[Fill] FE7 - Corruption
Series: FE7
Character/Pairing: Raven, Lucius
Rating: PG-13 for mild mention of injuries
Words: 1540
Prompt: Raven/Lucius - when someone asks if Lucius is his wife while traveling together, he answers 'yes' to keep Lucius out of the fray.
Author's Note: Uhmmm so, it ended up being way more gen and much less floofy than was probably wanted. I'm sorry. I also fudged the premise a bit. My apologies.
Corruption
“For the last time, no. You're
going to get yourself killed. Just stay here.”
It was hardly an unfamiliar refrain in
their conversations, but as always, it did no good. Raven's companion
did not look up as he hastily piled his supplies into a rucksack, the
first glimmer of sunrise peering through the window and dancing
through his fair hair. For all his dainty appearance, Lucius was
hardly one to back down from an argument like this.
“Lord Raymond, I did not
accompany you so that I could sit in the camp while you went off into
battle. I'm not some helpless child, and I won't just sit here and be
treated like one.”
“If
you're still going to insist on calling me lord,
at least do as I say,” Raven sighed. He'd learned the last time
that shouting did little good – Lucius' tolerance for such things
was infuriating – and that merely storming out would only cause him
to tag along behind him. Every time, it ended in a spear just
missing an outstretched arm, an ax just
managing to cut through thick blue robes rather than pale flesh. It
would be different if it were some tame objective – transporting
goods, relaying messages, escorting merchants through mountains –
but trying to drive a group of bandits out of a village? It was
hardly safe work, and even the most blessed of men could not continue
dodging death forever.
“I'd be remiss in
my duty to House Cornwell if I let you go on your own.” Lucius
stood and stumbled as he slung the too-heavy satchel over his
shoulder and moved to block the door with his body. “Haven't I
proven myself capable of fighting, with everything we've been
through?”
Raven still vividly
recalled the dark bruises on Lucius' arms when he'd retrieved him
from the cell in Caelin, the flash of black-red as a nomad's arrow
buried itself in his leg on the Dread Isle, the stench of burning
cloth and singed hair as he barely withstood the breath of the fire
dragon. Survival was hardly proof enough.
“No,” he
answered curtly. “Now move, or I'll move you myself.”
Lucius pressed his
lips tightly together and finally stepped out of the way, only to
scamper behind Raven once he was out the door. That much, Raven had
expected. He picked up his pace, moving faster than he knew his
friend could, and found another mercenary lounging outside. A wisp of
a thing, barely old enough to shave, let alone fend off bandits. He
was reminded, again, of times past, of a reedy archer with an overly
loud voice, the sound of boisterous laughter cut off by the familiar
crack of bone breaking under blade.
Better to be nagged
about this for all eternity than have no one to nag at him at all.
“Listen, kid,” he said, his words smooth and quick, “how would
you feel about taking care of my lovely wife over there, instead of
going out today.” He tipped his head in the direction of the
approaching monk. The sun was half-up now, casting a dim golden glow
over the camp, and, to Raven's delight, masking the few masculine
features that could give his ruse away.
“Well. . . what
about my wages?”
“I'll pay you
half of mine until we get to Etruria. And. . . you can have my
portion of meat for the next week.” He looked as if he could use
it, too, with those scrawny arms and slightly sunken eyes.
The boy's eyes lit
up, especially at the second part, and Raven knew he had succeeded.
“It's a deal,” he heard, just as Lucius, breathless and
flustered, finally caught up.
“Sweetheart,”
he cooed, barely managing to keep a straight face as the boy grabbed
Lucius' shoulder. “What did I say about following me out here? Go
on back. This kid'll keep you company.” He made a note to get
better with names.
“Sweet-- what?”
Confusion quickly gave way to quiet outrage, the barely perceptible
narrowing of eyes and twitch of lips that said You're never going
to hear the end of this. Raven knew the look all too well. The
boy grabbed for Lucius' hand and started pulling him back toward the
campsite, and Raven was met with one last withering look before he
lost sight of his friend.
Maybe next time, you'll just stay
back.
The estimate of “a
handful of bandits” was hardly accurate. Raven had already seen
three of the troupe's own men go down in the onslaught, and his own
bound-up arm ached where an enemy's blade had sliced through the
flesh.
Who hires a tiny band of mercenaries
for this kind of work? he
thought as he scanned the horizon for more enemies to dispose of.
This was the sort of work a marquess was supposed to see to, wasn't
it? His father would have seen to it, would have made sure every last
bandit rued the day he attacked Cornwell's own. What a stupid word,
corruption. Raven knew
corruption when he saw it, and it was there in the harrowed faces of
villagers peering through windows, the sound of blade crashing
against blade in the streets, the stiff, tight cling of blood-soaked
fabric to his skin.
His eyes narrowed
as he caught sight of a few brigands slipping through an alleyway.
What was there left in this place to take, anyway? The charms hung
over doorways blessed by old priests, the half-empty stores of grain
and seed, the horses in the paddocks with skin stretched tight over
tired ribs? He remembered his mother trying to explain words he'd
heard murmured from his father and his council about the people in
the countryside.
Starving,
she'd say, is when people have no food, and they are hungry
all the time.
But don't people work for food?
he'd ask. Shouldn't they just work harder?
He
didn't want to think about where the coin to hire the troupe had come
from or whether those bony horses might end up on a plate later in
the winter as he charged ahead to thrust his sword into the hairy gut
of another man, and withdrew it just as swiftly to let his victim
fall away from his path.
Work harder.
He let out a roar
as his blade whipped through the air to take out another enemy,
oblivious to the cry of agony that followed his movement. Another
came at him, faster now, and managed to graze his gut with the edge
of a knife. He hissed and charged forward to counter, but the bandit
slipped out of the blade's path and struck again.
Raven was on the
ground before he even knew he'd been hit, gasping words that would
have made his mother blush and his father shake his head. He had to
get up. There was no one else to do what he needed to, no one to make
sure Lucius didn't get himself killed, or that his sister's bastard
of a husband didn't take advantage of her. He opened one eye and saw
the enemy moving again. He couldn't get up fast enough, couldn't
reach his blade –
He saw
a flash, heard a scream, and then a soft thud
next to him. Was this what dying was like? Blindness, coldness, the
smell of burning flesh? He saw a hand, through the fading spots in
his eyes, reaching out for him, and wondered for a moment if it was
his mother's. And then he heard his name, with that irritating “Lord”
in front, and knew better.
“How did you –
”
“Sssh.
Don't talk, you're hurt. I'll protect you, my lord.” He might have
been imagining it, but Raven swore he saw the faintest trace of a
smirk, one that asked, who's the wife, now?
He
took the hand without a word.
The gathering
around the fire was quieter than it usually was that night; it always
was when men were lost on the job. Over the quiet mumblings of the
more experienced men, Raven heard the boy he'd trusted jabbering at
another about how he'd have enough meat to get muscles like 'the big
redhead', and how his nice wife was going to teach him letters so
long as he let her fight. He barely noticed as Lucius pushed his own
portion of salted beef onto his plate and sat next to him.
“You know,” he
said, after a few moments of staring into the fire, “I just didn't
want – ”
He was cut off by
the boy plowing into his shoulder and slapping his back in a sad
imitation of the camaraderie of the older men. “Hey, hey, I'll give
you back half your meat if you teach me to fight! What do you say?”
Lucius looked on
and answered his friend's unspoken words with only a smile and a
shake of his head, before inching closer to the fire and turning his
attention to his portion of dry biscuit and ale. Raven knew he needed
to say no more.
(Crossposted here in case LJ eats it or something, I dunno.)