#grinningpup

"Fate may dare me not to kill you, when you grow fat with child!"

Urzog bolts awake in a dark room completely alone. He's out of breath from the nightmare and from the sudden movement - his body refuses to obey him as well as it used to. He brings his hand to his face and is surprised to find tears on his cheeks.

After a few moments of trying to steady himself he hears a ruckus, the door slams open and his mate appears. He's only wearing his night shirt, his hair in complete disarray, his eyes running wild scanning the room, his sword sparkling in the dark.

"What's wrong? I heard you screaming," the human lowers his weapon seeing no imminent danger.

Urzog didn't even realise he screamed and shame fills him - he was screaming and crying in his sleep, he woke up and scared his mate.

"It's nothing," he manages to push out of himself, "I'm sorry," he tries to discreetly rub his cheek to hide the tears.

"It's clearly something if it made you react like this," his mate puts the sword down by the door and slowly steps closer to the bed, "can I sit?"

"Go back to bed," Urzog attempts to persuade the human, "I'm okay," he stares at his hands on the blanket.

"Can I sit?" the knight repeats himself a bit firmer clearly not buying the orc's act.

"Yeah," Urzog acquiesces and his mate carefully sits on the edge of bed looking at him expectantly.

"Did you have a bad dream?" he asks softly.

"Yeah," the orc says again, still not raising his gaze.

"Do you want to tell me what about?" the human puts his hand on the blanket next to his mate's thigh.

"I..." Urzog stumbles, "It was..." he puts his hand on the human's smaller one, so the knight turns his palm around and squeezes his mate's.

"I saw my father," the orc gulps, "when he was exiling me from the clan."

"I'm so sorry, dove," the knight almost never used any petnames, usually only after they've been intimate.

"He said he'd kill me if I," he can't find the word again, "if I," another hard swallow, "if I was with child and I'm," he looks down at his slightly protruding stomach and tears start gathering in the corners of his eyes, "I felt so scared," he finally bursts crying.

The knight moves closer and softly pulls his mate into an embrace.

"Hey, hey, it's okay," he strokes Urzog's head and back, while the much bigger orc manages to hide his face on his chest, "you're okay, you're safe," the knight keeps whispering like that until his mate's sobs quieten and his shoulders almost stop trembling. He softly pulls away and takes Urzog by the shoulders and looks intensely in his eyes.

"I'm never going to let anyone hurt you, you know that, right?" the orc nods almost shyly, "You're my mate and you're carrying our child," the human stresses the words 'my' and 'our', "I will always protect you," he says firmly.

"Can I sleep with you tonight?" Urzog asks with a bit of his usual confidence.

"Of course," the knight gives him a small smile, "Here or in my room?" sleeping separately was a tradition human noblemen had that he wanted to follow to give his accidental mate more privacy.

"In your room," the orc answers without hesitation.

"Come here then," the human gets out of bed, stretching his arms towards his mate offering in his gentlemanliness to help him get up.

The scene: the warlord enters the room in the harem that was given to the prince, he's a little concerned - it was reported to him that his new bride has made a strange request. The moment he opens the door, the prince gets up and bows to his waist to greet him.

"Sit, no need for formalities, princeling," he waves his hand dismissively and the prince sits back on the edge of a loveseat, raising his eyes to meet the lord's face. He lands heavily into an armchair across from the prince.

"I was told you asked for a job."

"Yes, your majesty," the prince folds his hands in his lap, "I wanted to be useful and not eat my bread for nothing," and without a pause to let any debate, "When I was given a tour of the castle - I saw the royal archive and, if you excuse my brazenness, it's not in the best state. I could help with that," he says rapidly, practically in one breath.

"Useful?" the warlord raises his eyebrows.

"Yes, your majesty," the prince repeats again, "I know that other harem inhabitants mostly work with hand-crafts and I'm unfortunately not good with the needle."

"You know they aren't earning their keep like that right? They just do it for fun," the lord is getting a little amused.

The prince frowns ever so slightly, "I understand that's not their prime function, but I'm afraid I'm falling short in that regard as well. I presume, however, my main purpose is fulfilled simply by the virtue of me being here."

"Your main purpose?" the confusion returns to the warlord's face.

"Bringing your majesty prestige, of course," the prince bats his eyelashes, it's his turn to be surprised.

The lord just stares at the prince in silence and the prince starts getting worried.

"Your majesty, there's no other reason anyone in their sound mind would marry me, right?" the prince permits himself a small nervous smile, "Especially without getting any lands right away," he continues reasonably.

"You think I took you for the prestige?" the warlord sounds like he doesn't believe what he's hearing.

"The prestige of having a royal in your harem, your majesty," the prince explains patiently, "Moreover, I saw your other brides and I don't know how delusional should I be to think anything else."

"Who taught you that?"

"Taught me what, your majesty?" the prince slightly tilts his head.

"To think of yourself like this," the lord leans forward in his seat, but the prince keeps sitting still with his back straight.

"Every royal must know their strong and week sides, to improve on the former and hide the latter - one cannot survive the diplomacy game without it," the prince holds back the lecturing tone, "I would just be lying to myself, to think anyone would want me for reasons other than political," he gets quieter at the end of that phrase, noticing something resembling pity in the warlord's eyes.

The lord reaches out to touch the prince's cheek and the prince's facade slips a bit - he shudders and lets his mouth fall open.

"I don't care about the prestige," the warlord gently strokes the prince's face with his thumb, "the moment I saw you in your father's throne-room and knew that I needed you here," he lets out a low chuckle, "preferably under me."

"Your majesty surely jests?" the prince looks in the lord's eyes in utter disbelief.

"I'm dead serious," the lord gets up and starts approaching the loveseat, so the prince instinctively jumps to his feet as well, "and I'm dead set on proving it," and with these words he picks the prince up to bring him to the bed.

The prince yelps in surprise but doesn't resist or try to move away, when he's set on the silken sheet.

"Your majesty, I have to warn you, I don't I think I'd be any good at this," he says seriously.

"No more majesties," the lord leans forward, "Relax," he ducks his head into the prince's neck and the first thing he says or rather giggles outside of diplomatic tone is:

The scene: the prince's quarters, the prince is standing on the balcony, the warlord's right hand man is embracing him when they notice that the warlord is returning earlier than it was expected. The man is afraid that the warlord would kill him if he finds him here/if the man tries to attack him first.

As the military man rushes out the room, the prince laps over his silken robe and mutters under his breath: "Coward".

He starts moving toward the door, but his husband outspeeds him, opening it right in front the prince. His face blooms with a smile and he practically throws himself onto the warlord's neck. Evident surprise doesn't stop him from catching his spouse in his arms.

"Honey!" the prince exclaims just before kissing the barbarian, "I missed you so much!"

"Did you?" he says, a bit less teasingly than the prince would have expected.

"Of course, I did!" the young man continues quieter, "You've been away for so long," he looks at his husband with soft adorning eyes but then his face hardens, "Unfortunately, we need to conduct some business before I can properly welcome you home. I'm afraid it can't wait."

The warlord gently puts the prince down and raises his eyebrows: "Business?"

"You remember how I was concerned about your right hand man's loyalty?"

The warlord nods, beginning to frown.

"Unfortunately, I was right and I have proof," the prince raises a finger to indicate importance of what he's saying, then he dives under the bed and the barbarian's eyebrows fly back up.

"Here", the young man reappears with slightly messy hair and a small box in his hands, which he gives to his husband, "His letters to the northern dukedoms, and some of my notes and observations to go along. Remember that weapons delivery that never came?"

The warlord hums affirmingly, skimming through the papers.

"That was his work. And it seems he was planning run away there with some of our treasury and a lot of intel."

The barbarian grumbles something and then suddenly calls in the guards, who immediately come in bringing the soon-to-be-former right hand man along - tied up.

The warlord waves the letters in front of his face: "Are these yours?"

The military man completely not expecting that kind of interrogation blurts out a choked "yes" and the barbarian turns back to his spouse:

"And how did you get these?"

"I have my methods," the prince permits himself a proud half-smile.

"Like sleeping with him?" the warlord asks directly.

"Including, but not limited to... Wait a second," the young man's face shows surprise of a sudden unpleasant realisation, "You didn't think I was cheating on you?"

"I..." the warlord doesn't know how to retaliate.

"On you. With him!" the prince makes a wide gesture in the traitor's direction, "I'm frankly offended," and he sure sounds like it.

The soon-to-be-corpse of a military man tries to say something but is met with a unison "Silence!" from the arguing married couple.

The barbarian spreads his arms with uncharacteristic helplessness, "I got reports that you two were sneaking around the castle, sharing meals, spending nights together. What else was supposed to think?"

"I don't know, literally anything else?" the prince sounds exasperated, "Anything that doesn't imply me being unlawful to you?" he rubs the bridge of his nose, "Okay, we can talk about it later. What are we going to do with him?" he nods toward the traitor, whose face is being slowly recoloured from white as a sheet to light gray.

"I was planning to make you kill him," the warlord mumbles into this beard, "but you have nothing to be punished for, so..."

"Since when executing a traitor is a punishment?" the prince raises an eyebrow, "I think it's an honour," and reaching under a pillow pulls out a small dagger with gems on the handle. Before anyone can say or do anything, he takes a step towards his supposed lover and in a swift motion the dagger is inside his chest and out again, "Take him away," he orders to the guards firmly and quietly.

When the door is closed he turns to his husband and his face softens a bit: "Shall we sit?"

They land at the edge of the bed and the prince looks up at the warlord expectantly.

"Can you, please, tell me what actually happened?" the usually bold barbarian finally pushes out.

"Alright," the young man agrees easily, "So, you left and I, feeling responsible for our kingdom's and our castle's safety, decided to keep an eye on the guy. He probably thought I was doing it for different reasons, so he came to my quarters on the fourth evening of your absence and made me an awfully direct offer. Just when I was about to refuse he slipped and said that he'd take me from here, because he might be going away himself soon - somewhere where he's more valued. So I decided to dig a little more and accepted and I was right," he shrugs and notices his husband looking at him expectantly, "I slept with him twice - once to gain his trust and once to get easy access to his chambers."

"That's all?" the warlord asks with somewhat hidden hope.

"That's all," the prince confirms with a small smile, "Listen, if I could do it any other way - I would have, but I couldn't. Come on, would you rater have your kingdom safe or your spouse following some rigid burgher morals?" he asks half-seriously, half-teasingly.

"I'd rather have you," the barbarian says, relieved, putting his hand on the prince's lap.

The scene - the orc chief's tent, the prince has his hands tied together (I'm not sure if he's supposed to be tied to a chair or not, but it's not important), the chief enters with a smug look on his face, expecting the captive to be panicking, but...

"Good evening, noble chief, to what to I owe the honour?" the prince turns to the entrance and respectfully bows his head.

The orc is a little surprised but tries not to show it: "To your parents' stupidity and stubbornness, princeling," he chuckles, expecting a disagreement, but he isn't met with one.

"I presume this concerns the latest," the elf makes the tiniest pause, choosing a word, "developments in the orc policies in the kingdom."

"Yeah, it concerns," the chief is making fun of the elf, "your parents pushing us around and ignoring us."

"And what exactly is your plan, if I might inquire, noble chief?" the prince remains uncharacteristically calm.

"Rough you up and demand your parents attention," the orc says bluntly.

"I'm afraid I'd have to disappoint you, but you'll just be making their majesties a big favour, or even two," the elf says without breaking eye-contact.

"How?" the chief breaths out, moving closer and towering over the prince, who's holding back a shudder.

"You see, noble chief, they aren't happy with both of us. You and your people weren't silently accepting mistreatment and I haven't been agreeing with their policies for a while and 'behaving as a proper elven heir should'. So, by having me here, you give them a perfect opportunity to kill two birds with one stone - launch a crusade against you and find my body in the ruins of your camp," the elf explains.

"Why would they want you dead? Why not just have another heir? And why would you be dead in the first place - I wasn't planning on killing you," the orc is very confused.

"Due to longevity elves can't have more than one child - the rulers are supposed to be an example to their people. And lately, leaving the kingdom in my hands has become their worst nightmare," the prince huffs bitterly, "Oh, and who said you'd be the one to kill me? No one would pay attention in the heat of battle."

The orc chief stares at the elven prince in disbelief. In orcish culture hurting a child - moreover your child - is one of the worst crimes. They stand in silence for a bit.

"And what do you suggest, prince?" the orc is so surprised, he forgets to be deprecating.

"Have you already sent a messenger to the capital?" the elf asks, cool and collected, as if nothing happened.

"No, why?"

"If you're willing to work with me, noble chief, we can turn this situation into an opportunity for both of us," the prince gives a small smile, "You didn't kidnap me - I came here myself to help work out a solution of the latest problems with the kingdom racial policies," the orc raises an eyebrow, interested, "We'll make an official statement to the elven people and then I can offer myself as an ambassador and a negotiator on the orcs' side. That'll help us push their majesties and, hopefully, earn us an ally in each other."

The chief give the elf another long look.

"Well, if we are to be allies," he reaches towards the bindings, "here," with one swift motion of an orcish knife the elf's hands are free.

"Introductions are in order," he extends his hand for a handshake, "I am Chief Drorik, a servant to my own people."