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anistarrose · 4 years

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Fear The Reaper A Lot, Actually - Chapter 2

AO3

Chapter Summary: Angus tries to cope with the pressure. Taako does some sick stunts. Barry is exposed as a cryptid of the necromancy community.

Characters: Kravitz, Taako, Barry Bluejeans, Angus McDonald, Magnus Burnsides, Merle Highchurch, Noelle | No-3113, The Raven Queen, The Director | Lucretia, misc. BoB cameos

Relationships: Taakitz, Angus McDonald & Taako, Barry Bluejeans & Kravitz

“Where are you all going?” Lucretia asked, just as Taako opened the door to the glass sphere the next morning.

“Oh, me? I’m off to give lil’ Ango McDango here some magic lessons!” he fibbed. “Figured Wave Echo Cave would be a nice low-level experience for him to learn the ropes — unless there’s any other murder gloves still down there that we should know about?”

“No — at least not to my knowledge, but…” Lucretia narrowed her eyes. “Why are Magnus and Merle going with you?”

“They also need magic lessons.”

Lucretia frowned. “Merle’s already an accomplished cleric…”

“Yeah, ostensibly,” Taako replied. “But have you ever actually seen him heal?”

“Hey!” Merle shouted from inside the sphere. “I banished a whole bunch of ghosts yesterday, and that’s a cleric thing, isn’t it?”

He frowned. “Is it a cleric thing? I could’ve sworn Pan helped me…”

“It’s absolutely a cleric thing, sir,” Angus assured him, and Merle sighed with relief.

Lucretia shook her head. “Alright, point taken. Just be sure to keep an eye out for the Red Robes — I don’t want anything happening to you all, especially not now when we’re getting so close to collecting all the Relics…”

“It’s okay, Director, you can admit that you’ve grown fond of our dumb shenanigans!” Magnus chimed in from his seat next to Merle.

As Taako climbed into the sphere and Avi aims the cannon, Lucretia smiled sadly. “Yes, that too…”

***

“Was this cave so… for lack of a better phrase, squelchy when you came here last, sirs?” Angus asked as Magnus led the way through the tunnel, axe gleaming from a Light spell just like old times.

“Oh, it was plenty squelchy,” Magnus replied with a grimace. “Squelched all the way to the elevator.”

“It was really more of a splort than a squelch last time,” Merle said. “Still not pleasant, though.”

“I know how to lighten up this squelchy mood!” Taako spoke up. He was holding the Umbra Staff over his head, deflecting the drops of water and occasional fist sized blops of slime that fell from the stalactite-dotted ceiling. “Agnes, prestidigitate up some sparks. I wanna see what arcane skills of your own you’ve got before I start teaching you that Taako-brand magic.”

Angus blinked. “But I thought the magic lessons were… a clever ruse. A cover story.”

“Yeah, but the ruse will get a whole lot cleverer if you actually have some new spells to show for it, you know? Unless you really don’t wanna to learn for some reason —”

“No! I mean, yes! I mean —” Angus took a breath. “I would very much like to learn magic from you, sir. Even if it is just to help you lie to your boss.”

“Are you really gonna teach Merle healing, too?” Magnus asked, shrugging off the gentle elbowing he received from Merle.

“Do I look like I know how to heal? I can brew up a nice soothing tea to help a sore throat and that’s about it! Merle’s Healing Words are between him and the big satyr in the sky.” Taako turned to Angus. “Don’t be shy! Show me what you can do, and even if you mess up, I’ll make sure these goobers only bully you really mildly.”

Angus took a deep breath and closed his eyes, imagining sparks flying from his fingers. Grandpa always said that you’d make a good wizard one day. Time to prove him right, and to prove to Taako that I’ll be worth teaching even after he’s done lying to the Director…

“Whoa!” he heard Magnus gasp, and he opened his eyes. Tiny yellow stars burst in and out of existence in small clouds around his hands, fading as his concentration was broken.

“Hey, that’s pretty good for a first attempt! Wanna be our new cleric?” Taako asked him, earning a grumpy look from Merle. “I’m just kidding. But seriously, have you ever done this before?”

“Not at all, sir. Was it really that good for a first try?”

“Kid, you’re a natural!” Taako reached over and patted Angus’s cap. “Forget the cleric jokes — when I get my soul reaped, I know who the Bureau’s gonna hire as the replacement wizard!”

The proud smile vanished from Angus’s face as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by wide eyes and a quivering lip.

“What’s wrong, Ango?” Magnus asked. “Taako’s just joking — you know that, right?”

“Yeah, I definitely don’t plan on dying and leaving you in my place,” Taako added. “Taako is irreplaceable!”

“I know you’re joking, sir,” Angus told him. “But what I can’t understand is how you can joke about something like that…”

Taako kneeled down next to Angus, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Why, it’s ‘cause I’ve got the world’s greatest detective on my side, of course! I know we’ll find those liches and survive with our souls unreaped, because there’s no one better for the job than you are! So don’t look so glum — the four of us have got nothing to worry about.”

The sentiment was sincere, Angus could tell, which was a rare thing coming from Taako — but it had the opposite of the intended effect, and Angus’s stomach churned.

“You’re p-putting an awful lot of faith into me, s-sir —” he stammered, but he was interrupted as Magnus clapped hands over both Angus and Taako’s mouths.

“Shh!” he hushed them. “Did you hear that?”

“Sounded squelchy, just like everything else in the whole damn cave,” Merle whispered back. “Not at all like undead bones rattling.”

“But maybe squelchy like flesh being reanimated!” Magnus exclaimed in a hushed voice. “Ugh, Taako, did you just lick my hand?”

“I stuck out my tongue on reflex, ‘cause what you just said was gross as hell!” Taako replied, as Magnus wiped off the palm of his hand on a patch of moss growing up the wall of the cave. “Please don’t use any onomatopeia in a sentence with the world ‘flesh’ ever again!”

Angus cupped a a hand around his ear. “Sirs, I’m definitely hearing some non-squelchy voices from down the corridor. Is that also normal for this cave?”

“Must be someone in the main chamber,” Merle said. “Maybe it’s the ghosts of my dead cousins, or —”

He froze. “Hey, Maggie? I’d step away from that moss before —”

Magnus jumped back just in time to doge a gelatinous green arm that burst out of the moss-covered wall, swiping furiously at him. A shoulder and then an entire torso oozed out after it, followed by a head sporting a familiar pointed hat and elfin ears.

“Watch where you wipe my spit next time!” Taako shouted, pointing the Umbra Staff at his slimy doppelganger.

“Then don’t slobber on my hand next time!” Magnus yelled back, drawing Railsplitter.

“Just kill it already to make sure there is a next time for us!” Merle exclaimed. “Kill it with fire!”

Taako fired off a barrage of Scorching Rays, but the moss monster’s arm elongated into a gelatinous Umbra Staff of its own. A putrid-smelling bubble of acid grew from the end of it, and when Taako’s bolts of fire struck it with a hiss, it burst to release a cloud of acrid purple fumes that quickly filled the hallway.

Coughing and cowering behind Magnus, Merle extended his soulwood arm towards the slime construct as he cast Detect Magic. “That’s no moss! It’s got necromantic energy coming out of all its sporophytes!”

“Spor-o-phytes, is that a horny thing? That sounds like a horny thing,” Magnus grunted, fanning the air in front of him. “Not in front of the kid, Merle!”

“Forget about what you should or shouldn’t say in front of me!” Angus yelled, voice muffled as he held his cap over his nose and mouth. “Let’s just get out of here!”

“Got it!” Magnus stashed Railsplitter away, and scooped up Angus in one arm and Merle in the other as he sprinted down the hallway.

Taako followed in hot pursuit, summoning a wind to blast the fumes back in the opposite direction. His doppelganger faltered for a moment in the force of the gust, as drops of slime blew off its body and splattered across the walls, but as the wind subsided, it slowly oozed back together and began to follow the boys, gliding across the floor on a thin layer of liquid.

Magnus burst into the cave’s main chamber and jumped onto the elevator, setting Merle and Angus down as he began to crank the pulley. Merle extended a hand to Taako, who scampered aboard at the last minute before it began to descend.

“Phew,” he muttered, wiping a few drops of slime off his brow. “That was a close one!”

“Uh, sirs? I’m not sure we’re out of the woods yet.” Angus pointed towards the pool at the center of the cave, on top of which a massive pile of soft green moss was growing. Standing around it were three hooded figures, watching the adventurers intently. “We’ve got company.”

“You do indeed!” the tallest of the figures called out. “I thought I heard several someones bickering in the halls!”

“Unlike Chad, who insisted it was just the normal ambient sounds of the cave!” the second-tallest figure added.

The final and shortest figure, presumably Chad, crossed his arms and neglected to respond.

“You guys are necromancers, right?” Magnus asked as the elevator reached the bottom floor. “You ever meet a lich named Barry Bluejeans?”

“A lich?” Chad skeptically tilted his head, which was barely even perceptible beneath the folds of his robe. “The only Barry Bluejeans I know wasn’t a lich — he cheated me out of a whole stack of eldritch tomes in a dice game, and then told me after he’d won that he didn’t even know how to do necromancy! I did an Insight check and everything, and he wasn’t lying!”

“Your Insight bonus stinks, Chad!” the medium-height figure snapped. “The only time I ran into Barry Bluejeans, I got blackout drunk with him at a dark magic convention and when I woke up, he was gone and the Grim Reaper was there arresting the rest of us! Obviously, I got away despite my hangover, but Barry sure wasn’t any help!”

“Okay, that one actually checks out for Barry,” said Taako. “Agnes, jot that down.”

“I, too, have unfortunately crossed paths with this Barry Bluejeans,” the tallest necromancer spoke up. “I had just called forth my army of man-eating cactus homunculi to raze a nearby village, but then Barry foolishly threw himself in their path! The ridiculous amount of denim he was wearing didn’t save him, but he bought the townsfolk enough time to escape before he died, and now I’m banned from every desert in Faerun!”

“Dying unceremoniously also sounds like Barry,” said Merle. “Jot that down too.”

Angus clicked his pen. “This is all very strange, isn’t it? We have confirmation that Barry has died multiple times and returned to life at least once, but between the killed by cacti story and the kidnapped by gerblins story, he doesn’t seem nearly as cunning or powerful as you said Kravitz made him out to be. Why would —”

At the mention of Kravitz’s name, the necromancers all hissed in disgust.

“You four are with the Raven Queen?” Chad gasped. “I thought you just wanted to join our cool fun slime necromancy club!”

Angus held his hands in the air. “Wait, that’s not what I meant! We’re not hunting you, we’re —”

“Feign interest in our dark ways no longer, then!” the tallest figure bellowed, ignoring him. “Slime clone, attack!”

Taako’s doppelganger executed a perfect cannonball dive from above, and Magnus scooped Angus up and out of the way just in the nick of time. The slime monster splattered into a flat puddle on the ground, but quickly began to reform, lunging towards the real Taako and wielding a fake Umbra Staff.

“Actually, Angus, I’m making an executive decision!” Taako declared as he dodged a splash of acid. “These guys suck ass so we are hunting them now, whether Kravitz wants us to or not!”

“The guys by the pond are the ones controlling that thing! Let’s take ‘em out!” Magnus set down Angus next to Taako, then drew Railsplitter with one hand and picked up Merle with the other. “Merle, I need your radiant damage!”

“I guess I just don’t get a choice in the matter, huh?” Merle wailed, frantically flipping through his Extreme Teen Bible as Magnus rushed in.

“Sirs, wait!” Angus yelled. “Look out for —”

Magnus began to skid to a halt — but not before Chad extended an arm, and a tendril of moss shot out of the pool, yanking Magnus’s legs out from under him. Merle’s Guiding Bolt went wide, and he tumbled off Magnus’s shoulder, landing directly on his ass.

“…the moss,” Angus sighed, as the tallest figure directed another tendril of moss to ensnare Merle before he could get to his feet.

The slime monster took a jab at Taako and he instinctively raised his Umbra Staff to block it, only for the umbrella to be engulfed and ripped out of Taako’s hand.

“Oh, fuck off! No one messes with my umbrella —”

From within the gelatinous shape that was looking less and less like Taako by the second, the Umbra Staff opened all on its own and glowed red as it fired off a Thunderwave, blasting the slime monster apart from the inside out and plastering green ooze onto nearly every wall of the cave within a thirty-foot radius.

“What the hell?” Taako caught the umbrella as it sailed back into his hand. “Uh, I mean, that was all me! I meant to do that!”

As its red glow faded, the Umbra Staff closed and gently bonked him on the head as if to sarcastically say Yeah, right.

“Now that’s just unsportly!” the tallest necromancer groaned. He reached into the pool and pulling out an ancient-looking stone staff, covered in vines and humming with energy. “Have you no moral reservations about destroying your own clone?”

“Nah, not really. I’d rather cut off any potential emotionally confusing relationships before they start, you know? That’s how I got to be me, Taako from TV, instead of some schmuck loitering in a cave and tripping over the hem of my own robe!”

“You talk a lot of smack for someone outnumbered and out-necromanced!” Chad growled. “Disintegrate him already, Dave!”

The tall necromancer twirled the staff, firing a vortex of sickly-green lightning at Taako — but Taako was ready, and unfurled his Umbra Staff as he summoned a whirlwind around him. It blew the scent of ozone and rotting wood back into the necromancers’ faces as it lifted Taako into the air like a twirling firework, carrying him up past the elevator and towards the giant stalactite in the center of the cavern.

Without even looking behind him, he plunged a hand into the damp stone at his back, transmuting on instinct and shaping the stalactite to provide him with handholds and footholds. Grinning at the stunned necromancers below him, he pointed his Umbra Staff straight down, and readied another spell.

“Actually, I think you’ll find I talk just the right amount of smack for someone with gravity on my side!” he crowed. “At Amazing Flip Wizard School, we learn to take every advantage we can get!”

As Taako summoned a freezing and highly distracting Sleet Storm, Angus took the opportunity to sneak around the pool, approaching Magnus and Merle from behind the necromancers’ backs. Merle was bound firmly in place with his back to the pool’s raised stone rim, while Magnus lay prone on the ground, flopping in place like a beached whale trapped in a mossy fishing net.

“Sirs?” Angus whispered “I’m not sure I’ll be able to just Prestidigitate you out of there…”

“Can you reach Railsplitter?” Magnus whispered back, awkwardly wriggling in place as he tried and failed to shed the tendrils binding his wrists. “I’m not sure where I dropped it…”

“Oh! I see it!” As the necromancers squabbled over who should be the one to wield their staff and fire back at Taako, Angus darted back towards the elevator —

“Look out!” Merle barked, just before a muscular green arm burst out from a mossy patch of ground at Magnus’s feet, stretching the full ten-meter distance to Railsplitter and swiping it right out from under Angus’s nose. The blade missed him by a hair’s width as the arm retracted backwards, returning to normal size as a full Magnus torso formed beneath it.

“Shit,” Magnus muttered.

At the edge of the pool, where the tendrils of moss that bound Merle touched the water, two ripples formed and from them two translucent dwarf-shaped figures emerged, stepping down onto the cave floor and following in the slimy footsteps of the Magnus clone as it approached Angus. It still wielded a very real Railsplitter in its gelatinous arms.

Angus turned around, ready to bolt for the elevator, but two new Taako clones emerged from the entry tunnel and stood atop the elevator’s upper platform, even in height with the real Taako’s stalactite perch. They drew their umbrellas in sync, one pointing at Taako and the other at Angus.

“Shit,” Merle agreed.

“Not so confident anymore, are you, wizard?” Dave boasted. “Your friends are at our mercy, now — and soon enough, you will be too!”

Even from close to a hundred feet below, Angus could see Taako tense up as he processed the situation… but then, he looked directly at Angus, and nodded solemnly.

“Actually, at Taako’s Amazing School of Flip Wizardry, this is just what we call a final exam!” he shouted, and vanished into thin air.

For exactly the next two-and-a-half seconds, both the necromancers and the slime constructs were too stunned to even react — and then all hell broke loose, as the earsplitting whine of a Shatter spell echoed through the cave and the stalactite exploded.

The second the falling rubble hit the pool, a disproportionately massive deluge of water cascaded across the chamber, instantly obliterating several newly formed Merle clones and knocking the necromancers off their feet. Just before the wave reached Angus, Taako blinked back into existence behind him, grabbing him by the wrist and lifting the two of them into the air with his umbrella.

“Stay up here while I finish the job, okay?” he told Angus, setting him down on the only dry ledge remaining in the cave. Without making eye contact, he smiled as he quietly added: “Don’t want anything to happen to you, ya know?”

“Don’t worry, I’ll —” Out of the corner of his eye, Angus spotted a pillar of decaying brown vines rising from the pile of rubble in the middle of the room. Along for the ride was one of the necromancers, his hands surrounded by crackling dark clouds. “Taako, look out!”

“Fuck!” Taako jumped in front of Angus, reopening his umbrella and bracing himself for the attack — but before the necromancer could unleash the spell, a sapphire-blue bolt of energy tore through the blighted vines suspending him, instantly vaporizing them as he plummeted to the ground and landed with a sickening crunch.

Then the sapphire aura solidified into a long, curved blade of translucent crystal, through which Angus could see tiny soul-lights dancing as the waves of the Astral Sea lapped against an island’s shore. Taako, for his part, was more preoccupied with the figure that manifested to hold the scythe — first appearing as a skeleton, then materializing a long raven-feather cloak, and at last transforming into a handsome dark-skinned man who scanned the situation below with eyes that had clearly seen their fair share of shit, but never anything quite this improbable.

“Well, these certainly aren’t the death criminals I assigned you to capture,” Kravitz said, “but I believe it’s still in both of our best interests to see them killed, so… I take it you’re interested in my help?”

***

End notes:

Between Barry Bluejeans, Jenkins, Lucas Miller, Lydia, and Edward, I like the idea that almost every single necromancer in the extended TAZ Balance universe has a comedically mundane name to contrast with their profession. Hence, Dave and Chad!

Starting with the next update, I’m going to attempt to post new chapters every other week from now on. (I’m working on Chapter 6 right now, so that should give you a rough estimate of how long that schedule will stay consistent.)

#taz #taz balance #taakitz #taako taaco #kravitz taz #angus mcdonald #magnus burnsides #merle highchurch #lucretia taz #barry bluejeans #lup taaco #taz balance spoilers #rosalia writes fic #fic: FTRALA

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beatificallys · 4 years

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after the war

after the war, everything sort of settles into place. there’s a home for everyone, some unexpected. lucien moves out of the palace, having retired from kingship, into a small house only a 10 minute walk from the palace. without his body, the king is unrecognisable. legend retells the story of king lucien as a mighty warrior, a man of strength and swiftness, able to protect his people against the evil threat, but no one will be able to guess that the man from all the mythology is the one standing in front of her now, a foot shorter than her when they used to be level in height a few months ago.

he regards her, smiling, warmth in his gaze. “thank you, commander.”

he’s back to his usual self. she’s nearly forgotten how he used to look like, so used to the manufactured body he had once he emerged from the woods. he’s nothing like the kings she used to serve before him. he makes her think, perhaps, there’s more to this business than meets the eye. thomas will be suspicious when she tells him this. he’s never known any other way to deal with a problem than to point a gun at it, but now that he’s her second in command, maybe there’s a way to change the way he sees things. there’s something hopeful in the air. the aura of change simmers in the atmosphere.

she bows. and she means it this time. azus will be sorry to have lost him as king.

just as she’s about to leave, though, balthazar steps forward. “go in first, luce. i need to speak with zoya.”

lucien obliges, casting a wondering gaze between balthazar and her, but drops it. the door shuts behind him.

balthazar’s hair is combed and parted neatly, and he wears blue, the colour of myrr. his uniform is perfectly pressed, immaculate. zoya looks at him and sees perfect balance.

he clears his throat. i won’t be around here much, now that i’m the emissary. when i’m gone, i want security around the place doubled. check up on him regularly, make sure he’s okay, but don’t let him find out any of it. he doesn’t want the extra protection, doesn’t think he needs it, but extra security won’t hurt. do you understand me?

this is a man she cannot deal with. balthazar’s always been someone she can picture on the throne. with his cunning and intelligence, stealing the throne should be easy game, and sometimes, she wonders why he hasn’t done it yet. there’s great carefulness with every step he takes, an acute awareness of how things will play out. the repercussions of repercussions of repercussions. he’s bloodthirsty enough to do it as well. she’s seen him raze an entire field of fighters down unflinchingly. his eyes are eagle sharp, sometimes she thinks his foresight extends a month, a year, a decade into the future, but then she sees how they soften when he’s looking at lucien. how he’s always looking at lucien.

please keep him safe, he says. his eyes are steady.

zoya nods. of course.

i’ll be leaving for myrr in a week’s time. i trust you, he says. i don’t easily give that out.

i will make sure it is seen to, lord cortez.

he bristles. lord cortez. how funny. my father was called that.

we carry the weight of our fathers’ names.

not a very easy weight to bear. he turns away from her and his eyes survey the row of houses. zolnerowich, cortez, it’s all the same.

zoya narrows her eyes when she hears her father’s name.

how do you know?

it’s not a threat, balthazar says quietly. it’s just that when you’re in my position, you know some things. things that you didn’t even intend on finding out.

he gives her a smile and goes back into the house.

every word loaded with meaning. she might as well get used to it if he’s going to be the emissary. don’t trifle with balthazar cortez, or his best friend. she wishes she could let everyone know that to spare them unforgiving wrath.

zoya tugs on her beret and hoists herself up on the white stallion. she better start rounding up the best soldiers she knows. she whips the reins and the horse whinnies, click-clack-click, setting off toward the glowing, alabaster structure at the end of the road.

thomas squints at his cards. his pistol is slung across his waist, never too far out of reach. he’s got a shit hand, but it’s fine, carlisle doesn’t even know how to play the game well. he’s all confused and uninterested, dishing out the wrong cards and the wrong time. he’s even holding his cards badly. thomas can see his entire hand if he crooks his head a little bit to the side.

hey, it’s your turn. your time’s running up.

he sighs and drops his hand. thomas can see all his cards now. he lets out a groan. this game sucks.

lucien wipes a hand down his face: why are you putting me on house arrest again? not that i’m not enjoying this lovely game of… occus tabach?

tabachus. and they’re not my orders, thomas says, gathering the cards from lucien. ask my superior. you think i’d rather be cooped up at home with you than watch the races?

lucien rolls his eyes and gets up. lovely game and lovely company, how great.

he still walks with a limp. that’s a consequence from the war that he’s going to live with for the rest of his life. zoya told him he got it when a gigantic bannister fell from the ceiling as he was trying to save a group of soldiers. by all rights, it shoulda killed him. the impact of the fall woulda shattered his bones into a bajillion tiny pieces, if not for his body.

want some tea?

tea? thomas repeats with a grimace. you got any alcohol?

are you trying to get drunk on the job?

i was joking.

hmm.

nat woulda whooped my ass if i was serious.

lucien pours him the tea anyway. his true body’s real skinny, looking like it could break like a twig. he looks as delicate as bird bones. when zoya told thomas about the entire saga of family drama that spanned years and years, of the ass robert carlisle and his family, it was difficult trying to understand it. but as he’s spending more and more time with lucien, he’s beginning to. its in the way he moves. some people, they sit all loud n proud, like they wanna let u know they’ve got it. they’re in power. jeppity was a showboater, and thomas wonders how many girls have suffered at his whim, but this guy, no way. this guy stands curled into himself, withdrawing from the center of attention. there’s a peaceable smile etched on crookedly on his face as he lowers his head, letting his hair flop in front of his face. this, and all the stories of the extraordinary king who saved a country?

it’s difficult to reconcile. thomas doesn’t think he might ever understand. he grows quiet, takes a sip of tea.

lucien looks at him expectantly. how is it?

it’s leaves in hot water. how do you think it tastes?

it’s chamomile, lucien says archly, as if that’s supposed to mean something.

thomas shrugs. why’d you give up the title of king?

lucien startles like a mouse at the question. it’s not as great as it sounds, he says pensively. it requires a great deal of skill. it’s not a position that can just be passed down by virtue of bloodline. i’m not the man fit for the job. he pauses, sighs. too slow, too dumb, too tired. a year ago i couldn’t bear to say that it loud. i couldn’t accept that it’s just not the destiny for me, after all my father impressed upon me.

your father sounds like a downright villain.

lucien picks at his crooked finger. thomas wonders how he got it. not a villain, he says. he just did what the circumstance called for. how do you know zoya?

zoya? thomas laughs, his usual rattle. we were childhood friends, born and raised in kursick. i know her as nataliya. nat, before she became a new person.

and will you be staying here? in azus?

thomas takes another sip of the bland water. his scoundrel hands, bruised and chafed and knobbly, curl around the delicate china like a foreign thing.

i have no reason to. all my business is back in kursick.

are you sure? because something tells me zoya has saved a room for you here.

thomas’s lip curls in a grimace. yeah…

thomas, lucien says softly. he places a hand on thomas’s shoulder. his first instinct is to shove it off roughly and snap it him, tell him to fuck off, but the hand is feather light on him and there’s a great deal of gravity in the slight forward hunch of his posture. the hand keeps him rooted to the chair. i’ve learnt a lot in my term as king and i’ve had to make decisions i would never ever think of making. the most important thing i can offer to you, is how far a leap of faith can take you. be afraid, and yet push through the pain. there’s no use hiding behind the tried and tested, nothing will come out of that. be brave, even if you aren’t strong.

thomas sits in stunned silence. after a while, he opens his mouth to say something, but there are knocks on the door and lucien’s hand leaves his shoulder.

oh, they’re back, he says. you can finally watch the races now.

lucien opens the door to the emissary and nat. nat jerks her head behind her.

we’re off, thomas.

thomas stands, as if woken from a spell. he slides his pistol back in his belt slowly.

what’s up with him? she asks lucien, with a quizzical look on her face. cat got your tongue?

lucien smiles. he has to do some thinking. how are the races?

kukui is winning, the emissary replies. aven is down 1-0.

nataliya has warned thomas against this guy, for some reason, but thomas sees nothing dangerous in him. he looks plain and harmless, wearing a congenial smile. a blue broach is pinned at his chest.

snap, thomas says, tossing his head back in a carefree sort of way. i was betting all my money on them. now johnson’s gonna laugh so hard at me.

nataliya looks at him curiously, dark eyes searching, but he shoots her a wide grin that curls from ear to ear to banish her worries. it’s the same grin that he flashes behind a secret hand of cards, or in the seconds before a fight, or just before the moment his restless hands find something to pocket. needless to say, it has the opposite effect: there’s a new divot between her brows, but this time, he knows she doesn’t truly have to worry.

he’s finding his way. hopefully.

off we go. she jerks her head behind her. turning to lucien and lord cortez, she bows and allows herself to be dismissed. thomas doesn’t wanna look back at lucien, catch his gaze and feel the earnestness reflected in his pale eyes. he doesn’t feel like proving him right. so he follows nat out wordlessly, and without a backward glance, shuts the door behind him.

she’s readjusting the reins on the palace-issued stallion, top of its breed, making sure that everything is all ready and good to go. back in kursick, he never rode on anything that fancy. it was horses, rented cheaply out of the nearest stable, and they were dirty and ran out of breath quickly. this new one can go for miles without winding down.

hey.

nataliya turns, shooting him a questioning look. she’s thinking about the look he shot her back in the house. she hasn’t forgotten.

she’s expecting an answer, but thomas says nothing, just wordlessly catches her jaw between his fingers and presses a rough kiss to her lips. they’re nearly the same height, it’s just that thomas is a tiny bit shorter than her, so there’s a slight upward tilt of his jaw. she pulls back, startled, wiping the saliva off with her shirtsleeves.

what was that for?

he grins. nothing. just missed you too much, that’s all.

she stares at him assessingly for a while, before turning away and sighing in a what do i do with you kind of way. she hoists herself up on the stallion. take the cart, thomas. i’ll ride.

second in command jumps into the cart and slouches in a corner. he kicks his boots up in the seat opposite him. the horse takes off, his head bumping against the headboard, and thomas looks at the sky and smiles.

once the two of them leave, they turn into awkward strangers, thoughts of will he won’t he thrumming in the air like they’re seventeen again.

balthazar takes the first step closer. lucien’s fingers are in a wrangled knot behind his back. it’s been half a year since he’s seen him, and half a year has done a lot to him. he’s tanner, of course due to the perpetual summer of myrr, and as a result, his hair’s lightened up and taken more brownish hue. it’s combed neatly behind his ears, so different from the when they first departed, when it was rough and tousled. lucien supposes there’s a certain decorum that needs to be maintained when one is the emissary of a kingdom. he supposes it must be an immense responsibility, trying to maintain political relations frequently drawn fraught from the continuous battle for food, water, land, resources. this must be why balthazar looks so clean cut and immaculate, not quite different, but just, unfamiliar.

lucien offers a nervous smile. long time no see.

balthazar laughs too. yes. how have you been?

just fine. i’ve been having such fun with thomas.

awkward pause. lucien clears his throat. his heart’s beating quite fast, for inexplicable reasons.

tea? he cuts in.

sure.

have a seat, it’ll only take a while.

lucien rushes into the kitchen, takes up the pot only to put it on the stove, and waits for it to boil. his hand clenches into a fist on the countertop. he can hardly find the right words to say to him after months of thinking about him and wishing he were beside him, collecting all of his thoughts so that he may pour them out to him on the day he finally returned, only to find that everything that has been pent up in his mind has funnelled down to an absolute speechlessness. he looks different. he looks… beautiful. golden brown and sharp-silhouetted, slender figured, brown eyes that weren’t extraordinary — they were an ordinary brown — except in the way that they seemed sharp and intelligent, unclouded and thrumming with a vitality. he hears footsteps behind him, and suppresses the immediate jolt of nervousness in his chest.

what brew is it? comes the voice.

chamomile, lucien replies.

oh. that’s nice. i love chamomile.

lucien doesn’t see him. he’s facing forward steadfastly, eyes trained on the pot, but his voice is calm and steady at his ear.

how was your time in myrr?

oh, it was, fine, balthazar says off-handedly, but it sounds like underlying his words is a stressful saga of power play and manipulation. lucien can only wonder. i met my mother again.

esmerelda.

balthazar makes a noise of assent. you know, for all that has happened, she’s an ordinary mother. she keeps pressurising me to find a girl, get married, continue the bloodline. she’s even been arranging blind dates for me, too. that’s one thing about mothers that doesn’t differ, whether you’re royal or not. incessant nagging.

a lump has evolved in lucien’s throat. met any girls you like?

no. not at all. they were nice, for sure, but well…

well?

not any ones i really liked enough.

relief floods lucien, though he’s still unsteady at the thought of balthazar, handsome and sharp and quick-witted, together with throngs of girls, fawning over him.

i’ve been speaking to thomas and zoya a lot now. they’re sort of my only company now that i can’t really travel out of the house while i’m recovering.

thomas, the voice says, considering. the new one. the second in command. he looks like trouble.

lucien shakes his head. he’s nice, i can tell, though he tries to put up a front.

silence, for a little while. the tea bubbles and broils.

how’s your recovery?

me? oh, it’s just fine. it’s not painful to walk, anymore.

and your hand?

lucien feels a warm hand on the small of his back, drawing reassuring circles with his thumb. his eyes squeeze shut.

oh, it’s getting better…

that’s good to hear… i’ve been worried about you.

balthazar’s hand comes up to curl around his stomach. lucien can feel him draw nearer, the warmth of his breath ghosting the shell of his ear, and the smell of citrus fills his nose. one hand rests on his navel, the other splayed across his chest as if sensing the nervous rhythm of lucien’s heart as it thumps lopsided against his delicate bones. balthazar sticks his nose in the crook of lucien’s neck and inhales.

luce. i’ve missed you.

lucien shudders. this what he’s been dreaming about, the unflappable and solid presence of balthazar pressed against him. warmth envelops him and his knees threaten to give way. his fingers are white-knuckled on the counter.

lucien’s entire body is coiled so tightly he can feel himself trembling. he doesn’t dare look up. he doesn’t want balthazar to see the look on his face and know, immediately, what lucien has been thinking about these past few months. his voice is scratchy.

i have too.

they stand around like that for a minute or two, soaking up each other’s presence, revelling in the fact that how, for this one moment, they aren’t faced with insurmountable obstacles or the threat of death, or how there isn’t an entire ocean separating them anymore. it’s just the two of them in the small kitchen, curled together in the shape of a single parenthesis. balthazar is warm, infinitely warm. he seems to radiate warmth. maybe his sun-soaked time in his home country has altered his body temperature.

balthazar’s lips drift over lucien’s ear, temple, cheek. the motion is languorous, a slow biding of time. lucien tilts his head back slightly so that balthazar’s lips land on his and they kiss, slow and deep, every moment feeling like everything come to fruition, all the loss and pain and sacrifice bearable, if only that this one thing might come out of it. balthazar’s mouth moves expertly, but lucien is too caught in a daze to consider this thought at a deeper level. his mind hones in on the point of contact where balthazar’s hand has slipped beneath the rough cotton of his shirt and is now tracing the planes on his stomach, fingers moving with such painful elegance lucien loses his mind for a little bit. he makes a noise which balthazar catches with his mouth and proceeds to suck on lucien’s bottom lip.

the hand roves deeper, following the faint trail of hair leading down to his navel and slipping beneath the hemline of his pants. lucien sucks in a sharp breath. balthazar works deftly, fingers long and elegant, knowing exactly where to touch to have lucien crying out only mere seconds later. he loses his balance and lands heavily back on balthazar. balthazar catches him. lucien’s cheeks burn.

i’m sorry, that was too fast —

balthazar kisses him quiet. it’s nothing.

let me do you, lucien insists.

it’s the inexperience. lucien doesn’t quite know what he’s doing, baz being the first one he’s ever done this sort of thing with before. his hand goes down balthazar’s pants, heart hammering against his chest, as he grabs on to him, warm and wet.

it’s okay if you don’t want to, balthazar says. lucien ignores him.

he repeats what balthazar did to him, although much clumsier and inexperienced than him, but with a determination to get it right. it takes a bit longer to get balthazar going, until there’s two spots of red burning on his cheekbones and he lets out a long-drawn sigh, body completely tense. his breaths grow shorter, and just before he comes, he puts a hand under lucien’s chin and tilts his face up. balthazar’s eyes are shining and his mouth parts, just so. his gaze is trained right on lucien. lucien’s breath hitches. he wishes he could suspend this moment in time, preserve it in amber, but then a second passes and warm wetness fills his hand.

the look on balthazar’s face knocks all the breath out of him. his face is rosy and glowing, eyes curled into crescents.

i love you, he whispers. tufts of brown hair come out of his carefully styled hairdo and flop down in front of his face. tentatively, lucien tucks one of them behind his ear. this is a different baz, not the calm, cool exterior he puts up in front of strangers. this one’s reserved just for him: quiet contentment, manifesting itself in the subdued glow of his eyes. learning balthazar cortez isn’t like trying to decipher the meaning of a painting, what with its loud expressions. it’s not about reading the splashes and tones of colour or the lines and shading. it’s quite like shutting your eyes and straining to hear something in the pin drop silence. it’s not something immediately evident, but its something that comes with practice and time.

eventually, between the both of them, there isn’t much center of gravity to go around anymore and both of them flop to the floor. by now, the kettle is shrieking bloody murder. lucien rests his head on baz’s chest.

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