#dunley

Duncan silenced his chattering Ranger Commandant with a kiss, if for a little peace and quiet before the Head Steward decided he had waited long enough to start waking up the castle and send them breakfast.

Crowley’s hands flew to his hair, fingers tangling in the sleep mused locks and tugging just hard enough to communicate more. Duncan obliged and deepened the kiss, nipping at the younger man’s bottom lip.

They were interrupted by a sharp insistent knocking on the door, and Duncan reluctantly pulled away and scrubbed his hands through his hair to push out some of the tangles.

“Enter,” he called, and a serving girl opened the heavy door as two others carried silver platters piled with freshly cooked breakfast. Ham, eggs, fried tomatoes and a pot of fresh brewed coffee. They laid out the plates on the table by the window, bowed, and scurried out as quickly as possible.

Crowley crawled out of bed, nearly falling to the floor and Duncan watched him wander around the room searching for his clothes.

“I swear, if you threw my cloak out the window again,” the sandy haired Ranger said accusingly.

“Don’t you have a spare?” Duncan asked, wandering into the adjoining area attached to his bedroom that had been turned into a wardrobe and armoury, given the amount of swords and shields lining the walls.

“That was my spare,” Crowley answered. “Ah-ha! How the blazes did it get all the way over here?”

“We were in a hurry,” Duncan replied, tightening the laces on his doublet and strapping on his sword belt. After spending the entire ball last night avoiding Gallican courtiers eager to entice the outwardly single King of Araluen, he had been eager to squash out any doubts in Crowley’s mind that he wasn’t enough.

He stepped out and felt a deep possessiveness at the sight of Crowley’s bruised and bitten throat and shoulders.

Crowley caught his eye and grinned, then pulled his brown and grey shirt over his head and started fiddling with the laces on his arm cuffs. Duncan didn’t expect the intense wave of affection that washed over him at the sight, but it warmed him to his core and left his heart in his throat.

Crowley was dressed properly moments later, having given up on his cuffs for the moment and they both sat by the window and ate in comfortable silence. Duncan watched, amused, as Crowley picked green onion out of his scrambled eggs and said, “I can ask the chef not to put green onions in the eggs if you don’t like them, Crowley.”

Crowley huffed. “Yes, but you like them and I like being picky,” he replied. “I think Lord Northolt has enough to gossip about ever since you added coffee to your breakfast platters.”

“You’re unbearable if you don’t have coffee before the morning meetings,” Duncan pointed a fork at the Ranger before stabbing it through a piece of egg. “Last time I thought you were going to stab Lord Anthony, I was just protecting my council.”

“The man was being unreasonable!” Crowley insisted.

“He was asking you if you’d enjoyed yourself the previous day at the tournament,” Duncan retaliated.

They bickered back and forth about nonsense and business for the rest of their meal, and then Crowley went back to his cuffs as Duncan watched him, and then gave up being patient as Crowley grumbled and groused under his breath and shifted around the table to snatch Crowley’s wrist. The laces weren’t complicated but using your non dominant hand to do anything was tricky.

“That Gallican Princess was very forward last night,” Crowley sounded a little nervous, his eyes riveted  on his arm as Duncan laced the cuff.

Duncan glanced up at him briefly. “She’s a bit too young for me,” he replied, and ducked in to kiss Crowley gently. “And not all that bright, if I’m honest.”

“Also you don’t speak a lick of Gallican,” Crowley said.

Duncan shrugged, tying off the laces and picking up the other cuff. “Mother never let me forget my less than talented tongue,” Duncan grinned. “Used to tell me to take care of my face if I couldn’t be bothered to learn anything from my tutors.”

Crowley snorted, and pulled his wrist away as Duncan tied off the laces.

“We need to head down to the throne room,” he said. He sounded disappointed, and Duncan reached out and tangled their fingers together.

“I love you,” Duncan said, holding Crowley’s gaze.

Those hazel eyes softened, and a grin spread across his lover’s face.

“My Lord?” Anthony, his new chamberlain, squeaked out. Anthony was still trying to come to terms with being bossy towards his king, but Pauline had assured Duncan when she suggested him that he’d do a wonderful job. “My Lord, was there anything you wanted to discuss before we adjourn the meeting?”

Duncan’s eyes, reluctantly, stopped trying to remove Crowley’s cloak and looked at each of his advisors before clearing his throat. Northolt was grinning cheekily and Duncan frowned a little. He cleared his throat again. “Crowley, make sure you’re in your office this afternoon after lunch. I want to go over your plan to rebuild the Ranger Corps.”

“It’s been three years, sir,” Crowley reminded him, confused. His eyes were a little wide and all too bright. “I’m sure there’s not much left to go over.”

“I’d still like to go over it,” Duncan insisted. He was going to tell the other man, before he did something stupid, like flirt with him in front of his advisors. “That will be all. Crowley, I'll see you after lunch.”

His advisors excused themselves from his study at Duncan's dismissal and the King slumped in his chair, scrubbing sword calloused fingers through yellow blond hair. “Lord Anthony?”

Anthony squeaked, almost dropping his staff. “Y-yes, My Lord?” he answered hurriedly.

“What's the policy on a widowed King taking a lover?” Duncan inquired, knowing that a Chamberlain was required to know nearly all the policies and laws of the realm.

Anthony tapped his staff against the marble floor and began reciting what he knew on the matter of Royal Mistresses. Duncan suppressed a laugh at the thought of Crowley as his Mistress.

“A Mistress entails that my wife be alive,” Duncan pointed out. “I'm talking about...dating.”

Yes, dating was the right word for what he wanted.

Anthony frowned, brows furrowed. “There are none, My Lord,” he said. “None that I can recall, at the moment.”

Duncan knew several of his ancestors had married for love. There were stories about them his nursemaid had told him as a boy. “Lord Anthony,” he said carefully. “What kind of protocol would it take for me to make a new policy?”

“None at all, My Lord,” Anthony replied instantly, looking quite pleased with himself to have answered so quickly. “There's just the matter of drawing up an official document to be placed in the Royal Policy Register! Shouldn't take...more than a week I supposed, if you're in a hurry.”

Duncan felt like banging his head against his desk. Scribes were slow, especially when impatient royalty was involved. “Tell Artur to draw up a draft for a policy in favour of a King or Queen taking a lover, of any status or profession...or gender,” he ordered, using what Cassie had described as his 'King Voice'. Apparently he sounded bossier when he used it. “Now!”

Not that it made any difference to his daughter, she still refused to do as she was told unless it suited her.

He waited for Anthony to scurry out of his study before leaving himself, wandering the halls of the castle until he found himself at the nursery.

Cassie was very carefully placing blocks on top of each other to make a tower in the centre of what had once been a very tidy room. That had been this morning, Duncan almost felt sorry for the nursemaids.

The tower toppled as Cassie sneezed and fell flat on her backside, and she tossed a block at a wooden rocking horse in the corner, hitting it square in the eye.

Duncan's eyebrows rose as he watched her. Mother blamed him for her temper, and she was probably right. He did have a temper when things didn't go as planned.

“Stupid blocks,” Cassie muttered, pushing them all away in favour of bashing the heads of two wonderfully carved wooden soldiers together.

He could hear his mother laughing at him, all the way from Celtica.

“Are the blocks not staying up?” He asked her, toeing his way through the mess of toys and sitting on a relatively clear area next to his daughter.

“No,” Cassie scowled. “I was trying to make a castle, but they won't stick together like the big ones outside do. How do they stick together even when the wind blows really hard, Daddy?”

Duncan wasn't an architect. “Magic,” he replied sagely, and Cassie's brows furrowed the same way her mother's used to when she was trying to decide whether someone was lying or not.

“Alright,” she decided she believed him, or he'd have gotten a toy soldier chucked at his head.

He dismissed the Nursemaids, telling them they could come back after midday and he didn’t take offence to how quickly they left the nursery. Cassie was a handful, even for some of the most competent nursemaids in the kingdom.

He didn’t know whether to be proud or terrified.

Cassie bossed him around for an hour or two before demanding to be read to. He made her lie on the bed at the very back of the nursery before complying, which was a very loud argument on Cassie’s part and an amused one on Duncan’s. He had no idea how his daughter was going to react the day someone told her no, but he hoped whatever poor man said it to her was wearing full plate armour and a shield.

Somewhere between Once Upon a Time and Happily Ever After, Cassie fell asleep, and just in time as the Nursemaids crept back into the nursery and looked relieved to see her sleeping.

“Will you be returning, My Lord?” Lady Bethany, the head nursemaid, asked. Duncan shook his head, suddenly nervous. Lady Bethany smiled at him, her kind old eyes seemingly all knowing and Duncan wondered if there was grounds to lock his General in the stocks for gossiping with the castle staff about his King’s affairs. How Lord Northolt knew about his infatuation with his Ranger Commandant, he didn’t know, but he suspected it had something to do with scullery maids and Northolt’s husband, Artur.

From the nursery he wandered down to the kitchens to find something to eat, and snatched an apple from a large bowl he guessed would have turned into pie had he not taken it. The chef shot him a dirty look as he passed. Very few men could survive giving his king such a look, but Duncan had a very healthy fear for the chef after his mother gave the old man permission to treat him like any other thief should he steal from the kitchens. 

Inwardly, he winced and flexed his fingers. A wooden spoon across his knuckles had been the one of the most painful experiences of his childhood, before he began his combat training. 

He had finished the apple when he had traveled almost half the way to Crowley’s office and set the core on the tray of a passing servant, stocked high with dirty plates and cups. He paused as he rounded the corner that lead to Crowley’s office and took a steadying breath. He could do this.

He went right up to Crowley’s door and knocked.

There was a loud thump from the other side of the door and a series of curse words that Duncan expected to come out of Halt’s mouth, and the door was yanked open suddenly by a very disgruntled and tired looking Ranger Commandant. He looked like he’d just woken up, and Duncan guessed the younger man had fallen asleep at his desk.

“I did say I was coming by,” Duncan said when Crowley’s eyes widened in horror upon realising who was at his door.“Yes you did, My Lord,” the red haired man replied, and stepped aside to let Duncan in.

The room was small, with a desk at one end by the window and a bed shoved into the very back with messily rearranged sheets atop it. There was paperwork covering almost every surface, and very few personal items, but Duncan did notice a ratty cotton stuffed toy bear resting on the small table by the bed and smiled. It obviously held sentimental value for the Ranger Commandant.

“You wanted to go over the reconstruction plan for the Corps, My Lord?” Crowley said, pulling Duncan’s attention to the other man. “I’m not sure there’s much to tell that you don’t already know. You can ask Halt how it’s all going when he’s here in a few weeks to give me an update on some bandit problems that have been happening around Redmont.”

“I’ll be sure to, but I’m actually here to ask about our...relationship,” Duncan attempted to be subtle. He didn’t want to be too forward and scare Crowley off.

Crowley frowned. “I thought we had a good working relationship, My Lord,” he replied, confused. “Do you have a problem with how I’ve handled myself?”

Duncan shook his head. “No of course not!” he insisted. “I was just...I wanted to talk to you about...us.”

“Us?” Crowley looked more confused. “My Lord if you have a problem, I’d prefer you tell me now before it affects the kingdom. I know I wasn’t your choice as Commandant, or your father’s choice, but-”

Duncan was too nervous to let things stretch out, and Crowley was either being deliberately thick or didn’t understand at all.

“Have dinner with me,” Duncan blurted. “Tonight. In my rooms.”

Crowley blinked. “Dinner, My Lord?”

“As in a…” Duncan’s throat was dry. “Date. Please? I’m sorry, this went a lot better in my head.”

“Sir, that’s…” Crowley began, but Duncan cut him off by with a kiss.

Duncan surprised himself with the kiss, but he didn’t regret it from the moment his lips met Crowley’s, effectively silencing the over talkative Commandant as his hands came to rest on either side of the Ranger’s head, fingers curled into soft red hair.

Crowley didn’t try to pull away. Crowley kissed him back after a moment, hands gripping the front of Duncan’s doublet. He was kissing back, and it was the most perfect feeling in the world.

Duncan pulled away before he forgot to breath, and felt almost smug at the way Crowley tried to chase him. Crowley was flushed nearly as red as his hair and Duncan grinned at the sight, which only caused Crowley’s blush to deepen to the actual colour of his hair.

“Have dinner with me,” Duncan said again, and Crowley’s fingers uncurled from his doublet.