Not Exactly a Secret [Fanfic]
Title: Not Exactly a Secret
Author: MorriganFearn
Rating: M
Characters: Rutger, Dieck, Clarine, Sue, Fir, Klein, Saul
Genre: Romance, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort (still not clear what that is as a genre, but it's prolly the closest to accurate I'll get)
Pairings: Rutger/Dieck
Summary: It's not exactly a secret that Rutger has some aggression to work through. It is a bit of a surprise that Dieck is interested in this. But as the first half year of the War Against Bern rolls on, the status quo they create begins to change.
Title: Not Exactly a Secret - Part 4
Author: MorriganFearn
Rating: G
Characters: Rutger, Dieck, Dorothy, Sue
Genre: Questionable Romance, Friendship, Reflections and World Building
Pairings: Rutger/Dieck
Summary: After the Etrurian Army rescued Roy's group at Ostia, they are summoned to Araphen to guard the negotiations made with Etruria over the fate of Lycia. Surprising as it is, Rutger thinks he might enjoy some of his companions in the army.
Previous Part (Castle Ostia) Next Part (Araphen City)
Not Exactly a Secret: Part 4
Much like the Plains in the waning summer, nothing much happened. They stayed at Ostia long enough to see the castle rebuilt and take a side trip to a volcano. Rutger discovered that while he might not like traveling over mountains, he had nothing but warm and fuzzy thoughts about them when compared to traveling inside mountains that spit fire out of the floor if you stepped the wrong way. His grumbling about lava unfortunately attracted the attention of the lime haired boy and his afternoon, when not evicting bandits from this fiery tomb, was dedicated to an enthusiastic lecture about how the earth was made entirely from magma.
Once the castle had been rebuilt, the army was back to Araphen for the first lordly meeting of the surviving Lycian marquesses and their Etrurian protectors. The little general of the sad rag tag mercenary army wore his new mystical blade on the first day of talks, trying to look proud and lordly, and as always, as though he was not fifteen years old and only commanding this force because there was no one left, and the army had sworn their allegiances to him.
“They'll grow used to it,” Sue said, looking after Roy as various Lycian nobles streamed around him, separating him from his army and making him look very small indeed.
She continued to bend the supple wood of her bow, getting ready for the watch.
Rutger couldn't help noticing that all of the non-Lycians were slated for the security rotation. Whether this was a hint that these matters were not for foreign ears, or to prevent any lords of the fractured alliance from opening the gates to Bern with their own men, Rutger couldn't bring himself to care much. Every inactive day was another day without revenge, and he was beginning to think that his dreams would consume him if this went on any longer.
“Grow used to what?” the other archer girl, Dorothy, looked up from the bow string that she was plating.
She sat on the edge of the crenelated ramparts, wind blowing her hair, and reminding Rutger of an awkward colt. He wasn't sure where she was from, but Saul had volunteered her up here fast enough, before hurrying off to attend upon a buxom cleric, so Rutger assumed that she wasn't Lycian.
“That their hopes rest with someone they don't believe ready for the responsibility,” Sue replied, sighting down an arrow. She was looking away from the court yard now, her eyes turned toward the mountains. “The men and women here will have to grow used to it.”
“That doesn't mean that they will,” Rutger felt compelled to point out.
The Lady Sue started, and turned to look at him, blinking with surprise. “Well, no. I suppose not. But desperate times might change minds. It has changed your church, hasn't it, Dorothy?”
“The Bishop says not enough,” the archer replied. “Bern is the second largest Eliminean enclave, after all. And their priests aren't as involved with the nobility as the Etrurian clergy are. There's a lot of respect for Bernians in the Eliminean church. You know, simplicity of life and hard work can seem like a good example on occasion. A lot of priests and bishops believe that we should be on the side of Bern-if it weren't for the dragons. To be honest, I think the old rules are more in our favor than any change right now.”
“Dragons,” the wind whipped the half reverent word from Sue's mouth and sent it tumbling down to the court yard. “Do you think it will come to that?”
As one, the three guards for that stretch of wall turned to stare at the court yard and sought out a shock of red hair in the crowd, hoping for a glimpse of the white silver blade.
“Bishop Yodel does,” Dorothy said at last, turning serious eyes back to the mountains. “But even if it doesn't, there's still so much to recover. Can you imagine the devastation a dragon could wreak on top of that?”
Sue nodded glumly. “Sacae is never going to be the same. We've lost so many of the greater tribes over the last few years. Nothing has been this bad since the days of the Talivar bandits, according to my grandfather, and they poisoned the winter water supply of one tribe so badly that none could use the site for a generation. Here the people just have to raise some stone walls. The hope of the Kutolah is gone, and Bulgar was all but ash-the Plains needs her people.”
“But surely-you're all nomads out there, some people must have escaped.”
“Not enough,” Rutger answered Dorothy bitterly. Last night he had retraced his steps through burned and empty streets. “Even nomads need traders and people to do things that are impossible when your life is tied to the patterns of the herds.”
Sue turned from her post, all surprise. “You-you're from Sacae, Rutger? I had no idea. From what tribe? You don't wear any bands,” she was already inspecting the mouth of his hooded surcoat, sharp eyes trying to see if he was hiding the tell-tale triangles at his throat.
“Both my grandmother and grandfather gave up their colors when they married merchants from Bern and settled down in Bulgar,” Rutger said shortly, hoping that was enough of an answer for a girl who had so recently lost her tribe.
He did not want a full blooded daughter of the greatest tribe north of the river to assume that she had any responsibility for him. It once might have been an honor to be noticed by someone like her, but not because one mongrel mercenary was all that was left for her to protect.
Sue drew in a breath as though she was about to say something, but she closed her mouth, and nodded, returning to her duties.
Dorothy looked from one to the other expectantly. With no answers forthcoming, she hopped from her perch. “If you are from the plains, Master Rutger, are you familiar with archery? Sue's shots are so steady and rapid, I can never out do her in practice. It would be nice to have advice-”
“I follow my sword,” Rutger cut her off. “The only prey I seek are men. A Sacaen's skills with the bow are for productive survival. The skills with the sword are for destructive survival.”
Dorothy started back a little, her entire body tight with nerves. Sue's mouth was thinner than usual, but her voice was light. “Which is a good thing, if bandits or Bern take these walls. He will be all that we have to defend us, once they get too close for our bows to be useful.”
Dorothy hummed thoughtfully. Rutger noticed that she was refusing to look at him now. “The knights are near enough to hear us call out, if we need more than one blade, I suppose, but they are protecting the mages on the other walls. General Roy must think quite highly of you indeed, Master Rutger, making you protect two charges, instead of one.”
“Or he thinks that no one will attack here.”
“Ah,” she drew out the syllable nervously. “ Um. Please don't sound so disappointed.”
But he was.
For the entirety of the talks bandits refused to attack, and the great machine of Bern's army refused to turn their blades against Lycia, lest they meet Etrurian fires. Rutger had enough when he was half way through a conversation with the Bernian healer, who he had successfully avoided up until Araphen, and realized he had agreed to escort the youngest members of the army to the ruins of their old home without even pausing to consider that this might make him miss an attack at the main castle.
Sister Ellen's stuttered thanks trailed away as she hurried off to give water to the other defenders. Rutger found himself scowling in the heat. The irritation was only more raw because of Dieck's presence-another person he had been avoiding of late, despite, or perhaps because of, a smug grin and tap on the nose the second night in Araphen promising that Dieck hadn't forgotten the bet, but he wasn't really in the mood to collect his winnings just yet. That night Rutger had taken out his frustration pleasantly enough to need stitches, and had assumed he was too tired to have the nightmares, so it would have been perfect if Dieck had used up the little win from the week before.
Luckily, Dieck hadn't, because Rutger had woken up actually screaming in the dark hours of early dawn. Rutger was beginning to conclude that a lack of victories was raising the ghosts against him. He hadn't had a chance to fight against Bern since Ostia. Hadn't been able to fight since Dieck killed the focus of his vengeance.
He felt as though he was imprisoned by invisible chains that pressed in on him with their iron weight, smothering him into corpse-like stillness, helpless to act, like a dog in a kennel. Once he began fighting again, he could get a solid night's sleep. Maybe he should go back to ambushing Dieck for actual sword matches. Obviously, wearing himself out pleasantly wasn't getting the job done. It might even be making the dreams more vivid.
“Sounds like a nice little day trip you just planned for yourself,” Dieck drawled, leaning against a crenelation as he honed his sword. “Poor Sister Ellen. She wanted to leave this stretch of wall as soon as possible, and now she's stuck with you for at least half a day.”
“I'm stuck with her, you mean.”
“That, too. But she's terrified of you, and somehow, I think you're up to the challenge of handling a cute little priestess, even if you suddenly were struck with the horrors.”
“Are you saying I'm scaring her?” Rutger tried to look serious and confused.
His little game of hurt innocence worked the trick more quickly than he thought it would. He had the pleasure of watching Dieck's mobile expression shudder to a halt as his thoughts had to adjust to a Rutger who might not be totally aware of everything around him. At last Dieck managed: “Well, yeah. I don't know if you noticed but you have a bit of a reputation around here.”
“And you don't?”
“I'm just odd. You're the big,” Dieck suddenly grinned, his eyes sweeping up and down Rutger's body leaning against the battlements, “well, little bad mercenary with the evil temper. Don't you notice the whispers?”
“Is that why people have been looking at me?” Rutger continued, trying very hard not to grin. “And I thought everyone was wondering where I found such a nice sword.”
Suspicion clouded Dieck's face. Finally he raised a challenging eyebrow. “Hmm. To the best of my knowledge you ambushed him in a stream bed. And left him bruised and bloody. Probably not a good recommendation for the rest to find a good sword.”
Rutger chuckled. “True. If anyone else went about it in the same way, I would give them a reason to be afraid. After all, he's my nice sword.”
As his words dropped into a gulf of silence, Rutger suddenly became very interested in the movements in the forest below. Not that the birds had stopped singing, so it was unlikely that bandits were crawling down from the mountains, but this was now the second time Dieck had drawn out thoughts Rutger wanted to keep private. At least those thoughts were only slightly embarrassing, and maybe Dieck hadn't noticed what he said.
Only an arm's span away, Dieck sighed. “You ever consider tying your hair back?”
“What?”
“Oh, just thinking that it's hard to tell how serious you're being when I can't see your face. But,” the mercenary's voice wore the edge of slightly smug satisfaction, “I suppose no one else knows what you're thinking, either. Enjoy being a man of mystery, do you?”
“Men of mystery don't get bothered by trivial conversation,” Rutger agreed, thinking about Dieck's habit of pushing his hair away. “Though it doesn't really seem to stop you.”
“Setting a bad example for the others, am I?” the tone was still smug and lilting. “I suppose it would be a pity if anyone else knew all the secrets you hide behind those clothes.”
“Says the man depending upon his scars to keep him warm. I should have guessed from the fact that you're not ready for the winter that you're not Ilian.”
“I guess when you don't even notice people talking about your temper instead of your swords, keen observation might be a bit beyond you.”
Rutger reached out lazily to flick at Dieck's ear. The skin he had been decrying against winter chills had absorbed the sun from the hours on watch. Unlike Rutger, who was slowly roasting into brown, the edges of Dieck's tan hinted at red sunburns underneath, and Dieck winced slightly as Rutger's fingers found the ear.
“Hey, go easy, will you? Some of us aren't dressed for the weather.”
“Me? Go easy on my opponent? Never,” but they were both grinning.
It startled Rutger to realize that he had been smiling much more over the past few weeks. Clarine, of course, was predictably amusing, but he had found himself warily enjoying the company of the irrepressible priest and his bodyguard, and some of the antics of the younger soldiers made him chuckle. When had that started? He still liked making Allen start like a nervous colt with a well placed glare, or Lance flinch when Rutger smirked meaningfully. But it wasn't always about chasing them away any more.
He shook his head. “I need to get out of the sun. I might actually be coming to like guard duty, boring as it is."
Dieck snorted. “Much to the terror of all the rest of us not lordly enough to get away from you.”
“I'll have you know I held a civil conversation with the priestess. I didn't even try to chase her away.”
“That's because you're bored, and making plans to get her alone to murder her,” Dieck taunted, pretending not to notice the kick at his ankle.
“I'm not that bad. She's a healer.”
“That's allowed, then? Even if she's out of Bern?”
Hmm, Dieck seemed to be fishing for something. Rutger caught the measuring glances from the corner of Dieck's eyes. Hah. The mercenary seemed to think that he was being sly. “She's not the kind of person who can set a street to the torch on an order, or for some gold.”
“You were at Bulgar when it was invaded, weren't you?”
The question had no curiosity or interest attached. It was the question of someone who thought he knew everything, had seen every invasion before. Rutger nodded stiffly, focusing on a steepled guildhall in the city of Araphen proper. If he didn't look at Dieck, nothing he did not want to share would spill from him.
Dieck grunted. His elbows resettled on the battlements. “Always wondered about you. How long have you been a mercenary?”
Was it safe to answer? Was something else going to pour forth, revealing Rutger to Dieck's pity and underlying scorn? Were the people he had cared around going to rise before his eyes until he drowned in their specters? He tightened his mouth, fighting for control.
“A few years. I used to hire out as a trail guard,” Rutger muttered.
“Mm. So-see many wars? I've been a mercenary, oh, thirteen years now? Most of the work on my side of the mountains is lords fighting over their borders, or who got to marry what piece of land with their wife. It's nasty, but this is a different scale.”
No. The plains had been relatively peaceful in Rutger's life time. The Kutolah and Djute had divided the Plains between them, and the lesser tribes weren't badly off. No group had considered a serious summer war. Even the mourning wars elders spoke of around the little mugs of sweet tea, saying men weren't half as tough as they had been in their day, hadn't been declared. It was a bad time to be an outsider bandit on the Plains, and up until last winter, the tribesmen had walked like the chosen of Mother Earth. Hunting parties might have attacked caravans, but everyone had been secure in their power, and war was a far off thought.
“I once walked home in winter because a raid on the caravan I was protecting delayed travel by a full month,” Rutger shrugged.
“Yeah. This isn't going to be over within the season,” Dieck mused. “I guess I'm lucky. I might meet old friends and comrades on the field, but that happens with mercenaries. Regular people are supposed to be basically safe, ignoring any bandits and such.”
“They're not.”
Dieck made a noncommital noise, and stretched out over the battlements. “We called them pirate summers when I was a kid. The only thing a lord couldn't protect against was river pirates. But they were supposed to be able to take care of armies. That's what lords were for. Then you grow up and come to fight and you realize lords can barely hold together against any organized force.”
The Plains had not prepared Rutger for any of the complicated web of lordships that began west of the mountains. It seemed foolish to trust anyone besides yourself and your family to keep you so safe that you could ignore fighting. He ran his fingers along the hilt of his sword. “Bern changed that for everyone.”
“Well, there's peace now. Maybe enough to get the harvest in,” Dieck laughed, though Rutger couldn't understand what was so funny.
“'Peace for now' isn't enough.”
He caught Dieck glancing at him, even as the mercenary straightened up. “Figured you'd say that. Saul's got a bet going that you'd abandon us just to kill some Bern troops.”
Rutger shrugged. “Oh really? Hmm. If we never getting moving again, maybe you'd lose me. I'd do everyone a favor and not turn my blade until after a battle though. Can't disappoint bossy little healer girls. Is my going soft for this group going to sour Saul's odds?”
Dieck smiled one-sidedly, and stared at the forest. “You don't need to reassure me. I know everyone's got a price. Though I guess we should count ourselves lucky that yours is so unusual. Most people are happy with 'please let me live to see tomorrow.'”
“Are they really?”
“I am,” and though the tone was teasing and light, Dieck had his head turned just enough that his expression was hidden. Rutger was hardly the only man of mystery in the camp.
The bell of the church rang out something complicated-devotions or reflections, or some other strange Eliminean code Rutger had never memorized. All that really mattered was that Wendy or Bors would stop dancing attendance on the fine lords in the castle keep, and take Rutger's place on guard.
Rutger waited until he heard clanking at the base of the wall, and then sidled over to Dieck. He slipped behind the mercenary, grabbing the wrists of both hands to hold him in place against the battlements. Taut surprise ran through the broad back under his chest, muscles surging with sudden tension, only to relax against him when he laid his lips against the burning skin on Dieck's neck. Rutger knew Dieck felt the smirk, but he only had half an eye blink to tense before Rutger bit down, reveling in the jerk and stifled yelp the sunburn earned him.
Admiring the latest mark as he tore away, Rutger tried to keep his face cool. Dieck might enjoy playing the fool, or brooding on his own secrets. Neither mattered in the long run, when they were only together for the length of a stalled war. Rutger would just as easily leave, if the army was reduced to nothing but protection for Lycia. The destruction of Bern would always take priority.
The lone mercenary sauntered away, leaving the half circle to burn merrily as Bors climbed laboriously up the steps.
Previous Part (Castle Ostia) Next Part (Araphen City)
Author: MorriganFearn
Rating: M
Characters: Rutger, Dieck, Clarine, Sue, Fir, Klein, Saul
Genre: Romance, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort (still not clear what that is as a genre, but it's prolly the closest to accurate I'll get)
Pairings: Rutger/Dieck
Summary: It's not exactly a secret that Rutger has some aggression to work through. It is a bit of a surprise that Dieck is interested in this. But as the first half year of the War Against Bern rolls on, the status quo they create begins to change.
Title: Not Exactly a Secret - Part 4
Author: MorriganFearn
Rating: G
Characters: Rutger, Dieck, Dorothy, Sue
Genre: Questionable Romance, Friendship, Reflections and World Building
Pairings: Rutger/Dieck
Summary: After the Etrurian Army rescued Roy's group at Ostia, they are summoned to Araphen to guard the negotiations made with Etruria over the fate of Lycia. Surprising as it is, Rutger thinks he might enjoy some of his companions in the army.
Previous Part (Castle Ostia) Next Part (Araphen City)
Not Exactly a Secret: Part 4
Much like the Plains in the waning summer, nothing much happened. They stayed at Ostia long enough to see the castle rebuilt and take a side trip to a volcano. Rutger discovered that while he might not like traveling over mountains, he had nothing but warm and fuzzy thoughts about them when compared to traveling inside mountains that spit fire out of the floor if you stepped the wrong way. His grumbling about lava unfortunately attracted the attention of the lime haired boy and his afternoon, when not evicting bandits from this fiery tomb, was dedicated to an enthusiastic lecture about how the earth was made entirely from magma.
Once the castle had been rebuilt, the army was back to Araphen for the first lordly meeting of the surviving Lycian marquesses and their Etrurian protectors. The little general of the sad rag tag mercenary army wore his new mystical blade on the first day of talks, trying to look proud and lordly, and as always, as though he was not fifteen years old and only commanding this force because there was no one left, and the army had sworn their allegiances to him.
“They'll grow used to it,” Sue said, looking after Roy as various Lycian nobles streamed around him, separating him from his army and making him look very small indeed.
She continued to bend the supple wood of her bow, getting ready for the watch.
Rutger couldn't help noticing that all of the non-Lycians were slated for the security rotation. Whether this was a hint that these matters were not for foreign ears, or to prevent any lords of the fractured alliance from opening the gates to Bern with their own men, Rutger couldn't bring himself to care much. Every inactive day was another day without revenge, and he was beginning to think that his dreams would consume him if this went on any longer.
“Grow used to what?” the other archer girl, Dorothy, looked up from the bow string that she was plating.
She sat on the edge of the crenelated ramparts, wind blowing her hair, and reminding Rutger of an awkward colt. He wasn't sure where she was from, but Saul had volunteered her up here fast enough, before hurrying off to attend upon a buxom cleric, so Rutger assumed that she wasn't Lycian.
“That their hopes rest with someone they don't believe ready for the responsibility,” Sue replied, sighting down an arrow. She was looking away from the court yard now, her eyes turned toward the mountains. “The men and women here will have to grow used to it.”
“That doesn't mean that they will,” Rutger felt compelled to point out.
The Lady Sue started, and turned to look at him, blinking with surprise. “Well, no. I suppose not. But desperate times might change minds. It has changed your church, hasn't it, Dorothy?”
“The Bishop says not enough,” the archer replied. “Bern is the second largest Eliminean enclave, after all. And their priests aren't as involved with the nobility as the Etrurian clergy are. There's a lot of respect for Bernians in the Eliminean church. You know, simplicity of life and hard work can seem like a good example on occasion. A lot of priests and bishops believe that we should be on the side of Bern-if it weren't for the dragons. To be honest, I think the old rules are more in our favor than any change right now.”
“Dragons,” the wind whipped the half reverent word from Sue's mouth and sent it tumbling down to the court yard. “Do you think it will come to that?”
As one, the three guards for that stretch of wall turned to stare at the court yard and sought out a shock of red hair in the crowd, hoping for a glimpse of the white silver blade.
“Bishop Yodel does,” Dorothy said at last, turning serious eyes back to the mountains. “But even if it doesn't, there's still so much to recover. Can you imagine the devastation a dragon could wreak on top of that?”
Sue nodded glumly. “Sacae is never going to be the same. We've lost so many of the greater tribes over the last few years. Nothing has been this bad since the days of the Talivar bandits, according to my grandfather, and they poisoned the winter water supply of one tribe so badly that none could use the site for a generation. Here the people just have to raise some stone walls. The hope of the Kutolah is gone, and Bulgar was all but ash-the Plains needs her people.”
“But surely-you're all nomads out there, some people must have escaped.”
“Not enough,” Rutger answered Dorothy bitterly. Last night he had retraced his steps through burned and empty streets. “Even nomads need traders and people to do things that are impossible when your life is tied to the patterns of the herds.”
Sue turned from her post, all surprise. “You-you're from Sacae, Rutger? I had no idea. From what tribe? You don't wear any bands,” she was already inspecting the mouth of his hooded surcoat, sharp eyes trying to see if he was hiding the tell-tale triangles at his throat.
“Both my grandmother and grandfather gave up their colors when they married merchants from Bern and settled down in Bulgar,” Rutger said shortly, hoping that was enough of an answer for a girl who had so recently lost her tribe.
He did not want a full blooded daughter of the greatest tribe north of the river to assume that she had any responsibility for him. It once might have been an honor to be noticed by someone like her, but not because one mongrel mercenary was all that was left for her to protect.
Sue drew in a breath as though she was about to say something, but she closed her mouth, and nodded, returning to her duties.
Dorothy looked from one to the other expectantly. With no answers forthcoming, she hopped from her perch. “If you are from the plains, Master Rutger, are you familiar with archery? Sue's shots are so steady and rapid, I can never out do her in practice. It would be nice to have advice-”
“I follow my sword,” Rutger cut her off. “The only prey I seek are men. A Sacaen's skills with the bow are for productive survival. The skills with the sword are for destructive survival.”
Dorothy started back a little, her entire body tight with nerves. Sue's mouth was thinner than usual, but her voice was light. “Which is a good thing, if bandits or Bern take these walls. He will be all that we have to defend us, once they get too close for our bows to be useful.”
Dorothy hummed thoughtfully. Rutger noticed that she was refusing to look at him now. “The knights are near enough to hear us call out, if we need more than one blade, I suppose, but they are protecting the mages on the other walls. General Roy must think quite highly of you indeed, Master Rutger, making you protect two charges, instead of one.”
“Or he thinks that no one will attack here.”
“Ah,” she drew out the syllable nervously. “ Um. Please don't sound so disappointed.”
But he was.
For the entirety of the talks bandits refused to attack, and the great machine of Bern's army refused to turn their blades against Lycia, lest they meet Etrurian fires. Rutger had enough when he was half way through a conversation with the Bernian healer, who he had successfully avoided up until Araphen, and realized he had agreed to escort the youngest members of the army to the ruins of their old home without even pausing to consider that this might make him miss an attack at the main castle.
Sister Ellen's stuttered thanks trailed away as she hurried off to give water to the other defenders. Rutger found himself scowling in the heat. The irritation was only more raw because of Dieck's presence-another person he had been avoiding of late, despite, or perhaps because of, a smug grin and tap on the nose the second night in Araphen promising that Dieck hadn't forgotten the bet, but he wasn't really in the mood to collect his winnings just yet. That night Rutger had taken out his frustration pleasantly enough to need stitches, and had assumed he was too tired to have the nightmares, so it would have been perfect if Dieck had used up the little win from the week before.
Luckily, Dieck hadn't, because Rutger had woken up actually screaming in the dark hours of early dawn. Rutger was beginning to conclude that a lack of victories was raising the ghosts against him. He hadn't had a chance to fight against Bern since Ostia. Hadn't been able to fight since Dieck killed the focus of his vengeance.
He felt as though he was imprisoned by invisible chains that pressed in on him with their iron weight, smothering him into corpse-like stillness, helpless to act, like a dog in a kennel. Once he began fighting again, he could get a solid night's sleep. Maybe he should go back to ambushing Dieck for actual sword matches. Obviously, wearing himself out pleasantly wasn't getting the job done. It might even be making the dreams more vivid.
“Sounds like a nice little day trip you just planned for yourself,” Dieck drawled, leaning against a crenelation as he honed his sword. “Poor Sister Ellen. She wanted to leave this stretch of wall as soon as possible, and now she's stuck with you for at least half a day.”
“I'm stuck with her, you mean.”
“That, too. But she's terrified of you, and somehow, I think you're up to the challenge of handling a cute little priestess, even if you suddenly were struck with the horrors.”
“Are you saying I'm scaring her?” Rutger tried to look serious and confused.
His little game of hurt innocence worked the trick more quickly than he thought it would. He had the pleasure of watching Dieck's mobile expression shudder to a halt as his thoughts had to adjust to a Rutger who might not be totally aware of everything around him. At last Dieck managed: “Well, yeah. I don't know if you noticed but you have a bit of a reputation around here.”
“And you don't?”
“I'm just odd. You're the big,” Dieck suddenly grinned, his eyes sweeping up and down Rutger's body leaning against the battlements, “well, little bad mercenary with the evil temper. Don't you notice the whispers?”
“Is that why people have been looking at me?” Rutger continued, trying very hard not to grin. “And I thought everyone was wondering where I found such a nice sword.”
Suspicion clouded Dieck's face. Finally he raised a challenging eyebrow. “Hmm. To the best of my knowledge you ambushed him in a stream bed. And left him bruised and bloody. Probably not a good recommendation for the rest to find a good sword.”
Rutger chuckled. “True. If anyone else went about it in the same way, I would give them a reason to be afraid. After all, he's my nice sword.”
As his words dropped into a gulf of silence, Rutger suddenly became very interested in the movements in the forest below. Not that the birds had stopped singing, so it was unlikely that bandits were crawling down from the mountains, but this was now the second time Dieck had drawn out thoughts Rutger wanted to keep private. At least those thoughts were only slightly embarrassing, and maybe Dieck hadn't noticed what he said.
Only an arm's span away, Dieck sighed. “You ever consider tying your hair back?”
“What?”
“Oh, just thinking that it's hard to tell how serious you're being when I can't see your face. But,” the mercenary's voice wore the edge of slightly smug satisfaction, “I suppose no one else knows what you're thinking, either. Enjoy being a man of mystery, do you?”
“Men of mystery don't get bothered by trivial conversation,” Rutger agreed, thinking about Dieck's habit of pushing his hair away. “Though it doesn't really seem to stop you.”
“Setting a bad example for the others, am I?” the tone was still smug and lilting. “I suppose it would be a pity if anyone else knew all the secrets you hide behind those clothes.”
“Says the man depending upon his scars to keep him warm. I should have guessed from the fact that you're not ready for the winter that you're not Ilian.”
“I guess when you don't even notice people talking about your temper instead of your swords, keen observation might be a bit beyond you.”
Rutger reached out lazily to flick at Dieck's ear. The skin he had been decrying against winter chills had absorbed the sun from the hours on watch. Unlike Rutger, who was slowly roasting into brown, the edges of Dieck's tan hinted at red sunburns underneath, and Dieck winced slightly as Rutger's fingers found the ear.
“Hey, go easy, will you? Some of us aren't dressed for the weather.”
“Me? Go easy on my opponent? Never,” but they were both grinning.
It startled Rutger to realize that he had been smiling much more over the past few weeks. Clarine, of course, was predictably amusing, but he had found himself warily enjoying the company of the irrepressible priest and his bodyguard, and some of the antics of the younger soldiers made him chuckle. When had that started? He still liked making Allen start like a nervous colt with a well placed glare, or Lance flinch when Rutger smirked meaningfully. But it wasn't always about chasing them away any more.
He shook his head. “I need to get out of the sun. I might actually be coming to like guard duty, boring as it is."
Dieck snorted. “Much to the terror of all the rest of us not lordly enough to get away from you.”
“I'll have you know I held a civil conversation with the priestess. I didn't even try to chase her away.”
“That's because you're bored, and making plans to get her alone to murder her,” Dieck taunted, pretending not to notice the kick at his ankle.
“I'm not that bad. She's a healer.”
“That's allowed, then? Even if she's out of Bern?”
Hmm, Dieck seemed to be fishing for something. Rutger caught the measuring glances from the corner of Dieck's eyes. Hah. The mercenary seemed to think that he was being sly. “She's not the kind of person who can set a street to the torch on an order, or for some gold.”
“You were at Bulgar when it was invaded, weren't you?”
The question had no curiosity or interest attached. It was the question of someone who thought he knew everything, had seen every invasion before. Rutger nodded stiffly, focusing on a steepled guildhall in the city of Araphen proper. If he didn't look at Dieck, nothing he did not want to share would spill from him.
Dieck grunted. His elbows resettled on the battlements. “Always wondered about you. How long have you been a mercenary?”
Was it safe to answer? Was something else going to pour forth, revealing Rutger to Dieck's pity and underlying scorn? Were the people he had cared around going to rise before his eyes until he drowned in their specters? He tightened his mouth, fighting for control.
“A few years. I used to hire out as a trail guard,” Rutger muttered.
“Mm. So-see many wars? I've been a mercenary, oh, thirteen years now? Most of the work on my side of the mountains is lords fighting over their borders, or who got to marry what piece of land with their wife. It's nasty, but this is a different scale.”
No. The plains had been relatively peaceful in Rutger's life time. The Kutolah and Djute had divided the Plains between them, and the lesser tribes weren't badly off. No group had considered a serious summer war. Even the mourning wars elders spoke of around the little mugs of sweet tea, saying men weren't half as tough as they had been in their day, hadn't been declared. It was a bad time to be an outsider bandit on the Plains, and up until last winter, the tribesmen had walked like the chosen of Mother Earth. Hunting parties might have attacked caravans, but everyone had been secure in their power, and war was a far off thought.
“I once walked home in winter because a raid on the caravan I was protecting delayed travel by a full month,” Rutger shrugged.
“Yeah. This isn't going to be over within the season,” Dieck mused. “I guess I'm lucky. I might meet old friends and comrades on the field, but that happens with mercenaries. Regular people are supposed to be basically safe, ignoring any bandits and such.”
“They're not.”
Dieck made a noncommital noise, and stretched out over the battlements. “We called them pirate summers when I was a kid. The only thing a lord couldn't protect against was river pirates. But they were supposed to be able to take care of armies. That's what lords were for. Then you grow up and come to fight and you realize lords can barely hold together against any organized force.”
The Plains had not prepared Rutger for any of the complicated web of lordships that began west of the mountains. It seemed foolish to trust anyone besides yourself and your family to keep you so safe that you could ignore fighting. He ran his fingers along the hilt of his sword. “Bern changed that for everyone.”
“Well, there's peace now. Maybe enough to get the harvest in,” Dieck laughed, though Rutger couldn't understand what was so funny.
“'Peace for now' isn't enough.”
He caught Dieck glancing at him, even as the mercenary straightened up. “Figured you'd say that. Saul's got a bet going that you'd abandon us just to kill some Bern troops.”
Rutger shrugged. “Oh really? Hmm. If we never getting moving again, maybe you'd lose me. I'd do everyone a favor and not turn my blade until after a battle though. Can't disappoint bossy little healer girls. Is my going soft for this group going to sour Saul's odds?”
Dieck smiled one-sidedly, and stared at the forest. “You don't need to reassure me. I know everyone's got a price. Though I guess we should count ourselves lucky that yours is so unusual. Most people are happy with 'please let me live to see tomorrow.'”
“Are they really?”
“I am,” and though the tone was teasing and light, Dieck had his head turned just enough that his expression was hidden. Rutger was hardly the only man of mystery in the camp.
The bell of the church rang out something complicated-devotions or reflections, or some other strange Eliminean code Rutger had never memorized. All that really mattered was that Wendy or Bors would stop dancing attendance on the fine lords in the castle keep, and take Rutger's place on guard.
Rutger waited until he heard clanking at the base of the wall, and then sidled over to Dieck. He slipped behind the mercenary, grabbing the wrists of both hands to hold him in place against the battlements. Taut surprise ran through the broad back under his chest, muscles surging with sudden tension, only to relax against him when he laid his lips against the burning skin on Dieck's neck. Rutger knew Dieck felt the smirk, but he only had half an eye blink to tense before Rutger bit down, reveling in the jerk and stifled yelp the sunburn earned him.
Admiring the latest mark as he tore away, Rutger tried to keep his face cool. Dieck might enjoy playing the fool, or brooding on his own secrets. Neither mattered in the long run, when they were only together for the length of a stalled war. Rutger would just as easily leave, if the army was reduced to nothing but protection for Lycia. The destruction of Bern would always take priority.
The lone mercenary sauntered away, leaving the half circle to burn merrily as Bors climbed laboriously up the steps.
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