SPN Fic: The Heart Must Yield (2/5)

[deirdre_c]

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*****

They had several hours more travel the next morning, the thick, old-growth canopy soaring high above them like a green sky. But when they emerged from the forest, a keep stood just before them on a hill among early-sprouting fields of barley. Clusters of thatched-roof houses and gardens and groves dotted the road that wound up to its gate.

“My father’s vassal-” Jared began.

“Your vassal,” Jensen corrected, calling back for the guard to line up in fine order behind them. They might be few, but Jared should be seen escorted with all dignity.

“My vassal,” Jared echoed, rolling it around in his mouth. “Sir Steven has held these lands for us for many years, and his grandmother and father before him.”

Broad iron gates stood open and a steady stream of folk from village and castle flowed on foot beneath the arched brick, but made way as their troop of horses trotted past. Jensen moved forward to take the lead, scanning the bailey as they enter for signs of ill-will or any other trouble. There was evidence of disrepair to the outbuildings-roof tiles in need of replacement, green sprouting in the eaves’ gutters, and piles of rubbish in the corners of the courtyard-but no source of danger Jensen could detect.

Jensen could feel eyes upon them from around the courtyard and up on the battlements above as they dismounted, but that was to be expected at the appearance of strangers. Jared didn’t seem to notice, his eyes wide as platters as he took in everything around them.

A man strode out from the door of the keep proper to meet them. He was tough and lean, a touch of gray lightening his dark mustache and wiry, close-cropped hair.

“Greetings, Sir Steven,” Jared hailed him, swinging out of the saddle and striding forward. Jensen recognized the differences immediately: the lower pitch of Jared’s voice, the stronger set to his shoulders. Jared had drawn an air of confidence around himself like a rich mantle.

“Jared FitzGerald? Look at you, boy!” the knight said, laughing as he deliberately scanned up and down Jared’s height. “You’re twice the size you were when I saw you last!”

“And you haven’t changed a bit.” Jared smiled in reply and stepped forward into the man’s arms for a quick embrace. “But I am here to give you the news that I am FitzGerald no longer.” He stepped back and held out the hand with the Padalecki signet the Queen had given him, its etched gold glinting beacon-bright in the sunlight. “The King has decreed I should take on my father’s honors, once I marry a true Padalecki cousin at court.”

Jensen had to tamp down a grin at how self-assured Jared sounded, how authoritative. No sign of the uncertainties that had plagued him the night prior, the shy mannerisms of the boy on horseback the day before.

Sir Steven’s eyebrows rose in surprise, but that quickly gave way to a look of relief and satisfaction. “That is indeed wise of His Highness.” He went on a bit gruffly, “I’ll admit I didn’t always agree with the choices your father-gods love him-made about your upbringing, but- True Son or not-I have always known you to be a Padalecki at heart. No other lord would be more fit to rule these lands, I tell you.”

Jared swallowed hard, but gave no other sign that the words had great import to him. He simply turned toward Jensen, drawing him forward. “Steven, this is Sir Jensen of Ackles, my escort and the Warden appointed by the Crown.”

Steven clasped hands with him, “I’ve heard your name spoken highly of. And that was even before the tale of your heroic rescue of the King in the last battle with the Empire. We should all give you thanks for saving his life. You’re always welcome here.”

Jensen ignored the startled look Jared threw at him, surprised and discomfited that stories of his role in that final battle had spread this far. “I was but one man of many on the field that day,” he responded.

Strangely, Jensen thought he could smell the unexpected whiff of whiskey on Sir Steven’s breath. He checked the sun’s position in the sky. Not yet noon. An odd time for drink.

“Perhaps, Steven,” Jared said, a hint of sharpness in his tone, “You’ll spin that story for me, since my guardian has neglected to tell me it.” He glared at Jensen, who simply shrugged innocently. What time had they to talk of former encounters on the field? “But in the meantime,” Jared went on, more merrily. “Where is James? Tinkering with devices in his workshop, I would guess?”

Their host abruptly looked away, his lingering smile wiped clean, his dark face settling into deep lines. “My Jim is gone. Died-” the word choked the man’s throat “-not seven months past. Took a blow to his head while hunting. Woke just once to say a few words, then he was gone.”

Jared swayed as if he wanted to step close and embrace his vassal once more, but he did not. He merely said in a low voice. “So much loss. Your husband, my siblings, my father.” He dropped his head. “Perhaps we Padaleckis are cursed.”

“No,” Steven said curtly, voicing Jensen’s own unspoken protest. “Don’t say that. Don’t believe it. Accidents happen, people are born and sometimes they die sooner than we’d wish it, but that’s the way the world works.”

Jared’s head snapped up. He gestured to the dilapidated row of outbuildings. “Is that why the bailey sits unswept and the cookhouse roof is falling in?” Jared spoke the words, but Jensen heard the echo of someone else in his voice. “Is that why none of the grooms have come to take our horses? Is this what Sir James would want? To see you neglect your duty and leave the castle to fall into disorder?”

Steven held Jared’s hard gaze, the moment thick with emotion.

If this was how Lord Gerald had behaved, Jensen thought, he certainly earned his reputation for bluntness.

But just as Jensen steeled himself for further conflict, perhaps even the need to protect Jared physically, his Ward continued on, softly now. “If I am to rule these lands and you are to govern here as my liegeman, we both must master our grief and be good stewards for our people.” He held up a placating hand. “Let us go in and refresh ourselves, and at supper we can speak at more length.”

Steven reached out, clapped Jared on the shoulder. “Yes. That’s a wise suggestion, son.” The corner of his stern mouth twitched upward. “I mean, my lord.” Together they turned and headed toward the castle in step.

Jared shot an uncertain look over his shoulder at Jensen. He mouthed the words, Was that alright?

Jensen nodded firmly, then gave Jared an encouraging grin, and followed them into the hall.

During luncheon, Steven told them of the fortunes of the Williamshire holdings. Prosperous harvests, but followed by trouble with neighboring brigands raiding the farmer’s barns and silos nearest the border and stealing cartloads of grain. The vassal took a gulp of ale. For a moment he stared into the bottom of his mug, then set it firmly aside. “Jim would never have stood for it.”

“Imagine the names he would have called them as he ran the thieves off,” Jared laughed, lightening the moment as best he could. But Jensen could tell Steven was embarrassed that he had not addressed the problem himself.

Later, servants showed Jared to a set of rooms on the second floor, his parents’ chambers, rich in tapestries and soft bleached bedlinens and carved oaken chests. Jensen demurred from such luxury and requested a simple wall chamber off the main hall. He intended to keep a low profile. It might allow the castlefolk see Jared as the new Lord Padalecki, garnering all the honors of his station. Let him alone stand above Steven and the others, without Jensen-as a King’s knight from Morgan-encroaching on his burgeoning authority.

However, he had little chance to put this plan into effect, as Jared appeared in his doorway a scant few minutes later.

“So, if you please,” Jared inquired, smiling like a child hoping for a sweet. “Come with me to explore my castle?”

It did not bode well for his Wardenship, Jensen scolded himself as he stood and followed, that he caved at the first sight of an entreating look on Jared’s face.

First, Jared led him back downstairs and out to the stalls to check on the horses, then to the garrison to make sure the troop had settled in. From there they wandered. Up onto the keep walls, where sentries played dice in the watchtowers, down to the rough palisade of logs built in the outer bailey to confine the milk goats, plus sheep and hogs for the kitchens. They cut through the gardens, where Jared stopped to talk to a young cook picking herbs. Jensen noticed that Jared gravitated to the lesser servants during his rounds-the dogboy not the head groomsman, a man-at-arms not the captain lounging idle in the barracks-as if used to avoiding the higher-ranking staff.

As Jared pushed through a nondescript door in the main hall that opened to reveal a staircase leading down into a series of basements, Jensen had to ask, “Tell me again how old you were the last time you were here?”

“My eldest brother, Jeffrey, named after His Majesty, brought me with him on a visit when I was perhaps twelve.” Jared paused to grab a torch that burned in a nearby sconce and held it out for light. The dense, oily smell of the torch’s pitch curled back up toward them. They descended the stair.

“How in the world can you remember so much?” Jensen replied.

Jared shrugged. “Well, as I recall, we stayed for more than a month. I had a great deal of time to investigate.” A sheepish smile appeared. “And I’ve always been very curious.”

They rounded a corner, Jared holding the torch high. Nevertheless both of them nearly tripped and stumbled over a large pile of armor-breastplates, helms, weaponry of all sorts, including a matchstick-stack of swords and morningstars-left forgotten and rusting in the empty cellar.

“What is this?” Jared exclaimed, nudging a heap of shields with the toe of his boot.

“It’s a waste? A disgrace?” Jensen tried to make it come out lightly, but did quite succeed. They’d both seen how undermanned the castle guard was, how lax the discipline. This was simply the clearest example.

“Try not to think too poorly of Sir Steven,” Jared said. “He and his husband were together many years. I’m afraid he let James take on most of the household duties.”

“Even if your heart is tender, I’m not sure you should let that continue as an excuse, my lord,” Jensen replied, raising an eyebrow.

“Ugh. Stop that.” Jared waved off the honorific. “But you’re right. About the need for change here, that is.”

Jensen sensed a little of Jared’s uncertainty sneaking back into his tone. “Your father-” he began.

“My father,” Jared cut him off, “would likely order a prompt round of public whippings or immediately strip Steven of his title, neither of which I’m prepared to do.” He sighed. Then a moment later he locked eyes with Jensen, his expression suddenly alight. “But I have another idea.”

Jensen followed fast on his heels as Jared took the stairs two at a time, rushing to the Great Hall and calling for the nearest servants to gather around. He hopped up on one of the trestle benches, and turned to address the host of listeners, growing larger as more trickled in from the kitchens and bailey to see what was happening.

“Spread the word around the keep,” Jared said, standing tall, his voice carrying to the back of the room. “There are spare arms and armor lying neglected in the cellars. Any who would volunteer to help clean and repair them are welcome to join me when Sir Steven and I ride out tomorrow. Thieves from the Stuart lands have been raiding our local farms, and I mean to rout them out!”

A cheer went up from the crowd, and Jared peered around, grinning down at them with relief at the response. Jensen had to laugh to himself. It was an… interesting solution. Williamston was short of men- and women-at-arms, and many in the keep would jump at Jared’s offer with alacrity, each of them hoping for the chance at promotion from servant to soldier. Questions about mounts for tomorrow? For resources to train the new recruits in arms? For replacing workers who left necessary chores to play soldier with them? Jensen doubted if Jared had thought that far ahead. But he could work it out with Steven and the indolent captain of the guards.

A festival mood occupied the castle the rest of the day and into the evening. Animated chatter, people hustling from task to task with a spring in their steps, even those not involved in the rehabilitation of the arms. Clearly, Jared’s people were hungry for energy and purpose after months living under the shadow of Steven’s mourning and maudlin drinking.

Jensen’s last concern was assuaged when, at dinner, Steven simply exchanged an amused and rueful glance with him before turning to Jared to discuss details for the morrow’s expedition.

That night, as he prepared for bed, Jensen stretched and twisted, testing his ribs. A sharp twinge told him he was still healing, but nothing that should interfere with a trifling encounter with country bandits.

*****

For a second night in a row, Jensen woke with a start.

For the second night in a row, he discovered Jared awake and brooding. This time he didn’t have far to go. His Ward was sitting cross-legged on the cold stone floor, huddled up next to Jensen’s bed like a hound.

“No campfire here,” Jensen murmured softly into the darkness, trying not to startle him.

“No, but still a good place to talk.”

Jensen pushed aside the covers and swung his legs over the side of the bedframe. He thought about sliding down to sit next to Jared, but that seemed perhaps too intimate. More intimate than a midnight visit alone to my rooms? Jensen swiftly grabbed the stray thought and stuffed it away in the box he’d constructed for all his unsuitable feelings.

“I think I’ve made a terrible mistake,” Jared continued miserably.

“What’s that?” Jensen thought it possible he would lift the entire keep onto his own shoulders if that would take the defeated droop out of Jared’s.

“For all my father cherished me, I suppose, he did take every precaution to keep me from developing as a possible rival to my brother and sister.”

Jensen waited. He was getting good at waiting Jared out.

“I so bravely offered to ride out tomorrow at the head of our party but-but, I have no experience in arms. The gods know, I’ve never even held a sword but once or twice in my life.”

Jensen swallowed a laugh that might bruise Jared’s already tender feelings. He’d been braced for something much worse than this. “Jared, we’re not heading out to clash with a mighty army. This is just a pack of thieves, scavenger crows taking advantage of what have been easy pickings. They will scatter to the winds when they see us. I doubt I’ll even have to unsheathe my sword.”

“Easy for you to say,” Jared grumbled. “You’re not the one with less prowess at arms than a babe.”

Jensen replied, “Fighting is never easy, but leading is harder. I believe you have a talent for it. Any fool can learn swordplay.”

“But what will the troops think? Your soldiers? The new recruits? You tell me to emulate my father, but he was one of the greatest fighters in the land. What will our people think of a lord who cannot defend them?”

They are not ‘our’ people, but yours, Jensen wanted to protest, but that was not the important point right now. “Trust me,” he said instead, “they won’t even know, and even if they did, it would not matter.”

Then he yawned.

At that, Jared began to scramble to his feet. “What am I doing? It’s so late. I should-I mean-thank you. I’m sorry to disturb you again with all my worrying.”

“No, no,” Jensen replied. “It’s no trouble at all. You’re welcome to come to me every night.”

Oh gods. He bit his tongue, cursing himself at the thoughtless double meaning. But Jared seemed not to take offense, as oblivious as ever.

“Indeed. Yes. Thank you.” He ducked his head, his hand on the doorknob. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

And he slipped from the room and was gone.

*****

With his helm slung on the back of his saddle, Jensen savored the early morning breeze playing in his hair and slipping through the fine mesh links of his hauberk, cool and fresh. It was a beautiful day for a ride, even though they took it for duty, not pleasure.

He glanced over at Jared, fiddling unnecessarily with his reins.

Jensen had not the rank to keep a squire, and Steven was fostering none at the moment either, so earlier, at dawn, Jensen himself had helped Jared arm. He’d smoothed the quilted gambeson so that it would not chafe, and then helped Jared into a short haubergeon. He’d knelt to buckle on greaves to protect Jared’s legs and fastened a gorget to protect his slender neck, finally lifting a cuirass over his head to set atop all.

Under his hands, Jared had trembled like a young horse being saddled for the first time. And even though that was only the result of Jared’s nervousness, to feel him quiver, the nearness of him had made Jensen’s breath speed too quick, his pulse too. He’d had to flee to the privacy of his rooms the moment they were done.

But now here they were, and aside from Jared’s fidgeting, both of them were as mild as milk as they rode at the head of the company beside Sir Steven.

Jensen had instructed his own six and the twelve of Steven’s veterans who joined them to seed themselves throughout the rest of the group of novices. He could hear them murmuring advice and once barking an insult when one of Steven’s men almost slit his damn horse’s throat. Jared needed no such coaching, carrying the weight of his armor lightly, riding flawlessly. Jensen was tempted to compliment him but didn’t want to give away Jared’s inexperience to the recruits.

Steven signaled that the farm they sought was just beyond the next rise.

As they topped the hill, however, and the scene below came into view, Jensen realized they had underestimated their adversaries. There was a small band of coarsely-dressed laborers gathered around a barn, several chucking sacks of grain down from the loft to hands waiting below to load into a cart. But, in addition, assembled nearby was a mounted troop, all arrayed in arms and armor. Jensen counted thirteen. This would have given Williamston’s troop the odds. That is, if they weren’t burdened by the greenhorns accompanying them. As it was, Jensen feared that making this their first fight-Jared’s first-could easily go sour.

He turned to Jared and Steven, expecting to see his own concern mirrored in them. Instead they were staring down at the intruders, infuriated.

“Our property, our goods, my lord,” Steven growled.

“Aye,” Jared said, his lips pressed in a thin line.

Jensen guided Shadow closer to Faith so he could speak in low tones. “We should retreat, Jared,” he urged.

“What? No! We cannot let them get away with this!”

“It’s not safe for you… or these others,” Jensen added, thinking concern for the men and women more likely to sway Jared than personal safety.

Steven looked around like he’d just remembered their tag-alongs. “Sir Jensen’s right,” he admitted begrudgingly.

Jensen sympathized, it burned him too, to be on the cusp of action and withdraw. And yet.

“But Jensen-” Jared implored, pointing to where the raiders were swarming down from the barn and the small force of soldiers forming up in protective lines. “They are readying to escape.” Before Jensen could protest further, he went on. “Can not I stay here with the castlefolk while you engage? I’m prepared to fight, or-or try to anyway, but I’m also willing to stay behind rather than have all of us turn back while they pillage the farm under our noses.”

“It’s not safe,” Jensen said again, glancing over his shoulder, knowing his sole duty was Jared’s well-being and trying not to be tempted.

“I swear we will fly back to the keep at the first sign of any danger up here.”

Steven said nothing, but looked pleadingly at Jensen, too. He took a longer look back down into the valley, his blood already rising at the thought of a skirmish, of triumphing under Jared’s watchful eye.

“Please,” Jared said earnestly, with a face not even the Two could resist. “Protect my lands, sir, as I cannot do it for myself.”

“Alack!” Jensen teased, “Are we now players in a pageant for you to make such dramatic proclamations?”

Jared huffed and grinned, sensing he had won, and kicked a foot out at Jensen’s calf. “Go to. The chance to rout them will be over while you stand here mocking me.”

Jensen nodded to Steven, who swiftly set about ordering their veteran troops and sending the others to surround their lord, for what good they might do him. Jensen pulled his helm on and snapped the visor down before turning again to Jared. “Do not come any closer,” he ordered.

“I shall not.”

Jensen saw that his fighting force was ready, and unsheathed his sword, but waited for Sir Steven, as Padalecki’s man, to give the command to charge.

“For Lecki! For Lecki!” Steven cried, spurring his mount to charge the force below.

“For Morgan and for Lecki!” Jensen shouted, letting Shadow loose and thundering down the hill with the rest of the company, the tolling clash of armor and beat of hooves making his heart sing. For all his injuries and those to his comrades in the recent war, he could not deny that he was, at his core, meant to fight.

In the end, Jensen’s initial prediction was correct: he’d hardly needed to draw his sword. The intruders had neither the skill, the heart, nor the high ground that the Padalecki force had, and it only took moments after the two troops came together that the soldiers from Stuart took flight, unceremoniously abandoning the carts of stolen grain and their unmounted compatriots.

Sir Steven led the victorious crew back up the hill, prisoners in tow, to the cheers of Jared and Williamston’s new would-be soldiers. As they all feasted that night, Jensen noted renewed energy in Steven’s demeanor, as he and Jared eagerly planned the training of new troops and the assignment of new patrols to halt any further incursions onto their lands.

*****

They left the castle the next day, their road east leading through immense stands of cedar pricked here and there with groves of white paper birch. That evening, when once more it was just the two of them and their escort of six camping out under the stars, Jensen finally conferred with Jared on the visit.

“You did well,” he offered. He did not add, better than I expected. Or even, better than I would have.

“I’m not sure what it all means for the future, but thank you. Steven was a good and loyal liegeman to my father, and I hope this means he will be for me.” Then Jared sighed. “However, it was but one holding out of dozens, one major keep out of eight.”

“And they will come around in time as well. Do you doubt the rest will cleave to you?” Now that Jared had one success under his belt, Jensen anticipated that others might quickly follow. And why wouldn’t they? Jared was all his people could ask for in an heir.

“I fear time is the problem,” Jared said earnestly, looking deep into the fire as if to read answers there. “The longer it takes for me to consolidate my claim-even one backed by the Crown-the more likely this vassal or that will look to one of my neighbors for better surety, or even enrichment, and change allegiances. Think of Nemec on my far eastern border with Huffman. All Sir Colin would need to do is open its gates, and Lady Alaina would happily walk right in. I’m worried Padalecki could be eroded away at the edges.”

That deflated Jensen’s optimism a bit. He couldn’t rule it out. The Queen had said the other peers were waiting to see what happened. Who knew how long they’d hesitate?

Unfortunately, the best course of action Jensen could see was to get Jared quickly to Court, wedded and bedded and bound to a strong enough ally to assure his vassals of the stability of Jared’s rule.

And if Jensen himself would have rather preferred to string out these days of travel, more nights by the fireside in Jared’s company? Well. Duty had a stronger claim.

*****

But just as Jensen predicted, Jared was well-received in every place they stopped as they traversed the Padalecki lands. When they visited the small holding of Macon-barely more than a hamlet surrounded by pastureland, but where most of the kingdom’s finest cheeses were produced- Jared followed the couple who had stewardship for him all around the fields and the outbuildings.

He asked dozens of surprisingly pertinent questions about the pressing of whey and the ageing process, sampling and discussing the attributes of cow and goats milk, all while carrying the couple’s two-year old daughter aloft on his shoulders. And if Jensen could not quite follow the conversation about the optimal length of curdling, Jared seemed to have no trouble. What Jensen certainly could not miss were the approving looks Caroline flashed at Jared, nor the hearty way Peter called him “my lord” as they clasped hands farewell.

At their next stop, the keep at Day, Lady Felicia opened her gates with a bit more skepticism. She had only come into the position of castellan a few years prior, long after Jared had been tucked away at the monastery. She examined Jared’s signet closely, heard the King’s command, and with barely concealed reluctance, shepherded them into the keep proper. It was not until Jared engaged Felicia’s wife, Lady Tiio, in a spirited conversation regarding a particular botanical treatise on the cultivation of greens that Jensen felt Felicia began to soften.

When Jensen saw her nodding in approval at Jared’s thorough knowledge of the crops her tenants grew, he leaned toward her, offering her more stew from the serving plate at hand.

“He’ll be a good overlord, young though he is,” Jensen murmured as they ate a simple meal, spooning generous portions of carrots and meat onto her trencher. As if either she or I have so many more years under our belts, he thought wryly.

“Perhaps,” Felicia conceded. “What choice have I but to accept him?”

“Very little,” Jensen acknowledged, “it’s true. Is it his lack of traditional birthright that troubles you?” He refused to use the word ‘bastard.’ And although it rankled Jensen that she might hold that against Jared, he kept any expression beyond simple curiosity from his face.

The castellan glanced toward Jared and Tiio-both now laughing as Jared sneaked tidbits from his plate to a small black puppy scuffling under the table-then back to Jensen.

“No,” she said. “No. It will just take time to become accustomed. My whole life, the Day Family has lived in service to Lord Gerald.” She was quiet for a moment, then went on. “I think-for those like me who hold to Padalecki but know naught of Lord Jared-much will hinge on whom he chooses in this proposed marriage alliance. I’ll say straight out, Sir Jensen, there is bad blood with both the Connell and Hoflin clans in these parts. There would be-” she picked her words carefully, “-a lack of enthusiasm for our new Lord were he to be a puppet with either of them pulling the strings.”

Jensen nodded. “I see,” he said noncommittally. He wished the Queen had told him more. He had no idea which of the great houses would have suitable candidates to propose for Jared. How close a cousin would the Queen’s plan demand? There was extensive intermarriage among the noble families, and Jensen had a sudden mental image of a line of suitors snaking around the Great Hall at Morgan and out its front gates.

“He is your Ward…” Felicia prompted.

“Yes, but I have no say in his choice of bride or groom.”

He saw her glance from Jared and back to him, then raise her eyebrows in feigned surprise. But she said no more on the topic.

*****

They continued eastward, through the small holdings of Brownstead and Mills, Jared continuing to either charm or impress his new subjects at each stop.

At last they reached the boundaries of the seat of Jared’s lands, the main Padalecki keep at Saint Anthony. Jensen didn’t need a map to tell him. He could see it in the quickening of Faith’s pace. And by how Jared leaned forward as if he had the urge to get down from the saddle and run.

Saint Anthony itself sat atop a ridge of stone overlooking the river that flowed from the fresh water springs a few miles beyond. The river rapids poured down smoothly on their left, filling the whole of the valley with the sound of running water. A town huddled in the shadow of the keep’s great stone walls and spilled down the road, inns and crafthalls, markets and smithies, houses with white siding and red tile roofs all clustering along the riverfront. As they rode up the wide thoroughfare to the castle, children stopped their play in the dirt to gape at their company as it jangled by, gathering to trot along behind in a noisy pack like pups.

There was a sense of peace and prosperity here. The very air of the place seemed to wrap Jensen like a blanket that had been warmed in the clean-scented sunshine.

Fast as their progress across the Padalecki lands had been, word of their travels had clearly preceded them, as guards stationed on the battlements called down to Jared by name.

Over the drawbridge and under the great portcullis with its jagged row of teeth and into the wide courtyard they rode, Jared in the lead, practically galloping at this point. Jensen was concerned he might run down an unsuspecting porter or scullery maid at that speed, but Jared managed to enter the clear without incident. As soon as he drew Faith to a halt, he threw down the reins, sliding from the saddle to stride toward a couple standing before a small gathering of servants arrayed in rows. A welcome party.

The man in front was bald with a trim gray beard, but tall and hearty. The woman next to him of an age, slender with sharp-features. The two of them watched Jared dismount, and as he neared, the woman smiled and held out her arms toward him. Jared broke into a run.

Jensen watched as he threw himself into her embrace, and although Jared topped her head and shoulders, she wrapped herself around him, the man’s arms coming up to encircle them both.

“Your father. Jeff. Meg. We’ve lost them. But we still have you,” Jensen heard the man say.

And if all three wept together before the eyes of the entire keep, it was simply a fitting tribute to Lord Gerald Padalecki and his True Children.

*****

Jensen learned that Mitchell and Allison had served the Padaleckis as stewards of Saint Anthony for many decades, before Gerald’s marriage, through frequent wars and periods of peace, through the births of his children and the scandal that surrounded his relationship with Jared’s mother. They were cordial in welcoming Jensen and his troop, but it was clear their focus was on Jared.

The couple drew Jared forward to introduce him-or reintroduce, as many knew him as a child-to the chief servants arrayed in the yard, then, once inside carefully saw to all of Jared’s comforts and eagerly listened to the news of the bargain he’d struck with the Queen for Padalecki’s succession. They reminisced and laughed at old memories of Jared’s youth, they petted and cosseted him, calling for cool fruited drinks and pastries. It was only with poorly-disguised reluctance that they let him excuse himself-and Jensen, who had sat mostly mute in his seat next to Jared-to change from their riding clothes and wash.

Jensen found himself irrationally torn. On the one hand he was grateful that Jared had someone to provide such genuine caring and concern, such support. On the other-much to his shame-he found he was jealous.

He realized that, although he’d resisted at first, in this past week he had settled into the role of Jared’s confidante and adherent. The title of Warden had come to seem less a foolish caprice of the Queen’s and more something he valued, wore proudly.

And it wasn’t as if he did not still have that. Jared’s relationship with his father’s retainers need not negate it.

If only his head would tell that to his heart.

“They always did look out for me,” Jared was saying as they walked.

“Hmm?” Jensen looked up from his reverie, taking note of the fact that they were headed down a wide hallway topped by a vaulted roof of window-pierced stone. It was lined with innumerable paintings. They were the Padalecki kin, generations posed in state, from a silent-looking woman who gripped a double-bladed dagger to a knight in gold-gilt armor standing over the slain form of a winged dragon.

“Mitch. And Allison. They have always been that kind. Other members of the castle staff weren’t sure how to treat me. Looking back, I think there was a certain amount of resentment and outrage over my mother’s… encroachment into the lives of the Lord and Lady.”

“But you were just a child,” Jensen replied indignantly.

Jared looked sidelong at him and shrugged. “No, no. It’s fine. Few were outright cruel to me. They were just-” Jared trailed off, a faraway look overcoming his countenance. “Well, Mitch and Allison were particular allies, let’s simply say that.”

It did not take long for Jensen to settle into his room. It was the most luxurious quarters he’d ever been allotted-even at Morgan. This chamber had a huge bed strung with rich red hangings adorned with the gold Padalecki seal and piled so high with silky-soft featherbeds and bolsters that he feared he’d be injured if he rolled off during the night. He could not imagine that the master suite-where Jared had, after much urging, taken residence-was any finer.

His rooms were also near to Jared’s, but when Jensen went looking for his Ward, he was already gone. A brief inquiry with one of the servants in the hall sent Jensen up another flight of wide stairs and down a hall to a door that stood twice as tall as he. He pushed it open and was astonished by what he found inside.

It was a library. Tall shelves lined with more books than Jensen had ever seen were set in neat rows like foot-soldiers’ ranks. A miracle of tiny glazed-glass panes covered the far wall, letting in the streaming light of afternoon sun and making the room as bright as if they were standing in a field, with no need for torches or candles. Dust motes pirouetted over Jared’s head where he sat at a sturdy oaken table in the middle of the room, slowly turning the page of a tome nearly as broad Jensen’s shield.

“This is amazing,” Jensen whispered.

“Isn’t it, though?” Jared replied, standing with a proud smile of greeting. “I’ll admit it is my favorite place of anywhere on earth.”

“Where did all of these come from?”

“Years of collecting and commissions from the Brotherhood going generations back. Padaleckis bartering like fishwives for any volume they could find,” he grinned wider. “Perhaps some that were ‘liberated’ during the conquest of an adversary’s keep in some past campaign, but I wouldn’t know about those.”

Happiness, ease. This is how it looked on Jared. Jensen cherished getting to see it.

Jared glanced around. “I’m just relieved to see that it’s still here.”

“Well, you can spend all the time you wish adding to the collection.”

“Once I’m wed,” Jared replied, some of the animation draining from his face.

“Once you are confirmed as Lord Padalecki,” Jensen amended. Jared had been ambivalent about marriage from the first, but over the past week he’d seemed less and less enthusiastic, and Jensen couldn’t figure out why. But reluctance wasn’t going to make the task set by the Queen any easier. Jensen must provide wind for Jared’s sails on her behalf.

“Indeed.” Jared squared his shoulders at Jensen’s words, then turned to walk to one of the shelves, selecting several books and stacking them near-to-hand at his seat. “Will you think I am a poor host if I continue my research until it is time to dine?”

“No,” Jensen said. “What are you reading about now?”

Jared looked down at the set of leather-bound manuscripts before him. “Oh,” he said. “Just more histories.” His tone was odd, but Jensen didn’t press. Jared was probably simply impatient to get back to his studies, and here was Jensen, importuning him with conversation.

“Ah then, I wish you well with it. I’ll see to myself until you’re free again, my lord.”

“’My lord?’” Jared challenged, as he always did. “Still not a title I have earned. Especially not in this place.”

“A marriage contract may give you formal dominion here, but it will not make you lord of the land,” Jensen said firmly. “I would say that’s a quality that lies within.” He gave Jared a little bow, only half-mocking, as he stepped back out the library door. “My lord.“

He left Jared to his reading and wandered down to the stables. Shadow was in a stall quartered right next to Faith, and the horse raised his head with a whicker when Jensen entered through the double doors. The air was still, but not uncomfortably close or foul, and the stalls were clean, the bedding deep underfoot.

Jensen didn’t catch sight of any grooms wandering about, but both horses had clearly been cared for, curried to gleaming, Shadow’s dark hide as glossy and immaculate as polished ebony. He leaned on the wall of their pen with folded arms and watched the two drink water and munch hay from a slotted trough set into the stall’s wall. He realized he was hungry himself, so he turned to see if he could locate the kitchen outbuildings just by wandering.

The smell of baking bread guided him to a set of low-ceilinged huts. What he found was Allison, giving instructions for supper to the staff. Jensen paused a few steps inside the doors and cleared his throat. She turned to find him shuffling his feet awkwardly.

“My lord,” she greeted him automatically. Jensen almost corrected her-no noble he-before he thought of Jared’s protests, and had to hide an incongruous smile. “Is there aught I can help you with?”

“I was hoping to raid the larder without your discovery, madam,” he admitted. “I did not want to trouble anyone for service.”

“’Tis no trouble,” she said as she signaled to one of her helpers, and then led Jensen outside to a set of trestle tables that must be where men- and women-at-arms sometimes sat to eat. He settled himself on one of the wooden benches and was somewhat surprised when Allison sat down across from him.

He braced himself for an interrogation. Or perhaps entreaties for special favors. Instead, she merely asked, “What is it you would know?”

“I beg pardon?”

“What can I tell you of Jared? His life here or his family or the sentiments of the castlefolk upon the death of Lord Gerald? Is there anything you would know that will assist you as you stand as Warden for him?”

Jensen used the arrival of a servant with a platter of bread and hard cheeses to cover his surprise at her forthrightness. For a moment he was tempted to test her somehow, ferret out if there were some ulterior motive in this conversation. But a look into her calm, clear gaze convinced him to take her at her word.

They spoke at length, the sounds from the courtyard and the daily work of the keep in soft counterpoint behind them. Jensen discovered that the people here loved Jared more than the young man realized. Allison just smiled fondly when he mentioned Jared’s comments about the servants’ treatment of him as a child, and she assured Jensen they did not then, nor did they now, blame him for being born out of wedlock.

“If we were ever stern or hard on Jared, it was because he was a terribly mischievous child, too clever by half, and doted on by his mother and the entire noble family. The servants were the only ones to provide a jot of discipline at all.” She shot a glance up at the library windows, as if she knew that’s where Jared would be. “How he turned out to be such a fine man, I’m sure I’ll never know.”

And Jensen’s last concerns about Jared’s support among the Padalecki retainers were laid to rest.

“When must you leave for Morgan?” Allison asked.

“The Queen gave us until week’s end for our journey,” Jensen replied. “We’ll have to leave tomorrow, or the next morning at the latest, if we’re to meet her timetable.”

“Oh! So soon!” she cried, rising to her feet. “Please excuse me, Sir Jensen.” And she sped off toward the castle proper, muttering under her breath.

*****

When the hour for dinner arrived, Jensen slid into his chair at the high table, still unused to being seated at such lofty position. Jared scowled at him as he sat. “I blame you for the fact I spent most of my afternoon acting as a sewing dummy for the local tailors.”

“I thought you camped out in the library?” Jensen said, smothering a laugh.

“Allison commanded elsewise, insisting that I have no clothing fit for Court.”

Jensen shrugged. “Do you?”

“No,” Jared admitted, spooning a helping of rich pork cassoulet onto his plate and holding the dish out to Jensen as if forgetting they had servers standing ready to do such for them. “Unless the Court’s high fashion consists of plain grey tunics and threadbare cloaks. But that did not make the task of gaining new any more pleasant.” He sighed. “And here I thought as Warden you would look after my interests.”

Jensen himself quite enjoyed indulging in the bright colors and soft fabrics of court clothes after long stretches in nothing but riding leathers, but one look at Jared’s disgruntled pout and he decided to keep his own preferences to himself. “I imagine you’ll be glad of it once we are at Morgan. You’re less likely to stand out in the wildest of purple shades than you are in your current Brotherhood drabness.”

“Fine. Side with her.”

Jensen grinned at how Jared managed to sulk and take a huge mouthful of food at the same time. “And just how am I supposed to get you married off if you insist upon going about in shabby clothes?” Immediately, he was sorry he said it, even as a joke.

“That’s not your responsibility,” Jared said, suddenly stern, eyes narrowed. “You get me to Court safely, I’ll take care of the marriage part. I will do my best to quickly find someone to take me off your hands.”

Jensen’s first impulse was to refute, reassure, to make Jared know that the last thing he wanted was to get rid of him. But he shut his mouth over every word.

He is not mine, to give or to keep, Jensen reminded himself, and drew his breath sharply at the pain the thought cost him. He had realized from the beginning-was it only just a week ago?-that Jared was a prize he only guarded for another. He’d recognized how much he was drawn by Jared, drawn to him in a different way from the casual, purely sexual pull he’d felt from chance partners in the past. But Jensen had quickly put that attraction aside and done his best not to think about it. He’d simply enjoyed Jared’s company and getting to know him. Enjoyed watching him meet and conquer each challenge they’d encountered. Admired his earnestness and the flashes of quick wit they shared in private. And all the while he’d tried to avoid thinking about how desirable Jared was, Jensen had been falling for him.

He did not use the word ‘love.’ Even inside his own head, Jensen’s introspection had its limits.

“And so I suppose,” Jared continued, “it is time for me to ask again: whom will I meet at court?”

“It depends,” Jensen replied, hoping Jared did not notice how withdrawn and forced his voice sounded. “We can start with an obvious question. Do you look for a bride or for a groom?” He told himself it was a natural question, but he could feel his heart halt mid-beat as he waited for Jared to respond. He didn’t even know what answer he desired or dreaded.

Jared’s determined look wavered and he broke his gaze from Jensen’s to stare down into his platter, pushing the food around distractedly. “I-I am not certain. Either, perhaps? At Tall Timber I found little opportunity for, um, experience with such matters.”

Jensen recalled the many Brothers and Sisters he’d met over the years who had not scrupled to dally with lovers outside the bounds of their religious vows to celibacy. Of course Jared would be one who would take such vows more conscientiously than the Brothers themselves. The implication, though, that Jared was untouched, had found no lover to introduce him to the pleasures of the body, made Jensen simultaneously ache for him and ache to be the first.

He is not for me, he vowed again.

“And you?” Jared asked, as if reading Jensen’s mind. “Have you no thought of being wed yourself?”

Jensen hesitated for a moment. It seemed wrong to talk of choice when Jared was being forced into marriage with some as-yet-unmet stranger. Then he shrugged and answered true. “I am not against marriage. It is the Twins’ will, after all, that people pair together. But I have yet to find someone-” he searched a moment, “-someone who I can imagine spending a lifetime with. You see, my mothers married for love and their devotion shone in their faces each time one looked upon the other.” Jensen smiled a little to himself at the thought of them. It had been many long years since last he’d lived in that tiny cottage in Ackles, and he realized he missed them, in a childish way. “Since my earliest memories, that was my model, and I’m afraid their partnership has spoiled me for anything less. “

Glancing at Jared, who was taking in this speech with great seriousness, Jensen reached out for his cup and quickly manufactured a sardonic grin before bringing it up for a long swig. Such flights of romanticism might be all well and good for a harpers’ ballad, but they had no place in the life of a common knight in the King’s service.

“Besides, my first and best duty is to the Crown. I have no title to bequeath to heirs, nor any desire to be tied to one place. Love? Marriage? They are not for me.”

*****

The next morning, Jensen found himself hunting Jared down once again. Not long after dawn he’d awoken, finding himself slightly disappointed that his sleep had been uninterrupted by midnight counsels. He found he couldn’t go back to sleep, so with a sigh, he hoisted himself out of the absurd bed. Yet as early as he rose, he discovered Jared had been up before him, and he followed a trail of servants’ directions to a commotion out behind the stables.

“Strike! Harder!” Jensen heard Mitchell’s shout waft across the courtyard. Then the familiar sharp thwack of wood against wood and Jensen knew what he would see before he stepped foot around the corner of the building.

It was even better than he imagined, with Jared in the sparring circle wearing nothing but breeches and a thin, sweat-soaked linen undershirt open at the throat. Chest heaving with exertion, he faced Mitch with a sturdy wooden sword clenched in both hands.

Jensen had spent many long hours over the years with swords like these, practicing basic solo drills and carefully wielding one during training fights. Carefully, because although they rarely caused serious injury, he’d seen plenty of broken bones and concussions as the result of a direct hit.

“Hold,” Mitch called to Jared as he spied Jensen’s approach, stepping back out of the circle.

Jared noticed him then, too. He pursed his lips together with a look of chagrin and Jensen was sure that, had his color not already been high from exercise, he’d have been blushing.

“Good morrow,” Jensen greeted them brightly. “Don’t let me interrupt!”

“Nay, this is as good a time as any for a break,” Mitch said, wiping the back of his hand across his brow. “Jared has been hard at work for near-on an hour now, and he’s almost worn me out.”

Impulsively, Jensen held out a hand toward Mitch’s practice sword. “May I stand in for a few minutes?”

A grin spread across Mitch’s face, and he handed the weapon over with alacrity.

“Jensen-” Jared said in protest, but then trailed off, as if he couldn’t come up with any good reason to demur.

“I just want to see how you’re coming along,” Jensen insisted, hefting the sword in his hand to test its weight and squaring himself to Jared. He nodded sharply, noting how Jared set his feet, his shoulders. “Show me.”

They sparred. Jensen started slow, calling out his moves well in advance for Jared to react, simple attacks and defenses, strokes easily rebutted. But he soon realized Jared had indeed made progress in just his short time with Mitch and began to treat with more earnest.

On it went for long minutes, both of them grinning across at each other as the swords swooped and clacked. More of the keep’s soldiers arrived at the training ground, and, rather than pairing off to spar themselves, they gathered around Mitch, all hooting and cheering for Jared.

Jensen felt sweat begin to trickle down the small of his back as they danced around within the circle. Until finally, the swords came together with a powerful enough blow that it reverberated up his arm and down into his ribs.

“Ow,” he swore, stepping back to press a hand to his side.

“What’s wrong?” Jared asked, brow furrowing.

“It’s nothing. Just an old injury that won’t heal as quickly as I’d like.”

“You’re injured? When? Why didn’t you say something? You shouldn’t be doing this!”

There was no need for Jared to be so concerned. Jensen didn’t really want to argue about it. And Jared had shown skill enough that Jensen felt like he could tease. “It’s not as if I was up against true competition,” he said with a cocky smirk.

Jared looked him up and down but must have decided not to press him about the ribs. “Someday you’ll pay for that comment,” he riposted, eyebrow up. “If you’re ever fit to fight.”

Jensen snorted, then turned to Mitch, offering back the sword. “My thanks, sir, for letting me stand in.”

“No, mine. For the excellent spectacle.”

Jensen gestured with the sword before handing it over. “May we take these with us when we leave for Morgan tomorrow? My Ward could certainly use the practice.”

“Of course,” Mitch replied, taking both his and Jared’s and tucking them under his arm.

“And now may I ask that a bath be drawn?” Jensen asked, wiping sweat from the back of his neck. “I’m afraid I will offend at dinner without one.”

“There’s no need,” Jared chimed in eagerly. “I can’t believe I’ve yet to show you!”

“Show me what?”

“Come on!”

He waved farewell to Mitch and trotted back toward the keep, leaving Jensen hurrying to follow behind.

*****

Once inside, Jared led him through a narrow arch and down a flight of stairs. Down and down they went, the stairs turning from the familiar dark granite of the rest of the keep now to limestone, worn smooth by years of footfall. The walls became rough and pitted, raw-cut into the depths of the rock, but stayed wide enough not to be claustrophobic, with carefully-tended torches set in sconces lighting the way. The smell of mineral water drifted up to fill Jensen’s senses. He sucked in a deep breath to fill his lungs with the thick, petrichor scent.

The stairwell itself grew warmer as they descended. It must be particularly pleasant here in winter, Jensen thought. But even in the early-summer warmth, the humid air felt blissful to his stiffening muscles.

They emerged into a huge cavern, its ceiling lost in shadows far above them. Torches hung here, too, and in their flickering glow, Jensen could see a stair-step series of large pools, water cascading down each level with an echoing hiss, steam rising in soft clouds above the gently roiling surface. All around the cavern, seats had been carved into the stone, and shelves too, many holding stacks of fabric, which Jensen assumed were for bathers to use in toweling off.

“It’s just the same as I remembered!” Jared said, expression eager and pleased. He turned to Jensen. “The river’s source is just north of here, the fresh springs there are cold. But not these. I feel certain my father’s ancestors built atop this place just to take advantage of them.” He peered closely to see Jensen’s reaction. “What do you think?”

“Unbelievable,” Jensen said honestly. “I’ve heard tales of such places, but have never thought to visit one.”

“Wait until you try it!”

Jared stripped off his shirt hastily. His shoulders were wide, his chest and stomach carved with lean muscle like some sculptor’s dream. His breeches rode so low that Jensen could see the sharp wings of bone and the shadowed dip of his hips. Just as Jared’s hands rose to shove his breeches down, Jensen spun away. He quickly busied himself pulling off his own tunic and shirt, and found his hands shaking as he fumbled with his boots and then the tie of his chausses, finally peeling them off and kicking them away. He hoped servants might come down soon to check on them, for he badly needed a chaperone.

That’s when he noticed Jared standing there struck still. He was staring, his gaze running up and down Jensen’s naked form. That tell-tale complexion of his flushed rose-pink down his cheeks and neck and, oh gods, his chest.

“My-my brother and I swam here all the time. I didn’t mean-I wasn’t-”

Jensen damned himself for a fool. Although under the same circumstances with any other unwed nobleman Jensen knew, this would be blatant invitation for dalliance. But with Jared-monkish, unsure Jared-he was certain it was just the opposite. This was not enticement but embarrassment at putting them both in such an awkward situation.

Jensen didn’t know how to answer in a way that didn’t exacerbate the problem. “This is no different than with your brother,” he said at last, casting silent apologies to the Two for such a blatant lie. “I would swim, if you-” he almost said ‘desire,’ but managed to choke the word back, “-wish to.”

He deliberately twisted to put pressure on his ribs and the jolt of pain helped him control himself enough to will any evidence of arousal away, at least long enough for him to slip into the steaming waters. Jared had already hurried in, the mist from the churning water dewing his skin and jewelling his hair.

Jensen was distracted momentarily by the sensation of the waters enfolding him as he waded deeper, legs then belly then chest. He sighed with unexpected pleasure, accustomed to having to brace himself against the sharp chill of swimming in a pond or river. The water here was soothingly warm-but not scalding hot like a tub filled from a fire-heated kettle-and he felt every muscle unwind and relax as he moved farther into the center of the pool, his feet barely brushing the soft sands beneath him.

He paddled over to where Jared lingered. But Jared immediately moved away, into shallower water by the pool’s far edge to stand hip-deep near the wall.

He does not want you, fool, Jensen warned himself.

He deliberately looked away, so as not to torture himself with thoughts on the sheen of Jared’s skin or the slope where his spine curved toward his buttocks. He followed Jared’s gaze instead, to see that the back wall of the cavern was carved all over at shoulder height and down beneath the waterline with words. So many words. He swam closer, trying to make out what they said. Prayers to the Twins-for luck and prosperity and fertility and safety-or simple sayings. Tiny pictures like sigils. And names, dozens of names. Some seemed fresh, cut deep and lines sharp; others were worn down to indecipherability. He looked around and spied a thin stick of metal, pointed at one end, like a quill, that evidently swimmers used to make their markings.

Moving slowly along the wall, Jensen found the ones drawn by Jared’s siblings, both extensive, elaborate designs with many curls and flourishes clearly carved over years of bathing.

“Oh, mine is still here,” Jared said, so low Jensen almost didn’t hear it over the rush of the waters. Jensen waded over and saw three small letters-J F G-set into a nook in the rock face. Precise. Unobtrusive.

He held his hands fisted behind his back to keep himself from reaching out to trace the letters with a finger, not sure if it was allowed. And to keep himself from reaching for Jared, knowing for certain that was not.

Nevertheless, the image came to Jensen’s mind unbidden: of settling back against the stone ledge, pulling Jared in, his hands curving, fitting perfectly over Jared’s slender hips. He pictured himself licking up the side of Jared’s neck to collect the droplets of water there, while Jared would reach under the water to wind his long fingers around Jensen’s cock, stroking him to full hardness. Jensen’s hands would slide up to curl into Jared’s wet hair, urging him gently down into a kiss, his mouth slicker and hotter than the water lapping around them.

The air felt as if it had turned to soup in Jensen’s lungs, his blood throbbed with yearning.

“Jensen?” he heard Jared say, and snapped back to the present. To reality. To the world where someone else would, if they were very fortunate, share those kind of moments with Jared here.

Without a word, Jensen ducked under the water and swam away.

*****

| Part 3 |