Chapter Text
“You still haven’t told me what we’re doing,” Dave complained, following John out into the small courtyard at the back of the castle. It wasn’t as fancy as the rest of the gardens; just a stone plaza surrounded by hedges, with a few small sheds off to the side. He hadn’t been here before, and honestly, he wasn’t sure why he was here now.
“Just a second!” John hurried over to the side of one of the sheds, opening a weather-worn chest propped up against the exterior wall. “You’ll need a size smaller than me and. . .”
Dave walked over behind John, peering over his shoulder. Inside the chest were heavy leather tunics and a rack of fencing foils. John passed him one of the tunics, smiling. “I thought maybe we could spar together! I used to have a tutor a few years ago, but I broke my leg for a few months and just never picked it up since.”
Dave laced himself into the armored tunic, picking up one of the blunt foils, weighing it in his hands. “Yeah, I guess.” Surprisingly, the training sword was even shittier than the ones he’d practiced with before he was a knight. Then again, this was apparently just for the fun of it.
John laced himself up, grabbed a sword, and walked to the opposite end of the courtyard. There were faint lines in the dirt, marking out the rough edges of the training area. Casually, Dave squared up across from him. “You can make the first move,” he said.
That was a mistake.
John’s attacks weren’t fast or cleverly placed, but they were powerful. Each swing was decisive, focused, never wasting an attack. It wasn’t like fighting against another swordsman. It was like fighting against someone with a club, or an ax.
Still, Dave hadn’t gotten his job for nothing. His movements were calculated and perfectly timed, his focus unbreakable. Even though the attacks were powerful, he managed to hold out, keeping a careful pace with John.
Wham!
He’d let a single attack slip through. Dave hit the ground with a thud, sliding a short ways across the rough stone. His vision blurred, and it took him a moment to realize he was staring up at the sky.
“Nice!” John walked over, offering a hand to help him up. His face was flushed, sweat beading down his forehead. “I totally handed your ass to you!”
“You kidding me?” Dave said. He hesitated, then took John’s warm, strong hand, and stood up. “I’m just going easy on you, you royal asshat.”
John laughed, setting his practice sword aside. He paused, offering an apologetic smile. “I didn’t hit you too hard, did I? Sometimes I get carried away.”
Dave shook his head, unlacing the leather padded tunic. “No way, it was like getting hit by a pillow full of baby bunnies. I didn’t even know you’d hit me,” he said, rubbing his side. There was probably going to be some bruising. He turned back to face John, then stopped.
John was shirtless. He stretched, his muscles warm and defined. The bright glow of the morning sun shone over him, reflecting off the beads of sweat on his chest. When he stretched, Dave could see every muscle shift, moving with the sort of powerful ease you’d expect from royalty.
His figure was perfect. The tight strength of his chest, melting into the soft roundness of his stomach. A small scar traced down over his collarbone and across his chest, pale against his copper skin. Even his pants hung teasingly low, accentuating his sharp hips, hinting at things beneath.
“Wow, that really wore me out,” John said, taking a deep breath in. “I guess I have been pretty lazy lately,” he added, resting his strong, thick hand on his hips.
Dave stared at the ground between his feet as if his vision alone could bore a hole into the Earth’s surface. He didn’t dare look up, didn’t dare steal another glance. His face was bright red, he could feel it. What would John think?
“Hey Dave, are you alright?” John asked, slinging his tunic over his shoulder. “You’re really quiet all of the sudden.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Dave said quickly. He turned to look at the wooden chest, pretending to straighten the rack of practice swords. “I’m fine.” He needed something to say, something, anything to fill the silence and change the topic. “I didn’t know you had a scar.”
John walked up next to him, putting his own foil away. Unfortunately, the chest was small, so this meant there shoulders were pressed together, their skin barely touching. Dave tried to steady his heartbeat, certain John could hear it.
After a moment, John spoke. “Yeah. I guess not a lot of people do? It’s not something I talk about a lot, I guess.”
“Oh?”
John smiled, shaking his head. “It’s kind of a long story, and it happened ages ago. It’s really not all that important. Sorry if it made you uncomfortable.”
Dave pulled back, shaking his head in disbelief. “Uncomfortable? Are you kidding me?” He paused a moment. After some hesitation, he peeled off his own tunic, holding it to his chest. “Dude, I’m a knight. I’ve got, like, a million scars, see? You’ve got nothing to be embarrassed about.”
John reached out, brushing his fingers across the thicker scars. Dave froze beneath his touch, gentle, careful. There was something so warm, so intimate about the small exchange. He closed his eyes, taking a shaky deep breath in. He had to stop thinking like this. It was just a crush, just a stupid, unrequited crush.
“You got all these from fighting?” John asked, tracing a thicker scar across Dave’s chest.
“Some of them,” he said, meeting John’s gaze. “None of them really have great memories attached. Obviously. But they’re a part of me. The little ones. The big ones. They’re all there. And they’ve made me the person I am, for better or for worse.”
John paused, pulling his hand away slowly. “Do they ever still hurt?” he asked, his voice soft and breathy. “Do they. . . do they ever keep you up at night?”
“All the time.”
After a moment, John picked up his tunic, pulling it back over his skin. He looked away, as if contemplating what to say next. After a while, Dave decided he probably wasn’t going to say anything.
“I was seven.” The warmth was gone. John’s voiced was tired, soft, every ounce of energy drained from his being. He closed the chest, sitting cautiously on the lid. “I still didn’t really get the whole. . . royalty thing. I mean, I knew that I got to be special because of my dad, but I didn’t really get it, you know?” Carefully, Dave sat down next to John, listening with rapt attention.
“I don’t remember a whole lot about it. It was the middle of the night, and it was winter, I remember that. I woke up from a bad dream. And when I did, there was someone there, in my room. A man, holding a knife. So many things happened at once. The guards outside the door heard me scream. They ran inside and saw this man just standing there, covered in my blood, about to run out to the balcony. I saw him die before I passed out.”
John clutched his chest, as if he could feel his heart pounding against his ribs. “It took months, but I survived. Most of the muscles have regrown, but the scar is still there.”
Dave stared in disbelief. “How. . . How the hell have I never heard about this?” he asked.
“Dad was worried that if news got out, another assassin would come to finish the job,” John said, staring blankly out across the courtyard, the castle walls casting a shadow across his face. “You probably know about the incident where things suddenly just stopped getting done? No new laws were signed or changed, all court meetings were canceled, and no one knew why? It was because my dad kept canceling meetings to come check on me.”
“John, dude, I. . .” What was he supposed to say? Sorry someone tried to kill you, I’ll try my best to make sure it doesn’t happen again?
John forced a laugh, and suddenly he was smiling again. But it didn’t feel as bright and genuine. How many other times had John been faking his joy? How often had this been weighing on him?
“Like I said, it was forever ago,” John said, shaking his head. “I’m sure you’ve been through way worse shit, don’t worry about it. But. . . I am kinda glad I told you. You’re really nice about this kinda stuff. I’m happy we’re friends, Dave.”
Dave took a deep breath, and offered his best smile, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Yeah, he said, nodding. “Me too.”