The Sorcerer and the Witch-King's Heir

Leo woke up from a nightmare. He didn't know where he was. The ground was cold and hard underneath him, and a stranger was laying half on top of him. He couldn't breath. His arm had fallen asleep. His breath came in short gasps, and he could still hear the screaming of his brothers and sisters. He shoved the stranger off of him and stood up, banging his head on the low ceiling. He swallowed a scream and back away, cowering against the cave wall. “Leo?” a sleepy voice said. “Leo, is everything okay?” He didn't answer. He didn't know who Leo was. He didn't know who he was. Oh gods, had he lost his memory? What had they done to him? “Leo,” said the voice again, alert now. The stranger was sitting up, his hands held out like he was approaching a frightened animal. “Leo, you're safe. The fight is over. You're safe now.” “Who are you?” he demanded. “My name is Michael. We're friends. Just breathe with me, ok? You had a bad dream. It was just a dream. Take a deep breath.” He did. Then he took another. Then the screaming started to fade, and he remembered. Michael. Leo. Oh, that was him. The fight last night. The lightning and the wolves. The cave and the fire that had gone out. He could see pale daylight filtering in through the entrance. He could see the bed rolls and his cloak were they had slept. “I'm okay,” he said. “Michael. I'm okay.” “Do you remember where you are?” “Yes, I remember where I am,” he snapped, then immediately regretted it. “Good,” Michael said, not seeming to mind. “That's good. I think the magic took a little more out of you than you were willing to admit. Is there anything you need? Any herbs or something?” “Just some water,” Leo said weakly. Michael found the water skin and passed it to him. Leo took a few gulps and set it down on the rock next to him. “Can I sit next to you?” Michael asked. Leo nodded. Gently, the prince lowered himself down next to him by the wall, not holding him, but pressed up closely enough that their shoulders touched. He waited until Leo's breath evened out. “Bad dream?” he asked. Leo nodded. “Do you want to talk about it?” He shook his head. Then he spoke anyway. “Sometimes...I remember. Not everything but, that night. The last night, they call it.” Michael nodded. “They didn't know what they were doing,” Leo said. “The druids. They didn't kill us; I don't know why everyone says that. We were slaves. They freed us. It was, arguably, it was one of the most altruistic things they did in that whole damn war. We were dangerous, the weapons that the witch-kings used to oppress the kingdom. They could have just wiped us out and no one would have blamed them for it. But instead, they tried to save us. And it was...it was brutal. They didn't know how to break the binding without breaking our minds. If they'd had more time--” he choked on the words, feeling a sob come to his throat. Michael shifted beside him, unusually quiet, and reached out to hold his hand. Leo squeezed it gratefully. “They probably could have found a way to be more gentle, more surgical. To separate all those threads of magic and leave us whole. But there was no time. Every minute they left us alive put the entire republic at risk. There was no time.” He was shaking so badly he could barely get the words out. He clenched Michael's hand until his knuckles turned white. He had never told anyone this, never, but he had lived with it his entire, well, this entire life. Michael said nothing, only listened. “It was horrible,” he whispered. “The blood, the screaming. The druids worked for forty-straight hours, and I know they paid a cost as well. The woman who...who cut my binding, she looked almost as tortured as we did. There's a price for that kind of magic, for doing that to other people, no matter how good your intentions. Most of us never recovered. Most died anyway, throwing themselves from parapets or falling into the river. None of us were supposed to be able to use magic again. I don't know what happened to the others. And I don't know why I...why I recovered the way I did. I don't know how I escaped their notice. I haven't had the nightmares in years...but I've never used magic on the scale I did last night either. Maybe it...woke something in me. Maybe it's a scar ripping open.” Michael had his other arm around his shoulder and he sagged against him, exhausted. He didn't know what it was about this man, this prince, the grandchild of his enslavers, that made him feel so raw and vulnerable. He had known him less than a week, and had already shared more than he ever had in his living memory. Maybe it was the way that his smile lit up a room, and his sadness or discomfort darkened it again. Maybe it was the way he got so excited about ducks, or was so shy and awkward about his loves. Or maybe it was the simple presence of him, not speaking, not pressuring, just holding him and waiting. Either way, he was grateful. "I'm glad you're alive," Michael said finally, his voice gentle. "Whatever price they paid...they tried to save lives and I'm grateful that yours was one of them." He couldn't hold it in anymore. He turned and buries his face in Michael's tunic, and cried. ** It was well past noon when they finally headed out again. Leo had fussed over Michael's wound and changed the dressing, but it was already healing much faster than was normal. Maybe he should have tried calling the lightning decades ago. Maybe those big spells that always eluded him were loosened up by the flow of power and were now rattling around in his subconscious, ready to be set free. They wrapped up the rest of their supplies and started the final climb to the top of the ridge. Michael showed him the map that the finding charm had marked for him, and they agreed they could probably find it by nightfall if nothing else attacked them on the way. "Do you know who attacked us?" Leo asked. "Was it the cabal?" Michael shrugged. "Probably. They weren't very happy that I left, and they knew that I knew that they wanted the crown. They also think I know the location or that maybe my mother told me, so they could have been watching me. I'm sorry," he added suddenly, realizing what he'd just said. "I should have said something sooner. I put you in danger. I'm sorry." Leo shook his head in disbelief. "You are the most dangerously naive person I have ever met," he said. "Were there no malicious people at all in your village?" "Well..." his face screwed up comically while he thought. "I mean, the miller sometimes beat his wife, and everyone would mutter about it but nothing was ever done. But other than that...no, not particularly." "And you never learned to lie, apparently." Michael grinned. "Is it that obvious? I mean, there was the time when I had to lie about why I was so upset when Rebecca and Ethan got married. Everyone thought it was because I was in love with Rebecca, she'd been throwing herself at me for months, but really it was because I was in love with Ethan, but I couldn't tell anyone that, except, of course, my mother knew, but--what?" he broke off suddenly. "What are you smiling at?" Leo laughed. "You're just so...your face is like a book." "Oh?" Michael took a step closer. "And what are you reading there now, sorcerer?" Feeling washed over him so suddenly that his knees went weak, and he thought that he would drown in those blue eyes if he stared into them any longer. Michael's smile started to slip and he thought, he'd already given away everything else--all his pain and brokenness and secrets and power--what more could he possibly have to lose? Before he could lose his nerve, he closed the distance between them, touched his impossibly glowing skin, and kissed him. Michael let out a startled noise, then his hands were digging into Leo's shoulders, pulling him closer, kissing him back with a fierce and desperate passion. He kissed like he talked, like he lived, without fear or reserve or censorship. When they broke apart, he thought that he might cry again, but Michael's smile was so dazzling, so full of joy and mischief, that it burned away every other thought. Michael pulled him back to kiss him again; he felt himself drowning again and, finally, he let go.