FIC: "A True Alliance" 1/1 (Karl Urban/Sean Bean) AU
Title: "A True Alliance"
Pairing: Karl Urban/Sean Bean
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I made it ALL up. Every bit.
Summary: Consul Karl Urban meets his match in a most unanticipated manner. Fantasy/Historical AU.
Notes: Written for savageseraph for the 2010 sons_of_gondor Trick Or Treat Fic Exchange. My prompts were "Karl/Bean, power play".
All thanks to idiosyncratic for her insight and beta and help with the epilogue. Any remaining mistakes are my own.
The sun was barely peeking over the horizon when Consul Karl Urban, leader of the armies of Rizen, and Heir Apparent to the throne, finished his morning stretches. He'd been up well before dawn, going through correspondence and readying himself for the day ahead, studying up on a new treaty proposal between Rizen and Arnog, and reviewing contracts between the banking guild and the merchant union. His father may still rule the land, but Karl took his responsibilities as both Consul and Heir Apparent seriously, and tried to involve himself in both internal and military affairs.
He was a powerful man, with a warrior's build and bearing, but he moved lightly on his feet, and that nimbleness had served him well, both on the battlefield and off. His face was too angular for true beauty, but it suited him, and he never lacked companionship from either sex when he chose to take a bed partner. His hair, a rich brown, was slightly too long for military standards, but he allowed himself the small vanity. The severe, close-cropped style favored by the rank and file troops made him look far too foreboding and closed-off, and he wanted to lead his soldiers by example, not fear.
A soft knock sounded at the door. "Enter," Karl called, and drew a robe over his bare chest and loose drawstring pants.
Viggo, Karl's trusted man of affairs, stepped into the spacious set of rooms, carrying a tray bearing a carafe of kaffee and two mugs. He was a slender man, lean rather than muscular, but his slight form belied his strength of both body and mind. He was garbed in the traditional navy robes of the royal court, which offset piercing blue eyes that seemed to see everything and into the heart of every man. "Good morning, Sire."
"It's Karl, Vig. Just Karl."
Viggo simply set the tray on a side table and began pouring. "As you say, Sire."
Karl could only shake his head. He didn't know why he bothered. To Viggo, Karl's traditional title wasn't simply a courtesy, but a custom etched in stone. And ritual was everything to Viggo, especially when it pertained to the royal family. "Has the caravan from Rahurst made it to the city?" Karl asked instead.
Viggo handed Karl his cup, then poured his own. "Their forerunner arrived at dawn to herald their approach. The caravan will arrive by midday."
"Good. And the medicinal supplies from Turpin?"
"The ship should arrive at the Nadore outpost in three days' time."
"There were no problems with the blockade from the Mograth fleet?"
"None, Sire," Viggo replied. "Our intelligence was flawless."
"Well, we certainly paid our spies enough for the information," Karl muttered. He poured himself another cup of kaffee, and consulted his notes. "Do we have reinforcements for my sister's legion yet?" Miranda had put in her request via special courier just last week, and Karl had vowed to see to the matter personally. Her legion had seen some of the heaviest fighting over the last few months, and were in dire need of fresh troops.
"A new group of slaves just arrived at Afalas market, Sire."
"Any of them potential recruits?" It was rare for slaves to become foot soldiers rather than day laborers, but these were desperate times, and allowances had been made in the last season to allow slaves to serve in the armies in exchange for the chance to earn their freedom via victory in battle.
"That is the hope, Sire. The prelate seems to think you'll be pleased with this lot."
Karl nodded. "I'll go have a look, then." His sister deserved nothing except the best.
Viggo offered a slight bow, and set his empty mug on the table. "I'll have Lawrence escort you down, Sire."
"I hardly need a bodyguard."
Viggo half-turned and lifted an imperious eyebrow. He may not have Karl's stature, but there was no mistaking Viggo for a mere attendant. His family had served Karl's for generations, and were valued members of the royal court. "Begging pardon, Sire, but while you may be Consul of the armies and a feared warrior in your own right, you're still Heir Apparent to the throne, and as such, you require an escort outside the castle walls."
"I know, Vig, I know," Karl sighed, conceding defeat, if a bit ungraciously. "But I don't have to like it."
Viggo's smile was just shy of insouciance. "We don't always have to like our duties in order to see them done, Sire."
"So you keep reminding me," Karl drily replied, and turned to the task of getting ready to head down to the docks.
***
The market square at Afalas was a bustling hive of activity, filled with myriad sights and smells and sounds. As Karl walked past stall after stall, he recalled many happy afternoons spent with Miranda at this market when they were children. It seemed nothing much had changed - the merchants were still hawking their wares in sing-song voices designed to lure patrons with the promise of incredible bargains, the pickpockets and thieves still skulked around the edges of the crowd, seeking an opportunity to strike, and shoppers still filled their baskets with silks from the north and produce from nearby farms.
The slave traders were set up at the north end of the square, and Karl, with Viggo and Lawrence a step behind him, made his way to the auction lines. His size made it hard for him to blend in, but he tried not to draw attention to himself, dressing in his most worn tunic and pair of leggings and beat up boots. He still carried a sword, but it was his practice sword, not the ceremonial one of his station. Even in the capital city, there were still agents of Mograth lurking about who would reap a hefty reward for assassinating the heir to the throne of their sworn enemy.
"The potential recruits are there, Sire," Viggo stated, murmuring the words in Karl's ear, and gestured to the line of men just off the side of the makeshift stage.
Karl nodded his thanks, and stepped to the front of the throng of buyers, scanning the men lined in front of him. There were a few that looked promising, and Karl made mental notes, quickly going from man to man, searching for signs of physical strength and bearing that would befit a soldier.
One in particular stood out from the rest, and not simply because his hands were cuffed in front him, in contrast to the usual custom. He wore the traditional kilt of the slaves low around his hips, but nothing else. His chest was broad, lightly furred, with strong shoulders and muscular arms that looked as if they'd be at home wielding a weapon. He had two thin scars just under his ribcage, and powerful thighs that looked far more suited to being on the back of a horse than doing manual labor. He was also staring defiantly at the buyers, rather than bowing his head in subservience like everyone else. Karl had to admit to himself he was intrigued by this blatant display of arrogance. And he was more than impressed with the build of the other man. It had been quite awhile since he'd taken a companion.
"How much for the blond?"
"Sire?"
"Him." Karl nodded in the other man's direction, and noticed the man was now staring directly at him. He stared back, mesmerized by eyes the clear green color of spring moss. There was no hint of fear that gaze, only a heat that seemed to close the distance between them. Lust pooled low in Karl's belly, and he felt his body tighten in response. "I take it no one's put in a bid for him yet?"
"Sire, I..." Viggo paused, then seemed to collect himself before continuing, choosing his words with great care. "I know how much you love a challenge, but are you certain you wouldn't like to have a look at the actual pleasure slaves on the market? We could see about acquiring one after we've finished our business here."
"Why, he's not diseased or to be used for fodder, is he?" It would be a waste if he was. Karl had never seen a man more suited to the battlefield. In fact, Karl thought he might offer the slave a position in his own legion, rather than ship him to his sister.
"No, Sire, but he...he's already killed one guard and maimed two others in an escape attempt. That's why he has the cuffs."
"And the prelate hasn't put him to death for this?" Normally, such acts would have warranted immediate execution, no matter what price the slave would have fetched on the open market.
"Ah, no Sire." Then Viggo sighed, and added, as if reluctant to speak the words, "That's Honorate Sean Bean, Sire. King Noble's son."
Karl whirled upon Viggo in horror, all thoughts of pleasure forgotten. "You allowed an Honorate to be placed with the general slave population?" he hissed, still mindful of where they were, and that spies could be anywhere. "The Heir Apparent to the throne of Gahar? Are you out of your mind?"
Viggo's lips thinned with unhappiness. "Begging pardon, Sire, but it was your father's suggestion. To, ah, teach the Honorate a lesson in humility. I believe your father thought the Honorate was attempting to scout our holdings in Lemech for a possible coup."
"That's no excuse," Karl retorted, whip-fast, anger coloring his every word. "That man is a decorated veteran of the Ollyth Wars and will be treated with all of the accord and respect of a man of his rank and position." The very idea that a soldier as venerated as Honorate Bean had been thrown in with the slave populace struck Karl deep in his heart. No warrior should have to suffer such an ignoble fate. "Pay whatever the prelate is asking for him - discreetly, mind - and take him to my chambers. See to it that he's offered a bath and a uniform and invite him to dine with me this evening. An invitation," Karl stressed. "This man is my equal in rank, and we will treat him as is his due."
"But, Sire, your father -"
"If my father wants to risk an open frontal assault by the Gaharan forces, then he is a fool on a suicide mission to bring our kingdom down with him, and I will not condone that. I command the armies, not my father. Therefore, I will decide what to do with our prisoners of war, which is exactly what Honorate Bean is, and I will not have him treated with disrespect. And remove the cuffs," Karl added, straightening to his full height. "I won't have him paraded through the grounds like a common criminal. Am I clear?"
"Yes, Sire," Viggo replied, with a defeated sigh. "I'll see to it personally. And I will extend your invitation myself."
"Thank you. We'll take the rest of the lot for my sister. I'll be in the lists training the rest of the afternoon."
"Very good, Sire."
***
It was amazing how much a bath and change of clothing could so change an appearance, Karl thought, when he went back to his rooms that evening and saw Honorate Bean standing by the far windows. Regalness had replaced defiance in Bean's bearing, and Karl could now see the quiet aura of command he'd missed earlier. Bean's hair was still damp from his bath, curling about his ears and neck, and the tunic of his uniform, no doubt borrowed from Karl's own wardrobe, pulled tight across that powerful chest.
Bean turned as Karl stepped into the room. Karl offered a slight bow in greeting. "Honorate, you do credit this house with your presence. May I offer you a glass of wine? Our grapes are renowned for their sweetness."
Bean extended his own bow and nodded. "That would be lovely, thank you, Consul."
Karl paused in the act of uncorking the bottle, and looked at Bean in surprise. "You know who I am?"
"Your campaign at Nebua has been heralded even in my kingdom," Bean replied, accepting his glass with a quiet murmur of thanks when Karl handed one to him. "Even the children of Gahar know your name."
Karl wasn't sure if he should be embarrassed by the attention or pleased that his leadership skills were heralded outside his own borders. "Surely your numerous victories would be more worthy of verse than any of my exploits."
"My father has commissioned no songs about either of his sons." Bean's lips twisted in an ironic facsimile of a smile that did nothing to take away from the handsomeness of his features. "He feels to do so would mean he's grown soft, and a leader should never show weakness."
This insight into Gaharan psyche was fascinating, if a little disconcerting. "But surely a leader must have the love and respect of his people in order to effectively rule?"
"That is not our way. Fear, my father believes, is a more powerful tool than compassion."
"I disagree. People want to be inspired, not cowed."
Once again, Bean's smile lacked warmth. "My father and I do not see eye to eye on many things."
"And your brother, David? How does he feel?" Karl inquired, wondering if this dissension was an aberration or a sign of something more fundamental at work.
"My brother agrees with him even less."
"I see." And Karl could, quite clearly. His own relationship with his father was fractious at best, and Karl had spent a great deal of his childhood shielding Miranda from their father's scorn. They had escaped into the lists most days for combat training, and, in the process, his sister had turned herself into the finest shield legate in their kingdom. She now led the fifth legion out of Tuneden, and commanded the loyalty and respect of everyone from the lowest foot soldier to the most hardened general - everyone, that is, except their father.
"Please accept my apologies for your earlier treatment," Karl finally said, hoping the change in subject would clear the shadows that darkened Bean's eyes. "I only learned of your identity when I went down to the market to look over potential recruits for my sister's legion."
"I appreciate the apology. And the gift of the uniform." Bean gestured at his clothing, then arched an eyebrow. "Yours?"
"Yes, but you wear it better," Karl smiled, allowing himself the slight flirtation. When Bean returned the smile with one that showed the laugh lines around his eyes, Karl felt a small measure of triumph. "I'm pleased you accepted my invitation."
"I have no quarrel with you, Consul. This is our fathers' feud, not ours."
"Please, call me Karl. I insist."
"Very well. And you must call me Sean."
"I would be honored. Please, Sean, have a seat." Karl turned to the dining table, already groaning under the weight of the trays the entering servants were placing upon it. "I wasn't sure what you would like, so I had my chef prepare a sampling of some of our signature dishes."
"It all smells delicious, thank you. It's been...awhile since I've had a decent meal."
Karl was reminded once again of Sean's earlier plight, and made an effort to smooth his features, lest Sean comment on his ire. His father was the worst sort of fool, and Karl would have strong words for him at their next meeting. Karl knew, had he been the one captured by Gaharan men, his father would have been outraged if Karl had been treated as a common slave. There were better ways to make a point.
After dismissing the servants, Karl poured them each another glass of wine and sat across from Sean. Karl served them himself, piling each plate high with an assortment of food. After a few minutes of silence, broken only by the sounds of silverware on fine china as they enjoyed the meal, Karl spoke up. "I will admit I didn't have an entirely altruistic reason for inviting you to dine with me."
Sean didn't look surprised. "You wouldn't be a good commander if you didn't have an agenda. I assume it's information about our forces that you want?"
"No, I would never ask you to betray your people. But I would ask for your help in ending this pointless feud," Karl continued, tapping a finger on the table to emphasize his point. He'd done a lot of thinking while in the lists and he had an idea for détente that he hoped would be acceptable to both himself and Sean. "It's cost both our kingdoms far too dearly when we haven't the resources to spare."
Sean put down his fork. "I'm listening."
"We have a common enemy."
"The Mograths, yes."
"Exactly. And neither of our kingdoms is in a position to defeat their armies on our own. But, if we were to join forces, we could secure our borders and perhaps even drive them back across the Palus Mountains."
Sean started to nod, then frowned and shook his head. "Our fathers would never agree to an alliance."
"Not unless they were forced to become allies," Karl pointed out, hoping he wasn't about to make a grave mistake. He felt an instant kinship to Sean, but they were still strangers to the other, and it was a risk to speak so openly.
"And how would you propose this?"
"A union between your brother, David, and my sister, Miranda," Karl said, giving voice to his plan. "They're both renowned warriors in their own right, and both have the respect of their peoples. And I've heard your brother is a scholar - as is my sister. If I have your assurance he would treat her well, I think it would be a good match."
"And they may be suited, but I've got another idea. Why don't we pledge to each other instead?"
"Each other?" Karl couldn't hide his shock. There was no possible way Sean could mean it. "But we're the heirs to our kingdoms."
"Precisely," Sean replied, in the most serious voice Karl had ever heard. He leaned forward, green eyes alight with fervor. "We could truly unite our kingdoms when we ascend to our thrones, and rule jointly. A true alliance."
"I see," Karl drawled, impressed with Sean's reasoning. Sean was indeed just as clever as his reputation had suggested. He fell silent, thinking over the possibilities such a union could provide.
Some of the light dimmed in Sean's eyes. "You don't seem to agree. The idea of promising yourself to me holds no appeal to you?"
"No, not at all," Karl was quick to counter. "You're certainly pleasing to the eye. And your status as an honest and fair man is undisputed."
"And we each have a sibling capable of siring the next leader if we should choose not to surrogate any offspring," Sean continued.
"There is also that to consider," Karl agreed, still thinking through this new plan, and finding it a sound one. "But why me?" Karl wasn't arrogant enough to think that he had anything that Sean could want. There were other kingdoms with strategic holdings, and heirs that were far more valuable to Gahar's future with whom Sean could forge a coalition.
"I also know of your reputation. And I believe we could accomplish great things together for our kingdoms." Then Sean smiled, this one slow and heated. "And I would be lying if I said that I hadn't already entertained the idea of you in my bed."
Immediately, a flash of want swept through Karl's body. "I would also be lying if I said I hadn't thought the same thing," he admitted, his voice gruff with barely suppressed passion. "Before I found out your identity, I'd planned to purchase you as a pleasure slave."
"And I still could be," Sean replied, and winked. "But only in private."
Karl's groin tightened at the blatant innuendo and the mental image Sean's words provided. "We could negotiate taking turns."
"Excellent idea," Sean replied, with a smoldering look that had Karl wondering why they were still seated at the table instead of retiring to the bedchamber.
Then he let out a mirthless chuckle. "Our fathers will be livid at the announcement."
Sean simply slouched back in his chair and shrugged. "Perhaps, then, we should present them with a fait accompli?"
"You're devious. I like that in a person," Karl declared, and over Sean's delighted laugh, stood and headed to the door. Viggo stood to attention the second he spied Karl. "Sire, is everything alright?"
"Better than," Karl replied, and inwardly grinned when Sean moved to stand beside him and brushed a hand across his hip in silent promise. "Could you seek out Father Ian and my sister, and ask them to meet me here in my chambers?"
Viggo's gaze flickered from Karl to Sean, then back to Karl, before he nodded. "Certainly, Sire. Honorate," he said, then disappeared swiftly down the stairs.
Karl shut the door. Sean didn't move. They were so close Karl could see that Sean's eyes weren't in fact a true green, but were flecked with gold. "Your sister?" Sean asked.
"A member of the royal family must witness any marriage involving another member of the family," Karl explained.
"Clever," Sean replied, sounding impressed. "Saves you the worry of being kidnapped for a possible forced union."
"Exactly." Then Karl looked down at himself and his pedestrian clothing, and chuckled. "Not exactly what I expected to be wearing to my wedding."
"Nor I. But I suppose it's fitting I'm wearing something of yours since I intend to be wearing you as a blanket later tonight."
Karl shivered at the obvious desire in Sean's voice. "Are you always so forward?"
"Yes," Sean promptly replied, with another lewd wink.
Karl laughed. "Fair enough. I'll remember that."
"We have much to discover about each other. I look forward to the journey."
"As do I." Then Karl stepped forward, and cupped Sean's unshaven cheek. "Shall we seal our pledge to each other?"
They were close enough that Karl could feel Sean's shiver of need. In answer, Sean closed the small distance between them. The kiss was surprisingly soft, gentle, with Sean coaxing a response instead of demanding one. Karl swayed forward, chest brushing Sean's, sank into the feel of Sean's lips and Sean's arms around him.
When they pulled back, Karl was pleased to see that Sean seemed just as affected by the kiss. "I think we have our answer about our compatibility," Sean murmured, voice gruff.
"To our long and fruitful union," Karl smiled, and their lips met again. This time, they gave sway to the pent up passion between them, with Karl urging Sean's lips apart to suckle on his tongue. Sean groaned low in his throat, and tugged on Karl's hair, baring his throat to the scrape of Sean's teeth.
They were still locked in an embrace when Viggo returned with Father Ian and the Lady Miranda.
Consul Karl Urban of Rizen and Honorate Sean Bean of Gahar spent the next forty-two years side by side. Their surprise union was embraced by the peoples of both countries and celebrated with joy. Even their fathers eventually saw the wisdom in the alliance, and both blessed the marriage. At long last, after decades of skirmishes, Rizen and Gahar were at peace.
The balance of power in the region shifted significantly after the wedding, and the concerted efforts of the two men drove the Mograth armies back across the Palus Mountains. Their daring battle strategies and resounding victories are still the talk of scholars to this day.
Their shared reign over Rizen and Gahar was remarkable for both its longevity and its collaborative nature. Emissaries from visiting kingdoms were often overheard commenting on how the two men discussed each treaty, proposal, or trade agreement openly before entering into any sort of negotiations. Their sons and daughters learned the art of compassionate leadership and pragmatic compromise at their fathers' sides and carried those traditions and values to the succeeding generations, even to this day.
Much has been written of their combined military and state victories, but the most important and longest-lasting legacy they left behind was that of their near mythical love for each other. A chance meeting led to an epic relationship that is still spoken of with great reverence and has been the subject of numerous plays and songs over the centuries.
Newly discovered private diaries, written by Viggo Mortensen, their trusted man of affairs, reveal how the two men were inseparable in battle and in private. Contrary to the customs of the time, which encouraged extra-marital affairs and spouses spending months and sometimes years apart, the two men shared the same bed every night for their entire union.
Also contrary to the usual happenings of their time, Karl and Sean were buried side by side and share a joint headstone. The only information engraved on the stone is their names and birth and death dates. Their remains are housed in an ornate marble mausoleum that still draws record numbers of visitors every year.
***
Pairing: Karl Urban/Sean Bean
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I made it ALL up. Every bit.
Summary: Consul Karl Urban meets his match in a most unanticipated manner. Fantasy/Historical AU.
Notes: Written for savageseraph for the 2010 sons_of_gondor Trick Or Treat Fic Exchange. My prompts were "Karl/Bean, power play".
All thanks to idiosyncratic for her insight and beta and help with the epilogue. Any remaining mistakes are my own.
The sun was barely peeking over the horizon when Consul Karl Urban, leader of the armies of Rizen, and Heir Apparent to the throne, finished his morning stretches. He'd been up well before dawn, going through correspondence and readying himself for the day ahead, studying up on a new treaty proposal between Rizen and Arnog, and reviewing contracts between the banking guild and the merchant union. His father may still rule the land, but Karl took his responsibilities as both Consul and Heir Apparent seriously, and tried to involve himself in both internal and military affairs.
He was a powerful man, with a warrior's build and bearing, but he moved lightly on his feet, and that nimbleness had served him well, both on the battlefield and off. His face was too angular for true beauty, but it suited him, and he never lacked companionship from either sex when he chose to take a bed partner. His hair, a rich brown, was slightly too long for military standards, but he allowed himself the small vanity. The severe, close-cropped style favored by the rank and file troops made him look far too foreboding and closed-off, and he wanted to lead his soldiers by example, not fear.
A soft knock sounded at the door. "Enter," Karl called, and drew a robe over his bare chest and loose drawstring pants.
Viggo, Karl's trusted man of affairs, stepped into the spacious set of rooms, carrying a tray bearing a carafe of kaffee and two mugs. He was a slender man, lean rather than muscular, but his slight form belied his strength of both body and mind. He was garbed in the traditional navy robes of the royal court, which offset piercing blue eyes that seemed to see everything and into the heart of every man. "Good morning, Sire."
"It's Karl, Vig. Just Karl."
Viggo simply set the tray on a side table and began pouring. "As you say, Sire."
Karl could only shake his head. He didn't know why he bothered. To Viggo, Karl's traditional title wasn't simply a courtesy, but a custom etched in stone. And ritual was everything to Viggo, especially when it pertained to the royal family. "Has the caravan from Rahurst made it to the city?" Karl asked instead.
Viggo handed Karl his cup, then poured his own. "Their forerunner arrived at dawn to herald their approach. The caravan will arrive by midday."
"Good. And the medicinal supplies from Turpin?"
"The ship should arrive at the Nadore outpost in three days' time."
"There were no problems with the blockade from the Mograth fleet?"
"None, Sire," Viggo replied. "Our intelligence was flawless."
"Well, we certainly paid our spies enough for the information," Karl muttered. He poured himself another cup of kaffee, and consulted his notes. "Do we have reinforcements for my sister's legion yet?" Miranda had put in her request via special courier just last week, and Karl had vowed to see to the matter personally. Her legion had seen some of the heaviest fighting over the last few months, and were in dire need of fresh troops.
"A new group of slaves just arrived at Afalas market, Sire."
"Any of them potential recruits?" It was rare for slaves to become foot soldiers rather than day laborers, but these were desperate times, and allowances had been made in the last season to allow slaves to serve in the armies in exchange for the chance to earn their freedom via victory in battle.
"That is the hope, Sire. The prelate seems to think you'll be pleased with this lot."
Karl nodded. "I'll go have a look, then." His sister deserved nothing except the best.
Viggo offered a slight bow, and set his empty mug on the table. "I'll have Lawrence escort you down, Sire."
"I hardly need a bodyguard."
Viggo half-turned and lifted an imperious eyebrow. He may not have Karl's stature, but there was no mistaking Viggo for a mere attendant. His family had served Karl's for generations, and were valued members of the royal court. "Begging pardon, Sire, but while you may be Consul of the armies and a feared warrior in your own right, you're still Heir Apparent to the throne, and as such, you require an escort outside the castle walls."
"I know, Vig, I know," Karl sighed, conceding defeat, if a bit ungraciously. "But I don't have to like it."
Viggo's smile was just shy of insouciance. "We don't always have to like our duties in order to see them done, Sire."
"So you keep reminding me," Karl drily replied, and turned to the task of getting ready to head down to the docks.
***
The market square at Afalas was a bustling hive of activity, filled with myriad sights and smells and sounds. As Karl walked past stall after stall, he recalled many happy afternoons spent with Miranda at this market when they were children. It seemed nothing much had changed - the merchants were still hawking their wares in sing-song voices designed to lure patrons with the promise of incredible bargains, the pickpockets and thieves still skulked around the edges of the crowd, seeking an opportunity to strike, and shoppers still filled their baskets with silks from the north and produce from nearby farms.
The slave traders were set up at the north end of the square, and Karl, with Viggo and Lawrence a step behind him, made his way to the auction lines. His size made it hard for him to blend in, but he tried not to draw attention to himself, dressing in his most worn tunic and pair of leggings and beat up boots. He still carried a sword, but it was his practice sword, not the ceremonial one of his station. Even in the capital city, there were still agents of Mograth lurking about who would reap a hefty reward for assassinating the heir to the throne of their sworn enemy.
"The potential recruits are there, Sire," Viggo stated, murmuring the words in Karl's ear, and gestured to the line of men just off the side of the makeshift stage.
Karl nodded his thanks, and stepped to the front of the throng of buyers, scanning the men lined in front of him. There were a few that looked promising, and Karl made mental notes, quickly going from man to man, searching for signs of physical strength and bearing that would befit a soldier.
One in particular stood out from the rest, and not simply because his hands were cuffed in front him, in contrast to the usual custom. He wore the traditional kilt of the slaves low around his hips, but nothing else. His chest was broad, lightly furred, with strong shoulders and muscular arms that looked as if they'd be at home wielding a weapon. He had two thin scars just under his ribcage, and powerful thighs that looked far more suited to being on the back of a horse than doing manual labor. He was also staring defiantly at the buyers, rather than bowing his head in subservience like everyone else. Karl had to admit to himself he was intrigued by this blatant display of arrogance. And he was more than impressed with the build of the other man. It had been quite awhile since he'd taken a companion.
"How much for the blond?"
"Sire?"
"Him." Karl nodded in the other man's direction, and noticed the man was now staring directly at him. He stared back, mesmerized by eyes the clear green color of spring moss. There was no hint of fear that gaze, only a heat that seemed to close the distance between them. Lust pooled low in Karl's belly, and he felt his body tighten in response. "I take it no one's put in a bid for him yet?"
"Sire, I..." Viggo paused, then seemed to collect himself before continuing, choosing his words with great care. "I know how much you love a challenge, but are you certain you wouldn't like to have a look at the actual pleasure slaves on the market? We could see about acquiring one after we've finished our business here."
"Why, he's not diseased or to be used for fodder, is he?" It would be a waste if he was. Karl had never seen a man more suited to the battlefield. In fact, Karl thought he might offer the slave a position in his own legion, rather than ship him to his sister.
"No, Sire, but he...he's already killed one guard and maimed two others in an escape attempt. That's why he has the cuffs."
"And the prelate hasn't put him to death for this?" Normally, such acts would have warranted immediate execution, no matter what price the slave would have fetched on the open market.
"Ah, no Sire." Then Viggo sighed, and added, as if reluctant to speak the words, "That's Honorate Sean Bean, Sire. King Noble's son."
Karl whirled upon Viggo in horror, all thoughts of pleasure forgotten. "You allowed an Honorate to be placed with the general slave population?" he hissed, still mindful of where they were, and that spies could be anywhere. "The Heir Apparent to the throne of Gahar? Are you out of your mind?"
Viggo's lips thinned with unhappiness. "Begging pardon, Sire, but it was your father's suggestion. To, ah, teach the Honorate a lesson in humility. I believe your father thought the Honorate was attempting to scout our holdings in Lemech for a possible coup."
"That's no excuse," Karl retorted, whip-fast, anger coloring his every word. "That man is a decorated veteran of the Ollyth Wars and will be treated with all of the accord and respect of a man of his rank and position." The very idea that a soldier as venerated as Honorate Bean had been thrown in with the slave populace struck Karl deep in his heart. No warrior should have to suffer such an ignoble fate. "Pay whatever the prelate is asking for him - discreetly, mind - and take him to my chambers. See to it that he's offered a bath and a uniform and invite him to dine with me this evening. An invitation," Karl stressed. "This man is my equal in rank, and we will treat him as is his due."
"But, Sire, your father -"
"If my father wants to risk an open frontal assault by the Gaharan forces, then he is a fool on a suicide mission to bring our kingdom down with him, and I will not condone that. I command the armies, not my father. Therefore, I will decide what to do with our prisoners of war, which is exactly what Honorate Bean is, and I will not have him treated with disrespect. And remove the cuffs," Karl added, straightening to his full height. "I won't have him paraded through the grounds like a common criminal. Am I clear?"
"Yes, Sire," Viggo replied, with a defeated sigh. "I'll see to it personally. And I will extend your invitation myself."
"Thank you. We'll take the rest of the lot for my sister. I'll be in the lists training the rest of the afternoon."
"Very good, Sire."
***
It was amazing how much a bath and change of clothing could so change an appearance, Karl thought, when he went back to his rooms that evening and saw Honorate Bean standing by the far windows. Regalness had replaced defiance in Bean's bearing, and Karl could now see the quiet aura of command he'd missed earlier. Bean's hair was still damp from his bath, curling about his ears and neck, and the tunic of his uniform, no doubt borrowed from Karl's own wardrobe, pulled tight across that powerful chest.
Bean turned as Karl stepped into the room. Karl offered a slight bow in greeting. "Honorate, you do credit this house with your presence. May I offer you a glass of wine? Our grapes are renowned for their sweetness."
Bean extended his own bow and nodded. "That would be lovely, thank you, Consul."
Karl paused in the act of uncorking the bottle, and looked at Bean in surprise. "You know who I am?"
"Your campaign at Nebua has been heralded even in my kingdom," Bean replied, accepting his glass with a quiet murmur of thanks when Karl handed one to him. "Even the children of Gahar know your name."
Karl wasn't sure if he should be embarrassed by the attention or pleased that his leadership skills were heralded outside his own borders. "Surely your numerous victories would be more worthy of verse than any of my exploits."
"My father has commissioned no songs about either of his sons." Bean's lips twisted in an ironic facsimile of a smile that did nothing to take away from the handsomeness of his features. "He feels to do so would mean he's grown soft, and a leader should never show weakness."
This insight into Gaharan psyche was fascinating, if a little disconcerting. "But surely a leader must have the love and respect of his people in order to effectively rule?"
"That is not our way. Fear, my father believes, is a more powerful tool than compassion."
"I disagree. People want to be inspired, not cowed."
Once again, Bean's smile lacked warmth. "My father and I do not see eye to eye on many things."
"And your brother, David? How does he feel?" Karl inquired, wondering if this dissension was an aberration or a sign of something more fundamental at work.
"My brother agrees with him even less."
"I see." And Karl could, quite clearly. His own relationship with his father was fractious at best, and Karl had spent a great deal of his childhood shielding Miranda from their father's scorn. They had escaped into the lists most days for combat training, and, in the process, his sister had turned herself into the finest shield legate in their kingdom. She now led the fifth legion out of Tuneden, and commanded the loyalty and respect of everyone from the lowest foot soldier to the most hardened general - everyone, that is, except their father.
"Please accept my apologies for your earlier treatment," Karl finally said, hoping the change in subject would clear the shadows that darkened Bean's eyes. "I only learned of your identity when I went down to the market to look over potential recruits for my sister's legion."
"I appreciate the apology. And the gift of the uniform." Bean gestured at his clothing, then arched an eyebrow. "Yours?"
"Yes, but you wear it better," Karl smiled, allowing himself the slight flirtation. When Bean returned the smile with one that showed the laugh lines around his eyes, Karl felt a small measure of triumph. "I'm pleased you accepted my invitation."
"I have no quarrel with you, Consul. This is our fathers' feud, not ours."
"Please, call me Karl. I insist."
"Very well. And you must call me Sean."
"I would be honored. Please, Sean, have a seat." Karl turned to the dining table, already groaning under the weight of the trays the entering servants were placing upon it. "I wasn't sure what you would like, so I had my chef prepare a sampling of some of our signature dishes."
"It all smells delicious, thank you. It's been...awhile since I've had a decent meal."
Karl was reminded once again of Sean's earlier plight, and made an effort to smooth his features, lest Sean comment on his ire. His father was the worst sort of fool, and Karl would have strong words for him at their next meeting. Karl knew, had he been the one captured by Gaharan men, his father would have been outraged if Karl had been treated as a common slave. There were better ways to make a point.
After dismissing the servants, Karl poured them each another glass of wine and sat across from Sean. Karl served them himself, piling each plate high with an assortment of food. After a few minutes of silence, broken only by the sounds of silverware on fine china as they enjoyed the meal, Karl spoke up. "I will admit I didn't have an entirely altruistic reason for inviting you to dine with me."
Sean didn't look surprised. "You wouldn't be a good commander if you didn't have an agenda. I assume it's information about our forces that you want?"
"No, I would never ask you to betray your people. But I would ask for your help in ending this pointless feud," Karl continued, tapping a finger on the table to emphasize his point. He'd done a lot of thinking while in the lists and he had an idea for détente that he hoped would be acceptable to both himself and Sean. "It's cost both our kingdoms far too dearly when we haven't the resources to spare."
Sean put down his fork. "I'm listening."
"We have a common enemy."
"The Mograths, yes."
"Exactly. And neither of our kingdoms is in a position to defeat their armies on our own. But, if we were to join forces, we could secure our borders and perhaps even drive them back across the Palus Mountains."
Sean started to nod, then frowned and shook his head. "Our fathers would never agree to an alliance."
"Not unless they were forced to become allies," Karl pointed out, hoping he wasn't about to make a grave mistake. He felt an instant kinship to Sean, but they were still strangers to the other, and it was a risk to speak so openly.
"And how would you propose this?"
"A union between your brother, David, and my sister, Miranda," Karl said, giving voice to his plan. "They're both renowned warriors in their own right, and both have the respect of their peoples. And I've heard your brother is a scholar - as is my sister. If I have your assurance he would treat her well, I think it would be a good match."
"And they may be suited, but I've got another idea. Why don't we pledge to each other instead?"
"Each other?" Karl couldn't hide his shock. There was no possible way Sean could mean it. "But we're the heirs to our kingdoms."
"Precisely," Sean replied, in the most serious voice Karl had ever heard. He leaned forward, green eyes alight with fervor. "We could truly unite our kingdoms when we ascend to our thrones, and rule jointly. A true alliance."
"I see," Karl drawled, impressed with Sean's reasoning. Sean was indeed just as clever as his reputation had suggested. He fell silent, thinking over the possibilities such a union could provide.
Some of the light dimmed in Sean's eyes. "You don't seem to agree. The idea of promising yourself to me holds no appeal to you?"
"No, not at all," Karl was quick to counter. "You're certainly pleasing to the eye. And your status as an honest and fair man is undisputed."
"And we each have a sibling capable of siring the next leader if we should choose not to surrogate any offspring," Sean continued.
"There is also that to consider," Karl agreed, still thinking through this new plan, and finding it a sound one. "But why me?" Karl wasn't arrogant enough to think that he had anything that Sean could want. There were other kingdoms with strategic holdings, and heirs that were far more valuable to Gahar's future with whom Sean could forge a coalition.
"I also know of your reputation. And I believe we could accomplish great things together for our kingdoms." Then Sean smiled, this one slow and heated. "And I would be lying if I said that I hadn't already entertained the idea of you in my bed."
Immediately, a flash of want swept through Karl's body. "I would also be lying if I said I hadn't thought the same thing," he admitted, his voice gruff with barely suppressed passion. "Before I found out your identity, I'd planned to purchase you as a pleasure slave."
"And I still could be," Sean replied, and winked. "But only in private."
Karl's groin tightened at the blatant innuendo and the mental image Sean's words provided. "We could negotiate taking turns."
"Excellent idea," Sean replied, with a smoldering look that had Karl wondering why they were still seated at the table instead of retiring to the bedchamber.
Then he let out a mirthless chuckle. "Our fathers will be livid at the announcement."
Sean simply slouched back in his chair and shrugged. "Perhaps, then, we should present them with a fait accompli?"
"You're devious. I like that in a person," Karl declared, and over Sean's delighted laugh, stood and headed to the door. Viggo stood to attention the second he spied Karl. "Sire, is everything alright?"
"Better than," Karl replied, and inwardly grinned when Sean moved to stand beside him and brushed a hand across his hip in silent promise. "Could you seek out Father Ian and my sister, and ask them to meet me here in my chambers?"
Viggo's gaze flickered from Karl to Sean, then back to Karl, before he nodded. "Certainly, Sire. Honorate," he said, then disappeared swiftly down the stairs.
Karl shut the door. Sean didn't move. They were so close Karl could see that Sean's eyes weren't in fact a true green, but were flecked with gold. "Your sister?" Sean asked.
"A member of the royal family must witness any marriage involving another member of the family," Karl explained.
"Clever," Sean replied, sounding impressed. "Saves you the worry of being kidnapped for a possible forced union."
"Exactly." Then Karl looked down at himself and his pedestrian clothing, and chuckled. "Not exactly what I expected to be wearing to my wedding."
"Nor I. But I suppose it's fitting I'm wearing something of yours since I intend to be wearing you as a blanket later tonight."
Karl shivered at the obvious desire in Sean's voice. "Are you always so forward?"
"Yes," Sean promptly replied, with another lewd wink.
Karl laughed. "Fair enough. I'll remember that."
"We have much to discover about each other. I look forward to the journey."
"As do I." Then Karl stepped forward, and cupped Sean's unshaven cheek. "Shall we seal our pledge to each other?"
They were close enough that Karl could feel Sean's shiver of need. In answer, Sean closed the small distance between them. The kiss was surprisingly soft, gentle, with Sean coaxing a response instead of demanding one. Karl swayed forward, chest brushing Sean's, sank into the feel of Sean's lips and Sean's arms around him.
When they pulled back, Karl was pleased to see that Sean seemed just as affected by the kiss. "I think we have our answer about our compatibility," Sean murmured, voice gruff.
"To our long and fruitful union," Karl smiled, and their lips met again. This time, they gave sway to the pent up passion between them, with Karl urging Sean's lips apart to suckle on his tongue. Sean groaned low in his throat, and tugged on Karl's hair, baring his throat to the scrape of Sean's teeth.
They were still locked in an embrace when Viggo returned with Father Ian and the Lady Miranda.
Consul Karl Urban of Rizen and Honorate Sean Bean of Gahar spent the next forty-two years side by side. Their surprise union was embraced by the peoples of both countries and celebrated with joy. Even their fathers eventually saw the wisdom in the alliance, and both blessed the marriage. At long last, after decades of skirmishes, Rizen and Gahar were at peace.
The balance of power in the region shifted significantly after the wedding, and the concerted efforts of the two men drove the Mograth armies back across the Palus Mountains. Their daring battle strategies and resounding victories are still the talk of scholars to this day.
Their shared reign over Rizen and Gahar was remarkable for both its longevity and its collaborative nature. Emissaries from visiting kingdoms were often overheard commenting on how the two men discussed each treaty, proposal, or trade agreement openly before entering into any sort of negotiations. Their sons and daughters learned the art of compassionate leadership and pragmatic compromise at their fathers' sides and carried those traditions and values to the succeeding generations, even to this day.
Much has been written of their combined military and state victories, but the most important and longest-lasting legacy they left behind was that of their near mythical love for each other. A chance meeting led to an epic relationship that is still spoken of with great reverence and has been the subject of numerous plays and songs over the centuries.
Newly discovered private diaries, written by Viggo Mortensen, their trusted man of affairs, reveal how the two men were inseparable in battle and in private. Contrary to the customs of the time, which encouraged extra-marital affairs and spouses spending months and sometimes years apart, the two men shared the same bed every night for their entire union.
Also contrary to the usual happenings of their time, Karl and Sean were buried side by side and share a joint headstone. The only information engraved on the stone is their names and birth and death dates. Their remains are housed in an ornate marble mausoleum that still draws record numbers of visitors every year.
***