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bonnefoisTitle: Thick As Thieves
Series: Original
Rating: PG-13 throughout, will probably get higher
Word count: 4,298
A/N: This is a silly thing I pulled out for M. It's basically a huge homoerotic fantasy genre parody that seeks to spoof every single trope, cliche and archetype. This was part of my nano project (but far smaller than I wanted it to be!) Thanks to Saaski for the beta job.
Oh yeah, and Merry Christmas, M. ♥
Thick As Thieves
– Zero: a prologue less epic than it would seem–
There once was a land called Þh^än('tãs,èé, a generic place with green rolling hills and medieval knights because fantasy never takes place in space with zombies and pirates. No, really, it doesn't.
It was in a dark time, with goblins and ghouls and heroes wizards and horses and on occasion, horse wizards who stole farmer's hay right from their field (though it was questionable how many of those midsummer mushrooms the farmers had ingested by then). A time when ladies were beautiful beyond compare, or at least they were after the kind welcome of three highly potent wineskins presented to an unsuspecting hero.
And somewhere, in some black, unsightly, dingy, unkempt and stinky corner, evil grew bored and twiddled its thumbs. It tired of its fate of losing at endless games of solitaire; a horrid fate far worse than death. It gave a great cry and called its mother, who in fact was far more evil than it was.
In the heartland of the country, the capitol city of W'?is,ær,h^iã, a mad prophet gathered his refuse and screamed that little green men would come to steal their shoes in the night. The people of the city ignored this dire tiding, and many woke to the sound of gnashing teeth only to find their boots gone, completely gone.
After that, some paid more attention to the mad prophet with his long, coarse beard that often had food stuck within it, as well as being home to a few birds that had taken to making nests in his vast facial hair.
Obviously, he was blessed by heaven and one with nature.
His second prophecy was far more heeded than the first. By this time he had gained something of a following, all shoeless, to respect his great knowledge of the little green shoe-stealers.
And this time, he spake of evil and dark things, and the light that would come from the middle of the tunnel.
For this time, two heroes shall come, one as sun and one as moon. They shall verily smitest the evil most smitingly and become as one person after at least twenty-plus chapters of
unresolved sexual tension.
Needless to say, the scribes were rather ‘selective' with their transcription of the original prophecy. They chose to interpret it as the extremely platonic adventures of Manny and Sunny, two friends who were very close and definitely not having hot gay sex. Nope, not at all.
But with those words of the prophet, a danger arose in the air. Fear and loathing came into play and formed a heavy metal band. Evil had to come back eventually--everyone knew the cycles; death and birth, day and night, winter and spring. Besides, it got right boring without a few massacres and mad kings to lighten up the drudgery. Everyone in Þhän'tãsèé prided themselves on their heroes, as big and dumb and blunt as they were. In fact, idealistic heroics were their main export.
– One: wherein booze heals all angst –
Heroes were never middle children. In the legends they were always the proud, dashing first born son, or the sly, clever underdog. The middle child was just there. They always either followed the (unfortunate) fate of the first in the youngest-son fables, or simply fell from the story halfway through the first-son tales.
But this never bothered Avey Havinshel, line of the great hero Ardrick Havinshel. For while Amos and Alaistair got the praise and expectation, that was his time to escape.
No one noticed middle children, especially good middle children, thus no one suspected that one of their hero's sacred line spent his ‘training time' running down alleys with newly won gold from the gambler's den. No one thought he'd be consorting with a common thief.
(Though, as Hadri would say, the thief was hardly common.)
Avey had inherited the looks of some damsel a hero might bring home. His hair was the dark blond of newly cut hay and his eyes weren't the piercing blue of heroes of yore, but the color of dark earth under the ploughman's hand. He looked more a bard than a hero with his slender body. It was not to the point of femininity, no matter how many crude jokes Hadri made of that nature; it was simply that the mixed elvdrakfae of many generations passed had come up again in his body, and in his spirit.
He could wield a sword just as good as his brothers, perhaps better, but that still didn't take away the fact that fate had damned him as a hero.
But then, heroes couldn't pull off ‘jobs' that involved questionable legality, and heroes couldn't run off to swim naked with their best friend at midnight. Heroes were more a thing of show in peaceful times – something to be paraded and displayed around court.
Amos (often called ‘Famous Amos' by his many admirers) was the favorite to save the world when evil would inevitably regain power and a daring hero need arise. He had inherited Ardrick's golden hair and his piercing blue eyes.
Alastair was the longshot. He'd gained the looks (and skills) of a beautiful sorceress their great great great great grandfather Aleron had brought home from his questing. Alastair was dark, sullen, and caught in his own world of books. Still, even though he focused on the arcane arts, Alastair could still wield a sword with the best of them.
If Hadri was there, he would've told him to stop angsting like a little bitch. The thought brought a smile to Avey's face. He peered out the window and saw the sun had begun to wane, just enough for the night folk to start to crawl onto the streets.
He grabbed the over-the-shoulder sheath strap he'd had fitted recently. Little did he know that there was a cloth woven into the back with Fairy boy written over it. That little gift he'd find about later.
He wound down the stairs to where Alvira was fussing over a scroll. She scanned and reread it, her eyes speeding faster over the lines with each subsequent reading. When Avey hit the last stair with it's floorboard that always creaked, she didn't even look up. He'd learned to avoid it when sneaking out of the house at night, but a few times he'd overshot and landed square on the telling bit of wood. Sometimes, when this happened, he wondered why he bother with skipping it at all. Twice he'd even run face-first into his father, who seemed to shrug away his presence and passed by him clutching a bottle of rum. Middle children were expendable like that.
Avey waited another minute and then another for her to acknowledge his presence. When she didn't, he finally cleared his throat and addressed her himself.
"Mother, I'm off to train."
"Of course, Aviv. Don't push yourself too hard. You know that as family you're expected to visit the next imperial ball for both your brothers!"
This time Avey didn't even bother to correct her as he usually would.
--
Half an hour later found Avey walking down a decaying alley. Puddles gathered in the indentations, like monster's footsteps. At the far end was a figure, tall, dark, and handsome, with deep, piercing blue eyes. His skin was tanned like the southerners, and he often left his shirt half undone, something that seemed to attract women to him like flies to honey.
Avey brushed a hand through his dark curls and gave his best roguish grin, as Hadri leaned back and returned the attempt with his patented liquid-sex smile that made all the girls melt. Having spent years around his friend, Avey was mostly immune to his charms. Mostly.
"Tsk, tsk. You're out late, choirboy," Hadri said. "I almost didn't expect you. Did you run late saying the rosary again?"
"Save it, Hadri."
"Oh, it must have been you were daydreaming about your imaginary lovers again, o chaste one?" Hadri shook his head in amusement. "You do know you have virgin written all over you, right?"
Avey rolled his eyes. "Remind me why I put up with you again?"
"Because I'm handsome, devilish, exciting, and you have some secret well of homoerotic longing for me?"
"Keep dreaming," Avey replied.
Hadri threw back his head and laughed. "You wound me, Avey. Really, a simple hero coming all this way to this dark, dank lonely alley. You could get robbed or raped here, possibly both. Even both at once if it were a truly talented criminal.
"But don't worry, princess, I'll protect you." Hadri winked. His blue eyes glistened with mischief even in the dimness.
"Oh joy," Avey said. "But who, will protect me from you."
"No one." Hadri grinned again. "You're bound to get shamelessly corrupted if you
hang out with a rake like me."
"Shamelessly corrupted it is," Avey shot back. "You'll go down in history as destroying the line of a famous hero."
"Pfft, you think history is going to remember you over those dreamy brothers of yours?"
"Good point," Avey sighed.
"Here, I've got one, Amos sure has some nice hair – he should get a dress to match it!"
When Avey only gave a wan smile, Hadri threw his arm around his friend's shoulder. "Oh come on, you haven't even heard the best one with the amputee midget pirate yet!"
This not garnering a reaction either, Hadri changed tactics. He ruffled Avey's dark gold hair in a gesture that balanced between friendship and something more loving and intimate. "You know I'm just kidding. You're worth twelve of them."
"Well it's nice to hear from someone," Avey said morosely.
Hadri tightened his grip into a half-hug. "Angsting again?"
Avey sighed. "It happens."
"You know what the best cure is? Getting absolutely shit-faced drunk. Cures it every time. I'd say ‘get laid' but you seem to lack in that ability."
"I've been coming with you since I was nigh twelve years old, and you suggest the same thing every time. Either that or ‘let's go steal things'."
"Not true! Sometimes it's ‘let's go burn things' instead. You wound me with such talk."
Avel rolled his eyes.
Hadri chuckled. "And I apparently haven't corrupted you enough yet. You're coming with me." He held his finger up as sudden inspiration hit. "Oh wait, I've got one – you'll be coming with me all night."
Avey groaned. "That's the worst one I've heard you say yet."
"Really?" Hadri shot back. "I'll have to try harder."
"Didn't you have something to tell me?"
At once Hadri was all business, looking both ways as if he expected spies. They had originally been alone, but a crazy old man had wandered onto the scene. They watched him take a swig from his bottle and almost fall over in the process.
"Come on, up to my room, I'll tell you there," Hadri whispered, his hand half shielding his lips as if the shield away the sound from anyone else.
Through the back allies and up a rotting stairway, through grimy, broken brick walls Avey followed up. Hadri's mother, Hyssop, was gone for the night it seemed. The apartment still retained all its crusty, rank, dingy charm. Hadri ignored the clutter and easily wove his way through the maze of mess and past the last flickering embers of the fireplace to his room.
Hadri was a magpie, not to mention a kleptomaniac at heart. His small room was lined with all sorts of stolen shiny things, very few of it actually worth anything. Pie pans and old armor, dulled blades and assorted clothing seemed to take up every conceivable surface.
"Nesting again?" Avey said brightly.
"You say that now but one of these days you're gonna need my treasures."
"..like a used pie plate?"
"Good scarecrow materials. Also, just think of the pranks one can do with a used pie plate. Right?"
"I suppose," Avey admitted.
"Anyways, while you were admiring the treasures –" Hadri motioned to the junk around him. "I
was hiding my gold with such fast, clever movements that you never saw it."
"Under the mattress springs in a black wallet," Avey deadpanned.
"Damn it."
"You've got to be kidding me. A ‘world class thief' and you choose the easiest place to hide it. Even old women wouldn't hide their gold in such an obvious place."
"Obviously I'll be finding a new one," Hadri grumbled.
--
Taverns weren't far away in this side of town. Every few steps you'd find a secret gambling hall or an inn that served ale after-hours. Hadri lead the way and ducked into an ramshackle inn with a crusted sign that read The Rust Bucket.
At least their advertising was honest.
Hadri swayed up to the bar and somehow managed to hit on all the women almost
simultaneously. It was a sight to watch, but it made Avey's throat clench up inside and his mouth taste sour.
A drink was passed his way and suddenly Hadri was smiling at him again (and remembering he was alive, Avey thought with some bitterness). "Here. It's not so strong that it'll make you pass out, like last time I tried to give you hard liquor."
"Thanks," he replied.
Hadri flashed him his most charming grin. "No problem, anytime."
Avey took a swig. By the time he was done with his first drink Hadri was already dancing on a table in between chugs. The half-drunk crowd cheered him on with gusto.
He sighed, knowing what the rest of the night would be like. When Hadri got shit-faced drunk, Avey was always the one to catch him and drag him
home and pull his hair back when he vomited. It was what friends did.
--
An hour and a half and one daring moment -during which he had to convince his friend that swinging naked from
the ceiling lights was not a good idea- later, Avey was finished with the
tavern visit.
It did, however, give him ample excuse to slap Hadri. Which he did.
Hadri groaned and leaned back, then laughed as if Avey had told a particularly raunchy joke.
"How drunk are you exactly?" Avey said.
"Not muchhh, had about five glasses. Thish guy before me, hee fell over afhter tha thiird."
Avey turned his eyes heavenward. After just the slightest drop of alcohol, Hadri hit on anything that breathed. Maybe a better way to put it was on anything remotely solid. More than once he'd wooed a dresser by accident, and there was an issue of his lover the tree a while back.
"You still love me, rhiighht?" Hadri said in his thick, drunken voice.
"I tolerate you enough to take your drunken ass home,"
"You whiish you could have my drunken ass."
Avey neither confirmed nor denied this accusation.
--
Deep in the slums, Hyssop of the thieves guild looked sullenly on as she regarded her son and his best friend. She might have once been beautiful once, but Avey could only see the traces of that past. Now she was sooty and bitter, with faded red hair and her sunken, ashen face that seemed drawn too tightly over her skull.
"Ain't right, parading around with herolike folk," she muttered under her breath. "Ain't right at all, that boy will get us kicked out of the Thieves Guild at this rate."
"Please, Hyssop. You know Hadri's practically the physical embodiment of the Thieves Guild. He's dashing, handsome, well built, looks great shirtless, clever and witty and there's no one around with stickier fingers than his. And I mean that in more ways than one."
She raised an eyebrow. "You sound like a girl with a crush."
"I'm just stating the facts here," Avey replied. He didn't add that he'd only listed half the original list.
"Well, put him over there." She motioned to the bed and Avey stumbled over, looking almost as drunk as Hadri.
"I luuurbe you, princess..." Hadri slurred. He pressed a drunk kiss to Avey's neck, and it was too wet and sloppy and yet Avey felt a shudder pass through him and had to stifle a moan. He tried to escape Hadri's grip, but Hadri was stronger, heavier, and in far less control of his senses. He sucked on Avey's neck like he was a dying vampire and bit at the skin with no mercy whatsoever. Avey felt his toes curl in pleasure even as he tried to push Hadri off him.
Hyssop gave a long-suffering sigh. "I'm never getting grandchildren out of that one."
"I wouldn't be surprised if you already have several unknown ones," Avey said. That cued Hadri to grab him and place another highly visible lovemark on his neck. When he finally got Hadri off him and rolled over onto the bed, Avey tucked him in. He threw a blanket over Hadri, who had already fallen asleep. A bit of drool dripped on the pillow.
"Night, Hyssop," Avey said with a nod. She nodded back but didn't return the greeting, having already used up her well of allotted kindness for the day.
Hyssop spoke long after the fire had eaten into itself, the tendrils of flames.
"Every day my boy Hadrian talks in his sleep. Every day the same damn thing..."
Hadri turned over in his slumber and murmured a name so close and dear Hyssop couldn't
help but hate the mere existence of it.
--
Avey returned slightly worse for wear. He was dirty and smelled of alcohol that certainly hadn't been his. He also had a few fresh marks on his neck thanks to Hadri, though, he supposed, it could've been worse. Hadri could've vomited on him like last time.
The things he did for friendship.
He took his time strolling up the walk. Avey had no desire to rush the eventual entrance. His hand lingered at the age-flecked gate with its rusted hinges and peeling paint.
Their house was surprisingly modest for a hero's line. The land itself had been willed down from the family for over five-hundred years. Herinvilla had once been grand, but the boards and the heart of the house showed the decay that had begun to pull the building, and its inhabitants, in. There hadn't been need for heroes in nigh a hundred years now, and they were too proud to get work as tradesman. No simple life of tailoring or metalwork could befit the line of a hero.
And thus, they had deteriorated. The Havinshel family survived on old glories, dined on
memories, which was comfort, sustenance and shelter all in one. Occasionally a member of their clan was be able to worm his or er way into a noble's heart and would be able to keep their estate afloat for another era. At least until the monsters and dark things returned.
What good were heroes in a time of peace? When they had nothing but legends to live off of? Little by little the Havinshel's had begun to resemble the thieves they so decried and despised, at least in appearance.
Avey sighed and pushed open the heavy wooden door. It creaked and groaned, announcing his arrival as well as any bell could do.
"I'm home, mother."
She looked confused. "You were gone?"
"Training, remember?"
"Oh, yes, now I do. It's just that Amos had to prepare for the attendance to the king's ball, and Alastair's getting a knighthood as well as his mage's mantle! Just think, a Magic Knight." She cooed over this prospect and smoothed over her flaxen hair. A few strands of gold fell out from her bun, and just as many had started to turn whitish. It gave the appearance of snow lining her hair.
"Yeah, you told me...Five times yesterday."
"And Aubery and Averyl are going to be coming out soon! Maybe they can catch themselves a nice husband in the royal court!"
Aubery might settle down but if Averyl caught herself a husband, it'd be at the edge of her sword. Avey smiled to himself at that. Averyl was his favorite member of the family for a reason.
She smiled. "It's just that I'm so proud of both my boys!"
Avey forced a smile. She had three sons, though she only remembered two.
--
Averyl swung her sword in precise arcs. She had shorn her blonde hair to page length three months ago, when she had briefly considered running off to become a knight. It'd grown fast and now hung to her shoulders again, though it was nowhere near the waist-length mane she had once possessed.
She turned aside and faced him but never stopped training and moving her sword. She gave him a self-assured, but pleased smile.
"Need any help?" Avey said.
Averyl grinned. "You're ready for a beating already?"
Avey mock-bowed. "I'm here to reclaim my honor, milady."
She lifted the heavy sword, a far heavier sword than anything he could lift, and cut the air in a swift challenge.
"I'll beat you to a pulp," she said.
"Those are strong words coming from my little sister," Avey said.
"Oh come on, the old ‘girl' argument? You know I can take a little bitch like you. I was the one who used to pull your hair. And for your information I'm only a year younger!."
Avey couldn't help but laugh. "Like I'd ever consider you some weakling girl, Averyl."
"Weren't you going to bring out Moonsong? I haven't heard her sing in a while. Unless you're too scared that your little baby girl-sister will break your widdle, pansy sword?"
"A tempting challenge my dear, but I'm tuckered out today. I'll take a raincheck on you."
She shrugged and resumed her own training in a twitchy set of ripostes to the air around her.
"So when's this ‘coming out' of yours?" Avey asked as a topic change.
She tossed her head in annoyance and gold hair fluttered like fields of wheat on a windy summer day.
"Never, that's when," she said. "I'll hide in my closet forever before I go out and go dancing with those vile noblemen."
"Closet. Nice. I'm sure they'll never think to look in there."
"It's pretty messy," she said. "I've got a hell of a lot hidden in my closet and the door's got a double padlock."
"That door's not quite as solid as you'd think," Avey said.
"It's rock solid," she replied. "What I've got hidden in my closet, ain't nobody seeing."
Avey laughed. "I should head off, I need to go wash up before I turn in,"
"I noticed," she said.
"I'm surprised you didn't mention it."
"I'm used to you being smelly. Didn't think anything of it."
She smirked, having gotten the upper hand yet again. Swish. In this conversation, his sword had been felled.
"Oho, nice shot Averyl but it's not like I can use the washtub much when Amos is in there making love to the mirror."
She laughed. "Get out of here; you're stinking up the place."
--
The cool water felt wonderful against his skin. Avey scrubbed hard, but kiss marks wouldn't fade like stains would. He washed his lean-but-muscled torso and legs, reveling in clean. He might have had the body of a lithe Elfdrakenfae, but Avey was far from a weakling even if it had become an on-going joke with his loved ones. He was wiry and quick, and could dart with endless energy, placing well-timed sword jabs at his opponent.
Avey washed the day's dirt from him and slipped into his nightclothes. While it was
perfectly traditional to sleep in a long sleeping robe, Hadri would've called it a
Nightgown. Which really, it basically was.
He snuffed out the candle and slipped into bed between the sheets. It was not long before he fell into the sweet, dreamless embrace of slumber.
–
The next day, before they even exchanged greetings, Hadri pressed a finger to his friend's neck. He pointed to the exact location of the mark he had left the previous night. It'd turned into a large purple bruise that blossomed in plain sight where even the highest collars couldn't save him. Nothing short of the fanciest Queen's collar could hide a kiss mark this well placed, and even that might not save him this time.
"I see you finally found some lass to roll in the hay with. Do tell me you went all the way this time."
"Gee, I wonder," Avey said. "And no, I didn't. She fell asleep."
"And that's all? No juicy tales of your lovely lady?"
"Well, she's got dark hair and has a horrible memory."
"Ah, the ditzy ones," Hadri said. "Now those are the kind of girls to drink with."
"Ditzy indeed," Avey said.
Hadri lifted his drink and took a last gulp of the frothy amber liquid. "One last thing before we go."
He put aside the glass and left a bit of gold for the tender. He'd already tried to run out on them twice a few months back. The iron knuckles of the owner's hired man had made him rethink such ideas.
Hadri quietly pushed back his stool and stepped on tiptoe towards the unsuspecting man who had long fallen into a drunken stupor, his snores cutting across the mostly empty bar. It took some work to undo the drawstrings without waking the man, but challenge was half the draw. Several times there was a snort or a some momentary jerk of his sleeping victim that made Hadri take pause but finally, for all his effort, Hadri pulled off the stained, frayed pants from the man's fleshy body.
When he finished, he held the pants up and surveyed his handiwork. Deeming it satisfactory, he
nodded at Avey.
"Let's go."
Avey stared in incomprehension. "...Hadri. Why did you just steal that man's pants? They're not even your size."
Hadri shrugged and gave his most winning smile. "What can I say, I'm Chaotic neutral."
Avey just rolled his eyes. He had a feeling that even Hadri didn't know why he did half the things he did.
Series: Original
Rating: PG-13 throughout, will probably get higher
Word count: 4,298
A/N: This is a silly thing I pulled out for M. It's basically a huge homoerotic fantasy genre parody that seeks to spoof every single trope, cliche and archetype. This was part of my nano project (but far smaller than I wanted it to be!) Thanks to Saaski for the beta job.
Oh yeah, and Merry Christmas, M. ♥
There once was a land called Þh^än('tãs,èé, a generic place with green rolling hills and medieval knights because fantasy never takes place in space with zombies and pirates. No, really, it doesn't.
It was in a dark time, with goblins and ghouls and heroes wizards and horses and on occasion, horse wizards who stole farmer's hay right from their field (though it was questionable how many of those midsummer mushrooms the farmers had ingested by then). A time when ladies were beautiful beyond compare, or at least they were after the kind welcome of three highly potent wineskins presented to an unsuspecting hero.
And somewhere, in some black, unsightly, dingy, unkempt and stinky corner, evil grew bored and twiddled its thumbs. It tired of its fate of losing at endless games of solitaire; a horrid fate far worse than death. It gave a great cry and called its mother, who in fact was far more evil than it was.
In the heartland of the country, the capitol city of W'?is,ær,h^iã, a mad prophet gathered his refuse and screamed that little green men would come to steal their shoes in the night. The people of the city ignored this dire tiding, and many woke to the sound of gnashing teeth only to find their boots gone, completely gone.
After that, some paid more attention to the mad prophet with his long, coarse beard that often had food stuck within it, as well as being home to a few birds that had taken to making nests in his vast facial hair.
Obviously, he was blessed by heaven and one with nature.
His second prophecy was far more heeded than the first. By this time he had gained something of a following, all shoeless, to respect his great knowledge of the little green shoe-stealers.
And this time, he spake of evil and dark things, and the light that would come from the middle of the tunnel.
For this time, two heroes shall come, one as sun and one as moon. They shall verily smitest the evil most smitingly and become as one person after at least twenty-plus chapters of
unresolved sexual tension.
Needless to say, the scribes were rather ‘selective' with their transcription of the original prophecy. They chose to interpret it as the extremely platonic adventures of Manny and Sunny, two friends who were very close and definitely not having hot gay sex. Nope, not at all.
But with those words of the prophet, a danger arose in the air. Fear and loathing came into play and formed a heavy metal band. Evil had to come back eventually--everyone knew the cycles; death and birth, day and night, winter and spring. Besides, it got right boring without a few massacres and mad kings to lighten up the drudgery. Everyone in Þhän'tãsèé prided themselves on their heroes, as big and dumb and blunt as they were. In fact, idealistic heroics were their main export.
Heroes were never middle children. In the legends they were always the proud, dashing first born son, or the sly, clever underdog. The middle child was just there. They always either followed the (unfortunate) fate of the first in the youngest-son fables, or simply fell from the story halfway through the first-son tales.
But this never bothered Avey Havinshel, line of the great hero Ardrick Havinshel. For while Amos and Alaistair got the praise and expectation, that was his time to escape.
No one noticed middle children, especially good middle children, thus no one suspected that one of their hero's sacred line spent his ‘training time' running down alleys with newly won gold from the gambler's den. No one thought he'd be consorting with a common thief.
(Though, as Hadri would say, the thief was hardly common.)
Avey had inherited the looks of some damsel a hero might bring home. His hair was the dark blond of newly cut hay and his eyes weren't the piercing blue of heroes of yore, but the color of dark earth under the ploughman's hand. He looked more a bard than a hero with his slender body. It was not to the point of femininity, no matter how many crude jokes Hadri made of that nature; it was simply that the mixed elvdrakfae of many generations passed had come up again in his body, and in his spirit.
He could wield a sword just as good as his brothers, perhaps better, but that still didn't take away the fact that fate had damned him as a hero.
But then, heroes couldn't pull off ‘jobs' that involved questionable legality, and heroes couldn't run off to swim naked with their best friend at midnight. Heroes were more a thing of show in peaceful times – something to be paraded and displayed around court.
Amos (often called ‘Famous Amos' by his many admirers) was the favorite to save the world when evil would inevitably regain power and a daring hero need arise. He had inherited Ardrick's golden hair and his piercing blue eyes.
Alastair was the longshot. He'd gained the looks (and skills) of a beautiful sorceress their great great great great grandfather Aleron had brought home from his questing. Alastair was dark, sullen, and caught in his own world of books. Still, even though he focused on the arcane arts, Alastair could still wield a sword with the best of them.
If Hadri was there, he would've told him to stop angsting like a little bitch. The thought brought a smile to Avey's face. He peered out the window and saw the sun had begun to wane, just enough for the night folk to start to crawl onto the streets.
He grabbed the over-the-shoulder sheath strap he'd had fitted recently. Little did he know that there was a cloth woven into the back with Fairy boy written over it. That little gift he'd find about later.
He wound down the stairs to where Alvira was fussing over a scroll. She scanned and reread it, her eyes speeding faster over the lines with each subsequent reading. When Avey hit the last stair with it's floorboard that always creaked, she didn't even look up. He'd learned to avoid it when sneaking out of the house at night, but a few times he'd overshot and landed square on the telling bit of wood. Sometimes, when this happened, he wondered why he bother with skipping it at all. Twice he'd even run face-first into his father, who seemed to shrug away his presence and passed by him clutching a bottle of rum. Middle children were expendable like that.
Avey waited another minute and then another for her to acknowledge his presence. When she didn't, he finally cleared his throat and addressed her himself.
"Mother, I'm off to train."
"Of course, Aviv. Don't push yourself too hard. You know that as family you're expected to visit the next imperial ball for both your brothers!"
This time Avey didn't even bother to correct her as he usually would.
--
Half an hour later found Avey walking down a decaying alley. Puddles gathered in the indentations, like monster's footsteps. At the far end was a figure, tall, dark, and handsome, with deep, piercing blue eyes. His skin was tanned like the southerners, and he often left his shirt half undone, something that seemed to attract women to him like flies to honey.
Avey brushed a hand through his dark curls and gave his best roguish grin, as Hadri leaned back and returned the attempt with his patented liquid-sex smile that made all the girls melt. Having spent years around his friend, Avey was mostly immune to his charms. Mostly.
"Tsk, tsk. You're out late, choirboy," Hadri said. "I almost didn't expect you. Did you run late saying the rosary again?"
"Save it, Hadri."
"Oh, it must have been you were daydreaming about your imaginary lovers again, o chaste one?" Hadri shook his head in amusement. "You do know you have virgin written all over you, right?"
Avey rolled his eyes. "Remind me why I put up with you again?"
"Because I'm handsome, devilish, exciting, and you have some secret well of homoerotic longing for me?"
"Keep dreaming," Avey replied.
Hadri threw back his head and laughed. "You wound me, Avey. Really, a simple hero coming all this way to this dark, dank lonely alley. You could get robbed or raped here, possibly both. Even both at once if it were a truly talented criminal.
"But don't worry, princess, I'll protect you." Hadri winked. His blue eyes glistened with mischief even in the dimness.
"Oh joy," Avey said. "But who, will protect me from you."
"No one." Hadri grinned again. "You're bound to get shamelessly corrupted if you
hang out with a rake like me."
"Shamelessly corrupted it is," Avey shot back. "You'll go down in history as destroying the line of a famous hero."
"Pfft, you think history is going to remember you over those dreamy brothers of yours?"
"Good point," Avey sighed.
"Here, I've got one, Amos sure has some nice hair – he should get a dress to match it!"
When Avey only gave a wan smile, Hadri threw his arm around his friend's shoulder. "Oh come on, you haven't even heard the best one with the amputee midget pirate yet!"
This not garnering a reaction either, Hadri changed tactics. He ruffled Avey's dark gold hair in a gesture that balanced between friendship and something more loving and intimate. "You know I'm just kidding. You're worth twelve of them."
"Well it's nice to hear from someone," Avey said morosely.
Hadri tightened his grip into a half-hug. "Angsting again?"
Avey sighed. "It happens."
"You know what the best cure is? Getting absolutely shit-faced drunk. Cures it every time. I'd say ‘get laid' but you seem to lack in that ability."
"I've been coming with you since I was nigh twelve years old, and you suggest the same thing every time. Either that or ‘let's go steal things'."
"Not true! Sometimes it's ‘let's go burn things' instead. You wound me with such talk."
Avel rolled his eyes.
Hadri chuckled. "And I apparently haven't corrupted you enough yet. You're coming with me." He held his finger up as sudden inspiration hit. "Oh wait, I've got one – you'll be coming with me all night."
Avey groaned. "That's the worst one I've heard you say yet."
"Really?" Hadri shot back. "I'll have to try harder."
"Didn't you have something to tell me?"
At once Hadri was all business, looking both ways as if he expected spies. They had originally been alone, but a crazy old man had wandered onto the scene. They watched him take a swig from his bottle and almost fall over in the process.
"Come on, up to my room, I'll tell you there," Hadri whispered, his hand half shielding his lips as if the shield away the sound from anyone else.
Through the back allies and up a rotting stairway, through grimy, broken brick walls Avey followed up. Hadri's mother, Hyssop, was gone for the night it seemed. The apartment still retained all its crusty, rank, dingy charm. Hadri ignored the clutter and easily wove his way through the maze of mess and past the last flickering embers of the fireplace to his room.
Hadri was a magpie, not to mention a kleptomaniac at heart. His small room was lined with all sorts of stolen shiny things, very few of it actually worth anything. Pie pans and old armor, dulled blades and assorted clothing seemed to take up every conceivable surface.
"Nesting again?" Avey said brightly.
"You say that now but one of these days you're gonna need my treasures."
"..like a used pie plate?"
"Good scarecrow materials. Also, just think of the pranks one can do with a used pie plate. Right?"
"I suppose," Avey admitted.
"Anyways, while you were admiring the treasures –" Hadri motioned to the junk around him. "I
was hiding my gold with such fast, clever movements that you never saw it."
"Under the mattress springs in a black wallet," Avey deadpanned.
"Damn it."
"You've got to be kidding me. A ‘world class thief' and you choose the easiest place to hide it. Even old women wouldn't hide their gold in such an obvious place."
"Obviously I'll be finding a new one," Hadri grumbled.
--
Taverns weren't far away in this side of town. Every few steps you'd find a secret gambling hall or an inn that served ale after-hours. Hadri lead the way and ducked into an ramshackle inn with a crusted sign that read The Rust Bucket.
At least their advertising was honest.
Hadri swayed up to the bar and somehow managed to hit on all the women almost
simultaneously. It was a sight to watch, but it made Avey's throat clench up inside and his mouth taste sour.
A drink was passed his way and suddenly Hadri was smiling at him again (and remembering he was alive, Avey thought with some bitterness). "Here. It's not so strong that it'll make you pass out, like last time I tried to give you hard liquor."
"Thanks," he replied.
Hadri flashed him his most charming grin. "No problem, anytime."
Avey took a swig. By the time he was done with his first drink Hadri was already dancing on a table in between chugs. The half-drunk crowd cheered him on with gusto.
He sighed, knowing what the rest of the night would be like. When Hadri got shit-faced drunk, Avey was always the one to catch him and drag him
home and pull his hair back when he vomited. It was what friends did.
--
An hour and a half and one daring moment -during which he had to convince his friend that swinging naked from
the ceiling lights was not a good idea- later, Avey was finished with the
tavern visit.
It did, however, give him ample excuse to slap Hadri. Which he did.
Hadri groaned and leaned back, then laughed as if Avey had told a particularly raunchy joke.
"How drunk are you exactly?" Avey said.
"Not muchhh, had about five glasses. Thish guy before me, hee fell over afhter tha thiird."
Avey turned his eyes heavenward. After just the slightest drop of alcohol, Hadri hit on anything that breathed. Maybe a better way to put it was on anything remotely solid. More than once he'd wooed a dresser by accident, and there was an issue of his lover the tree a while back.
"You still love me, rhiighht?" Hadri said in his thick, drunken voice.
"I tolerate you enough to take your drunken ass home,"
"You whiish you could have my drunken ass."
Avey neither confirmed nor denied this accusation.
--
Deep in the slums, Hyssop of the thieves guild looked sullenly on as she regarded her son and his best friend. She might have once been beautiful once, but Avey could only see the traces of that past. Now she was sooty and bitter, with faded red hair and her sunken, ashen face that seemed drawn too tightly over her skull.
"Ain't right, parading around with herolike folk," she muttered under her breath. "Ain't right at all, that boy will get us kicked out of the Thieves Guild at this rate."
"Please, Hyssop. You know Hadri's practically the physical embodiment of the Thieves Guild. He's dashing, handsome, well built, looks great shirtless, clever and witty and there's no one around with stickier fingers than his. And I mean that in more ways than one."
She raised an eyebrow. "You sound like a girl with a crush."
"I'm just stating the facts here," Avey replied. He didn't add that he'd only listed half the original list.
"Well, put him over there." She motioned to the bed and Avey stumbled over, looking almost as drunk as Hadri.
"I luuurbe you, princess..." Hadri slurred. He pressed a drunk kiss to Avey's neck, and it was too wet and sloppy and yet Avey felt a shudder pass through him and had to stifle a moan. He tried to escape Hadri's grip, but Hadri was stronger, heavier, and in far less control of his senses. He sucked on Avey's neck like he was a dying vampire and bit at the skin with no mercy whatsoever. Avey felt his toes curl in pleasure even as he tried to push Hadri off him.
Hyssop gave a long-suffering sigh. "I'm never getting grandchildren out of that one."
"I wouldn't be surprised if you already have several unknown ones," Avey said. That cued Hadri to grab him and place another highly visible lovemark on his neck. When he finally got Hadri off him and rolled over onto the bed, Avey tucked him in. He threw a blanket over Hadri, who had already fallen asleep. A bit of drool dripped on the pillow.
"Night, Hyssop," Avey said with a nod. She nodded back but didn't return the greeting, having already used up her well of allotted kindness for the day.
Hyssop spoke long after the fire had eaten into itself, the tendrils of flames.
"Every day my boy Hadrian talks in his sleep. Every day the same damn thing..."
Hadri turned over in his slumber and murmured a name so close and dear Hyssop couldn't
help but hate the mere existence of it.
--
Avey returned slightly worse for wear. He was dirty and smelled of alcohol that certainly hadn't been his. He also had a few fresh marks on his neck thanks to Hadri, though, he supposed, it could've been worse. Hadri could've vomited on him like last time.
The things he did for friendship.
He took his time strolling up the walk. Avey had no desire to rush the eventual entrance. His hand lingered at the age-flecked gate with its rusted hinges and peeling paint.
Their house was surprisingly modest for a hero's line. The land itself had been willed down from the family for over five-hundred years. Herinvilla had once been grand, but the boards and the heart of the house showed the decay that had begun to pull the building, and its inhabitants, in. There hadn't been need for heroes in nigh a hundred years now, and they were too proud to get work as tradesman. No simple life of tailoring or metalwork could befit the line of a hero.
And thus, they had deteriorated. The Havinshel family survived on old glories, dined on
memories, which was comfort, sustenance and shelter all in one. Occasionally a member of their clan was be able to worm his or er way into a noble's heart and would be able to keep their estate afloat for another era. At least until the monsters and dark things returned.
What good were heroes in a time of peace? When they had nothing but legends to live off of? Little by little the Havinshel's had begun to resemble the thieves they so decried and despised, at least in appearance.
Avey sighed and pushed open the heavy wooden door. It creaked and groaned, announcing his arrival as well as any bell could do.
"I'm home, mother."
She looked confused. "You were gone?"
"Training, remember?"
"Oh, yes, now I do. It's just that Amos had to prepare for the attendance to the king's ball, and Alastair's getting a knighthood as well as his mage's mantle! Just think, a Magic Knight." She cooed over this prospect and smoothed over her flaxen hair. A few strands of gold fell out from her bun, and just as many had started to turn whitish. It gave the appearance of snow lining her hair.
"Yeah, you told me...Five times yesterday."
"And Aubery and Averyl are going to be coming out soon! Maybe they can catch themselves a nice husband in the royal court!"
Aubery might settle down but if Averyl caught herself a husband, it'd be at the edge of her sword. Avey smiled to himself at that. Averyl was his favorite member of the family for a reason.
She smiled. "It's just that I'm so proud of both my boys!"
Avey forced a smile. She had three sons, though she only remembered two.
--
Averyl swung her sword in precise arcs. She had shorn her blonde hair to page length three months ago, when she had briefly considered running off to become a knight. It'd grown fast and now hung to her shoulders again, though it was nowhere near the waist-length mane she had once possessed.
She turned aside and faced him but never stopped training and moving her sword. She gave him a self-assured, but pleased smile.
"Need any help?" Avey said.
Averyl grinned. "You're ready for a beating already?"
Avey mock-bowed. "I'm here to reclaim my honor, milady."
She lifted the heavy sword, a far heavier sword than anything he could lift, and cut the air in a swift challenge.
"I'll beat you to a pulp," she said.
"Those are strong words coming from my little sister," Avey said.
"Oh come on, the old ‘girl' argument? You know I can take a little bitch like you. I was the one who used to pull your hair. And for your information I'm only a year younger!."
Avey couldn't help but laugh. "Like I'd ever consider you some weakling girl, Averyl."
"Weren't you going to bring out Moonsong? I haven't heard her sing in a while. Unless you're too scared that your little baby girl-sister will break your widdle, pansy sword?"
"A tempting challenge my dear, but I'm tuckered out today. I'll take a raincheck on you."
She shrugged and resumed her own training in a twitchy set of ripostes to the air around her.
"So when's this ‘coming out' of yours?" Avey asked as a topic change.
She tossed her head in annoyance and gold hair fluttered like fields of wheat on a windy summer day.
"Never, that's when," she said. "I'll hide in my closet forever before I go out and go dancing with those vile noblemen."
"Closet. Nice. I'm sure they'll never think to look in there."
"It's pretty messy," she said. "I've got a hell of a lot hidden in my closet and the door's got a double padlock."
"That door's not quite as solid as you'd think," Avey said.
"It's rock solid," she replied. "What I've got hidden in my closet, ain't nobody seeing."
Avey laughed. "I should head off, I need to go wash up before I turn in,"
"I noticed," she said.
"I'm surprised you didn't mention it."
"I'm used to you being smelly. Didn't think anything of it."
She smirked, having gotten the upper hand yet again. Swish. In this conversation, his sword had been felled.
"Oho, nice shot Averyl but it's not like I can use the washtub much when Amos is in there making love to the mirror."
She laughed. "Get out of here; you're stinking up the place."
--
The cool water felt wonderful against his skin. Avey scrubbed hard, but kiss marks wouldn't fade like stains would. He washed his lean-but-muscled torso and legs, reveling in clean. He might have had the body of a lithe Elfdrakenfae, but Avey was far from a weakling even if it had become an on-going joke with his loved ones. He was wiry and quick, and could dart with endless energy, placing well-timed sword jabs at his opponent.
Avey washed the day's dirt from him and slipped into his nightclothes. While it was
perfectly traditional to sleep in a long sleeping robe, Hadri would've called it a
Nightgown. Which really, it basically was.
He snuffed out the candle and slipped into bed between the sheets. It was not long before he fell into the sweet, dreamless embrace of slumber.
–
The next day, before they even exchanged greetings, Hadri pressed a finger to his friend's neck. He pointed to the exact location of the mark he had left the previous night. It'd turned into a large purple bruise that blossomed in plain sight where even the highest collars couldn't save him. Nothing short of the fanciest Queen's collar could hide a kiss mark this well placed, and even that might not save him this time.
"I see you finally found some lass to roll in the hay with. Do tell me you went all the way this time."
"Gee, I wonder," Avey said. "And no, I didn't. She fell asleep."
"And that's all? No juicy tales of your lovely lady?"
"Well, she's got dark hair and has a horrible memory."
"Ah, the ditzy ones," Hadri said. "Now those are the kind of girls to drink with."
"Ditzy indeed," Avey said.
Hadri lifted his drink and took a last gulp of the frothy amber liquid. "One last thing before we go."
He put aside the glass and left a bit of gold for the tender. He'd already tried to run out on them twice a few months back. The iron knuckles of the owner's hired man had made him rethink such ideas.
Hadri quietly pushed back his stool and stepped on tiptoe towards the unsuspecting man who had long fallen into a drunken stupor, his snores cutting across the mostly empty bar. It took some work to undo the drawstrings without waking the man, but challenge was half the draw. Several times there was a snort or a some momentary jerk of his sleeping victim that made Hadri take pause but finally, for all his effort, Hadri pulled off the stained, frayed pants from the man's fleshy body.
When he finished, he held the pants up and surveyed his handiwork. Deeming it satisfactory, he
nodded at Avey.
"Let's go."
Avey stared in incomprehension. "...Hadri. Why did you just steal that man's pants? They're not even your size."
Hadri shrugged and gave his most winning smile. "What can I say, I'm Chaotic neutral."
Avey just rolled his eyes. He had a feeling that even Hadri didn't know why he did half the things he did.
