We Should Probably Talk About all the Murdering

[Andros]

Cooking was a good idea. The witch had left sliced potatoes and a chunk of hare on her little counter, along with carrots and onions already in the pot. She’d even measured out her seasonings in a little bowl. It was going to be soup. Ajax finished the chopping, adding a few more potatoes to stretch the meal for two. A small fire was still burning inside the witch’s stove and Ajax quickly had it roaring again. He fried the meat and vegetables, added water, and brought it to a boil. Then he let the fire burn down and left the soup to simmer.

The work helped knock Ajax out of the daze he was in. This small, routine activity helped him feel grounded again, more like himself. He hadn’t wanted to lie down, though Hakon had been generous to suggest it. He’d just have replayed the death in his mind again and again if he had.

While the soup bubbled and the cottage filled with its smell, Ajax poked around. So much here reminded him of his father: the beautiful pottery, the delicate stained glass, the glazed tiles on the walls. Why the witch had made the hideous statues of men in pain he couldn’t guess, but sometimes Baba’s art didn’t make sense either.

The soup still needed a good hour when Hakon came back with a load of wood. Ajax babysat the soup while Hakon chopped the wood, but went outside to help him stack it. He didn’t offer to help carry the body and Hakon didn’t ask. Neither one of them wanted Ajax to throw up again.

When all was prepared, the two men stood silently next to the pyre. Hakon had been kind to him, uncharacteristically so. He was solicitous and appropriately somber. He’d healed him without needing to be asked, and tried to comfort him in his awkward way. It was rather touching, and that made it possible for Ajax to feel a little less horrified by the man he’d just seen commit a premeditated murder. He wanted a hug, badly, and a good cry too, but neither one of those was likely to happen. Instead he took a little affection, standing close to Hakon and leaning his head against one enormous arm.

“That was awful, Hakon,” he said quietly. “I’ve seen death before, but nothing like that. Never violent. Except for Alecto and her sons and you know that was very different.”

He had some things to get off his chest, but this wasn’t the time. After the body was disposed of, after they had food and hopefully his stomach stopped churning, then they could talk. For now, there was a task to see to.

“At home we bury the bodies on the beach at low tide, then the sea gods take them. Funerals are a big deal. When it’s an important man there’s feasting, racing, wrestling, music and poetry recitations. Sometimes it lasts days. What do you do here? Should we pray?”

[Hakon]

Hakon watched Ajax retreat into the cottage. For a minute, he was tempted to follow the lad in, but he thought better of it. What would he do? Loom awkwardly next to him? Say something brusque and unhelpful? Ajax needed time alone, or time with someone who was eloquent and sensitive. Hakon could only give him one of those things.

Instead, he headed further into the woods, following a crude footpath that the witch had probably made during her daily errands. Moments after a battle, it tended to sink in how mundane the lives of rogues could be. It was true that she had tried to suffocate him using thick mud that moved as though it were sapient, but when she wasn't doing that, she had been a person, same as him. Apart from being a morally loose criminal who had potentially killed at least two men in cold blood, of course.

He followed the path and watched carefully as it narrowed, noting a small path that seemed to lead to a latrine. He could have just thrown her body in there, but he had a feeling Ajax would fuss about that, and he had no desire to leave her body out to be ravaged by foraging animals. He decided to stick with his plan, and set back out onto the path.

After a few more minutes of walking into the woods, Hakon came upon the felled tree the witch had been using, and was pleased that she'd secured it and sheltered it. Given her size, she had probably used her powers to do so, but as far as unauthorized magic use went, that was pretty benign. It was all pretty benign, really. Apart from the statues and the Scarlet Watch members she'd attacked.

He raised his axe and began processing the log, pausing occasionally to debark the tree a section at a time as he chopped. As he worked, he did not think about what he'd just done, as it did not much matter to him other than the satisfaction of a job well done. He was less successful in avoiding what had come afterward. Unbidden, the thought came to him that Ajax maybe thought of him in the same way, as a murderer, a danger to society. Some kind of menace with an unquenchable bloodlust. The thought of that bothered him, although he could not articulate why, not even to himself.

He was used to being misunderstood, willfully or otherwise, by almost everyone he'd ever met. His supposed brothers and sisters in the tower did not have many kind words to say about him, and with the exception of Andros, he had few long-term friends. People got what they wanted and moved on. Even Ajax would move on, he thought, splitting a piece of lumber in a way he hadn't intended.

Cursing under his breath, he forced himself to focus on the task at hand. No time for moral dilemmas, here. There was wood to chop.

He hauled it back one large armful at a time, annoyed that he hadn't thought to look for some kind of wagon, and more annoyed when he realized she did not have one or he would have seen it. She had been completely enthralled by her Mark, clearly, unable to function without it. It was pathetic, the way some people couldn't stop using their magic. He'd met Grave practitioners who healed up every little cut and bruise, unable to stand the least bit of injury or pain, and Brand practitioners who had no actual facility with the weapons in their Armory, relying instead on the Mark to help them manipulate the weapon with their mind.

It was that sort of laxness that led people to use magic to solve other problems.

Hakon nodded approvingly at the sight of Ajax in the kitchen when he returned from the great outdoors, and smiled a bit when the lad broke off and helped him stack the wood for a pyre.

He didn't ask for help with putting her body atop it. He knew better.

"Fetch a light," he said instead.

When Ajax returned with one, Hakon took it from him, holding it aloft briefly and contemplating Ajax's question about funerary rites.

"There are prayers," Hakon answered. "We can offer thanks that she returns to the seat of the Gods for their use. If we knew her, we could offer a summary of her deeds and accomplishments, but I do not feel that I knew her well enough to do so, and I presume you do not either. Instead, I think the best we can offer her is a moment of silence."

In one hand, he held the torch. He put his free arm around Ajax, holding the other man close to him. Then, he tossed the torch onto the pyre, and waited until he was sure it had lit. He had set the pyre behind the house, out of sight from the road and not close enough to the woods to pose a threat. He watched what had been Hildegard burn. He took the stone out of his pocket as he did so.

He was holding a shard of her soul in his hand. So in a way, she wasn't really dead. He grimaced at the thought. Hanging around Ajax was turning him into a poet.

When it had well and truly caught, he thought to speak: "We can head inside, if you like. Have some stew. I can come back to clean up the bones later on."

[Andros]

“Oh the stew!” Ajax said with a start and a pained expression. He’d forgotten all about it as they watched the fire consume the body in a companionable silence. He jogged into the house and found it badly burned but still edible - just. The witch’s pot would be hard to clean, but that would be someone else’s problem. Her children? The villagers? The guild? Who would inherit this strange cottage and its contents? He mused about that as he dished out lunch and handed Hakon a bowl and spoon.

“I’m sorry about the soup. I got distracted outside and let it burn. Not much of a cook anyway, as I’m sure you’ve figured out.”

Hildegard had a tiny dining table and one small chair beside it. Ajax offered it to Hakon, who’d just done so much physical labor, but it was apparent he’d reduce the thing to splinters if he tried to sit on it. Too big, he was too big for this place. So Hakon stood, looming in his usual way and holding his bowl in his hand.

It ought to be intimidating, having this enormous murderer looming over him and choking down his ruined meal. But the fact was that Hakon had been a perfect gentleman since the second he sundered the witch. Actually, he’d been quite nice to Ajax for days, but still stalked and strangled a helpless woman with no obvious remorse. It was like there were two Hakons, and Ajax happened to be very fond of one of them. The good-bad boy again, only this time the bad side was so much worse.

Hakon didn’t deserve his hostility or recriminations. Ajax knew this mission would involve death, and he knew that was Hakon’s job. But he couldn’t simply let go of what he’d seen. He decided to be gentle about it. The question wasn’t why do you kill? (let alone what’s wrong with you?). The question was why her?

“I was wondering, Hakon, why do you think the Watch went after her in the first place? Seems like this could all have been avoided if they’d left her alone.”

That put the blame on the Scarlet Watch, not on Hakon. It felt safe, like Hakon might be able to hear it without getting defensive.

[Hakon]

The stew was fine. Awful, by Tower standards, but Hakon had spent enough time out on the road to know that people who didn't spend their lives in kitchens tended not to be good cooks. There was a reason he was relegated to prep work when it was his turn to volunteer in the kitchens; he could peel potatoes or haul and chop wood for the fires, but anything beyond the very basics of warming up food was outside of his area of expertise.

Besides, Ajax had made it for him, and that thought cheered him. It was turning out to be nice to not be alone on the road, and to have someone help him do stuff he wasn't good at, like cooking and talking to strangers.

"The Watch follows up on all credible reports of rogue magic, Ajax. Peasants, especially in the outlying regions of Radenor, sometimes have fanciful ideas about what constitutes magic. Crop failures, disease outbreaks, livestock falling sick, and weird weather events have all been blamed on rogues, when usually it's just what fate had in store for their village. Still, sometimes they are correct. I'm not sure exactly how they choose the priority, but I believe that the more dangerous someone could be and the more likely someone is to be a mage, the more likely they are to be investigated."

Hakon indicated the statues with his head, not looking up from his bowl.

"Clearly, she was quite dangerous, and as we saw, she had no compunction using her magic to kill others. She left the Watchmen who found her and gave her ultimatum unable to move. She used her magic to do it, somehow. It took an Engraver to sort them out. They would have died lying face down in the dirt had a villager not happened by and found them. If they'd 'left her alone,' she would have still been a rogue, just one with less oversight, doing who knows what. Those two men she turned to stone would probably have a story to tell if they weren't dead."

[Andros]

Ajax couldn’t stifle his augh. Hakon was being sincere, as always, but what he said about the statues was such a silly idea.

“Come on, Hakon, they’re just statues. You forget I know divide really well - I saw it done every day growing up. Dividim make beautiful things - that’s what the mark is for. And, sometimes they make things they think are beautiful that others don’t appreciate, like those statues. Yeah, they’re kind of creepy, but I’m sure they were art to Hildegard. I didn’t always like my dad’s art either. Maybe you need to be the artist to appreciate it, I think.”

He felt a strong push to stick up for his dad. He’d done his duty to Hakon, done it pretty well. That didn’t help the guilt he felt for collaborating with a hated Guild to track down and kill a fellow dividi.

“He wasn’t a saint, obviously. You heard plenty of that from my mom the other day, and probably from my grandpa I’ll bet. They never got along. But he was good to us, and a brilliant artist and musician. I miss him a lot, to be honest. He couldn’t turn people into stone, that’s for sure. The worst he ever did with his powers was to toss mud at you if you made him mad, and then mom would send you right down to the beach to rinse off so you got to go for an extra swim. He never hurt anybody. Divide is for gentle people.”

That brought him back to the matter at hand. Hildegard hadn’t been gentle with them or with the Scarlet Watch, of course, but she’d been fighting for her life. It all seemed so unnecessary to him. As before, he didn’t want to put Hakon on the defensive, but he did want to understand what they’d just done a little better. So he risked probing a little more.

“Anyway, ok, yeah” he continued, haltingly fumbling for the words that would make him sound like a friend, not an accuser, “so the Scarlet Watch investigates all reports and sends people out to kill rogues who won’t come to a tower, I get that. And that’s your job, and you’re really good at it - I get that too. What I don’t get is what makes someone who does your job tick. Why would you choose to be out here killing rogues instead of, I don’t know, being a healer with your Grave? Or doing some kind of desk job in the tower?”

[Hakon]

Hakon wanted to interrupt Ajax right away, because he was wrong. Really, dangerously wrong, actually, about Divide. There was no such thing as a gentle magic. It was like saying Engravers were just healers, or Mentalists just made people imagine silly things to lift their spirits.

Then Ajax was talking about his father, though, and Hakon lost the heart to interrupt. He could understand loving one's father. His dad had been the only relative he'd ever really known, after all, and he'd taken care of him quite well before he, well. Before he couldn't anymore.

It didn't really hurt at this point; decades had passed and Hakon had long since settled in to the reality of his father being dead. He hadn't had a nightmare about it in many years, which he took as a good sign. He was proud that he could still remember his face, partially because of the resemblance to his own in the glass, though they had different hair colors. His father had been blond, and had more of a square jaw. They were similarly built, though he may have turned out a bit taller. He was extrapolating based on how things had looked in his father's hands versus his own; it was inexact, but it was the best he could do. In any case, he didn't think about it much, really.

He remembered what had happened the last time he'd tried to bring up his father with Ajax, or really open up. It had not gone well. But now, Ajax had said they were friends, and friends shared such things, Hakon was fairly certain. He was not overly familiar with friendship.

Before he could even formulate a response, Ajax was on to a tough question, but it was less tough than the other two topics, so Hakon decided to let them drop for now.

"The reasons are simple, Ajax. Someone must do this work, for one. There are dangerous rogues out there, some of whom are Dividim, and I know you don't want to hear it, but I assure you, when used offensively, it can be devastating. If you found your father's uses of it to be gentle and peaceable, that was because he was a gentle and peaceable man with you, not because Dividi are incapable of using their abilities offensively. Hildegard, for instance, likely Petrifacted those two men. You're right that they are statues now, and maybe she did indeed see it as an artistic statement; I can't be sure. What I can tell you is that they were likely human at one point and not just incredibly detailed statues she made to divert herself. Petrifaction is not a fast or painless process, either. I lost a finger to it bringing down a Divide iconoclast once."

He saw Ajax's gaze flick down to his hands.

"I amputated it to prevent the spread and put it in my pocket. A Tower Dividim reversed the petrifaction, and then a Necrodoctor reattached it after the battle. I can tell you, though, Petrifaction is not a fast or painless process. Those two men who look like they are terrified and screaming in agony, well, they were probably terrified and screaming in agony."

"As for why I choose to take on this work," Hakon said, then paused.

He couldn't tell Ajax about the Endurnotkun, obviously, which was the most literal reason he was here, and the proximate reason the two had been reacquainted. So instead, he told Ajax his reasons.

"First of all, it's better that I do it. The Scarlet Watch tries their best, and they are quite effective, but it takes a team of men to bring in a single rogue. I can handle them with fewer resources, and it's no danger to them. So many of them have families: wives who would miss them, children who would grow up without them. No one depends on me in such a way, so if a mission of mine were to be unsuccessful, it would not be so devastating. Few would miss me."

As was customary with Hakon, this was said as a statement of fact.

"Also, I'm good at it. I've been training for this since I was a child. Of course, back then, I wanted to hunt down the man who initiated me and kill him as revenge for killing my father," Hakon said, smiling at the memory of how silly he'd been back then. "You know how it is when you're a child. You think you're going to grow up and right every wrong, bring justice to the world, or some such. I've long since accepted that won't happen, but I do think that it would be good, ah, if I could keep a kid from having to go through what I went through."

He looked away. It was embarrassing to discuss such things, but Ajax had asked.

[Andros]

Tears started to well up in Ajax’s eyes before he’d even fully processed what Hakon had said. It was an enormous thing Hakon had just told him. He wiped them away quickly. Hakon was so uncomfortable with his displays of emotion and the last thing Ajax wanted was to burden Hakon with another one.

Ajax didn’t seek out “damaged goods.” He wasn’t the sort of man who went for traumatized or generally sad boys and tried to fix or comfort them. He preferred strength and confidence, (which Hakon had in spades) and a relaxed, easy going personality (which is why he and Hakon would not be making another go of it.)

But Ajax was extremely sensitive, and hearing just a little bit of what had happened to Hakon touched him deeply. He felt real affection for the giant. He hadn’t expected this turn when he started this conversation, but it was absolutely essential that he stick the landing. Hakon was trusting him, and that trust would be repaid with sincerity and an open ear.

He didn’t respond immediately, instead leaning on a familiar trick. Putting down what remained of the burned stew, he stood up and, without looking at Hakon, pointed at the bed. “Sit. I need to clean your boots.”

When the Mage complied, Ajax got on the ground in front of him and started to unlace one boot and then the other. His shoe polish was out in a saddlebag and that would have to wait. For now he’d clean the dirt and blood and vomit off with a rag and some water.

“Now, first of all, you know you’d be badly missed if something were to happen to you. By me, and especially by Pappa. You’re like family, remember? I don’t want to hear you say anything like that to me again. It’s not true.”

Ajax patted Hakon’s leg to emphasize the point, then continued.

“You tried to tell me about your family a long time ago and I didn’t want to hear it. I’m sorry. Now I’m listening. Tell me about your father, and the man who initiated you. I’m your friend, and you can trust me.”

[Hakon]

He was glad when Ajax offered to clean his boots. In truth, they were rank even though he'd done his best to clean them up soon after the incident, wiping them on some pine boughs and immersing them in the snow that still clung to the lee side of every tree in huge drifts. He listened to what Ajax had to say attentively. It was clear that the lad meant it, or Hakon thought it was clear. Ajax was a good liar, which made this difficult, but he couldn't think of a motivation Ajax would have for lying in this way. If he wanted something from Hakon, there were easier ways to get it. So he was presumably speaking the truth.

Hakon hadn't really considered that Andros or Ajax would feel one way or the other if he were to die. Andros, he was fairly sure, would be fine. He made friends everywhere he went, and had a portion of his big family with him in Oxentide. Ajax, too, could befriend everyone in a tavern in the span of an evening. What would it matter to either of them that he was gone, when their lives were so full of people? Apparently, though, it would.

"It's kind of you to say that," he said, unsure of why his throat felt so tight when he did so.

Hakon said nothing when Ajax made his request.

"You don't want to hear about this," Hakon said. "People don't like this story."

In truth, he rarely told it. Almost everyone he knew lived in the Tower, and almost everyone in the Tower who cared to know anything about him heard it from someone else. He had heard some bizarre retellings of it that way, some so odd they seemed like they had happened to someone else entirely.

Ajax, though, didn't agree with him on that front. He didn't say anything at all, in point of fact. He just paused in the cleaning and looked up at Hakon, his eyes big and earnest.

It made Hakon feel something, though he couldn't quite put his finger on what.

"Alright, fine, since you're cleaning my boots, I suppose," Hakon said, shifting in his seat, and feeling a bit queasy at the prospect of talking about a moment of great weakness with Ajax.

"When I was very young, it was me and my Dad," Hakon began. "My mom died shortly after having me. I think I had been a difficult birth, but my dad didn't like talking about it, so I don't know. I wasn't always big, by the way; I was a scrawny, short kid, so I don't think I came out a particularly large baby or anything. That wasn't why."

For some reason, that was important to him and always had been. She had died giving birth to him, but he hadn't done it. That mattered. He hadn't meant to hurt her. His life had meant her death nonetheless.

"We were farmers, or I guess my dad was a farmer and I was a mouth that he had to feed, but I tried hard to be a farmer, too. We had a very small plot of land in Northradica, near Osthwick. We lived in a little village there, all farmers and then a carpenter and a smith and a priest. There wasn't a tavern; it wasn't big enough. That sort of place."

"Then, one day, the richest man anyone had ever seen came to the village. He had a fine horse and wore velvets and had rings on his fingers. We thought he was a Prince. He wasn't. It turned out he was a Valran for a member of the Entente who lived North of Amoren. I don't know what he was doing in a pissant village like ours. He came to our farm, though, and he talked with my father. He gave me some candied peaches -- I'd never had anything like it; it was the sweetest thing I'd ever tasted -- and he and my dad talked for a while. When he left, my dad said we might be moving."

"We did move, back to the estate of the Valran's liege. I didn't understand what was going on at the time -- I was maybe five or six years old, and was mostly excited about living in a big house with a courtyard and a fountain. I, ah, pieced it together. Later. As an adult."

"The man -- the Lord -- he loved my father. I know that. Or he was obsessed with him, perhaps. The Valran had known that this was the type of man his liege wanted, and he found him, and he brought him back for his Lordship's pleasure. I don't know what went on. I was cared for separately, by a nanny his Lordship hired, and I saw my father rarely. One day, my Father came to me, looking disheleved, and announced we were leaving. He didn't even give me a chance to pack. He scooped me up -- I am built much like him, by the way, and look not unlike him, so believe me when I saw he did so -- and then ran to the stables, where he grabbed a horse and then we rode through the night."

"I don't remember much of what happened next, but we settled near Jorikford, in a small village basically exactly like the one I'd been born in, and went back to doing the same things we had done before, except further South."

"And..." Hakon paused. He did not like this part of the story. "I resented it. I hated our new home. I cried, all the time. I refused to help him with chores. I begged him to take us back to his Lordship's house. My father was decently patient with me, though. He disciplined me, but he didn't thrash me, even though I deserved it. He let me be upset. He told me, over and over, that we were not going back until I accepted it, though it took the better part of two seasons."

"So we lived like that, for a growing season, then another. I settled in to village life, and started helping him with farming again. I stopped being a brat. I'd ask him, sometimes, about the big, beautiful house with the courtyard and the fountain, but he wouldn't tell me too much. Only that he could not provide for his Lordship what his Lordship truly wished for, and that we'd had to leave after that, because he had been there to serve the man. As an adult, I think I have more of an idea of what that might mean. As a child, it was more confusing, but he said it enough times until I accepted it."

"One night, there was a knock at the door. We did not have friends -- the new villagers were clannish and my father was a stranger, and we kept to ourselves, besides. My father bade me to hide in the wardrobe, and once I'd done so, he answered the door."

"It was the Valran. He was a Brand mage. He killed my father while I watched through the keyhole. He was not quick about it, and I did my best to stay quiet, but when he was done, he strode right over to the wardrobe, as though he'd known I was there all along. He opened it, and I thought he'd kill me, too. Instead, he initiated me. Made me like him."

Disgust crept into Hakon's voice. "I still am unsure why. If the Lord had demanded it, or if he had done so because he wanted me to suffer, or if he did it as some sort of mercy to me, I am unsure. He did not remain in the house to see if I survived the intiiation. Once he'd done his part, he departed. When I came to, I had my Mark," Hakon said, showing off the diamonds on his wrist.

"I stayed the night because it was dark, and I was scared, and the next morning. One of the villagers came to look for my father when they didn't see him in the fields, and found him dead, and me with a mark on my arm."

"They called the Watch, and the next day, they had came to me and asked me if I wanted to live in a Tower. I said yes. So that's how I came to Vesterhal, and how I came to be marked, and also what happened to my father. Quite a lot of my early history, all in my one story," he said, trying for a bit of levity, but not sticking the landing.

He hated this story. His cowardice, his recalcitrance, his idiocy, his weakness... all of it was on display. He had done his best to overcome these things and in time, he believed he had, but it still showed his true character, and it was not one he was proud of.

[Andros]

When he was on the road, a rich man once showed Ajax the most fascinating device, imported from Grisc at great cost. It was a kind of a strong box, but not a simple one with a lock and key. It operated mechanically. You’d twist a little wheel to open it, then when you wanted to lock it again you’d turn a crank and all the gears and levers and screws fit together with a satisfying, audible click.

Hakon just clicked into place. The good and the bad, the confidence and the insecurity; all the parts that seemed incongruous suddenly lined up and matched together, like the teeth of a set of gears. Of course he hated rogues. Of course he was somber and took things seriously. Of course he felt a duty to protect the vulnerable. And of course he had a temper and could be a little scary. Who wouldn't be in his shoes?

Ajax had to tread carefully. Pity would not be welcome, nor anything that could conceivably be taken as pity. That would be hard considering that Ajax was crying again, but he’d have to manage. He put the boots down half-done and stood up. With Hakon sitting on the bed they were looking eye to eye. He wiped his own eyes dry and looked directly at him.

“Thank you for sharing that, Hakon. I feel like I know you better now.”

A thought occurred to him that made him smile, which was odd as he was still teary. When they were fighting that witch, Hakon must have been thinking ‘here’s another rogue like the one who killed my dad.’ Meanwhile, Ajax was thinking ‘here’s another dividi, just like my dead dad.’ What a mess. No wonder they didn’t see eye to eye..

Ajax had a lot more to say, but he didn’t quite know how to get it out. That was strange for him, but this was a strange conversation. He wanted to say that he understood Hakon so much better, that he was sorry he’d been hard on him, that he was proud of him for making something of himself after such a hard start. None of that seemed right though.

Impulsively, Ajax leaned towards Hakon. He took the mage’s big face in two hands and kissed him gently on the top of the head.

“I don’t have anything like that in my past. That’s because of you, Hakon. You were there to save me on the worst day of my life.”

Suddenly he was embarrassed. He blushed furiously and stood back up.

“That wasn’t a come on. I’m sorry. You’re a good friend, Hakon..”

[Hakon]

It had been the right thing to say. Hakon never asked to be thanked for what he did which was just as well because it rarely happened. The people who most wanted to see rogues and iconoclasts dealt with were not at ease with Tower mages, either. In their eyes, he was one bad day away from being like the rest. Until recently, he had wholeheartedly agreed with them, and even now he thought they had a point. Mages were dangerous, plain and simple. He did not blame the unmarked for their concerns about people like him.

For that matter, he was not reassuring in any other way. His size, his reticence, his silence. It made people uncomfortable, which made him uncomfortable in turn, which made it worse. People were happy to see him when they were in danger, and then happy to see the back of him once the danger had passed.

It was fate that someone he had helped had come back into his life and was helping him.

The kiss didn't confuse him. If Ajax wanted him in a more carnal way, the lad had not been shy before and age had not made him more bashful. Hakon laughed a bit at Ajax's hasty clarification.

"Don't worry, lad. I know that whatever was between us now is not what was between us, then. If you wanted me, you'd make it clearer than this. You know me well enough to know I do not pick up on hints. Unless you strip naked and get in my lap, I'll assume any gestures you make are platonic ones, okay?"

The smile faded, but the warmth did not.

"And -- thanks. I'm glad I could help you, back then. It would have been worth it even if we'd never met again. You deserve to be safe from evil. Everyone does."