Chapter Text
There’s this boy.
No, this man (just like Percy, who recently turned 19). He’s probably about Percy’s age, maybe a little older, but he runs with the Clasp. Percy only knows a few things for certain about Vax’ildan: he’s good with daggers. He’s got a twin sister. He’s fast as lightning when he wants to be, good at fading away into the shadows, too.
He’s a thief, and probably an assassin to boot.
And he’s easily the most beautiful person Percy’s ever seen.
Percy’s knows there are men who love other men, but as far as he knows, none of them are de Rolos. And none of them are his fairweather friends – more like acquaintances – among the Whitestone upper crust, so he has no one to ask whether all that courting nonsense goes the same with boys as with girls. Not that he could court Vax anyway, Vax being a figure of the criminal underworld and Percy being the third child of the city’s ruling family. To make a crass understatement, there are a number of obstacles at play.
Overall, though, it’s probably good that Vax isn’t a girl, because Percy has very little luck with girls. He’s been told all his life that girls will be interested in him for his family’s wealth and title, but so far, none of this has borne out. He saw it happen with his older brother Julius, the future Lord of Whitestone, but all the titles have never done Percy a damn bit of good. Sure, he’ll never be Lord of Whitestone, but the de Rolos have an excellent name and reputation, and he’ll still have access to the family money.
His father says it’s a matter of numbers and probability – too small a sample size of eligible women to draw conclusions, too limited a time frame. Whitestone is quite isolated, and if he chooses to go out into the wider world, he’ll have better luck. His mother just says he’s young yet, and there’s no reason to rush things.
Despite his parents’ optimism, it seems obvious to Percy that there’s something about him that’s deeply unattractive. Maybe it’s his too-long limbs and too-gangly body. Maybe it’s the intensely pale skin with the dark hair. Maybe it’s just him. Percy is self-aware enough to know that his personality isn’t the most appealing. He’s awkward and shy at times, but at others, he can’t seem to stop talking about utterly uninteresting things: clockwork gears and low-friction pivots. His tinkering projects. It’s not just girls his age who don’t care about that, though; no one does.
So what on earth would he have to offer a distressingly handsome rogue? Well, an easy mark, perhaps, but Vax doesn’t seem to be that sort of criminal, at least during his off-hours. Even though Vax can’t be much older, he’s clearly far worldlier than Percy, who’s barely set foot outside of Whitestone. Despite his extensive education, Percy’s well aware that he’s sheltered by his position and his wealth – Vax has had no such shelter, and it’s evident in even their most casual conversations.
By rights, they shouldn’t even be friends, and maybe they’re not. Maybe they’re just people of vaguely the same age who sometimes talk to each other. But ever since they literally ran into each other in the open-air market a few weeks ago and spent the afternoon conversing, whenever Percy descends from the castle into town – which is relatively often, to gather materials and speak with the various artisans around – he eventually finds himself picking up a shadow. This shadow, barely even noticeable, trails him from destination to destination. Sometimes it gets where he’s going before Percy does. Percy couldn’t even say how, precisely, he knows it’s there – it’s a feeling more than a sense perception – but he always picks up on it. He has the distinct suspicion that’s only because Vax wants him to pick up on it.
Today, his shadow finds him at the smithy and follows him as he goes to hunt down the town’s most experienced brass worker, who’s out on his lunch break. Percy looks for a good hour without luck, too frustrated with his bad fortune and the heat to be amused at just how long his shadow sticks with him.
When he finally gives up for the moment and takes shelter from the sun under the branches of a tree by the city’s walls, only then does Vax step out of the shadows and make himself known.
“No luck, hmm?” he asks, plopping down beside Percy on the grass.
Percy sighs. “This is not that large a city, and Drathe Nidal is a very wide, very loud dwarf. I don’t suppose you know where he is.”
“Not currently, no,” Vax says, pulling an apple out of some pocket or other and taking a bite of it. “If I did, I would have spoken up sooner. I don’t mind watching you sweat, de Rolo, but I wouldn’t prolong it in these conditions.”
It occurs to Percy to poke at his own cheek – the skin is hot and sore, and he’s probably baked red by now. It’s still early summer, but there’s been a marked rise in temperature since Percy left the castle this morning, and there’s currently not a cloud in the sky to protect him from the sun. He’s definitely sweated through his shirt and waistcoat. Excellent. What a picture to present to Vax. “How badly burnt am I?” he groans.
Vax looks him over, eyes twinkling with amusement. Vax himself has a light sheen of sweat on his temples, but despite the dark clothing, he seems enviably comfortable. “More than a healthy flush, but less than a fire elemental.”
“Well, that’s good, I suppose.”
“Here,” Vax says, detaching something from his belt – a small water skin. “Drink.”
It’s a little humiliating, being cossetted by his crush, but Percy can’t deny his thirst. The water’s warm but clean, and it tastes sweet on his parched tongue. “Thank you,” he says, not quite meeting Vax’s eyes as he puts the stopper back in. “I should have prepared better, but I thought I was just making the one stop in town today.”
“Something urgent, is it?”
“Ah, no,” Percy says, hoping his sunburned skin will hide a light flush of embarrassment. “I am merely very close to solving a very specific problem with the flywheel for my attempt to integrate a gyroscope with a compass. I had been using copper bearings, but corrosion has been a problem, so I thought perhaps brass would be preferable, but I wasn’t sure if the zinc content would render the alloy insufficiently malleable to—”
Percy’s done it again; he’s started rambling on about something Vax has no interest in. But Vax has always been strangely polite for a denizen of the criminal underworld – something Percy greatly respects – and is merely chewing thoughtfully while Percy blathers.
“Anyway,” Percy continues, “I had hoped to talk to Drathe as soon as possible, because once I solve this problem, I think things for my gyrocompass will start to fall into place. I’m so close to a breakthrough.”
“What about your steam-powered mining cart? Could you work on that a while?”
Percy’s shocked that Vax remembers – he hasn’t talked about that one in weeks. “I suppose I could. I had put it out of mind because I kept running into a wall in terms of maintaining hydraulic pressure in the contraption’s secondary chamber. Sometimes when I come back with fresh eyes, the solution is sitting right in front of me. Perhaps it’s time to revisit it.”
“In my completely uneducated opinion, yes,” Vax says decisively. “Do that.”
Percy laughs self-consciously. “Thank you, Vax. How about you? How is it that you can spend all afternoon trailing me from place to place? Nothing good to steal today?”
Vax grins. “The best time to steal something is typically not in broad daylight.”
A lump rises in Percy’s throat – he’s said something stupid again. “Yes. Right. Of course.”
“But it’s an excellent time to practice trailing a mark under less-than-ideal conditions. I should thank you – you’re helping me sharpen my skills. When did you notice me following you?”
“The blacksmith’s.”
“Hmm, okay,” Vax says, his eyes narrowing pensively.
“Why? When did you start?”
The grin returns to Vax’s face. “Oh, I can’t tell you that. It would ruin the fun.”
“Well, I’m glad one of is having fun,” Percy sighs.
“Oh, cheer up, de Rolo. It’s just a sunburn and a few hours’ setback.”
“Percy, please,” Percy corrects. “There are approximately 87 de Rolos in Whitestone. It’s imprecise, if nothing else.”
“And it’s awfully informal for the son of the Lord of Whitestone.”
Percy rolls his eyes. “The third child who’s never going to be a lord himself. Besides, it’s not like we’re in polite company.”
With a noise of indignation, Vax says, “Are you calling me ill-mannered?”
“No, of course not, I—” Oh. Vax is joking.
“Just trying to loosen you up a bit, Percy,” Vax says with a flourish and nudges Percy with his elbow. “You’re good company when you remove the stick from your ass.”
“The stick is compulsory,” Percy sighs. “I was born with it.”
“Hmm, no wonder your mother always looks so uncomfortable.”
The indignant tightening in Percy’s chest is automatic; he doesn’t even stop to consider how a reprimand might be taken. “No, Vax. Too far.”
The smile fades from Vax’s face, and he’s quiet for a moment. That gives Percy just enough time to berate himself for being awkward, if not quite to regret defending his mother, but then Vax just nods slightly and says, “Noted. My apologies.”
His heart beating in his throat, Percy tries to get the conversation going again and only stammers a little. “M-my brother Julius, though. If I got a stick, he got the whole tree.”
Vax’s grin returns, a little softer this time. “Oh, I can definitely see that. What must it be like, to think you own the whole of the world?”
“Incredibly tedious, if you’ve ever had a conversation with him.”
“No, thank you,” Vax snorts. “I’ll stick with you. I have to say, for nobility, you’re exceptionally interesting. Most of them, it’s ‘inheritance’ this and ‘bloodlines’ that.”
“Spent quite a lot of time talking to nobles, have you?” Percy teases.
“You’d be surprised,” Vax says with a wink, but doesn’t elaborate further on the subject. “Enough to know you’re probably the best – and smartest – of the lot.”
“Hardly a high bar to clear.”
“And so modest, too!” Vax crows, finishing off the rest of the apple and chucking the core into the tall grass that lines the wall. He stands and offers a hand down to Percy. “Well, I ought to be going. Can’t be seen too long with you or people will start to think I’m respectable. The Clasp will run me right out of town.”
“We certainly can’t have that,” Percy says, proud of how his voice doesn’t shake in the slightest as he puts his hand in Vax’s. Vax hauls him to his feet easily, biceps flexing under his form-fitting shirt, and Percy tries hard not to stare.
If Vax sees, at least he doesn’t let on. “No, we can’t. If I had to make an honest living, I’d die of boredom.” He claps Percy on the shoulder, and Percy just manages to keep his balance. “Always a pleasure, Percival. If I see Nidal, I’ll tell him you’re looking for him.”
“Please don’t,” Percy says with a sigh. “He’ll just try even harder to avoid me.”
With a chuckle, Vax starts to walk away. Percy watches for a moment, then realizes he’s still holding Vax’s waterskin. “Vax, wait.”
He holds up the pouch, but Vax waves a dismissive hand at him. “Keep it. You’ve got a long walk back to the castle.”
At that, he turns a corner and seems to melt into the shadows. Percy is so distracted on his walk home that he sets off in the wrong direction entirely.
&&&
Thanks to Vax’s suggestion, Percy does make a breakthrough on his self-propelled mining cart, and a few days pass with Percy barely marking the time between night and day save for his lessons with Professor Anders. One day, he falls asleep right at the dinner table, and his mother has a sturdy lock put on his workshop door while he’s snoring lightly with his left cheek in the soup.
“Mother,” he groans when he discovers the lock, trying to keep any semblance of whining out of his voice. He’s too tired to have much success.
“It will be removed directly after breakfast tomorrow,” she says, tugging him down to kiss him on the forehead. “And it will remain off as long as you can remember that nights are for sleeping.”
He attempts to remind her that he is an adult, thank you, a fully-grown man of the de Rolo family who can make decisions for himself, but his face splits into a wide yawn before he can manage it. Ah, well, all the tools he’d use to dismantle the lock are shut up in the workshop, anyway.
But his mother is true to her word, and after a quick breakfast, he rushes down to his shop to find it open. Truly, he knows that maintaining a healthy sleep schedule keeps his mind at its sharpest… but that night he hides a small hacksaw in his bedroom under his mattress anyway.
That’s how he finds the book he’d secreted beneath it months ago, taken from the de Rolo library. It’s not alone – he’s aware that some of the housekeeping staff refer to his own bedroom as the “the de Rolo library” because of the number of books that reside there on a semi-permanent basis, but this book is… not for public viewing, and thus not kept out on the shelves with the rest. He’s not sure how it got into his family’s library to begin with, and he’s not sure he wants to know. The family’s book collection is sizeable, but the shelves devoted to pure fiction are relatively few, and perhaps half a shelf or less is devoted to fiction with any kind of romantic content. This book, however, was stashed elsewhere, behind several outdated atlases that Percy had taken down only for the purposes of cataloguing, at which point this book literally fell in his lap.
The cover is plain, containing only the innocuous title A Tale of Two Rangers. The first time he’d opened it, the book had fallen open to a section that must have been read often, as a crack in the spine allowed the pages to part easily. Upon seeing the words “Aymar’s cock thrust in slowly,” Percy had yelped aloud and slapped the book shut.
Then he’d looked around and found himself entirely alone in the library. He’d paused to listen for any footsteps and heard none. Then he’d opened the book back up.
He’s not entirely naïve to the sins of the flesh, or at least the mechanics thereof, thanks to stories from his older brother that are almost certainly exaggerated, if not outright fabricated. However, all the information he has to go on involves the participation of an individual man and an individual woman, and least at any one time. When he had peered closer at the book, it had not escaped his notice that the participants in this particular scene both bore names that were, by tradition, male. And thus that Aymar’s cock was not thrusting into… where cocks traditionally go, as far as Percy is aware.
Despite the mild discomfort of the heat flaring in his cheeks and the real possibility that any of his siblings would come wandering in at any moment, Percy had read the entire scene with rapt attention, sitting right there on the floor of the library. The prose was florid and lacked detail Percy could have used to augment his imagination, but the basic premise was clear. He supposes that the mechanics of it would work – and hadn’t Julius made crude remarks about women who “take it up the arse”? At the time, Percy hadn’t given much thought to what “it” would entail, nor whether such a thing were possible if two men were involved.
He must admit that it’s probable that the author of this tome has a particularly keen imagination, though some other bits of the scene seemed to correlate with the little that he has experienced at his own hand. After reading the scene through a few more times in the library, he had once again slapped the book closed. And, stuffing it between two unwieldy atlases, he’d brought it back to his own bedroom.
Since then, he has read the entirety of the book. While the plot and the pacing leave something to be desired, to his surprise, he found the central love story to be rather compelling. And at heart it is a love story, an entire romance between two male elves from separate warring countries who fall in love after they meet while pursuing the same mythical beast. It would seem that elves have comparable anatomy to humans – which makes sense, as the two races procreate with few problems. There’s one internal anatomical structure in particular he has yet to confirm, as he hasn’t worked up the nerve yet.
But aside from that, the book had awakened him to the possibility that one man could indeed love another man, with the same desire for closeness and emotional intimacy that a man was supposed to desire from a woman. Percy had felt like a bit of a dunce for not really considering it before. He had known that he had felt… certain stirrings upon looking at a few of the male castle guards changing their uniforms, but he thought perhaps it was his teenage hormones attaching themselves to any bare skin in sight. As it is, however, those stirrings have outlasted the worst of his adolescence, and Percy had begun to figure that they were simply something to be ignored. It had never really occurred to him that not only could they be indulged, but that they could flourish into something more.
Not two weeks after that particular revelation, he had met Vax. The timing seems almost suspect.
All of this rushes back to him as he tucks the hacksaw away and pulls the book from beneath his mattress. If he can no longer spend the bulk of his evening in his workshop, he supposes he might as well read it again. Or at least his favorite bits. After all, the book falls right open to them.
First, though, he stuffs an old cloak against the bottom of his closed bedroom door to block even the dim light of the single candle he’s burning. Private time is difficult to come by with so many siblings, especially ones who rarely knock on a closed door. Hopefully, anyone walking by will assume he’s already turned in for the evening.
It’s no use pretending that this late night rereading will end any differently than any of the others, so after slipping between his sheets, he sighs and unties his pajama bottoms. Nor is it any use pretending that Vax isn’t going to feature heavily in his imagination tonight. In the same vein, he digs around in his nightstand for a small bottle of oil pilfered from the kitchens.
The scene in which Aymar and Lhoris consummate their love is a particular favorite of Percy’s, though he’s never quite sure in which role to picture himself. Simply the thought of being near enough to another man – to Vax – to touch each other’s bare skin with intention is enough to make Percy’s blood rush south. He doesn’t even know whether Vax feels… that way about him.
But what if he did?
What if he could touch Vax’s cheek the way Lhoris touches Aymar’s? Percy has a hard time imagining much stubble there, since Vax’s bronze-toned skin always seems smooth as porcelain, but the hard angle of his jawline would be unmistakable. What would that familiar, one-sided smirk feel like under Percy’s fingertips? What would Vax’s fingertips feel like against the skin of Percy’s throat, trailing down to feel his racing pulse?
Percy is hardly even cognizant of reaching for his cock, of palming it gently as it hardens. It’s been enough years since adolescence that a quick wank is nothing new, but touching himself this way while thinking of Vax still feels novel, a bit illicit and thus exciting. He reads a few more paragraphs in the book, trying to keep the movements of his own hand slow and teasing as Lhoris’s hands make their way under Aymar’s tunic.
Oh gods, Vax’s hands. Vax has shown him more than once how to palm a small object and slip it into a sleeve without anyone else being the wiser, but done at speed it still seems indistinguishable from magic to Percy. Perhaps he’s just distracted by the movement of those nimble fingers. Percy suddenly remembers that Vax has picked his pocket before. Percy couldn’t even feel it until Vax slowed down to show him what he was doing, but Pelor’s balls, Vax’s hand has been that close to him, scant inches away from his cock. The thought makes Percy’s breath catch in his throat and his cock throb.
There’s no more teasing after that, just the thought of Vax’s fingers curling tight around Percy’s cock. The way they’d grip him, tight and sure, Vax’s confident smile as he reduces Percy to a quivering wreck. Vax’s breath against Percy’s lips as he leans in, expecting a kiss, and then instead he feels the sharpness of Vax’s teeth—
Percy comes with a loud exhale, his release dripping over his fist. He looks down, imagining darker, slimmer fingers stroking him, the image pulling another few deep, shuddering pulses of pleasure out of him.
And then he slumps back to the bed, spent, with that slightly hollow feeling that always slips into his chest after the deed is done. His pajama top is ruined anyway, so he wipes his hand on it and balls it up, stuffing it under his pillow. He still feels too embarrassed to let the servants clean such things, so he’ll take it down to the baths tomorrow and at least rinse out the worst of the stains.
The book, which had long since fallen to the floor, is picked up, closed, and placed lovingly back under the mattress.
&&&
Summer proceeds apace, and none of Percy’s family seems to know about his time spent with Vax. For now at least, he wishes to keep it that way. His parents aren’t opposed to the Clasp or its societal function on principal – quite the opposite, actually – but none of their children have ever invited any of its members to dinner, either. And Percy imagines it might put Vax in an uncomfortable position, as though he were on display for the amusement of Percy’s many siblings. They aren’t known for their tact, particularly where Percy is concerned.
There’s also the fact that Percy occasionally imagines what Vax might look like naked. A part of him legitimately worries that his parents might see the way he looks at Vax and immediately know everything, as parents sometimes seem to do. In no way is Percy ready for that.
So he sticks to meeting Vax in town or just outside of it, usually in the afternoons when his lessons are finished. Sometimes they even make plans, which Percy happens to be late for today. His mother had wanted his input on a potential alteration to a trading pact with the mason’s guild in Emon, and he’d been so happy to give it that he’d lost track of time.
As he comes racing down toward the market, he’s relieved to see that Vax is still waiting for him near the milliner’s stand, as arranged. He appears to be trying on a large, feathered abomination topped by more than one taxidermied bird. “What do you think?” he asks as Percy catches his breath. “Does it suit me?”
“It is perhaps too… memorable for your particular profession.”
Vax sighs, feigning great disappointment. “I suppose you’re right.”
They purchase some candied almonds and find a perch off to the side of the crowd, watching the various merchants and customers talk and haggle and occasionally argue. Vax occasionally tosses a nut into the air and catches it easily in his mouth, and Percy tries not to stare. Once, Vax urges Percy to open his mouth. It only takes two almonds bouncing off of Percy’s teeth for Vax to hit his target so well that Percy nearly chokes. At least Percy can pretend it’s because of the almond rather than the sight of Vax concentrating so hard on Percy’s open mouth.
“Percy, can I ask you a potentially rude question?” Vax asks at length.
As Percy’s heart seems to freeze in his chest, he stares at his paper cone containing nothing but shed candy bits, wondering just what it is that Vax would deem to be rude. “If you must.”
“What do you do all day? What do lords and ladies and lordlings such as yourself do with their time?”
“Well, uh,” Percy says, pleasantly surprised and taken a little aback at the innocuous questions. He’s not sure what he expected, but it wasn’t that. “Those are two different questions, really. Lords and ladies like my parents have to coordinate tasks that see to the running of their lands. In our case, that includes making sure the town has what it needs. We’re fairly isolated up here, and we have the mines to keep in steady production, so there’s a lot of planning involved in exports and imports. My parents don’t do all of it, of course, but they ensure that the right people are taking care of things. They’re more directly involved with the estate, which employs several hundred people.”
“And you? Are you learning to do all that, too?”
“Uh, only some of it. Mostly that’s what Julius is for. My case is… somewhat unusual.”
“How so?”
“I completed my basic schooling two years ago – the education that children of nobility typically receive, as far as I know. But I didn’t want to stop there.”
“You wanted more school?” Vax asks, eyebrows raised. “On purpose?”
Percy sighs. “Yes, yes, my older siblings have made me aware that there’s something deeply wrong with me.”
“No, that’s not…” Vax shakes his head. “I just can’t imagine sitting in a classroom for longer than I had to. I got a reasonably good education myself, but as soon as I got out, I never looked back. Of course, there were… complicating factors there.”
Percy doesn’t know whether that’s an opening for a question, but he senses not, so he keeps the focus on himself. “It’s not a classroom, exactly. Professor Anders is our tutor, and he has agreed to keep giving me lessons in history and literature and the more advanced sciences for a few more years.”
“The advanced sciences?”
“Engineering, chemistry, physics.”
Vax shakes his head. “You might as well be speaking Celestial.”
“Well… that, too.”
“And one tutor knows about all of this?”
“He knows a little about many fields. And he has a good network of fellow professors who can send him reading materials for me.” Percy finds himself sitting up a little straighter. “I have a lot of respect for Professor Anders.”
“Do you think you might like to be like him one day? You know, teach?”
That is not, of course, a vocation that would be proper for aristocracy, though Percy has no desire to be rude about it. It’s clear that Vax has had some kind of experience in spending time around the upper classes, but he also obviously disdains most of them, so he likely wouldn’t know. “A life of learning is one I could see myself pursuing. But teaching… that requires far more patience than I have.”
Vax inclines his head skeptically. “Haven’t you been plugging away at some of your inventions for years now?”
“Well, that’s different. Gears and cogs don’t tend to, for example, smear honey on your chair while you’re writing on the blackboard and laugh uproariously when you sit back down.”
Clutching imaginary pearls. Vax makes a face of mock outrage. “Percy, you didn’t!”
“No,” Percy protests, holding his hands up. “That was Vesper’s attempt at humor, back in her school years. And I think she’s trying to coach Ludwig in a similar vein.”
Vax’s face morphs into a grin. “I think I’d like Vesper.”
“You two must never meet,” Percy says, and Vax’s face falls. “Because neither of you would ever stop giving me grief, I mean.”
“Oh, well, yeah,” Vax says, and his smile returns, but it’s smaller than before. “I know what you mean – my sister gives me plenty of grief about… well, everything.”
Percy almost expresses a desire to meet her, but he stops himself. Is it too much to ask, especially after what he just said? Instead, he changes the subject. “Turnabout’s fair play, Vax. What do you do all day? Or can you even tell me?”
“Oh, all day, sure,” Vax says, his grin sharpening again. “All night, definitely not. By day I’m just a humble courier and respectable errand boy for local merchants. Ask anyone.”
Percy cocks an eyebrow. “And yet you seem to have ample free time when you wish to follow me.”
“Ah, but I’m always training, always perfecting my stealth,” Vax says with the slyest of grins. “You’re particularly perceptive, you know. If you stop and look around while I’m following you, I know I’ve given myself away somehow. If I don’t, well… I guess you’ll never know I was there.”
Again, Percy catches himself before he can say surely you have better things to do. In truth, he likes the idea that Vax makes him a priority. It probably isn’t true, but it’s nice to imagine. Much nicer than imagining the other things Vax does in the shadows. “But that can’t be all you do all day.”
“No, you’re right, it’s not. Tell you what – tomorrow afternoon, meet me at that big tree northwest of town. The one that got struck by lightning not long ago. You know the one?” Percy nods. “Excellent. Meet me there at two bells and I’ll show you what I do all day. I think you’ll like it.”
&&&
“I’m not going to wait around all day, Percival. Just do it.”
“Must I?” Percy asks, shifting awkwardly in his boots. “We both already know I’m going to humiliate myself immediately.”
“I just want to see what your technique is like. I want to know what I’m working with here.”
“How can I possibly have any kind of technique if I’ve never done this before?”
Vax sighs heavily, and Percy can feel his pulse beating in his ears. “Is this a problem of yours? Do you just refuse to do something if you can’t do it perfectly the first time?”
“Fine,” Percy says, just barely managing not to stomp his foot as he does. “Fine. Here I go. Are you watching?”
He chucks the dagger, which tumbles gracelessly end over end and bounces off the lower part of the tree trunk, hilt first. “Ta da.”
Vax grins, sauntering across the clearing to retrieve the dagger. “I mean, you hit the tree. My sister can shoot an arrow through a squirrel from 150 feet away, but she can’t hit a tree with a dagger at 30 paces.”
“Well, I suppose that’s… something.”
“All that tinkering you do, I’d imagine you’ve got the dexterity for it,” Vax says, easily flipping the blade around in his hand and proffering it to Percy handle-first. “Grip it like a hammer. I imagine you’ve had plenty of practice with that.”
Percy takes it in his hand and looks it over. It’s clearly a well-used dagger, with grooves in the grip that Percy assumes fit Vax’s fingers. It lacks the ornamentation that the de Rolo family blades typically have, but there’s a simplistic, deadly sort of beauty to it. He tries not to wonder how much blood it’s spilled. “But don’t you hold it by the blade when you throw?”
“Yes, because I’m good at this. It’s easier to start out with a hammer grip, and you’ll get more power that way. Birch wood is pretty soft, but you still need enough momentum to pierce the grain. Try again.”
Percy does, throwing a little harder this time. The result is the same, though the thump is a little louder.
“Hmm, too much power,” Vax muses. “And you’re throwing it the way you’d throw a ball – your arm’s coming too far across your body.”
“How am I supposed to do it, then?”
“Here,” Vax says, standing next to Percy so they’re both facing the tree. “Arm up, upper arm parallel to the ground.” He demonstrates, and Percy tries to mirror him. “This is a medium-distance throw, so a little bit of power does come from your shoulder, but it’s mostly coming from the elbow, which is easier to control.”
Percy stands there with his hand waving slowly in the air. “Don’t I need a dagger for this?”
“Not yet. Practice the motion a few times first. Lead with your elbow, then your forearm, then your wrist. There’s kind of a snap at the end, like…” At the end of his arm’s arc, Vax flicks his wrist forward. “…like that.”
Percy mimics the movement. “This seems… deceptively simple.”
Vax chuckles. “Well, it is and it isn’t. Like most other skills, I’d imagine. I mean, swordfighting is just waving a sharp piece of metal back and forth.”
“I’m not good at that, either.”
“You’re not bad at this, you haven’t even tried it more than a half a dozen times,” Vax protests, grunting with frustration. “Here, why don’t you watch me throw a few? Ignore the blade and pay attention to the angle of my arm.”
He throws three daggers, pausing generously between each one, but his arm still mostly looks like a black blur to Percy. Instead of three discrete stages of movement, his arm just seems to flow in one smooth arc, the dagger flying out of his hand as easily as Percy would flick away a drop of water. “Um,” he says awkwardly. “I can kind of see what your elbow is doing, but your wrist…”
“Oh, right,” Vax says, and rolls up his sleeve before he goes to collect the daggers. He demonstrates again, but Percy is too distracted by the easy roll of the muscles in Vax’s forearm as he throws. And there’s a scar, too, what looks like a defensive wound on the back of his arm near the wrist. It’s not fresh, but it doesn’t look that old, either, and Percy has to bite his tongue to keep from asking. After all, he’s not sure he wants to know.
Before Percy can really collect himself, Vax is holding out a knife to him again. “Here, practice the motion a few times and then give it another shot.”
Percy does as instructed, gripping the hilt of the dagger and moving his arm through the arc: elbow, forearm, wrist. Elbow, forearm, wrist. Elbow, forearm… He’s so focused on the movement that he almost forgets to actually let go of the dagger and ends up sinking it into the ground entirely too close to his own foot.
“Well,” he says, after his heart restarts. “At least it didn’t bounce that time.”
He can tell Vax is trying hard to keep a smile off his face as he bends to tug the knife from the dirt. “Your form wasn’t bad, you just missed the release point. Watch me again.”
Percy really does try to pay attention, but there’s only so much Vax can slow it down and still get off a throw. “I’m sorry, Vax,” Percy says, shaking his head. “I still think I’m missing something.”
He expects a sigh of frustration, but Vax just frowns slightly before taking a step toward him. “It might be easier if I… Do you mind me getting quite a bit closer to you?”
Percy feels his cheeks start to heat immediately, but he tries to cover it up by tugging at his waistcoat. “As long as the dagger remains pointed away from me, that should be acceptable.”
“Noted,” Vax says, lip quirking with an irrepressible little smile as he takes another step closer, examining Percy’s stance. “Hmm, okay, I did kind of skip a step when it comes to footwork. Sorry, I’ve never tried to teach anybody else before.”
“Oh, that’s… that’s quite alright.”
“Put your left foot out in front of your right – no, a little less.” He taps Percy’s knee until Percy moves it. “There, that’s good. You’ll start with most of your weight back on your right foot and then shift it forward onto your left as you throw to help with momentum. The farther the throw, the more of your body you need to put into it, so this will only be a slight rock forward.”
Trying to ignore the way Vax’s gaze seems locked on his hips, Percy focuses forward as best he can, eyes on the target as he tries to pair the shift of his weight with the arm movement, sans actual dagger. “Like that?”
“Hold on, let me move to your other side so I can see what your arm’s doing.”
Percy repeats the process several times at Vax’s request, though the feeling of awkwardness doesn’t diminish as Vax seems to scrutinize his form from all angles. Silently, Vax hands him a dagger and bids him to actually throw it. Impossibly, the addition of the knife seems to increase Percy’s clumsiness, as he’s trying to focus on every motion of his body at once, and the knife sails wide of the tree.
“Okay,” Vax says thoughtfully. “I have somehow made this more confusing for you.”
But before Percy can say, “No, it’s not you, I’m hopeless,” Vax has stepped up right behind him and molded his body along the back of Percy’s, all the way down to where Percy’s arm is still extended in the air. Vax is only actually touching him at a few points – his fingers encircling Percy’s right wrist, his feet alongside Percy’s, his right hip pressed against Percy’s right side – but Percy swears he can feel the heat of Vax’s body from his toes all the way up through the back of his head.
“Okay,” Vax says again, and Percy deserves some kind of official accolade for not squealing like a startled pig at the feeling of Vax’s breath tickling the back of his neck. “I hadn’t quite planned on getting this close, but here we are. You good?”
Percy’s eyes slam shut, and he schools his voice into a reasonable octave to grit out, “Yes.”
“Good.” Then Vax’s left hand comes to rest firmly on Percy’s hip, and the bottom drops out of Percy’s stomach. “Fancy boy like you knows how to dance, right?”
In fact, Percy is rather good at dancing – perhaps his one useful skill on the marriage market – but as his body is currently flashing both hot and cold at once and he can barely remember how to breathe, all he can manage is a weak “mm-hmm.”
“So think of it like a dance step, and let me lead.”
There is simply nothing else Percy can do but be led. At the urging of Vax’s hand on his hip, Percy gets most of his weight settled on his right foot, and Vax’s other hand draws back his right arm, elbow bent and wrist near his ear. Vax even cups his right hand around the back of Percy’s to take control of his wrist.
“Slowly, this first time,” Vax murmurs, and blessedly guides Percy’s body into motion before the shiver that works its way down his spine can become noticeable. Percy shifts forward as Vax presses into him, and he lets Vax direct the motion of his arm as though he’s little more than a puppet.
“Again,” Vax says, resetting his stance, and Percy follows helplessly.
Every scientific text Percy’s read tells him that, even in the presence of magic, time is a universal constant that neither speeds up nor slows down. Vax seems determined to disprove that as he leads Percy through the throwing motion half a dozen times, and Percy swears that time itself slows to a crawl for the duration of each one. He can feel every point at which their bodies touch, the hands on his hip and his wrist, the solid press of Vax’s chest against his back on each forward thrust, the soft burst of Vax’s breath against the exposed skin of his neck. If Vax miscalculated the distance between them even slightly his lips could easily brush Percy’s skin, though of course he never miscalculates. Even with Vax exaggerating the movements to instill them in Percy’s muscle memory, altogether, each sequence is perhaps the equivalent of half a dance step, taking less than a second to complete, but once they’ve repeated it a dozen times, Percy is breathing as though he’s been whirling around a dance floor for hours.
And then Vax simply steps back.
“Good,” he says brightly. “I think you’re getting the hang of it. Try again?”
The very last thing Percy should do in his present state of mind and body is hurl a sharp object, and he looks at the proffered dagger like it might bite him. He hears his own voice coming out of his mouth before he’s conscious of making the decision to speak. “First, could we perhaps trade places? I’d like to feel how it works on a real throw.”
Vax looks momentarily stunned, but he quickly nods. “Sure. It’ll be a lot faster, but you can probably still get a feel for it.”
Percy imagines it will feel like revenge, invading Vax’s space from behind, but that’s only until he catches the scent of Vax’s sweat mingled with the leather of his gear and the crushed summer grass they’re standing on. Perhaps it should be unpleasant, but it doesn’t offend Percy’s nose in the least. In fact, he breathes in a little deeper as he settles his hands in the appropriate places on Vax’s body. He’s a little taller, a little broader than Vax, and something about that fact heats his blood as he all but wraps himself around his friend.
But if Percy’s shaken, Vax is steady as ever. “Okay, before I throw, put your hand around mine. Feel how loosely I’m holding the hilt?”
“Yes,” Percy murmurs into Vax’s hair. Even from half an inch away, he can feel that it’s warm from the sun.
“Pay attention to how my wrist moves,” Vax says, arm effortlessly tracing a path through the air until it’s fully extended. “And… snap. The release point will sort of become instinctual if you get the wrist flick right.”
“I’ll take your word for it,” Percy says, praying his voice doesn’t sound as shaky as it feels.
“Put your fingers around my wrist now – I think having them on my hand might mess up the throw, but you should still be able to feel the snap. Ready to try it for real?”
Gods, what do they look like, standing out here in the woods with Percy adhered firmly to Vax’s body, following his every movement? They’re not far outside the city walls, but it’s fortunate that no one would have good reason to simply happen across this clearing. “Yes,” Percy says.
As Vax’s weight shifts forward and his arm moves through the arc in real time, Percy lets out the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding – and feels Vax’s muscles seize up under him. The dagger still hits the tree dead-center, but it smacks nearly flat against the trunk and falls to the ground.
“Right,” Vax says with an odd chuckle. “I should’ve mentioned breathing.”
Before Percy can get out “I’m sor—” or step away, Vax reaches back with his now-free hand and keeps Percy from stepping away. “No, it’s fine, I forgot to say it before, and I’ve never done this with somebody literally breathing down my neck. When possible, I like to inhale on the wind-up and exhale slowly and steadily as I throw.”
“Right,” Percy says dumbly, remembering Vax’s breath on his own neck. “I think I felt that before, but I didn’t realize what you were doing.”
“Yeah, okay, right. So let’s try it like that.” Vax pulls another dagger from his belt and sets up. He inhales loudly, and Percy mimics him, though a bit quieter. As the exhale starts, Vax’s arm snaps downward, the knife flying effortlessly from his hand and landing with a satisfactory thunk in the tree.
“Again,” Vax says before Percy can move, grabbing his final dagger and repeating the motion. Percy trains his eyes down the length of Vax’s arm and marvels at the smoothness of the motion, at how the dagger seems like a mere extension of Vax’s arm until the moment it leaves his hand. The throws seem to be a bit less precise with Percy hanging off his back, but Vax still manages to sink each blade neatly into the tree.
As he steps away to retrieve the daggers, there’s a split second in which Percy considers refusing to let him go. But despite his height advantage, Vax is clearly stronger than he is, and it would be no contest if Percy decided to be ridiculous and try to keep Vax pinned against his body. Anyway, by the time he’s fully cognizant of the desire, Vax is already three steps away.
At least it gives Percy a moment to collect himself. Vax returns and holds one of the daggers out. “This time I want you to throw all three of them, one right after the other. Don’t talk in between, don’t even look at me – just grab the next one and throw. Okay?”
Percy nods and does as he’s told, trying not to groan with frustration as each one bounces off the tree in turn. But when he runs out of daggers and looks at Vax, the half-elf is smiling. “Good!” Vax says, improbably. “Your technique is getting better. You’re just thinking about it too much.”
“I’ve been told that’s a fault of mine,” Percy sighs.
“Couldn’t tell,” Vax quips, turning to retrieve the daggers and speaking as he goes. “Try focusing your mind on something else as you throw – unfortunately, you can’t think your way through it, you just have to let your body take over.”
Percy huffs. “That seems like a remarkably bad idea in nearly every circumstance.”
Vax whirls around, daggers in hand, and stalks back toward him. “I don’t know, I can think of at least one where it’s vastly preferable,” he says with a wink. “But we’ve got too many clothes on for that.”
It’s such an uncharacteristically bold innuendo that it takes Percy a moment to catch Vax’s meaning, but by then, Vax has already stepped up beside him and is holding out the blades once more, giving Percy no time to formulate a rejoinder. “Try it again,” Vax says as though his previous statement had never happened. “If it looks like you’re overthinking it, I may… intervene.”
Blinking furiously at him, Percy says, “I’m not sure I like the sound of that.”
“Well then, try to keep your mind clear. Think about a nice pair of tits.”
That, at least, doesn’t require parsing. “Pardon me?”
“Or are you more of an ass man?” Vax asks, frowning slightly. “Yeah, I can see that. Think about getting those big hands of yours around a good, firm ass.”
Somehow, the conversation has spiraled so completely out of control that Percy can do little more than stammer “I didn’t— I’m not— What—?”
“Throw the daggers, Percival.”
Simply glad to look anywhere but the knowing grin on Vax’s face, Percy grabs the first knife and throws. The result isn’t much different, but even as he releases the dagger, this time he can feel that he’s got the arm movement right. Without another word, he repeats the process with the second dagger, and then the third.
Neither strike true, but the last one makes a different sound when it hits, a soft nick instead of a dull clunk, and next to him, Vax whoops loudly. “You got it!”
Percy wheels on Vax to ask whether he’s lost his mind. “What?”
“Or close, anyway,” Vax clarifies, “that last one hit point-first.”
“It did sound… different.”
“Come look,” Vax says, beckoning him as he jogs toward the tree.
Vax points out a small gouge on the trunk, and while Percy couldn’t have picked it out from any of the other indignities this poor tree has suffered recently, Vax seems certain of its provenance. “See? You’ve got the basics down. From here, it’s just a matter of practice and tightening up your form.”
“If you say so,” Percy says carefully. A part of him is insisting it’s sheer probability that a knife he threw would eventually impact the surface blade-first, but a larger part feels warm inside from the pride in Vax’s voice.
As Vax is picking up the daggers this time, the city bell tolls three times in the distance. “Shit, I need to get going,” Vax says. He reaches into one of his many pockets and pulls out an oily cloth, and then begins to carefully wipe down each blade.
Percy finds himself unable to look away from the process, but he manages to say, “Well, thank you for teaching me. I’m not certain it’s a skill I’ll ever need to use, but at least I’ve made some small amount of progress.”
“I hope not, but you should raid your family’s armory and practice, anyway. There’s not a whole lot more to teach – once you get the form down, the only way you get really good at it is by constant repetition, and then adjusting for distance.”
“There must be some way to minimize the amount of human error when it comes to releasing a projectile,” Percy muses aloud, mind starting to spin.
Vax chuckles. “A trebuchet?”
“I mean something more portable. Less powerful, obviously, but smaller and far more accurate.”
“Well, if you ever come up with something, let me know,” Vax says, slipping each dagger lovingly in his belt. “Until then, have fun picking daggers up off the floor.”
Percy snorts as Vax turns to leave. “Have fun thieving.”
Vax laughs, glancing once more over his shoulder before he goes. “I always do.”
And then Percy’s alone in the clearing, tits the furthest thing from his mind.
&&&
Percy does practice with the daggers, much to the delight of his younger siblings, who like to hide in the bushes and laugh hysterically every time he misses – which is most of the time. Vax had clearly stressed the importance of refraining from throwing with anyone he cares about downrange, but there are a few times he’s nearly asked Whitney and Ludwig if they’d like to participate in target practice. Even Percy can tell the blades from the armory aren’t as well-balanced as Vax’s, but it’s a poor craftsman who blames his tools.
Fortunately or not, practice sessions never go on for very long before Percy feels the call of his workshop. He’s actually had a few good ideas whilst throwing daggers and trying to not think about throwing daggers, and it’s simply too hard to deny himself the chance to try out these new ideas. Besides, he finds that practicing for too long turns his thoughts to Vax, and to the initial lesson, which often leads to thoughts he doesn’t particularly want to have around family members. More than once he’s retired directly to his workshop and locked the door to… have some time alone with himself.
Then his father is obliged to travel to Westruun for a few days and offers Percy the chance to come along. It’s a minor diplomatic matter that doesn’t interest Percy in the least, but the de Rolos are ordinarily so isolated from the rest of the continent that this is an uncommon opportunity for travel, not to mention that the chance to spend some time alone with Father is distinctly rare. Of course, they still travel with a few guards and envoys, and most of the time in Westruun is spent in dreadfully long meetings about tariffs, but overall, his father seems pleased to have Percy with him.
“I want all my children to have some idea of how the city is run,” he tells Percy over dinner one evening. “Julius should never feel alone when it comes to being Lord of Whitestone. He knows very well that I want all his brothers and sisters to be capable of taking charge should the need arise.”
Personally, Percy is certain that Julius would sooner stick his hand in a beehive than allow any of his siblings to take over for him, but he keeps that opinion to himself.
Of course, the speed with which the trip is planned and executed means that he doesn’t have time to mention it to Vax. He spends one afternoon wandering about town hoping to pick up a shadow, but he never does. That’s not terribly unusual, as Vax certainly can’t wait around and see if Percy will be in town every single day, but he still would’ve liked to share his excitement with Vax.
As it is, the trip ends up being extended for nearly a week and a half, thanks to a combination of tardiness on the part of another city’s envoys and a return journey marked by carriage breakdowns and foul weather. Percy is thoroughly sick of the whole thing by the time he returns to Whitestone, and even his normally-implacable father heaves a sigh of relief as they enter the city’s gates.
After the wagons are unloaded at the castle, Percy doesn’t really have a reason to head back into town, but it’s only early afternoon, so he figures he might as well. He doesn’t have a destination in mind, and after Simon Whisk glares him out of the Alcove for asking too many questions, he finds himself simply wandering around. There’s a tension in his spine that he doesn’t notice until a familiar shadow begins to follow him, and the tension eases.
“You’re back,” Vax says, striding up alongside Percy as though they’d been walking together for miles.
“Thankfully,” Percy says. “Westruun hasn’t improved any since I was there last, and that was years ago.”
“Ah, so that’s where you were,” Vax says. “All I learned was that Lord de Rolo and his thirdmost child had left on a diplomatic mission.”
“Apologies about that. I didn’t have much notice.”
“Apology accepted,” Vax says, sticking his hands in his pockets. “I wish I’d known – I thought I might have offended you during our last conversation.”
Percy halts in his steps, turning to look at Vax. “We were mostly discussing projectile weapons. What on earth would you have said to offend me?”
“Ah, I did speak rather crassly of… certain body parts.”
“Oh, that,” Percy says, waving his hand dismissively as though that would fend off the inevitable blush that’s creeping up his ears. “That was rather… surprising, but no. For the record, I am distinctly unoffended by tits. Or asses.” That he gets the words out without stammering is a small miracle. “As you can imagine, however, neither tend to come up in everyday conversation for me, which is mostly with my family.”
Vax laughs and starts walking again. “Makes sense. I just didn’t want to make any presumptions.”
“Presumptions?”
“About what you find… distracting.”
“Oh, ah, yes,” Percy stammers, keeping his eyes pointed straight ahead. He suddenly finds a question on the tip of his tongue with no good way to ask it. Impulsively, he says, “That is, I do find breasts to be highly distracting. Um. Do you?”
Vax doesn’t break stride, but the look he gives Percy is particularly inscrutable. After a pause that’s a second longer than would be natural, he says, “Yes, very.”
Percy tries his best not to deflate. “I see.”
“But, uh,” Vax says, looking straight ahead again and scratching idly at his chin. “That’s far from the only thing I find distracting. I’ve never… felt the need to limit myself.”
It’s only by the mercy of Pelor that Percy doesn’t trip over his own oversized feet. His heart is beating so fast that he’s certain Vax must be able to hear it. “I think I understand your meaning. And I, ah.” He knows his face must be beet red, but he soldiers on, too far in to retreat now. “I think I may feel similarly. About other distracting things.”
Surprisingly, the ground doesn’t open up beneath his feet. His heart doesn’t explode in his chest. Vax comes to a halt, and when he turns to look at Percy, his expression is once again frustratingly enigmatic, but he says, “Just to be clear, we are talking about—”
“Lord Percival!”
Blast and damn, Percy looks up to see a foppishly dressed man heading his way. He recognizes the man as a minor toady that hangs about the court, a baron whose status was recently elevated thanks to a lucky twist of fate. His sole ambition in life seems to be getting the gentry to notice him – and of course Percy’s forgotten his name. “Ah, hello, Sir…”
“Murkov, Baron Ryn Murkov,” the man says, doing a poor job of hiding his irritation that Percy didn’t know it. “I hear you and your father have recently returned from Westruun.”
Percy spares an apologetic glance at Vax before saying, “Yes, that’s correct.”
Murkov seems unbothered that he clearly just interrupted a conversation in progress. Indeed, he has yet to even acknowledge Vax is there. “I also hear the weather was simply terrible and you had carriage trouble on the return journey. I was just wondering whether you happened to require the services of a new wainwright. I just happen to have one I can recommend.”
“Uh,” Percy says, “that’s really more of a question for my father. Or perhaps my older brother.”
“Ah, but you’re a smart boy,” Murkov says in a tone so condescending that Percy barely keeps from rolling his eyes. “A real tinkerer, I hear.”
“You hear quite a few things, Sir Murkov.”
Quite the opposite of what Percy intended, Murkov seems to puff up with pride. “Indeed I do, m’lord.”
There’s an awkward pause, which Vax fills by saying, “Percy, you never told me you’re a lord.”
“Uh, courtesy title,” Percy says, smiling awkwardly. “It’s not used often.” In truth, no one ever calls him “Lord Percival,” so it sounds patently ridiculous, but it’s clear that Murkov is trying to kiss his backside in the most obvious way possible.
“And you,” Murkov says, his tone changing so sharply that Percy swings back around to look at him. When he does, he sees that Murkov is glaring at Vax. “You dare refer to your better in such an insultingly casual fashion? This young man is the son of the Lord of Whitestone, the ruler of your city.”
“Oh, is that who lives in the big fancy house way up there on the hill?” Vax says, affecting a rural accent so easily that Percy’s eyebrows shoot up.
Murkov’s eyes narrow. “I don’t appreciate being spoken to in such a manner, boy.”
All Percy wants to do is kick Murkov in the shin and walk away, but he is one of his father’s bannermen. For all Percy knows, Whitestone may have need of him someday – Percy’s mother is always fond of reminding him that for the good of the city it’s best to avoid making enemies wherever possible. So instead, he says, “Baron Murkov, this man is my friend. He has every right to address me informally.”
“Friend, of course,” Murkov all but spits. “He’ll be your friend right up until he picks your pocket. I know the type.”
“I appreciate your concern, but my pockets are just fine,” Percy calmly insists.
“Your pockets look quite tempting though,” Vax says to Murkov, scratching his chin.
The baron practically leaps backward. “Lord Percival, far be it from me to judge your… associates… but this person is hardly worth your time. Does your father know what kind of company you keep?”
“You are correct,” Percy says, balling his hand into a fist to keep from taking a swing at Murkov. “It is not up to you to judge my associates. And my father trusts my judgment, as should you. I think our conversation is at an end.”
Percy turns on his heel to leave with Vax, leaving Murkov to blink dumbly, but Vax has already disappeared, their conversation apparently destined to remain unfinished.