from a cliff edge that he knew Bairre was eyeing with intent. Simple enough to infiltrate with a small force, a selected few knights going in to find Titus and bring him home.

“I’m sure Alvaro would be happy to lead this mission,” Markeus had muttered. “He’s been itching to get out of the keep.”

“You’re not up to it?” Bairre snapped back bitterly, had been in a funk ever since his return.

The stare-off between the two had felt energetic, tension solidifying on the air.

“I felt that since Titus’ capture was on my watch I was perhaps not the best suited for this mission.” The oldest member of their knighthood lowered his eyes, arms crossed tighter to his chest.

“Markeus,” Læsrin stepped between them, putting a hand on the shorter man’s shoulder. “What happened wasn’t your fault. We all got complacent and were naïve, thought us untouchable within our walls. You are my brother, and as I can not go I am confident in sending you in my stead. But, should you wish, Alvaro is just as trusted,” He didn’t quite smile, but it was enough that the other knew the seriousness of his words. “If less skilled.”

The Knight-Captain chuckled and shook his head, knowing it was better to not argue with his king.

“I’d be happy to coordinate, but if we are taking a subtle approach, Varo might actually be the better option.”

“Alvaro has all the subtly of a firework in the ass.” Halana snarked, the woman not at all impressed with his catalog of work.

“He’s stealthier than you think,” Læsrin cast her a look. Despite her being Bel’Aceae’s cousin she was still relatively young and newer to the keep. Hadn’t been around to see them at their peak. “Not even half his work is on paper.”

“Sneaky and bombastic,” Bairre added. “It’s an odd but effective combination.”

Their younger brother had been a bit of a feral thing back in his youth, had honed that edge over time into a deceptively sharp blade. He still tended to buck authority, had a rebellious streak a mile wide, worked best as a solo unit out in the world, but Alvaro was the best at what he did.

A plan started to hatch, coming together in a matter of hours. A small force would be sent out, led by Alvaro, where they would infiltrate and recover Titus. In, out, and with as few feathers ruffled as possible. Læsrin had initially wanted to go full scorched earth, but had been reasoned down and understood that it was better to handle this stealthily. A full front attack would be used as a banner to start another war, but if they didn’t leave a trace it made it harder for Urlich to use it against them.

Læsrin knew he had his allies, but it was what he knew Urlich secretly hid behind his walls that worried him. The technology he’d wielded against the Elves was concerning, and Læsrin had a good inkling that was only the beginning or it.

He loathed the decision that was made, paced and prowled up in his room like a caged leopard. Bairre was leaned against the far wall, cleaned up but still despondent. It was irksome enough to get nothing but empty static from Titus’ side, but the absolute wall in his bond with Bairre was more discerning. As a rule they didn’t keep secrets, had learned how to let things flow between them in constant communication. Bairre was more open with his words, his affection, so being stonewalled by him… hurt.

And Læsrin was never known to handle being hurt well.

“We should be going with them.” He finally stated, trying to keep himself from fully lashing out.

“Can’t,” Bairre denied, voice hollow. “Been over this.”

He sounded so tired.

Looking at him, Læsrin felt like he actually saw him. He’d felt something swell in the bond before it was blocked off, something Bairre desperately didn’t want him to know. But he did. Læsrin knew. He knew about his lover’s past, about his heritage, what it meant. The bloodlust that roiled deep inside his core, the anger and rage that rattled against his ribs demanding to be let out. The pleasure he reveled in back before they were people again.

There was a Primal Being in his blood, even if diluted by human tempering, Gods of the Deep that were not known for being forgiving.

It was hard seeing him struggle so closely with his demons, fighting them so close to the surface. Made Læsrin reflect deeper within himself.

He hated remembering who he once was; that scared, powerless, little boy who sought out others for protection. Had leaned on Bairre too hard, had forced him to grow up to keep him safe. Back before he was more, before he was this. A sour, familiar, sensation coiled around his chest, constricting and wanting to drag him down.

“I’m scared, Bairre.” Arms holding himself, Læsrin frowned at the floor.

He hated this. Hated feeling powerless again.

“I know.” Encompassed in the warmth and spiced apple scent the Half-Giant liked, Læsrin leaned into the comfort he offered.

“We already failed him once.”

“Yes.”

Bluntly stated without any comforting cushioning, typically Bairre offered explanations or reasons for their actions, tried to play peacekeeper. Læsrin forgot how painful those truths were without them.

A nose touched at his brow, a silent apology.

“What if…”

“There are no what if’s,” Bairre cut him off, hand coming up to cup his skull and pull him tighter into a shoulder. “There is what is. Titus is strong, and he will not just let them kill him. And I vow, with all of my being, that Urlich will not get away with this. He has been a stain on our map for too long and he has pushed his luck too far this time. He will pay.”

The man’s voice grumbled like tectonics, a sensation rumbling between them that solidified the depth of his words.

Right now there was a lot of darkness in their world, but they would face it, together.

~~~ ~~~ ~~~

Sneaking through the depths of a wine cellar —?— Titus was a little insulted and surprised that he hadn’t come across any guards or any sort of person who was supposed to be watching him. The sole cell he’d been kept in was tucked away, stashed next to where ancient barrels of long dry ale rotted, almost like an afterthought.

The place was dusty and littered with cobwebs, had been abandoned for a while.

He didn’t love the idea of staggering through the place in just a pair of ratty breeches, but it was all they’d left him and it wasn’t like he was going to hunt down someone to ask where the rest was.

Going up a set of stairs, Titus leaned against the wooden door and tried to listen if there was anyone on the other side of it. Hearing nothing, he attempted the handle and found it locked. Swearing a little, it had been a little foolish but he’d been hoping it wasn’t.

Looking at the construction, it was just a simple wooden door with the standard metal hinges. He could tap those out if he could find a tool to do it with, then the lock wouldn’t even be an issue.

Or.

Or, he had magic.

Flexing his hand a little, Titus gripped the doorknob and focused on the mechanisms within. In his head he knew how it all worked, had crafted enough of them in the past. A subtle click of tumblers turning and then the latch disengaged. Slowly turning the handle, Titus used the door as a shield as he opened it, there was no reaction to it so he peeked around. Once again, the room was empty.

It felt odd, but Titus pressed on.

~~~ ~~~ ~~~

Alvaro never liked sneaking around in Bælia, the land was nice but the people were terrible. Urlich was a shitty man and somehow a shittier king, let all outside the walls of Ribæl live in squander, and even within his kingdom proper he let suffering linger.

It made people desperate. Made them afraid. And nothing good came from when Humans were afraid.

There was a reason Alvaro stayed out of politics.

Eyeing the ‘keep’ they were planning on infiltrating, the thing was barely worth the title of castle. More a house that got just a little too large and had a wall put around it. Some tents were erected around those walls, a few of Urlich’s soldiers milling about and barely standing guard.

“You think they’ve just gotten too cocky, or do they not care that much about this operation?” Stieg’s deep voice rumbled next to him. The larger man was shrouded in furs and wore a mask that hid the majority of his face, it had been almost unsettling to see the man melt in and out of the shadows without magic.

Jehan was on his other side, armored up and his helm looking like something that scraped itself up from the Void. Stupid mohawk still sticking up from it.

The two had been impossible to talk out of coming, offering to support Alvaro’s plan any way they could. The Berserkir’s abilities were well recorded and was known for being as effective of an assassin as he was a battering ram; Varo was sill trying to figure out how to use Jehan to his fullest.

“Don’ think any them know why they're here,” Jehan titled his head to one man who was teasing a feral cat with a strand of wheat. “No patrol patterns, no watchtowers. Just sitting there.”

“A deterrent.” Stieg confirmed.

“Places like this normally have a back passage somewhere, an escape tunnel.” Surveying the area, Alvaro kept an ear out for flapping wings.

“Guild mentioned they had to stomp out a nest that overlooked the water.” Jehan nodded.

They’d been able to gather quite a bit about the place from Damascus’ boy, a sweet bull that was looking to follow in his daddy’s hoof prints someday. Still one hell of a sellsword, though.

Out over the bluffs seabirds flocked, a darker one standing out slightly on the horizon. Most wouldn’t have thought much about it, but Alvaro always disliked having his Familiar out of reach.

Jehan tilted his head, gazing off into the distance. “Elke thinks he found it.”

“Let’s move out.” Alvaro ordered, they’d wasted enough time.

~~~ ~~~ ~~~

Rounding a corner, Titus quickly ducked back when he finally caught sight of one of the guards. Sticking close to the wall, he listened to the footsteps get closer, listened for others. When the man came around he only had a moment before Titus lunged at him and grappled him down into a headlock. Using his size to his advantage, he was able to incapacitate the guard even if it was more draining on him than it should have been.

His armor was dingy, long worn, and poorly maintained. Surcoat indicated he was part of Urlich’s army, Titus almost thought about peeling him out of it to give himself something else to wear but decided he didn’t have the time. Leaving the guard behind, Titus pressed on.

The place was empty, but he noticed that there were areas that had less dust and more traveled than others. Torches that had been more recently lit. Coming across a window Titus saw the walls around the courtyard and a few more guards patrolling out there.

He also felt an odd inkling in the back of his mind, like a little light coming through a gap in a cave. Tapping out a little rune on the windowsill, Titus watched as it lit up and a small flower grew from the cracks in the stone. Coming easier than burning through his binding had been and tinkering with the lock.

Grinning, Titus looked up at the open blue sky, feeling a bit more hope fill him. He had gotten used to the others around him doing so much that he couldn’t, relied on them to tutor him, train him. But Titus wasn’t a little boy anymore, he didn’t need to hide behind his mother’s skirts, or rely on Hektor to be brave for them. He was Bonded to two of the most powerful Mages on T’rnadrea, was a Mage himself of a certain skill. He was training to be a soldier, a Knight of Dhane Reothein; was an apprentice under Forge Master Damascus the Vigilant, a Herd Member.

Titus was his father’s son; a strong but flawed man who raised him to be the man he was today.

He could do this.

~~~ ~~~ ~~~

Despite having lived in a cratered out volcano for over a decade, Jehan hated caves. They were easy to get lost in, scuttering shit hid around near every corner, and —call him old fashioned— when his time came he wanted to die like his ancestors: looking up at the wide open sky.

They’d already had to dispatch a few lingering Void Crawlers, the big bastards hard to fully eradicate when they got a foothold, but luckily the path seemed fairly straightforward. Elke and Gaff were scouting ahead, reporting back nothing of major interest except for some thick webbing to be aware of.

Stieg took up the rear, with Alvaro at the front, to which Jehan wanted to be incensed about being marked as the most vulnerable one, but logically he knew he was technically was the least experienced.

Those few scant months his Bonded had been toiling on this sphere longer than he had were lorded over his head constantly. As were most things when the larger man felt like being ‘playful’.

Noticing a vein of dark stone sparkling along the walls, Jehan noted that he was beginning to feel a little muted.

“Looks like we’ll be going in dark.”

Alvaro grunted up ahead. “Luckily we aren’t like Leander and don’t need magic to do our jobs.”

“Old man is too used to living a plush life as a palace wizard.” Stieg teased from the back.

He was from a forgotten age, back when mages weren’t all too dissimilar from a court jester. Kept at a royal’s side for amusement and stoic mysticism. Before the Schism and the world got squirrely about magic.

“Door up ahead.” Varo nodded, their two Familiars waiting for them there. Neither were a form much suited for cave life, but it wasn’t like much would bother them here about it.

“Nothing on the other side,” Gaff reported, an amusingly suave voice coming from the Frigatebird. “Few guards by the front gate but the courtyard is empty.”

Their leader nodded curtly, bracing against the door and cracking the lock. Normally there would be more finesse, and Alvaro wielded lock-picks as easy as he breathed air, but this time around it was easier to just overpower the lock.

As stated the courtyard was empty, a few smoldering campfires sprinkled about and tents put along the walls. It was a shame, really, it looked like this place was once well loved with fountains now crumbling and gardens long left to grow wild.

“Intel said that there was a prison down in the cellar,” Stieg stated lowly, eyes vigilant and watchful. “No doubt that’s where they’re keeping him.”

Before anything else could be said there was a rumble that shook the stone beneath their feet, a wall on the far tower blowing out and raining stone across the courtyard. Smoke billowed out, but Jehan had no doubt that was where Titus was, he’d taught him how to blow a wall just like that. A tugging on his waist had him look down just as the ‘borrowed’ hammer liberated itself from its binding and shot off in that direction.

They didn’t have any time to think on it any further as soldiers started running in through the gate.

“Sergeant, I think we need a distraction!” Alvaro pulled his two blades and twirled them.

Grinning sharply, Jehan rolled his neck and cracked his knuckles. Even a little muted, he was damn good at what he did. A fireball grew between his hands, gaining size as he poured power into it and then lobbed it across the courtyard. It erupted as it crashed back down, catching several soldiers unaware and certainly pulling the attention of those who hadn’t made it into the castle yet.

Teeth bared under his helmet, the Foothiller charged forward ready to do anything it took to save his friend.

~~~ ~~~ ~~~

Titus shouldn’t have been surprised when he got lost, the castle hadn’t seemed all that big at first but the longer he spent jogging down empty halls the more turned around he got. Somehow he’d ended up in the royal quarters, or at least what used to be where the noble of this place slept. It was odd, just how much was left behind, almost like it had been done in a hurry and they didn’t have time to transport it all. Still, Titus felt himself a little thankful because in his riffling he found a jerkin that fit well enough so now he wasn’t running around topless. Shoes, however, he was still out of luck on.

“I thought I heard a little mouse scampering about,” That accursed voice hissed from behind him, Titus turning to see Varis blocking the doorway. “I must say, I’m almost impressed.”

Narrowing his eyes, squared his shoulders. He felt significantly under prepared without any sort of weapon, even if he had his magic.

“Yeah, well, what can I say? I’m an impressive guy.” Taunting and trying to buy himself some time, he subtly scanned the room to see if there was anything he could use to his advantage.

“Quite.” Varis slithered into the room. Literally, without his trailing robes Titus could see the tail the man possessed.

Scanning his face, it looked even less human than it normally did, skin loose like it was ready to be sloughed away.

“I suppose there is no use in this disguise anymore,” Varis chuckled, straightening up taller to nearly the ceiling and glaring down at him. “I didn’t want to show my hand this early, but I guess I am left with no choice.”

Backing against the wall, Titus put his hand on the stone and traced a long familiarized rune into it. He could feel it click in the back of his mind, left it there to incubate and grow. If he could maybe stall for a little longer and bait this...thing closer, Titus might actually stand a chance.