#and they hate everyone outside and are only barely willing to send ambassadors to meet them at this point because...... eeehhhhh?

[here-there-were-dragons]

there is so little useable lore on undertides and so much of it paints them as uniformly isolationist and unlikely for most to do anything else that i simply cannot think of any compelling reason for an undertide to live or go anywhere but the ocean between ice and fire and the thousand-current sea, much less be of any but three or so elements.

[amongthebriars]

Keeping Watch || Harddox

In which this follows Burn the Heart Out. A Council Elder and an Unseelie guard play a game. They learn more than they probably bargained for. 

TW: Abuse, Manipulation, Coercion, Graphic Sex Explained, Violence (from something Maddox talks about); Alcohol Consumption; Brief Mention of Drowning

@the-kit-scarlet

MADDOX:

Maddox felt as though he could finally exhale. Kit was asleep, no matter how restless her sleep seemed to be. The King would be halfway to Roheim by now. Duke Briar had finally seemed to wrangle the guards left behind in some form of order. At the very least, there seemed to be a pattern to the way they posted outside the various doors. Thank the Ancients, they all were posted outside the doors. None- barring Duke Briar, the physician, Maddox, or Clarissa, Kit’s taster-were allowed in the room where Kit resided.

Currently, the room was empty save for himself and Kit’s shallow breathing. So he knelt beside her, clumsily. He had been out of practice for a long time and it showed. But still, he folded his hands over hers and bowed his head.

The language was foreign on his tongue after so many years but he persisted.

“Ancients, keep watch over her. She is too young, too good to suffer so. She came seeking out a lost friend and found only pain. Grant her the strength to move past this. Grant me the strength to keep her safe while she recovers.”

He continued, the Owain feeling odd on his tongue. He lapsed into prayers from when he was still a sapling, relaxing into the ritual of it all.

HARLAND:

Once Oberon had been placated, Harland's reassurances uttered through clenched teeth, the Duke allowed himself to finally relax the feeling that he needed to keep everything at bay. He watched until the Unseelie king was out of sight before his shoulders sagged inward and he finally allowed his hand to unfurl from the fist he'd kept it in after he had left the guards behind.

The tremors were something he could barely control, the aching in his joints a counterpoint to the ache in his arm. The pain he felt had been a constant thrum until now, background noise to the thoughts driving him forward. Now, however, he had nothing to hide it behind. There was a profound sense of loss here, though of what Harland had no idea. There was loss and pain and tiredness, but his work was yet to be done.

Returning to the manor, the Duke positioned the guards he had allowed to remain at strategic points in the building, some outside as well, and kept them away from Kit's rooms. They were given strict instructions not to come unless needed, and the serious look on Harland's face meant they respected the order, even if they did not respect him.

The door fell shut behind him with a soft click and Harland watched in fascinated silence as he listened to the Owain falling from Maddox's mouth, the prayers he was speaking over Kit. In a quiet voice, Harland hesitantly joined along, intoning his own verses to weave between the guard’s, the Owain as smooth as Maddox's own, “May the Mother keep her, the Ancients protect her, and the Forest heal her. May the strength she needs be the strength of the mountain. May her recovery be soothed by the wind through the trees. Let the Ancients hear this prayer. Let the Celestials keep it.”

He had given many similar prayers to those Clansmen who had fought alongside him. It had been his duty, an oath he owed them as their commander, and the Duke had never believed the reassurances of High Fae were enough. Even now, with so much hanging in the balance of Kit Scarlet's recovery, he did not feel that way. Almost on autopilot, Harland unwound the bandages and medical salve he had collected from his personal stores. Ciril had given him a long, hard look when he had come to gather them but knew not to say anything. The valet knew the Duke would speak with his staff in the morning, when everyone had gotten some sleep and the threat of Oberon Aven did not loom over their heads.

At least they had listened when he told them to hide after sending the missive, knowing what would come.

“I didn't know you were Solitary, Maddox.” The Duke's voice was low, not willing to wake the blonde on the bed. She would sleep fitfully for weeks now. Kit needed the rest if she were to heal. He'd packed the wound with the salve, made sure the edges were clean and the dried blood had been washed away, and now his fingers wound deftly around his forearm, used to the motions. Still, the tremors did not stop. Harland sighed, resigned to an evening of them, and turned more fully towards the other faerie when he'd tied off the bandaging. “How is she? And you, for that matter.”  

MADDOX:

Maddox did not turn to see who spoke with him until the prayers were finished, not daring to interrupt a message to the Gods with such trivial human matters. He remained kneeling by Kit’s side, one hand over hers, but turned his head to meet the Duke’s gaze. “Father was of the Shark Clan, mother was a Sidhe. They ended up giving him some ambassador title to preserve my mother’s dignity,” Maddox said, his voice hardly above a whisper. “Is knowing Owain part of the diplomat’s requirements? Or is their Solitary blood in you, too?”

“The draught did well for her. If we had not sedated her, I am sure someone would have had to break her arms to get her to let go of King Aven. She is a fierce little thing.” At this, he turned away from Kit, unable to look at her. He shut his eyes, running both hands over his face as if he was trying to wash the image from his mind.  She had taken the news of her injuries much better than the news of the King’s impending departure, the physician had said. Maddox wanted so badly to throttle the man for that but stayed his hand out of respect for the Duke. He hated to see Kit’s weakness on display for so many strangers. She had worked tirelessly to create a reputation of a spitfire lover who was beyond reproach or tradition. It was better for everyone if all thought Mistress Scarlet and King Aven’s relationship was purely sexual.

Yet, no soul in the Briar estate could believe such a lie now. Not after seeing the King or hearing her howls. The truth of their relationship was etched into the shock on Briar’s face. He wanted to trust this Duke that all of Kit’s secrets would be protected here, but trust did not come easily to a man like him. He alone had shouldered the burden of all the intrigue that surrounded Midsummer’s most infamous couple for decades.  

Finally, he opened his eyes and stood up and faced the Duke. “I did not realize that Dukes tended to their own wounds. Is Wisteria so poor they cannot afford physicians for you? Or are you too proud to allow someone else to tend to you?” He raised an eyebrow. “After your little stunt with the guards, I will assume the latter.” He touched the wrapped forearm gently, a nod of approval given before he let go again.

“Drinking will stop the tremors. Had an Archer once that was useless on the field unless he had a pint of ale beforehand. With the pint on board, he never once missed.” Maddox raised an eyebrow at Briar, a half-hearted smile forming. “Between your tremors and a royal visit, I think we could use a few.”

HARLAND:

The Duke watched the older faerie as he spoke, crossing his arms over his chest in a last-ditch effort to still the trembling. Usually, they did not get so bad but the strain of pain and his own stubborn will not to show weakness in front of the rat king had done a number on him. He nodded at the information, a small smile forming on his lips. "Wouldn't have known by looking at you, though you've got the Shark clan height," he murmured, gesturing to the fae as he shifted around on his knees.

Harland shook his head at the assumption, though. "I learned Owain long before I was a diplomat. My best friend was a half-Shark, like you. He died, during the war." It still hurt to speak of Arro, even after so long, but the remembrance of him was bittersweet, as was the smile that made his lips turn up tiredly at the thought of him. "There were always rumors about my mother, of course. She was never 'proper,' but I wouldn't know."

Maddox stood to his feet and could no longer keep his eyes on the blonde. Harland understood it, in some abject way, but it was still puzzling, the things that he had heard and seen. The King had acted as though Kit mattered to him but Harland had believed it was much different. It was not a love. It was a possession. The mere fact that he had been more concerned with his own needs, visiting Kit to do whatever he wished, spoke of that truth to the Duke. He would, of course, never voice those concerns. Not to Kit. But it had lingered, from the moment he had seen the king.

When Maddox turned to face him, came forward and spoke to him, Harland raised a brow and gave a tired snort. Offering up his arm for inspection, the blond spoke as Maddox looked the bandaging over. "No, just the ones who fought in a war and know how to do it themselves. I've a scar to match on the other arm. A very similar process, that was. And it was no stunt, Maziac, I meant every word and every action. Besides, he was a pompous little bastard. It was rather fun, teaching the lordling a lesson."

The information about the archer was not shocking. In fact, it made Harland laugh, quietly. "I'm sure we could. It would be well-deserved. Pain isn't the only reason I've tremors, though. I broke my hands during the war." It was all he was willing to give, now, but it was more than that. Fatigue, stress, pain. It all set the tremors off. The faint spider web of scars on each hand were barely noticeable now and rarely were they noticed but Harland knew they were there, all the same. Pulling away, he gestured to one of the rooms off to the side. "Think there's booze in there. Take your pick. I doubt you want to leave your mistress. The chairs are comfortable enough, if not the floor."

MADDOX:

“Is there anyone who survived that war without losing a friend or family member?” Maddox asked, his voice soft. His voice conveyed the condolences he would not give words to. Condolences were useless in his opinion. Let the dead rest, his mother would say, our tears will not bring them back. Keep them alive in our memories. “May they all rest easy,” Maddox said in Owain.

Maddox turned past the Duke, a smirk tugging at his lips. “I have not yet decided if you are the bravest or most foolish fae I have ever met. Perhaps both.” He placed a hand on his shoulder, squeezing it once before moving past the Duke to fetch a few bottles from the spare room the Duke indicated. He passed one into the Duke’s good hand and clinked the bottles together before the Duke could fully accept it. He sat down, facing Kit, and popped the bottle open with his teeth before spitting the cork onto the floor.  

“Tell me, Briar, did you used to drink with your men as well as command them? Under different banners, our commanders drank with the King alone. But we found games to drink too all the same.”

HARLAND:

"Some just lost themselves along the way," he murmured, voice soft as he stared past the other man, into the fleeting light from the candles. "Some men lost themselves because they couldn't save the people they cared about. You mourn yourself just as you mourn them: in silence." It was a familiar ache, this thought, one that could only truly be shared with another soldier. There were things they had done, witnessed, carried out that could destroy bits and pieces of their humanity. That had done just that.

It was only by remembering themselves that they remembered those they had lost.

Even if it was, perhaps, the hardest thing to bear.

Harland felt his lips curl into an incredulous smile, a small thing, tired around the edges. He gave a snort at the look on Maddox's face, his words. "Probably more foolish than brave, if I'm being honest. Haven't had to do that in...decades. Didn't think I quite remembered how. But…it was for a good reason. I would do it again if I needed to." Though his voice was light, there was a heaviness in his gaze, a gravity there that Harland wished to convey even without needing to spell it out.

The sinking feeling in his gut had subsided when that mark had glowed on Maddox's shoulder, a security net that could not be breached unless the perpetrators wanted to be drug before the Queen, her Council. As it was against a member of said Council, the decision would be quick, certainly more so because he had invoked his rights as a lord. The other faerie squeezed his shoulder and Harland felt the heaviness of the touch, the weight of it as it seeped through his tunic.

The blond watched, curious, as Maddox selected a number of bottles from the spare stores, chuckling quietly when he returned with two ready at hand. One was deposited in Harland's left, and Maddox clinked them together before settling down facing Kit. Prying the cork from his own bottle, Harland did the same, stretching out a leg with a heavy sigh.

Eyes sharp on Maddox's face as he spoke, the Duke could feel his brow furrowing at the words. It was unthinkable that the men couldn't drink together. For him, that had been one of the things that kept him sane, pushed him. He protected his men, and he protected his Queen. "I did. Many a time, in fact. We lived together, slept together and ate together. It wouldn't do just to beg off to my tent and keep away from everyone. It kept them...moving, I think, pushed them forward. There were things you could talk about there with a bottle in your hand that would never see the light of day again after." Harland stared at his bottle for a moment before giving a wry grin, raising it in a loose toast before taking a long pull.

"And you? What games did you play? I am certain they were similar, if not the same, as our own."

MADDOX:

It was not a lack of understanding that kept Maddox from replying. It was the opposite, in truth. The weight of understanding- of all the experiences that burdened them- seemed to suffocate him. There were things too dangerous, too powerful to give voice to. What the war had done to both of them was something too strong already to give any further influence. He drank, tilting his head back and shutting his eyes.

“Do what you need, Briar. But I am no damsel for you to protect. I have my own charge. I cannot hide behind you, no matter how lovely a figure you might have. When we return to Roheim, Kit will need her shadow to be regarded with the same fear from before we even came to Wisteria.” Maddox sighed. “Her enemies will grow bolder and the King will inspire more with his fury. She will need me.”

“The most dangerous games there are to play, Briar,” Maddox replied, his voice gruff. “It appears we are me uniquely suited for such risks.” Maddox leaned forward, holding the bottle with both hands as his forearms rested against his thighs.

“A guessing game. Not much eloquence to it, but it never failed. You divine what you can of your partners. If you are wrong, you drink. If you are right, they drink.”

HARLAND:

The Duke noticed the silence and kept it, recognizing the importance of it. Regardless of the sides they had chosen, he and Maddox had experienced the same war. Even beneath different banners, death and destruction still wore the same face. The only difference was who carried it out. Once Maddox had opened his eyes again, Harland turned more fully to face him, bottle hanging loose between his fingers.

The remark made him grin, mischievous and a tad smug. "Ah, but you made such a pretty one, Maziac." He fiddled with the bottle for a moment, gone quiet, just watching the side of Maddox's face. He finally spoke up after another pull from the bottle. "It was not only because of Kit that I did it. If I hadn't...Oberon could harm you here just as easily. At least in Wisteria you can do what you need to protect her. Let me worry about the assassination attempts. I'm quite sure that display will bring them but that," he tapped a finger against Maddox's shoulder, indicating the thread that had receded back into the garment once more, "keeps you as safe as you can possibly be, for the time being."

Harland's eyes lit up at the prospect, taking on an interest that overrode his tiredness and his pain. Yes, he knew all about guessing games. "We played similar things. Most of the men would grouse about it the next morning, but it was good fun. But if we're playing you need to stop calling me Briar. I've a name." He gestured for the other faerie to go first, wondering what he would ask and amused by the prospects.

MADDOX:

“Would you like me to abide by formalities? I could call you Your Grace,” Maddox said, unable to contain the grin on his face or the mischief in his eyes. He spoke no further of what Roheim held for him. Let the Duke fend off the coming tide and he would be at Kit’s side through it. When the time was right, he would bring her back into the world.

“Do remind me, Your Grace, to douse myself in cold water. My Mistress always told me that men only brand what they intend to possess fully. I can only shudder at what you have in store for me,” Maddox said, taking a theatrical drink from the bottle before making a show of shivering.

He considered easing into the game, but gentleness was a clumsy thing in his hands. So he held the bottle to his lips, resting the rim against his bottom lip.

“This Black of yours. He never mentioned my Mistress to you, despite how close you are with him.”

HARLAND:

Harland wrinkled his nose at the title, glaring half-heartedly at the other faerie. "Please don't. That's almost as bad as my full title, and I haven't heard that since I was given to the Royal Knights." He hated how he'd won his place there, truth be told, just as much as he honored the virtues he was tasked to uphold. It was a fine line that he walked, shame and triumph, and he never knew how he could make up for it.

At the guard's next words, Harland looked at him with a sudden sharpness, something to cut through him if he'd been a lesser faerie. It held a truth there that Harland was afraid to say aloud. In fact, he had been ashamed to even think it earlier in the evening. Maddox was a conundrum, a challenge, and it was as intriguing as it was damning. He could burn himself on it, willingly, but Harland was much too sober and much too proud to admit it this early in the game. Instead, he would say only: "Only what you would give."

Despite the leading question and the pervasive feeling it gave, Harland rolled his eyes. "Black isn't my anything, princess. I don't own him. I'd kill him if I did. He saved my life, I consider him a friend...but no he did not speak of Kit." He mumbled a 'bastard' into the neck of the bottle before drinking a quarter of it in two, long pulls. He would need the alcohol if he was going to keep this up. He turned a critical eye to the other faerie then, eyes searching, before landing on the scar at his face. His eyes lingered for a moment, before sliding across to look Maddox in the eye, give him a small smile to show he meant no harm.

"Your scar, the one on your face. It wasn't from the war. I'd have remembered it. Not from a battlefield anyway. It was Oberon." He had been unsure of the thought when it crossed his mind upon first sight, but with the way the rat king was, Harland would not put it past him.

MADDOX:

He let out a whistle as Harland turned to him with a look that might have annihilated an army. He merely smiled and shrugged.  

“Might not be yours, but you clean up his messes all the same.” Maddox held up his hand as if to assure Harland of his good intentions. “You don’t even have to drink to that one. Consider it a gift of goodwill. That and the fact I do not cut you down for that,” he said, his nose wrinkling as he thought of that damned endearment. He feared that the Duke would never stop using it now.

Maddox drank as much as he could take, before wiping his mouth. “It’s not a pretty story, ser, I do not care how much you think you might understand the King’s cruelty.”

He sighed, before lowering his voice so that Harland had to lean in and even then, his lips told the story more than his voice could. He could not bear to think Kit would hear it, but could not bear the thought of either of them leaving her side.

TW; abuse, manipulation, coercion, graphic sex, violence

“It was towards the end of the war, actually. When the King realized he would have to marry the she-wolf to win his war. He would not give up Kit. I do not think he could, even if he wanted to. He wanted her to have a bodyguard. ‘A shadow,’ he said ‘one that blends in with her own.’ “

“Of course, he wanted to ensure none would covet his beloved. So there was an audition. Seven of us, lined outside a tent, like saplings straining to catch a glimpse of a woman bathing at the river. She did not know we were watching. Not then, anyway.”

He took a drink, disgusted with himself even still.

“After, Oberon left her in the bed. She was so confused as to why he departed so quickly. It broke my heart, how abandoned she looked. He cut down any of us that he thought were aroused. Only I and one other remained. A few days later, he brought us before her. Asked her which of us she wanted for a bodyguard. I am only alive because she did not like me at first.”

He closed his eyes, remembering the way the fae’s blood splattered. Remembering Kit’s shriek.

“At the end of it all, he wanted to punish me for seeing his beloved so indisposed, but stated he could not bear to deprive his beloved’s bodyguard of an eye.”

He reached a hand to his scar.

“She was terrified of me for the first few decades,” Maddox growled. “I don’t think she looked me in the eye once those years.” He turned to Harland, huffing.

“I told you it was no pretty story.”

HARLAND:

Giving a bit of a nod, Harland shrugged as he got himself comfortable resting his chin on a knee that he'd pulled into his chest. It was almost boyish, the action, an almost comical for such a large faerie, but the Duke made it look graceful. Settling down to listen, the grim face he pulled when it began would set the tone for the rest of the tale.

He had expected something like this but...for it to be so clearly outlined, so...vile...it turned his stomach. There was something to be said for a king's cruelty, but this was not even cruel. It was barbarity at its most base form. To not only use Kit in such a manner but to brand the man in front of him, all because he had not….reacted to what had been done to her. Privately, Harland thought there was something commendable to killing the fae who had.

That was no man, to react to a woman being used in such a way, so heartlessly, so…fully. It was something Harland could not even wrap his mind around, truthfully.

And for the way he was chosen...it was no wonder Maddox did not speak of it. Why he hated that scar.

The Duke had such a visceral need then, to offer something. Not truly knowing how, Harland did what his hands wanted: to touch. Shifting around so he could free one of them, hesitant, the blond reached over and moved the other faerie's hand away from his own face, tilting it with a gentle grip on his chin so he could get a good look at the scar. A long look, and there was pain and sorrow and anger there, for Kit, for her shadow, for every pain that that rat had done to them all, Harland included. For the fact that Kit herself did not even realize…

The pad of his thumb was gentle as it passed once over the divot in Maddox's face before he drew his hand away, tucked safely around his own knees again. He looked down, eyes just hovering along Maddox's neck. Harland felt the need to say something, anything, but he could not form the words.

They had lodged in his throat, now, but actions spoke far louder, he knew. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he murmured, "It might not have been pretty, but it was true. I-thank you. It won't-" It won't leave this manor. He didn't know how to say that, not really, so he stopped the words before they began, hoping the other man could hear them.

With a sigh Harland looked back at Maddox and offered him a small, sad smile. "Have you ever heard the tale of how I came to be here? Most versions….they don't explain the truth of it but...I would share it. If you'll have it."

MADDOX:

He stiffened at the Duke’s touch, feeling as if his blood had turned to ice. Yet, he did not turn away or flinch. Merely allowed himself to be touched, even if he could not relax into such a feeling. But he did not look into the other’s face. There was something between the two of them and neither of them could bear to gaze upon it.

It was too real and too raw. It had no business existing while Kit lay on a table, fighting for her life. It had no business existing when they were on opposite sides of a forest likely to erupt into war again.

“Only what you would give, Harland.”

HARLAND:

Not many people knew the truth of how he became a knight. Much of it was shrouded in his own father's shame, the fact that he believed his son was a disappointment. Much of it Harland himself internalized but he would not be ashamed of it now.

"The first man I watched die I was 220. He was attacked by bandits, I think. He died choking on his own blood. When I got home that evening after I'd buried him, my father sneered at the blood on my hands. Told me that I'd be up early the next morning, mucking out the horse stalls since I'd begged off lessons." He sighed, picking at the hem of his shirt, lost in his thoughts. "I left instead. Went carousing. Found a noble's son at a party I was meant to attend anyway. Just wanted the thought to go away and...we were caught."

He laughed, bitterly now, at the image of it. They'd done nothing wrong, hadn't even had their trousers down, but the scandal had caught fire all the same. He picked up his bottle and swirled it around, staring without seeing as the liquid moved behind the glass. He took a drink and sighed through his nose.

"The rumors spread like wildfire, as you could imagine. My father...said I would ruin the family. That I had, probably by just being born. He gave me two choices: I left for training to become a knight, earned my keep that way, or I left. He would take everything from me, my name, my home. Everything I care about." Really, that only belonged to his mother. Idoya Briar had been the only solace her son had in this family. "Not that there was much to lose. My mother, perhaps, but she wouldn't have listened even if I hadn't tucked tail and ran."

And there it was. The fact of what he had done.

Shown his belly, given up.

"The intent was always there, to serve. But I'd not been given a choice. So I chose to fight and to learn. I hated it, but I did it. Then I was conscripted for the war. Spent a few hundred years fighting, learning to use my magic for violence...and then I was told to kill as many bloody faeries as I could with it." His voice had turned bitter then, eyes hard and his chin rested completely on his knees now, everything about his posture a shield to keep all of his most exposed bits shielded even as they were being laid bear.

"I should have died, Maddox. I almost-" he sighed, turned his head to look, unfurled his fingers to tug at the edge of his collar, expose his throat for the other man to see, the ugly scar that curled around his neck. "I paid a price for it, and I continue to. I saved my men from being slaughtered and nearly died there, too. Instead of allowing me the shame of my actions, the Queen made me one of her own."

He dropped his gaze then, curled tighter in on himself. The bottle had been set down to the floor, and Harland didn't pay it any mind now.

"The only reason I was even able to offer a lord's rights is because my father won't disown a man seated at the council. I've a daughter. If he'd known about her, gotten his way, she'd have been drowned at birth."

MADDOX:

He took a long drink as he listened. He placed the tips of his fingers on the other’s neck, tracing an ugly pattern on a beautiful man. “Your father sounds like a cunt,” Maddox said, his harshness a stark contrast to his gentle touch.

What a cowardly man, he thought, to mistreat his family so.

“Those who ask us to fight always seem to take our shame and call it a victory, don’t they? As if any bloodshed isn’t a crime of its own. To celebrate something that only occurs for necessity's sake-” Maddox scoffed, withdrawing his touch and returning to the bottle.

He wanted to be able to say something to comfort him, but there were no words. Cruel men remained in power and good men remained haunted by the things they had done for those same cruel men. Innocents’ blood was spilled without any tears to mourn them.

He did not know how to pull either of them out of the dark hole they had fallen into. Instead, they seemed to grow closer with each minute and cling to each other. He had not known how dangerous the game would be. He had underestimated the Duke again. Celestials and Ancients only knew what ruin would come of them now. But it was far too late to stop their descent now.

“This daughter. You treasure her more than anything.”

HARLAND:

Even though the touch was gentle, even though he could not feel it, Harland still flinched at the fingers on his throat. He was unused to gentle hands, to comfort given in actions, even if he was practiced in giving it himself. He had been denied such things the moment he had come of an age that his father decreed it to be so. Not even his mother had denied the edict; it was easier to acquiesce to it than it was to fight it. So Harland didn’t and neither had she. Still, the breath he sucked in and the way he tilted his head was entirely involuntary, a reaction to something he had lost and had never regained.

After a moment, a stark and shameful feeling bubbling up in the Duke’s belly, Harland ducked his head and pulled away. A laugh that broke off at the end escaped from his throat but there was almost no feeling behind it, so lost was he still in the mire of his own thoughts. It wasn’t until Maddox spoke again that he looked at him, surprised by the question.

And, then, Harland smiled.

It came easy to him, this smile, this one that the thought of Freya caused. He had never known her as a little girl, had never gotten to be a true father to her then, but he was trying now. Celestials, how he was trying. So, he nodded, took a small drink, and settled in to speak for a moment on her.

“She is all I have left of her mother. I didn’t know how to keep myself out of the Wildlands, still don’t. Quite literally ran into her when I’d fucked off from an argument with my father. She was clanless, then, but the Wolves took her in…” he stopped, hesitant. He would not reveal his daughter’s name, did not want her identity to get back to the king. It would harm her far more than anyone could ever know. He glanced away, a wry smile on his lips. “I never knew. Not until after the war. Three hundred years, and I never knew I had a daughter.”

He took a drink, realized that his tremors had subsided, and wondered at how well alcohol could cure pain. Perhaps if he drowned himself in it it would all go away.

“Her mother died just before the war ended. She’s been with me now...six years. It is...difficult. She’s stubborn. Strong-willed,” a hint of pride entered his voice even as he complained, “but she is mine. And I would kill anyone who hurt her.” He turned to the other man then, and there was a sliver of a truth there, something that had gone unsaid but was known, all the same. In some way the gravity of the situation had been lost; whether it was the booze or the conversation, Harland did not know, but they’d been laid bear for the evening. There was something powerful in that, even if it was hard to swallow. After a moment, he tried his hand at another guess.

“You wanted to be something other than a knight, once, before the war. Maybe a blacksmith, a sellsword, perhaps even a wood carver, but it never so intimately involved the king, or your mistress.”

MADDOX:

He smiled in return, glad to see the Duke smile in spite of himself. In spite of how it was safer for them to take no joy in each other’s relief.

“Family does always seem to find a way back to each other,” Maddox said, not probing any further. It would do no good to ask questions that could not be answered for anyone’s safety. It was better he did not know about the identity of his daughter. It probably would have been better if he did not know about the existence of a daughter. It was information he knew was not shared lightly.

Maddox laughed, “Drink, Your Grace. All I’ve ever wanted was to be a Knight. Wanted to protect everyone I could. Defend the innocents. Imagine my surprise when I realized how infrequently Knights were able to do anything honorable. What a bloody fool I was.”

“You surprise yourself with the tenderness you feel towards my Mistress,” Maddox began, eyes firmly on the nearly empty bottle in hands, “and towards me.” He did not dare look up to see where his words had landed.

HARLAND:

The Duke’s eyes caught the answering smile and filed it away, tucking it into the corners of his mind to keep safe. He had a feeling it was a rare sight, indeed, to see the shadow smile. Or, rather, to smile like that. “Indeed it does,” he murmured, nodding along with the words. It was truth enough.

Somehow the thought didn’t surprise him. Then again, Harland had found himself thinking many things about the other man in a single evening. Not all of them came to shock him anymore. But he huffed through his nose all the same and took a drink as he was told. He smiled when he was through, cocking a brow at the other man’s words. “Naive or honorable, but not foolish. Or perhaps I’ve yet to decide which is more correct.” It was a twisting of Maddox’s own words, just another thing he had done this evening that had twisted Harland’s gut into knots.

"I wanted to be a carver, if I'd not been a noble's son. If he had disowned me instead of bothering with it all. I honed the skill during the war but," a shrug, almost dismissive, "now it is something I do when I cannot sleep." The guard’s next guess made Harland go quiet, a breath sucked in and held there, tenuous as the frail truce they’d somehow fumbled out in the dark. But, in a way, it was not. Maddox’s eyes were downcast but the bottle still felt heavy in the Duke's hand as he lifted it to drink.

The rest of it was gone by the time he was through.

Then he steeled himself, jaw clenched, as he reached for the other faerie. If he was going to damn himself, he might as well do it fully.

Harland turned Maddox’s head with a firm, gentle grip on his jaw, dragging him closer by that hand alone, eyes searching and careful as he felt for the scar that had marked him so harshly. In a way, the thought that it didn’t matter where it had come from crossed the Duke’s mind. He liked it, all the same. His eyes held Maddox’s for a moment, a single sliver of time, before Harland crashed his mouth into the guard’s own, head angled so he could deepen the kiss if he wasn’t bit or stabbed.

MADDOX:

When the Duke went to drink, Maddox placed the now empty bottle on the ground.

Again, he stiffened at the touch. He did not necessarily want to meet the fae’s eyes. It would be better if it was dark. It would be better if they would be able to pretend this was the result of stress and alcohol. It would be better if it never happened at all. His Mistress was lying motionless, fighting for her life. Her bodyguard was drowning in a Seelie Duke’s eyes.

His stomach tightened, from shame or desire he did not know.

But his mouth opened all the same. He was growling against the other fae’s lips, his hands running up his sides and yanking him almost off balance. It had been too long since he had known anyone’s touch, but the motions came back to him all the same. A hand rested on Harland’s neck, tilting his head with a force too rough to be considered gentle and too soft to be considered firm, and Maddox began planting kisses along his chin, his ear, his neck.

They were doomed now. Might as well enjoy it.

HARLAND:

Harland laughed, quietly, into Maddox's mouth, the sound barely concealed as he felt the other faerie respond. It was something he was almost dizzy with, the response. He always was. But, more than that, it was the fact of what they were doing. There should be nothing gentle about it, should be nothing but bruises and biting kisses. Yet, Harland wanted none of that. None at all.

Maddox's hands found his sides and tugged, pitching the Duke sideways and off center, but he could respond in kind. The bottle had fallen from his grip when the guard had traveled down his jaw, towards his neck, the hand on him guiding as much as it was a force he couldn't ignore. Harland's hands itched to touch so he let them, skimming them up Maddox's back, one to grip at his shoulder and pull him closer, the other to curl around his waist and tug.

The leverage from the chairs made it easy to get the other faerie into his lap, even if it did require a bit of maneuvering. However, once he was satisfied, Harland surged upward, lips attacking the skin at the juncture of Maddox's neck and shoulder, trailing up his neck and into his jaw, lips dragging against the scar beneath them, a hand curling fingers into the fine hairs at the nape of his neck.

He'd happily pay it lip service if it replaced the look of disgust on the guard's face at its mere existence. It was the least he could do.

MADDOX:

Maddox leaned his head back. Oh, Harland would never hear the end of this. He had spent half the night with that damned princess nonsense and now he was pulling him onto his lap. He was lucky he knew what he was doing otherwise Maddox might have knocked him onto the ground. Or knocked him upside the head.

He contented himself with kissing him harder, his fingers digging into anything he could grasp.

Kit began to groan and Maddox extracted himself from Harland like he was being burned. They held their breath for a moment, but she did not wake up. Maddox ran a hand through his hair, muttering a curse.

“I’ll grab us another bottle. We need it.”