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Late winter in the north of Vere is nothing like winters in Akielos, a fact which makes itself well known to Damen as he and Laurent ride back to camp. What had started off as light snow has quickly turned to blizzard conditions. Damen’s never seen snow like this before. His suggestion that they stop to find shelter is rebuked by Laurent criticizing him for a lack of stamina. He insists they keep going, even as visibility is dropping the longer they continue.
Damen shouts at him to be heard over the howling wind: “This is insane! We’re going to get lost and freeze to death.”
“Just because you have a poor sense of direction and don’t know the terrain doesn’t mean all of us are useless,” Laurent says. “It’s just a little snow. Get over it.”
Damen takes a deep breath, the air fogging in front of him as he releases it in a sigh, and resigns himself to trudging along after Laurent and dying out here. Next time Laurent decides to leave the troop on his own, Damen is going to let him go; he’ll never make it back, Damen will escape and head south to Akielos, and he’ll forget he ever met the Crown Prince of Vere.
They keep going. All Damen can see around them now is the swirl of snow and Laurent ahead of him. Then Laurent’s horse steps poorly, and goes down on its front knees. Laurent manages not to fall off, but dismounts hastily, stumbling in the snow. It’s is several inches on the ground now.
Damen hurries toward him, dismounting his own horse. “What happened?”
Laurent’s inspecting the horse’s ankle. “She’ll be alright.”
Damen takes a look himself. “Not to make it all the way back to camp.” He looks back the way they’d come from. “There was farmhouse, about two miles back,” he says. “We should seek shelter.”
Laurent shakes his head. “We have to get back to camp,” he insists. They’re already much later than planned since the man Laurent had been meeting with was late.
“If you keep going with a lame horse you’ll die before you get there. We’ll both die if we keep going. We need to stop for the night,” Damen says.
He makes his way back towards his own horse. After he climbs into the saddle he looks back down. Laurent has his arms crossed over his chest, and this is the first time Damen notices that he’s very underdressed for the weather. Damen had been freezing even before the unexpected snow started, unused to the colder winters this far north of Akielos, so he’s wearing a thick coat he borrowed from another soldier. It’s tight across the shoulders and arms, but better than nothing. Laurent only has on his riding leathers. Damen knows they’re fur lined for winter, but it’s still not much protection without a coat or cloak as well.
Damen holds out a hand to Laurent. “Give me the reins of your horse. We’ll lead her back.”
Laurent looks angry about it, like he does most things, but passes over the reins. Damen ties them to his own saddle. Then he holds a hand back out to Laurent. “Come on,” he says.
Laurent’s slight frown turns into a scowl. “I’m not riding with you,” he says.
“You can’t walk,” Damen says.
“No, but you can,” Laurent counters. “Give me your horse.”
Now Damen’s scowling. “I’m not walking in the snow. The horse can handle both of us for a couple miles. Stop being stubborn.”
“I gave you an order,” Laurent tells him.
Damen nearly laughs. “Well, there’s no one around to whip me for ignoring it right now, so I’ll chance it.” He holds his hand out again. He’s going to pay for this show of insubordination later, he’s sure, but he’s not going to walk several miles in the snow. It will soak through his boots and freeze off his toes. And he know Laurent isn’t stupid enough to walk in it either.
It’s another minute of Damen waiting silently for Laurent to come to his senses, then Laurent grabs ahold of Damen’s coat, slotting his foot behind Damen’s in the stirrup and hauling himself onto the back of the saddle, ignoring Damen’s still outstretched hand. He settles onto the back of the saddle with as much distance between them as he can while still keeping his seat.
The ride back to the farmhouse isn’t a great distance, but takes a long time because of the growing snow drifts and the slow speed of Laurent’s injured horse. Laurent keeps slipping back, nearly falling off the horse; he’s grabbed a fistful of Damen’s coat to try and hang on.
After about a mile, Damen’s had enough and reaches back to grab hold of Laurent’s wrist. It startles Laurent enough that he lets go of the coat, and Damen is able to wrap Laurent’s arm around his waist, yanking him forward so that he’s plastered against Damen’s back.
“Hold on,” he says, over his shoulder.
“If you weren’t abnormally large we would both fit,” Laurent tells him, breath warm against the back of Damen’s neck. He squirms, and nearly goes sliding back again, but Damen’s hold on his arm keeps him in place.
Damen has the fleeting thought that he should have left Laurent to freeze to death.
What Damen had thought was a farmhouse, and had hoped was occupied with people who would help them, turns out to be an outlying shed, clearly long abandoned. Laurent hops off the horse as soon as they’re near the door, and leaves Damen to deal with the horses while he inspects the shed.
Damen has just dismounted himself and is tying both sets of reins to a nearby tree when Laurent emerges, arms full of blankets. They’re rough, and clearly actually meant for horses. Laurent tosses one at Damen, and turns to drape the other over his own horse. The blanket smells musty, but hasn’t been devoured by moths, and is certainly enough to keep the horse warm for the night.
The horses taken care of, they both head back towards the shed. Damen looks around, taking in the contents of the shed. There are a few rusted tools, and another blanket in the corner. Some logs are stacked against one wall, and Damen heads toward them.
“See if there’s anything to start a fire with,” he tells Laurent.
Laurent finds some flint, but it’s pointless because the wood has rotted and won’t catch.
“Any other brilliant ideas?” Laurent asks, looming over where Damen is crouched on the floor still trying to light the fire. “Have you ever built a fire before?” he asks. “You’re very bad at it.”
Damen glares up at him. “You want to give it a try?”
Laurent eyes the wood. “It’s not going to work. Even I can tell that.”
“Build a lot of fires living in the palace?” Damen asks, standing and brushing his hands off on his pants.
“More than you, clearly.” Laurent turns away, spinning a slow circle as he looks around the shed, arms crossed over his chest again. “I thought you said there was a farmhouse.”
“It looked like it from a distance,” Damen says. “It was hard to tell through the blizzard though.” He takes the blanket from the corner and spreads it out to sit on, as protection against the cold dirt floor, leaning back against the wall of the shed. “Might as well settle in, we’re going to be here until the storm has passed.”
Laurent is still poking around the shed, peering inside every bucket and picking up every tool to inspect it.
“Let me know if you find any food,” Damen says, leaning his head back and closing his eyes.
Damen has just started to doze, exhausted from trekking through the cold and the snow, when he’s startled back to alertness by a sharp kick to his thigh. “Ow,” he protests, rubbing at the spot.
“Move over,” Laurent tells him.
Damen scoots over a bit, but Laurent nudges him with his foot again until Damen’s barely on the edge of the blanket. Damen’s annoyed enough about it that it takes him a few minutes to realize that the reason Laurent is sitting restlessly next to him is because he’s shivering, jaw clenched to keep his teeth from chattering.
“You should have worn a coat,” Damen tells him.
The glare Laurent turns on him is scathing.
Damen leans back again. The sound of the blizzard is muffled here, just the whistle of the wind through the slats of the shed walls. It’s warmer than being outside, but barely, and only by dint of the fact that they’re not getting wet anymore. Damen’s hair is a bit damp from the melted snow that’s clung to his curls, but Laurent’s looks soaked through. The outside layer of Damen’s coat is damp as well, the thick wool absorbing the moisture, but inside the fur lining is dry and warm.
Damen lasts through another ten minutes of Laurent’s fidgeting before he can’t stand it anymore. At this point, Laurent has pulled his knees up to his chest and is rubbing his arms, body shaking with fine tremors. “Here,” Damen says, unlacing his coat and shrugging out of it. He leaves it draped partially over his shoulders, and offers half of it to Laurent. It will mean they have to sit pressed together, side to side, but maybe the body heat will help warm them both up as well.
Laurent looks surprised for a moment, but quickly covers it with a glare. “I’m fine,” he said.
“You’re shaking,” Damen points out.
Laurent stumbles to his feet, more clumsy than usual, and tries to cover it by stomping his feet and heading towards the door.
“Where are you going?” Damen asks, starting to rise himself.
“I’m going to check on the horses,” Laurent says.
“What? No. Get back here.”
But Laurent has already opened the door of the shed, allowing a sharp gust of wind and snow inside.
“Laurent,” Damen says, thinking of trying to reason with him. He stand up, shrugging back into his coat.
Laurent holds up a hand, a clear gesture for Damen to stop. “Don’t follow me,” he says. He steps outside, yanking the door closed again behind him and leaving Damen alone.
Damen sinks back down onto the blanket. Fuck this. If Laurent wants to freeze to death rather than be in a closed space with Damen, then let him. They’ve shared a tent — larger than this shed, because Laurent is nothing if not pretentious — and sat together all through the night going over strategy, but Damen knows that there’s no reasoning with Laurent when he’s in a mood like this. It’s always one step forward and three back when it comes to his relationship with Laurent.
Damen’s not sure how long he’s been dozing, but he’s woken by a particularly sharp gust of wind that knocks the door partially open. He jerks awake, staring around to get his bearing for a minute before stumbling towards the door. It’s gotten darker, as dusk settles in, but he’s not sure what time it was when they got to the shed, or how long they were riding in the snow in the first place. They’d been late waiting for the man Laurent was meeting (something to do with sheep, Damen had been left to tend the horses and hadn’t overheard much), so it had been well past noon before they’d set off back to camp.
He can’t have been asleep long, he reasons, because Laurent still hasn’t come back.
Then he goes over that thought, and realizes: Laurent hasn’t come back. This is just great, Damen thinks. The Crown Prince of Vere is going to die in a snowstorm because he’s too stubborn to listen to anything Damen has to say, and Damen is going to be chased down and executed for failing to stop him.
Well, fuck that, Damen decides. He pulls the door open again and shivers as the wind gusts in his face. He pulls up the hood of his coat, yanking on the collar and ducking his neck down until the cold isn’t taking his breath away, and sets out towards where the horses are tethered.
They seem to be faring well enough. The blankets are helping to keep them warm, and they’re standing behind a small copse of trees to shelter from the wind.
There’s no Laurent in sight.
“Where did he go?” Damen asks the horse.
The horse turns to look at him, and Damen pats him on the nose.
He finds Laurent sitting in a snowbank, hidden behind one of the trees.
“What are you doing?” Damen asks.
Laurent doesn’t answer. He’s curled into a ball, huddled in the limited shelter of the tree, but the snow is clinging to the strands of his wet hair and his lips have a worrying tinge of blue.
Damen tries to pull Laurent to his feet, but he’s dead weight. He snaps his finger in front of Laurent’s face, then shakes him. “Laurent. Laurent, wake up.”
Laurent’s eyes open just a slit, and Damen shakes him again. All he gets in response is a moan.
He’s alive, at least. Damen hefts Laurent into his arms and heads back towards the shed.
He has to set Laurent down to force the door open against the wind, and when he lifts him again to carry him inside Laurent’s head lolls drunkenly against Damen’s shoulder. His forehead rests against Damen’s cheek, and he’s freezing to the touch.
“You’re an idiot,” Damen tells him, as he lays Laurent down on the blanket. Now that they’re out of the snow and wind, he can take better account of Laurent’s condition. He’s shaking, fine tremors, and his skin is even paler than usual. He’s breathing and semi-alert at least. As soon as Damen sets him down he rolls onto his side, limbs curling in.
Damen tries to remember what he’d been taught to do in the cold to stay warm. It’s never been relevant before; Akielos just doesn’t get this cold, even in the dead of winter and the furthest north parts of Delpha. But he remembers snickering with Nikandros about his tutor’s advice to strip down and share body heat.
“You’re going to kill me when you wake up,” Damen says to Laurent.
Laurent doesn’t respond, beyond shivering more.
Damen starts by taking his coat off again, then works at the laces of his own jacket and pants. He forgets to take his boots off, and had to stop to remove them before he can get the pants down. He frowns, debating just how naked he has to get for this, before taking his undershirt off as well. He keeps his socks on, because they’re dry and surely socks are better than bare feet and frostbitten toes. He really doesn’t want to lose any toes.
Laurent’s clothes are harder to get off of him, mostly because Laurent starts fighting him once Damen’s has his jacket half unlaced.
Damen’s fairly practiced at undoing these laces by now, but the cold makes his fingers fumble as he tugs on them, and Laurent, who is normally motionless while silently judging Damen’s efforts, is trying to push Damen away.
“Laurent, stop,” Damen tells him, trying to work despite Laurent’s freezing cold hands pushing at his chest.
Laurent’s shaking his head, and tries to say something but is stopped by how hard his teeth are chattering.
“It’s okay,” Damen tells him. “You just have to get warm, and you can’t do that in all these wet clothes.”
He gets Laurent’s jacket open, and takes hold of one his hands to hold his arm steady as he starts in on the laces on the sleeve. “Your damned Veretian clothing is way too complicated,” Damen tells him.
“Get off,” Laurent manages to say. His eyes are still closed.
“Yes, have to get your clothes off,” Damen says, speaking like he would to a small child. He’s aiming for soothing, but it comes out a bit more annoyed as Laurent manages enough coordination to use his free hand to smack Damen across the face.
Damen grabs Laurent’s wrist, tucking it under his own leg to pin him down as he keeps working on the laces. Laurent thrashes, a high-pitched noise coming from his throat. It’s enough to startle Damen, and he lets go. Laurent curls back into a ball, entire body shaking with shivers.
Damen stares at him for a moment. “Laurent?” he asks.
Laurent doesn’t respond, and Damen waits a minute before trying again. He’s freezing himself now, stripped down to just his socks, and the faster he can get Laurent undressed the faster he can use their clothing to wrap them both up.
He keeps talking, even though he’s not sure Laurent is registering anything he’s saying. “Just this arm left,” he narrates. “That’s the worst of the laces. And I know you hate me, but you’re not exactly pleasant company yourself. So if you could just cooperate, then we could spend the night huddling together for warmth, have the most awkward morning after ever, and then get on our way back to camp and never speak of it again.”
Laurent doesn’t react as Damen unlaces his other sleeve and lifts him a bit to remove the jacket entirely, seemingly asleep. Sleeping might be bad, actually; Damen’s not sure. He doesn’t want to wake him up and have him thrashing around again though, so he tries to move Laurent as little as possible.
He gets Laurent’s boots off without a problem — he does give Laurent a stern warning not to kick him, but he doubts that’s the reason for Laurent’s boneless cooperation.
Laurent starts thrashing again when Damen starts on the laces of his pants. “No,” he says, the word drawing out into a moan.
“It’s okay,” Damen says. “You’re alright.”
Laurent tries to hit him again, but his movements are weak and uncoordinated, so rather than trying to hold him down Damen just lets Laurent hit him, the blows glancing off his arms as he keeps tugging on the laces of Laurent’s pants. Laurent tries to kick him as he starts pulling them down, but is hampered by the fabric itself. His pants are wet, from sitting in the snow, and are harder to tug off because of it.
Laurent rolls away from him when Damen lets him go, trying to get to his hands and knees and crawl away. He still has his shirt and hose on, but Damen decides it’s good enough.
"Come back," Damen says. Laurent ignores him, of course, and he has to stand and half pick Laurent up to force him back onto the blanket. Laurent jerks against him, pummeling his chest with his fists as Damen drags him back. Damen lets Laurent drop to his knees, and then takes hold of his face in his hands, palms cradling Laurent's jaw. "Whatever is going on in your head, I am doing this for your own good."
Laurent's eyes are open, staring straight at Damen but clearly not really seeing him, pupils blown wide. "Please," he says.
Laurent begging is more unsettling than anything else he's done so far, even if Damen isn't sure what he's asking for. He's still shaking, trembling in Damen's arms.
"It's okay," Damen says, soothingly. "You're just too cold. You're hallucinating. It's not real. We have to warm up." He pulls Laurent down next to him to lie on the blanket, and holds onto him with one arm while tugging their scattered clothes on top of them and finally pulling the blanket half over the top of them. It's a bit warmer, but even Damen feels cold down to his bones at this point, and Laurent's skin is icy against his own, even through his shirt. Damen rubs his hands up and down Laurent's arms to try and create some friction and warm him.
Laurent tries to pull away from him but can't, wrapped up in the blanket as they are now. Damen wiggles until he can throw one leg over Laurent's, to keep him from trashing. This position keeps Laurent from throwing all the clothes off them, but it also means that Damen's cock is rubbing against Laurent's thigh.
Damen stills when he realizes. He's expecting Laurent to start trashing again when he notices, but instead Laurent goes completely still, limbs stiff and unmoving.
"Sorry," Damen says, not sure why he feels the need to apologize. He's striped his own clothes off, risking hypothermia himself, in an attempt to keep Laurent warm after he had stupidly gone back out in the storm and decided to have a nap in a goddamn snow bank. If Laurent hadn't been so tetchy about even being in the same room as Damen, they wouldn't be in the position they are now.
Rather than tell Laurent that this is his own fault, Damen shifts his hips away from Laurent, and keeps rubbing at his arms.
Laurent's hands are pressing against Damen's chest, and his fingers are frigid as well. Damen takes them between his own, bringing them up to his mouth to breathe warm air over them and rubbing.
Damen keeps trying to warm Laurent up, and Laurent remains stiff and unmoving, entire body tensed as though expecting a blow. It does, eventually, warm beneath their makeshift covers, and while Laurent's skin is still cold, he no longer feels like he's seconds away from frostbite.
Damen's not sure when Laurent falls asleep, or if he really has at all. Perhaps his body has just grown weary enough to relax. Either way, eventually Laurent relaxes against him, his breath warm and steady against Damen's neck and hands curled between them, tucked under his chin.
The wind continues to whistle past them, the occasional bit of snow blowing through a gap in the walls to settle against the floor, but in this little cocoon the air between them is finally warm, and Damen feels like he can relax.
He eventually falls asleep as well, one leg still thrown over Laurent's, and his arm wound around Laurent's waist to hold him pressed close to his chest.
Damen's not sure what wakes him the next morning, but there's bright sunlight filtering through the slats of the shed. One of his arms is asleep, crushed underneath the body curled up next to him. Speaking of said body, Damen's hard, and his hips jerk unconsciously, rubbing his erection against the person next to him. He shifts, trying to free his arm without jarring his partner too much, and manages to shift the blankets above him off his own back. The air that hits his skin is frigid, and wakes him the rest of the way.
He blinks awake, and the events of last night come rushing back to him. He looks down to find Laurent's eyes open, staring forward at Damen's chest.
"Uh.... morning," Damen says.
Laurent shifts minutely but otherwise doesn't acknowledge that Damen has said anything, moving his leg underneath Damen's and causing his thigh to rub along Damen's cock again.
Damen suppresses a groan.
"You can let go of me now, " Laurent says, tone dull.
Damen moves away from him gingerly, lifting his arm and sliding back, out from the cocoon of clothing. "How do you feel?" he asks.
"Cold," Laurent says, after a long pause. He sits up, now that Damen's body isn't pinning him down anymore, and looks at the pile of clothing in his lap. "What..." He looks around the shed, and Damen can see his adam's apple bobbing as he swallows. "What happened?"
"You don't remember?" Damen asked. He digs through the pile to find his shirt, and pulls it over his head. Laurent finally looks at him, now that Damen's body is mostly covered.
"Not—It's hazy," Laurent says.
"You decided to take a nap in the snow," Damen says. And then, because he's feeling bold: "Because you're idiot."
Laurent gives him a sharp look. Damen bends over to grab his pants, ignoring him. He's still hard, and lacing his pants closed is uncomfortable, so he leaves them loose for now.
"And then I had to warm you up so you wouldn't freeze to death," Damen continues.
Laurent seems to have come back to himself a bit. "And that involved getting your dick out and rubbing it all over me?" he asks.
Damen shrugs. "You're not dead, so it must have worked. You can thank me anytime."
Laurent sorts through the pile of clothes, throwing Damen's jacket at him and grabbing his own pants. He keeps the blanket over his lap as he wiggles into them, and stays seated as he shrugs his jacket on. He does the laces on the front up himself, and then tugs the ones at his wrists tight but leaves them untied.
"Here," Damen says, kneeling next to him and reaching for Laurent's arm. Laurent jerks away from him, pulling his arm close to his chest, and Damen waits, hand still outstretched. "I'm just going to tie them."
Laurent holds his arm back out. Damen takes the laces and knots them into a sloppy bow, then does the other arm. Laurent's looking down, watching Damen's hands, when he says, "What did I say last night?"
Damen stands back up. "You mostly just chattered your teeth together."
Laurent frowns, tugging at his sleeves to adjust his shirt beneath his jacket. He eyes Damen from under his lashes as Damen works on tying his own jacket shut. "That's it?" Laurent asks.
Damen curses at the laces—he hates Veretian clothing, really—before asking, "Why? What do you remember?"
Laurent leans over to grab his boots and starts pulling them on. "Nothing," he says. "I just had strange dreams."
Damen watches him, and debates asking what Laurent had been so afraid of. Except he thinks he knows, and he doubts Laurent will acknowledge being afraid of Damen himself. It makes him feel a bit sick anyway. He’s thought a lot about what it would be like to get the upper hand on Laurent the past couple of months, but when it comes down to it Damen wouldn’t use his physical strength against someone vulnerable like Laurent was last night, not like that , and the idea that Laurent thinks he would sits in his stomach like a stone.
The past twelve hours have already eroded the careful balance of power they've established over the past two weeks, since leaving Arles, and actually talking about it would only destroy it further. Damen's not sure what that would mean for the rest of this campaign, and he'd promised to at least see Laurent south before leaving, so it feels like they're at a impasse.
Laurent stands, brushing non-existent dirt from his pants. "Are the horses okay?"
"They were last time I checked on them," Damen says.
Laurent goes to pull the door open, but Damen reaches out to stop him. "Here," he says, holding out his coat. At Laurent's look, he adds, "Can't have you nearly freezing to death again before we get back to camp. The men would kill me if I showed up with you dead."
Laurent frowns. "If I were dead, you'd take off straight south for Akielos."
"I'd rather you weren't dead, either way," Damen says, wrapping the coat around Laurent's shoulders. It's too big on him, but it will be warm.
Laurent gives him another odd look, before shrugging into the coat and tugging the laces on the front of it closed.
Damen turns to the door and heads outside to get away from that searching, unsure expression, so unlike Laurent's usual disdain.
The horses are still tethered to the tree. They're annoyed at having been left outside in the storm overnight, but no worse for the wear. And there hadn't been room in the shed for the horses to fit as well.
Laurent follows Damen out, and goes to his mare to inspect her leg, murmuring softly to her as Damen unties the reins.
"We'll need to ride double again," Laurent says, taking the reins of the mare from Damen. "She can walk, but shouldn't carry a rider until it's been seen to."
Damen mounts his own horse, and this time Laurent accepts the hand he offers to help him up, and wraps an arm around Damen's waist right away, hips settling against Damen's, instead of trying to stay as far away from him as possible.
The ride back is silent, and slow going. Once they're at camp Laurent dismounts and marches into the camp like he owns it—which he does—directing the farrier to see to his mare and glaring hard enough at the curious men that they scatter rather than ask where he's been. Damen's slower to dismount after him, but eventually follows. Laurent is barking orders at Jord, who trails after him.
Back to normal then, Damen thinks, watching him.
Orlant comes up next to him, watching Laurent as well, and says, "Isn't that the coat Huet loaned you?"
"Uh..." Damen says. "Yes."
Orlant raises an eyebrow.
"We didn't fuck," Damen says, heading off the question he already knows Orlant is thinking.
"Uh huh," Orlant says. "Sure."