by J. C. Owens
He stared at his friend, tears welling despite all his will to prevent them. For all his capabilities in war, he had not the slightest skill in personal relationships. If nothing else this past year, he had discovered that.
“I’m sorry.” The words burst forth, as though they had been straining for release. Tears blurred his vision, hid Paulsten’s expression, but the arms that came round him, pulling him against a broad chest spoke eloquently on their own.
He wrapped his arms around Paulsten, a choking sob rising in his throat, and then to his horror, he began to shake like a leaf, sliding to his knees.
Dimly, he was aware of Paulsten’s consoling murmurs, but they seemed to be overcome by the thunder of his heart, the pain of his chest. He clutched at it, trying to still the overwhelming tightness, but it only grew. Great, gulping sobs overcame him and he lay against Paulsten, clutching at him as though at a life line.
He could not breathe, could not…
There were voices, concern in the tone, but he could not place the speakers in his disordered, panicked thoughts.
He was lifted, and he cried out. A warm, calloused hand gripped his and he subsided, trusting he was not alone.
Softness beneath him, and he arched away, terrified of smothering, the pain and fear overwhelming all good sense…
A sharp prick in his arm shocked him into clearer thought, and he tried to stop shaking, terrified of his own body’s reactions.
What was happening? Why?…
He fell into the darkness with a grateful sob.
* * *
He woke with a start, fear already in his thoughts, heart racing…
“Peace, my friend. I am here. Amadan is here as well. You are safe.”
Torin blinked dazedly, staring up at Paulsten, trying to get his bearings.
He licked dry lips, and immediately Amadan was there, offering a drink, concern evident in those dark brown eyes.
“What happened?” he croaked, shocked at the harshness of his own voice.
“You collapsed,” Amadan said bluntly. “This has been coming for a while, building up, and you finally gave in.”
“Gave in… To what?” Torin could not understand his king’s words. He had collapsed. Why? He had been without sleep for a few days, had not been eating correctly, but surely it would not affect him so drastically. The weakness he felt was terrifying in its intensity. He felt as though he had been ill for months rather than a few hours.
Paulsten brushed his hair back from his forehead with a fond, welcome touch. Torin turned his face into the hand, feeling traitorous tears rise once more. How he had missed his friend. What foolishness had kept him from reaching out, regaining a friendship that had meant so much to him?
“You have been under incredible pressure for years, Torin,” Paulsten said softly. “The fate of our whole country rested on your shoulders. Everyone looked to you for miracles and you tried with all your heart and soul to achieve them, for the people, for us. You kept nothing for yourself. Now, your mind knows it is safe, it is time to purge all you have kept within you.”
Torin stared at him blankly. “There is nothing wrong with me. I did what I had to. It is over now. What nonsense is this? I just need to eat and get some sleep. That is all.”
Paulsten shook his head. “There is a lot more than that. You had a complete breakdown, an episode so severe we had to sedate you. That is not a small problem, my friend. This is going to take work and time, to release all you are holding within. You gave to us so freely, so without expectation, now it is our turn to give to you.”
Amadan took his hand, threaded their fingers together. “There will be many who need help. I have asked for doctors to come, to aid those who need to heal even as you do. You are not alone in this.”
Torin struggled to sit, his traitorous body needing help even to achieve so simple a movement. Paulsten arranged him against the pillows and Torin scowled, fear rising at his vulnerability.
“That is nonsense. There is nothing wrong with me. I tell you, it is just food and rest needed.”
“Have you looked at yourself recently? You are skin and bone. This problem has been long term, not just a few days of neglect. You keep giving, but take nothing in return. Your body, your mind, cannot continue in this way. Yesterday, it became critical. You scared the hells out of us.”
Torin noticed his fingers clutching at the blankets, white knuckled, and tried to calm himself. What in the hells was wrong with him? His breathing was too fast, his body was beginning to shake again. Fear began to find a foothold once more.
“Torin.” Amadan’s tone was sharp and it pierced the rising panic. “This is nothing you are doing wrong. It is the result of all you have seen, and been forced to do. The pressure you have been under is more than any man can bear. Sooner or later, you will bow beneath the weight and that time has come.”
Torin snatched at Paulsten’s hand, held it tightly, looking at his friend beseechingly.
“This cannot happen now. Aidan is coming, I have to be there, have to make this right. He cannot see me like this. I have to be strong, have to…”
“That is the problem,” Paulsten said softly. “Your belief that you always have to be in control, that you must solve everything yourself. Aidan returning was the final straw. It triggered this.”
“No. I just want to see him, want to fix this. It has to be fixed, Paulsten. Don’t you see? It has too.” Torin was beginning to pant, the pain in his chest beginning to squeeze once more.
“Torin! You need to breathe. Breathe for me,” Amadan grasped his face, turning him to face the king. “Breathe.”
Torin tried. He would do anything for his king, obey any command, but this one seemed beyond his capability. Fear rose higher, taking his senses, until everything blurred once more.
This could not be happening. He could not be weak now, not now.
The prick of the needle made him moan in despair and he fought the encroaching darkness with all his might.
“Aidan,” he whispered as he slid from awareness.
Chapter Nine
Paulsten found himself nervous, in a way he would not have expected. He stood upon the marble steps of the great stairs, hands clasped behind him, keeping up a front of expressionless calm, but inside was a different manner.
Below him, the riders began to dismount and he got to see Aidan for the first time in over a year.
For long moments, he thought perhaps they had made a mistake, that this was not Aidan at all.
The man below, patting the mare with sorrow in his eyes, had changed immeasurably, as if all the softness, all the youth had been scoured from him, leaving a lean, wiry older version, that looked hard and cold.
He felt his breath falter. It was on this man’s shoulders that Torin’s fate would rest, and at this moment, he had absolutely no idea if Aidan would even care. The compassionate young man he had been seemed very far away.
His fingers clenched around each other.
Brilliant green eyes, vivid in a darkly tanned face, raised to his and he held his breath, unsure.
A faint softening, a hint of a smile, made him draw in air once more, hope rising. There was a hint of the old Aidan at least, perhaps enough to ensure the future.
He smiled in return, holding out a hand that gestured Aidan up the stairs. The young man gave the mare a last, lingering pat, then handed her reins to another and mounted the staircase, looking small against its ageless grandeur.
As he drew closer, Paulsten could make out a faint hint of fear in Aidan’s expression. Well hidden, he only recognized it from his previous association with the other man. Relief flooded him as Aidan grasped his hand in welcome.
“You look well, Paulsten. It is good to see you once more, though I wish it to be in better circumstances.”
Paulsten raised an eyebrow. He had wondered how Aidan would view the summons. It was evident he saw it as a threat. He wanted to reassure him, but his king had warned him to leave it be, and he wo
uld obey, much though he wished otherwise. It was for Amadan to see this through.
“I am glad for your return. I hope that it will aid Torin in his healing.”
Aidan’s expression, hard and controlled, cracked ever so slightly, worry instantly flaring into life in his eyes.
“He is ill? Injured?” He cut off, trying to control himself, but Paulsten had seen enough, relief flooding him, a smile taking hold. There was hope here, more than he had dared imagine.
“He collapsed two days ago, and we are keeping him sedated. He has a long road before him. Mentally and physically, he has driven himself to the edge and now it will cost him greatly. He will need you.”
Aidan took a step back, lips drawing thin.
“I hardly think so. He made that quite clear.”
“He was a fool, and he knows that, regrets that. Only his stubborn pride has kept him from realizing that he needs you back. He believes that you hate him, are better off without him. Is that true?”
He waited, praying silently.
Aidan was frozen, mouth agape in shock. “I… He is the one who hates me.”
“He never hated you. He was caught in a whirlwind of emotion, and fear and anger are a dangerous mix at best with Torin. That is not an excuse and he knows that, but it happened and now he wishes he could mend it, repair what you had.” He smiled ruefully. “Not that he would be able to say that. Foolish man. You will have your work cut out with him.”
Aidan was silent, speechless, eyes wide and wild.
“All this time…”
“If we could have found you, perhaps it could have been mended sooner. Perhaps not. It may be that this alone is what was meant to happen, and now things have come together properly. I don’t know.”
“But Amadan… They are together, lovers. What happened to change that? He cannot care for me when he has his prince—king—once more. I think you are mistaken.” He stammered.
Paulsten shook his head. “Amadan is not the same person. He was shot in the head, during the royal murders. He survived, but there are many changes in him. He struggles for memory. Thank the gods he does not remember his family’s deaths, but he also did not remember his relationship with Torin. They have both come to terms with this, Torin mostly because he began to realize that his care of you was greater than what he had had with Amadan, that things had changed for them both. They are closer than brothers, but are not intimate.”
Shock painted Aidan’s features and he stood silent, looking dazed and worn.
Paulsten felt pity rise. “Come. I will take you to my rooms and you can bathe and change into clean clothing. The king wishes to see you immediately, or I would let you rest.”
Aidan jerked, paling. “The king…”
Paulsten took his arm and drew him alongside him. “It will be fine, Aidan. Trust me.”
* * *
The guards rapped upon the ornate doors to the royal suite, and Aidan brushed back his damp hair with shaking fingers.
He tried to hold to Paulsten’s confidence, but fear was rapidly gaining a foothold. His mind whirled with all he had been told, terrified to hope too much, to believe. He had spent so long trying to cast this aside and now to be handed his dream seemed improbable at best.
This man, this king, could only hate him. For being the Imposter, for being one of the enemy, for daring to love Torin…
So many reasons for this to go terribly wrong.
Every particle of his being longed to go to Torin, concern forming a lump in his throat. But first, there must be this. Whatever this would turn out to be.
He heard a voice, then a man opened the doors, viewing them all for a long moment, before he gestured Aidan forward.
He went, trying to draw cold control around himself.
The doors closed behind him, and the man who had brought him in, bowed and then disappeared through an archway to another part of the suite.
“Come. Sit.”
The tone held command of a degree that Aidan had only ever heard in Torin himself.
He bowed, uncertain as to protocol, and stiffly approached, lowering himself into the chair and perching on the edge, prepared for flight if necessary.
The king was even more handsome close up, though he looked much older than the portraits, more regal now with age and experience. He had a great presence about him, a leader to his fingertips.
At his left temple, there was a scar, pink and shiny, so small an indicator of the tragedy that had befallen him.
Yet his eyes were calm, if cool. He sat back in his chair, hands linked loosely over his stomach, piercing gaze fixed solely upon Aidan.
“So you are Aidan.”
“Yes, your majesty.”
Paulsten and Torin have told me much of you, how you were raised and your lack of memory.”
Aidan nodded, swallowing hard.
“We have something in common then. I do not remember the past either. Bits return, at uncertain moments, but there is no cohesiveness to it, no way to make sense of it. You have my heartfelt sympathy.”
Aidan blinked, stunned. It seemed a very personal thing to reveal to one you considered a foe.
“Thank you, your majesty. I am sorry for your loss and for what you continue to undergo.”
Amadan tilted his head, then nodded, accepting the sentiment graciously. “I would see you more closely.” He stood, prompting a startled Aidan to rise.
Amadan rounded the desk and came closer. Aidan stared blindly ahead as the king slowly inspected him moving around him from right to left, the intense scrutiny making goose bumps rise on Aidan’s skin.
Finally, the king reached out and touched the corner of Aidan’s mouth, tracing a scar. His brow creased into a frown, and an uncertainty lingered in his eyes.
“I know this scar. I have seen it.”
Aidan’s heart began to pound. He turned his head, hoping…
Amadan shook his head, a grimace of displeasure upon his face. “It will not come to me. But I have seen it, seen you, but not as an adult. A child.” His fingers lingered, tracing upwards and cupping Aidan’s cheek.
The king stared into his eyes, a certain longing in his own.
“Could you be my brother? Is it possible?”
Aidan was speechless, wanting to protest, to point out the impossibility of such a thing, but the emotion on the king’s face, the raw need in his eyes made Aidan pause. “Torin felt that perhaps I was a bastard child, a by-blow of a cousin. If so, I might be distantly related to you.”
“No. I know you are closer than that. Somehow.” Amadan reached up to rub his forehead, pain flickering across his features. “If I could just remember.”
“Please, your majesty, don’t harm yourself. Perhaps it will come later, another day.” He longed to touch, to console, but did not dare overstep himself.
“Perhaps.” Amadan stepped back, returned to the other side of the desk where he seated himself in the great chair, looking pained and weary. “It is frustrating, this lack of memory, as you are well aware. It is good to speak to someone who understands.”
“I don’t remember my childhood, your majesty. The rest is all too clear, though I would wish it otherwise.”
Amadan gave a small, tired smile. “Torin has told me much of you. Repeatedly. I feel as though I know you well.” The smile faded. “You hold his heart. You had best be gentle with it.”
The threat was there, muted but still potent.
Aidan’s chin came up. “He has not been so gentle with mine, your majesty. It remains to be seen how this will turn out. I will not be treated in such a fashion again, and trust must be mended before anything can be assumed.”
He fell silent, shocked at his own temerity.
Amadan leaned back, viewing him from over steepled fingers. He gave a single, abrupt nod, something in his expression softening for the briefest of moments.
“Good. You have come into yourself then, as Paulsten had hoped. Torin needs strength, not just someone who will bow to him.
The man can be a stubborn ass, and he must have a partner that will call him on it, lest he become unbearable to us all.”
Aidan choked on a laugh, trying to hold back his humor, uncertain…
There was a gleam in Amadan’s eyes, waiting…
Aidan snorted, another laugh escaping now that he knew the king held humor of his own.
“I do not know what I might be, but perhaps, I might hold firm with him.” His laughter, faint though it was, faded completely as he stared at the king. “What am I to be, your majesty? Did you bring me here only for Torin, or do you hold resentment for the fact I shot you? Is there punishment to come? I need to know this. I don’t want to live with uncertainty hanging over me.”
“To the point. I appreciate that. As to your actions, if I had the choice between my wound and Heratis and his ilk still ruling over Ceratas, then I can only be grateful for your actions, as are so many of us. Since you left, as things settled and people could consider things logically once more, your name has become symbolic with courage and overcoming the will of others. You will find your reception here much different than before, and if you should encounter others who are not so clear on your status, send them to me. I will see to their education.”
Aidan though of Lord Cermun and wondered if his hatred had abated at all during his absence.
Time would tell.
“And what will I become, your majesty? I have no family, no title, no talent to speak of. If things between Torin and I can be salvaged, then I cannot merely be his companion.” He felt horror at the mere thought of being kept, with no purpose of his own.
“I have considered this, long and carefully. The captain who brought you back sent a rider ahead with his report and that of your captain. You have more skills than you are giving yourself credit for. If you and Torin should remain together, I wish for you to aid him. My friend does not yet know, but I am making him head of the Ceratas military, and between you, you shall see to the training of new men to raise our numbers and ensure we are protected.” His lips drew thin, his eyes dark. “Never again shall Ceratas be less than fully prepared.”