Archive of Our Own

D3rlord3’s friends called him Derek, or at least they would if he had any friends.

He didn’t have any friends, but it was nice to imagine having them. He hated his full name, hated how it sounded and how it was written and how it presented him. Derek was much more accurate, in his opinion, but nobody cared about his opinion. His name was occasionally shortened to just ‘d3rlord’ if convenience demanded it, but that didn’t feel like him either. Then again, he wasn’t entirely sure who he was, or how Derek was the best representation of that person. He just knew, his mind telling him the fact with such confidence he couldn’t help but believe it was true. When he figured himself out, perhaps he could finally understand why, but he didn’t mind waiting for that realisation. It would come with patience and time, as all things did.

What did Derek know about himself? He knew that his name was Derek, and that he was a knight. The knight. The most important one in the kingdom according to his king. He didn’t doubt that - his king never lied, after all - but he was surprised by it. He was smart, certainly, and fairly skilled in combat, but he was sure the other soldiers were just as competent if not more. When he finally met one, he’d have to see for himself. Until he met one, he’d continue taking the compliment with the expected decorum. He’d been in the position for a while (exact dates eluded him, but it had been time) so perhaps it was the seniority that had gotten him the position.

His role came with a plethora of duties that ranged from mundane to exciting, easy to difficult, praiseworthy to mediocre. He ensured they were all tackled with the vigour and designs king wanted and deserved, but sometimes he wished he’d be able to do something outside of the castle. All of his tasks were very much inwardly focused, and the only times he saw other people were when he was guarding his king at ceremonies (in which he was not permitted to speak) or when he drew up negotiations with diplomats (who had no interest in talking to him anyway).

It was a rather lonely existence, but Derek learned to appreciate it. He had his king, and that was all he really needed. His loyalty and determination were his friends, and they carried him through sleepless nights and days where he didn’t want to get out of bed and mornings eating alone. The weight of it was a constant presence, pressing down on his chest demanding until his breath caught. He fought it off with armour and work and imagining that there were people beside him. He’d long grown out of the age at which it was acceptable to have imaginary friends, but so long as nobody knew he had them…

It couldn’t hurt.

It wasn’t hurting. Derek was still able to serve his king in a satisfactory way, and that was all that mattered. His king was the centerpiece of his life, the sun around which everything Derek was orbited. He owed everything to his king, and he gave everything in return, doing everything required to make himself useful and help the kingdom prosper. That was all that mattered. That was what he needed. He didn’t need friends or hobbies or family. He just needed to be as good as possible, to tie the line so he could receive attention from the only person in the world who he needed it from.

He was sure there must have once been someone else who filled that space to him. He must have had a mother and a father, may have even had siblings, but he’d never know. He didn’t need to know. Everyone had a past, and the king didn’t tolerate children, so Derek knew he must have come from somewhere, but he knew nothing more. He wanted to know more, but he didn’t do things that wasted time. If it wasn’t to benefit his king, he didn’t bother.

He had memories, but they were missing, locked away in a box buried deep inside his mind. He assumed he’d blocked them out due to some kind of trauma response, and he thus wasn't too keen to go looking. He’d asked his king about his past once (because the king knew everything), and his king had immediately soured, telling him it was irrelevant. Deeek had been rather frightened by what the question did to his benevolent king, and he had dropped the topic immediately, pain flaring at the base of his skull. And then everything had gone back to normal, and Derek had given up on the idea of recovering his memories.

He didn’t need them anyway. Why on earth would he require past memories that would not help him serve his purpose? That would only slow him down, clog his mind with useless knowledge?

Because he missed them. Their absence was a physical weight in his chest, pressing down on him, coupling with the loneliness to create a burden only the king’s most perfect knight could bear. He wanted to know, to remember, to imagine another person who had actually once been real.

But he couldn’t, and his king wasn’t going to help. So it was a lost cause, and he forced himself to forget about it. It was taking up valuable headspace.

Derek was effective at his job without the memories. He was good at what he did, days and skilled and talented, easily outmatching the other soldiers according to his king. His king apparently didn’t want Derek meeting them for fear of them dulling his sharp mind; that seemed odd to him, but his king knew best and he was not at liberty to question. His job was to obey. And so he obeyed.

Derek didn’t need a past or a future. He didn’t need memories or imaginary friends or conversations with anyone new. He only needed his king. His king was his saviour, his god and his devil. His king was the bread he ate and the water he drank, and his king was his reckoning. Everything Derek had could be taken from him, but his king was cruelly merciful, and thus it wasn’t. All he had to do in return was trust his king, believe in him with unwavering loyalty. He had to serve his king, and then his king would save him. He had to never question his king, lest his station in life be questioned in return.

Why would he want to? Why would he ever want to question or misbehave, to stray from the light of his king when he had everything he needed and wanted? His king was providing everything for him, and Derek wished he could be good enough to deserve it. But he was into a man, and this had to settle for doing his best. His best was never quite enough. He was only a man.

His king was a god in his eyes, an ethereal deity beyond his comprehension. He could never match up to the omniscience, the benevolence, the omnipotence of his king, and he didn't want to. He was content to bask in the glow, to serve and to kneel and to do what was required to keep his king prosperous. Derek was a knight, a loyal servant who was lucky enough to be seen by a lord amongst men, a king of kings. His king was everything, and Derek worked hard enough to make himself something in return.

He received his summons to the throne room daily, in which he was informed of his duties for the day. He was free to roam the castle as long as he talked of no one and got everything he needed or done. his king was kind in that way, and therefore Derek ensured he was always prompt.

The throne room was enormous and ornate, golden doors leading to an equally dazzling, ornate throne and a lavishly decorated room that made Derek want to cry from reverence. The emotions it evoked in him were otherworldly, but not so otherworldly as the man swathed in yellow robes who sat purposefully atop the throne, waiting for his entrance. Derek rarely saw his face as it usually made his head hurt, but he knew the man was beautiful, ethereally tall and imposing.

He made his way up the red carpet that led to the throne and dropped to kneel in front of it, bowing his head low in respect and servitude. The carpet was plush, specifically chosen so as not to hurt Derek's knees when he spoke with his kind for too long. Or when he was being punished. Which was rare due to his king’s kindness, but something that had to happen on occasion because Derek was unworthy.

“D3rlord.” the king spoke, voice low and important as it filled the room. Immediately, it felt as if Derek had too many thoughts and yet he could hear none of them, the overwhelming presence of his king both filling his head and silencing it. It was strange and overwhelming and encapsulated everything that his king was. Derek couldn’t form an opinion on it. His liege was in a good mood today. He never referred to Derek as anything other than D3rlord3 when he was in a bad one, and he intently sighed with relief, externally remaining solid and subservient, never faltering in his dedication.

“My king.” he replied dutifully, having done this dance many a time before. His king did have a name - King Hastur, he believed it was - but he preferred for Derek to call him ‘my liege’, ‘my king’, or ‘sir’. And who was Derek to argue with that, to disobey such a simple request? He would do whatever it was his king desired, even if that thing was rather odd or uncomfortable for him. He’d been through far worse, and he knew to pick his battles. He could occasionally get his way, but only as a compromise and never on anything to do with their communication or relationship. Questioning that led to punishment.

“My knight.” the king responded, a familiar phrase in a familiar conversation. His king seemed to have an affinity for possessive pronouns - probably something to do with how central and beloved he was. Derek didn’t question it. That wasn’t his job. He was supposed to serve, and if that was how his king wanted to refer to him, he would oblige. It was a minor grievance not worth the trouble. “My most loyal servant.” the king continued, and Derek bowed his head at the praise, “My follower.”

It was edging into weird territory. It had always been slightly on the possessive side, but not in an odd way. Not like his king was treating him with respect, showing his control and power. But the unintentional repetition of mine, mine, mine was starting to make Derek feel more like an object or a toy than a devotee. If that was what his king wanted him to be then he would be so, but that had not been an established dynamic up until that point, and it was throwing him off. Was something wrong?

“You doubt me.” his king told him, disappointment and anger colouring his ubiquitous, booming voice. Derek had messed up. Big time. He realised that a second or two too late, and rather than pity for himself all he could feel was guilt. How dare he question his king? The man who had been so kind, so honorable and honest?
“Of course not.” he replied, headache forming, but he knew they both knew the lie, “I would never doubt you. I doubt myself, and my ability to have unwavering faith, certainly, but I am working on that every day. I would never doubt you. I am the one who needs to be questioned.

He held his breath.

His king seemed to accept that for an answer, stating:
“Good. There are no specific tasks for you today.” He often was punished with boredom for his insubordination. “But you will patrol the castle. At six, we will have dinner, and I know you will be late. Amend your schedule accordingly. Apprehend anyone you see roaming the halls, but do not speak to them. Bring them straight to me, as nobody but us is supposed to be in my residence. Understood?”
“Understood.” He could do that. That was easy. He wouldn’t let his king down. It was already foretold that he would by being late — but other than that he would be perfect.

And just like that, Derek was dismissed, left with an entire day of roaming empty halls due to a minor slip in thinking. It was his fault for doubting his king anyway. He knew better. His king was being rather merciful considering if all — Derek wasn’t even being properly punished. He needed to thank his king for that over dinner later, needed to show his sorrow and appreciation. He’d fast in penance if he had to.

But for the time being, he had a massive castle to walk around in aimlessly. The castle was huge, so large that it had taken Derek years to mentally map out every room, and it was well apt for something so uninhabited. He’d never seen anyone else in the parts of the castle he had access to, which was all except for the wine cellars (he could not be intoxicated on the job, and his king had rightful doubts about his free will). It was huge and lonely and very empty, despite all the lavish furniture and polished floors. Kind of like Derek himself.

He got straight to patrolling, roaming the castle despite knowing he was only wasting this time. Nobody could break in, but his king had asked him to look, so he would look. It was his fault for doubting, for being unfaithful. If he’d been a better follower, none of this would have been necessary, and Derek could have done something more exciting and useful. But as it was, he had to take his punishment, and he had to do better in the future. He needed to stop causing such problems for his king. He needed to be better, more alert, obedient and faithful.

All he was was bored. It wasn’t a particularly intense feeling, but it was certainly present, pervasively seeping into his mind and weighing down his bones. Walking around and empty castle while trying to remain vigilant was an exhausting task, and a lesser man would have found his focus starting to slip. But not Derek. He was experienced in this, and he could push through the fog with all his mental faculties intact. Because that was his job, and Derek had to do his job. He couldn’t let his king down. He’d rather die.

He was striding down another uninhabited corridor when a noise made him pause. It wasn’t a particularly loud sound, but it wasn't one the castle could have made on its own, and so he was instantly alert, drawn to it. It sounded like someone breathing, but of course it couldn’t be that. The only two people permitted on the castle were Derek and the king, note he of whom would have reason to make it. Perhaps it was a test. His king liked to test him, from time to time, or make sure he was still good and faithful. If this was a test, Derek was going to ensure he passed.

He made to investigate, creeping closer towards the source of the noise. It seemed to have come form behind the curtain, and This suspicion was confirmed when it only got louder as he neared. Just when he was about to throw the fabric aside, he hesitated. What if it was a person? Derek had to take them to his king at once, but how did he do that? How did he talk to a person?

It didn't matter. It was probably just an animal anyway. Or his imagination. Or a test from his king. There were plenty of explanations for if.

He threw back the curtain to see…

A man. A living breathing, human man, who Derek had to blink a few times or believe. He was the same height as him, with green hisr that Derek couldn’t deny he wanted to play with. That was weird. This man was a criminal. He wasn’t supposed to be here - nobody was. But this man had gotten here anyway, and Derek wasn’t feeling the fear or sense of duty he was supposed to. He felt bad for the man, who seemed quite scared, staring up at Derek with wide, beautiful eyes.

“…”
Derek was supposed to say something, to apprehend him, but he had never talked to another person that wasn’t his king (that he could remember, anyway) and he had no clue how to go about it. He was supposed to proclaim the man’s crimes, he was fairly sure, but how did he do that? He’d never practiced, and he was so shaken by the sight of a living, breathing person that he couldn’t run through the correct logical processes to figure it out. Instead he stood like an idiot, mouth handing slightly open as he waited for the other man to speak first.

“Uh, hi. I’m Avery. Who are you?” the man said tentatively, and Derek could tell that he was scared. He should be scared. Derek was going to report him to the king, after all. But something inside him twinged at the knowledge that the man was scared, a core part of him protesting. He tried to reason with it, to ignore it or silence it, but a sliver of Derek’s mind was telling him to let the man go. Unacceptable. If he let the man go, he was betraying his king, and- “Are you gonna… answer?” the man - Avery - pushed gently.

Don’t tell him. The training kicked back in in a second, all of Derek’s walls trying to reassert themselves. Don’t tell the criminal anything about yourself or your king. Stay loyal. Stay obedient. Stay in line. No sort of what he’d been told involved telling criminals his name, so he wouldn’t do that. It was a horrifically bad idea, an accident waiting in the wings. Derek could not falter now, not when he had already doubted his king once already. He’d have to be punished, and he didn’t want to be punished. He didn’t want to let his king down.
“I’m Derek.” he replied, the words opening a floodgate he wasn’t prepared to stop. He was so stupid! Telling this man his name, a private nickname no less, was a recipe for dosages. What if his king found out? Because his king would find out, he always did. And if he found out Derek would have disappointed him, perhaps disappointed him worse than he ever had before, and he’d failed many times before. He couldn’t let his king down, but he already had, and he didn’t know what to do. He needed to turn Avery in right away, but would his king be able to tell Derek’s indecision?

The right thing to do would be to turn him in. To do what his king had instructed, and to wash his hands of the entire mess. He might be punished for it, but he would deserve the punishment, wouldn’t he? He needed to do the right thing before it spiraled out of control. He needed to keep a distance from this criminal. He needed to turn Avery in.

No. He couldn’t do that. Not only was it risky for him, and he didn’t know how, but more importantly he couldn’t do that to Avery. Avery was the first man he’d been able to speak with that wasn’t his king, and he couldn’t throw that away. For a criminal, Avery seemed nice, and genuinely fearful of his fate. Derek couldn’t torture him in that way, couldn’t send him off to whatever awful fate the king would have planned for him. He needed to sneak Avery out of the castle, to help him out and then wash his hands of it all with his king none the wiser.

He was a terrible, disloyal, selfish soldier for even considering that, but he couldn’t deny its appeal. He didn't want to hurt anybody, but was that worth betraying his king? Was it worth disobeying him? Was it worth squandering his trust? Everything in Derek wanted to say no, everything he’d been taught telling him to stop, to consider what he was doing. He needed to do the right thing, but he was torn on what the right thing was. His head was telling him to time Avery in, to let him face the consequences of his actions, but his heart was telling him to take pity on the man and let him go.

Derek was late to dinner. He’d spent far too long ago suing over the decision, and when it had finally been made he had to rush back. He was only late by a minute or two, but he apologised profusely for it. He was still being disappointing. His king seemed to forgive him, in a much better mood than he had been after Derek's mistake earlier, but it weighed on him throughout the meal. His king noticed this, and reassured him of his mercy, and then Derek felt worse. His head began to throb, but he pushed through it, trying to be the company his king deserved.

After dinner, he was allowed to retire to his room, where he would remain until the following day. Derek’s room was as characterless as he was, big and spacious with a walk in closet and attached bathroom. Opening the door, he stepped into the empty room, closing it behind him and hearing his king outside wish him goodnight before the lock clicked and the footsteps faded.

His king ensured all Derek’s needs were met, but the way he locked the door at night meant Derek would have to sneak Avery out in the daytime. Easier said than done, but he’d work it out.
“You can come out now.” he spoke calmly.
Avery crept out of his bathroom and made his way over to Derek’s bed, sitting on it and waiting for him to speak. He’d been cryptic earlier, not divulging anything he didn’t have to as he was acutely aware of how easy it would be to eavesdrop. He supposed he owed Avery some answers, but he didn’t exactly have a full plan.

“I’m not meant to do this,” he started, deciding to just nervously explain everything he could to avoid misinformation or obfuscation, “but I’m going to help you. I’m the king's knight, and I’m meant to turn you in. You aren’t supposed to be in the castle, and I’m not sure how you even got here. But I’m not going to turn you in, because other than trespassing you don’t seem like you’ve done anything wrong. You might have to stay here for a while so I can figure out how to get you out of here, but you’ll be free to go eventually.”

“Thank you.” the man told him genuinely, and if Derek smiled at that it was nobody’s business. The man did seem genuinely grateful, the thanks in his tone warm and appreciative. He seemed to grasp the gravity of the situation quite quickly. “I’ll do whatever you want or need to help us get out of here. Thank you so much for not turning me in to him.” The word ‘him’ was almost spat, Avery’s disdain for the king unsettling Derek. Was he doing the wrong thing after all? Why was this man insulting his omnibenevolent king?

“Don’t thank me yet.” Emotions were running high. Avery was probably just taking it out on their ruler, and he didn’t mean to blaspheme. Deeek was blowing it out of proportion. Besides, what had he expected, inviting a criminal to share his bed? “We need to get you out of here first.”
“And you.” Avery said immediately, tone actually genuine in a way that made Derek hesitate. What?
“I’m fine here.” he replied dubiously, “I’m going to save you, but I need to stay here. My king needs me.”
“He doesn’t.”
What did Avery know that Derek didn’t? How could he say such things? What was going on here?
“He does.” Derek insisted, “But that doesn’t mean I won’t help you.”
“But I can’t help you?” Avery questioned.
“I don’t need help.”
“Okay. If that’s what you want.”

They dropped the subject, seeing they were at an impasse. Derek didn’t want to argue with the handsome man who he wanted to befriend, but he couldn’t accept the way the man thought he needed help. Derek was happy. He didn’t need help. He was perfectly content doing his job and serving his king, wasn’t he?

Derek fell asleep next to a criminal, with the seeds of doubt he’d inadvertently planted beginning to grow in his head.

He woke an hour and a half before he was required to be in the throne room. He never knew what time his king would unlock the door, and it took a while for him to put his armour on. His king occasionally saw him without it, but it was a rare occurrence that Derek usually tried to avoid for reasons he was uncertain of. He was uncertain of a lot of things, he was finding. He made sure Avery was up and sequestered away in his closet with a book — one of Derek’s few possessions, a history book about his king. Then he made his way to the throne room and acted normal.

The guilt he felt over it all was even more intense than he had imagined it being. The knowledge that every second that passed he betrayed his saviour even more was almost too much to bear, and Derek wanted to crack under the pressure. But he didn’t, because Avery needed him to be strong, to hold on for a week or two so that he could escape. Derek still felt awful about betraying his king. He was supposed to be good, an obedient servant, but he wasn’t. And that was eating him alive, festering under his skin like a disease.

He went about his duties as if everything was completely normal, as if he wasn’t keeping this trust-breaking, world-ruining secret. He did all he was asked and more, being as loyal and subservient as he could in his own form of repentance. He’d tell his king after Avery was free, the guilt not being something he could bear for the rest of his life. The secret was too big to keep once Avery was out of danger, so Derek would tell him, apologise, and take the punishment. The punishment would be a bad one. The worst he’d ever have. And he’d deserve every second.

Could his king tell how guilty he felt? Could he see the dirt besmirching Derek’s loyalty, sense the lies behind his obedience? He hoped not. He’d prefer to have a chance to tell his king himself, to beg for mercy on his terms. He’d wish for it to be a secret that wouldn’t hurt Avery when it came out, and he was spurred to action even more due to his suspicions. His king knew all, and he’d know this too if Derek didn’t get Avery out fast. But he wasn’t able to.

He could tell his king had some kind of suspicion about him, because he pulled Derek closer. Not physically, for the most part, but emotionally. They spent more time together. His king praised him for his obedience. He was even given another book to read, something he hasn’t revived since years ago. It made him feel even worse about his lies, and the paranoid part of him was certain that was the intention. His king had always been protective of him, but he’d pulled the leash so tight it was strangling, and Derek didn’t know how to react.

He chose the safest option; not to react at all. Allow his king to have the authority, and go along with whatever was asked of him. If that meant the restriction of his duties outside of the castle to zero, he would take that. He could take that. It was his penance for the wrongs he was doing. But it also exacerbated those wrongs, because he was unable to sneak Avery out with such a close eye being kept on him. Derek missed being outside. He missed the fresh air, but he wouldn’t complain. His king knew best. Derek didn’t need to question him, did he?

Besides, it wasn’t as if he was missing out on socialising. In fact, he was doing more of it. His king now required his presence for both breakfast and dinner, and what probably would have been lunch too if he ever had it. He was checking in on Derek more often, coming around to see him performing his duties and simply watching. It was a little unnerving, and rather stifling, but it was all just because his king cared. And Derek wasn’t going to be ungrateful about receiving the care he’d always longed for, even if it apparently came with suffocating strings.

There was an uncomfortable ownership to it all, a bizarre edge to the charade that felt off. His king did own him, in a sense, but he usually treated Derek like an autonomous person to a degree. Those rights seemed to vanish overnight, Derek now needing to be close to his king at all times, with no liberties or decisions to be made on his own. His king seemed able to smell his guilt, and the resulting enforcements were uncomfortable at best. His king was being overly possessive, and it was very unnerving.

How dare Derek say such things? How dare he spit on the face of his king, who had done nothing wrong. He was well within his rights to request different things from Derek, and labelling that behaviour as creepy was a despicable thing for him to do. His king was not creepy. He was strong and powerful and good. Derek was the disturbing one, the sinner and the liar and the cheat. He was forgetting himself, emboldened by his foolish act of rebellion, and it was going to bring hell to pay. He needed to get a grip. He needed to fix this. He needed to stop questioning his king, questioning himself.

The several weeks taht passed were a psychological torture for Derek, who spent the entire time in turmoil, worrying about his king’s honesty and Avery’s safety and his own morality. But every cloud had a silver lining, and so did this one. Yes, it was taking a lot of time to evacuate Avery, and it was weighing on him more and more, becoming riskier by the day.

But the longer it took, the more time he had to talk to and bond with Avery. Avery was extremely patient with it all, seemingly understanding the gravity of the situation, entertaining himself each day and living off the scraps Derek was able to sneak to him. It must have been a miserable time, but the other man stayed as happy and carefree as usual, which Derek couldn’t help but find admirable. Here he was complaining, when Avery had it so much worse and could still crack a smile. He wasn’t sure whether that was a failing on his part or a success on Avery’s. Perhaps both.

Despite Derek having little to no social skills or practice interacting with people, and the fact that the two of them were literally strangers, they ended up getting quite close. Avery was easy to be around, even if they weren’t together for that much of the day, and Derek felt like he could be himself around the other man. It made him all the more determined to ensure nothing happened to Avery, that his king didn’t find out. He wasn’t going to let this wonderful, amicable man get hurt. He wasn’t. He knew it was foolish to get attached so easily, but he couldn’t help it.

Derek liked Avery. Derek liked Avery a lot. He enjoyed being around the other man more than he could say, his mood lightening at even the mere sight of him. Avery made him feel at ease, comfortable to be himself and express his emotions. He’d never experienced that before - never been buoyant at the thought of someone. Or was a more encompassing and potent feeling than he’d ever imagined, and he couldn’t say he hated it. Quite the opposite. Derek was hooked on the feeling, obsessed with the way Avery made his heart flutter.

But was that sensation romance? Or simply friendship? Derek couldn’t recall ever feeling like this for anyone before, but he couldn’t remember so much as meeting anyone before, and none of his books had romance or friendship to base it off of. Derek was a fish out of water, struggling on a hook. He liked Avery. He thought Avery was handsome and kind and funny, and he wanted to be near him. But what was that? Would Avery even feel the same way? All he had were visions of what having friends and partners would feel like, but nothing concrete. No facts.

Avery was incredible. He was brave and bold and fiery, but he knew when to take that step back. He was daring and curious and creative, but he didn’t mind boredom in the name of what needed to be done. He was kind and generous and honourable, and Derek didn’t deserve him but he was tolerated by the other man regardless. It was an addictive feeling, being cared about, but what type of care was it? What type of care was Derek even ready for? He didn’t know the answers to any of these questions, but he figured whatever happened would happen. Fretting about it would do nothing.

The real defining point of their relationship occurred one night after Derek had returned from his duties. It was a night pretty much the same as all those before, until it wasn’t.

The two of them were talking quietly as they always did, not wanting to risk his long passing by and hearing them but also not wanting to avoid interaction altogether. The topic drifted around aimlessly, a boat bobbing on the sea at the mercy of the waves. That wasn’t a bad thing — if anything, it was a symbol of how comfortable they had become with one another.

“What about your family?” he asked, almost not daring to hope for an answer. He’d asked because he cared, but he also selfishly wanted to hear what a real family was like. One that was remembered.
“My family is great.” Avery replied, wistfully looking away, “They’re all quite loud and busy, but they’re good people. They do tend to go on tangents though.” He glanced at Derek, their eyes locking. “They really want me to get a boyfriend.”

Derek paused. Was that suggestion, or simply a fact? Was Avery playing with him, joking about it, or did he actually want Derek? Derek had never kissed anyone before, and he’d likely suck at it, but he was willing to try. But did Avery even actually want him to try? Was he going to ruin everything?

He didn’t move, and Avery groaned.
“Oh come on Derek.” the man grumbled, gripping the back of Derek’s head and pulling him closer.

The resulting kiss was like nothing he’d ever felt before, passionate and gentle and so right. The touch of their lisp was gentle at first before it intensified, a carry nipping at his bottom lip until he gasped, and to deepen the embrace further. That answered all of Derek’s questions then. Avery wanted him, and Derek had never wanted anything more than to let him take it.

He moved back to breathe, panting slightly as he stared at Avery in attracted disbelief. He felt like the world had just burst into colour, lights sparkling in the green-haired man’s eyes. Derek felt alone, aware of everything that was going on around him yet not paying attention to anything but Avery. He was probably looking at Avery like he hung the moon, and Avery was looking at him the same way. It was a perfect moment of connection, a time where two souls became one, and Derek wouldn’t trade it for anything.

He couldn't help but lean back in, and Avery reciprocated immediately, claiming his lips once more. Derek groaned into Avery’s mouth, his hands reaching for the other man’s shirt. He didn’t move to remove it, but he left his hands there in case he did. He hoped he’d get to, but for now he lost himself to the feel of Avery’s lips on his, their kiss like…

“What are you doing?” a voice boomed from behind them, and Derek jumped back. Hao ah she not heard someone enter? What was wrong with him? This was really bad, worse than he could have hoped, because he recognised the voice. It was, after all, the only one he’d heard for years of his life. His king was here, and he was exceptionally angry. More furious than Derek had ever heard him before, which was saying a lot considering how colossally he’d messed up before. The worst part was that he knew his king’s anger wasn’t directed solely at him. It was also going to target Avery.

Panic flared through him, potent and debilitating, and he felt his instincts kick back in. He felt his years of training and practice flood though him, and he immediately moved to kneel at his king’s feet, bowing as deeply as he could in a repentant gesture that would hopefully get eyes off Avery. He was shaking, his breaths coming in short and rapid gasps that made his voice tremble when he talked. He couldn’t deny how utterly terrified he was — not of his king’s wrath, but of his king's wrath being directed towards Avery.

“My king.” Derek began to plead, wracking his frenzied brain for something to say, some way to minimise what he had done, “This man was lost, and I was trying to help him get back home. I didn’t have an opportunity where I felt it would be beneficial for me to tell you, but please accept my sincerest apologies. I will be content to accept whatever punishment you decide is—”
“Silence.” That one word sealed their death warrants. Of his king and no interest in the apologies, the course of action had already been decided, and Derek shuddered to think of what it may be.

Avery needed to run. Derek had to stay and take the punishment, but Avery didn’t deserve it. Avery deserved to go back home to his family. To be happy. And he knew his king was going to take that away. Avery needed to leave while he still could, to flee the town and never look back. There was no other way he made it out alright. The fury radiating from his king made that clear. Derek had nothing to lose, but Avery did. Which was why he needed to run.

Avery did not run. He didn’t even try. He was too busy watching Derek with a fearful and heartwrenching expression on his face.

Derek remained in place, hopelessly watching as some of his king’s other soldiers grabbed Avery and began to drag him away or who knows where. Their eyes locked once more, a million words passing through their gazes. Derek apologised, Avery forgave. Derek worried, Avery reassured. Derek resigned himself, Avery told him to keep fighting. Derek loved Avery, and Avery loved him back. That was the last thing communicated between them before Avery vanished around the corner and Derek was left with his incandescent king.

His king grabbed Derek and hauled him from his kneeling position, keeping a firm grip on Derek’s bicep and pectoral. And odd place to hold considering Derek didn’t have his armour in, but he would never articulate that, especially not with his king in this state. That would be a death wish. He didn’t attempt to struggle or move to shake off the grip, hoping obedience now meant mercy later. Instead, he simply waited in tenterhooks, nerves alight with adrenaline and fear as he waited for his king to react. Nothing was said for a while, his king likely leaving Derek with his thoughts on purpose. It was often used as a way to kickstart the repentance, self reflection was.

But Derek’s thoughts were too clouded by his emotions. He felt a million things that could never be described, but the main ones were fear and guilt and… anger. The fear was obvious, as was the guilt, but teh anger?

The anger was because he should be allowed to make his own choices. The anger was because the one good thing he’d ever had was stripped from him. The anger was because nobody cared about him as a person, and the one who did was punished for it. He was angry at his king. He’d never been angry at him before. Or was a disconcerting feeling, but he didn’t regret it.

“You disobey me.” his king seethed, tightening his grip on Derek to an almost painful degree, “You lie to me. You ignore my direct order in favour of spending time with some criminal whore who will never see you like I do. My dear knight, if you wanted attention, if you wanted romance, all you had to do was ask.” What? No. This conversation had taken a turn he decidedly didn’t like. “As it stands, I have to punish you now. I have to punish you a lot. You’re sullying yourself, and you’ve never been like this before. You’ve always been so good for me. But don’t worry, we can get that back.”

Derek was too out of his mind with fear at the king’s words to wriggle or fight as he was marched to the king's chambers - foreign ground. He didn’t complain as he was manhandled, and even kept quiet as he was chained to the bedside wall. He didn’t struggle or shout when the king left, likely going to return with some kind of weapon.

Shifting in place, he glanced at the chain and was completely taken aback by its age. This had been installed in the king’s chambers years ago. Just how long had this been an option when Derek needed punishing? The thought was a grim one, one that scared him more than he’d care to confess.

Time passed. Derek had no clue how much time. The king came back at all hours, and he was fed on an ever changing schedule. He tried to count the days by sleep cycles, but the king kept his window covered, so there was no way of knowing if he was sleeping for the right amount of time or even sleeping at the right time in the first place.

He was in pain. A lot of it. His mind seemed to black out most of what had happened, but he was littered with bruises and cuts - punishments for his disloyalty. The king often used corporal punishment, but it had never been quite so extreme. The one instance Derek clearly remembered was the brand, a white hit iron pressed into his stomach that made him scream. He’d never screamed before, but his voice was hoarse by the end of it, and his resentment towards the king he’d always been blindly loyal to was getting stronger.

He spent his days in fear. A lot of it. It was all encompassing, taking up most of the space in his mind that used to be for thoughts. He never knew what the king was going to do next, whether he would inflict pain or soothe it, whether he’d ignore Derek altogether or force a conversation upon them like the ones they used to entertain over dinner. It was even worse not knowing what was to come, and the stress and paranoia accompanying it were debilitating.

“Where is Avery?” he dared to ask one day during one of their forced interactions. He knew it was likely only going to infuriate the king, but he had to try. The fear of what had happened to Avery because of him was a thought that haunted his every waking moment, and he needed to know while simultaneously balking from the idea that whatever had happened could be bad. He didn’t mind another punishment if it brought him even a shred closer to knowing how Avery was. He could take it. He’d take any pain.

The king sighed, which was never a good sign.

“Why are you so obsessed with this nobody? You don’t need him.” The king told him, disappointment etched into his tone. Derek tensed up at the dismissal, but kept pushing. For Avery.
“Don’t hurt him.” he pleaded softly, “Hurt me instead. It isn’t his fault.”
The king moved closer to him, stalking him like a hunter would its prey. Derek held his breath and waited.
“You.” the king sat in front of him and reached to place a hand on his upper thigh, “Do. Not. Need. Him. Don't bring him up again, or I will hurt him just for your insolence.”

This was a side to the king that Derek had never seen before, and it made the hairs on the back of his neck stand straight. He’d had a possessive streak, certainly, but this was creepy. The way the king’s hand gently ran itself further up Derek's leg was weird, and the way the king tried to imply a romantic relationship between the two of them was terrifying. Derek knew it was a part of his punishment (it must be, right? The king wasn’t attracted to him), but some parts of it felt far too real.

“Don’t be afraid.” the king instructed him as his breaking hitched, the familiar authority leaking back into his tone, “There is no need to be afraid, my knight. You do not need him. His is lesser, where you are enlightened. You are a vessel for things greater than you know, and I am the only one who can guide you. Forget all about that unimportant boy. You have me, and I am all you need. We are more than those around us, filled woth a knowledge they could never comprehend. You serve me and me alone, and are not permitted to pledge your loyalty to anyone else.”

Derek cats his gaze down to the tiled floor below him, staring at the patterns as if it would make the reality of the situation less real. He couldn’t bear to look at the king - it was as if his head hurt when he even tried, but that wasn’t good enough for the ruler, who’d just revealed several bizarre truths and now needed Derek’s attention. A hand tilted his chin up without his permission, forcing him to stare into soulless, shadowed eyes barely peeking out from under the yellow hood. It hurt. It hurt a lot to look, for reasons Derek didn’t understand but knew intrinsically, in a place at the back of his head.

He couldn't bear it, the pressure in his skull building up until he felt it might explode, and he tried to jerk back on instinct, eyes flying shut in an attempt to shield himself. The king’s grip on him only tightened in response, forcing him to remain in place as long fingers forced his eyes back open.
“Understood?” the king asked him, and Derek knew what the answer had to be.
“…understood.” he replied, blinking rapidly to avoid seeing the king for too long.

“You cannot look at me because you know. You’re hiding it in the recesses of your mind, but I will coax it out. You are more, and you will help me become everything. You’re mine. I’m not letting your attention be divided by anything else. That’s why I keep you here. That’s why I removed your memories. That’s why you must be punished. Everything I’ve ever done has been for your benefit, for the day I knew would come.” his king said, authority and finality casting his words in a factual light. Derek wanted to deny his points, but there was a truth to them, at least in some part.

Dread and sadness pooled in his gut, a hopeless mix that had him slumping against the wall, tears creeping to the corners of his eyes. He had no way to fight this. There was no way out. He and the king were of the same higher knowledge, and though Derek’s was hidden the king used his to its full extent. It would be impossible to beat him in any normal way, and Derek didn’t know enough to beat him with knowledge. He wasn’t getting out of it. He was condemned, trapped in a life of serving the king, a vessel through which the king’s power was forcibly channelled.

More time passed, faster now that Derek was no longer fighting it. He still couldn’t be sure how long, but his wounds were beginning to heal, which meant it had likely been months. He was beginning to deteriorate, hunger and exhaustion and the ever present weight of his unwanted knowledge cramming his head until it throbbed constantly. Even at times such as this, where it was cool and gentle, he could not sleep.

The king had left, and Derek cringed as the door opened again before his heart all but collapsed in his chest.

Avery entered, slipping through the door looking no worse for wear. There were a few marks but no real damage, and Derek couldn’t believe he was seeing him again. He was hallucinating or dreaming, surely. This had to be a trick or a test. But it felt real, so heart achingly real he had to believe in it.
“I picked the lock with a fork.” Avery grinned, moving over to him with a look of relief and concern.
“You’re okay.” he breathed reverently.

Hope fluttered in his chest, dangerous and fragile as a baby bird. Avery was okay. Avery was here. Avery was talking to him. There was a way out of wherever he’d been kept, and there was a way into where Derek was being kept, and the beautiful fool in front of him had managed to figure out both. Derek would have kissed him were he not stuck in place, and Derek did kiss him once Avery moved to uncuff him.

“Yes. But you’re not.” Avery responded worriedly, fiddling with the chain tethering Derek to the wall, “We need to kill him, Derek. It’s the only way.”
“Do you have a plan?” Derek asked hopefully.”
“No. I didn’t even think I’d get this far, to be honest. But we’ll figure it out. We have to.” Avery replied, and Derek could hardly argue with his logic.

How could he beat the king? The king had guards. He was physically and mentally stronger in almost every way, and Derek couldn’t even look at him. How was he supposed to defeat a man he couldn’t fight? He had the knowledge somewhere, he knew he did, but its location completely eluded him and he was left stumbling around in the dark.

Sighing, Derek closed his eyes and looked. He welcomed in the thoughts he’d been trying to shy ages from, and he opened his mind to the possibilities. To beat his king, he had to think like him, and Derek was able to do that. Barely.

The idea came to him half-formed and ludicrous, but it was the best he had. He wasn’t entirely sure how it would work, but he knew it would, and thus had to try.

“I have an idea,” he said, “but you need to trust me.”
“I do.”
“Hide. When he gets back, attack him in any way you can. Keep him distracted.”
Avery did so, and Derek slipped back into the recesses of his mind, sifting through overwhelming comprehension to look for the right thing to say.
He found it just as the king reentered and Avery lunged forwards (Avery shouldn’t be involved, but there was no other way). The king didn’t call for help or try especially hard to fight him off, eyes meeting Derek’s instead. He knew that he knew.

Derek didn’t let it shake him, keeping himself calm and steady as he focused.
“I absorb you.” he declared calmly, certainty flooding his bones as the words said themselves, “I accept the task of being your vessel, and I merge your mind with my own.” He locked eyes with where the king’s were, increasing his headache. If he could fracture enough, then the king would fall through the unstable foundation. He was sure of it. “I welcome you to take residence in my mind.” Avery was staring at him in confusion, but Derek didn’t break his stare at the king. He needed this to work.

“No!” the king roared, “You aren’t yet ready to be my vessel. Your mind is still fragile and corrupted.”
“Yes,” Derek replied, “I know. That’s why I bid you immediate passage, allowing you to inhabit your new form immediately.”
“You’ll always be mine.” the king told him scathingly, “You’ll always belong to me, and a part of you will always be me. There is no escaping that. Nobody will teach you how to cope with your enlightenment. You’ve turned your back on salvation.”
“I welcome you to take sanctuary in my thoughts.” He wasn't sure these words were necessary, but it was a last push to make sure it worked.

It did.

There was a blinding flash of light, and when he opened his eyes again, the king in yellow was gone. Disappeared as if he never existed, only a faint whisper of his voice left in Derek’s mind. His shoulders slumped in relief, Avery running over to hug him intensely.
“You did it.” Avery breathed, “I’m not sure what you did, but you did it.”

Derek’s head hurt. He tried to open his mouth, to speak, but his brain was no longer connected to his body, and his head hurt something terrible. Before Derek could fight it, exhaustion took over and he fainted like a damsel in distress right there in Avery’s arms.

He woke up with a frightened gals, shooting upright in… bed? He swung his legs over the side, making it get up and look around, but a hand forced him back down.
“Hey, don’t do that!” a voice complained, “Derek, you’ve just got up. You’re hurt. You need to lie back down.”
“Avery.” he whispered hoarsely.
“Yep.”
Derek lay back down.

He quickly learned that he was in Avery’s home. It was a nice house, far more personal and lived-in than the place Derek had spent most of his life inhabiting. He spent his recovery period (ridiculous as he’d dealt with far worse before, but Avery asked him to comply) in Avery’s bedroom - an ironic kind of full circle moment - but later he explored the rest of the house. It was nice, cluttered and messy but charming, with lots of character. Derek could see the memories etched into its very foundation, the stories in every cluttered heap. He loved it, even if Avery was insistent on claiming it ‘wasn’t much’. It was.

Avery’s family welcomed him with open arms, and they all seemed nice. They weren’t all Avery and claimed them to be, and they had a tendency to ignore the man, but they were plenty nice regardless. Far nicer than the king, by any counts. He did wish they’d give Avery more of the attention and respect he deserved, but in the meantime he was happy to fill that role. He lavished Avery in attention, making sure he never felt so alone as to go and explore random buildings (seriously? That was why he’d almost got himself killed? Derek needed to keep a closer eye on him than he thought).

Every day he felt as if he was meeting new people, Avery’s extended family and wide network of acquaintances- he didn’t seem to have friends, but Derek was going to rectify that - all wanting to meet him for some reason. The whole socialising thing was completely Greek to him, foreign and pretty daunting, but he managed to get over his worries fairly quickly. Avery was there every step of the way, always ready to make invalid-related excuses when Derek expressed a desire to leave. It was good for them both, and Derek was working on the task of finding them friends. Easier said than done.

The weeks following the king’s death(?) were filled with a roller coaster of emotions that had only just begun to stabilise. He had to deal with the guilt and trauma, reconcile his reality with the actual truth. He has to recover form his injuries and meet new people. Lots and lots of new people, which brought a lot of anxiety and fear into the mix. He had to consider how expendable he had been to the king, how the man had lied to him and only used him, forcing knowledge on him he didn’t want, which made him angry.

But it didn’t last forever, and happiness dared to creep back in eventually, gingerly testing the waters before plummeting headfirst into the waves,

As the days passed, Derek began to find himself actually having fun. He liked spending time with Avery and his family. He liked trying to make new friends. He liked the laid-back mundanity of his new life. He liked job hunting, and trying to make friends, and doing things he’d never have got a chance to do had he remained trapped with the king. He enjoyed metaphorically dancing on the king’s grave even if that was just accomplished by living his life.

The best part was, he was actually living his life. He wasn’t surviving, what’s slugging through every day and barely scraping by. He was living, taking risks and having fun and being sound people he cared about. He didn’t have to do things he didn’t wnat to. He didn’t have to do whatever somebody wanted. He didn’t have to remain isolated, trapped in a bubble. He didn’t have his door locked at night. The freedom was wonderful, and Derek was so incredibly grateful for it.

Even his memories were starting to come back, shy at first. Just snippets of the life he lost, tiny vignettes that slipped through the cracks of his mind and out to him. A woman’s laugh. Playing by a creek in the sun. A man’s beard. The incessant chatter of a sibling or friend. A bright sun over a cottage.

Screaming. The king grabbing Derek’s arm and taking him away. Some sort of machine that shocked him. Strobing lights. And then his life as he recalled it.

His family were dead, and he grieved them as if he’d got the chance to know them properly.

Avery finally got a boyfriend. He’d lied about his family’s investment in his love life (dropping hints, Derek was led to believe) but he still wanted one. And coincidentally, so did Derek. The whole relationship stuff was new to him, but Avery was awkward enough to make him seem fairly normal by comparison, a trait that was both endearing and exasperating. Derek adored Avery, and wanted to give him absolutely everything. As time passed, they grew the funds and independence to do so, moving to a cottage not dissimilar to the one he recalled. He discovered that life was nice when he had a person like Avery in it.

Derek’s head didn’t hurt so much anymore.