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When first the son of Drearburh lay his claim to their sheltered space in death,
the bubble in the River fashioned by his liege in life, herself yet living,
his necromancer, the near-Lyctor Harrowhark had trials placed before her,
and bound by both duty and affection Nigenad strove to help the Reverend Daughter.
Chaos reigned and was deconstructed into ritual, and soon the final battle loomed.
The sleeper against so many daughters and sons of the holy Houses Nine,
yet the late commander of Blood of Eden was too much for even the heirs collected,
and their cavaliers loyal, to overcome. A more permanent vision of death hung specter
yet the Reverend Daughter, the son of Drearburh, and the others would yet live.
For yon, through eons and leagues and death, the fearless hero broke,
summoned by the illustrious spirit magics of the Lady of the Fifth, a master of her craft,
and the unwavering resolve of the Reverend Daughter of the Ninth in the face of despair,
and the lifelong adoration of the son of Drearburh for the legendary figure:
Matthias Nonius, the greatest cavalier the Ninth had ever seen!
The battle between the cavalier of old and the steadfast commander was fierce
and at times the son of Drearburh feared for his champion, though he kept his faith,
and as surely as Dominicus burns the ancient and revived Nonius triumphed over the Sleeper.
An even greater foe awaited them, an unholy beast in the River, and decisions needed making,
but the son of Drearburh and the sword arm of the Ninth had already sorted their thoughts.
Battle before them and battle behind, a quiet moment of respite their present lot,
Nonius and Nigenad awaited when the Lady of the Fifth would propel them
to glory untold, to combat side by side with friends, and perhaps even with lovers.
But for a moment, they held concourse with one another, a god among men and his chronicler.
“You, most glorious sir, have been an inspiration to me since I was a child,”
said Nigenad, his heart beating a relentless rhythm in his chest. “I’m most pleased to meet you.”
“The pleasure is entirely mine,” said the hero of the Ninth past and present, his smile full of teeth,
“Without thine assistance, I would have remained in the ever-gnawing dark.”
“Thine?” asked Nigenad, a sudden tremor in him. “You truly wish to extend that intimacy to me?”
“Thou art the reason for my resurrection, fair Ortus—” and this did make Nigenad blush—
“—and we are to be brothers in battle in a moment’s time. Grant me the honor of knowing thee.”
“How could I ever deny you—thee?” the son of Drearburh spake. “The honor is mine.”
“Well if the honor is thine and the pleasure mine, then we each have a decent part in my estimation.”
Saying this, the honorable Nonius laughed a spell, a jovial and handsome sound,
and Nigenad remained spellbound by both the sight and the affectionate closeness
that his legend had granted him. Some happy moments passed thus, and in his curiosity
the son of Drearburh recounted some of the mythic exploits to receive fresh perspective.
Novel information he did receive, but more than that hands joined, breathless blushing
as Nonius gazed upon Nigenad awed. “Passion becomes thee exceeding well, friend.”
And Nigenad did still, his beloved ramblings set aside, and he asked exceeding soft,
“Wouldst thou do me the honor, the pleasure, both, of bestowing upon me a token,
a token of thine affection? Call me presumptuous if thou wilt, I shall not take any offense.”
The Champion of the Ninth’s hands did clasp more firmly about the son of Drearburh’s,
and in the stead of word, the most loyal legendary cavalier chose action,
his battle-battered body falling gentle and easy against Nigenad’s large form.
Their lips met in a tender clash, a calm eddy in the River, their present circumstance in microcosm.
The pinnacle of Ninth House cavaliership and the unfortunate son of Drearburh were at peace,
their kiss exchanged as both confession and promise unsaid and unrepentant.
Whatever yet awaited them, these two cavaliers bold in their own ways
had their precious moments to bolster and encourage them, to give them strength.
Hand in hand, they turned toward their future, their fate, and of one accord stepped forward.