Archive of Our Own

“So, to summarize: In order to advance our position further, we need to take the enemy’s fortifications at these three key locations.” Sir Gabriel moved his armoured hand over the map, setting down three markers that overlooked a mountain pass. “Our scouts report that the Waloeders withdrew a lot of soldiers from these positions to engage us in the Southern fields, where the battle has turned more and more towards our favour thanks to the efforts of His Highness.”

He nodded towards a stern-looking Dion. “It is still risky as the mountain pass gives us little room to manoeuvre, but with the pass under our control we can establish better supply lines and” – he paused, looking up from the map again – “those could later become a stable trade route.”

Terence swallowed a remark about the importance of those trade routes. He had received a few dressing downs in the past weeks, whenever he sought to raise his concerns. It was simply not his place. It was no one’s place to question the emperor. Not even Dion’s; he had learned this lesson long ago and in a more painful way. Back then Terence had looked after Dion, seen to his wounds, and sworn once more to do his best to protect him by any means necessary. But he had also quickly learned that speaking up bore a grave danger of getting himself removed from Dion’s side. No matter his talents with sword and spear alike, in the end he was just the third child of an unimportant family. Noble born, yes, but that was a claim many people held. It was a miracle in and of itself that he was standing here, next to the Crown Prince of Sanbreque, discussing tactics with the commanding officers of the dragoons.

He allowed himself a quick sidelong glance at Dion as he stood there in quiet contemplation.

He was… beautiful…

Terence averted his eyes, trying not to chase after this thought.

Dion had a keen and sharp understanding of battle tactics, surprising their teachers from the early years onwards. That his father had set them up to win a near impossible battle had been clear to him from the start. That they had managed not only to hold their lines, but even make a slow advance into enemy lines, was all but thanks to him – thanks to the powers of the Eikon he commanded. Something the empire kept relying on way too often. In the evenings it was only Terence who got to see the exhaustion, the fatigue and… the very first signs of the curse.

The shock of seeing the first patch of horrible white on Dion’s shoulder as he had helped him undress a few weeks ago still ran through him. Small, almost unnoticeable in the fickle light of the candle. Dion had complained about a sharp sting after his return from the frontlines. And he had made Terence swear not to talk about it to anyone. Initially, Terence had argued, later pleaded, and then resigned himself to it. Silently, he had dressed the wound to the best of his abilities and spent the entire night trying to find something, anything that would provide better treatment than the standard wound salves their healers offered. Among the Bearers of the camp, he had finally convinced someone to talk to him and bought a phial of ointment from a very scared-looking woman, her right arm already almost completely petrified. Was this the fate that would await his prince?

Sir Gabriel’s voice dragged Terence back to the present situation. “Our best bet is to split into two forces taking the eastern and western outposts at the same time. The enemy will probably retreat towards the north-eastern post and sound the alarm. Which means that after clearing here” – Sir Gabriel moved two white figures over the map – “and here, we join forces and swiftly strike at the northeast. We should have all three outpost towers under control before the enemy can regroup in an orderly fashion.” Satisfied, he leaned back and looked around the small group of five people. There were two more commanding officers in the tent, all far more senior in years compared to Terence and Dion. Sir Gabriel continued. “We split our forces like this. My lord Dion, I suggest you take your group to the western post, while Sir Terence takes a group to the east side. Sir Claude, you are with His Highness and Sir Alain, with Sir Terence. Any further questions?”

When no one replied, they were dismissed and while the others moved out to gather their people, Dion stayed behind, pondering the map. Terence, initially about to go after the other commanders, turned back and watched Dion.

“What are you thinking, my lord?”

Dion shook his head slightly.

“It’s probably nothing.”

“It rarely is. If you have concerns…”

“No, I don’t. I trust our scouts. But…” He looked up, and for a second Terence couldn’t breathe as Dion’s beautiful amber eyes sought out his. “Be careful, Terence. I am almost certain that we will meet unexpected heavy resistance. So, take care.”

Terence swallowed, regaining his composure. “You too.” And carefully, almost as a whisper, he added, “Dion.”

Dion’s warm smile was the reward he had hoped for. The trust and friendship they shared; Terence would defend it with his life, just to get a brief glimpse of this smile. Ignoring the ache in his heart, he deftly turned and left the tent. He knew there was never a chance to quell his heart, and with the years he had learned to ignore it and not to fall over his words (nor feet, because that one incident had been embarrassing enough). Now this rush of adrenaline, whenever Dion smiled at him like this, was easily channeled into action. He had learned, though the road had been rocky at times, that his feelings, his love for Dion, could be just as much an anchor to help him protect the other man, be it from actual, physical harm in battle or other, darker things that all too often reached for the one he secretly called his prince.

He made his way over to the other tents and started gathering his people. They were all battle ready, just waiting for the command. He caught a few glimpses of Dion doing the same, talking to his group with a reassuring smile. He was a glowing figure amongst them, sparking newfound energy and resolution in everyone around him. They would return victorious, for sure.

“Stop your mooning, boy.” Sir Alain brushed past Terence, their shoulder plates clanking together. “I trust you will focus on the task at hand?” Alain was almost double the age of Terence. Battle-hardened, rough, but also loyal, and behind all the curt nods and stern words, kind in his own way. He also brought an unemotional, demure manner that more than often helped to rail in the more impulsive way with which Dion sometimes approached briefings and battles alike. Terence was glad that he was to go with him, but still, being separated from Dion never sat lightly with him. Years of being the other man’s attendant and guard had ingrained a protectiveness in him that made it hard to let him go on his own.

Since they had discovered that cursed patch of white on Dion’s shoulder, Terence felt even more helpless watching Dion rush into battle on his own, summoning powers that would see him undefeated until now. But those same powers were killing him.

It would be fine. They weren’t heading to the front lines. The area was well scouted. It had to be fine. By nightfall they would be out of their armour, sharing a meal and drink again.

A couple of Bearers were brought forward to cast protective spells, gusts of cool wind breezing over them. The woman that had sold him the curatives was not among them. Terence hoped he hadn’t taken the last, precious supplies from her, that she wasn’t in pain because he bought her phials. Maybe he should find the time and try to go to the Bearers’ tents again.

But he had no time to chase his thoughts further, as the command to move out was given and demanded him to focus on the present moment. Turning around to ascertain that all his dragoons were ready to move, he caught his last glimpse of Dion before the latter headed off ahead of him.

May Greagor protect you.

---

The march was quick. They weren’t trying to be subtle, fully relying on their scouts having cleared the path from nasty surprises. They arrived at their outpost, and everything became the familiar blur of battle. His body simply reacted to years of training, going through the familiar forms with his sword that he had practised since he had barely been able to walk. Adjusting to sudden enemy actions came as second nature to him. He didn’t think. His mind was as much removed from his actions as it could be. He shielded himself behind his training as his armour shielded his body. Another enemy soldier failed to block in time and died. Quickly, almost without a sound. Terence pushed forward.

The resistance they encountered was indeed little, more desperate than organized. And then it was over. They had only two wounded on their side. Terence made sure they were taken care of, the worst bleedings stopped, and commanded another of his knights to help them reach camp safely and get their wounds treated. Alain’s soldiers counted no injuries and they decided to move on forthwith.

Terence wiped his sword and dared to let one small thought of Dion in. He would know soon. Briefly he wondered if their victory had been won too easily, remembering the slight doubt in Dion after their briefing. It was no use. They were set on their course and Terence assured himself that they could handle any surprises.

They marched on towards the northeast. There was no clear road and they had had to circumvent giant rocks often enough to slow their progress, but not overtly so. And of course, there was always at least one foolish knight who slipped. This time it happened to one of Sir Alain’s men. The older man took the accident with exhausted resignation. The young man had a badly twisted ankle, no broken bones at least. But it meant they had to assign yet another man to help him back to camp. Still, in total they were only missing six men. It could have been worse. They were still close to forty dragoons and would meet up with the others soon.

A few clouds gathered above them, providing shade from the sun which came as a little relief.

The tower of the final outpost came into sight, and they stopped, handing flasks around with water and potions alike. Alain sent two men to carefully scout ahead. They returned reporting no enemy movements around the outpost.

“That doesn’t seem right.” Terence wrinkled his brow. “Any sign of the others?”

“They are well across the strait now. We were able to see their banner. But since the road is rocky, it might take them another hour to reach us.” The young man bowed, waiting to be dismissed. Markus. Terence called his name to mind. Cheerful, sometimes a bit cheeky, but ambitious. Terence smiled at him and dismissed him with thanks.

“We hold here?” Sir Alain questioned.

“I think it best. Something is up. We should assign sentries and continue to observe any movements at the tower.”

Sir Alain nodded in approval. Terence had learned from him, and it still felt wrong to outrank him and make the decisions. His approval always came as a welcome reassurance.

They assigned four groups of two people to scout carefully ahead, equipped with small banners and signal torches.

Tension settled in Terence’s stomach. While he had unequipped his helmet for now, he kept it in his arms, refusing to settle down. The uneasy feeling was mirrored in the denser gathering clouds. He hoped they wouldn’t get caught in a storm.

Vigilant, he watched his troops. Some had sat down in groups, joking around, making light of the situation, and feeling sure about the success of their mission.

Waiting was the one thing even he had never managed to master. After the adrenaline rush of the battle they had just fought, it was impossible for him to keep his feet still. He went around their soldiers and signalled towards the northwest. After a short time, the men he had sent out signalled back. All was well. He sighed and made his way over to the other side.

And then suddenly chaos broke loose.

A gust of wind was their only warning. In the next second the clouds above them rumbled and rocks flew up left and right, hitting and probably killing men instantly. Terence had no time to react. A rock hit him across the shoulder and his helmet went flying. Immediately he drew his sword, but he could barely see ahead. They were caught in a sudden, heavy storm. A tornado, more like.

Was this? No, it couldn’t be. There had been no sign of Eikon activity. He heard screams. Next to him steel hit steel. They hadn’t even had time to announce the ambush. A second later Terence caught a glint in the corner of his eye. He swirled around just in time to catch a dagger with his sword, aimed for his head. A second dagger followed quickly and hit him just above the hip, where the heavy steel plate ended. Luckily, the padding of his gambeson took most of the force out of the blow, but the blade still pierced him, drawing blood.

Desperately, Terence tried to get his feet under him and balance himself, but his attacker was quick, far too quick for him to even get into a good defensive position. And he knew where to strike, where his armour connected and left several small open spots. In an open battle, his attacker wouldn’t have stood a chance against him, but now, caught in what probably had been a setup, barely able to see ahead, Terence was left fighting for his life.

He retreated step by step, parrying the ongoing volley of stabs as best he could, aware that he was a very easy target without his helmet. But something clicked in his mind as he noticed the attack patterns of his opponent. If he could just…

Between two blows he stepped to the side, half circling his attacker who nearly lost his footing. Without another thought Terence was able to raise his sword again and deal a blow against his attacker’s side. The light armour tore, but still protected him from a deadly blow. Terence followed up immediately, thrusting his sword after the other man and not giving him time to regain his footing. It was over then. The man fell gurgling at his feet.

Resisting the urge to look down, Terence kept his sword ready, anticipating another attack. He was bleeding from many cuts and stab wounds all over his body. Not too heavily. He hoped not too heavily. His breath came in laboured huffs. Calm, he reminded himself. Stay calm, remember your training. He listened intently to the surrounding sounds. Through the wind he could hear more steel connecting, heard muffled screams and shouts.

He caught a second enemy, before the attacker could close enough distance to stab at him. The tell-tale rustle of stone to his left and a blurry movement gave him, now that he was prepared, enough time to manoeuvre, deflect and counter with a deadly blow of his broadsword.

The wind was weakening. He became aware of several men engaged in battle around him. Several more were lying unmoving on the ground. But before he could get closer and help stay the attack on his knights, a guttural, animalistic cry swept over them, making the blood in his veins run cold. In the next instant a slender form, human-like, but taller and with wings swept past them, taking up one of his men and flinging him through the air as though he was a mere toy.

What he was seeing made no sense. It was as though a harpy from the myths of old had come alive to play with them, taunt them… and kill them.

“Heads up!” he heard someone scream. Sir Alain? Was he still alive?

“Gather together. Quickly.”

The harpy shot upwards into the sky fast, incredibly fast, and then turned around just as swiftly, closing in for another attack.

This time Terence was ready for her. He took a deep breath, gathering all the strength that was still in him, and jumped. The years of training as a dragoon had not been in vain. And he had learned a lot of tricks that could startle an enemy.

As it did the harpy. She did not anticipate someone meeting her halfway up in the air. Terence’s only issue was that his sword was not intended to pierce enemies in mid-air. But he had no intention of killing her. All he wanted was to intercept her, before she could wreak havoc on his men again. So he slashed, his sword catching and then slicing through one of her wings.

She fell screeching. And before Terence had reached the ground again, two of his dragoons had already continued the attack, hacking at the screaming monster without mercy or second thought. It didn’t bleed. Instead, aether burst out of it as it stopped moving. A second later it was gone. Vanished, as though it had indeed just been born from a nightmare.

With uncomprehending shock Terence stared at the earth where the beast had been felled. It was quiet, almost silent. The only sound that accompanied him was his blood rushing through his ears. Louder and louder.

A weight on his shoulder. He whirled around. Sir Alain was standing next to him, holding his hands up. “Easy there. Here.” He handed him a tiny blue flask. “Drink this and hope it stops you from bleeding out.”

Terence breathed and opened the flask. He gulped it down in one go, the acid tang lingering first on his tongue and then in his entire body. But he felt the pain ebb away.

“That was quick thinking. Wouldn’t want to know what that thing could have done to us, if it had got another chance.” Alain reached out and patted him on the shoulder. “We are blessed to have such a fine knight with us.”

“What was that even?” Terence was barely able to keep the tremble out of his voice.

“I haven’t the faintest. Some form of manifestation? There have been rumours about a Dominant of Garuda. But as far as our intelligence goes, she is just some little girl, held in Waloed.”

“We should investigate this further, but first –” Terence’s breath had calmed and he looked around with a heavy heart. “First, we check on our wounded. Are there any signs of the other party?”

“They should be close. They must have noticed the storm. Unless they also suffered an ambush.” Alain followed Terence’s gaze and pointed to a young dragoon. “Ophain, you look like you could still run. Intercept the other party, tell them what happened here.”

Ophain saluted and briskly walked past them before breaking into a run.

“Everyone, stay on your guard. Look for wounded and gather close to that rock formation. We will not let the enemy have our back again.” Terence’s voice was firm and loud enough to carry over to where other soldiers were helping up the wounded or staring down at dead bodies.

Years of living under hard discipline kicked everyone into action again.

Terence helped carry a man over to the rocks; he seemed to have broken his leg or worse. It looked grotesquely displaced. Even their potions couldn’t alleviate the pain and he screamed upon being moved. When Terence put him down, he had lost consciousness. A blessing, maybe.

They needed to secure their position and get a notice back to camp. The logistics of it rattled in Terence’s mind. He could send another runner out right now, but it was probably best to wait for the others first. They needed bearers to help with the transportation of those gravely injured and…

He finally stood up and gingerly started to count. They were down twelve men. Twelve men, who had just a few minutes before walked next to him, joking. Who had died to something that Terence himself still did not fully understand.

He looked up to the blue skies, not a cloud in sight anymore. And he breathed a short prayer that the others were OK. That Dion was unharmed.

The wait was excruciating. He was fighting hard against the fatigue that was creeping into his bones by walking around, checking on his comrades. Most had settled down against the rocks. Two unfortunate ones had been assigned to watch for any suspicious activity. Terence checked on both and saw the weariness in their eyes. He realized that Markus was among those who had died in the attack.

Finally, after what could have been days’ worth of waiting, the call was made. The others were approaching. Terence felt a surge run through him. He had to know.

Waving others out of his way, he jogged towards where a banner had just appeared on the horizon. He circled the area of their previous battle, going faster and faster. At last, people came into view. More and more, it looked like almost the complete platoon. So there hadn’t been a parallel ambush?

Terence strained to make out Dion between the men. With his sun-kissed hair he should have been easy enough to identify.

Before he had a chance to get even closer, something knocked him off his feet. It happened so quickly, he fell flat and hard onto the ground. His left arm landed at a bad angle, but he had no time to give this another thought. Trying to recover, he pressed himself up, but before he could stand, something kicked at him, knocking him down once more. The air gone from his lungs, he gasped and tried to grab for his sword, uncomprehending once more what was happening. A small voice in his head was screaming at his carelessness, his foolishness.

Wind picked up. No, it couldn’t be. They had killed that monster. Unless…

A laugh. This time human though. Bright, and yet seeping with maliciousness.

“So, you are the one who killed my sister?”

Someone was circling him. He managed to push himself up, his right hand holding the hilt of his sword, ready to draw it in one swift motion and deflect. Or so he hoped. He could barely breathe, his left arm was pulsing with pain.

But through gritted teeth he managed to look up and his eyes widened. A woman was walking around him, coming just back into view. She had wings, glowing with a faint green shimmer. She was… a Dominant? Was she the supposedly little girl that had inherited the powers of Garuda?

Terence tried to regain some form of composure, come up with anything that would help him survive the next moments.

She was toying with him. Brutally playing him for the fool he was.

“Well, I guess I would like to see you suffer for this.”

It happened fast. Too fast for his mind to comprehend, to process what was happening. A talon, incomprehensible, cruel, and giant, appeared in front of him, ready to tear him apart. He still tried to draw his sword, knowing that it would be too late and that such a feeble little thing would do nothing to shield him from such an onslaught.

Only the blow never came. Instead, he saw a shock of light burst before him, shielding but also blinding him for a second. In the next he saw Dion in front of him, having blocked the first blow, but a second followed immediately. Terence screamed as he saw the second talon rip through the shield of light. It tore into Dion. Blood spurting everywhere.

He screamed as the other man fell into his arms. A horrible wound opening his chest, bleeding everywhere.

And everything became a blur again. Others were rushing in. Terence wanted to stop the bleeding, but his left arm still refused to cooperate. He pressed Dion as close as he could. Why? Why had he done this?

And no, no.

Don’t die. Dion. You cannot die. You can’t.

He wasn’t sure if he said any of that out loud. He didn’t comprehend what was happening around him. But people were next to him. Someone tried to move Dion. Terence held him closer. Tears blocking his vision, streaming down his face, and shimmering in Dion’s hair, reflecting the sunlight.

Several people were around him now, talking to him, but he could make no sense of their words. He felt faint. Someone dragged him back. Dion was gone from his arms. He looked down at the blood. There was so much. It was too much.

And he felt someone tug at him again. A flare of pain, as another person tried to pick him up by his left arm, but immediately let go. Had he screamed?

Everything was out of focus, but he was being moved. And he could see that two people were carrying Dion’s lifeless form, the only thing that came as a sharp, clear visual to him.

He must have half fainted, people were feeding him potions. Acid in his mouth, a sharp taste running down his throat. But it did nothing to soothe his pain nor helped to keep him upright.

Halfway through they were met by more people. He felt hands on him and then his breastplate was gone. It should have come as a relief, but instead it felt as though the last thing that had kept him together was gone. Something cool breezed over him, warming slowly. Magic. Someone must have alerted people at camp. Help had been sent out and met them.

Pain ebbed away, and his thoughts cleared. He was pulled up into a cart. Dion was already there. Unconscious, unmoving, his armour was gone, his underclothes soaked in blood. They settled Terence down next to him. A Bearer came into view and started to cast more magic, another cool gust that became a warm flow of air on his skin. Someone was working on his arm. Even with curative spells he felt sharp spikes of pain.

He tried to move and get a clearer view of Dion. Was he even still breathing? Another anonymous hand pushed him down again. If only he could…

He managed to reach out, the effort bringing tears to his eyes. Something changed in the flow of magic that breathed over his body then. He started to feel heavy, tired. But still he reached further until he managed to brush against Dion’s hand. He tried again and grabbed onto some fingers, fighting the spell that was meant to dull his senses to a point where he would not feel pain, probably even fall unconscious.

But this was another battle he could not win. He felt Dion’s hand slip from his weakening grasp, his vision blackening until he could do nothing but give in to the darkness.

---

He regained consciousness when they reached camp. They had set the bone in his arm. All he felt was a dull throb there with every heartbeat. They half dragged, half carried him from the cart. Alain was there at his side.

More people came running, some towing Bearers behind them. Shouting, screaming. He saw them lift Dion from the cart and for one horrible second, he got a glimpse of the wound on his chest, where flesh had been torn apart as though it had been just another layer of cloth.

Terence would have screamed if he had had the energy. But he just hung limply next to Alain and someone else, unable to get his feet under himself.

They moved Dion into one of the medical tents. When they started to move Terence in the same direction, he had a sliver of hope that he would be carried into the same tent. But they moved past it, and he helplessly turned his head, tears stinging in his eyes.

They sat him down in the next tent. He nearly collapsed on the cot. Alain caught him and gently lowered him down, while the other person, Terence could still not figure out who, lifted his legs up.

From outside he heard shouting. Only he could not make sense of the words. The rest of his armour was removed, deft hands lifting and turning him to get to the straps.

Though the haze in his head was lifting, he could only think about Dion. The scene replayed in his mind. A nightmare on repeat. He couldn’t stop it. Neither could he stop the sobs and tears.

“The healers will be here soon. Hold on a little longer.” Alain’s voice sounded firm and reassuring.

Terence’s throat was dry, and it hurt to speak. “Is… Dion…?”

“They are taking care of him in the other tent.”

“Alive…?”

“By some miracle. Barely. They are doing what they can.” Alain lifted his head and offered him some water, which Terence drank in small gulps. “You worry about yourself now. You lost far too much blood. How you are even still conscious is beyond me.”

Terence wanted to reply, but the tent flaps were drawn aside, and an astrologer came in, two scared-looking Bearers at his side. Alain nodded at them and left without another word.

Terence was handed a draught that made his head spin. Paired with more magic, he felt himself being dragged down into oblivious darkness again. This time he welcomed it.

---

When he woke up, orange sunlight was streaming through the open tent flap. His head pounded heavily and initially, he didn’t know where he was. Trying to sit up, he found his left arm was bound tightly to his body, rendering it impossible to move.

Before he had the chance to sit up, a strong hand pressed him down again.

“Easy there.” Sir Gabriel came into view. “You suffered quite severe injuries. Take it slow. Here.” A flask was handed to him, and Terence tried to raise himself to drink. He succeeded without help, despite the unbelievable pain in his head. Slowly he drank, leaning against the back of the cot. Handing the flask back, he took a deep breath and tried to piece together what had happened.

Dion!

Dion was hurt!

“What about… what happened to Di… to his Highness?”

“Resting. Sleeping. The surgeons worked on him almost as long as you were out cold.” Gabriel sat down on a chair and eyed Terence wearily. “I doubt you can answer this right now. But every man I ask comes up with a more fantastical story. So, what in good Greagor’s name happened?”

Terence looked down. His right hand was grasping the blanket tightly: the only visible sign of the distress he felt. “We were ambushed. On our way to the second enemy outpost. We…” He was trying to get the events in order. “We got into a storm, some magicks must have been at work there, and then…” He coughed and Gabriel handed him the flask once more.

“What happened to that… woman? Was she…?”

“A Dominant?” Gabriel sighed and leaned back. “We suspect her to be Benedikta Harman, the newly discovered Dominant of Garuda. Our intelligence is severely lacking in that regard, and I have included a note to our Council in the missive I sent to the capital. She seems to be young and, might I say, rather inexperienced. After the clash with Lord Dion, who did not even take the time to meet her as Bahamut, and the immediate heavy resistance from our dragoons, she was quick to disappear. Which was a stroke of luck for you.”

Terence mulled over the words. Garuda’s Dominant. How had they missed that Garuda’s Dominant was here? Sir Gabriel took the flask from him, bringing his attention back to the present.

“Rest now. We’ll talk later.” Gabriel stood. “It will be at least until tomorrow until we get a reply from the Capital.”

“Is Dion going to be fine?” Terence blurted out, before Gabriel could leave.

The latter looked down at him with an unreadable expression. “We don’t know. A mere mortal would have been killed instantly upon suffering such a blow. Bahamut’s power seems to have protected him from the worst. But we cannot be sure yet. Mayhap we are lucky, and he will wake soon.”

Gabriel gave him a salute before turning and walking away, leaving Terence alone with his thoughts. And with a creeping feeling of guilt. And shame. That he’d let himself be ambushed like this twice, was already almost without forgiveness.

But…

He saw Dion’s fluid form in front of him, felt the weight of his body, as he fell unto him.

His fault. If he had paid more attention, if he…

He took a shaking breath.

The sun was sinking lower and soon it would be dark outside. They had left him with a candle, but it would provide only sparse light.

Considering it all, he should try to find sleep. Try to rest and regain his strength.

But the scene kept playing in his head. The terror of seeing Dion not only wounded, but also unconscious, lifeless even.

He should have been the one to take that blow. Failing in every way to act as a knight should, as a former squire should take care of his lord. He should have been the one to die.

His entire body was trembling. He gasped for another breath like a person drowning. He and Dion had both lived through several injuries. Some more severe than others. It came with the training. It came with being a soldier. To know that there was a real possibility the other might die, was one thing. To realize and understand it, a separate matter.

They had often, in their younger, happier days, dressed each other’s wounds. Consoled each other. Dion had even smuggled sweetcakes to Terence’s sickbed once. They had eaten them, Dion’s laugh loud and bright. Maybe Terence had been in love with him from that day onwards. Maybe he had been in love with him since he knew him.

And now he might possibly be the cause for that person’s death. He angrily blinked the tears away, before they could fall. His thoughts were following the fading sunlight deeper and deeper into the darkness.

“Excuse me, sir? Are you awake?” The head of a young boy appeared in the entrance of the tent. One of their pages. “I was told to check on you and bring you food.” He awkwardly carried a tray into the narrow tent and after some shuffling, set it down on the foot end of Terence’s cot, lacking the room to put it anywhere else.

Terence wanted to thank the boy, but found his voice gone. He nodded instead. The boy smiled and made to leave but stopped at the entrance once more. “Oh, and I am also to tell you, that His Highness, Lord Dion seems to be doing well, all things considered. He was conscious for a few moments. The surgeons think it a good sign that he’ll last… I mean… live… I mean, please excuse me.” The boy ran off, leaving Terence alone once more.

A wave of relief surged through him, though it could not drown out the guilt. Despite the other man being in the tent next to his, he felt so far removed from Dion. All he wanted was to look at him and ascertain for himself that the other was indeed alive. To chase away the feeling of his lifeless body in Terence’s arms.

He eyed the stew and tried a few spoons. There was no taste, but it was hot. Only he felt that his stomach did not agree with the idea. He let it sit and drank a bit more water, sip by sip. There was a faint ache in his left arm, but the haze in his head cleared.

The boy peeked into the tent again, shyly checking on whether Terence had eaten. He motioned for him to come in and collect the tray. “Thank you.” His voice sounded rough, but it gave the page enough reassurance to inquire if Terence needed anything else, which no, he did not. The boy disappeared again.

Terence hugged his left arm. It was splinted and tied to his chest. A more complicated fracture that would take time to fully heal, even with magic. Behind his bandaged arm though, his heart kept beating heavily. Aching. Should he…

Carefully he moved his legs out of the cot, testing if his body would play along. Sitting upright was a challenge. He waited for the dizziness to pass, for his exhausted body to adjust and give in to his wish to move out of bed.

He forced himself to take it slow. Collapsing now would not be acceptable.

His wounds from the first battle must have been deeper than he had thought. The pain above his hip especially, where a thick bandage was seated, was considerable.

Step. He could do this. And another step.

His right hand kept searching for support, the tent pole, the fabric of the tent. And he was out. It was night, fires had been lit everywhere around them. A sentry stood between the tents. He didn’t seem to notice Terence. But then Terence found out how badly a broken, bound arm influenced one’s body’s sense of balance. Terence all but tumbled the next step, awkwardly brushing past the outer tent pole.

“My lord! What are you doing?” The sentry hurried over to him, ready to catch him should he fall. Terence was able to save his grace and remained standing on his own.

“I was…” He was short of breath. “I am going to see… His Highness.”

“My lord, I don’t think he is awake. And you should be resting yourself.”

“No rest, I need… to see him.” To emphasize his words, he pushed himself further under the worried, but also helpless glance of the other soldier.

“Let him pass.” Sir Gabriel left the bigger tent in front of them. “He is stubborn enough after all.” He held the flap open.

Slowly and awkwardly, but with a thankful smile on his lips, Terence made his way over. The sentry walked after him for a few steps, but upon assuring himself that Terence would not fall, he resumed his initial position between the tents.

“And Terence, maybe use this chance to come to terms with your own feelings.” Sir Gabriel kept his voice low but warm. “Don’t give me that look. You may have risen through the ranks, deservedly so, but I was still your mentor for long years. Go now.” He gave Terence’s good shoulder a firm pat and sent him through the entrance of the tent.

Terence entered, feeling dizzier again. The inside was an organized mess. Bandages, tables with every form of medical application and potion one could think of. And all of it lit with just a few candles. But at the far end, Terence could see Dion’s sickbed, and he made it over without incident, his heart beating heavier with each step.

A small candle was lit next to Dion’s cot, almost burned down. Terence took the spare candle and lit it. Dion lay sleeping. Peacefully. Certainly not in pain. Terence watched the rise and fall of his chest. The chest that had been torn… he chased the thought away. Dion was breathing. His entire chest was bandaged tightly. The material was clean. Gone was the blood that had spilled everywhere.

With a heavy sigh of relief, Terence sat down on the chair that was standing so readily at the bedside. Even now he replayed the scene in his head. Even now the feeling of guilt and shame increased.

Dion’s hair had been washed, but it looked dull and unkempt. Terence knew he hated that feeling of unkempt, heavy hair. As he leaned forward to gently push a stray lock out of Dion’s face, the smaller candle extinguished. The loss of light was considerable, but his eyes adjusted slowly to the twilight. He allowed his arm to wander down and shyly reached out to take Dion’s hand in his.

They were no longer carefree youths who had shared a bed and held each other for support. Terence realizing one day that he was in love with Dion had also kept him from seeking out such moments, from taking the other’s hand. He sometimes thought that it irritated Dion, putting a distance between them that hadn’t been there before. But neither ever commented on it.

This time though, Terence needed the contact, needed to feel at least a bit of the other man’s warmth. He toyed with Dion’s fingers, intertwining them with his own, letting go, playing across Dion’s palm.

Another candle went out behind him. Terence didn’t mind. The darkness felt like a shield, surrounding them safely. And into this safety Terence let the tears he had been holding back fall. Initially silent, he couldn’t help the sobs that escaped him through ragged breaths.

He wanted to let go of Dion’s hand, to wipe his eyes, except that Dion had his fingers wrapped tightly around his. Startled, he looked up and into the shimmering, amber eyes of the man he loved.

His first reaction was to withdraw. But Dion’s grip was surprisingly strong.

“Terence…” Dion’s voice sounded soft, almost inaudible. When Terence gave another tug, he shook his head. “No, Terence. Please. Stay.” It was hard to make out Dion’s expression in the near dark, but his eyes were glassy.

“Dion…” He took a deep breath, forcing a calmness into his voice that he did not feel. “Do you need anything? Is there anything? Water? I could…”

Dion squeezed his hand and shook his head. His breath was uneven, heavy.

“Are you in pain? Should I call for the healers?”

Dion shook his head again. “Just stay here.” He coughed. “Stay here please. At my side.”

Terence couldn’t be sure, but he thought Dion tried to smile at him. And he tried to return that smile through his drying tears.

“I am without words for what my carelessness caused.” The tears threatened to fall again. Terence took a steadying breath. A slight squeeze around his fingers. Terence continued. “I hope you can find a way to forgive me. It was my carelessness, my stupidity that nearly cost you your life. I…” He stopped and swallowed against the lump that was building in his throat. “I never wanted you hurt. But I failed to keep you safe, in the most horrible way.” He let the tears fall. He had no chance of keeping them back.

“Terence, please. Please.” Dion managed to push himself up a bit. “You did not fail. I would never see you hurt. The oath…” Dion coughed slightly. “… It goes both ways. I, too, am to protect you.” Out of breath, Dion sank down again.

Terence, too, sank back against the chair, pondering what Dion had just said. It was true, the Knightly Oath did go both ways, with the lord swearing to protect his knight just as much as the knight swore to give his life in the service of his lord. But still…

“I love you.” He said it, out loud. The words just tumbled out of him before he could think about it. He looked up and directly at Dion, not avoiding his gaze. Confronting him and his own feelings. “I love you with all my heart. Seeing you smile, having you close. I cannot fathom the words for what you mean to me. And though I know that this love is unrequited, I had always thought it would at least give me enough strength to keep you safe. To protect you. I cherish it, this love. And I pray that you will keep me at your side, despite all my failings.” He let go of the morsel of air still in his lungs with a huff and looked down, letting the tears roll down his cheeks.

Dion did not reply, nor move immediately. But neither did he let go of Terence’s hand. A fact that did not filter through to him: he was completely lost in his own guilt.

A gentle tug. Another, followed by one more insistent. Terence finally dared to raise his eyes. There were tears glistening on Dion’s face, as he weakly, gently pulled at Terence’s hand again in a clear request for the other man to come a bit closer.

With a heavily beating heart Terence did. He slid over and sat on Dion’s bed, while Dion guided his hand closer still and brushed his lips over Terence’s knuckles in a tender kiss.

“I say again that you did not fail me, Terence. Not at all.” Dion spoke with visible effort and Terence wanted nothing more than to tell him to rest, that he should not push himself. Not for Terence’s sake. But Dion pressed on. “I don’t presume to fully understand these feelings. Love? Nor do I think I am deserving of it. But I also know that today… that thinking about a world without you in it even for a second is unbearable. Terence, please, look at me.” Dion extended a second hand and reached out to cup Terence’s face in it. “I think… no, no. That’s not right. It’s not…” He pondered, his lips moving trying to form the right words. “I know that I love you. I just never thought, never dared to hope that you could possibly love me back.”

Terence sobbed and pressed his cheek closer into Dion’s hand, letting Dion’s words sink in, making sense of them. He then, in return, cupped Dion’s face with his one hand, daring to lean even closer, until he could feel the other man’s breath on his skin.

Dion’s eyes were still glistening with tears, but he managed to blink them away. “Kiss me, please,” he whispered.

Terence laughed into his tears, but withdrew, startling Dion. He wiped his eyes hastily, cleaned his face as best he could with his one hand. Then he bravely leaned forward again, his heart threatening to burst. Still, he only hovered over Dion’s lips, giving the other room, just in case he had changed his mind.

Dion was having none of it, though. He grabbed Terence’s head and closed the distance, clashing their lips together in anything but a gentle manner. It was awkward and they separated, both catching their breath, half laughing.

This time Terence connected his lips with Dion’s. Carefully. But no matter how softly his lips brushed over Dion’s, it was as though lightning was striking through his entire body.

Without a chance for recovery, Dion opened his lips, demanding more. More than Terence was prepared for. The arm he was using as support felt unstable. He did not want to come crashing down on Dion, but he felt faint.

Tenderly, he pulled away and he was almost sure Dion made a desperate sound in protest. He nearly lost all grace in that second, but managed, barely, to stay upright. Instead, he pressed his forehead against the nape of Dion’s neck, trying to calm his racing heart and rapid breathing. He felt Dion’s arms on his back, embracing him.

Dion mainly smelled of medical herbs and salves. Fresh bandages mixed with a sharp and austere tang. But underneath this, in a wisp of citrus and warm cedarwood, Terence caught a hint of his Dion. A comforting feeling, familiar and new at the same time.

They stayed like this for some time. Until, eventually, Terence’s arm could not support him any longer and he sat up. New tears were streaming down Dion’s face, but he smiled. Terence swiped the tears away with his thumb.

“I am sorry, I just… don’t have words.” Terence looked down, mulling in the silence.

“You did, though. And I am glad that you are far cleverer than me. I don’t think I would have ever…” Dion laughed and shook his head. “Terence.” He reached out with his hand again. Terence took it in his, gladly. “My brave knight.” Dion’s voice was heavy with emotion.

Terence swallowed. “And you, my prince.” This time he kissed Dion’s knuckles, then his palm, then set both of their hands down. They sat in amiable silence, content just to be in the presence of the other.

The rush of adrenaline slowly ebbed, and Terence could feel the fatigue creep back in. He sighed. “Would that I could stay here at your side, but we should both rest.”

“Promise to come here first thing in the morning.”

“Yes,” Terence nodded. “I promise. Rest well, my prince.” He pressed another quick kiss to Dion’s lips, hoping he would taste them again soon.