Masterpost: The Sellsword and the Mage
Ongoing @galladrabbles serial.
Art by: @suzy-queued
----------
Even at the base of the watchtower, the heat from the signal fire above was intense.
Unnaturally so, magically enhanced.
And Ian would stand there until Mickey came.
“Ian!” Lip grasped him by the shoulders, gave him a shake, “They’re gone! You heard the scouts! We need to fall back!”
“No.”
“Ian—”
“No, Lip. He’s alive.”
“He wouldn’t want this, Ian. Mickey would want you safe.”
“Can’t believe I’m agreeing with your brother,” gasped a voice. Mickey collapsed at Ian’s feet.
Ian dropped to his knees and pressed their foreheads together, “I knew you wouldn’t leave me like this.”
---
Their lips met once, twice in relief before Mickey whispered, “Sorry I didn’t make it back in time.” His words broke off with a hiss as Ian’s hands skimmed his torso.
“You’re hurt!” Ian gasped.
“A little parting gift from captain of Three River’s guard.”
“What?” Lip interrupted, “Mickey, the fuck? Three Rivers is our ally! The signal fire is for her army!”
Mickey barked a laugh, “Yeah, don’t count on that. Queen Svetlana has thrown in with Prince Gus and my dad’s bandit mob. They even have that cult of blood mages now, too.”
“Shit.” Lip eloquently summed up.
---
“We need to warn Fiona,” Lip started to pace.
“How?” Ian huffed. “It’s not like we can slink through the shadows down the mountain trail. It’s too open. And we’re not going anywhere until I heal Mickey’s wound!”
Mickey reached for Ian’s face, “Ian, hey Buttercup, look at me. I made it this far, a little longer won’t kill me.”
“But—”
“We gotta be smart here, yeah?”
Ian pressed his lips tight and nodded.
“Good. Done being moody now?” Mickey teased. “Cause I think I know a way.”
“How?” Lip crossed his arms.
“We take the old dwarf road.”
---
“You know about the old dwarf roads?” Lip scoffed.
Mickey motioned for Ian to help him stand. “You already forget I’m not from here? That I had a whole life before Ian cast his spell on me.”
“Stop saying that!” Ian hissed. “People will think I bewitched you.”
“Didn’t you, though?” Mickey pecked him on the chin. “Anyway,” he continued, “a few years back I was hired by a dwarf as his personal bodyguard. He told me all about the old roads.”
“Then you know the elves sealed them when they drove the dwarves north.”
“Ian can break those seals.”
---
Ian could tell the descent was getting to Mickey. His breathing labored by the time they reached the ornate arch marking the dwarf road. A dim blue-green shimmer the only sign of the elf magic that sealed the door.
He began working free the straps of Mickey’s gambeson.
“Ian--,” Lip snapped.
“No! This isn’t a game! No one has to lose to watch me win. I’m the one with magic and you--,” to Lip, “aren’t going to guilt me. And you--,” to Mickey, “aren’t playing the martyr so Lip will think you worthy of me. We’re doing this my way!”
---
Multicolor starbursts flash behind Ian’s eyes. Rosettes of every hue. It’s something he rarely experiences when calling upon his magic. And only ever happens when his spell is directed at Mickey.
Even when he was Mickey’s target. Before realization, and love, and a changing for the better, Ian would see those bursts with each spell. It was the first sign that there was something special between them.
Now he presses his lips to Mickey’s brow as healing magic flows through his hands. The rosettes pulse bright then fade as the wound heals.
“All better now,” Ian whispers against precious skin.
---
It was Mickey’s turn to look after Ian.
Even more than summoning fire and ice, Ian cherished his ability to heal others. It took so much energy, though. So, Mickey encouraged Ian to sit down and take sips from the waterskin.
Mickey frowned at the shimmer of old elvish magic blocking their path.
Because Lip was also right.
Mickey had glimpsed the horde bearing down on the Southern Kingdom. He could very well be on the losing side this time. But as he watches Ian take bites of a sad, mealy apple he knows it certainly isn’t the wrong one.
---
Elvish spells don’t like to be broken.
Ian can feel this one twisting and turning, trying to evade his own magic. But Ian has three things going for him here: First, he’s broken a spell like this before. It was years ago to save the life of a man that was first his enemy, then reluctant ally, and now the person he loves most in this world. Second, his love for his family in the Southern Kingdom. And third, his desire to prove to Lip that he is no longer the younger brother with a power he sometimes cannot control.
---
“Thank fuck!” Lip exclaimed as the spell broke with a flash and a gust of stale-smelling air.
“Or you could thank your brother.” Mickey fired back.
Ian gave Mickey’s hand a soft squeeze and shook his head. “It’s okay,” he said as he conjured two globes of light and sent one to sit at Lip’s shoulder.
“So mean and scary!” Ian grinned as he and Mickey fell in step behind Lip. “My tough sellsword boyfriend who rushes to defend me.”
“You bet I’m mean and scary!”
“So mean and scary.” Ian agreed as he pressed a kiss to Mickey’s cheek.
---
“What the hell is Three Rivers thinking?” Lip scuffed his boots in the centuries-old dirt and debris. “Breaking a fifty-year treaty?”
Mickey shrugged, “That treaty was with the old king, not Queenie Svet. She’s got her own plans.”
“Do you think the rumors true? That she murdered the old king and the eldest prince?” Ian asked.
“Wouldn’t put it past her,” Mickey shrugged again. “Either way, she’s in charge until that kid of hers is old enough. And he’s, what, two? Long time to gather power.”
“Well,” Lip, voice grim, said, “she’s about to learn what goes around comes around.”
---
Lip claims to know their path. But, to Ian, the march feels endless. The road is wide, and the ceilings high, but the darkness is all consuming. It steals his breath and quickens his heart.
So, Ian begins to hum. A distraction. Tuneless until a favorite lyric comes to mind:
“Black is the color,
Of my true love’s hair.
His lips are like,
Some roses fair.
He has the sweetest smile,
And the gentlest hands.
And I love the ground whereon he stands.”
“The song is sad,” Ian whispers to Mickey, “but I love that verse. Reminds me of you.”
---
A faint blue-green sheen lit the road ahead marking the end of their journey and a final elvish spell for Ian to break.
“Hey,” Mickey bumped his shoulder against Ian’s, “you remember that old farmhouse we holed up in that time? The one with that garden you about creamed yourself over?”
“Like I’d ever forget it,” Ian grinned. “A lot of amazing firsts happened there.”
“So whaddyasay after we’re finished kicking ass here, we find a place like that again? Get away from all this?”
“And just be Ian and Mickey?”
Mickey smiled, “Yeah, just us. No bullshit.”
“Sounds perfect.”
---
The trio exited the dwarven road to the sound of rolling thunder and fat, cold raindrops.
“Fucking perfect,” Mickey groused as he ducked back inside the arched door and shook out his wet hair.
“No,” Lip corrected, “no, this is good.”
“Getting fucking soaked is good?”
Lip nodded, “The rain. The mud. It’ll slow the invaders down.”
“Slow us down, too,” Ian added.
“I know,” Lip said. “It’s why I think we should split up.”
“No!” Ian leapt to his brother, pushing Lip’s shoulder until they were face-to-face. “No fucking way!”
“It’s the best plan, Ian, and you know it.”
---
The rain must’ve drowned all sounds of their pursuer as their only warning was a half-feral yell as a body slammed into Ian’s back, dagger poised to rip open his throat. Ian conjured a static spell. It paused the attack long enough for Lip to tear the man from Ian’s back.
Then Mickey’s twin daggers were in motion. In a blur, it was over. A body slumped in the dark archway and Mickey covered in ichor.
“All that blood looks good on you,” Ian said, once he was sure none of it was Mickey’s. “It really brings out your eyes.”
---
“Three fucking Rivers!” Mickey gave the corpse at his feet a not-so-gentle nudge with his boot.
“We knew that the dwarf road was a gamble,” Lip conceded.
“One we fucking lost!” Mickey kicked the corpse again.
“Ian, can you seal that entrance again?”
Ian shook his head at his brother, “I can break certain elvish spells, but I can’t perform them. Best I can do is a barrier spell that any mage could break.”
“Do it.”
“So, no more talk of splitting up?” Ian asked as he spun his magic.
“No, we’re sticking together. Speed over stealth from here on.”
---
At an outlying farm they met a grizzled former soldier who was determined to defend his land. They traded the use of two of his horses for Ian casting protection spells around his farm.
Now Ian held tight to Mickey’s waist as they teased as much speed as possible from the animals through the muddy ground.
Their ride continued like this until they reached a barrier of felled trees. Ian conjured a ball of blue-tinted fire—the agreed upon friend-or-foe signal—and sent it into the sky. A rider appeared from the dark to escort them to the army encampment.
---
“Send your fastest messenger,” Lip demanded as they reached the general’s tent, “Three Rivers has betrayed us.”
Ian expected a flurry of activity; a flood of questions to follow. Instead, the three were escorted inside the general’s tent. They accepted the offer of chairs around the map table. Declined the bread and cheese. And Mickey accepted the proffered small beer on behalf of all.
The general leaned over the map table. “Tell me, brothers Gallagher, why those brave folks you just passed through should fight and die because your common whore sister couldn’t decide which prince she wanted to marry?”
---
Colder than any ice Ian’s magic could harness was Lip’s voice when he replied: “The Gallaghers may be of common blood but call my sister a whore again and I’ll remove the tongue from your treasonous mouth.”
“Treason!” the general barked. “You dare speak of treason when your own brother bends over for the son of our enemy?”
Incredulous, Mickey motions at Ian’s crotch, “That dick is a piece of art! I’m the one taking it!”
“Mickey has suffered more at the hands of Terry Milkovich than anyone!”
The general scoffed. “Indeed, mage? I believe his many victims would disagree.”
----
It was as the general sat glaring that Ian felt it: a discordant note where he drew his magic from. He stood up and was just opening his mouth to say “something’s wrong” when Mickey threw himself at him—arms around his neck, legs wrapped around his waist—sending them crashing to the ground. At that same moment, the general dove across the map table with dagger extended.
Lip tackled the general from the side, knocking the dagger from his grip.
“Blood magic!” Ian gasped as he extricated himself from Mickey’s life-saving bear hug. “He’s being controlled by blood magic!”
----
“Guards!” the general bellowed, flailing on the ground to escape Lip. Lip increased the pressure of his hold at the same time the two soldiers guarding the general’s tent along with the general’s aide rushed inside with swords extended. Only Ian and Lip’s status as the queen’s brothers stopped them from attacking.
“Explain this!” the aide de camp demanded.
“Fucking asshole attacked Ian!” Mickey snarled, “Lucky he’s still breathin’.”
“Not helpful,” Lip strained as the general bucked against his hold.
Ian raised his hands placatingly, “He’s under the effects of blood magic. The mage responsible must be inside the camp.”
---
The aide-de-camp blanched. “But… the camp contains thousands! How are we to find one blood mage among them?”
“Too late,” the general’s chortle filled the tent. “She has laid her curse upon the Gallaghers. No escape now.”
“Shut the fuck up!” Mickey barked. He turned then to Ian. “Don’t worry, red. I’d rather have you, cursed or not.”
“I appreciate the sentiment, Mick.” Ian spared a soft look for his love before his face turned steely, “But don’t listen to any of this bullshit. He’s nothing but a marionette dancing on frayed strings.”
“OK, but who is ‘she’?” Lip questioned.
---
“It doesn’t matter who ‘she’ is!” Ian knelt in front of the general, “They just want us wringing our hands over bullshit curses and mystery women instead of focusing on the real enemy right in front of us.”
Ian snapped his fingers in front of their captive, “I know you are watching through his eyes so here’s a message you can take back to your master: your plan here has failed. There will be no surrender, no truce. Just us standing by our sister’s side whenever you deign to show yourself.”
Ian then chanted the spell to free the general.
---
“He dead?” Mickey asks, nudging the general with the toe of his boot.
“No, Mickey, stop it!” Ian hisses, but chaos is already spreading as the general remains unmoving. Ian’s pleas of “Just wait! Give him a moment.” go unheeded.
Mickey moves himself to stand between Ian and the closest of the drawn swords.
Finally, the general stirs. Tensions ease a bit as he is helped back to his chair behind the map table. Fortifying wine is called for. After one cup, then another is emptied, the general motions for Lip, Ian, and Mickey to join him around the table.
----
“I believe,” the general began, “that we are best served when we speak the truth. So, I hope you will believe me when I say I’ve had no control of myself since being bespelled.”
Ian nodded. “We know, general.”
“Thank you. I hope you will be as forgiving when I tell you what occurred shortly before you arrived.”
“What?” Lip asked.
“A delegation from Three Rivers—four horsemen surrounding a cloaked rider—arrived at our barricades. I ordered them to be escorted directly to the castle without delay. I fear I have let the enemy walk through the front door.”
----
A pair of fresh horses were brought to them. The swift ones reserved for messengers. They raced towards the castle as though trying to outrun the end of the world.
As they rode, Ian pressed his face tight against the back of Mickey’s neck whispering protection spell after protection spell into his skin.
“Hey,” Mickey nudged, “save your magic. We don’t know what we’re riding into.”
Ian shook his head. “Can’t lose you.”
“Not going anywhere, Red. Promised you a farmhouse, didn’t I?”
Ian squeezed his arms tighter around Mickey’s waist. “I want that farmhouse, Mick. I want it bad.”
----
Wallaceborough.
The Southern Kingdom’s seat of power.
Home.
The sight of those fortified walls and Wallace Castle on the hill above usually filled Ian’s heart with calm and joy.
Now dread filled his belly like a stone.
“Keep alert,” Ian warned as they waited for the gates to open for them.
“You see something?” Lip asked.
Ian shook his head. “Just a very bad feeling. Discord in the magic.”
“Hey,” Mickey nudged him softly in the ribs, “We’ve got this. Got each other’s backs.”
Lip spurred his horse forward as the gate finished opening. “Persevere, my brother. We’re nearly there.”
----
Ian had imagined many scenarios of what they’d find once they reached Fiona and Wallace Castle. Most the stuff of his bloodiest nightmare. But he never could have conjured the actual scene in front of them: one of revelry, flowing wine, and an over-laden banquet table.
The juxtaposition with the barricades, soldiers, and battle mages outside was surreal. Dream-like.
“What the fuck?” Mickey said what all three were thinking.
“Ian?” Lip questioned.
But, while Ian could still feel the discord in the magic around him, he sensed no enchantment in the room.
Ian shook his head, “This isn’t a spell.”
----
Ian watched Southern Kingdom courtiers dancing and flirting with Three Rivers knights with growing disgust. His gaze landed on Yvon, the captain of Three Rivers guard—the man who had tried to kill Mickey and barely controlled the urge to call down lightning bolts. There would be time later.
Queen Fiona, motioning for her wine goblet to be refilled, finally noticed them standing just inside the hall. “You’re here!” She rushed to hug Lip and Ian. “When we heard you weren’t at your assigned watchtower, we were worried!”
“You look worried,” Lip frowned. “Nice party you're throwing for the enemy.”
----
“Enemies where?” Fiona scoffed.
Ian took Fiona by the shoulders, “Fi, it was Three Rivers with some blood mages, and a few of the Milkovich Marauders who ambushed your envoy. Mickey barely made it back to me alive.”
Fiona seemed to finally notice Mickey standing next to Ian. “That wasn’t supposed to happen,” she whispered.
“Which part?” Mickey growled. “The ambush, or me surviving it?”
Fiona brought her hands to Ian’s cheeks, “I need you to trust me.”
“Real hard to take a leap of faith when the man who tried to kill Mickey is over there drinking your wine.”
----
“My captain was only following orders,” a thickly accented voice said. Ian looked up from Fiona to see Svetlana, Queen of Three Rivers approaching. “And it was not personal; just the price set by Terry Milkovich for the use of his Marauders.”
“That motherfucker!” Mickey spat.
Ian glared at both queens. “Well, let me be perfectly clear, Your Majesties: if anyone tries to collect on that price again, I will burn both of your kingdoms to ash.”
“Ian!” Queen Fiona gasped.
Svetlana merely shrugged. “Milkovich is greedy man. He will be given another chest of gold and say no more.”
----
“How could you do this?” Ian pleads to his sister. “How could you send Mickey away to be killed?” His eyes blurred with unshed tears.
Fiona grasped tightly to one of his wrists, “Ian, it was not like that. You must understand I’m queen now; I have to be willing to make sacrifices.”
Ian pulled his arm away. “But it wasn’t your sacrifice. It was Mickey’s. It was mine. When did we become your sworn enemies? All we’ve done all night is try to warn you of Three Rivers’ betrayal. You can’t expect me to ever forgive you for this.”
----
With his strong hand on Ian’s shoulder, Mickey gently guided him out of the Great Hall—and away from his sister. Once they reached the corridor beyond, Mickey turned Ian to face him, reaching his hands up to frame his lover’s face.
“Hey, take a breath,” Mickey soothed. “Don’t go breakin’ up with your family over me.”
“I just don’t understand,” Ian placed his own hands over Mickey’s. “Fiona was more our mother than our actual mother. Every comfort of my childhood came from her. Until my magic manifested, that is. She never looked at me the same after that.”
----
“Hey,” Mickey gave Ian’s head the gentlest of shakes, “don’t go getting caught up in Fiona’s past bullshit. Not when we still haven’t figured out her current bullshit. Yeah?”
Ian huffed a laugh. “It’s just, she never would’ve done that to Lip, Debbie, or Carl.”
“Well, fuck her then. I’m still here.” A smirk crossed Mickey’s face. “How could I not be with all those spells you wrap around me. Like wearin’ an invisible layer of plate maille.”
“That all? I was going for enchanted invisible plate maille.”
Mickey raised up on his toes to kiss his silly, beautiful love.
----
Without warning a strong hand yanked Mickey out of Ian’s embrace. Seconds later, one of Ian’s protective spells triggered, sending Mickey backwards and his attacker flying across the corridor in a shower of sparks. Momentary shock now passed, Ian set in motion—drawing his magic close and releasing a spell. Crackling ice gathered around the strange man’s feet and began solidifying around his legs, leaving him immobile.
“Wait, Ian! Stop!” Mickey called out. “It’s fine. He’s fine!”
Ian halted his spell. “What? You—you know this guy?”
“Unfortunately,” Mickey sighed. “Ian, this is Colin. He’s one of my dickhead brothers.”
----
“Lookin’ real good for a corpse, Mick,” Colin drawled.
Mickey shrugged. “What can I say? I’m hard to kill.”
“That’s nothing new,” Colin laughed. “Can I get some help here?” He motioned to his still iced-over lower body.
Ian stepped in front of Mickey. “That depends: are you here to finish the job?”
“Killin’ Mick is dad’s thing; I just like bustin’ his balls.”
“Okay then.” Ian drew on his magic.
“You never said your new butt-buddy was a fuckin’ mage,” Colin said as he watched the ice melt.
“You never fuckin’ asked. The fuck you doing here anyway, Colin?”
----
“I’m Terry’s messenger,” Colin grinned. “Dad doesn’t much trust the bog witch, so he likes having one of his own in the room when messages are delivered.”
Ian pulled a face, “Bog witch?”
“Queenie Svet,” Mickey supplied as he eyed his brother. “So, how much of what you’ve seen are you planning on reporting back to Terry?”
Colin took a step closer and gave Mickey a mocking punch to the shoulder. “Your secret stays with me, little brother. I have no interest in getting on dad’s bad side on this. Not when all the rest of the news is good.”
----
“Hey,” Lip knocks against the wall to get their attention, “we’re heading up to the solar. Something about a messenger arriving.”
“Duty calls,” Colin grins at his brother before loping off with Lip on his heels.
Mickey and Ian fall in step behind them. “So,” Mickey rubs a hand across his mouth, “how far are you out the door now you’ve met my brother?”
“Mickey, your brother being kind of a dumbass doesn’t change anything. I love you. I’m better with you.”
Mickey rolls his lips into his mouth. “You sure?”
Ian smiles. “Positive. Now let’s go get some answers.”
----
“A coup?” Ian yelled. “You were willing to sacrifice Mickey’s life to put Gus on his father’s throne?”
Colin had just finished giving his report of the fall of the Northern Kingdom to the Milkovich Marauders and a group of blood mages. That King Pfender was dead and his wife sheltering in the closest abbey.
“Gus, pfft,” Queen Svetlana snorted. “Quiet your brother, Queen Fiona. He whines like a mewling child.”
“Does Gus know he is now king?” Fiona asked.
Colin shook his shaggy head, “All messengers were killed.”
“Long live the king.” Svetlana raised her goblet in mocking salute.
----
“I swear,” Ian growled, “if one of you doesn’t start speaking plainly, I will summon rain clouds to drench you in freezing cold showers ‘til the end of your days!”
Queen Svetlana bristled. “Who are you, peasant mage, to give orders to royalty? Show the proper respect!”
“Respect this!” Mickey growled, presenting both his middle fingers. “Now, get talking or Ian starts casting.”
“I can counter any spell this child knows,” Svetlana scoffed.
Ian pulled on his magic, causing the air in the room to grow damp and humid. “Wanna try me?”
“Fine. It began when King James married Fiona.”
----
Ian, Mickey, and Lip listened rapt as Svetlana told, with Ian only having to fill the solar with the scent of rain twice when her pauses became overly long, of King Gus arriving at her castle demanding a private audience where he made insinuations on how she became queen of Three Rivers and the legitimacy of her son’s claim to that throne.
“I care not what others say of me, but I will not let anyone question my Yevgeny as the rightful heir.” Svetlana drained her goblet. “Gus demanded my help overthrowing King James or he’d formally question Yevgeny’s claim.”
----
“Queen Svetlana came up with a plan and, with great risk as Gus has people watching her movements, she came to us,” Fiona picked up the tale. She was raking her fingers through her curls, a sign of the frazzled state of her nerves.
“Our kingdoms would work together to remove the fools from the Northern Kingdom’s throne,” Svetlana finished.
“And what? Divide the land between you?” Mickey’s eyebrows rose. “You really think the Northern Kingdom will just let that happen?”
Svetlana scoffed into her refilled wine goblet. “No, we put someone on that throne with actual brain in head.”
----
“And who would that be?” Lip asks.
“Yeah,” Mickey adds, “what kind of mush-brain is risking their skin for you?”
It’s King James that answers, “Tami Tamietti of the Springlands. Part of a noble family with ties to the Pfenders and a legitimate claim to the throne.”
“The family was hit hard by the Sweating Sickness a few years ago. Only Tami and her brother-in-law survived; this is a welcome change of fortune.”
Ian looks from Svetlana to his sister, “And what do you get?”
“Three united kingdoms,” Svetlana grins.
“United how? Through regicide?” Lip sneers.
“Through marriages, of course.”
----
“Marriages,” Lip repeated. His eyes cut sharply to his brother.
The tension in the room ratcheted, rose, until it became a near physical thing as Ian groped for Mickey’s hand. Suspicions now raised over Mickey’s brush with death. “Explain.”
Fiona drew herself up into her best regal posture. “We must solidify our alliance with the new queen of the Northern Kingdom first. Lip, as my eldest brother, you have been betrothed to Tami Tamietti.”
“What the fuck, Fiona?” Lip breathed.
“And your alliance with Three Rivers?” Ian spat. The muscle in his jaw ticking as he glared at his sister.
----
Svetlana scowled. “Your brother appears to believe he is privy to the councils of royalty.”
“What?” Mickey barked.
“She means it’s none of our business,” Lip answered.
“She’s correct.” Fiona sighed, “Ian, it’s not your concern.”
“Oh really?” Ian could feel a storm of temper and magic not even Mickey’s hand in his could soothe. He needed a focal point, and he found one in the form of a half-worked tapestry. Swirls of yellow, purple, and blue. His sister’s work, he guessed, though he never saw her sew anything but clothing before.
He recognized little of his sister these days.
----
But even if Ian doesn’t know much about this version of his sister, he knows—right down to the marrow of his bones—that he isn’t free from these machinations.
And he knows exactly how she’ll spring it upon him: she’ll bide her time. Then she’ll sidle up to him, give him her famous sad eyes while explaining how important it is that Ian does this thing for her. No, not just for her; for their entire family. The kingdom, even.
But that won’t work on him this time. Especially now he has Mickey.
“So, what does concern me, Fiona?”
----
“Ian,” Fiona sighs. “It’s been a long night—one that isn’t over yet for the three of us.” She motions between herself, James, and Svetlana. “Let me have a room made up for you. You and Mickey can cuddle by the fire and then sleep in one of our softest beds. All the rest of it can wait.”
“No.” Ian’s voice is like steel. “I’ll hold Mickey in our own room, in our own bed after you have told us exactly what your plans are for me.”
“Dammit, Ian! Why must you always be like a dog with a bone?”
----
“Fine!” Fiona growled. “The Tower mages are angry that Three Rivers has offered the blood mages land and sanctuary. Ian, we must take advantage of your good relationship with the Tower.
Ian narrowed his eyes. “That’s it? For me to write a letter to the Tower?”
“Not a letter, Ian. You. We need you to build a bridge between Three Rivers and the Tower. As the new magic liaison in Svetlana’s court.”
Whatever else Fiona said blurred together in Ian’s mind as all he could think was Terry Milkovich operates out of Three Rivers. Mickey would never be safe there!
----
“No,” Ian interrupts Fiona, voice firm and unyielding.
“Excuse me?”
“Why are you shocked, Fiona? You’re asking me to go someplace Terry Milkovich will be breathing down Mickey’s neck from sun-up to sundown. Did you think I’d thank you for that? So, no Fiona, I will not be going to Three Rivers as a liaison or anything else.”
“First of all,” Fiona slams her goblet down on the nearest surface, “I didn’t ask you anything. You are a member of the royal family and a subject of this kingdom; you will do exactly as I say, when I say it!”
----
“Ian ain’t one of your fuckin’ servants!” Mickey tries to muscle himself in front of Ian, but is stopped by Ian’s firm, restraining hand on his chest.
“The answer is still no, Fiona,” Ian says, never flinching away from Fiona’s flinty stare.
“Oh really?” Fiona laughs sardonically. “I wonder how long you’d last in the dungeons before you are begging to go to Three Rivers?”
With a growl, Mickey breaks Ian’s hold to stand bristling between Ian and his sister. “Just fuckin’ try it!”
“I’m more than happy to toss you down there too, Milkovich! On opposite ends, of course.”
----
“Fiona, stop!” Lip shouts. “Now before you do something that will haunt you forever! Compromise. Ian can advocate for Three Rivers with the Tower another way.”
“No,” Svetlana shakes her head, “that does not work.”
“Why not?” Ian asks.
“Because it is not what we agreed.”
“Oh, okay, I see what this is.” Mickey’s eyes bounce from Ian to Fiona to Svetlana.
“What do you mean?” Ian again asks.
“Fiona said ‘marriages’ with an ‘s’ before. So, the wicked witch of the bog wants a body to hold until, what,”—he motions to Fiona’s belly—"your first or second born?”
----
“Second born,” King James answers. Fiona takes up and drains the dregs of her wine. A servant materializes from the shadows to refill her goblet, yet Fiona still bites out “where the fuck have you been?” when the wine isn’t poured quick enough for her liking. James continues, “If we have no second child, then it’s to be Lip’s second born.”
“The fuck? You arrange my marriage and now you plan to steal one of my kids away?” Lip spits.
“This is so messed up,” Ian frowns. “Find someone else to be your hostage. I won’t do it. That’s final”
----
“Then I’ll remind you, Ian,” Fiona states, “that you’ve brought this upon yourself.” She straightens her posture as she declares: “I, Queen Fiona, do banish you, Ian Gallagher, from the Southern Kingdom.”
“Banished!” Ian gasps at the same time Lip yells “Fiona! Stop this!”
“You have one day, Ian. I suggest you pack quickly.”
Ian opened and closed his mouth soundlessly a few times before turning on his heel and marching out of the solar; Mickey right behind him.
“You don’t have to come with me, Mick. She didn’t banish you.”
Mickey snorted. “Think you’re running away without me, Gallagher?”
----
“Liam. Debbie. I have to say goodbye,” Ian murmurs as he leads Mickey to the family bedchambers. Fiona had only brought Liam with her when she wed. In times of danger, such as this, Debbie and her daughter sheltered in the castle as well.
Which was why Ian and Mickey were greeted with a giggling Franny as they entered Liam’s room. “Uncle Ian! There’s a party! Come dance with me!”
Ian scooped up his wriggling niece and pressed his nose into her red hair. “I wish I could, Fran. But I need to speak to your mom and uncle Liam.”
----
A litany of curses streamed from Debbie’s mouth—words probably best not spoken in front of her twirling and giggling young daughter—after hearing Ian and Mickey’s tale.
“Just don’t leave!” Debbie pleads. “What would she actually do to you?”
“It’s too big a’risk,” Mickey shakes his head.
“I think she’s done making allowances for her family, Debs,” Ian frowned.
Mickey snorts. “I think she’s trying to impress Queenie Svet.”
“Fiona has been asking my tutor a lot about past queens. Been reading a lot of books about them,” Liam offers. “I think she’s trying to be a better ruler.”
----
“Ian scrubbed his face hard with his hands. “Fuck! Carl is out with the scouts. I won’t get to tell him goodbye.”
“We’ll tell him.” Debbie was quick to reassure.
Mickey reached over and squeezed Ian’s shoulder. “We better get going, Red.”
“I know. Just a second.” Ian walked over to his little niece and scooped into his arms. “I’m really sorry, Fran, but I won’t see you for a while. Mickey and I have to go for a bit.”
“How long?” Franny lisped.
“I don’t know but I will see you again just as soon as possible. I promise.”
----
The Gallagher house.
It stands as it always has with the rusty horseshoe nailed over the front door, and the scraggly apple tree under which Monica and Frank’s funerary ashes mingled with the dust.
Debbie had accompanied them and immediately busied herself in the kitchen while Ian packed their belongings. Mickey concentrated on prying up a pair of floorboards to reveal a small metal chest. He filled three pouches with the contents inside. One for him, one he handed to Ian, and the last he passed to Debbie. “It’s good to have some coin you aren’t dependent on Fiona for.”
----
Ian waits until Mickey has left their room before accessing his own secret hidey-hole. From within he withdraws a fist-sized bundle wrapped in chamois leather. Smiling, he reveals his treasure—a chunk of Thunderbolt Iron.
He’d discovered it during his first job as a Mage-of-All-Work not long after completing his studies at the Tower. Metal fallen from the heavens! Precious. Rare. Strong.
Like his love for Mickey.
One day, when he has enough coin, he will commission a ring for Mickey out of his star metal.
Ian secrets his treasure inside his pack before saying a final goodbye to Debbie.
----
Ian had come into his magic young; at the age of seven instead of the more common twelve. The first mage on either side of his family. From that tender age until he turned seventeen, he spent at least half a year at the Tower of Enchanters learning how to control his new abilities. Because of this, Ian did not have the same attachment to the old Gallagher house as his siblings.
His siblings.
They were the home that he missed whenever he had to leave Wallaceborough for any length of time. It was for them that his heart ached.
----
Debbie locks her arms around Ian’s neck. Squeezing. Squeezing. With all she has. Ian hears a sniffle; a choked-out “Don’t go.” He sighs, eases Debbie away to arm’s length. “I’ve been left no choice.”
“I know.” She wipes away her tears. “And it’s not like I’m not used to you leaving. It’s just…”
“You always knew I’d be back in a few months.” Ian finishes. “That’s still true. I just don’t know when.”
Debbie nods. “Do you at least know where you’re going?”
Ian’s gaze drifts in the direction of the city gates. “Yeah, I think I have a plan.”
----
“`Ey,” Mickey nudges a playful elbow into Ian’s ribs, “care to share this plan of yours?”
Ian hesitates. His magic is on edge. He can feel eyes watching and ears listening. “Later,” he replies. “When we’re on the road.”
Mickey scowls, but Ian shuts down any impending argument by reaching out and clasping his hand around Mickey’s forearm. He gently draws his lover in close. “Trust me. Please,” he whispers in the small space between them.
Mickey places his own hands on Ian’s hips. “Always.” He reassures as he pushes onto his toes to brush a kiss against Ian’s lips.
----
Lip is waiting for them at the city gates. And beside him, holding the reins of two horses is…
“Carl!” Ian rushes to hug his brother.
“Careful!” Lip warns. “He smells like the bottom of a garderobe.”
“Hey! I was monitoring a battlefield. What’s your excuse?”
Lip snorts. “We brought you two transportation.”
“Tryin’ to get us thrown into the dungeon for stealing royal horses?” Mickey quips as he runs a hand over the neck of a black palfrey.
“These horses? Nah. These are mine. Slid the coin into the stable master’s hand myself.”
Ian will miss his brothers terribly.
----
The sun has risen by the time Ian and Mickey pass through the gates of Wallaceborough. Carl has advised them which routes to take to avoid any remaining battles.
Ian sighs.
He’s exhausted. Mickey must be too.
Ian can’t help his eyes filling with tears as he watches the slightly drunken sway of his lover in the saddle a few paces ahead. This simply isn’t fair.
Ian must’ve made some noise as Mickey’s head suddenly jerks towards Ian. “What’s wrong?”
“You shouldn’t have to keep giving up the life you know for me.” Ian sniffles.
“Ian, you are my life.”
----
They ride northward until the threat of falling asleep and from their saddles becomes too great. They locate a village with an Inn where they sleep for a meager five hours.
It’s when they’re downstairs, eating bowls of stew with fresh bread, far enough from their fellow patrons for some semblance of privacy that Mickey says, “Think it’s time to share your plan.”
Ian hesitates. Compulsively stirs the stew in his bowl. Finally, he sighs, “Promise you’ll let me explain my reasoning before you get mad?”
Mickey snorts but nods all the same.
“We go to the Tower of Enchanters.”
----
A cloud like the darkest autumn day passes across Mickey’s face. “Think I must’ve heard you wrong cause there’s no way you’d suggest I step foot in the Tower.”
Ian flinches.
Mickey has good reason to hate the Tower of Enchanters. He’d had a sister—Mandy—who ran away at 16 and found work as a maid at the Tower. Ian had known her; had become friends of a sort. She’d disappeared one night, her body found in the lake the next morning. Murdered housemaids rarely get the justice they deserve.
“You promised you’d let me explain,” Ian reminds him.
----
Mickey wipes a hand across his mouth a few times before noisily pushing back from the table. “Not here.”
“Mickey—” Ian pleads.
“I said not fucking here!”
So, Ian follows Mickey out of the Inn, to their horses, and back onto the road.
They ride in tense silence for most of an hour before Mickey abruptly turns off the road and onto a narrow animal trail through the woods. They follow this until it widens into a circular clearing with a hint of cloudy blue sky overhead.
Mickey leans back against a tree trunk, arms crossed. “OK. Start talking.”
----
The sun filters crystalline into their clearing in great juxtaposition to Mickey’s stormy features.
Ian sighs. “Your anger with the Tower of Enchanters is just, Mickey. And I agree with it. But I know the people and the politics of the place. If any entity has the power to convince Fiona to drop this nonsense, it’s the Tower. And the Grand Enchanter has been like a grandfather to me. He’s a good person, Mickey, I swear.”
Mickey snorts. “Yeah. Turns a blind eye to murder and to you fucking your magic teacher. Sounds like a real ‘good person’ to me.”
----
“Even good people make mistakes.”
“What the fuck ever, Ian.” Mickey kicks the heel of his boot against the tree trunk. “Haven’t I put up with enough magic bullshit without you dragging me to the center of magic bullshit?”
Ian’s entire body freezes. Magic bullshit. How long has Mickey felt this way?
The last thing Ian wants is to push Mickey away.
“Okay,” Ian begins to pace. “By midnight, Fiona will have soldiers out making sure we’ve crossed out of the Southern Kingdom. Let’s just focus on that, for now.”
“And then?”
“We will go wherever you decide we should.”
----
It’s dark by the time they reach the kingdom’s edge.
There is a campfire, vibrant against the darkness, near the boundary stones. Barks of laughter emanate from it.
A voice calls out as they draw near. “Lad! Come! Break bread with us!”
Mickey brings his horse to a stop. “Uncle Ronnie. Sorry, no time for dinner parties. We’re on a schedule.”
“That what you callin’ it? Being runout of a kingdom? Think we wouldn’t hear? You angered a queen. Think that wouldn’t have consequences?” The man’s eyes slide to Ian and Mickey tenses in his saddle.
“How long we got?”
----
Uncle Ronnie takes a drink, swallows. “I intercepted the orders on ya, but Queen Svetlana is spittin’ mad. She and that other one had plans. Their eyes are focused elsewhere, though, for now. You hear that Northern prince, Gus, is dead?”
“Dead?” Ian is genuinely shocked at this. “How?”
Ronnie laughs. “Panicked when he realized his lot was trapped between two armies. Was in such a state, his horse bolted when he tried to climb into the saddle. Cracked his skull but good.”
Mickey couldn’t care less about Prince Gus right now. “How long, Uncle Ronnie?”
“A week at most.”
----
“Fuck!” Mickey spat. “Thanks for the warning, Uncle Ronnie.”
“Now, wait just a second there, lad. You sure he’s worth all this?” Ronnie asks, his gaze turning to Ian. “A life on the run? You’re a Milkovich. We fed you, trained you. You’re family. Come back into the fold, and we can make your name on these orders disappear.”
Ian feels his stomach drop into his toes as Mickey turns in his saddle to face him. He meets his lover’s gaze with wide, searching eyes. Mickey offers a soft smile in return.
“C’mon, Red. Let’s get out of this place.”
----
Mickey reluctantly agreed to stop at the next farm to rest. They traded news and coin for permission to sleep in the hayloft.
“There’s not enough miles between us and Uncle Ronnie.” Mickey shredded a piece of hay between his fingers.
Ian finished casting a protection ward and sat next to Mickey on the floor. “You don’t trust he’ll keep his word?”
“Not really.”
Ian encouraged Mickey to lie down. He curled himself around the smaller man, locking an arm around his middle. Mickey took ahold of Ian’s wrist in a strong grip that didn’t loosen throughout the long night.
----
“Mickey! Stop!” Ian had never gone from asleep to awake; from horizontal to vertical so quickly in his life as he rushed to hoist Mickey bodily into his arms before he could reach the hayloft ladder.
“The fuck, Gallagher?” Mickey wiggled in Ian’s bridal-style grip. “I gotta fuckin’ piss!”
Ian moved several steps back from the ladder and sat Mickey back on his feet. “My wards. You almost triggered them.”
“Fuck,” Mickey scrubbed at his eyes, “didn’t sleep a wink last night.”
“I know,” Ian said as he reached out to dispel his protective wards. “Worrying about your Uncle Ronnie?”
----
“No.” Mickey doesn’t elaborate further. Just pushes past Ian and down the loft ladder. Ian catches up to him at the side of the barn where Mickey has unlaced to relieve himself. Ian follows suit; willing Mickey to start talking. The quiet is too loud.
Without a single word, Mickey tucks himself back into his pants and wanders to the edge of the farmer’s field. He sits heavily atop a low stone wall, head in his hands. Ian hurries after him.
“Mick, if it’s not your uncle then what is it?”
Mickey scrubbed callused hands hard against his face. “Mandy.”
----
“Mandy? Mick, you aren’t making any sense.”
“Just wonderin’ when I became the type of bastard that betrays his dead sister?”
“Mickey!” Ian dropped to his knees in front of Mickey, but Mickey refused to meet his gaze. “What are you talking about?”
“Your fucking mage tower.”
“We already decided not to go there.”
Mickey laughed bitterly. “Before my mind spent the entire night showing me all the ways my dad’s minions could tear you away from me. It’s the only place they can’t get to you.”
Their eyes finally met then, and Ian could see Mickey’s pain, his panic.
----
“There are other places, Mick.” Ian cupped Mickey’s face in his hands. “We’ll take a ship to the Springlands.”
Mickey shook his head. “Milkoviches by the dozen.”
“Okay. What about the elves? I met a couple of elves a few years ago. I could try to get a message into the Elflands; request sanctuary.”
“The friends you got, man.”
Ian winced. “Never said they were friends. Acquaintances at best.”
“Then why the fuck would they stick their necks out for us?” Mickey scoffed.
Ian exhaled a breath through pursed lips. “You’re really willing to go to the Tower?”
Mickey nodded.
----
Ian could never forget his first sight of the Tower of Enchanters. His seven-year-old stomach clenched in awe and more than a little fear at the gleaming white stone spire rising from its island base in the center of Frostfire Lake. A curtain wall of that same blinding stone surrounding both tower and lake. And the bustling town that had grown to support it. A little kingdom without a king.
Mickey had grown fidgety as they navigated to the curtain wall and the Keeper of the Gates.
“Are you okay?” Ian asked.
Mickey nodded tersely. “Wanna get this over with.”
----
“Do my eyes deceive me?” a beautiful Black woman called from atop the curtain wall. “Or is that Ian Gallagher at my gate?”
She stepped forward then, off the curtain wall, and down what appeared to be a staircase of air.
“The fuck?” Mickey gasped. Ian only grinned as he dismounted his horse. Mickey echoed his actions.
“Your gate?” Ian said with a laugh.
The woman stopped a pace in front of Ian. “It’s right in the title: Keeper. Of. The. Gate.”
“Nice levitation spell, V.”
“The people like a show so why not give them the whole big bang?”
----
V gripped Ian in a bear hug, rocking him side to side before stepping back. “Now, are you going to introduce me to your handsome companion, or what?”
Ian took the horse’s reins from Mickey’s hands and motioned him forward. “Veronica Fisher, let me introduce you to the love of my life—Mickey Milkovich. Mickey, this is V. She taught me how to enchant objects when I was a student here.”
Mickey bowed. “Nice to meet you.”
Veronica smiled. “Wait, did you say ‘Milkovich’?” V’s eyes cut to Ian. “Any relation?”
Ian nodded. “Brother.”
V let out a low whistle.
----
“Oh! Have you brought Mickey to visit the gardens?” V asked.
Ian shook his head. “I don’t know if you’ve heard but things are really bad down south.”
“How bad?”
“My sister has exiled me for refusing to go along with her plans. I’ve come to request sanctuary.”
“Damn!” V’s eyes widened. “Well, then let’s get you both inside. I’m sure the Grand Enchanter will make time to speak with you. And don’t forget to visit the forge. Kevin will be so glad to see you!”
“The fuck was she talkin’ about gardens for?” Mickey mumbled.
“I’ll tell you later.”
----
V guided them through the gates with a wave and a saucy wink.
Mickey eyed her warily as they passed; grumbling beneath his breath until the gates shut and a stableboy was trotting over to secure their horses for them.
“What was that?” Ian asked after the boy was no longer in earshot.
“Said I don’t have to wear one of your dumb mage robes while we’re here, am I?” Mickey groused.
Ian laughed. “God no! Even for me the robes are optional. Only students are required to wear the robes. V just looks hot in them and knows it!”
----
The moment of levity passed quickly as the frown returned to Mickey’s face. Ian watched his love’s gaze bounce around the stables, the smithy, the shops. To the lake with the island in the middle where the tower rose skyward. To a row of crimson-roofed dormitories where he paused and blinked heavily.
“Mandy took a big risk and wrote to me from this place.” He jerked his head toward the dorms. “Looks just like she said.”
Mickey sniffed. “So fuckin’ proud of getting away from dad. She wanted me to leave, too. I wasn’t ready yet. I burned the letter.”
----
“I think Mandy would be proud of where you are today.” Ian reached for Mickey’s hand to give him a reassuring squeeze.
Mickey nodded, sniffed again. “Okay, now what?”
“Now, we take the ferry across the lake and speak to the Grand Enchanter.” Ian pointed down the road to a dock where a robed man was dancing from foot to foot, frantically waving for them to come.
“The fuck is that?”
Ian smiled. “That would be Kermit, the Tower’s Seneschal."
“What’s his problem?”
“V must’ve sent word ahead for the ferry to wait for us. We’re probably making him late.”
----
“—And that’s why it’s imperative that the ferry always runs on time.”
Mickey cracked his knuckles one by one as he barely reined in the temptation to smash his fist into this weasel-faced bastard’s nose. Couldn’t this guy show some fucking respect? Didn’t he know that Mickey’s sister was dragged lifeless from this very lake? He had to know.
And how could Ian just listen to this asshole lecture when all Mickey wanted to do was kick and scream and bash this stupid ferry to pieces?
A strong hand touched his shoulder, caressed him. “Mick, breathe. We’re nearly across.”
----
Mickey spent the remainder of the ferry ride glaring at the deck boards; hands clenched and digging into his knees.
Ian wanted nothing more than to offer him comfort; offer him hope, but he knew in his heart he could do neither. Even with his strong relationship with the Grand Enchanter, Ian could hardly make demands when they were literally there to beg the Tower for protection.
“I need an audience with the Grand Enchanter as soon as possible,” Ian stated to the seneschal as the ferry was docked.
“Yes, of course.” The schedule-loving Kermit replied to Ian’s absolute shock.
----
Ian and Mickey had been settled in the antechamber with a plate of cheese tarts and cups of strong coffee for mere moments before Kermit returned to summon Ian to the Grand Enchanter.
“Go do what we came here to do,” Mickey said when Ian squeezed his hand.
The Grand Enchanter was frowning at a page of parchment when Ian entered the chamber. The elderly man glanced up at the sound.
“Ian! Dear lad!” He laughed, motioning Ian closer. “A pleasant surprise, to be sure! However did you convince Kermit to alter my schedule?”
“I suspect my companion worries him.”
----
“Ah yes! Your Mickey Milkovich.” The Grand Enchanter groaned as he stood. “Is that why you’ve come? His sister?”
Ian drew in a deep breath. “Not primarily, but it is a conversation we will be having.”
“Then why have you returned to us in such haste?”
“The Southern Kingdom has joined with Three Rivers against the Northern Kingdom. For refusing to assist Fiona, I have been banished. I have come to request sanctuary for myself and Mickey.”
“I was about to ring for tea and cake, but I think this discussion calls for something a bit stronger.”
“Much.” Ian nodded.
----
“Such a thing to endure from your own family,” the Grand Enchanter frowned when Ian had finished his tale. “You have my greatest sympathy.”
“Thank you.” Ian ran a palm across his tired face. “I’m sorry to bring my problems to you.”
“Lad, they are hardly your problems alone. I count at least three kingdoms worth! And, my boy, you need never come begging for the protection of the Tower: you are one of our own and shall always have it. That extends to your beloved as well.”
Ian slumped in his chair as though a great weight had lifted.
----
For several moments the Grand Enchanter tapped a near-silent rhythm with a fingertip as he studied Ian. “Are you certain now is the best time to reveal the details of his sister’s death to your Mickey?”
Ian frowned. “He deserves to know the truth!”
“Undoubtedly. However, I don’t think you realize just how much that truth could affect your current relationship.”
“Why would you say that?” Ian pushed out of his chair. “I had nothing to do with her murder!”
“Yes, I know that, lad. But the motivations of her killer touch on you in ways that could cause strife.”
----
“Wait! Are you…,” Ian gulped. “Are you saying Mandy died because of me? But, why? We were friendly acquaintances at best!”
“Take a deep breath and think on it, Ian-lad: who believed they had such a claim on you that they would resort to murder over a few shared smiles with a maid?”
Ian felt his marrow turn to ice as he whispered, “You mean Ned, don’t you?”
The Grand Enchanter sighed. “Ned. The only elf to ever join us in the Tower. To accuse him of murder would’ve caused an incident with the Elves never to be recovered from.”
----
Ian fidgeted for several moments, face burning with either anger or embarrassment—even he could not tell which, “So you knew about me and Ned?”
“Not the entire time, no.” The Grand Enchanter frowned. “At first, I believed Ned when he said his interest was purely in your unique abilities, and I believed him when he said he had no intention of ‘picking the forbidden fruit’ as he referred to you.”
Ian grimaced.
“When confronted he did not deny his guilt. Only reminded me of the consequences should I accuse him of murder. He took you away not long after.”
----
“I believed every word Ned said to me.” Ian scrubbed his hands roughly across his face.
“You were young.”
“I was an idiot,” Ian scoffed. “He flattered my ego. Paid me the type of attention I always wanted. Said I was special. I was so excited when he told me that he was taking me to the Elflands. He said we had to leave right away if we were to arrive for the ceremony on the equinox.”
“Yes, the ceremony. You were always vague about that part.”
Ian looked away from the Grand Enchanter. “Because Ned intended to sacrifice me.”
----
“Sacrifice! Ian-lad, I don’t understand why you kept this from me?”
Ian fidgeted in his chair. “I thought that Ned loved me, but he believed my magic proved that I was some famous Elf hero reborn in the wrong body. That I must be sacrificed so his soul could rightly return to the elves.”
“Nonsense! Your unique magical abilities are the result of your mother conceiving you with an Elemental Spirit in human form.”
“The elves didn’t believe it either. They took Ned into custody and showed me the road. Said it was best I keep what happened to myself.”
----
“The most ridiculous part of all of this is, if not for Ned, I never would’ve met Mickey.”
“How is that, Ian-lad?”
Ian sniffed. “If Ned hadn’t declared me the soul of a dead elf hero, he never would’ve inspired a cult of believers, and one of those members never would’ve hired Mickey to hunt me down.”
Ian thunked his head against the table. “I’m going to lose him.”
“You’re certain you must tell him about Mandy now?”
“Mandy’s death haunts him. I won’t leave him in the dark if I have answers. Even if it costs me his love.”
----
Ian passed Kermit in the corridor on his way back to Mickey. The seneschal—puffing and red-faced—paused long enough to exclaim “Your… your… whatever is an absolute barbarian!” before hustling away.
“What did you do?” A bemused Ian asked Mickey as he re-entered the antechamber.
“Pissed in that plant.” Mickey pointed to a lustrous potted plant with a shrug.
“Mickey.”
“’Ey, I told him I needed to go. Not my fault he was too slow to point the way.”
Ian grinned as he guided Mickey backwards to the nearest wall. He kissed him deeply before resting their foreheads together.
