Karma (m/m)

Chapter 4

Two days later found him riding his horse in a forgotten part of Calim, the poor, unkind land. It was said Calim was holy ground, where supposed gods have been killed and born, but despite being pleasantly warm most of the year, it's soil wasn't good for growing. Kalifar was making suggestions though, about some places that could be savaged. Wolfgan circled the camp one more time. He had groups of men protecting the abandoned villages, after making themselves the plague and killing anything they found in their way, and they were making camp after the archers took care of a large batch by the forest most of the trolls were coming from. It would take some time, letting the trolls regroup and then following the trails, but Wolfgan felt calm.

Fighting in Calim feels like protecting Geoffrey, and whenever Geoffrey was at, that was his territory. Those were things he learned about himself, like when he summoned the pale, worn out face pleading for protection in his mind, he felt something bubbling in his chest, a possessive rumble, an beastly growl that always encouraged his soldiers in a battle, and reddened his vision. Territorial. He felt territorial about Geoffrey.

He worried about him. He knew Geoffrey wasn't a dog, but he couldn't help but feel a childish urge to put chains around his neck and tie him to his bed in Hull. This place wasn't safe for him, not because of the trolls. It was a tricky place between Hull and a route to Mithlorn and Wolfgan wanted him out of here because he'd been receiving reports on Mithlornian guards, royal guards riding along Calim, messages passing through.

He finished his rounds and that night, when he laid down on the makeshift bed of furs and light mattress, he felt himself swell thinking of Geoffrey.

But he knew the only way of moving Geoffrey from Calim to Hull would be tied up in a saddle or locked inside a carriage. Even then he would probably set the thing on fire before letting himself be taken.

~.~

Geoffrey prepared for bed. His room was in the top of the south tower and it was as simple as all the others. A small bed tucked in a corner, a nightstand and a simple locker. He remembered a time were his bedroom was so big he could get lost in it, and his bed could hold five of him, and everything was delicate and painted in gold and he had maids to brush his hair and to make his bath.

He would be lying to himself if he said he didn't miss it. Looking after oneself was one of the most basic things in the temple, and that was good. That was how everything ran smoothly. Everyone was treated the same, everyone was the same.

He slipped out of his robe, his breaches, and with a silken cloth wrapped around his hips - a luxury he held from royalty as underwear like those were delicately tailored and expensive, so why not use what he had? - he walked to the corner of the room and lit the candles in his small altar for the night goodness.

He whispered a spell for the light to last the whole night. They shone brighter and the light made his pale, worried face catch his attention on the mirror, and he traced the image cringing. Unkempt, undignified. He had to remember he wasn't a prince anymore, he didn't deserve the title but it still hurt him somehow, knowing he wasn't special after all, didn't belong were only the blessed did, ruling the country as the gods wished. He would never rule anything, and while that somehow made him feel relief, it also made him feel abandoned when night after night he came back to his little altar and watched his face in the mirror.

He would brush his hair tomorrow. He would sew his robes tomorrow. He would bask in the sun and plant new roses and bathe in the waterfall... He told himself those things but, since he'd been disowned, those things didn't seem to matter so much like before. Maybe he was sick. It was certainly making his guts clench looking at his pale face for so long.

So he closed his eyes and began his prayer, mind immediately painting a picture of Wolfgan in his head, and he unconsciously lit a candle for the abstract wish that formed in his mind. His heart squeezed at the thought of him fighting, and he told himself it was merely worry for his people. Wolfgan was the stronger wall between Calim and destruction. Geoffrey chased away images of Wolfgan bleeding on the ground while trolls made their feast and reasoned with himself Wolfgan would never let himself be taken down by anything barring the gods himself. He was too arrogant for that. But yet, he prayed for his health and his salvation.