The Sorcerer and the Witch-King's Heir

"Is the Evil Cult going to come after us?" Leo asked glumly. They were sitting around the kitchen stove drinking tea. Michael was pale and unusually quiet, but he seemed to be all right, both physically and mentally, which was a relief. Mrs. S. had cleaned up the blood and made the tea. Leo was still, to his annoyance, the worst off of the three of them. Michael had made a poultice for his hands and they were now wrapped in thick bandages which made holding the mug difficult. The small flame he had conjured that morning that had given him such hope that his magic was returning was very firmly gone again. Breathing hurt. Thinking hurt. He wanted to lie down and sleep for a week, but every time he closed his eyes he heard Michael's screams and jerked awake again. "Probably," Mrs. S. said. "I'm surprised it took them as long as they did to notice Michael had escaped and trigger the sigil. They will know that it failed and they will suspect we came back here. They'll be here tomorrow, I expect." "We could leave the city," Leo suggested. "Lure them away, give parliament time to plan...something." "The only plan parliament has is sending you to rescue the druids. And the Evil Cult knows that, so it's only a matter of time before they start leveraging them as hostages for your return." Leo sighed dramatically and put his tea down so he could bury his face in his hands. "I can't rescue the druids," he said to the floor. "I'm just one sorcerer who has been captured twice in the last week. I was never very powerful to begin with, and I'm even more useless now than I was before I even set out on this bullshit quest." "Oh please," said Mrs. S. "They're blood-magic users, and amateurs at that. You didn't see the spellwork on your back, but it was...very crude." "It still hurt," he protested. "There's like, what, twelve of them? You can handle that and be home in time for breakfast." "Maybe the old version of me could have, this Ilyan Altaire or whatever you said my name was, but that person has been dead for nearly a century." Michael stirred beside him. "They don't know that." Leo lifted his head. "What?" "We don't have to actually have the power to defeat them," Michael said. "We just have to convince them that we do. They didn't capture you with superior magic ability. They captured you with illusions and fire. So why don't we just try that?" Mrs. S. frowned and tapped a finger against her mug. "Elaborate," she said. "I can conjure something terrifying, and Leo can look powerful and threatening. Then we set something on fire inside their fortress and have the parliament send archers to pick them off when they run out screaming." He shrugged. "We don't have to be powerful, we just have to convince them that we are." "Hmmm," said the druid. "That might work." "Or they might call our bluff and we all end up in that horrible dungeon again," Leo said, and shuddered. "How big of an illusion can you pull off?" Mrs. S. asked Michael. Michael smiled. "How about a dragon?" ** Leo's mercenary blacks were long since destroyed, and Michael didn't have any clothes of his own, so they met with parliament in tradesmen clothes: brown breeches and white linen shirts with neither a tunic nor cloak between them. At least their boots had survived the ordeal. Leo started shaking again as the guards let them through the main entrance and fell into formation around them as they approached the council chambers. Michael reached out and squeezed his hand reassuringly. Mrs. S. didn't even hesitate. She led the party directly to the speaking floor and planted her cane. "Chancellor Evander," she said, her voice ringing clear across the hall. "I have come for the aid you promised me." The Chancellor, and all the rest of parliament, peered down at them. "Of course, Lady Sylvia," Evander said. "What do you require?" Sylvia laid it out, and to Leo's intense relief there was no shouting and no arresting. Questions were asked and answered, orders were given, and supplies collected. He and Michael were eventually escorted to a small sitting room to rest and wait until they were ready to depart. Parliament fortunately understood the urgency of the situation. They were going to leave at dusk, and be in position by dawn the next morning. "I need new clothes," Leo mumbled, curling up into the couch. "I can't face down the Evil Cult dressed like an herbalist." "I think they're working on that," Michael said, sitting carefully on the other end. "I can't guarantee they won't be ridiculous though." "And a staff," Leo added. "I never made one, because I couldn't have used it, but now...and I suppose it's too much to hope I'll get my swords back. They were expensive." "You can probably sue the government for pain and suffering while you were imprisoned," Michael suggested. Leo snorted. After a moment, Michael said, "you saved my life." "Yeah, I did." Another pause. Then, very quietly: "why?" Leo was too tired and too stressed out for this. The bandages on his hands were unravelling, and the skin looked ugly and peeling underneath. He pulled himself upright and forced himself to look across the couch at Michael. "What was I supposed to do?" he demanded. "Let you die?" "Well...yes. You had just started to get your power back and you burned yourself out again bringing me back. Not to mention the silver and...I don't deserve all that, Leo. Not after the way I've treated you." Leo sighed and put his face in his hands. "Do we have to do this right now?" he asked plaintively. "No, of course not," Michael said after a beat, his voice heartbreakingly gentle. "Of course. You have enough going on without me adding to your emotional labor. I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking." "I love you," Leo blurted out. "What?" He shrugged. "I'm in love with you. I don't care if it's a mistake or irrational or too soon or whatever. It's how I feel and I'm not going to be coy about it. You don't have to feel the same way, but I've got enough to worry about already, so please don't make this weird or--" He broke off with a muffled squawk as Michael moved, closing the distance between them and kissing him so fiercely and so desperately that there was no mistaking the meaning. "I love you," Michael whispered, kissing his eyes, his nose, his cheeks, his fingers trailing down his neck. "I've loved you since the day I walked into your shop. I never thought, never in a million years, that I would be so lucky that...that you..." his voice broke. Leo squirmed, trying to free his hands and reaching out for him. Michael caught them and pinned them above his hand. "Oh no you don't," he said, something daring creeping into his smile. "You've done enough, I think." He ran his fingers down the side of his face and kissed him again. Leo closed his eyes and shivered for a completely new reason. "You haven't slept much," Michael murmured in his ear. "Do you want to make out? Or do you want me to just put you to sleep so you can get some rest?" "Um," Leo said, his brain short-circuiting on relief and desire. "Both? Can we do both?" "As you wish," Michael said, smiling, and bent to kiss him again.