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Overzealous, and not without reason, Dragan had sent off a hawk with a letter. He could hardly believe that Norzelia, no, Aesfrost rather, may have something in their grasp to finally topple Hyzante from their Monopoly.
Flanagan Grutte, in the meantime, was on a roundflight through Glenbrook after his only purpose at the tourney had been fulfilled; to stand there and look pretty. He had hardly stepped foot in it since the Saltiron War, either, and it was beautiful in peace.
When he took note of a greathawk with a flying pattern unlike that of wild ones, and without a rider, he decided to take a closer look.
"Ursin, I need you to fly faster, only for a bit."
Not only did Flanagan spot the letter in its grasp, he also recognized the animal itself as one of the Aesfrosti Army's.
There was really no reason for concern, but he knew that the young Lord Dragan was where this bird had come from; in the Grand Norzelian Mine. No harm in paying him a visit, but later, perhaps.
"Okay, slow now, steady. I've seen what I wanted. Shall we continue on our roundtrip?"
His greathawk gave a pleased chirp.
For the rest of the day, he'd forgotten largely about what he'd seen, until Flanagan and Ursin took a well-deserved break.
She had spotted a deer stuck in a fence that Flanagan could not; perhaps in his youth, he would have.
Alas, the poor thing was terrified and not any less so upon spotting the enormous raptor circling in the air. Flanagan tried to be gentle and watched out for other predators that may be nearby during his rescue attempt.
After it ran off, there was still nothing, absolutely nothing.
Yet, at the very least, an answer would be expected.
A hawk sent out, and back. It hadn't flown north at a particularly late time in the day.
Slowly, concern grew within the man.
There was no way, however, for him to expect the reality he'd come to face.
Approaching the mine, he wondered whether he could even consider himself authorized to be there. He was high-ranking in the military, but not of any particular political importance.
This thought quickly had to fade into the background when he ducked behind a broken-off tree. Red uniforms rushed past.
'Aesfrosti soldiers? And this many?''
This did, in some way, solve the question of whether he, as a man of the military, could be there.
His concern began to warp as it took in this new sight. He liked to believe that his country was imperfect, but honest in its intentions.
A few talked among one another, unaware as they were of the eavesdropper, about their tactical advantage. How 'he' would no longer be of concern, and that they shall be paid handsomely by the Archduke himself.
The second Flanagan knew of no more soldiers arriving for quite some time, he took the opportunity to swoop in. He had to stay off the saddle and run through the entranceway before getting back on mid-leap.
Immediately, Ursin charged forward. Flanagan rammed his shield into the back of one of the soldiers; his greathawk clawed her way through the other two before they'd had time to react. In the distance, Flanagan heard explosions, but with a man such as Dragan, he held on to hope that they weren't turned toward him.
He hardly knew the man, but when he spoke with him or heard his thoughts, he found him to be a good one, if a bit uncouth at times.
Of course, Aesfrosti soldiers were tough, much like he still was. His shield raised to absorb several blows, he awaited an opportune moment.
"Now, Ursin!"
A signal they did not know to look for, two tugs on her harness, and she soared through the air only to dive back down, knocking two of the soldiers unconscious, the third finished off by another ram of the shield.
Finally, Flanagan had the time to look over; and thank iron that the Wolffort Lordling and his people were there as they fought by Dragan's side.
Ursin took off, glancing persistently towards the group, but Flanagan shook his head.
"They wouldn't know I'm no threat, still."
Understanding, she continued on holding the altitude she was at, though it was difficult with the lack of wind in the cave.
They kept at a distance, especially as the Wolfforts' own Hawkrider began glaring daggers in their direction and put her hand back on her bow, when…
"Watch out!"
Flanagan sped through the air towards Dragan and took a sharp turn behind him. An arrow hit his shield, but he knew this would not be all.
Usually, he wouldn't take another grown human with him on his hawk when being shot at, but they would be out of range only a few meters over.
One of his strong arms reached around Dragan, pulling him in front of himself and covering as much of him as possible. Wouldn't have been too difficult, given their difference in height as well, but Dragan was wiggling around, unexpected as the manoeuvre was, and it made it tricky to steady oneself on Ursin without her help.
Luckily, she was experienced in this department. They made it safely to the next rocky cliffside where Dragan awkwardly slid off the side of the enormous bird; and out of Flanagan's grasp.
He stepped back and, after stammering out hardly a word, fixing his coat and glancing back towards the others, he finally looked his rescuer in the eye. "Why, thank you, Ser Flanagan! Perhaps, I had gotten a little carried away."
Flanagan steadied his grip on Ursin's harness. "'Twas my honour, Lord Dragan."
Absentmindedly, he took a fleeting glance at Dragan's expression and posture, while he had his focus instead on the general direction of whoever had shot at him. The young Lord had grown up to be a handsome man indeed, though thoroughly rattled at the moment.
In the distance, House Wolffort's Hawkrider took care of the situation. She clearly had the upper hand already, besides the outnumbering force of House Wolffort along with their newfound ally. Her skill was formidable; Flanagan appreciated the many ways in which a person may work together with their mount.
Finally, he could relax.
"Say, Dragan, what is it your letter to Aesfrost entailed?"
He spoke with a lowered voice, the worry wrinkles on his forehead creasing with concern. Dragan always found his face to read sad more than intimidating, but now, those wide-open, blue eyes truly gave him the impression of three days of rain weather.
The realization hit him that this whole ordeal would not have transpired had he not been so quick to try and shoot for the top, but right when he mustered up the courage to come clean, the Glenbrook archer shouted from deeper within the mines, the part he'd urged them to avoid. Had she really risked her life for his assured safety?
"By the gods, is this what I think it is?!"
"Hughette! Are you alright? Pray, tell me, what is it!" Roland shouted back, already rushing after her on his horse.
She emerged from the darkness to press a small fragment of rosy-coloured mineral into the man's hand.
Flanagan could observe in real time that Dragan came to accept their knowing of his findings.
"It's salt," he admitted, "That, which we found."
After getting off from Ursin while the Glenbrook people all came to this same realization, Flanagan approached Dragan to pat him on the side.
He waited patiently for him to continue.
Dragan avoided his gaze entirely, stroking the spot on his arm that Flanagan touched.
"I informed our Archduke of my findings, demanding he transfer the title of Chancellor to me from Lord Thalas. It seems he does not value hard work and potential as much as he says he does, for he now wishes to have my head."a nervous laugh escapes him, and then, shaky and red in the face, Dragan's eyes welled up, though he made a futile attempt to conceal it.
Flanagan had never seen an Aesfrost cry before; he might as well have been looking in a mirror instead. With any social convention left in shambles already, he reached out again, one arm around Dragan's waist, the other on the back of his head, stroking the hair at his nape.
House Wolffort's chatter died down around them slowly, and it was a good thing Flanagan was there to shield Dragan from their gaze.
After much discussion surrounding the attack, there was a moment of quiet.
Frederica whisked her cousin away to have a heart-to-heart outside, leaving Flanagan in Serenoa's capable hands, and vice-versa.
"Are you injured, Dragan?"
She'd rushed ahead and took a hold of his arm and hand in the midst of him still arriving at her side, carefully turning it as she searched for any sore spots and gently caressed his skin through the thick coat's sleeve, as though still trying to estimate the warmth of a beating heart.
"I am endlessly relieved to see you alive and well. I thought… You would…"
Frederica shook the thought.
"My apologies, I am sure you yourself must be well-aware of the threat we have faced." Of the threat they still were facing, even.
"Needless to say, however, I am surprised to see Ser Flanagan here."
Right as Dragan was about to agree, she continued.
"Truth be told, I had no idea you two were…"
She gestured vaguely, trying not to come off as disrespectful.
"That you were familiar with each other in that way."
Dragan blinked.
"Frederica! I… Er,"
Iron be damned, she thought they were together?
They were two men of not only entirely different social standings, but their area of expertise could have hardly been any more different. Dragan could not deny, however, that as the smell lingered on him, of leather and musk, powder, fur and bird-feather, the thought of the man it belonged to was a most pleasant and comforting one.
"Why, Frederica, you misunderstand! I have hardly exchanged a word with Ser Flanagan in recent years," but a man who'd been caught trying to keep a secret that nearly cost him his life would be hard-pressed to find someone who believed him now, even when he told the truth in earnest. "We are not involved," he insisted.
Finally, a Glenbrook Herald arrived at the mine. "Hail, Lady Frederica! Pray tell, where are the others? Aesfrost is attacking the Castle! House Wolffort must step in or we are doomed!"
Before she could respond, her knowing gaze towards the mine's entrance told them enough about the others' whereabouts.
Soon, House Wolffort was preparing for takeoff, sans Dragan and an unsure Flanagan.
"Lord Serenoa, I may be of help yet."
Mid-wave to signal taking off, Serenoa paused, a hand resting on his hilt.
"Your offer is much appreciated, Ser Flanagan, and… yet, we cannot possibly risk losing Dragan now, if you both were to follow along with us, and leaving him to fend for himself poses far too great a risk, all the same. If you could stay back with him now, keep your heads low, and eventually join with us at Castle Wolffort, that would be much appreciated."
And while Flanagan had sworn his loyalty to Aesfrost, in this current situation, he'd already accepted Lord Serenoa, or perhaps Dragan, as his new leader, so he nodded.
"I will protect Lord Dragan with all I've got, you have my promise."
Dragan stood not too far off to the side, one heel pressed against the wall, the thought Frederica sowed in his mind rattling through him. It distracted him somewhat from the decisions readily made over the top of his head.
Serenoa and the others had long bid them farewell when Dragan returned to the present, no more idle chatter to drown out the silence.
"I suppose this is not too bad," Dragan told Flanagan, who had now been sitting nearby for a while, occasionally glancing up at Dragan's face as he fed Ursin a few pieces of dried fish.
"Oh, if so, what is your plan, Lord Dragan?" Truth be told, he thought it was rather bad, but silence was a virtue.
Of course, he was a planner. Everything on this present day was thoroughly decided on beforehand, and had the incident not occurred, he would be overseeing the transport of goods right this second.
"Truth be told, it has all fallen apart now," He admitted with a sigh. "And yet, I would like to assess the current situation. I've held on to hope that this shall end up no more than a little speed bump in the way of our journey ahead."
Flanagan got back up on his feet at the mere mention. Anything to reform himself, make a new name for the shadow he cast on others. "So be it, then."
A protector and a man to turn to for safety just as much as, if not more than, fear the wrath of.
All the same, he felt admiration within his heart, for this young man who took the lead without thinking, spoke too readily about the things he cared about, and had the wit to back it up with.
After half an hour, with a fallen miner's pickaxe in hand, Dragan swung at an exposed vein of salt.
While he'd analysed the surroundings, Flanagan had taken care of the bodies, laying them each down in a more dignified manner than the circumstances of their deaths provided and closing their eyes along with it.
He believed in no gods, but prayed to them nonetheless in the Glenbrook people's stead; he would have never seen himself doing this, but perhaps, he was not so much an Aesfrosti at heart, after all.
In Dragan on the other hand, he saw someone who truly represented Aesfrost's spirits. A young, ambitious man who was not afraid to put in the work, his mind and body steeled in unison and handsome with a most recognisable face to top it all off. He was a man worthy of protection so that he may shape the future; with Flanagan beside him, if he could hope.
Flanagan approached during downtime, when both had no active work to busy themselves with, and soon inevitably found himself loading larger chunks of the salt crystal into his saddle bags.
"So this is the last one, yes?"
Dragan nodded, a little out of breath. "Yes, quite right. We shall take off with these soon. Thank you for your cooperation, Ser Flanagan. You are unlike a lot of men I've met."
"So are you, Lord Dragan." Flanagan gave him a gentle pat on the shoulder again before his hand wandered to his upper back. "And you are truly a man worthy of your title."
Just this title felt redundant in the situation, but it was the one half-imaginary barrier left between them.
The hug from earlier had felt normal in the moment, relatively; but Frederica's remark still would not leave him be and he wished so much to know what went on in the older man's mind. Was it just an empathetic side Dragan was getting to know, or was there more?
It was true that Dragan would have always preferred a man's embrace, or rather the thought of it, but he had hoped not to have to confront his father with yet another way he couldn't live up to expectations.
If he intended to live as a man, he'd better find a wife some day.
When it came down to it, he thought it better to simply avoid romance and other relations altogether, it did not fit the ideal he set for himself, yet Dragan could hardly deny it, not to mention be rid of his curiosity.
Now that they had been walking for quite some time, and despite Flanagan's efforts not to stare, he eventually took note of Dragan's strained way of walking.
Ursin on the other hand trotted along happily beside him, as though the weight of the salt was nothing to her, unaware as she was of the political implications as well.
Next time the men's eyes met, Dragan's widened in surprise. Flanagan looked sick with worry, or at the very least deeply contemplative, with adjustment for his resting face.
"Is something the matter? Do not tell me you still fear for my life, Ser Flanagan." He teased.
"That is not it, Lord Dragan. Your legs do not look well. Have you gotten injured in battle prior to my arrival?" The humorous approach bounced off him like off a solid stone wall.
"I'm quite alright, Ser Flanagan, no need-"
"Whatever it may be, you may take a seat on Ursin's back, at least for a while."
She perked up at this, Dragan caught between the novelty of getting to sit on a real greathawk and the persistent urge to deny his shortcomings, small as they may be.
"I suppose I cannot deny this opportunity, you got me."
He relented, though still speaking to the other through a grin.
Flanagan stopped dead in his tracks, in perfect sync with Ursin.
When Dragan approached her, he suddenly became aware of just how large she was. Her soft chest feathers were easily the length of his forearm and the top of his head only almost reached her back. It felt as though he already made a mistake in resting a hand on the side of her saddle, because Flanagan got behind him, grabbing his shoulders, and then hands, to guide.
"You must stand facing opposite to her, that way your foot will not nudge the side of her stomach when you get on."
He moved on, gently touching his leg and positioning the tip of his foot in the stirrup iron. It was higher than he expected; there was no way he would have been able to get up there himself with this knowledge.
"Okay, this is the correct position. Grab onto the saddle and get up on your leg now, one swift motion, and hold that position."
Dragan did as he said, though this in itself was tricky with his aching leg. Had he really injured it during the battle? The pain must have only been truly catching up now, with the adrenaline wearing off. He passed closely by Flanagan's torso, as he stood by to catch him if things went awry, and he could swear his hand brushed his hip and thigh just then.
"Now, switch hands and swing your other leg over."
Dragan hesitated a bit. Ursin stared at him out of the corner of her eye and he had no idea on how to interpret her gaze. Moving to the other side, Flanagan tried to assure him.
"Ignore her, she is just curious. I'd be looking at you the same way if I was in her position, for one."
Finally, he rested the other hand behind her head and swung his leg over. Flanagan made quick work of placing his other foot within the stirrup iron on the right and, once he positioned himself straighter, Dragan sat down.
Flanagan gave him a genuine smile the likes of which Dragan hadn't seen on him before. His pretty face finally got to shine.
"Very good for your first time. Formidable performance, Lord Dragan."
"There is nothing that I cannot learn, after all."
"I hope you did not strain your leg too badly in doing this.", Flanagan continued.
"You could always kiss it better." Dragan jested, but the older man stopped dead in his tracks.
"I can."
He was serious, but his voice soft and gentle.
Suddenly, the big and boisterous façade was no longer as Dragan began stammering once more.
"I, er, I…"
He paused, finding the words, though he tried very hard not to.
"I suppose I truly would not mind… If you would like to."
Flanagan placed his own hand at the front of the saddle, on top of Dragan's. He leaned forward, warm breath on his leg greeting him before his lips met the fabric. His other hand then dared to reach up slowly, taking firm hold of the waist, the other hand following to its other side. He pulled him down, Dragan's weight now resting only half-way on Ursin's back, safely held in Flanagan's big hands.
Neither dared to utter another word, gaze fixed with iron hold until their lips met.
It was a chaste kiss, but it lasted, and the moments after were filled with a comfortable silence.
In Dragan's mind, this bore ill. He'd been hoping to see his curiosity dwindle, be extinguished by the way he could hardly breathe. He liked this, could not tear his mind away when Flanagan straightened him back up with a push, and would not stop staring at the man, who now averted his gaze, pale face turned Aesfrost-red.
It would take a while, even after this part of their journey to Wolffort began, for Flanagan to speak up again in between Dragan's rambles.