Artisan’s Sanctuary

But Nadal is soft and so are his touches.  It’s irritating how easy the elderboy lets himself be pushed back.  He rolls away with ease and makes a face like Valas has done something disgustingly cute when the rogue climbs into his lap.  Valas has to do everything.  He wants to wrap his fingers around the elderboy’s neck but his hands only make it to Nadal’s shoulders.  He’s still not sure how much the other man meant it when he said not to try that again.  Nadal pulls him in for a kiss, teeth and tongue and it’s acceptable.  Some of Valas’s ire ebbs away.

Fingers card through his hair and pull at it just so.  Enough to break the kiss and this time the feeling of frustration is good.  As good as the teeth over his pulse and Nadal’s low, “I could end you right here.”  And the threat of it makes Valas’s whole body sing in anticipation of pain.  The bite to his shoulder doesn’t break skin but Nadal flips them both and kisses Valas so hard he has to shove the elderboy away just to breathe.

The rogue pulls him back down for another kiss before he can be asked if he’s okay.  Nadal could be so good if he didn’t bring everything to a halt with nonsense.  Valas wraps his arms around the other man and tries to claw away the ink on his back.  That only makes Nadal press closer and that’s good too.  It’s Nadal who pulls away first this time but Valas beats him to the punch.

“Shut up.  Be a good boy and just shut up.”  He gets a critical look and for a moment Valas thinks Nadal will pull away.  He would too.  Because Nadal is a bastard who thinks a roll in a hay needs to be filled with reassurances that you’re fine.  Instead he does something worse.  He cups Valas’s cheek and kisses his forehead.

“Silly.”  Valas hisses and tries to scramble out from under the elderboy but Nadal’s other hand catches his shoulder and presses him in place.  Not enough to hurt.  No.  Not when he’s like this.  Nadal trails kisses across his jaw, down his neck, never once a hint of teeth.  Hands slip, firm and careful all at once down to his chest.  Valas hisses curses and insults and tries to knee Nadal in the gut but the angle is all wrong and Nadal is too close.

“I hate you so much!” 

At least, that was the intent, but as stated: Nadal Emaess’al is a bastard and a half.  Valas is only just within range when the elderboy drags him into his lap and wrapping his arms around him in a hug.  “Hello there.”  The embrace is intimate and stifling, made worse by the affectionate kiss Nadal presses to his temple.

Really, the elderboy has become too comfortable with...whatever this is.  Valas slaps at his arms, which obediently unwind from around his middle.  That’s nice at least.  Valas slips out of his lap and into a seat of his own. 

“You need to stop doing that.”  Nadal gives him a long look, like a stupid dog trying to read a spell book.  But of all Nadal’s horrible flaws, his blind obedience is one that works in Valas’s favor.

Valas, curiously, doesn’t bother.  At least not where Nadal is concerned.  It’s interesting, seeing color creep across the curious grey of his skin.  It bleeds from his ears and across his cheeks.  Valas’s fingers twitch for a knife, or maybe the weight of his crossbow in his hands.  Violence is always his first thought.  Nadal can see it in the way his eyes narrow and his mouth twists.  The elderboy thinks he could put color to Valas’s lips with enough kisses.

He raises a hand to draw a thumb over the rapidly vanishing line between dusky russet and grey.  Valas snatches it out of the air, hissing like a territorial cat.  “You need to stop.”

“Have I made you uncomfortable?”  The question only serves to darken the color of Valas’s cheeks.

“THAT needs to stop!”  Ah.  This again.  Nadal raises his hand, pulling the rogue with it as he stubbornly refuses to relinquish his grip.  “You bend to everyone’s whim like a dog doing tricks!  Even if it’s not expressed!”

Nadal stoops down, pressing kisses across Valas’s face.  “You’re so jealous.”

Allowing someone to tend to your hair is a grossly trusting act.  Perhaps Valas isn’t trusted as much as Xune because of the presence of a mirror here, but it’s a close second, certainly.  Standing at Nadal’s unarmored back, hands allowed so close to his neck, his spine...Valas could do quite the bit of damage.  A pettier part of him wants to simply gather up the curtain of white and cut it.  It would be so easy.  He runs the brush through too long hair and watches the elder boy’s eyes close.  Weakness.  Folly.

“I know you can do this yourself.”  Nadal hums, opening his eyes again.

“If you don’t want to, I could.”  Valas slaps away the hand that raises to reach for the brush.

And she’s still weak now, bustling between people and trying to keep tabs on everyone personally.  She worries about everyone’s well being, how they’re adjusting, if they’re getting along well with the few residents here that aren’t fellow escapees.  She worries about if they’re being treated well by the adventurers and merchants who pass through.  Xune worries, trying to take on everyone’s problems as her own and in turn everyone worries for her.  Their guardian who stepped in to argue that an injured worker is less productive, that if a worker wasn’t getting things done then that is the fault of poor management of resources on the overseer’s part.  

Valas wouldn’t mind giving her one less person to worry over.  He wants to claw the tattoo off Nadal’s back and crop his hair short, take everything that marks the elderboy as a male of House Emaess’al and throw it away.  But the dog off his leash will still his at his mistress’s heels and Valas knows it.  Maybe it’s because of her kindness, maybe it’s because of her weakness.  What a good dog Nadal is.  Valas wants to tear their relationship apart, take the leash from her and pull it so tight Nadal chokes.  

“Is the day finding you well, Valas?”  He hates that she’s taken the time to know everyone’s names, but he smiles at her anyway.

“It always does, milady.”  She gives him a smile, bright and genuine, with an ease that makes him hate her more.

Valas resists the urge to stick his tongue out at the child, an easy feat.  It doesn’t feel like he’s won anything particularly wonderful. Nadal had picked him up on his way out and reminded him that fair was fair.  The rogue reminded himself exactly what this was in trade for.  Honestly, Valas was beginning to wonder if Nadal would have gone his entire life without someone sharing his bed if Valas hadn’t barged in.

There’s nothing particularly sexual about the way Nadal holds him either.  Nothing they can’t get away with, anyway.  Nadal has an arm draped around Valas’s waist, thumb rubbing lazy circles against the rogue’s hip.  It’s an absent gesture, one that only pauses when Valas twists to look at Nadal during a particularly heinous bit of the play that Nadal has the nerve to laugh at. The elderboy’s expression is disgustingly mirthful, even when he presses a light kiss to Valas’s lips and then his temple.  

Valas waves him off with one hand and tells him to watch the play.  His other hand is otherwise trapped, fingers tangled with Nadal’s on the table in a shameless display.  Valas tries to subtlety free his hand all of once, but that just makes the elderboy hug him with both arms, which is intolerable. Valas intertwines their fingers again and drags Nadal’s left hand back to the table top.

The entire affair is intolerable, really.  Nadal is warm against his back, and every now and again he laughs and whispers a comment to him like a secret.  People glance at them from time to time, peering at something Valas wants to guard jealously because this stupid, soft intimacy is his and he’s never been inclined to share things.  He wants to take every piece of Nadal he’s forced the elderboy to address and keep it between them.  Out here, like this, Nadal smiles too often, feels too comfortable gifting Valas little kisses when the rogue twists to look at him.

No one else should be thinking of Nadal as someone who kisses. Valas huffs, wanting to drag the elderboy up to one of the inn rooms when the play ends and Nadal gives a contented sigh.  His teeth itch and he resists the urge to bury them in the elderboy’s wrist, to twist around and mark him up and show everyone exactly who Nadal Emaess’al belongs to.  Nadal smiles into Valas’s hair and murmurs a thank you before he finally lets the rogue slip from his lap.  Valas feels cold now.  He focuses on that instead of his desire to haul Nadal down for a proper kiss.

Nadal watches him from across the tavern floor.  For all Valas complains that Nadal is soft spoken the rogue can be too, when he wants to be.  Soft and sweet as his face might imply.  And everyone here is fooled by it.  There’s no break in character when anyone here turns their back on him, even when Valas locks eyes with Nadal as he carries drinks over to…friends?  Does Valas have friends?

Nadal knows the two Valas is sitting with.  They’re amiable enough but not the folks Nadal would envision Valas making friends with. They trust him, they don’t even test their drinks.  Why wouldn’t they trust small, obedient Valas?  Valas who laughs without malice and who responds to a story of a poor showing in sparring with sympathy and encouragement.  No one gets called a dog.

It’s unsettling, really, when Valas locks eyes with him finally.  There’s no shock at discovering he has Nadal’s attention, but there’s no smug pride either.  He just smiles, kind and sweet: a show for the others here.  It puts Nadal on edge.  That’s enough Valas watching for today.  Nadal finishes off his drink and leaves.

Valas finds him later and Nadal isn’t even surprised.  Things like private spaces and second floors?  The rogue doesn’t respect those things.  Like he doesn’t respect locked windows.  Nadal pretends not to notice the whisper of wood against wood or the quiet shift of cloth as Valas lets himself in.  He doesn’t bother looking up from his book, even when he sees the glint of a blade.  Valas Deseth isn’t a real danger.

His book suffers for it. Nadal looks at the knife pinning the novel to his desk.  Valas’s other arm is wrapped around him, pressed tight against his neck but not quite cutting off his air yet.

“One of these days the person through your window won’t be as sweet and forgiving of your stupidity as I am.”  Valas hisses in his ear, reclaiming his knife and Nadal catches his wrist before he actually gets stabbed.  The arm around his neck tightens and the rogue bites him of all things.  Nadal hisses and wrenches the knife from Valas’s hand, standing even though it just puts more pressure on his neck.  

His chair clatters to the floor as Valas uses it to get better leverage, trying to get his weapon back. Nadal digs the damn thing back into the desk and reaches up to pull at Valas’s arm.  Wrenching the limb from its socket would be easy.  Nadal doesn’t do it.  Instead he twists and slams into a wall.  Valas grunts and tightens his grip.  Nadal slams him into the wall again and this time the grip slackens as the rogue shifts to try and wriggle free from being pinned.  Nadal tightens his grip on Valas’s arm and Valas bites him again.  The man needs a muzzle.

They both pause when there’s a knock on the door.  Valas’s boots dig into his back as the rogue scrambles for purchase.  He shoves, Nadal moves with the motion if only to avoid boot shaped bruises later.

“Nadalninuk?  Are you okay?”  Xune’s voice is drenched in worry as she tries the door.  Locked.  Nadal wonders why he bothers.  Locks never keep Valas out.  Speaking of, the elderboy reaches out and twists his hand into Valas’s hair before the rogue can complete his dash to the window.

“Everything’s fine, Xune.” He keeps his voice even despite the nails clawing at his fingers and wrist.  Nadal doesn’t like how twisting his hand harder into Valas’s hair makes the rogue moan of all things.  He especially doesn’t like the careful “Oh.” from his sister on the other side of the door.

“I’ll let you be then, have a good night!”  Her footsteps fade and Valas lets out laughter.  It’s different than his laugh at the inn.

“Have a good night!”  Valas grins at him, despite the hand in his hair and his unceasing attempts to be rid of it.  Maybe a gag, instead of a muzzle.  Valas really is best when he’s quiet.  Nadal swings the rat into the wall.  His other hand wraps around the smaller elf’s neck to pin him there.  Valas is always pushing for violence from him, he can have it this once.

“Listen, you will not break into my room anymore.  Understand?”  There’s something in Valas’s eyes now.  He’s seen it before.  Always when they’re in the midst of one of these stupid scraps that no one ever really wins.

“No.”  Nadal sighs.  He pulls the rogue from the wall and slams him back into it instead.  He hates to think what his sister is spinning together about all this in her head.  “Make me.”  Valas chokes out.  Nadal isn’t sure if the tone is flirtatious or just breathy because of a lack of air.

“Valas, I really would like to not hurt you further.”  Even as he says this, Nadal can see the bright fire of something in Valas’s eyes. Ugh.  The smaller male is turned on by this.  Why is he turned on by this? Indulging him isn’t going to work here. So Nadal falls to the only thing he knows Valas hates.  He loosens his grip, hand just resting on ash skin now.  “If you don’t stay out of my room, I’m going to kiss you.”

Valas stares at him, suspicion replacing the spark that was there prior.  “You hate kissing me.”  

“Swear you’ll stay out of my room.”

“Make me.”  Perhaps, in novels, this would be the point where two people would share a passionate kiss, full of desperation and barely contained feelings.  Nadal, instead, slides his hand up Valas’s throat and cups his cheek.  “Whoa, wait.”

Nadal is halfway down, but he stops.  Valas looks utterly bewildered.  “Yes?”

“We were fighting.”

“We’re still fighting.” The pair stare at each other a long moment and then Valas surges forward.  His hands raise up to tangle in Nadal’s hair and yank him down those last few inches.  Damn. It’s the kind of kiss that’s teeth and tongue and Nadal has to force Valas back down against the wall, hands framing his face.  Valas just pulls Nadal with him.  This threat wasn’t well thought out.

Nadal pulls back before Valas’s teeth can actually cut open his bottom lip.  He ignores the way his hair is pulled in response.  The way Valas tries to press against him.  He peppers light kisses across the rogue’s face instead, avoiding his mouth to press his lips against Valas’s throat. The angle is awkward.  He drops to his knees and Valas whines.  The whole affair is strange.  The hands in his hair move to his shirt and pull.  Trying to take it off or yank him up, Nadal isn’t sure.  

“Hey, swear to me, and I’ll stop.”  It’s a whisper against Valas’s neck and the rogue knees him in the chest in response. So it’s gonna be like that.  Nadal slips his hands lower, gentle and only pressing more against Valas when he tries to push from the wall.  Valas’s own hands are more insistent, one still hauling on his shirt and the other tangling in his hair again.  

“If you won’t kiss me like you said you would, then at least break skin, you coward.  ”

That had to stop. Nadal drops his hands and for once Valas was obediently docile, but probably only because his attention was on the elderboy undoing his belt.  The hand in hair turned gentle, carding through his hair almost affectionately.  “If you’re trying to get me to leave, you’re doing an awful job at it.”

Nadal pulled Valas’s belt free.  “Give me your hands.”

The hand in the elderboy’s hair stilled and when Nadal looked up, Valas’s face was a mix of amusement and desire.  He was really into this sort of thing, wasn’t he?  “No.”

…And yet he was gonna fight every little thing?  Nadal scowled, catching the rogue around the middle when he tried to escape his place against the wall.  This really felt like he was playing into what Valas wanted.  Nadal forced him back to the wall as best her could without hurting him.  The rogue pulled him up again, fingers hooking painfully behind his jaw and teeth clacking together with the force of Valas’s exuberance.  Nadal caught his hands, pulling back and feeling for the belt so he could cinch them together. His mouth tastes like copper and blood is smeared over the rogue’s lips.  He struggles, but it’s not a rabid bid for escape.  Nadal feels like he’s started a game that he doesn’t know the rules to.

“Behave.  For once in your miserable life, behave.” Nadal should end this.  He should just throw the rogue out into the hall and be done with this for tonight.  That would be a punishment on its own he thinks, because at this rate he’ll never get the promise he wants.  So he throws the rogue over his shoulder and gets kicked in the stomach for his trouble. There’s at least less clawing. Nadal unlocks his door and drops Valas outside.  “Bad dog.”

“You could have killed me.” Valas wonders if he should point out he could have done that exact thing countless times in the past.  Perhaps he’ll bring it up later.  After all, many of those moments were because of Nadal’s misplaced trust in him.  This instance was simply because the noble wasn’t expecting an enemy in the trees. They’re out here rooting out bandits after having scattered a camp that was too close to town for comfort.

“I could have.  I really should have.  You have the keen senses of a dead halfling.  But I would have hoped you’d think to check the trees.” Valas hops down from his perch, slinging his crossbow around his shoulder.  “I really don’t know why I ever expect you to have a thought in that empty head of yours though.  If it weren’t for your sister lending you hers, I wonder if you’d have any thoughts at all.”

Nothing.  Valas hates it when Nadal just stares at him like that, curious and thoughtful.  He never reacts right.  But that’s nothing new, is it?  The rogue scowls and beelines past Nadal to retrieve his bolt.  No use letting the ground keep it.

“You didn’t kill me.” Oh please.  

“Yes that much was obv—”

“You won’t kill me.”  Hey now.  Valas whips around, scowling and utterly insulted.  Won’t?  WON’T? Anger turns to ice for a brief moment. The look on Nadal’s face can only be described as piteous and Valas suppresses the urge to claw it off the noble. Instead he gets angrier and his knife finds its way into his hand.  

“I could kill you right now!”  Nadal blinks at him, tired and pitying and that expression has to stop.  He doesn’t even move to defend himself.  No change in stance.  His hand shakes.  He could scream right now.

“Okay.”  Valas does scream, throwing his knife down because it’s just not worth trying to so much as maim him if he’s going to be like this.  No fight, no pride.  Just stupid dumb acceptance.  It’s the worst.

“What is wrong with you?!”  Valas’s hands reach up to grab the top of Nadal’s armor, and he shakes with all his might.  “’OKAY’?! What kind of shit answer is that!? Okay!  Anyone else might have taken that invitation you stupid, spineless mutt!  Is this a new trick?  Roll over, play dead!  Stop fucking smiling!”

Come to think of it, has Nadal ever really reacted correctly to anything?  Even back when there had been a clash of authority at the tunnel entrance after that surface raid.  Nadal had groused but let it go, hadn’t he?  Where had been the noble pride and push for obedience there?  

Halfling

Female

3′6″

The eldest daughter of Shelbis and Speria Fairfoot.  She helps around the inn, busing tables and taking orders.  The lack of people in her age group around town means she’s either roped into her sister’s friend group or chatting with adults, and Ferra finds the whole thing a bit tiring.  She kind of wishes Alak and Corywyn’s calmer nature would rub off on Fred, but so far that hasn’t happened.