Polinues Marines, the would be mage.

Chapter 29.
Title: Polinues Marines, the would be mage.

Chapter Title & No.: #29. A blast from the past.

Author: Darkling Willow

Pairing: Non.

Rating: NC - 17
Abuse, Anal, Angst, BDSM, Bi, B-Mod, Bond, Death, D/s, H/C, HJ, Humil, Language, M/F, M/M, Minor, N/C, OC, Oral, Preg, Rim, Spank, Violence, Voy, VS, WD, WIP.

Archive: Originals - misc. > Slash-male/male
Feedback: Yes thank you very much. An author can only improve with criticism. Please rate if you do not want to leave a review.

Disclaimer: This is an original work of fiction. Any resemblance of places and characters to actual persons, living or dead, and places is purely coincidental.
The Author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.

Authors Notes: For review replies, comments and thank you's go to: http://www2.adult-fanfiction.org/forum/index.php/topic/14530-polinues-marines-the-would-be-mage/

Summary: A little hate, a little love, a little jealousy, a little understanding, some despair and some hope, and a whole lot of joy.

---

Chapter 29. A blast from the past.

Leyjen groaned as he rolled off the bed, his ribs throbbing, his backside screaming in pain, and his jaw felt like he had taken a battering ram to the face.
Tisék rolled in the opposite direction, on to his back, revealing a swollen black eye and a bloodied lip.

Leyjen’s head was thumping loudly, the pressure increasing and decreasing as he reach for his trousers and then stood up, looking down at his body he was shocked to see purple bitemarks trailing down his chest and side, Tisék’s back no better to look at.
The bottle of plum brandy they had fought over the night before rolled under the bed, empty, as Leyjen stumbled, fumbling with the long laces of the trousers.

Tisék’s brown eyes opened up and with a groan he asked,
“Where are you going? I haven’t finished with you.”

Leyjen snorted derisively, pulling his cream coloured cotton robes on, grimacing at a pain in his shoulder.

“Yes, you have. You’re too drunk to do more. And I’m not in the mood for more. I’m going to bed.”

“I’m not drunk.”

“Yes you are! You finished your flask before dinner last night, and look at this! We finished it, and I know for a fact that I only got three cups. You drank the rest. How much is this? A litre bottle? This is getting to be too much, Tisék. I can’t take the drinking, the beating, I don’t like you enough for this.”

Leyjen grew angry, waving the empty bottle in Tisék’s face, but when he turned to leave, the older cleric jumped up and grabbed his arm so hard his knuckles went white.

“I told you, I’m not done with you.” He growled, pushing Leyjen towards the breakfast table by the far wall.

Leyjen resisted him, finally getting his hands on the bare chest, and pushing him off.

“I told you, you’re done! I’m done! I’m not going to stand for this!”

Tisék’s eyes lightened, his face contorting in rage as he squeezed Leyjen’s arms, bending him backwards over the breakfast table, then suddenly his brow softened, and with a disdainful smile he said quietly,
“It’s not like you have much choice.”

Leyjen went stiff,
“What the fuck to you mean by that?”

“If you try to back out on me, I’ll expose you. I’ll out you to the High Cleric. To Lord Marines, and everyone else. I’ll tell them how you touch little Polinues when he sleeps in your bed after one of his nightmares, how you’ve been doing it to other little boys in the Temples.”

“What? That’s ridiculous! You have no evidence, and I haven’t done anything of the sort. Polinues would tell them you’re lying.”

“Oh, really? And who do you think they’re going to believe? Me, the son of a ThainKnight, or you? The son of a tainted woman, with questionable claims to being a widow, a maid’s son. And you’ve been grooming Polinues since he was only five summers. Not likely that anyone would listen to him.”
Tisék smiled, Leyjen stared up at him, his mind reeling so hard it was making him sick.

He knew Tisék was right.
The cleric could make any sort of claims to taint Leyjen’s name, and there was nothing Leyjen could do to rectify it.
He was stuck, a prisoner of his own social status, his questionable legitimacy made his position that much worse, and Tisék had him trapped.

Leyjen leaned against the table for a few breaths, then stood up, his eyes dull.

“I won’t say anything. But I’m going to bed now. I can see you again tomorrow.” Leyjen’s voice shook, his lips trembled as he kissed Tisék on the lips, running his hands up Tisék’s arms. The older cleric twitched as Leyjen’s right hand ran over the scar he bore on his upper left arm, Leyjen letting go on instinct.
He reminded himself once again to ask about that scar, as he turned and left the room.

He sank down on his own bed, fighting back the tears, beating himself up for being so stupid, falling back on the pillows, a knock on his door startling him badly.

“Yes?” He called, draping an arm over his face to try and hide the tears.

Polinues’ shock of brown hair popped out from behind the door, and in barefeet, a nightshirt and a blanket, the boy threw himself into the bed, next to his mentor.
Leyjen got comfortable, Polinues snuggling up to his side, resting his head on Leyjen’s shoulder.

“Another nightmare?”
The boy nodded, unwilling to talk.

Leyjen rolled onto his side, Polinues instinctively turned around as well, and spooned his body against Leyjen’s, fitting perfectly into the protective embrace, Leyjen fighting the bile that rose in his throat.
He fell asleep to the thought that Tisék was right about him.
That this was far beyond normal, the way his body reacted to Polinues’ scent and the thin body wrapped up in his arms.
But he couldn’t help himself, digging his nose into the back of Polinues’ head, breathing deeply of the scent of the Roganwood, and tucking his cock down between his thighs to keep it down.

The following morning Leyjen helped Polinues with his preperations for the three day meditation, before his Turning of the Stage, both of them silent, unwilling to ruin the moments with stupid anger or petty jealousy.

When Leyjen was about to close the door to the small meditation chamber, Polinues grabbed his wrist and looking up with moist eyes, whispered,
“I love you, Leyjen. I don’t want you to let him hurt you again.”

Leyjen couldn’t respond, the seventh stage cleric standing behind him waiting impatiently, there were fifteen other novices that he had to oversee.
Leyjen grabbed the back of Polinues’ head, kissing him long on the forehead, then pressed his own forehead against the boy’s and whispered,
“I can’t let him hurt you, Ilithil. I love you too much.”

The heavy metal door closed with an ominous boom, and Leyjen felt fear clutch at his heart.
The three days passed in a slow daze, Leyjen giving himself completely over to Tisék’s reign of terror, struggling to catch his breath every day.

Polinues took his turning a week before he turned eleven summers, Leyjen’s pride swelling in his chest so much that he had to fight his tears, as the boy went through the ceremony without a single mistake, not even a gasp escaping him as the cold piercing pin forced itself through the skin below his bottom lip, and the gleaming steel ring threaded through.
He received his pine green robes, and laced them about him all by himself in the antechamber, Leyjen smiling from ear to ear.

Kneeling infront of the boy, Leyjen kissed his forehead, and wrapped the uncoloured hemp rope belt around his waist.
They sat through the feast together, Leyjen trying to warn Polinues to slow down, but the growing boy was hungry and piled food on his plate, shovelling it down far too fast.

After an hour Leyjen was rushing out of the Celebrations Hall with a crying Polinues in his arms. They made it out onto the square before Polinues started throwing up. Leyjen stood with the limp boy in his arms, stroking his back, as Polinues brought back every bite he had eaten.
Once he was done Leyjen carried him to the Novice’s clositer and lay down on the bed with him, helping him drink some water, then singing to him softly until Polinues was snoring lightly, asleep on his chest.

Leyjen didn’t dare to move, the sight of the peaceful face warming him to his core, and making the whole world make sense again.
The soft hitch in Polinues’ breathing whenever Leyjen ran a finger down his spine between his shoulderblades, and the tentative tongue poking at the new piercing, examining it, getting used to it, became Leyjen’s entire world until his eyes fell shut and he slept in peace for the first time in months, holding Polinues tightly.


Early in the morning before he and Polinues were supposed to leave on their two week summer holiday, Leyjen found himself in the old barn, crawling through the dirt, debris and old straw on his hands and knees, looking for something.

“What are you doing?” Tisék’s vowels were slurred, his eyes glazed, and his hands trembled, standing over Leyjen and glaring down at him.

“I lost something. I’m trying to find it.”

“What did you lose? That stupid pendant from Polin?”

“No. His name is Polinues, not Polin. I had this necklace… I can’t find it. I guess it’s gone for good. It’s been a year since I lost it.” Leyjen’s voice shook with anger, as he rose to his feet brushing the dirt of his light robes.
He did not look up, Tisék’s feet entering his line of vision, and strong hands grabbed his face between them, Tisék smashing their lips together in a painful kiss.
Leyjen staggered back from the assault, crying out in pain as the pair of them crashed down on the floor, Tisék pinning him below him with startling speed, especially given his inebriated state.

Tisék forced his knee between Leyjen legs, and ground his thigh against Leyjen’s groin, kissing him deeply.
Leyjen bucked his hips, pressing his chest against Tisék, opening up for the kiss, it was better to give in than wind up bruised and battered.

Tisék pulled open the skirts of their robes, fighting Leyjen’s hands as both struggled to untie the waistband on Leyjen’s trousers.
Leyjen grunted, inhaling some dust and dry straw, as Tisék flipped him over ungracefully, and spreading his cheeks spit at the pucker.
Leyjen bit his wrist to avoid crying out, teethmarks marring his leather cuff, Tisék moaning long and low, as he sank inside Leyjen.

Tisék leaned over Leyjen, licking at the shell of his ear, and whispered hoarsely,
“It is so wonderful that you get wet. I’ve never known that men could do that. It makes everything so much easier.”

He pulled out, and rammed back in, so hard Leyjen slid forwards, and Tisék grunted,
“But… downside is that it’s harder to hurt you.”

Leyjen struggled to get up on his knees, but Tisék held him down, wrapping Leyjen’s long braid around his hand and pulled, the other hand gripping the silken cord belt of Leyjen’s robes.
Tisék plowed into Leyjen with brutal thrusts, Leyjen reaching his head back as far as he could to ease the pull on his hair, arching his back, his breath whooshing out of him with every strike, and he knew Tisék would finish himself off, then leave Leyjen unfinished.

Leyjen clenched around Tisék slightly, hoping to get the cleric off quicker, his hands sliding on the littered floor of the barn, something sharp slicing into the palm of his left hand.
Leyjen whimpered from the pain, gasping with forced pleasure, and Tisék yanked on his braid so hard that it pulled something in his neck, spilling himself inside Leyjen with shuddering moans.
As Leyjen had figured, Tisék knelt still behind him for a few moments, catching his breath, then pulling out of him pushed Leyjen down on his stomach, and rose to his feet, straightening his trousers and robes, paying no attention to Leyjen’s straining cock.

With a scornful glare he kicked Leyjen in the side, bruising the ribs he had bruised a week earlier, and spat in Leyjen’s face, as Leyjen writhed in pain, his trousers around his knees, the skirts of his robes bunched up on his back.

“You’re worthless, you know that.” Tisék smiled, as the amber eyes flashed with fury and bent down slightly, hissing with a challenge in his tone,
“Come on, fight back, you trash. Give me a reason to hurt you. Nah, you won’t, will you.”

He laughed when Leyjen looked away, and started rising to his feet, pulling his trousers up, and Tisék continued,
“Nah, you won’t. Not when I can harm your precious little Polin.”

Tisék yelped when Leyjen twisted around and grabbed him by the throat, squeezing his windpipe, the amber eyes abnormally large, and his strangely pointed canines glistening wickedly, he snarled into the older cleric's face,

“If you touch him I’ll rip you apart with my bare hands, I’ll tear your heart out of your chest and feed it to you while it’s still beating! I gave in to you, partly to ease my own pain, and partly because I did like you. You called yourself my friend once, and you should have kept it that way, because you have no idea what you’ve called upon yourself by making me your enemy. If you ever threaten Polinues again, directly or indirectly, I’ll take you down, and I don’t give a shit if I go down with you. Do you understand me?”

Tisék nodded energetically, gasped and coughed as Leyjen let him go, unable to answer, he stared after Leyjen as the younger cleric stormed out of the barn.
Tisék took a few moments to catch his breath, then started looking on the floor, wondering what it was that Leyjen had lost.


Polinues sighed loudly, the heat in the carriage stifling even though they had both the windows pulled down, and the boy was only wearing his linen trousers and a light kaftan, he lay on one of the seats, Leyjen’s foot knocking him on the top of the head every time the carriage hit a bump on the road.

Turning his eyes to the older cleric Polinues studied him in silence.

Leyjen sat upright, right leg reached across the space between the seats, right elbow was resting on the ledge under the window, his head resting on the back of the seat, fingers draped over his closed eyes, like he was trying to keep the light out.
His bandaged left hand lay in his lap, fingers curled slightly inward to protect the injured palm.
Polinues could see that the soft pink lips were strained, the muscles of his jaw taut, and the left side of the bottom lip was red and raw, blood pearling on the broken skin.
Leyjen had started losing weight again, his skin looking paler, almost sickly, and there were dark circles under his eyes that meant that he wasn’t sleeping again.

Polinues slid off the seat and sat down next to Leyjen, resting his head on the cleric’s shoulder.
Leyjen startled, looking down at him, then kissing the top of his head, and stroking his cheek, before he let his hand fall into his lap and sighed.

“What’s wrong, Leyjen? I can tell something is wrong, and I don’t want you to get sick again.”

“It’s nothing, Ilithil. I’m just tired.”

“Yeah, I know. I can tell. But you only get tired when there’s something wrong. Please, talk to me, Leyjen. It’s Tisék isn’t it.”

Leyjen’s chin quivered and he looked away. Polinues wrapped his arms around Leyjen’s left arm, and lay his head back on Leyjen’s shoulder.
They sat silent for a while, Leyjen fighting some internal battle, Polinues waiting patiently until Leyjen was ready to talk.

After half an hour of silence Polinues stroked Leyjen’s cheek gently, looking up at his mentor.

“Leyjen? What did he do to you? Did he hurt you again?”

“No, Ilithil. Not like that. It’s something he said. I just can’t believe that I was so stupid.”

“What do you mean? You’re not stupid. What did that bastard do to you?”

“I’m stupid because I walked straight into his trap. He’s got a hold on me that I can’t break.”

Polinues stared back, his sharp eye confused, and Leyjen tried to smile, but it only made it to a painful grimace.

“Tisék threatened you. He said he would tell the High Cleric and your father that I do stuff to you… That I touch you… where I shouldn’t.”
“What do you mean, touch me where you shouldn’t?”

“Please, Polinues. There are men in the world that are attracted to children. They like to touch children in a sexual way. It’s sick, and it’s disgusting, but they’re out there. And Tisék threatened to tell everyone that I’m like that. That I touch you.”

“But you don’t! Just tell them…”

“I can’t! Don’t you understand, Polinues? What do you think it looks like when people walk into my room in the mornings, and I’m half naked with you draped over my chest? Do you think that looks innocent and cute? No, it doesn’t. It looks like I like to… to touch you in inappropriate ways.”

“What? But you don’t. If Tisék says that then I will just tell them you haven’t!”

“NO! Don’t you get it, Polinues? I’ve known you since you were five summers. I’ve taken care of you since you were five, you’ve been my whole life for six years. They’ll think that you would say whatever I told you to. That I’ve conditioned you to do and say whatever the damn well I please.”

“But you don’t lie, like ever, so why wouldn’t they believe you when you tell them Tisék’s lying?”

“He’s a Thainknight’s son, Polinues.”

“So? That doesn’t make him a saint!”

“I’m a maid’s son, Polinues. My mother is dead, my father died before I was even born, and he was a broke, disranked nobleman, noone knows exactly what his ranks were, and it’s not like he left me anything in the way of an inheritance. And on top of that my parents got married in a private ceremony, which means that there were only a handful of witnesses. All the proof my mother had that I was legitimate is a dubious certificate of marriage. Nothing more. I’m a servant, Polinues. I’ll never rise above that. So, who do you think that the ass kissers at the Temples are going to believe? Me, a possibly, and most probably, illegitimate maid’s son, or the second born son of a Thainknight? There’s not a fucking chance I could win that argument.”

Polinues stared up at Leyjen with horror, the logic of his argument sinking in, and with a painfilled sigh Polinues rose up on his knees in the seat, wrapping thin arms around Leyjen’s neck.

“But I know that you don’t touch me in ways that you shouldn’t. I don’t know how to get you out of this, but I promise you this. If Tisék ever tries to hurt you again, I will do everything that I can to take him down. I’ll kill him if I have to.”

“Please, Ilithil, stop it. I’ll take care of it. I can handle Tisék.”

Polinues smiled, a faint hint of disbelief in his eyes, but he stopped pushing, and with a mild groan pulled a large hood out of his rucksack, preparing to pull it over his head.

Leyjen stopped him with a hand on his shoulder,
“Don’t. You don’t have to put it on just yet. It’s still a few kilometers before we reach the castle. Come. Sit with me. It feels good to have you sit by me, after all this time we’ve been fighting. Makes me feel loved.”
Leyjen’s voice was a little shaky, but Polinues let himself fall back on the seat, resting his head on Leyjen’s thigh, looking up at the cleric.

Leyjen brushed his fingers through the soft brown hair, looking down at the scarred face, the one grey eye sparkling up at him and a soft smile pulled at the corners of his mouth.

“You are beautiful, Ilithil. You really are. And you’re growing up so fast.” He spoke softly, running his fingers over Polinues’ brow, through his hair and up his scarred temple, around and around. He was the only person who was ever allowed to touch the boy’s face in this way.

Polinues’ eyes sank closed, then opened, and Polinues smiled, a different sparkle in his eye, and he said loudly,
“I can see up your nose!”

And the moment was broken.


Polinues jumped out of the carriage the moment it stopped, running around the side of the castle, after shouting to his mother who stood on the front steps,
“Hi, Mama!”
and then disappeared around the corner, his hood billowing around his head.

Leyjen climbed out with a groan, he could never remember to restrain the kid from running away as soon as they stopped.

“M’Lady. Morning.” He bowed with a smile, Charlotta gathering him in his arms, and giving him a quick squeeze.

“Welcome home, darling. Oh, my how thin you’ve gotten. Is everything alright?” she exclaimed, running hands up and down Leyjen’s arms.

Leyjen muttered something, blushing slightly, then clearing his throat started turning towards the carriage to get their bags, as he said,
“Yes, m’Lady, everything is fine. I’ve just not had much appetite lately. It’s nothing serious. I’m guessing it’s just the heat.”

Charlotta scowled at him, but then waved at the bags,
“Leave them, dear, leave them. The steward will take them. Wrailan wishes to see you right away, in his offices.”

Leyjen jumped at that, his heart running wild and his mind started imagining all the worst things that could mean.

Polinues ran around the side of the castle, bursting through the kitchen doors with a shout,
“Cooksie! Cooksie! I’m home! Hiram! Hiram?”

The tall woman twirled around, her stomach round under the apron, and with a shout she opened her arms,
“Polinues! Sweetheart! Welcome home, love.”

Polinues tried to reach around her swollen stomach but barely reached her waist, Hiram kissing the top of his head.

“You’ve grown so much! Look at you.”

“Thank you. You’ve grown too… How long?” Polinues smiled his sweetest, running a hand over the prominent bump.

“He’ll be born around the Corn moon.” Hiram smiled, pointing with her chin behind Polinues,

“There’s mum, go say hi.”

Polinues didn’t even make the whole turn before Cooksie had her arms around him, hoisting him into the air, and shaking him, crying into his kaftan.
Thelaura came down the servant stairs, and Polinues was passed on into her arms, despite loud protests.
The three women coddled him for a while, Cooksie whipping up a quick bite for him, and the four of them sat around the servant’s dining table, on one side of the kitchens, while Polinues ate and told them about things that had happened since the last time he had met them.

Polinues was telling them the riveting story of how Leyjen had nearly chopped his arm off, when the kitchen doors opened and a tall, lean teenager entered.
He glared at Polinues, his square jaw tensed, and he made a low grunt in his throat, which made Thelaura turn around in her seat.
Polinues glared back from the darkness of his hood, taking in the stranger.

His hair was long and unruly, dark locks bursting in all directions, falling over his eyes, he was deeply tanned, and fast growing muscles rippled under his skin.
His face was flushed with exertion, his left palm blistered and raw but both his hands swollen and red.

His sweat soaked shirt plastered to his torso, the front unlaced to reveal prominent collarbones, a chain of garnet glinting against his skin.
Dark brown leather trousers hugged thin hips, dust covering him from head to toe, and his black boots were scuffed and scraped.
Black leather vambraces seemed a little too large for his forearms, but he was fast filling into them, by his hip hung an impressive longsword, almost too large for him, blood staining the leather wrapped hilt.

Thelaura jumped to her feet,
“There you are, love, you hungry?”
she asked, gently cupping his hands between her own, and lead him over to the sink, where she started washing his hands in cold water.

A pang of jealousy pulled at Polinues’ chest, and he glared at the newcomer from under his hood.
The teen spoke in a low, melodious voice, so low that Polinues couldn’t hear him at all, but he did hear that the teen spoke with a foreign accent.

Polinues turned to Cooksie to ask about the teen, but the sight of his mother standing on the bottom step of the servant stairs stopped him.

With his head bowed deep, he slinked on up the stairs, knowing he was in for some heavy scolding.

He knew he wasn’t supposed to go and see the servants before he said hello to his family, but for some reason he just always did.

He ran into his sister Lanja while being escorted to his father’s offices, and after a short talk with his father, Polinues was besieged by Belnsair.
After a short but painful fight, broken up by Hiram, Polinues chased Thelaura into a playroom on the third floor of the castle, which was shared by his younger sisters. They now counted five, one born every two years or so, since the twins had been born.

Thelaura whispered in Polinues’ ear, where they sat together on a low, plush couch reading a book, that Charlotta was pregnant, once again.
The dark haired teen from the kitchen was completely wiped from his memory, until he was in his bed, late that evening, and he reminded himself to ask someone who that boy was.

By the next morning, Polinues had clean forgotten. Again.


Polinues crawled soundlessly across the worn planks of the hayloft, on all fours, his chest and abdomen only centimeters of the floor, his heavy bangs falling over the right side of his face, hiding the horrific scar.
As agile as a cat he peered over the edge of the hatch down into the lower level hayloft.

The teenaged stranger was lying there, alseep on a pile of hay, one arm tucked under the back of his head, the front of his shirt open, the garnet chain glittering on his chest, and the longsword lying close by his side.

Polinues eased his body over the edge, hooking his knees over the crossbar of the opening, then leaning backwards Polinues lowered his upper body towards the sleeping teen.

He froze midair, his abdominal muscles flexed tightly, as the sound of footsteps in the stables below reached his ears.

“Polinues? You in here? Polinues? Where the fuck are you?” Leyjen’s voice floated up, Polinues holding his breath, with a devious grin.

Leyjen moved to the other end of the stables, the sound of his voice muffled by the distance and finally by the wall between the stable and the barn.
Polinues’ grin became sly, and he started lowering himself again, reaching his hands towards the open neckline of the stranger’s linen shirt.

Polinues had not remembered to ask anyone about the teen, for two days, but Polinues had seen the boy walking around the castle like a member of the family, and he had found out that the boy had a room on the third floor of the castle. Polinues had even heard the boy speaking to Wrailan in a manner that was preserved for someone of the same ranks as the Thainknight.
But Polinues was too shy to approach the boy himself, and he simply forgot whenever he had the opportunity to ask someone else.

So now, he was just going to find out for himself.

He felt the wood of the crossbar groan under his knees, as he stretched himself to the limit of his body, reaching thin fingers towards the garnet chain that had caught his attention the first time he had seen the teen, making him more and more curious every time he caught a glimpse of it.

As his fingertips brushed against the polished stone surface, Polinues got the eerie feeling that he was being watched, and suddenly realized his mistake.
Arching his back as much as he could, lifting his head to look behind himself, Polinues trailed his eyes up to the sleeping face, and got caught in the darkest pair of eyes he had ever in his life seen.

Without a sound the strange boy grabbed Polinues’ wrists and in one fluid motion rose to his feet, grabbed Polinues’ belt and yanked him down from the crossbar.
Polinues gasped when his shins banged against the edge of the opening, his breath wooshing out of him as he landed roughly on the floor.
Below he could hear a rustle of robes.

The strange teen whipped Polinues over onto his back and pinned him to the floor with a knee to the chest.
There was a grim grin on the teen’s lips and pure malice in the dark eyes.

The thick bangs that usually lay over the right side of Polinues’ face was flung back and their faces were only a couple of centimeters apart.

A look of disgust washed over the teen’s face as he ran his eyes over the mangled face beneath him.

"So. That’s why they say you have the evil eye, and will amount to no good.”
The voice was strangely dim yet very soft. It sounded low in his chest, the malice thick on the tone, and the pitch did not seem to belong to a boy in his early teens.

Polinues took a breath, his lungs feeling too small, the weight of the knee on his chest making it hard to fill them, then he answered quite brashly,
“If you’re referring to my dear pet name, then yes, I’m Polinues. As for the amount to no good, I do completely agree with the rest of the household. I have every intention of fullfilling those expectations. But how about releasing me now, you filthy pagani, and declare yourself!”

The squire’s grin only broadened as he whipped the younger boy to his feet quite ungracefully as he rose himself, only to spin Polinues aorund and with a good kick in the ass sent the Lord’s son flying back into the hay, face first.

“I have no intention of declaring myself or anything else to you! I have declared myself to your father already, and he is the only one at this household that I must bow myself to. As for you, you little rat, I know perfectly well who you are…”
As he spoke the stranger kicked Polinues in ass again, as he was trying to get to his feet, sending him sprawling again, then the stranger straddled the younger one, grabbed his arm and flexed it behind his back as far as it would go.

Then he bent low over Polinues, his breath warming his ear, the malice seething in his tone,
“I know it’s been you throwing carkus at us while we train, and pouring vinegar into the water bucket. I know you’re the one who riles Belnsair up until he tries to kill the rest of us at training, and that you’re the one who threw the horse blankets in to the dog kennel. I know every trick there is, Polin! I’ve played everyone of them. And do not think for one breath that you can annoy me, Polinues Marines, nor intimidate me. For you can’t, because I grew up the youngest in a house full of brothers.”

Polinues could only mumble through the mouthful of dust and mouldy hay, but spitting it out he relaxed every muscle and pulled a strategy that never failed on his bully of an older brother.

“Well, my my how strong your swordarm is. Did your father train you from… what? The age of two? Three?”

The older boy jerked violently at the arm he had bent behind Polinues’ back with a loud hiss, the pain so intense that Polinues feared it had been pulled out of socket, then the weight shifted off his back, and Polinues heard the boy sit down heavily behind him.

“My father never trained me for nothing!” the teen spat out, his dark eyes flat and cold, staring at his blistered hands, then more to himself than Polinues he added,
“My swordarm’s my left, anyway.”

Polinues rolled over and sat up with a jerk, his one grey eye flaring up with interest, a very loud wow escaping his lips.

“Seriously!? You’re a Heart’s Sword?! Wow! How brilliant is that! I’ve never met anyone who fights with his left arm. Belnsair is so stupid that he can barely hold the shield with his left when he’s fighting with his sword in his right! And that’s only when he can tell his right from his…”
From down below them a voice rose in an angry shout, followed by hurrying footsteps up the stairs,

“POLINUES!! I heard that!!”

“Oh, sheit! Leyjen!” Polinues shouted, his voice filled with excitement and he jumped up, arms reaching for the crossbar of the hatch. But as his fingers brushed against the worn wood, a muscular body came flying from the opening of the hayloft’s stairs, tackling him to the floor.

“I told you to meet me at the fountain! An hour ago, you little pig!” Leyjen shouted as he grabbed hold of the waistband on Polinues’ leather breeches, and started hauling him towards the stair, the young squire jumping to his feet, staring at the pair.

The squire’s nearly black eyes met the intense amber of Leyjen’s eyes, and he found that he could not tear his gaze away again.

The cleric was tall and square shouldered, but thin, a faint hint of youth still hiding in the angles of his face.
The fierce look on Leyjen’s face demanded a certain amount of respect, and the teen unconsciously straightened his back, and swallowed thickly. Leyjen’s prescence was intimidating despite him being only twenty one summers.

“Ah, you! Nice to meet you again, after all these years. I’m Leyjen.” He gave his hand to the teen and smiled broadly.

Haltingly the squire shook his hand, muttering something that was supposed to be a greeting, as he took in the pair.

The tall cleric was wearing the wide flowing linen trousers of his order, which were laced around his abdomen in a tight wrapping, and nothing else, not even shoes.
Polinues on the other hand was clad in ordinary leather breeches and a very tight linen shirt, with three quarter sleeves.
They looked rather strange, the cleric standing there with a broad, welcoming smile on his face, with one hand holding tightly onto the waistband of Polinues’ breeches, the boy brooding with an exaggerated pout.

The squire’s examination was brutally ended as he got a loud and very painful slap on his ear, and Leyjen shouted at him, with a stormy glare,
“Get moving, you lazy lard ass! You were supposed to be by the bloody fountain as well! I’m supposed to be instructing you both, you little ratty racoon’s asses!”

And with that he shoved both boys towards the stairs, harshly, stomping after them.

The squire was too astounded to say a word, unable to object when the cleric picked up the longsword he had left on the floor, and in stunned silence he caught up with the eleven summers old Polinues.
The teen heard the younger boy snicker behind his hand, and figured that more than half of the cleric’s severity was only for show, and little real anger.

Halfway across the courtyard Polinues reached his hand over and said quietly,
“So. I’m sorry about the carkus and all that. I’m Polinues Marines. What’s your name?”

The squire shook the offered hand tightly, the boy’s cheeky grin was disarming, despite the horrific scar that mangled half his face.

He spoke low, answering the grin with a warm smile, that didn’t reach the dark eyes,
“I’m Brigale Caronar. I guess I can forgive you. It doesn’t matter much being pelted by dry dung while training. They don’t hurt much, and we all stink anyway. Sorry about the joggle back there, although you did sort of deserve it.”

The boy nodded, smiling and winked, with his bad eye, making Brigale shiver.

“Yeah, I guess I kind of deserved it. So? Peace?”

“Sure. And yeah, I’m a Heart’s Sword. That’s why my father never trained me for anything. I only started training when I came here. My mother died giving birth to me, and she wrote with her left hand. I look like her, sound like her and I’m a Heart’s Sword. Fucked by bad luck from the start.”

“Oh, wow. I’m sorry. Hang on…”

Polinues stopped short, staring at the older boy, his jaw hanging open, then with round eyes he said quietly,
“I’ve met you before. You’re the boy I met before my initiation! Leyjen? Isn’t he the boy I met before I got burned?”

Leyjen stood behind them, still holding the Caronar longsword in his hand.
With a gentle smile he handed the sword over to the teen, and nodded his head.

“Yes. That’s why I said it was nice to see you again, Brigale. You came here with your father, and three of your brothers six years ago. You don’t remember?”

Brigale swallowed thickly, his eyes darkening, averting to the ground, he busied himself with fastening the longsword to his belt as he answered, his voice cold and distant,
“Yes. I remember. I came with Geran, Artelis and Flarin.” His voice broke over the last name, and Leyjen draped an arm over each of their shoulders, pulling them along with him.

“Yeah, I remember Flarin. He was a wonderful person. I’m just fucking happy that Polinues remembers you, because he doesn’t remember much of what happened just before the fire. Remembering you is quite the feat.”

“I remember him because I swore my friendship to him.” Polinues said, his voice unusually emotional.

Brigale stopped, scratching the back of his head, a gentle smile creeping into the corners of his eyes,
“Flarin always made me remember. He’d tell me about the trip, the castle, and the fire. And then you. He made me recall everything about you. Only after six years it sort of became force of habit, rather than actual memory, and when I finally came here and I met your brother, I started thinking that maybe Flarin had remembered something wrong. But I only dared to ask your father about you once…”

Brigale bit his lips, eyeing Leyjen out of the corner of his eye, but Polinues wrapped his arms around Brigale’s neck and said,
“Well, I’m glad you’re back. I hope we can become friends again.”

Brigale returned the hug, then they walked on towards the training grounds, Leyjen trailing in their wake.

Brigale decided that he kind of liked this kid, and he even liked the sort of stern cleric, but he felt that he would never get used to that sickening scar on the boy’s face.