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Chapter Text

Steve ran his fingers through his hair, flattening it down as best he could since it had a distinct tendency to rebel, sticking up in all directions. Satisfied, he brushed his fingers over his shirt, gave his trousers a tug, rubbed the toes of his boots against the back of his calves, giving them a hint of shine, and decided it was good enough.

He scooped his wooden case off the floor, giving it a quick check to make sure paper, pens, and ink bottles were all safely secured, locked the door to his rooms, then ran down the first flight of stairs two at a time. He slowed when he hit the landing, taking the rest of the steps one at a time, paying attention to his lungs' warning rattle, no matter how much it annoyed him. But he couldn't afford to set them off, couldn't afford to get himself into a state where he'd have to carve out time to see a Temple Healer.

Not that the Temple Healers he visited charged—at least not people like Steve, who weren't exactly rolling in spare coin—but he couldn't afford a day away from the market. People expected him to be there. People counted on him to be there, and he didn't want to let them down.

The market he worked out of was more than a few miles from the rooming house he lived in, and the early morning Haven streets hit him with a wave of noise as he hurried down the cul de sac, heading for the Circle Road. The streets were packed with carts and horses, with mules and even the occasional long-necked, wooly-coated chirra, out of place and uncomfortable in the summer warmth, but goods came from all over, and not everyone could afford to change beasts.

The rattling of a dray wagon, heavy on the cobbles and loaded with beer barrels, warned him to get out of the way. He called out as it passed, "Can I catch a ride?"

"Jump on," the driver called back. Steve couldn't tell if it was Javen or Nevis—the twins dressed as alike as they sounded, so he had to get close to tell them apart. "Don't miss," he added slyly, "little thing like you, the horses won't even notice the bump."

Steve scoffed, scoffed again as the cart slowed, got a tight grip on his case, ducked in front of the following mule cart, dodging the snapping mule teeth, and jumped for the rear of the wagon. He landed on the narrow unloading shelf with the ease of long practice and made his way forward over the barrels, dropping to sit next to what a quick look confirmed was Nevis.

"Horses just slowed down all by themselves, I guess?" Steve asked, a little dry, a little amused, because it was the same every morning their paths crossed.

"Ah, you know these old girls. They have their funny little ways."

Steve chuckled, but didn't say anything else.

"You're planning to be in the market this afternoon?"

"Unless something drastic happens, I'm planning to be there all day."

"Might be that I'll be down to see you. Need to send a letter to the cousins out in Trevale."

"I can do that for you." Nevis and Javen, like most born and raised in Valdemar, could read and write and figure. The Crown made sure of that, with schooling offered to every child. But it didn't mean they were comfortable with it, or that they could write in a fine hand or do sums reliably. And Haven was filled with people not born in Valdemar, or born in Valdemar far from Haven, in places too small or with too few hands for the Crown's edict on schooling to mean much beyond the bare minimum.

That's where Steve came in. He wasn't a scribe, for all that most of his customers called him one. Scribes were fancy, and guilded, with shops or formal rooms or positions in a noble estate or a merchant's house. The people who came to Steve could never afford a true scribe, even if they saved up a year's worth of pennies. Steve was just someone who wrote things down for people (and, from time to time, sketched a picture or two) and he could do it in more than just Valdemaran. He had a knack for languages, was fluent in Hardornen and Rethwellan, had a smattering of other tongues, and considering Haven was home to people from every country that bordered Valdemar, and from places a lot farther than that, it made his services popular.

He also had a better than decent grasp of Karsite, but that fact he tended to keep to himself.

"I'll even give you a discount," he told Nevis as Bright Street loomed, and he prepared to jump off.

"Nah, now, none of that. I'll pay my fair share, just like anyone else."

The wagon slowed, Steve slid to the edge of the seat, carefully jumped, stumbling forward as he landed before he caught his balance. "We'll see," he called after the cart, but a lifted hand was Nevis' only response.

Bright Street was as busy as the main thoroughfare had been, but the traffic took on a different tone. There were more hand drawn carts with only a few pony carts here and there, more people carrying their wares on their backs as they hurried towards their stalls and stands.

Steve joined them, but his destination was nothing so grand. Maybe someday, but not now. Not today.

Today he'd be making himself comfortable on a wide, covered stone bench, set in the shade of the tall stone wall that marked the border of the marketplace. The market was a mix of permanent stalls, carts, and stands, some run by people who owned them, some rented from a landlord who owned half a dozen in this marketplace alone.

Steve might not have a stall or a stand or a cart, but this was where people knew to find him. Spring, summer and fall, if the weather was good enough, he'd be here. When bad weather or winter rolled around, he'd take refuge in the nearby tavern. He'd made a deal with the owner—Steve could have sole use of a table near the back, and in exchange Steve reviewed his account books twice a year and wrote any correspondence he needed. In summer, Steve wasn't sure which of them was getting the better bargain; in winter, when the snow rolled in and the freezing wind blew and he was tucked up near the tavern's roaring fireplace—he knew it was him.

But that wasn't going to be an issue today. Today was going to be perfect. He set his case on the bench and waved as Anne, silver-haired, stoop shouldered, and fierce-eyed, popped her head out of her cart, beckoning him over.

He held up a hand, wait, and slipped her papers out of his case.

"Steven," she said when he'd made his way across the courtyard, weaving past early morning market-goers and people darting frantically between carts and stalls, trading goods or borrowing things they'd forgotten or run out of.  

"Morning, Anne."

Her narrow eyebrows dipped slightly, and he couldn’t see her feet, but he was sure she was tapping one impatiently.

He didn't grin, it was likely to result in a quick swat, but he wanted to. Instead he handed her the papers—new signs for her cart, setting out products and prices, something that was starting to become common in this market, thanks to Steve's presence—with a flourish.

The paper was thick, the thickest he'd been able to get his hands on, even if they weren't pristine white—perfect white was too expensive—but even against the speckles of brown fibre that dotted the pale grey paper, the black and dark blue ink stood out clean and bold.

She narrowed her eyes, scrutinising them closely, then nodded. "Good."

"Good?" he asked.

"Very good." She broke into a rare smile. 

Now he did grin. "Good enough for breakfast and chava?"

She tsk'd at him, but carefully set the papers down and turned her back on him, disappearing into the back of the cart. It was how most of the stall holders paid him. Sometimes with a small amount of coin, but mostly in goods. When the goods tasted as good as Anne’s he preferred the goods.

She came back with a clay mug, the smell of hot chava wafting from it, and two sausage-stuffed bread rolls wrapped in a bit of waxed cloth. "Here, take two. Eat both. You're too skinny."

"Anne, I've always been this skinny. Nothing I can do about it."

"Does that mean you don't want these?"

"I didn't say that!" he protested with a laugh.

"Hmph." But she passed him the rolls, which he tucked into the pocket of his trousers, and then handed him the mug.

"Not going to warn me to bring it back?"

"No, not you." She put her hands on her hips. "Unlike some of the scoundrels in this place, you wouldn’t steal it."

He looked down at his mug, unaccountably touched.

Then she sniffed. "Besides, I always know where to find you." Her eyes were glinting, and she waved him off. "Now go, I have real work to do, not this," she waved her hand around, "playing with pens."

When he was half way across the marketplace, she called his name and when he turned, said, "And make sure you come back for your lunch!"

"Yes, ma'am!"

Her offended huff followed him to his bench.

*    *    *

It ended up being a busy day. When Nevis arrived, a couple of candlemarks after noontime, he had to wait, sitting on the nearby fountain with his feet stretched out in front of him.

Steve wasn't sure what had prompted so many people to come in search of his services, but they had. There was a lot of work in other languages, including one he just couldn’t do on the spot, a complicated agreement for the exchange of sheep between a Rethwellan trader and a Valdemaran. The trader from Valdemar had a copy of the agreement in Rethwellan and she needed it translated, so she could be sure what she was agreeing to, and someone at the livestock markets had sent her his way.

He could do it, he just couldn’t do it here, in the market, with noise and distractions.

"I can have it for you tomorrow," he told her, "if you'll let me take it home."  

She seemed unsure, but Nevis spoke up, said in his calm, measured way, "You can trust him, if that's what you're worried about. Isn't no one else you can trust like Steve. It’s why we're all here. He never talks about anything you give him."

Steve blinked at him. Stared around when a few murmurs of agreement rose up unprompted from the people close enough to have heard Nevis.

It was apparently enough to convince her, and she left the agreement with him, promising to return tomorrow.

"Thanks," he said to Nevis when he'd finished with the other people who'd been waiting.

"It's only what's true," Nevis said, then settled in next to Steve to tell him what he wanted the letter to say.

Steve used his best paper, made it extra fancy, adding unnecessary flourishes here and there, just because.

Nevis' grin when he saw it was smug. "This'll impress the cousins for sure."

*    *    *

Five days out of six, Steve could count on catching the twins' dray wagon to the marketplace. Unfortunately, when the day was done there were no convenient wagons passing by to take him home. Fortunately, he'd long since worked out the quickest, most efficient route through Haven's twisty streets, and after bargaining for a few of Anne's leftover sausage and bread concoctions to be his dinner, he headed off.

Haven made it impossible to get anywhere directly. Steve knew the winding streets were deliberate. That wasn't always a comfort when he was ducking down laneways and turning north down a street when he needed to go west, but even when he was being sent a quarter candlemark out of his way, a little part of him couldn't help admire that first King who'd decided to turn Haven into a trap for anyone who tried to invade.

It was the twisty streets and surprise dead ends that had him making his way past several alleys, but it was the sound of raised voices that had him stopping at the entrance to one.

Raised voices weren't unusual, not in this part of Haven: people fought, people screamed, people cheered and yelled, but this was different. This was three voices filled with anger and hate and one trembling with fear…and the last one sounded very young.

They didn't see Steve as he made his way into the shadowed darkness of the dead-end alley. Three figures, young men, maybe Steve's age, in the well-cut clothes of rich families. Well-to-do merchants or nobly born, he couldn’t tell, but he could tell that there were three of them, he could tell that they were tall and broad and well-fed. He could tell they had a young acolyte cornered—a boy, not more than twelve or thirteen, huddled against the wall, clutching a golden disk shaped like a sun, and his unbleached linen robes were torn at the shoulder.

Anger roared through Steve. The tallest, Steve guessed he was the ringleader from the way the other two were avidly watching him, sneered, "You think you can sneak your Karsite filth into Valdemar? Think you can hide it by changing your stinking god's name? We know who your," he spat on the ground, and the boy flinched, "Lord of Light really is."

Three of them, one of you. Three of them bigger than you and you know what'll happen if you fight them. Find the Guard. It flashed through his mind. Sensible. Realistic.

Never an option.

In the time I'm gone, how badly will they hurt him? If anyone's going for the Guard, it's not me.

"HEY!" he yelled and four heads whipped around to stare at him. "What do you think you're doing?" Three pairs of eyes weighed him, judged him, while the little acolyte stared at him in hope.

The ringleader smiled; judgement made. "I can tell by your voice you were born in Haven. Am I right?"

Rage ticked higher, but Steve reined it in and strolled down the alley. The acolyte—and Steve recognised his robes, recognised the sun he was so desperately clutching, even if he didn't recognise the boy—flinched as his hope drained away. "You are."

"Then you'd understand. We can't have Karsite garbage here, no matter what it calls itself."

"I understand completely," he said agreeably, ambling closer, tightening his grip on his case while he tightened his grip on his anger, holding it in check.  When he was in grabbing distance of the boy, and it was times like these he was glad to be skinny, glad to be short, glad to be someone no one ever saw as a threat, he said, "I understand you're scum."

He snatched the boy out from under their noses, shoved him towards the mouth of the alley, barked out, "Run!" and blocked the alley, planting his feet.

He'd shocked them silent. In their world people probably didn't speak to them like that. He knew it wouldn't hold for long. "I understand you're bullies and cowards. And idiots if you think anyone was trying to hide—"

Their shock broke and they were on him. He smashed his case into the ringleader's face, wincing as he heard the crack of wood, rejoicing at the crack of bone, but the case was ripped out of his hands and tossed away. He got a fist into someone's gut, slammed his boot into someone's knee, wound up and pounded his knee hard into a groin—they didn't know anything about fighting dirty, maybe didn't know anything about fighting at all, but even so, it wasn't going to end well.

Worth it. An elbow got him in the eye and he stumbled backwards, hands raised. Completely worth it.

*    *    *

"Am I lost?" Bucky asked.

:It's certainly possible,: Winter replied, tossing his mane, making his bridle bells ring.

"Thank you, that's incredibly helpful."

Winter's only response was an amused snort as he pawed the ground and refused to give Bucky any clues as to where, exactly, they were.

Learning the streets of Haven in detail wasn't part of a Herald-Trainee's duties, but it bothered Bucky that he didn't know them. He'd known his town and the surrounding woods and farmland well enough to find his way around with his eyes closed—literally. When he'd been young, and playing together was something he and his sister had still done, they'd tested it one day.

"All right, let me see if I can get this." Bucky closed his eyes and consulted the map he was carefully constructing in his head. He had an actual map, tucked into his saddlebags, and Winter knew his way everywhere, but none of that would help him learn what he wanted. "Right, go west at the next turn, then south at the Circle Road."

:Are you sure?:

"What do you mean, am I sure? Am I wrong?"

:I didn't say that.:

"Stop that," Bucky replied. "I'm sure."

Wordless amusement flowed back to him as Winter broke into a smooth trot, the chime of his massive silver hooves ringing in the evening air. It was a beautiful evening, warm without being hot, the long summer days meaning the city was bright well into the night. This was Haven, the capital, there was nowhere Bucky had to be, nothing he was supposed to be doing, even if he did get them lost, it wouldn't have any consequences, and Bucky and Winter were both relaxed.

People they passed nodded or smiled, and Bucky smiled back, but he didn't really notice as their numbers thinned out. 

Eventually, as they turned and turned and turned again, Bucky began to suspect he'd taken them the completely wrong way, even as he was sure this was the direction they needed to go. "Alright, I may need to admit defeat."

Winter's response was to break into a bouncy trot.

The small child racing out of a narrow space between two buildings and almost throwing himself under Winter's hooves surprised them both. Winter danced to a careful halt. "M'lord Herald." The boy was panting, his robe was ripped, and his eyes were huge as he reached up to grab Bucky's boot. "M'Lord Herald you have to come. They're going to kill him. Please."

Bucky wasn't an empath, but he could feel the distress, the fear, radiating off the boy. :Winter?:

:Roshe's Herald is close to a Guard patrol. He'll send them.:

:We can't wait.:

:No, we can't. Bring him:

"Can you show me?" The boy nodded and Bucky leaned over. "Can I lift you up here?" He nodded again and Bucky scooped him up, holding him carefully in front of him in the saddle, the boy's heart beating as fast as a rabbit's.

Winter leapt into motion as the boy directed him, and it was turn and turn and turn again, and then they were sliding into a blind alley to see three well-dressed young men beating on another boy.

"ENOUGH," Bucky yelled, throwing everything he'd ever learned about projection behind it, and it echoed through the alley. Winter reared under him, ears flat back, letting loose an angry whinny as he dropped back down with a crash of his hooves.

The three froze, dropping their prey, and the boy they were beating on scrambled away. Winter snaked his head forward, teeth snapping, making them flinch, sending them stumbling back. "Up against the wall," Bucky ordered, voice like iron. "The Guard are on their way."

The boy in Bucky's arms wiggled free, dropped to the ground, and ran forward, kneeling next to the other boy—who wasn’t a boy at all, Bucky realised as he sat up, just on the small side and looking beat nine ways to awful.

"You alright?" the not-a-boy asked, voice strained, but his concern came through loud and clear.

"I'm fine. I found a Herald. I'm sorry it took me so long." The boy who'd found Bucky looked like he was about to cry.

"Hey, hey it's all right. It's fine." He gently patted the boy's back; Bucky knew it must have hurt from the way he winced and tried to hide it. "What's your name?"

"Vel. Acolyte Velyn."  

"Well, Vel. I'm Steve. And you did exactly what I wanted you to do. You went and found help. That was perfect."

Steve looked up and met Bucky's eyes. One of Steve's eyes was swollen almost shut, there was a long cut above his eyebrows, blood was trickling from his nose to join the dried blood smeared across his chin, but his eyes were the most brilliant blue Bucky had seen this side of a Companion's. "He found you, and he brought you back, and that was exactly the right thing to do. Wasn't it?"

His tone was just daring Bucky to disagree. Something Bucky had no intention of doing. "It was."

"See, even the Herald agrees."

Vel sniffed, but nodded, and Steve patted his shoulder again. Bucky revised his age upwards once more. Bucky wanted to slide off Winter's back and go…help him. Look after him. Offer him whatever he could find in his saddlebags to wipe the blood away, but Bucky wasn't a Herald. He was a Herald-Trainee and it was obvious from his grey uniform. A Herald wore Whites. Technically he had very little in the way of authority. He needed what being on Winter's back gave him until the Guard arrived. If the three decided to scatter, he and Winter might not be able to get them all.

Luckily, they didn't have long to wait. Soon the alley and the street outside it was filled with Guards and horses and Bucky introduced himself—as Herald-Trainee James, not Bucky—and willingly handed everything over to them after explaining his and Winter's part in it. When they started questioning Steve and Vel, Bucky and Winter casually moved over to stand close by, a wall between Steve and his three attackers. 

The fury in Steve's voice as he explained what had happened matched Bucky's heart, and he could feel it echoing from Winter. It was against everything Valdemar stood for, against everything Heralds stood for, and Vel was a child. They were stupid, ignorant, hateful, the spoiled sons of rich merchant families—it turned out these particular three were known to the Guard—and whatever their reasons for what they'd done, there was no excuse.

And there would be no excuse. They'd face the courts for this, there'd be justice, and they'd pay a heavy price.

The Guard Captain, a craggy woman older than Bucky's mother, sent for a cart for the prisoners and tasked a Guard to take Vel back to the Temple. The young Guard, accompanied by a large dog, offered Vel her hand, but before Vel took it, he turned back to Steve, young face very serious, and said, "Thank you for helping me." With his fingers wrapped around the sun medallion, he added, "Blessings of the Lord of Light."

Steve bowed his head, and Bucky saw him once more hide a wince. "I'm honoured."

He darted forward to hug Steve around the neck, then took the Guard's hand and let her lead him away, the dog walking watchfully on his other side.

When they were gone, the Captain turned to Steve. "You're coming back to the Guard Station with us," she said firmly. "Our Healer will fix you up."

"You'll get no argument from me, Captain."

Bucky had a feeling from the Captain's snort that not only did the Captain know Steve, but that 'no argument' was not Steve's usual response.

"And you, Herald-Trainee James, thank you for intervening. And thank you as well," she said to Winter, adding a little bow, which Winter returned with a nod of his head.

When she went to supervise getting the prisoners loaded, Bucky went to pull himself back up onto Winter, but Steve's voice stopped him. "I need to say thank you."

"You don't," Bucky replied.

"I do," Steve said stubbornly. He wasn't all over blood anymore, one of the Guard had given him a cloth to clean himself up, but he was still swollen, cut and puffy, and Bucky knew he had to be in pain. "Thank you for helping Vel."

Bucky stared at him, not sure how to respond. He was a Herald-Trainee, he didn't think it was possible for him to not help when someone, when a literal child, ran up to him and said help, and here was Steve—who'd bodily thrown himself between the child and danger and paid the price—telling him thank you for it.

:Say 'you're welcome', Chosen,: Winter said. :He means it.: 

"You're welcome," he repeated softly, and Steve smiled, then immediately winced as it pulled his split lip.

Bucky wasn't sure what he was going to say, but he was saved by the Captain's return. "Right, Steve, you'll have to ride on the cart with the prisoners."

"That's fine," Steve said, taking the Captain's offered hand and getting slowly to his feet.

Bucky could feel Winter thinking. :Chosen, are you in a hurry to return to the Collegium?:

:No?:

:Tell him we'll take him to the Guard Station.:

:What?: Bucky slowly turned to stare at his Companion.

:We'll carry him.: A snort. :I will carry him.:

:Winter?:

There was no response. Apparently Winter had said all he intended to say on the subject.

Bucky turned back to Steve. "Winter says that we can take you. If you want."

They were suddenly the focus of multiple eyes.

Steve blinked at him, obviously baffled and with good reason. "I thought Companions didn't do that."

Outside of emergencies, they didn't, at least as far as Bucky knew. "Mostly Companions do what they want," he offered, because he'd also learned that was true.

:Well said. I'm going to remember that.:

Winter wasn't the tallest Companion Bucky had ever seen, that privilege belonged to Rolan, the King's Own's Companion, but he was the biggest, the broadest, the heaviest. But even not being the tallest, he was still tall. They were still going to have to get Steve, hurt Steve, up there. It wasn't something Bucky had ever had to think about, how to get someone else on his Companion.

Steve was talking, saying, "Please tell me if I do something that, uh, hurts you or anything," but he wasn't talking to Bucky. "I have no idea how to ride." He was talking to Winter. It brought a rush of pleased happiness, because a lot of people didn't. A lot of people, people who should know better, when faced with the shape of him, defaulted to treating Winter like a horse.

"You'll be fine," Bucky said, holding out his hand. "Pass me your case." Bucky strapped it to Winter's saddle and, after some consideration, he mounted, then got Steve to climb onto the cart with the help of a Guard. The prisoners sat in sullen silence. Bucky ignored them, Steve glared at them, and Bucky caught himself admiring the glare. It was like lightly banked fire. He shook off the vague thought of warming himself at it, and carefully guided Steve to sit on Winter's rump, legs hanging off one side.  

Winter's gait was smooth as they followed the cart, and Steve leaned, just the tiniest bit, on Bucky's back. "Nicer than the cart, huh?" Bucky asked.

"Much," Steve replied, even if he still sounded confused. "Thank you."

"Thank Winter. It was his idea."

"Thanks, Winter," Steve said, leaning forward a little—Bucky put an arm back, to make sure he didn't slide off—and Winter flicked an ear back in acknowledgement.

They rode the rest of the way in silence. Smooth as Winter was, Bucky knew the more time passed, the more Steve would be hurting; Bucky wasn't going to try and make him talk, and besides, it wasn't uncomfortable silence.

The Guard Station loomed ahead, the cart continuing past it, and Winter stopped, lowering his head so Bucky could dismount by flipping his leg over Winter's neck. He reached up to steady Steve as he slid off. He ended up with Steve practically in his arms as his legs gave out when he landed. Bucky held him up, steadied him, Steve muttering, "Sorry," as he pulled away.

Bucky let him go with a strange reluctance, saying soothingly, "It's fine, it's completely fine. But let's get you to the Healer."

For a moment, Steve sagged against him and Bucky got a glimpse of how he truly felt: exhausted, hurting, bone deep weariness and aches, and then it was pulled behind a mask. 

Bucky kept a hand on Steve's back as he walked him inside, following the Guard Captain to the Healer. 

He stayed still as the Healer tsked and motioned Steve to sit. Her eyes unfocussed as she put her hands on Steve and before his eyes, Steve's eye unswelled, the bruising went down, his cuts closed, his nose…didn't actually change all that much. Steve sat straighter as the pain was eased away.

He was going to be exhausted after this.

:Winter? Since you already decided to carry him once...:

:Yes, we can take him home:

:Thanks:

Winter didn't respond in words, just sent a burst of affection.

Steve without the marks of battle on him looked different. His face was narrow, thin, his eyes still that same intense blue, and he held himself differently—but then who didn't when they weren't in pain. He was yawning when the Healer pronounced herself satisfied, his eyes drooping.

"You can stay here tonight," she offered, looking like she was two heartbeats from insisting. "Take a spare bunk."

"No, I need to go home." He smiled at her, and it was broad and sweet and swooped right through Bucky like a warm summer breeze. "Thanks. For the offer and for the," he waved at his face and his ribs, "everything."

"It's not everything. You're still going to have a few twinges from those ribs for a day or so. You're under strict orders to take it easy, get extra sleep, extra food."

"Yes, ma'am," Steve said, nodding once, and then he stood. "But I can go home?"

She sighed. "Yes, you can go."

Steve smiled again, and not even directed at him it once more swooped through Bucky.

When Steve turned, he stopped short at the sight of Bucky in the doorway. "You stayed."

"I stayed."

"Why?"

Bucky didn't really have an answer; it had never occurred to him not to, so he shrugged. "Is there anything else you need to do?"

"I should probably see the Captain."

"I'll be outside with Winter."

Steve was staring at him quizzically, or as quizzically as someone so obviously sleepy could manage.

"Go see the Captain," Bucky said softly, "then meet me outside." He paused. "If you think you can manage without falling over." It was gently teasing, and Steve huffed back at him and went.

Bucky busied himself checking Winter's tack. He knew Winter would tell him if anything had slipped, if anything pinched, but it was something he liked to do. He was smoothing Winter's mane when Steve came out of the Guard Station, slowing as he approached them. 

"Ready to go?" Bucky asked.

"What?"

"We're taking you home." Winter lifted his head, ears curving forward.

"Sorry, I don't," he stopped and covered a huge yawn, "understand."

"How about you don't worry about it too much."

The look Steve gave him told Bucky exactly what Steve thought about that.

"Steve, if there's a time when you don't have to worry about anything, it's now. I’m a Herald-Trainee, Winter's a Companion. You're exhausted. Just…trust us. We'll get you home safely."

For a long moment, a moment in which Bucky felt gifted with sudden insight into who Steve was, he thought it could go either way. Then Steve smiled, this one warm and bright and just for Bucky, and it raced through him, lodging inside him like a miniature sun. "Guess I'd be a bit ungrateful to say no."

"Guess you would," Bucky agreed with a small smile of his own.

"Are you sure you don't mind?" Steve asked, looking straight at Winter. Talking to Winter again, like Winter was a person. That rush of pleased happiness made a reappearance.

:Tell him he looks like he's about to fall over and I'd rather not trip over him. Humans make such chancy footing.:

Smothering a laugh, Bucky relayed it and Steve did laugh. It was like bells. "I'd hate to risk inconveniencing you," Steve said to Winter, then shifted his gaze to Bucky. "Tell me what to do?"

This time, Bucky gave him the saddle, holding out his hands for Steve's knee and boosting him straight up, then swinging up to sit behind him. It was easier than trying to get Steve up behind him without the cart and without help when Steve didn't know how to ride.

The sun had long since set, but the street lanterns provided enough light to see by. Steve told Winter where he lived—told Winter, and once more Bucky had that rush of happiness—then sat stiffly straight in the saddle, hands on his thighs, feet carefully out of the stirrups.

The chime of Winter's hooves was loud as they made their way through Haven. Gradually, Steve slumped as his exhaustion caught up with him, and as they rode through the city Bucky found himself with the warmth of Steve's back firmly lodged against his chest, Steve's hair brushing against his chin. He could feel Steve's breathing—not slow and even; there was a hitch in it, a catch, but it was repetitive, like it was something normal.

He brought his arms around him, collecting Winter's reins—an excuse in case Steve woke, because he was, if not completely asleep, the next thing to it.

Too soon, they were turning into the cul de sac that Steve lived in. There were no individual houses, just shops with rooms above them and a large rooming house, and he had no idea which one was right.

"Steve," he said quietly, not wanting to startle him. "Steve."

Steve shifted in his arms, going stiff and tense, quickly sitting up.

Bucky let his arms fall. "We're here. I just don't know which here is yours."

After a moment, Steve relaxed. "The rooming house."

Winter walked closer, stopping in the street, and Bucky helped Steve slide off.

He stumbled, would have fallen, but Bucky caught his hands and steadied him. He was looking down at Steve, holding onto his hands, and he didn't want to let go.

He had to, of course; he was being ridiculous.

"Think you can make it to the front door on your own?" he teased, taking his hands back so he could unstrap Steve's case and hand it down to him.

"I think I'll manage," Steve replied. "Goodnight to you both, and thank you again," he added to Winter, who cocked one ear at Steve.

Bucky managed to hold his words until Steve made it to the bottom of the stairs. Then he was blurting out, "Do you think I might see you around sometime?"

"You might." Steve grinned. "Do you know the square where Pitcher and Bright cross, the one with the public basin for clothes washing?"

:I know where it is:

"Yes," Bucky replied.

"There's a marketplace behind it. Most days I'm there. Or if the weather's bad, I'm in the tavern." Steve walked up the steps and paused with his hand on the door. "If you want to see me, Herald-Trainee James, you know where to find me."

"Bucky," he called.

"What?"

"Bucky. I’m Bucky. It’s what," he faltered, suddenly flustered, an amused Winter shifting under him until they were standing right at the foot of the stairs, "that’s what people call me."

Steve’s grin grew warmer. "Bucky," he said, slow and soft, like he was exploring the shape of it. Bucky wanted to grab hold of the word and never let go. "Like I said, you know where to find me."

Chapter Text

Bucky was expecting the summons. He hadn't known when it would come, but he'd gotten involved in stopping a serious crime, one involving the sons of rich families assaulting an acolyte, he'd assisted the Guard, he was almost certainly going to be a witness when it was heard in court… Yeah, he'd known the summons was coming.

He was sitting at one of the long tables in the dining hall, surrounded by Heralds and other Trainees, the persistent buzz of multiple conversations washing over him, eating porridge and blinking sleepily, when Winter gently interrupted him.

:The Dean wants to see you.:

:Can I finish my breakfast first, or is this an immediate on the spot summons?:

There was a moment of blankness in his mind, then Winter said, :Daysen says to finish your breakfast. Bruce could use a second cup of chava before he's fit for company, anyway.:

He held back a chuckle. :Tell him thanks for me.:

Even with permission from the Dean's Companion, he quickly finished his breakfast, dropped off his dishes, and made his way to the Dean's office. It was stacked high with books and papers, and Herald Bruce, Dean of the Herald's Collegium, was sitting at his desk, observing Bucky from bright eyes. A pot of chava was next to an open ledger, and with a small, slightly pointed smile, he took a sip from the mug in his hand.

Bucky winced, and Bruce's smile grew wider. He motioned Bucky in and gestured for him to sit. Bucky did. 

"I understand you had some excitement last night." Bruce set his mug down and steepled his fingers, elbows on the desk. Bucky had heard the stories, the same as every other Trainee, that before he'd been Chosen the Dean been dangerous as a demon, with a wild, out of control Gift that only being Chosen had tamed. Those stories were hard to reconcile with the kind, fluffy-haired man in front of him—but whether they were true or just wildly exaggerated gossip, they all knew the Dean would do anything for his Trainees. He was there for them, day or night. And no matter how badly you'd screwed up, no matter what you'd done wrong, you could come to him and he'd try and help you fix it.

It was what made Bucky ask, "Am I in trouble?" because he'd rather know right off. He didn't think he was, but he didn't know. He'd done the right thing, he was sure of that, but there might be rules about Trainees not interfering or taking on the authority of a full Herald. 

"No. Of course not. You acted exactly right." There was gentle praise in Bruce's voice, and pride, and Bucky couldn't help the warmth that sparked in him. "I have the report from the Guard, and Winter told Daysen what happened. But I'd like to hear it from you, so I can make an accurate record."

It made sense. Bucky took a moment to gather his thoughts, setting everything in order. "You know I've been working on learning my way around Haven?"

Bruce grinned. "I know, and I commend you for taking on such a daunting task."

"If I didn't know the city was designed for defence, I'd think someone dipped a bunch of snakes in ink, dropped them on a canvas, then used that for a building plan," he replied, smiling ruefully, then it faded. "This child—I know he's an acolyte, but then I just thought he was a little who needed help—about threw himself under Winter's feet, asking for help. He guided us to the alley where Steve was getting beaten up."

"Steve?"

Bruce had to know who Steve was; he had the report from the Guard, Winter had told his Companion what had happened, and Bucky wondered if that included Winter deciding to carry Steve, but he was happy to answer. "The one who jumped in to protect Vel. It was really something. He didn't have to. He was just walking past, heard Vel was in trouble, and took them all on so Vel could get away." Bucky smiled and ran his finger along the edge of Bruce's desk. "He had no way of knowing if Velyn would even be able to find help, but he didn't hesitate."

"That's impressive."

"He really is," he said softly, still smiling, remembering the feel of Steve snuggled in his arms.

Bruce cleared his throat. "And you had no issues with the Guard?"

"What?" He sat up straight, feeling his cheeks heat. "No, no it was fine." He explained the rest of the night, glossing over taking Steve home, and the Dean made a few notes. Asked a few questions. Pronounced himself satisfied.

"Now, I believe you have classes this morning? If you hurry, you won't be late."

It was clear dismissal. Bucky stood, murmuring goodbye.

"Bucky?"

He paused at the door, turning back.

"You did well last night."

Bucky grinned, feeling a fierce pride, and hurried off.

*    *    *

The next few days passed like they always did. Classes, assigned chores, avoiding getting dragged into trouble he'd rather avoid, usually something involving the Bardic students. Contribute to trouble Bucky was happy to be involved in, even if he'd later deny all knowledge—and Bucky had no idea how those hats had wound up pinned by arrows to the second-floor window sills of the Bardic Collegium…never mind that he was the best archer at Heraldic.

The only difference was that he didn't seem to be doing it alone. Not that he was ever alone—he always had Winter, a constant warm presence in the back of his mind—but this was something new.

This was Steve.

He couldn’t quite seem to get him out of his head.

Like now, for example. Steve was the thought he had to shake himself out of so he could sprint across the Collegium grounds in a desperate attempt not to be late.

The Heraldic, Healer, and Bardic Collegiums were massive stone buildings with equally massive grounds, crisscrossed with paths and dotted with courtyards, lawns, and gardens. There was no shortage of people on those paths, dressed in Heraldic-Trainee grey, Bardic student russet and the pale green of student Healers, along with the White, Green, and Scarlet of Heralds, Healers and Bards.

And all of them seemed determined to get in his way.

Sprinting to weapons class was a mixed blessing. On the positive side, he ended up making it on time, and Herald Thor really disliked it when people were late. On the down side, he was already out of breath when he got there.

Most Trainees took classes with their yearmates, the people Chosen around the same time as them. That didn't work for Bucky. Instead of the normal thirteen or fourteen, Winter had Chosen him a year ago, when he was eighteen. Bucky's yearmates had been Chosen at the normal age so taking weapons classes with them would have been 'of limited use', as the Dean had put it, so he'd been put in with older Trainees, mostly ones who were close to leaving the Collegium.

With everything but a bow, they were almost universally better than him, having trained under Thor for several years. Which was good, he couldn't get complacent—as if Thor would ever let him—but it was always a workout. One he was already out of breath for.

"Bucky!" Thor exclaimed as he came into the salle.

"Hi, Thor," Bucky replied.

"Today, you're going to work on knives."

"Stabbing or throwing?"

"I believe there will be time to work on both." Thor grinned hugely, obviously delighted. "But primarily stabbing."

Bucky didn't wince, he didn't, just grinned back.

Thor was the sneakiest Herald he'd ever met. He was always cheerful, always happy, seemed like kittens and sunlight personified—right up until he revealed that he was entirely evil. Not evil evil—he was a Herald and no Herald was evil—but evil, run you around the salle until your legs were jelly evil, chase you around the salle until you thought you were going to die evil, work you in sword drills until feeling in your fingers was a distant memory evil. And he'd do it all with a bright smile and a cheery laugh and you didn't even realise he was giving you something hard and painful and evil until it was too late.

Which was probably the point, now he thought about it.

Thor grinned his cheerful grin and thrust a brace of training knives into Bucky's hands. "I've assigned Herald Nardine to work with you. She'll keep you on your toes."

Or cut them off, he didn't say, but he heard Winter laughing in the back of his mind. Herald Nardine was one of the best when it came to knife work, acting as Thor's assistant when needed, and she was also grinning at Bucky.

Hers was more sinister than cheerful, but he took a deep, game breath and started strapping on the specially-dulled training knives.

*    *    *

After class, Thor sent his exhausted Trainees to cool down in whatever way they wished, only forbidding anyone to collapse on the ground. There'd been groans all around at that, but everyone knew he was right.

No matter how much Bucky wanted to curl up in a ball and rest his aching muscles, it was a sure path to agony.

Winter met him at the fence to Companion's Field. Bucky climbed over and they walked together, meandering aimlessly through the field. The broad green expanse rolled out to an endless horizon, dotted with groves of trees, Companions drifting across it like silver clouds, and it soothed Bucky's soul. He didn't know what it was about the place. It was just…peaceful.

:You should see it when a dozen foals decide to get up to mischief all at once,: Winter had said the first time Bucky had mentioned how peaceful he found it. :Or when a storm brings down half the branches and you can't walk without tripping over a stick. It's not so peaceful then.:

Bucky had laughed and promised Winter if the field ever got too much for him, he'd find a way to smuggle him into his room. 

Their bond had been so new back then—barely a month passed since Winter had appeared out of the fog and changed his life—but already been something he couldn't imagine life without. For the first time he'd understood why in all the songs Heralds never survived their Companion's death. Before, they'd never made sense, he'd always assumed they were a bit of Bardic melodrama, but now he knew.

A hard nudge sent him stumbling forward. He whirled and glared, hands on his hips. "What was that for?"

Winter tossed his head, long forelock flying, blue eyes bright. :You were getting maudlin.:

"I wasn't."

:You were.:

"Not really. Not," he made a helpless gesture with his hands, then shrugged, "not bad maudlin. I was just thinking about you. About us."

:About me?: Winter gave Bucky a pointed look. :Not about someone else?:

Entirely unexpectedly, Bucky felt his cheeks heat.

Winter snorted, obviously amused.

"I'm supposed to be cooling down, so let's do that." Bucky resumed walking and Winter fell into step beside him. The grass was soft underfoot, the sky was blue overhead, and gradually the blush faded from his cheeks.

Winter had a point. Part of it was understandable; of course he was thinking about what had happened, Steve had been an integral part of it, so of course he'd have Steve in his thoughts.

You're lying to yourself, Bucky. That was something he tried not to do. And if he wasn't going to lie to himself, he had to admit Steve had been occupying his thoughts more than someone he'd met once probably should.

There was just something about him…

It wasn't just what he looked like—in the interests of not lying to himself that was definitely part of it; Steve was lovely—but he'd thrown himself into danger to protect someone he didn't even know. Not stupidly, not recklessly, but because it had been the right, the best, the only, choice.

Bucky sighed and leaned on Winter's shoulder as they walked.

He'd also broken one of the assholes' noses with his wooden case and maybe that shouldn’t be attractive, but it sure was. Of course, the case had cracked, but it must have been well made to stand up to that sort of abuse with only a crack—and some bloodstains. Bucky had gotten a good look while he'd been strapping it to Winter's saddle.

Judging by Steve's clothes and where he lived, he doubted Steve had the spare coin for a new one.

Bucky had the spare coin. He didn't really touch the money his family sent. He let the idea float around in his mind, not quite approaching it directly, then asked, "Do you think it would be too much to get him a new case?"

Winter stopped and turned to peer at him. :Too much to spend on someone you've only met once, or too much to do for someone you've only met once?:

Bucky grimaced. It was obvious from Winter's scrupulously neutral tone that the answer to both was 'yes'. "Yeah, all right. I know."

Winter nudged him. :He told you where to find him.:

"You're suggesting talking to him instead of buying him expensive presents?"

Winter snorted and Bucky laughed under his breath, leaning his forehead against Winter's warm, solid neck. "Tomorrow afternoon. I've got early kitchen duty and a break after morning classes. Feel like taking me into Haven?"

:All you ever have to do is ask.:

*    *    *

It had been a couple of weeks since he'd been carried by a Companion through the city, and Steve figured it was going to go down in his personal history as a defining moment. Two defining moments, since it had happened twice.

It made it a bit odd, then, that being carried on Companion-back was overshadowed by the memory of that Companion's Herald. Herald-Trainee, he mentally corrected. The grey uniform was mostly the same as the white of a full Herald, except for the colour, and it had suited Bucky. Bucky. He rolled it around in his mouth. It was a strange, spiky kind of name, but it suited the Herald-Trainee.

Steve had been hoping Bucky might show up at the market, but he knew it was a daft thing to hope for. He could imagine how busy Bucky must be. And what had seemed possible in the darkness, when he'd woken practically snuggled against Bucky's chest, Bucky's arms around him, was in the light of day just a foolish hope.

He had briefly thought about going to see Bucky. Then he'd pictured it, making his way up the long spiralling road to the Palace, whose grounds held the Heraldic Collegium, presenting himself to the Palace Guard, and the thought had vanished as quickly as it had come.

No, it had been a moment, brief and warm and strangely wonderful, but that was all it had been. Just a moment.

Knowing that didn't stop him from looking up hopefully when he heard the distinctive chime of a Companion's hooves. And it didn't stop the trickle of disappointment when he saw the Companion wasn't Winter. All Companions were similar, gleaming white coat, bright blue eyes, shining silver hooves, but there would be no mistaking this one for Winter. She was shorter, for a start, willowy and slender compared to Winter's muscular bulk, and she moved like a dancer.

She was alone, no Herald in sight, wearing the dark blue saddle and the bitless bridle all Companions wore, and she stopped at the edge of the marketplace, looking around curiously. Everyone in the marketplace stared at her—even if most were polite enough to pretend that wasn't what they were doing—because even in Haven a lone Companion was an unusual sight. After a short time, she picked her way across the square, making her meandering way towards Steve.

Steve watched her come, and his first thought was that he was about to get in trouble for riding a Companion, however much he might have been invited to do so.

She stopped, flicking her ears this way and that, then continued, coming to a stop in front of him.

A lone Companion usually meant they were on Search, seeking their Chosen, but she didn't seem to be in a hurry, didn't seem to be looking for anyone. She lowered her head to delicately touch her nose to Steve's case. Millard, who sold simple wooden goods from a stall four down from Anne's, had repaired it with a sheet of wood glued across the front—not pretty, but effective—and it hid the crack and the bloodstains.

She flicked her ears forward, looking at him expectantly.

He blinked at her, blinked at her again, trying to make sense of it, then slowly sat down on the bench and reached for the case, because what she wanted seemed pretty clear.

She gave a pleased little whicker.

That was that, then. He flipped his case open, selecting a bottle of ink and a pen. He chose his whitest piece of paper, dull next to the Companion’s gleaming coat, and pulled out his writing board, setting them on the bench next to him.

"You should know," he confided, "you're my first Companion customer, but I guess you can't write letters on your own." Steve settled his case at his feet with a smile, ignoring the goggle-eyed looks he was getting. Not that he blamed them. "I'm not sure how this is going to work, though. Are you going to talk in my head?" He realised as he asked that he was more curious than anything. The idea didn't particularly bother him, at least not if it was a Companion doing it.

He wasn't sure how he could tell the Companion was amused, but she was. It was there in the arch of her neck, in the way she shook her mane. She tilted one ear sideways, then flicked it forward, almost like a question.

Steve decided to treat it like one. "That'd be fine with me. I don't know how else you're going to tell me what you need written down."

He unstoppered the ink, set the writing board on his lap, smoothed the paper out, picked up his pen and dipped it in the ink, then looked up at the Companion expectantly. "All right, M'lady Companion, I'm ready when you are."

:Are you certain this doesn't disturb you?:

He jumped, splattering three ink spots across the corner of the paper.

She looked...contrite, he decided. 

"No, it's fine. It's fine," he rushed to reassure her. "I was just surprised. I'm ready this time. Please, go ahead. Tell me what you need written."

:To my dearest Steven:

"Ha, that's a coincidence," he muttered as he wrote, settling into the space where the words flowed through him and onto the page.

:I've come to the market today to seek my Chosen.:

He was most of the way through the sentence when the words registered. He lifted his head to meet blue eyes.

Warmth trickled into his mind, warmth and love. His pen dropped to roll across the ground as the trickle became a river became a flood became, :It's you. You are my Chosen,: and he answered with love and warmth of his own, the two of them solid at the eye of a storm as she settled into his heart, his mind, his soul.

He came back to himself on his feet with his arms around her neck, his face pressed against her mane. Someone had rescued his board, his pen, his ink, the paper tucked safely under the bottle. 

No one was staring. There were subtle glances, smiles, but no one was staring. It was courtesy he wouldn't have expected. 

:They're proud of you, Chosen.:

"What?"

:You're one of them, you're one of theirs, and they're proud to see you Chosen.:

It didn't make any sense, but he trusted her, he trusted her with his heart and his soul and everything he was, and she would never lie to him.

:I never will.: She curved her neck over his shoulder, pulling him closer. :I'm called Shield.:

"Shield?"

:Shield.: There was humour in her voice. :I chose it for myself. Because I will always shield you, from everything. Now,: she added before Steve could speak again. :Let me show you how to mindspeak with me. That way you don't have to speak out loud:

"I can do that?"

:You can do many things. Your Gifts are dormant, but that's something to talk about later. This, we can do right now. May I?:

"Of course."

It felt like she took his hand and led him down a darkened path; he didn't know the way and couldn’t see, but Shield did and could and he trusted her. He followed where she led, into light and an open door.

"Oh," he breathed, then, tentatively, :Shield?.:

:Isn't that better?:

:Much.:

:You can speak out loud and I'll still hear you in my mind if you want me to, even if we're far apart, but this will keep people from thinking you're talking to yourself.: He could feel her glint of amusement. :Now, pack up your case. We need to be on our way.:

Steve blinked, the world coming back into focus. He turned away from Shield, reluctant to let go, even for as long as it would take to gather his things, and his eye fell on the paper. My dearest Steven, it read. I've come to the market today to seek then it trailed off in a scribble of ink.

He laughed at it, then carefully tucked it away in his case along with everything else.

:Strap it to my saddle.:

There were buckles and straps on the back of the saddle, and he followed her instructions while he felt the eyes of the marketplace watching him.

When he was ready to mount, Anne walked over to them. Shield curved her neck over his shoulder protectively, and Steve rested his hand on her nose.

"Companion." She gave a bob of her head, then fixed her gaze on Steve. "We, me and the others, we just want to say we're happy for you. And we're proud of you."

Steve wasn't sure what to say. "I didn't do anything," he replied. "I mean thanks, I don't mean to be rude, but… I didn't do anything."

"Yes, you did. You been doing it for years, since before your Ma died. Always doing right by people." Her gaze shifted back to Shield and her eyes narrowed. "I want to know what took you so long. He's been down here all this time waiting for you."

Steve's eyes widened and Shield shook her head, making her bridle bells jingle, then reached forward to gently touch Anne with her nose. 

Looking slightly mollified, Anne nodded. "Well, all right then. You ever need anything, Steven, you come and find us."

"I will, Anne. And, you know the same's true, right?"

She smiled, affectionate and wry. "And you'll be easy to find, what with being on top of that white horse and all."

:That white horse needs to take you home.:

"I will. And we'd better go."

She nodded once and went back to her cart. Steve turned to face Shield, and she might be shorter than Winter, but Steve still wasn't sure he'd make it up without a boost, not without scrabbling around and maybe hurting her in the process.

:On the bench, then on my back.:

That made it easy, and he slipped into the saddle with a small sigh.

It felt right, being here. It felt like he could breathe easier, like everything hurt less, like this was where he was meant to be.

Shield broke into a soft trot, smooth and even, and Steve barely felt the motion.

:Where are we going?:

:You have some choices to make. We can go straight to the Collegium and get you settled in there. Or we can go and gather up your belongings first. Or…:

:Or?:

:Or we can leave Haven. There's a Waystation, where Heralds stay when they're out on Circuit, it's got food for both of us, a bed, firewood, a stove, and it's not far from the city. If you want time to get used to this before facing the Collegium we can go there. Most Chosen have time to settle into it, since most Companions have to go farther than a Haven marketplace to find them.:

:What if I decided I didn't want to be a Herald?: He wasn't serious, but stubbornness leavened with curiosity made him ask.

:Hmm, I guess we could run away and see if the Shin'a'in would take us in.: She tossed her mane, pranced a couple of steps. :The stories all say they prize perfect horses above all else. I'm sure I could impress them.:

:You're not a horse,: Steve pointed out.

:But I notice you didn't say I'm not perfect.: She curved her neck around to look up at him, sending a  wave of amused affection washing over him, and he couldn't help laughing out loud, prompting some startled glances from passers-by.

"The Collegium," he said. :There's no point putting it off. We can get my things later.: He'd never backed away from a fight, not when it was one he had to have—not that he thought this was going to be a fight, but the principle applied.

He could feel Shield's pride, feel she was pleased, feel her love, and he settled into the saddle, feet in the stirrups and tucked against her side so he wouldn't kick her, as she carried him up through Haven's spiralling streets towards the Palace.

*    *    *

Entirely distracted, Bucky had almost knocked over an entire tray of earthenware mugs on kitchen duty this morning. Thankfully, he'd noticed at the last second and somehow managed to catch them before the tray hit the floor.

The less said about his morning classes, the better.

It was ridiculous, he knew, to be so distracted just because he planned to visit the market this afternoon to see Steve.

Steve might not even be there.

But he might.

As soon as his last morning class let out, he skipped lunch and met Winter at Companion's Field. A hard, fast gallop would help shed some of his energy—and, Winter informed him, stop him vibrating in the back of Winter's head. 

He was sweaty and tired, they'd torn their way down the length and breadth of the field, and Bucky was feeling better. Calmer. More settled.

But definitely sweaty.

He needed to visit the bathing rooms before they went down to Haven.

Winter neatly leapt the fence and they trotted across the bridge over the Terilee River, which ran between Companion's Field and the rest of the Palace grounds. In the distance, Bucky could see a Companion trotting purposefully towards the Heraldic Collegium with someone not dressed in Greys or Whites on her back.

Bucky found himself unconsciously urging Winter to go faster, to get them closer, because there was something…

When it hit him, he just about toppled off, only Winter's quick sidestepping keeping him mounted.

"That's Steve."

Winter lifted his head. :It is.:

:Steve's been Chosen?:

:That appears to be correct.:

"Winter," Bucky said reproachfully.

:Yes, he's been Chosen.:

"Did you know?" He slid off Winter's back so he could look at him properly. :Did you know that was going to happen?:

:I…suspected.:

"Is that why you were willing to carry him?"

Winter didn't answer and Bucky huffed.

"I guess I won't have to go down to the market to see him."

:No. And?:

Bucky stared at him blankly.

:Think, Chosen. He is a new Herald-Trainee.:

Bucky frowned, trying to figure out what Winter was getting at. He knew Winter would never come out and say it if Bucky couldn’t figure it out on his own. OH! "He'll need a mentor."

:And you and he are of an age, both Chosen older than usual.:

"And whose fault is that? If you'd come for me sooner…" Bucky teased.

Winter shook his head, mane flying. :We Choose when the time is right.:

"I know." He smoothed his hand down Winter's nose. "Companions do what they want."

:As I said, you're very wise.: He could feel Winter's amusement. :Now, don't you have something you need to speak to the Dean about?:

Bucky grinned, kissed Winter on the nose, and bolted, hopping over the fence and heading for the Collegium.

Chapter Text

Steve woke up with the clear and certain feeling that he had no idea where he was or what was going on.

The room he was in was lit by the early morning sun, and it was small—smaller than his room at the rooming house by a goodly amount, but far, far nicer. The walls were white plaster, clean and thick, the curtains that the sun was sneaking around were a bright and cheerful blue, there was a woven rug on the floor, looking like it might be made up of discarded bits of other rugs, but if so, it was decidedly happy about it. There was a well-made desk, his wooden case sitting on top of it, a chest of drawers, some shelves on the wall, canvas sacks on the floor filled with his meagre belongings.

Where was he?

:Good morning, Chosen.: A sunlight voice floated through his mind.

Everything came flooding back. Shield. His Companion. He'd been Chosen. This was the Heraldic Collegium. He'd met Dean Bruce, who oversaw the Heraldic Trainees, who'd organised for him to be given this room and told him he'd have a roster of classes and arranged for his belongings to be collected and he knew there'd been more, but eventually it had all just blurred together.

:Good morning, Shield.:

She wasn't blurry. She was sharp and clear and perfect.

:Sleep well?:

:I think so. I don't know. Right now, I'm not totally sure about anything.:

:Which is completely normal. Have you changed your mind about wanting to run away and join the Shin'a'in?:

:Hey, that was you!:

Wordless laughter came back and he sat up and rubbed his eyes, stretching a little. There was a pile of grey material on the desk, and it didn't take much to figure out it was his uniform.

Uniform. Huh. That was going to take some getting used to. At least it was easy to get into, breeches and shirt and tunic laced over the top, even if it was too big. He tucked the pants into his boots, which stood out, black against the grey, and cinched the tunic with the belt. Even so, the uniform billowed out on his skinny frame.

:Are you sure you want me as your Herald?: he asked, staring ruefully down at himself. :I'm not going to be a lot of use.:

:Chosen.: It was steeped in disapproval.

:It's true. It's not just being small.: There were enough women who were Heralds, he figured size wasn't an issue, or at least not one that couldn’t be dealt with. :I'm not quite right. Got problems with my lungs, problems with my joints. Problems with all sorts of things. Sometimes I can't breathe. Sometimes I can't run.:

He figured it was better to lay it all out now, in case she wanted to change her mind.

A feeling like a sigh filled his mind. :Do you think I don't know that? Chosen. I knew. You have to trust me. You're going to be an amazing Herald.:

He did trust her. He couldn't not. Not trusting her was as unthinkable as chopping off his own head. There was a tiny part of him, buried deep, leftover from the dark times when his mother died, when he'd been nothing but a spiked ball of fury, that wanted to bristle. That wanted to push back, because how dare the world make choices for him?

But that boy was a long time gone, his lingering echo just that: an echo. Steve had never imagined being Chosen, never played at being a Herald when he'd been young, it'd never been his dream, but here he was, in Trainee Greys, soft affection filling his mind, because Shield had Chosen him.

She believed he was going to be an amazing Herald.

:I'll have to take your word on the amazing,: he sent back, :but I feel like the Herald part's just a matter of time.:

:Time and a lot of hard work.:

:I'm not afraid of hard work.:

:I know,: she replied, a worrying amount of delight swirling through her mindvoice. :And I'm going to remind you of this conversation in a week or so.:

Before Steve could reply, there was a knock at the door, followed by a voice asking, "Are you awake in there?"

It was a strangely familiar voice, and Steve opened the door to a familiar face. "Bucky?"

Bucky grinned. "Now I know I didn't come and visit, but getting yourself Chosen just to see me was a little bit drastic."

Steve would deny it under threat of torture, but at the sight of Bucky—tall and beautiful, long hair pushed back behind his ears, storm-grey eyes warm and bright, brilliant grin inviting Steve to grin back—his heart skipped a beat. "I was getting desperate," he replied lightly, mouth quirking at the corners. "And you better appreciate it. Do you have any idea how tough it is to bribe a Companion?"

"I do, actually. Baby carrots and sugar cubes go a long way, if you're looking for something they like. And honey porridge." Bucky looked momentarily thoughtful. "But that might just be Winter. Are you going to invite me in?"

"Come in, make yourself at home," Steve said, gesturing grandly as he moved out of the way.

Bucky gave him another quick grin as he passed him, pulled out the chair and sat down as Steve closed the door.

Steve settled on the bed across from him. "How'd you even know I was here?"

"That's the first thing to learn. Companions gossip like old maids. That's not how I knew you were here, but it's worth knowing."

:Lies. Lies and slander.:

He muffled a laugh, then waved a hand. "Sorry, Shield was just denying it."

"Well she would, wouldn't she," Bucky said knowingly, then leaned forward a little. "As for how I knew you were here, I saw you come in yesterday. I figured you'd have enough on your plate right then, you wouldn't want me adding to it, but I did ask if I could be your mentor."

Getting a mentor rang a bell. Steve frowned, trying to unthread it from the tangle of things he'd been told yesterday.

"If that's all right with you? It doesn’t have to be me," he said quickly. "Every new Trainee gets a mentor, and I thought, since we'd already met… But you can have someone else."

"No!" Bucky blinked, then slowly smiled as Steve continued, "Uh, I mean no, I'd like to stick with you, if you don't mind."

"If I minded, I wouldn't have asked to do it."

"I guess that's settled then."

"Guess it is."

The conversation died in favour of sitting and smiling at each other, and it might have continued on that way for who knew how long except Bucky suddenly jumped like he'd been bitten by a horse fly. "Right! Yes. I've got to get you settled in. First thing, uniforms that fit you properly, and get you measured for boots. Then you need to be tested to work out what classes they're going to put you in—you're like me, Chosen older than normal, so you'll probably end up in a mix with different years. And then you need to see the Weaponsmaster and the riding master, and I need take you down to get on the roster for chores."

It was a lot to take in, but Steve stood up, took a deep breath, and said, "Then we'd better get started."

*    *    *

Steve's head was spinning at how fast his life had changed, but so far it hadn't been anything he couldn't deal with. Not that he would have admitted it if it had been, but while Bucky had dragged him to see a lot of people—some Heralds, some not—it'd all been surprisingly mundane.

Steve had been thoroughly measured, the uniform he was wearing met with a tsk of disapproval and a, "They will keep grabbing whatever's closest to hand," and given uniforms that fit properly—a whole pile of them that he'd taken up to his room—and a promise that he'd have boots in a few days. Then it was an interrogation on what he knew how to do, and a rostered list of duties: kitchen, bathing rooms, laundry. He'd been looking after himself for a good long while now, and before that, when his mother had been sick, he'd looked after them both, so he was no stranger to domestic work.

Afterwards, Bucky had delivered him to Herald Megwin, who had an office on the bottom floor of the Collegium and no legs below the knee, a clever wheeled contraption near her desk obviously how she got around.

It was a stark reminder that Heralds got hurt and Heralds died, and Steve wondered if that's why she was the one giving these tests: to remind new Trainees to take this seriously. She'd asked him a lot of questions about what he knew and what he didn't know, the languages he spoke, and she'd been very surprised at the Karsite—pleasantly surprised, he'd been relieved to see—just as she'd been with his writing. He'd added some fancy swirls, just because he could, and she'd grinned at him.

He'd thanked her for the class schedule, told her to let him know if she ever needed any fancy writing done, dropped the schedule in his room, and met Bucky in the dining hall for lunch, which was loud and boisterous, Trainees and Heralds all eating together in one big room filled with long tables. Bucky guided him to a table on the edge of the room to eat. The Trainees around them introduced themselves—Wanda, Sharon, Sophie, Kaval, Guy—all around Steve's age, but they'd been at the Collegium for a few years. They were nice, welcomed him, told him to ask if he had any questions.

It was all fine. Strange, but fine.

What was facing him now he wasn't so sure about.

The Weaponsmaster was a huge, blond, mountain of a man, who between his long golden hair and his gleaming Whites seemed to glow. He was currently wielding a large axe in both hands, facing off against an older Trainee, a woman nearly his match in size, who was wielding two swords, the two of them moving easily across the salle, blades moving in a blur, pausing, then blurring once more.

Eventually, the Weaponsmaster called time and they both lowered their weapons. "Good!" he proclaimed. "Better than I've ever seen you!" The Trainee grinned. "But always remember, no matter how good you become, someone out there can always be better. Overconfidence can slay you as fast as poor skills."

"I'll remember," she said.

"See that you do." He clapped her on the back, making her stagger. "Now go cool down, keep practicing, and I'll see you in a few days."

He took the time to put his axe away, hanging it on the wall among other blunted practice weapons, then made his way over to Steve and Bucky.

"Thor, this is Steve. He's brand new, came in yesterday," Bucky said. "Steve, this is Herald Thor, the Weaponsmaster."

"Steve! It is good to meet you." It was a bit like being greeted by an old friend, Thor's grin infectious. "Chosen by Shield, I believe?"

"That's right."

"Excellent. Bucky, I believe I can manage things from here."

Steve didn't really want Bucky to go, and from the look Bucky gave him he thought Bucky didn't really want to leave, but that had clearly been a dismissal.

"When should I come back for him?"

"Oh, in a candlemark or so. That should be enough time for me to learn what I need and get Steve started." Thor gave Steve a quick smile and Bucky squeezed Steve's elbow; the latter was far more reassuring.

When Bucky was gone, Thor led Steve to one side of the salle and gestured for him to sit. Steve eased down and Thor settled cross-legged in front of him. They weren't the only ones in the salle, there were a few pairs of Trainees sparring in the echoing space, and a Herald going through some sort of elaborate and baffling exercise with a sword, but they weren't paying any attention to Steve.

"Now Steve, what weapons experience do you have? What training?"

"None."

"At all?"

"Not unless you count a wooden case," Steve said wryly, "or the occasional bit of board or broken brick."

"I do count those," Thor said seriously. "I count anything you've had cause to use as a weapon. Anything can be a weapon. In times of need, anything should be a weapon."

Steve blinked at him once, then felt himself settle. The tension that had ratcheted high when Bucky had led him in here began to ease. He tried a tentative smile and Thor returned it with a broad one of his own.

"Truly," Thor assured him. "It's the only way to survive. I will assume, however, that you've had no formal training in wooden case or bit of board or broken brick."

Steve held back laughter. "No formal training, no. It's all been learning as I went."

"Then we'll have to rectify that. With ordinary weapons, if that meets with your approval?" Mischief glinted in Thor's eyes.

"I'll be fine with that, I think." He hesitated. "But there's something you should probably know." He hesitated again. It was one thing to tell Shield, who was already woven into his heart and soul, and another to tell a stranger.

Thor waited patiently.

"I have problems breathing sometimes. If I push myself. And I have problems with my joints sometimes. A lot of the time." He made a face. "Some other things. Fevers sometimes."

"Do you know these problems are coming on or do they strike with no warning?"

"I know."

"Then you will tell me." Gone was the grin, the cheerful friendliness; fierceness gazed down at him.

"I will."

"Good." The smile was back. "We will simply work with the limits of what you can do. You're not the first I have trained who has physical limitations." The way Thor said it, it wasn't something to be concerned about.

Suddenly his face went blank. After a moment he said, "And your Companion says she can help."

Steve wasn't sure, but he thought Thor looked surprised. "Shield told you that?"

"No, your Shield told my Mollnir and Mollnir passed it on to me. It's rare for a Companion to speak to anyone but their Chosen."

He stood and held out his hand. Steve took it, found himself rapidly pulled to his feet.

"Enough talking. Let us see what you can do."

*    *    *

"How did it go?"

Steve was limping slightly as he walked next to Bucky. "Not awful," he said after some contemplation. He'd been walking in circles outside the salle when Bucky had arrived, Thor having moved onto his next group of Trainees, so Bucky hadn't had a chance to see Thor swinging various weapons at him.

Or see Steve swinging various weapons at Thor.

"You don't sound too committed to that not awful."

"No." He thought it over. "I guess it was all right. Good, even? He seemed pleased that I didn't have any problems with the idea of a fight. I guess that's something a lot of Trainees do. Freeze up, I mean. I didn't do that."

He felt Bucky's eyes on him and shifted his gaze sideways. Bucky was looking at him; fondly, Steve would think, if that wasn't ridiculous. "You don't say."

"Oh, shut up," he said and bumped his shoulder against Bucky's, making Bucky laugh. 

Chiming hooves interrupted him, and Shield appeared in the path. She was saddled and bridled, and her ears curved forward. It was the first time he'd seen her since she'd left him at the entrance to the Collegium last night and he didn't hesitate, hurrying forward to wrap his arms around her neck. He instantly felt better, like all his aches had been washed away, and she nuzzled his hair.

"What are you doing here?"

:Since you're seeing the riding master next, I thought I'd come and fetch you, save you walking all that way.:

He stepped back and straightened her mane, since he'd messed it up when he'd hugged her. "You're too good to me." Bucky delicately cleared his throat and Steve turned around to face him. "Sorry, Bucky. I just—"

"No need to be sorry. I get it, Steve. I really do. But I'm guessing you don't need me to show you where to go?"

"No, Shield says she'll take me." He shook his head. "Hang on, let me introduce you. Shield, this is Bucky. Bucky, this is Shield."

Shield dipped her head and Bucky gave a little bow, hand pressed against his heart. "Pleasure to meet you. And may I commend you on your excellent good taste on Choosing Steve, here."

"Bucky!"

:Oh, I do like him. Tell him he's much too kind:

"She says you're much too kind," Steve huffed. "If you're both finished?"

They gave him near identical innocent looks out of sparkling eyes, and Bucky said, "You'd better go. Herald Sif isn't a fan of people being late. Want a leg up?"

:It's a good idea.:

"If you wouldn't mind."

"Don't mind at all." Bucky cupped his hands together and boosted Steve up into the saddle. "There you go. Have fun!"

*    *    *

Have fun. Thanks, Bucky.

Clouds of steam billowed around Steve's head and he sunk deeper into the water with a grateful sigh. The only part of him that didn't ache was his nose, but the bathing rooms had been such a revelation he almost didn't care. Hot water from charcoal-heated copper braziers fed into tubs big enough to sink down into, which had pipes waiting to carry the dirty water away when he was done. Sure, he had to pump the brazier full again when the tub was full, but it was a small price to pay to soak his aching muscles.

If Herald Thor hadn't been completely displeased with what Steve could do, the same couldn’t be said for Herald Sif. Not that she'd said that. No, Sif had been kind and gracious, but the only reason he hadn't fallen off as he and Shield had worked though different paces was because Shield had been determined to keep him on her back.

"I can see we have quite a lot of work to do," had been Sif's pronouncement when they'd stopped. It was delivered with a kind smile, but Steve had grimaced. "It's nothing to be concerned about. Tell me, where do you come from?"

"I was born in Haven, lived here my whole life."

"Not part of a noble family, I take it?"

He'd wanted to bristle, but her voice had held only gentle inquiry, no judgement, so instead, he'd huffed out a laugh. "You could say that."

She'd spread her hands wide. "Then what need did you ever have to learn to ride? What chance did you ever have to learn?"

He'd stewed on that for a minute, then nodded.

"Truly, it's better that you have no bad habits to unlearn. That can be quite…painful." Her smile had been mischievous; he'd tentatively returned it. "Your Companion and I will teach you, and you will learn," that had been threat, threat and promise, and Steve had sat straighter, lifting his chin, "and when we're finished nothing will be able to pry you from her back."

Maybe it hadn't been so bad after all. The hot water and the steam and the quiet were lulling him into a doze. He knew he should get up. There was dinner he had to get to. And he would, in just a few minutes…

He blinked awake, spluttering water, to Bucky poking his shoulder and the quiet gone, the bathing rooms invaded by what seemed like an army of boys and young men. A loud army. "Hey, wake up. You're gonna drown yourself."

"I wasn't sleeping!"

"Sure you weren't," Bucky said. "And if you're finished not sleeping you can hop out. Other people need to use the tub."

Grumbling, Steve stood and reached for a towel, wrapping it around himself as he stepped out. Bucky pulled the plug, draining the water, and once it was gone, popped the plug back in, and turned the brazier's tap to start it filling again.

Steve grabbed another towel, dried himself, pulled on the clean uniform he'd brought, then waved at Bucky to get into the tub.

"Steve," he said, eyebrows judging. "You've got to refill the brazier before you get in or it won't be hot for the next person."

"I know that." Steve rolled his eyes. "Get in. I'll fill it for you."

"My hero," Bucky fluttered his eyelashes at Steve and Steve flicked his wet towel at him. "Seriously, you don't have to."

"I know that, too." But he was feeling better for the soak, better than he thought he should be, and the pump was easy to use. "You gonna argue with me while the water goes cold or are you going to get in?"

Bucky stared at him, then grinned. "Getting in." He stripped off, chucking his dirty uniform down the laundry chute, and climbed into the tub with a satisfied little sigh, sinking into the water up to his chest. Steve started pumping the water and Bucky sighed again. "Thanks."

"Don't get used to it."

"I'll get you next time," Bucky promised as he rested his head on the edge of the tub and closed his eyes.

The steam from the water curled around his face, making wisps of hair cling to his cheeks, his neck.

Steve didn't stare, didn't steal more than a quick glance at bare shoulders jutting above the rippling water, but seeing Bucky relaxed like that, it pulled at him, everyone else in the bathing room, all their noise and laughter and shouts, fading away to nothing. Bucky was beautiful, but it was more than that. He was soft and calm and trusting. It made Steve want to curl around him and keep him safe.

He shook it off.

"You'd better," he told Bucky as he finished filling the brazier and Bucky laughed without opening his eyes.

"Or what?" he teased.

"I'll think of something."

*    *    *

Looking back at his life, Steve felt like it could be divided up like chapters in a book.

The beginning, back when he'd been very young, was foggy. All he had of his father was a tall, strong, dark-haired blur who'd left one day and never returned. The trade caravan he'd been guarding had rolled back into Haven, but his father had died to bandits on the road.

He remembered, sharp and clear, the caravan master delivering the news to his Ma and giving her a pouch of coins—his father's wages and more, since the bandits had died with him.

That had been a few weeks past his sixth birthday.

The money had kept them going long enough to move from their small house to smaller rooms in a poorer part of Haven. Long enough for his Ma to find work and then to find better work and then send him off to one of Haven's schools.

His Ma had told him school was important. They didn't have family or influence, there was no one to see to his future but him, so he had to study and learn and take the best advantage he could.

Steve had listened. Steve had learned. He'd learned to read and write and figure and draw. He'd learned Heralds and history and the shape of Valdemar.

And he'd learned people. Not the people in songs, brave and true, but people how they could really be, boots and bullies and cowards. He'd learned what it meant to make a choice: be like the people in the songs or like the bullies and the cowards. Those lessons were the hardest of all, but he learned them well and his Ma never once got mad when he came home bloody. She knew he'd made the right choice.

But none of those lessons were as hard as the sound of a single cough. A single quiet cough, to mark the beginning of the end. A single cough, the first sign that what had seemed like nothing much—just a little cough, just a little extra tired—was something much worse.

Haven was a city of Temples, every deity worshipped in Valdemar present in some way. Most Temples had Healers. Some welcomed only their followers, some welcomed only those with coin. But others, like Astera, like Kernos, like the Lord of Light, welcomed all in need. They'd been in and out of those Temples all Steve's life—it was where he'd learned his languages—when he was a baby, so sick they hadn't thought he'd survive, when he'd been quarter-grown and half-grown, when he couldn’t breathe, his body rebelling against him.

But this time wasn't about him. It was about his Ma.

None of the Healers who'd sent their Gift coursing through her body had been able to do more than keep the sickness at bay. They couldn't cure her, but at least they'd been able to push back the tide threatening to swamp their lives.

Until they couldn't.

When Steve was just turned sixteen, he buried his mother.

His life after that was marked by anger, reckless and wild, but it couldn't last. When it broke, it left him clearheaded, able to breathe—metaphorically; his body was still waging war against him—but he'd found a core of peace inside himself.

And then Shield Chose him.

Parts of a life. And another new part, here at the Collegium, so different from every part that had come before. Even time ran differently here, because what had, theoretically, been weeks had passed by in a blur.

A blur with Bucky-shaped edges.

Bucky. Bucky was his mentor. It made sense that he was checking on Steve, making sure he was settling in, had everything he needed. It meant he was always around, smiling that smile that made his storm-grey eyes crinkle and light up.

Steve was glad for it, because being with Bucky made him light up in answer. It wasn't a crush. He knew what those felt like and it wasn't like this. There was something more about Bucky, about being close to him; just being near him filled him with a sense of contentment he'd never quite known...

He forced his thoughts away from Bucky.

Steve had half expected the Collegium to lock him down and wrap him around with rules, but given his age, his life before he'd been Chosen, as long as he attended classes, showed up for his rostered chores, didn't create chaos, he and Shield were basically left to make their own decisions.

The classes… Those he was enjoying. Some were boring, even if he trusted he'd need them someday (although he couldn't imagine when he'd ever use Court protocol). Riding wasn't one of the boring ones; learning to work with Shield, to move with her, it was hard, exhausting, but also satisfying and so much fun.

And learning to fight…

Even at his most angry, he'd never wanted to hurt people. All he'd ever tried to do was help. Wanting to hurt people, enjoying hurting people—that was the province of the petty and the evil and the cruel, and he knew damn well he wasn't any of those. He'd made that choice a long time ago. That wasn't why he wanted to be able to fight. That wasn't why Heralds fought. They fought to protect people, to stand up against the petty and evil and cruel.  

He wanted that. He wanted to do it well.

For the moment, Thor was teaching him one on one. It wasn't unusual for newly Chosen to lack weapons training, but they were usually younger than Steve. Given training was more difficult at Steve's age, Thor was working with him to bring him up to speed before placing him in a class.

"Thankfully, you're no stranger to fighting," Thor had told him, grinning brightly.

Thor's open, genial manner had lured Steve into speaking a lot more freely than he'd intended about the fights he'd gotten into when he'd been young, the ones he'd recklessly hurled himself into when he'd been so angry after his Ma's death.

Thor had been delighted—not at the recklessness, but at Steve's neverending willingness to leap in.

Having the Weaponmaster's complete and undivided attention was exhausting, often painful, but Steve knew it was a gift. He was grabbing hold of it with both hands—particularly given his body seemed to have settled into an uneasy alliance with his will. He was still waiting for his lungs to rise up and declare war, but so far they were remaining neutral.

Today had been a particularly gruelling workout. As if he'd finally decided Steve wouldn't flop to the floor and start gasping like a landed fish, Thor had pushed him harder. Faster. Utterly without mercy.  

Grinning the entire time.

With a groan, Steve flattened himself on his bed and pulled his pillow over his head.

"I swear," Steve muttered into the sheets, "the happier he is the worse I end up feeling."

"See, I thought I was the only one who noticed that," Bucky said from the doorway, sounding sympathetically amused.

"No, that grin is like a prelude to pain."

Bucky laughed and came in without waiting to be invited, shutting the door behind him. "Dare you to say that to his face."

Steve lifted the pillow just enough to glare at him. "Do I look stupid?"

"Sure you want me to answer that?"

"Ugh." Steve let the pillow fall and went back to contemplating his aches and pains.

"Don't be like that. I'm here to help."

"Is that what you're calling it now?"

The bed shifted as Bucky sat down. He poked Steve's hip and Steve yelped.

"Hey!"

"Come on, sit up. Look what I brought you."

Steve did, slowly, and Bucky held out a glass jar. "It's a jar."

"It's bruise balm, idiot. The good stuff. Guaranteed to cure what ails you. I brought it from my own personal stash."

Steve eyed it, then eyed Bucky, who sighed as if Steve was, in fact, the biggest idiot ever born. "Come on, I'll even help you with the places you can't reach."

It sent a swoop of nerves-warmth-longing through him, and he swallowed, then nodded. "Alright. Thanks."

Bucky worked the cork out of the top of the jar, a minty scent filling the air, then looked expectantly at Steve.

Steve narrowed his eyes. It felt a little like a challenge. But also…not. Without a word, he gingerly stripped out of his shirt. When he'd pulled it over his head, muscles protesting the movement, and tossed it at the chair, he deliberately raised his eyebrows at Bucky.

Who wasn't even looking at him. Bucky was examining one grey boot, twisting it this way and that, as if the toe was fascinating, the jar balanced on his palm.

With a quiet huff of laughter, Steve scooped out a fingerful and carefully rubbed it on his aching arm. It didn't take long for a soothing warmth to spread in its wake. He couldn't help the relieved sigh.

Bucky smiled at his boot.

"Shut up."

"Didn't say a word." Steve did his arms and chest, while Bucky grinned at his boot, and then Bucky asked, "Done?"

 "With what I can reach."

"Lie down. I'll do your back."

Steve settled onto his stomach. He was tense and didn't mean to be, didn't want to be, but when Bucky's hands touched him, the tension flowed away. His hands were warm, rough and calloused, but gentle as they rubbed the bruise balm into his skin. It was soothing, everywhere he touched felt warm, and he knew it was probably just the balm starting to work, but he imagined trails of gold flowing out of Bucky's fingers and into his skin.

He closed his eyes.

The bed was soft, his aches and pains were fading, Bucky's touch was warm and comforting and perfect. Steve felt a strange echo of the rightness he'd felt when Shield had settled into his soul.

"You with me, Steve?"

"Yes," he grumbled, but he knew it was only half-comprehensible, and he heard Bucky laugh quietly.

"You need to fall asleep, you go right ahead. After the workout you had today, I'd be dozing off, too."

"Don't need your permission," he said. Or thought he said.

He guessed it didn't come out quite right since Bucky just replied with, "Uh huh, sure. Whatever you say."

It was the last thing he remembered.

No. The last thing he remembered was Bucky's hand, strong and solid, curling around the back of his neck, fingers and thumb rubbing gently, soothingly, and he carried the feel of them down into sleep.

*    *    *

Bucky felt Steve fall asleep.

He felt Steve fall asleep under his hands, felt his breathing change, heard his soft sigh, and he had to stop, fingertips pressed against Steve's back, and take a breath of his own.

He'd never had anyone fall asleep under his hands before.

Next to him, sure, a few times. He wasn't exactly a virgin and occasionally his partners had been someone he wasn't inclined to kick out of bed.

But that wasn't the same as Steve, beautiful, stubborn Steve, Steve who he spent way too much time thinking about, Steve who'd slipped into his life like his life had been holding a space for him, falling asleep under his hands.

It wasn't so much a case of trust. They were both Chosen; there was never going to be a reason to not trust. But…at the same it almost was. Steve could be prickly. It wasn't about Steve trusting Bucky not to hurt him; it was that Steve trusted Bucky to see him with his walls down.

For the briefest of moments, Bucky tilted his head down and rested his forehead against Steve's head.

Then he sat up and pulled his hands away, wiping them on his pants.

What he wanted to do was curl up in the space next to Steve and join him in sleep. Except that would be unforgiveable, and he would never do it, not uninvited, not to Steve, not to anyone—but it didn't stop the bone deep want.

What he did instead was stand up, pull the folded blanket from the bottom of the bed over Steve and tuck it around his ears. Steve grumbled and batted at his hand, and Bucky whispered, "Prickly even when you're asleep."

He stood looking down at him for another few moments, then shook his head. Whatever gods arranged things, whatever mysterious forces moved Companions to Choose, he was grateful they'd sent Shield to Steve, because it had brought Steve fully into his life.

Even without that they might have been friends, but it was hard for people who weren't Heralds to have any kind of relationship with a Herald. Their lives were too different, a Herald's first duty always to Valdemar, their first love always their Companion, and it was hard for anyone not a Herald to understand that.

Steve… If Steve hadn't been Chosen Bucky thought he might have been able to understand. Thankfully he didn't have to test that.

No, he just had to test himself, because he was too far gone on Steve. Too far, too fast, and he didn't even know if Steve was shaych, much less if Steve could come close to feeling the same way.

Bucky reached out to brush Steve's hair behind his ear, hesitated, and pulled his hand back.

Too far, too fast. "G'night Steve," he whispered, and left, shutting the door gently behind him.

Chapter Text

:Shield? Could my Gift be something to do with…: Steve didn't even know how to phrase it. :My body?:

:What do you mean?:

What did he mean?

The weeks continued to roll past, faster than they had any right to, and a class on Heraldic Gifts had been added to Steve's schedule. Not a practical class—that would come later. Some Trainees arrived with out of control Gifts, or Gifts so powerful they had to be trained immediately, but most of them could wait.

Heralds usually had a Gift of some kind: Foresight, Farsight, Fetching, Mindspeech, Thoughtsensing, they were the most common, but there were others that were much rarer. Touchreading. Animal Mindspeech. Projection. Firestarting. And sometimes, Steve had learned today, there were Gifts that had never been seen before. Touchreading had been one, the first time it appeared.

It wasn't that Steve thought he was special, but he knew something was different. Something was affecting him—or, to be precise, things weren't affecting him. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had trouble breathing. He hurt, he ached, but that was normal for a body learning an entirely new set of skills, being pushed to work harder and faster than it ever had—and his body had never been normal.

Something was going on.

But it wasn't just that. He thought he was maybe getting taller. He was definitely getting bigger. The uniform that had fit so well when he got it was tight, now, and it wasn't because he was eating too much.

He didn't know how to put any of that into words, but with Shield he didn't have to. He bundled it all up, all his thoughts, his feelings, and offered it to her.

She was quiet for a long time afterwards. Steve sat on his bed, waiting patiently.

:Most Gifts manifest at puberty,: she finally said, and he had the distinct impression she was being evasive. :If you had a Gift like that, that's probably when you would have started noticing it.:

:Is there something you're not telling me?:

After a moment's hesitation, he felt her sigh. :Yes.:

:Are you going to tell me?:

There was no hesitation this time. :Yes. But I'd rather tell you here, where I can see you. Can you come to the field? I don't want to try getting up those stairs,: she added, mindvoice laced with bright humour.

:And I don't want to explain to the Dean why there's a Companion stuck on the landing. I'm on my way.:

He grabbed his cloak, because the nights were growing chilly, and made his way out to Companion's Field. Shield was waiting at the fence, a glowing beacon in the night, illuminated by the lanterns on the nearby bridge.

Every time he saw her, he was struck all over again by how beautiful she was, by how much he loved her, and as she leaned her head over the fence he stroked her nose. She nuzzled his face, blowing in his hair, and he laughed and gently shoved her away. "Cut that out. It tickles!"

:Why do you think I do it?:

"I should have known," he said, then climbed up to sit on top of the fence, legs braced on a paling. "All right, I'm here. What's going on?"

She backed away a few paces, looking at him seriously. :You asked if there was something I'm not telling you, and there is.:

Steve nodded slowly.

:And,: there was a delicate pause, like she was carefully choosing her words, :it's that I have an…unusual Gift for a Companion.:

She waited, but Steve didn't know what to say so he said nothing.

:The Healing Gift, Chosen. I have a touch of the Healing Gift. Not unheard of in a Companion, but not usual. I believe I was given it for you.:

Understanding unfolded in Steve's mind. "So you've been…"

:Yes. I've been feeding it to you through our bond. Just a trickle, but constant.:

"That's why I haven't been having any problems. With my breathing. With my bones."

:Yes.:

Old anger, anger he'd thought long gone, crept back, his hackles bristling. "Did you lie to me?"

:Chosen?:

Her mindvoice was cautious, confused, and he collared the anger, kept it under control. "You said I was going to be an amazing Herald. When I told you what was wrong with me. Was that because you knew you were going to fix me to make me useful?"

:NO.: Shield reared, ears pinned. :You will be an amazing Herald. You were always going to be an amazing Herald…no matter who Chose you.: Her last words were coloured with possessiveness as she gazed at him out of clear blue eyes.

His anger swirled away like smoke in the wind as she paced forward, gently touching his hand with her nose.

:My Gift is not about making you useful. It's not about fixing you. It's something to help you. Chosen.: She paused. :Steven. If you want me to stop, I'll stop. It's your choice.:

"No," he said softly, reaching out to draw her closer, resting his forehead against hers. "I don't want you to stop. But when you told Thor's Companion you could help, I thought you meant with keeping an eye out for attacks, not this."

She nudged him gently in the chest. :Good. Because I would have stopped if you'd asked me to, but I would not have been happy about it. And you haven't known uncomfortable until you've ridden an unhappy Companion.:

Steve laughed and hugged her head, then let go and leaned back. "I consider myself warned. But, at the risk of making you unhappy, can we talk about why my uniforms are getting tight?"

She delicately pawed the ground with one hoof, ears swivelling to the side as she regarded the torn grass with evident fascination.

"Shield?"

:No one's ever done this before,: she admitted. :We're not quite sure what exactly's going to happen.:

"We?"

:Rolan knows about it. He's been keeping an eye on things, and he says it won't hurt you.:

"That's…comforting." Rolan was the King's Own's Companion and Grove-Born, sent, presumably, directly by the same gods who'd sent the first Companions to King Valdemar. That meant he could, Steve assumed, be trusted to know if Shield's trickle of Healing Gift was going to go horribly wrong.

:Isn't it?:

*    *    *

"Steve! Hey Steve, wait up!" Bucky called as he spotted Steve heading down the corridor that led to the library.

"Hey, Bucky." Steve smiled as he stopped and waited for him and Bucky swore he felt that smile lodge itself in his bones. He shook the feeling off, because it was, as so many things seemed to be where Steve was concerned, ridiculous.

"Where have you been? I feel like I haven't seen you in weeks." It had been two days, but sometimes facts didn't matter.

"Didn't you know? I've been avoiding you." Steve grinned and Bucky poked him in the arm. Hard.

"You're a terrible person, you know that?"

"I know. And I guess we've just been missing each other."

"Want to make it up to me?"

"Sure."

"Come down to Haven with me?"

"Alright. Any particular place in Haven or do you just want to roam the streets?"

"Actually, I just want to roam the streets."

Steve's face twisted in confusion, and Bucky laughed and explained his 'memorise the streets of Haven' project.

"Good luck," Steve said when he was done.

"I know, that's what everyone says."

"Does everyone also say they can help you?"

Bucky gave him a hopeful look.

"Born and raised in Haven, Bucky. I don't know all of it, but the parts I do know, I could find my way around in my sleep. I'm happy to teach you what I know."

Bucky swept Steve an elaborate bow. "My humble thanks are yours to be repaid however you wish."

The look Steve gave him was part-exasperated, part-fond, or maybe Bucky was wishful thinking again. "I'll take that repayment in the answer to a question, if you don't mind."  

"Sure, but that's seems a little easy."

"How do I get new uniforms?"

"New uniforms?" Steve nodded. "Just go up to the Housekeeper and collect them. He's got your measurements on file."

Steve grimaced. "No, I mean if I need a different size."

At that, Bucky stepped back and gave Steve a good look over. He usually tried not to, because he knew his eyes tended to linger—not necessarily in inappropriate places; he just liked looking at Steve—but now that he was, he could see his uniform was tight. Everywhere.

Intrigued, he stepped closer, probably too close, but he carefully didn't pay attention to that, either, or to the warmth he could feel radiating from Steve, and measured where Steve came up to on him. It felt like he was taller than the night Bucky had brought him home after the alley fight.

Steve cleared his throat, and Bucky realised he was standing right in his space, right in his face, practically leaning on him.

"Sorry," he said, backing away. "Sorry, but, right. Alright. Just ask him to measure you for new ones. It won't be an issue. I promise."

He nodded tightly.

"Can I," he started delicately, then stopped. It wasn't any of his business.

Steve considered him in that way he had, the one Bucky had noticed put some people off. It was like he was weighing them up, deciding if they measured up to some standard only Steve knew. It didn't bother Bucky.

Especially not when the result was Steve saying, "Yes, but not here."

Considering they were standing in the main thoroughfare that led to the library, with Trainees from Heraldic, Bardic and Healers coming and going, Bucky figured it wasn't a good place to share information Steve would prefer be kept private.

"My room?" Bucky offered. "Then we can go see the Housekeeper."

"That'd be fine."

Bucky led the way to his room, shutting the door behind Steve. It was much the same as Steve's room in layout, different in looks. There were hangings on the wall, numerous books on the shelves, thick rugs piled on the floor. It looked lived in in a way Steve's didn't.

He made a mental note to ask Becca to send part of the next family allowance in hangings and rugs, to make Steve's room cosier, and sat on the desk chair, gesturing at Steve to take the bed.

Steve sat, folding his hands around his elbows, and remained quiet, studying the firebird tapestry hanging on the wall.

"Whatever it is, you don't have to tell me," Bucky said.

"No, I don't mind telling you." He gave Bucky a quick smile. "You know how I'm scrawny?"

"I wouldn’t say scrawny."

"No? What would you say, then?"

The ways Bucky would describe Steve would be an instant giveaway to everything he was trying to hide. "Hmmm," he said thoughtfully. "No, I think I'll keep it to myself."

Steve scowled at him but Bucky shook his head firmly.

"Right," Steve said. "I was really sick as a baby, and a lot when I was really young. I saw a lot of Healers, but there's only so much they can do. I lived—"

"You lived?" Bucky asked, shocked.

"It was close. When I was really young, it was close. It's only thanks to some Temple Healers I'm alive—including the ones at the Lord of Light."

Bucky had to take a moment to deal with that, the idea of a world without Steve in it, the idea of Steve not being here, sinking into his gut like a stone with jagged edges, tearing and sharp. "No wonder you were so angry about Velyn."

"Yes and no. I'd be angry whoever it had been. That was—" Bucky felt a pulse of anger in his gut as Steve chopped off the rest of his words. "But the Temple Velyn serves, they helped me." Bucky found himself on the end of another of those measuring looks. "They helped my mother, too, when she got sick. Before she died."

Steve searched his face, like he was expecting Bucky to demand more, demand Steve tell the story and bare his soul.

Bucky leaned forward, settling his elbows on his knees, and met Steve's eyes. I hear you, he tried to silently say. If you need me to listen, I'll listen, but I'm not going to ask you questions you don't want to answer.

Some of it must have got through, because Steve breathed out, shoulders relaxing, and gave Bucky a tiny, crooked smile. "That kind of thing, what happened to Velyn, it's always bad. It's worse when I know how good they are."

"Almost happened," Bucky corrected. "And I understand."

Steve's smile got wider, wondering. "I guess you do, huh?"

"I really do."

Steve ran a hand through his hair. "I'm not used to that."

"Welcome to the Collegium?"

Steve scooped up a pillow and threw it at him. Bucky caught it and tucked it behind his back. "Thanks."

"Idiot. Anyway, I lived but I wasn't better. I have breathing problems, problems with my body, pain, fevers. Times when I just can't breathe."

"What can I do?"

"Nothing, Buck. It's fine. No one can do anything." Steve made a face. "Except they can. They are. That's why my uniforms don't fit."

Bucky blinked at him, then leaned further forward and fixed him with a firm look. "Care to try that again in a way that makes sense?"

"Shield."

"Shield." Bucky waited, then prompted, "And?"

"She told me she has the Healing Gift. She's been using it on me, I guess since she Chose me, feeding it through our bond. That's why I've been fine even with everything I've been doing, training with Thor, with Sif. I shouldn't have been fine, but I have been. And I'm growing."

Bucky had no idea what to say. Granted, he'd only been here for a year, but he'd read a lot, for class and on his own, and he'd never heard of anything like that.

"Steve, that's—"

"I know."

"Does anyone else know?"

"Rolan?"

"…the King's Own's Companion."

Steve nodded.

"Huh." After a minute, Bucky shrugged.

"That's it? That's your reaction?"

"What do you want me to say? Shield's your Companion. She'd never do anything to hurt you. Ever. She'd die first. And if Rolan knows then I'm sure it's fine. It's good for you, it's great for you, you don't have to worry about not being able to breathe," alright, maybe that had worried him more than he'd realised, "or being in pain."

"And my uniforms not fitting?"

Bucky scratched his head. "What did Shield say?"

"She said no one had ever done this before."

"Alright, not completely reassuring, but I'm sure it'll be fine. You're probably just catching up on what you missed out on because you were sick."

"And if I end up the size of the Collegium?"

"If that happens?" Bucky leaned back, tapped a finger against his chin, and hummed thoughtfully. "You'll be the first Herald to carry their Companion instead of the other way around."

In retrospect, he deserved the second pillow Steve hit him with.

*    *    *

Bucky had been right. The Housekeeper didn't seem surprised when Steve said he needed bigger uniforms. He just measured him, got him a larger size, told him to put the old ones in the laundry and sent them on their way.

He guessed it wasn't all that surprising. Trainees were mostly young, which meant they were mostly small and growing. Handing out bigger uniforms was probably a weekly occurrence. It probably didn't register with him that Steve was a bit old for it.

What was surprising was how easy it had been to tell Bucky.

Not just about Shield and her Healing Gift, although Bucky's non-reaction had been reassuring. No, he'd been surprised how easy it was to tell Bucky about him. About being sick when he was young. About how close he'd come to almost dying.

About his Ma.

He'd never told anyone about his Ma. But it had been easy to tell Bucky. So simple. The words had barely hurt at all and it had been safe to tell him. Bucky hadn't pushed for more. He'd taken what Steve had given him, accepted it.

Bucky was…

Without him knowing, without him realising, Bucky had become important. Bucky was so important. Bucky was… He didn't even know. When Steve was with him, he was more than content. It was more than peace. Being with Bucky was almost like being with Shield, that same sure and certain knowledge that he was exactly where he belonged.

*    *    *

Why Steve had thought he could hide his new height and breadth, he had no idea.

Most of his instructors were like the Housekeeper—used to Trainees getting bigger, so it didn't really register—but Herald Thor wasn't most instructors.

"Hmm," he said one afternoon when Steve was panting over the slender sword Thor had decided would suit him. The sword was more for blocking and protecting himself than stabbing, he had a long knife for stabbing, but it had a sharp edge—or the real version of it would—and Steve enjoyed it.

Mostly. Once he got his breath back. Something that was actually possible with Shield's Healing Gift flowing into him.

"Hmm?" he managed.

"Yes." Thor was studying him. "I believe you need a larger sword."

"Do I?"

"Yes. Because it seems you're getting taller. The broader I expected, but not the taller. Not at your age," he added with an expectant look.

Steve looked down at his sword. It was dull grey, ugly but serviceable. Carefully blunted and made of light metal. A practice blade, but it was a copy of the real thing. Thor was training him to keep himself alive. More importantly, Thor was training him to keep other people alive. Anything that was going to effect that, he needed to know.

And even though that hadn't quite been a question, he couldn’t lie.

"It's an unusual situation," he said and as Thor's expectant look didn't get any less expectant, he explained. About Shield and her Healing Gift, about why he hadn't had any problems since he'd gotten here, about the unexpected side-effect of growth.

When he was done, Thor nodded thoughtfully, then slapped Steve on the shoulder and grinned, making him stagger a little. "It's sounds like it's an excellent thing she Chose you, doesn't it?"

"Yeah."

"But from the way you spoke, I'm assuming no one else knows."

"Rolan knows."

"By no one, I meant no one human," Thor gently chided, "which I believe you knew."

"Bucky knows." He could tell Thor was trying not to smile as he gave him a stern look. "No, no one else knows."

"I see. Then as a member of the Heraldic Circle, I am formally instructing you to notify Herald Bruce. It will need to go into your records and there is no doubt that he will wish you to see the Healers."

Steve groaned; he'd spent enough of his life sitting with Healers.

"You don't know how this could impact you. This has never been done before, you said. It is only sense to ensure you take no harm from it."

There was no give in Thor; he could tell. He nodded.

"Good! But first." Thor held out his hand, and Steve passed him the sword. He returned it to the weapons racks, considered them thoughtfully, then selected a new sword, longer, broader, hefted it, and nodded. When he handed it to Steve, he was ready for the extra weight. "Practice. With a weapon that better suits you."

Steve lifted it, gave it an experimental swing, and felt the pull.

"Worry not." Thor grinned his brightest grin, the one Steve had learned to be wary of. "If you keep growing, I'll ensure you always have a weapon to match."

"Thanks," Steve said dryly, took a deep breath and settled himself.

Why he'd thought he had to hide it, he had no idea.

*    *    *

When he went to the Dean's office before dinner, he kind of wished he had been able to keep it hidden. Not because Bruce was upset, or angry; no, because he was concerned. Bruce looked at him with worried eyes and he was agreeing to go over to Healer's Hall tomorrow.

Yes, he promised. No, he wouldn’t forget. Yes, he felt fine. No, really, I promise.

Steve was halfway down the hall from the Dean's office when he stopped dead, frowning, wondering whether the eyes had been deliberate.

He shook it off and went to meet Bucky in the dining hall.

*    *    *

The next day at Healer's Hall—attached to the Healer's Collegium, so it was a short walk—there was a lot of hmming and hawing and Healers asking him to ask Shield questions and passing on her answers. It got to the point he wished she'd just talk to them herself, but he knew Companions didn't do that.

Eventually the consensus was that Steve's ailments had kept him from his full growth, and that his constant exposure to the Healing Gift was finally giving his body a chance to do what it had never been able to.

Huh, what do you know? Bucky was right.

*    *    *

The end of Steve's third month at the Collegium was marked by two things.

The first was the realisation that he spent almost all his time with Bucky. The other Trainees were mostly split off into groups with their yearmates, the people who'd been Chosen around the same times as them. Which made sense. They were the people they shared classes with, shared schedules with; it was natural that they'd stick together, and they were usually of an age.

At nineteen, Steve was four years older than his oldest yearmate and six years older than his youngest. They were nice, if a little loud and a little spoiled, all of them Chosen out of comfortable families where the most they'd ever had to do were a few chores, but they seemed very young.

He knew it wasn't fair to call them spoiled. They were just good littles from happy families who'd never had to scrape and save and work, who'd never had to look after themselves—and Steve was glad for it. Glad that they'd had those good lives. But it meant, even apart from the age difference, he had nothing in common with them beyond being Chosen. They were friendly, they had a few basic classes together, Steve was in demand to help with improving penmanship or answering questions on languages or figuring, but they'd formed their own little group, and Steve had no interest in trying to become part of it.

There were a lot of those little groups at the Collegium. Not that the other Trainees were unfriendly. Far from it. Some of the older ones were very friendly, but Steve had made it clear he wasn't interested—he probably would have been, if not for Bucky—and they'd cheerfully moved on.

Bucky was in a similar position to Steve, Chosen older than the norm with yearmates far younger than him, but he sort of floated from group to group, seemed to know everyone without quite being attached to anyone.

Except he seemed to be willing to be attached to Steve. They studied together, when one of them didn't have chores they ate together, they rode together in Companion's Field. They went down to Haven together, and Steve helped Bucky work on his 'memorise Haven' project.

They came in for more than a bit of teasing—and a few suggestive grins— from their fellow Trainees at how much time they spent together, but Bucky always laughed it off. His reaction settled things in Steve's mind. Regardless of how Steve felt, he wouldn't risk what he had with Bucky; the idea of losing his constant presence, their easy friendship, was painful.

The second thing that marked the end of Steve's third month at the Collegium was an order to appear in court.

*    *    *

"I can't figure out what took so long," Bucky said.

They were riding down the spiralling road from the Palace to Haven, heading for the courts. Their formal grey uniforms were immaculate, Shield and Winter groomed to a high gloss, their formal tack polished and shining.

"I can guess," Steve said, hands light on Shield's reins.

Bucky looked down at him from Winter's back. Bucky was taller than Steve—although not as much as he used to be—and Winter was taller than Shield, so the looking down was inevitable. "Guess away, then, 'cause I have no idea. It shouldn't take three months for something like this to be heard. Justice this slow isn't justice."

"The Herald's Courts can take longer," Steve pointed out.

"That's different."

"How?"

Bucky blew out a breath and Winter shook his mane. "That's, the Law Courts, it has judges and advocates and assisting Heralds, and a lot of Crown money goes into it. It doesn’t have an excuse to be slow. The Herald's Courts are one Herald sitting in Judgement and two people with a dispute, and it's," he paused, staring up at the sky, "it's for things that aren't as important."

Steve stared at him, brows drawn down.

"What?"

"All right, first off, why do you get to decide what's important and what's not?"

"It's not me deciding."

"It sounded like it was you who was deciding."

"Come on, Steve. Three people beating up an acolyte because his god is the same god they worship in Karse is more important than two people fighting over some chickens."

"Not to the person who owns the chickens. Not to the person who counts on the eggs they lay to feed her family. Or the meat when they get too old to lay, and the feathers. The chicken shit, which can be fertiliser, which if she doesn't need it she can sell. Or the bugs that the chickens eat and keep them from destroying her tiny vegetable patch. You ask her, those chickens are a lot more important."

Steve's voice was tight, but he wasn't angry. Bucky knew when Steve was angry. He knew when Steve was most things, and Steve meant what he'd just said. When Steve meant something, Bucky had learned it was worth listening to.

He mulled it over, then said, "Alright. I take your point. No, Steve, I really do and maybe important was the wrong word. But if people do something wrong, really wrong, like those three did—they tried to hurt a child, Steve; they did hurt you—something that's a crime, they have to pay for it. I know they did it. You know they did it. Any Herald could Truth Spell them and make them admit it, but then what? Do we just decide what happens to them?"

"We would if we were out on Circuit."

"No we wouldn't. We don't pass Judgement on things we're involved in. That wouldn't be justice. And even if the Herald's not involved, we don't pass Judgement on everything. Some things come back to Haven, because Haven's where the Law Courts are. Cases like this, the courts will make sure their punishment is fair. Which is good, because if it was left up to me, I'd toss them in a well with bricks around their feet for what they did to you."

Steve's eyes went wide, and Bucky felt a moment's panic, because he had not meant to say that last bit. He hurriedly added, "And I bet Shield feels the same."

She tossed her head in clear agreement.

"So it obviously can't be left up to us. But it's not fair that they have to wait this long to find out what happens to them."

The corner of Steve's mouth quirked. "You want them to be treated fairly, but you also want to drown them in a well?"

"I know a Herald's not supposed to feel that way, but sometimes..." He trailed off, fiddling with Winter's reins. "We'd never actually go through with the drowning." He met Shield's eye; she tossed her head again and he tipped his head towards her. "Probably."

"I don't need the two of you working together," Steve said, giving Shield's mane a light tug. She flattened her ears at him.

:Would you help me drown people?: he asked Winter.

:Depends on the people,: Winter replied. :I don't really like getting my hooves wet.:

:That's because you won't let me trim all that hair off.:

:It makes me look dignified.:

"So," Steve said, drawing Bucky's attention back. "They're both important. One's not more important than the other. The big injustices and the little injustices, you can't weigh them like balances on a scale. Not when they're about people."

It took every ounce of willpower not to reach out and touch Steve. "Not when they're about people," he repeated, and Steve smiled at him. He smiled back. After a bit, he said, "You said you thought you knew why the delay?"

"Yeah. It's possible the priests at the Temple would have been trying to work something out. Something that didn't involve the court, some other way of finding justice."

Bucky mulled that over. "If they were, I guess it didn't work."

"I guess not."

The streets had grown more crowded, but people moved aside for Companions, and it was easy to make their way to the court, arriving with plenty of time to spare.

*    *    *

When it was over, they rode back to the Palace grounds in silence.

It wasn't until they'd untacked their Companions that Bucky said, "It was so stupid."

Steve looked at him over Shield's back. "You think there could be a non-stupid reason for beating an acolyte in an alleyway?"

"No." He turned around to face Steve, leaning against Winter. "But there can be scales of stupidity, right?"

"Sure."

"Then this was up at the highest point stupid can get."

Steve really couldn’t argue.

It had come out in the trial that all three were from merchant families, merchants who specialised in goods that could only be found in Karse. Direct trade with Karse was impossible, given Karse considered the entire population of Valdemar to be hellspawn (with extra loathing reserved for Heralds and Companions, who were White Demons and Hellhorses, respectively). Trade with Menmellith, however, tiny kingdom that bordered the two countries, was possible.

Until Karse's Sunpriests discovered the ultimate destination of the Karsite goods and sent the Sunsguard to slaughter the Menmellith traders.

It was heartbreaking. The anger Steve felt at Karse, at the Sunpriests who painted Valdemar as evil, who burned their own people alive, bubbled up again, but he pushed it away, just like he had in court. It wouldn't help anything.

Horrible and heartbreaking as the story had been, it wasn't why those three had attacked Velyn. No, they'd done it because they'd been drunk, because they'd been angry their families wouldn't be rich anymore, because they'd discovered Velyn's god was the same as the Karsite god. Because he'd been a convenient, helpless target.

Steve once more shoved his anger away. "I'm not going to argue with you. But they're going to have a good long time to think about it."

Bucky sighed, long and loud.

Unable to resist, Steve ducked under Shield's neck and squeezed his shoulder. "At least Vel's doing good?"

Bucky snorted a soft laugh. "I thought you were going to bolt when he ran up and hugged you after."

"I'm not great with littles."

"Nah, you are. You just think you're not."

Bucky's voice was light, but Steve could see the tension in him. In the set of his shoulders, in the line of his neck.

:Shield, do you feel like a run?:

:Always.:

:Can you ask Winter?:

There was a touch of challenge in her mindvoice when she finally replied, :He says, yes, if we think we can keep up.:

Steve grinned.

"What are you smiling about?" Bucky asked.

"Come on, we're going for a run." He put a foot on a bucket and boosted himself onto Shield's back, not quite at the 'pull himself up with no help when he didn't have stirrups' stage yet. "Shield already asked Winter."

"Going behind my back, huh?" But he put a hand on Winter's withers and one on his rump and leapt gracefully onto Winter's back.

Without warning, Shield lunged for the door, Steve ducking to avoid banging his head, and bolted out across the field. He could hear Winter's heavy hoof beats pounding after them, and Bucky's laughing calls of, "Cheating!", but he was concentrating on staying on. Shield's gait was smooth, she was careful to keep him balanced, but he still had to work at it.

Winter's nose appeared at his knee and Shield put on a burst of speed. Steve wound his fingers in her mane and tightened his legs, leaning forward over her neck. Winter snorted in annoyance as they pulled ahead.

Trees flashed past, and other Companions, watching with pricked ears. Eventually, Bucky called, "We give, we give! Shield, you're too fast, and Steve looks like's he's barely hanging on."

:As if I'd let you fall.:

:I know you wouldn't.:

She slowed to a lope, smooth and rocking, falling in beside Winter, and with a flick of his ears, he matched her stride.

"Very pretty," Bucky said, and Steve agreed.

:Yes we are,: Shield said smugly, and Winter bowed his head, neck arched, mane flowing like a waterfall.

Bucky watched the Companions and Steve watched Bucky. His hair was flowing behind him like Winter's mane, his eyes were bright, his body loose, like they'd outrun the weight he'd brought back with him from the courts.

Steve was struck all over again by how beautiful he was. He knew that wasn't the kind of thought he'd should have about a friend. He knew what he felt for Bucky went beyond that. But Bucky was his friend, first and foremost, and he wouldn't risk that for anything.

"Feeling better?" he asked quietly as the Companions slowed to a walk.

"How'd you know?"

Steve shrugged one shoulder, winding a piece of Shield's mane around his finger.

"Yeah, I do." He glanced over. Bucky's eyes were soft. "Thanks."

"Anytime."

Chapter Text

Five months had passed since Steve had arrived at the Collegium and Bucky couldn't remember a time when he'd been more content with his life.

Or more frustrated.

Maybe not frustrated. Confused?  Confused wasn't right, either. Damn it, why wasn't I born a Bard. They have the Gift for figuring these things out.

:For one, you'd look terrible in scarlet.:

"I could bleach my hair."

:I doubt that would make anything better.:

Winter was right, on both counts. Bucky just needed to figure this out. He needed to figure out what it was about Steve that was making him feel this way. Oh, part of it he knew. He was head over heels for him. It was the rest of it he was having trouble with. He'd had crushes before, he'd fallen for people, he'd lusted after them, but it'd never felt like this. He was happy when Steve was happy, he ached when Steve ached, touching Steve was a thunderstorm wrapped in the comfort of a hearth fire.

Every moment of his spare time he spent with Steve, or tried to. It wasn't always possible, but he tried.

It worried him. He knew it wasn't normal to be this fixated on someone, especially someone he'd never even kissed. He still didn't know if Steve was even shaych (and that was entirely his fault since he could have just asked).

There was something wrong with him.

:Chosen.: Winter's mindvoice was a gentle whisper, wrapping him in comfort. :I would know if there was something wrong with you. There is nothing wrong with you. Nothing wrong with your heart and nothing wrong with your mind.:

"Then what's going on?" He wasn't proud of the way he almost wailed the last word, burying his face in Winter's mane. They were deep in Companion's Field, with no one to overhear but some birds roosting in the nearby trees.

:Step back and think logically. As if this was happening to someone else. If they came to you and said 'here are the things happening to me, here is what I'm feeling' what would you say to them?:

Bucky laughed, twisting his fingers in Winter's mane. "I'd say it sounds like a lifebond, but that's ridiculous, so—"

Winter swung his head around and one brilliant blue eye met Bucky's.

Bucky's lungs seized.

"Isn't it?" he whispered when he could speak.

:That's a question you need to ask yourself.:

"But I barely know him!"

:Do you?:

The question pierced through to the core of him. Measured in time, it was true—he hadn't known Steve for long, but measured in heart? In trust? He maybe knew Steve better than anyone besides Winter.

"Oh."

:Yes. And this isn't some stranger of whose heart you're unsure. He's Chosen.:

It felt right. It felt like every unanswered question finally had an answer. Like a huge rock had been lifted off his shoulders, a blindfold stripped from his eyes and he could walk tall, all the wonders of the world his to see.

It also scared the shit out of him. He clutched Winter's mane. Lifebonded. Lifetime bond, permanent, unbreakable except by death. He was nineteen. Songs and tales of lifebonds, just like songs and tales of Heralds, tended towards the tragic, and there was a surprisingly large crossover. He couldn't help thinking of Vanyel and Stefen.

:Chosen, you are not Vanyel. Or Stefen—we've already established you'd look terrible in scarlet.: Winter's mindvoice was dry and it snapped him out of his anxiousness.

"Why me?"

:Why anyone? Who can know.:

"You couldn’t have just told me?" Bucky demanded, but he knew he was wasting his time—Winter didn't interfere like that, left Bucky to figure things out on his own—and unsurprisingly, Winter simply nudged him with his nose.

How did you tell your lifebonded that you were lifebonded? 'Hi Steve, been having any strange feelings about me lately?'. Maybe not. Did this mean Steve was shaych? Surely the gods wouldn't lifebond him to someone who wasn't.

Maybe he shouldn't tell Steve. Maybe he should pursue him first and then… Everything in him shied away from that. That would be beyond wrong and the person Steve was, the person Bucky was head over heels for, would hate him for it. Being hated by his lifebonded wasn't something he wanted to experience.

His lifebonded… "Winter? Is that why you carried Steve that night?"

He could feel Winter thinking. When he answered, it was slow, thoughtful. Measured. :I carried him because he had the heart of a Herald. Because he acted as a Herald would act, not heedless or reckless, but stepping between the helpless and danger when there was no other choice—with the sense to send that young priest for help, which is more than some of you manage.:

Bucky laughed softly.

:I could sense then what might be coming, and I could feel the start of what lies between you.: There was a short pause, and humour flowed into their link. :And I could feel how much you wouldn't mind having him pressed against you for a candlemark or two.:

It had been true, Bucky couldn’t deny it; having Steve snuggled into his arms had been perfect.

"You're so smart, how do I tell him?"

:Trust yourself. And no, this isn't something I can do for you.:

"Fat lot of good you are," he muttered, pressing his forehead hard against Winter's neck. Then he sighed, straightened, and lifted his chin. "Alright. I guess I'll just do it."

His courage lasted through the evening meal, and he was happy to be rostered on kitchen duty, which meant he ate first and didn't have to try and avoid Steve in the dining hall.

He knew Steve would be studying in his room afterwards, because Bucky was usually right there with him. His courage lasted through the two flights of stairs he had to walk up to reach the floor Steve was on.

It lasted until he was knocking on Steve's door, and Steve was telling him to come in, and it lasted until he shut the door behind him, leaning on it. It lasted as he watched Steve, lying on his bed, hair gleaming gold in the lantern light, blue eyes bright, his chin jutting out like it was always ready for a fight.  

One long, elegant finger—and they weren't really elegant, they were strong and calloused, but they could create elegance, draw it forth from pen and paper, and somehow that made them elegant in Bucky's mind—turned the page as Steve absently asked, "Are you going to stand in the doorway all night? I thought we were going to work on the politics of the Lineas-Baires annexation." 

Bucky's courage deserted him. All he wanted to do was fling himself at Steve, but his courage had slunk out of the room like a scolded cat.

He opened his mouth, closed it. Opened it again and heard himself say, "What do you think about lifebonds?"

What are you doing, Bucky? What are you doing?

*    *    *

Steve was too aware of Bucky. He knew that. He knew the way Bucky moved and the way Bucky smiled and the way Bucky reacted to almost everything. More than once he'd been tempted to say something, to do something, to ask, but Bucky was the best friend he'd ever had, had become so much a part of his life he couldn't imagine it without him; he wouldn't, couldn't, risk losing that.

Right now, he knew something was bothering Bucky. Could tell without even looking, knew it by the sound of his shuffling, the way he was fidgeting, the difference in his breathing, but he kept his eyes on the book even if he hadn't read a single sentence since Bucky had come in and leaned on the door.

Now he turned his head to stare at Bucky, baffled. "What do I think about lifebonds?"

Bucky nodded, avoiding his eyes.

"Why are you asking me about lifebonds?"

"Something came up today that made me curious."

"Strange thing to be curious about, but alright." Steve sat up and ran a hand though his hair. "I never really thought about it. Uh, I guess I think they're a bit strange?"

"Strange?"

"Yeah, strange. I mean, the gods or fate pick out one person in the world they decide is right for you and that's who you have to spend the rest of your life with? What if you're already in love with someone else? What if you don't want to spend the rest of your life with anyone?" Steve shrugged. "The songs all make it sound like the most romantic thing in the world," he gave a breath of laughter, "but I don't know. It sounds like an arranged marriage, one you can't even run away from, because all your choices have been made for you."

"So you don't think much of them."

There was a quaver in Bucky's voice Steve didn't understand. He looked at him sharply. "I didn't say that. I don't really think of them at all. I know I never really liked the songs. Or the way people would go all mooncalf over them. Like being forced into a relationship by fate or the gods was somehow better than falling in love all on your own. People going all doe-eyed over the idea of being told who to love, of not being allowed to choose for yourself—"

"Stop." Bucky was standing straight and tall, eyes bright with unshed tears. Steve could feel a dull ache in his gut. "Please stop."

"Bucky?" Steve ventured, feeling like a dam was crumbling before him, light shining through the cracks. "What's going on?"

Instead of answering Bucky just looked at him, eyes a deep and stormy grey, glimmering with pain, and he knew.

He understood.

It ripped through him, left him shaky and breathless even as everything snapped into place. What do you think about lifebonds. "Gods, Bucky. I'm sorry."

"No, it's fine. You can fight it, right? There's stories of people," Bucky's throat worked as he swallowed, "of people fighting it," he finished in a hoarse croak.

Steve's heart twisted, snapping pain like a joint turned back on itself. He stood, cautiously approaching Bucky, slow, careful, not knowing how to fix the hurt he'd caused, not knowing what to do, not knowing what to say. Not knowing…anything. "I didn't know. I’m sorry, I didn't know."

Bucky searched his face.

Steve took another step closer and felt Bucky's sharp intake of breath. Bucky was still taller, still bigger, but right now Bucky felt small, fragile; he had to be so careful.

"I wasn't talking about—" Steve stopped. If he said it that would make it real. But it was already real. It was real. "I wasn't talking about you and me," he finished, slow and soft.

"What do you think, about you and me?"

He held Bucky's eyes, let everything he'd been keeping hidden run free. "I don't need anyone to choose you for me. I'd already made that choice all on my own."

Bucky still looked uncertain.

Steve gently pressed his palm against Bucky's chest, fingers spread wide, felt Bucky's heartbeat pick up speed. "I didn't say anything because I didn't want to risk losing you. But Bucky, you're beautiful and you're funny and you're kind and you're," he gave up, because trying to find words to capture everything Bucky meant was doomed to fail, and said, "you're you."

Bucky ducked his head, lips curving in a tiny smile. "You're not the only one who's been feeling that way."

"I'm sorry for what I said. I'm sorry I made you think I wanted to fight it. I don't want that." Already, Bucky was part of him, a shining spot shivering deeper into his awareness, nestled next to the glowing second heart that was Shield. 

"Neither do I." Bucky, and Steve knew he was the bravest of them by any measure, reached out and slid his fingers through Steve's. Steve squeezed his hand.

Bucky grinned and Steve felt joy flow into him he knew wasn't his, even if it echoed what he was feeling. "I feel like we should be kissing now."

Steve laughed and he was still laughing when Bucky gave a sharp tug, pulling him off balance so he tumbled into him, slid his fingers into Steve's hair, and kissed him.

*    *    *

Bucky curled into Steve, face tucked into the crook of his shoulder, and sighed quietly as Steve ran his fingers through his hair. They'd migrated from standing at the door of Steve's room to cuddled together on the bed, and Bucky had never experienced anything as close to perfect as being held tight in Steve's arms.

He knew how sappy that was, and he didn't care. It was true. It felt like coming home. He kissed Steve's neck, just the gentlest brush of his lips, and Steve shivered and pulled him closer, their legs tangling together. He'd never been as aware of anything as he was of Steve, even as he wasn't quite sure where his body started and Steve's began.

He was pretty sure he could happily lie here forever.

He turned a little, so he could see Steve's face. Steve looked like he felt: dopey, stupidly happy, entirely ridiculous. Bucky laughed quietly.

"What?"

"You look like I feel."

Steve smiled and kissed his forehead, sending warmth unreeling through Bucky's whole body. "How's that?"

"Like we escaped from some bad Bardic tale. One that's going to get some poor Bardic student banished from the Collegium."

Steve laughed, the rumble in his chest vibrating through Bucky. "This isn't going to change my mind about all those songs about lifebonds."

"I didn't think it would," Bucky said with a sigh and snuggled back into Steve's chest. "I get the feeling you might be more than a little bit stubborn."

"Whatever gave you that idea?"

Bucky gave a snort that would have done Winter proud, making Steve laugh again, and start brushing a hand slowly up and down his back. It left trails of peaceful soothing warmth in its wake, and it left trails of more, but he didn't feel a burning need to do anything about the more right this moment.

Not right this moment. Experimentally he kissed Steve's neck again, gave a little nip, watching the goosebumps race across his skin, watching the shiver run down his body, and grinned. Soon, though. Steve retaliated by pushing his shirt up and pressing his fingers against the skin of Bucky's lower back. Bucky shivered, the curls of warmth sliding through him, through their bond, almost too much to bear. 

"Yeah," Steve said quietly.

"Now?"

"Whenever you want, Buck. Now, later. It doesn't matter. As long as I don't have to leave you."

Bucky pushed up on his arm, so he could see Steve. His eyes were very blue, deep, intense. "Not gonna happen," he told them. Told Steve. Told the world. "You’re my lifebonded." Amusement broke through the blue and Bucky blinked. "I sound like a song, don't I?"

"I didn't say it." Steve spread his fingers wide on the bare skin of Bucky's back, broad, strong, elegant-but-not hands dragging up his spine.

Bucky dropped his head with a shuddering breath. "Maybe now."

"Definitely now," Steve said, surging up to kiss him, cradling Bucky's face and Bucky gave himself over to it, to everything he could feel from Steve, everything he knew Steve could feel from him, and if his thoughts sounded like a song, there was no one to hear but him.

*    *    *

It took a surprisingly long time for anyone to notice their relationship had changed.

And Bucky knew it wasn't that their fellow Trainees noticed and decided not to say anything, because Trainees didn't work that way. If they'd noticed, they would have said something. Teasing things. Lots and lots of teasing things.

That told Bucky exactly how much time he and Steve had spent together before. Granted, it had been with less touching, but still.

Since they weren't trying to hide anything, weren't interested in hiding anything, the other Trainees did eventually figure out something had changed.

He and Steve were sitting with their usual group at lunch, a mix of older Trainees and younger Heralds, when Bucky popped the last of his roll into Steve's mouth, swiped his thumb across Steve's lips to brush away the crumbs, then licked his thumb and went back to eating.

"Ehem."

Bucky looked up into the interested eyes of Wanda, a Trainee whose Companion was one of the few who was faster than Shield.

"Ehem?" Bucky asked.

"Ehem," she confirmed.

"What is that?"

"I was clearing my throat."

"You were not clearing your throat," Steve pointed out, sounding amused. "You were saying, 'ehem'."

"Whatever I was doing, I want an explanation, Herald-Trainee James."

Bucky raised both eyebrows. "Herald-Trainee James, is it?"

"It is."

"And what's this explanation you want?"

She waved her hand between him and Steve. "What's going on here?"

Bucky glanced at Steve. Steve propped his elbow on the table, put his chin on his hand, and gestured at Bucky as if to say, This is all yours. Bucky could feel his amusement.

"Well, you see, in the middle of the day there's a meal called lunch…"

She chucked a roll at his head. He didn't flinch, and Steve plucked it out of the air before it could reach him.

"Roll?" Steve offered, holding it out.

"Thanks," he replied, tearing it in half and starting to butter it.

Everyone at the table was staring at them now.

"See, this is what I mean," Wanda said. "Something's going on here."

"Something…?" Bucky said, giving Steve half the buttered roll and he started munching on it contentedly.

"Sleeping together, obviously," Sharon contributed.

Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Steve flush slightly, but neither of them denied it.

"No, I mean yes, clearly, but it's something else." Wanda's eyes narrowed. "Are you engaged?"

Steve choked on his roll. Bucky patted him on the back.

"No!" Steve said when he could talk. "You went straight from sex to engaged? Haven't you heard of a middle ground?"

"So it is something," she said, satisfied, and Bucky threw up his hands.

"Yes, it is something, we're something. Happy?"

"Very." She grinned like a cat, reached across the table to snag his half a roll, and started delicately nibbling on it.

Bucky sputtered, then started to laugh, leaning on Steve's shoulder. Steve folded his arm around Bucky's waist, pulled him closer, and kissed his temple. It was accompanied by kissy noises and mooncalf sighs, because Heralds and Herald-Trainees were nothing if not mature, but they died down as conversation moved on.

Short-term relationships and sharing bedtime for a night or two weren't uncommon among Heralds and older Trainees. In fact, they were the norm. Whatever Wanda had decided Steve and Bucky had going on was the exception. It was unlikely anyone expected it to last. It usually didn't, and when it didn't it was rarely acrimonious. Heralds slipped into and out of each other's intimate lives, without much of a ripple to mark their passing.

The idea of a lifebond would never cross anyone's mind. Neither Steve nor Bucky had any intention of enlightening them.

*    *    *

Steve was surprised at how little the change between him and Bucky changed anything else. Their lives continued on in much the same way. They'd always spent their time together; now it simply had another dimension to it, the dimension they'd both been secretly wanting.

They didn't spend every night together, mostly for practical reasons. Their beds were small, sized for one person, and Steve was still getting bigger. Nice as it was to fall asleep curled together, it was far less pleasant to wake up in the middle of the night with an elbow in the kidneys or a knee in the balls, the two of them trying to fit in a bed that wasn't made for it, grumbling and growling and swearing.

Some nights, though…some nights they stayed close. Tucked together tight. Because some nights the truth of what bound them together was overwhelming.

It wasn't their choice—even though they both believed, heart and soul, that they would have, that they did, choose each other. It was a lifebond. It was a tie woven through their souls, binding them together. Forever. Unbreakable and inescapable.

Steve tended to react like those moments were something he could fight. Fists up, chin up, just plough forward until they passed. Bucky, and Steve knew he was the bravest of them, would admit that it scared him.  

It always stole Steve's breath. The trust that took, the courage, for Bucky to look at him and say it.

It never lasted long. It was hard for Bucky to keep being scared when Steve was wrapped around him, murmuring soothing nonsense in his ear, hands warm against his skin, Steve's presence a slow roll of comfort through his body.

Steve knew that was what Bucky felt because he could feel it through the lifebond. And it was hard for him to keep wanting to fight when he knew he could do that for Bucky.

This was what their bond was. It was overwhelming, yes, but it was also peace, and comfort, and the two of them standing together against everything, and that was forever, too.

Chapter Text

The Midwinter Holiday was rapidly approaching, and throughout the Collegium, Trainees and instructors alike were making plans to go home. The Collegium would shut down for two weeks—the week before and the week after the Winter Solstice—and almost everyone took advantage to spend the holidays with their families.

Steve would obviously not be one of them.

Other Trainees that didn't have family, or who had family that wouldn't welcome them, were going home with friends. Steve had no idea what Bucky was doing for the break. He knew Bucky had family, but he didn't really talk about them and so Steve didn't want to ask. He didn't want Bucky to feel like he was pressuring him to invite him home. For one, it might not be possible. They might not be comfortable with shaych people; some people weren't and he had no idea if that included Bucky's family. He did know he couldn’t pretend to be only Bucky's friend. He'd give himself away the moment he stopped concentrating, since he was always running his fingers through Bucky's hair, dropping kisses on his head, wrapping an arm around him, touching him any way he could.

But it might not be that; people didn't get along with their families for all sorts of reasons.

Of course, it wasn't the holiday yet, and there were tests to pass before then.

They were sitting in Bucky's room, Steve at one end of the bed, Bucky at the other, knees up to brace their books, soles of their feet pressed together.

"Stop thinking," Bucky murmured.

"It's going to be hard to study if I stop thinking," Steve replied.

"That's not what you're thinking about. Something's bugging you, and you're leaking. So either stop thinking about it, talk to me about it, or lock it down."

It was one of the ways they'd come up with to deal with the fact that they could feel what each other was feeling. They either had to deal with it, share it, or block it. It wasn't fair to either of them to keep broadcasting something and not do anything about it.

So far, it had worked.

Steve chewed on his bottom lip, letting his eyes drift over Bucky. His head was bent over his book, a pencil was tucked behind his ear, holding his hair back, there was a sheaf of paper by his hand, clipped to Steve's writing board. He was, to casual observation, entirely focussed on the weather, geography, and customs of Three Rivers and their Book of One. Steve knew better. He could feel Bucky's attention.

"Alright. But I'm going to ask you a question, and if you don't want to answer it or you don't want to talk about it, you have to tell me."

Bucky looked up and Steve found himself on the receiving end of his own measuring look. "Deal," he finally said.

"Are you going home for Midwinter?"

"That's what you want to ask me?"

"Yeah."

"No, I'm not." He put his book down, pulled his feet away from Steve's and replaced them with his hands, wrapping them around Steve's feet. "Is that's what's been bugging you?"

"Not bugging me, exactly. I've just been wondering."

"Why did you think I wouldn't want to talk about it?"

"Because you don't talk about your family."

The look Bucky gave him was shrewd. "And?"

Steve sighed. "And I didn't want you to think I was pressuring you into inviting me home with you."

"You're an idiot, you know that, right?" He shook Steve's feet and ignored Steve's glare. "As if you'd ever do something like that. As if I'd ever think you'd do something like that." Bucky plucked the book out of Steve's hands, set it aside, then squirmed around until he was lying on his back with his head in Steve's lap.

"Comfortable?" Steve asked dryly.

"Ehhh." Bucky waggled his hand in the air and Steve smacked it. Bucky grinned up at him. "Want me to tell you why I'm not going home for Midwinter?"

"Only if you want to." Steve plucked the pencil from behind Bucky's ear and started smoothing his fingers through Bucky's hair.

Bucky slowly went boneless, melting into the mattress and across Steve's legs, and his soft sigh was deeply content. "No wonder cats purr all the time," he said.

Steve scratched him behind the ear.

"Ha ha."

"Tell me," Steve said, running his thumb down Bucky's nose and leaning down to kiss him.

"The first thing you should know is I'm technically nobility."

Steve's eyebrows shot up.

"Gratifying reaction, but it doesn't mean much. We were only ever a very minor noble House—if they printed a book with all the nobles of Valdemar in it, listed from most important to least, the Barneses would be scribbled on a piece of paper tucked inside the back cover. The family is all weavers and goat breeders, now. We’re incredibly good at, and it’s what we’re known for, not being nobility no one even remembers." Bucky grinned. "No one but me and Becca ever thought this was funny, but it makes our name even more appropriate."

This time, Steve raised one eyebrow in question.

"Barnes? Barns? Because we breed the finest silky-coated goats in the country and you keep goats in barns?"

"…that is awful."

"I know," Bucky said proudly.

"Becca's your sister, right?"

"My sister. Younger sister, only by a couple of years, but that was the problem."

"The sister part or the younger part?"

"The younger part. The Barnes family is mired shoulder deep in Traditional Ways, but they're Barnes traditional ways, and they don't include problems with women. Or with me being shaych," he added. "Which was nice. Sort of. Being fourteen and listening to a bunch of adults discussing the best way to ensure you still have an heir when you have no intention of ever sleeping with a woman wasn't the most fun I've ever had."

"I imagine not," Steve murmured, running a soothing hand through Bucky's hair.

"See, I was the first born. That meant I had to inherit everything. The title, such as it was. Responsibility for the whole family. For the whole business. Overseeing it, running it, everything. And I never wanted that. Which didn't matter, because I was the first born of the Barnes family and that meant it was my duty."

He closed his eyes.

"I learned what I had to learn, but I wasn't good at it. What made it even worse was that Becca was good at it. Everything I struggled with, she could do without thinking. But that didn't matter, because she wasn't the firstborn." He opened his eyes. "Honestly, our father would have preferred her over me, but Barnes' tradition made that impossible. I was miserable, Becca was angry and resentful, our father was just angry, and the rest of the family, including my mother, thought I was ungrateful and unreasonable."

"I'm sorry, Buck." Steve leaned down to kiss him again, and Bucky smiled a little against his mouth.

"It's alright. It may be a lousy story, but it had a good ending."

"Let me guess, four hooves and blue eyes?"

"Got it in one." Bucky nudged Steve's hand, and Steve started stroking his fingers through his hair again. "I was out the front of the house, getting ready to go to a meeting with the Weaver's Guild. It was foggy, so thick I could barely see a few paces in front of me, and Winter was there. I thought he was a ghost, at first, he moved so quietly, then I heard the bells. And then he spoke in my mind…"

His voice trailed off as he reached for Steve's hand and Steve squeezed his tightly. Remembering that moment. Blue eyes and warmth and love and light.   

After a bit, Bucky cleared his throat. "The first person I told was Becca, even before Winter could whisk me off to Haven, because it was the answer to everything. Being Chosen is a good reason to step down. Who can argue with 'I'm giving up my position in favour of my sister to better serve Valdemar'?"

"No one."

"Actually, a couple of them tried. They thought I should appoint someone to manage everything while I was gone and had some specific ideas about who that should be."

"Them?"

"You're so smart." Bucky batted his eyelashes and Steve had to kiss him. "My father shouted them down, and Becca was the new heir. But Becca spent so long as nobody in the family's eyes she needs to establish her authority. And that's why I'm not going back for Midwinter. Or anything else. She doesn't need me there muddying the waters."

Steve was having some very specific thoughts about Bucky's family, but he was careful to keep them locked down tight. Bucky hadn't told the story as if it was something that hurt, as if it was hard for him to remember. Which meant either he was locking things down as tightly as Steve or he'd made his peace with it.

Either way, he didn't share Steve's anger. Steve didn't feel bad about his anger, but he didn't need to inflict it on Bucky.

"Hey." Bucky tapped Steve's chin, curling his fingers up to rub his cheek. "What are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking…" Suddenly he smiled. "Bucky, would you like to spend the Midwinter holiday with me?"

"What?" Bucky said, laughing.

"Apparently that's the tradition. If someone's not going home, their friends invite them to spend the break with them. You're not going home, so I'm inviting you to spend the break with me."

"You're not going anywhere," Bucky helpfully pointed out, looking at Steve like he'd lost his mind.

"No. Not going anywhere. Just the two of us together, no classes, no other Trainees, no instructors, free to do whatever we want, whenever we want, wherever we want. Together."

Bucky sat up and shifted, straddling Steve's legs, and leaned in close, stopping just shy of kissing him. "Together, huh?"

"Together," Steve said, and closed the distance between them, kissing Bucky deeply as Bucky wrapped his arms around him.

*    *    *

It had been a long time since Steve had needed to think about Winter Solstice gifts. The last gift he'd given had been to his mother, the year before she'd died, and even then she'd been sick.

He pushed the memory away, focussed on memories of her the Solstice before, laughing and decorating their tiny rooms with winter greens. She'd have loved Bucky.

He knew what he was going to give Bucky. He wasn't sure what to get for Shield, or for Winter. He'd been hesitant about getting something for Winter, but Winter was Bucky's Companion. Bucky was his lifebonded (and Steve wondered if that would ever stop sending shivers up his spine). That made Winter something like family.

Winter was also someone whose cooperation he was going to need for Bucky's gift.

Steve had spent the last few weeks trading his sketching skills with a few Trainees, even a few Heralds, who were after Solstice gifts of their own, and now he had spare coin, brand new black ink, and some incredibly fine paper.

Bucky had weapons training and then kitchen duty before lunch. Steve had the morning free. It was perfect timing. He packed up his case, bundled himself into his warmest Greys and a thick cloak, and took himself off to Companions Field—via the kitchen to beg a bit of leftover breakfast from Cook, since he was not above bribery.

He mindspoke Shield as he went. :Shield, could you meet me near the little grove, the one just down from the stables?:

:Are you up to something?: she asked. :You feel like you're up to something.:

:Not like you mean,: he replied. :But could you ask Winter to come with you?:

He felt her surprise, but she agreed.

Companion's Field was a patchwork of green and white, the last snowfall not having melted away, and he picked his way to the grove of trees, avoiding the snow. When he arrived, the two Companions were waiting. He set his case, and the cloth covered bowl he'd gotten from Cook, down and greeted Shield, pressing his forehead briefly against her head, before turning to Winter.

Winter was looking at him, ears canted back slightly, obviously waiting. He didn't look particularly patient.

Right.

"I need to ask a favour. It shouldn't take too long, I'll be as quick as I can. And you don't have to go anywhere."

Winter tilted his head, one ear curved sideways.

Steve didn't need to be able to talk to him to understand: Yes, and what do you want?

"I want to give Bucky a sketch of you for Winter Solstice, but for that I need you to stand still for me, so I can draw you. Because I want it to be a sketch of you, not just of any Companion."

Both Winter's ears curved forward and he swung his head around to look at Shield. If Companions could shrug, Steve thought she would have.

He hurriedly picked up the bowl and whipped off the cloth. "I brought you honey porridge? If that helps any."

After a second or two, Winter whickered and it sounded like laughter.

:He says yes,: Shield said, obviously amused. :To both.:

"Thank you," Steve breathed, because he'd had no alternative plan if he'd said no. "Do you want this? I can hold the bowl for you."

Winter did want it, and Steve learned that Bucky hadn't been kidding when he said Winter liked honey porridge. In a short time the bowl was empty, licked clean.

"Uh, you've got," Steve brushed the sides of his mouth, because there was porridge stuck in Winter's whiskers. "Do you want me to get it?"

Winter bobbed his head and Steve used the cloth to carefully wipe it off.

"All right." He tossed the cloth in the bowl and set it out of the way. "Now pose. I have some ideas, but what do you think?"

Winter paced away, rolled onto his back hooves, lifted his front hooves off the ground, half rearing, front legs in a perfect curl.

"There's no arguing, you look great, but how long can you hold it? I need you to keep still for about half a candlemark at least."

:Not that long,: Shield said slyly. Winter laid his ears back. :No you can't.:

"What about something calmer, less warlike," Steve suggested.

He was pretty sure Shield and Winter were talking, noses close together, and then Winter squared up, turning to look out into the field, lifting his head. Steve wasn't sure what he did, but without moving he suddenly seemed quieter. As if he'd turned his energy and his attention inwards.

"Perfect," Steve breathed, scrambled for his case, then found the perfect angle and a dryish bit of grass to sit on.

Winter didn't move while Steve worked. Shield came to look over his shoulder, her warm breath ruffling his hair and keeping his fingers from freezing, but she didn't interrupt. As Winter came to life on the paper, he lost himself, lost track of the world outside, but he knew it didn't matter. Shield was here, Shield was with him. He couldn't be safer.

He came back up with a sigh and a yelp when his hand cramped. "Done," he said quickly, so Winter could move. "Done enough, anyway. I'll finish it up later, but I don't need you for that."

Winter paced over, peering at Steve's writing board, so he held it up. Winter gave him a look of approval and Steve grinned. It faded when Winter's head whipped around.

:Bucky's coming,: Shield said.

"Damn it." He started packing up his case, careful with the sketch, resting it between two thin sheets of tissue paper. "I want this to be a surprise." He flicked the latches on the case closed, but there was nowhere to hide it.

Winter nudged him. Hard enough he stumbled sideways into Shield.

:Winter says give the case to him. He'll hide it in the tack room.: She danced in place. :Hurry!:

Uncertainly, Steve offered the leather handle. Winter grabbed it in his teeth and, head held high, trotted off.

Steve stared after him.

He disappeared just as Bucky called, "There you are. I've been looking everywhere for you."

"Hey, Bucky," he replied, still a little distracted at Winter rescuing the situation by taking his case, but Bucky sliding an arm around his waist and pulling him in for a kiss focussed his attention nicely.

"Hi." Bucky smiled against his mouth.

Steve responded by cradling his jaw in one hand and kissing him again, soft and gentle, because he could, because he wanted to, because it sent light sparkling through their bond.

He didn't have to lean up to kiss Bucky anymore. Bucky didn't have to lean down. They were basically the same height now. It made things simpler, but sometimes Steve missed being able to tuck his head under Bucky's chin.

*    *    *

With a soft sigh, Bucky leaned back.

He'd come looking for Steve and found him by following the feeling of him. He'd tried calling Winter for a ride, but Winter had said he was busy and then proceeded to ignore him—which was, all things considered, pretty funny.

"I needed that."

"What's wrong?" Steve brushed his fingers through his hair.

"My Companion's ignoring me."

"Yeah?" Steve pulled him in and kissed him again.

Bucky hummed against his mouth. "Yeah. It's sad. I think I've been abandoned."

"I'm sure he had a good reason."

Winter trotted up, briefly touching noses with Shield. :I did have a good reason.:

"Oh really? What was it, then?" Steve's arms were holding him close, his hands gently touching, and Bucky leaned into him.

:I was busy.:

Bucky laughed, pressing his face into Steve's neck.

"What?" Steve asked.

"He says he was busy." He made sad eyes at Steve. "I need to be comforted."

"Here?"

"Here's as good as anywhere." He grinned as he kissed Steve, pulling him close with an arm around his waist, the other one catching his hand. Steve gave a start of surprise, then kissed back with enthusiasm, walking Bucky backwards until he hit a tree. It was easy to forget where they were, easy to not care where they were when Steve was pinning him against the tree, hands roaming, kisses getting deep and intense and—

He screeched as cold slid down the side of his neck.  

Snow pattered down over them, another lump landing on Bucky's head, and he hissed. Steve sputtered as Bucky looked up to see Winter, balanced on his hind legs, teeth clamped around a branch, giving it a hard yank. More snow shook loose and, laughing, Steve pulled Bucky away.

Winter dropped down to all four hooves with a pleased snort.

"That was uncalled for," Bucky said, brushing snow off a still-laughing Steve's hair.

:You both have perfectly good rooms,: Winter said.

"Winter says we should take this to our rooms."

"I'm sure I read somewhere that Companions are supposed to be our teachers and guides. Wise beyond human understanding." Steve's voice was innocent, but there was a wicked gleam in his eye.

Twin snorts came from Shield and Winter.

Bucky grinned. "Far be it from us to argue with such a venerable creature."

:I'm going to remind you of that next time you disagree with me.:

Bucky just laughed, caught Steve's hand, and pulled him towards the fence.

*    *    *

The first day of the holidays, Bucky woke briefly at the usual time, spent a moment or two enjoying the quiet and the fact that he had no reason to get out of bed, then tucked himself against Steve's back, arm around his waist, and promptly went back to sleep.

When they finally got up, it was to make their way down to the kitchen to get something to eat. Meals were more of a help yourself affair during the break, and they did just that, eating near the fireplace in the dining hall.

It set the patterns for their mornings.

The rest of their days, they spent wandering the palace grounds, or heading down to Haven to enjoy the Midwinter festival. There were minstrels and Bards, foods and drink, dancing and plays and puppet shows. They bought some Midwinter greens to decorate Bucky's room, since it was where they ended up sleeping most of the time, and the rich green smell filled the air.

Nights they ate in the dining hall or took their meals out to the stables or up to their rooms, depending on the weather. They weren't the only ones still in the Collegium over the holiday—the Dean was still here, not that they saw him, and a few other instructors—they'd both seen Sif and Thor, although where they were actually spending Midwinter was a mystery, since they'd only glimpsed them from a distance. There were a few Heralds neither of them recognised in the dining hall at breakfast and dinner, but there were no other Trainees.

Which was fine with them. They were enjoying the chance to just be together.

It was a surprise to come down to dinner two nights before Midwinter—a little later than they meant to and still straightening their clothes—and find a Herald in full travelling Whites sitting at one of the tables.

It was the travelling Whites that were strange, not the Herald. They were tough and hardwearing, and not the most comfortable choice to sit around in. Added to that, the Herald looked like he was completely done in and possibly seconds away from falling asleep in his soup and drowning.

Steve exchanged a glance with Bucky. Apart from the Herald, they were the only ones here.

:Winter?: Bucky sent. :Can you ask the Companion for the Herald in the dining hall if he's alright?:

After a moment, Winter replied, :They just got back from a rough Circuit down on the Karse border. Riley says he was supposed to get someone to bring him dinner in his rooms.:

:Well he's sitting here falling asleep in his soup. Ask Riley if he could use an escort?:

:Riley says yes. He'd be grateful. Samuel thinks he can do it all himself sometimes. Those are Riley's words. I've never met Samuel.:

:Thanks, Winter.:

"Samuel," Bucky said to Steve, pointing to the Herald. "They just got back from the Karse border and Riley, his Companion, says he was supposed to get dinner brought up to his rooms."

"He doesn't look like he'd make it up to his rooms. Not without help anyway." Steve considered him. "You get the dinner, I'll get the Herald?"

At this point, Steve was bigger than him, so it made sense. "Sounds good."

They flanked him, but not stealthily. That was probably a good way to get a knife in the gut, even as fellow almost-Heralds, if he'd just come in from the Karse border.

"Hi," Steve said, sliding into the seat on his left.

"You look done in," Bucky added, sliding into the seat on his right.

"Apparently Riley says you were supposed to be eating in your rooms?" Steve said.

"Probably so you don't drown in your soup," Bucky added.

Samuel blinked at them. "What?"

"That's what I thought," Bucky said to Steve.

"Come on. Let's get you to bed," Steve said.

"No offence, but neither of you are my type."

Steve snorted a laugh. "None taken. How about you, Buck? You take offence at that?"

"Nah. I have a pretty specific type myself."

Steve's eyes softened as he looked back at Bucky, a little smile curling the corner of his mouth. Bucky had to shake himself out of it.

Samuel was looking back and forth between them. "What?" he said again.

"Herald Samuel," Steve said in a voice that shot down Bucky's spine, made him want to follow Steve to the end of the world. He saw it work on Samuel, who sat straighter, eyes momentarily brighter as he looked at Steve with interest. "You're exhausted. You're past the point of thinking straight. We're not Heralds yet but we will be. It's alright to let us take over, just for long enough to get you safely to your rooms."

There was a long beat of silence, then Samuel put his spoon down and nodded. "Alright."

Quickly, Bucky loaded his food up onto the tray, and stood. Steve offered Samuel a hand, pulling him to his feet. When he staggered, Steve offered him a shoulder, but he shook his head. "No, I'm fine."  

He was patently not fine, exhausted past the point of reason, but he let Steve help him with an arm around his waist up the stairs, and they got him settled safely in his rooms—the first time they'd ever been in the Heralds' Wing—his dinner on the table, and left after making sure he didn't need anything else.

As they were trotting down the stairs, heading back to the dining hall, Winter sent, :Riley says thank you. To both of you.:

Bucky passed it on to Steve, and replied, :Tell him it was our pleasure.:

*    *    *

Bucky had a cloth wrapped bundle tucked under one arm and a pocket full of peppermint candy as he walked with Steve down to Companion's Field. The night was crisp and clear, the moon high, the stars bright, the snow shining white.

The perfect Midwinter's Eve.

He blew out a long breath that puffed in the air like smoke, then grinned at Steve. "What's in the packages?"

Steve gave him a disapproving look. "You'll find out soon enough."

Steve had three paper wrapped packages, one big and flat and two small, all tucked in a basket he'd borrowed from the sewing room.

"But I want to know now."

"Waiting is good for the soul."

"Hmmm."

He kept teasing Steve, gently poking at him to tell him what was in the packages as they made their way to the Companions' stables where Shield and Winter were waiting for them.

:Happy Midwinter’s Eve, Winter.:

Winter nuzzled Bucky's hair, whuffling gently, and Bucky laughed and pressed his forehead against his nose. :And to you.:

Steve had put down his basket to throw his arms around Shield's neck, and she had her head folded over his shoulder.

The Companions’ stables didn't have much in common with horse stables, but what they did have was huge stalls, big open spaces, and woodstoves at each end for heat. Companions didn't like to be cold and neither did their Chosen, should it happen that they needed to stay with their Companion.

This Midwinter’s Eve, the four of them were taking advantage of it.

Shield and Winter weren't the only Companions in the stables, but they were the only partnered Companions, and there were only half a dozen preferring the warmth of the stoves to the mild night. Shield and Winter lay down at an angle to each other, noses together, near one of the stoves, and Steve and Bucky settled into the space between their Companions' hooves.

It was warm, peaceful, filled with the sweet scent of hay and the clean horse scent of the Companions.

"Does this mean I can find out what's in the packages now?" Bucky asked.

Steve looked at Winter. "He wouldn't shut up about them the whole way here."

Winter snorted in amusement. :Patience, Chosen.:

"Thanks, Steve. Now he's telling me to have patience."

"It's good advice," Steve said with a grin.

"Fine, then I guess I'd better go first."

It was the first time in a long time he'd looked forward to giving a Midwinter Gift. He'd sent things to his family, but they'd felt perfunctory, like they were required, and there hadn't been much fun in them. Finding the right thing for Steve, though. That had been joyful.

He handed Steve the cloth wrapped bundle. "Happy Midwinter, Steve."

Steve blinked down at the bundle and slowly accepted it. Bucky didn't let go, struck by Steve's reaction. "Did you think I wasn't going to get you something?"

"No. No, it's just." He gave Bucky a crooked smile. "It's just been awhile. I'd forgotten what it felt like."

He slid his hand down to cover Steve's, half caress, half squeeze, and let go, even as he tried not to think of every possible reason to give Steve gifts. Instead, he watched as Steve unwrapped the bundle, eyes growing wide.

"Bucky…"

"Do you like it?" He'd searched high and low to find it. It was half scribe's kit, half artist's kit, all packed into a rolled bundle of tough leather that could be shoved into just about anything and still protect the contents. It had pens and brushes and pencils, and long thin bottles to hold inks, each held in place with flexible cord.

Steve opened his mouth, closed it, and ran his fingers over the leather.

"Because you won't be able to bring your case on Circuit with you, but this, you can shove in a saddlebag, take it with you wherever you go, and that way you don't have to leave it behind." He bit his lip. "But you like it, right?"

Steve carefully set it aside, and then Bucky had a lapful of Steve, Steve who was kissing him, hands cupping his face while warmth flowed through their bond. "I like it." 

Bucky grinned and kissed him back, holding him tight. "I can tell."

Steve slipped off his lap but didn't go far, carefully rolling the kit up and tucking it against his thigh, patting it like a kitten. "This is for you," he said, reaching to pull the big flat package out of the basket. "I had Winter's help with it." He nodded at Winter, and Winter nodded back. He placed the package in Bucky's hands. "Careful when you open it."

He slipped the paper free. It was a picture of Winter. Black and white, one of Steve's ink drawings, but it was so much more than that. It was Winter in Companion's Field. It was peace and strength, it was his heart, staring back at him from the page.

He ran his fingers over it, marvelling at each line and stroke, how each one somehow brought Winter to life.

"It's beautiful," he whispered.

:It was Steven's idea for it to be quiet.:

He could feel Winter watching him. :Thank you.:

:It’s not me you should be thanking. It's your lifebonded's gift.:

:Then thanks for helping him.:

:He's easy to help.:

"I love it, Steve. Thank you." Bucky curled a hand around the back of Steve's head, fingers threading into his hair, and pulled him closer, resting his forehead against Steve's. Steve was glowing with happiness, he could feel it through their bond, and he closed his eyes and basked in it.

Eventually he pulled back. "Can you put it back in the basket? I don't want it to get stepped on." Winter and Shield gave him identical offended looks and he grinned. "I didn't mention either of you," he said, and Steve laughed.

Steve tucked the picture safely away and pulled out the other parcels. "I've also got these?" He held them up. "This one's for you, Shield." She stretched out her neck to nose at it. "And this one's for Winter." 

Bucky wasn't sure he'd ever seen a Companion look more surprised. Winter's ears shot forward, and his head went up, neck arched as he eyed the small package.

"I guess you'll have to unwrap it," Steve said, handing it to Bucky. Then he grinned. "Yes," he said to Shield, "I'm unwrapping yours now."

Bucky pulled the paper off, Winter silently watching, and pulled out a long pewter plate, two small holes at each end, with Winter's name engraved on it in beautiful curling script.

Steve paused in unwrapping Shield's gift. "It's a saddle tag. I know Companion's saddles have a short version of their names on them, but that part of Winter's saddle is scuffed, and they're kind of plain, and I thought," he said to Winter, shrugging a little. "I thought you might like something nicer. I designed the lettering myself. Lots of curls to go with your," he waved a hand through the air, "hair."

Winter tossed his head, making his long mane and forelock fly.

"It's gorgeous, Steve," Bucky murmured, running his fingers over it, and Winter let out a gentle huff.  

"I didn't think Winter would appreciate what I got for Shield. Yes, I'm getting it," he said, laughing as Shield nipped gently at his hands. "Here, what do you think?" He pulled out a long string of beads, deep blue, pale blue, pewter and white, and held them up for Shield to see. "They're designed to braid into your mane. I thought we could put them just behind your ear."

Shield's ears were pointing high, and she lowered her head until it was practically in Steve's lap, making him laugh and shove at her. "You're not a damn cat!"

"Lap Companions?" Bucky suggested.

"No lap Companions. We have to draw the line somewhere." But he ran his fingers through Shield's mane, sectioned off a piece, and started braiding the beads into place.

"Imagine if," Bucky said, "way back when, Baron Valdemar had prayed for help and instead of being sent horses," Winter and Shield both gave him dirty looks, "all right, sorry, things that looked like horses, he'd been sent things that looked like lady's lapdogs instead."

Steve's fingers paused briefly. "I don't think Heralds would have quite the same impact."

:Truly, Chosen? Lap dog Companions?:

:You don't want me to put you in my pocket?:

:I don't think so.:

Bucky gently scratched under Winter's forelock as they watched Steve. When he was almost done, Bucky dug out the peppermint candy and offered a piece to Shield, gave a piece to Winter, and popped a smaller piece in Steve's mouth before eating one himself. The smell of peppermint filled the air, joining the clean scent of horse and the smell of woodsmoke.

They relaxed, sitting together in peaceful silence, when Winter stirred. :Chosen.:

"Mmm?"

:Will you ask your lifebonded why he gave me a Midwinter gift?:

Bucky hesitated. :Why?:

:I would like to know.:

"Steve?"

"Yeah, Buck?"

"Winter wants me to ask you why you got him a Midwinter gift. You don't have to tell him if you don't want to."

"No, it's fine. I thought..." He grimaced. "It's probably stupid."

"It's not stupid." He flashed irritation at Winter for asking, for making Steve feel that way. "Whatever your reason, it wasn't stupid."

Steve sighed. "You and me, we're what we are. Winter's your Companion. I guess I was thinking…that makes him like family. Stupid, huh?" he added.

The affection, the love, the creeping sense that maybe it wasn't wanted Bucky could feel through their bond went halfway to breaking his heart. He caught Steve's hand, twining their fingers together, and Steve gave him a small smile.

Winter, his bulk curved behind Bucky, arched his neck over Bucky's shoulder, gazing at Steve. :Thank you, Steven.:

Steve's head shot up, eyes wide. "Winter?"

:It's a kind gift and a kind thought, and very, very far from stupid.:

Bucky was staring at Winter, his eyes as wide as Steve's. "Are you talking to Steve?"

:Yes.:

"Is that allowed?" Bucky made a face as soon as he said it, watched Steve fight back a laugh. "I know, I know, Companions do what they want."

:Very wise. Do you object, Steven?:

"No." Steve swallowed hard. "No, it just might take some getting used to."

:If you're going to talk to Steve, I'm going to talk to Bucky.: Shield lifted her head to give Winter a challenging look, her new string of beads flashing in the lantern light. :It's only fair.:

Steve smiled faintly, and Bucky wondered if he looked as poleaxed right now as Steve had when Winter spoke to him. "Shield?" he asked.

:Who else would it be?:

"Fair point," he replied, rubbing a hand over his face. "Fair point." He leaned into Steve. "This is really strange."

:Happy Midwinter, Bucky,: Shield said, mindvoice humming with amused affection, while Winter tossed his head, whickered like merry laughter, and Steve pulled Bucky closer to kiss him.

*    *    *

The next night, they lay in Bucky's bed, Bucky idly tracing the line of Steve's collarbone with one finger. It used to be bony, standing out sharply against his chest. Not anymore. Now it lay nearly flat against smooth muscle, but even so, he could still dip his finger into the hollow and feel Steve shiver.

They were warm and full, having stuffed themselves at a Midwinter feast of their own devising, funnelled to them from the Palace cooks, who'd taken pity on two Trainees all alone at Midwinter.

"Did you ever imagine you'd end up here?" Bucky asked, idly kissing along Steve's collarbone.

"That's a big question."

"I guess it is," Bucky said after a moment's thought. "I didn't mean it to be."

Steve hooked Bucky's hair behind his ear. "I wasn’t expecting to end up with your Companion talking to me. Or mine talking to you."

"No... No, that's something neither of us could have predicted." Bucky rested his chin on Steve's chest, peering up at him for a long moment, then asked, "Do you still think lifebonds are strange?"

"I don't know, Buck. I feel like I would have loved you even without it."

It struck him silent. Steve watched him patiently while he groped after words. "You love me."

"Of course I do."

"It's not just the lifebond?"

"The lifebond didn't make me love you, Bucky. It joins us together, but loving you?" Steve bent his head, awkward angle and all, and pressed a soft kiss to Bucky's mouth. "That's all you."

He could feel Steve through their bond, feel his absolute, burning certainty. Steve believed it. Steve believed that he loved him because he loved him, and not because—how had he put it?—the gods or fate had picked Bucky out as the one person in the world they'd decided was right for Steve and that was who he had to spend the rest of his life with.

He had to take a minute, words caught by the lump in his throat.

When he could speak, he said, "I love you, too. You know that. Right?"

Steve's smile was brilliant, blinding. "Yeah, I figured."

"Oh, you figured."

Steve nodded, looking smug.

"You're so romantic."

"Is that what you want? You want to be romanced?" He leaned forward, nuzzling his nose against Bucky's cheek, behind his ear. "I can do that."

Bucky's shoulders shook with silent laughter. "No, you can't."

"Hey!"

"You can't." He wrapped his arms around Steve and rolled, pulling Steve down on top of him. "It's not you, not even close. And I don't need it. I just need you."

"I can do that."

They curled around each other, legs twined together, until Bucky's laughter died, and he lay quiet in Steve's arms. After a while he shifted, sighed, because sometimes his mind wouldn't leave well enough alone.

"What is it?"

"It's still kind of scary sometimes." Bucky voice was quiet, almost a whisper, as he spoke into Steve's skin. "Not you. Not us. Just, the idea of it."

Steve ran his hand over Bucky's hair, curled his fingers around the back of Bucky's neck, gently pulled him closer. "I know."

Bucky pressed his nose into the crook of Steve's neck and breathed in. Touching Steve made everything inside him uncoil into warmth. "It's worth it, though."

"I know," Steve repeated softly and kissed Bucky's temple.

"Steve?"

"Yeah, Buck?"

"These beds are way too small for both of us."

"I know."

"Want to do something about it?"

"Yeah, Bucky. I do."

Chapter Text

Their chance to do something about it came unexpectedly. The peace and quiet and freedom of the two-week break had long since been replaced by the noise of the Collegium returning to normal, but if Bucky buried his face in Steve's ribs, with Steve's arm over his head and one of Steve's legs over both of his, he could pretend those two weeks had never ended.

:Chosen?: Winter's mindvoice was gentle.

He scrunched his eyes shut and hunkered down.

:Chosen.: It had gone from gentle to gentle reproach.

:Winter?:

:Daysen has asked me to tell you that the Dean would like to see both of you.:

"What?" He sat up.

Steve threw his arm over his eyes and groaned. "Why does the Dean want to see us?"

Bucky was still getting used to that. Having decided to break the rule that Companions only spoke to their own Chosen, Winter and Shield had apparently decided to break it completely, speaking to them both as a matter of course.

:Your lifebond has been noticed. Word was passed, I don't know from whom.:

Sudden fierce protectiveness flowed into him from Steve, who sat up and snagged Bucky around the waist. "Why does it matter?"

:It's not a case of it mattering, Chosen.: Shield's mindvoice was soothing and he felt Steve calm. :There's simply things the Circle will want to do, to make sure they do what's best for you.:

"So you're saying he should stop imagining the worst?" Bucky said.

:Exactly that, yes. Thank you, Bucky.:

Steve rolled his eyes, but Bucky knew it was directed at himself as much as at Bucky or Shield. He reached out and caught Steve's chin, using it pull him forward for a deep kiss, losing himself in it, before making himself pull back.

"We've been summoned," Steve said, a little breathless.

"And we'd better go."

"Pick up when we get back?"

"Yes."

*    *    *

Steve had been worried for nothing. Shield had been right (but then she usually was). Bruce wanted to update their records, ask some questions, and make them an offer: to go on their internship Circuit together. It would mean adjusting Steve's training, would mean he'd have to work harder, take extra classes, but Steve hadn't hesitated. Staying with Bucky was worth any amount of work. If they couldn't go on their internship Circuit together, Bucky would be gone for a year and a half, riding out with a more experienced Herald, and then it would be Steve's turn. That would be three years apart. Steve knew being separated was almost inevitable, Heralds went where Valdemar needed them, but if he could put it off, if he could buy them more time together…

Nothing was too hard for that.

Bruce had also asked if they'd care to switch to a shared room.

Their, "Yes!" had been simultaneous.

Bruce had coughed into his hand, a cough that had sounded suspiciously like a laugh, made some more notes, said it would take about a week, and told them they could go.

*    *    *

Spring eventually arrived. Not quickly, winter clung on like it was afraid to leave, and it was decided that the lingering cold was an excellent opportunity for cold weather survival training. Practical cold weather survival training.

Bucky had already done it, so Steve and Shield, along with a bunch of other Trainees and Companions, got to enjoy learning how to survive in the snow. They spent a lot of time cold. They spent a lot of time very cold. But they learned how to save their own lives and, more importantly, the lives of other people. What to do if someone fell through a frozen lake or was lost in the snow, how to survive in a blizzard or how to deal with the aftermath of an avalanche.

Steve also learned there was nothing better than grooming Shield, making sure she was clean and dry and warm, then stumbling half-frozen back to their room—their room with their bed, properly sized for them both—to find Bucky waiting to get him clean and dry and warm; granted, using very different methods.

*    *    *

They came in for some teasing when their fellow Trainees realised they were sharing a room.

"Don't you know Heralds have a reputation to uphold?" Sharon asked when they were gathered around a table at breakfast. "People expect a certain amount of licentiousness," she rolled the word, dragging it out, leaning on Wanda next to her. "And here you are, a couple of Trainees, acting like an old married couple." 

Bucky just rolled his eyes. "Big word, there. You been spending extra time in the library?"

She made a face at him and Bucky grinned.

"Nothing to say?" Sharon asked Steve.

"Well," he said, picking up his toast, taking a bite, and chewing it thoughtfully before he swallowed. "I guess you'll just have to do your duty and make up for us."

Surprised laughter burst out of her. Steve stole a quick kiss from Bucky before returning to his breakfast as the rest of the table began trading ever-more improbable tales of sexual shenanigans.  

*    *    *

Spring also brought new classes. Sif and Thor had finally moved Bucky into the coveted advanced mounted marksmanship class, and it'd been all he could do not to cheer. Steve was weirdly excited about strategy and tactics—Bucky could feel him in class and he was enjoying it way too much—but they'd both been looking forward to the class on their Gifts.

Not more theory or history, categories or dangers. No, this was practical. This was where'd they'd learn what their Gifts were and how to use them.

The class was held outside, in a small courtyard off the Heralds' Wing of the Collegium, and when they arrived, they recognised the instructor.

"You look a lot better than last time we saw you," Steve said.

"People dug up out of their graves probably look better than last time you saw me," Samuel replied, his Companion peering over his shoulder. Samuel scowled. "I'm not telling them that. I'm not. Fine." He sighed. "Riley insists I add 'thank you for being sensible when Samuel apparently couldn't manage it'." He turned to glare at Riley, who was looking distinctly smug. "Happy now?"

Riley snorted.

"Good."

Bucky bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing, glanced at Steve and saw he was doing the same. They were saved from having to come up with a response by the rest of the class' arrival.

*    *    *

It was different from every other class. There was a wide mix of ages, once they got past the basics everyone was learning something different, and there were wildly varying degrees of strength. Steve fell somewhere above average, but he was the only trainee in this crop with Fetching. He also had Farsight, but so did four others.

No one in their group had anything particularly spectacular. Bucky turned out to have the most interesting Gift, but it had taken some digging by Winter and some consideration by Riley and Samuel to figure it out, since they could tell he had a Gift but it had shown no signs of manifesting.

"Foresight," they'd finally concluded.

Bucky had stared at all of them, then turned to Winter. "Foresight."

Winter had bowed his head low, blown out a long breath, then lifted it to look Bucky in the eye.

He'd never had a vision in his life. The only thing he knew about the future was that, at some point this week, Steve was going to leave his dirty socks on the floor and Bucky was going to swear at him for it. "Great."

*    *    *

They were on their way to weapons training, something Steve actively looked forward to now, when Bucky muttered, "I almost wish I'd been one of those littles who got Chosen because their gift was completely out of control. It would be easier than this."

Bucky was good at keeping his emotions locked down in Samuel’s class, a nice easy smile and a confident attitude on display for anyone who cared to look. Of course that didn't work on Steve, who could feel how frustrated he was. It wouldn't have worked on him even if he couldn’t feel it; he knew Bucky, and all the confident smiles in the world couldn't fool him.

"You'll get it, Buck."

"Easy for you to say," he grumbled. Steve's Fetching and Farsight were coming easily to him, once he'd figured out how to let down his disturbingly strong natural shields.

The main problem was, even with Winter's word that it was there, Bucky was having trouble believing he had Foresight, since he'd never had a vision in his life. "Wouldn't I know if I had Foresight?"

Steve elbowed Bucky in the side. "I feel like any way I answer that it's going to sound like I'm making a joke."

He snorted. "Fair point."

Steve grinned and threw an arm around Bucky's shoulders. "Come on, if it'll make you feel better, I'll let you beat me when we spar."

"Let me?" Bucky snorted again and jabbed Steve in the ribs with two fingers. Steve batted them away and shoved him. "Let me? Tell me, Steve, who was it that wiped the salle with you last week?"

"I don't know, was it the same person who's too slow to beat me there?"

He took off running before the end of the sentence, laughing at Bucky's squawk of outrage, and they pelted down the path, Bucky dodging just in time to avoid a book-laden Herald who appeared out of nowhere, leaving Steve, who did not dodge in time, to apologise and help her collect her books.

*    *    *

Steve had kitchen duty—Steve almost always had kitchen duty, since Cook liked having someone who could not only haul the heavy bags of vegetables around but knew what to do with them afterwards—so he was running from the riding arena to the Collegium. There wasn't time to bathe, but he could scrub up in one of the washing tubs—if he got there in time. Herald Sif had let him go early, but he was still going to be cutting it close.

A moment of silence cut through the air, the world went still, holding its breath, then the Death Bell began to toll. The Death Bell, the bell that rang at every Herald’s death, no matter how far from Haven they died, and it echoed in his ears, long and loud and clear. The sound was a physical thing, touching the edge of his awareness. Tugging at him. Sorrow and knowledge and all around, Heralds and Trainees were stopping, turning: towards each other or towards Companion's Field, expressions stricken or completely blank.

:Shield?:

:It was Herald Katryn.: Steve didn't recognise her name. :Her Companion, Osyr, followed her.:

There was sorrow in her mindvoice and he tried to send back comfort. :What can I do?:

:That helps, Chosen. But there's nothing any of us can do. Just be there for each other.:

He felt her slip out of his mind and he didn't chase after her. If she needed him, he'd be here. He wondered if the lost Companion had been a friend.

Steve set his shoulders and made his way to the kitchen. He didn't know what happened when a Herald died, what traditions were followed, what people expected, but hungry people still needed to eat. Cook would still need vegetables chopped. He could do that.

Some of the rostered Trainees were missing from the kitchen when he got there, but he wasn't surprised. He was surprised to see Cook wiping her eyes on her apron, but someone must have told her who'd died.

It struck him a moment later how stupid he was. Every Trainee took a turn through the kitchen. Every Trainee, from the year they were Chosen to the year they put on Whites. Even if it was only to wash dishes, they all came through here.

It meant every Herald lost wasn't only a Herald; they were someone she'd known, someone she'd seen grow up.

"Cook?"

She looked up at him, a big woman who today seemed small.  "Oh, Steven. Let me—"

"It's alright. What are you making? I can't cook it for you." He offered her a smile. "No one wants that." They both remembered the disastrous bread pudding attempt. "But I can organise what you need."

He listened, he nodded, he planned, and then he gathered up the other Trainees. He'd done this enough, he'd been in here enough, he knew what had to happen when and, thankfully, the others were willing to listen to him.

Bucky wasn't on kitchen duty, but he slipped into the kitchen a quarter candlemark later, appearing at Steve's shoulder. "I'm here to help."

"Yeah?"

"I thought you might need me."

"You thought right. Can you peel potatoes and keep an eye on that side of the kitchen?" Steve ran him through what needed to happen when.

"Leave it with me." Bucky kissed the back of his neck, grabbed a bowl of potatoes and a knife, and set to work.

*    *    *

Steve didn't know whether Herald Katryn had a funeral.

He did know that he stood under an iron grey sky, fingers twined with Bucky's, surrounded by Trainees and every Herald who'd been in riding distance of Haven, as her name and the name of her Companion were carved into the spiralling stone pillar that recorded all who'd fallen in the protection of Valdemar.

*    *    *

Bucky was about ready to give up. There was nothing wrong with an un-Gifted Herald. And he wasn't completely un-Gifted, anyway. He had enough Mindspeech to talk to Winter—and to Shield, so that had to count for something.

So what if that was all he had? There were plenty of Heralds who didn't even have that much, and there wasn't a damn thing wrong with it. Besides, Steve had enough Gifts for the two of them. Fetching and Farsight, and they were progressing slowly but surely, Steve dutifully practicing, and it was handy not to have to get up if he wanted something from across the room.

Not that he was naïve enough to think that he and Steve would always be together, that Steve's Gifts would always be his to call on. They would be Heralds. Their first duty would always be to Valdemar. He hoped the Circle would try and keep them together, but there were never enough Heralds to do all the things a Herald was needed for. They were going to spend time apart.

He took a deep breath and stared up at the ceiling, letting that sink in. They might wind up spending a lot of time apart.

It was the first time he'd ever thought it. Ever consciously realised it and it had happened while he was thinking about his stupid Gift.

Steve's head shot up from his book. "Bucky?"

Of course he'd felt it. Bucky hadn't been trying to keep it from him, hadn't known he was about to feel anything he'd need to block from their bond.

"I'm alright."

Steve searched his face. "You sure?"

He knew he could say yes and Steve would accept it. He bit his lip, thinking; Steve stayed silent, giving him time.

"It just hit me," he said, finally, "when we're Heralds, how much time we're going to be apart. I mean, I knew," he added quickly, "but I'd never thought about it. Not really. It," his mouth twisted, "hurt."

Without a word, Steve held out his hand. Bucky took it and Steve's touch flowed through him. He'd long since decided there were no words to describe what touching Steve, what touching his lifebonded, did to him. It was home and comfort and heat and everything all at once. He sighed.

"What made you think of it?" Steve's thumb was brushing smooth arcs over the back of his hand.

"It was stupid."

"Of course it was, you were thinking it." Bucky glared at him. He grinned back. "Tell me anyway."

"That it isn't so bad being an un-Gifted Herald. There's plenty of un-Gifted Heralds. There's nothing wrong with being an un-Gifted Herald."

"That's true." Steve's voice was cautious. "But you're not an un-Gifted Herald."

"I may as well be. I've only got people's word that I've got Foresight."

"You've got Winter's word."

Bucky reluctantly nodded, conceding the point. "Still. If you've got a Gift that doesn't work, how's that any different than having no Gift at all?"

Steve leaned forward, eyes intent. Bucky shifted, not uncomfortable, but unsure. When Steve really focussed he did it with his whole body, and he was doing it now.

"Who says Foresight has to be about things that are going to happen in months or weeks? What if it's things that are going to happen in minutes? Or seconds?"

"For a start it'd be about as useful as tits on a bul—" He turned just in time to catch the book flying at his head. "Gods, Steve, what was that for?"

"You were saying?"

"What?"

"How did you catch that?"

"What?"

"You couldn’t see it. I Fetched it, so it didn't make any noise. How did you know I threw a book at you?"

Bucky looked down at the book in his hand. Looked up at Steve.

"You do stuff like that sometimes." Steve was still staring fixedly at him. "Catch things, stop things from falling. Don't run into people you couldn't possibly have seen coming. End up in the right place to get found by an acolyte who needs help. What if that's your Foresight?"

"Foresight is visions not just...knowing something's going to happen."

"Is it?"

"That's what the books say."

Steve shrugged. "So maybe you need to work on seeing the visions instead of, I don't know, feeling them or whatever's happening now. Or maybe you don't."

Bucky's fingers tightened on the book. It was one of Steve's books, the ones he made with an awl and a hammer and thick twine, filled with rough-cut blank pages. The cover of this one was blue-grey, and he could see flecks of brown in the paper. He held it out. When Steve closed his fingers around it, Bucky dragged Steve closer with a hand in his shirt and kissed him, hard.

"Don't throw books at my head," he murmured against his mouth.

Steve wound his arm around Bucky's neck, pressing into him, nuzzling his nose against Bucky's. "I can't make any promises."

"At least promise you'll throw a crappier book."

He plucked the book from Bucky's hand, set it on the floor, and kissed him, soft and slow, taking his time, fingers tracing delicate patterns on the nape of Bucky's neck. "That I can promise," he whispered.

*    *    *

Their next class with Herald Samuel, they explained Steve's theory.

They didn't demonstrate with book throwing, even though Steve offered.

Samuel looked at him and said, "No," in a dust-dry tone. Riley, however, appeared to be considering it, ears tilted interestedly.

"That changes things," Samuel went on.

"How?"

"My first theory would be you had a vision once, maybe when you were young, and it disturbed you enough your mind walled them off so deep you couldn’t see them."

Bucky shook his head. "I've never had a vision. I'd remember."

"Alright," Sam said easily. "But if you and Steve are right, your Gift's working, just so far down you can't see it. What we need to do is…coax it up a little closer to the surface."

"How do I do that?"

"Ever tried to make friends with an animal?"

Bucky gave him a dubious look, but Steve was nodding. "No, I get it," he said. "You need Bucky to be comfortable with it. Right?"

"Exactly right. If you're comfortable enough with it, I think you'll start seeing what it's trying to show you."

Steve turned to face Bucky. "So I can throw books at your head."

Samuel pinched the bridge of his nose. "Do not," he said, "throw books at his head."

"Pillows?"

"Pillows are fine."

*    *    *

Sparring with Steve was like a dance.

Not because either of them held back—they always ended up bruised, usually limping, sometimes bloody, the less said about the day they gave each other black eyes the better—but because they knew each other. Knew each other's bodies, the way they moved, could half-way predict what the other would do.

Herald Thor paired them together because he knew he could trust them to stay competitive without getting carried away, Bucky's speed a good test for Steve's new-found strength and vice versa. They weren't always matched. They sparred against other Trainees, sometimes against other Heralds, whoever Thor wanted them to train against. Training against each other, though. That was the best.

Not today, though. Today Bucky was sparring with Karli, a Bardic student. He knew her, he'd spent more than a few candlemarks helping her with her archery, but he'd never sparred with her before. She was a young woman who used matched slender rapiers to Bucky's narrow sword and long dagger, both using light, blunted practice weapons. She was fast and agile, tumbling and twisting like an acrobat.  

Bucky blocked one rapier, caught the other on his dagger, and the world disappeared. He could see her twisting to free her weapons at the same time he could see her kicking his feet out from underneath him, the two overlayed as the second swam at the edges.

He shuddered, confusion swamping him, and suddenly Steve was there, his sword between them. Karli was backing away, her rapiers down, expression concerned.  

Steve slowly lowered his sword. It was massive next to Bucky's, a huge heavy thing. "Bucky?"

He blinked up at Steve. Herald Thor was approaching, he could see him over Steve's shoulder, but he kept his eyes on Steve.

"Bucky, what happened?"

He could feel the worry flowing from Steve. It forced him to dig in and focus. Steve shouldn’t be worried. What had happened? "Karli?"

"Yes, Bucky?" Even she sounded worried.

"Were you going to kick my feet out from under me?"

With an uncertain glance at Steve, she said, "That was my plan."

Bucky choked on a laugh and let his forehead thump against Steve's shoulder.

"Bucky," Steve said softly, cupping the back of his head.

"Pretty sure I just had my first vision."

Steve's relief coursed through him. "Timing could have been better."

He made himself straighten, turning to face Thor, who was regarding him gravely. "I don't know," he said. "I think that was good timing. If I'd known what was going on, there's no way you would have gotten away with it." He directed the last bit to Karli with a wink.

She started, then grinned at him. "You'll need more than visions to beat me," she told him, and he sniffed disdainfully.

"All is well?" Thor asked.

"All is well," Bucky said. "I just had my first vision and I wasn't expecting it." He knew Thor would have heard, but he deserved the courtesy of an explanation.

"You know what this means." Thor grinned and Bucky's heart sank. He knew what that grin meant. "You must train until they don't disrupt you. Until you can fight through them, until you can use them as just another tool." He slapped Bucky on the shoulder. "Don't worry, we'll all help you."

"I can throw books at your head," Steve offered, and Thor turned to look at him, grin falling away.

"Trainee Steven."

Steve's shoulders drew back as he lifted his chin, fingers tightening on the hilt of his sword.

"I know you meant no harm, and that you were concerned for your bonded, but you raised a weapon in earnest against another student. That cannot happen again. "

Bucky wanted to protest, because he knew Steve hadn't meant it like that, he hadn't been threatening Karli, but he also knew Thor was right. And judging by the look on his face, so did Steve.

"I'm sorry."

"It is not to me you owe an apology."

Steve turned to Karli. "I'm sorry, Karli. I really am. I wasn't thinking."

"Apology accepted, and I know you wouldn't hurt me," she said with a quick glance at Thor, then she reached out and squeezed his arm, adding more quietly, "It's alright. Really. I understand."

Steve's answering smile was warm.

With a quick nod to them all and a pleased smile, Thor gestured at them to return to training. Steve squeezed Bucky's shoulder and went back to the Herald he'd been sparring with, who'd been watching the whole thing with a bemused curiosity.

"Thanks," Bucky said to Karli.

"What for?"

He gestured at Steve.

She shrugged. "He loves you. What else was he going to do? Now," she raised her rapiers, "visions or not, I'm going to end you."

He laughed and raised his own weapons. "You can try."

Chapter Text

Samuel and Thor had obviously conspired in relation to his Gift. Bucky understood why, he even understood why they'd pulled Steve into it, but that didn't mean he had to like it.

He knew Samuel and Thor had pulled Steve into it because he'd asked Steve if they had and one of the things he held as a point of absolute faith was that Steve wouldn't lie to him. Not about something important.

Oh sure, he'd lie about things like 'did you take our dirty uniforms to the laundry chute?' or 'are those your socks on the floor?'. Of course, Bucky knew he was lying, so he wasn't sure those counted. Trainee rooms had to be kept tidy, but they had very different standards of tidy and it had led to more than one verbal scuffle and one or two actual scuffles—but both had ended up with them in bed, so he was actually fine with the possibly-not-lies and the scuffles they inevitably led to.

With a supreme effort, he dragged his mind back to where it belonged: being annoyed at Steve. Only not very, because when he'd asked Steve if he and Thor and Samuel were deliberately doing things to try and trigger a vision, he'd said, "Yes."  

Bucky blinked at him. "Were you supposed to tell me that?"

"I told them I wouldn’t lie to you. That if you asked, I was going to tell you."

It sent a surge of love through Bucky's heart that he knew Steve could feel. He was hard pressed to stop himself from dragging Steve into his arms. He didn't, because the ass didn't deserve it. But still.

What was even more annoying was that it was working.

Whatever had caused his Foresight to dive down deep into his subconscious it had finally climbed out and settled where it belonged. Thanks to Thor and Samuel's efforts (and Steve's), he was learning to let the visions, when they came, simply wash over him. If they were useful, he was learning to incorporate them into whatever he was doing.

Mostly that meant dodging stuff thrown at his head. Sometimes it meant he knew what his sparring partner was going to do before they did it—not always as helpful as he'd hoped. Sometimes it meant he knew he was about to run into someone, or that something was about to get dropped or fall off a table, but only ever a minute or two in advance.

A minute or two's worth of Foresight wasn't ever going to be all that useful. What was most useful was not letting the visions distract him.

He was getting there.

*    *    *

Steve was proud of Bucky, proud of how he'd pulled his visons out, dragged them into the light, and brought them under control. They weren't constant, barely happened at all now, as if there'd been a logjam waiting to be seen and once they were done, they'd settled. Steve had tried to keep that pride tucked away where Bucky couldn't feel it, but he knew it leaked through. Bucky had rolled his eyes a little, but he'd also pulled him into a scorching kiss, so Steve figured it balanced out.

Steve was also tired. Bruce hadn't exaggerated the amount of extra work it would take to catch up to Bucky's year head start. The sheer breadth of what a Herald had to know was staggering. Every deity worshipped in Valdemar, the basics of every local custom, how to read records or accounts and see something amiss. History, navigation, survival, language. And that wasn't counting the laws, the traditions, ways to manage people, crowds, to draw authority around them like a cloak.

But he still didn't mind. It was worth it to stay with Bucky, and he didn't have to know it all now. He had time. Even so, and much as he liked both Samuel's class and Samuel, he'd be glad when it was done and he could put the energy into other things.

Last week they'd learned what it felt like to have the Bardic Gift turned against them…which had been disturbing. Steve doubted there was anyone in Valdemar, certainly no one in Haven, who didn't know what it felt like to hear a Bardic Gift, twisting through music and making it come alive. It was entirely different for that Gift to take him over, forcing him to feel what the Bard wanted him to feel, to want what the Bard wanted him to want, all the while making him believe those emotions and desires were his own.

The Bard that Samuel had brought in to demonstrate had been a small woman in well-cut Bardic Scarlets with flaming red hair and eyes like a blade. She'd smiled sweetly and caught them all one by one. All she'd done was make them adore the truly dreadful song she'd sung, make them believe it was the finest music they'd ever heard…but that had been enough.

One of the younger Trainees, Bredin, had piped up. "Isn't that grounds for getting your Gift stripped?"

The Bard, Natasha, had cocked her head. "Valdemar isn't the only country with Bards." She'd plucked three notes on her harp, three notes that had shivered down Steve's spine, notes that had sent Bucky groping for a knife. "And if everyone in Valdemar followed the law, there'd be no need for Heralds." Three more eerie notes. "Would there?"

She'd smiled when no one had answered, smiled more warmly when she'd taken her leave of Samuel, and left them all staring after her.

That had been last week. This week, Samuel had taught them the Truth Spell. An actual spell, the only one of its kind in Valdemar, one that could reveal if a person spoke the truth and, if the Herald had the power, force someone to speak and make them speak only truth.

Steve didn't have the knack for the second stage. Bucky did, and he hadn't looked, hadn't felt where he beat in Steve's chest like a second heart, all that thrilled by it.

The idea of it, of both parts, prickled on Steve's skin. Truth wasn't an absolute and it never had been, not when you were dealing with people. Ask those men who'd tried to beat Vel if they'd been justified and they'd have said yes. Put them under the Truth Spell and they'd have said the same.

People would speak their own truth—what they'd been told was true, what they believed was true, what they'd carefully convinced themselves was true; putting them under a spell wouldn’t change that.

Bucky bumped his shoulder against Steve's as they walked down to Companion's Field afterwards, both of them needing clean fields and open air, even with the chill of late fall snapping in the breeze.  

"Look at it this way," Bucky said, "some things are objective truth. They can't be opinion or belief."

Steve looked at him sideways. He hadn't been trying to block what he'd been feeling, and Bucky knew him far too well, so he shouldn't have been surprised. "Am I that obvious?"

Bucky just smiled and nudged his shoulder again.

Shield and Winter were waiting and Bucky hopped the fence and leapt lightly onto Winter's back.

Steve leaned on the top fence rail, lightly scratching Shield's nose.

Bucky looked down at him and Winter's ears curved forward, pointing at Steve "How about: who stole that pig?"

"I don't know. That's a truthful answer."

Bucky sighed. "Now you're just being difficult. Did you steal the pig? Did you kill that person? Do you know who killed that person? Were you lying when you said you saw her steal the bread?"

Steve tilted his head in minor concession and climbed over the fence to mount Shield, an easy jump with one hand on her withers and one hand on her rump, Herald Sif's training and his new height making easy what was once impossible.

Winter lifted his head, scenting the air, then turned his head to nudge Bucky's knee. Shield did the same to Steve, then they set off into the field at a walk.

"Alright," Steve said. "That's asking. What if they don't want to answer?"

Bucky twisted sideways on Winter's back to face him. "That's what's really bothering you, isn't it? The second stage of the spell."

"Yeah. We're Heralds, or we will be, not bullies. I don't know, Buck. It doesn't sit right, forcing people to speak against their will."

"But it's fine to kill them."

Steve glared at him, anger sparking, and Bucky winced. "If we end up in a fight, bandits or raiders, and that's what we have to do to protect people, yes, we'll kill them. It's not the same thing."

"Sorry," Bucky said, and Steve felt soft apology flowing from him, gentle and warm, soothing his anger. "That wasn't fair. I don't know, Steve. I guess," he was quiet, twisting a strand of Winter's mane around his finger, "I guess it comes down to how much it's going to hurt if I don't. Are people going to die? Is someone dead? If it's about someone stealing a pig, then I don't think I could do it. Because you're right, using power to force someone to speak where it's not…justified? That feels wrong." Bucky nudged Winter's neck with his knuckles. "Do you have an opinion? Either of you?"

Winter glanced at Shield, then said to both of them, :It's not a question we can answer for you. Every Herald must decide where it's right and where it's wrong to use it. But…:

:But you're Chosen, Bucky,: Shield added. :Winter didn't make a mistake.: Winter gave a satisfied chuff and tossed his head. :And what you just said, that's not the sign of someone who'll ever be tempted to misuse the power he's been given.:

Bucky smiled down at his hands. Shield sidestepped, matching her pace to Winter's, and Steve leaned over and kissed him.

"Feel better?" Bucky asked.

"I do. How about you?"

"Yeah. I didn’t even realise it was bugging me."

Steve pressed his fingertips against the edge of Bucky's jaw. "I feel like I should be saying sorry, too. I'm not the one who can do the second stage."

"No. I'm glad you said something. Not sure I would have thought about it otherwise."

"You would have. Did you forget I can feel you?" He tapped his chest. "I know it wasn't sitting well with you."

"Maybe."

"Idiot," Steve said affectionately. "Let's run?"

Without a word, Shield bounded forward into a gallop, Winter racing after her.

*    *    *

Steve's second Winter Solstice at the Collegium answered his question of when he'd ever need to know Court protocol: he and Bucky spent the Midwinter Feast with the Court.

It was an experience. He didn't know if it was a good experience or a bad one, but it was definitely an experience. Full Heralds always had a standing invitation to eat with the Court—it didn't extend to Trainees, but he and Bucky were invited by a Baron who'd spotted them 'all alone at Winter Solstice and that's not good enough for our brave young Heralds to be! You must come and eat with my family!'. He was bluff and good-natured, with a beard nearly the size of Winter's rump, and neither he nor Bucky had been able to think of a way out of it that wouldn't result in hurt feelings, so they'd gone.

The Baron had been nice, his family had been politely baffled at the presence of two Herald-Trainees in their midst, and the rest of the Court had been too concerned with their own personal intrigues to notice them.

The food, however, had been excellent.

Spring brought the Healers' certainty that Steve wouldn't get any bigger, which was frankly a relief. He was taller than Bucky, he was broader than Bucky, and he was starting to push close to Herald Thor's size and that was big.

Shield thought it was hilarious. :We used to be such a good match. Now look at you.:

:Hey, we're still a good match!:

She nuzzled him, blowing into his hair. :Yes, but I think it's only fair that from now on you carry me.:

:Very funny.:

:I thought so.:

*    *    *

Steve leaned on the railing of the fence that sectioned off the large grassy field, Shield standing next to him, watching as Sif and a select group of Trainees prepared for the advanced marksmanship class she ran with Thor.

As part of Sif's training, every Trainee and their Companion learned to make it over the obstacle course—a fiendishly difficult challenge for both the Trainee and the Companion. As part of Thor's training, every Trainee learned to use a bow to a satisfactory level, both from the ground and from their Companion's back. Most didn't manage beyond satisfactory, and Steve fell into the category of most.

For Trainees who were better than satisfactory, for Trainees who were good, Sif and Thor offered something more: the advanced mounted marksmanship course. An even more fiendishly difficult obstacle course, with targets scattered across it in incredibly difficult places to hit. And just to make it even more of a challenge, there were also moving targets thrown onto the course—over the rider's head or spinning past the obstacles—that had to be hit.

Steve was not taking the class.

Bucky, though, Bucky was better than just good. Bucky could hit a bird on the wing while Winter spun under him. Could close one eye while Winter leapt over a downed log and hit the bullseye every time. It took Steve’s breath way, made his heart race, made him itch to get his hands on Bucky. He was very careful to keep their bond blocked when he watched these classes; he’d let what he was feeling slip through once and Bucky had sent his arrow clear off into the distant sky.

Today was more than just another class, though. It was an unspoken competition, the culmination of everything Sif and Thor had been teaching their students. Steve was here to watch, lend support, and possibly point and laugh, depending on how it went, since it had a reputation as notoriously difficult, even for someone as skilled as Bucky.

The grassy field was littered with obstacles, with jumps and poles and targets, with walls and blinds Steve knew held Heralds who'd be freely using an array of Gifts to send targets into the air and make the existing ones even harder to hit. 

Steve wasn't the only one who'd come down to watch. There was a decent crowd gathered: Heralds, Trainees, Healer students in pale green and Bardic students in russet red, even a few unpartnered Companions were watching from behind the rest.

"Wishing you could have a turn?" Bucky asked as Winter walked up to stand next to Steve.

"Not a chance," Steve replied.

:A little bit,: Shield sent wistfully. Steve looked at her in surprise and she shook her mane. :It doesn't matter. Good luck today, Bucky.:

"Thanks, Shield."

"I might have a bet with someone about how this goes," Steve told Winter. "If you have to dump him off to make a fast turn, I could cut you in."

Winter snorted in amusement. :I'll consider it.:

"Hey!" Bucky protested. "I don't think my lifebonded and my Companion are allowed to gang up on me."

"Tell yourself whatever makes you comfortable, Bucky." Steve smiled up at him and wrapped a hand around his calf. "Good luck."

"Thanks."

Bucky and Winter went to wait off to the side while the Trainee in front of him finished the course. When she'd cleared it, Sif nodded at Bucky.

For a moment Winter was utterly still, a statue of a Companion, then he exploded forward. Bucky had a handful of arrows in his right hand, sliding each one into the bow as he shot, precise and measured, refilling his hand from the saddle quiver as it emptied.

Winter pounded across the field, around the obstacles, driving himself up and into a leap to give Bucky the height he needed to reach a target flying overhead. A barrier slid out in front of them and Winter bowed his head and crashed through it, the brush and wood no match for his power as Bucky unerringly put arrow after arrow into the targets.

Bucky was perfect, measured grace, Winter glorious power as they tore around the field, and arrows seemed to fly from Bucky's hand to the targets.

Steve leaned on the fence and lost himself, bond carefully blocked; Bucky didn't need the distraction.

*    *    *

Bucky twisted in the saddle, drew, paused, released, and the last arrow thunked into the target flying overhead. The target bounced onto the torn up grass, arrow still quivering, and Winter charged across the finish and slowed to a walk, head down, blowing hard, to applause from the audience they’d somehow ended up with.

Bucky’s calves were wet with sweat from clinging to Winter's sides, he’d lost a stirrup somewhere without noticing, he was out of breath and his wrists were aching, but they’d done a damn good job. Grinning, he rubbed Winter’s neck, flipped his mane to the other side, and looked for Steve. He and Shield were standing in an empty spot down near the corner of the field, Steve was wearing his usual dopey expression, the one that made Bucky’s heart stupidly warm, and Shield looked...wistful.

The idea that popped into his head was completely stupid, utterly taboo, absolutely unthinkable—but nevertheless, there it was.

He shoved it away, pushing it down into the dark, never again to see the light of day, but as Winter walked in a slow circle, cooling down, he watched Shield watch the next Trainee race over the course. Her ears were pricked forward, her whole body yearning towards the course, and the idea clambered back out. Demanding he pay attention to it.

He rubbed his hand over his mouth, realising he was going to do it.

:Winter?: He stopped, because he didn't know how to ask something that just wasn’t done. But then, a Companion talking to someone besides their Chosen just wasn’t done, either.

:Chosen?:

He took a deep breath. He was almost sure Winter wouldn't be mad at him for asking. :If I offered to take Shield over the course. Would you be angry? Would she be angry?:

Surprise coursed back through their link and Winter stopped dead. :I have to ask why.:

:She just looks like she wants to, like it's something she really wants to do. And Steve can't take her, Sif's not going to let someone not taking the class run the course, but…but I could.:

Winter peered around at him. :Chosen, it's not something I, or she, would ever be angry over. It’s a kind thought. It's also a very, very strange one.:

He bit his lip.

More gently, Winter sent, :Of course you can ask, just keep in mind she may say no.:

She probably would say no, but he still wanted to offer.

Without prompting, Winter made his way over to Steve and Shield.

Steve reached out, settling his hand on Bucky's thigh, a comforting weight, but Bucky was afraid his courage might fail him if he waited. "Steve? Shield? If you want, if it's alright, Shield, do you want to run the course with me?"

Shield's head swung up and she stared at Winter. Steve blinked at him. The moment felt fraught, then Winter bowed his head low and blew out a long, slow breath. Steve smiled softly and Shield said, :Yes,: her mindvoice very determined. :Yes, I would.:

When the current pair finished, Bucky called out, "Herald Sif? Can I run the course again?"

She considered him, then said, "You may, if your Companion believes he can manage it."

"That…won't be a problem."

"Very well. There are two more scheduled. You can go after them."

"Thanks." He beamed at her and she smiled back, then turned her attention back to the course.

Shield's ears were high, her head high, and she danced a little in place. Steve looked from her to Bucky, then stepped out of the way. Bucky scratched the back of his neck. "Should we get used to each other first?" he asked her.

:Good idea.:

He slid off Winter's back and, giving him a quick scratch under the mane, moved over to Shield. She was very different from Winter. Shorter, for one. Smaller, more slender, narrower legs. "I better adjust the stirrups," he said. "And I'll need Winter's quiver."

:My Chosen did end up taller than you,: she agreed, and it was teasing as she nudged his hands. It was simple to unbuckle the quiver and buckle it onto Shield's saddle, but when he pulled the stirrup leathers out, he could see the marks of where they'd been adjusted before. It was a record of Steve's growth from skinny and short to the veritable giant he was now.

After that, it was automatic to check everything, testing her tack, smoothing down flaps and tucking away strap ends, making sure nothing would pinch, that she'd be comfortable. Winter was watching him…or no, watching Shield and he wondered if they were talking. He always does that, he could imagine Winter saying. Even though he knows I'd tell him if something was out of place.

Let him. He needed to be sure. "Ready?" he asked Shield.

:Ready.:

He glanced over his shoulder. Steve and Winter were watching, but no one else was paying attention; they were all watching Guy and his Companion fly over the course. He turned back to Shield. "Tell me if I do anything wrong, hurt you or kick you or anything." He suddenly flashed back to Steve talking to Winter, the night Winter had carried him through Haven; suddenly understood Steve's worry about hurting him.

Shield's head swung around and she poked him with her nose. :Bucky. I talk to you. You're my Chosen's lifebonded. I trust you. You're not going to hurt me. Now will you get on?:

There were no words to describe the feeling that sprouted in him at her words. It was like a quieter version of being Chosen, of finding his lifebonded. He put his foot in the stirrup and swung gracefully up, settling himself into her saddle.

No one noticed. The sky didn't fall. The entire Companion herd didn't descend on Bucky and tear him off Shield's back. All that happened was she shifted from hoof to hoof, helping him find his balance. He felt like it should have been something more.

He looked over at Winter. Steve was standing next to his shoulder and there was nothing coming from him but love. No jealousy, no resentment. Bucky was riding his Companion and all Steve was doing was watching him fondly, that dopey expression threatening to make a return.

:You remember I'm not a horse, don't you?: Shield said, and Steve laughed. :I'm not going to buck you off.: She gave a little kick with her back legs and Bucky responded automatically, deepening his seat, settling himself, moving with her. :Probably not.:

It made him laugh, and say, "Sorry, Shield." He gathered her reins and looped them in a loose knot over her withers. "Let's do this."

They rode in circles, Shield taking him through her paces, working out how to fit with each other. It was surprisingly easy.

When the two Trainees were done, they turned and approached the start, stopping so Bucky could fill his quiver.

That someone noticed.

There was a gasp. He glanced up. Every eye was turning to watch him. To watch them.

Winter was distinctive, not just for his size but for his hairy feet. They might not recognise Shield, she wasn't as immediately distinctive, but a glance was all it took to tell she wasn't Winter.

He was a Trainee riding someone else's Companion.

Companions didn't carry anyone but their Chosen, except in emergencies and this didn't qualify.

But they also didn't talk to anyone but their Chosen, and Shield and Winter had been talking to them both for a good long time now. Shield was his friend. Shield wanted to run this course. It wasn't something Steve could give her, but it was something Bucky could.

He wasn't going to let her miss out on something she wanted just because it wasn't done. She was a Companion. She could make her own choices and she'd chosen this.

Sure, most of the crowd was staring at Bucky like they'd caught him molesting a squirrel in the palace garden, but he didn't care.

He glanced at Steve to get his reaction, since he wasn't getting anything through their bond, and hid a wince. Steve's chin was up, his brows pulled down. He was standing straight and not quite glaring. Next to him, Winter was standing square, head bowed, ears tilted back, and Bucky'd never before noticed just how similar they were when they got like this.

:Ignore them,: Shield sent, arching her neck and breaking into the gentlest, softest trot he'd ever experienced, floating sideways across the grass.

:The people staring at us or Steve and Winter?:

:Both,: she replied mischievously, and Steve and Winter turned twin looks of outrage on her. Bucky hid a smile.

Herald Sif gave him a measuring look, her Companion gave him a near identical one, but he simply nodded politely back.

"Whenever you're ready," she said, and he wouldn't be prepared to swear to it, but he almost thought he saw a ghost of a smile.

The course looked different. He couldn't figure out why, Sif hadn't changed anything, then it hit him: Shield was shorter, so all the targets were just that little bit higher. He settled himself deeper in the saddle, mentally adjusted his aim, actually adjusted his aim as he filled his right hand with arrows, one laying across the bow, the resting laying lightly against his arm, points towards his shoulder.

:Ready?:he asked.

:Ready.:

:Let's go.:

Sif counted down. Shield was energy barely contained, front hooves never leaving the ground while her back legs danced in place and when Sif said, "Go," she exploded forward, so fast Bucky's eyes teared up. He blinked to clear them, aiming and firing from memory and then they were spinning through the course, dancing between the obstacles, the wall Winter had crashed through barely noticeable as Shield tucked her legs and soared over it, landing light as a dove and twisting to spin them through the poles as Bucky hit the targets that flew at them from either side.

She was fast, so fast he barely had time to scramble after more arrows, and he missed a target and another one, but she leapt like a cat, twisting in the air to race back the way they'd come and Bucky put arrows in the targets he'd missed, squeezing hard to stay on as she did it again, and they were facing forward once more and racing over the jumps.

He had to check to make sure she hadn't sprouted wings. The world blurred around him, fading out to nothing but arrow, target, speed, and the joy radiating from Shield.

He barely noticed when they crossed the finish, still had his bow up, an arrow nocked, until Shield said, :That was fun.: She was flagging hard, streaked with sweat and foam, but was still prancing under him, tail a banner, ears pricked, head high.

He let the bowstring slide through his fingers, put the arrow back in the quiver, and sagged in her saddle. He was exhausted. He wasn't sure he'd be able to stand. He wasn't completely sure he'd be able to climb off. Herald Sif caught his eyes and nodded, looking impressed, and he sat up straighter.

The people watching still seemed a little unsure. There'd been only scattered applause. Bucky didn't care …and apparently neither did Steve, considering he was sitting on Winter's back.

Shield slowly walked over to them, still with a little bounce in her step. As they got close Steve said, suspiciously innocent, "The view was better from up here," and Winter huffed his agreement.

:Yes, I'm sure that was the reason,: Shield replied. :I'm sure it had nothing to do with all those disapproving looks we were getting.: Winter and Steve both studied the sky and Shield snorted. :Thank you, Bucky.:

"Anytime, Shield." He ran a tentative hand down her shoulder, then scratched under her mane when she arched her neck. "Anytime."

*    *    *

Anytime turned out to be surprisingly frequently.

And it was entirely Steve's fault.

Steve's fault, and Winter's.

No, Bucky had to concede. It was actually Wanda's fault, even if Bucky was sure Wanda hadn't meant any harm by it.

It started in an outriding course, one intended to get them used to Waystations. A week to learn about staying in them, restocking them, emergency repairing them. They were together, since Steve had wound up moved into a lot of Bucky's classes. Not surprising, given Steve was working his ass off and Bucky was working his ass off helping him, since neither of them wanted to spend two lots of a year and a half alone. But Wanda, who'd been watching the advanced marksmanship class when Bucky had ridden Shield and Steve had plonked himself on Winter—at Winter's invitation—had teasingly asked which Companion Bucky was going to ride.  

Which would have been fine. It was harmless, it was a joke, they knew and liked Wanda, it hadn't bothered either of them. Except Clare, a Trainee no one really liked, what with her treating every rule like it was graven in stone, and the slightest variation like it would end the world, had…sniffed.

It had been a complicated sniff, redolent with disapproval, and she'd been looking straight at Bucky when she'd done it.

It still would have been fine, except Steve had been standing right there and Bucky had felt his flare of anger. A matching flare had come from Winter.

It probably still would have been fine if Winter had never started talking to Steve. But he had, and Bucky listened as Winter said, :Steven?:

Steve sent back, :Yeah,: the lifebond rich with anger, protectiveness, a complex blend of emotions. Maybe Bucky would have started to get mad all on his own—because he didn't need to be protected, thanks, especially not from bad manners—except it was woven through with love…and it was hard to get mad when the two things you loved most in this world were conspiring because of how much they loved you.

Instead he bowed his head, rubbed the bridge of his nose, and sent, :Shield?:

:They mean well.: There was an equal mix of sympathy and humour in her mindvoice.

He sighed.

Steve didn't bother to adjust Winter's stirrups as he threw himself up on Winter's back, and Winter was surging forward, barely missing Clare—making her Companion flatten her ears and glare—spinning on his hind legs, mane and tail flying as Steve sat unmoving in the saddle, reins lying untouched on Winter's withers.

Shield ambled over to stand next to him. :They do make quite a picture together.:

He couldn't argue with that. :Feel like giving me a ride?:

:Anytime,: she replied warmly, turning to offer him her side.  

*    *    *

What had happened first from kindness and second from loving spite continued because it was useful.

Shield was built for speed and agility, one of the fastest, twistiest Companions around. Winter was built for strength, solid and immovable when he planted his hooves. Sometimes those strengths paired better with their Chosen's lifebonded than with their own Chosen's.

It wasn't something that happened regularly, but they learned it was something they were all comfortable with.  

When Sif and Thor organised training games, and Steve and Bucky were on the same side (because when they were on opposite sides they turned into ruthless, no holds barred games of legend) they got into the habit of swapping Companions—or the Companions of swapping them—as needed. They could do it on the fly at everything short of a full gallop—sometimes they'd do it just for the reaction.

Late one summer evening, the four of them riding up the spiralling road from Haven, heading back to the Collegium, Bucky asked the question that had been sitting in the back of his mind for months. He knew it didn't worry Steve, Steve had simply accepted it, but he also knew his wondering was sneaking through their bond, which meant he needed to deal with it.

"Winter, can I ask why?"

:Why what, Chosen? You need to be more specific if you ever hope to gain knowledge.:

Steve tried to hide a smile and Bucky reached across and swatted him. "Don't encourage him."

"I don't think Winter needs encouragement from me. What do you think, Shield? Do you think Winter needs any encouragement from me?"

:Oh no, don't drag me into this,: she said primly, lifting her nose. :I'm enjoying the sunset.:

Steve, Bucky, and Winter all gazed at the sky. It was a deep, dark, perfect blue, only the tiniest, barely visible sliver of red visible to mark where the sun was only just considering beginning to set.

:It counts.:

Bucky lifted an eyebrow at her.

:What are you asking why about, Bucky?: she asked.

"Alright. And I'm not, this isn't me being upset about it. I like it. I appreciate it. I really do. It's just, I know it's not normal, so I just was wondering why," now they were all staring at him, Steve with mild concern, "why you're both willing to carry me and Steve when Companions…don't."

Both Companions stopped walking and looked at each other. Bucky had a definite sense of conversation flowing back and forth between them.

:Companions do what they want, and this is what we want to do,: Winter said after a bit.

:That's not helpful,: Shield said, laying back her ears.

:And yet it's true.:

"Is that why?" Steve asked.

Winter stamped a hoof and Shield pinned her ears before saying, :I'm telling them.:

Winter sighed with his whole body, his barrel expanding under Bucky's legs. :If you must.:

:What Winter said is true. But it's not the whole truth. It's not why it happened. It happened because, Bucky, you were kind enough to make me an offer I doubt anyone else would ever have thought to make. Or if they thought it, I doubt they would have voiced it, because Companions carry their Chosen and no one else. But you did.:

Shield shifted to face him, blue eyes catching and holding him.  

:Then Winter got angry at what people were saying, so he invited Steve aboard to make a point.:

Winter and Steve snorted at the same time and Bucky wanted to laugh.

:And we realised we didn't mind. That we could work with both of you. That there were some things we could do better with the other. And—:

She stopped and cast a look at Winter.

:You've gone this far. You may as well tell them the rest.:

:And we know you want to stay together. Not just for your internship, but after. We want that, too.:

"Really?" Steve asked.

:You're lifebonded,: Winter replied, in the same tone someone would say 'you're an idiot'. :You'll survive if you have to be apart, and you may have to be apart. You're Heralds. But you'll be happier, we'll be happier, if you can stay together. And the better you are together, the more effective a team, the greater the chance the Circle will keep you together.:

"You're doing it for us," Bucky breathed. The knowledge was like the rising sun, light bursting inside him, light and love and he could feel it echoing from Steve. "Both of us, you're doing it for us, so we can stay together."

:Yes,: Shield sent, and Winter arched his neck, head dipping low.     

"I guess," Bucky said, scratching under Winter's mane, "we can survive some Trainees and Heralds thinking it's strange."

"We would have survived anyway," Steve pointed out.

"True."

:If it makes you feel better, it's not just the Heralds,: Winter sent. :Most of the other Companions think it's odd.:

:Not Anthony.: 

:And having the approval of the Companion most dedicated to causing trouble is exactly what we want.: 

:That's not fair,: Shield protested. :He just gets bored easily, and the Lord Marshal doesn't leave Haven very often, which means Herald Rhodes doesn't get to leave Haven, and he doesn't have a lot of time to...:

:Keep him occupied, yes. I know. To this day no one knows how Anthony got onto the roof of the Bardic Collegium.:

:Or down.:

:Or down,: Winter conceded, sounding reluctantly impressed.

It was a fascinating insight into Companions, and Bucky wanted to ask a dozen questions, but he had a feeling they'd forgotten they were mindspeaking so he and Steve could hear.

They both kept quiet, but when it was clear there weren't going to be any more Companion tales, Steve said, "The way I see it, all that matters is we're not hurting anyone. And if it gives us a better a chance of staying together, everyone can think it's as strange as they want."

Winter blew out a long breath, dipping his head down low. :I agree.:

Bucky looked down at Winter, then over at Steve. "You're as bad as each other."

Steve gave him a deeply satisfied grin. "I'm going to take that as a compliment."

:As well you should,: Winter replied.

:Honestly, they're ridiculous,: Shield said, tossing her head and flicking an ear at Bucky.

"Shield, I sometime feel like you and me are the only sensible ones."

Chapter Text

Steve held himself still, mind and emotions quiet. He didn't plan.

All he did was watch and wait.

His fingers were curled around the hilt of his sword as he held it angled across his body, ready to move.

Bucky watched him in turn, slender blade high, long dagger low.

Their eyes locked. They moved together, a whirl of blunted steel, twist and thrust and parry, block and blow. Steve was stronger but Bucky was faster, the two a blur of quick-footed movement.

As abruptly as they'd begun, they stopped, Bucky's dagger pricking Steve's gut, Steve's sword pressing against Bucky's ribs. Sweat was dripping down their faces, running down their backs

"Mutual kill," Bucky said on a panting laugh.

"Again," Steve added, pulling in deep breaths.

They stepped back from each other. Thor gave them a nod and they went to hang up their practice blades.

When they'd drunk some water, dried their faces, and caught their breath, Bucky asked, "When was the last time it came out any other way?"

Steve scrubbed his hand through his sweaty hair. "A year ago?" Grinning, he tried to wipe his hand on Bucky's uniform.

"Hey, not on the Whites, you ass!" He grabbed Steve's wrist, shoving it away. "I just got these!"

"And they look damn good on you, Buck."

"Right back at you, Steve."

They were both in Whites and Steve still wasn't used to it.

He hadn't been sure the Circle was going to pass him into full Herald status. He'd only been at the Collegium a little over three and a half years to Bucky's almost five, and as hard as he'd worked, as old as he'd been Chosen, it was still much shorter than usual.

Shield and Winter had reassured him he didn't have anything to worry about, but facing the possibility of losing Bucky for the year and a half of his internship, and then a year and a half after that—because he doubted the Circle would let a newly minted Herald like Bucky be responsible for an intern, even with a lifebond—it hadn't been enough to quell his fears.

The Companions and Bucky had gracefully refrained from saying 'I told you so' when Bruce had presented them both with their Whites, inviting them to go down to the Seneschal's office at their convenience and pick out rooms in the Heralds' Wing.

"If you want to continue sharing, that is," he'd added with a tiny smile, before pulling the door shut and leaving them to celebrate.

So now they had white uniforms and a set of rooms high up in the Heralds' Wing. All they needed now was their internship assignment.

Everyone else who'd gone into Whites around the same time had either gotten theirs or was already gone.

Steve wasn't worrying about it. He'd done his part, he'd gotten himself here at the same time as Bucky. Wherever they ended up, they'd be together.

He could be patient.

*    *    *

He and Steve had picked these rooms because they didn't get the morning sun. It meant they could sleep in without having to worry about a face full of unwanted light, even if sleeping in was still an unfamiliar concept. Bucky's body was still convinced it needed to be up early to go and do his rostered chores, or go to an early class, or deal with some manner of Trainee responsibility.

He hadn't yet convinced it that early rising wasn't necessary.

He knew this was a temporary state. Once they left on their internship Circuit, he was sure any opportunity to sleep in would disappear.

A lot of things were going to disappear.

He curled closer to Steve, who was still fast asleep and snoring lightly. At least this wouldn't be one of them, even if they'd both have to start wearing night-clothes, because there were only two beds in a Waystation. They could cope with snatching whatever private time they could in the woods or wherever—they were creative; they'd figure something out—but he wasn't going to give up sharing a bed with Steve.

Not until he had to.

Bucky pressed his ear between Steve's shoulder blades, listening to the sound of his heart, feeling the calm, peaceful thread of awareness inside him that was Steve. That was their lifebond.

He remembered how scared he'd been of telling Steve, remembered walking up those stairs, barely hanging onto his courage. He remembered how scared he'd been of it even afterwards. Scared of how big it was, how overwhelming. Except it wasn't any of that. It was no more frightening than the beat of his heart. The sound of his breathing. Like his heart, his breath, Steve was just part of him, essential to life.

All right, maybe it was a little bit frightening. Or should be. He couldn’t quite seem to get there anymore. Three years was a long time to have someone inside you.

He bit his lip as that thought caught up with him, and pressed his face against Steve's back, muffling laughter, but he couldn’t stop the bright spikes of amusement.

Steve stirred, rolling over to pat at Bucky with a sleep-clumsy hand. "Everything alright?"

"It's fine."

"Bucky?"

He gave in, started snickering.

When he got himself under control, he looked up into Steve's eyes, bright with curiosity, warm with love, his fingers trailing through Bucky's hair. "Share the joke?"

He cleared his throat. "Three years is a long time to have someone inside you."

Steve's grin was wide and bright. "That's a tall order. You may have to give me a minute or two, I just woke up."

*    *    *

When they finally made it down to breakfast it was closer to lunch, but the crowd hadn't yet arrived. They picked over what was left, poured hot chava, piled it all on a tray and turned as a sharp whistle cut through the air.

Steve turned to find Herald Samuel waving them over. When they reached his table, Samuel looked them both over carefully. "Whites, huh?"

"Yup," Steve said.

"Grab a seat."

They did.

"Have you two got your internship assignments yet?"

"Not yet," Steve said.

"We're still waiting," Bucky added, sounding impatient, stirring his chava more forcefully than was necessary. Steve reached over and touched his hand and he put down the spoon.

"Hmmm." Sam sipped his chava. "How do you feel about Lake Evendim?"

They traded a glance.

"Lots of fish," Bucky offered.

"They sometimes have problems with pirates," Steve added.

Sam put down his tea. "I guess you'd better both start calling me Sam."

He paused and Steve sat straighter, a hunting dog catching a scent, as Bucky started to grin.

"Since, as I'm observing you've just worked out," Steve grinned, Bucky grinned harder, and Sam cast his eyes heavenward, "for my sins, I'll be taking you both on your internship Circuit."

Chapter Text

"Remind me why I thought it was a good idea to deal with two of you?"

"I don't know, Sam. I distinctly remember you saying something about not having to do a single chore for the next year and a half." Steve glanced at Bucky. "Does that ring a bell with you, Buck?"

Bucky pursed his lips. "It does sound familiar," he said thoughtfully. "There might have been some other things, too. Something about us doing all the hunting, and you never having to worry about cooking again?"

"Uh huh, that was before I saw the disaster you both were trying to cook over a campfire. Remind me again, Steve, how do you set an entire bird on fire?"

"Hey, that wasn't my fault," Steve protested, while both Shield and Winter whickered with laughter. "It wasn't! I didn't know ducks were flammable."

"Didn't know ducks were…" Sam pinched the bridge of his nose. "Riley," he said, leaning over his Companion's neck to address him directly. "Next time I volunteer to take on an intern, remind me of this." Sam cocked his head, obviously listening. "Oh, I told you so, is it? That's nice. Thanks for your sympathy."

Steve bit back laughter as Sam sighed and straightened in the saddle. Bucky glanced at him, grinning, and Steve felt a burst of affection through their bond. Sam was still talking to Riley, who was tossing his head, bridle bells ringing, whickering in amusement.

"He knows they're flammable now," Bucky said.

"I swear on my word as a Herald," Steve said solemnly. "I will never again set a duck on fire."

"Two of you." Sam cast his eyes upwards. "Blessed Agnira and Your shining daughters, how did I end up with two of them?"

They were three months into their internship, and so far it had been good. Sam wasn't that much older than them, he had an easy-going approach to just about everything, and was as good a mentor as he'd been a teacher. And thanks to his particular—and unusual—Gift of Animal Mindspeech, dealing with their mules, currently tethered one each to Riley and Winter, was much easier than it could have been.

Of course, if it wasn't for Sam's Gift the Quartermaster wouldn’t have given them Honey and Beans. No, they'd have been issued with two normal mules and not one normal mule and Honey, the grumpiest, crankiest, most difficult mule in all of Valdemar. Oh, Honey wasn't grumpy for Sam, she loved Sam—Steve was pretty sure she'd run through fire for him—but Steve and Bucky? That was a different story.

She'd grudgingly started accepting Bucky, lured into tolerance by his deft hand with a grooming brush and his liberal application of honey bars, but not Steve. He didn't know what it was about him, but Honey had a personal grudge, and all the attempted brushing and treats in the world wouldn't budge her. She always had a hoof waiting. Sam's intervention kept her kicks light, she didn't do any damage when she connected, but it didn't stop her smug self-satisfaction when she managed to make contact.

"Maybe you did something to her in a past life," Sam had suggested.

"I'll do something to her in this one," Steve had muttered, but he didn't mean it. There was something a little admirable about her absolute refusal to give in, to give up her grudge.

Not that he was going to admit it. Especially when it got him out of mule duty.

Three months had settled them into a routine. Ride down Exile's Road until they reached a turn off, then ride back onto Exile's Road and repeat. There were only two actual towns on their Circuit: Deercreek, ten days ride by horse from Haven, and Zoe, four more days west and nestled on the shores of Lake Evendim. If they only had to visit towns, riding Circuit would be a quick process.

But there were far more than towns out here. There were villages, settlements too small to even earn the title of village, semi-permanent outposts of hunters and trappers. Guard Posts, a couple of noble estates, Temples, even if most of those were tinyl, a few scattered Houses of Healing. No matter how small, each and every one was part of their Circuit, and keeping track of any new ones was part of their duty.

That's why what the time between turning off Exile's Road and turning back onto it could take them three and four weeks to cover, riding down narrow tracks and dirt roads, travelling down one fork and then backtracking to follow the other.

The first days in a place were given over to hearing disputes, the next days to hearing complaints, collecting petitions to the Crown, to inspecting and collecting records, and to being shown anything the people in charge thought the Heralds should see.

Mostly, those tours were about pride. Sometimes it was about worry—changes to the land, a river that had diverted to threaten bridges or roads—but usually it was something they wanted to show off. Steve was getting quite an education in livestock, orchards, and produce generally.

He was also getting an education into how fond Shield was of children, since half the time he had to drag her away from a bunch of adoring littles. They all loved Companions, and Shield was more than happy to indulge them.

The disputes could vary, but even ones that had begun small had sometimes snowballed into the most important thing in that person's life, their entire existence tied up in the outcome, while they'd waited for a Herald to arrive.

That was part of what they had to deal with. Not just hearing disputes and passing Judgements but easing those people back into the community. It wasn't like Haven; out here there wasn't a city full of people to disappear into.

"Take the time now," Sam had told them after the first stop, "deal with the bad feelings, keep them from festering, you'll save the next Herald a world of trouble and save the people a world of hurt."

"And if you can't?" Bucky had asked.

"If you can't, you write it down. Include it in your report. It can't hurt to pass word to the local priest or priestess, either." He'd been quiet, then, the chime of their Companions' hooves mingling with the duller sound of the mules', before adding, "Herald's Judgement means we solve the problems they put in front of us. But it's important not to ride away and leave a bigger problem behind than the one you were supposed to fix."

Watching Sam over the last few months—because that's what the first half of their internship was for: watching and learning—they'd seen it in practice. The villagers brought their disputes, their arguments, their feuds great and small, and Herald Samuel listened. He asked questions—not just about the facts, but about the possible consequences of his decisions, for the person, for the village—sometimes under first stage truth-spell, usually cast by Steve or Bucky, and when he was satisfied, he delivered his Judgement.

For the most part, people were satisfied. Not happy, a lot of the time someone wasn't happy—in a two-person dispute someone had to come off second best—but they were satisfied.  

At their current rate, they were due to arrive in the next township, Bearden, by mid-afternoon, enough time to get an idea of what was waiting for them before moving on to the Waystation for the night. While Steve had been lost in thought, Bucky had apparently decided to take advantage of the warm sunshine and the quiet for a nap. His were eyes closed, his shoulders curled, and he was slumped in Winter's saddle.

Sam was mindspeaking Riley, judging by his unfocussed gaze and Riley's back-curved ears. Steve contemplated the trees they were riding under. Their branches were cut back high enough not to interfere with travellers, the dirt road well maintained, but if he stretched…

Shield snorted softly, picking up his intention, and sidestepped neatly, bringing him closer to the trees. He stood up in his stirrups, stretched his hand right up, and managed to break off a leafy stick.

:You're terrible,: she sent, and he grinned.

:Get me closer?:

She obliged, falling into step with Winter, who flicked an enquiring ear at Steve. Steve gave him an innocent look, Winter huffed quietly, and Steve reached out to tickle Bucky's ear with the branch.

He croaked in surprise and smacked at his ear, then opened his eyes to glare at Steve. Steve waved the branch at him.

"You could have warned me," Bucky muttered at Winter.

:I could have,: Winter agreed.

It was Bucky's turn to huff and he snatched the branch out of Steve's hand while Steve laughed at him.

Any potential retribution was cut off by the sound of hoofbeats as a horse, being ridden hard, pounded into view. The rider was crouched over her neck, urging her on, and sweat and foam streaked her flanks. She looked done in, and the rider pulled her to a stop when he saw the three Heralds.

"Woah, there," Sam called, lifting a hand and he'd gone from Sam to Herald Samuel in the blink of an eye, pulling the King's authority around him like a cloak.  It was something Steve and Bucky were still learning to emulate, but they straightened in their saddles, becoming Herald Steven and Herald James, staying silent, observing without judgement.

"Herald," the rider panted, a stocky man with thinning grey hair, dressed in the plain tunic and breeches common among the locals. "Heralds. Help."

"What do you need?" Sam asked, Riley stepping closer to nose at the exhausted mare.

The answer tumbled out of him, almost too fast to follow, but they'd all been trained for this, to pick sense from people too frightened, too panicked, too exhausted to communicate clearly. Careful listening and gentle questions soon pieced together a tale of contaminated grain, at least one beast dead, and the extra grain on to another village. That was what this man was chasing, trying to get to it before it was fed to other beasts.

"How long ago was it sent out?"

"Yesterday morning. And Anderhal is two day's ride away." He clenched the reins, making his mare bow her head, mouthing the bit. "It's hopeless, me and Bess could never catch it, but we had to try." He stared at Sam beseechingly. "Can't send out poisoned grain and not try."

Sam leaned over and squeezed his shoulder. "Of course you had to try. And Bess may not be able to catch it, but we can." He turned to Steve. "Steven? Shield's the fastest. She should be able to catch the cart."

Steve nodded, but he was looking at Bucky, who kicked his feet out of Winter's stirrups. :Shield?:

:I'll be faster with Bucky.:

Steve dismounted while Sam was asking for a description of the cart, and Shield sidestepped, close enough to Winter that Bucky could slide straight onto her back, leaning over to shorten one stirrup while Steve did the other.

Sam stared and Riley laid his ears back. "Herald Steven?" Sam didn't say more than that; wouldn't, in front of this man who was counting on them, who needed to have confidence in them, but he didn't need to. The scrupulously formal tone asked, 'What are you doing?', as clear as day.

"Shield's the fastest, but Bucky's lighter than me." Steve stepped back as Bucky gathered the reins, Shield dancing in place, eager to go. "She'll get there quicker with Bucky and from what he said, every minute counts."

Sam's nostrils flared as he breathed in, then he said, "Go," but his expression added, 'We'll be talking about this'.

Shield shot off, disappearing down the track, the full speed of a Companion on display. Nothing could match it.

Winter turned so Steve could mount and Steve knew it wasn't his imagination that he gave Riley a challenging look. Riley snorted and turned away. Without a word, Steve swung up onto Winter's back. He didn't bother with the stirrups; he could ride with them short at the speed the mare was going to be able to cover.

:Everything alright with Riley?:

:Everything's fine,: Winter replied. :Don't be concerned.:

"Come on," Sam said to the man on the mare. "They'll catch the cart. We'll go deal with where it came from."  

*    *    *

Shield stretched under him, the full, blinding speed of a Companion whipping his hair back, pulling tears from his eyes, and he tucked his head down as he balanced over her withers. Companions were fast, Winter was fast, he'd known Shield was faster, but this was flying, the trees blurring, and all he could do was hang on and try to move with her.

They flew back down the road they'd already travelled, shot down the fork that would take them to the main road, the only way to Anderhal, practically leapt a bridge over a bubbling river and he wasn't sure Shield put more than one hoof down on the wood.

A candlemark had passed, judging by the sun, maybe more, when Shield lifted her head, slowing slightly. :There.:

Bucky squinted, her neck blocking the breeze of her passage, and saw a cart trundling along, drawn by two brown and white horses.  

:Get in front of him,: he replied. :I don't expect to have problems, but just in case.:

She sent back agreement and they galloped past him, then she spun and, giving Bucky just enough to warning to prepare, reared.

Judging by the dropped jaw of the driver, they must have made quite a picture. Part of him wanted to laugh, because it wasn't something Winter would have ever even contemplated. Too showy, too dramatic, but he had to appreciate the effect. The horses shied to a stop and the driver and his helper stared at them.

"Herald," the driver said, sounding torn between respect and confusion, when Shield dropped lightly down to earth. "Can we," he glanced at his helper, then back to Bucky, "…help you?"

Shield arched her neck and paced forward, stopping just a few feet shy of the cart. "Herald James. I've come from Bearden. The grain they sent with you is contaminated. They've already lost beasts to it."

They looked doubtful, and Bucky explained what had happened. In the end, he thought it wasn't his word as a Herald, or Shield's dramatic performance, that convinced them—it was the fact that Bess' rider had been willing to run Bess so hard to catch them.

"What do we do?"

It hit Bucky. They weren't asking Bucky. They were asking Herald James. This was the first time he'd have to exercise his authority. They'd watched Sam so many times, but that was what the first half of their internship was for. They'd been given their Whites but until this moment, he'd never had to wield the power that came with them.

He took an unobtrusive breath, pressed his fingers against Shield's neck and felt her send back warm reassurance. "The grain will have to be destroyed, there's too much risk of another beast dying, but we don't know if it was contaminated by accident or deliberately." He considered the wagon, the bags of grain—there weren't that many, three or four tucked in among other goods; this wasn't a major trading operation, this was sharing excess between villages. "The Anderhal Guard Post—do you know it?"

"Aye, we know it."

"I want you to take the grain there and exchange it for clean bags." The Guard could hold it in case it became evidence. If it had been deliberately contaminated, the person responsible could, in addition to whatever punishment they were given, pay for the grain. If it had been an accident… If it had been an accident, the Crown would be out the cost of four bags of grain, but that was cheaper than whatever it would've cost if the people out here lost more animals to bad grain.

Of course, the Guard weren't going to take the driver's word that a Herald had ordered him to bring in sacks of grain. The time it would take if he had to go with them…

:Steve's kit is in my saddlebags.:

Perfect. :Thanks, Shield.:

"I'll give you a written order. It will take you a little out of your way, but it's better than the alternative."

"We're happy to do it, Herald." The driver's eyes narrowed, his hands tightening on the reins. "As long as you find out how it happened and if it was deliberately done, you find out who and make them pay the price."

Bucky held his eyes. "We will find that out, but a Herald only gives justice. Never vengeance."

It got him a crooked smile. "I suppose that'll have to do, then."  

Bucky smiled back and dug in Shield's saddlebags until he found the roll of soft leather. It wasn't the easiest thing in the world to use while mounted, but Shield held rock-steady and he hooked a leg over the pommel, giving himself a kind of desk, and wrote out something legible, signing it carefully: by order of Herald James Barnes, on the authority of the King.

When it was dry, he handed it to the driver, who saluted him, clucked to his horse, and drove off.

Bucky watched him go, then rubbed Shield's neck. "I guess we should get back."

:Yes. I'm hungry.: She tossed her head. :And itchy.:

"Do you want me to groom you before we go? There's a brush in your bags."

She turned her head around to nudge his knee. :No. Let's just get back.:

The trip back was slower, not driven by frantic need, and they detoured to a clear stream to gulp down some water, but it was still Companion fast, covering in a couple of candlemarks what would have taken a day or more by fast horse. When they rode into Bearden, Bess's rider was waiting for him, standing outside the tavern, and he waved them down.

"They've gone to the Waystation," he said, hurrying over to stand by Shield's side. "I told them I'd keep watch for you."

He was searching Bucky's face anxiously.

"We caught up with them," Bucky reassured him. "I took care of the grain."

He still looked worried, so Bucky explained what he'd done.

He stared up at Bucky, eyes wide, then ducked his head, saying, "Thank you, Herald," with a catch in his voice.

Acutely uncomfortable, Bucky said, "I should catch up with the others."

"Of course." He stepped back and Shield trotted away.

The trail to the Waystation was windy, twisting through trees, and the curl of smoke was a welcome sight. He slid off Shield's back as soon as they arrived, collecting a kiss from Steve as Steve gently pushed Bucky out of the way to untack Shield.

"I should do that," he protested.

"You feel done in, Buck," Steve said. "I've got this."

With a sigh, Bucky pressed his forehead against Steve's shoulder, and Steve pulled him close, held him tight. "Did it work out alright here?"

"It worked out fine. We can trade stories when Sam gets back." Steve pressed a kiss on the top of his head then gently pushed him towards Winter.

He transferred his forehead to Winter's neck and Winter bowed his head and blew gently against his hand. Winter was shiny and clean, his coat smooth, his mane flowing. "Did Steve look after you?"

:Of course.:

Bucky smiled.

:What's bothering you?:

:I made my first Judgement today.:

He could feel Winter thinking it over. :And?:

:And… It was the first time. And I'm not sure I did it right. And I wish you'd been there. And…I don't know.:

:There was always going to be a first time. Do you think you made a mistake?:

:No.:

:If I can't be with you, there's no one I trust more than Shield to take my place.: Winter tossed his head. :Shield or Steven, I suppose, but there's only so much a human can do.:

Bucky laughed against Winter's neck and tugged on his mane. :Snob.:  

"Something funny, Buck?"

"Just Winter being a snob," he replied, stretching and turning to lean his back against Winter.

:Just Winter being accurate,: Winter sent to both of them, and Shield whickered, making Steve grin.

With a scratch under Winter's forelock, Bucky went and grabbed a brush, joining Steve in grooming Shield. She'd run a long way, she was sweaty and tired, she deserved some extra attention.

He and Steve worked on her in warm, comfortable silence, pausing only to fetch her water and grain when she asked. When she was bright and gleaming, ears drooping as she settled into a half doze, Bucky put his brush away and asked, "Where's Sam and Riley?"

"Catching our dinner. Fish," he explained, "apparently they don't register as animals for his mindspeech, so he's happy to go fishing. There's a lake not far from here."  

"How long have they been gone?"

"Half a candlemark or so?"

"And how long do you think he'll stay gone?"

"Probably not that long, unfortunately," Steve said with a laugh.

"I don't know. I can be pretty fast."

"You're really selling it, Buck." But he gave Shield a last swipe with the brush and put it down, ducking under her neck to pull Bucky into his arms. "I like how you're all sweaty, too. It's incredibly attractive."

"I'll show you attractive."

"Promises, promises," Steve said, but he pulled Bucky tight against his body, kissed him deeply, then grabbed his hand and dragged him off into the woods.

When they returned to the Waystation, Bucky's hair was wet and they were both damp, since they'd made a stop at the nearby stream on the way back. Sam was preparing the fish for dinner, and he shook his head at them. "Oh, to be young and have that much energy."

"You're five years older than us. You're not exactly an old man."

"It's all my extra wisdom. It weighs a man down."

"Is that what it is?" Steve said, starting to prepare the greens while Bucky fetched the spices from the pack, laying them out where Sam would need them.

"That's exactly what it is."

While Steve kept working on the greens, Bucky snagged the kettle off the fire, and disappeared into the Waystation to make tea, returning with three clay mugs that he distributed. When they were settled in, the fish cooking over the fire, the greens marinating in their spice mix, Bucky leaning against Steve's shoulder, Sam fixed them with a serious look.

"Let's talk about today. Bucky? I know you stopped the grain, Shield told Riley, but she didn't give him any details."

It took Bucky by surprise. :Shield?:

He could tell she was still sleepy, her reply drowsy, but she sent back, :It was your Judgement. It's for you to tell.:

He was touched, and he took a minute to answer Sam. "We caught it easily. Well, you know that, and Shield's fast. I didn't know she was that fast," he added to Steve. Steve nodded, looking proud. In the back of his head, he heard Winter grumble.

"When I explained what had happened, they asked me what they should do. And I knew I had to make a Judgement."

As simply as possible, he explained what he'd done, what he'd decided, and why. Steve was a solid support by his side. Sam nodded along as he listened, but they were acknowledging nods, nothing more, gave no indication of what he thought.

When he was finished, silence fell, broken only by the sounds of nature, the mules cropping the grass nearby, and the sizzle of the fish. Bucky bit his lip. "What do you think?"

Sam gave him a mild look.

"Is it what you would have done?"

"It doesn’t matter what I would have done."

"Sam."

"Bucky. That's not the question you should be asking. I wasn't there. I wasn't the Herald that had to make the call. The question you should be asking is: knowing what I knew, did I make the best decision I could in the circumstances? And the answer is yes, you did. That's what matters, not whether it's the same decision another Herald would make."

:I told you there was nothing to worry about,: Winter sent.

:No you didn't,: Bucky replied.

:I was still right, there wasn't.:

Bucky had to smother laughter against Steve's shoulder. When he looked up, Steve was smiling proudly at him and Sam was poking the fish.

"Thanks." Sam waved it away. "Did you find out what happened here? Did someone poison the grain?"

"No. Not unless someone can train rats to chew through a roof in just the right place to leave tiny unnoticeable leaks. The leaks caused mould in the grain, not enough to be noticeable, at least not yet, but enough to kill a milk cow." He shook his head. "It was sheer bad luck. I know it was bad luck, and not someone out there with a Gift like mine, because I asked the rats. They won't be chewing around there anymore."

Making sure it didn't happen again by talking to the rats left Bucky and Steve staring at Sam, mutual bafflement flowing between them.

"Sometimes it saves time to go straight to the source. And rats are smarter than people think." He poked the fish and nodded in satisfaction. "Dinner's ready."

Bucky grabbed plates and cutlery from the Waystation, served up the fish, Steve added the greens, and they settled in to eat.

It was delicious, just like everything Sam cooked over an open fire. Steve and Bucky were both lousy with the campfire, but they were decent with the Waystation stoves, Bucky's porridge almost entirely lump free and Steve could whip up a great batch of pancakes. It made for a good division of labour: Sam dealt with the campfire cooking and they stuck to hunting and providing breakfast.

When dinner was finished, the dishes washed, the Companions and mules tucked away for the night, and the Waystation lamps lit, Sam said, "There's one more thing I want to talk about."

Steve, who'd relocated from the logs that were omnipresent at every Waystation to lean against Bucky's legs, tilted his head back to meet Bucky's eyes.

He didn't say anything. He didn't have to. Without looking away from Bucky he said to Sam, "About Bucky taking Shield?"

"That's the one."

"Why is it something we have to talk about?"

Bucky could feel the first slide of resolute defiance creeping into Steve through their bond. Not much, just a brush, just a hint, because Sam was their mentor and more, he knew Steve liked Sam, he respected Sam, but he also knew Steve believed this wasn't anyone's business but their own.

Bucky agreed with him, but Sam was their mentor. It hadn't come up before, but it wasn't unreasonable for Sam to wonder about it. Bucky pressed his fingertips against Steve's cheek and deliberately sent calmness, reasonableness, flowing back to Steve.

Steve sighed, smiling a little. "Alright."

They turned to face Sam, moving as one, and he stared at them in fascination. "You two…" He trailed off.

Steve's smile turned into a grin. Bucky gave Steve's chin a little shake and he laughed and slung an arm over Bucky's thigh. "What do you want to know?"

"I'm not sure. I heard rumours about it, but I didn't realise it was so," he paused, obviously looking for the right word, "natural to you, I guess. You talk to each other, too, right?"

Steve said, "Yes," while Bucky nodded. He could feel Winter listening, feel Shield listening, but they didn't say anything.

"Is it because of the lifebond?"

Bucky watched Steve, who was considering Sam seriously. Not like Sam was their mentor. Like Sam was an equal. Herald to Herald. And in this, Bucky figured, he was. They both were.

Steve glanced up at him and Bucky shrugged. He trusted Steve to choose what to tell Sam.

"It's because of a lot of things, Sam. But none of those reasons matter. It's what works for us. For me and Bucky, for Shield and Winter. It's our choice. It's doesn't make us worse Heralds, sometimes it might make us better. It doesn't do anything to bring down the Heraldic reputation."

"It's just us," Bucky added. "It's who we are, the four of us together."

"Riley thinks it's strange," Sam said.

"Riley's not the only one." Bucky shrugged again. "But then there's a bunch of Companions who don't think it's strange. A bunch of Heralds, too."

Sam fell silent. Then he stirred and sighed, stretching, looking far more relaxed. "Fair enough. Apart from needing a Companion, I guess there's no one true way to be a Herald. I mean, if anyone asked, most people would say sticking with your own Companion would come pretty close." He grinned. "But if interchangeable Companions works for you, then those are the Heralds you'll be. Your Companions obviously don't object and, frankly—"

He stopped, his eyes losing focus, and Bucky knew Riley must be mindspeaking him.

He resumed a few moments later, saying, a bit pointedly, and Bucky knew the pointed wasn't for them, "They're the only ones whose opinions really matter."

Chapter Text

If someone journeyed west down Exiles Road until they ran out of road, they'd find themselves in the town of Zoe. Just before they reached it, they'd crest a hill—the one Shield was currently standing on—that overlooked Lake Evendim.

Steve hadn't known what to expect. He'd known it was a gigantic lake, the other side so far away it couldn't be seen with ordinary sight. He'd known it took the shape of an almost perfect circle. He'd known the coast was home to close-knit fishing clans who faced danger from pirates and weather and sheer bad luck, who sent fish and fish oil and other trade goods to the rest of Valdemar and across the borders.

He'd known the history, how it used to lie outside Valdemar's borders, how part of Lake Evendim's north-west surrounds used to belong to two tiny countries that wound up part of Valdemar after both their ruling families were slaughtered and their surviving mutual heir was Chosen. He'd heard the stories of the monsters that lurked in the lake's depths, that haunted the coastlines—stories he believed, given how deeply nestled the lake was into the Pelagir Forests and the creatures that stalked those woods were more than just stories.

Knowing all that hadn't prepared him for this…this never-ending stretch of water that went on forever like a second sky.

The winter wind whipped through his hair, plucking at Shield's mane, tugging at his thick cloak and he shivered, but he didn't know if it was from cold or from the sight of the lake.

It was endless.

The water was a steely iron grey, reflecting the dull winter sky above, rippling in the breeze, waves rolling against the rocky shore. In the distance he could see Zoe, see its docks, jutting out into the water like pure defiance, the boats they sheltered bobbing up and down. The shore was almost perfectly curved, like nothing natural he'd ever seen.

He didn't remember stopping on this hill, but here they were, Bucky and Sam a little way in front of him.

"Steve?" Bucky called. "You alright?"

Of course Bucky was getting all of this. He made an effort to lock it down, this swirling mess of awe and disbelief and he didn't even know what—or why when, really, it was just a bunch of water.

Winter turned, came to stand next to Shield, and Bucky wrapped a hand around his arm. "You don't have to do that. I think some of that was mine."

"Right." He laughed a little, Bucky joined him, and then they turned as one to look back at the lake.

"It's something, isn't it?" Sam's voice was quiet. "It took me like that the first time, too."

"There's just so much of it," Steve said. "I mean, Haven's not exactly covered in water. The most water I've ever seen in one place is the Terilee River."

"Yeah. We've got little lakes back in Endercott but they're little. They're babies. This is…" Bucky trailed off.  

Sam was nodding in understanding. "You think it's impressive from here? Wait until you're out on it. Tiny boat, just a thin layer of wood between you and who knows how deep the water is." Riley started walking, heading down the road towards Zoe, and Shield and Winter followed. "It feels like it's alive."

*    *    *

However different Lake Evendim was from anything Steve had ever seen, the people of Zoe were much the same. Children still came running to greet the Companions, even if they were a little more controlled than they'd been in other places. They were bundled up against the cold, some of them with no more than noses showing as Shield nuzzled them, and it wasn't long before they were gathered around her, patting her legs and her head and offering her treats.

:I think you like them because they feed you,: Steve told her.

All it got him was an offended huff, her attention on the littles.

The Waystation that served Zoe was warm, cosy, with solid stables for the mules and Companions, but they wouldn't have long to enjoy it—Zoe was the main fishing centre on the lake, but there were fishing villages dotted up and down the coast. After Zoe they'd make their way to all of them.

The townsfolk and the children weren't the only ones bundled up – it wasn't snowing yet, the year milder than usual, but it was cold and the wind that came off the lake had a bite to it. They were all wearing multiple layers under their heaviest Whites.

The settled the Companions snug and warm in the inn's stables while they heard the disputes, while Sam delivered Judgements. There was nothing unusual—although he and Bucky were getting a rapid education in boats and fishing and nets and processing fish. They watched and listened and learned as Sam soothed the snarls that had formed in the community, found truth where there was disagreement, casting Truth Spell where Sam thought it was necessary—and Steve was happy Bucky had never had to cast second stage; he would if he had to, but they were both happy Sam was deft enough with words and skill that it hadn't been necessary.

Sam collected records and petitions and complaints, and they were all taken on tours of the boats. They were shown endless nets. A new dock. Offered various fish delicacies they'd never heard of, Lake Evendim specialities.

Steve thought Bucky was going to throw up when he was given fish eggs, but he managed to keep them down, even though Steve could feel the disgust rolling through their bond. It was all he could not to laugh.

Bucky's revenge came the next day, when the mayor insisted the Heralds go out on one of the swift little boats they used to accompany the fishing fleets, to ward off creatures that came up from the depths or fight off pirates.

Sam begged off, saying he wanted to stay and have the leatherworker check over all their tack. Which left Steve and Bucky and a fierce pair of young women, who grinned at them and waved them onto the narrow, sharp boat. There was almost nothing to it. A mast, a sleek blue sail, a pointy prow and handholds fixed to the side.

They introduced themselves as "Kate," and "Val," and then they introduced the boat as "Hawkeye".

Bucky, ever charming, bowed to the boat, and both the women, and introduced himself and Steve, as if they wouldn’t know who they were.

Steve managed a smile, looking uneasily at the boat, remembering Sam's words: Tiny boat, just a thin layer of wood between you and who knows how deep the water is.

Hawkeye was as fast as a Companion. The freezing wind whipped at Steve, mocking him as his stomach roiled. Bucky was laughing, leaning over the prow, as Kate handled the tiller with ease, as Val deftly manipulated the sail.

Steve grit his teeth. No. No, I'm not going to make it.

Bucky whipped around just as he lunged for the side, grabbed two of the handholds, and lost his breakfast.

"Aw, Steve." There was laughter in his voice Bucky couldn't hide, but he smoothed his hand over Steve's forehead, pulled him back and wrapped his other arm around Steve's chest. "Boat travel not agreeing with you?"

"I hate you," he muttered.

"No, you don't," he replied and kissed the top of his head.

A sharp whistle drew them both around to look at Val.

"Give him this," she said to Bucky, tossing him a paper packet. He snatched it out of the air. "It tastes terrible," she warned. "But it'll make him feel better."

"Hear that, Steve?" He put his other arm around Steve and unwrapped the packet, revealing some black lozenges that smelled faintly of mint and aniseed and, disturbingly, fish. "I wonder if they taste as bad as fish eggs?"

"Try one and find out," he groused, but he plucked one up as his stomach heaved again.

"Not a chance."

Steve wrinkled his nose, popped the lozenge in his mouth, and swallowed before the taste had a chance to catch up with him. What he caught of it wasn't so much terrible as strange, and his tongue didn't know what to do with it.

His stomach tried to rebel, but he forced it to behave and breathed through his nose. Closing his eyes helped. He could feel Bucky around him and Bucky through their bond, a flow of amusement and affection and love and he let himself fall into it as the wind rushed around them, cool and clean.

Gradually, his nausea lessened. He cautiously opened one eye. No, it was gone completely. He perked up. "They worked."

"They always do," Kate called.

Bucky grinned and grabbed his hand, dragging him to his feet. "Come on, come up to the front. It's amazing."

He was right, it was. They leaned over the prow together, stretching into the breeze as Val pulled more speed out of the tiny boat.

"Hey," Steve called back. "How come you don't give people those right away."

"Well," Kate replied, sending the boat through a zig zagging pattern. "It's funnier this way."

"Plus it's a rite of passage, throwing up on the boat," Val added. "Even for a Herald."

"What about him?" He pointed at Bucky.

"Ah, sometimes people have the lake in their bones, even when they're not born here. I guess he's one of them."

"Here that, Steve?" Bucky nudged him. "I've got the lake in my bones."

*    *    *

When they rode out of Zoe, Val tossed Steve a packet of the black lozenges with a grin. He caught it, grinned back, and gave her a little salute.

*    *    *

The fishing villages were Zoe repeated, only without the boat trips.

As they made their way around the coast, the weather turned and the wind blowing off the lake brought flurries of snow. It also brought strange animals, glowing eyes and twisted howls in the night. None attacked, but there were unfamiliar tracks around the Waystations at night.  

"Not just stories," Bucky said.

"Not just stories," Sam agreed.

Even Honey was easier to deal with, staying close to the Companions and slightly less inclined to kick Steve.

*    *    *

The snow was hock deep as they followed the road to the next village. It wasn't currently snowing, which was a nice change. The good thing about the snow was that, close to the lake, it didn't last; the wind scoured it away. The bad thing was that it ended up in drifts taller than the Companions, but they could mostly avoid those.

They were beautiful, though, twisted into strange, elaborate shapes, reflecting the glittering sunlight and painted in shades of icy blue. Steve wanted to stop and draw them. Capture them with ink and paper. But this wasn't weather to be standing around in. As long as the Companions kept moving, they stayed warm enough, their coats grown thicker than usual, but if they had to stand still they'd—

A burst of unexpected emotion from Bucky had him gasping.  

He was hunched over his saddle, eyes wide.

"Bucky," Sam said firmly, giving them both an anchor to hang onto.

"There's something, a fight, the village." He shook his head, sat straight, Winter's head coming up, Shield turning to face him. "Something's wrong. I think someone's attacking. I saw fighting. I saw someone die." There was anguish flowing into Steve, quickly cut off, because he knew, they both knew, his visions came in minutes, not candlemarks.

It was already too late to stop it.

Sam was sliding off Riley and untethering the mules, his hands soft on Honey's head as he tied Beans' rope to hers. His eyes went distant and she stared at him like he was every good thing in the world rolled into one. "Good girl," he whispered, rubbed her nose, and then mounted Riley. "Let's go."

The Companions leapt into a run.

"Steve, can you Farsee on the move?" Sam called.

He wasn't sure, but Shield was there. :I won't let you fall.:

"Yeah." He closed his eyes, calling his Gift, the world opening up before him as his Sight raced ahead of them.

There. There was the village. Fire. Blood. Bodies.

There were boats on fire.

"Pirates. It has to be pirates." Steve pulled his Sight back, fell back into his body, already reaching for his sword, loosening it in his scabbard. "They're fighting back but they're not going to make it on their own. There's too many."

Bucky flipped the cover off his quiver, strung his bow, Sam checked his weapons, all of them preparing, as the Companions raced down the road. Steve sent a flashing burst of love to Bucky then blocked their bond. Bucky gave him a startled look, then nodded, expression grim.

This would be their first real fight. Neither of them could risk the distraction.

They crashed into the fight with no warning, the Companions silent as ghosts, Bucky's arrows finding targets like falcons loosed from the wrist, Shield spinning under Steve as he cut down pirates. The villagers rallied as they realised they weren't alone, a woman at least thirty years Steve's elder yelling, "Heralds! The Heralds," and wielding a long spear to run a pirate through.

But more were coming, they were pouring off a boat fresh landed at the dock even as Riley reared high and smashed a pirate into the ground, and Sam took out two as he came down to earth, wielding a sword and a long dagger with vicious skill.

Winter slid to a halt next to him. "Out of arrows. Give me yours."

They were in the saddle quiver. Transferring them would take too long, would make them too vulnerable. "Swap?"

:Yes,: Shield replied impatiently.

:Fine,: Winter said and Bucky slid over behind Steve, then popped into Shield's saddle when Steve swung over onto Winter.

Bucky immediately pulled an arrow out of the quiver and resumed raining death. Winter spun and galloped towards the docks, leaping onto the dock itself, using his bulk to block the way while Steve cut the pirates down with his sword. An arrow came flying over them, taking one in the throat, then another, and another. Winter charged straight into them, knocking them into the water. There was a sharp pain in Steve's thigh, a flash of red on Winter's white coat, and he brought his sword down sharply, but the others broke. They ran for their boat.

They followed, leaping straight onto the boat, and Winter spun and kicked the tiller to pieces.

They rounded on him, swords drawn, but an arrow sprouted from a chest, a leg, and they stopped.

Bucky and Shield were standing on the dock, Shield's teeth bared, Bucky's gaze deadly, an arrow nocked. His Whites were sooty, smeared with blood.

Steve shifted his sword, light flashing off the bloodied steel, and Winter half-reared, smashing down into the deck of the boat. "Surrender, and you'll face justice. Keep fighting and every one of you dies."

They surrendered.

Steve rounded them up, Bucky holding his arrow steady as they trudged down to the end of the deck. What was left of the ones in the village were on their knees under Sam's watchful eyes and the eyes of the woman with the spear.

They sent their lot to join them.

*    *    *

The aftermath was bloody. Bloodier than the fighting had been. There was a Healer not far away and Sam and Riley went to fetch her while Steve and Bucky stayed to supervise the clean-up.

Sam had gone because Shield had all the village's children gathered around her, using her small healing Gift to tend to their minor wounds. Very few of them were hurt, but all of them were scared and cuddling close to a Companion was comforting in a way nothing else could be.

Winter couldn't go, because he was injured. So was Steve. That pain he'd felt had been a knife, slicing deep into his thigh and cutting into Winter's shoulder.

"I'm fine," he promised Bucky. "We're fine. Tell him, Winter."

:We're fine,: Winter said. :It's annoying, not life threatening.:

"See?"

Bucky patched him up and cleaned Winter's wound, and just as he finished, Honey came trotting into the village, calm as could be, leading Beans. She ignored Bucky, laid her long ears back at Steve, and found a patch of sunlight to stand in, obviously waiting for Sam.

Totally unexpected, it made Bucky and Steve laugh. Not for long, and it didn't have a lot of mirth in it, but it was laughter all the same.

They secured the pirates in a sturdy shed and Steve stripped them of their weapons, Winter standing tall and huge and angry next to Bucky with his bow. They'd have to be handed over to the Guard after Sam passed Judgement. Most would wind up with hard labour. Some might end up executed. Steve…wasn't really worried about it. They'd made their choice freely. If it turned out they hadn't, it would be taken into account.

Right now, he was worried about the villagers. The woman with the spear turned out to be the Headwoman. His heart almost broke when Bucky said, quietly, as he helped her move an injured villager into the clan house, "I'm sorry we were too late."

"Herald," she replied. "You were here when we needed you. Too late would have been when all of us were dead. As long as there's life, there's no such thing as too late."   

Chapter Text

Their Circuit around Lake Evendim had taken them through the end of winter and into spring. They'd spent the Winter Solstice holed up in a Waystation with the mules and the Companions, hiding from a blizzard. They'd been warm. That was about the only positive Bucky could find to say about it, and he could only thank all the gods that Sam's Gift was Animal Mindspeech.

As the snow had disappeared and the wind coming off the lake had lost its bite, he'd discovered a love of being out on the water, moving faster than even Shield could run. It was a love Steve didn't share, and he'd grown used to seeing Steve become an ever-dwindling dot, bracketed by Winter and Shield as they watched from the shore.

He'd also discovered he had no problem fighting pirates—or bandits, or raiders; they were all just pirates by another name—and no problems killing them, either, if that's what it took. Steve had more problems with the killing—after, not during; during he was so single-minded sometimes Bucky didn't bother blocking their bond, using it to track the fighting if they lost sight of each other. None of them had gotten away unscathed; they'd all been hurt once or twice, but nothing serious, nothing that wouldn't have healed without a Healer.  

There'd be no more boats, though, and likely not much fighting, since they'd finished their Circuit of the lake, were heading back down to revisit the townships off Exiles Road. They'd left Zoe this morning, the townsfolk waving them off, a parade of children trailing after Shield, and she'd been slow, because she'd been giving each one a nuzzle or letting them pat her goodbye.

That had been a few candlemarks ago and Bucky was just contemplating digging a honey bar out of his saddlebags, when Sam said, with no warning, "You know you two are in charge now, right?"

"We're what?" Steve said.

Bucky did some mental calculations and came up with—

"Right," Steve said, beating him to it. "Nine months."

Bucky couldn’t resist adding, "We’re having a responsibility baby." Everyone stared at him, including the Companions, and he shrugged. "What? Babies take nine months."

"Alright, I'm starting to rethink this," Sam said, and Steve laughed, Shield breaking into a gentle prance.

"I don't think you can," Bucky said. "Halfway through the internship, that's when you hand over the reins to us. That's the rule."

"Because you two are all about following the rules."

"We follow the rules," Steve said. "The important ones. What was it you said? No one true way to be a Herald?"

"I knew," Sam said to Riley, "that would come back to bite me on the ass."

Riley bobbed his head, ears curving back, and he looked smug.

"Don't rub it in."   

Riley snorted.

"Ignoring comments from the hooved ones, and being serious for a moment, yes. That's where we're at. I'm going to step back, you're going to step forward. I'll only intervene if you ask me to or if something gets out of hand. I'm not expecting you to need me for either reason."

Bucky felt that same weight he'd felt with the cart driver and the grain. No, not the same weight. It was lighter…and it was welcome. He hadn't realised until now, but he'd been waiting for this. So had Steve, judging by the anticipation flowing from him.

There was only one thing bothering him.

"What happens if we disagree?"

Sam lifted an eyebrow. Steve turned to face Bucky, but he didn't ask what Bucky meant. Just waited.

"You said we're in charge now. There's two of us. What if we disagree about a Judgement. About the right thing to do."

"That's a good question. It not usual for interns to get sent out together, this is one of the reasons why, but when it happens they need to work it out. I'm not sure whether it'll be easier or harder with your lifebond. I feel like that could go either way, but the two of you," he hummed thoughtfully, "I figure you'll do alright. You can take it in turns if you want, or you can work together. Whichever you think will be best. I can advise you, but I can't decide for you. You're lead Heralds now."

"I like that, lead Herald," Bucky said.

"Lead Heralds," Steve corrected.

"Details," Bucky said, waving his hand, and Steve leaned over and grabbed it. "Yes?"

"Take it in turns or do you want to work together?"

He tilted his head towards Steve. "Together?"  

Satisfaction, affection, warmth flowed into him as Steve squeezed his hand. "Together."

*    *    *

Most of what they had to deal with was standard. The same things they'd watched Herald Samuel deal with when they'd ridden through on the way to Lake Evendim. Sam hung back, making it clear they were in charge, and truthfully, a lot of the townships seemed pleased to have two Heralds listening to their problems, and visiting their livestock, and making impressed noises over their prize pigs.  

There were a few Judgements they disagreed over, a few they had to talk about, but nothing they got heated over. It wasn't about them. It was about these people. It was about the laws of Valdemar and it was about justice, about putting things back as close as they could to how it had been before the wrong was done.

That was what mattered; it made it easy to get past any disagreement and find a way forward.

Truth Spell was part of it. Not for everything; some conflicts weren't that simple, some truths simply weren't known, but there were some Judgements Steve would have hated to decide on a best guess, on who seemed the most truthful, because sometime the most honest faces hid the greatest lies.  

Bucky still hadn't needed to use the second stage Truth Spell, and Steve was still glad of it. He knew it was only a matter of time until it was necessary, but forcing someone to speak… Unless the situation was dire, it still didn't sit well with him.

The first really interesting problem introduced itself with a stream of cursing, rising out of the inn's stable yard as they rode into Doeborne.

They looked at each other, then headed in that direction. When they rode into the stable yard they saw a tall, lanky man in the pale blue uniform and feathered cap of the Valdemaran Census Takers berating what had to be the inn's stable master. The Census Taker was screaming into the stable master's face and, as they watched, he snatched the cap off his head and pulled his hand back to strike him with it.

It didn't land.

Steve had leapt off Shield's back and caught the Census Taker's wrist in an unbreakable grip.

"No," he said firmly, pulling the man back then slipping around him to stand between him and the stable master as he released his wrist. "What is going on here?"  

The census-taker opened his mouth, Steve was sure to scream more invective, but Shield shook her head, making her bridle bells jingle, and he looked over his shoulder. Two Heralds, in addition to the one standing in front of him. Three Companions.

He shut his mouth, lips pinched, then barked out, "This lout," he shook his hat at the stable master, "stole my horse."

"I never!"

"Then where is she? When I went into the inn to fetch pasties for my lunch she was saddled and waiting and when I came out, not a quarter candlemark later, she was gone. Not just my horse, Herald," he said to Steve. "Her saddlebags were filled with official Crown documents." He tone was triumphant, as if he'd achieved a victory. "You must fetch her back at once and as for him," he shook his hat again, "he should be hung."

"Technically it would be hanged," Steve heard Bucky murmur, "unless he's implying something very different," and had to bite his lip to keep from laughing.

"Sir," Steve said, drawing himself up to his full height and width, completely hiding the stable master behind him, "what's your name?"

"Nyman Handson, Royal Census Taker."

"Right. Well, Nyman, we will discover the truth of what happened, and we will act accordingly. As we determine is just. A Herald dances to no one's tune."   

Nyman took a few steps back, clutching his hat in confusion at, Steve was guessing, failing to intimidate him. He had to wonder if the idiot had ever met a Herald before.

"Why don't you go wait in the inn. Someone will fetch you when we have news."

With a glance at Bucky and Sam, he went. He heard the stable master breathe a sigh of relief and turned to face him. "Honest to gods, Herald. I don't know what happened to his horse. She was there, I know that much, just like he said, and now she's gone, but I don't know what happened to her."

"Do you know who might?"

He avoided Steve's eyes.

Steve looked at him sternly. "If you know something, I need you to tell me."

"Jonoh, my stable lad. He's missing, too. He was getting her ready."

With a sigh, Steve rubbed the back of his neck. "You think he took her."  

"He's a good lad. He doesn’t steal, he doesn’t hurt anyone, and he loves horses. Loves every animal, I swear, Herald. He's a good lad."

"Who might have stolen a horse," Steve said gently and the stable master nodded miserably.

"Alright. Do you have any idea where he might have gone? The sooner we get her back the better."

"Nowhere. He's got nowhere else to go beyond here."

Steve nodded and walked back to Sam and Bucky and the Companions. "You heard?"

Bucky nodded, Sam and Riley quietly watching.  

"Let's see if we can find a horse with a bag full of Crown documents." Steve swung up into Shield's saddle. "Sam, can you stay here, deal with things if the horse comes back, maybe find out where she's been?"

"I can do that."

Bucky untethered Beans from Winter's saddle, handing the rope to Sam, then Steve and Bucky rode out of the inn into the village. It was early, but there were plenty of people buzzing around. Bucky went one way, Steve went the other, and it didn't take Steve long to find someone who'd seen the inn's stable boy on a horse. That someone led to another someone, who led to another someone…and it was interesting that the boy wasn’t making any effort to hide.

He and Shield trotted down a narrow track leading out of the village, because the young woman feeding her chickens, who'd blushed bright pink at the Herald stopping outside her yard to ask her questions, had definitely seen the young lad from the stable ride this way. They listened to the occasional moo from the cattle hidden by the thick hedges lining the track, keeping their eyes out for someone else to point them in the right direction.

Steve wasn’t expecting it to be the boy himself.

"Herald?" His voice was high and reedy and worried, and Shield stopped in the middle of the track.

The boy, who had to be Jonoh, was perched on a skinny bay mare, peeking out from behind a hedge as he waved to get Steve’s attention. There were cows gathered around him, grazing peacefully.

"You must be Jonoh the horse-thief," Steve called. 

He went pale and clutched the mare's mane. "I'm sorry."

"Bring her out and we'll talk."

Jonoh rode her out, pausing only to navigate through a gate, shooing the cows away when they tried to follow, and came to a halt in front of Shield.

"I'm sorry, Herald," he said again, a small storm cloud of misery riding a sad looking horse.

"You said that. Sorry's generally not a reason for committing a crime. Especially not one as serious as horse theft. Oh, and theft of Crown documents."

He went paler.

"They're in the saddlebags," Steve added, but he was confident the boy'd had no idea they were there. He was also sure the boy wasn't a horse thief, even though he was currently sitting on a stolen horse. "You didn't know that did you?"

He shook his head.

"Why did you take the horse?"

"Because he was going to kill her!" It burst out of him and then his eyes got very wide as he realised he'd yelled at a Herald. "I'm sorry, Sir. Herald. But look at her."

Steve did. He'd noticed she was skinny, but when really looking at her, he could see her ribs. Her hooves were too long and cracked at the edges. He didn't know much about horses, but she looked bad, lank mane and tail and just sad. He knew as much about horse tack as he did about horses but the bit in her mouth looked sharp and cruel. "She doesn’t look good."

"And he's cruel to her. He hits her. Beats her." There was anger burning in the boy’s eyes as he gently stroked the mare’s neck and for the first time she lifted her head, ears flicking forward as she turned her head to nose the boy's hand. "I took her so he couldn’t hurt her. I knew the Heralds were coming soon and I thought, I just needed to get her away and then find the Heralds and they could fix it so he couldn’t hurt her anymore." He gave Steve a fierce look, one a little too familiar for comfort. "And now you're here."

:Chosen,: Shield said softly in his mind.

He sent back a wordless acknowledgement. "You shouldn’t have taken her," Steve said.

Jonoh bowed his head, shoulders slumping in defeat.

"But."

His head shot up.

"Since you did, let's see if we can do something about it."

They rode back slowly, because on top of everything else the mare was limping. If Jonoh hadn't been so small, Steve would have put him up on Shield and led the mare, but Steve doubted his weight would make much difference. And the mare seemed happy with his attention.

When they rode into the stable yard, Nyman charged across the yard towards his mare, who flinched and shied, only to run straight into Riley, who pinned his ears and snapped his teeth.

"It would be better not to do that," Sam said mildly.

"That brat stole my horse. I want him hung."

"Now that's just inappropriate," Bucky said as Winter trotted up next to Shield. "Shield called us," he said to Steve's questioning look. "She said you found our missing horse." He grinned at Jonoh. "I see they're starting horse thieves young these days."

Jonoh tentatively grinned back.

"That's what I thought, too." Steve leaned on the pommel of Shield's saddle, looking thoughtful. "It seems obvious at first. Horse goes missing, someone who doesn't own her shows up on her back. Your first thought is horse thief. Right?" he asked Bucky.

"Of course."

Steve straightened, pulling his authority around him, saw Bucky doing the same, the subtle differences in voice, in posture that marked them as Heralds exercising the authority of the King.

"But not everything is what it seems." He pinned Nyman with a steely gaze. "You are a Royal Census Taker. You represent the King of Valdemar. You wear a Royal uniform. Your horse is not in fact your horse at all. It belongs to the King of Valdemar."

They had attracted a crowd, people from the inn, people from out on the street, drifting into the stable yard to watch, and Steve pitched his voice higher.

"And you have treated her badly. Not only have you failed to care for her, you have actively abused her."

"I have not! I, what lies have you been told?!"

"It's funny you should mention lies. Jonoh? Would you tell me your story again while Herald James casts Truth Spell on you?"

"Yes!"

Steve tilted his head at Bucky and Bucky frowned, focussing, and before long a wispy cloud with bright blue eyes appeared over Jonoh, invisible to him but visible to everyone watching. "Jonoh?" Steve asked. "Why did you take the horse?"

"Because he," he pointed at Nyman, "beats her and hurts her and he doesn't look after her. I was afraid she was going to die if he kept treating her the way he treats her. And I only took her until I could find a Herald and get you to help."

The cloud didn't move, sensing no lies.

Steve nodded in satisfaction. "Animal care is subjective, but beating an animal isn't. And you only have to look at the horse to see she hasn't been cared for. She's her own evidence."

A murmur of disapproval rose up from the gathered crowd.

"Would you like Truth Spell cast on you, so you can deny the accusations?" Steve asked Nyman. "Or if you like, Herald Samuel can ask the horse."

"No." He folded his arms as the cloud disappeared from Jonoh. "I have nothing more to say."

"Very well. In that case I find that Jonoh was not, precisely, stealing a horse. He was attempting to protect Crown property. Which he did. I'm confiscating your horse. She will be cared for here at your personal expense until she's healthy and then returned to Haven. You can travel by paid coach or hitch a ride with a trade wagon or hire a horse, if you can find someone to rent you one. I'll also be sending a report of this back to Haven."

The 'so you might not need to worry about travelling for long' went unsaid.

Nyman went incandescent with fury, but he said nothing, just turned and stormed into the inn. Steve slid off Shield and went to undo the horse's saddlebags—because they did hold Crown documents, and Nyman was responsible for them.

Jonoh was looking down at him like he didn't know whether to be awed or smug.

"Don't ever do anything like that again," Steve said, stepping back with the saddlebags in hand.

"But it worked!"

"No. This was as much luck as it was anything else. You did something wrong that ended up being right, but you're not always going to be that lucky. You're almost never that lucky." Steve held his gaze. "Keep doing what's right, but don't risk yourself like that."

He looked like he wanted to argue, so Steve gave the horse a pat, said, "Go take care of her. That's what you wanted, right?" and walked back to Shield.

Bucky leaned down off Winter. "Don't risk yourself like that?" he repeated. "Remind me who it was again that took on three people in an alley to protect someone?"

"That's different."

"Uh huh. Sure it was."

"Are you happy with what I did?"

"It would be a bit late if I wasn't," he replied, laughing at Steve's suddenly worried look. "Steve. Yes. You would have known if I wasn't." He tapped Steve's heart. "That was clever, and smart, and good." He sat back up. "But you have to give that ass his saddlebags. I'm not going anywhere near him."

Steve made a face. "Thanks for your support, Buck."

"You're so welcome."

Chapter Text

Steve's skill with a bow had improved since the Collegium. He wasn't up to Bucky's standards—he'd never be up to Bucky's standards—but hunting for their dinner had honed his abilities. It had taken him hardly any time at all to come back with the brace of rabbits that were roasting over the fire.

These sorts of nights were his favourites. The sky was clear, their Companions were content, peacefully grazing next to the mules, Honey tethered out of reach. Bucky was leaning against his legs, whittling something unrecognisable and Sam was whistling—one of the bouncy, cheerful tunes common around Lake Evendim—while he tended the rabbits.

Steve dropped a kiss on Bucky's hair, saw a smile curl the corner of Bucky's mouth, and went back to leaning on his hands, staring up at the sky, watching the stars come out.

Suddenly, all three Companions lifted their heads. :A Herald's coming,: Winter sent.

:But it's not an emergency,: Shield added thoughtfully.

Steve turned to look at them. Riley was giving them both a sour look. Steve knew he still didn't think much of their tendency to talk to both him and Bucky, and the less said about them carrying them both the better, even if it didn't bother Sam.

"Might need to break into the Waystation stores after all," Sam said mournfully. "I don't think these bunnies are going to stretch to four, not even with the greens Bucky brought back."

The sound of hoofbeats and bridle bells arrived before the Herald, but it wasn't long before she was trotting into the clearing, waving and calling a cheery, "Hello," and, "Don't worry, I'm not staying, I'm riding courier so I'm heading through to the inn."

Her Companion arched his neck, looking smug, and their three exchanged amused looks. He had a coltish look to him, and Steve was guessing he was young. It wasn't something he'd ever thought about before, but next to Shield, Winter, and Riley—he seemed young.

She was sliding off, digging into her saddlebags, striding over to Sam. "I'm Myrian. You're Samuel, right?"

"Call me Sam, but yes."

"I have a message for you," she offered him an envelope, sealed with the Circle's seal, "and I'm supposed to take an answer back in the morning."

Sam's eyebrows hit his hairline, but he said, "Alright," easily enough.

"I'll wait at the inn for you."

"We'll come and find you, or, can you mindspeak your Companion?"

"Yes?"

"Then I'll have Riley send a message to him if we get held up."

She blinked, like that hadn't occurred to her, then grinned. "Perfect." She turned to Steve and Bucky, glancing between them, holding another envelope. "And I have a letter for James."

Bucky tensed, Steve felt a flash of worry—anything coming by courier wasn't going to be good news—but she hurriedly added, "It's not important. They only sent it with me because I was coming anyway." She paused as her eyes widened slightly. "No, that's not what I meant. Of course someone writing to you is important. I just meant it's not courier important." She paused again, glancing over her shoulder at her Companion, who was staring at her imploringly.

Bucky's flash of worry was completely gone, replaced by amusement.  

"I mean it's not urgent. I'm sure it's very important."

Bucky held out his hand, putting her out of her misery. "Thank you for bringing my letter," he said gravely.

She set it in his hand and muttered, "Sorry. This is why they have me riding courier."

"It's fine," Bucky said with a chuckle. "You're fine. That was exactly what I needed to know. And you did stop me from worrying about it."

"You're welcome to join us for dinner," Steve offered.

"Thanks, but no. I'm going to head to the inn before I run out of feet to put in my mouth."

When she was gone, Steve and Bucky both zeroed in on Sam.

"I can't see through the paper," he said without looking up.

"So open it," Bucky said.

"Come take over dinner, and I will."

Sam moved over on the log and Bucky went to sit next to him, poking at dinner while Sam opened the letter. Sam was an enigma when he wanted to be, and neither Steve nor Bucky got anything from him but the crinkle of paper; if Sam didn't want them to know something, they didn't know it.

When he finished reading it, he carefully put it back in the envelope, folded it, and slid it into his belt pouch.

"Sam?" Steve asked.

"After dinner."

There was no arguing with Sam when he used that tone.

Bucky gave the bunnies back to Sam and opened his letter. Steve watched him, distracted from the question of Sam's. He knew who it had to be from. They didn't write often, but once or twice a year a letter would arrive from Bucky's family. They were almost never personal, beyond the standard asking after his health. Steve's health, too, once Bucky had told them about him. He wasn't sure how to feel about that. He'd never quite made peace with how he felt about Bucky's family. "Your parents?"

"My parents."

"Everything okay?"

"Everything's fine. Goats are doing well. Another cousin got married."

"That's good."

Bucky gave him a long look, then wandered over to sit next to him, leaning into his side.

"Goats, huh?" Sam asked.

"The finest silky coated goats in Valdemar," Bucky replied. "I'll get them to send you a sweater." He gave Sam a narrow-eyed look. "Even if you won't tell us what's in the letter."

Sam laughed and started dishing out dinner.

When they'd cleaned up, tucked the Companions and mules in for the night, and settled into the Waystation, lanterns hung high, Sam gestured at them to sit.

Steve and Bucky exchanged a look, then sat side by side on their bed. Sam sat on his. Studying them.

"You're over a year into your internship."

Steve didn't say anything. Bucky slowly nodded.

"I'm just standing by in case things go disastrously wrong, and I was right when I said that wasn't going to happen," he added.

Steve felt his own swell of pride echoed from Bucky.

"You're older than most Heralds are at this point, and not just in years, so I'm going to leave this choice up to you. I'm not sure that's what the Circle intended, but they weren't specific, so this is what I'm doing."

"It's going to be tough to make a decision if you don't tell us what we have to decide," Bucky pointed out, and Sam grinned at him.

"True. Alright. Before I got landed with you pair, I spent some time down on the Karsite border."

"We remember," Steve said.

Sam gave him a puzzled look.

"Sleeping in your soup?" Bucky said. "Riley told Winter where'd you been."

"Right. I didn't know he'd gone into detail. Anyway, point is, things are a bit different down there."

"A bit?" Steve said, more than a little dryly, and Sam huffed a small laugh.

"Sometimes a bit, but you're right, it's sometimes a lot. Right now, they need a Herald down there who knows the border. They've had two they've had to pull off—not dead, but injured, and they want to send me back."

"How did they get hurt?" Steve asked.

"That's an excellent question. One was just plain old bad luck. Slipped on a rocky slope and shattered his leg. The other," Sam fixed them with an intent look, "the Karsites got her. She was in a grey area of the border near Rethwellan, where its mostly bandits and brigands, she was there at the same time as the Sunsguard, and, well. You know how the Karsites feel about Heralds and Companions."

Steve wasn't sure if the surge of anger was his or Bucky's. "White Demons and Hellhorses."

Sam nodded. "Her Companion got her out, but she's in a bad way."

"What are you asking us, Sam?" Steve asked.

"I think what the Circle intended was to pull me off your internship and send me down, send another Herald up here to finish with you. What I'm offering you, if you want it, and I'm not sure you should want it, is to come with me and finish your internship on the border."

"Why?"

That was all Bucky asked, but Steve could feel what he meant, and he added, "Why are you not sure we should want it?"

"Because I'm torn." He sat up straighter and sighed. "We need more Heralds who know the border, but not everyone's suited for it. The two of you, the two of you together… I know Riley doesn't think much of you talking to each other's Companions, of riding each other's Companions, and I'm not gonna lie, at first it didn't do much for me, either. But it's part of why you're stronger together. And you are stronger together. I don't know if it's the lifebond or something more, but the two, no, the four of you together—and keep in mind I will deny saying this even under torture—are something special. As a Herald I want that for Valdemar. I want that trained to deal with the border. As Sam…" He shrugged. "Again, deny under torture, but I like you, damn it. You should be able to finish your internship in peace."

It was Bucky who smiled slyly. "You like us, huh?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "That's what you took away from that?"

Steve grabbed Bucky and slapped a hand over his mouth, but he was trying hard to hold back laughter, since Bucky was licking his palm. "Can you give us a minute?"

"I'll give you more than a minute. I'll give you a whole candlemark." He eyed them. "Two candlemarks, even. Do with it what you will, just air the place out when you're done."

When the door shut behind Sam, Steve took his hand off Bucky's mouth, wiping it on his pants.

"He likes us." Bucky batted his eyelashes and Steve shoved him. He tipped over on the bed, grinning, then yanked Steve down to lie beside him. Steve curled his knees up, so they were tucked against Bucky's shins, and Bucky folded an elbow under his head, slipping his other hand under Steve's shirt to rest against his skin.

The touch sent comforting warmth through both of them. Their heartbeats slowed and they breathed together, deep and even.

"What do you think?" Steve asked after some time had passed.  

Bucky's mirth had faded. "I want to know what you think."

"Why?"

"Humour me."

"I want to do it, but only if we both agree it's what we should do."

Bucky was nodding. Whatever he was feeling, he was keeping it closed off from Steve. "I don't want to finish our internship with another Herald."

"That too." Steve knew how lucky they'd gotten with Sam. He'd been willing to take them both together, he'd adjusted to their relationship with each other's Companions. They liked Sam, and Steve knew neither of them wanted to give him up, not Sam and not what Sam could teach them.

That didn't mean Sam was right about the four of them being special. They weren't special; they were just them.

"We should ask Winter and Shield," Bucky said.

"Yeah," Steve agreed. :What do you two think?: he sent to both Shield and Winter, mindspeaking both automatic at this point.

:I think this is a decision you have to make for yourselves,: Winter replied, which was supremely unhelpful, and prompted a snort from Bucky, but not unsurprising.

"But you wouldn't be unhappy if we decided to go with Sam to the border?" Steve persisted.

:No, Chosen, we wouldn't be unhappy,: Shield replied.

"So it's down to us to decide," Steve said.

"It was always going to be."

"True. It'll be more dangerous than fishing disputes and missing horses." It wasn't a protest, and it wasn't a problem, but he needed to make sure Bucky considered everything.

"And pirates," Bucky pointed out. "Are you forgetting the pirates?"

"I was forgetting the pirates." He kissed the tip of Bucky's nose; he hadn't forgotten the pirates or the raiders or any of it, and he knew Bucky knew it. "Sorry."

"I should think so. How do you forget pirates? Seriously, Steve."

He bit back a smile.

"What part of being a Herald's not dangerous? It's what we do. It's what we are. And," Bucky was staring over Steve's shoulder, and he could almost see the thoughts coming together, "if Sam's right, if we are stronger together, if we can do more together than two other Heralds could, we should go. Because it's dangerous, because maybe it'll be less dangerous for us."

A glowing twist of pride and love burst to life in Steve.

A small smile played around Bucky's lips. "I can feel that."

"I know. Sorry." He wasn't sorry at all.

"You're not." Bucky's hand was drawing slow patterns on Steve's stomach.

"No," he admitted. Bucky laughed, and Steve leaned forward to kiss him softly, pressing their foreheads together.

"And from a purely selfish viewpoint," Bucky said, "if we're good at this, if they can use us together on the border, we've got a better chance of staying together."

Steve watched Bucky's fingers move under his shirt, dragging up to his chest and back down, tracing slow circles. Bucky was right. It wasn't why either of them were deciding the way they were, but Bucky was right.

He looked up at Bucky's face. "So we stay with Sam?"

"We stay with Sam." Bucky met his eyes, hand flattening against Steve's chest. "Are we done talking? Nothing else to decide?"

"I don't think so…"

Bucky pounced, rolling him over, straddling his hips and pinning his shoulders to the bed. "Good." He grinned as Steve laughed, dipping down to kiss him. "Because we've got the better part of two candlemarks alone with a bed, and I'm not wasting a second of it."

*    *    *

Whether the Circle had intended for Steve and Bucky to finish their internship with Sam or not, they didn't object to them going with him to the Border.

It was a long ride, back through Haven and down the South Trade Road, following the Terilee River. Steve had suggested, given they were passing back through Haven, and the Quartermaster was right there, they could swap Honey for a mule that didn't hate him.

Sam laughed, Honey brayed with suspiciously convenient timing, and Beans put his head down, like he didn't want to be involved in any of it.

"I guess that means we're keeping Honey?" Steve asked.

Sam grinned.

"We're keeping Honey," Bucky said, chuckling under his breath.

*    *    *

The land near the Karse border was tough, rocky and wild, mountains rising tall against the sky with high hills clinging to their sides.

It was the first place Bucky had ever been that Heralds weren't welcome, weren't wanted.

It wasn't the norm, and they hadn't actually encountered them yet, but a stretch of the border lands was occupied by Sensholding, home to the Holderkin, and they were famous for wanting nothing to do with Heralds. They had views about Heralds, and they weren't the kind of views that could be repeated in polite company.

No one else seemed to have a problem with Heralds. It was different down here, rougher, wilder, the border something they had to constantly be aware of, but there were still towns and villages and settlements and farms. There were still disputes to solve, Judgements to deliver, records to collect and livestock to be admired.

There was more fighting, bandits and raiders seeming to breed like rabbits in the rocky hillsides that stretched high only to drop into sudden valleys on the other side of the border.

There were more people on the roads, more people travelling along the passes through the hills, traders and wagon-folk and visitors. There were people from all across Valdemar who came to climb the hills to White Foal Pass, where Herald Lavan Firestorm had sacrificed himself to save Valdemar and end the last Karsite war.

They'd detoured to see it for themselves. Even a hundred years later, the pass still bore the marks of the fire he'd called down to burn the Karsite army to ash—the Karsite army and himself, his Companion already dead.

They'd stood silently, Heralds and Companions, heads bowed, then they'd silently turned and began to make their way down the narrow path.

*    *    *

One big difference about riding Circuit so close to the Karsite border was how closely it meant working with the Guard.  

How to work effectively with the Guard had been part of their training: how the Guard was structured, its ranks and traditions, they'd been trained to fit themselves around the edges of an active Guard unit without interfering—and how, if needed, to take charge of one.

The circumstances that could give rise to that were rare and, even if they did arise, neither he nor Bucky would ever dream of wielding their meagre experience against an experienced Guard unit. Especially not this experienced Guard unit, who were greeting Sam like he was one of their long-lost brethren returned at last.

"What did Sam say they were called?" Steve asked.

Bucky looked at him askance and Winter snorted. "You remember, you just can't believe it."

He tilted his head sideways in acknowledgment. Some Guard units ended up with nicknames, they'd met a few here and there, but Howlies was a strange one.

"And these are my interns," Sam said, freeing himself from the hugs and exuberant backslaps. "Steve and Shield," he pointed, "and Bucky and Winter," he pointed again.

"Baby Heralds!" one of the guards said gleefully, while another stared at Sam in disbelief.

"You brought baby Heralds to the border?"

Steve and Bucky looked at each other, amusement flowing between them at the way the guards were talking to Sam like they couldn’t hear them. They weren't offended, not by the attitude and not by being called baby Heralds. By the standards of an experienced unit of Karsite border guard, they probably were baby Heralds.

Sam pinched the bridge of his nose. Behind him, Riley's ears pricked forward; he looked delighted. "No, not baby Heralds. They're new but they're good. I wouldn’t have brought them with me if they weren't."

The eyes watching them turned speculative.

"Well that changes things a bit." The large blond guard with the bushy moustache offered them a slow smile. "If Sam says you're good you might even survive down here."

"We'll do our best," Bucky said. 

"If you see them on the wrong Companions," Sam added, "don't worry about it. They're weird that way."

"Thanks, Sam," Steve said dourly.

"My pleasure," Sam replied with a grin. "Let's get you settled and then we can do introductions. I'm looking forward to sleeping in a room I don't have to share with your snoring." He waited a beat. "Or anything else."

*    *    *

"Have you told them about the demons?" Gabe asked, clearly addressing Sam, who'd dropped into a chair next to the fireplace, close enough his Whites were going to end up sooty if he wasn't careful.

Introductions had been made over dinner, the Heralds seated among the guards, white uniforms bright next to the guard's dark blue, and they'd never seen Sam so at ease with people who weren't Heralds.

They'd settled in the Guard Post's common room afterwards. It was toasty, with fireplaces at each end, battered comfortable furniture, and Bucky was warm, full, and had a mug of ale. Winter was tucked away with Shield and Riley in the stables, all three warm and fed and groomed, in proper looseboxes designed for Companions. Steve was tucked next to him, the two of them curled together in the ridiculously comfortable chair. They had a room to themselves for the night, and not one member of the Howlies—he didn't know why Steve thought the nickname was strange; Bucky thought it suited them—had given a damn they were sharing it.  

Sam rolled his eyes. "No, I haven't told them about the demons."

Steve interrupted the boos and tsks of disappointment to point out, "We're Heralds, we've heard of demons before."

"Have you now?" Falsworth asked, deliberately sinister as he slowly leaned forward in his chair.  

"Yes?" Bucky waved politely, drawing every eye to him.

Sam covered his mouth to hide a laugh.

"Remember Herald Vanyel?" Bucky continued. "There's," he made a show of counting on his fingers, first one hand, then the other, then he grabbed Steve's hand and started counting on his fingers, then threw up his hands and said, "too many songs to count about Herald Vanyel fighting demons. Most of them are awful, but they exist. It's been over three hundred years and they still exist. So we know about demons."

This was greeted with scoffing, laughing, and general, all-purpose mocking.

Dugan wandered in, ale in hand, and dragged a chair closer, sitting down in a purposeful way. "You don't know about demons, boys. You know about songs. We're going to tell you about demons. About real demons."

As if on cue, wind howled down the chimney, making the fire flicker. Completely against his will, Bucky jumped, felt a matching puff of startlement flow into him from Steve.

Morita laughed evilly.

"Did you pick up a Gift somewhere along the way?" Sam asked.

"We've spent too much time down here. The wind's starting to bend to his will," Gabe replied.

"Uh huh." Sam's look was dubious, but Dugan grinned.

"All right," Dugan said. "You Heralds have your tales, I'll give you those. Well we in the Guard have our tales, too. But those ones, people don't sing songs about." He paused long enough to let silence settle. "I've been in this unit since I joined the Guard. My Da was in this unit and his Da before him, and his Da before that, going all the way back to the last Karsite War. That's when it became the Howlies."

Dugan raised his mug in a salute, and the rest of the Howlies did the same.

"None of us have seen a war, and Kernos willing we won't. What see down here is bad enough. But my Grandda told me stories that his Da told him. The endless waiting to fight. The lines of tents bivouacked on the border. How at night, even with guards on watch, with patrols riding out, even with Heralds standing by," he nodded at Sam, "the damn Karsite Sunpriests would send their creatures—their demons—to howl around the tents. Couldn't be seen, couldn't be stopped, and in the morning people would just be lying in their bedrolls dead, not a mark on them." He took a long drink. "There was nothing to fight. Just voices in the night killing people."

Steve's focus on Dugan was so intent he felt like strained rope through their bond and Bucky knew if he could somehow follow the winding path of Dugan's words into the past to try and stop it, he would. He slid his hand down Steve's arm and curled his fingers over Steve's. Steve's hand closed over his and Bucky settled closer to him.

"But my Greatgrandda and his mates, see, they weren't going to stand for that. Weren't going to stand by and let people die. The way they figured it, only sleeping people were dying. So when the demons started up their howling they started howling themselves. Howling to drown out the demons, howling to keep people awake, howling to each other to check in while they went from tent to tent, making sure people woke up, making sure they stayed awake."

The fire crackled, sending a shower of sparks in to the air, but no one moved, everyone watching Dugan.

"Eventually they started calling them the Howlies. Of course, that was before you Heralds got your Herald Firestorm involved," he continued. "After that, it was a rout." He raised his mug to Sam, then tipped it towards Steve and Bucky. "I've got to admit, Heralds can be useful."

The air seemed to shiver, releasing the same tension Bucky felt flowing out of Steve, everyone relaxing, leaning back, refilling glasses.  

"The Guard's records," Steve asked. "Do those demons show up again?"

"Not those ones," Dugan replied. "But demons are the Karsite weapon of choice. There'll always be more demons. And if there are, the Howlies'll deal with them."

Steve opened his mouth and Bucky knew this risked turning into an impromptu demon lesson, but Sam jumped in first. "How about a different story. Maybe one with not so many demons."

Dugan grinned slyly. "You mean like the first time you got sent to the border and you and Riley got stuck in the—"

"Nope, no! Not that one. You were sworn to secrecy."

"I've got one," Gabe said, turning to Montgomery. "You remember? That Bard that came traipsing through last spring, following his divine inspiration. What was his name again?"

"Hmm, let me see. Lorris? Lerris?"

"Lerris, that was it." Gabe grinned. "I don't know if he ever found his divine inspiration, but he did find the pointy end of one of the oldest, meanest bucks around, right in the middle of rutting season, and I don't know much about music, but apparently neither do deer, since he thought the Bard's pipes were a rival buck."

"Was he…alright?" Bucky asked, head tilted as he tried not to imagine the possibilities.

"Oh, he was fine. We found him perched at the very top of a tree, swaying gently in the breeze, honking his pipes as loud as he could, calling for help. And every time he'd honk his pipes, the buck would bellow and charge the tree."   

Steve made a sound suspiciously like a giggle.

"Turns out life in Haven," Montgomery said, "might not prepare you for roughing it on the border, but it did teach him impressive tree climbing skills."

"I don't know," Sam replied, "he came looking for divine inspiration. Sounds like he was deeply inspired to climb the tree."

Chapter Text

The fastest path between the tiny Temple of Agnira they'd left this morning and the trapper outpost they were heading towards would have been straight across Sensholding. Instead, they were riding down a winding trail—just the six of them; they'd left the mules at the last Guard Post, since it was easier not to worry about them when the paths were this narrow and the footing this chancy—inconveniently skirting around Sensholding, because none of them felt like dealing with the Holderkin.

Fastest wasn't always the least painful.

Bucky had met Holderkin twice now and both times he'd been filled with the entirely un-Heraldic urge to drop all of them in Lake Evendim. He knew Steve found them kind of fascinating, in a poke-a-bruise kind of way. Being a Herald meant people generally trusted you on sight. Even out of uniform, which had happened a time or two. They saw the Companions and they knew: this was someone who would help. This was someone who wouldn't hurt them. This was someone who could be trusted, who'd never ask what's in it for me.

The Holderkin were almost the exact opposite of that and sometimes Steve seemed to enjoy poking the bruise, like if he poked it enough he could figure out why.

The world blurred and Bucky drowned in a river of fluffy white. The half-panicked cry of sheep filled his ears and the deep, musky scent of wool surrounded him.

"Where?" Steve said, firm tone cutting across the white as the world came back, Winter already wheeling, a rising column of smoke visible in the distance.

"There," he said pointing, unnecessarily, and all three Companions were leaping into a gallop, racing through the trees into Sensholding, clearing the high stone wall like it was nothing.

"Details?" Sam called.

"Sheep, lots of panicked sheep, it was—"

Bucky's eyes went wide as they crested a narrow hill and a swollen river of rushing white tumbled towards them.

Sheep. So many sheep. Their eyes were wild, their coats were hugely fluffy, and they were racing straight for the three Heralds.

The reason for their panic was clear. There was a fight brewing on all sides of the massive herd. Raiders, some on foot and some on horses, and Holderkin, doing their level-best to bring those raiders down.

 "We don’t need you here, Heralds!" one of the Holderkin hollered as he spotted them. "And we don’t want you, neither!"

At least they weren't hypocrites.

The brown-haired, brown-eyed, brown-clothed mountain of a Holderkin swung his staff and knocked a raider clear out of his saddle, glaring at Bucky the whole time.

Given the distance the raider flew, Bucky thought he might have a point on the need, and he'd made the want perfectly clear. Tempting as it was leave them to sort it out, they were Heralds. They had a duty to stop raiders from stealing sheep, even from people who didn't like them.

Winter surged under him, leaping like a fish against the tide of woolly bodies streaming past them, around them, under them. He barely kept his seat as Winter leapt straight up like a cat, all four hooves tucked under him.

:What in all the hells?: Bucky demanded as he scrambled for balance.

:It tickles,: Winter grumbled, snorting in displeasure, and then sheep parted, clearing the path, and Winter broke into a gallop, steady under him as Bucky raised his bow, aimed, and brought down a raider before he could cut down a Holderkin.

Another raider went down from a slung-hurled stone and Bucky signalled Winter to stop as the sheep suddenly halted, ignoring the mounted raiders' attempts to get them running again, and turned as one animal to face…

Sam. Sam, who was sitting on a brace-legged Riley, eyes distant, a wicked smile curving the corner of his mouth.

Body moving automatically, Bucky grabbed an arrow from his quiver, nocked, fired, taking down a raider about to do the same to Sam; she tumbled from her horse with a scream. Across the island of sheep, Steve and Shield crashed hard into a raider charging at Sam and sent them tumbling to the ground.

Sam lifted one hand, twirled it, and the sheep turned, lowered their heads, and charged the raiders.

Sheep were thickly armoured in wool, had heads as hard as plate armour, and, based on what Bucky was seeing, harboured a deep desire for mayhem that had just been waiting for Sam's Gift to set it free.

They mowed down the raiders, who could have escaped if their horses hadn't suddenly taken it into their heads to buck their riders off and bolt for the trees.

The Holderkin moved into their sheep—who paid them no attention, completely focussed on chasing down, stomping, butting and biting any raider they could get hooves, heads, or teeth on—subduing the dismounted raiders.

Bucky couldn't tell which was the one who'd yelled at him; they were all stocky, near-identical men dressed in thick brown wool. The only difference seemed to be their heights and facial hair, like someone had designed an incredibly boring series of dolls intended to nest one inside the other.

Steve and Shield were cantering around the mob of sheep and Holderkin, watching the trees for reinforcements, for any raiders they might have missed. Bucky nocked another arrow as Winter broke into a trot, moving closer to Sam and Riley, since Sam was still deep in his Gift, focussed on the sheep and the riderless horses now gathering in one spot neatly out of the way.

The Holderkin seemed to have things well in hand, and they weren't going too far, subduing, not killing, so he was content to leave it to the—

Bewildered shock slammed into him and he was shoving Winter's head around before he registered it was coming from Steve.

:Chosen!: Fury radiated from Shield, flashed through her mindvoice, rang in Bucky's heart and Winter launched himself through the sheep, who cleared out of his way—thank you Sam, thank you—to slide to a halt next to Steve.

Steve's sword was hanging bloody in his hand, a grey haired raider was crumpled in a heap next to Shield, his rib cage caved in from what had to be Shield's hoof, blood pooling from a deep slash across his chest.

Blood was spreading in a slow stain across Steve's Whites from the knife sticking out of his side. Steve wasn't reacting beyond blinking down at it in confusion.

"Shield, how bad is it?"

:It's not fatal.: If she was a dog she'd be growling; as it was, she was getting pretty close. :But it's not good.:

He turned in the saddle. He didn't see any raiders up, just a sea of Holderkin brown.

"Winter, is Sam back?"

Silence, then, :He's back, he's aware, he'll deal with the Holderkin. Riley says see to Steve.:

Duty first, always duty. Sometimes he could hate it. When he turned back to Steve, he met understanding. Understanding, love, and the look of a man hiding a huge amount of pain.

"He was hanging onto a sheep. Hanging onto its wool and hanging off its side. It was jumping around, I guess trying to get to him, it ended up next to Shield and he launched himself at me."

"Clever bastard." Winter got him closer to Steve and he leaned over to look closely at the knife, ignoring Steve's flinch.

"Guess that why he made it to so old."

:And he didn't go around attacking Heralds where their Companions could see,: Shield snapped out.

"That, too," Bucky agreed. She was still seething, and he wasn't going to argue with her. Not when she was right. "Do we get you down or do we keep you where you are and bring you to a Healer?"

"Hells, Bucky, don't make me climb down."

"And if you ride, what, the candlemark it's going to take to get back to the Temple of Agnira, how bad are you going to tear yourself up?"

:I can go smoothly.:

"That smoothly?"

:For my Chosen? There's nothing I can't do.:

Bucky gently touched Steve's thigh. "If she goes smooth, she goes slow, and we're talking a lot more than a candlemark."

"I'll be fine." Steve held out his sword. "I'm gonna need you to look after this, though."

Bucky took it, realised he had no way to get Steve's scabbard off him without jarring the knife, and dropped it on the ground.

Steve's, "Bucky," was pained, but he ignored it, digging in his saddlebags for what he needed to pack the wound, to keep the knife from moving, for the pain relief they all carried. He dug the last out first.

"Take it." He could hear Sam talking to the Holderkin, who were very clearly telling him to leave, the ungrateful bastards. "Steve," he added firmly, when Steve looked mulish. "Shield tell him."

:Chosen. Take it, or I'll feel guilty for the pain I'm going to cause you.:

"That's not fair."

:Not fair, but true,: Winter added.

Without another word, Steve popped the tiny cork out of the slender vial and downed the clear liquid with a grimace. Bucky shoved it back in his bags, then went to work securing Steve's wound. "It's not even a nice knife," he muttered. "It looks like the pot metal Thor's practice blades are made of."

"After it's pulled out of me we can send it back to Haven for him," Steve said. 

Bucky paused, then continued with his work. "I don't think so."

"No?"

"No."

When he was done, he gave himself a moment to stop being Herald James and just be Bucky, whose lifebonded had been stabbed. Very gently, he touched two fingers to Steve chin, leaned in, and delicately kissed the corner of his mouth, letting the comfort of touch flow between them.

Steve's breath shuddered. "Better than the stuff in the vial," he whispered, tipping his head to rest against Bucky's. Just for a moment, just for the very briefest of moments.

Then they were both straightening, Bucky's hand falling away.  

"Herald James, I need you." Sam was calling and, maybe, judging from his tone, it wasn't the first time he'd called.

"Be right back."

When he rode up next to Sam, Sam said, "I've tasked these fine folk with taking the raiders to the nearest Guard Post and they've assured me they will. Now I don't doubt their word, not one bit, but for the sake of making sure that, if something does happen, that everyone knows it wasn't their fault, I'm thinking second stage Truth Spell wouldn't go amiss. If you just cast it on their Headman, there?" 

The gathered Holderkin, their sheep grazing peacefully behind them, said nothing. All they did was stare resentfully at Bucky, the Headman doubly so. There were bodies on the ground, but none of them were their people. Bucky couldn't see a single dead sheep. They didn't ask if Steve was badly hurt or if he'd be okay. They genuinely seemed to resent that the Heralds had interfered. Maybe they hadn't needed any help. It was possible. Bucky thought they were wrong, but they were free to believe whatever they wanted.

Just like he was free to cast second stage Truth Spell on them. He had no problems with the idea. He wouldn't trust these people without some definite proof.

It came easily to him, the wispy cloud with the bright blue eyes—he'd never realised before, but it sort of reminded him of Steve—appearing over the Headman Sam pointed to. "Are you going to take the raiders to the Guard Post like Herald Samuel asked?"

The, "Yes," came very quickly. Too quickly. It wasn't right, though.

Bucky saw...something. Something in the way he was standing, something in his eyes. Maybe something in his voice. He wasn't sure what it was, but it made him ask, "What are you planning to do with the raiders?"

There was a flash of anger in the Headman's eyes before the spell forced him to speak, and Bucky knew he'd been right. "Burn the dead ones. The live ones, they can rebuild the shearing shed they burned down and clean out the dipping baths and scrub them clean and fix the rest of the damage they caused and when they've done that, then they can go to the Guard." His mouth snapped shut and he glared. "Damn Heralds, always shoving your noses in where they don't belong."

The blue-eyed wisp never faltered. The man was speaking the truth as he knew it.

Bucky dismissed it as Sam said, "Turns out, I've got no problem with that. In fact, I'll make that a Judgement," he gave Bucky a sideways look—technically he and Steve were in charge at this point, but Bucky just gave an imperceptible nod, "but it comes with responsibilities to treat their injuries and feed, clothe, and shelter them. I'll have a copy of the Judgement delivered to you and the nearest Guard Post. I'm sure the Guard will be by to check on them, just to make sure you're all getting by."

"Aye, Herald," the Headman muttered. "You can go now. We've got no need of you here."

Bucky was happy to go. He and Winter turned and trotted back to Steve. He was looking a little soft, a little fuzzy, both hands wrapped in Shield's mane. Bucky slipped off Winter's back, dealt with Steve's sword, then wrapped it in his spare cloak and strapped it to the back of Winter's saddle before remounting.

"How are you doing?" Sam asked.

"Good." Steve smiled, sweet and slow. "You should have kept the sheep. They deserve nicer people."

"You gave him the stuff in the vial, didn't you?" Sam asked Bucky.

"Yeah. He has a knife sticking out of his side. I gave him all of it."

"At his size, he'd need all of it. Is there a reason we're not getting him off Shield and—"

Steve scowled. "No." Shield's ears went flat.

"Alright, then. I guess we're going back to the Temple."

"Slowly. Shield sets the pace."

They rode away, leaving the sheep, the smoke, raiders, the brown-clad Holderkin and their distaste for Heralds behind, Shield pacing so smoothly Bucky thought he could balance an egg between her ears and it wouldn't roll off. The knife wasn't moving, the hilt sticking out from the cloth Bucky had packed around it, and the blood hadn't spread any further across Steve's Whites.

:Shield,: Bucky sent, :are you Healing him?:

:It's not much,: she said, sounding strained, :but it's enough to hold him until we get to a real Healer.:

:He's going to be fine.: He reached out to scratch her neck and she curved an ear towards him.

"Holderkin don't like us much do they?" Steve said, staring straight ahead.

"Nope, they never have," Sam said. "They used to be on the other side of the border—well, the border used to be on the other side of them—so that might have something to do with it."

"I guess we don't have to worry about ending up with a Holderkin Herald."

Bucky snorted. "I bet that would be fun."

*    *    *

It took three candlemarks to get back to the Temple of Agnira, which held both a small House of Healing and a very angry Healer. It took her half a candlemark to stop muttering about damn Heralds and their damn Companions and why did she bother if they were going to ride for three candlemarks with knives sticking out of their sides.

Bucky and Sam were extremely contrite, then vanished to look after the Companions, leaving Steve to bear the brunt of it, and since she Healed him, fed him, and left him bundled, warm and sleepy, in the sick room, Steve didn't think he could complain too much.

When Bucky slipped in the door and stretched out to lie next to him, so Steve could stretch out over him—then wince, swear, and rearrange them so he was curled into his side, because he was going to hurt for the next few days, Healer or no—he knew he couldn't.

*    *    *

The Waystation for the collection of little villages they were currently visiting had been taken out by tree-fall a few weeks back and was still in the process of being rebuilt, so they were staying at an inn. Not in one of the villages; this one was just off the Trade Road and catered to travellers and well-off traders. It had a large common room, big enough to attract travelling Bards, and there was one performing tonight.

The three Heralds took a corner table, enjoying the chance to eat food someone else had cooked, good beer, and the sounds of happy people they weren't responsible for.

Steve hadn't quite realised how much of a difference that made. How much more he could relax when the people around him weren't looking to him to solve their problems. A Herald was never really off duty, not when they were out in the world, not even when they were out of Whites, but unless something disastrous happened, tonight they could relax and be themselves.

He leaned back, hooking one foot over Bucky's ankle, and let his contentment flow into Bucky. Bucky flashed him a smile and he felt it echo back.

Sam was watching the Bard, listening closely as she ran through warmup exercises, humming unrecognisable bars of nonsense music to prepare as she plucked an accompaniment on her lute. She took a sip of water, flexed her fingers, settled her lute more comfortably and began to sing.

What has touched me, reaching deep, piercing my ensorcelled sleep, 
Darkling lady, do you weep? What is the cause of your grieving?
Why do tears of balm and bane, bathe my heart in bitter rain?
What is this longing, why this pain? What is this spell you are weaving?

Steve groaned quietly and put his head on the table. Next to him, Bucky slapped his hand over his mouth to muffle his laughter.

Sam turned around and stared at them. "Is there a problem?"

The bard kept singing:

Sunlight Singer, morning's peer, how I long for what I fear!
Not by my will are you here, how I wish I could free you!
Gladly in your arms I'd lie, but I dare not come you nigh,
For if you touch me I shall die, if I were wise I would flee you.

"Steve doesn't like songs about lifebonds," Bucky explained, with a distinct lack of sympathy and way too much laughing at flowing through their bond.

"Sun and Shadow is the worst one," Steve said without lifting his head. "It's not just a song. It's a whole cycle."

"Cheer up," Bucky said, leaning over to press a quick kiss to Steve's temple. "She might only do a few songs."

Sam was wearing a distinctly perplexed expression. "You're lifebonded."

"Yes," Steve muttered and Bucky smothered a laugh against his shoulder.  

"So…shouldn't you like these kinds of songs? Shouldn't they be romantic or something?"

"You'd think so," Bucky said. "But no."

"Oh, shut up," Steve said without lifting his head.

"No."

The bard closed her eyes, pouring passion into every note, and Steve grumbled and sank down farther in his chair.

In your eyes your soul lies bare, hope is mingled with despair;
Sunborn lover, do I dare trust my heart to your keeping?
Sunrise means that I must flee, moonrise steals your soul from me;
Nothing behind but agony, nothing before us but weeping.

Her Gift was gently sliding through the music, touching it with emotion, letting the listeners feel the tragedy of it. It was very gentle, inviting not demanding, not forcing, there if her audience wanted it.

Sam sighed, a mooncalf smile on his face as he propped his chin on his hand. Bucky wrapped his arm around Steve, and Steve grumbled some more.

They didn't leave, because despite her choice of songs—and she did do the whole cycle, curse her forever—she was talented, and Sam loved the music, so they stayed, Sam swept away in the emotion of it while Bucky tried not to laugh at Steve and Steve huffed grumpily, only occasionally giving into the fact that the Bard was, if he ignored the words, extremely good.

*    *    *

A month and a half had passed, Sam and Bucky had finally stopped bursting into impromptu duets of Sun and Shadow just to enjoy Steve's groaning reaction, and the snows had come to the border once more. The last encounter they'd had with raiders, Riley had taken a long slash across his flank, not serious, but awkward, and he and Sam were holed up at the Howlies' Guard Post until it fully healed.

Steve and Bucky were on a narrow track that wound through the forest, making their way to the Waystation for the night. It was mostly clear, protected by the trees overhead, but outside the trees the snow was hock deep, sweeping into drifts from the wind.

It was peaceful and quiet, the snow muffling the sounds of the forest, and Steve stretched in the saddle and pulled his cloak tighter around him.

Surprise suddenly flashed into him from Bucky, and Shield turned so he could reach for him while Winter braced. He wrapped his hand around Bucky's thigh while Bucky shook his head to clear it. It had only been surprise. Not shock, not anger. That meant it wasn't a fight, wasn't someone dying. 

"People in the snow," Bucky said. "That's all I got. People in the snow."

Steve let his gaze sweep around them.

"Yeah, this one was really helpful."

"Someone in the snow out here isn't going to last long."

"No, they're not. Try and find them?"

He knew Bucky meant with his Gift. "Hopefully they're not far."

It was Shield's turn to brace under him and Bucky wrapped a hand around his shoulder as Steve closed his eyes, reached for his Gift, and shifted his Sight out. The world looked different, colourless, pale, slightly glowing, and, having no idea where to start, he picked the direction away from the closest settlement.

A warning twinge scratched at his temples as he quartered the snowy forest, but he found tracks, found shadows of people, marked the direction and snapped back into his body.

"Got them."

"Any idea who they are?"

"People in the snow. People who need help. I wasn't wasting energy on perfect Sight." If he poured enough energy into it, he could get clarity and colour equal to normal sight, but he rarely bothered.

Bucky nodded and followed as Steve nudged Shield off the track, heading for where he'd Seen them.

The snow wasn't too deep, but it was damp, clinging to their Companions' hooves, and it made it slow going. By the time they reached where Steve had Seen whoever they were, they'd moved on, but they hadn't gone far, their tracks easy to follow.

When Steve saw them, saw who they were, or at least who one of them was, when he recognised the robes, he signalled Shield to stop so fast Winter almost ran into her.

Steve didn't know what they were doing here, wasn't sure how'd they'd made it this far on only their feet, but desperation could drive people to incredible lengths and he knew desperation when he saw it.

He saw it now. Looking down at the red-robed priest and the three children huddled around him, he recognised desperation. They were all staring in terror at the Companions, at Steve, at Bucky. He was just as glad Sam and Riley weren't with them, because they were barely holding themselves in check now; a third White Demon and Hellhorse might be enough to make them bolt.

The oldest child couldn't be more than ten. The youngest maybe six. The idea of chasing them down was the stuff of nightmares.

:Shield, Winter? Are you getting anything from them?:

:The children are Gifted,: Winter replied.

Suddenly, everything made terrible, horrifying sense. They'd learned what happened to the Gifted in their class on Karse. They were burned. Gifted children were burned alive by the Sunpriests.

"No one will harm you," he said in Karsite, not fluent but far better than serviceable, as he slid off Shield's back. All four startled, the children huddling closer to the Sunpriest. Because that's what he was. A Sunpriest, one who'd brought three Gifted children over the border into the land of Karsite's greatest enemy, the home of everything the people of Karse were taught to fear.

Desperation was too small a word.

The Sunpriest drew himself up, trying to push the children behind him. "I don't care what you do to me. Just swear you will not harm the children. Prove you're not what the stories paint you. Herald." He spat the last word, but Steve guessed it was better than White Demon.

"Why have you crossed into Valdemar?"

He thought the priest wouldn't answer, was sure he wouldn't answer, but as he stared back at Steve, there was defiant fire in his eyes. "It is said children with powers are safe here. I know there are followers of Vkandis in your country. I'm taking the children to them. Or I was, before you hunted us down."

Steve didn't react beyond a slow nod. The priest was bristling with hostility, but it was masking sheer terror and Steve could see he was absurdly young.

Bucky dismounted, dropped his weapons, and slowly approached. He was less imposing than Steve, especially off Winter; no matter how small Steve tried to make himself, he couldn't shed his bulk.

The priest watched warily as Bucky went to one knee a few feet away. His Karsite was as good as Steve's—not surprising, since Steve had taught him. "We will protect the children. We will protect you. Even if Karse comes seeking you back, we will protect you. Valdemar welcomes all who seek safety."

Sincerity rang through his voice, clear as bells. 

The priest dragged in a shaky breath and nodded, clutching the children tightly. "I have no choice but to believe you. Help us, Herald."

Bucky smiled gently, soft as new fallen snow and Steve was struck with a wave of love for him. "I pledge you our word and the word of my King. Steven will fetch a wagon to bring you and the children to safety while Winter and I stay and keep you safe."

It was a good plan, even if he felt a twinge at leaving Bucky and Winter alone. This could be a trap. Unlikely, but it could be a trap.

But someone had to go. This was what being a Herald meant.

"I'll be back as fast as I can," he said, pulling himself up onto Shield's back as she swung around.

:All will be well, Steven,: Winter murmured in his mind as they raced away.

*    *    *

Winter had been right, all was well when they returned. Bucky had coaxed the priest into accepting his canteen and some honey bars for the children, and the children were sitting in a clear spot under a tree, sipping water and eating while Winter and Bucky stood guard a fair distance away.     

The rattling of the wagon caught everyone's attention, but Bucky soothed them with calm, gentle words, and Dugan and Gabe moved slowly and smiled encouragingly.

Steve wasn't sure, if his position and the priest's were reversed, that he would have had the courage to climb into the wagon. To lift the children one after another and place them in the control of his lifetime's mortal enemy.  But then he wasn't sure he would have had the courage to bring them across the border in the first place.

How determined must he have been to save them? To throw over a lifetime of indoctrination, a lifetime of fear, and risk everything?

That was courage. Or faith. Or both.  

*    *    *

He and Steve weren't responsible for the Sunpriest who wouldn't stop glaring at them. Bucky was grateful for that. He didn't really blame the priest for the glaring, but he also didn't want to deal with it. He was happy his fickle Foresight had decided to show him Jannik and his children, because he wouldn't have given them much chance of surviving out there on their own, but that didn't mean he wanted to be in charge of figuring out what happened next.

They were being escorted to Haven—after having been Truth Spelled by Sam, to make sure that was really why Jannik had come over the border, which the Heralds thought was fair enough but had made Jannik glare even more. Bucky hadn't any doubts, though.

They waved goodbye to the littles, who'd become a lot less scared of the White Demons and their Hellhorses in the week they'd been in the Guard Post—a good thing, since they were going to grow up in Valdemar—and then Sam stretched and rubbed his back when it cracked.

"I'm getting old," he grumbled.

"Oh, ancient," Steve teased.

"Decrepit," Bucky added.

"Nothing but grey hairs as far as the eye can see," Steve said.

"If I've got grey hairs, it's from putting up with the two of you." He waited a beat. "Thankfully that's over."

They both stared at him.

"That shut you up, didn't it?"

Steve said, "What?"

"You're done. No more internship. Time to get sent somewhere nicer than the border."

"Can you do that?" Bucky asked.

"Technically, no. I send a recommendation to the Circle and they decide, but they never go against the mentor's recommendation." He scratched his chin thoughtfully. "Almost never. But you don't have anything to worry about."

"Oh." Bucky wasn't sure what to feel.

"Mmmm. I know there's a bit of time left, but after how you two dealt with the Sunpriest situation." He shrugged one shoulder. "No, you're done. Courier's due in two weeks, I'm sending my recomendation with them. Unless you have an objection?"

"What? No!" Bucky said.

"No," Steve added. "It just snuck up on us."  

"That'll happen. Come on, let's get you both a drink to celebrate."

Chapter Text

The Waystation they holed up in a week later to avoid a blizzard was on the small side, which wasn't great for three grown men, but they'd had a long time to get used to each other. They knew how to give each other space and privacy, even when there wasn't much of either.

Steve generally didn't do it by sitting on their bed, Bucky sitting next to him, and saying, "Sam, can we talk to you?"

Sam looked up from his book. "Isn't that's what happening now?"

"You brought that on yourself," Bucky told Steve and he sighed. He and Bucky had spent awhile talking about this, had ended up flipping a coin to pick who'd start—Steve still wasn't sure if he'd won or lost—but they, and their Companions, were determined.

That determination might not make any difference, Heralds didn't usually get to decide where they were sent, but they could try. 

"I did," Steve conceded.

"Always go for the direct approach," Sam said, smiling a little as he set his book aside. "What can I do for you?"

Steve glanced at Bucky, then back to Sam. "It's more what we can do for you. What we want to do for you."

Bucky nodded.

"Alright. You realise I have no idea what you're talking about, but if you two weren't bonded so tight I doubt there's room for a knife blade between you, it'd sound like you were about to proposition me?"

There was deep amusement in his voice. Steve blinked, reran the words he'd just said, and groaned, dropping his head into his hand. He could feel Bucky fighting laughter.

"No," Bucky choked out. "No, that's not what we had in mind."

"You doing alright, Steve?" Sam asked.

"Fine."

"Are you sure?" Bucky asked. "Your ears are red."

"Leave me alone."

Bucky laughed outright and kissed his temple. Steve sighed again and lifted his head. Sam's gaze, rich with humour as it was, was also kind.

Steve decided to abandon conversational gambits—they weren't in his skill set—and just say what they had to say. "We want you to go back to Haven and leave us here."

Sam's face went blank. "Run that past me again?"  

This he had words for. He and Bucky, Winter and Shield, they'd worked this out between them. "You're meant for more than riding Circuit on the border."

"Are you saying you're not."

"No, no I'm not, that's not—" He bit down in frustration, and Bucky stepped in, smooth as silk.

"No. We're saying this is what we're good at. We're not diplomats, we're not teachers. We're not judges the way you are. We can be those things when we need to be, every Herald can, but Sam, you're more than good enough. You're incredible at those things."

Steve lifted his chin. "Our first duty is to Valdemar. Every Herald's first duty is to Valdemar. The Collegium taught us, but you trained us. The Circle handed us our Whites, but you let us earn them. You taught us what they mean. We think we can serve Valdemar best by taking what you gave us and using it here, on the border. Not just because this is what we're best suited for, but because it frees you to go and do more."

"The border sector's dangerous."

Bucky slid his hand over Steve's shoulder and Steve slipped his fingers through Bucky's. "So are we," Bucky said seriously.

"I'm not going to argue with that."

Steve shifted his gaze back to meet Bucky's, who nodded. "And It's not just about you," Steve admitted. "This is also the best chance we have of staying together, but Sam? That's not what we were thinking about when we came up with the idea. We were thinking of you."

Sam ran his hand over his head, studying them both in turn. "You really want to do this."

"Want to Truth Spell us?" Bucky asked.

"No, you idiots, I don't want to Truth Spell you," Sam said on a laugh. "You realise I have to completely rewrite the letter I'm sending the Circle?"

"Make Steve write it," Bucky said, flopping back and tossing his arm over his eyes. "He's good at things like that."

*    *    *

When the Circle's response made its way back to the border, Steve and Bucky were officially confirmed to full Whites and assigned to the border sector.

Sam was recalled to Haven, and Bucky didn't know exactly what was in the message he'd been sent, or what might have been passed from the courier's Companion to Riley to Sam, but he had a definite cat that caught the songbird look about him.

The look lasted through the impromptu farewell party at the Howlies' Guard Post, a rousing, roaring, drunken affair, and it was still going when Bucky and Steve stumbled into what had, somehow, been permanently earmarked as their room when they were close enough to take advantage of it.

It even lasted through the morning hangover, shared by all three Heralds, and eventually soothed by willowbark tea and greasy eggs.

The look had vanished by the time Sam saddled Riley and tethered Honey to his saddle.  

Steve and Bucky walked with him down the path leading from the Guard Post to the road, keeping a wary distance from Honey. Once they reached the road, Sam stopped and Riley led Honey away.

"I guess this is goodbye," Steve said.

"I guess it is," Sam replied. "For the moment."

"Thanks for everything." Steve lifted a hand, like he was going to wave, and Sam pulled him into a hug, then reached out an arm and dragged Bucky in.

"For the record," Sam said, squeezing them both tight. "I'm proud to have had you both as my interns. I may deny if it anyone asks," Bucky laughed against Sam's shoulder and hugged him harder, "but I'm proud."  

They stood together, holding on, knowing it could be years before they were together again, then Sam stepped back.

"Even if you did set a duck on fire," Sam told Steve, smirking when Bucky laughed.

"One time," Steve said, shaking his head. "One damn time."

"Some things only have to happen once to be eternally memorable." Sam turned, put a foot in Riley's stirrup, and mounted. "Take care of each other."

Bucky slipped his fingers through Steve's. "Always. Take care of yourself."

Sam grinned and Riley broke into a trot, Honey braying a complaint as she followed.

"I'm gonna miss him," Steve said as he disappeared around a bend in the road.

"I know."

"I'm not going to miss the mule."

"Fair enough," Bucky replied. "She never missed you."

He ducked to avoid Steve's swat and, laughing, bolted back down the trail, Steve racing after him.

*    *    *

It was different without Sam. Much as Bucky missed him, in some ways it was better.

Once he'd handed the reins over to them, he'd never interfered, but there'd always been a sense that he was there, ready to catch them if they fell. At first, it had been welcome but the longer it had gone on, the more it had started to chafe. Not that they'd realised it until now.

Plus there was something good about it just being the two of them. Not just the privacy, although not having to share a Waystation with someone else, even someone as willing to give them space as Sam, was so good. It was more than that. For the first time they could completely stretch their wings, falcons taking flight, becoming fully what they'd been Chosen to be.

The land near the border was cold, hard, and unforgiving, and there was a contingent of Holderkin that next thing to hated them, but still. He wasn't sure he'd ever been happier. He knew Steve felt the same. He could feel it, flowing into him. Feel it when they rode side by side down the Trade Road, Winter and Shield's hooves chiming out a matching rhythm.

He could feel it when they trudged through the snow, cold and wet and miserable as they sought out lost sheep for an unfortunate homesteader who'd had a tree fall though his fence. He could feel it when they hunted down feral cattle, abandoned or escaped and turned dangerous with no fear of people. While they followed the path of their Circuit through villages and farms and outposts too small to have a name, and spent every night curled close together.

It was always there with him, their mingled happiness, their mingled love, resting in a spot under his heart, glowing and pure, his bond with Steve as strong as his bond with Winter and some days he wanted to laugh that he'd ever thought it was something to be afraid of.

The cold slowly gave way to the warmth of spring, new growth budding out of bare branches and coating the trees with green.

The rivers and streams and ponds and lakes—baby lakes, and he was stuck forever thinking of them that way, thanks to their time at Lake Evendim—filled with snowmelt from the rocky hills and mountains that surrounded this part of Valdemar.

Filled to overflowing their banks in some cases, turning innocent looking stretches of grass into secret muddy swamps.

"You're a Companion, mystical, magical creature of legend," Steve said, staring at Winter. "Explain to me again how you didn't see it?"

Winter and Shield both gave him dirty looks: Shield, still pristine white, Winter, mostly brown and shoulder deep in a sucking mud hole. 

"Imagine if I hadn't been Chosen. Imagine if a magical white horse hadn't appeared out of nowhere and dragged me away from a mud free life," Bucky said wistfully from the edge of the swamp.

:Imagine if I had a Chosen who didn't appreciate that I saved him from being stuck in here with me.:

"That's true," Steve said. "He did save you."

"He bucked me off. Into the edge of the mud." Bucky pointed at his ass, which was muddy. "As you can see. Are you sure you weren't trying to save yourself?" he asked Winter.

Winter snorted, spraying Bucky, Steve, and Shield, who danced back and flattened her ears at him, with muddy mist.

:Do you mind?: Shield said peevishly.

:Not at all. Always happy to share.: Winter pulled a hoof free with an obscene slurping noise and pawed the mud, sending splatters flying.

"Hey!" Bucky glared down at the new speckles coating his Whites.

:I can imagine not being stuck with the herd's rudest Companion,: Shield said, sounding deeply put out. :That's what I can imagine.:

Steve scratched her under her mane, then reached up to rub her ears, and got a mollified snort for his troubles. "It'll wash off," he said. "Winter, are you actually stuck, or are you just sulking in there?"

:I don't sulk.:

Steve met Bucky's eyes and they didn't laugh, but Steve could feel amusement flowing out of him. Maybe Winter didn't sulk, but it was clear he was embarrassed.

"Of course you don't," Bucky said. "Can you get out on your own, or do you need Shield to pull you out?"

Winter's ears flicked, he craned his neck around to peer at his hindquarters, then he braced himself, lunged, and tore himself free in an explosion of mud. It was like a torrent as he hit the bank on his knees, stumbled, rolled, scrambled to his feet and—

"Don't!" Bucky yelled as Steve groaned and Shield spun, curving around Steve.

—shook himself violently.

"I hate you." Bucky held up his hands. They were coated with mud, just like the rest of him. It was even dripping from his hair.

:Bucky, you can come with us.: Shield was glaring at Winter, who was looking very smug. One side of her was brown, one side still white. Steve, who'd been sheltered by her bulk, was untouched. :I don't mind if you want to share me. We'll leave Winter here. He can find himself a, a pigeon to be his Herald.:

:We work as a team, all four of us,: Winter said solemnly, but there was a glint in his eye. :We share our experiences, our joys and triumphs.: He started pacing towards Steve. :Our falling into swamps. Steven, hold still. I need to share this experience with you.:

"You stay away from me!" Steve was laughing as he backed away. Winter barely looked like a Companion, scraggle-maned and scraggle-tailed and a swampy green-brown.

Steve darted around Shield as Winter trotted after him, but Bucky grabbed his bridle. "One of us should be still be able to pass as a Herald," he said, chuckling as he rubbed his muddy hands over Winter's forehead. "And you're terrible."

:I fell into a swamp. It's allowed:

:If we pass a lake, I'm going to push you into it,: Shield said, shoving Winter with her nose as her ears curved forward.

"If we pass a lake, I'm jumping into it," Bucky said. "Let's get going. This is going to get worse before it gets better."

Winter spun to present his side and Bucky mounted, squishing all the way. Steve made a half-hearted attempt to wipe down Shield's saddle, then gave up and just sat in the mud.

"Comfy?" Bucky asked as they rode out, two mud-drenched Companions, one-mud soaked Herald, and Steve, barely touched, who nearly glowed next to them.

Steve grinned at him. "I can't imagine anything better."

Chapter Text

"Your mail’s in your room," Dugan called as they came into the warmth of the Howlies’ Guard Post, not looking up from the map he was studying. Bucky gave Steve a quick kiss as Steve handed him his saddlebags and diverted to join Dugan at the map.

Bucky wasn’t surprised. It’d been almost a year since Sam had returned to Haven, and their stops at the Howlies’ Post had become something of a ritual, Steve joining into whatever planning session they had going on, contributing what they’d learned, adding it to the collection of border intelligence the Guard maintained.

This wasn’t the only Guard Post they stopped at, not by a long shot, even if most of the time they ended up in Waystations or barns or, when it wasn’t the bitter cold of a few days ‘til Midwinter's Eve, slept under the stars, but it was the only one where they belonged. They had their own room, and they’d long since given Beans a home here with the Howlies' quartermaster. He was happier and so were they, and it let them travel faster, taught them to travel light.

"Thanks, Dugan," Bucky called.

"What, no kiss for me?" Dugan called back, making a smooch-face. Bucky grinned and kept going, but he heard a smacking noise followed by a disgusted snort. "I don’t want one from you." Steve’s laugh followed him down the hall.

It was good to know there was a place he and Steve were always welcome. Not everywhere they went down here was happy about them being together, and they'd learned where they could be open about it and where they couldn't.

They both thought it was stupid, petty, and small, but the stupid, the petty, the small were as entitled to Heraldic help as everyone else and sometimes Herald Steven and Herald James were formal cloaks they wore to hide their true opinions.

They never had to do it with the Howlies.

The room they'd been permanently assigned had been aired out, there was clean bedding, and two letters on the dresser. Bucky dropped their packs and made tracks for the bathing room. They were small, but they had two of the same heated tubs that they had at the Collegium, and it wasn’t long before Bucky was nose deep in hot water.

He closed his eyes and drifted, paying gentle attention to his bond with Steve. Right now it was distant and spiky. Sharp but content. Steve would be talking tactics and planning with Dugan and Gabe, content and satisfied in a way Bucky couldn’t quite grasp. Not that Bucky was bad at it, he just didn’t…love it the way Steve seemed to.

When the sharp spiky contentment—which shouldn’t be a possible combination, but that was Steve—began to fade, he climbed out of the tub, dried off and dressed in soft, worn wool, pumped the brazier full and wandered back to their room. He’d just finished digging out their gear that needed to be cleaned and repaired when Steve walked in and flopped down on the bed with a content groan.

Bucky poked his calf. "At least get your boots off. What are you, an animal?"

Steve rolled over and made sad eyes at him.

"Fine, but just this once."

"What's the mail?" Steve asked as Bucky sat on the bed and started unlacing Steve's boots.

"Do you want your boots off or do you want to know what's in the mail?"

"Both?"

"Why do I put up with you?" Bucky stood up, grabbed the mail, tossed it onto Steve's chest, and grinned when Steve caught his sweater and dragged him closer for a deep, satisfying kiss. "That's a good reason," he murmured.

Steve gave him another quick kiss, then let go, wiggling his boot.

"You are terrible."

"You love me anyway."

"I do," Bucky sighed, pulling off one of Steve's boots, tucking it half under the bed, and starting on the other one. "Are you going to read me the mail?"

"There's one from Sam." Bucky knew what Steve was going to say next from the trickle of protectiveness that came through the bond. He curled his fingers around Steve's ankle and waited. "And one from your parents."

"Read the one from Sam?" he suggested, sliding Steve's other boot off and putting it next to its mate.

"Sure you don't want to save that one?"

"I know you don't like them—"

"It's not that I don't like them."

Bucky knew that was true. Steve didn't know them. That was Bucky's fault. In the over five years they'd been together, he'd never taken Steve home to meet them. But that wasn't about Steve. In all that time, he'd never gone home. When they'd been at the Collegium it had just been easier not to, and now, well, leaving their Circuit wasn't something they could just do.

Whenever a letter had arrived, a couple of times a year, it had been marked by Steve feeling just like he felt now, like a big ball of protectiveness that wanted to wrap itself around Bucky. Bucky had never known if he wanted to let him or shove him away, snarling that he didn't need to be protected.

They'd both gotten a lot better over the years. "I know," Bucky said. "Sorry."

"Don't apologise." Steve sat up, shifting so he could put a leg on either side of Bucky, leaning his chin on Bucky's shoulder as he offered him the letters. "Your choice."

He plucked the letter from his parents out of Steve's hands. "You're right, get it over with, save Sam's letter for afterwards."

"I like that." Steve kissed his neck.

"What?"

"'You're right'. You should say that more often."

"Be right more often," Bucky said dryly. "And I'll think about it."

Steve leaned against his shoulder while Bucky opened the letter and skimmed past the usual reports on the business, the herds, the breeding stock that always made up the bulk of the letters. The wedded and parental status of various family members (and that was just another update on breeding stock, he couldn't help thinking), and then he choked.   

Someone must have been sneaking brandy into his parents' well.

"Kernos' balls," Bucky muttered.

"Bucky?"

He waved the letter at Steve, who, invited, read it over Bucky's shoulder. And then started laughing.

"It's not funny!"

"It kind of is."

"Really? You think," he cleared his throat, "'You and your lifebonded have been together for many years now, and the last of your cousins has just wed. I expect that after all this time your thoughts must be turning to marriage. We want you to know that you could of course hold the wedding and festivities on the estate here at Endercott.' is funny?"

"It's a little bit funny."

"Aargh!" Bucky tossed the letter on the bed. "It's like they can't leave well enough alone. Oh, you've been with your lifebonded for years, and everyone else in the family is married, of course you have to get married now, too."

Steve's head was tilted, he was watching him, the smallest smile pulling up the corner of his mouth.

"What?" Bucky grumped.

"Nothing. You're just adorable when you get like this."

"No, I'm not."

"Yeah, you are." Steve kissed Bucky's cheek. "Do you want to get married?"

Bucky opened his mouth but closed it again when Steve pressed a thumb against his lips. "No, ignore the letter. Do you, Bucky, my lifebonded, want to get married?"

He thought about it. Closed his eyes and really thought about it, the warmth of Steve's thumb against his lip grounding him. "I guess we can if you want?"

There was a tickle at the edge of his mind he knew was Shield. :Yes?:

:If I get a vote, I'd like a wedding,: she sent to them both, making Bucky's eyes pop open. :Flowers in my mane, flowers in my tail.:

:Flowers are delicious,: Winter sent, wicked humour in his mindvoice, followed by, :Do not kick me!:

:If you eat my flowers, I'll kick you even harder.:

"Children," Steve said, and Bucky turned around to press his face into Steve's shoulder, muffling laughter at the feeling of outrage radiating from both Companions. "If you want flowers, we can get you flowers. There doesn't have to be a wedding." He ran his fingers up the nape of Bucky's neck, making him shiver. "Unless you want one."

"I'm yours and you're mine." He turned his head to kiss Steve's neck, kept kissing, working his way up, nipping the corner of his jaw as Steve tilted his head to give him better access. "A wedding won't change that."

"I'm yours," Steve whispered as Bucky started unlacing his tunic, "and you're mine."

Bucky hummed agreement. 

"No wedding required."

"Not unless we decide we want a lot of presents." He felt Steve vibrating with laughter under his hands and leaned back to grin at him.

"You're impossible."

"And yours," Bucky reminded him.

"And mine," Steve said, catching Bucky's face between both hands as he kissed him deeply.

*    *    *

They spent Midwinter's Eve with the Howlies. The celebration was quiet, quieter than they'd been expecting, and they were both touched that the Howlies went out of their way to make Winter and Shield part of it.

They cleared snow and lit a bonfire, the flames licking high into the starry night sky. After the feast, they dragged out chairs and wood and whatever they could find to sit on. Bucky and Steve curled together against Winter's side, Shield stretched out next to them with her head resting on Winter's back.

Between the fire and their closeness, they were warm. A bottle was passed around, something sweet that burned when it went down and left the world softer when it was done. It was a moment of peace, a moment to be—not just together, but to spend with friends and allies who'd welcomed them into their lives.

*    *    *

The new year brought more bandits, bolder bandits. It was Morita who taught them the trick of using the tack for identification. Their saddles, their bridles, they all used the same kind and they weren't anything commonly used in Valdemar. All of it added up to the bandits coming from the same place.

Of course, since they didn't know where that place was, it didn't help with finding the source, but it gave them something they could tell people to watch for, since a bandit could transform themself into an ordinary traveller by the simple method of not riding out in a pack and killing people.

As they rode Circuit, they described what that they knew, showed the sketches Steve had made. They made it clear that just because someone was riding with that tack it didn't make them a bandit, but they warned people to be alert if they saw it. To prepare, just in case. Because if they weren't an ordinary traveller, they could be a scout, checking for traders' caravans or well-off travellers or studying a village's defences.

For the most part, it went well. Steve made copies of his sketches and left them with the Guard Posts on their Circuit. For the Guard Posts not on their Circuit, he wrote out an explanation, had Dugan sign it, added a copy of the sketches and, with the help of the map in the Howlies' command room, used Farsight to find the other posts and Fetching to send the bundle of papers to land in front of someone senior.

By the time he was done he was wiped out, reaction headache sparkling like broken glass, turning the world into fractured pain, but it would hopefully make a difference. And Bucky was there, leading him to their room, gentle hands and soothing fingers running through his hair as he got him settled, tucking Steve into the curve of his body.

The beat of Bucky's heart under his ear echoed the pulse of love and pride flowing into him through their bond; it was enough to push the pain away and let him sleep.

*    *    *

Their actions seemed to make a difference. The attacks on settlements and townships decreased as winter progressed. The ones that happened were more successfully fought off, because they were almost always preceded by a traveller showing up in town, their horse wearing tack that matched the descriptions Steve and Bucky had circulated.  It gave the town time to prepare, sometimes time to send for the Guard or the Heralds, if either were close enough.

It drove the bandits to easier targets. Targets that wouldn't have much, but even targets without much would have something.

*    *    *

The snows hung on late, the cold weather stretching out into what would normally be the start of spring. It was chancy travelling through the hills before the snows had cleared, but some people couldn't wait. Some people had to risk it and those people were exactly what desperate bandits were waiting for.

The rising plume of smoke brought Steve and Bucky racing up the pass through the hills that opened into the mountains. They were white-clad Heralds on white Companions on white snow, fast and silent, and the bandits laying siege to the caravan of wagon-folk never saw them coming.

They sped across the ground like silent death, Bucky's arrows flying ahead of them, bandit after bandit sprouting arrows, and then they plunged into them.

Shield spun and danced as Steve cut them down, heavy sword swinging in great arcs. Winter reared high, massive hooves crashing down as Bucky's lighter sword and long dagger drew patterns of death.

Two broke away, mounted on tough little ponies. Steve knew if they made into the craggy mountains they'd never stop them.

"Bucky."

"I see 'em."

An arrow sent one tumbling from her mount; another arrow lodged in the flank of the other's pony, but Winter, twice its height, thrice its weight, smashed into it, knocking it sprawling, and Bucky's dagger took its rider in the eye.

Shield spun on her back legs, giving Steve a full view of the bloody snow, of the hills rising high on either side of the narrow pass. The pass opened into a broad path, cut with wagon tracks, that ran west, and a narrow, rocky trail, dotted with sparse trees, that ran east along the cliff's edge, rising up into the mountains.

Her hooves touched down in the snow, and Steve was facing the smashed and burning wagons.

Some of the bandits on the ground were still alive, he could see them breathing, hear their sounds of pain, but they were so far gone they weren't a threat. They also weren't important. Not right now.

The wagon-folk they'd attacked came first and none of them who were sprawled in the bloody snow were moving.

Steve reined in his anger. There was no place for it here. It wouldn't help.

It took a few moments for the surviving wagon-folk to understand they were safe, for weapons to be lowered, and then they were rushing to put out the fires, to bind wounds.

To check on their dead.

Steve dismounted and approached, smiling tightly at the offered gratitude. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry we weren't here sooner and I'm sorry, but we need to get you out of here."

*    *    *

Bucky slid his leg over Winter and dropped to the ground, sending Winter out to keep watch.

Steve was organising what was left of this group into something that could get to safety. He was good at that, good at lifting them up, getting them moving, making them believe it would be alright.

At least for as long as it took to get somewhere safe.

Because it wouldn’t be all right, at least not for most of them. Half their wagons were destroyed, half their people were dead. They could apply to the Crown for help to replace their lost wagons, but that was only money. Only things. Nothing could replace what was actually gone, especially not for wagon-folk, where groups of travellers were almost always families.

Speaking of families… A knot of littles, two older ones and a gaggle of younger, peered out at him from inside a wagon. It wasn't burned, but the wheels had been smashed, the snow around it was bloody and he had to pick his way around bodies, wagon-folk and bandits both. They'd paid a high cost to defend it.

"Are any of you hurt?"

A few of them nodded, showing cuts, burns. Mostly they were scared. Traumatised. He wondered how many of the dead were parents, siblings. He had to throttle down the entirely un-Heraldic urge to cut a few bandit throats.

"Shield, can you help me, here?"

She hurried over. There wasn't much she could do, her Healing Gift was only a trickle, but she'd always use it for children, and there wasn't a child of Valdemar who didn't love a Companion. He left them huddled around her head while she nosed their hair and started unhitching the horse—either unbelievably calm or shocked past the point of reaction.

The flash grabbed him and shook him—hands dragging the littles out of the wagon, a boot crushing a tiny head, a sword cutting a tiny throat—and he snarled and drew his knife, slicing through the traces, dragging the horse to the back of the wagon.

"On, get on," he barked, and fearfully, wide-eyed, they obeyed, clambering onto the horse's broad back.

Minutes, they only had minutes.

Blindly, he reached out and there was a saddle under his hands, a mindvoice snapping, :On, get on, what did you see?: He threw himself into the saddle while he gasped it out and the mindvoice called, :Chosen, there's more! They're coming!:

Steve yelled, "Go, you have to go!" while someone snatched the horse's reins from Bucky's hands.

The world blinked back. The wagon-folk were scrambling, dragging dead horses away from intact wagons, the littles were being loaded into a wagon. Steve led another horse free of a half-burnt wagon and it tried to rear but Winter bared his teeth, snapping, cowing it, and Steve swung up on Winter's back, snatching up the horse's reins and tossing them to someone else. "Go. We won't let them follow. On my word as a Herald, but you have to go."

It'd been candlemarks since Bucky's vision. Had it been wrong?

:It's been less than a minute,: Shield sent, ears up, nose lifted. :They're coming.:

"Steve."

"I know."

Without words, the two Companions bolted forward, reaching the mouth of the pass just as the pack of bandits galloped down the rocky trail. The one in the lead, a sharp faced woman on a rangy red mare pointed at the wagons and they leapt forward, closing the distance.

She went down with an arrow in her eye.

Bucky reached out, grabbed three more arrows out of the quiver on Winter's saddle, and sighted carefully, Shield like a rock under him, and took out two more and a pony before darting to circle around the pack.

Steve and Winter planted themselves in the mouth of the pass and Bucky and Shield spun and wove, picking off bandits one by one as they tried to get past Steve and Winter. They were immovable, Winter's size and Steve's reach cutting down any who tried to get past him, Bucky's arrows taking anyone who tried to charge him as a group.

The wagons were finally moving, but they were slow. They weren't made for speed, not in this snow, but they were finally moving, exhausted horses straining, breaking the wheels out of the ice that had formed…

His Gift was a flash, interposing itself on the world in front of him.

Arrows, arcing over Steve to kill the horses drawing the wagons. Arrows, slamming into Steve and Winter, bright blood staining Steve's Whites, dripping down Winter's coat. A small distant part of him could appreciate the strategy even as it left him gasping, Shield's sides heaving under him.

He knew she'd seen.

His eyes darted across the snowy field. There were the scraggly trees from his vision, concealing the newly arrived archers on the edge of the trail. There were Steve and Winter, Winter rearing high, heavy hooves lashing out as Steve swept his sword in a broad arc. There were the wagons, moving slowly—Pelias' tits why were they so slow?—as their horses dragged them through the pass.

The world slowed around him.

He was down to two arrows, but even with a full quiver, he wouldn’t have trusted himself. Not through the trees. He could yell a warning, send his vision to Winter, but where would they go? There was no cover…and he knew Steve wouldn't move.

He was holding the pass so the wagon-folk could escape. Nothing would move him but death.

Bucky drew his sword as Shield spun, head low, weaving through bandits that Bucky sliced into, driving for the trees.

His Gift grabbed him again, shook him like caught prey, a vision of what this would cost. He knew Shield saw it, as deep in his mind as she was, but they didn't hesitate.

They crashed through the trees, smashed into the bandits, who had bows raised, arrows ready to fly, and sent them plummeting over the cliff.

Hooves slipping in the snow, Shield scrambled to stop as Bucky threw his weight back, desperately trying to keep her balanced. They slid to a halt at the cliff's edge. Ice and fog swirled below them, the ground too far down to see, and Bucky heaved a shaky sigh of relief.

Visions were just visions. What they showed could be changed.

Shield turned away, turned back to the fight, and the edge crumbled under her hooves.

They fell.

The wind roared past, Shield was twisting under him, he knew she was trying to get between him and the ground, trying to save him, but they were falling, they were falling and nothing could save them.

He opened his mind, took all his love for Winter, all his love, all his everything for Steve, every bit of love and life, nothing held back, wrapped it in every scrap of joy he'd ever felt and hurled it down their bonds. Then he blocked them as hard as he could and clung tight to Shield, eyes squeezed shut.

I'm not sorry. Saving you was worth it.  

Chapter Text

A flood of love washed over Steve, from Bucky, from Shield, and staggered him in Winter's saddle. Under him, Winter froze.

The wagons finally disappeared around the curve of the pass, and he cast around, searching for Bucky and Shield but he couldn’t see them.

"Bucky?" Steve called, throwing back a bandit as Winter lashed out with hooves and teeth. :Shield?:

:Chosen? Chosen!:

There was no answer.

They plunged forward, Steve stabbing a bandit through the chest as Winter smashed one to the ground.

:Winter?:

:I don't know. I can't find them.:

"I—"

Pain ripped through him. Tore into his heart and his soul. Winter staggered under him, falling to his knees. Steve couldn't breathe. Couldn't see. His heart was gone. The twin pulsing beats had been severed, snuffed out. They were gone. Bucky was gone. Shield was gone.

He screamed, brutal tearing pain ripping his throat with vicious claws, and the bandits froze. Winter moaned, a dying animal noise, but he couldn't reach him. Couldn't reach past the pain.

:The cliff.: Winter lurched to his feet, staggered sideways.

It broke the bandits free of their temporary shock.

Time slowed. Steve watched them come. Blades raised. Scraggle teeth bared.

Winter's head came up. Steve's fingers tightened on his sword. They were pain. Pain couldn't reach out. But pain could become rage. It flooded them. The world turned red.

He sank into Winter's mind, felt Winter sink into his, and they lost their tenuous grasp on sanity. All that was left was rage.

It was a slaughter. Rage let their Gifts loose, dragging weapons from the enemy and shoving them into the enemy, throats and eyes, splintering bone and tearing soft guts.

The enemy ran, and rage chased them down, smashing them into the snow. Rage cut them down, crushed them under its hooves.

When the enemy was dead, rage stopped. Blood-spattered, bone-spattered, brain-spattered, both more pink than white, they stopped.

Steve let his sword fall, dropped his knife. They landed in the reddened snow with a soft thump. He and Winter stared unseeing into the distance, then Steve slid out of the saddle.

He stumbled as he landed, but Winter caught him. Didn't let him fall. Pressed his head against Steve's chest and Steve let his forehead drop to rest between Winter's ears.

They didn't speak. Simply stood in the snow surrounded by the dead.

Deciding.

Snow began to fall. It left a dusting of white on Steve's shoulders, his hair, on Winter's mane. It began to cover the bodies and the blood.

Steve was hollow inside. Empty. But there was a lingering flicker of what he'd once had: the burst of love. He clung to it like he was clinging to Winter.   

When the Herald arrived, her Companion vibrating with worry—of course he'd know, they always knew when Heralds and Companions died, and he'd know who—accompanied by a number of guard, they still stood, silent and unmoving, only their puffs of breath to show they were more than statues.

No one approached.

Eventually, the Herald and her Companion carefully picked their way over, skirting the dead and pieces of dead.

She flinched when Steve met her eyes. "I'm sorr—" she started, rich with sympathy.

Steve's lip curled back off his teeth like a captive wolf's. Winter's ears flattened, and her Companion tossed his head, taking a step back.

A guard appeared next to her. It was Dugan. "Time to come in." It was matter of fact, gentle but straightforward. "If you're coming in."

:Are we?:

Steve could feel them both clinging to those bursts of love. He closed his eyes. :Yes.:

He climbed onto Winter slowly, like he'd aged a hundred years. "Find them." Dugan looked at him sharply. "They went over. If you can. Find them."

"We will."

Steve nodded once and wrapped his fingers in Winter's mane, hands pressed against his neck, the snow melt soaking into his Whites.

*    *    *

The Howlies' Guard Post looked the same. Steve didn't know why he'd thought it would look different.

The Herald and her Companion kept giving him looks. He steadfastly ignored them. After the first look at the building, he kept his eyes on his hands and Winter's mane.

"We'll make up a room for you," Gabe said.

"No."

Silence followed.

"I'll stay with Winter."

He could feel Gabe looking at Dugan. Feel them having conversations with no words. He didn't care.

"Mind if we send the Healer down to take a look at you?" Dugan asked.

"No."

"And some clean clothes?"

"No."

No one asked him anything else or tried to talk to him, and he was grateful.

He unsaddled Winter and put his tack away, then started going over him, checking for injuries. It was automatic, didn't require any thought.

:I'm not injured.:

Steve nodded and went and got the brushes. And a bucket of water. Winter was caked in blood and there were lumps stuck to him. It took time and it took patience, but eventually he got him clean, his coat soft and gleaming under his hands.

He had to close his eyes and breathe to stop himself from dropping to his knees and screaming.

A soft nose gently touched his hand. :They are coming. A Healer and a guard with clean clothes for you.: He opened his eyes. Winter was watching him, the same agony reflected in his eyes. :I can tell them to go, but I think you need both.:

Steve looked down at himself. Winter was right. He didn't care, but Winter was right. Not all the blood on his Whites belonged to other people.

He was waiting when they came into the stables, Dugan and the Healer. He couldn't remember her name. He knew he'd seen her before.

"Here you go, Steve." Dugan hung the clothes—not Whites; they were a mix of colours, looked like they'd been scavenged from various places, but everything looked warm—over the stall door. "I'll take your Whites."

He didn't bother with modesty, just stripped down, dropped his Whites in a pile, and pulled the clothes on. They were very warm. He hadn't realised he'd been cold.

Dugan stayed while the Healer put her hands on him and sent her Gift into him and healed the cuts and stabs and slashes, the bruises and strains and he wanted to laugh because all that fighting, all that slaughter, and he'd barely been hurt.

Dugan kept staying while the Healer looked at Steve with deep concern and said, her voice so gentle and compassionate he fought the urge to bare his teeth and roar, "Herald Steven. I don't want to leave you alone out here."

He knew what she was afraid of. "If we decide to follow them, you can't stop us."

"Herald—"

"You can't. If you try, you'll fail." Steve turned away. "But we made our choice. All you're doing is making things worse."

She looked like she was going to argue, but a mindvoice rang out. :Leave.:

The Healer startled, staring at Winter. His ears were pinned flat to his neck and his eyes were rimmed in red.  

She carefully took her hands off the edge of the stall, like she was afraid of being bitten. From the way her gaze flickered between them, Steve wasn't sure if she was worried about Winter or worried about him. "I, yes. Very well."

When she was gone, Dugan said, "I'll keep her away."

Winter lay down and Steve curled into Winter's chest, forehead against his neck, palms braced against his shoulder, and they lost themselves in their grief.

*    *    *

When Dugan next came to see him, crouching in the doorway of the Companion's loosebox, he was very gentle. Very careful as he told Steve what they'd pieced together about what had happened. The broken cliff edge, the bandits smashed into the ground near Shield's body.

Shield's body, which they'd found lying half in the deep river that cut through the gulley they'd fallen into.

They couldn't find Bucky's. "Best guess," Dugan said. "The river carried him away. I'm sorry, Steve."

There was no room for more grief in him, so he bowed his head. "Thank you." He wanted to say more, because there'd been nothing making them go looking. They'd done it because Steve had asked, and he should say more, but thank you was all he had.

Dugan smiled at him, sad and hopeful, and pulled something out of his pocket. "I wasn't sure, but I thought you might want this. If I did the wrong thing, I'll put it back with her, but I know she always wore it, so I thought…" He held out his hand. Lying across it was the string of beads Steve had given Shield for their first Midwinter.

He fought back a sob and took it with shaking hands, tucking it close to his heart. He couldn’t speak, so he just grabbed Dugan's hand and squeezed once, hard.

Dugan squeezed back, nodded at Winter, and left.  

When he was gone, Steve curled closer into Winter's side, and pressed his forehead against Winter's shoulder. "Did we make the right choice?"

Winter let out a gusting sigh, and Steve could hear the grief in his mindvoice, hear the pain that echoed Steve's own. :We chose and that's enough.:

Chapter Text

Bucky opened his eyes to a wash of golden light. He blinked, trying to clear his vision, blinked again, but nothing changed.

He remembered falling.

He remembered impact and cold and then nothing.

"Bucky."

He whirled, golden light swirling around him.

There was a short, slight woman standing there, the golden light clinging to her Whites, and they were strangely cut, looked like something out of an old painting, something from Vanyel's time. She was regarding him solemnly, but crow's feet at the corners of her eyes, lines at the corners of her mouth, said she laughed easily. Her grey hair fell in a long messy braid that disappeared down her back and he was struck with the certainty that he knew her.

"Bucky," she said again, softer, and held out her hand.

He took it, somehow unthinkable not to.

"I didn't think it would work, but I hoped…" She let out a soft sigh and her fingers slid through his.

It hit him hard, the memory of Shield twisting under him, getting her body between him and the ground before they hit, and he staggered. She caught him, held him, hands wrapped around his arms. He lifted his head and met her eyes.

They were blue, blue as the sky, blue as the perfect sapphire of a Companion.

"Shield?"

She smiled.

He threw his arms around her and hugged her as hard as he could. She held him close, temple pressed against his cheek, her arms strong, holding him close. "Where are we? Why are you a Herald? What's going on?" Before she could answer, a bolt of fear dragged him back and he stared down at her. "Did we save them?"

She cupped his cheek. "Yes. We saved them."

Bucky let out a shuddering breath. "Will they—" The words caught in his throat and he couldn't ask. Couldn’t say: We died. Will they survive?

She answered anyway. "I can't see the future, and for this, neither can you. But I have faith in them. I believe in them, just like you."

He nodded fiercely. "And they're not alone. They've got each other."

"They're not alone," she agreed softly.

Bucky wiped his eyes. "What happens now?"

"Now it's time to make a choice."

"A choice."

"Yes. Heralds get a choice. You can go onto the Havens and rest, forever or for a time. Or you can go back."

"Send me back," he said instantly, wanting, needing. "I want to go back."

"Bucky," she said gently. "You can't go back to now. You can only go back to be born. But you can go back." She cocked her head. "On two legs. Or four."

It took a moment to sink in, then he let his gaze follow the golden light swirling over her uniform—her ancient Whites—before returning to her face.

"Yes. This was my uniform once."

"Did every Companion start out a Herald?"

"Most of us."

He nodded, because it made a strange sort of sense.

"You don't have to decide right away. You have time." She pulled him close and stood on her tiptoes to kiss his forehead. "You weren't my Chosen, Bucky. But I loved you all the same."

He opened his mouth to answer, to say he loved her too, when he was yanked backwards, dragged away from her. "Shield? Shield!"

"Bucky!" She lunged after him, gripped his hands, trying to hold him, but she was fading, the golden light was fading, swirling into darkness and pain.

He opened his eyes to harsh light. Everything was pain, his body broken, fractured. He was gasping for breath, there were hands on him, too many hands, he was cold, freezing, shaking, everything was too bright, and he cringed away from the power pouring into him even as he scrabbled helplessly at the wall around his mind.

Chapter Text

It was the kindness Steve hated most of all.

Because everyone was kind. The Mindhealers were as kind as they could be as they did their best to patch him up, but there was only so much they could do with broken bonds. With two broken bonds. With two severed pieces of his soul that would never stop bleeding, no matter how much time he spent with them.

Other Heralds were kind, but their kindness was uneasy around the edges, because Steve was their worst nightmare come to life, reminding them that they, too, could lose their Companions. That their soul-deep heart link could be snuffed out and leave them alone.

The servants of the Heralds' Wing were kind. They'd been especially kind when he'd walked into their room and hit his knees, unable to breathe. Winter's mindvoice had brought him out of it, a solid rock to cling to in a storm-tossed sea. The servants had packed up their room, put Bucky's things in storage, where they'd be safe. Maybe someday he could look at them but not…now.

He'd been assigned a new room, but he wasn't sleeping there. He was sleeping in the Companions' stable, on a cot leftover from last year's foaling, and Winter was sleeping next to him. It was the only way either of them could sleep.

Bruce was kind. He offered to contact Bucky's family, to explain what had happened beyond the official notification. To play intermediary if they wrote to Steve.

And they would, Steve knew. They'd thought Bucky should marry him.

Everyone was kind and it grated like broken bones grinding together.

*    *    *

He was honest with the Mindhealers. In turn, they were honest with him. Blunt. Very few people survived the death of their lifebonded. It was almost unheard of for Heralds to survive the death of their Companion. The two combined meant they were extremely concerned he would suicide.

He wasn't sure laughing did anything to assuage their concerns.

:Steven.: Winter was a gentle whisper in the back of his mind. :They don't understand.:

"We made our choice," he said. "I don't know if it was the right one or the wrong one, but we made our choice. We're not going to change it now."

"We?"

"Winter and me. Bucky and Shield died for us and they died for their duty. We won't let that be for nothing." And they always, always had those bursts of love to cling to, flickering lights in the darkness. "We made our choice."

*    *    *

The Mindhealers finally released him. They still wanted to see him from time to time, they weren't happy—Steve was existing from day to day, but not much more than that—but satisfied he wasn't a suicide risk, there wasn't a great deal they could do for him.

He'd taken refuge in a barren garden to eat his lunch, avoiding the crowd of Heralds and Trainees in the dining hall—too loud, too happy, too much—when Bruce appeared and sat down next to him. "Do you mind if I join you?"

Steve lifted one shoulder. "Seems you've already joined me." He dragged a brief smile from somewhere to soften it, because he wasn't trying to be rude.

"I guess I have." Bruce looked down at his hands, then up at the sky as Steve kept his eyes on his plate and waited. "The Circle would like to see you tomorrow morning, if that's alright with you."

"I'm not sure I can say no to the Circle, but that would be fine." Inside, something lit up. The Circle would give him an assignment. They'd give him something to do. A task, a job, something. He was a Herald. He needed to be a Herald. It was all he had left. "What time and where?"

Bruce told him, gave him a little nod, and stood. "It would be warmer inside."

"It would be," Steve agreed. "It's peaceful out here."

He opened his mouth, closed it, then nodded again. "Until tomorrow, Steve."

Steve watched him go and turned back to his lunch. It had grown cold, but, actually hungry for the first time in weeks, he finished it all.

*    *    *

Steve arrived on time, and the Trainee waiting outside the door gave him a hesitant nod before knocking and announcing him.

The room was on the ground floor of the Palace, large, with a well-used look about it, the large table in the middle battered and scarred, the chairs pulled around it obviously chosen more for comfort than appearance, since none of them matched.

Almost the entire Heraldic Circle was assembled, only the Herald Chronicler missing. Bruce was sitting in the chair closest to him and gave Steve a warm smile. Thor nodded solemnly, and his eyes were gentle. The others he knew but hadn't met beyond brief introductions: Herald Rhodes, the Lord Marshall's Herald, who refused to use his given name for reasons no one knew. Herald Shilo, the Seneschal's Herald, her coal black hair streaked with grey.

And of course, the King's Own. Herald Margaret, Peggy to everyone, or so it was rumoured she insisted, but Steve had never actually heard of anyone calling her that, apart from maybe the King himself. She was either Herald Margaret or the King's Own, and he wasn't sure it had anything to do with her rank. He thought it might just be her.

"Steven," she said, standing and gesturing him to a chair. "Please."

"No. Thank you," he added, clasping his hands behind his back. "I'll stand, if that's alright."

"Whatever you're most comfortable with," she replied, smiling gently at him. It faded a little as she stood and moved around the table. It left them arrayed on one side, facing him standing in the middle of the floor. He straightened his shoulders. He didn't care.

He'd stand in front of any amount of people for any length of time to be assigned something to do.

"Thank you for coming."

"Of course."

"I apologise in advance if this is distressing for you."

He nodded again, because there wasn't a lot he could say to that. Distressing wasn't a word that held much meaning when weighed against the dragging pain he and Winter carried with them.

"Herald Steven." It was Herald Shilo, the Seneschal's Herald, eyes dark with pity. Steve's hands curled into fists. "Forgive me for speaking of matters that will cause you pain, but we've called you here to discuss your situation."

"My situation."

"Yes. You no longer have a Companion. Usually when what happened to you happens, that doesn't…happen," she finished awkwardly.

Herald Rhodes turned to look at her. "What she means is that this isn't a situation that comes up very often."

Steve's lips tightened, suspicion beginning to pool in his gut. "You mean most Heralds have the courtesy to die with their Companions."

"That is not what I meant."

"Wasn't it?"

"Heralds," Herald Margaret said. "Stop. Steven, we're so glad you're alive."

He believed her. He believed she was glad he'd survived. Glad she didn't have to mourn another lost Herald.

"But Herald Rhodes is right," she went on. "This isn't a situation that often arises. But still, it's one we must answer. And the truth is that a Herald is a Herald because of their Companion. Companions are why the people of Valdemar know a Herald is a Herald, not some pretender in a white uniform. Companions are why trust can always be placed in a Herald, because a Companion always knows their Herald's heart."

It was gentle, swimming with compassion, but her eyes were firm. She was the King's Own, trusted to speak truth to the King himself, and behind the gentleness was solid steel.

"Steve. No one's saying you'd have to leave." It was Bruce, leaning earnestly forward. "You'll always have a place here. This is your home. Please don't think you ever have to leave."

He was being kind. Steve wanted to tear down the walls, ram the table and send it flying. Kind. He didn't need kind. He needed to do his duty.

His voice was one step up from a growl. "When I became a Herald I pledged my sword, my heart. My life. I still have my sword. I still have my life. I am still a Herald and no one can take that from me."

Three mouths opened, about to speak—Herald Margaret, Herald Shilo, Herald Rhodes—and he sliced his hand through the air, cutting them off, anger rising.

"I am not Tylendel," Steve said harshly. "I was not repudiated. Shield died." And he knew it was unfair, the history books said Tylendel had been pushed past the point of sanity when Gala had cast him off, but there was no room in him for fair.

This was all he had left. If they denied him… The pain rose up, threatening to swamp the flicker of light he was clinging to.

"No one is suggesting anything of the sort," Herald Margaret said firmly. King's Own, outranking everyone, and Herald Shilo bit back whatever she'd been going to say and sat back. "But a Herald must have a Companion."

The doors at the end of the room swung open, shoved wide by the gaping Trainee, and Winter paced forward, hooves clicking on the wooden floor. He stopped at Steve's shoulder and lifted his head, fixing his gaze on the King's Own.

:He has me.:

From their wide-eyed, half-shocked expressions, Steve knew every Herald in the room had heard him.

"Are you saying…" Herald Margaret stopped, like the question was unthinkable. And for Winter, it was. Her Companion, Rolan, he Chose again when his Herald died, Companion to King's Own after King's Own, but he was Grove-Born, ageless, unique among Companions, as far beyond them as Companions were beyond horses.

For another Companion to even hint at it…

Unthinkable. But still she asked. "Are you Choosing Steven?"

:No. My Chosen is gone. My heart,: he stepped into Steve, broad shoulder bumping against his and, like a drowning man reaching for a line, Steve wrapped his hand around Winter's crest, :our hearts, are gone, but I still have my life. I am not Choosing, but I can choose. I will be his Companion and he will be my Herald and we will serve Valdemar together.: 

"I'm not sure…" she started, then her face went blank, eyes distant and Steve knew Rolan must be mindspeaking her. She blinked suddenly, focus returning, and asked Winter, "He would not be your Chosen. How will you ensure he remains worthy of being a Herald?"

:I would know if anything happened to change him, to make him unfit to be a Herald. But he had a Herald's heart long before he was Chosen: Winter's head dipped low, his long forelock trailing over his nose. :Ask your own Companion what the chances are of it changing.:

"I've already been told."

Steve gripped Winter's crest tighter, and Winter swung his head around to nose Steve's chest. Some of the aching, agonising tension let go.  "A Herald must have a Companion." The backs of his eyes burned, but he held on. "You said a Herald must have a Companion. I'm still a Herald. Winter is a Companion." He didn't mean to make it a challenge, but it came out as one.

Herald Shilo looked offended. Herald Margaret looked…sad, but only briefly, then she nodded. Bruce's concern was a living thing, but it was so free from pity it didn't hurt, and he nodded.

Thor said. "If it is Winter's choice, then it's a good solution."

"If Rolan supports it, I'm willing to do the same," Herald Rhodes said. "Heralds?"

"This is highly irregular," Herald Shilo muttered.

"Highly irregular circumstances call for highly irregular solutions," Bruce replied.

In the end, they all agreed.

Steve sagged with relief, his grip on Winter's crest the only thing keeping him standing.

*    *    *

That night while he carefully groomed Winter, he had to ask. :Are you sure?:

:Yes, Steven. I am sure.:

Steve crouched down, carefully working the soft brush through the feathery hair around Winter's hooves.

Winter dropped his head, blowing into his hair. :The beads from Shield's mane.:

He froze.

Winter's mindvoice was careful as he said, :I would wear them, if you wouldn't take it amiss.:

Steve rested his head against Winter's leg. :No. No, that would be.: He stopped to take a deep breath. :I think she'd like that.:

They were tucked away in his pack, stowed under the cot, and he pulled them out, a long curl of blue and white and silver. He'd cleaned them and dried them after Dugan brought them back, but they were still paler than they'd been.

It didn't take long to braid them into Winter's mane, just behind his ear, and they flashed as he shook his head, testing they wouldn't fall out. Steve pressed his fingertips against them and slowly breathed out, the light inside him flickering a little higher, a little warmer.

Winter nosed his arm. :Together.:

"Together."

*    *    *

With the promise of an assignment, with Winter's entirely unexpected intervention, Steve took to venturing out more.

He hadn't expected Bards.

He should have. Most of them were circumspect, polite. A lot of them were Bardic Trainees, looking for a song for their masterwork, and they were even more diffident when they approached, asked him if they could talk to him about what had happened.

Steve grit his teeth and politely told them all, "No."

It was enough, they backed off, and word seemed to get around. Eventually they stopped asking.

All but one. Bard Trayvis. Who wasn't a Bardic Trainee. Who was old enough to know better. He wouldn't take the hint, although Steve wasn't sure how 'No' could ever be construed as a hint.

Steve was walking across the Collegium courtyard, heading for the salle, looking forward to having Thor run him into the ground. It would exhaust him, it would leave him hurting, but those were all good things. Real things, distracting things.

When Bard Trayvis trotted over to fall into step with him Steve ignored him. Pointedly. There was no point talking to him since he didn't listen.

Trayvis hummed a few notes, then said, thoughtfully, "Don't you owe it to him?"

Steve stopped dead in his tracks.

Possibly sensing a victory, with no inkling of the rage rising to life inside Steve, he went on, "Your lifebonded gave his life for Valdemar. If the rumours are correct, he gave his life for you, the same as your Companion did. Don't you owe it to them to preserve their memory?"

His hands curled into fists.

"If you think about it that way, you don't really have the right to say no."

He could hear voices, people calling his name, he could feel Winter in his mind, but the Companion's anger was near match to his own as he turned on the Bard.

The world vanished in a red wash.

He came back with a quiet voice in his ear, arms he couldn't—wouldn't—fight holding him tight. "Come on, Steve. I know you're in there."

Sam was pinning him against his chest. He could feel Sam's heart beating against his back. Bard Trayvis was nowhere to be seen. There were people staring but they were being glared away by another Bard, a slight, redheaded woman he recognised.

"Are you with me?" Sam asked.

Steve sagged in his arms. "Did I hurt him?"

"No. Not even close. Just scared the shit out of him and broke his lute strings."

"Which he deserved," the redheaded Bard added. "I don't know exactly what happened, but I know Trayvis, which means whatever happened, he deserved it. He probably deserved worse."

"Listen to Natasha, she knows what she's talking about."

Natasha caught Steve's gaze. There was sympathy in her eyes, but it was honest, direct. No pity or cloying sickliness. "If the Bards give you trouble, if they bother you, let me know. I'll make sure it stops."  

"She means it," Sam said.

After a moment, Steve nodded, even if he wasn't sure why. Why he agreed or why she said she'd help. She nodded back, firmly, gave the last straggling gawkers a wicked glare and they hurried away, and walked off towards the Palace.

Sam grasped his shoulders and turned him around, holding him at arm's length and studying him.  "I'm sorry I wasn't here. I was in Rethwellan and I couldn’t leave. If I could have been here sooner, I would've been."

"I know, Sam. I know."

"Come on, let's get out of here." He didn't let go, drew Steve close, an arm around his shoulder. "Where? Your rooms? Where were you heading?"

"No, I'm uh. I've been sleeping in the stables. With Winter. That's where I was going."

He waited but Sam didn't react except to change direction, heading for Companion's Field. "Then that's where we'll go."

Sam's arm was a heavy weight around his shoulders, he was a solid shape next to him, and when they reached the fence, Winter wasn't alone. Riley was next to him.  

Sam let him go and hopped the fence, turning to watch Steve expectantly. He followed more slowly, climbing up each rung, dropping own heavily on the other side.

"I wonder if anyone ever uses the gates," Sam said, looking down the length of the fence.

"What?"

"The gates. There's gates, there and there and there," he pointed them out, "but I'm damned if I've ever seen anyone use them."

"I guess everyone just climbs the fence."

"I guess they do. Come on, show me where you've been sleeping."

It was a cot in one of the foaling stalls, enough room for him and Winter, a blanket on the cot, his travel packs stacked in the corner. Sam didn't say anything, just nodded. "This is nice."

"No it's not. But it's what I need."

"I'm not going to argue with you." Sam squeezed his shoulder. "I brought you something. Do you want it?"

"Sure."

"Alright, make yourself comfortable."

Steve sat on the edge of the cot, staring at his hands.

Sam returned with a bottle in one hand and two tin travelling mugs in the other.

It made Steve smile, just a little. "Are you going to get me drunk?"

"Nope. I'm going to tell you amusing Rethwellan stories. If you have a drink or two, that's up to you."

Steve just blinked at him.

Sam sighed and dropped down to sit next to the cot, setting the bottle and the mugs on the floor. "Drinking isn't a good way to deal with anything, but I think right now, it can't hurt. You're so brittle I'm afraid you're about to break. This might let you bend a little, even if it's only for a little while." He worked the cork loose, poured a trickle into one of the mugs he was carrying, and offered it to Steve. "Here. See what you think."

He sipped it. It was delicious, sweet and cold and warm all at the same time.

"Ice wine," Sam said. "They make it by freezing the wine, throwing away the ice, and bottling what's left."

"It's good."

"Know what else is good?"

He shook his head.

"My stories. There's some weird ideas about us floating around the Rethwellan back country."

"What were you doing in Rethwellan?"

"Negotiating new trade tariffs for livestock and arranging for mandatory inspection at the border. There was an outbreak of fuzzy lamb last year, and no one wants it to happen again."

"Fuzzy lamb sounds cute."

Sam made a disgusted face and took a long drink. "Trust me, it's not. Whoever named it was aiming for the maximum amount of irony." He paused thoughtfully. "But it's better than cheesy gland."

"I'm not going to ask."

"Don't, trust me."

Steve drank his wine, feeling the warmth settle inside him, and nudged Sam's foot. "Tell me your stories."

"Since you asked so nicely." Sam smiled up at him, and there was sympathy in his eyes, concern, kindness, everything Steve hated seeing, but it was Sam. Sam was different. Sam knew him, Sam had known them. Sam had helped make them who they were.

He blinked hard and looked away, but it resonated with the flicker of light inside him. His eyes fell on Winter; Riley's neck was curved protectively over him, both Companions standing close.

Sam patted his ankle, like he could sense what Steve was feeling. "There was the usual. Companions are just horses and Heralds are their trainers."

"We hear that one in Valdemar sometimes."

"Mostly from people breaking the law," Sam pointed out.

"True."

"Companions can shift their shapes and turn into Heralds, I thought that one was pretty good. Imagine if you had hands," Sam said to Riley, who laid his ears back. "Hooves are not superior," Sam told him, paused. "Yes, alright, if you want to crush something they are, but let's see you try and open a door."

Riley snorted disdainfully and Sam laughed. Steve watched them and his heart hurt, the empty space inside him ached, but Winter swung his head around, ears curving forward, and the beads braided into his mane caught the light.

"But the very best one I heard was that Heralds aren't Chosen. We're born. From Companions." At Steve's blank look, he clarified, "Companions are our mothers."

Steve choked on his wine. "What?"

"I did not ask for details on how they thought that happened."

Laughter burbled up inside Steve. Winter and Riley's matched looks of horror made it worse. He clutched his stomach, folding in half, and gave into it, shoulders shaking, had almost stopped when Sam's, "Filthy minds, the lot of them," set him off again.

It eventually trailed off, leaving the swish of the Companion's tails the only sound. The path the wine had carved felt numb. Steve swallowed hard, staring down into his empty mug. "Sam?"

"Mmm?"

"They're gone. Bucky, Shield, they're gone. What are we going to do?"

"Oh, Steve." Sam sounded old beyond his years. He came and sat next to Steve on the cot, wrapped an arm around him and pulled him close. "I don't have any words of wisdom for you. Right now, you're a damn miracle." Steve laughed wetly, and Sam squeezed him tighter. "All you can do is keep going. Every day. Keep going."

Winter pressed into the stall, lowering his head to nuzzle Steve's hands, and Steve cupped his nose. Sam gently freed himself from Steve and stood.  

"Here, lay down." He pushed Steve's shoulder, and Steve stretched out, keeping one hand on Winter. "Both of you. Get some sleep. We'll keep watch, me and Riley."

Steve wanted to say they didn't have to; he and Winter didn't need anyone to keep watch, but when he finally drifted off, one hand wrapped in Winter's mane, Sam and Riley's shadows outside the stall door were a welcome presence.  

*    *    *

Sam offered to ask the Circle to assign him to Haven, but Steve had said no. He didn't need Sam to stay in Haven with him. Steve needed to get out of Haven. That's why he was here in the Palace, knocking on the King's Own's office door. "Herald Margaret?"

Winter had told Rolan he'd be coming, and Rolan would have told her, so he knew she shouldn't be surprised to see him. She confirmed it when she looked up and said, "Herald Steven. I've been expecting you. Come in."

She gestured to a seat on the other side of her desk.

"I'll try not to take up too much time," he said as he sat down.

"Take as much as you need."

"What I need is for you to send us out. I don't care on what. Anything. But I need to you to give us something to do." Frustration leaked into his voice even as he tried to keep it out. It was all he could do to stop it becoming desperation.

"I heard about the incident the other day."

Steve curled his fingers, digging them into his thighs.

"And I made some inquiries. I'm sorry. If I'd realised it was happening I would have had a word with the head of Bardic, told her get her people under control."

"I don't think that's going to be a problem anymore."

"No, I have the same understanding." She smiled, a tiny, secret thing he didn't care enough to try and understand. "Bard Natasha is rather something."

He waited, heart like stone, and her smile faded.

"Never mind." She let out a breath and seemed to change, leaving Steve with the feeling he was looking more at Margaret and less at the King's Own. "Steven. I believe I can see how leaving Haven could be better for you, but..." She paused for a moment. "May I be honest with you?"

He nodded.

"But I don't want to send you to your death."

Steve bowed his head. In a way, it was a relief that she was so direct. It let him say, "Isn't that what a Herald risks every time they ride out?"

Her snap of a glare was like a cool breeze.

"Sorry." He leaned back, stared at her ceiling. There were permanent shadows above the lanterns, dark spots from the heat and the tiny amount of smoke even the clean burning oil left. "We won't," he said simply. "We made our choice. Didn't the Mindhealers tell you this? Didn't they clear us?"

"We. You mean you and Winter."

"Yes. We chose together."

"I see."

He met her eyes, held them, and bit out, "You don't. You can't. I pray to every god you never do." When he spoke again his tone was once more even and his gaze once more on the ceiling. "Bucky and Shield died saving us. They believed in us. They believed we could keep…going. So we will." And even as they'd fallen, they'd sent that burst of love, that light that flickered inside the emptiness. It wasn't a heart, but it wasn't nothing.  

Silence stretched. He didn't look at her, kept studying those permanent shadows.

"Alright." She pursed her lips, sorted through some papers on her desk. "The Herald who's been doing the northern courier route has just been reassigned to one of the Temples. How do you feel about riding courier?"

"Courier would be fine. Anything would be fine."

"Very well. I'll arrange it. See the Quartermaster… Give me until tomorrow afternoon to get everything organised. You can be on your way the following day."

Relief coursed through him, making him lightheaded. "Thank you," he breathed.

"You're most welcome. Now, if there's nothing else, I have a Council meeting to prepare for."

When he took his leave, her smile was kind.

It didn't grate.

*    *    *

There was something simple about riding courier. Start at the beginning—which for the route that ran up the North Trade Road towards the Forest of Sorrows was the Guard Post near the town of Waymeet—pick up anything that had to go somewhere else fast, take it to the somewhere else and repeat forever. Winter spoke with other Companions on the way, checking if Heralds—on Circuit or in the area for other reasons—had need of a courier. If so, they'd divert to meet them.

That wasn't simple, not if they knew who Steve was. Eventually he stopped introducing himself. Just collected whatever they had and moved on. When they didn't know who he was, didn't know his story—dead Companion, dead lifebonded, sad or terrifying or a mixture of both—they treated him like any another Herald, albeit a rude one. He was sure their Companions knew—they gave him sympathetic looks, which were different coming from a Companion—but they kept his secret.

It was a life of constant motion, moving from Guard Post to town to village to Waystation to inn to noble estate to Temple to House of Healing to Guard Post.  Always moving, always running, Winter stretching out beneath him, the world sliding past. He never had to touch it and it couldn’t touch him.

It couldn’t touch either of them.

All they had to do was keep running.

*    *    *

Steve wasn't sure what they were delivering to the mayor of Riverford, a smallish town that had taken some traipsing through rough country to get to. But then he rarely knew what they were delivering. It didn't matter. All that mattered was how fast they could get it there. How long they got to run.

Winter stopped at the edge of the river and Steve stared at the long stretch of space where it broadened and gentled, making a safe place to cross. The town was just visible from their vantage point on the bank.

"I wonder how the town got its name," Steve said, staring at the shallow stretch of river.

:I'm certain I can't imagine,: Winter replied, bowing his head low to snort at the damp rocks.

Steve smiled up at the sky. "Take the bridge or ford the river?"

Winter swung his head around, beads flashing in the sunlight, and glared at Steve.

"Bridge then."

:Unless you want to walk, yes.:

The wood of the bridge echoed under Winter's hooves as he trotted over it, becoming a dull thump as he turned onto the dirt road that led to the town. They had it to themselves, and Winter shifted into the ground-eating lope that had carried them over so many miles, Steve automatically moving with him, the two of them practically one creature.

It was the only reason he didn't get dumped off when Winter threw up his head, half-rearing as he spun on his back legs.

"Winter?"

:Help. A Companion calling for help.:

"Go."

Winter burst into a gallop, leaping off the road and dashing into the forest, spinning through the trees, darting through gaps that they barely fit into, and Steve grunted as his leg scraped against a tree.

It didn't matter. As Winter ran, he checked his weapons, loosening his sword in its scabbard, strung his bow and flipped the cover off his quiver.

He was much better than he'd been, a life time ago at the Collegium. He'd never be as good as Bucky, but he was better.

:Anything?:

:Pain. Fear.: He threw a picture into Steve's head, something he'd never done before, and Steve clutched at the saddle as a scaly black greyhound-shaped snake-dog-lizard thing snarled at him from inside his own mind.

:What in the name of Kernos' balls is that?:

:Dangerous.:

Winter slowed, favouring stealth over speed, and they slipped into a clearing scattered with tree stumps, piles of cut logs, and three of the snake-dogs.

Bigger than any dog he'd ever seen and uglier than week old shit, their yellow eyes glowed as they snapped and bit at a Companion. Her Herald, and he knew her, it was Sharon, was slashing at them with her sword, her Companion was lashing out with hooves and teeth, but they couldn’t fight properly, couldn't move away from the two bleeding people they were protecting. Down and injured, Steve knew they'd be dead in seconds if the snake-dogs got to them.

No arrows; Steve wasn't good enough to make them anything more than a warning to things that moved like that.

He let himself sink into Winter's mind, felt Winter doing the same and they charged across the clearing and spun, rear hooves smashing into snake-dog one and sending it flying. It crashed into a tree with a yelp and snake-dog two and three turned to face them, snarling.

Steve smiled, baring his teeth, and snarled back. Winter snaked his head forward, teeth slashing and lunged as Steve drew his sword. The snake-dogs slashed at Winter's forelegs, but Winter danced back. Steve tried to cut at them, but with the way they wove, even his reach was too short.

:Don't let them die.: He threw himself off Winter's back, rolled, came up behind snake-dogs two and three, cut at their rear legs, but they were too fast for him to sever tendons and he only nicked three's tail.

But they were on him, their attention was focussed on him. "Get them out," he yelled at Sharon. "Up on the Companions and get them out."

Snake-dogs two and three lunged at him and he met them with his sword, but it was like fighting a greased whirlwind. Snap and lunge and swirl and spin, and their scales were so tough only stabbing seemed to do any damage.

But it wasn't about damage. It was about keeping their attention on him. It was about making sure everyone got out of this safely. It didn't matter what happened to him as long as they were safe.

This couldn’t last. They were too fast, too vicious, and he was slowing, bleeding from a dozen cuts, but he led them across the clearing, feinting and stabbing, and grinned, baring his teeth, when he slammed his sword through snake-dog two's foot, pinning it to the ground.

Snake-dog three lunged for him and he made a fist with his dagger inside it and thrust it into its mouth, twisting to lodge the dagger straight up, blade sinking into its tongue, forcing its jaws open, and it shook its head, pawing at its face as it backed away.

He dropped just in time for snake-dog two's jaws to miss snapping shut on his neck, scrambling back across the grass as it pounced on him and then Winter was there, teeth sinking into its spine, and he heaved, rearing to his full height as the snake-dog twisted and clawed at him, and threw it across the clearing. Steve rolled to his feet, panting, and pulled his sword out of the ground.

Winter whispered into his mind, :They're gone. Triska's got them,: and relief rushed through him. Relief quickly tempered by a snarl announcing the return of snake-dog one. It was answered by Winter's bugling challenge …and Sharon's cry of anger. Which meant Sharon was still here.

Stabbing worked. Maybe crushing would, too. Steve spun his blade, holding it across his body, reached for his Gift, and Fetched the pile of cut logs directly over snake-dog two. It smashed down onto it, pinning it to the ground as it twitched feebly, clearly broken and bleeding inside.

His satisfaction was interrupted by Winter. :Behind you! Turn!:

Steve obeyed instantly, sword raised, as a fourth snarl cut through the air, and the new snake-dog skewered itself. He shoved harder, driving it deep, and it scratched frantically at his arms, his chest, snapped at his face, but he leaned back, holding it at arm's length.

Eventually it stopped kicking and he dragged his sword out, panting heavily, blood dripping down his arms.

Snake-dog three was dead, his jaw still pried open. Winter's hooves were bloody, but the long, deep gouges on his belly were equally as bloody. He paced over to Steve, and Steve leaned on him as he turned to face Sharon. "When I told you to get them out, I meant you, too."

"You do know you're not in charge of me," she said. She was limping, her leg was bleeding, blood staining her Whites along the back of her left calf, but the blade in her hand was as bloody as they were, and snake-dog one was missing a back leg and part of its head.

He exchanged a glance with Winter. "That's true."

"You need a Healer," she said. "You both do." Her eyes went vague, then snapped back into focus. "Triska is on her way back. They've already sent for the Healer." She narrowed her eyes at Winter. "Triska can carry both of us. I don't like the look of those injuries."

"Once the Healer's finished dealing with the two you were protecting when we got here. And once you get your leg checked out and Triska's been taken care of. Then sure, the Healer can look at us."

Her gaze sharpened. "Steve."

"Sharon."

"What you did, jumping off Winter. Facing them yourself, pulling them all onto you, expecting me to go and leave you here…that was reckless."

"Sharon?" He forced his voice to gentle, because he knew it was concern talking, concern and being a Herald, and he didn't want to hurt her. "You're not in charge of us, either." It was gentle, yes, but it was firm. Clear. No room for discussion.

She was wrong, anyway. He hadn't been reckless, and neither had Winter. Reckless was a word for people who didn't think. Who didn't realise what they were risking.

Neither of them were reckless.

They'd made their choice, and they wouldn't chase it, but the only thing death held for them was peace; neither of them was running too hard the other way.

"I see," she said carefully, looking between him and Winter. "You know I have to put everything in my report."

"Good." He turned away to dig in Winter's saddlebags for something to wrap her leg until she got to the Healer. "Then it's your problem to figure out what these things are called. I don't think the Circle's going to be too impressed with 'snake-dog'."

Chapter Text

The last time Steve had travelled down the South Trade Road he'd been riding Shield. Bucky had been beside him on Winter, laughing and bright.

Now, Winter was tense under him, the chime of his hooves, the jingle of the bridle bells, discordantly cheery as memory clawed at their guts, the flickering light barely enough to stand against it.

He pressed his palm to Winter's neck, pressed hard, and Winter heaved in a great sigh, letting it out in a long breath.

It was just a road.

He could feel Bard Natasha's eyes on him, but he didn't look over, kept his gaze straight ahead. Natasha, not Bard Natasha. She'd told him to call her that.

Steve still didn't know what he was doing here. He knew why. It was because of what had happened with Sharon and the wyrsa, which had turned out to be what the snake-dogs were called. No one had said as much, and if any of the Companions had told Winter he was keeping quiet, but their recall to Haven had been waiting at the next Guard Post, carried by the Herald who'd come to take Steve's place as courier.

He knew why he'd been assigned to the Bard, but when he'd asked, 'to do what,' Margaret had replied, 'Natasha will tell you'.

She hadn't yet.

He wondered if she was waiting for him to ask. He glanced over. Her Scarlets were muted, subtler than a lot of other Bards he'd seen, but they were also tailored to fit her perfectly, her long tunic and tight breeches letting her move easily; Steve had seen her pull her harp from behind her saddle nearly as fast as he could draw his sword, and she sat her mare like it was second nature. Her coal black mare, and her Scarlets stood out against her coat like a campfire burning in the darkness.

They certainly made a pair, her black and red next to Steve and Winter's white.

Even held to the speed of Natasha's mare, the road moved past at a decent clip, and they were soon approaching the Kettlesmith turnoff that would lead them to Goldgrass Valley.

Where he still didn't know what they were going to do. "We'll be in the Goldgrass Valley in less than a day," he ventured.

"Mmmm."

"What happens when we get there?"

She twisted in her saddle and cocked her head at him. "A question for you first. What do you think you're here to do?"

His brows pulled down, because he felt like this was a test. :Winter? Any suggestions?:

:This is something you need to answer. She's asking you, not me, and she will know the difference.:

"Help you," he finally said. "Protect you if necessary."

He really didn't think the eyeroll at his last words was necessary, but her voice was neutral when she asked, "Help me do what?"

"What do you need me to do?" She was obviously waiting for something else and he didn't sigh. It was a test. He felt like he was back at the Collegium. "The Circle assigned me to you, so whatever you were asked to do I'll help you do it."

"As simple as that?"

"Based on this conversation?" he asked dryly. "I doubt it."

At that, she cracked a smile and he felt something ease between them.

"Good instincts."

"I'm not sure observation counts as instincts."

Her lips twitched, but she gave him a quelling look and he subsided. "We're here to steal something."

She stopped, obviously waiting again.

"Alright. What are we here to steal?"

Her eyebrows raised ever so slightly. "You don't want to tell me that it's wrong to steal? Perhaps offer a lecture or two about moral rectitude and doing the right thing."

"Uh, I might have to ask Winter for help, but I can probably cobble something together if you really want me to."

:Kindly do not pull me into this,: Winter sent, ears pinned back.

"I can see what he thinks of that. I'm a bit surprised at you, though."

"Why?"

What she offered him wasn't a smile. It was curled lips and white teeth, but it wasn't a smile. "You're not the first Herald I've worked with. And I've enjoyed a few lectures in my time."

Steve chewed that over. "Whatever we're stealing, you have the approval of the King. The King's Own assigned me to you. I trust the King. I trust Herald Margaret. If what you need me to do, what you need me to Fetch—that's why I'm here, right?—turns out to be something I think is wrong, I'll refuse to do it. What I won't do is lecture you about it. Or leave you on your own."

"You'd disobey an order from the King?"

"If it was something that would hurt people? In a heartbeat. Being a Herald's not about following orders, it's about doing what's right." He blinked, then sighed. "And I just lectured you, didn't I?"

"You did, but it's fine. And I don't think you're going to have a problem with this. We're here to save the Rethwellan ambassador from being blackmailed."

"…the Rethwellan ambassador?"

"That's right. He's being blackmailed by Lady Hensyn. She got her hands on letters he wrote to his Valdemaran lover, and she's trying to use them to wring tariff and trading concessions for Valdemar out of him."

"Is he married?"

"No, but he's the Rethwellan ambassador, and his lover is a man."

"Right." Anger rose. Valdemar welcomed refugees, exiles, anyone who needed a safe land to live in—and that included shaych from Rethwellan. Because for them Rethwellan wasn't safe. It never had been. "Right," he said again, biting it down. "We're not doing this to save Lady Hensyn, are we?"

"No. Adanneth, the Ambassador, went to the King's Own for help when Lady Hensyn first approached him. People trust Heralds," she added with a careless shrug. "First we get the letters back, to make sure he's not endangered, and then the King will act against Lady Hensyn."

*    *    *

The Goldgrass Valley estate of Lady Hensyn was a mix of the martial and the ornamental, a solid fort that had sprawled past its bordering walls and into the surrounding fields.

There were guards watching the approach, but it didn't matter. Bards were always welcome. Heralds would be welcome, too, but Steve kept going past the estate, ensuring he stayed out of sight, and on into the woods.

It wasn't long before Natasha was comfortably ensconced, charming the Lady and her family, and Steve was sitting under a tree while Winter grazed nearby.

Come evening, Natasha settled near the fire in the ornate, high-ceilinged sitting room and began to play.

Steve knew all this, because he was watching her with his Farsight.

He watched her begin to play, begin to sing, fingers delicate on the strings, short red hair falling in a sweep over her face. He watched the rapt faces of the Lady and her family as they listened. He watched as the servants began to drift in, filling the doorways.

He watched as soon they were barely moving beyond a slight sway.

Natasha lifted her head, stared up, and gave a deliberate nod.

"That's us."

:Then let's go.:

He swung onto Winter's back. He wasn't wearing Whites. He'd left them with Winter's saddle and bridle under the tree. Instead he was wearing a mix of dusty black and brown trousers and tunic and boots. Once he left Winter, no one would mistake him for a Herald.

It was a mad dash over fences and stone walls and a scramble through a muddy creek, but Winter left him at the rear of the building. He cautiously pushed open the door, slipped through the kitchen and followed the sound of the harp and Natasha's voice. He could feel it tugging at him, but he had his shields up, and Natasha wasn't calling him, so he could resist. 

It was eerie, seeing an entire household held in thrall to Natasha's Gift. He shook it off. She wasn't hurting them.

"Lady Hensyn," he asked, trying to pitch his voice low and quiet so it wouldn't interfere with Natasha's song. "Where are the letters?"

She leaned around him to keep Natasha in view. He turned around to raise his eyebrows at Natasha and she made a face before changing her song. Steve tried again.

This time, the Lady said, "The letters?"

"The letters from the Rethwellan ambassador."

Natasha's song had her pliable, eager to please, and she happily informed him they were locked away upstairs in her solar.

He left before trying to Fetch them, getting out of range of Natasha's song, since he'd have to unshield to do it, but there they were, plain as day to his Farsight and he Fetched them out of the lockbox as simple as could be.

They felt heavier than they should, the weight of a man's future, of his safety, in his hands. Words of love that had almost destroyed him.

*    *    *

In the end all they destroyed was a noble of Valdemar, destruction she brought upon herself. It was done quietly, quickly. Her heir—a cousin from a collateral line—stepped into her place when Lady Hensyn discovered a sudden all-consuming religious vocation, called to devote her life to Lady Astera.

Steve, far removed from Court politics and Court intrigue, followed from a distance, but he felt a vicious, tearing satisfaction when the new Lady was announced.

"Winter?"

:Steven.:

"Helping Natasha, what did you think of that?"

:Do you have doubts about what you did?:

"That’s not it. No, I was thinking. I was wondering what you'd think of me telling Herald Margaret we'd be interested in doing it again."

:I think that would be,: Winter tossed his head, mane flowing, :good.:

*    *    *

"Still think this is good?" Steve muttered. He and Winter were soaked to the bone, rain pouring down on them, hiding in what had once been a shed; it still had four walls to conceal a Herald and Companion but its roof had long since departed.

:May I remind you that this was not my idea?: Winter tossed his head, slapping Steve in the face with wet mane.

The Circle had accepted his offer to be assigned to Natasha again. They'd called them up from where they'd been helping with fire watch in the Armor Hills—and he almost missed the crackling dryness, the sense that the whole world was a tinder box, because at least his feet had been dry and he hadn't had a face full of wet horsehair.

Almost, because the few fires he'd seen had been chilling. He'd gained a new appreciation for the nightmare White Foal Pass must have been during the last Karsite war.

Steve sighed and pressed a bit closer to Winter. It wasn't cold, exactly, but the dampness had a pervading chill to it he was prepared to admit could be entirely his imagination. "Being stuck out here in the rain wasn't either of our ideas. But we couldn’t exactly go in with her."

Natasha was currently in the entirely disreputable tavern, warm inviting light glowing from its windows, the soft sound of her music drifting out, even if it was barely audible over the crash of the rain. As each song finished, there'd be cheers or solemn silence, depending on the mood—whatever else she was, Natasha was an extraordinary Bard.

An extraordinary Bard who'd discovered through methods Steve had carefully not asked about, but he was sure involved liberal application of her Gift, that argonel traders were using this tavern as a point of exchange. Neither of them had any idea if the tavern keeper was involved.

Argonel couldn't just be traded. It could dull even the worst pain, could help people survive to fight the deepest wounds, but it could also deadly. Addictive. Which was why Healers controlled it, measured it, and carefully tracked it—and was why it worth a great deal of money to people who weren't Healers.

And someone was selling it. That's who they were here to find.

Natasha was here to build trust and gain information, which was why she was pretending to be an ordinary, un-Gifted Minstrel, with no sign of her Scarlets and a distinctly shady personality. Steve was here in case it all went wrong. If it did, he'd bust in, Winter by his side, be as Heraldish as he knew how, drag Natasha and anyone else even vaguely involved off to the Guard and Truth Spell the lot of them. It would lack finesse, and the eternal problem of the Truth Spell would raise its head, but as a last resort it would do.

:You're not going to be very impressive looking like a half-drowned rat.:

"Yeah, well, you look like a half-drowned mule."

Winter smacked him in the face with his mane again, but Steve could feel his amusement, so he elbowed him in the ribs.

:Picking on an innocent Companion isn't very Herald-like.:

"Find me an innocent Companion and I promise not to pick on him."

*    *    *

:Are they being…stealthy?: Steve sent.

:I believe they think they're being stealthy.:

Steve stood at the corner of the 'shed' and watched as five people of indeterminate gender but clearly questionable motivation approached the tavern. The tavern was almost empty, now, most of the patrons having gone home. Natasha's music had mostly quieted, only an occasional song still ringing out, and Steve watched, frowning, as the five pushed their cloaks back and drew weapons.

Even in the pouring rain and the dark, steel would have glinted. These were street weapons. Cudgels and blackjacks and weapons improvised from broken boards. He couldn't stop the grin as he slipped up behind them, grabbed the back of their cloaks, and slammed two of them together. The others pounced on him, either not noticing his Whites in the rain and the dark or not caring.

It was fast and dirty and not just the fighting; soon enough they all went down in the mud. They were a twisting, writhing, kicking, punching mess and Steve took a fist in the ear, one in the gut, but he soon had them all down and groaning.

He squelched to his feet, kicked one in the ass when they tried to climb to their feet. "Stay down, in the name of the King."

"King's not here," one muttered.

"No, but I am, and I'm wet and muddy and not happy about any of it."

"Bloody Heralds."

"And don't you forget it."

The commotion had attracted attention. Natasha was standing in the door of the tavern, idly plucking her harp, a group of what were clearly ruffians gathered around her, gazing at her, completely besotted, while she gazed at Steve. "Having fun?"

"Loads. How about you?"

"I can't complain. These nice gentlemen have just been telling me all about their little arrangement." She paused. "And about the problems they've been having with people trying to cut in on their turf." She pointed at the groaning, mud covered people Steve had taken down.

"So you're saying I saved drug traders from other drug traders?"

"Probably."

"Excellent." He sighed. "I'll get the Guard."

She went back into the tavern without replying, her ruffians trundling after her like ducklings.

Steve slopped over to Winter, who arched his neck, looked down his dripping nose, and said, :No. I'll make sure they don't go anywhere. You can walk. The Guard Post isn't far.:

"This is revenge for ending up clean after you fell in a swamp, isn't it?" Even as he said the words, they hurt, claws slicing into him from nowhere at the memory, but the flicker of light flared bright, giving him Shield's sheer indignation at Winter covering her in mud. Giving him Bucky, trying not to laugh.

Giving him the four of them, together.

Winter gently dropped his nose into Steve's hands. Blew out, and Steve cupped his hands around his muzzle. :Maybe.:

*    *    *

By the time they finished with the Guard, the two groups of drug traders secured, Steve changed into clean Whites, and the formalities taken care of, it was late. Steve considered their options. They could ride on through, reach Haven by a candlemark or two past midnight, but Natasha looked tired even if her mare was fresh. She'd done the bulk of the work on this; all Steve had done was stand in the rain and wait, then pummel some hapless, mud-slick idiots.

"There's a Waystation not far from here. Why don't we stop for the night?"

"I thought those were just for Heralds," Natasha replied.

"I mean, they're designed for Heralds, but in an emergency I'd expect anyone to stay there. And this isn't an emergency, but I'm inviting you."

He wasn't sure which way it was going to go—he might not know her well, but he knew Natasha wasn't one to show weakness—but then she said, "Sure. I've never stayed in a Waystation before. It could be fun."

"It's not that exciting, trust me."

Her eyes gleamed, but she didn't say anything, just reined her mare to follow Winter when he turned off the road.

He settled Winter, got him untacked, fed, and comfortable while Natasha did the same for her mare, the two working in silence. When they were done, the mare tethered on a long line so she could graze, Natasha examined everything with catlike curiosity and a general's strategic eye.

Hunting this late had no appeal, so he lit the Waystation lanterns, started a fire in the stove and put the kettle on, then raided the stores for dinner, throwing together a passable nut, honey, and dried fruit porridge. "Here," he said. "It's food, and that’s about all I can say about it."

"Food's about all I want right now."

"Then I'm glad I could provide."

She settled on the Waystation steps and he sat next to her, everywhere else still too damp.

They ate in silence—and even with the honey it didn't qualify as more than food—but they were both hungry and it disappeared from their bowls quickly enough. When they were done, bowls set aside, Natasha leaned back on her elbows, stared up at the darkening sky, and said, "When the King told me you'd volunteered to be the Herald assigned to me, I almost didn't accept."

"Can I ask why?"

"Because of something another Herald said to me."

He didn't know what to think. Wasn't sure why she was telling him. Didn't know what she wanted him to say.

She turned slightly to face him and when he glanced at her he was surprised to see a gentle expression on her face. "Do you want to know what it was?"

It was a true question: Did he want to know? "Sure."

"They said: Heralds know their duty could kill them some day. Steve and Winter? I'm afraid they're hoping it does."

He digested that, turning to look at Winter: a pale shadow, blue eyes gleaming with the Waystation's reflected light. Unexpectedly, he wanted to laugh. "They weren't wrong, and I bet I can guess who it was. But, it doesn't—" How did he explain? "We can't think like that when we have someone we're responsible for."

Natasha sent him a look as poisonous as an argonel overdose. 

"Not like that." He rose to his feet, went to stand with Winter, scratching under his mane. "Not like we're responsible for you, like you're a child or can't look after yourself. It's our duty to make sure you get out of whatever you go into safely. If it comes to a fight, we can't be careless. We have to stay alive to make sure you stay alive." He curled the string of beads—Shield's beads—around his finger. "We might end up dying for you, but only if there's no other option."

She watched him, then pulled her knees up, rested her chin on them. "I always knew Heralds were strange."

Winter bowed his head, shaking his mane, and the beads slipped through his fingers. "No, we just know our duty. And duty always comes first."

"Does it come before hot kav?"

He pretended to give it serious consideration. "It doesn't have to."

"Then come sit down, stop talking about duty, and I'll make some."

"Yes, Natasha."

"Nat."

"Hmm?"

"Nat. That's my name, Steven."

He smiled as he sat back down on the stairs, and she ducked into the Waystation. She came back out a few minutes later carrying two mugs of kav, and he took one. He still didn't know if he liked it or not, but it was hot, and the spicy flavour was interesting. "Thanks, Nat."

*    *    *

It had been a few months since Steve had been sent out with Natasha. He'd been riding courier up near the Iftel border when he'd gotten the message to meet her.

He'd been in Whites then.

He wasn't in Whites now, and Winter wasn't with them. He wasn't far, he'd holed up at the nearby Waystation after dropping Steve off at the outskirts of the farming town of Highjorune. Natasha wasn't in Scarlets and her harp was in the Waystation, with Winter's promise that he wouldn't let anything happen to it. Steve couldn’t help noticing that, Scarlets or not, Natasha was still wearing a lot of red.

"Apparently Vanyel slept here." Nat pointed to a sign hanging next to the stairs inside the inn.

Steve stared at it, then stared at Nat, then stared back at the sign. She grinned at his reaction.

"Does that mean…" Steve stopped. "No, wait. What does that mean?"

"Maybe they never changed the sheets?"

Steve's nose wrinkled. "Vanyel died more than three hundred years ago."

The woman behind the bar gave an amused chuckle. "If you believe the signs, Vanyel slept in just about every inn in Lineas. If you believe the rumours, he didn't always sleep alone." She winked. "Vanyel's about the only real claim to fame we have around here. The only good claim to fame. The other things, most people don't want to remember those."

"Most people?"

She snorted. "Two royal families get slaughtered by flying demons, you'd think that's the kind of thing people would want to forget, especially when it winds up leaving one poor lad as Heir to two countries that don't even exist anymore. But no. Bunch of lads got permission to run tours through the Linean Castle five nights a week, telling the tale of that fateful night. They say, if you listen just right, sometimes you can still hear their ghosts, crying out for peace." She shivered. "And some say they never did find all the bits, so you can never tell what you might stumble across up there in the dark."

Steve eyed her, then exchanged a look with Nat. "Don't take this the wrong way, but are you trying to get us to take the tour?"

She grinned at him outright. "You know, most people don't pick up on that. Just for that, you and your friend there can have a discount. Just tell them Gretchen sent you."

Since Linean Castle and its supposed ghosts were exactly why they were here, they promised they would and went up their rooms.

The problem wasn't the ghosts of the slaughtered families who'd once ruled Lineas and Baires—who had died in a single night, although no one had claimed to see their ghosts. No, the problem was the rumour, new started, that Herald Vanyel's ghost was haunting the castle. Which, considering he hadn't died anywhere near Highjorune, wasn’t possible—no matter how deeply he'd been involved in solving the mystery of the slaughter…or how much time he'd apparently spent at Highjorune's inns.

Impersonating a Herald, even a dead one, maybe especially a dead one, was a serious matter, and when that Herald was perhaps the most famous Herald who'd ever lived, it was not something the King was taking lightly.

Which was why he'd dispatched Natasha and Steve.

*    *    *

The man leading the tour of Linean Castle had introduced himself as Tashran, Last Bastion of the Legacy of Lineas and Baires (Steve could hear the capital letters), which didn't make any sense. Steve knew it wasn't just him; Nat had raised an eyebrow. But they were pretending to be ordinary people fascinated by the idea of seeing a haunted castle, and the others in the group, eleven men and women in a mix of clothes that marked some as traders, some as labourers or farmers, and some as rich visitors on tour, were obviously impressed, so they nodded and played along.

They didn't have to pretend when they were led into the castle itself. It was in desperate need of someone to care for it, but even under the dust and the general disrepair, it was obvious something brutal had happened here. What had once been a place of wealth and power was a monument to destruction and malice.

Broken chandeliers, covered in what might be hundreds of years of dust, lay where'd they'd been ripped from the beams above. Shredded tapestries hung in tatters from the walls, and the walls, the floors, the beams of the ceilings were gouged and scored with claw marks. Splintered and smashed furniture was strewn across the floor.

The entire castle, as they were led through it, looked like nothing so much as an elaborate doll house shaken by a furious child—a murderous child, if the ancient brown stains were anything to judge by.

The Last Bastion was talking as he led them through the wreckage, instructing them to step lightly, warning them to be careful what they touched, "Because you can never tell what might be the remains of one of the poor victims, overlooked for all these centuries."

That was bad enough. What was worse was the way their fellow tour-goers immediately started peering at everything they passed, as if hoping they'd find a stray finger bone.

They followed a winding staircase down and down, ending up in a cellar. The air was stuffy, strangely echoing. "And now, if we're lucky, we might be visited by the ghost of the great Herald Vanyel Ashkevron, who even after his death returns to protect those who wander into this place where so many people died."

"Because that's something that would happen," Steve muttered under his breath. Natasha elbowed him, and he shut up.

"Everyone think of Herald Vanyel, of what he means to you, of what he meant to Valdemar." Around them, people were bowing their heads, some smiling. Steve scowled. It didn't keep him from picturing the Herald. There was a portrait in the Collegium library, and the image of it jumped into his head.

"There, look!"

Natasha stiffened next to him. Steve followed her gaze and… "Kernos' balls," he said under his breath. There was Herald Vanyel, shimmering silvery bright, long black hair flowing over his shoulders, smiling as he held out his hand, silver eyes gleaming.

Murmurs and gasps surrounded them as the rest of the tour-goers reacted to the sudden apparition in their midst. Steve looked at Natasha. She looked at him. They both looked at the Last Bastion, who was smiling beatifically.

When the tour was led out of the Castle, they slipped away from the group.

"There's no earthly way that was the ghost of Herald Vanyel Ashkevron," Steve said when they'd gone.

"Wouldn't no earthly way be the definition of a ghost?" she asked. "But no, I agree." 

"Someone's using the memory of him to make money." He looked around the castle, at the destruction, at the legacy of death dug into the walls and strewn across the floor. "They're using all of this to make money."

"People have to eat." 

"I know. I know, this is, it's disrespectful. It's scavenging the dead. There has to be a way to do this that doesn't—" Steve took a deep breath, letting the anger subside. "Look, all that aside, it's not okay for anyone to use the memory of Vanyel like that."

"I agree and that's what we're here to stop."

"Someone in here made it happen. Let's see if they're still here." He dropped down where he was standing, folding his legs under him, and called his Farsight.

He found someone sitting comfortably in one of the rooms they'd walked past, munching on a sausage stuffed roll and drinking a bottle of cider.

The room was just above the cellars.

When they pushed the door open, he looked up. "Hey now, I don't want any trouble." His gaze bounced back and forth between them before settling on Steve. "If you weren't happy with the tour, I'm sure we can give you something else."

There was a lilt in his voice, his eyes unfocussed, and suddenly there was someone else in the room with them. A man with storm-grey eyes and hair that curled around his ears, a man who smiled like Steve was his world and his home and his hope.

"Bucky," Steve breathed. It was Bucky, Bucky smiling, reaching out for him and he reached back, took a step forward, and then something yanked him backwards.

Natasha had him by the back of the tunic. "That is not Bucky."

But Bucky was walking closer, holding out his hand, and Steve wanted it to be him, he needed—

:That is not my Chosen.: Winter's mindvoice was dark with rage and shields snapped up around Steve's mind.

Bucky disappeared. Steve's heart, slower and stupider than the rest of him, broke.

Winter's rage raced through him and he exploded with the urge to hurt, the urge to rip and tear and crush and he didn't know what was his and what was Winter's, but this man had used Bucky, had shown them Bucky, had made them believe Bucky was here and for that he should—

Natasha sang a discordant note and her Gift vibrated through him, knocked him loose enough to remember he was a Herald. The man was scrambling off the bed, throwing himself at the door, and Steve grabbed him, spun him around, and when he stumbled, Natasha kneed him in the head.

He crumpled, unconscious.

He could feel Winter's satisfaction, felt it join with his own even as he was saying, "Nat—" and stopping, with no idea how to finish.

"He obviously has a Gift and no compunction about using it. If he's unconscious, he can't use it and a smart Bard never risks her hands by punching."

"Probably Projection. It's rare." He rubbed his forehead and fought the urge to hug her. "Thanks," he said quietly.

A soft touch on his hand made him lift his head. She didn't speak, just squeezed his hand and held on for a few seconds. "You have to carry him."

"Fair." His heart still hurt, was still half convinced if they just looked long enough and hard enough they'd find Bucky, but he didn't listen. Instead he hoisted the unconscious man and threw him over his shoulder with very little care and followed Nat out of the dusty castle and into the night.

*    *    *

They handed the entire problem off to Phellip, the Herald currently riding Circuit in the sector. Sometimes second stage Truth Spell made things simple, even if the sheer banality of the plan made Steve want to punch everyone involved and never stop, justice be damned.

The ghost tours through the Linean Castle had been falling off in recent times and castles were expensive to keep in good condition. If it was haunted by a famous ghost, they'd reasoned, it would attract people from all over Valdemar. People from all over the neighbouring kingdoms.

The most famous person associated with the castle was Herald Vanyel, so they'd brought Herald Vanyel's ghost to life from books and paintings and sent him to roam the castle. Slowly, an appearance here, an appearance there. Tantalising glimpses. Whetting people's appetites until they were ready to have him appear directly.

The man’s Gift was Projection—Projection and Thoughtsensing, the combination letting him skim images from people’s minds and bring them to life.

Judgement was Phellip's problem. They slipped away before it was pronounced, packing up and leaving the inn—the 'Vanyel slept here' sign not quite so funny as it had been—for the Waystation.

Steve left Natasha to get settled and came back with two plump bunnies, skinned, gutted and ready to cook. Thankfully she'd experienced his attempts to deal with campfire cooking and took them off his hands.

They were sitting around the campfire, her mare grazing on a long tether while Winter kept an eye on her, drinking hot kav, when Nat said, "You can talk about them." She wasn't looking at him, her eyes on the rabbits roasting over the fire.

Steve didn't respond. When the silence had stretched into uncomfortable, she poked the fire and said, "You can talk about them, you know. You don't have to pretend they didn't exist."

"What do you want me to say?"

"Anything you want. Nothing, if you want. But it's alright to talk about them."

He swallowed hard.

"What he did to you, making you see him, was vile."

"Thanks for kicking him in the head for us."

She smiled at the rabbits, all sharp teeth and glinting eyes. "Protection goes both ways."

He had to stop and swallow past the sudden lump in his throat as Winter blew out a long breath.

"Besides, he deserved it. Not just for you. For everyone."

"I'm sure Vanyel would agree, if he was still around."

"Well, his lifebonded was a Bard. We have to look after our own."

He shook his head, pushing down the lightning bolt flash of pain. 

"Eat," she said, expertly dismembering one of the rabbits with a small, sharp knife, dropping it on a plate, and shoving it at him.

He accepted it, settling cross legged with the plate on his lap, and stared at it.

:Winter? Would it hurt you?:

There was a long silence, weighted and deep, before Winter sent, :No. They should be remembered. They were our hearts.:

He kept staring at the pieces of rabbit, absently noting the dents in the plate. Remembering. The flicker in his heart, that light of love they'd sent even as they fell, was warm and close. They were our hearts.

The words came before he knew he was going to speak. "I was getting beat up in an alley the first time I saw Bucky. It was for a good cause," he added, smiling at the memory. "I wasn't just getting into random fights."

"Of course," she paused, corner of her mouth quirking, "Herald."

*    *    *

They’d been three days back in Haven when the morning light woke Steve. It surprised him. He usually dressed in darkness and was gone before the dawn. It bounced around the bare plaster walls and puddled on the bare wooden floor. Through the open bedroom door he could see into the front room. There was furniture out there, just like there was furniture in the bedroom, but it was bare and plain.

The only difference between his rooms and ones not yet claimed was his packs and the fact that he was currently in it. Once he left, there'd be no sign he’d ever been here.

He lay back, staring at the white plaster ceiling, and breathed. The light inside him flickered, warm and soft, and he let himself settle around it.

Maybe it was time to change that.

The servants brought the canvas sacks full of everything they'd packed up from their old rooms and set them on the floor of the outer room. Steve stared at the sacks like they were a new species of snake and he had no way of knowing if it was poisonous. He'd only find out if he let it bite him and then waited to see if he died.

Alright, that's enough.

He sat on the floor and started going through them. There wasn't that much. He and Bucky had never acquired a lot of stuff. A lot of the bulk was from the rugs, the wall hangings. A colourful pillow, and he didn't even know where it had come from.

When he unrolled the firebird wall-hanging, the bird’s brilliant red wings spread wide, ready to launch itself into the sky, he drew in a shaky breath, but he stood up and found a hook near the door to hang it on. It had been Bucky's, it had hung in Bucky's room first, then it had hung in their room, and now… Now it could hang in his room. He touched two fingers to the bird’s heart, then went back to the sacks.

Bucky's clothes he left. He knew he couldn’t deal with them.

One of the rugs had his old wooden case wrapped in it, the sheet of wood still glued across the crack it had gotten when he'd used it to break a nose. Steve ran his fingers over it, flicked the latches, and opened it.

Winter stared up at him. It was the sketch he'd given Bucky for Midwinter. The servants must have packed it in there to keep it safe. He lifted it out and set it aside. Underneath was a loose piece of paper. He pulled it out and stopped breathing.

Three black splotches in the corner of almost pristine white. His finest handwriting, trailing into nothing. My dearest Steven. I've come to the market today to seek

"Shield." He traced the edge of the paper. This was almost all he had of her. This and his memories and a string of beads braided into Winter's mane. Without conscious thought, he reached for his case. His writing board was there, his old pens, his inks. The bottles were stoppered, sealed tight. The ink still good.

He smoothed the paper out on the writing board, hands moving automatically to open the inks, to select the pen. His body knew how to do this even as his mind was far away, lost in the bloody snow. No. No, not there. A green field, an endless sky. Bright blue eyes and brilliant storm-grey.

The pen skimmed smoothly over the paper. Bucky, laughing, leaning on Shield's shoulder while she tossed her head, mane flying in a Companion's laugh. His memories brought to life.

As he drew, Winter settled into the back of his mind; a solid presence, comforting.

When he was done, he set the pen aside. Beneath the blotches, under the words of Shield's Choosing, Bucky and Shield laughed together, joyful and alive.

"I miss you," he touched the paper, "I love you," he could feel Winter echoing the words. "Thank you for saving us. We will see you again, we will be with you again, but…" He lifted his head, gazing at the firebird, the flickering light inside him bursting into an inferno. "But it won't be soon." 

Chapter Text

Steve wasn't quite sure when he started officially thinking of himself as permanently assigned to Natasha. Or sometimes to That Damn Bard, depending on what was happening. Either way, it was just something that happened.

It made Winter snort in amusement, but the Circle seemed happy enough with him.

Before Natasha, he'd had no idea Heralds got involved in any of this kind of thing. Or Bards, for that matter. But it satisfied something in him—no matter how much she sometimes drove him to distraction.

"Steve!" An unexpected and welcome voice interrupted his thoughts, and he looked up from his slow meandering path through Companion's Field to see Sam waving at him from Riley's back.

"Sam." He reached out to pull Sam into a hug when he slid off Riley's back. "What are you doing here? I thought you were down in Hardorn being diplomatic."

Sam held onto him, hard, and Steve let himself go, just for a minute, sagging against Sam and breathing deep before gathering himself back up. When Sam pulled back, he searched Steve's face, eyes deep and questioning, and Steve nodded.

"Alright," Sam said softly, sliding one hand around to the back of his neck and giving him a little shake. "Alright," he said again, louder, stepping back. "And I was, but—" He shook his head. "It's something I need to talk to the King and the Circle about, Steve, even if I suspect it may come back to you eventually."

Steve gave him a questioning look.

"I've done work with Nat. I know you're doing work with Nat, because I'm the one who suggested sending you to work with Nat. So when I say it may come back to you? That should give you an idea of what I'm talking about."

It did, and a little chill went down his spine. Being at the constant edge of war with Karse was bad enough. They didn't need to add another country. "Hardorn?"

"Not Hardorn, but someone in Hardorn. I need to go and report."

"I can take care of Riley for you. If you want?" He included Riley in the question.

"That alright with you?" Sam asked Riley, then grinned. "He says that's fine. But he wants a proper rubdown, not whatever Winter puts up with."

Winter laid his ears back, but Riley lifted his nose, ignoring him, and Sam, obviously trying not to laugh, said, "Play nice."

Steve swung up on Winter's back as Sam remounted and they rode to the fence, leaving Sam to make his way on the foot while Riley followed them back to the stables.

*    *    *

Hardorn was beautiful at this time of year

Or it would be if Nat would stop singing.

:She's a Bard, Steven.:

:I know.: And her voice, twisting and twining through the sound of her harp, was beautiful, her mare's ears flicking back and forth to the rhythm while the reins lay loose on her neck. :It's not the singing, so much as the song.: 

"Oh, Vanyel, Herald Vanyel, we flee now for our lives,
Lord Nedran would enslave us, our children and our wives-
He'd give our souls to demons, our bodies, to his men.
King Festil has not heeded, or he happens not to ken."

"Really?" Steve said.

Her fingers stilled on the strings. "No?"

"It's a bit," he waved a hand, "inappropriate, considering."

"Mmm, I think it's perfectly appropriate. Do you like this part better?"

"Now I shall give you beauty, women slaves and men,
And I shall give you power, you'll never see again,
And I shall give you mansions and I shall give you land,
If you will turn aside this day, aside and hold your hand."

She finished with a dramatic flourish, making her mare toss her head, and gave Steve an expectant look.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling Winter's amusement in the back of his head.

"You're a Herald, and we're going after slavers. It's the perfect song."

He knew, just like him, just like Winter, her light mood was covering deep-seated fury at what Sam had found in Hardorn. Collusion between a Hardornen noble and Valdemaran merchants in trading slaves. In stealing people, in stealing their freedom and condemning them to a life of horror. It was outlawed in Valdemar, outlawed for Valdemarans, punishable by death, and the law was enforced, but that wasn't true everywhere. There were places where, even if it was outlawed, everyone turned a blind eye.

"I don't think there's any Karsites involved here. Or any demons."

"Details." She waved a hand, the other cradling her harp close. "We're even on a road in Hardorn."

"Not heading for Stony Tor."

"Where is Stony Tor, anyway?"

"No idea. Probably somewhere closer to Karse."

"Then Greenvale will have to do."

Greenvale, or rather the lands near it, were where Countess Erissanda of Hardorn had a hunting lodge. According to information Sam had brought back, her husband was staying there. Her husband had been there for a long time, over three quarters of the year, far longer than any hunting trip warranted—especially when Hardornen Court gossip made it clear he was a scholar and had never been one for horses, hounds, or the bow.

They were hoping there might be a reason for that. However the King of Hardornen felt about slavery—which wasn't something Steve knew—it was outlawed in Hardorn and a Countess being openly involved in it would not be looked on with favour. A Countess who wanted to keep her involvement secret might very well stash her husband somewhere out of the way and make sure he stayed there.

"One more verse?" Nat asked.

"Can I stop you?"

"You'll like this one," she said and started singing, the sound of the harp weaving through her words.

"What need have I of silver with sweet Yfandes here?
And all the gold I cherish is sunlight bright and clear.
The only jewel I treasure's a bright and shining star,
And I protect all helpless not just those of Valdemar."

*    *    *

The hunting lodge was deep in the forest, a grand, multi-storied affair and it was well-guarded. Steve had abandoned his Whites for plain brown leather and a dark green tunic, since a white uniform out here would be an invitation for those guards to shoot him.

He'd have to get close enough for them to see him first, but the crossbows they were carrying were serious. Not the kind of bow anyone would use to hunt. They were weapons for using against people, the kind the Howlies had carried when they were patrolling. Which raised the question of what they were intending to do with them out here.

Steve shivered as he settled back into his body, letting his Farsight go. 

They weren't in danger of being shot yet, since they hadn't gone anywhere near the lodge.

"They don't look like hunters," Steve said, "they look like guards. Or maybe mercenaries. What do mercenaries look like?" He described what he'd seen, and Nat nodded.

"Could be mercs. Could be personal guards. The question is, are they here to keep him safe or keep him from leaving?"

Steve considered the question. "We could ask?"

"You want us to wander up and chat with them? I don't think they're going to be as happy to see a Bard as Lady Hensyn was. Or as trusting."

"We can send him a letter." Nat looked dubious. "I can drop it right on his bed." Her dubiousness increased. "We'll have to take a chance on him sometime, and if we do it this way, we'll find out one way or the other if he's what we think he is."

:What you hope he is,: Winter interjected into his mind.

Steve let out a breath and said, "I know, Winter, what we hope he is."

 "It is straightforward."

"Sometimes that's the best way to go."

"Only if you're a Herald."

He let his shoulders rise and fall once. Winter delicately pawed the ground but didn't say anything else. When Natasha didn't object, he dug paper and a pencil out of Winter's saddlebags.

He and Natasha crafted a message, simple, written in Hardornen with nothing that could be traced back to Valdemar, essentially offering help if it was needed. Offering to disappear if it wasn't. Instructing him to write back on the note and leave it where he'd found it if he wanted help.

There was always the chance it wouldn’t work, that he'd think it was a trap; maybe that was the most likely outcome, but this was the chance they were taking.

When they were satisfied, Steve folded it, fell back into his Farsight, found the right room—the Countess' husband was sitting on his bed, staring at a book—and, with a twist of his mind, Fetched the letter from his hand to drop onto the book's pages.

To his credit, he startled only slightly. The book didn't go flying. He didn't yelp. He stared like a viper had appeared and not a folded piece of paper, but then he cautiously poked at it, prodded it, then unfolded it.

Steve wasn't sure how long he spent reading it. Half a candlemark maybe. Maybe more. He stopped watching, a headache beginning to itch at the edges of his temples, only checking back every so often.

Finally, he caught him writing on the note. Looking determined. He set it on the book and backed away.

Steve Fetched it back.   

The answer was simple, written in an elegant scholar's hand. I'm a prisoner here, I can't escape, but I must get to the King of Hardorn or the King of Valdemar. It's life and death. If you can help me, I will reward you with everything it's in my power to give.

"That answers that question."

"Unless it's a trap," Natasha said.

"Unless it's a trap," Steve agreed, "but a trap for who? A trap for what? He's randomly decided to trap someone who offered him help? It's a lot more likely that this would be a trap for him from what we've seen."

"From what you’ve seen."

"From what I’ve seen, yes, Natasha, and I’m saying it’s not a trap for us. It can’t be. I think it's exactly what it looks like and I think he's our answer."

Natasha leaned back, studying his face, then nodded. "Then let's go."

They went quick and quiet, her mare safely tethered out of the way. Winter trailed them, ready to join in the fight if needed, but there were few things in the world more identifiable than a Companion, so it would only be as a last resort.

"Can you charm them down?" Steve mimicked playing a harp.

"It'd be harder with people this alert. People ready to fight. I could do it if I had to, but it would be easier to actually fight them."

"Then we'll do that."

Steve settled his sword, checked his knives, brushed his hand down his tunic and tossed his cloak over Winter's saddle. Natasha took his bow, slinging the quiver over her shoulder. It woke pangs of pain, sliding around him and through him, but he grabbed hold of the flickering light, held onto it hard, and threw himself forward into the fight.

It was fast and dirty, more street fight, alley fight, then anything he'd learned at the Collegium. He Fetched the crossbows out of their hands as he flashed back to that night in the alley, to nights before that, broken bricks and splintered boards as he smashed his fist into a face, the weight of the sword hilt sending the man crashing to the ground.

"Stay down," Steve ground out, using him as a jumping off point to slam into the next one.

He and Natasha were trying not to kill anyone, because they didn't know if they were innocent or complicit and this wasn't Valdemar, but that didn't mean they weren't getting hurt. Blood and teeth went flying, arrows slammed into them, driving them back—Natasha was no Bucky, but she was good enough to aim for thick leather and wooden bucklers and not kill.

They were only eight. More than enough to watch one scholar, but not enough to stop the slender redhead and the giant in the green and brown who came out of nowhere, and it didn't take them long to figure out they weren't dead for one reason and one reason only: they'd decided not to kill them.

They surrendered. They didn't fight when Steve and Natasha pushed them into the root cellar under the kitchen floor, locked it, and shoved heavy furniture over it.

"We'll send someone to deal with them in a few days. They've got beer, they've got food. They've got a dirt corner to piss in. They'll survive."

Natasha gave him a strange look, but Steve just sheathed his sword. Whether they were complicit in slaving or not, they'd kept someone here against his will.

The man in question appeared on the landing, staring down at them. There was something in his expression Steve recognised. Defiant, determined. Brave, but there was fear lurking behind his eyes.

"Who are you?" he asked in Hardornen. "You're not, I thought you'd be Hardornen Royal Guard." He looked ready to bolt and Steve didn't entirely blame him.

"We're not going to hurt you," Steve said, the words feeling strange in his mouth. He'd only ever said them once before. "We meant it when we said we were here to help you, but we need something from you, too."

He drew back up the stairs, and Steve braced himself to go after him, when suddenly Winter poked his head in the front door.

His eyes went wide, then his gaze flicked between Steve and Natasha. "You're a Herald," he said, settling on Steve.

"Yes."

He leapt down the stairs, grabbed both of Steve's arms, switching to fluent Valdemaran. "You have to stop her. You're a Herald. You have to."

Steve eased his grip, which was tight enough to bruise. "What's your name. What should we call you?"

"I don't care. It doesn’t matter. My given name is Cameron, call me that. Countess Erissanda, my wife," there was a bitter twist to the word, "she and some Valdemaran merchants, very rich Valdemaran merchants, are part of a slaving ring. And it has to be stopped."

"Do you know who? Did you see anything yourself?"

"No. Nothing like that, but I know. She," he gave a strangled laugh, "she told me. She thought I'd be pleased." He stared at his hands, seemed to realise he was still hanging onto Steve, and pulled them back. "Pleased that we'd have money. I never cared about money. We had enough. We had more than enough. By Holy Astera's sacred breasts, she's a Countess." He lifted his head, eyes bleak. "When it became clear I wasn't pleased, she also told me she married me because I inherited my family's port on the Rogallen River. Which I'm sure is why I'm still alive. If I die it doesn't go to her, it passes to my cousin."

"And she needs it for moving slaves."

Cameron nodded sharply.

"This wasn't an off-the-cuff plan."

"No. And it's not just your Valdemaran merchants involved. I don't know the details, but she talked about getting," he swallowed hard, "people from bandits, about trading with Seejay."

Steve looked at Natasha. It was more than they'd had, but it wasn't enough. "We need proof."

Cameron opened his mouth and Nat raised her hand. "We don't think you're lying. Truth Spell?"

"Truth Spell will only show what he believes. She could claim she made it up for attention, or to get him in trouble, or as a test of his loyalty." Brief pain flared, joining him like an old friend, as he remembered his conversation with Bucky, but he reached for the memory of that burst of love. It was clean, and he needed clean right now. "It won't be enough. The King of Hardorn isn't going to let a Countess be Truth Spelled on the strength of what we have."

"You have an impressively twisty mind for a Herald."

"Thanks."

Cameron was watching them, frowning. "She has papers she never lets anyone see. They're probably written in code, but I'll guarantee I know the cipher. I'm the one that taught her when she asked," he added bitterly. "But you won't be able to get them. They're in her rooms in the palace in Crown City, locked in a safe and the key's around her neck."

Steve rubbed a hand over his mouth. It was a long way to Crown City from here. Longer than he'd ever tried to reach. Longer than it was maybe possible to reach.

:Steven.:

:It's important. It's too important not to try.: He bent his head, closing his eyes, back with Bucky and Shield on a dirt road under the trees. :Remember what that man said, back when we were riding Circuit? 'It's hopeless, but we had to try?'.:

:Do you think I would try and stop you? But even if it doesn't work...: Winter shoved him with his nose, like he needed to know Steve was paying attention. :It could be weeks before you can function again. Maybe more.:

:Small price to pay.: Steve opened his eyes. "I can get them. Maybe." Cameron and Natasha were both staring at him, Cameron doubtfully, Natasha…he didn't know how to describe the look Natasha was giving him. "Cameron, I'll need you to tell me where to go when I get there."  

Natasha's gaze was sharp, like being skewered on the end of a blade. "Tell me this isn't an elaborate way to kill yourself."

"I'm not going to die, Nat. It's just going to feel like it."

Her eyes narrowed.

"My word as a Herald."

"That's not good enough."

"My word, then." He reached out and touched her hand. "Will that do?"

"That'll do. What's it going to do to you?"

"I'll be…it'll wipe me out. I might pass out. If you can get me on Winter, strap me on, he can get me back to Valdemar."

"And if I decide to leave you here?"

It was a strange time to indulge in teasing, but it was Natasha. She didn't do anything without a reason. "Then I'll just have to hope for the best." He snorted a quiet, humourless laugh. "Remember when you got mad at me, because you thought I was saying you couldn't look after yourself?"

"Of course."

"Well I really won't be able to."

"You'll be helpless."

Winter pinned his ears, snapping his teeth closed on empty air. "Not quite helpless."

"And you'd trust me to look after you."

Steve stared at her in surprise. He was conscious of Cameron, conscious of why they were here. There was no time, it was no place, for him to ask all the things her words made him want to ask. He settled for a dry, "Is there some reason I shouldn't?"

"No. Let's do this."

They sent Cameron to pack what he'd need if he never came back. Not just here; if he never returned to Hardorn. Steve promised him the King would give him asylum if it came to that. Natasha checked the root cellar; it was still locked up tight.

Steve mounted Winter, fetched Natasha's mare, then helped Cameron up behind him, and they rode away from the lodge, no one wanting Steve to end up trapped there just in case.

They found a sheltered grove, and he settled himself under a tree, Winter on alert, keeping watch.

He breathed deep, feeling his heart slow. The flickering light at the heart of him where there'd once been twin bonds flared up and he grabbed hold of it, used it as his focus, then flung himself out into the world.

It raced past him as he flew towards Crown City. The trees flowed past, travellers on the road, inns and animals and wagons, all cast in shadows of blue and grey. If he focussed, he could bring them into the light, bring them into colour, but it would take too much energy, too much of him, and he needed to save it. Whatever he found, he'd have to Fetch it all this way.

He could feel himself straining, being stretched, pulled, like someone had hold of his soul and was dragging it out of his body in a wave of pain barely held at bay—except the person was him and he couldn't stop. There were the guards and the palace and— "Cameron." It was snapping command. "Where in the palace."

He could feel Cameron next to him, quivering like a nervous horse, but when he spoke his directions were quiet, clear, and Steve found the Countess' suite.

He'd been expecting ostentatious. Overdone, but they were plain and tasteful. Guess the money from selling people hasn't started rolling in yet. The flash of rage nearly knocked him loose, and he breathed in, slow and even, and found the safe. It was dark inside, but light and dark didn't matter to Farsight. There was a pile of papers, limned in blue, and he concentrated, wrapped his will around them, and dragged them back.

They dropped into his lap with a quiet thump as an axe of agony smashed into his skull.

The world went white and he managed to fumble the papers in Nat's direction before turning and vomiting into the grass.

He could hear shuffling papers, each flutter, each rustle a hammer into his brain.

:Steven.: Winter's mindvoice was a whisper, but he flinched away as it sent waves of pain radiating through his skull.

"This is what we need," Cameron said. Soft. Quiet. Steve was so grateful. "This is what we need."

*    *    *

The trip back was a blur of pain. Nat was up behind him on Winter, holding him as he slumped forward over Winter's neck. He was vaguely aware of Cameron on her mare, staying carefully close as they made their way as fast as they could back to the border, sneaking across well away from the road.

Soon after they crossed it, Winter made his way to a narrow trail; he could hear Nat asking where he was going, but he knew Winter wouldn't answer her and right now he couldn’t. If he opened his mouth, if he tried to speak, his head would collapse into dust and float away on the breeze.

"Right," he heard her say as Winter stopped outside the Waystation. "Cameron, look after the mare."

Cameron murmured agreement as Natasha slipped off Winter, and even through the pain Steve found a moment to be amused at Nat ordering around the husband of a Countess—and him obeying.

"Winter, can you bring him right into the Waystation?"

A soft snort sounded.

"Steve, duck low." He collapsed over Winter's neck, eyes squeezed shut as his spine tried to shatter itself, there was an awkward bump upwards, and then the sound of hooves on wood. "Winter, lie down, right next to the bed."

His feet were hitting the floor and Natasha was guiding him into the bed. It was so soft. He buried his face in the pillow and clawed at the blankets, trying to pull them over his head to block the light. Seconds later, the light disappeared as they were pulled up. "Don't sleep yet. I'm making you some willowbark tea and you will drink it."

He groaned; only stubborn will kept it from being a whimper.

"Don't argue with me." It was soft, and her fingers gently touched his head through the blankets.

He waited in the spiky interminable blackness. He heard Winter's hooves leave the Waystation, heard Cameron speaking quietly to him.

"Cameron's useful for a noble." Natasha's voice was barely a whisper and later, "Sit up."

The noise he made wasn't a whine, but she gently pushed and prodded him until he was upright enough to drink bitter, lukewarm, willowbark tea, stronger than he'd ever tasted. He wanted to gag, but he knew it would help.

When it was gone, he curled down into the blankets.  Natasha blew out the lanterns, leaving him in blessed darkness. The edge of the mattress dipped, and she brushed her fingers through his hair.

"I'll keep an eye on you, just until you fall asleep."

He summoned all his reserves and managed, "D'on need to."

"Humour me. I'm worried about you."

It was nice, so different from what he was used to from her. Soothing. He freed a hand from the blankets and patted hers. "S'prised you didn't get Chosen."

There was a long, surprised silence.

"Steve." She smoothed his hair back. "I'd never be Chosen. Not if every person in Valdemar ceased to exist, but it's sweet that you think so. Now go to sleep."

It was easier to obey. So he did.

*    *    *

Steve opened his eyes to a high ceiling and walls of stone and warm wood with no clear memory of how he'd found his way inside them. He knew where he was, he recognised a House of Healing: the dim lights, the line of beds, and, most telling of all, the green clad Healer seeing to another patient at the other end of the long room.

:I carried you, obviously.: Winter's mindvoice was dry, but Steve could feel his relief.

:And I appreciate it. How long have I been out?:

:You've been in and out for a little over a week. They kept you under while your mind healed.:

"I know you're awake."

Steve rolled over to see Sam smiling at him from a chair beside the bed.

"Winter gave you away to Riley."

"Sam, hi. What are you doing here?" The question was born of sheer surprise and it made Sam laugh a little before he forced his face into a half-offended frown.

"You don't want to see me? Because I can go easily enough. Plenty of other people who're eager to see my smiling face."

Steve shoved himself up in bed. "No fair taking advantage when I haven't got my wits back yet."

"You mean there's a time when you have got your wits?" It was teasing, and he poured a mug of water and handed it over. Steve found himself gulping it down, then another, before leaning back against the bed. "Reaction headache's a stone bitch."

"Tell me about it." But he didn't hurt anymore, he was just tired, the kind of tired that came from being out for so long. "Tell me it was worth it. Tell me you know what's happening."   

"And that's the other reason I'm here. Nat had to go report to King and Council and I knew you'd want to know. I'm on my way back to Hardorn, but they told me you'd wake up soon, so I decided I could delay. Besides." He settled his hand on Steve's shoulder, squeezing gently. "I didn't want you to wake up alone."

His, "Thanks, Sam," was quiet as he let himself lean into Sam's strength.

After a moment, Sam let his hand fall. "First and most important thing. Cameron, the Hardornen you brought back?"

There was something in the way Sam said it that made Steve sit straighter. "What happened. Is he, he's not hurt is he?"

"No. No, he's definitely not hurt."

"Then what?"

"Chosen."

"You're kidding."

"I almost wish I was. He's not nobility, thank Astera and all Her aspects, but still."

"Isn't he married to a Countess?"

"Not anymore. The Countess has been sentenced to death and in Hardornen a sentence like that wipes all titles, inheritances, and the marriage."

Steve rubbed his forehead. Of all the things he'd imagined happening when they'd brought him into Valdemar, Cameron being Chosen wasn't one of them. "I guess his cousin can take over the docks."

Sam raised an eyebrow.

"Doesn't matter." Thankfully it was absolutely not Steve's problem. "The Valdemar merchants?"

"We've got two, Heralds are out after the last one, but it's only a matter of time. Judgement's been pronounced; they'll all be executed."

"That many."

Sam nodded once, and Steve slumped. Three. Three Valdemarans, willing to trade in people, to destroy lives for profit. Fierce anger rose, even as it made his heart hurt. Even one would have been too many, but three was… He shook his head, no words enough.

"The good news is, we've got clear paths on finding the people they stole and sold. That's why I'm heading back to Hardorn, to coordinate things with the Heralds and Royal Pathfinders coming with me and a company of Hardornen Crown Trackers. It may take some time, but we'll find them and get them home."

It caught at Steve, the easy way Sam said it. No doubt, no hesitation, and it washed away some of the hurt. He knew Sam could do it, he knew Sam would do it. He'd bring those people home. But he also knew the assignment wouldn't be simple, fraught with diplomatic pitfalls—a Countess was going to be executed on the strength of Valdemar-found evidence, for a start—potential jockeying for power between two countries' forces, and with what they were doing, what they'd probably find, it was going to be hard on the heart.

All he could do was stare at Sam, caught in his memories: everything Sam had taught the two of them, everything they'd learned from watching him…and a conversation in a Waystation in the middle of a blizzard, him and Bucky and Sam.

"What?" Sam gave him a crooked grin. "Have I got something on my face?"

"No. You, this." Steve briefly bowed his head, trying to find the words. "The Circle couldn't have chosen anyone better. Me and Bucky," he gave Sam a crooked smile, "we always knew you were meant for bigger things."

Sam's grin fell away. "Steve, you. Bucky." He turned his head, blinking hard, then drew in a deep breath. "The two of you," he stopped, shook his head, and reached out to drag Steve into a hug, "you always did think you knew best."

Chapter Text

The rumours had started as just that, rumours. The Karsite border was fertile ground for rumours, for stories that changed and twisted and grew spikes and teeth as they rolled down the roads of Valdemar towards Haven.

Most of the time they could be dismissed out of hand. If the Karsites had really called down gigantic four-legged warriors made of sunlight and flame and set them loose on the borderlands, someone else would have seen them. The origin of that rumour had turned out to be an unfortunate cow, whose tail had caught fire and whose panicked flight had sent her across the border.

No gigantic warriors, just an extremely unlucky beast.  

Most of the time the rumours could be dismissed out of hand. Sometimes, depending on who they came from and their persistence, they warranted deeper examination. When they came from bandits, no. When they were repeated by Holderkin, the most unimaginative people in existence—where everything other than Heralds were concerned—it was time to pay attention.

King and Council and Circle had decided it was time to send someone to see if there was any truth to the rumours. Natasha had been their first choice, but they almost hadn't sent Steve.

He’d understood why when Natasha had asked, "Will you be alright?"

"Why wouldn't I be?"

Instead of answering, she’d replied, "Have you been to the border since it happened?"

"No." He’d let Winter’s reins slide through his fingers, watched him bow his head, beads glinting bright in the sun. Her face had gone carefully blank. "But we can go to the border. It’s fine."

Steve was glad it had turned out to be true.

 "What are you expecting to find this time?" he asked as Winter picked his way carefully up the rocky slope, followed by Natasha's mare. Steve was half-convinced she was part mountain cat, as silent as a Companion and nearly as agile.

They were well screened by the trees, and technically weren't on Karsite territory, but they didn't have official permission to be in Menmellith, especially not as deep as they were, so they were being cautious, careful, and quiet.

"Honestly?"

Steve turned in Winter's saddle to consider her. From anyone else that would have been idle conversation. From Nat, at least to him, it was an actual question.

"Yes, honestly," he replied.

"Nothing."

"Nothing," he repeated.

"Probably nothing," she amended.

"Hmmm."

Winter snorted. :Have we found anything so far?:

"Good point," Steve said, repeating Winter’s words when Natasha looked at him expectantly.

"I always knew he was the smart one."

Winter preened, neck arched. Natasha’s mare swivelled her ears back, obviously unimpressed, and pushed past Winter to take the lead.

Winter was right, and chances were Natasha would be too. Of all the places they spied down into Karse, all the people they’d talked to, they’d seen nothing concrete to support the rumours that had spilled across the border.

"It's not the first time we've heard rumours like these, of the Sunpriests coming up with some new horror," she continued, turning in the saddle to face him, "but considering most of it was coming from bandits," her nose wrinkled in distaste, "and Holderkin, I'm not giving them a lot of credence."

"We're nearly there." He pointed with his chin and she turned around, her mare surging forward, twisting around a narrow tree, light-footed as that mountain cat he was sure was somewhere in her ancestry, and led the way up the trail.

It was more goat track than trail, but it led them unerringly up the hill, which would give them a view into the Karsite valley. Whether it would give them a view of anything else remained to be seen. The valley was too far away to actually see anything, at least with the naked eye, but that was one of the reasons Steve was here.

When they reached the top, he settled himself more firmly in Winter's saddle. Behind him, Natasha had dismounted. Her mare was trained to fight, and Natasha was a weapon in her own right—with weapons, yes, but her voice, her Gift, was what made her truly dangerous.

He doubted there was any danger here, but he knew he'd be well defended if something happened while he was half-tranced.

Relaxing, he matched his breaths to the thump of Winter's heart and let his gaze unfocus, slipping deeper and deeper into himself as the world blurred before him, as the sounds slowly faded, as everything gradually disappeared…

And his Farsight snapped to life. The valley was spread out before him, stretching for miles, a river winding through its length. There were crops growing, sheep and horses grazing in fenced off paddocks. There was a village at one end, villagers doing what villagers did everywhere.

He kept going, following the river as it wound further into the valley, leaving crops and animals behind. Moving through the dense forest that split the valley in half until he reached a typical Sunlord temple. He'd seen enough of them now. Wood and stone, a huge courtyard open to the sky, gleaming golden altars at each end, torches burning even during the day.

A line of fire roared up in the middle of the courtyard, a black-robed Sunpriest watching from one side.  

A man was standing on the other side of the fire, a man dressed in a pale robe, short cropped hair waving in the breeze from the flames.

The Black-robed Sunpriest gestured and he stepped into the fire.  

Steve's gut clenched. He knew they burned people. He never thought he'd see it. Never thought he'd see someone willingly walk into the flames… But he wasn't burning. His robe was crisping to ash that swirled into the air around him, but he was standing untouched while the fire licked at his skin and he wasn't burning.

:Winter.:

He felt Winter step into his mind, sent a wordless invitation, a wordless plea, and felt him look through his eyes.

The man wasn't burning, but he was crouching in the fire, and his left arm wasn't human. Jutting from his shoulder was a black, glittering, clawed monstrosity that slid through the fire like a cat's paw playing with string.

:I think this is it.:

Winter's wordless agreement filled his mind.

It was disturbing, watching the man in the fire, naked and pale with the wrongness of that arm, but it was also strangely compelling.

The black-robed Sunpriest's lips moved, barking an order. The man stood and turned, lifting his head as he stepped unscathed from the flames.

It was Bucky.

The world went still.

Snow fell around them as they stood, silent and alone, frozen in a moment they'd never truly left. They'd carried it with them, shadow of the light that had flickered so bright, last gifts of Bucky and Shield as they fell.

As they'd died.

Steve threw himself against the end of the broken lifebond, felt Winter straining with him, throwing the full strength of a Companion behind it, power exploding in his mind, but there was nothing. There was nothing. His lifebonded, Bucky, Bucky was alive, he was alive and Steve couldn't reach him.

:Winter. Winter, I can't: 

:I know.: Winter's mindvoice was grim, threaded with agony, and Steve dug his hand into Winter's shoulder, comfort, reassurance, fear, he didn't know. :I can't feel him. I can't find him. They're hiding him from me.: It was pure fury, red-tinged with the rage pouring into Steve.

Steve snapped back into his body, eyes wet. Winter's ears were pinned, and he spun, reared, Steve reaching to draw his sword, but Natasha was in front of them, arms spread. Her mare was blocking the path, teeth-bared, as if she could stop a Companion.

"Move," Steve ground out.

"No."

Steve snarled at her and Winter reared high, front hooves slamming into the ground.  

"Whatever you saw, whatever you're doing, if go into it like this, you'll die." There was half a song in her voice, luring, tempting, and Steve shook his head, throwing it off. "Tell me what you saw."

It hung in the balance between them. Steve could see it, as clearly as if he'd been gifted with Bucky's Foresight—Bucky, Bucky was alive, he was alive—Winter barrelling past her mare, and they ran, ran until they reached him and then…

And then they died.  

He mastered his rage, reached for the peace they'd both found, and used it to master Winter's. He felt Winter slipping back into anger, but he was thinking again. He let his sword fall back into its scabbard.

Natasha backed away, remounting her mare.

Steve held her eyes, because he needed her to believe him. "It was Bucky. Not like at Linean Castle. It was him, he's alive. Down in the Temple. I think," Steve laughed darkly, "he might be what the rumours are about. He was standing in fire without getting hurt. And there's something, he's got something strange with his arm. Black and clawed. But it was Bucky."

She didn't react. Not like she didn't believe him, but like she wasn't prepared to let him see what she thought.

"I can't feel him, Nat. But it was him. We have to get him out. We have to get him back."

When Natasha spoke, it was careful. Measured. "Valdemar can't invade Karse."

He waited.

"Not to save one Herald. Valdemar can't go to war with Karse. Not again. We don't have a Firestarter to save us this time."

He knew she was right. Every Herald knew what their duty might someday cost. There was no Herald who wouldn't die for Valdemar. Bucky…Bucky would agree with Natasha.

Natasha looked out over the valley, absently patting her mare, then turned to touch her harp before fixing Steve with a fierce look. "But we can."

"You'll help us?"

"I will."

"Why?"

"Because you're you, Steve, and because I owe a debt I never thought I'd get to repay. Not to you," she added at his confused look. "I come from a very different place where I lived a very different life. It was a Herald who gave me the chance to make a different choice. I didn't believe him when he told me about his country, but I came anyway. Turned out, he wasn't lying."

"That's why you serve the King."

"Partly." She gathered her mare's reins. "We should move. It's a long ride back down the mountain."

That's why you serve the King. She started down the trail, but he didn't follow, held Winter back.

:Steven?:

"We can't." His heart was screaming, but he couldn't abandon his duty.

"What do you mean we can't?"

"We can't. No one but us knows what we found. Not Bucky." Bucky, gods, Bucky. "What I saw. The Karsites made him… He was walking through fire. The Circle needs to know." Natasha looked like she was going to argue, but he kept going. "I can't, Nat. I'm a Herald. It's, I have to. Someone has to know."

"If we go back, they might not let us leave."

"They might send us back with help."

"And they might not."

Winter was quiet in the back of his mind. Present but distant, strained, a rope stretched too far, then he snapped back. :I can reach Riley. They're in Menmellith, heading for the capital. He's just in range. Too far to get word to anyone who could stop us. He can carry word of what we've found if we fail.:

"If we fail, we'll be dead." Steve was talking to Winter, talking to himself. He hadn't truly been talking to Natasha, but she answered anyway.

"If the Herald hadn't brought me to Valdemar, I'd have been dead years ago." She lifted one shoulder in an elegant shrug. "But I don't intend to die. And neither do you."

"No, I don't." The flicker of light inside him was shining bright, brighter than the sun, all his love for Bucky, and all his love for Shield, a blinding wash of hope and he would not die. "Winter can reach Riley. He'll pass the word." He turned to look out over the valley, the distance too far to see with just his eyes, knowing Bucky was waiting. "I can still do my duty."  

"Steve." It was so heavy with emotion, it made him turn back in surprise. "You've paid your duty to Valdemar a thousand times over."

He stared at her in incomprehension.

"You lived," she said gently and touched his cheek.  

*    *    *

They retreated from the stony hills to a small clearing near a stream to plan, to rest, to eat. Steve didn't sleep when night fell, stayed awake staring at the tiny campfire while Natasha slept soundly next to him and Winter roamed restlessly in and out of the trees.

At first light, Steve drew a detailed map of the Temple and the surrounding grounds in the dirt with a stick and he, Nat, and Winter spent the morning coming up with, modifying, and discarding plans.

Winter suddenly whirled, staring into the trees. :I told you so that you could get the information to the King if we failed, not so you could show up and fail with us.:

Steve straightened from studying the map. "Winter?"

His ears were tilted back, and he looked deeply unimpressed. The reason for his expression galloped into view a few moments later.

"Don't look at us like that," Sam said from an exhausted Riley's back. "We passed the message. It's being sent on. No matter what happens, it's going to reach who it needs to."

Winter snorted, but he didn't pull away when Riley walked right up and shoved his head against him. He just let out a shuddering sigh and leaned on the other Companion.

Steve stared at Sam. "What are you doing here?"

"What do you think?" He slid off Riley's back and pulled Steve into a hug. "I'm here to help you get Bucky back. You think I'd let you go alone?"

Natasha cleared her throat.

"Not what I meant, Nat, and you know it."

"I know." She brushed her hand over Sam's shoulder. "And we're happy to have you."

"I'm not," Steve said, even if he wasn't quite letting go of Sam. "We're probably not going to make it out of this alive."

"Heralds almost never die young. If this is how we go, this is how we go." He pulled back, caught Steve's face between his hands, and looked him straight in the eyes. "Understand? I love you both, and if there's a chance we can get Bucky back, I'm going to help you take it."

Steve blinked back tears and Sam pressed his forehead against Steve's, standing together for a long minute, then he grinned and let him go.

"Besides, five-person raid on Karse? That's going to go down in the history books. And imagine the ballads." He made soulful eyes at Natasha. "You'll write one about me, won't you, Nat?"

"I'll think about it," she said.

Steve looked around the tiny clearing. Winter was leaning against Riley, the two obviously talking, but they both had their ears swivelled towards him. Sam and Natasha were looking at him expectantly. Even Natasha's mare was watching him.

They were looking to him to lead. They were trusting him. This was about more than just getting Bucky back. This was about getting everyone out alive.

He looked down at the map he'd drawn. "Alright, here's the plan."

*    *    *

Their plan was the definition of desperate insanity—maybe a good thing, since the gods looked after fools—but Steve and Winter had known, in the moment Bucky stepped naked from the flames, that part of them had never left the moment he'd died.

Part of them, for all that it had been buried in shadows and hidden by light, was well versed in living in desperate insanity.

It wouldn't have worked if the Temple hadn't been so isolated, but it was. Sam and Natasha were going to lure the Sunsguard away with the irresistible temptation of catching a Herald and Companion, hold them with the Bardic Gift, and Sam would make sure there wouldn’t be a single horse willing to carry them anywhere.  

Steve and Winter would go after Bucky.

Desperate insanity.

All they had.

Steve knew Winter was cushioning him from the effects of overusing his Farsight, and he was grateful. It let him watch Sam and Natasha, let him coordinate their actions perfectly. When they were in position, when he was in position, he Fetched the agreed upon pinecone from Natasha's saddlebag to Sam's lap.

After that, he had to trust them. Had to trust that Natasha's Gift would catch the Sunsguard that bolted after Sam, that once Sam sent their horses running for the hills they'd have no way of getting new ones, that she'd hold them for long enough, that once she let them go she and Sam would be able to get away cleanly.

It should work, but all he could do was trust.

He settled himself in Winter's saddle. He'd traded his Whites for the ordinary brown and green he wore when he worked with Nat. There'd be no mistaking Winter, but if he was less obviously a Herald it might give them pause. He checked his weapons, brushing his fingers over the arrows in his saddle quiver. I'm coming Bucky. And whatever happens, I'm getting you out.

:Ready?: he sent to Winter.

:Yes.:

They attacked with no warning. Steve reached with his Gift and dragged the door of the Temple free, sending it flying across the grass. Winter was feeding him power, enough to drag the stones from the walls, and, with narrowed eyes, he did, and the front wall half-collapsed.

The Sunsguard who hadn't fallen to the lure of the Herald attacked, but however skilled they might have been they hadn't been trained by Herald Thor and they didn't have rage and love and a Companion's strength behind their force of arms.

Steve cut them down, using his Gift to snatch the weapons from their hands.

He didn't give them a chance to surrender, he didn't give them a chance to escape, but none seemed interested in mercy, either giving or receiving, and their eyes were filled with hate.

They knew what Winter was. They tried to sever his tendons, tried to gut him. All they got for their efforts was dead.

Steve rammed an arrow through the eye of the last one, not bothering with a bow, just using his hand, and then he was in the courtyard of the Temple, four Sunpriests watching him approach. Three in red robes and one in elaborate black, the black-robe the same one he'd seen commanding Bucky to walk into the flames.

"Where is he?" he demanded in Karsite.

The black-robed Sunpriest smiled, gestured, and Winter scrambled backwards, warned by a shadow as a man in a pale robe leapt down from the wall. He had a long knife in his right hand and his other hand was the clawed monstrosity Steve had seen with his Farsight.

It was Bucky. It was Bucky, blank-faced, blank eyed, and his storm-grey eyes were black from edge to edge.

Steve was barely aware of the red-robed Sunpriests fleeing. It was swamped by a surge of pain like being stabbed in the gut—his, Winter's, the distinction didn't matter—but they fought past it, reaching out with heart and mindvoice.

There was nothing, just a blank and empty shell, a smooth wall they couldn’t get past and then there was a blur of steel and flashing claws and they were fighting for their life, because those claws had slashed for Winter's throat. Would have opened it if Winter hadn't reared and knocked Bucky back with his front legs.  

:Keep us away from him,: Steve said and Winter danced around the courtyard, spinning and twisting, grabbing Bucky's right shoulder with his teeth and hurling him away—not willing to hurt him as both their hearts split apart and fused together with burgeoning rage—while Steve nocked an arrow and took careful aim at the black-robed Sunpriest. He was the one controlling Bucky, or giving orders, at least, sharp barks of Karsite.

He released the arrow and it missed. He tried again. Missed.

Again. Missed again as Winter was a constant whirl of motion beneath him, keeping them away from Bucky.

Bucky. He'd never been as good as Bucky. Right now, he had to be. He breathed deep, locked his eyes on the black-robed Sunpriest, let his body flow with Winter's movement and aimed.

Loosed.

The arrow flew true, should have taken the Sunpriest in the throat—except his arrow disappeared in a flash of light and a smug look.

Steve's bow sagged. Winter startled. It was the briefest second's inattention, but it was enough.

The black claws slashed deep, slicing into his thigh and dragging across to dig into the muscle of Winter's foreleg. Winter screamed and twisted, spinning to knock Bucky away with his rump.

Blood was running down Winter's leg and Steve felt him falter. Stumble. He tried to dismount but Winter half-reared. :No!:

The black-robed Sunpriest barked out more Karsite. Vile, unclean words that crawled over Steve's skin, and Bucky shuddered as he turned once more to Steve, blood dripping off the clawed hand.

Steve felt his rage rise higher, felt it rising up around him, swirling in the air like a living force, and he reached, wrapping his Gift around the torches on the wall behind the Sunpriest. Bucky slashed at Winter's legs and Winter leapt forward as Steve pulled, dragging the torches forward, metal sconces gleaming in the dancing fire.

They slammed into the black-robed Sunpriest. Slammed through the black-robed Sunpriest, who shrieked, high and piercing. Flames engulfed him, licking across his robes, dancing and swirling like they were alive, like they were alive and hungry and angry.

Over his slowly dwindling shrieks they heard a thump.

Winter whirled, nearly falling as his injured leg tried to give way.

Bucky was crumpled on the ground.

The half-destroyed Temple was starting to burn around them, flames licking from the Sunpriest's body to crawl along the wooden floor.

Steve slid off Winter's back and scooped Bucky up, draping him across Winter's saddle. The black arm hung from his shoulder like a dead thing. 

:Get on. I can carry both of you.:

"Your leg—"

Winter bared his teeth, ears flat, eyes red rimmed. :Get. On.:

Steve swung up behind Bucky as carefully as he could, his own leg screaming protests, and they left the Temple behind.

Winter broke into a lurching canter. Steve closed his eyes, reaching for his Farsight, to make sure Sam and Natasha were away safely, to tell them they could if they hadn't.

He found them racing for the border.

He also found a full company of Sunsguard, galloping hard for the Temple they'd left in flames. The red-robed priests. They must have sent for help.

The Sunsguard were riding on an intercept path. They were going to find them, and Winter couldn’t outrun them. Not like this.

"Stop."

:No.:

"Winter, stop. Now."

Winter bowed his head, stubbornly ignoring him, but he was already slowing, limping heavily.

He pressed his hands against Bucky's back, drew in a deep breath. "Stop or I'll jump off." He meant it and he let Winter feel he meant it.

Unwillingly, Winter stopped, holding his left foreleg off the ground. Steve jumped off, stumbled as own leg tried to go out from under him, and pulled his saddlebags off, dumping them on the ground. Bucky was a deadweight, a beautiful, heart-breaking deadweight, and Steve had to force himself not to linger as he maneuvered him around so he was sitting in the saddle, slumped over Winter's neck. His leg screamed at him as he dug the emergency straps out of the saddlebags and started attaching them to the saddle, but he ignored it. Once he was done, Bucky would be safe. Winter could travel full speed, or at least as fast as he could manage, and Bucky wouldn't fall.

:What are you doing?: Winter demanded.

Steve didn't answer, just stripped off his shirt and dug his uniform shirt and tunic out of the saddlebags and pulled them on. It wasn't full Whites, but it would do. They were distinctive.

:Steven.:

He moved to Winter's side and let himself press his forehead against Bucky's thigh. The black clawed arm was dangling over Winter's withers, but he ignored it. "I love you," he said. "I will always love you. And I will see you again. Hopefully not for a long damn time, but I'll wait for you."

:STEVEN.:

Without lifting his head, he said, "You're going to take Bucky and run for the border, as fast as you can manage. I'm going to stay here and give the company of Sunsguard someone to find. If they have me, if they have a Herald, they're going to be happy. They won't come after you. I'll make sure of that. You know how they feel about Heralds. I'll be enough to keep them occupied."

:I'm not leaving you here to be tortured.:

"Yes, you are," Steve snarled, grabbing Winter's bridle and dragging his head down. "He is your Chosen. He is my lifebonded. You are going to take him and you are going to go. If I have to die to save him. If I have to die to save you. That's what I'm going to do."

Winter's teeth were bared, his eyes were wild, and Steve wondered if he was about to find out what a Companion's teeth felt like, when a shadow wound around their feet. A shadow shaped like a cat. It rubbed its head against Winter's injured leg then trotted into the rocks and vanished.

"I wonder if could offer an alternative to noble self-sacrifice," a quiet voice said in Karsite.

The voice came from nowhere and Steve's hand went to his sword, Winter's nose lifting to scent the air.

"I mean you no harm," it said.

"I doubt that," Steve said, breathing harshly. How could he protect Bucky from something he couldn't see? "You're Karsite. We're not just Valdemar Hellspawn. We're White Demons and a Hellhorse. You mean us nothing but harm."

"Do Heralds still know their truth telling spell? I give you leave to cast it on me." There was a pause. "But perhaps we could go somewhere other than here, since if the Sunsguard arrive all of us will live shorter, unhappier lives."

:Winter?:

:I'm prepared to take a chance if it means not leaving you to die.:

"Show yourself."

There was a shimmer in the air and a man in priest's robes of pale, undyed linen stepped sideways from nothing. He was small, white haired and balding, with a messy beard and messy eyebrows, but his dark eyes were sharp and piercing. "Cast your spell, quickly now."

Steve realised as he reached for the power to do so that he was at the end of his reserves, but the wispy, blue eyed cloud appeared. The man smiled. "I am called Abraham. I will not hurt you. I can and will help you."

"Do you have a cat?"

"No. Why?"

"Never mind." Maybe they'd been imagining things. He dismissed the cloud, which had never faltered. Abraham had spoken nothing but truth.

"I'll mask our path. You're safe, Herald. I promise."

*    *    *

Abraham led them limping up a rocky path, and when Steve looked behind them there was no sign of their passage: no blood, no disturbed rocks, no hoofprints, no footprints. He decided not to think too closely about why, or about how Abraham had appeared from nowhere—or about how the black-robed Sunpriest had vanished his arrow into nothing.

All he cared about right now was Bucky.

The sun was setting by the time they arrived at what had obviously once been a shepherd's cottage, tufts of wool still stuck in various places. It was big enough for Winter to squeeze inside and Abraham beckoned him in, saying, "I wouldn't try and separate you. Trust can only be expected to go so far."

Steve patched Winter up as best he could, patched himself up, then settled Bucky against Winter's side, tucked up in blankets, and sat beside them, holding Bucky's right hand in his, their fingers twined together.

Abraham pulled a chair close to them.

"Do you know what's wrong with him?" Steve asked.

"I do."

Winter and Steve both turned to look at him expectantly.

"A demon has been placed inside him."

The rage swirled again, flowing between him and Winter.

"Calmly, Herald." Abraham said. "Calmly."

"My name's Steve."

"Steve, then. Your anger is understandable, but it won't help here. I can banish the demon, and I will, but it is better done in the light of day. Safer for everyone, but especially for him." He nodded at Bucky.

"Is the demon, is that why." Steve held Bucky's hand a little tighter. "Is that why I can't feel him?"

He cocked his head in question.

"He's my lifebonded," he whispered.  

"Ah." There was a long pause. "I would say yes. The demon is a shell, wrapped around his mind and soul. It's what allowed the priest to control him."

Fury flared, Winter was carved from iron behind him, but he collared it, felt Winter forcing himself to calm as he nuzzled Bucky's hair. Their anger wouldn't help here. "Why would someone, anyone, even the Karsites, do this?"

Abraham sighed, then got up. There was the sound of pouring liquid, and when he returned, he offered Steve a mug. It was half full of something that burned his nose when he sniffed it. Abraham saluted him with the matching mug in his hands and took a sip.

Cautiously, Steve took one of his own and it burned going down, settling in his belly like angry fire.

"In many ways, it's because of Valdemar." Steve slowly turned, anger rising, but Abraham held up a placating hand. "Not the fault of Valdemar, but because of the last war and how it ended, with Valdemar setting fire to Karse's armies."

Steve was too surprised to do more than blink at him.

:Herald Lavan burned them all when they killed his Companion.:

:I know, but that was a hundred ago.:

:Karse has hated Valdemar for a very long time. For them that's yesterday.:

"Karse still doesn't know how it was done. To this day we don't know if Valdemar harbours great crops of White Demons who can burn armies to ash at a whim. I believe you don't," he added, taking a long drink, "but, black-robed or not, I was never a voice of power in the Priesthood. Too much trying to be the voice of reason." 

Steve's nostrils flared, and he went very still. Winter tensed, poised to leap to his feet.

"Before you decide to attack," Abraham said mildly, "may I remind you that your own truth telling spell showed I meant you no harm?"

"You were a black-robed Sunpriest. Like the one that did this to Bucky."

"I was."

"They're…" Steve trailed off, because he didn't know, he didn't have the words, but he knew the priest who'd had Bucky, who'd done this to Bucky, had been wrong.

"Demon-summoners. Other evil things, for all they claim to serve Vkandis Sunlord."

His hands shook slightly, but he gripped his mug more tightly.

"I tried. Tried to stop what I could." He shook his head. "Tried to find a way out for the priests who came to understand what we truly were. Being a black-robe let me do that. But you can only balance the good against the evil for so long before you can't—" He stopped. "I walked away."

He said it like it was simple. Steve knew it couldn’t have been.

"Now I do what I can from here. I have the power to keep myself hidden, and who would look for me still in Karse? They assume I've fled like everyone else. It can't last, they'll find me eventually, but until then I can help others escape, the Sunpriests who realise the Sunlord would never demand they burn children, the children they won't allow to be burned." Abraham smiled. "Others may call you Hellspawn, but I'm grateful for Valdemar. It means there's always somewhere to send them."

Winter was watching Abraham intently. "You could go," Steve said. "To Valdemar, I mean. You don't have to stay here."

"No. Balance, you see? Good against the evil. There's too much still to do." He finished what was in the mug and set it aside. "Now, you asked why they did this to your bonded."  

Steve gave a short nod, not trusting himself to speak.  

"Not knowing if the fires were a danger Karse could still face, they've been searching for ways to counter it. This is one of the more recent ways. Turn a soldier into a vessel for a demon from a specific abyssal plane and you have a fireproof, obedient soldier. Even if the body's eventually destroyed, you still have the demon. But stealing someone's will, their body, it's an abomination, not something to be visited even on a Karsite condemned to the fires. But then a White Demon washed up where they could find him, half-frozen, barely dead but revivable, broken but healable…"   

Steve closed his eyes, body bowing forward over Bucky's, like he could protect him from what had already happened.  

"I'm sorry."

He shook his head.

"I'll leave you until morning. If you have need of me, call."

When he was gone, Winter curved his neck around Bucky, nose resting against Steve's leg and Steve set the mug down to fold his arms around Bucky, curling his fingers in Winter's mane, the two  surrounding him in an unbroken circle.

*    *    *

A beam of morning sunlight cradled Bucky's face like a caring hand. Steve could hear Abraham speaking, but he didn't care about his words.

Only what they would do.

Winter was standing stiff-legged behind Bucky, who was swaying on his feet.

Steve was standing in front of him.

No one knew what would happen when the demon was banished.

Abraham's voice rose to a crescendo and the light seemed to glow brighter where it touched Bucky's cheek.

Between one moment and the next the black clawed arm vanished. Bucky's eyes snapped open, the storm-grey pale with panic, and Steve staggered with the force of their lifebond roaring back to life. He could feel Bucky, feel panic, fear, confusion, a whole swirling mass of it, enough to overwhelm him, enough to drown him, and he reached out to… to… to touch, to reassure, to do something, then pulled his hands back, not knowing what was right, not knowing what would help.

Bucky launched himself forward, slamming into Steve, scrabbling at Steve with his single hand, fingernails scratching as he dug at his clothes. He butted Steve's nose with his head and Steve pinned him against his chest, trying to hold him in place, trying to pick through the chaos of Bucky's feelings. It was impossible. He didn't know if Bucky was trying to attack him or—

Bucky's knee hit the gouges in his thigh and Steve's leg gave out. He folded, went down with Bucky on top of him. Bucky made a noise in the back of his throat and dug his hand up under Steve's shirt, pressing his palm against his stomach, flat against his skin. He shoved his face against Steve's neck, drawing in great, shuddering gulps of air, pressing as close as he could get.

That old familiar curl of warmth stretched between them, the touch of skin on skin the comfort of home. "Bucky," he whispered, holding him closer, and there was no way to get a hand under the robe, but he folded his fingers around the back of Bucky's neck, ran the other one up into his hair, and Bucky shuddered again, sighed, and went limp. "You're safe. You're home. I've got you."

The tangle of panic, fear, confusion was fading. A trickle of hope was taking its place. Bucky's fingers dug into his stomach, hard enough to hurt, but he didn't flinch. He tightened his fingers on the back of Bucky's neck, held him closer, held him tighter. The hope grew brighter, lighter, eclipsing everything else. Bucky's teeth bit gently into his skin, he felt his tongue taste, and Steve sunk his fingers deeper into his hair.

"Steve." It was muffled against his neck. "Is this real?"

"It's real."

"Am I dead? Because I've been dead once and I don't think it felt like this."

"No, Bucky." He'd never before held himself under such strict control. Never grabbed hold so tightly of his emotions and forced them to obey. The only thing he wanted Bucky to feel right now was joy and love. No anger, no rage. No lingering terror. "No, we're not dead."

He could feel Bucky accept it.

The scrape of a hoof made Bucky lift his head from where it was pressed against Steve. Winter was standing over them, ears forward, yearning in every line of his body.

"Winter," Bucky breathed, and Steve helped him sit up, so he could wrap his arm around Winter's head. Winter let out a soft sigh, eyes closing as he leaned into Bucky.

:Chosen.: It was soft, barely a whisper of a mindvoice, but Bucky cringed away.

:His mind is torn,: Winter sent, and this time Steve knew he was the only one hearing it. :I can't speak with him without hurting him, not until it's healed.:

:Is your bond back?:

:No. It's not like a lifebond. I will need to Choose him again. And his mind is, it's too hurt.: Anguish shaded Winter's words. :It needs time to heal. I won't hurt him more.:

"Winter says your mind's hurt." Steve wrapped his arms around Bucky's waist and Bucky flowed back into him, his hand still clutching Winter. "I'll play translator for him until it heals, alright?"

Bucky just nodded. Steve let his head fall to rest against the back of Bucky's head as Winter carefully lay down.

He didn't know where Abraham had gone. He couldn't worry about it—he wasn't worried about it—and he was glad he'd gone. This was a moment for them, just for them. He had Bucky back. Bucky was here, in his arms, the solid weight of him, the warmth of his skin, the impossible truth of his life.

He was here. Bucky was here.

*    *    *

Where Abraham had gone was to find them a Healer. An old man from far up in the rocky hills, who didn't much care who they were and who didn't speak a word of Karsite, who just wanted to do his job and get back to his goats.

With Winter's leg healed, he could easily carry Steve and Bucky up through the precarious rocky hills, across the Menmellith Border, and back into Valdemar. Steve gave Bucky the saddle, not wanting to risk losing him if one arm wasn't enough to hold on with as they sped across the rocky ground.

Even though they weren't safe, wouldn't be until they were back in Valdemar, even with the shadow in his heart where Shield used to be, even with Bucky having been dragged through all the hells, Steve's heart still wanted to soar. Winter's hooves were barely touching the ground, the full speed of a Companion eating up the miles, Steve's arms were wrapped around Bucky, Bucky's hand was tangled in Winter's mane, and they were moving as one as they raced for home.

Chapter Text

"Holy hells and Kernos' giant hairy balls he actually did it." The irreverently worded reverent whisper slipped, awed, out of the trees.

Winter stopped and stared.

Dugan was waiting at the tree line on the Valdemar side of the border, mounted on an ugly dun gelding.

"Steve. Steven. Herald Steven." Dugan's eyes were wide, then he turned and let out a long, loud, whistle. It was answered by a similar whistle, then another, then another. He turned back. "It's about to get real busy here." His gaze shifted. "Bucky."

He kicked the gelding forward and Bucky raised his head. Steve closed his fingers over Bucky's shoulder and Winter snorted a warning. The gelding stopped.

"Sorry. But Bucky. Herald James." He shook his head. "We're really damn glad you're alive."

"Me too," Bucky replied with a crooked smile.

Steve pressed his forehead against Bucky's shoulder and Bucky turned his head to press his cheek against Steve's. They were dressed in a mismatch of Steve's Whites and Steve's green and brown trousers and tunic, which, no matter how strange it looked, meant Steve could get his hand under Bucky's shirt to press his hand flat against his stomach. The curl of warmth and comfort flowed through both of them just in time for Sam and Riley to crash out from under the trees, followed by Natasha on her mare, and various Howlies all talking at once.

Their bond was starting to shiver with nerves, the noise too much for Bucky, and Steve held up a hand. "One at a time."

"We've been watching for you," Sam said. "I've had the animals looking for you up and down the border on both sides, so we knew you had to come across the border here somewhere."

"And he couldn’t watch it on his own, so we arranged our patrols," Gabe said.

"Maybe swapped a few here and there," Morita added.

"And called in a few favours," Montgomery finished, "so here we are."

Natasha didn't say anything, just caught his eye, head cocked. He nodded, resting his cheek against Bucky's hair, and she gave him a faint, pleased smile.

*    *    *

Winter's message had reached Haven, carried from Companion to Companion, just as Sam had promised. And just as they'd intended, it had reached Haven too late for anyone to stop them.

It hadn't reached Haven, however, too late for a message to be waiting when they made it safely across the border. It was a simple message, easy to obey. Return to Haven immediately.

Considering they'd technically invaded Karse, Steve thought it was actually pretty restrained.

They stopped at the Howlies' Guard Post so Bucky could wash and rest. He hadn’t said anything, but he didn't have to. Steve could feel his need to be clean, and he knew it was more than skin deep. There wasn't much he could do beyond be there and not let go, but he could get him a chance to have a bath.

Bucky settled into the wooden tub with an almost pained groan, Steve's hands wrapped around his ribs as he lowered him into the water. There were starburst scars carved into his body, curled up over his chest, scattered over the space where his left arm ended.

Steve drew his hands up Bucky's chest, over his shoulders, cupping the spot where his left arm used to be.

Bucky turned to watch, blinking slowly. "It's gone."

"Yeah."

"I don't know when. If it, when I fell or after."

Steve caught the surge of anger, shoved it away. Ran a gentle thumb over the scars, then let his damp fingers trail up Bucky's neck and into his short hair, pushing it back, cradling Bucky's head in his hands. "I love you."

"I never thought I'd get to say that again," Bucky murmured. "Never thought I'd get to hear it." He pressed into Steve's touch, lifted his hand, dripping wet and Steve couldn't care, to grab the front of his shirt and pull him closer. "I love you, too."

Steve couldn't breathe with the love roaring through their bond. He tipped his forehead to rest against Bucky's, just the two of them together, their hearts beating, their mingling breaths, Bucky's eyes locked on his as the world faded.

Eventually, slowly, their bond grew quieter, the raging torrent calmed, and the world returned. Bucky let go, letting his hand fall to Steve's arm. Steve sat back, caught Bucky's hand and slipped his fingers through Bucky's.

Only to stare at Bucky in surprise when he asked, "Do you think there's a spare set of Whites somewhere around here?"

"Probably? I can go and look." He did not want to go and look. He did not want to leave Bucky, but Bucky was looking at him like this was something he wanted, and he could feel Bucky's longing. It hadn't been an idle question. And the more Steve thought about it, the more it made sense. Whatever Bucky had been through, he was still a Herald, and a Herald wore Whites.

"Steve?"

"Will you be okay if I leave for a bit?"

"I'll survive." Entirely unexpected, there was a glint of humour in his eyes, echoed in their bond. "Just make sure you come back."

It turned out Steve had been right about the Whites. What he'd been wrong about was having to go and look for them.

They were waiting outside the door, along with Sam and Natasha. Sam held out the pile of folded Whites. "Riley," he said by way of explanation. "Winter knew Bucky would want them."

Steve took them, running his fingers over the soft cloth, the tough leather, then he reached out and hauled them both into a hug. Natasha went tense, for a moment he thought she'd pull away, or maybe stab him, then she relaxed and slipped an arm around his waist. "Everything you risked, everything you did," Steve said. Sam squeezed him hard and Steve drew in a deep breath. "There's no thanks I can give that will ever be enough, but it's all I have. Thank you."

After a few moments, they pulled away. Natasha gave him a little shove towards the door. "Go."

"Yeah," Sam said, "we didn't risk life and limb to get him out of Karse so you could waste time with us."

Steve's laugh was shaky, but it was real, and he was still smiling when he slipped back into the bathing room.  

*    *    *

Bucky knew he'd never had to think about sitting in Winter's saddle, think about riding him, think about moving with him, but that time was gone. Gone with his arm, gone with their bond. Chosen, Winter had called him, slicing across his mind like rusty razors, leaving it bleeding and raw in its wake.

He knew it had only hurt because his mind was hurt, not because their bond was gone. And it would heal. Probably he was having so much trouble moving with Winter because he hadn't ridden for two years; when the Karsites had moved him, they'd loaded him on a cart. Or maybe it was because his balance was off, what with only having the weight of an arm on one side.

That was probably all it was. Behind him, sitting behind the saddle, Steve was moving easily, swaying in time with Winter's stride. His arms were looped around Bucky's waist, one hand under his shirt, moving absently against his stomach. Bucky focussed on that touch. Closed his eyes and let it take him over.

It was Steve's touch that had let him believe Steve was real. Nothing else could match that curling warmth, that sense of home, that flowed between them when they touched. He let himself sink a little lower, pressing his cheek against Steve's.  

Comfortable, he opened his eyes. Steve was smiling down at him, and he ran his fingers through Bucky's hair, down the side of his face, before wrapping his arm around again.

They weren't alone. Sam and Riley and the Bard, Natasha, were with them, but Sam and Natasha were talking quietly, giving them the illusion of privacy. Bucky wasn't sure who the Bard was, but she was obviously someone—someone to Steve, and vice versa. He'd put together enough about how Steve and Winter had gotten him out to know what she and Sam had risked.  

They weren't alone, and he wanted to be alone with Steve and Winter, but Sam and Riley and Natasha had risked themselves to save him. He couldn't begrudge their presence. In a way he was even grateful for it. Like Steve's touch, they let him know this was real. So many times, he'd imagined Steve, he'd imagined Winter; he'd never imagined Sam and a Bard he barely recognised.

This was real. Steve was real, Winter was real, and he was free.

*    *    *

The Waystation looked like every Waystation he'd ever seen. They'd offered to go to an inn, but Bucky couldn't quite cope with the thought of that. Too many people, too much noise, maybe too many questions.

This was better.

When he slipped off Winter, Steve slid off after him, and he turned to press his face into Steve's neck and breathe him in, letting the feel of Steve wash over him. But when Steve moved to untack Winter, he put his hand out to stop him. "Let me?"

"Of course, Buck. Sorry. I should have thought."

"Don't apologise." He shoved himself under Steve's chin, which took a little knee bending, and Steve pulled him close while Bucky wound his fingers in Winter's mane. "And I'm going to need help. But I want to."

Steve leaned back, gently running the back of his hand from the corner of Bucky's jaw to the tip of his chin. "Anything you want." Steve's voice shook a little; Bucky could feel love, determination, protectiveness, surrender pouring through their bond. "Anything you want in my power to give you, it's yours."

He let his head drop, resting it on Steve's chest for a moment while emotions swirled through him. They should have been overwhelming; instead they were lifting him up, carrying him. He was suddenly so light he was amazed his feet were still on the floor. "You could kiss me."

A gentle finger tipped his chin up. "You sure?"

"Steve," he breathed, "it's been almost two years since you kissed me. I'm sure," and poured his certainty into their bond.

Steve's hands were rough, calloused as they brushed against his cheeks and he was struck with the memory of staring at them, of thinking they were elegant when they'd never been elegant at all. What they did was elegant, the way they touched him, the way Steve moved them, the way Steve slid his fingers back to curl around his jaw, thumbs rubbing behind his ear.

"Steve," he whispered, and didn't wait, couldn’t wait, pressing up to kiss him. It radiated between them, slow and soft, rolling through his heart, and he pressed closer, then Steve was deepening it, the two of them lost in what they'd thought had been lost forever.

Suddenly Steve jumped. Bucky looked at him curiously. "Winter says: I'm very happy for both of you, but I also have an extremely itchy back, so if one of you could concentrate for five minutes and untack me before continuing, I'd appreciate it."  

Winter's eyes were gleaming as he gently nipped at Bucky's shirt, giving it a little tug, then shoved him towards his saddle.

Bucky didn't have words for how good it was to be with his Companion again; to look after him, even if he couldn't talk to him. It was soothing to groom him, leaning into the strokes of the brush, old familiar movements—even if he did end up needing Steve's help to untack him, but Steve and Winter both had suggestions for how they could adjust the tack to let Bucky manage it one-handed. They made it seem so simple: he used to have two arms, now he had one, and they'd deal with it.

After dinner, he leaned against Steve's legs as they sat where Bucky had positioned them upwind of the fire, listening to Steve and Natasha and Sam exchanging stories. There was some back and forth about who'd sleep where, but Bucky settled it with, "I don't want to leave Winter," so Sam and Natasha took the Waystation and he and Steve set up a pile of bedrolls and extra bedding in the stable. Riley, after a considering look, went to sleep out on the grass with Natasha's mare, leaving them alone. 

When they climbed into their makeshift bed, Bucky burrowed against Steve's bare skin, exhausted, worn to the bone, but safe. He was safe here. Winter was close by, watching over them. Steve was wrapped around him, one hand moving in a long slow sweep down his back, the other cradling his head. Bucky pressed his forehead harder against Steve's chest. Listening to his heart beat, listening to him breathe, feeling the bond between them flow with peace.

He fell asleep with Steve murmuring in his ear.

He woke crouched with his back against the wall, heart racing, mind blank, heart a turmoil of fear and anger and a desperate attempt at calm, his nose filled with the smell of burning flesh.

"Bucky?" Steve was saying his name. Softly. He was the source of the desperate calm. The fear and anger could be from either of them, wound too close together to tell.

"Do you smell that?"

"I don't smell anything," Steve said carefully. "Neither does Winter. What do you smell?"

"Burning flesh. You can't smell it?" But it was starting to fade, replaced by horse and hay and leather and, distantly, the smell of Steve.

Steve didn't shudder, but Bucky could tell he wanted to. "No, Bucky. There's nothing like that here. I promise you. Winter promises you. Just normal stable smells. Nothing else. Nothing burning."

Winter would never lie to him. Steve would never lie to him. He slowly straightened from his crouch.

The smell was gone. He sagged, slumping against the wall. Wordlessly, he reached out his hand and, when Steve came within grasping distance, hauled him in and shoved his face in the crook of his neck. Breathing in the scent of him.

Steve's hands were gentle as they touched him. His hair, his empty shoulder, his side. His face. Gentle touches, gentle strokes, until their breathing matched, slow and even.

"Do you want to tell me?" Steve asked.

"No." Bucky's laugh was short and bitter. "No, but I think you should know. I think you deserve to know."  

The burst of anger that slipped through their bond before Steve blocked it had Bucky pulling back to stare up at him.

"Sorry. That wasn't for you. It wasn't at you." Steve curled his fingers around Bucky's jaw. "This is never about what I deserve. This is about you. What you need. Promise me you won't do something just because you think I need it."

The moments ticked past, and then Bucky's eyes narrowed. "No."

"What?"

"I said no." He caught Steve's chin and tugged him closer. "You're my lifebonded. If I decide to do something because I think it's what you need, that's my right. You don't get to say I can't."

Steve's nostrils flared, and Bucky tugged on his chin again. "Stop that."

"Make me."

Steve scowled at him, but the corner of his mouth twitched. "Make me?"

"Yeah, make me."

When Steve kissed him, softly, sweetly, barely brushing his lips against Bucky's before kissing the arch of his cheekbone, the bridge of his nose, then moving back to his mouth to deepen the kiss into something still sweet but far more serious, Bucky's hand loosened and he let go to wrap it around the back of Steve's neck.

"I don't think that's fair," he said when Steve lifted his head.

"You said 'make me'."

"That's not what I meant."

"It's what you said." Steve laid a finger over Bucky's mouth. "And what I meant isn't what I said. What I meant was don't push yourself to tell me something you don't want to just because you think I need to know. It would hurt me more to know you told me something you didn't want to then it ever would not to know something. But anything you want to tell me, I'll listen, no matter how hard it is."

Bucky blinked up at him. "That's what you meant?"

"Yeah."

"I can work with that."

"Good." Steve kissed the top of his head. "Come back to bed. We can talk if you want. It's up to you."  

When they were settled again, he rested his head on Steve's chest, his hand pressed over Steve's heart, measuring its beat. Steve's arms were folded around him.

After a bit, he said, "I'm going to tell you. But I need you to let me get through it. Can you do that?"

"Yes." He felt Steve's emotions fade, the constant background hum disappearing, and knew Steve was blocking them. Blocking both ways, he hoped, since if he tried with his mind as raw as it was, it would be salt on an open wound.

"Where do you want me to start?"

"Wherever you want, Buck."

He tried to think of a way to ease into it, but there wasn't one. All he could do was tell it. He took a deep breath and said, "I think they put the demon in me while I was still dead."

Steve twitched under him and he smoothed his hand over Steve's chest.

"I know I died. I don't remember it, not really, just a feeling of…peace. And then I was waking up in pain with my mind trapped, being Healed, and there was something else in my body with me. I didn't know it was a demon until I heard that black-robe talking."

"He's dead." Steve's voice was flat, and Bucky wondered how much effort it had taken to make it that way.

"Good." He touched Steve's face. "But you said you'd let me get through this."

Steve nodded, pressing Bucky's hand against his cheek briefly before letting go.  

"A lot of the time, I wasn't there. It was easier just to…go away. But when they used me, I couldn't. My mind was wrapped in the demon, it was part of me, and there was no sleeping through what they used me for."

Steve's arms tightened around him.

"You know they burn people in Karse? Of course you know, we all know. It's part of their history, we even learnt in the class on Karse: Sunpriests burn people alive. Have you ever tried to imagine what that's like?"

He made a fist, pressed it against Steve's chest.

"It's not just ordinary people, innocent people. They eat their own over there. If you betray the Temple, or don't toe the line, or piss off someone more powerful? You get burned, too. That's what they used me for. They'd load me on a cart and take me to whatever Temple the unfortunates were part of, and I'd drag them into the fires and hold them there while they burned to death."

The stable was deathly silent. He wasn't sure Winter was breathing.

"I was proof that they'd failed their Sunlord," he couldn't help the little shudder, "that they'd betrayed their god, because otherwise why would their god let me stand in the fires untouched while they burned? No one ever asked what made me so special," he said, trying for humour that fell absolutely flat. He gave up. "I felt them burn, heard them scream." He swallowed hard. "I could smell them."

"That's what your nightmare was about."

He nodded. "I could smell it in my sleep. When I woke up, I could still smell it. It's not something you ever forget."

He could feel Steve's jaw working around whatever he wasn't saying. Whatever he didn't know how to say. Bucky empathised, since he didn't know whether to say the rest, whether it would make it better or worse. He tilted his head, so he could see Winter, wishing he could ask him.

He couldn’t. All he could do was ask Steve. "There's something else."

"I'm listening, Bucky."

"I don't know if you want to be. It's not about me." Steve's hands tightened, like he could sense what was coming. "It's about Shield."

The flash of pain stole his breath away, but then it vanished. Bucky shoved himself up so he could stare down at Steve. "Don't. Don't do that. She wasn't my Companion, but I loved her all the same. Don't block it from me."

"I can't. Bucky. You've got enough—"

He dropped his forehead to rest against Steve's. "That's not how it works. I may have been gone for a while." The corner of his mouth quirked, and Steve tightened his hold. "But I know that's not how it works. Let me help you carry it."

He wasn't sure it would work, wasn't sure Steve would listen, but then he dragged in a breath, closed his eyes, and his pain slowly bled back through their bond.

He didn't know how Steve had survived it. It didn't feel anything like his missing bond with Winter. Winter was alive. Bucky could see him, touch him, he was right there. Their bond was a bone out of joint, just waiting to be popped back in. This was an arm torn free of its socket, forever bleeding, never healed.

Eventually, it faded. Not gone—Bucky knew it would never be gone—but dimmed, quiet. A long-carried burden Steve had grown used to bearing. I've still got two shoulders, Steve. I can take half the load. He didn't say it. Instead he nestled his nose against Steve's neck, pressed his hand over Steve's heart, and curled into him. Steve wrapped his arms around him, hanging on tight, one leg curved over Bucky's.

"Go ahead and tell me," Steve said, sliding his fingers down the back of Bucky's neck.

"When I died?" Another jolt from Steve, but he turned his head and kissed him—I'm here, I'm alive—and Steve calmed. "I think I saw Shield. I think she was with me. It's part of what helped me hang on, helped keep me from going mad while they had me. It felt like she was still with me." He dug in and found the thread of peace he'd hung onto through everything and let it flow back to Steve. "Like she was watching over me."

Steve was quiet for a long time, fingers moving against Bucky's skin. Then he smiled. "You know if she could, she would've. If she could, she would've followed you back."

"That would have given them a hell of a shock," Bucky said. "A Companion appearing out of nowhere, like a new Grove-Born."

"Yeah," Steve laughed quietly. "Yeah, it would have."

It was a long time before either of them slept, but they didn't talk. They didn't need to, peace and love swirling freely through their bond.

Chapter Text

Haven was loud and busy and full of sounds and smells and colours. Bucky was torn between loving it—everything was colourful, everyone was different, it was in many real ways home—and wanting to hide because it was too much. In the end he settled for riding behind Steve on Winter, so he could rest his nose on Steve's shoulder, breathing him in, his arm looped around Steve's waist, Steve a wall between him and the world.

Sam and Natasha rode on either side of him, blocking him in, and again he was torn—grateful, but resenting that he felt that way.

Haven meant the Palace and the Collegium, but those were just places. What it really meant were the Circle and Mindhealers. Steve had to deal with the former; the latter were Bucky's burden to bear.

*    *    *

"These aren't our rooms."

Steve paused, then shut the door behind them. "No."

Bucky looked around, walking over to touch the firebird wall-hanging, then the sketch of Winter sitting on the table. He picked up the sketch of him and Shield, studying it, then ran a gentle finger down the paper before setting it down to look at Steve.

"I couldn't stay in our rooms. Not after…" He let it go unfinished, knew Bucky would understand. "I spent a lot of time sleeping in the stables with Winter." Steve, who had Bucky back, who had Bucky standing here in his rooms—no, in their rooms, unless Bucky wanted to move, and Steve would move anywhere he wanted, including the stables—could grin and say, "He doesn't snore."

Bucky's eyes narrowed. "Are you saying I snore?"

"I didn't say that. But if you took an innocent statement and saw yourself in it, maybe you're feeling a bit guilty." He paused, long enough for Bucky to open his mouth, then quickly added, "Because of the snoring."

"I do not snore. You on the other hand," Bucky raised his eyebrows pointedly, "it's like sleeping next to a mule."

"Oh, you've had some experience with that, have you?"

He had to duck to avoid getting thwapped in the face with the pillow Bucky plucked off the couch and sent flying his way. Bucky laughed at him and a burst of bright joy flooded Steve. He saw it hit Bucky, Bucky's eyes going wide, and he crossed the room in two short strides and pulled him into a hug, half-lifting him off the ground.  

"You're here. You're safe. Bucky. Gods." Words weren't enough, not with the same joy, the same love pouring back from Bucky, and he caught Bucky's face in his hand and kissed him.

Bucky surged forward, meeting the kiss and wrapped his hand around the back of his neck. When they parted, Bucky held him close, breathing against his mouth, the emotions surging through their bond nearly enough to swamp him. "Steve, if you don't take me to bed right now, I swear to every god I will do something terrible to you."

He kissed him again, murmuring, "Anything it's in my power to give you," while he hoisted him up. Bucky wrapped his legs around his waist, tugging at his shirt as he carried him into the bedroom and kicked the bedroom door shut behind them.

*    *    *

The Circle had called for Steve to report to them in the same room as last time. It was a different Trainee standing near the door. The look of awe she gave him made Steve wonder what sort of tales were circulating through the Heralds and the Collegium. Because there'd be something. There always was.

He realised he didn't care. In fact, he was kind of looking forward to hearing a few of them. Maybe Sam would end up being responsible for taking down an entire Karsite company on his own.

:Good luck, Steven.:

Winter's mindvoice was only a whisper, but it made him smile, just a little. The Trainee tentatively returned it, and he let it turn into a grin. She blushed and opened the door to let him in.

:Thanks, Winter.:

:Not that I believe you'll need it.: It was dry, and Steve had to try not to laugh.

He doubted it would have gone over well.

They were all there, the Heraldic Circle, sitting at the same table where they'd tried to tell him he couldn’t be a Herald anymore. Not without a Companion.

And then Winter had saved him. Looking back, it had probably involved an unnecessary amount of dramatics—bursting through the doors was something Shield would have done. He was ready for the flash of pain, met it with the flicker of light, wrapped it around with his lifebond, and breathed deep, letting amused affection take its place. It was exactly something Shield would have done.

"Herald Steven?"

"My apologies." He gave a little bow to Herald Margaret, who was watching him, expression serious, but her eyes were dancing. She was happy with him. Or maybe happy for him. He let his gaze drift around the table. They all were, he thought. Bruce and Thor unabashedly. Herald Rhodes looked concerned—which was fair enough, since if Steve had dropped Valdemar into another war with Karse, the Lord Marshall would be leading it, and Rhodes was the Lord Marshall's Herald. Herald Shilo looked annoyed; of course, she generally did, so it was hard to judge how she felt from that. But underneath both the concern and the annoyance he thought he saw something positive. Just like last time, the Herald Chronicler was missing. Steve was beginning to doubt she existed.  

"Will you take a seat?" Margaret asked.

"Of course," Steve replied, and pulled out a chair to sit at the table.

"We've already spoken to Herald Samuel, and Bard Natasha, and Rolan has spoken to Riley, but we'd like to hear what happened from you." She fixed him with a curious look. "Winter was surprisingly reticent about what he was prepared to share with Rolan."

He didn't know whether to be touched or impressed. Maybe both. Not only had Winter refused to tell Rolan, the Grove-Born, what had happened, he'd left the way clear for Steve to bend the truth if he needed to.

He wasn't going to, but it was good of Winter to give him that chance.

"Where do you want me to start?"

"How about from when you knew Herald James was alive?" Herald Rhodes suggested.

That flash of cold, that moment in the snow. The rage. Steve grabbed all of it and held on. Not letting it go, not wanting it to touch Bucky. When he was sure he had it under control, he nodded. "From the beginning, then. Alright. Bard Natasha and I were following rumours of something new on the Karsite border. As you know," he said to Margaret. She nodded. "We found it."

As clearly and as concisely as he could, he walked them through what had happened. It was hard to keep his emotions out of it, but he tried.

Fortunately, there was enough else in his story to catch their attention. Bruce had a lot of questions about the Sunpriest who'd vanished his arrow and none of them seemed pleased with the answers. Not that Steve had much to tell them, considering he'd died immediately afterwards.

Abraham shocked them silent. So did the Sunpriests' reasons for putting a demon in Bucky. Margaret rubbed her temple. "I don't know whether to be worried or relieved that there's people over there who think we might have a hundred Lavan Firestorms tucked away."  

"If it keeps them from attacking us? Relieved," Rhodes said. "Steven. Can you give me some more detail about your plans?"

Steve started, stopped, frowned, and asked, "Have you got some paper and a pencil?"

They were provided, and he started sketching out the territory, explaining what he'd seen, what he'd planned, why. As he did, Rhodes kept pulling him up, asking more questions. Some of them Steve didn't have answers to beyond 'there wasn't another option'.  

When he was finished, Rhodes exchanged a thoughtful look with Margaret before saying, "Thank you." He sat back. "I'm done. Anyone else have anything they want to ask?"

"I have no questions," Thor said, leaning over the table to fix Steve with a serious look. "I simply wish to say that I am pleased beyond all measure, not just that your bonded has returned to you, but that a Herald has been returned to us. You and Samuel, Winter and Riley, Bard Natasha, you all risked death and worse to save him and you won. It's a victory to be celebrated, not just for you, but for all of us."   

"I'll second that," Bruce said.

"I think we all will." Margaret busied herself straightening her papers. "Although we would prefer if in the future you didn't take it upon yourself to invade Karse, as understandable as it was in the circumstances."

"I can't make any promises." He couldn't, and he wouldn't, because there was almost nothing he'd stop at to keep Bucky safe.

A chuckle worked its way around the table. "Of course you can't," Margaret said with fond exasperation. "Go, we have work to do. You're not the only Herald in Valdemar."

Steve went, giving the Trainee a wink as he left, and she grinned back at him.

He was halfway to Companion's Field when he stopped—literally stopped in the middle of the path, and a Healer student glared at him when she had to walk out onto the wet grass to get past him, but he ignored her.

With everything they'd asked, there was one thing they hadn't. Hadn't asked, hadn't raised, hadn't mentioned: he didn't have a Companion. Winter was Bucky's, Bucky was his Chosen—or he would be again soon—and with Bucky back, Steve didn't have a Companion.

They had to know. But the closest they'd come to mentioning it was: You're not the only Herald in Valdemar.

He started walking again. Maybe they'd forgotten. Maybe they'd changed their mind. Maybe it didn't matter. He'd just keep going and see what happened.

*    *    *

Bucky lay across Winter's neck, arm hanging down across his shoulder, and sighed. He was exhausted.  

Winter had been waiting when he'd finished with the Mindhealers, and it had taken some finagling and the help of some stone steps, but he'd managed to pull himself up on his back with only one arm. Then Winter had waited, ears flicking. Bucky had badly wanted to mindspeak him, but he knew it would hurt, and set back his healing, so he'd said, "Companion's Field?". Winter had gently snorted his assent, and now here they were.

It was the same brilliant rolling green it had always been, still filled with that same sense of peace. Bucky made himself sit up, his hand on Winter's withers for balance, and stared into the sky.

"They wanted me to stay with them. The Mindhealers," he added as Winter curved his head around to peer at him. "They wanted me to stay in the House of Healing while I recover."

Winter's ears went flat.

"That's what I said. I need to be with Steve, with you, not cooped up in their stone hall. I've had enough of stone halls to last a lifetime." The thought of not being able to touch Steve whenever he wanted, of someone else saying when he could come and go, of being trapped there, made his skin crawl. He knew it was an overreaction, he knew he wouldn't really be trapped, but he also knew it wasn't the right thing for him. Being with Steve, that was what was right.

Winter gently nosed his leg and Bucky scratched under his forelock. "I wish I could talk to you."

The gentle touch turned into a hard shove and a glare.

"I didn't say I was going to. I said I wish I could. I'm not stupid." Winter's expression turned doubtful. "That's just rude."

A long snort answered him.

"And now I'm covered in Companion snot. Thanks." He wiped his hand on Winter's neck, ignoring the second glare, and went back to scratching under his forelock. "They think they know why my mind's all torn up, though. It's because the demon kept trying to escape and the Gift, channels I guess they're called, were the only way it could see to get out. It didn't work, obviously, but it kept trying. Poor bastard."

Winter gave him a shocked look, eyes wide, ears up, but Bucky had had time to think about this. "It didn't want to be there anymore than I did. It was just another weapon the black-robes were using. I don't blame it any more than I blame the fire. That Sunpriest was the one who shoved it inside me. He stole my will and used my body to serve his god." He took a deep breath, searching for calm. "Can't blame the demon for that."  

Winter shook his mane, pawed the ground, obviously unsettled, and Bucky ran his hand down his neck, leaning forward to rest his cheek on his crest. It put the beads braided into his mane right at eye level. After a bit, when Winter had started to relax, he gave them a gentle tug.

He knew what they were. He recognised them.

"This is nice," he said quietly. "Was it your idea or Steve's?"

Winter dug into the ground with one hoof, bowed his head low, and Bucky had to brace himself so he didn't slide off.

"Yours, then."

He didn't know whether to say what he was thinking. He knew he'd never tell Steve. For Steve, it wouldn't be a comfort. For Steve, it would just risk adding more weight to the burden of Shield's death, weighing him down with more pain, and he wouldn't do that. But Winter was a Companion; he wasn't human. Shield had been his friend, but not his Chosen, not his lifebonded.

"We knew," he said quietly, turning to press his face into Winter's mane. Winter went still under him, lifting his head. "We knew what it would cost us. I had a vision. Two. The first was you and Steve dead, along with the horses pulling the wagons. We knew we had to stop it. The second…"

He pushed up, sitting straight, and Winter turned his head, sapphire blue eye gazing straight into Bucky's.

"The second, we were falling. We knew if we stopped the first one, we were going to die. We knew what it would cost us. We made our choice." He could feel tears welling. "Love and duty, Winter. It wasn't ever a choice at all."  

Winter's teeth closed in his sleeve, tugging, and Bucky slid off his back to throw his arm around Winter's neck as Winter folded his head over his shoulder, and they stood together, Herald and Companion, holding on tight.  

*    *    *

Bucky didn't like seeing the Mindhealers. But that wasn't unusual. No one liked seeing the Mindhealers. Steve sure hadn't. He sometimes wondered if everyone who became a Mindhealer ended up needing a Mindhealer, just because no one was ever happy to see them.

Even though he didn't like it, Bucky still went, and it was making a difference. His nightmares were growing less powerful. His mind was healing. They thought he'd be able to mindspeak soon, and Steve knew that meant Winter would be able to Choose him again. He was treating his single arm as just another thing to deal with. Adjusting to the new balance, finding new ways to do old things—and Steve had seen him talking to Thor, seen Thor grinning that familiar, deadly grin, so he knew that was only a matter of time. He didn't hesitate to poke Steve and make him help when he needed it.

Steve wished he knew what god or goddess had taken pity on him and given him this. He couldn't imagine anything short of divine intervention could have led them here. Here, with Bucky asleep on the couch in their rooms, his head in Steve's lap, Steve trailing his fingers through Bucky's hair. It was starting to get a little longer, the short crop beginning to give way to a silky softness and Steve couldn't get enough of touching it. Truth be told, he couldn’t get enough of touching every part of Bucky.

A gentle rap at the door made Bucky frown in his sleep and scrunch down. Steve closed his eyes, called his Farsight to look into the hallway. Sam was leaning one shoulder against the doorframe, gesturing at Natasha. He was in travelling Whites and she was in her leather Scarlets, which meant… It could mean a lot of things, but it probably meant they were about to leave Haven.

He let go of his Gift and said, just loud enough to be heard, "Come in, but be quiet."

"Why do we have to—" Sam whispered as he opened the door. "Oh," he added, spying Bucky. "Right."

Natasha tipped her head sideways. "Cute," she decided.

"Thanks," Steve whispered dryly.

"No, she's right," Bucky said sleepily. "We are cute."

"Sorry, Buck." He ran a hand down Bucky's shoulder and across his side, curving his palm around Bucky's ribs.

"I was waking up anyway." He yawned and sat up, stretching his arm above his head and resettling himself against Steve's shoulder. "Hi."

"Hey, Bucky," Sam said, coming to sit on the arm of the couch. "You doing okay?"

"Good, Sam. I'm doing good."

Natasha had only been in his rooms twice, so he wasn't sure why she knew how to find everything to make tea, but he knew her well enough not to bother asking. And besides, this way he didn't have to get up and make it.

"Are you heading out?" Steve asked.

"We are. Hardorn, Rethwellan, then Menmellith. The King and Council want them to know what Karse has been up to. What they’re capable of. Karse may not hate them the way they hate us, but they’re chancy neighbours at the best of time, and they don’t love anyone. Thankfully for us the feeling’s mutual, and given we’ve got defence treaties with Hardorn and Rethwellan, they need to know."

"You mean what they did to me, right?" Bucky asked. "By what they're capable of."

"We do," Natasha replied, and Steve felt a burst of satisfaction from Bucky. "The King, the Council, and the Circle all want it to come from people who were involved."

"No more working in secret for you," Sam told her. "But you’ll still have a Herald along for help."

"I never needed a Herald for help, Sam. The King was just happier when I had someone with moral fibre along on the job."

"Don't give me that. You've got enough moral fibre to open a rope-makers." 

She gave him a flat look along with his tea. "Don't push your luck."

Bucky laughed and tried to muffle it against Steve's shoulder. "Sorry."

"Don't be sorry," Sam said, "I know I'm funny."

"That tea can still find its way onto your head," Natasha said as she handed Bucky his.

"Thanks."

"It's probably not poisoned," she told him.

"Natasha!" Steve said.

But Bucky was chuckling quietly, sniffing the tea. "I've already died once. I'm not worried."

Brief silence fell, the rest of the room staring at him, then Sam cracked up. Natasha gave him a look of approval and Steve rubbed a hand over his mouth, then reached out to accept his tea from Natasha.

"Don't do it again," Steve said, dropping a kiss on Bucky's head, curls of love flowing out to him, meeting curls of love flowing back.

"Not planning on it." Bucky nestled himself further into the curve of Steve's arm and sipped his tea, then rested the mug on Steve's thigh. A pulse of determination from him had Steve sitting straighter, then Bucky cleared his throat. "I want to say something."

"That was something," Natasha replied.

"You've been spending too much time with me. Or not enough," Sam told her, before turning to Bucky. "What is it, Bucky?"

"I need to say thank you. I'm not going to make a dramatic declaration or pledge undying loyalty or promise you my first-born child but," he turned the mug around, rubbing his thumb against the rim, "thank you. For what you did. For helping Steve get me out."

Sam and Natasha exchanged a look. Steve pulled Bucky closer. "Herald," Sam said. "No thanks needed."

"I’m not. I’ll take the thanks," Nat said with a grin.

"You can have them."

"But not your first-born child?"

"No, you know what? If I ever somehow have one, it’s all yours."

Natasha made a face and Steve hid his laugh in Bucky’s hair.

"There’s a thought I could have gone my whole life without having," Sam said. "Starting to regret getting you out, now." But he leaned down and squeezed Bucky’s shoulder and Bucky tipped his head back to smile up at him. "It was never a question, Bucky. Me and Riley didn't hesitate."

Natasha cleared her throat. Pointedly. "There’s only so much Heraldish sacrificial do-gooding talk I can take."

"Uh, you were there with me, Nat."

"Details." She waved her hand.

"And you’re a Bard. Surely you can do better than Heraldish sacrificial do-gooding talk?"

"You want me to do better?" Natasha settled herself more comfortably, giving Steve a smile that made him want to sink into the couch and hide. "I can do better." She hummed, note spiralling up, clear and bright. "Let’s fill Bucky in on some of the things he missed."

They were on to their second cups of, unfortunately, not tea—Steve had made kav at Natasha’s insistence—and Steve was staring at the ceiling as she told the story of the argonel traders.

"So there Steve was, coated in mud, standing over a bunch of unconscious and thoroughly pummelled drug traders. Only it turned out the people he'd just heroically saved?" She paused, and Sam and Bucky leaned in, rapt. "Were other drug traders."

They turned as one to stare at Steve.

"This is great." Sam was grinning. "I can just picture him, long tall streak of mud, and then having to go to the Guard."

"It could have been worse," Steve said. "At least I didn't have to tell them I was me."

"You didn't have to tell them you were— What?"

"If we could, we tried to keep our names out of things. So I told them I was someone else."

"Who did you say you were?" Sam asked, gazing at Steve in fascination.

Steve sighed. Bucky was shaking with silent laughter next to him. "Guy."

"Guy is about this high." Sam held his hand out even with his chest. "You are this high." He stretched his hand up as far as it would go, wiggling his fingers at the ceiling.

Steve sat back, wrapping an arm around Bucky. "And if Guy ever has to see the Guard in that town, there's going to be a lot of confusion."

"I almost wish I was going to be there to see that," Natasha said.

"Me too," Bucky replied.

They grinned at each other.

"Didn't you say you were leaving?" Steve said.

"But we'll be back." She stood and crossed to the couch, leaning down to kiss Steve's cheek. "Take care of yourself. And him." She nodded her head at Bucky.

"Always."

"And you." Natasha gave Bucky a long look. "I want to see more of you."

Steve didn’t know whether to be worried or happy, so he settled on sinking lower into the couch and covering his eyes with one hand.

"I expect more Steve stories when you're back," Bucky told her.

"If you're lucky I'll even set some to song." She hummed, the sound swirling through the room and around them all, shining and bright before it faded. "The Ballad of the Mud-Beast has a nice ring to it."

Steve's groan was lost in the laughter.

Chapter Text

"Come on, we're going," Bucky said as he walked into their rooms.

Steve had only just gotten back from helping Herald Rhodes, and he looked up from where he'd been about to take his boots off, baffled by the triumphant anticipation flowing out of Bucky. "What? Where."

"Companion's Field. Will you come on?" Bucky grabbed him and dragged him to his feet and out the door. Steve was grateful he'd still been wearing boots, since he had the feeling he'd be making the trip in his socks otherwise.

It didn't take them long to get there, since Bucky was practically running.

Winter was waiting at the fence.

"Talk to me," Bucky said, vaulting over the fence with his hand on the top rail. "I have the all clear."

Winter looked at Steve. Steve shrugged. "It's not the kind of thing he'd lie about."

"Hey. I'm serious. All healed. Talk to me."

:Tell me if this hurts you.:

Joy spread across Bucky's face. "Winter."

:Your mind is healed.:

"Just like I said."

:Forgive me for wanting to be sure.: It was amazing the amount of dry sarcasm a Companion could manage, and it made Bucky laugh.

"I missed this. I missed you. I missed you so much."

Steve climbed onto the fence and made himself comfortable, feet tucked up on the palings, letting Winter and Bucky's conversation flow over him. They could have made their reunion private, closed him out, and he wouldn't have minded. Bucky was Winter's Chosen, Winter was his Companion, or they would be once Winter sorted out the formalities again, and what they had was for them, together.

But they didn't. It didn't seem to occur to either of them, and Steve could feel Bucky's bubbling joy at being able to talk to Winter again.

After half a candlemark or so, Bucky leaned his head on Winter's neck and sighed. Then he turned and reached out a hand to Steve. Steve caught it, and kissed it, because he could, and because he loved the glint it put in Bucky's eye.

"We're going for a run. Will you be here when we get back?"

"Always."

It made Bucky step closer, go up on his toes to reach Steve on top of the fence, and kiss him, quick and firm. Steve smiled against his mouth, and then Bucky was gone, using the fence to boost himself onto Winter back.

Steve watched them gallop across the field, the picture of joy, Bucky leaning into Winter's stride as they raced across the green grass, and didn't listen to the voice in the back of his head that asked: out of everything they'd talked about, why hadn't Winter mentioned Choosing?

*    *    *

Steve's eyes snapped open and he reached automatically for Bucky, fingers stroking his skin, pulling him close to hold him against his chest. The surge of warmth from the skin to skin contact was already fighting back against the fear-pain-anguish the nightmare had sent writhing through their bond.

His heartbeats ticked past, and then Bucky shuddered, surfaced, and clung to Steve, fingers digging into his skin. He always wound up bruised after these, but he didn't care. It was a small price to pay to pull Bucky out of them.

The nightmares didn't happen like they used to, not like when he'd first come back, but the reality was they'd never be completely gone. The Mindhealers might have cleared him, but Bucky's nightmares—which were both more and less than that, unembellished memory of what he'd survived in Karse—were always going to be part of them.

It made Steve want to go back and kill the black-robe all over again, only this time far more slowly.

He ran his fingers through Bucky's hair, letting the new length trail across his palm, and Bucky opened his eyes.

"Hey," Steve said, shifting enough so he could kiss him, cupping Bucky's jaw as he leaned into the kiss, letting his hand glide around to cradle his skull when Bucky pressed his nose into his neck. "Anything new?"

"Same old thing." Bucky's voice was muffled, since his face was mashed against Steve's neck. "Fire, burning. Screams, smells. The usual."

It was light, but the remnants of nightmare memory sat like a stone in their bond. Steve brushed Bucky's hair back and kissed his temple. "Next time try for bunnies."

He felt Bucky's surprise, felt it mellow into warmth as he breathed deep, slow and even. Steve matched it, and they breathed together, Steve pouring comfort back through their bond.

Bucky's heart slowed, the lingering shreds of nightmare dissipated, as Steve traced the line of Bucky's spine, slow and smooth.

"Bunnies?" he eventually asked, turning his head to kiss Steve's chin.

"Cute, fluffy. Harmless. They've got to be better than…everything else."

"Dream about something else. Why didn't I think of that?" Bucky propped himself up on his elbow. "You're so smart."

"Handsome, too."

"Idiot."

"You love me, anyway."

"I guess."

"Come here." Steve tugged him back down and Bucky sprawled over him, tucking his head under Steve's chin. "I love you. Go to sleep."

"Only because you asked so—" he yawned, wide and long, and finished with a disgruntled, "—nicely."

"Sure, Buck. Only because I asked so nicely." He ran his hand over Bucky's hair and tucked him closer.

"Damn right."

*    *    *

Bucky didn't feel guilty. The Mindhealers had been worried about that, had seemed to be waiting for it to manifest, but it never had. The things Bucky had done, dragging people into fires to watch them writhe and burn, he'd been made to do. He'd had no way to fight back, no way to resist. He wasn't responsible for what his body had been used for. Neither was the demon. They'd both been tools, weapons, in the hands of a black-robed Karsite Sunpriest.

What he did feel was hatred. Hatred for Karse. Hatred for the Sunpriests. An implacable, stony hatred as strong and solid as the mountains, but not guilt.

It helped that the people he'd been forced to kill weren't innocents. Maybe one or two had found a change of heart they'd been doomed to die for, but every one of them had blood on their hands. It didn't make what had happened to them right—nothing could ever make that right—but in a world where not burning someone to death wasn't an option, not an innocent was the best possible alternative.

*    *    *

Steve and Bucky had spent the afternoon carefully sparring. Bucky was still learning to work with his new balance, with only a single weapon, and it was going to be a long road before he had anything approaching his old skill, but he was already starting to see possibilities for the empty space down his left side. For one, it could probably hold a lot of throwing knives.

He'd also spent the afternoon shaking his hair out of his eyes. He'd been thinking about it while they used the baths, while he awkwardly dried it, and now, as he sat on the end of their bed, he peered at Steve from under his hair. "I guess I should keep it short." He tugged on it. "Want to cut it for me? "

Steve looked up at him from the other end of the bed. "Why keep it short?"

With a look at Steve like Steve was an idiot, Bucky wiggled his single hand at him. "It's going to be a bit hard to deal with it long with only one of these."

Steve set his papers down and sat up, leaning forward to give Bucky a thoughtful look.

"What?" Bucky went a little cross-eyed. "Have I got something on my nose?"

"Yes, you have had since lunch, but that's beside the point."

"Ass." Bucky swatted his leg, and Steve grinned. "Seriously, what's with the look?"

"I'm just wondering when you forgot how to count."

Bucky raised both eyebrows. "I know the Collegium was a long time ago, and maybe some of my memories are a bit spotty what with having had a demon in my head, but wasn't it me who helped you pass advanced figuring and celestial navigation?"

"Nope."

"Are you lying to me right now?"

"Yup."

Bucky narrowed his eyes and pounced on Steve, shoving him down to the bed, straddling his hips and holding him in place with his hand planted on Steve's chest. "Tell me what that look was for."

"I told you, because you can't count."

"And why can't I count?"

"Because you think you only have one arm."

Bucky looked at his one arm, pointedly, and said, "One. See? My counting is completely accurate."

A surge of warmth and affection swirled down the bond from Steve as he held up a finger and tapped Bucky's arm. "One—"

"See?"

"Are you going to let me finish?"

"Hmmph."

"Thank you. One," Steve said again, once more tapping Bucky's arm. "Two," he continued, tapping his left arm, "and three," he finished, wiggling the fingers on his right hand. "By my counting, that makes three arms you can call your own. Not one. Which means you can't count."

He wasn't sure what knocked him speechless: the words or the absolute love and devotion flowing into him from Steve. There was no sign of it on his face; his brows were slightly raised, his expression completely matter of fact, but Bucky could feel him.

He bent forward and kissed him, long and slow and lingering, kissed him until Steve was gasping for breath, hands clutching Bucky's hips, then he pulled back, sitting up to work Steve's shirt off, tossing it over his shoulder. He pressed a kiss over Steve's heart, then stopped, grinning against Steve's skin. "Steve?" he said, kissing his way down Steve's chest.

He got a distracted, "Yeah?" while Steve pushed his shirt up.

"If all these arms are mine, does that mean this is going to be masturb—"

Steve kissed him hard, cutting him off, and Bucky laughed against his mouth.

"Don't ruin the moment," Steve grumbled.  

"Whatever you say, Steve. Whatever you say."

*    *    *

The clouds had been threatening rain since lunch time. They'd had the courtesy to hold back, which Bucky appreciated, since he'd spent the early afternoon with Thor, working on getting his skill up, which had been fun in a way he'd forgotten weaponswork could be.

The rest of the afternoon, he'd spent with Winter. Which had also been fun, since they'd taken a run at the obstacle course. But it was so much more than that. Being with Winter was… Bucky was still aching from their missing bond—that dislocated joint, waiting to be popped back in—and being in Winter's presence, being able to talk to him, soothed it.

Plus Winter had stories about Steve, about the things Bucky had missed, the things Steve had been through. Bucky had stared, shocked, when Winter told him about crashing into the Heraldic Circle meeting, but he'd also thought—yes, now; but no. It had led to Winter telling a story about Anthony, the Lord Marshall's Herald's Companion, getting into the library and trying to read the books.

Which had been funny, but not what Bucky had been hoping for. He'd been hoping Winter would Choose him again. Hoping he'd at least mention it. All this time they'd been able to mindspeak again, and Winter hadn't so much as mentioned it. Hadn't called him Chosen.

He'd been so sure Winter was just waiting for the damage to his mind to be healed. But if that wasn't why…

It had to be something else. Was it what he'd done for the Karsites? No Herald would burn someone to death, but that hadn't been him. It hadn't been his fault, but maybe that didn't matter. No one talked about Choosing, no one talked about what made a Companion go yes, this one and no, not that one. Maybe what he'd been used to do was enough to move him into the second category.

Winter had called him Chosen that first day free, but that was before he'd known what Bucky had done.

Or maybe it wasn't that at all. Maybe it was because he hated. Heralds weren't supposed to hate. It was un-Heraldic. Heralds were supposed to be clear-headed and tolerant and he knew he was anything but. His hatred for Karse and its Sunpriests was as deep as Lake Evendim, and no one truly knew what lurked in the lake's dark cold depths. Winter must be able to see it, prowling around the edges of his soul.

He left Winter, groomed and fed and to all appearances content, and headed back to the Heralds' Wing.

The clouds made good on their threat when he was halfway there, and he arrived at their rooms with dripping hair. He'd stopped at the bathing rooms and grabbed a towel, which he held out to Steve.

"Dry my hair, will you?" He didn't need Steve's help, he could dry it himself, but it'd be faster if Steve helped. It'd be better if Steve helped, and they'd both enjoy it.

Steve grinned at him and caught the towel, grinning more when Bucky pulled his shirt off. It faded when Bucky shivered. "Get over here, will you? You'll end up with a chill."

Bucky went, bowing his head so Steve could carefully pull the leather tie out, freeing the tiny ponytail, and start towelling his hair dry. When he was done, he stepped back, surveying Bucky critically.

"Now you look like you have a chirra on your head."

"A chirra."

"A baby chirra. Want me to get the comb?"

"If it saves me from having a chirra on my head? Yes."

He sat at Steve's feet, leaning forward so Steve could run the broad-toothed comb through his hair. He was always gentle, never pulled, teasing the knots out one by one. It was soothing, and Bucky closed his eyes, tipping his head to rest his cheek on Steve's knee, wrapping his hand around Steve's ankle. Steve's feet were bare, so he stroked the soft skin under his ankle bone, enjoying the shiver—both the physical, and the shiver of warmth through their bond.

Bucky stared at the firebird wall-hanging while Steve gently pulled his now dry hair into a ponytail. "Hold that?" Steve asked. He did, wrapping his hand around the gathered hair while Steve tied the leather tie. "There."

Bucky let his hand fall and Steve leaned forward to wrap his arms around Bucky's shoulders. Steve felt warm and happy and Bucky was careful to hold back what he was feeling as he said, "Steve?"

"Mmm?"

"Have you ever been so sure of something, but then…" He trailed off, because whatever Winter's reasons were, there was nothing Steve could do to change them. He turned to smile at Steve. "Never mind. I'm starving. Let's get dinner."

Steve gave him an intent look, but he didn't ask. Didn't push. He just stood and offered Bucky a hand, pulled him to his feet when Bucky took it, kissed him gently, and they went down to dinner.

*    *    *

The next morning, while Steve was off doing whatever it was Herald Rhodes kept roping him into helping with, Bucky went for a walk.

It was a long walk, down the winding streets into Haven, and when he got to the end of it, he wasn't sure what he was doing there.

He hadn't told Steve he was coming, hadn't told Winter. He knew they worried when they didn't know where he was, which he understood, but they both needed to get used to not always knowing. Besides, it would have been hard to tell them where he was going when he hadn't been sure himself.

And he still didn't know why he was here. Just that he was here.  

Maybe part of it was making sure he could still find his way around Haven—he could, it turned out; his feet had brought him right where he'd wanted them to.

Maybe part of it was facing what he hated. Facing what he feared.

Bucky stood outside the Temple of the Lord of Light, staring at the torches on either side of the double doors. It didn't look anything like the Karsite Temples he'd been held in. It didn't look like any of the Karsite Temples he'd seen. Like any of the Karsite Temples where he'd dragged people into the fires and held them there until they'd died.

It hadn't been him. He knew that. He still didn't feel guilt for what he'd been made to do. A deep, tearing anguish he knew he'd always carry, a horror he knew he'd never shed, a deep-seated anger at Karse and its Sunpriests, yes. But not guilt.

Maybe that was why Winter hadn't Chosen him again. Maybe he should feel guilty.  

The doors suddenly opened, and a vaguely familiar face appeared, looking at him in friendly confusion, before it cleared. "Herald James!"

He blinked, wracking his memory, and found the answer, although the answer had been a good deal shorter last time Bucky had seen him. "Acolyte Velyn?"

"Priest Velyn, actually, but only just." He smiled down at his cream coloured robes, like he was surprised to find himself wearing them, then offered the smile to Bucky. "But what brings you here?"

"You know, I don't even know."

Velyn's smile slowly faded and he tilted his head, bright eyes alert, then he nodded. "Maybe you should come inside and think about it. I can make you some kav?"

Bucky made a face.

"Or tea. Or chava, whatever you'd like."

He could say no and walk away. The idea of walking into the Temple, however much it didn't look like a Karsite Temple, made his skin crawl. The Lord of Light was just Vkandis Sunlord in a different crown, and he'd seen enough of Vkandis Sunlord to last a lifetime. But Velyn was smiling gently, holding the door, and he couldn't help remembering the desperate little who'd thrown himself so trustingly at Bucky, never doubting Bucky would help.

"Tea would be nice. Thanks," he said, and followed Velyn inside.

The courtyard was open to the sun, but it was welcoming, homely, in a way none of the Temples in Karse had been. There was a familiar scent, oil and wood, but in Karse it had been overwhelmed with the smell of fire and the roiling stench of burning flesh. This was clean, warm, if a scent could be warm. He still froze for a moment, the ghost of an arm that had never been his clenching and unclenching invisibly at his side.

"Herald James?" Velyn said softly. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine. But would it be alright if we stayed out here?" Out here where the scents from the saddler and the chandler that bracketed the Temple could reach him and remind him where he was.

"Of course." Velyn gave a little bow and waved at the benches scattered around the forecourt. "Sit, make yourself comfortable, think…or don't. Sometimes I like to come out here just to stare at the clouds." He put his fingers to his lips in a shushing gesture. "Don't tell anyone, though. They think I'm deep in prayer."

It pulled a laugh out of Bucky. "Your secret's safe with me," he promised and picked a bench where he could put his back to a wall. He stretched his legs out, resting his hand on his thighs, and gazed up at the sky. There were a few puffy white clouds scudding through the sky, and he amused himself making shapes out of them.

He pulled his eyes away when he heard footsteps, expecting it to be Velyn.

It wasn't.

It was Jannik, the Sunpriest Bucky had last seen climbing into a wagon with three Gifted children from Karse. The one who wouldn’t eat the honey bar Bucky had offered him.

Jannik, who seemed just as shocked to see Bucky as Bucky was to see him, stared. Bucky stared right back.

"Well," Jannik finally said, speaking in accented Valdemaran. "The Sunlord moves in mysterious ways."

"Don't you mean the Lord of Light?" He couldn't keep the edge out of his voice. This wasn't Velyn. This was an actual Sunpriest from Karse. A distant, barely regarded part of Bucky was whispering hurt him before he hurts you. No wonder Winter hadn't Chosen him again.

"Of course, the Lord of Light. A lifetime's habits are hard to change."

"I'll bet they are," Bucky bit out.

It seemed to catch Jannik's attention. He studied Bucky, gaze lingering on the empty space where his left arm used to be, and then he picked his way over, setting his armload of books on the bench across from Bucky and sitting next to them.

"What seems to be the problem, Herald?"

"What makes you think there's a problem?"

Jannik leaned back, the corner of his mouth curving in a smile. "Eyes? Ears? Experience? I have met you before, and you were rather different then. You were kind when I was anything but."

"I was on duty then."

"You're wearing your uniform now," he pointed out.

"It doesn't mean I'm on duty."

"I see. So I'm to believe when you're on duty, you are good and kind and noble and willing to help a refugee from your country's worst enemy, but when you're not on duty you're simply a rude ass and nothing at all has changed." He waited a beat, then added, "Perhaps you were also missing your arm last time we met, and I simply didn't notice?"

Bucky scowled, wished for the ability to cross his arms, and settled for folding his arm over his stomach.

"That's what I thought."

"Here, I have tea," Velyn said, coming into the forecourt and stopping as he saw Jannik talking to Bucky. "Oh, hello Jannik."

"Hello, Velyn," he replied. "Is that tea for the Herald?"

"Yes," Velyn said slowly.

"Excellent! Because we're just about to have a little talk, the Herald and I, and I feel as if he might need a mug of tea afterwards."  

Velyn met Bucky's eyes and Bucky had the distinct feeling Velyn was offering to rescue him. It was touching, and it reminded him who he was, what he was. He reached out and plucked the mug from Velyn's hands.

"We'll see who needs the tea," he said and got to watch Velyn hide a smile before he turned and left.

When he was gone, Bucky sipped his tea and contemplated Jannik. "Are priests allowed to say ass?"

"We're allowed to say all sorts of things." He tapped his fingers on his knee. "Once you've sent children to the fires, it puts swearing in perspective."  

Fury rose. His hand tightened on the mug. Broken, it could be a weapon. He leaned forward, his body a threat, and Jannik raised a hand.

"Peace. Or no, not peace." A snap of anger nearly a match to Bucky's own filled Jannik's eyes. "Because I share your feelings. But I was lucky. By the gift of Vkandis, I saw clearly, and when I was told to send my children to the fires, I found a chance to escape with them instead. And I was more than lucky, because Vkandis guided me over the border to Valdemar and into the path of two Heralds."

"You didn't act like you thought you were lucky."

"Oh, I didn't think that at the time. I hated you. I hated you and I was terrified. I was bred and born and raised to hate you, White Demons and your Hellhorses. But in the end, you're the ones who did what I couldn't. My children would have died out there in the snow, even with all my will in the world to save them. You saved them. Children of a country that hates you, and you saved them."

Bucky looked away. "It might be different now."

Jannik leaned forward. "Tell me."

He almost didn't. Almost stood up and walked away. But the words were there, waiting, and in the end he let them fall, made them sound careless, but they were edged like knives. "I was a guest of your Sunpriests for a couple of years. One of your black-robes. He put a demon in me."

Jannik paled, one hand digging into his leg so hard his knuckles went white, the other fumbling for the sun medallion around his neck, fingers closing around it and holding on tight.

"Yeah," Bucky said quietly.

"Herald." The sharpness that had edged their conversation was gone and he was holding out his hand. Bucky glanced at it, then met his eyes. They were brown, flecked with shimmers of gold, and the sharpness was gone from them, too. Jannik had fled Karse with children he'd been told to condemn to the flames, fled into somewhere he'd been raised to fear and hate, because it was the only way to keep them safe.

And he was reaching for Bucky's hand.

Bucky set down his tea and took it. Jannik squeezed hard.

"There are no words that can change what they did to you. But if you ever need a place of sanctuary, a place of peace, a place of healing, you are welcome here. You are always welcome here. You were wronged in the name of Vkandis Sunlord and in the name of Vkandis Sunlord, by whatever name He's called, we will set right what we can."

It left Bucky blinking, the hum of conviction reverberating through his bones. Slowly, he nodded.

Jannik squeezed his hand once more, then let go, giving it a gentle pat before he leaned back and sighed, staring up at the sky, looking a lot older than he had before Bucky had started talking. "The Sunpriests convince themselves what they're doing is what Vkandis wants. It must be, or why would he let them do it? Of course, I can't imagine how utterly catastrophic things would have to be for Him to intervene directly." He rubbed his forehead, then gave Bucky a quick smile. "Sorry. Meandering thoughts. I meant what I said, however."

"I believe you," he replied, and he couldn’t keep the touch of humour out of his voice, because he wasn't sure it was possible to doubt someone who'd sounded like that.

"Yes, alright, laugh at the priest," he said, and Bucky did, just a short, sharp bark, quickly cut off. "Now back to the problem at hand. May I just check something?"

"Alright," Bucky said cautiously.

"Heralds are human, correct? You're not creatures from the ethereal plane? Or some sort of divine spirit?"

"Very funny."

"No, no, I need to know."

"Yes, we're human."

"Well there you are." He nodded sagely. "It's perfectly normal for you to hate the people who held and tortured you for two years."

Bucky went still. "I didn’t say anything about hating anyone."

"No, you didn’t. Am I wrong?"

He looked away, then took a deep breath and let it out on a long sigh. "Two years they had me. Two years. How, in all that time, didn't I learn that Sunpriests are annoying?"

"It's a gift. Just ask Velyn. Now answer me this, Herald. If you found another like me, a Sunpriest fleeing Karsite's borders, now, after everything's that's happened to you, what would you do?"

"I don't know."

Eyes sharp as a cat's and unrelenting as a winter storm met his. "Don't you?"

The answer was there, waiting for him, unfolding like a flower in the first sun of morning. He did know. He was a Herald. It wasn't his uniform, it wasn't even his Companion.

It was who he was, heart and soul, and it was who he'd always be.

*    *    *

Steve had had enough. He'd had enough of watching Bucky wonder, of feeling Bucky wonder, if what he'd survived in Karse had made him unworthy to be a Herald. Last night had been the final straw. Bucky might have thought he'd been blocking it, but he hadn't. Steve had been feeling his emotions trickle in from the moment he'd left Companion's Field.

And now he and Winter were going to have a reckoning.

It was a crisp, bright clear day, yesterday's clouds gone as if they'd never been, and a fair few Heralds and Trainees had obviously had the same idea as Steve. He doubted any of them had come down to Companion's Field to confront a Companion, but spend the day with their Companion?

That was obviously high on the Heraldic list of things to do this afternoon.

Which was deeply inconvenient, since he didn't want an audience for this, but it would be fine. He'd grab Winter, by force if needed, and drag him to a secluded corner—to the original Grove if that's what it took to get some privacy—and he would get an explanation.

…of course, that plan would have had a better chance of working if Bucky hadn't been sitting on the Companion's Field fence, scratching under Winter's forelock.

"We've been waiting for you," he said when Steve reached them. He felt determined through their bond, serious but calm, as he leaned down to kiss the top of Steve's head.

"Winter?"

:I've no more notion than you.:

"It wouldn't be fair to tell one of you and not the other," Bucky said. "Winter, can you find us a private corner of the field?"

Winter bowed his head low and swung parallel to the fence. Bucky slid onto his back and Steve, with a confused look at Winter, got up behind him.

They wound up near a small grove of trees, clear on the other side of the field, and Bucky flipped his leg over Winter's neck and slipped off, tugging on Steve's leg. When Steve slid off, Bucky pressed his hand against Steve's cheek, kissed him once, and said, "I love you."

"I love you, too, Bucky." Suddenly he was getting nothing from Bucky; he was blocking their bond completely. "What's going on?"

He held up a hand and walked around to face Winter. "Winter?"

Steve had never seen a Companion look as nervous as Winter did in that moment. He looked like if he could make himself small enough, he'd hide behind Steve. He looked like he was thinking of trying it anyway.

:Yes?:

"You haven't Chosen me again."

And there it was, out in the open. But Bucky wasn't finished.

"And I want you to know that if you don't want to, if you can't, if whatever it is that makes Companions Choose is gone from me, it's all right. I'm always going to love you, and I hope we'll always be," Bucky's block cracked and a sliver of hurt snuck through; Steve clenched his fists, "friends. But I need you to tell me. Right here, right now, I need to know. Because I can't keep going, always wondering if I'm ever going to have you back."

Winter was looking very small. Small and uncertain and unsure. He stretched out his nose and Bucky cupped his hand around it.

:You are my Chosen. But—:

"But?"

:But they took you. They stole your will and used your body to serve their own ends,: Winter's mindvoice was dark and angry, his ears flat, nostrils flaring, :and I will not do that to you. Not again.:

Steve's jaw dropped.

Bucky blinked like a man coming out of a stupor. "Winter, that's. It's not—"

:In many ways, it is the same. Never mind that it is for good and loving reasons.:

Bucky looked at him helplessly and Steve felt a little helpless himself. He didn't know what to say, but he had to say something. Winter was so tense he was shivering. "Winter," he said quietly. "It's not the same." Steve stroked Winter's neck, felt him twitch under his touch. "I remember when Shield Chose me. She didn't steal my will. She gave me a chance to be part of something greater, and she loved me." He felt tears prickle behind his eyes and blinked them away. "Winter, she loved me, just like I loved her. If she stole me, I stole her just as hard."

"And as someone who's been both," Bucky said quietly, "Chosen and demon-inhabited," Steve and Winter both shivered, "I promise you, it's not the same."

Winter's ears flickered. Steve wrapped a hand around the one closest to him. "Maybe you should have talked to one of us about this? Or anyone. Rolan? Riley?"

Winter snorted. Steve sighed and tugged on his ear before letting go.

"How about," Bucky said slowly, thoughtfully. "How about if I Choose you?"

Winter's ears curved forward.

"You're my Companion. I can't make it official, but if I'm still who you want, then I'm Choosing you."

:You will always be who I want. If you are sure it's truly what you want, yes. Chosen. Nothing in this world would make me happier.:

"Weren't you listening before?" Bucky said, wrapping his hand in Winter's forelock and tugging gently. "Yes, it's what I want." He sighed and rested his cheek on Winter's head, love in his voice as he murmured, "You stupid horse."

:I'm not a horse.:

"I notice you're not denying the stupid," Steve murmured. Winter rolled one eye back to glare at him, but Steve raised both eyebrows and he huffed.  

Bucky straightened, smiling faintly, but it faded as Winter arched his neck, catching his eyes. Winter's eyes were gleaming, almost glowing, the blue so bright Steve could barely look at it.

He didn't expect to hear Winter speak, gasped when Winter's words to Bucky filled his mind. :You are my Chosen. You were taken from me, our bond was broken, but you are my Chosen. We won't be separated again.:

Joy poured through his bond with Bucky, joy and a joining, Winter stepping into Bucky's soul, and Steve could feel it, feel the moment their bond snapped back into place. Bucky grabbed him and dragged him closer, his arm locked around Steve's waist and Steve wrapped him tight and held him as Bucky let his head fall to rest on Winter's.

:Chosen.: Winter nuzzled Bucky, gently blew into his hair, nipping at his ponytail, and Bucky's laugh was brighter than the sun.

Steve closed his eyes, basking in Bucky's rightness, in his completeness, and if there was a tiny part of him that ached, a flashing slice of pain he couldn’t stop, it was eased by Bucky's joy.

He wasn't sure how much time had passed, but his eyes popped open when Winter said, :Steven.:

Winter and Bucky were both watching him, and Bucky cupped his face. "Winter has something to say to you."

Winter's blue eyes caught his. :You're not my Chosen, but you're still my choice.:  

Steve looked back and forth between them. "But—"

Bucky kissed him, which meant he had to stop talking. "No buts. You're still a Herald. You still have a Companion. Winter's back is broad enough for both of us."

Chapter Text

Steve only ended up Lord Marshall's Herald because Herald Rhodes was a sneaky bastard who'd kept giving him things to do until Steve had ended up as his assistant…and then he'd retired.

That had been five years ago, and the entire Companion herd, and a lot of the Palace Guard, had breathed a massive sigh of relief. Everyone knew Herald Rhodes had promised to take his Companion, Anthony, on a tour of every inch of Valdemar. And when his Companion got bored of that, they were going to move on to the next place. And then the next place. There were people taking bets that they'd end up in the Dhorisha Plains.

Wherever they were destined to find themselves, Herald Rhodes had left, and Steve had been promoted to Lord Marshall's Herald, responsible for coordinating the Heralds—their Gifts, their abilities, their knowledge and skills—with Valdemar's military forces. Not just in war, which they, thankfully, hadn't yet had to face, but in border skirmishes, in disasters, in meeting their treaty responsibilities and sending assistance when their allies called for aid.

What had been a burden for Herald Rhodes and his Companion—rarely leaving Haven—was a boon to Steve, given he and Bucky shared a Companion.

Not that Bucky left Haven much, either, although they did finally travel to Endercott to meet Bucky's family. First they'd had to tell them Bucky was alive, and their genuine joy at the news, at seeing Bucky, had gone a long way towards endearing them to Steve.

The Circle had given Bucky plenty of time to figure out what he wanted to do. Neither he nor Winter had been prepared to leave Steve, and the Circle had been prepared to accept it, given everything the three of them had survived. While Bucky had been trying to work it out, he'd been training with Thor, spending so much time in the salle that he ended up helping—because he was there, because he had time, because new-Chosen littles who'd never seen a weapon up close and were afraid of fighting weren't afraid of a one-armed, gentle-smiled Herald named Bucky, who'd crouch down and speak softly with them.

By the time anyone realised what was happening, they were already calling him Assistant Weaponsmaster Bucky. Thor thought it was hilarious. But he also made Bucky keep helping.

That was how Bucky accidentally became an instructor.

He wound up assistant to both Thor and Sif, teaching a special mounted marksmanship course—and teaching part of the class on Karse. "Know thy enemy," he said to Steve the night he told him, running his hand through his long hair. Steve had been concerned, but Bucky felt calm, and he did have a lot of very specific knowledge.

Bucky enlisted Steve's help—mostly as extra hands—to help him rework a pair of wicked crossbows to cock one-handed, off his knee or off Winter's saddle, and he was as good a shot as he'd ever been. With the addition of a brace of throwing knives down his left side, Steve thought he was actually deadlier than he used to be.

Steve loved watching new people spar with Bucky. Most of them, even Heralds who should know better, were carefully solicitous of his missing arm—and Bucky played up on it, right until he wiped the floor with them.

That was Steve's favourite thing in the world, watching Bucky fight.

Alright, his second favourite thing.

Maybe third favourite. This was his second favourite. Bucky didn't have any classes, Steve didn't have any meetings. There were no disasters to deal with, no one expected them anywhere, and they were lying in the cool grass of Companion's Field, Bucky's head in his lap while Steve ran his fingers through his long hair. It hung almost to his tailbone and Steve would brush it out and braid it in the mornings. Most mornings; sometimes they got distracted and Bucky had to make do with a ponytail, like the one he was wearing now.  

A shadow fell over them and Steve looked up to see Winter, which wasn't surprising. If they were in Companion's Field, he was usually somewhere close.

What was surprising was the second Companion standing behind him. It was another stallion, taller than Winter, and he seemed to glow more than the noon-day sun could account for.

Bucky opened his eyes and sat up, no doubt prompted by whatever he was getting from Steve through their bond—because Steve was positive that was Rolan, and he doubted there was a simple reason why the King's Own's Companion was standing there. 

"Winter?"

:Steven.: Winter's mindvoice was serious.

"What's wrong?" Bucky asked.

:Nothing is wrong. I've asked Rolan for permission to show you something. To show both of you, and I've been given it.:

They both stood up and Steve could feel Bucky's curiosity swirl through him, matching his own.

:If you say yes, you need to understand that you'll never be able to speak of it to anyone else. Not to a human, not even to another Herald, and not to a Companion.:

"We won't," Bucky promised and Steve echoed him.

:No.: Winter stamped a hoof. :This is not a matter of your word. You will not be able to speak of it. Not with your voice and not with your mind. You won't be able to write it down. If you try, the words won't come.:

"You can do that?" Bucky asked.

Rolan snorted, very delicately, gazing patiently at them.

"Not you," Steve said.

:No, not me.:

Whatever Winter was offering, it had to be something huge. Steve had no idea what it could be, what could be so big that they literally wouldn't be able to tell anyone about it—and he exchanged a glance with Bucky, knew Bucky was thinking the same thing, but it was probably better not to wonder too much about what, exactly, the only Grove-Born Companion could do.

"What do you think?" he asked Bucky.

"I think yes." Bucky rested a hand on Winter's nose. "He wouldn't have gone to this much trouble for something that didn't matter."

"Agreed. We understand," he said to Winter, and a little to Rolan, who gazed at all three of them, tilted his head, then turned and trotted away.

"That was strange," Bucky said.

:Grove-Born are…different. Now, get on.:

Steve thought Winter seemed nervous, but he didn't say anything else, just stood silent while Bucky planted his hand on Winter's withers and swung himself up and Steve mounted behind him, then broke into a loping canter.

They'd ridden together so many times, they could do it in their sleep—and Bucky literally had—so Steve pushed Bucky's hair aside and kissed the back of his neck, behind his ear, leaned around to kiss his cheek, watching him try not to smile.

:We're here.: The seriousness of Winter's mindvoice sharpened both their attention, made them focus on…

A perfectly ordinary patch of Companion's Field. The stables weren't far away, there was a small grove of trees, much the same as every other small grove of trees, a Trainee and her Companion, some birds flying overhead.

:Steven.: It was like Winter grabbed hold of his mind, the world shifting and sharpening, bringing the Trainee into sharp focus.

She was young, not more than fifteen or so, and her Greys were brand new. She was laughing as she wove flowers into her Companion's mane. She'd already done his tail, pink and yellow and red blooms flowing down the silver length as he stood, patient and longsuffering, but his eyes were filled with affection. The Trainee's blonde braid fell halfway down her back, and she waved cheerfully as she glanced over and saw Steve and Bucky.

Her eyes were a brilliant blue. Companion blue. Familiar blue.

"Winter?" Bucky said softly. "After I fell, when I died, and Shield was there. I think, I remember, I don't think she was Shield. She was a person. A Herald. She looked," he swallowed a shaky laugh, "a lot like that."  

:Yes.:

Steve blinked hard as he slid off Winter's back, gripping Bucky's thigh, because he needed to hold on. "Is that… Are you saying?"

:She is not Shield.: Winter swung his head around, capturing Steve's gaze. :She's an entirely new person, with no memories of the past. You must remember that.:

"I understand. I promise I understand. I'm not going to go running up to her as if she should know who I was. I'm not going to go running up to her at all. It would scare her half to death. But knowing—"

His voice cracked. Bucky slid off Winter's back and pulled him close. "Knowing she's not completely gone."  He buried his face in Bucky's shoulder, a gentle nose nuzzling his hair, as the hurt he'd carried for so long flared into soft, warm light, joyous and bright. "Thank you."