For You (manxman)

Rumor has it

Warren has only taken one look, and his eyes could not help but linger. It was his Baron's suitor, the stranger, the lost lord. Roman's dressed in finer garments, which he knows he cannot ever purchase with all of his saved coins combined.

And in his mind, "He knows."

He feels both ecstatic and horrified. Mostly horrified. If the fishwives tales were true, then this man with all his coin, power, and capabilities, can drive Edwin and his mongrels away from them.

The bards have stopped playing, he notices too late. The chatter and laughter have died down and gave life to murmurs and awed stares. His lordling is still a buffoon though, drinking without a care in the world.

"Warren."

He clutches the front of his tunic, a chill ran down the back of his neck. Warren is terrified, the intensity of Lord Roman's inquiring stare bore into him.

He tries to swallow down the fear but it's like bile clawing itself up his throat.

Warren casts a glance at Lord Edwin, Roman following his gaze.

Edwin, for his part, is cock- sure, and waves his bejeweled sword around like a banner, "Look at that arsehole." He snickers, his men echoing his laugh, "Must be lost, aye? What do you think, fellers?"

He swings his sword aimlessly, a servant barely missing the edge of the blade, "What brings you here, straggler?" He points the tip at Roman's direction, striding to his side.

"I want to visit my intended. Make sure he's well and woo him." Roman answers with a smile, all- teeth.

"Hear that? We have a s...s- suitor." Edwin looks cowed somehow. He must not have anticipated the man to be taller and broader up close, but he manages a shaky smile.

"I don't see anyone here who qualifies to be wooed." Edwin says as he holds a hand up to signal his men to come forth.

Warren almost scoffs, "Speak for yourself", he thinks.

"Oh wait, I know." A tad bolder now that finest men are by his side, he stands in one of the chairs near them, making him a head taller than the warlord, and leans down so he could whisper right in Roman's face, "You're asking for my cousin's hand. Too bad a peach like him bruises easily."

The chair clatters to the ground, and Edwin's men draw their swords. Roman has their liege by the collar of his tunic, "Pray that it won't be the same with a trout like you."

Warren, on the other hand, prays that he could get Devin and him out of this room before shit hits the sword.

Ser Royce looks like he's having a ball, at least someone's happy.

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His headache has subsided for quite some time, a dull throb remains

But more important than that, he wonders where Roman went. He had told him that he'd eat in the dining hall and come back with some sweetmeats half an hour ago.

His eyes were wild with worry. A cold hand cupped his cheek tenderly. He almost laughs when Roman kept showering him with endearments.

"My Star." His suitor did a little dance that made him stumble and land on his arse. Quentin tries to stifle a giggle bubbling in his throat.

"My snowflake." This made Quentin guffaw as Roman lightly taps his nose in jest.

"My Love." Ah, this one made him shy away into a cocoon of blankets while Roman repeats it until he wanted to cover his ears. The way he said it so sensually made his stomach light and warm.

He pulls the blankets off him, and puts on his shoes. Eager to find Roman.

Upon opening the door of his room, he hears distant screams. It scared him but his feet carried him to where it came from. The servants are running around the halls and his guards are pushing each other to get inside the dining room but are too hesitant to go in.

He sees Warren pulling aside a sleeping Devin, who is snoring almost as loudly as the screams, "What happened to him?"

"Wine." Warren answers tersely, but there's no bite. A more pressing matter is what is going on.

Quentin pushes past the guards, noticing him, they made way for him to see.

It's as messy as he left it but with the additional groaning bodies on the floor, who are Edwin's personal guards. His Roman is standing close to an unconscious Edwin, knuckles coated in blood and face as immaculate as when he greeted him that night.

"Roman..." he says but not without the fear lodged on his throat making it difficult for him to speak louder.

Though like a siren's call, Roman goes to him as if in a thrall.

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Hope you guys enjoy! Sorry that it's a bit short.

Tell me what you think.