Chapter Text
Ten summers later
Tymon stood at a distance and watched their spiritual leader speak with those who were already in the fields though the sun was barely up. Sam’s tall figure was a familiar one all over the small kingdom. He was imposing, Tymon supposed, with his great height and the breadth of his shoulders, both emphasized by the long cloak he favored. He always carried a carved walking stick that doubled as a weapon he could wield with great expertise. (Back when Dean’s rule was new, several men had taken it upon themselves to let Sam know that he wasn’t an appropriate consort for their leader. Sam had taken care of the threat without any assistance, unconcerned by the fact that he was outnumbered.)
But Sam was far more beloved than feared, for he talked to anyone and everyone as if what they had to say was extremely interesting and important. It wasn’t uncommon for him to run errands for the kitchen himself with a child in tow or even riding on his shoulders.
He was an interesting man, a scholar and mystic yet a man of the people. He spoke to the ancestors and received clearer answers than any wise man or woman before, but he did not brag about his ability or expect special treatment. In fact, the only reason that Tymon or one of the other guards (now that Tymon had his own familfamilyother. responsibilities and didn’t wish to live at the big house) was always with Sam was because Dean insisted on it.
Sam now talked with two of the men working, both one-time Koda soldiers who had stayed with the families they’d served after their five-year terms were up. One was considered a trusted friend, almost like an uncle, and the other had actually married the young widow he’d worked for. Sam called them by name and had been a great help to them as they’d first learned to navigate the world without their sight. Tymon recalled his amazement at watching the men be led by children to the fields, where ropes had been strung so they could follow along the rows.
One of the men Sam was talking to had a child clinging to his leg, and Tymon was completely unsurprised that Sam spoke the child too. Sam waved at Tymon and tilted his head back toward his home, letting the other man know he was heading back already.
Sam and Tymon chatted as they walked. Though he considered his position as far too lofty for a simple man like himself, Tymon’s opinion was often sought by both Sam and Dean. (When he had voiced such a thought to Sam one time, Sam looked at him for a long moment, his gaze lost in the past. When he pulled himself back to the present, he had responded, “I was an orphaned child without a blanket to sleep under who barely survived my first winter alone. Now look at me. Visi. Who would have ever imagined? We really never know where our lives' paths will take us, and where we came from doesn’t determine our abilities or destiny.”)
Tymon’s thoughts drifted to their Chennaird. He was not like Tymon could ever have imagined a leader to be. He was strong and resolute, defending his people when necessary. He was an amazing fighter even in his human form and completely dedicated to protecting all under his care. But he was also unpretentious, quick to laugh, and incredibly approachable. His love of children was well known, and it wasn’t uncommon for new parents to take the time to visit and present their baby to Dean for his blessing, a custom he adored. Before he’d watched Dean lead, Tymon hadn’t known that a leader could be both powerful and kind.
As Sam and Tymon began to ascend to a side entrance to the big house, they caught sight of a figure they both knew well on the path to the village below. It was Mavis, now a fiery young woman. She was leaning forward with her hands on her hips castigating a man about her age. Though he was a head taller and twice as wide, the man was hunched in on himself and staring at his feet. They were too far to hear the actual words, but the tone Mavis was using wasn’t gentle.
Sam snickered, the kind of undignified response he only had when there was nobody to hear but his closest friends. He and Dean had named Mavis as Dean’s successor not long before, and she’d suddenly been desired for more than her pretty face and brilliant mind. But she needed no protector from the men who wanted to pursue her. Tymon knew she wasn’t as alone as she seemed – there would be a guard nearby – but any guard with half a brain (or any experience guarding Mavis) would know better than to interfere.
Sam just shook his head and continued on. “She reminds me of Lizzie more every day,” he said with feeling. He still missed his friend.
One day, some seasons before, Dean had taken a weakening Lizzie into the room where he’d carved the names of all his tairis. He’d shown her Maeve’s loom and the names and spent hours telling her of the life her great-aunt had lived inside the mountain. He allowed almost no one in the room, he'd deemed Lizzie worthy.
Lizzie had spent most of her time in her last days in Maeve’s grotto, and that was where she’d been laid to rest. Sam often sat next to her resting place when he sought out help from the ancestors. Tymon had never quite dared ask if he could actually communicate with his deceased friend.
But Sam was clearly not thinking sad thoughts now. When they’d nearly reached the door to the big house, Sam’s pack of dogs came running to greet them. Each one was a descendant of Bear, the mutt Sam had adopted a decade before, but what they lacked in pedigree, they made up for in enthusiasm.
Sam greeted all by name and lightly scolded the two that were wet for getting into the bathing pool again. But he didn’t linger like he normally would, and Tymon wondered again what was his unusual hurry. And when Sam asked one of the attendants who saw to the upkeep of the big house to find someone to exercise the dogs for him, Tymon barely hid his surprise. Sam didn’t even detour to visit the latest litter who were still too young to be running with the rest of the pack. (Despite getting on in years, Bear still enjoyed a bit of carousing now and then.)
Sam seemed to shed the venerable wise man persona a little more with every step inside. He had his cloak and shillelagh tucked carelessly under one arm and was almost running by the time he approached the outer door of the private chambers he shared with Dean. And Dean himself was standing in the doorway waiting, though normally this was the time he’d be hearing citizens’ concerns and complaints.
Only then did Tymon realize why Sam had changed his routine so drastically. The two leaders celebrated the day of their formal joining with a massive picnic that was open to anyone who wished to join. There were games and dancing and revelry and a kingdom-wide holiday.
But Tymon knew that they had only done the ceremony to appease the people and put a stop to talk about about bonding with a woman and begetting heirs. In private, the two men chose to celebrate the day they had met. Each time it came around, they excused themselves from official duties and spent the entire day inside their suite of rooms and Tymon kept everyone out of the nearby area.
Even after all this time, their private celebrations tended to get loud.
With a knowing smile, Tymon told the guard at the door that he’d take over for the rest of the day and suggested he make himself scarce.
It was well into the afternoon and the loud and varied sounds had been quiet for a while before Tymon dared order food to bring in to his charges. Though he was the only one allowed inside when the two men had called for privacy, Tymon still listened at the door for a few moments before he ventured inside, not having any interest in seeing any of the amorous activities in progress. He stepped inside and closed the door as quietly as he could. Seeing Sam and Dean were both lying motionless on the bed, he crept to the table and set down the tray.
For all the men were strong and respected leaders, they had never tried to hide their love, which he respected greatly. Tymon smiled to himself as he looked at the two, who were by now not just his leaders but also his friends.
Dean was on his back with his arms flung wide and his mouth slightly open. His hair was completely mashed flat. Sam was sprawled diagonally over Dean’s chest, his face turned toward his lover’s. Their modesty was barely preserved by a lightweight red silk covering, Sam’s long legs sticking out of it to the side. By this point, Tymon wasn’t surprised to see rings of light bruises around Sam’s wrists and ankles and a fresh bite mark on his neck. He’d never judged the way the two enjoyed each other.
As Tymon was about to go back to his post, he noticed that Dean’s eyes were open. Moving nothing but his wrist, Dean was stroking Sam’s hair and the bite mark on his neck, which he renewed often. Sam sighed in his sleep and Dean’s eyes were sleepy and relaxed and full of contentment. He gave Tymon a half smile, uncaring that he saw them in repose.
Tymon smiled back.
These two leaders – his friends – had brought peace and prosperity and more to their little kingdom. He was glad they’d found their own peace as well.
They had made so many sacrifices...and had found much-deserved salvation.