Winter had given grudging way to Spring, which meant that Reaver's least favourite Oakfield tradition had rolled around - the First Harvest Festival. The first crops of the season were to be auctioned off, the proceeds going towards the town. It used to be that all profits would be donated to the Temple of Light, but Reaver had insisted they be added to the town's treasury when he approved the annual festival's reinstatement two years ago. He didn't want to use his own money to fix up this shit hole, after all.

He had already resolved to stay far, far away from the auctions, lest he be expected to bid. He didn't understand why anyone would want to pay so much for crops. The prices would be back to normal the following day, anyway. Hammer had said something about goodwill last year, but Reaver rarely listened to her on the best of days.

Perhaps Garth had forgotten about Oakfield's Spring festival, or perhaps he had never known about it in the first place, but the look on his face when he looked into town and saw all the people gathering there was priceless. It almost made Reaver glad he had approved this ridiculous tradition.

"Why are there so many people down there?" Garth sounded dismayed, reminding Reaver once again that the man certainly wasn't a socialite.

Reaver held back his laughter. 'Cute' was the only word he could think of that aptly described Garth's social awkwardness. Cute and strangely endearing.

"It's a festival, dear Mage," he answered, with more enthusiasm than he felt. "Why not have a look - perhaps a ridiculously overpriced vegetable will catch your eye! You'll have to fight for it though, those bidders are fiercely competitive."

Garth gave him a blank look. "I don't like going into town on the best of days," he said flatly. In fact, the only time he did leave the mansion was to visit Hammer.

"True enough," Reaver conceded. He couldn't help the stupid smile on his face. "But don't discount it all just yet. There is always a little song-and-dance at the Sandgoose in the evening. I went last year and thoroughly enjoyed myself."

"Is that because you found someone to take home afterwards?" Garth asked dryly.

"Four someones, actually." Reaver laughed when Garth began to choke.

"I'm certainly not going to it." Garth said firmly. He turned and made his way into the backyard. Reaver frowned. He had practically asked Garth to attend that celebration with him, and Garth had refused? No one refused him! Except for Sparrow, he reminded himself, and scowled.

Well, Garth wasn't like Sparrow, or anyone else Reaver had met. That was why Reaver was fond of him.

"Do you even know how to have fun?" he asked sulkily, following Garth into the yard.

Garth stretched out across the grass, his visible eye closed against the warm sun, his expression peaceful as he listened to the ocean's waves. "Your definition of fun and my definition differ greatly, it seems," he said, without looking up.

Reaver plonked himself down beside him. Garth wasn't watching, so he cared little for elegance. "So you actually enjoy spending all your time alone? I'm afraid I don't understand, Mage."

"Well, I used to. You've made it impossible now." Garth sounded faintly amused. He still didn't open his eyes. "Besides, you've spent two hundred years alone, you're in no position to judge."

"I suppose that depends on your definition of alone, doesn't it?" Reaver replied cheekily. If Garth was amused at having his own words thrown back at him, he didn't show it.

"I assumed it meant distancing yourself from others, in whatever way." he said simply.

Touché, Reaver thought irritably. Sometimes, he hated Garth. He lay back in the grass and closed his eyes, mimicking Garth's position. The sun was pleasantly warm and the breeze was cool. He was surprised to find he felt content.

"So will you be joining me at the merrymaking this evening?" he asked lazily. He was curious to see how Garth would handle himself in a crowd of drunken revellers. When Garth didn't answer, Reaver opened his eyes to find the Mage staring at him blankly.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" he asked. Garth stayed silent, and Reaver laughed. "Oh, come now, think of all the people there! Imagine if I were to forget myself… Perhaps, lose my temper…"

Garth scowled. "You can't threaten that," he growled indignantly.

Reaver grinned victoriously. "I just did."

"Why are you so insistent I attend this thing?" Garth asked.

"Fun?"

"No, not fun. Bad. Very bad."

"All right then, because I'm a prick. You've said it yourself." Reaver replied smugly, and laughed when Garth sighed heavily.

"Yes, and you enjoy revelling in the discomfort of others. Hammer has told me enough times." He sat up and rested his arm on his knee, propping his head up with his hand. "I'm interested to see when I'll be allowed to form my own opinions though."

Reaver raised an eyebrow. He had guessed that Hammer would hound Garth about him, but for Garth to actually sound bitter about it… It was startling, yet oddly sweet. Perhaps he had warmed up to Reaver more than either of them really knew.

"In the lovely Hammer-troll's case, if you don't share her opinion, you're wrong." Reaver pointed out. "I doubt she fully understands what an opinion is."

"Opinions can be wrong, but I know what you're saying," Garth replied. His lips twitched into a smile. "And Sparrow?"

Reaver was surprised to hear that Sparrow had been bothering Garth, though he kept it to himself. "I don't even try to understand that man," he said instead. Sparrow's mind had been scrambled by everything he had been through. If he snapped tomorrow and went on a murder spree, Reaver wouldn't be surprised to hear about it. "He belched at me when we first met, you know," he said. "I invited him into my bed, and he belched in reply!"

Garth was startled into laughter, and Reaver grinned despite himself. "It's not funny," he said. "It was most unseemly. So off I sent him to become more famous. If only he had learnt some manners too."

"You played that game because he rejected your advances?" Garth sounded amused.

"That was part of it," Reaver admitted. Garth chuckled.

"Age doesn't always equal wisdom," he said sagely. "In fact, in this case it doesn't even equal maturity."

"That's a little mean," Reaver said, doing his best to sound hurt. Garth simply laughed.

"Think of it as pre-emptive revenge for dragging me to this stupid party tonight," he said, and Reaver couldn't keep the grin off his face.

**

The noise was overwhelming. Garth hadn't realised there were so many people in Oakfield. Many already had a drink in their hands, and most were dressed up in their finest clothes. It didn't matter, Garth mused idly. Reaver could have turned up wearing a potato sack and still have been the most attractive person in the room.

Garth chose to sit at a little table overlooking the railing on the Sandgoose balcony, where he had a good view of the revellers. Though he could barely hear himself think over the noise, he did catch snippets of conversations, all indicating that the profits received this year were 'exceptional.' Brilliant, so he would have to put up with extra loud, extra drunk celebrations. He was already wishing he had stayed at home.

Reaver placed a goblet of juice on the table in front of him, eyeing him closely.

"Try not to look so happy."

Garth scowled up at him. "I truly dislike gatherings. You're well aware of that, I'm sure."

"No need to sound so bitter. I could shoot them all and end this now, if you please." Reaver laughed when Garth glared at him. "All right, bad idea. But if it's the drunks that are making you uncomfortable, just remember that you can send them shooting through the roof with your freaky magic if they try anything funny."

"Of course," Garth grumbled. He took a sip of his drink; it was cool and refreshing.

"You could always dance with me instead," Reaver suggested lightly, and Garth spluttered. "What? It would probably make people back off, in any case."

"You can't be serious," Garth muttered despairingly. Reaver laughed.

"Suit yourself. Most would call you mad to turn down my offer though."

"Most would simply call you mad," Garth retorted, and Reaver laughed harder.

"Well, where you shy away from attention, I revel in it, and I won't be put-off simply because you're a grisly-guts."

"Grisly-guts?" Garth exclaimed, bemused, but Reaver was already walking away. Did Reaver seriously just use a term that Garth had abandoned as a child?

"Did he really just say that? Really?" Hammer plonked herself down in the seat opposite to Garth, echoing his thoughts. A large bottle of gods-knew-what was in her hand, and her nose and cheeks were already pink with drunkenness. "I haven't heard that since I was six! Though I thought it meant you were a pig."

"I thought it meant you were a whiner." Garth replied. He looked back down at Reaver. The man was weaving his way through the crowd rather determinedly, and a few moments later Garth saw why. He approached a young woman who was sitting alone, a little way away from everyone else, her eyes downcast. Judging from the way she blushed brilliantly when Reaver spoke to her, she was even shyer than Garth.

Leading her to the dance floor, Reaver attracted quite a few surprised stares, and Garth had to marvel at his calculating mind. Reaver was as subtle as he was flamboyant.

"Oh, man of the people!" Hammer drawled sarcastically, but she sounded more amused than vindictive. She leaned on the table and leered at Garth, almost spilling her drink in the process. "You're fond of him, aren't ya." she said, as though she had only just noticed.

"I suppose I am," Garth murmured, not taking his eyes off Reaver, and not entirely because he embodied elegance at that moment. He had spoken to Hammer a few days ago with the intention of taking notes, and what she had told him still troubled him.

"We cleaned the Wellspring of Light once a week at first," she'd said, dipping her feet into the small pool at the Temple and looking at Garth. "Well, I didn't. I couldn't go in there."

"Why not?" Garth asked curiously.

She gnawed at her lip, hesitant to answer. "It… I…" She cleared her throat and looked away. "Collecting water," she murmured bitterly, more to herself than to Garth. "Collecting bloody water when I should have been there for my father."

"Hammer?" Garth was somewhat alarmed. He knew the story, of course, but never had he heard Hammer speak of it. It had been Theresa who told him.

"I-I'm sorry," Hammer stammered, still gnawing at her lip. "But you asked, and…"

"It's all right, Hammer." Garth soothed awkwardly. He was unused to comforting others, and truthfully he didn't think he was very good at it. But he tried for Hammer all the same. "Tell me what you will."

"Okay," she sniffed, and Garth was startled to hear a note of spite in her voice. "Okay, I'll tell you. I love Sparrow, but I hate him for his choice at the Spire. You wanna know why? Because he could have wished back thousands and thousands of people, my father one of them. But he didn't."

It was as though a dam had broken. Garth could only sit there and listen as Hammer's pent-up bitterness, anger, sorrow and frustration spilled forth relentlessly. His pen and paper lie forgotten - he didn't need to take notes to remember this.

"You know what he did?" she continued furiously. "He brought back four people and a dog. Five, if that sister of his was counted. Five people, as opposed to thousands." She looked at him, a mix of sorrow and anger on her normally smiling face, tears gathering in her eyes. "I can't forgive him for that."

She seemed all right now, Garth mused. She was laughing, shouting jests to friends on the dance floor and drinking great gulps of drink in between. Her spirits were high, and a moment later she told Garth why.

"There were so many donations to the Temple this year," she said cheerily. "So many! We don't even need to take a portion of the auction money! Reaver'll be pleased. He reckons money should be spent on something 'useful' rather than 'religion'." She wrinkled her nose before blinking. "Hang on! You've got something in common there! Quick, run down and tell him!"

Garth stared at her blankly. She shrugged.

"You like him, don't you? You'll wanna tell him before he chooses someone to take home. A couple of someones even, if last year is anything to go by."

Garth ignored her teasing, though his heart skipped a beat as he remembered that possibility. It bothered him, like an annoying buzz in his ear. He looked down at Reaver - Reaver looked almost normal as he waltzed with the girl. She was either too shy around Reaver, or she didn't know how to dance, because she was stumbling over the steps. Reaver was laughing good-naturedly as she flushed and covered her face with her hands.

"Try again." Garth managed to read Reaver's lips as he took the girl's hands again. Garth's blood warmed unpleasantly as he watched - it had been a long time since he had felt jealousy. Frustrated with himself, he shook his head to rid it of those thoughts.

Hammer noticed his displeasure. "Aww, come on," she slurred, leaning forward. Garth wondered how much alcohol she had actually consumed. "At least he looks happy, hmm?"

"You are completely off your face, Hammer," he replied tersely.

Hammer laughed. "And you can't seem to look away from that pompous idiot with the weird… beard… thingy." She rubbed her chin pointedly. "What the hell's that for, anyway? I don't get it. Maybe it was the fashion back when he was a normal person, but it still looks bloody stupid…"

Garth stopped listening, and it wasn't because he was sick of Hammer's drunken chatter. At that moment, Reaver looked up. He smirked triumphantly as he held Garth's gaze, and Garth suddenly understood.

That calculating, smug bastard - he wasn't trying to make himself noticed by the townspeople, he didn't even need to. No, he was trying to make Garth jealous - and damn it all, it was working.

Garth seethed, as much annoyed at himself for falling for it as he was with Reaver for pulling it. Subtle mind, indeed.

**

It took two punch ups, three lurid proposals and a particularly annoying, repetitive song for Garth to decide he had had enough. Hammer had also declared something at the top of her voice, though she was slurring her words so badly by then that Garth still wasn't sure what it was she had declared.

He was in a foul mood - crowds did that to him. He hadn't bothered to bid anyone goodnight before he left, and now as he skulked home he noticed that there were absolutely no guards out patrolling the streets. Perfect - the whole town could be pillaged while the order of the Albion Guards drank themselves stupid at a pointless gathering.

As he entered the house - the front door was, of course, unlocked - he wondered when Reaver would come home. Garth had been counting how many drinks Reaver indulged in - all of one. He hadn't been lying when he said he preferred to drink alone, Garth supposed. Perhaps he would announce his arrival, annoy Garth for a while before retiring to his room to drink himself to sleep. In one of his more serious moments, Reaver had confessed that passing out drunk was the only way he could sleep without being plagued by nightmares, though what those nightmares were about he refused to say.

As Garth entered his room, he decided he wouldn't mind it if Reaver followed him in here later. For what purpose, he wasn't sure, but he still wouldn't mind it.

He hadn't expected to be attacked.

The blow caught him in between his shoulder blades, knocking him off his feet. A sharp pain coursed through his body and he struggled to stand, to gather his wits and his Will to defend himself against whatever had attacked him. He caught sight of a man's silhouette against the darkness and lobbed a Fireball at it. The man screamed as his being caught fire, illuminating the room. Garth froze.

Half a dozen or so men were present, all wearing the same thing - dark uniforms, tight red masks, jagged Shard collars around their necks…

Garth's mind reeled. Hadn't Sparrow killed all of Lucien's followers years ago?

He only hesitated for a second, but a momentary lapse in concentration was all the group's leader, a Spire Soldier, needed. The creature was suddenly right there, and Garth cried out as the blade grafted into its hand was thrust into his shoulder. Then he was thrown back with enough force to knock ten men off their feet, propelled through the window. Glass and debris cut and bruised his body as he fell two storeys and skid along the ground, dirt irritating his wounds.

"Bring him with us." The Soldier's gruff voice sounded distant. Garth struggled to hold onto consciousness, barely able to move his jarred body. But he had to get away, he would not be taken by the Spire Guards again…

"Oh, get fucked."

Never had Garth been so relieved to hear Reaver's irate voice. He opened his eyes to search for the Thief, but the world spun around him.

"Get up, Mage, you look pathetic." Garth didn't doubt that. Reaver sounded close.

"Who are you?" another voice asked. Reaver made an affronted noise, and Garth wanted to laugh. The house was under attack, and Reaver was insulted by his unrecognition.

"The owner of this house, thank you. I don't appreciate the ventilation you've given it, so far be it from me to let you have what you want."

Garth was suddenly hauled up, his head swimming sickeningly as he was pulled against a body. The familiar scent of gunpowder, mild cologne and spirits filled his nostrils, and he sighed.

"You're getting blood all over me," Reaver said lowly, in a mock disapproving tone, and Garth's vision swam into focus. Reaver was so close…

"You dare destroy my fucking house, and I've had such a good night otherwise!" Reaver shouted, and Garth's head spun again. "Fuck you! I'll fucking end you!" It was certainly easy enough to tell that Reaver had once been a sailor.

"Kill this idiot, get the Will User," the Soldier ordered, and Reaver leapt back, a protective arm still around Garth. Three shots were fired, and Garth figured he must have blacked out, because the next thing he knew he was on the ground, a hand against his face and other against his chest.

"Garth? Garth! Stop fooling around!" Reaver sounded uncharacteristically concerned. Garth opened his eyes and Reaver's worried face swam in front of him. He smiled - that expression looked so out of place on Reaver.

"Sorry, but I think-" was all he managed before he passed out.

**

He was warm, so warm - a bed, he realised, with soft pillows. His body throbbed dully and his head, oh! his head hurt the most. There were voices, dim at first, growing louder as he became more aware, and he opened his eyes - mistake! Even the faint light hurt his head. He groaned.

"The beauty awakes from her slumber."

"Shut it, Reaver!"

Garth opened his eyes again, slowly this time, to find himself in one of Reaver's guest rooms - one with a smaller window, he noted wryly. Reaver was sitting in a chair at the end of the bed, watching him closely. Hammer was kneeling beside the bed.

"You're awake," she gasped, and Garth could still smell alcohol on her breath. "We were so worried." Reaver shrugged, neither confirming nor denying her statement.

"We've sent an urgent letter off to Sparrow." he said, and he sounded annoyed. "I thought he'd purged Albion of Lucien's blasted men!"

"So did I," Hammer replied. "So did he, I think." She looked back down at Garth. "You're stronger than you look," she said, pretending to punch his arm lightly. "It's amazing that attack didn't knock you out right away!"

Garth found he was returning her smile. "I was knocked through the window, yes?" he asked hoarsely. He could only remember snippets of the attack. The Spire Guards, the pain… Reaver…

"Think again, Mage," Reaver muttered. "When you deigned to throw yourself through the window, you took most of your room's wall with you."

"It wasn't his fault," Hammer protested, but Garth could only laugh.

"That strong, was it? No wonder it hurt." He tried to sit up, but a stinging pain shot through his body. He fell back against the pillows, groaning.

"Easy, Mage," Reaver warned roughly. "I didn't let you bleed all over my clothes so that you could kill yourself now." Garth noticed then that Reaver had changed. Now he wore his simple green night pants, and his hair was beginning to fall out of place. He had washed, because there wasn't a trace of blood on him.

"You weren't grumpy when he was out cold," Hammer shot at him, and Reaver shrugged. She looked back at Garth. "They didn't know who he was," she said. "But they were after you. What-"

"Why would they?" Reaver countered, and he sounded as annoyed as ever. "They have a one-track mind, and that's to serve their dead master." He looked at Garth. "You once worked with the fool, did you not?"

"True," Garth rasped. He cleared his throat. His shoulder was beginning to ache where he had been stabbed. "They probably know also that Lucien had imprisoned me for something."

"Then they know that you escaped with Sparrow." Reaver pointed out bluntly. He looked at Hammer and smirked. "It appears you and I may be off the hook."

Hammer looked horrified. "That's an awful thing to say!"

"Is it? I can never tell with these things."

"Awful as it is, I think he's right," Garth said to Hammer. "If they didn't know who he was, chances are they don't know either of you were involved in Lucien's downfall. They probably blame me - and perhaps Sparrow - because we openly defied him."

"Ah, it's revenge that they're after then?" Reaver clasped his hands together in front of him. "Sounds like a wonderful idea!"

"What are you talking about?" Hammer snapped.

"My poor house, that's what! That hole is bigger than you, dear, and that's saying something!"

"Anyway," Hammer growled irritably. "Sparrow should be here by the morning, if he gets that message right away." She looked down at Garth. "Everyone's been told to lock themselves in their houses. I've got the monks out surveying the area, but now I know you're okay, I'm going to join them." She smiled and patted his arm affectionately. "You've got Hero blood, so you'll probably be right by tomorrow night, but until then you should get some rest."

Garth smiled. "Thank you, Hammer."

"Just don't let yourself be attacked anymore." she said bluntly, and she snickered. "I'm sorry, but I'm leaving you with Reaver."

"Get out of my house, woman," Reaver snapped, sounding genuinely offended. Hammer laughed and quit the room, and only when he heard the front door close did Reaver move again. He sat on the edge of the bed and ran his hand through his hair, sighing heavily. "She is right, though. You'll be healed by tomorrow night at the latest."

"I know that," Garth replied simply. "Who tended to me?"

Reaver lifted his chin. "The doctor, of course. I summoned the best in Oakfield!"

"I understand that there are only two."

"Yes, and I summoned the better one."

Garth chuckled, and suddenly a wave of lethargy overcame him. He was content to just look up at Reaver, at his handsome face and strong body, and noticed that despite being in his nightclothes, Reaver still had his pistol on his person. Garth was briefly entertained by the thought of Reaver sleeping and bathing with the holster around his hips. Then he noticed something else.

"You've got no body hair," he observed sleepily.

Reaver looked at him, surprised. "Nor do you," he retaliated.

"Side effect of Will. I really don't know why," Garth mumbled. "What's your excuse?"

At that, Reaver chuckled. "None," he said lightly. "I just find body hair unsightly."

"Some would disagree with you."

"Well, dear Mage, that's because they're stupid."

Garth chuckled, too tired to argue. "You remove it, then."

"Of course. After two hundred yea- my mistake, almost 250 years of doing so, the process has become less painful, and less frequent." Reaver snickered. "Though I would have simply become a Will user had I known. I think every Aragonian would, actually. Besides, those pretty blue lines would look absolutely delightful on me."

Garth snorted and simply returned Reaver's gaze. Perhaps it was because of the pain and exhaustion, or maybe it was because Reaver's expression had never been so soft, but Garth's urge to touch the Thief was suddenly overpowering. Though it still hurt to move, he reached up and touched the side of Reaver's face. Reaver blinked in surprise, but he otherwise allowed it.

Garth's thumb brushed against Reaver's small goatee. "You still keep this bit of fluff though," he teased lazily.

Reaver looked indignant. "I'll have you know it's dashing," he replied. "And look at this!" He tugged gently on Garth's goatee. "You braid yours like a schoolgirl braids her hair! You're in no position to talk!"

Garth laughed at his outrage, and soon Reaver began to chuckle too. Reaver took Garth's hand and lowered it gently.

"You should sleep," he said quietly. "Your wounds will heal faster if you do."

Garth nodded reluctantly. He was exhausted and struggling to stay awake, but he didn't want this moment to end. He suspected there were only a handful of people that had seen Reaver so at ease, and he counted himself lucky to be among them.

Reaver got up to leave. "You'll want to take your monocle off," he said as he went.

Garth hadn't even realised he was still wearing it. "Why didn't the doctor remove it?" he asked, surprised but grateful.

"I wouldn't let him," Reaver said gruffly. "You carry on like a pork chop every time it's off, I figured it was the least I could do to keep the peace."

He grinned before he shut the door, and Garth laughed quietly to himself. He'd been forced to spend the evening with drunken townsfolk and attacked by his former sire's men, but all that didn't matter because he was realising he was in deep with Reaver, and he just didn't give a damn.

He smiled as he drifted off to sleep. Sorry, Sparrow, Hammer. You'll receive no help from me against him.