2.

By the time Rachel returned Dean was rested and washed and looking much more the heir to the largest territory south of the mountains. He and his father walked with Rachel and another blonde woman that he assumed he had seen in wolf-form earlier.

Dean could sense his father's tension and their position was once again driven home. This was it. Without the wolves their lands would be overrun, their people killed, their children enslaved. They could not fail here.

They were led to another large tent, outwardly no different from the other tents in the settlement except for the two massive wolves standing guard on either side of the entry. Rachel stopped and held the canvas flap open for them.

"Where do you want us to leave our swords?" Dean asked. Usually at this point when dining with nobility they would have been approached by some servant or other and respectfully relieved of any weaponry with flowing assurances of their safe return.

Rachel's smile was genuine and laced with humour. "The Second will also be dining with you. Your swords are of no consequence."

Dean and his father exchanged glances. Bobby had told them little about Michael's second-in-command, his champion, as the wolf had been away from the pack defending their border from raiders. Whenever he had heard the Second spoken of however it was with great respect and affection, and the children would re-enact his exploits in their games. He was a living legend amongst the wolves and the thought of dining with him did nothing to settle Dean's unease.

Rachel gestured for them to enter and Dean followed his father into the tent. It was decorated as the others with furs but with the addition of a large wooden table, simply carved and solid. Similarly hewn benches surrounded it and it was set with wooden flatware laden with meats and fruits.

Standing on the other side of the tent were two men, both tall and the first fully dressed people they had seen here. They were wearing fine but simple shirts, trousers, boots and belts but the contrast with what they had seen so far was striking. They ended their conversation as the Winchesters entered and moved towards the table.

"Lord John, welcome. I am Michael, First and Lord of these mountains. I trust your journey was none too arduous? The season is unpredictable this year."

Michael's manner was friendly but Dean was unnerved by the contrast between his warm smile and his blank eyes. He was a handsome man dressed in dark red, youthful and well-built but Dean was instantly on guard. Michael was a powerful man, inordinately powerful, and was well aware of it.

"We travelled well Lord Michael. Allow me to introduce my son and chosen heir, Sir Dean."

Dean took his cue and bowed efficiently to the werewolf. "My Lord."

It seemed that that was all he was trusted to do as his father quickly spoke again. "My son commands my armies my Lord. He is a formidable warrior and one of my most trusted advisors."

The latter was news to Dean but he understood what his father was doing, even as every nerve cringed from the artifice. Michael blessedly understood also and nodded in acknowledgement. "He is a strapping lad, you must be proud."

John nodded. Dean had expected less. Michael waved the other man forward. He was dressed in a deep blue, almost black and was scowling but Dean got the impression it was merely an unfortunate resting face. His hair was black and wild, his posture rigid and he seemed as uncomfortable as Dean in this formal setting.

"This is my Second, Castiel." The werewolf lifted his head to fix Dean with the most stunning blue eyes he'd ever seen.

"An honour Lord John. Sir Dean." His voice was deep and rough, his bow as stiff as Rachel's had been, evidently not a custom among the wolves. Dean tried hard not to shiver at the sound of that voice.

John acknowledged the Second with a nod but was interrupted from speaking by Michael.

"Would you care to sit? I shall send for wine." He appeared to do no such thing but moments later two naked servants entered the tent with four clay jugs apiece which were set on the table. By the time they were seated the servants had vanished.

Michael reached over and grabbed a hunk of what Dean guessed was venison and dropped it onto his plate. John did the same and only then did Castiel move to load his own plate. The meat was just the wrong side of rare for Dean but he would not disappoint his father by refusing the wolves' food. He took the smallest portion he thought he could get away with and loaded the rest of his plate with apples and berries.

He sensed he was being watched and looked up to find Castiel frowning at Dean's plate. He hurriedly took the meat and tore off a bite with his teeth, concentrating hard on not concentrating on the feel of juices dripping down the back of his throat.

Castiel frowned again, then reached for an apple. He maintained eye contact with Dean as he bit into it, subtly pushing his own plate away and focusing on the fruit. Dean gave the Second a small grateful smile and copied the gesture, sitting back in his chair and munching happily on a sweet apple. Castiel's scowl let up a little and Dean smiled again. The werewolf was handsome, maybe not as classically as Michael or himself, but most definitely handsome.

Oblivious, his father was discussing with Michael the reason for their journey. Michael appeared well-informed, most likely Bobby's doing, but allowed John to talk while he continued to eat.

"The demons first made themselves known in the deep south. They took small villages and settlements along the border of a coastal territory belonging to an ally of mine, Lord Rufus. We were preparing to send aid to mount an offensive but before we were able they had taken the country and possessed Rufus and his council. My armies and those of Sir Gordon and Lady Ellen fought against the infestation for ten long months last year, but just before winter came they both fell and we retreated back to our lands. The snows saved us. The snows and the old magic buried in our borders. It prevented the demons from sending their smoke-soldiers to infect us."

"And now the thaws are coming and you are preparing for the onslaught that must follow." Michael finished.

"You know why we are here my Lord. We respectfully request your assistance in holding our land against the demons and the armies they control. Without your aid I fear we will be lost."

Dean watched Michael carefully. He seemed unmoved and more concerned with his dinner than their situation. Something about the werewolf's disinterest in his proud father's plea stirred a hot rage in Dean's gut. Knowing he should hold his tongue he couldn't help himself. "If we fall the next door the demons come knocking at will be yours. Maybe you can hold them off, maybe you can't. Maybe you can fight them back but with all the armies of the south united against you it won't be for long."

"Dean ..." His father growled a warning.

"They'll swarm over these mountains like a plague," Dean couldn't stop, not even in the face of John's anger. "They'll kill every beast you hunt. They'll poison your water. If they can't carve you out they'll starve you out. When the thaw comes they will come for us and if you stand with us we stand a chance. You stand a chance. Join us and together we will drive them back to the sea ." Dean paused for emphasis. "Or watch us fall. And prepare for the day the demons send us for you."

"Enough Dean," John snapped. He knew he'd overstepped. But to his horror Michael began to laugh.

"You and my Second would get along well young Winchester. He expressed almost the exact same concerns not two days ago."

John glared at Dean but addressed Michael. "My son speaks from the heart, and it does not always consult the brain first, but it is the truth. Perhaps a little too bluntly phrased but truth nonetheless. Let us fight side by side and against the demon hordes that threaten us."

Michael and Castiel shared a long look and Dean got the impression that there was some kind of communication occurring. Castiel broke eye contact first. They both stood and Michael held out a hand to John. His father jumped to his feet and the two Lords gripped each other's forearm. Dean held his breath.

"Although his argument was not quite as impassioned as your son's, it was adequate enough to convince me that an alliance would prove most beneficial. You shall have my support Lord John against the demons which threaten us both."

"Thank you my Lord. You have my ..."

John's response was cut short by the appearance of a small wolf at the tent flaps who gave a quiet whine.

"Unfortunately I am called away on other business. Please stay and finish your meal. We shall meet again in the morning to discuss terms. It was a pleasure Lord John."

.

Dean lay in his assigned tent, comfy and warm on his bearskins but too agitated to sleep. He was still seething over the dismissive way Michael had behaved towards them at dinner, even though he had agreed to give them what they had come for. Michael had left with the small wolf, Naomi, barking for Castiel to accompany him. The blue-eyed Second had seemed almost angry at the First's conduct but left the Winchesters to their bloody meal.

John had barely spoken since, something Dean found he was grateful for. A surly "be ready in the morning and don't disappoint me" preceded John's retirement. He knew he would have been welcome in the Hunters' tent but felt a pressing need to be alone tonight. He was still kicking himself for speaking so out of turn at dinner, regardless of the outcome. He could have blown it completely and both he and his father knew it.

He'd snagged a jar of wine from the table as they'd left Michael's tent and was almost halfway through it before he recalled he'd better not turn up hung-over the next morning. The wolves' wine was very unlike the fruity, watery stuff they had at home. In fact it was more akin to the potato moonshine Ash would brew up behind the boatsheds on the river. It was strong and potent and Dean marvelled that they had been presented with so much of it at dinner.

Thinking about dinner led to bristling over their treatment again. They had been welcomed warmly, and ostensibly been treated with respect as befitting his father's status. But they had been greeted and escorted by apparently minor ranks; even Rachel was merely a lieutenant. In his own country John would have sent one of his sons or Bobby to meet a dignitary of note and they would have been offered the choice of whether to freshen up or of an immediate audience.

He took several deep breaths, attempting to calm himself as Sam would no doubt be telling him to do were he here. And that was the other thing. Dean was heir, the eldest, he was never meant to be traded for an alliance. Sam should be here, not just with them but in Dean's place. Not that he begrudged his little brother his happiness, not even at the expense of his own, but ...

Dean forced several more deep breaths. Maybe he would finish this potato wine before the night was out. As he took another shallow swig he became aware of a figure outside his tent, hovering, as though unsure how to best announce itself.

"Door's open," Dean called, then cursed his familiarity. He was here as chosen heir, not one of the boys.

The figure ducked through the entrance. "Here. I brought you food."

Dean gawked as the Second thrust a plate towards him. When he didn't immediately take it the Second tried again. "You didn't eat." And again. "Are you not hungry?"

Dean realised something was expected of him. He stared at the wooden plate which appeared to be piled with cooked, almost burnt steaks, and apples. He looked back at Castiel, who was now watching him with a deeper scowl than he remembered.

"When I asked the cooks they told me Sir Robert preferred his meat dry. I assumed you did not eat at dinner for this reason."

Dean's slightly south of sober brain belatedly caught up. "Thanks. I mean, you have my gratitude." He reached forward and took the proffered food. "I'm frigging starving."

Castiel's expression lightened a little and Dean wondered what it would take to cause the man to smile.

"Would you be averse to company?"

It took Dean a moment to work out that he should invite the werewolf to sit. He waved Castiel in. "Not at all man, take a seat."

For lack of another option, Castiel sat cross-legged on the furs opposite Dean's seat on the bed. He produced two more jars of wine and placed them on the floor between them.

"I apologise for my Lord's leaving so early. He has many demands on his time." The apology sounded well worn, as did the messenger.

Dean swallowed a large bite of the overdone but still delicious venison. "As long as he sends us home with an army he can leave whenever he likes."

Castiel nodded. He at least seemed to appreciate Dean's frankness. "He will not go back on his word."

He took a long draught of wine which made Dean's eyes water in sympathy. Castiel showed no sign of discomfort though, and Dean concluded that werewolves must have iron livers.

"I did not have the opportunity to meet Sir Robert, though I gather he was well liked."

"Yeah, "Dean agreed between mouthfuls, "Bobby can turn on the charm when he wants to."

"Bobby?" Castiel's head cocked to the side in confusion and no that was not adorable.

"Yeah, it's a nickname. A shortened version of his name." Castiel still looked confused. "It's affectionate."

"Robert does not shorten to Bobby."

"It does where I come from." Dean sipped his own wine so as not to appear a lightweight. "Don't you have nicknames here?"

"No. We address each other by rank or title mostly. And we don't shorten our names."

Dean chewed thoughtfully. "You were off fighting raiders right, over the mountains? Is that a common threat?"

Castiel sighed. "Common yes but not usually enough of a threat to warrant my personal attention." He coughed and looked guilty. "Not that I am questioning the First's judgement. No doubt my presence has caused them to re-evaluate the wisdom of their attacks and afforded us some short peace."

Dean may have been coarse but he wasn't stupid. He was willing to bet Castiel spent more time away from the pack than with it. Castiel was a threat to Michael. His reputation alone would have served to undermine him but if Bobby was right and the wolf was as beloved as he had suspected, then he was downright dangerous. No wonder Michael was happy to send warriors back with them. Those warriors would doubtless be commanded by the legendary Second. Commanded into battle against huge odds.

Castiel was ready to be sent to war to protect his people but Michael was sending him to protect his own vaulted position.

Another stoke of the fire in his belly.

"You are an odd choice," Castiel broke into his angry musings.

"I was the only choice," Dean replied honestly, although he was disappointed that the werewolf seemed not to deem him worthy. "My father only had three sons. One of them is married already and the other is a bastard and so ineligible by your standards." Dean watched as Castiel drained the first jar of wine. "I don't suppose you know who Michael has chosen?"

The werewolf shook his head. "There are any number of sons and daughters who may be considered. One of my Captains, Anna, is Michael's youngest sister, and even my half-brother is related through his father's line. Anyone who shares blood with the First is eligible. I am not privy to Michael's thoughts on the matter however. Are you required to procreate in order to continue your line? It would narrow the options."

Seems like he wasn't the only one who could lack tact. "No, it's not required. In most of the southern countries the chosen heir is the most suitable person. It's usually a son but only because we're raised to be the most suitable. Otherwise someone outside the family is chosen and given the Winchester name." Dean sighed into his last steak. "I'll find out tomorrow I guess. Although who cares right? As long as we get the army we came for."

"You are melancholy. Are these arrangements not customary where you come from?"

"I suppose so. Just never thought I'd be at this end of one you know?"

Castiel nodded carefully but it was clear that he did not know.

"The weaker end. I always thought I'd have some choice. But Sammy got married to the love of his life and Adam had the audacity to not be born to my mother, so here I am. Sir Fatted-Calf. And my own Lord doesn't even get a say! Just offers me up to yours."

"You are subject to the wishes of your Lord, as I am to mine. You should take honour in the value of your marriage and the strength it will bring to your country." Castiel had started on the second jar of wine without Dean noticing.

"What about you? Does Michael get to decide your future too?"

"Of course. The First must approve all marriages. But despite my rank I am not of Michael's blood and so am not fit to be chosen for any political purpose. I will find my own mate from within the pack."

Dean finished his meal and smacked his lips. "Shouldn't be too difficult for you. Bobby said everyone here loves you."

Castiel fidgeted. Nervous didn't suit him. "The pack's loyalty is to the First, as is mine. I am afforded the respect due to my position as Second and nothing more."

So Castiel was aware of how much of a threat he posed to Michael.

"I will marry where Michael wills it."

"Well Cas, that makes two of us." Dean didn't realise the slip until he noticed the werewolf's eyes narrow at him.

"My name is Castiel." Dean winced. Great. He'd most likely offended the high-ranking wolf by diminishing his name.

"My apologies." Dean sensed a shift of atmosphere and a return of formality.

"Unnecessary," Castiel said as he rose gracefully to his feet.

"Look I didn't mean to ..."

"Michael's council will be in attendance tomorrow. Ignore them. Any decisions made will be Michael's alone."

"Hey, thanks for the ..." Dean faltered as Castiel exited the tent without looking back. "...food."

Dean swiped a hand over his face and cursed over-sensitive werewolves and his own tactlessness. If his intuition was right he was going to be fighting alongside this guy and he got the feeling he'd made a less than favourable first impression.

He lifted his jar to his lips and in his distraction took too big a gulp. He coughed and choked and threw the clay jar in a childish temper; it hit the stiff canvas wall ineffectively and slid down to land gently on the fur-covered floor. As Dean watched the clear liquor spill quietly his anger drained out of him and he was left exhausted. Despite his nap earlier Dean lay down to sleep, resigned to accept whatever veiled insults would be levelled at them in the morning, so long as with them came with the means to defend themselves.