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The knot at the bottom of Samuel’s stomach loosens as the castle finally comes in sight, announcing the end of their week-long voyage.
Not that his responsibilities were through for the night, mind. The infantry, lucky bastards that they were, would bring the horses to the stables and leave their belongings in the small camp graciously erected by their hosts, and head to the great hall to enjoy more food and ale than they knew what to do with. A month ago, he would’ve been among them, letting the food warm his belly and the ale raise his spirits, but Knights of the King’s Circle were to live exemplary lives. They could indulge in the occasional celebratory banquet, but only if the King was to be in attendance, too. Battle forged the body, discipline forged the mind, and duty forged the soul.
Or so he was told.
“Look alive, Wilson. You look like we’re being sent to our deaths.”
Sam cracks a smile, unable to stop himself. It was Natalia’s humor, as much as her sharp mind and otherworldly abilities, that had made them fast friends. “Do I? Sorry, I must have forgotten we were facing the biggest threat the Realms have faced in a hundred years. What’s your excuse for that look on your face?”
Natalia sighs even as she schools her features into a more neutral expression. “Oh, you must know how lovely it is to walk back into territory I was banished from a few lifetimes ago. I know, I know, I’m under King James’ protection,” she adds before Sam can remind her. “Still—”
Natalia’s interrupted by the sound of trumpets and buccina. Their cortege immediately grinds to a halt, and Sam runs a soothing hand down Redwing’s mane.
“King James Rhodes, first of his name, the Honorable Knights of his Majesty’s Circle and the the infantry and cavalry of the Kingdom of Neraustra!”
After a final note from the buccina, the gates are raised and their procession moves once again.
“As I was saying before I was quite rudely interrupted, some wounds are too deep to be forgotten, let alone forgiven, because of something as simple as a change of allegiance.”
“You’ve done more than simply change allegiances, Talia, but I’ve told you that before.” He gets closer to her as their queue gets narrower so their large file can enter Jórvík. “Besides. So long as I draw breath, you have nothing to worry about.”
Talia rolls her eyes and Sam laughs. “Any other knight would thank you, I suppose.”
“And any other knight would say you are more than welcome.”
They fall into easy silence as they enter the city and Sam wishes they had made it before dark. He’d grown up in Jórvík’s lively, dusty streets, and had felt safe as a boy, looking up at its intimidating towers. But the city is quiet under the pale moonlight, fallen into some semblance of sleep despite what was to come.
A familiar voice pulls Sam away from his nostalgic daydreaming.
“Sir Wilson, Sir Romanova?”
“Sir Coulson,” Natalia and Sam answer, and though Sam cannot see Natalia’s eyes in the darkness, he hears the warmth in her voice.
“A pleasure to see you again, even under such dreadful circumstances. Will you follow me? King James has already been escorted up; your men and women will be taken care of.”
Sam follows Talia and Coulson’s footsteps and pleasant chatter in the darkness, trusting their squires to take care of their belongings and taking in what he can under the torches’ lights. He would focus on making conversation, but the thoughts he’d tried to avoid for the past day come rushing back, clouding up his mind and weighing heavy on his heart.
He hadn’t been back in Jórvík in months. The convenient, ready-made excuses he made for his absence had exasperated his mother and sister, but despite their complaints, Sam had no intentions of coming back, even less so now that Rhodes had all but forced knighthood on him, claiming there are few others he’d rather have by his side.
When Coulson finally stops and knocks a complicated series of patterns on a heavy wooden door, Sam takes a deep breath, reminding himself of the task at hand and the lives at stake.
“After you,” Coulson says when the door is opened.
As promised, Rhodes is already in the room, engaged in a serious discussion with King Nicholas. Two sets of breastplates lay on the ground within easy reach, all weapons seemingly tossed to the side, a blatant yet uncommon sign of trust.
Although Sam recognizes most of the people by name or by reputation, their faces seem different, somehow. Whether it is the burnt gold of the torches’ light or the thought of the battle to come denaturing their features, Sam does not know.
“At last,” Rhodes says when he notices them. “My people are here. We can begin.”
Two dozen faces or so turn towards Sam and Natalia, and they both incline their heads in greeting. Despite neither of their squires being of assistance, they make quick work of their weapons and armor and join the others in the loose circle that had formed around King Nicholas.
“I won’t take much of your time,” King Nicholas begins. Even without his crown or the patch that covers his injured eye, he radiates sternness and power. The simple wooden chair he sits on mirrors his throne.
“Thank you for coming, and thank you for understanding the gravity of the situation. Though we all agree our first battle will be one meant for reconnaissance above all else, we cannot afford to lose it. We cannot afford to miss this opportunity to assess what the Enemy is made of, which is why I’ve asked you all,” King Nicholas says, pointing to Rhodes, Queen Valkyrie and Queen Carol, “to bring your most trusted knights and advisors along. I need you to brand the objectives in your men and women’s minds,” he continues, addressing the rest of the group now. “We need to be ready, we need to send a message, but what we need above all is information, and we do not want them to know it is what we’re looking for. The Serpent’s greatest asset has always been infiltration. With most of our armies gathered here, they’ll believe our goal is brute force, and the spies they have among us and in your villages back home will forego discretion with most of your valuable people here. And if all fails, we have the numbers to push them back. We have one single chance to gather crucial information, and we will not miss it. Have I made myself clear?”
There is not a second of hesitation in the room. “Aye!”
“Good. Questions?”
“Are magical abilities to be concealed?” Sir Rambeau asks.
“You are our expert on the matter, Coulson.”
“For the time being,” Sir Coulson replies, nodding, “I believe that would be wisest.”
“What do the reserves look like?” Rambeau asks again.
“Coulson?”
“Jórvík can feed its people and all of our armies for a month and a fortnight. In the unlikely event of a siege, people with various abilities are ready to provide us with food and water.”
“Prince Odinson is ready,” Queen Valkyrie confirms, “so is Sir Stark, if I am not mistaken?”
“That is correct,” Rhodes says. “With our combined resources, we should be able to survive a year-long siege.”
When it’s clear there are no other questions, King Nicholas clears his throat. “Details on immediate strategy, if you please, Barnes.”
“Your reliable men and women on the battlefield first,” Barnes says without introduction. “The Serpent has information on some of the abilities we have on our side, but not all of them. We need to keep them in the dark as long as possible and save our best people for last.”
“Rogers?”
“I’ve drawn up enough maps of the field and its surroundings for each unit. You’ll be able to review the details with your people in the morn.”
“Unless there are other questions and if everyone is clear on roles, positions and strategy, I believe that concludes this evening’s meeting.” King Nicholas rises. “Rest well and eat properly. We ride at first light.” He leaves the room rather quickly after dismissing them, but Sam knows none of them are under the impression that he’ll heed his own advice. In fact, Sam thinks as he watches people leave in pairs or groups of three or four, few of them will.
Sam is eager to retire to his chambers and sleep off the fatigue he accumulated on the long road to Jórvík, and just as he leans down to grab his breastplate and sword, a voice stops him.
“I don’t suppose you’ll put off sleeping to chat with an old friend, will you?”
“An old friend?” Sam asks as he turns around to face Rogers. “Is that what I am, now?”
Rogers smiles, and Sam is grateful to the good Lord that the room is empty, considering his breath had been stolen from his lungs at the sight. “You are whoever you want to be. Well—that’s not quite accurate anymore, is it?”
Sam looks down at his boots for a moment. “Suppose not. Old friends it is, then.”
“How is my old friend doing ?”
“I’m alright. I can’t say this is what I expected being a knight would be like.”
Humor dances in Rogers’ eyes once more as he leans his hip against the nearest wall. “Surely you didn’t expect to be given a sword and a breastplate simply to show off around town.”
“Perhaps I did. Is that not what you were doing when we first met and you’d just been knighted?”
“Me? Not taking my vows of allegiance seriously? Do you even know me at all, Sir Wilson?”
“I know you quite well, which is why I was kind enough not to mention the way you and Barnes pranced around in that tavern, like you’d been crowned kings.”
Sam had found their good cheer and laughter charming then, and when they had spotted him drinking his ale alone, they’d invited him over and their mood had been contagious.
Rogers doesn’t answer and Sam lets the quiet take over. The distant, boisterous sounds of the banquet and the crackling of the fire are the only sounds in the room, and as peaceful as it is, Sam knows he needs to leave soon. It’s in moments like these, in peace and quiet, in the calm that precedes a storm or follows it, that Sam always finds his resolve wavering.
“I’ll be retiring to my rooms, then, Rogers. Good night,” he says, picking up his sword and breastplate, and heading to the door.
“Sam.”
Sam stops just right before he opens the door and closes his eyes. Few people use his given name and fewer people still say it in a way that stops him in his tracks.
“Steve. I need to rest.”
“Don’t.”
“Don’t what,” Sam says, turning to face Steve, irritation lacing his tone. “Don’t rest? You heard your king speak. We need as much rest as we can spare.”
“Don’t do that,” Steve says, his pleading tone bellied by the stubborn set of his chin. “Don’t add more distance between us than there already was. Don’t pretend you don’t know why I stayed behind.”
“To speak to an old friend, was it not?”
Steve takes a few steps forward. “To speak to the man who has held my thoughts hostage for the better part of a year. To speak to the man I want to spend what could be my last night in the Realms with.” He takes the sword and breastplate from Sam and sets them aside. “Please. Everyone is spending the night with their beloved—”
“I’m not your beloved, Steve,” Sam says, and he had meant to sound firm and resolved, but mostly, he sounds tired. “I cannot be, I know you know this.”
“I know and I do not care. Not anymore.”
“We made vows!”
“To hell with our vows!”
“Easy for you to say, Rogers! Your king is known for his disdain for rules and tradition. I’ve only just been given knighthood, and I will not have it taken from me because I’m careless enough to throw it away to have someone in my bed for a night!”
“Is that really what you think this is, Sam?” Steve’s voice is soft as he steps even closer to Sam, and Sam feels out of breath once again. One man should not have the power to sway him so.
“It does not matter what I think it is, it’s what it has to be. Only God knows what awaits us tomorrow, and if he is merciful enough to let us live, our situation will not change. My body, mind and soul to my King, my love and devotion to his service,” Sam recites. “I forego what my flesh desires and dedicate my life to the Kingdom, lest the sword that knights me become the sword that slays me.”
“Let it slay us, then.”
“Steve!”
Steve grabs Sam’s hands in his and Sam remembers why he wanted to walk away. This close, there is no denying the energy that seems to bind them together.
“You’ve said it yourself. Lord knows what we will face tomorrow, and I refuse to have one more thing taken away from me, whether it be because of the Enemy or because of the king I serve. You’re worth more than that, Samuel. You are.”
Sam is at crossroads, the same way he had been when he’d left the tavern and Steve had followed him outside, his rough hands gently cradling Sam’s face and asking whether they’d be seeing each other again. Sam had denied him then, and not a day had gone by without Steve, his bright smile and shining eyes, claiming Sam's thoughts.
“I have thought of you everyday,” Sam admits, because whatever path he chooses, he’ll be honest as he takes it. “I’ve thought of the life we could have, had you not been a knight and had I not been a soldier, sending every coin I earned to my mother and sister.”
“So you know,” Steve says, “you know how I feel, then. You know our encounter must have been...special.” Fated, is the word that is left unsaid. Steve didn’t quite believe in fate, Sam knew, but had a fervent belief in life itself and its inherent good. “You must know I would not risk your knighthood or mine for cheap pleasure. You must know there are few men with your humor and grace, with your skill and devotion, and that the few times I’ve been in your presence over the past few months, I have been in awe.”
Sam sighs. “I did not know the extent of your admiration, but I knew the extent of mine,” he says, and knows his surrender is worth it when Steve’s radiant smile lights up his face. “I am afraid, Steve. I’m afraid for tomorrow, I’m afraid for tonight, I’m afraid for myself and I’m afraid for you. This is—you are…special.” Fated.
“I’ll be careful,” Steve promises as he cradles Sam’s face. His lips are a breath away from Sam’s. Tomorrow’s battle is far away, disappearing along with every thought that isn’t Steve, his hands, eyes and voice. “I’ll be careful, my beloved. With you, I’ll always be careful.”
Sam does not throw caution to the wind, he thinks as he presses his lips to Steve’s. He simply lets his needs come above all else for the night, lets fate play out the way she sees fit, and lets Steve kiss him, sweet and strong, the way the way they’ve both craved for months.
If all the future holds is violence and uncertainty, there is not a single doubt in either of their minds that tonight holds only love, and the inevitability of strong feelings growing into a raging fire after ignoring the spark that ignited them for much too long.