Desire

Something shifted after that. Not in Lasair, but in Nuada.

He started with the shortsward, holding it out hilt-first. “Only if you want to,” he said. “Only if you ever want to.”
Lasair took it with two hands, and Nuada shook his head smiling.

It became the new routine.

Next was the sling. Then, daggers. Axes, both small and large. Always in the glade, and Lasair would weave a charm to conceal the clattering of their training.
Lasair was weak in truth, flimsy, but he was fast. He moved like wind, would strike and retreat like a flash of lightning, parry like sunlight glinting on a swift river. He didn’t fight. He danced.

When he gave him the spear for the first time, Nuada actually stopped mid-step and stared.

“You’ve done this before?”
“No,” Lasair said, holding the spear outward like an extension of himself so casually, peering down the shaft with one eye shut. “But it’s… it’s like weaving, isn’t it? You follow the thread. You feel where it wants to go.”
Nuada blinked. “That’s not how we teach it.”
“It’s how it feels.”
Nuada didn’t argue.

The more they trained, the more Nuada saw his technique improve, but behind it, he also saw his spirit. He didn’t swing to kill, didn’t feint to trick, and Nuada thought: He’s never hated anything in his life. Not even what hurt him.

“Why are you learning this?” Nuada asked one evening, after they’d collapsed into the grass, exhausted from running drills.
Lasair turned to him, chest still heaving. “Because you asked me to!”
“But why keep doing it?”
Lasair frowned thoughtfully, then smiled, and said emphatically. “Because I want to be the best at it.”
“At fighting?”
“At learning.”
Nuada laughed. Sharp, sudden, fond… and defeated. He covered his face with his hands. “You’re going to undo me.” He said before flinging his arms back to his sides.
Lasair tilted his head. “What do you mean?”
“…Don’t worry about it.”

He would catch himself thinking about Lasair at all times of the day, and always with a smile he hadn’t known he could muster. He started to long for a world where he could walk between glade and kingdom with Lasair at his side as an equal.
But… maybe… as something else, too. Nuada had never thought of himself as a romantic, or maybe he had simply never had space for it. It seemed that there still wasn’t, as any daydream or fantasy that wandered too close to something comfortable would turn to images of rocks scattered around bare feet. Still, he started to change in ways that radiated from the inside, and it wasn’t a secret anymore; the prince was in love, it was simply a matter of with whom.
“Could it be a young maiden from a village surrounding the dún?” Some murmured. “Or perhaps one of the young lords who serves in his vanguard?” Others contended.

The rumours reached the king, and he had him followed.

He noticed, and started increasing his tactics to throw off trackers… but increased the frequency of their visits. He continued to train him, but never told him why.

“Is something wrong, Nuada?” Lasair asked innocently.
“I just want you to be safe.”
“From what? Those boys were harmless, really. Just young, I think.”
Nuada didn’t answer, he just dropped into form, and Lasair responded in kind with a playful smile.

You’re so easy to fool. He thought.

…Too easy.


The king had hoped for some kind of secret affair that might bring a political advantage through marriage or blackmail, or at least someone of childbearing to further his lineage. When a scout finally returned with information, it was worse than the king could have ever imagined.