Til sits alone in silence, contemplating what Noan has told him and has asked of him.
There’s much to consider, and he wonders if he can be the person they need to help the children.
Dropping the dishes into a wash basin, Til knows sleep will not come easily to him. He nods to himself, deciding that if sleep will not come to him—for there’s nothing for him to do at this hour—then he might as well go about his duties. There’s always work to be done, and he’d rather keep his hands—and his thoughts—busy rather than lingering.
As he walks through the ancient walls of the castle, past the sleepy and stumbling staff, he thinks about why he broke so quickly and agreed to help.
He’s not trying to stand out; he has no desire to. He’s been a faithful steward of the King, and that’s all that he needs to be to one day reach his reward. But here he is, planning to offer himself like a lamb for the slaughter because tired, hurting, sky-blue eyes asked it of him.
Perhaps this will be what launches him to his final reward?
Til nods to a pair of knights, helmets off and chatting quietly, tucked away into a mossy alcove. They likely wait for the next tolling of the bells to stand watch over the early morning training.
Others were scattered around the castle as Til walked past.
The kingdom has only known peace since Til’s arrival there, with only the occasional attempt on the King’s life, even warranting the smallest number of the knights and Honored. There’s no need, never has been, for so many soldiers, for so many prepared for war. Even with the threat of King Adem’s devices, a threat of war never reached them. The knights and Honored were rarely needed outside of the city surrounding the castle, let alone farther out into the kingdom.
Although Til’s rounds often take him out of the castle and through the city, down a winding path that leads all throughout the streets—he and the other knights reminding people, warning them, the kingdom is guarded against attack—Til doesn’t go out into the city this time.
Instead, he stops by the massive gates that, when open, are large enough to allow a dozen men abreast to walk through. They have never changed location since Til’s arrival, which feels like a lifetime ago. One door is always open, and the other is always shut. Leafy vines anchor themselves on the sun and water-damaged wood, slipping through the massive bars holding it all together. A sight to admire when the flowers were blooming, though the vines themselves are just as pretty. Some of the tendrils are as thin as a hair, whereas others have grown as thick around as Til’s wrist.
There has been no need for the gates to be opened to allow an army to exit or closed to keep an enemy out.
Beside the gate was one of the other Honored, one who had only recently joined their ranks. It wasn’t long ago he’d been a child among many training, one of many in a crowd of youths in Til’s mind.
The practice of years of never seeing his fellows' faces had taught Til much about body language. The boy’s exhaustion radiated from him, despite his valiant job, standing tall and straight, without leaning on anything. Til thought if he wasn’t going to sleep, someone else should.
Til sends the newly graced Honored back to the castle, suggesting he rest before going out to the city to enjoy himself.
The younger Honored—whose name Til doesn’t catch—thanks him even as he looks around as though he was expecting someone else to appear and tell him to get back to work.
Til watches the young man leave, wondering about his name. He’d only left training the year previous; Til had trained him as well. He’s sure at some point he’d known the younger knight’s name, but now it proves as difficult to grasp as fog.
It doesn’t matter. Til would watch the front gates; it wasn’t the first morning he’d taken over. In fact, it was something of a habit when a restless night turned into an all too early morning, and sleep eluded him the whole time.
The code that the Honored were required to follow, that Til was required to follow, was certainly something that had kept him up before.
If that was his goal, he’d bring it up to the King when he was Kingsguard.
But today, he feels that talking to the common folk might help him understand his thoughts.
At this time of day, it’d mostly be people who worked within the castle who didn’t live on the grounds or those carrying supplies.
As most of the people he checks pass through the gates, none sway his thoughts from the missing children. Though they do remind him of his own disappearance, as it were.
When he’d fled his home to come to Argest, he’d been more than a boy but full of angry pride and determination. He’d been so sure he could change things, truly change things, and prove his kinsfolk wrong.
And he has.
But they weren’t the things that he’d come here to do. It didn’t stop him from wanting to help the young ones, children who showed up at the castle looking for a purpose, something like freedom, what they really needed. At least as close as they could get.
It wasn’t enough.
Before him, an older woman appears—one who’s long since started stooping and only seemed to get shorter in all the years Til’s known her—guiding her mule-pulled cart, the back of it covered with a heavy quilt embroidered with a field of flowers made from threads of a thousand colors. He’d asked her once how she got the quilt, but she would only say “magic” with a secretive smile. She stops the cart before the gate without being prompted and uncovers the back before Til can ask.
“Good morning, ma’am. What brings you to the castle today?” Even though Til knows the woman, it’s hard not to after seeing her twice a week for years, he can’t be familiar with her. Though a part of him aches to know her name. Like with the young Honored, he’s sure he’d learned it at some point, but it’s been too long for him to ask again.
“Good morning, Honored Til! I’m just bringing in the eggs for the castle. You know, I was talking to my cousin the other day. And she said that…” Til isn’t sure how she knows his name, just that she did. She starts her story without end once again, as it had been unfolding for all the years he’d known her. She shows him the mountain of eggs she has for the kitchen, showing him that none were cracked as she tells her story.
As the woman drones on, Til wonders what the King thinks of him. He makes all the right noises, allowing the woman to tell the plights of her and her cousins. Her stories aren’t the most interesting, but more than once, Til’s learned of a chicken-based catastrophe thanks to her, which was reason enough to listen to her stories.
The only reason he has to stop her is the next cart creeping up the hill. He likes to let her talk as long as she wants; he’s always been curious to see if she would talk the whole day away if given the chance.
“Alright, ma’am. See you next week.” Til waves her through, raising his hand for the cart that’s still making its way up the hill, “Next!”
The tailor isn’t someone Till knows well, not well enough to know his name or wonder even about it. An event is happening soon, so of course, the King needs new garb for it. But if Til’s one of the people going on this grand journey he may have already agreed to, then he won’t have to worry about it himself.
If he proves himself now, he can earn his place amongst the Kingsguard.
Now that he thinks about it, it’s really a golden opportunity being dropped into his lap.
He misses most of what the tailor explains as he shows his many cloths, but he has other people arriving at the gates, “Very well, have a nice day. Next.”
All he has to do is take it.
✨✨✨
Hours pass before he is relieved at the gate by another Honored, who sends him to rest. The lack of sleep tugs at him, weighing him down; his feet drag as he walks, and his shoulders dip until it seems only his armor holds him up. He pressed on.
He can’t think about his lack of sleep, about the dark fogginess that settles within his mind. He can’t think of his cell. If he goes back, he’ll be alone, truly alone with his thoughts. Without sight to distract him, only the most muddled sounds of those around him will keep him company.
Unease deepening, Til thought of times like these that made him question why he remained Honored. Why did he wear the Helmet at all times, at the oddest of hours? Why does he submit to the black abyssal cell to sleep and prepare himself in?
Among the most stifling rules the Honored follow is that he couldn’t even see himself. Can’t even take off the Helmet to look in a mirror and question if it was really all worth it.
This is part of being Honored. The knights, who’d already taken off their helmets, had no need to worry about the majority of the code Honored adhered to. However, when they drop Honored, they can no longer become Kingsguard and reap any of the rewards of that station. Til didn’t care as much for the rewards as the options they would give him. For the time being, he has to keep his Helmet on and follow the rules.
Then he’d be able to get that part of himself back when this was all said and done.
Til walks the courtyard alone, noting the knights who should be watching over it have left. Not that there’s much need for it to be guarded outside of the training hours. The only people who spent time there were pages and maids, who used it as a shortcut. Though Til supposes that visiting dignitaries could spend time here. Admire the artful stone structures and grown-over suits of armor from long-dead Kingsguard littering the courtyard while their personal staff followed.
It had been a while since there’d been any visitors. Til couldn’t remember the last time there had been some.
Even though there’s no need for watchkeeping, Til finds a place with good vantage over the courtyard. It also keeps him nearly completely out of sight as he wonders about the missing children.
Noan had been distraught, more so it seemed than the King. If he’d been looking for the children for some time now, then it’s no surprise he looked so tired. Til wonders what changed and what would happen when they were brought here?
A page appears as he sits, lost in thought.
The teenager, more like a child, really, looks around, her shirt darkened with sweat that drips from her. She was without armor but already bore the symbol of those who become Honored. Her head swings around, shorn short hair barely avoiding her eyes as she searches for something.
“Page,” he calls to the girl, “What do you seek?”
She starts, her body whipping to face Til. If his hiding place surprises her, she doesn’t sound it, calling back, “The King has called another meeting. All knights and Honored are to be in the throne room by the next tolling of the bells. If there are others with you, bring them with you!”
Til waves off the page, “Understood.”
He stands, stretching as much as he’s able before making his way into the depths of the castle. Maybe his questions will be answered.
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As he follows Noan from the castle, Til can’t help but compare his speed to that of a criminal fleeing the scene of a crime. The man doesn’t stop, or even slow as they pass through the town and into the countryside around it. Hunkered down over his horse, pushing it faster and faster, Til wants to tell him that it’s not about speed, though time is of the essence, but that they’re going to run their horses into the ground if they’re not careful.
It crosses Til’s mind that Noan is fleeing the castle, or, perhaps, something or someone within.
The urge to flee the capital had lessened the older Til got and the more time he’d spent as Honored. It hadn’t left him completely, though, and as the castle, then the city, grows ever smaller behind them, a tightness in his entirety eases as well, from the tips of his toes all the way up to the ever-present pressure at the base of his skull.
He doesn’t put much thought behind it, just puts it to the fresh air and the ability to ride freely for the moment. That and trying to keep up with the Wizard.
It’s only as the city walls have shrunk to nearly nothing that Noan finally slows.
“So-” Til gasps, feeling almost as out of breath as poor Stoney heaving for air beneath him, “Where exactly are we going?”
“Wherever we need to.” Noan answers, looking windswept and pink, eyes shining as bright as his smile. Nothing like Til’s already exhausted and frazzled.
Til waits to see if the Wizard plans to add anything to that somewhat cryptic statement. A few moments pass while they sit in silence, rocked gently by the motion of the horses. Realizing Noan isn’t going to add anything, Til says, “That’s not exactly helpful.”
“My apologies, but I’m afraid there’s really not a better answer in this situation.”
Squinting at the other from the recesses of his helmet, Til wonders if it’s too late to turn around. Surely they were close enough still for him to be able to turn back.
It’s not worth thinking about. He’d agreed to be a part of this journey, and even though the last time he’d traveled this hard through these lands, he’d been rushing like the flames of his anger were nipping at his heels, pushing him faster onward like it was something he’d had a chance to escape.
That time was long behind him now.
Now, he needed to figure out where they were going next.
The night before, he’d been able to examine the maps to some extent, but he wasn’t exactly comfortable saying that he’d had them memorized. It’d been another story in his youth, but that was a long time ago, and he’d had no need to remember them since coming to the castle. Trying to remember what he’d seen the night before, Til concentrates on the memory. The map and the towns had only been uncovered a little while. The crystals had covered most of it too soon for him to memorize anything, but at least he’d known their direction.
“Well, we’re not going north, east, or south,” Til says aloud, more to himself than to Noan, but loud enough for the other to hear.
“How clever you are to know the direction we’re headed.” Noan drawls, not even giving Til the satisfaction of looking his way.
Feeling the flush of embarrassment heating up his cheeks and ears, Til thinks Noan is taking far too much pleasure in having all the information to himself. He can’t be surprised that the King’s favorite would know all the details, all the specifics that would certainly make this all the easier, but Noan keeps it to himself, choosing not to say anything. Fighting the blush, Till looks at the other, trying to compel him to say something, anything, to give him even a hint of where they were going, or what to expect.
This, this not knowing, this was one of the few things that could, and would, send Til right over the edge.
Unfortunately, Til’s silent attempts to force Noan to speak were fruitless. He has to get the information in another way, one that would also be much harder.
“I wasn’t aware there was much in this direction worth looking at, let alone stealing from,” Til says conversationally, as though discussing the weather.
“There’s not, not really. With how often fighting rolls this way, the swarms of bandits, I wouldn’t want to live here.” Noan’s gaze never leaves the road, but there’s something in his voice that leaves Til wondering what the Wizard had left behind when he’d gone to the castle. “And it’s certainly less populated than most of the kingdom, but still, there are those who choose to make their homes here.”
“Enough for some foe to try to steal them?” Til asks, adding on, “Who do you really think is behind this?”
“Why do you ask? Aren’t you supposed to follow the King’s word on all things?”
“Perhaps I wanted to know what you thought.”
“Whoever or whatever they are doesn’t matter; all that matters is they’re starting here, where the fighting was once strongest.” Noan’s voice has a note in it that pulls Til’s curiosity back to the forefront of his mind.
“It’s been a long time since there was fighting through here,” Til says loud enough to be sure Noan can hear him, but softer, he adds, “There used to be a great city near the border before that.”
Noan’s head flicks to look at Til, eyes big with shock.
Then his brows drop, and he looks over Til, seemingly searching for something. Though what, the knight doesn’t know. Eventually, Noan says, “I’ve heard of it, Dana City. I’m surprised you know of it.”
“My family often passed through when I was a child,” Til tells him openly. There’s no need for him to hide the half-truth. He hopes that sharing something of his own past might persuade the other to share about himself. “But I suppose it belonged to an age done and gone now.”
“Is that why you became a knight?”
Looking ahead to a small copse of trees, wary even with the knowledge none would be so bold as to attack a knight this close to the capital city, Til considers. “I wouldn’t say it’s the only thing that led me down my path, but it weighed into my choices.”
“You wouldn't be the only one. Disaster leads so many people to the capital.” Noan looks back to the road, shoulders higher than they were before, more tense, “I won’t even think of how many will be brought there by this tragedy.”
“You think the missing children will lead people to the capital?” Til nudges; he wants to know more, and this is the first opening that Noan’s given him.
Shaking his head, Noan answers, “In one way or another.”
Yanking the reins in hand, Noan abruptly turns his horse down a dirt path that could easily pass for a well-used deer trail. “Come on, I think this will lead us where we want to go.”
“Which is where exactly?” Til asks, turning his horse around to follow Noan.
“If we go this way, “ Noan explains slowly, like he’s talking to a child, “it’ll take us past where some of the disappearances have already happened; we might be able to cut off the enemy this way.”
In spite of the condescending tone of his voice, Til still hears the unspoken words, “And we might be able to save more of the children.”
Til has so many questions, so many gaps in his knowledge. How is he supposed to be able to help if he doesn’t have the answers? He needs to know more, to have more to work with.
But he knows that even if he asks, he won’t get the answers he seeks.
How’s a knight supposed to plan anything under these circumstances?
“Do we know how many of the Touched we’re looking for?” Til asks, realizing as he speaks how broad the question is, he tacks on, “Or even where?”
Noan sucks his teeth, loudly, “Well, we do. Somewhat. We’re going to some of the smaller villages, ones that are more easily overlooked-”
Til listens, thinking of how close they were to having to deal with the children. Til hadn’t spent a lot of time around children, not since he himself had been one. And even before he’d come to the capital to learn and train, he’d been more focused on learning from his elders. He hadn’t had time to spend around babes or little children, and when he did have them cross his path, he usually did his best to return them to a parent before they started crying. Traveling with the children was by far the least appealing portion of this while quest, and he certainly wasn’t looking forward to it.
“-which might still have children capable of truly incredible things. They’re the kind of places Donner wouldn't bother sending an emissary to. Too small, too few people, too little need for goodwill from them. And the children won’t really know until they find their key, you know? So many people don’t even know they’re Touched, and if they make it out of childhood without learning they can heal, or harm, or make a rainstorm-”
If he’d had the time, Til would have learned at least the basics of childcare; that would probably have saved him some trouble. Maybe it wouldn’t all be bad, though? Perhaps the children would be more focused on the shiny Wizard and what they themselves might be capable of doing.
“-But once they find they can do that one thing, once they begin learning, they’ll be able to learn how to do all kinds of amazing things. Things they never even dreamed possible. But they need to be taught by a good teacher, who will push them towards good-”
With any luck, Til wouldn’t have to deal with the children.
Noan could; he had to spend time with the Touched children, and he was probably good at it.
And Til could protect them all.
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Turning again to lie flat on his back, Til can’t be sure how much he’d slept, if at all. In the closed, dark chambers he calls his own, time is impossible to track, and the lines between wakefulness and sleep are blurry at best.
In the darkness, unable to tell if his eyes were open, Til wondered if he’d really agreed to an impossible quest, or if that was an interrupted dream lingering on. Focusing, Til tried to listen for what may have woken him, if he’d been sleeping at all. But there was little sound in the room, likely designed that way on purpose. Only the alarm bells rung jarringly loud in these rooms, though that had only happened a handful of times in Til’s time here. Even the morning bells weren’t that loud, and could be slept through by the stubborn.
Til prepared himself to continue languishing in his semi-dozing state, only for a sharp rap at his door to rouse him.
“Honored Tanner! It’s time! You are required at the gate!” A voice from the other side announces.
Til grunted something, it could have been words, he couldn’t be sure which, though, and set about readying himself in the darkness, possibly for the last time.
He shakes the thought from his head as he opens the door quickly, blinking quickly, trying to get his eyes to adjust as he leaves his chamber. There’s no one else around, but Til had expected that. The glittering predawn light barely touches this hall, and even if it did, the bells still hadn’t tolled, and the changing of the guard wouldn’t happen till well after dawn.
There wasn’t much Til would need for this journey, his weapons settling familiarly against his form, and the bag he carried only holding a few odds and ends, like a heavier, less embroidered cloak that would help keep him warm in the nights. One of the cooks had already packed a kit of food for him, and several sleepy maids who’d woken early or hadn’t yet gone to sleep told him they’d miss him and wished him a safe journey.
He’d been sure it would take longer, that there’d be more action, attention to the undertaking he was about to go on. But the gray of the very early morning was punctuated most of all by quiet.
The last thing he’d need was a horse, which a bleary-eyed stable hand led out to him. Stoney, an unimaginatively named stone-grey mare, was the only horse Til could think to take with him. He’d become somewhat fond of; for her easy demeanor and ability to follow even some of the more incredible demands made of her. She’d already been geared up and had saddlebags packed and on her back as well.
As the stable-boy stumbled away, likely to try to get what little rest he could before the hustle and bustle of the day, Til looked forward toward the quest he was somehow taking on.
Guiding the horse to the front gate, Til couldn’t help muttering a few reassurances to her, promising to at least get her back even if he failed in every other way.
She walked beside him, a silent and only witness to his departure from the castle.
This was surely an occasion that should be treated with great cheers, with great crowds cheering him, them, on as they went. But as the King had explained, they were trying to ensure that whoever was at fault for taking the children didn’t know they’d been noticed, so that they might catch them in the act and say with certainty who was at fault. A part of it didn’t sound right to Til, but he’d shaken it off.
He was serving his King and Country.
What the King said he was to follow and trust in his leadership, even if he didn’t understand it.
Waiting for him is an individual covered in a rust-colored cloak on a white, mottled black horse, whose coat has been brushed to shimmer, looking like the night sky had been made into their personal steed. Black boots had also been shined, and above them, dark fabric hugged strong thighs, which disappeared under the cloak. Dark leather gloves held the reins in a loose but sure grip. The rider’s face was hidden by the cloak and the dark as they faced out, looking at the world they were about to take on.
Til wondered who it would be; the person was almost certainly a wizard. There’d been plenty who’d passed through the castle over the years. Children mostly, though a handful in the early bloom of adulthood stayed within the castle walls, teaching the other children and enjoying freedoms the likes of which few could imagine, let alone attain.
“Hale, Wizard,” Til calls as greeting, wondering if this is the one he was supposed to meet, and if they were one he’d met before, or a stranger.
“There you are, Honored Tanner.” The cloaked figure calls him by name and greets him warmly. A laugh is hidden in his words as he continues, “I was wondering if I’d have to send another page to get you.”
It’s Noan.
Noan Isle, the King’s right-hand Wizard, would be the one to accompany Til?
Til couldn’t believe it; he was shocked and somewhat appalled, as this couldn't be right. He may have needed some kind of backup, but surely there had to be someone who was a better choice, someone other than Isle.
He was the King’s favorite. He’s been at the King’s side for almost as long as Til had been in Sunotoma.
Why would the King be so willing to put him in danger?
Til’s mouth moves faster than the rest of him, “What are you doing out here, Wizard? Shouldn’t the King be sending one of his less favored wizards?”
Noan’s head tilts, a knowing smile on his lips that doesn’t quite meet the darkness in his eyes, “The King knew he could entrust his favorites, both of his favorites, to this task. Now, we have places to be, Honored. Children to save. Enough with the gawking, and let’s get going.”
With a pointed look, Noan snaps his reins and races off, leaving Til to mount his horse as quick as he’s able.
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Just went into my randomizer of "active" writing projects that I haven't even looked at in like a year, and I not only finished two of the projects on there, but actually published both!
Til’s awakened by the feel of his head being pressed by a great, invisible vice. The pain is so severe that he can’t even bear to rid himself of it, forced to lie there and take it, unable to move, even breathe, at the feeling.
In spite of the great, seemingly unending pain, his mind is clear, and he knows what they have to do.
His clan will take in the children without question, though he may not be welcome there.
He just has to get them there.
He just had to convince Noan that it was a good plan, though they’d be going further off track than they’d already planned to. Not that they really had a good plan anymore, a trail to follow anymore. Til knew as surely as Noan did that there wouldn’t be any more children past this point. They were likely either killed by the Kingsguard or, if Tell was right in his feelings and instincts, they might already be with his people.
They’d hidden themselves as far from others as they could get, far from men, cities, trade routes. When they needed to, they traveled far from their home, farther than many would believe necessary. However, they couldn’t allow the location of their home to become public knowledge, or even known by anyone outside of their own people.
They couldn’t risk it getting back to the king.
The vice leaves him and his plan.
The risk to his own life was worth it for the sake of the children’s lives.
Perhaps, if he was not killed on sight, they might even allow him time to plead his case, to request their help. To finally finish the fight that had guided their people for generations.
To kill the king.
Til dressed slowly, the weight of the armor now seeming so much worse, so much heavier. Unbearable now that he knew what freedom looked like—felt like, smelled like, tasted like—and now he planned to return to his people without victory, only to confirm their fears and realize new ones.
But in it was also hope. A powerful tool, and something he could give them.
They needed to know.
And maybe, they’d see that even though he was a pigheaded fool, he’d only come to them for help.
Maybe they’d see the children, know that it wasn’t their fight, see that they had been dragged in and they’d need safety more than anything in this fight that had been going on longer than they’d been alive, longer than he’d been alive.
But it was time for it to come to an end.
The sun hadn’t even crested the horizon when Til left the bedroom where Noan still slept. When he’d checked on the children, they all still slept, though at some point in the night Rose had twisted around to sleep with her head at the foot of her bed, momentarily causing Til a panic when he didn’t see her head where he expected it.
And finally, he got himself something to eat, practicing what he’d tell Noan. What he’s going to say to convince him that it would be best to travel farther from the king than Noan’s ever gone in his life, to meet a people who may just kill them both on sight. People that he’d been a part of once, but was no longer. He wouldn’t think too hard about that happening, though it was a very real and very possible outcome of this all.
Noan had said that he was all wrapped up in the king’s magic; would he be able to kill him? To even lay hands on him? Would it be possible for him without Til’s help?
Or would he use the safe haven of the clan to escape the king’s power while he could? The man’s guard had to be down if Noan was right about him controlling the Kingsguard, and them being spread as wide as he implied.
It wasn’t impossible.
Noan would need help if he were willing to turn back and assist Til, or at least his people, in taking on their ancestral burden.
“There you are, I was worried when you weren’t there when I woke up.” Noan’s voice startles him; he hasn’t even heard the other enter the room, and his head swings to look at the other. Whatever look is on his face is no longer hidden by the helmet, and seems to startle Noan in turn. “It’s okay! It’s just me. What’s going on? Are you okay? Are the kids okay?”
“I’m- The children of fine. Safe. Still sleeping, I believe. I just-” the words fled from him. All the time he’d spent practicing what he was going to say didn’t matter; he had a plan that wouldn’t, couldn’t, end well for him, but still, he had to offer it. “I think we should find that enclave.”
“What?” Noan’s blue eyes bore into him, “Where did that come from? What do they have to do with anything?”
“We’re at a moment, a perfect moment, even.” Til says, all in a rush, “Where the king is weak, and scared, and his guards are scattered. We might be able to kill him. But we need to move fast, and we’ll need help.”
Noan’s jaw drops, “You can’t be serious.”
“I am. I think the enclave will be able to help us, at the very least, they’ll be able to take in the children, protect them, so whether we succeed or fail, they’ll be safe.” Til leans back in his chair, the weight of it all getting to him once again, “After that, I don’t know. But, I think now is the best chance we’re going to get.”
Noan looks at Til like he’d just told him that he was going to try to cartwheel naked, and til, admittedly, felt a bit like he had. “You really think this is going to work?”
Til bit his lip, then shook his head. “Enough that I’m willing to bet my life on it. The children’s lives on it.”
Noan nodded, still seeming skeptical, but he didn’t argue.
The next few hours pass in a blur.
However, the conversation with Feter stands out to Til, along with his discussion with Noan afterward.
Feter didn’t know much, and he was clear about that before he started, but he agreed to tell them all that he knew. Starting a few months before, when he’d been approached by a woman with long, dark hair.
Noan later told him, ”That would be when the children started going missing. The children did start disappearing before Donner began trying to get them just for the Neryen. He didn’t know who it was, who to blame. But it scared him, more than anything else I’ve ever seen.”
She’d asked him if he wanted to help make the world a better place.
Til didn’t recognise the description of the woman, but it sounded common to the way the enclave would approach people, which he’d told Noan.
Feter did, so he listened to the woman and went with her.
“The place Feter described sounded like the enclave, but much, much bigger than any other record the king may have had of it.” Noan had told him, and Til agreed.
From there, it had been a whirlwind of information and instruction, until Feter was sure of all the horrible things the king had done, continued to do, and wasn’t quite a fully trained wizard. Still, he’d known enough that he was allowed to go out with a band of those older than he to back them up.
All in the enclave were made very, very aware of what the king had done, so none could be swayed or tricked. It made Til feel a little sick to think about how close he’d been to being nothing more than a puppet to the man.
“But why did you come with us when you had to recognise that we worked for the king?” Til had asked in the moment.
“Because I saw all the kids you were traveling with. I knew you weren’t like the other knights, but the others wouldn’t listen to me.” Feter had looked away, looking at something the others in the room couldn’t see as well, “You weren’t hurting them, you were taking care of them, they were all there without magic binding them. The others only saw the armor. I tried to stop them, I really did.”
With the king stepping up his plans, outright attacking his own people, it didn’t surprise Til to hear that those from the enclave might be blind to some details. He couldn’t even blame them for it; he’d been much the same when he’d left them behind all those years before. At least he hadn’t seen any of the wizards Feter had been traveling with. He wasn’t sure if he’d be able to carry on if he knew any of them.
“Then why stay? Why not run back to the others?” Noan asked next.
“Do you really think I would have been able to outrun you? And even then, you were trying to help these guys. I don’t know, though. I just saw that Til was hurt, and I thought, maybe if I helped, you wouldn’t kill me?” Feter had looked away from them then, away from the long-gone figures and at the ground. “You said you were going to the capital, and I thought it might be my chance. That I could kill the king when so many had failed.”
Til had smiled then, in the moment, then when discussing it with Noan later. The boy’s reasoning was so much like his own. But he probably would have failed, too. Another assassin, dead and unable to be mourned.
“What else do you know?” Til asked, leaning in, trying to look as menacing as he could, though he wasn’t sure what exactly face he was pulling, as it didn’t feel quite right.
“Nothing! I swear!” Feter had squeaked, jerking back and making himself small, apparently appropriately terrified even without Til making quite the right face.
“That was a little mean, you know,” Noan said later, a slight smile on his face.
“What can I say? We needed answers.”
Noan had pulled til back with a look and a shake of his head, “Do you know who’s leading the enclave? Who was in charge of your group?”
“I don’t remember the name of the leader of my group; I was just to call him ‘Sir.’ And I heard a few names in passing, but I don’t know who was leading the whole group.” Feter answered, darting looks between the two of them.
Til knew a few names, names that he’d chosen to keep to himself for the time being, not that he was sure that any of them would still be there, still be alive, all this time later.
“Was there anywhere you were told to go if you got separated, or if your group was killed?” Til asked, remembering a few places from his childhood. The question seemed to surprise Noan, though.
“Uh-” Feter paused, thinking, “We were supposed to meet by Dana City at nightfall if everything went according to plan, but I think we’re getting too close to the meeting time and too far away to actually get there.”
Til knew it was possible; it would take traveling through the days longer than they had before, but he knew it was doable.
Noan thought otherwise, but it was their only chance.
The rest of their preparations had gone well enough, short of telling Willum that they weren’t heading straight back to the capital like he thought. The rest of the kids had been confused and suspicious, but had at least heard them out.
Telling Willum they knew his sisters were in trouble, but that they wouldn’t be heading there anyway, went over badly. He was only barely agreeing to be with them now, for the sake of being reunited with them.
Til’s heart ached for the boy, and he sat with him far past when they needed to start their travels to assure him they’d be safe in the meantime, that even though he was farther from them than he’d ever been, they’d be safe. Willum hadn’t agreed to this in any way, but still, he’d become a part of this mission, and it needed doing. Even if they tried to take him back now, there was no guarantee that they would all be safe in the long run, which was why they had to do this all now.
Because if Til was right, they’d be reunited sooner than the boy thought.
Willum obviously didn’t like it, but he reluctantly allowed himself to be settled by it. Til would take whatever he could get.
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Til dragged an unarmored hand over his face, giving into the long stomped instinct to, to just rub his face with his hand, to squeeze the bridge of his nose where a tension seemed to all draw together. To just rest for a moment, in a not-so-dark room, where he might be able to get some sleep. As unlikely as it seemed.
Til dropped his body onto the bed, which creaked ominously at the new weight.
It held, though, allowing him to take the weight of himself and his armor off his deadened feet and rest for a moment longer.
How close had he become to Kingsguard? How close had he been to becoming one of a swarm of men who didn’t seem capable of thinking for themselves any longer? Who seemed unable to tell right from wrong?
Who, at just the word of just one man, had killed unknown numbers of children.
Noan was sure that his removal of the helmet was key to stopping it. But was it really?
He didn’t think he felt any different after removing it, wearing it, or carrying it. But maybe it was as crucial as Noan said, or at least implied.
Maybe all of it was important.
Standing again, Til began the arduous task of removing all of his armor piece by piece. He could do it with his eyes closed, had done it so many times with his eyes closed, or in the blackest darkness that his eyes might well have been closed. He knew the name of each piece and mentally named it as he removed it. Leaving them in a pile beside the bed, uncaring of where they landed.
His focus was on the newly revealed flesh under it all. Scars aplenty littered his skin, some he remembered, some he didn’t.
Noan flitted about the room, doing something—Til didn’t know what—as Til removed the hunks of metal from his person. His attention wasn’t on the other man, and he didn’t care in the moment if Noan looked at him.
Reprieved from the heavy metal, the literal weight off his shoulders, Til was still weighed down by his thoughts, the weight of what was to come, of what they could do next.
He dropped to the bed once more, which again creaked, but not as menacingly this time.
They had to get the children to safety. They had to stop the king. Two things of equally significant value to him, and then, less important, but still somewhat important, they should survive as well.
It would save so many people, but how many would die in the process?
Barely noticing as Noan crawled into the bed as well, Til simply moved over to give him a little more space. Not that there was much in the inn’s tiny beds. But unlike the other times Noan had shared a bed with him, he kept his distance this time.
He didn’t even try to curl his way into Til’s space.
“Out of curiosity…” Til asks without turning his head, managing to startle them both, “Was all that cuddling up and flirting just to get me to take off the helmet?”
Noan doesn’t answer, and Til doesn’t look.
“I have to admit-” Til says, after it becomes clear that Noan won’t say anything at all, “-that would probably work on most of the other Honored.”
Noan turns to look at him, and Til, with his suddenly much wider periphery, is aware of it, can see it, but he doesn’t look back.
“Granted, most of them would take their helmets off at the first person who made a pass at them, let alone someone as pretty as you.”
Noan huffs out a breath, almost a laugh, almost shocked.
Til pauses at the soft noise, probably wouldn’t have heard it if they had been in separate beds.
But he also considers the problem of the helmets, “Is that why we can’t take them off? Or rather, why we’re not supposed to? It helps the king to find the people most willing to follow stupid, contradictory commands?”
Noan inhales like he’s about to answer, but Til doesn’t let him.
“Or is it just those who have a foal and desire enough that when they finally get around to becoming the next rank, the highest rank, no one, not even them, remembers what they look like.”
“I think that’s it.” Noan answers, voice barely above an exhale of breath.
“What?”
“No one remembers your face, remembers you. All of the trainers see so many kids, year after year, that they get lost in the crowd. You might remember what people have carved into their armor, what nicks you put there, which came from sparring. But you won’t remember who you are, or what they looked like when everyone looks the same.”
Noan looks at the ceiling with him.
“It doesn’t take long to forget a face, especially when it’s been replaced by something else.”
“Huh.” Til breaths, thinking over what Noan’s said. He finally turns his head, laying it against the pillow to look at Noan directly. It was nice to catch a glimpse of him out of the corner of his eye, but it was also disorienting. “What do I look like?”
“What?” Noan’s head snaps to look at him, and Til suddenly feels self-conscious.
“I- I don’t remember. And I haven’t had the chance to look in a mirror in a very long time.”
Noan turns his entire body on the bed to lie on his side, looking at Til with seemingly his entire focus.
He reaches over to touch Til with featherlight fingers, softly emphasizing each aspect as he talks about it. “Your eyes are dark, but warm, like an oversteeped tea. You have crow’s feet beside them. You must smile a lot, even beneath your helmet. Your brow is strong, but sparsely haired.”
Til can’t help the shivers that run through him at each gentle touch.
“And you have frown lines up here. You must make a lot of faces when you know no one can see your face, too. Your nose is strong, too; you’ve broken it at least once that I can tell. And you have smile lines around your mouth.” Noan smiles at him, and Til closes his eyes, the look just a little too much for him. Noan continues mapping his face anyway, “Your cheeks are high and fine, and your jaw gives your face a very square look. The mustache is nice, but a little uneven. Presumably because you can’t see what you’re shaving.”
Til catches Noan’s hand in his own, pulling it to his mouth once more to press a kiss to the thin skin of his wrist, feeling the minute movements and hammering hummingbird heartbeat within.
“Thank you.” He breathes against the soft skin.
Noan seems shocked, but then he’s on Til, pressing close, all but sitting in his lap as he hovers over him.
“There are scars on your neck, where your armor didn’t protect you.”
The hand drops to touch the scars, then over them.
Til freezes, breath catching, seeming to stumble, all too aware of the span of Noan’s hand across his throat.
Noan seems the same, his chest heaving as he looks down at Til, before leaning down with a dark look in his eyes.
He lifts his hand, but it’s not a freedom for Til, as the grip is replaced with butterfly-soft kisses against the scars.
“You’ve got more scars, lower too, where you couldn’t see them if you looked at yourself, but I can see-”
Noan's hands move to the ties of his shift, already pulling at them.
Til stops him, grabbing his hands.
His voice is lost, but he manages to catch Noan’s eye, shaking his head. It’s all too much, too fast. It’s been so long since he’s really felt another’s hands on him, and it’s all far too fast.
Noan scrambles up, away, the dark look gone from his eyes, mortification taking its place as he opens his mouth to say… Til doesn’t know what.
Til keeps him from pulling too far away, managing to push out, “Not- Not here. Not now.”
“Not now?” Noan’s stopped pulling away from him, now looking at him with consideration.
“Not now.” Til swallows, adding, “Maybe, not ever?”
Noan nods, settling back onto the bed, back onto him. Curled up in the way they had already slept together before, but now Til can feel the warmth of Noan’s hands touching him, not just the extra weight of his form.
Noan leans up and presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth, leaving warm tingles in his wake before settling back against Til’s side, “I can wait for not now, and not ever is good, too.”
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Within seconds of Til opening the door to call for him, Noan enters the room without a single glance at Til, his entire focus once again on the girl who’s made herself more comfortable on the bed.
Til can only hope the wizard doesn’t do anything to disrupt the fragile balance they’d found as he takes the chair that Til had recently vacated.
He questions her calmly, also focusing on the fact that she’d been sure she’d heard others while mostly unconscious. He asks her more questions, attempts at clarifying what Til had already found out, but she’s not able to tell him much more than she could tell Til, though she does manage to do it with fewer questions.
Finally, Noan leans forward to pat her hand, saying, “I think that’s enough questions for now from both of us. You should get some rest.”
Rose nods, a yawn overtaking her before she can say anything in return.
Til straightens from where he’d been leaning by the door, watching both of them.
Noan stands, stance wide from how he’d leaned forward, and his foot knocks against Til’s helmet—where he left it seemed like a lifetime ago—making a soft noise as he does so.
Noan glances down, an afterthought, a moment so fast that Til can see when his mind catches what he’d actually seen, and he looks back again, really seeing it this time. Noan’s movements are jerky as he leans down, picking it up with unsure hands.
He examines it, like he’s not really sure of what he’s looking at, before slowly looking over to Til.
Shock covers his face, even as his ears darken.
He turns back to the girl, telling her they’ll be traveling first thing the next morning, and that he’d really appreciate it if she went with them.
Rose nods, though if she notices anything off about either man, she doesn’t say it.
Noan says he’ll bring her food soon, seeming to forget that just moments before, he’d been telling her to sleep, and pushed the helmet into Til’s hands before leaving the room.
Til wishes the girl pleasant dreams and follows Noan from the room, leaving his helmet under his arm.
The second Til exits the room, closing the door behind him, Noan grabs his arm, keeping him from leaving.
The wizard’s strength surprises him, once again. He thought he knew that Noan had some strength to him, more than most really, but in moments like this, it surprised him all over again.
Noan’s grip was firm and unyielding as he pulled the knight away from the door before pushing him back against the wall opposite it. Not so far away that they couldn’t be heard, but far enough that you’d have to listen at the door.
Unless they got loud.
As Noan looked at him, though, really looked at him, eyes almost scraping across his skin as he took in Til’s features, they were dead silent.
Til can’t remember a time he’s felt this looked at, this seen, since before he was Honored. For the first time in a very, very long time, he’s being looked at for him, for the man, not just the knight. He stands before Noan without a helmet, without a shield, without any true separation.
And as much as he tries to stand still under the scrutiny, he shifts, nervous, knees weak at the intensity in Noan’s gaze.
It becomes too much for him, but even as he looks away, unable to face the feelings being dragged up from the deepest parts of him, he can feel the searching gaze.
“I’m glad you believed me,” Noan says, no other part of him moving.
Til struggles to find his voice, words catching up in his throat. His face moves; he can feel it. He’s not sure what it’s saying, but he is sure that everything he’s feeling is laid bare there.
“I mean, it was hard to deny it.” Clearing his throat, Til continues, “We need to talk to Feter.”
This startles Noan, whose gaze loses some, but not all, of its intensity, “What? Why?”
“If the king had a band of wizards under his control as he does the Kingsguard, people would know, wouldn’t they?” Til asks, aware on some level of the wizards who trained in the castle, he didn’t understand magic, how it worked the way that the others did, that Noan did, but he thought that if Noan was aware, they would have to be as well.
“Yes and no, but-”
Til cuts him off, “Feter had willingly joined a group who are taking the children to hidden camps, somewhere they’d be safe. He called them camps, though, not strongholds or anything else that might indicate the king was involved somehow. We need to determine who they are and what else he might know about them. They might be the allies we need.”
Shock and anger war on Noan’s face. He balls his hands and spins away, obviously wanting to hit something but barely containing himself as he seethes, “I didn’t even consider that! How could I be so stupid?”
“Neither of us has been playing with all the pieces,” Til says, not allowing himself to get caught up in Noan’s flurry of emotions, “And now we need to see what pieces Feter has.”
“Agreed,” Noan says, literally three steps ahead of him as he marches towards where Til knows the children are.
They’d planned, or at least Til had planned, to pull the younger boy out to talk to him, but Noan pauses when he gets to the other room, and Til finds himself hesitating when he gets there as well.
The boy—because that’s what Feter was, in spite of everything, in spite of what he knew, he was still a boy—was sleeping in the middle of the pile of children, squished between Ray and Willum, the baby safe in the middle with him. For the first time on their journey, the first time since they’d taken these children into their protection, they were all sleeping peacefully.
Perhaps it was safety, or simple exhaustion, that had prevailed over their various reasons for waking, even when they were supposed to be sleeping soundly.
After the long, stressful day—likely long, stressful lives—they had a chance to rest in a bed that wasn’t theirs, but was comfortable. They’d all been pulled from their lives thus far by people they didn’t know for reasons they weren’t a part of, except by being born. It wasn’t something any of them should have had to deal with.
Til didn’t want to wake them, who knew when they’d next get the chance to really rest again?
Looking over, Til finds that Noan also seems to be considering, but unlike Til, he steps forward, obviously intent on waking the boy anyway.
With a hand on the other’s wrist, Til stops him.
Before Noan can say anything, Til murmurs, “Let them sleep. They need it, and we should… Probably discuss some matters before they awaken.”
“Like what?” Noan glances at the bed once more, but their words are quiet enough that they won’t be heard over Ray's snores.
“Like what we’re even doing on this quest.” Til freezes as Willum shifts, a slight movement accompanied by a soft mutter as he curls closer around the other children. This wasn’t the place to discuss this, even if they attempted to be quiet as they spoke. It wouldn’t take much to wake the children, and they didn’t need this to worry about as well.
Pulling Noan from the room, Til looks over the children one last time, looking at the curled together and sleeping so peacefully together, before closing the door behind them.
“What happens to the children when we return to the capital?” Til asks as they step away from the rooms with sleeping youths.
“Well, the king has the Kingsguard out searching-” Noan leans against a wall, “-for anyone they can get their hands on easily. They’ll probably bring back enough Neryen to last the king longer than our natural lives.”
“I mean, what about these children?” It takes everything in him for Til not to refer to them as ‘our children.’
“Maybe- Ugh.” Noan rubs his hands against his eyes before pushing them back through his hair, stress and nerves in every inch of the movement, “I don’t know.”
“Nothing?” Til presses.
“I mean, the Kingsguard were all sent out in secret, so their mission would have to be secret as well. There was such a big deal made about us, and these children, they’ll probably be safe. The king makes a big deal about taking on and training the Touched when he can. They—if we don’t say anything, don’t draw attention to what we know—will be safe. Probably. At least until he needs a scapegoat again.”
Safe until he needs a scapegoat. Or until he needed more Neryen. “How much of it?”
“What?” Noan’s looking at him with that furrowing of brows, the tilt of his head.
“How much of it, the Neryen, how much does he use?”
“I don’t know for sure. Nowhere near what those Kingsguard were bringing back. Normally. I mean.” Noan pauses to think, and after a moment adds, “There’s a group, one that’s been causing him trouble for- well, I don’t know how long exactly, but I think that that’s a good chance that he’s planning something. And it’s gotta be something big. But, I can’t say more.”
Seeing the way Noan worked his jaw, Til could only think of one thing to say: “Because of magic?”
“Because of the magic, and because I can only guess, I really don’t know for sure.”
Til nodded and stood there. Without his helmet, his false sense of safety. Everything he’d known and thought he’d known was out the window.
“What do we do?” Noan asks, voice soft and so, so low.
“I think, I have an idea.”
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