CHAPTER NINE
1424
"I look ridiculous."
2013
"Wait, did Dean and Sam talk?"
Jessica leaned forward on her chair and brought her palms together and bent then so that her index fingers rested against her lips. Even with the change of position, her body was restless with interest, and the couch and its occupants were subject to her impatient vibration.
"Yes. They were resolved."
"But… what happened?"
Castiel sighed and threw a quick glance at Dean, who remained stoic at the corner of the couch, and hadn't acknowledged the interruption and momentary cessation in storytelling.
"Dean never made me privy to all the details. There were aspects of his relationship with Sam about which he was very private – it was their particular bond. By the time he was prepared to speak of it… we had very little time left."
"Oh, I'm sorry Cas."
She withdrew, suddenly more placid in her demeanor and scratched at her nose nervously.
"Do not worry, Jessica, I was grateful for all the time we had together, even if it was never enough."
She smiled back, but her lip trembled slightly. "You saw him again though?"
"Yes. And he had plenty more time with Sam, which I know he greatly desired. This tale is not all despair, Jessica. Dean was afforded some happiness. And so was I, in knowing him."
1424
"I look ridiculous."
"Come on, Dean. You've worn it before."
Dean rolled his eyes at his reflection as he glowered at himself in the mirror. Sam stood behind him, adjusting his belt around his tunic. It was maroon, the color that marked him as a Scribe of the Palace. It was plain, since very little thought had been given to the ceremonial garb of the scribes (the expectation being they would prefer to recluse rather than attend social ceremonies). It was infinitely preferable to Dean's costuming too. He, unlike his brother, was clad in a long black tunic, which puffed sleeves and trousers that, in combination with his already muscular frame, had the overall effect of making him look monstrously wide. The shirt and trousers beneath, rather unfortunately, were in the bright fire red that Lilith was so often dressed in, and assembled from a gaudy and stiff fabric that chafed under Dean's armpits and, well, other uncomfortable places that he'd rather not be aware of.
"Never worn it in my life, Sammy. I'm more about a different of celebration, you know?"
He waggled his eyebrows in the mirror, locking eyes with his brother momentarily, and Sam sighed, exasperated.
"Keep it to a minimum tonight? This whole thing is for you, Dean. You can't just slip off with some girl halfway through."
Dean glowered even worse at that, and yanked down on his tunic sharply - petulant. "If it's for me, someone could have asked what I wanted." He knew perfectly well his name was only to be touted as an excuse at the event, for debauchery and opulence, and to fill the courtiers' ears with interesting gossip until the next grand event. The night before had been far more preferable, in Dean's mind. He and Sam had stayed up late talking, and while Dean had kept Castiel out of the conversation, he was as honest as he could be with his brother. That moved them to discuss other things – most prominently, how Sam had managed to impregnate a woman that had made a vow of chastity to the Empress. Sam embarrassedly described it as an act of comfort after grief, and while Dean still felt a little put out, he was at least glad that Ruby had been there for Sam, even if that meant forsaking her vows.
"It's important, Dean. The fact that you're back - it changes things."
"Yeah, yeah I'll behave myself." Dean's nose twitched as he stared at himself in the mirror again – uncannily reminiscent of a jester, aside from the stupid hat. Luck would have it that he'd turn up and be instructed to don one of those too.
Sam opened his mouth to speak again, but was interrupted by the trill of Ruby in the doorway – her arrival having been hidden by untrustworthily soft footsteps.
"Well don't you look dashing?" The pronouncement was theatrical, but the tone sincere enough. Still, the old bait slipped from Dean's mouth before his mind could catch up with it.
"I know I'm a handsome devil, but you're spoken for now Ruby. Keep yourself under control." Seeing Ruby so familiar now with their lodgings was new, and it was hard to remember how much has changed – that Ruby, contrary to all expectations, was a fixture now.
It was easier though, when Ruby barely even acknowledged the jibe, instead tilting her head up to give Sam a chaste peck on the lips before turning to Dean, with that same uncharacteristically toothy smile: "you look very handsome as well, Dean."
Dean stared at her momentarily, shocked once again by the almost pleasant change in her demeanor. "Yeah, uh, thanks," he muttered gruffly before turning away and modestly trying to rearrange the way his pants sat to avoid… discomfort.
Sam and Ruby were murmuring behind him, choosing to pass through the momentary awkwardness smoothly. "We don't need to stay too long. I don't want you to have to be on your feet all night."
"I'll be fine, Sam. I want to celebrate Dean's return."
Sam huffed, but he accepted the assurance.
"Are you sure this is alright? If you feel tired, you'll tell me?"
"Of course. Don't worry. In a few more weeks we can tell them."
From the corner of his eye, Dean could see the way Sam's hand dragged protectively across Ruby's stomach as he spoke and his fingers twisted gently into the cloth.
"Yeah, uh, Dean?" He raised his voice to normal volume. "No one knows about Ruby yet. It's got to stay a secret for another month or so. Just until we're sure. So don't mention it, alright?"
"Yeah yeah," Dean muttered, glaring himself down in the mirror, furiously trying to unpuff the shape of his trousers around his legs, "got it."
Sam looked him up and down, a small smile playing around his lips, which he smothered under Dean's furious gaze. "Alright, we best get down there. Just a minute-"
He rushed back into his bedroom quickly and left Dean and Ruby standing awkwardly together. True to her new polite demeanor, Ruby went to Dean's side and started tugging at his trousers, without so much as an "excuse me", pulling them into a slightly less voluminous shape: "They're stiff because you haven't worn them enough. When the fabric softens they'll look better." She watched the shape of the trousers as they slowly rectified themselves (as much as that could occur) in the mirror.
Dean stiffened a little as he felt her hands tug on the material. It struck him that this was the first time, in the year since he'd known Ruby that they'd even come close to physical contact. And Ruby appeared completely unbothered by it, as though it had been the nature of their relationship all along.
"Great. Uh, thanks."
"You're welcome."
She righted herself and quickly checked her face in the mirror, running her index finger along her eyebrows a few times to pull them into shape and pinching her cheeks to bring color to them.
"So, uh, pregnancy really agrees with you huh?"
She didn't meet his gaze in the mirror, instead moving to straighten the gaudy and bejeweled necklace at her neck. It looked like it was worth the life's wages of a palace servant, it was so massive.
"Being married to Sam agrees with me. I'm the happiest woman in the kingdom." She smiled beatifically, still enraptured in her reflection.
"Yeah, guess it's going around."
She smiled politely, but made no reply. Faced with a resolute silence, Dean turned to look back in the mirror, smoothing his hair down to justify the silence as politely as he could in the interim.
"Are you happy for us, Dean?"
Ruby's question was nonchalant, and as she spoke she twisted in the mirror, smoothing her hands down her front and back as she checked her silhouette (presumably for the sight of any intimation as to her secret).
"Yeah. Uh. Well, I mean…. We haven't always got on. But… if you're both happy. Then that's enough."
"Good." She gave a final tug to her dress and turned to face him. "You better bear that in mind from now on. Sam and I are married now, and we're going to have a baby. That means you can't try to take him away from me anymore. I'm his now. He will always choose me. And if you do anything – anything – to threaten us. I will make him choose."
The pleasant smiles she had been making all evening were now made plain in light of her words. Suddenly the sneer he had been so used to was re-written in every line of her face again, and her eyes were cold.
Dean had been wary – he'd been careful. He didn't trust her. But still, in light of the quick and brutal revelation that things were as tense between them as ever, Dean couldn't help but feel disappointed, and a burst of shock rush across his skin in response. Dean kept his voice low when he answered, cautious of Sam hearing in the next room: "Were you even sad when you thought I was dead?"
She narrowed her eyes at him, as she finally turned away to meet his gaze. "Contrary to what you might think, I love Sam. And I was sad for him, because he loves you."
She moved closer, so her voice was low like Dean's and she was breathing her words into his ear. "But I thought it was for the best. Whenever you go away, it destroys him. And then when you come home you criticize him for everything. Including me. And you try your best to lead him down the wrong path, and to damn him. To have him drink and womanize like you do. But he's more than that. He's in the circle of the Princess now and he can serve a higher purpose. I'm leading him to salvation. I love Sam, with everything I have, and I will protect him against you."
She pulled away, the same smile she had manufactured for him all day now re-plastered across her face. But now Dean could see the way the light glinted off her teeth, where they were wet with spit. It was menacing, and it reminded him of the sharp teeth of the Angels, when they bared their own at him in menace.
Dean was transfixed, almost as if her face morphed before him. This was, perhaps for the first time, the truest Ruby Dean had ever seen. Not merely the devoted courtier, but the ruthless one. The dangerous one. Ruby had always been an irritance – intolderable, rude, selfish and conniving. But as far as Dean was concerned, her mind was filled with social climbing strategems, and flirtation manuals. He believed she liked wealth and power and comfort, and was so distorted by the courtly life that she could only find entertainment by the most excessive of means. In short, she was unsuitable for Sam, and her presence therefore annoyed Dean. But her belief that she was adhering to a higher order – one in which Dean was a path to Sam's damnation, and her a path to his salvation – that was new, and lethal. Sam worshipped, of course, the whole City did – in thanks to the Empress and the gift God had bestowed upon her to protect the City. But he'd never abstained the way Ruby had – he gambled on occasion, he'd stolen in his youth, he'd certainly lusted, and (as far as Dean believed, anyway), he'd enjoyed the company of other woman (maybe not fully, Sam was a prude after all, but enough that any proper adherent of the Empress' teachings would wish to wash their hands of him). In short, he was like many of the men that lived outside the castle – happy enough to go along with the prevailing norm, but not to subscribe to the kind of rigid adherence that Lilith expected of her courtiers.
But now he was marrying Ruby – the woman with an agenda that she would hold to fastidiously above all else. This wasn't just about having Sam – about winning – it was about saving Sam. Even if Dean was prepared to concede to whatever rules she had concocted, it might not be enough to hold to the fundamental, non-negotiable line she had drawn in the sand for herself – she on one side, and Dean on the other, and Sam straddling the middle.
"Got it!" Sam called from the next room, and he returned to them both a moment later, pinning a small brooch bearing the mark of the Empress to his tunic. "Are we ready?"
"Ye-yeah." Dean glanced sidelong to Ruby, who was bared her teeth back at him in what Dean supposed was a smile, although it was difficult to make out through the triumphant glaze.
"Absolutely darling. Let's go." She stepped forward, daintily and soundlessly (so well practiced from years of sneaking around and listening at keyholes, Dean though rudely), taking Sam's proffered arm and beaming up at him.
Sam smiled between them, his eyes flickering back and forth as they attempted to read the circumstance. "And we're getting along?"
"Perfectly," she preened, "I'm so happy to have Dean home."
…
After his little conversation with Ruby, there was nothing Dean would have liked more than to drink himself to stupor that night. But, after his first tankard, any move he had made to obtain his own flagon of whatever was being served was intercepted by Sam, and accompanied by a threatening raise of an eyebrow from Ruby.
So he was forced to endure the tedium unaided. Sure, there were plenty of good things that should have made it a pleasant enough night. There was fine food, plenty of pretty women (many of whom had brushed past Dean with coy glances on multiple occasions), music and dancing.
Dean would never admit that he enjoyed the latter. It was a pleasure saved for a completely drunken audience, who could be assured the next day that what they had seen was nothing more than a figment of their imagination. In public audiences, he was obliged to enjoy only watching – but that was enough to stir a little pulse of rhythm inside him that followed the beat with enjoyment, and phantom twitches in his arms and legs as they followed the choreography he imagined he would perform were the room empty, but would never allow himself to do.
But none of it was enjoyable, even without Ruby's threat weighing on his mind. The food and drink were merely picked at by courtiers, who wiped their fingers in repulsion every time their hands came in contact with that they were content to ingest, but not to touch. The women were silly and giggly, and the few Dean had addressed (even just asking them to move so he could get at the suckling pig) trilled stupidly and preened. And the dancing was dull, choreographed stepping. According to Sam, it was meant to facilitate flirtation amongst the courtiers, who were otherwise bound by courtesy to keep a safe distance from one another. He and Ruby certainly seemed to enjoy it, and they kept their eyes fixed on one another even when they were forced to change partners.
None of it was to the amusement of Dean, however, who stood sourly in a corner for most of the evening and let his mind wander. He was, naturally, mainly occupied with thoughts of Ruby's threat against him, and whether she really had the traction she said she did. He'd been foolish to let the dislike grow, he knew. Granted, he'd never expected she'd stay around as long as she had. Sam was only young, and Ruby was his first serious attachment. Scribes, those who did marry at least, never became attached to courtiers – the lifestyles were too incompatible.
But now they were attached, in more ways than one, and it was Dean and not Ruby who as at threat of not being around to counter whatever allegations one raised against the other. Whatever her agenda – to drive a wedge between them or not - the longer Dean was on the Road, the more time she would have to manipulate Sam. Perhaps by the time he returned she would have done irreparable damage. Dean loved his brother more than anyone, and trusted him not to listen to the worst of Ruby when they had only been lovers. But now she was promising him the family that Sam had always wanted for himself and Dean and their father. Maybe that would trump Dean in the general scheme of things. Maybe that would be enough to push Dean out.
He would no doubt be given some time before he was summoned to the Road again, but once trading became regular in the summer months, he'd barely be at home in the City. Perhaps a few days of every month at the most. If Ruby decided to make good on her threat, he'd have no opportunity to defend himself against her charges. And to lose Sam was the worst outcome imaginable.
If he stayed off the Road he could temper her efforts. He would be there when their child was born, and help raise it. He could try to join them at celebrations and look after Sam like he had when they were younger.
But at the back of his mind hung the thought of Castiel, and the lonely little cottage that he would inhabit indefinitely. If he stayed off the Road, he'd never repay what Castiel had done for him, and he'd sentence the Angel to however many more years of misery and isolation. Of course, Cas had assured him that there was no debt owed. Cas given him his life so he could return to his brother, and continue to serve his people, not stay in the forest. And Cas, as selfless he was, would never think badly of Dean for not returning to him.
But it wasn't just an obligation that made Dean think of Cas. He wanted to see him again, and talk to him, and laugh at the way he curled up to sleep like a cat. He wanted to tell Cas about Sam and Ruby, and Garth and Jo – ask for his advice and understanding, even if that only meant a blank stare and a tilt of the head as Cas tried to work logic into human idiosyncracies. And Dean, so curse him, wanted to know what Cas was doing. How his damn vegetables were growing, and whether he'd found any new berry-picking spots. Dean wanted to hear more - about Castiel when he was a soldier, and the brothers and sisters he had lost. And he wanted to know that Castiel was safe. That he'd arrived back at his cottage, and it was secure against the Angels. And that he hadn't done anything stupid to keep them away from Dean on his way home.
Castiel wasn't Sam. He wasn't family. But he was a friend, and Dean had an obligation to him now too as well as Sam. But how he was supposed to balance that against Ruby's threat was uncertain. His only thought was that he wouldn't let her compromise anything, between him and Sam or Cas. If she wanted to play simpering sweet, he could play too. And he'd make sure to best her at her own game. That was what she had asked for, after all? Merely that he not "try anything". Dean could do that – he could try nothing at all. Continue as instructed and as amenably as possible. Whatever he could do to keep Sam safe from her exclusive clutches. And whatever meant he could help Cas, in any way that he could.
"Remembering better days?" The low voice was familiar enough to break Dean's otherwise intense focus and he turned his head to see Lydia, dressed in the same garb as Ruby, biting her lip teasingly at him. "One would almost think you weren't glad to be back."
She gave a little curtsey for Dean – formal - as though they barely knew each other, under the watchful eye of her husband on the other side of the room. Dean followed it with an equally awkward bow and moved a little closer so he could murmur to her lightly, with the playful warmth that had not been lost since he last saw her.
"Good to see you, Lydia."
"You too, Slayer. You look remarkably well for a man who was once dead." She cocked her eyebrow at him, and made no effort to hide the fact she was surveying his body, at least that which wasn't obscured by his comical garb. Dean took the pause as a moment to recover, and resume the tone of cordial flirtation, driving the heaviness from his voice that accompanied his concerns about Ruby. To that, later – he needed to know more about what Ruby wanted before he could proceed.
"Did you miss me?"
Lydia raised one shoulder minutely, as though it weren't worth the effort of going further to demonstrate her lack of care.
"Perhaps. Much has happened since you were away. I've been rather distracted from your absence."
Dean didn't answer except to raise his eyebrows meaningfully, and Lydia turned her eyes to where Ruby and Sam were lost in each other on the dance floor, standing on opposite sides of two lines of people, smiling at some secret joke.
"It was quite the scandal. More so even when they make the announcement."
Dean's eyes flashed back to her, but he let his body follow more slowly – anyone watching would believe that they were merely observing the room and continuing small talk. Lydia, however, picked up on his wide gaze, and merely chuckled luxuriously, deep in her throat,
"Oh I know all about it. I'd say at least half the court suspects. There's no other reason to do something so improper as marry a mere month after your brother's supposed death."
Dean gaped at her and made an anxious be quiet expression with one hand, which he hid with the slant of his body to the majority of the room.
She raised an eyebrow at the gesture, and pursed her lips around a smile that threatened to emerge, marking her amusement at his uncouth communications.
"Oh I wouldn't worry. There's far more interesting gossip to be had at court than that little morsel. It's only a scrap in the general scheme of things."
She let her eyes flicker up to dance floor again, this time focusing on the Princess Lilith, who was currently being partnered by the Alastair. He was beaming at her like she was the most enchanting thing that had ever graced the land, and while she moved deliberately and carefully – every inch royally trained- she was smiling wide and tossing her head back occasionally in laughter.
"Interesting, isn't it? A very recent development, comparatively."
"Oh." Dean let his eyes follow their movement as they padded across the floor in time with the other dancers, leading the dance at the head of the train.
"Mm." Lydia raised a hand to study her fingernails, murmuring lightly: "They are not betrothed."
She threw him a sidelong and meaningful glance, but Dean only stuttered and raised his eyebrows.
"Interesting… I guess?"
"Hm". She let her eyes return to the floor where she followed their movement closely. "More interesting that you do not find it interesting in the slightest."
Dean turned to her, cheeks flushed and somewhat confused.
"I'm not sure what-"
"You would do well to, Slayer."
She stepped away, clearly marking the conversation's end, and threw a coy glance over her shoulder, before returning to her husband and allowing him to take her hand and lead her to the dance floor also. There, they lined up behind Balthazar, and his unfortunate partner (Sarah, another of the Princess' maids), who did her best to stay upright and graceful as Balthazar stumbled drunkenly through the steps, hand drifting far too low to the small of her back. Lydia glowered at their inept performance, and gave the pair a wide berth with her husband, where they took to dancing with supreme courtly finesse – masking what Dean knew to be a fair amount of distaste, on Lydia's side at least.
Dean was mercifully left alone for some minutes, during which time he appraised the dancers, and Lilith and Alastair in particular, who danced together for three straight dances, before he retired with a sweeping bow, and she with a delicate curtsey. What on earth did Lydia mean? It wasn't that he didn't find the development interesting. After all, Lilith had kissed him before he had left for the Road, and the flirtation had been brazenly obvious. Sure, Alastair may have been making inroads in the meantime, but it hardly mattered in the general scheme of things. Lilith, at 22, was far too young to be making any major decisions regarding suitors, and even so, flirtation was a courtly necessity to keep things interesting. The true motivation for her decision would be the requirement for a strong leader for the city and was to be made when she reached the age of 25.
Even then, did it really matter? Dean was a Slayer – his position and influence would always be secure, with or without Lilith's interest. Certainly, Alastair and Dean had different methods, and Dean did find the man a little odd, but Dean respected him as he would any Captain who had awarded the City his life and livelihood. The Road was perilous and draining, and whatever they might disagree on, he and Alastair were brothers in that regard. If Lilith would prefer him at the helm for commanding the City's Slayers and soldiers, Dean could have no qualms about that. Whatever was best to protect his brother and the City, he would agree with wholeheartedly. And he did not doubt, like those before him, Alastair would be prepared to sacrifice everything for the City. He was a good soldier. And no doubt a good leader.
It was Lydia's interest that was interesting, more than anything else. Based on her station at the Princess' side, and her relationship with Dean, it would have been safer to assume she would have preferred Alastair installed in the position. Dean's marriage to Lilith would obviously necessitate their relations to cease. Regardless, Dean imagined it would have been uncomfortable for them to spend so much time in such close proximity, given the intimacy of their previous arrangement. It wasn't that Lydia had feelings for Dean – he wasn't fool enough to imagine that. But surely it would be hard to keep straight faces around each other and maintain the necessary informalities, when they'd been as informal as it was possible to be.
Of course, Lydia was nothing if not supremely courtly, and perhaps she imagined that such awkwardness would be worth having the ear of the Lord Protector were Dean were installed in Samuel Campbell's stead. However, given her high status at court already, there was little Dean could offer she didn't already have, and he didn't doubt she could incur the same favor of Alastair with enough effort. In fact, as far as the rest of the court was concerned, she was far more intimate with Alastair than Dean – they often engaged in playful flirtation at events such as these and, true to form, as Dean considered that, he saw them take the dancefloor together – Lydia dancing coyly and making whispered little remarks to Alastair as he passed her in the choreographed steps that made him grin and respond with a wicked glint.
He'd put it down then to Lydia just being Lydia and fishing for morsels of gossip to relay to her Princess – if Dean weren't interested in Lilith, she'd at once want to know which woman had caught his eye. It would be the talk of the City, to have two Slayers take partners before the Princess had chosen from amongst them and no doubt it would reflect poorly on her anticipated leadership. He was sure, when she was in his arms later, panting and whining, she might be more forthcoming with the motivation for her interest.
Dean couldn't help but get lost in those thoughts momentarily as he leaned against the wall and surveyed the dance floor. It had been three months since he'd last known the pleasure of a woman, and whilst he was used to long spells, he usually had the reprieve of his own company once in a while. But living in such close quarters with Cas, he'd hardly had the time, or much of an inclination. There was embarrassment there too – he knew that Cas was equipped with a superhuman sense of smell, and he didn't rather like the idea of Cas knowing exactly what he got up to when he went to the woods alone. Cas certainly never made such excuses himself, and Dean had come to assume Cas simply didn't bother with that sort of thing. That had made him more embarrassed still, as though the need were somehow despicable.
Dean was largely distracted from Lilith's approach, as he had been with Lydia's, and it wasn't until the heady scent of lilacs hit him that he was jolted out of his reverie, and was forced to make a quick and embarrassed bow.
"Forgive me, my Princess."
Lilith preened at the title, and gave him one of her kinder stares.
"There is no forgiveness required, Slayer. I imagine, after your time away from us, it must be jarring to be surrounded by such familiar things."
"Yes, uh…" she appraised him with a quirked smile,, "but, uh… not unwelcome." At what she presumably took as a compliment she smiled sweetly, in a way that was not unlike the expression Ruby had acquired of late. Lilith must have been Ruby's inspiration for the expression – simpering.
"It must have been dull without entertainment for the entirety of winter. I wonder at how you amused yourself in the forest."
Dean bit his tongue until he could think of a suitable reply – one which didn't impolitely point out the fact that recreation was all but impossible on the Road, where mindless, winged beasts that were once divine sought out blood. That kind of statement would be too unsuitable for the ears of a lady of the court, aside from being rude. She would surely be minded to faint.
"With thoughts only of my return to your service, Princess."
"Oh!" She giggled. "Well how charming you are, Slayer. I am sure you exaggerate."
Dean grimaced, but pursed his lips to hide it. This kind of courtly flirtation didn't suit him well. Lilith talked like Lydia, but at least with Lydia he knew she did not expect flattery in return. She was enigmatic, certainly, and it was entertaining. Lilith, by contrast, seemed to speak in riddles, but without the same substance.
"No, my Princess. I promise, I thought only of returning to protect you and keep you from harm. You are Ardus' greatest treasure."
She giggled again and extended her hand to him. He stared at it, confused, momentarily, before taking it and carefully raising it to his lips. She broke into peals of laughter at the contact, but let her hand remain in his.
"To the contrary, Slayer, I had only indicated I wanted to dance."
Dean dropped her hand immediately, and stepped back, bowing as low as he could and then raising again, holding his hands in front of him in apology. "My Princess, I-"
"There is no need, Slayer. I am rather fascinated by this turn of events, in fact. Will you escort me?"
This time, when she held out her hand, Dean took the proper route, and lead to her towards the line of pairs dancing in the centre of the room. The music finished as they approached, and the players assembled to commence another song. Around then, pairs bustled onto and off the floor, many taking the chance to snatch small, flirtatious touches that were otherwise disallowed in ordinary conversation.
Lilith took her place opposite Dean at the head of the line (as was the only appropriate place for the Princess to dance, except when her mother and father were also on the floor) and the stood apart, facing in front of them until the music began. It was a song Dean knew (much to his relief) and the steps were slow and simple. They started by stepping forward, rising on their toes and then falling as they went backwards. The action was repeated several times, until they turned to face one another. Dean extended his hand, and Lilith curtsied for him. As he lead her around in a clockwise circle, and then paused and turned them both so they could change directions, she smiled widely at him.
"You dance well, Slayer."
"My Princess is too kind."
He narrowly avoided a collision with a passing pair with a nimble step that kept his feet in the proper position, and Lilith graciously failed to acknowledge it. They danced in silence for some time more until Lilith spoke again.
"It is refreshing to have such a silent companion. Too many are too willing to natter poetry in my ear."
Dean quicked a smile and met her eyes. She beamed at him: "are you a wordsmith, Slayer?"
"My talents lie elsewhere, my Princess."
"No doubt." She bit her lip as she walked past him and rotated in a circle around him, while he made a small bow.
"You are a man of few words."
"I am afraid you would be shamefully embarrassed if I tried to be more, your Highness."
She laughed lightly and turned in front of him, keeping her eyes on his for as long as she could before she was forced to take her head in the direction of her body. She finished with a long and low curtsey (although she did not go so low as the other ladies in the line, for it would be embarrassing to her status to do so). "Nonetheless, you communicate well enough."
Dean had no time to contemplate or even respond to the statement before she whirled, and sauntered back to her ladies' maids, who were once again assembled in a giggling group and appraising him. He swept them a more confident bow this time, and Sarah and two others – Bela and Portia, burst into giggles. Lilith joined them calmly, and at once they converged upon her, touching her lightly upon the arm and throwing meaningful glances at Dean as he watched them.
Dean, now he was upon the dance floor, was otherwise occupied for most of the evening, by women who were no doubt desperate to hear tales of his bravery first hand. One by one, they offered increasingly more suggestive propositions in his ear, such that even a sailor in Rehin would be made to blush, and he excused himself from their attentions for refreshments. Lilith, for the duration, seemed hardly offended, and she spent much of the evening either on the floor herself with some of the higher ranked men of the kingdom or her father, or watching her other courtiers.
Dean was met by Alastair, in one of his breaks, at the refreshment bowl, who greeted him in his characteristically cool manner, and strangely cracked, reedy voice.
"Welcome home, Dean." The platitude did not extend to his tone. He was an odd kind of man, so said everyone, although Dean supposed a life on the Road could do that to a person and he tried not be judgmental.
Dean kept his tone merry, and smiled at the greeting.
"I am glad to see you, Alastair. How have the men been keeping?"
"Well enough. I've kept them well drilled in your absence."
"I don't doubt it." Alastair's face remained implacable, so Dean laughed to fill the silence.
"How were you kept on the Road? That must have been some shelter to keep you from harm's way." If Dean hadn't known Alastair for as long as he had, he would have sworn there was some disappointment there, so strange was Alastair's manner of speaking. But the man merely stared at him cooly, with his oddly disjointed grin.
"You've heard rumors, eh? I'm sure they're more exciting than the main event."
"Everything from an underground hideout dug by your own hand, to a trained Angelus as a guard dog."
Dean grinned and took a swig of his punch.
"Neither, I'm afraid. Just a well-concealed cave and some sigils. Standard survival training."
"Heh." Alastair gave one of his odd kind of smiles, where, for whatever reason, he did not bring his teeth together but instead let his jaw hang loose.
"That must have been some cave. You must show me some time on the Road. A well-concealed hide might be worth something if the forests are getting more dangerous."
"Ah… it was a way off the Road. Quite a ride. But yeah… if we get a break some time during trading, I can give you directions."
Horse crap. Such interest was outside what Dean had hoped. He would have to hope he could get Cas to corroborate the tale by then and locate some kind of suitable hide before he was required to escort Alastair. In fact, he wondered if locating and equipping hides might be something Cas would be interested in doing during his idler times. They could be crucial for men left stranded after an attack, and it might keep Cas occupied over the summer months, when his food was more plentiful, and keep him from slowly rotting in that dingy little cottage.
"The Guard is meeting four days from now, to discuss trading patterns to commence in the next fortnight. If you need time to recover, we are of course prepared to provide for you."
"No, no. I'll be there. It'll be good to see the men."
"There is training tomorrow, just after dawn, if you are prepared."
Dean took another swig of his drink and nodded as he swallowed.
"Absolutely."
"I have been leading it, in your absence. But no doubt you should take up that mantle again. Your tale or survival will no doubt be … riveting."
Alastair gave an odd sort of cackle on the last word and another of those strange smiles. Dean grinned nervously back and let Alastair take his leave. He watched as the rest of the party gave him a wide berth as he reapproached their Majesties, and bowed before them, before once again escorting Lilith to the floor.
The rest of the night passed quickly, and he was not left to endure many more simpering attentions before Lydia slipped past him and whispered that her husband planned to proceed to a late night cards game with the husbands of some of the other ladies, and would likely be too intoxicated to return home. Several hours later, after Lilith had dismissed her ladies and Dean had managed to sneak away, they found themselves together in her chambers, naked and rocking into one another breathlessly. She avoided his questions about her interest in his interest in Lilith with clever little maneuvers that left him sweating and panting into her mouth, until eventually he was forced to concede, and let her fall asleep against him while he was left to stare at the ceiling and wonder as to Cas' whereabouts, and hope that he was staying safe in the increasingly dangerous forest.
…
Sam wasn't in his room when Dean returned just before dawn. Presumably, he had stayed in Ruby's rooms that night, as he had said that in Dean's absence he had become accustomed to sleeping there, fearing staying in the empty house on his own.
Dean didn't mind, and found himself some breakfast (in a pantry Sam had enthusiastically stocked upon his return) and jogged to soldiers' training. He was only marginally late for warm up, but Alastair pursed his lips slightly nonetheless. Balthazar, however, who also stood in front of the men, who were doing strength exercises on the ground, gave a knowing guffaw and a wink and Garth, beside him, chortled. Dean was forced to recite his well-rehearsed tale once again, and fend off intrusive questions, before the group commenced with weapon drilling exercises, using staffs, knives, bows and swords. Balthazar, Garth and Alastair took on the role of Angelus for the soldiers, who were required to fend off an attack not dissimilar to that Dean had experienced several months ago. The sight of the reenactment made bile rise in Dean's throat and he had to excuse himself temporarily to fend off a mild panic attack. Despite the insensitivity of it, Dean couldn't fault the practice. Too many had lost their lives in the attack on Dean's carriages, and if at all possible, mistakes should be exposed and discussed, for the preservation of the lives of the soldiers now before him. They were young, some only just eighteen, and scared. Whatever could be done to give them some years, before the Road took them, then that was enough. They owed them that as their captains. The other Slayers were kind enough not to acknowledge his absence when he returned, except Alastair who threw him a sympathetic smile.
Still, Dean couldn't calm his churning stomach for the remainder of the training session, and he was forced to drill on his own while the other Slayers commanded the group. He rejoined them when they commenced their warm down, just before midday. It did little for his rising nerves though, for the warm down consisted of Alastair's debrief, in which he made several emotive declarations.
"The monsters that wait for you out there. They are like nothing you have ever seen. They are driven by one urge, and one urge only. To destroy you and devour you as though they were cattle. They are vile and putrid. They would seize our children from their beds if they could. From now and always, your lives are forfeit. They are owed to the City to defend them from this terror of terrors. Wield your weapons with menace and with power, and tear the creatures apart. Wrench their wings from them and burn them, for that it what they have done to us in forcing us to retreat behind these walls. Destroy them. Fight. And protect your kingdom as you would protect your own life, and even fiercer again."
Dean swallowed through the speech, in an effort to calm himself away from speaking and to offer new found clarification on matters in the forest. He knew Alastair spoke the truth, largely, and Cas wouldn't disagree that defence was necessary for the sake of the city, even if it meant bloodshed. The Angels were animals now. Whatever they had been, it had been eradicated from them, by whatever strange force had turned them so thoroughly animal. But still, Dean thought of Cas back in the woods, gentle and caring, and despaired that he should watch his brothers and sisters so hunted by humans when they had once been of the same kind as him. And even worse, that he would one day be the same creature. And soldiers like these boys would be obliged to seek him out, and injure or kill him, for the sake of the safety of the city.
It left a bitter taste in his mouth after he left the training arena, and Balthazar caught up with him, using a rag to wipe sweat from his brow.
"Some speech wasn't it?"
"Hm."
Dean swallowed and made no further response. There was little to say on the matter. The speech was what the young men needed to hear, even if its aggression was distasteful to Dean and would have left Cas in silence for hours, had he heard it.
"He's been like that since Garth returned… stirring."
"I suppose it supports the men."
"Hmph." Balthazar, ran the rag through his hair, curled and dark with sweat. "Not entirely to my tastes, to be honest. I wouldn't have thought yours either."
"Of course not." They stopped in the shade of the city square and took shelter beneath one of the trees planted there. Dean squirted himself with his waterskin and rubbed the sweat off his face, and offered it to Balthazar, who took a swig before doing the same.
"Garth feels the same."
Balthazar looked to Dean, and met his eyes. Dean merely furrowed his brow in response and looked away.
Balthazar continued then, seemingly unperturbed from continuing whatever he had to say: "Despite his inexperience, I think he'll lead a squad well. Keep them safe."
Dean thought back to Garth, commanding the men with Balthazar and Alastair that morning. He was uncertain, to be sure, but he'd been well-trained and he was quick, even if he had something of a goofy exterior.
"I think you're right. Once he gets over his nerves, I think he'll be fine."
"He's taking the first squad out. Next fortnight. And then another the next month."
Dean smirked as he mentally calculated the dates.
"That's very close to the wedding."
Balthazar chuckled. "He may wear the mark of a Slayer, but that means nothing as far as Jo's concerned. We ought to pity him in breaking that news."
Dean laughed back: "She's the most terrifying foe in all of Ardus when she's got the bit between her teeth."
"We should bring her to training to terrify the lazy ones."
Dean broke into proper peals of laughter then and Balthazar joined him heartily, clapping him on the shoulder.
"It's good to have you back Dean. Things haven't been the same."
Slowly the laughter faded and they took to once again staring out into the square, where the bustle of a morning market provided enough occupation for several minutes. Eventually, with a half-groan, half-sigh and a grumble, Balthazar pulled himself up from the step and stretched.
"I say it's well past midday. The Brown Bear'll be open. Join me?"
Dean chortled and shook his head. He pulled himself up, wincing at the sensation of some already stiffening muscles from his first proper training session in months and dusted off his trousers – it was a fruitless exercise – they were still wet with sweat and gravel and dirt clung to them mercilessly.
"Not today. I'm hoping to eat with Sam. He'll finish at the library by the time I've washed."
"As you choose." Balthazar gave a quick nod and turned to stride across the square. He was still light on his feet, even after the innumerable years on the Road and the injuries he had sustained. He laughed and joked with those sellers in the market whom he passed, who tried to peddle their wares. A few were lucky enough to receive a flirtatious wink and a passing comment, and Dean smothered his laughter at Balthazar's brazenness. He may not be in line for Lord Protector, at least insofar as Lilith's behaviors indicated, but he was certainly the most charismatic of Ardus' slayers. Despite the fact that he knew it to arise from the horrors Balthazar had seen, his generally drunken misplaced humor was calming to the men, and Dean believed it had a worthy place in the squad, as small a comfort as could be offered.
The walk home (for it was a walk, and not a jog today, much to Dean's self-disdain) was uneventful, and, as Dean had hoped, Sam arrived home just as Dean had finished cleaning himself and had set out his meal. The afternoon and evening passed quickly and pleasantly enough. Ruby had had her first visit from a midwife, who was accustomed to the secrecy of court, and had been paid to keep silent on the matter until the announcement. Everything appeared to be going well, and Sam was already convinced he would have a daughter. Dean joked that Ruby would have two girls to look after if that were the case, and Sam threw part of his meal at him. Mostly, they avoided the subject of the Road. Sam seemed satisfied enough though, with Dean's accounts of the mortifications of being so beloved by the palace's ladies, and after they had finished drinking and eating, and he had to depart for the evening to return to his wife's chambers, he gave Dean a fierce hug and buried his face into his brother's shoulder. At his height, it was almost comical and he had to stoop somewhat. Dean was careful not to laugh at his brother's predicament, but instead nodded and made a few gruff noises amounting to something along the lines of "Yeah, Sammy, I missed you too." Sam departed quickly after that, and Dean was left to the cottage alone.
He passed the time at stretching his tired muscles and massaging areas where knots were accruing. Later, when he fell into bed, he thought of the Road and his inevitable return. How perhaps he might position the men differently, and equip them, in light of what he had learned from Cas, and how best to communicate those lessons without invoking Cas' authority to the men as a means of justifying his change of mind in terms of the squad's management. And then later again, he thought of just Cas, and hoped that he was safe in his cottage, well-stored for the season, and not too lonely. Dean didn't know why, but when he fell asleep, that last thought remained, like lead in his gut.
…
The meeting of the Slayers and the Lord Protector occurred a few days later. It was the second of such meetings for the year, the first having taken place over the winter months, when trading routes and times were allocated for the year. Of course, with Dean returned, all that planning had to be revised, and so the group was once again required to reassemble and volunteer for excursions. The task was somewhat nominal in that injuries and unexpected events usually required the Slayers to be at the call of the Lord Protector at almost any time, and might leave for the Road with a few hours' notice. Nonetheless, it was tradition, and a perfect time for Dean to broach the subject of changing the groups' practices on the Road.
Although he had been wary, at the mention of the meeting, Ruby had remained stoic, and Dean took that as an assent that he be allowed to continue with his usual trading time on the Road. Even though she didn't acknowledge it, he'd tried to give her a friendly smile at that, as a show of camaraderie. It might not have hit the mark he was hoping, but when Sam had left the room to relieve himself, she had talked with him politely enough of the weather that Dean assumed he was performing well so far.
The meeting occurred in the Lord Protector's chamber in the palace, a room more ornamental than necessary for the gruff men that tended to occupy it. Its main advantage was the massive ochre table that was set at its centre, with a huge map of Ardus and its various sister trading cities, as well as the smaller settlements set outside the cities that were responsible for farming and provided the cities with their exportable goods.
Dean was the second to last to arrive, Balthazar surprisingly up bright and early alongside Garth, and Samuel Campbell glowering at the head of the table. Alastair was only moments behind, and he gave Dean one of his strange grins as he entered, clicking his teeth together twice, before he took the seat next to him at the table.
Upon his arrival Samuel Campbell cleared his throat and stood, and the other Slayers joined suit, bowing to him as he did so. They then waited until he was properly seated before they sat themselves down again and they fell into silence, awaiting their instructions. It was a very small and informal ceremony compared to the standards required at Court for greeting the Lord Protector, but the Slayers had come to learn that Samuel preferred things that way – in this room, his true home, he was the man that had spent twenty years on the Road and witnessed things too horrible for his family to imagine, and because of that he had no time for ceremony. Matters were too serious.
"To start with, welcome home Dean Winchester."
Samuel Campbell gave a nod in Dean's direction, as his gruff rumble broached the silence of the room. Balthazar and Alastair gave slight nods and murmurs of appreciation, and Garth grinned wide and started a round of applause, which he quickly stifled with a glare from Samuel.
When Garth hung his head and looked down towards the table, Samuel sniffed once, and commenced speaking, in an authorative low vibrato:
"It is late in the season to be making such rearrangements, and we ought to Endeavour to keep the first routes as unchanged as possible. Given Dean's predicament over Winter, I am prepared to let him rest for the duration of the Spring trading. We can revise the summer schedule and onwards to accommodate him."
"That's not necessary, sir. I am ready to take the Road whenever you call." Dean kept his voice soft and acquiescent, but even as he interrupted.
Samuel raised his eyebrow but didn't look to Dean as he spoke. "The groups are already accounted for and to disrupt one venture would disrupt them all. You can commence in summer."
Dean swallowed and made a small noise in his throat. Spring was three months. Cas. Cas would be waiting for him. He'd promised one month. No matter how superhuman his senses, Dean doubted Castiel would know if he were on the Road, but for watching the city gates. The thought of Cas waiting patiently in the dangerous forest, when he could have been in the safety of his cabin, made him nervous. And the thought of Cas thinking Dean had abandoned him, worse still.
"With all due respect, sir. I'd prefer to return as soon as possible, and recommence my usual routine."
Samuel growled and met Dean's eyes square. "Slayer…"
Dean interjected quickly, to avoid reprimand: "I could replace of the allocated routes, and give someone some time off. Garth is getting married at the end of spring, sir. If I took his routes, he'd have time to get things arranged."
He shot a sidelong glance at Garth, hoping that this suggested change of plans didn't offend him in any way. It might reflect badly on Garth, if Samuel thought he had been trying to wriggle out of captaining a group so early into his status. Garth, however, beamed back at Dean and looked elated at the thought of being in the citadel to plan his own wedding. Dean smothered at the smile of the mental image of Garth, giggling with Jo, as they selected flowers and garments for the occasion. He was such a woman – he would adore those things.
Samuel considered Dean's statement for some time afterwards, before turning to address Garth.
"Does that suit you, Slayer?"
"Yes indeed, sir. If Dean is willing."
Sameul turned to Dean, shoulders squared and eyes unblinking: "Dean?"
"I am, sir."
"It is settled then. You will leave in the fortnight. Onto other matters then. I consider the best mechanism is for Dean and Alastair to take the southward trading routes for summer and autumn to Rehin and the others. Balthazar and Garth will be relieved of sharing those routes, and may focus purely on the north routes for the duration of the year."
It was a new strategy, to divide the routes so. Usually the Slayers simply cycled through the three of them for each scheduled trip. Where one was still on the Road, and unable to take a group, a captain would be selected from the unmarked men. It was something of a relief, to have a new Slayer in the group. Trading would be more efficient, and Dean might have more time to rest his men between trips in cities, with no urgency to return to the Citadel in time for the next scheduled trip. South was good too. That meant passing by Cas' cottage, and having the opportunity to see him. All in all, a good outcome then, and Dean was pleased.
"Does that suit you gentlemen?"
"Very well. Dean will ride out three times during the spring to replaces Garth's trips, and normal schedules will recommence after that in accordance with the new routes. I will have my scribe write up a formal calendar, and I will liaise with the traders regarding our capacity."
The other Slayers nodded curtly. It was good news for all of them – a quieter spring, and a summer more conveniently scheduled would mean more time with family and training the men.
"Good. Now, the scouts will be sent out this month to check the Roads. Do I have a volunteer to lead them?"
Alastair raised his hand before Dean and he gave a small strange smile of victory. Samuel nodded curtly and let the matter drop.
"We will reconvene for their reports next week. Provided there are no major problems, I anticipate commencing trading immediately after that. Dean, do you think there is any cause for concern on the southern routes?"
"Nothing over winter, sir."
"Good."
Samuel drummed at the table with his knuckles. "In that case, I am content to leave arrangements to you regarding your party's mechanisms. It would be best to discuss provision of anything extra with the armoury directly."
"Regarding that, sir?"
Dean cleared his throat and sat up a little straighter, determined to properly meet Samuel Campbell's eyes.
"Yes?"
"I have some ideas…"
…
2013
Castiel ceased speaking around mid-afternoon, to allow the group to take a break and feed themselves. Dean left the room with Bobby to make for the kitchen, but today he was a little more lethargic and less careful to absent himself immediately from Castiel's presence. Castiel could hear his faint murmur in the kitchen as he spoke with Bobby, but he let them to their privacy. Dean would never know, of course, but Castiel himself felt better in providing him with his space. It was the kind of service he would have provided to the Dean of his recollections without question, and, believing that that Dean was within Greg somewhere, it was a service he ought to be afforded too.
Jessica and Sam stayed behind. They had commenced awkwardly avoiding eye contact sometime that morning, and at the loss of two other bodies from the room, the bizarreness of their behavior was only worse accentuated. Castiel was careful to suppress his smile at their nervousness, knowing from his conversation with Jessica that any acknowledgment of the clear tension would not be welcomed.
After half a minute of uncomfortable silence, Sam managed to broach the topic of Castiel's speech for the afternoon, and enquired as to the works required of the scribes in Ardus. Castiel described the library of Ardus for him with as much detail as he could (however, it was sparse, given he knew the description from Dean, who had scarce had time to visit it). Nonetheless, Sam seemed enraptured by the poor descriptions of its majesty, and was deeply intrigued by the literacy of "Dean's brother, Sam" in that century.
"It must have been uncommon for a man raised outside the palace to have had that capacity."
"It was, as I understand it. Dean was exceptionally proud of him."
"Dean read your manifesto too, though?" Jessica shot in, keeping her eyes fixed firmly on Castiel, even when Sam turned his gaze to watch her.
"He did. I believe Sam taught him, when they were younger. Sam was lucky enough to be selected as an apprentice for Ardus' library when young boys were scarce for the purpose. He and Dean would stay awake late in the evenings, after Sam's lessons, and he would relay what he had learned to Dean. When they grew older and Dean's solider's trainings became more intensive, I understand they ceased the practice. But Dean worked to keep the skill in secret."
"That's very impressive." Castiel beamed at Sam when he said that, who crinkled his brow a little at the expression. Castiel quickly looked away and back to the floor before him.
"Yes. He used to move his lips when he read, and follow the words with his finger when he read. He'd try to hide it, of course. I think he was embarrassed."
"Could he write too?"
"A little. Sam wrote well, of course. I think Dean was less motivated by it. He knew his letters, but I think he found the whole process tedious. He never acquired any particular fluidity. He was good with mathematics though. He would write whenever he had to make a calculation. It was a very impressive skill, at the time."
Jessica grinned at Castiel shyly and rubbed at her arm absently. "That's sweet, Cas."
"What is?"
She breathed out a laugh and beside him, Castiel heard Sam mimic the action.
"Nothing."