Polinues Marines, the would be mage.

Chapter 30.
Title: Polinues Marines, the would be mage.

Chapter Title & No.: #30. Brothers like brothers should be.

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: The boys get into trouble, and then bond over a terrible secret.

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Chapter 30. Brothers like brothers should be.


Brigale pulled his new winter cloak tighter around himself, digging his nose under the collar, stamping his feet for a few steps, the trampled snow on the road slippery underfoot.
Leyjen coughed loudly beside him, a dry heaving sound that told Brigale the cleric had been lying most of the hunting trip.

They had been gone for five days, along with Wrailan, Belnsair and a few neighbours, hunting deer and other wild game for the Yule tide dinners.
Two red nosed pages lead the draught horses that drew the cart, carrying the game they had caught, most of the hunting party riding horses all around them.

Brigale had opted for walking simply because he did not like using Thebirish for anything other than training, and when the time came, war.
The stallion was far too valuable to be used for hunting trips.
Leyjen was walking for the simple reason that he was a servant, who didn’t have a horse. Although Wrailan never said it outloud, everyone knew that was the reason.

It was Yule, five moons since Brigale had met Polinues and Leyjen again.

The separation in the summer had been heartbreaking, for both youths, and Brigale had been on the brink of melancholy until Lanja had pointed it out to him that he could always write to Polinues.
They had exchanged more than fourty letters in the twenty weeks, Polinues had even arrived home for Samhain a day before one of his letters made it to the castle.
Thankfully for the boys they had only been seperated for five weeks between Samhain and Yule, and the Yule holiday was three weeks long.

Leyjen had had a wonderful holiday, sleeping in, eating as much as he wanted, and sitting in the library for hours on end, with his nose deep in some book or other.
The only inconvenience he suffered was when Brigale and Polinues pulled off some epic prank and Leyjen got scolded for not keeping an eye on them.
Then he was angry for all of twenty minutes, which was the usual time it took the two boys to get him to forgive them.

Brigale breathed deeply, the new smell of the leather cloak filling his nose.

The cloak had been a Yuletide present from Polinues, given to him the day they had left for the hunting trip, because Brigale’s old winter cloak had gotten too small for him. He’d grown some fifteen centimeters in the thirteen moons since he arrived at the castle, and his old winter cloak had already been stretching it.
This new cloak was made for an adult, so it was still the tiniest bit too large for him, but Brigale loved it.
It was so perfectly his style that he had been deeply touched by the gift.

The black outer leather was oiled to a slick sheen, the lining was the raven black fur of a cave bear, thick and luxurious. It was held together at the throat with a large silver clasp, woven in a traditional Loctsandian knotwork, an heirloom from his father that had adorned his old cloak.

Black cave bears were uncommon in Tharsirum Mountains, their habitat was high up in the Khaliskist Mountains, so the pelt must have cost a fortune, not to mention the excellent craftmanship of the cloak.

Brigale knew that Polinues had saved his money for a long time to afford it, and he felt a little guilty about the fact that his Yule present for Polinues was only a little dagger, with an engraved horn hilt.

Again Leyjen coughed, the sound making Brigale imagine lungs and airway ripping open and spilling out on the road.
Brigale turned around and unclasped his cloak.

“Here, Leyjen, take my cloak before you die from that cough.” He said quietly, throwing the cloak over Leyjen’s trembling shoulders, and his woolen cloak.

“No, Brigale. It’s alright we’re almost home, so it’s alright.”

“Don’t be stupid. Take it. You’ve been getting worse the whole trip, and I’m pretty sure you’re much sicker than you say.”

“Thank you. But the cloak won’t do much. It’s my feet that are the problem. My shoes are soaked through.”

Brigale looked down at the cleric’s feet, and sighed.
Leyjen was right, his leather shoes were soaking wet, and Brigale could tell that the woolen lining was only making matters worse, based on the squishing sound that the shoes made in every step.

“They haven’t dried since you went through the ice on that creek?”

Leyjen sniffled, pulling the cloak tightly around himself, shaking his head.

His amber eyes were glazed, and his face was pale, Brigale pulled his gloves off to touch Leyjen’s forehead and the cleric started slightly.
He was burning up with a fever, but Brigale knew there was nothing he could do other than keep close and support the cleric when he needed it.
They were within earshot of the castle, and Brigale had an arm around Leyjen’s back, Leyjen nearly lost in the thick cloak, the hood pulled up deep over his head, when a shout went up, drawing Brigale’s attention.

In the distance a small boy came running around the side of the estate wall, from the direction of the main gate, a few moments later a group of some seven older boys followed.
Brigale recognized Polinues’ dark blue winter cloak in a heartbeat, the hood billowing behind him like a balloon, but still drawn over his head.

“Who are those boys?” Leyjen asked, his voice raw and painful, as Brigale growled deep in his chest, pulling his bow and quiver off his back and tossing them at one of the pages.

“That’s Charnig Lorie and his posse!”

“Charnig? Who’s that again?”

“The sheriff’s son, from Marinesse. And that’s Elonis with him, the blacksmith’s kid.”

“Is that Polinues they’re after?”

“Yes! They’ve probably chased him from Marinesse, and then cut him off at the gate. That’s why he’s trying to go around. He’s heading for the back gate or the training grounds. Hell, those bastards!”
Brigale took of at a loping pace, his long legs carrying him with a quick grace, unusual for a teen of only fourteen winters.

Leyjen watched after him as Brigale cut across the frozen meadow beside the road, to try and catch up with the group quicker.
As Leyjen watched Polinues disappear around the south corner of the castle estate, the seven villagers close behind him, Leyjen left the road as well and headed after the group, Brigale disappearing around the corner only moments after the villagers.


Brigale caught up with the band of bullies as Charnig Lorie kicked Polinues in the back of the knees, making the boy fall flat on the ground, the kick followed by a punch in his face, Polinues grunting in pain but refusing to cry out as always before.

“Come on, little freak! Show us your face! Poxy Polin! Come on, don’t be shy! We wanna show Dertrek! He’s never seen a freak before!” Elonis shouted at Polinues, encouraged by the cheers of his friends, Charnig shaking the boy by the collar of his hood.

Polinues struggled against the sheriff’s son with all of his strength, but he was no match for a sixteen summers brute.
The group hooted and jeered as Elonis knelt down infront of Polinues, and started pulling at the large hood, ripping apart the clever design of laces and buttons that held it in place.
Polinues’ cries were muted as he fought against the teen, hiding his face in his hands as the hood fell away from his face.

Charnig grabbed his wrists, forcing his arms behind his back, while Elonis grabbed Polinues’ hair and twisted him around to face the other five boys.

“Look at this freak! This isn’t even human! Papa always says that someone this ugly should’ve been drowned at birth!” Elonis jeered, Charnig roaring with laughter, then adding,

“He wasn’t born that ugly! But maybe they should’ve drowned him after he got burned! Momma says he’s not human, that he’s a devil spawn! Are you, Poxy Polin? Are you a devil spawn?!”

Four of the boys roared with laughter, but the fifth boy, Dertrek, had gone white in the face, his eyes round and wide, and his throat was working hard, struggling to swallow, and with trembling hands the teen made a sign of warding infront of his chest, aiming it at the terrified Polinues.

Brigale’s heart nearly broke at the sight of the pain in Polinues’ eyes, and without another thought Brigale jumped into the group, knocking the fifth boy down with an elbow to the back of his head, and in the same movement he dove for Elonis.

Charnig was a fraction of a second quicker than the squire, letting go of Polinues and bracing himself against Brigale’s attack as he stepped between the blacksmith’s son and the squire.

Dertrek took off screaming as Polinues stumbled into the group, the remaining four boys grabbing hold of him to keep him from joining the fight.

Brigale collided with the much larger teen with a sickening thud, Elonis standing to the side, ready to jump in if it looked like Charnig was losing the advantage.
That was their usual method of operation, and Brigale knew it, but now he was just too angry to care.

Charnig got a hold on Brigale’s jerkin, and started to twist the squire down, but Brigale dropped to his knees for a moment, wrapping arms behind Charnig’s knee, and pushed up as hard as he could, throwing the taller boy off balance just enough to gain the advantage.
Charnig screamed as he thunked down on his back, one arm twisting under him painfully, the smaller teen jumping ontop of him and landing a left hook in his cheek.

Elonis grabbed Brigale from behind, a chokehold around his throat, Charnig receiving a foot in his nose as he sat up.

Polinues jumped on Elonis’ back with a scream, wrapping his arms around the teen’s throat, making Elonis loose his grip on Brigale.
Elonis stumbled backwards, falling on his back, Polinues jumping off just in time.

Brigale did not let Charnig get his feet firmly on the ground before he was on the teen again, matching him blow for blow, shouting challenges as the fight tumbled down the gentle slope towards the back gate of the castle estate.
Three of the four followers took off when one noticed Leyjen stumbling across the meadow behind them.
The fourth stood uncertain with Elonis, and Polinues, watching the fight, each holding the other back to let Brigale and Charnig battle it out.

Polinues was well aquainted with the teens, Charnig’s father had been the sheriff in Marinesse for over twenty years, and Charnig had been the biggest, meanest kid in town since he had been half nine summers.
Elonis had seen the advantage in becoming a stout supporter of the bully, and he enjoyed it immensely.
The pair had many friends among the children of the Castle Marines, and could often be found helping out at the estates or just fooling around with their friends.

Since Belnsair was slightly too old for the teens to bully, they had taken a particular shine to the twins from the first moment they had met.
Arlathi had gone crying to his mother the first time, and made such a scene that the two villagers had turned their full attention to the shy and introverted Polinues.
Over the years the teens had perfected the art of torturing the knight’s son without getting caught.

Until Brigale had arrived.
He had risen against the older teens, in Polinues’ defence, in the summer, and he’d pitted himself against them ever since. No matter whether Polinues was home or not. The strife between Brigale and Charnig was nearing epical, at the moment their dominance over the Marines estate was at a bit of a stalemate, and could fall either way.
This battle could possibly be the deciding fight.

The shouts of the battle drew the attention of the teens at the estate as it tumbled around the back wall, a few squires, stable boys and even a couple of the tyro knights coming out of the back gate to see what the ruckus was.
The group lined up on the farther side of the sewer channel, and started shouting encouragements over to Brigale, Elonis and his friend cheering Charnig on while holding Polinues back.

The two teens fought with animalistic brutality, Brigale’s face already swollen and bloodied, Charnig’s nose flattened to one side, but neither managed to gain the upper hand and hold it.

The fight had moved around the back of the castle estate, to the edge of the sewer channel that ran from the toilets, bath halls and kitchens of the castle.
It was a narrow, brick channel some three meters deep at the bottom, the sewage a thick foul smelling sludge at the bottom. The channel disappered below ground ten meters from the castle wall, the drainage leading out into the Peolin Sea far below the surface.
The wooden railing that was supposed to mark the sides of the channel had been broken just after Samhain by a crazed horse, and had yet to be replaced, making the fight on the edge that much more dangerous.

Charnig had Brigale by the front of his jerkin, pushing him back towards the sewer, the smaller teen struggling to push back.
His heel struck a broken fence post, and Brigale found an opening, twisting around he ducked his head under Charnig’s arm, breaking the hold on his jerkin.

For a breath the two of them stood perfectly still, like two statues frozen in some absurd dance, teetering on the edge of the narrow channel.

Then with a loud grunt Brigale toppled forwards and to the side, under Charnig’s arm.
The older boy was too slow to let go of Brigale’s jerkin, and the sideways motion pulled him around, making him lose his footing and with exaggerated slowness Charnig stumbled to the edge of the channel, striking the stone with his toe, and crashed face first into the channel.

Noone moved for drawn out minutes, an ominous silence settling on both groups, Polinues falling to his knees next to the winded and bleeding Brigale.

Charnig was on his knees, waist deep in the sludge, his hands braced against the opposite wall, and his gagging filled the silence, stirring the onlookers into action.

The stable boys started cheering Brigale, the tyro knights muttering between themselves as they disappeared back through the back gate, and the squires eyeing Charnig with a combination of fear and disgust.

Elonis and the boy who remained covered their faces with their sleeves as they moved closer to the channel, offering their help to Charnig.

Polinues helped Brigale rise, his face filled with shame as Leyjen came around the corner to take in the battlefield and the scene.

Charnig rose to his feet with slow, deliberate movements, looking up with a hateful glare at the fourteen winters old boy who had just bested him.
Charnig’s clothes were soaked through to the waist, splatters of sewage covering him to the shoulders, and blood streamed from a cut on his face.

“Shit! Charnig, your face!” Brigale gasped through swollen lips, and took a couple of steps towards the fallen teen.

Charnig involuntarily reach a hand to his face, wincing at the pain as his fingers touched the raw edges of the cut, a fresh spray of blood running down his fingers.
The cut went almost vertically down Charnig’s right cheek, from his cheekbone to his jaw, and his face was splattered with sewage.

“Don’t touch it, Charnig. Here, give me your hand, let me help you. Come inside so we can clean that cut. It’ll get infected.” Brigale reached a hand towards the teen, Charnig stared back with burning hatred.

Without answering Charnig turned his back on Brigale, climbing out of the channel on the further side, squires and stable boys scattering before him, and with a growl he shouted at his companions,
“Get your asses over here! We’re leaving!”

Elonis and his friend jumped across the channel and trailed after their soiled leader, all three ignoring Brigale’s shouts,
“Charnig! Don’t be an ass! Come inside so we can clean that cut for you! You’re going to get sick if you walk all the way back like that!”

Leyjen grabbed Brigale’s shoulder, making him stop yelling, and in a low voice said,
“It’s no use, Brigale. He’s been humiliated, there’s no way he’ll let you help him now. You’ll just have to hope he’ll be alright.”

The teen stared back with horror, his thoughts flitting across his face clear as day.
Polinues reached out and cupped one of Brigale’s hands in his, stroking it gently, his eye speaking words of comfort more plainly than his words ever could.

The three of them walked to the castle together, entering through the kitchens, where Leyjen was taken into the care of Cooksie, and before he could even protest he was sitting in a tub, up to his neck in scorching water, with a mug of steaming tea, and Hiram standing over him, demanding to see his feet.

Polinues and Brigale followed the proceedings with muffled laughter, finally letting go whole heartedly, when Leyjen was manhandled by Cooksie, Hiram and Thelaura out of the bathtub, and into woolen underwear, complete with wooly socks and a fleece lined robe.

The rest of the evening the three friends sat infront of the massive kitchen hearth, sipping broth, with their feet propped up on stools too close to the hearth fire, and chatted about the fight, and anything else they could think of.


“I’m just really afraid that he’ll get an infection and that he’ll die from it.”
Brigale stared into the fire with such intensity that it made Leyjen uncomfortable, the cleric coughing into his sleeve to try and mask his scrutiny of the teen, as Brigale looked over at him.

“He won’t die. His mother is pretty crafty in herbal lore, and she’s good friends with Arlin. Arlin will most likely go to them as soon as she hears about Charnig’s cut.”

“But what if he gets an infection?”

“The risk is really high. I mean, he fell into the sewer! But like I said, his mother is crafty and Arlin is a genius. So, even if he does get an infection they’ll take care of it. Although an infection could make it scar much worse than it need be.”

“So, he’ll be scarred like me?”

“Not quite as bad as you, Polinues, but bad enough.”

“I think he deserves it.”

“How can you say that?”

“Easy, I just did! I mean, he’s been picking on Polinues since he was just a little kid, making fun of his scars, so maybe if Charnig gets a really bad scar he’ll start thinking about how he’s made Polinues feel. You didn’t hear some of the things he said about Polinues.”

“Well, tell me then. What does he call Polinues? Tell me, Polinues, what do they say to you when I’m not around?”

“They call him Poxy Polin, for one! Elonis calls him a freak, and say he should have been drowned at birth.”

“Charnig called me a devil’s spawn.”

“What? He called you what?”

“A devil’s spawn. His mother calls me that too. They always ward themselves when they pass me in the streets, and his mother usually spits after me if I pass their house.”

“Are you serious, Polinues?”

“Why would he lie about something like that?”

“I’m not saying he’s lying, Brigale! I’m just asking, I can hardly believe it. The sheriff’s wife is a midwife, so it’s hard to believe that she’s that superstitious. I’ll talk to Charnig next time I see him. And his parents if I have to.”

“No!” both boys shouted at the same time, making Cooksie jump, and Leyjen startled so badly he doubled over with a fit of coughing.

The boys waited uneasy while the cough ripped through Leyjen’s chest, his face pale and drawn, his eyes swimming in tears, as he gasped and wheezed, struggling to catch his breath.
Once the fit passed the three of them sat quiet for long minutes, Leyjen’s breath rattling painfully in his chest, and Polinues’ voice could hardly be heard over the roar of the fire when he reached out a hand, and squeezed Brigale’s wrist warmly,
“Thank you, Brigale.”

“For what?”

“For coming to my rescue like that. You were like some crazy avenging deamon when you came crashing into us like that. I almost got scared.” Polinues laughed breathily, his dark grey eye sparkling in the light of the fire.

“You’re welcome. I told you this summer we would become friends again, and I told you again on Samhain. You think you’re going to start believeing me anytime soon?”

“You did much more than a friend would have, Brigale. No friend that I’ve ever had would have plowed into a group of seven older boys like that, just to rescue a friend.”

“Well, I still just did what my brothers did for me when I was a kid. That’s what friends are supposed to do.”

“Did you say like your brothers did for you? Then it’s not what friends do, but what brothers do.”
Polinues stared into the fire as he spoke, too shy to look up at the dark haired knight, but Leyjen noticed the tears that welled up in Brigale’s eyes.

“Yeah. Maybe you’re right. My brothers used to pick on me all the time. I was always the one who got pushed around, and used to try first whatever crazy stunt they thought up. Their favorite game was called toss the runt. One of them would grab me by the armpits, make me face him, and then they would spin around so fast my feet left the ground. And then, they just let go.”

A soft, but slightly wry smile spread across Brigale’s lips, and Polinues let out a small laugh, but Leyjen cringed.

“Please tell me they made sure you’d land somewhere at least marginally soft.”

Brigale’s head snapped up, and his black eyes dug into Leyjen with an angry glare,
“Of course they did. They always did it where I would not get hurt. But still… It was a competition with them. The one who tossed me the furthest won. When I left my oldest brother, Romethis, held the record. He was twenty nine summers when he… when I left.”

They sat quiet for a moment, then Brigale cleared his throat and continued,
“I just meant that even though they loved nothing more than to torture me crazy, they never let anyone else abuse me. There were a couple of boys from the valley who tried once, and one of them still walks with a limp. Geran and Ilousis went into a rage when they saw those boys trying to bully me. That’s what brothers do. They protect you, and stand up for you when you need them to. Like Flarin said sometimes, a friend will help you hide, and a true friend will help you hide the bodies, but a brother will help you commit the murder before offering to hide the body.”

The three of them laughed at that, each wondering if the others would be that true to them.

“You know you can always write to them, Brigale. Even though you were sent here to be fostered until you’re grown, it doesn’t mean that you can’t have contact with your family.” Leyjen reached behind Polinues’ chair, squeezing Brigale’s shoulder gently, but the teen jerked away from the touch, his feet hitting the floor with a bang, and he leaned forwards on his chair, his face a pale mask of fury.

“No, I can’t.” He hissed between clenched teeth, his hands white knuckled around his mug.
Polinues hesitantly reached out a hand, and brushed his fingers over Brigale’s upper arm, his voice timid,
“Yes, you can…”

Leyjen cut him off, asking in a low even tone, the sound of someone who knew exactly what the answer to his question would be, but wanted to hear it.

“What happened, Brigale? You weren’t sent here by your father. Drakath and Ertumi didn’t just decide to remain behind. What happened to your brothers, Brigale?”

Brigale’s black eyes were fixed on the fire in the hearth, glazed and far away, he drew a deep breath, his back arching up, and a deep, heartbreaking sob escaped his chest, before he spoke in a trembling voice.

“They’re all dead. Everyone of them. Father made me go through my Manhood Rite just after Madron the year before last. I was still six weeks shy of thirteen winters, and my father wouldn’t tell me why I had to go through it so early. He wouldn’t tell me anything really. Everyone started acting like idiots. Romethis had two sons, and they were sent away like the first one. Yshamir sent his family away, Ilousis sent his daughter away, but his wife refused to leave with their newborn boy. Bertim sent his baby son away, Martis sent his wife away, Temis sent his fiancé away, and then had children with three of the maids. Drakath tried to send two of the maids away who were pregnant but they refused. And then Flarin started talking about his children being safe, and started walking around with a sword. He was a monk! He wasn’t supposed to wear a sword or sleep with women.
Father had long secret meetings with strange men from all over the world, and other Council knights would come to the castle at night and leave again in secret. And then the farmers in the valley started hoarding weapons, and pile boulders at the top of the cliffs at the mouth of the fjord.
My father sent one of my servants off to Loct Lammez with a large trunk full of my things, the night before my Manhood Rite, and on the day he had Thebirish saddled up and ready to leave in the stables.”

Brigale stopped speaking, taking a long draught of his tepid broth, before he drew a hand over his face with a weary sigh.
After a heavy silence, his eyes remained fixed on the hearth fire but his shoulders hunched up, bracing himself against the pain of the memories.

His voice became cold and hard as he spoke again,
“There was a stable boy at the castle who looked almost identical to me. He was a couple of years older than me, and there were rumours around the estate that he was my uncle’s bastard son. Given how much he looked like me, I wouldn’t be surprised if it was true. Anyway…
I passed my Rite, and as soon as the officials had signed the papers, and everything was in order my father and my oldest brothers rushed me to the house, where they stripped me off my ceremonial armour and dressed me in travel clothes. They refused to let me attend my feast, instead they took me out the backdoor, to the orchard and put me on Thebirish. Father told me to ride through a hidden pass above the estate, to Loct Lammez, where I would find my servant waiting for me with shipfare to Far’yond. Father said my servant would know all the details and that I’d be safe with him.
I rode off, until I was out of sight of the estate. Then I turned Thebirish around and rode back. I tethered him at the gate to the orchards, and snuck back to spy on my family.
My Manhood Rite feast was in full swing, everyone laughing and merry, drinking and dining, and having a great time. And in the seat of honour, my seat, there sat that stable boy, dressed in my ceremonial armour, eating my food and drinking my wine. I got so angry that I nearly burst out of my hiding place, I couldn’t understand why this was happening. Why I was being sent away like some badly behaved cousin. Just as I was about to jump out and reveal myself, Flarin saw me and the look in his eyes warned me not to move. He slipped away from the party, and I met him out of sight of the party. He was angrier than I had ever seen him. He scolded me very hard, and told me to run back to my horse, and ride to Loct Lammez like my life depended on it, because my life did indeed depend upon it. I tried to plead and reason with him, but he was adamant. Finally I relented and Flarin gave me such a farewell that it felt like I would never see him again. I was walking back to where I had left Thebirish, when I heard voices from the party, and a thundering crash. I hid outside the wall, but ran back to see what was happening.”

Brigale swallowed thickly, his eyes so vacant that they seemed like two black marbles, tears welling up in his lashes but refusing to fall.
Polinues drew a long deep breath, asking on the exhale,
“What was happening?”

One large tear fell down from Brigale’s lashes, landing on his sleeve with an imagined splash, then the teen blinked rapidly, continuing his story in that same cold voice,

“The front gates had been broken open. My uncle… My mother’s brother was sitting on his horse in the middle of the courtyard, the feast frozen all around him. He had soldiers with him, I’m not sure but they looked like mercenaries, at least four dozen of them. He and my father exchanged some words, but I couldn’t hear what they said.
My uncle struck my father with his gauntlet, and two of his soldiers seized the imposter me, making him kneel infront of my uncle. My uncle then executed the boy, without blinking.”

Leyjen and Polinues both gasped and exclaimed, but Brigale only stopped to breathe, ignoring their shock,
“My father cried out to arms and every one of the guests at my feast drew weapons. But there were far too few of them. The mercenaries had blocked the gate, and they slaughtered everyone in that courtyard.
My brothers all bore weapons, my father, the servants and peasants, the workers at the estate, even the maids and those of my brother’s wives that remained. But they were no match for so many trained soldiers. I watched as my uncle and his soldiers cut down my entire family, ending with my father. My uncle had two of his men hold my father down on his knees, and then my uncle executed him like a traitor. When everyone was dead they ransacked the estate, but I took off after I saw them kill my father. The screams of the dying followed me far into the foothills above the estate, and I couldn’t sleep for weeks afterwards because it haunted me in my dreams.
So, no, Polinues. I can’t write to my family because they are all dead. And even if I tried, then my uncle would surely find out about me being still alive and come after me.”

Polinues sobbed quietly, his eyes moist with tears.
Sniffling he turned to Brigale and wrapped his arms around Brigale’s neck, holding him close, the older teen hesitantly draping an arm around Polinues’ waist as he hid his face in the crook of the boy’s neck.

Polinues’ breath was warm on his ear, his voice timid as he whispered,
“I know I’ll never be a real brother. I know I’m not even much of a friend, but I swear to you that I’ll always be your friend. Whenever you need anything, I’m always there for you. I’ll be almost as good as a brother, if you’d like.”

Brigale’s breath came in quick, hard gasps, his arm clenching around Polinues’ waist, and the dark head nodded slowly against his shoulder.

“I would really like to call you my brother.”
Brigale’s voice was so low that only Polinues and Leyjen heard him, the older cleric squeezing the squire’s shoulder gently.

Polinues’ chin was trembling slightly as they broke the embrace and he settled back into his chair.

Cooksie brought the three their dinners in the kitchen, and they sat infront of the hearth as the evening dwindled away.

Leyjen’s cough got worse during the night, and he spent the rest of the Yule holiday in bed, with a fever and pneumonia.
Brigale and Polinues did their best to keep him company, and make the recovery just a little more bearable.
By the time Leyjen and Polinues went back to the Temples, Leyjen was still sickly but on the mend, and Brigale and Polinues each wore a thin silver and leather bracelet as a token of their friendship.