The ground was slick, cavern vast, ceiling lost in the darkness above him. Every sound echoed, bouncing among the rocky teeth, water dripping off the ends. No light but the green glow of the walls – Philip was lost, tired, and the ice was crawling up his legs, freezing cold through his pants, and encasing his bare chest. He struggled, brushing at it, trying to move his foot or break it with his hand, but it kept growing.
"I need you," Loki said, nothing but a shadowy figure beyond Philip's sight.
"No."
Long fingers, pale hand stretched out, Philip bent back, away from the touch. The townspeople split around them, moving towards the square, as if they weren't there at all. Tendrils of chill spun from the contact, covering Philip's chest in patterns that became letters then joined into words.
"Your magic is strong." Loki was close now, his eyes as cold as his spell.
"No."
He was drowning in ice, Clint's handprint on his jaw the only heat he felt. Loki reached for him, his breath forming crystals that clung to Philip's cheek as they danced to the fiddle that played behind them.
"We'd be good together, I promise," Loki whispered in his ear.
"No!"
Searing bands circled his body, one around his waist, the other curving around his shoulders. So hot that steam rose, obscuring Philip's vision. Loki waivered and became insubstantial then solidified again. The walls of the cave reflected the torch's flames, glinting off the curve of metal that was there and then gone.
"He can't have you," Clint said, tightening his hold. Philip leaned into the heat that was driving back Loki's magic.
"Clint." Philip felt the power bubble up inside of him along with the welcome desire that always accompanied Clint's touch. His back arched and his hands found Clint's skin, the smooth ridge of hip bone to cling to.
"Soon." Loki's last words as he faded, leaving just Clint and the insistent tug of his fingers as he unlaced Philip's pants and stripped them off. The dream changed with each stroke of Clint's hands - the hold of a ship, captain's quarters, the library at the university, the Abbey ruins, and back to the familiar cavern – and Philip groaned as Clint filled him, easing inside from behind. Clint's hands splayed against Philip's skin, one on his chest the other on his hip, radiating power into Philip as Clint slowly rocked in and out.
"I've got you. I'll protect you," Clint whispered into his ear as Philip came fully awake. They were sweating in the heat of the fire, skin rubbing against skin, and Philip moaned, the sound loud in the pre-dawn quiet. Clint's fingers tightened around the curve of Philip's ass, thumb digging just below the bone, and snapped his hips, driving into Philip hard and fast. A jolt of pure pleasure flashed up Philip's spine; taking Clint's other hand, Philip wrapped both their fingers around his aroused cock, stroking in time to Clint's thrusts.
"The star to my wandering ship." Philip had no idea where the words came from; they rose up with the magic and magnified the scorching heat of Clint's hand imprinting his mark. Coming with a cry, Philip's vision went white as he floated on the energy high. When he came down, he was lying on his back; Clint sprawled beside him, breathing harshly. Clint's fingers left an echo on Philip's skin that tingled.
"I dreamt that Loki took me; he wanted you. It was a different dream than the others, full of ice and cold, and I couldn't save you." Clint's eyes were closed as he spoke, his fingers curling into frustrated fists.
"What other dreams?" Philip pushed up onto his elbow and turned to look at Clint. "I've been having dreams since I left Tarian Castle. Loki's been in them."
"Caves and green walls and glowing blue eyes. I can see you, but can't get to you." Taking the hand Philip offered, Clint clung to him.
"You marked me," Philip said. He rested a hand on Clint's chest. A second mark; Philip could not remember reading about two claimings. They were in completely unfamiliar territory.
"Didn't really think about it, I just know in my gut that Loki's going to try something." Clint's other hand wrapped around Philip's neck and tugged his head down for a slow, leisurely kiss. "One mark is good then two must be better."
"Agreed." Philip deepened the kiss, licking the seam of Clint's lips until he parted them to let Philip in. As their tongues tangled, Philip let the energy go, imagining it spreading across Clint's body, an invisible armor that sank into his skin. "Your worth unknown," he whispered into Clint's mouth.
"Phil," Clint's fingers spasmed along yesterday's mark and Philip shifted over on top of Clint. The power exploded outward, their bodies at the center of a widening circle that rattled the heavy bed, pushed books off the shelf then blew through the room and down the hall, rumbling out of the manor. Philip was lost in the taste of Clint, the way Clint's chest rose and fell under his fingers, the power not draining, but recasting itself into something new, unique to them both. Flames blazed on the stone hearth and Philip felt the warmth of Clint's body all the way to his toes, mark calling to mark, making some sort of harmony, quiet and faint music that escaped when he tried to focus on it.
A knock sounded on the door, and Clint broke away from the kiss. "We're fine," he called out. Whoever was there went away without a word. "I think we just announced ourselves to everyone."
"Loki already knew after last night's attempt to work magic on you. And most people are still abed, so they might think it just a tremor." That's what Philip hoped anyway. The plan had been to keep their magic a secret; needless to say, they'd failed at that.
"Are you suggesting the earth moved when I kissed you? I'm flattered." Clint laughed softly, twirling a lock of Philip's hair between his forefinger and thumb. Gone was the unsure man from yesterday, the one worried about trusting Philip. This was the Clint Philip had come to know so well, the ready smile that charmed him. Another kiss, longer, easier, an exploration.
"I have so much to do this morning," Philip sighed and laid his head on Clint's chest. "But I'd rather stay here."
"We'll just send our apologies to the Prince, say that we've business in the manor and that Carol, no, better yet, Natasha will be happy to show him around the Faire." Clint set about thoroughly convincing Philip with kisses as potent as any drug, making his legs weak and his resolve falter. What harm would it to do to stay locked in Clint's arms for a few moments longer? Philip knew that once he left the warmth of this chamber, the intimacy would be tested by Loki and all the demands of the day.
As if on cue, another knock. "Water, my Lords," the new chambermaid called through the door.
"Come," he said. When Philip went to roll off of Clint's chest, Clint stopped him, covering them with the quilt, but keeping his arms loose around Philip's waist. Philip ducked his head in embarrassment as the young woman entered, bustled about for a few moments then left the room.
"Annemarie asked me to tell you she's got the boys up and working already on setting up tables. Thane Danvers is at the practice field going over the lists for today's competition. The Lady from Asgard is with her." The maid gathered up their laundry to take with her.
"Thank you for stoking the fire earlier. Nice to wake up to a cozy room." Clint seemed comfortable chatting with the girl; Philip couldn't ignore the way Clint's thigh was gliding up and down his own.
"Oh, no, Milord. That wasn't me. Maybe Annemarie." With a quick curtsey, the maid left.
"Subtlety is not Annemarie's way," Clint grumbled. "But I should go down and check on the preparations."
"Breakfast first. Today will be long and Loki will be working his wiles." The simple statements had done their job; both men accepted that they had to get moving. Washing up and dressing, they swung by the kitchen for a bowl of warm cinnamon oatmeal with golden raisins and honey, heading to the hall with a cup of coffee. The faint first rays of the autumn sun were filtering through the high windows when Philip saw Clerk Banner seated alone, eating his breakfast. He hesitated, glanced at Clint who nodded and went to sit next to Bruce. The clerk looked up, dark circles under his eyes and a pale wildness about his face.
"Well, that wasn't noticeable. Just shook the tables," he half-mumbled.
"Did you get any sleep last night?" Clint asked. Bruce shrugged and took up another spoonful of the warm cereal.
"I'm headed to bed now. It took most of the night to … calm myself." Bruce didn't seem to know how to explain his situation or whether he even wanted to try. Cocking his head, he looked both of them over carefully, curiosity chasing some of the exhaustion away. "What's happened?"
"Have you ever heard of a claiming? And marking someone twice?" Philip asked, his voice pitched low so no one else could overhear.
"Claiming, yes. That story, remember, the one about Lord Roger's Thanes, just before the Battle of Howls. Rogers claimed each one and gave them his protection. There was a ritual …." Bruce's eyes widened. "Yesterday at the practice field and during dinner? You marked each other?"
"And then again this morning." Clint added that part. "Loki made a feint at me last night with magic. Very cold, icy magic."
"Interesting." Bruce's eyes closed for a moment then they flew open again. "Not that he tried to, no, I mean, the cold, another kind of magic, so many at once, when there were none."
Philip looked at Clint and they silently agreed. "Bruce, you need rest. You're not making any sense. We can talk about this later."
"Yes, I mean, no. I've never heard of two claims by the same person, or different people, or just two at all." He was blinking at the raisin sliding off his spoon. "The Red Sorcerer used to coerce people with the spell, turn them into walking bodies without their souls, just automatons that followed orders."
"I heard those tales growing up around here. Red eyes and pale skin; my brother liked to tell them to scare me, how the Sorcerer would come get me and make me his slave." Clint nudged Philip's knee under the table and rolled his eyes towards Bruce whose spoon was almost all the way down into his bowl, slipping out of his fingers...
"All right," Philip stood up and stepped around beside Bruce. "Let's get you to bed."
"I can make it myself," Bruce complained, but he let Philip help him up as he swayed. "You both have duties; I've imposed enough upon your hospitality and gotten in the way too much."
"If you're thinking of sneaking away," Clint said, taking hold of Bruce's other arm. "I'd advise against it. You've got some explaining to do first, and we need a researcher. Philip doesn't have as much time for his books now that he's running the Hold with me."
"Not running. Not yet. Maybe later. Need to find out what's going on." Bruce's words were slurring together as Annemarie saw them coming through the doorway; she bustled ahead and helped get Bruce's bed turned down. Aiming him towards the bed, they dropped him on the edge so he simply had to fall onto his back. His eyes were closing before they got his boots off and they left him snoring lightly as they shut the door.
"I'll see everyone leaves him alone, the poor dear," Annemarie said. "Out wandering around all night in that condition."
"Condition?" Philip couldn't help but ask, wondering what the woman knew or had figured out.
"I saw him dart into the trees when I went out to check that the tables had been cleared. Big and green … it's been a long time since there's been a berserker in these parts. My grandfather used to talk about a mighty warrior from the mountain tribes who could change like that. Imagine the quiet clerk one of them? Hard to fathom." Annemarie glanced at the closed door. "Of course, Grandda used to tell a farfetched yarn about magic gone awry, but no one believed those." She patted Clint on the arm. "Anyway, Edda said that you thanked her for the fire? Wasn't one of us. I thought it was you; the temperature did get colder than expected last night. First thing a hedge wizard learns is to stoke a fire."
Philip's stomach dropped as he watched her go, her easy acceptance of magic both soothing and upsetting. He'd been so cold in his dream; could he have fanned the flames in his sleep?
"Handy trick if you did," Clint answered the unspoken question. "Not having to get out of bed on cold mornings could be handy. Actually, I think I remember a conversation about not getting out of bed at all."
"I wish staying in bed was an option."
So far, Philip's day had gone very well. The Prince of Asgard liked to sleep, preferring to emerge later in the afternoon rather than early in the morning, so Philip enjoyed busy, but peaceful hours filled with expected emergencies like confusion over stall assignments, a roving band of young boys intent on stealing their breakfast and lunch from the vendors – thank the gods Theodore, William and Nathan were on their best behavior, dressed in their Barton livery as they spent their handful of coins around the marketplace – some complaints about pickpockets, and a few last minute arrangements for the evening's entertainment. He could hear the cheers from the tournament rising and falling as he helped Annemarie fill the carts with pasties to take down to the field. The only black mark on his day was Sam's absence; the tinker had been adamant that he was going to be back before today, last night at the latest. Saturday was a prime selling day and Luke had their wares out in the front yard of his shop, but Sam was missing. The big blacksmith was trying to appear unaffected by his cousin's missed deadline but Philip was worried enough for the both of them. Sam was never late. He made his living off of being exactly where he said he would be.
Shifting the basket in his hand, Philip glanced up at the sun's position, estimating the time at just after noon, maybe one o'clock or so as he rounded the end of the Guard House and headed towards the Lord's box, a rather hastily arranged wooden structure with a good view of the field. Clint's main job for the day was to serve as the judge for the various games; he was seated there now in a chair they'd rescued from the study, Jessica on his right hand and Loki on his left. Sif and another Asgardian soldier were with the McCarters, near the Huskeys and the Frasiers. The sight of the black haired prince made Philip's stomach clench; today, the man was wearing black again with only the smallest traces of green, his hair not slicked back but loose and curling around his face. It softened his face as did the smile he aimed at Clint before he turned to the man seated on a footstool between them. Philip recognized Andrew, the groomsman's face covered by a fall of brown hair as he leaned in to hear Loki's response. Leaning a shoulder along Clint's leg, Andrew faced the Prince, flirty and friendly. Philip could see it then, why so many people found Loki attractive; the man was the epitome of charming.
Philip stumbled, catching his toe on a tuft of grass, the only outward show of the way his emotions plummeted, a stab of worry pressing into his chest. Despite the perfect fall weather, he shivered as if caught in a cold crosswind; Clint looked up and their eyes met, his gaze almost a physical touch, marks warming like phantom hands holding him tight. The doubt faded to a dull ache, and Philip heard it, the faintest sound of single notes. He wasn't as good at hiding his feeling as Clint or Natasha but he did keep walking, only the small break in his stride noticeable to Loki's keen sight. As he walked up the wooden steps, Philip managed a smile by keeping his focus on Clint.
"I've brought you a gift basket from our Chatelaine. She feared there would be none left at the tables, so she sent these." Philip addressed Loki, bending slightly at the waist as a sign of respect. Pulling away the cloth, he sat the basket on the floor between Clint and Loki, near Andrew's feet. The array of pasties was warm from the oven and the aroma wafted out. "Our options are chicken with cranberries and sage or pork with cabbage and raisins. I've been warned the pork is spicy with some heat."
"Ah the famous pasty? I believe I will try the spiced pork." He picked it up with his fingers when Philip pointed to the correct one. Like a fine wine, he smelled the pastry before taking a bite, savoring the taste. "Excellent. The chilies are delightful. I rarely see such spices this far north; I keep trying to get our cooks in the palace to try new things, but they are such traditionalists. I may have to tempt your cooks away."
"I wish you good luck with that endeavor," Clint said as he took one of the chicken pasties and offered the basket to Andrew. Philip signaled to the serving girls and they brought more cider or mulled wine to refill glasses.
"We were talking of horses; Prince Loki's palfrey is an amazing animal," Jessica supplied as she snagged a spicy pork. "Quite spirited."
"Sleipner is a handful, I give you that. Very high strung, but I love her like she was my own child. Your man here is the first Midlander I've met who can handle her. Very impressive." Loki said.
"She's a beautiful lady and just needs to be treated that way." Andrew shrugged and Philip was impressed with the man's calm. "Stroke her the right way and she'll ride well."
"Oh, this place continually surprises me. Much more fun than the capital and the court, I can tell you." Loki threw his head back as he laughed, a throaty sound that was honest and real. "Perhaps she'll let you mount her later, Andrew; she's quite taken with you and will pout all the way home if I don't let her have her run."
"I'd be honored," Andrew said, eyes twinkling with good humor. "And I promise I give her the best rub down afterwards she's ever had."
"Ain't that the truth," Laird McCarter laughed. "Let her have her lead, rub her down, and keep your woman happy … ouch," he complained as his wife kicked his shin.
"Sit with us and eat, Philip. I'd wager you haven't taken a moment to yourself today." Melinda said, nudging Jessica's shoulder, but the Thane was already moving to give Philip her seat next to Clint. Sif made a spot for her and handed her a full mug.
"The morning has been good, but those do smell delicious." A memory of how the morning started flashed in his mind and Philip knew he was blushing despite his best efforts. Clint grinned and ducked his head to try and hide it which did nothing to help, so Philip tried to change the subject, "How go the games?"
"Well. The log toss was a crowd pleaser; one of the Huskeys won only because Liam McCarter drank too much mulled wine. His log went the furthest, but knocked over the equipment racks." Clint shifted in his chair, sitting his drink down so he could stroke the back of Philip's hand; energy leaked between them without any effort. Loki's eyes drifted to their hands, and he noticed.
"I saw the last few throws." Philip took a mug of cider, sipping it to keep a clear head. "I thought Deirdre Frasier had a real shot at winning."
"Did you see Carol and the Lady Sif's tosses?" Jessica asked.
"What? No! I missed that. How did that come about?" Just the lightest of touch from Clint and Philip's brain was stilling. He was always thinking, worrying about what had to be done; sitting here with Clint, even if Loki was nearby, Philip could see the good in the world not just all the what ifs and what needed to be done.
"I challenged Thane Danvers to a feat of strength after we saw the first toss. It was enjoyable, if more difficult that I imagined. It's not simply a matter of picking it up and throwing; you need balance and aim, plus you have to take into account the aerodynamics of the length and the weight." Sif reached for a second spicy pasty.
"That's Sif's way of explaining why Thane Denver's log went further than hers," Loki said with good humor. One thing Philip had already realized was that Loki took pleasure in poking open wounds. "But neither of them bested the winner."
"You'll laugh when we integrate a toss into our training regime," Sif arched an eyebrow. "I think it would be good for the soldiers."
"And Volstagg will be the best at it, behind only my brother, aye," Loki laughed and let the subject drop.
They continued to eat as the field was set up for the archery contest. The basket emptied quickly as did the pitchers; before the first bowmen lined up to take their shots, Philip leaned to Clint. "I have to go; there are arrangements to be made still for the performance and I want to check on a few things."
"Of course." Clint's voice betrayed nothing, but Philip felt the little pulse of energy, the softest notes in accompaniment. Be careful and don't get lost. Maybe it was his own fears from those dreams that made him hear things. Melinda stood and brushed the crumbs from her dress, an ochre colored yellow that made her skin even more sallow. When combined with her McCarter plaid drape, she clashed in a particularly violently way today.
"Well, I for one am ready for more shopping. There's a haberdasher with the most delightful hats that Lady Thomas told me about. Real peacock feathers on plaid tams, and he'll dye them whatever color I want." She used her ample hips to her advantage and pushed her husband aside.
"What, woman? There's archery then the jousting! You'd have me leave now to get you some more fripperies? You've got enough hats and scarves and shoes and gloves for the whole clan as it is," Richard protested.
"Did I say you had to come? No, I did not." She turned to Prince Loki. "Have you been to the marketplace yet, your Highness? I'd be honored to show you."
"That sounds delightful," he stood, all grace and fluid movement. "We would join you, if that's alright, Lord Philip?"
Clint gave Philip's forearm a quick squeeze; Loki noticed that as well. "I would be happy to escort you," Philip said.
Sif went to stand, but Loki motioned her to remain seated. "Stay and enjoy yourself. Scald can accompany me along with Bernard. Lady Melinda, Lord Philip and I will be fine." She inclined her head in acknowledgement and watched them go.
"Don't spend all my money, woman!" Laird McCarter shouted. "And take that dratted boy with you to carry things."
"Married how many years and you still don't know that telling her that will make her buy more?" Leo Huskey asked. "See, Clint, you have the best of it. A sensible spouse who knows when to spend money and when to save it. I hear he's a haggler, good man …"
The voices faded behind them as Loki shortened his strides to keep pace with Melinda's shorter legs, and they joined the flow of people heading to visit the stalls. The town was packed, streets almost overflowing at this time of day; people were coming in from distant villages, Stark lands and even further. Most, Philip suspected, wanted to see the rebuilding process and gawk at the new Lords, or they wanted to hear the entertainment. Whatever the reason, the numbers meant more income for the local farmers, taverns filled to overflowing, and record sales for the craftsmen and artisans.
"I see your royal court is as isolated as ours," Loki said. "They believe this hold to be on a downward spiral. Obviously, they are wrong. Part of this is due to your hard work, I imagine."
"These are good people, hard workers. They just needed the right push," Philip replied. He didn't like compliments, especially when he did not deserve them. Clint had been well on his way to earning the people's respect before Philip had arrived; he would have made things better, maybe just not quite as quickly.
"Modesty. A difficult trait to find." Loki rested his hand briefly on the small of Philip's back as they maneuvered around a mother with three children haggling over new shirts. "I find myself regretting more and more the lateness of my suit."
"I need work, to be busy. Idle hands are not my life." Philip carefully stated his answer for the question. "I have read about Asgard, enough to know that your mother and sisters have the court running smoothly."
"I have my own household," Loki said, "which I fear is in poor repair since I've been away."
"What do you think of this one?" Melinda turned, a monstrosity of a hat upon her head, bright red with three peacock feathers curling over the curved brim. "They can dye the feathers yellow."
Philip was at a loss for words but Loki was not. "My lady, no mere hat can match the beauty of your soul. You are radiant in whatever you chose to wear."
"Oh, my, you are good," she blushed. "But that doesn't help me decide. What about this one?" She replaced the red with a low tam that was Black Watch plaid, one long feather hanging over her ear. "In McCarter plaid, of course."
"To honor your clan? What an excellent idea." Loki smiled. "We'll take both, my good man," he said to the craftsman.
"I'm afraid Richard wouldn't agree to that, your Highness," Melinda protested. "He's a proud man."
"Then we just won't tell him, will we?" Loki bent his head down and whispered as if conspiring. "Now, let's set a good price."
Philip watched as Melinda bargained the haberdasher down from his opening bid to a very reasonable price for both hats. As Loki directed his servant to pay the final amount, he glanced at Philip, humor evident on his face, not at Melinda's expense but pure delight in her company. He stepped back and amiably bumped his shoulder into Philip's. Once the hats were safely ordered, they continued on their way. Melinda, as it turned out, was a champion shopper. She stopped at stall after stall, buying linen for new tablecloths, muslin for sheets, a length of yellow wool for a new coat, the same dried spicy chilies that were in the pork pasties to try at home, jewelry for her daughter-in-laws, and wooden toys for the younger children. The boy accompanying her was loaded down with parcels by the time they came to the silver shop next to Luke Cage's smithy. The pieces in the window were delicate and with unusual patterns dotted with various gems. Philip's eye was drawn to a cloak clasp with amethysts set into interlocking links that curved back around and never ended.
"A Josephine knot. Very fitting." Loki said, looking over his shoulder. "Fine workmanship …" he faded off, his eyes caught by something else. "One moment." Stepping inside, the Prince asked the older woman behind the counter to see the piece. Silver filigree wound around a small moonstone, colorless with a slight blue sheen, one of the finest quality stones Philip had ever seen. The whole pin looked like a spinning wheel, but more abstract.
"Lord Philip," the woman curtsied when she saw him. "Welcome to our store. Can I show you anything?"
"The amethyst clasp, if you will," he asked, his attention taken by the way Loki stroked his long fingers along the curves of the pin; his face, for the moment, was open and unguarded.
"A wedding gift for Lord Barton? It will look good with a matching cloak for his new vest, if I may say." She laid the clasp down on a piece of velvet. "And you, sir, that's a fine bit of work there. My husband designed it himself part of a series in honor of his mother's passing. She made tapestries, spinning the wool into thread and dying it herself. She was a good woman; raised a passel of sons, all of whom are craftsmen."
"The workmanship is excellent." Loki turned it over in his hand. "My mother would enjoy a memento. How much?"
"Well, it is special to him and the stone is top water, so I couldn't let it go for less than 50 gold."
"Come, come, Madame. This is lovely work, but I could buy a piece signed by the King's royal jeweler for less than that. Five gold is more like it." Loki settled into the game and seemed to relish the interaction as they went back and forth, the woman pretending to be affronted by the low offers and Loki finding even the smallest flaws. When they arrived close to each other, Philip slid the clasp over beside the pin.
"What if I buy both? 30 for the lot?"
"Sold, Milord." She smiled; the price was fair plus her husband's work would be on display at the manor and even the far flung royal court of Asgard. Bragging rights, indeed.
"Philip, I cannot let you," Loki protested. "'Tis for my mother."
"A gift from her almost son-in-law, then," Philip said. He counted out the money and handed the small bag to the prince.
"Your Highness," the shop woman curtsied again, abashed at her ignorance for not recognizing Loki. "Had I known I would have offered you the pin."
"Nonsense," Loki flashed her a disarming smile, and she melted beneath his regard. "Such art deserves to be compensated. Besides, I do so enjoy a good haggle. Feels almost like a hunt; such success when you don't over or under pay."
Melinda came in the door and had to see what they had purchased to ooh and ah over. Then she had to look at the other jewelry, and Philip slipped outside to check; there was still no tinker's wagon in the smithy yard. Loki stepped up behind, his hand falling on Philip's shoulder. Wrongness engulfed Philip, a primal fear that made him jump and turn quickly. He needed to see Loki, an instinctual reaction to keep his enemy in his sights.
"Forgive me. I didn't mean to startle you." Loki's voice soothed.
Philip tried to smooth over his action with a laugh, but it sounded hollow even to his own ears. "Woolgathering, I guess."
Loki slipped his hand under Philip's elbow and steered him a few steps back between the buildings. "I had been hoping to ask if you are pleased with your place here. I feel some responsibility for the situation since, as you mentioned, you were almost mine to take care of."
"I am very content." Loki's up and down emotions were making Philip uncomfortable. They'd already given too much away, and today had actually made Philip start to see the Prince as more human and less a threat, at least until a moment ago. "As I said, I can make a difference here, help these people."
Loki's knowing blue eyes speared Philip. "I asked if you are happy, not if you are working hard."
"I am." He began to sweat and energy churned in his gut, reacting to Loki's blunt question and the man's proximity. But there was nowhere for the magic to go without calling attention to itself, so he shoved it down.
Loki stepped forward, Philip stepped back and he felt the wall against his back. "I rarely feel regret, but I find myself wondering what might have been." Long fingers brushed Philip's hair behind his ear, leaving little trails of ice that wound along Philip's cheek and down to his jawline where they met Clint's mark and dissolved like snow in the sun. Tilting his head up, Philip found Loki's lips hovering close to his.
"Your attention flatters me, your Highness, but I am quite satisfied with my husband." Philip tried to state it plainly; he needed to get away and find somewhere to release the magic that was threatening to boil over. "More than satisfied, in fact."
"Yes, I see that even if you don't. Two-thirds of the way there, and you still are in the dark," Loki mused, stroking the back of Philip's hand and sending more tendrils up his arm where they melted away. "Fascinating," he murmured, tracing the line of Philip's belt and making the mark on Philip's hip flare to life. "Too bad really. I would have enjoyed teaching you, but one cannot fight the whims of that bitch Fate. It will be interesting to see how this all plays out."
"There you are, My Lord!" Mayor Garrett came to a stop near them. "Am I interrupting something?" He didn't bother to hide his interest, just waited, taking in every detail of the moment – Loki's hand on Philip's waist, the closeness of their bodies.
"No," Philip said, moving away from the wall; Loki easily stepped back. The best reaction was to have none at all. Garrett was a gossip of the first stripe; his version of what he thought he saw would be all over town within the hour. "Do you need something, Mayor?"
"We've a problem with the staging, it seems. Not enough seating in the square; they want to move out to Kirk's fallow instead, but Kirk is none too keen on the idea. Perhaps if you spoke to him," Garrett said. "I'll be glad to take the Prince on a tour if you need me to."
"That won't be necessary," Loki said, ice in his voice directed at the interloper. "I shall see Lady McCarter about and then return her to her husband. You two go on and prepare for the musician."
"I'll tell them you're on your way, Milord," Garrett said, leaving after one more sidelong glance back at them. Philip wanted to close his eyes and sigh, but there was too much energy churning inside for that.
"Best find a way to disperse that magic soon," Loki leaned in to say. "Holding it in will only serves to distort it, turn it wild, and untamed magic leads to disasters like your friend, the clerk. Learn to release little by little throughout the day. A free lesson in return for the gift."
He left Philip standing there, unable to think of any reply or even a protest, just that he needed to get to Clint before the rumors reached the practice field. Luke was speaking with customers, so Philip headed to the food vendors, finding Madge's stall where she was doing a brisk business in fried pies, delightful bites of apples, dough, and powdered sugar. Ordering enough for all those in Clint's box, Philip started to give the delivery boy a message when Natasha appeared beside him.
"I'm heading that way," she said. Patting Philip on the shoulder, she picked up the full basket. "I'll set him straight."
"I'd ask how, but you wouldn't tell me, would you?" Philip only shook his head at Natasha's network of information.
"I could but then it would be difficult to do my job." She winked. "Go mediate. I can handle Clint and will take care of the Mayor."
"As much as I hate to admit it, we need Garrett, so no accidents, please," Philip joked. At least, he thought he was joking. Natasha nodded in agreement as she left, and Philip went off to soothe ruffled feathers and make sure the rest of the day went as well as the morning.
Unfortunately, the meeting became a major logistical problem that Philip had to tackle; he'd hoped to be back at the field for the award ceremony, but he was stuck overseeing the building of a dance floor to avoid broken and sprained ankles, then he had to talk to the food vendors about the move. Many of them elected to take Philip up on the offer of space closer to the new venue. Jessica came up with the solution for the lack of stalls; they backed wagons into loose semi-circles and used the drop gates as counters. Setting the three pages to work hanging lanterns from the trees while the squires drove poles into the ground for torches, Philip managed to create a party atmosphere before people began to wander their way. As the day moved into the evening, shopkeepers shuttered their windows and packed away their goods. Thankful he'd gotten the cider and ale merchants up and running first, Philip watched as money began to change hands for full mugs, the alcohol creating a good mood while the food sellers got ready.
The first musicians started playing early, the sound of their voices and instruments carrying up the hill to the manor and down into town. The location turned out to be much better than the square; here there was room to fan out, people dragging benches under the eaves of trees to sit and have conversation while others gathered around the main stage and still more clustered in groups as they ate. Townspeople, members of Clint's company, manor servants, visiting craftsmen and merchants all mingled together with laughter and raised voices shouting welcome to each other. Even Loki's presence with his entourage of soldiers and servants didn't dampen the spirits of a successful Faire. The Prince seemed to be sampling everything; somewhere along the way, Loki had found Andrew who was entertaining their visitor with a flow of conversation. That worried Philip until he noticed Carol and Sif within ear's distance; Carol nodded Philip's way to reassure him that Loki was under her eye.
"You best eat, Milord." Richardson the Baker tapped Philip on the shoulder. Ever since his son had been injured, the man was doing everything he could to make up for his reaction. Now, he held a round of dark brown bread, top sliced off and inside hollowed out to make room for steaming stew chock full of potatoes and chunks of lamb. "Been watching you run yourself ragged today. You need this."
Philip's stomach rumbled at the enticing smell before he could frame the words to thank the man. "Guess I am hungry at that." He took the dense bread and the proffered spoon. "Thank you."
"You take the evening off and listen to the music. Damn fine job you've done here, and you deserve to enjoy it." He turned and left Philip standing with the food.
"That looks good. I could eat a horse I think, but don't tell Lucky," Clint peered around Philip's shoulder. "Think I could get one? Or is that the spoils of war to the conquering hero?"
"We can manage some food for you, I suppose. After all, sitting and watching others work hard is a difficult job," Philip teased. They'd seen each other for a grand total of forty-five minutes since they left the manor this morning and that included the brief lunch in the grandstand. Garrett had done his best to make sure everyone knew of Philip's supposed tryst; the weight of many gazes were upon them, wondering if the story was true.
"The games were highly entertaining. Next year, you have to judge some yourself. Maybe a duel swords competition." Clint slid a hand around Philip's waist and laid a quick kiss on the curve of Philip's neck.
"He needs to eat while it's hot," Natasha said, nudging Clint as she came up to them. "I'll get some for us if you grab a table before they're all gone."
Being the Lord of the manor meant that there was always a good seat; one of the Huskey sons waved them over to a table under the eaves of a tree with brilliant red leaves, close to the music but away from the main area. Philip settled onto a bench, and Clint wedged himself in beside him, pressing their shoulders and legs together.
"There's plenty of room," Philip said, but he was actually liked the closeness. He hadn't forgotten what Loki had said earlier about finding little ways to release the energy; touching Clint opened a conduit between them and the power flowed out, bit by tiny bit, in a constant trickle. A slow burn that built warmth in Philip's chest.
"Indeed there is, but then I wouldn't get to do this." Clint agreed. He ran a hand along Philip's leg and came to rest on his knee.
Natasha arrived with Bruce in tow and set down bread bowls for them, followed by William with a pitcher of mulled wine and goblets. The other two boys were hanging back, eager to get to the dessert booths; William ran off immediately to join them. Philip was glad to see the clerk looking much more rested and how eagerly Bruce tucked into his meal. The stew was thick and hearty, leaving a warm trail in Philip's chest as he spooned up bites; the bread was nutty, easy to rip off and dip into the broth. As they ate, people dropped by the table, first the Frasiers, then the McCarters and the Huskeys. The Mayor stopped but Clint was deep in a discussion about a new archery range and Philip was talking about winter's storage needs, so Natasha handled him by turning the topic to marriageable daughters right in front of two single Huskeys and a couple of McCarter sons. That was enough of a distraction to keep the Mayor happily contemplating the possibilities.
The second group of musicians took the stage, two fiddle players with a lead singer, a mandolin, back up guitars, and a handheld set of drums. They launched into "The Raggle Taggle Gypsy," a crowd pleaser with a fast pace and fun lyrics about a wandering wife who runs away with her gypsy lover. More than a few quick peeks were thrown their way during the song but then toes tapped, people started clapping in time, and the mood shifted from food to a party. "Change in Your Demeanor" followed, and the dancing broke out spontaneously. Watching the couples spin around the floor, Philip was glad they'd given this local band a prime spot; he'd bet they'd be making a name for themselves within a year.
When they started an instrumental version of the old legend "Tam Lin," Clint laughed and pulled Philip to his feet. He tried to protest that he didn't dance, but Clint just shook his head and said "Lord's prerogative."
The beat was fast then slowed, building again and again, just like the ebb of power inside Philip. Each time their bodies came into contact as they spun through the quick steps, Philip could feel little jolts of electricity jump from skin to skin. Clint was humming along, as happy as Philip had ever seen him, and they stayed for the next number, "Whiskey in a Jar" a fair choice considering Richard McCarter had broken out the good stuff and was sharing the single malt around the table.
After a glass of the peaty amber liquid, Clint danced with Natasha, and Philip took a turn with Jessica, switching partners until he'd danced with all of the Thanes before Clint claimed him again. At one point, he saw Clint with Lady Sif, and they both danced with Melinda who had more energy than all of them put together.
Loki remained seated although he looked like he was enjoying the music. When the band segued into the Dublin Reels, Philip steeled himself and asked the Prince if he'd like to dance. Loki turned him down with a wave and a laugh, making his preference for the amber liquid in his glass plain. Philip took another finger of scotch, sat down to drink it, and a slice of pie appeared in front of him. As if summoned by Rachel's pie crust, Clint joined him for his own piece, breathless and sweaty from the exertion. Lust stirred, buoyed by the warmth of drink and shared energy, and Philip stroked Clint's arm absently as the music slowed, the group finishing their set with a lonesome ballad of lost love and a black veil. Maybe it was the lower inhibitions or the whiskey, but Philip knew this need for Clint would be there regardless.
All he could focus on was the bit of apple filling clinging to the corner of Clint's mouth. Noticing, Clint turned and cocked his head, his eyes darkening with a matching heat. Running the tip of his tongue around his lips, he caught the bit and licked it clean until Philip had to kiss him. Whiskey and apples, cinnamon and the sweet taste of sugar, Clint tasted a little like fall and a lot like home. Philip ignored the sounds around them and heard only the soft intake of breath as Clint returned the kiss. As he pulled back, Philip knew he could sink into those blue-green eyes and never want to leave.
"We could slip away," he said without thinking. "Walk along the creek and find a nice dark bower in the trees."
"Yes," Clint agreed. "And everyone will know what we're doing. I thought that bothered you."
"I'm getting used to the idea," Philip admitted. "Besides, I've seen a fair number of couples already sneak away. Another good thing about this location; we might have a spat of babies born come early summer."
"Good evening." The woman who took the stage had long red hair and a soft voice that carried across the field. Everyone hushed as she spoke. "We've a good set ready for you tonight and our first number is in honor of the new Lords of the Holding. May they have long and healthy life together with much love and laughter."
"There goes that idea," Clint muttered as a roar of approval went up and the crowd turned their way. The song was of lovers meeting at night, wrapped in each other. She sang the chorus and smiled their way.
Oh night thou was my guide
Of night more loving than the rising sun
Oh night that joined the lover
To the beloved one
Transforming each of them into the other
When McKennitt moved into the familiar tale of "The Bonny Swans," Melinda clapped the loudest at her favorite, and Philip joined the crowd as they sang along with refrain, "with a hey, ho, a bonny o."
As the music surrounded them, Philip settled his back against the tree trunk; someone had thoughtfully pulled the bench closer. Clint leaned against him, and Philip circled his arms around Clint's waist, the weight of Clint's head on his shoulder welcome and grounding. Natasha rolled her eyes when she saw they were holding hands; Bruce smiled. Jessica was just behind Carol, resting her feet on the bench next to the blonde. Sif was nearby, and even Loki seemed entranced by the beautiful melodies being woven on the stage. There was something about the moment – truly at ease – and Philip felt the notes shifting, dropping along his skin like rain, creating a power of their own that mixed with his and Clint's. He could hear them in his head, a melodic line that danced with electricity but didn't make him feel full or dangerous. No, this was like drawing power from all around him, bringing McKennitt's tune into their own song and weaving them together into a seamless whole.
McKennitt had just begun "Marco Polo" when Philip felt a tap on his shoulder. Annemarie motioned for his attention and tugged at Clint's shirt to alert him as well. As silently as possible, they rose and skirted around the table. "We need you in the stables," the chatelaine said once they were far enough out of earshot. She spoke quickly, checking to be sure they weren't overheard. "You'll need Clerk Banner. I'll get him and the others as quietly as I can."
They got to the doors of the stable in a short time, the town virtually deserted, everyone at the party. Standing just inside the door was Rodriguez, who was on guard for the evening; she motioned them into the half-finished grooms' area as soon. Slumped on one of the old wooden bedsteads, feet on the floor and his shoulders resting against the wall, was Samuel Wilson.
"Sam?" Philip sat down next to him; even that small motion made the other man moan in pain. Close up, his dark skin was washed out, streaks of dirt mixed with what looked like dried blood on his cheeks and forehead. He was cradling an arm across his stomach and Philip could see brighter red seeping between his fingers. "What happened?"
"Too many of them." Sam's voice was thready, and his breathing was short and quick. "They hit Maynard Huskey's place and Nelly's Crossroads. People there need help, so many wounded and dead." He coughed, wet and full of pain. "I followed their trail; they're headed for McCarter Hall; there's too many of 'em. Maybe a hundred fighters plus trained animals." His eyelids slid shut and he shuddered.
"Bruce is on his way, just hold on," Philip said, taking Sam's hand and squeezing.
Bruce came through the door, the others right behind him. He knelt down between Sam's knees and gently coaxed Sam to move his arms. Philip's eyes widened and his heart fell; three long gashes ran vertically across Sam's stomach, skin and fat curled back. A semi-circle was gnawed on Sam's side, teeth worked deep into his muscle and sinew. From the angry red of the surrounding skin, Philip knew an infection had already set in … or something worse.
"Carol, get Richard McCarter and Leo Huskey … hell, we'll need all the Lairds if we're going to mount a big enough force to make a difference," Clint said. "Try not to start a panic. Bring them to the main hall."
She left immediately. Bruce looked at Philip, the bad news written on his face. "We need to apply pressure …" he began, looking around. Philip jumped up and grabbed a clean horse blanket stowed in the corner, folding it over and holding it against Sam's stomach, pressing down. "I need hot water, boiled then cooled, and some whiskey. My kit is in my room."
"I've got it," Annemarie said from the doorway. She had the healer's kit under her arm, a bucket of steaming water and a basket of clean rags. "Still plenty of cobwebs in the old apothecary. I'll get some to help close the wounds." She bustled back out.
"She's amazing," Natasha said and Philip would have called her on the irony of that statement, but he could feel Sam's insides moving beneath his hands. The man's face was ashen, his life slipping away in this room full of people.
"Tell us about them, Sam," Clint urged, trying to keep Sam focused on the here and now. "Militia? Bandits? Soldiers?"
"Oh, gods," Sam whispered. "Those plus farmers and knights, all with glowing blue eyes, but that's not the worst." Trying to sit up, Sam sucked in a breath and almost cried out.
"Stay still," Bruce ordered. Dark spots were growing on the blanket as Sam convulsed once, then again before he calmed.
"Doesn't matter," Sam shook his head. "Listen to me. They weren't alive, do you understand? Some still looked human, recently dead; you could see the wounds that killed them. Others were older, barely any skin left, just bones and tatters of clothes. Undead."
No one bothered to gainsay Sam's declaration; revenants and other myths no longer seemed impossible. Still, they all needed a moment for the facts to sink in; Clint was the first to speak. "Jessica, the bodies of the bandits. Buried or burned?"
"Burned, but it won't hurt to check," she said.
"Salt the ground where the bones are," Bruce asked without turning his head as she went to leave, still intently mixing herbs for a poultice. "Just to be sure."
"What did this to you? Talk to me. It will help you focus." Clint leaned over Sam. A stirring of energy as Bruce took the bottle of whiskey that appeared next to him – Annemarie again – and nodded to Philip to pull the bloody blanket away. As soon as the wounds were visible, Bruce poured a liberal amount of the alcohol over them. Sam nearly came off the bed, biting back a scream into an aborted cry. With a damp cloth, Bruce began gently cleaning off the dirt and blood. Clint tapped his fingers on the back of Philip's hand; he too was feeling the echoes of Bruce's energy as it pulsed, as if they were now attuned to the clerk's power. It wasn't like Philip's awareness of Clint; this connection with Bruce was fainter, more tenuous.
"An animal I've never seen before … Looked like a wolf but bigger … meaner … hell you could ride one. Claws like a bear, and nasty set of teeth … gods, that hurts." Sam was growing weaker by the minute.
"Wargs." Lady Sif said. Philip hadn't realized she'd entered the room. "Forgive my intrusion. When Laird McCarter left, I thought to offer my aid and I can give you information. They are creatures from the Asgardian side of the Mountains. They usually keep to the upper reaches and pose dangers only to those who enter their territory. Their fangs are poisonous. We may have some of the antidote with us since they attack travelers in the pass. If you would allow me, I would send for the Prince. He is a skilled healer."
"Please do. We would appreciate his help." Clint made the decision, and Philip was glad to let him do it. The last thing Philip wanted was Loki here; he didn't trust the Prince at all. But, he might be Sam's best hope; Bruce was clearly worried, his brow furrowed. Green rivulets appeared on Bruce's hands, running out from under his cuffs. The energy was shifting, and Philip remembered what Loki had said about wild magic. Philip could tell the difference between the stability of Clint's magic versus the fluctuating power coming from Bruce. Philip tried to keep Sam calm by cradling his head with his hands, thinking of warmth as he released tiny pulses into Sam's clammy skin.
"Phil," Sam murmured, turning his head restlessly. "I left the wagon at the Crossroads Inn. Promise you'll bring it back."
"We'll get it, don't worry," Phil agreed.
"You, Phil. You know." Sam's voice faded into a gasp as Bruce worked.
"Sif says your friend has been bitten by a warg." Loki knelt next to Bruce and looked over Sam's wounds. "Both claws and teeth, I see. It's amazing he survived the initial attack. Fortunately, I have experience with these this creatures." He rested one hand on Sam's stomach heedless of the blood and gore and touched two fingers to the middle of Sam's forehead.
It took every reserve Philip had to not jerk Loki's hand away when a wave of blue crept from his fingers, turning Sam's skin icy. A chill washed over Philip; he'd never experienced concentrated power welded by a trained user. Confidence, that's how Philip would characterize Loki's signature. He watched in amazement as the edges of the wounds uncurled, came back together and began to heal. Doubt aside, Loki knew what he was doing.
"There's something … unnatural," Loki murmured, eyes closed as if looking inward. "Feel it? Right there. That's why he's still with us; they wanted him alive."
A tension, something dark that felt sharp and jagged in Philip's head, rose out of Sam, pulled by Loki's spell. It stabbed into Philip's consciousness, a smoky mist that hung suspended then darted outwards, trying to escape. With a snap of his fingers, Loki made it dissipate, releasing the power to seep away. Sam's eyes closed, he sighed and slumped, breathing evenly.
"He will need sleep to regain strength, but he will be fine." Loki pushed up; standing he towered over them. "You have a problem, it seems. That spell was the work of a powerful sorcerer, one that we are familiar with."
"It is why we have been recalled," Sif added. "There have been attacks along the border in the mountains much like the one your friend detailed. I would be honored to aid you in this battle, Lord Barton. I could learn much about what might be a common foe."
So much for maintaining their secrets, Philip thought. The Asgardians probably even knew about the Dugan connection and their search for a lost item, considering how good Loki was at manipulating people. The harm, it seemed, was already done, so he shrugged when Clint glanced his way.
"I'd be honored to fight alongside you, My Lady," Clint said.