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keith_ltd2022-03-10 09:45 am
runawayballista) wrote in keith_ltd2022-03-10 09:45 am
Entry tags:
A Rogue Friend Is a Wild Beast: Cats at Play
Fandom: Fire Emblem Awakening
Title: A Rogue Friend Is a Wild Beast: Cats at Play ♪🎵♪
Summary: Owain stared into the middle distance for a full minute, during which Cynthia and Inigo grew seriously worried, before he said in a cracked voice, “If someone kisses you in Justice Cabal, does it count in real life?”
Notes: more flashbacks babey. it is time.....for some boys to kiss B)
End notes
※ while all of the present-day parts are presented in chronological order, the flashbacks are not necessarily arranged chronologically, but according to their relevance to the present day stories as they progress.
※ Each story is titled after a song from another Fire Emblem game, with a link to the track. Highly recommend listening to the music while you read for the Maximum Experience
AO3 mirror
“And so we meet yet again, my fated ally-versary,” Owain bellowed, throwing out an arm dramatically to fling wide his imaginary cape. “Though it may not be on my terms, I will never hesitate to cross swords with you, for I know that the legendary blood that courses through my veins will always prove victorious in the end!”
Morgan grinned in uncontained delight, his face lit by the dappled sunlight filtering through the trees overhead. The cherry trees in the orchard where they usually played—ahem, ran their Justice Cabal sessions—were in full bloom this time of year, and the crisp spring breeze that moved through the branches occasionally shook free a few pink petals. Morgan schooled his face into a more grave expression befitting a fated encounter.
“We’ll see about that, Owain Dark! Today, our fate is decided once and for all—and I have the upper hand.” Morgan let out a laugh, a little heh heh. They were still working on his I’ve got you where I want you now laugh, but Owain had to admit, it was kind of charming as-is. “For you were foolish enough to walk right into my trap—you followed me all the way to Sherbet Petal Pavilion, whose powerful natural aura amplifies my magic powers tenfold!”
“I did? I mean—” Owain shook his head and flashed Morgan a heh, so you thought smile. “True, you may have led me right into your power spot, but there’s something you haven’t planned for!”
Morgan’s eyes widened, his mouth open in an eager smile. He always did appreciate a good dramatic wind-up.
“Oh? What could I, Morgan the Light, world-renowned tactician, have possibly overlooked?”
Owain just let out a tch. “Oh, Morgan. If you only knew the true history of this place…you’d know that I spent six months training here at this very pavilion. Not only do I know every rock, flower, and blade of grass, I too learned to draw on the spirits of nature that dwell here!”
“Ooh, new lore! I like it.” Morgan cleared his throat to slip back into character and let out a suitable gasp, one hand going to his chest. “No! How can this be?! To think my winning advantage could be overturned so quickly…”
Owain let out a low chuckle, advancing towards Morgan with dramatically timed steps.
“I’ve been studying you for a while now, my ally-versary. With every move you make, you reveal more about yourself—I know how you think. Luring me here, of all places? True, I may have fallen for your deception today, but it will be for the last time.”
Morgan backed away, step for step, until he unexpectedly bumped up against a tree trunk. Owain closed the distance between them in a few easy strides, his arms out in an I’ve already won before you’ve made your first move gesture.
“You’re getting careless, tactician, formidable though you might be.” Owain slammed his hand against the tree trunk next to Morgan’s hand for dramatic effect. Morgan suppressed a noise of excitement. “You failed to discover the true history of this place, and now, there is no move you can make that I cannot predict.”
Morgan’s eyes were practically shining with the brightness of his smile. “Oh, is that so? Could you have predicted…this?”
Owain barely had time to react before he felt Morgan’s hands on his face, cupping around his jaw, and his stomach did a neat somersault when Morgan leaned in. It seemed to be stuck in suspended animation as Morgan pressed his lips to Owain’s in a firm and decisive kiss, and Owain’s brain stalled out immediately, hands frozen uselessly in place.
The sudden sound of Lucina’s voice cracked open the moment, calling for Morgan, and Morgan broke away hurriedly with a look of dismay, his hands falling away from Owain’s face. It felt like they had left scorch marks in their place.
“Oh, shoot, I’m supposed to be meeting with Lucina right now—I’m sorry, Owain! I’ll catch up with you later, okay?”
He was already wriggling away and off before Owain could answer, calling back to Lucina in apology. Belatedly, Owain’s hands went to his face where Morgan’s had just been. It wasn’t just his imagination; his face was flaming hot all over. He could still feel the phantom sensation of Morgan’s fingers pressed lightly into his jaw, pulling him down for the kiss—the kiss. Morgan had just kissed him. There was very little room for interpretation on that point. That had definitely been a kiss. Owain stared after Morgan’s retreating back, his mouth working but only managing a creaky sputter.
“I am not dancing in the middle of battle,” Inigo said indignantly over lunch, his face flushed pink. Cynthia gave him an entreating look, hands clasped around her spoon.
“Won’t you at least consider it? I mean, it’s a shame to let those moves go to waste…and just imagine what it would do for morale! Everyone would fight twice as hard!”
“Absolutely not,” Inigo said, looking mortified. “We’re fighting hordes of undead, and you want me pirouetting around in the middle of a fight? Killing Risen is what keeps morale up, not my…moves.” His face was getting hotter by the minute. Why did she have to bring this up at lunch, in the crowded mess hall, where just about anyone could hear her? “Besides, everyone would be watching! I can’t perform if everyone’s—staring at me!”
“Just look at it as an opportunity to overcome your crippling stage fright!” Cynthia jumped to her feet, planted one foot on the bench, and waved her spoon triumphantly. “Two birds with one stone, just like that!”
Inigo was spared from having to come up with any further defense when Owain sat down heavily on the bench next to Cynthia, though his tray was empty of any food.
“Owain,” Inigo said with tremendous relief, “thank the gods you’re here. I’ve never been happier to see you in my life. Will you please explain to Cynthia that—er, are you alright?”
Owain didn’t answer. His face was red from ear to ear, his expression frozen in a look of open-mouthed stupefaction. He seemed incapable of directing his gaze at anything with focus or, apparently, any kind of speech. Cynthia leaned in, concerned, and tried waving a hand in front of his face.
“Hey, Owain, snap out of it! What’s wrong? You’re kind of freaking me out…”
Owain stared into the middle distance for a full minute, during which Cynthia and Inigo grew seriously worried, before he said in a cracked voice, “If someone kisses you in Justice Cabal, does it count in real life?”
Inigo stared at him open-mouthed for a beat, then let out a snort. “Oh, please. That did not happen. He did not.”
Cynthia, on the other hand, was looking at Owain with shining eyes. “Oh my gosh, did he really?”
Owain nodded dumbly. Inigo looked between the two of them in disbelief. “Seriously? Who in their right mind would find that childish roleplay a suitably romantic setting?”
“Morgan would,” Cynthia said, and Inigo opened his mouth to issue a counterpoint, but found he had none. Cynthia elbowed Owain in the side. “Sooo? He kissed you, what happened next? Come on, you can’t leave us hanging!”
“Nothing happened,” Owain said, still sounding dazed. “Lucina came calling for him and he ran away.”
Cynthia and Inigo exchanged a wince. Well, that…wasn’t very romantic.
“He didn’t say anything at all?” Cynthia said. Owain shook his head. She furrowed her brow and made a thoughtful noise. “So, what, he just kissed you out of nowhere and then ran off? Even if Lucina needed him for something, that’s not really like Morgan…”
“It—wasn’t totally out of nowhere,” Owain said, and Cynthia and Inigo stood at attention as the plot thickened. “I mean—it was in character. We were, uh—you know, in the banter phase, and he said, ‘could you have predicted this?’, and—”
He gestured uselessly with his hands. Inigo rolled his eyes so hard he was at risk of spraining something. Owain looked at the two of them helplessly.
“So, like—does that count for real, or—or—no one’s ever done that before,” he finished lamely.
“Now that I believe,” Inigo said, pulling a hand over his face. Cynthia kicked him under the table. Inigo let out a grunt and dropped his fork, shooting her a plaintive look that she paid zero attention to.
“So ask him! It’s Morgan.” She gave him an encouraging smile, a real go fight win! look. It usually worked on Owain. “You know he’ll give you an honest answer.”
But Owain’s face somehow got even redder. Never before had the prospect of talking to Morgan seemed so…daunting. Usually he didn’t have to think at all about what to say to Morgan. They didn’t need to break character or be serious to understand each other—things between them were just easy like that. At least, Owain had thought they were. He stared down at his empty tray.
“What if he says no? No it—it wasn’t for real?”
“Then you roll with the punches and move on,” Inigo said with a sigh. This, at least, he could help with. He reached over to put a hand on Owain’s shoulder, shaking his head. “I’m no stranger to rejection, my friend, and it certainly stings every time—but it does fade. At least you can be reasonably certain that Morgan won’t laugh at you. Or hit you.”
It was a little worrying that Owain didn’t take the obvious potshot. He seemed to really be at a loss. He rubbed a hand over his mouth, looking vaguely haunted.
“…What if he says yes?”
“Oh, for—which answer do you want?”
Owain looked absolutely paralyzed by the question. He squeezed his eyes shut, his face contorting into a look of anguish, and he clutched at his right arm with a strangled noise. “Blood…boiling…argh, feelings overflowing…sword hand—”
Inigo swatted him on the shoulder. “Don’t you get started with that nonsense. Cut it out and act like a grown man for once! Honestly, I’ve never seen anyone react to being kissed like this.”
“That’s because no one’s ever kissed you without being pestered about it first,” Cynthia said around a mouthful of food, and Inigo’s face flushed a dark red. None of this seemed to be helping Owain at all.
Cynthia looked at him with a mixture of genuine sympathy and concern. They liked Morgan in part because he was so easy to get along with—and close friends were hard to come by these days. No wonder it was throwing Owain for a loop.
“Need some time to think it over?” she asked. Owain nodded, his face sinking deeper into his hands. She just sighed and patted him on the leg, flashing him an encouraging smile. “Alright, you got it. We’ve got you covered for now!”
Inigo looked dubious about being included in that we, but he glanced at Owain with genuine curiosity.
“Have you really never thought about it before?” he said. “I mean, the two of you spend so much time together. All that frolicking about in the orchards—putting your weird little games aside, chasing a fair maiden through a winding maze of trees in full bloom…that does sound like a thrilling time. Morgan’s an odd one to be sure, but I suppose even he might not be oblivious to its romantic charms. Well, you, on the other hand…”
Owain let out a choked noise of anguish. Cynthia glared at Inigo.
“Give him a break! As if you wouldn’t totally freak out if a girl kissed you out of nowhere.” She eyed Owain’s vacant tray. “Hey, Owain? Why don’t you go get some food? We’ve got training after this. You’re gonna need your strength!”
Owain nodded wordlessly and got up, walking woodenly across the mess hall with his tray. He walked in the wrong direction for ten full paces before staggering around and heading toward the serving area. Inigo watched him go, lips pursed.
“Good gods, I don’t think I’ve ever seen him like that before. I don’t remember him getting like this over you,” Inigo said with a touch of awe. Cynthia stirred the dregs of her soup with her spoon.
“Well, he wasn’t.” Cynthia and Owain had been each other’s first kiss, around the time Inigo had started fixating on flirting as his new hobby and primary distraction. They’d wanted to know what all the hype was about—it turned out kissing was pretty alright, and they liked each other well enough already, so they kept on doing it. Inigo had sulked for weeks once he’d found out. “But we’ve known each other since forever, you know? It’s different. Morgan…he’s been with us for a while now, but there’s so much we still don’t know about him. Heck, he barely knows anything about himself. So Owain’s probably worried because he doesn’t understand what Morgan’s feeling, and that he’ll mess everything up between them somehow, no matter how he handles it.”
Inigo made a thoughtful noise. “That was insightful.”
Cynthia flashed him a grin. “Hey, no one knows the co-founder of the Justice Cabal like I do!” But it quickly faded, and she sighed. “I just wish I knew what Morgan was thinking. I hope neither of them winds up with their feelings hurt…”
The next morning at breakfast, Owain seemed to have recovered some of his composure, but he still seemed off balance, distracted away from his usual boisterous energy. Cynthia waved him over, patting the spot on the bench next to her. He hailed her and Inigo with a flowery but only half-hearted greeting and took a seat. At least there was actually food on his tray this time. Cynthia leaned her head against Owain’s shoulder with a hopeful smile.
“Sooo…have you figured out what you’re going to say to Morgan?”
The panicked look immediately stole back over Owain’s face. The truth was that he hadn’t figured out much of anything at all—he couldn’t even reflect too long on the fleeting moment Morgan had kissed him without his mind going into blank paralysis. Inigo waved his spoon.
“It’s not about what he’s going to say. All he has to do is ask a simple question.” Inigo pointed his spoon at Owain. “It’s how you say it that matters. You need to hold yourself with confidence—the bolder the better, I always say. Never underestimate the power of self-confidence.”
“That would be a great idea if that strategy had ever once worked for you,” Cynthia said with no trace of mercy, to which Inigo flushed indignantly and dropped his spoon back into his bowl of groats. “But I was thinking more about helping Owain with his lines. You know, having a good rejection speech is just as important as an acceptance speech!”
Owain’s face was fully red again in record time, his expression more daunted by the minute. “It kind of feels like you guys have already decided for me…”
“Of course not! You take your time figuring it out! Just…we’re rooting for you, you know?” Cynthia flashed him an encouraging smile and a thumbs up. “And with that, I’m off for seconds! Kjelle was on mess duty last night, so I decided to skip out and eat some stale rations instead.”
“A wise move,” Inigo said with a slight grimace, one hand going to his stomach. Cynthia scooted off with her tray, and Inigo leaned forward, wrestling with the temptation to flick Owain in the forehead. It’d annoy him for sure, but that’d at least be a reaction. Owain’s face was still flushed, and he was doing a whole lot of staring at his food and not a whole lot of eating it.
“So who’s winning the staring contest?” Inigo asked dryly, but Owain didn’t so much as frown at him. Inigo sighed. “You’re going to run out of time to eat at this rate, and it’s more training for us this morning. And not that I’m not a man of romance, but don’t you think you’re overreacting just a bit? I mean, it’s not as though he proposed on the spot.”
“That’s not the point,” Owain said, the words coming out a mumble. “I don’t spend all my time thinking about this stuff, okay?”
“Yes,” Inigo said, “because you spend every waking moment contemplating matters of divine importance.”
“I do,” Owain argued, though his face was still red. A noise of frustration rose from his throat. “No, the thought never crossed my mind. I didn’t have any reason to think he was—” His mind still felt numb, stunned stupid. “That he was interested in me. Like that, I mean. We just…you know.”
It came out incredibly lame, and flimsy even to his own ears. Inigo was looking at him over the rim of his cup, looking at him with the precise kind of judgmental expression Inigo always wore when he was claiming he wasn’t being judgmental.
“Yes, I think I do know,” Inigo said, and for a moment Owain wanted to reach over and upend Inigo’s tray into his lap. “Gods, sometimes I don’t know which of you is more oblivious. At any rate, you’re certainly not going to figure it out by not talking to Morgan. All the wild imagination in the world isn’t going to furnish you with any real answer.”
Inigo glanced towards the entrance and he waved to someone across the hall with a smugly pleased look. “Ah, and fortune smiles our way! Here comes Morgan now. You can talk this out and get your answer, and whatever it is…well, we’ll be able to put all this silly drama behind us.”
“What? No!” Owain went wild-eyed with panic, and he hunched, trying with little success to duck out of sight. “You have to hide me!”
“Absolutely not,” Inigo said. “You’re being ridiculous. Just talk to him! Gods, I’ll change tables and give you some privacy, alright?”
“No, seriously, Inigo,” Owain said, looking around frantically for a place to hide. He looked as harrowed as if he were being chased down by a horde of Risen. “I’m really not ready to talk to him yet, okay? So please, just help me this one time!”
There was nothing affected about the desperation in his voice—that was honest-to-gods begging. Inigo conceded with a huffed sigh, his cheeks a little pink.
“Alright, you can—hide under the table, I suppose? Not that it’s really going to—”
Owain was already scrambling under the table. His boot disappeared under the surface just as Morgan made his way over to them, wading through the sea of people murmuring about the mess hall. As ever, Morgan had his uncanny glow of cheerfulness about him despite the grim mood hanging over the castle. Inigo found it vaguely unnerving in a way that was unique to Morgan—there was nothing affected about it, nor did it seem to stem from a need or effort to shield himself from the horrors of their world. Rather, there was something blindingly oblivious about it, as though he oppressive air didn’t quite permeate his mind. Befitting of an amnesiac, Inigo supposed, and he would never begrudge their dark world even the smallest bit of light. But but he never could quite shake the odd feeling that Morgan’s blithe sincerity seemed to bring, or that there seemed to be something fundamentally off about Morgan’s disposition.
“Hey, Inigo!”
“Good morning, Morgan,” Inigo said, and stifled the urge to roll his eyes as he felt Owain tense against his leg under the table. All Morgan had to do was look down and he’d see Owain right away—it wasn’t as though they had the luxury of tablecloths these days. This little subterfuge wouldn’t last long. “Dropping in for a spot of breakfast?”
“Just leaving, actually. The staff meeting let out early, so I thought I’d get in before the rush.” Morgan blew a lock of hair away from his forehead. He was peering around through the crowd, looking just about anywhere except down. “I was wondering if Owain’s here with you?”
“Afraid not,” Inigo said, lying through his teeth. “Haven’t seen him all morning.”
He swore Owain’s sigh of relief was clearly audible. Inigo nearly kicked him. Did Owain want Morgan to notice he was there? Morgan’s cheerful smile pinched into something a little dimmer.
“Really? I wonder if he somehow beat me here this morning…but that would’ve been really early.” Morgan let out a little sigh. “Well, if you see him, will you let him know I was looking for him?”
“Sure thing,” Inigo said, waiting any minute now for Morgan to notice that Owain was currently eye-level with his boots. “Want me to take a message?”
“Mm…no, that’s okay. Just let him know he can find me in the training yard until dinner. Thanks, Inigo!”
And then he bounded off without further ado, failing entirely to notice Owain’s presence. Huh. Well, he didn’t seem like a lovelorn young man fervently searching for the object of his affections. Not that Inigo knew what lovelorn would even look like on Morgan, whose face only seemed to know mild dismay at worst. Maybe there really hadn’t been any intent behind that kiss, and Owain was in line for a rejection after all. Morgan hardly seemed that insensitive—but oblivious? Yes, very possibly. Gods knew his schemes tended toward the harebrained, no matter how handy he was in the war room. Perhaps one of his and Owain’s little games had finally gone too far, and the two of them would finally have to reckon with reality.
“I cannot believe he didn’t notice you,” Inigo said.
“Didn’t notice who—hey!” Cynthia let out a yell of surprise as she dropped back into her seat with a refreshed tray, only for her boot to collide with Owain’s back. He let out a grunt of pain. Cynthia twisted to peer down at him with a little scrunch of her nose. “What are you doing down there?”
“Hiding from Morgan,” Inigo said ruthlessly before Owain could answer. “You just missed him.”
“I am not hiding,” came Owain’s indignant voice from around the vicinity of their ankles. “Owain Dark does not hide! He—he bides his time until the right moment to strike!”
“You literally begged me to hide you,” Inigo said. Owain punched him in the knee. Inigo kicked him in the shoulder in return.
“Oh, enough,” Inigo snapped, rolling his eyes. “Look, you heard him. You’re going to see him at training later this morning anyway.”
“I just remembered I have urgent hero business,” Owain said quickly. He’d still made no move to crawl out from under the table. “I’m afraid I won’t be able to join you in today’s training, but weep not over my absence, for it is only temporary! Once I overcome the tempest trial which I now face, I shall join you in our glorious training once more!”
“You’re going to brood in your room all day writing in your diary, aren’t you?” Inigo said over the rim of his cup. Owain stuck his head out from under the table to shoot him an indignant glare.
“I am not! A-and it’s not a diary!”
“Owain,” Cynthia said as he finally crawled out, her brow knit, “you know you can’t avoid Morgan forever, right? Sooner or later he’s going to figure out something’s up—probably sooner—and what if he starts to think you’re mad at him? You’ve gotta let him know what you’re feeling! A heartfelt confession is the most heroic move here!”
“Morgan kissed him,” Inigo pointed out. “If anyone here’s making a heartfelt confession, wouldn’t it be Morgan? Not to put the cart before horse, but it’s not as though he can be totally oblivious.”
Owain was red in the face again—it didn’t take much, apparently, where Morgan was concerned—and he scrambled to his feet, grabbing his tray off the table.
“My Hero Training waits for no man! Until we meet again, my friends!”
“Owain, wait, you have to—” Cynthia broke off with a sigh. Owain was already booking it for the exit. “Well, at least he won’t be training on an empty stomach, I guess.”
Owain spent all day consulting his secret manual, but he’d never written about any scenario in which one’s sworn rival responds to a challenge with a kiss. In hindsight, it seemed like such an obvious route—though Morgan had been right that Owain would never had anticipated such a move from him. The situation obviously merited further consideration. It opened up whole new avenues for emotionally charged dramatic moments of the heroic variety for sure.
The problem was that any time Owain thought too hard about it, all he could think of was the way Morgan’s lips had felt so warm against his, and that mischievous flash of a smile on Morgan’s face in the moment just before he leaned in, and Owain would end up helpless to do anything except press his face into his hands with a decidedly unheroic groan. And scream quietly into a pillow, just once. The thought was just too distracting, too overwhelming, and Owain couldn’t shake the phantom sensation of not knowing what to do with his hands.
As the day wound on, Owain still couldn't seem to untangle his feelings into something he could parse. He avoided training for the rest of the day, though he was sure he’d get an earful from Laurent later about bringing down the army average down or whatever. He waited until it was dark to go out—not to the training yard, where Kjelle or some other overzealous soldier might still be training, but to the orchard where he and Morgan habitually held their Justice Cabal sessions when they were in Ylisstol. No one else really came here, especially not at night.
Skipping out on training had spared him a confrontation with Morgan, but it had left him restless with a day’s worth of pent up energy, and it wasn’t long before he was swinging his training sword hard enough to break a sweat. At first he was just practicing sword forms, but his sword hand was far too restless to be sated with such tame means. He took to practicing swings against the trunk of one of the flowering trees, letting his mind sink into the sensation of each strike against the tree, the reverberation of recoil through his arm.
It was easier to let himself think about it out here, every blow absorbing the shock of Morgan’s impact on his mind. But it wasn’t getting him anywhere. He still couldn’t sort out how he actually felt—what he wanted. He wanted an answer from Morgan—he needed one, the question burning in his chest—but he didn’t know which answer would disappoint him. He had the sinking feeling that it could be either.
It had just never occurred to him before to consider Morgan as more than a friend. He just…liked being with Morgan a lot, that was all. Morgan was fun, and funny, and he had the kind of wild imagination Owain really respected. They never looked too far into the future, none of them did—the horizon of tomorrow always seemed a distant enough goal, and so Owain gave it little thought, taking it one day at a time, living in those precious moments when the world of Justice Cabal shifted in place over reality. It was enough to take it one day at a time. At least it was to Owain. Swinging at the tree until his arms were sore, all he could figure out was that he just wanted to be able to keep being around Morgan.
He let his heavy arms drop to his sides while he caught his breath. A few petals shaken loose by the final blow drifted down on the breeze, coming to rest on his shoulder. He looked over at the tree he’d been laying into so mercilessly and grimaced slightly. The bark around where he’d been aiming was worn away in a large, scratchy patch. These were the royal orchards, not the training yard…in theory, anyway. The truth was that the trees that survived here had done so of their own accord, because no one had been tasked with keeping the grounds in years. It was still thriving in its own way—hordes of Risen had marched burning paths through here once, but the orchard had grown over the scarred parts and reclaimed the area, making this part of the castle grounds its own, weeds and grass and wildflowers growing and sprawling as they pleased. It was one of the reasons it was such a great locale for Justice Cabal.
Owain became aware of the presence behind him just before he heard the footsteps, boots treading lightly on overgrown grass. He turned halfway to see Morgan step out from behind a tree, eyeing the battered tree trunk, then back at Owain.
“Yikes. I’d hate to be that bad guy.” He had a smile on, but his usual cheer was muted. “Sorry, I wasn’t trying to sneak up on you. It’s just, I didn’t see you at training today, and I thought maybe I’d find you here…”
Damn. Somehow Owain hadn’t thought Morgan would still be looking for him at this hour, hadn’t accounted for that dogged perseverance. But Owain couldn't run away now, not without looking like a coward. He was already starting to feel like one. He tried to clear his throat, feeling his chest go tight just at the sight of Morgan.
“M-my sword hand could not be sated by ordinary training today—nay, I was called away by the untamed stirrings of my soul!”
Morgan seemed to take this in stride, as he always did. “Oh, neat! So…new move debuting soon?”
“It’s…a work in progress,” Owain said lamely, and there followed a momentary lull. It felt like a yawning gulf. Things had never been awkward between them like this before.
“Well, I look forward to seeing you bust it out in Justice Cabal once it’s done.” Morgan’s cheer might have been a little subdued, but it was dauntless nonetheless. “Speaking of…”
Owain felt his heart jump into his throat. He couldn’t predict what Morgan was about to say, and for some reason he couldn’t articulate, he knew that if he didn’t ask the question first himself, he might not survive the answer.
“Did you—” Owain’s voice snagged in his throat, and Morgan closed his mouth, watching with inquisitive patience. Owain could feel his eyes pulled to the ground with the sheer force of gravity, but only a coward would refuse to meet his rival’s gaze, and he forced himself to keep his eyes on Morgan’s face. But there was something about Morgan’s sunny smile, bright even in the pale moonlight, that made his stomach wobble, his courage waver. He was unbearably conscious of his heart thudding in his ears. He wasn’t used to sudden bouts of shyness like this, unarmored moments he couldn’t forge through with theater and bravado. His hands were clammy around his training sword, and he realized he was gripping it with white-knuckled strength.
“When you—last time, when you kissed me,” Owain said, fighting to keep his voice from falling to a mumble. Even the simplest of words seemed suddenly difficult to produce. It was so frustrating that despite Morgan’s easy, open smile, Owain couldn’t tell what he was thinking at all. “Was that, um, for real, or…?”
Morgan looked taken aback by the question, but then he let out just a breath of a laugh. For one paralyzing moment, Owain thought that Morgan was laughing at him. But Morgan’s smile was sheepish, a little embarrassed, even.
“I mean…isn’t it obvious? I know we make a game out of it, but you always say that Justice Cabal is real. We might not be swinging real swords around, but the feelings are real, aren’t they?”
Owain nodded, his lips numb. Morgan let his head tilt to the smile, his smile growing unusually self-conscious.
“I guess that maybe wasn’t the best strategy for communicating my feelings,” he admitted, and Owain’s heart thumped painfully in his chest again. He tried to remember how to breathe. “It seemed like a good idea at the time, but I didn’t account for the possibility of any interruptions…”
Owain found his mouth suddenly dry. It felt like his heart was trying to claw its way out of his chest. “So wait, you—like me?”
He’d meant to phrase it differently, cloaked in some cooler verbiage, not so naked and vulnerable. He was already trying to adlib a better line when Morgan just smiled at him, and his train of thought careened wildly off the tracks.
“Well, yeah,” Morgan said, and for the first time Owain could recall seeing, there was a flush of embarrassment in Morgan’s cheeks, barely visible in the moonlight. “Kind of a lot, actually! I’ve never had a crush on anyone before, so it took me a little while to figure it out, but…I want to hang out with you pretty much all of the time, and you’re funny and cute—especially when you’re being funny—and…”
Morgan’s confidence was quickly losing ground to Owain’s lengthening silence, and embarrassment crept further onto his face, his gaze falling away. “I mean, if you don’t feel the same way, we can totally retcon that scene and forget all about it! I just want to keep hanging out with you. I’d be fine just with that, honest.”
When Owain still didn’t produce an answer, still staring red-faced and disquieted, Morgan’s smile grew visibly nervous and started to slip away. He let out a laugh, trying to play it off, but it came out weak and forced.
“I guess I kind of put you on the spot there…but, um, it’s okay! You can take your—uh?”
Morgan came up short as Owain dropped his training sword, closed the distance between them in two staggering strides, and clasped his hands tightly around Morgan’s. They were smaller than Owain’s and not quite as calloused, his skin always cool to the touch. Owain threw all of his psychological weight into ignoring how hot his face felt, how red he knew he must have been.
“You need not wait a moment longer, my eternal ally-versary!” he burst out, the words coming to him only in the moment he spoke them. Something was unfolding itself in his chest, faster than he could keep up with, the unbearable feeling of something stretching out its wings against the cage of his ribs. It felt suffocating and freeing all at once, pieces clicking into place in his heart so effortlessly he was already starting to wonder how he’d struggled so much with them. “B-because—because in my breast burns a fiery passion to rival even yours!”
Morgan blinked. “It does? Er—there does?”
“Yes! Though it lay dormant for many moons, banked embers in my heart, until your impassioned words stoked the flames into a rampaging blaze! Even now, I can feel it raging through my blood like the sacred fire of Durandal! Argh, I can’t…control…”
His hands were trembling a little dramatically, but it was only to cover up the way he was clutching at Morgan’s hands. Morgan just puffed out a little laugh and pressed his cheek against the back of one of Owain’s hands, which stopped trembling immediately as Owain felt his stomach go all wobbly instead.
“Boy, am I glad to hear it! I was really starting to think I’d shot myself in the foot there.” Morgan’s face was still flushed a pale pink in the moonlight, but he looked immensely relieved. “But…you really don’t have to rush anything on my account. I guess I underestimated the element of surprise.”
“Owain Dark is always decisive when it comes to matters of the heart,” Owain declared, in spite of the fact that he’d crawled under a table to avoid Morgan less than twelve hours ago. But it was easier to talk to Morgan like this. To hell with Inigo’s advice—what did he know about boys, anyway, or Morgan, for that matter? He barely knew anything about girls. “It’s true, I may have been blind to my own feelings, but now that you have flung wide the curtains, the radiant dawn that rises on my heart is brilliant beyond compare!”
He meant it, too, not just a wash of theater and flair. It wasn’t all new, he realized, not really, a mix of things, an awakening to a presence he hadn’t paid much heed to, might never have if Morgan hadn’t shed a little light on it. He really did just like spending time with Morgan, and he liked being close—all those times he’d carried Morgan on his back or held his hand, even just long enough to pull him to his feet, Owain had felt a warmth there, and he wanted to be closer to it. There was so little light in their world, and Morgan seemed to shine effortlessly. The world seemed a little less grim next to Morgan, and Owain found he couldn’t stand the idea of losing that. And he wanted to kiss Morgan again—they’d been cut tragically short, and he’d barely had a taste.
Owain cleared his throat, casting his gaze back over Morgan, whose smile had opened like a flower in full bloom. “So, uh…do you wanna pick up where we left off?”
Morgan’s smile grew even wider with a flash of his teeth. It was the same smile that had been on his face in the moment before he’d kissed Owain, and Owain felt his stomach do another giddy leap.
“Oh, you mean the part where I did this?”
This time, Owain ought to have seen it coming; Morgan telegraphed it from a mile away. But he still found himself momentarily paralyzed when Morgan pressed his lips to Owain’s again, and Owain was once more overcome with the floundering feeling of not knowing what to do with his hands, except to clutch them more tightly around Morgan’s.
But this kiss barely lasted longer than the first before Morgan pulled back with a triumphant little look.
“And thus, the hex is complete…looks like you fell into my trap after all. Now I’ve sealed your sword arm’s hidden power!”
Morgan broke away from Owain before he could react and ducked behind the nearest tree, leaving him standing there stupid and empty-handed.
“Wh—get back here, craven! You have to face your opponent head-on in an honorable duel! Hey, were you planning on running away this whole time?!”
Owain took off after Morgan on a sputtered delay. Morgan’s laughter rang out behind him as he weaved between the trees, shadowed under moonlit blossoms. Maybe they didn’t really need to work on his laugh after all. Owain would’ve been happy just to keep hearing him laugh like this.
After letting Owain chase him halfway around the orchard, Morgan came to a pivot to face Owain in front of a tree in full bloom. Owain found himself having to skid to a stop, his heart thumping more wildly in his chest than he could ever recall, even moreso than the most thrilling and absorbing of their sessions.
“Oh, if it’s a confrontation you want, I’m happy to oblige,” Morgan said cheerfully. “But what can you do with the source of your greatest power severed? Mwahaha!”
“My eternal rival…to think you’d stoop to such lows.” Owain let his head hang for a dramatic beat, before he snapped it up to lock eyes with Morgan. “Never did I think you’d go so far as resort to the dark arts to best me in combat…what darkness crept into your heart while I was on my hero quest? If only I’d stayed at your side, perhaps you would not have fallen to such dire measures…”
Morgan looked like he was really enjoying the drama—he never seemed to mind when Owain laid on it on a bit thick. Owain delighted in this creative license to maximalize his wild imagination. He raised a hand to the heavens, fingers curled inward.
“You have my word, my brother-in-arms! As soon as I free myself from the curse that seals away my power, I pledge to set your heart free from the darkness that has enthralled it!”
He paused and peered at Morgan. “So…if I can’t use my legendary powers, how do I break the curse?”
Morgan grinned. “The same way you got it,” he said, and then immediately turned and started scrambling up the tree. A burst of pink petals shook free and fell over Owain in a gentle shower as he watched Morgan disappear into the foliage. Owain found himself grinning giddily despite the heat in his cheeks, calling out to Morgan in a mighty bellow.
“You’ve made a fatal mistake, my friend! By Kieran’s axe, I’ll not let you escape again!”
It was late, and they were probably disturbing someone’s sleep somewhere in the castle, but the rest of the world seemed to melt away as Owain climbed up after Morgan. Morgan had a knack for climbing trees, and his smaller frame made it easier for him to navigate the tangle of branches. But Owain, too, was a seasoned tree-climber since childhood, and it wasn’t long before he caught up to Morgan, who hadn’t gone all that far, stopping at the highest branch that would bear their weight. Morgan was seated comfortably against the trunk, straddling the branch, though he was doing his best to look as though he’d been dramatically cornered. Owain hoisted himself onto a branch jutting out adjacent to Morgan’s, hooking his arm around the trunk so he could lean forward and block any possible escape—in that direction, anyway. Morgan was watching him with eager anticipation, the relief in him all resolved into comfort and excitement, every moment to him a new horizon.
“Ha! I’ve got you just where I want you now,” Owain said triumphantly, and Morgan let out an unconvincing but earnest gasp. People really underestimated the value of imagination and enthusiasm, Owain thought. “Once your dastardly hex has been lifted, I’ll join powers with the natural spirits of this place to cleans your spirit of all evil tampering—and then, we can finally resume our righteous training in pursuit of our true and noble goal—to push each other to surpass our limits!”
Morgan was so close that Owain could almost feel his breath. He felt his hands start to go sweaty, threatening his grip on the tree. His heartbeat was suddenly very loud in his ears, and if there was a world beyond the branches and blossoms all around them, a cold world that ate its young because it was being devoured itself, then he had forgotten it. There was only the heat in his face, and Morgan’s bright, expectant smile, and a vacuum of sound that seemed to drain out of his ears all at once.
Owain leaned over and, swallowing back a wave of last-minute nerves, kissed Morgan. The same chaste kiss Morgan had given him twice now—but then he felt Morgan smile against him and imagined how that smile must look right now, and it was suddenly not enough. Owain tilted his head slightly, opening his mouth only enough to capture Morgan’s lower lip between his own, and Morgan let out soft, hitched sound that made the hairs on the back of Owain’s neck stand up. Owain felt his hand start to slip from its grip on the tree trunk, and he reached out with the other to steady himself, his hand finding purchase on a branch by Morgan’s head. His weight pitched forward against Morgan, and he braced a knee on the branch Morgan was sitting on, caught awkwardly between the branches. But Morgan’s arms were snugly around his waist before he could slide any further. When Owain pulled back, he found himself short of breath. This close, he could see the moonlight filtering through the blossoms reflected in Morgan’s eyes.
“And just like that,” Owain said, trying to sound grave, but his mouth was twitching with the effort of suppressing a smile, “the curse is lifted.”
Morgan let out a shallow, breathless laugh that Owain could have listened to forever, and was now determined to see if he could reproduce the effect. He started to lean in again but stopped, frowning in thought.
“If I kiss you again, does the curse come back?”
“Oh! Hmm…” Morgan gave it some real thought. “Nope, that was a one-time deal.”
Owain gave him a heady grin. “Then I shall free your soul of all dark bondage with my newly unsealed powers,” he said, although the words felt different delivered at point blank range than when he was bellowing them across the orchard. The hand gripping the branch near Morgan’s head began to tremble violently. “I can feel it now…the powerful aura of the natural spirits here, flowing into me and becoming one with my very being…with this power and this power alone, I redeem you!”
At some point he’d have to start workshopping some good lines for moments like these, an exciting new genre to write in—but he couldn’t bother with brainstorming now, not when Morgan was smiling at him like that and so close.
He kissed Morgan for longer this time, his position in the tree stable, if a little awkward. Not that he’d climb down for anything right now. Morgan’s mouth was open against his, his breathing coming shallow and excited, and Owain was content to kiss him like that in that infinitely expanding moment, the taste of Morgan’s breath on his tongue. He didn’t think Morgan had any experience with kissing, a little clumsy by comparison, but that didn’t matter. He kissed Owain with the same earnestness as his smile, simultaneously reveling in the moment and focusing with single-minded determination, and that was what Owain was really beginning to like about kissing Morgan. He was quickly discovering that there were other things he liked about kissing Morgan, too—like the hitch in his breath when Owain shifted, resting more of his weight against Morgan’s body, or the way Morgan’s bangs tickled his forehead, or the wide-eyed, flushed smile on Morgan’s face when they broke apart for air. His arms were still around Owain’s waist, hands tucked into his belt, and Owain could have hung there forever, enraptured by that unselfconscious smile.
Would Morgan really have been okay if Owain hadn’t returned his feelings after all? He looked so happy now that it was hard to imagine. He would’ve quashed his own feelings just to keep being around Owain, and maybe he’d have gotten over it eventually—nothing ever seemed to keep him down for long—but Owain wouldn’t have been able to live with knowing it. But when he thought about it, if their positions were reversed—if Morgan hadn’t meant anything by the kiss at all despite its profound effect on him…Owain realized he’d probably do the same. The little moments of unadulterated joy they dug up from below the heavy weight of Grima’s shadow were far too rare, too precious. Even if it became something painful, neither of them would be able to give it up. They both needed it, even Morgan, who seemed to need so little.
“So,” Morgan said, and his voice was hushed and a little breathy, “am I cured now? Is all that dark magic out of my system?”
“Hmm.” Owain scrutinized Morgan’s face, searching his eyes, although looking at him like this so close was making his chest writhe all over again. “No, I think there’s still some left. It’s even more deeply embedded in your soul than I thought.”
“Wow, it sounds pretty serious then,” Morgan said, his eyes even wider, but he seemed to be appreciating Owain’s storytelling. That was another thing he liked about Morgan—he knew how to enjoy a good story, and make one up, too.
But Owain bowed his head, closing his eyes in grim determination. “Truly, for little do I know, even my amplified powers can’t completely disperse the dark energy within, and fragments remain within my own soul. Who knows what dangers they may present in the future…”
Owain opened one eye to sneak a look up at Morgan’s face. Oh, he was totally loving this new addition to the plot. Now it seemed silly that Owain had worried so much, that he’d thought things between them so fragile.
“But first—I pour all of my power into purifying the soul of my fated companion,” he said, but it was coming out as more of a mumble this time as he leaned in again. The distance between them wasn’t much to begin with, and so there was little time to hesitate—especially not when Morgan leaned to meet him halfway, only to clash teeth awkwardly. But they both laughed it off easily, and then Owain was kissing him again, fighting off the urge to let go of the tree branch so he could touch Morgan’s face the way Morgan had touched his. There was no sound in their spring blossom sanctuary, and for just a little while longer, the outside world ceased to exist.
Brady was up early every morning, but that didn’t mean he was a morning person. It was just that it was easier to be prepared for the day if he had some time to prepare the infirmary before patients started showing up. Mostly training injuries, but any time a venturing party returned, they’d find themselves with no vacancies for any other patients. There was one such party due back today, and Brady was dreading the long day that awaited him. Seeing two figures already slumped out on the hallway floor just outside the infirmary didn’t do his blood pressure any favors.
Owain was propped up against the wall in what appeared to be a dead sleep, and Morgan was snoring softly with his head in Owain’s lap. It was then that Brady noticed the makeshift sling holding up Owain’s left arm, and he let out a groan.
“You’ve gotta be kidding me. First thing in the morning? Really?”
The two of them roused slowly, Morgan lifting his head sleepily to peer at Brady with a sleepy smile.
“Morning, Brady,” he said with way too much cheer for this early, rubbing his eyes. It didn’t look like either of them had slept more than a couple of hours. “It happened last night. We figured we’d just wait here until we could see a healer?”
Brady jabbed a finger in Owain’s direction. “The hell were you doing in the middle of the night that you broke your arm?”
“I was in the midst of Hero Training when I plummeted to my doom from a great height,” Owain said gravely. Brady stared at him, his patience thinning.
“He fell out of a tree,” Morgan said around a yawn. “He landed on his arm funny. I thought it might be broken too.”
“What the hell were you doing up in—you know what, never mind, I don’t wanna know.” Brady opened the infirmary door with a grumble. “Just get in already, okay? I’ll go get my staff.”
He did a physical exam first, probing Owain’s arm with careful fingers. Owain insisted he was fine, that it didn’t hurt at all and he’d suffered much worse before, but he let out a few grunts of pain at Brady’s touch.
“Definitely broken, but it seems like it’s still in place. Count yourself lucky I don’t have to set a broken bone this early in the morning.”
Brady healed the break with his staff most of the way, but they were still tight on magical supplies. “No more training, hero or otherwise, until that finishes healing. And you,” he said, rounding on Morgan, who was already drifting off to sleep in the chair by Owain’s cot, “go take a nap. And whatever fooling around you’re doing, cut it out! We can’t afford this kinda crap, not now.”
Owain and Morgan both nodded their assent, though Morgan was clearly half-asleep. Owain helped him stagger back out into the hallway, supporting him with his good arm. Brady peered after them until they shuffled around the next corner, then busied himself with laying out the supplies he’d likely need today. Doubtless he’d be busy once their party returned, so he might as well be prepared. He yawned to himself, stacking jars of salves to be brought out from the storeroom, and began laying them on the depleted infirmary shelves. They really were getting low on supplies, even here in the capital. He had to count the stack three times to be sure, too bleary to do basic arithmetic. If only there hadn’t been that ruckus in the south yard last night, he might have gotten some proper sleep—
Brady nearly fumbled the last few jars in sudden irritated revelation, and he leaned back out to look down the hallway. “Oh, you’ve gotta be kidding me,” he groused to no one in particularly, glowering at the empty corridor, then ducked back into the infirmary with a tired sigh.
End notes: (chanting) owain & morgan sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G
i always thought if they had an S support, it would go something like this :) i had so much fun writing this one. i love these little guys, they deserve kisses, perfect boys
Title: A Rogue Friend Is a Wild Beast: Cats at Play ♪🎵♪
Summary: Owain stared into the middle distance for a full minute, during which Cynthia and Inigo grew seriously worried, before he said in a cracked voice, “If someone kisses you in Justice Cabal, does it count in real life?”
Notes: more flashbacks babey. it is time.....for some boys to kiss B)
End notes
※ while all of the present-day parts are presented in chronological order, the flashbacks are not necessarily arranged chronologically, but according to their relevance to the present day stories as they progress.
※ Each story is titled after a song from another Fire Emblem game, with a link to the track. Highly recommend listening to the music while you read for the Maximum Experience
AO3 mirror
“And so we meet yet again, my fated ally-versary,” Owain bellowed, throwing out an arm dramatically to fling wide his imaginary cape. “Though it may not be on my terms, I will never hesitate to cross swords with you, for I know that the legendary blood that courses through my veins will always prove victorious in the end!”
Morgan grinned in uncontained delight, his face lit by the dappled sunlight filtering through the trees overhead. The cherry trees in the orchard where they usually played—ahem, ran their Justice Cabal sessions—were in full bloom this time of year, and the crisp spring breeze that moved through the branches occasionally shook free a few pink petals. Morgan schooled his face into a more grave expression befitting a fated encounter.
“We’ll see about that, Owain Dark! Today, our fate is decided once and for all—and I have the upper hand.” Morgan let out a laugh, a little heh heh. They were still working on his I’ve got you where I want you now laugh, but Owain had to admit, it was kind of charming as-is. “For you were foolish enough to walk right into my trap—you followed me all the way to Sherbet Petal Pavilion, whose powerful natural aura amplifies my magic powers tenfold!”
“I did? I mean—” Owain shook his head and flashed Morgan a heh, so you thought smile. “True, you may have led me right into your power spot, but there’s something you haven’t planned for!”
Morgan’s eyes widened, his mouth open in an eager smile. He always did appreciate a good dramatic wind-up.
“Oh? What could I, Morgan the Light, world-renowned tactician, have possibly overlooked?”
Owain just let out a tch. “Oh, Morgan. If you only knew the true history of this place…you’d know that I spent six months training here at this very pavilion. Not only do I know every rock, flower, and blade of grass, I too learned to draw on the spirits of nature that dwell here!”
“Ooh, new lore! I like it.” Morgan cleared his throat to slip back into character and let out a suitable gasp, one hand going to his chest. “No! How can this be?! To think my winning advantage could be overturned so quickly…”
Owain let out a low chuckle, advancing towards Morgan with dramatically timed steps.
“I’ve been studying you for a while now, my ally-versary. With every move you make, you reveal more about yourself—I know how you think. Luring me here, of all places? True, I may have fallen for your deception today, but it will be for the last time.”
Morgan backed away, step for step, until he unexpectedly bumped up against a tree trunk. Owain closed the distance between them in a few easy strides, his arms out in an I’ve already won before you’ve made your first move gesture.
“You’re getting careless, tactician, formidable though you might be.” Owain slammed his hand against the tree trunk next to Morgan’s hand for dramatic effect. Morgan suppressed a noise of excitement. “You failed to discover the true history of this place, and now, there is no move you can make that I cannot predict.”
Morgan’s eyes were practically shining with the brightness of his smile. “Oh, is that so? Could you have predicted…this?”
Owain barely had time to react before he felt Morgan’s hands on his face, cupping around his jaw, and his stomach did a neat somersault when Morgan leaned in. It seemed to be stuck in suspended animation as Morgan pressed his lips to Owain’s in a firm and decisive kiss, and Owain’s brain stalled out immediately, hands frozen uselessly in place.
The sudden sound of Lucina’s voice cracked open the moment, calling for Morgan, and Morgan broke away hurriedly with a look of dismay, his hands falling away from Owain’s face. It felt like they had left scorch marks in their place.
“Oh, shoot, I’m supposed to be meeting with Lucina right now—I’m sorry, Owain! I’ll catch up with you later, okay?”
He was already wriggling away and off before Owain could answer, calling back to Lucina in apology. Belatedly, Owain’s hands went to his face where Morgan’s had just been. It wasn’t just his imagination; his face was flaming hot all over. He could still feel the phantom sensation of Morgan’s fingers pressed lightly into his jaw, pulling him down for the kiss—the kiss. Morgan had just kissed him. There was very little room for interpretation on that point. That had definitely been a kiss. Owain stared after Morgan’s retreating back, his mouth working but only managing a creaky sputter.
“I am not dancing in the middle of battle,” Inigo said indignantly over lunch, his face flushed pink. Cynthia gave him an entreating look, hands clasped around her spoon.
“Won’t you at least consider it? I mean, it’s a shame to let those moves go to waste…and just imagine what it would do for morale! Everyone would fight twice as hard!”
“Absolutely not,” Inigo said, looking mortified. “We’re fighting hordes of undead, and you want me pirouetting around in the middle of a fight? Killing Risen is what keeps morale up, not my…moves.” His face was getting hotter by the minute. Why did she have to bring this up at lunch, in the crowded mess hall, where just about anyone could hear her? “Besides, everyone would be watching! I can’t perform if everyone’s—staring at me!”
“Just look at it as an opportunity to overcome your crippling stage fright!” Cynthia jumped to her feet, planted one foot on the bench, and waved her spoon triumphantly. “Two birds with one stone, just like that!”
Inigo was spared from having to come up with any further defense when Owain sat down heavily on the bench next to Cynthia, though his tray was empty of any food.
“Owain,” Inigo said with tremendous relief, “thank the gods you’re here. I’ve never been happier to see you in my life. Will you please explain to Cynthia that—er, are you alright?”
Owain didn’t answer. His face was red from ear to ear, his expression frozen in a look of open-mouthed stupefaction. He seemed incapable of directing his gaze at anything with focus or, apparently, any kind of speech. Cynthia leaned in, concerned, and tried waving a hand in front of his face.
“Hey, Owain, snap out of it! What’s wrong? You’re kind of freaking me out…”
Owain stared into the middle distance for a full minute, during which Cynthia and Inigo grew seriously worried, before he said in a cracked voice, “If someone kisses you in Justice Cabal, does it count in real life?”
Inigo stared at him open-mouthed for a beat, then let out a snort. “Oh, please. That did not happen. He did not.”
Cynthia, on the other hand, was looking at Owain with shining eyes. “Oh my gosh, did he really?”
Owain nodded dumbly. Inigo looked between the two of them in disbelief. “Seriously? Who in their right mind would find that childish roleplay a suitably romantic setting?”
“Morgan would,” Cynthia said, and Inigo opened his mouth to issue a counterpoint, but found he had none. Cynthia elbowed Owain in the side. “Sooo? He kissed you, what happened next? Come on, you can’t leave us hanging!”
“Nothing happened,” Owain said, still sounding dazed. “Lucina came calling for him and he ran away.”
Cynthia and Inigo exchanged a wince. Well, that…wasn’t very romantic.
“He didn’t say anything at all?” Cynthia said. Owain shook his head. She furrowed her brow and made a thoughtful noise. “So, what, he just kissed you out of nowhere and then ran off? Even if Lucina needed him for something, that’s not really like Morgan…”
“It—wasn’t totally out of nowhere,” Owain said, and Cynthia and Inigo stood at attention as the plot thickened. “I mean—it was in character. We were, uh—you know, in the banter phase, and he said, ‘could you have predicted this?’, and—”
He gestured uselessly with his hands. Inigo rolled his eyes so hard he was at risk of spraining something. Owain looked at the two of them helplessly.
“So, like—does that count for real, or—or—no one’s ever done that before,” he finished lamely.
“Now that I believe,” Inigo said, pulling a hand over his face. Cynthia kicked him under the table. Inigo let out a grunt and dropped his fork, shooting her a plaintive look that she paid zero attention to.
“So ask him! It’s Morgan.” She gave him an encouraging smile, a real go fight win! look. It usually worked on Owain. “You know he’ll give you an honest answer.”
But Owain’s face somehow got even redder. Never before had the prospect of talking to Morgan seemed so…daunting. Usually he didn’t have to think at all about what to say to Morgan. They didn’t need to break character or be serious to understand each other—things between them were just easy like that. At least, Owain had thought they were. He stared down at his empty tray.
“What if he says no? No it—it wasn’t for real?”
“Then you roll with the punches and move on,” Inigo said with a sigh. This, at least, he could help with. He reached over to put a hand on Owain’s shoulder, shaking his head. “I’m no stranger to rejection, my friend, and it certainly stings every time—but it does fade. At least you can be reasonably certain that Morgan won’t laugh at you. Or hit you.”
It was a little worrying that Owain didn’t take the obvious potshot. He seemed to really be at a loss. He rubbed a hand over his mouth, looking vaguely haunted.
“…What if he says yes?”
“Oh, for—which answer do you want?”
Owain looked absolutely paralyzed by the question. He squeezed his eyes shut, his face contorting into a look of anguish, and he clutched at his right arm with a strangled noise. “Blood…boiling…argh, feelings overflowing…sword hand—”
Inigo swatted him on the shoulder. “Don’t you get started with that nonsense. Cut it out and act like a grown man for once! Honestly, I’ve never seen anyone react to being kissed like this.”
“That’s because no one’s ever kissed you without being pestered about it first,” Cynthia said around a mouthful of food, and Inigo’s face flushed a dark red. None of this seemed to be helping Owain at all.
Cynthia looked at him with a mixture of genuine sympathy and concern. They liked Morgan in part because he was so easy to get along with—and close friends were hard to come by these days. No wonder it was throwing Owain for a loop.
“Need some time to think it over?” she asked. Owain nodded, his face sinking deeper into his hands. She just sighed and patted him on the leg, flashing him an encouraging smile. “Alright, you got it. We’ve got you covered for now!”
Inigo looked dubious about being included in that we, but he glanced at Owain with genuine curiosity.
“Have you really never thought about it before?” he said. “I mean, the two of you spend so much time together. All that frolicking about in the orchards—putting your weird little games aside, chasing a fair maiden through a winding maze of trees in full bloom…that does sound like a thrilling time. Morgan’s an odd one to be sure, but I suppose even he might not be oblivious to its romantic charms. Well, you, on the other hand…”
Owain let out a choked noise of anguish. Cynthia glared at Inigo.
“Give him a break! As if you wouldn’t totally freak out if a girl kissed you out of nowhere.” She eyed Owain’s vacant tray. “Hey, Owain? Why don’t you go get some food? We’ve got training after this. You’re gonna need your strength!”
Owain nodded wordlessly and got up, walking woodenly across the mess hall with his tray. He walked in the wrong direction for ten full paces before staggering around and heading toward the serving area. Inigo watched him go, lips pursed.
“Good gods, I don’t think I’ve ever seen him like that before. I don’t remember him getting like this over you,” Inigo said with a touch of awe. Cynthia stirred the dregs of her soup with her spoon.
“Well, he wasn’t.” Cynthia and Owain had been each other’s first kiss, around the time Inigo had started fixating on flirting as his new hobby and primary distraction. They’d wanted to know what all the hype was about—it turned out kissing was pretty alright, and they liked each other well enough already, so they kept on doing it. Inigo had sulked for weeks once he’d found out. “But we’ve known each other since forever, you know? It’s different. Morgan…he’s been with us for a while now, but there’s so much we still don’t know about him. Heck, he barely knows anything about himself. So Owain’s probably worried because he doesn’t understand what Morgan’s feeling, and that he’ll mess everything up between them somehow, no matter how he handles it.”
Inigo made a thoughtful noise. “That was insightful.”
Cynthia flashed him a grin. “Hey, no one knows the co-founder of the Justice Cabal like I do!” But it quickly faded, and she sighed. “I just wish I knew what Morgan was thinking. I hope neither of them winds up with their feelings hurt…”
The next morning at breakfast, Owain seemed to have recovered some of his composure, but he still seemed off balance, distracted away from his usual boisterous energy. Cynthia waved him over, patting the spot on the bench next to her. He hailed her and Inigo with a flowery but only half-hearted greeting and took a seat. At least there was actually food on his tray this time. Cynthia leaned her head against Owain’s shoulder with a hopeful smile.
“Sooo…have you figured out what you’re going to say to Morgan?”
The panicked look immediately stole back over Owain’s face. The truth was that he hadn’t figured out much of anything at all—he couldn’t even reflect too long on the fleeting moment Morgan had kissed him without his mind going into blank paralysis. Inigo waved his spoon.
“It’s not about what he’s going to say. All he has to do is ask a simple question.” Inigo pointed his spoon at Owain. “It’s how you say it that matters. You need to hold yourself with confidence—the bolder the better, I always say. Never underestimate the power of self-confidence.”
“That would be a great idea if that strategy had ever once worked for you,” Cynthia said with no trace of mercy, to which Inigo flushed indignantly and dropped his spoon back into his bowl of groats. “But I was thinking more about helping Owain with his lines. You know, having a good rejection speech is just as important as an acceptance speech!”
Owain’s face was fully red again in record time, his expression more daunted by the minute. “It kind of feels like you guys have already decided for me…”
“Of course not! You take your time figuring it out! Just…we’re rooting for you, you know?” Cynthia flashed him an encouraging smile and a thumbs up. “And with that, I’m off for seconds! Kjelle was on mess duty last night, so I decided to skip out and eat some stale rations instead.”
“A wise move,” Inigo said with a slight grimace, one hand going to his stomach. Cynthia scooted off with her tray, and Inigo leaned forward, wrestling with the temptation to flick Owain in the forehead. It’d annoy him for sure, but that’d at least be a reaction. Owain’s face was still flushed, and he was doing a whole lot of staring at his food and not a whole lot of eating it.
“So who’s winning the staring contest?” Inigo asked dryly, but Owain didn’t so much as frown at him. Inigo sighed. “You’re going to run out of time to eat at this rate, and it’s more training for us this morning. And not that I’m not a man of romance, but don’t you think you’re overreacting just a bit? I mean, it’s not as though he proposed on the spot.”
“That’s not the point,” Owain said, the words coming out a mumble. “I don’t spend all my time thinking about this stuff, okay?”
“Yes,” Inigo said, “because you spend every waking moment contemplating matters of divine importance.”
“I do,” Owain argued, though his face was still red. A noise of frustration rose from his throat. “No, the thought never crossed my mind. I didn’t have any reason to think he was—” His mind still felt numb, stunned stupid. “That he was interested in me. Like that, I mean. We just…you know.”
It came out incredibly lame, and flimsy even to his own ears. Inigo was looking at him over the rim of his cup, looking at him with the precise kind of judgmental expression Inigo always wore when he was claiming he wasn’t being judgmental.
“Yes, I think I do know,” Inigo said, and for a moment Owain wanted to reach over and upend Inigo’s tray into his lap. “Gods, sometimes I don’t know which of you is more oblivious. At any rate, you’re certainly not going to figure it out by not talking to Morgan. All the wild imagination in the world isn’t going to furnish you with any real answer.”
Inigo glanced towards the entrance and he waved to someone across the hall with a smugly pleased look. “Ah, and fortune smiles our way! Here comes Morgan now. You can talk this out and get your answer, and whatever it is…well, we’ll be able to put all this silly drama behind us.”
“What? No!” Owain went wild-eyed with panic, and he hunched, trying with little success to duck out of sight. “You have to hide me!”
“Absolutely not,” Inigo said. “You’re being ridiculous. Just talk to him! Gods, I’ll change tables and give you some privacy, alright?”
“No, seriously, Inigo,” Owain said, looking around frantically for a place to hide. He looked as harrowed as if he were being chased down by a horde of Risen. “I’m really not ready to talk to him yet, okay? So please, just help me this one time!”
There was nothing affected about the desperation in his voice—that was honest-to-gods begging. Inigo conceded with a huffed sigh, his cheeks a little pink.
“Alright, you can—hide under the table, I suppose? Not that it’s really going to—”
Owain was already scrambling under the table. His boot disappeared under the surface just as Morgan made his way over to them, wading through the sea of people murmuring about the mess hall. As ever, Morgan had his uncanny glow of cheerfulness about him despite the grim mood hanging over the castle. Inigo found it vaguely unnerving in a way that was unique to Morgan—there was nothing affected about it, nor did it seem to stem from a need or effort to shield himself from the horrors of their world. Rather, there was something blindingly oblivious about it, as though he oppressive air didn’t quite permeate his mind. Befitting of an amnesiac, Inigo supposed, and he would never begrudge their dark world even the smallest bit of light. But but he never could quite shake the odd feeling that Morgan’s blithe sincerity seemed to bring, or that there seemed to be something fundamentally off about Morgan’s disposition.
“Hey, Inigo!”
“Good morning, Morgan,” Inigo said, and stifled the urge to roll his eyes as he felt Owain tense against his leg under the table. All Morgan had to do was look down and he’d see Owain right away—it wasn’t as though they had the luxury of tablecloths these days. This little subterfuge wouldn’t last long. “Dropping in for a spot of breakfast?”
“Just leaving, actually. The staff meeting let out early, so I thought I’d get in before the rush.” Morgan blew a lock of hair away from his forehead. He was peering around through the crowd, looking just about anywhere except down. “I was wondering if Owain’s here with you?”
“Afraid not,” Inigo said, lying through his teeth. “Haven’t seen him all morning.”
He swore Owain’s sigh of relief was clearly audible. Inigo nearly kicked him. Did Owain want Morgan to notice he was there? Morgan’s cheerful smile pinched into something a little dimmer.
“Really? I wonder if he somehow beat me here this morning…but that would’ve been really early.” Morgan let out a little sigh. “Well, if you see him, will you let him know I was looking for him?”
“Sure thing,” Inigo said, waiting any minute now for Morgan to notice that Owain was currently eye-level with his boots. “Want me to take a message?”
“Mm…no, that’s okay. Just let him know he can find me in the training yard until dinner. Thanks, Inigo!”
And then he bounded off without further ado, failing entirely to notice Owain’s presence. Huh. Well, he didn’t seem like a lovelorn young man fervently searching for the object of his affections. Not that Inigo knew what lovelorn would even look like on Morgan, whose face only seemed to know mild dismay at worst. Maybe there really hadn’t been any intent behind that kiss, and Owain was in line for a rejection after all. Morgan hardly seemed that insensitive—but oblivious? Yes, very possibly. Gods knew his schemes tended toward the harebrained, no matter how handy he was in the war room. Perhaps one of his and Owain’s little games had finally gone too far, and the two of them would finally have to reckon with reality.
“I cannot believe he didn’t notice you,” Inigo said.
“Didn’t notice who—hey!” Cynthia let out a yell of surprise as she dropped back into her seat with a refreshed tray, only for her boot to collide with Owain’s back. He let out a grunt of pain. Cynthia twisted to peer down at him with a little scrunch of her nose. “What are you doing down there?”
“Hiding from Morgan,” Inigo said ruthlessly before Owain could answer. “You just missed him.”
“I am not hiding,” came Owain’s indignant voice from around the vicinity of their ankles. “Owain Dark does not hide! He—he bides his time until the right moment to strike!”
“You literally begged me to hide you,” Inigo said. Owain punched him in the knee. Inigo kicked him in the shoulder in return.
“Oh, enough,” Inigo snapped, rolling his eyes. “Look, you heard him. You’re going to see him at training later this morning anyway.”
“I just remembered I have urgent hero business,” Owain said quickly. He’d still made no move to crawl out from under the table. “I’m afraid I won’t be able to join you in today’s training, but weep not over my absence, for it is only temporary! Once I overcome the tempest trial which I now face, I shall join you in our glorious training once more!”
“You’re going to brood in your room all day writing in your diary, aren’t you?” Inigo said over the rim of his cup. Owain stuck his head out from under the table to shoot him an indignant glare.
“I am not! A-and it’s not a diary!”
“Owain,” Cynthia said as he finally crawled out, her brow knit, “you know you can’t avoid Morgan forever, right? Sooner or later he’s going to figure out something’s up—probably sooner—and what if he starts to think you’re mad at him? You’ve gotta let him know what you’re feeling! A heartfelt confession is the most heroic move here!”
“Morgan kissed him,” Inigo pointed out. “If anyone here’s making a heartfelt confession, wouldn’t it be Morgan? Not to put the cart before horse, but it’s not as though he can be totally oblivious.”
Owain was red in the face again—it didn’t take much, apparently, where Morgan was concerned—and he scrambled to his feet, grabbing his tray off the table.
“My Hero Training waits for no man! Until we meet again, my friends!”
“Owain, wait, you have to—” Cynthia broke off with a sigh. Owain was already booking it for the exit. “Well, at least he won’t be training on an empty stomach, I guess.”
Owain spent all day consulting his secret manual, but he’d never written about any scenario in which one’s sworn rival responds to a challenge with a kiss. In hindsight, it seemed like such an obvious route—though Morgan had been right that Owain would never had anticipated such a move from him. The situation obviously merited further consideration. It opened up whole new avenues for emotionally charged dramatic moments of the heroic variety for sure.
The problem was that any time Owain thought too hard about it, all he could think of was the way Morgan’s lips had felt so warm against his, and that mischievous flash of a smile on Morgan’s face in the moment just before he leaned in, and Owain would end up helpless to do anything except press his face into his hands with a decidedly unheroic groan. And scream quietly into a pillow, just once. The thought was just too distracting, too overwhelming, and Owain couldn’t shake the phantom sensation of not knowing what to do with his hands.
As the day wound on, Owain still couldn't seem to untangle his feelings into something he could parse. He avoided training for the rest of the day, though he was sure he’d get an earful from Laurent later about bringing down the army average down or whatever. He waited until it was dark to go out—not to the training yard, where Kjelle or some other overzealous soldier might still be training, but to the orchard where he and Morgan habitually held their Justice Cabal sessions when they were in Ylisstol. No one else really came here, especially not at night.
Skipping out on training had spared him a confrontation with Morgan, but it had left him restless with a day’s worth of pent up energy, and it wasn’t long before he was swinging his training sword hard enough to break a sweat. At first he was just practicing sword forms, but his sword hand was far too restless to be sated with such tame means. He took to practicing swings against the trunk of one of the flowering trees, letting his mind sink into the sensation of each strike against the tree, the reverberation of recoil through his arm.
It was easier to let himself think about it out here, every blow absorbing the shock of Morgan’s impact on his mind. But it wasn’t getting him anywhere. He still couldn’t sort out how he actually felt—what he wanted. He wanted an answer from Morgan—he needed one, the question burning in his chest—but he didn’t know which answer would disappoint him. He had the sinking feeling that it could be either.
It had just never occurred to him before to consider Morgan as more than a friend. He just…liked being with Morgan a lot, that was all. Morgan was fun, and funny, and he had the kind of wild imagination Owain really respected. They never looked too far into the future, none of them did—the horizon of tomorrow always seemed a distant enough goal, and so Owain gave it little thought, taking it one day at a time, living in those precious moments when the world of Justice Cabal shifted in place over reality. It was enough to take it one day at a time. At least it was to Owain. Swinging at the tree until his arms were sore, all he could figure out was that he just wanted to be able to keep being around Morgan.
He let his heavy arms drop to his sides while he caught his breath. A few petals shaken loose by the final blow drifted down on the breeze, coming to rest on his shoulder. He looked over at the tree he’d been laying into so mercilessly and grimaced slightly. The bark around where he’d been aiming was worn away in a large, scratchy patch. These were the royal orchards, not the training yard…in theory, anyway. The truth was that the trees that survived here had done so of their own accord, because no one had been tasked with keeping the grounds in years. It was still thriving in its own way—hordes of Risen had marched burning paths through here once, but the orchard had grown over the scarred parts and reclaimed the area, making this part of the castle grounds its own, weeds and grass and wildflowers growing and sprawling as they pleased. It was one of the reasons it was such a great locale for Justice Cabal.
Owain became aware of the presence behind him just before he heard the footsteps, boots treading lightly on overgrown grass. He turned halfway to see Morgan step out from behind a tree, eyeing the battered tree trunk, then back at Owain.
“Yikes. I’d hate to be that bad guy.” He had a smile on, but his usual cheer was muted. “Sorry, I wasn’t trying to sneak up on you. It’s just, I didn’t see you at training today, and I thought maybe I’d find you here…”
Damn. Somehow Owain hadn’t thought Morgan would still be looking for him at this hour, hadn’t accounted for that dogged perseverance. But Owain couldn't run away now, not without looking like a coward. He was already starting to feel like one. He tried to clear his throat, feeling his chest go tight just at the sight of Morgan.
“M-my sword hand could not be sated by ordinary training today—nay, I was called away by the untamed stirrings of my soul!”
Morgan seemed to take this in stride, as he always did. “Oh, neat! So…new move debuting soon?”
“It’s…a work in progress,” Owain said lamely, and there followed a momentary lull. It felt like a yawning gulf. Things had never been awkward between them like this before.
“Well, I look forward to seeing you bust it out in Justice Cabal once it’s done.” Morgan’s cheer might have been a little subdued, but it was dauntless nonetheless. “Speaking of…”
Owain felt his heart jump into his throat. He couldn’t predict what Morgan was about to say, and for some reason he couldn’t articulate, he knew that if he didn’t ask the question first himself, he might not survive the answer.
“Did you—” Owain’s voice snagged in his throat, and Morgan closed his mouth, watching with inquisitive patience. Owain could feel his eyes pulled to the ground with the sheer force of gravity, but only a coward would refuse to meet his rival’s gaze, and he forced himself to keep his eyes on Morgan’s face. But there was something about Morgan’s sunny smile, bright even in the pale moonlight, that made his stomach wobble, his courage waver. He was unbearably conscious of his heart thudding in his ears. He wasn’t used to sudden bouts of shyness like this, unarmored moments he couldn’t forge through with theater and bravado. His hands were clammy around his training sword, and he realized he was gripping it with white-knuckled strength.
“When you—last time, when you kissed me,” Owain said, fighting to keep his voice from falling to a mumble. Even the simplest of words seemed suddenly difficult to produce. It was so frustrating that despite Morgan’s easy, open smile, Owain couldn’t tell what he was thinking at all. “Was that, um, for real, or…?”
Morgan looked taken aback by the question, but then he let out just a breath of a laugh. For one paralyzing moment, Owain thought that Morgan was laughing at him. But Morgan’s smile was sheepish, a little embarrassed, even.
“I mean…isn’t it obvious? I know we make a game out of it, but you always say that Justice Cabal is real. We might not be swinging real swords around, but the feelings are real, aren’t they?”
Owain nodded, his lips numb. Morgan let his head tilt to the smile, his smile growing unusually self-conscious.
“I guess that maybe wasn’t the best strategy for communicating my feelings,” he admitted, and Owain’s heart thumped painfully in his chest again. He tried to remember how to breathe. “It seemed like a good idea at the time, but I didn’t account for the possibility of any interruptions…”
Owain found his mouth suddenly dry. It felt like his heart was trying to claw its way out of his chest. “So wait, you—like me?”
He’d meant to phrase it differently, cloaked in some cooler verbiage, not so naked and vulnerable. He was already trying to adlib a better line when Morgan just smiled at him, and his train of thought careened wildly off the tracks.
“Well, yeah,” Morgan said, and for the first time Owain could recall seeing, there was a flush of embarrassment in Morgan’s cheeks, barely visible in the moonlight. “Kind of a lot, actually! I’ve never had a crush on anyone before, so it took me a little while to figure it out, but…I want to hang out with you pretty much all of the time, and you’re funny and cute—especially when you’re being funny—and…”
Morgan’s confidence was quickly losing ground to Owain’s lengthening silence, and embarrassment crept further onto his face, his gaze falling away. “I mean, if you don’t feel the same way, we can totally retcon that scene and forget all about it! I just want to keep hanging out with you. I’d be fine just with that, honest.”
When Owain still didn’t produce an answer, still staring red-faced and disquieted, Morgan’s smile grew visibly nervous and started to slip away. He let out a laugh, trying to play it off, but it came out weak and forced.
“I guess I kind of put you on the spot there…but, um, it’s okay! You can take your—uh?”
Morgan came up short as Owain dropped his training sword, closed the distance between them in two staggering strides, and clasped his hands tightly around Morgan’s. They were smaller than Owain’s and not quite as calloused, his skin always cool to the touch. Owain threw all of his psychological weight into ignoring how hot his face felt, how red he knew he must have been.
“You need not wait a moment longer, my eternal ally-versary!” he burst out, the words coming to him only in the moment he spoke them. Something was unfolding itself in his chest, faster than he could keep up with, the unbearable feeling of something stretching out its wings against the cage of his ribs. It felt suffocating and freeing all at once, pieces clicking into place in his heart so effortlessly he was already starting to wonder how he’d struggled so much with them. “B-because—because in my breast burns a fiery passion to rival even yours!”
Morgan blinked. “It does? Er—there does?”
“Yes! Though it lay dormant for many moons, banked embers in my heart, until your impassioned words stoked the flames into a rampaging blaze! Even now, I can feel it raging through my blood like the sacred fire of Durandal! Argh, I can’t…control…”
His hands were trembling a little dramatically, but it was only to cover up the way he was clutching at Morgan’s hands. Morgan just puffed out a little laugh and pressed his cheek against the back of one of Owain’s hands, which stopped trembling immediately as Owain felt his stomach go all wobbly instead.
“Boy, am I glad to hear it! I was really starting to think I’d shot myself in the foot there.” Morgan’s face was still flushed a pale pink in the moonlight, but he looked immensely relieved. “But…you really don’t have to rush anything on my account. I guess I underestimated the element of surprise.”
“Owain Dark is always decisive when it comes to matters of the heart,” Owain declared, in spite of the fact that he’d crawled under a table to avoid Morgan less than twelve hours ago. But it was easier to talk to Morgan like this. To hell with Inigo’s advice—what did he know about boys, anyway, or Morgan, for that matter? He barely knew anything about girls. “It’s true, I may have been blind to my own feelings, but now that you have flung wide the curtains, the radiant dawn that rises on my heart is brilliant beyond compare!”
He meant it, too, not just a wash of theater and flair. It wasn’t all new, he realized, not really, a mix of things, an awakening to a presence he hadn’t paid much heed to, might never have if Morgan hadn’t shed a little light on it. He really did just like spending time with Morgan, and he liked being close—all those times he’d carried Morgan on his back or held his hand, even just long enough to pull him to his feet, Owain had felt a warmth there, and he wanted to be closer to it. There was so little light in their world, and Morgan seemed to shine effortlessly. The world seemed a little less grim next to Morgan, and Owain found he couldn’t stand the idea of losing that. And he wanted to kiss Morgan again—they’d been cut tragically short, and he’d barely had a taste.
Owain cleared his throat, casting his gaze back over Morgan, whose smile had opened like a flower in full bloom. “So, uh…do you wanna pick up where we left off?”
Morgan’s smile grew even wider with a flash of his teeth. It was the same smile that had been on his face in the moment before he’d kissed Owain, and Owain felt his stomach do another giddy leap.
“Oh, you mean the part where I did this?”
This time, Owain ought to have seen it coming; Morgan telegraphed it from a mile away. But he still found himself momentarily paralyzed when Morgan pressed his lips to Owain’s again, and Owain was once more overcome with the floundering feeling of not knowing what to do with his hands, except to clutch them more tightly around Morgan’s.
But this kiss barely lasted longer than the first before Morgan pulled back with a triumphant little look.
“And thus, the hex is complete…looks like you fell into my trap after all. Now I’ve sealed your sword arm’s hidden power!”
Morgan broke away from Owain before he could react and ducked behind the nearest tree, leaving him standing there stupid and empty-handed.
“Wh—get back here, craven! You have to face your opponent head-on in an honorable duel! Hey, were you planning on running away this whole time?!”
Owain took off after Morgan on a sputtered delay. Morgan’s laughter rang out behind him as he weaved between the trees, shadowed under moonlit blossoms. Maybe they didn’t really need to work on his laugh after all. Owain would’ve been happy just to keep hearing him laugh like this.
After letting Owain chase him halfway around the orchard, Morgan came to a pivot to face Owain in front of a tree in full bloom. Owain found himself having to skid to a stop, his heart thumping more wildly in his chest than he could ever recall, even moreso than the most thrilling and absorbing of their sessions.
“Oh, if it’s a confrontation you want, I’m happy to oblige,” Morgan said cheerfully. “But what can you do with the source of your greatest power severed? Mwahaha!”
“My eternal rival…to think you’d stoop to such lows.” Owain let his head hang for a dramatic beat, before he snapped it up to lock eyes with Morgan. “Never did I think you’d go so far as resort to the dark arts to best me in combat…what darkness crept into your heart while I was on my hero quest? If only I’d stayed at your side, perhaps you would not have fallen to such dire measures…”
Morgan looked like he was really enjoying the drama—he never seemed to mind when Owain laid on it on a bit thick. Owain delighted in this creative license to maximalize his wild imagination. He raised a hand to the heavens, fingers curled inward.
“You have my word, my brother-in-arms! As soon as I free myself from the curse that seals away my power, I pledge to set your heart free from the darkness that has enthralled it!”
He paused and peered at Morgan. “So…if I can’t use my legendary powers, how do I break the curse?”
Morgan grinned. “The same way you got it,” he said, and then immediately turned and started scrambling up the tree. A burst of pink petals shook free and fell over Owain in a gentle shower as he watched Morgan disappear into the foliage. Owain found himself grinning giddily despite the heat in his cheeks, calling out to Morgan in a mighty bellow.
“You’ve made a fatal mistake, my friend! By Kieran’s axe, I’ll not let you escape again!”
It was late, and they were probably disturbing someone’s sleep somewhere in the castle, but the rest of the world seemed to melt away as Owain climbed up after Morgan. Morgan had a knack for climbing trees, and his smaller frame made it easier for him to navigate the tangle of branches. But Owain, too, was a seasoned tree-climber since childhood, and it wasn’t long before he caught up to Morgan, who hadn’t gone all that far, stopping at the highest branch that would bear their weight. Morgan was seated comfortably against the trunk, straddling the branch, though he was doing his best to look as though he’d been dramatically cornered. Owain hoisted himself onto a branch jutting out adjacent to Morgan’s, hooking his arm around the trunk so he could lean forward and block any possible escape—in that direction, anyway. Morgan was watching him with eager anticipation, the relief in him all resolved into comfort and excitement, every moment to him a new horizon.
“Ha! I’ve got you just where I want you now,” Owain said triumphantly, and Morgan let out an unconvincing but earnest gasp. People really underestimated the value of imagination and enthusiasm, Owain thought. “Once your dastardly hex has been lifted, I’ll join powers with the natural spirits of this place to cleans your spirit of all evil tampering—and then, we can finally resume our righteous training in pursuit of our true and noble goal—to push each other to surpass our limits!”
Morgan was so close that Owain could almost feel his breath. He felt his hands start to go sweaty, threatening his grip on the tree. His heartbeat was suddenly very loud in his ears, and if there was a world beyond the branches and blossoms all around them, a cold world that ate its young because it was being devoured itself, then he had forgotten it. There was only the heat in his face, and Morgan’s bright, expectant smile, and a vacuum of sound that seemed to drain out of his ears all at once.
Owain leaned over and, swallowing back a wave of last-minute nerves, kissed Morgan. The same chaste kiss Morgan had given him twice now—but then he felt Morgan smile against him and imagined how that smile must look right now, and it was suddenly not enough. Owain tilted his head slightly, opening his mouth only enough to capture Morgan’s lower lip between his own, and Morgan let out soft, hitched sound that made the hairs on the back of Owain’s neck stand up. Owain felt his hand start to slip from its grip on the tree trunk, and he reached out with the other to steady himself, his hand finding purchase on a branch by Morgan’s head. His weight pitched forward against Morgan, and he braced a knee on the branch Morgan was sitting on, caught awkwardly between the branches. But Morgan’s arms were snugly around his waist before he could slide any further. When Owain pulled back, he found himself short of breath. This close, he could see the moonlight filtering through the blossoms reflected in Morgan’s eyes.
“And just like that,” Owain said, trying to sound grave, but his mouth was twitching with the effort of suppressing a smile, “the curse is lifted.”
Morgan let out a shallow, breathless laugh that Owain could have listened to forever, and was now determined to see if he could reproduce the effect. He started to lean in again but stopped, frowning in thought.
“If I kiss you again, does the curse come back?”
“Oh! Hmm…” Morgan gave it some real thought. “Nope, that was a one-time deal.”
Owain gave him a heady grin. “Then I shall free your soul of all dark bondage with my newly unsealed powers,” he said, although the words felt different delivered at point blank range than when he was bellowing them across the orchard. The hand gripping the branch near Morgan’s head began to tremble violently. “I can feel it now…the powerful aura of the natural spirits here, flowing into me and becoming one with my very being…with this power and this power alone, I redeem you!”
At some point he’d have to start workshopping some good lines for moments like these, an exciting new genre to write in—but he couldn’t bother with brainstorming now, not when Morgan was smiling at him like that and so close.
He kissed Morgan for longer this time, his position in the tree stable, if a little awkward. Not that he’d climb down for anything right now. Morgan’s mouth was open against his, his breathing coming shallow and excited, and Owain was content to kiss him like that in that infinitely expanding moment, the taste of Morgan’s breath on his tongue. He didn’t think Morgan had any experience with kissing, a little clumsy by comparison, but that didn’t matter. He kissed Owain with the same earnestness as his smile, simultaneously reveling in the moment and focusing with single-minded determination, and that was what Owain was really beginning to like about kissing Morgan. He was quickly discovering that there were other things he liked about kissing Morgan, too—like the hitch in his breath when Owain shifted, resting more of his weight against Morgan’s body, or the way Morgan’s bangs tickled his forehead, or the wide-eyed, flushed smile on Morgan’s face when they broke apart for air. His arms were still around Owain’s waist, hands tucked into his belt, and Owain could have hung there forever, enraptured by that unselfconscious smile.
Would Morgan really have been okay if Owain hadn’t returned his feelings after all? He looked so happy now that it was hard to imagine. He would’ve quashed his own feelings just to keep being around Owain, and maybe he’d have gotten over it eventually—nothing ever seemed to keep him down for long—but Owain wouldn’t have been able to live with knowing it. But when he thought about it, if their positions were reversed—if Morgan hadn’t meant anything by the kiss at all despite its profound effect on him…Owain realized he’d probably do the same. The little moments of unadulterated joy they dug up from below the heavy weight of Grima’s shadow were far too rare, too precious. Even if it became something painful, neither of them would be able to give it up. They both needed it, even Morgan, who seemed to need so little.
“So,” Morgan said, and his voice was hushed and a little breathy, “am I cured now? Is all that dark magic out of my system?”
“Hmm.” Owain scrutinized Morgan’s face, searching his eyes, although looking at him like this so close was making his chest writhe all over again. “No, I think there’s still some left. It’s even more deeply embedded in your soul than I thought.”
“Wow, it sounds pretty serious then,” Morgan said, his eyes even wider, but he seemed to be appreciating Owain’s storytelling. That was another thing he liked about Morgan—he knew how to enjoy a good story, and make one up, too.
But Owain bowed his head, closing his eyes in grim determination. “Truly, for little do I know, even my amplified powers can’t completely disperse the dark energy within, and fragments remain within my own soul. Who knows what dangers they may present in the future…”
Owain opened one eye to sneak a look up at Morgan’s face. Oh, he was totally loving this new addition to the plot. Now it seemed silly that Owain had worried so much, that he’d thought things between them so fragile.
“But first—I pour all of my power into purifying the soul of my fated companion,” he said, but it was coming out as more of a mumble this time as he leaned in again. The distance between them wasn’t much to begin with, and so there was little time to hesitate—especially not when Morgan leaned to meet him halfway, only to clash teeth awkwardly. But they both laughed it off easily, and then Owain was kissing him again, fighting off the urge to let go of the tree branch so he could touch Morgan’s face the way Morgan had touched his. There was no sound in their spring blossom sanctuary, and for just a little while longer, the outside world ceased to exist.
Brady was up early every morning, but that didn’t mean he was a morning person. It was just that it was easier to be prepared for the day if he had some time to prepare the infirmary before patients started showing up. Mostly training injuries, but any time a venturing party returned, they’d find themselves with no vacancies for any other patients. There was one such party due back today, and Brady was dreading the long day that awaited him. Seeing two figures already slumped out on the hallway floor just outside the infirmary didn’t do his blood pressure any favors.
Owain was propped up against the wall in what appeared to be a dead sleep, and Morgan was snoring softly with his head in Owain’s lap. It was then that Brady noticed the makeshift sling holding up Owain’s left arm, and he let out a groan.
“You’ve gotta be kidding me. First thing in the morning? Really?”
The two of them roused slowly, Morgan lifting his head sleepily to peer at Brady with a sleepy smile.
“Morning, Brady,” he said with way too much cheer for this early, rubbing his eyes. It didn’t look like either of them had slept more than a couple of hours. “It happened last night. We figured we’d just wait here until we could see a healer?”
Brady jabbed a finger in Owain’s direction. “The hell were you doing in the middle of the night that you broke your arm?”
“I was in the midst of Hero Training when I plummeted to my doom from a great height,” Owain said gravely. Brady stared at him, his patience thinning.
“He fell out of a tree,” Morgan said around a yawn. “He landed on his arm funny. I thought it might be broken too.”
“What the hell were you doing up in—you know what, never mind, I don’t wanna know.” Brady opened the infirmary door with a grumble. “Just get in already, okay? I’ll go get my staff.”
He did a physical exam first, probing Owain’s arm with careful fingers. Owain insisted he was fine, that it didn’t hurt at all and he’d suffered much worse before, but he let out a few grunts of pain at Brady’s touch.
“Definitely broken, but it seems like it’s still in place. Count yourself lucky I don’t have to set a broken bone this early in the morning.”
Brady healed the break with his staff most of the way, but they were still tight on magical supplies. “No more training, hero or otherwise, until that finishes healing. And you,” he said, rounding on Morgan, who was already drifting off to sleep in the chair by Owain’s cot, “go take a nap. And whatever fooling around you’re doing, cut it out! We can’t afford this kinda crap, not now.”
Owain and Morgan both nodded their assent, though Morgan was clearly half-asleep. Owain helped him stagger back out into the hallway, supporting him with his good arm. Brady peered after them until they shuffled around the next corner, then busied himself with laying out the supplies he’d likely need today. Doubtless he’d be busy once their party returned, so he might as well be prepared. He yawned to himself, stacking jars of salves to be brought out from the storeroom, and began laying them on the depleted infirmary shelves. They really were getting low on supplies, even here in the capital. He had to count the stack three times to be sure, too bleary to do basic arithmetic. If only there hadn’t been that ruckus in the south yard last night, he might have gotten some proper sleep—
Brady nearly fumbled the last few jars in sudden irritated revelation, and he leaned back out to look down the hallway. “Oh, you’ve gotta be kidding me,” he groused to no one in particularly, glowering at the empty corridor, then ducked back into the infirmary with a tired sigh.
End notes: (chanting) owain & morgan sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G
i always thought if they had an S support, it would go something like this :) i had so much fun writing this one. i love these little guys, they deserve kisses, perfect boys