Title: The Left Hand Hound, part 3/3 
Author: Brigantine
e-mail: gidgetpup@netzero.com 
Pairing: Vig/Bean 
Rating: NC-17 
Warnings: AU. 
Feedback: We loves it, my precioussss! 
Disclaimer: When I say Alternate Universe I really mean that. 
Summary: Under the shadow of war, a family living on the 
border takes in a stranger.  
 
 
########################### 
 
 
When Viggo returns to his bungalow he finds North turning down 
his bed. Eric, as is his routine these days, has left earlier to see 
to Ian's comfort, though he and North take supper together, 
after Ian and Viggo have been seen off to the main house. North 
looks up as Viggo walks into the bedroom, and he smiles, the 
expression fading as Viggo stands silently. North tilts his head 
inquiringly, and Viggo tells him, "Gaius is alive. Him, his family. 
All the senators who fled Medera."  
 
Viggo waits for a reaction, some sign of startlement or relief, but 
all he gets is an expression of bemusement, as though North 
hasn't a clue what he's talking about. "You've come from Medera, 
haven't you?" Viggo presses, as he undresses for bed.  
 
North shrugs, nods. 
 
"Then you know who Prince Gaius is."  
 
The north man nods again, politely interested, as though he's 
wondering why Viggo's making such a point of all this. 
 
Viggo suppresses the sudden urge to take North by the shoulders 
and shake him, shout at him, anything to get a reaction. *Who 
are you?* He bites down on the sudden urge to throw him up 
against the wall and kiss him, shove one thigh between his legs 
and see if he can get a noise out of him, then. *Stopstopstop*.  
 
Viggo takes a deep breath, and says, "I could go for a beer. 
Would you fetch one for me please?" 
 
North eyes him for a moment with a flicker of concern, then 
nods, and wanders off, and Viggo ties off his sleep pants and 
flops down into a chair, briefly resting his face in his hands. It 
occurs to him just then that he's gotten used to being naked in 
front of North. He wonders what North thinks of that. Not 
whether North is sexually attracted to him, but instead what 
North thinks of all of this; the way they live, at such ease with 
one another physically, so quickly accustomed to one another's 
presence, each to the other's body. So much like master and 
servant, almost like Ian and Eric, except of course for the sex, 
which unfortunately brings him random imaginings of Ian and 
Eric together, which is a lot like imagining his parents having sex, 
and Viggo ever so does not wish to travel that path. He 
harrumphs uncomfortably and sits back in the chair and tries 
very hard to think of something else. 
 
Tonight after supper Viggo brought up with Ian his theory of the 
north man being either Gaius's bodyguard or that of one of the 
senators. The two of them draped over a rail of the west corral, 
listening to the horses settle, he presented his evidence, and Ian 
listened carefully and thought it actually rather a good theory. 
The one detail he wondered about was whether, if North really is 
Gaius's bodyguard, he in fact knew which way Gaius would run, 
given that he could just as easily have fled to Stathan or 
Benedicia. Ian supposes North might have left himself ignorant, 
just in case of the very thing that had happened. Otherwise, Ian 
agreed with Viggo. And then he said, "You're very fond of him, 
aren't you." 
 
"More than I should be. I find myself feeling jealous of all the 
time Eric gets to spend with him, feeling possessive, as though 
it's impossible that he might belong somewhere else." 
 
"If it makes you feel any better," Ian offered, "I'd much rather be 
molesting Eric than baling alfalfa with my brother." 
 
Viggo cringed. "Please. I don't want to know." 
 
Ian snorted, teasing. "Prude. Any clue as to how your north man 
feels about you?" 
 
"He seems particularly fond of making me breakfast and tidying 
up my house." 
 
"Thank the gods! Your house keeping habits have left a great 
deal to be desired." 
 
"He discovered my work room. Didn't touch anything, just came 
and dragged me over and pointed. Demanding an explanation!" 
Viggo shook his head. "For a man who never says anything, he 
can certainly be a nag." 
 
"You haven't painted or puttered, or whatever it is you do in 
there for quite a long time," Ian observed. "Surely you miss it?" 
 
"Come on Ian, there hasn't been time recently." 
 
"I suppose not. Pity though," Ian smirked, "you've got a lovely 
nude model you could sketch. Probably get him into all sorts of 
interesting poses..." 
 
"Ian!" Viggo groaned. "I need to quit thinking about North in 
*that* manner. He trusts me. I don't want to fuck it up. I have 
no idea if he's even, you know, inclined in the male direction." 
 
Ian hummed sympathetically. "I see. It is a tricky subject to 
bring up." 
 
And now North is standing quietly at Viggo's elbow with the beer 
he's asked for, and Viggo starts guiltily and says, "Thanks. How 
was your day?" 
 
 
 
Ian lies in bed, staring into the darkness and toying idly with a 
soft, dark curl at the back of Eric's head, tucked just beneath 
Ian's ear. For the first week or so, after he's left the capitol 
behind to journey north for the summer his body protests at the 
rigours. He loves arguing in Parliament, but there's always so 
much reading, and writing, and talking, that his body becomes 
lazy, and weak. Aside from the plain fact that summer in the 
capitol is hot, sticky and generally unbearable, Ian needs this 
time to strengthen himself; reacquaint with his family, remember 
where he ultimately belongs. But these days he doesn't feel 
much use. Like everyone around him, he is overwhelmed by 
events. 
 
When the north man first arrived, Ian believed he might be the 
key to all of this, or at least an important piece on the chess 
board. Now he's not sure what to believe. That North is involved, 
or was involved to some extent Ian is still certain, but after 
talking to Viggo this evening he wonders whether Viggo's lovely 
northerner is *relevant* anymore, and if that is perhaps why he 
keeps silent; because he has played out his part, and would just 
as soon leave it all behind, and start over. 
 
Eric shifts against him, observing, "Master can't sleep." 
 
"Sorry. I can't seem to help puzzling over my nephew and his 
mysterious north man." 
 
"He loves him," Eric murmurs, and then Eric nuzzles into Ian's 
neck, his muscular body warm and squirming enticingly.  
 
Ian chuckles, "Are you after something down there?" 
 
"Mmmm..." Eric grins into Ian's collar bone, one large hand 
roaming impertinently. 
 
Ian growls playfully and nudges him onto his back, kisses him 
briefly but loudly, making him laugh. He licks down Eric's broad 
chest, over his belly, and Eric sighs and opens beneath him. It 
occurs to Ian, as his tongue plays at the small scars left behind 
on Eric's enthusiastic sex from the brass slave ring removed long 
ago, that Eric did not specify which of Viggo and North is "he" 
and which is "him," but just then Eric gasps and writhes 
earnestly, which only makes sense, given what Ian's hands have 
got up to, and the logic portion of Ian's mind shuts itself abruptly 
off. 
 
 
 
Hop vines have quickly taken over the veranda of Orlando's 
cottage. Given the summer, they will range for acres toward the 
south and east, forming a vast arbor of rich, green vines, their 
soft, fuzzy cones fragrant and lush with promise. 
 
Barley is knee high, and a new field of alfalfa has been planted. 
 
Neighboring farm holders plough and seed, not knowing if 
anyone will be here to harvest, or if anything will have a chance 
to grow. Their only other choice is to abandon their land now, 
which really is no choice at all. 
 
Over the last few days Viggo has formed the habit of waking 
early enough to watch North heal himself out in the restored 
garden. Viggo is certain now that that is what's happening. The 
north man's morning ritual is not just a rote practice.  It's a way 
of strengthening his body, focusing his mind. The controlled 
movements and broad strokes keep North's muscles limber, 
prevent his scars from healing up tight, and binding him. Viggo 
wonders if perhaps some day North might teach him. 
 
The nights are warm, and North has abandoned all pretense of 
sleepwear, starting out the nights burrowed into the feather bed 
beneath his blanket, but by dawn sprawled guilelessly nude in a 
mess of knotted linens. Viggo watches him sometimes, the 
pendant around his neck dark against the north man's pale skin. 
Viggo thinks about things he shouldn't, and worries that he may 
be going a bit mad. 
 
They get word that Gaius will challenge his brothers for the 
throne. Stathan of course will back Gaius, and Solon has come 
down solidly on his side, which makes sense, as Quintus and 
Corvus have not been particularly discreet in coveting the modest 
lands and vast wealth of that sea-faring nation. There is no word 
from Turin, though Ian guesses they will stay out of it, with little 
to gain or lose from the conflict, either way. Benedicia historically 
has no special love for Medera, but their Prince Regent is married 
to a Mederan noble-woman, so it's still a coin toss. 
 
Miranda wants very badly to ride over to see David, and her 
mother kisses her on the forehead and sends Ed with her, partly 
for safety, and partly because she knows he'll want to trade 
information and make plans with Marton and his men. 
 
Viggo goes through the rest of the day half-dazed. It isn't as 
though they didn't know this would likely come, war, but while 
they were waiting to find out if the Prince was alive or murdered, 
they were safe. There's some little time left while preparations 
are finished, but Viggo's seen the Stathan soldiers riding through 
in small columns for the garrisons, and he knows that very soon 
they'll turn into regiments, and if the Mederan army doesn't wipe 
the ranch from the face of the earth, the Stathan army and the 
Mederans together will trample it to dust. He gets the sudden 
idea that all that blood will be good for the fields, and he starts to 
laugh, but bites down on the sound, a sort of half-sob that he 
swallows so as not to upset Karl, who is trying desperately to 
concentrate on fixing a loose fence post while making plans to 
send his wife and his daughters south with Ian.  
 
Viggo supposes that he, Karl and Orlando will be expected to 
take up the sword in some fashion. They live on the frontier. 
They know how to defend themselves, but the thought of being 
pressed into uniform and ordered to go forth and slaughter 
horrifies Viggo. Orlando is just old enough to be thinking about 
marriage, and Karl with three... Viggo stops himself, before he 
shatters. He's got horses to feed, and Roland to bed down, and 
then he's expected at supper, and damn if he's going to show his 
mother and his father that he's terrified. He's the eldest. They're 
counting on him. 
 
He's reticent when he walks into the bungalow, determined not 
to let his anger and his frustration out at North, but he can't get 
much past the north man. North is solemn, solicitous, and Viggo 
assumes that he and Eric have heard the news, probably from 
Marie or one of the other girls, who drop by now and then to 
scoop up the laundry or bring Viggo stock for his kitchen. Marie is 
barely sixteen, one of too many children from a local farm 
holding, and Viggo doesn't know what they'll do. His mother will 
try to persuade Marie to come with her, but the rest of the 
family... Viggo finds himself standing naked in the bathing room, 
staring at North, who stares back, and there are no inquiring 
flyaway eyebrows or cheeky grin this time. Viggo bathes, takes 
no joy in it. North bundles him in a towel, lingers at drying him 
off a little longer than is his wont, but Viggo barely notices, and 
finishes getting ready for supper. 
 
 
 
When Viggo returns to his house late that evening, he can think 
of nothing but the destruction the land will face, and how hard he 
is trying to push all of that to the back of his mind, so that he 
can function. So that he can undress, North's hands gentle, 
barely heeded as Viggo ignores the sleep trousers the north man 
holds out to him, but turns and says, "North, it's clear that 
Medera is not a safe place for you. You can't go back. Come to 
the capitol with us." 
 
The north man regards him thoughtfully, and Viggo tries to read 
what's going on behind those green hawk's eyes. "Even if my 
brothers and I are pressed into service, you can stay there, with 
Ian and Eric. You'll be safe. You can help keep them safe." 
 
North nods, but Viggo isn't sure whether he's agreeing to come 
with them, or agreeing that yes, he'd be safe there if he were to 
go, and then North is picking up the little jar of rose oil he made 
himself and gently pushing Viggo toward the bed, and he realizes 
that he is exhausted. 
 
He wakes in the deep part of the night, plagued by the visions he 
put away earlier. Alone in the quiet he can't fight them off. The 
vast old forest that has straddled the border and looked over this 
land for ages will be worried at and hacked away for fortifications 
and firewood, perhaps arrows or lance shafts. Fashioned into 
wagons for carrying the wounded, for lugging supplies--food, 
weapons, the dead. Viggo and his brothers will likely be expected 
to join the cavalry or more probably, according to Ian, look after 
the training and supply of horses to the cavalry. The family's 
empty houses will be perhaps used as officers' quarters. 
Eventually overrun and set afire. Cattle will be slaughtered or 
dispersed. Horses will die screaming in battle, in a war not of 
their making.  
 
He can't take anymore. Viggo rises silently, so as not to wake 
North, who sleeps with the covers pulled up high tonight, as 
though trying to hide from something, and he walks into the 
kitchen. The plan is to make himself a mug of tea, maybe with 
some valerian to calm himself, but he finds himself instead 
standing in his small kitchen and imagining it invaded and all the 
familiar parts of it--the pump at the sink, the cupboards his 
grandfather and Bernard built together torn apart, maybe the 
sturdy little iron stove where North battles the bacon in the 
mornings taken away and put into use in some regimental head 
quarters, or perhaps a field hospital, Stathan or Mederan, it 
doesn't matter. He tries to remember what he told Karl, that as 
long as the family remains intact they can rebuild, but that's 
assuming the land remains in Stathan hands. What happens if 
even Ian's home isn't safe anymore? Viggo slides down onto the 
floor and huddles there with his knees drawn up, sobbing into his 
arms, trying to be quiet while his heart breaks. 
 
He feels North's arms around him before he realizes the north 
man is there. He tries to curl in on himself, hiding his grief, but 
North is determined, which shouldn't surprise Viggo. When he 
raises his head to try to lie to North that he's really all right and 
that North should go back to bed the north man wipes at his face 
with a wash towel. Viggo sniffs and splutters and protests, "Gods, 
I'm not a child, I can blow my own nose!" which only makes the 
north man smile at him in the dark, and then North's face turns 
serious, and gets closer. The north man hesitates, and then 
apparently makes up his mind, and he kisses Viggo very lightly 
on the mouth. He draws back, searching Viggo's face as if to see 
how that's gone over, whether Viggo is offended. Viggo gulps. 
"You don't have to." And then, "How did you know?" 
 
North just shakes his head, giving him that sideways grin that 
always gets to him, and Viggo groans, "Oh gods, have I been 
that obvious?" completely missing the point that *North* has just 
kissed *him*. 
 
"I tried not to obsess. Will you forgive me? Will you come with 
us?" 
 
North leans in and kisses him again, an initiative which finally 
registers in Viggo's over-burdened mind, and he murmurs, "Oh" 
against the north man's mouth and kisses him back. 
 
North's hands slide across Viggo's bare shoulders, one gliding up 
the back of his neck to curve over the back of his head and pull 
him close. Long fingers tangle in his hair, the two of them 
struggling open-mouthed on the floor, tongues searching and 
teeth bumping while Viggo presses North back against the door 
of the cupboard below the sink. The two of them manage to sort 
it out at last, while Viggo's hand braces against the floor and the 
other runs along North's thigh, searches his hip, dares to touch 
him, at last.  
 
Viggo shivers with requited lust, clenches his fingers in the crisp, 
dark blonde curls between North's thighs and tugs gently, and 
North gasps encouragingly beneath him. He moans softly into 
Viggo's mouth, and Viggo nips harmlessly at his lower lip, bites 
at his chin, at his throat, North arching back for more, and then 
Viggo backs down and takes North into his mouth, and this, this 
is right--hot and satiny and musky, and North humming softly in 
pleasure and threading his fingers through Viggo's hair. Viggo 
spreads North's thighs wide, settles himself there on the floor 
where he can get some leverage, and he shoulders into the backs 
of North's knees and sucks hard, North slack-jawed with 
pleasure, rhythmically bouncing the back of his head off the 
cupboard doors and making soft sounds as Viggo purges the 
nightmare, sucking and licking him hard, his thumbs toying lower 
down, teasing. Viggo licks him from root to tip and pulls away, 
North making a small, rueful whimper at the sudden lack of 
contact. Viggo stares into darkened green eyes and he says, 
"Come to bed."  
 
Moments later Viggo is pushing North against the big mattress, 
and North gropes for the ties of Viggo's trousers, pushes them 
down as far as he can reach, and Viggo toes them down the rest 
of the way. North kneels forward and wraps his arms around 
Viggo's hips, nuzzling ardently between Viggo's legs, rubbing his 
face against the jutting evidence of Viggo's fantasies. Viggo 
splays his fingers through the north man's fine hair, swaying with 
the pleasure of North's touch; lips, chin, the hard bridge of his 
nose, the soft flutter of his eyelashes. Viggo finally tugs to get his 
attention, and the north man looks up at him with a raptor's 
gaze. He bends to kiss North and guides him up into his bed. 
Their bed.  
 
North rolls Viggo beneath him, and Viggo begins, "No, I want..." 
but the north man shakes his head and gives him that fierce, 
sideways grin and will not be denied, and soon Viggo is writhing 
and *anticipating*, his eyes focused on the way North's hand 
curves up and over and grips his left knee while Viggo's not 
exactly sure just at the moment where his right leg has got to, 
because he's all bound up in the middle, there where North's 
mouth is, which is really all he can think of, and then he's bent 
back and gulping air while his body spasms and loosens, his 
muscles stuttering into a hush that he can feel. 
 
He lies silently for a little time, North softly nuzzling at the joint 
between his thigh and his hip bone, that tender skin just there, 
and then the north man snuffles sweetly at his bellybutton, 
makes his way up to rub his face against Viggo's chest, there in 
the furry valley between his pectorals, then on to kiss Viggo on 
the mouth. He tastes of himself and of Viggo, which is really 
quite strange, as Viggo hasn't lain here under anyone for a very 
long time, and he'd mostly forgotten. North is snuffling in an 
exploratory fashion beneath Viggo's ear, and Viggo grins and 
shoves.  
 
North doesn't protest when Viggo rolls over on top of him and 
kisses him soundly. He darts down and bites North on the left 
nipple, earning a series of sharp exhalations as Viggo sucks on 
the bite, on the tender pink skin, and North is biting his lip and 
alternately chuckling and moaning, which is pretty much where 
Viggo wants him, though the other edge of the sword here is that 
the north man is running an implicative arch of his foot over 
Viggo's backside, and in desperation Viggo rolls off of North, who 
watches him intently as he lights the bedside lamp, and reaches 
for the salve they'd been using on North's back, still there on the 
table. North kisses the back of Viggo's hand, kisses his fingers, 
and as Viggo climbs back into bed North reaches down like a 
serpent striking and grips Viggo there between the legs, tugs at 
the solid heat, possessive, and Viggo grunts in surprise and 
thrusts into North's hand once, twice, cursing softly, and the next 
thing he knows North is tossing the lid of the salve onto the floor 
and slicking Viggo's body, and it's all he can do to return the 
favor quickly before North's legs are around his hips pulling him 
in. Viggo seats himself abruptly, North hissing with sudden pain 
and pleasure, while Viggo's lagging, lust-sodden brain briefly 
wonders whatever happened to taking it slow before crying 
havoc.  
 
Viggo's body joins in heady conspiracy with North, who bites at 
Viggo's chin, pulls at his shoulders, and there's nothing for it but 
to blindly take what he wants, take everything North offers as 
the north man moans and arches beneath him, Viggo breathing 
hard with the effort, sweat sheening on his back while North 
twists beneath him, his heels digging at the mattress as he 
angles to meet Viggo at each thrust, and Viggo realizes, as his 
body tightens and coils, that this is how he's always wanted it, 
North wild and whoring beneath him, giving Viggo everything and 
demanding the same. North's arms are tight around Viggo's 
back, and Viggo can't help but take him by the shoulders and 
grind hard against him, the sweat between the two of them not 
slick enough to be quite easy, but the north man is arching his 
hips upward just the same. North torques and twines around 
him, and then North is crying out, howling, deep and animal, and 
Viggo holds him hard and finishes brutally, biting at his shoulder, 
groaning his release into the flushed heat of North's fair skin. 
 
*I love you.* 
 
Viggo tries to slide sideways, but there are arms around him, 
holding him. He swallows and searches for his voice. "I'm heavy 
on you. Damn, I really bit you. I'm sorry. North..." 
 
Hands in his hair, gentle, the north man's chest rising and falling 
beneath his. 
 
*I love you*, he thinks, but he can't make himself say it. It 
sounds too much like bribery, when he's been trying to persuade 
North to come away with them. Trying to make him stay. 
 
Viggo manages to slide off to one side. He lurches gracelessly 
onto one elbow, peers blearily down at North, and says, "You 
ain't half bad to have around, you know, for a stray." 
 
North laughs up at him, glorious, and Viggo kisses him. *Please 
stay forever.* 
 
 
 
When Viggo wakes he's alone in his bed. He is, in fact, alone in 
the house, a fact he's ascertained by rampaging throughout the 
small house shouting North's name. He's run naked through his 
garden into his orchard, and pelted half-dressed across the open 
yard into the barn, circled the corrals, and back to the house, 
and now he's standing in his bedroom, sweating and breathless, 
his feet dirty, and his hair wild and his sleep trousers hanging off 
his hips, and he can't take this. The war, the ranch, and he's 
fallen in love, but North is *gone*, and Viggo sobs and roars his 
frustration and his heartache to the ceiling, and in the ensuing 
silence stands staring at North's bed, at once missing, mourning 
and cursing the north man. Then it occurs to him, now that his 
blood is cooling, that North has left him a message, and he might 
have stopped to read it before he ran out to the barn and startled 
the horses and the stable boy. 
 
North's bed has been neatly made up, except that the covers are 
turned down from the top. He has left behind the pendant 
containing the emblem of Bernard's house on his pillow. Viggo 
rests his hands on the top of his head, as though that might help, 
and he tries to put the pieces together. He's been learning to 
understand North for a month now, figuring out how the man 
thinks. He forces himself to concentrate. Ordinarily North turns 
down both beds at night, just before going to bed. And there's 
the pendant, a symbol well known in Stathan, known by some in 
Medera as well. Viggo's mark on North. Viggo sits down abruptly 
on the edge of his bed, not knowing whether to be relieved or to 
start mourning again.  
 
 
 
"So you believe he's acting as bodyguard for us, now," Bernard 
sums. 
 
"He's planning on coming back," Viggo says. "He's going to do 
something, and then he's coming back." 
 
Ian gets to the point. "And what do you believe he's gone to do, 
Viggo?" 
 
"I don't know," Viggo admits, "but look, if he's been working for 
Gaius, maybe he's gone to talk to them, see if they can help us." 
 
"And he left your pendant behind because?" 
 
Viggo guesses by the look in his uncle's eyes that Ian's already 
got the idea. "If he fails at whatever he's gone to do, if he's 
caught before he can reach Gaius, he doesn't want to be 
connected to our family. If *they* find out who helped him, they 
might come after us." 
 
"They can try," Bernard snorts. 
 
"Even so," Viggo cautions. 
 
Ian nods, and gazes out over the fence to the small pasture, 
watching Roland and Orlando's little buckskin race each other 
east to west. Bernard's big grey watches indolently, his attention 
on clover and early summer grass.  
 
 
 
During the next days couriers come and go nearly by the hour. 
The garrisons are full, and regiments and battalions of Stathan 
foot and cavalry have begun their march up from the capitol. It's 
four days after North's disappearance, and two days from now 
Bernard will deliver the first lot of horses for cavalry assignment 
to the garrison at Filipa. Viggo's mother and Karl's wife have 
begun packing in preparation for a hasty removal. Orlando claims 
he can't decide what to bring, which is true, but really it's 
because he can't force himself to finally admit that it's 
happening. He'll be able to bring the buckskin mare. Right now 
that's the only thing keeping Orlando from digging himself a 
stubborn hole out in the brood pasture and refusing to come out 
of it. 
 
Ian and Eric are getting ready to go back to the capitol ahead of 
the family. Ian is loath to leave now, but he has no choice in the 
matter. Eric is unusually quiet, and Viggo realizes that it isn't just 
because he doesn't want to go back to the city, nor even because 
of the threat of losing the ranch. Eric misses North, and Viggo 
regrets having been jealous of the two of them. 
 
 
 
After supper, Viggo slumps in his sitting room, drinking a glass of 
heavy red wine and staring at nothing. He hasn't slept in a 
couple of days, and there's a persistent, dark little thought that's 
been plaguing him. He really doesn't want to know, but he 
wonders, so he gets up and goes into his kitchen and rummages 
in the drawer where all the best knives are kept. There it is; the 
knife North took with him when he tried to leave. Solid grip. 
Small, sturdy blade. Good for cutting apples. Good for lots of 
things. Easily hidden, but plenty of blade to commit murder in 
the hands of one who knows how to wield it. Bodyguard. 
Assassin. Same coin, opposite sides. Who would be in a better 
position to warn Gaius that he's been marked for death than the 
assassin contracted to kill him? Some old friend from his reckless 
youth in the Mederan slums. No surprise that North never said 
anything, never revealed the truth. Viggo wonders if Gaius is 
grateful, if he's been told by now what happened after. Viggo 
puts away the knife abruptly, and flees the kitchen. 
 
 
 
Late in the afternoon of the eighth day after North has 
disappeared, Viggo is working a high-spirited yearling on the end 
of a lunge-line, trying to concentrate on what he's doing, but 
wondering at the back of his head if this is the last colt he'll ever 
train on this ground. He can hear Orlando whooping behind him, 
and the hounds barking and belling purely for the innocent glee 
of joining in, and then the noise is getting closer, until Viggo 
can't ignore it anymore, and he pulls the colt in and turns in time 
to avoid getting bowled over by his youngest brother.  
 
The colt dances sideways, snorting and kicking at the dogs, and 
Viggo snaps, "What the hell are you on about?"  
 
In answer to his question Orlando hugs him hard, grabs his 
hands and whirls his confused brother in a crow-hop dance 
around the arena. "They're dead!" Orlando enthuses. "Dead, 
dead, dead," he sings. 
 
"What? Who?" Viggo jerks his hands out of his brother's grip. 
"What the hell are you yammering about?" Then he turns, 
because he can hear other voices taking up the chant. He 
demands of his grinning brother again, "What happened?" 
 
"Quintus and Corvus," Orlando explains breathlessly, giggling as 
a dog jumps on him, leaving dusty paw prints all down his front. 
Orlando begins dancing with the dog, who gives it his best, but is 
not quite made for it at the last. 
 
"The King of Medera and his brother are dead," Viggo repeats 
dully.  
 
"Quintus broke his neck in his bathtub, and Corvus died in his 
garden. Looks like he fell out of a tree." 
 
Viggo raises an eyebrow. "What was a Mederan prince doing up a 
tree?" 
 
"Well," says Ian's voice, "that is how it appears." 
 
Viggo turns to his uncle, while the colt and the dogs chase each 
other recklessly behind him. Orlando runs after, trying to catch 
the lunge line before the colt gets himself tangled.  
 
Ian drapes his elbows over the top rail, drawling, "The rumor in 
Medera at the moment is that the gods have taken Quintus and 
his murderous sibling in hand at last." His blue eyes glitter. "All 
that really matters to us is that no blame is laid at Gaius's feet, 
and so far no one's pointing any fingers. Holders and ranchers 
and entire small towns on both sides of the border are breathing 
a vast sigh of relief." He saunters off, leaving Viggo dumb-
founded in the training circle.  
 
Orlando brings up the colt. It nibbles at his hair. A large dog 
insists on squeezing through the narrow space between his 
knees. "He's not like them," Orlando declares. 
 
Viggo blinks. "What?" 
 
His youngest brother's eyes are black and serious when he 
explains, "Not the sort to make it last. A quick, easy death. 
Neither of them likely saw it coming, when he could so easily 
have repaid them in kind." 
 
"What makes you assume it was his hand?" *Your mind works so 
much like Ian's.* 
 
"I'm not saying he's an angel, but he's not like *them*, Viggo." 
 
Orlando leads the colt back toward the barn, the hound pack 
following him, a sea of ears and backs and wagging tails... 
except for one. Viggo glances down to find the old fellow who 
likes to sleep on his porch sitting at his feet; the dog North had 
taken to feeding, and Eric after he left, and the hound bumps up 
under the palm of Viggo's hand. Viggo isn't sure just at the 
moment whether to laugh to heaven, praising the Horse Lord and 
all seven of his daughters, or just fall down and kiss the pure, 
blood-free dust. He strokes the hound's smooth, greying head, 
and suggests, "Come on old man, let's get you some supper."  
 
 
 
Six nights later Viggo, asleep in North's bed, opens his eyes in 
the dark to find North kneeling on the floor next to the bed. He 
cradles the leather thong with the silver pendant in his hands as 
they rest palm up in his lap. Viggo sits up and swings his legs 
over the edge. He wonders how long the north man has knelt 
here, silent and naked.  
 
Viggo takes the pendant from North's hands and for the second 
time knots it around the north man's neck. North counts the four 
horses with his fingers, and touches the sunrise. 
 
*Welcome home. You've murdered a double monarchy for us. 
Thank you. I love you.*  Viggo doesn't know what to say first.  
 
"How many men have you killed who never saw it coming?" 
 
North kneels up and bends forward, pressing his face against 
Viggo's lap, his hands open against Viggo's thighs. Viggo strokes 
North's hair, feels the softness of it, how it slips through his 
fingers, tangles in his fist, and he feels the heat from North's 
face, his breath warm against Viggo's skin. He traces the dark, 
erotic tattoo, damaged in that one corner, down over North's 
shoulder blade where the whip cut into it; North's long, fine 
hands that have snapped necks for bounty. Perhaps a quick 
blade between the shoulders--a startled pain, and then nothing. 
Not the sort to make it last.  
 
Viggo leans over him, resting his face against the back of North's 
head. He runs his hands slowly over the northerner's bare skin, 
fingering the low ridges of the scars across North's back. He 
realizes North is trembling. 
 
"You've left it all behind, haven't you. Everything," Viggo 
murmurs into the back of North's neck. North smells like sweat, 
trail dust and damp grass. 
 
"I love you, y'know." Velvet and darkness. 
 
Viggo feels the seasons finally shifting forward for him; bloom 
and harvest, seeds sown with the blood of kings. "Oh my love, I 
know." 
 
 
 
--end--