#some light hinted at kelland here but mostly canon compliant

[ashintheairlikesnow]

I didn't know that you still wrote adsom.. if you're willing to take prompts - and it's totally okay if you aren't - I think I saw an old ask about Holland trying on kell's coat?

Hey, Anon! Sorry, I went to sleep last night just as this ask came in, I think. I took some time to think it over today and here, I have a little something for you. I hope you see it! Sorry again about missing it when it came in.

-

Holland Vosijk was not a man driven by flights of fancy. He had been, just a little, before Talya and the violent loss of his vision of a world he could simply live in. Now, though, everything but unwilling, unwanted survival had been burned away.

He would have called himself forged by fire, but most things forged become stronger afterward, and Holland rarely felt that way.

He was not a man of whims - he was instead the hand and arm that acted out the whims of his monarchs, his masters, that obeyed the pulse of the curse carved into his chest.

So when he stepped into the inn and finds a very recognizable coat draped over a chair, the urge to pick it up surprised him.

He wasn't aware he could still have sudden thoughts like that.

The coat's owner was up at the bar itself, seemingly three ales deep and working on the fourth, his pretty brother at his side. Holland tried not to look at either of them, hoping he could go unnoticed.

If there was a bevy of whispers, well, perhaps the little princes would assume they were about them, not him.

He stepped slowly up to the table the two must have been sitting at, littered with the empty finished ale cups, half-eaten meals, and the damned coat.

It looked normal enough - luxe soft wool heavily treated, impossibly expensive, in the deep saturated red that all these Arnesian people seemed to take as 'their' color. It was hideously unflattering to the prince, with his pale skin turned too reddened by it, his red hair made to look dull when Holland knew damn well Kell's hair was shining and coppery and gleamed like coins in the sun when Holland very much wasn't looking at him in the slightest-

Stop it.

He had come here to drink himself to senselessness in a world where his monarchs could not trace him, could not pay some citizen to speak of his whereabouts, could not torture some innocent youth who merely saw him pass on the street.

And yet...

He allowed his fingertips to run, just for a moment, along the line of the chair's back through the coat. He felt over a hint of golden thread sewn in along the lapel. Red and gold, pointless sickening luxury in a world grown fat on the magic it stole from a dying one.

In a sudden fit of violence, he jerked the jacket off the chair into his hands. The chair, knocked off-balance, toppled backwards onto the floor with a loud CRACK.

The inn went briefly quiet, and Holland felt two dozen pairs of Arnesian eyes quite suddenly land entirely and only on him.

Including those of the princes.

"Holland?" It was Rhy who spoke first, and drunk or not, the Arnesian prince slipped into an immediate smiling brilliance. Difficult to resist.

Holland, though, had an inborn defense against idiot princes. He, after all, spent his days and nights tortured by an idiot king.

"Have you come by to grace us with your company?" Rhy smiled, tilting his head. His amber-yellow eyes sparkled with the drink coursing through his veins.

If Astrid drank his blood, Holland thought idly, she might get drunk on it.

"No," he said, shortly, and turned, walking outside as quickly as he could, before the faintest blush in his cheeks might become visible, before they could read embarrassment even in his faded skin, his washed-out color.

He made it out into the street before he realized he still had Kell Maresh's coat in his hand.

He couldn't very well go back in and give it back, now could he? Admitting to that embarrassment would be a crime far worse than simple theft.

Instead, he walked quickly, turning left into an alleyway just as he heard the door open behind him and Kell's voice ring out, "Hey! He's got my coat!" with a note of nervous trepidation that had Holland rolling his eyes.

Like Holland didn't already know Kell smuggled between worlds. He'd been tracking him at it for months. Years, even.

That nasty little habit would get the redheaded Arnesian prince in trouble one day.

He came to a stop in a spot of near-total darkness down by the docks, the gentle sound of the river lapping at the shore a soothing balm. The Isle glowed a brilliant red, the usual nighttime sky in London, stars only vaguely visible through its haze.

They had so much magic. How little of it they could have shared and saved Makt.

Holland very nearly threw the coat in the damn Isle to drown the way he sometimes wished he could drown the entire Arnesian royal family before... before that damn whim struck again.

He turned the coat inside out.

The red became white, a white that nearly blinded him, with black thread. He frowned.

"No," He said out loud in the Royal language of Arnes.

He turned the coat inside-out again.

This time it was a pale robins-egg blue, with embroidered birds along the lapel. He wrinkled his nose.

"Absolutely not."

He tried one more time.

The third time, indeed, was the charm - the coat this time was a deep black, so solid it seemed to soak up light entirely. The embroidered cuffs and lapel were white, a series of spirals that made him think of a time long, long ago, when the doors were open to all.

It reminded him of how they once dressed in a London now dead and gone, entirely overrun by magic it grew addicted to rather than tightly controlled.

He sighed and undid the silver clasp for his half-cloak, pulling it off and carefully laying it over a short wrought-iron stair railing for a building next to him. The silver winked slightly in the red light of the Isle.

He slipped his arm into one sleeve and then the other, fully expecting them to be far too long - Kell was tall and lanky, after all, while Holland was far more compactly built, and short like the rest of Makt after a life spent working and fighting for every bite of food left.

The coat fit perfectly, as if tailored only for him.

He looked down at himself, and then up, finding a windowpane where he could see his own reflection.

He looked... Arnesian, almost.

Not quite - his hair was too faded, the deep black of his childhood gone charcoal-gray with the way the world had of leeching magic and life out of everyone. His skin was too pale, his Antari eye stood out like it did everywhere else.

And yet...

"Not bad," Kell Maresh said, and Holland's heart skipped a beat in surprise. It took all his willpower not to visibly flinch.

He instead turned smoothly, slowly, as if he had known the redhead was there all along. "I am glad you think so," He said in a dry voice devoid of sincerity. "It is unkind to follow a man at night, lile prins."

"Well, you ran off before I could talk to you," Kell pointed out, walking towards him. There was a high red spot in each cheek and a gleam to his blue eye that said he was still drunk.

"You could have as many coats as you wished, what is a few gold coins to a prince to replace it?"

"True. But that is my coat. It cannot be replaced."

"It could be my coat, if I wished it to be."

"It's not, though. Plus..." Kell's expression went into a kind of teasing look that made Holland uncomfortable and also oddly... interested in if this was what it looked like to see the Maresh prince flirt. It was awkward. It was endearing. "It is also unkind to steal a drunk man's clothing."

Holland hummed. "I am not a man known for kindness," He said, sliding the coat back off and folding it over his arm.

When Kell came closer - and he smelled of the flowery odd sort of beer they made and drank here, damn near wine. "And yet I think you have kindness in you that you will never express."

Holland stared at him, shocked. Kell Maresh often seemed to have little more sense than the gods gave a goat, and yet...

Perhaps the beer had loosened some kind of wisdom in him. There were stranger, less believable things in the worlds.

He held his hand out for the coat, and Holland, still too surprised to really think, simply handed it back. "Thank you," Kell said. He flipped the coat inside-out twice, until it was back to the color and style he liked, and slipped it on. "Why did you take it?"

"I don't know." It was, for once, a truly honest answer.

Kell considered, and then nodded, slowly. "I'll see you around," He said, stood there awkwardly waiting for Holland to reciprocate the farewell and receiving only silence in return, and then he turned and walked away, back towards the inn and his brother.

Holland watched him go, not quite sure what held him to the spot, but he found himself unwilling to move until the last sight of the other Antari's red hair shimmering with the light of the Isle was gone.

Holland inhaled, and the air smelled of roses, with a kind of steel underneath.

"For some reason," he murmured, "I genuinely don't want them to make me kill you."

Perhaps he could find some other way.