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Chapter Text

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John closed his eyes, smiled and let the bow dance over the strings of his beloved fiddle. He played swiftly and playfully, creating an upbeat and happy tune as he walked over his bedroom floor. As always, he became one with the music, letting it fill his mind.

He dreamt of adventures and tall mountains and wide seas. Of excitement, of friends and fun. Of love.

“John!” A sharp knock on the door, his father’s stern voice. “That’s quite enough of that, you’ve been playing for hours!”

Torn away from mountains, adventures and friends, John slowly lowered the violin and stared down at the floor. “Yes father.”

His father walked away, leaving John in his large and beatifully decorated room.

Alone.

John sighed, trying to come up with something to do now that his violin time was up. He could read one of his many books. Or try and fail to draw. Or lie on his back in his bed and wait for nightfall. All was so hopelessly dull.

A muffled ruckus from outside made John lift his head. Something was happening on the square below.

Curious, he walked up to the window, unlocked it and pushed it open. Far down below, in the middle of the bustling square, a trio of men John had never seen before, had showed up.

The dark-haired one, who was wearing a pretty yellow shirt, was talking and laughing with the passing townsfolk as the two others stood to the side. Both of the other two were holding instruments, a banjo and a tambourine.

Then, they started playing, a fun, catchy tune that made people stop to listen. The dark-haired one started singing to the melody and John smiled. Even from up where he stood, the man’s voice was beautiful and clear.

Clutching his violin to his chest, watching the street musicians, John allowed himself to dream.

How would it be to live that kind of life?

By the time the third song finished, John had put his violin aside and was leaning out of the window as far as he safely could. He broke into applause with the rest of the sizeable crowd which had now gathered, a delighted smile on his face.

The dark-haired man in the striking shirt thanked the crowd, exchanging banter with hecklers and making people laugh as if it were nothing. John laughed, too, marveling at this delightful, witty stranger. But the show, it appeared, was far from over.

To John’s utter amazement, the singer introduced one of the others, a tall man with a mane of curly hair, as a magician. John’s eyes widened and he looked on with fascination as the magician proceeded to turn a lady’s hat into a dove. The crowd gasped, and ‘ohh’s and 'ahh’s filled the square when the magician made the hat reappear, pulling it out from underneath a gentlemen’s cloak. This was truly like something out of the story book John treasured so. He could not believe his eyes.

But as the magic show continued, with card tricks John wished he could make out better from the distance, his gaze wandered to the first man in the yellow shirt, collecting money in his hat from the crowd, and then, he beheld something which was not meant for his eyes.

Or anybody’s eyes, at that. The last of the three, a fair-haired youth with a boyish face, his long hair braided down his back, had made his way to the back of the crowd. As John observed him, he saw him reach into a wealthy man’s pocket.

'Thieves!’ John thought, utterly scandalised but also, despite himself, strangely excited to witness such a brazen, lawless act. God knew his merchant father would have anyone believe that thieves were the worst people on earth. Why, John was well aware that if he so much as said the word, his father would have all three of these scoundrels arrested and whipped before dusk. Everything he had ever been taught urged him to speak out, to point and yell 'Thief!’, to call for the servants and ring the alarm. And yet, he remained silent, eyes firmly trained on the fair-haired young man as he helped himself to the contents of a well-dressed lady’s purse.

John watched him retreat, away from the crowd, carefully looking about himself, hands in his pockets. And then, the young man below on the square turned, eyes checking the windows behind him. The windows of the neighbouring house before-

John gasped.

The young man’s eyes fell on him. For a moment, neither of them moved. John could feel his heart hammering in his chest. The thief was staring at him, eyes just as large and surprised as John’s, a shadow of fear in them. For a moment, John’s overactive imagination, fuelled by the adventures in the books he had read, would have had him believe that the young man on the square might raise his hand and draw a line across his throat. That he would have his life for having found out his secret. His trembling hand clutched the handle of the window, prepared to slam it shut.

But instead, the fair-haired man did something John had not at all expected. He broke into a mischievous smile, eyes twinkling, and winked.

For a moment, John simply blinked at him, mouth hanging open. But then, a tempest of excitement in his chest, he returned the smile.

He, John Deacon, the wealthy town merchant’s son and only heir to his fortune, was in cahoots with a thief!

- - -

Chapter Text

Chuckling, a light wobble to their step, Roger and Freddie exited the pub. It was late night and drizzling slightly as they strolled over the mostly deserted town square.

Walking past the tall, impressive house, Roger couldn’t help but glance up at the window at the top floor. He wondered what the boy he’d seen earlier was doing. The lights were out so he was probably asleep.

Heart beating faster, Roger brushed damp hair out of his face and leant into Freddie’s side. He had really messed up, being seen like that. It was pure luck the boy hadn’t said anything.

However, the boy could still tattle on them. And then they would be in trouble. Maybe it would be best to leave at once, under cover of darkness.

“We have to learn that ridiculous dance later dear!” Freddie laughed, trying and failing to do one of the dance steps the town folk had performed at the pub. “It’s important for us to know the customs,” he grinned secretively, “to fit in.”

The imposing merchant house was making Roger anxious and he hurriedly dragged Freddie past it, heading towards their cart and Brian. “Won’t help.” He squeezed Freddie’s hand. “The dances are bloody different in every town we show up in. And it doesn’t matter, you’ll always stick out Freddie.”

“Well perhaps I will,” Freddie drawled, gesturing at his dark hair and fancy shirt, “but you’re not much better. There were girls swarming you all night love.Tell me, how are you supposed to pickpocket anyone with that kind of entourage hmm?”

Roger rolled his eyes. “What was I supposed to do then? Shove them away?”

“Of course not, that would be rude. You simply need to be less attractive dear.”
“Right. I’ll just roll around in dirt before next time. Of course,” he continued smugly, reaching into the pocket of his breeches, pulling out three gold rings, “if I had been covered in dirt the mayor’s wife probably wouldn’t have been as interested in me, and I wouldn’t have been able to snatch these beauties.”

Freddie gasped, eyes widening. “You rascal! Straight from her fingers?” He pretended to brush a tear from his face. “I’m so proud of you.”

“Well I’ve had the best teacher.” Roger purred, pausing right before their cart to slip the rings onto Freddie’s long fingers. As if destined to be worn by Freddie, the rings fit perfectly. “They look much better on you.” Roger smiled and bent to kiss the back of Freddie’s hand.

There was a thin thread of sorrow weaved into the warmth in Freddie’s eyes as he lifted Roger’s head to press their foreheads together. “How you’ve changed dear. And I love them, thank you.”

“Not all’s changed.” Roger closed his eyes and sighed when Freddie’s fingers came up to stroke his cheek. “I still love you.”

Someone cleared their throat impatiently right next to them and Roger looked up to see Brian there, arms crossed and frowning.

“You can’t just do those things in the middle of the square…” The curly haired man hissed, grabbing both of their arms and dragging them over to and behind their cart.

“We weren’t doing anything!” Roger argued, yanking his arm out of the taller man’s grip.

Brian shook his head, his expression stern. “We can’t risk you two fooling around, someone might see. Christ I don’t understand how you haven’t been caught already, as reckless and irresponsible as you are.”

“There was no bloody fooling around!” Roger walked right up in Brian’s space, glaring up at him. ”And we’re not irresponsible, you’re just jealous.”

Brian sputtered at that and Freddie put a hand on Roger’s shoulder. “Rog…”

“He is!” Roger grabbed at Brian’s shirt. “I’ve seen him looking.”

He had. Long, longing gazes at Freddie when the other man wasn’t looking. Reddening cheeks when Freddie touched his arm. It… didn’t make him jealous really. But Roger just couldn’t understand why Brian acted like what him and Freddie were doing was wrong when Brian himself obviously was crushing on a man too.

“Roger!” Freddie raised his voice, pulling Roger away from Brian. “Stop it.” He sighed, running a soothing hand over Roger’s back. “Brian’s right. We have to be more careful. We want to stay here for the next week, it’s best to avoid arousing suspicion.”

Roger winced. “Actually… About that. I think we should leave now. Tonight.”

“What? Why?”

Freddie and Brian stared at him, making Roger shift uncomfortably. “Before. At the show.” He wrapped his braid around his fingers, tugging lightly on the damp hair. “A boy saw me steal.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Brian’s voice shook. “It’s a wonder we haven’t been caught yet, we have to leave at once!”

Freddie took a deep breath. “You should’ve told us dear.” He admonished, quickly starting to load their few belongings into the cart.

“And knowing this you went to the pub?” Brian asked incredulously, helping Freddie with the things. “I just don’t get you Roger.”

Not in the mood to listen to Brian’s complaining and not knowing how to explain the feeling that the boy wouldn’t tell on them and that he was on their side, Roger went to get their donkey.

They had tied the beloved animal to a tree on a little grassy hill just south of the town square. Away from the houses it was almost pitch dark, and Roger carefully made his way up the tiny hill, careful to not slip in the mud.

“Tootsie!” He called, getting a low bray in reply. He walked over to her, cooing softly and stroking her muzzle. “It’s time to go sweetheart.” He gave her a firm pat and went to untie the rope from the tree.

Slowly walking back down the hill, Tootsie excitedly danced behind him and nudged at his back, almost making him lose his balance three times before they were safe back on flat ground.

“Cheeky.” He muttered and she brayed again, following him as he hurried back to the cart. Freddie and Brian had loaded all their things into the small cart and was doing their best to cover and protect the most sensitive of the things with burlap sacks, that they previously had rubbed with wax, in an effort to make them repel water.

Roger was just in the process of fastening Tootsie to the cart when he heard Freddie’s sharp voice.

“Who’s there?”

A thin gestalt, draped in a cloak, with a leather bag over his shoulder and a wooden case on his back, had stopped right in front of Brian and Freddie.

Roger tensed up next to Tootsie, pulling his dagger out of its sheet and coming up next to Freddie, ready to defend them if necessary.

The man in front of them put his hands up. “I mean no harm to you. I’m uh…” He muttered nervously, barely audible in the smattering of the light rain.

“Speak up.” Brian warned, his hand also at his belt.

The stranger paused a moment, as if making a decision, then shrugged and let the hood of the cloak fall from his face.

Roger gasped. It was the boy from the window.

“I would like to join you on your journey.” The boy said, voice clearer now. “I you’d have me.”

Chapter Text

- - -

The rain was falling heavier around them now, sheets of fine droplets blurring the lights in the distance and weighing Brian's curls down until they hung limp, framing his thin face and making it appear more gaunt still. The boy standing before them surveyed them with wide, hopeful eyes, shining with determination. The heavy, untarnished material of his cloak, embroidered with silver thread at the hem, did not escape Brian's attention. Nor the expensive shoes he wore, silver buckles and shiny, barely creased leather. It was evident that he came from money.

Brian wanted to ask whether he was playing a joke on them, or mad. However, before he could, Roger took a step forward and tucked away his dagger.

"It's you!" he exclaimed in surprise, and turned over his shoulder, meeting Freddie's eyes. "It's him, that's the boy who saw me!"

Brian's hand immediately tensed again, hovering close to his own dagger in his belt, eyes narrowed and trained on the stranger.

"I did," the boy admitted, looking from Roger, to Freddie and finally to Brian, a shadow of trepidation in his gaze. "But I- I also saw you perform, and you were wonderful. Please..."

He faltered a little and checked himself, hands balling into fists and jaw set.

"I want to come with you," he insisted, "you must let me. I play the fiddle." He added, and raised his eyebrows, indicating the wooden box he carried on his back. "I am really very good. I would show you, only it's raining and I wouldn't like to get it wet."

Brian very nearly laughed out loud, so bizarre seemed this evidently very wealthy youth's request. Come with them? Come with them? What the devil was he thinking?

Freddie seemed to share Brian's amazement, for he shook his head with a soft chuckle, exchanging a look with Roger.

"Well, it would appear we made quite an impression," the raven-haired man said with a gentle lilt to his voice as he came up beside Roger. "I'm sure you play marvelously, dear, but I'm afraid we're simply not hiring at the moment."

While Roger and Freddie looked on, amused, Brian watched the boy's face cloud with dejection and uncertainty. His request was completely ridiculous, of course, given he barely looked of age and clearly wasn't a vagabond or a lost orphan, but Brian's curiosity was peaked.

"Why?" he asked, and finally also stepped closer, forming a line in front of the boy with Freddie and Roger by his side. His hand was no longer so tense, not quite as close to his weapon, but he hadn't entirely relaxed his guard. Brian was not as careless as that.

"What makes you think you would like to join us?"

The boy met his eyes. His short fringe was beginning to stick to his forehead, wet from the rain. To his credit, he no longer looked so wary of Brian when he said:

"I want to live." It was impossible to make out the colour of his eyes in the darkness, but nonetheless they shone bright and seemed to illuminate his face. The statement was innocently genuine and at the same time full of fierce determination.

"Please," the boy added, "I want to see more than the four corners of my room, and I'd sooner sleep in the dirt under the sky than lay in bed looking at the ceiling one more night. Please, do let me come with you, you must!"

Brian looked over at his two travel companions, all three of them exchanging equally bemused looks with each other.

Freddie propped his elbow up on Roger's shoulder and leaned his head to the side, a tight-lipped smile on his face.

"The only thing we all must do is die, dear," he said lightly, voice still amused but not without a hint of compassion. "The fanciful sort, are you?"

"Sorry, mate." Roger shook his head, arms crossed over his chest. "Do yourself a favour and go home. Your mam and pap will be worried sick."

"I'm not a child," The boy's eyebrows drew together as he stubbornly stood his ground, "I'm nineteen!"

Tootsie gave a whuffle behind them and shook herself, patiently waiting for their departure. Brian marvelled at the boy. He looked so utterly determined. A man on a mission. It didn't seem as though he had come here on a whim, completely naive to the implications of his request. But why on earth, Brian wondered, why would someone in his position be so keen to throw away their God-given privilege like this? He was about to question him further, when suddenly, loud voices could be heard coming from the town square. There seemed to be some sort of commotion. Horses whinnied and shouts were heard over the sound of falling rain. They all squinted in the direction from whence the noise was coming and the boy turned, his long hair falling over his shoulder. The glow of torches shone in the distance, moving swiftly and growing in numbers as they looked on.
The three travelling musicians glanced at each other, immediately concerned. A mob of townsfolk, especially of the angry variety, was never good news, whether or not they had anything to do with it. Brian knew this all too well. He would have preferred to forget the day he had spent in a town square not so long ago, wrists and neck locked in a pillory, bloodied from a flogging for a crime he had not committed and waiting for his execution in helpless terror. The scars on his back, scars which even Freddie's gentle hands and soothing concoctions of herbs could only help heal, but not make disappear, would forever remind him of it. Remind him that if it hadn't been for Freddie's kind heart and brave soul...

"We should leave," Roger said, taking a few steps backward toward the cart, his eyes on the torches in the distance, no longer concerned with the boy. "We should leave right now."

His shirt was damp from the rain and clung to his sinewy frame, a gust of wind made him shiver. Brian, too, felt the chill of the night air. Summer had well and truly come to an end.

"Wait!" the boy exclaimed before Freddie and Brian could turn to leave, too. He stared at them, his jaw set. "It's me they're looking for. My father must have realised I'm gone. Take me with you!" he pleaded once more, before either of them could say anything. His eyes were wide, a hint of desperation etched onto his face. "Take me with you or... I'll tell! I'll tell them you're thieves!"

There was a beat.

Roger shouldered past Brian, crossing the distance with quick strides until he was nose to nose with the boy, who gasped and retreated a step. Roger grabbed him by the cloak, keeping him from running. But even though he looked afraid, it didn't seem as though the boy had any intention to run.

"You'll do no such thing," Roger warned, shoulders tense, his free hand hovering by his belt. The boy glanced down at the dagger secured there and swallowed, meeting his eyes again.

"What are you going to do?" he asked, the light of sheer will and determination back in his eyes once he had overcome the initial fright. "Try to harm me and I'll scream. Do you hear me? I'll scream! They'll come running and if there's but one scratch on me you won't live to see the sun rise, that I promise you!"

"You little-"

"Roger," Freddie murmured, laying a hand on his lover's back.

Brian squinted into the direction of the torches, slowly moving toward them, before glancing at Freddie, decidedly panicked now.

"Roger, let him go," Brian hissed under his breath.

"Brian's right, dear, don't be foolish now."

Roger huffed angrily and released his hold on the boy's cloak.

"Thank you," the stranger said, and looked at each of them in turn, fire in his voice as he spoke, despite the faint tremble of fear which accompanied it. "Listen to me, and listen carefully. My father will rouse the whole town looking for me. He has the means to hire every last able man, so unless we leave right now, we won't escape them."

Roger snorted. "We?"

"Yes," the boy said, without missing a beat. "Because if you don't take me with you, I'll tell them you lured me out of the house and tried to steal me away against my will. You think your donkey can outrun their horses? They'll catch you before half the night is up and you'll be hanged by the neck until dead. All three of you." He propped his hands up on his hips, surveying their faces. "So? What will it be?"

"He's blackmailing us!" Roger sputtered in disbelief. "I don't fucking believe it!"

"Let's get him into the cart," Freddie turned to Brian and Roger, suddenly all business. "Hide him under the burlap sacks."

Roger didn't like the sound of that.

"You can't be serious!"

"We can't!" Brian protested, too, gesturing at their unwelcome new acquaintance. "They'll surely catch up to us one way or another! What if they search the cart? We'll be done for! It's madness!"

"They'll search the town first," the boy said, stepping in front of Brian. "I left a letter that will send them on a wild goose chase. But we should hurry nonetheless!"

Brian narrowed his eyes at him, frustrated, confused and mildly terrified by the events unfolding. "Who are you?"

The boy smiled a small, crooked smile, eyes twinkling with mischievous joy and genuine surprise as he realised that he was, in fact, gaining the upper hand.

"I'm John," he said, "I'm the merchant's son and the only heir to his fortune. Or, I was," he shrugged, "until tonight. Because from now on, I belong only to myself."

Roger swore. Freddie shook his head, running a hand through his damp hair and gazing into the distance.

"Roger..." he whispered urgently, and looked from the fair-haired man to Brian, who threw his arms up in the air.

What in God's name were they supposed to do? They had no choice.

"Come on then, John," Roger muttered brusquely, throwing the boy a dark look as he headed toward the cart. "Get in."

John held Brian's gaze and then looked to Freddie, even as he followed Roger.

"Thank you," he said quietly, before he turned his back.

Brian stared at the neat bow, tying John's long brown hair together at the nape of his neck. Made of the finest silk, no doubt. His stomach was churning with nerves. Everything about this spelled trouble.

He followed Roger, Freddie and their new travelling companion to the cart, climbing into the back with John.

"Go, go," he urged the other two, "I'll keep an eye on him."

Roger was already retrieving his hooded cloak and climbing into the front seat, a grim look on his face.

"I'll be with you in a bit, darling," Freddie told Brian, and went to find his own cloak to join his furious friend at the front.

Brian turned to John, who had stopped, blinking at the bird cage which hung under the small canopy covering one half of the cart, and the white dove inside it.

"Your bird cage is open," he stated flatly as Albus the dove curiously cocked his head and blinked back at him.

"Really?" Brian raised an eyebrow. "I hadn't noticed."

With that, he gave a whistle and went to sit under the canopy, while Albus fluttered out of his cage and landed on his shoulder, cooing and nuzzling Brian's ear. John went to sit opposite him and watched with great interest as Brian retrieved a bag of sunflower seeds from his pocket and fed the bird a few. Roger snapped the reigns and the cart pulled away. Albus flapped his wings in Brian's face at the sudden movement and the magician lifted the bird off his shoulder and onto his finger, bestowing a few gentle caresses on pearly white feathers before he lifted his hand up high into the air. Albus fluttered back to his cage as John looked on, amazed.

"I like your bird."

"His name is Albus."

"Fantastic," John chuckled, although Brian couldn't quite see what was so funny or fantastic about it.

He found his own cloak and wrapped it around himself. The canopy was not doing them much good. The wind had picked up and rain blew in regardless. Brian was reconciling himself to the fact that he would be damp and cold til morning. He looked back over at the boy, who was gazing in the direction of his home town with a sort of wistful disbelief.

"Having second thoughts?" Brian inquired, a little cynically.

John turned to him with a small smile, so pure and innocent that it made Brian feel ashamed of his coldness.

"No," the boy said, and seemed to marvel at his own words. "None at all."

- - -

Chapter Text

They travelled all night, through the raging storm. The wind was furious, almost ripping the canopy loose. It howled and shouted, pulling at hair and clothes and terrifying Brian’s pet dove which he kept safely tucked against his chest. The rain was worse, harsh and cold, pelting their faces and soaking through clothes, leaving them sodden, numb and freezing to the bone.

It was clear that summer was over, the storm relentlessly bringing autumn and colder times. Harder times.

John had terrible timing, really. He could barely have joined them at a worse moment. But, on the bright side, their tracks would be hard to follow.

This was what Freddie kept thinking to himself, trying to keep his spirits up, as he spent the first half of the night pressed against Roger’s side in the narrow front seat, and the second of it half curled around Brian in the cart.

Each time he looked at John, the young man was watching the roaring storm with awe and almost admiration. He didn’t sleep, but sat straight in the cart, ponytail whipping behind him in the wind. He was a stubborn one, Freddie had to give him that…

Early morning, as the storm clouds finally thinned out and one could see the sun rising from behind the mountains, warm light spilling into the valley they were travelling through, the cart came to an abrupt stop.

Several colourful swear words from Roger signalled that they had gotten stuck. They had been in the process of crossing a flooded stream when the wheels of the cart had sunk several inches into the thick mud.

Tootsie, trembling from exhaustion, pulled stubbornly at her reins but just slipped in the mud, failing in getting the cart to move forward.

They all got off the cart while Roger released the donkey, giving her a few pats and kisses before shooing her away from the cart. They didn’t bother to tie her up, she never went far away from them.

And so, Freddie spent the beginning of what was looking to be a stunning morning, knee-deep in mud, pushing their cart. Him, Brian and Roger gave it all they had, shoving and pushing until the cart finally moved out of the mud and up on the road on the other side of the stream. John stood to the side, watching them with great interest. He had offered to help first, but Roger had just shoved him to the side, grunting about him not getting his pretty silver buckles dirty.

“I reckon we’ve gone far enough to stop for a bit.” Freddie panted, leaning against the cart and staring up at the fading silhouette of the moon, still visible on the brightening sky.

Brian frowned, his thin chest heaving with exhaustion as he tried to squeeze water from his shirt. “I’m not sure… they could still be after us. We can’t have gone further than a few dozen miles…”

“In a bloody rainstorm!” Roger exclaimed, throwing his arms out. “If our new… friend,” he snarled at John who was watching the sunrise with a blissed out expression on his pale face, “isn’t the crown prince himself, I don’t think they’d go to such lengths as riding all night through that weather.”

“But…” Brian started and Roger spun towards him, looking about ready to punch him in the face.

Freddie gracefully stepped between the two. “We have no choice, we need to stop and rest. Tootsie is exhausted.” He gestured to the donkey who was eagerly lapping water from the stream. “And so are we.”

Hell, none of them had slept all night. Freddie rubbed his arms, he was not only soaked but his entire lower body was now also caked in mud. Brian and Roger weren’t better off. They were both looking at John, Brian looking half annoyed, half curious while Roger just looked enraged.

“Bloody rich folk…” Roger spat on the ground. “Who does he think he is?”

Brian raised an eyebrow. “Maybe you shouldn’t let anyone catch you stealing next time.”

“What did you just say you bastard?!”

Freddie again stepped in, rolling his eyes. “Alright, let’s camp here lads. The stream leads to a nice lake over there, look. We can wash up and let our clothes dry, it’s looking to be a sunny day.”

“Oh lovely, there’s nothing like a freezing cold bath to lift one’s mood...” Brian muttered, but had already started on his shirt, unbuttoning it as he moved towards the lake.

Roger glared after him. “There’s no way I’m bathing with Brian. I’ll get a fire started.” He stomped off to gather branches and Freddie found himself alone next to the sodden cart.

John came up to him, a small smile on his face. “There’s just something about so much fresh air isn’t it?” He took a deep breath, closing his eyes. “I feel like this is where I was always supposed to be.”

Freddie wondered if the young man would feel the same when he had to wash himself in fresh lakewater for the first time. “Come on then,” he said, gesturing for John to follow Brian. “Let’s go wash up a bit, you can hang up that beautiful coat of yours and your other things and let them dry.”

“Oh,” John blushed and looked down. “But I have no other clothes with me…”

Freddie stared at him. “Really. You executed a great escape with misleading notes, in the middle of the night, joining a group of bandits, who you’re really inconveniencing by the way, and you didn’t think to bring an extra set of clothes?”

“No...”

“What kind of hopeless runaway are you…” Freddie sighed tiredly. “You can borrow some of my clothes. I’ll bring them with me, and some soap.”

John smiled brightly at him, showing off a cute gap between his front teeth.

“Well off you go,” Freddie waved at him, “Go bathe with Brian, I’ll be right there.”

“Thank you!” John paused, hesitated. “I don’t think I got your name…?”

“Freddie.”

“Thank you Freddie, for a thief, you’re quite the gentleman.”

With that, the younger man walked off to join Brian by the lake, leaving Freddie gaping after him. The nerve!

Before heading off to join the other two Freddie took a look at their soaked packing and winced. He started to drag their things out to dry, hanging them over tree branches or laying them on large rocks. The sun was steadily rising and slowly warming his frozen body. The air was fresh and new, the heavens having unloaded their anguish with the great storm.

It was the first day of autumn, the start of the third autumn Freddie had spent wandering the country, penniless but free.

Grabbing some fresh clothes for himself and John, and soap, Freddie started going down the stream towards the small lake. He passed Tootsie, who was ripping off chunks of grass, grazing with a ravenous hunger, and Albus, who was sitting on a branch just above the donkey, having fluffed up his feathers and enjoying the morning sun.

There was no need to tie up or lock in either of their loyal animal companions. Albus would take off on short flights now and then, never failing to stress Brian out, but always returned. And Tootsie, Tootsie was almost more in love with Freddie’s lover than what Freddie was. Roger had saved her from an abusive owner, stealing her away in the night, and since then she’d never left his side.

Freddie found the other two, Brian already waist deep in the water, face stiffened in an unhappy grimace. John was trying to inconspicuously strip out of his sodden clothes behind a tree, not making a great job of it.

Freddie took a peak at those pristine leather shoes, which had amazingly escaped most of the mud. He glanced next at the beautiful, fancy coat and frowned. Right… If they were… keeping this boy they needed to dress him down a bit. Otherwise people would get suspicious in the blink of an eye.

But were they keeping him? Freddie thought back to the young man, eyes bright and brave as he faced off against them, insisting that they’d take him with them.

I want to live.

What kind of life could this youth have been living if he gave it all up in a heartbeat to join a group of dirty musicians? Freddie sighed, shook his head and started worming his wet breeches off his legs.

- - -

Some time later, the sun now high in the sky, Freddie was sitting on a rock at the end of the lake, sketchbook in hand. The bath had been freezing, but now he felt much better, in a dry and relatively clean set of clothes, his former set hanging to dry like the rest of all their wet things.

The entire area between the cart and where Freddie sat was decorated with clothes, other fabrics and sacks, hanging from the trees and fluttering in the breeze in an almost festive manner. Roger had gotten a fire going, stubbornly working away at the damp wood until it finally gave in and lit up. Now Brian was preparing some kind of porridge, Freddie could hear his gentle humming from here, and smiled.

Roger was at the other side of the lake, having waded out until only his shoulders were above the surface. Mostly unbothered by the cold, after all him and Freddie were used to far worse, he took a deep breath and dunked his entire head beneath the water.

Freddie shivered on behalf of him and put his sharpened piece of coal to the paper again, trying to capture the shape of the mountains in the distance. He let the tip move over the paper, filling in lines and shadows, and feeling himself relax as the mountain range slowly took shape.

He was lazily sketching Roger, who’d come up to sit on a rock, working a comb through his long, tangled hair, when John joined him on his rock. Pausing in his drawing, Freddie raised one eyebrow at the young man. “Yes?”

“It’s so gorgeous out here.” John smiled. He was wearing one of Freddie’s shirts and Brian’s breeches, the only testament of his wealth being the silk bow still tied around his hair. “Thank you. Thank you so much for bringing me.”

“It’s not like we had much choice dear.” Freddie answered drily, but couldn’t stop the corners of his mouth from curling into a smile at John’s abashed blush. “That was quite the stunt you pulled…”

“I’m sorry.” John muttered, “I just had to get away. Or I’d have rotted away in my room, never seeing anything beyond the village.” He took in the open landscape and sighed. “You three are so lucky.”

And, while Freddie could have shaken the younger man for his naivety, he just watched Roger still fighting with his hair on the other side of the lake and smiled warmly. “We are.”

John followed his gaze to Roger, then glanced down at Freddie’s sketch. “That is beautiful. You are a very talented artist.”

Freddie shrugged. “He’s a good model.”

“I can imagine.” John nodded, looking back at Roger. The fair-haired man had finally managed to sort his hair out and the long, blond locks fell halfway down his slender back, catching the sunlight. “He looks like the people from my story books.” John said, almost reverently. “He’s beautiful.”

Freddie eyed him suspiciously, not sure what to make of this young stranger blatantly checking out his lover. John noticed his eyes on him and immediately went pink, getting to his feet in a hurry.

“Picturesque I mean.” He said quickly, chuckling awkwardly. “I meant nothing by it.”

Smiling, Freddie shook his head. He was just about to try to calm the younger man down when John straightened up, expression determined. “You have nothing to worry about. Even if I’ve barely left my room, even I know that lusting after other men is a serious sin.” He bowed his head. “I will go help Brian with the soup.”

With that John walked off, leaving Freddie with his head in his hands. Bollocks.

He bitterly wondered if John would tell on them if he saw any of that serious sin. That was just what he needed, another person judging what he and Roger shared.

As if called by Freddie’s anxiety, Roger soon joined him, freshly dressed and yawning. He abruptly dropped down onto the rock to rest his head in Freddie’s lap. Freddie hummed, debating whether to tell Roger what he’d just heard from John, but decided against it. Instead he brushed his fingers through the younger man’s damp hair.

“So?” Roger said after a moment’s silence. “What do we do? Kill him?”

Freddie snorted. They were no killers. None of them. Well… he frowned, heart heavy. What he had done, all those years ago, had been self defence. He had not a choice.

“Or maybe tie him up and leave him at the nearest farm.” Roger continued drowsily, half on his way to sleep already.

“I don’t know darling. I don’t know.”

Freddie turned to glance over his shoulder, and saw John watching him and Roger, an unreadable expression on his face.

Well. Freddie’s thoughts darkened. If John was going to become a real problem, they’d get rid of him. He was not letting anyone ruin his happiness, now when he finally had it.

Singing softly to no one in particular, Freddie let his fingers brush through his sleeping lover’s hair, admired his new golden rings and contemplated sin.

Chapter Text

- - -

The lake water had been freezing, robbing him of his breath. The meadow smelled like wild flowers and earth, the sun was bright, blinding his tired eyes and the material of the shirt he wore was rough against his skin. The woods surrounding them were full of sound, leaves rustling in the breeze and birdsong coming from the tree tops. His travelling companions did not oblige him at every turn, did not make any attempt to make his life any easier nor order him around and simply went about their business, ignoring him completely.

John had never felt so free and alive. So limitless. Even though he hadn't slept all night, he barely felt tired, heart and soul buzzing with curiosity and excitement.

But most of all, he genuinely felt as if he had stumbled straight into one of his storybooks. These three traveling, thieving musicians were every bit as fascinating as the characters in his books and so he spent the morning observing them quietly with great interest. He watched Freddie and Roger on the rock by the lake for some time - he'd overheard the fair-haired man's name last night, and Brian's this morning - before he joined Brian by the fire.

The man with the curly mane glanced up at him and returned his attention to the pot he was stirring.

"Thank you for lending me your breeches," said John.

Brian just nodded.

"I will return them to you as soon as we stop somewhere where I might buy my own," John continued, undeterred, and glanced at the clothes spread out all across the meadow and hanging on the large tree by the water. "I understand my clothes are perhaps not very well suited for our situation."

Brian shook his head with a wry smile. "Perhaps not. And what money do you plan to do that with?" he asked, and suddenly paused, meeting John's eyes, "Have... have you brought money with you?"

"Oh, no. Stealing money in my father's house is an impossible feat, and I don't have access to my allowance without his permission. So I'm as penniless as you are," John explained cheerfully.

"Great." said Brian.

"But I could sell my clothes. They should be worth something."

This seemed to peak the magician's interest. He frowned at John, a look of surprise on his face.

"You would do that?"

"Why not?" John shrugged. "They're worth nothing to me if they don't serve me on this journey."

Brian's eyebrows rose up. "You're a very queer fellow, John."

At that, John laughed so heartily he had to hold his stomach.

"What?" Brian asked, looking at him as though he had gone veritably mad.

"I'm sorry," John gasped, between renewed bouts of laughter, "I'm sorry, it's only that... You're a traveling magician, with a pet bird, and you are calling me queer!"

Staring back at him, Brian blinked and broke into a small smile, almost despite himself.

"I suppose you're not wrong there," he admitted, chuckling quietly as he turned back to the pot.

John, who had finally stopped laughing, sat down beside him and watched him stir it for a while. Then he cast his gaze across the meadow, the mountain range and the lake. He could not get enough of the view. It barely even seemed real and he half expected to detect the brush strokes on the canvas of the artist who had painted this beautiful scenery. His eyes wandered from the tops of the mountains, touching the whispy clouds, down to the two men resting on the rock by the lake.

"They seem very close, your friends," he said absently. "Like brothers."

Brian snorted and raised an eyebrow, eyes firmly on the food he was cooking. "Yes," he mumbled. "brothers."

"I've always wanted a brother," sighed John. "But my mother died when I was very young."

Brian glanced up at him. "I'm sorry."

"Do you have family?" John asked, tilting his head to the side.

Brian stopped stirring and stared at the steaming pot intently for some time. John very nearly repeated the question, not entirely sure if the other man had heard him.

"I used to," the magician said eventually, "Will you go get them?" he quickly added, before John could ask any further questions, "Food is ready."

They sat down around the fire to eat not much later. John wanted to ask them a million more questions, but he also had an appetite so ravenous as he could hardly recall experiencing at home, despite breakfast spreads on the table made up of everything one's heart could desire. Meanwhile, the food in the wooden bowl he held now was lacking in taste, and yet eating it outside in the fresh air added a whole new layer of flavour John had never experienced. He wolfed it down and gladly accepted more when it was offered to him.

The others were silent, too, their usual routine perhaps somewhat disrupted by his presence. Freddie seemed lost in thought, watching John out of the corner of his eye but averting his gaze whenever John turned to look at him. Roger was yawning and a little bleary-eyed, his now dry blond locks falling around his shoulders and gleaming in the morning light like a curtain of golden silk. John tried not to stare. In all honesty, he had never seen a man more beautiful nor had he ever given much thought to any man's beauty to begin with.
So instead he watched Brian's dove, now perched on his shoulder, and the affectionate way in which the magician was sharing his breakfast with the pet. John had always wanted a pet, too. Of course, he had never been allowed one. They make too much of a mess, and what good are they? His father would say.

The first to finish his breakfast, even with a second helping, John thanked Brian and rose to his feet, returning to the cart to retrieve the one thing he would not have sold or given away for any amount of coins or riches.

- - -

Freddie was scraping the last of his porridge out of the bowl when the sound of the violin reached him, carried across the open field by the mild breeze. He slowly raised his head, the spoon halfway to his mouth. Brian and Roger had also stopped eating and turned to look at John, in the distance, perched on the side of their cart. His fingers danced over the neck of the instrument with effortless precision, the bow gliding with ease and impressive skill. All the while he sat so still and relaxed, his pale face turned toward the sun with a beatific smile.

The tune was a bittersweet one and very elaborate, far from the simple folk tunes some street musicians might play outside the tavern. It was really very beautiful. Freddie didn't want him to stop.

He turned to his travelling companions, looking from Roger to Brian. They were both equally awed.

"He wasn't lying," Brian said, and turned back to the boy. "He's really very good."

"So he is..." Freddie murmured, frowning thoughtfully at their new friend in the distance, before he met Roger's eyes again. He knew they were thinking the same thing. People would empty their pockets quite willingly for that. In a tavern or in a square. And in the colder months, their act was reduced to Freddie's singing, accompanied by Brian's lute. Magic wasn't always welcome in taverns, as many thought of it as trickery and feared being cheated in a setting where gambling and dodgy business were already par for the course. Maybe they shouldn't be so quick in trying to rid themselves of their new acquaintance.

"He wants to sell his clothes," Brian told them.

"Does he now?" Freddie scratched at the stubble on his chin.

"I don't think he has any plans to leave us anytime soon."

"That's not his decision to make," Roger pointed out. He had put down his bowl and was busy braiding his hair.

"No," said Freddie, "But let's keep an eye on him for now, before we make a decision."

The others nodded. They finished their breakfast and Freddie went to rinse the bowls in the lake while Roger went to feed the remnants of porridge in the pot to Tootsie. The three of them took turns shaving, seeing as among their humble possessions there was only one mirror and blade - although sometimes Roger would use his dagger - and Freddie proceeded to go through a few of his stretches. Brought up a contortionist from childhood, his body felt tense and unnatural if he failed to move it in the ways which it was used to at least every other day. And together with his muscles and sinews, it also relaxed the mind and brought him to a state of equilibrium which he cherished. It was then when John, who had climbed off the cart a while ago and had been walking the length of the meadow, the fiddle on his shoulder, had stopped playing. He came to Freddie's side, watching him curiously with his eyebrows raised.

"How do you do that?" he asked simply. Freddie wished the music hadn't stopped, for he had been quite enjoying it in the background.

"How do you walk, dear?" Freddie asked back, his bare feet by the top of his head and a little smirk on his lips.

"That isn't the same," John chuckled.

"It is, to me," Freddie replied, and turned away, twisting his body impossibly far to one side. "Play me something else, would you?"

John obliged.

- - -

Roger wished the boy would sleep, but he seemed to have no intention of doing so whatsoever. He was currently throwing pebbles into the water from the lakeside and watching the birds fly in formations in the sky. Roger sighed.

He was tired, having only napped some ten minutes or so this morning, but Brian and Freddie had gone to sleep under the shade of the canopy in the cart, and Roger didn't want to leave the stranger unsupervised, much as he would have liked to do the same. Truth be told, now that he was no longer freezing or hungry, he didn't feel so unkindly disposed toward John. What the boy had done last night had been brave, very brave indeed. He was a very peculiar young man, but not a coward nor dishonest. But what were they going to do? Just keep him? That would be just like Freddie, Roger knew, and sighed, tearing out a bit of grass and tossing it to the wind.

As if it wasn't enough that Freddie had picked up Brian at the start of summer. Of course, Roger couldn't resent that. He'd had as much of a hand in rescuing Brian from certain death as Freddie had, although it irked him that Brian did not seem half as grateful to him for it as he was to Freddie. Then again, of course it had been Freddie who had changed the bandages, treated his infected wounds and mopped his forehead with a cold cloth when he was burning up from a fever, while Roger had been out trying to ensure they still had food to eat. Did Brian ever think about that when he stood gazing at Freddie as if he were an angel descended from the heavens, a yearning look in his eyes? Of course not.

His contemplations were interrupted when John walked away from the lake shore and up to Tootsie, who was grazing nearby. Roger sat up straighter, alert, squinting to see what he would do.

John stopped and stretched out one hand, chuckling when Tootsie came to sniff it and nuzzled against it. Roger cocked his head and got to his feet, slowly making his way over to them.

The donkey snuffled and nudged John in the stomach, prompting more laughter. The boy scratched her behind the ear and petted her nose, even as Roger came up to them. Tootsie immediately turned to him and trotted over for a caress from her rightful owner. John met his eyes.

"I like him," he said, smiling a gap-toothed smile.

"Her," Roger corrected him, patting Tootsie's neck, "She likes you, too. She doesn't like everyone."

Tootsie was a very good judge of character.

"What's her name?" John asked, coming closer to stroke the donkey's flank.

"Tootsie," Roger smiled at her, scratching her nose as she lifted it up to him. "Yeah, that's you. Good girl..."

John yawned.

"I think I shall have a lie down in the grass," he announced with a stretch and moved to go, turning back to Roger at the last minute. "Will you..." he looked concerned then, his eyes pleading. "Will you promise not to leave without me?"

Roger blinked. "Um... yeah," he nodded, a small crooked smile on his lips, "I promise."

"Thank you," John said, smiling back, and turned to leave.

The trust evidently placed in him amazed Roger. For all John knew, he could have been lying. He could have promised him any sort of thing, and done the exact opposite.

Still absently stroking Tootsie's neck, Roger's eyes remained on the boy as he found a suitable spot and stretched out on the grass.

- - -

Brian felt far more like a person after he had slept a little. It was afternoon and time to think of another meal, his grumbling stomach informed him. Freddie and Roger had disappeared into the woods to collect more wood for the fire and John was still asleep on the grass. Brian looked at the treeline at the edge of the meadow. It had rained last night and the night before, so the chances of finding some mushrooms were very good, this time of year. Of course, he felt reluctant to leave John alone, but the boy was sleeping and Brian wouldn't be long.

Casting a last glance back at the youth, Brian fetched a small linen bag from the cart and made his way toward the trees, entering the forest. His suspicion had not been wrong. Not much later, he had already collected half a bag full of edible mushrooms which he was excited to grill over the fire. In his enthusiasm to find more, he wandered perhaps a little deeper into the forest than he had intended to, his eyes firmly on the forest floor, until something in the periphery of his vision caught his attention. Brian turned his head, looked up and froze.

Oh.

Quite without meaning to, he had managed to stumble across the other two. Only they weren't collecting firewood. Not anymore, at any rate.

Freddie was leaning against a large tree trunk, his arms around Roger who had his back to Brian and his hands underneath Freddie's shirt. They were kissing passionately.

Rooted to the spot by a mixture of embarrassment and mild panic, lost for what to do and how to remove himself from the situation before he was seen, Brian stood perfectly still. Watching Freddie's hands slip under Roger's shirt in turn, watching Roger push his thigh between Freddie's legs, fingers pulling at the fastenings of his breeches. And then, his lips descended to Freddie's neck. The raven-haired man moaned softly, his eyes half-open. Brian fervently wished his magical abilities had not been simply skillful illusion and that he could have disappeared into thin air that very instant before Freddie's gaze happened upon him.

But he was not so lucky.

Freddie's eyes widened when he saw him and he stilled for a moment. Oh god, Brian thought, knowing that any second now, he would alert Roger to the fact that they were no longer alone. Roger who, Brian had no doubt, might well suspect him of walking in on them on purpose.

But to his surprise, Freddie's gaze softened and he lifted a hand to the nape of Roger's neck, keeping his head right where it was. Shallow breath escaping through parted lips, Freddie's eyes stayed on Brian while Roger slipped his hand inside Freddie's breeches. The breathy moan the raven-haired man made sent a shiver through Brian's body. His cheeks were burning, his mouth suddenly incredibly and uncomfortably dry. Freddie's eyes fell shut, the hint of a smirk on his lips.

Brian forced his eyes away from the two men and swallowed, finally tearing himself away from the spot where he stood and moving back as quietly and carefully as he could.

His heart was hammering in his chest, blood rushing in his ears so loudly it drowned out the birds singing in the tree tops, while he turned and swiftly fled. Luckily the forest floor was sodden from the rain, no rustle of dry leaves nor dried branches impeding him from making his quiet escape back to the meadow.

But much as he tried to also leave behind what he had seen, Freddie's dark eyes, brimming with lust, remained burned into his mind.

- - -

Chapter Text

Mood significantly brighter than it had been earlier that day, Roger rinsed their food bowls in the lake, whistling to himself.

What did it matter if they had had to run away head over heels in a storm? It was a beautiful day, their things were finally dry, he was mostly full and clean.

He was young, in love and free to go wherever he desired. Free to make his own destiny.

It was easy to be happy and at peace with the world after a nice orgasm after all. He grinned to himself as he recollected his and Freddie’s quick tumble in the woods. He scrubbed absentmindedly at the pot, head full of images of Freddie’s pink lips, his eager eyes and ears still tingling pleasantly with the sound of his lover’s moans.

Despite his great mood, he was still very tired. After John had finally laid down to sleep, Roger hadn’t managed to catch any sleep himself. Which meant he was going on 30 plus hours without more than a ten minute nap. Hopefully someone else, preferably Brian, could sit in the front when they’d leave in an hour. So Roger could finally get some much needed rest.

While they usually didn’t travel at night, they had all agreed on not staying in the meadow for much longer, it being far too close to John’s home village.

They just needed to load their things back up on the cart, then they were good to go. Unfortunately both Freddie and Brian had disappeared off into the woods. They had both been acting weird during dinner. The Magician would barely meet either Roger’s or Freddie’s eyes and made short work of his grilled mushrooms and boiled grains.

Freddie hadn’t been much better, twisting nervously on the ground and giving Brian odd glances. Maybe they had had a fight, Roger was not sure, but as soon as he’d finished, Brian had practically bolted into the forest, mumbling something about getting some herbs and completely ignoring Roger’s protests about how they needed to get going.

Quickly chewing and swallowing down his last handful of mushrooms, Freddie rose as well and said that he’d help Brian, a peculiar, tense smile on his face.

And so Roger had been left all by his lonesome, with the dirty dishes and on cart loading duty. Quite surprisingly, he still hadn’t minded terribly, he was just in too good a mood, and also possibly too exhausted to get upset about it.

John had stayed behind to help him. The younger man was shoveling dirt onto the fire, having been adamant about learning how to do things around camp.

He was alright, actually, this boy. He was kind, if naive, and wasn’t afraid to get his smooth rich man’s hands dirty. His skills with the fiddle were certainly astounding, and he’d probably be able to make them quite some money with his beautiful playing. Furthermore, John’s open-eyed and -hearted wonder at everything around him was contagious.

Roger finished rinsing the last of their things and went back to the cart, where John was eagerly waiting for instructions.

”I filled the water skins as you told me,” the boy stated, smile proud.

Nodding, Roger walked past him and climbed into the cart. ”Good.” He put away the pot and bowls and jumped back down next to the other man. ”We need to bring in all that we’ve hung to dry.”

”I’ll come with you!” John enthusiastically turned, his ponytail whipping up behind him.

Roger frowned, eyes on the blue silk holding his hair up. ”Wait.” He said, quickly untying the leather string from his own braid. ”Use this.” He handed it over to John. ”You look way too much like a fancy lord with that ribbon.”

”Are you certain?” John asked, eyes bright as he twirled the string between his fingers. ”I can really use this?”

”...Yes?” Roger answered slowly.

Smile elated, John quickly untied the ribbon and gave it to Roger. ”Thank you. It’s a trade then.”

The young fiddle player tied his hair back up with Roger’s worn leather string and left to get the closest set of blankets, a light cheerfulness to his gait.

Roger was left behind, expensive blue silk in hand. He stared at the fancy ribbon for a moment, before shrugging and wrapping it around the already unravelling end of his braid.

He and John worked side by side, grabbing their things and stowing them in the cart.

”How long have you been out on the road like this?” John asked him curiously, watching as Roger had to climb up a tree to get one of Freddie’s scarves, which had been grabbed by the breeze and lifted into the crown of the tree.

”Bit over two years!” Roger called back, dropping the thin fabric down to John when he finally reached it. ”Don’t let that hit the ground or Freddie will end you.”

Easily catching the rippling scarf from the air, John carefully put it into one of the pockets of his breeches. ”How old are you?”

”21.”

”Then you’re not much older than me!” John sounded impressed. ”What did you do before?”

Roger laughed at him. ”You’re full of questions aren’t you?” He stood up, carefully balancing on the thick branch, having spotted a few early apples hanging above. ”I was a farm hand. Taking care of the animals on a large farm.” He made quick work of the apples, tugging them down and then letting them fall to the ground.

”So you’re not a magician or artist like Brian and Freddie?”

Chewing on his tongue, reaching precariously for an especially nice apple at the end of a thin branch above, Roger shook his head. ”No. Freddie taught me to play the tambourine and how to pickpocket.”

”I see.” John murmured and then jumped when Roger almost hit him in the head with the apple.

”Give one of them to Tootsie and try to get her to come with you to the cart.” Roger ordered. ”I want us to get moving as soon as possible.” Hopefully Brian and Freddie would return shortly or they would have to go looking for them.

Just as Roger started to climb back down he thought he saw something move in the distance, far away over the hills which they had travelled over before getting stuck in the stream. Pausing, he squinted and listened closely.

First, he could hear the distant murmur of voices, and shortly thereafter the neigh of a horse. Arms trembling with the strain of holding himself up, he stared hard at the group, finally making out four gestalts on horses.

Swearing, heart in his throat, he dropped to the ground in a haste.

“What?” John asked, arms full of apples and cheeks rosy.

Roger’s heart was pounding in his chest. How long did they have? Three, tops four minutes? He thought feverishly. What should they do? They still had clothes spread all over the place, Tootsie was grazing further off and he had no idea where Freddie and Brian were. There was no time to get away.

“Riders.” He warned John, taking him by the arm and dragging him towards the cart. “Four of them.” He sprang onto the cart and grabbed John’s fiddle case. “Take this and run.”

Letting go of the apples and catching his beloved case when Roger threw it at him, John looked up at him with wide eyes. “Do you think they’re from the village?”

“I don’t know.” Roger remembered the beautiful ribbon in his hair and quickly ripped it off, throwing it to John next. “But we can’t risk you being seen. Run into the woods, try to find Freddie and Brian and hide.”

John chewed at his lip, worriedly glancing towards the path and then back at Roger. “What about you?”

“Nevermind me you need to go!” Roger stressed, raising his voice slightly when John still didn’t move. “Now!”

Green eyes filled with emotion flashed up at him one more time, and then John turned and ran.

- - -

Brian had blatantly lied about the herbs. He had just needed to get away. Dinner had been an awful affair. Every time he looked at Roger it felt like the younger man would be able to tell what he’d done, just by looking at his face.

And looking at Freddie… Well, that was both much worse and infinitely better, wasn’t it?

Those eyes haunted him. Those sounds made his body burn with forbidden desire. That smile made his heart ache with longing.

He wanted. Oh how he wanted.

Brian aimlessly stumbled over logs and soft moss, moving further into the forest as well as his thoughts.

His mind was a battlefield, thoughts crashing against each other, raw and exposed. He was jealous. He was afraid. He felt guilt. And lust.

He wanted Freddie so bad it hurt. He wanted to hold him, to kiss him, to touch him and give him pleasure. He wanted to be loved by him.

What did Roger have that Brian didn’t? Nothing. In most ways, Brian thought he and Freddie were more alike. They thought alike. They were sensitive, artistic, always searching.

He would treat Freddie so much better. He understood him in a way Roger never could. It wasn’t fair. None of it was.

Hands shaking with frustrated anger and panting for breath, Brian stopped, sitting down on a fallen tree trunk.

He was awful. He was not only going against God himself, lusting over Freddie. Imagining repulsive carnal acts with another man. Wanting it more than life itself. No, he was also, and perhaps possibly worse, feeling envious of a man who in some ways had helped save his life. A man that never had done anything to Brian, really.

But he owned Freddie’s heart. And Brian couldn’t stand him because of it.

For how long he sat there, swallowed up in his own guilt and misery, Brian didn’t know. Long enough for the sun to move in the sky, making the trees’ shadows come closer, as if drawn in by the great shadow in Brian’s mind.

“Brian?”

Drawing his arms around himself, attempting to protect himself against Freddie and his immorality both, Brian shook his head. “Go away.”

Freddie sighed deeply. “Brian dear.” He carefully stepped closer. “Please.”

“Why are you here?” Brian asked, voice quiet. He was still not meeting the eyes of the other man.

The raven haired man walked the last of the distance and sat down on the trunk next to Brian. Immediately Brian’s entire body flared up, every inch of him longing for contact.

He stayed rooted. “I asked you why you’re here.”

“I know. I..I’m not sure.” Freddie said softly. His breathing was steady and safe, lulling Brian into a false sense of ease. “I guess I wanted to apologize.”

Brian snorted, an ugly, abrasive sound.

“For before.” Freddie continued, a hint of uncertainty in his voice. “I shouldn’t have done that. I’m sorry.”

“Why?” Brian croaked, finally turning to meet Freddie’s eyes. “Is it a game to you? Am I some exciting twist to add to your love-making?”

Shaking his head desperately, Freddie curled his fingers around Brian’s lower arm. The glinting new rings on his fingers taunted Brian, reminded him of what he couldn’t have. “It’s not a game. I promise. I just got caught up in the moment and…” Freddie bit his lip, shame red on his cheeks. “I’m sorry. I know how you feel about what me and Roger do.”

“You think that is why I’m upset?” Brian asked, incredulously. He met Freddie’s dark eyes desperately. “Don’t you know? You must know. What you do to me.”

Freddie stared at him, fingers still on Brian’s arm. “What do you…”

“Oh please spare me the humiliation of having to say it out loud Fred.” Brian swallowed. “You know what I mean.”

Freddie’s eyes had flickered down to Brian’s throat when he swallowed, and Brian stared, transfixed, as he briefly paused at Brian’s lips before returning to his eyes.

Maybe there was a chance after all? Maybe he wasn’t alone in his wish?

“I…” Freddie started weakly, before shaking his head, removing his hand from Brian. “We can’t.”

Why? Why not? They were already breaking the law and going against God. What was one more sin on top of that? Brian would spend eternity in hell either way.

“Just once.” He found himself breathing, one shaking hand coming up to cradle Freddie’s angular jaw. So different from a woman’s. So much more beautiful for it. “Please let me have a taste of what it’d be like.”

Freddie’s lashes fluttered shut, his hand coming up to hold Brian’s against his face. He frowned deeply, as if battling with himself.

Not daring to wait for the inevitable let down, Brian closed his eyes and leant in.

Freddie gasped against him and tensed, but Brian kept his hand on his face, softly brushing their lips together. When the other man didn’t immediately pull away, Brian kissed him harder, hope blooming in his chest.

A quiet moan left the other man’s lips and Brian felt as if he was going to burst open from it all. Freddie pressed against him, their lips hungrily on each other’s, his hand on the older man’s soft skin. It was even better than he had imagined. He wanted to do this forever. To keep Freddie right here with him, in their own bubble.

The sound of a twig snapping immediately ended the fantasy and Brian and Freddie leapt apart, the fear and shame evident on the other man’s face mirroring Brian’s own emotions. Roger was going to kill him.

He slowly turned to face the intruder, awaiting judgement, by God or Roger, whoever may strike him first.

Only, it wasn’t Roger standing there, in the small clearing right in front of Brian and Freddie.

It was John.

The younger man stared at them, eyes wide with shock and mouth gaping open.

“John!” Freddie hissed, getting to his feet, complexion unusually pale. “What are you doing, sneaking up on us like that?”

Brian wanted to ask the same, but the words were stuck to the roof of his mouth, swelling, threatening to choke him. Then, he noticed John’s panicked expression, and how his fiddle case was strapped to his back. “What happened?” He asked, getting to his feet next to Freddie.

“Riders.” John took a shaky breath. “They should be at the camp already.” He paused, looking at Freddie and Brian in apprehension. “I think they might be looking for me.”

Chapter Text

- - -

As soon as John disappeared into the woods, Roger turned and squinted at the road in the distance, weighing up his options. There was every chance, of course, that the riders he had spotted did not hail from John's town. But it would have been foolish to rely on that chance. Roger tried to think quick, casting a look around the meadow and their belongings. He gasped when he spotted John's cloak, still lying on the grass where it had been been left to dry, and quickly ran to get it, stuffing it inside a burlap sack back at the cart.

Whoever the men were, they would be here any minute now.

There was enough time to climb back up a tree and hide, but then there would be nothing stopping them from going through the cart and finding John's clothes. There would be nothing stopping them from deciding to search the forest. No, he couldn't hide. All else aside, it would look extremely suspicious if they did find him.

The faint sound of hooves reached his ears and Roger turned back to the road, heart thumping in his chest. The riders came into view even as he leaned against the cart, following their movement out of the corner of his eye. Praying that they had no business with him and would simply pass him by.

His heart sunk when he heard shouts of 'Ho!' and saw them stop their horses, pointing in his direction. The horsemen turned off the road and made their way toward him. Roger pretended to only just notice them. His eyes immediately wandered to their scabbards. Armed, all of them. And not lightly so.

He hoped John had found Freddie and Brian. He hoped none of them would come wandering back into the meadow.

"You there!" One of the men called, riding in front of the others. He was an older man with sharp, dark eyes and a black beard which was so bushy it concealed the majority of his face. "Boy!"

"Good day!" Roger called back, trying to sound casual and giving them a mildly bored look. "Can I help you?"

The man who had spoken to him stopped his horse and dismounted, surveying the cart, their belongings which still lay strewn across the meadow and Roger himself as if he were looking at the dirt which clung to his heavy boots. He unfurled a roll of paper, coming to a halt in a wide stance in front of Roger, and held it out for him to see.

Roger studied the drawing of John's face, eyes lingering on the reward offered for the return of the merchant's heir to his father. Two thousand gold coins.

Fucking hell.

"That's a small fortune," he murmured, almost without meaning to.

The bearded man narrowed his eyes at him.

"Have you seen this boy?"

Roger thought of all the things that kind of money could have afforded him, and Freddie. All the struggles they could have left behind. He thought of John, of his gap-toothed smile and his wide-eyed wonder. Then he looked up at the man before him and shook his head.

"No. I bloody wish I had!" he chuckled, and shrugged his shoulder. "But you're the first travellers who've come this way all day, I'm afraid."

His heart was beating in his throat as he prayed that this would be the end of it. That these riders wouldn't demand to search the cart or ask any more questions. The man stared at him for a long moment and Roger held his gaze, eyebrows raised. Then the man scoffed and rolled the paper back up, turning to his companions with a shake of his head. Roger breathed a huge sigh of relief.

As the bearded man walked back to his horse, Roger noticed that another one of the men, a thin, sour-faced fellow, was looking in his direction with a frown. And even as he did so, he reached into the satchel strapped to his horse and pulled out another roll of parchment, unrolling it and looking down at it with much curiosity and suspicion. His eyes snapped back up to Roger, who felt the air leave his lungs. The sour-faced fellow waved over the bearded man before he could mount his horse and showed him the parchment he was looking at. They both looked up at Roger, surveyed the cart, the donkey, Freddie's distinctly bright shirt drying hung up on the canopy, and nodded to each other.

Even before the second man dismounted, and a third, all of them now closing in on him, Roger realised he was in trouble. His eyes flicked over to the forest. He could have probably outrun them, if he ran now, and with some luck perhaps even lost them between the trees. But that would mean potentially leading them straight to Freddie and the others.

"Here's one more thing," the bearded man, who was now holding the parchment, said with a cold smirk on his lips. "You see... last night a scoundrel robbed the mayor's wife of some precious rings. And not only that, but he behaved most brazenly toward her. The mayor was very upset to hear about it and is quite determined to bring that, so he says, smooth-tongued whoreson to justice."

Roger swallowed and glanced at their swords. There was no scenario in which he could win this fight, nor escape them, now.

"Well, I don't think I've seen that villain pass through here, either." he said, a faltering, crooked smile on his lips. A last-ditch attempt to claim innocence.

"Luckily," the bearded man continued, ignoring his comment. "the mayor's wife did recall him well, and others at the tavern did confirm that he was with the musicians who had come to town the night before."

The bearded man turned the parchment around and presented him with what was, to be fair, not the worst artistic impression of himself Roger had ever seen. He put his hands on his hips and sighed, nodding at the sketch.

"They never get the chin right, you know."

The men exchanged a look and Beardface and Sourpuss drew their swords. Roger instinctively took a step back, raising his hands.

"Now, now... there's no need-"

"Haud yer wheesht!" the sullen-faced man spat, pointing the sword at his neck.

Roger raised his eyebrows in surprise and looked back at him, afraid for his life and also very confused.

"Hold my what now?"

"Shut yer gob, ye wee jobbie!" the Scotsman growled, and Roger wisely did so.

"He's the thief, aye?" the third man, who was younger than the others, asked as he looked back and forth between his companions. "Are we certain?"

"He fits the description mighty well," Beardface snorted and pointed to the cart. "And all that there? It's them, it's that gang of vagabonds. Speaking of..." he turned his beady eyes on Roger. "Where's the rest of them, I wonder? Might as well clear the roads of all the vermin, whilst we're here."

He took a step toward Roger, lifting his chin up with the tip of his sword.

"Where are your friends hiding, eh?" The blade was cold against Roger's skin, the point of the weapon pressed into his throat. "Speak, boy!"

They needed him alive, he thought. They wouldn't kill him now and rob the mayor of the satisfaction of seeing him punished. Or hanged, he realised with a sudden pang of hopelessness. Roger swallowed, his cheeks flushed with emotion, and said nothing.

"I asked you a question," Beardface snarled, jamming the tip of his sword harder into his throat. "Where's the rest of your lot?"

Roger raised an eyebrows, backing away from the blade, although much good it did him. Beardface relentlessly moved forward, keeping it right where it was.

"Wait! I'll tell you," Roger gasped, when his back hit the cart, leaving him with nowhere else to go. The bearded man's eyes lit up and he smirked victoriously, glancing at his companions over his shoulder. He turned back to Roger and lowered his sword, his gaze expectant and greedy for information.

"They made their escape, you see," said Roger, glaring back at him. "on the back of a flying pig."

The man's face contorted into an ugly, furious grimace. Nostrils flaring, he sheathed the sword, adjusted his leather glove and backhanded Roger across the face hard enough to send him stumbling. Roger's foot caught on a rock and he lost his balance, landing on his hands and knees beside the cart.

Before he could attempt to get up, a heavy boot came down on one of his hands, crushing it into the ground. Roger winced.

"I'll ask you again. Where are the others?" Beardface boomed, "And what have you done with the rings?"

Roger turned his head and looked up at him through strands of his hair, which was slowly coming undone since he had returned the ribbon to John. His eyes blazed defiantly, a cold smirk on his lips.

"Go fuck yourself."

- - -

Brian's hands shot out and closed around Freddie's arm, manoeuvring him back behind the tree even as he tried to pull free.

"Don't be a fool," the magician hissed, "You can't help him!"

"I can't just stand here- Let go of me!"

Freddie struggled desperately with the taller man and Brian pulled him against his chest, arms wrapped around him from behind.

"Be quiet. You'll give us away!" he leaned close to his ear, speaking quickly. "Freddie, listen. Listen to me-"

They watched one of the riders kick Roger on the ground over and over before he waved at two of his companions who wrestled the fair-haired man's arms behind his back and bound them with rope.

"No!"

"Freddie-"

Tootsie had galloped over, braying loudly, which was just as well because Brian was terrified they might be heard. The bearded man got hold of the rope halter around her head, yanking her out of the way.

"Freddie, stop, we can't take them on-"

"But-"

"You know we can't!"

Two of them had to wrestle the donkey aside, with much difficulty as she bucked and tried to free herself.

"They'll kill him!" Freddie sobbed in a broken voice, still trying to pull away, fists clenched and shaking with impotent fury.

"No, they won't, or they would've done it already," Brian assured him, praying that he was right. The men had managed to drag Tootsie close enough to the nearest tree and were tying her up even while she continued to kick and resist. Much like the dark-haired man in his arms. "Freddie, please, think! If they take us too, who'll be left to rescue him?"

At last Freddie stilled, looking on as his lover was dragged up to his feet and thrown across the horse of the bearded fellow. The man mounted, one hand on the reigns and one on the ropes binding his prisoner's arms. He joined the fourth rider who had remained close to the road on his horse and together, they rode off, leaving the other two behind. The last glimpse of Roger they saw was his messy, half undone braid whipping against the horse's flank in the breeze.

"Let me go." Freddie uttered, voice almost dangerously quiet, and Brian did so at once, taking a step back.

From behind the trees, they observed the two remaining men as they tied up their horses and proceeded to look around the meadow. One of them began to go through their belongings in the cart, the other put his hands on his hips and peered at the tree line. Brian and Freddie retreated further into the shadows as one, concealing themselves from his searching gaze. The sun was setting slowly, bathing the tree tops in an orange glow. The surface of the lake shimmered golden. Clearly, the men had decided to stay behind in hopes of capturing them, too.

"It's my fault," Freddie whispered weakly. Brian couldn't see his face, but hearing his choked up voice, he didn't need to. "I left him. I should've never followed you."

More than regret, Brian thought, there was disgust in his tone and even though the magician realised that Freddie was evidently blaming himself, he couldn't help but feel that it was directed at him. And it pierced his heart through and through.

Tootsie was still stubbornly pulling at the rope and crying relentlessly.

In all honesty, Brian wanted to curl up and cry, too. Wracked with shame and guilt as he was.

"Come," Freddie wiped his face on his sleeve and turned to him, his eyes devoid of their usual spark and hollow, somehow. With that he brushed past him and started walking back to the clearing where they had left John.

- - -

The light breeze carried the faint sound of voices, but more noticeably so, Tootsie's braying. John sat on the log, hands so tense on his wooden violin case his knuckles were white. Thinking about Roger, left behind in the meadow. Thinking about who the riders might be, and whether they were looking for him. Thinking how it was all his fault and how he really hadn't meant to endanger his new friends. He would never forgive himself if anything was to happen to one of them, all because of him.

But all that aside, he couldn't stop thinking about what he had seen when he had stumbled into the clearing. A part of him questioned his own sanity, wondering if he wasn't somehow mistaken. But inexperienced and sheltered as he was, John wasn't blind nor stupid.

Only he didn't know what to make of the kiss at all. He didn't like the idea of either Freddie or Brian spending eternity in hell. That was a fate for bad people, or so everything he had ever been taught would have him believe. But his new friends had showed him kindness when they had not been obliged to. They had given him their clothes to wear and shared their food with him. Were all those things not what a good Christian would do? Even now they were helping him, refusing to give him up to those men, should they be after him. But then, was he not a good Christian boy and had not he, too, committed a grave sin by disobeying his father?

John was very confused.

Finally, he caught sight of Freddie and Brian, making their way back to him through the trees. He jumped to his feet, looking between them.

"What happened?"

Freddie barely looked at him as he paced across the clearing, his expression tense.

"They took Roger," Brian said quietly, shoulders slumped.

"What!" John exclaimed, looking between them. "But why? Why would they do that? What on earth do they want with him?"

"I don't know!" the curly-haired man snapped, silencing him. John's eyebrows shot up in surprise at his harsh tone. Brian looked somewhat surprised by it himself.

"I... I really don't know," he added, without malice this time, and met John's gaze. "Perhaps someone else saw him stealing... in the square."

"Oh," A soft, broken sound came from Freddie and they both turned to look at him.

He was holding his hand up, staring at the golden rings on his fingers.

"The mayor's wife..." he breathed.

"What?" asked John.

"He stole these," the dark-haired man whispered, cradling his hand to his chest. "from the mayor's wife."

Brian paled. "So he did..."

"Oh no," John murmured. "that's not good."

Freddie looked up at him, eyes wide and panicked. "What will they do to him?"

"What they always do to pickpockets," John replied, as if it were quite obvious. Then again, he had no way of knowing if laws were different in other villages. "Chop his hand off, I imagine."

Freddie looked up at the skies, a pained expression on his face, as though hoping for divine intervention.

"Well, it depends how grave they consider the offence," John tried to comfort him, "They might flog him in the square and be done with it." He frowned and thought about. "Then again... it was the mayor's wife. So he might be hanged. Oh, but of course they wouldn't do it tonight. I imagine they'll do it tomorrow at noon to make a spectacle out of it..."

With a pitiful whimper, Freddie lowered himself onto the forest ground, head in his hands.

"John," Brian cast him a sharp look and John fell silent. The tall man turned to Freddie. "We... we will think of something, Fred. We won't let any of it happen, we-"

"What do you care?!" Freddie raised his head, glaring at him through fresh tears. "You hate him!"

Brian closed his mouth and hung his head, a wounded expression on his face.

'Does he?' John wondered, frowning. However, there was no time to think about it now, because he was very much inclined to agree with Brian.

"We will, we will rescue him, we have to!" He stepped between them, with not a single idea as to how that might be achieved, but full of determination regardless. After all, the heroes in the stories he had read always managed to save the day. "What are we waiting for?"

Freddie shook his head. "Two of those bastards are still there, in the meadow. Just waiting for us to show ourselves."

Ah. That was a problem. John slowly sat back down on the log and lowered his case to the ground. For some time, nobody spoke nor moved. The forest was growing dark as the sun set. Tootsie could still be heard, on and off, braying in the meadow. John thought of his books. And the heroes. And their adventures.

Suddenly, his eyes lit up. He glanced at the leather sheath of Brian's dagger, hanging from his belt and rose to his feet again.

"I just had an idea!" he declared as he reached into his pocket. The other two turned to him, surprised and uncertain. John held out the silk ribbon.

"Tie my hands behind my back." he said.

- - -

The plan was a mad one, Freddie thought, staying close to the ground as he made his way along the shore of the lake, under the cover of darkness. The two riders had started a camp fire, close to the cart, far off from the water. He fervently hoped they wouldn't glance his way, even though he had changed into Brian's black shirt, leaving him his white one in return. But there was far too much open space here for his liking, and not enough places to hide. Nevertheless, he made it to a boulder and quickly crouched down behind it, scanning the ground for large rocks.

His eyes happened upon the spot where he had sat only this morning, Roger's head in his lap. Freddie felt a sharp jolt of guilt and leaned back against the cold stone.

Oh, but he was a despicable man. It was he who deserved to be punished. He who deserved to be flogged until he bled, Freddie thought, recalling what had happened in the forest while Roger was left behind to fend for himself. And yet, the thought of Brian's lips, pressed against his own, made his treacherous heart beat faster and he hated himself for it more than words could say. For he loved Roger, loved him dearly with every fibre of his being. But Brian...

Nevermind that, now. Freddie shook his head and continued his search for a suitable rock that might serve to knock a man out cold. If there was even the smallest chance of returning Roger to them, safe and sound, then by God, he would die trying. Tootsie brayed, tied to a tree not far off, the sudden noise making him jump. Perhaps she could smell him, Freddie thought, when she gave another cry.

One of the men by the fire cursed loudly. Freddie turned and lifted himself up just a little, peering over the top of the boulder.

"Wull ye stoap, ye glaikit beastie!" the man shouted and put down the flask he had been drinking from, getting to his feet. "Stoap it or ah will end ye! Dae ye hear me?"

Tootsie took no notice of his threats and continued to make herself heard. Freddie watched, all but holding his breath, terrified for their beloved animal companion, as the Scotsman marched over to her and drew his sword.

"Cut it oot, ah said!"

With that, he struck her with the broad side of his weapon. But the donkey turned faster than he had anticipated and kicked, catching his wrist with her hoof and sending the sword flying.

"Yes!" Freddie whispered, and looked on as the man, cursing wildly, went to pick up his sword. But just at that moment, Tootsie bucked again and got him right in the head. Freddie very nearly whooped and clapped a hand over his mouth instead, infinitely thankful for their brave little lady. He really hoped Brian and John were watching this from between the trees at the other side of the meadow. By God, the man wasn't moving. Tootsie appeared to have knocked him out cold! Freddie could hardly believe it. All of a sudden, their chances didn't look so bad anymore. Maybe luck was on their side after all?

The other man had come running to tend to his companion, dragging him out of the donkey's reach. 'Now,' Freddie thought, fervently hoping that Brian was thinking the same, 'Now's the moment!'

And not a second later, he spotted them, emerging from the trees. Brian in his white shirt, holding John by the shoulder, his dagger pointed at the boy's throat.

"You there!" the magician called, "I believe I have something you're looking for!"

The man whipped around and faced him, drawing his sword. Freddie ran out from behind the boulder and made his way to the nearest tree. His eyes fell on the sword lying in the grass next to Tootsie. Maybe he wouldn't be needing that rock after all.

- - -

Chapter Text

John watched, almost not daring to breathe, as Freddie silently sneaked up behind the armed man and lifted the scotsman’s sword from the ground.

”Young Master Deacon!” The young man exclaimed, he couldn’t have been much older than John himself. ”You scoundrel!” He glared at Brian. ”Release the young sire at once or I’ll have your head!”

John thought he recognized the man as one of the town guards. Brian chuckled behind him, putting on quite a show as the villainous vagabond. ”I doubt it. One step closer and your young sire, as well as any reward, will be lost.” He pressed the knife harder against John’s neck, making John let out a gasp. ”Drop your sword.”

Brian’s low growl coupled with John’s (faked) terrified expression was enough for the man to get nervous. He quickly dropped his weapon.

And, as soon as he did, Freddie was there, behind him, sword pointing at his back.

The young man gave a scared whimper and tried to turn but Freddie just grabbed him by the arm and let his sword pierce the other’s tunic. ”Don’t move a muscle nor utter a sound.” Freddie said lowly. ”Go over to your companion.”

Brian kept the knife against John’s neck, for appearance, as they both watched Freddie determinedly shoving the man over to Tootsie’s tree.

John was surprised Freddie had picked up the sword, the singer felt like such a gentle soul. Of course, he’d just watched his good friend being taken.

Tootsie had kept quiet when Freddie grabbed the sword, but now she brayed impatiently, tail swishing as Freddie made the young man take the rope from his companion’s satchel as well as hand over his scabbard.

She was such an intelligent animal, John thought, impressed.

”Brian,” Freddie commanded, voice cold. ”Let the boy go. He won’t get far either way. Help me tie them up.”

Giving John a light squeeze, Brian quickly went to help the dark haired man out, dragging the still unconscious man closer to the trunk of the tree and tying him to it.

”You won’t get away with this!” The other man snarled. ”They’ll get you. Bernard will get you. You have to release us,” he insisted, voice rising in panic as Brian and Freddie shoved him down on the other side of the trunk from his friend, ”they have your filthy friend. If you go through with this they’ll kill him for sure. In the most excruciating way you can imagine, he’ll beg for death before…”

Freddie slammed the hilt of the sword into the man’s temple, making him slump back against the tree with a low, pained whine.

Shaking with fury, Freddie fastened the sword belt around his hips and sheathed his blade. ”Gag them.” He bit out, turning on his heel and storming off.

Glancing worriedly after the other man, Brian retrieved a couple of handkerchiefs out of nowhere and went to work.

John stood still, shocked that his plan had worked so well.

He felt a smidgen bad, for having helped in doing this to the men of his town. But, they needed to go after Roger. John was not about to lose one of the first potential friends he’d ever make.

Brian finished gagging the two men, checked the tightness of the rope and then hurried to Freddie who had brought a backpack from the cart and now was walking towards the two horses.

Tootsie brayed again, shaking her head and John turned to her. He looked after his two travelling mates, frowning. Were they going to leave her there?

He was certain Roger would not have wanted that.

Mind made up, he walked over to the skittish animal. Tootsie brayed loudly, dancing on the spot, obviously stressed and anxious.

She stared at John with her wide, dark eyes as he slowly moved closer, her body trembling.

”Shh, it’s alright.” John attempted to soothe, carefully stepping up to her to put a hand on her heaving side. ”Tootsie. It’s alright.” He smiled, running his hand up her neck as he felt her relaxing beneath his touch. ”That’s a good girl.”

He took her muzzle between his hands and cooed, as he’d seen Roger do previously. ”You’re afraid because the bad men took your friend away. I know.” Tootsie snuffled, pressing her face against his when he leant closer. ”We’ll get him back. I promise.”

He got another, quieter, bray in answer and decided that it meant she understood him.

He gave her another pat and kiss and then untied her rope from the tree. The man Freddie had hit with the sword stared at him in betrayal, and John couldn’t avoid the temptation of winking at him before leading Tootsie over to Freddie and Brian.

To his dismay, the two friends (lovers? John wasn’t so sure anymore…) were arguing again.

”But you have never even sat on a horse!” Brian was saying, frustrated.

Freddie didn’t turn to look at him. ”And?”

”At least let me come with you.” The magician all but begged, staying back as Freddie untied one of the horses.

”So you’re saying we should leave the boy here alone with all our things and the bloody donkey? That’s your great idea?”

John opened his mouth to protest but Brian was already talking again.

”No… I don’t know. Maybe not. But please, you have to let me go. You can stay behind instead. I promise I’ll get him back.” The curly haired man lowered his gaze to the ground. ”I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I didn’t.”

Freddie snorted, gracefully climbing on top of the horse, despite never having been on one before. ”Why should I trust you? Wouldn’t it be better for you if he disappeared?” He glared at Brian. ”One obstacle removed.”

Brian looked as if Freddie had just stabbed him. He drew a shaky breath, tears gathering in the corners of his eyes, all while John and Tootsie stood there looking on.

”I..” Freddie sighed tiredly. ”I’m sorry.” He said, softer. ”I don’t mean that. But I do think it’s best you take the cart and hide with John. I need to do this.”

Brian nodded, brushing his sleeve over his eyes. John felt bad for him, it did seem like Freddie was being unnecessarily harsh. Especially if they loved each other. Then, he realized Freddie had just suggested that he should stay behind as well, and was immediately filled with indignant outrage. It had been his plan that made them get this far. Why should he have to be left behind?

Feeling his chance of being a hero slipping away, John shook his head. No. He wanted to help. He wanted to show the others he was good enough, that he was one of them. He wanted to save Roger. He wanted to ride in on his mighty steed and snatch Roger away, riding off into the sunset together.

Wait.

John shook his head again, blushing. He was getting his fairy tales all tangled up.

”Wait.” He told the others, handing Brian Tootsie’s rope. ”I want to come with.”

Brian just shrugged, still hunched in on himself. Freddie watched him for a second, eyes narrowed. Then he sighed.

”Do what you want. I care not. But I’m leaving in two minutes, so hurry.”

John nodded, quickly running to get his own bag and waterskin. When he passed Brian on his way back to the horses, he paused and touched the other man’s arm.

”There’s a large town just a few miles ahead. It should be easier to hide there. Crosswater, it’s called. Do you remember the wide river we crossed just after we left my town?” Brian nodded sullenly. ”It flows into the ocean, to the south. Where the river and sea meet, you’ll find Crosswater.”

He gave him a gentle squeeze and a smile. ”We’ll see you there. Good luck.”

”You too.” Brian answered quietly. ”Be careful.”

John nodded and quickly released the other horse, jumping up on it and riding to Freddie, who was waiting, albeit impatiently.

”Good, let’s ride.” Freddie said and immediately took off.

John threw a last glance at Brian. The other man had turned back towards the cart, Tootsie walking after him with her head hanging low. As John watched, Albus flew to them from the top of a tall fir, and landed on Brian’s shoulder.

Heart full of determination and what he thought courage felt like, John urged his horse to catch up to Freddie’s.

They rode for most of the night, in complete silence. Freddie was relentless, galloping hour after hour even if he was shaken awkwardly in his seat, not knowing how to properly follow the animal’s movements.

John was certainly grateful for his riding lessons, or he would not have been able to keep up with the older man.

The sun was rising when Freddie finally slowed down. His horse had had enough, panting and soaked in sweat. Freddie couldn’t have been much better off himself.

The horses trotted tiredly side by side and John chanced a glance at his companion. Freddie looked haunted, brows furrowed and with dark circles under his lifeless eyes.

”We’ll find a way.” John found himself saying, desperately wanting to comfort. ”To save him.”

Freddie turned to him, the hint of an actual smile on his lips. John blushed but kept going. ”I know that town as my back pocket. And we have time. Can you hear the river? It’s close. That means it’s not very far now.”

Listening to the distant roar of the river, Freddie nodded. He looked at John, chewed his lip, looked down at the road and then looked back up at John.

”Listen. If...when we get Roger back, please don’t tell him what you saw.”

John frowned. What he’d seen… Oh.

Cheeks burning, he averted his eyes from Freddie.

”I know you think it’s wrong,” Freddie continued tiredly, ”and it is, at least what you saw. But it was nothing. Only a mistake. And I don’t want to burden Roger with it on top of everything else, understand?”

John nodded meekly. He doubted Roger would care much about a homoerotic moment between his friends, if he got out of his pickle with both hands and neck intact. But what did he know.

Fortunately, right then the road curved and they could suddenly see the river as well as hear it.

John stared, amazed. It was certainly magnificent, wide and deep, the water flowing freely. Further ahead, John thought to himself, eyeing the horizon, was the ocean.

How he wanted to see it. How he longed to smell and hear it.

If all went well, and they could join up with Brian in Crosswater, he’d finally be able to.

”Something’s wrong.” Freddie said, stiffening in the saddle. ”The bridge.”

John moved his gaze to the bridge. He froze.

There were bodies.

”Oh no.” Freddie gasped. ”Oh no, please, god.”

Before John had time to react Freddie stumbled off his horse and ran towards the bridge.

John rode after him, heart pounding in his throat. This wasn’t… this wasnt how it was supposed to end.

He followed Freddie onto the large bridge, forcing himself to look at the horrifying scene in front of him.

There were three dead bodies. One was missing its head. One John recognized as a former captain, a huge man with black beard called Bernard.

Freddie slumped down on the bridge, the knees of his breeches tainted scarlet by the pool of blood.

Roger was nowhere to be seen.

- - -

Roger was dragged off the horse, the force of it making him stumble and lose his balance, falling to his side on the soft grass.

”Get up, lowlife.” Beardface snarled and gave Roger a kick to the stomach when he didn’t immediately comply.

Wincing at the pain of it, breath knocked from his lungs, Roger slowly got to his feet. He almost fell over again, head pounding and spinning, feeling faint.

A mild concussion, at the least, which had not been done any favours by hanging upside down a trotting horse for hours. His mouth tasted vile, he’d lost count of how many times he’d thrown up since the kick to his head. It all spun together in a nauseating blur of half sleep, pain and burning thirst.

His arms ached, held together uncomfortably behind his back. So did his ribs and face. He didn’t know what sight he made right now and he didn’t care to find out.

Not that it mattered anyway.

Freddie…

He desperately hoped the others were fine and hadn’t been caught.

Beardface pushed Roger over to the other man, who’d also gotten off his horse, before heading towards the trees on the side of the road.

Roger didn’t know what time it was, probably early night. The moon stood high on the sky, half covered by clouds.

”You’re repulsive.” Roger’s new guard, a thin man with a blond mustache, sneered, eyeing Roger in distaste. ”You’ll be my luggage from now on and I won’t have you smelling and puking all the way.”

Maybe they shouldn’t have kicked him in the head then, Roger thought bitterly, but his throat was too parched and raw to talk.

The man took out his waterskin and Roger turned hopeful for a second, before the man tugged his head back, hand tight in his hair, and dumped half of the content over Roger’s face.

The water was cold and refreshing, rinsing vomit off his chin and burning where it washed the cuts on his lip. He greedily managed to swallow some of it, and then shivered when the water ran down his neck and soaked through his thin shirt.

”Please let me have a drink,” Roger said, barely aware of the thick, sluggish quality to his voice.

The man’s mustache trembled with his snort. ”You think I want you peeing all over my horse?” His expression turned even more disgusted. ”Not a chance thief.”

”Actually,” he nodded, glancing at Beardface who was relieving himself against a tree, ”let’s empty our bladders, before we get going again.”

He looked at Roger, chest puffed out, almost as if proud of himself for being such a thoughtful guard. Not wasting another moment, he dragged Roger over to the tree next to his friend, quickly lowering his breeches. ”Stay.” He warned Roger.

Trembling violently now, the night air chilly over his damp skin and world tilting this way and that in front of his tired eyes, Roger grunted in reply.

It wasn’t as if he’d manage to escape them in this state, anyway.

”Your turn.” The man said impatiently half a minute later and Roger watched him tiredly, not sure how he expected him to get his dick out with his arms tied behind his back.

Maybe if he’d been a human pretzel, like Freddie. The ridiculous image of Freddie opening his breeches with his mouth, flashed through Roger’s disoriented mind, and he snickered.

Eyeing Roger as if he was mental, the man shook his head.

”What’s taking so long, Roderick?” Beardface called from his horse. ”I want us back in town by morning.”

Roderick swore and quickly got behind Roger, untying his hands. ”Just a moment.”

Roger sighed in relief as he twisted his aching wrists and rolled his shoulders. Roderick put his sword to Roger’s lower back, the tip sharp against his tailbone. ”Relieve yourself, quick. And get no ideas or I swear I’ll run you through and leave you to bleed out.”

”What about your reward money?” Roger drawled but still opened his trousers and pulled his dick out with stiff, clumsy hands. There was no way he’d waste this opportunity of getting to empty his full bladder.

As soon as he was done, Roderick tied his hands again, but this time in front of his body. He was made to climb up the other man’s horse, not an easy feat with his hands tied, while Beardface growled and muttered about them needing to leave.

Roderick sat up behind him and then they were moving, horses taking off at a gallop. Roger had never sat on a horse before, and was clenching his thighs desperately against the hot flanks of the animal, hands holding onto the mane as well as he could.

When the horses eventually slowed down, their riders leading them into a light trot, it became easier to keep his balance. Exhausted, from both lack of sleep, thirst and pain, Roger nodded off.

He was on his way to fall off the animal a couple of times, Roderick each time swearing and giving him a slap, waking him up enough to sit straight again.

Time was a blur. The night was dark and quiet, except for the sound of the horse’s hooves and the men’s breathing.

Roger dreamt. About lying on a grass field in the sunshine, Tootsie grazing next to him. About John’s beautiful playing as the sun rose. About Brian’s kind eyes, too sad and wise for his age. About Freddie’s gentle hands in his hair, his bright smile, his lips against Roger’s.

He’d probably never get to experience any of that again.

While he should probably have felt terrified of his oncoming judgement, it was likely he’d be robbed of his life after all, he just couldn’t manage any such dramatic feelings.

It didn’t feel real, any of this. It was impossible to picture his life coming to an end. At 21. Wasn’t that a bugger.

No, instead he mostly felt tired, and sick. And he missed the others, even John though their friendship had been ridiculously short. Even Brian.

Roger had wanted to become Brian’s friend, he really had. But as soon as the other man had gotten better from his illness, he’d had no interest in Roger. Roger who hadn’t healed him. Roger who wasn’t an artist or a genius, but a farmer.

Roger who owned the heart of the man Brian loved.

A sharp slap to the back of his head made him startle awake. He’d nodded off again without even noticing.

Roderick’s arm had somehow ended up around Roger’s midriff somewhere along the way, helping to stabilise him.

While Roger didn’t particularly want this wanker to touch him in any way, he was too exhausted to protest.

He closed his eyes again, meaning to stay awake this time, but then his curiosity was piqued by the sound of running water. As they moved closer, the sound amplified and grew, heralding the sheer power of mother nature.

It was the river they had travelled over just in the beginning of last night. Only, it was wilder now, fuller, the water roaring as it passed under the large stone bridge.

”Someone’s there.” Beardface had appeared next to Roderick, bushy eyebrows lowered as he squinted through the night towards the bridge.

Truly, there were three riders on the middle of the bridge. They sat mounted, but still, as if waiting for Roger and the others.

”Halt! Who goes there?” One of the three men asked when they rode onto the bridge.

Beardface scoffed and didn’t slow down. ”That is none of your concern. Let us pass, we have business with the mayor of Draystone.”

”If it ain’t old Bernard!” One of the others spoke up, urging his horse forward to meet them on the bridge. ”I didn’t know you were still out and about old man.”

Bernard shook in fury. ”Move.” He growled.

Roderick shifted nervously behind Roger and forcing his sluggish mind to pay attention, Roger noticed that the other two riders had come up to flank the first one.

”Business with the mayor huh.” The first man smirked. He glanced at Roger. ”You’ve caught the whoremongering thief? Not bad. Not as good as finding the merchant’s brat but not bad at all. I reckon you haven’t seen the Deacon boy then?”

”I said move!” Bernard roared, hand reaching for his sword.

”You fool.” Another of the men taunted. ”You’re missing half your crew. Besides,” he snickered condescendingly, ”you couldn’t take us on with all of you anyway.”

Bernard drew his sword, forcing his scared horse to move forward. ”I’ll ask you one last time.” He warned. ”Let us pass.”

”Or you will be sorry!” Roderick said, voice breaking awkwardly. His sword was still sheathed.

The three men in front of them grinned and drew sharp. ”Your glory days are gone, old man. Hand over the thief or we will cut you down where you stand.”

Huh. Maybe Roger wouldn’t even live to see the gallows.

”You will not have him.” Bernard spoke, voice overpowering the roar of the river easily. ”Snivelling cowards!”

With that the man rode at the other two, swinging his sword and cleanly cutting the closest man’s head off.

Roger stared in shock as the head fell to the bridge, rolling over the horse’s hoof. The body slowly slumped to the side, finally falling in a heap as the man’s comrades yelled and advanced on Bernard.

Panic.

Survival instinct hit Roger like one of Roderick’s slaps, and he desperately looked around for any way to escape. Roderick still hadn’t drawn his sword, but was watching his leader in fear, one tense arm still holding onto Roger.

”Let me go!” Roger screamed, refusing to be gutted like a pig in the middle of some strangers’ fight. He fought tooth and nail to get away from Roderick’s grip.

In that moment, Bernard killed a second man, his sword catching on the flank of the man’s horse as he swung it.

The poor animal, stressed and in pain, threw itself forward in it’s haste to escape. Unfortunately, Roderick’s horse was in its way.

The frightened animal ran right into the other, making Roderick’s horse shriek and rear, throwing its front legs into the air.

Roger was flung off, tied up, dizzy and unbalanced as he was.

Only, he didn’t fall onto the bridge. No, instead he was thrown over the side and towards the rushing river below.

Bloody hell.

Couldn’t someone, anyone, give him a break already? Roger thought miserably and then hit the surface.

Chapter Text

- - -

The blue of her tunic was as the evening sky outside as she sat at the table, staring at the wet tea leaves inside the cup, one hand pressed to her lips. He couldn't see her eyes, but he knew immediately and without a doubt that she was crying.

"Mama?"

She sat up straighter, brushing thick, auburn curls out of her face as she turned to smile at him through the tears.

"Come here, my dove."

His little bare feet carried him to her, and he readily sank into her arms, breathing her soothing, familiar scent when she folded her arms around him.

Then she took his face in her hands and pulled back to look at him.

"My boy," she whispered, lifting a trembling finger and drawing a line diagonally across his forehead. Then another, crossing the first. "My precious gift."

He winced and blinked his eyes. His forehead prickled where the lines had crossed. He felt strange, all of a sudden. As though he had forgotten something terribly important, but could not say what it was.

"I don't like it, Mama."

"I know," she breathed, the smile still on her lips, though it was as sad as her eyes. "But it's for your own good. You'll see again, one day, when you're strong enough."

She leaned in, pressing a kiss to his brow, lips brushing his skin as she murmured: "Now forget."

A haze enveloped his mind, her words coming to him as though they were a distant echo.

"Gu bràth air a dhìon le gaol màthair, bidh thu."

He still stood dazed when the door flew open moments later, only coming to and jerking back into reality as they tore him away from her, eyes wide with horror when they dragged her out of the house. Kicking his legs desperately, too small and helpless to make an impact against the strong hands holding him back.

"Mama! MAMA!" Brian screamed as he beheld his mother for the last time, the villagers' chants ringing in his ears.

'Burn the witch! Burn the witch! Burn the witch...'

- - -

It was late into the night when Brian reached the town of Crosswater. The air was salty and rich with ocean scent, the town quiet, its gates shut up for the night. The night guard was not best pleased to be woken from bis slumber when Brian knocked on the gate, but perhaps keen to return to it, he took one look at the donkey and the shabby cart and let him pass without a fuss.

Brian located a trough of water outside an inn and, after Tootsie had drunk her fill, lead her into a secluded side road close to the city wall. It was as good a place as any to spend the night.

He unhitched the donkey from the cart and tied her rope loosely to it, before climbing into the back where he sat with his legs pulled close to his chest and drew a shuddering breath.

The thought of Roger and what might have happened to him was unbearable. The thought of Freddie even more so. And yet, his traveling companions were all he could think about.

In the silence of the night, Brian sadly and solemnly bade them both farewell forever. Because when they returned, should they return, they would find the cart abandoned. What good was he? What good had he ever been to them?

And now, Freddie despised him. Soon, when Roger found out what had happened in the forest, he would despise Brian, too. If he didn't already.

They would be relieved to see him gone. Young, cheerful John would replace him in the blink of an eye. And it seemed ridiculous, having known him such a short time, but Brian would miss the boy, too.

He folded his arms on top of his knees and lowered his face down onto them, shoulders trembling slightly.

It hurt more than words could say.

Freddie and Roger should have never saved him all those months ago, he thought miserably. They should have simply let him die.

Albus flapped his wings in his cage and Brian flinched and looked up, caught off guard by the noise. It was strange and unexpected, for on a quiet, still night like this, his pet dove usually slept until sunrise, as birds were wont to do. But Albus was wide awake, flapping his wings inside the cage and looking at him, out of one eye and then the other.

"What's the matter?" Brian wiped his face and stood up, crouching under the canopy, in front of the cage. "What's wrong? Shh..."

Just as he tried to calm the bird down and stretched out his hand, usually a sure way to prompt Albus to hop out of the cage and onto his hand, the bird suddenly took flight. Right out of the cage and out from under the canopy. Brian gasped and whipped around, staring after him. This was very strange indeed. Doves did not fly at night. The magician shuffled out from under the canopy and hopped out of the cart, worriedly looking around for a flash of white feathers.

He found Albus then, perched atop the city wall. Brian lifted his hand up in the air and whistled for him, but the dove only flapped its wings again and looked at him with something almost akin to curios amusement. Of course, that couldn't be. Brian loved his pet dove, but Albus was still only a bird. Doves did not watch anyone with amusement. What was he imagining?

"Come down here, will you?" Brian called in a hushed voice, not wanting to rouse anyone nearby in the middle of the night, and whistled again. Albus cooed and hopped down onto a stone which jutted out from the wall, then fluttered down onto another, a bit lower. Not making head nor tails of the bird's odd behaviour, Brian approached the wall nonetheless, hoping Albus would descend to him. But just as he came close and Albus fluttered onto one of the lower stones protruding from the wall, Brian reached out for him only for the bird to fly all the way back up to the top again.

Brian huffed with frustration and put his hands on his hips.

"Oh, come on. Are you joking?"

Albus hopped down onto a lower stone and back up on the wall again, all the while peering at Brian in a most insistent way. Brian stared at the bird, wondering if he was, in fact, losing his mind. Because he could have sworn it was almost as if... as if Albus was telling him to follow him. Which was utterly insane. What was he supposed to do? Scale the city wall to get him down?

Albus cooed.

Brian experimentally lay a hand on one of the protruding rocks beside him and the bird flapped its wings and cooed most excitedly.

Well. Brian was definitely going crazy, of that he was certain.

But even though he was so tired his bones ached, it was as if something inside him urged him on. Hesitating but a moment, Brian found footing between the large stones in the wall, reached for another stone and pulled himself up. The wall was not very high and wiry as he was, slim feet and long fingers, Brian didn't have much trouble climbing it. Not very secure, it was, he thought. And as he reached the top he discovered why. A mild sea breeze hit him in the face, the sky black and the moon bright and full above the horizon. Below this side of the city wall were only white sandstone cliffs, and the waves, breaking far, far below. Heart hammering with a sense of vertigo, he pulled himself up and straddled the wall, looking out over the ocean below. Albus, who had been waiting patiently at the top, fluttered up onto his shoulder.

"And now?" Brian asked into the night, because it wasn't as if the dove could answer.

But answer it did. Flying off his shoulder, Albus descended to the bottom of the wall and Brian squinted, discovering there was a path perhaps just wide enough for a person to stand, pressed up against the wall.

"Really?"

This was madness. He was going to kill himself following his bird like a fool.

But then again, who would miss him if he did?

Brian threw a last glance back at the cart, at Tootsie, then looked at Albus for a long moment, before he carefully lowered himself down the side of the wall.

- - -

Cold water swallowed him, blacker than the night, the forceful current dragging him along and pulling him under. Staying afloat with his hands tied was a near impossible feat. He swallowed water, not knowing which way was up nor down as he managed to gasp for air at the surface briefly, only to sink again. Thrown into boulders and dragged over sharp rocks. Steadily losing the fight for his life as his strength waned.

Panic faded to a helpless sort of acceptance.

Roger was a fighter. But even he knew when he had lost.

Funny.

For some reason he'd always expect death to seize him suddenly, in whichever form it came.

But it felt more like fading away.

And then, the side of his head collided with a boulder and everything went dark.

- - -

After what seemed like a long time, precariously edging along the path, pressed against the city wall, Brian came out onto the grassy hillside at the side of Crosswater, the highest point of the cliffs. The wind was stronger here, blowing dark curls into his face and tearing at his cloak.

In the light of the full moon, Albus's feathers seemed to gleam as the bird circled above him and then took off flying toward the trees, where the river widened and met the ocean. All exhaustion forgotten, Brian broke into a run. A strange sense of determination had taken a hold of him that he couldn't quite explain. All he knew was that he had to follow the dove, no matter what, and even though his lungs burned from the effort his legs didn't seem to tire. It was as though something was calling him, and he did not dare hesitate. He followed where the dove led him, a glimpse of white between the trees, finding a path down from the hillside. Down and down, only stopping for a moment to catch his breath when he had reached the riverbank.

Albus had disappeared.

But before he could look for him, Brian heard it. A quiet whinney, not far off. As he followed the river around a bend, he came to halt, staring at the horse grazing there. Saddled, with reigns dangling from its neck, the animal was completely abandoned in the middle of nowhere with not a soul in sight. Brian blinked and slowly stepped closer as the horse shook its mane and gave him a wary look, while his eyes wandered to the saddle bags. Those seemed familiar, somehow. Could it be he had seen them on one of the horses of the riders who had surprised them at their camp and taken Roger away? But if so, what did that mean? He desperately tried to remember the horse Freddie had ridden away on. He didn't think it was this one, but couldn't be sure.

Seemingly out of nowhere, Albus flew down onto his shoulder and the horse lifted its head, suddenly quite still. Looking at him. Expectantly?

Moving on instinct, Brian stretched out his hand and took another few steps forward, and to his amazement the animal came to him as readily and obediently as though he were its master, pressing its nose into his hand.

The dove on his shoulder cooed quietly.

Brian cast a look into the distance, where the river lead back toward John's home town, even as his fingers closed around the reigns.

The moment he swung himself up into the saddle, Albus took off again and Brian turned the steed around and followed, not entirely certain that he wasn't dreaming. But dreams did not feel so real.

He wasn't sure how much time passed before Albus suddenly veered off to the right, dipping low and rising up high again as he circled over a part of the river. Brian slowed the horse down to a trot and came up right to the edge of the water, overlooking a very wide part of the river. It seemed more shallow here, boulders and jagged rocks rising up out of the black water. He was beginning to wonder if perhaps he was meant to cross here when finally his eyes happened upon something between the rocks that did not seem to belong. At first he couldn't make out what it was at all, squinting through the darkness, but the moment he realised what he was looking at, his eyes went wide.

"Oh my God," he breathed, jumping off the horse and into the water. He took off his cloak and threw it back onto the shore as he waded further in, barely feeling the cold, the water quickly coming up past his knees, the fast-flowing river trying to sweep him off his feet and making it harder to move as quickly as he wanted to the closer he got.

Because there, wedged between the rocks, was a human shape. And even though Brian had somehow instinctively known just who he was looking at the moment he had seen the body, his suspicion was confirmed when he was close enough to recognise the features of the pale face, half covered by wet strands of hair. His heart sank as he beheld Roger's lifeless form, washed up against the rocks and half submerged in the freezing water.

"No, no..." he whispered breathlessly, "no, please, no..."

At last he reached him and tried to find solid footing on the slippery rocks to pull the other man up. With a grunt of effort, he succeeded, Roger's body limp and cold in his arms. Cold as death.

Heart hammering wildly in his chest, not daring to think further than rescuing his friend from the clutches of the water, Brian slid one arm underneath Roger's legs and another beneath his shoulders and hoisted him up. The blond man's head lolled back, long wet hair hanging down over Brian's arm.

Brian stared at his face as he carried him back to the riverbank. Lips parted just slightly, so colourless they were blue, and yet, as though mocking death, the young man looked as fair as ever he had. On unsteady legs, arms aching from the strain, Brian made it to the edge of the water and lay Roger down as carefully as he could. Then, moving quickly, he tore the front of his shirt open and pressed his ear to the younger man's chest, eyes squeezed shut in concentration. Willing him to breathe. Willing his heart to beat. Willing him to live.

It was hard to hear over the sound of the roaring river. But then he heard it. So faint it was barely there. But it was there.

A heartbeat.

Brian laughed, eyes filling with tears of relief. He took his dagger and cut the rope around Roger's wrists, reached for his cloak and bundled him up, hoping to return at least a little bit of warmth to his freezing body, even though he himself was shivering now. But that seemed rather inconsequential. All that mattered now was keeping Roger alive.

Getting back up on the horse with an unconscious Roger took some doing, but at last Brian was back in the saddle, riding along the river at a slow pace with one arm firmly around the younger man, his heavy head resting against his shoulder. Roger coughed up some water then and gave a wretched, pained whimper.
Brian glanced down at him, but he was still very much unconscious.

Brian hugged him closer and prayed fervently that Freddie and John had luck on their side, as he'd had tonight. Although a part of him knew full well that whatever had happened tonight, it had not simply been luck.

Whatever it was, he was deeply grateful, Brian thought as he glanced up into the sky, at the white dove circling above him while dawn was just breaking.

- - -

It was a waking nightmare. It couldn't be happening, and yet it was. The sound of blood rushing in his ears was overpowering. Or was it the sound of the river? The river...

Freddie stared at the bridge before him with unseeing eyes.

The sound of roaring water, beside the ditch into which the lifeless body of the man he had loved had tumbled before his eyes. Gone. All gone, ripped away from him forever. What cruel God could punish love so? Why had they not killed him instead? Oh, how he wished they had, for how could he carry on living now, knowing it was his forbidden love which had ended his lover's life? All before his eyes, all while they held him down and struck him when he cursed them to high heaven and called them the monsters they were.

The memory hit him like a tidal wave, so overpowering and vivid it made him cry out in despair, eyes surveying the scene before him. The reality of here and now.

Blood. Blood everywhere.

There was not a doubt in Freddie's mind, in that very moment, that Roger's blood had been spilled here, too.

Dead. Gone.

Freddie tried to move away, only to realise that the thing he was trying to physically escape was the agony he felt inside. But there was nowhere he could run from it, and it swallowed him whole. He clutched at his chest, wracked with sobs, wishing he could tear his heart out, wishing it would stop beating.

Not again. He couldn't live through this again.

"Freddie," John's voice, his arms around him, pulling him away. "Freddie! We can't stay here, I can hear horses. Someone's coming-"

Everything was a blur in the distance, through the tears clouding his eyes. Freddie could barely see the trees ahead.

"Freddie-"

"Let them!" He lashed out at the boy trying to yank him away from the murder scene, fought him off.

"Let them come," he gasped, his voice as broken and tearful as it was fierce, "Let them kill me! Let them! Let them!"

John moved in front of him, green eyes urgent and clear.

"Listen to me!"

But Freddie didn't want to listen.

"Just leave me," he cried out hoarsely, pushing the younger man away. However, John was persistent and stronger than Freddie had given him credit for.

"I'm sorry," His hands closed around Freddie's arm in a vice grip, so tightly it hurt. "But absolutely not."

With that, he pulled hard and dragged Freddie to his feet, and off the bridge. Down into the reeds beneath, seconds before a rider and a horse drawn cart came into view.

- - -

Cold.

So cold.

Everything hurt, inside and out. Even breathing. In fact, especially breathing, Roger realised as he tried to draw a deep breath. He whined when a sharp pain shot through him, radiating into his entire body and making him convulse.

The fact that he couldn't stop shivering and his teeth were chattering beyond his control was not helping the pain in his ribs, either.

He whimpered and cracked his eyes open. An unwise decision, he realised, when the blinding sunlight seemed to pierce through his pounding head like a knife. But just as he blinked, trying to adjust his eyes to the light, a shadow mercifully shielded him from the offending brightness and momentarily provided relief. However, with the realisation that he wasn't alone also came dread. Roger instinctively tried to move away, becoming aware that something was weighing him down, which only made him panic more.

"It's alright," The shadow, who upon closer inspection revealed himself to be a very familiar face, said in a gentle voice. Roger felt cool fingers brush over his brow and then a hand on his chest, carefully urging him to lie back down. Grounding him. "You're safe."

"Brian?" he croaked, his voice barely obeying him as relief washed over him. His vision was still fuzzy around the edges as he stopped struggling and squinted at the other man, distantly aware that the weight on top of him was a heavy, downy blanket. Was he in a bed? An actual bed? "What... How..."

It all started coming back to him slowly, like a thick fog clearing. He remembered beardface and the harrowing journey back to the village. Oh Christ, the journey. He remembered the bridge and-

Roger all but gasped for breath, instinctively, at the memory of drowning. His breathing coming faster all of a sudden, he shuddered and tried to move even as every part of his body cried out in protest.

"Shh, lie back," Brian murmured, taking one of his trembling hands in his. His silhouette swam before Roger's eyes, and his voice rang strangely distant in his ears when unconsciousness claimed him once again.

"You're safe. You're safe now."

- - -

Chapter Text

Freddie hunched down next to John in the reeds, barely daring to breathe as the rider and cart came to a stop right in front of the bridge. Honestly though, he really didn’t care if he was found or not.

There was no point to it anyway, to life. Not anymore. Freddie had brought his first love nothing but pain, suffering and ultimately death. And now Roger had been taken from him, too.

That was the price, apparently, for loving Freddie. He angrily wiped at his leaking eyes, hopelessly furious with everything in this tainted world.

Roger had been just over twenty. So young, so pure. Well, he had been. Until Freddie had showed up and robbed him of his innocence, in every way possible.

Freddie had not been aware that he was shaking until John reached an arm around him, determined eyes on Freddie as he held a finger to his lips and then pointed up.

Two persons were walking onto the bridge.

“You were lucky to escape with your life, boy.” A deep, rough voice said. “Ghastly, all this. Bernard was a real beast.”

Next they heard someone snarling, and a thump. As if someone had just kicked one of the corpses, Freddie thought, feeling sick.

“He was a monster! He drew his sword and advanced on us, from nowhere. We were just discussing the prisoner.”

Freddie froze at that, John also stiffening at his side.

“Mmh, I see.” The deeper voice said. “You tried to take the glory for yourselves, didn’t you?”

The man who’d apparently met Roger muttered something inaudible.

“Where is the thief?”

“He fell into the river, during the fight.”

What?

Freddie whipped his head back, maniacally searching the rippling surface of the water, as if Roger would pop up any second.

“It was lucky, too. Bernard was distracted and I managed to bring him down.”

“Christ… He’s lost, then?”

“I’m afraid so. His hands were tied.” A deep sigh. “Pity. I need all gold I can get. Martha’s due to give birth shortly.”

The deep voice hummed. “I’m sorry. I will try to… Wait.” A pause. “Is it just me, or can you see two saddled horses over there by the trees?”

“Blimey! You’re right. I guess they might belong to Bernard and the other fellow, I can’t recall what their animals looked like.”

“Well, then you have yourself two new horses, boy. That will pay better than a third of the reward for a measly thief.”

Freddie didn’t know for how long they sat there, John terrified of detection and Freddie, empty. He felt nothing, heard nothing, anymore, except for the unforgiving roar of the water.

The men gathered John’s and his horses, carried the corpses onto the cart, and headed off the way they had come from.

“Freddie.”

Roger’s hands had been tied.

“Freddie, they’ve left.”

He would have not stood a chance against the strong current.

“Freddie!”

His lover was gone.

John swore loudly and gave him a slap to the face, sending Freddie on his ass in the reeds, staring up at John with wide eyes.

“What the bloody hell is wrong with you?” John shouted. “Roger fell into the river, we need to go look for him, he needs our help!”

Gritting his teeth, Freddie got back up. “Didn’t you hear the men? He fell in with his hands tied! It’s no use, he’s gone already.”

“You don’t know that!” John argued. “He could have gotten ahold of a floating trunk or something, or he could have been washed ashore.”

“When are you going to understand, that this isn’t one of your neat little fairy tales? This is real life, there are no miracles, no magic, no happily ever afters! Roger’s dead, do you understand? Dead!”

Even as he screamed at John, Freddie’s own words caught up to him. Dead.

Tears started to spill down his cheeks again.

“How can you give up so easily?” John asked, voice quieter now, not meeting Freddie’s eyes. “We don’t know for certain that he’s dead. And I won’t give up, not until I know. Because while I only met you not two days ago, you three are the closest thing to friends I’ve ever had.”

With that, he turned his back on Freddie, and started making his way down the river, following the current.

Freddie looked after him, throat tight. He wasn’t giving up, was he? There was no way Roger could still be alive. John was just naive, and didn’t know how the world worked.

However, even if there was only but the smallest chance, a tiny flicker of hope, John was right. They hadn’t seen Roger’s dead body. They didn’t know. Not for certain.

He needed to know.

“Wait.” Freddie brushed the tears from his eyes and clumsily stepped out of the reeds. “You’re right. I’m coming with you.”

- - -

Roger’s forehead was scalding hot beneath Brian’s palm. The younger man was running a fever, his body in shock from almost drowning and swallowing a large amount of dirty river water.

Unfortunately, that wasn’t nearly all, Roger also had a sizely bump on the side of his head, as well as at least two to three broken ribs.

At least that was what the inn keeper’s wife had told Brian, when she’d come up to the small room to check in on her guests.

Brian’d had to hold Roger down while the older woman hummed and pressed carefully at his rib cage, the blond man wheezing and struggling until he fainted from the pain.

Since then he had been in a half awake, half unconscious, state, face unnaturally flushed and breathing strained and shallow. There wasn’t anything that Brian could do, but to dab his forehead with a wet handkerchief to soothe the fever, or try to get Roger to drink during the moments he was more alert.

It was dreadfully frustrating. He had been so lucky to find Roger and to help him, but now, once again, there was nothing more he could do than to watch over the younger man and pray.

He was completely helpless.

He tried to remember what Freddie had done, to help him, when he had been in a similar position, sick and weak and lucky to be alive.

Freddie had sung to him, his sweet voice easing Brian’s nightmares and grounding him. Reminding him what was real.

The mere thought of singing to Roger made Brian’s cheeks burn.

Freddie had also tended to Brian’s wounds, cleaning them and applying healing salves.

Roger’s injury was on the inside. There was nothing Brian could do to ease his pain.

Helpless. Pathetic.

How he wished Freddie was here with them. Or, even better, that it would be Brian lying there, fighting for his life.

A rattling cough pulled him out of his dark thoughts and he immediately sat at attention as Roger coughed again and then groaned.

His brows furrowed from the pain, jaw clenched tightly, then Roger’s eyes fluttered open.

”Hello there.” Brian said, awkwardly, giving a little wave with his handkerchief when lost, blue eyes found his face.

Brian tried not to wince. Roger’s eyes were glazed over with fever, heavy lids threatening to fall shut at every moment.

”How are you feeling?” Brian asked, and immediately wanted to bash his head against the wall.

Roger, however, gave him a small, loopy, smile. ”Like someone lit my lungs on fire and a troll danced on my chest. Where’s..”

His weak, raspy words were interrupted by another coughing fit. By the end of it tears were running down Roger’s cheeks, his fists clenched tightly on the bed as he gasped.

Brian reached out uncertainly, not knowing what to do, and then pulled his hands back to himself.

”Try to have some water.” He muttered, holding the waterskin to Roger’s panting lips.

The blond whined miserably. ”I don’t want to drink more water. Ever.”

Brian ignored him and stubbornly nudged the tip against Roger’s bottom lip until he gave up and took a few, careful sips.

As soon as he was done swallowing, Roger sighed, eyes closing.

”Where is Freddie?” He asked, voice quiet.

Brian bit his lip, he didn’t want to worry Roger when he was this fragile… ”He’ll be here, soon.”

”Good.” The shadow of a smile played over Roger’s lips. ”I miss him.”

The shame and guilt came crashing back full force into Brian. The kiss in the forest. Freddie’s dark eyes, so full of contempt. And heartbreak.

”I am so sorry, Roger.” Brian said softly, eyes downcast.

First there was silence, for so long Brian thought Roger had fallen asleep again, but then there came a confused hum.

”Why?” Roger asked, and Brian could almost feel his gaze on him now, but refused to look up.

He tugged at the still wet handkerchief, chewed at his lip. ”For messing things up. For being stubborn and unkind. And ungrateful.” He exhaled deeply. ”I should never have come with you. You should have left me in the pillory.”

”No.” Roger rasped back at him, before letting out another, small cough. ”Why are you saying this?”

Brian smiled wryly, chest hurting, and not because of broken bones. ”Please, Roger. I have only made things difficult for you. You have never liked me.”

A low, wheezy chuckle came from Roger, and the next second, calloused fingers wrapped loosely around Brian’s wrist. Surprised, Brian looked up and met Roger’s glassy but smiling eyes.

”Horse dung.” The younger man said. ”I have always liked you. It’s you who’s never liked me.”

Brian stared at the other. He could read no lie in Roger’s eyes. Of course, the blond was also high of his fever and barely awake.

Roger’s eyes squeezed shut and his fingers tightened around Brian as he was overcome with another bout of coughing.

This time it was worse - sharp, raw coughs which racked Roger’s body and made him pale from the pain.

He wheezed for breath in between the violent coughs, low, almost animal like whines escaping his lips.

Brian tried to calm him, hand moving to Roger’s shoulder, gently stroking through the nightshirt, but the cough just worsened.

Starting to panic, Brian spoke lowly to him, standing up next to the bed to try to push Roger back down, the coughing making him arch from the mattress and put strain on his ribs.

Brian’s hand ran down Roger’s shoulder, to his chest, and then, something odd happened.

While most of Brian’s hand was splayed over the soft material of Roger’s shirt, a couple of fingers rested on the younger man’s skin, where the top button was undone. And, where his fingertips touched Roger, they tingled.

It was a soft, kind of ticklish feeling and Brian stared at his hand in confusion.

Roger’s coughing calmed, his chest heaving against Brian’s hand as he moaned in pain.

Overcome with determination, similarly to how he’d felt that night, before he had found Roger, Brian shoved his entire hand inside Roger’s shirt, laying it over his chest.

He gasped, as the tingle grew and spread all over his hand, pleasant shivers running up his arm. Roger’s coughing stopped entirely. Brian glanced back up at the other man.

Roger’s eyes were shut, he was pale and exhausted, but finally his chest started to move steadily up and down beneath Brian’s touch. Small, careful breaths that didn’t rattle his ribcage too badly.

On a whim, Brian lifted his other hand and placed it on top of Roger’s brow.

Again, there was tingling.

Roger let out a relieved sigh, the frown between his eyebrows smoothening out. The next second he was fast asleep. A deep, peaceful slumber, nothing like the worried, fitful one he’d had before.

Almost not daring to breathe, Brian removed his hands from Roger and held them up in front of his eyes.

The tingling was gone. His hands looked just as they always had.

Brian let them drop into his lap, staring at the now peacefully sleeping Roger.

What on God’s good earth was happening to him?

- - -

The further they walked down the river, the heavier John’s heart weighted in his chest. It became increasingly obvious that Roger had not made it.

But, Freddie continued, almost as if spellbound to do so, walking along the river, his dark, exhausted eyes spanning over the water.

John followed behind him, ashamed of his outburst earlier. What did he know? Not a damn thing. Freddie had been right all along, and now John had planted false expectations in the older man’s head.

Freddie was desperate. He was breaking. And when he’d realize that there was no hope, after all, John was afraid of what he’d do to himself.

Probably throw himself into the river, too.

They walked for hours and hours, the sun moving over the sky, reaching its highest point and then continuing on its path down. They still walked when the sun set behind the treetops of the forest.

Night came, but they still continued walking. It was lucky John had brought his bag, for they at least had water and some meager provisions. Not that Freddie cared any about that, John had to practically force the food and water down the other man’s throat.

The night ended and morning came, and Freddie just continued to stumble forward. He didn’t speak, he didn’t even seem to notice John anymore, completely lost within himself as he was.

The sun was setting, once again, when they finally reached the end of the river. Freddie stopped, staring blankly at the river being swallowed by the ocean, the forces of the current and waves tugging at each other, water high and foaming.

John was so tired he could barely stand upright. He was thirsty, hungry and miserable. His heavy feet dragged as he came up to stand beside Freddie, putting one gentle hand on his arm as the older man hopelessly searched first the ocean, then the horizon.

“He’s nowhere.”

Freddie said, after a few minutes, voice dull and lifeless. It was the first thing he’d said to John since noon, the day before.

John bit his lip, feeling tears of his own gather at the corners of his eyes. Freddie had been right. Real life, outside, was nothing like his fairy tales and story books.

They had failed.

Freddie let out a long breath, the last of his resolve crumbling, and sank to his knees on the damp grass, swaying lightly in the light breeze, as he kept staring out at sea.

John watched the ocean with him. How he’d longed to see it, for all his life. But now, when he was finally here, everything just felt empty. Pointless.

What good was it, experiencing the wonders of the world, without friends by your side?

He looked over to the town of Crosswater. For John, who’d never left his small village, the town looked huge and majestic, with its high stone wall and watchtower. He’d heard there was a harbour too, but he couldn’t see it from here.

Freddie let out a heart wrenching sob and John could do nothing but watch as his companion fell further into despair. He wondered if Brian was in Crosswater, if he’d be able to help them.

The thought barely registered in his brain, before he heard the flaps of wings above. He looked up, surprised to see the pure, white feathers of a dove against the dark sky. It took him a moment to realize it was Albus.

“Freddie.” He said, carefully shaking the other’s shoulder. “Brian’s close. Let’s go find him.”

The mention of Brian gave Freddie enough strength back to get to his feet. But not much more than that.

John had to practically drag him to the town’s gate, Albus flying in circles above their heads and cooing softly.

The guard let them pass, not sparing them any second glance, and John gratefully bowed his head. Hopefully no one here would recognize him. But he’d still have to be careful.

Albus continued to fly in circles above them, as if guiding them. John, bone-wearingly tired, and dragging Freddie, didn’t think twice about following the dove. He didn’t know what else to do.

It turned out to be a good thing. They didn’t have to walk for very long before they spotted their cart and Tootsie, squeezed in between a small, cosy inn and the town wall. Tootsie brayed in excitement when she saw them but John didn’t have the heart to go to her.

Brian wasn’t in the cart, which worried John.

But then Albus cooed again, from above. The dove had landed on the roof of the inn, puffing up his feathers and watching Freddie and John with his tiny head tilted.

John stared at the bird, confused, but Freddie just shrugged and headed towards the door of the inn. “Let’s just do as the bloody bird wants. It’s not like I have anything else to lose.” He muttered and stepped inside.

Again, it turned out to be the right decision. They (John) had a quick chat with the innkeeper’s wife, who let them know that there was indeed a tall, curly-haired man renting one of their rooms.

“He came in yesterday morning,” she explained, drying some glasses with a rag, “bringing his hurt friend with him.”

John’s breath stuck in his throat.

“He offered me a horse for a room, a good animal. Of course, his poor friend was in such bad shape, I wouldn’t have said no, horse or not.”

Freddie was running up the stairs before the woman had even finished her sentence, John hot on his heels.

The dark-haired man tugged open three doors to other guests, John following behind, apologizing and closing the doors again, before he finally found the correct one.

John stared over Freddie’s shoulder, a wide, disbelieving grin spreading over his face.

Brian sat by the bed in the corner, half nodding off. On the bed was Roger, pale and fast asleep, but alive.

“R...Ro..” Freddie gasped, staggering into the room and waking Brian up.

“Freddie!” The magician exclaimed, getting to his feet. “John! You made it here!”

Freddie was trembling all over as he slowly stepped up to the bedside, eyes wide and wet. “Is he… How is…” He reached for Roger slowly, carefully, so carefully running his fingers over his cheek, as if he was afraid he would disappear into thin air.

Brian smiled. “He’s alright. He’s going to be just fine, Fred.”

Freddie looked up at Brian, then, eyes warm with gratitude. “You saved him. How?”

“It’s a long story…” Brian muttered, scratching behind his ear. “I found him in the river. But Fred,” his expression turned serious, “it’s a miracle he made it at all. He’s got some broken ribs and a concussion. He swallowed a lot of water, and has been really sick. However, his fever broke during the night, so he’s much better now.”

John realized he was still standing in the doorway, like a fool, and carefully closed the door behind him, stopping by the end of the bed. He allowed himself to take a deep breath, to finally relax. Brian’s and Freddie’s low voices soothed him as he smiled down at Roger. He couldn’t believe their luck.

A frown appeared on Roger’s forehead as John watched and the next second the blond started coughing, face screwed up in a painful grimace.

Without wasting a moment, Brian bent down and slipped his hand beneath Roger’s shirt, laying it over his chest.

John stared at him. So did Freddie.

“What… are you doing?” The dark-haired man asked, a bit stiffly.

Brian’s eyes widened and he blushed. “O..oh. Uh.” He stammered, but didn’t remove his hand. “It’s just… It calms him down.”

“I see.” Freddie smiled, gently removing Brian’s hand. “Thank you so much for taking care of him, darling. But I can take over now.”

“Right.” Brian smiled back, but it looked awkward. Freddie took his place, frowning when Roger started coughing again.

Brian moved back to sit down at the end of the bed, smiling up at John. “Good work getting him here, John. Thank you.”

John grinned widely, but didn’t have the chance to answer before Brian winced in pain, one hand coming up to rub at the centre of his forehead.

“Are you alright?” John asked, studying him curiously.

Brian nodded, but continued to massage his forehead. “Yeah. I’ve had this weird ache since yesterday, it comes and goes.”

“Freddie?”

Roger had coughed himself awake, and when John looked back up, the blond was smiling at Freddie like he was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. He clumsily lifted his arms, wrapping them around Freddie’s neck.

“Darling, oh Roger. Oh, thank god.” Freddie sobbed, hands caressing Roger’s face and then running down his hair as Roger did his best to pull him down on top of him, apparently not giving a damn about his ribs.

John felt embarrassed watching them. He knew they were close like brothers, but this didn’t feel very brotherly to him.

“I love you.” Roger sighed happily and finally managed to pull Freddie down enough to kiss him.

John’s jaw dropped, his eyes widening as he stared at his two friends. Brian shifted on the bed, cheeks rosy and gaze determinedly aimed out the small window.

Ah. So not close as brothers, then. John shook his head, blinked. But what about Brian and Freddie? What was going on with these three?

“Ah, fuck!” Roger screeched in pain and Freddie practically threw himself to the other side of the room, white as a sheet.

John sighed, also rubbing at his forehead now. This was all too much to wrap his head around. He needed a warm meal and some sleep, before he tried to process any of this.

He hoped the inn served stew. He could really go for some nice, hot stew, right about now.

Chapter Text

Hesitating by the door, Brian cast a look back at his companions. He was reluctant to leave the room, even though he felt terribly out of place beside Freddie and Roger, the former lying atop the blankets, still in his filthy clothes bar his shoes. Carefully curled around his lover with one hand resting on top of Roger's stomach so as not to hurt his ribs. Clearly exhausted beyond all measure, Freddie had fallen asleep the moment he had closed his eyes. Roger was stroking the back of his hand weakly. He raised his gaze up to Brian when he felt his eyes on him.

Brian quickly looked down at the floorboards, one hand on the door.

"You don't have to go," Roger croaked.

"Yes, I... I know," Brian cleared his throat. "But I should... also... eat." He added awkwardly, a small frown on his face. His head ached, which only made it harder to think. It seemed to be getting worse. He pushed the door open, and heard Roger murmur something just as he was about to close it behind himself. Brian turned, glancing back once more. "What did you say?"

There was a faint smile on Roger's lips as he peered at him over the top of Freddie's head, eyes glinting in the darkness which filled the room now that the sun had set.

"I don't know... how to thank you," he uttered.

A warmth filled Brian's chest and he broke into a lop-sided smile. "Just get better."

Roger nodded, and closed his eyes even as Brian pulled the door shut. Still, the anxious feeling in the pit of his stomach would not leave him alone and if he was honest with himself, he knew why. 'You can help him', a small voice whispered at the back of his head, 'You can help him in a way Freddie cannot.' And even though he couldn't explain it, couldn't explain the sensation he had felt when he had laid his hand on Roger's chest, Brian was certain in his heart of hearts that it was true. Whatever it was that he had done, Roger's condition would not have improved so fast without him. But how could he possibly even begin to explain that to Freddie?

All this weighing on his mind, Brian made his way downstairs to look for John, who had left the room almost immediately, muttering about finding something to eat. Brian didn't think either Roger or Freddie had realised, even up to this point, what they had done right in front of John. A part of Brian wouldn't have been entirely surprised to find John gone. What must he think? Brian wondered. After first coming across himself and Freddie in the forest, and now, Roger and Freddie's ungodly secret was no longer a secret to him. What would he make of it? However, he did not find John gone but in the back room of the inn, seated at one of the tables, devouring a bowl of stew as if he had never seen a hot meal before. If he was at all put out by what he had witnessed, it certainly didn't seem to be preoccupying him right now.

The boy looked up when he saw Brian, eyes bright as he tried to speak through a moutful of food.

"What's that?" Brian couldn't help but smile at him as he sat down. There was something so endearing about the spark of life and innocence in John's eyes, which apparently not even exhaustion and hunger could diminish.

"This," John told him excitedly, once he had swallowed. "is the best goddamn stew I have ever had the pleasure of tasting." His face fell when he realised what he had just said. "Please excuse my language. It's been a very long day."

Brian bit back a chuckle. "So it has been."

The innkeeper's wife swooped in, carrying a plate of food for a man seated at the other end of the room and John promptly waved her over.

"I must tell you," he gushed, when she stopped beside their table, "this is the most delicious meal I have ever had the pleasure of eating. I wish our cook had your skill!"

The woman laughed, looking him up and down with a half curious, half confused expression, dressed in dirty shabby clothes as he was. "Your cook?"

John's eyes quickly flicked to Brian, who was staring back at him wide-eyed. "Our friend," Brian said quickly, turning to the innkeeper's wife, "who's... a cook."

"That's- that's right," John stammered, chuckling awkwardly.

Looking back and forth between them for a moment, the woman shook her head and gave another merry laugh, clearly flattered by the praise. "Well, aren't you a dear. I wish all of our guests were so well brought up! Will you be having supper, too?" she asked Brian, who lowered his head sheepishly.

"I don't... I have nothing more to give you for it." he muttered apologetically, his stomach grumbling. John paused with the spoon halfway to his mouth, suddenly looking quite worried. It was the look of a man who, up until this moment, hadn't even considered that he might have to pay for his meal.

"Oh..."

The woman patted Brian's back, her voice kind as she looked between them. "Don't you worry about it. The horse you left us was payment enough."

"Thank you, thank you very much!" Brian called after her when she walked away. Breathing a sigh of relief, he turned back to John. At least for the moment, their luck seemed to be holding out.

"Very kind, she is," John noted, through a mouthful of stew. "And beautiful, too."

It was true. Although perhaps a few years older than they were, the innkeeper's wife was still young, rosey-cheeked and fresh-faced, a little plump in all the right places. She reminded Brian of a neighbour's girl he had once felt very warmly towards when he was much younger still. How far away that life seemed now. For here he was, going against nature and lusting after another man for God's sake, he thought, and felt deeply ashamed of himself. Wishing to escape those thoughts, Brian lifted his eyes back up to his new friend.

"Do you regret it?" he found himself asking. Oh, for goodness sake, could he not have chosen someting lighter to talk about? But the question had already left his lips, and so Brian added: "Coming away with us, I mean."

John blinked at him as if he had no idea how that thought could possibly have occurred to Brian.

"Not for a moment," he told him with a shake of his head, "I feel as though I have lived more in the last few days than I have in all my life!" John chuckled to himself, "And I have made friends..." he trailed off, the smile on his face faltering as he glanced down at the table a little shyly. "Or so I hope. I wouldn't really know, I don't think I've ever had... friends, before."

The boy's words went straight to Brian's heart. What a terribly lonely and dull existence he must have lead. Not stopping to think, Brian reached across the table and put his hand over John's, giving it a squeeze.

"You have them now."

Large, earnest eyes met his, shining with gratitude and affection, and Brian pulled his hand away, ruffling his curls. Just then the innkeeper's wife returned with his stew and some bread and meat wrapped in a cloth for their friends upstairs, for which both Brian and John profusely thanked her.

- - -

It wasn't long after dinner when John and Brian settled down in the cart to sleep. Brian hadn't wanted to push their luck too much by asking for another room, and he did not seem to think it a good idea to sleep on the floor in the same room as Roger and Freddie. John didn't argue over it. The nights were not so cold yet nor were they short of space between the two of them in the back of the cart. In fact, John didn't really mind at all. He was fairly certain that he could have slept on the cobbled street and not felt the discomfort of it, he was so tired.
As soon as he stretched out, wrapped in his blanket, sleep overtook him and brought with it wild dreams of adventure.

The drip-dropping of water on his face was what woke him in the middle of the night. John shuddered, bringing up one hand to wipe at his face as he became dimly aware of the sound of rain lashing down all around them. The rain had brought an almost wintery chill with it and he shivered, realising not only that the lower part of his blanket was damp from the rain blowing in but half of his hair was wet from the water leaking through a hole in the canopy right above him. His hands and feet were freezing and John shifted away from the offending water, accidentally elbowing Brian in the ribs. The other man stirred beside him, turning his head to face him.

"I'm sorry," John whispered, teeth chattering a little.

Brian lifted his head slightly, assessing the situation, and moved closer to the side of the cart, making space for him. But there wasn't much more space to be had, and John really couldn't move any closer without pressing himself into Brian, which tempting as it was for warmth alone, he didn't think would be very proper to do. So there he lay, shivering and damp. However, after a few minutes, Brian turned onto his side to face him and without further ado, wrapped one arm around him and pulled him against himself, before lifting his own blanket and spreading it over the both of them. Then he pulled his hand away and closed his eyes. John peered at Brian's face in the darkness, out of the corner of his eye. The other man's breath tickled his cheek, but the warmth emanating from Brian's body was a welcome relief from the bitter cold.

"We can't afford anyone else catching a chill," Brian muttered matter-of-factly, perhaps aware that John's eyes were on him.

John didn't know what to say. He was grateful but 'thank you' didn't feel appropriate, somehow. Gazing up at the birdcage hanging above them, swaying slightly back and fro, John became acutely aware of Brian's chest, rising and falling against his arm and the other man's legs touching his own, and found himself wide awake. It was only that John had never shared a bed with anyone before. He had no siblings, and no recollection of a mother holding him in her arms when he was a young boy. It felt incredibly strange to be so close beside another person, to feel the heat of another's body. Not bad, as such. But... strange. He couldn't bring himself to relax at all. Brian smelled pleasant, although he couldn't place the scent. It wasn't like Freddie's scent, which had been noticeable to him from the first night, now that he thought about it. Sweet spice. Was there such a thing? John wasn't sure, but it was what came to mind when he thought about it. What in the world was he thinking about, anyway?

The awareness that he was being watched crept up on him and John turned his head a little to find Brian looking at him.

"Go back to sleep," Brian murmured softly. John could only hear him over the sound of the rain by virtue of being so close.

"I can't," John whispered back.

"Do try," Brian urged, and closed his eyes again, exhaling a deep breath. John felt it on his cheek.

His nightly contemplations would not leave him be, only growing stranger and more confusing. What a normal thing it was, to other people, he thought. To lie close. To touch. To kiss. People always kissed and fell into each other's arms in his stories, too. Meanwhile, John couldn't recall the last time his father had hugged him. Was he human at all, if he had never been held in a friend's or a lover's arms? When he lacked that evidently profoundly human experience?

"Brian," John whispered, after a while.

There was no reply.

"Brian." John tried again, a little louder.

His curly-haired friend sighed, albeit not opening his eyes. "Yes?"

"I hope you don't mind me asking," John frowned up at the canopy above them, "but what is it like to kiss somebody?"

Brian blinked his eyes open and lifted his head up, staring at him in the dark. John felt himself blush a little.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, and turned over onto his side, away from the other man, "Nevermind that."

John didn't know what had come over him, to ask such a personal question. Brian said nothing, and that was just as well.
So much time passed that he was sure Brian had, in fact, gone back to sleep when John suddenly heard him speak up again.

"You..." the older man started slowly, sounding concerned and miserable, "You mustn't tell Roger. What you saw. Please... please, don't tell him."

John frowned. Now, where had he heard that before? He wondered whether he should tell Brian that Freddie had said the exact same thing to him. They lay in silence for some time while he thought about Freddie, and the forest. Thought about Brian and Freddie kissing. The thing he didn't quite understand was that it hadn't looked as though Freddie was resisting, exactly. Then he thought of Brian and Freddie in the cart, the night he had first made his getaway with his new friends. The memory of Freddie curled against Brian's side in the back of the cart swam in front of his mind's eye, the raven-haired man's head on Brian's chest.

"I won't tell," John finally murmured back, "I promise."

Brian breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank you."

"But may I... ask you one more question?" John added hesitantly. "It isn't personal."

"...Yes?" Brian said carefully.

John tried to word it well in his head before he spoke.

"Is it possible," he asked slowly, "to love two people in the same way, at the same time?"

"I..." Brian started, and fell silent for quite some time. "I don't know," he said at last, "I don't... think...? I- I don't know."

The other man sounded genuinely stumped. Interesting, thought John. Perhaps Brian didn't have all the answers either.

"Why would you ask that?" Brian shifted behind him, sounding a lot more awake than he had a little while ago.

"Just wondering," John mumbled through a yawn, and closed his eyes.

At last sleep was starting to pull him back under again, and a few minutes later, he had fallen back into a deep slumber.

- - -

It was a rough awakening. Brian felt as though he had only just nodded off, after lying awake listening to the rain for what felt like hours. The questions John had asked him had robbed him of his sleep entirely, leaving him with more questions and thoughts of his own. Thoughts of Roger, his head in Freddie's lap, smiling a brilliant smile, eyes all aglow.
Roger. A face like thunder and lighting, snarling insults in his face.
Roger, lips blue with cold and skin so pale it seemed translucent, his breathing laboured, a cool cheek pressed to Brian's chest.
He thought of Roger and clung on to the dreadful feeling of guilt in his gut, because when he did not, his thoughts turned to Freddie instead.

Freddie.

Warm, mischievous eyes meeting his on a warm summer day as they lay in the grass beside each other, resting their weary legs. 'A silver penny for your thoughts, dear?'
Long, nimble fingers brushing through his hair, curling around a lock almost as though by accident, a melody hummed close to his ear.
Bated breath, eyes half-hooded and soft lips pressed against his own.

'What is it like to kiss somebody?'

Even better than he had imagined.

A quiet moan that set his very soul on fire, lips hot and... wanting.

'...to love two people the same way, at the same time?'

"Freddie-" Brian gasped as someone shook him awake roughly. He opened his eyes to morning light and the concerned face of the innkeeper's wife hovering above him.

"... now!"

Still struggling to get his bearings, Brian became dimly aware of her words.

"You must go now!"

As he sat up, blinking sleep out of his eyes and frowning, he caught sight of John's pale, worried face beside him.

"What?" the young man murmured, equally groggy.

The woman paused and took a breath, now that she had them awake, a scared, pleading look on her face.

"You must go now," she told them, "you must! They're looking for you."

- - -

"He thinks he can frighten me into coming back," John fumed, turning away from the window and back around to look at them, eyes flashing with anger, "My father thinks I'm a coward! That I'll just give myself up, and- and I won't!"

As they had just learned, the situation had taken a turn for the worse. Clearly, their camp had been discovered and the men they had left tied up there had given their account of the story. There was now a reward out on all of their heads, including John. Wanted for vagrancy, among other things, or so the innkeeper's wife had said. A part of Freddie wondered if this was their reckoning. Punishment for their sins.

"We're done for." Brian was pacing the room, head in his hands, but Freddie immediately returned his attention to Roger when the younger man gave a miserable, wheezing groan. John hurried over and placed Roger's arm around his shoulders on the other side, trying to help him along.

"No! Fuck-" the fair-haired man yelped and made a sound like a frustrated, pained growl, wrapping his arm around himself instead. "Hurts-" he choked out, his whole body tense with the agony of his injuries, "S'alright, I can walk."

Freddie wasn't entirely sure of that, and yet could do nothing more than carefully place his arm around his lover's shoulders. Just getting Roger dressed in a rush had been a terrible affair.

"Then let's go," urged John, nervously eyeing the door.

"There's nowhere to go!" Brian exclaimed and stopped, arms spread wide, looking at them helplessly. "Where will we go? We can't take the cart, they'll be looking for a cart! And if we go on foot, how far can we possibly get?" He gestured at Roger. "Not with Roger, not like this!"

The pained grimace on Roger's face turned into a grim frown, his eyes downcast. "Leave me," he said, and coughed, clutching his ribs with a whine, "Scale the wall and flee through the woods."

"Don't be so utterly ridiculous," hissed Freddie, enraged that Roger would even think to suggest it, "I will sooner throw myself off the cliffs than leave you behind."

"Oh..." Brian's face changed, eyes widening as he threw his hands up, "But that's it!" The others turned to stare at him and watched a manic grin spread across his face. "The sea."

It took Freddie a second, but he was the first one to catch on and his eyes grew equally wide and excited with fresh hope. "Is- is there a harbour?"

"Yes!" John looked back and forth between them. "Yes, there is! I know there is."

There was an insistent knock and all four of them jumped, jerking their heads in the direction of the door. Before either of them could say anything, the innkeeper's wife came bustling in, carrying a cloth-wrapped parcel and a bottle.

"Here's a few provisions," she uttered hurriedly, shoving the parcel into John's hands, who stammered his thanks, "Now hurry, they're asking around the market place. It's only a matter of time before they turn up here. And take this," she handed Roger the bottle and a crooked half-smile appeared on his face. "It'll help with the pain."

"You're an angel," he rasped, and went to remove the cork with his teeth.

The strong smell of alcohol hit Freddie almost instantenously while Roger lifted the bottle to his lips and took a few large gulps.

"Thank you so much for your kindness," said Freddie, "How can we ever repay you?"

But the woman just waved a hand impatiently.

"I see all sorts of people come and go, day to day. And I've never been wrong about a single one of them! If my gut tells me one thing, it's that none of you deserve to be hanged. Now get out, or there'll be nothing to thank me for!"

They ran. That was to say, Brian and John ran ahead to the cart and gathered their most important belongings into bundles they could carry, leaving the rest behind. When Freddie and Roger caught up with them Brian stood beside Tootsie, holding her by the lead. The donkey brayed happily upon seeing Roger and pulled towards her rightful owner.

"Easy girl," Roger smiled weakly and slipped out of Freddie's reach, wrapping his arms around Tootsie's neck and leaning onto her instead.

Freddie met Brian's eyes and they shared a knowing look. Who was going to say it? Who was going to tell Roger that they couldn't possibly hope to take their faithful donkey with them? To try and get the four of them aboard a boat or a ship was one thing, but a donkey? Freddie certainly didn't want to have to be the one to bring it up. While he and Brian were still having a staring contest, both silently urging the other to say something, John hopped out of the back of the cart with his violin case on his back.

"Let's go," he said, and stopped, blinking at Roger and the donkey. "But what about Tootsie?"

Roger straightened up, as much as he could, narrowing his eyes at him. "What about Tootsie?"

"We-ell..." said Brian slowly, stepping in before John could reply. "Freddie...?"

Shit.

"Oh... uhm," Freddie raised his eyebrows, pulling his lip over his teeth, "I... I think that, perhaps..."

Roger turned to him with an incredulous death stare.

"... I think," Freddie cleared his throat, "we had better head to the harbour. Surely we can figure something out?"

Ignoring Brian's pointed look in his direction, Freddie turned and took the lead down the alleyway. They would deal with the matter of Tootsie once they had reached the harbour. If they reached the harbour.

Brian caught up with him as John and Roger, the latter leaning on Tootsie's back for support, brought up the rear.

"Coward," the curly-haired man muttered under his breath, his pet dove fluttering down onto his shoulder as though out of nowhere. Brian absently reached up and scratched Albus under his beak.

"Oh, shush," Freddie whispered back, "I didn't hear you say anything. Besides, we will figure something out."

It wasn't as though Freddie wanted to leave Tootsie behind, either. Although in all honesty, he couldn't imagine what else they could possibly do.

Luckily, it had started raining again and so they didn't look suspicious with the hoods of their cloaks pulled up over their heads. Brian tucked Albus away under his cloak and they kept to the smallest roads, slowly winding their way through the city, sick with fear that they might be discovered. Several times, Freddie was sure they had been spotted. They would pass people who gave them a second, thorough look or slowed down, frowning in their direction. But to Freddie's surprise and relief, each time, as someone's searching gaze surveyed them, they seemed to become disinterested after a moment. Distracted, almost confused, as though they had suddenly remembered that they had forgotten something very important. He didn't think much of it the first couple of times, but by the third time it struck him most queer. He considered saying something to Brian, but the tall man seemed to be entirely absorbed in his thoughts, a look of intense concentration on his face. And so Freddie fell back, letting Brian lead the way downhill to where they had already caught glimpses of the harbour between the houses.

"How are you holding up, darling?" Freddie asked softly, running a gentle hand over Roger's back.

"Yeah," Roger choked out through gritted teeth with a curt, determined nod, too focused on keeping himself going to speak. He looked absolutely wretched, his forehead clammy and his face blotchy and pale. Every few minutes a coughing fit would stop him in his tracks, making him double over and whine with pain, wheezing and gasping for breath.

"Not long now," Freddie murmured miserably, wishing there was more he could do for him, and watched Roger take another swig from the bottle.

They didn't dare step out of the alleyway which had eventually lead them to the harbour, too wary to wander around aimlessly in such a busy, crowded place. Instead, Brian and John took it upon themselves to investigate while Freddie stayed behind with Roger, who sat slumped against the wall, with Tootsie nuzzling at his shoulder and cheek gently. Even the animal was concerned for him, Freddie thought, and went to sit down beside him, taking the bottle out of his hands when he went to drink from it again.

"That's enough for now," he said, gently but firmly, "don't you think, dear?"

Roger didn't reply, but let go of the bottle, albeit reluctantly. With a quiet groan, he closed his eyes and dropped his head back against the wall, his breathing laboured and shallow. Freddie frowned and lifted a hand to his forehead, confirming his awful suspicion.

"You're burning up," he murmured, and wanted to cry. It was one thing to nurse Roger back to health in a dry room. A warm bed and hot soup at hand. But they had none of that now, and God only knew when they would again. The chances of him getting well, of him getting better at all while they were on the run, stowaways on a ship or whatever fate awaited them, seemed ridiculously small. And the thought that Roger had survived the river, and Freddie had miraculously found him again, only to then watch him waste away and die of a fever, was an utterly unbearable one. As though he had sensed his despair, Roger turned his head and looked at him, warmth behind his glassy eyes.

"Don't be sad," he uttered as his hand found Freddie's, giving it a weak squeeze, "Death will have a battle on his hands, to tear me away from y-you-" He was half cut off by a rattling cough and squeezed his eyes shut, grimacing at the pain it induced.

"Let's not speak of it," Freddie lifted the younger man's hand to his lips, clutching it desperately and tightly. "He can only have you over my own dead body."

And so they spoke of nothing more, sat huddled together in the narrow alleyway, the rain slowly soaking their clothes. Roger's breathing grew a little calmer and deeper after a while, Freddie noticed. Perhaps the effect of the alcohol relaxing him. His hand was limp and cold in Freddie's, who cradled it in both of his own until at long last, Brian swooped in with John close behind him. Albus followed, fluttering down onto the magician's shoulder. There was an air of excitement about the three of them, even the pigeon, or an urgency at the very least.

"Well?" asked Freddie. Looking between them, he became aware of the way John's eyes kept wandering to his chest, where he held Roger's hand, pressed against it. Freddie lowered it and let go, focusing his attention on Brian. "Tell me something good."

"I don't have time to explain, because we need to move fast," Brian said, offering Freddie a hand and helping him up, "But there's a shipment of horses leaving the harbour within the hour and-"

"We bartered my clothes to be on it. The man thought we were mad!" John cut in proudly, a grin on his face, sounding really quite delighted about the whole affair. "And we can take Tootsie!"

At this, Roger came out of the feverish, drunken stupor he had slid into, blinking up at the three of them. "We can do wha' now?"

- - -

Perhaps it was the aqua vitae, enough of which had burned its way down his throat, or the fever - more likely a mix of both - but Roger felt like he could make nor heads nor tails of anything anymore.

The harbour was a blur of people and keeping himself upright was a struggle. He tried to focus on his feet because the ground seemed to be slipping away, and his vision swam.

And then there was the horses. Beautiful, tall beasts, whinnying all around them as they were ushered into their midst. Was this a dream? Surely this had to be some strange dream. Only, the creaking of the wood beneath his feet as they walked across the ramp and into the belly of the ship seemed quite real, as did the smell of so many animals in one confined space, strongly reminding him of the farm. The barn. Lying in the hay with Freddie.

No.

There wasn't any hay here, nor was there daylight. Or not much of it anyhow, once the heavy door to the lower deck was shut. Only a few narrow beams of light, falling through cracks above them.

"It will be sealed with tar," he heard Brian say, "for the duration of the journey."

Roger didn't like the sound of that.

"Sealed?" asked Freddie, sounding equally concerned, even while he was helping Roger lie down in a corner, tucking his small bundle of clothes under his head. "There, love."

"Only two days or so," Brian reassured him, over the sound of nervous neighs and the clatter of hooves on wooden planks all around them.

A coughing fit seized Roger again, blinding hot pain shooting through his entire ribcage. God, but it was agony.

"...need reinforcements? What for?" He heard Freddie say, when the pain finally subsided.

"To fight the Norsemen," Brian was explaining, "The raiders from the overseas kingdoms of Scandinavia."

"I've read tales about them," John chimed in.

"Are you telling me," groaned Freddie, "that we are sailing straight to the battle fields?"

"Well tha's fuckin' shite," mumbled Roger under his breath, his tongue heavy and clumsy. His head was spinning, his surroundings were spinning and his eyes couldn't seem to focus on anything in the dim light.

"I'm afraid so," Brian sighed, but his voice seemed echoey and far away somewhere as Roger's world went dark.

- - -

Chapter Text

The trees were on fire.

The dry bark cracked open and burnt, flames licking up the trunks and setting the bare branches aflame.

Burning crowns, lighting up the dark skies. Surrounding the remains of the village.

She stared at the devastated landscape, trying not to gag at the stench of burning human flesh. Tugging her coif off, she pressed it over her nose and mouth, before slowly making her way into the burning village.

“Hello?” She called, over the crackling of the fire. “Can anyone hear me?”

No one answered.

She almost stumbled over a helmet on the ground. One of their helmets. Enraged, she kicked it away, not feeling the pain in her numb toes.

“Is anyone still alive?”

Of course not. No one ever was. When they hit a village, they raped, slaughtered and burnt everything in sight.

She should turn back. At once. Go back to her own village and warn everyone.

Eyes watering from smoke and fumes from the dead, she stopped, in the middle of the village. It had to be enough. There was nothing she could do.

Just then, she heard something. A shrill wail, from the barn just to her side.

She ran.

A house crumbled to the ground just next to her, but she paid it no mind. The wail grew in strength as she entered the barn. The fire had just started eating away at the hay roof, burning grass dancing through the air, one setting the hem of her skirt on fire.

She quickly stomped on the flame until it died, and desperately looked around for the one screaming.

There was death everywhere. Large bodies, wearing armour and helmets, strewn all over the barn floor, coloured scarlet by blood. She frowned. It was them.

They had killed their own this time. Why?

She climbed over dead, hulking bodies, to the furthest corner, from where she could still hear weak whining.

Curled against the wall, back to her, laid a woman. Her golden hair spread over the dirt floor, clumped together with blood.

In her bloodied arms, stiff with death, she cradled a small bundle. The source of the crying.

A baby.

The fire roared from above and she looked up to see the roof gone, barn open to the starry winter sky. Now the ravenous flames were eating their way down the walls, the heat making her dizzy.

She grabbed at the woman’s arms, shaking fingers digging into dead flesh as she pried them open. She took the bundle, pressed it to her own chest and fled the burning barn.

- - -

“He’s burning up.”

John frowned, drawing his hand away from Roger’s forehead. The ship had departed from the harbour only a few hours ago and things were already looking grim.

As soon as the ship had left calm waters and headed out to the open ocean, Freddie had started to feel nauseous. The dark-haired man sat huddled next to Roger, face pale and sweaty, gaze fastened at the far wall as he fought hard not to throw up.

Roger had been unconscious since the very beginning of the trip, slumped against the wooden wall like a lifeless doll. He’d spent all his energy getting to the harbour, and now he was terribly sick with fever.

“I know.” Freddie gritted out between his teeth, expression pained and helpless in the dim light.

John chewed at his lip, thoughtfully. He didn’t know a thing about medicine or how to help sick people.

Tootsie brayed softly, eyeing the three of them with great worry. The donkey had placed herself in front of John and the others, protecting them from the herd of horses. Not that the horses seemed very hostile, no, only curious.

John understood why. They didn’t really fit in on the horse transport, the four of them, and Tootsie and Albus, after all.

The ship lurched violently to the side and Freddie let out a panicked, miserable whimper. He scrambled to his feet in a hurry and managed to get a few meters before falling to his knees and emptying the content of his stomach.

John looked after him, wincing. He felt slightly sick himself, being locked inside a rocking ship, surrounded by the smell of horses, their droppings and sickness would do that to you. While he’d gotten used to the darkness, the cracks in the ceiling the only source of light, it was still dim and shadowy within the hull of the ship.

A soon as Freddie had crawled away, Tootsie huffed and moved closer, before lowering herself to lie on the floor right in front of Roger.

She brushed her muzzle against Roger’s thigh, before resting her head on the floor, ears drooping. Albus, who’d made himself a makeshift nest in the donkey’s coarse mane, had temporarily taken to the air as she moved, only to flutter back down when she stilled.

“Freddie?” Brian asked, voice hushed, as he returned to their resting spot. He’d wandered off just a minute ago, John suspected to find some spot to empty his bladder.

Freddie let out a pained groan and threw up again.

“He’s sick.” John answered, the smell of vomit mixing with the other odours and making his own stomach roll. “And Roger’s really not well at all. His breathing is all funny.”

Brian nodded, managing to squeeze down next to Tootsie to lay his hand on Roger’s brow.

As soon as his fingers touched the blond man’s flushed skin Roger let out a deep, relieved sigh in his sleep. Brian’s expression softened and he kept his hand on Roger’s face.

“We should try to get him to drink and eat some, he probably needs it.” John said, digging through the package they’d received from the innkeeper’s wife, taking out a waterskin.

“I’ll try to wake him up. You go give some water to Freddie.” Brian answered, pulling his hand away.

Roger let out a low whine, eyelids fluttering open. “Dunn stop.” He slurred, clumsy hands reaching for Brian’s. “Feels mm… good.”

Brian blushed but let his hand be grabbed and brought back to Roger’s face. John leant in to watch Roger, concerned.

The other man’s eyes were hazy, glassed over with high fever. “Roger?” John asked.

“Mmhhn?”

“Are you alright? Do you know where we are?”

Roger nuzzled into Brian’s hand. “Mmm barn.”

John and Brian exchanged glances. Well… It wasn’t that far from the truth. Except for the whole water part. And the going right into a warzone part.

Grabbing the second waterskin, John got to his feet. “I’ll check in with Freddie.”

“Where Fred?” Roger mumbled, finally letting go off Brian to groggily look around.

“He’ll be right back, he’s just… relieving himself.” John heard Brian say as he climbed over Tootsie’s back to get to Freddie.

Freddie had stopped throwing up, and was curled up in a foetal position, arms wrapped around his knees.

John kneeled next to him, putting a hand on his side. “Hey, are you alive?”

He tried for a joke, but the dire situation they were in, with one of them quite possibly dying, made the words taste bitter in his mouth.

“Barely.” Freddie muttered. “But don’t mind me, look after Roger. I would myself, but I’m afraid I’d just puke on him.”

John smiled and managed to drag Freddie up in a sitting position. “He’s awake, actually. Brian seems to have healing hands or something.” He chuckled, holding the waterskin up to Freddie, who eyed it warily.

“Try.” John encouraged him. “Just one little sip to rinse your mouth.”

And so Freddie tried, taking small, careful sips while John supported him, arm around his shoulders.

He couldn’t help the smile curling the corners of his lips. Sure, the ship smelled awful, he was hungry, they were all in grave danger.

He, John Richard Deacon, was a wanted man.

His own father had put a price upon his head.

But, in the last week, John had lived more than ever before. He had found dear friends. And he’d rather die than give his new life up.

Heart beating fast, protectiveness blooming in his chest as he held Freddie close, John was filled with a burning determination.

Let them come. His father, the Scandinavian raiders. He’d hold his ground.

- - -

Night had fallen. The faint light they’d had earlier was gone, leaving them in complete darkness.

The horses were calmer now, the ship not rocking as much. They huffed and whinnied, and shuffled, but the sounds were more comforting than anything else.

Brian was clear awake. He’d been awaiting the darkness.

He knew he had to act, but hadn’t had a moment to do so, without arousing suspicion. While Freddie had been sick like a dog for most of the day, there was still the surprisingly perceptive John to look out for.

Things were already complicated enough, without him shoving his hands inside Roger’s shirt from nowhere. Now he finally had his chance.

He didn’t know why. He didn’t know how. But, for some reason, he was able to help Roger. Whenever he touched him, skin to skin, he made him feel better. Like before, when he’d managed to pull Roger from his fever dreams by touching his forehead.

And, it wasn’t only his new healing abilities, either. Something was clearly going on. Albus communicating with him, the horse in the woods… The people in Crosswater turning away and ignoring them, after Brian wished hard for them to do so.

The pounding headache at the center of his skull, he just didn’t seem able to get rid off. Flashes of something long, long ago, which he couldn’t remember. Tea leaves, auburn curls. Fear.

He felt as if he was losing his mind. But also, somehow, like he was supposed to do so.

They were all curled up on the floor. Freddie had gone to sleep furthest out, still afraid he’d need to be sick. He was asleep now though, albeit fitfully. Roger was behind him, a furnace, that would have been comforting in the cold night if not for the fact that it was because of his steadily rising fever. Brian had taken the spot behind Roger, and John was cuddled up against Brian’s back. The younger man was the only one of them who was sleeping deeply, snoring softly against Brian’s curls.

Roger coughed weakly and Brian carefully moved closer. He was pretty certain the younger man had developed pneumonia. And, with his broken ribs and their less than ideal surroundings, Brian was afraid that he would not be able to combat the sickness by himself.

Taking a deep breath, Brian reached out and carefully rucked Roger’s shirt loose from his trousers.

God. This felt so incredibly wrong. He felt like a pervert, secretly fumbling in the dark.

But there was nothing for it.

Hopefully no one would realize what he was doing, Brian felt enough shame as it was.

He listened for a second, making sure everyone was asleep, before slipping his hands beneath Roger’s shirt. He turned them so his palms were pressed against Roger’s warm back, and slowly dragged them up until they were resting just below his shoulder blades.

Ah, there was the tingling again. Like electricity, but soft and pleasant, making it feel like his skin vibrated where he pressed against Roger.

Roger sighed softly, his breathing at once turning deeper and calmer. Emboldened, Brian closed his eyes and splayed his fingers over the warm skin, inciting whatever odd power that was inside him to hunt and smother the evil that had taken up residence within Roger’s rib cage.

His fingers burnt with energy, the tingling growing to trembling and spreading up his arms until his entire body was humming with it. His mind was slipping, as if floating out of his body and into Roger.

He felt him. His powerful heart beating steadily, in spite of his ailments. The blood rushing and there, the sickness lurking deep within his lungs.

Brian frowned deeply, eyes closed. He couldn’t reach. On a whim, he pulled one of his hands out from the back of Roger’s shirt and reached around him, slipping it inside the front of it and to his chest, instead.

Now, with both hands pressed against Roger, trapping him between his now shaking fingers, Brian focused all his energy on attacking the disease.

Roger groaned, pained, and squirmed against him but Brian didn’t stop. He was shaking with it, head pounding and body growing hot. Sweat poured down his neck and he pressed his forehead to Roger’s neck, panting heavily.

He was losing consciousness. It was too much, the power consuming him, draining him of all energy. But, he felt how it was working, how the sickness shrivelled and died, burning away under his attention.

“Brian?”

Roger whispered like through a dream. Brian felt his focus fading, the last of the burning energy leaking out of his fingers and into Roger.

“Bri? Hey, are you okay?”

A warm hand grabbed onto his own and Brian was sure Roger would tug him away from his chest, disgusted. Instead the younger man just held him there, rubbing his thumb soothingly over burning skin.

“I don’t know what you just did.” Roger said quietly, voice full of wonder. “But, thank you. Thank you so much.”

Brian muttered something in response. He should feel horrified. He’d been caught. But Roger was warm and comforting. And Brian was dead tired.

He’d completely exhausted himself. He was dimly aware of John shifting at his back, leaning over to brush some of his sweaty hair out of his eyes, and then he was gone.

- - -

When Roger next woke up he felt like a real person, for the first time in days. He had slept well and his mind was finally clear.

He still felt like shit, obviously. His ribs were still broken, he was sweaty and hungry and thirsty. But, the fever and the awful coughing, seemed to have passed.

Relieved, he groaned and stretched out. Honestly, he’d been really sick. He couldn’t remember that he’d ever been that sick, before. If not for Brian, he’d probably have been out of luck. He’d have died, on this foul-smelling, crowded transport ship.

Brian.

What the fuck was going on with Brian?

Roger remembered what he’d thought was fever dreams, from the inn. His lungs had been burning, he’d thought he’d die on the spot, but Brian had done something… And he’d been able to breathe again, given a respite from the crushing pain.

And now, tonight…

He’d woken up, torn from his dark, violent dreams to what felt like literal fire in his chest. Only, it hadn’t hurt. It had warmed and protected him.

Roger had gasped as he felt his lungs clearing, the fever leaving him rapidly and finally clearing his hazy mind. And there was Brian, shaking violently against him, his hands scalding where they were touching Roger.

He was a travelling magician, after all. Roger mused. But, he’d never thought him to have real powers. Could it be that Brian really was able to use magic?

Could it be that magic existed?

Extremely confused, Roger sighed. He’d need to ask him, later. And say thank you, again.

Magic or not, one thing was for certain. Roger wouldn’t have woken up again, if not for Brian’s help.

He blinked his eyes open, thin beams of morning light filtering from the ceiling, illuminating Freddie’s ebony hair. Sighing happily, Roger wrapped his arm around Freddie’s waist and nuzzled close.

He gave his lover a kiss on the neck, before carefully extracting himself and sitting up. His ribs protested and he grimaced, absentmindedly cradling his chest with his hand.

Water. He direly needed water.

The waterskin laid just to the side, and he bent to grab it. As he took long, luxurious gulps of the lukewarm water, he looked around. Brian was knocked out next to him, breathing deeply, face looking young and carefree with sleep. John was half wrapped around him, hair splayed out over the floor.

Tootsie was asleep right in front of him, but Albus was awake, peering at him with his alert bird-eyes.

“Morning.” Roger rasped, smiling at the pidgeon. “Not dead yet.”

Albus cooed, looking pleased.

Roger was just reaching for Tootsie, about to wake her up and offer her some water, when something hit the ship’s side, sending them all flying, the horses crying out in distress.

“What the fuck?” Roger cringed, pain shooting from his ribs.

Freddie jumped up, hair a mess and eyes wide. “What’s going on?” He paused when he saw that Roger was up, his pale face lighting up in a gorgeous smile. “Darling! You’re awake!”

Brian was still miraculously asleep, but John had also been shocked awake, looking disgruntled. “Did we hit something?”

There was a shout from above, and then shuffling and more shouting. They all looked at each other, horrified.

Or, Roger thought, dread rising in the pit of his stomach, did something hit them?

Brian awoke just as the blood curdling screams started. Horrifying wails that cut off abruptly. Heavy boots trudged over the deck above, sending dust falling from the roof, coloured gold as it floated down on them.

“Oh god.” Freddie whispered, his fingers clutching Roger’s arm hard enough for it to hurt.

Tootsie had gotten up, braying loudly and worriedly, together with the horses. Albus fluttered over to Brian, nestling into his messy hair as the tall man sat up, slumberous and confused.

“We’re under attack.” John hissed, stiffening when someone walked just above them.

They all listened carefully. There appeared to be several men on top of them, laughing loudly and talking to each other in a foreign language Roger didn’t recognize.

“The Scandinavian raiders.” Brian said, voice dry. He looked incredibly tired.

“What do we do?” Freddie was in hysterics. “They’re going to kill us!”

Roger had no idea. He’d just recovered from a disease, he was not ready to face whatever new devilry the world had thrown at them.

But, as it would seem, he had no choice, because suddenly the ceiling hatch was opened, bathing them all in bright light.

Momentarily blinded, Roger put an arm over his eyes.

“Se her!” A deep, amused voice called. “Vi har gjester.”

He looked up, and immediately wished he hadn’t. Above them, leaning over the ceiling opening and watching them with great interest, were ten burly men.

They all wore armour and helmets, had fair hair and large beards.

“Hello there, little ones.” One of the vikings said, in butchered English, took the shaft of his axe between his teeth and started to climb down the ladder towards them.

Chapter Text

- - -

"What have you done, you wretched woman?" her husband raged, pacing the small room they were sheltering in after the loss of their home. "The village- gone! Everything's in ashes and God only knows when they will return! How can we afford another mouth to feed? Tell me that!"

She held the squirming, whining bundle closer to her chest, shrinking back from him, her eyes defiant nonetheless.

"I couldn't just leave the poor thing!"

"You should have!" he stopped and slammed his fist down onto the table, staring at the tiny, blanket-wrapped creature, "One less of their kind! You should've let it die, Winifred!"

"It's an innocent babe!" she shouted back, tears in her eyes, "What kind of Christian woman would I be?"

He took a deep breath, nostrils flaring, and she took courage, knowing that she spoke sense.

"What good Christian," she uttered, rocking the whining baby in her arms, "would leave a defenceless babe to burn to death?"

He looked at her for a long moment, and had no response to that. Little by little the rage draining out of him, turning to a guilt-ridden sort of resignation. With a few paces, he was beside her, his sceptical eyes on the bundle she held. Winifred looked down.

Slowly, carefully, she loosened her grip and gave the baby her little finger to suckle on, momentarily calming it.

"There, there," she cooed, "You're hungry, I know. We'll have to get you some porridge..."

"What is it?" he asked, not nearly as moved by the poor thing's plight as she couldn't help but feel.

"A boy," Winifred whispered, glancing up at her husband.

"A boy." he repeated, and sighed, rubbing his face. "A boy..." he scoffed, "Well, at least he'll be useful."

A small smile spread across her face as her gaze travelled from the innocent, large eyes, slowly closing, to the tiny fingers of one small hand, now tightly clinging to her finger. But then something caught her attention. A glimmer of golden thread, shimmering in the glow from the fireplace. She tilted her head, pulling at the part of the baby's blanket which was embroidered. Strange runes she did not recognise. Their language, no doubt. But there...

Her eyebrows rose up and she blinked, leaning closer. She could not read much, had never been taught to, but she could recognise English writing. And that it was, she was certain of it, right underneath the strange foreign letters. But how...?

"What is it?" Her husband asked, kneeling down to see what she was looking at.

"I... his name, I think," she uttered, and looked up at him, "I think it must be his name."

Her husband snorted. "Not a Christian name, is it? Can't very well call him that," he frowned, "Although perhaps..."

- - -

None of them dared to move as the tall, broad-shouldered man jumped down from the ladder, taking the axe in hand - which he had held between his teeth with terrifying ease - and turning towards them. John glanced at his friends briefly, all in various states of terror and disbelief, but could not take his eyes off the stranger before them for more than a moment. Even the horses seemed to move back, bowing their heads respectfully before this bear of a man, his hair even longer than his impressive beard, both hanging down over his fur and leather-clad shoulders and chest. His clothes looked heavy and bulky, only accentuating his imposing form. Why, he had to be taller than Brian, and about three times as wide, John thought and swallowed, finding himself genuinely afraid for the first time since the beginning of this strange journey. No... God, please, he couldn't die now! Not now when he had only just begun to taste true freedom.

"Hello," the man repeated in a booming voice as he approached them, "Have you no tongues?"

That was when Tootsie snorted angrily and placed herself squarely in front of them, effectively shielding them from the intruder. The man stopped out of sheer surprise, eyebrows raised as the donkey brayed at him loudly. Oh God, thought John, completely convinced that they would see their brave four-legged companion hacked to pieces any moment now, judging by the grim look on the Northman's face or what little of it John could make out behind his bushy beard. But then, to John's utter surprise and relief, the man threw back his head and broke into uproarious laughter.

"De har et vakt-esel!" he called over his shoulder between bouts of laughter.

"Hva?" a couple of the others called back.

"Kom og se!" the man in front of them was still laughing with his kinsmen, who had joined in on the laughter, and was beckoning them with a wave of his hand.

Two more started making their way down the ladder.

Finally, the man turned back to them and peered at them over Tootsie's back, huddled against the wall. Then he swung his axe up above his head and stomped his foot down onto the wooden planks hard in a lunge forward, making them all flinch and the horses close-by whinny, alarmed.

"No!" shouted Roger and tried to clamber to his feet, immediately foiled by both the pain from his injuries and Freddie's death grip on his arm.

Tootsie, however, remained in place, ears barely twitching, and John squeezed his eyes shut, holding his breath. When no sound followed, he blinked them open again, and stared at the Viking. He was chuckling, the axe resting on his shoulder. He was now flanked by another two who had come down the ladder, both with a hand resting on the the grip of their swords. While not quite as bulky, and younger, they were both almost as tall and just as broad-shouldered.

"You have a good donkey," the man in the middle informed them in his heavily accented English, exchanging an amused glance with his fellow Northmen before he fixed them with a decidedly less amused stare.

"Stand, cowards."

On queue, the other two men drew and raised their swords. John realised how faint with fear he was as he rose, unsteady on his legs, and felt a wave of determination to school his features into something resembling bravery. If he was going to die, he wasn't going to die a coward.

"That's rich," he heard Roger mutter through gritted teeth, allowing Freddie to help him up, "Pointing swords at unarmed men and calling them cowards."

The English-speaking fellow's eyes zeroed in on him and narrowed. One of the fellows beside him muttered a question, but he simply raised a hand, silencing him, while he looked Roger up and down.

"I see... men," he snorted, "hide in horse piss, I name them cowards."

Roger glowered back at him but wisely kept his mouth shut, although John could feel the tension radiate from him. On his other side, Brian swayed and John quickly grabbed on to the taller man's arm. He looked even paler than usual, his eyes a little unfocused. Albus fluttered his wings on top of the magician's head, drawing the Northmen's attention for a moment. The two flanking their leader - John had decided he had to be their leader - exchanged words in their foreign tongue and chuckled.

"Ulf," one of them said, followed by a string of words John paid no attention to as he watched the man in the centre converse with the younger fellow. Even their names and their language sounded harsh and barbaric, John thought, just as Ulf turned back to them.

"Move your donkey," he said, lifting his axe off his shoulder and holding it half raised, "or I do."

John exchanged a quick glance with Roger and Freddie, who's eyes were full of helpless fury and absolute horror respectively. Tootsie may have been the only obstacle between them and the invaders, but John didn't think any of them doubted that the Nothmen would make short work of her if they did anything but obey. And then they might, probably would, proceed to kill them anyway. There seemed to be little point in putting up a fight when the odds were so highly stacked against them.

"S' alright, girl," Roger took a step forward, placing a hand on her back, his eyes on the Vikings. Tootsie turned to him, nuzzled his other hand. "It's alright," he murmured, urging her to the side, "off you go, come on you stubborn thing. Come on."

The donkey had to be persuaded to move aside, but eventually did as her master told her, positioning herself beside John and Brian instead with an unhappy huff.

Meanwhile, the Vikings were taking a greater interest in them, looking them up and down and scanning their belongings curiously.

"Dreper vi dem?" asked the younger fellow on the right, turning his sword over in his hand. Ulf seemed to mull the question over for a moment, staring at them with some some interest. John figured their little group had to be a strange sight. Freddie's exotic, dark complexion, Brian staring into space half-dazed with a dove on his head and Roger with his long, fair hair which had remained undone these last few days, hanging down limply in messy waves, matching theirs in length.

Only he was unremarkable, John thought, and grimly wondered if that might get him killed first.

"Nei." Ulf replied at last, now frowning at John's violin case, "Vi tar dem med til Brenna."

With that, he reached out and grabbed Roger, who stood closest, by the arm, yanking him forward and propelling him forward towards the ladder.

"Careful, he's hurt!" Freddie exclaimed and lurched forward, eyes wide, even as Roger stumbled with a pained groan, catching himself with one knee on the ground and one arm wrapped around his chest.

The Viking took that opportunity to wrap his large hand around Freddie's arm as well and all but threw him after Roger, unbothered by the protest.

"Darling-," John heard Freddie whisper, followed by muffled words he couldn't make out, as the raven-haired man lay an arm around his lover's shoulders, casting a frightened look back at the men who now surrounded them, their swords threatening and sharp.

"Up!" their English-speaking captor bellowed, pointing up to the hatch with his axe, and turned to Brian and John, nodding at them to follow.

John knew he was terrified because his heart was thumping wildly and his throat was tight, but he couldn't quite feel it anymore. He just felt numb and almost as though maybe all of this was only a bad dream. On instinct, he made a move to crouch down and pick up his violin case, unwilling to leave his dearest possession behind.

"No." Ulf immediately barked, glaring at him, and John resigned himself to his fate and followed Brian, who was already walking towards the ladder.

Even though the sky was overcast outside, the sunlight was painfully blinding after almost an entire day spent below deck. At the very least the fresh air was a relief. John couldn't make out anything at first, jostled along between his friends and their captors, rough, strong hands pushing and pulling him. He could hear Roger's strained breathing in front of him. The mocking voices of the Northmen and their harsh language rang in his ears. When his eyes finally adjusted, John was momentarily stunned by the sight he was presented with. They were being lead to the side of the ship, where long, broad wooden planks had been extended from another, taller ship beside them. Turning his head to take in the size of it, John saw what looked like an intricately carved dragon's head rising and falling with the waves. And beyond that, there was ocean. Just water, as far as the eye could see. The incredible vastness of it sent a shiver down John's spine as he found himself captivated by it so much so that he momentarily forgot he was being lead to his death. When he remembered, it was with a bitter-sweet ache in his heart.

For this to be one of the last things his eyes would behold. At least, by the grace of God, he had that.

At least that.

- - -

The deck was stained with blood. Brian noticed, perhaps because keeping his eyes on his feet, just focusing on putting one foot in front of the other, was all he could do to keep himself upright. It felt as if sleep was still clinging on to him, trying to drag him under. He didn't think he had ever felt so tired in all his life. At least the headache which had plagued him for days now had finally cleared up. Instead, he felt strangely dizzy, quite as if he was in a noisy marketplace, surrounded by too many colours, smells, sounds. All of it too much. The air was too salty, the voices of the men surrounding them too brash.

He barely remembered what had happened last night. It seemed a little like a vivid dream, but there was Roger, in front of Freddie, holding his ribcage and drawing short, sharp breaths, but even so, he wasn't dying. Brian knew that with certainty, although he wasn't quite sure how. Had he really done it? Had he managed to stave off the disease which had been eating away at his friend? Brian wondered briefly, almost in passing, because the next moment his eyes fell on the dead bodies whose blood had been spilled on the wooden boards they walked on. A chill ran down his spine.

What fate awaited them now? Death or captivity? He wasn't sure which option was preferable, given the look of their captors.

They were lead across the unsteady wooden planks aboard the Northmen's ship, dark waves far below them. Roger first, followed by Freddie. The raven-haired man took one step forward and made a soft, little despairing noise, unsteady on his feet, hands looking for something to hold on to in vain. Without thinking, Brian reached out and caught one of his hands in his as soon as he, too, had stepped up onto the plank. Freddie stilled for the briefest moment, surprised but not daring to turn around and risk losing his balance. And then his fingers tightened around Brian's in a vice-like grip, and like an utter lunatic, amidst all this, even in the face of death, Brian squeezed back and felt his heart give a little jolt. What a miserable fool he was.

Roger tried to climb off carefully once he reached the end of the plank, but was evidently moving too slowly for their captors' taste. Ulf, who had crossed first, seized his arm and yanked him forward, and the young man cried out, stumbling with his arms wrapped around himself. The blessing of the drink the innkeeper's wife had gifted them yesterday morning had long worn off and he was left with nothing to take the edge off the pain. Brian winced, even as Freddie overcame his own terror of the unsteady planks and the water below and let go of his hand, rushing forward to jump off the plank and wrap his arms around Roger protectively. Although he quickly let go when it looked as though they might be pulled apart, clearly not wanting to risk Roger being manhandled any more. In the end, Ulf simply gave them all a shove, in turn, to propel them forward. Albus flapped his wings and chose that moment to take off, soaring up into the air. Brian looked up, watching his feathered friend make for one of the masts. The men around him scoffed and spoke between each other, also looking up and then eyeing him curiously. Brian paid them no mind. If they had expected a reaction, they did not get it. Albus was safer up there than he could be with him, Brian thought and lowered his eyes to the ground again, wondering if that was goodbye.

They were stopped, facing a door which lead to the lower deck.

"Knees," barked Ulf.

Brian was taken off-guard by a strong hand around his arm, pulling him down. His knees crashed into the deck hard even as his friends were subjected to a similar treatment beside him until they all knelt shoulder to shoulder. Ulf shouted something at the other men and a handful stood guard over them, some of them with their weapons drawn, while he disappeared behind the door leading into the ship. Brian couldn't help but wonder if it was execution they were awaiting, although judging by the corpses on the other ship, that seemed an act too civilised for these barbarians. He glanced to his right, at John, pale-faced and looking so painfully young in spite of, or perhaps even more so because of, the shadow of facial hair on his upper lip, sparse as it was. None of them had had a chance to shave in days, but it didn't show much in the boy's case. Brian fervently wished that they had denied him that first night, when he had begged them to take him along. He could have been safe, right now. Safe and sound in a warm bed.
Perhaps becoming aware of Brian's eyes on him, John turned his head slightly and met his gaze. Brian realised that despite everything they had been through, he hadn't seen John look scared before. Not until now. It was almost as if he was looking for comfort, but Brian could give him none.
The boy's eyes left his and wandered over to Freddie. Brian turned to look, catching a glimpse of unruly black curls, half concealing the other man's face, his head bowed in defeat, pink lips trembling. A movement further down caught Brian's eye. Roger had taken Freddie's hand, their fingers tightly intertwined. Brian quickly looked away, but even as he did, cold trembling fingers brushed against the back of his hand. Searching. Eyes wandering back to Freddie's briefly, Brian found himself taking that thin hand in his own once more. It was a drop of comfort in a sea of despair, but it was all they had left. Each other.

Perhaps he, too, had comfort to give after all. Frowning down at the wooden planks they knelt on, Brian reached for John's hand and clutched it in his tightly. Not alone. He could hear John's shuddering intake of breath just as the door in front of them swung open.

Ulf returned, but it wasn't just him. Brian could hear his voice and see his boots approach without looking up, as well as those of the person walking beside him. The other men around them fell silent in the presence of - Brian could only assume - the captain of the ship. It had to be. Given his intimidating appearance, Brian had wrongly assumed that Ulf must be their leader. If he was not, Brian did not want to look up and find out what beast of a man-

"And what do we have here?"

Four heads jerked up, all but simultaneously, in sheer surprise. Staring down at them, decked out in leather and fur like the rest of them, fair hair of a reddish hue contained in a long braid, was-

A woman. She stood tall and proud, hands on her hips. Her piercing, ice-blue eyes bored into them. Even though there were lines on her face which betrayed her years, she had an ageless beauty Brian had rarely seen, and in truth he couldn't have said quite how old she was just by looking at her. But the most astonishing thing of all - quite aside from the fact that she evidently commanded the men's respect - was that she had just spoken to them in near perfect English. Brian blinked, and remembered to close his mouth.

"Stowaways," she said, and nodded at someone behind them. Two men approached and carelessly threw their belongings down in front of them. John winced at the way his violin case clattered to the ground. "Are you running from justice? What was your crime? Speak!"

"Crime," scoffed Roger, his voice strained, but with an edge to it which Brian knew too well. 'No,' he thought, 'no, please, you'll only make it worse.' But it was clear, when the younger man continued, that he did not think he had anything left to lose. "Running from unjust laws dreamt up by fickle men who only serve themselves. Oh, sure, of that we're guilty! Just like every other honest man who's ever dared to be his own lord and master."

"Is that so?" Her eyes snapped to him, and she drew a breath, opening her mouth to speak, but then her expression changed. She tilted her head, staring at him quite as if he was the strangest, most unlikely thing she had ever beheld. It prompted everyone else to turn and look at him, too, including the three of them. He gave them a quick glance before his wary eyes returned to her as she approached him and lowered herself down on one knee in front of him, leaning in closer.

"Hvordan...?" she whispered, eyes narrowed with a mixture of disbelief and something Brian couldn't make sense of.

"What?" Roger blinked back at her.

She shook her head with a frown, eyeing his face from all sides.

"What... what is your name?" she finally asked, her voice no longer harsh, but astonished.

"Roger," said Roger.

Her frown deepened, mouth slightly agape. "Rothgar," she uttered.

"...Roger." repeated Roger, brows furrowed, their expressions now almost eerily identical.

The woman drew back and rose to her feet, still staring at him as she retreated a few steps.

"Brenna? Hva er galt?" Just like all of them, Ulf was looking back and forth between her and Roger.

"Bring him inside," she replied, and seemed to check herself, voice growing stronger as she tore her eyes away from Roger and looked up at her men. She pointed to him and then made a sweeping, dismissive sort of gesture towards the rest of them, shouting orders in her native tongue. Brian did not like the look of that gesture one bit, especially when out of the corner of his eye he could see a sword slowly being raised. Meanwhile, two of the men standing closest to Roger pulled him up and his eyes snapped to Brian, Freddie and John, panicked.

"No! No, please-" he turned to the woman, uselessly struggling against the hold the two Northmen had on him, "What about them? What happens to them?!"

There was no response as the woman was no longer looking at him, her eyes instead fixed in the horizon, her face hard and unreadable. Brian looked on as they dragged Roger towards the door, Freddie's quiet sobs in his ear, his fingers tight around Brian's left hand just as John's were around his right, the sound of another sword being unsheathed behind them. A grim sort of acceptance replaced fear and panic inside him. Brian blinked up at Roger tiredly. The salty wind whipped the younger man's hair around his face as he tried to pull free. 'Stop,' Brian thought, 'it's no use, this time. You can't keep saving my life.'

"NO! PLEASE!" Roger yelled, and his voice broke. "YOU CAN'T! THEY'RE MY FAMILY!"

The wind carried his words away and Brian closed his eyes, drawing his last breath, of that he was certain.

- - -

"VENT!"

Everything stopped. Roger felt his breath catch in his throat and stopped struggling, looking back and forth between his friends, the men behind them, swords at the ready, and the woman with the piercing blue eyes who had turned to him once more. Everyone else had stopped, too, looking to her at the side of the ship, one hand on the taffrail.

"Vent," she repeated, not taking her eyes off him, and crossed over to him with fast strides. Her searching gaze bored into him.

"Family?" she uttered.

"Yes," breathed Roger, casting a quick glance towards his friends, eyes desperate and pleading. He could feel the cold sweat all over his face and chest in the cool wind, all pain momentarily forgotten in the face of utter terror, the realisation that he would have to bare witness to their death. "I beg you-"

His voice was no longer cooperating and he swallowed, blinking against a sheen of tears. The woman turned away, fists balled at her sides, and jerked her head in the direction of Freddie and the others, shouting something in her native tongue. The man who's name was Ulf, who had stood by, watching the whole thing unfold, crossed over to her and also shouted something, gesturing at Roger. Was she sparing them? Oh god, could it be? Roger watched her grab the large man by the fur lining of his garb, as if he wasn't easily a head taller than her, and hiss something back at him. Ulf frowned and gave a curt nod, waving at his men, who sheathed their swords and pulled Freddie and the others up to their feet. Roger didn't know what in the world was going on, but dared to breathe a sigh of relief, immediately hopeful that by some miracle they might yet live.

Rope was fetched to tie their hands in front of their bodies and then they were being lead down into the belly of the ship, Roger ahead of the others, peering over his shoulder, although he couldn't see much with the tall Northmen in the way. However, when he heard Freddie call his name weakly he realised they were being separated and tried to whirl around, catching a glimpse of him between Ulf, who was now pulling him along, and the woman walking behind him.

"Freddie-" he gasped.

"Roger!"

"They won't be harmed," she told him bruskly, and the next moment he was pushed through a door and found himself alone with her and Ulf, the door falling shut behind him. There wasn't much in the room. A wooden bed dressed with linen and furs, a table with a couple of oil lamps and an array of things he didn't have time to take a closer look at as the woman stepped in front of it, crossing her arms in front of her chest. She frowned at him for a moment, and then pointedly looked at Ulf, raising her eyebrows. The large man hesitated, glancing down at Roger, but then released his iron grip on his arm and uttered something in their foreign tongue before he stepped outside. Roger glanced over his shoulder, watching the door close, and turned back to her, drawing a deep breath. His ribs immediately protested and he winced, biting back a groan.

"Are you hurt?" she asked, sounding curious rather than concerned. The way she was looking him up and down, leaning back against the table, her expression unreadable. It was most unnerving.

"I've been better," he replied, widening his stance a little to keep his footing solid as the ship moved beneath them. "Why... why am I here?"

'What do you want? Why do you look at me like that? Where are the others? What will you do to them? What will you do with me? Why are we still alive?' A dozen questions whirled through his head, one chasing the next.

"That is what I am asking myself," she replied, in a way that was as guarded as it seemed oddly sincere. "My name is Brenna."

She paused, for a moment, almost as if this should mean something to him, and then lowered her eyes when he said nothing, a crease between her brows.

"You must wonder why I speak your language."

In all honesty, between thinking they were all going to be killed and pleading for the others' life, Roger hadn't really got that far.

"My mother," she informed him, "was an English woman."

"Oh," said Roger, not entirely sure what, if anything, he was meant to reply to that.

"She taught us," Brenna continued, and looked back up at him, "Me and my older sister." Her eyes narrowed again, inspecting every feature on his face so closely as though she was looking for something. "Freja was her name. My sister. She was small, but strong. And beautiful, like our mother..." She took a step closer as she continued to speak. "She died a little more than twenty years ago. When I was thirteen years old."

Brenna dropped her arms by her sides and turned her head aside, although she wasn't really looking at something in particular. Just remembering, Roger thought.

"She was killed, like the rest of my family," she said, and even though Roger didn't have any idea why he was being told this, he listened carefully. "It was a trap. A feast, in the town we had conquered together, hand in hand with the men sent by the King of the Northern Isles. Peace between our kingdom and theirs, at last." Shaking her head, she slowly turned back to Roger. "There was no peace. They spilled our blood and burned us all... Almost... almost all." Her gaze fell to her hand, and for the first time, Roger noticed that it was badly scarred. Brenna drew a breath. "My sister was seventeen. She had been married that year, and gave birth to healthy, strong boy. I remember holding him, at the feast. Before they came for us..." Brenna shook her head, gazing at the ties around Roger's wrists. "She named him..." Her eyes slowly travelled up and met his, pale blue on pale blue. "She named him Rothgar."

Brenna stepped closer, until they were all but chest to chest. And in that moment, for reasons he couldn't quite explain, Roger no longer felt scared of her.

"Now tell me," she uttered, "Why do you have my sister's face?"

- - -

Chapter Text

Roger had not often looked upon his own face. Mirrors were not for vagabonds like him, after all. But he knew well enough what he looked like. And he knew well enough that the powerful woman in front of him had eyes the exact same colour as his. That she had the same skin tone.

“I… I don’t know?” He answered, lowering his eyes as hers continued to trace every feature of his face. The ship rocked from side to side, and he dug his heels into the floor to keep his balance.

She scoffed. “Who is your mother? Your father?”

Roger winced. He tried to not think of them if he could avoid it. “My mother and father are dead. They…”

He paused. Remembered his father’s face, red with anger and so unlike his own. You useless boy! Don’t you understand how to do just one simple thing? If only you were my own, then I wouldn’t be stuck with such a failure. He swallowed, thought back. You are no son of mine…

Holy shit.

“I. They found me.” He whispered. He felt cold. Dizzy. What was going on? “My mother found me as a babe. She said she’d found me in the woods, abandoned.”

“Abandoned!” Brenna roared, shoving him away with one hand on his chest.

Roger stumbled back, gritting his teeth. Tears sprung to his eyes and he tugged at his bindings, subconsciously trying to cradle his ribcage.

“How dare she? If she wasn’t already dead I’d slay that wench myself!”

The pain was set aside for immediate, burning anger. “Take that back.” Roger growled, stepping right back into her space. “Don’t you call her that.”

Brenna looked shocked at his impudence. For a second it looked as if she was going to draw her sword and kill him on the spot, but then she shook her head.

“I’ll call her what I damn well please, whelp. My sister would have never abandoned her child. And she didn’t. She was murdered. Slaughtered. She died so that you could live.” The hard look in her eyes softened and she lifted her hand to stroke her fingers over Roger’s cheek. “Because it is you. I am certain of it. You are my sister’s lost son. Rothgar.”

Roger stared at her. “It’s Roger.”

Brenna shook her head. “Rothgar.”

“It’s not… I don’t believe it.” Roger pulled back from her touch, feeling like the room was spinning around him. Just minutes ago he had been sure all his friends would die, and now this crazy viking lady was telling him she was his aunt. That he was… one of them. Not possible. “You’re confusing me with…”

“No.” The hint of a smile curled her thin lips. She put her hands on her hips. “I’m not confusing anything. You have her temper, you have her foolishness. You are brave but reckless. And you look just like her.” She grimaced. “It is like talking to her spirit. Most unpleasant.”

“I still don’t…”

Brenna sighed. “Where did you grow up, boy?”

“Lindenhill. It’s a small town, close to Dumfries.”

“I’ve heard of Dumfries. It’s not far from the west coast, where the feast took place.” She nodded. “It is as I say. You are my nephew, Rothgar. The great gods and destiny have brought us together. They saw my dire situation and sent you my way.” She walked past him to the door, opened it and stuck her head out.

“Ulf! Skaff deg vann og mat!” She yelled.

There was an answering holler from further up and she slammed the door shut. She went to Roger again, pulled her knife and quickly cut off his bindings, looking most pleased with herself. “I will show you pictures of your real mother when we arrive. Then you will know that I speak the truth.”

Roger rubbed his wrists, thinking hard. He didn’t particularly want to get caught up in all this, whatever this was. He’d gladly be left on his own with Freddie, Brian and John. Not suddenly become involved with the most blood-thirsty, cruel raiders he’d ever heard about. But, this woman had spared their lives. And he’d be a fool not to play along. Even if he still didn’t believe he was who she claimed.

He was just Roger. A farmhand. A fairly strong, fairly capable lad. Good face. Good with animals. He’d never been anything special. The most special thing about him was Freddie.

Freddie.

Brian. John.

He had to make sure to protect the others.

Roger cleared his throat. “I will go with you and do as you say. If you promise to not touch a hair on my friends. All three of them are to be kept safe and unharmed. They are to be fed and taken care of. Do you hear?” He did his best to keep his voice steady and strong. “If any of them come to harm I’ll fling myself overboard first chance I get and all your destiny will have brought you will be a dead man on the bottom of the ocean.”

She smiled, showing teeth. “As you wish, sister son. Your friends will be treated as our guests.”

“And the animals!” Roger continued. “The donkey and the white dove. Same goes for them.”

Brenna raised her thin eyebrows. “White dove?”

“Promise me.”

He stared into her eyes, ice blue on ice blue.

“I promise.” Brenna looked him over, a frown appearing between her eyebrows. “But as soon as we get back home you’re taking a bath. You look and smell more like a filthy slave than the heir of the kingdom.”

Roger froze, his heart skipping a beat. “The heir of what now?”

“The Kingdom of Mann and the Isles. That is where we’re going.” She threw her long braid over her shoulder and stood in front of him, tall and proud. “I am Brenna, daughter of Bjørn the Ruthless, Queen of the the Kingdom of Mann and the Isles.” Her eyes sparkled at him. “And you, Rothgar, are my heir.”

- - -

Freddie was shaking. He was huddled up in the far corner of the room they had been thrown into, together with their meagre belongings. Brian sat next to him, head resting back against the wooden side of the ship, eyes closed. John wondered if he was sleeping.

They were in some kind of storage room, filled with barrels and sacks full of different grains. Just a minute ago a viking had come into the room. Freddie and John had frozen stiff with fear, afraid that their judgement and execution had only been delayed. But the viking had ignored them, gathered his arms full of bread, meat and cheese, and then left them alone again.

John was terrified, but also very confused. Why had they been spared? Why had the viking leader taken Roger?

Freddie gave a weak whimper and stuck his head between his knees, breathing irregularly.

“Freddie.” John croaked, then cleared his throat. “Hey, shh.” He awkwardly tried to soothe the older man.

Freddie only sobbed harder.

John managed to get on his knees in the rocking ship, and carefully moved over to Freddie, his hands still tied in front of him. “I’m here.” He murmured, sitting down just in front of Freddie and running his fingers over the back of Freddie’s hand.

“I’m sorry.” Freddie choked out, and finally looked up at him.

John frowned at the bottomless horror and darkness he saw in Freddie’s wide eyes. “What? Why?”

“I’m… I’m so useless.” The dark-haired man lifted his arm to his face, wiping away tears and snot. “I lost him again. It’s my fault. Everything is always my fault.”

John shook his head slowly. “Hey, no. No, that’s not true.” He desperately wished Brian would wake up. He felt way out of his depth here. “They’re vikings, Fred. There’s nothing we can do against those monsters. We were just… unlucky.”

Freddie snorted uglily, but there was almost something resembling a smile on his face when he looked back at John. “That’s somewhat of an understatement, don’t you think?”

John grinned at him, shrugged.

Freddie looked like as if he was going to say something more but closed his mouth and stiffened, eyes moving from John’s face and to the door, his gaze wary. John heard it, too.

Heavy footsteps, once again coming their way.

The door was slammed open and in marched not only Ulf, but also one of the younger vikings they had met earlier back at the transport ship.

“Get up.” Ulf said.

Freddie and John gingerly got to their feet, keeping close to each other. Brian still sat sleeping against the wall, blissfully unaware of what was going on.

“Brian…” Freddie started but Ulf had already walked over to Brian, bending at the waist and glaring down at him.

“WAKE UP, BIRDHEAD.” Ulf roared right in Brian’s face, making the magician startle awake with a gasp. He jumped when he saw the viking’s face so close and unfortunately managed to bash his forehead into the huge man’s chin.

Ulf took a step back, voice loud and furious as he rubbed at his chin.

“For bøddelen! Satan!”

Freddie, John and Brian didn’t dare to breathe. Was this it? Were they going to die?

The other viking carefully kept his face in a neutral mask, but John saw the corner of his lips tremble as he tried hard not to laugh.

“Miserable, puny Brits!” Ulf glared at them, expression thunderous.

“I’m sorry…” Brian mumbled.

“Be quiet!” Ulf roared, making the three of them, plus the younger viking, jump. “You’re bloody lucky your friend has bewitched our leader. If it was up to me I’d have gutted you, pulled your guts out and strangled you with them.”

John almost peed himself. He was very glad this sadistic bastard was not in charge.

“But,” Ulf muttered, looking most disappointed. “it’s not up to me. And we’ve been ordered to not hurt you.” He turned to the younger viking. “Rune. La dem gå og gi dem noe å spise.”

Rune took his knife from his belt and advanced on them.

“You said you wouldn’t hurt us.” John said, voice trembling. He tried to move even closer to Freddie as the viking came up to him first.

“Stå stille.” Rune muttered, grabbed John’s hands and quickly cut off the rope around them.

As soon as John was free, he made quick work of also Brian’s and Freddie’s bindings.

Next, the young viking went to take some loaves of bread and cheese from a basket on top of one of the barrels, as well a full waterskin. He returned to them and dumped the food and water in John’s arms.

John gaped at him. So did Freddie and Brian. What on earth had Roger done?

Ulf was still glaring at them. “Aren’t you hungry?”

John nodded hesitantly, and lifted the waterskin to his mouth, opening it and taking a large gulp of water. The liquid was lukewarm, and tasted like it had been stored for a bit too long, but it was still one of the best things John had ever tasted. He hadn’t even noticed how parched he was, what with all this going on.

The vikings were standing in front of the door, watching them. The younger one turned to Ulf.

“Hva gjør Brenna? Hvorfor gir vi maten vår til disse karene?”

Ulf shook his head, looking tired. “Hun har det i hodet at den lyse er Rothgar, Frejas gutt.”

“Hva?” Rune looked surprised, then snickered. “Hvorfor ikke. Han ser ut som en søt jente. Men litt for hårete og skitten for min smak.”

There it was again. Rothgar. Did they mean Roger? John removed the waterskin from his lips and gave it to Brian, who started drinking eagerly.

“Are you talking about our friend? About Roger? What are you doing with him?”

Ulf looked at him for a long moment, mouth set in a firm line. “Don’t you worry about that, little one. You have bigger concerns.” He grinned at them. “We’re having a feast tonight. To celebrate the return of the queen. You three have been invited as her guests.” His dark blue eyes glittered dangerously. “Let’s see if you’ll survive the night.”

John swallowed. Freddie took a shaky breath and placed a hand on John’s shoulder. If it was to support John or himself, John had no idea.

“What kinds of folk are you anyway?” Ulf asked, looking curious now, his eyes moving from John to Brian. “You’re a strange pack.” His gaze continued to Freddie, whom he looked at for a long time, until Freddie started shifting nervously. “I’ve never seen a man like you. You’re not from here, are you?”

Freddie’s fingers tightened on John’s shoulder. “No.” He whispered.

“We’re musicians.” John said, taking a step to the side, to plant himself firmly in front of Freddie. He gestured to his violin case which had been thrown upside down on the middle of the floor, “I play the fiddle. Freddie sings and Brian plays the lute.” He met Ulf’s eyes and urged himself to be brave. Brave like Roger. “We’re very good.”

Ulf looked slightly taken aback, before he smiled broadly and clapped his huge hands together. “Musiker!” He cheered, both he and Rune looking excited.

“That’s great.” He exclaimed, throwing his arms out. “Then you can entertain at the feast. We just lost our last English fiddler, you see. Brenna didn’t approve of one of his songs and fed him to the dogs.” He laughed heartily, the loud rumbling shaking the entire room.

“We’ll come get you when we’ve arrived. Enjoy your food!” With that he turned and walked back out, Rune shooting them one last curious look, before following behind the larger man.

The door was shut behind them.

John, Freddie and Brian stood staring after them, John still with an armful of bread and cheese. One second passed, two. Then Freddie threw himself to the side and vomited.

- - -

It took some time for the vikings to come get Freddie and the others, after the ship had berthed at the docks. It seemed for for awhile that they had completely forgotten about the three in the storage room.

Which would have been absolutely great (Freddie had no desire to spend any more time with these murderous barbarians) if Roger had been with them.

But he was not.

Freddie had no damn clue of what was happening and where his lover was. His lover who still was badly injured.

Freddie felt ashamed. He was supposed to be the oldest of the group, the unofficial leader, bringing first Roger then Brian with him, and now John. But he had just been so scared. This entire day had been horrible. From when the vikings found them hiding with the horses, until this very moment.

While it seemed like the vikings wouldn’t kill them at once, Freddie had no faith in that they would be kept alive for a long period of time. Whatever it was that Roger had done, it surely wouldn’t be able to save them in the long run.

He wished the younger man was with him. Wished desperately for his bravery and comfort.

Freddie needed him direly. This situation - the ship, the captivity, the fear, reminded him all too much of how he’d been brought to England, all those years ago.

More than an hour must had passed when Rune came to get them, together with another young man. The vikings let them gather their belongings, before pushing them out of the room, all the while talking to each other.

They looked similar, Freddie thought, maybe brothers. Both had strawberry blond long hair and beards and blue eyes. Rune’s hair was a bit longer and he was louder, more excited, while the other man was more careful, strands of his reddish hair blowing in the wind as they stepped outside. They were beautiful, Freddie found himself thinking. Tall and strong and full of life.

Brian, who had gotten some of his energy back after the food and water, gasped at his side, and Freddie took his eyes away from the vikings and looked over the side of the ship.

They had arrived at some kind of viking village. The dragonhead ship was berthed at the harbour, the village spreading out all over the cliffs in all directions. The houses were plenty and made of sturdy lumber. Freddie could see hundreds of people, armed vikings, women and children walking on the streets.

Next to them the transport ship had been pulled into the harbour, several men in the process of pulling the whinnying beasts out. Freddie hoped for a glance of Tootsie, but Rune and the other viking impatiently shoved them forward, making them jump over the side of the ship to the pier.

It was a small blessing to finally get off the ship. Freddie, Brian and John paused for awhile, while their new friends laughed and talked to a lass who’d come up to them.

“What the…” John muttered, looking around at the bustling town with fascination.

There was a happy coo and suddenly Albus came fluttering down from the mast of the ship, landing on Brian’s shoulder. The bird nuzzled against Brian’s neck and Freddie pretended to not notice how his friend’s eyes turned wet with tears.

Where was Roger in all this?

Rune was still flirting with the girl, but the other one looked bored and Freddie took a careful step in his direction.

“Excuse me.” He said weakly to the viking, who turned to him, a quizzical expression on his handsome face. “Where did you take our friend? Roger?”

The viking frowned for a second, before his eyes widened in understanding. “Rothgar.” He nodded. “Han er der oppe.” He gestured towards a large house, which lied high up on the hill, overlooking the town.

Then he shoved at Rune, argued with him for a minute, before they turned on their heel and started marching up the pier.

Freddie, Brian and John exchanged worried glances, before following the vikings.

- - -

Some time later, Freddie, Brian and John were sitting at the end of a long table, squeezed in next to a couple of large, boisterous vikings. They had been able to bathe themselves and had been offered fresh tunics and breeches before the feast. Freddie couldn’t remember when he’d last felt so clean.

Most of the vikings around them, either sitting at the long table or standing around in groups, talking loudly, didn’t seem interested in Freddie and the others at all. Which was very lucky.

Freddie sat in between Brian and John, Brian sitting at the very edge of the bench, Albus still on his shoulder, and poor John sitting right next to a tall viking.

The man was quieter than his peers, busying himself with chugging some kind of liquid from a hollow horn. John was stiff as a board next to him, not daring to move a muscle.

“Where is Roger?” Freddie muttered to Brian for the tenth time that night, nervously looking around at the vikings and chewing nervously at his nails. “Do you think he’s alright?”

Brian tried to move closer to Freddie as a pair of young men started pushing and yelling at each other right next to him. “I don’t know, Fred. I’ve told you so.”

“He’s probably still with Brenna.” John piped up, eyeing the large stacks of spareribs in front of him longingly.

“You know Brenna?” The man sitting next to John asked in a deep, smooth voice. John almost fell off the bench.

Brian answered him. “Yes. Ulf told us we’re here as her guests.”

“Did he?” The man sounded surprised, turning to look at them curiously. For some reason Freddie didn’t feel as terrified of this man as of the rest of this bunch. He also had long hair and a beard, in a dark brown colour, and was broad shouldered and muscular. But his grey eyes were kind and almost… sad. “Then I better introduce myself.” He raised the odd horn he was holding. “I am Arne, Brenna’s advisor.”

Freddie gaped at him for a moment before remembering his manners. “I’m Freddie.”

“My name is Brian.” Brian nodded to the man.

“John.” John muttered, eyeing the horn curiously.

The man smiled at them. “Why are you not drinking? This is a feast.”

Before any of them could answer, he turned to a passing slave and said something in his native tongue.

Not long after, Freddie, Brian and John all held a drinking horn each, filled with what must be alcohol.

“It’s mead.” Arne told them, before taking a large chug from his own horn.

They all tried it. The alcohol was strong and burned in Freddie’s throat, and tasted faintly of honey. Next to him John choked on his first swallow, coughing violently as Arne chuckled and slammed his back so hard John almost faceplanted into the table.

“I’ve never had alcohol before.” John admitted to Freddie, cheeks rosy, when he came back up to breathe.

Freddie was about to answer, when the racket in the room increased.

“Brenna!”

“Dronningen er her!”

Freddie and the others turned towards the table just in front of them, where the viking woman they’d met earlier at the ship had appeared. And next to her was...

“Freddie!”

The familiar voice was like a warm embrace.

Thank god.

Roger was alright. Better than alright, even. He’d also had a wash, his face clean and shaven and his long hair braided down his back. He was wearing the same kind of leather and fur as the vikings and his eyes shone with relief as he hurried around the front table to meet Freddie and the others.

Freddie got to his feet, fully aware that the vikings closest to them were watching with great interest but not caring.

Then, before Roger reached Freddie, one of the vikings who’d been in the middle of the brawl caught him by the arm and pulled him close, making Roger wince.

“Hvorfor så skynde seg, vennen?” the already drunk viking grinned widely, and Freddie helplessly watched as the man lifted one huge hand and stroked his thick fingers down Roger’s cheek. “Kom og sett sammen med meg.”

Roger struggled in the viking’s grip, gaze enraged as he opened his mouth to protest.

Then a sword cleaved the air between them, cleanly cutting off the hand that had just been caressing Freddie’s lover’s face.

Freddie stared, mouth gaping open, as the hand fell to the floor with a soft thud. The man screeched in pain and stumbled back, clutching at his bleeding stump.

Brenna flicked the blood off her sword, sheathed it and came up to stand next to Roger, who was staring at the severed hand by his feet, face pale.

The room was completely quiet now, except for the loud whining from the man who’d just lost his hand.

“Den neste grisen som legger hånden på niesen min,” Brenna roared, “vil ikke bare miste hånden, men pikken også. Forstått?”

The vikings grimaced worriedly, quickly agreeing with their leader.

“Dette er Rothgar!” She continued, waving at Roger, who most looked like he wanted to sink through the thick dirt floor. “Han er sønnen til Freja, og skjebnen har gitt ham tilbake til meg. Han er arvingen min og prinsen din. Respekter ham eller dø.”

The vikings cheered, the ones sitting getting to their feet. They lifted their drinking horns and stomped on the floor. “Rothgar! “ They hollered.

Brenna gave Roger a not too gentle nudge and Roger smiled weakly, waving at the vikings, who cheered louder.

Freddie was still standing half on his way to Roger, but Brenna grabbed Roger by the arm and dragged him with her to sit by the front table, where also Ulf and a few other vikings sat. Roger glanced at Freddie and the others over his shoulder, looking about as confused as Freddie felt.

Dumbfounded, Freddie returned to his seat. The room had returned to its earlier cheerful state, the vikings laughing and singing. The poor handless bastard had disappeared, his hand still left on the floor, only a meter or so from Brian’s foot.

Arne was sitting, shoulders tense, staring down at the table with a haunted look in his eyes. “Freja.” He muttered to himself, and clutched his drink so tightly in his large fist the horn creaked.

“This stuff is great!” John garbled around a mouthful of meat, gesturing at the mead with his half eaten sparerib.

Brian looked ready to faint, slightly green in the face. Freddie gave him a shaky pat on the thigh as he sat down next to him.

“Also!” John continued, flushing down the food with a large gulp of mead. “It seems like Roger is a viking prince!”

Freddie closed his eyes for a second, trying to make sense of a single thing of this and failing. “It would seem that way.” He groaned, lifted his own drinking horn and drank.

- - -

“Bloody hell!” Roger half groaned, half giggled as he crashed into the bed next to Freddie, only to immediately hiss and clutch his torso.

“Careful!” Freddie giggled, turning his head to watch Roger. “And hush!”

He was pleasantly drunk, both on alcohol and relief, and on the feel of Roger’s body against his own.

The events of the night kept spinning around in his head, but they were distant, and now when he was safe, warm, full and drunk, mostly amusing.

Freddie, Brian and John had eaten and drunk heartily. John had gotten drunk quickly, and had grabbed his fiddle, standing up on the bench and playing such a fun, energetic jig that all but a few of the vikings in the room had gotten up to dance. Freddie had danced, too, with beautiful lasses as well as with the red-blond young viking he’d met earlier.

Halfway through the festivities Roger had joined them at their table, after a heated argument with the protective viking queen, which had been fascinating to watch, because of how alike the two of them were. Arne had gotten up as soon as Roger had arrived, and removed himself, but Freddie hadn’t thought much of that.

They’d had a blast, the four of them, singing and drinking, finally together again. Even Brian had been in good spirits, after a slave had eventually gotten rid of the severed hand.

As the night came to a close, vikings wandering off to sleep or to fuck, Roger had managed to convince Brenna to let Freddie and the others sleep in his room, instead of in the stables, as was the plan.

A second bed had been brought into the room and put against the other wall. Brian and John had gone to sleep in it, a bit before Freddie and Roger turned in for the night, since they had gotten distracted by each other at the privy, Roger pushing Freddie up against the wall to the stables to kiss him heatedly.

Eventually the putrid smell had gotten to be too much, and they had returned to Roger’s room.

Freddie glanced over at the other bed, finding Brian and John still deeply asleep, side to side. The crackling fire in the hearth between the two beds bathed their faces in warm light.

Freddie smiled.

“What is it?” Roger mumbled, his fingers stroking lightly up Freddie’s underarm.

Freddie turned to look at him and felt his heart skip a beat in his chest. His lover was laying on his back, looking up at him from beneath thick, dark lashes. The fire light played over his fair skin and coloured his hair molten gold.

Powerless to resist, Freddie leant down over him, pressing his lips to Roger’s.

Roger sighed happily, his hand trailing from Freddie’s arm up to his hair, tangling lightly in his messy locks. His other hand went up to cradle Freddie’s jaw, fingers rubbing lightly over the scruff there.

“You didn’t shave.” Roger breathed against his lips when Freddie pulled back a bit.

Freddie shrugged, shot another quick glance at Brian and John to make sure they were still asleep, and carefully got on top of Roger, straddling his hips. “They didn’t exactly give me opportunity to.” He said sarcastically, fingers finding the lacings of Roger’s tunic and quickly working them open. “But, if their prince was to order it, well, that would be another matter entirely.”

“Oh, shush.” Roger languidly rocked his hips up against Freddie. “Please don’t talk about that right now.” He rubbed his thumb over first Freddie’s chin and then his bottom lip. “Besides, I like it.”

“Mm?” Freddie hummed, pressing a kiss to Roger’s thumb. He ground down against the hardness in Roger’s breeches, feeling almost giddy with it when his lover’s eyes fluttered shut and he gasped.

Finished with unlacing Roger’s tunic, he spread it to the sides, gaze immediately falling to the fresh bandages wrapped around his ribcage. “Does it hurt?” He whispered, running his fingers lightly over Roger’s chest.

“Yes.” Roger snorted, his lovely eyes half lidded as he looked up at Freddie. “But it’s not so bad. Not right now.” He winked.

Freddie shook his head, brushing his thumb over Roger’s nipple, making Roger slightly arch up against him.

“You have to stay still, dearie.” Freddie admonished him, leaning down over him, holding himself up on one hand next to Roger’s head, careful to not put any pressure on his lover’s chest.

Roger nodded and eagerly captured Freddie’s lips with his when he got close enough. Freddie whimpered low in his throat when Roger carefully ground up against him again, his hands tight in Freddie’s hair as he practically devoured him.

The blond thrust his tongue eagerly into Freddie’s mouth, exploring him and tasting him as if Freddie was the single most amazing thing on this grey earth. Freddie tilted his head slightly, slotting his mouth neater against Roger’s and sucking filthily on his tongue.

Pure heat was spreading through his stomach, his cock hardening in his underclothes. It had been way too long.

Any thoughts of vikings, the future, Brian and John still being in the room, escaped him as he rolled his hips down on Roger and kissed him for all he was worth.

“God, Freddie,” Roger groaned, head falling back when Freddie pulled back from the kiss. “I want you so bad.”

Freddie pressed another bruising kiss against those swollen lips. “Me too, love. You promise to be quiet and stay still for me?”

Roger nodded, eyes dark as he clenched his fists in the soft linens.

Freddie flashed him a bright smile, before bending his head to trail kisses down Roger’s jaw, continuing down his neck, and pausing to press some feathery kisses to the skin above the bandages.

Roger whined quietly and lifted his hips up minutely, making Freddie muffle a chuckle against his clean skin. “Impatient.” He chided softly, before scooting further back on the bed, making quick work of Roger’s breeches and inching them down.

He nestled down between Roger’s legs, spreading his thighs open and gently working his lover’s breeches and underpants down his hips. Roger’s cock was already hard and swollen, curving up against his flat stomach and Freddie couldn’t suppress the moan escaping his lips as he took the other man’s shaft in his hand. He stroked the hot skin slowly, leaning down to flick his tongue over the blond’s belly button, taking great pleasure in how the muscles tensed and fluttered beneath his mouth.

Roger choked on his breath, overly sensitive after so long without any stimulation. The younger man grabbed the pillow from beneath his head and bit down on the corner of it, arching his hips up into Freddie’s touch.

Freddie slowly worked his way down Roger’s lower stomach, pausing to press his teeth to the smooth skin of his hip.

“Please, Fred.” Roger breathed, one hand letting go off the bed sheet to reach down and tug lightly at Freddie’s hair.

Freddie hummed, pressing a kiss to the mark he’d just created, and then promptly took Roger’s cock between his lips, sucking the tip inside his mouth.

- - -

Brian wanted to die.

Well. That might have been a tad dramatic.

Part of him was furious. How dare Freddie and Roger start doing those kinds of things when both he and John were not two meters away?

Part of him was jealous. It felt like a spear right through the heart, to see the man he loved intimately pleasuring someone else.

But, the absolutely largest part of him, the part that swallowed up all other thoughts until there was nothing but it left, was aroused.

He was so hard it hurt. John was between him and the others, but he could still see enough. Could see Freddie between Roger’s spread legs, his beautiful lips around the other man’s cock, moving up and down, his dark hair catching the firelight and falling gracefully over his sharp cheekbones. Roger had his head thrown back, his long braid falling down the side of the bed and his body arched in a gentle bow against Freddie.

They looked like a piece of art together. Like an extremely perverted and forbidden oil painting.

And the noises… The noises were driving him crazy.

Ashamed, cheeks burning, Brian found that his hand had somehow ended up just above his underpants. He really shouldn’t. it was wrong in about one hundred different ways.

Freddie moaned quietly from the other side of the room and Brian squeezed his eyes shut. His fingers dove into his underpants and wrapped around his cock.

Who cared if it was wrong, anymore? In the course of one single week, Brian had almost died several times, as had his friends, found out he had magical powers and had been captured by vikings. He deserved some much needed relief.

He stroked himself and bit down hard on his lip, eyes on the pair on the other bed.

No one would ever have to know...

Chapter Text

- - -

"You're a... a real bloody..." John slurred, eyes slightly unfocused, a wide grin on his face, as he shoved Roger's shoulder a bit too enthusiastically.

"Ahh-"

"Sorry," John hiccoughed and winced when Roger clutched his ribs. "Forgot."

Behind them, Tootsie's ears twitched a little as she gave a quiet huff. Leaning back against the donkey's warm flank, Roger just shook his head, taking a laboured breath and giving his friend a lop-sided smile. Pain was so much a part of his daily life at this point that he had all but grown accustomed to it.

The riding had been the worst, even though Brenna had been kind enough to travel slowly. Still, Roger was infinitely relieved that he wouldn't be getting on a horse the next morning, as he had done every day of the last week. His backside and thighs were almost as sore as his ribs.

"What was I saying?" murmured John, frowning to himself as he absently patted Tootsie with one hand. The younger man was endearingly inebriated, Roger thought, and took the drinking horn from him, gulping down a mouthful.

"Prince," he reminded John, before he knocked on his chest lightly with his fist, dislodging a very unprincely burp. "Heir to the throne. All that."

"Yes!" John laughed merrily and turned back to him, eyes gleaming in the dark. "So you're sure you really... really are-That's-"

He swiped the drinking horn back and gestured with it for lack of words. Some of the drink spilled into the straw on the ground between them.

"...crazy," John finally managed, head snapping back to the sky outside when another bolt of lightning illuminated the night. The storm front was approaching faster now. The wind was picking up, even though it did not yet carry rain.

"Yeah," said Roger, rubbing a hand over his cheek, rosy from the cold night air, "It's crazy."

John blew air out between his lips, scratching his head. "Well... Let's drink to it!" he proposed, and took another large gulp, as if he hadn't by all appearances been doing exactly that for the last few hours. As thunder rumbled in the distance, Roger took the drinking horn off the boy again and lifted it to his own lips to down the last few mouthfuls.

"He-ey..." John protested, trying to yank it back but only succeeding when it was too late. He looked positively heart-broken when he turned it over in his hands, only a few drops escaping and landing on his breeches. It was so comical that Roger couldn't help but chuckle.

"Nok," he said, smirking when John gave him a quizzical look. Whether he liked it or not, he had picked up a fair few words and expressions over the past week.

"You've had enough," Roger said softly, "Don't you think?"

John shrugged and stretched out one leg in front of him, the other one bent at the knee and pulled up to his chest with his elbow resting on top. Roger watched him intently for a moment or two. John had taken to the mead a bit too earnestly from the first night they had arrived, really. And it would seem that, if anything, he had only solidified his love for it while Roger had been gone.

Roger certainly hadn't expected to find John drinking by himself in the stables, with only Tootsie for company, when he had arrived back and accompanied the stable boys with the horses so he could quickly greet his dear donkey.
Roger glanced back over his shoulder at Tootsie, who was lying behind them and providing a backrest. He raised a hand and petted her coarse fur.

"S'getting late." he mumbled, and thought of Freddie, wondering if his lover had heard news of his arrival yet. It was late, so perhaps he had not. Roger hadn't meant to stay out here all this time, drinking with John. He had wanted to go straight to Freddie, but he'd been so tired, and the mead John had to offer had been so tempting. And then, John himself had proved to be such pleasant company after the long, agonising ride back to the settlement. It wasn't as if he'd had the time or the opportunity to talk to any of his friends, bar Freddie, since their arrival. Not with Brenna's grand plans for him. Roger lowered his eyes, frowning to himself.

The truth was that there was so much he had to tell Freddie, so much he didn't want to have to tell Freddie, because he knew the very same things John was drunkenly laughing about would distress Freddie. So perhaps he was just putting off the inevitable.

"So what're you going to do?" asked John suddenly, his voice closer than Roger had anticipated. He looked up and found the younger man facing him, leaning in slightly. Eyes curious, albeit a bit glassy and dulled by inebriation.

"I don't..." Roger said slowly, holding John's gaze, "I don't think I have a choice." And that was the terrifying truth. Roger thought about it, shook his head with a quiet snort. "It's ridiculous though, all of it. I'm nothing like a prince, I'm... I'm anything but!"

John stared at him for a long moment and then suddenly burst into laughter again, snickering so hard that he had to rest his forehead on Roger's shoulder.

"What?" Roger asked, amused and confused by his outburst. "What's so funny?"

"It's just," John was still trying to contain his laughter, "It's that-" he managed to get a hold of himself and raised his head back up, bringing them almost nose to nose. John blinked and pulled back a little, his smile fading. It was replaced with an expression Roger couldn't immediately make sense of as the younger man studied his face carefully. Something flashed, glinted, in John's gaze and Roger felt a little tingle of something that wasn't quite alarm, because it wasn't wholly unpleasant. But it made him slightly uncomfortable nonetheless.

"Um..."

"It's jus' that you look 'sactly like the princes in the books I've read," John slurred, his voice suddenly very earnest, "How I," he suppressed a hiccough, "always... imagined them." His eyes dropped to Roger's lips. "How I wanted to be..."

"John-" started Roger, a little warily, meaning to laugh off the awkwardness. It was all he had time to say.

- - -

Two weeks earlier...

John had fallen into a sound, peaceful sleep the moment he had closed his eyes, his head spinning with impressions of the evening, vivid and impossible and exciting. Once the feast had picked up, and once Roger had joined them and a gruesome death no longer seemed to be on the cards for them, relief had come in the form of sheer euphoria. Food had never tasted so good, the mead - which he had quickly acquired a taste for - had made his cheeks burn hot in a most pleasant way, and by the time he was up on his bench, playing the fiddle to everyone's delight, John could honestly say that he'd been having the best time of his life.

Or so it had felt, in that moment.

What roused him from his slumber wasn't so much the muffled noises and hushed voices, although he became aware of them soon enough, but the fact that he could feel the straw mattress moving ever so slightly. It was a faint, rhythmical movement. Still too sleep-drunk to make sense of anything other than the fact that he was now awake, John frowned and grunted quietly, shifting a little. The movement stopped. The noises did not.

"Ahh fuck... yeah..."

Blankets rustling and a soft giggle, over the sound of wood crackling in the hearth.

"Shhh..."

Laboured breathing, a quiet hum, a wet sort of sound, a sharp intake of breath.

Lying on his back, head turned to one side, John blearily blinked his eyes open and was greeted with an image that his mind refused to process, at first. It was in bits and pieces that he understood what he was seeing. Bare skin in the firelight. Roger, fingers clenched around the woollen bedlinen. Movement. A shock of black hair. Freddie's long fingers gracefully sliding across the younger man's hipbone before digging into the soft flesh at the side of his hip. Pink lips stretched around Roger's-

John's eyes momentarily went wide before he quickly squeezed them shut.

His first panicked thought, was that he did not, under any circumstances, want anyone to realise he was awake. And so he lay as still as possible, barely breathing, and listened. However, a vivid impression of the scene he had beheld swam before his inner eye and so not imagining what was happening was as impossible as not hearing it.

Roger's muffled whimpers and gasps, answered by Freddie's low moans in turn. John was immediately and vehemently certain of one thing. This was sin, pure sin. He might not have been sure what exactly it was that a man and a woman ought to be doing in their bedchamber together, but he was absolutely positive that two men, doing that- It was, well- It was simply not-

"Shit, I'm.. ah... ahhyeah..."

Unable to resist the temptation of morbid curiosity, John found himself squinting his eyes open and peering at them through his lashes. Watching the way Roger was biting his fist, face distorted in agonising delight. The way Freddie's head bobbed up and down on Roger's prick. Good Lord, it was as though he was swallowing him whole. John really wasn't sure if what he felt was horror, disgust or a sick sort of fascination. A shudder ran through him, an almost sickly, hot ache pooling in the pit of his stomach. Its tendrils ran all the way down to his groin, making everything feel tight and uncomfortable. He was familiar enough with the feeling, only whenever it overcame him, as sometimes it did, he had always done his utmost to pay it no mind and think of other things to make it pass. Because it made him want to reach down and touch himself, and John knew that wasn't something he should be doing. He had been reprimanded often enough, at bedtime, to always keep his hands above the covers like a good Christian boy and to not let the devil lead him into temptation. Temptation to do what, exactly, John wasn't really, entirely sure. But whatever it was, it was forbidden, or so he'd always been lead to believe. And so he had grown terrified of waking up in a soiled nightshirt, the times when it had happened, not sure how it had happened. Had he sinned? Done something wrong? Better not to dwell on it, better to turn his mind to the books he knew in and out when he felt that ache, that urge. But right now, thinking about anything but what was happening across the room from him was impossible. John bit down on the insides of his cheeks, determined not to move nor make a sound.

Roger's hand found Freddie's hair, fingers tangling in dark curls, his mouth open in a silent outcry as his body went tense and his hips rocked up to meet the other man's mouth. Beside him, John heard the faintest of gasps, almost a whimper, and felt the fur throw covering himself and Brian shift ever so slightly. The sense of panic returned when he realised that Brian was not asleep beside him either, and John closed his eyes tightly again, just waiting for it all to be over. Praying that neither Brian nor the other two would notice that he wasn't sleeping.

He heard bodies moving and hushed whispers from the other side of the room, only half of the words reaching his ears. Soft, affectionate murmurs, 'you' and 'love' and 'amazing'. When he carefully peeked through one barely open eye, John caught sight of Roger and Freddie kissing slowly and deeply, the raven-haired man lying on his side next to his lover, one leg draped over his hips. They looked strangely mesmerising like this, entangled in each other. 'Beautiful,' a small voice at the back of John's head whispered. Contrasting and complimenting each other like night and day, in perfect balance. Immediately the rest of him protested in outrage. How could he think such a thing? Desperate confusion joined the already tumultuous mix of thoughts and emotions within him, and still he looked on, watched them breath against each other's lips as Roger's hand trailed down between Freddie's legs and the raven-haired man made a sound that raised goosebumps all over John's body. Oh good God. There was no escaping the ache he felt. It was utterly unbearable. John shifted his hips just barely, the most minute movement, yet it made him even more keenly aware of how hard he was in the confines of the linen underclothes he had been given to sleep in. Not watching them did not help one jot. Whereas Roger had evidently been trying to keep quiet, Freddie seemed to have no such inclination. Breathy 'ah's and 'ohh's reached John's ears, intermixed with moaned words of pleasure.

"Mmhyes, ah, darling- ah-"

God, it was inescapable. John wished it would stop because he just didn't know what to do with himself. A dark thought flashed through his head, born of frustration and desperation, he imagine Freddie, imagined grabbing him by the hair and pushing himself into his mouth the way Roger had done, silencing him-

Much as his own thoughts shocked him, John felt his manhood twitch in response, his groin so tight it was agony. And then he became aware of it. The very movement which had first woken him up, faint and rhythmical, hurried, beside him. And this time his mind made sense of it immediately, because by God, he wanted to do the same so desperately.

Yes, John thought, with a dizzying mixture of disbelief, embarrassment and arousal, Brian likely believed John to be asleep and was most definitely touching himself. Doing the same to himself as Roger was currently doing to Freddie. Oh God. He could hear the other man's breathing growing laboured beside him, could hear him choke on small noises of pleasure he was determined not to let escape.

Freddie moaned, whined, and Roger shushed him, his voice a raspy whisper.

"Shhh, yeah, come on-"

"Oh god- please, don't stop-"

"Christ, Freddie, yeah... gonna fuck you so good when I'm better."

The moan Freddie gave in response was easily the filthiest sound John had ever heard. Beside him, Brian made an agonised, strangled noise. Meanwhile, John's mind ran wild with a whole host of questions and unbidden images. What? How- What?

Caught between the sounds coming from the bed across the room, which were growing more breathy and urgent, and Brian's subdued huffs at his side, a part of John began to question everything he had ever known about the world. About people. About himself.

Through his lashes, he watched the other two men kiss, and it almost looked as though they were devouring each other, Freddie's moans muffled against Roger's lips, the blond man's hand moving rapidly up and down on Freddie's exposed hard, flesh.

Maybe he didn't know right from wrong at all? How easy it would be to give in to temptation, the urge to just do it so strong John felt his hand move, all but of its own accord. Inching across his stomach toward his waistband.

Just then, there was a barely audible whimper beside him and he heard Brian hold his breath for several seconds, before the older man exhaled shakily and stilled. John froze again, looking on through his lashes as Freddie turned his face into the nook of Roger's neck and clung to him, his body tense. Then he seemed to melt against him, breathing rapidly, and Roger lifted an arm around him, stroking up and down his back, nuzzling the top of Freddie's head with his lips.

"Thank you, dearie," Freddie whispered through a smile, lifting his head up to kiss his lover on the lips.

John closed his eyes and didn't move, hoping that it wasn't somehow obvious just by looking at him how fast his heart was beating. Trying to breathe as quietly as he could through parted lips, still painfully hard, he listened to their carefree, quiet chuckles and whispers, the sound of movement, bedcovers rustling, yawns and contented hums. He really wasn't sure how much time had passed, but it wasn't very long before the only sounds coming from the other side of the room were faint, soft snores and deep, slow breathing. A minute or two more and Brian stirred.

John kept still. Very slowly and quietly, the other man climbed out of bed and left the room.

Exhaling a breath he didn't realise he had been holding, John allowed himself to move at long last. He shifted uncomfortably on the straw mattress, staring up at the dark ceiling. His head was full of unbidden images and the others' voices still rang in his ears, making him shiver anew again and again. He couldn't shake any of it, so vivid was it all in his mind. He was drowning in it all, felt paralysed by it. Worse still, his fantasy took flight and without meaning to, he envisioned slipping his tongue between Freddie's pillowy lips, envisioned the clear blue of Roger's eyes and his calloused fingers sliding past John's waistband, imagined raspy, soft laughter and melodic, breathy moans. Imagined what Brian might have looked like, beside him, touching himself.

By God.

He was going insane. Or straight to hell. John really wasn't sure anymore.

The door creaked and he quickly closed his eyes.

Brian returned to the bed and carefully lay back down beside him, curling up with his back to him. The part of John which had clearly gone mad wanted to roll over and embrace him, breathe in the scent of his hair and rock his hips against him.

Instead, as Brian's breathing grew calmer and deeper, John blinked his eyes open and lay staring into the darkness for a very, very long time yet.

- - -

It was an impressive breakfast spread. Fruit, bread and even mutton and cheese. Milk and fresh water. If only Brian had felt like eating.

Instead, he felt sick with shame and burning anger. So much so that it turned his stomach.

Because right across from him, there sat Freddie and Roger, laughing and chatting, not a care in the world. Feeding each other grapes, eyes only for each other, not even remotely aware of him and John.

Brian glared down at the knife in his hand and wanted to stab them.

Except, of course, he didn't. Because it wasn't their fault that he was so depraved. That he hadn't been able to control himself last night and now couldn't get the thought of them out of his mind. The sound of Freddie, moaning obscenely.

'Ah! Oh god, please, don't stop...'

Brian impaled a piece of apple with his knife and put it in his mouth, chewing on it grimly. Vikings shouting to each other around him and Freddie's melodious laughter across from him.

He could barely even bring himself to look up at them.

And it was their fault, he thought. How dare they? How dare they, when he and John had been right there at the other side of the room.

At the thought of John, Brian's eyes wandered over to the young man sitting beside him. Head bowed over his plate, he sat very stiffly and was slowly picking at some of his food. He had barely spoken this morning and hadn't met Brian's eyes once, which only served to make Brian feel worse, a terrible sense of shame constricting his chest. The mead might have clouded his mind last night, but now, in the harsh light of day, he realised fully well that it was entirely possible John had not been asleep at all. God, he didn't want to think about it, he really didn't.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw John glance up and blink, lips slightly parted. Brian followed his transfixed gaze and found Freddie, who was carefully licking pear juice off his fingertips. Brian quickly looked down, even as John cleared his throat.

"Um," he murmured, picking up an apple from the spread on the table while he rose to his feet, "I'm going to... to check on Tootsie."

"Oh," Turning to look at him, Roger raised his eyebrows with an easy smile. "Good idea, I'll come with you."

"Uhh... all... right..." John hovered by the table awkwardly, not quite looking at Roger, who was now getting to his feet as well. For all senses and purposes, Brian thought, John looked as if he was considering chucking the apple across the room to create a diversion so he could dash off.

Oh, bloody hell. Brian lowered his gaze back to his plate, cheeks burning. There was no doubt, really. John hadn't been asleep either last night.

Brian wished the ground would open up and swallow him.

But instead, a sharp, commanding voice jerked him out of his miserable contemplations.

"Sister son."

They all looked up at the Viking queen, who seemed to have swept in out of nowhere, one hand firmly on Roger's shoulder. She looked him up and down briefly, as though ensuring that he had, in fact, dressed for the occasion. Whatever the occasion was, none of them could guess.

"Good morning," Roger chanced a smile, but it wasn't returned. Evidently, Brenna did not think there was time nor a need for niceties.

"Come with me."

"I..." Roger hesitated, casting a glance at Freddie, John and Brian, before he turned back to her and took in her unyielding, resolute expression, "This very minute...?"

Brenna did not see fit to dignify this with a reply and simply raised an expectant eyebrow.

"Right, yes," Roger nodded and climbed over the bench, throwing them a last, somewhat regretful look as he followed her out of the hall. Heads turned their way, curious Vikings muttering amongst themselves about the new alleged prince. Brian wished he knew what they were saying. He couldn't imagine that everyone here was as convinced that Roger, a complete stranger who did not even speak their language, was the rightful heir to their throne.

When he looked around, he realised John had disappeared from his side, nowhere to be seen.

"Do you think it's true?"

Brian turned to Freddie, who had leaned forward on the table, his expression thoughtful and concerned.

"Do you think Roger is... who she says he is?" he asked.

"How the hell should I know?" Brian heard himself retort brusquely. He did not feel kindly disposed towards Freddie, nor Roger, at this moment. However, he regretted the harshness of his response immediately when Freddie blinked, taken aback, and then drew back, a frown on his face.

"I was only asking." He shot back with a huff and plucked a grape off the bunch in front of them on the table, looking back at him coolly as he tossed it into his mouth.

Leaning onto the table with one arm, Brian sighed and rubbed his forehead. "Yes, I... I think he is," he replied, his tone kinder than before.

Freddie immediately came out of his strop and softened, eyes widening a little. "Do you really?"

"It's just a feeling, Fred," Brian told him, gazing down at his plate. "How can we possibly know?"

But he did know. He knew the same way he had known to follow Albus over the town wall. The same way he had known that he could save Roger from burning up with a fever. Only explain it, Brian could not.

Tender fingers reached across the table, and Brian tensed, staring at Freddie's hand on his forearm. How could such a simple touch leave his mouth dry and steal his breath away?

"Is everything alright, dear?" Freddie asked, large brown eyes innocent and worried, probably. Brian didn't know because he didn't dare look.

"I must have drunk too much last night," Brian mumbled, and pulled his arm away, rising from the table. "I should see where Albus is," he added quickly, before he turned and marched out of the hall and into the open air.

- - -

The cold north wind was blowing strong, carrying with it a taste of the winter still to come.

Standing on the walkway atop the wall which surrounded the Viking settlement, Freddie lay his hands onto cold, mossy stone and leaned forward a little, gazing out at the sea. The damp, salty wind tore at his hair, but the furs he wore shielded him well from its bite. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a moment, listening to the waves crashing against the cliffs.
Freddie had discovered this spot for himself after a few days in the Viking village, and had frequented it every day since. There was something distantly familiar about the sea breeze and the cries of the seagulls.

Childhood memories, dreamlike and distant. A different life, so very long ago.

Up here, he felt the least out of place.

Because while everyone seemed to have found or been assigned their place in their new surroundings, Freddie had never felt so adrift.

A curious role-reversal seemed to have taken place for John and Roger. Within the first week, while the farm boy had turned noble, the nobleman's son had turned stable boy. First to look after Tootsie, seeing as Roger hardly had a spare hour to escape Brenna's demands of him, but now it seemed John looked after the horses as much as the donkey and was making himself quite useful. He would come in for meals, cheeks rosy, and throw himself at the food with the colosal appetite of someone who had been breathing fresh air all day.

Meanwhile, Freddie's days dragged on as he wandered the settlement, watched Roger from afar, practicing with his sword, and found himself alone in Roger's bedchamber at night. The only one of them who, at Roger's insistence, hadn't been allocated another room after the first night. Much good it did him though, because it wasn't until late in the evening that Roger usually returned. Sometimes incredibly sore, often too tired to talk and rarely with energy left over to do anything but drop into bed and drift off to sleep. There was much a Viking prince had to learn, it seemed, from combat to customs, and Brenna was evidently determined to make a worthy heir out of him in as short a time as possible.

"You're in pain," Freddie had argued the other night, helping Roger out of his clothes, seeing him wince and hearing his breath catch at every move, "You can't keep this up, darling-"

The younger man had whirled around surprisingly fast, eyes flashing hot, and caught Freddie's wrist in his hand.

"And what the fuck do you expect me to do, Fred? Huh? I'm doing this for you! For us! If I don't-" he had broken off, taking in the wide-eyed, wary look on Freddie's face, and had released his grip on him, lowering his eyes, "I'm sorry... long day."

Freddie had taken his face between his hands and kissed him gently, his lips, his cheeks and his brow, until Roger sighed and some of the tension drained out of him. Until Freddie could see a glimpse of the charmingly carefree, simple farm boy he had fallen in love with, instead of a man burdened with the responsibility for his friends' lives.

Because he understood. Roger's co-operation ensured their survival and their safety. But Freddie was both worried about him and didn't much like Roger taking his frustrations out on him. Well, not unless his pent up ire took the form of bruising kisses, hands tearing at Freddie's clothes as soon as he was through the door.

Freddie didn't mind that, didn't mind it at all, but it had only happened the once in just over a week that they had been here and he was frustrated, too.

Things were different here. Freddie had noticed it keenly. He had seen men disappear into the shadows together between the stables, at night. Had seen some of them look at each other in a way they would not, back in the English villages. Had noticed the looks cast his way, too, when he wasn't with Roger. Lingering looks that raised the small hairs at the back of his neck in a not entirely unpleasant way. The odd deliberate brush of hand or shoulder against him.

One night, curiosity had overcome him and rather than join in with a song when John and Brian started to play their instruments, as they were now often requested to do after everyone had dined, Freddie had shrugged off his fur vest, slipped out of his shoes, and proceeded to delight the hall full of Vikings with his contortions.

To say their amazement and cheering didn't thrill him would have been a brazen lie, and he was sure that had it not been for Roger's presence, some of the attention he had received that night would have been of a more... insistent kind. He was under no illusions that the fact that he shared their alleged prince's bed chamber was known.

A part of him couldn't help but wonder what might have happen if Roger's claim on him hadn't been an unspoken, accepted fact. Because Freddie couldn't say - not with a clear conscience, at least - that none of these tall, broad-shouldered, handsome men drew his eye.

He was only human, after all.

Of course, then there was Brian. Freddie sighed and pursed his lips over his teeth, narrowing his eyes at the horizon. Brian was a whole different story...

"Fred!"

Freddie startled and whipped around, eyes wide in surprise before he broke into a smile.

"Roger," he called back, taking a few steps toward the other man as he briskly walked up to him. "What are you doing here so early? However did you manage to escape her Majesty's clutches?"

He joked lightly, but Roger did not return his smile, a crease between his brows as they stopped before each other.

"Oh no," Freddie murmured, face darkening. "What's happened?"

"Nothing," Roger shook his head and sighed, lifting a hand to Freddie's arm and lightly sliding it down the length of it until their fingers touched. "I came to tell you... that I have to go away. Tomorrow, at first light."

Freddie stared at him, not understanding.

"...What?"

- - -

Chapter Text

- - -

The first day had been hard, to say the least. They had set off in the rain, on horseback, and Roger had spent much of the journey soaked, clenching his teeth and wondering what his life had become as he tried to think of anything but the jolts of pain shooting through his chest every time the horse jerked this way or that.

Just over a week into their stay, Brenna had decided that a tour of the island was due, to introduce him to the Kingdom of Mann and the rest of her people to their new Prince. It wasn't a decision Roger had had any say in, much like everything else. And so the queen, her advisor, and Rune, who had been teaching Roger swordfighting, had set off on the journey.

Roger was loathe to leave Freddie and the others, when he barely saw them as it was.

He resented it, all of this.

To say that Roger believed - really, truly, fully believed - that he was who Brenna thought he was, would have been an overstatement. It was difficult to accept an identity so foreign to him in every way, especially when he wasn't being given a choice. Roger didn't want to be Rothgar the lost Viking prince. He wanted to be Roger. Just Roger. He didn't want to be taught how to wield a sword in battle, didn't want to learn their language and didn't want to contemplate the possibility that he might never return to England. On the surface of it, he was incredibly frustrated that he was no longer his own lord and master. But in truth, he was also terrified. For what if he refused to play along? What would happen to him and the others? Roger could not imagine that Brenna would take very kindly to him refusing his title. And yet, where would playing along take him but straight to a life he hadn't chosen, made to fight for a cause he didn't give one jot about?

Roger knew, now, that the Kingdom of Mann was gearing up for an attack on the Northern Isles. Brenna's revenge for the attack on her family, all those years ago. What that meant for him, he didn't particularly want to think about.

However, as they traveled from village to village, Roger couldn't help but notice the awe with which he was greeted. It was strangely humbling and took him off guard. Children cheered and old men bowed their heads in respect, and in all their faces, he saw the same expression. It took him a little while to understand it. Until eventually, he did.

Hope.

He was their hope. The continuation of a royal bloodline which would have ended with Brenna, prior to his arrival. Whether he wanted to or not, he meant something to these people.

It was a lot to take in.

On the third day the rains had eased up, which was a blessing. A couple of hours into a journey through woodland, they had dismounted by a stream to let the horses drink. Glad to have a rest, Roger lowered himself down into the grass next to Rune, who was eating an apple, a few more apples in his lap, which he had just picked from a nearby tree.

"Gi meg eple," Roger tried, pretty certain he was saying something along the lines of 'give me apple', but it was good enough.

Rune laughed and chucked an apple over to him. "Ikke verst."

"Thanks," replied Roger, and bit into his apple. He was fairly familiar with 'not bad' by now from their swordfighting practice.

On the other side of the stream, having made their way across some rocks jutting out of the water, stood Arne and Brenna, engrossed in conversation. They always seemed to be arguing, Roger thought. As he looked on, Arne cast a glance his way and his frown deepened, before he returned his attention to Brenna.

"That man does not like me," muttered Roger, more to himself than his companion, who didn't understand him.

It was true. While Roger hadn't noticed it so much in the first week, simply assuming that Arne didn't talk much, it was becoming increasingly evident on this journey that it was Roger he didn't want to talk to, even though Roger knew that the man spoke English. Stranger still, Roger often caught him looking his way, a grim look on his face. It was starting to worry him and he was contemplating sleeping with a dagger by his head, just in case. Perhaps Arne didn't believe Roger really was Brenna's nephew, he figured. And while he couldn't blame him for that, he also didn't trust him as far as he could throw him.

That afternoon, as they continued their ride, the thought of Arne and his apparent hatred for him wouldn't leave Roger alone. So when Rune and Arne had fallen behind a little on their horses, Brenna and Roger taking the lead, he rode up beside her, eyeing her for a few moments before he spoke.

"Your advisor," he said, casting another glance back over his shoulder.

"Arne," said Brenna, keeping her eyes on the path.

"Yes," Roger tried not to speak any louder than necessary, "Has he advised you to send me back where I came from, by any chance?"

She turned to him then, her brows furrowed in confusion. "Why would he do that?"

"Don't know," Roger shrugged, "I get the feeling that he's not particularly fond of me."

Brenna looked at him for some time and then simply turned back to the path. Roger waited a couple of minutes, then rolled his eyes. God, sometimes talking to her was like pulling teeth.

"...Am I wrong?" he asked.

With an exasperated sigh, as though she was most loathe to discuss the matter, Brenna snapped the reigns and sped up her horse, leaving him behind.

"You are wrong," she called back over her shoulder.

Roger frowned at her back, none the wiser. If anything, this exchange had only piqued his curiosity about Arne's strange behaviour more.

However, on the fourth day, while they were spending the night in a small settlement, Roger found himself presented with an opportunity.

The thin straw mattress he was lying on was hard and uncomfortable. His body ached, and even though he was tired, sleep eluded him for a long time. Instead, his mind filled with anxious thoughts. Visions of the future he was currently headed for, of war and responsibilities he had never asked for. If not before, not in so many words, it was on this journey that Brenna had in no uncertain terms informed him that he was expected to find a wife. Father children. Ensure the continuation of their bloodline.
Freddie would be thrilled to hear that, Roger thought grimly, and did not look forward to telling his lover just what was being asked of him.

It was very rare for Roger to lie awake like this, his stomach in knots, thinking. And it was very frustrating. Even Rune's calm breathing across the room was starting to infuriate him.

Determined to clear his head, Roger quietly lifted himself out of bed, pulled on some extra layers of clothing and put on his shoes. The hour was late and all was quiet, so he certainly hadn't expected to find somebody sitting by the glowing embers in fire pit. The man had his back to him, and it wasn't until Roger took a step closer that he realised who it was. He winced as a twig cracked under his heel, alerting the other man to his presence.

Too late to return inside now.

Arne straightened, casting a look back over his shoulder, before he turned back to the dying fire.

Not wanting to seem as though he was at all wary of or bothered by the other man's presence, Roger went and sat down on a log by the firepit as well. His body alert and his jaw tense, he frowned at the changing, orange-golden patterns the dying embers painted, aware of the other man's eyes on him.

"You should be asleep," Arne finally said, and Roger looked over at him, scanning his unreadable face which was half hidden in darkness.

"So should you," he retorted coldly.

Arne gave a mirthless chuckle and sighed, lowering his head, elbows propped up on his knees. This time, it was Roger who continued to stare at him, the words all but ready to spill over his lips; 'You hate me. You want me gone. Do you want me dead? Say it.'

"You don't believe I'm him, do you," he found himself saying instead, and once he had started, pent up frustration and anger took over, "Your long-lost prince," he scoffed, "Well, guess what? I don't believe it either, so you're in good company. If it was up to me I'd be more than happy to return to my life- my life, back home, you know that? But unfortunately I've not exactly been given a choice in all this. So if you want me gone, convince your queen."

Arne had raised his eyes up to him halfway through his tirade and was looking at him with something akin to disbelief.

"What?" Roger snapped, and picked up a pebble, tossing it into the firepit.

"You stupid boy," Arne muttered quietly, shaking his head, "I know you are him."

That was certainly not what Roger had expected to hear. He blinked, meeting the other man's eyes again.

"...What?"

"No one knows it better than me," Voice heavy with emotion, Arne turned back to the embers.

Roger was so fed up with cryptic replies.

"And what the hell is that supposed to mean?"

A minute or two went by, and Arne didn't respond. Roger was almost convinced her would, once again, receive no sensible answer. But then, the older man sighed deeply, long hair hanging down over his shoulders as he sat hunched over, gazing at the ground.

"Freja," he whispered the name. Spoke it reverently, and for the first time, Roger realised that it wasn't anger he saw in the other man's face. It was a desperate, profound sadness. "There was no one like her in the kingdom. Not in all the world," he uttered with a wry smile, "I knew her since I was a boy. We were born one summer apart. There's nothing... nothing I wouldn't have done for her. I remember-" he started, but then broke off. His eyes darted in Roger's direction and he cleared his throat before he continued. "It doesn't matter. I don't want to remember. But I am forced to," He sat up straighter, "Because I have to look at you, and see her face." He snorted, looking Roger up and down with a raised eyebrow. "It is lucky she is long gone. It would break her heart if she knew..."

Roger, who had been listening with a great deal of interest, suddenly remembered that he was angry. His brows drew together and he sat up straighter, too.

"Hey, what are you trying to say?"

Arne held his gaze, his expression cold and indifferent.

"She was a warrior. Determined. Fearless. Loyal. She cared not about herself when it came to her people, her son-" he scoffed, shaking his head. "The son she deserved should have been like a jewel among his fellow men. A born leader." Arne shrugged, returning his attention to the embers. "...Not a moody weakling who doesn't care about anyone but himself, who runs like a coward from his destiny-"

"Take that back," Roger spat through gritted teeth, but the older man continued, unimpressed.

"-who doesn't want to learn his mother's tongue nor-"

"Faen ta deg!" Roger shot back, and rose to his feet, fists balled by his sides.

Arne looked up at him, eyebrows raised.

"Yeah, that's right," The younger man stared him down, eyes flashing hot, "You heard me," Roger racked his brains for more insults he had overheard in the last two weeks, even though he wasn't really quite sure what most of them meant, "...Fittetryne!"

To his annoyance, the corners of Arne's mouth twitched and he unsuccessfully tried to suppress a chuckle.

"As your advisor," Arne schooled his features back into a stern expression, "I advise you not to say that to someone unless you are holding a sword."

"So let's get our swords then," Roger snarled, gesturing towards the house, "I'll show you who's weak. I'll fucking show you Rothgar!"

As he took a step forward, Arne rose to his feet and Roger had to lift his eyes up to the man, who was a fair bit taller than him. It somewhat weakened his threat, but he didn't flinch, determined to prove himself or go down fighting.

However, Arne's gaze softened. Roger could have sworn he looked... pleased.

"There she is," he murmured in his low, smooth voice, and raised a hand to Roger's shoulder, gently pushing him backwards. Roger pulled himself free immediately, smacking his hand away, and gave the older man a hard shove in return. Arne took a step back and raised his arms.

"Perhaps..." he said slowly, looking Roger over with a curious glint in his eye. "I was wrong."

"Damn right you were," Roger retorted, not appeased, but no longer quite so close to throwing a punch. "You don't know the first thing about me!"

"Perhaps it's all here," Arne reached out and tapped Roger's chest with two fingers, just above his heart, then his forehead, "and here."

The gesture was so quick and unexpected that Roger just blinked and flinched, only waving a hand to slap the offending fingers away when it was too late.

"Stop touching me," he huffed, glaring at the men.

That tiny, infuriating smile still on his lips, Arne bowed his head. "God natt, prinsen min."

And with that, he turned to go. Roger stood, still tense and infuriated, and watched him go with a scowl. But before he disappeared inside, Arne hesitated and turned back over his shoulder.

"Many men," he said, "spend their whole life searching for a great destiny. But some... some are destined for greatness."

And then he was gone.

After a few moments, Roger sat back down and remained sitting there for a long time, trying to make sense of the whirlwind of emotions inside him.

Destined for greatness.

The words rung in his mind. And as the embers died in the fire pit, a spark grew into a flame within his chest.

For Roger had never considered himself to be anyone special. Not the way in which Freddie was special. There was no one else like Freddie on this earth, of that Roger was sure. Or Brian, he'd never met anyone like Brian before and he doubted he ever would again. Even John...

But he? He wasn't special.

Maybe that wasn't what mattered though. Maybe who he was didn't matter at all.

Maybe what was important, was who he wanted to be.

When Roger awoke the next morning, it was with a newfound calm, although he couldn't quite put his finger on what had changed. He bade the people in the village farewell in their native tongue, as well as he could, and felt a surge of pride as their faces lit up. Later in the day, when they had stopped for a rest, he asked Rune for a few practice rounds with the sword.
Smirking and out of breath as they finished, Roger wiped his brow and looked around, only to catch Arne's eye. The older man was sitting on a large boulder a short distance away, watching him as he so often did. Only his expression was not so grim as it had been before, Roger thought, and wandered over, climbing up onto a few boulders beside him.

For some time, neither of them spoke. The leaves and the tall grass rustled in the wind. Flocks of birds rose up, flying in formation against the blue sky. It was a beautiful place, this island.

Roger crouched down, stroking his fingers over some coarse, greyish green moss.

"You loved her," he said quietly, squinting at the moving treetops in the distance.

Arne sighed deeply. "You don't stop loving," he uttered in a low voice, "when someone is gone."

Roger took a moment to lower himself down to sit on the boulder, dangling his legs.

"Tell me about her," The wind whipped strands of hair which had come loose from his braid into his face, "Tell me about my mother."

- - -

They had cleared an entire table for Freddie, that night. Brian wanted to roll his eyes as he watched the raven-haired man throw a few deliberately coy glances around the room. 'Who, me?' they seemed to say 'Well, if you insist...'

And then, he was out of his shoes and up on the table with one graceful forward roll. Cheers and whistles erupted as linen joined furs on one side of the table, until he was left in nothing but his breeches, his olive skin a warm, tan colour in the candle light.

John paused his playing. Out of the corner of his eye, Brian could see him shift and swallow beside him, before he took a deep breath and launched into a slow, dreamy melody. Brian's fingers followed suit quite of their own accord, softly strumming the strings of the lute, but his eyes remained on Freddie.

It wasn't as if Brian had never seen him perform his circus routine before, but he had never really watched him. Not like this. Unapologetically and intently, following every fluid extension and twist. It was an unearthly spectacle, but what was even more captivating than the act itself and how effortless he made it look, was the expression on Freddie's face. Eyes glinting beneath dark lashes, a smirk on his slightly parted lips, his delight was self-evident. He thrived on this, Brian knew. The attention, the gasps, the awe. He drank it up like the sweetest wine, and it felt almost sinful to behold.

The old Brian had only ever dared to steal a glance or two, eyes firmly on the strings of his lute. Or a glimpse in the mirror shard, while he was shaving and Freddie would stretch his supply body in a summer meadow. Quickly averting his eyes, each time, before he nicked himself.

However, the old Brian, the one who would allowed Freddie to oh-so-innocently caress his arm, or comb his fingers through his hair, all those touches always so fleeting and featherlight they were clearly of no consequence whatsoever, the Brian who had blushed beet-red when Freddie caught him looking a moment too long, dropping his gaze in shame - that Brian no longer existed.

Something had irreversibly shifted within him that first night. And Brian had tried. He had tried to put it all out of his mind. He had tried to be indifferent, only to catch himself smiling nonetheless at the sound of Freddie's melodious laughter. He had tried to keep away and occupy his days with experiments, seeking out solitude to try and learn more about his strange abilities, which he had little understanding of and even less control over. Just the other day, he had watched a bean sprout in the palm of his hand, but moments later, it had withered and dried up. He had been entirely powerless to stop the process. Dreams haunted him, vivid childhood memories he didn't recognise and yet knew to be his own.

And all the while, resentment grew inside him. The more he tried not to, the more the thought back on the little things. The more he wanted to hold Freddie accountable for every gentle touch, every word whispered in his ear as he wrapped himself around Brian in the back of the cart, as if it were nothing. As if he didn't know.

He must have known. And yet, he had toyed with Brian's affection to his hearts content.

Brian no longer felt ashamed. He felt angry.

As much as he loved Freddie, he wanted to hate him.

But most of all, he wanted him. Oh, how he wanted him.

Now, when his gaze lingered too long and Freddie's eyes would happen upon him, Brian no longer looked away. And to his amazement, it was Freddie who would avert his eyes, a light blush creeping into his cheeks.

Brian wanted to laugh and weep. Because for all his pretences that he didn't care about Brian, Freddie was a dreadful liar, after all.

But then, sometimes, Roger would join them toward the end of dinner and the look in Freddie's eyes when he saw his lover broke Brian's heart all over again.

However, Roger wasn't here tonight. He hadn't been been here in almost a week, and there was Freddie, giving himself to a room full of men and women who were drinking in every movement of his body. Brian was one of them.

And as he watched him, Brian allowed his fancy to take flight. Allowed himself to imagine what it would feel like to run his hands over those skinny, muscular shoulders, bury his fingers deep in silken black hair and pull, exposing that sinewy neck, pressing his lips to Freddie's pulse point. Just then, Freddie twisted himself around abruptly and landed on his knees, one hand flying up to the side of his neck as he turned and stared straight at him, eyes wide.

Brian's breath caught in his throat.

Oh.

- - -

The hall broke into cheers of approval and Freddie tore his eyes away from Brian and turned back around, smiling faintly as he rose to his feet and bowed with a little flourish. His mind was not with the crowd anymore.

What in the world had that been?

The side of his neck still tingled warm as he picked up his clothes and glanced back around, again, only to find Brian already gone. John caught his eye instead. Freddie gave him a genuine smile, but John quickly looked away, picking a drinking horn up off the table and downing a few thirsty gulps.

As he pulled his clothes back on, Freddie once again tried to make sense of what had just happened.

If he didn't know any better, he could have sworn that someone had touched him. No, not just anyone. Brian. Irrational as it was, he could have sworn Brian had touched him in a way that...

Freddie felt his cheeks burn as he put his clothes back on while John launched into one of those merry jigs they adored him for here.

It was impossible, of course. He had to be going crazy. (Then again, why had Brian disappeared so suddenly?)

Oh, but, who knew what was going on with Brian, these days, Freddie thought as he tried to dismiss the whole thing. The same way he had tried to dismiss, time and again, the way his heart seemed to pick up pace when he felt Brian's eyes on him, his dark gaze piercing him to the core.

Freddie tried not to think of it. Tried not to remember a warm afternoon in the forest. The feeling of Brian's lips against his own. No, he never wanted to remember it nor speak of it again. He wanted to bury that guilty secret in the furthest recesses of his memory.

God, how he hoped Roger would return soon. He wanted Roger. Needed him.

Prayed that he was alright.

As John finished playing his tune, a smile on his flushed face, Freddie came up beside him.

"I'd accompany one of your songs, Freddie," the boy said cheerfully, "if you'd like. Only I think they want another merry jig."

Freddie sighed and waved his hand dismissively, "Don't worry, dear. I may as well cast pearls before swine."

John chuckled and put his violin back on his shoulder.

"Where... where did Brian go?" asked Freddie, before he had started playing.

The younger man shrugged. "I don't know. He didn't say."

Freddie nodded. "I think I'll be going, too... Will you be alright, darling?"

"Yeah," John beamed, clearly already more than a little inebriated, "They love me!"

And with that, he launched into another upbeat melody, much to the delight of the Vikings.

When Freddie stepped outside, the sky flashed white somewhere in the distance. A storm was approaching. Drawing his furs tighter around himself, Freddie started on his way across the yard.

Still lost in thought, it took him a moment to register that someone was speaking not far off. It was late, and he was tired, so the Vikings' foreign tongue was barely registering in his mind anymore. However, what made him notice it was the fact that the voices were coming significantly closer, as were the footsteps behind him. Freddie cast a glance over his shoulder and caught a glimpse of two men, sneering and elbowing each other as they saw him look. One of them murmured something and the other gave a nasty, derisive laugh. Freddie turned back around, suddenly very aware of the darkness and how abandoned the yard was.

"Hei, slangegutt!" one of them called, now clearly addressing him, "Kan du suge din egen pikk?"

Oh god.

Cold tendrils of fear slithered down Freddie's spine and he instinctively walked faster, shrinking closer to the wall as they passed the stables.

"Kan du suge pikken min?" the other man shouted, and they both broke into mocking laughter.

Freddie didn't know what it was they were saying, but he had a good guess judging by the tone. A wave of nauseating panic was rising up in his chest, everything about this far too familiar in the worst way possible. Suddenly, his mind was full of unbidden memories. Dark silhouettes, following him between the circus tents, ganging up on him...

'Hey, freak! Show us your tricks- come here- Fuck! The bastard bit me!'

'Get him in here, hold him down-'

"Må være ensom uten den falske prinsen din!"

More laughter, all but down the back of his neck.

Freddie couldn't breathe, cold sweat on his brow, his whole body tense. His legs barely obeying him. One of the men gave him a shove.

No. Please, god, no-

And then everything happened very fast.

"Jeg snakker til deg!" one of the Vikings snarled, grabbing him by the arm.

Hands already balled into fists, Freddie used the momentum as he was yanked around to swing a desperate punch which caught the Viking's chin. The man grunted and released him in surprise, but his friend was fast. A large hand caught Freddie around the throat and tightened, crushing his windpipe, pushing him back and around until he came up against the wall with a thud, the back of his head smashing into it so hard he saw stars. The man snarled something into his face, spraying him with spittle, while Freddie clawed at his arm and gasped for breath, trying to twist free even as he was lifted off his feet with terrifying ease.

"Let him go!"

The voice cut through the blur of pain and dread. And as the man holding him by the throat turned to look over his shoulder, Freddie saw him.

There stood Brian, his face grim like the thunderstorm raging behind him on the horizon. The Vikings snorted, shouting something back at him dismissively, but he took a step closer, undeterred.

"Let him go," he repeated slowly, his voice firm and commanding. Thunder rumbled in the distance.

The Vikings stilled.

To his relief and utter amazement, Freddie felt the grip around his neck loosen. Gasping and coughing, he collapsed against the wall when he was released and looked on as the two men slowly backed away, their expressions strangely blank. And then, without another word or so much as a glance at him, they simply turned to leave.

"What..." Freddie whispered hoarsely, running a shaky hand over his face.

"Freddie," Brian was already by his side, pulling him up onto his feet, "Freddie, are you alright? Are you hurt?"

Freddie met his eyes and shook his head numbly. "How... how did-" He broke off and coughed, grimacing at the pain in his throat.

Brian was holding him by the shoulders, looking him over with concern. "I think they... they probably just didn't want... witnesses," he murmured.

Freddie frowned, trying to make sense of that, and slowly nodded, still too much in shock to think clearly.

"I'll walk you to your room," Brian offered gently, "if you want me to?"

"Yes," Freddie croaked, fingers tightening around Brian's arm as if he never meant to let it go again.

They made their way in silence, Freddie just focusing on putting one foot in front of the other, trying to stop himself trembling. Trying to ban things he had no desire to remember from his mind.

It was alright. He was alright. No one was going to hurt him tonight.

But no matter how much he tried to reassure himself, the scars of his past ran deep and he couldn't quite shake the fear, just barely managing to make himself let go of Brian's arm when they entered the bed chamber. On still shaky legs, he walked over to the bed and dropped down onto it, watching Brian poke the fire in the hearth, already lit by the servant slaves.

"Right, I... I should go," he finally said, and put the poker down, stepping away from the hearth.

"No!" Freddie called hoarsely, eyes large and pleading.

Brian stopped, looking up at him. "Freddie... I can't stay here," he murmured quietly.

"You must," Freddie heard himself gasp, and swallowed, pulling his lips over his teeth, "Please? Please..."

Brian sighed deeply, running his hands over his face.

"Please don't leave me," Freddie uttered, his voice barely a whisper, staring at his friend imploringly. He felt himself trembling again and wrapped his arms around himself, taking a shuddering breath.

"Hey..." Brian frowned and went to sit beside him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. "It's alright... It's alright, I won't go."

"Thank you," Freddie sniffed quietly and leaned into him, squeezing his eyes shut. Breathing in Brian's familiar, comforting scent. "Thank you..."

- - -

Whatever magical powers Brian possessed, they were no match for the way in which Freddie had bewitched him.

He hadn't meant to stay. He hadn't meant to envelop him in his arms, holding him close. He certainly hadn't meant to find himself lying on the bed - Roger's bed - with Freddie pressed against his chest, soothingly stroking his fingers over dark hair.

Brian wanted to hate him for putting him through this.

But all his resentment had melted away. How could he hate him? Freddie had looked so frightened and upset, and to know that he wanted Brian close, wanted him to make it better, filled him with so much tender love and affection that his heart ached.

He wasn't sure how long they'd been lying here, but Freddie's breathing was calm now. The tension had finally left his body. Brian wondered if he had gone to sleep. His own eyelids were drooping, too.

Maybe he could allow himself this. Allow himself to pretend that Freddie was his. Just this once.

Just for one night.

Brian closed his eyes.

Outside, the storm was drawing closer.

- - -

So unexpected was the feeling of John's warm lips suddenly pressed against his own, that it took Roger a moment before he drew back, eyes wide, placing a firm hand on the younger man's shoulder.

"Woah- hey-"

"Please," John half-murmured, half-slurred, trying to move in again, "jus' wanna know what it's like..."

"No," Keeping the other man at arms length, Roger quickly scooted back a bit further, shaking his head, "Sorry, no. You- You're clearly very, very drunk," he could feel nervous laughter bubble up in his throat, the situation so unexpected and ridiculous he didn't know what to think.

"But why not?" John wined, slumping back, looking so childlike in his disappointment that Roger almost did burst out laughing. What could he possibly say to that?

"Er... come on now, John, you know I, um..." Roger chuckled awkwardly, rubbing his chin, "Freddie and I..."

"S'not fair," the younger man pouted, swaying slightly as he frowned into his empty drinking horn, "Freddie can kiss Bri-" he hiccoughed, "Brian, but I can't kiss you?"

Roger snorted, "Freddie does not kiss Brian. What the hell are you on about?"

"Sure he doesn't," John grumbled, peering into the horn so intently as if he was hoping to see life's hidden meaning at the bottom.

"Right, I have to go," Roger pulled himself up to his feet, annoyed by John's drunken ramblings, "And you have to sober up."

John just grunted and curled up against Tootsie's side. "Mmgonna sleep here," he informed him.

Roger rolled his eyes up at the roof with a sigh. He couldn't very well leave John here. Not with the thunderstorm moving in. The first raindrops were just starting to fall.

"Yeah... no, you're not," Roger muttered and bent down, slinging one of John's arms over his shoulders and hoisting him up to his feet.

A quarter of an hour later, having ensured that John was safely in his room, in bed, and feeling as though it was surely the end of the longest day of his life, Roger finally dragged his feet down the corridor to his own bed chamber.

Looking forward to nothing more than Freddie's warmth under the covers, and a nice, restful night's sleep.

- - -

Chapter Text

Golden sunlight warmed his cheeks and Brian fluttered his eyes open. It was the first day since the pillory that his head felt clear. The first time he wasn’t nauseous and dizzy, lost in a murky ocean of pain, sickness and horror.

It was the first time in ages he felt like himself.

He carefully stretched his weak arms, fingers grasping at burlap sacks.

The cart wasn’t moving.

Brian could hear the chipper tweeting of birds, and the soft brush of the wind over tall grass. And there, just beyond that, a voice humming.

He immediately recognized it. Sweet, smooth and lively, like a stream in spring, rippling its merry way through the forest. The very sound of that voice soothed his slight headache and made the corners of his dry lips curl into a small smile.

Freddie.

Was his name.

The person who’d saved him. Who’d cradled his aching, pounding head in his lap. Who’d applied blissfully cool salve onto his torn, bloodied back. Who’d sung him to sleep, each time Brian awoke from his haunting nightmares.

Slowly, Brian moved his hands back to support himself, gingerly sitting up and wincing at the burning sting coming from his back.

He looked out through the open back of the cart, and for a moment thought he’d died and gone to heaven.

Because this place, if any, must be what heaven looked like. The cart was standing in the middle of a meadow full of flowers.The green, high grass danced in the soft breeze, and the sun shone brightly, unconcerned by the few fluffy, white clouds on the blue sky.

Close to the cart, a brownish grey donkey was grazing, one of her large ears twitching as a pale blue butterfly landed on it.

Further off, Brian could see a man lounging in the grass. He immediately recognized the dark hair, the rich yellow tunic.

Smile widening without him meaning to, and his stomach feeling oddly light for reasons he could not understand, Brian carefully scooted closer to the edge of the cart.

He was just about to call out to Freddie when another person appeared next to the dark-haired man, throwing themselves down in the grass.

This person was fair, their long, golden hair shining in the sunlight. Brian watched, his mouth still slightly opened, as Freddie ran his gentle, beautiful hands through that fair hair and pulled the other person in for a kiss.

The fluttering light in Brian’s stomach turned to thick darkness, the smile slipping from his face.

Brian awoke with a start, half struggling against the warm weight on top of him before realizing it was Freddie.

Freddie, who was curled up on top of Brian, one of his hands fisted in Brian’s tunic and his lips soft and smooth against the exposed skin of Brian’s collarbone. His heart danced in his chest and he wrapped his arms tighter around the sleeping man, unable to help the giddy smile on his face.

He wondered for a moment what had awoken him but then a deep rumbling shook the room, making Freddie shiver and mutter worriedly against Brian.

“Shh, it’s alright. Sleep.” Brian murmured, running his hand gently up Freddie’s back. “It’s alright.”

“Is it?” A voice called out from the shadows and Brian jumped in fright, reaching desperately for his dagger only to realize he wasn’t wearing his belt.

A sharp white light illuminated the room for a split second, but it was enough for Brian to see Roger standing there, in the middle of the floor.

“What the hell are you doing in here, Brian?” Roger asked, voice sharp.

- - -

Ulf yawned widely, scratching his arse as he left Brenna’s chambers. He smiled to himself, enjoying the lingering burn of the scratches on his back. His queen was a true force of nature. She was like one of the valkyries from the legends - ruthless, powerful and wild. Unforgivingly beautiful.

It was unusual, some would say unnatural, even, to follow a woman. But there was no other ruler Ulf would rather follow. Brenna had certainly proven that she was worthy, not only in his eyes, but in the rest of the mens’, as well. They’d all be dead without her, Ulf was certain.

She had returned to the village tonight, after having been gone several days, showing the kingdom to that dainty nephew of hers. She’d returned and brought what was shaping up to be the worst thunderstorm in months, with her.

The rain was beating down on top of the roof, some leaking in and making the packed dirt floor muddy. The wind was howling, whipping around the house with such force Ulf half believed it would take them all with it.

He was just walking down the corridor from Brenna’s room when one of the doors were slammed opened.

“I’m… I’ll go, sorry.” Came a low voice.

Ulf stopped, watching curiously as a gestalt stumbled out of the room.

“No, don’t…” The other voice was drowned out by a loud rumble of thunder, but in the faint light from the hearth in the centre of the corridor, Ulf could make out two other people following the first one. The light caught on the familiar, fair braid and Ulf frowned.

What was Rothgar and his friends doing?

“Roger, wait!” The dark-haired man, Freddie, called, hurrying after Rothgar down the corridor.

Ulf fastened his step, marching through the corridor and following the Englishmen into the deserted feast hall. Well, almost deserted. A few slaves were scurrying around, cleaning up after the party and tending to the hearth. And a couple of men were sitting in the very corner, nursing their drinking horns and looking at the spectacle with quiet interest.

Rothgar had caught up to Brian, right before the taller man reached the door, and had his fingers wrapped around Brian’s arm.

“Are you seriously running from me?” Rothgar’s voice was loud, enraged.

Freddie cautiously neared the other two, holding his hands up. “Dear, shh, we’re not alone.”

“Don’t fucking hush me! I told you to stay in the room, Fred!”

“I am not staying in the room. You have no right to order me around. Who do you think I am, your personal servant?”

Rothgar spun around, facing Freddie while still keeping a firm grip on Brian’s thin arm. Ulf recognized the anger flashing in those cold, blue eyes and winced.

Dear Tor…

“No,” Rothgar spat, voice shaking, “I thought you were my partner, Freddie. Was I wrong?”

Brian finally managed to free himself. “It’s not what it looked like, Roger.” Brian said, his face pale. “You’re overreacting…”

“I’M OVERREACTING?!”

The slaves had paused in their chores, watching the scene unfold with half terrified expressions. It was not unusual for blood to be spilled in this hall.

“I’ve been slaving away for two weeks,” Rothgar roared, his voice overpowering the smattering of rain, the screaming wind and rumbling thunder. “Two weeks of learning to fight, learning to ride a horse, learning a new language. I’ve been fighting for us, for all of our safety and I’m exhausted and in pain, all the time. All I wanted, was just to come home to my loved one, to spend a good night’s sleep with him by my side…” His voice softened, but his eyes were still flashing with emotion.

He glanced at Freddie, his mouth set in a thin line. “Christ, Fred. It’s been a week.”

Freddie hunched in on himself. “Roger…”

“It’s not his fault.” Brian spoke up, voice suddenly loud and clear. “I offered to stay.”

Rothgar growled, stepping right up in Brian’s space. “How heroic of you, Brian.” He gritted his teeth. “How many times do I have to say it? Keep your bloody hands away from him.”

Ulf was starting to have a bad feeling about this. Brian was trembling, his fists clenched at his sides. There was some kind of energy in the air, sizzling. And it seemed as the curly haired man was the source.

“Oi, little ones.” He said, walking up to them, making Freddie jump in fright and spin around. “Break it up. It’s past your bedtime.”

Neither Rothgar nor Brian paid him any heed.

“Maybe,” Brian said, “you shouldn’t go away for several days, leaving your friends in the midst of violent and treacherous beasts, without protection.”

“Hey!” Ulf said, raising his voice.

“How dare you.” Rothgar snarled, still ignoring Ulf. “All I’ve done is to keep us safe. What have you done since we got here, Brian? More than drink and pine and wallow, that is.”

“Brian… Roger… Stop…”

“I was here tonight, when you were not. I protected him.”

Ulf’s eyes had to be deceiving him, but it almost looked like Brian’s clenched fists were glowing. The glow grew brighter as Brian’s voice grew in volume.

“He needed you, Roger, and you weren’t there.”

“Fuck you!” Rothgar screamed, his hands up and on Brian’s chest in a flash, pushing him away.

“Roger, stop!”

Brian stumbled back before finding his footing. It wasn’t only his hands that were glowing now, but his eyes, too.

Ulf drew his sword and pushed Freddie aside, advancing on the strange man.

“You don’t deserve him, Roger.” Brian’s voice sounded different. It was deep and echoed between the walls of the feast hall. The energy crawled all over the room, making goosebumps appear over Ulf’s skin.

The thunder had quietened. The storm was holding its breath along with the rest of them.

“Brian, what are you doing?” Freddie’s voice was filled with horror.

“Få hjelp!” Ulf called to the slaves, sending them running from the room in sheer panic.

“You have never deserved him.” Brian thundered. “It’s just by chance that he came to be yours, you’re a nobody, a weakling, nothing.”

If Rothgar was shocked by the otherworldly appearance of his friend, he didn’t show it. He didn’t move back as Brian took a menacing step closer, but held his ground, his hand close to the sword in his belt, face grim. “I might not, but neither do you, Brian. You’re a pathetic, miserable excuse of a man.”

“I love him!” The energy erupted from Brian, an invisible, crackling force hitting Rothgar right in the chest and sending him flying.

Without thinking, Ulf threw himself at the gangly man, lowering him to the floor with one hard tackle. He half expected Brian to attack him, too, or at least struggle against his grip, but nothing happened.

The curly haired man seemed to have emptied his powers, gasping for breath on the dirt floor. The glow had left him and his body was shaking violently. “Oh, god, no. No, Roger…” He panted weakly, his eyes tearing up.

“Stay down.” Ulf growled at him, letting the blade of his sword rest over the other man’s neck as he turned to check on the prince.

Freddie was on his knees next to Rothgar, his face pale as snow as he helped his friend up. Rothgar seemed fine, he winced and cradled his ribcage but otherwise looked to be unharmed.

Ulf let out a deep, relieved breath. He didn’t want to know what Brenna would’ve done to him if he’d let her newly found nephew get burned to a crisp on his watch.

“Trolldom!” One of the other Vikings said. The small group had joined them, their axes and swords drawn as they glared down at Brian.

“Hva venter du på, Ulf,” one of them sneered, aiming a kick at Brian’s side, making the man let out a pained gasp, “drepe ham!”

“Drep tryllekunstneren!”

“Vente!” Rothgar said, hurrying up to them. “Stop. Leave him alone!”

The other Vikings protested loudly.

“Drepe ham!”

“Han er fienden!”

Ulf looked at Rothgar, his eyebrows raised. “He attacked you. He attacked the prince of the kingdom.”

“Please.” Rothgar begged, his breathing quick and shallow. “Don’t hurt him.” His eyes were tired now, sad. The fiery rage from before was nowhere to be seen. “He’s my… friend.” He muttered, looking down for a moment before lifting his gaze, now determined. “And he’s saved my life, several times.”

Brian was crying hard now, shaking under Ulf, trying to curl in on himself. “I’m sorry… I’m…”

Ulf hesitated. It wouldn’t look good to let this man live, after the outright attack on the heir to the throne. The other Vikings were already muttering to themselves, their postures tense.

“I command you to let him go.” Roger raised his voice.

Ulf shook his head. “Can’t do that, princeling. It’s not up to you to decide his fate. I won’t kill him, now, but he’ll be locked in the dungeons until the queen decide what to do with him.”

He grabbed the collar of Brian’s shirt and roughly dragged him up. “You’re coming with me, Birdhead. No tricks, or I’ll cleave you in two.”

Brian was barely conscious, hanging in his grip like a ragdoll. He managed a weak nod.

“Men Ulf…” One of the men started, frowning deeply.

“Hold kjeft.” Ulf muttered and pushed Brian forward. “Ut av veien.”

The Vikings parted and sheathed their weapons but there was distrust and suspicion in their eyes. Ulf didn’t like it one bit.

He threw a last glance over his shoulder as he walked, at Rothgar, who was standing where he’d left him, looking after them with an unreadable expression on his face, and at Freddie, who slowly came up to him.

“What is… What happened?” The dark-haired man asked, voice wobbling. “Roger, wha…”

“Leave me alone, Fred.” Rothgar grunted, turned on his heel and marched away.

- - -

John finished the jig he was playing and lowered his fiddle. He wiped the sweat off his brow and grinned widely at his audience.

Only, there was no audience left. The feast hall was eerily empty.

Odd, he thought. But he shrugged, carefully put down his fiddle on the longtable and took a large drink from his drinking horn.

“That was beautiful.” A soft voice said from behind him and John dropped his drink.

He turned around to find a girl there, no, a woman, smiling at him brilliantly. John gaped.

She was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, her dark blonde hair falling down her shoulders in gentle waves, framing her sweet face.

“You really are very good with that fiddle.” She said to him, slowly moving closer, and John’s treacherous eyes were drawn to her hips as she walked.

“Thanks.” He croaked, before clearing his throat awkwardly.

The woman smiled at him. There was something familiar about the colour of her eyes, the shape of her lovely lips. “You poor thing.” She murmured, her slender fingers reaching out to trace the collar of John’s tunic. “No one ever looks your way, huh?”

“What?” John breathed and suddenly, somehow, his hands were on her waist. She felt tiny between his large palms.

“It’s their loss.” She winked, and there was something about her face, about her smile… He felt like he already knew it. Knew it so well but couldn’t place it. “I think you’re a very handsome boy.” She continued, her blue eyes shining warmly.

Then she leaned up and placed her lips on John’s. And, even though John had no experience in these matters, even if he should be shocked, should be frozen stiff, he somehow knew exactly what to do.

He pulled her closer, groaning deep in his throat as he kissed her back. He pressed his lips eagerly against hers, drinking in her familiar scent. One of his hands wandered from her waist and up to her chest.

He wanted to touch her, feel those soft, supple breasts in his hand.

But, when his fingers reached their goal, they didn’t find the soft swells they were looking for, only tight, hard muscle. His fingers ran over smooth skin and then, bandages.

This time, John did freeze.

“What,” Roger smiled against his lips, “didn’t you want me to kiss you?”

John tried to find words, tried to pull back. He didn’t want this. He had no interest in partaking in this devilry, this forbidden act. But he just stood there, unable to help the moans escaping him as Roger bent his head to trail kisses down his neck. Unable to stop rubbing his hips against his friend’s, chasing that sweet friction, searching for… something.

“But…” John managed to gasp out, and when did his hands end up on Roger’s strong back? “Freddie.”

Roger lifted his head, winked again. “This can be our little secret.”

He pressed his lips to John’s again, and John desperately pulled him closer, his breath hitching as rough, calloused fingers disappeared down his breeches and wrapped around his…

John shot up in his bed, a choked cry lodged in his lungs. Unfortunately he was all tangled up in furs, trapped, and as he fought wildly he floundered his way over the edge of his bed and fell to the floor.

And so, John started his morning, in a miserable heap on the floor, furs wrapped around him too tightly, and his prick painfully hard in his underclothes.

“Why…” He groaned and dug the heels of his palms painfully hard into his eye sockets, until he saw stars.

He felt awful. His head was pounding, he was nauseous and sweaty. And still his nether regions just wouldn’t stop doing… whatever it was that they were doing.

He’d just had an erotic dream. About Roger.

Frustrated, John slammed his hands down on the dirt floor and glared up at the ribbed ceiling. He had done everything he could think off to ignore these new confusing feelings, trying to stay away from Brian and Freddie as much as possible, drinking himself blissfully empty every evening.

He had, yesterday, too, in the stables if he remembered correctly. And… he had a vague recollection that Roger might have been there, too…

He paled, his guts twisting like snakes in his stomach. Had he… Had they…

No. Of course not. John would never do anything that stupid. Anything that forbidden.

Well. In his dreams, he might. But dreams…

Are the mirror to your soul.

The voice of the old maid who’d used to look after him as a child rang clear and true in his ears, as if she’d been standing right next to him.

Fuck.

The good thing was that his panic and nausea was slowly overpowering the sweet glow in his loins, the agonising pressure in his prick.

John took a deep breath, closed his eyes for a second, willing his head to stop spinning, and then started untangling himself from the furs.

One hour later, John was feeling marginally better. He’d had a wash and had sneaked by the kitchen to grab a loaf of bread, some cheese and a few apples. There was no chance in hell he was going to join his friends for breakfast this morning, even if Roger had returned from wherever he’d been the last couple of days.

No, if John saw Roger right now, he was sure he’d puke. Just the memory of those kisses, the touch, the other man’s body against his… Made him feel sick.

Yes. Sick. Nothing else.

Instead, John brought his breakfast outside, sitting down on a stump right outside the stables, watching a huge flock of birds take to the sky, their small, black bodies painting beautiful patterns on the blue canvas.

The air was clear and cool, and the grass wet. There had been a storm last night, if John remembered correctly.

After having managed to eat half the bread and most of the cheese, he went into the stables.

“Good morning, my fair lady.” He addressed Tootsie, who was lying in her corner with her back to him.

The donkey whuffled, but didn’t turn to look at him. John frowned.

“Tootsie?” He tried again, walking closer and crouching down next to her. “Who’s a good girl?”

Tootsie whuffled again, her ears twitching.

John sighed, running his hand over the donkey’s soft back. “Are you unhappy?”

Tootsie shook her short mane, annoyed, and scraped with her hoof in the hay.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart.” John said, wrapping his arm around the donkey in a half hug. “I’m not too happy either.” He dug in his pockets and pulled out one of the apples he’d snuck from the kitchen. “Here,” he smiled and dropped the apple in the soft hay.

The donkey lifted her head and gently butted hers against John’s, before leaning down to munch on the apple.

There was a soft neigh right next to them, and John looked up to see a horse he didn’t recognize in the neighbouring stall.

It was a gorgeous beast, its hide a shiny grey colour and it’s thick mane ebony black. It had its head bent over the side of the stall, watching John and Tootsie with curious, brown eyes.

“Hello, there.” John grinned and held up another apple. “Did you want one of these?”

The horse whinnied, dancing excitedly on the spot.

Tootsie whuffled again, and promptly turned her head back against the wall, her tail twitching.

“Don’t you like your new neighbour?” John asked, amused. When he was ignored, he shook his head and got to his feet.

He walked up to the horse and let it eat the apple from the palm of his hand. “You’re a large, strong beast, aren’t you?” He muttered, delighted when the horse let him stroke its muzzle.

“He’s from the transport ship Ulf and the others took.”

A Viking who was brushing the horse in the next stall said. John looked up, always surprised to hear English.

He didn’t recognise this man. He was tall, taller than most the other Vikings John had seen, but not as broad as some of them. His hair was short and wavy, and his beard arranged in several braids, with pieces of bone worked into them.

“It’s your friend’s horse.” The man continued, glancing over at John. “Rothgar.”

“I didn’t know.” John said, feeling a weak stab of jealousy that Roger had been gifted such a magnificent animal. “You talk my language.”

The Viking chuckled lowly. “That I do.” He came up next to John, eyeing Roger’s horse with a peculiar expression on his face. “This was the finest animal on the whole ship.” He said. “A horse fit for a king.” He shook his head. “Tell me, fiddler, has Rothgar even ridden a horse before he came here? Has he held a sword?”

“Uh,” John said, taking a step away, creating some distance between the other man and himself. Tootsie had lifted her head again, her eyes alert as she watched John and the Viking. “I don’t know? I just got to know him, actually. But I do know he used to be a farmhand.”

“A farmhand,” the viking muttered. “Hardly more than a slave.” He scratched his beard, his piercing eyes returning to John. “And as if that’s not enough he’s sparing the lives of witches and traitors. He lacks spine.”

John frowned. Witches and traitors? What? And what did this person have against Roger? He was one of the bravest people John had ever met.

“Du,” the viking called out to one of his friends, who was just passing by with a sweaty horse on a lead. “Gutten her sier at vår nye prins er en enkel arbeideren.”

The other Viking laughed. “Se der. Vi må se hvor lenge han kan klare seg.”

“Først en kvinne og nå en stallgutt.” The bone-bearded Viking said. “Jeg har ingenting imot sønnen till Freja men han ville passa bedre i sengen min enn på tronen…”

John didn’t know what they were saying, but the taunting tone of Bone-beard’s voice and the leer in the other Viking’s eyes as he laughed harder, made him feel uncomfortable.

“Roger’s not spineless.” He defended Roger, turning to the Vikings and making himself as tall as possible. Confusing feelings aside, Roger was still his friend and he was not going to stand for this bullying. “I’m sure he’s far braver than you lot, who know nothing but brute force and cruelty.”

Bone-beard tilted his head, an amused smile on his lips. “Oh? So you think he’d stand a chance in a fight? If someone was to challenge him?”

“He’d stand more than a chance.” John said with false confidence. “He’d win.”

Something glittered in the vikings eyes. “Vi må se.” He chuckled again, before turning his back to John, and following his still laughing comrade out.

A few seconds passed before John realized he was shaking. He was filled with a burning anger over the disrespect shown to Roger. And what was all this about witches?

“John?” A thin voice called uncertainly, and the next second a young woman poked her head through the opened door.

John recognized her as one of the slaves. “Yes?” He answered, willing the tense, angry frown on his face away and sending her a careful smile.

“Um,” she hesitated, wringing her hands. “Rothgar? Send. John, come?”

The frown immediately returned. Oh, no. Roger was summoning him? But he was not ready to see him, yet…

“I’m coming.” He sighed, threw the last apples in the hay next to Tootsie, and followed the girl out.

- - -

“Bloody hell, listen to me!”

Roger slammed his fist into the table. None of the others so much as jumped. Brenna eyed him over her goblet full of fresh milk, her eyebrows pinched in a tight frown. “Then speak.”

Roger took a deep breath. “He didn’t mean to do it. I… I think Brian’s just discovered his powers. He’s confused and scared. He lost control. It was… an accident.”

Well, that was what Roger hoped, at any rate.

Arne rubbed his bearded chin, looking thoughtful. “You said you’ve seen him do magic before? On the transport ship?”

“Well,” Roger hesitated, his hand absentmindedly going up to his chest. “I didn’t see it, exactly. But I felt it. I was very sick with fever. Brian… well, I don’t know what he did, but it felt like he set my lungs on fire, burning away the sickness.”

Ulf paced back and forth in Brenna’s chamber. “It’s madness. All of this. We can’t keep him alive, you must know this. You’ve heard the tales of what happens to people that dabble with magic… Who let magic into their armies. He’s a threat to us all.”

“I’ve also heard the tales,” Brenna said sharply, “of what happens to people that are lead by a woman. All those tales are made up by cowards, who don’t have what it takes to sacrifice all for victory.”

Ulf bowed his head a fraction. “Perhaps so, but there’s still the attack. He could have killed Rothgar, for all we know. And there are witnesses. If we let him go, people will talk. They will call us weak.” He turned to Roger, his light eyes steely. “They will call you weak, and rightfully so.”

“He’s my friend!” Roger argued. “I’m not going to kill him for one mistake. I’d never.” He glared stubbornly back at Ulf. “I’d rather throw myself off the wall.”

“Is he though?” Ulf raised his bushy eyebrows “It didn’t seem like it last night.”

Roger opened his mouth to argue but found that he didn’t know what to say. It was true. What Brian had done… and worse, what Brian had said…

Was he Roger’s friend? He’d tried to take Freddie away from him, as soon as Roger had left. It hurt. Because Roger had really started to appreciate Brian more, lately. They had grown closer, in his own opinion.

Clearly, Roger was just left behind, once again. Having no idea of what was going on around him. Clueless and blind.

Freddie had been attacked… And Roger had been sitting in a stable, drinking mead with John.

He had overreacted. Brian had helped Freddie, saved him when Roger wasn’t there, and then comforted him after. And then Roger had barged his way in, shouting and arguing, chasing after Brian and starting a fight in the middle of the feast hall. It was his fault this had happened at all.

Freddie can kiss Bri… Brian, but I can't kiss you?

Roger shook his head violently. No. He would not let the ramblings of a drunk man get to him. Freddie had been scared and had needed comfort. That was it. That had to be it.

“I owe him my life.” Roger said, catching Brenna’s eyes. “I don’t want him to come to harm.”

“If…” Arne started, thinking out loud, “If he could learn to control it, he could aid us in our battle against the Northern isles. Ulf, you said he harboured the powers of Tor?”

Ulf shifted uneasily. “I said it looked that way. It was like there was lightning coming out of him, as if he commanded the very skies themselves.”

“It’s decided, then.” Brenna said brusquely. “Brian will learn to control his powers and aid us in our fight. But he can’t go unpunished for what he did, Rothgar. You must understand that.”

Roger swallowed heavily. “But I…”

“No.” The queen waved him off. “It’s none of your concern. I am the ruler, and I will deal with it. Now leave us.”

“Wait,” Roger said, “there is one more thing. Freddie was attacked last night, by some of your men.”

Ulf scoffed. “Maybe tell your bed boy to not perform those kinds of tricks in front of everyone. It excites the warriors.”

“I don’t give a fuck,” Roger answered him hotly, “if it excites the warriors. Nothing happens to Freddie. Either you order someone to guard him, someone trustworthy, or I won’t leave his side.” He turned to Brenna, his gaze steady. “Your choice.”

Brenna sighed, a bored look on her face. “Yes, yes. Sune will do it. Now get out.”

Roger left the room.

He stopped right outside, leaning against the wooden wall and stared into the air. The sun shone outside, light filtering in through a window and falling on his shins, warming him. The dirt floor was still muddy and wet.

Roger was so tired.

He hadn’t slept more than one hour or two this night. The first hour he’d lied, staring at the ceiling. Then, Freddie had joined him in bed and Roger had desperately pretended to be asleep. Freddie had slept on the very edge of the mattress, his back to Roger.

Roger had finally managed to drift into an uneasy slumber, far after the storm had cleared, and the sun rose on the horizon. When he’d woken later, Freddie was gone.

Before he’d been able to find either Freddie or John, Ulf had come to drag him to the meeting with Brenna.

Roger felt awful. Brian was in the dungeons, because of him, and would receive some punishment for what he’d did. It was ridiculous. The attack had barely hurt, Roger had just been blown off his feet as if by a strong wind. The words the other man had said to him, however, they stung. They stung, but they were true. He’d never been enough for Freddie, had he?

Freddie, who was so special, so talented and so, so kind. He was the most beautiful person Roger had ever met, and his singing voice and acrobatics were like magic, all on their own.

And Roger, well, he was just Roger, wasn’t he? Except, now he wasn’t. Now he was a prince, and heir to the kingdom. He was finally worth something. But to be the heir, meant marrying a woman, and having children.

Roger stared at the dust flakes floating through the sunlight. He was finally good enough for Freddie, but now he wouldn’t be able to keep him.

Hell. They needed to get away from here, didn’t they.

He finally pushed away from the wall, and walked down the corridor. He didn’t want to go see Brian, even if he should. He was still too angry. And guilty. And confused.

Instead, he stopped outside the door to John’s room. He knocked on it twice, but got no reply. He pushed it open, just a fraction, and peaked inside the tiny room.

John was nowhere to be seen.

He was probably at the stables.

“Hei,” Roger stopped a slave girl who passed him in the corridor. “Sett John? Eh, fiddle-man?” He awkwardly pretended to play the fiddle.

She looked at him with her wide eyes and Roger chuckled, scratching his head. But then the girl nodded seriously and turned back the way she came from.

Had she gone to get John? Had she understood him at all? Roger had no idea. At any rate he should try to find Freddie. Wherever he could be… Freddie had a gift for hiding away in secret places, when he didn’t want to be found.

But, surprisingly, finding Freddie turned out to be easier than Roger had expected.

His lover had gone to Brian’s room.

Roger found him there, curled up in the corner of the bed, some kind of book opened over his lap. Doing his best to ignore how hurt he felt that Freddie had once again found comfort in Brian, and not him, Roger stepped into the room and carefully closed the door behind him.

“Hello.” He said, his voice sounding loud and harsh in the quiet room.

Freddie lifted his eyes from the book, meeting Roger’s for a brief second before looking down again. “Hello.” He answered quietly.

Roger felt incredibly out of place, felt lost as what to say, what to do. He tried for a smile, gesturing at the book in Freddie’s lap. “Can you read it?”

“No.” Freddie shrugged. “I mostly look at the pictures.”

He didn’t say anything else and Roger sighed. He sat down at the edge of Brian’s bed, giving Freddie space. “Fred…”

“They won’t let me see him.” Freddie said, closing the book. “They refuse to let me in.” He finally looked up at Roger, his eyes wet. “What happened to him?”

Roger said nothing for a moment, fiddling with the leather scabbard of his sword. “He… he has some kind of magic powers. He can do strange things.”

“You knew?”

Roger nodded. “Yes, well, I suspected. He saved my from my fever, Fred. Using magic. I’m certain of it.”

“You have known for weeks. Without telling me.” Freddie’s voice was accusing.

Roger stubbornly kept looking down at the floor. “I was going to talk to you about it.” He muttered. And he’d meant to. Really. It had just escaped his mind in the middle of all the craziness that had become his life. “I… so much has happened, Freddie. I haven’t had time to think about it.”

Freddie scoffed. “Yes, you haven’t had time for anything than your new life, lately, have you.”

“That’s not fair.” Roger finally looked up at him, tired. “I’ve done all I’ve could to keep us safe. You know that.” He reached for Freddie’s cold hand, took it in his. “I have no choice in this.”

Freddie sighed, loosely wrapping his fingers around Roger’s hand. “I know.”

They sat quietly for a moment, just holding hands. Roger closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. Just sitting here with Freddie, having him with him, was like a soothing balm to his battered, anxious soul.

“What’s going to happen to him?” Freddie whispered.

Roger gripped his hand tighter in his. “I… I don’t know. They won’t kill him. But…” He winced. “He might get punished, in some way.”

“He protected me, you know.” Freddie said, pulling his hand from Roger’s grasp. “There were two Vikings, coming after me. They… they said… things. And reached for me. And I, I tried to fight, but they cornered me and took me by the throat and I…” His voice trembled. “I don’t know what would have happened if not for Brian.”

Roger clenched his fingers in the sheet, filled of rage and guilt and hopelessness. “I swear I’ll never let anything like that ever happen to you again, Freddie. Did you see their faces?”

Freddie shook his head. “It was dark. I was scared. I only know that Brian saved me.” His voice turned bitter. “And that it was me who begged him to stay with me, after. Because I was haunted by my nightmares.” His eyes were dark as he looked at Roger. “Because you weren’t there.”

“I…” Roger’s voice broke. He felt sick. “I’m sorry. For what happened. I should have let you explain. It’s just…” He swallowed. “He loves you Freddie. He loves you so much. And finding you in bed with him, like that… It hurt. I know nothing happened, I trust you. But, just the knowledge that he held you like that, that he was there for you… He wants more from you, Freddie. He’s wanted you since the beginning. You know that.”

Freddie wasn’t meeting his eyes, again. Instead he was suddenly very busy studying the golden rings on his fingers, the ones Roger had given him just weeks ago. God, it felt like a lifetime. There was a tense set to his lover’s mouth.

And even if Roger hadn’t even considered it to be true, even if he’d never doubted Freddie, not once since they’d met, he suddenly couldn’t stop hearing John’s drunken rambling in his head, again and again.

“But nothing happened.” He tried for a chuckle, but it came out dry and awkward. “Of course it didn’t. Right, Fred?”

Freddie shook his head, his gaze still firmly aimed at his hands. There was something almost panicked in his beautiful eyes. He reminded Roger of a trapped animal.

Roger suddenly felt like he couldn’t breathe. “Freddie. Tell me nothing happened. Tell me that there is nothing going on between you and Brian.”

Finally, Freddie met his eyes.

Roger’s heart sank in his chest.

Chapter Text

- - -

Freddie looked down at the book in his lap as his vision slowly went blurry. He couldn't hold Roger's gaze. Not when Roger was looking at him like this, his eyes full of such unwavering trust, begging for reassurance.

'It was Brian,' he considered saying for a brief moment, 'He kissed me, and I didn't want...'

Liar.

If John hadn't found them, Freddie couldn't say with any amount of certainty what would or wouldn't have happened. Because he had wanted. Of course he had wanted. For many months, if he was completely honest with himself. Only it was never meant to be more than a little infatuation, a thrilling fantasy safe inside his mind, where no one else - not Roger, nor Brian - would ever find it. How could he tell Roger this? It would wreck him. How could he explain to him that this didn't take away from the love he felt for Roger, when Freddie barely understood it himself? How was it possible to harbour such strong feelings for two people at once? How could his heart be tethered to Roger's and yet yearn for Brian alike? It wasn't right. He knew it wasn't.

And he couldn't throw Brian to the wolves like that. If Roger was no longer on Brian's side, then what chances did Brian have to so much as escape this ordeal with his life? God only knew where he was, even now, and what had been done to him. Freddie had spent all morning sick with worry, because in the end, wasn't it all his fault? If only he hadn't asked him to stay...

"Freddie." There was a clear note of trepidation in Roger's voice, coupled with suspicion. Freddie bit his lips, the leather binding of the book in his hands rough under his fingertips. He couldn't tell the truth. Couldn't run the dagger of betrayal through Roger's heart, but oh, it was so hard to pretend.

"I..." He took a deep breath and forced himself to look up, meeting Roger's eyes. "No, of course not. God, Roger, of course there isn't..."

A deep frown on his handsome face, Roger stared at him, and Freddie scrambled for something to say that would sell the lie and alleviate his suspicions.

"It's only that," he sighed, miserably, "I feel so dreadful about last night. Because you're right. I shouldn't have asked Brian to stay with me, I know he's... I know he isn't... indifferent towards me, and it was selfish. But I just couldn't bear to be alone, darling, I couldn't... not after..." Averting his gaze slowly, Freddie lifted his fingers to his neck and lightly ran them over the spot where he knew a couple of finger-shaped bruises decorated his skin. Simultaneously congratulating himself on this absolute stroke of brilliance, his heart racing with excitement at the prospect that he might be getting away with this. And in equal measure disgusted by his own brazen treachery.

"Oh Christ, Freddie..." Roger's voice softened, all concern and a note of guilt as he brushed Freddie's hair aside and surveyed his neck, running his fingers over the spot Freddie had touched. Yes. Appealing to Roger's protectiveness was perhaps the most sure-fire way to make him believe the lie. And the lie was a necessity, Freddie told himself firmly, because the truth was too cruel.

"I'm so sorry." Roger murmured, leaning in and resting his forehead against Freddie's temple. "If I ever get my hands on those bloody..."

"It's alright," Taking Roger's hand, Freddie clasped it in both of his and raised his eyes back up to him. "It could have been worse. But Brian," He raised his eyebrows as he was suddenly struck by a realisation and only a split second later recognised a perfect opportunity on top of that. "Oh goodness, Roger, now that I think of it... I think he... his voice," Freddie raked his teeth over his lower lip, frowning as he remembered. "It sounded so, well, almost the way it did last night and they... they just... listened. They listened to him and they left me alone."

Roger was frowning, too, looking back at him, alert and thoughtful. "Do you mean to say that he was using magic?"

"I... yes, I think so." Freddie said slowly, and blinked, squeezing Roger's hand urgently. "Roger, we have to go and see him."

The blond man turned away and sighed, rubbing his chin and then trailing his fingers down to his shoulder, where they traced the line of his collarbone through his clothes. "Yes... I know."

The sound of approaching footsteps in the corridor, slowing outside the door, caught their attention and they exchanged a look. Freddie scooted back a little and Roger rose to his feet, turning to face the door just as it slowly opened. To Freddie's surprise and relief, it wasn't one of the Vikings they were faced with but John, leaning in through the door.

"Oh, sorry," His eyebrows rose up as he looked from Freddie, to Roger and then dropped his gaze. "It's you... I... I was looking for Brian... to see if he knew... where Roger was. And here you are. Suppose I've found you."

He chuckled and cleared his throat, frowning to himself, then scratched his head and cast another very brief look at Roger.

"Did you... you wanted to see me?"

Roger blinked at him, evidently trying to gather his thoughts. "I... um. Yes. I mean."

"Why, uhm," John cut in, stepping fully into the room, and hesitated, "Sorry, please. You were saying?"

"No, go on?"

Freddie remembered the book on his lap and closed it, putting it aside as he watched them. John couldn't have interrupted at a more opportune moment. Now the topic of last night and Freddie's involvement with Brian would surely be laid to rest, well and truly, Freddie hoped, and tried to push the dreadful feeling of guilt into a far corner of his mind. It was for the best, this way. And the pressing matter at hand now was to make sure Brian would be safe. Oh God, Freddie prayed that he was safe.

"I was... just wondering why you're in Brian's room?" John said slowly, turning to look at Freddie. "And where's Brian, anyway?"

At this, both Freddie and Roger turned to look at each other, and then back at John, initially lost for words.

Of course. John had no idea.

"He's in the dungeons," Freddie murmured in a quiet voice.

"He attacked me," Roger added, sounding defensive.

"What?" said John, utterly perplexed.

"It was an accident." Freddie rose up from the bed and fixed Roger with a mildly reproachful look. "He didn't mean to do that, you do know that, don't you?"

"Yes." Roger replied. "I do know that, thank you. But the fact remains, and now I have to deal with it."

"You?" Freddie asked incredulously, "I daresay Brian is the one who is currently having to deal with it! And you don't even know what's going to happen to him, Roger!"

"Well, he won't die!" Roger cast Freddie an indignant look. "And you can thank me for that, by the way."

"Thank you, your Highness." Freddie scoffed, incensed by Roger's words in turn. "He might rot in the dungeons or be whipped or goodness knows what, but at least he won't die."

The look on Roger's face turned a mixture between exhausted and wounded. "What do you want from me, Freddie?"

"I want you to do something!" Freddie said hotly, not entirely sure how that wasn't obvious. "You're their bloody prince! Convince them to let him go!"

"Don't you think I've tried that!" Roger snapped, taking a step toward him while John looked on, observing their exchange. "It's not that easy, alright!"

But Freddie refused to back down. "Try harder," he said, and checked himself when he realised how harsh he sounded. "I mean... we." he added, his tone more measured. "We have to try harder. First of all, we have to go and see him. Right now. I... we have to make sure that he's alright!"

"Fine," Roger conceded with a sigh. "We'll go."

"Will someone," interjected John, seizing the opportunity to speak up, "please, please tell me what I've missed?"

Roger looked from John to Freddie, who sighed, shrugging his shoulders.

"Brian has magic powers." Roger said simply, turning back to John. "And he used them against me last night, after we got into a fight. People saw."

"Wait-" John blinked, looking from Roger to Freddie. "Wait, what?"

"I know, dear, it's a lot to take in." Freddie gave another sigh, running a hand through his hair. "But it's true."

"Magic." said John.

"Magic." Roger confirmed, and Freddie nodded.

"And now he's... Oh no, but that's... That's not good." Clearly still struggling to process it all, John rubbed his forehead, staring at the far corner of the room.

"It's not." Freddie agreed, dismayed. "It's dreadful."

"It could be worse," Roger mumbled, "I'm just saying!" he added when Freddie shot him a glare.

"What were you fighting about?" John asked, turning back to Roger.

"Um," Roger hesitated.

"Does that really matter right now?" Freddie quickly cut in. "Are we just going to stand here or are we going to try and find a way to help him?"

Roger gave a curt nod. "Let's go." He said, and lead the way out of the room, followed by Freddie and John.

They left the building and crossed the yard, curious eyes following them wherever they went. Even after weeks of their presence in the Viking village, the novelty hadn't quite worn off. They were still the strangers, Freddie felt, or perhaps himself more so than the others. Nobody stood out more than he did with his dark hair and complexion, he thought, and lowered his eyes to the ground, following Roger's heavy boots.

The same guards who had barely acknowledged Freddie earlier bowed their heads before Roger and surveyed the three of them curiously but let them pass readily enough after Roger exchanged a few words in their own tongue with them. It put Freddie on edge. The ease with which Roger seemed to have immersed himself into their language and culture. He'd had to, of course, there was no question. He'd had no other choice. But as much as Freddie was out of place here, Roger seemed to fit in, and that realisation tied Freddie's stomach in knots.

The staircase which lead down to the dungeon was damp and slippery after the storm. The place was freezing and smelled of earth and rot. Freddie's heart sank, knowing Brian had spent the night in this dreadful place. There were no more guards at the bottom of the staircase, the prisoners evidently left to their own devices unless someone came to see if they were still alive at all. An oil lantern flickered on a ledge beside the bottom of the stairs and Roger picked it up, holding it out in front of him. Something flitted across the floor just a few paces away, startling them all a little.

"Rat," Roger murmured.

"Brian?" called Freddie cautiously, and heard his voice bounce off the walls in the cavernous space. There was the faint sound of shuffling and the clanking of chains, sounding from different parts of the dungeon just ahead of them. It was a long room, cells with black metal bars and heavy locks lining the walls.

"...Freddie?" Came the weak reply, Brian's voice hoarse and filled with disbelief. "Freddie!"

His cell seemed to be at the far end of the dungeon, where the light didn't reach.

"It's us, dear!" Freddie called. "Where are you?"

"Here! I'm... I'm here..."

"Come on," said Roger, and lead the way with the lantern. Even with the help of its pale light, it was so dark that Freddie could not at once tell if the cells were empty or occupied, and carefully kept to the centre of the corridor, beside Roger, as they ventured deeper into the dungeon. Most of the cells seemed empty. Although just then, something rattled in a dark corner and John flinched, pressing closer to Freddie. There was some shuffling and a wet cough from somewhere else, a glimpse of a silhouette catching their eye in another cell. The prisoners in the few cells which were occupied kept in the shadows, perhaps out of trepidation of who had come for them, or simply disinterest.

"Brian!" Freddie exclaimed when he spotted a familiar pair of hands wrapped around the bars of a cell at the very back of the room, the magician's face but a pale spectre in the dim light. It took everything in him not to rush forward and clasp Brian's hands in his, but he couldn't allow himself that, Freddie thought, throwing a sideways glance at Roger as they neared the cell with quick strides.

"Freddie..." Brian gave a sigh that was as anguished as it was relieved, eyes travelling from the dark-haired man to Roger. "Oh Roger, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to-" His eyebrows rose up when he saw that their youngest companion was also with him. "John!"

And it was he who overtook Freddie and Roger and rushed forward, hands wrapping around the bars underneath Brian's.

"Are you alright?" John asked worriedly, looking him over. "Are you hurt?"

Roger came to a halt on one side of John, Freddie on the other. Brian squinted against the light of the lantern, even the dim light it gave off too much for him, after hours of darkness. His eyes, gleaming with sadness, flickered to Freddie, making his heart contract painfully in his chest. He wanted to reach out and touch his cheek or merely lay a comforting hand on his wrist so much it was unbearable.

"I'm sorry," Freddie mouthed, and Brian gave the faintest shake of his head, a rueful smile tugging at the corners of his mouth before he answered John.

"I'm alright. Lucky to be alive... I'm sure," he added, turning to face Roger as he swallowed dryly. "Roger, I'm so sorry, please, you must believe me. I never meant for any of it to happen, I can't even begin to-"

"Don't." Roger shook his head, his face lined with worry. "I know. I know... and I tried to convince them to let you go, I really did." He sighed helplessly, lowering his eyes. "They wouldn't listen."

"You did what you could." Brian said quietly, resignation creeping into his voice. "Thank you for that."

“Don’t thank me.” Roger murmured.

“What’s going to happen to him now?” asked John, still holding on to the bars as if he hoped they might give if he clutched them desperately enough. “Roger?”

“Yes,” Freddie also turned to Roger, even though he already knew the dreadful answer. “What happens now?”

The blond man was still gazing at the ground, his braid hanging over one shoulder. “I don’t… I don’t know exactly,” he said slowly, choosing his words carefully. “I don’t think it has been decided. But… there will be…” He seemed reluctant to utter the words. “...some form of punishment.”

John stared at Roger, shaking his head.

“No.” Their young friend said, quietly at first, and then repeated it, louder. “No. Roger, there must be something you can do, surely-”

“It’s alright.” said Brian, who had leaned his forehead against one of the metal bars, his gaze unfocused.

“It’s not alright!” Freddie protested, pushing in front of John to face Brian, fingers ghosting over his knuckles on the metal bars, just briefly, before he turned to Roger. “We have to…”

When Roger met his eyes, the expression in them was as resigned as the tone of Brian’s voice and Freddie could hardly believe it. In fact, it made him furious.

“What is the matter with you all!” He caught Brian’s eye before turning to stare at Roger again, imploring him. “We can’t just sit back and let this happen, it’s madness! I can’t believe you!”

“I agree with Freddie.” John said valiantly, from behind his shoulder.

“Thank you, John.” Freddie acknowledged, looking between Brian and Roger.

“Freddie-” Roger started, leaning in closer to him, but Freddie cut him off.

“We were too late last time, but I won’t let this happen to him again. I won’t!”

“Keep your voice down, will you.” hissed Roger, throwing a glance towards the staircase which had disappeared into darkness at the other end of the dungeon.

Opening his mouth to protest, Freddie hesitated and checked himself, realising that his lover was right. They had no idea who else was in these cells, and whether they were listening or understood their language.

“I refuse to just give up and let them do… God knows what to him.” he whispered urgently, a mixture of frustration, aimless anger and dread on Brian’s behalf constricting his chest.

“I tried, didn’t you hear me?” Roger whispered back, looking just as frustrated and dismayed. “But I’m not in charge here, alright? It isn’t up to me. What exactly do you want me to do, Freddie?”

“I don’t know! But the Roger I knew would be the first to try and find a way,” Freddie retorted hotly in a hushed voice, and it wasn’t until he had said it that he realised what he had said.

Roger pulled back a little and blinked, gazing back at him with a frown on his face. “The Roger you knew...? And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“I…” Half aware that Brian and John were right there, listening in on their conversation, Freddie bit his tongue and tried not to say it. Tried not to tell Roger how much it felt as though he was drifting away from him, fraternising with these barbarians who were holding them in comfortable captivity. Not just playing, but adopting the part he had been assigned. For if Roger was their prince, then where did that leave Freddie? Where did that leave Brian and John, in this strange place, so far from the lands they knew? But Freddie didn’t say any of that, and still, those misgivings and the reproach must have been written in his eyes and in the way he turned his head away, because Roger huffed out a breath and nodded.

“Alright.” He uttered, his voice on edge even though he kept it low. Swinging the oil lamp out, he looked around and spotted a small torch mounted on the wall beside the cell. Pulling it down, he opened the lantern and lit it while he spoke. “Just so you know. Just in case any of you have forgotten,” He glanced up at Freddie darkly, before his eyes flickered to John and then Brian. “All I’ve done... Every single thing I’ve done since we got here has been for us. Every single fucking day-” The torch caught fire and he broke off, staring at the flame. It threw dancing shadows across his face, his brows knotted and his lips a thin line as he closed the lantern and thrust it at Freddie, who took it from him.

“Roger,” whispered Freddie, trying for a reconciliatory tone, realising that Roger, too, was right. But the blond man wouldn’t hear it.

“I’m sorry that keeping you alive isn’t good enough for you.” he uttered angrily, silencing Freddie. “I guess I’ll try harder.”

And with that he turned on his heel and marched back towards the staircase.

“Roger, wait!” called Freddie, also turning around and taking a few steps after him as he held out the lantern at arm’s length. “Where are you going?”

Slowing down slightly, Roger turned back and threw an arm out to the side. “To find a way!” he called back, “Like the Roger you knew.”

Freddie’s heart gave a painful jolt as he gazed after his lover for a moment, before turning back around to Brian, his lips parted, although no words were forthcoming.

“Go after him,” Brian said, voicing Freddie’s very thought, and the complete lack of bitterness in his voice made Freddie’s heart ache even more. Sweet, selfless Brian. Of course a part of Freddie desperately wanted to go after Roger, but another part of him didn’t want to abandon Brian to the darkness once again so quickly, while yet another feared that if he ran after Roger now it would only lead to an exchange of harsh words. He knew Roger had done everything he could to protect them, and yet.

And yet, all the while, Freddie had done nothing but support him and care for him as well as he could, first and foremost, not voicing a single complaint. And he hadn’t realised until this very moment how much resentment he was harbouring, whether it was justified or not.

“I’m not sure that I should…” he murmured.

Beside him, John gave a snort, and Freddie turned to him, surprised to see the dark look on his face as he narrowed his eyes at him.

“Well, then, I will.” he told Freddie, “Because he’s right, you know. He’s been doing his best. And what have you done, anyway?”

Throwing Brian a last, worried look, John hurried towards the staircase which was still faintly illuminated by the light from Roger’s torch as he was reaching the top of the stairs. Leaving Brian and Freddie alone in the feeble light of the oil lamp.

“How can he…” Freddie shook his head, lost for words. “There’s nothing more I could have…”

“Freddie,” Brian’s quiet, gentle voice tore him out of his confused emotions and when Freddie locked eyes with him, it hit him that they were now alone in the dark. Something inside him fluttered nervously at that knowledge, even though he had been alone with Brian plenty of times, and in far more compromising situations. But it was, perhaps, not until last night, when he had let himself sink into Brian’s embrace, their arms around each other, enveloped by his scent and shivering at his gentle touch, that Freddie had finally allowed himself to truly acknowledge how he felt. And now, as though to punish him for those very feelings, Brian was locked away and awaiting a fate Freddie didn’t even want to contemplate.

Coming up close to the bars again, Freddie lifted the lantern up beside himself, illuminating the other man’s face. His kind, intelligent eyes looked infinitely forlorn, and it reminded Freddie of when they had first found him. Just as trapped. Just as scared and hopeless.

“I’m so sorry.” Brian uttered faintly, and lowered his eyes with a sigh. “Please make sure Roger doesn’t do anything stupid. This is all my fault, and I-”

“No,” Freddie whispered, and finally, finally, raised his hand, tenderly tracing Brian’s knuckles with his fingertips. Startled at the touch, Brian looked up again and moved his fingers just slightly under Freddie’s touch. “Don’t you dare.” Freddie continued with a small shake of his head, his voice barely more than a whisper but full of insistence. “None of this is your fault.”

“But…”

“I won’t hear it.”

Their eyes wandered to their hands almost at the same time, looking on as their fingers, seemingly having developed a life of their own, brushed against each other softly, caressing each other. Freddie heard Brian draw a shaky breath and it sent a shiver up his spine, raising the small hairs on the back of his neck. Making his heart beat faster.

And all this, from the slightest touch. It was ridiculous. And yet.

“So,” he breathed, allowing himself to watch Brian’s long, beautiful fingers slide against his own for another moment before their hands settled against each other, resting on the cold, rusty iron, and Freddie met the other man’s gaze. “Magic?”

Freddie thought he detected the ghost of a smile on Brian’s face. “Yeah.”

Pursing his lips over his teeth with the hint of a smirk, Freddie raised an eyebrow. “Very impressive. You are a mystery, Brian May.”

He certainly couldn’t see it in the dark, but when Brian chuckled and looked aside for a moment, Freddie could have sworn he was blushing and that knowledge prickled through him pleasantly.

“You’ve been keeping it well hidden,” Freddie said, more seriously, perhaps even a little reproachfully. “This secret of yours.”

“I didn’t know. Not when I first met you.”

Earnest eyes found his again, and Freddie wrapped his fingers around Brian’s a little tighter.

“It all started…” Brian sighed deeply and leaned his forehead against an iron bar of his cell again. “It started when we lost Roger. Something very strange happened that night. I found him, and I couldn’t tell you how, but it wasn’t… it was through no ordinary means.”

At the mention of Roger, and the memory of that dark day, Freddie lowered his gaze and pulled his hand away, a wave of guilt washing over him. What was he doing? He couldn’t do this. How could he do this to Roger? How could he be so heartless? And yet, if he was heartless, how come he felt so much, so deeply, for both of them?

“I’m sorry.” said Brian, again, and Freddie smiled.

“I told you to stop apologising, darling.”

His arm was starting to ache from holding the lantern in place, and so he lowered it as he looked up, the exquisite lines of Brian’s face only outlines in the darkness. His eyes a pair of sparkling stars, although their light was dimmed by uncertainty and fear right now. Freddie would have given anything to see them shine brightly again. In the near darkness, he imagined stepping closer still, until his chest was all but flush against the bars. Imagined reaching through the bars to lay a hand on Brian’s chest, imagined that look of tortured longing on Brian’s face as he gazed down at him. Long fingers reaching for him, delving in his hair. The feeling of Brian’s warm breath on his lips moments before they collided in a fervent kiss. Oh God. Freddie shuddered, heart hammering in his throat so hard he was certain Brian could see it, and took a small step back.

“Can…” Brian cleared his throat. “Can I show you something?”

“...f course.” Finding his voice almost gone, Freddie swallowed and nodded, and watched as Brian stretched his hands out through the bars, palms facing each other but not touching.

At first, nothing happened. But then, right in front of Freddie’s eyes, a faint, blue-green shimmer manifested itself between Brian’s hands, slowly growing in brightness until it resembled a small handful of glowing mist.

“I’ve been practising before sunrise,” Brian told him quietly as Freddie stared at it wide-eyed, utterly rapt, “It’s easiest just before the first light of dawn, when it feels like the whole world is still asleep…”

He cupped his hands and the glowing mist swirled in his palms for a few moments before it faded away.

“Oh, that’s gorgeous.” Freddie breathed, amazed.

When he looked up, the smile he found on Brian’s face was genuinely joyful, and Freddie’s heart gave a painful jolt. “We’ll find a way out of this,” he said, hoping against hope that it was no empty promise. "I swear."

- - -

Realising he was still holding the torch as he left the dungeons, Roger turned to one of the guards and opened his mouth, trying to think of foreign words that wouldn’t come, his mind clouded by tumultous emotion.

“Oh, just- here.” He shoved the torch into the guard’s hands and strode away quickly, not entirely sure where he was headed and not looking back.

He had to talk to Brenna. And Arne. Maybe there was still a way… Although he doubted it. There was nothing he could think to say to them to make them change their minds, but Freddie was right, he couldn’t just give up. Seeing Brian in that cell had been awful enough without his lover’s words, which were now ringing in his ears.
‘I haven’t changed!’ Roger wanted to yell, his hands balled into fists as he strode across the yard and past the stables. ‘I’m still me!’
But who was he? In truth, he had been asking himself that very question for weeks now. Was Freddie right? Had he changed? Had he become Rothgar, the Viking prince, whose loyalty no longer lay with his friends who had been his only family before he had arrived on these strange shores?

His head full of questions and devoid of answers, Roger came to a halt and groaned with frustration, lifting his hands up to his head. Trying to think of a plan. Think of something. But he couldn’t, and almost without thinking, he turned and headed for the stables instead, nearly bumping into a stable boy on the way who quickly jumped out of his path and gave him an odd look. Stepping into the stables, Roger all but threw himself in the direction of the grey donkey, resting in the straw, who brayed happily at the sight of him.

“Hey… cheeky lady,” Dropping down onto his knees beside her in the straw, a weak smile on his lips, he felt the tension and anger slowly drain away as he scratched her head, the spot behind her ears she liked so much, while Tootsie gave a contented whuffle and nuzzled against his stomach.

There was a quiet nicker and Roger glanced up, one eyebrow raised.

“Relax,” he told his horse, the large, proud animal watching him and Tootsie curiously. “You get enough attention anyway. You, however…” he cooed, turning back to Tootsie and leaning down to rest his forehead against her head. “I know. I miss you, too." He closed his eyes for a moment. "Oh, Toots… What do I do, eh?”

The donkey looked at him with her large, dark eyes when he straightened up again and Roger sighed deeply, moving to sit cross-legged as he continued to pet her. “If only you had the answers. Now wouldn’t that be something…”

Out of the corner of his eye he saw the shadow of a person approach and looked up, expecting to see one of the stable boys. But instead he found John, who took a hesitant step forward, fiddling with the leather straps holding the fur he wore over his shoulders in place.

“Um,” he said, glancing down at his boots with a small frown, “You… I just… I wanted to…”

- - -

It was on a whim that John had decided to run after Roger. In fact, it was out of a sense of profound unfairness that needed to be put right, because what Freddie had said to him simply wasn’t fair. Out of all of them, Roger was the one who’d had to work the hardest since their arrival. John was sure of this, because he had spent many hours watching him practising with the sword, had seen him wince and grit his teeth and push himself through it even though his ribs had to be agony. It was Roger who had saved them from execution on the ship. Roger who had sent him to the forest when the riders had surprised them in the meadow, on that first day which had started so well and ended so dreadfully.

If there was one thing John was absolutely certain of, it was that he needed Roger to know he was behind him one hundred percent and grateful for everything he had done. Because the Roger he knew was the kindest, bravest, most handsome - well, that last part wasn’t really the point, of course -

Stumbling up the remainder of the stairs in the dark, John left the dungeons, casting the guards a wary look.

“Er… Rothgar?” he asked, a little timidly, and one of them pointed with the lit torch Roger had been holding.

“Right. Thanks.” murmured John, turning into the direction the man had indicated only to spot Roger turn a corner, rounding the stables. And so he hurried after him, determined to let him know... well, something. John wasn't quite sure.

Because not five minutes later, once he had caught up with Roger and stood in front of him in the stables, all John could do, apparently, was fall over his own words like an utter fool.

“Just, um, came to… to…” Good Lord in heaven, what was wrong with him?

“I owe you a thank you,” said Roger, interrupting his nonsensical stammering, and John was infinitely thankful for that, but also quite surprised.

“Oh… what for?” he asked, meeting Roger’s eyes. The blond man smiled and John found himself mirroring his gorgeous, infectuous smile without thinking.

“For looking after this little lady, of course.” Roger patted Tootsie’s neck and stuck the tip of his tongue out between his teeth. John stood frozen with a goofy grin on his face, until he realised he ought to reply something.

“Ah, erm, yes. Thank you! Back. Thank you, in return, I mean. For thanking me.” And now he desperately wished he hadn’t opened his mouth at all. It was all because of that… abnormal… dream he’d had. He just couldn’t seem to shake it, especially now that he was alone with Roger, vague memories of the night before in his mind. Of sitting so close their knees touched, listening to Roger’s melodious voice while he told him… something about… something. John really couldn’t remember, but he remembered the way Roger had licked a drop off mead off his finger.

It had been much easier to speak, too, after John had already spent most of the evening drinking.

“I meant to tell you last night,” Roger shrugged, scratching Tootsie under the chin. “Or maybe I did? Well, it’s worth saying again.”

"Er..." John averted his eyes again and shifted uncomfortably, "I don't... I don't remember much about last night. If I'm perfectly honest."

When he looked up, there was a slightly mischievous sort of smirk on Roger’s face.

"That's... probably for the best," he said, after a moment.

John’s eyes grew wide. “W-why?” Oh Lord, what had happened last night that Roger knew about and he didn’t? “Did I, um… What did I say?” he asked cautiously, trying to imagine the sort of things he might have come out with and at the same time too embarrassed to even contemplate it.

“It wasn’t what you said, so much.” Roger snorted, but then his smile faded and a crease appeared between his brows, a new thought seemingly taking a hold of him. “Although you did say some strange things...”

“Like… what?” John asked with a nervous laugh, taking a step closer.

“Oh, silly things,” Roger said lightly, although the sideways look he cast him was oddly dark. “Comparing me to a prince from your fairytales… something about... Freddie kissing Brian…”

John’s heart missed a beat, his blood running cold as he immediately realised what he must have done. And being the honest, not yet world-wise soul he was, it did not for a second cross his mind to lie. To try and claim that all his words had been drunken nonsense.

“Oh,” he gasped, a hand flying up to his mouth, and Roger turned to him, eyes as wide as his own.

“Oh no, I promised not to say- please don’t-” John blurted out. ‘Please don’t tell Brian and Freddie, he had meant to add, and stopped himself, realising how ridiculous that request would have been.

But why was Roger looking at him with such horrified astonishment? If John had already told him last night?

“So it’s true?” The blond man uttered, and rose to his feet, the look on his face turning murderous. John didn’t know what to say, he didn't know what to say at all. Roger ran a hand over his hair, shaking his head. His voice thick with emotion. “I fucking knew...”

“I’m sorry,” John murmured eventually, even as Roger shouldered past him and walked out of the stables.

- - -

Chapter Text

Long ago, when Roger was about ten years old, two of the other boys in the village had insulted his mother. Now, he didn’t even remember what they’d said. It couldn’t have been that bad, surely.

But, it had been bad enough, then. Bad enough for Roger to completely lose control, gripped by such furious rage that his mind blanked out. He came back to himself later, when one of the boys’ father ripped him away from his son.

And the image he’d seen then, was one he’d never forget.

One of the boys was screaming, mouth bloodied, two of his teeth knocked out. The other one was unconscious, his face swelling up in hues of blue and purple, his small nose broken.

Roger had done that. Without meaning to. Something that wasn’t himself, had taken over his body and had made him punch and kick and bite, until he was stopped.

Hurt… Rip… Break…

It was then Roger realized he had a demon inside him. One that would rise to the surface when he was cornered or very angry. A demon which couldn’t wait to sink its claws into its next victim, ripping them to shreds.

He’d learnt to control it since then, somewhat. When that overwhelming, powerful fury started to tug at him, he tried to leave, go somewhere else, be alone. Take it out on something that wasn’t a human body. He hadn’t always succeeded.

This was why Roger couldn’t go see Freddie. Not now.

Instead, he headed towards the thicket of trees just behind the stable, his boots kicking up dirt as he walked.

It felt as if his very brain was on fire. It felt like his entire body was on fire.

Try harder.

His fists were so tightly clenched his nails dug painfully into the meat of his palms. Pure adrenaline pumped through his blood, lighting it aflame. His heart was hammering in his chest, his pulse roaring so loudly in his ears it drowned out all other noise.

There was no wind, no waves breaking over the rocks, no voices. Nothing. Nothing but him and the demon.

Try harder.

Such a load of fucking crap.

Try harder?

Here he’d done everything in his power to keep the others’ safe. He’d practiced with the sword until his hands bled and the pain from his rib cage made him dizzy, dark spots tauntingly dancing in front of his eyes. He’d been beaten and bruised, body aching, his skin coloured blue and yellow and violet.

And worse, even if he was loath to admit it, he had been scared. All the time. Of making a mistake, of finally crossing the line. Of putting the others at risk.

The Roger I knew would be the first to try and find a way.

He had! He’d saved Brian’s life. Had begged for him, several times. He’d fought and struggled and tried.

While Freddie and Brian had been fucking behind his back.

He needed something, anything to take his aggressions out on, some way to release the roaring energy in his body, or he would explode.

He set his sight on a mostly rotten trunk, lying on the ground a few metres off, and stormed over to it.

It’s not what it looked like… You’re overreacting.

Brian had lied to him. He’d dared to argue with Roger, to fight him, refusing his accusations. Both Freddie and him acting as if Roger was being unreasonable, as if he was in the wrong.

When he’d been right all along.

His boot made contact with the trunk, sending a large chunk of it flying. The pain in his toes was completely swallowed by the sweet satisfaction of breaking something.

But it wasn’t enough.

Freddie had lied right to his face. Just an hour ago. He had sat there, his beautiful brown eyes sorrowful and tired, and he had lied.

More pieces of rotten wood flew as he kicked and kicked and kicked.

For how long had they been kissing? Had they done more? Had they been fucking all the time while Roger had been away? They had probably been glad to see him go, falling into each other's arms immediately.

He was dimly aware of letting out low snarls and growls, sweat running down his face as he continued to demolish the tree trunk.

Was it more? Was Freddie in love with Brian? Brian was enchanted by Freddie, Roger knew that much. But he’d never… Never believed Freddie felt the same. It hadn’t even crossed his mind.

He’d trusted Freddie with his life and his heart.

And Freddie had lied.

He had lied and then had the stomach to accuse Roger of not doing enough! He was the only one, the only one of them, who’d been doing anything at all.

How dare he?

An animalistic whine left his throat, his toes numb as he stopped for a moment. He hung his head, breathing heavily.

How fucking dare he

Everyone had known about it. Everyone except Roger.

He was so caught up in himself and his fury that he didn’t notice the soft footsteps of someone coming up behind him.

“Roger.”

A hand touched his shoulder.

Roger spun around with a snarl, gripped their shirt and shoved them to the ground, ready to punch their face in.

He paused with his arm pulled back, his fist clenched, and stared at the pale, terrified face below.

It was John.

“Fuck,” Roger grunted, letting out a deep breath. He let his arm fall to his side, looking down at the younger man, chest heaving as he tried to calm down. “Fuck, I’m so sorry.”

John shook his head quickly. “No, no I shouldn't have… I shouldn’t have touched you. It’s my fault.”

Roger wiped the sweat off his brow. “It’s… no. It’s not.”

It’s their fault. His fault.

“I just… I get so angry. Sometimes. And I… I don’t know. I lose control. Everything’s just… red. You know?”

John was still staring up at him, wide-eyed and shaken. “Eh… I… think I get it?”

Roger snorted. “Do you?”

“No. Not really.” The brown-haired man bit his lip, looking ashamed. “And I’m sorry. I made you angry. I should never have…”

Roger’s heartbeat, which had started to return to a normal pace, sped up again. “Are you serious? You’re sorry? John, you’re the only one who didn’t lie to me. You tried to tell me, earlier, and I…”

“I’m sorry.” John mumbled, eyes downcast.

Roger opened his mouth to answer but didn’t know what to say. Instead he sighed and shifted back a bit, before freezing in place when John let out a strangled gasp. Roger realized, then, that he was sitting astride the younger man’s hips. “Oh, shit. Sorry.” He muttered, quickly getting to his feet and helping a pink cheeked John up.

“What are you... “ John started, sounding slightly winded. “What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know.” Roger said, staring down at the damp moss.

The fire-hot anger had burned out for now, leaving him feeling small and stupid.

Everyone had known, except for him. If it wasn’t for John and his inability to keep a secret, Roger would still be left in the dark.

God, he was such a fool.

“I need to talk to Freddie.”

John nodded, jaw set. “Yes. And Roger?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”

Feeling embarrassingly close to tears, Roger mumbled it’s alright and turned to head back to the main house.

- - -

Freddie couldn’t make himself go back, at once.

He felt… odd.

It was like his very heart and soul were being torn apart, two combating forces inside of him, fighting desperately to win. To win what, he didn’t know. All he knew was that he was so painfully full of emotions it felt as if he was going to burst.

Because, after his moment with Brian in the dungeons just now, Freddie knew clearly, without a doubt, that he couldn’t be without him. He didn’t want to live life without Brian.

That was how important the other man had become.

Freddie… loved him.

It was that simple.

And so complicated.

He loved Brian. And he wanted him, fiercely. Wanted to run his fingers through those gorgeous, dark locks. Wanted to kiss him until he couldn’t breathe. Wanted him so bad it felt as if he’d die if he couldn’t have him.

But, he also loved Roger.

And he couldn’t be without him either.

When Freddie first met Roger, he’d been a wreck of a man. At that time, he’d been hopelessly lost and defeated, certain there was nothing in this world that could make life worth living. The only thing keeping him up and going being that he didn’t want to die, either.

And Roger… He’d appeared from out of nowhere. Bright and fair and good and so in love with Freddie. In the beginning, when it was just the two of them, he’d followed wherever Freddie wanted to go, without a doubt, just to be beside him. And Freddie had never felt so cared for, so appreciated and desired, as when he was with Roger.

Until Brian.

Oh. It was all such a mess. He was surely being tested by some divine force, there just had to be a reason that he was put through this. Or maybe he was just being punished, again…

The only thing he knew for certain was that he needed to make a choice, and soon. Before he’d end up ruining everything.

If only he knew which one to make. If only he knew how to make himself stop wanting Brian.

Freddie sighed deeply, looking out over the ocean. He was back on the walkway on top of the wall. His favourite place to sort out his thoughts. To escape, for awhile.

He probably shouldn’t be out here, alone… It was not safe, after all. And now Brian was locked away and wouldn’t be able to help him, should he get in trouble.

And Roger… Well Roger was probably talking to the queen, trying to convince her to let Brian go. John had been right, before. Roger had been doing his best. And Freddie had been unfair to him.

He needed to go talk to him. He knew he did. But he was just so tired of fighting.

Besides, it just wasn’t the same talking to Roger, these days. If there was one thing Freddie actually was right about, it was that Roger had changed. If it was for the better or worse, no one could tell. All Freddie knew was that he missed the bright-eyed, excited young man he’d first met, who had been carefree, happy and in love with life. As he missed those days, when things were simple and they were free. When they could spend an entire afternoon in a beautiful meadow just because they felt like it, enjoying the weather, the nature and each other.

Those beautiful, warm days felt like nothing but a distant dream, now. The wind was gearing up, ripping at Freddie’s hair and howling in his ears. Above, the skies were darkening as heavy rain clouds slowly approached the island.

Accepting it as his cue to finally get a move on and find Roger, Freddie gave the horizon one last longing glance, before turning to walk back to the settlement.

He found his lover sooner than he’d thought he would, sitting on the bed in their room. Roger looked up when he entered, his blue eyes stormy as he watched Freddie carefully close the door behind him. He didn’t say a word.

Immediate dread knotted Freddie’s stomach. Roger was angrier with him than he’d thought. His last comment must really have hurt him.

“Darling…” He started, letting out a small sigh. “I’m…”

“Have you been with Brian all this time?” Roger cut him off, his voice sounding strange to Freddie’s ears.

“No,” He answered, hesitantly. “No, I have not. But I fail to see why that’s relevant.”

Roger shook his head, a half-crazed laugh escaping him . “Why it’s… Oh my god, Freddie. You’re so full of shit.”

Something was very clearly wrong. Freddie was frozen stiff on the bedroom floor, staring at his angry lover. Roger body was shaking with barely contained emotion, his shoulders tense.

“Roger, what’s going on?” He asked, trying to keep his voice steady but failing. Dark, suffocating panic was blooming in his chest. Roger was way too upset for this to be about what Freddie’d said in the dungeon. This… This was something else.

“Like you don’t know!” Roger spat out, his hands clenched over his thighs. “How could you… I can’t believe you did that to me and then lied about it! How fucking could you?”

Freddie’s heart was a small, terrified animal, cowering in his chest. Oh, no.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He tried, shakily raising his voice to match Roger’s. “Is this about what I said before? I’m sorry, it wasn’t fair to you and…

“I know you kissed Brian, Freddie!”

Freddie reeled back as if Roger had hit him. He stared wide-eyed at the other man, his heart stuck in his throat. “What are you… No, I haven’t, of course I haven’t!” He desperately tried to gather himself, tried to make Roger listen and believe him, as he’d done earlier this day, but he was betrayed by the tremble of his voice.

“Stop lying to me!” Roger shouted, making Freddie jump.

His lover stared at him, his mouth gaping slightly open as he panted for breath. His eyes were tearing up. “Stop lying. I can’t… I just can’t take it anymore. All my life’s been a lie. Freddie. Everything, every fucking thing I’ve ever known has been overthrown. I’m… I’m so scared. And alone. All the time since we got here. Do you know what’s kept me at least remotely sane, through this? You. You, Brian and John. And now,” he wiped angrily at his eyes, his voice wobbling, “that turns out to have been a lie, too.”

Freddie wished that the ground would open up and swallow him where he stood. Facing Roger, like this… It was too much. It was too raw.

“It… I.” He swallowed, not knowing what to say. He’d been caught. And had ended up breaking Roger’s heart. Oh, god, how was he going to salvage this? “It hasn’t been a lie. It was a one time thing. I promise!”

Roger just looked at him, his eyes wet and full of hurt. “When?”

“When…” Freddie’s heart sank like a stone. He didn’t want to tell him, it was too painful, too shameful. Too cruel. But he had no choice. Roger deserved to know, after all. “The day the riders found us. In the forest.” He admitted quietly.

Roger slammed his hand down on top of the straw mattress. “Are you serious? You were sneaking away into the forest, kissing, while I… while I was.” He laughed almost hysterically.

“We didn’t know, dear, please. It didn’t mean anything, I promise.”

“Then why did I find you two in bed last night? Wrapped around each other like long lost lovers? He loves you Freddie. Loves you! And you’ve been flirting with him, leading him on. I didn’t think,” He took a shaky breath, “I didn’t think you felt something back. But I realize now that I’ve been blind, that I’ve been a gullible fool... All shared glances, soft touches… you two losing yourselves in each other when you talk about music or books, never bothering to include me.” His eyes darkened. “I’ve never been good enough for you.”

“That’s not true! You know that’s not true at all. I love you. I love you more than life itself, you know that!” Freddie pushed through the knot in his throat, helplessly staring into Roger’s eyes. Trying to make him understand. Because no matter how brilliant his lies were, how well versed he was in tricking and deceiving, this was the truth. And he needed Roger to see that.

Roger lowered his gaze, his fingers tugging hard on the blanket. “Then why do you still want Brian?”

Freddie opened his mouth to argue, to say that he didn’t, that it was all a mistake. That he wanted Roger, and only him. But, he was frozen up. He was unable to lie anymore, his heart ripped open and bleeding out all his secrets.

“I… don’t know. I don’t know! Something is wrong with me. I’m a wretched man, I know, but I can’t help wanting you both.”

“You love him?”

Freddie didn’t answer.

Roger didn’t need him to. He nodded, slowly, and got to his feet. “That’s what I thought.”

“But I love you more!”

The other man eyed him for a moment, before shaking his head. When he lifted his gaze back to Freddie it was as if a wall had appeared between them, Roger’s expression closed off and cold. “Yeah. I don’t believe you. I can’t afford to, anymore.”

He shoved past him on his way towards the door, leaving Freddie gaping. “Move your things out from here. I’m sure Brian would be happy to accommodate you in his room.”

With that, Roger opened the door and slammed it closed behind him.

Freddie stared after him. There was broken glass in his heart, piercing and cutting him up. His mind was screaming.

Roger hated him.

And since Roger hated him, and most likely Brian, too, Brian was done for.

Freddie hadn’t got to choose, in the end. The Gods and his own greed and heartlessness had done it for him.

He had betrayed Roger. And Brian would have to pay for it, with his life.

Raw sobs shook him to his core as he stood, alone in his former lover’s room.

Left with nothing.

Chapter Text

- - -

The damp cold crept under his clothes and held him in a merciless embrace, his body stiff from it and his jaw tensed to keep his teeth from chattering. He had long since stopped trying to warm himself up.

In the pitch black darkness, Brian sat leaning against the wall at the back of his cell, his long legs pulled up to his chest. In one of the other cells, a prisoner was moaning as though in pain. It had been going on for some time, and all it did was make Brian wonder if they were just going to leave him here to rot. He was parched and nauseous with hunger. This morning - he assumed it had been morning, it was hard to tell the time down here - was the last time he had been brought some water. Was it still afternoon, or already nightfall?

As he grimly stared into the darkness, Freddie's face swam before his eyes like a mirage, mouth slightly agape and eyes wide. Teeth just poking out from beneath his lip. Illuminated by the warm glow of the dim lamp and the greens and blues dancing in Brian's palms, their light moving across Freddie's handsome features. Brian cradled his hand to his chest, absently running his fingers over it where Freddie had touched him, so tenderly. So lovingly. Whenever he thought back to it, even the cold seemed incapable of reaching him anymore, the warm glow in his chest permeating his whole body. For so long, so very long, Brian had never dared to hope that one day, his feelings might be returned.

After all, Freddie was with Roger, and they loved each other dearly. As heartbreaking as it was for him to witness, it was still undeniably true. Or it had been.

Because something had happened today, and Brian didn't know what to make of it. The look in Freddie's eyes, the sweet touch of his fingertips. Never had the other man looked at him quite like that before. Was it now, faced with the very distinct possibility of Brian's demise, that Freddie had found it in his heart to love him, too? Brian swallowed and stretched out his hand, resting it on his knee, palm facing up. Narrowing his eyes, he stared into the dark and focused his mind, sitting perfectly still.

If he could dare to hope, if Freddie harboured feelings for him too, then how much more painful was the fate he faced? All morning, since he had awoken, still exhausted and shivering, Brian had felt despondent. Hopeless. Death had almost seemed like a kindness, for what was he if not a danger to his friends, to everyone around him? Unable to control the powers which had taken a hold of him.

No. If there was a chance that Freddie loved him back, Brian couldn't allow himself to think like that. His frown deepened, a tiny spark of light, flickering in his palm.

If Freddie loved him back, there was nothing in heaven or on earth Brian wouldn't do. The light sparked brighter, a grape-sized tangle of lighting in his palm, spinning around and around. He'd been weak. All his life, he'd allowed himself to be weak. Submitted to others, submitted to fate, accepted punishment and begged for forgiveness.

But now was not the time to hang his head and weep. Enough.

Brian closed his hand, extinguishing the pulsing light in it. Yes, he did not yet have much control over his powers. Yes, he was afraid that they were evil and could bring him and those around him nothing but harm and distress.

But he was capable of things no other mortals he knew of could do. He was powerful beyond their and his own understanding. The light which had burned in his palm seemed to have been reignited in his chest, shining brightly. If there was anything worth staying alive for, it was Freddie's love.

He had to stay alive.

- - -

It was Arne who found him, sitting against a tree up on a hill, just outside the settlement. Roger wondered how long it must have taken the advisor to locate him there. It wasn’t exactly a hiding place, but it was far from an obvious place to search. He saw the older man walking up the hill towards him and turned away, glaring at the treeline which started at the bottom of the other side of the hill. There was no one in the world Roger wanted to talk to right now.

Anger had given way to grief. It was tearing him apart at the seams, the pain so real he couldn’t believe it wasn’t physical. For the first time in his life, Roger understood what it meant when they said that hearts could break. His chest was full of shards, agonisingly painful, all of them containing memories of the love he had shared with Freddie. Of days in the sun and laughter. Passion and breathless delight. Perfect happiness and whispered promises of forever.

‘Forever’, Roger thought grimly.

Now it felt as if a part of him had gone missing forever. He was half a person, robbed of the only thing he had considered certain in his life for years. Years.

“You are not easy to find,” Arne told him, a little out of breath, having walked up the hill fast.

“Still too easy, apparently.” Roger muttered under his breath, turning his head toward the advisor a little but not looking up. “What do you want?”

“Brenna wanted to talk to you.” Arne explained, hands on his hips. “But I think by now…” He looked back around at the settlement. “she is already in the dungeons.”

“In the dungeons?” At that, Roger did look up at him, mildly curious. “To see Brian?”

“Yes.” The advisor nodded and Roger averted his eyes, looking toward the water, past the settlement. A part of him was surprised that all he felt was numbness at the thought of what might happen to Brian - Brian, who had saved his life twice - but he just didn’t have it in him to feel anything for that man right now.

“His fate has been decided.” Arne said. “Don’t you wish to know what it is?”

Roger slowly shook his head.

“No," he said, and turned away from Arne's questioning gaze, even though he could still feel it boring into him. "Not right now."

The older man was quiet for some time, and then lowered himself down beside him. 'Leave me,' Roger wanted to say. 'Please.'

"Have you ever been betrayed?" he found himself asking instead, staring at forest in the distance.

"Ah." Arne folded his arms on top of his knees and nodded slowly. "Yes, I have. More than once."

"By someone you…" 'Loved', Roger thought, and just thinking the word stung like salt in an open wound. "Someone you trusted... more than anyone else in the world?"

"Only those you love and trust can betray you," Arne pointed out, and Roger shifted uncomfortably, feeling as though for all his determination not to let on what or who he was talking about, he had already said too much.

"Did you ever forgive them?" he asked quietly.

Arne seemed to mull the question over for a long moment.

"No," he finally replied.

Roger swallowed and gave a small nod, frowning at his boots.

"But I never stopped wondering…" The older man stroked his chin with a tired sigh. "What would have been if I had?"

The sun was slowly setting, the cold wind chilling Roger's face and hands.

"Brenna wants to see you." Arne pulled himself up and brushed off his clothes. "Tonight," he added sternly, as though talking to a stubborn child.

"Yes." Roger threw him a dark look. "I know. Tell her I'm coming."

"I shall." The advisor turned to go, a small smile on his lips as he nodded his farewell. "My prince."

Giving him a curt nod in return, Roger leaned his head back against the tree and watched hues of pink, violet and red creep across the sky.

- - -

Absorbed deeply in a state of focus, fingers folded against each other and pressed to his lips, Brian might have looked as though he was praying. In actual fact, his mind was working furiously, no longer full of self-pity. Instead, searching for options, advantages. Working through the events of the weeks which had passed meticulously and for once daring to look where he had turned a blind eye before.

Who was he? What was he? And more importantly, what could he be, if he put his mind to it? His mind… There were memories hidden in the depths of his consciousness, hazy like dreams, or that was what he had always assumed them to be.

He lay out before himself the things he knew. And the things he had never questioned. The fact that he was an orphan, abandoned as a small child. His parents dead. How had they died? A fire, he had been told. Brian didn't remember. Couldn't remember the fire or where he had been, where he had come from and how exactly he had come to be raised by the family who had not been his. The family who had taken him in, not unkindly, but always he had felt their suspicion. The anger of the man who wasn't his father whenever he had stepped out of line. They had instilled the fear of God in him. Never let sin tempt you, never let the devil corrupt you. Or else…

Or else. Had they known? Had they feared what he could be? What he was?

Was there something in the recurring, vivid images from his dreams? The kind face of a woman, gazing at him so lovingly. Auburn curls. It was always when she was about to speak that he awoke, but even so, he felt as if he knew the sound of her voice even before she had uttered a word.

He absently touched his shoulder, where Albus would normally sit perched in moments like these. Realising what he was doing, Brian let his hand fall back into his lap, feeling as though a part of him was missing. Much as he had kept to himself in these last few weeks, Albus had been his constant companion. As ever. As always, since he had befriended the dove when he had been fifteen years old. Or perhaps Albus had befriended him?

The sound of boots echoing on the stairs roused Brian from his ruminations and he looked up, eyes widening in the dark as he spotted the faint light of a torch slowly descending the stairs. He quickly got to his feet, feeling faint with hunger and exhaustion, and stepped up to the bars, grabbing on to them for support. He could make her out, in the light of the torches the men behind her carried, the moment she came into sight.

The Viking queen herself had come to see him - he assumed she was here for him - and Brian’s heart quickened its pace, wondering what this meant. Execution or pardon? Punishment or something else entirely?

The light of the fire became unbearably bright as it came closer and he squinted, taking a step back from the bars, his legs unsteady and yet trying to hold himself proud and upright. He had spent the last few hours going over this in his mind. If this was his chance to speak for himself, then he was ready to take it. For Freddie. For his life. For all their fate combined.

Brenna stopped at a short distance in front of the iron bars, sizing him up with her sharp, inquisitive gaze. As always, she stood tall and proud, and Brian could not make out her face very well in the dancing light of the torches, but even so, he thought he detected a small hint of wariness. Deciding to test this theory, he took a quick step forward, clutching the bars again. The two men beside her tensed, and Brenna jerked her chin up higher, looking much as though she was forcing herself not to retreat.

Interesting, thought Brian, gazing back at her unwaveringly.

“Magic,” she spoke slowly, looking down her nose at him, her voice loud and firm. “is known to be a dangerous evil. A power wielded by those who have bartered their soul for it. Or so they say.” When Brian said nothing, she took a small step forward and continued. “You attacked my nephew. Your friend, or so he claims to be. It is because of him that you are still alive. What do you have to say for yourself?”

Brian’s face softened and he dropped his gaze, brows drawing together in a frown. “I regret what happened. I never meant to hurt him, Roger knows that.”

“Why should I believe you?”

He met her eyes again, tilting his head to one side. “Because he believes me. And he knows me well.”

“So why did you do it?” Brenna asked, widening her stance as she placed her hands on her hips.

“I didn’t.” Brian blinked and shook his head, his eyes earnest. “It… I didn’t have control over it. In that moment."

“So then,” Brenna said slowly, the muscles in her jaw working as she thought over her words. “You are dangerous, even if you do not lie, even if you mean no harm.”

Brian opened his mouth, and closed it again. He couldn’t say that it wasn’t so. The guilt he had felt for most of the time he had spent down in the dungeons enveloped him again and he lowered his head.

“Were you born with this… power?” asked the Viking queen.

“I don’t know.” Brian sighed. “It was only recently that I… that I found out.”

Stepping closer still, Brenna waited for him to look him in the eye before she spoke again. “Can you learn to control it?”

“Yes.” He wasn’t sure where that certainty came from. Perhaps simply the fact that he was as wary of his own powers as she was, and knew he had to try everything in his might to get them under control so that last night would never repeat itself again. So that he would never hurt his friends again. Not Roger, nor - God forbid - Freddie. Or even John. “I have been practising, I’m trying to learn.”

All of Brian’s intentions to play his cards right and exploit the fear he hoped they harboured in the face of the supernatural, the very same fear he felt, were falling to pieces. It wasn’t that he was too honest a man, but his desire to be believed, that he was not evil, that he did not mean harm, had taken him over completely. Brian quietly cursed himself, wishing he hadn’t given so much away.

Brenna crossed her arms over her chest. “I believe you,” she informed him simply, and Brian breathed a sigh of relief. Perhaps his truthfulness hadn’t been the worst approach after all? “But unlike my nephew, I cannot trust you. Since you cannot trust yourself.”

“I promise-” Brian started.

“No.” She raised a hand, cutting him off. “This is the trouble. Whether I believe you or not, is not important. My people have seen you do magic. They have seen you attack my rightful heir. They do not trust you. I cannot make them trust you, nor take away their fear of the power that you possess. You are still alive, but they want you dead. And with reason. What you have done cannot go unpunished. But if I have you punished…”

Hanging on her every word as his fate was decided, Brian raised his eyebrows, awaiting his sentence.

“Who is to say it will not happen again? Who is to say you will not lose control of your powers again? When whatever punishment I choose is inflicted on you? Who can tell me that worse things will not happen? I cannot take that chance and endanger my people.”

“But… I…” The awful thing was that she was right. His parched mouth impossibly dry, Brian tried to wet his lips, but his tongue felt like sandpaper.

“There is little I can do.” Brenna said, her voice perfectly impassive, as though she was explaining a simple unfortunate snag in a business transaction. “I must have you executed. I don’t see another way.”

There was nothing Brian could do but gape at her, ice-cold disbelief freezing the very blood in his veins. It was then that he realised he had foolishly assumed that he would perhaps not escape unscathed, but certainly with his life.

“Roger… Roger wouldn’t allow it,” he uttered desperately, voice wavering with uncertainty.

“Rothgar,” Brenna said emphatically, “does not make that decision. I do. And I have decided.”

It was only when he blinked that Brian realised there were tears in his eyes, his voice hoarse when he spoke. “How long… How long do I have?”

“Until tonight, after supper.”

“Oh my God-” His knees buckled beneath him and he sunk to the floor, cold, sore fingers scraping over rusty metal. “Oh my God.”

Brenna said something in her native tongue to the men by her side, although even if Brian had understood it, he would have barely heard it. Hot tears rolled down his cheeks as he squeezed his eyes shut, leaning his head against the metal bars with a dull thud.

“Please…” he whispered, the urge to beg for his life so strong even though he knew that it would accomplish nothing. There was simply nothing he could say to save himself. Heavy boots echoed down the corridor once more, away from him. “Oh God, please…” His voice wouldn’t obey him, an ugly, tearful croak, not rising above a whisper. “Can I at least… can I see… Freddie-” The name turned into a pitiful sob on his lips and Brian pressed a hand to his mouth, blinking the tears out of his eyes only to finally realise that the light of the torch had not gone. He jerked his head up and found Brenna looking down at him, holding one of the torches, the two men gone.

“Stop your wailing,” she said, impatiently though not cruelly, and lowered herself onto one knee, leaning close to him. “Now listen to me, and listen very carefully." She paused and looked over her shoulder. The heavy door upstairs fell into its lock. Brenna turned back to him. "I mean for you to live.”

His breath catching in his throat, hope all but drowning him with such a relief as he had never felt in his life, Brian could only stare at her wide-eyed.

“I don’t approve of lying to my people,” said the queen. “But I must. They want your life and I must give it to them. Tonight after supper, when night has fallen, we will lead one of these prisoners...” She glanced back over her shoulder again, nodding to the other cells. “...out before the people, wearing your garb. The darkness will come to our aid and so will the mead.” Brenna smiled a thin-lipped smile, evidently pleased with her plan. “His head will be covered, and I will say it is so you do not curse the people you see before you when we burn you alive.”

Much as Brian wanted to rejoice that he was going to live, the knowledge that one of the men down here was to be burned alive in his stead filled him with nauseating horror. It must have shown on his face, because Brenna raised an eyebrow, her smile turning into a sneer.

“The men here, would you like to hear their crimes? One of them stole another man’s wife away against her will and slit her husband’s throat when it came to a fight. He tried to bury the body.”

Brian gulped.

“In pieces.” Brenna added, and continued. “Another murdered his newborn babe when it was born because he thought it was not-”

“Alright.” Brian shook himself, rubbing a hand over his face. “But… but… why? Why spare me?” His eyes turned fearful. “What do you want with me?”

“I believe,” Her clear eyes pierced him in the half-light, the heat from the torch bringing warmth back into his frozen fingers as she held it closer. “that only cowards would shy away from a weapon as powerful as magic, when they could instead use it in battle. You will fight with us. By Rothgar’s side. Once we take sail for the Northern Isles. And before that happens, you will learn to master your powers. But I cannot risk you doing so here. I do not want my people in danger, nor do I want them full of fear and distrustful of their prince for sparing the life of his attacker. There is a longhouse in the woods where no one goes. An old woman used to live there and people believed her to commune with spirits. They say her spirit haunts it to this day.” Brenna rolled her eyes. “It is a childish fear, of course, but no one goes near that house now. And that is where you will stay. Arne will take you there in secret and leave you with provisions for a few days. There, in solitude, you will dedicate yourself to your powers and the control you must have over them. Twice a week, Arne will come to see you.” She narrowed her eyes, a look on her face that made Brian shrink back. “And if you do not do what I ask-” Her voice was quiet but sharp, and cut like a blade. “If you should think of trying to run away, your friends will suffer the consequences. John…” She watched his face carefully. “...Freddie…” The contented smile flickering over her lips indicated that even though Brian had tried, he hadn’t been able to keep the glint of pleading despair out of his eyes at the mention of that name.

“I won’t run,” he uttered, capable of only a murmur in the light of everything he had just been told. “But will they… will they know I’m alive?”

Brenna shrugged. “That isn’t important at the moment. Rothgar will know, or else I do not think he would agree. We have but little time. I will send Arne for you soon.”

With that, the Viking queen rose to her feet and gave him a long, final look. “I expect great things from you.” She told him. “And I do not like to be disappointed.”

Staring up at her, Brian nodded numbly.

- - -

It felt as if his heart had been veritably torn in two. With no tears left to cry, Freddie lay curled up on the bed in Brian’s room, staring at the rays of sunlight creeping across the wall, growing brighter and darker as clouds passed across the sky. He watched them turn from pale yellow to a deep orange as the afternoon passed, and finally a reddish glow, the last of the light fading as the sun set outside. He couldn’t move. Didn’t want to move. Hadn’t moved since he had pulled the golden rings from his fingers and watched them clatter to the floor, wrecked with sobs. Hours ago.

And there they lay. Glinting at him accusingly from the floor, in the moonlight which now fell through the window.

He didn’t feel hunger, although he hadn’t eaten since breakfast. The more time passed, the more it was as though he felt nothing at all but a gaping emptiness within. It was as though someone had taken an axe to one of his limbs and removed it whole. No part of him could fully comprehend that Roger, his Roger, was no longer his. Surely he could not go on living with this gaping wound inside him? Surely the agony of it was enough to kill a man.

But he knew it was not. He’d lived through heartbreak before. Lived through such humiliation, pain and terror that he thought it would end him. And yet, life went on. Cruel life. Always onward, a slow, pointless winding path towards death.

Perhaps he would simply never rise again, from this bed. Just stay here and perish, while Roger rightfully despised him. While Brian was punished for the crime of loving him. It was no good, to love Freddie. It only lead to doom and despair for whoever was foolish enough to try it.

He must have fallen into a miserable, restless slumber eventually, because Freddie startled awake to the sound of many voices and what sounded like a large gathering outside. For a long while, he simply listened. The crowd was chanting something. It sounded like ‘brenn ham’ but he didn’t know what it meant. Eventually the people quietened down, and he faintly heard Brenna’s unmistakable voice, addressing the Vikings. Loud cheering followed her words, and Freddie thought he could make out shouts of ‘Rothgar’. What was going on out there?

Finally roused by curiosity, Freddie climbed off the bed, dizzy from not having eaten all day, and left the room to make his way out into the large court yard outside. So many people were gathered there that at first, he couldn’t see at all. It was of no help that nearly all the men were much taller than him. But as he made his way through the crowd slowly, he finally caught a small glimpse of the proceedings between the shoulders of those in front of him. There was Brenna, surrounded by her men, and… and Roger, in all his Viking prince glory. Many of the people standing close to the centre held torches, and as Freddie craned his neck, Roger was handed one, too. Frowning, Freddie squeezed closer, trying to make out what had been erected in the very centre of the courtyard. A tall wooden pole seemed to be sticking up over the crowd, and it wasn’t until Freddie was squashed between burly men on either side of him that he finally caught sight of what it was.

All the air left his body, his heart lurching hard in his chest. All he had seen was a skinny silhouette, wearing an awfully familiar shirt and breeches, easily distinguishable for they were different from the style of garb the Vikings wore. All he had spotted was that man, tied securely to the pole, a heap of firewood and straw at his feet and a burlap sack over his head.

As the people in front of him happened to part for a moment, Freddie glimpsed Roger, carrying the torch, bending down to light the straw. The gap in front of him closed as loud cheering erupted.

Wide-eyed and panic-stricken, Freddie wanted to scream in horror but didn’t have the breath. If it wasn’t for the people around him jostling him and keeping him upright, he didn’t know that he would have been able to stay on his feet.

No. This had to be a nightmare. One of the worst he’d ever had. He was still asleep. It wasn’t possible. It wasn’t possible!

But then he heard the desperate, muffled screaming - so faint, as though coming through a cloth gag under that burlap sack - over the sound of the crowd. It was so desperate it didn't even sound like Brian. But it sounded real, and it made his skin crawl. And the glow of the flames and the smoke rising up looked and smelled real.

Freddie's legs carried him back and back, bumping his way through the crowd, almost of their own accord. Stumbling over his own feet, briefly crashing to the ground only to scramble up again, the skin on his palms torn up from the gravel, Freddie ran. Ran away blindly. From the crowd. From the buildings. Anywhere as long as it was away from this horrible, godforsaken place. And when he found himself halfway up a hill and his legs would no longer carry him, he fell to his knees and finally let out a breathless, despairing scream, burying his sore hands in his hair.

“Oh God,” he wept, running his hands down his face, smearing it with tears and blood. “Oh God, oh God…”

His mind wouldn’t stop racing, unable to hold on to a single clear thought. He wanted to wake up from this nightmare. He had to wake up from this nightmare. But there was no escape, because the nightmare was flesh and bones and blood, and oh God, oh God, oh God... What had he done? How could Roger… How? How?

Planting his hands onto the damp, cold grass, Freddie rocked back and forth on all fours, whimpering and shaking and eventually collapsed forward, his forehead pressed to the ground. Hands balled into fists. As though prostrating himself in front of some all-powerful deity, begging for all this to be undone. Or to simply take him, take his life and take him away from this place, because he couldn’t bare it any longer.

He couldn’t bare it any longer.

And all the while, he could still hear the crowd. Cheering. Shouting. His stomach revolted, but there was nothing in it to bring up and so he just retched uselessly and coughed tears and snot, wiping his face on his sleeve as he slowly came up and sat back on his heels, tilting his head back.

The sky was full of stars. And as he stared at them, eyes barely seeing, there was a flutter of wings above him.

At first, Freddie barely noticed it. But there it was again, closer. Lower. And then he heard those wings beating and slowly turned to look to the top of the grassy hill only to see a familiar, white dove landing not far from him in the grass. The sight of it brought tears to his eyes all over again and Freddie raised a hand to his mouth, silencing his sobs.

“I’m so sorry,” he sniffed, shaking his head. “Oh God, I’m sorry…”

The bird looked at him, with one eye and then another, as birds were wont to do, and fluttered a little further up the hill, cooing insistently. For a long few moments, Freddie just stared at Albus vacantly. But when he made a move to lift himself up, the bird fluttered just a little further away and cooed again, as though…

As though expecting him to follow.

And Freddie heard himself laugh. A horrible, wrong sound, hoarse and crazed. He took a step forward on unsteady legs which barely carried him, then another. Again, the dove fluttered up and flew a bit further away. Beyond the hill Freddie could now see the forest, pitch black dark in the night. And a mad thought crossed his mind.

Maybe this wasn’t Albus at all.

Maybe it was a spirit he was seeing which, in response to his pleas, was leading him to his death.

In a state of numb detachment from a reality he could not accept, Freddie followed it gladly.

- - -

Chapter Text

Albus was a blurry fleck of white against the dark sky.

Freddie’s vision was swimming.

He stumbled over branches, following the overgrown path the dove was leading him along. He couldn’t see more than a few feet ahead of himself in the darkness, the moonlight weak and cold.

“Don’t you know? You must know. What you do to me.”

In all of his bitterly sad life, Freddie had never ruined things to this extent. He had never felt as broken.

Not even when… when his first love had been murdered because of Freddie. Not even during the nights that followed, when he was abused and assaulted, neverendlingly, while still trying to understand, to accept, what had happened.

“Please spare me the humiliation of having to say it out loud, Fred. You know what I mean.”

Still, that time had been easier. Somehow.

He had wished to die. But he had been at peace with it.

Freddie stumbled over a thorny bush and just barely managed to catch himself against a tree. He took a shaky breath and closed his eyes. Allowing himself to rest for a moment.

He was not at peace with dying now. Not when he’d known such a sweet life, for several years. Not when he had people he cared about. People he loved so much it was frightening.

“Please let me have a taste of what it’d be like.”

His chest constricted. More tears escaped his aching eyes and rolled down his damp, cold cheeks.

He had let Brian have a taste. Had lead him on.

Had led him to his demise.

A terrifying, broken noise pierced the quietness of the forest and it took Freddie a second to understand it was him.

Brian was dead.

Roger had killed him.

He had burnt him alive.

How could he...

Freddie dug his teeth so hard into his bottom lip, the skin split open, drops of blood slowly trailing down his chin.

He thought he had known Roger.

Where earlier there only had been dark emptiness, shock and horror, silent rage now crept to the surface, warming Freddie’s ice cold heart enough for it to ache even worse.

It should have been him.

He had got into trouble with the Vikings, needing Brian to save him. He had been weak and pathetic, begging Brian to stay in bed with him, knowing fully well that the other man loved him. He had betrayed Roger, going behind his back, loving another.

And now Brian was gone.

Forever gone.

Freddie was shaking, his very being crumbling. He wanted out, he wanted away . But most of all, he wanted Brian.

Brian, who he had failed.

And he wanted his Roger. Not the cold, cruel monster, who was capable of murdering his own friends.

Albus soft cooing reached through the darkness inside Freddie, reminding him that he was still standing in the middle of the bloody forest, in the middle of night.

He looked up, just able to see the bird perched on a branch above.

The dove fluttered its wings, tilting his small head at Freddie.

“What do you want from me?”

Freddie asked, voice scratchy.

Albus cooed.

“I can’t bring him back. I wish I could. I wish I could turn back the clock, or, at the very least, exchange my life for his.” He shook his head, his teeth painfully gritted together. “But, I can’t. I can’t give. I only take, and take. Until there is nothing left.”

The dove huffed.

Freddie looked up, disbelieving. Birds didn’t huf… Did they?

Albus gracefully took off from the branch, circling Freddie’s head, twice, before continuing to fly down the path.

Freddie shrugged. He didn’t bother to wipe the tears and blood off his face as he continued down the path.

The dove was the last part of Brian left in this awful world. Whether it was beast or spirit, Freddie would follow it wherever it desired.

- - -

The longhouse was still cold.

Brian had lit a fire in the hearth as soon as he’d arrived, and had kept the hungry flames fed, but it was as if the cold was living in the very walls of the house.

He pulled the fur he’d been given tighter around himself, trying to quell the shattering of his teeth as he gazed around his new home.

It was a pretty small building consisting of a single room. The hearth sat in the centre of the packed dirt floor. Two unsteady benches stood on each side of it.

Brian was sitting on the simple bed which took up most of one side of the room. There was no fur on the hard, wooden bed. Not even any straw.

Not that it mattered.

It wasn’t as if Brian would have been able to sleep this night, anyway.

The flames dancing in the hearth cast long shadows over the lumber walls. Outside, he could hear the soft, quiet ripple of the stream running past, and the wind gently brushing the stray roof, getting caught in every crevice of the house.

Brian had dragged most of the supplies Arne had brought up against the door, to at least give himself the illusion that it would be harder to break into the small hut from outside. A pointless effort, really, since any moderately strong person easily would be able to push the door open, anyway.

Brian let the back of his head fall back against the wall and sighed.

What in all world was he doing?

He had no idea. Everything was such a bloody mess he didn’t even know where to get started.

Brian sighed again, his eyes falling on the crackling fire.

Fire…

He had come so close to losing his life. To have been burnt alive.

Now someone else had been. Because of him. Because of his powers.

Brian opened his palm, glaring down at his thin, pale fingers.

He had been excited, at first. And scared. But also… proud. That he was special. That he was powerful. That he was something else.

He curled his fingers, softly dragging his too long fingernails over the sensitive skin of his palm.

Who knew. Maybe he wouldn’t have burnt, had they set him aflame.

Truly, it was a relief that he wasn’t going to die. That he had been allowed to live for now. He needed to get a grip on himself. Find out what he was truly capable of and how to control it.

Because Brenna was right. Right now, he couldn’t be trusted. He posed a threat to anyone and everyone.

He exhaled and focused on the warm, tingling feeling at his fingertips. Almost immediately a small, bright flame grew in his hand. The fire was warm, but didn’t burn him.

He was the master of it.

He could create fire from nothing.

A small smile on his face, Brian let the flame grow and shrink, divided it two two flames only to merge them together again.

Maybe, if he got really good, when the time came, he wouldn’t have to follow the Vikings to war.

No. He’d walk to the settlement, nature itself following his every command, and save the others. He would free Freddie and John and would bring them with him back to the mainland.

Home.

He frowned. And Roger, too. He hoped.

He was not as sure of that the blond man would like to follow him, as the other two. Not now. Not when he’d found a place for himself on this odd island.

Brian understood that Roger was enchanted with this life. How couldn’t he be? He had finally learnt of his past, learnt who he was and where he belonged.

How Brian wished he could also learn. That someone could tell him about his parents, make sense of his scattered, elusive memories.

He sighed deeply. The flame slowly died in his hand, leaving no trace as it finally snapped out of existence.

One thing at a time.

Tomorrow he’d clean this place up as well as he could. Get water from the stream and some soft grass to put on the bed. And then, he’d train.

This was better than anything he could have hoped for, really. He had a place of his own. And, even if it might be haunted… Well, Brian was no stranger to magic.

He had food and water and solitude.

It could have been great, had he not been so terribly lonely. It was barely an one hour walk to the settlement, but still it felt as if Freddie and the others were worlds away.

He wished they were here with him. Albus, who never failed to cheer him up and keep him company. Tootsie. Roger and John. Freddie.

Groaning, Brian lifted his to rub at his eyes.

No.

There was no point thinking of Freddie now. Of what could have been between them.

Of what Brian had felt earlier this day, Freddie’s fingers running over his, their eyes meeting through the bars.

Maybe later. In the future. He might have a chance. If Freddie still wanted him then.

Trying his hardest to push all thoughts of the other man to the side for the moment, Brian got up from the bed and walked over to the supplies.

He needed to eat something. He hadn’t eaten more than a few pieces of bread since he’d been dragged to the dungeon and his stomach ached.

Arne had told him there was grain, bread, roots and some dried meet for him in the large sack which stood propped up against the rickety door.

While he didn’t yet have water to cook anything, he should at least have some bread.

Brian was on his knees, blindly searching through the content of the sack when he heard a familiar coo.

Freezing in his position hunched over the sack, eyes wide, he listened.

There was some rustling from outside and then the sweet noise, again.

Without thinking of it, Brian used his magic to throw the supplies away from the door, the door bursting open as he hurried outside.

He searched frantically for a few seconds, before Albus swept down from the skies and landed in his outstretched hand.

“Albus,” Brian whispered, his heart feeling markedly lighter as his trusted companion peered up at him and fluffed up his feathers. “Oh, have I missed you!”

Lifting his hand he cradled the small bird against his cheek, unable to help a few tears from appearing when the bird rubbed his tiny head against him.

Caught up in cuddling and praising the dove, Brian didn’t notice that there was someone else out there. Not until he heard the voice.

“Brian…”

Stiffening, Albus still in hand, Brian looked up to see a familiar shape step out from the shadows.

The firelight from within the longhouse fell on Freddie when he stepped closer, his dark eyes huge and haunted as he stared at Brian.

“Freddie!” Brian exclaimed, nervously looking around the small clearing for anyone else. “What are you doing here?”

Freddie shook his head, disbelieving, as he took a stumbling step forward. Brian frowned when he noticed the shape the other man was in. He was pale and dirty and dressed too lightly for the cold night, his face wet with tears and striked with mud and blood. “God, what happened to you?”

A low sob escaped Freddie then and he took the last couple of steps forward, practically falling into Brian’s arms.

Albus flew out of the way with a distressed flutter of wings, as the magician wrapped his arms around Freddie, holding his shaking body close as the dark haired man held him so tightly Brian could barely breathe.

“Oh my god,” Freddie whispered, his breath wet and soft against Brian’s ear, making goosebumps appear over his skin. “Oh, god. It’s really you.”

Brian allowed himself to press his nose in Freddie’s hair, inhaling his scent deeply. “It’s me.”

He managed to push Freddie back a bit, both hands on the other man’s thin shoulder. He looked him over, a deep frown on his face. “Are you alright? What happened?”

Freddie took a stuttering breath, his eyes full of warmth and wonder as he reached up to stroke his fingers over Brian’s cheek.

The caress sent shivers down his spine and he cleared his throat awkwardly, gently taking Freddie’s hand in his and removing it from his face. “Fred?”

“I thought you were dead.”

Freddie’s voice was but a whisper. His fingers tightened around Brian’s. “I don’t understand… I saw you… heard you…” His eyes darkened with pain. “I saw you burn, just hours ago.”

They hadn’t told him?

Horror filled Brian as he understood the pain and despair Freddie must have gone through and he squeezed his hand tight in his, lifting his free one to rub at the dried blood and mud on the other man’s face.

“It wasn’t me. It was a ruse.” He explained. “I can’t believe they didn’t tell you. Oh, I’m so, so sorry, Freddie.”

“Don’t be.” Freddie shook his head, grabbed Brian’s other hand, too, and looked deep into his eyes. His gaze made Brian’s heart flutter in his chest. The dark brown of his eyes caught the firelight from inside, made them glow like embers, so full of raw emotion it stole Brian’s breath away.

“Fred…”

“Don’t be.” Freddie repeated. “You have nothing to be sorry for. It’s me. It’s all my fault. And I’m so sorry for having endangered you. And,” his gaze flickered down to Brian’s lips, “words can’t express how relieved I am, how lucky I am, to still have you.”

Brian stared at him. He didn’t know what to say, what to do.

He knew what he wanted to do. What he’d always wanted to do. But he couldn't. Freddie wasn’t his.

And besides he shouldn’t be out here, at all.

He took a step back, disentangling their hands. “I… You can’t be out here. You have to go back. Now.”

“No.” Freddie said softly, stepping closer again, until he had Brian pressed up against the door frame, his chest just inches from Brian’s. “I won’t.”

“Freddie, you don’t understand.” Brian tried, frantically trying to look anywhere else than at Freddie’s gorgeous eyes, his tempting lips, the tiny glimpse of chest hair peeking out from under his low cut tunic. “It’s not safe. No one can know where I am. No one can know I’m alive. You have to go back immediately, or they’ll know something is up.”

“I’m not going back.” Freddie said, voice clear and strong. “Ever.”

Brian swallowed. The heat from his magic flame just minutes ago, had nothing on the consuming inferno that was Freddie. “B...But Roger,”

“Roger and I are over.” Freddie averted his eyes, his gaze full of pain and heartbreak. “He found out about us. About the kiss. He accused me of being unfaithful. Of having lied. And of loving you.”

Brian couldn’t believe his ears. Roger had… But. Oh, god. That meant he must hate Brian now. He must hate Brian more than anything, and still he had let him go. And now Freddie and him had… No.

This was too much. Brian couldn’t stand ruining such a beautiful love as the one between Freddie and Roger. They were his friends.

“You must explain to him that it’s not true.” He said, voice wobbly. “That it was just a kiss. That you love him, and not me.”

Freddie looked back at him, a small, sad smile on his lips. “I can’t do that. You see, I don’t want to lie anymore. Not to him, not to myself. Not to you.”

“What…” Brian started, his voice failing him as Freddie reached for him, cradling his face between his hands.

“I love you, Brian.” Freddie murmured, the smile growing on his face even as his fingers trembled. “I have for a long time.”

Heat. Wild, uncontained and powerful.

Brian felt as if he was bursting with it. His heart was racing, his mind blank.

He had never felt so alive.

“You…” He managed, his breath hitching as Freddie stepped even closer, their bodies now flush against each other.

“And I know you love me, too.” Freddie whispered, his lips brushing over Brian’s as he spoke. “I’m sorry to have kept you waiting.”

Brian surged forward, the ecstatic heat rushing through his veins guiding him as he cradled the back of Freddie’s head in his hand and pressed their lips firmly together.

Freddie let out a soft, longing sound and pressed himself tighter against Brian, his arms going down to wrap around Brian’s waist.

Months of pining and frustration rose to the surface as Brian tilted the other man’s jaw and kissed him deeper, licking into his mouth when Freddie gasped.

All the nights he’d lied awake listening to Freddie and Roger. Every time he’d watched Freddie longingly, shamefully averting his eyes when he was discovered.

There was no shame now.

Freddie pulled at his shirt, his low moan muffled against Brian’s lips as he sucked on Brian’s tongue.

Brian didn’t care if he was going to hell.

What mattered was here and now. He finally had what he wanted, what he’d wanted for such a long time.

He ran his fingers through Freddie’s tangled hair and groaned when Freddie pushed a leg in between his and pressed their groins together.

Freddie swallowed his noises, his lips demanding and merciless against his as he ground up against him.

“Wait,” Brian gasped, managing to pull away from their embrace. “Let’s go inside.”

He grabbed Freddie’s hand and pulled him inside the longhouse, slamming the door shut behind them.

Up on the straw roof of the longhouse Albus had made himself a makeshift nest. The dove fluffed up his wings and cooed. Then, his small dark eyes lit up a bright blue. Blue light spread out from the dove, creating a dome of light surrounding the longhouse.

The air vibrated with energy when the blue glow encompassed the entire house. Albus cooed contently and hid his head beneath his wing, getting ready to sleep.

The blue glow slowly dissipated.

The energy remained.

- - -

The stench of burning flesh and hair was ingrained in his nose.

Whatever he did he could not get rid of it.

And the screams.

Roger grabbed his fur and pulled it up over his head, pressing it tightly to his ears.

He was shaking. He felt sick.

Even if his eyes were closed everything kept spinning behind his eyelids.

The several horns of mead he’d drunk earlier rolled in his stomach and he groaned, mushing his face against the straw mattress.

He’d tried to fall asleep for hours. Desperately tried to reach that sweet escape. The darkness.

He wanted to forget. Wanted to forget all of it.

All of this cursed day.

However, he didn’t deserve to ever fall asleep again. He didn’t deserve to forget.

He had killed a man. Had set his flesh on fire. Had stood and watched as the man screamed and screamed and screamed. Until he couldn’t anymore.

The man hadn’t done a thing to Roger. Not a thing.

Roger exhaled shakily, ignoring the tears as they pricked at the corner of his eyes and disappeared into his mattress.

But he hadn’t had a choice. Had he?

You always have a choice.

No. No, there was nothing else he could have done. Brenna had said… Had said that she’d set John on fire instead, if Roger refused.

He needed to prove himself to the people. Prove he was a real Viking. Not a weak, pathetic farm hand, as most of them secretly (or not so secretly) believed.

Roger’d had to swallow down vomit as he stood in front of the fire, trying to act unbothered as a person was reduced to ash and bones.

It was the worst thing he’d ever done. Ever.

He was the worst.

He had seen it in John’s eyes earlier. Had seen the shock and horror written plainly on that pale face as he’d made the younger man promise that he’d find Freddie and tell him about the ruse.

“But… you can’t.” John had said. “There has to be another way.”

Roger had just turned on his heel and left John in the stables.

There was no other way.

Not if they wanted to save Brian. And even after all that had happened. Even after finding out about Freddie and Brian, Roger still had to save him.

Of course he did.

Somewhere under all the resentment and betrayal, Brian had been his friend. And he’d also saved Roger’s life, twice.

In the end Roger had done whatever he could to let Brian go free. He had found a way. He had tried harder. So hard, he’d tainted his own humanity along the way.

He sniffled into the mattress, fists clenched as he tried to will himself to stop shaking.

It was all so unfair.

No one had been at the execution. He hadn’t seen either John or Freddie there.

No.

He had been alone. It was an inhuman and cruel thing, after all, that he’d done. Of course the others wanted no part of it.

The sniffling grew to sobs and he cursed himself. Cursed this day. Cursed Brenna and Freddie and Brian.

He felt as if he was going to suffocate. The smell and the screams and the creeping sensation in his skin threatened to rise and fill him up from the inside, until he was nothing but shame, horror and bottomless guilt.

Panicked, he threw the heavy fur off his body and climbed out of bed. He swayed as soon as he got to his feet, his head spinning and his guts like worms in his stomach. His nightshirt stuck to his skin with sweat.

The smell and guilt stuck to him as he opened the door to his room and slipped outside. It surrounded him life a sickly cloud, pressing in from all sides as he stumbled down the corridor towards Brian’s room.

He had to see him.

He had to hear his comforting voice. Had to hear that he wasn’t a monster. That he hadn’t had a choice.

He didn’t bother knocking, just carefully opened the door to Brian’s room and crept inside.

“Freddie,” he choked out, wiping at his eyes with the sleeve of his nightshirt. “I’m sorry but…”

He trailed off, stopping in the middle of the floor.

There was no one there.

Brian’s bed was empty.

Roger stared at the bed, his chest heaving.

Where was Freddie?

The sickly cloud pressed closer, pushing down on him until it was so heavy he fell to his knees.

Freddie had left him.

John must have told him. And Freddie had left.

Roger took deep, trembling breaths, staring into nothing.

He… He probably couldn’t stand to be around Roger. Not after what he’d done.

He was a murderer.

John must have left, too.

Everyone had left him.

The stench surrounding him became stronger, mustier and Roger gagged.

Murderer. Monster.

He closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths, trying to reign in his panicked thoughts.

...no.

No. That wasn’t right.

He wasn’t. Wasn’t a murderer. Or a monster.

He’d done everything, sacrificed everything to help Brian. That was what he’d done.

And, why had he needed to help Brian in the first place?

The cloud stopped pushing at him, the world slowing down around him as he sat up straighter, breathing calming down.

Because Brian had attacked him.

Because Roger had found Brian in bed with Freddie.

Because one of Roger’s closest friend’s and the man he loved and trusted more than anyone else had deceived him and gone behind his back.

He felt cold.

But deadly calm.

Roger had been forced to burn a man to death, because Freddie and Brian loved each other.

The stench was dissipating, the guilt and horror slowly changing shape into something quiter, more dangerous as Roger inhaled and exhaled.

He opened his eyes.

There, in front of him, on the floor, laid a couple of familiar golden rings.

He stared at them.

He had stolen those rings for Freddie, just weeks ago.

Roger thought back to earlier this day, when Freddie had shouted at him to try harder. He remembered the fiery look in his former lover’s eyes as he swore he wouldn’t give up on Brian. That he wouldn’t leave him.

Apparently, that passion and determination only applied to Brian. Not Roger.

No, Freddie would rather leave, than fight for what he and Roger had shared. He wouldn’t even stay to help and support him through one of the worst moments of Roger’s life.

Maybe he’d waited all along, for Roger to break things off, so he could go after Brian, instead.

Because in the end, it was always Roger who was left behind. It was always Roger who had to pay the price, wasn’t it? It was he who gave and saved and sacrificed. And it was he who got hurt because of it.

He had protected the others in the woods. He had been beaten and abused and almost drowned as a result.

He had saved them from the Vikings. He had protected them all this time, Freddie, Brian and John. He had broken his own body and spirit for them.

Again and again.

And no one, no one, ever gave anything back.

In the end, it was all his fault, whatever he did, no matter what.

Roger took a deep breath and reached for the rings.

He eyed them for a moment, rolled them in is palm.

Then, he slowly slipped them on his own fingers.

It was enough. This was enough. He was done.

They could protect themselves from now on because he was done.

Roger leant back against the empty bed and admired his new rings.

He hadn’t felt this calm in months. Not since they’d found and helped Brian.

The earlier panic, heartbreak and guilt were gone. The only feeling left was cold indifference.

Fuck them.

Fuck every single one of them.

Chapter Text

- - -

"...and the house is haunted?"

"Hmm," Brian nodded with a lop-sided grin. "So I'm told."

"Huh." Freddie raised his eyebrows, glancing around at the cobwebs in the dark corners.

Despite the fire in the hearth, the air still carried a chill. The wooden bed, covered only with Brian’s cloak, was hard and uncomfortable under Freddie's back. Fresh sweat was drying on his skin, and he felt downright grimy after his journey through the forest. When he lazily ran his fingers up across his belly, he could feel the coarse hair on his stomach still stick a little with the remains of the mess their passion had left behind. Freddie pulled his arm up and stretched, folding it behind his head.

He felt unbothered by all of these discomforts. As far as he was concerned, he may as well have been lying in a bed of soft cotton and expensive silks. The cold couldn’t reach him with Brian’s warmth beside him. The fur was draped over their hips and stomachs, Freddie’s bare feet poking out at the bottom. Brian, on the other hand, hadn’t even made it out of his trousers and had simply pulled them back up.

Freddie was trying to process what had happened, and everything Brian had told him, and felt overwhelmed by it all. However, for the most part, he was just so happy that Brian was alive, even the prospect of sleeping in a house which was rumoured to be haunted didn't worry him.

Lying on his side, head propped up on his hand, Brian had one leg draped across Freddie’s thighs, his fingers tracing the lines of Freddie’s body as though he wanted to map every curve and angle and memorise them all. Long, curious fingers ran along Freddie's forearm, which was resting on top of the fur, then up to his shoulder. Shivering under the touch, Freddie lifted his eyes to Brian’s face and his heart hurt with the tender affection he felt, only it was the sweetest pain, and he revelled in it. The look on the other man’s face was one of pure adoration and wonder as he slowly dipped his fingers under the fur and stroked Freddie’s side. Freddie drew a breath at the tickling sensation across his ribs. Brian's fingers trailed up through his chest hair again, followed the line of his collar bone and the sinew at the side of his neck, eventually cradling his cheek.

Their eyes met. Freddie's face lit up with a smile, wide and unguarded. Brian smiled back, the corners of his eyes crinkling in a way that made Freddie want to hug him so tightly neither of them could breathe.

“I can’t believe…” Brian murmured quietly, leaning in and brushing their lips against each other gently, before pressing a kiss to Freddie’s cheek, and another, before he lowered his head down beside him. “Can’t believe I’m allowed this.”

His fingers resumed their caresses, travelling up and down Freddie’s bicep and then again descending across his chest to his stomach. Freddie shifted, lifted his other arm, and slid it through underneath Brian’s head, wrapping it around him and gently caressing his shoulder in return.

“Touch all you like,” Freddie half-whispered, and then added more quietly still: “I’m all yours.”

His own words sent a delightful shiver through him and Brian exhaled a shuddering breath, fingers tightening on Freddie’s hip bone. He leaned in and left a trail of kisses across the side of Freddie's face, finally ending at the corner of his mouth. Turning his head towards him, Freddie kissed him back, lips sliding against each other tenderly. Brian sighed and leaned their foreheads together with a suspicious sniff, and Freddie held him a little closer, brushing their noses against each other.

“No, don’t you dare,” Freddie murmured in a hoarse voice, a smile on his lips and a wet glimmer in his eyes. “If you cry again, I’ll cry again… and I just can’t, darling, I can’t anymore.”

It was true. Rarely had Freddie felt so utterly, emotionally exhausted. The world had been a different place this morning. He had died a dozen deaths since and suffered such heartbreak that it was a miracle his heart was still beating. And all that, only for all the broken pieces of his very soul to be made whole again, in the loving arms of the wonderful man now lying beside him.

“I’m sorry,” Brian smiled back through tears. “It’s just that I’m so happy.”

The words pierced Freddie to the very core like Cupid’s arrow. Not that his heart had any need for it, already overflowing with tender love for Brian, wild and all-consuming and passionate now that he was allowing it to be.

He swallowed and rolled onto his side, wrapping himself around the other man and exhaling a shaky breath into his mane of curls. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Brian wrapped his arms around his waist tightly, holding him close. “I love you so much, Freddie.”

It was absolutely no use trying to hold back all this emotion. Freddie gave a quiet huff of a laugh. “I feel like I’ve aged years today.”

As he pulled back to look at the other man, Brian brushed a strand of hair out of his face, tucking it behind Freddie’s ear. “And yet, look at you,” he whispered, eyes gleaming with adoration which, coupled with his words, set Freddie’s cheeks aflame. “You’re divine.”

Freddie pulled his top lip over his teeth to stop himself grinning like an idiot and lowered his eyes.

“Are you blushing?” Brian sounded entirely too pleased with himself. Freddie giggled and dove into the crook of his neck, kissing his way up to his ear, relishing the quiet gasps he elicited.

“Brian May,” he uttered silkily, sliding one leg between Brian’s. “You really are so much more than meets the eye.”

Their lips found each other and they kissed slowly and deeply for some time, just holding each other close and relishing this new reality. After a while, Brian rolled Freddie onto his back and the kiss slowly turned more urgent. When Brian pulled away, his lips descended to Freddie's neck, coaxing soft whimpers from him as he mouthed at the sensitive skin there. The magician chuckled softly, a sweet, low sound that tickled against the side of Freddie’s face. At that, Brian lifted his head back up, gazing down at him.

“How can I possibly ever stop?” he asked, and glanced in the direction of his hand as it slipped back under the fur, leisurely caressing Freddie.

“Why try," Freddie tilted his chin up longingly, melting into another kiss. No part of him had any desire to stop, either. Why, they’d barely got started. In fact, they had barely made it inside the house, falling to the ground where they stood to tear at each other’s clothes and rut against each other. The whole thing had been as breathtakingly passionate as it had been, admittedly, quite amusingly brief. But now Brian was running his fingers along the crease of Freddie's leg, slowly, tentatively, inching ever closer to his cock. Freddie shuddered, hips pushing up ever so slightly.

“Can I…?” Brian’s voice was barely a whisper against his lips and Freddie couldn’t help but grin, brushing the tips of their noses together. Of course. There hadn’t even been time for that in their mad rush. Not that he had needed Brian to so much as lay a hand on him. The overwhelming tension between them finally coming to a head and the fact that it had been some time since Freddie had enjoyed himself carnally had helped matters along regardless. But perhaps Brian had been too overwhelmed to dare touch him, Freddie realised, in hindsight. Because Freddie had certainly touched, and the memory of Brian’s breathless moans prickled hot deep inside him. He would have liked to tease more of those delicious sounds out of him, and it would seem he was going to get that chance.

“Yes, darling, of course you can,” Freddie replied. He sighed with delight when their lips collided again, Brian’s tongue twisting deep into his mouth, claiming it. And still his fingers hesitated, as though he was working up the courage. Freddie huffed out a soft chuckle through his nose. God, but how innocent the man was.

Just as Roger had been, all those years ago, an unwelcome voice at the back of his head reminded him. Freddie’s heart jolted painfully, the thought catching him off guard.

No. That was all in the past now.

He squeezed his eyes shut, banishing all thoughts of Roger away into a dark corner of his mind.

Luckily, this was easily done once Brian’s fingers ghosted up the length of Freddie’s cock, and then wrapped around it, just holding him there. Feeling him twitch in his hand and as he grew fully hard again.

“You…” Brian murmured into the kiss. “You’ll have to show me…”

Freddie interrupted him, licking at his lower lip and sucking it into his mouth.

“Mmh?”

“...show me how to... make you feel good,” Brian finished, once he had his lip back. And good God, just the sound of his voice, raw with desire, was enough to make Freddie’s pulse pick up pace even more. His breath coming faster, he slid his hand out from behind his head and slipped it beneath the fur, closing it around Brian’s. Pulling up and squeezing.

“Ahh...” Tighter. A little faster. Oh yes. Just like that.

“God, Freddie...”

Brian was rocking his hips against him now and Freddie could feel him, cock straining in his unfastened breeches, rubbing against his thigh. A moan rolled over his lips as he released his grip on Brian’s hand and his fingers went in search of that hard length instead.

“Ohh...”

Brian’s fingers on him tightened almost painfully when Freddie took him in hand in return, but oh, it was so good.

“Ahh, yes,” Freddie hissed and turned his face away, head tilted back, panting through parted lips. “Nghh... perfect, darling.”

“God, you’re so...”

Brian was half on top of him now, moaning into his neck, teeth grazing tender skin, his throbbing cock hot and rock hard in Freddie’s hand.

"I could do this all night," Brian proclaimed, his voice strained.

"Ambitious," Freddie gave a breathy laugh, the sound turning into another moan when Brian sucked a patch of skin into his mouth.

"Nothing’s impossible,” replied the magician cheekily. The words tickled against Freddie’s neck and made him shiver pleasantly. Their lips found each other again, teeth almost clashing as they dove into a hungry kiss. Freddie threaded his fingers into Brian’s curls and after a while, he pushed against him, rolling them over. The fur slid off, but the chilly air no longer bothered him. Perhaps the fire had finally sufficiently heated the small cabin, or perhaps it was simply the heat of desire. There was a curious glint in Brian’s eyes in the half-light when Freddie pulled away and let go of him, placing his hands on either side of him as he lifted himself up a little.

“And now?” Brian whispered.

“Now...” Freddie lifted himself up on all fours, briefly letting his gaze travel down along the other man’s body. “I want to show you how good I can make you feel,” he purred, before he dipped down to kiss his way from Brian’s collarbone down across his slender chest, flicking the tip of his tongue over a nipple. There was a sharp intake of breath and a shiver, so Freddie did it again and then caught the hard nub between his teeth while he continued to tease it with his tongue. Fingers sunk into his hair, pulling at the roots, making him moan over the sound of Brian’s delighted sighs.

“Freddie...”

There was no way in heaven or on earth that Freddie could ever grow tired of hearing Brian moan his name like this. The sound went right through him in a hot spasm, aching need coiling deep in his abdomen. Straddling Brian’s hips, Freddie lowered himself down and felt their cocks rub up against each other while he dragged his lips across to the other nipple, unable to help himself but to grind into that sinful contact. So wonderful, so lewd, in a way that made him want to stroke the man beneath him roughly to completion, taste that hot, hard flesh on his tongue, hear Brian cry his name while he swallowed him down, surrender to him completely and beg him to fill him and take him however he pleased. Of course, he’d have to settle for just one of those, right now. Flushed and breathing heavily, hair covering half of his face, Freddie sat up and gazed down at the magician through his dark lashes, a lascivious smile on his parted lips. Lifting a hand to Freddie’s cheek, Brian bit his bottom lip, eyes dark as night as they followed his fingers' descent to Freddie’s chest. Freddie arched his back a little, his smile widening even as he gave a soft, little moan when Brian’s fingers found one of his nipples, pinching and rolling it lightly.

“You’re an excellent student,” he panted, and moaned freely, encouraging the other man, letting him know how good it felt.

“You’re a wonderful teacher,” Brian murmured in a low voice.

With a downright filthy chuckle, Freddie lifted his hand up and spat into his palm, then wrapped his fingers around both of their cocks in a firm grasp, mouth hanging open as he watched himself stroke them together.

“Oh my-”

“Yeah,” Freddie glanced up and licked his lips, a needy whine escaping him at the sight of the look of unbridled desire and fascination on Brian’s face. “You like that?”

“God,” Brian’s eyes rolled back in his head as he closed them, letting his head drop back onto the wooden bed with a dull thud. “You’re… you’re too much.”

“Darling,” A smirk on his lips, Freddie tightened his grip a little, moving his hand faster, lightly thrusting into that sweet pleasure. Oh god, it was so good. The feel of it, the sight of it, Brian’s cock pressed up against his own. Fuck. “I’ve… ahh- I’ve barely started-”

Throwing one arm over his face, Brian made a sound somewhere between a snicker and a low whine, bucking his hips under Freddie’s weight. His hand was gripping Freddie’s waist now, trembling fingers digging into warm skin. “Don’t stop, oh… oh god.”

The sounds Brian was making rang in Freddie’s ears like an enchanting melody. He closed his eyes, head falling to one side, and lost himself in the heavenly bliss of their love-making.

- - -

Her high-pitched whimpers filled the room, along with his own guttural moans as he chased his release, gripping her hips tightly and pressing red marks into milky white skin. Her long, red hair fanned out across her back and hung over her face. With a low growl, Roger grabbed a thick handful of it and wrapped it around his hand, pulling her head up. Holding her in place while he increased the pace, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room.

He screwed his eyes shut and released her at the last moment, pulling out of her blissfully wet heat and taking his cock in hand, quickly stroking himself through his orgasm over her shapely, round arse.

“Ahh, yeah,” For a few moments, everything was right with the world and nothing but delight existed. “Fuck... yeah...”

Roger dropped back onto his haunches, panting, and grimaced at the niggling pain in his ribs. There wasn’t much of it anymore, for the most part, but he still felt it sometimes in strenous moments. It was a persistent reminder of the time he had risked his life for his so-called friends.
Leaning over the side of the bed, Roger grabbed the first article of clothing he lay a hand on and wiped it over her backside and the small of her back, before tossing it aside. The girl murmured something he didn’t catch in her native tongue and turned around to face him, smiling as she slithered up his body and slid her arms around his neck. Roger returned the smile half-heartedly, wondering if she was one of those lasses who wouldn’t even dream of leaving his bed until the morning. He’d hoped she wasn’t, but it seemed likely.

“Min prins…” She pressed her lips to his, both of them still breathless, and he allowed himself to be kissed, allowed his hands to take their fill and roam her slim, smooth body.

Ah, well. If she stayed he could always start the morning on a pleasurable note.

If he ever managed to close his eyes this night, that was. Because what felt like a good hour later, Roger was still lying awake beside her in the bed and gazing at the ceiling in the dim glow of the dying fire. He sighed and turned to look at the peacefully resting features of the lass who’s name he hadn’t bothered to remember. How young and beautiful she looked, like this. Angelic. The observation was purely aesthetic, although there was a vain sort of contentment in it, but it stirred nothing in his heart. He knew in a day or two, he wouldn’t know her face from any of the others.

He turned back to the ceiling and folded his hands on top of the fur, over his stomach. Fingers absently stroking over the golden rings on his hand. Over the last week, this - taking one of the lasses who’s eyes lingered on him in the hall back to his bed chamber - had helped him sleep, afterwards. It was the third - fourth? - time he'd tried that particular remedy.

But tonight, he couldn’t seem to fall asleep regardless, which was very frustrating. Because during the day, while he sparred with Rune or sometimes Arne, accompanied Brenna around the settlement and generally kept himself occupied, it was easier to stop himself thinking. But at night, he was defenceless against the intruding throughts which hounded him no matter how much he wanted them gone.

Still, it was becoming easier day by day. Night by night. Easier not to shudder at the memory of agonised screams and the stench of burning flesh. Easier not to feel nothing but numb indifference tinged with a hint of melancholy when memories of deep, dark eyes and melodious laughter filled his mind. Easier not to feel the sting of disappointment and betrayal so keenly when he remembered a gap-toothed smile and rosy cheeks, a bow held between nimble fingers, creating such rousing and beautiful music. It was a little easier not to think of Brian, because there was no mystery, as to his whereabouts. But think of him Roger did anyway, telling himself that he did not miss him, not in the least, and cared about his well-being only insofar as that he meant him no harm. That was why he'd asked about him, last time Arne had returned from the house in the woods, changing the topic of conversation before Arne could inquire if he wanted to be shown there one day.

Roger had thought about that. It wasn’t as though he was angry with Brian anymore, albeit he had been, at first. He simply didn’t have the time and didn’t particularly care, he told himself. Only deep down, he knew the truth was that seeing Brian might remind him of Freddie so acutely and painfully that he did not dare chance it.

That same part of him, buried deep inside, prayed that Freddie was safe, wherever he was. And that John was, too. That, perhaps, they had left together. That thought comforted him as much as it hurt.

There was many an abandoned longhouse on the island, Brenna had told him. Once, many years ago in the childhood days of her grandfather, their number had been far greater than it was now. Before the war with the Northern Isles.

He had Brenna.

That was what Roger tried to focus on. Brenna and Arne and the others. He wasn’t alone. He had a family here, and he had a purpose.

And once winter was over, he would have men under his command to lead into battle.

That thought was strange, but it was no longer so outlandish as it had seemed to him in the beginning. War. Glory. Victory.

Perhaps it was his destiny.

- - -

The water from the river had heated up just enough over the fire, Freddie seemed to have determined, shaking the drops off his fingers as he pulled his hand out. Softly humming a tune, he dipped the washcloth inside and wrung it out lightly, bringing it up to his face first. Brian’s attention on the ball of lightning in his palm slipped as his eyes were drawn to the raven-haired man. Closing his hand, he extinguished it, a small smile tugging at his lips as he watched his lover instead.

It was impossible not to, when Freddie was completely naked and so natural and relaxed in being so in front of him. Brian’s eyes followed the movement of the other man’s hand, the wash cloth gliding up and down long limbs, around his sinewy neck and down his chest, across his flat stomach.

It seemed to Brian that Freddie’s body was the most wondrous thing he had ever beheld. Here stood a man, undeniably a man, hairy and angular and broad in shoulders for his small frame, and yet there was such daintiness and softness in those lithe arms and legs, that slim waist. He looked almost breakable, even though Brian knew well that he wasn’t, but it made him want to embrace Freddie and protect him from harm nonetheless.

And by God, the graceful ways in which he could twist and move his body. It wasn’t as though Brian had been unfamiliar with Freddie’s astounding abilities, only now he could watch him unashamedly when he stretched in the mornings. And Freddie did rather enjoy showing off for him. Even if it inadvertently led to finding himself in Brian's arms. First thing in the morning.

And why not? There was no schedule to adhere to, out here. Nowhere else they could nor needed to be. Isolated from the rest of the world, they drowned in each other out in the wilderness, shamelessly giving in to their urges.

Touching Freddie was like playing an exquisite instrument, Brian thought. So responsive was he, such a pleasure it was to find out what made him shudder and twist in Brian's arms, so exciting to perfect his touch and drive his lover wild.

Drive each other wild. Never before had Brian’s life felt quite so vivid, so full of love and purpose. Because all passion and sin aside, his heart burst at the seams when Freddie lay in his arms, curled around him. At night, or in the afternoon, or on a lazy midmorning. Or when he turned to him with a radiant smile, hair ruffled in the breeze, down by the stream behind the longhouse. Or sitting by the fire, as he looked up from one of his sketches on the yellowed parchment they had found in the cabin, a sharpened piece of charcoal in his hand. And no one had ever come so close to Brian, it felt, as Freddie did in those moments when he simply listened, with the utmost attention, while Brian spoke about his life. His memories. The things he could barely make sense of, although the more he spoke of them, the more the pieces came together and formed a whole. And there was nothing more encouraging than Freddie's wide eyes watching him in fascination as he tried to bend his powers to his will, the gasps and delighted laughter and clap of hands rewarding his successes.

“Dearie.”

Torn out of his reverie, Brian looked up and met Freddie’s eyes. There was a twinkle in them.

“If you keep looking at me that way...” Freddie raised an eyebrow, smirking, but just then he was interrupted by a flutter of wings against the window.

They both gasped and looked at Albus, perched outside.

"Oh gosh," Freddie looked around for his clothes and started throwing them on in a rush.

Narrowing his eyes at the trees outside, Brian could see a figure moving closer.

"Well, the timing's better than last time," he remarked, cheeks reddening as he caught Freddie's eye for a moment.

They hadn't immediately heard Albus's attempts to alert them to Arne's approach, that time. Luckily Arne wasn't one to stride into a room without knocking.

No sooner than Freddie was decent, there was a knock on the door. The raven-haired man instinctively moved to open it, but then paused, throwing Brian a questioning look.

Brian nodded and sat up straighter on the bed, raising one hand. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. The door swung open so quickly it bounced back on its hinges. Arne caught it, taking a step inside.

"Sorry," said Brian a little sheepishly as he blinked his eyes open, and proceeded to climb off the bed to take the bag of provisions Arne had brought from him.

The Viking handed it over and put his hands on his hips, looking around at Freddie and acknowledging him with a nod which Freddie returned.

"So," he said, returning his attention to Brian. "How goes it?"

Without a word, Brian stepped past him and walked up to the pot of water hanging over the fire. He crouched down and dipped his fingers in, glancing up at Arne. The water was still little more than lukewarm. Brian took a deep breath and lifted both hands up, holding them on either side of the pot - and focused. He could feel his palms grow warm, could feel that current of energy coursing through his body which felt as familiar now as it had felt strange and frightening, in the beginning. And he channeled it into the water with singular determination, all else growing dark around him. Eyes half-closed but trained on the water, he could see the glow around his hands grow brighter. The watersurface quivered and he all but held his breath, trying not to take his mind nor his eyes off it. Slowly, bubbles began to rise up. First only a small few, but moments later the water began to boil, hot steam rising up from the pot.

Brian huffed out a breath and dropped back onto the floor, shaking out his fingers. Some things took a lot more energy than others, and keeping it under control for an extended amount of time still drained him as though he had run a few miles.

“Incredible,” Arne whispered, looking at the still boiling water, and then frowned thoughtfully. “I wonder…”

A hand gently stroked over Brain’s head, smoothing out his curls. Freddie by his side, his presence alone soothing and reassuring. Brian lifted his head, looking up at Arne.

“What is it you’re wondering?”

“Hm,” Arne gave a small shrug, and casually explained, “I wonder if you can do the same to human blood.”

Brian’s face fell, a shiver running down his spine, but Arne paid him little heed, still thoughtfully gazing at the water. Much as Brian wanted to learn to control his powers, the end-goal of this enterprise was something which worried him greatly.

He had no desire to use his abilities to cause harm, or even death, and yet… he was well aware that this was precisely what would be asked of him. Then again, the more he was in control of his powers, the more likely it was that he would find a way out of this, or so he told himself. But he didn’t take Brenna nor Arne for fools. He didn’t doubt that they were aware of this, too. And there were Freddie, John and Roger to think about. In hindsight, Brian regretted that they hadn’t taken better care and kept Freddie’s presence a secret. But then, if they had, would Roger have gone looking for him? Roger… Who knew what Roger thought now? Of Brian, of Freddie, and of his new position as the ruler of these people.

Brian knew that Freddie, wondered, too. As Arne turned to leave, the raven-haired man followed him out, just outside the door. They spoke quietly, but their voices carried enough through the door, left ajar, for Brian to overhear.

“How… how is everything? Roger… and John, are they well?”

“They are.” Arne was not a man of many words.

“They haven’t,” Freddie paused, lowering his voice a little more. “...sent word?”

There was no response. Brian could only assume that Arne had shaken his head, because the next moment he and Freddie bade each other farewell.

A minute or two passed before Freddie came back inside and quietly closed the door, leaning against it. Brian could see the sadness in his eyes, even though he wouldn’t look directly at him as he chewed his bottom lip.

“You miss him,” Brian said gently.

“It’s not that.” Freddie shook his head and gave him a somewhat strained smile, meeting his eyes. “I just… He must hate me so much. It is,” he swallowed, and blinked rapidly, averting his gaze again. “It’s hard to know that. I’m sorry.”

The last words were only a whisper. Brian lifted himself up off the ground and crossed the room, drawing the smaller man into his arms. Freddie drew a breath and clung to him, pressing his cheek against Brian’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry…”

Brian ran a hand over his hair. “Don’t be.”

“I love you.”

“I know.”

Neither of them ever spoke of the ‘but…’ which never followed those words. Evident as it was. ‘But you still love him, too,’ Brian thought, a painful twinge in his heart. It was alright. This, right here, was better than anything he could ever have hoped for.

- - -

John closed his eyes and let the bow dance over the strings of his beloved fiddle. He played slowly and soulfully, creating a meandering and melancholic tune as he paced back and forth across the room. The music filled his mind and he let it take him away.

He thought of the blue skies beyond the tiny narrow window of this room, this prison, looking out over nothing but the wide see beyond. The blue of the sky turned to the bright blue of those radiant eyes he had seen, for the last time, just over a week ago. John thought of excitement, of friendship and carefree laughter. And of heartache.

Because it hurt. It ached, in his heart. The hopelessness and the longing.

Slowly, he came to a halt and sighed, lowering the violin and staring down at the floor.

The walls seemed to oppress him, close in on him. What had he done that it was his fate to be imprisoned, time and again? To be left to his own company in a comfortable prison. After everything he had done to escape solitude, here he was once again.

Alone.

Bitter irony. John sighed, trying to come up with something else to do. He could try to write on the parchment he had been given, something else to occupy himself with, at least. Write about the things he had seen and experienced over these last few weeks, although what good would it do? Or he could try and fail to draw the very same. Or lie on his back in his bed and wait for nightfall, endlessly worrying and wondering about Freddie, Brian and Roger, and whether he would ever see them again.

For he had never made it to Brian’s room to find Freddie, on that awful night. In a shadowy corridor, he had been ambushed and bundled up, with a bag over his head, and dragged to this place, wherever it was. It had to be within the settlement, that he knew, but he had lost his orientation entirely on the way and the waves he could see through a window so small he could not even stick his head out of it gave no indication of his whereabouts. Other than the fact that he was high up, and trapped.

He supposed he could thank his lucky stars that he hadn’t been thrown into the dungeons, or simply killed by his bloodthirsty captors. He’d wondered why, for a day or two, before Brenna had come to see him and told him in no uncertain terms that she had no intention of executing somebody her newphew had considered family. But Rothgar needed to leave his old life behind and become who he was meant to be, and John, clearly, stood in the way of that as much as Brian and Freddie had, too. John didn’t know and barely wanted to think about what they had done to Freddie, and whether his fate was any more fortunate than John’s. All he knew was that soon, although he did not know how soon, a boat would be sent out and John would be on it. (Perhaps Freddie, too?) Returned to the mainland never to be seen again. Erased from Roger’s life so Roger himself may be erased and created anew as the royal heir he truly was.

And John was infuriatingly powerless to do anything about it.

- - -

Chapter Text

It was already early morning, when Roger finally made his way back towards his chamber. He’d stayed until late at the feast hall, drinking mead with Rune and his brother Sune. And a couple of Viking girls.

Two of them, Roger had managed to bring with him. Not that it had been hard.

He only needed to wink and exchange a few words, for any unmarried woman to follow him without a second thought. But he hadn’t had two, at the same time, before.

Together they stumbled through the door into his room, happy and loose on mead and excitement. Roger gave them each a hungry kiss, before gently pushing them towards the bed, smirking.

“Vill du starte?” He asked them, grinning teasingly.

To his surprise, the girls just grinned back, shrugged and started kissing each other.

Roger stared. He’d only seen two girls kiss twice before, and those times it had been as a joke, nothing serious. This was different. There was real heat and passion between these two, small hands roaming each others bodies eagerly.

They were both short, for Viking women. Shorter than most girls Roger’d had at the settlement. But they were still beautiful to look at, with lush curves and pretty faces. Their hair caught the firelight as they clumsily pulled each other down on top of Roger’s furs - long locks the colour of dark honey and sunkissed straw bleeding together as the shorter one straddled the other and bent to kiss her.

And, while the sight of the two women kissing and grinding on each other, should have made him hot all over, should have made him want to throw himself in the middle of it, he found it didn’t.

Instead, it filled his heart with sorrow. With longing.

Because the women weren’t just doing this to put on a show for him, no. They were caressing each other with the familiarity and skill of real lovers. The way they smiled at each other, when they pulled away to breathe, their breasts heaving. A soft hand trailing tenderly over an equally soft cheek.

They loved each other.

And they didn’t seem to care an iota about Roger, still standing awkwardly on the middle of the floor.

“You’re distracted, my Prince.” The honey-blonde one said, her voice warm and amused.

Roger turned to her, his eyebrows raised. “I didn’t know you could speak English.”

She winked at him. “There’s much you don’t know. Don’t you want to join us?”

The other woman sat up, muttering something to her lover in their own language, her brows furrowed in a frown and her blue-eyed gaze impatient.

“Oh, um.” Roger said, cheeks heating. What the fuck was he doing? This was not like him.

The honey-blonde woman answered the woman in her lap, grinning meaningly. The straw-haired one scoffed, sending Roger an annoyed glance over her shoulder before she promptly bent back down to mouth at her lover’s neck.

“Why are you still standing there?” Hazel eyes bore into his and Roger steeled himself and started unlacing his shirt.

The woman chuckled and shook her head. “No, we both know that’s not what you really want. Is it?”

Wasn’t it? Roger was unable to meet her knowing, kind eyes. It felt as she saw right through him. All of the loneliness. The pain and anger he’d done his best to stuff as far down as he could.

The blue-eyed woman said something again, giggled, and then started making her way down the other’s body, her fair hair falling all over her lover’s chest.

“Go.” The honey-blonde woman sighed, her eyes falling shut as she ran her fingers through her lover’s hair. “Go find what you really want.”

Roger swallowed and nodded, before grabbing his fur cape from the chair in the corner of the room and stepping outside.

He was halfway through the corridor, on his way outside, when he realized he’d just been ordered away from his own bedroom. By two female Viking lovers. And he’d complied.

Well, he thought wryly, there could surely be no better use for his room than two beautiful women finding pleasure in it.

As for him… For some reason, this night - he just couldn’t do it. Couldn't force the emotions away. He felt exposed and his entire being was torn. Torn and miserable.

He was absolutely miserable.

He might have gained more power, women and a greater purpose in life than he’d ever dared dream of, but he had lost himself. And the people he loved.

They had abandoned him.

We both know that’s not what you really want.

She had spoken the truth. What Roger really wanted was his family. His friends. And the familiarity and safety they brought.

He stepped outside into the clear night and immediately shivered and pulled the fur tightly around himself.

What Roger really wanted, didn’t want him back.

His thoughts were dark as the sky above when he wandered from the feast hall, but with no brilliant stars lighting it up.

He passed through the settlement and headed towards the cliffs.

The fresh air was cold and merciless as it filled his lungs when he made his way through the swaying grass. He didn’t know where he was going, what he was doing. Only that he couldn’t stay inside that blasted place anymore, shackled by duty and memories both.

Go find what you really want.

She had said. Roger smiled humorlessly, ignoring the tears gathering in the corners of his eyes as he came closer to the cliffs, and the ravenous sea beneath.

He wanted to go back in time.

And he had a feeling not even Brian’s magical powers could help him with that.

He came to a halt on the back of a large cliff, its side disappearing down into the crashing waves. It was surrounded by other rough and jagged cliffs, creating a barrier against the powerful sea. If he turned he’d still be able to see the fires of the sleeping Viking settlement just behind him. To his left, not 20 meters off, stood what looked like an old, abandoned watchtower, throning over the water, built into some of the higher cliffs.

Roger walked as far out on his cliff as he dared, hypnotized by the roaring waves throwing themselves towards jagged rock only to be pulled back into darkness.

The sea breeze hit his face as he closed his eyes and balanced on the very edge, feeling the power of the wind tugging at him and the power of the widespread ocean at his feet.

How would it have been to not be a miserable human at all, but to be part of nature, so ancient and merciless. So thoroughly free.

The thought was as exhilarating as it was hopeless. But still, it filled Roger’s heart with peace, for the moment. To know that some things could never be ruled. Some things could never be bended to the will of others.

Funny, it was almost as if the sea was singing to him. A heartbreaking melody, just barely audible through the roar of wind and water.

But the more Roger listened, it didn’t sound as the sea at all, no, the melody was too complex, too dynamic, too full of frustration to be birthed by nature.

Actually, didn’t he recognize that melody?

Roger’s eyes opened wide and he spun around towards the watchtower.

He did recognize that melody. And it was played on a familiar instrument, too.

John.

- - -

John almost jumped out of his skin when someone pounded hard on the door. He stared at it, pale and terrified. No one ever came to see him at this hour…

The door rattled as someone continued to pound on it.

Or something…

John slowly lowered his violin to his bed, desperately looking around for something to defend himself with.

“John?”

A familiar voice shouted and John jumped in shock.

It couldn’t… It couldn’t be?

“John, are you in there?”

John hurried forward, his heart beating hard in his chest. “Yes! Yes, it’s me. Roger!”

There was a muffled curse from outside.

“Open the door!”

“I can’t!” John called back, glaring at the damned thing and giving it a light kick. “It’s locked from outside.”

A pause. Then Roger’s voice came louder and more irate. “Are you telling me they locked you in here?”

“Yes.” John couldn’t help but shake from excitement. Roger had found him! “At the day of the… you know.”

The door shook as Roger kicked at it with a furious snarl. “They locked you up here and made me believe that… That… Fuck’s sake. Is… is Freddie there, too?”

John shook his head, frowning, before remembering that Roger of course couldn’t see that.

“No. Just me. I don’t know where he is.”

There was silence for a moment. John put his hand on the door, wishing so desperately he could just open it and see his friend again.

"Roger. They’ll send a boat back to the mainland soon. And I will be on it. Brenna’s ordered it.”

Roger didn’t say anything at first and when he did, his voice was lower, weaker. “Is that what you want? To go home?”

“What? No! Of course not!”

“I wouldn’t blame you. I’d go, too, if… Well. This place is cruel, John. These people are cruel. I don’t want you to get hurt because of me.”

John glared at the door, trying to reach Roger through the murky wood. “Well, I don’t want to go! I want to stay by your side. Because you’re the… closest friend I’ve ever had.”

No one has ever mattered to me as much as you do. I have nothing without you.

“Please, Roger,” he continued, more desperately, “I can train, learn to fight with the sword and axe, like you! I promise, I’ll keep myself safe. And I’ll keep you safe.”

The last words made his cheeks burn but he still pushed on. “Please, Roger. Let me stay?”

The door rattled again as Roger heaved his body against it. “There’s no other way out?”

“No.” John gave the narrow, small window the stink eye. “I’m afraid not.”

“Fuck. Right. Okay.” The door rattled again. “John? Stay back, yeah? Move out of the way.”

Wide-eyed, John nodded and hurried back. Was Roger seriously going to try to…?

The door shook once with the force of a body throwing itself against it. Then a second time.

“Roger…” John winced as he heard the angry curses from outside.

The third time Roger threw himself against the door, the old hinges couldn’t take it anymore, and the door whined miserably as it fell through the door frame and landed on the floor with a loud thud.

John lifted his gaze from the defeated door, mouth gaping open.

Roger stood just outside, his hair whipping in the wind, a pained but bright grin on his face as he rubbed at his shoulder.

John swallowed, his throat oddly dry.

“Get your things.” Roger said, expression darkening. “We have a queen to talk to.”

- - -

John was still wearing his violin case on his back, and had his other meagre belongings in a sack under his arm as he was pulled along to Brenna’s chamber, Roger’s grip tight around his wrist.

“It’s the middle of the night!” He hissed, nervously looking around and immediately stumbling over his feet. “She’ll kill us!”

“No.” Roger said, his voice tight with fury. “She will not. I’ve had enough of these fucking deceptions and lies. I’m so bloody tired of being played like a fool, by everyone.”

And so, John was dragged all the way to Brenna’s chamber.

Without knocking or calling out, Roger simply threw the door open, drew his sword and stomped inside.

Shocked, John stood frozen in the door frame. This had to be it. They were finished.

Brenna had already rolled out of bed, her nightshirt clinging to her body as she held her own sword high, her gaze unreadable. In her bed, naked and slow with lingering mead and sleep, was Ulf.

“Brenna.”

Roger said coldly, stopping in front of his aunt, his heavy sword still raised.

Ulf’s eyes widened comically and he crawled out of bed, grabbing his axe. “Runt! What do you think…”

Brenna silenced him with an icy glare, before focusing on Roger again. “Nephew.” She eyed the sword in his hand, his face and then John further back. She raised her eyebrows slowly. “What’s this? Are you trying to take the rule of this kingdom from me with force?”

She sounded… amused.

John stared at the scene, his hand digging into the strap of his violin case.

“You lied to me.” Roger hissed, his body shaking with barely restrained emotion. “You told me they had left! Went away!”

Brenna grimaced and waved at John. “Come inside and close the door, boy. The entire hall doesn’t need to hear this.” John nodded shakily and did as she asked, hand trembling as he closed the door behind him. “I did nothing of the sort.” She answered Roger calmly. “You arrived at that conclusion on your own and I simply didn’t tell you otherwise.”

“You bitch!”

“That’s no way to talk to your queen, runt!” Ulf thundered, still holding his axe tightly.

“Shut the fuck up! You kidnapped John and locked him in a bloody tower! I can’t believe you!” Roger roared. “You were going to send him away, without telling me!”

“Yes.” Brenna nodded. “You need to grow into your own as the prince, as my heir. You can’t do that with the shackles of your old life weighing you down. It’s for your own good, Rothgar. I know he’s important to him, that’s why I spared his life.”

John stood pressed against the door, looking between the three arguing Vikings (because Roger seemed more Viking to him now, than ever before) in horrified fascination.

“I am not your toy.” Roger spat. “I’m not a fucking dog or horse you can train. I have done everything you’ve asked of me. I burned a man to death because of you. And you kidnapped my friends. How dare you.”

Brenna glanced at John again, then back at Roger. “He makes you weak. You can’t have any weaknesses, Rothgar. They will be used against you.”

“I won’t!” John exclaimed, stepping away from the door. Ulf stared at him as if he’d grown a second head. “I won’t become a weakness. I want to learn how to fight and protect myself, my queen.” He forced his voice to become steady, forced himself to look into Brenna’s mildly curious ice blue eyes. “Let me train with Roger. I won’t become a burden, for any of you. I promise.”

Roger nodded, sending a quick glance at John over his shoulder before tightening his hold on his sword. “You’re not sending him away. I won’t let you. And you will never lie to me again.”

“You think you can command me?” Brenna looked more curious than anything else. “Surely you must know you can’t best me in battle, nephew.”

“I won’t have to.” Roger gritted his teeth, lowering his sword and sheathing it. “I’ll kill myself. Rid you of your precious heir. You think I couldn’t do it?” He asked, voice low as he stared Brenna down. “You think I wouldn’t throw myself off the cliffs? That I wouldn’t starve myself to death if you lock me up? In that case, you know nothing about me at all.”

Brenna smiled then. Showing her teeth. “Oh, I know you could. I know you would. You are of my blood, and while you’ve been sheltered you still have our pride and our power. However, that won’t be necessary. I can see that your men love you, Rothgar. You’re meant to be a leader.” She nodded at John, also lowering her sword. “He can stay. And he’ll start training in the morning.” She stretched and yawned, seemingly now bored with the conversation. “But he’s your responsibility, nephew. I won’t protect him anymore.”

John wanted to tell her he didn’t need protection, but instead he bowed his head. “Thank you, my queen.”

“What about Freddie, then?” Roger asked stiffly. “Are you keeping him in another tower somewhere?”

Brenna shook her head, sitting down on he bed. “No. The coward you used to call your lover ran the day you burned the man alive. He’s in the forest, with the magician. He’s safe.”

Roger faltered where he stood. “He’s with Brian? How… Why should I believe you?”

“Because it’s the truth. He abandoned you, nephew. You can ask Arne if you don’t believe me, or, better yet, accompany him to the magician’s house next time he goes and see for yourself.” She yawned again. “Now let me get some sleep.”

Roger said nothing, just turned on his heel, opened the door and disappeared out in the dark corridor.

John saw Ulf shake his head, dumbfounded, before lowering his axe and crawling back in bed. Brenna was looking after Roger with fondness in her eyes.

John bowed again and went to follow Roger. Just before he closed the door behind himself, he heard Brenna’s quiet voice.

“Han er søsteren min oppe i dag.”

Roger was leaning against the wall just outside the chamber. The faint light from the hearth in the corridor was enough to make out his pained expression.

“You never told Freddie it wasn’t Brian, did you?” He asked John, his voice tired.

John shook his head. “I didn’t have time to, before I was taken away.”

Roger nodded slowly, his eyes staring unseeingly at the opposite wall. “So he really thought I burnt Brian to death. He thought I was capable of that. And then…” He took a shuddery breath. “He didn’t come back, when he found out I hadn’t.”

His fists were tightly clenched at his sides. John didn’t know what to say.

“Can you…” Roger started, before clearing his throat. “Could you go with Arne? To make sure they speak the truth? I don’t want to see him.”

“Of course.”

John’s heart was breaking for Roger. The other man looked so hopeless, so sad and small where he leant against the wall. This magnificent, strong man who’d broken John out off his prison cell, who had faced off a Viking queen for his sake.

“Roger.” He said, and waited until those beautiful eyes looked up at him. “I am so sorry this happened to you. I am so sorry you’ve had to go through all this, on your own. And if there’s anything you need, anytime, I’m here for you.”

The next second he was wrapped up in Roger’s tight embrace, the other man’s breath wobbly and wet where he pressed his face to John’s shoulder. “Thank you.”

John promptly dropped his sack of belongings to the floor. Roger was everywhere, he could feel his heart, smell his hair. Overwhelmed, John shakily lifted one arm to return the hug. “O..of course.”

Roger laughed wetly and pulled away, wiping at his eyes with his fur. “Really, thank you. You’re the only person who’s been faithful to me, who hasn’t lied.” He smiled at John, his eyes warm with emotion. “I’m so glad you want to stay.”

John’s mind was screaming at him. What should he say? What should he do? Why in all the world was Roger thanking him at all? He’d not done a thing right! He’d just been a drunken, awkward wreck since he got here.

But not anymore. From now on, John would be a trustworthy companion, someone who could hold his own. Someone who could maybe start to repay Roger for all he’d done to help him.

“I want to be where you are.” Was what he ended up saying.

And immediately he wanted to die from embarrassment.

“Uh, I mean…”

Roger laughed, his eyes twinkling in amusement. “Thanks.” He winked. “Now go get some sleep, yeah? We need to get up early for practice tomorrow. Your room should still be empty.” He winced and rubbed at his side. “Damn, that bloody door did a number on me. Ah, well.” He gave John’s shoulder a squeeze and passed him by. “Good night.”

“Good night.” John mumbled, looking after Roger as the blond continued towards his own room. John’s cheeks were hot with shame, he was still shaking all over and he was absolutely exhausted.

Still, an elated grin spread all over his face.

He was going to stay here. With Roger.

- - -

The wet heat around his cock was heavenly. Brian fisted one hand in the fur beneath him, the other coming up to cover his mouth as he moaned embarrassingly loud.

Freddie hummed around him, pleased, and lapped teasingly on the leaking tip of Brian’s cock.

“Oh, mmhff.” Brian removed his hand from his face, instead reaching down to grip Freddie’s dark lock. “Freddie, I…”

The other man went deeper then, faster, and Brian squeezed his eyes shut with a pathetic whine as he felt his cock hit the back of Freddie’s throat.

“I’m going to…”

That was all the warning Freddie got, before Brian came hard, his entire body shaking with it as he arched his hips into that molten pleasure.

Freddie didn’t even choke, but let half of Brian’s cock out of his mouth, sucking softly on his sensitive head as he massaged over Brian’s tense thighs.

Soon after Brian lay, chest heaving and sweaty, staring up at the ceiling as Freddie crawled up to his side, pressing kisses over his ribs and chest as he went.

“You’re gorgeous, darling.” The other man purred, curling into Brian’s side and stroking his face gently. “Absolutely stunning when you let go like that for me.”

Brian wrapped his arm around him and pulled him close. “You’re the gorgeous one.” He turned to look into Freddie’s dark eyes, his heart aching with emotion as he trailed a thumb over his cheekbone. “Most gorgeous, sweet and kind man I have ever met. I love you so much, Freddie.” He whispered, leaning forward to brush their lips together. “I’ve never felt like this before.”

His sappy words embarrassed him, but it was dark in the room, the light from the fire hopefully not enough to give away how flushed his cheeks were. “You have all of my heart.”

When he pulled back, Freddie’s mouth was turned into a frown.

Oh, no. Not again.

Why did he have to go and say that? When he knew that he didn’t have Freddie’s heart. Not all of it, anyway.

An awkward silence lingered between them.

Brian wanted to smash his head against the wall. That’s what he got for being too eager, too honest. He had been so happy, he was so happy. But the knowledge that Freddie chose him second, that he might never have chosen him at all, hadn’t Roger ended their relationship, continuously chafed at his heart, under all the euphoria and love.

He didn’t want to be second best.

Freddie tapped his fingers over Brian’s chest, smiled at him. And if Brian hadn’t known him so well, it would have been easy to miss how strained it looked.

“I love you, too.”

Brian frowned. He knew that. But it still hurt. He had to know. “What,” he started, licking his dry lips, “what would you have done, if Roger had never found out?”

“Done about what, darling?” Freddie tried to keep his voice light, but his eyes were suddenly guarded.

Brian hated it. “What would you have done about us? Would you have ended it with Roger? Would you have told him you had feelings for me? Would we ever have happened at all?”

Please, Brian thought. Lie. Just say yes.

But Freddie didn’t.

He looked up at the ceiling, his top lip tense over his teeth. “I don’t know.”

He turned to Brian again, smiling widely, too widely. “But there’s no point thinking of what ifs. What happened happened, and I’m so glad I have you. I love you.”

“Are you so glad you lost Roger, too?”

Brian muttered, and immediately wanted to kick himself when Freddie looked hurt.

“Of course I’m not.”

“I’m sorry.” Brian murmured, slowly lifting his hand to stroke Freddie’s hair. “I don’t mean to be a jealous prick. But it’s hard.”

Freddie nodded, closing his eyes.

Brian had a feeling it was so he didn’t have to look at Brian.

“You want me to touch you, too?”

“No. I’m not in the mood.”

“Oh. Okay.”

They lay in silence for a few minutes, still curled up together, their bodies tense.

“Actually.” Freddie said, opening his eyes to peer at Brian. “What we should worry about, is what they are going to use your powers for.”

Brian winced. He didn’t like thinking about that.

“Yeah…”

“They’ll make you kill people, Brian. They’re going to use you.”

“I know. I won’t let it get to that.”

“Oh?”

Taking a deep breath, Brian turned on his side to face Freddie. “I’m becoming more powerful, Freddie. Stronger every day. They won’t be able to control me. Soon, I’ll leave this place. This island.” He took Freddie’s hand in his. Squeezed it. “And I want you to come with me.”

“How are you going to escape?” Freddie looked sceptical. “Stealing one of their boats in the night?”

“If that’s what I have to do, yes. I trust my powers and Albus to take us back safely.”

He looked into Freddie’s eyes, smiled sadly. “I want to go back home.”

“You really think you could do it?” The dark haired man looked cautiously hopeful now, his hand squeezing Brian’s back.

“I do.” Brian sighed and allowed himself to dream. “Imagine us living together, in a hut like this, or on the road, like before. Just you and me.”

Freddie hummed, uncertain. “What about Roger? And John?”

“Do you really think Roger would like to come with us?” Brian frowned.

“No.” Freddie said, quietly.

Brian didn’t comment on the way his lover’s eyes suddenly turned glassy. “We should ask John, though. I don’t like the thought of him being trapped here.”

“I don’t think John would want to come with us, either.” Freddie shook his head.

“Why not?” Brian frowned. “He’s our friend.”

Freddie chuckled lowly. “Because he likes Roger. And he hates me. Besides, who’s to know any of them wouldn’t rat us out to the Vikings, if we told them we were planning to escape.”

“You really think they would?” That sounded awfully dark-minded to Brian. He didn’t think either John or Roger would betray them. After all, Roger had actually burnt someone alive so Brian could go free.

“They have every right to hate us.” Freddie murmured. “They have every right to turn us in.”

Brian wrapped himself tighter around Freddie. “Then let’s not tell them. They’ll be fine. Roger will look after John.”

Freddie took a shaky breath, nodded and then closed his eyes.

Brian lay awake for a long time, staring into thin air in front of him. Could they really? Leave the others like that? He loved both of the young men. They were his friends, his family. He didn’t want to let them go.

He looked down at Freddie, sleeping fitfully in his arms, his brows furrowed and his lips tense. He pressed a light kiss to his lover’s forehead.

But, in the end... To keep Freddie safe he’d give up everything. He’d go to the end of the world for him.

Because Freddie had his heart, even if Brian did not have Freddie’s.

- - -

You are awakening.

Auburn curls, dancing in the wind. A warm smile. A gentle voice.

A blue tunic. A sturdy, wooden table.

A white dove, perched on her shoulder.

You are yet far from what you will become.

Himself. Thunder clouds gathering over his head, flames dancing in his palms.

Rage. War.

Himself. Hands tingling softly as they press against fever hot skin. Soothing. Helping.

What do you want?

Himself and Freddie. A small hut in the woods. The mainland. Soft kisses, fresh breeze, green landscapes.

Freedom. Love.

Is that what you want?

Yes.

No matter what?

The Viking settlement is on fire. Men, women and children are screaming and crying in terror. Brian looks on from above, horrified. There is blood, everywhere.

Death, everywhere.

He sees Ulf, his thick limbs hacked off.

He sees Arne, his eyes gouged out and his throat slit.

This is what will happen, should you chose to leave.

Brenna. Her crumbled form naked, battered and broken, thrown into the latrine ditch.

The line of the queen will be broken. A new, cruel ruler, will take her place.

Brian shakes his head, squeezes his eyes shut against the ghastly imagery. It’s not my fight, he thinks. I never wanted to come here. They’re not my people.

Aren’t they?

It doesn’t help to close his eyes. The images keep coming. And the next one Brian sees has him gagging, crying and screaming, without making a sound. John’s on his back on the ground. His complexion is pale, his eyes closed. It looks like he’s sleeping.

If it hadn’t been for his chest being cleaved open, his blood spreading out from his body in a dark pool.

Brian can’t breathe. Stop, he tries to shout. Stop!

Could you live with yourself?

A tall Viking stands, facing the ocean. The pieces of bone braided into his beard glistens in the sunlight. He holds a tall spear in his hand.

From it, blood slowly drips to the ground. Dread thick in his throat, his heart frozen in his chest, Brian follows the line of the spear.

He sees the long, fair braid first. Then, the slender neck, blood dripping steadily from severed flesh.

The wide eyes, once the colour of the crisp spring sky, stare dully out over the ocean. Lifeless.

Brian jolted awake, his heart in his throat. Panic threatened to consume his very soul, a deep, bone aching kind of fear weighing him down and making it hard to breathe. His body was covered in cold sweat.

It took him a moment to gather himself, to remember where he was. In the cottage. In the woods. With Freddie. Safe.

Freddie was still sleeping, curled up against the wall, his back to Brian.

Brian’s hand shook as he lifted them to brush his sweat soaked hair out of his face. His body was still shaking.

A dream.

He told himself, pressing one hand to his heart, trying to calm its rampant pounding. Just a dream. An awful nightmare.

Finally, his breathing started to slow down, the tension slowly starting to seep out from his limbs. Trying desperately to push the gruesome images and the elderly female voice out of his mind, he turned to Freddie, hugging him from behind and pushing his nose into the other man’s dark hair, inhaling his familiar and comforting scent.

Just a dream.

He was just about to fall back asleep, when he felt a chill travel up his spine.

Eyes flying open once again, he lay listening, every sense alert.

The house was deadly quiet. He couldn’t hear the crackling from the hearth, nor Freddie’s deep breaths. Outside it was just as quiet. No wind. No clucking from the rippling stream. It was as if the very world was holding its breath, waiting.

And then, he heard it.

That same, old, croaky voice. Whispering directly in his ear.

“Could you live with yourself, Brian May?”

Chapter Text

- - -

The muscles in his arm burned from the strain, the sword heavy in his hand. It wouldn't obey him as fast as he wanted it to, and still, John gritted his teeth in frustration and brought it up just in time to ward off a blow, side-stepping the attack. His heart hammered wildly with the excitement and effort of it, an alertness and tension in his body which made him so keenly aware of this moment, and nothing but this moment. Sweat on his brow, his shirt clinging to his chest, strands of hair in his face, a pair of eyes on him like ice and fire. It was those eyes where his gaze lingered for a split second too long, and he failed to rise to the next challenge, failed to beat down the edge of the sword thrust his way. Stumbling backwards, John tripped over his own feet and landed on his bottom, his own sword clattering to the ground and the tip of the other's at his throat.

They stopped, breathing heavily, eyes locked on each other. Roger's face split into a grin as he lowered his weapon, stepping closer and holding a hand outstretched.

"Not bad."

Flashing a grin of his own, John took his hand and let the other man pull him up. They came almost chest to chest then, ruddy-cheeked and breathless from sparring. Roger's gaze seemed to drop down to John's chest, which was rapidly rising and falling, before it traveled back up to his face. The colour in John's cheeks deepened. Had he imagined that tiny flicker of eyes?

"Again?" Roger asked, nodding towards his sword on the ground. "Or do you wanna take a break?"

It he was perfectly honest, John wanted to take a break.

"Again," he said regardless, eyes flashing with determination, and bent down to pick his sword up from the ground.

- - -

There was a biting frost in the air. Brian could see his breath, even now in the afternoon sun which fell through the trees. The tip of his nose felt numb with it. The other man's small body curled into him from behind, arms sliding around his waist. Hugging him tight. Head resting against his shoulder blade.

"Where are you?" Freddie breathed quietly, and Brian reached up and placed a hand over his hands, clasped around his middle. It wasn't that he didn't want to talk about it.

It was only that he didn't want to worry Freddie, if it was nothing. But there was no avoiding it. He couldn't pretend that nothing was wrong.

"I had a strange dream," he uttered, peering through the trees into the depths of the forest. There was always something moving, between the trees, in the undergrowth. Freddie seemed frightened of those unknown sounds and quivers of the forest, sometimes. Brian was not. The more he explored his powers, the deeper became the connection he felt to all this life around him. Life and nature, taking its course. It observed him and he stared back at it, a part of it, small and insignificant as a dew drop on a single blade of grass. But even a dew drop had its importance when it quenched the thirst of a living being at sunrise, which in turn sated the hunger of another creature. Everything was connected. Everything breathed as one.

"Did you dream about your mother again?" Freddie asked.

"Yes," Brian exhaled slowly, allowing himself to feel an ache in his heart which had been buried in a grey haze all his life, the memory nothing but a shadow. But she was now so clear, so clear he could all but hear her voice, her laughter. Recall the touch of her gentle hand. Why? Why had she been taken from him when he had been so young? "But not just that," he admitted, because it was no use. He could keep it to himself no longer. "I dreamt… I dreamt of a battle."

"A battle?" There was a hint of concern now in Freddie's voice. Brian sighed and pulled away just enough to turn around, meeting his lover's eyes.

"Here, in the village." He nodded, and frowned to himself. "It was dreadful. There was bloodshed and death… everywhere. And-"

"What?" Freddie asked, intertwining their fingers and trying to catch his eye again as Brian looked away.

"I saw John and Roger, dead." Brian couldn't bring himself to describe the gruesome images from his dream more closely. When he glanced back up at him, Freddie licked his lips and gave him a weak smile, although it didn't quite reach the eyes.

"But it was just a dream..."

Brian shook his head again. "Everyone was dead, Freddie. Brenna, Arne, Ulf… Everyone had been slaughtered."

"A nightmare, then." Freddie squeezed Brian's hand. "That's all it was, dear. Wasn't it? Brian…?"

He no longer sounded certain. Probably because of the genuine worry on Brian's face. But Brian couldn't bring himself to tell Freddie about the voice, either, which had paralysed him with fear the other night. Causing him to lie wide awake, staring into the darkness, for what felt like hours. And yet, after some time, terror had been replaced with a grim sort of understanding. The presence lingering in the house with them, which he had become aware of for the first time that night, was not the thing to be frightened of.

"I think it was a vision," Brian finally said, his voice barely above a whisper, and just admitting as much sent a cold shiver down his spine.

- - -

Playing the fiddle was much less appealing when his arms were so tired from sword practice, which wasn't something the Vikings were particularly happy about. Most had been surprisingly pleased to see him back, and very keen to hear him play. John had to disappoint them, unfortunately, although no one dared give him any grief about it when Prince Rothgar had an arm on his shoulder, laughing heartily and talking with him at the table. His time away had provided an involuntary break from the delicious mead for John as well, and he found that as he was back now, with new purpose, the drink's delightful effects called to him less. For one, he did not want to feel dreadful the next morning when he was expected to spar with Roger bright and early.

The thing which did make him want to drink more than he perhaps should usually occurred later into the night, when Roger could inadvertently be found talking to a lass or two, all smiles and small touches. While the lasses were all heaving breasts and high-pitched laughter.

John told himself it was Roger he felt most envious of. It seemed so easy, so natural, the way he talked with the womenfolk and enticed them while barely even speaking their language. And yet, John could understand what charmed them all too well. That is, perhaps he could not understand it himself so much as empathise with it. That flutter of excitement deep within whenever Roger smiled at him, the shiver running down his spine at a brush of shoulders or a friendly hand placed on his arm. It was laughable. It was pitiful, surely. But to deny how he felt was no longer possible. Roger haunted his thoughts and his dreams, and even though John was mostly alarmed by the idea of the more, well, ungodly parts of his dreams ever becoming a reality - he simply couldn't imagine what it might be like, to do those things with a living, breathing human being, instead of a dream mirage - what he felt for Roger was first and foremost a deep admiration, an all-consuming warmth in his heart. His very presence brought him joy.

Was this what love felt like? Was this what he had seen in their eyes, when Roger and Freddie had been inseparable still, in those unguarded moments when they had allowed him to see it?

Or was it nothing more than the same infatuation those lasses felt, vying for their prince's attention. No, it couldn't be, John was sure. So then…

Around the time when Roger found the womenfolk, and the womenfolk found Roger, John would quietly take his leave. He'd pocket an apple to two, to pay Tootsie a visit before bed. The donkey had greeted him so happily on his first day back that it had warmed his heart. Since then, John hadn't gone a day without leading her out to the meadow in the early afternoon, sometimes with Roger, and visiting her at night before he took himself off to bed. And somehow, over the last few days, the donkey had become his confidante.

As she was tonight.

"I don't know what to do." John sighed, scratching Tootsie behind the ear as he sat leaning against her flank. "I don't think there's anything I can do." He frowned, chewing his lip for a moment. "What would come of it if I told him? I don't… I don't want to tell him, and have him look at me with pity. Or keep away from me, because he doesn't want to… Oh, I don't know, Toots. What would I even say to him?" John shook his head, fondly watching the donkey's ear twitch. For a few moments, all was quiet. Only the wind and distant voices outside. It was getting very cold at night. His toes and fingers were freezing and he'd have to head inside soon. "I just wish I could tell him… I wish-" The donkey shook her head a little as he moved on to the other ear, a wistful smile on his face. "I want to tell him how brave I think he is, how strong… how good. You know? Because I think he's… he doesn't see it. And I wish he would. He's the best person I've ever met, but if I said… if I started, I wouldn't be able to get the words out. Or I'd say too much." Tootsie gave a quiet huff. "I know, it's all so… so foolish. But I just wish he knew."

In the silence that followed, the cold wind still howling outside the stables, Tootsie suddenly jerked her head up, raising her ears. John frowned. He'd heard it, too, or thought he had. A faint sound just outside, nothing more than a crackle of gravel or-

John craned his neck, peering into the darkness outside along with Tootsie and sitting very still for a few moments.

But all was quiet. There was no one in sight.

"Hm." John gave the donkey's head a last, gentle pat. "It's time I went to bed…" He yawned, stretched, and slowly got to his feet.

Tomorrow morning, Arne was going into the woods to see Brian and Freddie. And John was coming with him.

- - -

The piece of charcoal dirtied his fingertips, left them smudged with black. There were streaks of it on his face, too, he was sure. He had a habit of touching his face when he was sketching, pausing to run his fingers over his cheekbone, or his chin, as he tilted his head and squinted at the picture.

It was coming out all wrong. The face, the body. His hand would not obey him, no matter how sternly he told it to create long, lithe limbs, a distinct nose and a mass of soft hair. No, his own fingers mocked him instead and drew strong shoulders, a heart-shaped face and large eyes, a gentle wave in the fair hair which hung loose - the way Freddie had seen it more than anyone, in the mornings. Or in the evenings, before bed. It would have been a terrible lie to say he didn't recall Roger's scent and the shape of him, curled around him in bed, the warmth of his arms and the sound of his breath in his ear. He recalled it all so vividly that he wanted to rip his traitorous heart out.

Why, why could he not be happy, no matter what path he took? Just as painfully guilty and rotten as Freddie had felt, thinking of Brian in Roger's arms, so he felt now in Brian's embrace, unable to extinguish the feelings for Roger which he still carried in his heart.

Had he not done everything he could? Had he not renounced Roger, vowed not to see him again, given himself to Brian mind, body and soul? Why wasn't it enough?

It wasn't fair. He knew that, knew it so well. And it pained him every time Brian looked at him, with those kind, loving eyes of his, full of devotion and adoration. Freddie had thought it would get easier, the more time passed.

It didn't.

He missed Roger, missed him like a part of himself that he had been robbed of, and that feeling never went away.

It wasn't fair to Brian. Just like Roger, he deserved someone who was whole-heartedly devoted to him, someone who didn't close his eyes and find himself thinking of another, sometimes, in the middle of-

Oh, he was a wretched creature.

Freddie blinked, his eyes burning slightly, and dabbed at the corners, spreading more black soot on his face.

The man in the sketch was coming out too well. So lifelike he could all but picture him turn his head, just a little, looking up at him from the parchment.

The door creaked and Freddie startled, one hand instinctively shooting out to smudge the sketch. Erase the evidence of his awfulness. When he looked up, Brian stepped inside carrying firewood, Albus on his shoulder. It was getting so cold now, even during the day, that they were trying to keep the fire burning warm and bright at all times.

"Are you alright?" Brian asked with a wan smile, closing the door behind him. "You look as if you've seen a ghost."

His eyes darted around the room for a moment, as though he was wondering whether Freddie had, in fact, encountered a spirit.

"No," Freddie said lightly. "Just drawing. Lost in thought."

In as casual a way as he could muster, he crumpled up the piece of parchment and tossed it into the flames.

"It wasn't coming out so well," he told Brian, when the other man raised his eyebrows.

As Freddie went to wash his face and hands, he watched Brian stoke the fire, a lump in his throat.

It wasn't fair to Brian, but leaving him wouldn't have been fair, either. Hurting him. Or so Freddie told himself.

Only it wasn't that, was it?

It wasn't fair to Brian - but Freddie didn't want to be alone. Especially not now, because if Brian's dream was a prophecy, if it were all true-

They hadn't dared speak about it again since yesterday. However, the thought of a terrible future for their friends weighed heavy on their hearts.

Perhaps it was this which had made the thought of Roger impossible to dismiss today. Even though just days before he had contemplated leaving it all behind, turning his back on the past and fleeing with Brian, Freddie now couldn't bare the thought of leaving Roger to his fate. If his fate was this.

Just then, Albus fluttered to the window, and both of them turned, alerted to somebody's arrival by his cooing.

"Arne?" Freddie asked, drying his face and hands beside the basin of water.

"It must be." Brian stood up and crossed to the door, pulling it open and stepping outside.

"Freddie!" he called a moment later.

"What is it?" Freddie hurried over and came up beside him, just outside the door. His eyes widened as he peered at the two silhouettes between the trees, coming towards them. Was that…?

"John!" Brian exclaimed, breaking into the first joyful smile Freddie had seen on him in a couple of days. "Is that you?"

The young man beside Arne broke into a jog and came running up to them, just as Brian stepped forward. They fell into each others' arms, patting each other on the back and laughing.

"It's good to see you!" John drew back, looking Brian over. "Are you well?"

"All the better for seeing you." Brian bowed his head, nodded, even as John's gaze flickered over to Freddie, who stood rooted to the spot.

"Freddie." He started towards him, but stopped, smile faltering when Freddie remained motionless, lips pulled over his teeth tightly. It wasn't that he wasn't glad to see John. Of course he was. But he felt paralysed by a crippling sense of guilt. What did John think of him, of the way he had thrown himself into Brian's arms the moment Roger had ended things between them? How despicable he probably was, in the other man's eyes.

"John," he said hesitantly, chancing a nervous smile. "How… How is everything?"

'How is Roger? Does he hate me, still? Or perhaps more, now?' Of course, he said none of that, and instead turned to Arne as the Viking, too, came closer.

None of them felt particularly free to talk in Arne's presence. Dutiful and to the point as always, the Queen's advisor handed over the supplies, asked Brian a few questions, watched him propel a small boulder into a tree trunk with a wave of his hand and nodded thoughtfully.
Freddie and John found themselves observing, eyeing each other uncertainly.

"Is everything alright?" Freddie couldn't help but ask eventually, his voice low. "In the village, I mean. Is everything… peaceful?"

John frowned, meeting his eyes with a curious gaze. "Yes. I mean, I think so. What do you mean?"

Freddie opened his mouth and closed it again, shaking his head. "Nothing, I just… I'm glad."

John continued to look at him quizzically, then looked around the forest.

"You might know for yourself if you came to visit." He told Freddie after a moment. There was an edge of reproach to his voice.

Freddie huffed out a breath, staring at the forest ground. "I don't think I'd be welcome."

John turned to face him. "What-"

"John." Called Arne, beckoning him over. "Let us go, it is a long walk back."

John nodded, but then cast another look back at Freddie, seemingly unsure of what to say for a moment.

"He was alone," he then uttered, and Freddie looked up, meeting his eyes.

"I... what?"

"You left him alone, when you ran away." John repeated quietly, taking a few steps backwards towards Arne, still holding Freddie's gaze.

'What do you mean?' Freddie wanted to say. John had been there, had he not? And Roger hadn't wanted him, anyway.

But at that moment Arne said his farewell to Brian, and gave Freddie a courteous nod, and John and Brian said goodbye to each other with another half hug.

Standing side by side, Freddie and Brian watched the two men disappear into the woods.

"Did you tell Arne anything?" Freddie asked, his thoughts still with John's words, and in extension, Roger. "Did you tell him about the… your dream?"

Brian shook his head. "I wasn't sure if I should." He looked worried then, glancing over at Freddie. "Do you think I should have? If it is the future, would it make any difference if I told him or not? Would they even believe me?"

"I don't know." Freddie shivered and wrapped his arms around himself tighter.

They exchanged a look and slipped back inside the house, with their provisions. Freddie went to unpack them while Brian sat on the bed, toying with a whirl of blue-green light between his palms.

"Freddie."

"Mmh?" Setting aside potatoes, apples and carrots, Freddie glanced up.

"I haven't… told you everything." Brian said quietly, and slowly met his eyes. "About the dream, I mean."

"What is it?" Freddie asked, pausing with a cloth-wrapped, small bundle of cheese in his hand which he had just pulled from the sack.

"I think it wasn't just… showing me." The tall man folded his hands, extinguishing the whirl of light between them. "It was telling me that… that I can stop it from happening."

"You?" Freddie asked, lowering the bundle into his lap.

"Who else?" Asked Brian, staring at his clasped hands. "Who else if not me? But I don't… how can I…" His eyes found Freddie's again. "I have to keep you safe. I promised that I would. I promised I'd take you away from here."

Freddie's brows drew together, his jaw set. "You can't be serious? If there is a chance that what you dreamt will come to pass, Brian, how can you- How could I possibly just leave? Knowing Roger was in…" He broke off, averting his eyes. "Roger and John, I mean... if they were in danger..."

When he glanced back up, there was a mirthless smile on the other man's lips. "If you think I'm letting you walk into battle-"

"Excuse me?" Freddie discarded the bundle and rose to his feet, a scowl on his face. "If you think, for even a moment, that you have any power to keep me-"

"And what are you going to do, fight?" Brian cut in, also rising to his feet and taking a few steps towards him.

"I will if I have to!" Freddie snapped back, meeting Brian halfway. "What do you take me for?!"

"Freddie, I just want you safe!"

They stood chest to chest beside the fireplace. Shadows danced over Brian's face, eyes flashing hot with something that was closer to fear than anger. But Freddie was angry, now. He didn't need to be kept safe, didn't Brian understand-

"Forget about me!" The words erupted from his very heart before he so much as knew what he was saying, and cut through the tension between them like glass. "If Roger is to die it'll be over my own dead body! Do you hear me?!"

Silence fell. The rush of blood in his ears was deafening. His hands, curled into fists by his sides, trembled. And slowly, Brian's face crumpled as he lowered his eyes.

Freddie drew a shuddering breath.

The sudden rage seeped out of him then, like grains of coarse sand running through his fingers.

"Brian…" he began, shoulders slumping and fists unclenching.

"How much you love him." Brian whispered, gazing into the flames, his features bathed in their orange glow.

A sheen of tears clouded Freddie's eyes. Very gingerly, he reached for Brian's hand and linked their fingers together, trying to gather his thoughts, and more so, his feelings. Trying to find the right thing to say. But his tongue wouldn't form the words, because any denial would have been a brazen lie and 'I love you, too' did not feel like enough. In the end Brian saved him from having to speak at all.

"You're right, of course." He uttered, his voice hoarse. "We'd never just leave them, should something happen. It will be our battle, too."

He gave Freddie's hand a gentle squeeze and looked up. Freddie swallowed, and squeezed back. For all the sadness in those eyes, there was also grim determination.

- - -

It was early afternoon when John and Arne returned to the settlement. Still preoccupied with his thoughts - the things he wished he might have said to Freddie, in particular, constructing conversations in his mind in hindsight, the way one was wont to when things had been left unsaid - John headed to the stables and took Tootsie out to let her graze in the meadow.

He'd half expected that Roger might come find him, for surely he had run into Arne and knew he was back, but when he didn't John went in search of him instead. It didn't take him very long, for when he knocked on the door of the prince's chamber, Roger answered. John opened the door and stepped inside, leaning it shut behind him.

Roger, who was lying on his back on the bed, arms folded over his stomach, turned to him and raised his eyebrows, sitting up in surprise.

"John."

"I didn't think you'd be here," said John with a lop-sided smile. "I thought you might be busy…"

"I… well, I got away." Roger smiled back, climbing off the bed and taking a few steps towards him. "For a little while, anyway."

His eyes left John's and he propped his hands up on his hips, gazing around the room. There was something a little subdued about the blond man, an unusually pensive air. John frowned.

"Is everything alright?"

"Yeah…" Roger bit his lip thoughtfully, the smile returning to his face as he glanced over at John again. "I suppose I have a lot on my mind."

"Oh. I'm sorry," John offered.

Roger gave a soft chuckle. "It's not your fault." His eyebrows lifted up slightly. "Although…"

Suddenly, noise from outside drew their attention. There was a lot of shouting. Like some sort of quarrel going on. Horses neighing, too, and then, the clang of metal on metal. Roger and John turned to look towards the window, then at each other, before they stepped closer to the window as one.

"What's going on?"

"I don't-"

But before either of them could make sense of the chaos of people running across the inner yard, a door in the corridor slammed open and footsteps could be heard.

"Rothgar!"

Came Brenna's voice, thundering through the corridor. Roger whipped around just in time to see the door fly open, revealing the Viking queen with her sword unsheathed and a wild look upon her face.

"Your sword," she ground out, throwing a wary look both ways down the corridor.

"What?" Roger took a step towards her.

"NOW!" she yelled, "There's no time!"

John tore his eyes away from the sight of her and looked back out of the window, where the noise was growing louder. What he saw there sent a cold shiver down his spine.

Swords and axes clashed, screams of rage filled the air. Already bodies lay on the ground, motionless and bleeding. Before John's eyes, a man on a horse hacked off another's arm.

And then he turned, and looked up at the house. Looked up, or so it felt, straight at the window. John stared. There was a helmet on the rider's head, and bones woven into his beard.

- - -

Albus interrupted a very silent late lunch. They had discussed the necessary, and then, there seemed to be nothing left to say at all.

Freddie would head down to the village in the morning and tell Roger and John about Brian's vision in all its gory details, which he now knew, and which he had chided Brian for not telling him sooner. It was safer to assume that there was something to it than dismiss it, because at least that way, if something came to pass, they would be prepared.

But just as they had sat down to eat a carrot and potato soup Brian had prepared, Albus suddenly became very excited. The bird fluttered around the room, shaking the dust off the cobwebs in the corners and landing atop the door frame for a second or two again and again. Freddie and Brian looked at each other, and Brian got up to open the door. The moment he did so, Albus fluttered outside. The magician followed and, curious, Freddie rose up from the floor and stepped out of the hut, too.

Brian was looking up at the sky, where Albus was flying in circles above the treetops. At first, Freddie could see nothing but the grey clouds. But then, he spotted it and frowned.

"Is that…"

"Smoke." Brian said quietly, his face tense.

Tendrils of smoke were rising up over the forest. In the distance, above the village. Freddie felt his stomach drop. It felt as though his heart was suddenly beating irregularly in his chest.

"Oh God," he breathed, and as one, they turned to look at each other with wide, fearful eyes. "Do you think…?"

"Hurry," was all Brian said, before they ran to get their cloaks.

- - -

Chapter Text

“No.”

“Yes!”

“You know it’s not proper.”

“But why not?”

“Freja…”

Those clear blue eyes he loved so were narrowed in anger. “It’s not fair. You know it isn’t. Why shouldn’t I get to learn?”

Arne sighed deeply, scratching sheepishly at his smooth chin. “You know why.”

“Because I’m a girl.” Freja huffed and threw her long, golden locks out of her face. “I had the misfortune to be born a girl and therefore I’m to go through life weak and helpless, fully dependent on the men around me.”

It was hard to meet that gaze. Arne gazed out at the sea instead, the merciless waves easier to face than the young woman’s wrath.

“I don’t want that, Arne. I don’t want to be like my mother - brave, wise and kind, but a mere pretty trinket in the eyes of the men.” Her voice softened. “No. That will not be my fate. Nor will I allow it to be Brenna’s.”

He heard her soft footsteps as she came up beside him. Felt her slender but strong fingers lace with his.

She waited until he looked back at her, his grey eyes immediately getting lost in her sky blue ones.

“I want power. Power to protect myself and those I hold dear.”

He squeezed her hand briefly, trying for a light smile. “As always I admire your spirit, but fighting with the sword is not for women. It’s heavy, tiring. Ruthless. And brutal. Even if I showed you how, there is no way you’d be able to hold your own in battle.”

“How do you know?” She didn’t smile back. “How could you possibly know what I can or cannot do? And how am I supposed to prove you wrong if you won’t even give me a chance?”

Her beautiful features were set in an all too familiar expression of determination.

Damn Freja and her stubbornness. He never stood a chance against her.

“Fine.” He sighed, unable to keep the corners of his mouth from curling upwards. “Whatever my princess demands of me.” He bowed mockingly.

Freja’s serious expression changed to a fierce smirk. “Exactly.” She said, her golden hair like fire around her face. “And don’t you forget it.”

Later that afternoon Arne brought three wooden swords to a secluded part of the forest. If anyone found out he was teaching the princesses how to use the sword, he’d be in for it.

If he was lucky he’d only be laughed at and mocked. If not, he’d be beaten, exiled from the village or even killed. But, if it meant making the girl he loved happy, he’d gladly take that risk.

Besides, he was excited to see what she would be able to do. While her body might be smaller and more fragile than that of a man’s, she was braver and had a stronger will than even her father Bjørn the Ruthless.

That day Arne swore that he’d always look after her, that he’d do his utmost to protect her from the cruel world. That he’d always be there for her.

He didn’t know then, that only a few years down the line, he’d break his promise. He didn’t know then, that he’d succumb to jealousy and weakness, which would lead him to abandon her when she’d need him the most.

He didn’t know then, that he’d have to dig through piles of ash, wood and bones to find the blackened, charred remains of her body.

- - -

“Stay close to me!”

Roger nodded, his jaw set as he hurried after Brenna down the corridor. He was distantly aware of John running on his other side, the younger man pale and unarmed.

“Brenna!” Ulf burst out from a room, meeting up with them before they reached the feast hall. “Det er Frode. Han har forrådt oss.”

“Helvete.” Brenna spat, her expression furious. She looked down at Roger then, her eyes dark with uncharacteristic fear. “Rothgar. Promise you’ll stay by my side. That weasel has attacked us at the worst possible time. A ship just sailed with several of my best warriors. We might be outnumbered.”

Ulf scoffed, his bushy eyebrows narrowed as he gripped the handle of his axe tighter. “Outnumbered or not, we are stronger. We have you, queen.”

Arne followed Ulf, holding a sword in each hand. “Here.” He said, throwing one of them to John, who fumbled and almost dropped it to the floor. “You better keep your hands steady, boy, or you will lose them.”

John nodded, his pale skin taking on an almost green tint.

Roger’s heart felt heavy in his chest. He’d barely had time to train with John at all. If one of the other Vikings came for the other boy… Roger took a shaky breath.

“I’ll look out for him.” He said, willing his voice to sound more confident than he felt. Truth was that he was half the size and had half the muscle mass of most of these Vikings, and he didn’t feel very certain of his own victory in a fight against any of them. And protecting John at the same time… Could he do it?

Arne raised one eyebrow at him, his face drawn and tired but his eyes sharp. “Remember your strengths, prince.” He said, pressing a finger to Roger’s forehead. “You can’t overpower them, not by force. No, you have to use your speed and your brain. You’re quick, both in body and in mind, use it wisely.”

Roger nodded slowly, taking another deep breath as his fingers squeezed the rugged handle of his sword.

He didn’t have a choice. He had to do it.

Arne pushed past him and John to walk next to Brenna as the queen entered the feast hall, on her way towards the broad, wooden doors leading to the outside.

John fell into step next to Roger, their arms brushing as they hurried after the Vikings.

“It’s a good thing you’ve taught me how to handle a sword.” John joked weakly.

Roger glanced at him, taking in the tremble of his hands, his wide, innocent eyes. He shouldn’t be here. He should have left on that ship, taken to the mainland. He would have been more safe there.

Damn his own weak heart. He should have made the younger man go. When he still had the chance.

“Menn!” Brenna roared, meeting up with the dozen heavily armed Vikings waiting in the hall. “Frode og guttene hans har gått imot oss. Han er en forræder og en feiging. Hva gjør vi med forrædere?”

“Drepe!”

The men growled back, beating their large fists on their wooden shields. Roger spotted Rune, his sword instructor, and his brother Sune among the men.

The brothers had red war paint on their faces. Rune had his longsword drawn while Sune’s bow was strapped to his back.

“Drep forræderne!”

The men’s voices rose in volume as Brenna lifted her massive sword into the air, her light blue eyes flashing with rage.

“Drep forræderne!” Roger found himself screaming, heart pounding hard in his chest, adrenaline spreading like wildfire through his body. Next to him John also lifted his sword, his hands still shaking, but his expression determined.

“Drep, drep, drep!”

The very air seemed to vibrate, dust rose from the floor as heavy boots stomped the packed dirt. In the corner of his eye Roger saw several terrified slaves crouching in the corner of the hall.

“Til krig!” Brenna called and started towards the door. Ulf and Arne heaved it open and she marched out, immediately chopping the head off a young man running at her, axe lifted.

Roger followed her outside, barely aware of his own actions. He stepped over the still spasming body, his sword at the ready as he took in the situation in the settlement.

Several of the houses were burning. Men were fighting everywhere, bodies littering the streets. Clangs from swords and axes mixed with the crackling of the fire and the screams.

Roger threw a glance at the stable and froze. The building was on fire, flames rising from the straw roof towards the afternoon sky. He could hear the panicked neighs from the horses trapped inside and was moving before he knew it.

“Tootsie!”

A strong hand around his upper arm yanked him back. “Are you out of your mind?” Ulf roared, pulling him along after the queen and her army, away from the stable. “You need to stay with the group or you’re dead.”

“Let me go!” Roger fought desperately, even as he saw the enemy Vikings approach.

The next second familiar long, brown hair passed his vision.

John had thrown himself out from between the burly Vikings and were sprinting towards the stable, sword in hand.

Roger’s already frozen heart splintered. “John! No!”

What was he doing? He was going to get himself killed!

“Get your fucking hands off me!” He screamed, elbowing Ulf in the face. “John!”

The Viking grunted and let him go. But before Roger could make a dash for it Ulf’s meaty palm backhanded him hard across the face, making him stumble where he stood.

“Wake up, runt! This is a battle.” Ulf roared.

Arne appeared on the other side of him, giving Roger’s shoulder a squeeze. “I’ll go after him.” He said between clenched teeth. “Protect the queen.”

The next moment he was off, his long legs sending him quickly towards the stable.

“Get ready, princeling!” Ulf cackled, his eyes alight with a crazed glow as he lifted his large axe, feet firmly planted on the ground. “Here they come!”

And the first wave of enemies crashed into them.

- - -

They ran.

The trail between the trees was narrow and treacherous, roots worming their way over and under it.

Brian had already busted his toe on a rock and Freddie had taken a branch to the face, a large red gash painted across his forehead.

And still they ran.

His breath was stuck in his throat, his legs screaming as he pushed them past their limit.

In front of them, the smoke was rising. They could see the warm, orange hue now, too, like paint against the darkening sky.

Albus was somewhere above them, white wings crisp against the dark trees of the forest.

What were they going to do?

Would they even reach the village in time? Or would it be too late?

And if they did get there in time - then what?

Brian had his magic but how long would it last?

After exerting himself, using his powers to their full capacity, he always got so bone-achingly exhausted, so much so that he often fell asleep.

And what about Freddie?

How was he supposed to keep the other man safe?

Freddie had barely glanced at him since they’d spotted the smoke. Not because of anger, no. He was just so completely focused on reaching the settlement, on reaching Roger that nothing else seemed to exist in his mind.

Brian wanted to help their friends too, of course he did. But he was scared. Terrified, even.

He had never owned more power, nor strength.

And still, he feared for all of them.

Especially Freddie.

- - -

The smoke filled his mouth, some of it finding its way down his lungs. John gagged and coughed. He lifted his tunic up over his mouth and forced his stinging eyes open, looking around the hellscape that was the former stable.

Flames were spreading down from the roof and finding further strongholds in the hay. The horses were neighing loudly in panic, kicking their legs out and struggling against the ropes keeping them in their stalls.

Tootsie’s spot, in the far corner, was empty. John stared at the smoldering hay for a moment, lost for what to do. Where was she? She hadn’t been tied up like the rest… Had she escaped?

A sharp screech from the horse closest to him pulled him from his stupor. A burning log had fallen from the roof and into the horse’s stall.

He couldn’t do anything for Tootsie at the moment, but pray that the wise donkey had found her way out and far from this damned place, but he could help the rest of the animals.

Coughing into his tunic he ran into the stall of the closest horse, avoiding kicking legs and burning hay. The poor animal frothed at the mouth, its eyes wide and terrified. John lifted his sword and let it fall down, cutting off the rope holding the horse captive.

The animal immediately lunged out of the stall and dashed towards the open stable doors, almost colliding with the man that had appeared there.

Arne threw himself to the side as John dove into the next stall, freeing the next panicked beast.

“John!”

John barely heard the older man’s voice through the loud neighs and the roaring of the fire.

“John! It’s too dangerous, you have to get out of here!”

There were still ten horses trapped in the building. It was most unlikely that he’d have time to free them all before the roof came down on top of them.

But he would damn well try.

“John!”

Arne had appeared next to him, tears from the smoke escaping his grey eyes. “Come, boy, we need to get out.”

“No.” John quickly cut loose another horse. “Help me instead and we’ll get out of here quicker.”

The other man let out something that was most likely a curse in his mother tongue. He mumbled something about suicidal, stubborn Brits before he did what John said, running to the opposite side of the stable and starting to cut the ropes holding the horses.

The oxygen was getting dangerously thin, the heat boiling his skin. John felt dizzy and weak, and had to hold onto the wall as he continued to cut at the ropes.

He only had one horse left to free, a familiar silver grey beast, when his knees failed him and he sunk to the ground.

His lungs felt as if they were turning inside out in his chest and he desperately gasped for hair, clutching the tunic to his mouth.

“Come,” A hand grabbed onto his tunic and lifted him bodily from the floor. Arne kept one strong arm around John’s waist as he made quick work of the rope holding Roger’s horse.

The proud animal bowed its head, as if thanking them, before galloping out of its stall and outside to join the others.

Arne and John were last, the older man wheezing for air as he dragged John’s half unconscious body towards the opened doors.

Fresh, sweet air hit John in the face as they made their way outside the burning building. Arne dropped him to the ground and he rolled to his hands and knees, coughing and gagging, vomiting into the crushed, scorched grass.

Arne was also coughing, but he managed to keep himself on his feet, sword in hand as he watched the roof finally give up and fall with a roaring crash.

John wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his shirt, groaned and rolled onto his side. He looked up at the Viking.

“Thank you.” He croaked.

Arne turned his pale face to him. “You are crazy.”

“I know.”

And he still didn’t know where Tootsie was…

“Leave.” Arne said, not looking at him.

John stared at him, his still wobbly brain not following. “What?”

“Get out of here, boy. This is not your fight. You shouldn’t be here.” The Viking grabbed his shoulder and pulled him to his feet. John, who’d somehow managed to hold onto his sword through all this, dropped it.

“What are you talking about?” He frowned, voice still raspy and weak.

Arne looked impatient, a rare expression on the dark-haired man. “You won’t be able to fight. You will only be a hindrance to the rest of us. Go to your friends in the forest. You know the way.”

“And then what?” John glared at him. “I flee like a coward and then sit waiting while you fight. And after, I go back? I wouldn't be able to show my face!”

“But you would still have a face.”

John drew himself up to his full height. “And what if you lose? Should Brian, Freddie and I just sit and wait for them to find us?”

“No… Brian’s powers… I’m sure you’d find a way to get out of here.” Arne mumbled, but he looked uncertain.

“No way.” John shook his head. “I’m not running.”

“Listen to me!” Arne raised his voice. “You’re going to get yourself killed. You can’t hold your own in battle.”

“How do you know?” John said coldly. “We won’t know if I don’t try, will we? The only thing I do know, is that if I run like a coward, abandoning Roger to his faith, I won’t be able to live with myself. You hear me? I can’t do it! I’m staying. I will protect him.”

“Foolish boy! It will cost you your life.”

John bent to grab his sword from the ground. He stood back up, sword in hand, and met Arne’s gaze head on. “Then so be it.”

They stood staring at each other for a moment, Arne’s chest heaving as he stared incredulously at the young man. Then, a shadow of a smile appeared on his worn face.

“Fine. Have your will.” He put his large hand on top of John’s shoulder and squeezed. “You’re brave. Much braver than I was at your age. You have my respect, John Deacon.”

Cheeks rosy, John cleared his throat. “Thanks. Let’s return to the others.”

- - -

A month ago, Roger had never killed another living human being. He’d got into some tussles, sure, but he’d never mortally wounded another.

Two weeks ago, Roger had killed his first man. A complete stranger. Someone who’d not done anything to Roger. He’d burn him to death.

Now, Roger no longer knew how many people he had killed.

He was lucky that he was able to hold his own at all in the tumult that started just after John and Arne disappeared. His smaller size and agility had turned out to be his one hope in this bloodbath. Even if the enemy was much bigger and stronger, as long as they didn’t hit him anywhere vital, he would survive.

He fought dirty. Stabbed men in the back, slashed them over the face. There was nothing heroic or noble about this fight. There probably wasn’t in any fight.

Everything spun together to a never ending nightmare - the screams, the blood spilling over his hands and face, the smell of putrid sweat, pee and feces, the fallen bodies soiling their underclothes.

His arms were on fire, pure stubbornness and adrenaline keeping him up and moving. And, of course, the fact that he had no choice. It was to kill or be killed.

He barely knew who his enemies were, the Vikings all looking the same, sounding the same.

But the Vikings knew who he was.

The enemy seemed almost as hellbent on cutting him down as they were Brenna. Roger had tried his utmost to stay close to her in the middle of the chaos, but it was hard with enemies coming at them from every direction.

The queen still stood proud and strong, her sword dripping warm blood as she drove it into body after body. She was graceful when she moved - it almost looked like a dance, how she twisted out of the way of blows and cuts.

She was unharmed except for a graze on her upper arm. Roger was less lucky, he had received the butt of an axe to his lip, splitting it open, as well as cuts to both one leg and his shoulder.

But he was still standing. Still breathing.

And still scared to death for John and Tootsie.

He wanted so desperately to go after the younger man, but there just wasn’t any stop to the enemy.

Ulf groaned next to him as he was hit over the head with a blunt club. The huge man crumbled to the ground and Roger just managed to get his sword up in time to parry the next blow from the Viking wielding the club.

His arms shook as he used all of his strength to keep the club at bay.

The enemy Viking grinned at him, blood trickling down his yellow teeth.

Roger swore under his breath and brought his knee up, slamming it right into the crotch of the other man.

The grin changed to an ugly grimace and the Viking’s huge body curled forward on instinct. Roger pulled his sword back and quickly swung it at the man’s thick neck.

He barely got a third of the way in but it was enough.

Gurgling, blood spewing from his throat and mouth, the Viking slumped over.

Roger had to use considerable force to yank his weapon back from the man’s severed neck and stumbled back when he finally got it loose.

He panted harshly, wiping blood out of his eyes and looked around. Ulf was down, but probably not dead.

He’d lost Brenna and it took him a stressed moment to find her. She had been driven further down towards the harbour, fighting with Rune and Sune at her side.

Roger was alone, but luckily there were no more enemies coming his way. It seemed as their number had finally started to thin out.

Just as he was about to turn and run to the stable, a pair of Vikings came around the corner of the feast hall and spotted him.

Judging by the way they clasped their weapons tighter and grinned at him, they were most certainly not on his side of things.

Roger watched them wearily as they spread out and surrounded him on both sides.

He was screwed. There was no way he could fend off two Vikings attacking at the same time.

“Ulf,” he hissed, nudging the collapsed man with his foot. “Hey, wake up!”

Ulf didn’t wake up.

Roger kicked at him, harder, his heart like a hammer in his chest as the Vikings approached.

Then they lunged at him.

He threw himself out of the way, but not without getting nicked over the chest, one of the Vikings’ swords severing the flesh and making him swallow down a scream of pain.

Blood spread over his tunic and the gash burnt and stung.

But Roger was used to pain.

He grit his teeth, ducked to avoid an axe swinging for his head, and rolled onto his side and behind the Viking who’d cut him.

He aimed and sliced his sword across the man’s calves. The metal dug deep, ripping up flesh and tendons, and the man sunk to his knees with a pained grunt.

“Rotte!” His friend yelled, and dove for Roger.

A sword appeared as if out of nowhere and cut his head clean off, the large skull rolling to the ground just next to Roger.

The heavy body fell on top of him.

Roger grunted as he was crushed beneath the weight of the huge man and looked up just in time to see Arne expertly pierce the heart of the man Roger had injured.

“Need a hand, my prince?” The older man asked him, raising one eyebrow. He was covered in blood but looked to be unharmed.

Roger ached everywhere and his newest wound hurt like a bitch. He half-heartedly glared up at Arne, about to tell him that, when a familiar shape appeared at the Viking’s side.

“John!” He gasped, not daring to believe his eyes.

But it really was John. His friend stood there, pale and red-eyed, also with blood splattered over him, but alive and as well as one could hope for.

“Thank god,” Roger sighed. His head was spinning and the smell coming from the corpse on top of him was making him nauseous.

“Roger!” John was on his knees next to him in a flash, pushing at the huge body of the fallen Viking. “Are you alright?”

“Fine,” Roger managed a smile, squirming to try to get out from under the corpse as John pushed. “What about Tootsie?”

The younger man shook his head, looking nervous. “I couldn’t find her. She must have escaped.”

Suddenly Arne stumbled, letting out a choked gasp.

Roger looked up just in time to see the sharp knife pull back from Arne’s throat, leaving an open, gaping wound. Arne’s eyes were wide, gazing up, as if towards the sky, as he clasped desperately at his throat, blood pooling over his fingers.

Roger watched, as if in a dream, how the man he’d come to see as a friend, almost an uncle, fell to the ground, his life spilling from between his fingertips.

Behind him, a tall Viking, wearing an elaborate helmet and with bones woven into his beard, stood.

Frode.

Arne’s body had barely touched the ground when John leaped at the Viking with a wild snarl of fury.

No.

Frode easily stepped out of the way, let John pass him and then wacked him hard on the back of his neck, sending him crashing to the ground with a choked off whimper.

No.

Roger was still on his back, stuck beneath the corpse. His sword was on the ground next to him.

He reached for it as fast as he could, but Frode was quicker. The tall man kicked Roger’s sword, sending it sliding over the dirt.

With a last effort, his arms screaming in agony, Roger managed to heave the huge man off of himself.

Frode watched him, eyes amused.

“Prince Rothgar.” He greeted, his boot coming down on top of Roger’s bloodied chest as soon as he was free from the corpse, and sending him back down on his back.

“Arsehole.” Roger managed to squeeze out from between his teeth.

Was John okay? He desperately wished he was. He also desperately wished he’d stay unconscious for now.

Frode chuckled and put more of his weight on Roger, who gasped. His hands came up to try to pull the foot off him but to no avail.

Arne was dead.

Roger would be soon, too.

He looked up at the sky. It was darker now. One could just make out dark blue, peeking out from behind the curtain of smoke. The clouds had cleared. It was going to be a starry night.

Considering the last months of his life, it was a miracle that he’d managed to survive this long.

“I pity you.” Frode said, his voice quiet. “You don’t belong here. You ended up here by pure chance.” He lifted his sword and rested it lightly over Roger’s throat.

He wished that things didn’t have to end like this. He wished they had never come here. He wished he’d never found out about Freddie and Brian.

He wished things had never changed.

But, of course, then he’d never have met John.

“So I’ll give you a way out.” A smile played over the Viking’s lips as he slid his foot further up Roger’s chest. “Kiss my boot and I’ll spare your life. I’ll make you a slave. It won’t be too different from the life you used to know.”

Roger stopped trying to push his foot off and looked up at the Viking.

“No thank you,” he said pleasantly and spat on Frode’s boot.

The Viking frowned, looking less amused as Roger’s blood-mixed saliva trailed down the side of his boot. “As you wish, stable boy.”

He kept his foot on Roger’s chest as he lifted his sword high in the air, then let it come down.

Chapter Text

- - -

It was only by virtue of Albus's guidance that they found their way through the smoke and the chaos. Houses on fire and bodies on the ground, weapons in dead hands and children crying, pressed against their wailing mothers as they rushed to safety, abandoning dead husbands and fathers and ruined homes. Animals scurrying around loose, confused and terrified and howling.

Too late, was the first thought which struck Freddie as they beheld it all, wide-eyed, and his blood ran cold with horror.

What could they do here, even if Roger and John were still alive? What good could he do here? Dead set as he had been on running into battle to save the others - to save Roger - he hadn’t been prepared for this. The awful reality of it hit him like a blow in the gut, knocking the breath out of his lungs as they stumbled past singed houses. His foot collided with a helmet. Out of the corner of his eye he could see the head that had once worn it, no longer attached to a body. In the distance, the stables were an enormous bonfire, the smoke in the air making his throat and eyes sting, but the stench was worse. Burning flesh, immediately returning him to the night he had believed Brian dead. The horror of it. Freddie felt faint, his head swimming, his knees weak. Bile was rising in his throat. It was only when Brian turned around to look at him that he realised he had stopped moving and simply stood there, staring around himself in helpless terror.

Brian's hands were on his shoulders the next moment, a firm grip, forcing him to look into the other man's face. There was urgency and dread in his expression, and concern - for him? Freddie's mind cleared a little, disturbed by the thought that it was he Brian was worried about, when Roger and John-

"I'll find them," Brian told him, still breathless from their run, beads of sweat glistening on his temples despite the icy wind. His eyes turned almost pleading then, imploring. "Go back to the forest, Freddie, I'll…"

"No," Freddie mouthed and shook his head. “I can’t.”

There was little he knew in that moment, all his thoughts a cacophony of screaming panic and pre-emptive grief and bone-deep fear. But if he knew anything at all, it was that he couldn't leave Brian's side. A flash of white above them drew their attention away from each other. Freddie jerked his head in the direction of the dove. Brian's eyes followed his, and when his hand slipped off Freddie’s shoulder, Freddie gripped it tightly. Glancing down at him, Brian squeezed back. As one, they looked to Albus and Brian pulled him along as he took off running again, pursuing his feathered companion.

They came upon the scene with a shocking suddenness and skidded to a halt. A gust of wind as it changed direction, and the smoke before them had cleared, revealing but one man standing surrounded by fallen bodies. A bulk of Viking, his foot on another's chest, a man prostrated on the ground. Still alive.

In the dark and at a distance, it was hard to make out the features of the man on the ground, nor the bones braided into the beard of his attacker. But there was a lurch in Freddie's stomach as he took it all in. A guttural warning like a harpy's scream, terrifying and deafening beyond reason and logic. The heavy sword in the Viking's hands flew up above his head.

"NO!" Freddie yelled, instinctively and immediately certain that the sword must not fall. But Brian had already let go of his hand, swinging his arms out wide. Freddie stumbled to the side, out of the way, the space in which they stood illuminated with a blueish glow. An aura around the magician, growing brighter.

The sword fell. Freddie threw up an arm to shield his eyes - whether from the light or the sight of a man's throat sliced clean open - he did not know. And Brian threw his hands forward.

The light died with a bright flash, followed by a dull thud and the clatter of metal on stone. No sooner had Freddie dropped his arm, then his eyes fixed on the man writhing on the ground. Despite the darkness, the distance, the smoke in the air, he was sure beyond a shadow of doubt whose life they had just saved and now that they had done so, he allowed himself to accept that knowledge.

“Roger!” he screamed, and rushed forward, past Brian, who quickly followed on his heel.

- - -

Even behind his eyelids, Roger could see the flash of light and felt it, like a strong bout of wind hitting him. Except it wasn't like wind at all, but a sensation altogether more strange, raising the small hairs all over his body. For a split second, he thought this must be death. The shock of it. A life extinguished. But the next moment he knew that he had felt this before. And that is was not he who had just been hit.

His eyes flew open only to see no trace of his attacker. Roger whipped his head around, following the noise of Frode’s sword which had fallen to the ground with a clang. He stared at the Viking's body, collapsed in a heap beside it. Propelled with such a force that it had taken him several yards away and left him unconscious. Roger’s mind had connected the dots even before he turned the other way, trying to lift himself up - only to lock eyes on Freddie.

Had this been any other moment, there may have been a hundred thoughts running through his mind, words he would have wanted to say. But there was nothing except the numbing buzz of adrenaline coursing through his blood. No time to think, none at all. No time to process anything. Relief, despair, anger, fear. Everything was instinct and reflex and his arm flew up around the raven-haired man's neck when Freddie fell to his knees, embracing Roger in turn.

"Roger…" A strangled sound, a tearful sob. Brian's face over Freddie's shoulder, ghostly pale and hovering there like a spectre.

"Are you alright?" the magician gasped. "Roger, are you-"

Freddie hugged him tighter, pulling him up, and the wound across his chest made itself known.

"Ahh! Yes," he groaned, answering Brian. "John, he's… a-and Arne..."

"What-" Freddie had pulled back, looking him over. "God, you're bleeding, you..."

"It's nothing." Roger was sitting up with Freddie's help. He wrestled Freddie’s fussing hands away and his heart seized painfully as his gaze fell on Arne’s body. Lifeless. Gone. The words came out weak and full of stunned disbelief. “He killed him…”

"John!" Having turned to look around, Brian had come upon John, unconscious on the ground, and had turned him over, bending down close to his face. "He's alive," he breathed with relief.

It was a relief Roger found hard to feel. It was hard to feel anything. It was as though everything inside him had turned to stone. No, more than that, there was a great gaping darkness which had opened, swallowing up everything he knew he ought to be feeling.

“Oh, thank God,” breathed Freddie. “Rog-”

“Yes… good,” Roger mumbled numbly. Accepting Freddie’s help, he staggered to his feet, gritting his teeth. "Let's bring him over to the wall there, he'll be safer."

When neither Freddie nor Brian moved, Roger pushed Freddie's helping hands aside again and stood up straight, pointing to the harbour with one sweeping gesture.

“NOW! They’re still- come on, come on!”

Brian and Freddie turned to look, as though only just noticing the noise of weapons clashing and the shouts coming from there.

"I have to help them!" Roger exclaimed, staring at Brian. "We…"

The taller man gave a curt nod of understanding and turned to Freddie. "Help me with John, quick."

Roger threw a look around himself and found his sword while the others moved John over to the wall and into relative safety. He quickly bent down and pressed his fingers against Ulf’s neck, just below his jaw. There was still blood pumping through his veins, or so it felt. Roger’s eyes fell on Frode’s body, lying there motionless. Was he dead? Through the black numbness inside him rose blinding, burning fury. Roger's grip on his sword tightened as he straightened back up. If Frode wasn’t dead yet then, so help him God, he was going to be. Stepping forward, over Arne’s body, Roger strode over to him and picked up the rebel Viking’s large sword. It was smeared with blood. Arne's blood. With a growl through gritted teeth, Roger threw it as far as he could. Then his hand returned to his own sword, his nostrils flaring, eyes fixed on the man lying on the ground.

Yet, for all the anger he felt, something was stilling his hand. It was one thing to kill a man in battle before he had a chance to kill you, but to murder someone who lay before him unconscious and unarmed? ‘He killed Arne’, a part of him raged desperately. ‘He’s a monster. Are you, too?’ another voice murmured. Roger swallowed and found that he was no longer sure of who he was. And whether there was any such thing as good, or bad, or fair, or unjust.

But as he gripped his sword tightly, so tightly his hand trembled, outcries sounded from the direction of the harbour. His eyes snapped up and he saw a reddish glow that filled the air there, growing brighter. One of the ships on fire? Brenna...

Freddie and Brian were already beside him as he turned to look for them - Freddie and Brian. It was surreal to see them standing here at all, their familiar, beloved faces. Was this not a dream? A nightmare? Was any of this real? And did he look as lost and terrified as they did, in the faint glow of distant flames? His eyes fell on Freddie and the dark, wet streaks on his forehead. Blood. Was it his own? The noise from the harbour called to him. He had to go now. Damn Frode, damn him to hell, but Brenna needed him. Because Frode was wrong. Coming here had been no accident. It had been fate. His fate, and no matter how difficult that had been to accept, these people… were his people. Brenna was his family, and never had Roger felt it so keenly as he did in that moment. His hand fell away from the hilt of his sword. Oh, he would be back for Frode. Once he knew the battle was won.

“Brian.” Roger didn’t know what to ask or how to ask as his eyes flickered towards the harbour. But the magician nodded firmly nonetheless, his jaw set.

“I’m with you.”

However, rather than dash down the path that very second, they both hesitated as they turned to Freddie, who was looking between them as if awaiting to hear their plan. Roger glanced at Brian, who met his eyes. The unspoken words between them were so clear they might as well have been uttered aloud.

’We can’t keep him safe.’

’No…’

"Stay with John,” Roger blurted out, his hand seeking out Freddie’s arm, giving it a squeeze. "Will you?"

Freddie shook his head but then looked back between John, propped up against the wall, and back to Brian and Roger. It was evident that he was scared, and Roger hoped against hope that he might be convinced.

"I…" Freddie faltered.

“He could wake up any moment,” Roger added, looking at him insistently.

"He's right," Brian agreed, laying a hand on Freddie's other shoulder.

"But-" The raven-haired man frowned, as though battling with himself.

Fierce screams came from the pier, the sound of water splashing and metal on metal.

"We have to go!" Roger urged and took a few steps towards the sounds, throwing his friend and former lover a pleading look. "Just stay here, Fred!"

"We'll be back," Brian assured him. "I promise you."

“Brian…” Freddie pleaded.

“Freddie, I promise you.”

When Brian lay his hands on Freddie's cheeks and leaned in, Roger turned away and broke into a run.

- - -

It was his long strides which aided Brian as he tried to catch up with Roger who was running downhill at a breakneck pace. Running into a fight Brian did not feel in the least prepared for, armed only with the power which was still often more master of him than he of it. How could he guarantee that it would obey him, now that he most needed it to?

At least Freddie was safe, or as safe as could be, in all this madness. At least that. But there was no time to think about anyone's safety now as the next moment the pier came into view and they both came to a halt, looking around at the vicious battle raging there in the light of one of the large Viking ships, consumed by flames.

"There!" Roger yelled, and pointed. And Brian saw. The rebel Vikings were surrounded, but not defeated, because there, slowly being pushed dangerously close towards the end of the pier, was Brenna with only one man by her side. They had been separated from the rest, who were all on the other side of the gang of rebels, slowly fighting their way through. By virtue of the peer being as narrow as it was, the Viking queen was holding her own in the face of numerous attackers. Yet, even as they looked on, the man by her side was run through with a sword and collapsed, his body rolling off the pier and into the water.

"NO!" Roger yelled, hands flying up to his head, his face a grimace of disbelieving fury and despair. "Rune!" His voice cracked, and Brian turned back to stare at the water, realising who it was that had fallen. He may not have been as familiar with him as Roger had been, but it was hard not to picture Roger’s sword fighting instructor, laughing and clapping a hand on Roger's back in the feast hall.

There was no sign of him now, in the black water. The water, lapping at the pier…

---

Turning helplessly around, and back around, again and again - from the way Roger and Brian had gone, to the burning stables, to the forest in the distance - Freddie tangled his fingers in his hair and tried to think.

Except he couldn't.

Why had he come to this dreadful place? Why had they left him? Why had he let them leave?

’Scared, because you’re scared. Scared. Scared…’

Why hadn't he gone running after them? It wasn't too late, he should run after them! But where? Into battle? He didn't have magic nor a sword. He was no good with a sword, not against these brutes! But what of Brian? What of Roger? He'd never forgive himself - never, never - if they came to harm while he idly stood here like a frightened little boy. Doing nothing.

His head was spinning again and there was a sick, hot, clammy feeling crawling up the back of his spine. He couldn't stop gasping for air, couldn't stop himself staring at it all. Death, grime and gore surrounding him, the smoke and the stench, it was sickening. God, he felt nauseous. Brian had promised. He'd promised they'd be back, but how could he know? What if they-

What if-

No, he couldn't allow himself to think it.

And John?

Freddie's eyes snapped to the younger man's body and he latched on to his presence. One clear thought, one thing he could do. Stay with John. He rushed over and knelt down beside him, cradling his limp hand in his own quite without thinking, leaning in close to hear the sound of his breathing. It required him to calm his own breathing, and that helped, because he had to. He had to.

A few moments, and Freddie had stopped gulping air and was quite still, if trembling from the cold and the rush of adrenaline. Pressed close to John, he slowly began to listen to the noises coming from all directions like an alert alley cat.

There were still voices crying out and calling throughout the village, over the noise of the battle coming up from the harbour. Freddie bit his lips and his heart contracted painfully. Oh God, he shouldn't have let them leave without him, no matter how useless they thought he was, he was still more useless here. Completely and utterly helpless, he could do nothing but pray to a cruel God that he might see them alive again. His vision grew cloudy with tears at the thought, hands tightening around John's.

John, who still wasn't stirring. The sounds of groaning wood and something crashing down came from the harbour. Freddie squeezed his eyes shut.

And if he lost them both? John's hand was cold in his. What if he lost them all…

A low, guttural groan made him jump. Freddie lifted his head, barely breathing, and blinked in the direction of the sound. Oh no. Oh God, oh no. The man who Brian had prevented from cutting Roger's head off rolled over onto his side and slowly lifted himself up. Remaining perfectly still, all but holding his breath entirely, Freddie watched him stagger and look for his sword. Unable to find it, he cursed and picked up the axe beside Ulf instead, taking a few steps to one side. Then he jerked his head around, as though he'd spotted something of interest. Freddie's heart was beating so fast in his chest he thought it might give out.

"Skarde! Er det deg?" called the Viking. "Hei, her borte!"

At that moment, John made a small whimpering noise, eyelids fluttering. All but dizzy with dread and entirely without thinking, Freddie quickly clapped a hand over the other man's mouth to keep them from being noticed in the shadows. As long as the Viking didn't look their way they were safe. John made a muffled sound and Freddie clamped his hand down harder, silently begging him to keep quiet. However, John was starting to try and twist away from him, producing more noises of protest. Perhaps luckily, it was then that two other men came running up to the tall Viking who had very nearly ended Roger's life. Freddie caught a glimpse of them, before he turned to look at John. One of them had a bow and quiver strapped to his back.

Freddie all but pressed his lips against John’s ear.

"Shhh."

The younger man stilled. His eyes, unfocused though they were, widened as he took in the sight of Freddie.

“Quiet,” Freddie breathed, the word barely audible. John tilted his head back against the wall and relaxed a little, eyes half-closed, breathing deeply. Freddie dropped his hand slowly and held still, watching the men out of the corner of his eye as they conversed. Soon, two of them headed off to one side and the archer to the other. None of them seemed to be going towards the harbour however. Freddie frowned, watching the Viking who had tried to kill Roger run towards the burning stables with his companion.

At least they were gone out of sight, but he had a terrible feeling about this. It hadn’t looked as though they were running away. John gave a quiet groan and coughed, and Freddie turned back to him, laying a hand on his cheek.

“John.”

“Freddie?” John rasped, and coughed again. “Where’s… where…” He was trying to look around and winced, a hand flying up to the back of his head. “Ow…”

“Roger and Brian,” Freddie paused, just briefly, his thoughts still racing, following the Vikings he had seen run away, “they’re… they’re alright, they’re alive.”

’Oh God, please let them be alright.’

“Brian?” John echoed, grimacing a little as he squinted at Freddie.

“The archer,” Freddie murmured, eyes growing wider. “Why did he… where did he…”

“What?” John mumbled weakly.

Without another word. Freddie jumped up and hurried out of the shadows, craning his neck to look down the path the man with the bow had taken. Sure enough, as he had already just realised, that was lay the wall which surrounded the settlement. The very one he used to frequent on his lonely walks. Overlooking the sea. Overlooking the harbour. And there, in the distance, he could see somebody ascending the ladder leading up to that wall. A man with a bow strapped to his back.

“No, no, no…” Freddie whispered desperately, and ran back to John, throwing himself down onto his knees beside him. “Listen to me.” He clutched the front of John’s shirt, the words coming out too fast. “I have to warn them, I’m sorry, I’ll be back, just stay here, just-”

There was nothing else he could think to say. Without waiting for a reply, Freddie scrambled to his feet, slipping on the gravel, and ran for the waterfront.

- - -

The moment the idea hit him like a flash of lighting, clear against the night sky, Brian could already feel his palms pulsating with energy. Except he couldn't do it, not with Brenna's men so close the rebels.

Only when Roger started forward with a growl did Brian realise that his sword was drawn and he was about to throw himself into the fight, too.

"Roger, wait!" he called, fingers trembling with tension by his sides. "Tell them to get back! GET BACK!"

Roger didn't stop until he glanced over his shoulder, and then he came to an abrupt halt, staring at Brian. In his wide eyes, Brian could see a dancing reflection of the moving, shifting, changing glow which now surrounded him.

“Tell them to get back! NOW!” Brian repeated.

Blinking himself out of that moment of stupor, Roger turned to the warring men and yelled something in their tongue.

"Tilbake! TILBAKE!" His voice carried over the noise of the fight, but few listened, at first. "Jeg befaler deg!"

But then, as heads began to turn, the fighting slowed quickly. And it was not their prince's voice which had affected the change but their eyes, trained on Brian, full of disbelief and horror. Brenna's loyal men and rebel Vikings alike lowered their weapons and turned to stare at him and Brian realised he could not have hoped for a better opportunity. He had to make the most of it. The element of surprise, if anything, was going to save them. His heart was pounding fast in his chest, it was becoming hard to breathe from the strain. The more he fed the energy coiling and twisting inside him through sheer force of will to let it grow, the more of a toll it took on him. But he had to. Unleash it, wield it. This was nothing compared to his cautious, calm hours of practice at the cabin. He wasn't prepared for this.

It didn’t matter. He couldn't allow himself to hold back because their very lives depended on it.

Somewhere above him, Albus circled. Brian wasn't sure quite how he knew that, except know it he did because he was simultaneously inside and far beyond his mortal self. Could see through his own eyes the men before him, some raising their weapons in his direction now, others frozen in amazement. He, the very man they thought had been burned, back from the dead. And not just that, but approaching them with his arms slowly rising by his sides - and this Brian, too, could see. The whole scene, as though from high above, himself veiled in swirls of light that seemed alive as they coiled around him.

'Come to me, you who fight for the queen,' he thought deliberately, thought it at the men standing in front of him, and erased all other thought from his mind until he could barely feel his own body and the way every part of him was being sucked dry of that very thing which gives life to all. 'Come to me, come to me, come to me…'

Entranced, the men who had been fighting the rebels in front of them shuffled towards him, Roger in front. He, too, under the spell of Brian’s magic. Behind them, the rebels on the pier looked between each other, trying to gather their wits in light of this strange turn of events. Although Brian could not afford to pay her any mind at that moment, he was aware of Brenna at the end of the pier, staring at him intently.

A few steps was enough. As soon as there was a gap between the queen's men and the rebels, Brian threw his arms to one side abruptly, breaking the spell he had over them, and simultaneously focused his entire being on the black sea. With an effort as though lifting a weight he could barely shift, gritting his teeth, he swung his arms over to the other side. Following his movement, a dark wave of sea water rose up fast and tall, and washed over the middle of the pier, taking with it most of the men standing there. Pulling the unfortunate ones who had fallen in the water out, far out to sea in a matter of seconds, their screams echoing in the night.

The moment it was done, Brian dropped to his knees and the light extinguished like a candle flame in a gust of wind. Heads frantically turned between him and the pier, where the situation was much changed. Only a small handful of rebels remained standing between them and the Queen, her sword held high. And it was she who seized the moment.

"ANGREP!" Brenna cried, and Roger, raising his sword in kind, echoed it.

"Angrep!"

The Vikings fell upon the remaining rebels, now outnumbering them by many. All while Brian was still trying to catch his breath, his vision threatening to give out and hands trembling violently. As though through a haze, he watched the rebels fall, one after the other.

Their side was winning. Were they winning? Was it possible? Had he done it, changed the paths of fate and prevented that which could have been?

Another man was kicked off the pier into the murky waters and cries of victory broke out. There was Brenna, a firm hand on Roger's shoulder. Roger, who turned around, his face wild and ecstatic as he made straight for Brian shouting words Brian's mind hardly registered at first.

"...did it! You did it!"

But then Roger’s gaze flickered to something else, something up the way they had come, and a second later a shadow brushed past Brian in the darkness. What happened then came to pass so fast that Brian could not do more than stagger to his feet as the events unfolded.

"We did it!" Roger called hoarsely, and opened his arms wide to receive Freddie, who had just sped past Brian. But the dark-haired man did not fly into his embrace.

"Down!" he cried instead, and pushed Roger backwards full-force with all his momentum, sending him flying to the ground, even as Freddie turned to face the town wall rising behind them.

Brian didn't see the arrow until it had embedded itself at the base of Freddie's throat. Right above his collarbone, his face a pale mask of shock. And he collapsed.

Brian's heart stopped.

- - -

“Freddie!”

Still on the ground, Roger gaped at Freddie as he keeled over backwards, a jerky, trembling hand coming up to feel the arrow sticking out of his throat. In split seconds, Roger was on his hands and knees, crawling over to him and pulling himself up beside him, only vaguely aware that somewhere at his side Sune pushed past the others and whipped out an arrow, aiming it at the top of the city wall.

“Freddie,” Roger’s voice was a weak, frightened rasp, hands already wet with blood as he, too, felt around where the arrow was lodged, his other hand on Freddie’s cheek, brushing back his hair. The raven-haired man opened his mouth and spat up more blood, no words, only a gurgling sound coming over his lips as his gaze met Roger’s, glassy and distant. “No, no… please, you... I...” Roger’s lips were trembling, his eyes stinging with tears. “Please, God, no...”

“Freddie-” Brian was beside them a moment later. Roger jerked his head up, staring at him with wide, desperate eyes. “Do something! DO SOMETHING!”

Glancing up at him just briefly, Brian lay a trembling hand over Freddie’s throat.

“Can you save him?!” Roger yelled, clutching at Freddie’s tunic, utterly unaware of everything else going on around him.

“Get back and let me try!” Brian growled back, shooting him a fierce look, and Roger let go, sitting back on his heels. When he looked back down, Freddie was still looking at him, eyes half-closed and barely focused, but still he was looking, his parted lips black with fresh blood spilling from his mouth. Roger felt for his hand and took it in his own, squeezing it tightly. The words he uttered were so quiet they were barely a whisper. Nobody heard them, nobody could have heard them, not even Freddie, if he could hear anything at all. But out they tumbled anyway.

“I love you…”

A hand on his shoulder, gripping him tightly. Roger looked up into Brenna’s face.

“Arne?” she asked, her eyes boring into him. “Ulf?”

Roger swallowed and wiped Freddie’s blood on his trousers, casting a quick look back at Brian, who was now leaning over Freddie’s motionless body, before he rose to his feet.

“Ulf is alive,” he told her, “I think. Arne…” He blinked tears out of his eyes and shook his head. Very seldom had Roger seen Brenna overcome with emotion, but as she took in what he was telling her, a look of such genuine desolation passed across her face that Roger felt the loss in his heart anew. However, the next moment Brenna’s expression turned stony and she met his eyes again, red-hot fury burning in them. “Frode,” she spat.

“Yes,” Roger confirmed through gritted teeth, feeling the same rage rise inside him. “And I know where he is.”

“Where,” Brenna ground out, the men around them fishing friends and foes out of the water, tending to the wounded, but neither Roger nor the queen were paying them any mind.

“Follow me.” Roger muttered darkly and threw a last glance at Freddie and Brian - there was nothing he could do but pray - before he led the way.

“He will suffer,” said Brenna, as they marched back up the hill side by side.

“Ja,” replied Roger, one hand firmly on the hilt of his sword. And that was just as well, because the next moment two men ran out from behind a hut, their weapons drawn, taking them by surprise. And one of them was far too dreadfully familiar.

- - -

His eyes refused to focus on Freddie as he ran off. The dull, throbbing pain at the back of John’s head was making him nauseous and blurred his vision. His head lolled from one side to the other as he tried to focus on his breathing, tried to focus on what in God’s name was going on. Where was Roger? Alive, Freddie had said. Where had Freddie come from? Where was he going? What in the world had happened?

Roger. He’d left Roger - at last his vision became a little clearer although his head was still swimming, and John slowly raised himself up to his feet, using the wall for support - he’d failed Roger. There was a grunt, coming from a short distance away. John looked up and saw Ulf sit up on the ground, rubbing his head.

Slowly shuffling out of the shadows, John wordlessly stretched out his hand.

“Look at you, runt.” Ulf snorted and took his hand, letting John help him up to his feet. “Still standing.”

The Viking looked around himself, his face growing concerned.

“Down there.” John pointed in the direction Freddie had disappeared to. “This way, I think.”

With another grunt, this time in agreement, Ulf nodded and looked around himself. “Hvor djevelen er øksen min?”

“What,” John mumbled flatly.

“Eh, forget it.” Ulf waved a hand and strode off into the direction John had just indicated. Determined not to be left behind yet again, John followed him, only slowing for a moment when he realised the body he was stepping over had a familiar face. Arne…

A chilling shiver ran down his spine. Everything that had happened before he had been knocked out was starting to come back to him now, but there was no time to stop and think about it. He hurried after Ulf, down the hill towards the harbour. And just as he caught up with him, they turned a corner and came upon a fierce struggle.

“Oh my God,” gasped John, immediately spotting Roger, who dodged a sword being swung at him just in time and swung his own, narrowly missing the man who was attacking him. Brenna was not far away, fighting her own attacker, a tall Viking with a helmet, swinging an axe at her. John recognised him almost immediately.

“Brenna!” shouted Ulf, rushing past him. “Han har den jævla øksen min!”

John quickly looked back to Roger, who was barely holding his own against the Viking trying to impale him with a sword, and the time for thinking was well and truly over. He lunged forward and broke into a run, coming up behind the Viking and throwing himself onto his back, his arms around the rebel’s throat. The Viking staggered, John’s weight dragging him backwards, and the next moment Roger’s sword cut across the other man’s chest. The Viking cried out even as John released him, falling to the ground and rolling out of the way, looking back just in time to see Roger slice clean across the man’s throat.

Horror and relief was an odd mixture indeed.

“YOU!” roared Roger, already looking past John, and John spun around to see what was happening behind him.

Frode, the leader of the rebels, elbowed Ulf - who was trying to wrestle him from behind - in the stomach just that moment and parried an attack from Brenna with the axe he was holding. Then he swung it back, striking Ulf blindly through sheer luck, even as Roger rushed past John and tried to throw himself into the fight.

But he was too late. Brenna, momentarily distracted by Ulf’s pained yelp as the axe hit his arm, failed to parry in time. Frode swung the weapon back around and it lodged itself deep in her abdomen. She produced a strangled cry, her mouth hanging open.

“Nei!” yelled Ulf, a split second before Roger drove his sword into Frode’s side.

- - -

Chapter Text

Brian had always loved the colour red.

Red as the sweet, wild raspberries growing at the side of the road.

Red as the elegant rose, queen of the wealthy ladies’ gardens.

Red as the setting sun, sorrowful but passionate, inspirer of songs and poetry.

Red as Freddie’s blood, spilling through his fingers.

Warm. Slick.

Red.

No.

“Freddie,” Brian croaked out, hands fumbling uselessly over torn skin. He was too weak.

Freddie didn’t look at him - he was still staring unseeingly after Roger.

“Can you hear me?”

A bubble of blood accompanied the low groan leaving Freddie’s lips.

“Hold on. Stay with me, love. Please. Please, you have to…”

Tears and snot were dripping down his face but Brian didn’t notice. He tried to find the power within, tried to reach for it, grasp it, but it kept evading him.

He felt empty.

No!

He could not, would not give up. Not this time. What use was magic if he couldn’t even use it to save the man he loved?

Gritting his teeth, one hand on Freddie’s throat, he took the shaft of the arrow in his other hand and pulled it loose. Freddie’s eyes widened in panic, his bloodied lips moving as to say something. Brian was already throwing the damned arrow away, closing his eyes and focusing on finding the small remaining lick of energy he still felt inside of him, as Freddie’s eyes rolled back, his consciousness leaving.

Freddie’s sweet voice, his gentle hands in Brian’s hair.

There. The energy pulsated as he forced his awareness into it.

Freddie grinning abashedly, lifting his hand to hide his teeth.

“I don’t care,” Brian started weakly, blue light flickering around him, “if I have to give my life for this. Please. Please, let me save him. Let it be enough.”

His voice grew in strength as he talked, the power surging, making his hands vibrate with barely contained energy.

I will never ask for anything else.

Freddie gurgled again, low in his throat, but stayed unconscious as the glow grew and surrounded the both of them.

Brian’s fingers trembled as he slowly pressed them to the gushing wound, urging the energy inside to mend, to heal.

As he’d done before, with Roger, he let his energy, his mind, inside Freddie’s body. He forced the torn skin to weave together in less then a second, closing the wound and stopping more blood from escaping. Next, he turned his attention to the lungs, found the blood there, and with a burst of effort, he forced it up through the other man’s throat and out through his mouth.

Freddie’s body convulsed as he coughed and choked on blood and Brian held him close, stroking his soaked hands all over his lover’s pale face and hair.

The glow disappeared as Freddie fell back flat on the ground, gasping for breath.

Glassy, dark eyes opened, meeting his.

“B...Bri…”

Brian threw himself down, pressing his lips to Freddie’s, the fright, shock and relief making his head spin.

He’d done it.

He’d really done it.

Freddie was alive.

“Brian,” Freddie tried again, voice thin in the cold air.

“Shh.” Brian hushed him. “You need to rest. You’ve lost so much blood, Freddie, and I…I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. We should never have come here.”

Freddie shook his head slowly, opening his mouth to protest but Brian pressed his palm over the other man’s face and whispered sleep.

His words, tinged with the last of his magic, combined with Freddie’s blood loss, was enough to make the other man fall into a deep, peaceful slumber.

Brian sat next to him, doing his best to rub some warmth into his lover’s ice cold hands, even as his vision started to blur.

He felt odd.

Light. Fragile.

Like smoke.

He couldn’t feel his body.

But he smiled, nonetheless.

Freddie was safe. He’d need a lot of sleep and rest, and many a hot meal, but he’d be fine.

He squeezed the other man harder, yawning widely.

Sleep and rest. Yes.

He should, too.

Brian was just in the process of curling his taller body around Freddie, when Albus fluttered down in front of him.

“Hello,” Brian started, the smile growing on his lips, but then he stopped short.

Albus looked different. The dove looked small and tired, his head dipping low. But most odd, were his feathers.

His earlier snow white body was now mottled grey.

Even as Brian watched, numb, a few white feathers on the dove’s chest darkened.

“What…”

He started, but that was as long as he got before strong hands gripped him by the shoulders and pulled him to his feet.

“Wha…” He stammered and was immediately greeted with a faceful of Viking.

“Tryllekunstner!” The man shook Brian, making him even dizzier than he already was. “Vi trenger deg! Dronningen!”

Brian could barely hear him. Black was eating at his vision and he still couldn’t feel his body. He needed to find out what was wrong with Albus. He needed to care for Freddie.

He tried to tell the Viking as much but the brute didn’t listen, and simply took Brian by the arm and pulled him along.

Or he would have, if Brian would have been able to walk. Instead, the magician fell to the ground, his legs giving out.

“No,” he grunted, reaching for Freddie as the Viking swore loudly and picked him up, hoisting him over one shoulder as if he was a bag of potatoes. “Freddie!” He tried to struggle, but his limbs didn’t listen to him. They simply hung there, useless, as if separated from him. As if belonging to someone else.

“Ta med den andre.” The Viking said to one of his companions, a red-haired youth that seemed vaguely familiar in Brian’s spinning head, and he watched, relieved, as the younger Viking carefully picked up Freddie and followed them.

Brian slipped in and out of consciousness during the following moments. He wanted desperately to sleep, but worry and fear still had their claws in him, constantly tugging him back to the blurry darkness that was the waking world.

He was dropped abruptly onto the ground, right in the middle of a horror scene.

The air stunk of smoke and death, the ground was coloured dark by blood and in the middle of it all, a huge Viking (Ulf, his sluggish mind supplied) sat, cradling the queen to his chest.

“Brian!”

Warm, sure hands on him.

“You really did it, you saved him. Thank you. Thank you so much.”

Large, blue eyes. Those unfairly long, dark lashes, he’d always envied.

Roger.

The younger man wrapped his strong arms around him, pulling Brian close to his chest. As their chests touched, Roger’s heart beating hard against his own, it was as if some of the lost energy returned to his body.

His field of vision expanded, allowing him to take in the severity of the situation.

Brenna was pressing her hands to her stomach, slowly bleeding out over Ulf’s lap. They were surrounded by her men, who stood watching in grave silence.

“Thank you.” Roger breathed, pulling back to look at him. He squeezed Brian’s shoulders and Brian, who’d finally reclaimed some control of his limbs, loosely wrapped his fingers around the other man’s wrist and gave him a weak smile.

Roger’s expression fell, his eyes dark with anguish. “I hate to ask more of you, but please, Brian. Brenna needs your help.”

Brian shook his head. He barely had energy to keep his head up. To heal another mortal wound would be impossible in this state.

“Please,” Roger repeated, desperate now. “She’s the only family I have left.”

Family.

Auburn curls. A blue tunic. His mother’s smiling face.

“I’ll try.” He managed, and hardly recognized his own voice.

Roger pulled him close into another hug, sending another short burst of energy through Brian, before letting go.

Brian took a deep breath. He closed his eyes, tried to push away the looming exhaustion, the heaviness threatening to swallow him. Soon, he would be able to rest.

With Freddie. With his friends.

He turned to Brenna.

So much red.

- - -

“Are you sure about this?”

John muttered, his face pale and worried as he watched Brian. The curly-haired man was kneeling next to Brenna, his whole body swaying in the wind like a lonely blade of grass.

“He looks like he’s about to keel over any second.” John continued.

It was true. Roger had never seen Brian so pale. It was as if the colour had been stolen from him, leaving his face grey and gaunt, his usual warm eyes devoid of light.

“I can’t lose her.” He whispered. “Not her, too.”

John gave him a hard look.

Roger didn’t look back at him. Instead he watched how Sune carefully placed Freddie’s slim body on the ground next to the other wounded. There were so many wounded. So many dead.

His hands shook.

“Jag ber deg.” Ulf choked out between tears, his huge arms moving aside to let Brian examine the wound. “Hjelp henne.”

Brian didn’t answer, he was looking at Brenna, who was staring back at him, her face a grimace of pain.

The magician said something to her, too low for anyone to hear, and put his hands over her bleeding stomach.

The Vikings, Roger and John held their breaths as Brian started shaking, weak blue light pulsing from his hands and painting long shadows over his face.

Ulf let out a surprised gasp and Roger had taken a few steps forward before he realized he’d even moved.

The blood flow was slowing from the deep gash, the exposed skin eerily knitting together in the bright, blue light.

The wound was halfway closed, when the light suddenly went out, Brian sagging forward against Ulf’s chest.

Before Roger had the mind power to do anything more than stare, dread crawling up his throat, John was on his knees next to Brian, wrapping his arms around him.

As soon as John touched Brian, the blue light returned, much stronger than before, bathing all of them in its unnatural glow.

The very air was electric, pricking Roger’s skin, standing his hair on edge. The men shouted in surprise, lifting their weapons to try to defend themselves.

The light was blinding, merciless. Roger could feel how the injury on his chest healed, how his split lip knitted together. The Vikings pointed at each other and gaped as their own battle wounds healed in front of their eyes.

Then, as soon as it’d reappeared, the light was gone, leaving them in the dark night.

Brenna’s wound was gone. She was asleep, still cradled in Ulf’s lap.

In front of her, at Roger’s feet, laid Brian and John, the younger man’s arms still protectively wrapped around the magician.

The dread Roger had been trying to smother roared back to life, and he was kneeling next to them the next second, roughly shaking them.

“Brian?”

“John?”

Neither of them answered.

Panic clawed at him as Roger reached down to check their pulse. His shaking fingers reached for John first.

John’s pulse was strong and steady, his skin warm beneath his fingers. He didn’t seem to be in any immediate danger.

Not daring to feel any relief yet, Roger reached for Brian.

Brian’s skin was cold. It hurt to touch him, the tips of Roger’s fingers burned against the icy cold of his skin. But there was a pulse.

“Oh, Brian.”

Roger choked, ignoring the icy cold to pull Brian into his lap, wrapping his arms around him and trying to use his own body heat to warm him up.

His body ached where they touched but he barely noticed it.

What had he done?

He was barely aware of the men moving around them, of Ulf getting up and carrying Brenna inside and to safety.

He had almost sacrificed his friends to save his new people.

What did that make him? Who was he?

Brian was out cold, half dead in his arms. John, sweet, brave, good John, was crumpled in a heap next to them. Freddie was a few feet away, on his back with dried blood all over his face and neck.

All of them had helped him, had saved his life, had almost died for him, during the night.

And he had not managed to save anyone. Not a single person.

Hot, silent tears ran down his face.

If he’d just slayed Frode when he’d had the chance. Why hadn't he done it? Because of some ridiculous code of honour?

His friends had almost died because of his mistake.

Arne was dead. Rune was dead.

Freddie and Brenna had been balancing on the very edge, but Brian had pulled them back.

Almost paying with his own life.

Most of the men had started to carry the wounded inside, after Ulf, but a few still stood staring at them, at Brian, suspiciously.

Roger glared at them through his tears and pulled Brian even closer. “If you touch him I’ll kill you. You hear me?”

Ulf appeared at his side then. He exchanged a few words with the Vikings, who nodded, and headed back towards the sea.

“Prince.” Ulf’s huge hand fell on Roger’s shoulder, almost making him fall over. “It’s over. We won.”

Roger said nothing.

“You fought well. You should be proud of yourself.”

“My friends almost died. I didn’t protect them. And it’s my fault they’re in this mess to begin with. I have nothing to be proud of.”

Ulf stayed silent for a moment. “You saved the queen. And slayed the enemy’s leader. Whatever you might say, princeling, there is some real Viking in you.” He patted Roger on the head as if he were a dog.

“Leave me alone.”

“I’m afraid I cannot. Brenna is too weak. As her heir, the responsibility for the kingdom falls on you. And let me tell you,” he looked around at the piles of dead bodies, the burning village and the loose livestock with a grim expression, “there are quite a few things to attend to.”

Roger followed his gaze, his already heavy heart sinking further in his chest. “And what exactly are you suggesting I do about all this?” He gestured vaguely around himself.

“Command your men, of course. Tell them what to do, give them strength and courage in this trying time. You’re a war hero, Rothgar, start acting like one.”

He gave him a hard slap on the back and bent down to grab John, lifting him up under one arm.

Roger looked down at Brian. The magician had regained a little bit of colour, but he was still ice cold. “You need to take them all inside. Make sure they’re warm, especially Brian. Ask the slaves to light all the hearths.”

“Will do, princeling.” Ulf grinned, showing his teeth. He moved to pick up Freddie too, holding him under his other arm. Then he turned back towards the main hall, barely hindered by his cargo.

“Oh, and Rothgar?”

“Yes?”

“We need to bury our dead. Arne was a great man and the queen’s advisor. He deserves the highest honours.”

With that, he continued on, leaving Roger behind with Brian still in his lap.

Roger stared dumbly into the darkness.

How the fuck did one plan a Viking funeral?

- - -

Strands of blond hair stuck to his face, his pale skin covered in dirt and blood. The blue of his eyes shone bright in the dark, his gaze filled with despair.

I love you…

Freddie jolted awake with a gasp, his hands flying up to his throat, feeling for the arrow.

It wasn’t there.

Neither was the wound.

No, the skin of his throat was whole and smooth, no blood, no pain.

Brian.

He blinked open his eyes and it took him more than a moment to figure out his location. He was in the main hall, on a straw mattress on the floor, a heavy fur draped over him. Around him on all sides were other people, some on mattresses, some directly on the dirt floor.

He immediately felt sick to his stomach. The smell was horrible. Unwashed bodies, sweat and blood. In the light from the closest hearth he could make out a woman close to him, missing half of her leg.

His fingers rubbed nervously over his throat. How come he was so clean? Who’d looked after him?

And then, his brain finally caught up to the situation.

Where were the others? Were they safe?

Sitting up, fur clutched tightly to his chest, he looked around, only to discover Brian on his left side and John on his right.

Letting out a deep sigh, he lifted his hand to his heart and offered all his gratitude to whatever higher power that might listen.

He bent down over Brian, brushing some stray curls out of his face and frowned. His lover’s face was sickly pale and there was a deep crease between his eyebrows. Freddie stroked those cold cheeks before leaning further down to press a kiss to his forehead.

Brian had saved his life.

Warmth enveloped Freddie like an embrace, and he pressed teary kisses all over Brian’s face. “I love you. I love you. I love you.”

Most of all, he’d like to push their mattresses together to cuddle up with Brian, but he still didn’t know where Roger was, and he needed to know.

He… He had to know that he was okay. That he was alive.

And, yes. Roger hated him, and probably didn’t want him in his life anymore, but Freddie wasn’t ready to completely let him go yet. He was selfish like that.

I love you…

No. That was just a dream. Almost dying surely messed with your head. Freddie shook his head to clear his thoughts and immediately wished he hadn’t.

He felt dizzy, faint and weak. And tired. So tired. He wanted to sleep for days.

But first he had to find Roger.

Just as he was about to wrestle free from the heavy fur, he heard it.

Muffled, soft sobs coming from the right.

John.

Freddie gave up all attempts of getting up and instead reached out for the younger man, lightly shaking his shoulder.

“John? Are you alright?”

The bundle beneath the fur immediately froze and the crying stopped.

“Freddie?” Came a small, wonderous voice and John rolled over to face him.

Freddie’s heart clenched painfully. John had never looked so young before, his long, dark hair a mess over his face, his cheeks and nose red and his eyes teary.

“You’re awake!” John wiped at his eyes and smiled brilliantly at him.

Freddie had no choice but to smile back and winked. “Well, darling, I think I’m tougher than most think.” He took in the teary-eyed young man and frowned. “And so are you. Are you hurt? What happened? I don’t know anything after…”

His throat felt thick and he swallowed, rubbing at the place the arrow had pierced.

John watched him sadly.

“I’m so glad.” He whispered, reaching out to take Freddie’s hand. “I can’t stand the thought of losing you. Of losing any of you.”

Freddie squeezed him gratefully, feeling tears well up in his own eyes. “Me neither. But we made it.” He remembered his original mission then, and froze. Why had John been crying?

“John, where is Roger?”

John smiled but it didn’t reach his eyes. “He’s fine. Better than us, at any rate. Curious that, huh? That he manages to fight an entire Viking war, coming out unscathed, while I stumble around like a fool, getting in the way and getting hurt.”

Freddie wasn’t sure what to make of John’s rambling, but the news that Roger was alright had him relaxing back down in his straw mattress. “Oh, thank god.”

“You saved his life, didn’t you?” John murmured, eyes studying Freddie closely.

“I… Maybe.” Freddie felt embarrassed under John’s scrutiny. “What happened to Brian? And to you?”

Fresh tears welled up in the younger man’s eyes and he started recounting what had happened after Freddie had passed out.

Freddie listened in horrified fascination, reaching back to take Brian’s cold hand in his, needing to feel him.

When John was done talking, they decided to put Brian in the middle, between them, and started moving mattresses and furs.

Freddie ended up half draped over Brian, with John cuddled on the magician’s other side. Despite the furs and his and John’s body heat, Brian was still like a block of ice.

Trying hard not to worry about it, Freddie nuzzled his face into the taller man’s hair, letting himself be lulled by the steady beat of Brian’s heart.

“Thank you so much for saving us.” John said, making Freddie lift his head again to peek over Brian at the other man.

Knowing just how close they had been to leave them behind, Freddie chuckled awkwardly. “Nothing to thank us for, darling. We’re friends.”

“I…” John started, then sighed. “I can’t do a thing right.”

“You know that’s not true…”

“You shouldn’t have let me come in the first place.” John muttered. “None of this would have happened. None of you would have got hurt. I know that.” He laughed bitterly. “I know that! And yet I can’t make myself regret it. Because I've loved life with you. How egotistical is that?”

Not as egotistical as wanting the hearts of two different men at the same time, Freddie thought humorlessly. “It’s not your fault. We chose to bring you. And we’re all glad we did. You’re one of us now, John. And I don’t regret it, either.”

Was it a lie? Did he regret it? He would have stayed with Roger… In the relative safety of the mainland. But then, he might not ever have experienced what it was like to be with Brian…

“Really?” John asked, his voice throaty. “You really mean that?”

Freddie nodded.

“Thank you.” John sniffled. He swore and wiped his eyes again, cheeks burning red. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

Freddie raised one eyebrow. “You just lived through a Viking battle. That could have something to do with it.”

John laughed through his tears. “I guess. It’s just… I hate feeling so helpless all the time. I stayed here to help Roger. I want to…” His cheeks turned an even deeper shade of red. “Protect him.”

“I see.” Freddie smiled through the uncomfortable feeling in his stomach. He had suspected it, but seeing John’s feelings like this still made him anxious. Choosing not to dwell on that at the moment, he latched onto the other thing John had said. “I feel helpless too. All the time. I hate it.”

“I know!” John exclaimed. “I’m a man, too. I want to be able to hold my own in battle, not just embarrass myself all the time. I didn’t kill a single enemy today...”

“What are you going to do?” Freddie asked, genuinely curious.

John chewed at his lip. “Well, Roger was teaching me how to fight with the sword. So I hope to learn. Maybe you can join too, if you want?”

Freddie pictured himself with a large, bulky sword and wrinkled his nose. No. A sword would only hinder him. If only there was some other weapon he could learn to handle… Because he agreed with John. He was tired of being the scared, useless one on the sidelines. He wanted to be able to protect himself and the others.

He rubbed absentmindedly at his throat.

Then it hit him.

Of course. How had he not thought of this before?

Lips curling in a secret smile, he curled closer to Brian and closed his eyes.

“Thank you,” he whispered to John, “but I think I have a better idea.”

- - -

Outside of the village, at the very corner of the dense forest, stood a donkey with her head lifted towards the dark skies.

Approaching her, wings barely able to hold the tiny body up, was a dove.

Tootsie whuffled, dancing nervously on the spot as the bird gracelessly came closer and closer.

When it was almost directly above her, the dove’s wings gave up and it fell. Tootsie galloped forward just in time to catch Albus on her back.

The donkey turned her head back and nuzzled her friend, but the now entirely grey dove didn’t stir.

Chapter Text

- - -

When John next awoke, it was to a lot of movement beside him. He stirred and blinked his eyes open, peering around the hall. The injured were being tended to and moved, women offering steaming bowls of broth and men helping their fellow Vikings onto their feet where they could to escort them out. Some of the bodies lying on the floor no longer stirred, and heart-wrenching sobs sounded over the voices and shuffling off feet. Beside him, Brian lay as still as death, although the tension in his features betrayed some life still within what resembled a husk of the young man John knew. Freddie had his eyes open and fixed on the magician’s face, one hand resting over Brian's heart. As John looked on, Freddie’s eyes flickered to him before they returned to Brian.

“He’s so cold,” he whispered hoarsely. “How can he be so cold and not…”

Freddie trailed off, the look on his pale face tired and despondent. He looked how John felt. That was to say, John no longer quite knew how he felt. He’d been overcome with such great despair and fury, after the battle was over, an ire directed at himself. How little use he had been... No more than a helpless boy, in need of protection. Arne. A good man, somebody who had meant a great deal to Roger, was dead. Because of John. Would Arne have died, John wondered, if he hadn’t followed him into the stables to make sure he was safe? The thought that Roger might come to realise that made it hard to breathe. Of course Roger would never blame him, John knew that, now outwardly he wouldn't, anyway. He was too kind for that. But what must he think of John now? How he must regret having kept him around when all John had ever brought them was misfortune and trouble. From the first day, Roger had suffered because of him, protecting him from the riders who had been looking for him. If it hadn’t been for Brian, Roger would have died even then.

All because of John.

How heavy that guilt weighed on his chest. How selfish and foolish he had been, not to realise sooner what he had done to them by forcing the burden of his person onto their group. Would he ever, ever be able to redeem himself and prove himself worthy in their eyes? In Roger’s eyes? Enough so that he might be forgiven for what he had already cost them.

Brian… John’s eyes focused on the magician again. He had no answers for Freddie. To imagine that after all this they might still lose Brian was unthinkable. John lay back down and turned onto his side, pressing his body against Brian’s in hopes that it might help, somehow. It had, the night before.

Hadn’t it? What exactly had happened? His convoluted memories stopped short, going from chaos to pitch black nothingness the moment he had thrown himself onto his knees to gather Brian in his arms when he’d collapsed over Brenna’s body. All he remembered was a flash, like lighting, and it had sucked the breath right out of him.

It was Roger who had told him what had happened when John had first regained consciousness again in the hall, although they’d had mere minutes before Roger had been needed elsewhere and he hadn’t seen him since. Images of the horrors of battle still flooded his mind, whether behind his lids or in front of his inner eye even when his eyes were open. Roaring fire, naked fear, death… Roger slicing clean across a man’s throat. How many men must he have killed to have emerged alive? The thought sent a cold, sickly shiver down John’s spine. Of course he realised that it was kill or be killed, and yet-

The people milling around them were fewer now and John became aware of rapid footsteps approaching them. He looked up, only to lay eyes on the very man he had been thinking about. Except he was no longer covered in blood, but wore a fresh set of clothes and furs.

“Roger.” John sat up and Freddie startled, jerking his head around to see.

The look on Roger’s face was nothing short of harrowed and immeasurably exhausted as he strode up to them and lowered himself down on one knee by Freddie’s side.

“I’m sorry.” He uttered, voice raspy and over-used. “I would’ve come sooner, only there wasn’t any time…” His eyes wandered from John, to Freddie - where they lingered for a long moment. Having turned onto his back and lifted himself up a little, Freddie gazed back at him and swallowed, and John couldn’t help but feel, for a moment, that he was intruding. It was a deeply unpleasant feeling, a sad sort of anger, like bile rising in his throat. Then Roger turned to look at Brian and breathed a deep sigh, rubbing the stubble on his chin .

“How is he?”

“I don’t know,” Freddie whispered weakly, reaching out to run his fingertips over the magician’s cheek. “What if he doesn’t wake up?” He added, his voice thick and unsteady.

“He will.” The deep frown of concern on Roger’s face was at odds with his words and John watched him lay a hand on Freddie’s arm, giving it a squeeze. “He has to.”

‘And who’s to blame if he doesn’t?’ John couldn’t help but think in that moment, eyeing Roger, who had begged Brian to heal Brenna even though he’d already looked so spent. There was a queer feeling churning in John’s stomach at the thought, but his attention returned to Roger when he spoke again.

“How are you?” Roger asked softly, looking into Freddie’s eyes.

The raven-haired man huffed out a weak, mirthless chuckle. “Alive.”

“Yeah,” Roger nodded, and swallowed, his voice heavy with emotion. “So am I. Thanks to you.”

“Roger…” Freddie breathed, and sat up a little more even as Roger lowered himself down onto both knees and drew him into a tight embrace. It was dreadfully childish, but if John hadn’t felt so bone-achingly tired, he would have liked to run from the room. Instead, he lowered his gaze and watched, out of the corner of his eye. Surprised at first, Freddie slowly wrapped his arms around Roger in return and John gritted his teeth, detesting them and himself most of all. Although that was a lie. How could he hate them? He loved Roger, loved him dearly, and Freddie had saved Roger’s life. Because he loved him, too.

No. John only hated himself.

“John?”

At the sound of his name, he looked up, not quite meeting Roger’s eyes. “Yes.”

“Are you-”

“I’m fine,” he mumbled quickly, and looked down at Brian so as not to look in Roger’s direction. “It’s him we should worry about.”

“Right.” Roger agreed. “Right, yes. I’ll... “ He looked around. “I’ll get someone to help you to a room.”

“Rothgar!” came a shout from across the hall.

“Ja!” Roger called back over his shoulder and rubbed his forehead, giving them a last look. “I have to go, I’m sorry. Brenna’s… they need me.” With that he rose to his feet and marched towards the door, stopping one of the Vikings who was coming into the hall on his way and pointing towards the three of them as he spoke.

“Our prince.” Freddie uttered, his tone as reverent and affectionate as it was disenchanted and mournful, somehow.

John understood perfectly.

- - -

Someone brought them hot broth and water to drink and bread to eat, although Freddie could barely stomach any of it. He had felt oddly lucid and clear of mind when he had first woken during the night, perhaps still running on that sheer will to survive which he had felt during the battle, but it had all drained out of him now. He was frightfully cold, nauseous, and even holding the bowl of broth was tiring. His mind was spinning with horrific memories, as well as visions of a future that were worse still. He feared for Brian’s life so much it was as though dread itself held his heart in a vice grip, and yet he was so helpless it made him want to weep. Roger was gone too soon, the gratitude in his eyes and his warmth but a momentary reprieve amidst it all. All the determination he had felt last night had waned. How could he ever hope to truly be a man in the sense Roger and Brian were? When he’d left them to fend for themselves at the first opportunity, too afraid to follow them into the fight, too aware of how defenceless he was. Could he really hope to change that? Or would that only be another thing he simply wasn't suited for, something else to fail at because he was a coward. After all, it was only by chance that he had saved Roger’s life, not by design.

He needed Brian to wake up. He needed Roger to come back and hold him again, because he didn’t know what to do, because there was nothing he could do. At least John’s presence was a comfort, although the younger man looked as forlorn and miserable as Freddie felt and barely spoke a word.

It was Ulf who came eventually to carry Brian to his room. Freddie followed, heavily leaning on John because he could hardly stand up. His head felt dizzy and heavy and God, he was so cold, so very cold.

“I’m sorry I’m so useless, darling,” he murmured, stumbling over his own feet and regaining his balance only by virtue of John’s support.

“Freddie, you almost died.” John told him quietly, a firm arm around his waist as they followed the Viking across the yard through freezing, drizzling rain. The people who caught sight of them all turned to stare at Brian and the looks on their faces did not escape Freddie. They no longer looked fearful, but awed. Of course, he realised, recalling what John had told him. Brian had saved Brenna. These people surely already knew that the strange magician had restored their queen. A few looks wandered Freddie's way, too, and it felt as though they were eyeing him quite differently as well. However, Freddie could not find the mental energy to dwell on it much.

The hearth was lit and, unlike the great feast hall, the much smaller room felt warm, at least. They laid Brian out on the bed, changed him out of his outer layer of blood-stained clothes. A slave girl had fetched warm water and John helped him wash the magician’s cold, near-lifeless body down with a cloth before they put a fresh tunic on him and covered him with furs. It was just as well, because Freddie could feel the little bit of strength he’d managed to summon fading by the minute. As he dragged himself up from the bed to finally change out of his own dirty clothes too, John rose to his feet.

“I suppose I’ll… go to my room now,” he said, taking a step towards the door.

Letting the blood-stained fur cloak he had worn fall to the floor, Freddie blinked, looking from John, to Brian, and back at John. “No, you mustn’t,” he heard himself say, and it came out sounding almost like a childlike plea. Freddie dropped his gaze, embarrassed at himself. “That is, of course… you can…”

He was too tired to make sense. Too tired to form proper sentences and tell John that the very thought of being left alone right now with Brian, who looked more dead than alive, and who he could do nothing for, utterly terrified him.

John hesitated, shuffling on the spot. “Would you like me to stay with you?”

Freddie drew a shuddering breath and simply nodded, his numb, ice-cold fingers uselessly fiddling with the ties on his filthy tunic.

“Alright.” John came closer then, and when Freddie looked up, it was straight into a pair of concerned, grey-green eyes, scrutinising him as though they truly beheld him for the first time that day. “Are you very cold? You’re shivering.”

With another curt nod, Freddie finally managed to untie the laces and pulled the tunic off over his head. Now his teeth were really chattering, even though the room had felt warm before. “J-just want to clean up,” he muttered through his teeth, and reached for the cloth, dipping it into the warm water in the bucket beside him and wringing it out quickly. John came closer still while Freddie ran it over his face, his neck and his chest.

Without another word, John took it out of his hands and proceeded to vigorously rub a bit of life back into Freddie’s arms, his shoulders and his back. Freddie was glad to let him. It helped, a little. “You better get into bed,” John told him, as if Freddie needed telling. The moment he had thrown on several layers of fresh clothes, he climbed underneath the furs beside Brian, blinking tiredly while John cleaned himself up in turn. And so they returned to their previous sleeping arrangement, even though it was perhaps midday - perhaps afternoon? - Freddie couldn’t tell. Both of them lying on either side of Brian.

“Thank you,” Freddie whispered, peering at John with his eyes half-open. They were steadily trying to close, even though he was still shivering, the cold he couldn’t shake preventing him from drifting off to sleep in an instant.

John placed a hand next to Freddie’s over Brian’s chest and gave a thoughtful hum. “You know, I think he feels a little warmer.”

Freddie couldn’t tell, he still didn’t have much feeling in his own frozen fingers.

“Are you still cold?” John asked quietly and Freddie nodded, just as he finally closed his eyes.

His thoughts were beginning to fade into strange, unpleasant dreams when he felt John’s hand cover his own and wrap around it tightly. Freddie glanced at him through his lashes, folding his thumb over John’s warm fingers lest he should try to pull away again.

“Can’t keep him warm if you’re not warm,” John murmured, and closed his eyes, too.

- - -

A heavy fog lay over the settlement, but he did not feel the cold as he wandered between the houses.

Everything was so still. So quiet. Why was it so quiet?

His feet made no sound on the gravel nor did he feel the ground. He wasn’t sure how long he had been walking, or where he had come from. But there was something in the silence. Like distant echoes. Voices and the wind whistling in the trees. Seagulls and the steady sound of the waves. But it was all far away, as though in a dream. And there was no one.

No one around him, nor sun in the sky. (Was there a sky?)

At last, he realised why the silence felt so all-consuming. The sound that was missing, a sound he was so accustomed to that the lack of it made for so stark a difference, was the sound of his own breathing. Air flowing through his lungs, blood rushing in his ears and his heart beating. The sounds of life. And he should have felt afraid, he thought, but he wasn’t.

He was simply… at peace.

As though moving of their own accord, his feet took him inside one of the buildings and to the room he had inhabited when he had first come to be here, in this strange place. Before they had dragged him off to the dungeon. Before they had banished him to the forest. Had all that been real? How long ago it seemed.

He entered the room and stopped, staring down at none other than himself, lying on his back in the middle of the bed, covered in furs. The sight was as terrifying as it left him strangely unaffected. For that was him, and yet it was not him at all, because he was here, and that was all that mattered.

But as he looked around himself, everything seemed stranger still. It was as if everything was frozen in time. Not a speck of dust was moving around him. There was no fire burning in the hearth, but if he looked a little closer, and a little longer, there was. A fire, warm and bright. Except that it was like the memory of a fire. A mirage, only a trick of the light. All around him, such things.

Daylight falling in through the window, except there was none.

When he looked towards the bed again, he saw that he wasn’t alone. There lying beside him were two figures, but they were hazy, like shadows. Only not shadows, for there was no darkness there. Like smoke, the existed faintly, wrapped around him from either side. And he felt he knew them, and loved them well, but he could not recall their faces and his mouth would not form their names.

A flash of white outside the window. He turned to see, and saw it again. Blinding white in the misty grey outside, a flutter of wings.

He followed it without thought, moving purely on impulse. Followed it outside and into the mist. The luminous white shape flitted between the trees, up ahead of him like guiding light, and still he followed.

Through the forest, up the hill, here too no sign of life. No animal stirred in the bushes and no birds sang. Still, he found the longhouse where it ought to be with its door ajar.

The glowing, fluttering light disappeared inside. But when he too stepped over the threshold, his guiding light was gone.

And he was no longer alone.

An old lady sat on a stool by the fire, a fire which did burn and flicker quite as though it existed here, only it made no sound. She stirred it with a thick, blackened branch and looked up at him, a serene smile on her face.

“I was hoping you would come back,” she told him, and her smile turned sorrowful. “I was hoping it would not be like this.”

“I know you.” He stepped a little closer, frowning at her. “I know your voice.”

The old woman gazed at him patiently with her impossibly pale, watery eyes, all the while stoking the fire with her stick. “And I know you,” she said. “But do you know you?”

“What?” he asked lamely.

“Who are you?” She raised her eyebrows at him, a little twinkle in her eye. “What is your name, hmm?”

He opened his mouth and closed it again, looking around the room a little helplessly. He knew the answer to that, he was sure. He had a name. It was only that remembering it felt like diving into deep waters for a precious pearl at the very bottom of the sea.

Still, he set his mind to it, to try and reach it… until finally it came to him.

“Brian,” he uttered, amazed, eyes growing wider. “Brian May.”

At once, it was as though something was returned to him. The total sum of his memories, not only distant and abstract, but vivid and bright and real. And utterly overwhelming. Up to his last waking breath before he had-

Before he had-

“Am I dead?” Brian gasped, a cold horror taking a hold of him, not at the thought of his own death but at the thought of those left behind. And having to leave them forever. Without a goodbye. Leaving them to fend for themselves. John, Roger… “Freddie,” he sobbed, lifting a hand to his mouth.

“Oh, you’re not dead yet.” The old lady shrugged, not particularly concerned by his distress. “But you have a choice to make.”

Reeling from it all, Brian shook his head, trying to understand if this was real or only a dream. “What choice?”

“You are lucky,” she told him quietly, “not everyone can choose.”

“What do you mean?” Brian frowned at her, taking another step toward her. “Are you talking about life or death? I want to live, I choose to life!”

The old lady gave a little mischievous cackle, her twinkling eyes gazing up at him. “It is only a choice when you know what the alternative is, my boy.” And before Brian could say something to that, she added: “Someone has come to see you.”

Her eyes wandered past him, focusing on something just to the side of him, and Brian turned.

Had he been able to feel his heart beating, he was certain that he would have felt it stop. Had there been tears to cry, in this reality, he would have wept them. For there - so young, barely older than he was - stood a woman with a face so familiar it was etched into his heart and soul. Her auburn curls hung over her shoulders, the blue of her tunic like the colour of the sea on a sunny summer’s day.

“Brian,” she uttered, a bright smile on her lips. And it was as though another wave of memories washed over him, all those memories which had begun to emerge over the last weeks from the depth of his mind. They were all there. Memories of lullabies and sunny days, of walks in the forest and aromantic spices beside a boiling pot. ’Careful, my sweet boy, would you like to try?’ Sweet berries handed to him lovingly, stories of magic told and bright light in the palm of her hand as she cast it up towards the ceiling and it exploded into dozens of miniscule shooting starts to delight him. Her laughter and her warm embrace. All of her love. And her cries as they had dragged her away forever.

“Mother!” His voice broke even as he rushed toward her, meaning to throw his arms around her.

“No.” She raised her hands and took a step back, stopping him in his tracks. “I’m sorry…” She sighed and beheld him with a longing and sadness that made his heart hurt.

“Why?” he asked, not daring to move forward nor take his eyes off her lest she should disappear.

“I’m so sorry,” she repeated, shaking her head. “I want to hold you in my arms more than anything. I’m so sorry that I let you down, that I had to leave you all on your own.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Brian felt a dark fury rise up in him at the thought of what they had done to her, the people who had taken his mother from him at such a young age, to brutally murder her for the crime of being different. Too powerful and inexplicable for their fearful minds.

“It doesn’t matter whose fault it was,” she said gently. “Anger is poison, and holding on to it will poison only you.”

“But-” he started, and she raised a hand, silencing him.

“Please listen to me, and listen carefully.” When he gave her a nod, the smile returned to her face. “I am so proud of you, my dove. You’ve learned so much in such a short time, and you’ve shown such selfless courage. You know what you are now, and you have felt the power you hold, but you must remember this. Every power draws from a source, and that source is not endless, although it can be replenished. Keep those you love close, they will fill your heart with light and keep the darkness away. Defend what you must, but fight no one else’s battles.” Her face grew tired and serious, for a moment. “Many will want you to, but rarely will it end well.” She breathed a deep sigh. “Your life will never be easy. Oh, Brian, you will suffer. We all do. And so, you have a decision to make.” Behind them, the old lady had begun to hum a melancholic tune, an ancient melody that seemed to require no words. “I could embrace you,” his mother said gently, “and take you with me, and you will be free, There will be no more pain, and no more trials.”

“What… what will there be?” Brian asked tentatively.

His mother smiled. “Peace.”

He nodded. Then frowned, slowly shaking his head. “I… I’m not ready.” As he said the words, the emotion crystallised within him. “I’m not ready to go,” he told her firmly, although it hurt to look into her eyes. “I’m sorry.”

But the smile remained on her face, her gaze full of admiration and pride. “Don’t be. I knew you wouldn’t want to leave yet. Oh, my sweet boy, you are so strong and capable of so much more.”

Brian didn’t feel very strong. He felt torn and as though he wanted nothing more than for his mother to hold him, if it didn’t mean giving up his life and everyone he held dear.

“I will always be waiting for you,” she told him, as if reading his mind. “We will be.”

Out of nowhere, a blinding, fluttering light flashed and circled around her, and came to rest on her shoulder in the shape of a white dove. And Brian finally understood.

“Albus…” he breathed, digging his fingers into his palm so as not to reach out and stroke his feathered friend who had guided and protected him until the last moment. “Oh, Albus, oh no… oh God, I’m so sorry.”

The dove cooed, puffing up his shining white feathers a little.

“Albus was your familiar,” his mother explained, reaching up to pet the dove’s chest. “I chose him for when you were still a babe, when I knew that I might not live to see you grow into the man you are now.” Albus cooed again, nuzzling against her fingers. “He waited for you patiently, until you were ready for him. Familiars are ancient spirits, something from between the worlds, and they nurture us as we nurture them and become inextricably linked with us.”

“It was my fault,” Brian sobbed. “He- he’s dead because I-”

“No, no,” his mother cut him off, “you mustn't cry for him. Such creatures as he do not simply die, not in the way you and I understand. His journey by your side is finished, but there will always be something of him with you. And who knows? There are others like him, out in the world, just waiting to be tamed...” A small frown appeared on her brow. “Oh, but now it’s time.”

“No...”

“To say farewell.”

“No,” Brian pleaded, “please, I still have so many questions. And I, I just...”

“You’ve made your choice.” His mother and the old lady’s voice behind him spoke in unison. A wind blew up all of a sudden inside the cabin. Only it wasn’t wind so much as a whirl of colour and sound, all around them, closing in on him. Brian glanced around himself, panicked, and when he looked back there was no one standing in front of him.

“No!” he shouted into the storm. But the next moment it took a hold of him and pulled him under.

“I’m always watching over you,” he heard his mother’s voice whisper, before he was yanked through a blinding chaos of light and dark and sound and ringing silence so fast that he wanted to scream, but his voice no longer obeyed him. His limbs no longer obeyed him. He was trapped in paralysis, and still being pulled faster, faster, falling into a painful, cold darkness-

Brian gasped for breath, filling his aching lungs, and felt his heart hammer heavily against his ribcage.

Slowly, he opened his eyes.

- - -

Chapter Text

The flames stood high from the proud battleship. They twisted and danced, their elusive shapes casting broken reflections on the dark water. Tall waves surrounded the ship, carrying it further and further out, away from the island. Out to sea. Towards the unknown.

In the middle of the ship, surrounded by his dearest possessions, as well as treasure, food and several bottles of mead, Arne rested.

By the sorry remains of what used to be a hut, Roger sat in the dirt, leaning against the side of his beloved donkey. He was dirtying his ceremonial tunic and furs with both mud, soot and stray donkey hairs but he cared not.

The relief he’d felt when he’d finally found Tootsie earlier that day, forlornly wandering the outskirts of the forest, had been enough to bring him to his knees. He’d been sobbing like a boy, luckily out of view of any of the Vikings, clinging to the faithful animal’s thick neck.

For the rest of the day the donkey had followed him around the village like a dog, to the people’s great amusement.

Tootsie gave a low, small huff and turned her head to nuzzle at him.

“Shh, girl.” Roger murmured absentmindedly, stroking her muzzle, gaze still on the flames out to sea. “You’re good. It’s all… good.”

She huffed again and pushed into his hand until he looked at her. Her large, dark eyes stared into his soul and he felt as if he could see the grief and misery he felt mirrored in her.

He could not help but to chuckle. This damn donkey had always been way too perceptive for a simple farm animal. “What have we gotten ourselves into, Toots, huh. I bet you’re angry with me, too, for trapping you here on this godforsaken island...”

Tootsie brayed, looking affronted and promptly grabbed his braid between her teeth.

“Oi, stop that.”

She gave a not too gentle tug before releasing his hair and lowered her head to rest against his shoulder, closing her eyes.

Roger cuddled into her warmth, grateful for the comfort in the rapidly cooling night.

He gazed out at Arne’s ship again. The fire was still going strong, a beacon of light on a dark horizon.

He had been the one to set fire to it, together with Brenna and Ulf, just half an hour ago. They had set fire to the ship and then pushed it out from the pier. Roger had been close enough to see how the flames had enveloped the man he’d come to consider a dear friend, to hear the crackling of the fire even above the roar of the waves and feel the heat on his cheeks.

Close enough to smell the stench of burning flesh.

Oh, he was so tired of that smell.

The rest of the fallen Vikings had been burned on a large funeral pyre earlier the same afternoon. Apparently, it was just the most important Vikings that were burned on ships. They were shown the highest honour and were therefore allowed to bring ships, weapons and other belongings with them to the other side.

If they’d lost Brenna, they’d have set fire to their largest ship, one of the Vikings had informed him.

Roger wondered what they’d have done with him, had he died. Would he have gotten a ship? He doubted it. Maybe he’d have been strapped to an oar, and pushed out to sea.

A piece of firewood tied to each limb? Or perhaps he’d have been stuffed in a barrel.

He snorted and tiredly let his head fall back on Tootsie’s back, staring up at the stars.

Of course, he was the prince. The heir. And apparently now also a war hero.

Many men spend their whole life searching for a great destiny. But some… are destined for greatness.

Arne’s words rang through his head, as clear as he’d been sitting right next to him, speaking them.

Some men were destined for greatness. But Roger was not one of them. The one who was truly great, who’d turned the tide of the battle, was Brian.

Brian who had not only killed countless enemies but had also saved both Freddie and Brenna. Possibly at the expense of his own life.

And what had Roger done? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. He hadn’t protected any of his friends. Hell, he was personally responsible for the state Brian was in. He had failed him. Failed them.

Not even now, when one was comatose, at least one traumatised and another weak from blood loss, was he by their side. There just wasn’t time, he continued to tell himself. But that was not the entire truth. A better, braver man, would make time. But Roger was scared of seeing them now. Ashamed, oh, so ashamed of himself.

If he could not even protect his friends then what was he good for? That used to be his role in the group - his only strength. Now, he didn’t even have that.

He clenched his fist, not feeling his nails dig into his palm because of the thick leather gloves.

He had saved Brenna. He had killed the usurper.

He had failed his friends.

How was he to live like this, torn between obligation to his new family, his new people and his friends? There just was not enough of him - he was not enough.

And if Brian died, then what? What would he do? It would be his fault.

The sharp pinpricks of light on the sky blurred as tears filled his vision.

He had to get them out of here. As soon as possible. For as long as they stayed by his side, they would be in danger. If they lost Brian, there would be no one left to protect Freddie and John. How long would they be able to survive in this cruel place?

No, no. He could not keep thinking like this. He had to stop acting like a weak child. Stop sulking and feeling sorry for himself. It would solve nothing.

Gritting his teeth he steeled himself.

One thing at a time.

First, he’d have to get through this funeral and the festivities. He would rebuild the city, while waiting for Brian to get better. Because he would get better. Brian was the most stubborn man he’d ever known, and Roger had spent the last couple of years of his life with Freddie.

“Rothgar?”

Recognizing the voice of his aunt, he lifted his head and found her standing right in front of him and Tootsie, a bemused look on her pale face, her reddish hair loose and long, falling over her shoulders in thick waves.

“Why are you… Nevermind.” She shook her head and sat down next to him, leaning against what remained of the wall, instead of the donkey. Which probably was for the best, since Tootsie had turned to look at her darkly, lips drawn back over her teeth.

“That’s a brave guardian animal you’ve got there.” Brenna said curtly, handing Roger a cup. “Mead.”

Roger started to decline, he was woozy and exhausted as it was, he honestly could not remember the last time he’d slept, but then saw the queen’s steely expression. “Right. Thank you.”

He took a large sip of the beverage and immediately felt how it warmed him from the inside.

Brenna’s icy blue eyes turned towards the sea, towards the burning ship, and she lifted her cup high in the air.

“Ha fred, gamle venn.”

Roger lifted his own cup and gave a nod.

They sat silently for a moment, Brenna sipping carefully, hands trembling from blood loss, Roger chugging his cup in a couple of minutes.

“Did he used to love my mo… Freja?”

Brenna gave an amused bark, scaring Tootsie, whose ears shot straight up.

“Used to…” She smiled crookedly. “He never stopped. The most foolish, romantic, poetic, pathetic mess of a Viking I ever met.”

“No need to be rude.” Roger admonished her, but couldn’t help the small smile playing over his own lips. “At least now he can finally see her again.” He frowned. “Wait. Women end up in Valhalla, too, right?”

Brenna turned to him, eyebrows raised. “Every brave Viking dying gloriously in battle goes to Valhalla. And there was no braver nor more glorious than my older sister.” She clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t you worry, nephew, Arne will see her there.”

She handed him her unfinished cup and he emptied it in a few gulps.

“Let’s go to the celebration. The men will be missing their leaders.” Brenna gingerly got to her feet, irritatedly slapping away his hands when he tried to help her.

“Their leader, you mean. Singular.” Roger muttered. “Good night, girl.” He whispered to Tootsie, giving her a kiss and a scratch before following Brenna away from the ruined hut.

“Oh, no. You’re the hero of this battle, Rothgar. The men will want to see you as much as me.” She grunted, annoyed. “Which is as well, as I would much rather rest in bed. A short celebration, I will suffer, nothing more.”

“Thank god. I want nothing more than to go to bed myself.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You’re young. Strong. And tonight is for you. Besides, I heard Ulf talking about introducing you to his cousin’s daughter. A fine girl, if a bit quiet.” She slapped his shoulder again. “But she has lovely and wide hips, good for childbearing.”

Roger groaned.

He had no interest in girls or hip ratios at the moment, all he wanted was to check on his friends and then sleep until spring. Although, some more mead would certainly make it easier to face them. Some more mead might help him combat the guilt, the shame and that deeply rooted, raw hurt.

Alright then. He took a deep breath and followed his aunt, the Viking queen, to the rest of their people.

- - -

Freddie was staring up at the wooden beams of the room’s ceiling, closely studying a finely spun spider web. The fire light from the hearth made the spider silk shine and glimmer like silver.

He had no idea what time it was. Probably late at night. The Viking celebration outside had gone on for what felt like forever.

John was half slung over him, his warm breath puffing against his neck. It was comforting, having the warmth of another human body so close. But still he could not find sleep.

Because the third body in bed, the one he was curled around, was so, so still. So terribly cold. So… empty.

A loud cheer was heard from outside. Freddie turned his head towards the window, despondent.

He wondered what Gods these cruel beasts prayed to. The bearded lightning man, for sure. Tor, was it?

Well, why not. Freddie never claimed to be especially religious, unnatural freak of nature as he was, so it didn’t matter to him what Gods he prayed to. The old, common one had never shown him any favours, anyway.

He clasped his hands, closed his eyes and tried to picture the lightning hurling brute in his head.

And felt how Brian’s entire body stiffened beside him.

Prayers and Gods, all forgotten, he threw himself off the other man with a gasp, his eyes widening in shock when they met those familiar, dearly missed, hazel ones.

“B… Bri…” He stammered, his hands shaking as he reached out for the other man. “Brian!”

Brian just looked at him, his eyes too large in his gaunt and pale face. “I…” He started. “Fred, I…”

He didn’t get any further before Freddie threw his arms around him, hugging his too thin frame close to his chest, feeling his body finally warming against his. “Oh my God, darling. I thought… I thought that…” He sobbed, laughing hysterically as he felt Brian’s arms come up to wrap around him in kind. “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.”

“Brian?!”

John was awake. Freddie could feel the bed shift behind him but did not turn to the younger man, still crying and laughing into Brian’s dirty hair.

“Let him breathe!” John pulled Freddie to the side, his face harried and stressed as he looked down at their friend. “Do you need water? Food? God, Brian, are you alright?”

Brian took a deep, steadying breath. First now, Freddie gathered himself enough to take in that the magician had been shaking. God, he looked awful. So thin, so pale. Cheeks sunken in, hair matted. His eyes were two pools of life in an otherwise dead face.

“Yes.” He croaked. “Yes. I think so.” He closed his eyes again, his brow furrowed. “Some water, please, John.”

John jumped from the bed as Freddie cupped his lover’s face in his hands, tears still spilling freely down his cheeks as his heart danced in his chest. “Love.” He said, softly, and smiled when Brian turned to place a kiss in his palm, his eyes opening again to gaze up at him.

“Freddie.” Brian smiled back, his own hand coming up to stroke Freddie’s stubbled cheek.

“Where were you?” Freddie murmured, leaning down to gently press his lips to Brian’s.

Brian kissed him back, his long fingers stroking over Freddie’s ear and temple before carefully cupping the back of his head and pulling him down to rest in the crook of his shoulder.

Freddie felt how the other man swallowed, how his fingers tightened in his hair.

“Not here.” Brian said, voice small and hollow. “Somewhere else. And I… My mother. I met her. And I remember everything.” His voice broke on a shuddery gasp. “Everything.”

The sobs caught up with him then and Freddie embraced him as well as he could from the bad angle. “That’s it, darling. Let it all out.”

Brian did. He wept and shook and sniveled all while Freddie held him tightly.

When Brian eventually calmed down enough to take a shaky inhale and let Freddie go, John was standing awkwardly by the bedside, a mug of water in hand.

“Um. Water?” He offered, holding the mug out to Brian.

Brian ignored the water and instead reached up and pulled John into a hug as well, the younger man yelping as water spilt all over the bed furs and Brian’s tunic.

“You saved me, didn’t you?” Brian was smiling brilliantly when he pulled back enough to look at John, both hands on the other’s shoulders. “I know it was you. When I depleted myself the first time, you came to me and gave me strength. Thank you.”

John blushed fiercely, waving his hands around and accidentally spilling more of the water. “Ah, no! No, I didn’t… I just, you know, held you. I think. I barely remember. But you did all the work, Brian. You saved everyone! You were amazing.” His eyes were teary as well when he finally managed to push the half empty mug into Brian’s hand. “I am so glad you’re back with us.”

“I am glad to be back.” Brian sighed deeply, taking a few careful sips of water before sinking back down in the furs, his hand finding Freddie’s. He already looked a bit better, some colour having returned to his cheeks. “What happened? Did the queen survive?”

He looked between Freddie and John imploringly, eyes bright.

“Yes. You saved her life.” Freddie squeezed his hand. “As you saved mine.”

John hummed, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “We won the battle.”

“And Roger?”

Freddie’s smile became strained. “He is fine. He has been put in charge since the queen is bedridden.”

And he hasn’t visited us since he had us moved to this room.

Brian let out a relieved sigh. “I’m glad to hear it.”

“It is kind of miraculous, is it not?” John grinned. “That we all came out of such a gruesome battle alive. Thanks to you, Brian.”

The magician did not say anything for a moment, his thumb stroking over the knuckles of Freddie’s hand. “Not all. I lost Albus.”

“Oh, Brian.” Freddie used his free hand to gently brush away the fresh tears leaking from his lover’s eyes.

“I’m sorry.” John lowered his head, clasping his hands in his lap. “What happened?”

Brian smiled through his tears. “He went on with my mother. He gave all his strength to help me and then he simply… faded.”

John nodded slowly. “He was a great dove.”

“The best dove.” Freddie agreed. “A very special bird.”

Brian chuckled tiredly. “That he was.”

There was a short pause, then Brian frowned. “So… What now?”

The words had barely left his lips before they heard heavy steps out in the corridor, approaching their door, before coming to a stop right outside.

Half a minute passed, the three of them waiting tensely, their eyes on the door, before the knock finally came.

“Come in.” Brian called.

The door creaked as it was pushed open, Roger peaking in.

“I must have drunk way too much mead because that sounded just like Br…”

He spotted Brian on the bed and didn’t finish his sentence, his mouth hanging open dumbly.

“Yes, I’m finally up.” Brian smiled carefully, raising his free hand in a hesitant wave.

Roger shook himself out of his stupor, a grin bright as the sun breaking out on his flushed face as he stumbled over to them and threw himself at Brian, furs and all.

Freddie scooted to the side, relaxing minutely and letting out a breath he hadn’t been aware of holding.

“Welcome back.” Roger embraced Brian tightly, the taller man gingerly patting him on the back.

“It’s good to be back.”

Roger soon pulled away, eyes quickly moving from Brian, to John and finally over to Freddie. His gaze lowered to Freddie and Brian’s interlaced fingers and the open, joyous expression on his face stiffened.

He took a step back, clearing his throat awkwardly and tearing his eyes from the three of them.

“I’m sorry, Brian.” He said quietly. “I did not know how much it would take out of you to… I should never have pushed you to... well, but she was dying! But I... “ He bowed his head. “I am sorry.”

His words were slurred and for a second Freddie was afraid he was crying now, too. But when Roger exhaled deeply and looked back up at them, his eyes were dry. “I’m sorry for everything. For the danger I’ve put you all in. And for not prioritising you. I have been a really shitty friend.”

“What, Roger…” John started but Roger just waved him off.

“But I will do better now. I will look after you first and foremost. I will keep you safe.”

Dread crawled over Freddie’s skin. Roger was not acting like himself. He was fidgeting, barely meeting their eyes.

“And for you to be safe, you need to leave.”

Brian chuckled awkwardly, pulling his hand from Freddie’s to scratch at his tangled mop of curls. “Eh. Right now?”

“Of course not!” Roger shook his head. “No, I was thinking tomorrow, or the day after that. We have to hurry before winter comes and the sea becomes too treacherous to travel.” His eyes darkened. “And before Brenna gets better.”

Freddie desperately wanted Brian’s hand back in his, cold anxiety ensnaring and wrapping around him as were he a foolish fly caught in that silvery spider web. “Maybe we don’t have to discuss this right now?” He tried, his voice strangely thin. “Brian just woke up and…”

“And I assume you are to come with us, then?” John’s sharp words cut through the thick tension, making Roger turn towards him, frowning.

“You know I cannot.”

“Well. You already know where I stand. I am not going anywhere without you.”

Roger shook his head, frown deepening. “You can’t stay here. All of you came close to dying - it’s by mere luck and because of Brian’s skills that you did not.”

“So did you, Rog.” Brian reminded him gently, sitting up gingerly. “None of us would have made it if not for each other. We need each other.”

The blond man turned to Brian, frustrated. “Well, you can’t bloody stay, I'm telling you! They’re going to use you, Brian. Milk you of all your sparkly powers until there is nothing left. You want that? You want to be sent into their war, as a weapon?!” He clenched his hands, huffing out a sharp breath of air. “I’m just trying to do right by you.”

“Then come with us!” John threw his arms out. “You don’t owe these people anything. You belong with us.”

“I told you I can’t!”

“Why?”

“Because I…” Roger broke off, chest heaving. “You would not understand. But you will have to leave, because I can’t do this anymore.” His voice rose in volume. “I can’t take this anymore. It’s breaking us apart!”

“No!” Freddie finally found his voice, getting up from the bed, eyes wild. “We can’t split up, not when we finally found our way back to each other.”

He was done being passive and miserable, letting himself be yanked around by other mens’ decisions. He would not let Roger stay behind.

He reached for Roger. “I’m not leaving you.”

“You already did, once.” Roger said bitterly. “Remember?”

Freddie opened his mouth to...explain, apologize, defend himself, anything. But nothing came out. His hand fell to his side limply.

“Sorry.” Roger muttered, taking a step back. “This is not the time. We… we’re all tired and need some rest. We can figure out the details tomorrow.” He managed a tired smile at Brian. “I am happy to see you back in the land of the living again. I’ll let you sleep now.”

With that he spun on his heel and all but escaped the room.

Freddie and Brian stared after him, but John swore loudly, running out in pursuit. “Don’t you walk away!”

“Bloody hell.” Brian moaned, sinking back down in bed and holding his head in his hands. “I’d so appreciate it if we could have one day, no, that’s too much to ask for, one hour of peace.”

Forcefully pulling himself out of the downward spiral of self-loathing and heartbreak he’d quickly found himself trapped in, Freddie went back to Brian, curling up next to him and wrapping one arm around his waist. There was no time for his drama at the moment. Brian needed him.

“Let’s have those hours now. You’re exhausted, darling, and need your rest.”

“But what about…” Brian started.

“Don’t worry your beautiful curly head about it, love.” Freddie said, kissing said head. “I will talk to him, tomorrow. I will fix this.”

I have to fix this.

“How…” Brian mumbled, already having almost succumbed to sleep.

Freddie smiled wryly. “I don’t know. But I will. Roger is right, we can’t stay here. We have to leave this place. And Roger is coming with us. If I have to knock him out and kidnap the Viking crown prince, so be it. I’m not going to let us get separated again.”

- - -

John raced down the corridor after Roger.

The frustration, guilt and anger he’d felt since the end of the battle had finally reached a breaking point. How dare Roger try to get rid of them now, after all they had been through? How dare he try to get rid of John?

He doesn’t need you. He never has. You are only in the way. You only let him down.

No! Not anymore. He was going to change, he had to change. Roger only had to let him try...

“Wait up!”

“Go back to your room, John, I don’t want to talk anymore tonight, alright?”

“Well that’s too bloody bad because we’re talking right now!” John hissed, following Roger into his room, fuming.

Roger was in the process of removing his fur, his clumsy fingers fighting with the clasps. “I’m going to sleep. Get out.”

“No.” John said, slamming the door shut and glaring at Roger. “Why do you keep doing this?”

“Doing what?” Roger muttered, hands fumbling.

John walked up to him, batted his hands away and opened the clasps, letting the heavy fur fall to the floor. “Keep trying to send us away, playing a martyr, shutting me out!” Without meaning to his hands had moved to Roger’s tunic, clasping the material tight in his fists.

“I told you why.” Roger snarled. This close John could see the exhausted hunch of his shoulders, the dark bags under his eyes. “Didn’t you listen?” He tried to move back from John and stumbled over the fur. “Let go of me.”

“Yes yes, we’re in mortal peril everyday because you’re a lost and found prince. But what Brian said is true, you know! You almost died, too. Actually, now that I think about it, do you know which of us that’s gotten hurt the most this far? It’s you, Roger, you.”

He pulled the other man closer by his tunic, Roger swearing and trying to tug his hands off.

“Who is going to help you, who is going to save you, if we go?” He stared into those sad, tired blue eyes, panting.

Roger pushed him away, probably using more force than intended, making John almost fall on his arse before he caught himself.

“I can look after myself. I don’t need anyone else.”

John felt his blood boil. “You bloody liar! You stubborn arse!” He screamed, shocking the angry expression right off Roger’s face. “I’m so tired of having to chase you, always behind, never catching up. I want to be right by your side, damn it!”

He was shaking, his cheeks red with shame and frustration, his heart pounding in his chest. “I know I’m not much, I know I barely amount to anything. I’m weak and stupid and naive. I can’t fight. I’m not beautiful, not like you. I know you deserve so much better but please, please don’t leave me behind. Roger. Please.”

Roger stared at him, his eyes wide, the blue of them too bright for John to handle.

“What…” Roger swallowed. “What are you really saying?”

Having nothing left to lose at this point, John stalked back to his friend and grabbed him by his tunic again, pulling him in close. “That I want to be where you are. Wherever you are. If you’ll have me.”

He lowered his eyes, unable to meet Roger’s searching gaze. He was so embarrassed part of him wanted lightning to strike him here and now. But he also felt oddly light. Relieved.

Roger’s strong hand came up to cup his jaw. “Do you really mean that?” His voice was quiet, careful. Disbelieving.

Enough.

John was no good at expressing his feelings, his words clumsy and failing him. He was not silver tongued, not like Freddie or Brian. No, he had to find another way to show Roger that he was serious.

Forcing himself to be brave, possibly braver than ever before in his sad life, he placed one hand on Roger’s cheek, closed his eyes and leant forward.

He both heard and felt Roger’s surprised gasp when their lips met, felt his calloused fingertips tighten on the skin of his jaw.

When the other man did not immediately pull away John went giddy with excitement, and surged forward to deepen the kiss. A sudden, sharp pain in his nose and Roger’s yelp killed his soaring confidence quicker than Brenna had that first rebel Viking.

Oh, god. What in all hell was he doing?!

Mortified, John stumbled back, cheeks blazing and nose throbbing. “I’m so sorry!”

A weird, choked sound came from Roger and John slowly dared to look at him, trepidation making his palms wet with sweat.

“You are… ah, just the best.” Roger wheezed, and John realized he was laughing.

His blush darkened, shame and regret rolling in his stomach. “I’m sorry.”

“Well, you should be. You almost bloody took my nose clean off.” Roger chuckled, walking closer to him, backing John up against the door.

John’s lungs felt tight. Was Roger going to beat him?

“I, ugh. I didn’t mean to. I’ve never done this before! I just got caught up in the moment. I’m sorry! Please just let me go?” He babbled nervously, looking everywhere but at Roger.

“Shh…” Roger whispered, his eyes sparkling. “Stop talking.”

His hand came up to hold John’s chin, tilting his face slightly to press their lips together once more.

John stood frozen against the door, not daring to move as Roger’s soft lips moved against his. He could feel the other man’s breath. It was warm.

John felt dizzy.

Roger pulled back, smiling at him quizzically. “Is this what you wanted?” His tongue peeked out to wet his bottom lip and John stared, feeling short of breath.

“More.” He took hold of Roger’s tunic a third time and pulled him in closer. The sensation of his warm, hard body against his own had him groan lowly, head falling back against the door. “Please.”

“My pleasure.” Roger said, pressing him into the door, shoving one leg in between John’s as he leant in to kiss him harder.

A tiny voice in John’s head shouted about blasphemy, sin and the fires of hell. It sounded suspiciously like his father.

Well, when you’d just barely survived a Viking battle and had come horrifyingly close to losing all of your friends, things like blasphemy and sin did not seem close to as scary as before.

Besides, he wanted to follow Roger.

Everywhere.

Hell included.

Chapter Text

- - -

It was barely dawn when Freddie gave up on sleep. Even though Brian had slept like the dead beside him, barely moving - though fortunately he was warm now, warm and alive - Freddie had slept fitfully, his dreams full of night terrors that had him waking in a cold sweat. He'd dreamt of blood, of death, of being lost. Left behind on a ship on his own, headed for nowhere.

It was an icy morning, even wrapped in furs he was shivering as he sneaked out of the room and made his way toward the room where Roger was staying, almost unwittingly, as though led by instinct.

Perhaps Roger was not awake, so early in the morning. Most likely he was not. And then again, stubborn as he was, perhaps he was already setting his plan in motion to ship them back off to the mainland without him. If there was one thing Freddie would not allow to come to pass, it was this.

'I’m not leaving you.'

'You already did, once. Remember?'

Roger's words still pained him, as did the look on his face when he had said them. Because there was no denying it. Freddie had left him alone, abandoned him when Roger had most needed him. Roger, who all these years ago had found him, sheltered and saved him, loved him. And Freddie had repaid him poorly.

That he would have to live with. That could not be changed now. Only the future was in his hands, and Freddie meant to do everything in his power to ensure that it was a future which did not entail leaving Roger to his fate in these strange lands. Because Roger needed his friends, and Freddie needed Roger. It was a thought marred with guilt when he thought of Brian, who had so readily and uncompromisingly given him his heart. But what Freddie felt for Roger did not detract from his feelings for Brian. If only he could have explain it, even to himself.

But right now, it did not matter. He needed to make Roger understand that he was not going to send them away, unless they left together. Freddie had no plan, no words prepared to achieve this, but he prayed that the right words would come. It had been so long since they had spoken, really spoken with each other, face to face and in earnest.

All was quiet when Freddie reached Roger's room. Not a sound from within. Relief washed over him at first. Surely, Roger was sleeping still. Laying a hand on the door, Freddie stepped closer and pressed his ear to it, the wood cold against his cheek.

Silence.

He ought to go back to Brian. Ought to seek a word with Roger before or after breakfast. However, the next moment, Freddie's mind conjured a fresh dread, so frightfully real that he had trouble not believing it at once. What if - what if - Roger was no longer in there at all? What if he had devised a plan to hide himself away so they could not find him, could not dissuade him, and ordered the men he now commanded to put them on a ship and send them away just after sunrise? Was it not possible?

The nightmares that had haunted him were still vivid in his memory, and would not let him depart again with his insides all in knots with worry. Determined to assure himself that he was being ridiculous, that surely Roger was only sleeping and nothing had been set in motion yet, Freddie pressed his lips together, all but holding his breath, and slowly pushed the door open.

The pale light of dawn illuminated the room just enough to see, and he recognised the shape of a body covered in furs on the bed. Oh, thank God.

He was not too late. Freddie exhaled the breath that had been trapped in his throat as he leaned against the door frame, his eyes on Roger's sleeping form. But as he looked on, he frowned. Even in the half-light, the loose hair he could see, partly covering the man's face who lay in bed, was long like Roger's but seemed too dark. And then, at last, the lines and shapes he was seeing revealed themselves fully to Freddie - and his eyes widened.

The man lying in Roger's bed wasn't Roger at all. That was to say, not only Roger. It was none other than John. The top of Roger's head peeked out just behind him.

Lips parted in stunned surprise, Freddie took a silent step back and closed the door again as quietly as he could. Then he blinked, and took another step back. And turned, briskly walking back to his and Brian's room.

Only when he arrived, he could not bring himself to step inside for fear of waking Brian. For fear of being unable to look him in the eye and pretend that he had not just seen what he had seen.

Then again, why shouldn't he tell?

Freddie leaned his back against the wall and slid down onto the floor, wrapping the fur cloak he wore tighter around himself.

John. Roger and John.

He huffed out a breath, staring into the middle distance. Perhaps it wasn't what it had looked like at all? Oh, don't be ridiculous. There were close to no innocent scenarios he could imagine which would have required John to sleep in Roger's bed tonight.

John and Roger.

Shaking his head slightly, Freddie raked his teeth over his lip. To his own surprise and shame, he found himself regretting deeply now that he had not chased after Roger the previous day. Because if he had -

Oh God, no, he could not finish the thought. It ended with himself in Roger's bed, in John's stead, and how could he think such a thing when he had slept beside Brian, where he belonged? Yet, the niggling, bitter voice deep within him that raged now, telling him it was he who belonged in Roger's arms and certainly not John, refused to be silenced. It's name, he knew, was jealousy.

Freddie closed his eyes and swallowed, leaning his head back against the wall with a quiet thud.

He was awful. A thoroughly awful, terrible man.

For he loved Roger still, and seeing him with another man was like a punch in the gut. A slap in the face that had left him reeling. Yet, impossibly, he loved Brian, too. How greedy his heart was. How selfish. How could he presume to deserve either one of them?

'I’m not leaving you.'

'You already did, once. Remember?'

How very vain he had been, too. To think he had the power to alter Roger's future, when Roger's heart was no longer his. But be that as it may, it Roger was going to listen to anyone at all, it would be him, Freddie was sure. He'd have to try. If John had not already changed Roger's mind...

The sun had risen and the settlement had come to life outside - horses' hooves clip clopping on frosty ground and the sound of voices. Freddie picked himself up and slipped back into the room with Brian.

The other man only stirred when Freddie crawled into bed with him. Brian took a deep breath, lashes fluttering as he turned to look at him with bleary eyes.

“Morning,” he murmured.

“Good morning, my love,” Freddie whispered, pressing a kiss to Brian's cheek, even as he cursed his aching heart that could not be content. “Shhh, go back to sleep. It's early yet.”

Brian hummed and shifted, wrapping his arms around Freddie. “You're all cold,” he complained, sleepily mumbling the words into Freddie's hair while he drew him closer. “Like ice.”

Yes, thought Freddie, allowing himself to be held. He was cold like ice. Selfish and treacherous.

With a sigh, Brian drifted back off to sleep. But tired as he was, Freddie could not close his eyes, nor escape the dreadful feeling that he could not go on like this. He was tired of always yearning, always missing something, always afraid of losing those he loved and being left alone, giving his heart away to those who would have it, who showed him any kindness.

Perhaps that was what he needed; to be alone, for once, and know who he was if he was not anyone's. No one to hurt, no one to disappoint. The thought was both terrifying and yet harboured the promise of relief and a freedom he wasn't sure he had ever really known.

But he couldn't think of it now, not when Brian was still weak and needed him. Not now when the most important thing he had to do, before all else, was to ensure that Roger did not send them away, dooming himself to a fate Freddie was convinced wasn't his.

He could not let that happen.

- - -

Dreams which he was all too familiar with by now had visited John again, he thought as he slowly awoke, cosy in the warmth of his bed. Dreams of sky-blue eyes gazing into his, of the man he admired and felt drawn to like no other, steadying him in his arms as his hot tongue teased its way into his mouth, the sensation so shockingly new and overwhelming, in the best way imaginable.

Sweet dreams... or were they?

John opened his eyes at once when the vividness of the memory hit him and found himself disoriented, staring at a wall that did not look right. A room that was not where he had expected to wake up. It was only then that the haze of sleep finally cleared and he became aware of the source of warmth behind him, breathing slowly and deeply.

His heart leapt into his throat all at once and a bright grin spread out on his face. Not a dream, not at all. Lying back to back with him was Roger, whose real lips John had really kissed last night. And oh, there had been a lot of kissing. John bit his lip, feeling his face flush with heat at the memory while other parts of him, already standing to attention upon waking, thrummed pleasantly. As it turned out, kissing was not at all like and at the same time far better than he had anticipated. It was messy and wet - this, in hindsight, should have been obvious perhaps - and breathtakingly intimate and addictive. In truth, John could not wait to do more of it, if only he was permitted. Slowly shifting onto his back, and then onto his other side, John tucked his arm underneath his head and carefully slid his other arm around Roger's middle under the covers, wanting him to wake up, but at the same time not wanting to wake him. He scooted closer until he lay flush against the other man's back and breathed in deeply. Roger's scent surrounded him, familiar and yet new. It was strange and exhilarating, to be allowed to breathe him in like this. Something else that John felt he had not had enough of yet. Without meaning to, he leaned so close that his lips brushed Roger's shoulder. John stilled when he felt the other man stir, instinctively wanting to pull back, as though he had done something forbidden. But then a hand found his own. Roger hugged his arm closer, keeping him in place.

“I'm sorry,” John whispered, “I didn't mean to wake you.”

It was only half a lie. Roger let go of his hand and turned around to face him, blond strands escaping his braided hair and sticking up in all directions.

“S'fine.” Roger took in the sight of him and smiled, wrapping an arm around him in turn.

What a marvel it was, John thought, to awaken beside the one you loved. He couldn't seem to stop grinning. It felt as though his chest was so brimful of warmth that it could have melted the morning frost away. The smile on Roger's face, however, dimmed slightly the longer he looked at him and a small crease crept between his brows.

“You alright?” he asked softly, his gaze inquisitive.

“Better than alright,” John replied, unable to keep his eyes from flitting down to Roger's lips, which did not escape the other man's attention, judging by the smirk on his face.

“Good.”

Roger leaned a bit closer and John followed suit, meeting his lips halfway and parting them with a lick of his tongue. A small noise of surprise escaped Roger when he found himself with John half on top of him the next moment, kissing him hungrily. But Roger was kissing him back all the same and John was already drowning again in the wealth of sensations he was not yet used to. It was like drinking a sweet nectar he had never tasted before, but never wanted to go without again. The slide of tongue, the solid warmth of Roger's body against his, the friction where Roger's thigh had slid between his legs. The assault on his senses was divine and incomparable to anything he had ever known.

“Woah, hey.” Roger gave a breathy chuckle when John pulled away for a moment to draw breath. “John.”

“I could do this…” John breathed, and could not finish the sentence, for he had to steal another kiss. “All day,” he murmured against Roger's lips, and followed it up with an involuntary whimper, hips rocking forward all of their own accord. He ought to feel ashamed, a voice insisted at the back of his bead, rutting against the other man like this. Making him unequivocally aware of his arousal. But much as he had felt every emotion under the sun the night before - trepidation, surprise, fear, exhilaration, even shame, to be losing himself so in the intimacy of Roger's embrace - all John felt now was undiluted desire. It was stronger than hunger and more unbearable than thirst.

Roger's hands stroked over his back, fingers dipping just beneath his shirt, caressing the small of his back and raising goosebumps all over him. The night before, all they had done was kiss until John's lips had felt sore, stroking each other's faces, the nape of the other's neck, even each other's hands which John had never expected could feel so good. Nor had he expected the utterly breathtaking pleasure Roger's mouth could administer to his neck, the lobe and the shell of his ear. So overwhelmed had he been with it all, that John had not so much as thought of wanting more nor of demanding it.

But this morning, John realised, he felt bolder and his need burned hotter still. He wanted to pull all his clothes off this instant, and Roger's, too, so they might do whatever it was two men could do when they lay together - the details of which he was not quite clear on, in all honesty. But he was quite certain taking one's clothes off was a start, and he was about to when he felt a hand press against his chest, gently pushing him away. Breaking the kiss, John opened his eyes and pushed himself up on his elbow, blinking at Roger.

“What?” he asked, concern dampening the dizzying excitement he felt. Was he doing something wrong?

“Uh… this is…” There was a curious, crooked smile on Roger's lips as he shook his head slightly.

“You don't like it?” John stared back at him, quietly crest-fallen. “You don't want to?”

“No,” said Roger, and John became aware of the other man's hand on his hip when his fingers dug into his skin with a firmer grip, through the material. “I mean, yeah…” Roger's voice was a little raspy. “Yeah, no, trust me. I want to,” he assured him, deliberately pushing his thigh between John's, thrusting his hips upward slightly.

“Oh.” A small sound of yearning tumbled over John's lips of its own accord. It was a strange thing to be feel Roger's hard prick pushing into the crook of his leg, and know that he wanted him to feel it, although not different from what he himself had been doing just a minute before. John was overcome with an urge to reach for that hardness and feel it in his hand, to see whether it was just like his own or very different. To see what Roger looked like, what sounds he might make if John touched him there. But as his hand slid downward all but of its own accord, Roger caught him by the wrist.

“Fuck,” he sighed, the look on his face pained with conflict. “I just… I think maybe this… should wait.”

“What? Why?” John did not want to wait. John was going to expire if he was made to wait, now that he had Roger right here with him.

“Because,” Roger started, and stopped, licking his lips as he eyed John uncertainly. His moment of hesitation was an opportunity John seized to seal his mouth with a kiss before he dared speak again.

- - -

There was only so much good sense that could be expected of a man early in the morning, eager hands tugging at his clothes and a mouth that knew no protestations claiming his. It was a thrill as much as it touched his heart. John's eyes were overflowing pools of wanting, the blush on his cheeks not so innocent this morning as it was the shameless heat of the moment.

To hell with it, Roger thought, the reservations at the back of his mind clouded with the urgency of his own arousal. He had spent all his willpower the night before, his hands stilled only by John's inexperience and the suddenness of what had come to pass between them. Even so, John's wide-eyed wonder at what they were doing had excited him, and how could it not? Never before touched, never before kissed, John had shivered with longing at every caress, however tame. But he was not so overwhelmed this morning, not an innocent boy, but a man, his affection demanding and bordering on aggression. Roger found himself excited by this, too. He could not help but be reminded of the times they had sparred, sword in hand, the younger man always trying to get the upper hand even though Roger was more skilled. The same rush of adrenaline coursed through him now, and no longer content to be assaulted when John licked deep into his mouth once again, Roger wrapped his arms around him and rolled them over with a growl, landing himself on top of the other man. John broke the kiss with an intake of breath and their eyes found each other. Grey-green eyes full of expectation gazed back at him. When John's hands slid underneath his shirt Roger did not stop him. Instead, he sat up, straddling the other man, and went to pull it off over his head. John evidently decided to do the same and proceeded to elbow Roger in the face as he lifted himself up to strip off his own shirt.

“Sorry,” he gasped, still half-tangled in his sleeves.

Roger snickered, helping him out of the shirt and tossing it aside together with his own.

“You're in an awful rush,” he teased, planting a hand on each side of John and lowering himself down to kiss him again.

John moaned into his mouth in lieu of a reply and embraced him tightly, rocking his hips up against him and Roger pushed back, grinding himself against the hardness in the other man's breeches. John produced something between a whine and a growl when Roger dragged his lips down to his neck, sucking a patch of skin into his mouth.

“Oh God,” he breathed, hands roaming Roger's back as if they sought to cover every inch of his skin. “Oh, it feels good…”

Roger smirked against his neck and traced the edge of his ear with his tongue, which earned him another moan and a jerky thrust of John's hips. Perhaps it was better this way, Roger thought, to let John have what he wanted in a mad rush of passion. There would be time to talk and think and worry yet.

“Shall we see how good I can make you feel?” Roger murmured and nipped at his earlobe. The excitement of seeing the other man so undone in his arms coursed through him delightfully, gathering hot and low in his loins.

“I wanna…” John uttered in a breathy voice, a hand snaking between their bodies. “Wanna touch you.”

Roger's cock gave a twitch when John's hand found it through his breeches and their lips collided again while they rolled over onto their sides.

“Hold up, just- just let me-” Trying to get John's hand away so he might untie his breeches, Roger couldn't help but chuckle again at his eagerness. It was so enticing, endearing, reminding him of those times when he too had been new to it all. Every touch a discovery, every sensation like a revelation. Freddie's eyes dark as night by the firelight, his supple body writhing in Roger's embrace...

Only, no, not that. He was not thinking of that now. Morning sun instead of dancing flames, pale skin, not olive, and the adoration in John's gaze. Untying his breeches, Roger pulled them down just enough to expose himself and watched the younger man's eyes travel down to behold him. John caught his lip between his teeth, eyes twinkling with fascination as he stretched out fingers that suddenly seemed uncertain, wrapping them around Roger’s cock. “This is…” He huffed out a breath, eyes snapping up to Roger as he gave him a few experimental, light strokes. “Different,” he concluded.

“Than touching yourself?” Roger rasped, gazing back at him through half-hooded eyes.

“Yes,” John cracked a small, almost bemused smile.

“It is,” Roger agreed, grinning back. “It’s different when it’s not your own hand…” And with that, he loosened the ties of John’s breeches.

“Yes,” John moaned quietly, whether he was agreeing with his words or his intent, Roger wasn’t sure, but John helped him along, lifting his hips a little so Roger could pull the material aside easier. His fingers tightened around Roger in anticipation, tugging more firmly on his prick and Roger bucked his hips in approval.

“Yeah, come on,” he encouraged, leaning in close again as he took John in hand, unable to resist another glance down between their bodies while he circled his thumb over John’s leaking cock. It was thick and hard in his hand, larger than his own, much like Freddie’s - Roger started a little at the comparison his mind had made yet again, unbidden. It was only that Freddie was the only other man he had ever lain with, a truth he had not thought about nor consciously realised until this moment. And he wasn't going to think about it now.

“Ohh…”

The whine of pleasure brought him back to the moment and Roger looked up to see John’s eyes shut, jaw slack and face flushed pink. So irresistible the sight, he could do nothing but kiss him again when he began to toss him off in earnest. John’s own hand quickly lost its rhythm entirely on Roger's cock as the younger man trembled, breathing broken moans against his lips. But Roger had no complaints. He delighted in the state of him, so needy in his arms, desperate for his caresses. Fuck, it was incredible, to be granted such command over another’s pleasure. So much so that it was Roger who found himself insatiable for more.

Rolling John back over onto his back, he slithered down along his body, nipping at his neck, his collarbone and a hardened nipple on the way down. John gazed at him through his lashes, his chest heaving with irregular breath as Roger settled between his legs.

“Oh hell,” John uttered, shortly followed by: “oh Lord” - evidently uncertain whether he was praying to gods or demons. Roger flashed him a grin when he bent low and dragged the flat of his tongue over the exposed, glistening tip of John’s prick. The noise John made when Roger took him into his mouth was so divine that Roger had to slide a hand between his own legs, pumping himself rapidly in his fist while he swirled his tongue around the other man’s cock, bobbing his head up and down.

Not a minute had passed before John, who had begun a chant of pleas and curses under his breath, jerked his hips up with a loud whine. Gagging a little, Roger pulled off. And just in time, too. Clawing at the furs around them, John convulsed as he came all over his stomach, half-lifting himself off the bed. As he dropped back down, panting and shuddering with aftershocks, Roger looked around for one of their shirts and pulled it up off the floor. He wiped it over the mess on John’s stomach and took himself in hand again, intending to finish himself off quickly before John could get any ideas about returning favours just now. It wasn't that Roger didn't want him to, only he was aching to come and there would be time yet to introduce John to all the ways in which they could pleasure one another…

Or so Roger found himself thinking in the moment, his mind hazy with need. John reached for him, pulling him down into a messy kiss and Roger screwed his eyes shut, moaning into the other man's mouth as he stroked himself to completion. For several blessed, blissful moments nothing could be wrong with the world.

But reality returned to him in the form of a cold draft, making him shiver. Roger opened his eyes, his own sweaty forehead against John's, and pressed a kiss to his lips before he rolled off him and pulled his breeches up.

Looking down at himself, John bunched up Roger's soiled shirt and rubbed his stomach clean before he threw it back onto the floor. Roger shifted closer, pulling the furs which had slid off up around them. As their breathing slowed, John's hand found his under the covers, clasping it tightly. Squeezing back, Roger gave him a faint smile and brushed his lips against John's shoulder. There was a sensation in his chest he had not felt in a long time, or so it seemed. His heart felt full - full of fondness, full of tenderness for the man beside him, and Roger allowed it to fill him for as long as it could, because he could already feel the dark clouds of worry gather at the edges of his mind.

For some time, neither of them spoke. They lay shoulder to shoulder, watching the sunlight paint one wall of the room a brighter shade of brown.

“We should go down separately,” Roger said eventually.

“Alright,” John agreed.

“I'll go first,” Roger told him softly, and began to pull his hand away, but John held on and turned to look at him.

“Please know,” he said quietly, the expression in his eyes so open and earnest that it pained Roger, for all the reservations he had put aside were slowly pouring back in. “I meant what I said last night.” John's jaw stiffened a little with stubborn determination. “I'm not going anywhere without you. Ever again.”

Roger made an effort to soften his expression, lest the melancholy he felt should show. “I know,” he replied simply, and kissed the corner of John's mouth, his cheek, his brow, pulling himself up to sitting. “Come, now. I'm starving, after all that.”

With a wink and a small smile, Roger climbed out of bed and went in search of clean clothes.

There would be time yet.

How much time? How much time before everything went up in flames, like a funeral pyre? He thought grimly, walking toward the great hall now much later, wrapped in his fur cloak and his hair newly braided.

With every step that put a distance between him and John, Roger's heart had sunk a little more. It was as though his mind was split in two, half of it more determined than ever to send John away where he might be safe, half of it despairing at the prospect of that parting. But what in God's name was he going to do? Fate had led him here for a reason and it was time to face up to it and accept it. Roger was coming to terms with that. There was no future for John here, however, certainly not with Roger. Nor was this a life for Brian and Freddie. The hourglass had been turned, or so it seemed to him. Their time was running out. How long until Brian was forced into battle, forced to fulfill demands he could not meet? How long before something happened to them, to John… to Freddie?

Stubbornly, the thought of Freddie kept circling in his head, floating like a spectre at the periphery of his mind. It refused to leave and that, too, weighed heavy on his heart. John's ardent devotion felt undeserved, and Roger felt guilty for accepting it all too readily, when there was a part of him could not quite believe that he could not feel for another what he had once felt for Freddie - what he still felt, deep down, he knew but dared not think it.

“Roger!”

All the more did he jump, whirling around in surprise, when it was Freddie's voice he heard calling him, just before he had reached the entrance of the hall. Dark locks blowing in the wintry wind, the other man was approaching him with a determined stride.

“Fred,” Roger greeted him, meeting his eyes when he came closer and stopped before him. Suddenly John was all Roger could think of, and the night and morning they had spent, his heart beating a little faster with trepidation as though he feared that Freddie might somehow divine what had happened. And so what? Was Roger not free to lay with whoever he pleased?

“Roger.” Freddie's voice was softer now, almost gentle.

“How's Brian?” Roger heard himself ask and the question seemed to put a distance between them that was both relief and a dull pang of mourning for things lost. Yes. They were free, not bound to each other in any way. Freddie dropped his gaze and nodded.

“He's better... he seems alright, thank goodness,” he replied, glancing up at Roger. “Will you… take a walk with me? I need to talk with you.”

A group of vikings walked past and extended a respectful greeting to their prince, and the man who had saved his life. Freddie inclined his head a little awkwardly, not yet used to the respect he was suddenly extended by the people in the settlement, while Roger responded in kind, before he turned back to Freddie.

“I'm starving," he said plainly.

Dark eyes implored him. “Roger, please.”

Roger propped his hands up on his hips and made sure no one was close by. “If you've come to tell me you won't leave without me…”

“You know that I won't,” Freddie cut in at once, taking a step closer. “None of us will.”

“Well then, you are fools,” Roger informed him bitterly, a frown between brows.

To his surprise, Freddie's lips switched into a small smile. “And this is news?”

Despite himself, Roger found himself smirking, too.

“Nothing has changed, then?” Freddie asked, a hint of shrewdness in his gaze and something else that Roger could not quite read. “Since last night? I mean,” he added quickly, casting a look around once more to see if anybody was in earshot. “You haven't thought better of your… plan?”

Heaving an exhausted sigh, Roger spread out his arms. “I don't know, Freddie! I don't see any other way, alright? This place, foreign as it is…” He cast a look around himself. “Part of me belongs here, can't you understand? I can't deny that. And I don't know what to do. None of you should have to suffer for my choices, I won't have that. So if there is anyone here with a better plan, then let them speak!”

Freddie opened his mouth and closed it again, and Roger scoffed.

“You see,” he muttered dejectedly.

“We will make a plan, together.” Freddie moved a little closer still, undeterred, until they stood chest to chest, his voice low. “Roger, I know you. I know how strong you are when you have to be, and how bloody stubborn, too. But tell me one thing.” Roger raised his eyebrows and Freddie continued. “Was it not together that we got by, all these years? How many times did we save each other, darl-" Freddie broke off, pulling his lips over his teeth, but held Roger's gaze. “How many times would we have been lost without each other? Remember... remember when we rescued Tootsie?”

Roger snorted, shaking his head. Freddie's words brought forth memories of a busy market, of laughing hysterically even as they rode off on the donkey they had just freed, villagers in pursuit. ”This is different.”

“Just promise me you won't do anything rash,” Freddie's eyes bored into him and his voice dropped to a near-whisper. “Roger, please... You're right. I left you.” Roger looked away, his jaw clenched. “I've made mistakes and it's too late to undo them. But I won't let you down again, so God help me, you have to believe me.”

“Alright,” Roger said curtly, for he could say no more, for feat that his voice might grow unsteady and betray him. It wasn't fair that after all this time, Freddie could still tread so close to him. He wanted to be angry, but could not muster it. “I promise I won't do anything rash,” he managed to get out, once he had swallowed past the lump in his throat and composed himself enough to look Freddie in the eye again, schooling his face into an impassive expression. “Now, like I said. I'm bloody starving.”

“Thank you,” Freddie breathed and lifted a hand to Roger's lower arm, giving it a light squeeze. Roger nodded, and turned to enter the hall.

Neither of them noticed the young man who had come to a halt on the other side of the courtyard, watching them with a slight frown, his long brown hair blowing in the wind. John brushed a strand out of his face, lingering where he stood a moment longer before he followed.

- - -

Chapter Text

The heated mead warmed him pleasantly from the inside as it ran down his throat. It left a sweet taste of honey in his mouth mixed with the bitterness of alcohol. It went perfectly well with his mood, John found himself thinking, wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his shirt as he set the drinking horn back down on the table.

He drummed his fingers against the rough wooden table, the skin still tender after his passionate fiddling, just half an hour ago. He glanced to the middle of the long table where the queen, Ulf and Roger were involved in a heated discussion. Or, the queen and Ulf were. Roger seemed more interested in talking to the pretty lass next to him, Ulf’s cousin's daughter.

It was a pretty girl, admittedly. Shining, fair hair. Round cheeks. Large doe-like eyes.

John did not like her at all.

It was not enough that she kept annoyingly close to Roger during the day, oh no, now the queen had given her the cherished spot right next to the young prince. If anyone deserved that place, it was John. He was Roger’s friend, his lover, not her.

John took another sip of his mead, cursing himself for being so grumpy. He understood why Roger had to keep talking to the cousin’s daughter, and to the other lasses they kept introducing to him.

It should not bother him. Roger spent every night with him, after all. And most important of all - John had been allowed to stay by his side.

Two weeks had passed since that fateful night, when Brian woke up and John confessed his feelings to Roger. Two beautiful, exciting, magical weeks, and Roger had not once spoken about sending them away. Now, John assumed, it may very well be too late. Winter was just around the corner, the wind turning meaner every day, frost covering the harried settlement each evening until late morning.

“It’s fantastic,” Brian, who sat on the other side of Freddie from John, said, “There’s books from all over the world, in languages I’ve never heard of!”

John could hear the smile in Freddie’s voice when he answered. “I know, dear. You’ve told me.”

“Sorry.” Brian looked a tad sheepish for all of two seconds, before he brightened in excitement. “Did I tell you about the researcher’s notebooks? The one who’s travelled over the oceans?”

John smiled into his mead. Brian’s joy was contagious. And it was still such a relief to see the tall man up and well again. For well he was, healthy and more full of energy than John had ever seen him. He spent his days wandering the island, most likely practicing his powers, and his nights in the queen’s library. Well. Library was probably not the right word for it.

A squeal of laughter distracted him from Brian’s passionate recital and he turned his attention back to Roger and the lass.

She was leaning on him now, her narrow shoulders and hefty bosom shaking with laughter.

John’s mood immediately darkened.

They looked good together, Roger and the lass. Both bright, both youthful. And beautiful. Beautiful in a way John would never be.

John was not beautiful. He was not overly intelligent either. Or charismatic. No, John, he was perfectly ordinary.

Something deep inside of him twisted uncomfortably.

Who was John to begrudge Roger the company of pretty lasses?

“Darling, if you keep biting your lip like that, you’re going to hurt yourself.”

John jumped in his chair and turned to Freddie. “Ah, it’s nothing, I…” He trailed off dumbly.

Freddie’s eyes flitted over to Roger briefly before returning to John. There was warmth in his gaze. Understanding. “Oh, John.” He opened his mouth to say something, then frowned, upper lip pulling down over his front teeth.

The light from the large fire in the middle of the room reflected in Freddie’s dark, beautiful eyes, making the deep brown sparkle. Beautiful Those damn beautiful eyes of his. So observant. Always finding their way back to John’s lover.

He stood up, abruptly. “I… need some air.” He muttered. “Haven’t checked on Tootsie today.”

“But you haven’t finished your food.” Brian leant forward, concerned.

“I’m full,” John lied. He managed a half smile at his friends before quickly making his way down the hall.

He could feel Freddie and Brian’s eyes burn into his back all the way to the door.

- - -

“Why did you leave?” Roger murmured, his breath brushing the sensitive skin on John’s neck.

John sighed and let his hands trail down the older man’s back. The mattress was soft beneath him. The room was warm, thanks to the merrily crackling fire. Roger was warm as well, mostly naked, and on top of him.

He should be very happy.

Sweet honey and bitter alcohol.

“John?”

“I don’t like seeing you with her.” He said, not seeing any point in hiding it.

“Ah.”

Roger lifted himself up a bit, meeting John’s eyes. He looked tired. “You know why, love. Brenna will have my head if I don’t at least try to act as if I’m interested.” He leant back down, lips brushing over John’s cheek, his jaw, his lips. “But you know I’m not.”

Did he know?

John tightened his grip on Roger’s waist. “Does she know the truth? The queen, I mean.”

“About what?” Roger’s teeth found his sensitive earlobe.

“Ab...Ah...About us. About you being with me.”

John cursed himself. Why couldn’t he just let it go? Why couldn’t he shut up? Wasn’t this, Roger here, with him, enough?

His lover paused. “I don’t know. Why does it matter?”

Because - he did not want to hide. He did not want to be the shameful secret. How long would they even be able to keep this up? Wouldn’t Roger have to marry a girl eventually? That was the natural thing to do, after all.

He grit his teeth. It was just his luck. When he finally found something, someone, that he wanted to hold on to and call his own, it had to be wrong, unnatural.

“Do you reckon we’ll end up in hell?”

Roger shook his head. “If you’re not in the mood you could have just said so.” He said, climbing off John, who immediately missed his weight and warmth.

“Sorry.” He got up to sit next to Roger. “But do you?”

Roger leant back against the headboard, restless hands reaching for his braid.

“The vikings,” he started, “my people, believe that hell is the place you go to if you die of old age. If you go in peace - calm, warm, surrounded by your loved ones, in your home - hell awaits you. To be granted access to heaven, or Valhalla, you must die fighting. You can fuck whoever you want as long as you murder, maim and burn.” He smiled at John, humourlessly. “Interesting, huh?”

John frowned. “That can’t be right. Surely not.”

Roger shrugged, fingers nimbly untying the leather band at the end of his hair. “Who is to judge what is right and what is not? What makes our God more likely to be real than theirs?”

“Because our God is kind, and just. He does not accept violence or murder.”

Roger, halfway through unravelling his braid, snorted. “And yet he condemns good men and women to hell, for the innocent act of loving.”

John said nothing for a moment. Instead he watched Roger shake out his curtain of gold and wrung his hands. “Do you believe in the viking Gods?”

“No.” Roger sighed, hand reaching for John’s, lacing their fingers together. “I do not. I do not know what I believe anymore. Truthfully, I am no longer certain I believe in any of it.”

The pad of Roger’s thumb was rough as he stroked it over John’s knuckles.

Roger didn’t believe in anything? John frowned, trying to make heads and tails of that statement. But then how… How did it all start? What was the point? And, at the end of things, where would he go?

Was there nothing?

The concept did not scare him as much as he thought it would. For surely nothing must be better than an eternity of hell fire, shame and torture? He shivered and his fingers tightened around Roger’s.

“I don’t want to believe in a higher power which dictates that this, that we are wrong.” Roger said. “And I don’t want to waste my life being ashamed, afraid, dreading what comes at the end.”

John’s chest ached, bright warmth spreading through his body and mind, chasing away the dark, the bitter and the anxious. Because Roger was light. He was hope, strength and courage. And John would not let pesky worries destroy what they had.

He released his lover’s hand to instead climb on top of him, straddling his bare thighs. “You’re right.” he whispered, brushing fair locks out of Roger’s face, before cupping his cheek. “I don’t want to waste my life, either. If a moment is all we have - let’s make the most of it.”

“Let’s.” Roger’s eyes shone with warmth, his lips quirking up in a smile before he grabbed John by the neck and pulled him in.

- - -

The stench wraps around him like a heavy cloak. Blood, human waste, rot. Burning flesh.

He is trapped.

He cannot get loose. He has to get loose.

His sword sinks through bodies, hacks at bones, severs flesh. So much flesh.

He must find them.

The sword is swallowed by the crawling wall of flesh and he desperately tries to claw through it with his nails, his teeth. He has to get out.

Where are they?

Blood, human waste, rot. Burning flesh.

The next second he is free of his meat prison, free of blood and waste and stench. The air is cold and clean. He can smell burning wood.

He looks up, up at the burning pyre. At the man standing on it.

No, he tries to shout, but he has no voice. The fire reaches the man and the stench is back.

Brian looks down at him, eyes full of tears. “You were too late.” He whispers, and then the flames swallow him.

Roger’s eyes shot open. He inhaled shakily, feeling his heart pounding in his throat. Although the air of the room was crisp and cold, his hair stuck to his neck and face with sweat.

He squeezed his eyes shut, panting with leftover adrenaline and terror.

Bloody hell.

Not again.

This was the third nightmare he’d woken up from this week. His nights had been haunted more often than not since the battle, no, before that, even. Since the night he’d burnt that man alive. Some nights he couldn’t find his friends, some nights they were dead. He’d relived Arne’s death countless times as well as Rune’s. It was quite some time since he’d dreamt about Brian on the pyre though...

John mumbled in his sleep and rolled around, wrapping himself around Roger’s frame.

Despite the still frenzied fluttering of his heart Roger smiled. He turned to place a kiss on the younger man’s brow and closed his eyes.

It was just a dream. A bad one, definitely. But he’d had worse.

You were too late

His eyes blinked open again and he found himself staring at the ceiling, shivering. He was too late, wasn’t he?

He’d not had the heart to send the others away, too weak, too selfish to let them go. No, instead he’d kept them by his side, telling himself that it would be alright. That he would come up with a plan. That they’d come up with a plan together, as Freddie had said. That there had to be a way to make this work, to stay with his newfound family and friends, without endangering them.

Oh, but he was such a fool. Stupid and naive. A child in a world of monsters.

Now it was too late to send them away on one of the ships. It would have to wait until spring. God only knew what horror and travesty could befall them before then.

And when spring came, would he be strong enough? Would he be able to part from John? John, who’d given him something to live for when all had seemed hopeless. He adored the younger man, took great comfort and pleasure by his company, his sweet smile and his inner strength.

Could he part from Brian and Freddie? Freddie’s face appeared in his mind, his eyes sad but determined. ’Was it not together that we got by, all these years?’

He groaned quietly, rubbing at his eyes. How was it possible to be a bloody prince and still have less power than what he’d had as a farmhand?

How he missed that life sometimes. The simplicity and freedom. The trust he used to have in himself and his own decisions. The trust he used to have in Freddie…

His chest felt suddenly unbearably tight and he sat up, finally giving up on sleep.

Carefully, he extracted himself from John, giving the peacefully slumbering man a longing look and stroked a hand down his side before he climbed out of bed.

Still trembling, he grabbed his fur cloak and wrapped it around himself, over his simple night shirt. The fire was dying in the hearth and he crouched down to add some fresh pieces of wood to it. He warmed his hands by the fire for a moment, before the smell and the sight of flames licking up the dry wood made him nauseous.

Swallowing deeply, he shook his head and got to his feet.

Suddenly, he knew just whom he needed to see. And he was pretty certain of where he could find them. He glanced at John one last time before slipping out of the room, closing the door carefully behind himself.

The packed dirt beneath his feet was oddly comforting as he made his way through the corridor, past Brenna and Ulf’s room. At the very end of the corridor there was one final door, leading to a room only the queen and a selected few others may enter.

It was a treasury, of some sort, keeping all Brenna’s favourite loot. There was gold and silver, jewels and rich, gorgeous fabric from far away lands. But most of the treasury was filled with books.

Knocking once on the door, Roger opened it and went inside.

Brian sat on the floor, in front of the hearth, surrounded by books and sheets of parchment. He looked up when Roger entered and lowered the book he was writing in to his lap.

“Roger?” He frowned. “Everything alright?”

Roger huffed in amusement. “Huh, Freddie was right. You do no longer sleep.”

“I do. Sometimes.” Brian watched him closely as Roger shut the door and came up to him. “Is something wrong?”

Sighing deeply Roger sank down on the exquisite, dark red rug, next to Brian. “I couldn’t sleep.” He admitted. “Nightmares.”

“I’m sorry.” Brian said, the concern in his voice genuine. His frown deepened as he took in Roger’s messy, tangled hair and harried face. “You look awful.”

“Thanks,” Roger tried for a jestful grin but one look at Brian’s worried eyes, eyes he’d just seen in his dream, quickly shut down his effort. “I…” He started, hesitating. What in all hell was he even doing here? At first he’d just wanted to see Brian, to be reminded that he was well again, not cold and pale, on the brink of death. To chase the gruesome dream of fire and flesh away. But now, he’d seen him. And he found himself unwilling to leave. He did not want to leave this warm, cozy room and go back outside, alone with his roaring thoughts.

“I need help.” He finally pushed out.

Brian nodded gently, encouraging him to continue.

“I don’t know what to do.” Roger started, feeling awkward and stupid. As if Brian needed more reasons to look down on him. “I can’t sleep because I keep having nightmares about losing John, Freddie and you. Because I didn’t get you to safety while I still had the chance. And now it’s too late.” His throat felt thick and he swallowed. “It’s too late for you to leave the island and I don’t know how to keep you safe.”

“Roger…” Brian tried but Roger cut him off.

“I couldn’t keep you safe last time! I failed. No, don’t you argue with me, Brian, I almost bloody killed you myself, didn’t I?”

It was suddenly easy, too easy, to just let all the anxiety, all shame and fear he’d kept bottled up, spill out in an ugly mess.

“All of you,” he shivered, wrapping his fur tighter around himself, “I almost lost all of you. Next time, I might. I don’t…”

Eyes blank with unshed tears, he lifted his head and met Brian’s gaze. “I don’t want to be responsible for your deaths.” He took a shuddering breath. “I can’t bear the thought of it.”

The first tear escaped his lashes and trailed down his cheek. He wiped it off roughly, ashamed. “John thinks I know what I’m doing, he believes in me. But it’s just an act. All is an act! I don’t know a bloody thing. And I’m so tired of pretending. Brian, I’m so sorry, I…”

He didn’t know what to say next but it didn't matter, because the next second long arms wrapped around him and pulled him close.

Roger returned the hug like a drowning man, clinging to his friend like his life depended on it. His hands clasped the rough fabric of Brian’s shirt so hard he almost tore it.

“Breathe.” Brian said, voice calm and kind. “In and out, Rog. That’s it.”

Roger breathed. He breathed and hid away in the crook of Brian’s neck, just listening to his voice and feeling his heart beat steadily. Brian smelled faintly of tea leaves, Roger noted. Tea leaves and fresh morning dew.

Belatedly he realized one of Brian’s hands had travelled from his back up to his face. The skin of his cheek tingled where Brian’s fingers touched. Wait.

“Are you trying to heal me?” Roger asked, incredulously.

Immediately, Brian pulled away, cheeks rosy. “Um, I, that is…”

“Bloody hell, you actually were!” He couldn’t help the grin spreading over his face as Brian refused to meet his gaze. “How precious. Were you trying to magic the sadness away? Save me from my woes?”

“Well, you don’t have to be a bastard about it!” Brian huffed, blush deepening. “I didn’t expect it to work, it wasn’t a conscious decision but I…”

“It did work.” Still grinning, Roger put a hand on Brian’s wrist and squeezed gently. “Thank you.”

Brian grumbled something inaudible and Roger let out a huff of laughter.

“You do know that you’re not alone in all this, right?” Brian asked him after a while.

“I do.”

“Do you? Really?” Brian eyed him sceptically. “Because it does not seem that way. Ever since we got here you’ve isolated yourself from us. I know you think you’re protecting us. But shutting us out and trying to take care of everything on your own, is not protecting any of us. And it’s breaking you.”

“Noted.” Roger smiled wryly. “So what do you suggest, then?”

Brian crossed his long legs under himself and turned to face Roger. “Look,” he said, and held his palm out. The next second a blooming flower sprouted into existence from nowhere.

Roger stared at it in awe, reaching out carefully to pet the silk smooth petals. While this was far from the most extreme thing he’d seen Brian do with his magic, it was somehow the most impressive.

“I can create life in the dead of winter. I can raise the oceans, command fire and heal mortal wounds.”

“Mmhm,” Roger muttered, taking the flower from Brian, spinning the thin stem carefully between thumb and forefinger. “And you’re also very modest.”

Brian rolled his eyes. “The point is, that I am not helpless. Far from it. You fear the queen will use me as a weapon, that I will be forced to do things I do not want.”

Suddenly the room went pitch black as the fire in the hearth disappeared. Roger jumped, letting out a surprised gasp.

“But do you really think she has power over me?”

Brian’s voice was a deep rumble all around him and Roger dropped the flower, peering out in the darkness gingerly.

The next moment the room was illuminated again, as the fire returned to the hearth from wherever Brian had sent it.

“Are you trying to help me or frighten me?” Roger accused the magician, who was still sitting cross legged in front of him.

“Maybe a bit of both.” Brian admitted, grinning. “But seriously. While I do know how this sounds, coming from me, I think you worry too much. And most likely for naught.”

Roger stared at him, mouth agape.

“Just listen,” Brian chuckled, “if you want to stay here, we will too. That’s all there is to it. John and Freddie would rather die than leave you behind. And,” he added, serious now, “so would I. After all things that have come to pass, I do think we belong together, all of us. Will the vikings try to take advantage of my powers? Most likely. But I am not who I was, I’m different. If they want my help, they will receive it. But only in ways I’m willing.”

Frowning, Roger chewed at his lip. It all seemed a bit too easy to his ears. “And what about John and Fred? They will be in danger.”

“Between you, the heir to the kingdom, and me, an awakening magician, I do believe we can keep them safe.”

Roger took a deep breath, pondering. While Brian had soothed many of his worries, many still remained. “Alright.” He said, “But, if we all choose to stay here, you must promise me something.”

Brian’s hazel eyes were calm and sure, as if he already knew what Roger would ask of him.

“If something happens with the vikings, if any of you are in danger, promise me you will protect the others. And that you’ll get them out of here, safe. Even if that means leaving me behind to my own fate, you must go.” He met Brian’s gaze steadily, jaw set in determination. “Swear it.”

“I swear it.”

“Good.” Roger exhaled heavily.

“But it won’t come to that.”

Roger laughed, feeling lighter and more at peace than he had in ages. “Well I bloody well hope not.” He stretched his legs out in front of the warming fire and yawned.

Brian was right. He wasn’t alone. He had a real, actual magician on his side.

“You keep saving me.” He smiled, eyes fixed on the dancing flames even as he felt Brian’s gaze drilling into the side of his face.

“So do you.” The other man replied easily. “Save me, I mean.”

Roger opened his mouth to protest but Brian shook his head, holding one hand up. “No, you do. And besides, we are friends, and friends help each other.” Brian’s voice trailed off, uncertain. “I… I owe it to you, after what I’ve done.”

Suspecting where Brian was going with this, Roger stubbornly kept his gaze on the flames, trying to keep from tensing up.

“I am so sorry.” Brian said, voice a whisper. “For betraying your trust and going behind your back. It’s just… I love him. I do. More than I could ever put into words.”

“I know.” Roger said, tired now. So do I.

“But it wasn’t right, the way I went about it. For that, you have my deepest apologies.”

Roger finally glanced over at the other man and found Brian with his head bent low, long fingers nervously plucking at the rug.

“Thank you.” Roger said, and found that he actually meant it. For Brian’s words had soothed a tiny piece of the anger, the hurt, he still kept locked up deep inside.

They sat in silence for a moment, until Brian picked his book and quill back up. Roger, who’d been enjoying the warmth on his skin, as well as the bone-deep exhaustion slowly spreading through his body, looked up, curious.

Brian’s dark curls fell into his face, and he brushed them away with an impatient hand, the other busy scribbling something in his book. His expression was open and eager, eyes shining as he kept writing.

Roger followed the movement of his hand, captivated by the way his elegant fingers gently cradled the quill and the small, dark markings left in its trail.

Without meaning to, he found himself leaning closer. “Can you show me?”

“Hmm?”

“How to write.”

The scratching of quill against parchment stopped as Brian looked up at him, a slight crease between his eyebrows. “Sure?” He said, somewhat befuddled by Roger’s request. “Is there a certain word you’d like to start with?”

Roger thought for a moment, before a wide grin spread over his face.

“Tootsie.”

- - -

Brian

“Brian!”

Brian awoke to soft palms cradling his face and a lovely, familiar scent. Freddie.

Smiling, he opened his eyes and took in his lover, who was kneeling next to him on the rug, bent over his body.

“There you are,” Freddie smiled, a hint of teeth peeking through. “Have you been here all night? You weren’t there when I woke up this morning.” He glanced past Brian, at Roger, who was still asleep, and back again. “What were you up to?”

“I was reading.” Brian yawned and stretched out his cramped limbs, slowly sitting up. “He wanted company.”

He turned to his friend, snorting at the sight of him. Roger was curled up in a ball right next to the hearth. Brian could see nothing of his face, only fur and long, tangled hair. He looked like some kind of furry monster. A softly snoring furry monster.

“What time is it?” He pulled Freddie closer and placed a gentle kiss on his lips.

Freddie kissed him back, briefly and then helped him to his feet. “Late morning. The whole settlement is up and about. Ulf was asking after Roger.”

“Let him sleep.” Brian yawned again before spotting his notebook on the floor. He bent to get it, and smiled when he saw Tootsie written in large, messy letters on the open page. “He needs it.”

“Is he alright?”

“He will be.”

Freddie just hummed, gazing at Roger. His eyes were so painfully soft Brian felt his heart give a sharp twinge.

He looked away, clearing his throat as he pocketed his notebook. It was a clear, beautiful day outside. He could feel it. After his unplanned nap he felt energised and ready to get out and enjoy the world.

“I’m going for some late breakfast, then outside. Do you want to come?”

Freddie shook his head, an odd, pinched expression on his face as he turned back to Brian. “You go on, darling. I have something I have to do.” He reached up to place another kiss on Brian’s lips, fingers stroking his jaw. “Maybe ask John?” He suggested quietly. “He seemed down last night.”

While Freddie’s behaviour was a bit off, Brian was in a great mood and had neither the time nor desire to question it. “Alright,” he said and made his way to the door, Freddie following him. “I’ll see you later!”

- - -

An hour later Brian was outside, walking over cliffs dramatically plunging down into the ocean. John hadn’t been able to come, he’d been busy with sword practice. But Brian was still in a perfectly good mood.

The wind was strong and ripping at his hair, the waves roared and crashed into the rocks, icy cold sea spray wetting his face. Here, he really was one with the powers of nature.

Since he woke up from… the other place, he had been different. He felt like he was brimming with energy and power, all the time, the magic filling him, lifting him, guiding him. He did not have to sleep as much, no, a couple of hours every second night seemed to keep him sustained.

He felt more. Now, as he walked, he could feel the incomprehensible age of the rock, the unfathomable depth and power of the ocean, the long journey of the wind. He could feel how winter was creeping closer every second and how the forests of the island prepared for their long slumber.

It was exhilarating.

And his power, or rather his control of it, was only growing.

Perhaps he should have been terrified, frightened by the rapid change that had befallen him under such a short time. But he was not. No, he felt more at peace than he could ever remember feeling. This was who he was always supposed to become, after all.

His mother’s kind face flashed before his eyes. It was such relief, such a gift, to finally be able to remember her. All of her. Her strength, her good heart and warm embrace. But he also remembered the deep melancholy residing in her and her tears as she sealed Brian’s memories and magic.

’I’m always watching over you’

He had lost her, too early, in the most cruel and unjust way. He had lost Albus, because of his own mistakes. But he was never alone for they still lived on inside him. They lived in the wind, tussling his hair, in the powerful ocean, in the age-old rock and the lichen crawling over it.

For all was connected, the past, the present and the future, in the great powers of nature.

Having walked for well over half an hour, Brian soon spotted a somewhat sheltered cove, nestled in between jagged, sharp rocks. Pleasantly surprised he made his way towards it. The cove would make an excellent spot for him to practice his abilities.

He needed to work on his control of water. For some reason he struggled with that kind of magic more than most others he had tried. While he had been able to summon a great flood wave during the battle at the settlement, he had been hard pressed, full of adrenaline and had barely known what he’d been doing. Not to mention that it had drained him awfully.

As he neared the small, stone beach he immediately noticed that something was amiss. Torn planks and shredded pieces of sail cloth littered the cove.

Dread rising inside of him, he carefully made his way over the beach, finding more pieces of a wrecked ship.

Then, the wind changed direction, throwing his hair into his eyes. Goosebumps spread over his skin, his magic calling out to him as he brushed his hair aside.

He saw them then. Half submerged, white fabric writhing around them like evil wraiths.

A person had been washed up from the shipwreck.

- - -

Freddie took a steadying breath, nocked and pulled the arrow back. The strain in his arms and shoulders from pulling the bow string was horrendous, and he gritted his teeth, arms trembling.

The heavy viking bow felt strange and wrong in his hands and his cheeks heated in embarrassment when he remembered how Ulf had laughed at him when he’d asked to borrow it.

“Focus,” he hissed at himself, staring hard at the tree trunk a couple of meters in front of him.

Let them laugh, he would show them.

He took careful aim and released the arrow.

The arrow jumped pathetically from the bow string and fell in front of his feet. Freddie lowered the bow and glared at it for a moment, before bending to grab it again with a deep sigh.

“Oh, dear.”

Chapter Text

Experiencing a strong sense of deja vu, Brian hurried out into the cove. Freezing water licked over his shins and soon reached well past his knees as he moved towards the body, but he barely felt it.

How long had it been since he’d found Roger like this, half drowned and deathly pale? Two months? More? It felt like a lifetime ago.

Determined to at least try to save this unfortunate soul, Brian pushed through the strong waves and finally reached the body.

It was a young woman, he noted, as he picked her up in his arms and awkwardly waded back towards the beach.

As soon as he got back up on dry land Brian carefully laid the woman down and crouched down next to her. A quick glance told her that she wasn’t breathing, and her blue-tinted lips hinted of probable hypothermia. But, she wasn’t dead. Not yet. Brian could feel her energy.

Placing both hands on her chest he closed his eyes and quickly located the water filling her lungs. It was starting to come easy to him now, manipulating dying bodies, and wasn’t that a horrifying thought. Still, horrifying or not, his experience was this girl’s salvation.

As easy as pulling a weed from the dirt, Brian coaxed the water up and out, and suddenly the girl was convulsing, spewing water in all directions, choking on it. Brian kept his hands on her, drawing out the last of the treacherous fluid as he talked quietly, trying to comfort her. He also took the opportunity to push some warmth into her frozen body, focusing on her blood and trusting it to warm the rest of her organs up in due time. He had a feeling he’d have to be careful about it, so as not to shock the body.

As the last of the seawater dribbled down the woman’s lips and she coughed and hacked violently, Brian sat back and watched her. She was young. A couple of years younger than himself, most likely. Her soaked white dress clung to her thin, shaking frame and her dark hair was cropped short. Odd, for a woman.

Still, with her pale skin and large, brown eyes, she was very pretty.

And, more importantly, she was alive. Brian congratulated himself on a well executed healing - hell, he barely felt faint - and smiled at the girl.

“Are you alright?” He tried, not knowing if she would understand him, and the woman’s dark eyes flashed to him, as if first now registering his presence.

She threw herself back, putting distance between the two of them, and conjured a knife from god knows where. This she pointed at Brian, eyes narrowed as she still panted heavily for breath.

Brian held his hands up, still smiling. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

She continued to stare at him, suspicious.

“Can you understand me?” Brian tried again, and was relieved when the woman nodded slowly. “Great. Wait, don’t attack, I’ll just remove this, alright?” He motioned to the fur still barely hanging onto his upper body, before slowly pulling it off and handing it over to the woman.

She didn’t take it.

“Here, take it.” He urged. “Or you’ll get sick from the cold.” He was quite chilled himself, his entire lower body soaked with cold water, but he’d be fine. “Please.”

Still holding her knife tightly in one, shaking hand, she grabbed the fur and quickly pulled it around herself.

Brian, having put his hands up again, nodded encouragingly. “That’s better, right?”

She gave a stiff nod. Then she lowered the knife, still guarded but a bit calmer. “Where am I?”

“The Isle of Mann.”

Her face darkened. “More vikings…” She studied him for another moment. “You speak my language. Are you a slave?”

“Not exactly.” Brian answered, “Although my friends and I were taken here against our will.”

She scoffed. “Of course you were. What’s your name?”

“Brian. What’s yours?”

She sheathed the knife to a strap around her leg hidden beneath the hem of her dress. “Thank you for saving my life, Brian. I am Wendelin, a former slave of the viking king of the Northern Isles.”

- - -

The arrow wobbled miserably through the air and landed right at the bottom of the tree trunk. It didn’t even have enough force behind it to pierce the dirt, instead falling flat on its side.

Freddie clutched the godforsaken bow hard in hand, wanting nothing more than to throw it at the tree. Only the fear of Ulf’s repercussions stayed his hand.

“Damn it.” He hissed through gritted teeth. “Damn it!”

He’d practiced for hours, trying and trying and trying. And he was barely any better than when he started.

It was cold. Really cold. His breath danced around him like mist in the early winter air.

It was cold. The bow and arrow was a joke. He was a joke.

Who did he think he was? A warrior? Really?

No, no he was not a warrior. He was barely a man at all. He was naught but a fool.

Crestfallen, achy and tired, he went to retrieve the arrow.

He was done for the day.

So filled up with frustration and resentment at himself, he didn’t hear the approaching footsteps before it was too late.

“Freddie? What are you doing here?”

Freddie froze where he was bending down to pick up the arrow.

John.

He hadn’t wanted anyone to find out about his little secret training, not yet. But, there was nothing for it. It was too late to try and hide the bow. He’d just have to expose himself as a hopeless fool to John.

At least it wasn’t Brian, or, god forbid, Roger.

“You caught me.” He said, quickly snatching up the arrow and turning to face John, an attempt at a smile on his face.

John squinted at him, his own sword hanging in its sheath at his waist. “Are you… shooting?”

“If you can call it that.” Freddie chuckled stiffly and held the bow out. “Ridiculous, right? I had the splendid idea that since I'd better avoid the sword, the bow might be a more fitting alternative.” He lowered his gaze to the moss, worrying at his lip. “It wasn’t.”

A branch groaned when John stepped on it as he walked over. “When did you start training?”

“This morning.” Freddie admitted. There was a large beetle scurrying just past his boot. The poor thing must be terribly cold, Freddie thought absentmindedly. “I wanted to be able to hold my own, to protect myself. Not just be dependent on Brian or Roger to do it. I wanted to be strong, to be brave, for once.” He shook his head, tired, humiliated and confused as to why he was telling John all this. It felt good, though, to just let the disappointment in himself flow. “I have no idea why I thought I’d be able to pull it off. I am who I am.” A mistake of a man.

The beetle disappeared under a brown leaf and Freddie finally looked up to meet John’s eyes.

“Go ahead,” he gave a wry smile, “you can laugh.”

John didn’t laugh.

Instead, he tilted his head, his green-grey eyes moving from the heavy viking bow, to the tree, to Freddie. “You said you started this morning?”

Freddie nodded, eyes returning to the ground.

“Oh, well, then I guess there’s just no chance for you.” John said, drily.

Surprised, Freddie looked back up. The younger man had his arms crossed over his chest, looking… annoyed?

“It hasn’t been a bloody day, Freddie.” He said, taking a step forward and uncrossing his arms to poke Freddie in the chest. “Do you know how many days I’ve practiced with the sword? Do you know how many times Roger has landed me on my ass? In the mud?”

Freddie took a nervous step back, not sure what he’d done to upset the younger man. “I’m sorry?”

John ignored his apology. “Yeah, I could laugh, I could laugh at you believing yourself bad at something, after barely even having tried! Without an instructor, to boot. You really thought it would be that easy to get good?” He shook his head, stepping back.

“It won’t happen in a day. It won’t happen in a week. Well,” he frowned. “At least it didn’t for me. Hell, I’m still awful. And I want to be my own man too, to be able to protect the ones I care about. But I’m just not catching up. No one counts on me and why should they? Roger doesn’t even really talk to me, about his problems, his worries, because he doesn’t think he can.” He drew a shaky breath. “He thinks I'm weak. And he’s right.”

“No.” The word sprung from Freddie’s lips before he had time to figure out what to say next. Because this wasn’t acceptable. This was not supposed to be about John being weak, this was about Freddie’s failures. “You can’t come here and tell me that I am being unreasonable, just to be unreasonable yourself.” He grabbed the younger man’s shoulder with his free hand and stared at him, hard. “You are not weak. You are brave. As brave as Roger and Brian, if not more. And you have a beautiful heart.”

John stared at him, wide-eyed.

“That’s what matters the most.” Freddie continued. “Not how good you are with the sword. That is not what makes a man strong. This is.” And he pressed his knuckles against John’s chest.

The younger man gave a sniff and took a step back. “I… Thanks. And I’m sorry for whining. It’s just been eating at me, not measuring up to the rest of you.” He muttered.

“But you do.” Freddie sighed. “You have, since the beginning.” He thought back on the long, awful weeks they’d experienced since meeting John and furrowed his brows. “Actually, I’m pretty sure we wouldn’t all be alive, most certainly not still together, if it wasn’t for you.”

And John was what had kept Roger from falling into darkness, it was him who’d calmed the anger, soothed the hurt. The anger and hurt Freddie had created.

“I don’t… you’re just being kind because I’m acting pathetic.” John tucked a loose strand of hair behind his ear, a slight blush on his face. “But still, thank you. I needed to hear that.”

Freddie clucked his tongue at him. “I’m not being kind, I’m being honest. And,” he continued, desperately wanting the younger man to feel better about himself, “try not to worry too much about Roger not talking to you. He never does. He thinks everything is on him, all the time, and doesn’t want to burden us poor mortals with his woes.” He rolled his eyes. “I’m certain he doesn’t think you a lesser man.”

Talk to him about it. Is what Freddie almost said next, what he should have said. But he just couldn’t do it. It hurt too much. He was already helping John with his relationship. His relationship with one of the men Freddie loved.

He wasn’t strong, or good, enough to give more.

John nodded slowly, looking sheepish. “Right. You’re probably right about that.” He sighed heavily. “I’m sorry for barging in on your practice and shouting at you. If anyone's acting the fool, it's me.”

“Well, maybe I, too, was a bit too dramatic.”

“How unusual.” John grinned and Freddie mock glared at him and swatted at him with the arrow.

Laughing, John jumped back. “Easy with that!” His eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled widely at Freddie. “You do know that you’re brave too, right?”

Freddie gave an unattractive snort. “Oh, come now, darling.”

“No, you can come now. Do you even know how many amazing things you’ve done? Remember when you got on that horse to go after Roger? You didn’t even know how to ride!”

To save Roger.

“You came back to the camp, when we were outnumbered and in peril.”

Also, to save Roger.

“And you took a bloody arrow to the neck, to save Roger.”

Freddie was beginning to see a pattern here… He rolled his tongue over his teeth, half amused, half ashamed. He was a selectively brave man.

But John wasn’t done yet. “To me, you’ve been brave, all along. Because you’ve dared to be yourself, even… even if you’re maybe not the most, um, traditional man, or the most masculine. You’re just yourself. And you love freely, who you want, even when that love is frowned upon.” He smiled shyly. “I think that’s what I admire about you the most.”

Freddie’s heart ached. John couldn’t possibly mean all that, could he? But he looked so open, so honest. And the younger man was all but incapable of lying.

Expertly blinking away incoming tears, Freddie grabbed John’s arm. “Talk to Roger. Tell him that he’s making you feel as if he can’t depend on you.”

He’s lucky to have you.

And not me.

John took his hand and squeezed it. “I will. And you have to keep practicing with the bow. I’m sure you’ll get the hang of it.” He grinned. “But maybe try to get someone to teach you. There’s that red-headed one, Sune.”

Going up to a viking and with only lacking vocabulary and gestures try to ask for lessons, did not sound like a fun experience to Freddie. But, if he wanted to learn, he’d need help. He nodded. “Just, please don’t tell Brian or Roger? Not before I find someone who can teach me. I don’t want them to pity me.”

“I’m sure they wouldn’t. But I won’t tell.”

Then, John’s stomach growled, impressively loud.

The young man immediately clutched his midriff, looking embarrassed. “I… eh, haven’t had lunch, yet.”

“Me neither.” Freddie laughed. “Let’s get some. I just need to find a good place to hide my bow first.”

- - -

“Do you know where Roger is? We could ask him to join us for lunch. Brian is probably still out.” Freddie said, as they walked through the village. The vikings, under the direction of Roger, had done an amazing job cleaning the place up, but there were still many scars from the battle. Charred remains of huts, or half burned down ones. Fewer people.

John shook his head. “He’s visiting a neighboring village today.”

“Why?” Freddie asked, curious.

“Don’t know.” John shrugged. “He didn’t say.” They passed the smithy, and the large man by the forge grinned and waved at them. They waved back.

It was odd to suddenly be kept in such high regard - but they were all war heroes, in the vikings eyes. Even John.

“He left early,” John continued, “before I even woke up.” And Roger hadn’t woken him to say goodbye.

“Oh,” Freddie said. “He didn’t leave early. I saw him this morning. In the treasury.”

John turned to Freddie, eyebrows raised. “What was he doing there? Isn’t that where Brian likes to spend his time?”

Freddie looked as confused as John felt. “Eh. He was sleeping. Brian said he’d wanted company.”

Before John could make heads or tails of that statement, they came upon a gathering of men and women, waiting outside the doors of the great hall.

“What’s going on?” Freddie muttered to John, who frowned, immediately worried that something had happened.

“Tryllekunstneren har reddet en slave fra de nordlige øyene." A red-cheeked woman right in front of them said to her friend.

While he didn’t understand most of the words John knew that Tryllekunstneren was Brian.

“Brian.” Freddie said, eyes wide.

“They seem curious, not scared. It’s probably fine.” John said, trying not to let his worry show.

The people let them pass and the guard at the door, the red-headed Sune, let them in without a word.

As soon as they stepped inside, they heard raised voices from the dining hall. Exchanging a quick look they hurried towards the hall.

John reached the room, followed by Freddie and took in the scene with confusion.

Brenna and Ulf sat by one of the long tables, apparently having been in the middle of eating, as there were two half finished plates of food in front of them. In front of them stood Brian, and by his side, a girl, dressed in an oddly familiar oversized grey tunic.

Freddie peered at the tunic closely and John realized it was Brian’s.

“I am no spy!” The girl repeated, in English, to John’s surprise.

“Why should I believe you?”

Brian sighed and turned to give Freddie and John a quick smile.

“Because I almost drowned! You really think I’d be such a fool spy I’d leave right on the cusp of winter, alone on a small boat, risking my life?”

Brenna didn’t look impressed. “Well, you did commandeer a small boat on your own, right on the cusp of winter, and almost died - so yes, a fool you appear to be.”

“You know nothing, viking queen.” The girl spat out. “I had to go. I’d rather die than stay at his side for any longer.”

“Mmhm.” Brenna rapped her fingers over the wooden table. Ulf took a bite of his mutton, chewing contently as he watched his queen. “A slave. To the king himself. Who just happened to wash up on our island…”

The girl muffled a swear, and then, quick as a snake, lifted the tunic and pulled it above her chest.

Ulf choked on his meat, Brian startled and John’s cheeks became very warm all of a sudden.

“Look.” The girl said, but John stubbornly stared down at the dirt floor, face blazing. He was not in any way prepared to see a pretty lass’s chest right in the bright light of day.

“You see? See what he’s done to me?”

Now, John did look, disturbed and worried by the coldness in the girls’ voice. What he saw made him wince. Right between the girl’s breasts sat a terrible burn mark, shaped like a double-edged axe.

“If you know anything about the king of the northern isles, queen Brenna of the Isle of Mann, you think that he would send a woman as a spy? Look me in the eye and say he’d ever trust a woman to do anything more than spread her legs.”

“Enough.” Brenna said, voice sharp. “Cover yourself up, girl.”

The girl shrugged and let the tunic fall back over her thin frame. Brenna turned to Brian. “What do you think?”

Brian stepped forward, eyes full of sorrow. “She is telling the truth. I can sense no falseness in her.”

“Fine.” Brenna nodded. “Then, this is an opportunity. Tell us all you know about the king and his kingdom.”

The girl glared at her. “Why? What do I get?”

“To keep your head.”

“Most kind, thank you.” The girl smiled ironically. “I’d also like to go back home, to the mainland. When the weather allows. I haven’t been home in ten years…”

Brenna stared at her. “That depends on what information you have to offer. Now speak.”

“Oh, do I have information.” The girl grinned, casually moving forward to sit down next to Brenna and reaching for a horn of mead. “The kingdom of the Northern Isles has had a couple of rough years. The king’s second and favorite son died in a skirmish three years ago, and early this spring his first son died of sickness.” She took a large swallow of mead and sighed in pleasure. “The king is getting old, old and slow and senile, and has no heirs left.”

Eerily similar to a large cat, Brenna slowly leaned closer to the girl, eyes piercing. “No heirs? Are you certain?”

“Yes.” The girl grimaced and put a dainty hand on her stomach. “I ate the purple flower, twice, to make sure.”

“Continue.”

After another sip of mead, the girl did. “The kingdom was in complete disarray. There’s several different factions wanting the crown for themselves. Desperate, the king formed an alliance with a man from this island.”

“Frode!” Ulf roared, slamming his fist on the table. “That traitor!”.

“This man would take down the kingdom of Mann from the inside, take the rule from the queen and then support and protect the king of the Northern Isles from his own people. The king sent men to Frode’s aid, so certain was he of their alliance.” She stole a potato from the bowl in front of Brenna and took a big bite. “But then - nothing. The attack was supposed to take place weeks ago, but none of the men returned with news. The king had no choice but to send a spy, a merchant, to this island.”

Brenna watched the girl with great interest, and pushed the bowl of potatoes closer. The girl grabbed a second one.

“The spy returned, a week ago, with the most terrible news.” The girl said happily. “The queen had a new heir! And not just any heir, but a half god, the son of the goddess Freja herself.”

John blinked, twice. Huh?

“What?” Freddie muttered, next to him.

Ulf started laughing.

“He appeared out of nowhere - small in size, having never held a sword, otherworldly beautiful like the goddess herself. But in the battle he slayed 50 men.”

“50?” Ulf laughed so hard he almost fell off the bench. “Try 15!”

15? John blanched. Roger had killed 15 men during the battle? He exchanged a horrified look with Freddie. And what was all this crazy talk of half gods?

“But he killed Frode, did he not?” The girl asked, reaching for another potato.

“That he did.” Brenna said, elbowing Ulf, who was still guffawing next to her, in the side. “But Rothgar is not of Freja - the goddess of fertility,”

“And war,” Ulf added, rubbing his side.

Brenna rolled her eyes. “And love, and beauty - it is of no importance. Because he’s my sister’s son. My older sister Freja whom your king betrayed and slaughtered, twenty years ago.” Her blue eyes were cold with fury as she looked at the slave girl. “Does not that swine remember the name of the young girl whose life he cut short?”

“No.” The girl shook her head. “He’s growing senile, remember? And I doubt he’d care, either way.” She frowned. “So you’re telling me the stories our spy took back were untrue? There’s no half god? Just some nephew who got lucky?”

Brenna shook her head. “No half god. But I am most pleased Rothgar has put fear into the heart of the man.”

“Then the stories of the magician are false too, I suppose? A tall, mysterious stranger with the power to raise the oceans and heal the already dead?” She sighed. “What a disappointment.”

“Not exactly.” Brenna let slip a tiny smile and nodded towards Brian, who gave a sheepish smile and wave.

The girl stared at him, her mouth falling open. “I did wonder how on earth I’m still alive! What the…” Her half eaten potato slipped out of her grasp and landed on the dirt floor with a dull thud.

- - -

Brian added another log to the fire and stretched his stiff back, watching the flames lick and spread over dry wood. He felt… restless. As if there was something buzzing beneath his skin, knocking in his skull. It felt as if there was a thought far inside, which he couldn't reach. And this frustrated him to no end.

The camp had been in somewhat of a tizzy since Wendelin showed up. Brenna was quite obviously already making plans for after the winter, plans that Brian most likely would not approve of.

It didn't make him feel better that his control over water wasn't improving as fast as he'd like.

Since he’d found Wendelin, almost a week ago now, he’d kept practicing at the cove. One could, if feeling generous, say he’d improved marginally.

Why was water so elusive when fire followed his every whim? Honestly, given his personality, he should be better at water, should he not? It would fit him better.

A soft knock at the door interrupted his musings and he turned from the fire just as Roger stepped inside. The heir of the kingdom was in his nightshirt, with his fur cape wrapped around himself and his long hair undone.

“Hi,” Brian said.

Roger gave him a tired smile, a nod, and went to sit down next to Brian in front of the hearth. The younger man seemed half asleep as he reached for the notebook and quill Brian had given him, continuing to practice his writing. This was the fourth time he’d joined Brian in the treasury, during the early hours of the morning. Last night, he hadn’t come, and Brian had been surprised to find himself missing his company. Most likely, Roger’d had a good night’s sleep, for once, without nightmares, which was something he direly needed.

It was peculiar, that he came to Brian when he couldn’t sleep. And even more peculiar that he slept so calmly in his company. For Roger kept falling asleep after their writing sessions, curling up on the luxurious rug in front of the fire and fleeing the waking world. Brian didn’t mind though. No, to be perfectly honest, he enjoyed Roger being there, awake or asleep.

And he was making steady progress with his writing. After having mastered writing Tootsie Roger had asked to learn Albus next. This had almost brought a tear to Brian's eye. Now, Roger was working on their names. He’d already learnt John’s and his own name, and was now working on Brian’s.

Brian glanced at Roger and found him concentrating hard while copying the letters Brian had written at the top of one page, frowning.

Hiding a smile, the magician left his friend to his writing and returned to making his own notes in his worn book. The soft scratch of quill against paper coupled with the crackling fire lent the room a homely atmosphere and Brian sighed in satisfaction, feeling some of the restlessness leave.

Finally, he could focus again.

Lately, he’d been pondering the effect physical contact seemed to have on his magic output. He vaguely remembered John’s embrace, the embrace which most likely had saved his life while he was saving Brenna’s. He also had his mother’s words in mind.

Keep those you love close, they will fill your heart with light and keep the darkness away.

Of course, she could just have meant that he should surround himself with the people he love, to lead a better life, but what if there was a more literal meaning to the words?

Magic was energy, that much was obvious. And if he used a lot of magic, expended a lot of energy, then naturally he needed to replenish. When he used his powers to heal, he needed to touch the one in need, pouring his energy into that person. Might it also work in the other direction? What if he also could take energy from others, to either replenish his reserves faster, or increase his magic output?

It was a thrilling idea.

Putting his notebook to the side, ideas and questions scrawled all over the pages, he held out his hand and created a small flame.

He had to try it.

“Rog?”

The scratching stopped.

“Yeah?”

“Can you take hold of my hand?”

Careful to keep pouring a steady stream of magic into the flame he extended his other hand towards his friend.

There was an awkward moment of silence.

“Erm. Why?”

“Just do it.” Brian urged him, keeping his eyes on the flame as he focused hard on keeping it level.

Roger grunted, shuffling closer. The next moment warm, rough fingers wrapped around Brian’s own colder ones.

And… yes! It was barely noticeable, but the flame increased a tiny bit in size. Brian stared at it, heart pounding in excitement. He thought there was something different about the fire, too, a slight change in the feel of it, the colour of it. But perhaps he was just making it up. Maybe he’d increased his own output by accident.

He had to make sure.

“Hug me.”

“Are you feeling alright? You’re awfully demanding…”

Nevertheless Roger let go of his hand and hesitantly wrapped his arms around Brian, pulling him to his chest.

There was a burst of light as the flame expanded to twice its former size.

“Yes!” Brian hissed, almost shaking with exhilaration.

“What,” Roger started, starting to pull away.

Brian immediately shook his head no, wrapping his free arm around Roger’s middle. “Wait. Look!”

Roger turned his head back to look at Brian’s flame. “Yes?”

“Can’t you see?” Brian asked. “It’s stronger. You made it stronger!”

“Really?” Roger asked slowly. “Like what John did when, well, you know?”

Brian nodded distractedly, peering into the flame as it danced in his hand. It wasn’t only stronger, it was different. It had been too discreet when they’d just held hands but now he saw it clearly. His own fire felt comfortably warm in his hand and had a somewhat blue tint. Now, the flame was so hot it almost burnt. And the light burned red, barely no tint of blue.

Roger’s energy.

Feeling high on his discovery Brian let his own energy output decrease and watched in fascination as the flame shrunk, turning a darker red. It soon started to hurt the skin of his hand and he quickly added his own soothing energy to the mix.

This was, well, absolutely fascinating! There were so many new possibilities! And so many questions.

What colour would Freddie make, he wondered. And John? What if he had all of them - how strong could he become?

Would it be stronger with skin on skin contact? He’d have to try with Freddie, as soon as possible.

Sudden damp warmth spread over his skin as Roger yawned into his neck. The other man slumped against him. “Are you happy?”

Oh. Bollocks. He was draining Roger. He quickly let go of the energy, the dancing red flame dissolving into thin air.

With the distraction of the magic gone, he immediately realized how close they were. Roger was pressed tightly against him, chest to chest. He was all heat, hard muscle and steady heartbeat. And his hair was tickling Brian’s nose.

It smelled good.

“Sorry.” He said sheepishly, giving Roger an awkward pat on the back before letting him go. “I got a bit carried away.”

Roger nodded drowsily and stifled another yawn, sitting back. “S’fine. I just got so terribly sleepy all of a sudden.” He nudged Brian in the arm. “But it worked, right? Your idea?”

“It did.” Brian couldn’t help a wide grin from spreading across his face. “It did.”

Roger returned his smile, mirroring his excitement, if a bit more languidly. “I’m glad.”

And, just like that, Brian was suddenly struck by how unfairly beautiful the other man was.

Blue eyes glittering like sunshine on water in the light of the hearth, thick lashes leaving shadows over high cheekbones. Flushed, smooth skin and the golden waves falling all the way down his chest.

He looked not entirely human, at this quiet moment in front of the fire, no, more like some ancient but still somehow young creature of forgotten times. Magical times.

Otherworldly.

Brian let out a snort of laughter, reminded of the ridiculous rumors.

“What?” Roger asked, warily.

“Oh, nothing.” Brian smiled innocently. “Just, you know, the entire Northern Isles kingdom believing you’re the offspring of a sex goddess.”

Roger’s cheeks went abruptly red. “Oh, shut up.” He muttered.

He’d been informed of Wendelin’s tales, every single detail, by a drunken and most amused Ulf.

“Besides, she’s the goddess of love, Brian, not fucking. Well, not only fucking.”

Brian burst out laughing, Roger glaring at him for half a second before starting to snicker himself.

When their laughter ceased, Brian picked up his notebook again, eager to note down his discovery, while Roger leant back on his hands, lazily blinking up at the ceiling.

“You think it’s possible to make soil more fertile?”

“Excuse me?” Brian slowly lowered his notebook to his lap, turning to his friend.

“I mean, not in the regular way.”

Brian frowned. “There’s a regular way?”

“Of course,” Roger nodded several times. “Cow dung. And pee.” He met Brian’s gaze and winked. “Real good stuff.”

“Right.” Brian laughed. “So you mean with magic?”

Roger nodded again.

“Well I don’t know… Why?”

The other man sighed and let his fingers drag over the rug. “I visited one of the neighboring villages a few days ago. They had it rough. The entire island has it rough. The soil is… no good. Barren.” He shook his head. “I just wish we could help them, you know?”

Brian hummed. “And I guess dung won’t do the trick?” When Roger just frowned at him Brian held up his hands. “Kidding, I’m kidding.”

He thought about it for a moment. He hadn’t tried to do anything magical to… dirt. Not yet. But if he could create flowers out of nothing and breathe life back into a person, he should be able to make some fertile soil, no?

“I could give it a try.” He tilted his head, an idea already taking shape in his mind. “I’d need some soil, obviously, to try it out. I could hopefully get some under the frozen layer… Preferably before all is covered in snow. And some seeds. And maybe some of that dung, actually. What makes it good for soil - if we could find that missing ingredient, maybe we could… Hm, but could we really extract it…” He trailed off, glancing back up at Roger. “I’m rambling.”

Roger beamed at him. “Yes. Yes, you are. I knew you’d like the idea.” His smile transformed, to something smaller, gentler. “You love to build, to nurture and to soothe. Really, it would be a waste to use your gifts on war, when all you want is to make people happy.”

Now it was Brian’s turn to blush. What in the world? “Um. Thank you?” He stammered, but Roger paid him no mind.

“You’re good at that, making people happy. They used to love your magic shows, remember? Well, before they realized they’d been thieved, of course.” He ended, smiling wryly.

Brian chuckled. It was true. He’d had a good time performing those magic tricks. Well before he even knew he had magic! How ironic. Still, magic or not, he’d always loved putting on a show.

Putting on a show… His eyes widened.

That was it!

“That’s it.” He said, quietly, before repeating himself, louder, “that’s bloody it!”

“What are you on about this time?”

Brian turned to Roger, triumphant. “I know how we’re going to handle the Northern Isles conflict. We’re not going to fight them.”

He met Roger’s curious eyes and smiled.

“We are going to put on a show.”

Chapter Text

White.

Her breath created white, dancing mist in the dying light of the remains of the bonfire.

It was all but empty now, by the fire. Only the new girl, the loud, dark-haired one, was remaining. She had a large fur wrapped around herself, all the way up to her nose. Now and again she lowered it just enough to have a drink of mead.

It was cold.

It was growing colder each day, and lucky was she to have her thick fur. The glowing embers kindly offered some warmth and for this she was grateful. She had chosen to lay down right at the edge of the ash, the blackened corpses of at some time proud, beautiful trees.

She huffed and swished her tail, eyeing the nearby longhouse longingly. Her humans had disappeared inside, quite some time ago. She missed them. They barely had time for her anymore, doing all kinds of peculiar things day and night.

They were changing, all of them.

Her second human, the one who sang, was disappearing into the forest each day, sometimes accompanied by one of the bearded strangers. Each time he stepped out, he seemed to stand a bit taller, smile a bit wider.

Her third human, the magical one, was out all day and up all night. He challenged the elements, and as he mastered each one of them, his power as well as his hunger for more knowledge grew. She was a bit worried for him, for powers like his should not belong to one of flesh and blood.

Her fourth human, the kind one, was also out all day, practicing with his wooden stick. She saw him sometimes, in the courtyard, mock fighting young bearded strangers. Rarely winning. He still made time for her, more than any of the others. And for her he always spared a smile, an apple and a good rub behind the ear.

Her first human, the one with eyes like the sky, was different. And she didn’t like it. He smiled less, laughed less, and he was always tired. Always going somewhere, always doing something. He had buried his golden head in her neck this night, had spoken soft, sweet words she didn’t know. She missed him, so much.

And she missed her flying friend. Her feathered companion who had been both wise and remarkably mischievous. She missed his small weight upon her back, his kind, old eyes and his voice.

She could still sense him, sometimes, when her magical human did his tricks. It was a small comfort.

A flake of white landed on Tootsie’s nose. She puffed and watched it float away. Then another one landed, and a third one. Soon the air was thick with glittering, dancing pieces of white.

White, like Albus, her best friend.

- - -

White.

Snow fell heavy and white outside their chamber. Winter had finally begun, for real.

And now, they were prettily trapped. No boat would be able to take him or his friends back to the mainland for at least three to four months.

Could they make it that long?

And, did it even matter if they did?

By now, he knew, frustratingly well, that it would be all but impossible to send his friends away without going with them.

“If you want to stay here, we will too. That’s all there is to it.”

“Was it not together that we got by, all these years?”

“Please don’t leave me behind. Roger. Please.”

John sighed deeply in his sleep and clumsily turned over, pushing his head into Roger’s shoulder.

“Stubborn fool.” Roger mumbled fondly, brushing some locks of brown away from John’s young face.

He was so young. So kind and good and pure. Not yet withered down by the world. And Roger would keep him that way, for as long as he could.

That was the only thing he was good for. Well, he frowned, at least he hoped he was still good at it. It was the one thing he’d been good at, taking care of animals and humans alike. Protecting others.

But, after the awful nightmare that had been the viking battle, when he’d almost gotten all of his friends killed, and had killed, so, so many - what was he? Who was he?

A viking. The heir to the kingdom.

A warrior. Ruthless, brutal, strong. Always strong.

Stuck. Fettered to this dream belonging to other people. Chained to the destiny of his newfound family.

All he ever wanted was freedom. To be able to go where he wanted, do what he wanted, with the people that he wanted.

Roger squeezed his eyes shut, completely and utterly fed up with himself. Could his thoughts shut up for just one second and let him sleep? Wasn’t it enough that his sleep was restless and filled with terrors? He wasn’t made for this, this brooding. That was Brian’s forte.

Yes, he should leave the thinking to Brian. Did not the older man already have a plan brewing, after all? A way for them to defeat the Northern Isles Kingdom without having to fight?

It was still just the very beginning of a plan, but it had potential. They already feared Brian, the powerful mage, as well as Roger himself (for a ridiculous reason, but still). Brian wanted to use his magic to make it seem like Roger really was a god. If the isle of Mann had gods on their side, the northern isles would have to think twice before attacking.

And Brenna? What would she think? Would she accept such a peaceful solution to this long, bloody conflict? No, of course she wouldn’t. And, to be truthful, he respected her for that.

The king had killed her family.

Roger clenched his fist, cold determination settling over him like the snow over the village outside.

The king had killed Roger’s mother.

The king would need to die.

With the answer to at least one of the hundreds of questions buzzing around his brain like a swarm of bees, Roger’s exhaustion finally managed to drag him under.

Smoke. Snow. Blood. Red spreading over white. Burning steel in his hand.

Bodies under him, all around him. Some dead, some screaming. He’s not dead. He kills, he does not die. He cannot.

It’s easy, this time. Like a dance. His body sings with pleasure as he spins, sword severing arms, heads. No more snow. Just mud. Mud and blood. This is what he’s good at. He laughs, chest heaving, and his heart feels… His heart. He can’t feel his heart.

He looks down and finds a gaping hole in his chest.

Eyes shooting open, he quickly turned to muffle his panicked breathing in his pillow. His heart raced in his chest and he clutched at it with a desperate hand, letting the pounding organ drag him from the terror of the nightmare.

It was still there.

Of bloody course it was. He scoffed at himself, rolling over to stare up at the ceiling.

He should be used to them. He really should. But the nightmares kept scaring him, as if he was a child again.

Then again, Roger did not remember ever having dreams this vivid, this real and unsettling, before.

Pathetic.

Well. Another ruined night of sleep added to the growing list. He glanced at John at his side, still sleeping soundly, then over to the hearth. He couldn't have been asleep for long. And now he wouldn't be able to go back to sleep, not in several hours. That lesson had been learnt over these last couple of weeks.

Wiping cold sweat off his brow he carefully lowered the cover and climbed out of bed.

Where was his fur?

As he was looking for it, he heard the bed creak as John shifted, roused by his absence.

“What are you doing?”

Ah, there it was. Roger grabbed the fur from John's side of the bed before leaning forward to place a kiss on the crown of his lover's head. “Shh, just go back to sleep.”

Dark eyes peered blearily up at him. “Are you heading over to the treasury again?”

“Yeah,” Roger answered, wrapping the fur over his nightshirt. He felt disgusting - sweaty all over, exhausted to the bone but still wide awake.

“Another nightmare?”

“Mm.”

John sat up. He looked at him for a moment, hands clasped in his lap. “Why do you go to Brian when you can't sleep?”

Roger frowned at him. What a weird question. He went to Brian because…

Yes, why? The first time he had wanted to see that the other man was alive and well, with his waking eyes, and then he'd somehow ended up pouring his entire heart out. After that though…

He chuckled awkwardly. “Oh, you know…”

“Is he better at comforting you than I am?”

“What?! Of course not, don't be ridiculous.” Roger exclaimed, shaking his head. “It’s just that he's always up. And I don't want to wake you, to bother you with my stupid problems.”

John glared at him. “You wouldn't bother me. You don't bother me nearly enough! I want to help you, to be here for you.” He took a deep breath and reached out for Roger's hand. “You can talk to me, you do know that, right?”

His voice was quiet, vulnerable. Carefully hopeful.

There were few things Roger wanted more than this beautiful person to be happy and warm and content. He didn’t want to drag him down with his anxiety, his misery. He’d already dragged Freddie down… Already trapped the lot of them here, in this dangerous place.

“I know that, love.” Roger squeezed his hand.

John sighed, lowering his gaze to their entwined fingers. “I… I tell you everything, give you everything I am, good or bad, but it feels like you don’t trust me enough to do the same. That you don’t think you can depend on me.”

“John.” Roger’s heart gave a painful twinge. He sat down on the side of the bed. “I depend on you, all the time. You saved me. You reached out a hand when I was drowning. And you make my every day bearable, just by being here.”

You make it worth it to keep going.

The faint blush blooming over John’s pale cheeks was barely noticeable in the dim light. “Then why won’t you tell me what worries you? Why don’t you tell me about the dreams?”

“It’s not so bad. I just have a lot of things to think about. All of us do.” He smiled wryly. “Having a ruthless viking queen as your aunt is not as fun as it sounds.”

“Don’t joke. It is bad. You look worse everyday, you barely sleep. These dreams…”

“Are just stupid dreams.” Roger said, starting to grow frustrated with John’s prodding. “I’m a grown man, I can handle a nightmare or two.”

John’s jaw jutted out stubbornly as he looked up at him. “Then why go to Brian?”

Roger freed his hand, standing up. “We don’t talk about the dreams! He’s…” He averted his eyes, annoyed and embarrassed. “He’s teaching me to write, if you really must know.”

There was a moment of silence as Roger stared at the floor and John stared at him.

“I know how to read and write.” John finally said, voice soft. “Most probably better than Brian. I’m a nobleman’s son, remember?”

That was true. John could also teach him. He didn’t need to go to Brian to learn.

But it wasn’t really about the writing, was it? Roger felt a sudden spike of dread at the thought of ending his and Brian’s nightly classes in the treasury. It had become a refuge for him, before he knew it. The one place he felt safe, where he could relax. Not pretend or put up a front.

Why?

Because Brian makes you feel safe.

The realization hit him like a rampaging bull, right in the chest.

What kind of man was he, to find comfort in the man who’d betrayed him? Who’d taken Freddie from him?

Who had saved his life, several times. Who was endlessly more powerful, kind and clever than Roger. Who could keep Freddie and John and Rogersafe.

Brian had never taken Freddie. Freddie had gone, on his own. Because Roger didn’t measure up. How could he?

There was no world in which Roger could compete with Brian.

And, for some reason, probably because he was sleep deprived and naturally stupid, he found comfort also in that thought.

“Roger?”

He shook his head, grounding himself before meeting John’s worried eyes. “Sorry. I’m just very tired. Really, there’s no need to worry about me, it’s just been some long, hectic days.” He offered a weak smile.

John studied him for a moment, before sinking back down in bed, a defeated look to him. “Fine.” He waved at the door. “You can go to the treasury if you want.”

“No,” Roger removed his fur and draped it over John, on top of the covers. “I’ll stay.”

The younger man seemed upset, disappointed, and that just wouldn’t do. Besides, Roger was too self conscious and embarrassed to face Brian now, anyway.

He went back to his own side of the bed and crawled under the covers. He snuggled up to John’s back and wrapped an arm around his waist, pressing close.

“We’re going to be just fine, I promise.” He murmured, nuzzling at John’s ear.

John scoffed. “You too?”

“Me too.”

The younger man sighed heavily but took hold of Roger’s hand where it rested over his heart. “I really hope so. Good night.”

“Good night, love.”

It took close to an hour for John to fall asleep in his arms.

It took close to three for Roger to follow him.

- - -

White.

All he could see was white as Brian bottomed out inside of him.

“Oh,” Freddie breathed, eyelids lowering in pleasure. “Just like that, darling.”

Brian smiled brilliantly at him, hoisting Freddie’s legs higher and urging him to wrap them around his waist.

Freddie did, arching the lower half of his body into Brian’s thrusts, gasping.

“You feel so good.” Brian panted, brushing sweaty auburn locks out of his face. “You’re gorgeous.”

Freddie took hold of Brian’s hand and pulled it to his mouth, placing a loving kiss on his knuckles. “You’re the gorgeous one, my star.”

Brian groaned and increased his pace, hips slapping against Freddie’s skin.

Freddie tugged him down on top of him, wrapping his arms around him and holding him close, wanting to feel his heat, his passion, as close as possible.

The steady slide in and out, Brian’s cock kissing his sensitive spot every few thrusts and his own cock rubbing up against the other man’s hard stomach - it all felt divine.

“Am… ah,” Brian moaned into his neck. “I’m close.”

Freddie nodded, hard and leaking himself. “Me too, I just need… ah, yes.”

Brian had somehow managed to squeeze a hand in between their tightly entwined bodies and wrapped long, talented fingers around aching flesh.

It didn’t take much more, just a couple more well aimed thrusts, and Brian’s hand on him, and Freddie was lost.

He squeezed his eyes shut, moaning Brian’s name as he convulsed, body tightening and thrashing under his lover.

Brian swore, pumped sloppily, one, two more times, and then released inside him, marking Freddie up from the inside in the most decadent way.

They laid gasping together for a minute, Freddie slow and heavy with syrupy pleasure. He ached pleasantly all over. His legs trembled as they still held onto Brian, and his soft, sensitive cock rubbed up against coarse hair, wet with his own spend.

His arms ached, too, but for a completely different reason. His shooting was steadily getting better, with the stilted guidance of an awkward Sune, and his arms and shoulders were paying the price for it.

Brian let out a satisfied grunt and sat up between Freddie’s legs, still inside him.

“Hi,” he smiled. Oh, but he was so beautiful, Freddie’s magical lover. Those warm, hazel eyes, the high cheekbones and gorgeously wild curls.

“Hi.” Freddie whispered, stroking the side of his hand over Brian’s ribs. “I love you.”

“And I, you.” Brian shivered as Freddie traced a line up his clavicle. “Do you trust me?”

Freddie paused his movement, curious. “Of course. Why?”

“I want to try something.”

Freddie opened his mouth to ask what, but Brian had already closed his eyes, focusing, that light blue aura emanating from him and creating dancing shadows over the walls.

The next second the bed was suddenly full of golden yellow. Freddie yelped, eyes wide as he looked around himself in shock. He was surrounded by brilliant yellow flowers. They covered the bed entirely, piling up against his body. There were flowers in his hair, flowers spilling through his fingers as he gingerly sat up, letting Brian slip out of him.

“What in the world?” He mumbled, picking up a delicate flower and spinning it between thumb and forefinger. “Brian. This is beautiful.”

Brian grinned, most pleased with himself, still faintly glowing, from passion and magic both. “They match you. They come from you, Freddie. Your energy made these.”

Freddie stared at him. “Come again?”

“I’ve discovered that I can use other people’s energy to fuel my magic. It makes it stronger, different, but unfortunately drains the other person.”

Now when he said it, Freddie did feel overwhelmingly tired, and not only from the late hour and their recent activities. He picked up another flower, in awe. He did this? He helped?

“I should have known your energy would be yellow.” Brian said fondly. He released the magic, and Freddie was disappointed to see the flowers go. One, pale blue one remained, though, in the palm of his hand. He hastily tucked it behind his ear.

“It’s marvelous.” He exclaimed, some energy returning to him as Brian stopped the magic. “Brilliant! But what do you mean I’m yellow?”

Brian held up a hand and created another pale blue flower. Freddie took it, and placed it behind his other ear. “When I do magic, create fire or flowers, they tend to be pale or whitish blue. I can make other colours, but it takes more energy, more focus. But, when I borrowed yours, I got yellow.” He reached for his tunic, quickly pulling it over his head. “Roger gave me red.”

Freddie blinked at him. “Roger?”

“Yes,” Brian said, head popping back out through the tunic, hair a complete mess. “I tried it first with him.”

Brian… with Roger?

Freddie gaped at him, not believing his ears. He knew the two men had become closer, but that close? And Brian was admitting to it, just like this?

He was completely baffled.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Brian frowned at him.

“You slept with Roger?” Freddie whispered, eyes wide, fingers trembling over the covers. Was he about to be left behind?

Brian stared at him as if he’s suddenly sprouted horns. “What? No! Why would I have… Oh,” he sat up straight, eyes widening in understanding. “No, Freddie, I did not sleep with him. All that is needed to use another person’s energy is physical contact, not, not intercourse…” He finished, beet red.

“Oh.” Freddie breathed out. He wasn’t being left behind.

“I promise.” Brian repeated urgently. “We just held hands. And… hugged. That’s it.”

Brian. Roger. Holding hands. Hugging. Intercourse. Magic.

Freddie’s thougths were spinning, his mind wandering to most troublesome places. Brian and Roger…

“I know, Bri, I know.” He croaked, his own flushed face matching Brian’s. “I just misunderstood you, that’s all.”

Brian grumbled something under his breath, climbing off the bed to find something to wipe Freddie down with.

Freddie remained in the bed, absentmindedly following the other man with his eyes. What would it look like? He wondered. His two lovers together. They were both stunning, in different ways. Brian elegant, dark-haired and calm and Roger like the first sunshine after a long, harsh winter. What a sight it would be, Roger's fair hair falling over Brian’s pale chest. Brian's long, beautiful fingers cradling Roger's strong jaw, stroking over pink lips…

His tired prick made a gallant twitch at the idea.

What was wrong with him?

It wasn’t enough that he loved men instead of women. It wasn’t enough that he loved two men. No, now he was fantasizing about the men he loved, together? Without him?

But, a dark, forbidden longing took root in his heart, what if it wasn’t without him? What if it was all of them?

But Roger was with John…

John… He was also growing up to be quite the man. Freddie had noticed how his tunics were starting to fill out. How his arms were slowly growing in size. And those lovely dimples…

“Here,” Brian said, making Freddie jump and almost bash their heads together.

“Oh, sorry.” Freddie laughed nervously when Brian looked at him oddly, holding a dirty shirt in one hand. “I was just…”

Thinking about you and Roger together and how John is starting to fill out? Obviously, he couldn’t say that, so Freddie held his tongue.

Brian sighed, starting to wipe between Freddie’s legs with the dirty shirt. “I’m sorry for bringing up Roger. I know you’re still…” He trailed off uncertainly, “thinking about him.”

“Hey.” Freddie grabbed Brian’s face with both hands and pulled him close. “Don’t apologize.” He kissed his nose. “Thank you, for the flowers.” He pulled back, smiling. “They were most lovely.”

Brian nodded, eyes shining as he leant forward to place another chaste kiss on Freddie’s lips. “Thank you, for making them with me.”

They exchanged a few more slow kisses while Brian wiped off Freddie’s stomach. Then, they laid down side by side.

Freddie yawned. He needed a good night’s sleep. He’d clearly been awake for way too long, imagining such things.

Besides, he thought grimly, snuggling into Brian’s side, he doubted Roger would like to share a drink with him, much less jump into bed with him.

With Brian on the other hand…

No.

Stop.

Time to sleep.

- - -

White.

The mead was topped with white, thick foam.

John stared at it, longingly.

He shouldn’t have more. He was already unsteady on his legs, more mead would just lead to him being sick in the morning and general embarrassment all around.

It was so good, though..

He had missed drinking. The mead seemed to wrap a blanket around all of his problems and worries, hiding them from sight. Softening the edges.

Some edges still remained though.

He glanced further up the main table, where Roger sat talking to some new lass. Apparently Ulf’s cousin’s round-cheeked daughter no longer was an alternative.

They were all allowed to sit at the queen’s table at the feasts now, as war heroes. Freddie sat next to John, and Brian sat on Freddie’s other side. On John’s other side sat the slave girl, Wendelin. She was happily emptying her third horn of mead down her gullet.

Roger laughed, then, making John’s attention snap back to him. Like a loyal dog to its owner.

That’s what he felt like. A loved pet. Not someone Roger could share his everything with, not an equal, no, something precious the other man felt a need to protect and look after.

Damn it all.

He deserved some more mead.

Mind made up, he grabbed his newly filled horn and took a large sip.

Roger had probably not slept a wink after John’s pathetic attempt at talking to him last night. And what good had trying to talk to him done? It had been like talking to a wall. Roger was hellbent on not letting John in, and John was so bloody sick of it.

It was ruining the other man. John could see it clearly.

The man he loved was growing more tired, paler and less cheerful, for every passing day. He was terrorized by dreams, nearly every night, but refused to admit that they were doing him harm.

John wanted to… oh, he wanted to shake him, scream at him, and then keep him hidden in his arms until all of it, vikings and dreams and whatnot, finally left him alone.

Freddie nudged him, leaning close with a frown on his beautiful face. “Has Roger lost weight?”

“Yes.” John grunted.

Freddie nodded, concerned. “Did you talk to him?”

“I tried.” John took another large drink before setting his horn back on the table with a tad more force than necessary. “He doesn’t listen. He just keeps brushing me off. He is stubborn and proud to a fault.” He shook his head. “It’s driving me insane.”

“Oh, darling.” Freddie said, placing one thin hand on John’s upper arm and squeezing. “I’m sorry.”

John turned to smile tiredly at him. “Me too. But, I guess I just have to keep trying. And hopefully reach him, before he makes himself sick. Or,” he added, somewhat amused, “we could always lock him in a room with Brian.”

“Ahah, with Brian?” Freddie chuckled, strained. “Now, why would we do such a thing?”

“Because he seems to be the only one Roger will actually bloody talk to.”

“Ah, yes. Talk. Of course.” Freddie chewed at his lip. “Right.”

Brenna stood up, slamming her fist into the table.

“Lystring!”

All the vikings quieted down, turning to their queen with great interest.

Brenna talked to them about something, something that they seemed most excited about, also slamming fists on tables and lifting horns of mead in the air.

Then, she pointed at first Roger, then Brian, and the vikings roared in celebration, standing up and cheering John’s friends. Roger also stood, cheering them back, tugging at the sleeve of a confused Brian to get him to stand as well.

“What’s happening?” Freddie asked, eyes wide as he looked between Roger and Brian, Brenna and the cheerful vikings.

“They have been chosen.” Wendelin drawled, leaning past John to look at Freddie. “For the winter darkness feast.”

“Winter darkness feast?” John repeated dumbly. “What’s that?”

Wendelin turned her nightdark eyes on him. “It’s the time of year when the day is the shortest, and the night the longest.” She gestured at the still yelling vikings. “To ward off evil spirits who roam the longest night, vikings hold a great feast. They mostly drink and eat, as usual, but there’s also some ceremonious rituals going on.” She scrunched her nose up.

John could feel Freddie’s warm breath as he leaned closer, curious. “What’s that got to do with Brian and Roger?”

Wendelin held a finger up, urging them to wait while indulging in some more mead. Meanwhile John glanced over at their two friends. They’d sat back down and Roger seemed in the middle of telling Brian whatever Wendelin was telling them.

There were so many things Roger knew, that John didn’t. The blond caught his eye and offered him a warm smile. John simply nodded back.

“Every winter darkness feast the leader of the clan is offered some mushrooms with magical properties. These are said to give the leader visions of the future.” She shrugged. “As the two who saved the kingdom, I guess Brenna chose to pass the honor to the magician and false half god.”

It sounded like a pile of horse dung to John, personally. He scoffed into his drink.

“Is it safe?” Freddie asked, pale.

Wendelin shrugged again. “How should I know? Do I look like a viking ruler to you?” She stretched her arms over her head, groaning in satisfaction when her shoulders popped.

“Excuse me, darling.” Freddie gave John a tense smile and a pat on the back, before rising. He leaned down and said something in Brian’s ear, insistently tugging on his arm.

Brian finished his own drink, sent John a happy grin and a wave, before letting his lover drag him away from the feast.

Freddie was most likely going to tell Brian to not go through with it. John wondered if it would do any good. He already knew it wouldn’t make the slightest difference if he tried to dissuade Roger.

With two of his friends gone and Roger still talking to the girl, John found himself sinking further and further into his seat, the further the feast went on.

The hall was spinning slightly in front of his eyes, but no matter how much he drank he couldn’t get rid of the uncomfortable, gnawing feeling in the pit of his stomach. He kept stealing glances at Roger, feeling like a thief in the night.

“Alright.” Wendelin, who was still sitting next to him, enjoying the food and drinks, spoke up. “What’s going on with you and the prince?”

John startled, spilling some of his mead over his trousers. “Huh? What do you mean?”

“You keep glaring at him.” She raised one eyebrow. “Or leering at him, I’m not sure.” She grinned at him, tilting her head. “He took your girl?”

“Not exactly.” John mumbled, wiping pointlessly at his trousers with his bare hand.

She squinted at him, then back to Roger. “The girl took him?”

John made a noncommittal noise.

“How indecent.” Wendelin sounded most excited over this prospect. “Aren’t your southern friend and the magician involved, as well? What an interesting group you four are.”

“Thanks.” John gave up on his trousers and busied himself with drinking instead.

The girl looked at him for a moment, eyes bright. Not looking half as inebriated as John felt.

“I don’t think you need to worry.” She said, voice somewhat gentle. “He doesn’t seem interested in the pretty lass. He’s almost falling asleep where he’s sitting.”

That did not make John feel better. “I know. That’s the problem.”

“That he’s not interested in the lass?”

“No, that he’s bloody tired. All the time. And he doesn’t let me help him.” The words tumbled out of him on their own accord. “He can’t sleep, you see. And I try to get him to talk to me, but he won’t.”

Wendelin stared at him, dark, elegant eyebrows high on her forehead. “Well… He’s a man?”

“Of course he is!”

“No, no I mean. Men are generally awful at being vulnerable in front of each other.” She grimaced. “They save that for their poor wives or serving girls.”

John had no idea if that was true or not, he had grown up practically a captive in his own room after all. But the way Wendelin said it it seemed like a general truth. Still…

“He talks to Brian.”

Wendelin sighed and made a wide gesture at the room full of vikings. “John, that’s your name, right? Yes, John. Where are we?”

“In the great hall?”

“In a viking kingdom.” Wendelin explained to him slowly, as if he was the village idiot. “Surrounded by vikings. And, unfortunately, the only thing vikings will respect, the only thing they will follow, is strength. Strength and power.”

“But he’s not a viking.”

She clucked her tongue at him. “Sure he is. He is by blood.” She stretched her shoulders again. “Listen. He talks to the magician, you say? I’m certain it’s because the magician is stronger, and your prince sees him as someone to look up to, someone to rely on.”

“But he can rely on me too!”

“Really?” She tilted her head, looking at him questioningly. “Are you so certain you’d be able to combat whatever scares him? Could you save him in a fight, could you be his equal?”

John stared at her, lips moving stupidly, making no sound.

“Do you yourself believe that you can be relied on?”

Grimacing, John hid his face in his horn. He thought of his humiliatingly small part in the battle. He thought of Roger having to save him from the tower. He thought of Roger knocking him on his bottom during sword practice. He thought of everyone else doing the same.

“No.” He muttered. Then, he looked back up at Wendelin, frowning. “But I want to become someone who can be relied on.”

Wendelin smiled. “Good. Then you just need to best him.”

“Uh?”

“Win over the prince, in something, show him that you are as good, or even better. Prove to him that you’re strong enough to handle him.”

Win over Roger… In what? There wasn’t anything he was better at, except silly nobleman things as writing and fiddling. No, that would not be good enough…

He wanted to beat him in sword practice. Just once. Show his lover that he was a man, too. That he also had pride.

“When’s the dark night feast?”

Wendelin stole the horn from his slack hand. John let her. “Three weeks from now.”

Three weeks.

Before that, John would best Roger at the sword.

If it so took spending night and day practicing and begging Ulf for pointers, John would win.

Chapter Text

“Are you even listening to me?”

Roger blinked twice. “Yes?”

He was, in fact, not listening.

Brenna glared at him, hands on her hips. “You're drunk.”

Among other things, yes.

Roger shrugged and gave a nod. He lifted a hand to rub at his aching eyes.

To be perfectly honest, being drunk was the least of his problems. Not that it made things better.

He felt dizzy. Dizzy and a bit nauseous and somewhat like he was less physical being and more some sort of fuzzy concept.

He hadn't visited Brian in the treasury for two weeks now. And therefore had barely had any sleep for those two weeks. He still dreamt and woke, dreamt and woke, each night. But going to Brian now felt… wrong. Wrong towards John.

It also felt embarrassing, but Roger tried to avoid thinking of that. The realisation that he trusted and depended on the other man to such a degree had made him feel self conscious, and flustered.

And so, his nights were a cruel joke, his sleep close to non-existent.

His days were also becoming a joke. They felt more dream than reality, everything passing by in an overwhelming, blurry hurricane of colours, sounds and people.

He had trouble remembering. He had trouble eating.

Bloody hell, but there were few things he didn't have trouble with.

Drinking, perhaps.

Drinking was good. At least it gave his exhausted, pathetic brain an excuse to not work.

Unfortunately the mead was to no help at the moment, since his controlling aunt had decided to lecture him on… yeah, what was it again?

Brenna eyed him, mouth set in a thin line, as he swayed in front of her.

“You barely paid Bodil any attention at dinner. She’s a lovely girl. Smart, strong and in her best years.” She sneered at him. “And she's pretty. She's more than you deserve.”

Roger nodded so hard his head hurt. “Oh, she's bloody magnificent. Definitely more than I deserve.”

Brenna threw her arms out. “Don't you dare agree with me! You are the prince, Rothgar! My heir! What is the matter with you?” Her loud voice was like a club being smashed repeatedly into the back of his head and he winced.

“I keep introducing you to the best girls this kingdom has to offer and you just keep rejecting them!”

She took a deep breath, her nostrils flaring. “Surely one of them must be good enough for you. I have been patient, I have given you time, but you can't keep this up.”

Don't say it. Please don't say it.

“It's time. You need to choose a girl, bed her, and start producing heirs. Fulfill your duty to the kingdom.”

Roger closed his eyes. It wasn’t a good idea. A swarm of tiny stars danced over the back of his eyelids. He quickly opened his eyes again, giving his aunt what he hoped was a placating smile.

“I will. I will. It's just, there's been so much to take care of, after the battle.”

That much was true. He was constantly busy. Rebuilding the main village, visiting the smaller ones, preparing for winter and lately preparing for the winter darkness spectacle.

“I will do my duty, just give me some more time. What's the hurry?”

“The hurry is,” Brenna said sharply, “that you and I might die, at any time. A harsh sickness, an enemy attack - that’s all it takes.” She shook her head. “Our lives are hard, fleeting, and not to be taken for granted.”

Well he didn't bloody want to be here in the first place, did he? He was not taking his life for granted, never had, never would. That was why he didn't want to waste it on sleeping poorly and pumping brats into lasses he didn't love.

“Well, then the people will just have to find a new leader, won't they?” He scoffed. “It won't matter to us, we'll be dead.”

A sharp, sudden slap left his cheek smarting.

“You spoilt brat!” Brenna growled, ice blue eyes burning with contempt. “You are weak, and ungrateful. I have been good to you, patient. And you act like a child. Not like the future ruler of…”

“Yeah, because I'm not! You forced me into this, this horrendous nightmare.” He shouted, fists clenched. “You think I want to be here? To fulfill your stupid duties? I just want to be left alone, for one single bloody day!”

A muscle in Brenna’s jaw twitched. “If you had been my own, I'd never have let you become this. You embarrass me.”

The will to fight left him as quickly as air from a punctured lung. He deflated.

“I know.” He muttered. I embarrass myself. “I know.”

Brenna was silent for a moment. “I know you are unhappy. I know you’re angry with me and the world.”

Cold fingers gripped Roger's jaw and made him look up at her.

Her eyes, the frown on her brow, her lips.

The resemblance to himself devestated him.

“You're withering away, nephew.” She said. “You're turning into a ghost right in front of my eyes.” Her fingers dug into his skin punishingly. “And I will not have it.”

He tugged himself free violently. Her nail left a burning scratch on his cheek.

Brenna sighed deeply, her eyes softer. Worried. “I will not be responsible for killing the last of my sister's spirit, echoed through you. You can have some more time. Figure yourself out. Find your happiness.” The ghost of a smile touched her face. “Even if that happiness might be a male companion in your chamber.”

“I won't be able to keep him if I have to wed and bed a girl.” Roger said tiredly. “I won't have the right to.”

Brenna shrugged. “You are a prince. Keeping a lover on the side is not out of the ordinary.”

That was most likely true. But it didn't mean John would like it…

Still, he had managed to win some more time. And that was at least something.

“I'll give you the winter.” Brenna sat down on her chair, rubbing at her back while grimacing lightly. “We're not likely to be attacked during the darker months. And, your friend seems to have an exceptional hand with sickness.”

Roger nodded slowly, not sure if he was to feel relieved. Mostly, he was just tired.

“Thank you.” He said, bowing his head.

Brenna waved him off.

- - -

“No!” Roger choked out, throwing himself up from the mattress, tangled in his furs.

His heart pistoned in his ribcage and his forehead was wet with sweat. Trembling, he pulled his legs up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them.

He pressed his head down between his knees, pulse pounding in his ears.

Gentle, calloused fingers ran down the side of his face, brushing away tears and sweat.

“Sorry.” He breathed into the bare skin of his leg. “I’m sorry.”

“Shh.”

John stroked his hair back from his face, before leaning in close to press his lips to Roger’s temple.

Roger squeezed his eyes shut hard.

Don’t cry. Don’t you dare cry.

“Just another nightmare.” He forced out a chuckle, the sound more like a hacking cough than anything born of amusement. “I’m sorry for waking you up, again.”

He took a deep breath and pulled his head up from between his knees. “Go back to sleep, love.” He met John’s gaze. “I’m alright.”

Those pretty, green eyes, so kind and full of concern, changed. Hardened.

“No.”

Roger frowned at him. “No?”

“I am not going back to sleep. You are going to tell me about your dream. In fact, you are going to tell me about all your dreams, from this night forward.” He stared at Roger, his jaw set in determination. “We are going to start talking about this, whether you want to or not.”

I embarrass myself.

God, he was really putting John through so much. No wonder John wanted him to shape up, to stop this unreasonable dreaming. The poor man was woken up all the time from Roger’s stupid dreams. He was dragging him down.

“I’m sorry.” Roger repeated, fisting his hands in the blanket. “I can start sleeping in another room, I don’t want to wake you…”

“Are you for bloody real?” John exclaimed. “You really don’t understand a thing, do you?”

Well, that was a bit harsh…

John’s strong hand gripped Roger’s shoulder. “I don’t give a damn about you waking me up, all I want is for you to feel better! I am worried about you. Can you get that into your thick viking skull?”

Roger frowned. He had already been yelled at, earlier this evening. He had no interest in getting into another argument. “I know you’re worried. And I’m sorry about that too. But I don’t see the point in talking about it and ruining your night as well as my own.”

“Alright.” John said, voice flat. He pulled away from Roger and got up from the bed.

Without thinking, Roger reached for him. “John?” He tried, worried that the younger man had had enough of him. “What are you…”

“I’ve had enough.” John muttered, walking towards the other side of the room. “Get up.”

Roger stared at him. “Huh?”

“Get up.” John repeated, bending down next to the fireplace to get something.

“Are we going somewhere?” Roger slowly untangled himself from the furs and climbed out of bed.

As soon as his bare feet touched the dirt floor a wooden stick came flying and hit him in the middle of his chest.

He grabbed it on reflex before it could fall to the floor and turned to his enraged lover, utterly confused.

“Wha…”

“I challenge you.” John said, voice clear.

He was a sight, standing in front of the hearth with his own stick in hand. His hair was a tangled mess over his shoulders, his nightshirt clung most distractingly to his body and his eyes shone as they rested on Roger. He lifted his stick and pointed it at Roger.

And Roger lost it. He doubled over, still clutching his wooden stick, and laughed so hard it hurt.

“Aah, what is this? What are you doing?” He managed to wheeze out between bouts of laughter.

“I challenge you.” John said again. “To a duel.” He took a step closer, brandishing his stick in front of himself. “If I win, you will tell me about your dream. You will tell me everything.”

Roger groaned, trying to take a steadying breath. “It… it’s the middle of the bloody night. You, ah, god, John. You’re killing me.”

John walked forward until the pointy end of his stick poked Roger in the chest. “Defend yourself.”

Roger rolled his eyes. “Come now. You’re being ridiculous.”

The stick slipped inside his nightshirt, the wood rough and unpleasant against his bare skin. “Defend yourself.”

Roger swatted the stick away. “Stop it. We can practice with the wooden swords tomorrow. We should head back to…”

John struck him on the arm, hard.

Roger yelped and jumped back, eyes wide. “What has gotten into you? Stop!”

John moved closer, swift as a snake and struck at Roger again.

This time Roger reacted on instinct and brought his own stick up to parry the blow.

“That’s better.” John flashed him a smile that was all teeth. “Give me all you’ve got.”

Roger wasn't laughing anymore. “Can't this wait until morning?”

“No.” John said simply and attacked again.

Swearing under his breath Roger blocked the hit before jumping out of the way.

John went at him again, swinging the stick and managing to hit Roger’s side.

Muffling a grunt of pain, Roger glared at John. “That is enough.”

“If you want this to end - beat me.” John’s eyes gleamed in the faint light. “Come on, love. You're not even trying.”

Letting out a low growl, Roger got into position, stick pointed at his lover.

“Fine.” He snapped. “I warned you.”

And then he was on John, stick swinging rapidly to first hit his arm and this his hand, trying to disarm him.

John gasped but kept the grip on his stick, managing to turn it up to parry Roger's next attack.

He was good.

Much better than when Roger last practiced with him. Or maybe Roger was just infinitely worse. It was hard to tell.

It didn't matter. He could still beat him. Violence was what Roger was best at, after all.

He attacked again, and again, John parrying most of his attacks but being steadily driven into the corner of the room.

Roger lunged forward, free hand reaching for John's stick, but the younger man got a grip on his hair and tugged hard, making Roger cry out.

Using the grip, John switched their positions, all but throwing Roger into the wall.

They glared at each other, panting.

This was no playful bout of sword practice, John was deadly serious.

Roger snarled at him, aiming a kick at John's shin.

His foot found its mark, John letting out a yelp of pain as he stumbled back.

Instead of concern or regret, Roger just felt satisfaction as he followed John away from the wall, again aiming for his lover's hand.

John evaded him and swiped at Roger's thigh.

Roger’s heart was pounding, adrenaline rushing through his body as he and John exchanged a flurry of blows, all while moving around the small bed chamber.

He was sweaty, ecstatic, and John's every move, the look in his eyes, excited him to no end.

He took another blow to the arm, but paid back with an elbow to John's gut.

When his lover moved back, panting for breath, he chased after him, again reaching for his wooden stick.

Then, a sudden dizzy spell sent him stumbling, all but crashing into John.

And it was over.

His lover snatched the stick out of his hand and the next second Roger found himself pushed to his back on the bed, John's stick pressed against his throat.

“I win.” John panted, one hand coming down to roughly shove Roger back down when he tried to sit up.

Roger’s chest heaved, his pulse trapped against the unforgiving wood pressed to his throat.

He stared up at his lover.

John’s hair fell over his shoulders, almost touching Roger's face, so close was he, leaning over him. He was breathing hard, face flushed and sweaty.

His eyes were fire and steel.

Roger was so hard it hurt.

Groaning, not giving a damn about the stick still over his throat, he tugged John down by the hair and pressed their lips together in a biting kiss.

The younger man moaned into his mouth and Roger responded in kind, tugging hard at John’s hair and thrusting his tongue inside when John gasped.

The stick disappeared from Roger’s throat. He heard how it smacked into the wall and the next moment John was upon him, knees on either side of Roger’s hips and hands running all over him.

“You,” John spat, rocking his own hardness down against Roger’s, “are the most stubborn, foolish, stupid,” Roger arched from the mattress to press kisses over John’s jaw, “hard-headed, brave, self-sacrificing,” John’s hands reached for Roger’s shirt, ripping the material open all the way down his ribs, “loving, kind, beautiful,” Roger rolled his hips up, gasping against John’s skin at the friction, “infuriating man I have ever met.” John finished, grinding against Roger roughly.

“Shut up.” Roger panted, catching his lover’s swollen bottom lip between his teeth and giving it a playful bite.

“You shut up.” John grunted, hands sliding inside Roger’s ruined shirt to stroke up his ribs, over his chest.

Rough fingers found one of Roger’s nipples and he pushed his chest up into his lover’s hands. His own hands reached down, past John’s waist to fumble with his underclothes.

“Off.” He tugged at the garment and John swatted his hands away before unceremoniously pulling his underclothes off.

Roger had barely a second to admire his lover’s large, flushed shaft, before he was promptly rolled over onto his stomach.

“What are you doing?” His voice came out muffled against the mattress.

John reached beneath him to grab the edges of his shirt, prompting Roger to lift his torso from the bed as he finished ripping up the thing, leaving it fluttering around Roger’s sides.

“Want you like this.” John muttered, quickly pulling off Roger’s underclothes before kneeing his legs apart and settling between them.

Roger grabbed at his pillow with both fists, eyes wide as John rocked his hips up against his backside. “John…”

“You frustrate me to no end.” John groaned, brushing Roger’s long, messy hair to the side to press his lips to his nape.

His cock slid up between Roger’s buttocks, brushing against his balls and he let out a high pitched noise he’d surely be ashamed of, if he had the brain power.

John’s cock slipped against his skin, precum and sweat making the glide smooth and easy. Every time the tip teased over Roger’s opening he bit his lips, pushing his own cock down into the mattress.

“Rog, love,” John breathed into his ear, his chest pressed flush against Roger’s back, “I want… Could I?”

“What?” Roger turned his face to the side, letting out a low whine when John thrusted harder against him.

He could hear John’s nervous swallow, could feel his hesitance.

“I’d like to fuck you.”

Roger took a deep breath, reaching out to grab John’s hand where it rested next to his face.

He couldn’t deny that he’d been curious about it. Hell, he’d wanted to ask Freddie to do it, a couple of times, but never quite found the nerve. And then, well…

He rubbed his thumb over John’s knuckles and smiled when his lover entangled their fingers.

He wanted to, with John. But not tonight.

“Not tonight.” He said, squeezing John’s hand. “I’m already close, and we have no oil.”

John was quiet for a moment, continuing his slow grind against Roger. “But you’d let me? Another time?”

“I’d let you.” Roger turned his head to nuzzle his cheek against John’s temple. “Now, please, touch me.”

“Yeah,” John agreed breathlessly, one hand slipping in between Roger’s hips and the mattress to take him in hand.

Groaning softly, Roger closed his eyes and lifted his hips just a bit to give John room. It felt so good. So good to be enveloped by this wonderful man on all sides. He loved John’s hot breath against his skin, his chest pressed to his back, his strong fingers on his cock and his cock, hard and heavy against his ass.

He gripped John’s hand harder in his and started shifting his hips as well as he could, pushing up into John’s cock and pressing down into his hand. The swarm of tiny stars behind his eyelids was back, but he didn’t mind, this time.

“Fuck, Roger,” John gasped, his hips speeding up against him. “I want you so much.”

Roger could feel him leaking. Felt a drop of precum or sweat run down the inside of his thigh.

“You have me.” He just managed to get out, before John brushed over his balls again and tightened his hand around his cock at the same time. Roger toppled over the edge.

He grunted into the pillow, fingers bruisingly tight around John’s as he came and came and didn’t stop coming. It was overwhelming, otherworldly, the pleasure so consuming his brain blacked out for several seconds.

He was vaguely aware of John’s teeth digging into his shoulder, of the younger man’s come running down his ass, over his balls, down his legs.

“I do have you.” John’s voice was weak, his breath heavy. Roger could hear the smile in it all the same. “And you have me. Always.”

His body and mind were beyond exhausted. He ached all over. He was a complete mess.

But, his heart felt light.

Roger grinned into his pillow.

- - -

It was honestly way too cold to be almost naked under their thick furs. But, John had ruined Roger’s nightshirt, after all, and what kind of man would he be if he didn’t offer his own, intact one to his sleep-deprived partner, whom he’d just humped like a dog.

It was hard to think about the cold, though, when Roger looked like that. His pretty, perfect lips, the high cheekbones, the large eyes and long, thick lashes. It was only his sleep-heavy lids and sunken cheeks that managed to snap John back to attention.

“Roger,” he started, but Roger leant in to place a small kiss on his lips before he could continue.

“I know.” His lover whispered against John’s mouth, before letting out a sigh. “I’ll tell you. But please,” he looked pleadingly at John, “don’t think too ill of me.”

John ran his fingers through Roger’s hair, but soon got stuck in a tangle. “I won’t.” He promised, before pulling Roger back down on his chest, arm safely wrapped around him.

Roger sighed deeply.

“It was Freddie, this time.” He spoke, voice quiet. “Who died. The arrow, when he…”

John held him tighter, but said nothing, waiting for Roger to continue.

“He died to save me. Brian wasn’t there, he… he couldn’t save him. And you. You hated me.” Roger shuddered. “There’s always so much blood.” He trailed off in a whisper.

John stroked his hand over Roger’s tense back. “I’m so sorry you have to go through this.”

“I deserve it.” Roger scoffed. “I… I keep being haunted by that day, the battle, because I was, I am a monster. I killed so many. I have no idea how many.”

At least 15, John thought grimly, but didn’t say.

“And the screams. The smell. The saltiness of the blood as it got into my mouth… And I barely got hurt. I hacked a man’s neck off, more than once! But not all the way, it still,” he shuddered again, “hung on. The head that is. And the man I burned before that…” He took a shaky breath. “Am I supposed to keep doing this? Is this going to be my life? Not succeeding in hacking off heads, burning men at stakes? God, but I don’t want to. I hate it. I want to always hate it. But what if I learn to love it, like all the other crazy bastards?”

He was crying now, John could feel wetness on his naked breast. He tried to encourage Roger to lift his head, to look at him, but the other man just shook his head, refusing to leave the safety of John’s chest.

“You won’t.” John murmured, hands heavy on Roger’s back. “I am sure of it. That’s why you’re so messed up over all this. That’s the reason for the dreams. You were forced into that situation, and had no choice but to fight. Otherwise, we’d have lost you.”

Roger sniffed and muttered something incomprehensible.

John was feeling cautiously optimistic. Roger had just kept talking, about all the awful things weighing him down. He was finally opening up.

And it was heartbreaking to witness.

John was terrified to handle it the wrong way.

“I almost lost all of you, you know.” Roger muttered. “Freddie and Brian had to come save us. You tried to save me from Frode. He could have killed you then. Freddie saved me from the arrow, almost at the cost of his own life. And Brian saved us all, almost at the cost of his own life.” He rubbed his wet eyes against John’s skin. “You all saved me and I didn’t save any of you.”

John hummed. “Maybe it was your time to be saved. Have you thought of that?”

Roger didn’t answer.

“You’ve kept us safe all this time, all the time since I met you. No, shh, it’s true.” John shifted, pulling Roger a bit further up his body. “You think everything’s up to you, all the time, to make things work out, to keep everyone safe. Why? Are not the rest of us also our own men? Is it not all of our responsibility to keep ourselves and our friends safe?”

Roger huffed. “Yes, I suppose. But it’s my fault we’re here in the first place.”

“It's thanks to you we’re alive at all. If you hadn’t turned out to be the heir, we’d all been slaughtered. Right then and there. That would have been it.”

“I guess.”

John chuckled quietly, hugging Roger close. “It’s no more than right, that you should fall back on the rest of us, once in a while. There is no shame in needing help.” He shrugged. “That’s why we have friends in the first place, is it not? For love and support.”

Something he himself had just recently got to experience. If it wasn’t for Roger, and Freddie and Brian, John would still be stuck in that bloody room, boring himself to death.

Roger sighed deeply. John could feel the tension in his body slowly leaving. “I don’t know what I would do without you.”

The words were so honest, so full of warmth they caught John off guard.

He blushed.

“Well, it’s lucky then that you don’t need to find out. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Even if I’ll have to marry?” Roger asked, voice small. “Even if I have to take a wife and have children?”

John closed his eyes, steeling himself. He knew this was coming. He’d known, for a long time. But it still hurt.

“I’m not going anywhere.” He repeated firmly. “As long as I still get to have you in my life, I’ll learn to share.”

Roger lifted his head, then, looking at John. The pure relief, the deep gratitude in his gaze made John’s heart ache.

“Thank you.”

John pulled him in close to press their lips together again.

There was no other option, was there?

If the alternative was to not have Roger at all, then he’d just have to make do with whatever he could get.

He loved him, after all.

Chapter Text

“Rothgar. Brian. Come forward.”

Freddie cradled a horn of mead between his hands, warily watching his past and present lover get up and walk between the long tables towards the queen.

“What do you reckon will happen?” John asked.

“I don’t know. I don't like it.”

John put a hand on Freddie's arm and squeezed. “I'm sure they'll be fine. Ulf told me only the weak, elderly, or sick get hurt from it.” He smiled wryly. “Most who try the mushroom aren’t even blessed with a vision. They just get sad or violent or horny.”

Well, Freddie didn't much want either Brian or Roger sad and definitely not violent. The thought of the usually calm and kind Brian violent, with those powers, frightened him. He remembered lightning and Roger being sent flying across the room by Brian and gnawed at his lip.

“Personally,” John continued, rosy-cheeked, “I hope for horny.”

“John!” Freddie sputtered out a laugh, surprised.

The younger man shrugged. “Well, have you seen them?”

Freddie most certainly had.

Brian and Roger had just reached the queen and the old, bent shaman who was leading the ceremony. They were a vision to behold. Both were shirtless and flushed from alcohol and the heat. Roger had markings in blood painted over his chest, his ribs and his face.

The blood disgusted Freddie, and no, he was not going to listen to the small but insistent part of his brain which kept whispering it was also quite alluring, in a dark and forbidden kind of way.

But the shirtlessness, he did like.

Roger looked better these last couple of days. He was still a bit thinner than usual, but his smile was back and so was the light in his eyes. Even if Roger was no longer his to worry about, Freddie couldn’t help but to feel relieved, as well as tremendously grateful to John.

When Freddie had asked, the younger man had told him, a proud smile on his face, that he’d finally got through to Roger. They had talked and Roger was better off because of it.

He was stunning, with his golden hair loose and shining, his gorgeous eyes and his lean muscled form. He had one hand on Brian’s shoulder, leaning close to him and whispering into his ear, most likely translating as the old man rambled on in Norse in front of them.

Brian was also absolutely beautiful. His curls shone in the light from the large fire, shadows dancing upon his pale skin, his elegant features sharp and focused as he listened to Roger.

Personally, Freddie had no idea what was being said, because their resident translator, Wendelin, was at the other side of the room. While he was curious, and worried, about the words being spoken, he found himself distracted by Brian and Roger, so close together, flushed and half naked.

Though he ought to feel ashamed, it was easy to blame the alcohol, the heat and the generally tense atmosphere in the great hall. Blushing, he lowered his gaze and took a large, desperate drink.

Next to him, John wasn’t faring much better, eyes glued to their two companions.

The old man’s croaky voice rose in volume as he lifted his hands towards the sky, a bowl carefully cradled in both of them.

The vikings, most half naked and smeared with blood, roared, lifting horns of mead or shoving at each other in excitement.

When the old man lowered the bowl and offered it to Roger, the room quieted. Everyone stared as the prince took a few mushrooms from the bowl and stepped back. Brian was offered the hallucinogenic next, and took half a handful, a nervous expression on his face.

Freddie was also nervous. He had tried to talk Brian out of doing this, but he’d said he wanted to try it, that he was curious about this different kind of alleged magic.

Brenna stepped forward, said something dramatic sounding, and Brian and Roger both bowed before lifting their hands to their mouths and eating the mushrooms.

The hall exploded with cheers and several of the vikings came forward to offer a toast to the two chosen ones, or to give them a hearty slap on the back.

One slap from Ulf had Brian stumbling several steps forward and Freddie couldn’t help but smile at his lover’s affronted face.

John left to talk to Wendelin and Freddie was left on his own, watching Brian talk to Ulf and Brenna. He looked excited, gesticulating wildly.

Well, he didn’t look sick, angry, or high, yet. But who knew when the effects would kick in… Freddie would have to keep an eye on him.

“You look glum for such a merry occasion.”

Freddie had been so focused on Brian, he’d completely missed Roger sneaking up on him.

He turned to him, eyebrows raised. “I don’t see what’s so merry about butchering a few pigs, lighting a huge fire - inside, and eating suspicious food.”

Roger laughed, a real, genuine laugh that sent tingles through Freddie’s body.

“Now, don’t be such a heathen, Fred.” He grinned at him. “We’re only trying to keep the spirits at bay, this the darkest of nights.”

Freddie chuckled and shrugged, brushing an escaped lock of hair behind his ear. He was a bit caught off guard by Roger acting so relaxed and friendly, and didn’t quite know how to act.

“Speaking of,” Roger continued and held up a small wooden bowl, “may I?”

Freddie scrunched his nose up at the pig blood within the bowl.

“It’s supposed to ward off evil.” Roger said softly, his eyes searching Freddie’s face, as if looking for something. “It’s most likely superstitious dung, but considering the last couple of months, I’d say it’s better to be safe than sorry, no?” He looked at Freddie imploringly from beneath those bewitchingly long lashes. “I want you to be safe.”

Freddie was nodding enthusiastically before even being aware of having made a decision. “Su..sure!” He wheezed, suddenly breathless.

Roger smiled widely at him, his eyes glittering, and Freddie knew that he’d happily have stripped off all his clothes and gone for a bath in blood, had the other man asked it of him.

“Good.” Roger murmured and dipped his fingers in the blood before leaning forward into Freddie’s space.

Freddie held his breath as Roger’s pointer finger ran over his left cheekbone.

He was so close.

He was too close.

Freddie could smell him, could feel the warmth of his body and his soft breath on his skin.

Roger continued to his right cheek.

His touch was light but firm. Every hair on Freddie’s body stood on end.

This close he could see every lash, every pore, every bead of perspiration.

“There,” Roger gave him another grin as he pulled back. “Now you’re ready to face even the scariest ghost.”

Freddie immediately missed his warmth and had to restrain from reaching for him. “Thank you, darling.” He said, trying to keep his voice light and playful and failing miserably.

Roger clapped him on the shoulder. “No problem!” Sending Freddie one last smile, he went on his way. Freddie saw him go up to John, holding up the bowl and then attacking his face with his tacky fingers, laughing as John whined and squirmed.

“Horrifying business, all this blood.” Brian sank down next to him, a frown on his beautiful face. “But at least they both seem to be doing much better.”

He eyed the two younger men fondly, his hand finding Freddie’s and interlacing their fingers.

“They do.” Freddie sighed, grateful for Brian next to him. He was honestly quite shaken from his interaction with Roger, and his lover’s soft voice and comforting presence was exactly what he needed. “Are you feeling alright?”

Brian nodded. “Yes, I don’t feel anything special.” A tiny frown appeared between his brows. “At least I don’t think so.”

“You tell me as soon as you feel anything, understood?”

“I will.” Brian said before leaning closer to Freddie, looking at him with the most peculiar expression. He looked amused and… disgusted?

“What?”

Brian hummed and tilted his head to the side. “I just wanted to let you know that Roger’s painted two bloody suns in your face.”

- - -

Brian couldn’t help but laugh when Freddie gaped at him, bringing both hands to his cheeks, looking embarrassed.

“Aren’t you supposed to write runes?” Freddie muttered. “All the others have runes.”

Brian shrugged. “Maybe he thought suns would suit you better.” He leant in to place a chaste kiss on Freddie’s pouting lips. “For once, I agree with him.”

Freddie gave a long suffering sigh, but Brian could see the blush on his cheeks, the happiness he was trying hard not to show. It was unclear if his excitement stemmed from Brian’s compliment or Roger’s affection, but Brian had a pretty good guess.

“You have no silly drawings on your person.” Freddie pointed out, looking Brian up and down, perhaps lingering indecently long at his naked chest.

“Christ no.” Brian shook his head vehemently. “I am not going to partake in that beastly tradition.”

Freddie grinned at him, showing his teeth. “And Roger just let it go?”

“I told him I can fend off potential spirits well enough on my own.” Brian sparked his magic, just for a moment, creating a flower in his free hand which he gave to Freddie. “Besides,” he continued, “it’s not like he could force me to do anything.”

Freddie swallowed, eyes dark as he took the flower and reflexively put it behind his ear. “I suppose not.” He said, voice slightly hoarse.

There was a strange feeling in the air between them. Loaded, almost electric. Brian felt his heart speeding up in his chest, his energy buzzing beneath his skin as Freddie glanced down at his lips.

Then, his lover shook himself out of it, gave Brian a brilliant smile and a kiss, before getting to his feet. “I’ll be right back, dear.”

With that, he was off, leaving Brian with his half finished horn of mead.

Brian watched him go, eyes roaming his slender back, his small hips and the perky backside.

When Freddie disappeared from his line of view, he grabbed the half empty horn and emptied it in a few gulps. God, but he was thirsty. Thirsty and hot and excited.

He felt good. Very good.

He shouldn’t be feeling good. This was a horrid feast after all.

It had started with Brenna slaughtering several pigs and emptying them of their blood. The blood had then been poured into large urns and bowls, and the vikings had smeared it over each other's bodies, some covering their entire torsos and faces.

They looked like demons, shouting and feasting, covered in blood. They had lit an enormous fire in the middle of the hall floor and the vikings danced in the light of the fire to the beat of a drum.

It was extremely hot. Brian could feel sweat running down the sides of his face and down between his shoulder blades.

He should mind the heat, the sweat. He wasn't usually very keen on being sweaty. But somehow now, now it felt right.

If only Freddie would come back and be sweaty with him…

Brian took a deep breath, trying hard to distract himself from his far from decent thoughts.

Really, what was he doing running about shirtless, eating weird mushrooms and pining over Freddie? He should be working on the northern isles plan. Or on his and Roger's soil project.

He frowned, looking for more mead but not finding any in his close vicinity.

He had yet to find the right balance of soil and manure to make his seed grow. And if he couldn't even find that, he'd never be able to try to copy that mixture with magic. Roger had promised to help him with the first step but the younger man hadn't visited Brian in the treasury since he'd brought up the idea.

In fact, Brian had barely seen any of his friend at all, the last couple of weeks. It was a shame, since they were really starting to get along.

The beat of the drum stopped and the dancing vikings all stopped with it, watching as a few of their brethren carried some kind of large object to the front of the room. Brian squinted at it, trying to make out what it was between rambunctious vikings and smoke.

“A target.” John said, appearing out of nowhere and slouching down in the seat next to him.

And yes, now Brian could make out several red rings painted on a skin strapped to the target. “Ah.” He said and nodded his thanks when John filled up his horn with mead from the canister he'd brought with him.

“A contest!” Roger cheered, coming to a stop in front of them, sitting down on top of the table. “For the best bowman, I do believe.”

“Yup.” John took a lazy swig from his own horn. “An archery contest.”

There was an odd note to his voice, and Brian turned to him in time to catch the hint of a smug smile on his flushed face. He was immediately distracted when he noticed that the younger man had lost his shirt. All that bare skin, runes in blood drawn over his chest by careful fingers. Roger’s fingers.

“What's up with you?” Roger asked suspiciously, leaning in closer to peer at John. “Why do you look like that?”

“Like what?” John hid his grin behind the horn.

Had John’s arms always been so defined? Had his chest?

Roger snorted, reaching out to ruffle John’s hair, tousling the chestnut strands affectionately. “Like you’re up to no good.”

“I’m always up to good.” John glanced over at Brian and gave him a wink. “Maybe I’m just excited for the contest.”

Roger grumbled good-naturedly. “Uhu.”

John just smiled at him wider, the corner of his eyes crinkling as he let one hand reach out and land on Roger’s hip, thumb absentmindedly stroking over bare skin.

Brian found himself following the movement intently. The easy affection and passion between the two men were tangible in the air and Brian found himself wanting, longing…

For what?

Obviously he wanted Freddie back with him, but there was something with this night that made him curious, made him hungry. Made him want to reach for John and… do something. And Roger…

Forcing himself to take his eyes off the other two he went back to his mead, desperately pouring more into his gullet. What was wrong with him?

Lusting for Freddie was one thing, but this…

God help him, he was like a beast in heat, was he not? And it was so bloody hot.

Doing his best to filter out John and Roger’s flirting next to him, he diligently stared as a few vikings set up the target. The rest of the bunch had gathered in front of it, some standing, some sitting down at the tables, all leaving plenty of room in front of the target.

They were yelling again, excited about the approaching contest.

These vikings were always yelling it seemed.

Roger nudged him in the shoulder. “Where did Freddie go?”

“I don’t know.” Brian frowned, straining his neck to look around the bustling hall. “He said he’d be right back.”

John took a long drink from his horn.

The yelling suddenly grew louder as a row of men made their way through the middle of the hall, bows over their shoulders.

Sune was in front, followed by another ten burly men. And at the back of the line went…

Brian almost fell off his chair.

“Freddie?!”

Roger sounded about as baffled as Brian felt because yes, at the end of the line, having changed to his favourite, bright yellow shirt, went Freddie, bow over his shoulder.

Brian stared.

“What is happening?” Roger muttered, shaking his head. “Is it the mushrooms?”

John laughed and half choked on his mead, sending mead and spit spraying, some of it getting on Brian’s arm. Not that he had the presence of mind to worry about that.

“You knew?” Roger spun around, facing John.

John shrugged, offering another toothy smile. “Perhaps.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Roger asked, voice accusing.

“Well,” John started, “to be fair it’s entirely on you that you didn’t notice. He hasn’t been particularly subtle about it.” He sent first Roger, then Brian a less than impressed look. “I guess that is what happens when you’re constantly busy doing princely and magicky things, huh.”

Brian winced. Had he really been so blind? Had he been so focused on himself and his own plans that he hadn’t noticed Freddie at all?

Roger said nothing, but the slump of his shoulders told Brian he also felt the weight of those words.

“Anyway,” John continued, wrapping comforting fingers around Roger’s wrist before tugging lightly, “let’s go closer, I want a better view.”

They moved closer, to the front of the spectators.

“I can’t believe this.” Roger said and Brian nodded distractedly, desperately trying to catch Freddie’s eyes. His lover was stubbornly staring down at the dirt floor, chewing at his lip. He still had Brian’s pale blue flower tucked behind one ear, and the blood suns on his face.

“Menn!” Brenna roared and the cheering vikings quieted. “Vi er alle krigere, vi er alle sterke.” The vikings howled and beat at their chests until the queen raised her hand. “Foran oss står de beste skytterne i kongeriket. La dem møtes i konkurranse, denne mørke natten.
La den sterkeste skytteren vinne!”

The cheers throbbed in Brian’s head. He and John turned to Roger as one and hissed: “What did she say?”

“These are the best archers in the kingdom, tonight they’ll compete to see who’s really the strongest.”

Brian finally managed to catch Freddie’s eyes. The other man looked nervous out of his skin, close to horrified to be truthful.

Brian wanted nothing more than to go up to him, comfort him, save him from this mess he’d gotten himself into, but Sune was already stepping up in front of the target, some twenty meters away.

“Sune, bror til Rune, sønn av Ture.” Brenna’s clear voice rang out.

Sune nocked the first arrow on his string, took a deep breath, and let it fly. It pierced the innermost circle of the target and the audience cheered.

Brian gaped. It looked so effortless!

Sune quickly let a second arrow fly, and then a third, both landing in the innermost circle. Then he stepped to the side, letting the next man try.

Brian, Roger and John all stood watching viking after viking have a go at the target. They were all good, but none as good as Sune. The one who came closest was a huge man, whose arrows were sent with such awesome strength they pierced far into the target.

And then, finally, after all these monsters of men, it was Freddie’s turn.

Brian felt overwhelmingly nervous and out of his depth as he watched Freddie walk up to the shooting spot, bow in hand. He didn’t feel better when he saw how much Freddie was trembling.

“Freddie, venn av Rothgar.” Brenna presented and the constant screams from the vikings stopped as they all stared in confusion at this slight, shaky man.

“This is hard to watch.” Roger groaned next to him.

“Be quiet.” John elbowed Roger in the side and gave Freddie a huge grin and a thumbs up when he briefly looked over at them.

Brian also did his best to look encouraging, but wasn’t sure how well he managed.

Freddie sent them all a shaky smile and then turned to the target. The room watched in silence as he closed his eyes and took a couple of calming breaths.

Then, he took an arrow, nocked it, drew his bowstring and took aim.

Brian barely dared to draw breath.

Freddie let the arrow go and to Brian’s surprise it found its way to the target, penetrating the skin inside the second ring.

The vikings cheered, and so did Roger and John. Brian wished he could see Freddie’s face, wished he could show him how proud he was, how impressed.

Freddie nocked his second arrow, quicker this time, and let it fly. This time it hit inside the third ring.

The audience cheered again, but Brian saw how Freddie’s already tense shoulder grew tenser, the slight tremble of his hand as he reached for his third and final arrow. He wished he knew what to say to him, he wished he could encourage him.

He wished he could tell him how sorry he was that he hadn’t paid enough attention.

“Come on, Fred!”

John shouted, so loud it pierced through the rest of the noise.

“You can do better than that, you can do better than all of these loud, stinking louts!”

“Oi!” Ulf protested, but was quickly silenced by Brenna.

The whole room, including Brian and Roger, stared at John. The only ones not staring was Brenna who was watching Freddie, and Freddie, who took a deep breath, relaxed his shoulders and took aim for the last time.

Brian didn’t even see him fire the arrow. It happened so fast. He only heard the noise when the arrowhead bit into the target, dead center.

“Yes!” John pierced the silence with a victorious howl, soon followed by the rest of the audience. The younger man had left Brian’s side the next moment, running up to Freddie and wrapping his arms around him, half lifting him off the floor in his excitement.

Freddie sputtered and waved his arms, trying to get free, but his grin was bright and his eyes brighter.

“That was amazing!” Roger now, screaming at Freddie, hurrying up to join him and John. Others followed, going up to Freddie and the other contestants, pounding on backs and laughing.

Brian shook himself out of his stupor and made his way over to the others.

His lover, an archer. Who would have thought?

“Fred,” he said, voice quiet in the loud room. Freddie still heard him, and turned to face him, a somewhat hesitant smile on his face as he still tried to get free from John’s firm grip.

John let him go when Brian reached them, grinning at Brian and pushing Freddie into his arms instead. Brian held him close, burying his face in ebony hair and breathing in the scent of him. Freddie’s shirt stuck to his sweaty skin, and the other man still seemed a bit tense.

“Brian…”

“I’m so sorry.” Brian tightened his hold on him. “I’m sorry for not noticing your journey, your growth. I’ve been too caught up in my own head, it seems.”

He pulled back just a smidge, just enough so he could meet those lovely, warm eyes. “You are unbelievable. In such a short time, you’ve come so far.” He gripped Freddie’s shoulders hard, overwhelmed with emotion. “You’re bloody brilliant!”

Freddie laughed then, his arms finding their home around Brian’s waist. “Well, I had to do something to at least try to keep up with my magical lover.” His eyes sparkled, his cheeks flushed with blood beneath the sun markings.

“Rekkefølge!” Brenna called out and Freddie and Brian pulled apart. “Vi har et resultat.” She continued,

“We have a result,” Roger whispered to them.

“Vinneren vår er nok en gang Sune, sønn av Ture.” Sune raised his fist to the air and the vikings cheered.

“På andreplass kommer Troels, sønn av Toke.” The large man flashed the queen a wide smile, missing several teeth, and took a bow. More cheers.

“På tredjeplass, en overraskelse for oss alle, Freddie, venn av Rothgar. Eller,” Brenna turned to Freddie, a smile playing over her lips, “kanskje vi burde kalle deg Solbage?”

“Solbage! Solbage!” The vikings lifted their horns towards Freddie, who looked as if his knees were going to give out any moment. Brian wrapped his arm around his waist to steady him.

“Sunbow. They’re calling you Sunbow.” Roger chuckled, beaming at Freddie. “It suits you.”

“Yeah!” John agreed, examining Freddie’s bow, which he’d been allowed to hold.

Brian eyed the red suns on Freddie’s face, his yellow shirt and his shining eyes. “It does.” He smiled and pressed a kiss to Freddie’s temple. “It does.”

“Oh stop, you.” Freddie grinned abashedly, playfully shoving at Brian.

“Musikk!” Ulf roared, clapping his hands. “Trommer!” He brusquely elbowed his way past other vikings to reach Brian and the others. “Congratulations.” He clapped Freddie on the back heartily. “We’ll need to get you your own bow now.”

“Thank you,” Freddie wheezed.

“A real man after all.” Ulf nodded in satisfaction, before grabbing Roger by the arm. “You’re coming with me, princeling. You promised to play.”

Roger grimaced. “Yeah, yeah. I promised I’d try.” He reached out and touched Freddie’s shoulder lightly. “That was some damn fine shooting, Fred.”

“Thank you.” Freddie said again, voice soft and eyes softer as he met Roger’s gaze. Brian subconsciously pulled him closer to his side.

“You too, John.” Ulf grabbed John’s arm with his free hand. “It’s been too long since you played that fiddle.”

John barely had time to give the bow back to Freddie before he and Roger were dragged off.

“An impressive feat.” Brenna immediately replaced Ulf in front of them, her cold blue eyes drilling into Freddie. “A fine performance, for a beginner.” She raised one eyebrow. “I’m finally starting to see why my fool nephew is so fond of you.”

To Brian’s surprise, Freddie held her gaze steadily. “Thank you.” He said, a third time, his voice loud and clear. “I had help.”

“I’m sure. We all need help, in the beginning. And then, as we grow stronger, we can in turn help others.” Brenna glanced over to where Ulf had taken their friends. John had his fiddle in hand and Roger had taken his place on a stool behind a drum. He was surrounded by other vikings with drums and soon they started up a beat, the rhythmic thud of several drums filling the hall, making the very walls vibrate.

Brenna turned back to Freddie. “It’s time for the end of the feast. Would you perform your body contortion for us? It’s been so long since the last time.”

“Of course.” Freddie bowed his head to the queen, who nodded back before leaving.

When Freddie then turned to Brian, his blinding smile made Brian’s knees feel weak and set a fire in his already overheated body. God, but he was beautiful.

“She finally acknowledged me.” Freddie muttered, more to himself than to Brian. “I finally matter.”

Brian shook his head, taking Freddie’s hand and kissing his knuckles. “You’ve always mattered.”

“To you, perhaps.” Freddie tugged his hand free and used it to cup Brian’s cheek, looking at him with so much adoration Brian felt unworthy. “And I’m so grateful to you for that, darling. I love you.”

“I love you.” Brian whispered back. He wanted nothing more than to take Freddie with him to their chamber, where he’d show him just how much he mattered, but Freddie had something to do. Put on a show, for the first time since he’d run from this place. “Go blow our minds.”

The steady, hypnotizing beat of the drums was joined by John’s otherworldly playing and Brian felt goosebumps spread all over his arms, despite the heat.

“Will you watch me?” Freddie asked, eyes molten.

Brian hesitated. He wasn’t sure that would be a good idea, in his frustrated state. “For a bit. I think I need some air soon.”

“Are you feeling well?” Freddie looked at him imploringly, a tiny wrinkle between his dark brows.

“I’m fine. Just feeling a bit hot and tipsy.” Brian soothed him.

Satisfied with that, at least for now, Freddie gave him a heated kiss before placing his bow on the table and then making his way through the throng of sweaty, dancing vikings.

Brian would usually be hesitant to be so obvious with his affection, out in the open like this, but the vikings didn’t seem to care. Actually, some of the men were also acting unusually affectionate, grinding against each other, hands moving over strong backs or arms.

It was like the entire room had a fever, the dancing firelight and steadily pounding drums just sending them all deeper into the trance.

Brian wiped the sweat off his brow, only for it to immediately be replaced. He looked over at his friends. At John, strong, kind and sweet. Making magic with his bow and fiddle, his sinewy form twisting as he lost himself in the music. At Roger, who rapped his steady hands over the drum as one together with all the others, golden and bright and lovely. At Freddie, who’d stripped out of his yellow shirt, bending his supple body backwards over himself until he stood on his hands, as the men watched, in awe.

No. No. Brian couldn’t possibly take any more of this. He felt as if he was going to explode, so filled to the brink with the heat, the fire in his loins, the flood of emotion and sensation coursing through his every cell. He could feel his magic buzzing just beneath his skin, begging to be let out.

He had to go. He couldn’t stay here for he knew not what he might do.

The haunted whine from John’s violin, the damn pounding of the drums followed him all the way outside. He had to get away.

Desperate, he started making his way through the snow, not minding the cold. No, the chilly air on his overheated skin was a relief. He inhaled and exhaled, sending mist out in front of him as he moved further away from the main hall.

The stars were out, together with the moon. They shone their light on the brilliant white of the snow, lighting up the frozen world in hues of silver and blue.

Brian’s head spun.

It was so hot.

He’d barely gotten further than hundred meters from the hall, when his legs failed him. He went down to his knees in the snow.

All turned to black.

“Are you with me?” A soft, familiar voice in his ear.

Brian opens his eyes and looks right into pretty, warm green.

John smiles at him, so wide his eyes crinkles at the corners. “Are we not interesting enough for you?”

“What,” Brian starts, head spinning.

“Rog,” John calls… down? “We’re not keeping his attention. You must be doing something wrong down there.”

Suddenly he feels it. The warm wetness, the pressure around his cock which unfortunately stops as soon as he’s started feeling it.

“Piss off.” Roger says pleasantly, before promptly going back to sucking Brian’s cock.

A loud moan escapes him and Brian stares wide eyed at John, who just smiles back, smug.

What in all the world is going on?

“That’s better.” John purrs and leans forward to swallow Brian’s next moan with his mouth.

It’s warm. He’s burning up. He’s losing himself in John and Roger. But where is…?

“You’re thinking too much.” Freddie murmurs into the skin of his neck, his naked chest pressed to Brian’s equally naked back. Brian can feel the tickle of his chest hair, his talented fingers trailing down Brian’s sides. “Just let go and feel, hmm?”

Roger swallows around him and Brian whines, John eagerly stealing the noise from him as he thrusts his talented tongue into Brian’s mouth.

“So good.” Freddie whispers, sinful lips skidding over the sensitive skin of his neck. “So beautiful.”

Brian’s shaking, if he wasn’t trapped between John and Freddie he’d probably fall to his knees. He feels so good. So loved.

He feels beautiful.

Suddenly he’s made aware of his hands. He immediately uses one of them to reach back, holding onto Freddie and the other he brings down, to Roger’s head. He strokes through long, silky hair and then finds another hand already there and he doesn’t know if it’s Freddie’s or John’s or…

John pulls back and looks at him with dark eyes. “Let go.”

“For us.” Freddie pulls the lobe of his ear between his teeth.

Roger hums around him and sucks harder and Brian lets go.

.

Roger’s voice thunders all around them, the sound of the ground splitting open, of mountains rupturing and worlds ending. What he says, Brian knows not. He doesn’t have to know. He trusts he knows what he’s doing. All Brian has to do is keep feeding him magic, making him otherworldly, making him a god.

.

The sun is unforgiving. The air itself is dissolving, making the landscape around him hazy and dreamlike. Sand, so much sand, in every direction he can see. But he knows which way to go.

.

Grown men cowers like small frightened children as Roger talks to them. Brian’s hands tremble. It’s a lot. He’s tired. He borrows some energy, from John this time. Freddie needs to focus, his dark eyes piercing into the king, his bow drawn.

.

Soft. So soft. What material are these sheets made of? It’s like nothing Brian’s ever felt before. It’s like heaven, like clouds, like magic. They’re white, like snow. And what’s even better, are the warm bodies surrounding him on both sides.

.

Brenna moves forward towards the king. Graceful as a cat. As sure as the coming of tomorrow and as unforgiving as the ocean. She lifts her sword.

.

Blue. Clear, gorgeous blue. The colour of freedom.

The skies have not a cloud on them and Brian sighs. He inhales the fresh, crisp air and closes his eyes. He can hear Freddie singing just behind him, another soft voice joining in in sweet harmony. He lets himself be soothed by the song, by the wind pulling at his hair, by the scent of salt.

He hears a familiar shriek and opens his eyes to the wide sea. He looks up and sees her. Pure white, circling above the ship.

“Athena,” he calls to her, and she comes. The bird of prey gracefully dancing down through the air torrents to land on his shoulder.

Brian threw open his eyes, gasping for breath. He was on his back, on the ground. The snow all around him had melted completely and he’d also managed to thaw the frozen ground.

There was mud, everywhere.

Brian stared up at the dark sky and the moon and stars stared back.

“What the…”

Chapter Text

”I don’t want to practice my writing!” The young girl with two blonde braids exclaims, getting to her feet.

“Sit down, Hilda.” Brenna doesn’t look up from her book. “We are not yet finished with the lesson.”

The blonde girl throws her arms out in frustration. “Men mamma, I already know how to speak it, we do it all the time! Isn’t that enough?”

The other girl, sitting next to her mother by the table, red hair a wild mess, rolls her eyes at her sister. “You just want to go practice the sword instead. Hoping to run into Knud?”

“Be quiet, Frida.” Hilda blushes. “I just don’t understand why we have to waste more time on learning English.”

“It is not a waste of time, silly girl. It is our legacy.” Brenna rumbles. “Sit down.”

Hilda does, sulking.

Frida leans over her own parchment, half filled with scribbles, and peers at her mother. “Because of grandmother?”

“Yes. Because of your grandmother.” Brenna nods. “She started all of this, started our time of rule. She taught my sister and I how to communicate, how to be strategic and patient and clever.” Frida eagerly hangs onto each word while Hilda pretends to be disinterested. “To lead, to rule a people, it is not enough with brute force. A kingdom built on only blood and fear will never last. It will never grow or prosper. It will never evolve.”

Brenna puts a hand on each of her daughters shoulders and squeezes. “A kingdom needs to be nurtured. That is what the men don’t understand. That is why I have changed our island for the better and why you will make it better yet. Because a woman can be strong, fierce and merciless, but also caring and kind. To rule is not a task fit for a man.” Her lips curl into a smile. “It is a task for a woman.”

Roger absentmindedly spun a lock of his still damp hair around his fingers, staring at nothing while picturing the vision for the tenth time since starting breakfast.

He’d woken early, pulled from his sleep by another nightmare. He’d debated waking John and telling him about it, as the younger man fiercely insisted that he should everytime. But after giving his lover a onceover, Roger had decided to let him sleep. John had drunk lots the night before and looked like he needed all the rest he could get.

Instead, he’d gone to wash the sweat and blood from the prior night off at the bathhouse. And that’s when it happened.

He’d been sitting on a stool, having just rinsed his hair, when he suddenly lost his consciousness. Or, more like, when his consciousness was stolen from the present and shoved into another strange place.

When he came to, Roger was still on his stool, naked and wet, gripping the empty bucket like an idiot, with Sune calling his name in concern.

He’d had a vision, of that Roger was quite certain. But what did it mean? And how was it even possible?

Brenna was as barren as a frozen wasteland, she couldn’t conceive.

If the vision truly was of the future, it didn’t make any sense!

Roger sighed and untangled his fingers. He reached for the last piece of bread in front of him and popped it into his mouth. No matter how he twisted and turned the vision around, he couldn’t make a lick of sense out of it.

He needed to talk to Brian.

Determined, he made to get up, only to notice Freddie sitting right next to him.

“Oh.” Roger turned to him, eyes wide. “Fred.”

Freddie raised one eyebrow. “You finally noticed me. Good morning, darling. A lot on your mind?” He took a bite out of a wrinkly apple, eyeing Roger skeptically.

“Yeah, sorry.” Roger muttered, sinking back down in his seat. Freddie just shrugged and took another bite of his apple.

He looked… annoyed. Annoyed and somewhat disgruntled, attacking the apple ferociously. His hair was uncharacteristically messy.

Roger was all at once reminded of the archery contest the night before, how in control Freddie had been during that last shot. How intense and passionate and beautiful he’d looked.

Forcefully pushing thoughts of dark, smoldering eyes and skilled, nimble fingers out of his head, Roger cleared his throat.

“All good?”

“Just great.” Freddie responded tartly. “I ran after Brian last night and found him collapsed and covered in mud. I finally managed to get him up, distracted and mumbly as he was, but by that point both of us were covered in muck. I had to drag him to the bathhouse and spent ages trying to get the mud out of my favorite shirt as well as cleaning up the both of us while Brian sat half asleep, not lifting a finger to help.” He finished off the apple with a couple of vicious bites. “I told him not to eat those bloody things!”

Roger listened to Freddie’s rant, excited. “Did he see something? He must have seen something!”

Freddie scoffed. “Probably. He wasn’t exactly verbal after I found him, and now he’s asleep.”

“Well, I need to talk to him.” Roger got up. “I need to talk to all of you. Can you go wake Brian up and then join me and John in our room?”

Freddie sighed but nodded, grabbing another apple and putting it in his pocket, before getting up as well.

- - -

The first thing Freddie saw when he and a still somewhat out of it Brian knocked at and opened the door was John jumping on one leg, doing his best to tug his breeches on. He finally managed, but not before treating Freddie and Brian to the sight of his very impressive cock.

It was only when the younger man turned to them, face red, and sheepishly apologized that Freddie managed to stop staring, waving the apology off with equally flushed cheeks.

Who’d have thought that gentle, sweet John was packing like that? That coupled with his rapidly developing muscles and headstrong nature… The younger man was really growing up to be something quite special.

But why’d he been naked? Freddie glanced at Roger, an odd mix of arousal and jealousy simmering in his gut. Had the two of them…?

No, he quickly surmised. John looked a real mess and could barely stand on his feet, most likely still drunk from the night before. And Roger, Roger was far too put together, sitting on the edge of the bed, dressed and in the middle of braiding his hair, a solemn look on his face.

Freddie immediately got distracted by the sight of those quick fingers weaving and waving through liquid gold, efficiently binding the locks and locking them up with a worn leather band.

“Don’t just stand there.” Roger threw his finished braid over one shoulder and turned to Freddie and Brian. “Come in.”

Freddie blinked, realizing he’d been rooted to the spot in the doorway since spotting John’s massive member. He let out a strangled chuckle and quickly moved inside, tugging Brian in after him, before shutting the door.

The magician was also quite rosy in the cheeks and was carefully not looking at John, who had sunken down next to Roger, stifling yawns into the sleeve of his inside out shirt.

“We need to talk.” Roger said, not paying Freddie and Brian’s flusteredness or John’s yawning any mind. “I think I had a vision.”

Well, Freddie thought, dryly amused, Roger was never one for beating around the bush.

John froze in the middle of another yawn and turned his bleary eyes to his lover. “When?”

“Early this morning.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Roger tapped his fingers on his knee, impatient. “You were sleeping. I wasn’t here. It doesn’t matter. What matters is that I had a bloody vision and I have no idea what to make of it.” He leant forward, eyes boring into Brian. “You had one too, didn’t you?”

From the corner of his eye Freddie could see Brian open his mouth and close it again, clasping his hands together in front of him only to immediately unclasp them. “I… I’m not sure.”

“You’re not sure?” Roger frowned at him.

“Well,” Brian started, eyes nervously darting around the room, “there was a lot of alcohol. And the heat! The heat had me light headed by the end.”

Freddie stared at him. Why was Brian acting so dodgy? He was like a spooked animal, or like a young boy with a crush… If anyone should have any idea of all this magic mushroom nonsense, it should be Brian!

John hiccupped and leant heavily on Roger, half burying his face in his neck.

“Right.” Roger looked about as impressed with Brian as Freddie felt. “Personally, I’m pretty sure it wasn’t the heat that made me see things. Nor the mead. I blacked out and had a vision in the middle of washing this morning. And I saw…” he trailed off, wetting his bottom lip with his tongue. “I saw Brenna with her two daughters.”

It was quiet for a moment.

John hiccupped again and sat up straight, frowning. “That can’t be right. She can’t have children, no?” He tugged at Roger’s shirt lightly. “That’s why she needs you and all.”

“Exactly.” Roger nodded, firmly removing John’s fumbling hand when it tried to crawl inside his shirt. “What I saw can’t be true. A dream, perhaps. Brenna’s dream.” His expression darkened and Freddie was pretty sure he knew what the younger man was thinking.

All of their dream. If Brenna could have children, she might let Roger go.

“Just because you had a hallucination, it doesn’t necessarily have to mirror the future.” Brian said slowly. “It’s just some old viking superstition in the first place, isn’t it?” He looked a bit calmer now, a frown between his beautiful brows.

“I suppose.” Roger scratched his head. “It felt so real, though.” He shivered. “Quite uncanny.”

Freddie nudged Brian in the side. “You must have seen something too.”

Brian sighed. “I did. And I had a similar experience as Roger. Blacking out all of a sudden and experiencing the most vivid dreams.”

“What did you see?” John asked eagerly, looking a bit more alert now.

Brian averted his eyes and cleared his throat. “I saw the plan play out.”

“You did?” Roger asked, eyes wide. “Did it work?”

“I think so.” Brian crossed his arms. “But with your vision in mind, it’s quite possible that it was just a hallucination without any truth to it.”

Roger nodded slowly, looking tired.

“What was the other vision?” Freddie asked, turning to Brian.

“Wh..what?” Brian stiffened. “What do you mean?”

Why was he so nervous?

Freddie was starting to get really tired of this morning, last night - all of it! “Dreams Brian, you said you had vivid dreams.”

“Oh, I misspoke.”

Surely not.

Brian was exceptionally well-spoken.

Freddie opened his mouth to argue but Roger cut in.

“No matter.” He said. “It doesn’t matter if the vision was true or not.” He gave a wry smile. “The vikings believe in it, right? That means Brenna does, too. We should be able to convince her to try it, now.”

Brian nodded eagerly. “You’re right. This should work in our favour.”

“Let’s go with your vision.” Roger said, face set in determination. “I’ll say I saw the same, instead of confusing and angering her with my own one.” He turned his gaze on Brian, and the intensity in his eyes made Freddie swallow. “My only demand is that we kill the king. Brenna won’t go for the plan if we spare him.” His hand that laid resting on John’s thigh tightened into a fist. “And neither will I.”

“I know.” Brian said. “It will work out.”

“Great!” The storm clouds were gone from Roger’s eyes as soon as they’d appeared. He jumped to his feet, almost sending a disgruntled John to the floor. “I have to go. There’s a shortage of grain in the nearest village and I’m somehow supposed to sort that out before supper.”

John gave a sad sigh and pulled one of the pillows close. Roger stroked his hair affectionately and leant down to place a kiss on his forehead.

“How are you supposed to do that?” Freddie asked incredulously. “You’re not the wizard.”

Roger grinned at him. “Even better, I am a farm boy.”

“Not anymore you’re not.” John muttered. “Your highness.”

Roger gave him a quick slap on the rear that made John squeak.

Freddie was waiting for the expected rush of jealousy at their display, but to his surprise it never came. He felt nothing but fond amusement.

“What about the plan?” Brian asked impatiently.

Roger stretched, and Freddie caught Brian following the movement closely. He raised his eyebrows. What was going on with the lot of them?

“We’ll suggest it to her tonight.” Roger said, grunting in satisfaction when his back popped. “You figure out what to say. I’ll go with whatever you come up with.”

Brian frowned. “Really? Shouldn't we decide what to say together?”

“It’s fine.” Roger came up to them, an easy smile on his face. “You’re the smart one. I trust you.” He grasped Brian’s upper arm and gave it a squeeze.

Brian stared at him dumbly, eyes wide. His blush was ridiculous by this point. Freddie had no idea how Roger hadn’t picked up on it yet.

“Good luck.” He said, giving Brian another squeeze before letting go. He threw a glance over his shoulder at the still pouting John. “Maybe you should go wash up, love. You smell ripe.”

John answered him with a crude gesture and Roger laughed.

Finally, he turned his bright gaze on Freddie, the warmth in his eyes making Freddie feel as if he was bathing in sunlight. “Please look after our buffoons.”

“Oi!” John protested.

“It’ll be my pleasure, darling.” Freddie smiled back.

Roger laughed again and moved past them to grab the door handle. “See you tonight.” He threw over his shoulder, before disappearing outside.

John grunted and got up from the bed. He lifted one arm, took a sniff and went slightly green in the face. “Eh, uh, I’ll be right back.” With that he grabbed the closest fur, wrapped it around his shoulders and hurried out after Roger.

He slammed the door shut after himself with a crash and both Freddie and Brian jumped.

Brian let out a forced chuckle and made to follow John, but Freddie grabbed him by the elbow. He wasn’t letting him off that easy.

“Why did you lie about your vision?”

Brian froze in his tracks. “What do you mean?” He asked, refusing to meet Freddie’s eyes.

“You didn’t tell us all of it, did you?” Freddie accused, shaking Brian lightly, desperately trying to get his lover to look at him.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Freddie.” Brian pulled himself free, his shoulders slowly hunching up towards his ears.

Freddie put both hands on his hips and glared up at the other man. “I am not the one being ridiculous! Do you think I’m stupid? You’ve been acting odd this whole conversation, averting your eyes, fidgeting. Blushing like a maiden.” He took a step closer to Brian and poked one finger into his chest. “You’re hiding something.”

“Christ sake!” Brian snarled, finally lifting his head to meet Freddie’s eyes head on. “Just let it go, alright? It’s not important.”

“Not important?” Freddie’s voice was rising in volume rapidly. “Then why were you so afraid to tell the others? Why are you so afraid to tell me.” He threw his arms out. “We can’t have any more secrets between the four of us, no more lies. Hell, that’s what almost destroyed us!”

“Oh, that’s rich!” Brian let out a disbelieving laugh. “Don’t act like it was all my fault. Don’t you dare blame that on me!” His usually calm, warm eyes cut Freddie like knives. “No more lies you say. Yet you still haven’t told me the truth about if you’d ever picked me. If Roger hadn’t found out.”

Freddie’s mouth gaped open. He couldn’t believe his ears. Why would Brian bring something like that up now, at this moment?

Because you’re the worst liar of them all. You’re the one with the secrets. It’s a wonder he even trusts you with his heart at all, after all you’ve done, all you’ve said. All you haven't said.

If Brian did even trust him.

Freddie lowered his gaze, drawing his lip down over his teeth.

He couldn’t blame him if he didn’t.

“Hey.” Brian said, voice heartbreakingly soft. “I’m sorry. That was unfair of me.”

He sounded tired. Tired and sad and guilty.

It would be so easy to just let this play out. Get sad, cry a bit, let Brian hold him and comfort him. Win the argument.

But what would be the point? What would that solve?

Nothing.

And Freddie was done taking the easiest way out. He was done being a weakling.

He wanted to become a man who deserved Brian's trust. Who deserved his love.

“No.” He said slowly, taking a deep breath. “No, it isn’t unfair.” He met Brian’s eyes. “You’re right. I am the root of the lies, of the distrust between us. I flirted with you, when I shouldn’t have. I knew you had feelings for me. I…” his voice wobbled. “I lied to Roger and I broke his heart. I made him hate me.” He reached for Brian’s hand and held it tight. “And you, my love. You asked for my heart and I couldn’t give you all of it.”

Brian squeezed his hand hard. “Freddie…”

“That’s the truth. The truth you deserved to hear long ago. The truth I’m sure you already knew.” Freddie blinked once, his eyes stinging. “If Roger hadn’t found out, I wouldn’t have left him.”

Brian let out a low, pained sound. When Freddie looked up at him, his lover’s eyes were wet.

“I’m sorry.” Freddie murmured. “I am the most unfair of all.”

“You really are.” Brian sniffed, his hand trembling in Freddie’s. “But yes, I knew. Even if I did my best to believe otherwise.”

A tear escaped down Freddie’s cheek. “I love you, though. I really, really do. Please believe me.”

Brian used his grip on Freddie’s hand to pull him in close against his chest, arms wrapping around him tightly. “I do. I do. And I love you.”

Freddie mashed his face into Brian’s neck, smearing tears over his skin as he embraced his lover for dear life.

“Just answer me this.” Brian’s voice trembled. “If he wanted you back, would you go to him? Would you leave me?”

“No.” Freddie said easily. Because it was easy. He wouldn’t give Brian up for anything.

Not even for Roger.

Strong, steady hands. Clear blue, sparkling with light, warming him up from the inside. The infinite warmth and passion of the sun, trapped within a mortal man.

“No,” he repeated, pulling back to look at Brian, not caring that his eyes were red and his cheeks wet. “I love you and I love him. That is the cruel truth. But I will not give you up for him, as I would not give him up for you. God help me but I want you both. It’s not fair to pretend anything else is true.” He shook his head, letting out a self-deprecating laugh. “I’m a perversion of nature. Lately, I’ve even begun to lust after our newest companion.”

Brian frowned at him, lifting one of his big, slender hands to cup the back of Freddie’s head. “Don’t call yourself that. You’re not a perversion of anything.” He grimaced. “Or, perhaps you are. But then so am I.”

Freddie scoffed. “Because of the magic? Come now, Brian, that’s hardly the same thing.”

“No, not because of the magic…” Brian shut his eyes tightly, looking pained. Freddie admired the crystal drops stuck to his lashes even as he hated himself for creating them.

“The visions, Fred. You’re right. There were many.” Brian muttered. “In one of them, all of us, all four of us, were together.”

Freddie tilted his head, not following. “Yes…?”

“Together.”

“Oh! Oh.”

That would explain the fidgeting and blushing, Freddie thought, numbly.

“Yes. Oh. And I have no idea if it was the future, a fantasy or just bollocks.” Brian gritted out. “Anyway, I enjoyed it, and, to be truthful, since that's what we're doing, I might have been… looking, before the vision.” He let go of Freddie’s head to put his palm to his forehead.

Freddie didn’t know what to say. That was not what he’d expected Brian to say, at all.

A part of him was furious and jealous that Brian had thought of anyone else than him in a carnal manner. But that part was easily swallowed up by the pure relief that he wasn’t alone anymore, not alone in his cage built up of greed, shame and guilt.

Golden locks falling over Brian’s pale chest. John’s strong arms wrapping around his own thin waist.

The jealousy, anger, relief, guilt all were overtaken by pure, unbridled excitement. If Brian had seen it… could it be true? Could it really happen?

“Please say something.”

“Oh, darling. I’m sorry. We’re both unnatural, it would seem.” Freddie chuckled, standing up on his tiptoes to press his lips to Brian’s. “Thank you for trusting me.”

Thank you for making me feel less alone.

Brian sighed and pulled Freddie closer again, burrowing his cold nose in Freddie’s hair. “This is all such a mess. As if things weren’t already complicated enough.”

“Well,” Freddie hummed, “considering, I’d say some visions of foursomes are on the tame side, compared to what’s happened to us all the last couple of months.”

“My magical powers.”

“Roger turning out to be a viking prince.”

“You almost dying.” Brian’s grip tightened desperately around Freddie.

“You almost dying.” Just remembering it had Freddie feeling sick with fear.

They had been so close to dying, all of them, so many times.

“There were more.” Brian whispered after a minute spent in silence, just holding onto each other.

“Hmm?”

“More visions.” He clarified. “They were all very short but there were lands of sand, the softest, whitest sheets I’ve ever experienced and a ship. We were on a ship, I could hear you singing and there was a white bird of prey.”

Freddie frowned. “Why did you have so many while Roger only had the one? And what does it mean?”

“I have no idea.” Brian groaned. “It can’t possibly all be the future.”

But maybe it could be. Maybe the plan would succeed, and they’d somehow be able to get away from this island, experiencing new adventures together. Together.

“Should I tell Roger and John?”

“About the desert and ship, yes.” Freddie gnawed at his lip. “But about seeing us all together like that… I’m not sure. I’d really hate to keep more lies between us but I’m afraid it would just scare them away. John only has eyes for Roger. And Roger, well…”

Brian exhaled into Freddie’s hair. “I was thinking the same. I don’t want to push them into anything. It’s most likely a baseless hallucination, anyway.”

Freddie felt the start of a headache coming on. He was emotionally exhausted. Arguing with Brian, finally telling the truth, and then finding out Brian also had feelings for the others. It was a lot.

But still…

“So…” He started innocently. “In this vision of yours, was dream-John as well-endowed as our real one?”

Brian groaned long-sufferingly. “Oh help me, god.”

- - -

Outside the door to his and Roger’s bedroom John stood frozen, a bright red blush on his face.

Chapter Text

When Roger found Brian later that day, the magician had cow dung up to his elbows.

“Oh wow, it smells awful.” The blond greeted, nose scrunched up as he closed the door to the treasury behind him. “Freddie told me I’d find you here.”

Brian glared at him. “Well, if you’d helped me figure out the soil to dung ratio from the start, as you promised, I wouldn’t be here trying to figure it out myself, now would I.”

“It’s not exactly advanced science.” Roger rested his back against the door, arms crossed and with a grin on his face. “Surely such an intelligent and gifted man as yourself can figure it out?”

No, he hadn’t been able to, not yet. None of the test seeds were growing, as Roger’d said they would with the right soil, water and a bit of light. Brian could create the water and the light, but the damn dirt he just couldn’t figure out.

But he didn’t want to admit that to Roger, who was looking far too entertained already. Entertained and frustratingly beautiful, leaning back against the door all relaxed. At least Brian could look at him without blushing now. Talking of his vision with Freddie had helped.

“It would be more time efficient if you helped.” Brian settled on, keeping his expression steady as Roger rolled his eyes good-naturedly and walked up to join him by his test pots.

Roger sat down next to him on the rug, so close Brian could feel the warmth emanating from him. The other man’s cheeks and nose were still red with cold, several loose strands of hair having escaped his braid sticking to his skin.

“You just came back?” Brian asked, busying himself with putting another log in the fire as Roger shook off his furs and rolled his sleeves up.

“Yeah.” Roger sighed, reaching for the only empty pot left. “Took me hours to get home. The snowfall is getting heavier.” He peered up at Brian, eyes bright. “Soon we’ll all be snowed in.”

Brian frowned. He didn’t share his friend’s excitement over the thought of so much snow and cold… “How did it go in the village?”

“Oh, alright I guess.” Roger reached for the container of cow dung, dung which Brian had collected earlier that day. “We brought some extra provisions. One of their storages had been pilfered. Bandits, most likely.”

“There are bandits on this small island?”

“Apparently.” Roger shrugged, giving the fresh dung the stink eye. “Just so you know, dry, old dung works fine. Less… messy.”

“I wish I’d known.” Brian answered drily.

“Sorry about that.” Roger grinned, not looking sorry in the slightest. “So anyway, when you have tiny seedlings like this, you don’t want to shock them with too much dung. It’s too strong for them, so for this pot, you can go for just a handful.”

He grabbed a fist of dung and let it drop to the bottom of the pot. “Soil?”

Brian had learnt how to copy the composition of soil, but was still struggling with creating a lot of it, since it took a lot of his energy. He had some clean soil left in another pot and pointed to it. “Is that enough?”

“It will have to be.” Roger got to his feet, grabbed the heavy pot and carried it over. Brian admired the muscles standing out on his bare underarms as Roger grunted and poured the contents of the pot into the one with the dung.

He watched with great interest as the younger man shoved his arms into the dirt and mixed the soil and dung around.

“That should be it.” Roger exhaled, sitting back down next to Brian. “You got the seeds?”

Brian nodded, grabbing the seeds from his pocket and handing them to Roger.

Roger pressed the seeds down into the dirt and gently covered them back up.

Ah, Brian hadn’t done that. Or the mixing really.

“Now they just need some water, light and a loving hand.” Roger nodded. “Winter’s really the worst time for this kind of thing, but with the tiny bit of light they can get from the window coupled with some of your magic, I think it’ll be fine.”

Brian watched the packed dirt with great anticipation. If it worked this time, he could go on to study the composition, hopefully learning how to recreate it with magic.

“Perfect. Thank you.”

Roger turned to him, his smile blinding.

“Although,” Brian continued, “wouldn’t it have been easier to mix the dung into the soil already in that pot?”

Roger’s smile fell.

- - -

Brenna looked unwell. Tired and gaunt and generally uncomfortable.

Of course, neither Brian nor Roger mentioned this as they stood in front of her and Ulf in their bedroom.

“You are certain?”

“Yes.” Brian said.

“The gods showed you how we win over the kingdom of the northern isles. And we do it by… lies and trickery?”

“Yes.” Brian said again.

Brenna leant back in her chair pondering this.

Ulf scoffed. “You can’t possibly mean that they’d mistake the princeling for a god.”

“Half-god. You heard Wendelin’s story. They already think him the son of the goddess Freja and a human man.”

“Yes,” Ulf scratched his head, “because he’s unnaturally pretty for a man and was lucky in the battle.”

“It was not just luck.” Roger protested, arms crossed and chest puffed out.

“Sure princeling, sure.”

“I help him,” Brian interrupted before the two men could get into a fight, “in the vision. I help him with my magic.”

Brenna’s eyes brightened with interest. “You make him a god?”

Roger’s voice crashing over the men like rolling waves. Wind whipping at his loose hair, his white shirt.

“I make him a god.”

Roger glanced at him, eyes wide.

“Good.” Brenna nodded. “And what did our god say?”

Brian cleared his throat awkwardly. “I don’t know. He was talking Norse.”

“I tell them that their king is a coward and a traitor.” Roger said, voice low. “I tell them that a man like that has no place in Valhalla, and neither do the men following him.” He took a step forward. “I tell them that the Isle of Mann is under my protection and whoever attacks it will feel the wrath of the gods.”

Well, so much for leaving the talking to Brian. However, a quick glance at Brenna and Ulf’s eager faces showed him that Roger was telling them exactly what they wanted to hear.

“And the king?” Brenna practically growled, leaning forward in her seat.

“You take his head.” Roger said. “As is your right.”

Brenna took a deep breath, a dangerous smile on her face. “You’re telling me it can be this easy? That we can win without sacrificing our men?”

“That’s what we saw.” Brian said solemnly.

Brenna laughed. “We will be free of them! At last.” She stood up and went up to Roger, putting a heavy hand on his shoulder. “We will finally avenge my sister.”

“We will.” Roger put his own hand over hers.

They were so eerily alike. So fair.

But where Brenna was cold, Roger was warm.

“Arne would have enjoyed the idea of tricking the enemy and winning the battle without spilling our men’s blood.” Brenna smiled sadly, freeing her hand to stroke Roger’s cheek. “He would have been proud of you.”

“Thank you.” Roger smiled back, voice thick with emotion.

Ulf shrugged and got up as well, clapping Brian on the back. “That’s it then. If it’s what my queen and her princeling desire, we’ll make it happen.”

He leered at Brian with his yellowed teeth. “We will leave for the Northern isles when the snow melts and you will lead us to victory.”

- - -

John adjusted the heavy fur over Tootsie’s back and gave her a nice scratch behind the ear.

She huffed at him happily, her large, pretty eyes falling shut as she continued her slumber. He sat in the hay in the stable, pressed up against the donkey’s flank, furs wrapped up to his ears in the cold.

He’d spent most of yesterday here in the rebuilt stable, clearing dung and feeding the animals. Scratching ears and petting sides. In the evening he’d gone back to his and Roger’s room, trying to sleep until his lover showed up.

Roger had been elated, full of joy over having convinced Brenna to go for his and Brian’s plan, and had been eager to celebrate with John.

After having more or less sucked John’s soul out of his cock, Roger had gone to sleep, leaving John sweaty and breathless, staring up at the ceiling.

He’d managed to fall asleep shortly after but the sleep had been restless and he’d woken early.

And so he found himself back in the stable, having brought his breakfast. The snow laid thick outside, he’d had to struggle through snow up to his thighs on the way over.

At least it had stopped snowing now. It was shaping up to be a gorgeous day - all blue skies, a cheerful sun and glittering, soft white for as long as the eye could see.

But, well, John wasn’t particularly interested in the weather, right now.

He was busy being embarrassed. Embarrassed and mortified and worried and jealous and intrigued.

He hadn’t meant to overhear Brian and Freddie. He really hadn’t. But the water had been cold, and he’d hurried to wash up, running back to quickly get into dry clothes.

But then before he’d gone inside he’d heard them talking. Something about Brian having had more visions, a desert and a ship. And the four of them together.

Together, as in having sex, most likely.

Oh, and Freddie thought he was well-endowed.

John’s cheeks heated and he muffled a groan into Tootsie’s thick hide.

So Brian had had a vision of him and Freddie and Roger and John having sex. That was all fine. As the other man had said, it was most likely a hallucination. But the other men had made it sound like it was something they wouldn’t mind… Something they’d been interested in. Only they didn’t want to scare him and Roger off.

They weren’t supposed to find out.

But of course, with his bloody luck, John had found out, and had no clue how to feel about it all.

It was true that he mostly had eyes for Roger. He’d been captivated by him from the start. And really, who could blame him? John would bet that the most devoted, pious christian out there would be challenged in his faith if faced with Roger.

John loved Roger. More than he’d ever loved anything. Of this he was certain.

But that didn’t mean that he didn’t also admire and care greatly for his other two friends. And he did find them attractive. But to have sex with them?

He was not sure…

How would it even work, with all of them?

And what would Roger think? Would he want to?

John remembered seeing Roger and Freddie together the first night they came here. They had been absolutely gorgeous, light and dark, so used to each other, so well versed with each others’ bodies.

But that had been before…

Did Roger still want Freddie like that?

And how did Brian fit in all of this?

Where did John himself fit in?

This was such a bother.

Yes, he was grateful to finally have gotten friends, but why did they have to be so complicated all the time?

And why did they have to be so beautiful the lot of them… Men were not supposed to be beautiful. That was not how God had intended it.

John snorted, shaking his head. He didn’t even have it in him to worry about God’s thoughts on the matter. He was more interested to hear Roger’s. But he was unsure whether to tell him…

“There you are!”

Tootsie’s ears shot straight up.

Speak of the devil.

“There’s my beauty.” Roger strode towards them, furs tightly wrapped around his form. “Both of them.”

Tootsie brayed loudly in excitement and got to her feet, sending John sprawling sputtering into the hay. She shook her head before trotting over to Roger, pushing her head against his chest.

Roger laughed and cooed, ruffling the donkey’s mane while John got up, brushing pieces of hay out of his hair.

He watched his lover fuss over their loyal animal companion for a moment, unable to keep from smiling like an idiot.

“Hey, you. You stole my lover all of yesterday, you’re not keeping him in your clutches today too.” Roger mock chided the donkey, sending John a wink. “We have plans, you see.”

“We do?”

That was news to John. Since when did Roger have time to spend the day with him?

“Indeed!” Roger exclaimed, one arm wrapped around Tootsie’s thick neck as he fed her an apple. “Have you seen the weather? It’d be a waste to not go outside on a day like this.”

John wrapped his furs tighter around himself, giving the open door to the stable a meaningful look.

Roger laughed. “Real outside.”

Tootsie huffed and happily nuzzled at his shoulder and Roger leant to place a kiss on her forehead. “You want to come too, love?”

And Tootsie, about as weak to Roger’s wiles and smiles as John was, happily waved her ears and brayed.

“Alright then.” John laughed, coming up to the other two. “Traitor.” He hissed and gave Tootsie a pat on the rear. She ignored him.

Roger beamed at him and reached over Tootsie to place a firm kiss on John’s lips. “Let’s go.”

They made their way out of the stable and immediately had to struggle through the ridiculous layer of snow. Tootsie quickly nudged Roger aside to walk first, making a path for the humans.

“Thank you, gorgeous.” Roger gave her a light slap, grinning as Tootsie huffed and swatted at him with her tail.

John squinted in the bright light. The skies were clear and the sun shone down on the snow, making it almost painful to look at.

Roger was radiant at his side, red cheeked, a satisfied grin on his face and with puffs of steam escaping his every breath. His eyes easily rivaled the blue of the sky.

If John had been able to paint, he’d have liked to paint him like this.

If John had been able to write pretty words, he’d have liked to wax poetry about him like this.

Unfortunately, John was remarkably unskilled at both.

Instead he grabbed Roger’s hand tightly in his and squeezed. Roger’s resulting smile and the firm grip of his hand warmed John’s chilled body more efficiently than any furs could.

John loved Roger. Of this he was certain.

That was what was most important.

He could figure out if he had more love to give another time.

“Oi!”

A familiar voice called out to them and John peeked around Tootsie to see Freddie come shuffling toward them, following the tracks John had made earlier. Quite a distance behind him Brian was trudging along.

“Finally up?” Roger teased when Freddie reached them, the three of them and Tootsie stopping in their tracks as the donkey demanded pats by the late arriver.

Freddie puffed out a huge cloud of steam, stroking the donkey’s side. “Just as well to sleep in, I reckon. This much snow is just excessive, isn’t it?” He stuck his hands in his armpits, scrunching up his nose. “And it’s so bloody cold.”

“Uhu.” John agreed, keeping his tight grip on Roger’s hand.

“I like it.” Roger shrugged. “Besides, since I’m unable to ride anywhere I got some free hours.” He spotted Brian approaching, a worrying glint appearing in his eyes. “We should make the most of it, right?”

With that he let go of John and bent forward to grab some snow in his furry mittens. He quickly rolled the snow into two balls and sidestepped Freddie.

“Hey, Brian!” He called, and when the magician stopped and waved, Roger took aim and threw the balls in quick succession.

He hooted as one of the balls hit its target, smashing Brian right in the face and sending him sprawling on his arse in the snow.

John stared at his hollering and laughing lover as he moved away from them, readying more snowballs as Brian angrily shook snow out of his hair and jumped to his feet.

He knew of snowball fights but had never been allowed out in the winter, and had just seen them from his window. It looked… a lot more violent than he remembered.

“Eh, should we stop them?” He asked Freddie as he ducked one of Brian’s stray snowballs, which had missed Roger by easily three meters.

“Nah, it’s fine. Let the boys have at it.” Freddie had both arms wrapped around Tootsie’s neck, attempting to burrow as much of his body as possible into hers. “Who’s a warm, pretty girl?”

Another one of Brian’s snowballs dropped at John’s feet. He looked up right in time to see the tall man topple over with another barrage from Roger.

“I’m not sure we should.” John laughed and shook his head. “Poor Brian can’t aim. He’s done for.”

“He can look after himself.” He heard Freddie’s amused, melodic voice from behind.

Debatable.

Roger was laughing uncontrollably as Brian got to his feet again, his hair a mess.

“We should help him.” John decided, albeit not moving a muscle to do so, far too amused watching Roger and Brian scream bloody murder at each other.

The next moment something smashed into the back of his skull, making him yelp and stumble a step forward as he reached for his head.

Snow.

Wide-eyed he spun around to face Freddie.

The older man had let go of Tootsie and was leering at John, another snowball ready in his fist.

“Maybe you should spend less time worrying about Brian and more time worrying about yourself!” Freddie cackled maniacally and threw the second ball.

John was just barely able to avoid it, throwing himself to the side.

“You!” He accused, not able to keep the laughter from his voice. “How dare you?”

Freddie just laughed, sending another ball, fast as lightning.

It hit John right in the chest and he cursed inwardly when he realized he was up against the marksman of the group.

He dove to the side in time to avoid Freddie’s next throw, picking up some snow of his own. He tried to roll it like the others had done but had no practice and ended up sending only chunks and a spray of snow towards his opponent.

Quickly realizing he stood no chance he ran as fast as he could in the trampled snow and leapt, throwing himself at Freddie.

The two of them went howling to the ground, rolling around as they both tried to push snow into each other's faces.

Freddie might be a better shot but John was stronger. He soon ended up on top of the other man, holding snow up in a threatening fist. “Yield!”

“I yield, I yield!” Freddie laughed, lifting his arms to defend himself.

Grinning, proud of his achievement John let the snow drop from his hands as he caught his breath. Freddie, still wary he was hiding more snow up his sleeve, slowly lowered his arms, looking up at John.

He was smiling widely, white, prominent teeth all on display and lips, nose and cheeks red with cold. There was snow in his hair, white crystals sparkling like diamonds within ebony black. His chest rose steadily up and down.

John was helplessly captivated.

This gorgeous, talented and remarkable man actually wanted him? Could it really be so?

Freddie’s smile softened, his dark eyes studying John carefully. A pink tongue came out to wet dry lips and John followed the movement hungrily.

“Darling?”

A sudden rumbling and a shriek snapped them both to attention and John rolled off Freddie and got up just in time to see a huge wave of snow overtake Roger.

“Brian!” Freddie was scrambling to get up, furs and limbs and snow everywhere. “What did you do?”

The magician was swearing loudly, clumsily climbing through droves of snow towards the huge pile covering Roger. “I didn’t mean to send so much!”

John would have been worried if he hadn’t been able to hear Roger’s furious screaming from beneath the snow. He reached the mound at the same time as Brian, Freddie on their heels, and just as they were about to start digging the blond out, Roger pushed his head up through the snow. His hair was a mess, but except for that he seemed fine, really, he seemed full of energy as he swore and spat snow in every direction.

“I’m so sorry, are you…”

“You cheater!”

Brian frowned. “Now wait just a moment, we never said anything about using powers. I think it’s up for discussion if such a…”

“I can’t believe you! By the gods, you’re such a sore loser!”

“I won, though.”

“No you bloody didn’t!”

When Brian opened his mouth to continue arguing John and Freddie both jumped in.

“Stop it.” John said.

“That’s enough from both of you.” Freddie glared at first Brian, then Roger, hands on his hips. “You’re grown men. Act like it.”

Brian muttered something inaudible but vaguely apologetic, lifting one hand to rub at his head, sending more snow spilling from his curls.

“But he cheated,”

“Rog. Hush.” John grabbed the face of his angry lover and gave him a hard kiss. “Be good and quiet and let us dig you out of there, all right?”

Roger begrudgingly agreed, pouting as he sulkily waited for the three of them to free him of his frozen prison.

Some way off Tootsie stood, watching her humans with a blank, unimpressed look on her donkey face.

- - -

About a week later, John was bedridden with the worst fever he’d ever had. And the fever wasn’t even the worst of it. Then there was the puking. His intestines felt like snakes, coiling and slithering inside of him and it was nigh impossible to keep down any water and even more so food. But the puking wasn’t the worst of it, either.

No, the worst was that Roger and Freddie had gone with a few of the men this morning, after the rumored bandits.

Shortly after, it had begun to snow. And then the snowfall had worsened considerably until a full blown blizzard shook the island.

Roger and Freddie had yet to come back.

Chapter Text

Practically the whole village was down with the flu. It had started when the queen herself abruptly left breakfast a few mornings ago, sickly pale in the face. Shortly most of the warriors and villagers were sick as dogs, not able to leave their beddings due to high fever.

The few of them still healthy had their hands full taking care of the sick - changing linens, bathing scolding foreheads and making soup.

Freddie himself was just returning from the morning’s first chicken soup run when he caught raised voices from the main hall. He quickly put down his dirty pot by the stove and went into the hall.

Brian immediately took notice of him when he arrived and offered him a distracted, weary smile. Brian had managed to avoid the flu this far. Maybe he couldn’t get sick, what with his magic and all, Freddie didn’t know. Now the magician was aiding the people worst off, saving his energy for the ones at risk of dying.

“You have to go.” Ulf said, voice uncharacteristically quiet and rough. He was sitting heavily by the long table, doing his best to go through a bowl of boiled oats. “They are getting too close for comfort. We can’t risk being attacked with Brenna and everyone else sick.”

Roger, who was also one of the few lucky, healthy ones, frowned. “What, alone? There’s hardly a man left standing.”

Brian, who looked one strong gust of wind away from falling over, crossed his arms over his thin chest. “I’m also here. It should be enough if the two of us go.”

“You must be joking.” Freddie scoffed. “You’ve barely slept since this madness started! Not to mention you’ve been expending too much energy helping others.” He shook his head. “You promised me you’d rest today.”

“What should I have done then, huh?” Brian spun to face him, jaw clenched. “Let the poor child die?”

Freddie was as surprised by Brian’s outburst as Brian himself appeared to be.

“Sorry,” he murmured, “you’re right, I’m tired. But I don’t see what other option we have.”

“I’ll go with him.” Freddie said, hoping that he sounded braver than he felt.

Ulf grunted. “That works. Round up Sten and Bjarne, too. That should be enough to scare those weaklings off for now.”

Roger turned to Freddie. “You’re sure?”

“I’m sure. I can do it.”

“Good.” Roger nodded, setting off towards the exit.

Freddie made to go to his and Brian’s room to get his bow and quiver, but Brian took his arm.

“I don’t like it.” The tall man said, eyes wide with worry. “We don’t even know how many of them there are.”

“Five, at most, I’ve heard.”

“What if the weather turns worse?”

“Brian, there’s not a cloud in the sky.”

“But what if you or Roger have caught the sickness and…”

Freddie stopped him with a kiss. “We’ll be just fine, I promise. They were spotted close by. It should be just an hour’s ride away, Bri, we’ll be home safe before supper.” To be honest, he’d been feeling weary this morning, but it was hopefully nothing but the result of too little sleep. And, even if he did fall sick, they’d surely be done and back in time for it to really break out. At any rate he couldn’t let Roger go alone.

Brian sighed, wrapping his arms around Freddie as he rested their foreheads together. “You better.”

Barely half an hour later Freddie, Roger and three other men rode out from the village, heading inland.

Just as they passed the wooden fence surrounding the village, a cloud swept in front of the sun and left the path ahead in shadow.

- - -

Brian knocked at Brenna’s door and waited a moment before stepping inside.

“I told you your gifts are not needed.”

The queen didn’t look up at him, sitting in bed with a book in her lap.

“Still no fever, then?”

“No.” She stubbornly kept staring at the book, her hands clenched around the thick binding. “You may leave.”

Brian bowed and did as asked. As soon as he shut the door behind him he scowled. As if it was his idea to constantly check up on their grumpy queen. She had her surprisingly overbearing viking lover to thank for that.

No, Brian had other priorities.

He quickly made his way over to another door, this time not stopping to knock before venturing inside.

The young man in bed was covered from top to toe in several thick furs, only a sweaty face peeking out. Glassy eyes turned to Brian as he softly closed the door behind himself.

“Oh, John.” Brian went up to his friend and laid the back of his hand against his hot forehead. “I’m sorry. Your fever’s not gone down, let me…” He started channeling his energy into the body below but John grunted and pushed his hand away.

“I’m fine.” John mumbled, gray-green eyes gazing up at Brian warmly. “You save your powers for the children and the elderly.”

Brian let out a half sigh, half chuckle and sat down on the side of the bed. “You’re ridiculously stubborn, has anyone told you that?”

“Learnt from the best.” John’s grin was lopsided.

Brian shook his head, smiling as he reached out to brush sweat soaked strands of hair out of John’s face. “Roger came by?”

“Mm.” The smile disappeared from John’s face. “He always leaves me behind.” He turned his face into Brian’s hand. “I can never help.”

“Shh. You’re sick, and need your rest.” Brian leant down to place a kiss on the crown of his head but before he could John turned back around, staring up at Brian.

“I heard you.”

John’s voice was barely audible, close as Brian was.

“What?” Brian whispered back.

John’s lashes created dancing shadows over his cheekbones from the light of the fire. “I heard what you saw.”

Brian’s heart skipped a beat. He had a feeling he knew what was coming. He swallowed, gaze locked with John’s. “Yeah?”

“Is it true?”

“Is what true?”

John blinked slowly, his heavy lids barely able to come back up again. “That you want us?”

“I…” Brian finally managed to tear his eyes away from the other man’s, his fingers still cradling John’s head gently. “Yes.” He ended up admitting, not having it in him to lie to the half unconscious man. “I’m sorry.”

“Me too? Not just Roger?”

Brian shook his head, daring to look back at the younger man. “You too, John. You too.”

John sighed in satisfaction and closed his eyes. “Right.”

And he was asleep.

Brian sat awkwardly bent over him, hand trapped and heart pounding furiously in his chest.

Right?

- - -

Roger had gotten pretty good at riding. No wonder, as often as he galloped around the island on his proud horse.

Still, the steep incline they were climbing was hell on his thighs and arse. Freddie didn’t look much better next to him, holding onto his horse’s neck for dear life. The thick layer of snow the poor animals had to trudge through did not help.

And then there was the matter of the weather. It had been clear when they set out, but immediately thereafter clouds had gathered and now there wasn’t a streak of blue left.

The wind picked up, tugging at Roger’s hair and making him shiver.

“Er de på toppen av bakken?” He called through the wind to Bjarne, who was riding at the front of the group.

“Ja.” Bjarne called back. “Så røyk stige upp.”

Roger nodded and turned towards Freddie. “The bandits should be on top of the hill. He saw smoke rising.”

“Great.” Freddie answered, reaching back to straighten the bow and quiver hanging on his back.

He looked pale, trembling in the cold wind.

“You good?”

Freddie glanced over at him, a wry smile on his lips. “Just longing for this dreadful business to be taken care of so I can get back inside and have a lovely mug of tea.”

“That makes two of us…” Roger muttered, frowning as a snowflake slowly ambled down to find its resting place on the tip of his nose.

Then there was another. And another.

Soon snow stood thick in the air, making it hard for them to see where they were going.

Luckily the horses kept following each other and shortly the incline leveled off as they reached the top of the windswept hill.

“How are we supposed to see the blasted bandits in this?” Freddie yelled, staying close behind Roger.

Good question. Roger did his best to scout the area but all was white, white and more white.

He heard Bjarne shout something in front of him and Sten and the other man at the back swore.

No luck then?

Just as well. It would be too risky going after the bandits in the oncoming storm and they should make haste back to the village before…

Roger’s horse reared up on its hind legs, shrieking horribly as Roger clung onto it for dear life. He desperately looked around and found a crooked arrow impaled in the poor animal’s rear.

“Roger!” He distantly heard Freddie from somewhere close as his horse bucked and struggled.

Then he saw the rapidly approaching shadows.

Making up his mind in a split second he slipped down from the horse, drawing his sword.

It was a gamble, one that paid off when the two bandits went for the large form of his horse, still believing him to be on top of it, their sense of sight severely limited because of the snow.

Letting out a roar Roger threw himself at the closest man, swinging at him with his sword and quickly laying him down. The second man came forward, large axe drawn. Roger took a steadying breath and lifted his sword again, preparing to charge.

Something blunt and heavy came crashing into his leg. Letting out a choked cry of pain Roger fell to his knees, breath hissing through his teeth as he tried to push back the agony.

His vision swam as he looked up. Not that it mattered, for he saw nothing but whirling snow. Whirling snow and three large figures surrounding him.

He was alone. His horse had left in the tumult and he couldn’t see Freddie or the others anywhere. Hopefully they were better off than him.

“Ikke drep prinsen.” He heard one of the bandits call to the others.

So he was to be spared. Probably to be used as leverage against Brenna.

As if.

Jaw clenched, he forced himself to his feet, holding his sword in front of him.

“Come on!” He shouted at them, the wind roaring in his ears. Then he was moving.

He didn’t feel the pain now. Nor the wind or cold. All was adrenaline. Adrenaline and rage.

He didn't want to admit it but he liked this. Liked the knife sharp focus demanded by these situations.

Everything grew quiet.

He avoided one of the thugs reaching for him and spun around, using all his force to thrust his sword into soft flesh. The man fell with a gurgle, disappearing in the white.

He took down another man with a blow of the flat side of his sword to the head.

Another huge, shadowed form came at him and he didn’t stand a chance as he was effortlessly swatted to the ground, losing his grip on his sword in the process.

Turning over in the snow, searching in panic for his weapon, he saw the large man looming over him, large club in hand.

Roger’s leg was suddenly on fire.

“No…”

The man grunted something, lifting the club over his head.

The heavy snowfall lightened at just that moment. Enough for Roger to see the man’s eyes widen in shock, the club dropping behind him.

He stared at Roger dumbly, and kept staring as he fell, an arrow pierced through his skull.

“Oh my god, Roger!”

Freddie appeared in front of him, falling to his knees and pulling Roger to his chest. “You’re alive, oh thank the gods.”

Roger panted for breath, hidden from the world in Freddie’s warm embrace.

“Is that all of them?” He asked shakily. “Where are our men?”

Freddie pulled back, looking him over in concern. “I don’t know. My horse threw me off and ran. I shot two of the bandits, and I can’t see anyone else.” He tightened his hold on Roger, dark eyes full of worry as he looked around them. “Not that it means much under these conditions.”

The snow storm was fully upon them, whipping at furs and hair. Roger couldn’t see more than a few meters in any direction before his vision was blocked by walls of white.

“Come on, we need to get to safety.” Freddie said loudly, tugging at his arms.

“Wait, my sword.” Roger called back, continuing to dig through the snow at his side.

He fumbled, his hands cold and slow. Sweat ran down his face in spite of the cold. He didn’t dare examine his leg.

“Here.” Freddie placed the familiar handle in his hand and Roger immediately felt a bit better.

Freddie helped him up and Roger did his best to choke back a moan of pain. But of course, Freddie was neither deaf nor an idiot.

“Are you hurt?” Freddie all but shouted into his ear and Roger grimaced.

“Took a hit to the leg.” He held onto Freddie tightly as they shuffled forward in the storm.

Freddie nodded grimly, steadying his arm around Roger and taking most of his weight.

It was all Roger could do to slowly hobble on, letting Freddie steer them. He doubted the other man knew where he was going, since they couldn’t see anything. But, it was better than just sitting on their arses and waiting to die of hypothermia.

They shouldn’t have gone out.

Why did they come here?

Had he survived these last couple of months only to get lost and succumb to a snow storm?

No, no it couldn’t be.

Not with Freddie. He didn’t want this for Freddie.

He never wanted this for Freddie.

- - -

How he managed to find the cave in the middle of a roaring blizzard, Freddie would never know.

How he managed to bodily drag Roger through said blizzard to said cave, was an even greater mystery.

But what he did know was that it had been damn lucky he’d decided to come with Roger this morning. Who knew how things would have turned out otherwise.

Gritting his teeth he pulled Roger the last way inside the small cave and helped him sink down against the rough stone wall.

Roger gasped when he settled, eyes squeezing tightly shut as he took rapid breaths.

Wiping snow out of his face, Freddie kneeled in front of him and rolled up his trouser leg, assessing the damage.

The first thing he noticed was the severe swelling. Then second was that Roger’s shin took off at an odd angle just below the knee. He swallowed, forcing a wave of nausea down.

“Bad?” Roger asked, head resting back against the wall, eyes still closed.

Freddie hummed lightly, resting one nervous hand on Roger’s knee. “Well, it’s not good.”

That Roger had managed to make his way through the snow with a badly broken leg was a miracle, but Freddie was not going to question it.

Hell, what choice did they have?

If only Brian was here…

“Hey.” Roger said, voice barely audible over the storm just outside. “Thank you.” He’d opened his eyes now. They were wet and there were tears stuck to his lashes. “You saved me, again.”

“Not fast enough, it seems.” Freddie gnawed at his lip, desperately trying to figure out how to best help Roger.

“You’re a really bloody brilliant shot.”

Freddie looked up at his former lover, and immediately felt his face heat up at the pure pride and gratitude in Roger’s expression.

“Thank you.”

Freddie took a deep breath and took his mittens off, immediately rubbing his palms together to warm them. “I need your sword belt.”

Roger nodded and sat up straighter, wincing as he did so. Freddie helped him remove his scabbard and then open and slip the belt free.

“I’m sorry, darling, but this is going to… eh, sting a bit.”

Roger sighed deeply. “I reckon.” But he sent Freddie a shaky smile and clenched his hands into fists in his lap.

Freddie took a steadying breath, steeling himself before looping the belt around Roger’s lower leg.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered before wrapping the belt around the leg and tightening it.

Roger’s scream would haunt Freddie for years.

The muffled whimpers which followed would haunt him for far longer.

“Shh, love, it’s alright.” Freddie soothed as he tied the belt with shaking hands. “You’re doing so good. You’re so good, darling.”

He was a wreck when he sat back, successfully having wrapped Roger’s leg. He felt sick to his stomach. There was a worrying pounding behind his temples.

But there was no time to be a weakling. He needed to take care of Roger.

He let Roger gather himself for a minute, meanwhile poking his head back outside in the storm to grab two fistfuls of snow.

Shuffling back in he knelt beside Roger. “Here.” He urged, holding the snow up. “For water.”

It was a testament to the pain Roger was in that he didn’t protest or joke, but only weakly dipped his head down to eat the snow right out of Freddie’s hands.

After another quick venture to the opening of the cave, to get some snow for himself, Freddie finally sank down next to Roger, leaning against the wall.

He grimly stared out at the snow swirling outside. It was already starting to grow darker.

And it was so cold.

What were they supposed to do? They wouldn’t be able to find their way back until the storm ceased, and god knows how long that would take. They had no food, no way of starting a fire. And Roger was badly hurt.

This was really, really bad.

- - -

The door to John’s room was thrown open just as a beam of morning light found its way through the window and warmed his cheeks.

“Wha?” He slurred, his fever addled brain making him see two Brian’s hurrying towards him.

“The blizzard has cleared.” Brian said, helping John sit up in bed. “A few of the horses have returned.”

John weakly gripped the other man’s arm. “Rog?” He mumbled. “Fred?”

“I don’t know. Roger’s horse was shot. I think… I think they might have been ambushed.”

John collapsed forward, dry heaving. No. No. No.

Strong hands grabbed him by the shoulders and forcefully pushed him back up.

“John.”

Brian’s face was suddenly inches from his own, his hazel eyes boring into John’s. “You want to help Roger? You want to help Freddie?”

“Please.” John whispered. “Please, Brian.”

Brian gave him a grim smile. “Good. We know where they were going. And I’ve been able to find Roger once before. I can do it again.” He shook John by the shoulders, making his already throbbing head ache worse. “We can find them.”

The next moment Brian’s hands were on John’s chest, glowing brightly.

“Now, let’s make you well so you can help me save our idiots.”

Chapter Text

Roger rolled over in the hay, scooting closer to Freddie and burrowing his cold nose into his neck.

“You alright, darling?” Freddie mumbled.

Roger said nothing, just wrapped his arm around Freddie and pulled them closer together, desperately trying to heat his and Freddie’s frozen bodies.

Truth was, he was scared.

He hadn’t planned for this when he’d chosen to follow Freddie. To be out on the road, free from lords and masters, free from responsibility, had felt like a dream come true.

But then came winter.

They’d been allowed to stay in this barn for the week but what next? What would they do when it grew even colder?

He missed his small, humble quarters. He missed his bed. He missed his master’s hearth.

And he was disgusted with himself for it.

He’d never been away from home for this long before.

“Roger…”

Freddie turned around in his arms and hugged Roger close, pulling his head in against his chest. “Shh, it’s alright, sunshine. It’ll be alright. I promise.”

Roger pushed his face into Freddie’s tunic, all but trying to crawl inside his lover’s ribcage.

Freddie hummed softly, slender fingers running through Roger’s loose hair up to his scalp.

The humming slowly evolved into soft singing, Freddie’s gorgeous voice enveloping him, his chest vibrating gently against Roger’s cheek.

Roger sighed deeply, relaxing into his lover’s hold. He should stop worrying. Freddie would figure it out. He always did.

For now he let Freddie lull him to sleep. Let him bring him home.

He was home.

Freddie felt as if he could hear his own teeth clattering, despite the ruckus of the storm outside. He felt as if his very blood was frozen in his veins, his limbs heavy and numb. Useless.

They had laid down together, with Freddie’s furs beneath them and Roger’s on top of them. They were wrapped around each other as tight as could be, Freddie behind Roger to give the other man room for his bad leg.

Roger was like a block of ice in his arms. The usually loud, warm and bright man was stiff, quiet and cold like a corpse.

It frightened Freddie.

It was pitch black. It had been for the last eternity.

Freddie hadn’t slept a wink.

He was afraid he wouldn’t wake up again if he did.

He pulled Roger closer to his chest, desperately searching for a sign of life, of hope, in this damn cold dark.

“Fred?”

Roger shifted and stilled. Then one of his mittened hands took hold of Freddie’s and trapped it tightly against his stomach.

“I’m sorry, did I wake you?”

Roger was silent for a moment. “I don’t know. Who can say what is sleep and what isn’t in this darkness.”

Freddie let out a tired chuckle. “True.”

They laid silent for some time.

Freddie allowed himself to push his face against Roger’s soft hair, to smell him.

They were so close. Closer than what they’d been in ages.

And yet, they were still so far apart.

“What are you thinking of?” Roger asked, voice quiet.

For once, Freddie didn’t hesitate. “That I regret what we’ve become and mourn what we used to be. That I miss you.” He took a shuddering breath. “And that I don’t want it to end like this.”

As he spoke the words he realised how much truth they held, how strongly it mattered to him. He wanted, needed, to talk to Roger.

If they were to die like this it would be with no more lies, no more secrets and bitterness between them.

Not if he could help it.

“I’m so sorry, sunshine.” Freddie breathed. “I’m sorry for everything.”

Roger didn’t answer at first, tense in Freddie’s arms.

Then, “What happened?”

“What happened?” Freddie’s smile was a small, helpless thing, eaten by the darkness. “What happened is that I was saved by a lovely farm boy, warm and kind and good. And I fell in love. I fell in love, and greedy and incorrigible as I am, I took him with me.” He pressed his forehead to the back of Roger’s head. “Those were the best years of my life.”

Roger inhaled sharply and tightened his hold on Freddie’s hand.

“Then, we found another soul in need of saving. Another good man. A sad, beautiful man, who’d been punished by this world for being different. And I fell in love again.”

Freddie paused, closing his eyes and steeling himself. The darkness behind his eyelids made no difference from the darkness in the cave and so he left them shut.

“Brian kissed me, the day after we found John, the day you were taken. I liked it, even if I knew I shouldn’t. I didn’t push him away. John found us.”

Roger shifted again, his hair brushing over Freddie’s face, soft as silk. “I know. John told me. He’s the only reason I ever found out.”

“Yes. You were never supposed to find out.” Freddie murmured. “After that I hated myself, and blamed Brian. I almost lost you and couldn’t bear the thought of it. I didn’t do anything with Brian after that.”

Roger tilted his head slightly. “I found you in bed together.” Freddie could easily picture the frown on his face.