Work Text:
“It was me.”
The room was pin-drop silent, and Quinlin and Alden shared an indecipherable look. Slowly, Tiergan stepped in front of Prentice, holding Alden’s gaze all the while.
“What?” Quinlin asked after a moment. “Look, Sir Tierg—”
“Don’t call me that,” he snapped.
Quinlin huffed. “Tiergan, then. We’re not here for you.”
“You could be,” Tiergan replied, and he could almost feel Prentice’s eyes boring into his back. “If I said that I was secretly a rebel sympathizer, and that I had stolen, classified Council documents sitting in my office, you’d have no choice but to take me instead.”
“We’re perfectly capable of arresting both of you,” Alden replied coolly. “I’d advise you to watch your words, Sir Tiergan, given the severity of these charges.”
“You have no evidence but some hunches and a handful of odd—but not incriminating—registry records.” Tiergan said. “Your accusations are unfounded.”
Alden’s carefully neutral expression twitched slightly, and Tiergan allowed himself a smidgen of satisfaction at having annoyed Alden Vacker enough to break his emotionless facade. “I’d argue that we have more than enough evidence to arrest the both of you, now. But I’m feeling generous, and I’d rather not do so today.”
“Generous?” Tiergan scoffed. “You’re ripping a man away from his family, his wife, his son. I’d hardly call that generous.”
Quinlin clicked his tongue. “There are always consequences for those that break the law, regardless of their familial relations.”
Tiergan opened his mouth to speak, but stopped as Prentice laid a cool hand on his shoulder and stepped forward. “Gentlemen,” he said, “I’m afraid there’s been a few misunderstandings, here.”
“On the contrary, Mr. Endal, I think this situation is quite simple. We only have a few questions to ask you, and after that—”
“He’s innocent,” Tiergan cut in. “Don’t drag him into this.”
Tiergan, what the hell are you doing? Prentice’s voice appeared in his mind.
I’m doing what’s right. What I deserve, and you do, too.
Prentice let out a sigh. This is part of my job, Tiergan, you know that. I’m the Keeper.
Exactly, which is why you should be out here, free, with Cyrah and Wylie and protecting our secrets. All I am is another spy. Our world can survive without me.
Tiergan–
“I confess to the crime of treason and rebel sympathies,” Tiergan blurted out.
Both Quinlin and Alden froze in their tracks and locked eyes, no doubt sharing a matching telepathic conversation to his and Prentice’s. “I have spent my life actively working to undermine the Council and any institutions over which they preside. I am also guilty of having intentionally altered registry records of myself and others, which you will find to be the reason behind the oddities in Prentice’s records.”
“Are you crazy?” Prentice hissed, and Tiergan made his best attempt at an overdramatic sigh.
“My love,” he said, turning and grabbing Prentice’s hands. Alden sucked in a breath at the words. “I apologize for betraying you.”
“What–”
Tiergan had read enough romance novels in his life to know how this situation should go, how he should go about convincing Quinlin and Alden that Prentice was simply an innocent, deceived lover, unaware of his partner’s treasonous actions. If Tiergan could seem dramatic and devastated enough, the Cognates might actually believe that he felt guilty over almost framing his lover.
Plus, Tiergan had more than enough experience painting himself to be someone he wasn’t.
He forced tears to his eyes—which, unsurprisingly, wasn’t particularly difficult—and threw his arms around Prentice, pulling him into what seemed from the outside to be a mournful hug between hurt lovers. Instead, he used it to lean next to Prentice’s ear and whisper, “I’m sorry.”
“What the hell are you doing? They came for me, because of my mistakes—”
“They came to find a Black Swan operative. And they did. Me. I’m just one person, Prentice, I’m nothing unique to this cause, but you? You’re our Keeper, our light, our most dangerous weapon.” Tiergan paused, then added. “Go live a happy life, love. You deserve it.”
Alden cleared his throat, and the two broke apart. “Sir Tiergan,” he began, and Tiergan wanted to slap him just for the name. “I’ll admit, this new information certainly alters our hypotheses. In any case, if you truly are confessing to this…long list of crimes, it will certainly warrant a Tribunal.”
Tiergan scoffed. “Well, I’m sure you’d be overjoyed to see me Exiled.”
Alden shifted uncomfortably, and Quinlin, ever the knight in shining armour, jumped to his rescue. “Watch your words, Mr. Alenefar. Your apparent protection of Mr. Endal is certainly noble, but I don’t think you’ve quite considered the severity of the consequences to come.”
“Prentice doesn’t need me to protect him from shit,” Tiergan snapped. “I’ve told you what you wanted to know, so you can either fuck off right now or drag me with you in chains. And, trust me, I’m well aware of the consequences.”
Prentice frowned. “Tiergan...”
But Alden stepped forward and locked the magisidian handcuffs around Tiergan’s wrists, and he didn’t resist. There was no point in resistance; what was done had been done, what was said had been said, and now Tiergan only had to pay the price.
A Tribunal. A mind break. Exile.
An awfully high price to keep Prentice free, but Tiergan would never let Wylie and Cyrah be abandoned because of his and Prentice’s foolish attempts at fairness in the Lost Cities. Yes, Tiergan was willing to die for an impossible ideal, and that was fine—he had almost nothing to keep him from rashness, nothing except Prentice. But Prentice? Prentice had everything to lose. He had status, a wife, a son—and neither Cyrah nor Wylie deserved to be collateral damage from his and Tiergan’s idiocy.
“I’m sorry, love,” Tiergan said, as the Cognates dragged him away. “I’m so sorry.”
But Prentice could only stare back in shocked, betrayed silence.