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Ballister had seen this before. He was sure of it, somewhere in the back of his mind. Except then, Ambrosius’s name had been called first, not his. He had been knighted, had been standing off to the side. Now, he was smiling at him from the bottom of the stairs in black and silver armor. Ballister’s armor—wasn’t it? Was he misremembering? He always thought he wore black, and Ambrosius wore gold. But now that he was looking down at himself, it seemed like things were the other way around.
“Ambrosius Goldenloin.” The crowd was quiet as his boyfriend made his way up, another distinct oddity. Ambrosius was nothing if not a crowd favorite. They were always cheering his name, always screaming when he came into view, why were they suddenly so silent? Ballister listened with thinly veiled confusion as the Queen gave a speech about the new ability for commoners to become knights, that Ambrosius had proved it could be earned. Ballister felt strange, like he was outside of himself—he felt like he’d heard this speech before. Like he had once been on the receiving end of it. Like he’d stared up at the Queen as she delivered it. Even still, he clapped proudly as Ambrosius was knighted. It felt like the culmination of years of work that he, for some reason, couldn’t remember. He felt awful. Strange and hazy. Why couldn’t he remember? What was happening?
Ballister watched with a strange pit in his stomach as Ambrosius took his sword—Ballister’s sword—from the Queen. There was a part of him that wanted to scream out and warn him, but he didn’t know why until he was watching it open up and shoot a blast of green magic directly into her chest.
Ballister moved before he even knew what was happening, ripping his sword from the scabbard and swinging upwards as quick as possible. He felt a vague pressure as the sword clove through Ambrosius’s arm. As it ripped through flesh and muscle and bone. Ballister watched as his boyfriend’s arm fell away, suddenly unable to move.
Ambrosius stumbled, grabbing his bleeding shoulder and turning his gaze to him, a desperate look of betrayal that he’d definitely seen before painted across his face. Ballister dropped his sword immediately, frozen. Ambrosius looked shell-shocked. “Bal—”
The large screen above them chose that moment to fall. Ballister couldn’t see a thing through the smoke. It felt like he was suffocating.
And then suddenly, he was in his room—was it even his?—and he was staring at a headline on his phone. Queen Killer found dead.
That suffocating feeling never left him, curling around his lungs like a snake and squeezing all the air from him. Reading the first few lines of the article was torture. He didn’t know why he opened it.
Wanted for the murder of the Queen, Ambrosius Goldenloin was found dead this afternoon in an alley nearby the Institute. It’s been confirmed that he died of blood loss following the quick thinking and action of Ballister Boldheart—newly knighted savior of the realm!
The way the article talked about made it seem so positive, like Ballister had known what he was doing when he cut off the arm of his best friend and lover—ex-best friend, ex-lover, he wasn’t around anymore and the thought struck him like a sword to the heart. It spoke like Ballister had meant to kill him. Like he’d known what would happen. A part of him feels like he should’ve.
Ballister stared at the article for so long it bore into his brain. The words swam together and his head was pounding. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t focus, and he could feel tears collecting in his eyes. He closed them, trying to hold himself together.
Ballister woke up quickly, but not dramatically. There was no scream or sharp gasp or sitting bolt upright. He just opened his eyes, trying to blink back the tears that were now falling sideways onto his pillow. His chest hurt.
He couldn’t stop thinking about the dream, about its implications. Once, late at night when they’d fallen into a heavy conversation, Ambrosius had told him that for the few weeks it took Ballister to show up at the Institute with Nimona, he was scared that he’d died. He was scared that he hadn’t just permanently disabled his lover, but killed him. That Ballister had bled out in some alley and one day his body would be discovered, and the search would be over before it could even really begin. Ballister was terrified of the fact that, in his dream, that was the case. He was scared of the fact that it made sense—Ballister had the knowledge and skill required to stop the bleeding, stitch it himself, and create a whole new arm. Ambrosius didn’t. Even if he was trained to handle medical emergencies on the field, he didn’t spend as much time researching and practicing it as Ballister did. If things had gone differently, had gone like they had in that nightmare, Ambrosius wouldn’t have made it.
The thought made him dizzy, and only made the crying worse. He tried to be as quiet as possible, but one mistimed sob was all it took for the person in bed next to him to stir. Ambrosius always was a light sleeper—Ballister had only found out recently that it was because the Director had trained him to be, saying that a descendant of Gloreth and knight of the realm couldn’t drop their guard even in sleep. Just another thing to despise her for.
“Bal?” He asked, and Ballister’s vision was clouded with the hazy memories of a dream. He was afraid to turn over, to possibly see cold eyes or a missing arm staring back at him. How did he know he wasn’t still dreaming? A hand landed on Ballister’s side. “Bal, are you okay?”
Ballister tried to say “I’m fine,” but his mouth just wouldn’t cooperate. He felt the bed dip as Ambrosius sat up, getting closer to him.
“Are you awake?” A nod. “Did you have a nightmare?”
“Yes.” Ballister said after a painfully long silence. His tears were starting to dry as he remembered himself, and where he was. Remembered that Ambrosius was alive and well right next to him, and that that nightmare was the inverse of how things actually went. For the first and most likely last time ever, Ballister was glad he was the one who the Director framed.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Ambrosius asked.
Ballister finally sat up, figuring any effort to simply go back to sleep was out the window for both of them at this point. Ambrosius would be too worried, and Ballister would be too afraid. “I’m not sure.”
“That’s okay.” Ambrosius said. “You don’t have to, I can just stay up with you until you’re ready to try sleeping again.”
Ballister shook his head fondly. “Have I told you how much I love you?”
“More than enough.” Ambrosius smiled. “More than I deserve, really.”
“Oh, stop that.” Ballister said lightheartedly. “I don’t have the energy to lecture you about self-worth right now.”
Ambrosius laughed, clearly trying to be quiet so he didn’t accidentally wake Nimona. Ballister didn’t bother to tell him that it was pointless, and that Nimona was a heavy enough sleeper to not wake even if they started yelling their entire conversation. “Sorry, sorry. But, really, Bal, you tell me all the time.”
“And it’s still somehow not enough.” Ballister said, sighing. “Ambrosius, I love you.”
“I love you too, darling.” Ambrosius said softly, leaning against him. Ballister wrapped his one arm around him, metal one discarded on the bedside table for the night.
“In my nightmare, I was the one who cut your arm off.” Ballister said quietly. “Like, the whole thing was reversed. You were in my place and I was in yours, except…you didn’t have the knowledge to fix it the way I did. You died before I ever got a chance to apologize.”
“Ah.” Ambrosius breathed, and Ballister didn’t even have to look at his face to see the guilt written across it. It seemed like no matter how many times Ballister forgave him for what happened, he wouldn’t forgive himself. Ballister just tried not to bring it up too often. “Sounds like the kind of nightmare I’d have.”
“Yeah, it was weird.” Ballister said. “Felt like an odd glimpse into your head.”
“I’m sure.” Ambrosius said, snuggling impossibly closer.
“Is it weird that I’m kind of grateful?” Ballister asked. “I mean, it could have been worse, really.”
“It was already so bad, I don’t think worse is even worth thinking about.” Ambrosius said. “And yes, it’s a little weird that you’re grateful you got your arm chopped off, but it’s also not really my place to tell you that.”
Ballister nodded thoughtfully. “Y’know, if I hadn’t gotten my arm chopped off, I would’ve never met Nimona.”
“If the Director hadn’t swapped your sword, you would’ve never met Nimona.” Ambrosius corrected. “The arm-chopping wasn’t a necessary factor.”
“But it was still a factor, and I still think it mattered.” Ballister said simply.
Ambrosius hummed in thought. “Nimona probably wouldn’t have hated me as much if I hadn’t…if it hadn’t happened.”
“You say that, but I think she would’ve found another reason.” Ballister said, smiling a bit. “She holds a mean grudge.”
“That she does.”
“You’re past it though, hmm? That’s all that matters.”
“Yeah, I guess it is.”
Ballister looked at Ambrosius’s face, washed in greyscale by the night. He leaned over and pressed a light kiss to his cheek. “We should go back to sleep. We won’t be happy with ourselves in the morning.”
“We’ll be exhausted anyway.” Ambrosius chuckled. “But you’re right, a couple more hours couldn’t hurt.”
Ballister laid back down, letting Ambrosius press up behind him and wrap an arm around his waist. He could feel his breath on the back of his neck. He closed his eyes, and let the silence wrap around him.
“Bal?” Ambrosius whispered, just as he was falling into sleep.
“Yes, love?”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
Ballister smiled. He always knew exactly what to say. “Me neither.”
“Good.” Ambrosius said. “I could never live alone with Nimona. She’d rip me apart, on good terms or not.”
Ballister laughed, letting himself sink into his lover’s embrace. And for a few moments, the nightmares, the trauma, the issues of everyday life, and the world itself fell away to make room for the two of them.