pawnstorm | WAR ♞ MARCH ON CENTRAL WEST PLATEAU

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WAR ♞ MARCH ON CENTRAL WEST PLATEAU

MARCH ON CENTRAL WEST PLATEAU
20 AUGUST (GLADIA) 2016

The quiet, seemingly unremarkable town of Friedgood doesn't seem like a prime target for a Noir attack. Ask any outsider what a Friedgood local's favorite activity might be, and they’ll likely respond "I don't know, digging?" They're not wrong: Friedgood's primary industry comes from the excavation of precious stones and minerals in the nearby mountain ranges and volcanoes. Those who don't make their living from mining most likely still enjoy digging, as the town is a hot destination for archeologists from the school of Pigeonsblood looking to uncover the ancient secrets of Gammon.

More important than shiny rocks, however, is Friedgood's strategic location within the country, specifically the checkpoint known as Platform 42 and 5/8ths. It forms a stark contrast to the sleepy town it resides in. This bustling travel hub is known as the "Gateway to Gammon", and boasts fast transport to almost anywhere in the kingdom. Security is tight here, with grim-faced Gammon soldiers working around the clock to ensure that criminal activity doesn't stand a chance. Keep your contraband at home — an infraction will cost you heavy jail time. Friedgood is also the only town with a road providing access to Grantebrycge, Gammon's illustrious University town.

By conquering Friedgood, Noir hopes for universal access to all of Gammon.

On the 20th of Gladia, amidst strong winds and persistent thunderstorms, Heroes will arrive to the Central West Plateau. Even surrounded by tall mountain ranges and ominous volcanoes, its ancient wall is truly a daunting sight. A marvel even by modern construction standards, it was built over 300 years ago to defend against hostile nomadic tribes, and remains as strong and sturdy as the day it was built. It also provides an important environmental buffer to the people of Friedgood — the wall is resistant to lava.

Basic info on the war can be found here. All OOC questions about the event may be directed to the thread below.

ONE ♙ The War of Three Armies
It’s time to head to the battle, Hero. You may be walking, riding a mount - your own, or a borrowed spider or boar - or hitching a ride from someone else. It’s a miserable trek to the plateau, but at least you’re not alone. Once you arrive, Verdoni is there to greet you, accompanied by another Gammonian, the commander of this battle.

Pinta
[ so god damned salty about not being a naval tactician and assigned to ships ] Ah, yes, the vaunted Heroes I’ve heard so much about. The name is Pinta, ah... naval tactician to Gammon’s armed forces. Ask why and I’ll show you a bloody hell. Anyway, welcome to the Central West Plateau! During ancient times, the volcanoes were said to be a wall of flame that protected Gammon. But if that stopped the Othellians, I suppose I wouldn’t be here, ahaha! Now, with them dormant, we must instead rely upon our steel and our wall. It’s strong enough to protect Gammon even if every volcano in the area were to erupt all at once! At least that’s what the locals say. They didn’t sound too dodgy, but... moving on!

If you have any questions, our men will be glad to explain; show you how the cannons work, where the traps are and whatnot. Again, this really isn’t my expertise—oh! Our wizards have been creative as of late. We’ve these wind platforms that will fling those Noirs up, up, up! Into the air! Try not to get caught in them, yeah?

Our navy will take care of our seas. They’re an outstanding lot, they are. All we need to do is focus! Gammon shall not sink here!

You’ll then be handed a magical bracelet. The miners use it protect them from toxic air, so this is a precaution; should you need it, it should last for the duration of the battle. Now all you have to do is wait and prepare for the battle. Acquaint yourself with the battleground: explore the Defense Wall and see what traps there are. It may give you some ideas of your own. There are also war cannons aligned on the top wall and within its interior. Otherwise, check your supplies or rest and collect yourself for what will come. Your mount may also want attention.

TWO ♙ Fellowship of the Bling
Initially cloaked by thick fumes of sulfur, ozone and the dreary overcast of the storm, the Noir battalion finally arrives. Their general, Spicy Spice, steps, nay, struts forward.

	Why is it that every time I come around, that Cochrane Bridge wants to go down? [ ADJUSTS HER WORLD CUP BRA ] They can’t keep that wall up forever.
Let’s make this a quick one, so we can get out of this smelly rain! [ gets ready to fire her gun in the air when she remembers something ] And don’t forget, target their puny pathetic healers, first. [ raises gun high above her head, signaling for the attack with a BANG! ]

On her cue, the Noir Vanguard rushes forward with a fearsome war cry, followed soon after by the Rearguard.

ENEMY ♟ Mounted Noir Soldier
Weak against None	Strong against Fire	Immune to None
These soldiers gallop onto the battlefield with their imposing GOLDHORN GOAT mounts. These are bigger and stronger than the average goat, and their golden horns tend to ABSORB SPELLS directed at their riders. Some spells in a soldier’s arsenal: GRISTRELKI sets fire to the rain — literally. It converts the rain in the sky into a barrage of fireballs. Pray your umbrella’s fireproof! With the PLAMEVODA spell, they can turn hot water (i.e. those from geysers) into bubbling hot lava. When combined with a strong cooling spell, the spell can trap you in rock… That is, if the lava doesn’t kill you first! DVIZHE SMERTI is a dangerous spell that paralyzes its target, rendering them unable to even speak or blink. This can be cured with mana exchange. Hurry before Noir strikes with a rain of fire!Of course, the soldiers are capable of HEALING SPELLS to assist their injured allies and mounts. The VANGUARD is lead by an impressive wall of massive shield units, armed with various melee weapons: swords, maces, and daunting battle axes. Herd them into the traps around the battlefield to render them immobile! The REARGUARD, armed with bows and arrows, will try to overwhelm the HEROIC VANGUARD. HEROIC DEFENSE back them up with long-ranged attacks and the cannons! If they get close enough to the wall, the Rearguard will relentlessly attack the Defense! Both units are under strict orders to prioritize an attack on the HEROIC SUPPORT. If they see any Hero or Gammonian soldiers helping each other or performing rescues on the battlefield, they will give chase IMMEDIATELY. DROPS: Shield with Noir Emblem, Flame Staff, Assorted Non-Magical Weapons, Golden Goat Horns, Lava Lamp

In the heat of battle, you will feel the ground beneath you shake and tremble. In a turn of events neither side could have predicted, a dormant volcano in the distance erupts, raining down fire and scorched earth on the area. More alarming, however, is how the resulting earthquake sets off powerful, white-hot geysers on the battlefield. Stay alert! To make matters worse, the approaching lava makes Noir’s fire spells even more deadly, and Noir shows no signs of letting up on their assault.

Spicy Spice
You think a little bad weather is going to stop us? Don't make me laugh. [ laughs anyway, then falls into a coughing fit ] Urghh, damn these fumes — Oh whatever, Send in the riders!

THREE ♙ The Desolation of Noir
Undeterred by the eruptions, the geysers, or the bad weather, they’ve called in their aerial units, fierce griffon riders who’re trying to fly over the wall and into Friedgood. Don’t let them pass! Make use of your resources and shoot them down: Heroes with long ranged weapons or magic will find their skills useful here. Learned how to fire a cannon? Now’s your chance! If not, protect your allies, Hero and Gammonian, as they line up their shots.

ENEMY ♟ Noir Griffon Rider
Weak against None	Strong against Fire, Lightning	Immune to Wind
For the first time, Heroes will witness firsthand how Noir’s legendary griffon riders—often called masters of the skies—live up to their name. A griffon’s powerful wings not only lets them soar at great heights; they can whip up terrifying BEAMS OF LIGHTNING. Griffon riders are armed with JAVELINS which they can also throw and cast the same spells as their counterparts on land. However, they share a closer bond with their griffon mounts. Upon losing their master, the griffons will go BERSERK and proceed to kill everything in sight. If a Hero gets caught in a griffon’s talons, the creature will drop them into their boiling demise at either a GEYSER or VOLCANO. DROPS: Mount Treats, Riding Gloves, Noir Lance, Harness, Griffon Feathers, Griffon Talon

The lava is fast approaching and Noir can no longer take the heat. The griffon riders are maintaining their assault, but the rest of their army is falling back to escape. Time for you to retreat too before Gammonian soldiers seal the wall and you’re trapped on the plateau side. Fried Heroes ain’t Fried Good.

Defense, continue shooting at any enemy target in range! Be attentive and aid your allies as they retreat back to the wall. Do not fear, you have the advantage.
Vanguard, fall back! Watch the skies for any griffon riders on the way to the wall. Once you arrive, take down enemies who try to breach. Letting even one enemy pass could spell disaster.
Support, grab the wounded and check the wall’s condition! Any damages should be repaired immediately to prevent the lava from entering Friedgood.

FOUR ♙ There and Back Again
The wall closes, sealing the lava and ending the battle. Hopefully no one got left behind.

Spicy Spice
Now I'm wishing that I didn't wear these shoes (I hate heels). Better get up out my face! [ trips on her way out ] Oh shit!

Catch your breath, Hero. You won. First, check up on everyone and heal your wounds. If you borrowed a mount you might want to take the time to say farewell, since the trip back to Friedgood means you’ll be parting soon.

The people of Friedgood are grateful. They know what would have happened if you lost. There’s no time for fancy parties. They’re pulling out whatever they can find for a makeshift street party right then and there.

You can find bowls of Splotched Richard - a dessert pudding - and Bangers and Mash. If you’re in the mood for something strong you can get pints of Guileless or Pale Noir, maybe a Lasker Train Bomb if you can find someone who’s willing to mix it. Or perhaps you fancy a CreamAle, the favored drink of Grantebrycge.

You’re welcome to stay out and party as long as you like - the party is for you, after all! In fact, the people will respect you more if you get drunk and pass out on the side of the street. But for Heroes who’re tired from the war, you’re always welcome to stagger into the Bollox Inn for a room, free of charge.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[Exhausted and invigorated is certainly an sentiment that radiates off of the man. Laurent cannot say he is surprised because he isn't, and he has every expectation that Damen had been at the forefront of their defenses each time the opportunity arose. He is a man that commands others.

Laurent makes his way into the inn because he wants to wash up. He's filthy with blood and dirt, darkness that streaks his hair and skin and clothes in equal measure. As he passes the man his hand waves, an unnecessary dismissal of the drinks he seems so pleased to offer up.]

Have you had your fill of Kingship? Will you become Damianos, tender of bars?

[ Though he can predict Laurent will dismiss the pass of wine, so while Damianos makes it clear the drink is available, he does not bother offering a goblet to the prince. Laurent rolls his wrist to send it away, perhaps a polite front, as Damen reaches passed him to hand drink to a thirsty Hero, but as he does so, his whole body is tuned to Laurent's presence.

His dark eyes come to the prince. His pale skin flushed with the warmth of a crowd and marked with dirt and residual blood. The weapon of his crown is missing and there is mud dried into his golden hair. This celebration was so impromptu that many of them are still half in what passes as armor. Damianos discarded his jacket some time ago, the article destroyed beyond salvaging, and so stands bare chested amidst the revelry and equally a mess.

Probably Laurent is headed for the baths. Damianos is belatedly aware of his own state of dishevelment as a result, but cannot find it in himself to be embarrassed. ]

A battle well won is worth the celebration.

[Laurent is not slowing down. He is finding his way through the throng of bodies with preternatural grace and pausing for no one- no king, and no lover. There is no tension in his limbs to belie anger or frustration, instead he seems full of a tenuous sort of patience. The battle was indeed well won, but it is not the first and will not be the last and with two such facts known to him Laurent will not pretend that this victory is particularly meaningful. Still, he will not begrudge these so called Heroes their moments of celebration and recovery. Though he does not make it habit to participate in them he is not ignorant to the purpose they serve.

One hand waves, it is a play at a gesture for servants, not slaves.]

I'll take a board of your finest cheese and the best cuts of meat you have to offer. I'll show myself to the room.

[ It's clear with the angle of Laurent's chin that, in equal parts, he does not intend to join in the festivities and does not begrudge the soldiers their revelry. It's a curious juxtaposition, this Laurent. He is not caught up in political turmoil. There is no necessity for him to linger and make nice with the other Heroes, to be sure they will continue to fight for their cause. He does not need to manipulate and move his pieces to ascertain loyalty in this way.

These soldiers, in equal parts green and seasoned, still all strive for the same goal: success and a way home. Damen had let himself be swept up in the sensation of pure victory, but what Laurent's easy lope through the crowd reminds him of is that Damen, too, does not need to be here. It's strange, to take up, cast away, and return the mantle of king so abruptly. It could give a man whiplash.

Laurent slants his eyes to Damianos and then away, waving his hand imperiously. Damen feels the smile on his mouth before it's fully formed and his heart flutters at the easy grace of the exchange, despite himself. An illusion of things Damen thinks about in his most private thoughts but does not voice. ]

The best ones are already taken. [ He calls after Laurent's retreating back.

He is no longer the prince's slave. He turns to find the kitchens of the inn. ]

[All dialogues are exchanges and by extension all exchanges are a turn from one hand to another. Laurent hardly faults Damen for celebrating- it is, he understands, a habit among Akielons to praise one another after a battle well fought and to reunite with companions in the field. By contrast perhaps one will never know if this is something the Veretian prince might have found himself drawn to. It seems, in this light, with the din of voices and music and relieved laughter- something he could easily picture Auguste in the middle of. But then not all Veretian princes are created equal and Laurent had never been like his brother in any of the ways that mattered.

He seeks out privacy instead of revelry and once satisfied that he's found a room both removed enough to discourage visitors and in possession of a bath, he claims it as his own. There is a window. That is a conscious choice as well. Climbing into the water and with a surprising number of soaps at his disposal, Laurent spies his reflection in the surface of the basin and thinks he may need to soak for a year to rid himself of the grime. An hour will have to do.]

[ It takes time for Damianos to locate his spoils. This has equal parts to do with first finding something so simple as a cutting board and cheese when this world seems to roll in foods Damen could scarcely imagine, and because every few feet he is stopped by merrymakers. With half his mind on the straight line of Laurent's spine making it's way up the stairs of the inn, he finds himself missing the graces the title of king had given him— namely the ability to extricate himself with much more simplicity.

At long last, with at least one more cup of wine in his belly and a tray of meats and cheeses, Damianos weaves his way through the crowd and to the more sparsely decorated staircase. Though couples dot the way up, the higher he goes the thinner it becomes. He has no idea what room Laurent is in and so then follows his instinct and what little he could glean about the nature of each one available.

The door he chooses is closed and void of sound, unlike many others. Pressing it open reveals lit candles and a stream of light from the opposite door, where he knows the bath is located. Over the back of the chair nearest the door, Laurent's uniform. He puts himself on the other side of the threshold and raises his voice enough to be heard, teasing: ]

How do you find the room?

The furnishings are acceptable enough, though I'm not without complaint.

[He hears Damen the moment his feet reach the final length of stairs- it is his gait and his bearing, the way he moves. He has a presence, perhaps one that all men born to be king possess. He remembers the way it had seemed for Auguste- the effortless way he gathered attention, the way each eye in the room turned to him. He has known the same to be true of Damen for longer than he cared to admit but then, Laurent is not an honest man and thus there had been no burden to bear.

His head rests against the back of the tub. He'd washed both quickly and efficiently when he'd first arrived, eager to be rid of the dirt and the blood and the stench of it all. With the necessary out of the way he's now free to linger. The heat of it leaves his skin flushed, pink over the bridge of his nose and the bend of his naked knees where they break the surface of the water- two small peaks of unseen mountains. Everything smells like soap.]

Without bars on my window how can I be expected to simply tear a hole in the wall? Opening it and slipping out seems so mundane an option I can barely tolerate the thought.

[ There is a humidity in the room that wafts from the bathroom, a phenomenon Damen had not encountered before arriving in this place. It must be, he thinks, some quality to the structure of the apartments and inns. Damen can smell the soap that permeates the room and is reminded for the first time in hours that the day's grime still clings to him in many places. What of it hadn't been wiped with a cursory cloth has since been sweat through with the press of bodies and excitement below.

Probably, he should have stopped by his own rented room to clean up, but being swept up in the sudden victory had been a sufficient distraction. ]

You could always use the door. [ Looking toward the ajar frame where Laurent remains, unseen, Damen feels a prickle of anticipation on the back of his neck. He hesitates. ]

Even worse.

I told you, it's the chase I like.

[With Damen present, his time idling in the tub appears to have come to an end. Laurent climbs to his feet, a sloshing of water in the basin as he stretches, then carefully exits. He's left a towel within reach and had the forethought to purchase two changes of clothes from the locals prior to his arrival. He leaves Damen's on a chair- a wine-red cotton shirt, and a pair of dark trousers, lightweight and accommodating for Gammon's climate.

Laurent dries and dresses, emerging from the bath moments later both clean and covered from throat to ankle. He is still toweling his hair. His gaze flicks around the room, noticing the closed bedroom door, the bed, the food that's been brought up, Damen himself.]

The bath is yours.

Of course.

[ It's more to himself than to Laurent, the words smothered by their soft delivery and the slosh of the bath water. Damen is still standing in the middle of the room, out of line of sight. He remembers the cream of Laurent's skin, the way his hair curled at the nape of his neck when the humidity of the baths had saturated it. He remembers the yank of the collar around his neck, and the sensation of skin splitting under the unrelenting fall of the whip.

Laurent reappears, stressed ankle to throat. His hair is still dark and damp, the high of his cheeks is coloured with warmth. For a moment, Damen sees the glittering dangle of sapphire— and then remembers he is still shirtless and dirty and standing in the middle of the room. Oddly, he feels caught doing something he shouldn't, like a small boy, and the flush darkens the skin on his olive chest. In the low light, it's almost imperceptible.

He has a room of his own. There is no reason to use the bath in Laurent's.

That, in itself, is a kind of invitation. He says: ]

I brought your cheeseboard.

I see that.

[Standing this close to one another, with no other tasks left to them and an end drawn to their companionable banter, they are once again in this strange, impossible space. The undefined nature of their arrangement. Laurent thinks he has already tipped his hand too many times, that Damen has made declaration after dangerous declaration. And then he must also acknowledge that there is a bath waiting in the adjoining room and a second set of clothes. They are not in Vere, nor are they bound to the intricacies and complexities of his Uncle's plays. There is absolutely no reason for them to share a room now, let alone a bath. Any of this.

Laurent's feet are bare. The whole of his body feels warm and there is no excuse of a fire in the hearth to blame it on.]

[ Damen can feel the flush stretch all across his body and more conspicuous is that he knows it can't be blamed on anything else but Laurent in front of him. There is no hearth to warm him, he's hasn't had enough wine to alter his faculties.

As friends, as allies, the end of his hospitality could have been in dropping off a meal after a battle. Behind him, the door to Laurent's room is closed. The only one left ajar is the one behind him, where he'd just been offered the bath. He hasn't looked away from the prince and his heart throbs high in his chest. He can see Laurent's pulse fluttering in his neck, a give away. I also— miss you.

There is only one bed. These rooms are designed for single occupancy. Damen takes a soft breath. ]

[He has not known Damianos as a man that hesitates. While it is not impossible to get beneath his guard, Laurent has never known him to linger thoughtfully along the edges, to loiter in indecision. As such, he takes that silence to be his answer and turns from view instead.

It does nothing to decrease the space between them, and though he dangles just outside of arm's reach, leaning down to retrieve his board of cheeses, there is another kind of distance taking up residence. Repairs to the walls of a fortress. With a casual glance, it would be easy to have overlooked the cracks entirely.]

That is your duty discharged then, barkeep.

[ Damen sees it happen, as though from a distance, despite their nearness. He sees the beautiful angle of Laurent's jaw as he bends to collect his meal, the damp curl of blond on the nape of his neck. As is not unusual when faced with the force of Laurent, Damianos feels outmaneuvered and at a loss to how he arrived there. Hello, lover. ]

I'm not sure what some of those are. [ He says, and moves away. He is aware of where Laurent is like a thread stretched between them. ] But I've been assured none of them are poison.

[ When he disappears into the washing room, he stops. There, laid evenly over the back of the chair, a second set of clothing for himself. It wouldn't seem so out of place, if Damen weren't acutely aware of how out of place they were like this. He removes his dirty, ruined clothing, and goes to the bath. ]

[Damen's awareness is a thread that lengthens because it is tied on two ends. Laurent takes his expression out of sight but he can't remove his attention so easily. He has hated this man. He has hated him so much that the thought of killing him was the only thing that had sustained him through his youth- through the hands he passed through. If only it were still so simple.

This conversational gambit is not meant to assuage his doubts about poison in the food- it is a declaration of his intent to stay. To refuse to be dismissed. Laurent looks into the empty hearth when Damen steps into the bath, when he does not close the door behind him. He continues looking until he evens out the fracture in his expression, and then sets about starting a fire.

By the time Damen emerges it is the second time that Laurent will have carefully eaten one half of what was brought up on the board, and he will be found sitting on the provided chair, examining the state of his jacket. He doesn't want to lift his head when Damen enters, but he does nonetheless.]

[ The tableau is similar in ways, striking Damen for it's familiarity. The bedding hasn't been pulled to the floor and the decorations are sleek, different from the inn they'd stayed at in the Veretian countryside. Half the food sits uneaten on the cheeseboard. Laurent doesn't know whether or not Damen has eaten.

Scrubbed fresh and clean, the deep wine of his gifted shirt hangs loose over his broad chest. The bruises linger, but are harder to see with the flush to his skin from the bath. The room is warmer, with the hearthfire lit. He meets Laurent's eyes, and then goes to sit on the edge of the bed. It sinks under his weight. The firelight flickers off the gold collar on his throat. ]

They don't last long. [ The clothing, he means. For all this world's technological advancements, Damen feels what they wore back in their own world stood the test of time much better. ]

Truly unfortunate, as I fear your shirt cost a banquet hall its only tablecloth.

[Like a performer recognizing their cue to dance, Laurent does not miss a beat, nor does he appear to struggle in placing himself there. The tease is offered as he is removing the last buttons to have survived- joining their fellows in the small pile he has amassed on the table at his right. It is no attractive or deliberate sprawl he rests in now, nor is it the almost boyish pose he'd been caught in so many months ago. Instead, one leg is crossed casually over the other, bare foot dangling near the fire and savoring its warmth. Already the proximity has dried most of his hair.]

[ He watches what Laurent does more than he lets his eyes linger on the graceful line of his throat, or the flaxen quality of his drying hair. This peace between them is tenuous. It is less that Damen feels it could snap at any time, and more that in some way the uncertain way they move around one another in solitude retains a conditional quality to it.

Too much still sits heavy between them. Damen knows that his want is not one sided, but he does not know how to navigate this thing that keeps them separated— as untouchable as air, as obvious as the sun in the sky. ]

I'm not the only man my size here.

[ Damen has seen a number of men that come to his height, which was surprising at first, as even by Akielon standards he is very large. ]

No you are not, though you may be the only one not to return to Caissa shirtless.

[This is, like every other play that has gone between them, a matter of steps. They're engaged in a dance of sorts, one they'd entered on the field of Marlas and one they hadn't left since. Laurent knows, even at this distance, what the outcome will be.

Perhaps he is only delaying the inevitable.

Laurent's gaze moves because it has nothing further to distract itself with, and because Damen is there looking back at him. His inhale is measured, it is precisely equal to the exhale that follows.]

I had wanted to ask, what was your last memory before arriving here?

[ The easy breath gives him away. Damen can tell he is bracing himself for the conversation to come, and feels some part of him prepare in kind. Not a defensiveness, exactly, but a measure of caution. Once he speaks, Damen understands his hesitancy.

He had been operating under the understanding that they shared their memory of their world. It hadn't occurred to him that, like so many others, there might be some discrepancy between what they each remembered. His caution shifts, easing into anticipation. Damen doesn't look away from his face. ]

I remember the okton.

[A beat. Laurent watches the whole of Damen's expression as though it is a book written in a language he is committing to memory. Calculated. Cautious.]

The spears?

[ Damen has the curious sensation of being on a precipice, and of being watched closely for the result. The latter is much more literal, given the calculating way Laurent studies his expression. He returns the look without flinching, but makes no effort to shutter anything that might show there. Laurent clarifies The spears? and Damen is reminded of Nikandro's fury at discovering his back. ]

You surprised everyone.

[ Even Damen. ]

Yes, well.

[It has been there since arrival, this knot of tension that Laurent has considered- has turned over and examined and carefully monitored. The possibility of their differences, of what it would mean to keep more secrets from this man. There is no great sigh of relief. Instead it's something quiet- the way his gaze moves to one side, the gentle exhale.]

You had set your expectations so low that it was impossible not to trip over them.

[ For all Damen can understand the machinations of Laurent's mind, he's far from any kind of mind reader. He doesn't know everything about this prince— much of his history remains a mystery, and exactly how far reaching his delicate web reaches is not something Damen can follow. Even outside of his own territory, Damen knows he is already sowing his seeds. Laurent thinks in ways Damen can't comprehend, because he didn't grow up learning to survive in the way Laurent did.

But he sees the relief for what it is. He feels it mirrored in his own body, tension unspooling. He doesn't stop to wonder what would have happened if their memories hadn't matched up— Damen isn't sure what he would have done in that situation. ]

It's not like that. [ He returns. ] I knew how well you could ride.

[ It was just that riding well and riding the okton weren't exactly synonymous. More surprising for Damen had been that Laurent had agreed at all, and he feels himself smiling faintly at the memory. ]

[The fire crackles comfortably, sound and warmth filling the space between them with the intimacy that Laurent has always struggled to foster between them. He gestures towards the cheese platter, the meticulously delineated half that has been left for Damen himself before his hands fold back over themselves. It isn't a defensive posture and instead is nearer a gesture of containment. It wouldn't be the first time he found himself attempting composure in Damen's presence.]

But Akielos knows the nature of what passed between us. [One brow flicks upward, gaze sweeping the whole of Damen's figure.] They know their King, thus they must also know how well I could ride.

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