Hermos drained his cup and signaled for the barkeep to refill it yet again. His face was sour as he glared into the dark amber liquid that would only add to his intoxication. He gulped it down, welcoming the way it numbed him physically and mentally, the way it would help remove that horrid image from his mind. He'd seen something he wasn't supposed to, and he wished that he could erase that moment from his memory forever. No such thing was possible, however. Not even the greatest wizard could remove just a few moments, just an isolated incident from his recollection.

"Why didn't they just tell me?" he muttered bitterly, glaring at the fist he'd formed on the bar. "How long were they hiding this from me?" He was clenching his hand so tightly that his knuckles turned white. "How much of it was a lie?" he growled, his melancholic mood making his limbs and head heavy. He sighed, his forehead falling forward to rest against the smooth pine wood surface of the counter. His eyes were closed as he answered the innkeeper's query about his state, saying that he was alright.

He'd reached his limit for the night, and sunrise wasn't too far away. It was time for him to get what sleep he could. He reached into his coin purse and paid his tab, leaving a generous tip, since the bartender had put up with his ranting and grumbling all night long. He may be hopelessly drunk, but he still had a sense of decency.

He refastened his heavy wool cloak around himself as he ventured into the dark autumn night, crispy oak leaves crunchy underfoot before being swirled away by a brisk breeze.

The inn had been full, forcing the legendary knights to camp in the woods that night, but Hermos had still gone back into town for a drink. He'd initially intended to engage in some kind of merriment while indulging in a stein or two of hard cider, but his plans had changed when he realized he'd left his coin purse at camp and gone back to retrieve it.

He glared into the shadows, one hand on the hilt at his belt as he stumbled back to camp, pondering that which had driven him to a state of abject inebriation: his comrades, his best friends, stripped naked and fucking like dogs in heat.

Despite his efforts to remain alert, Hermos was too sodden with drink to be capable of defending himself against the thief who rushed at him from behind a thick sycamore tree. He made an effort to resist his assailant, but before he could use the knife he'd drawn, he suffered four blows and was knocked to the ground, where he lay stunned while the thief made off with his money, fleeing with a crunch of leaves and a flash of white hair.

He took a small comfort in the fact that he'd tipped the barkeep so generously, because the thief received that much less money from his stolen purse.

As he hauled himself to his hands and knees, he remembered Timaeus' desperate whines as he rode his partner on the riverbank, begging wordlessly for satisfaction as Critias claimed the green-eyed knight with his seed.

The honey-eyed knight vomited weakly into the underbrush as he remembered the flush of completion that colored Timaeus' pale complexion, the tenderness with which Critias had caressed the shorter knight as he started to wash away the evidence of their actions.

Hermos forced himself to stand, feeling wretched and ill as he tottered the rest of the way back to their camp, heedless of his injuries. He collapsed inside his own tent, taking a sip from his water-filled flask before he kicked off his boots and sank into sleep.


The next morning was miserable. Hermos threw up again shortly after waking, only to receive a cutting jab from Critias about his drinking habits. Usually, Hermos would have taken it to be the snarky jest that it was, but on this cold morning, it just felt like an insult. His mind filled with fog, he was slow to pack his things, giving the other two, no doubt, plenty of time to pack and load their own horses while sharing warm glances and letting their hands brush together any chance they got. Hermos wouldn't know, though. He'd had his back to them the whole time, unable to look at the friends he'd once trusted.

The auburn-haired knight was still fumbling with the ties as he strapped his pack to his horse when Critias' patience had run out.

"I told you not to drink too much last night," he snapped, frustrated with the younger knight and his stubborn, rebellious ways. "Why can't you ever just do as you're told?"

"Oh, would you rather I stayed in camp last night?" Hermos turned on Critias with more anger than was justified even in these circumstances. "You seemed eager enough to get rid of me, just like you always do." He faced his saddle again, finishing with his pack as best he could so that he could just get out of here.

"Stop spouting nonsense and hurry up so that we can get going. You've wasted enough of our time already." Critias turned on his heel and started to walk over to his horse, but was stopped when something hard hit the back of his head. He turned around slowly, eyes narrowing to dangerous, dark slits.

"A waste of time? Is that what I am now?" Hermos demanded, another rock in his other hand as he squared off with Critias, ready to take out his anger in a fight, despite his sore bruises from his encounter with the thief. "Here I thought that I was the third wheel," he sassed back, actively trying to provoke the other night into a rage while Timaeus looked on with concern. He needed to stop this before it escalated.

"Hermos," he interjected calmly, stepping between his friends with his hands held up, as if that gesture could cool their tempers all on its own. "I don't know what you're talking about, but I'm sure that—"

"Don't you?" Hermos challenged, turning to face Timaeus now. Pain had crept into his expression, shining through the rage so that Timaeus could see it in his eyes. "How long have you two been lying to me?"

"You're still drunk," Critias scoffed with overt disdain, making Hermos lash out again. He lunged towards Critias, but Timaeus held him back.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you!" he shouted savagely. "You'd just like to believe that I never saw you two together last night, wouldn't you?!"

Critias stiffened. Timaeus gasped. Hermos wrenched himself free from his friend's hold and stepped away from both of them, a look of disgust on his face.

"Were you ever going to tell me the truth? Or were you just going to keep lying to me forever?"

"Stop overreacting." Critias' haughtiness grated on Hermos' nerves, making him clench his jaw. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"I'll stop overreacting when you stop pretending I'm a child!" Hermos turned around and mounted his horse. "I know what I saw. You could have told me that you two were a couple." Timaeus flushed and dropped his gaze, flooded with shame as he realized what, specifically, Hermos had seen. Critias turned and mounted as Hermos spoke, Timaeus following suit after a few moments. "I would have kept your secret if you'd told me. Do you think I'm not trustworthy, is that it?"

"It's not that we don't trust you, Hermos," Timaeus tried to explain, but the youngest legendary knight wouldn't listen.

"Really?! Because that's what it sure as hell feels like!"

"Could you just calm down, Hermos?" Critias growled. "And lower your voice, while you're at it, or you'll have the whole town coming out here to see what you're yelling about!"

"I will not calm down! How long have you been lying to me?" he demanded, looking from one knight to the other. They remained silent, neither seeming very willing to answer, which angered Hermos even more. He couldn't deal with this. "I thought we were friends."

"We are!"

"Friends trust each other, and we clearly don't." Hermos was starting to choke on the words. He felt deeply betrayed. He'd trusted these men with his life countless times. They'd trained together, fought together, bled together, cried together. So why did he suddenly feel like he didn't know them at all? "I think it'd be best if we parted ways here."

"What?" Critias couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"You can't just leave," Timaeus insisted, his voice stern. "It's dangerous out there and—"

"And I'm nothing if not incompetent, right?" Hermos let out a bitter laugh. "I'm not a complete idiot, even if Critias thinks so." He shot the blonde night a glare.

"I never said that—"

"Can it, Critias! You've always thought it, whether you said it or not!"

Critias opened his mouth to protest—he was only harsh with Hermos on occasion because he was trying to push him to be his best, because he believed he was capable of being more than he was—but Hermos would have none of it.

"I can take care of myself, thank you." Hermos' honey eyes darted up to Timaeus, the one he would have expected to be honest with him. He nearly spat his next words: "Just try not to stab me in the back again while I leave."

He jerked his horse's head around and kicked it into a sudden run. Critias made to follow him, but Timaeus—who wanted nothing more than to follow Hermos and take his honorary brother into his arms—stopped Critias by grabbing his horse's reins.

"He needs time to cool off," Timaeus said quietly, watching him leave. "But he'll be back. I know he will. He'll be back."