the righteous thorn

"a bush of thorn, a wing stuck; a rusted sword, a lifeles buck; the shade of war leaves nothing behind, save a broken man and scars on the mind."

[amity-alder]

Reunited

location: the camp time: early evening  closed with @amongthebriars

Amity took care to avoid most of the Seelie fae these days. It was too painful a reminder of the life she had lost, the life she had lived in ignorance. She had been a child, leaping from one boiling pot into the other without ever knowing the difference. But she was still very much aware of them, especially Harland.

Alekto had never spoken openly of Harland, but Amity could discern enough. Moreover, she knew how safe she used to feel in the fae's presence. He had always been a kind face at court, even when she was nothing but a scrap of a girl with the promise of power. And even when she had delivered on the promise, he had never looked at her with hungry eyes. He had always been kind.

So her first reaction was shame when their eyes briefly met across the flood of people picking up leaflets dropped by the swarm of bluebirds. Everyone was absorbed in the copies of the Magpie's Nest, but Amity barely glanced at the words.

There was a part of her that wanted to run. It was strong and persuasive. But there was a smaller, more insistent part, that demanded to be known. That someone other than Alekto should bear witness, to know, that Amity Alder had emerged from the ashes, broken and battered, but alive.

So she closed the distance between them. "Harland Briar. Your Grace, if you please, would you come with me?"

[amongthebriars]

@amity-alder

The Nest's missive, in the long run, had not been surprising. Harland had expected something like this, one day.

Peace, as always, was so short lived for fae.

What he ahd not expected was Amity, that sweet little thing no more a wisp now, to find him in the crowd. He'd not known what happened to her, not truly, but he'd always suspected Naveen. How could he not?

So, when she approaches him, he does not hesitate to follow her, puzzlement and curiosity on his face.

[shymelody]

@amongthebriars

Doomsday || Edmund&Harland

It was such a nice late autumn, or well, early winter day. The weather felt a bit crispy and you had to layer a few more clothing items on you to make sure you stayed warm. Edmund had chosen to add a huge pine green wool scarf around his neck, and it was pretty much covering half of his torso too, as he made his way to the Briar household. Edmund hadn't told Freya he was coming for a visit today, but during the summer she probably got pretty used to seeing Edmund to just appear at their house. Either with something to eat or brought a different instrument for her to see. Though today Edmund hadn't brought anything with him, he had thought maybe they could just hang out and come up with something to do. Freya always had ideas for something.

The house seemed quiet as Edmund stepped in. Maybe he should've checked from Freya would she even be home today. Oh well, he'll just write her a note if she doesn't seem to be there. The young fae walked through the hallway, glancing in from the open doorways while taking off his scarf. So far there wasn't any sign of Freya, or anyone else either.

He was halfway of taking the scarf off and didn't even notice how the other end of it was already on the floor - not until he stepped on the scarf. He lost his balance momentarily, waved his arms in the air like a bird that's learning to fly, nearly caused himself to slip on the scarf too, but after a moment gained back his balance. He moved his foot from the scarf, collected the garment in his hand while trying to quickly pull the rest of the scarf from his neck on top of the pile. Hopefully no one saw that... To trip over his own scarf while still wearing the scarf - only Edmund would manage to do such.

[amongthebriars]

@shymelody

Harland had not been expecting company today.

Dressed simply in a dark tunic and thick, black breeches, the Seelie lord was meandering about between Thornhill and the Dragon's Den, planning, for all intents and purposes, a wedding.

To say he'd thought it was the least likely event to happen to him was the understatement of the last few centuries.

But, here he was, pouring over both documents and...fabrics, it appeared. He'd rather get burned again. ( No, he'd not be telling Balthazar that ).

The sound of someone coming though the door makes his brow furrow. The servants were gone, Balthazar was out, the dogs were at the Den. The warding on the manor and the estate grounds only let a handful of people into the place, but Harland's dagger was out and in his hand as he strode into the receiving foyer regardless.

The stern look quickly falls into one of incredulity as he spies the little bard, Edmund, fumbling to get out of his own scarf.

"Celestials above, Edmund. Freya isn't here. What are you doing?"

[alektobone]

amongthebriars​:

@alektobone

The missive had come in a plain, off-cream colored envelope. No embellishment, nothing out of the ordinary and, yet, the hairs on the back of Harland’s neck prickled. The paper was thick and it was scented, something like honey or woodsmoke perhaps, but otherwise anonymous. The information inside merely read “Archmage Bone has lost her voice.” The envelope and its contents were burned, his stomach churning.

Three days later, Midsummer received word of an iron poisoning. Alekto’s iron poisoning. 

Augustus was tacked and Harland was astride the beast by midday. He forced his travel to slow, knowing what that would look like, what loyalties would be questioned. Damn the Court and their loyalties, Harland said, when pressed about it by Atlas, who had stopped him between the treeline, she is my daughter. He had never known how true those words were until Freya had come into his life, until Alekto was there and gone. He loved her, still loves her, and he damns his pride for not having kept her safe every day he still draws breath. Harland could not fix what he had broken nor could he regain the time he had lost, with Freya or Alekto, but he knew he could forge something new from the ashes. 

Isn’t that what Balthazar had done, after all? 

Harland did not stop that evening, not until the forest paths were all but obscured by his sight. Only then did he halt his progress, knowing he nor Augustus could travel much more that night. The horse was bathed in sweat and the rider was dirtied, sore, and worried. A poor combination when horseback riding is concerned. Of all the things he had survived, breaking his fool neck falling off his horse’s back would not be the way he died. The roots of a tree became his bed and his protection, interlocking around his slumbering form while he slept. The journey continued the next morning at the same pace, yet the duke did not reach his destination until well into the following evening. 

It had something to do, perhaps, with the glamoured maze he was forced to navigate. To say it was irksome was an understatement. But, eventually, he made it, ragged and worn but no less damaged than he was upon entering the bloody thing. Shouting for Alekto Bone wouldn’t do the trick. He knew that from experience. So, like a civilized faerie, he dismounted Augustus and headed for the main house. Being intercepted by a servant was as he had intended, but the young mouse of a thing that came back for him, led him to where her mistress was, sprung forth a feeling of pity from him. 

Upon seeing Alekto, however, that pity was swallowed by white hot rage. Keir did not even register in his mind’s eye, yet he knew the whelp was there. They could have their little spat later. For now, his eyes drunk their fill of his daughter, assessing her for the damages done to her, knuckles bone white where they clenched into fists. 

“I should have come here first,” he finally said, glancing to where her monster of a horse stamped its hooves beside her. “You always did have such a way with animals, Alekto. You–how do you fair?”

Alekto watched him for a moment, stiffening up out of instinct. She shifted, well aware of the way he studied her, subconsciously moving to appear stronger than she felt at the moment, even if she could do very little to hide the clear effects of a lack of sleep and proper nourishment. Though she met his gaze without hesitation- defiant, even, full of a cold bitterness daring him to comment on what he saw- a part of her heart sank. She knew that look. Had seen it countless times when she’d gotten hurt as a child one way or another, though most often when she’d come home broken from Naveen’s training and been forced to spin a lie as to the nature of her extensive injuries. Her pain, however, was quickly replaced by a spark of anger. How dare he still look at her that way- as if he cared the way he once did- after everything?

The outrage showed, lightning sparking momentarily at her fingertips. Thanatos shifted. The horse turned his head to Harland, eyes fixated upon the man far more clearly than any normal animal should have been capable of, pawing at the ground with aggressive hooves. Perhaps a more open display of Alekto’s unease than the woman herself, whose face quickly regained its stony expression once he spoke.

“I was made to drink iron and stabbed with a poisoned blade during the one night I decided to relax and have some fun.” To call her voice a rasp in its current mangled state would have been an understatement. Even after continuous blood healing and Amity’s aid, which had indeed made steady progress, there was still far too much work remaining for Alekto’s liking. Each word coursed through her throat and set every pain receptor in the area ablaze, her anger and slow pace of words the only things keeping it steady. Though she smiled, she could not hide the agony from her expression, or the slight hiss of her breaths. But her pride spoke louder than her desire to spare herself from the suffering, too defiant before Harland Briar to allow herself to hide behind a glamour. It was hardly as if she cared what he knew- or perhaps some part of her still could bring herself to trust the man to not go scrambling back to the Seelie to tell them of how vulnerable Alekto Bone had become. “All things considered, I fair quite well. I’ll fair even better once I skin the Stranger alive and his head sits upon a pike outside Roheim Castle.”

Her hand flew to her throat as another wave of pain surged through her, nails digging tiny little crescents in her skin. Keir stepped forward on instinct, concern flashing across his eyes and remaining even when she raised a hand for him to stop. She paused only briefly, taking a sharp breath before the cold smile reappeared on her lips. This time, she did not hesitate to use glamour instead, a disembodied version of her voice echoing throughout the stables while her mouth remained shut.  You were the one who directed Amity Alder to my doorstep, you already knew that rumors of my death and the extensive nature of my condition are false. I doubt you came all this way to tell me I’m good at handling my horse and ask me how I am. 

So what exactly do you want, old man?

[amongthebriars]

@alektobone

Seeing Alekto like this, even after all this time, still made something within his chest twinge. Even still, even after all the pain she had caused, and the suffering, Harland still cared for her. Always had. That, alone, had been the reason he'd never quite come to killing her, despite the chance to do so on numerous occasions throughout the war, after.

Alekto Bone was a part of him, something Harland could no more cut off than a limb. The pain of it, he thinks, would break him, just as it would break him to know Freya had come to harm. Had the Celestials ever deemed a punishment for him, they would harm them both and be done with him, but Harland knew that was only asking for the slimest of chances.

There she was, though. The Lightning Mage, the Dark Daughter. Alekto. Still, as ever, his child. Defiant as she was when she had been small and furious at losing her seat on her horse, dark curls as angry as she. The pair overlap in his mind, twins to one another, but this one breaks Harland's heart far worse. The way she speaks, a rasp and a hiss to her words, bellies her pains, her suffering.

Harland knew just how painful iron could be.

He laughs, quietly, when she says she wants the Stranger's head on a pike, inclines his head in a nod. "Yes, I suppose you do. It is only fair, after all."

The disembodied voice that escapes from her after her bout of pain, the way that both Thanatos nor Keir flicker at the action, makes Harland on edge, but he, like Alekto, had never known when to show weakness, when to show fear. He, in a way, could never fear her.

There was too many memories, after all, that he had of her as a child. Of her as his.

"It is true," he begins, voice careful, even, as his gaze flickered to Keir at her shoulder, eyes hardening for the briefest of moments before shifting away. "That I sent Amity, just as it is true that she kept me up to date on your condition. But I received...a letter. And I wished to check with my own eyes that Amity was not...being untruthful." She wouldn't, as Harland well knew, but it - he --

There was too much at stake.

[amongthebriars]

Become the Beast || brine; flashback

closed starter for @alektobone

Harland had not been on a boar hunt since the war, before it even. He remembered his grandfather, long ago, taking him up onto the front of his saddle before the hunt and maneuvering them through the wood, explaining what was needed, why the hunt itself was necessary. He'd been fascinated. Though the boars' dying squeals had haunted him for much of the rest of that year, Elduin had given him praise for it.

Though he needn't provide the same experience, he'd told Caspian and Lillian both that Alekto had needed to learn, to fend for herself as much as she did everything else. They would not always be there, nor would he.

Which was why they were out here now, side-by-side atop their horses.

"What do you hear, lightning bug?"

[dance-of-war]

Happy Place || Halthazar

It had been a long time since either of them had any time to themselves. Least of all together, so when both Balthazar and Harland had been given a break from responsibilities, the court and other unnecessary obligations, he made sure to make full use of it. Of course, Harland didn’t need to know that Balthazar may have threatened a few smaller advisors into handling their work for a bit but honestly it could be seen as training for a promotion or something. It was good for them to learn to work hard, see them try and complain about the state of Balthazar’s paperwork now. Or the time he took to complete it. 

But that was beside the point. Now though, now they were free to do whatever the wanted for a good period of time and Balthazar couldn’t wait to bask. But basking could wait, wait until he had his fun. He was waiting for Harland to finish up the last dregs of whatever he was dumping on said advisors so he could retire for a much needed break. Which meant Balthazar had ample time to plan his attack. 

He’d decided on a rather tall, full tree that matched nicely with his brown leggings and dark green tunic. He’d dressed light and was perched perfectly still on a thick branch, far out enough that he could see Harland’s approach from quite a ways but with a clear path down to the ground so he wouldn’t get caught on any wayward branches on his descent. It was fairly highly up but nothing he couldn’t handle, doubly so when he pounced on his currently unsuspecting victim. 

Said unsuspecting victim was now approaching and Balthazar couldn’t help the mischievous grin that spread across his face as he shifted in preparation to pounce. Just a little closer, yes that was it. Closer…. Closer….

Without a sound, Balthazar launched himself off the branch, clearing the tree and it’s branches easily before locking onto Harland’s back and sending them both to forest floor. That was how one took down a tree, he laughed, running his fingers through Harland’s hair and keeping a leg over his side in smug accomplishment. 

“Gotcha” 

@amongthebriars

[amongthebriars]

@dance-of-war

How Balthazar had managed to get them time away from the Court, Harland would never know. In fact, he almost certainly didn’t want to, especially after the…incident during Titania’s gathering. Ever since, they had been followed by the whisperings of courtly intrigue. Most of it was not repeatable, utter filth, but some of it was amusing. Like most Courtly gossip, Harland chose not to bother with it. 

After ensuring that their advisers could do their ruddy jobs and not muck up anything that Balthazar or Harland had worked so tirelessly to achieve, Harland allowed himself to leave the Court, not looking back as he rode away from the place. He and Balthazar had agreed to meet back at the estate, knowing that they could more easily leave for the Wildlands. Harland had almost asked to include Freya, but something told him this excursion was not for the children, as it were. 

He was sending Augustus up the path ahead of him near Thornhill, enjoying the walk, when a noise from above caught his attention. Before he could react, Harland was tackled to the ground in a flurry of limbs, knocking the wind from his lungs, a pair of arms locking around his neck, legs bracing at his sides. Looking up, still a bit dazed from the fall, Harland groaned at the smug look on Balthazar face and thunked his head into the ground beneath him, tilting so the other faerie’s fingers had to reach further to get at his hair. That or, more likely, Balathzar would need to move for it. 

“What in the Mother’s name was that for Balthazar?”

[dance-of-war]

“Because I felt like it.” Balthazar chuckled, massaging his fingers deeper into the other’s scalp. “Hardly my fault you weren’t expecting it, out of practice are we?” 

Balthazar loosened his legs grip on the other’s torso to lay in a more comfortable position, now that he wasn’t making sure the other couldn’t shake him off. Though that preparation had been for naught as Harland, in his surprise, had gone down as easy as breathing. Still, it was better safe than sorry, especially when dealing with anything of Harland’s caliber and size. Bloody tree that he was, precision was paramount especially when trapping his Brær. 

“What took you so long? I finished putting the fear of the Celestials and most importantly my wrath, into my own set ages ago. Those old bones finally catching up to you?” There was a teasing lilt to his voice but a concerned undertone. 

Harland hadn’t appeared injured and with him this close to Balthazar it was easy for him to snuffle around and check for anything he had missed. No new or old scents of blood at least and he wasn’t shying again from Balthazar’s quite encompassing hold. There was relief in that, though what they both needed more than anything was a break. And a break they would have, a good one. Balthazar was sure of it. 

@amongthebriars

[amongthebriars]

"No, not out of practice," Harland drawls, thunking his head back against the floor. "But you're heavy." Still, there was no reason to struggle with him, nor to argue. The bloody lout would get up when he was good and ready. Brat.

Balthazar drapes himself, quite comfortably, or so Harland thought, across half his torso and the blond sighs, staring up at the trees and the sky above the branches, glancing down his nose at the other Seelie once he was settled. "Comfortable are you?"

When Balthazar started shuffling about, however, trying to get a look at him, see if he was injured. Harland swatted him away. "Nothing is the matter, Balthazar. I was enjoying a walk, which I seldom get to do these days without fearing I'll be maimed or poisoned, as you well know. Celestials know we both need the break. Freya too, though she'd hardly admit it." He thought of his daughter often, these days; how she had grown and how they had grown, together and apart like the tides, and what that would mean for the day she would, eventually, leave him again.

[spirited-away-to-mandalore]

💀🐴SKELTON PAINTED HORSES🐴💀

[amongthebriars]

lady-kit-scarlet​:

@amongthebriars​

Duke Briar might be dressed in a more relaxed fashion, but the subtle designs betrayed his station and wealth all the same. Kit Scarlet had never been one for subtlety. She was due to meet with the King later on and had dressed accordingly. The shoulders of her gown were decorated to look as if they were an extension of raven wings. Alekto Bone’s talisman hung from her neck and her long fingers were weighed down by nearly half a dozen dark, glimmering gems.

“Your Grace, Rosewood Manor is well acquainted with the unorthodox so there is no need for apologies.” Kit replied, her own hands clasped in front of her, her index finger resting lightly on the inner aspect of her wrist. Her mother had taught her when she was young and easily startled at court to simply feel that constant beat and draw strength in its regularity. So a Duke, so close to her old friend, had come calling unexpectedly. Her heart would still beat even if this visit promised nothing but fresh hurt.

“I not only permit your candor, but welcome it wholeheartedly.” Kit continued. “Your congratulations are appreciated. She is a splendid child, just sleeping upstairs.” She would not invite him to see the child without discerning his true motives first.

Maddox was about to resume his post near the door- close enough to be within earshot and reach of his mistress, but far enough that most of the nobility could ignore him easily- when Duke Briar surprised him with his recognition. The surprise briefly showed on his face before the usual stoicism replaced it.

The gesture and Maddox’s subsequent reaction somewhat softened Kit’s mood. “Very few at court seem to be able to see my shadow guard,” Kit said. “But I have also heard that very few things or people can escape the scope of your attention, Duke Briar.”

Maddox scoffed in response. “You may keep your courtiers, my lady. I am perfectly content in the periphery.” He bowed to the Duke. “I mean no offense, Your Grace. Only that I am ill suited for polite conversation and company.” 

@lady-kit-scarlet​

The notions of Lady Scarlet’s beauty were undeniable, and Harland could find no fault with her dress nor her demeanor. She was as pretty as the courts whispered, and it was no wonder that the Rat King hoarded her like gold. But what his eyes fell toward were not the beringed fingers nor the raven’s wing gown curling across her body, but the talisman hanging around her throat. He recognized it like he would recognize its creator from one breath to the next.

It was no surprise, really, that Alekto and Lady Scarlet were acquainted. Alekto had always enjoyed pretty, dangerous things.

At her comment, a small grin curls the edge of his mouth to show his teeth, the thin scar along the side of his face flexing with the movement. He no longer felt its pull, though he knew it was there; it had not bothered him for decades, though he still hid the scarring at his throat, for that was a weakness he must conceal.

“Ah, quite. I suspected as much. It is late, I know, but I felt as though this...gift could not wait. If you would like to examine it, please.” The last he directs to her guard, a surety  to his gaze, eyes steady, as he gestures to the parcel. “I will not stop you. It was made by my own hand, a welcome to the world for your Elia, though it is late. Lord Black and I wish her, and you, well.”

It was one of the few ways that he knew to express it, his affection or his protection, sometimes something he could not name. He did not know Lady Scarlet, not truly, but he knew Balthazar, and if they were from the same stock, then he would extend the same grace he had to Balthazar all those years ago to the lady, in return.

The surprise on the guard’s face rises and falls like the tide waters of his home, and Harland is charmed by it, the suddenness of his recognition, and saddened by it. He should not be so ignored, though he knows it is his job to be. “That is because very few look for that which they do not deem worthy. I deem very little, particularly people, worthless.”

The guard makes him laugh, a broad delighted sound, and Harland’s shoulders fall into their easement, waving away his bowing and scrapping and his title. “Most would say I am, as well. Certainly I do not mind it. I prefer to be away from court, as it were, though my station often does not permit it. You do not bring me any offense,” he switches, briefly, to the Shark’s own language, a mischievous grin curving across his mouth for the barest of seconds, “certainly not to the eyes. What do you call yourself?”

[whirlybirbs]

objectifying men in armor will literally never get old. like, work it shiny boy. hit ‘em with that old razzle dazzle you fuckin trash can. hottie! (tucks $5 into your cuirass) 

[shambling-under-moonlight]

Throws in some gold coins at the neck opening and hear it rattling all the way down.

[lionfloss]

via

[dance-of-war]

amongthebriars​:

@dance-of-war​

There was a rage that still danced in his belly, igniting his eyes with a fire that was swallowed up in grief, a snarl that was more animal than man, something painful in the sound. It was the noise of a man that had been, while not broken entirely, had been dutifully shattered apart. He had been glued back together with piecemeal hope and the knowledge that people needed him, but he did not care. Not at this moment. 

At this moment, in particular, Harland wanted to squeeze the life from the faerie that had dared break into his home, the tent he had barricaded himself and his grief into. He knew he could not. Instead, he swallowed that hatred and that grief and pushed it into himself. Harland was a good solider. Good soldiers did not hurt their own. They hurt themselves before it came to that. 

His hands were bleeding. He knew it, could feel it dripping dripping dripping down the rivets of his knuckles and across the slope of his wrist bone, but it did not truly register. Harland had been nothing but numb since learning the news, since hearing that Arro–

Harland choked back a sob when this faerie’s hands touched him and he struggled, though it was a feeble attempt to get away. The strength he had, was known for, had been replaced by the desperation of a bud, shallow breaths coming in and rushing out from his lungs. Harland’s eyes found the wall of the tent, saw the black ink splattered there and thought of dried and drying blood, imagined it was the death wound that had struck Arro down. 

He sobbed harder. 

The hands that had begun to unwrap his bindings were gentle for a soldier’s hands, even as sword-calloused as they were. The skin was hot, almost burning, but Harland did not flinch away from it. He lived with a constant heat at his throat, the feeling of it thrumming in his veins. Some mornings, it was that reminder that made him move for the aching of his body, the bone-deep weariness that had begun to eat away at him so early on. The world was grey, swirling in ash, colorless, and he was the kindling. 

He needed to walk through the world to survive, yet it would burn him out just as quickly for the walking. 

His hands spasmed painfully when the bandages were finally removed and it sobered him enough to wrench away from those hot hands and those sword-callouses, fingers curling in on themselves, aching, into a fist. They quivered, unable to even hold a pen. It scared him. He was their commander. He was theirs. He was a soldier. 

What good was a soldier without his hands? Without his weapons? 

He was nothing. He could do nothing.

That despair ate away at him. They, the healers, told him all would be well, that he would heal. But he was not healing quickly enough. This was a war and a war needed its soldiers, it needed him. They needed him. He was no good to them like this, blood flowing, sluggish, across his knuckles. The wounds were healing, nearly healed, but he had bashed them against something on the desk and now they wept. 

He felt like weeping, too, so he did. 

At Briar’s snarl, Balthazar bent his head low and let a low purring hum crawl up his throat in response. He felt Briar’s hand be snatched from his even as he heard the sobs. The papers he had put back on the desk had familiar and unfamiliar names, yet Balthazar knew what they were. How could he not? 

So he grabbed Briar’s hand again, carefully, gently. The blood from the cuts pooling into his hand instead of the desk and their current missives, as he tugged Briar over again, never raising his head. 

Those were important, those were death letters, those were the aches and pains and guilt of the living even as they mourned the dead. 

Balthazar tugged and prodded at Harland’s fists, trying to get him to unclench for just a moment, sending a tiny sparks of warmth up his nerves to his fingertips, nothing burned, frothing and wild. But something more gentle, akin to the shows he would put on when he was younger with fire flinging from his fingertips into the most wild and fantastical shapes. 

Gentle. Soothing. Warm. 

Until finally Briar opened his hand enough for Balthazar to see, and apply some ointment. 

“This will sting.” He murmured quietly. 

It was a Black family recipe, threw the healing process into overdrive and this was the last of it he had left. He didn’t know how to make anymore but he did know it stung as it worked, but it worked nonetheless. It was perfect for injured hands and fingers, delicate nerve endings and tender that were often too small or tender to be healed the usual way. It still stung like a bitch though. 

“It’ll help with the wounds.” He continued as he moved to do the other hand, steadfastly avoiding the parchment and catching the dripping blood on his hands. 

Balthazar left them unbandaged for now. The ointment would harden once the stinging stopped and Balthazar would have to burn it off himself or, more than likely, teach Briar how to do with a candle instead. 

He ignored the choking sobs and the tears he could feel fall on his forehead and down his face from where he was still leaned over, head bent. 

Without conscious thought, he started humming a Black lullaby, the one his grandfather taught him, even as he turned Briar’s hands flat and held them lightly, keeping the sparking warmth going, the only type of soothing he knew how to do. 

[amongthebriars]

Harland hurt. He ached, weary, into his bones and his sinew, his muscles. His very core. His stomach knotted in worry and fear and pain, there was no loosening it, no undoing the tie like a bow; it was a constant that he lived with, rarely ever spoke aloud. It was his pain, his grief, his trauma. Harland was a good soldier. Good soldiers didn't flinch. Good soldiers didn't cry or care, yet Harland Briar did both, now, and had allowed another faerie to see the shattering.

Grief was too strong to contain, his mother had always said, and Harland had never believed her. Until now. Until Arro, and his hands, and the shattering. Until blood pooled, black, in his palms and bones knit themselves back together. Until another faerie unclenches his fingers and rubs something that stings, that bites, that burns into his cuts just as much as it dulls thr throbbing to a dull ache.

There is so very little he can do, now, the letters one of few. He barely wants to acknowledge that, that he can barely give his men the proper send off to their families, that he can barely hold the pen that would be his sword, that would be their shield, that would send them home. Harland barely acknowledges anything at all, though he is aware of another presence, of a heat and a warmth that he acknowledges wordlessly, throat clogged by emotion. His eyes are red-rimmed, teary-eyed and weeping at the corners, but tears no longer fall freely down his face.

Harland stares, for a moment, at the side of his tent before pulling away entirely, tucking his body in close to itself, hands laid flat to the surface of his desk, careful not to bash them on anything again.

[lady-kit-scarlet]

Surprise Visit | Kit & Harland

location: approaching Rosewood Manor  time: early evening closed with @amongthebriars

They were announcing Duke Harland Briar, of all people. Kit turned to Maddox, her confusion twisting her otherwise delicate features.  

“What in the Celestials’ name could Duke Briar want? He was not on business with the King, at least not recently.” She spoke to Maddox, but she did not wait for his answer. She simply wanted to give voice to her thoughts and see where they landed her. “Perhaps he is on his way to do business? But then it would be unthinkable to visit here first.” 

Maddox only shrugged in response and Kit sighed. 

“Would it kill you to voice your own opinion?” She asked. 

“Would you hear it?” 

“Perhaps.” 

“Perhaps he seeks your favor before he asks for the King’s.” Kit’s brow furrowed. She was not unaccustomed to fending off bribes, but with Elia’s birth, bribes more frequently dissolved into veiled threats. It troubled her to think that the ever composed Duke Briar might resort to either.

“My favor is not easily won.” Kit replied and Maddox laughed aloud.

“No, my lady, it is not.” With that, Kit made her way down the staircase and into the sitting room where Duke Briar had been asked to wait. She found him standing at attention, deep in thought, and entered the room.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of your unexpected company, Duke Briar?”

[amongthebriars]

@lady-kit-scarlet

Rosewood Manor was not too terribly difficult to find, not when you had the means and the motivation to do so. Now, certainly, no one would possibly understand Harland Briar's motivations beyond the Duke himself, but here he was, cantering up to the estate that the lady had been given, giving Augustus over to one of the grooms with a charming grin.

You see, he had come to call because this was family, for lack of a better word, though Lady Scarlet hardly knew it. Balthazar was family, was one of Harland's very few he claimed, despite the fact he sometimes wonder at why he did, and Kit was Balthazar's. This was a secret Harland had known for some time, though few others did.

And she had just had a child. Well. Not just, but now was the safest time to visit the child, and Kit. He had a gift for Elia, after all and family were meant to give gifts in person. It was the Briar way.

Harland waited to be seen in the front sitting room, hands clasped behind his back, a small parcel laid gently beside him on the short table. He had, much to his chagrin, dressed well, though casually, for the ride over: creams and browns, greens and golds. Nothing too extravagant, for Harland Briar was not an extravagant faerie, but presentable. The Seelie turns on his heel when he hears Kit enter, a small grin on his face. His gaze flickers, moments later, in interest to her body guard before sliding back toward her.

"My apologies, my lady," he says, voice formal, almost apologetic. "I understand that this is a rather...unorthodox meeting. But I wished to formally, finally, extend my congratulations for your child. Elia, was it? Duke Black and I have spoken often, of you and she, and, if you will permit my candor, your health."

It was the truth, after all, and Harland Briar only dealt in truths, no matter how hard they may be, with his family.

To the guard, he turns next, gaze sure and warm, and offers a traditional Shark Clan greeting, a hand fisted over his heart as he bows, not so low as he had done to Kit but from one soldier to another. He had earned his place, and Harland's respect, and the Seelie guessed that most did not think him worthy of either.

[dance-of-war]

Happy Place || Halthazar

It had been a long time since either of them had any time to themselves. Least of all together, so when both Balthazar and Harland had been given a break from responsibilities, the court and other unnecessary obligations, he made sure to make full use of it. Of course, Harland didn’t need to know that Balthazar may have threatened a few smaller advisors into handling their work for a bit but honestly it could be seen as training for a promotion or something. It was good for them to learn to work hard, see them try and complain about the state of Balthazar’s paperwork now. Or the time he took to complete it. 

But that was beside the point. Now though, now they were free to do whatever the wanted for a good period of time and Balthazar couldn’t wait to bask. But basking could wait, wait until he had his fun. He was waiting for Harland to finish up the last dregs of whatever he was dumping on said advisors so he could retire for a much needed break. Which meant Balthazar had ample time to plan his attack. 

He’d decided on a rather tall, full tree that matched nicely with his brown leggings and dark green tunic. He’d dressed light and was perched perfectly still on a thick branch, far out enough that he could see Harland’s approach from quite a ways but with a clear path down to the ground so he wouldn’t get caught on any wayward branches on his descent. It was fairly highly up but nothing he couldn’t handle, doubly so when he pounced on his currently unsuspecting victim. 

Said unsuspecting victim was now approaching and Balthazar couldn’t help the mischievous grin that spread across his face as he shifted in preparation to pounce. Just a little closer, yes that was it. Closer…. Closer….

Without a sound, Balthazar launched himself off the branch, clearing the tree and it’s branches easily before locking onto Harland’s back and sending them both to forest floor. That was how one took down a tree, he laughed, running his fingers through Harland’s hair and keeping a leg over his side in smug accomplishment. 

“Gotcha” 

@amongthebriars

[amongthebriars]

@dance-of-war

How Balthazar had managed to get them time away from the Court, Harland would never know. In fact, he almost certainly didn’t want to, especially after the...incident during Titania’s gathering. Ever since, they had been followed by the whisperings of courtly intrigue. Most of it was not repeatable, utter filth, but some of it was amusing. Like most Courtly gossip, Harland chose not to bother with it. 

After ensuring that their advisers could do their ruddy jobs and not muck up anything that Balthazar or Harland had worked so tirelessly to achieve, Harland allowed himself to leave the Court, not looking back as he rode away from the place. He and Balthazar had agreed to meet back at the estate, knowing that they could more easily leave for the Wildlands. Harland had almost asked to include Freya, but something told him this excursion was not for the children, as it were. 

He was sending Augustus up the path ahead of him near Thornhill, enjoying the walk, when a noise from above caught his attention. Before he could react, Harland was tackled to the ground in a flurry of limbs, knocking the wind from his lungs, a pair of arms locking around his neck, legs bracing at his sides. Looking up, still a bit dazed from the fall, Harland groaned at the smug look on Balthazar face and thunked his head into the ground beneath him, tilting so the other faerie’s fingers had to reach further to get at his hair. That or, more likely, Balathzar would need to move for it. 

“What in the Mother’s name was that for Balthazar?”

[wtfreya-briar]

Things We’ve Learned | Freya & Harland

Freya was never waking up for breakfast again. The situation was her own fault, because if she’d never shown up to court parties and started acting borderline friendly the old bastard- Duke Avelton- wouldn’t have dared show up at the door, but in the midst of one of Harland’s bouts of sickness- she couldn’t remember which- Freya had let him talk her ear off about the history of the council of elders for a while, because it was easier than trying to actually converse with him, and now here they found themselves.

Harland could bloody well salvage his own reputation in the future if trying to help him meant Freya couldn’t even eat a goddamn pastry in peace.

She was sure even Harland would have a problem with the way Avelton had forced himself into their home, insistent on seeing Duke Briar because they had ‘important things to discuss’, but Freya only had so many tools at her disposal and besides punching him in the face and dragging him back out the door, she had tried them all without success. 

Beating him up was a really bad idea. For so many reasons. So before doing that, Freya had dragged a brush through her hair and put on an outfit with less dirt on it, and was sat at the table with him now trying to keep food in her mouth at all times so that she didn’t bite him or tell him to fuck off.

Still Freya managed to keep her smile polite enough and chewed her food with her mouth closed, even managing the occasional acknowledgement of Avelton’s dissapointment that Harland seemed to be sleeping in. “Well, he’s had a very busy week, and like I said, if you’d like to leave a note I’m sure he’ll be able to get back to you soon.” She told him now, having lost count of how many times she’d already said a similar enough thing. As long as she kept talking in her ‘innocent and staying out of trouble’ voice it didn’t much matter what she said anyway. Clearly the prick was intending to stay as long as he had to. Freya shoved an apple slice into her mouth.

One of her hands was curled into such a tight fist under the table she could feel her nails biting into the skin of her palm, and her muscles felt coiled to attack. She really wanted to hit him. The guy plain just didn’t know how to listen. Freya pushed a plate of fruit across the table towards him, hoping if she couldn’t make him leave she could at the very least make him be quiet. “It’s not like him to sleep in. Perhaps he’s beaten both of us and he’s always hidden away in his office for the day, maybe you could come back another time?”

@amongthebriars

[amongthebriars]

@wtfreya-briar

Harland was Celestials damned tired of these prolonged bouts of iron sickness. He was fully healed, the medical faeries had cleared him long ago, but they had warned him of...lasting effects. One such effect was what he had come to call iron tiredness. It sat like a weight in one’s lungs, crushed you down until your eyes drooped and your body sagged with it. He was tired more often now, blaming it on being an older faerie. 

It was a carefully constructed ruse, one which his loved ones were well versed in, Freya most of all. 

Harland had resolved not to keep things from her anymore, especially after the row they’d had over it. He was only trying to protect her, a wayward father’s attempts at shelter, but Freya was a war’s child, and war touched them all, even the civilians. She may have not known battle, but it knew him, and it had cradled her in its shadow for a long while. 

Awakening to voices was like having his head pulled from beneath the waves of the Seraphine Sea, filtering in as though through a dream. Brow furrowing, Harland flung himself upright even as tiredness still clung to the sinews of his bones, hastily shrugging into breeches, shoes, and a loose tunic, a waistcoat of green and gold, collar high enough to hide most of his scar from sight, and a dagger strapped in plain view. Another two were hidden on his person. 

Before he stepped from his quarters, Harland judged himself acceptable, despite the tiredness that lingered around his eyes. 

His decent down the main stair was not loud, but it was not subtle, either. As he entered the main foyer and, then, the dining area, a sharp, dangerous smile curved his mouth like a blade. Avelton was a simpering idiot and Harland held little high opinion for him. The fact that he’d broken into his home, for all intents and purposes, and was holding his daughter hostage to his conversation was a fault he would remedy. Immediately. 

“Duke Avelton,” he said, voice crisp. Harland flicked his dagger from its sheathe and plunged it into an apple, a brow arching as he watched the other faerie’s face whiten. “I believe my daughter asked you to leave. However, if your business is so urgent that you must accost us in our home -- where, might I add, the Court has been asked not to enter unless strictly necessary -- then you may speak it now, or not again.” 

The apple cracked in two as he withdrew the knife, slices coming off of it easily, paper thing where the blade cleaved into them. Like Freya, Harland popped pieces into his mouth and chewed thoughtfully, ever polite, but he held the air of a general at a war table, now, not a man awakened by an unexpected voice in his home. 

[amongthebriars]

dance-of-war​:

The silence was blissful. The silence was deafening. Balthazar was full of utter glee, lips twitching with the hint of a grin before he pushed closer into Harland’s personal space. Oh this was so worth it. So very, very worth it. He could feel the eyes on his back, an added bonus to the horrified and baffled silence. Music to his ears. 

Balthazar pulled away for barely a breath before pushing closer again. Their teeth clashing together with enough momentum he wouldn’t be surprised if those stupid fae could hear the click. The bit Harland’s lip ruthlessly too, putting more than a little bit of his irritation, frustration, and uneasiness into that bite. 

Something fell to the floor. The sudden sound was what broke him out of it, pulling away with a snarl and a glare to see which idiot decided to interrupt literally the only worthwhile part of his night. His fist still tightly gripped in Harland’s tunic as he looked around. 

Balthazar’s eye widened when he saw it. Someone had fainted. Literally. Several someones now that he glanced around with more interest and quite a bit of glee. One had even taken down a table, how unlucky, he could barely hold in a snort. 

Though he couldn’t decide if the looks on the faces of the knights stationed around the room or the Queen herself was his favorite. The knights in several levels of terror, confusion, disgust, and surprise. Two had apparently been about to draw their swords, noticing the incoming Balthazar Black in a furious rage. One sword hung limply in the knights hand, a poor quality if Balthazar was to judge, which, considering such things were his speciality, he most definitely was. The other knight had completely dropped his to the floor along with his decorum. 

The Queen looked a mix between horrified, disgruntled, and offended. Which only filled Balthazar with even more glee. Raising an eyebrow in her direction, before grinning smugly and running his tongue over one of his teeth, that one canine that was sharper than the others.  (His Mother had filed the other ones down at some point but didn’t get to that before he bit her.) 

Bon apetit, bitch. 

@amongthebriars​

@dance-of-war​

With almost everything in Midsummer out to kill him, one would think that keeping a little wolf in his home and the dragon in his bed would mitigate some of those attempts. However, they did nothing of the sort. Faeries had lost respect for Balthazar the moment he’d brutalized their own troops, killed them all in an attempt to protect something he had cared deeply about. They called him wild, an unpredictability that few, if any, could keep hold of. 

Harland never tried to, not really. It was why their acquaintanceship had worked so well for so many decades, even if it looked anything but on the surface. Somehow, though, he had not expected this. Never in a thousand lifetimes would he think that Balthazar could do something so possessive, so recklessly foolish --

Harland kissed him back. Aggressive, teeth snarling, noses mashing together kissed back. The silence around them was deafened by the blood pooling in his ears, in the way that Harland’s hand came up to the nape of Balthazar’s neck, fingers curling into the other man’s hair and tugged hard. Any other faerie would have been pained by it. For Balthazar, it was a warning, though maybe a delayed one. Harland’s lip was split and he could taste his own blood, but it didn’t bother him, only moved him closer because now, now it was a competition. 

Balthazar pulled away roughly a few moments later, and Harland’s chest seized, heaving for breath, the hand caught in the other faerie’s doublet not allowing him to stray too far. He stared, for a moment, before looking away, unwilling to try and unravel the other Seelie’s thought process beyond smug, satisfied, mine. His growling was met with a sharp tug to the hair Harland had in his fist, a hip knocking into Balthazar’s own. 

Everyone was staring. A woman had fainted, whispers were starting, and Harland couldn’t give a damn. He had long since ruined his reputation, long since foregone any attempt at salvaging it. What was one more thing? What was one more instance of siding with Balthazar Black over all the rest? Mab could stare, horrified and disgusted, all she’d like but at least they were honest, at least they fought for what they believed, protected what they cared for. What had she done but condemn hundreds, no thousands, of humans to unnecessary death? 

Let her rot, for all he cared. 

Harland’s smile was just as sharp, just as feral, as Balthazar’s when it finally spread across his face, making the few fae standing beside them still take a healthy step backward. He, too, could be territorial. He, too, could be dangerous. Harland Briar just tried harder to ignore the fact that he was part wild thing, preened and primped and veneered over by courtly manners. 

[dance-of-war]

Rumor Has It || Halthazar

Balthazar did not like court. Part of it might have been the crowds, the horde, of fae gathered in what seemed to be a too small space. Paranoia from the war kept whispering in the back of his mind: your back, your back, protect your back, everyone’s an enemy, whatever you do don’t relax. Another part of it might have been the expectations. Be polite, be gentle, small talk over this and that, nod smile, play pretend. The other part was possibly the people. Scratch that. Most of it was definitely the people. Fanciful fae flocking everywhere, chittering like nonsensical squirrels and birds and every single one of them much too close to him. Much too close to him without a single thought of a consequence in their airy little heads as they talked about this and that and this and that. 

Sometimes it was the war and the peace treaty. How long would it last and their conspiracy theories on everything in-between. The tithe and the queen and what side should we take? The politics of the Unseelie court vs. the Seelie, what things they should change what were the Unseelie doing better, can we force this and that? Wouldn’t this benefit us more? If they can do it why can’t we? The Queen’s already shown she’s not as pure and tender-hearted as she wanted us to believe. And worst of all the people. The twittering of gossip about other courtiers was perhaps the worst. Always too quiet but not quiet enough, always too close to home but not enough to prove what they were saying. And in this particular case, the worst of it all, who was courting who and who was marrying who and don’t you think I could catch this one and what are the benefits of snatching this one. 

Coming to court had been a mistake. As it always had. Because unlike the usual gossip going around about other courtiers that he could really care less about it seems the Council of Elders were the current topic of choice. Especially considering both of them were unmarried. Well Balthazar was technically a widow, the rumors still continuing over whether or not he killed and ate her, which obviously not. She was deplorable but she was under his Mother’s protection at the time and why the fuck they thought he would eat her was anyone’s guess. Disgusting. The whole lot of them. The thought of it was making him nauseous. 

Harland was, of course, then prattled on to be something of a whore. A whore with a bastard daughter to boot, couldn’t be a son, how unfortunate the whole thing was, but at least he was good in bed, or so the rumors told. Wealthy, handsome, polite and good in bed, honestly Harland was a catch, especially to fae like this. 

Balthazar’s own appeal came from his looks, wealth and power. Any child he sired would have good breeding in more than one way, and would, in their eyes, most definitely mimic his or her sire in power and potential. And with the massive amount of wealth behind all of that, it wasn’t as surprising as it should have been that none of them would leave him alone despite the unsavory rumors also spreading about him. 

But today, Balthazar had no patience and no presence. The Queen, bitch, had ordered him to court which meant he couldn’t leave. She had put knights around the room, a threat if he ever saw one, to prevent an incident. An incident she was bloody well provoking at this point by not letting him leave. Another reason for said knights. Which usually he would have no problem taking down except for the fact that she had positioned more than half the knights of the imperial guard and first brigade around the already too crowded and uncomfortable room. Several of which had been shooting him triumphant stares and threatening grins. Which of course only made him want to punch out all their teeth. 

So yes, he was very much trapped. Trapped and losing his mind and very, very uncomfortable. 

“-but the power. Imagine having a son or daughter like that. Raise them up right and it’d be more than easy to get them to commit patricide. All that wealth and land to yourself - I can just taste it.”

“But aren’t you worried about the rumors of what happened to his first wife? They say he killed and ate her. Right out on the front lawn, there wasn’t even a body to bury-”

Fuck this shit. 

Balthazar tossed back his glass of wine in a gulp that was extremely impolite and elicited more than a few offended gasps and glares. 

They wanted to see him eating someone? Well, fucking fine then. Let’s see what they thought about him devouring their favorite main course? 

Balthazar turned on his heel and strode the crowd, eye a blaze and glaring. The courtiers that didn’t think to move were simply bumped into until they got the picture. Not one of them having the guts to meet his eye once they realized who it was. 

It took longer than he wanted to reach Harland. Who was, if he had been paying more attention, probably talking to someone important about something either as important or less so.  But Balthazar didn’t bother to greet either of them, before grabbing the front of Harland’s tunic in a fist, bloody tree, dragging him closer and fusing their lips together in a brutal and aggressive kiss. 

@amongthebriars

[amongthebriars]

@dance-of-war

The faerie speaking to him was about as interesting as watching grass grow. That was to say, not remotely interesting at all.

Yes, he was here on the behest of the Queen, he and Balthazar both, and they were obligated to stay. Had to, in fact. The knights stationed around the room, the gardens. They were all meant for them, and each of those simpering fools knew it. One look from Harland, however, or from Balthazar, was enough for the smug smiles and the sly looks to subside.

If a little rumble every so often shook the stones beneath their feet, well, perhaps their glaring would stop altogether one day.

Harland ignored the rumors, about himself, about Balthazar. The ones he searched out were those for Freya, the one thing he cared for in this world, truly, even if she did not believe him, if their relationship was torn to shreds by Balthazar and their inability to let people understand what they'd seen, what they'd both endured.

They tried but there was so much they had to hide, to protect, and Harland was terrified of losing her, the wild little wolf he strove to protect.

All of these things flitted through his head while he smiled and endured the eyes that followed him across the room, the sly, sickly sweet smiles of the women, the men as the kept up the appearance that they respected him. Some truly did. Others wished that he had escaped into the Wildlands and never come back.

In this place, the only one who mattered was Balthazar, the only friend, the only familiarity.

An eye was always searching out Balthazar, keeping him in sight as much as he was hoping to keep him in check. There was only so long he could keep the Dragon from unleashing an inferno. Sometimes he did not want to. Sometimes...he wished they could burn the entire place down and flee as far away as they could get.

This thought was what assaulted him at the same time Harland saw Balthazar slug his drink back and stalk toward him from across the outer courtyard. Harland tensed slightly, shifting so he could grab a hold of the fae when he came to, undoubtedly, singe the faerie to cinders.

What he was not expecting was a hand to curl into the front of his tunic and tug him hard, a mouth landing on his in a startling, aggressive clash of teeth.

[amongthebriars]

dance-of-war​:

Balthazar laughed as Harland advanced. He knew what he was doing, getting him out of the forge, where Balthazar had the advantage. But he let him, dodging blows and dancing backwards, not bothering to parry as he avoided the other’s blade. 

Oh he had missed this. 

Once they were out in the open air, Balthazar was once again encased in the urge to be truly wild. And now that Harland had stirred him up anyway, there was no way he was letting it go. 

Lunging forward Balthazar swung towards Harland’s shoulder, using his momentum to pivot himself away along with the blade, a circling slash, that easily would’ve decapitated a lesser fae, but he had nothing to worry about here. Not with Harland. And certainly not within the limits of a long over due romp. 

“Come now Harland, surely you didn’t wake the dragon for this paltry display? Or are you that out of practice from all of your diplomacy meetings?” Balthazar laughed, dancing out of the other’s fae reach again. It had been so long since he could truly spar with someone, spar without holding back, Celestials how he missed it. 

@amongthebriars​ 

@dance-of-war​

It’s good to hear him laugh again, was Harland’s first thought, followed shortly thereafter by I have missed that.

There had been so much turmoil, so many things to run from and hide from and heal from that there had been no time to enjoy having survived. Survived the war, survived one another, if the rest of the bloody army was anything to go off of, and survived the varied and numerous attempts on both their lives, the trials and tribulations that came with them. 

It was nice to just be, to allow himself to follow Balthazar’s movements as he swung toward his shoulder, slashing at him with the sharpest edge of the blade. Harland maneuvered out of the way, easily, the action as familiar to him as his own. They had been two of the only faeries during the war who could spar and not leave the other bloody and torn to bits. Harland had never rightly understood and now he just stopped trying. 

Being out in the open gave him a bit more advantage, but not by much. They had always been evenly matched, the pair of them, and it worked well. Harland snorted again, shaking his head with a wide grin as he parried the next blow and stepped into Balthazar’s blind spot, swinging around when he turned to lean into his ear. “You should know the answer to that, Balthazar.” 

[amongthebriars]

dance-of-war​: 

It was getting harder and harder to breathe. What was a fire without air? What was a dragon without fire? 

“Be a good dog and go to sleep.” 

The Queen’s Mad Dog. How many times had he been called that? How many times has he heard the whispering of putting him down in the court? 

It hurt so much more when Harland said it. Harland with his corpse-pallor and blood-stained lips. Harland with black veins and a gentle smile and an oh-so cruel look in his eyes. 

“Brær-” he gasped, “Please-”

Loading...

His hand was burning around Balthazar’s throat, burning like the brand on Harland’s neck. Everything was burning. 

Everything was always burning-

Something hit him, hard enough to knock what was left of the breath out of him, lungs straining and he arched, terrified and trapped and burning-

Balthazar’s eye snapped open as he gasped, fingers scrabbling at blankets, floorboards, anything, nothing was enough purchase he felt like he was still suffocating, like the chains were still holding him, like Harland’s corpse-like face and hateful eyes and-

He gagged as the images kept searing their way into his mind, the meager meal he’d managed to down making a reappearance as he retched, clutching his chest and wheezing, tears flowing down his cheeks in a way he had no care to hide or stop.  

Everything was spinning and dark around the edges, he couldn’t seem to get his breathe back-

“Brær, please-” he gasped, “I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry-”

@amongthebriars​

@dance-of-war​

Harland clung to Balthazar even as he sobbed and squirmed and retched onto the floor, the blankets pooling around them now balled up underneath, catching at Balthazar’s legs like brambles, wrapping around Harland’s like vines. Balthazar was talking in his sleep, something they were both wont to do, though the former found himself doing it far more often. The things he was saying, now, however were far from the nonsensical things he muttered and mumbled in the early morning light. 

These things held his Name, and they sounded terrified. 

Harland held on tighter, arms wrapping around Balthazar’s too-thin chest as he heaved and sobbed, tucking him into the curve of his body where they lay, still smoldering, like rubble on the floor. One hand moved up the swell of his spine, fingertips tucking into the soft curls at the back of his head and holding him carefully in place, afraid if they moved he would break. He kept them away from the other’s own sick, the smell of it a distant thought to the still smoldering bed frame.

“Sorry for what, love,” he asked, face tucked in close to the side of Balthazar’s neck and voice soft, soothing, trying to ease some of the hurt he could feel rolling off the other faerie in waves, something he could feel in the very depths of his being.