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“You know, it’s not every day,” Zazie the Beast began, voice light and jovial but expression unreadable beneath the mask, “That an enemy commander guilty of slaughtering scores of my troops waltzes into my camp, alone and unarmed, and announces plans to commit treason against his king.”
Knives simply stared back into the area where Zazie’s eyes would be, if visible. Both sides of the wide but dimly lit tent were flanked by Worm soldiers, and an array of rich and vibrant fabrics hung in decorative drapes across the high makeshift ceiling of the temporary encampment. The tent flap was shut him behind him, sealing off the sunlight and leaving only the torches burning in their sconces to serve as a source of light, casting twisting shadows through the enclosed space.
The cloying fragrance scenting the air almost concealed the lingering stench of smoke and embers still carried over the winds days later, seeping even through the cloth walls of the tent. A reminder that Zazie the Beast’s raiders, operating with methodical efficiency, like some kind of hive mind, reached the Noman border, easily overwhelming the ludicrously scant forces stationed at the fortress, continuing on to raze a number of nearby villages to the ground. Their forces arrived only in time to find smoke rising from charred structures and corpses littering the ground; A small act of retaliation, and an answer to the Noman King’s lack of decisive action.
It was Zazie’s typical hit-and-run tactics, and Knives knew marching out to the border had been wasted effort from the start. And yet, his regiment had been directed to standby and establish a base for future supply lines in case of an invasion that would never come. In reality, the Worms had neither the intention nor the capacity to invade; Their act was a localized retaliation invited upon these villages by their own actions, with the Worms believing they had simply taken what was owed them.
And Knives knew the time to strike his own deal with the ruler of the Worms had arrived.
“Ah, but even without your blade, you’re not unarmed, are you? “ Zazie continued on, shifting forward in his seat at the center, and Knives knew he must be grinning widely beneath the mask. “I’ve seen you on the battlefield ‘Millions’ Knives. Human eyes may not be sharp enough to see the power imbued into your weapons, but mine are.” His chuckle held an ominous lilt. “Here I thought the dryads had all died out – imagine my surprise to see a human capable of wielding their magics serving as Knight Commander of the Kingdom of Noman.”
“Are you interested in discussing terms or not?” Knives cut him off irritably. He hadn’t expected Zazie the Beast to be so damned chatty.
Zazie shrugged and leaned back in his seat. “You’re right that having you on the throne would only benefit me. I’ll pledge troops to support your coup and recognize you as the legitimate king after you usurp Roberto’s crown. If...”
Go on, he motioned.
“First, my people will not suffer retaliation for taking back what rightfully belongs to us. Second, we demand the right to deal out our own punishment on Noman citizens pillaging in our territory. And finally, I want a high-ranking Noman’s hand in marriage.”
A hostage, then. It was rational enough that Zazie would seek collateral.
“And who would you suggest?” Knives questioned.
“My scouts have eyes and ears everywhere, you know. And I’ve heard all kinds of interesting things.“ Zazie’s voice dropped to a gleeful murmur as he rested his chin in his hand, and Knives could hear the grin in his voice this time: “What would you say if I were to demand that sweet brother of yours as my asking price?”
It was obvious bait, but he still felt his hand twitch as he leveled Zazie with a glare he knew the other would feel piercing through the mask. Perhaps he’d demonstrate to Zazie just why he’d been so confident entering enemy territory alone; if they were to have a fruitful partnership going forward, the sooner Zazie understood there were certain points on which you didn’t push him, the better.
“Haha, I jest!” He cackled and waved his hands in mock surrender. “I’d rather have one valuable in the eyes of your nobility as a guarantee my terms are honored. I want Roberto’s daughter.”
Roberto only had one daughter. He didn’t need to ask.
“Very well.” He answered easily.
“Just like that?” Zazie paused, tilting his head then. “Here I thought you’d want Princess Meryl for yourself to grant you legitimacy. You’re taking the throne by force, after all – wouldn’t it smooth things over with the populace if you were to at least wed her after deposing her father?”
“I have no need to rely on such maneuvering.”
The ruler of the Worms leaned forward once again, as if he were attempting to stare through him with a legion of eyes.
“ Or could it be...” Zazie sing-songed like a mischievous child, “The great and fearsome Millions Knives is a hopeless romantic who can’t bear to marry for political gain when his heart belongs to another?”
Knives merely blinked in response, impervious, and stood to his feet.
“I believe we’ve agreed on terms.” He dismissed, turning on his heel and ignoring the clash of over a dozen Worm soldiers immediately pointing weapons at his back before Zazie waved them away.
“I’ll send word when the time comes.”
—
Mere hours later, a piercing scream rang through the Knight Commander’s tent as Knives’ informant –a man who went by the moniker ‘E.G. Mine'– stumbled forward, red splattering starkly across the linen walls as an arm flopped uselessly to the ground.
Knives’ longsword trembled faintly with how tightly he crushed the hilt in his grip. The man’s incessant howling and thrashing was like an obnoxious buzz in his ears, melding together with the thrum of his speeding thoughts and heartbeat.
Despite the fresh coat of blood seeping into the walls, his own pure white gambeson and silver plate mail remained spotless. How odd, soldiers assigned to his company sometimes murmured in hushed voices, that the Knight Commander never seems to have a drop of blood on him despite the seas of it he spills on the battlefield.
Legato remained unflinching to the side of the tent, arms folded behind his back while passively observing the spectacle, surely already formulating an explanation to the rest of the camp for the racket issuing from the Knight Commander’s tent. He needn’t bother – no one in the order would take issue with his actions. Grand Master Conrad himself would stifle any inconvenient information from leaking, far too enthralled with Knives’ overwhelming military prowess and indisputable results as a commander. All it took was a word from Knives and Conrad would act. He already had his support for the coming coup, and that meant the considerable number of those loyal to the grand master would support Knives.
It had taken years of painstaking toil and strategizing to lay the groundwork and reach this point, and his goal – the reason he went through the motions of allegiance to a king who spent more time drowning himself in his wine than governing his nation, to a dying land ripe for a dramatic restructuring under a more suitable ruler – was within reach. He could almost taste it on the back of his tongue, a tempting fruit promising to offset all he’d been forced to bear as he carved his way here.
But he couldn’t grow impatient now; To the blind eyes of the kingdom’s simpletons, he and his brother were still considered common-born, after all, and earning enough support that his rule would remain legitimate when he took the throne by force required careful planning. It had been a long process, gradually gaining power and influence over the years bit by bit in preparation to strike. And then finally, finally they could be together. That was why he did all of this. And yet Vash -
His brother. His refuge. His bliss. The reason he still drew breath.
It was not news of whatever unimportant mission the king and grand master were choosing to send his company on next that had provoked such ire from him, but a piece of seemingly benign news from a common knightly tourney, freshly delivered from back in the kingdom’s capital of July.
The dismembered man flailing on the dirt floor was dispatched to watch over his brother in his absence, tasked with reporting anything out of the ordinary to Knives. Despite Vash’s unparalleled skill with a bow, the younger’s reluctance to deal a mortal blow to enemies seeking to take his head got him wounded often. As such, despite his superior abilities and rank, he was often serving the role of instructor for junior knights and soldiers and stationed in the capital – when he wasn’t riding out to assist those beset upon by common bandits and raiders, those beyond the crown’s protection. And so, Knives had his activities monitored.
“Congratulations, Knight Commander. Your brother emerged from the tourney victorious, and wearing a lover’s favor of crimson. It seems he’s pledged himself to a chosen love at long last.”
The words shook him to his core. A rusty, blunt-edged dagger torn crudely through his heart would have been less excruciating, merciful even. He clenched his teeth, feeling like a wounded animal enraged and ready to strike.
For a knight to be offered a favor – a token from an admirer – was hardly uncommon for any knight. Knives himself had been offered plenty in the past, but naturally he didn’t spare any a single glance. To accept one, to wear it, was a public acceptance of courtship with the assumption that it would lead to marriage.
“Handle things here.” He ordered brusquely to his lieutenant.
“Will you be returning to the capital ahead of the march, then?” Legato asked plainly, more like a statement than a question.
In response, he only roughly sheathed his blade – it, too, devoid of any blood or imperfection. He stormed past the bleeding man at his feet without a glance, making a beeline to where his horse waited outside. The acrid seethe of betrayal ate his core like a caustic poison.
—
“You two were a gift from the forest.” Rem declared, pulling the two small boys close to recite once again the tales she so often did – of beings born of flora, magical creatures who lived within trees. Stories that had sounded like little more than dubious fairy tales at best to Knives’ skeptical mind. Entities who could call upon the the very spirit energy of the forests, trees, glens-
As she spoke, Knives reached out to the book lying open in her lap, allowing his fingertips to trace across a simplistic depiction of what appeared to be a nude woman, stepping forward from a massive oak as though she were unfusing from the trunk itself to take form. The artist had depicted skin glowing with a greenish hue, covered in geometric patterns.
“You two carry the blood of these amazing beings.” Rem smiled lovingly and patted their heads. “Maybe one day, you'll find that you can use that kind of magic too.”
“But I can’t use any kind of magic!” Vash whined with a frown, looking over to him for backup. “And neither can Nai!”
As it turned out, they did learn to use some dryadic magic as they grew older – and though she surely never foresaw that Knives would be making use of his latent dryad blood on the battlefield to augment common blades with magic, allowing them to slice even through dense steel and human bone with silky ease, he supposed Rem Saverem got her wish in the end.
The woman who acted as their “mother” was part of a small group of alchemical researchers calling themselves ‘Seeds’ who conducted forbidden research in pursuit of harnessing an unlimited resource for their experiments. Considered zealots seeking unlawful knowledge, they had been chased into the northern wilds of Noman to eke out an existence in this enclave of cutthroats, bandits, and the worst dregs of the land hiding from punishment. No place to raise children, he overheard Rem admit sadly to another resident, not realizing he was within earshot. It was a messy patchwork of tents and shanty huts overflowing with violence and vice, but for the twins this was where they spent their youngest years.
One night, Knives left Vash alone in their warm shared bed, bare feet padding carefully across the creaky floor in order to sneak down and pick open the lock on the hardwood chest he’d discovered the day before hidden beneath several loose planks in the cellar of their shack. He squinted down through the darkness at pages filled to the brim with a neat and narrow scrawl, illuminated by flickering candlelight:
A dryad– the notekeeper referred to her ‘Tesla’ – was kidnapped and taken far from her forest, from the tree to which her very lifeforce was connected, to slowly and painfully rot away under the alchemists’ supervision... but not before she was forced to procreate with a human male.
For the already weak dryad, giving birth to twins was the final death knell. The man who sired the children was documented to have been found dead shortly after, appearing to have suffered an agonizing death with flesh turned rough like bark and roots torn forth from various orifices of his body.
Knives’ heartbeat pounded in his ears as the notes creased in his grip – whether from anger, shock, or fear he wasn’t sure. He ground his teeth so hard his jaw ached as he packed the items back into the chest with shaky hands and hid it back under the floorboards. When he returned to bed and slipped back under the comforting blankets, he couldn't fall asleep until he reached out to squeeze his brother’s hand tightly in his own.
The next morning, he left out the more sordid details when he relayed the truth of their birth to Vash.
—
A few weeks later, their lives changed forever.
“You two take care, and remember not to leave home alone!” Rem shifted her pack onto her shoulder and kneeled down to hug each of them in turn, Knives simply nodding while Vash sniffled and dug his fingers into her tunic. She laughed fondly as she patted his head. “It's only one night! I’ll be back before you know it.”
Rem and most of the other alchemists were departing on urgent business – something related to a dubious experiment, if he were to hazard a guess – and the boys were being left in the care of one of her less senior colleagues. That was the last time they ever saw her.
The man they were left with was entirely different from Rem – unable to hide the distant light in his eyes when he looked at them. Viewing them with a level of detached observation perhaps, or maybe it was disgust. But then, Knives didn’t trust any of them anymore. Not even Rem.
His instinct was proven correct in the worst way possible.
The man took the twins along out of necessity that night while he went drinking at one of two taverns in the settlement. The common area inside was brightly lit with fireplaces, the air filled with a low din of boisterous talk, laughter, and arguments all together, and a stench of body odor and alcohol so thick it made his nose sting.
Towards the west side of the tavern was a conspicuous hallway, rather more dimly lit and lined with over a dozen rooms. He watched as a scantily dressed individual was led back towards that hallway after being offered money; this tavern was not only for partaking of food or drink, and he’d heard enough townsfolk gossip to guess vaguely at the unwholesome activities happening under this roof. His understanding may have only been vague at that age, but in this town, food was expensive and flesh was cheap; Knives understood enough.
“Gross!” Vash made a face beside him and spit the heavily watered down wine offered to each of them back into his cup. Knives grimaced at the disgusting action before picking up his own cup with a scoff at Vash’s immaturity. But when the dark fluid hit his tongue, he froze.
It was awful. He glanced over over to find Vash’s eyes were glued on him expectantly, a smug smile playing on his lips as he watched Knives’ reaction. He glared back determined, forcing himself to swallow his sip down, the bitter and sour flavor settling like something rancid on his tongue.
“Told you!” He frowned when the younger wasn’t fooled by his bravado, Vash nudging him and giggling as he kicked his legs out.
“How much?” A gravelly voice silenced Vash, cutting through the commotion of the room. The figure cast a shadow over their fireside table as it moved forward to stop directly next to their guardian. A man who looked like he hadn’t bathed in weeks, with dull eyes devoid of any emotion. Clearly a highwayman or bandit; there were plenty of this ilk who skulked around town.
The new arrival motioned towards Knives, and it would be far too late by the time he realized the meaning of that exchange.
“...Oh.” The drunken alchemist blinked up at the stranger, pausing for a moment as his mind registered what was being asked. Then surprise on his face melted away into thinly veiled disgust. “...Haha, no, sorry, these aren’t-”
His words were interrupted by a thud, a bag heavy with coin slamming into the rickety wooden table and causing the alchemist’s ale as well as the twins' wine to jump in their cups.
“Just one of them is fine.”
Their guardian’s throat bobbed as he swallowed. His eyes darted between the bag on the table and the stranger’s hand thumbing the hilt of the sword strapped to his waist as he waited for a response.
“...Fine.” He finally answered quietly before hastily taking a deep swallow from his tankard.
And only then did it dawn on Knives, with an icy sick realization, just what kind of deal was occuring. Vash scrunched his face beside him, looking between the adults with confusion.
A hand darted down to violently snatch Knives’ chin in a painful grip, forcing him to look up. Dirt-caked fingernails dug into his cheek as his face was turned from side-to-side, inspected like a piece of livestock. Bile welled up in Knives’ stomach as the stench of old sweat assaulted his nose, and he glared harshly directly back up into blank, fish-like eyes.
“...That’s too bad. Thought this one was the prettier of the two, but he seems like a brat.” The man released him all at once, instead gripping Vash’s arm, the other boy yelping with surprise as he was forcefully hauled to his feet. “I’m taking this one.”
Not a lot could shake Knives, not even at that age. He could take care of himself; but Vash was another story. He had no idea what was even happening. And at that moment Knives’ heart dropped in sheer terror.
Vash furrowed his brow, looking up at the man with a mixture of confusion and apprehension, without an inkling of what this man was after as he looked him over.
“Let go!” Knives demanded, leaping up. Panicking, he spun around. Only a few among the tavern crowd even looked over, some eyeing them with pity or disgust – but no one, not a single person, stepped forward.
And their worthless, drunken guardian just averted his eyes to stare at his drink, unwilling to meet his gaze.
“It’s not like you’re normal kids anyway.” He mumbled into his ale. “He’ll be fine.”
Knives grit his teeth, not even registering the taste of blood in his mouth.
What transpired beyond that point was a blur of frenzy and desperation – Vash realizing something was wrong, shouting as he struggled in the man’s hold as he was dragged away to the shadowy rooms off to the side of the tavern. Knives trying to pry his brother away to no avail, shaken off and knocked to the floor as a bedroom door closed ahead of him.
It was the most helpless he’d ever felt. The nausea that began in his stomach and coursed through him began to bubble like hot molten iron, something burning beneath his skin. He threw open the door in time to witness his younger brother being carelessly tossed onto a bed, looking to him with tears welling up in his eyes.
And his mind went white. His pulse pounded in his ears, his breathing rapid, and then–
It was like a sloppy wet crunch. An almost laughably simple sound.
Vash’s wide-eyed expression was showered in blood. The bandit’s head hit the floor with a dull thunk. Where a skull was once attached to the man’s body was now a mass of grotesque, wriggling roots, as though they’d burst from his neck, crudely tearing his head from his shoulders.
The man’s torso crumpled to the wooden floor like dead weight, and the room was completely still. Silent, save for the blood dripping down from the low-hanging ceiling beams, the sound echoing curiously loud against the backdrop of muffled chatter beyond the walls. Dark liquid continued to pour from the roots where the man’s head should have been, seeping into the floorboards.
That was the first time Knives was able to use dryadic magic, and also the first time he took a human life. It was messy, crude, something he felt with pure instinct more than controlled.
The odor was raw and vile – Knives had smelled wild beasts being gutted and cleaned before, when passing through the settlement’s market after hunters returned to peddle their successful bounty. How peculiar that human bodies carry a similar stench.
“N-Nai...” Vash shakily called out to him, dragging him out of his trance. “Are you okay?”
Perhaps it was the sheer amount of adrenaline pumping through his veins or simply deep relief, but Knives laughed as he surged forward and pulled his brother, drenched in blood, into a crushing hug.
He’d successfully kept him safe. But the fact remained he’d killed someone; a man who had engaged in behavior considered acceptable in an establishment like this. The uncaring attitude of the onlookers in the tavern before proved that no one cared about dwellers with such proclivities – they’d been sold by their own “guardian” after all. But they did care about murder. It was one of the things enforced in this lawless territory, a threat to the chaotic order that ruled the enclave – where vigilante justice meted out punishment mercilessly and without question.
“We have to go.” He said emphatically.
He’d caught a glimpse of one of the bodies hanging like a rag doll at the market gate, once. A warning to transgressors. Rem quickly steered them away from the scene, but not quickly enough; Slit her paramour’s throat, the chatter informed him, Got what was coming to her.
Children or not, they’d be strung up like that too. There was no time for comfort.
“But what about Rem?” Vash wailed miserably, failing to hold back tears as he stared wide-eyed at the corpse on the floor.
“You know she’s not back yet. We can come back for her later, but now we have to go.” He jostled the stunned younger boy, opting to tug him to his feet himself when he didn’t budge. “Vash!”
His shout seemed to do it; Vash flinched before warily nodding, seeming to trust himself to his brother’s judgment.
Knowing the younger boy was in a much worse state than himself, needed him, seemed to grant him sharpened clarity. He was focused as he hastily wiped the red spatter from his brother’s face with a blanket to mild success, tugging up the hoods on each of their tunics and firmly gripping his hand. Cautiously, they made their way back into the tavern proper, Knives taking care to block his brother’s bloodied form as best he could and avoid unnecessary alarm as they hastily made their way to the exit. But the clamor was such that no one noticed the two children fleeing the scene – least of all their “guardian”, face down on a table.
And they ran from the settlement; Ran until their lungs ached, until their little legs were screaming from exertion and ready to give out, and then pushed further still until finally the settlement was far behind them.
They spent the next weeks living on the move, managing to forage for food, Knives sometimes stealing food and money – only when necessary, given the fuss Vash made – making their way in a direction vaguely southward, unsure if they were being chased and whether they might be caught if they stayed in one spot for too long.
It was on one of these nights, so long ago and yet so vivid in his memory, when he first understood. The two of them were nestled against the wide trunk of an oak tree, taking refuge from the rain beneath its boughs and huddling for warmth. With his younger brother shivering in his arms as he slept, it dawned on him.
They were all each other had.
It should have been obvious, he knew – he’d known from the moment he made that gruesome discovery in the cellar. And yet it hit him so profoundly and indelibly at that moment. The unrelenting raindrops pelting leaves overhead drowned out whatever emotions he may have felt over that realization.
“Nai...”
His brother - the boy who struggled so much with leaving behind a home that would have destroyed them, who was always so naive and innocent– snuggled closer, unconsciously seeking his warmth.
Knives inhaled sharply as he looked down at the cherubic face, so similar and yet so different from his own. His eyes began to sting, his chest swelling with something he’d been far too young to identify at the time as he tightened his hold.
He needed him. The fragile boy shivering in his arms would never be able to survive without him, too precious and ill-fit for a world as harsh, unforgiving, and ugly as this one.
And he vowed that they would always be together. No matter what.
Later, Knives would learn that a group of alchemists was executed mere days after their departure, the corpses strung up as carrion – the very fate he’d feared for himself and his brother. Perhaps Rem and the other alchemists had caused trouble in the town over the twins' disappearance – such a valuable prize for their research – and come out on the losing end. He couldn’t say for sure. Perhaps they had even been executed in retaliation for their escape in the wake of a murder.
He spared his brother this truth, instead offering a rumor that Rem the other alchemists who left that day met their end at the claws and teeth of a pack of wild beasts and never returned to town.
—
Brad and Luida were a farming couple with no children of their own, and after catching the two haggard boys stealing vegetables from their fields, they allowed them to stay in their home in exchange for helping with fieldwork. That didn’t change even after they witnessed Vash manifesting his own dryadic magic to cure an entire patch of blighted carrot crops. Or perhaps, Knives thought cynically, that was the real reason they’d been allowed to stay at all. After all, their harvests had never been so bountiful before the twins arrived, their pockets never so full.
“That boy has death in his eyes.” Came the murmurs from the kitchen reverberating beneath the bedroom floor, Vash sleeping away in the bed beside his own. “He’s just protective of his brother, Brad. I know it’s a bit excessive, but with the kind of things they went through, is it any wonder he’s like that?”
They tried their best, but they never quite warmed up to Knives the way they did to Vash. That was fine by him – the feeling was mutual. As long as Vash was safe and they were together, it didn’t matter.
The years passed as they worked on that farm and grew older, and they were ever by one another’s side.
Then one day, Knives was confronted with the reality of the intense storm of his emotions that seized him whenever it came to Vash. Affection that refused to be ignored, the decidedly non-brotherly feelings that made something painful throb in his chest. Something far, far too big for a maturing boy to contain completely.
He’d been loading crates of produce into the carriage for Luida to sell at market the next morning when he frowned, noticing Vash was suddenly nowhere in the field.
He found him in the cottage kitchen, cheeks red with embarrassment while Luida wiped some bread crumbs off his face. Seeing him struggling, she laughed and pulled him into her arms, the small woman having to tug him down now that Vash had grown taller than her. It was the kind of scene he’d witnessed several times over the last few years, and while it had always caused his protective instincts to flare up, it was nothing new. And yet suddenly, it was like his core turned to cold lead. At that moment, the sight was unbearable. Unacceptable.
He must have been staring more intently than he realized and allowed the complex emotions swirling inside him to leak into his expression. Whatever it was that showed on his face, when Luida happened to look up and see him looming in the doorway, she let out a shrill gasp.
“Oh, Knives!” She exclaimed realizing it was him, letting go of Vash and lifting a hand to her chest with a deep breath. “You startled me!”
Vash whipped around in surprise, smiling apologetically when his eyes landed on him. “I got hungry and came in for a snack. Didn't mean to leave all the work to you!”
“Slacking off, then?” He teased, the frigid blood in his veins thawing immediately now that Vash’s eyes were back on him.
“Yeah, I’ll get back to it” Vash stuck his tongue out, but his eyes were nothing but fond. “You go ahead and relax for a bit yourself then, I’ve got this!” Vash brushed past his side and made his way to the door, never noticing the way Luida’s nervous gaze was pinned to Knives.
It started innocently enough, but the older he grew the harder it was to ignore; The seething irritation he felt crawling beneath his skin when Vash smiled so blindingly bright as Brad patted him on the head for a job well done. The twisting sensation in his gut spying a shy flush on Vash’s face as Luida fussed over his clothing. Gripping his fists hard enough that his fingernails drew blood in order to fight down the urge to drag Vash away when he watched him spending more and more time with friends he’d made in the village.
Vash was dazzling – of course it was only natural that others would notice too. How could they not ? But something dark and possessive welled up in him whenever he had to share.
But he endured – because no matter the attention he gave to others, Vash would always come back to him; chattering about whatever mundane things he’d done, tugging his hand or latching onto his arm to get his attention, and Knives' heart would soar. Those rare times Vash shook him awake because of a bad dream and crawled into his bed to snuggle into his arms. Whenever they snuck out late at night to hide in an old disused barn from back when Brad and Luida had kept livestock, long before the twins ever came to live with them, where they would spend time talking, laughing, lamenting, just the two of them, deep into the night. The smile just for him that conveyed all he needed to know; that despite everything, Vash still belonged to Knives and Knives alone. That knowledge was his treasured panacea, a balm that soothed all wounds.
They started working with the village militia once they were 16, old enough to enlist, and Knives discovered that combat came to him with a natural ease, even more easily than caring for crops. And though Vash grimaced whenever discussion of harming people came up, his desire to help protect the village from the ever-looming threat of bandits and raiders seemed to override his reluctance.
He’d crafted Vash’s first bow for him with his own hands after watching how well the younger took to the old hand-me-downs he’d borrowed out of the militia’s storerooms. While lightweight yew was the more traditional choice of wood for a bow, Knives had opted for slightly heavier oak – somehow, he knew that would feel the most natural to Vash’s hands, that his adroit fingers would have no trouble accommodating the more difficult, less yieldy material in exchange for more force behind his shots.
He learned the process by watching the local craftsman, using his magic to select a branch worthy of his brother, gradually weaving his own magic to temper the wood, easing the process as he worked – not that the effects would linger in any functional capacity.
Still, it filled him with warm satisfaction to think of his brother carrying some part of himself with him to protect him.
—
Inky storm clouds formed overhead, partially obscuring the sun of a formerly pleasant afternoon, causing many young militia members to crowd around the training field, gossiping even as they cast pitying looks at those presently being beaten down at the center of the battleground.
“I heard there’s a knight journeying through the kingdom, scouting for soldiers, looking for the best of the best to join the July army. Maybe even become knights."
“Not just any knight, idiot. It's Sir Conrad. He’s like, really important and high ranking or something.”
“That sounds like a lie.”
“No, it’s true! My cousin over in Hopeland said Sir Conrad handpicked a whole group he took back to July with him. This is our ticket out of this backwater!”
Knives’ ears perked up, offering the contents of the gossip along the perimeter more focus than the mock battle in which he was currently engaged, barely paying attention as he deftly disarmed his next opponent and knocked him into the dirt in one fluid motion. He swung the battleaxe’s heavy blade downward, halting scant centimeters from flesh.
“If I were an enemy, your head would be rolling right now.” He said simply, lifting the curved edge away from the gulping young man’s throat. Truthfully, he preferred smaller blades like short swords or daggers – something kept close to the body, quick to draw, and enabling him full control like it was an extension of his body while also minimizing wasted motion. A smaller blade also meant a more concentrated area to imbue with dryadic power, making it all the more lethal. He didn’t bother to use any magic for a simple spar like this of course, and wouldn’t have needed to regardless. But he could adeptly wield any blade – and Vash was watching. He couldn’t help but show off a bit.
He took a step away from the center of the battleground, the corners tugging at his lips as the young man in question came jogging up to his side.
“Geez, you didn’t even break a sweat! You’re always amazing, Nai.”
“Of course.” He smiled matter-of-factly at Vash’s praise, staring down his defeated opponent when Vash helped him to his feet, causing the other young man to pale and nervously nod his thanks before hastily scrambling away.
The twins fell into step as they headed back, as per their usual routine in the afternoon. The dark clouds accumulating overhead grew thicker by the moment, making the day seem later than it was, the telltale scent of raw, damp wind foretelling of rain.
“You’re not so bad yourself. You managed to hit that target dead center from how many meters away even at that angle? You do enjoy theatrics.”
“Aha, no” He chucked, waving his arms in denial. “That was actually kind of an accident...I just got lucky.” Vash scratched his cheek shyly, but nevertheless preened a little at the compliment, as Knives knew he would.
By the time they were on the winding road back to the farm, Vash stopped and lifted a palm upward as a light drizzle started.
“Seems like it’s going to be a downpour– what do you think?” Vash asked somewhat sheepishly as he stared at his feet, refusing to meet his eyes “Should we stop off at the old barn and wait until the storm passes, since it’s closer?”
The soles of Knives' boots scuffed against the dirt as he pulled to a sudden stop, feeling his heart skip a beat. They were already so close to the cottage; the rain hadn’t begun in earnest, and they both had cloaks besides. So he knew that wasn’t the real reason, no. Vash would never ask outright -he was far too selfless for that -- but Knives knew this was Vash’s roundabout way of saying he hadn’t spent enough time with him lately and felt neglected. And the place suggested was the same old barn into which they had snuck out together often when they were younger, where no one else could interrupt their time together.
Warmth blossomed in his chest as he faced him with a smile. “Good idea.”
It had been a long time since they’d last visited, well over a year. While it was slightly musty inside, it was kept up well enough since Brad and Luida sometimes used the space for storing hay grown until it was taken to market. The open windows were small enough to allow the dim overcast light to stream through while also providing ample protection from the wind and rain.
As they made themselves comfortable seated side-by-side on top of some loose piles of hay packed up over the ground, the rain began in earnest, pelting loudly against the wooden rafters overhead. The sound was oddly pleasant, almost calming.
“Did you, um...”
Vash’s awkward words cut through the din of rain. Feeling eyes staring a hole into his side, he glanced over to find his brother chewing his lip hesitantly.
“Out with it.”
“Did you hear those girls talking about you during your spar today? They referred to you as... uh... ” He trailed off with a slight blush as he recalled however Knives had apparently been described, but unwilling to repeat what was said. “Well, it’s pretty clear you’re popular with girls in the militia. A couple of them have even asked me to introduce them to you, and it seemed like you were kind of showing off today, so...I wondered if maybe you heard what they were saying...” He trailed off, kneading his hands.
Knives laughed dryly, the sound of it oddly tired to his own ears.
“Can’t say I noticed them, no. And I’m not particularly interested.”
“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” Vash chuckled softly, countenance visibly relaxing. “That’s why I wanted to check first. As your brother, though, I have to say, it’s a little embarrassing to have pretty girls approaching me to get to you.”
“Make yourself less approachable, then.” He shrugged, placing his hands behind his head and leaning back into the hay as Vash gave a halfhearted scoff.
They fell silent, and once again the barn was filled only with the lash of raindrops against the roof. But he still felt his brother's eyes studying him.
When he looked up again with his brows inclined in question, Vash’s eyes suddenly narrowed accusingly.
“You know, we used to be the same size. When did you start getting so...” He gestured vaguely to his arms.
“...What ?”
“You know, built? We both train almost every day! I mean, I use a bow, so if you think about it, shouldn’t I have bigger arms?” He puffed up his cheeks in a mock pout. “It’s hardly fair.”
Despite being twins, it was true that as they’d aged, they’d both filled out differently. Knives grinned and sat back up.
“Maybe it’s the farm work then? You rely too much on magic and not enough on muscle.”
“Okay, well...muscles or not, I should be just as strong, don’t you think? Or at least, close. We’re twins, after all.”
“Oh yeah?” He teased, raising an eyebrow and reached out. “Want to test that theory?”
Vash grinned back challengingly, and suddenly it was just like when they were small boys again, Vash’s eyes always trailing after him with admiration as he looked at him, yet always eager to prove to Rem that he was just as capable as his older twin.
It was a strange, familiar practice of lighthearted roughhousing– but back then they had been more or less the same size. Now though-
Vash put up a valiant effort as they laughed and tussled over the ground, heedless of the thunder and lightning crashing outside. But in the end Knives ended up forcing him down, easily pinning him under his weight as he leaned over the top of him to secure his arms above his head.
And promptly froze in panic as he realized what he’d done.
His heart threatened to beat out of his chest as their eyes met, faces close enough that he could feel Vash’s heated panting mingling with his own, slightly out of breath from their wrestling. He was acutely aware of how perfectly his brother’s body fit pressed up against his own, how their combined warmth radiated through their clothing and contrasted with the chill air.
And Knives wanted more desperately than he’d ever wanted anything in his life. The urge to envelop him, to devour him, bellowed from his very core–
“-!”
Knives inhaled sharply as a cool hand slipped free from his grip and hesitantly lifted to gently press against his cheek. Reading something in the expression on his face through the dim light streaming in from outside, the hand’s owner sought to comfort him despite how lost the other boy himself looked, seeking to anchor Knives within the tempest of roiling emotions too colossal for his body alone.
“Nai...” Vash said his name breathlessly, appearing almost frightened and desperate for his guidance.
The breath lodged in Knives’ throat, and he knew in that moment they were teetering precariously on the edge of a precipice. Even the slightest motion would send them hurtling over, past a point from which they could never return.
But then, Knives had already fallen from that ledge long ago.
Compelled by some magnetic force rendering him helpless, he leaned down to close the meager distance between them, pressing a frantic, starving kiss to his brother’s slightly chapped, but delectably warm and soft lips.
Vash gasped against his mouth, at first not responding. But his hesitation was only momentary before he was tentatively twining his arms around his neck to pull him closer, sighing euphorically as he deepened the kiss. It was absolute saccharine bliss as they both gave in - one thing led to another in an unstoppable torrent, hands began slipping beneath cloaks and tunics, and Knives drank deep of his brother in a way he’d been holding back for years. And Vash accepted all of it, offering willingly everything Knives demanded and more.
They ended up making love amidst the hay of the old barn that evening; Both inexperienced but learning and exploring together, just as they had been doing with everything since the day they were born. And for Knives, once that indelible line was crossed it was like a dam was broken and the full deluge of his greed, his passion, his love surged forth.
Later that night, Vash snuggled closer as he slept in his arms to escape the cold in the barn. Knives softly caressed his face, mapping by touch the features he adored. And then he was hit by a shock of nostalgia so strong it left him lightheaded; It had been a chill, rainy night just like this when he made his vow all those years ago beneath the oak tree, now with the perspective he’d lacked as a child. The all-consuming love he felt for the most precious thing to him in life.
They would always be together, he would make sure of that. He would find a way, no matter what it took.
—
Knives’ journey back to July after hearing the report of his informant took a mere two days, but wore on him like an eternity.
He stormed through the corridors, ignoring every questioning look thrown his way by passersby. How many times had he cornered Vash in the shadows along these same cobbled hallways, when the intervals during which he hadn’t been allowed to touch his brother grew unbearable, pressing their bodies close as Vash whined and protested. “Nai, we can’t... not here...someone will see...” he would say, even as he let out a choked sigh and ran an encouraging hand through Knives’ hair, tilting his head to the side and exposing his throat to allow him better access to the soft skin. Half-hearted protests that were at odds with his actions, allowing Vash to perceive himself as morally upstanding – and Knives was willing to indulge his brother’s delusions.
Knives didn’t care who knew about the true nature of their relationship. In fact, having to conceal his love ate away at him more than anything. He knew there were some rumors about them whispered in confidence by those daring enough, but he didn’t mind; in fact, he welcomed them. But Vash always fretted and worried that someone would discover them, as though what they were doing was something of which to be ashamed.
When the time eventually came that he would ascend the crown, he had half a mind to take Vash right there atop the throne, to show the entire court how irrevocably they belonged to each other and only to each other. But, he reconsidered, then he’d have to slaughter every single courtier present for having had the pleasure of witnessing the way Vash would cling to him like a lifeline in an attempt to stay anchored amidst tides of pleasure, of hearing the exquisite way he cried out Knives’ name when he was in the throes of passion.
As Knives walked along the plush adorned rugs, the empty hallways covered by gaudy portraits of long dead ineffectual rulers, it all warped. They seemed to be sneering at him now, the familiar sight of the corridor now oddly foreign.
He made a beeline for Vash’s quarters, practically tearing his door off its hinges. When there was no sign of him within, he forced himself to head to his own quarters, cleaning up, driving himself mad with ruminations and the possibility that Vash could be together with someone else as he awaited sunset– When he knew he would find Vash serving his knightly vigil. A time during which a knight was meant to shut themselves inside the holy sanctum alone for reflection, and all were instructed to keep a distance so as to not disturb a knight’s meditation. It was terribly convenient, and Knives had made use of it in the past on more than one occasion.
“You look just like the hero in a bard’s song, or a story book. ” Vash had murmured breathlessly, cheeks rosy, the first time he set eyes on Knives in his silver armor and white cape, the kingdom's emblem embroidered in black. “Like you’re off to rescue a princess from a nefarious outlaw.”
His eyes always automatically followed the sight of his brother when he had a chance to watch him undisturbed; entering the sanctum now to the sight of Vash standing with his back to him, hands clasped before himself in apparent meditation and illuminated under the descending sun streaming in through the stained glass windows at the altar, was almost poignant under the weight of the news he’d received. Vash wore his preferred dark leathers and hooded red cloak, sacrificing defensive features in favor of speed and stealth; If Knives looked like the part of the hero, then Vash looked the part of the outlaw.
“Vash.” He finally called out, unable to keep the soft undercurrent of affection from lacing itself into his tone despite his rage and hurt, voice reverberating through the holy room more loudly than intended as he firmly closed the heavy door behind him.
“Nai...” Vash flinched visibly, but didn’t even turn around, eyes facing forward, an oddly resolute edge to his tone. “I’m performing my vigil right now. You shouldn’t be in here.”
Knives stepped forward down the walkway to make his way towards him, heedless of the dismissal. He darted forward to embrace his brother from behind all at once and Vash released a sharp inhale as his body was pulled back against his chest. Knives rested his chin on his shoulder, momentarily allowing relief, content, and comfort to wash over his senses as he breathed in the beloved familiar scent. How he’d missed him. But then-
“You don’t seem surprised to see me back, baby brother.” He murmured darkly against his ear, feeling Vash shiver in his arms at the sensation.
“I...don’t know what you’re talking about.” The slighter man ground out with a forced laugh.
“How many years do you think I’ve had to watch you? You’re not nearly as skilled a liar as you think.”
He let a gloved palm slide languidly from Vash’s stomach up to his chest, pausing when his fingers caught on what he was looking for. His brother let out a sharp gasp as Knives violently ripped the offending item from where it was tied at the clasp of his cloak, keeping the other caged in his arms as he held it up before them.
“So it’s true.” He let out a bark of humorless laughter, the creeping sense of dread from the past two days culminating in his chest as a thick, dark mire. He twisted the favor in his fingers, inspecting the delicate token.
As his informant reported, it was handmade with silk of deep crimson –Vash’s favorite color– and stitched with a vibrant cobalt flower. Though the embroiderer was likely inexperienced, it was clearly meant to be a geranium. The deep love and adoration the crafter held for the intended recipient shone through, blatantly obvious to any who would behold it.
Red and blue dyes were difficult to obtain; his brother’s courter was either exceptionally wealthy or particularly well-connected, so that narrowed down the lengthy list of suspects he’d mentally cataloged in his mind. And it took every ounce of willpower in his body – aided in no small part by the pacifying warmth of Vash in his arms – to fight down the impulse to storm her chambers at that very moment and dash her royal brains against the wall for daring to think she had any right to court what had long belonged to him.
“Tell me,” He said instead, “Is the princess actually able to fuck you the way you need with those dainty fingers of hers?”
“Don’t be crude.” Vash hissed over his shoulder, and the glimmer of real anger sparking in normally placid irises tore a hole through his gut. “I won the knight’s tourney. As a prize for the victor, the princess offered a lover’s favor. It could have been anyone. Something to engage the citizens and make the competition more interesting. It was just for show, it doesn’t mean anything.”
He frowned. Vash wasn’t being entirely truthful with him- the waves of nervous energy radiating off him were a dead giveaway unlikely to fool anyone, much less Knives.
“And yet here you are, wearing it so carefully tied to your cloak while you serve out a holy vigil you’re so occupied with you tried to dismiss me .” He sneered as he carelessly tossed the detestable fabric onto the decorated altar.
“As if I could dishonor her by refusing a favor offered in front of her own subjects. Besides, even if it was real...” Vash’s eyes faltered as he shifted to stare at the discarded token, expression becoming something far more fragile and as he continued. “It shouldn’t matter to you whose bedchamber I choose to frequent.”
The sudden incomprehensible words threw Knives off completely off balance, so ludicrous was their implication. He ended up loosening his arms and Vash easily slipped out of his clutches to take several steps away. But he still didn’t look at him.
“What are you talking about?” He snapped, itching with the impulse to wrestle Vash back into his arms.
“I’ve had my entire life to watch you too, you know. Of course I know you had me tailed.”
“So, what then? Are you saying you accepted that favor knowing that it would be reported back to me on the front?”
“And here you are.” Even faced away, the words were murmured with such knowing fondness it would have set Knives’ desire ablaze under more ordinary circumstances.
Why was he acting out like this all of a sudden?
Vash was opposed to the coup when he first told him, naturally. But he sought to pacify his brother, convincing him his actions would end the conflict with the Worms, and that –however inadvertently it was on Knives’ part– more lives would be saved in the end. He’d even agreed to spare the king’s life for Vash, so long as Roberto agreed to renounce his bloodline’s claim to the throne. He didn’t admit the likelihood the displaced king would have to meet with an unfortunate accident in captivity were an insurrection raised in his name – but in the end, this solution would still save the lives of the citizens his brother was so eager to protect, where the alternative would be putting down the entire lot of dissenters.
“You’ve always tried to hide the truth you decide I can’t handle from me, haven’t you? Ever since we were children. As if I didn’t know.” Vash finally turned around to meet his gaze again, a small smile fit on lips and eyes filled with something almost wistful. “If you’re going to be king, you’re going to have to get married eventually. And you already have a noble-born lieutenant who would leap at the chance.”
His sharp intake of breath was audible to his own ears, as the meaning of those words sunk in – and he stared, strangely enraptured by the sight of Vash illuminated by the red glow of sunset beyond the panes.
He’d entered this sacred room livid. But as it all clicked together, the implication of what Vash was really doing made his blood sing, sending his pulse thrumming in his veins treacherously.
For Vash, one who was always acting so nobly, so concerned about others, to do something so selfishly possessive and jealous for him, even if he certainly didn’t even realize consciously what he was doing. Wearing a favor, knowing full well Knives would hear and understanding, without a shadow of a doubt, that he’d come bolting immediately to his side. It was adorable, bewitching really, stoking Knives’ ever present insatiable need for his brother. And now.
“...Your soldiers talk too. They say that... 'Knight Lieutenant Legato warms the Knight Commander’s bedrolls’.”
He laughed out loud then, the almost manic sound echoing with a sinister ring through the sanctum. He couldn’t help it; It was so ludicrous. The very thought that Knives ever considered any other, as if every last corner of his entire being hadn’t belonged to Vash since they’d shared a womb.
“You don’t honestly believe the idle gossip of soldiers?”
Vash's eyes flitted from side to side and he sounded so pitifully miserable Knives had to fight down the urge to give in and comfort him. “You know how he looks at you, yet you always keep him at your side. Every time you’re dispatched. Of course they think there’s something there.”
“Well then," He took a warning step forward. “Perhaps they just need something else to gossip about.” Truthfully, he longed to take him back to his chambers and pamper him, ached to draw him into his arms and trail kisses along his neck while whispering words of adoration, taking his time to cast all his doubts aside and soothe his tantrum. But Knives was also hurt and angry that Vash had thought to display himself as belonging to another, however theatrical.
However inflamed his passions in the face of his brother’s jealousy, he lamented with a twinge of regret, not for the first time, the cruel, vexing reality that Vash truly didn’t comprehend just how deep and unparalleled the nature of his affections ran.
Vash’s face shot up, brow furrowed in confusion before his eyes went wide with realization.
“Here? Someone will hear us-”
“That’s the idea.” He lunged forward, cutting him off with a scowl as he tugged his body around and pressed forward to pin him against the wall with his own weight, once again trapping his brother from behind, this time far more securely. Satisfaction bloomed in his chest when Vash automatically melted against him.
“There’s never been anyone but you. If you somehow hold any doubt in your heart, clearly I've been remiss.” He murmured, allowing his teeth to teasingly graze the other man’s ear, his hand snaking lower down his waist with deadly intent. “If you’re so worried, next time I’ll order Legato to stand guard outside my bedchamber while I make you scream until you no longer can.” He leaned in so close his lips brushed against his ear. “Would that please you? Forcing him to listen?”
There was a small stifled moan as a shudder racked Vash’s body against him.
“You wouldn’t...“ Vash managed breathlessly.
“I would. Nothing can keep us apart any longer, don’t you see? The only reason I’ve sought the throne is for you.” Vash cried out as Knives sunk his teeth into his vulnerable nape, only pulling back once he tasted the tang of his brother’s blood in his mouth. He pressed a kiss to the spot and growled, “Unlike you, I refuse to be ashamed of what we are, or of what I feel for you. And soon everyone will know. ”
He tugged Vash’s chin up to crush their mouths together almost violently, his grip forcing an angle that allowed him his plunder. When he pulled back Vash’s eyes were dazed, his cheeks flushed with want. “We can be together without your constant need to worry about the eyes of others.”
“Nai,” Vash panted out heatedly, tone carrying an undercurrent of exasperation. “That’s not what I meant. ” And before he could question him further, Vash was twisting back to reclaim his lips with equal greed.
He’d had Vash countless times; there was no part of him he hadn’t seen, no area of his skin he hadn’t kissed. But it wasn't enough, never enough. He would never be able to get his fill, no matter how ravenous, and that knowledge in itself was bittersweet agony.
It was somewhat difficult to maneuver through the armor they both wore, but it was nothing they hadn’t already had plenty of practice navigating through stolen moments of passion in the past. The sounds of their desperate love making, fueled both by mutually aggravated avarice and by the bliss of their reunion, echoed obscenely loud against the high stone walls of the sacred room, punctuated by heated moans and enraptured cries.
I love you, he repeated like a mantra, as though if he said the woefully inadequate words enough, they might actually come anywhere near conveying to Vash the unfathomable, maddening depths of what he felt for him.
And Knives wondered, as he often did, why they had been born in separate bodies.
—
Afterwards, he straightened his and Vash’s armor, gently running a hand through the latter’s hair to smooth it down. The evidence of their shared passion was obvious, especially on Vash, but they’d have to make due until they got to their rooms to clean up.
When Knives tried to release his hold, Vash immediately began to sink, legs seemingly turned to jelly incapable of supporting his weight. Knives quickly caught him, easily hoisting him into his arms with a fond chuckle, fully intending to carry him all the way back to his quarters no matter who saw them.
When Vash reached up to him, he caught his hand and brought it close to place a reverent kiss to the back. Vash let out a pleased but tired giggle, meeting his eyes with a mischievous glimmer.
“Nai...I’m sorry, I lied.” He motioned towards the altar, where the tiny red and blue favor still laid, cast aside and forgotten. Knives frowned when the other urged him to move closer but he did as implored and Vash reached down to pick it up, holding it up in his hand. “I put it on myself during the tourney, but I didn't actually get this favor from the princess.”
He paused, eyes flicking up to his almost shyly and immediately looking away, cheeks flushed with slight hesitation before he continued. “I, um. I made it. For you.”
Knives could heard himself the strangled noise he made as his heart lodged itself in his throat while Vash gingerly reached out and tied it to the clasp on Knives’ cape.
“You get what I’m saying, right? I want us to be together forever. I want everyone to know...that you’re my chosen love.”
The little piece of fabric he’d abhorred so intensely before was now so unspeakably precious that he cursed his past self for having behaved so cruelly towards it.
He took a shaky breath, something pricking his eyes, as he clutched Vash, the existence more precious to him than life itself, even closer in his arms and repeated to him the vow he'd made to himself as a small, helpless child:
“We’ll always be together, no matter what.”
And the streets of this city will run red before I let anyone separate us.