Work Text:
Warren didn't have a place he called home. He'd not had one for a long time. And as long as he didn't think about it too much, he didn't notice the ever present, deep-seated ache this caused. What he had was a lair, a roof over his head and place to do his work. It was what he wanted. It let him focus on that which mattered. No distractions.
His lair used to be a grand, beloved family home, until tragedy struck their happy lives. That kind thing was inevitable though, and he'd had very little sympathy with the distant relation looking to sell the building. It meant he'd been able to negotiate the price right down, and the haunting, sinister history boosted his reputation.
Until anyone showed up in person, that is. Unfortunately, the dilapidated state of the place, with its peeling paint and neglected repairs, undermined the air of malevolent sorcery. Rather than Evil Mage chic, it gave off more of a second-rate sorcerer vibe. He didn't like the kind of work maintenance entailed, and finding good staff was near impossible.
Waking up that morning had been a shock, his lair colder than usual. His useless servant, Rauf, had failed to start a fire or even to bring in more firewood. So, having ordered Rauf to make breakfast, he ventured outside into the chill of the morning air. The rhythmic thud of his axe striking logs echoed through the stillness, punctuated only by occasional rustling leaves and the distant chirping of birds. He’d not envisaged such manual labour when he’d chosen to be a mage.
He tied his shoulder length dark hair back and stripped out of his leather jacket. After first clearing every trace of frost, he placed his folded jacket on the bench in his unkempt garden. He took pride in his appearance, smooth tawny skin, emerald eyes and neatly kept beard, all enhanced by well-chosen clothes. Which were tailored to make the most of his slim build and narrow waist.
The crisp winter air carried a refreshing hint of pine and his breath puffed out as he swung the axe. Winter brought with it Yuletide traditions and his thoughts turned to gift giving. At the top of his list, his mind fixated on Edmund - a Paladin he had long sought to destroy.
Edmund was a walking cliche, with blond hair, brown eyes, broad shoulders, and an amiable smile. Yet, beneath this pretty exterior lay a man whose beliefs were deeply engrained and immovable. His whole life revolved around the gods he worshiped. But those gods, mere figments of his imagination, could not compare to the tangible wonders of magic. Precision and scientific principles governed Warren’s realm, far removed from the whimsical and haphazard nature of Edmund’s faith.
Edmund had made a name for himself over the years. An undeserved name, earned off the back of other people's labour. Only the year before, the king had recognised his supposedly outstanding work and bestowed on him a large estate with a fabulous castle. Half the reason he had such a reputation was thanks to Warren. Edmund was always the first one called upon when they needed to counter Warren’s work.
This year, Warren’d found the perfect gift for Edmund. Within a dusty old book, he’d come across a curse. It would condemn the person Edmund loved most to die a slow death. He’d already started gathering the ingredients. If he cast it for Yuletide, whoever it affected wouldn’t live beyond summer. Six long months of slow deterioration and then death. He expected it to be a family member, or one of the other Paladins Edmund hung around with. To his knowledge, Edmund had never taken a wife or long-term lover. And Warren couldn't wait to see who became sick. Gleeful anticipation filled his soul, the coming year would be glorious.
He carted the logs inside and kindled a fire. Rauf placed a bowl of porridge on the table and ambled out. Warren threw himself into his books. The curse took shape over the next few days. He had every ingredient. He measured, mixed, and spoke the ancient words. Layers of magic woven into a complex structure. An irreversible spell. Once complete, the only ending was death. It would be a delicious victory to inflict such misery on Edmund.
The day before Yuletide, as he checked his work over, a knock at the door drew his attention.
Moments later, Rauf dragged in a wicker basket and dumped it beside the rickety table Warren worked on. “Gift fer yeh, milord.”
“Thank you. Dismissed.” Warren ignored the basket, certain it was from Edmund. Every year, without fail, Edmund sent him a hamper. This tradition continued despite Warren never acknowledging it or sending anything in return. The man was infuriating. The hint was loud and clear, but Edmund refused to take it.
He maintained intense focus as he worked through all the steps of the spell, his eyes wide and glowing as he spoke the final word. Still early, the sun not yet below the horizon, he decided to celebrate. But not as everyone else did, Warren chose not to observe Yuletide. He considered it a foolish tradition, but he did raise a glass of the expensive wine Edmund sent, to mark the end of his work and the start of Edmund's torment.
Picking through the hamper, he grazed on the candied fruit and rich suet pudding. A generous gift, the remaining breads, cheeses, biscuits, and preserves looked equally good.
The following week, a mild illness rolled in with the new year. Nothing a small healing potion couldn’t fix, and the symptoms stayed under his control. But the illness lingered, becoming steadily worse. He tried divining, searching within his body, but couldn’t pinpoint the cause, or decide on a spell that would help. More research was required. He hit the books and continued to brew healing potions. Nothing made sense.
Equally as disappointing was the failure of the curse. He'd listened for news, for any piece of gossip, that might indicate someone close to Edmund becoming unwell, but so far, there was nothing. He'd been so careful. Meticulous in following every step and procuring the highest quality ingredients. It should have worked. All his other spells had, commissions fulfilled successfully meant he was the best mage around.
After a couple of months of feeling unwell, he sought a second opinion. Rauf had provided almost no care and tiredness dogged Warren. His body ached and his mind was foggy. The symptoms changed each day, making diagnosis difficult, and life became a slog. Feverish and weak, he rode to see Rose, another mage who owed him a favour.
He walked up the front path, her garden overflowed with herbs and flowers, and he felt faint magical hues wisp over his skin. Wards against pests and infusions to promote growth. When she opened the door to her well-kept cottage, a waft of warm air and the smell of freshly baked bread billowed out. Everything here felt lived- in and welcoming, the air steeped in magic and honeyed light. Her power was warm and deeply rooted to this place she called home.
“Warren, how nice.” She hid the distaste on her face with a tight smile, while he gave her a baleful stare. The feeling was mutual, and he didn't have the energy for small talk. Finally, after giving him a long appraising stare, she ushered him inside.
No doubt him leaning against the doorframe, pale and sweating despite the chill, prompted this decision. He chose not to dwell on the fact he was being pitied. Evil Mages didn't require friends, and the opinion of a lesser mage should hardly matter.
She’d braided her chestnut hair down her back, and she wore bright, flowing clothing. A stark contrast to his own dark, formal attire. Really, as a mage, she should dress to impress. Her outfit had potential, but made her look lackadaisical. He'd expected nothing less.
“Warren, sit, before you fall.” She led him to a cosy living room where he collapsed into a plump, blanket covered chair. Her eyes narrowed as she looked him over.
“You look rather unwell. I assume you’re wanting a healing spell of some kind?”
He coughed, the handkerchief he held in front of his mouth showed small specks of blood. “I don’t know what’s wrong, every spell returns nothing. If you could pinpoint what ails me, that would be enough.”
“And then we’re even?”
He nodded, another coughing fit racking his body.
“Very well.”
He dozed, warm and comfortable, content to let Rose do her thing. She'd pulled a leather bound book from the rough hewn wooden bookcase beside him. It bowed under the weight of everything crammed within, and the pile of scrolls and loose notes sat precarious atop. Perhaps he should make more of an effort with his own lair, being cold all the time grew tiresome. And even he could concede, the warmth of this place was nice.
His eyes wandered over the large store hearth, all manner of curious bric-a-brac filled the mantel. Along with half melted candles in ornate brass holders and odd carved statuettes. He let his eyes drift shut as he pondered the use of such things. This kind of sentimental, half hearted approach tended to produce only minimal results. Careful planning and precision would always be the superior method.
Rose nudged him awake, holding out a plate and cup. “Here, you need to eat.” The pie she offered smelled good, meat and vegetables within buttery pastry. She sat opposite him, continuing to work as he ate, and he wondered why this change of heart. Kindness was a weakness, she was letting him take advantage, receive more than the favour owed.
“Did you find anything?” He asked when she’d completed the spell, pushing another bite of pie onto his fork.
“It’s a curse, it’s creeping through your body. Whoever cast it is a master of their craft.” She said it kindly, though he had no doubt she'd be as glad as everyone else to see the back of him.
His stomach dropped. He had few friends, yet to his knowledge, no one was currently scheming against him. “A curse? Are you sure? I can’t feel anything magical.” Who would do this? And why? He wracked his brain for something, anything.
Her lips pursed. “It’s usually only our own magic we’re blind to... have you tried any new spells lately? Had anything backfire?”
Backfire? The audacity! The impertinence. He thought back over his recent commissions. “No... not recently... not...” There was nothing.
"Not what? This curse is powerful, whatever you did, it must've taken a lot of effort."
He cast his mind back further, sifting through all the biggest spells he'd performed. There was really only the one that'd taken that much effort... He stilled as an icy trickle ran down his spine. The blood drained from his face, as time stood still.
A clatter as the fork dropped to the plate. He glanced down at it. "No..." Rose at his side. "It's not possible..." The plate replaced with a bucket. "It can't be..." The pie returned. “I have to go.” A gentle hand on his arm.
“It’s getting late, you can stay here tonight. You’re in no fit state to ride.” She gave him a concerned look, brows drawn in and then fetched a cup of water.
His pulse raced as he took a sip. It wasn’t possible. It couldn’t be true. “I have to go.” Another coughing fit. His head pounded, while his body felt leaden.
“If you’re sure… I have a restorative amulet. It should help keep the symptoms at bay.” Disappearing through a small door, she returned a moment later holding a round amber stone hung on a leather thong.
As he passed it over his head, he felt the comforting glow of magic ease the symptoms. The absence of pain a blessed relief. He stammered a quick thank you and took his leave. There was only one place he'd find he answers he needed. Panicked thoughts spurred him on, his horse responding to his distress.
He rode hard, determined to reach Edmund’s estate, ignoring the added danger of dusk becoming night. The constellation of flickering lanterns in the distance called him on. The pale stone of the keep glimmered in the moon light as he approached. The griffin statues at the gates seemed to watch as he passed through, judging and disapproving. This was a place where the good congregated, not someone like him.
Darkness held at bay by iron sconces lit his way as he dismounted in the large courtyard and knocked on the huge wooden door. The soft glow illuminated the uneven cobbles and muted colours from stained glass windows spilled shards of light across the space. He didn't belong here, in this mystical setting. The whole place seemed braced to eject him at the first opportunity.
The peephole slid open. “Who goes there?”
“Warren, I have urgent business with Edmund.”
“It’s Lord Edmund, and you’re not welcome here.” The peephole slammed shut. He blinked and stared at it. How dare they dismiss him so quickly? Were they unaware of his reputation?
He hammered on the door, loud and relentless. He would not be ignored by these simple folk.
The peephole opened again. He shouted before they could talk. “I’m not leaving. Let me in.”
“Step away from the door. Go to the centre of the courtyard.” A gruff voice he recognised. The Captain of Edmund’s guard, Sir Terence. At least they'd fetched someone sensible for him to converse with.
Warren walked back out into the courtyard. He would play their game. For now. Chanting rose from within the castle and he felt his own innate magical power diminish. Boots thudded on stone as men emerged onto the battlements above. Silhouettes against the moonlit sky. Lanterns shone down. Crossbows were notched, creaking and taut, all trained on him. Normally, such a display would flatter him, but today, he simply wanted them to let him pass.
The door opened, a whispered rasp of hinges ready for oil, and Terence emerged, looking smart in his crisp, clean uniform. Short dark hair and towering body, he was all muscle and anger. Brows low and arms folded. The two men flanking him drew their swords.
“What do you want?” Terence asked.
“I wish to speak with Ed-”
Terence cleared his throat.
“Lord Edmund.”
“He’s not taking visitors at this time.” Steely, unyielding eyes stared at him, the tone brooked no arguments.
Warren tamped his annoyance down. The low temperature out here increased his ire, but he wasn’t leaving. He gritted his teeth and attempted to play nice. “Could you, please, let him know I’m here and urgently need to talk to him.”
As much as it couldn't be true, if the spell worked as intended, Edmund should be willing to see him. Because that’s how love worked, right? You at least agreed to see someone you loved, regardless of what had happened in the past. And if Edmund didn't let him in, then this curse that ailed him, must have another cause. Either way, he'd have the answer he needed.
A brief whispered conversation, and one of the men disappeared inside. They waited, the whole courtyard tense. Continued chanting punctured by the screech of an owl, while crossbows didn’t waver. And Terence’s intimidating stance remained solid in front of the door.
The man returned, another conversation he couldn’t hear. This whole affair grew tiresome.
“He’s agreed to see you, but-”
Warren took a step forward. Two crossbow bolts slammed into the cobbles in front of him, halting his progress.
Terence spoke louder, forcefully. “But. There are conditions.”
“What conditions?”
“Strip. Everything off.”
Warren’s eyebrows rose as a knot formed in his stomach. “It’s freezing out here. You can’t seriously expect me to disrobe?”
A wicked smile appeared on Terence’s face. “I hoped you wouldn’t. You can either leave, or try to enter, see how far you get.” His stance didn't change as he watched Warren think it through, he remained uncaring and unmoved.
The chant increased in volume, swelling to fill the courtyard. They were invoking their gods, a feeble attempt to protect themselves. Warren considered his position, weakened as he was, he didn’t like his chances. Frustrated with the limited options, he scowled at the uniforms surrounding him. Much as he’d like to douse them all in living fire, he didn’t have the energy.
He peeled off his cloak, jacket, shirt, boots, and trousers. A neat pile by his feet, until he stood, shivering, in his undergarments, stockinged feet on the icy cobbles.
“All of it.”
The frigid temperatures forced his swift compliance. He knew there was no alternative, he had to see Edmund, whatever it took.
“And the jewellery. All your rings and that round your neck.”
He flung all the magic imbued rings on top of the pile and then grasped the amber stone. “This is only for protection. Please, I need it.” The energy pulsed within, warm against his palm.
“I don’t care. Take it off or get out.” Uncaring eyes regarded him from every angle, sympathy absent, and he knew they watched for any excuse to fill him with bolts.
As soon as he lifted it off, all the pain in his body returned. He dropped the amulet and looked at Terence.
“Move away from the clothing.” Yet another terse command.
Exhaustion nipped at him as he lurched back a few paces. One of the uniformed men gathered up his discarded clothes and tossed a bundle of fabric at him. He pulled on the cheap, coarse woollen clothes provided. Brown and shapeless, he became a peasant.
Terence came closer and held up a set of thick iron hand cuffs. “Turn around. Hands behind you.”
“Is that really necessary?”
“We’re taking no chances, either get on with it, or leave.”
He pivoted. He felt hot now, but unable to control the tremors running through his body. Solid, heavy cuffs secured his wrists before a string of beads dropped over his head. A sharp exhale as he felt divine magic wash over him, that wellspring of power within dampened further. Unexpected and cruel, he pushed down the fear at how defenseless they’d made him.
As Terence led him inside, the chanting stopped. Some innate divine power resided in these walls, he could feel it brush against him, pure and unwelcome. They went up the grand central stairs. Ornate carvings and plush carpets spoke of the wealth Edmund had amassed. By the time they reached the top, he was gasping for breath. He stumbled and dropped to his knees.
“Get up, we’re not falling for whatever act this is.” Impassive, Terence watched him struggle back to his feet. He was burning up as his body reached it's limit, digging deep, he pressed onward.
Warren staggered along behind Terence, until finally, he was shown into a small sitting room. Edmund sat by the fire. Rich decorations filled the room; wood panelling and deep red wallpaper matched the fine furnishings. It felt like a private sanctum, interlaid swords hung over the fireplace, and a gilded relief of Edmund's Order occupied the opposite wall. The room was lit by a set of silver candelabra and a faint hint of earthy incense permeated the air.
Warren slumped in the chair opposite Edmund and took in his enemy. He noted, with annoyance, that Edmund looked good, blond hair golden in the candle light and muscular build emphasised by a dark, well-tailored jacket over a white shirt. A flush of shame joined the fevered heat on Warren’s face. He looked pathetic in comparison, hands bound, shoddy clothes, sick, shivering, and exhausted.
A warm smile lit up Edmund’s face, but his body remained tense, as though ready to fend off an attack. “Warren, you’ve never visited my home before. What brings you here? You don’t look well...” This welcome must be a ruse, he ignored the deep ember that stirred in his heart at the way Edmund looked at him. It threw him off balance, made the ground shaky beneath his feet.
Warren felt his strength ebbing, so he cut to the chase. “Why have you never taken a wife?”
Edmund shrugged, a flicker of surprise in his eyes. “Never found the right person.”
“But why? You’ve had relationships over the years.”
“And they weren’t right.” Edmund said it plainly, a fact he knew to be true, no shadow of doubt.
“Why not?”
Edmund cocked his head, assessing Warren. “Am I to believe you rode hard, in the dark, feverish and sick, just to question me about my past relationships? Why are you really here?” There it was, the suspicion and distrust. They were back on solid ground.
“Why weren’t they right?” Warren stayed the course. He needed this answer.
Edmund sighed. His gaze turned to the fire. “I have a soulmate. Every other person I’ve been with pales in comparison.” The wistful tone suggested long nights spent thinking of them, wishing and wanting something out of reach.
Warren scoffed. “A soulmate? You can’t be serious. It’s a ridiculous, nonsense concept.”
A flinty stare landed on Warren. “So what? You’re going to disparage my beliefs now?”
“No, I...” Warren backtracked as his pulse raced. He needed to understand. Perhaps humouring Edmund would help. “Supposing soulmates are real, how would you even know you’ve got one?”
“I had my suspicions. I know how it feels when I’m around them... and the Gods confirmed it.” Another easily spoken truth. Faith really had a hold over him, it made him stubborn and stupid, but still... what if...
Blood pounded in his ears. Regardless of whether such a ludicrous belief could be true, Edmund obviously bought into it. “Who is it?”
Edmund looked down and pressed a fist to his chest. “It doesn’t matter, they’ve never wanted me in the same way.” His voice was rough, these words forced out.
“Tell me.”
“It’s not important.”
Warren's vision darkened around the edges, his body was giving up. “Please, Edmund. I’m afraid I may be dying. Tell me who it is.”
“Dying? What?” Edmund shifted closer, leaning towards him, warm brown eyes met his. "How? Are you sure?"
Warren pressed. “Tell me who it is.” Begged even. "Please."
“You know?” Edmund’s breath hitched, his eyes widened.
“Tell me.”
The world closed in as Edmund whispered three words. “You. It’s you.”
----
Warren woke in a large, comfortable bed. He’d never slept in a bed with a canopy before. It swooped above him, an excess of blue fabric. He had no idea where he was. The raised voices that’d disturbed him continued their argument. He looked towards the loud dispute taking place beyond the slightly ajar door.
“I don’t care. He can’t stay here.” Sir Terence said. Gruff voice filled with rage. Typical really, Terence'd never liked him.
“He’s sick, and he has no one at that damp hovel he calls a lair.” Edmund argued for him, although he could have been less insulting. That voice though, he'd always liked it. Deep and rich, Warren'd always thought it unfair such an awful person should have the kind of sinful voice that swept through your whole body like a heated caress.
Taking a deep breath, Warren took stock of his situation. The heavy cuffs were gone, as were the cheap, coarse clothes. They’d dressed him in a soft cotton nightgown instead. Someone had cared enough to provide comfort while he'd been unconscious. Had the situation been reversed, he'd simply have tossed them in one of the spare rooms and given it no further thought.
“He reaps what he sows. It’s not our problem.”
“If he causes trouble, you can haul him back there. Otherwise, if he chooses to stay, we’ll make him feel welcome.”
The string of beads remained around his neck and was now accompanied by another set tied around his wrist. One of them probably the reason he felt better today. Idly running his fingers over the smooth surface of the beads, he looked around. The room was sumptuously decorated, in varying shades of blue. Blue curtains, blue bedding, blue sofa, blue walls, blue carpet. Everything. Blue.
“This won’t end well. Everything he does is malicious and spiteful. He’ll use your kindness against you.”
“I know. Believe me, I know. But I would still have him stay.”
He looked the other way, towards the door. The room also contained a wardrobe, a desk, and some more chairs. Large windows and a double door let bright sunlight stream in. The sweet scent of orange and cloves pleasant in the air. He felt welcome. It wasn't right, he was at the heart of his enemy's territory. He had time, he'd figure out Edmund's game.
“You’re going to get hurt. You know that. You know what he’s like.”
“No one’s irredeemable. Sometimes, we have to have faith.”
The door opened then, and Edmund came in, Terence's footsteps retreating. The same warm smile from the night before appeared. “You’re awake.”
“Why am I here?”
“You collapsed last night. Are you well enough to join me for lunch? That bracelet should help, and you can borrow any of the clothes.” He fidgeted with the cup in his hand and then held it out. Edmund’s nervous energy and rapid speech amused Warren. No doubt last night's little revelations had unnerved him. Good, it gave Warren an advantage.
He pushed himself up and took the cup, grateful for the water. “I feel alright, yes. I’ll join you.”
Edmund nodded, eyes lingering on Warren’s face for a moment. “Through that door when you’re ready.” He indicated behind. “And please... don’t remove the beads.” He made his way out, but not before another searching look ran over Warren.
Warren drank the water as he considered the situation. He’d inadvertently cursed himself. A foolish mistake, but he didn’t have much to live for, few friends and no family. His goal of hurting Edmund would come to fruition. He could be satisfied with that. And this was surely a much nicer place to spend his remaining months than his own drafty lair. But it was clear they neither trusted nor wanted him here. Did that matter, though? He’d have ringside seats to watch Edmund’s anguish as his health deteriorated, and his mere presence would put everyone else on edge.
Running the beads through his fingers, he could feel the divine energy from both sets winding through his body. So different to the arcane power he usually felt. Although uncomfortable, he could tolerate it. The greater loss was how the set round his neck cut off the access to his own power source. That absence created an ache deep within.
Picking through the wardrobe, he chose plain, dark clothes, close to his usual style. And then went through to the next room to meet Edmund. A small drawing room greeted him. Tidy bookshelves filled one wall, and an imposing desk sat in the corner of the room. In the centre a low table flanked by plush, velvet covered chairs. Edmund stood by the window, looking out over his estate. He turned, having heard Warren enter, posture stiff, “How are you?”
Warren took a seat by the table. An impressive spread before him: meat, bread, cheese, preserves, and a pot of tea. “Better, thank you.”
Edmund joined him, brow furrowed as he considered Warren. The question eventually asked was exactly as expected. “Are you really dying?”
“Unfortunately, yes. It’s a curse, you see. That’s how they work.” He thought being flippant might be the way to get a rise out of Edmund. And schooled his features to prevent any true emotion showing through.
“And there’s no way to remove it?” Of course he'd try to fix this, bloody goal orientated Paladins.
“No. I know the mage who cast it, he’s very good. On a par with me, one might say.”
Edmund’s eyebrows drew together. “Who is it? I could pay him a visit.” Typical Paladin solution, bullying and intimidation. Why try subtlety when you could just hit something with a great sword?
“That’s not necessary. What’s done is done.”
“But...” Edmund poured the tea, hands unsteady. “How long do you have?”
“I don’t expect to see out the summer.” The pot hit the table, dropped from Edmund’s slack hand. Tea sloshed across a plate of cheese. It'd looked nice as well that one, orange with flecks of some herb in it.
“Just a few short months?” Edmund sat back, head down. “I guess it really was never meant to be.” So dramatic, so overly expressive, he was so easy to read. Every emotion clear to see.
This was better than he’d hoped. Edmund was already so sad and defeated, and Warren had been here less than a day. This whole plan was coming together, and it would be just as glorious as he hoped. It didn't matter that he liked the way Edmund looked at him... and defended him... and was undeniably attractive... no, none of that mattered.
“I would like you to stay... here... you’d be welcome.” Edmund glanced at Warren and back down, his words a soft plea. “I would like the chance to get to know you better.”
“I accept.”
The look of shock on Edmund’s face was comical. Warren knew he was going to enjoy these last few months. Edmund was so honest and earnest, it was ridiculously easy to push his buttons. He ignored the surprise and continued eating, as though this whole conversation was entirely normal. In particular he squashed the flicker of warmth that settled in his heart at the request.
“Are you up for a walk after lunch? I could show you the grounds.”
“A fine idea. I look forward to it.” He threw Edmund a benign smile. Pleased when a wide one was returned. It was too easy. He’d reel Edmund in and leave him crushed in death.
They toured the grounds. Edmund told Warren all about the estate, the problems they faced and the people who lived there. He was surprisingly astute, his insights intriguing. The conversation was lively and far more interesting than Warren expected. Perhaps he'd occasionally been distracted by the sound of his voice, and the way he spoke with his hands, but that didn't mean anything. The hands he watched were large, strong and rough. An unbidden thought stole through his mind, hands like those could hold someone together with kindness and gentleness. They could ease the pain within.
Their meandering walk ended with Edmund’s pride and joy. A large walled garden behind the castle. He came alive as he discussed their plans for the year. Spring was just beginning and work was well underway. Soil was being turned over, small plants kept under glass watered and nurtured, and beds prepared. The end of the winter crops tossed into a pile to make compost. It looked efficient and well planned out.
As he noticed Warren grow tired, Edmund led them back inside. They joined the rest of the household for the evening meal. An uneasy tension remained throughout, Warren happily noting it centred on him and doing nothing to dispel it. Even Edmund's jovial nature couldn't alleviate their fear of him. When he retired to bed, he realised it’d been the best day he’d had in a long time.
Spring slipped by in the same manner, though their walks grew shorter as the curse ran its course. Eventually, his energy so diminished that sitting in a chair watching Edmund tend his garden was enough. A peaceful way to spend his days. And Edmund’s stories of his escapades were entertaining, particularly as Warren was often cause of them.
One particular day, Edmund knelt on the ground, planting some tiny herbs, when he got on to the story of the frost giant. “It took out half the village before we stopped it. Tricky things, they are.”
“Yes. I know it only got half of them. I only received half the agreed payment for it.”
Edmund paused. “You got paid for unleashing that thing on the world?”
“Not as much as I should have. But yes, most of my work is commissions.”
“Why would you take a commission like that? Don’t people come to you for good reasons?”
“The good ones are boring. Please give me a bountiful harvest. Please save my cat. Please heal my sick child. Boring. There’s no creativity required.”
“But you could do so much good...” His gaze turned speculative then. “Can you really improve my harvest?”
“Probably. I’d need my books and equipment. And you’d have to pay me. I’m not cheap.”
Edmund rolled his eyes and returned to the plants. “I think you’ve had plenty out of me over the last few weeks.”
“Negotiating, are we?” He grinned at Edmund.
“I’m pretty sure you’re in my debt right now.”
“Am I? You were gifted this estate off the back of my work. And your efforts reduced my income. I think it’s you who owes me for lost revenue.”
Edmund’s face lit up with the soft smile Warren liked best, as so often happened when he was charmed by something Warren said. “So you’re saying we’ve been working together all this time?”
“What? No. That’s not what I said. You owe me.”
“You did! You said you start something and I finish it. That sounds a lot like working together.”
“I did not. That’s not... nevermind.”
Edmund’s smile widened, and he picked up the next plant. “We’re a team.”
Warren shook his head. His plan to increase Edmund’s love for him continued apace. They fit together so well, as though they were two halves of a whole. Opposites that completed the other. It made it easy to elicit smiles and warm looks from Edmund.
He grew to know the rhythms of Edmund’s household. When they prayed in the evenings and on a Sunday. Saturday evenings of music and dancing in the great hall. Time put aside early in the mornings for training and drills with his men. The days when rent was due and Edmund complained bitterly about the ledgers.
After one excessive rant about a mistake he’d made, Warren decided enough was enough. “Bring me the ledger next time. I’ll do it.”
Edmund’s pacing back and forth in front of the fire ceased mid-step. “Do you know how?”
“Of course, I did my family’s ledger before... anyway, yes, I know how.”
“Before what?”
“Nothing. I’m good at it and you hate it. I’ll do it.” It didn’t occur to him, until after he’d said this, that he’d gone off plan. Making Edmund’s life easier wasn’t supposed to be part of it.
Edmund sat beside him on the sofa, where he reclined. “What happened to your family?”
“My family’s estate got caught in The New Dawn Holy War.” Memories of that night assaulted him, he blinked. He remembered the chaos and screams. Thick smoke, bitter on his tongue, shrouding everything, friends and enemies impossible to discern.
“I fought in that war.” Edmund reached out, gently brushing his thumb across Warren’s cheek, wiping the tears away.
Their eyes met. “I know.”
Edmund sat back, as though burned. A spark of realisation in his eyes.
“Everything was destroyed. We ran, and I never saw any of them again.”
“I’m so sorry. There was loss all round.” Edmund’s eyes dropped, his fingers running back and forth across the raised edge of a cushion. Warren soaked up the apology and then revelled in the sorrow on display. It didn’t change what happened, but after all the years he’d been pursuing vengeance, it went some way towards soothing his soul.
They didn’t talk of the war again. And Warren took over the ledger, his beautiful penmanship standing out against Edmund’s messy work. He knew it would forever remind Edmund of these few months, so taking over this chore wasn’t a complete waste.
The household gradually got used to his presence. Most of them gave him a cordial greeting, a few were even enthusiastic. He found it odd. But, he supposed, not having his power, and looking weak and sick, eroded his Evil Mage image. Being intimidating when you might fall over at any moment was a challenge.
As summer arrived, the days lengthened, and Warren’s health deteriorated. Everything hurt. Breathing was difficult, eating a chore. Leaving his room became a rarity. Even the balcony proved beyond his reach. It became something of a countdown. Edmund beside him, pleading with him to hold on just a couple more weeks, only a few more days.
He’d expected Edmund to pass his care off onto the servants now he stayed in bed. But Edmund remained beside him as much as he could. This evening he’d chosen a book, sat on the other side of the bed and begun reading aloud. Warren listened, letting the words wash over him. He rolled closer, it took all his strength to throw his arm over Edmund’s thigh.
Edmund lowered the book and gently stroked Warren’s hair. It was nice, being cared for like this. A whole new experience.
“Hold me?” Warren asked. Voice raspy, he thought Edmund hadn’t heard, or perhaps didn’t want to. The weight loss and pale, grey skin made him feel unattractive. But then, Edmund got up, stripped down to his undergarments and slid under the covers.
Edmund’s firm hands pulled Warren close. His head rested on Edmund’s shoulder. He should have lured Edmund into bed sooner, really given him some memories he’d never forget.
“Comfortable?” Edmund asked.
“Yes. Thank you.”
Edmund retrieved the book, his deep voice lulling Warren to sleep. A warm, safe feeling created by the circle of Edmund’s arms. Every evening thereafter spent in the same way, Warren both relishing how this felt and being appalled at his own needy behaviour.
As the days grew longer, and the end was nearing, his body started to give up. Edmund at his side all the time.
“Please, Warren, stay with me. A few more hours and then you can relax.” Edmund’s voice sounded far away. He dimly felt Edmund washing his body. His mind was sluggish and cloudy. Consciousness came and went.
Wrapped only in a soft woollen blanket, Edmund lifted him from the bed. He cracked his eyes open, rested his head against Edmund’s bare chest, and watched as they travelled through the house and out onto the lawn.
The heat of the day stored in the ground, soaked up into him where Edmund laid him. The sun was setting, an orange glow cast over the circle of people surrounding them. Several fires were lit. A drum beat, dancing, chanting.
Edmund knelt beside him, pulled his arm out from under the blanket, and gripped his hand. “Soon, my love.”
Warren had expected wailing, crying, pleading, begging, not this peaceful, serene expression Edmund bestowed on him. This wasn’t what he’d hoped for. “What?” A single croaked word.
“It’s the solstice. We honour our Gods.”
The chanting increased in volume as the dancing became freer and wilder. Complex already, the drumbeat grew more sophisticated as the night dragged on, a deep thumping cadence. Circling figures wore a mix of clothing, a few wore almost nothing. Some dressed as Edmund, trousers and little else. And a final set donned long, flowing clothes that floated as they danced.
Disappointment threaded through Warren. He didn’t know what Edmund meant by honouring his gods. At the centre of this circle, it almost felt like he was about to become a sacrifice. He wouldn’t be at all surprised if that’s what was required by the gods.
Darkness set in, and Edmund looked down at him. His eyes glowed golden, reflecting the light from the fires around them. Edmund had somehow completely undermined the plan. The finale envisaged not this tender, heartfelt moment, in which Edmund looked at him like he was the most important, most desirable person in the world.
The moon and stars were bright overhead as he smiled at Warren. “I love you.” Edmund brushed the hair back from Warren’s face. “I’ll love you until the end of time.” The lightest of kisses pressed to his forehead.
Incense drifted through the circle, rich and earthy as he tried to understand where it’d gone wrong. Where was the pain and suffering?
Edmund looked up and drew in a deep breath before meeting his eyes again. “Now, it’s time. You can go now.”
Edmund’s hands were strong and warm against his skin. One still gripped his hand, the other rested on his shoulder. A small pulse of divine energy and his heart stuttered to a stop. One final breath as he stared up into Edmund’s golden eyes. This last moment hung between them, timeless on the cusp between life and death.
Darkness.
A void.
The song of the divine.
Sacrifices and promises.
The will of the Gods.
----
Warren woke in a large, comfortable bed, one he was very familiar with. The canopy above examined over the last month when he’d barely had the energy to move. It was quiet, the air hot and humid. Heat from the sun poured in through the windows, the slight breeze coming through the open balcony doors doing nothing.
The absence of pain was a welcome relief, and he could breathe easily. Confused, he lifted his hands, strength flowed through his muscles. His skin looked healthy. But, on his right hand, where Edmund had gripped it the night before, a complex design. Interwoven vines and leaves etched across his palm, over his thumb, and crept onto the back of his hand.
He threw the covers aside and went to stand at the mirror. His whole body was restored. Strong, whole and healthy. Perhaps even in better shape than he’d ever been. He turned to see his right shoulder. A similar design, vines and leaves twisting out towards his neck and a short way down his arm. He ran his hand over the lines, and as he focused on them he felt a small pull towards the door. He knew, in his heart, that pull was towards Edmund.
It didn’t matter. He ripped off all the beads, sending them scattering across the room. His power roared back to life within him. Choosing some of the nicer clothes available, he dressed and made his way out. There was no need to stay here anymore.
Terence stood at the main door. Things had thawed between them and with an amiable smile, he greeted Warren. “Afternoon. You look well.”
“Yes, indeed. And now I’m leaving.”
The smile disappeared. Terence planted himself in front of the door, arms folded. “Have you seen Lord Edmund? Does he know you’re leaving?”
“No. And it’s not his concern. Stand aside.”
“Warren... after last night... you’re not even going to say goodbye?”
“Is my horse still in the stables?” Warren summoned his power, letting it flow out onto his hand. Tiny flames dancing through his fingers. Sparks crackling outward.
Terence eyed the flames and took a step to the side. “You really are a cold-hearted bastard.”
Warren brushed past and was soon riding away. Back to his life. First, though, he called on Rose.
“I thought you’d be dead by now.” Her welcome left something to be desired.
“I’m not that easy to kill.” He smirked. “I need you to check if any of the curse remains.”
“Fine. But this time you pay.”
“Very well. I’ll have the gold sent when I get home.”
He followed her inside. A rich botanical smell greeted him, bundles of herbs hung, drying, above them. Taking a seat at her kitchen table, he watched her work. Steps he was familiar with, carried out with competence and grace.
“The curse is gone. I can find no trace of it, but...”
“But what?”
“You’ve been touched by the gods. All down your right arm, there’s divine energy. And your life force is different somehow. What did you do?” Her intense gaze flitted over him, brows furrowed.
“I had some help. Tricked a Paladin into removing it.”
“Well, looks like you’re tied to them now.” She looked off into the distance, in the same direction Edmund was in. “There’s a faint thread leading off that way.” She waved her hand the same way she was looking, before focusing back on Warren.
“A small price to pay.”
Her eyebrows rose at this. “Whatever you say.”
Taking his leave, he headed back to his lair. Rauf was long gone, other work sought in Warren’s absence. He’d have to hire a new servant from the village. All his wards were intact, everything exactly as he’d left it. The tug towards Edmund prickled down his arm, the sensation had grown stronger the further he’d come. It was fine. He’d ignore it.
His life settled back to how it’d always been. His new servant, Maisie, was a much better cook than Rauf, but it wasn’t the same as the food Edmund provided. And he missed the conversation. He even missed being part of the community of Edmund’s household. No. What was he thinking? He didn’t miss any of that.
Autumn passed, he actually made some repairs to his lair. But it remained cold, lonely and drafty. Maisie kept the place clean and tidy, but it was void of the life and joy ever present at Edmund’s home. She didn’t chop firewood either.
Winter brought with it freezing temperatures and frost. Isolation bore down on him in a way he’d never experienced before. It was worse to have experienced companionship and lost it, than to not know what it felt like to be cared for by someone you loved. Hated. And never wanted to see again.
Yuletide approached. He could think of no one he wanted to gift this year. The day came and went. A tradition finally ended. Which was what he wanted. No more wicker baskets filled with rich, sumptuous food. This was good.
He was outside, chopping wood, down to his shirt, the prickling sensation in his arm aggravating him. It’d grown worse the previous day, Yuletide strengthening the thread that bound him. He threw down the axe, looked up into the overcast, grey sky and shouted, “What do you want from me?”
He didn’t believe, but he was tired of this endless pull. A gust of wind on an otherwise still day carried whispered words. “Return to your soulmate.”
He looked around, he was losing his mind. No one was near, he’d given Maisie a couple of days off. It was a trick, he was tired and lonely, that’s all. But, maybe, perhaps, he could visit Edmund. See how he was, spend a day or so chatting with him.
He didn’t think too hard about it, and soon found himself knocking on the huge wooden door. The peephole opened. “Warren. Go home. There’s nothing here for you.” The peephole closed.
The temptation to burn the door down was strong, but he knocked again. And again. And again.
The peephole opened, Terence’s voice came through. “Step back, away from the door. You know how this goes.”
He sighed and wandered out into the courtyard, he’d lost all the goodwill he’d gained before. The battlements filled, chanting dampened his power and crossbows were trained on him.
Terence appeared, he held his hands out to the sides and sidled up to Warren, stopping a couple of feet away. “Why are you here?”
“I want to see Lord Edmund.”
“He’s not been himself since that day, he’s not taking visitors.”
“Why? What’s wrong?”
“If you’d bothered to see him before you left, you’d know.” Terence glared at him, but kept his open, non-threatening stance.
“Maybe I can help?” He had no idea why he’d offered this, but it felt right.
Terence cocked his head, eyes narrowed. “Maybe you can. But our conditions stand, as before. I don’t trust you and I’m not risking everyone here.” He took a few steps back and beckoned forward one of his guards. The man carried a bundle of clothing, a set of hand cuffs and a string of beads.
He complied, desperate to see Edmund, the pull impossible to resist. They led him to a small chapel, frescoes covered the walls with nature scenes, and an altar dominated the space. A vivid splash of colour caught his eye, a basket of beads by the altar. Candles and incense burned. The door closed behind him and he looked at the man kneeling on a cushion, head bowed.
“Edmund?”
Edmund stood and turned towards him, revealing a concerning transformation. He looked so different, with dark circles beneath his eyes and noticeable weight loss. However, what caught Warren’s attention the most were his once intelligent brown eyes, now vacant but glowing gold. Intrigued, Warren moved closer and couldn’t help but ask, “Your eyes...”
Edmund briefly focused on him. “I passed the test.” The words were emotionless. His mind elsewhere.
It reminded Warren of when he’d first unlocked his own power. “Edmund? I need you to focus for a minute.” He waited for the glowing eyes to meet his own again. “Can you find the source of power within yourself?” Furrowed brows and a single, hesitant, nod. “Good, now visualise turning it down, containing it, walling it off, anything that reduces the flow.”
He pulled at the cuffs, this would be a lot easier with access to his own power and use of his hands. As he watched, the gold receded and Edmund resurfaced.
“Warren?” Edmund exhaled, his voice rough. “I watched you die. I watched you walk away.”
“I came back.” Warren said. And then his heart sunk. Instead of the expected smile, Edmund’s features were down-turned and his eyes wet.
Edmund’s brows pulled down as he reached towards Warren. When his hand landed on Warren’s shoulder, his breath caught. “You’re really here.”
Around them tendrils of incense curled in the air, the resinous, woody scent taking him back to that night. He wanted Edmund to look at him like that again. Edmund’s eyes slid shut and tears overflowed. Warren wrenched at the cuffs, some long buried instinct surfaced, a desire to pull Edmund close and soothe the pain he’d caused.
“Can we go upstairs?” He didn’t like this chapel, there was a sense of expectation in the air. A chill of unease trickling down his spine with the feeling they were being watched.
Edmund nodded and scrubbed at his face. “I’ll send for tea.”
Warren rolled his eyes, but refrained from pointing out he couldn’t drink tea with his hands bound.
Terence’s eyes darted between them both as they stepped back out, and he squeezed Warren’s shoulder before they followed Edmund through the house. Guards trailing behind. They entered the small sitting room upstairs, and servants bustled in, setting down the tea, and a plate of crumbly biscuits.
Edmund went to the window and looked out. Warren waited until they were alone again.
The fire popped and crackled as Warren padded across the room. “Edmund, I-”
“What do you want this time? Have you cursed me again?”
Warren’s chest tightened. “No. I wouldn’t. I haven’t... you knew?”
“Yes. I knew.” He looked at Warren, the tightness around his eyes matched his clenched fists. “I knew I had to watch you die. The Gods confirmed it.”
“But... I lived.”
“Yes.” He looked back out, through the window. “And I don’t have the energy for whatever cruelty you plan this time. Please leave.”
Warren swallowed. “I don’t want to leave.”
“What do you want then?” He continued to stare out, over the frost covered trees.
Warren didn’t know what to say. The words stuck somewhere between his heart and his mouth. “I don’t want to leave.”
“You already said that.” Angry glowing eyes turned on him, he stepped back, too late. Edmund gripped his shoulders, divine power unleashed. A torrent flowed through them both. “Tell me the truth. Why are you here?”
It hurt. A cold burning sensation. Compelled to answer, words poured forth. “I love you. I want to stay here, with you. This is where I belong.” No. No. That’s not what he wanted to say.
Edmund’s mouth dropped open, he staggered back, the gold disappeared again. But the divine power remained. It lingered. Chaotic, it hurt. It burned.
“Edmund. Uncuff me.” He fell to his knees with a grunt. “It hurts. Please.” He gasped, trying to breathe through it. “Edmund...” A cold sweat broke out across his body.
And then Edmund was kneeling behind him, cuffs falling away. Warren lifted the beads off and let his own arcane power rinse away that which Edmund left.
He stood and glared at Edmund. “Don’t ever do that to me again.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t know... I can’t... I’m sorry.”
Warren took in the slumped posture, and how he’d wrapped his arms around himself. “You have no control over it?”
Edmund shook his head and went to sit, head in hands.
Warren joined him. “What was the test?” He needed to understand what was going on if he was going to help.
“I watched you die... and sacrificed myself to save you. The Gods showed me how you’d leave, that either way, I was going to lose you, but I did it anyway. It was enough. I’m truly a Paladin now.” He remained bent forward, so Warren placed a tentative hand on his back.
“I don’t understand. If you sacrificed yourself, how are you still alive?”
“In that moment, between life and death, I gave you my life force. The curse was fulfilled when your heart stopped.” His voice broke, and a shiver ran through him. “The Gods recognised my sacrifice, and unlocked my power... and then, just as the vision, you left… I saw how I didn’t…” A ragged breath. “I didn’t matter to you.”
Through the thickness in his throat, he pushed out. “Why? Why would you do that?”
“Many reasons.” Warren remained quiet as Edmund spoke soft and hesitant. “Soulmates aren’t chosen at random. The Gods picked you for a reason. I wanted you to live. I knew you’d be ok without me… but I didn’t want to live without…” The rest disappeared into ragged breaths as Edmund curled in tighter.
This was what he’d wanted. Here was the pain, the suffering, the grief and anguish. Except. He didn’t like it. He didn’t like how this made him feel. Edmund had subverted his intent, snatched away his victory.
He sighed. “You do matter to me. I came back and I’m not leaving again.” He ran his hand up and down Edmund’s back, waiting for the tension to ease. “Look at me.”
Edmund sat back, his eyes were glowing again, now red ringed and puffy.
“You’re like a new mage. Focus again, push it back.” He couldn’t help but smile, and reached forward to pour the tea, trying to hide his expression.
The gold began to recede as Edmund gazed at him.
“It’s been six months. How do you not have control of it?”
Edmund shrugged. “It was easier not to. I didn’t want to... There was nothing...”
“It’s not that hard to keep it contained.”
As the warm brown returned in full, arms folded, petulant. “Your eyes don’t glow.”
Warren flexed his power, knowing his green would be replaced by an icy blue glow.
Edmund’s eyes widened and he reached out, trailing his fingers down Warren’s face. “Can you teach me?”
“The source is different, but I imagine the principle is the same. You need to practise.”
Warren picked up the beads and channelled his power. Arcane blue flames licked over the beads, divine golden ones shifting and writhing as energy discharged. The blue skittered around the vines and leaves on his palm as Edmund watched, rapt. And then he placed his own hand on top. The gold flames grew bigger. Their hands surrounded by flickering blue and gold.
“I wonder which is stronger. We have so many experiments to conduct.” Warren pondered the flames, another thought occurred. “If we could combine both sources, we’d be invincible!”
“I’ve heard about your experiments.” A wry observation beside him.
“And what’s that mean?” His attention remained on the flames.
“It means, I’d prefer you not blast holes in our home. We have plenty of out buildings. Use one of them.”
It took a moment for the words to register but then, the blue flared and disappeared in a hiss of bright sparks. Warren stared at Edmund. “Our home?”
“Well, you said you were staying... so...” Finally, the smile was there.
“You want me to stay?” His breath caught.
“Was sacrificing myself not enough for you to see how much I love you? Of course I want you to stay.”
Home. He had a home again. He felt himself grinning stupidly at Edmund, but found he couldn’t stop it. Evil Mages did not grin stupidly, Edmund really brought out the worst in him.
“It would be good if you could refrain from terrorising our staff. And if you’d take over the estate management again.”
“As long as they stop insisting I undress before entering, I’ll try not to scare them.”
“Good enough.” Edmund returned the grin.
Everything felt right. Unexpectedly right. He had a home, and a lover. Although, he supposed, he might have to take fewer evil commissions. It was worth it though. He might even look into ways to boost Edmund’s harvest, particularly if he could be persuaded to grow useful spell ingredients.
But how was one supposed to be taken seriously as an Evil Mage with a Paladin lover? Maybe he could sully Edmund’s reputation somehow, that would be a great deal more preferable than improving his own. So many possibilities opened up before him. He’d have to be vigilant for divine meddling though. Not that he believed in Edmund’s stupid gods, but there was definitely something off about that chapel.
Edmund sipped the tea Warren handed to him, he looked relaxed and happy again. His soulmate. His love. His home.