dnd-thrrasir

[dnd-thrrasir]

Tonight we had a session of Countdown to Cataclysm! The party met some new-old friends. 8>>>

[dnd-thrrasir]

Irredeemable

What actually happened between Fen and Cyril during the last session?

The half-elf was finishing up a cup of coffee in front of the cat cafe with a sigh. Things were getting more and more tense, it seemed. They were wracking their brains for any clue as to who might have been responsible for the perfume smell on the crossbow bolt, but the cold hard truth was that there were just too many candidates. Without having been with Virga constantly to know who all she'd met since coming to the city, they couldn't guess.

"Hey!" a familiar rough, grating voice called, making Fen's hackles immediately go up. "Hey, Fen!"

Cyril. His voice was impossible to mistake. What in all the gods names did he want? Fen didn't think they'd exchanged three words in a row except when they and Jingle agreed to head out looking for the Frostfire Alliance at the dragonborn town. Even then, Fen had done their level best to talk mostly with Jingle, only acknowledging Cyril when they absolutely had to. The sea elf still hadn't expressed any remorse for his actions as a grung, and Fen couldn't quite fathom how easily and casually the adventurers accepted him.

Reluctantly, Fen looked up from the cafe table to the blue-ish white face looking down at him. Cyril's facial expressions were never particularly hard to read- his brows were pinched, and his mouth was twisted in a way that suggested he was confused and a little uneasy.

He hesitated a beat, and Fen sighed, planting their elbows on the table. "Well? What is it you want?"

"I was on my way to the salvage place I've been working at," he explained. "I… I saw your friend. The wood elf from the dragonborn town."

Fen gaped, their eyebrows shooting upwards. "Walker? No, he's out with Ishvi looking for the princess, he wouldn't be back so soon. It must've been someone else, some other wood elf."

"No, it was the same guy," Cyril insisted. "He called out to get my attention, and he mentioned you by name."

"Wha- but that's…" Even an impostor deliberately impersonating the prince shouldn't have been able to identify Fen as being connected to Walker Oakblood. The only people who knew about their relationship were Ishvi, Virga, and Doryen. Even Cyril, as he'd demonstrated, only knew that Fen and Walker were "friends."

"Yeah, didn't sit right with me either," Cyril said, folding his arms and hunching his shoulders uncomfortably. "Especially with the way Virga and the rest were talking about seeing that asshole knight in two places at once. He said he had something important to tell you, and to meet him at the quarry on the edge of town."

Fen gritted their teeth. Something was definitely not right here. How could an impostor know about their relationship with Wagner? Okay, it was just barely possible someone had seen them out and about with Walker when the prince was in disguise. But to have seen that, know exactly who Fen was, remember it over a year later and figure the relationship was still ongoing despite having seen neither of them together in all that time, and know Fen was back in Fae Shanta?

"You're lying," they growled. Cyril blinked, their hairless brows pinching, and Fen pressed, "You're lying. This is some sort of trick."

"I mean, yes clearly it's a trick," Cyril agreed with a shrug. "I'm not disputing that-"

"It's your trick, I'm not stupid," Fen interrupted, lurching to their feet. Cyril took a step back sharply, and the half-elf swung their arm in a slashing gesture. "You used me against the others once before and you're trying to do it again!"

The sea elf groaned. "Look, what happened before was bad, I get it- we thought you were in cahoots with the adventurers and the university that stole the cube from Xelorell. We thought you were actively helping them keep it from us to unleash the diadem. We were wrong, and I shouldn't have assumed."

"You almost killed me!" Fen hissed, painfully conscious of all of the people on the street who were pausing as they walked by to stare. "You brainwashed me into the clutches of a giant octopus that tried to drown me! This wasn't some innocent little misunderstanding, you tried to murder me, and you can't just dismiss that!"

"It wasn't supposed to- the adventurers were supposed to trade us the cube!" Cyril argued in a similar undertone, looking flustered and frustrated. "You weren't supposed to die!"

"And when they refused, what then?" Fen demanded, turning away. "Was your octopus going to let me go when they called your bluff? Or were you just going to let me drown to send a message?"

Cyril was quiet after that, and his silence was answer enough. Fen glanced over their shoulder and saw that his webbed hands were clenched around his upper arms, and his gaze was turned down and to the side.

"…Okay. You're right," he said finally. "You're right. We didn't think a bunch of goody-two-shoes would really risk their friend dying, and we had no plan for if they did. And knowing Auntie Gil, yeah she'd have ordered me to let you drown to make the point that you can't cheat her bargains. And I would've followed orders, because I always did."

He sighed slowly through his nose. "I'm sorry. I'm really sorry."

"You can eat your 'sorry,'" Fen snapped, anger spiking in them. Did he really think that he could make it all okay, just like that? "You're out here trying to trick me into a dangerous situation again so you can use me, again."

Cyril's face fell, and he shook his head. "But I'm not!"

"Then why tell me about this?" Fen demanded. "Why not tell the Frostfire Alliance?"

"Because Walker's your friend, and I thought you would like to know!" Cyril insisted. "I figured if anybody would know if it's actually strange for him to be in the city, you would! Agrios spare me, he jumped into your arms the minute he saw you!"

Fen felt their face heat a bit, but clenched their fists and shook their head. "No. You were hoping I'd be so frantic to save him that I'd rush right into your little trap, or that I'd be so angry someone's impersonating him that'd I'd do the same thing. Well I'm not buying it, and I'll be sure to tell Virga, Doryen and the rest you can't be trusted."

"But I-" Cyril looked genuinely panicked now, and serve him right. His long con was about to collapse around his ears.

Then, to Fen's astonishment, the elf shouted, "Fine! Fine, turn them against me! You lot clearly don't trust me enough to give me something helpful to do so I can prove I'm on your side, so what difference does it make if th-they hate me?"

Now people all over the street were jumping back and staring, but Cyril didn't seem to notice or care, even as his glowing markings were pulsing with his emotions. He blinked hard, a tear slipping down his cheek. "If I'm a bad person and I can't change that, fine. I'll make myself useful and be the sacrificial lamb that springs the damn trap." He turned on his heel, adding, "After all, no one will miss me. You'll make sure of that, right? And it's o-only what I deserve."

Fen gaped, part of them so furious that they wanted to deck Cyril, but another part of them feeling a squirming of uncertainty and guilt.

Before they could decide what to do, which impulse to act on, the sea elf bolted. As he rounded the corner, Fen realized that the tear they'd seen hadn't been a one off- he was still crying.

Shit… shit, now what?

[dnd-thrrasir]

So… another four years of this bullshit has begun for those of us in the states. And I decided, fuck it- tumblr is the website of reblogs, right? So let's start a fucking chain.

Reblog this post with an image of a queer character, or your queer persona. It can be new art or old art, a sketch or fully rendered, whatever you feel moved to make. We're gonna be rude and loud and defiant, and above all, prove to each other that we're not alone.

[dnd-thrrasir]

I did some Mistletoe requests for the Temphere party over on my other blog, so in the spirit of my recently completed romance story about the origins of Wagner and Fen's relationship, here's the star crossed loverboys under the mistletoe.

[dnd-thrrasir]

The Prince and the Painter - Part 4

The next afternoon saw Wagner in a towering temper.

The day had started out innocuous enough; with the announcement that the duke had arranged a play. After slipping away from the fireworks the night before, the prince reckoned that he'd probably better attend this entire fete. It wouldn't do for anyone to notice his absence at too many events. A report would certainly find it's way back to his instructors, and then he would hear about his lack of propriety and shirking of his duties.

Once he sat down for the play in question, however, he realized with horrifying certainty that he was being goaded.

Because the play was an old propaganda play. One that had originally been written and performed during the War of Dark Passage.

It couldn't have possibly been anything but targetted. Propaganda plays seldom circulated much past the events they had been written to comment on, and in an era where Thrrasir was ostensibly allied with the Underdark- given it's heirs were both half drow- to continue to perform such a play on a regular basis would have been incredibly crude.

So the only reason these players would have been putting it on would be because Cyrellian had specifically requested it. And there was no mistaking the sidelong looks Wagner was getting from every person in attendance at the wedding who was wearing the emblem of the brotherhood.

They planned this. They planned this, just to embarrass me in public. They want me to make a scene, and then they'll tut-tut about how immature and sensitive I am. Or worse, they'll insinuate I'm disloyal if I take offense on behalf of my drow side.

Well if they'd wanted to get a rise out of him during the play itself, they were disappointed. Wagner clenched his jaw, stuffed his hands into his opposite sleeves so that it was impossible to tell if he was also clenching his fists, and spent the entire play staring rigidly at a fixed point of the set dressing.

But he knew from the way they were softly sniggering that, even if he wasn't reacting overtly, he hadn't succeeded in keeping his fury out of his face. Despite all of his political training, he'd never been any good at hiding his emotions.

As soon as the last bows were taken and the others started to stand, Wagner shouldered his way out of the crowd and back into the gardens. His teeth hurt from clenching his jaw for so long, and he was starting to get a headache from tamping back his anger.

He finally stopped power-walking through the decorative shrubs long enough to catch his breath. He needed to get somewhere that he could let at least a little of this out. Normally he'd have worked out, but if he showed up at the practice fields in his current state, no doubt Cyrellian's knights would report it, and he'd be the subject of lurid gossip by sundown.

The soft sound of a throat being cleared caught his attention, and he turned to see Fen coming up quietly behind him. Their brows were pinched with concern, and their mouth twisted in a grimace of understanding.

"I'm sorry, highness," they said. "That was low, even for Father."

Wagner scowled, looking away. "I'm not going to be the best company right now, Fen."

"I sort of figured," they replied, pacing towards him. "But well… you said yesterday that friends let each other get things off their chest when they're upset. I'm pretty used to getting yelled at, if you need to yell."

Wagner winced, turning to look Fen in the eyes. There was anxiety there, but also earnestness, and if he tried to tamp this back much longer Wagner knew he was going to burst.

"I'm so tired of this," he snarled. "The coy insults. The little underhanded slights, just barely too far south of impolite for me to call them out. So my father's a prince from the Underdark. So what? I've never even met him! So I'm a tiefling. What does that matter?"

His tail lashed with his agitation, reminding him forcefully of all the ways he was markedly not elven.

"They look at me, and they don't see a person trying his best. They see the horns, the fangs, the slitted eyes. They see a demon."

Wagner's voice broke on that last word. In a hoarse whisper, he added, "What would they say, I wonder? If the knew I can't do paladin magic. I've tried and tried, but Tuo never blesses me with Their light. The other nobles would take it as proof I'm something vile and unworthy."

Fen's eyes widened at this admission- it was a secret Wagner had shared with no one else, not even his mother or sister. Only the other paladins knew.

Then, to Wagner's surprise, Fen slumped their head against his shoulder.

"I get it," they said softly. "It's… it's the same for me. Except they don't see a demon when they look at me. They see a bug. Something so tiny it's below notice, but when it does skitter across their path it's gross and invading their space and they want to smash it."

Wagner was clenching his jaw again, but not in anger. That simple, frank empathy and friendly contact had rattled Wagner to his core. He felt his eyes start to sear, and blinked resolutely.

I'm not a child! I'm a paladin, a protector! I stop the weeping, I help the helpless! Lock! It! Down! I'm not going to give these bastards the satisfaction of upsetting me so much I start crying, of all things!

But it was so hard. Not even Ishvi really understood what this was like. They sympathized, and dealt with their own issues when people judged them for being scatterbrained or fidgeting. But at the end of the day, they were still a high elf, and most other people passing them on the street saw a nothing worth remarking upon. Wagner was a walking pariah.

Fen though… Fen understood.

"Nnngh!" Wagner's self control slipped, and in spite of himself he gave voice to a moan of frustration, rage, and despair. He felt Fen timidly take his hand, just as they'd done days before, and that simple, quiet gesture sent violent fissures through the rock of Wagner's composure. He refused to wail or sob, but he couldn't stop himself from pressing his face against Fen's hair. He squeezing that hand as if it were a lifeline, trembling with repressed emotion, until he was finally able to re-center himself.

Finally, he got himself calmed enough to feel in control again, and heaved a heavy sigh.

"Thank you."

"Of course," Fen drew their head away, and with enormous reluctance Wagner let them take back their hand. "I just wish it wasn't my father who'd arranged for something so horrible."

"Yes, well," Wagner gently brushed his fingers along the sleeve of Fen's wrists where he'd seen the bruises the day before. "I think you of all people know that he's a cruel, miserable wretch. I've a good few people I'd like to demonstrate my training on, but trust me, he's at the top of the damned list."

Fen winced, covering the limb with their opposite hand. "I deserve it. He took me in when he didn't need to, and I'm a sniveling disappointment."

"You, Fen, are no such thing," Wagner insisted harshly. "You are kind, smart, creative, and… a-and…"

The prince looked down into that sweet, guileless face, wanting with an ache that was almost physical to reach out and brush aside the lock of hair that had just fallen over eyes that shone like liquid gold.

Damn it. Not just beautiful, but open and friendly and he gets me. It's not fair. It's just not fair. Why did I have to be born a prince?

"Don't put yourself down like that, okay?" he finished, less forcefully but with no less feeling. "Whatever your stupid dad says to keep you under his thumb, it's not true. You are good."

Fen blushed, fidgeting with one of their long forelocks. "Well, so are you. You're not a demon, or whatever other stuff they think makes the drow or tieflings bad. You… you make me happy, Highness."

"Wagner," he said softly. "Please. Between us, let me just be Wagner. Not your highness, not your liege. Just your… friend."

He thought he saw a ghost of a wince pass over Fen's face at that last word, but then they smiled. "All right. Wagner."

***

This time, Fen had been the one to suggest that they slip away from one of their father's planned events. They could tell that something was straining on Wagner, and that he was barely reigning in his temper with the other nobles.

They weren't sure it was a good idea to bring it up. What if Wagner was annoyed they took the initiative first? What if he was embarrassed after the night before? What if he felt like he'd spent too much time away, and needed to be visibly present?

It took all of their nerve to timidly suggest that Wagner meet them near the garden shed during the concert their father had planned that night in the ballroom. But they needn't have been worried- the prince immediately brightened and agreed.

When Wagner arrived, Fen felt a giddy smile spring unbidden to their lips, and hastily coughed to hide it. "Ah, um… that's quite a different look, highn- Wagner."

He chortled, rubbing the back of his neck. "You did say to wear something I didn't mind getting ruined, though I'm a bit nervous as to why."

Wagner was wearing something similar to the exercise clothes from a few days prior, though this set was clearly older and much worn. So worn, in fact, that the sleeves had at some point been snipped off entirely, and hemmed just at Wagner's shoulders. This left the prince's arms fully in view, and while Fen had occasionally seen the curves of his muscles under his modest formal sleeves, now the biceps were in full view.

Out of shape my ass, good gods.

…And then there's me. Nnnng.

Fen had put on one of their old nightshirts, a loose fitting, long sleeved thing in pale cream, and a pair of pants that they usually wore under their painting smock, splattered liberally with a rainbow of colors below the knee.

"Well," they said, forcing the embarrassed comparison from their mind. "Follow me, and you'll see why. I ah… well, it's easier to show you."

Fen went down on all their belly, crawling under a stand of bushes behind the garden shed. These bushes ran all along the perimeter of the wall in this section of the grounds, ten feet tall and with barely enough room underneath for a person to squeeze. They winced a little as the branches caught in their hair and clothes- there was definitely a good reason they'd told Wagner not to wear anything he cared about ruining! After a moment they heard a soft oath as Wagner followed them trustingly into the hedge.

They felt around ahead of them with one hand, and with a small grunt of satisfaction found a spot where the wall seemed… softer. They gave a pull on the roots of the hedges in that spot, and they came away to reveal a tiny hole, just small enough for a single person to shimmy through on their belly. Wagner, after a small "ah!" of surprise, had to go through face down to clear his horns. But soon both of the boys were on the other side brushing dirt and leaves from their clothes.

"Gods, how did you find this?" Wagner asked, his eyes shining with admiration. Fen blushed.

"I liked to hide in the plants when I was little. With Father out of sight was out of mind. And one afternoon I was under these bushes and found the hole in the wall. I didn't use it much, since it's pretty cramped even for a kid and it wasn't exactly safe for me to be out here, but on particularly bad days it's nice to be able to escape the castle entirely." They scuffed the ground with a toe. "I thought you might could use getting away from the castle."

Wagner chuckled, beaming. "You thought bloody right. Have a destination in mind?"

Fen nodded. "There's a grove of trees just inside the forest, near the edge of the village. Nobody will be able to see us there, but we'll be close enough to get back to town if something happens."

Wagner gave a theatrical bow, gesturing towards the trees just beyond the wall. "Very well; lead and I follow."

Fen covered another smile, and jogged into the trees where none of the guards on the wall would be able to spot them. They and Wagner made their way quickly and quietly through the forest, the moonlight casting everything in shades of silver. Finally they arrived at the grove, a little stand of elm and oak trees through which the lights of the village were just barely visible.

And to their surprise, the village was also audible- it seemed that a group of traveling bards was overnighting at the inn, and the rousing performance they were putting on was perfectly audible through several open windows.

"Ha!" Wagner said. "We'll get a concert of our own, after all! And a far livelier one than whatever dreadfully formal music your father has going back at the castle."

Fen quirked a brow. "Well that 'dreadfully formal' stuff is all I grew up hearing. I don't really know what to do with this sort of music."

"You dance to it, silly," Wagner admonished, shaking his head. "Gods all preserve us, that bastard didn't let you have any fun at all, did he?"

The half-elf shrugged, not really sure how to answer that. Wagner snorted, then reached out and grabbed Fen's hands, towing them towards him and kicking up his heels to the music. Fen yelped in surprise, staggering at first. But they had been taught to dance, even if only ballroom dancing, and if nothing else they knew how to move to a rhythm.

It was fun- really, unabashedly fun. Wagner had clearly done his share of "common" dancing, and Fen was only too happy to let him lead. For once, they felt… like a kid. Not a tired, miserable wretch far beyond their years, but like the teenage boy they rightly were. They never wanted it to end.

This fast paced sort of dancing was a lot more tiring than their usual sort, however, and three songs in they had to beg for a reprieve. Gasping, they sat down in the grass and watched as Wagner continued to skip and spin with gleeful abandon. It was clear that he, too, was enjoying the chance to just be a teenager, to indulge in a little gleeful mischief and innocent fun with nobody to tell him he shouldn't.

It took Fen a moment to identify the emotion that was swelling inside of them in that moment- pride. This had been their idea. In spite of their anxieties, they had followed through on something that would almost certainly get them in trouble were they caught. But just for this chance to see Wagner fully drop his airs, it had been worth whatever they might pay.

The next song to start up was one of the sort that Fen's father would probably gasp and pearl-clutch at; the sort that paid night flowers enjoyed using to show themselves off and entice customers. Fen quirked an eyebrow and smiled as Wagner hesitated. "Stumped?"

"Not on your life," Wagner said instantly. "My best friend is a paladin of revelry, they can dance to anything and I've been learning."

What followed was a comically inept attempt on the prince's part. In spite of his bragging, it was clear he wasn't quite so shameless as to make this particular song work for him. He tried, bless him, but it was so awkward that it circled right back around to being hysterical. Fen tried to stifle their giggles, but every time they opened their eyes and saw Wagner trying some torrid move that he didn't quite know or have the confidence to pull off, the amusement only mounted.

Finally they couldn't hold in it, and Fen doubled over, breathless with giggles. They slumped to their side in the grass, arms clenched around their gut and knees pulled tight.

He makes me happy. He makes me so happy. He's kind, he's funny, and he understands me. I wish I could seal this feeling in a bubble, and hold it close forever. Keep him close forever.

Finally, the song ended. The sound of gentle footfalls in the grass heralded Wagner's approach, and Fen managed to control their giggles enough to roll over on their back and look up as the prince plopped down to sit at their shoulder. He was grinning, the warmth and affection in his eyes making Fen's breath catch.

"Amusing you, am I?" he asked lightly. Fen chuckled again.

"You did say you wanted to see me laugh," they pointed out cheerfully.

"Mm. You're… beautiful when you laugh," Wagner agreed, his voice very soft and a little wistful. Fen felt their cheeks warm, but here, in the dark of the forest and far from anyone who might overhear, they found their tongue didn't tie itself in a knot as it usually did.

"And… you're the kindest, most handsome man I've ever known," they admitted, their voice soft but earnest. Wagner's eyes widened with shock, and he curled his tail around himself self-consciously.

"Even though I'm… this?"

Fen swallowed hard, and greatly daring, reached up a hand to towards Wagner's face. The prince stiffened with surprise, but he didn't pull away. As Fen's fingers met his cheek, he shuddered once, then leaned into their hand and closed his eyes.

"Oh, that's… nice," he murmured. Fen laughed breathlessly, pushing themselves up into a sitting position with their free hand.

"You're like a puppy, you know that?"

"Oh, am I?" Wagner half-opened one eye and smirked. He reached out a hand, gently combing his fingertips through Fen's hair, and they shivered at the gentle caress. Okay- it did feel nice.

"This is dangerous, Wagner, you know that," they pointed out softly. "It's so, so dangerous."

Yet, in spite of their words, they leaned in closer, as if there were a magnet drawing their and Wagner's faces together. He was doing likewise, eyes partially hooded but burning with a fierce longing that was echoed somewhere deep inside Fen's soul. Their pulse quickened, and there was less and less room in their head for rational objections with each heartbeat of that eye contact.

Then, in some unspoken mutual agreement, the boys' lips closed the last of the distance, and for a euphoric instant Fen stopped thinking at all.

When they pulled away, flushed and breathless, Fen buried their nose in Wagner's shirt collar. "Gods. I think I'm in love with you."

Above them, they heard a laugh that was more than half sob, and felt Wagner bury his hand in their hair. "You know? I'd been thinking the same, Fen."

The half-elf was trembling, grasping at the front of Wagner's shirt with both hands as if he might turn to smoke and vanish if they let go. "What do we do, Wagner? I'm… and you're… we can't…"

"And why the bloody hell not?" Wagner demanded, suddenly wrapping both arms around Fen's shoulder with fierce possessiveness. "We've given them so damn much. Everything we are, everything we'll be, everything we do, all of it belongs to other people. And what do we get back for that? Scorn? Derision? Why can't we have this one tiny bit of selfishness?"

Fen whimpered, pushing out of that embrace so they could look into Wagner's eyes. "I want you. More than anything. But if anybody finds us out, they'll make sure we never get within ten leagues of each other again. And f-father…" They couldn't continue, abject terror at the idea of what their father would do if he found out choking the words from their throat.

Now Wagner was trembling, and hard. "I… I know. I know. But I… I'll figure something out, I'll p-protect you, I… Damn it, I've n-never had anyone in this world who would… h-hold me the way you do, without even thinking about it. Who understands me. I can't l-lose that, not now."

The way Wagner's voice cracked cut sharply through the fear that was doing circles in Fen's mind. Wagner's expression was one of so much raw pain and vulnerability that Fen felt instantly ashamed of themselves for panicking at him. They felt like they were seeing the prince for the very first time. Or perhaps… seeing a side of him that even he barely realized he had.

"I swear," Wagner whimpered. "I swear, I'll find a way to keep you safe."

Fen shook their head. Impulsively they reached up, wrapping their arms around his shoulders and drawing his head to their shoulder. He stiffened, brows pinched, but then as Fen started to stroke his back, Wagner's entire body went limp against Fen's chest and he started to cry.

That's what was happening when I grabbed his hand in the parlor, Fen realized belatedly. He told me- he's been raised by drill sergeants since he was seven. He's just as starved for love and touch as… as I am.

For a long time Fen let Wagner cry himself out, their arms around his back and their cheek pressed against his ear. When he finally seemed to exhaust himself, Fen spoke again.

"I don't think you are as un-brainwashed as you thought, Wagner. You've been told your whole life how it's your duty to protect and serve others. But you… you want to be able to be vulnerable, don't you? To feel protected."

He sighed, turning his head slightly so that they could meet eyes. "My head was racing, trying to figure out how to make this- us- work. I'm the prince, the paladin, the protector. I…"

Fen kissed Wagner's horn. "I'm sorry. I… shouldn't have freaked out and immediately thrown everything on you. That wasn't fair."

Wagner sighed, shifting his position so that he was lying backwards against Fen's shoulder. "We'll talk- really talk- about how to manage this- us- in the morning. But for tonight… hold me? P-please?"

Fen had never in their life felt so personally needed for something only they could give, and they felt themselves falling in love with Wagner all over again for giving them so freely something they'd desperately longed for. They smiled.

"Of course, Niicoo," they teased gently. "I'm yours."

<<< First - << Previous - End~

[dnd-thrrasir]

The Prince and the Painter - Part 3

Fen did not get to speak long before their father snarled over them. Wagner heard a yelp of what was unmistakably pain, and a spike of molten outrage lodged itself in his brain. He clenched his hands and started forwards to intervene, scathing words on the tip of his tongue.

But then… he stopped. This, like so many things, had been discussed in his training as a paladin. It was an unfortunate truth that nobles did not take kindly to being confronted about things like this. Sure, Wagner could throw his rank around and get Cyrellian to back down in the moment. He might even be able to extract a tooth-gritted apology from the man. But the minute the prince's back was turned, Fen would be punished all the more harshly for embarrassing his father in front of a royal. Fen was, at least for the next few months, still a minor. They were, until they finished their schooling, financially dependent on Cyrellian.

Helpless fury blistered at Wagner, but he knew that there really was no winning in this situation. Likely not even Fen themselves would thank him for butting in.

Domestic abuse cases were agony for the paladins, because it relied on the victim being willing to come forward and testify against their abuser. It relied on them understanding that what was happening wasn't their fault, and that their treatment was no kind of love. And even then, in cases of a peasant versus a noble, the noble usually won. They had powerful friends, plenty of money, and even when they were ruled against they could arrange for the life of the one who embarrassed them to become a living hell.

Gods damn it…

There was another several minutes of snarling from Cyrellian, and a stammered apology from Fen. Then, a shadow appeared on the wall further down the hall, and Wagner quickly ducked behind a decorative statue. Fen rocketed past him without noticing he was there, and the sound of retreating boot steps told him that Lord Aretil was heading off in the opposite direction.

Wagner was torn on what to do next. On the one hand, Fen had made it abundantly clear they didn't want anything to do with the prince. On the other, right now he suspected that they could really use some friendly company.

The memory of that sweet, laughing face Wagner had seen the first night of the wedding decided him. That was who Fen deserved to be- someone happy, not someone who had to skulk about their own home afraid of both their father and his guests.

Wagner watched just long enough to see what room Fen ducked into, and then slipped away towards the dining room. This early in the morning it was mostly empty, so the prince was able to slip in and snag a honey roll from the spread that had been left out for the visiting nobles, before turning and heading back to Fen's hideaway.

He considered knocking, but in all likelihood that would just terrify Fen more, so he swallowed back his own nerves and pushed open the door. For a heartbeat he saw the half-elf, sitting on a sofa and rubbing some sort of ointment on a line of finger shaped bruises on their left wrist. But as the door came open they leapt to their feet, sleeve falling down to hide the marks.

"H-highness," they stammered, but Wagner put up a hand.

"No. Don't try to stand on ceremony with me, okay? I overheard and I just… please sit?"

Fen's brow pinched, and their eyes darted over Wagner's shoulder to the hallway beyond. But then, their shoulders slumped and the fight seemed to go out of them. With a soft moan they obeyed, sitting back down on the sofa. Wagner kicked the door closed behind himself, and gingerly sat down beside the half-elf.

"I ah…" he cleared his throat and held out the honey roll. "I thought you could use something to eat."

Fen looked at the roll with a dull, unseeing glance. Then they pursed their lips, and looked up at Wagner.

"Why are you doing this? What do you want from me?"

Wagner's first impulse was to say "nothing," but… well that wasn't true, was it? And clearly, Fen's life was not one where they could take anything for granted, especially not good intentions.

I certainly know what that's like.

After a moment, he shrugged and said honestly, "I want to see you laugh again. It… makes me happy, when you laugh."

The cinnamon brows pinched, and Fen shook their head. "I'm not really in a laughing mood."

"That's fine, I didn't mean this second," Wagner replied with a sad smile. "But right here, right now, you do look like you could do with some sugar, at the very least."

Reluctantly, the half-elf reached towards Wagner and took the roll out of his hand. They bit into it, chewing mechanically, as if the effort was far more than it should have been.

Then, their eyes began to shine, and Wagner could see slim shoulders trembling.

"You're so nice to me," they whimpered. "Nobody is nice to me."

"That makes me sad, Fen," Wagner answered softly. "Everyone deserves to be treated with kindness."

Fen shook their head. "You don't understand. I'm… I'm a coward, highness. I'm scared of everything. Talking to people, taking chances, going places, it ties my gut in knots and I just… just c-can't…"

"You're no coward," Wagner insisted. "Being afraid doesn't make a coward. You're someone who'd risk getting in trouble with both his father and the royals by grabbing a prince's hand and dragging him off just to save him from an awkward conversation with a bigoted asshole. That was very brave."

Fen tore off another mouthful of the honey roll, saying nothing as they chewed and swallowed. Then, they sniffed loudly, and fat tears started to roll down their face. Their mouth fell open on a wordless wail of such aching grief and loneliness that Wagner felt his own eyes sting and his heart crack in answer. He reached out for Fen, and gently pulled the older boy to his chest.

***

Fen was several shades past coherent when the prince pillowed their face into his chest. The remains of the roll fell from their fingers and hit the floor, and they desperately grasped onto that lifeline of comfort like a drowning man clinging to a bit of flotsam in the ocean.

They couldn't have even really said what they were crying for. Certainly they'd had lectures far worse than this morning, and while Cyrellian didn't generally do them physical harm, they'd also been grabbed a lot more roughly than this. But something about the prince's frank kindness felt like a hot needle lancing a blister. A shock of intense pain, but one that bled out the deeply rooted infection.

Fen was a mess by the time they got themselves back in hand. Their eyes were puffy and bloodshot, their nose nose was running so that there was snot all over the prince's shirt, and an ache throbbed between their temples. But when the prince offered them a kerchief so that they could blow their nose, they felt… better.

"I'm sorry," they muttered sheepishly once they'd cleared their nose, dabbing their cheeks with the unsoiled corners of the cloth. "I shouldn't have… I ruined your shirt…"

"What, this?" the prince said, pointing at it with a lopsided smile. "I exercise in this shirt, Fen. Before I take my final Oaths it and a dozen others just like it will see drills in mud, blood, sweat, and gods know what else. This is nothing."

Fen finally dared to look up, meeting the prince's gaze fully. Those slitted golded eyes that everyone feared and reviled were full of so much gentle compassion that it took Fen's breath away.

"But…" they objected, "The other day too, I… I was so forward-"

"You mean when you took my hand, right?"the prince asked, his expression becoming embarrassed. "Listen, that was well intentioned, and how I reacted was entirely on me. I've never had anyone touch me like that, let alone a cute boy and-"

He choked as he seemed to realize what he'd said, and Fen's face instantly flamed scarlet as they jerked back in surprise.

"You… think I'm cute?" they whispered

Going by his expression, Fen got the impression that if the prince's skin wasn't so dark that he'd have been doing a fantastic impression of an apple. His voice full of chagrin, he murmured, "I've had a lifetime of training in diplomacy and courtly graces, why is it so hard for me to have a five minute conversation with you without sticking my foot straight into my mouth?"

He sighed, rubbing his face. "I… ye-eees? But listen, we don't um, have to do anything about that, all right? I just." He shrugged. "You seem like you could use a friend, Fen. And gods know, I've had enough experience with isolation to get what that's like."

The half-elf still felt rather like they'd been clubbed over the head with a board. And the part of them that had grown up on horror stories of Drailing Ravenwish's retinue of half-elven concubines was instantly inclined to be suspicious of the prince's intentions.

But… they realized that, here and now, it wasn't the prince they were talking to. Just like in that split second of vulnerability a few days ago, they were talking to Wagner. To the lonely teenager kept apart from others his age by a rank he'd never asked for.

And gods, was that a sentiment Fen could empathize with.

"We do need to be careful of my father," Fen said slowly. "He'd probably assume I was… embarrassing him in some way. If only by existing in your vicinity. But yes, I… I think I would like a friend."

***

Wagner dipped out of the room just long enough to change into something a little less sweated in, though still none of his formal regalia, and to pick up a more substantial breakfast from the now slowly filling dining hall. Thankfully no one really questioned it when he took the food and left. Hopefully his tale from the night before of stomach troubles would hold for at least the morning.

When he got back to the small room where Fen was hiding out, he found them looking a good bit better. Their face was still red and their eyes bloodshot from weeping, but the swelling had gone down and they were no longer sniffling. They accepted a plate of eggs, bacon, and toast with a shy smile, their eyes flitting to Wagner's change of clothes.

"Were you… exercising then? Before you found me?" they asked, prodding the eggs with a fork gingerly. Wagner nodded.

"I'm usually supposed to get a good workout in every morning and evening at least. But the itinerary has been so packed I've barely had the time- my trainer is going to be very displeased at how out of shape I've gotten!"

Fen cast a skeptical look at Wagner's athletically muscled arm. "You are not out of shape, Highness."

Wagner chuckled, a warm glow of flattery kindling in his chest. "Nah, nah, maybe by the standards of most of the nobility I'm not, but for a paladin? You have to be in top form, all the time."

"I'd been wondering," Fen admitted as Wagner tore into a slice of bacon. "Why does the secondborn prince or princess have to take the Oath of the Crown?"

Wagner swallowed his mouthful as Fen started to tuck into their own breakfast, and grinned. "To strongly discourage us from trying to turn usurper. It's a really old rule, goes back even before the war when the rulers were still elves. You grow up being brainwashed from the age of seven to absolute loyalty towards your sibling who's actually next in line, and with a sense of duty and honor towards the greater good of Thrrasir pounded into you. Then, you swear the Oath before Tuo to never put your own wants or ambitions before that duty to crown and country. Usually, when the first and secondborn aren't twins, by the time the younger sib is old enough to take the Oath the heir has probably started popping out kids of their own, so we're far enough down the line of succession not to be relevant anymore. If something happens to our sibling before we get that far, we just assume heirship and don't take the Oath."

Fen frowned, chewing slowly and looking thoughtful. When they finally swallowed, they admitted, "That… sounds kind of awful, when you put it that way. Not trusting you to be your own person, so they mold you into a child soldier so you don't know anything but loyalty."

"It is a pretty garbage practice," Wagner agreed. "And as you can probably glean from how dismissive I am of the whole thing, my brain stayed happily unwashed."

Fen looked up curiously. "How'd you manage that? Kids are… impressionable."

Wagner chuckled. "I had a bad influence. An older squire- they're full paladin now- who was a stubborn free-thinker and encouraged me to do likewise. Fortunately for my royal mother and my dear older sister, I legitimately don't want to be king. I hate politics and I want to be a paladin. I can do far better for Thrrasir by helping real people who need real help."

Fen looked down at their plate, brow pinched. "It's… good. That you're doing something that matters. Father paid for me to attend the university in Alu Lyth, but he doesn't like that I'm majoring in art. He says it'll never make a proper living, and I should be trying to contribute and make my life mean something."

Wagner scowled. "My friend Ishvi's dad is much the same. Never content for his kid to be happy. Thinks they're wasting their life and their potential."

The half-elf looked up glumly. "But what if Father's right? What if I finish this degree, and I end up having to work in some back-alley tavern because I can't make a living on painting?"

"Well for one thing, you're still educated past most reasonable means," Wagner pointed out, feeling a bit nettled at Cyrellian on Fen's behalf. "If your father fed you that particular line about back-alley taverns, he was just trying to scare you. You could get a decently paying job as a scribe or a tutor just by being literate. As for the rest… why don't you show me some of your paintings?"

"H-huh?" Fen looked up sharply, their face flushing. "N-no, they're, they're nothing highness, you've been surrounded by the best in the kingdom-"

"And so I think I'm perfectly equipped to say what is and isn't good art," Wagner interrupted. "Come on, please? Tonight maybe, during the fireworks your father has scheduled. We can slip off in the dark with no-one the wiser."

Fen looked extremely reluctant, but after a long moment of silence, they nodded.

***

Fen hadn't really needed to exert themselves much to escape the fireworks display. They were never invited to stand with the rest of the family, just off on the periphery of the crowd. Once the first few crackers had gone off and all eyes were trained skywards, they'd simply slipped into the shadows and crept back inside.

The prince had a lot harder of a time. As a royal guest he had pride of place in the optimal seating, surrounded by other people. It was a good fifteen minutes before he finally slipped inside behind Fen, and he was looking decidedly annoyed.

"Always the center of attention, but nobody actually wants to talk to me, just to the Royal," he groused. He shook his head, and smiled wanly. "So! Do you have a studio, or…?"

Fen sighed, shaking their head. "No, of course not. Father doesn't approve, remember? He only buys canvases and paints because art is part of the education all noble children receive in matters of culture. Most just never go beyond the basics."

"Oh… right, sorry," he looked down sheepishly, and Fen felt a threading of guilt.

"Um, no, I'm sorry. I shouldn't be such a downer all the time. You've been nothing but kind to me-"

The prince put a hand up. "And my showing your basic courtesy isn't a reason you should need to pretend you're happy when you aren't. That's not what a friend is, Fen."

They looked away, feeling small and foolish. "I thought you wanted to have fun. To be around someone who wasn't as boring as the adults."

"Sure, but the whole fun thing is supposed to be mutual," he pointed out. "And friends are also supposed to be there for you when you're unhappy. You have to get that stuff off of your chest, you know?"

Fen didn't know, but they nodded reluctantly anyway. They'd always been told to stop sniveling, Fen and have some dignity, good gods, so the idea that the prince of all people was giving them permission to complain…

They lead the way through the winding corridors of their father's castle, until they reached the classrooms that the younger children used for their lessons. The art supplies were kept here, so it was where Fen went when they wanted to paint. And stacked in a closet in the back of one of the classrooms, there were about twenty used canvases- Fen's old paintings, at least the ones that hadn't been thrown out, from before they left for school.

Gingerly they lifted the topmost, and offered it to the prince. It was a fairly simple piece- a painting of a metal bucket left out in the rain, filled to the brim and with water splashing at the top. Fen liked painting water- lovingly rendering the way it shone and reflected the light, it's gentle curves, it's distorted shadows.

"Fen, you did this?" the prince gawped, staring at it with his eyes wide and his tail curled upwards with delight. "Are you sure the lord Wotan hasn't blessed your brush? There's so much detail!"

Fen hunched their shoulders, a small coal of warmth lighting in them at the praise. "It's just a bucket," they demurred.

"But it's so lifelike!" he objected. "And you have to practice with basic stuff like this, right? It's like learning to fight, we have to master hitting things with a staff before we get our first wooden sword, and then we have to master the wooden sword before we can learn to use a steel one. So you have to paint simple things to learn the fundamentals before you move on to harder things."

The half-elf was so surprised by the stunningly accurate assessment that they felt momentarily lost for words. In the silence Wagner set the first painting down, and reached for the second. This time the subject was a bed of tulips from their father's garden, as seen from the window of the classroom. When Wagner cast them a curious glance, they flushed.

"I like flowers. The garden has always been my favorite place in the castle. It's quiet, it smells nice, and sometimes it I can pretend I'm in a springtime forest far away."

"I don't think tulips show up in many wild forests," Wagner teased, and Fen found themselves smiling back.

"You would know better than I would. You did say you drill in the mud."

"And the sleet, and the snow, and the rain, and the baking sun," Wagner agreed. "I've been in my share of wild places during my training. And they are pretty, when you aren't being bitten by mosquitos or shouted at by the drill instructor."

Fen raised a brow. "You could probably arrange a battalion of servants to follow you around and put aloe on your bug bites, you know."

He chortled and grinned impishly. "I probably could! But that would be very discourteous of me when my fellows have no such luxury, and I am never discourteous."

"It was your idea to ditch the fireworks."

Wagner gently flicked Fen on the nose. "Hush knave, or I'll have you in the pillory for sassing your prince!"

Fen laughed, their cheeks warming. Was Wagner… flirting? The words were hurtful, but the tone was light, and Fen felt a giddy fluttering in their stomach at the way Wagner was grinning at them.

Huh. When did I start thinking of him as "Wagner" and not "the prince"?

They shook off the thought, and with some reluctance tamped down on the giddiness as well. At the end of the day, Wagner was a prince, and second in line for the throne of Thrrasir. Fen, on the other hand, was the bastard ward of a nobleman who didn't even have the family name. A little bit of light flirting was as far as either of them could afford to take things, and they both knew it.

Even if he thinks I'm... cute...

The warm flattery of that thought brought the giddiness back with a vengeance, and Fen sighed inwardly.

I'm done for, aren't I? Damn it.

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[dnd-thrrasir]

The Prince and the Painter - Part 2

Fen woke up the morning after the wedding reception, feeling oddly… light. They'd been expecting to go to bed bored at best and more likely dismal at the reminder of their place trapped on the periphery of a world of which they could never really be a part. A noble's son, beholden to a noble's standards for who could and could not be associated with- IE, no friends among the peasantry- but without actually being accepted in the exalted noble company.

Go to sleep miserable, wake up miserable. It was how most days went. So much so that when they came around feeling cheery for once, at first they didn't recognize the feeling for what it was.

The prince had eventually been obliged to return to the reception proper, so that his absence wouldn't be noted and too much remarked upon. They'd sat together for an hour, no more. But it had been… nice. The prince was kind, funny, and didn't seem at all concerned about the fact that Fen was both a peasant and a bastard. When they'd spoken about their work in art school, he'd seemed legitimately curious and asked intelligent questions.

He's just bored and surrounded by nobles that hate him here, Fen reminded themselves sternly. After the wedding week he'll go back to Fae Shanta and probably never think of you again.

They sighed, some of their good mood abating. They really didn't understand why their father had insisted they take leave from school for this. It wasn't as if Cyrellian or Quinven particularly wanted them here. Quin would probably have been just as happy if his half-sibling just… disappeared one day. Assuming he even noticed.

But Fen was a ward of the family, even if the Aretils would never acknowledge their blood relation, and protocol demanded wards attend important family events. That was that.

At least today there would be outdoor entertainment. A breakfast buffet in the formal gardens, followed by an all-day miniature tournament of sorts amongst the Aretil knights. So there would be fresh air, and attention would be mostly on the knights. And tomorrow there was to be a grand boar-hunt, which Fen was blessedly not invited for, so they could maybe get some drawing done that day.

Breakfast was going to be the only part of the day that actually was a slog, but hopefully they could avoid awkwardness by focusing on eating.

Once they'd dressed and headed out to the gardens, Fen was disappointed to find themselves immediately cornered by their father.

"Listen here, Boy," Cyrellian growled in an undertone. "I've a lot of important work to do, and I can't be interrupting it to deal with you making a fool of yourself. If I find you laying about in the flowerbeds and soaking your good clothes in dew, or doodling in the dirt and getting your sleeves filthy-"

I haven't done those things since I was twelve! Fen thought, torn between dismay that their father thought so little of them and annoyance that they were being spoken to like a small child when they were under two months from their majority.

But they said nothing, only bowing their head and swallowing back a whimper. "Y-yes, your Grace. I understand perfectly."

Cyrellian looked Fen up and down, scowled, and abruptly yanked their cravat tighter. "At least you don't look like a back-alley tramp, for once. What wonders proper attire for a man of station can do. Now, go."

Fen winced, ducking their head and scurrying out into the garden. Fortunately, it seemed that most of the wedding guests were still lying abed, and they were able to fill up a plate with finger foods and retreat to a small alcove in the hedges at the edge of the garden. They took their time eating, keeping one ear cocked for anyone coming too close to their hiding spot. Gradually the volume of conversation increased as more and more people emerged from their guest suites. Thankfully, though, nobody came past Fen except for the occasional crystal gollum that served his father for servants, carrying away an empty plate and returning with full ones.

They finally cleaned the last morsel of food off of their plate, and set it aside with a soft sigh. Once the tournament started it would be a lot harder to hide. Any secluded corners would likely put them in the way of the knights coming and going. They would just have to hope they could avoid attention, at least from Cyrellian…

"-Bit in poor taste, don't you think?" a cool, angry female voice growled, making Fen jump. They hadn't heard anybody coming near with the din from the garden, but clearly someone was right around the edge of the bushes.

"I've no idea what you mean, my lady," came the reply, and Fen was startled to recognize the speaker as the prince. "I'm far from the only person here carrying a weapon, after all- most men of rank do. And besides, I am training to be a paladin, and my oaths dictate that I must at all times be prepared to give succor to one who asks it of me. That means being armed."

"You are young," sneered the woman who was speaking to the prince. "But there are many here who remember the War of Dark Passage. Who personally lost friends and loved ones to… your kind."

Fen stiffened. She could only mean one thing by that- the drow. She was alluding to the idea that the prince was making some of the company at the wedding feel unsafe by being armed while looking like a drow.

It seemed that he'd also picked up on that, because there was an undercurrent of a growl in his voice as he replied, "You think I should put myself in danger by traveling without weapons, because I make other people uncomfortable with the color of my skin, is that it?"

"Travel? I hardly said anything about that," she replied smoothly. "But you're behind castle walls here. Do you mean to imply your host's guards could not defend you? Lord Ambereyes would not take well to that, I don't think."

Fen had been caught in enough conversations that turned out to be carefully calculated traps to recognize when it was happening, and impulsively lurched to their feet. Thinking quickly, they ducked around the hedge, and gave a cry of what they hoped sounded like relief when the prince and the moon elf woman he was talking to came into view.

"Your highness," they said, bowing hurriedly. "Thank goodness I found you. An urgent message has arrived for you from the capital, it's waiting in the parlor."

Prince Wagner blinked, squinting at Fen in a way that made Fen realize he was so angry that he hadn't fully processed what the half-elf had said. The noblewoman scowled straight at them, and Fen quailed, their impulsive flash of courage failing. They took the risk of reaching out to grasp the prince around the wrist.

"P-please, sire," Fen urged. "Come quickly, it seemed important."

He blinked, seeming to come back to himself, and gave a reluctant nod. That was all Fen needed, and they gently but quickly towed the prince around the edge of the crowd and back into the castle. There was an indignant cry from the moon elf woman, but hopefully she wouldn't be so offended as to complain about this where it would get back to Cyrellian…

They ducked into the first small public sitting room they passed, and Fen shut the door behind with a sigh.

"S-sorry," they stammered, dropping Prince Wagner's wrist like it was a live coal. "I just… I lied, I'm sorry. It seemed like maybe, not a conversation you wanted to get trapped in, so I just." They hung their head. "I wasn't thinking."

"Nnno, no, it's…" the prince was looked a little shell-shocked still, his expression contorted with plain frustration and the spade at the end of his tail flicking aggitatedly. Then he shook it off and smiled sheepishly. "I owe you my thanks, actually. There was absolutely no winning that conversation."

Fen hesitantly lifted their head again, giving a bashful smile in reply. "It's. Difficult. When people act like you've done something wrong because of an accident of birth you can't help."

"It's bullshit is what it is," Prince Wagner replied with cheerful frankness, startling a laugh out of Fen. He had a way of cutting right through all the diplomatic chicanery and saying things that the Aretil ward had always thought but never dared voice.

The good humor slipped away from the prince's face then, and some of the anger returned. "They're damned hypocrites, is what they are. They started the war with the drow, the drow only defended themselves. Most non-elven races have gone through so many generations that the war is a historical blip to them. But they cling to it like it happened yesterday. There's a lot of good reasons the queen at the time thought a tiefling would make a good ruler, and this stagnation and clinging to the past is a big part of it!"

Fen nodded slowly, their shoulders slumping. "It doesn't matter what it's about. They're never in the wrong. Never."

Prince Wagner growled angrily, clenching his hands into fists and closing his eyes as if to tamp back his anger. Fen swallowed hard and, ready to snatch their hand back in an instant, gently reached for the prince's fisted right hand. They closed their fingers over those tense knuckles, giving what they hoped was a comforting squeeze.

The prince started, eyes snapping open. Those slitted golden pupils hooked to where Fen's skin touched his, and his mouth fell open as if to speak, but nothing emerged. Fen expected him to pull his hand away, but to their surprise he slowly knitted his fingers through theirs, breathing jaggedly and… trembling?

Their eyes met, and Fen saw a world of emotions flitting across his face. Dazed confusion, profound relief, and a deep, agonized sense of need that made Fen's throat stick. For a moment they realized they were not looking at the prince- just at Wagner, an ordinary boy their own age. They felt their face heat to match the warmth of Wagner's hand in their own, and their stomach flipped.

At almost the same instant they seemed to come back to themselves, snatching their hands away and turning away from one another.

What was that? What on earth was that? This has to stop, this has to stop right! Now!

"I'm… I'm…" Fen stammered, their throat sticking. Feeling like they were half strangling on the words, they spluttered, "My liege, I'm s-so s-s-sorry, I, I'm, f-forgive me!"

*

They turned back towards the prince, bowing low, and then bolted from the room. Distantly they heard him call after them, but they shut their eyes and just kept running.

Wagner was torn on how to feel about that strange moment in the parlor. On the one hand, there was the impulse that had screamed into his mind in the instant when he snatched his hand away. That impulse had spoken to him in Ishvi's voice, reminding him of all the conversations he'd had with the older paladin where he'd been warned about the sort of people who'd try to seduce him, taking advantage of his youthful naivete to get him into a compromising position.

That whole thing certainly could have been a setup. Fen's father arranging for one of the nobles in his little clique to harass the prince, so that his illegitimate son could "happen" to overhear and leap to Wagner's defense. It would have been a tidy little plot.

On the other hand, there was the fact that Fen had almost immediately bolted. That didn't really seem like the thing someone trying to seduce Wagner would do. Apologize when the prince snatched his hand back, sure, make a show of pretending to be about to leave, definitely. But if Fen had been harboring nefarious intentions they almost certainly would have stopped when Wagner tried to call them back.

…And aside from all that, Wagner couldn't help but feel a little embarrassed by how badly he'd lost his composure when Fen had touched his hand. It had been… nice. Stirred something in him that he had never known before. It was almost like hunger, if you could be hungry for something as banal as a friendly touch. But that was stupid, wasn't it? He'd gotten by just fine so far without being coddled by anybody.

So why did someone holding his hand feel like a swig of ice water after a long day of drilling in the summer heat?

Wagner made a couple of attempts to speak to Fen between the events of the tournament, but whenever the half-elf caught sight of him they bolted. Reluctantly, Wagner gave up. As nice as it would have been to come out of this mess with a friend, it was clear that either his overreaction to Fen's comforting gesture or his violent recoiling from it (or both) had frightened them off entirely.

One more person who was afraid of His Royal Majesty, Prince Wagner Drakequar. So much for "utterly disarming."

The entire subsequent day was spent in a boar hunt with the highest ranking members of Cyrellian's guest list. Hunting was not Wagner's favorite activity; frankly he'd have rather stayed back at the castle and curled up with a good book. But that would have been terribly impolite, so along he went. They rode through the forest, talking about inanities, and then chased down their quarry. As was customary, Quinven made the final blow, and was celebrated by the assemblage.

That night there was a feast, with the boar served up as the main course. Wagner, heartily tired of banal chatter about nothing of consequence, excused himself early, claiming an upset stomach.

This week could not be finished soon enough.

As was his habit at the barracks, Wagner rose with the sunrise. Today there were, blessedly, no events scheduled for the morning, to allow the guests to rest from the "rigorous" hunt the previous day. Of course, by a paladin's standards that ride had barely counted as a warm-up, and Wagner desperately wanted to do something that he actually enjoyed. So, changing into his work-out clothes, he slipped out of his room and made his way through the halls towards the training yard.

Cyrellian's knights, already working out there, were courteous if not exactly warmly welcoming. They gave Wagner free range of their facilities, and once he'd finished drilling they even offered him use of their enchanted pools to wash off the worst of the sweat and grime before he headed back up to the castle.

Feeling a good bit more like himself afterwards, Wagner climbed up onto one of the castle's many verandas and slipped into the hallway-

And froze as the sound of glass shattering echoed in his ears.

Wagner's impulse was to reach for his sword and rush around the corner to see what was going on. A heartbeat later, however, he recognized the voice of Cyrellian Aretil from down the hall.

"You ungrateful, loathsome wretch-"

The whimpered reply was far too low for Wagner to make out the words, but his heart leapfrogged into his throat as he recognized the voice as Fen's.

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[dnd-thrrasir]

The Prince and The Painter - Part 1

The first of a four part story, detailing the first meeting and star-crossed love of Fen E'Sumlam, bastard ward of a noble father who resents him, and Wagner Drakequar, the twice-shadowed prince.

Wagner Drakequar, sixteen year old paladin squire and prince of the blood, second in line for the throne of Thrrasir, was bored.

The ballroom was stuffy, and the smell of far too many different varieties of perfume made it very difficult for the prince not to sneeze. As he spoke with yet another dignitary that was no more than a name in a family tree to him, he swirled a glass of pink champagne in one hand to keep busy. He was not particularly given to this drink, usually. No, the contents of his glass were carefully calculated so that if someone "accidentally" bumbled into him, it would not show up against his formal wear. His form-fitting sunrise pink doublet, even with the golden embroidery worked into it, would hide any spillage perfectly. Less so his butter yellow undershirt, but well, when one had to parade their family colors, there was only so much one could prepare for.

Capping all of the finery off, a rose gold diadem hung from bands around each of his horns, a single topaz drop nestled in the center of his brow. The royals of Thrrasir, being tieflings, could not wear traditional sorts of crowns with their horns in the way, so these diadems had been devised as a substitute. Wagner's, an unornamented chain with a single stone, marked him as royal, but not in the direct line of succession.

It was often assumed, by people who'd never actually met the prince, that he would be jealous of his twin sister Odette. Older by a measly two hours, and by no other metric of worth than those two hours she was deigned the heir to the throne, and not he.

Oh no. Not a chance. He was perfectly content with his appointed role, swearing a divinely witnessed Oath to protect the laws of Thrrasir and the succession of it's rulers. At least among the paladins he had a few friends. Not many, there as anywhere else he'd had to learn to be wary of "friends" who only wanted to use his high rank to further their own standing. But at least he had a few people he knew he could trust.

That was not so much the case here. As the herald had hours earlier announced his entrance into the chapel where the evening had begun, he'd fixed a diplomatic smile on his face that none of his friends back at the barracks would have recognized. And a well-heeled blonde sun elf who was most certainly not his friend had glided across the floor to greet him.

"Your highness," cooed Duke Cyrellian Aretil, his voice and expression oozing enough artificial sweetness to give Wagner a mouthful of cavities. "You do us a tremendous honor with your presence."

He bowed, and Wagner couldn't help but notice that the gesture made the crowned sun at his throat wink in the overhead lights of the chapel. That emblem marked Cyrellian as a member of the Brotherhood for the Restoration of the First Peoples. Even if his far-too-saccharine greeting hadn't made his real feelings for Wagner obvious, that pendant certainly did.

He'd have me out of the line of succession in an instant if he could. Me and my entire family. We aren't good, pure-blood high elves, after all, and gosh who else but a high elf could rule Thrrasir?

Still, Wagner'd been forced to play the game by Cyrellian's rules. He'd smiled politely, offered the duke his left hand, and allowed him to kiss the royal signet ring that sat on his pinky.

"The honor is mine, your Grace," Wagner had answered with absolute neutrality in his voice. "My mother the Queen sends her regrets that she could not attend personally, but she is currently battling a nasty chest cold, and had no wish to spread it at what was supposed to be a joyous event."

"Queen Psyche's consideration on our behalf is appreciated, and we send back our wishes for her speedy return to health," Cyrellian replied smoothly, though his eyes had narrowed a trifle. Offended that the wedding of his heir had been slighted in such a manner, to send only a younger son of the royals and not the Queen or even the Heir.

Believe me, I would have gladly foisted this whole thing off on them if I could have, Wagner had thought waspishly as he'd then taken his place in the pews of the cathedral. But my paladin instructors thought it was a fantastic chance for me to practice my courtly graces in a real setting. As if I don't attend so many balls and fetes back home in Fae Shanta that my training is behind the rest of my damned year group.

The wedding ceremony had been every bit as needlessly long and boring as Wagner had been dreading. Fully an hour of sermonizing and oaths had passed before finally, finally, the nuptials of Quinven Aretil and Pascha Heraera were complete.

Afterwards, the whole assembly had filed into the Aretil Castle's formal ballroom for the reception, which of course meant an entire evening of wining and dining while politely conversing about nothing of consequence.

And there was to be a full week of celebratory entertainment to follow, all of which Wagner was obliged to attend.

Ugh.

Fully three hours into the reception, with the sun having fully set outside the windows and the moon just beginning to appear above the trees, Wagner's face felt stiff from so much polite smiling. Part of him wished that Ishvi had at least been able to attend; they could've at least kept each other entertained. But no- Lord Cornelius had sent his wife instead, a nice enough woman and by far Ishvi's favorite of their two parents, but not definitely not someone Wagner could make crass jokes to under his breath.

He managed to disentangle himself from his current exchange of pleasantries with the lord of some small northern province, and desperate to escape the too-perfumed air of the ballroom, he slipped out of the first pair of open doors he passed onto the ballroom's wide veranda.

The cool night air was a relief after too many bodies packed into the ballroom, and he inhaled deeply the gentler, palate cleansing perfumes of early spring flowers and wet sod.

He glanced in both directions, and was surprised to find that there weren't many others out here. Down the steps and out in the garden he could see a two or three small clusters of conversation. On the veranda itself, however, there was only one person, sitting on a bench and facing away from Wagner so that he could not see their face. They were leaning on the railing, chin cushioned on their folded arms. The stranger had medium brown hair, and was dressed in a knee-length robe of Aretil family scarlet. An ermine fur lined caplet in navy sat on their shoulders, and glittering golden hoops hung from each ear.

The stranger was a teenager- that alone was surprising, because no elf would have brought a teenager with them to such an event. Generally the elven didn't start attending diplomatic events with their parents until they were in their forties. But at a closer glance, Wagner could see this was no trueblood elf- the ears were too small.

A half-blood.

Too finely dressed for a servant. But part of Lady Ravenwish's ah… 'retinue' wouldn't be wearing Aretil colors. How curious.

He approached the youngster as quietly as he could, which given his military training was a lot more quietly than most would have probably assumed. Once he was standing just barely out of the half-elf's peripheral vision, he gently cleared his throat.

The reaction was far more dramatic than Wagner had initially expected. Slim shoulders hitched up, the languidly curved spine went ramrod straight, and the chin ducked diffidently. The half-elf spun around, spluttering a high, "S-sorry, I'm sorry, did you want this spot, I'll move my lord, I-"

They dared peep up at Wagner through the curtain of their bangs, and for a heartbeat the teenage prince caught sight of the unmistakable amber eyes for which the Aretil family was named. Then those eyes lit with abject terror, and the diffident head tilt turned into a full bow at the waist as the teen rocketed to their feet. "M-my prince! I'm, I'm so sorry, I-"

"Hey, easy, easy," Wagner said, immediately discarding his Formal Airs- he had the shrewd sense that sort of behavior would only frighten this poor fellow further. "No need to get your spine all in a twist; I was just trying to get your attention, that's all. Certainly I didn't want to kick you out of your place. Here, I know good manners says you can't sit while I'm standing, so let's fix it, eh?"

As good as his word, Wagner set his glass on the veranda railing and sat down on the opposite end of the bench the half-elf had been using. They seemed as if they were battling the instinct to flee, but there was no interpreting Wagner's statement as anything but an invitation for them to sit as well. Fear of disobeying the prince seemed to win out over fear of being in such esteemed company in general, and with obvious reluctance the brunette perched on the very edge of the bench.

"There we are!" Wagner said, slipping into the easy good humor that was his natural demeanor. Ishvi had called him "Utterly disarming" more than once, and hopefully that descriptor would hold true for this fellow. Genially, he went on, "Now, you seem to have worked out who I am, but you have the advantage over me."

"I'm… I'm F-Fen E'Sumlam, my liege," the half-elf stammered. "No title, just Fen E'Sumlam."

Well, that surname certainly told Wagner a great deal. 'Fairchild.' The legal surname given to all half-elf children of the elven nobility, when they were not allowed to use their parent's surname. So Fen was the illegitimate child of someone in the Aretil family- probably Cyrellian himself, since few of his adult sons would have been old enough to sire this boy, and those that were would certainly not have mentioned them to their father and gotten them brought into the house.

"Well, Fen, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance," Wagner replied. "I am not at all loath to admit that it gets a bit trying, finding things to say to men who are several hundred years old and view me as little better than an infant."

Fen's mouth twitched downwards a bit. "I'm afraid I wouldn't know. Few of them are interested in talking to me, your highness."

"By 'few' I'm going to go out on a limb and assume you mean, 'none,'" Wagner observed bluntly, and Fen's wince told him he'd hit the target in the black. "Hm. Well, I hope you won't begrudge a heartily fatigued prince using you as a shield to avoid further conversation, then."

"I… beg your pardon?" Fen said, actually looking up at Wagner's face in their surprise. It was the first good look the prince had gotten of them- it was a youthful face, sweet and guileless, covered in a dizzying amount of freckles. Wagner grinned, winking now that Fen was fully looking at him.

"You have no notion how relieved I am to find someone here my own damned age," he admitted. "At least- I presume you're around my age. I'm sixteen."

"Seventeen," Fen confirmed, looking very much taken aback. "Eighteen in late April."

"Good, I didn't just put my foot in it," Wagner mused. "Would've been just my luck to chat up a particularly baby-faced guy two centuries old."

"Someone like that probably would've lied about their age to butter you up, then complained in private later," Fen observed cynically, then paled as they seemed to realize what they'd said. "Ah- I'm sorry highness, I shouldn't be so candid, I-"

"No, no!" Wagner laughed, waving off Fen's blustering. "You've the right of it! But I don't think someone trying that particular bluff would out themselves that way, so I reckon I'm probably safe. Quite the astute little wallflower, aren't you?"

Fen narrowed their eyes, shoulders hitching up defensively, and they did not answer. Now Wagner's smile was a sad one. "Ah, that noble ward upbringing. You've had people try to get in your good books to use you against his Grace, haven't you?"

Fen glanced away, lips thinning, and Wagner sighed.

"Well let me trade a candid observation for a candid observation- I'm the half drow, half tiefling prince that Duke Cyrellian pretends to kowtow to while openly wearing a sigil that announces his high-elf-supremacist biases. Nothing I can get out of you is going to make him not want to string my guts for a laundry line."

That startled a laugh out of Fen, and when they turned towards Wagner and caught him grinning impishly at them, they lost control of an entire torrent of giggles.

Seeing them smiling, laughing even, Wagner was struck by how… beautiful Fen was. His stomach flipped at the sparkle of humor in those amber eyes, the slight dimpling of their cheeks around their grin, and the way a stray curl of soft brunette hair came to rest on their brow.

"You're terrible," Fen accused, though their eyes were still dancing with mirth. "If my father overhears this conversation, it'll be my guts on the laundry line."

Wagner shook off the odd, fluttery sensation that had suddenly kindled in the pit of his stomach and laughed. "Well, time for a safer topic than my so-controversial existence, I think. What do you like to do when you aren't suffering through your older brother's drop dead boring wedding reception?"

"Well," Fen admitted, "I've been going to school for painting in Alu Lyth, actually- just started this past fall…

-Next>>

[dnd-thrrasir]

Will these actions haunt my days,

Every man I've slain,

Is the price I pay endless pain?

Close your eyes, and spare yourself the view,

How could I hurt you?

I'm just a MAN who's trying to go home,

Even after all the years away from what I've known

I'm just a MAN who's fighting for his life…

-Just A Man from Epic the Musical

[dnd-thrrasir]

Yes, this asshole got a design update again. XD For one thing, I could never draw his tattoos consistently, so I changed their design to be easier to replicate in multiple drawings. For another, his backstory and homeland have always been inspired by the indigenous Ainu of Hokkaido, and yet I always drew him in what amounted to a kimono, a traditionally Yamato Japanese garment. I decided it would be more faithful, and honestly more interesting as a design, if he wore one of the attush tunics of the Ainu.

I did my best to research the matter as thoroughly as I could, though there is sadly a rather small supply of references available in English. Definitely feel free to reach out if there is something I've gotten wrong and I'll correct it!

[dnd-thrrasir]

Background picture time again! This month @rabbitthewriter asked me to draw a scene from the Thrrasir campaign where the characters visited a cat cafe! She specifically asked me to draw Virga and Fen, who enjoyed the place the most.

[dnd-thrrasir]

Continuing with the outfits! This time we have @shinkoscribbles 's Igraine, a fire genasi antagonist. She does actually have an aversion to fire, so I decided to go for a seafoam-like motif for the dress. Imagine if someone asked her if it was meant to be magma-

[dnd-thrrasir]

Merry art fight! (I swear, I'll be faster after this, this just had three (3) whole characters in it.)

Attack on the one and only @shinkoscribbles! (Featuring @tigerwriter.) Cyril's slowly learning there's life outside of the plot and that there's fun to be had. He and Team Beach are helping him out.

[dnd-thrrasir]

My Secret Satan this seasons was @shinkoscribbles , where I drew their Drow-Tiefling Wagner!

I had merry a fun drawing him, I loved his charm that he had and his design was super cool! ♥️

Thanks to Syd and the mod team for giving me the honor of participating in the event! I can’t wait to do this again!

[dnd-thrrasir]

Based on a semi-recent Thrrasir session, lol. Jingle is "helping Cyril learn to better coordinate his elf form." Definitely not also motivated by the fact that this poor guy needs a hobby and to develop a healthy sense of "fun." To that end, dance lessons!

[dnd-thrrasir]

Hey everybody, remember when I reblogged this a while back! Well guess who finally got around to doing the thing!!!

This was fun! I'll probably upload these separately later, but gotta give credit to the meme mater! < 3

i felt like there wasn’t enough polyam trio art memes so i decided to make my own <3 self indulgence be damned

❤️💛💙

( feel free to share and tag me in any of the cute art you make i would love to see!!! 🥺💕)

[dnd-thrrasir]

Color Wheel Challenge - PINK

Loving the design of @dnd-thrrasir 's adorable Fen. They were so much fun to draw! Thank you for participating!