dhampirica

Miguel went looking for Danian. Things had been spiraling further and further out of his control and he just needed the time and ability to blow off some steam. Miguel had his sailing outfit on, a mix of mercenary and fisherman -- with very little hint of prince or noble, only the obsidian daggers that he always carried. But those were tucked away where no one could see them. "Come Northern Hero, shall we get into trouble," he sang under his breath.

Danian had intended to blow off some steam the day prior. They had offered to walk with Faye along the balconies for a bit of air, given she wasn't keen on their idea to explore the city. But, of course, yet another horrific event had to bloody the week. Quite literally. Thus, they had made it out to the city, but their search through the streets for a friend had been stressful and tiring -- only for them to return to the castle and find that she had been safe inside all along. Today was the funeral. A happier occasion, oddly enough. After returning from the service, Danian had retired to their room, intending to change out of their formal wear for the remainder of the night. The young lord had just pulled on a shirt when they heard a breathy sort of singing outside their door, though they couldn't quite make out the words. Raising a brow, they walked forward to open it and peer out into the corridor. "Miguel?" they blinked at the prince, not failing to notice his choice of attire. "Curious change of appearance you've put on. Were you.. singing?"

Miguel grinned, lopsided and joyful when his friend popped into the corridor. "Sure was." He glanced down at his clothes as if he forgot what he was wearing. "Of course, I was nostalgic for our first meeting. Would you like to accompany me out into the city?"

Danian couldn't resist mirroring Miguel's grin, even throwing in a short chuckle for good measure. "Well, I couldn't hear it too well, but I'm sure it was lovely." When he asked if they would like to accompany him into the city, there was a mischievous glint in the corner of their eye. Like he had, however, they had to pause and glance down at their present attire. They were only half dressed and not towards the same style as the man outside their door. "Two minutes." With that, they hurriedly closed their door and switched out what they had planned to wear for something a little more street worthy. Perfect for the side mercenary that they were. The only potential giveaway was the sword at their hip. It had been their father's. They never parted with it. Their hunting knife was concealed elsewhere. "Shall we?" they grinned again as they strode out to meet their companion.

Miguel waited, back against the hall wall as Danian went to get changed. They came back looking fit for an adventure, which was exactly what Miguel had wanted. "We shall!" He strode easily with Danian, since their legs were the same length. When he walked next to his brothers he had to take two steps for every one from the much taller men. "Where to? Hear of any great injustices to right? Or is it a pub kind of night?" Miguel chanced a wink at the young Lord. There had been too much destruction in the walls of the keep. A night as a commoner at a pub sounded like a breath of fresh air in comparison.

It was a relief not to have to quicken their steps with the prince. Walking beside Lord Savin, for instance, was a nightmare. Hells, they could even relax their pace a bit like this. "Why not both? I'll stay the occasional late night when I want to," Danian responded to Miguel's wink with a smirk. Then, the hand that rested on the pommel of their sword drummed as they looked up in thought. They stopped, and their attention returned to him not terribly long after they had started, sighing. "Nothing too specific. But as things stand-- I doubt we'll have to travel far before we come across something even a wee bit nefarious."

Miguel kept his eyes forward as they walked, but the comment about staying the night made his eyebrows quirk up for just a moment. Well, he hadn't expected that from the young Lord -- though he didn't know why. Not that he minded the interest, from Lord Pettaline or Lord Danian -- and his night with the Honeywild Lord was relaxing in its own way, why not this rowdy (boi) Lord from the North? "Then to the pub, and we can right injustices on the way." They walked more silently as they walked toward the gate, until they were out of the keep and creeping along shadows.

Danian hadn't meant for their late night comment to come out so... suggestively. Sure, they'd had those sorts of nights before, but it was a general reference. One that included sticking out an evening in a tavern simply with friends or hiking or stargazing far longer than intended. Not that the prince wasn't appealing.He certainly had his charms. If Danian was pursuing him, it wasn't consciously. Sometimes their responses were just a little too teasing.

After nodding to Miguel's plan, the Northern lord led them through the city all the way down to the Lower districts. It looked terrible. At least, the section that Danian brought them to did. When the Queen of the Dark Woods had called her wolves, the beasts had torn through the streets, leaving destruction in their wake. Buildings damaged, wares scattered, blood on the ground where a few unfortunate bystanders had become collateral damage. There was an eerie quiet to the area, having already been abandoned by most; but, Danian knew well that the truly broken places were where the worst crime came would be. Injured residents and broken architecture made the area opportune prey for looting -- and by extension murder, among other atrocities. "Perfect venue to kick off the night, aye?" Danian glanced to Miguel from where they stood on the shady side of an abandoned carpentry workshop.

Miguel shook his head, but a subtly amused look stayed on his face. "You sure know where to go for trouble." He hadn't thought Danian would lead them so quickly to trouble, but they were like a moth to a flame. And within minutes there was a crack and a bang coming from inside the abandoned carpentry workshop. Miguel turned toward where the door used to be, only a sad wooden beam barred the way. He kicked it aside, held out one hand, and lifted one eyebrow. ’After you,’ said his expression and his pose, even though he remained silent.

"Oh, I was born for trouble," the Northerner grinned, stating so with pride. But not with narcissism. "Even Lord Savin would admit that if you needed a second opinion." The crash that sounded from within the shop was like music to their ears. They shifted toward the door alongside the prince, peering inside before he gestured they lead them in. With a nod, Danian did just that. They padded into the dusty shop, staying low as they made their way towards a back room. The thin coat of dust that covered the entirety of the place -- there were footprints in it, and what faint light was available illuminated clouds of the same substance that were rolling about in the air. From the sounds of it, whoever was in there was rifling through the carpenter's storage for something. Coin or anything of value, most likely. The door to the storage room was positioned in the middle of the wall. So, Dani stepped to one side and pressed their back flat against it, glancing at the opposite side in hopes that Miguel would do the same. They pulled out their knife and held up their hand, counting down with three fingers. When the last had fallen, they put their back flat against the wall once more, and whistled.

Miguel held his own daggers at the ready. There was a dense silence, thick as a well grown Northern fur, for a handful of moments. And then the banging and cracking started, slowly, coming toward them. Miguel's eyebrow crunched and his face turned into a raisin with concern. Just how big was this fella? In a moment he saw. Someone with giant blood in them, had to be. Their head ducked and still almost brushed the top of the ceiling. They were covered in ash and dirt, with a sleepy expression on their face that turned to anger when the little weasel-like man at the giant's side said: "Hurry it up! Get 'em!"

"Fuck," Danian cursed under their breath when the far larger of the two individuals stepped out on their side of the door. Of course. But they wasted no time dwelling on luck. Their knife was immediately sheathed. They ran toward the entrance. Their opponent was large and strong, but that also meant he wasn't agile. That was Danian's advantage. They wanted to get themself outside where they had more room to move. Inside, the sheer size of the other could trap them easily.

The giant ran for the entrance after them. Danian got there first. They shifted to the side of the empty doorway and pulled off the brooch of the black cloak they wore. As the being came ducking through at top speed, the Northerner whipped out the wide swathe of fabric. It smacked on the wet ground just before the other stepped over it. When his heel alone rested there, Danian yanked the cloak back. The sudden lurch of the surface beneath them caused the criminal to slip and crash onto his back with a booming thud.

As the giant ran, so too did the weasel man, and Miguel ran after him. It was a large game of cat and mouse, with no way to know who was the mouse or the cat until the game was over. This wasn't a couple of Kesleys, so Miguel bit back to urge to bury a dagger into the man's back. That wasn't very honorable anyway. Instead he grabbed the Weasel Man's collar and winced at the noise he made as his body carried him forward. The Weasel Man coughed, hacked, and flailed at the end of Miguel's fist. Slowly, Miguel was able to drag him outside to where Danian was -- the giant already sprawled out on the ground. "What were you doing?" Miguel asked simply.

The skinny man writhed in his grip. "Just lookin'! Ain't no rules against lookin' are there?" He found his footing, able to pick himself up and lean away from Miguel at the very least.

Danian had their sword pressed tightly under the giant's chin, discouraging them from rising to their feet or trying anything else. When Miguel came out, they looked down at the Weasel Man in his grasp, barely withholding the bit of a snicker that wanted to break free at his desperate struggle. They knew it was terrible, but all the flailing about and coughing was just... it was amusing. But again, they kept their thoughts to themself. "There's a very thin line between lookin' and lootin', 'specially at a time like this." Danian tended to allow their Northern accent to thicken when they weren't dealing with nobility. "Half these streets are torn to rubble. Any coin left in the mess are better served goin' to rebuildin' than your pockets."

"An' just how do you know it ain't my kin that owns the shop?" The Weasel Man hit Miguel square in the wrist and took three big steps back. But Miguel simply shrugged and got out one of his daggers.

"Generally speaking, those that have business somewhere come in the daylight and don't run when someone else arrives." Miguel's words stayed pretty, but his tone took on the hard edge of the sea. His voice said high end merchant, his demeanor and gear said seaside mercenary, but the hilt of his dagger screamed noble.

The glint of the dagger wasn't lost on the slinky little fellow and he ducked his head nervously. "Tsela, come on, there's nothin' for us here." He glared at Danian. "Let my cousin up, if you please," he said it slowly, enunciating every word with care.

Miguel's reasoning was solid. No reason for Danian to add any backup to the Weasel Man's question. They did raise a brow when Miguel drew a dagger. Though, they weren't entirely surprised. It was a rather flashy weapon. One that gave him an extra aura of power that could work to his advantage.

As the young lord was addressed by the smaller looter, they stared back at him steadily, warning his glare for only a moment before carefully turning away the sword at his cousin's throat. "Of course." Interestingly, they offered Tsela their arm to clasp if they wished any assistance rising to their feet. Even more interesting, they accepted it without complaint. Once they were on their feet, Danian looked the giant squarely in the eyes. "There's good work for giant-bloods in the North, ye know. Pays well enough too. If you're willin' to make the journey, you might not have do anymore lootin' again." They glanced to the Weasel Man and then back to Tsela again before releasing their arm with a shrug. "Just a suggestion."

Tsela nodded at the scary little dude, gripped their cousin's arm, and walked off at pace that was both sluggish and quick -- their long legs moved slow but carried them far.

Miguel waved at them as they left. Once the two odd cousins were out of sight, he put his dagger away, and lolled his head to grin over at Danian. "Does this mean we can visit the pub now?"

Danian gave the departing pair a sort of salute-wave as they tromped and scurried away. If they had managed to get to them in any way, perhaps they wouldn't cause the city any trouble again. Perhaps, they would even heed Danian's words and travel north. Who knew?

Once they were far enough away, the Northerner retrieved their cloak from the ground, grimacing at the mucky wetness of it as they made an attempt to shake, then squeeze, some of the liquid out. They wouldn't be putting it back on, that was for sure. "Depends," they exhaled heavily before looking over to the prince. "Would you rather hunt for more giants or go for a drink?" A grin pulled at the corner of their lips as they asked. "Your call, Your Highness."

Miguel waited as Danian picked up their cloak, only chuckling a little at their dour expression. "Well, I am but a soft hearted and heavy-footed prince, used to the soft and simple life. And I simply don't think my constitution could take another giant..." He trotted out of the area of destruction, toward more well-lit parts of the city. "Though, what an interesting pair of cousins. I hope they heed you. I wouldn't mind someone with giant's blood on my crew..." he trailed off, thinking of his men and what might face them when they made it back to the shores of the capital.

Danian shook their head, unable to resist a small laugh as Miguel painted such a poetic image of himself. "At least, you're not the one who had to risk getting trampled. I allowed you that small mercy," they teased him, lightly jabbing his arm with their elbow. They had to admit, despite their offer for further hunting, they would rather prefer not to face more than one giant a night as well. "Awfully curious, indeed," Danian agreed. "I do as well. I feel bad at times, when it comes to thieves. No matter their actions, there's the chance their motivations are genuine. Like feeding their families and whatnot. It's not always easy to tell. But you're also very right," they glanced aside at their companion. "A giant on a ship's crew would be quite a formidable force."

Miguel ducked into the nearest ale house and looked it over, it was dimly lit -- and people seemed tense. Well, some people looked tense. Others looked two casks in and relaxed. Some looked two casks in and swaying to the music that came from the lute player in the corner of the room. "Ah, yes, you're right. There's a thin line between looting and exploring the way my brothers and I do, bringing artifacts back to the isles..." he said softly, so he wouldn't be heard over the din of ale house. He ordered two mugs of ale for himself and Danian and paid with an assortment of coins -- too many houses to speak fealty to one, the cherry on top of his masquerade as a merchant, though the fact that he was a traveler was true enough. "Though I wouldn't trade my crew for a hundred giants. I've been lucky in their loyalty thus far."

Danian followed Miguel into the ale house and scanned the establishment around them. There was definitely a tension in the air. No wonder why. And yet, there was still music and the amusement of drunkards. A small smile pulled at the edge of Danian's lips seeing the few men swaying ungracefully to the tune. This was what they missed. The camaraderie among Northerners that could come even in the darkest of times. Maybe it wasn't quite the same here in the Capital, but tonight, they would happily take what they could get. "I've become a bit of traveler, myself, but artifacts aren't really in my interest." They took their ale as it was served with a short 'thank you' to the man behind the bar. "The problem with exploring is that as exciting as it can be, I end up yearning for home all the same. The North tends to have that effect on the blood of its people. We're always called back. We can never truly belong anywhere else..." they tipped back their mug for a drink and found the two of them a table near the back of the room. "It's like you say-- we're lucky in our loyalty. Not just in our people, but in our bond to our home itself. It's why we get so bloody fierce and protective all the time."

Miguel stared into his ale. A loyalty to home. Yes, Miguel loved his people. But was he loyal to them? Not in the same way that they were loyal to him. It didn't sit well in his chest. Was his loyalty to the land? To his house? He didn't know, but somewhere in him there was loyalty, there was devotion, maybe he just hadn't found the right place to kneel yet. "Yes," was what he said though. "I love the Isles, there's a freedom there, I think a feeling the North shares. It's hard to make us kneel." He grinned at Danian, a challenge in his voice. And then he tipped back the flagon of ale and drank half of it in one go.

Danian had been drinking while Miguel had been talking. The shared sentiment he spoke of with the North would have resulted in a smile when they'd put their mug down if he hadn’t finished with the statement that he did. His words in combination with his grin made them half-choke on their drink. They set their mug down quickly after to cough against the back of their hand. A small, predominantly harmless glare was shot his way. "Is that so?" Their voice was still a little rough from the incident, so they swallowed and cleared their throat before raising a brow at him and glancing down to his drink. They knew there was a challenge brewing. "What kind of drink do you Forty-Islanders claim as your standard? I'm just curious. I've never actually been. Always figured the heat would be a little too much for me, but maybe you could convince me otherwise," the Northern lord said with a straight face before moving to finish off their own ale.

Miguel's grin widened into something that would look provocative on anyone but a cat. "It is so." He sipped the remaining ale slower. "Ah! I'm surprised you don't know, or perhaps you're just teasing." He paused to sip his drink. "We prefer mead. Honey wine made from our bees. One can't go more than three steps on the islands before bumping into a honey bee. The commonfolk cultivate them, as well as the nobles. I know Iann has his own hives. My mother makes a marvelous lavender honey mead." His smile turned soft at the mention of his mother. "I doubt they have any here, but if we go back to the castle, I brought a cask that Iann doesn't know about yet. Or he would have finished it off," he chuckled at that. Iann was always getting into Miguel's private drinks. Though Miguel returned the favor. "The islands are beautiful, if it ever suits you to visit, you're more than welcome to stay with me." He finished his flagon and leaned back in the seat, a small smile on his face.

Danian smirked at Miguel's grin, leaning over the table, arms crossed atop it, as they soaked up his words. Their expression became more sincere, however, as he began speaking of his home once more. They were intrigued, genuinely. They didn't know. Not absolutely, anyhow. "Honey bees? And they don't sting you?" His mention of his mother hit them with a slight pang of sadness, but the feeling was fleeting. "Oh- yes. It definitely sounds interesting. So long as Iann hasn't already consumed it, I'd like to give it a go." They flashed him a smile. "I'll keep your offer in mind."

When he emptied his flagon and leaned back, Danian stood and swiped it off the table along with their own. "Next pair's on me." It wasn't long before they returned, handing the prince his drink as they sat themself back down. Flipping the subject, they tilted their head at him to inquire about his own travels before they started on their second beverage of the night. "Have you ever been to the North?"

"Thank you." Miguel took the flagon and drank. Not sipping anymore, he was drinking to forget himself. "Oh, they sting, but only if you accidentally step on one or try to crush it. It's hard to be mad at them once you know that each can only sting once, and once they sting their time on this mortal coil is over." He frowned slightly. "They're fragile little things."

"Ah, once or twice. But it's better to hear about the North from a Northerner. Have you any stories to regale me with?" He fiddled with the handle on his flagon with one hand and leaned on the other. "When we're done with this round we could go back to the castle..." he offered. "And you can taste my mead," as it came out of his mouth he realized it was an innuendo, and he winked. Danian was cute, one of the few Lords as small as Miguel. It made Miguel want to push them up against a wall.

Danian was a difficult one to get truly inebriated. They were used to the heavy drinks of the North. Ale like this? It wasn't bad, but they would need well more than two flagons before their mind or balance started slipping. Drinking was another way for them to unwind. Not unhealthily, but it did generally work faster than quiet time to themself or fresh air. In the moment, at least. They needed this. "I can honestly say, never in my life would I have imagined I would come to have feelings for bees. Animal or not, that sounds ungodly cruel."

The young lord tipped their flagon for a needed drink after that fact. It wouldn't take them much longer to empty it. "Any stories?" they huffed ridiculously. "You're going to have to specify the type. There's far too many to tell." This time when they went back to their beverage, they had fortunately already put it down before the prince slipped out his innuendo. Maybe it hadn't been entirely intended at first, but it seemed like he accepted its suggestion afterward with the way he winked at them. It had felt more of a teasing game between them before, but now it was real. Danian's brows shot up. There was just a faint dusting of pink to their cheeks as they brought their fist up to their mouth and coughed a brief laugh. "I-- well..." they had certain things to consider when faced with these sorts of possibilities. But-- just because they went back to his room at the castle to try the beverage they had wondered about didn't necessarily mean... So, why not see what happens, right? "Technically, we would be breaking the rules if we didn't go back anyway," the Northerner wore the slightest grin as they downed the remaining bit of their ale. Genuine liquid courage at this juncture. "And I am intrigued."

"They're social animals! Complex and interesting. They can talk to each other, they can fly, they build whole worlds in wax!" Miguel got just as excited about bees as Iann did, though sometimes he needed a little coaxing before he started gushing about them. "The children of the Forty-Isles learn early not to bother the bees, and the bees don't bother them."

"Let's see then." Miguel stroked his beard scruff and stared at Danian with narrowed eyes. "A story about a giant then, something topical. That or saving a damsel, if I remember correctly, you enjoy saving damsels." He finished the second flagon and held tight to the handle.

"Uh, those rules are driving me to sea. I want to go to the port and hop the nearest ship." Miguel had spent altogether too much time inside. He was desperate for the sails, the wood, the rigging -- the open ocean. He wanted salt spray in his face, and the taste of entirely too many pickles a constant on his tongue. Not to mention his crew...

He stood up and took his flagon with him. "I miss the sea, I miss the Isles. Maybe the lavender mead will soothe my troubled soul." Miguel returned the flagon to the bar and waited by the door for Danian.

"Huh," Danian blinked on the subject of bees. "You teach your children about bees, and those of us in my little corner of the North teach the kids how to track and hunt. All of 'em. Soon as they can run properly."

"I do enjoy saving damsels," they smiled. "I enjoy saving just about anyone, really. It's a rush for you and another day of life for them." They had emphasized the damsels part previously because-- well... young men and saving damsels could go hand in hand, especially in stories. The stronger that perceived appearance, the better. In reality, they knew full well that women could be no less strong or fierce, or even more so, than any man. Anyone could be. Unpopular opinions, though. Hardly the place and time to voice them. "I'll have to think about it. Damsel stories are more of a southern trend, as far as I can tell. Topical sounds better."

They watched in subtle amusement as Miguel yearned for the sea, standing only once he had delivered his flagon to the bar. They walked over to do the same. "Maybe it will," they chuckled as they stepped out with him, patting him on the back for a bit of reassurance. "Me-- I just have to wait until all this is over. I can go home for awhile and find my spirit again. Lord Savin wants me to return to Blackspire for a visit, but I think I'll just have to postpone that visit a month or two." Assuming we all make it out of this unscathed.

"We must teach them different skills to survive in different environments," Miguel agreed with a shrug. Though he had no children himself to teach.

The physical touch sent a little thrill through him and the urge to press Danian against a wall grew stronger. "As soon as this ends, I must return to the Forty-Isles. My father is ailing..." he glanced away a moment before patting their back in return, their small warm body under his hand was comforting. It was nice sometimes, just to be with someone else who was alive and warm. Vitality bred vitality after all.

It sounded like Danian missed their freedom just as much as Miguel did. "I think, I'd like to go on a few more adventures though, after I sail home. Perhaps we could go save everyone together." They walked together through the gates again. Walking quietly and companionably through the keep until they made it to the corner of the castle where Miguel was staying.

He knocked on the door in the special pattern that let his crew, if they were in there, know that it was him. And then he opened the door. After a quick glance around he pulled Danian into the small personal room where he could actually have some privacy. And then he pulled a tablecloth off a circular end table and revealed a cask of lavender mead.

Danian's brow furrowed when Miguel revealed that his father was ill. A frown set on their features. He glanced away, and for a second, they held their breath until he patted their back in return. "I'm sorry about your father. I can't presume how close you are with him, but if it's any consolation, I lost my father when I was seven. He died fighting in the wars… but he left me this." Unsheathing their sword, they gave it a quick spin before offering the weapon for their companion to see. "I hope your father finds some way to recover. It's not easy, losing someone you love. It stays with you, but once you come to terms with it, you can use it to make yourself stronger."

"I wouldn't be opposed to another adventure," the young lord nodded, "but that might have to wait." The suggestion of saving everyone, though-- that made them laugh. "Somehow I doubt that would be possible. Not that we can't try. I only worry it would consume the rest of our lives and we'd never return home again. That, I know I couldn't live with."

Danian was occasionally scanning the halls around them for others, trying to keep them from being spotted. They didn't really have to. No one would care if they saw a prince and a lord walking through the halls. They were used to it. But Danian couldn't quell their instincts. As soon as they entered the security of Miguel's rooms, they breathed a small breath of relief. When the prince slipped off the tablecloth to reveal his much talked-about cask of mead, the Northerner chuckled. "Looks like Iann hasn't gotten to your stash after all."

"Oh... Lord Danian." Miguel's eyebrows furrowed, but a sympathetic smile remained. "You're too kind, truly, your words are a comfort." They were so honest, and giving, and the fact that they had shared that with Miguel was the part that touched him. He didn't care if his father lived or died. In fact, it would be better if he died. But not until Miguel could get the current situation under control. "My father has been ailing for years. Honestly, I'm closer with my mothers." All three of them. "But still, I appreciate the comfort."

"Oh!" Miguel laughed when Danian suggested saving everyone was too much for the two of them to handle on their own. "I meant... saving people regardless of gender. Saving everyone might be too big a task for even the two of us."

Miguel grabbed a couple glasses, pulled the cask onto its side, and filled them. "Still full. Maybe I'll offer him some once the lack of Forty-Isles mead turns him into a curmudgeon. Though I hope everything is settled before it comes to that." He stood and handed a glass to Danian. "Until then..." he clinked his glass against Danian's. "Fair weather and fine sailing."

Their father's death was a fact. There were no secrets behind it. He was another casualty on the battlefield, plain and simple. It might have been hard for a little lordling to comprehend when they were first shipped off to Blackspire, but time, training, and experience had allowed them to overcome their grief. Now, talking of his passing was not difficult, though they never would cease to feel a little pang of sadness every time they spoke of him. Sheathing their blade once more, they nodded lightly in Miguel's direction, showing a subtle smile despite it all.

"Oh," Danian laughed themself, thankful for the prince's correction. "Now that I can most certainly handle! Everybody needs a little rescuing these days. Sticking to the damsels just wouldn't be fair."

"A curmudgeon, eh?" They snorted. "Somehow I get the feeling that a lack of mead may not even be necessary to turn him into an old grump eventually. But you're right-- putting this whole mess to bed had better come first." Taking the glass from him, they clinked theirs against his with a grin. "Fair weather and fine sailing," they echoed before tipping back the drink. Which-- they might have taken a bit too much of, because they had to stop and clear their throat. "Gods, that's-- it's very good, but it's also very sweet." Blinking, they studied the contents of the glass curiously before tilting their head to Miguel. "How much of this do you usually drink in a sitting?"

Miguel chuckled at the description of Iann. "He is an old curmudgeon, huh? Doesn't even have to try." As Danian tried their first taste of the Forty-Isles mead, Miguel watched with ill-hidden curiosity, and then broke into a grin at the look on their face when the sweet honey wine hit their tongue.

"I am a small man, Lord Danian, I drink one glass if it's uncut. Two if I add water." He sighed. "Though that Northern Iron stomach seems to be able to handle much more alcohol than I...." he was eye to eye with Danian but could tell they were a just a tiny bit taller than him. He wouldn't point that out then.

He sipped his mead slowly, for the taste, not the light-headed feeling he already had.

Danian was also a somewhat height-challenged individual. Miguel was one of very few people they actually stood taller than, if only by an inch, so they could understand why he typically restricted his alcohol intake. Danian had the advantage of being a Northerner. They were used to strong beverages -- and many of them. Such was customary at any proper feast or gathering in their region. That being said, even with that tolerance, they still had to restrict themself when beside their Northern kin. "It's been through a lot," they said of their stomach with an amused huff. "Believe me, it's earned whatever tolerance it's built."

Which gave Danian a potentially dangerous thought. Miguel mentioning their drinking fortitude alongside his single-glass honey wine capacity made them wonder how many glasses of the stuff they would be able to handle if they hadn't already had two pints of ale in their system. But even with two pints of ale in their system, they were still curious. Not often one for sipping drinks for taste -- this one overly sweet for theirs -- they knocked back the rest of their glass fairly quickly. Pointing an accusing finger at Miguel, they smirked. "You want to see how much of this I can handle, don't you?"

Miguel threw back his head and laughed. Danian was a rowdy little rogue on the inside... maybe the outside too. They were still in their adventuring gear after all. Their presence eased Miguel and riled him in different ways. At least they made him forget about subterfuge and duplicity with their volatile and honest demeanor. "Lord Danian never backs down from a challenge... or so I hear." He took their empty glass and refilled it -- then went back to sipping his own mead.

Miguel was a trickster. Of that much, Danian had no doubt. To what degree and form, they could not be certain. Deception could be used purely to tease. For a bit of mischief -- as the Northern lord felt he had been utilizing just now. Manipulating them into a little contest. They didn't mind that. In fact, they were impressed. But the flip side of a trickster.... No, no-- they didn't want to think about that now. Dissecting elaborate, villainous assassination scheming could wait for tomorrow. "I never back down from a challenge, huh?" they accepted their refilled glass with a smirk, taking a short drink of it off the bat. They tried to ignore the sweetness as best they could. "And who did you hear that from, exactly?"

"Who did I hear that from?" Miguel stood next to the cask of mead, ready to refill Danian's glass. "I think it was you. The last time we were together. When you fought that ghostly knight who had been challenging people to duels." The memory made Miguel grin. Danian was strong and fast and brave. The bravery was the trait Miguel found most attractive. Bravery and devotion. "Though that challenge wasn't over drink, I'm sure the idea still applies. Correct me if I'm wrong."

"Oh gods," Danian snorted and rolled their eyes in spite of themself, "yeah, that- that does sound like something I would do." They laughed under their breath as they took their second drink. "The ghostly knight... he actually almost had me. That's a fight I won on pure chance." Shaking their head at the memory, they tipped back the rest of the contents of their glass. "Must have been a year ago, at least, hm? And no-- you're not wrong. Challenge always applies." The prince was given their glass once more, but Danian could tell it wouldn't be a very long contest from here. Their thoughts were becoming a little hazy and the room felt like it was getting just a tad warmer. As sweet and innocent as the Forty-Isles local brew seemed, it hit hard in a way of its own.

After the third glass was poured, Miguel closed up the cask and hid it as a table again. "That's enough challenge for one night. I don’t want you vomiting in my room." Miguel went back to his own glass to sip, finishing it up and leaving it on top of the cask. "A year sounds about right... I find it hard to believe you didn't tell me you were a lord. But then, I didn't tell you I was a prince either."

"Smart idea." Danian didn't particularly want to end up vomiting either, so they were glad Miguel had the foresight to reduce the chances of such an uncomfortable event. This time, they did take their consumption a little bit slower, just so they didn't push themself too far. "True," they sighed, "so it's fair, in that sense." After taking a long sip, they glanced down briefly, "I try to avoid announcing my status when it's not necessary. It makes my life easier." Another drink. "Or- I can relax, ye know? Do what I want to do without anyone naggin' at me that I'm not being properly mannered and all." They frowned as they took another long sip. "People treat you differently once they know what you are. They stop bein' themselves, an' if I was to make a friend with someone like that, who changed soon as they knew, I wouldn't be able to stand it." Carefully finishing off the mead, they moved to place the glass back down themself. There was a bit of a lean required to do so, and when they came to straighten themself again, the motion of it kicked in the slight dizziness they hadn't quite realized they'd been contracting while they'd been simply standing there. "Hells," they huffed a breath and braced themself against the wall with their arm. Yet, they laughed two seconds later, looking at Miguel. "What all else do you put in that? I can tell why you stick to one."

"Well," Miguel started, he walked toward Danian and gently took their arm. "Honey, water, some flowers or berries or fruit. Depends on who made it." He brushed a strand of long hair back from their face. "Do you want me to bring you back to your rooms, or would you like to stay here?" It was a gentle offer, the warm mead in Miguel's stomach made his blood equally warm and he leaned in for a quick kiss. A preview of things to come if Danian chose it.

The room was definitely warmer than it had been when they had first entered. Danian had asked what the honey mead contained, but honestly, they couldn't even focus on the answer. The question had been more rhetorical, anyway. They couldn't focus because Miguel had taken their arm, and moments later, he was brushing a hair from their face. A short flurry of blinks was the only response they could manage at first. "My rooms?" they swallowed, just lightly. "I- I don't think I could make it to my rooms without lookin' an absolute disaster- even if I wanted to..." Danian was usually more confident than this, but with all the alcohol in their system and especially the kiss they had just received, the demeanor that exposed itself was adorably shy. A blush reddened their cheeks even deeper than the heat from the booze already had. Quietly, they confirmed, "I can stay..."

Miguel grinned. He wrapped his arms around Danian's waist and pressed them into the wall they were leaning on. His heartbeat thrummed loud in his ears as he kissed them deeper, slower, a little more exploratory.

Danian was tentative at first, not having done this in.. a little while. They absolutely did not mind being pressed against the wall, but the kiss was distracting, so it took them a minute to figure out what to do with their hands. Eventually, they settled for one on either side of Miguel’s waist. Danian took their time. The kiss started out slowly and lightly, but as they settled into it, the kiss became deeper, and despite their rising pulse, the any tension they had been feeling seemed to relax.

Miguel could feel as Danian melted into him. Their kisses got more passionate and joy fluttered hard in Miguel's stomach. Everything that Danian had said about living in disguise, away from people who would treat them differently if they knew they were a Lord, it resonated with Miguel. And he trusted Danian. Trusted them enough that for once he wasn't worried about the usual Big Reveal that had to happen when he took someone to bed. He kept his weight pressing against them, their foreheads against each other as he started undoing Danian's belt.

Danian's heartbeat grew quicker, but not harder like it would in a fight. There was more pressure, they could hear the rush of it, but they felt lighter-- a sensation they hadn't realized they were desperate for, until now. It was as though all the stress from the past week had been whisked away. They sighed into the kiss and a small smile broke through it. Tightening briefly on his sides as he started to remove their belt, Danian's hands moved up to where their heads pressed together, one finding its place on the back of the prince's neck and the other on the side of his head. "Careful," they murmured, grinning slightly as they brushed their nose against his, "if you damage that sword, you're gonna have to pay for it." And yes, they did mean their father's. It wasn't as though they had another to refer to. After chuckling shortly, they pulled him in for another kiss.

Miguel froze when Danian spoke, he was always nervous when it came to the intimate arts -- and he afforded everyone the same considerations he wanted for himself. He nodded, and when he pulled their belt off he took the sword and paused the kisses to carefully place it on the floor near the foot of the bed. While he was there he took off his own belt and removed his daggers. There would be no accidental pricks tonight, only conscientious ones.

He removed his own outer layer and boots to add to the pile and went back to Danian with a soft expression, heart already on his sleeve. There were few instances when Miguel removed all his masks, but when he did he laid bare and vulnerable to the people he trusted.

Miguel looked over Danian's arm bands and gloves and boots and heaved a great sigh. "Danian, you have too many straps. My fingers aren't quick or flexible enough for this."

Danian watched when Miguel paused to set down their sword as they had asked him to. They hadn’t been expecting him to do it with such care, and seeing that, they softened. He was being open and vulnerable, which appealed to them more than anything else. There was a happy little flutter in their stomach and they would've bet they had a bit of a dumb smile on their face from it too.

His examination of their attire made them laugh briefly. "Hey-- you don't have to hate on the straps. I put a lot of effort into makin' rogue look good." There was an amused grin on their lips as they set about stripping their more difficult pieces of attire. The boots came first -- easy enough. They tossed those carefully over onto the pile. Then they unfastened the arm guards and slipped off the gloves, handing them over to Miguel once they were done. "Better now?"

Miguel looked them over and hummed. "Just a bit." He pulled off his own shirt and added it to the pile. "But I want to see what you look like under there." His hands went to his hips and he waited - flexing juuuuust a little. He had seen himself shirtless in a mirror before, and when Iann called him vain he was being completely truthful.

Danian raised a brow at Miguel when he removed his shirt. They couldn't complain. They did smirk, though, at the ridiculous way he flexed when he propped his hands on his hips. "Right. Cute." But fair was fair.

Danian went to grab the hem of their shirt and had pulled it up an inch or two before they stopped cold. The color seemed to drain from their face as they stood there, suddenly very tense and with a small flicker of fear in their eyes. They had been so relaxed and warm in the moment that they had completely forgotten about the part where they would have to strip off their carefully maintained perception. Unable to look Miguel in the face, their eyes flicked downward to their hands where their knuckles were white. "I-- I- ah-" their voice came out strained and quiet, "Can you--?" Between their words and in the tone of their voice, there was an unspoken plea for help. Miguel had been entirely open with them thus far. There was strength in that vulnerability that Danian was now lacking. They were scared of what he might think, but it was still better if they didn't have to reach that point of judgment alone.

Miguel's eyebrows furrowed slightly, but he stepped forward and kissed Danian's forehead, gentle and affectionate again. Then their neck, as he slid his hands up under their shirt to touch, explore, and help them out of it. Their body was a bit softer than he expected in places, and then there was another something keeping things tight. Once they were out of their shirt he saw that it was a leather contraption, much more sophisticated than the strips of cloth that some people used at the risk of their ribcages. "Oh..." he picked his head up to kiss their lips, soft but passionate. His stomach bubbled with a new kind of excitement. He had never found anyone who could understand him. Not all the way. Only people that could understand facets of the young prince. But it looked like Danian was more similar than most. "Unexpected, but not unwelcome." He pulled back to grin at them. "In fact..." he stepped away further, to free himself of his trousers before sitting naked on the bed.

Danian gradually calmed down with each touch Miguel imparted them. They slowly released their grip on their shirt, resting their hands on his chest instead. They focused on their breath, on the long sigh that came from their throat when he kissed their neck, and all the minute shivers that followed wherever his hands trailed -- though those could have been little nervous trembles as well. When he had finally removed their shirt, they held their breath, expecting some form of negative reaction or confusion, but... his was very different. He kissed them and the overwhelming wave of relief that passed through them had their arms wrap around his neck to hold him there for a little while as they kissed him back. And then, he revealed something just as unexpected. They were blinking at him for a few seconds, purely surprised, but they grinned back at him with a noise that could only be classified as a giggle. They were so elated to be both accepted and in the company of someone who, at least to some extent, must have understood their situation. It gave them all the assurance they needed to kick off their own trousers, and lastly, remove the article that concealed the remainder of their torso. Then, they came and sat beside him, taking his hand to hold it for a moment. "I just need you to know-- it's not about pretending," their golden gaze sought out his. "I've never been a Lady, and I never will be. Does that- make sense?"

Miguel held Danian's hand, the smile that lit up his face would have been impossible to bite back. But he didn't want to bite it back, he wanted them to know how happy he was. "Of course it does." He pulled them closer for another round of affectionate kisses. He peppered their face, forehead, cheeks, lips. Miguel wanted them to know how grateful he was that fate had let this happen.

Danian squeezed Miguel’s hand when he smiled, not even having a chance to respond before he pulled them in for an ambush of kisses. They found themself giggling, but also getting teary-eyed as they wrapped their arms around his neck again, holding there tightly. “Thank you,” Danian whispered, even though they didn’t need to, resting their forehead against his.

Miguel rubbed his nose against Danian's, the smile on his face soft and happy. "Thank you," he replied. They were just as much as a relief to him. A place to dock after a long journey through a storm.

Danian gave the tiniest nod to Miguel, smiling right back at him, though theirs was slightly more subtle. There was a bit of water clinging to their eyelashes from few tears that had escaped them. Hopefully, there wouldn't be more of them. They didn't want to ruin the evening by breaking down in his bed. "So, what happens now?" Danian searched his eyes, trying to gauge what he felt up to, now that their standing with one another had changed so drastically, albeit beautifully.

Their bodies were warm against each other, and it was easy to get lost in Danian's eyes for a bit as they searched his soul, leaving the dregs of his being feeling scorched and raw. Miguel didn't know if he wanted to chance sex. He wrapped his arms around Danian and squeezed. "I'm... unsure." He hid his face by nuzzling against the crook of their neck. "We could keep going the way the wind was pointing. We could hold each other and fall asleep, try again clear headed..."

Danian was content to just be as they were. They felt safe and comfortable -- they didn't need anything else. Smiling when he rested his face against the crook of their neck, Danian turned their head to press a small kiss to the top of his. "Let's just stay as we are, then. Hm? I think we could both use the rest."

Miguel nodded and moved to give them one more kiss, soft and chaste, but full of emotion. "Alright." He was content with that. He squirmed a little to make himself more comfortable, but kept his arms around Danian. Miguel was basking in the feeling of having someone with him, really with him. Not an idea of him or the Prince of the Forty-Isles or even the satisfaction of bedding him. Just Miguel and Danian wrapped up together and slowly falling asleep.

The next morning, Miguel woke up cold. He blinked a moment as the sun streamed into the room. In the hazy light he saw the gentle curves of Danian's back and smiled. He inched forward, closing the distance that had accumulated in the night. At the end of that distance he found he was afraid to touch them -- afraid they would vanish in the harsh light of morning like a mirage. With a little trepidation and a lot of caution he reached one hand out and put it on their shoulder blade -- it was met with warm skin and Miguel breathed a sigh of relief.

Danian could never sleep in bed with another and not grow too warm. At some point in the night, they had shifted away from Miguel to possess their own side of his bed. They weren’t fond of mornings. They hated when the sun shined in their eyes. Why couldn’t they just sleep a little longer? Why did it have to be so damn bright? But this time, it wasn’t the sun that woke them up. They felt a hand on their shoulder, which confused them for a second. They had a splitting headache, and only after a few seconds of thought did the events of the night return to them. Danian shifted, a low groan slipping from their throat. Their arms tightened around the pillow where their head rested and their shoulder rolled slightly beneath Miguel’s hand.

Miguel bit his lip to hold in a chuckle. Danian's hair looked like a natural wonder of the world, it shot out in odd angles with a mix of tight and loose curls. The sun brought out the brown highlights of the dark hair. It wasn't quite as black at first glance, not like Miguel or Iann's hair at least -- which meant it looked warmer. Miguel chanced putting his hand into that mass of fluff and hoped he wouldn't lose his hand. He rubbed the very back of Danian's head and down to where neck met skull. He wanted to help with what he assumed was a bit of a headache. The terrible face under that angelic hair only endeared them more to him. "How are you feeling?"

Miguel very well may have lost his hand if Danian wasn't too beaten to do anything about it. They growled something quiet and unintelligible into the pillow when he first did so, but once he started massaging it or whatever it was he was doing, their grumbliness lightened up a bit. A breath, long and deep, passed out through their lungs before they turned their head to face him, though they hadn't opened their eyes quite yet. "Like I've had my head pounded on by a bear," they grumbled, but there was a little funny huff at the end of it. One of their eyes managed to crack open about halfway. "You?"

"I feel fine." Miguel's hand rubbed down their neck, came out of their hair, and rubbed down their back. "The spot behind my eyeballs aches a bit." He hadn't gotten completely sloshed, just tipsy. In the light of morning, he didn't know what Danian was feeling anymore. And he worried. It was almost a pastime for him, overthinking things. And at the moment, he thought Danian might be mad at him.

Danian sighed at the effect Miguel's hand was having on their soreness. It was immense help, whether or not he could tell. "Does it?" they smirked and shut their eyes again. "I can't figure out how I was still standing after that third glass." Still not in the mood to move much, they lazily sought out Miguel's second hand to hold. "I don't want to get up..."

As they pulled on his other hand, Miguel gave himself a moment to close his eyes and smile. His heart was floating on a cloud and the plans he had set in motion felt a million miles away. "Sheer willpower?" Miguel offered his theory on how Danian survived three glasses of mead. Looking at their sleepy face made Miguel ache for more nights like the previous. Adventures, helping people, holding Danian after they drank a bit too much. "No one will force you to get up, darling." He squeezed their hand and kept rubbing.

"Sheer willpower," Danian half-snorted, half-giggled and rubbed at their eyes with their unoccupied hand. "Or maybe besting a giant earlier in the night awarded me with a temporarily higher tolerance." They smiled and squeezed his hand in return, turning their head back into the pillow a bit. "Good. I'm not in the mood to fight anyone off. Yet."

When an old, ageing, dying parent ails for a long time, the news of death isn't surprising, but it's still shocking. At least it was for Iann, who finally heard the news he'd been waiting three years for. He had to grieve later. He was done remaining in the Bluesprings Capital; it was time to leave. If he was to be accused of a murder, let them accuse him as a King, not a Prince. But before he left, he did feel honour bound to do one last thing. Or perhaps he did it just because he got the news first, and he wanted to be the one to tell Miguel himself. The guards, loyal to Miguel, let Iann in once the soon-to-be King gave them a warning glare that it was either move aside or death. "Brother," he said, bursting in. "Father is -- " He paused, sensing something wasn't right. "Oh."

Miguel twitched protectively toward Danian before his daydream shattered. Ah, yes. There were plenty of reasons he couldn't run away with them to Blackspire and beyond. The most pressing being his promises to Cassandra. His bindings were as strong as the Grand Lady of Summerset, and just as likely to kill him if things didn't go according to plan. "Iann," he snapped. "Ever heard of knocking?" He pulled the sheet up to hide Danian and slipped out of the side of the bed to start getting dressed. "What happened?"

When Danian heard Iann’s voice burst into the room, their heart nearly stopped. They knew how strong a suspect he was, and despite their brotherly relationship with his son at Blackspire, they had not been able to bring themself to trust him. Especially after what he had said to them in the brothel nights before regarding Miguel. It very well may have been a genuine warning, but even so, there had been something about it that just didn’t feel… right. They were thankful for the sheet Miguel pulled over the rest of them, but they worried it wasn’t enough -- or it was already too late. The last thing they wanted was for Iann to have such a sensitive secret to hold over them. With Fane in the position that he was, it could put all of their work into jeopardy.

When Iann saw the Lovel boy with his brother, he put three instances together in his mind: Miguel talking to Cassandra, Miguel talking with Lady Florent, and Miguel -- literally -- in bed with the beloved ward of the Inquisitor Savin. It was over. The war -- the war that actually mattered to Iann -- was just starting, and he was already losing. He only had moments left now. The Quiver of Houses was meeting; and after that, Iann would leave immediately. Still duty compelled him to say, "Our King is dead. After this Quiver assembles, I'm leaving immediately. You can do what you like. I'm going back to my Forty Isles. In light of this High Raj… business, I won't be holding any coronation, so your presence isn't necessary, brother. Lord Lovel," Iann said with a formal bow towards Danian.

That was enough to make his blood boil. It was enough to burn away any remaining affection or soft desire that was still trapped in Miguel's chest. There was business to attend to. "I'm coming with you," he said simply to Iann. Why did his father take so long to die? Why did he do it before Miguel could take care of Iann? Why did he slip away at the worst possible time? Since Iann knew who had been warming his bed, Miguel felt no guilt at leaning toward them once he was dressed and giving them a light touch. "Apologizes, Danian. Honor compels me to leave." Things were moving too fast.

Iann looked cold, almost disappointed -- a look he inherited from his father, ironically. "That's one sort of honour," he murmured, but he didn't want to see any more of this. It settled cold, like a dagger in his chest, and all Iann could think about was how to keep his children safe. "I shall see you both, perhaps, at the Quiver of Houses." And with that, he left.