Chapter Text
Joss is twelve when Father tells him over supper that they will be joining Lord Caskey’s court.
“What does that mean?” Joss asks, looking at Father.
“Lord Caskey has asked me to join his court to assist with matters of coin. Since I have taken this land and made it profitable, he is desiring a review and adjustments of his properties, if needed. We will live in his castle for a long while, so make sure to say goodbye to your friends. I do not know when we will return.”
Joss’s fingers clench on his fork. He is expected to just … leave? To say farewell to Master Tibbins, Cook’s mean-tempered, one-eyed tabby that likes nobody but Joss? To never see his friends again? To never walk the fields, nor ride his horse across the moors?
Joss feels tears prickle in his eyes, and Father sighs, reaching across to palm his face, tipping it upwards. “I know this is hard, my son. I promise it will be worth it. We will be elevated higher and have more opportunities. You can learn things I cannot teach you.”
He pulls back, spearing a piece of apple and holding it out to Joss with a soft smile. “Besides, he has a son. Gawin. About your age. I am sure you will be best friends in no time.”
Joss opens his mouth sulkily and takes the gift from his father, the apple's tart sweetness bursting across his tongue.
Gawin, huh? I hope he’s nice.
~~~
It takes a full day of riding, Father in his carriage, Joss astride Levi, his gelding, as he hates the swaying and lurching oppressiveness, before they reach the Caskey estate.
The keep looms large and foreboding as they get close enough to see it, passing through the nearby village, bustling with activity. Children and animals are everywhere, and Joss is somewhat buoyed by seeing some boys near his age playing with a ball, throwing it back and forth, screaming wildly as they throw it into a hoop.
“Father, can I--” Joss starts, and Father shakes his head, leaning out the window.
“We must go meet the Caskeys first. There will be plenty of time for you to make friends. We must do our duty. Lord Stephen is very happy you are coming with me. It seems his son is quite timid and withdrawn, and would benefit from having a companion.”
Companion. That is to be Joss’s title. He will join Gawin’s tutoring to keep his schooling going, and he will be instructed in court life. He enjoys horse riding, archery, and has recently begun playing stoolball with other children in town, and he very much enjoys being outside and active. He hopes he is allowed to keep doing these things, or how much of it he will have to sacrifice for the little Lord's whims...
Clenching his jaw, he shifts his grip on the reins and spurs Levi on, following the carriage through the gates and hopping down once they come to a stop. Attendees rush forward to help Father’s servants unload, and the carriage door opens, and Joss offers a hand to help Father down.
“Good boy,” Father says, wheezing a little, and hugs Joss, leaning on him to walk inside.
The castle is grand, with huge vaulted ceilings, the smell of freshly baked bread and stone, stained-glass windows, and huge fabric banners hanging from the rafters. It’s clean, the servants all look well fed, and their uniforms are tidy.
Joss follows Father to the great hall, where a man with sandy-blonde hair is bent over one of the tables, tracing a map while talking to two other men, all of them looking happy.
“Your Grace, the Sangngerns have arrived,” one of the servants announces, and Lord Caskey stands up, smiling widely.
“Ah, you made it! I hope the trip was not too taxing?” Lord Caskey says, walking over and embracing Father. He looks at Joss, who is already towering over most boys his age, his head at his father’s shoulders. “And look at you, Joss. Such a strapping young lad already!”
He squeezes Joss’s shoulder and ruffles his hair, making Joss laugh.
“My daughter Tala lives with her aunt at the moment, but my son should be around somewhere... Gawin!” Lord Caskey calls, looking behind him, and waving. Joss peers around Lord Caskey and sees a boy heading toward them. He seems tall and skinny, and as he gets closer, Joss feels his mouth go a little slack.
The boy is beautiful, no two ways about it. Big brown eyes with long eyelashes, soft brown hair, and smooth, pale skin.
Joss forces himself to be steady, his stomach flip-flopping wildly as he takes Gawin in more, eyes raking across his face. “Gawin, this is Joss. He is going to be your companion,” Lord Caskey says, bringing his son to his side, a big hand dropping on his shoulder.
Gawin looks at Joss, eyes wide as well, and Joss notes his cheeks go pink. “H-hello Joss. I hope your trip here was comfortable,” he says. Joss has to strain to hear him over the general noise of the castle, leaning in a bit.
“It was, thank you,” Joss says, hands behind his back, shoulders straight. His posture is one of the things Father is always on him about, especially since he keeps growing so much.
“Excellent. You two run along and get to know each other while we attend to things.”
Joss nods, thanking Lord Caskey as politely as he can, and follows Gawin out of the room.
“W-where do you want to go?” Gawin asks softly, as they walk down the corridors, servants bustling around them. Joss watches as he smiles at some of them, waving at an older woman who pinches his cheek, making him giggle.
Joss’s stomach flip-flops again.
“You want to show me your rooms? And then maybe we go outside and see the grounds?” Joss asks. Gawin nods, and they walk in silence to the living quarters, and Gawin shows Joss his three rooms -- his bed chambers, his music room (filled to the brim with instruments, half of which he can already play), and then the tutoring room.
There’s a double desk with one chair currently pushed in, the second chair against the wall at the back, with a thin layer of dust on it. It makes Joss feel strange seeing that visual.
He must be incredibly lonely. At least Joss has grown up with the other boys in the village, with constant noise and activity around him.
Gawin doesn’t fill the silence between them with chatter, nor does Joss. It seems neither of them is overly inclined to speak unnecessarily.
He points things out as they pass by, and Joss will ask questions; the flow of conversation is smooth. He keeps shooting looks at Gawin out of the corner of his eye, struck by how pretty he is. He’s never seen a boy like this before.
“Here’s our stables,” Gawin says, as the smell of horse and hay wafts across Joss’s nose. He spots Levi immediately, being brushed down by a stable boy, and waves at his horse.
“That’s Levi, my horse,” he says, pointing, and Gawin smiles and goes up to him, petting his nose. He slips a hand in his pocket and brings out a sugar cube, and holds it up to Levi, who takes it, crunching greedily on it.
They do a lap of the grounds, Gawin showing Joss where the vegetable garden is, what fields they have in season, and the quickest shortcut to the village.
“Do you visit often?” Joss asks, and Gawin shakes his head.
“Lessons take up all day, every day. When I’m not there, I’m with Pa, learning the estate. I don’t spend much time with people my age,” Gawin says, as they sit on a crumbling wall overlooking one of the fields. The wind whips around them, rustling Gawin’s hair, hiding his eyes. Joss wants to reach and push them back, but curls his hands in his lap. Behave.
“Mm, okay.”
“I…” Gawin starts, blushing again. He looks out over the land. “I was very happy when Father said you were coming. I’ve wanted a friend for so long.”
Joss swallows around the lump forming in his throat. He doesn't really understand why hearing Gawin say that is making him feel this way. “Yes. I am to be your companion,” he says.
Gawin nods. “I know. I’m sure you’re very angry, being taken away from your home to come live here and put up with me. I’m so very sorry. I will do everything in my power to make your time here comfortable,” Gawin says.
“It’s-- I’m not-- I’m happy to be here, Gawin. I am. I will miss my home and my friends, but I will make new ones. This is my home now,” Joss says.
The misery on Gawin’s face, how he feels responsible for Joss’s discomfort, is almost too much to bear, even though they barely know each other.
“Truly?” Gawin whispers.
Joss nods. “As long as I can play stoolball and ride my horse, I will be the happiest boy around.”
Gawin laughs at that -- a pleasing, lilting noise, to match everything else about him.
This boy will matter to me. I can feel it already.
*
It’s been four years since Joss moved to the Caskey estate with his father. A blurred thought of a long ride, and tiny Gawin, teary-eyed and apologising as they sat on a wall in the cold, is all he can remember of his arrival.
Now they’re sixteen and fifteen respectively. Gawin is being groomed as the successor to the Caskey seat, while his sister Tala is trained in the arts of court and mothering in preparation for her eventual betrothal.
Joss, on the other hand, spends hours a day training in the yard in the various arts of war, on his own path.
He learns boxing, sword fighting, and horseback combat, and has had the opportunity to study under Master Lieung, a visitor from Singapore who studied under the greats in China, and spends the better part of six months staying with them so Joss can learn from him.
“Why are you learning so much fighting?” Gawin asks one afternoon, sitting on a crate, long legs swinging.
Joss is currently going through sword drills with Woody, their arms master and blacksmith, a burly older man with muscles of steel, and a ruddy face from years bent over a hot anvil.
He’s coated in sweat, arms and legs aching, but he’s kept Woody on the back foot, and the steel he’d been gifted for his sixteenth nameday feels good and right in his hand.
“Good to know,” he grunts, ducking a parry from Woody, and darting in, his sword clanging off Woody’s chestplate.
He does not say, it is the only way I can guarantee my place beside you.
He does not say, it is the only way I can protect you.
He does not say, I would kill everyone if it meant you'd never stop smiling.
Gawin sighs and keeps eating his apple, and Joss gets distracted watching him lick the side of his hand, and Woody gives him a smarting blow off the side of his helmet, making his ears ring.
“Focus, boy,” Woody snaps. Joss shakes his head and tries to lock back in.
But Gawin is distracting, eventually finishing his apple, and all Joss can feel is those chocolate brown eyes and impossibly long eyelashes roaming over every inch of his body.
Protecting his investment, Joss reminds himself. That’s all this is.
~~~
They sneak out to go to the village tavern when Gawin turns sixteen, and Joss is halfway through seventeen. He towers over the majority of the castle now, Gawin barely half a head shorter, but the maesters say he’ll likely end up just as tall as Joss. It sends a shiver through his body, knowing Gawin will match him in all things.
Joss is thickly corded with muscle now, having spent most of his teen years training diligently, and has risen amongst the Caskey forces, now a Knight Bachelor, second in command to the Knight Banneret, a well-regarded gentleman named Luke.
“I want to go drinking,” Gawin has whined at him all week, needling and pinching and flat out begging. Tala is with them, chatting with some of her ladies-in-waiting, ducking the occasional elbow from her brother as he bothers Joss.
“Your father will kill me if he finds out,” Joss mutters over dinner, hungrily attacking the pork roast Cook has made, after a full afternoon of karate drills for a visiting Master Lieung, who has returned after several years away, and wants to see Joss’s progress.
Lord Caskey loves his son and has wrapped him up delicately, but the few times he and Joss have gotten into mischief, Joss can tell Lord Caskey is happy his son is living life and experiencing it with Joss.
He can’t make it easy, though, has to be hard won, so Gawin will enjoy himself more.
"He definitely will. Leave Joss alone," Tala says, giving Gawin an eye roll as she pushes aside another flailing arm.
"He's fine-- please, Joss?" Gawin begs, tugging at his shirt, batting those impossible lashes at him.
Joss goes red and tries to focus on his meal. Tala regards them for a beat before turning back to her own food, a small smile playing on her mouth.
It isn’t until the torches are lit and the castle begins to wind down for the evening that Joss steals into Gawin’s chambers, dressed in plain breeches, a black shirt and riding boots.
Gawin’s in bed reading, and Joss’s heart thumps desperately in his chest as he shuts the doors behind him, fingers gripping the iron handles. Breathe, he begs himself. Breathe and do not ruin this.
“Joss?” Gawin asks, peering at him. “What’s going on?”
“Get dressed.”
Gawin’s eyes widen, and the joy that bursts across that face makes Joss want to die. The fact that he’s responsible for Gawin’s happiness like this is too much to bear.
“Thank you!” he exclaims, scrambling out of bed and ripping off his night shirt, throwing open his wardrobe and rooting around for some suitable clothes.
Joss takes in the milky smooth expanse of his back, muscle and bone moving underneath his skin, and he knows he’d taste like vanilla and jasmine, the scent of his bathwater lingering in the air every morning Joss comes to collect him.
He moves instead to take a seat near the fireplace, staring out the window until Gawin has finished tying his breeches, hair a mess.
“Let’s go!” Gawin exclaims excitedly, bouncing on the balls of his feet in front of Joss, holding his boots.
Joss, hopelessly endeared, reaches out and smooths down his hair. “Impossible,” he says, tugging at Gawin’s boots and helping him slip them on, Gawin using him to steady himself.
The tavern is loud, warm with bodies and spilt ale.
Joss finds a few of his friends from stoolball and wrestling, gets Gawin situated with them, and returns with two mugs -- ale for himself, mulled cider for Gawin.
“Take it easy,” Joss murmurs, sliding the drink in front of him. “This isn’t your fancy dinner wine.”
Gawin rolls his eyes, takes a sip, and coughs immediately. “Gods,” he rasps, eyes watering.
“Yes,” Joss says, grinning, drinking deeply.
The evening passes easily. Gawin gets through most of his cider and ends up leaning heavily into Joss’s side, flushed and glassy-eyed.
Joss is up a decent amount from the dice and halfway through a brutal chess game with Yacht, a stableboy from a nearby estate, when Gawin presses closer again, warm and soft at his side. Joss slings an arm around him as he moves his queen into checkmate. Yacht curses, handing over a stack of crumpled notes.
“You did so well, Joss,” Gawin giggles against his neck.
“Mmm. Thank you, Little Lord Caskey. Let’s get you back before you start blaming me for this tomorrow.”
Joss keeps Gawin tucked into his side as he says his goodbyes, pressing a coin into a young lad’s palm to return Gawin’s horse before guiding him toward the stables.
“Where’s’m horse?” Gawin slurs.
“You’d fall off him. You’re riding with me.”
He helps Gawin up onto Kavan, then swings up behind him. Gawin immediately wraps his arms around Joss’s waist, pressing his cheek to his back with a sigh. “You’re so solid,” he murmurs. “Good to hug.”
Joss stills. This has been happening more often lately, and it ends the same way every time -- Joss taking himself in hand, finishing to the memory of Gawin’s mouth, his hands, the way Gawin just is, when nobody else is watching.
It’s a bad idea. Gawin will be betrothed to someone else. This isn’t something he gets to have.
By the time they reach the castle, Gawin is half-asleep. Joss carries him from the stables to his room, kicking the door shut and laying him carefully on the bed.
He strips him down to his small clothes, pulls a nightshirt over his head, then returns with a damp cloth, pressing it gently to his forehead.
“Joss,” Gawin whines, eyes fluttering.
“What?”
“Don’t leave.” His fingers trail down Joss’s arm, catching his hand, lacing their fingers together.
Joss exhales sharply.
“Stay. Please.”
Joss wavers, for barely a second. “Okay.” He takes off his boots, strips quickly, dropping his clothes onto a nearby chair. He doesn’t look too long at Gawin, doesn’t let himself.
He climbs into bed, extinguishes the last torch, and settles on his side, facing Gawin.
“Joss?” Gawin whispers after a moment.
“Mm?”
“Can you… hug me?”
Joss hesitates before moving closer, pulling Gawin back into him, one arm wrapped around his waist, face pressed into his hair.
They sleep.
~~~
Another year passes, they’re hosting a dinner for some visiting noble wanker Joss gives two figs about, and he’s watching Gawin play his lute, singing perfectly in tune for the visitor.
The wanker has a daughter, Lady Jan, slightly younger than Gawin. She’s plain but pretty enough, Joss supposes, and the eyes she’s been giving Gawin since they arrived make Joss want to slash her father in half.
Instead, he’s stayed one step behind Gawin at all times, jaw clenched, and hopefully scaring her off enough. Alas, it appears not.
He finishes his song to raucous applause, and Lord Caskey gets up and thanks the delegation, raising a toast to partnerships and alliances. Joss rolls his eyes and drinks deeply from his cup. He’s a fighter, a knight, a sword attached to a body, and nothing more.
“Joss,” Gawin says, appearing by his side. Joss smiles up at him.
“I’ll never get tired of your voice,” Joss says, as Gawin sits down heavily next to him, their shoulders and thighs touching.
Gawin rolls his eyes, but his cheeks pinken up, and Joss pushes a plate filled with the best cuts at him.
Gawin hums happily and digs in, and Joss’s gaze wanders until he finds Lady Jan, staring at them, looking… frustrated.
Joss merely smirks and slings an arm around Gawin’s shoulder, his eyes hot and possessive as he ducks his head to whisper something pointless to him. Gawin laughs, rolling his eyes, but doesn’t push Joss off; in fact leans in, and Joss raises an eyebrow at her.
Hurt and embarrassment flash across her face, and she looks away. Joss listens to him chat about the archery tournament on the weekend and the next bout he wants them to participate in.
That night, Joss brings a drunken Gawin back to his bedchambers, singing loudly and tugging at Joss's hair, calling him all sorts of names-- handsome, kind, strong. Joss is barely holding on by a thread.
"Gawin, please, lift your legs," he grunts, trying to tug Gawin's boots off. Gawin just laughs, wriggling around. Joss gives an almighty pull, and almost goes flying, but the blasted shoe is in hand.
"Yay!" Gawin cheers, clapping, and Joss laughs, pulling the other off, before helping Gawin to sit up and take off his shirt and breeches.
"Your manservant should be doing this," Joss grumbles as he digs around, looking for Gawin's nightshirt.
"D'nt wan' it," Gawin protests, flopping back down. He pulls on Joss's shirt. "Stay."
Joss sighs, trying to untangle him, but Gawin is insistent, and the boy is strong. "Alright, alright. Let go before you rip my shirt."
"No," Gawin says, stubbornly. Joss slips the shirt off, and Gawin bundles it up and holds it to his chest, turning on his side, dark brown eyes watching Joss as he takes his pants and shoes off and climbs into bed. Yawning, he rubs his eye and turns to Gawin.
"Sleep."
"Lady Jan's father asked if I would be interested in a betrothal," Gawin whispers a few moments later, his face almost hidden behind Joss's shirt.
Joss feels like his heart is caving inside his chest. "W-what?"
Gawin nods. "Father approached me about it."
"And what did you say?" Joss asks, afraid to hear what's coming.
"I said no." Gawin's fingers tighten on the fabric, and Joss lets out a shuddering breath.
"Good," he says. "You are not allowed to leave me behind."
Gawin giggles and reaches out to press a hand against Joss's arm.
"I will not go where you cannot follow. You are my companion, after all," he says. Joss raises an eyebrow.
"That's a big promise."
"I know. I do not make it lightly."
Joss bites his lip, as every single urge in his body begs him to lean over and kiss Gawin, to close the distance. Just once, to taste that sweetness. To know what it would be like for Gawin to be his.
Instead, Gawin falls asleep clutching his shirt, and Joss takes himself in hand, as quietly as he dares, staring at Gawin as he finds completion, swallowing down every whimper, every gasp of Gawin's name he wishes to make.
He picks some clothing off the floor and wipes his hand off, cursing when he realises it's a shirt of Gawin's. He stuffs it under one of the pillows and hopes he remembers to put it with the rest of the dirty clothes to be washed tomorrow.
Lady Jan and her father leave the next day, rather abruptly, and Gawin tells Joss rather shyly he’s writing him a song for his nameday.
Joss feels like he’s going to explode with joy.
But he cannot name the feeling having taken root deep in his chest for Gawin, because naming it will only bring him more sorrow, more pain. To acknowledge what it is and what power it has over him will solve nothing.
He is sure Lord Caskey will never let him marry Gawin -- all his status and power has come because of Lord Caskey, elevating him to where he is as a Knight, and the few tournaments he’s won and the one skirmish has only reaffirmed that he hates fighting, hates it so much, but does it because it’s the only way he can maintain his status and delicate balance with Gawin.
*
Joss is summoned to Lord Caskey’s receiving room and stands in front of him, wearing his finery, having come from a roundtable with the smallfolk about grain storage and new crops, having attended instead of his own father.
“Joss, I have some news,” Lord Caskey says, after enquiring after his health and joking about his last tourney.
“Your Grace,” Joss inclines.
“Tala is turning nineteen this year. I spoke to your father, while he’s holidaying on the continent, and we believe this is the best way to tie our families together forever. So you and Tala will marry next year sometime.”
Joss goes stiff, feeling like he’s had an entire bucket of ice-cold river water upended all over him. “T… Tala?” he stammers.
He thinks of Gawin's older sister, of how he's barely spoken to her more than a handful of times over the years, all his time and attention for her little brother, and him alone.
Oh, how she is not the Caskey he wants. Not by any measure. This cannot be happening.
“Yes, Tala. Unless you want to marry Gawin?” Lord Caskey laughs, slapping a hand on his knee.
To have his gentle, secret hope said aloud -- then laughed off so callously -- makes Joss want to faint, to be ill, to collapse.
“Y-Your Grace,” Joss stammers.
“So, we will announce this evening at the feast, and your engagement will begin. Congratulations, Joss. Welcome to the family, truly.”
Lord Caskey smiles warmly at him, and Joss bows and turns to leave.
He makes it to his rooms and shuts the door, sliding down against it, his chest heaving. He can’t breathe. Scrabbling at his shirt, ripping it open, he lies down on the floor and tries to calm himself, as the tears come, utterly hopeless.
Gawin. Why can I not have you? This is torture.
After Lord Caskey announces the news at the next feast, and he and Tala stand there, frozen in their obligation of a betrothal neither of them wants, all Joss can do is watch Gawin’s face crumple, and his companion collapses into himself.
Joss catches up to him in the courtyard a day later, trying desperately to find him and being avoided so expertly, after Gawin demands Lord Caskey let him go to the front to fight.
He grabs him and spins him around, trying not to stagger off-kilter as Gawin's beauty overwhelms him. “Gawin, for god’s sake, just hang on a minute!”
“What do you want, Joss?” Gawin explodes, his voice cracking. Joss wants to implode; the pain radiating from his chest is enough to kill him.
He will not survive this fight, surely.
“Why are you volunteering to go fight all of a sudden? We just said not two days ago how fucking pointless this war was.”
Gawin crosses his arms. “I changed my mind.”
Joss reels. “But-- you haven’t talked to me about this at all. We talk about everything.”
“Not everything. I am capable of making decisions like this on my own.”
“No. You never make decisions like this on your own. Just last week, you came to me to ask for help on picking your new livery. The other month, you wanted my input on a new sword. When we were twelve, you wanted advice on a haircut. Fifteen, your first broadsword style. Why now? Why are you so angry with me?” Joss blinks back tears and stops. “Is… is it because of the betrothal?”
Gawin clenches his jaw. “I’m going to fight. What you do with your life is your business.” He goes to move past Joss, but Joss steps in front of him, hands out, eyes wild.
“Gawin, I-I didn’t know it was happening. I swear to you. I have no romantic interest in your sister, I’d never--”
Joss halts suddenly. I’d never marry anyone but you. All I want is you. All I’ve ever wanted has been you, my darling. My joy.
“Stop, Joss!” Gawin explodes. Joss startles, stepping backwards, his mouth dropping.
Gawin’s never yelled at anyone in his life, ever. He’s always been a sweet, malleable child who grew into a tall, introverted young man with a beautiful face and a devil with a sword; aggression didn’t come naturally to him. That was Joss’s role -- his best friend, confidant, protector… his everything.
“Just… stop. And leave me be. I hope you and Tala have a wonderful life together,” Gawin chokes out.
“Gawin, I beg of you, please… don’t leave me,” Joss whispers, his eyes shining, as Gawin pushes past him and into the depths of the keep they’ve both called home forever now.
He sinks to the ground, sobbing, tears rolling down his cheeks, the Knight Banneret reduced to this.
~~~
The war is exactly as fucking pointless as they knew it to be.
Joss gets pinned down on day three, slicing and cutting his way through by sheer will, driven by the one thing he’s always been driven to.
Get to Gawin.
He lost sight of him an hour ago, the forest green and navy smeared and mud and blood, their horses gone. Bodies everywhere, screams of agony, the sound of sword meeting intestines and hearts.
Get to Gawin.
Joss slices through body after body, mindless with his determination.
Get to Gawin.
His helmet takes a blow, and he casts it aside it not long after. He swears he sees Gawin, also without a helmet, the final distraction in a long line of them.
“You’re okay,” Joss breathes, relief breaking through the storm of his heart, despite the rain above, and the misery below.
That moment is his downfall, allowing an industrious pair of hands to get around his neck and wrench.
Joss goes down with one final swing, taking his killer with him.
Choking on something hot and wet, Joss stares up at the sky, Gawin floating in front of his dazed vision, in every iteration.
Gawin at twelve, kind and gentle.
Gawin at fourteen, willowy and sly.
Gawin at fifteen, wanting to drink.
Gawin at sixteen, drunkenly clutching him on a horse and cuddling up to him at night.
Gawin at seventeen, and eighteen, more wondrous with each passing day.
Gawin, with tears in his eyes, wishing Joss a happy life with the Caskey he does not want, has never wanted.
“I… love you, Gawin,” Joss rasps, windpipe all but crushed. He can barely breathe, and time is running out.
He hears them. Gawin. His movement in his armour. He’d know that sound anywhere.
“J-Joss,” Gawin chokes out, sobbing, as he crawls closer, shaking him. “Joss, no.”
Joss cannot move, cannot speak, cannot blink. It’s taking every piece of strength left in his soul to stay, to hear what Gawin is saying.
“Joss, I am sorry,” Gawin gasps, fingers digging into Joss’s sleeve. “I should… I should have listened to you…”
He coughs again, blood splattering on Joss’s chest plate, the same colour as his livery, sliding along the cold metal. He sobs hopelessly, sinking against Joss’s body.
“What a waste… for our story to end this way…” Gawin hiccoughs, bringing a shaking hand up to stroke at Joss’s jawline, his finger sliding along his bottom lip. It feels like heaven, a spark of warmth.
Joss is so cold. He can barely hold on anymore.
Gawin, my darling. My joy.
Gawin leans forward and presses a soft, trembling kiss to Joss’s lips.
“Joss. I love you, Joss…” Gawin collapses as he takes his final breath, draped across him, as they both depart for the great beyond. Together at least, companions in death.
*
It happens later than it should. Or maybe exactly when it’s meant to. Joss has never been good at naming things early.
He feels them, sits with them, lets them settle into something he can understand before he ever tries to speak them out loud.
It’s easier that way, and it’s how he’s always been.
So he doesn’t say anything at first.
Not when Gawin starts going quiet between takes, staring off like he’s listening to something no one else can hear.
Not when he startles awake on set, breath coming too fast, hand clenched tight around nothing.
Not when he flinches during a scene when Joss grabs him harder than necessary, and something in Gawin’s expression breaks for half a second before he pulls it back together.
Not when a tug begins, somewhere deep in his chest, bringing him back to Gawin, every single time.
~~~
The dreams begin not long after they meet for the first time.
Snatches, thoughts, moments of drift. Warmth, cold, pain, pleasure. Nothing more than just a smear of a picture, a courtyard, a sword.
They start to become something more tangible the next time he meets Gawin.
Rain hits his armour, and he slips in the mud. A pain, somewhere, he can’t pinpoint. Misery.
Turning-- like he’s supposed to find someone, but they’re not there.
The next dreams are movement, through corridors of what looks like a castle, stained windows, pressure and anxiety weighing on him. Through a courtyard, dogs running around, mud and muck, annoyance at someone lost, not wanting to be found. Through a field, an unbearable lightness in his chest. Pushing through people, calling out a name he can’t yet hear.
He’s close-- he knows he’s close--
And then he wakes. Thumping a fist on the bed.
More dreams as 3 Will Be Free is finalised, except this time he sees. He sees the shape of his shoulders under a forest green coat, the familiar swoop of his hair, the fit of his boots.
He turns, Joss wakes, and wants to punch something.
The next dreams don’t come until filming is almost done, and this one shows him Gawin.
Joss is lying somewhere, rain splattering on his face, and Gawin leans over him, sobbing his name, clutching him.
Joss tries to move-- tries to reassure him, but he wakes.
And for the first time, he cries. Hot, angry, bitter tears.
What is happening to me? Why this? Why now? Why Gawin?
He dreams of a bed, cuddling someone, a hand pressed against a flat stomach, smelling hair of vanilla and jasmine. Warmth, comfort, connection, pinkies linked, indelible.
Something tightens between them, pulled taut, and Joss doesn’t want to let go. Can’t let go.
Joss wakes with his hand curled, as though he were still holding on.
~~~
Gawin comes to him while he’s rehearsing, their moment culminating, the truth spilling between them, ugly and real, emotions a tempest swirling around them, the then and now crashing together in a symphony.
Joss stands there and listens as Gawin falls apart, telling him of their history together, explaining the dreams that have been plaguing him for weeks, making him feel like he’s going insane, all on his own.
But he is not alone. Has never been alone.
Even when he had Gawin, and didn’t truly have him, he did.
He kisses Gawin, the happiness soaking into his bones, as the memories of his past life align with this one, settling in, the love and their red thread connection crystallising, reminding Joss of who he is, and when he belongs.
The dreams cease, and settle into memory, Joss knowing them to be true. The red thread between them, from Tala, in her last act of love for them, a comforting and solid connection, fatedness and love bringing them back together.
My soulmate, Joss hums, holding Gawin close, breathing him in.
*
London feels different. Joss isn’t sure if it’s because they’re in the middle of the tour -- three weeks of cities blurring into each other, airports and hotel rooms and stages all starting to feel the same -- or if it’s something else entirely.
They have a day off. No schedules, rehearsals, nothingness as a single, empty square on the itinerary that P’Palm had filled with Rest Day.
Joss has an idea.
“Are you serious?” Gawin asks, staring down at his phone.
Joss leans back against the headboard of the hotel bed, watching him. “Yeah.”
“That’s…” Gawin lets out a breath, checking Google Maps. “That’s like two hours out of the city.”
“Mm.”
“And… you want to go… there.”
It’s not really a question. Joss shrugs, easy. “Only if you do.”
Gawin looks at him then, properly. Something is searching in his expression, like he’s trying to figure out if this is a joke. “Why?” he finally asks.
Joss considers it. He could lie. Say it looked interesting. Say he saw it online. Say it’s just something to do. But, “I think we’ve been there before,” is what he settles on.
Gawin gives him a look before he nods. “Okay.”
They pack an overnight bag, hire a car, tell P’Palm where they’re going, and that they’ll be back in time for rehearsal tomorrow morning.
The drive is quiet. London fades into the countryside slowly, buildings giving way to open fields, narrow roads winding between low stone walls and stretches of green that look almost too perfect to be real.
Gawin has the window cracked open. The air is cool and damp, different from Bangkok.
Everything here is different, yet somehow so achingly familiar.
Joss sees the way the breeze moves through his hair, the way his fingers tap absently against his thigh, something restless sitting just under his skin.
He knows that feeling. He’s been carrying it for weeks.
Joss knows they’re close before the GPS says anything, glancing at it, as the pin gets bigger and bigger. He sits up a little straighter in his seat, eyes tracking the curve of the road as it bends around a low hill.
Something tightens in his chest, echoes, remembers riding down this path before it was a road, just dirt and a tendency to flood during the rainy season.
“There,” Gawin says suddenly, leaning forward. Up ahead, set back from the road, is the estate.
It’s been restored, so very carefully. The outer walls still stand, weathered stone softened by time, but the structure itself has been rebuilt into something livable -- windows fitted where there hadn’t been any before, the old keep reinforced and modernised just enough to make it habitable without losing its shape.
It shouldn’t feel familiar. It’s not the same place. Not really. But Joss knows it anyway. They both do. Inside and out, every centimeter.
They step out of the car.
Gawin exhales slowly beside him, trying to steady himself. “Okay,” he mutters. “That’s… weird.”
Joss glances at him. “Yeah.”
The gravel crunches under their feet as they walk up the path.
No one stops them. The booking had been simple -- one night, short notice, no fuss. Just another couple looking for something quiet outside the city.
Inside, it’s warm. Soft lighting. Low ceilings in some places, high in others. The original stone is still visible along the walls, uneven and worn, contrasting with newer wood and glass.
It’s majestic, and like someone tried very hard not to erase what it used to be.
Gawin steps in first and halts just inside the doorway.
Joss almost walks into him. “What?” he asks, their bags in his hands.
Gawin doesn’t answer straight away. His gaze moves slowly across the space. Taking it in. Not like a tourist, like someone who used to live here. Lifetimes ago. “I know this place.”
“Yeah,” Joss says, before he can stop himself. “Me too.”
They move through it, room by room, neither of them rushing, or saying much of anything.
Every turn feels like a question already answered, every doorway like something half-remembered.
The stairs are narrow, made of stone, worn smooth in the middle from centuries of use. Gawin’s hand brushes the wall as they climb, fingers trailing lightly over the surface.
On the next floor, there’s a long corridor, stretching left and right.
Gawin hesitates, just for a second. Then he moves toward the left, coming to a stop in front of the middle-most room.
His hand hovers over the handle as Joss steps up behind him and looks at him nervously. “Should I…” he trails off.
Joss nods, a hand on Gawin’s lower back.
He pushes the door open.
The room is lovely and sunny, large and open, with limited modern touches to ruin the theme.
A wide window set into the far wall, overlooking the grounds. The light outside is soft, grey, filtering in across the floor in a way that makes everything feel… muted.
The air feels different in here. Like something has been sitting for a long time, waiting.
Gawin stops in the centre of the room, turning slowly, taking it in. The way his shoulders rise and fall with each breath. The way his hands flex slightly at his sides, like he doesn’t know what to do with them. “This was…” Gawin starts.
Joss steps closer. “Yeah,” he says. “I know.”
Gawin lets out a shaky breath. “Do you?” he asks.
Joss doesn’t answer straight away. He reaches out instead. His fingers brush against Gawin’s hand, then slide down, familiar now, until they hook lightly around his pinkie.
The reaction is immediate. That same pull. That same quiet, steady warmth threading up through his arm, settling deep in his chest.
Not new.
Never new.
Gawin’s eyes flutter shut as Joss closes the space between them. “I think I’ve spent a lot of time in here with you,” he says quietly.
Gawin’s breath catches.
Joss’s thumb presses against the side of his finger. In the now, while drowning in memories of then. Of lying on the floor in front of the fireplace with the dogs, watching Gawin play his lute, or paint, or review landholding disputes. Joss working on his sword drills while Gawin bathes. Joss eating a late supper at Gawin’s table, while Gawin yawns, quietly together.
“And I don’t want to leave this time,” he adds.
Gawin nods, eyes opening and glazed over, as the memories sink around them both. Of that night after the tavern, in bed together, holding each other. How much they wanted to kiss, to make love. Held hostage by their station, by their companionship and fear.
Not anymore.
Joss kisses Gawin, and Gawin moans, wrapping his arms around Joss, deepening it.
Utter bliss.
Joss walks them back to the bed, Gawin kicking off his shoes, Joss not far behind, as Gawin’s fingers fumble at his belt and jeans.
“I need you,” Gawin gasps, and Joss nods, humming against his mouth, not breaking their kiss for anything.
Gawin pulls off his shirt and jumper, scrambling for Joss, and tugs him on top as he’s kicking off his underwear and reaching in the side pocket for the lube he’d picked up from the pharmacy.
“Boy Scout,” Gawin jokes, as Joss pops it open and coats two fingers.
“You’d be screaming if I hadn’t,” Joss defends himself, pushing in, Gawin’s back bowing, his legs falling open.
“F-fuck.”
Joss kisses him as he opens him up, too overwhelmed with them and now to take it slow, feeling almost possessed by the spirits of Lord Gawin and Ser Joss, living vicariously through them.
“J-Joss, I need you,” Gawin gasps, as Joss gets a fourth finger in. Joss nods and pulls out, as slow as he can, coating himself in more lube and moving into place.
He sinks in, forehead pressed against Gawin’s, harsh breaths puffing over his face, as he tries to keep from losing it, from ruining whatever this moment is between them.
Gawin wraps a leg around Joss’s hip as Joss begins to thrust, fingers tangled in the sheets, eyes focused on Gawin, his pleasure and his joy.
“It feels… like they’re here… with us,” Gawin gasps out, as Joss hits his prostate, grinding down.
Joss nods. “They are with us. Inside us. They are us.”
“N-ngh, I just… he wants me to call you your old name… it’s… weird,” Gawin grits out, as Joss’s thrusts get harder, the desire scorching all around him.
“He wants me to call you by that name as well… my little Lord Caskey. Lordling Gawin.” The old names spill out, and Gawin slaps his arm, but there are tears in his eyes.
“Ser Joss. My honour. My companion,” he rasps.
Joss has to kiss him; it’s too much otherwise. Too much to bear.
“We need to give them this,” Joss says, as he gets his knees beneath him, power in his movements, chasing their pleasure. “They need to know they get their happy ending.”
“Joss, fuck, please--” Gawin chokes out and gets a hand on himself. “I need to come on you.”
Joss is taken by the spirit of times past, as Gawin is, and their lovemaking slows, kissing deep and lush, Gawin’s tears spilling over.
“I never thought we’d have this,” Joss breathes, nosing along Gawin’s cheek, breathing him in. His divine smell.
“I dreamed of you every night,” Gawin confesses, taking Joss in, all of him, dropping soft kisses on every piece of skin he can get to.
“We made it, together,” Joss says, feeling his orgasm building low in his spine, Gawin’s lips swollen from his attentions. “We will never be parted again.”
Gawin comes at that promise, squeezing down on Joss, milking him for all he’s got, coating his fingers and abdomen in his pleasure.
“Joss, love, come in me. Stay with me forever.”
Joss can only do as he’s told, letting out a moan as he comes, emptying deep inside Gawin.
He exhales, the tension finally leaving his body in a slow, unsteady wave, his forehead dropping against Gawin’s shoulder.
For a second, everything is quiet. Just him and Gawin, warm beneath him, breathing him in, and he belongs there.
Joss doesn’t move. His hand finds Gawin’s without thinking, fingers slipping down until his pinkie hooks, and he presses his face into Gawin’s neck, breathing him in.
“I’ve got you,” he murmurs, voice rough, quieter than anything he’s said all night.
Gawin hums in agreement.
“I know. I love you.”
Joss smiles, at peace.