Rise.

Winter, PreYear Nine (3rd Moon)

The banquet was spectacular. Green and gold and blue and orange ribbons had been hung everywhere; the tables and bowls and walls were all painted, and the entire room glowed, lit up as if by a thousand fires. The SweetWater wolfes were polite enough; a bit roughshod, the BlackForest betas commented to each other, and maybe a bit lacking in civility, but kind enough and trustworthy. The banquet lasted three days; music and food were shared in excess; Róan tasted, for the first time, the bitter kafee drink which the southern betas told him they swore by. Euan and he dined together most meals; Loban was busy at work on negotiating treaty terms relating to some thing or the other, and Marik was absent as usual. Medin had spent the first two meals with them, then begged off to go dine by himself in the library, eager to explore the new additions brought by the foreign wolfes.

After the third meal, on the second day, Melbourne, Avion, and Virgil met Euan and Róan for tea on a small, hidden northern patio. It was cold, but the only place that, as Virgil described it, remained blessedly free of splendor. They sat bundled and under blankets, on the cold black chairs strewn haphazardly around the space and sipped tea from thick cups. Róan stared at the sky.
"How is your time, Róan?" Melbourne opened the conversation. Róan shrugged.
"Tiring. Doctors say it's normal, but I sleep all the time now."
"And your mate?"
"He's fine."
"How do you like the banquet?"
"There are strangers everywhere I look. It makes me feel as if I am very, very far away from home."
Melbourne thoughtfully chewed a piece of melon. Avion twisted his fingers in the corner of his green blanket.
"That's the essence of wolfish life."
There was a crash down below somewhere, and Melbourne was the first to the railing, looking over, leaning down into the courtyard to see what was happening. A fight was going on between two wolfes - some betas stood the side, onlookers with no real intent to participate or end it, and some other wolfes were dashing out of buildings, to help on either side. Melbourne laughed heartily.
"A fine display of wolfish diplomacy. Come, Euan, see how well your brother-in-law throws his weight."
Róan's head jerked up and both of them were at Melbourne's side in an instant. His breath, coming in puffs, panted grey against the winter sky. He swore.
"Such language! And in front of the litter, no less."
Róan didn't reply. Melbourne looked aside at him.
"Are you going to go down there?"
Róan narrowed his eyes.
"What for? Let them fight. Marik's a man of his own making. I haven't even known where he's been all banquet - I'm certainly not interested in it now."
Melbourne looked surprised and turned his attention back to the fight below. Little tiny wolfish figurines seemed to be dancing around each other, flipping and fighting and shifting back and forth.
"Ordinarily, Róan, I'd agree with you, only...they don't seem to be planning to stop."
Róan shrugged.
"Ro," Euan suggested gently, "Perhaps we'd better go see what we can do."
Róan rolled his eyes, feeling distinctly recalcitrant, but followed his brother into the hall, down the way to the banquet halls.

~:~

Dorano wasn't talking. He hated it when Dorano wasn't talking.
"Won't be long, alpha." he offered, trying to break the silence. "Be landing there shortly and then we'll just be getting on our way."
Dorano grunted, shifted into his wolfe and then paced a circle in the shuttler, laid down and began to sleep. Blaszni took that as a non-subtle hint that his wolfe was not quite interested in conversation at the moment. He focused instead on piloting the shuttler, navigating the wind currents and monitoring their bearings. Just another hour and they'd be there. He could see the old man and Dorano could get his healing and they'd both get their bearings back and maybe then they'd be OK. Maybe then he could have a litter. Blaszni began humming quietly to himself. Just one more hour.

~:~

Blood was dripping from Marik's nose, seeping into his mouth, staining his teeth. He still wouldn't stop. Wasn't going to stop, couldn't stop. This wolfe had no respect. He would show him - he would make him see. He landed another blow, then another, shifted and bit twice. Went back bipedal and someone was calling his name.
"Marik!"
It was Róan, his love, his mate. He was standing out from the crowd, calling his name. He paused only a moment and the other wolfe got the upper hand, flipped him out across the icy ground. Rage blinded him. He lunged. Róan moved closer, called his name again. The wolfe bit through the skin of his arm. Pain made him furious. He ignored his mate. That could come later. He snapped his teeth, launched himself through the air, shifted mid-throw and landed full weight on the SweetWater wolfe. They both skidded across the ground, ripping up earth and skin and suddenly careening into the crowd.
"Marik, STOP!"
Róan's voice sounded more frightened now, panicked, but this was almost it - it was almost the end and then he would be the victor and his mate would be proud and the SweetWater wolfes would learn that they had to treat his packmembers better. He snarled. Just one snap, just one more bite and then - the other wolfe struck first. Marik had misjudged how far he was from him, hadn't accounted for speed over distance. The blow landed hard, the wolfe and Marik and the shredded earth skidding out, across the ground, towards the crowd, towards Róan.
Then there was the desperate crack of a human skull hitting the ground and the uproar of a crowd suddenly moved to action and Marik wasn't even sure what he'd done until suddenly there were hands around his arms and his alpha's guards were lugging him to his feet. His alpha stepped in front of him, shook his head, and landed a solid blow. Everything went black.

~:~

He woke up in the dark, in a holding cell in the lower levels. Róan was in the infirmary, recovering in stasis from his trauma. He begged to go; the guards told him that his brother Loban had been sent there instead. There were papers to be signed, matters to settle. Róan, they told him, had lost the litter.

Marik felt sick. He felt pitiful, angry, evil, wrong. He wanted to cry. He wasn't sure who he was anymore. Where was the SweetWater wolfe? This had all been his fault. He curled four-legged in the corner of his cell and fell into restless sleep. No matter how he tried to fix it, things just always seemed to want to go wrong.