Chapter 2: Awaken

The first thing Emrys notices is how soft the bed is. It's terribly comfortable. It's certainly not his own. The blanket is too thick, almost stifling, though it's exceptionally soft. And it's absolutely not one of Doctor Osmanthus's medical cots. Those are utilitarian at best. There are at least three times as many pillows beneath Emrys's head and shoulders, and the air smells of fresh linens and a vaguely floral perfume rather than bitter medicinals and antiseptics.

He draws the comparison to the good doctor's medical lab because of the second thing he notices. His entire right side is a stark, aching numbness as though his torso has fallen asleep like a leg or a hand. Acute pain shoots through his ribs as he shifts, then again through his shoulder as he settles back into the cushions.

Cracking his eyes open, Emrys realizes he's in someone's bedroom. The bed is plush, as expected, and quite luxurious. It's a four-poster, queen-sized, with gauzy curtains tied back at each corner which match the burgundy bedspread. The rest of the room is equally opulent and frankly enormous for one person: elaborately patterned wallpaper, glistening hardwood floors, large picture windows all streaming with sunlight and set with heavy red drapes, and a crackling stone fireplace feature prominently.

A pair of chairs and a round table sit on a woven rug before the fire, both empty. There are pieces of art on the walls, mostly landscapes rendered in splashes of green and blue and yellow. Between, amber bulbs atop candelabra-like fixtures sit, none lit. A tall, wide wardrobe made of dark wood sits along the wall beside a rectangular standing mirror. Next to that is a set of drawers made of the same dark materials. At the far side of the room is a set of chairs sitting before a lit fireplace which fills the room with comfortable warmth.

There are two doors, one on the wall to Emrys's left and one just beyond the fireplace at the other end of the room. Both are shut. Out the windows, he can see the blue sky and a smattering of clouds, but not much else. It must be at least midday with how bright the room is.

As Emrys peers around, getting his bearings, his mind sharpens from beneath the familiar fog of painkillers and injury-induced sleep. Recalling the fight he'd been losing what feels like moments ago, Emrys assesses himself quickly.

His right arm is useless. It won't move at all. By the feel of it beneath the thick blanket, it and his entire torso are swathed in bandages. The left arm is better, and he can lift it up and out to examine the wrapping around his wrist. It's well-tied and clean. He drops it back to the bed with a wince. His ribs ache in a dull way -- not ripped apart, but likely broken.

Unease filters into Emrys's mind, and he quickly realizes why. Aside from the low fire flickering merrily at the hearth, the room is entirely silent. He can hear no footsteps, no conversation. His brothers aren't quiet men. Especially Aryn, who can be heard for miles when he laughs.

Emrys's muscles tighten with the intent of bolting upright, but all he does is hiss and tense.

Where the fuck are his brothers?

And where is he?

His heart sinks as he realizes he can't move properly. Emrys opens his mouth to shout, but all he manages is a croak, throat cracking painfully dry.

He's forcing himself upright, realizing he is, in fact, wrapped in clean bandages from hip to shoulder and down his entire right arm, when the door to his left opens.

The stranger Emrys is faced with gasps sharply and rushes over. Her bob-cut, steel gray hair bobs wildly as she shuffles across the floor. Wearing a pair of plain trousers and brown, long-sleeved turtleneck sweater, she could be someone's grandmother. She's five foot nothing and about as sturdy-looking as a dry leaf. Even so, she sets the tray she's carrying down on a side table just out of Emrys's eyesight and puts her hands on his uninjured shoulder.

"Lie down, you fool!" she commands in a surprisingly firm tone. "You'll tear your stitches out."

Emrys tries to speak again, to demand answers, but his throat constricts on a grunt of pain as the woman's touch grazes the bandages at his right shoulder. Even injured as he is, Emrys is bigger and stronger than this slip of a stranger. He pushes further upright by sheer force of will.

"Fool," the woman says again, shaking her head. Over her shoulder, she calls, "I need assistance!"

A second stranger sweeps into the room, and Emrys's first pain-addled thought is: Oh, he's pretty.

Not quite tall; long, braided auburn hair; wide green eyes set beneath expressive brows in an angular face; slender build accentuated by well-tailored brown pants, white shirt with billowing sleeves, and cinched leather corset.

The pretty man takes the woman's place. Emrys expects to be able to fight him off, too, but the man's hands are firm, and he pushes Emrys back down with seeming ease. He sits on the edge of the bed to hold Emrys down for a moment as though to make the point that he could, in fact, keep him there indefinitely. His eyes are fierce and intelligent as he peers down at Emrys. This close, Emrys can see that the man's hair must be curly; a small wisp of hair has escaped its braid and curves around his temple.

"Stay still," says the pretty man. His voice is gentle, lyrical almost.

Aching, Emrys has little choice but to obey. He opens his mouth again and coughs, making him wince and groan. The pretty man lets him go and leans away, whispers something to the woman, and returns to Emrys with a white-speckled ceramic cup. The woman scurries out of the room, shutting the door behind her.

"Here," the man says. "Drink."

Emrys hesitates.

The man quirks an eyebrow, seeming amused. He says, "It isn't poison. It's water. You must be thirsty."

Gods, but he is. He feels like he's been wandering the wastes without a drop for days. Emrys accepts the cup, drinking deeply. The water is cool, refreshing, clean. It soothes his cracking throat, and Emrys finally manages to clear it.

"Where am I?" Emrys tries to demand, but it still comes out as a rasp.

"Glad to see you've retained your inner fire," the pretty man says wryly. His voice is lightly accented, full of distinct, elongated diphthongs, but Emrys can't place it. He sets the cup back on the bedside table. As he straightens, he answers, "You're in my home. My partner rescued you and your brothers in the woods. And you're rather lucky he did, mind. You were in a bad way when he brought you here. You've been unconscious for over a week."

"My brothers? They're safe?"

The man smiles. "Yes, they're safe. A few minor injuries, but nothing serious. They went home a few days ago to deliver the news of what happened to the rest of your family."

Emrys sags, sighing in relief, and the man smiles wider.

"My name is Aesind," he says.

"Emrys."

"I know. So I've been told." The pretty man chuckles. "My partner is Archimedes. You'll meet him soon enough. He's away tending to the ghoul issue currently." His smile, as pretty as the rest of him, vanishes. "There were far more than expected. You really are very lucky Archimedes was out there at the same time."

"I appreciate it," Emrys says, pushing as much sincerity into his voice as he can.

Aesind seems to catch the effort, smiling once more. "Your injuries are fairly extensive, but we have the finest doctor in the region at our disposal. Doctor Illala -- the woman you just saw -- will want to come and check on your wounds. You're healing rather quickly, thanks to her work, but it'll still be some time before she'll let you get up."

Emrys grunts. "Gotta go home and help with the hunts."

"Ah, that reminds me." Aesind reaches into a pocket and pulls out a folded square of parchment. "Your mother sent you a letter. I've been keeping in contact with them, of course, to update them on your status each day. She seemed to believe you might say something like that, and she asked me to deliver this to you once you awoke."

Emrys takes the parchment reluctantly. He holds it in his good hand for a moment, then sighs, letting his hand drop to the bed without opening it.

"Not going to read it?"

"I know what it says," he replies sourly. "Something about taking care of myself and not worrying about them. Orders to stay put until I'm entirely well again."

Aesind's lips press together into a thin line. He sounds like he's holding back laughter as he replies, "Yes, that seems to match with my expectations."

Emrys gives him a dry glare, which just seems to amuse him further.

"Archimedes is master of the house," Aesind says, rather formal all of a sudden. "By his order, you're welcome here for as long as you require. The manor is fully staffed, so if you need anything, just shout. I have someone stationed just outside your door at all hours, so never feel like a burden if there's anything you want or need."

"Keeping me here?" Emrys asks bluntly, brows furrowed. "Guarding against me?"

"What?" Aesind blurts, dropping the formal visage in favor of a confused, incredulous look. "No, of course not." He gestures to Emrys's prone form. "You're hardly a threat like this, and even if you were, you're Archimedes's personal guest. While he's gone, it makes you my guest, and one who is healing from extensive, near-fatal injuries, at that. I plan to treat you as such, nothing more and nothing less. The staff are here to assist you with whatever you need while you're unable to do things by yourself. We have guards, but their purpose is to protect the household, not to keep you in place."

Emrys just frowns.

"Look," Aesind says, gesturing exasperatedly. "Your armor and weapons are in that wardrobe. All have been repaired and cleaned, including the bow you dropped during your fight. Once you're able to stand, you're welcome to all of it. The moment you're well enough and ready, you're free to leave. You're not my prisoner, Mr. Symmonet."

Something hard and tense inside Emrys's chest comes loose all at once, and he sinks further into the pillows, suddenly exhausted. He nods weakly.

"Apologies," he mutters.

Aesind stands and adjusts the blanket so that both of Emrys's arms are beneath it once again. Cozy and tucked in, Emrys feels sleep tug fuzzily at the corners of his mind.

"Accepted," Aesind replies softly. "Get some rest. Doctor Illala will be by to check on you in a while. Don't fight her again, for your own sake. I'll bring you dinner in a couple hours."

"Dinner," Emrys repeats. "Soup?"

There's a quiet chuckle as Emrys's eyes fall shut.

"Sure. Soup."

Emrys isn't sure how long he sleeps. When his eyes open again, he's in a lot more actual pain rather than the vague, numb ache. The injuries in his shoulder and side throb like a second and third heartbeat. He goes to sit up, then remembers his orders to stay put. His mother's letter isn't in his hand anymore. He supposes it's somewhere nearby.

He ought to read it, even if he knows what it'll say. Maybe Aesind would help him write a reply...

"Ah, you're awake."

Speaking of.

"Seems like it," Emrys mumbles in reply.

Aesind is sitting in one of the chairs that used to be by the fireplace, now at the side of Emrys's bed. He has a book in his hands and a candle at his side, flickering gently on the bedside table.

The sun outside has diminished into dark blue night, speckled with thousands of pinpricks of light. The lights around the room are on at a dim setting, casting a warm yellow glow over everything.

Aesind tucks what looks like a torn scrap of parchment into the book and sets it off to the side. He's still wearing the same clothes, corset and all, so Emrys supposes it couldn't have been that long he was asleep.

"How are you feeling?" he asks.

"Like shit."

Rather than being offended by his language, Aesind grimaces good-naturedly. "Yes, sorry about that. We have to take your doses down or we run the risk of putting you to sleep a little too efficiently."

"I'd prefer to hurt, I think," Emrys mutters.

"I agree," Aesind says with a laugh, and Emrys quickly decides he likes Aesind's laugh.

No, no, no -- the master of the house is his partner, the person who rescued Emrys and his brothers from certain death. That kind of debt isn't repaid by hitting on his partner, no matter how pretty the man is.

"I did bring you dinner," Aesind offers, "if you're hungry."

The scent wafting from the steaming bowl Aesind picks up is mouth-watering. Emrys breathes it in greedily. He's already somewhat upright from his earlier struggles and thanks to the numerous pillows on the bed, so he won't have to struggle now to eat. His stomach rumbles loudly.

Politely, Emrys replies, "Yes, thank you."

By habit, Emrys goes to use his right arm and instantly gives up when agony shoots through to the bone as his shoulder attempts to detach from his body all over again. He bites his tongue hard enough that he tastes iron, but he manages to keep the dismayed sound of pain to a loud grunt.

Aesind swirls a bit of the soup around with the spoon and lifts out a portion. It's thick and dark, almost like gravy, holding a small chunk of meat and studs of bright orange carrots. Aesind offers the bite.

"Here."

"I'm not an invalid," Emrys protests. He reaches for it with his left hand, wincing lightly as the stitching beneath the bandages on his wrist pull taut when he flexes his fingers. He adjusts, and it tugs at his shattered ribs instead, making him grunt again.

"Perhaps not, but the doctor would never forgive me if you hurt yourself under my watch." Aesind stands, sits himself on the edge of the bed for a better vantage point. He offers the bite of soup again, closer this time. "Eat."

Starving enough to not want to argue, Emrys opens his mouth and lets Aesind feed him. It's delicious, of course. What else did he expect? A place like this, this Archimedes guy must be loaded. If this is his guest room, obviously he'll have a staff of high-class chefs to make whatever foods he or his guests desire.

Emrys eyes Aesind as he eats. The man doesn't seem like the posh type. More than that, he seems incredibly human. Delicate, but not fragile. Not weak by any measure. Emrys wonders what kind of person manages to amass a fortune like the one Archimedes must have while hunting monsters, and what drew him to someone like Aesind.

Well, perhaps that part isn't such a mystery, Emrys thinks as Aesind wipes at a rogue droplet of hearty brown broth on the corner of Emrys's mouth.

It isn't much, but it doesn't need to be much. Fortified by a good meal, Emrys is warmed from the inside out. He wagers he could sit up properly but decides against it. He'd rather not incur Aesind's wrath.

Aesind sets the empty bowl off to the side, offers a sip of water, and folds his leg beneath him at the edge of the bed. He doesn't pick up his book again, just stares at Emrys for a few seconds.

"So," Emrys says into the awkward silence. He gestures about the room with his good (well, better, anyways) arm, careful to not move too far. "Very fancy."

Aesind's lips purse. He glances about, considering. "I suppose. I'm rather used to it now, but yes, it's quite something. Just wait until you see the rest of the manor."

"Manor," he repeats. "By manor, you mean..."

"I mean manor. The house itself, the courtyard, the grounds. The staff housing. The gardens." Aesind points to the darkened windows. "You actually have a nice view of the gardens, and the maze."

"The maze."

"Yes, the maze."

Emrys stares at Aesind, waiting for the punchline.

"You... have a maze."

Aesind smiles. "We have a maze."

Nodding to himself, Emrys scans the room with new trepidation. Not just somewhat wealthy, then.

"What kind of business does Archimedes do, that he can afford all of this?"

The smile dissolves into a strange little frown. Aesind asks, "How much do you recall from your battle with the ghouls?"

"Some. I charged to give my brothers an opening to run, which I suspect they didn't take. I was injured, dropped my weapons." Emrys frowns, trying to remember beyond that. "After... it's mostly a blur. I remember the pain in my shoulder and side. But nothing else."

"That makes sense," Aesind mutters. He chews on the corner of his thumbnail and seems to come to a decision. He looks Emrys straight on, suddenly very serious once again. "Archimedes was tracking the same pack of ghouls. He doesn't often get involved with things like that so directly, but as you're likely aware, they've been causing more and more problems in the region."

Emrys nods slowly, uncertain what this has to do with anything.

"It was pure chance he arrived when he did. There was another pack moving in the opposing direction, which he's out hunting down now. You see, everything in the Golden Valley is Archimedes's territory, from Redport to the edge of the Whispering Falls. All that threatens the region is his responsibility." Aesind splays his hands. "A dozen generations of his family have lived in these halls. His business is overseeing the valley."

"He's godkin," Emrys breathes, barely breathing at all.

"Indeed."

Oh, shit, that changes everything.

As eldest son of his clan, he has a responsibility to know these things. But most godkin are elusive at best, ruling over everything and everyone with a distant hand. Their politics are esoteric to the average person. To meet one is either an incredible, lucky moment or a disastrous misfortune.

Now, he supposes he at least knows the name of the recluse godkin ruling the land he lives in. It's more than most of the people from his village know. Until now, Emrys has just called him "His Lordship" like everyone else out of respect. He's even more mysterious than the rest of his kind, ruling from afar with a fair, even hand. No one has ever needed to meet him or know him beyond that. Emrys always supposed that's a mark of his skill.

Finding himself in a guest room in a godkin's home after having been rescued personally by that godkin is an extraordinary thing, to say the least. For it to be Emrys's own liege-lord is something else entirely. Every social faux pas Emrys has allowed himself to indulge in through the haze of medicines and pain comes back with a vengeance.

"I appreciate His Lordship's assistance," Emrys mumbles, feeling the embarrassing weight of formality crashing down on his head. "I owe him a great debt of gratitude."

"Oh, stop," Aesind says, waving a hand in front of his nose. "You owe him your gratitude, yes, but Archimedes is hardly the formal type. And neither am I, for that matter. Relax."

"I... alright."

Aesind's mouth twists to the side like he's keeping a laugh inside. He does that a lot, Emrys notes. "We don't want you to feel bound by propriety and titles during your stay with us. It would hinder your recovery. You really can relax, Mr. Symmonet."

"Emrys. Please."

"Emrys, then," Aesind amends, smiling properly.

The sound of his name in the pretty man's mouth is like music. Ignoring it, Emrys fixes Aesind with a hard stare. "You're His Lo... er, his partner?"

"...Yes?"

"His romantic partner."

"Yes." Aesind's brow crinkles. "Why?"

"Are you...?"

"Hm? Oh! Oh, no." He starts to laugh. "No, no. I'm human. I have a bit of magic, but I'm entirely human. It's a bit controversial to have me as his mate, to say the least, but we make it work."

"I see."

"That's not going to be a problem for you, is it?"

Aesind's tone has turned positively frosty. His expression, previously friendly, closes down within an instant. Emrys watches the man's posture go wary, swaying away and forward so that both feet rest firmly on the floor.

Quickly, Emrys replies, "No! No. It's just a surprise. I've never met a godkin, so..."

"Ah."

"They're not exactly commonly found with humans."

"Indeed."

"And, uh..."

Aesind's brows arch upwards, though his eyes remain cold. "And?"

"Well, I, uh." Emrys clears his throat, fighting the flush rising up his throat and glancing away toward the dark windows. "My family respects the godkin for their role in protecting the region beyond what we can manage. Particularly His L -- er, Archimedes. It's something of an honor to be here."

There's a pause. Emrys holds his breath.

Then, Aesind sighs, and the cool atmosphere thaws some.

"I'm aware of what your family does," Aesind says. "We keep an eye on all our local clans and guilds, of course, so I'm familiar with your family's work in hunting down beasts and outlaws."

"Oh?"

"Oh, yes. An impressive group, to say the very least."

"Ah. Well, thank you."

Emrys's gaze swivels back to Aesind as he rises from the bed. The man gathers his book and a wooden tray holding two identical empty bowls.

"I'll let you rest. Shout if you need anything."

"Alright. Thank you again."

Aesind finally smiles at him again, and Emrys can't help the giddy zing that goes down his spine.

"You're welcome. Good night."

As the door shuts, Emrys realizes he can smell flowers again beneath the lingering scent of his dinner. Delicate and light, as though drifting in on a breeze.

Roses, maybe.