Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Rough stone grazes his fingers, each warm dip extending towards the gate’s sealed doors. The shape of the sun beneath the pads of his fingers were enough for him to relive the pain, pleasure and warmth of the past. 

Cold water seeping between the tired callouses of his hands. The burn of overused magic. The gaping darkness beyond those doors. A sun glowing hungrily, full of James’s power. The sun engraved into rigid stone. 

It was engraved into James’s soul.

Torrents of icy water choking him mercilessly. Will’s hazy figure, his panicked voice ringing painfully in James’s ears. The pleasant sound of crackling fire. Its warmth. Will’s palm pressing gently against his forehead. Being the object of his concern made the pain James endured by the gate worth it. 

Suddenly the pain felt real again. His mind grew fuzzy with the sensation of magic flowing through his veins. The ground vibrated under his feet. Heat seared the fibres of his muscles. The engravement of the sun—

Cyprian’s hand came down roughly on James’s arm, shattering his fever dream. His hand skids away from the dip in the gate’s stone wall, grazing his palm. 

“You idiot!” Cyprian’s exasperated voice held a hint of pure concern. 

Rubbing his wrist, James smiles icily at the Steward, “I had it under control.”

From the corner of his eye, he could still see the faint glow of magic emanating from the carved stone. His brain still felt fuzzy. 

Cyprian had sat down on the dirt, his silver novitiate uniform streaked with mud. 

“You’re not wearing the Steward uniform.” 

James moves towards Cyprian, sitting next to him. He didn’t bother keeping the malice out of his voice, partially humiliated at having been caught. 

By Cyprian, of all people . The thought itched his mind irritably. 

Cyprian doesn’t answer, his troubled dark eyes glued to the barren ground. Although still in the traditional Steward style, his hair was messy. He hugged his knees, his nails digging into his clothed legs. 

It reminded James of the helplessness he felt when he was eleven. 

“Jannick must have treated you well.” James allowed the bitterness to bite into his words. 

Cyprian’s gaze finally lifted from the ground. James could see the prominent eye bags under the Steward’s eyes. If James cut him open, he’d probably find hollow emptiness. Cyprian’s fingers had dug harder into his legs, his lips curving into a wry smile. 

“What makes you think that?”

Slightly taken aback, James doesn’t answer immediately. He ran his fingers through his hair, composing himself. 

He had promised himself he would never lose control again. Not after what happened years ago. Not after the hatred in Jannick’s eyes had carved itself into James’s heart. 

“You seem to love the idea of being a Steward.” 

He gestures towards Cyprian's out-of-date attire, looking pointedly at the rusty star emblem that still clung to his dirt-streaked silver surcoat. Satisfaction pricks James when he sees the man tense up. He had struck a nerve in Cyprian. 

“Because Marcus was one.”

James raises his eyebrow, a little curious by this new development. He doesn’t bite back, nor comment. For once, he wanted to listen to Cyprian’s words. 

“He… Jannick…was still obsessed with you.” the words came out from gritted teeth, as if the words made it a reality Cyprian had been denying. 

Obsessed?

James chuckles, running his fingers through his hair again. Twirling his hair, he looks nonchalantly at Cyprian. 

“Obsessed? Do you know who I was?”

  Anharion .

 “The only person obsessed with me–”

“Obsessed? Are you that deep in denial?” 

Cyprian’s eyes had narrowed, conflicting emotions fighting within his intense gaze. 

James opens his mouth to speak, then shut it again determinedly. He bites the inside of his cheek, looking at the gate instead. The dizzying force of magic no longer stirred within the stone.

“I know… that Will isn’t ill-intentioned, but…” Cyprian averted his gaze, “ He was–”

“You can say his name.” 

Cyprian clears his throat uncomfortably, “the Dark King.”

James didn’t like the way the Steward spoke the title like it was poison. He didn’t like that Cyprian couldn’t bear to say the name that had been uttered throughout history. 

However a small part rejoiced in it. 

A fragment of James found satisfaction in the idea that nobody would say his master’s name out loud. It was his . Only his. 

“You’ve never been free.” Cyprian’s voice was hushed now. 

James wanted to think he’d misheard. But he knew he had not. There was no mistaking the words that fell from Cyprian’s mouth. Or their implications. James dug his nails into the grit under him.

“I’m free now.”

Cyprian gestures towards the Collar, “how do you know it’s not his own will influencing you?”

It was true James felt more intoxicated by Will now. 

By Him .

The fire that kindled within him in Will’s presence had burst into flame during the 3 years in which they had re-established the Hall. The mere thought of him was enough to drive James to the edge. But when he was with him… James could feel their souls connect, intertwine and mingle. Nothing in the world felt more important than to protect Will. The man that was James’s will. 

“I am in cognitive control of myself.” James looked at Cyprian cooly, “but I appreciate your concern, little brother.”

Annoyance flashed in Cyprian’s eyes. James thought he would deny any connection between them. 

“Marcus was the reason I couldn’t let go of the old ways.”

James was almost impressed by the steadiness in Cyprian’s voice given the tormented look in his eyes.

Couldn’t? Is he really considering conversion? The idea surprised James.

“Marcus meant everything to me… he still does.” Cyprian’s voice was no longer hushed, but small. 

Unhooking his fingers from the dirt, James places his gritty hands neatly by his sides. He stares at Cyprian curiously.

“And now–”

“Now there’s someone else… someone equally important.” Cyprian’s gaze moves to the dirt, though James could still see his bittersweet smile, “someone alive…”

James's chest twisted at the raw emotion seeping into the other man’s tone. It reminded him of Will when he first saw the Collar on him. That night in the forest, when the world was against them. It had taken nearly a year for Will to come to terms with the gold band and jagged rubies. It had taken even longer for Will to accept himself. 

“If she wants to move forward with this, then I will try my best to do the same.”

Violet.

James wanted to laugh until tears pricked his eyes. He had seen the way Cyprian allowed himself to be dragged like a helpless puppy. The stubborn, prideful Cyprian. The man who had taken his place as Jannick’s treasure. To see him lose himself in the eyes of Violet was amusing and endearing in equal part. 

Now, James could see the conflicting emotions working against each other inside Cyprian. After being raised into the tidy mould of chastity vows and careful self-assessment, he knew it would take years to undo it all. Cyprian, with his old Steward ways and secret training sessions, will never feel completely part of the new generation of Stewards. Accustomed to following the Light and blinded by its martyr-like facade, the Shadow Stewards would never sit quite right in Cyprian’s mind. 

Before he could stop himself, he rises. Having picked out the dirt from his nails, he places it gingerly on the dirt-strewn shoulder of Cyprian’s surcoat. 

“You belong in this Hall, no matter what.”

James would not allow the younger man to suffer the same way as he had. The looks of hatred and fear he had earned from everyone he knew still remained an excruciating memory in him. Cyprian needs to hold onto his training. And he will. 

Chapter Text

The doors to the chamber creaked as it opened, warning Will of the arms wrapping around his neck before they came. Hands tugged gently on the delicate black silk of his robe. 

Looking up, Will finds himself looking into a pair of sharp yet warm blue eyes. He watches the way James’s lips curl into a smile. Wrapped possessively around the blond’s neck was his gold Collar. The rubies slicing through the middle were welcomingly vicious. 

“Good morning.” Will says it warmly, welcoming the soft kiss that came his way. 

His eyes remained on the Collar, a strange fondness washing over him at the sight. A small part of him yearned to rip the glistening gems off, to save James from a fate fabricated from Will’s own fears. However the larger part of him adored the way the rubies cut through the blond’s throat. Their pristine facade resembled the blond’s soul. Both cut and bled internally. Its jagged edges under the pads of his fingers reminded Will of an injury only he could have inflicted. 

The idea that the blond had trusted him enough for it to happen excited him to no end. 

“Did you sleep well?” James had released Will, now sitting on the ground next to him

James propped his elbow on his leg, gazing fondly at Will.

Will could barely register the question, or the look. He couldn’t rip his eyes away from the deep red robe that draped over the blond’s body. Much to Will’s envy, the soft silk caressed James’s skin, hiding it away like a chest hides its treasure.  

Deep red like blood. Blood that dripped from the blond’s body long ago. A wave of protectiveness washed through Will at the sudden memory. He wanted to clasp his hands around the figure he loved so much. Wanted to hang onto the soft silk and never let go. To have James kneeling by–

“Will.” James’s nearly amused voice jolted him from his reverie. 

The blond’s cool hand cupped Will’s heated cheek, the same coolness reflected in his eyes. Delicate golden lashes gazed down at him, clearly aware of their effect on Will. 

“Did you sleep well?” James’s voice is dangerously softer this time.

Before he could lose himself in the warmth of James, Will nods slowly. His fingers tighten around the red silk, his eyes trained on the hint of collarbone the robe failed to cover. Red suited James so well. 

“Words, darling.” 

The softness of James’s voice and the way his fingers curled around his face left Will helpless. He wanted nothing more than to melt in the blond’s touch. Will’s fingers slide up from the silk robe to James’s hair - longer than it had been 3 years ago. His hair felt no different to the silk, just as soft, just as perfect.

It was the feeling of nails digging gently into his cheek that tore Will from his hazy musings. 

“I… slept well.” he could barely decipher his own mumbling, but James seemed to understand. 

The hand relaxes against his cheek, the sensation of nails replaced by the warmth of James’s lips pressing lovingly against his cheek. 

“I’m glad.” James’s words concluded with a soft kiss to Will’s neck. 

He takes James firmly by the shoulders, determined to not fall apart under the blond. Satisfaction fills him when he hears a ragged breath escape from the latter. One hand slides to James’s waist, curling around it protectively. The other finds its way behind his head, cushioning its fall as Will pins James to the cool ground. 

The red silk spilled deliciously under the blond, spilling into his loose golden hair. Those flushed cheeks and soft, parted lips were everything to him. He wanted to caress every corner of James, to allow his love for him to overflow in a world where there was no one but him . 

“You…” 

Will took James’s lips into his, clasping his hands in the collared blond’s. The jagged rubies grazed his throat, but Will couldn’t care less. He even welcomed the sensation. He could feel their hearts beat in sync, both equally filled with desire. James’s fingers curled tightly into his, his desperate sounds swallowed hungrily by Will. 

Will releases his lover’s lips with a smile, his thumb rubbing small circles on James’s.

“What do you want for breakfast?” Will barely recognised his own voice, still intoxicated from James’s warmth. 

The blond smiles sweetly, tilting his head to kiss the faded scar on Will’s hand. The way he took his time to caress the injury made Will’s heart ache, the memory a dull knife to his chest. James wouldn’t care about the metallic tang of blood. He would bear the ache of his wounds. He would light the world on fire if it meant Will was safe. 

“I want you.” 

Will knew he would do the same, if not more, just to feel the fire blazing in both of them. 

Chapter Text

As shadows engulfed the Hall and the chirping of crickets filled his ears, Cyprian tread silently to his usual training spot. Taking up position, he unsheaths his sword, the bittersweet familiarity of the sound of steel and leather bringing a small smile to his face. The familiar weight of his novitiate uniform, the feeling of dirt-strewn sand beneath his feet, even the rusted steel of his sword created a world of comfort for him. This is him. This is who he had yearned to be. So why does it feel so awful? 

Just as his sword began to slip from his clammy palms, a firm hand held it in place from behind. He’d think he had been caught red-handed if not for the welcoming warmth the hand brought. Turning, he felt himself relax into a smile at the figure. 

Violet. 

She still wore the black armour the Stewards had taken up. When Cyprian had worn it, the deep black felt cold and empty. A pit had opened in his stomach, a chasm between what he knew and the unknown. But on her it whispered soft promises of safety. Cyprian knew he could embrace its darkness, only if it was in her arms. 

“Careful, it would be a shame if you lost your toe.” 

He flinches as his sword falls point-first into the cool sand, no longer shining gold under the sun. Violet’s hands still held Cyprian’s. The firm grip that held his sword in place had melted into a soft cradle.

“Do you want to…” Cyprian swallowed against the lump in his throat, “...train with me?”

Violet’s thumb caressed his own. He could hear the enthusiasm trickling through her amused tone. 

“Like a shieldmate?” the words were spoken so softly Cyprian wondered if he heard correctly.

“If you don’t mind…” 

The warm hands left his, the lack of Violet’s presence behind him leaving him feeling cold and empty once more.

Until he heard the seamless sound of a sword leaving its sheath. 

Quickly recovering his own weapon, Cyprian unthinkingly positioned himself the old Steward way. His mind only caught up when he saw Violet flinch. Just as he began to anxiously stumble into the new position, he felt the air above him slice down as Violet attacks. 

Instinctively, he shields himself with his sword, the nostalgic clash of steel making his mind hazy. His feet slid jarringly across sand as Violet’s sword sliced against his blade in a series of swift movements. 

The first sequence. 

Recovering from his daze, he arcs his sword to the right, where Violet had left herself open. The Heavy breaths obscured the crickets’ chirping.The only thing that mattered was winning. 

Although his work was quick, Violet was quicker. Her dark armour glinted in the moonlight as her blade countered his attack, sending Cyprian skidding across the rough sand once more. Panting, he watched as she steadily advanced on him, her sword gleaming triumphantly. The air around them shifted as she suddenly lunged at him. 

Then she disappeared. 

Spinning, his sword clashes with Violet’s in a visceral manoeuvre to defend himself. The sound of metal against metal echoes through the clearing as they immerse themselves in a dance ingrained within them through years of practice. Sweat trickles into his eyes, obscuring his vision. 

Violet had never been so intense. 

Cyprian stumbles from an especially hard stroke from Violet, only to find himself between sand and empty air. Violet’s fingers squeezed his neck. 

“Steward, hold to your training!” her voice was merely a harsh whisper, but it sent waves of strength rippling through him. 

Determination seeped through his tired muscles, his grip tightened. He was going to see this sequence through. 

Buzzing with new energy, he charges at Violet, feinting towards her left. Through the sweat, he could see the triumphant grin adorn her concentrated face. He grins back, changing the course of his blade. A satisfying clang echoed in his ears as he dispositioned Violet’s blade, sending it stumbling into the sand. 

Just as triumph was washing through him, he felt a pair of unrelenting hands take him by the shoulders. Eyes widening, he finds himself pinned firmly against the cold sand, Violet’s sweat-beaded face above him. The sound of heavy breathing dulled his senses. 

All he could see was Violet. 

He tries in vain to blink away the sweat in his eyes, his face heating up despite the night’s cool air. His limbs remained helplessly pinned down, forcing him to stare into Violet’s deep brown eyes. His heart fluttered at the sight of her sweat-covered face and the sound of her shallow breath. As much as he hated to admit it, Violet had him wrapped around her finger. 

“I win.”

I haven’t surrendered yet.

He barely registered the thought as she hauled him back to his feet. A warm hand held his cold one, their fingers intertwining with each other. Violet’s free hand tucks a loose hair behind Cyprian’s ear gently, as if he was her most fragile treasure. 

“It’s getting late.” Violet’s voice was just as soft as her touch, “We’ll be missed.”

He nods, not trusting his voice. Not caring about the sand that still clung to his sword, he sheaths it again. He allows himself to be guided back to the chambers by Violet, something that would be humiliating with anyone else. 

His silver surcoat now stained with sweat and dirt, he stumbles his way back to the Steward chambers, Violet’s arm slung around his shoulder. Contentedly, he leans into the dark armour.

Under the circumstance that Violet was with him, this Steward would hold to his training.