The late-afternoon sun flooded the outer courtyard of the castle of Essar, and wind from the sea breeze carried heat and salt. Peggy inhaled deeply, enjoying the day, as she brushed Clove down after her ride. Clove nickered and shook her head when a large bird landed on the thatch of the stable roof. Peggy looked at the hawk and smiled. "Hello, Clint." It gave a single, loud, piercing cry before flying off again.
She dropped the brush in the basket near her feet and petted Clove's neck. "That's enough for now, what do you say?" The horse whinnied. "Happy, can you stall her up?" she called to the stablehand.
At her words, Happy came out from behind the hay bale he was spreading. "Of course, Your Highness."
She smiled and handed him Clove's lead and the basket of supplies. She needed to wash up a bit if she were going to be in the hall when their guest arrived. Though, she supposed, he wasn't really a guest, was he?
The light from the setting sun illuminated the mostly empty hall in sharp bands of light and shadow. Almost everyone was sitting down to supper by now. Peggy and her father, King Harrison, chose to postpone their meal.
Their court sorcerer Tony was there, standing inside of his circle. His hands were outstretched, and sweat beaded at his forehead. Several feet away, a dented breastplate hovered in the air. When the door opened a few moments later and their former court sorcerer—his father Howard—entered, the armor clattered to the floor.
Before anything could be said, the doors opened and Clint, their austringer, their bowman, their spy, entered the hall. Following a step behind him was a lithe woman with brilliant red hair. She looked nervous.
Clint approached the foot of the throne where Harrison sat, bowed low then turned and bowed to Peggy sitting next to him. The woman curtsied as well, graceful despite her confusion. "Your Grace," Clint said. His gaze lingered briefly on the plain chair that sat between the king and queen's thrones. "I was sorry to hear about Stanley. I know I sent a letter but I wanted to give my condolences in person as well. He was a good man."
Harrison nodded. Peggy could see the way his shoulders stiffened slightly against the back of his chair as his grief for the royal consort resurfaced. "Thank you, Clint."
The woman beside Clint looked at him with shock and sudden distrust in her eyes.
Harrison grinned. "I take it you have word from George?"
"I do, sir. Enra is willing to join your houses. Their eldest to your youngest." Clint dipped his head in Peggy's direction. "Not so little anymore, are you Pegs?"
She grinned at him, though she didn't feel as much joy at his news as her father must have. She wasn't interested in being married off for the good of the kingdom, but she knew it was her duty. The childhood nickname from him did spark joy in her heart.
The king chuckled, seemingly delighted. "What took them so long to agree? I thought the terms were as fair as I could offer them."
"They've got a custom where the prince and princess can choose their life partners. I think the prince was on the verge of choosing someone. He was a bit reluctant, but they've agreed on a wedding within a week of being relieved from the Red Skull's siege."
"But they've got a daughter as well?"
"Not yet a woman, as far as my little birds could learn," Clint answered.
Peggy felt her admiration for the royal family of Enra rising. She was pleased to hear they weren't willing to wed off a daughter not yet flowered, even if it were a prosperous match in their time of need. "What changed his mind?" she asked.
"Someone misunderstood an order and opened the gates, filling their outer bailey with peasants when they should have been sending as many non-essential mouths out the sally port as the could manage. It severely reduces your time to gather your men for relief. I estimate that they'll start running out of food by mid-summer."
"Your little birds, Clint?" Howard interrupted. "Has your connection with Lucky passed on to her brood?"
"Uh, no," Clint said, shuffling a little. "Just subterfuge I've learned to use to hide that connection."
"How is it going? You haven't started to sprout feathers or anything?" Howard asked. He was teasing, obviously, though there was a hint of worry that his magic had somehow gone wrong. Clint and Lucky's connection was the only one of its kind.
"Nope, no feathers," Clint said, patting himself down his thighs. The woman with him was looking even more baffled.
Harrison tilted his head and glanced at Peggy, humored by their conversation. Peggy decided a little teasing of her own was in order. "You know, ever since Howard forged the connection between you and Lucky, Tony's been attempting to make things fly. I expect he's trying to top his father's greatest feat."
In the corner, Tony stepped out of his sorcerer's circle and raised his nose in the air. Howard glanced around Clint to look at Tony even as he said to Peggy, "Does he know that Lucky could already fly before we did the procedure?"
"Yes, yes, make fun of me. Did you not see the breastplate I managed to lift?"
"We saw it," Peggy confirmed.
"With as much effort as you put into that," Howard said, watching as Tony dabbed his forehead with a small cloth, "I can't wait to see how much energy you intend to expend trying to get an entire knight and her horse to fly."
"Umm, excuse me Your Grace, Your Highness," the woman at Clint's side said. "But would someone explain what's going on?"
Peggy gave Clint a chiding look; he should have at least explained to his companion his delicate position with the realm. "He's one of ours," she said to the baffled woman. "A spy sent to infiltrate."
"But Enra and Essar are allies."
Clint shuffled again. "And I'd like to think I help keep it that way."
"And this thing with Lucky?" she asked, her keen gaze sharp on his face as she tried to determine what was lie and what was subterfuge.
Clint turned wide and slung his arm around her shoulders. He gave a short nod to Harrison and Peggy, before walking out of the hall guiding the woman along. "Ah, Natasha. That's going to require a stout mug of ale and some stew. And maybe removing some clothing. It's a long story, really, about innate magic and pushing the boundaries..." he was still rambling on as the hall door closed behind him.
Peggy was glad to have him home; she'd always been fond of Clint. She was less glad about raising an army and getting married, however.
* . * . *
The first change for Bucky, once the Red Skull's army closed around the castle walls, was that Cook had been told not to provide him breakfast any longer. It was an indulgence they couldn't afford if they were going to stretch the food within the castle to feed the hundreds of extra mouths of the peasants living within it.
The second change was the strange enclosed sense that settled on him. He couldn't leave the castle. No one could. Despite the size of the keep and both baileys, he felt trapped. Beyond the walls were a thousand men set up in camps, just waiting. Their supply train had finally caught up. Their carpenters and blacksmiths were working on siege engines, but they hadn't finished or employed them yet, so everything was still quiet.
Steve had found Bucky pacing the ramparts of the keep, away from the outside curtain wall where all the guardsmen stood waiting and watching for the enemy to move, to do something, and given him a book. It was written by the defenders of a previous siege in his grandfather's time. They had outlasted the attacking army and won. It helped Bucky understand more of what was likely to happen in the upcoming months, but it did nothing to assuage his guilt about opening the gates and severely weakening their chances of outlasting the enemy.
For the first two months, Bucky was able to walk among the crowds of excess people in the baileys, slipping through with a simple, plain peasant's cloak about his shoulders. If no one saw the deeply dyed colors of his clothes, they would be less suspicious of his identity. Most of these people had never had any need to visit the king's court and had no idea what the king looked like, much less what the prince looked like. Steve had been less interested in venturing out, but he did join him on occasion.
In April, the enemy had finished building their siege engines. The constant crashing of boulders at the walls lasted long into the night, every night, and started again shortly before dawn. Bucky was sure the ache in his head throbbed in time with each crack and crash of stone.
By the start of June, their meals had become immensely austere. They still had two meals a day, dinner and supper, but there was just enough to feel full rather than the abundance that Bucky was used to. The last of the cured meats were gone. After Sam witnessed his falcon Red Wing almost get skewered by an arrow that came from inside the walls, he refused to send her out to hunt in the woods north of the castle. It was too likely that she would end up a meal for some fortunate peasant.
The last time Steve and Bucky walked among the peasants, they found that the small vegetable and herb patch meant solely for the royal family had been stripped of everything edible, trampled and turned up in the peasants' search for something other than grain for bread. They walked by the food line, where knights and guards had lined up to keep a watchful eye to make sure no peasant got his share and came back for more. Steve and Bucky could easily hear one of the peasants arguing with the castle servant and the guards at the mill doors. "What do you mean, that's all we get? I've got a family I need to feed. This wouldn't be enough to feed a single man, much less a family!" He shoved at the servant. The other peasants were the ones to shoved him back. His small bag of milled wheat spilled to the ground, and the peasants who had pushed him down scrambled to scoop up what they could for their own bread. They didn't seem to care about the handfuls of dirt that they got with it. The loud peasant was pulled from the line and sent away without his day's share.
Steve's face had gone pale from watching the scuffle, and Bucky felt sick to his stomach. He grabbed Steve's arm, and led him back to the keep. After that, they only left the keep with an armed escort, and they only walked along the walls.
By the end of the month, even the royal family had been reduced to one meal a day, mainly consisting of spiced or wine-soaked bread. Cook did as much as he could with what he had available. Bucky wondered how many meals he might be skipping to provide them with what he did. He worried and grew more sullen.
Where was Essar? Where was their relief? Had Clint not made it? Had they considered the less than quick answer a snub and had decided not to come to Enra's aid out of spite? Bucky didn't know, and the thoughts worked their way into his mind like thorns, prickling him at odd hours.
As the fourth month of the siege opened, things grew worse. The men surrounding the walls doubled. Not only were there banners of a red skull on a gold field, now there were banners of a silver octopus on a black field. King Alexander of Tellis Tor, to the north, had joined his army with Johann's. Bucky couldn't see the horizon beyond the castle any longer. Now, as far as the eye could see, were tents and men of the attacking army.
A little after mid-summer, Bucky decided to pester Steve into walking the walls with him again.
"What do you say? A walk all the way 'round?" Bucky asked him. Steve offered him a shrug of indifference, and it irritated him. "It has to be better than just reading all day."
"I like reading," Steve snapped.
Bucky winced at the harsh tone. When he spoke next, he made sure to soften his own. "I'm sorry. I know you like reading. I didn't mean anything by it."
Steve nodded contritely. "I know. It's just... I suppose the lack of food is making me bad-tempered."
"Me too." Bucky set a sedate pace for their walk, and they strolled along in silence. Bucky was worried that no matter what subject he decided on, they would end up bickering. He didn't want to talk about the enemy on the horizon, or whether or not Essar was coming to their aid, or what that meant for him. He didn't want to talk about the lack of food or even be reminded of it, lest his hunger, or his guilt, grew worse.
The smell of rot and decay and earth rose up the closer they came to the chapel. Bucky chanced a glance at Steve to see him looking grimly back at him. Bucky didn't want to stop and watch the gravediggers but Steve paused to watch. Beside the four men digging holes in the small chapel yard, was a cart piled with bodies wrapped in coarse cloth. Bucky could see the gnarled hands of an old woman peeking out from under one and the lame foot of an old man beneath another. Resting on top of those was a small bundle, its size an obvious give away to the age of the person despite no bit of their body showing.
Bucky turned away first, unable to watch the gravediggers for long. He rested his forehead against a merlon and breathed deeply, wishing the smell of death would leave his nose. This was his fault. He knocked his forehead into the stone twice before he felt Steve's hand on his shoulder.
"It's not your fault, you know," he said as if he'd plucked the words directly from Bucky's brain. "They lived a lot longer in here than they would have out there." Bucky looked at him, sure misery and shame were written on his face. Steve gave him a sad smile and patted his shoulder. "Come on. The rhythm of the bombardment has changed."
Bucky stood up straight again and listened. Steve was right, it had changed. Along with it were men's shouts, and the sound of stone falling into water. They looked at one another, and ran toward the source of the shouts.
When they reached the tower before the source of the shouts, a guardsman stopped them from passing through. "You don't want to go out there, Your Grace, Your Highness." He flinched as another boulder slammed into the walls of the tower. Dust rained down over them. "They've moved their trebuchets up a few feet. Just that, changed where they hit at the walls. It's likely that they'll bring them down now."
Bucky rushed to the arrow slit and stepped around the young bowman standing there. The bowman loosed his arrow and then shook his head. "They're still too far. I'm just wasting arrows," he said.
"May I try?" Bucky asked. He felt more alert than before. Something was finally happening. Albeit, this was probably a bad thing to happen, but it wasn't just the endless waiting. The archer handed his long bow to him and stepped out of the way. Stepping into the recently vacated spot, Bucky could see where the enemy had pushed their trebuchets up. He pulled an arrow from the barrel in front of him and nocked it. Before he drew the string back, he watched the way the enemies' banners flapped harshly in the wind. He judged about where he should aim, drew back the bow, and loosed his arrow.
One of the men manning the siege engine fell.
He smirked to himself. "Here," he said, handing the bow back to the younger man. "See the banners? You've got to correct for the wind."
The archer looked back out the arrow slit and then back at Bucky. "Well done, sir, and thank you." He nocked his own arrow, drew it back and loosed it. It struck the trebuchet. At least he was getting closer to the mark.
Bucky looked back at Steve. He looked unsettled by the noise and the news that the wall may come down. "Come on, let's get back to the keep."
* . * . *
The day after Steve walked the curtain wall with Bucky, he woke to Riley whispering to himself in his room. "Riley?"
"Oh," he said, obviously started. There wasn't very much light coming in through the small window high up on the walls of his room but he could already hear the crashing of boulders. "I'm sorry, Your Grace. I'm just..."
Beyond the safe walls of Steve's bedchamber, they could hear another servant running through the keep, shouting, "They've started a frontal assault, they've started a..." the words blended together as they echoed off the stone as the servant moved further through the keep.
Steve looked at Riley where he was standing. He was worried or nervous, his hands were shaking where he was holding Steve's tunic for him to dress. "What do you want to do, Riley?"
"I want to serve you, Your Grace," he answered.
Steve could feel his short temper already starting to fray. He got out of bed and let Riley help him dress in the deep violet gambeson that Winifred had made for him. When he was ready to venture out, Steve turned to him. "Go find Sam. Stay with him if he lets you. You don't need to wait on me today. I know you're worried about him."
The trembling had eased and Riley met his gaze. "Thank you, Your Grace."
He left and Steve nodded to himself in the dark room. "All right, now to find Bucky. Surely he has enough sense to stay off the walls today." He first checked Bucky's bedchamber and then he went up the tower to the council room. For once, it was empty. The next place he checked was the ramparts of the keep itself. When that was empty, he sought out Winifred in her solar.
"I suspect Bucky and George, and probably the whole council are going to be on the ramparts of the inner bailey, Steve," she said. She set down her embroidery and stood up. Becca glanced up from her own work but didn't follow when Winifred gestured for her to stay. Winifred walked with Steve out of the room. "How are you, Steven?" Her fingers played with the cuffs of one of the sleeves of his gambeson. "This looks nice on you. Now you look like you're one of our own." Her words were soft. When he didn't speak up to answer her, she asked again. "How are you?" He couldn't meet her gaze. She reached out and squeezed his shoulder. "We're as safe as can be. Even if they breach the outer walls, They've still got to take the inner bailey and the keep. He won't get to you."
He looked up at her and nodded. "I know. I worry that Bucky's going to find it all so exciting and join in and get hurt."
She smiled sadly and nodded. "Me too. Being besieged is dreadfully boring, isn't it? I almost don't blame him for craving the excitement. I don't think George will let him out of his sight today. Like how I'm keeping Becca close. If I thought you were interested in embroidery, I'd ask you to join us." She chuckled and Steve grinned. She pulled him into a hug and squeezed before letting go. "Go find Bucky. I'm sure having you close will ease his mind too."
Instead of going through the inner bailey to the wall, Steve went back to the ramparts of the keep and trekked the long way around along the wall walk. The river that ran behind the castle was immensely helpful in keeping the Red Skull's forces directly in front of the castle walls, where they were the most fortified. As he walked along the walls he could see a small contingent of King Alexander's forces across the river, keeping an eye on the sally port. Their black and silver pennons snapped in the breeze. Steve walked closer to the inside of the wall just in case they had archers with them.
He found Bucky and George, as well as Sam and Riley, standing on the ramparts over the middle gatehouse. He could hear the shouts of the attacking army as they worked their way to the walls, even if he couldn't see them. The bombardment continued, but where before the sound of boulders splashing into the moat below could be heard, now there was the crack of stone on stone. They'd thrown so many boulders that they'd built a bridge to the base of the walls.
Archers would be in the towers on either side of the stone bridge, shooting as quickly as they could to stop the enemy soldiers. The trebuchet inside the castle was active now, as well, and Steve could see the men working it below. One of the boulders from their trebuchet arched out over the walls and landed with a thunderous crash in the middle of the enemy line. Shouts and screams of pain filtered up even through the noise of everything else.
"So they pushed forward overnight," Steve finally said.
Sam nodded. "They're within reach. Pietro, Nick's squire, is doing relay for us. He'll be back soon to tell us more details of what's happening. I mean, I think we'd be safe enough at the barbican but I can understand the reasons King George has against being that close to the bombardment." He tilted his head in a short gesture toward Bucky who was pacing a little further off.
Back and forth, Bucky paced, passing three wide merlons again and again in his agitated state. His violet gambeson contrasted with his light skin and dark hair in the morning sunlight. There were even green vines embroidered on either side of his collar. He looked every part the Prince.
Steve could understand the reasons George would want to keep Bucky from participating. Firstly, because Bucky was his son and he worried for his safety. The other was that Bucky's continued good health was important for the agreement made with Essar. What would they demand if they relieved the castle to find that the prince they'd been promised had perished by accident? The thought of Bucky's upcoming marriage—if Essar did come to relieve them and won—made Steve's stomach sour. He knew it was going to happen, had figured it out as soon as he'd heard Essar's terms months ago, but he still hadn't completely come to terms with it. Bucky was just one more thing denied him. Not that he had ever gathered the courage to confess his desires, but now he didn't have to. All he had to do, all he could do, was support him when it was time for his wedding.
Across the outer bailey, Steve saw the wall next to the barbican crack. He took the few steps to stand at the crenel to watch closer. The wall didn't fall right away. The men atop that section seemed to fight all the harder until Thaddeus directed them away. Even at this distance, Steve could hear Knight Commander's thunderous voice booming orders. Lightly armored peasants started gathering around the wall's base, far enough back that if it crumbled they wouldn't be crushed but within striking distance with their pikes. If the wall fell and the enemy rushed the breach, they'd be running directly down into a bed of spears.
The wall held for four hours.
By the time it did fall, three other sections of wall were on the verge of collapse as well. The sound of rending and falling stone made Steve's sun-heated skin break into gooseflesh.
Pietro had run the walls several times to get commands and confirmations from King George. In the hours before the collapse, the peasant women, children, and those men too weak to fight were moved into the inner bailey. Some of the knights and bowmen were pulled back to the inner wall.
Cavalry were sent out to attack the front lines trying to climb the walls. They trampled them with their horses and rush back in, luring the enemy into the kill zone between the portcullises under the gatehouse. Pietro had raved about being able to drop rocks on the enemy soldiers' heads and about the screams they'd made when the others dropped boiling water on them before Sam quieted him.
Either Cook or Winifred had sent May to the walls to call them for dinner but George had shaken his head. "Not until the wall falls," he'd said. He had sounded so certain of it that Steve's gnawing hunger had faded a little, replaced by worry. The wall fell within the hour. The peasants and the men inside held the breach until the enemy soldiers were having to crawl over the bodies of their fallen peers before they too were slaughtered.
Then there were horns, recalling the Red Skull's army. Even the bombardment halted.
Steve was shocked at how sustained the fighting had been. How many men did the Red Skull, and now King Alexander, feel were disposable before they thought their losses were too great? From the walls he could see how weary everyone one was and still, Thaddeus, the masons, and peasants pushed on to rebuild the walls and patch them up as best they could. Many of the peasants started looting armor and weapons from the dead. Enra's dead were carried into the inner bailey to the chapel where the woman had been working at digging a few mass graves. The enemy dead were looted and then tossed back over the walls.
Steve couldn't stomach it and left first. Sam and Riley followed him. The three of them ate their small meal together in his chamber in relative silence. The reprieve from the bombardment felt like a blessing. Though there were still several hours of daylight left, Steve didn't want to return to the ramparts. Instead, he went to the library and retrieved his favorite book of poetry and then went to Winifred's solar.
The reprieve from the bombardment did not last. Steve could still hear it, could still feel the way it seemed to shake the very foundations of the keep. He noticed that after every strike, Winifred paused in her work, like she was listening for the next section of wall to fall.
The bombardment did not stop within the hour after sunset either, it continued, like drumbeats for the most brutal dance. There was indistinct shouting at one point. Shortly thereafter, Bucky entered the room. He looked exhausted and shocked, the way Steve would have imagined he would have looked to learn that a beloved pet had died. Heartsick.
He didn't speak at first, just walked into the room and stopped. Winifred set down her embroidery but did not stand immediately. "Bucky?" she asked.
When he didn't answer, she stood and went to him. Before she could pull him into a hug, he said very softly. "They took the outer bailey."
"Has your father pulled back to the ramparts on the keep?"
He nodded with the smallest of gestures.
"They didn't retrieve their dead. They gave us a reprieve for dinner and to bury our own but it was... fake. They used the time to push closer. The just trampled over their bodies... like mindless animals."
Winifred glanced back at Becca, obviously worried about how she was taking the news but Becca didn't lift her head from her embroidery. That didn't mean she wasn't listening. Steve saw her flick her gaze in his direction before she made her next stitch. Winifred raised her hand to cup Bucky's cheek and then reach behind him to pull him down into a hug. He mumbled into her shoulder, "Where is Essar? Am I not a good enough bargaining chip?"
"Oh, darling," she said. She held him tighter to her chest, cradling him despite his height over her or the fact that they were standing. "Don't think such things. You are wonderful. They will come. I know you aren't looking forward to the marriage but Harrison and Amanda are good, kind people. Their daughter will be just as kind-hearted. You'll get along fine. You are worth it. They wouldn't have asked for an alliance if they didn't believe you were worth it." She lowered her voice and if Steve hadn't been sitting so close, he might not have heard her words. "He'll understand, you know."
Bucky seemed to shudder in her embraced before pulling back from her and wiping at his face. "Father said that it was likely they would press further in during the night and start the assault on the inner bailey in the morning. And that we should be thankful for the small gatehouse and the way the outer bailey winds back and forth. They won't be able to bring their trebuchets or a battering ram."
"That is something to be thankful for. In the meantime, why don't we go to bed? It's late." She turned to look at Steve and Becca, "You too." Steve didn't bristle at her mothering. In fact, despite being a displaced king, he tended to like it when she and George showed they cared by grouping him in as one of their own children, but right now, he didn't think he could sleep. He told them good night, though, and even walked with Bucky to their shared hallway. They said their goodnights, and then Steve headed for the tower stairs. He might as well spend the time in the library.
Steve didn't bring a candle with him to the library. Instead, he wandered close to the window depicting the wedding and looked out over the inner bailey. It was packed with peasants sleeping or bedding down for the night in every little nook and cranny. Many were spread out over the training yard without even a roof over their heads to protect them from the nighttime dew.
The sky was bright with moonlight and he could see the few people still awake moving around down below. He looked out toward the horizon. Despite the moonlight, much of what he could see was just a mass of darkness. Even if Essar were right behind the surrounding army, he wouldn't be able to distinguish them at this distance.
He was tired. His body was sore from flinching and just the general tension of the day even though he had only stood on the walls and watched all the men working at repelling the enemy. His arms seemed to hold a sympathy ache for the bowmen. His skin had turned red and tender as if in sympathy for the men boiling water and sand all day in the mid-summer heat. Even his legs and feet, all the way down to his bones, throbbed with sympathy pain for the men wearing their mail and gambesons.
He thought about retiring to his bed, but the day still felt so heavy in his mind. He wished for something to eat. A small bit of bread or fruit always seemed to help him sleep. Maybe he could convince Cook to give him a bit of spiced wine.
He was staring blankly out of the window, watching as the last people settled down. Despite the crowd, the masses of sleeping people seemed peaceful. He hoped it was. Even they deserved a moment's rest.
There was movement farther out, closer to the gatehouse. He recognized the figure walking, creeping slowly amongst the sleeping peasants. Gilmore, his only other man-at-arms aside from Sam. He wondered what he was doing. Maybe he had forgotten something in the gatehouse earlier in the day? But that didn't make sense. He wouldn't have been in that gatehouse.
Steve rubbed at his dry eyes and squinted. Maybe it wasn't Gilmore. That thought was squashed when the man turned around as if checking to make sure his walk was stealthy. He got to the gatehouse and entered. Nothing happened for several long minutes. Steve began to think that he'd conjured him up, imagined he'd seen someone going to the gatehouse.
Then the portcullis rose.
Men started rushing through. They stabbed the peasants sleeping on the ground, some waking enough to cry out. Steve thought that he might be able to hear them, even all the way up in the donjon as he was. He couldn't think, couldn't process what he was seeing for another few seconds before he bolted for the stairs. "Betrayed!" he shouted as he tripped and stumbled down the stairs, unable to come up with anything else. "The enemy has breached the inner bailey, the enemy is inside the bailey!"
George and Bucky must not have been able to sleep either as they were the first to meet him in the hallways. Both of them held their longbows and still wore their violet gambesons. The three of them rushed to the battlements. From there, they could see the enemy pouring through the gatehouse. George strung his bow and Bucky followed suit. "Try to keep them from getting to the barracks. If our soldiers are trapped out there when Thaddeus gets the drawbridge up, we've lost them," George told Bucky. He grabbed an arrow from the barrel that had been stocked there earlier and loosed it. "Steve," he said, grabbing his second arrow and nocking it. "There's a crossbow in the tower. Get it, use it."
Steve was still reeling, but as George and Bucky loosed arrows at the enemy, he did as George had told him, running to the tower and grabbing one of the crossbows off the wall. He scooped up the bucket with quarrels and returned. He'd never used a crossbow, he'd never used any weapon, but he could see the practicality in doing so now. He'd watched others enough to know how to load it. He put his foot in the stirrup and pulled back on the string, feeling his already weary body struggling, but he did it. He loaded the quarrel and put the stock to his shoulder. There were too many. Who did he aim at? Who was peasant and who was enemy? The moonlight washed out all the colors and everyone was moving so quickly.
"Close to the base of the walls, Steve," Bucky shouted, "You'll be more accurate. Just don't hit Thaddeus!"
Steve aimed down through the machicolations. He could see Thaddeus, only wearing his breastplate over his mail rather than his full suit. He could see Sam as well, protecting the drawbridge but leaving it open. Sam was working to get the women and children who were fleeing the carnage in the yard inside and Thaddeus's voice boomed up, telling him off for it. Sam continued despite the order from George's Knight Commander. Steve finally spotted one of the enemy soldiers that he had a chance of taking out, looked down the stock of the crossbow and squeezed the lever. The clank it made as the quarrel shot rang in his ear but the man fell at the foot of the bridge.
His hands were trembling as he bent to redraw the crossbow.
"Bucky! The torchbearer," George shouted, "Don't let him get to the barracks!"
Steve looked up, his quarrel still in his hand to see Bucky's arrow knock down the man carrying a torch. There was a moment before another man tried to pick it up. George brought that one down.
Steve loaded his quarrel and braced the stock against his shoulder again. He intended to aim through the machicolations again to help Sam but his eyes were drawn to the torch still on the ground. There were more and more people running around, screaming, and all of them seemed to be rushing toward the keep. In the light of the torch, he saw three people running together from the stables. One of them broke off from the others and grabbed the torch. They stood there, holding the torch like a beacon, and Steve almost shot at them until he recognized who it was.
Wanda the stablehand.
She was looking around at the bailey, the ground littered with the dead and dying. More enemy troops were coming through the gatehouse and retaking it looked hopeless. She turned and ran, still carrying the torch aloft, but not toward the barracks. She ran toward the trebuchet. Her companions, Ned and Luis, shouted after her but didn't wait; they kept running and were soon out of sight. Wanda, however, was visible the entire time, unprotected, as she ran across the yard.
"What is she doing?" Bucky asked before loosing an arrow and dropping one of the men following her. Maybe she wasn't as unprotected as Steve had thought.
"She's trying to set fire to the trebuchet so they can't use it against us when they fully take the bailey," George said. He too, loosed an arrow, though instead of grabbing another he paused to catch his breath. Steve roused himself from watching her, mesmerized by the way the fire seemed to block out everything else, how the world faded to that single point of light. He blinked to try to get rid of the night blindness before he took another shot.
He missed.
He reloaded and tried again.
About the time he was reloading for a fourth quarrel, a cacophony of shouts went up as the men-at-arms that slept in the barracks finally rushed out the door into the melee. They fought their way toward the bridge. Just as the last man was there, almost out of Steve's sight, Thaddeus's voice called out, "Winch the blasted—" A grunt of pain cut off his last word. Sam's voice took up the call, clear and loud despite the other sounds ringing around them. "Winch the bridge, winch the bridge!"
Steve heard the portcullises drop. He could hear the windlass under their feet, could hear the wood of the bridge groan as the men inside worked at raising it. When it was finally up, things seemed to go quiet. George looked out over the bailey littered with bodies. His eyebrows were drawn together, worry and sadness worn into the lines of his face. He shook his head. "I'll be back in a bit if you want to stay up here, boys. I need to see how Thaddeus and the others fared."
The crossbow was heavy in Steve's hands. He rested it against a merlon and looked at Bucky. Bucky was still looking out over the bailey. He, too, looked worn and worried, weary now that his blood was settling. The battlefield seemed quiet despite the soft moans of the dying. Even most of the enemy had stopped moving around. Steve couldn't even find them, they hadn't retreated but seemed to have taken refuge in the buildings that lined the courtyard. The stables, the chapel, the empty granaries. Bucky's gaze lifted like he was searching the horizon, but even in the bright moonlight he probably couldn't see beyond the bailey wall.
* . * . *
The horizon was still dark, not that Bucky expected anything different. It was night time after all. Maybe his thoughts were on the edge of fanciful, expecting Essar to swoop in like a brilliant new sun with food and warmth and comfort. It was ridiculous thinking. If they did come, they'd be swathed in blood and sweat just like he was.
Metaphorically speaking.
He was so exhausted he was waxing poetic in his head now. It was a wonder he hadn't started seeing things. Even as he had the thought, something moved in the corner of his vision. He looked down to the edge of the far wall where he'd seen the movement. There was a person there, short and stocky. He wore a peasant's gambeson, dirty white and ill-fitting: the shoulders were bunched up, and the sleeves were too long. He was kneeling on the ground, drawing something.
"Steve?" Bucky asked, glancing at his friend. "Are you seeing that, or am I having waking dreams?"
Steve stepped closer and looked in the direction Bucky had pointed. He was quiet for a moment before he answered. "Yeah, I see him. You don't think...?"
"That's the Red Skull's court sorcerer, come to raise the dead?" Bucky asked. He tried to laugh after he made the comment, but he didn't think it came out as humorous as he intended.
"It was just peasant rumor."
They watched in silence, squinting in the sorcerer's direction, and every so often glancing at the bodies scattered across the bailey. Sorcery was foreign to Bucky. He'd read a few of the books in the library as a child, fairy tales about wizards in grand towers, but he knew it wasn't all made up. He knew Steve's mother, Queen Sarah, had employed a court sorceress, though he didn't know what they could really do. Was sorcery just soothsaying? Exaggerated potions and poultices claiming they could do more than the standard healer? Or was there some truth to the stablehand's tale, could they do something as vile and wicked as raise the dead?
The trebuchet was starting to smolder where Wanda had stuck the torch. The smoke drifted down like fog in the courtyard, making everything below them hazy.
He caught movement from the side of his eye and looked past Steve. Becca was walking toward them. She wore only her chemise, not even shoes, and her steps were stilted and halting like she was still asleep. As a small child, he'd seen her walk in her sleep; he'd been told that he'd done it himself on occasion. "Becca," he called, attempting to wake her up. "Becca, wake up. How did you even get out here?" He set down his bow and took the few steps toward her. She would need guiding back down the stairs and to her room when she woke.
Just before he reached to embrace her, something in her hands glimmered in the moonlight. There was a soft clunk as a wooden sheath dropped to the stone and past the balustrade to the roof of the keep. She raised her hand, dagger clenched tight in her fist. "Becca!" Bucky shouted, confused and alarmed. He backed up a few steps to evade her first swipe at him. He could knock it from her hand easily, could disable her, or sweep her feet out from under her. He'd done it often in training with the knights in the yard. But this was his baby sister, he could hurt her doing something like that.
Steve had turned around now and also called out to her. "Becca, stop! What are you doing?"
She changed her grip on the handle, shifting it from one hand to the other, then she raised it high and lunged, throwing her weight forward to stab at Bucky's chest. He stumbled back in shock even as Steve grabbed at her from behind.
"It's the sorcerer, Bucky, he's possessing her!" She turned around in his grip and wrestled with him. They stumbled back and Becca gained the advantage, bending Steve back over the balustrade. She raised the dagger and brought it down. It struck him in the shoulder clumsily.
"Steve!"
"Take the shot, Buck!"
Bucky didn't want to look away. His heart was racing again but his hands didn't shake as he grabbed for his bow. He nocked an arrow, drew back the string, and loosed it. In the quiet of the courtyard, he heard the grunt the man made when it struck him near the neck where the gambeson he wore wasn't fitted properly. Bucky looked back to find Steve on his back, Becca over him, dagger near his temple. The tip seemed to shake between the strain both were putting on it.
Then Becca gasped and dropped it. It clattered to the stone next to Steve's head. She rushed to get off of him even as she started crying. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I stabbed you!" she wailed. She turned to Bucky, her hands covering her mouth in internal terror. "I stabbed both of you!"
Bucky glanced back out at the courtyard, completely still now that the sorcerer was dead. The smoke from the smoldering trebuchet distorted his vision of where the man had been. "It's all right, Becca, it's okay," he said, coming to her side to put his arm around her and calm her. He reached down to help Steve to his feet. "Come on, let's get you to mom."
She had dissolved completely into tears by then. Bucky just held her shoulders and guided her along the wall walk and to the tower. Steve followed behind, barring the tower door behind them. The sound of the trebuchet finally collapsing was muffled as they headed down the stairs.
After leaving Becca with their mother, mostly avoiding her worrying over the torn spots in their gambesons where Becca's dagger had pierced them, Bucky almost dragged Steve back to their hallway. He pulled Steve into his room without asking if it was okay, and when the door shut behind him he pushed him against it.
His blood was still high, rushing through his body from fear, and he kissed Steve on the lips without stopping to think. He pulled back to find Steve looking confused and shocked. "It was going to be you, Steve," he said, gripping tight to the front of Steve's gambeson. "I wanted you as my life partner." He felt out of breath and lightheaded from his confession. He couldn't look at Steve's stunned face at that moment and let his gaze slip down to the tear in the shoulder of his gambeson. "I thought I was going to lose you. I'm so glad you're okay."
"I felt the same way about you. I watched her stab you, and I knew I probably wouldn't be able to stop her, but I tried," he said. His voice went quiet then. "I was so scared."
Bucky looked back up, meeting his gaze. "I still want it to be you. I know I'm promised to someone else, but..."
Steve leaned the small distance forward and kissed him. Whatever words Bucky had been planning to say fled. Instead, he let his desires show in his actions. He deepened their kiss. Moved his hands up from where he had a death grip on Steve's gambeson to the back of his shoulders, then let one move further to cup the back of his head. He closed the distance between them completely, pinning Steve fully against the door. His knuckles scraped on it where he was holding Steve's head.
For his part, Steve seemed to be just as interested in drawing Bucky closer. His hands were interlaced at the small of Bucky's back.
Bucky couldn't feel Steve's body against his as well as he wanted. He broke from their kiss and started working at the ties that held his gambeson on. Steve watched him a moment, then started working on getting his own off. With the padded armor gone, Bucky continued, removing his tunic and shirt. Steve had worked from the other end, starting with his shoes and his hose, stripping those away after he removed his armor.
Overcome with urgency, Bucky pulled Steve close to kiss him again. Steve moaned and spread his hands out across Bucky's chest. There were a few scars, mostly from his time in the training yard. Some of the more gruff knights had insisted he train with sharpened swords. After the first one cut through his jack, his father, with his mother's wrath behind him, had set down rules about who was to train and engage Bucky in combat. Steve's fingers were soft, not even lightly calloused like Bucky's, and the way he was exploring his chest felt divine. Steve reached down and plucked at the ties where Bucky's hose were held up by his braies. Bucky hummed and stepped back, letting his hand slide down Steve's arm to interlace their fingers. He tugged him toward the bed, biting his lip, hoping his intentions were clear.
Steve smiled and joined him on the bed. They resumed their kiss and continued to explore one another's bodies until they fell asleep, sated and entangled with one another.
* . * . *
Steve stretched and rolled onto his back, yawning deeply. His hand landed on Bucky's shoulder. He smiled without opening his eyes, content to let himself fall back into sleep until someone cleared their throat. His eyes snapped open and he saw Ian, Bucky's manservant, fidgeting near the foot of the bed.
"I apologize, Your Grace, but Sam and Riley are looking for you, and the Queen wishes to speak with His Highness," Ian said. He kept his gaze riveted to the richly carved footboard, glancing up only once to see that Steve was looking at him.
Bucky sighed heavily from beside him. "I can dress myself today, Ian. Tell my mother I'll be along shortly."
"Yes, Your Highness," Ian said, bowing to both of them before rushing to the door and slipping out. Steve could see Riley standing outside the door with a frown on his face before the door closed.
"You'd think your manservant would be pleased you're safe and warm," Bucky mumbled, his words softer and breathier now that Ian was gone.
Steve hummed. "I'm not sure I care at the moment."
There was shouting out in the corridor and the sound of stone crashing against stone. This time it was Steve who sighed. "I suppose it was wishful thinking that they'd leave us alone after you killed their court sorcerer."
"Definitely. I suspect Alexander also has a court sorcerer hell-bent on killing us," Bucky said. He kissed Steve's bare shoulder and rolled from the bed. He wasted no time donning his clothes and combing through his hair. He tied it back and pulled on his coif and a helmet before finally fastening up his gambeson. In the early dawn light from his window, Steve could see the torn fabric over his heart where Becca's dagger had pierced the top few layers of linen. He fastened his baldric over his shoulder and added the sword he only tended to wear for official business. "Come on, Steve," he said, interrupting his staring, "I assume we've got another day of fighting ahead of us. Might as well face it head on." He reached out and cupped Steve jaw, kissed him quickly on the lips, then left the room.
Steve dressed more slowly. He wasn't feeling as eager to rain death down upon their enemies as Bucky seemed to be. He fingered the rip near the shoulder of his own gambeson before pulling it on. He opened the door to find Sam leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. His eyebrows raised as he gave Steve a once-over. "You should comb your hair and find your helmet."
Steve reached up and ran his fingers through his hair, patting it down so it wasn't quite as tousled. He looked back in Bucky's room and grabbed his coif and helmet off the floor, pulling them on without finesse.
"Good enough," Sam said.
There were more shouts from the floors above them and another rumble of dropping rocks. Steve looked toward the ceiling. "Shouldn't we head up there?"
"They can hold it without us for now. Can you tell me what happened last night?"
Steve raised his eyebrows back in Sam's direction; surely he understood the basics. He was almost positive Riley had warmed Sam's bed on occasion.
Sam cleared his throat. "Not that. That's obvious. No, with Gilmore. I heard you shouted 'betrayed' after the portcullis was raised, and I can't find him this morning."
All of the horrible feelings that had bubbled up inside Steve in those short moments when the bailey was breached rose up again like bile in his throat. "I was in the library. I couldn't sleep. I saw him." Sam started to look suspicious. The donjon was tall, people looked small from up there. "I saw him turn around, I saw his face," Steve insisted. He licked his lips and looked down at his hands. "He's been with us for as long as I can remember." He looked back up at Sam. "I'm sure you're feeling much the same way I am. Hurt, shocked by his actions."
Sam nodded slowly. "I am. But I also remember when he rolled up in a wagon of young orphaned peasant boys hoping to become pages or squires and later men-at-arms. I remember his accent on some words, more like the dialect from Tellis Tor than from the main villages in the Dryne valley, or the south near Enra. I was just a squire myself, and my father was the Knight Commander then. If he had suspicions, I don't know if he voiced them. Gilmore was accepted as a squire into your mother's service anyway."
"You think he was a spy?"
Sam sighed and gave a shrug, unfolding his arms and standing up from the wall. "I don't know. It makes my stomach writhe to think that he's been dishonest this whole time and he survived the sacking when none of our loyal men did." He patted Steve on the arm to offer comfort and then changed the subject. "The Queen wished to speak with you. The King as well. Then we can go up and help." As they walked toward the stairs, he said, "I heard you used a crossbow last night. How did you like it?"
After a short talk with Winifred, to insist that he was all right and that he held no ill-will toward Becca, Steve spoke with George. He too, worried Steve would avoid Becca, but in addition to the personal worry, he spoke about business.
"Thaddeus was injured last night, as I'm sure you know. Our healers are working on poultices for the wound. Now, I could name one of my other men to Knight Commander in his stead, but I was thinking of asking Sam to step in. He's your Knight Commander, of course, so he's already respected in that sense, but I think it will show all of our soldiers that I still trust you and your retinue. By now, all those within the keep know that Gilmore opened the gates for the enemy."
Steve felt overcome with love for the man. He was sure the feeling showed on his face even as he found words difficult. Finally, he said, "Thank you. Seeing Gilmore betray us like that was a blow, but knowing that you still trust us and... you're still trying to protect me. It means a great deal."
George smiled and reached out to hold Steve's shoulder, his thumb running over the violet threads of the gambeson that matched his own. "You're one of ours, you know. Winifred and I knew Bucky would choose you as his life partner. It's why I understood his reluctance to accept Essar's terms. Even if you aren't part of the family that way, you're still like a son to me. Of course I'll protect you." He playfully shook Steve's shoulder a bit. "You can always marry Becca," he said, though his lips had turned up at the corners like he knew what Steve's reaction was going to be.
Steve couldn't help the way his nose wrinkled up at the suggestion.
George saw it and laughed. "Already discussed it with Bucky, I take it?" He let go and turned. "Let's get a sword on your belt. It's better to have one even if you don't need it than to need it and not have it. Then we'll head on up. We've got a keep to defend."
So with a sword on his belt and a crossbow in his hands, Steve joined Bucky in the guard room above the drawbridge. He was with his knight friends. A man with a thick red mustache, Dum Dum if he remembered correctly, was laughing as he danced back and forth by the windlass. "Take that you Red Skull scum!" he shouted.
Steve approached to see that an entire row of peasants at the gates were screaming and twitching on the ground. "Hot sand?"
"Yep. Gets into the armor and burns like crazy. Takes less time than boiling water," Dum Dum said.
Steve nodded, agreeing, but added, "We have the cistern and access to the river directly under the castle. We don't have an endless supply of sand."
Dum Dum looked up and frowned but nodded. "Yeah, I guess you're right. Still, hot sand is my favorite thing to pour down murder holes."
Gabe, Monty, and Jacques, from where they were billowing the fire and tending the next cauldron, scoffed. "That's a lie," Gabe said, "Your favorite thing is giving them a face full of piss directly from the source."
Bucky snorted and loosed another arrow through the arrow slit. "That sounds like him." Below them, some men were dragging the twitching peasants away and new ones replaced them, trying to lift the door.
"They don't have a ram yet?" Steve asked. Dum Dum made a gesture indicating Steve should shoot an arrow down at the men at the portcullis. He did so, jerking a little at the clank it made and the scream one of the men made as the high-powered quarrel embedded itself into his shoulder through his mail.
"Nah," Jim answered from where he was using another arrow slit, "Wanda did some good thinking last night when she set the trebuchet alight. The wood's all embers, and until they realize that the stables have thick ram-quality timber in the roof and take those apart, they don't have anything to work with."
Nick also shot a crossbow quarrel down through a murder hole. "Or they could set up a pulley and pull timber over the curtain walls, bypassing the curves of the bailey entirely. That's how we did it to build the stables when the old ones rotted through years ago."
Steve had loaded another quarrel and shot it; this one caught a man closer to his neck and he dropped without a scream. "Let's hope they don't have a chance to think of that." He watched the man being pulled away. He loaded another bolt.
Steve was exhausted by dinner time, when they were relieved by a second, smaller crew of men and peasants—some of whom were women and boys. They retreated to Winifred's solar to eat their measly meals and rest before heading back up to the ramparts.
The combined armies of Johann and Alexander were mighty, and they seemed not to be demoralized by the number of dead that were piling up beyond the gates. They had finally started a relay line to carry the dead out of the baileys. Steve hoped they were getting some sort of burial. It was likely that many of them weren't fanatics for their rulers' causes and had died for something that wasn't in their hearts.
It was an hour after dinner when shouts from the ramparts carried to the guardroom and down the wall. Another army was attacking the enemy from behind. George and his council, along with Bucky, Steve, Winifred, and Becca, retreated to the donjon for a better look. From the library's east-facing window they could see a long phalanx making its way toward the castle from the southeast. At one flank were archers and at the other, in reserve, were shock cavalry. The banners and shields with a silver eagle on a blue field were recognizable even at the long distance.
Essar had finally come.
Bucky watched the incoming army through the lightly colored panels of the royal wedding window, but he didn't stay long. He left without a word to anyone, and though George and Winifred shared a look, neither went after him.
Steve also thought about leaving but was drawn back when Becca gasped and said, "Look, look!" Soaring above the curtain walls were two dozen grey pterippi carrying armored warriors. "Asgardian Valkyries," she said, awestruck and reverent. Steve thought they were magnificent with their enormous feathered wingspan and gleaming armor. The stories he'd read about them paled in comparison to the real thing. His first thought was to turn to Bucky to share in the experience of witnessing them, but Bucky had most likely retreated to his bedchamber. Steve didn't know if he was feeling sullen and didn't want company, or if he were hoping for one last stolen moment. He'd been glaring hard as he left, so Steve assumed it was the former.
George and the others left shortly thereafter, possibly to get a better viewing angle in one of the rooms lower down the tower. Steve stayed, enjoying the quiet solitude of his favorite room and the view of the might of Essar crushing the combined armies of Johann and King Alexander. Those fighting from the keep ramparts fought more fiercely, their hope renewed upon being joined by the Valkyries. When Essar's cavalry broke through the line and was able to meet the Valkyries, Steve headed down from the tower. It wouldn't do to hide now.
He stopped at Bucky's door and knocked, calling out for him.
There wasn't an answer and Steve knocked again. Bucky opened the door, an unhappy frown marred his handsome face. "What?" he snapped.
"Essar's cavalry broke through. They're riding through the baileys now."
He bit his lip and scrubbed at his face. He stepped back inside the room to recomb his hair and put on the golden circlet that typically sat in an elegantly carved box on a small table in the corner of his room. He turned to look at Steve. "Well?"
Steve hesitated for a moment before nodding. Bucky looked the part of a prince. Elegant in his violet gambeson with it's winding green vines at his collar. He must have spent the time mending the torn fabric at his heart because it was pulled closed with embroidery thread that matched the gambeson. Steve stepped aside as Bucky exited the room, and they headed down the stairs together.
The windlass was lowering the drawbridge as they got to the foyer. The rest of the royal family was already there. Winifred and Becca wore elaborately embroidered gowns padded and dyed to match the men's gambesons. Steve felt out of place until Winifred put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed lightly. "Now that the siege is over, I think I might add some silver stars to your collar when I mend your gambeson. What do you think?"
He gave her a small smile, which she returned, and then she lowered her hand. When the bridge was down they crossed it and descended the steps just as the Essarian cavalry knights slowed to a stop in front of them.
Astride a glossy black stallion was a man in polished plate, decorated much more intricately than the others. He removed his helmet to reveal a smiling tanned face. "Hail, King George."
"Hail, King Harrison," George intoned back. Winifred and Becca curtsied and Bucky bowed.
As they did, Steve was left standing awkwardly behind them. Harrison's gaze caught him. He smiled and nodded at Steve. "Hail, King Steven."
He didn't think there was anything about his person that identified him, but he said the greeting back, pleased that he was recognized as a peer.
Harrison got off of his horse and handed the reins off to one of the stablehands who had slipped out behind the royal family. "Michael is at the back of the column with my generals, James and Chester. Amanda decided not to join. She sends her regards and said we'll have to host a tourney in a year or so in Essar to celebrate when our first grandchild is born. She didn't want to miss the wedding but..." he gestured back toward the bailey walls where they could still hear the sounds of fighting. "We'll rout them soon."
Behind him, the collection of knights were starting to take off their helmets. They were all women.
"Come on, Pegs, let me introduce you. I know you were having fun and all..." Harrison said to one of them astride a dark bay horse. Her armor was intricately designed as well, though it had some less polished spots from actually participating in the fight.
Bucky seemed to go still. Steve thought he might be holding his breath. The woman pulled her helmet off and dark brown tresses cascaded around her shoulders. Harrison introduced her as Princess Margaret. Bucky had exhaled heavily in relief or shock. Steve glanced at his friend to see him staring at her. She was beautiful, and if the way Bucky was staring was any indication, he thought so too. Steve wondered if that would make their marriage easier. She dismounted and handed her reins to Wanda, then turned to look at Bucky. She smiled warmly at him.
Steve wanted to hate her on principle, but he suspected he wasn't going to be able to.