Chapter Text
We first met in the midst of battle.
His platoon of seasoned knights came to my aid, swords drawn, as I fought the wild hunt and half of them - including him - lost their boots to the heat of my AoE fire circle before I could warn them otherwise. I remember yelling at them to stay out of it in my irritation, then going back to eviscerating the last of the pesky fuckers with my Blazing Tendrils as he cut a bloody swathe in their ranks out of the radius of my Lava Floor, with holes in his expensive, yet well-worn boots.
It was annoying how effortless he made it all look, but he did cut my usual work load in half, and so to thank him I gifted him a pair of boots like mine: Fire proof, made of spare Kohalosaurus hide and referred him to a natlanese supplier for the same so he could arrange them made for his men, if we were to keep crossing paths. The size was a touch snug, but he thanked me all the same, and his men didn’t seem to hold a grudge as they gave me a standing invitation to their hearth at Favonius Keep whenever work brought me to their base camp.
“You look a bit young for the Lightkeepers. What are you doing alone so far from Piramida?” Varka asked me back then, as I watched their campfire.
“I’m not a Ratnik. I send them intel and do their job for them up north and places where they can’t afford to lose teams.” I lit a cigarette with the tip of my little finger.
“So you’re the ‘Lone Wolf’ Illuga sings praises about. He’s been meaning to show his thanks by fast tracking you in their ranks.”
The smoke blew away with the strong winds before it could gather past my lips.
“Since you’ll see him before I do, can you remind him I’m not interested? I do my best work solo.” A good reason as any, and I wasn’t about to tell this stranger how eradicating the wild hunt that destroyed my family was my life’s mission, the only thing worth living for.
“Why, I had no idea we were holding you back.” The grandmaster took a hearty chug out of his huge drinking goblet and smacked me on the shoulder.
“Sorry if we messed up your plans,” he’d grinned, clearly not sorry at all.
“Actually, your efforts have saved me time and worry. I’m grateful that you assist the people of Nod Krai during these troubled times.” I meant those words from the bottom of my heart. The fact that the Grandmaster of Favonius was taking the wild hunt threat more seriously than Snezhnaya was one of the only things keeping the light keepers afloat. I looked him dead in the eyes, raising my glass. “Stay out of my way, and I’ll stay out of yours, and together we’ll drive those flaming fuckers back to the hell hole they’ve crawled out from.”
We’d toasted, clinked our tankards and drunk deeply to that sentiment.
Varka had laughed, a smidge tipsy, and it was a hearty, cheerful, sound that belonged in kinder times.
“A word of advice, If you give them a fair chance, your people might surprise you.” His blue eyes looked warm as they scanned over his singing men: together, spirited, alive. My gut had churned uncomfortably, that look reminded me too much of my dead Ratnik father and the way he’d been with his team, for all the good that did him in the end. I coughed up some stray smoke from my cigarette, and called it a night.
Still, Varka was far from done with me.
The spars started as a bet, but I grew to like them. It wasn’t just a welcome reprieve from the monotony of the tough, mindless wild hunt but also a way to sharpen my skills, test new moves and learn battle tactics. I’d never admit it, but I looked forward to crossing blades with the Grandmaster more than his platoon looked forward to watching our matches, a great feat to those who knew.
Every week, before dinner, there’d be a different challenge without fail: either me against all the knights, me handicapped against one or a few or me pitted against the Grandmaster (with or without supporting soldiers). I won against his soldiers all the time, but I lost so much against the grandmaster, it wasn’t funny. I hadn’t tasted this much defeat since I’d first learnt fighting with my pyro vision. Still, Varka let me come at him as many times I wanted to. It got to the point where I stopped going for the free food and started going for the opportunity to knock that mountain of a man into the dirt, even training hours into the night daily to beat him. It was unfortunate, but since I couldn’t use my Lava Floor skill without wrecking the base I’d had to rely exclusively on fire whips/tendrils, my sword, the scattered hand-to-hand combat techniques I’d picked up, and my wits to keep up in these fights. Varka’s intentions weren’t lost on me, but I really really wanted to beat him in an all out match, no matter that he was a foot taller and at least a decade or two my senior, and had probably lived through more than I had.
My first chance for victory came eleven months after the day we met, and I owe it to Winfried for suggesting the challenge: a free-for-all spar with visions involving Varka, Lohen and I, till incapacitated or out of bounds. I dodged attacks from both sides till Varka made Lohen step out of bounds and then used pyro ropes to bind his arms in knots that would tighten the more the captive struggled. He tried kicking at me, but I’d used my bodyweight to pin Varka down, firmly straddling his thighs, my hands pulling that the two ends of pyro ropes binding his upper body.
“The fire’s going to burn through your clothing at this rate.” I’d panted above him as my sweat dripped onto his cheek.
“Do you yield?” I asked when he didn’t respond verbally. I didn’t want to lose by letting my guard down.
Varka had smirked then, saying “I yield” loud enough for the whole team to hear.
I let the pyro ropes dissipate, but stayed on top of him, catching my breath.
The technique was exhausting to keep up without hurting the subject, slowing the burning speed took more of my energy than creating the pyro ropes. It took a minute for me to register my first victory against the grandmaster of the knights of favonius, and the joy from my first win couldn’t take the smile off my face for a week. I got off him and lay on the singed grass, facing the sky until Varka offered me an arm and raised it in a victory declaration.
But that moment, Varka’s smirk, the proximity, and my thighs on his burned itself into my memories more than my victory, the fatigue, or heat of the literal burning ropes.
I couldn’t look the grandmaster in the eye for the entire dinner turned victory celebration.
And I drank far more than usual.
It hadn’t escaped my notice that the Knight of Boreas was an attractive man, except it did. It completely did.
This crucial piece of information blindsided me for almost a year in which I met him weekly. More pressing than this issue was the following conundrum: what the ever-loving fuck was I supposed to do now that I knew I had these feelings? Act on them? No thanks, I’d get rejected for sure. Talk to someone? Who? Drown my woes in an alcoholic drink? Most definitely, but not before the challenge tonight. So I morosely stared at the full tankard of cheap beer as if I could will it into my system and instantly get a mouthful of liquid courage without the accompanying headache on the morrow.
A heavy hand smacked my spine and jolted me up straight in my seat, almost spilling my brew.
“You look chipper tonight,” Varka had no business sounding as unbothered as he did.
I didn’t respond, I couldn’t. My fingers tightened around my cup.
“Hey, are you doing alright?”
He asked as if he cared, a little after I didn’t respond to his earlier query. He rubbed my back gently as I took a sip of the beer, and my mind cleared a little bit.
“I’m fine, Grandmaster, just tired.” I managed.
“You’re back to addressing me formally again. Seriously, what’s going on?”
I sipped the beer again and really wished I could lean against his arm like I occasionally did while drinking before I figured I liked him in a non platonic manner. I couldn’t tell him the truth if I wanted to keep sparring with him. So I had to deflect.
“This week just feels like it’s never going to end,” I rubbed the edge of my cup and let the drink take the edge off.
“I know what you mean,” he put his arm around my shoulder and my face smushed a little against his enormous chest. “If you don’t feel up to it, you can skip tonight’s entertainment. Marcel and Laurent have had some breakthroughs so they could lead the team battles for a change”
I drank more, not to keep my cool, but to explain the red flush undoubtedly darkening my face. Who said being a lightweight didn’t have its advantages? But then I registered the meaning of Varka’s last words and immediately protested.
“Wait, no, that’s not necessary,” I looked up at the Knight of Boreas in what I hoped was an imploring manner.
“Seriously, Varka, our sparring sessions are the highlight of my week. I can’t wait to see what you have planned for tonight, don’t you go changing plans at the last minute.”
“You sure you can handle it?” He looked down pointedly at my mug, ”I’ve never seen you drink alcohol before a match.”
He was watching me? The feeling warmed my chest, despite the chill on the breeze.
“Don’t you always say a knight should brace for anything?” I tried to sound reasonable. “I need to know how alcohol impairs me, so I’m never truly caught off guard.”
“Does that mean you’re thinking of joining me and the knights?” Varka sounded too hopeful.
Joining him and the Knights of Favonius. The Knights could go to hell, but the thought of joining him stirred up some funny feelings. So I shifted a tad away in my seat, and drank deeply.
“Nah, I’ve just got a good feeling about my winning chances tonight, given my recent streak.”
The barb landed exactly as intended. Thank the archons for fake confidence.
“I wouldn’t bet on your victory just yet, not before knowing what the night holds.”
Varka’s smug look and confident, self assured laughter was drawing attention to the two of them, and my attention to his sharp eyes glinting like beautiful, bejeweled blue lakes. I stood tall, downed the rest of my tankard in one fell sweep and slammed it on the table.
“Bring it ooon, top dog,” I intentionally slurred my words, “I can handle anything you throw my way.”
Varka grinned, and hammered his tankard thrice on the wooden table. “Knights of Favonius, Tonight’s challenge is a 1v1 tournament involving all present. Losers will be on guard duty and take the night watch for the next week. The winner of the tournament gets any one boon granted by yours truly.”
He might or might not have looked my way, but I’d like to think Varka’s gaze lingered on me as he announced the grand prize.
The knights around me were buzzing and chatting about how they could use the Boon of Boreas - paid leave, extra vacation days, favours. I stretched my arms up and yawned dramatically, over exaggerating the status of my drunkenness so my opponents would lower their guard.
“The rules are simple - you win either by drawing first blood, disarming your opponent, or if your opponent forfeits,” Varka continued, “additionally, this is a no holds barred tournament. Anything goes. But please note that your actions impact your reputation outside this arena. You are my finest knights and I hope to see you at your best. With that, Lohen will proceed to announce the matches.”
So theoretically, one could cheat so long as Varka and the knights didn’t see them do it. I lit up a cigarette, but didn't sip it as I watched the matches, which were more interesting than expected since the Grandmaster himself introduced the “anything goes” clause. It made me regret wondering what I’d ask of Varka if - when I won.
I could ask him to take his shirt off around me till he left nod krai, that would be a fun dare and a nice chance to ogle his clearly defined torso.
I could ask him out on a date, but that would be crazy and he’d turn me down.
Lohen called my name out and I faced down my first opponent: a chubby knight, no vision, moved faster than he looked. I dodged his blows and nicked him on his non-sword arm with just my rapier, and the match was called in 20 seconds. Three other matches went by quickly, until the crowd cheered and Varka walked into the ring. He let his opponent play out all their moves, correcting their form and calling out and correcting every weakness - not that there were many - He’d brought along the top 80% for the mission. Still, his people took the feedback to heart and the Grandmaster praised their improvements as he shook their hands after. They were greeted by cheers, booze and encouragement in the stands.
Varka’s methods helped my chances at winning, he was using more time and energy while I went the energy-conservative and mildly deceptive route, drawing first blood with just my rapier as swiftly as I could. He sat down beside me after his third match, answered questions from the knights and took compliments gracefully - giving each of his knights personalised feedback on their performance.
I got a refill.
His proximity combined with his great leadership tactics was not doing good things to my heartbeat.
“You sure you should be drinking that much? Your next match is against Lohen and he’s been preparing his vengeance since your last big victory,” Varka asked me with his eyes fixed on the match, and I took another sip because it was unfair how smooth his voice was.
“I burn this stuff off pretty fast in the ring,” my sanity right now was the bigger priority, “Besides, I figured you’re drunk almost all the time and I felt obliged to level the field, since you’re practically ancient. Old man.” I muttered, reminding myself for the nth time that he was closer to a mentor than a peer, and this crush was unattainable, and I’d best get over him soon.
I hoped that discipline, practice and a crushing, flawless victory did the trick this time.
Then Varka poked my cheek, and spoke lowly in my ear, and I wondered why I was drinking more in the first place around a guy like him when I needed all my mental faculties to face him.
“You’re getting awfully bold and redder as you drink. This side of you is just adorable,” he smacked my back with moderate pressure, “It reminds me of how I used to act.”
The gesture couldn't have been anything but platonic, yet the timber of his voice, his familiarity made my face flush. I needed space to get a grip on my errant feelings already. I banged down my tankard on the table.
“You have no idea. I’m nothing like you, I’m better and I’m going to prove it in that ring tonight.” The words just spilled out of me, and I saw genuine shock colour Varka’s clear eyes.
But anger felt safe, anger I could fake.
I looked in his eyes with all the coldness I could muster and removed every speck of emotion from my voice.
“Bring your A game. And don’t even think of holding back.” I downed the rest of my drink and headed into the ring for my match with Lohen.
I mopped the floor with him, I knew my anger was misdirected, and I didn’t care. I needed to burn off the booze out from my system, and Lohen could take the glorified beating better than the others. I did quietly apologise as we shook hands but he didn’t want to hear it - he strode off to his seat immediately after the handshake. I’d never been this harsh against him and my use of force was unwarranted. I sat on the other side of the stands, across from Varka, stock sober, yet nerves adequately steeled.
For my next few matches, I had to use my vision because the competition was seasoned, but my showing was neither exceptional nor brutal.
My only consolation, if you could call it that, was Varka’s unfathomable gaze stayed on me the whole time he wasn’t fighting.
The crowd’s tense excitement faded to murmurs as I sized up the Knight of Boreas, my opponent. Unlike our usual spars, where he’d grin and taunt, he had his best poker face on. Had my treatment of Lohen earlier sparked his ire? Some knights in the stands did boo and give me the stinky side eye after I fought Lohen. Would Varka decide to put me in my place? Make me regret pulling one over one of his? A strange excitement thrummed through my pulse, and I ruthlessly squashed it. I couldn’t afford to think about that now that the referee was milliseconds away from starting the fight. I called on my vision, building up the familiar elemental power and released my Lava Floor on the loud “FIGHT” call. Varka was pushed on the defensive immediately, except he wasted a precious moment of his attention when he realised his standard issue boots weren’t burning as he jumped backwards.
“I modified it. Your boots won't burn,” I explained, summoning four thick fire tendrils and attacking him from a distance.
He blocked, dodged and parried my strikes while advancing on me, and I swept low, using the tendrils to sweep him off his feet. Unfortunately, he’d fought beside me too long and his footwork was light on the smouldering floor. My eyes widened when he sheathed his regular claymore and, imitating a move from the traveller, sent a mini typhoon my way. I did my best to dodge the flaming tornado, but he attacked as soon as my feet touched the floor and would have got in a good sized gash on my left arm, had I not put distance between us. The flames died down, and we encircled each other, me just out of his range.
“I thought you weren’t holding back sport,” Varka teasingly taunted, clearly enjoying himself, “you didn’t when you fought Lohen. Or was that just a one off?”
Varka was up to his usual tricks again, but mind games cut both ways.
“I guess you’re just special to me.” I smiled at him - widely, and openly - with my whole face for a single, agonising second.
It shook something loose in him and he didn’t dodge my fire whip in time. It burned his sword hand, making him drop the hilt of his claymore, smarting as he held his palm.
I swear the whole audience heard the blade thud as it hit the ground. And then the referee was announcing my victory. Raising my arm up, then me. The crowd congratulated me on the big win, and life was... amazing. I was shaking people’s hands and they were patting me on the back. Some naysayers claimed my victory wasn’t one bit knightly, to which I reminded them I wasn’t a knight, and they’d do well to remember next time. Someone put a drink in my hand, and as they set up the tables I felt a very familiar hand squeeze my shoulder.
“Say, you wouldn’t happen to do me the honour of a rematch would you?” Varka’s voice sounded warm and entirely too gentle for somebody who’d lost to me - again. I wiped the wine off my lips with the back of my hand.
“I would, but I don’t think I can get away with that trick again,” I teased, and the folks around us started laughing. Varka joined in the laughter and patted my back as he sat beside me.
“Something tells me you could’ve won without resorting to flattery mid fight,” I felt his hand on my back close into a loose fist. I drank and looked him right in the eyes and mimicked his smirk.
“Are you mad that it worked?”
That got more laughter out of everyone else seated, although he was right. The modified lava floor had hardly been the only trick up my sleeve, and for better or for worse I’d had a lot of incentive recently to invent some new ones. If they were lucky, hopefully Varka and the knights would never have to see my full-body fire-armour, nor my smokeless flames scorching the life out of the wild hunt.
“Don’t be a sore loser over a deserved victory now,” one of the other, older knights chastised him, turned to me and winked. “Our grandmaster can’t help himself. He’s an absolute sucker for a pretty face - no matter whose.” The knights around the table guffawed, and Varka himself bore with the familiar ribbing.
While I outwardly played along, my insides were swirling with suppressed nerves. I snuck a sidelong glance at the Knight of Boreas, there was no way he’d entertain my advances? Right? I got no answers from his face, because he was drinking deeply from his huge custom tankard of dandelion wine.
“He’s already depression drinking - figures since he’s never once had to actually grant someone the prized favour, the legendary Boon of Boreas before,” the knight sitting on my left drunkenly punctuated every B and elbowed my side, “what are you going to do with it?”
All the side conversations at the table hushed as the knights looked at me.
I serenely sipped my drink, and eyed Varka who was, for once, fidgeting under the crowd's attention.
“You know what, Anselm, I think I know exactly what I want from the famed Knight of Boreas.”
A wicked smile came to my face, as I decided on a test to see if the attraction went both ways, that almost doubled as a fair compensation for my one-sided-suffering if it did not.
I held my arm out to the man beside me, who looked frightened as a rabbit on a butcher’s table, my gaze fixed on his.
“I want… a kiss.”
The crowd went wild with gossip, but my eyes never left Varka’s face - and because I was looking for it, I caught his pupils dilate for a split second, his breath spike. And then a stray knight drunkenly bellowed, “Grandmaster, you’re such a dog,” and the crowd and I broke down laughing.
Varka yelled back, completely undaunted “I got asked by this one, Scully,” then turned back to me, “you didn’t have to waste a boon on a request like that.”
“Fine, I’ll keep it” I matched his easy tone but still offered my hand, “But I still want a kiss from you.”
“If the wolfkin insists, I’ll kiss you any day,” he said unfazed, but the nickname grated. Varka completely bypassed my outstretched hand and leaned in, clearly going for my cheek.
It wasn’t enough.
I turned my face, catching his lips with mine before he’d poised them to kiss.
His surprised eyes flicked to mine, as I cupped the side of his face in my hand and kissed him - chastely, gently, once.
I touched my forehead to his and nudged his nose with mine, then pulled back to the wild, cheering crowd. My heart was hammering in my chest cavity.
Did I just do that? I had to leave.
“You’re a good kisser,” I patted his shoulder half-heartedly, “I… need some air.”
As I discretely made my way up to the very top of the favonius keep ruins, Varka announced “You heard it, folks. And that’s the Archons’ honest truth.”
The knights cheered and continued partying, but my mind was adrift. Why did I kiss him? How was I ever going to look him in the eye again? My mind went back to the moment of my first victory, Varka pinned under my bodyweight, the heat of him as he struggled against my fiery bindings.
I really needed a cigarette.
I watched the Home of Angels at Amsvartnir as I lit up my third cigarette of the night, trying to empty my mind of all thoughts.
This technique, when mastered, granted one the gift of elemental sight. It didn't keep me from thinking about how Varka's lips felt so good pressed to mine.
The party had all but died down, most knights peacefully asleep in their tents, when the winds shifted - alerting me to his presence before he landed blade-first behind me - the very person I didn’t know what to think about.
I extinguished my cigarette, expecting a serious talk, but he was sizing me up as if to find the best place to start and I was loath to interrupt his process. When he did finally speak, he didn’t beat around the bush.
“What do you want with me?”
I wondered why that question felt so loaded coming from him.
“I’ll answer honestly as long as you do the same,” I turned to face him, “I don’t know fully - I’ve never wanted this until now.”
He inclined his head, lightly leaning back on his greatsword.
“Do you see me as a child?”
My question took him aback, and he stilled for a second.
“I don’t.” His words were measured but his face was troubled in the reflected light, as if he didn’t like admitting it. He recovered fairly quickly.
“Why did you kiss me, then?”
He really was pulling out all the stops tonight, I thought as I swung my feet off the edge and stood.
“I wanted to be closer to you because you are a man I find attractive, and I didn’t want to be the only one suffering like this.”
The corners of his mouth turned up briefly, as he almost snorted, as if it ridiculously made sense to him.
“Are you not attracted to me?” I held his gaze, pressing for the truth.
He crossed his arms, audibly exhaled, and looked away briefly. “You should fool around with someone your own age.”
My jaw tightened, and I stepped right within his guard.
“Who else would you suggest I do this with?” His eyes snapped to mine.
“Illuga?” His expression hardened.
“Lohen?” His eyes narrowed.
“Maybe Flins, your drinking buddy?,” He scoffed.
“I’m asking you, so answer me,” I couldn’t keep the frustration out of my tone.
He looked down at me again, and his stare was a weighty thing.
Next thing I knew, he’d pinned my back to the crumbling wall, his hand at my waist, his blue wolfish eyes assessing my every form. My breath hitched as his attention washed over my body, as if he was savouring a vintage liquor. That look on anyone else would have turned my stomach and resulted in their immediate banishment from the world of the living. Varka towered over me, the rest of his expression shadowed. Under him, I burned.
“Is this what you want from me?” His hand snaked around my waist poised to pull me flush against him, darkly promising to close the wretched distance and eliminate any chance I had of turning back. He leaned closer and spoke low in my ear, his warm breath fanning over my skin, “This is the part where you answer.”
I turned my face, my hot cheek just about brushed against his, and my voice shook with want.
“Yes,” I whispered, and nipped at the closest piece of skin, softly kissing his jawline.
If I was a flame, Varka held the sparking flint and fuel source in the palm of his hand. He could turn me any colour he wanted: my desire danced with him alone.
He pulled back as soon as I’d started, turned away until his fur lined jacket was facing me.
“Why’d you stop?” I asked, breathless and unsteadier than intended. He didn’t answer, just stilled and something in my gut felt terribly wrong.
“Is there someone else back home?” I asked, hoping, praying it wasn’t true.
“Varka?” I prompted, louder, and that finally got him to deny it, though it did piss him off - his grip on the cracked railing tightened, any more and the stone would crumble.
I approached him slowly, not masking my footsteps and stopped until I stood directly behind him. Then carefully, gently, I circled my arms around his waist and hugged him. I burrowed between his shoulder blades, and inhaled the scent of him - leather, fur, pine, and something uniquely him.
The heat of him was grounding in the brisk night air, and his tension bled out a bit when I spoke.
“I’ve never done this before, but I like you more than I’ve ever liked anyone. You’re the only person I’d trust with my body. I’m not asking for forever, I just want one night. With you.”
He eventually pulled me into a side hug. “This isn't a game I want to play with you. These things get messy fast.”
“What can I do to convince you I’m worth it?,” I muttered into his side, happy that he wasn’t pushing me away despite the nervous butterflies churning in my gut.
“It’s not a matter of worth,” he stroked my hair, “It’s about what you stand to lose.”
“What do you mean?” I asked, “I like you and you like me back. And whatever this is will last as long as we let it - One night.”
Varka laughed aloud at that and I had no idea why.
“What’s funny?” I wondered.
“The fact that you think you can leave feelings at the doorstep.”
I punched him in the arm. “I can do anything you can, only better.”
He looked at me, then, seriously. “I don’t want you to resent me.”
I didn’t know how to tell him I could never, that I owed him too much of my growth to even entertain the notion of hating him. So I stated the truth, accompanied by a hard stare to show him I was dead serious.
“I will resent you if you deny me.”
I turned to leave, heart dejected yet lighter all the same.
“Wait.”
He called out to me after I’d barely taken two steps.
I stopped, but didn’t turn; I dared to hope and despaired to find out.
His fingers closed around my wrist and he brought my hand to his face. I looked in his eyes as he kissed my knuckles, and he didn’t look away once. My heart was in my throat, and time could have stopped for all I cared. His other hand pulled me flush against him, and my eyes closed as he leaned down, touching our foreheads.
“If we’re going to do this, you will tell me to stop when you want me to stop and not a moment later.”
I opened my eyes to catch his gaze, serious yet gentle.
“If you understand and really want this, kiss me.”
My heart thudded, could he see the embarrassing red blush crawling over my face in the light of the stars? I hoped not.
“Can you shut your eyes?” I asked, and mercifully he did.
I closed the distance.