Chapter Text
“You’re back.”
Recognizing the familiar voice, Santiago looks up just in time to see Yovanna step out of the shadows past the open doorway of the castle’s side entrance and into the afternoon sunlight. She’s beautiful as always, smiling brightly, her tight frame in a fitted off the shoulder shirt and dark breeches.
Santiago slows down to a stop and holds out his arms. “As you can see.”
“We missed you,” Yovanna says warmly, walking up to him for a brief hug. She pecks him on the cheek too, and Santiago squeezes her tightly before she pulls away. It’s nice for the moment it lasts. Friendly.
“I was gone for five days, Yovanna.”
It doesn’t get him a quick chuckle like he expected it would. Yovanna just gives him an unreadable look instead. “Long enough,” she replies after a beat.
Santiago frowns slightly. He gets a feeling she means something more by that, but before he can even consider asking, Yovanna continues smoothly, “The audiences have just finished. Go, they’ll be happy to see you.”
“Uh, sure. The captain?”
“Just saw him in the main hall with the prince. They should still be there.”
He returns the smile Yovanna sent him and takes a step towards the entrance. “Thank you. Also, I think I saw your brother sneaking into the kitchen on my way here. You might want to find him before the head cook does.”
Yovanna’s expression changes in a blink of an eye, and Santiago’s suddenly reminded just how fierce this woman is. Not that he could ever forget.
“I told him to stay out of trouble. He’s going to wish head cook found him.” After that, Yovanna turns on her heel and storms off, leaving Santiago staring at her rapidly retreating back.
When she eventually leaves for good, Santiago is really going to miss her. And she will, sooner rather than later. Take her brother and find a place for them both, away from this country and any danger that could follow them while she’s still here. And that’s all right. Santiago wishes her well.
There could’ve been something between them, he thinks, turning back towards the entrance and slipping into the pleasant coolness inside the castle walls. They cared about each other, in a way, and they could’ve tried to make it work.
If he weren’t longing for someone else all this time. If he were able to move on.
But it is what it is. Yovanna deserves to spend her part of the treasure in peace and safety, and Santiago will always be grateful for all she’d done for him and the kingdom. But his place is here.
He passes the guards who straighten comically quick the second they see him, and takes the corridor leading to the main hall. He answers a few greetings on his way with a curt nod or a polite smile, even the person’s title if he remembers it, but otherwise keeps his pace fast and purposeful. He doesn’t want to waste any time before he sees his friends.
And the king.
The main hall is busy as always, people crossing the wide space in every direction. It’s easy to spot Tom and Ben among them, towering over everyone else, even if they keep to the side of the room.
Benny is the first one to see him. He pushes off the pillar he’s been leaning against and past Tom, and when Santiago gets close enough, they throw their arms around each other as if they haven’t seen each other in years. In his enthusiasm, Benny lifts him off the ground and squeezes a chuckle out of Santiago, apparently completely ignoring the fact that it’ll get him a week worth of comments from concerned court officials about how the prince should act with more dignity than that. As if that could ever stop him.
“Catfish’s been feeding you well,” Benny tells him fondly after putting Santiago down, which earns him an equally fond elbow to the ribs.
Tom, to his credit, only gives him a hard pat on the back when it’s his turn to envelop Santiago in an obligatory bear hug, but it’s no less heartfelt a greeting. Santiago claps him on the shoulder with matching strength, genuinely glad that he still gets to do that. The long scar that extends from Tom’s forehead into his hairline is a glaring reminder of how close Santiago-- how close they all got to losing this man.
He doesn’t know what he’d do if Tom got killed back then, on a mission Santiago dragged him on. What he knows is, it would be no one else’s fault but his.
Redfly is still here though. Still alive, still standing, even if his movements are more sluggish than they used to be, and he tends to get tired easily, lose his focus when the day drags on for too long. Tom may not carry a sword anymore, but he is one of the king’s most trusted advisors. It seems to keep Redfly grounded, give him the much-needed purpose, and honestly, Santiago is just happy that Tom is with them. That he’s doing well, all things considered.
“Or not at all.” Redfly gives him a quizzical look. “We weren’t expecting you until late at night.”
“Well, I was afraid some shit would go down if I was gone for any longer.”
It’s kind of common knowledge that Santiago is actually the one that brings chaos wherever he goes, so he should’ve been able to at least pull a scoff from one of his friends, but neither Tom nor Benny laughs. The silence, sudden and awkward, is so telling it makes Santiago’s shoulder sag and leaves him looking between the prince and the captain incredulously. “What happened?”
Tom sighs, hesitates. “William had… a long day.”
Santiago decides to ignore the instant pang of concern he feels until he knows more, and thankfully, Benny is less reluctant to share the story.
“Remember the emissary from the North that was here in spring, Greybeard?” The prince doesn’t even wait for Santiago to confirm that yes, he does indeed remember that disrespectful piece of shit. “Well, he’s back. There was a meeting in the morning and Will broke his jaw.”
“He did what?”
Tom holds up his hands at Santiago’s harsh tone. “Just fractured,” he clarifies, as if it makes a significant difference. “It’s handled, don’t worry. And to be honest, it was kind of deserved.”
Benny scoffs. “He was asking for it. We told him to mind his words many times, and he chose not to listen. If Will hadn’t shut him up, I would’ve done it myself.”
“Shit. Must’ve been really bad.” Santiago rubs a hand over his face. “So, what’s the situation?”
“The emissary’s second-in-command stepped up, she’s a woman of reason,” Tom explains patiently. “The whole party seems to agree that their country’s best interest is more important than one man’s wounded pride. The talks have been pushed back until tomorrow’s noon.”
Santiago exhales slowly, nods. Could be worse. Could be much worse. “And Will?”
It’s hard to miss the look Tom and Ben exchange between themselves. Santiago can feel the worry come back, and this time it hits twice as hard, curling around his spine and settling heavy in his stomach.
“Still in the throne room,” Benny replies, and it’s painfully obvious he knows that what Santiago meant was how is Will and not where, and he’s just playing dumb. But the prince’s voice is warm when he continues, “Go to him, he’ll be happy to see you.”
Santiago hesitates for a split second. He’s about to argue that maybe it’s not the best idea, that maybe Will would rather have a moment of peace for himself, but before he can open his mouth, Redfly’s hand lands heavily on his shoulder.
“I’m glad you’re back,” Tom starts, tone apologetic, “but I have to go. My girls are in the city.”
“Really? They’re staying with you? For how long?”
“A whole month.” There’s something in the way Redfly says it, like it’s hard for him to believe it. The sort of reluctant happiness that comes with not being used to good things happening to you. “I promised I’d take them exploring around the city.”
Hearing that, Santiago can only grin in encouragement. “Then what are you still doing here? Tell them I said hi.”
Tom chuckles and agrees, and then rushes off to his daughters. As he should.
“I also need to go,” Ben grumbles once Redfly’s back disappeared around the corner. “We’re throwing a feast for our guests tonight to make sure there are no hard feelings about this morning. I’m in charge of preparations.”
“Hey, at least you can get drunk later and call it international diplomacy.”
“Good point.” The prince sends him an appreciative smile. “Come by tonight if you feel like it. I’ll see you later, yeah?”
After that and a hard squeeze to Santiago’s shoulder, Benny saunters off to stress out kitchen workers and wreak havoc in pantry and cellar. Left alone, Santiago stares at the throne room’s heavy double door, closed now. Considers for a moment whether he should go in. Will might want to spend a few minutes by himself rather than have Santiago barge in just to say he’s back.
One way to find out, he tells himself eventually, turning towards the archway to his right. The narrow corridor past it takes him to the throne room’s side entrance. When he gets near, the guard keeping watch stands at attention, and Santiago quickly recognizes one of the people he’s personally put on this particular duty for the time of his absence.
“As you were, lieutenant. You can let me through.”
Instead of moving aside, the lieutenant only looks back at him, expression conflicted. “I can’t, Commander,” he says after a beat. “I’m not supposed to let anyone in. His Majesty’s order,” he adds, stressing the last words subtly.
Santiago sighs inwardly. Nothing speaks I’m pissed off louder than Will using his power to keep people away.
But then again, Santiago does have authority issues.
“I understand, and I’m taking full responsibility. The king can have me beheaded for disobeying orders if he wants to. Now let me through, lieutenant.”
The commander’s hard stare and the confidence in his voice seem to be convincing enough because the guard moves aside at last, if a little reluctantly. Santiago passes him with a nod and enters.
From the moment the door closes behind him, he’s surrounded by the throne room’s usual raw charm. With its high ceiling and tall windows along one wall, the interior looks impressive enough despite the noticeable simplicity. Nothing really changed here since the crown came into a fortune. No display of prominent wealth, only the same blue and silver banners decorating the walls.
The sound of Santiago’s boots on the stone floor echoes through the space as he crosses the back of the room, approaching the throne and the man sitting on it from behind. He’s maybe halfway when he hears the king’s voice.
“You’re early.”
Santiago falters in his stride, surprised. “Left at first light. How did you know it was me?”
“I said I don’t want to be disturbed. I know only a few people that would disregard an order like that, two of which I’ve just seen and another one lives a day’s ride from here. That leaves you.”
Santiago has reached the throne in the meantime, and now he rounds it, moves to the front. All he could see before was an elbow on the armrest and one boot but with each step he takes more of the man is revealed to his eyes. The crown, a simple iron hoop with delicate engravings, hanging from his loose grip. Long legs, knees wide apart. Then the rest of his body almost all at once, head resting on a hand.
There he is. King William Ironhead.
In all his glory.
“Besides,” Will continues, opening his eyes and looking up, straight at Santiago, “you limp a bit.”
Eyebrows raised, Santiago just stares. “I do?” he manages after a beat.
He’s not sure whether it’s the new information or the sight before him that took him off guard. Maybe both, because even slouched in his seat Will is striking as ever. And it may have been only a few days since they’ve seen each other last but apparently, Santiago notes with distant amusement, it’s been long enough for him to lower all his defenses in the meantime.
Will raises his head and straightens a bit, lets the free hand fall onto his lap. “Mm-hmm. On both legs, actually,” he explains, warm blue eyes sliding down Santiago’s body and stopping somewhere around his knees. “But just a little, and it kind of evens itself out.”
Gathering all his training, Santiago forces down the urge to shift under the king’s gaze. “Huh. I didn’t even notice.” He watches Will avert his eyes briefly before quickly looking up, back to Santiago’s face. “I, uh, made the guard at the door let me in. Sorry about that but I thought if you wanted me to fuck off, you can tell me yourself.”
Will smiles then, exhaustion evident in the slow curl of his mouth, in the corners of his eyes. He tilts his head, rests it against the back of the throne and then, very pointedly, asks, “How’s Catfish?”
And Santiago can’t help but grin in answer, because Ironhead’s smile doesn’t look forced at all. Because even tired as he is, Will seems genuinely happy to see him.
“Good. He really likes it in the hills, it’s a perfect place to live. And raise kids. The little one grows up so fast.” Santiago lets out a slow breath. Adds, keeping his voice gentle but firm, “You should go visit him sometime.”
Will makes a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat. “I’ll have that in mind.”
“Soon, Ironhead,” Santiago presses. “Frankie is ready to go back to the old ways and kidnap you if you don’t come on your own.”
There’s a considering hum from Will, a quirk of his lips.
“Good thing I have you then.”
Ironhead’s voice is soft, and if Santiago could afford honesty, he’d admit right away – yes, you do. Instead, carefully straight-faced, he continues in his best report-making voice.
“Well, according to my sources, he has at least three men in the king’s inner circle, so he might actually succeed. Just a warning.”
“Traitor,” Will whispers under his breath, eyes narrowing.
“I confess, Your Highness, I’m plotting against the crown.”
That earns him a quiet groan and a muttered shut up, like using the title always does, but also a look of something between exasperation and fondness, so Santiago counts it as a win. He can’t help but find it a bit funny though, that he’s still able to tease Will like that when everybody else except a few closest friends keeps addressing him properly and the king doesn’t mind at all.
“Are you done for today?” Santiago asks after a moment of easy silence between them. His eyes stray to Will’s right hand, to the reddened knuckles, and he knows the king notices by the way his fingers shift on the crown he’s holding.
“I wish. Paperwork.”
“You want some help with that? Redfly is with his daughters for the rest of the day, and I heard Benny’s busy too. Not that he’d be very useful.”
Will frowns. “Your leave ends tomorrow noon.”
“Yes, I know. Do you want some help with your paperwork, Ironhead?” Santiago repeats slowly. “Come on, we’ll take care of it faster and you’ll have the evening for yourself.”
Will stares, clearly unconvinced and maybe a little confused, until the crease between his brows disappears eventually. “All right,” he sighs. “If that’s how you want to spend your last free evening.”
“Great. Should I pass the word the king will eat in his rooms? I’ll go wash up and meet you there.”
“Sure, thanks.” And then, like an afterthought, “You came straight here after you arrived?”
Santiago hums in confirmation. “Why?”
“Tell them to bring food for two.”
Santiago nods once. Ironhead knows how long the travel from Frankie’s usually takes, so of course he can tell if someone makes it in a hurry, without more rest on the way than strictly necessary. “I will.”
He moves to leave. Takes half a step towards the door before freezing again when the king stops him with a quiet, “Hey.”
Santiago watches as Will pushes off the throne and stands up in one smooth motion, leaving the crown hanging from the armrest. When Ironhead closes what’s left of the space between them in two purposeful steps Santiago turns his whole body towards him on pure instinct, and then they’re hugging, arms sliding around each other’s backs.
The firm clap Santiago has expected doesn’t come. There’s only Will’s hand, heavy on his shoulder blade, pulling him firmly against the line of Ironhead’s body. The leathers of Santiago’s armor get in the way, and he briefly regrets not taking it off after he arrived, because if he had, he’d feel Will’s chest press against his own, warmth seeping through the fabric. But there’s nothing to complain about, not when Will’s beard brushes against his neck, scratchy and wonderful.
“Welcome home,” Will murmurs, and Santiago inhales deeply, breathing in the scent of fragrant wood, sea breeze and fresh leaves, of Ironhead’s skin. Tightens his embrace.
“Happy to be back.”
He gathers the strength to slowly disentangle himself, and Ironhead pulls back too, blue eyes gentle and mouth curved in an equally gentle smile.
And Santiago is just glad that he no longer feels the overwhelming urge to flee in the moments like this, the need to run in fear of doing something that would hurt both him and his king. It’s much easier to live in Will’s constant presence now, and there’s only this heaviness that settles in his chest sometimes when he reminds himself that it’s all he’s ever wanted.
“I’ll see you in a bit.”
This time Ironhead doesn’t stop him as Santiago turns towards the door and walks away, weirdly self-conscious about his footsteps.
It’s obvious that what happened this morning is weighing on the king. It’s in the way he’s choosing vague sounds over words more often than usual, in how his limbs seem to move just a little bit slower. Santiago is aware that he’s been able to notice only because Will allows himself to drop the appearance of perfect composure when they’re alone, and he’ll always be grateful for that. Ironhead is steady and calm by nature, except for the moments he isn’t, so maintaining the image of a steadfast ruler comes easy to him on ordinary days. But when it becomes difficult – that’s when Santiago thinks it matters the most that Will doesn’t have to keep it up.
He wants to ask. Wants to listen to whatever Will wishes to tell him. But he knows Will, and he knows his priorities.
Duty first.
There’s paperwork to be done.
There’s a courtesy knock on the door, and Will lifts his head just in time to see it open without a word of permission from him. Santiago enters freely, unbothered by the guards this time. Brown eyes go to the table in the middle of the room first, set for two, then find Will where he’s standing by his desk under the window.
“You didn’t have to wait for me,” Santiago says as the door clicks shut behind him.
“They’ve just brought the food.”
He watches Santiago walk up to the table and lean over it to poke at roasted carrots with a fork. He’s taken off the leather armor he wore on the road, changed into dark fitting pants and a linen shirt, ties loose under his neck and sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Even in plain clothes Santiago draws attention without effort, and Will wonders briefly how many heads he’s turned on the corridors on his way to get here just now.
“Are you waiting for an official invitation?”
Will’s eyes snap from the bare skin of Santiago’s forearm up to his face, but despite the teasing words the commander looks back at him with patience. There’s not even a sign of amusement at the king’s slow reaction that Ironhead would’ve expected from him, just thoughtful consideration. Will has suspected someone has already told Santiago about this morning, but any doubts he could still have are gone now.
He drops the report he’s picked up while waiting on the commander back onto the pile on the desk and comes over to take a seat. And when Santiago sits down and sends him a grin from across the table, Will finds himself grateful for taking him up on the offer. For his guard being here now, even though he’s still on his leave, to do something that is not his responsibility even when he’s on duty.
And if Will’s being honest, Santiago’s help, while appreciated, means little compared to his presence today.
They focus on the meal in a silent agreement that the sooner they start on the papers, the sooner they’ll be done, and with every passing minute Ironhead finds himself a bit calmer. The anger from this morning has lingered throughout the day and struggling to keep it in control during the more chaotic audiences tired him out, but by the time they’ve finished eating Will feels like he can read the words on paper instead of just staring at them like he did with the report earlier.
After the empty dishes have been collected, Santiago falls onto a chair he’s dragged to Will’s desk for himself. “Where do you want to start?”
They both look at the desk in front of them, not much of the wooden surface visible from under the papers spread on it. Diplomatic correspondence, personal correspondence, reports, orders that need a signature, all sorted into neat piles. Will sighs, reaches for two official letters and hands one to Santiago. There’s nothing confidential here.
“Let’s get the boring part over with first.”
“Great.” Santiago doesn’t point out that most of the work is the boring part, like Will knows he wants to. He just gets to reading, not wasting any time, so with one last look at him Will turns to the letter in his hand.
They work through the papers, falling into an easy, efficient rhythm that quickly helps Will focus on finding the important information among the empty phrases. At his side Santiago does the same, sums up the lengthy texts in a few concise sentences for him, writes down the notes and puts aside the letters that will need an elaborate answer. Soon enough they move on to the reports on the progress of the kingdom’s internal affairs, the announcements of the orders successfully carried out or the excuses for delays, a few notes on bandits’ activity, then eventually to the prepared orders. Ironhead reads through each to make sure it’s correct, signs it and passes it to Santiago, who puts down the king’s seal.
It’s boring.
The paperwork is tedious as always, and it still takes hours. But doing it with someone does make a considerable difference, and doing it with Santiago, having him within an arm’s reach – that makes an entirely different sort of difference.
At last Will gets to his personal correspondence, and Santiago reaches over him for the couple of rolled-up letters laying at the king’s far elbow, tied with a golden string and ignored until now. He smells of herbal soap instead of leather and road dust, like he did earlier, but the warm peppery scent beneath it is the same. Comforting in a way that makes the tension in Ironhead’s spine that has been there since this morning dissipate slowly.
When it gets harder for him to focus on the contents of the last few letters, Will tells himself it’s the exhaustion finally settling over him, and forces himself to push through what’s left. And still, even after he’s reached the bottom of the last message, he doesn’t put it down.
His eyes wander to the side, over the edge of the page to where Santiago sits comfortably in his chair, angled toward Will. Right ankle propped on left knee, dark fabric snug around his thighs. The setting sun spills soft light on his neck and cheekbone, casting shadows in the dip between his collarbones.
Ironhead closes his eyes and slowly breathes in and out, like he had to do many times today to keep himself from doing another stupid thing.
Three years or five days, it seems it doesn’t matter. He’s missed Santiago just as much.
But his guard is back, and the thought makes a gentle warmth settle in Will’s bones. When he looks again, dropping the letter in his hand onto the desk, there’s a smile playing at the corner of Santiago’s mouth.
“Why are you even reading those?”
“I’m curious,” Santiago replies, not lifting his gaze, “about what you’re being offered.”
“And?”
Santiago finally lowers the letter. “I’m offended on your behalf,” he says with a smirk, and Will answers him with a quiet chuckle. “Why do they keep bringing you those letters? I heard you made yourself pretty clear you don’t want to hear about political marriage.”
He did. Ironhead is sure he can make his own alliances, and he thinks he can do them without forcing anyone to bind themselves to him out of their sense of duty to the country, or family, or whatever. It’s one of the few things he’s been adamant about since he’s been crowned, mindful of the ugly way his engagement ended years ago.
Will shrugs, bringing himself out of the memory and back into the much more pleasant reality. “Started appearing again after we came into money. I guess the barons are still hopeful.”
“Hey.” Santiago leans a bit closer and lowers his voice. “We can marry Benny off.”
It’s impossible to hold back a smile at that, especially when Santiago scrunches the letter in his hand in a way that says, very clearly, fuck the barons. “Sounds good to me.”
Santiago’s answering grin is slow, and for whatever reason, he looks satisfied. Easy silence falls between them after that, and Will finds out it’s hard for him to break it. He’d gladly let it last a bit longer. Ignore the papers that need to be sent, delivered, stored away.
But Santiago seems to have taken it upon himself to put the king back on track whenever he gets distracted today, help him to finish his duties despite wandering thoughts. Pope pushes himself to his feet without much enthusiasm but with the apparent determination to see things through, familiar after all the years Ironhead has spent with him in the field.
“Looks like we’re done. I’ll send for your secretary.”
So Will borrows some of Santiago’s energy and acts like a monarch for a moment longer as the secretary and her assistant come to collect the papers. While he passes the instructions, his personal attendants move around his rooms in the background, lighting the candles to fight off the quickly falling darkness.
“What about our guests?” Will asks the secretary after they’ve finally wrapped up the paperwork.
The woman, one of the most invaluable people in the whole castle, stops halfway towards the door and looks over her shoulder. “Taken care of, my lord. I heard Prince Benjamin is making friends already,” she replies. “The Northerners appreciate a good fistfight.”
And because Will doesn’t mind, he’s fairly sure that there’s nothing in his expression that would suggest otherwise, but both the secretary and her young assistant tense instantly at the poorly timed comment, nonetheless. They look mortified, faces carefully blank as they wait for Will’s reaction.
Will just feels tired. A bit angry too, not because of the unintentional implication, but because he believes he never gave them the reason to fear saying something mildly inappropriate in his presence. But mostly tired.
It’s Santiago that breaks the silence before it can get any more uncomfortable, his tone light. “And it looks like Prince Benjamin is exceptionally skilled in foreign diplomacy. Who would’ve thought.”
“Not me,” Will replies, grasping at the chance to lighten the mood. Musters a smile before addressing the secretary again, “Thank you for your work today. If the orders are ready tomorrow, I’ll sign them in the afternoon.”
To her credit, the secretary tries to be subtle about letting out the breath she’s been holding for the entire time. Still, she turns to face the king and gives a bow, stiff and shallow, her arms full of documents. It’s a miracle she doesn’t drop any.
The woman excuses herself eventually with a polite my lord, the assistant scurrying hastily after her, and when the door falls closed behind them, Will finds himself alone with Santiago again. He can see the guard stretch slowly out of the corner of his eye. Arms above his head, then falling to his sides. Head thrown back first and tilted carefully left and right afterwards. Probably to get rid of the tension in his neck, Ironhead guesses. It tends to bother Santiago from time to time.
And as his guard straightens and tilts his head back down, looking ready to leave, Will opens his mouth and says the first thing on his mind.
“Want to stay for a drink?”
Santiago blinks at him. “I thought I’d grab one at the feast.” He makes it sound like a question, and Will recognizes it for what it really is – a chance to change his mind and be left alone after a long day. But the truth is, it’s the last thing Will wants now.
“I still got that brandy the merchant guild brought as a gift last month,” he offers, even if he doesn’t think Santiago actually needs convincing. Even if, probably, all it’d take for the guard to stay is for Will to ask him. “Not what’s being served at the feast.”
Santiago snorts. “Sure. I’ll stay.”
So William pokes his head outside to ask for the brandy, and soon after they fall back onto the chairs at the desk, each with a full cup in his hand. They’d probably be more comfortable in the armchairs in Will’s bedroom, but once they’ve rearranged a bit to face each other, legs almost touching, Ironhead decides it’s good as it is.
He’s about to ask about the visit to Frankie’s when Santiago takes a sip, leans forward, and reaches across the space between them to take Will’s right wrist in his hand. His touch is firm and gentle as he tilts the king’s hand towards the light and examines the bruises on his knuckles, eyes calm and curious.
Will’s fingers twitch under the scrutiny, but he doesn’t try to pull his hand back.
“Now,” Santiago starts, looking up to meet Will’s eyes, “do you want to tell me what that was about?”
It’s inquisitive, expectant in a way that doesn’t feel forceful. It’s also the tone Santiago used to speak in to his informants back in the day, with the significant difference being that it’s genuine now, that Will knows he can say no and end it here if he wishes. He looks into the brown eyes, dark and warm in the candlelight, and knows Santiago won’t press for answers.
It’s an invitation, and Will accepts it.
“The party from the North came in for the talks this morning, and from the start Greybeard was saying all kinds of stupid shit. That I didn’t look like much of a warrior anymore, that he hoped I would be the one making decisions and not the bunch of people whispering to my ear,” Will lists off, eyes on his own hand and Santiago’s thumb that has slipped lower and is now resting lightly on the edge of a bruise. Not probing and not moving. “I don’t remember everything, but he kept at it even after Tom and I told him it’d be smart of him to stop. A couple of times.”
Santiago finally lets go of his hand and sits back in his chair. Ironhead looks at him, at his furrowed eyebrows and the expression of attentive focus on his face and takes a sip of his brandy before continuing.
“We couldn’t get to the point because he just wouldn’t shut up. Then he said that it was his job to make sure no one stole from his king,” Will pauses briefly, trying to recall the exact words, “because greedy men are everywhere, and apparently not all of them have enough honor to openly take what they want. Instead, they move in the shadows, attack from behind and steal what they can’t win in a fight. And that was when I punched him to make him shut up. At that moment it seemed like the only thing that would work.”
In the meantime, Santiago’s expression has turned incredulous. He looks almost impressed, probably by the emissary’s stupidity more than anything else, and that’s something Will can relate to. That’s how he felt at that moment, too.
“If you’re asking me,” Santiago says with all the certainty in the world, “I think he got what he deserved. What the fuck did he even expect to achieve?”
“I didn’t ask. See if I would stand up for myself maybe, or on the contrary, see if he could provoke me. Or he didn’t think at all and didn’t stop to consider the possible results of his actions. Which would be very ironic, considering I did the same.”
The guard frowns. “You got carried away?”
“No. That was a conscious decision,” Will admits, raising the cup to his mouth, “just a very stupid one.”
The brandy going down his throat doesn’t soothe the sting of making a mistake, but at least it warms his stomach and relaxes his muscles a bit. What also helps is Santiago’s non-judgmental silence – he just seems to mull over Will’s words as he takes another swig of his drink.
“It turned out for the best, didn’t it?” his guard asks eventually. “The emissary was replaced, the talks will be continued.”
Will takes a deep breath. Exhales slowly. “Not all decisions are good just because their consequences are.”
“What about,” Santiago counters, his teasing tone strangely comforting, “the one that leads to a threat to three kingdoms being eliminated and makes the king of another rich?”
Will snorts. “I’m still not sure about that one.” And he knows Santiago isn’t either. Will sees it in the way the guard’s eyes linger sometimes on the scar on Redfly’s forehead, still fresh and stark on his skin. “But I know I thought it through. I knew the risk, and I went with it anyway.”
Santiago makes a vague noise in the back of his throat and reaches for the jug on the desk to pour them both some more brandy when Will finishes his cup.
“You’re bound to make some bad decisions, Ironhead. Comes with the territory.”
Will can’t stop the grimace from showing on his face. “I can’t make sure all my decisions are good. All I can do is take a minute to consider what the fuck I’m about to do before I do it.”
“Since when are you so unsure about your choices?” The words would sound almost accusatory in anyone else’s mouth, but in Santiago’s it’s a sincere inquiry. “You used to just deal with the outcome, however shitty it may be.”
“When I was the only one dealing with it, yes. More is at stake now. There’s a whole fucking nation that trusts me to think twice before I act.”
People that trust him not to go around hitting foreign emissaries, because who the fuck knows how that’s going to end.
A wave rises above the weariness he feels, but sometime in the past hour the anger has dulled into nagging doubt. And Santiago must have noticed because his voice is gentle when he speaks again.
“Was it always that hard for you? You’d been doing this for three years before we went South and got the money. I know it had to be tough, that you had to make much more difficult choices and deal with worse people than Greybeard. Yet you’re still worried about one man that, even if he took offence, wouldn’t make that much damage. Why?”
It’s a good question, and Will falls quiet trying to come up with a response. The first three years of his reign have been a constant struggle and slow progress. And then Santiago showed up, self-assured and prepared, and spoke about how they’d done so much for the country that never cared about them. Told them about his plan to kill a man responsible for the chaos in the South and take his blood gold.
“And you,” Santiago said back then, sharp gaze turning on Will, “gave up everything for this kingdom twice. Don’t you think you deserve something more after all you’ve been through?”
Now, six months later, Santiago is watching Will intently from the chair opposite of him, waiting patiently for the answer. A lot has changed since they brough back the gold, and, as Santiago had promised, it has solved a lot of Will’s problems. Created a few others, too.
The king sighs and opts for the honesty. “It couldn’t get much worse back then. If I’d fucked something up, it wouldn’t have mattered, so I was just doing what I thought was right. Besides, I was used to things always being hard.”
Now they really can do something good with that money. And, as it turned out, it’s a completely new sort of responsibility.
“So you’re telling me,” Santiago says slowly, “you can’t handle shit getting better for you.”
A surprised chuckle tumbles out of Will before he can fight it down. “Yeah. I guess that’s what I’m saying.”
He takes a sip of his brandy and sees Santiago’s eyes soften over the rim of the cup.
“If you’re looking for real advice, you’ll have to go somewhere else,” his guard replies. “But I remember we had to make some important decisions right there and then in the field, and I always trusted you to make the right one. We all did. It’s different now, people rely on you, I get it. I’m only starting to understand the pressure you’re under. But sometimes you just have to act, Ironhead.”
Will smiles wryly. “Even if I decide to break the emissary’s jaw?”
“Fracture,” Santiago corrects quickly, and bravely takes a kick to the shin Will deals him for it. He manages not to spill the brandy, but immediately brings the cup to his mouth and drains it like he’s expecting another kick very soon.
Will watches his throat move as the Commander of the Royal Guard swallows.
“Yeah, you were right. That’s a shitty advice.”
Santiago grins, unruffled. “All I’m saying is, people trust you anyway. Do what you feel you should do and trust yourself, too.”
Maybe it’s the alcohol or putting his troubles into words, or just Santiago’s company that always seems to make the burden of kingship more bearable on the days it feels the heaviest, but when the silence falls between them, Will realizes his thoughts are equally quiet, calm at last. The warmth has spread through his body, and he relaxes into his chair for the first time this evening.
“Thanks. Maybe I just needed to hear that from someone else,” the king admits, and even that comes much easier than it normally would.
Santiago holds out his arms. “At your service, Your Highness,” he says, mockingly solemn.
And that is not what Will, tired and half-drunk on brandy, wants to hear right now.
The guard breaks into laughter as soon as Will kicks at his right ankle, leg jerking to the side on instinct to avoid it. It leaves Santiago with his knees spread wide, fabric pulling tight around his thighs. A thought appears in the back of Ironhead’s mind, unbidden, that it would be so easy to push his chair back and slide to the floor, right between Santiago’s parted legs. Find out how it feels when the muscles in those thighs flex beneath his hands.
Will averts his eyes and draws a slow breath, the tips of his ears burning. He hopes it doesn’t show in the dim light. His impulse control seems truly nonexistent today, and he supposes it would be smart of him to go to bed already. Go back to existing in Santiago’s presence with his feelings in check tomorrow.
Thankfully, Santiago didn’t notice the momentary slip. He tilts his head to the side, a smile still playing at his lips. “What does your morning look like tomorrow?”
“I have a meeting with the city’s governor first thing in the morning and an update on the household matters after that. We’ll resume the talks with the Northerners at noon, so I think I’ll see you then?”
Santiago nods absently. “That household thing,” he says, tone strangely contemplative. “Something important?”
“The usual, I guess.” Will frowns a bit, confused. “An overview on supplies, expenses. Staff. But I’ll probably just listen and tell them to keep doing what they’re doing. Why?”
“Can you skip it for once? Get a report and pass any decisions later?”
Will feels his eyebrows raise. “I think so,” he replies carefully. “What are you planning?”
His guard shrugs, the movement smooth and dismissive. “Everybody already thinks I’m a bad influence on you, might as well give them a reason sometimes. So, it’s gonna give you like, an hour and a half free before noon?” At Will’s tentative nod, he continues, “Meet me in the garden courtyard when you’re done with the governor. I promise you won’t regret it.”
Santiago speaks with the usual confidence, but he looks genuinely eager waiting for Ironhead’s response. And what else Will could ever say to him other than, “All right.”
The commander grins, pleased with the answer. “Great. You might want to warm up before you come.”
He gets to his feet with a sense of finality that makes Will want to offer him another drink, so he stays a little longer. But he reminds himself Santiago’s not only travelled today, but also spent his free afternoon going through king’s paperwork with him.
“I’ll get going. You get some rest, hm?”
Santiago comes closer to the side of Will’s chair where Ironhead could easily lay a hand on his hip without even outstretching his arm. But it’s the guard that breaches the distance between them and puts his fingers to Will’s temple to rub firmly at the spot the crown usually rests on. He can be excused today, Ironhead thinks, when his eyes flutter shut, and he leans into the touch with a low hum.
Santiago huffs a startled chuckle. “Fuck, you really are tired, man,” he muses quietly, the pad of his thumb, sword-callused, stroking across Will’s skin.
“Mm-hmm. I guess I am.”
The casual touch is a common thing between them, familiar and mindless. The alcohol makes Santiago even more generous with simple contact, and Ironhead knows that it’s just all that and some well-intentioned desire to comfort him. But, even if it was only five days, he likes the thought that his guard has missed him a little, too.
With one last stroke Santiago’s hand withdraws, and Will forces his eyes open, gives Santiago a small, grateful smile. “I’m good, though. Just a bad day after a bad night,” the king confesses. Thinks about the steady struggle before the heist, and about the chaos after. About all the good things they can do with the gold. About having Santiago at his side. “Besides, it’s all worth it.”
The guard answers with a smile of his own, warm and soft. “If you say so, Your Highness.” Will lets it slide this time, just because he knows that Santiago still has his doubts. “I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?”
Ironhead makes a noise of confirmation. As he’s turning towards the door, Santiago gives him a light pat on the chest, hand sliding from there to Will’s shoulder with the movement. It leaves the skin along its path tingling beneath his shirt.
Perhaps Santiago has missed him, too.
Will walks him to the door where they part, exchanging quiet goodbyes. Alone in his rooms again, the king lets out a slow breath and rubs at his eyes.
He likes the sound of I’ll see you tomorrow in Santiago’s mouth. Likes hearing it every day like he has been for the past half a year. And if the crown getting a bit heavier is the price for it?
So, so fucking worth it.