The Peaceweaver

The First Morning

Reiv dreams of a man climbing over him, staring down at him and shaking his head. I’m sorry, the man says, silhouette aching with familiarity. Five claws frame Reiv’s jaw. You did not choose this. But it was the only way. His long hair falls across Reiv’s cheek, soft and tickling. He smells like sweat and smoke and sorrow. Your clan would give nothing else. Nothing but you...why didn’t they want you? Sharp nails slide over his throat like the flat of a sword. Who wouldn’t want you?

Reiv awakes with a start in soft darkness. The thane slumbers beside him, a rumbling mountain of shadow, but the space between them is bridged by a far-flung arm.

Charcoal fingers rest over Reiv’s bare waist, but in sleep they are no longer monstrous. The nails are human, and draw no blood, though the fingers curl into Reiv’s flesh as if wanting to keep him there.

After a moment of hesitation which never should have existed, Reiv pushes Colbrun’s hand away and curls close to the edge of the bed, where his husband cannot reach him.

Reiv awakes in an unfamiliar bed in an unfamiliar room to the mouthwatering smell of sausage and eggs and the distinct sensation that he must have been impaled and mounted on a spear for someone’s sick entertainment.

That someone is standing in front of the impressive oak wardrobe, lacing up the front of a fine black coat, and when Reiv cracks his eyes open with a pained groan, the man turns slightly towards him.

“Good morning,” Colbrun says far too pleasantly. “How are you feeling? I brought you breakfast; you slept through it completely.”

Reiv hurries to sit up despite his soreness as the full weight of the situation comes crashing down, eyes wide and heart stuttering into a panic. “Oh – I apologize –”

Colbrun frowns and turns to face him fully. “There is no need to panic,” he says slowly, as if Reiv is a wounded animal he must calm before landing a precise deathblow. “Your attendance was expected, but not required.”

Reiv sucks in a breath. “Expected – then, I – where did they think I –” His face grows hot, imagining what conclusions the visiting thanes must have come to about his absence.

Colbrun lifts an eyebrow. “Why, they thought you were in bed,” he murmurs, “resting. From your long journey, of course.”

“Of course,” Reiv grits out.

Colbrun approaches the bed and Reiv flinches back; the thane stops. “I will ask again: how are you feeling?”

“I am not struck with morning sickness, if that was your hope,” Reiv grumbles, rolling over and huddling under the blankets peevishly, trying to move as little as possible.

Colbrun chokes, then coughs. “Er – no. That was not my meaning, Reiv. Are you, that is to say, in pain at all?”

“You are not allowed to put anything inside me for a week,” Reiv snaps.

Colbrun pauses. “Ah. Hm. Does that include my tongue?”

Reiv hisses wordlessly.

“Didn’t quite catch that, dearest.”

“As you well know,” Reiv says under his breath, “I cannot stop you, should you wish to try.”

The bed dips and Reiv tenses, but Colbrun only touches his shoulder, squeezing gently. “True. Nor can I stop you if you decide I am the sort of man who would do such a thing. But I wish you wouldn’t.”

“You are the sort of man,” Reiv whispers, “who would kill as many men as you needed to reach victory, no matter what the cost. This, I know. Everyone knows it.”

Colbrun chuckles darkly. “And you are not? Shame. You won’t survive long if you insist on innocence.”

“It isn’t innocence,” Reiv mutters. “It’s being a good man, a man with a conscience –”

“A conscience is a luxury,” Colbrun interrupts sternly. “One I cannot afford.” Reiv doesn’t dare look up at him. “Neither can you. You’re in the enemy’s bed, aren’t you? What would your clan’s dead thanes have to say about that, I wonder?”

Reiv tenses. “Don’t speak of them,” he whispers.

“No? But you know, don’t you, that two of them fell by my sword –”

Reiv’s breath hitches. “Stop –”

“Thace, one was called, and the other, the tall one with pale eyes, Ulaz –”

Reiv squeezes his eyes shut. “Please .”

“You were close to them,” Colbrun says. “You knew them well.”

“Yes,” Reiv breathes.

“I was fulfilling the weregild, Reiv,” Colbrun says. “Perdith offered us no gold, so King Torgeniv accepted a life for a life. Your people took two of Torgeniv’s most loyal thanes, Prorok and Haxus. I took two of yours.”

“And then Livan traded me instead of more gold, more lives,” Reiv whispers. “Yes, husband. I know how it happened.”

Colbrun’s grip on him tightens. “Then know also that I am not a good nor bad man. I am a good thane. I do as my king commands me to.”

“And if he commanded you slit my throat in our marriage bed and attack my clan while they are vulnerable and reeling from your m******e?” Reiv’s voice is barely audible, but Colbrun hears every word.

Colbrun lets go of him. “You are the peace-weaver,” he murmurs. “Certain traditions must be upheld with your position, and the Hendhar respect traditions. Murder is not among them.”

Reiv is quiet. Thinking of last night, and then thinking of Thace and Ulaz, still and gutted like fish, lying on their burning pyres, he feels sick. He thinks of Colbrun standing over their corpses, sword dripping with their blood, and curls in on himself with a low, hurt sound that has nothing to do with physical pain.

Colbrun moves off of the bed; Reiv stays curled. “I’ll ask the servants to draw you up a warm bath,” Colbrun says, “and to bring some tea to help with the pain.”

Reiv is silent; fuming or on the verge of tears, he isn’t sure which, yet. Colbrun finishes dressing and leaves the room. Reiv does not let out the sob he was holding in until the thane’s footsteps are altogether gone, and he cannot keep the grief locked in his chest any longer.