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Captain Dainsleif.
He is a figure known widely throughout Khaenri’ah.
People who have managed to catch a glimpse of the man have something like a subconscious admiration, feel envy, or are of the privileged few to know him decently.
Though, there is something many can agree on...
...He is a man who can be oblivious to the fact he is so happened to be ‘popular’ in the sense as a person many would want a chance to romantically be with.
The blond-haired male takes notice of the fact that there is a certain “branch” of Khaenri’ah military that the Black Serpent Knights are scheduled to practice joint drills with.
Led by the esteemed Commander Thrain.
It’s bound to be an interesting time...though, unbeknownst to him, his fellow Royal Knights currently so happen to be making bets.
Of what kind? Well...
“It’s a done deal. Dain would finish off Thrain if they had to come to blows in a battle to the death.”
“Are you certain? Those military expeditions may make him even more formidable than our Captain. No disrespect.”
“...Captain Dainsleif has no equal.”
“At least I’m no simp. But, I’m no traitor either. I’d say it’d come to a brawl!”
Halfdan frowns as he enters the barracks and puts his hands on his hips. “Why is everyone suddenly gossiping like this?”
One Knight sighs and replies, “C’mon, just because you are second-in-command doesn’t mean you have to be so strict!”
“Yeah, what she said!”
Surtalogi immediately turns away like he so happened to not be engaged in this nonsense, expression cold, and exhibiting all signs of “I have no part in this, so don’t loop me in with them”.
Halfdan’s expression looks just tired and like he aged 500 years.
But then he says, “...Personally, I think the contest is moot, because neither of them would fight each other in a life or death battle.”
Groans resounded throughout the room, but Halfdan smiles slightly. If people are debating things so easily, then peace is surely bound to be everlasting even in the hard times of this kingdom.
...If only that were true.
...
Dainsleif scowls at another rejection of Surtalogi’s promotion within the Knights.
He knows the man stated that it didn’t matter and that all which mattered is the fact he could stand by him regardless, but it still stung.
Not that Halfdan wasn’t competent, but Khaenri’ah so happened to be a large kingdom. The elite group of Knights meant that there were still a sizable amount and ranks. Including a slight division in who belonged to which head of knights — some even closer to the King himself.
Still...
In the end, he hoped to have his best friend in the closest rank to his — not because of nepotism, but due to the fact Surtalogi was intelligent. People presumed he could be the type to be all brawn or otherwise someone who lacked a heart of chivalry. But, despite his situation, he cherished knightly virtues more than anyone — and despite what Haden had done to him, curse that man’s souls.
But, before he can go to present his objections to any official forum or capacity as the current Captain, the blond knows that he should be gathering his knights to properly coordinate the meeting with the Commander named Thrain.
In all honesty, Dainsleif can’t consider himself to be in a good mood, but he forced a light-hearted, yet professional disposition unto himself. He refused to drag down anyone or be anything like a burden.
Fortunately, when he gathers the others and leads them to the designated building chosen for the combined drills, everyone is all in order.
He meets the Commander — a man who stands at an imposing height, even over the blond, with long black hair, with eyes the color of a pristine, dark blue lake.
“Commander,” Dainsleif greets respectfully, and the tall man does so very much the same, hand enclosing into a fist to rest against his breast.
“Captain Dainsleif.”
Dainsleif nods, and then steps forward, saying, “I was considering we can go ahead and perform a couple of exercises, such as...”
...
It turns out that the plan involved time both inside the building and out. An equal amount of movements from each leader’s typical routine, but also ones in which skill was put to test against each man.
This did include Dainsleif and Thrain, whose match ended in a draw.
With each subsequently ending it with a mutual sheathing of their blades, Dainsleif smiles lightly, saying, “I believe we’ve fulfilled our duties today. It was an honor being able to collaborate with you; though, now it’s best for us to part ways until we have the opportunity to cross paths once more.”
“You seem in a hurry.”
Red begins to flood the blond’s face and he quickly begins to turn away. “I am. There are just...matters I need attending to!”
“Hold,” Thrain means to offer as a suggestion, though out of habit it comes out like a command, and Dainsleif turns towards him, frowning. But, before he realizes it, a hand cups the right side of his face, and a thumb carefully seems to stroke against his cheek.
“Wha—”
The taller male seems hardly phased when he pulls back, saying, “You had a petal stuck to your cheek. I thought it would be more convenient if I took care of it.”
Then, nodding like he’s satisfied, he turns and walks away. But, Dainsleif is still standing there, face turning slightly red as a hand reaches up to touch his own cheek. Inconceivable as it may be, given that Khaenri’ah happens to be underground, trees and plantlife exist underneath as well, so his comment happened to be versed in truth.
Or, it may very well have been an excuse.
...
Halfdan blinks as he seems to be holding something like flowers in his hands.
Unavoidable because it was delivered by a messenger for the “Knight Captain”. When he gives it to Dainsleif, the man looks suitably embarrassed as he sees the name. “...From Thrain? I am uncertain what I did to catch his fancy.”
With all due respect, you are uncertain of what you did to catch the fancy of your current fanclub, Halfdan thinks with no small amount of fond exasperation. But, he can’t say he doesn’t feel protective of him.
The blond is willing to do what it takes to do his duty. Though in some respects, it makes him worry about relations outside of his role.
Thoughts running through his head happen to be that he expects the man to hardly be interested...but those halt when he sees Dainsleif take a whiff of the nightingale flowers. The man’s face is even redder and he brings them close to himself.
“It...was so thoughtful of him, wasn’t it?”
Dainsleif smiles shyly, looking at Halfdan, saying, “It could not have been easy to procure these, and yet...”
Halfdan can’t even say a single word. But, he did think, Oh, he has it quite bad.
...
If Surtalogi has to hear any such nonsense from Halfdan about his worries surrounding that Commander, he will sincerely combust.
He has no such interest in dalliances or failed appeals for love.
What matters most in his life is achieving the standard of knighthood Haden believes him incapable of — though not certainly out of pure spite. Rather, because he wants to. He truly believes in chivalry.
And in order to enforce such righteous codes, one cannot be lacking in power.
That being said, he does care for Dainsleif. The man is a good friend of his and always stood up for him — for what is right.
He has his deep respect.
Which is why Surtalogi is absolutely not considering the idea of challenging Commander Thrain to prove his worthiness.
It is simply a fact that he would need to weigh his power against other strong individuals in his life.
That is all.
He scowls when he sees Dainsleif rush in and start to excitedly exclaim that he has been invited on a date, throwing out the name with a gush of liveliness that speaks to his nature.
...Perhaps he can add an additional reason for that challenge after all.
Not that he doesn’t think the man can take care of himself — only that he knows people can resort to the lowest of the low when a man is on his knees, vulnerable, and bared, without any weapon to protect him.
...
Thrain believes that the man he witnessed before him, determined and bright, lit up a fire within his breast that can hardly be contained.
Focusing on his own duties is a simple matter, having mastered the art of compartmentalization and taken to heart to ensure that everything is well within the kingdom. Signs of which foretell there are fractures from the dwindling of supplies — though, certainly none so dangerous as of yet, but notable nonetheless.
Regardless, Thrain understands that uncertainty is a beast that will remain forever untamed; that to not act in certain respects speaks to cowardice rather than pragmatism. In this, one can say it is all the more true for matters of the heart.
Something of which he once imagined he had no interest in.
But those bright blue eyes and that soft, heroic face speaks to so much more. He only wishes for the opportunity to hold his hand, to guide him across one of the ballroom floors, and hold him close.
Thrain takes advantage of the scant free time he has never used for his own personal needs in order to conduct such obvious overtures, not leaving anything to chance; not obscuring his intent.
To his surprise, he sees that the man is receptive, given the letter he sends — far too busy with his own duties for the week — and smiles to himself when the day for the date is agreed upon.
He pushes aside some other apparent unimportant letters to the side. Thrain receives requests for challenges on the regular, so the new one that popped in will need to wait.
Picking out the place for the outing between himself and Dainsleif is more or less a simple matter. Though not much grows in Khaenri’ah that can be consumed these days, there are still places where bioluminescence makes for an ideal place for two figures to converge with one another.
Fast forward some weeks on a day where neither of their schedules held conflict, Thrain simply awaits the arrival of the blond.
Dainsleif arrives, dressed in light attire, but it is littered with as much fancy aspects as he can think to without it being ostentatious. Sleeves are long, though decorated. The symbol of the Khaenri’ah nation etched on the front of it, and the cloth thin, showing off the blond’s figure unintentionally. Thrain observes that the man is shorter than him — a matter of fact given the Knight Commander stands over so tall — and even his figure is slight, with a perfect waist for him to encircle arms around.
“I have awaited your arrival. I see you have dressed well. Every single article accentuates your remarkable appearance, giving way to indications of a strength befitting a fellow knight,” Thrain speaks formally, yet with not a single ounce of lacking in measured praise, and the blond blushes upon hearing so.
Dainsleif’s eyes are focused on Thrain who appears also well-dressed. His colors are similarly light, though with purples instead of blues, and his hair is even pinned up with a decorative hair ornament. His eyes remind him of a pool of lake, and his hair like the false star ocean that hangs above them. He wishes to run his fingers through those stands, and reaches out at the same time Thrain’s arms encircle the blond’s waist, bringing him ever closer.
The blond responds, eagerly, and with a bright, easy smile, “I hope to continue to remain worthy of your praise. I can see that you are not lacking in form even off the battlefield, given your careful approach.”
Thrain hums as he plants a daring kiss atop that slightly messy blond head of hair. He may be a serious man, but he knows better than to waste time, given his current occupation. Dainsleif in the meanwhile leans his head against the broad chest, and feels those hands press gently into his back, until they rest at his hips.
The Twilight Sword feels his face hot-red at this point. “I had no clue the Captain of the Royal Knights could be so considerate in his praise towards loved ones. It seems I have not erred in courting you before any other.”
“Are you trying to embarrass me to an early grave?”
“Hmph. I am trying to be serious.”
Dainsleif’s lips turn upwards into an amused smile, looking up at the black haired man. “Am I your first?”
Thrain clears his throat and asks, “And what makes you ask this?”
“You still have yet to answer properly,” The blond teases, and Thrain sighs. Though, notably with no hint of exasperation.
Sensing weakness, Dain prods, “Well?”
Thrain is glad that his choice in partner is not anywhere near a coward. He brings one hand up so that fingers can slide underneath that chin, tilting Dainsleif’s head up. He replies, “You are my first.”
And my last, The Commander thinks, pressing his lips against Dainsleif’s.
Once the kiss begins, Thrain allows himself to press the Knight Captain against a nearby tree.
A life is ever fleeting,
Appearing as a sea of lights,
And a distant yet near time,
That will dissipate in a flash.
Dainsleif throws his hands over Thrain’s shoulders as the passionate moment between them lingers, until the taller man pulls back. He asks, “Why did you become a knight?”
“I wanted to protect the people,” Dainsleif replies immediately.
Then, the blond asks in turn, “What do you think of chivalry?”
“It is a noble concept. Many of our brethren who serve make certain to heed it.”
Dainsleif’s eyes flicker down as he replies, “...Not all.”
“Hm?”
“Not all,” Comes the restated reply, albeit quieter. But, one each of their hands find each other’s, and fingers intertwine, allowing a knowing silence to come over the both of them as Thrain responds.
The words settle coolly over Dainsleif, but he allows themselves to sit comfortably in his heart nonetheless.
A declaration of an eternal promise. And for the two who live lives that can turn fraught at any moment, no hesitation was shown. But, all did not go so seamless in their entanglement with one another.
...
“For how long will you toil in your cowardice?”
Thrain’s silent stroll through Khaenri’ah’s distant streets catches the attention of a lurker who peels away from the shadows as if melded to the Abyss.
He turns towards the figure, standing tall and foreboding. His expression and appearance marks evidence of a hard life, lips set together to add to the grim countenance. Thrain recognizes the man easily and asks, “And what makes you believe you have any right to ask so?”
Surtalogi has a daring enough face and personality to slam down his blade right before them, hand clutching tight onto the handle. “Your refusal to face myself in combat.”
“Why would you want to cross blades?”
“Do I need a reason for a coward like yourself?”
Thrain scoffs at this. It is not wholly unusual for him to cross blades with other knights or train, but there is a blatant disrespect he has no interest in abiding. He replies coldly, “I have no time to waste on a man so enticed with the drink of conceit that he has become drunk on arrogance.”
“How long until you do as you please and have your fill with the Knight Captain?”
Thrain’s expression grows dark, and he draws his blade.
...
Dainsleif frowns intensely as he is folding his arms, standing before Surtalogi, and the man is busy being patched up by healers. He says, “I heard of what you did.”
Surtalogi is not looking at him.
The blond sighs. “Commander Thrain is a good man. He would not carelessly abuse my heart and leave me at a loss.”
“Not everyone you meet is a good person. Bear in mind that even the most accomplished can be led astray and abandon those they love in a heartbeat,” The man sullenly replies, right as one of the healers tightens one of the bandages, and he grunts.
“He cares for me, and I hope you understand that. Please, don’t bother him anymore.”
Surtalogi frowns, and Dainsleif sighs again. “Surtr...”
“...Fine,” The other male gruffly responds and Dainsleif smiles softly.
“Thank you for looking out for me.”
Surtalogi responds, “As the only one who gives a damn about my own existence, I may as well or be damned for it.”
“Fortunately, I know that won’t happen,” Dainsleif replies, certain of that.
Even though he could not foresee what could happen, Dainsleif believed that he would be his friend for ages, that his lover would live in this land until the day they grow old.
Proof of this indelible fact existed in his hand; instead, he had something that would last lifetimes. A locket with Thrain’s image.
And in Thrain’s, he had a locket with an image of Dainsleif’s.
A bridge to the past, of a time where the stars hung in the sky, and had not yet collapsed upon itself.