The Demon Lord and his Hero

"This is Abigail," Artemus told the blond as he helped her take off her boots. The anti mage had left Abigail with some nuns so they could properly bathe and clothe her after the journey she'd endured with a group of men. "I have to find her relatives if she has any left."

"How old is Abigail?" Rowan asked as he smiled at the polite child.

"I don't know. How old are you?" Artemus asked her.

"Eight years old," she answered in a very quiet voice.

"A brave eight-year-old girl," Artemus praised her. "Are you hungry?"

She shook her head. Her hair had been washed and dried thoroughly and Artemus could finally see the chestnut undertones of her wavy blonde locks.

"I've got some snacks," Rowan offered. "You don't have to feel hungry to snack."

"You keep snacks?" Artemus asked as if such an idea offended his narrative of the person that Rowan was.

Rather than answer the dark-haired anti mage, Rowan reached inside a drawer and pulled out a bag of salted roasted nuts.

"I should have purchased some of the sugar-coated ones," he commented as he held out the first sized bag to Abigail.

The child accepted his offering with a cute smile. "Thank you," she told him.

____

"So what did you want to talk to me about?" Artemus asked when they were alone.

"It's about Alka."

"Speak."

Rowan chose not to face Artemus while having this conversation. It wasn't raining anymore so he stared out the window at the dark sky smeared with purple as if it was bruised and angry.Â

"There's a note on the table. I've written down all the places where Alka was seen after the kidnapping."

Artemus picked up the paper and read its contents. He glanced up at Rowan even as he began drawing patterns in the chaotic list of places that were presented to him.

"Is this reliable?"

"Yes."

"Thank you," Rowan heard Artemus say.

The dark-haired anti mage was too smart for his own good, a trait that the blond valued. But only when those deductive capabilities were pointed away from Rowan's affairs. There would come a time when Artemus would find out who was responsible for Alka's kidnapping, the blond owed him that. Maybe he could salvage what would be left of their friendship when it was all over and he could explain why he had to take such unscrupulous decisions.

_______

"Cold-" Lucien mumbled in his sleep. Rain was pouring outside their shelter, falling with such intensity that Magnus wondered how clearwater was still standing unflooded. He propped his head up on an elbow and observed the way Lucien was bundled up in his fur blanket and still shivering.

They'd been sharing a bed ever since his return to Elysium. But there always remained a gap between them that neither crossed. Even today, a fat pillow lay between them, Lucien's handiwork, of course. Magnus could only guess he did it because the pillow prevented the redhead from making any accidental forays to the other side of the bed. Lucien had made his feelings known to the fire mage but persisted in respecting distance at least on the bed where a man shouldn't have to feel discomfort or like he was in any danger. Magnus found that endearing.

Trying not to overthink his actions, the fire mage lifted the pillow and placed it behind him. Now there was nothing between him and the redhead.

"Lulu," he called out. Nothing.

Magnus placed a warm palm on the redhead's cheek and found it to be cold. When he moved his palm, Lucien followed the heat like a baby chick unconsciously seeking out its mother's warm feathered body.

"Mm-magnus-" Lucien mumbled as he came awake. "What happened?"

"You are cold," Magnus replied in a soft voice. When their lives had been simpler, the fire mage never had to think twice about embracing Lucien to sleep.

"Compared to you, everyone else is cold," the redhead replied with a sleepy smile. "We don't all get to be our personal bonfires." As he said that, Lucien noticed the missing pillow. His gaze was on the empty place where the soft, defenceless pillow had been a wall that kept him safe from his own self-destruction. It wasn't an exaggeration to say so because that space on the bed held vast meaning and history between them.

"I took the liberty of removing the pillow."

"Why?"

"Because you're cold, Lulu."

The fire mage lifted his blanket and waited for Lucien's decision. Yes, their lives had changed. Lucien had grown up. Lucien liked him. But he missed the simplicity and contentedness that he felt from going to sleep at night holding the redhead. Even the many years of hardship he had endured hadn't taken that away from him. Lucien was a reminder of better days and the naivety the years had worn away from him.

"If we're doing this, I want it every night. You can't just offer me warmth for a night and then deny it tomorrow. I-"

"Lulu, just come and sleep. I'll be your hot pack on demand if that's what you want."

The redhead told himself not to act too eager but his body had reacted before his mind. He tossed his own blanket away and rolled over into the warm cosy satisfying cocoon that was Magnus' blanket.

"Bliss," he sighed. Every inch of his skin was warming up just from being so close to Magnus. Lucien would have shed a tear from how happy this made him feel. He raised his head and saw the way Magnus was observing his reaction. "What?" He whispered.

"Cute."

Magnus was still propped up on his elbow. Seeing an opportunity for more intimacy, Lucien buried his head under the fire mage's chin. A hand heavier than he remembered, rested its weight over his body.

"Magnus, will you accept me when I get older?" His muffled voice meekly asked the fire mage.Â

Magnus cut away the 'buts' and 'ifs' that clouded his honest answer. When all the guilt and inhibitions were stripped away, what remained was his longing for the redhead.Â

"Yes," the word dropped heavily from his lips. "Become a man, Lulu. I'll wait for you."