Disclaimer: It's not mine. I just love playing in their worlds.

He hadn't said a word.

Not a single word, not even a thoughtful hum or soft, barely audible growl when Wolfram fussed over him. He'd gone utterly silent.

Which was so very unusual it disturbed Conrart greatly. He tilted his head slightly as he watched his king, watched black eyes stare blankly at the bare wall of the hotel room they'd taken for the night.

Wolfram had stormed out not long ago, having given up when his fussing and yelling and pulling did nothing to gain him attention. Josak had followed him after a brief, thoughtful pause—Wolfram didn't actually require a guard, but they were in human territory so his looks or tongue could get them all into trouble in a hurry if he didn't have care. Which he wouldn't, being too angry at Yuri's inattention at the moment.

Which left him alone with their mute king.

Yuri had discarded his disguise the instant the door closed, silently informing them they wouldn't be leaving the room to sup. Conrart had already asked trays be sent up when it was time.

After a few more minutes, Conrart grimaced internally and made his decision, dropping to his knees before Yuri, his face thereby the only thing in Yuri's line of sight. After a brief moment those blank eyes sharpened, blinking once before he leaned back slightly at finding someone so close. He glanced around once, seeing the room was otherwise empty, and focused on Conrart.

They stared at each other silently, one willing the other to explain his distress or disturbance, the other hiding behind a blanked mask that settled uneasily onto his features. Finally the mask fell, with a funny little wobble before Yuri looked away.

Conrart waited patiently, knowing that the silence was its own promise.

Finally, Yuri closed his eyes briefly before turning back, his expression so confused, hurt, disheartened… Conrart's heart caught on a hook that stole his breath before he was able to steady himself.

"Doesn't it bother you?"

Conrart blinked, unable to think of anything his majesty could be referring to.

"You—and he… his… you…" Yuri bit his lip and ran a hand through his hair in frustration. "I don't know why I…" he shook his head, turning away again. "It makes sense, I suppose. You've been to war."

When nothing more seemed to be forthcoming, Conrart shifted slightly, more to remind Yuri he was there than from discomfort. "I have, yes. And many battles—of which you've seen far too many." That was one thing he truly regretted, when he considered his time spent at Yuri's side. The young king had far too often been in mortal peril, even if he didn't realize it.

"But… doesn't it bother you?" Yuri turned back, brows drawn in a frown, lower lip caught between teeth betraying his upset.

Knowing Yuri was unlikely to have followed Conrart's own ruminations, the kneeling soldier frowned. "Doesn't what bother me, your majesty?"

"You…" Sorrow and regret turned the king's eyes. "You killed him. You must have killed many, over the years, even if this was the first I'd seen. Yet…"

Yet Conrart, of course, didn't seem bothered. He wasn't—he could never be bothered by killing when the killing meant the man before him lived. To say that, however, wouldn't be wise. He inclined his head slightly. "I have killed many men, to save my own life, my country, or those I have sworn to protect. I will kill again. I can be ruthless, Yuri, you must know that."

He had said similar before, and knew Yuri was remembering. He'd been cold, cruel and unyielding—to protect his king. Today did mark a loss in Yuri's innocence. Today, Conrart had killed a man not four inches from him. Yuri had been staring, wide-eyed, as the man died at his feet.

The fact that those four inches was all the more distance between Yuri and his own death at that now thoroughly dead man's hand seemed to have escaped him briefly. "I do not regret it," Conrart asserted, hearing an instant too late the remembered rage and darkness roughening his voice, deepening it.

Yuri met his eyes again, and Conrart's breath was stolen again. "I know you had to," he said quietly. "I understand both why and that you do not regret it. You've sworn your life to me, I do understand what that means."

Conrart blinked, but otherwise didn't allow himself to betray his surprise. Yuri had grown up on him somewhere along the way, and he'd missed the distinguishing moment. "Then I do not understand."

Yuri sighed, glancing off. "Does it not bother you to kill? To bleed life from someone? Do you not wonder why he does what he does, or where he comes from, where he was going, what led him to die at your hands? Doesn't it bother you—" Yuri broke off abruptly, closing his eyes. "I'm… I just… what is real, Conrad? My Godfather whom I play catch with, or the Lion of Luttenberg? Who are you really?"

Conrart's stomach turned, surprising him. He'd been sick—privately—when he'd really understood what had been done to the women and children in that frozen, barren land in Cimaron. But though he'd seen and done a lot since then, his stomach had never churned in protest. He took a deep breath, closing his eyes.

He looked searchingly at the man he knelt before once he'd steadied himself, and knew there was nothing for it. "I am Conrart Weller. Half-breed son of a wandering soldier and a queen. Born to a world who despises half-breeds, and more so that the queen would bear one. I am a man who saw his father die of old age whilst yet a child, a man who went to war expecting death, who would have embraced it gladly as long as no others would have died for my loss. I am just a man, your majesty, who has found some salvation for wickedness past by serving you with my whole heart. I will kill any who wish you harm, will die before you or at any time if it means you will live on."

He bowed his head. "You have my heart and my life, your majesty, but I cannot answer as you wish. I am a killer; the same hands that held your soul and helped your mother when she was in labor, that have caught and saved you have also ended many lives, and many dreams. I am the Lion of Luttenberg, just as I am the one who inspired your mother with your name."

The shifting of cloth caught his ear an instant before Yuri was on the ground before him, knees splayed awkwardly as the chair backed up only a few inches before the table stopped it, leaving him almost in Conrart's lap. Fingers toyed with a piece of his hair before spreading to card through it entirely, curling at his nape after a few passes. Yuri's other hand lifted, palm large and broad as it cupped Conrart's cheek, fingers curling under his jaw, lifting his head to see enigmatic black eyes.

He had never been so studied—not since his father tried to catch him out on a lie both knew he was telling. He already felt raw from his own words, the memories and agonies of a life born where it wasn't wanted, for all his parents had loved him.

"You are much, and very strong," Yuri said, a note in his voice Conrart didn't know, didn't understand, which worried him more than Yuri's silence had. "But you still have not answered at all. Does it bother you? Watching the life of a stranger leave their eyes? Seeing rage and bloodlust drained into death?"

Conrart shuddered, remembering that very sight from when he was very young, when bandits attacked him and his father on the road. He'd been frozen, much as Yuri had been today, and had seen the man die with his father's sword in his chest. He'd been shaking for hours afterwards. "One thing all who survive such times as have I learn… you don't look at their eyes. Doing so would kill you." In a way, he was thankful most battles were too hectic to stop for death, one opponent at a time. You kept going or you were killed yourself. It was just how it was. Those who did stop, who watched death come… were either pushed to the edge of sanity or lost their control, losing themselves to emotions and so to death.

"Conrad."

He closed his eyes at the warning, the demand. "Yes. It bothers me. But it would render me impotent and powerless if I stopped to think about it. I must raise my sword in defense of those I would protect. If it results in death… I cannot change that. I may not like it, or enjoy it, but that is simply how it is." He swallowed tightly, facing again things he'd ignored, forcibly forgotten since he'd first understood what using a sword meant. He was good with a sword. He could never stand by if his sword could save someone. So it was his destiny, in a way, to kill.

He closed his eyes and tasted something bitter as a small portion of his brain determined to forget that as quickly as it possibly could, to lock it up in a small, forbidden box in the back of his mind, the key left to rust into nothingness somewhere else.

His eyes snapped open when Yuri shifted closer, arms sliding around his shoulders. His hands clenched into fists, unsure if he should embrace the man or not. "Your majesty?"

Black brushed his cheek as Yuri shook his head on a soft chuckle. "Yuri, Conrad. My name is Yuri." He dropped his head to Conrart's shoulder, arms shifting down to hold him more tightly.

Slowly Conrart embraced him back, wrapping his deadly arms around the one he wanted most to protect, to hide his darkness from. A soft squeeze and his restraint was lost—he pulled Yuri in closer, hauling him up into his lap, an arm holding him in place while the other burrowed up to tangle in longish hair. He hid his face in his King's neck and shuddered, feeling so very oddly surrounded and embraced by those slender, still boyish arms, no mind that Conrart could yet lift him with one arm beneath him. He heard Yuri's heart and breath, loud and strong beneath his ear, and felt something inside of him that had broken so very long ago begin to mend. "Yuri," he whispered, closing his eyes as the one who held his life and willing heart strengthened his embrace.