Spellbound (12 page)

“Are you giving me an option?”

“No, I’m telling you for my own good.”

“I hope that wasn’t supposed to be a joke. You’re not very funny.” Elion scrunched his nose and tried not to laugh when Stavros glared. “I say we head for the inn. Assuming they have hot water and alcohol. Please tell me they have alcohol here.”

“Are you even old enough to drink?”

“Again, you’re not funny. You’re actually the furthest thing from funny. A corpse could tell a better joke than you, Stavros.” Elion yelped in surprise when Stavros shouldered him lightly. When he glanced over, Stavros was looking straight forward and, maybe it was a trick of the impending moonlight, but Elion swore that he saw a smile creeping across his face.

~~

The inn was a small log and stone structure that sat near a wide, rushing river. It was at least a solid day’s walk from the nearest town and ran by an old man that refused to shut down after a mill had closed decades prior, according to Stavros. The only customers now were nefarious people and hunters. Even so, there were still a few people inside. Two older, bearded and burly men sat in a back corner drinking from tall tankards. Another being sat in a corner with only their eyes visible from under the draping of their hooded robes. In the center of the room, a large fire crackled in a stone pit. The old wooden floors creaked with each step and there was a heavy scent of ale and venison. It was a paradise after the moldy, damp caves they had slept in.

A younger woman behind the counter looked up in a double take before smiling brightly. “Gods above, haven’t seen that scowl around here in ages!” she giggled and waved at Stavros. Despite the mask being pulled back into place with his cowl, his eyes spoke a story that he knew this woman, that she wasn’t a threat to him, and Elion found himself more curious than he had been to date, because Stavros liking people? Preposterous.

“And who’s this?” she asked, closing the distance between them. Her slender fingers brushed back a few loose strands of honey blonde hair as she studied Elion like he was something fascinating.

“Some brat. Found him on the way in, and being the kind soul I am, figured I couldn’t leave him for the elements.” Stavros gestured lazily towards Elion. Elion blinked rapidly as he looked between the two.

“Who are you?” Elion blurted. Stavros rolled his eyes and shoved him towards a table while the blonde laughed. His eyes locked on Stavros as he slid into a rickety seat and glanced around the room, his years of Force habits ringing clearly, or maybe he was just overtly paranoid. “What’s wrong with you?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re being weird.”

“I am not.” Stavros frowned.

“Yea. Yea, you definitely are.”

The two were still bickering when the blonde, who introduced herself to Elion as Malina, asked them what they wanted. Elion gave Stavros a questioning look when he began rattling off things Elion had never heard of.

“Is this payback for the restaurant in New York?” he asked nervously.

“Absolutely.” Stavros smirked before bringing his heavy tankard to his lips.

An hour later, Elion was slumped back in the chair with a hand on his aching stomach and the other hanging limply at his side. Stavros looked smug again, like someone that was overly proud of their achievement.

The alcohol was potent and a little too smooth. It set in hard and fast, and by the time he had finished his tankard, he had long since forgotten about the cold in his bones and was content with watching Stavros’ tired movements.

“You’re drunk.”

“No.” Elion nodded.

“You nodded, but said no.”

“Did not.” Elion missed, or purposely ignored, whatever retort Stavros gave when he spotted Malina talking to an older man with a chest length beard that was as white as the snow outside. The smile on his face deepened his wrinkles, but the light in his eyes was of a man much younger.

His own father could pass for a man in his late thirties, a pro to having a life span of over two hundred years if one was lucky. He tried to think of the last time he had called his parents, or even let them know he was okay. He knew he was harsh on his mother, calling her overbearing and too much to handle, but some nights he wanted nothing more than to snuggle up at her side as he’d done as a child. He hadn’t even taken the time to fill them in on his new life. He gave the barest of answers before rushing off the phone, promising to get in touch soon.

“What’s wrong?” Stavros asked, drawing Elion’s attention back. He was tempted to ask Stavros more about his family, if he ever felt lonely and how he dealt with it, but thought better of it.

“Just tired, I guess.” Stavros nodded before pushing off the table and walking as far as he could. Elion couldn’t make out what he was saying to Malina and the old man, who looked at Elion with a suspecting smirk. Stavros crooked a finger and Elion followed like the puppy he was becoming.

The room he was led to was small, just big enough for the two small beds with straw mattresses and musky furs thrown on top. Elion moaned when the last piece of his armor was off, his sweaty, chafing skin grateful for the freedom. He found his fingers ghosting over the notches that scarred the thick leather pad that was patched onto the left shoulder. Each gash a reminder of a life he had taken. They burned his fingertips the way they always did and he ripped his fingers away quickly, setting it down before stretching out on the bed that he was a bit too large for.

“You saw battle?” Stavros asked, startling Elion. The elf glanced over to find Stavros looked at the same scarred leather, his own fingertips tracing the marks.

“Hardly,” he murmured. Stavros didn’t seem to get the memo that Elion had earlier, the one that said to leave some sleeping dogs alone. Stavros put the armor down and sat on the edge of his own bed, waiting for Elion to explain. Elion groaned and rolled onto his side. “Aren’t you tired?”

“No.” Stavros shrugged. “I told you that I hate chocolate.”

“Seriously?” Stavros said nothing and Elion propped himself up on his elbows and sighed. Stavros was right. Elion owed him something in return, and strangely enough, he knew he could trust Stavros with whatever he told him. He huffed and swiped his tired eyes with his fists.

“We started our training young, usually around seven or so. My parents had a high reputation amongst the clans. My father was a ‘smith; he was able to work with materials and weaponry enchantments that no one else could. My mother’s blood line was strong with earth magic. There were high hopes for me, as you can imagine. And then they realized I wasn’t growing into my big ears and they said I was too scrawny to lift a sword properly. Despite my blood line, magic didn’t come to me. No matter how hard I focused or how long I trained, I couldn’t do it.” Elion frowned. “When every warrior is being trained for the battle of their future, being weak isn’t a good thing. They didn’t want me to hunt with them or train with them most of the time, even, so my parents got me my own trainer. When war became a real possibility some parents were proud to send their children off to battle, some were terrified and reluctant. Mine were terrified. They chose ridicule to keep me safe. Can I just cut to that?” He gestured towards the pile of armor lazily.

Stavros nodded, his eyes unreadable as he waited. Elion wet his lips and huffed quietly. “Long story short, there was a raid one night. A small party had been sent to ransack our supplies. The Tulfnari warriors knew that our village was vulnerable, that our own had been sent to battle. They had been waiting the whole time. Before the next dawn I had killed nine adult warriors and three that couldn’t have been any older than me. Custom knows no age, though. We mark our battle victories with marks in our armor or flesh.” Elion pressed his palms against his eyes in an attempt to block out their faces and how their eyes had looked so dull as they fell to the ground, tried to swallow against the taste of smoke, ash and blood. “The ones that called me names, threw dirt in my face— those are the ones that came home and called me a hero. Hero,” Elion scoffed. “Do you know how many of my people were lost? Do you know how many homes burned to the ground because I wasn’t fast enough? I was so weak that I had to listen to a woman burn to death, because of a door, a stupid fucking door that I couldn’t break through. I tried, though; I tried until my bones were broken and splintering through my flesh, even when her screams stopped. My mother didn’t even let me keep the scars. She healed them and told me that I had done no wrong and she wouldn’t allow me to punish myself. Can you believe that shit?” he spat before collecting himself.

“We left in the night a short time later. I had never seen a human, and the lights and the sounds… Goddess, I was so terrified. I applied for the Force the day I was old enough. I said I’d never be weak again. I guess the truth is I never stopped being that weak boy fourteen seasons of age. So no, I don’t say I saw battle. I was a scared child trying to survive, I guess I still am,” Elion laughed dryly. “Now you know how pathetic I really am, huh?”

“You’re a lot of things, but weak and pathetic isn’t it,” Stavros said as he toed off his boots. Elion sat up fully, his ears straining and his head aching as he tried to figure out how to reply to something like that. Before he could, there was a light knock at the door that Stavros answered. Malina said something quietly before Stavros nodded to Elion to follow.

Stavros was only wearing the leather pants of his armor and his bare feet slapped against the inn floor as they were led towards steps in the rear. His hair was loose and swaying at his bare shoulders. The realization that Elion was becoming accustomed to the sight and no less intrigued by it was startling. Elion made a mental note to research Stockholm syndrome the minute they were back, because there was something dark at play. There had to be.

He almost moaned when Malina led them into a larger room in a makeshift basement with two decently sized metal tubs filled with steaming water. The blisters on his feet instantly made themselves known and muscles he didn’t even know he had throbbed. Malina winked playfully and dropped large threadbare towels in his arms before walking out and closing the door behind her.

Any embarrassment Elion had about his body in prior days was gone as he hurriedly shucked off the tunic and cloth pants he was wearing. He hissed through gritted teeth as he sank into the hot water as deep as he could. His knees stuck up as he slouched to let the water reach his chest. He blushed when he heard a deep chuckle from beside him.

“I take back everything I’ve ever said about you. You’re amazing,” Elion sighed. He waited for the cocky retort or even a grunt of acknowledgment, but when he glanced over Stavros was frowning down at the water.

Once they were back in their room they found that, despite the room being so small, neither could roll on their beds. Stavros mumbled incoherently under his breath as he grabbed the frame of the bed and pulled it towards Elion’s as if it weighed nothing, and that definitely wasn’t supposed to be a turn on. Elion quickly busied himself with tugging back the furs and climbing under.

“I didn’t mean the things I said in New York,” Stavros mumbled a few moments later. Elion turned his head to find that Stavros was only a few inches from him, and it was almost relieving. Of course, that was because of the amount of time they had spent next to each other, he figured.

“What things?”

“Don’t make me say it,” Stavros huffed, groaning when Elion said nothing. “You’re not worthless, or any of those things.” Elion paused for a moment before he rolled onto his side to completely face Stavros who was staring at the ceiling, unmoving and calm.

“Are we having a moment? Elion whispered teasingly. A warm palm met his cheek and shoved him back with a playfully rough motion.

“Shut up, brat,” Stavros sighed. Elion pulled one of the furs up to hide his grin as he settled into the thin pillow under his head. And if he was still awake when Stavros’ hand found its way to his hip, it would be a secret between him and the moon.

Chapter 11

“You haven’t fed in a while,” Elion pointed out while he kicked a pebble down the worn road they were traveling.

“Relevance?”

“Will you get sick or- I don’t know.” Elion shrugged. “I hardly know anything about you.”

“I told you about the chocolate thing,” Stavros said pointedly.

“Yea… you did.” Elion smirked. “Can I ask you something?”

“If I say no, will you drop it?”

“Probably not.”

“Of course not,” Stavros sighed. “What is it?”

“Who’s Victor?”

Stavros stopped walking. His eyes flickered something that was unreadable and made Elion’s chest ache. He instantly regretted asking, but desperately wanted to know at the same time. Stavros quickly collected himself and quickened his steps.

“He was my old partner.”

“He was also your lover,” Elion stated. Stavros cleared his throat awkwardly and gave him a bare nod. When Stavros came to another sudden stop Elion was prepared to apologize for prying. A warm hand covered his mouth and Stavros’ free hand went to the hilt of the sword that was sheathed across his back. Elion let his ears focus on the sounds surrounding them, trying to pick out anything unusual.

Within a day of leaving the inn they had moved into a warmer landscape. The fields were lush and the sun warm despite the lingering brisk bite in the air. Elk were a common scene, even a few bears and wolves had come into sight though none had presented a problem. He was almost beginning to forget that the land, though beautiful, was dangerous and still reeling in the aftermaths of the war that had ended almost a century prior.