Becket's story

[maderr]

And then this universe will finally stop pwning me.

Skylark asked, and then the idea I had for Tygati's birthday story was hijacked by Becket, so I am down one birthday story but up one random story?

It occured to me belatedly that I also accidently sort of ripped off a story of Skylark's which I have always loved and adored and <3'ed.

Oops. I guess it's just as well it was her I finally obeyed in giving Becket a story >_>;;;

Quest

Becket grunted sleepily and stretched out an arm, seeking the warmth on the other side of the bed.

Except the other side of the bed was cool.

Feeling suddenly sick, no longer pleased to be awake, he lifted his head from his pillow and stared at the empty half of his bed.

Somehow, he wasn't surprised.

Always worth a night, him…never worth a morning.

Throwing back the blankets, Becket rolled out of bed and yanked on an old pair of pants, then stalked outside to pull out his tub and then draw enough water for a bath. A low-level heating spell and he was shortly sulking in near-boiling water.

It wasn't fair.

His brother was a dragon's Treasure. Even Mad Finnegan had someone…another Spring Festival come and gone, and Becket had once more stood alone on the sidelines, no one to spend it with except another one-night-only.

Was he that unappealing? He'd never thought so…he wasn't as pretty as his little brother, but he didn't terrify women and small children. He wore a sword but was just as likely to be seen helping Grandma carry her jams to market…

He was hard-working, could do more than a few things well…what was wrong with him that no one wanted to keep him?

The latest hadn't even left a note… Becket laughed sadly. He'd really thought he'd been doing well with that one. Perhaps he was just too stupid for anyone to love.

Hauling himself out of the bath, he dumped the water and propped the tub against the wall of the cabin to dry, then strode inside to change. Pants, shirt, sword belt, light jacket, good boots. He raked his hair back and tied it off with a strip of leather. Probably he should just cut it off. Certainly there was no longer anyone to stroke and admire it.

Closing his eyes, Becket sternly told himself to get over it. There was no point in sulking or pouting or moping. It was what it was.

Sighing, he double checked he was set, slid a small purse of coins into an inner pocket of his jacket, then closed the door and set the lock spell. Forcing a cheerful note into his whistling, he strode from the cabin and headed for the village.

As he reached it, calling out greetings here and there, he could not help but let his eyes stray to the baker who should have been in his bed that morning. The man's eyes caught his briefly, then skittered guiltily away.

Becket gave up. He'd known, on some level, that the man would be a waste of time…

His eyes landed instead on a recently married couple, and something in his chest twisted to see the way they looked at each other. No one ever looked at him like that. They looked at him and saw his sword, their eyes filled with 'you could be useful,' or they looked him head to foot and thought 'you could warm me for the night.' No one looked at him with eyes that said 'you make me happy' and he was beginning to realize they never would.

Mood completely beyond saving now, Becket bought a fresh apple dumpling from the village's other baker and then strode to the town square.

Which was rather more packed than usual. There was nary a space in which to move. "What's going on?" he managed to ask someone around a mouthful of dumpling.

The old man's eyes warmed with nostalgia. "A Quest," he said eagerly, clearly wishing he was twenty years younger. "The Griffon Dame has called fort a Quest to find her son a mate."

"Oh?" Becket swallowed the last bite of dumpling. "What's the Quest?"

"To obtain an egg from the Roc nest in Sunset Canyon."

Becket whistled. "Must be a hell of a griffon for the Dame to demand such a difficult Quest."

"I think there's a sketch and all on the announcement. The girls and lads have been chattering all morning. Wonder how many of them are going to run away in the night." The old man winked and chuckled. "If I were younger, I might give them all a run for it."

Laughing, Becket bid the old man a good day and pushed his way through the crowd, curious despite himself. It wasn't often any of the rulers put out a Quest – generally Quests were restricted to nobility, some of the wealthier merchants and all. Seldom did an of the council call for a Quest. If the Griffon Dame was calling for a Quest…perhaps her son was refusing to settle. Or they were trying to spur a particular someone into action. One never knew with the upper classes.

At last shoving his way through to the banner posted on the village announcement board, Becket had to give another whistle. It was only a simple sketch, and likely it was taking serious liberties to improve the man's features…but if one could call a griffon pretty and live to tell about it, this figure would be worth that risk. Pretty wasn't exactly right, but it was as close as griffons got. Eye-catching, elegant in a way only dangerous beings could be, chiseled features and that notorious griffon pride.

Curious, curious. He wondered how many people would take the Quest on. No small challenge, sneaking into a Roc nest to steal an egg. Great wizards had died simply by getting too close.

Becket wondered with a sudden snort if Finn had ever tangled with a Roc, because if anyone could pick a fight with a Roc and win, it would certainly be Mad Finnegan. Though…it would be typical of Finn not to even remember if he had. He would have to ask.

Then he shook his head. He had work to do, or likely would soon, why the deuce was he still thinking about this dumb Quest? Like a noble griffon would have anything to do with him. Even Griffon pride would not keep one from sneering and refusing a demon that not even a baker wanted.

Foul mood fully restored, he turned and fought his way back through the crowd and pondered getting a second apple dumpling. Or maybe cherry, those were available this time of year…though even good cherry had nothing on apple…

"Becket!"

He looked up at the sound of someone calling his name, and smiled at the woman who came dashing toward him with a carefully-wrapped parcel in her hands. "Missy."

"Good morning," Missy said cheerfully. "Are you terribly busy, Becket?"

"Never too busy to help a damsel," Becket said with a grin, sketching an over-dramatic bow that always made Missy laugh. As run-ragged as she was by her work, he knew she needed them. "What can I do for you?"

Missy held out the package. "I've someone in the city who commissioned a painting, and it's finally ready to go – but my usual runner is sick, and I promised I would have the painting delivered by the end of the week."

Becket took the painting and sketched another bow. "It will be done. In return, I would die for some of your bread."

"You are silly," Missy said, swatting his arm lightly. "Bread. What manner of respectable demon wants bread for payment."

"But it's apple cinnamon bread!" Becket exclaimed, eyes widening. "Finer than gold."

Missy rolled her eyes, but smiled. "Then three loaves will be waiting upon your return." She pressed a piece of paper into his hand, then leaned up and kissed his cheek. "There's the address. Thank you, Becket."

"My pleasure," Becket said, then with a wave turned and made his way back home to get what he would need for the five day journey to the city.


*~*~*

He always forgot how much he hated the city until he was back in it.

Noise and noise and noise.

Though he supposed it was better than the awful silence of a sorcerer's dungeon. Shuddering at the memory, Becket made his way through the packed streets. He caught the occasional snippet of conversation, some of it making him grin, other bits making him check for his purse or touch the hilt of his sword.

Mostly, though, he kept catching snippets revolving around the Quest. He vaguely remembered the last time one of the royals called for a quest – that had been the Faerie Lord calling a Quest for his daughter. That had been when he was a boy. Ages ago, now.

He found the house easily enough, an ostentatious piece if ever he saw one – but the woman who appeared to accept the painting was nice enough, and truly happy to have the work. Accepting Missy's money, tucking it away in his boot for safekeeping, Becket wandered back out into the streets and pondered what to do.

Food would be nice. After five days of hard travel, real food was definitely called for. Whistling a cheerful tune, he fell back into the throng and wended his way to the city square.

Unlike the village, with its lone board for announcements, the hard-packed dirt for festivals and meetings, this was covered in brightly-colored stones (Finn had once commented it would have been more interesting if the wizard had designed the colors to shift regularly, or even constantly). Currently it was packed. Becket elbowed his way through to the cart he knew sold excellent meat pies and bought three.

He'd devoured two of them before he realized there was an unusually odd number of swordsmen in the city square. Tons of them…many holding the Quest announcements…

This was getting ridiculous. Like a proud griffon would ever actually accept anyone here for his mate. Absurd. If he remembered that Quest for the faerie princess, she'd wound up with another noble.

"The Dame is going to present her son," someone nearby said eagerly to her companion. "Right in front of the palace."

Rolling his eyes, but curious despite himself to see how this all played out – or maybe he just didn't want to go back to his empty cabin – Becket wolfed down his last pie, running his tongue over his sharp teeth to make certain nothing was stuck in them, then trailed along in the crowd trickling to the pavilion before the palace.

The country was ruled by a council of six Lords and Ladies who represented their respective races, the most powerful in the country – Faerie, Griffon, Elf, Human, Demon, and Phoenix. Though generally the position of leader was inherited, it wasn't an ironclad rule – nor were the rules of lineage. Every now and again this led to one of the leaders calling for a Quest, ostensibly for new blood, a fit and worthy companion for whichever son or daughter was on the chopping block.

Laughable.

Still, when he reached the pavilion Becket quickly scaled up a house to sit on the roof, where he had a perfect view of everything.

And what a view it was, he could not help but think as the Griffon Dame and her son arrived to a cacophony of noise. Griffons, unlike the other ruling races, tended to keep to themselves by and large. Even now, when the Dame and her son were in plain sight, he could only spot about fifteen or so griffons in the crowd.

His eyes strayed back to the Dame's son. Becket had never seen a griffon cut quite that fine. The man would likely dwarf him, and he wasn't exactly short. It would be interesting, he thought absently, to be towered over for once.

Like most demons, Becket tended toward cooler tones. His hair was dark steel-gray, eyes to match, and no matter how much time he spent in the sun his skin would always be pale. It made most of them look vaguely creepy, though there were some like his brother who simply turned out pretty.

The griffon was all warm gold and brown. Skin he knew would be like stroking velvet, covered in extremely short, fine hair. His hands ended in short, sharp talons – thicker, less elegant than demon claws, almost but not quite as nasty as dragon claws.

From the talons to about halfway up his forearms was the odd skin normally only seen in birds, eventually blending and vanishing into the fine pelt. His face was handsome, and Becket was reminded again that if a griffon could be pretty this one would be. His hair was a dark gold-brown, tied neatly back, showing off the features that were not quite feline, not quite bird-like, but the best of both, strong and elegant.

On his shoulders, the fine pelt gave way to tawny feathers, which would trail the length of his back. Most eye-catching of all were the wings, a deep gold at the top fading to a lighter gold at the tips. They twitched briefly, once, before the griffon settled and folded them. From the point at his back where feathers gave way to the pelt once more lashed a leonine tail, not quite long enough to touch the ground. The legs, like the forearms, were covered in skin rather than pelt, the toes ending in more of the sharp talons. He wore only a loose pair of breeches and a loosely-laced white shirt, which would also be laced in back to accommodate for the wings.

Definitely sexy, especially for a royal. Usually they looked like overdone cakes – all sugar, no substance. This one…well, he might be sugar, but he didn't look it. Those eyes blazed even from here, a rich gold.

The Dame turned to speak to her son, and whatever she said amused him because the blank-faced griffon suddenly smiled.

Becket blinked.

Wow.

He shook himself and looked away, wishing he'd gotten something else to nibble on while he watched the proceedings. If they were presenting the griffon, then they were probably going to formally start the Quest here and now. The rules were one at a time, to cut out cheating, and each person attempting was given a time limit – anywhere from a week to a few months.

Despite himself, his eyes kept straying back to the pretty griffon as the Dame gave her speech, going on at length about how she wanted only someone worthy and true, someone to love her son.

Becket couldn't take it. These people didn't care about that sort of thing. It was power that mattered. Love? True and worthy? Ha! Power and wealth, that's what they wanted.

A voice in the back of his head reminded him that the last time he opened his mouth he'd wound up being enslaved by a sorcerer, but as per usual Becket started talking before the voice could do any good. "Liar!" he bellowed, inwardly cringing as the small voice's words finally penetrated, but unable to stop now.

The Dame looked up sharply, her gold eyes going bright with anger. "Demon cur, what words do you speak?"

"True words," Becket shouted, standing up, suddenly mad though he hadn't been before. It just wasn't right, to mock something he wished he did have. Which so many people wanted and so few ever got – someone to love them, to find them worthy of loving. "You don't want love or any such thing. There's probably some lazy noble sleeping away the day that you want to attach to your son to, and this will motivate him into action, as I'm sure any of you would rather die than look worse than a peasant."

Rather than the Dame, it was the son who growled – Becket realized he never had caught the griffon's name – and launched into the air, then landed neatly on the roof in front of him.

"Are you daring to suggest this is a farce of a Quest?" the griffon said, voice deep, gravelly. Becket approved – no, he did not, because this stupid cat-bird was just mocking a tradition.

"Yes, I am," Becket snapped, wondering how badly he was about to be beaten. Macklin was right – he needed to learn to shut his mouth and keep it that way. "Everyone knows you nobles, especially griffons, would never lower yourselves to choose as mate someone so far below."

The griffon growled, a no entirely unappealing sound Becket couldn't help but notice, and stepped closer, wings snapping angrily. "You insult my honor with such words, demon."

"You insult your own honor by calling for a Quest but having no intention of honoring the victor."

"You make assumptions!" The griffon roared. "How dare you! I did not agree to this Quest, but it has been called and I will obey the laws. You have no right to suggest otherwise."

Becket scoffed, tilting his head back to look the griffon – a full head taller than he – in the eyes. "I have all the right. I've seen nobles break their word more times than I can count. If any peasant completed the Quest you would find some excuse to get out of it."

"I would not," the griffon snarled. "A promise is a promise."

"You lie," Becket said, and told his mouth to shut up before he said something he'd truly regret. Too late. "If I completed the Quest you'd have me thrown in the dungeon and keep your ring for the one you really wanted all along."

The griffon stalked closer, dropping his voice so only Becket could hear him, despite the silence which had fallen through the spectators below. "No, demon," he said in a low rumble that made Becket shiver despite himself. "I honor my promises. My mother has called for the Quest and I will obey its tenements. Complete the Quest and you will wear my ring for the rest of our lives."

A pang shot through Becket, deep and wrenching. Maybe that was why he'd been so interested in the Quest, though he hadn't admitted it. It would be for life. Always there would be someone there…someone who was his because griffons were strictly monogamous…and they wouldn't always be this antagonistic right?

Oh, what was his problem? He hadn't even accomplished the dumb Quest and he was lost to daydreams. The cold reality was that he was a simple peasant, this griffon a noble and the next in line to join the council for his race…even if he managed to complete the quest, and the griffon somehow kept to his promise…he would only hate the stupid peasant demon with whom he was stuck.

But it was too late, unless he backed out now. As usual, his mouth wanted nothing to do with reality and logic. "Fine, griffon."

"Glendan," the griffon said. "My name is Glendan. What is yours, demon?"

"Becket."

"You have one month, Becket," Glendan snarled.

Becket nodded. "Fine. I'll be back in one month. Have my ring ready." Heart pounding, calling himself every kind of fool, noting he probably could not call Finn 'Mad' anymore with being a complete hypocrite, Becket leaped neatly down from the roof and fled the pavilion, barely noticing the crowd parted to let him.

*~*~*

He stepped into the shop and rolled his eyes to see Macklin pressing a more-than-willing Tate into the counter. "Hey, Dragon. Treasure. Is Finn around?"

Macklin broke the kiss and looked up. He groaned. "I can see from your face you've opened your mouth again, Beck. What did you do this time?"

Becket didn't look at him, merely walked across the shop to the door in the back. "Where's Finn?"

"Out back, bottling some one of his more volatile potions. Shay is with him."

Which meant everyone was getting kisses from loved ones today except him. As usual.

It didn't help that now he never would, thanks to his fool mouth. He should just fail the Quest and move on with his life --- but then memories of that infuriating griffon who had no idea how lucky he was that— Snarling in frustration, Beckett broke the thought off and banged hard on the back door before he threw it open and stepped into the yard.

Sure enough, Finn and Shay were bottling potions – and by the looks things, there was some heavy petting going on between bottles.

"Becket," Finn greeted with a smile. "You look troubled. Not upsetting sorcerers again are you, my boy?"

"No," Becket muttered, cringing inwardly. Finally he sighed, resigned himself to having no pride or dignity, and asked. "Do you know anything about Rocs?"

"Rocs?" Macklin said from behind them. "Is this one of your stranger—that's the Quest I've been hearing about!"

Becket buried his face in his hand as his little brother started laughing, feeling his face heat. "It's not like that!" he said when Macklin just kept laughing, and even Tate was looking rather amused.

Finn chuckled, but kindly. "Beck, my boy, what have you done now?"

Miserably Becket explained, cringing as his stupid soon-to-be dead brother just laughed all the more. "I hate you," he said as he finished.

"Yeah, but not as much as you hate yourself," Macklin said cheerfully.

"Shut up," Beckett muttered sourly. He looked at Finn. "Help? Please?"

Shay laughed softly as his brother began to think, muttering to himself softly and fiddling with the bottles of potion on the scuffed worktable. He gently touched a hand to his brother's hip. "Why do I suspect there's at least one Roc in your past, brother mine?"

Finn grimaced. "I was testing potions, it seemed the best subject. I mean a full grown Roc is the size of my cabin, the eggs about the size of a good trunk."

"Dare I ask what potions you were testing?" Shay asked in amusement.

Absently tangling his own hand with the one at his hip, Finn explained. "Shrinking and enlarging potions." He waved vaguely to the forest behind him. "Still have a mini-Roc in there somewhere; he likes to steal my sausages from time to time. Never tried it with an egg, I couldn't find a female, but it should work just fine and you could carry it in your pack safe and easy. Once back in the city, just use the enlarger to restore it to normal size. Shouldn't hurt it a bit."

Beckett blinked. So did everyone else, except Tate who only rolled his eyes.

"I'll go get the potions," Finn said, kissing his brother briefly before vanishing into the house.

"Mini-Roc," Shay said faintly.

"Wanted to test potions," Macklin said.

Tate rolled his eyes again. "It knocked him down the side of the mountain before the potion took effect. He deserved it."

Finnegan reappeared a moment later, clutching two small, corked crystal vials. "Here," he said, presenting them to Becket. "The blue one shrinks, the red one enlarges."

"Got it," Becket said. "So I just need to get past the Roc, then cover the egg with this?"

"Yes, that should work fine. Can you get past the Roc?"

Becket grinned. "That'll be the easy part, trust me. Thanks for the help, Finn."

"Any time."

Shooting his still-snickering brother a glare, Becket bid them farewell and departed.

After this was over, he was sewing his mouth shut.

*~*~*

He winced as his arm was jostled by a passerby, and wished he hadn't run out of healing cream. Of course he could just go bother Finn, or stop at a healer's…

But he wanted this over with. Give over the Roc egg, get tossed out on his ear, find the nearest healer and then the nearest tavern.

As he made his way through the city, he began to notice the whispers and stares. Frowning, hunching his shoulders and trying desperately to ignore the steadily increasing pain in his right arm, Becket gripped the straps of his pack tightly and continued on.

When he got to the gates of the palace, he hesitated.

One of the guard's eyes widened. "It's you!" he exclaimed.

The other guard on duty startled, then rang the bell to tell those inside to raise the gate.

"Welcome back," the two guards said with easy grins. "We've been expecting you." The one on the left winked as he passed by. "Had money on you, we did."

Becket smiled, tired but genuinely amused. "Then I'm glad I could assist. Have a good day."

"And a fine addition to the palace he'll make," the other guard said knowingly when he thought Becket out of hearing range. "Much friendlier, I can see that. No stuffiness."

"We'll see," the other guard replied, and then Becket could hear no more as he reached the main doors and passed yet more guards to enter the palace proper.

From there an elf dressed in red and gold livery bowed low and escorted him through the massive hall, then down two more smaller ones, finally bowing at one door and motioning Becket should go inside.

This was not where he belonged, not even a bit. What had he gotten himself into?

Three long weeks of hunting out the Roc in the canyon. Getting her away from the nest long enough had put a nasty gash in his arm that would likely leave an ugly scar, and even shrunk the damned egg was heavy. All that aggravation and damn it he really wanted more healing cream – and he was in a place he didn't belong about to be thrown out or locked up by someone he most certainly did not care about.

He restlessly shoved back his hair, wishing he'd stopped for a bath or something – but, he reminded himself, he just wanted this over with so he could go back to his normal life.

Empty, lonely, normal life.

The room he was in was decorated in green and brown, touches of deep, soft gold. Sunlight spilled in through the window he stood before, making everything blaze.

Behind him came the sound of the door opening and Becket tensed at the sound of wings rustling.

"I do not see a Roc egg," Glendan replied in his low, rough voice. Somehow, Becket had forgotten the way it made him shiver – even when the tone wasn't particularly friendly.

Smirking, because here at least he would trump the bastard, Becket slung his pack off his back and knelt, carefully setting it on the floor. Flipping the top open, he pulled out the heavy, carefully wrapped bundle, pulling away the layers of the cloth and crossing the room to present it to Glendan. "I have the potion to change it back to its proper shape," he said. "Didn't seem to be room enough here."

Glendan's eyes widened slightly as he took the egg, then narrowed as he examined it closely. "I don't believe it," he muttered. "You shrank it."

Becket grinned as Glendan looked at him. "Neat, huh? Helps to have clever friends. I would never have thought of it on my own. Let me tell you, though, getting past that bitch of a mother was no easy thing."

Grunting, Glendan set the egg down on a table – but before he could say anything the Griffon Dame entered, so very much like her son in appearance, though much more severe and not half so pretty. "The Quest is completed?" she asked.

"Yes," Glendan said with a grimace.

Becket hadn't expected anyone to be happy about it, but the ass didn't have to look like he was being sent to his doom.

The Dame quirked a brow at the egg and picked it up – then her mouth twitched. "How very clever. I wonder how many would have thought of such a thing. But however did you get a wizard to create such a potion? I assume you used a potion…"

"Yes," Becket said stiffly, stung. He wasn't a cheater. "There is a wizard I count a good friend, he suggested the method and provided the potions. Perfectly within the rules. I did all the work myself, completely alone."

Nodding, the Dame set the egg down once more. "Then I will leave the two of you alone and arrange for a formal dinner. Congratulations, Becket, and welcome to the family." Giving a graceful nod, she departed.

Becket suddenly felt a million kinds of awful. He swallowed and looked anxiously at Glendan. "Look, I—"

"I don't want to hear it," Glendan snapped. "Contrary to your low opinion of me, I do honor promises. I shall honor this one." He yanked a heavy gold ring from his left hand, and Becket vaguely noted the one on his right matched it – promise rings.

He barely caught the ring as Glendan thrust it at him. The gold was warm, almost hot, in his hand. "There, demon. Exactly as you no doubt wanted. Wealth and power and authority, and no need to work another day in your life. Congratulations. Welcome to the family." The words were bitter, nothing like the elegant way his mother had said them.

Becket glared. "I wasn't the one who set up a stupid Quest with no real interest in finding love or worthiness, or anything beyond the same stupid things all your type wants. I'm not here for your money or power or any of it. I just didn't like seeing you taking advantage of people who would kill to be you for one day. But don't worry, mate, I have no intention of leeching off your life. I make my own way and I will continue to do so."

Vibrating with anger, because this could have gone differently but of course he should have known it wouldn't, Becket stalked past Glendan and toward the door.

"What way is that?"

Becket stopped and turned, frowning. "What concern is it of yours?"

"I should know something about you, seeing as we are now…" Glendan waved his hand in the air, grimacing again. "Together."

Becket opened his mouth to give a sharp retort – but then closed it, for once listening to the little voice screaming at him to shut up. This was different, that little voice said. A griffon didn't break such a bond lightly, and despite his displeasure and unhappiness Glendan had given him the ring which made the bond a fact. Unless Becket quit and walked away, which he wouldn't do because – he didn't know why, just because damn it. There was something he still had to prove, right? Right.

They were stuck with each other, until one of them gave up or killed the other.

So…best to make the best of a bad situation.

When he'd been trapped in the sorcerer's dungeon, he'd tried to keep everyone's spirits up by telling silly stories – usually involving the stupid things he'd done.

Stupid stories wouldn't help here. It would have to be something else. "I'm a sword-for-hire," he said, smiling faintly as he thought of the reality of his job. "Though I seem to spend more days helping granny carry her wares to market than slaying bandits." He laughed. "Hell, I was only in the city for this because I was playing delivery boy."

"So you're not good enough a swordsman to actually rent your sword out and do other things instead?"

Becket's levity died. "No, you stupid cat-bird. That's not it at all. I should have known better than to think you'd listen or care. I'm leaving. Don't worry, I'll stay out of your way to spare you the humiliation of being stuck with a stupid swordsman of a demon. Nor will I take your money, or even tell anyone I'm yours."

Ha. The words were thick and bitter in his mouth. He didn't belong to anyone, and likely never would. Not unless his griffon had a change of heart, which it was obvious he never would. Becket looked at him, wishing suddenly and painfully that things were different.

Because that one smile in the pavilion had been something. It was carved in his memory, and more often than he liked he'd thought of it during the long three weeks of the Quest. Couldn't they try to get along? But he could see from the stony set to Glendan's face that they never would.

Too different.

And if he hadn't been good enough for a humble baker, why in the world had he thought for two stupid seconds that he'd be good enough for a noble griffon?

"If you happen to need me, I'm sure you can find me," Becket said tiredly, then turned on his heel and walked away.

He pressed his left hand to the throbbing wound of his right arm, then realized abruptly he still clutched the ring Glendan had given him. Too big for his fingers, or even his thumbs. He would have to get a chain for it, until he could afford to have it resized. Though he probably shouldn't bother, as Glendan would no doubt ask for it back before too long.

Pain shot through his arm again and Becket wished longingly that he could just ask for the palace healer. But that would be taking advantage of his new status, and he wouldn’t do that. He hadn't done this for money or power or anything else. He'd done it because he couldn't keep his mouth shut.

And maybe, just a tiny bit, if he had to be honest, for that smile.

Feeling tired, Becket ignored everyone around him and left the palace, then went to find the nearest healer and the nearest tavern.

Then he would have to find work. In addition to everything else, the Quest had cost him three weeks of work and his coin was running dangerously low.

Trudging along, wincing every time someone jostled his arm, he struggled to focus only on those things which mattered – healing, food, bath, bed – and not think of the way the Quests always ended in the songs the bards sung.

*~*~*

Becket woke up with a groan as pain shot through his body, biting back a whimper as it only got worse.

What in the world had he done this time?

Oh, right.

He wasn't a bad swordsman and had decided to prove that. Though he couldn't quite remember, he was relatively certain alcohol had been involved in making that decision.

Establishing once and for all that it wasn't his mouth that was his problem, it was simply being himself.

But…he was pretty certain he'd passed out after killing the last one. He hadn't counted on the arrows being poison tipped, which had slowed him down considerably. Despite that, he'd gotten them all. So he should still be in the forest.

Why was he in a room that looked far too nice to ever be what he could afford?

Slowly he sat up, hissing in pain. The touch of cold metal to his chest made him jump, and staring at the shining gold ring lying against his pale skin made Becket realize exactly where he must be.

The bedroom was dark blue and deep brown, the smell of leather and sunshine thick. Early evening sunlight spilled through the window on the far side of the room. It was a massive room, everything spread apart, all the chairs low-backed, and the bed completely open – to accommodate wings.

Becket swallowed and wondered what he'd done so wrong that his…that Glendan had bothered to see him brought back to the palace.

He tensed as the door opened, sighing in relief when he saw the green robes that indicated a healer.

"Ah," the healer, an older woman, said with a smile. "You're awake. I will summon his lordship."

Becket started to beg her not to, he was still recovering from his stupidity thanks, but before he could speak she'd crossed the room to tug on a bell pull.

He waited in grim silence as she went about gently healing him, the magic tingling over his skin. "We've had to heal you slowly," she said with a smile. "You were badly wounded, dearie, from head to toe. But a couple more sessions and you should be fine." She started to say more when the door opened and a familiar figure padded inside.

Bowing low, the healer murmured to Glendan for a moment and then departed.

Glendan padded to the bed and looked down at him.

Becket wished he would sit, looking up that far would give him a crick in the neck. "Why am I here?"

"Because if you were not here you would be dead," Glendan snapped. "What were you thinking, to do such a foolish thing?"

He hadn't been thinking, really, except maybe 'I'll show that stupid griffon I'm a good swordsman' but he would rather go help Finnegan make a potion than admit that. "I hadn't anticipated their arrows being poison-tipped. I was fine until that little detail presented itself." He shook his head. "I don't understand. That forest was at least twenty miles from here and I certainly didn't tell you where I was going."

Glendan reached out and delicately picked up the ring on a leather cord around Becket's neck with one talon. The skin of his hand was surprisingly warm where it brushed briefly against his chest. Becket stubbornly ignored the errant thought.

"The ring is not merely ornamental," Glendan said. "It creates a bond. Naturally it would work better if you wore it properly," he grimaced slightly, "but wearing it at all is enough. I knew when you were in serious distress and went to find you."

"Oh," Becket said faintly, hurting in an entirely different way. Glendan had come to save him…but not because he'd wanted to. Well, it wasn't like it mattered. As Glendan had said – neither of them wanted this. They'd both been too stubborn to pull out of it, though. "Thank you."

Glendan grunted softly and let the ring go. "You killed all of them by yourself, even poisoned. That is…impressive."

Becket shrugged. "I told you I wasn't all bad. It's just the other stuff is more fun than killing. And after the sorcerer snagged me, I sort of wanted out of fighting and everything for a bit."

"You were captured by a sorcerer?" Glendan asked with a frown.

"Is that another black mark against me?" Becket asked tiredly. "Yeah, I was. My mouth got me into trouble with him and apparently I had enough power to be worth the effort of shutting me up."

A snort that sounded suspiciously like a smothered laugh brought Becket's head up sharply. Glendan's mouth was turned up in a faint, amused smile. Nothing so fine as the one Becket couldn't forget…but definitely an improvement over the scowls. "I sense your mouth gets you into a lot of trouble, if you will take the words without offense."

Becket blinked, then laughed. "No, no offense taken. It's true. However did you figure it out?"

Another faint smile. "We'll call it a lucky guess."

"So…now that I'm better…what should I be doing? Because if I have to leave again, I'd at least like some clothes and my stuff back."

Glendan hesitated, then combed a hand through his hair as he looked away. Slowly he turned back, those rich gold eyes meeting Becket's. "We got off to a bad start. Neither of us was at our best. While I very much felt like throttling you, and likely will again, I did not enjoy seeing you nearly dead in that forest. So if you are willing, perhaps we could start again."

"I would like that," Becket said, heart pounding in his chest. He smiled cautiously and held out his hand, growing more nervous still when Glendan took it and they shook. The skin of his hand was slightly rough, but warm, the talons not quite piercing his skin where they curled against it.

For a moment it almost seemed as though Glendan would lean forward, and Becket wondered for one wild moment if the griffon was going to kiss him…and wondered at his own disappointment when instead, Glendan simply released his hand and stood. "I will leave you to rest, and perhaps when your strength is returned in a few days I can give you a tour?"

Becket nodded. "A tour would be nice."

"Very well then. Rest." Glendan nodded at him and then turned and left.

He'd meant to ask if this was indeed Glendan's room, and where he was supposed to sleep…but it could wait. Glendan had been nice rather than obnoxious, he was safe and warm and nearly healed…questions could wait, especially as they would likely somehow manage to start another fight.

Smiling faintly, Becket burrowed back beneath the blankets and drifted off to sleep.

*~*~*

Becket whistled cheerfully as he entered the palace, nodding to the guards before striding to the stairs and quickly climbing them, then turning down the second hallway.

The palace didn't quite feel like home – too many glares, too many awkward moments, too much fancy stuff that just did not sit comfortably with him – but it was becoming a familiar place to visit.

Everything between Glendan and him was still sort of stilted…but they had lunch every few days, or sometimes dinner, just the two of them and occasionally the Dame, and those were better now than they had been.

He wished they were better still, but Glendan was always so reserved and try as he might Becket didn't know quite how to crack him. He was a laid back demon, Glendan a proud griffon. A peasant and a noble. A poor sword-for-hire and a peer of the realm. Too many differences…but they were trying. Maybe someday they'd manage it.

There had been a couple of times, after their meals…when he'd almost thought…but Glendan always turned away, and Becket felt somehow rejected. He didn't dare attempt any forwardness of his own, that wouldn't go over well, even if the temptation did grow stronger every day.

Because when he forgot to be tense or snappish, Glendan was charming and funny, smart and quick. More than once Becket had seen him talking to others, jealousy flaring that everyone could draw out those smiles and the relaxed, easy manner except him.

He had the ring, but that was all he had.

Still, he wasn't going to give up. If he could endure being drained by a sorcerer for three years, he could break down the barriers between him and his mate.

Hopefully his little treat today would help. Apple-cinnamon crumb cake. It was the only reason he ever bothered accepting jobs that forced him into the Blue Hills. The village of the same name had the world's finest cake maker.

It wasn't fancy palace food…but it was by far the best treatment of apples he'd ever tasted.

Tucking back a stray bit of steel-gray hair, clutching the carefully bundled cake in one arm, he pushed open the door of the room – sitting room, he reminded himself – where they usually ate together. He'd sent word ahead, on the chance Glendan was available today…

But when he stepped inside the room was filled not with Glendan, but with three others sitting around the table where the two of them usually ate. Food was spread out, a meal much fancier than what he usually had.

All sorts of fancy, pretty things. Becket realized miserably he didn't even know what most of it was called. He held the crumb cake a bit tighter. "I'm sorry," he said as the three men looked at him – another griffon, an elf, and a phoenix. "I hadn't realized the room was already occupied."

"Oh, look, the peasant mate," the phoenix said in a jeering tone.

Becket stiffened. Too late he told his mouth to stay quiet. "Oh, look, a rude noble."

The three laughed. "Rude?" The griffon said. "We do not dishonor ourselves and our mates and lovers by stumbling in looking as though we were dragged through the streets."

He hadn't meant…he'd just been excited… did he really look that bad? Flushing, Becket nevertheless stepped further into the room. "I'm sorry the evidence that I actually work for my living offends you gentlemen."

"Indeed," the elf said, smiling in a cold way. "I would not be offended if—"

"Enough," Glendan growled from the doorway, coming up to stand beside Becket.

The other griffon frowned. "Glen, we are only defending your honor from this—"

"Whatever he may or may not be," Glendan interrupted, "he is my mate, by right of Quest. I think you should go."

Being defended should have made Becket happy…but not once had Glendan even looked at him, and his expression and tone were of barely-hidden resignation, not pride in his mate or anger that Becket was being maligned.

Through the fabric of the large kerchief knotted around the crumb cake he could smell the tart sweetness of the apples and cinnamon. He loved apples, and this was his favorite treat, and he'd been so stupidly excited to share it…

With someone who could not even put a good face on things before his peers. The smug looks on their faces as they left said they knew it too.

"You're never going to like me are you?" Becket asked bitterly once the door was closed. "No matter what I do, I'm never going to be anything but the loud-mouthed peasant who won your stupid Quest."

Glendan growled. "I am trying," he snapped, "but it is hard to get along with someone who does not even like me because of what I am. You only accepted the quest because you hated my mother had called for it. It's just as despicable a reason as the money and power everyone else sought."

Becket threw the cake at him. "I protested because I wanted to see the Quest done for a true purpose. You're so selfish and conceited! All you see is people who want money. Power."

"That's all they ever want," Glendan retorted, voice rising to match Becket's, both all but shouting now. "Though I think that would still be better than someone who only did it to shove it in my face!"

Becket exploded, unable to take it anymore. He swung before he could tell himself not to, catching Glendon hard on the jaw, sending the griffon reeling back in surprise. "I've had it with you," he said furiously, flexing his claws, backing away towards the door. "All you see is the negative."

"What more is there to see?" Glendan asked bitterly.

"Nobles," Becket hissed, feeling the last of his control snap, no longer caring what came out of his mouth. He was done with this. It had been hopeless right from the start and he should have given up long ago. "Sure, half that crowd wanted your money, your power. But you know what? Some of us out there thought the Quest was real. Some of us wanted to see it completed for the right reason."

Glendan tried to speak, but Becket forged on, not giving him a chance. "All you see is the negative, you never once see that there are people who are willing to Quest for you. People who are willing to fight for you. Willing to die just for the chance to say they belong to you. Does that ever strike you? Hundreds – thousands – of people came that day just for the chance to belong to you. Not everyone was greedy. Some of us did it for a pair of golden eyes." He laughed bitterly. "Some of us did it for a smile."

He snarled when Glendan again tried to speak. "You're nothing but a brat. So many people willing to fight and die for you and all you do is complain. You can't appreciate the meaning of that at all. No one will ever Quest for me. Fight for me. Die for me. Hell, when I was kidnapped by that sorcerer only my brother noticed my absence, and you had people clamoring to be the one at your side without them even knowing you."

He tore the ring from his neck and threw it at Glendan's feet. "There. It never fit me anyway."

Feeling a thousand times worse than he ever had during his stay in the sorcerer's dungeon, Becket turned and fled the room, all but running out of the palace.

It was long past time he went home.

*~*~*

"Beck—"

"Back off," Becket snapped, pulling out of his brother's grasp. "I'm fine."

"No, you're not," Macklin retorted, grabbing his arm again. "Come inside and rest for a bit."

Becket jerked away and moved several steps back. "I said I'm fine, and I mean I'm fine," he all but shouted. "Leave. Me. Alone."

Macklin threw his hands up. "Whatever. Go kill yourself then."

"Like you'd be any better if your dragon suddenly decided he hated you," Becket said bitterly.

Dismay filled his brother's face. "Beck…"

"I don't want to hear it," Becket said tightly. "Just—go and be happy and in love and stop bothering me." He turned away before Macklin could reply and stomped from Finnegan's house, down the winding path that led to his own little cabin.

He should probably leave until he could act civilized again, especially when seeing Mack and Tate and Finnegan and Shay didn't help him get over himself at all. Two months later he was still snarling at everyone, and he was running out of brigands and goblins to beat up.

What made him so awful, he wondered for the millionth time. All anyone had to do was ask and he'd give them everything…except that wasn't true. Because he'd already given everything to someone who didn't want any of it.

Heaving a sigh, he trudged around the last bend before his cabin came into view – and stumbled to a halt.

There was someone collapsed in front of his door, curled right up against the frame…passed out or simply fast asleep, Becket couldn't quite tell which.

Glendan…what was Glendan doing curled up dead to the world in front of his door?

Looking rather the worse for wear, at that. His fine pelt was dusty and dirty, one wing missing more than a few feathers, a recently healed cut on one leg.

As he drew close, Becket saw in an instant that Glendan had fallen asleep from sheer exhaustion. It was etched deeply into the lines of his face. Kneeling, Becket cautiously placed a hand on Glendan's upper arm.

Muscles rippled beneath his touch, Glendan's eyelids fluttering before opening completely. They stared at him blankly, a rich gold he'd never forgotten – then filled with realization. "Becket," Glendan said, then realized where he was and climbed awkwardly to his feet, not quite hiding he was in pain.

"What…" Becket frowned when his voice didn't sound quite as steady as he wished. "What are you doing here? Was there something else I did wrong?"

Glendan winced and dropped his gaze. "No. I am wholly at fault. I came to apologize."

"Two months is a bit late for an apology, don’t you think?" Becket said, not caring how he sounded.

"Yes," Glendan agreed, and slowly looked up. "I have my reasons, however. First, I wanted to say what you did not give me a chance to say -- that I did not mind your being a peasant. Certainly our different upbringings make things more difficult for us…but it was not that which caused me to keep my distance. It was that you never seemed to need me. You are so thoroughly independent, and made quite clear those things others wanted did not interest you, I was ever at a loss as to what I could offer you."

Becket opened his mouth, then closed it again. "You didn't seem to need me either," he said at last, but without heat, only sadness.

"Yet since you left, I have found that is very much not true. I liked our meals together, and your stories, that you were so different from me. Nothing seems to faze you, and you give your opinion no matter what the consequences might be. It is an admirable trait."

"A stupid trait," Becket said sadly. "All it causes me is trouble."

"It is better than saying nothing," Glendan said quietly. He lifted his right hand and for the first time Becket saw he was holding a small black leather bag. "These are for you."

Becket frowned and hesitantly accepted it, tugging open the drawstring and spilling a handful of bright blue stones into his hand. They almost seemed to glow, as if from some inner fire. "They're pretty…but what are they?"

Glendan hesitated, wings fluttering restlessly on his back. Becket noticed the way the movement of the damaged wing made Glendan wince again. "Ah, they're…spell stones from the grave of the witch queen. It's…a traditional Quest for…winning the right to a demon…"

"What?" Becket asked, dropping the stones in surprise, looking at them in dismay over his carelessness, then jerking his gaze up to Glendan, who regarded him solemnly.

"You completed a Quest for me," Glendan said slowly, "it seemed only right that I complete a Quest to try and get you back."

Becket stared. "W-why?"

Glendan smiled hesitantly. "Because I missed you, and I was growing fond of you, and I think if we gave it an honest try then we would be well-matched. Please?"

He had to be dreaming – but Glendan was really here, and had gone on a Quest for him, and the look in those gold eyes was neither mocking nor reserved. "Yes," he said, and threw himself into his griffon's arms.

And this time Glendan did kiss him, and he tasted like nutmeg and cinnamon, warm and bright, the strength in the arms wrapped around him wonderful, and everywhere Glendan was soft pelt or feathers over hard muscle. "You really want me?" he asked.

"Yes," Glendan said firmly, gold eyes fastened to his, so bright and intense. "You're mine." He smiled suddenly, and it took Becket's breath away, even finer than the one he'd seen that first day. "Here," he said, pulling back far enough to press something into Becket's hand.

Becket blinked, then stared down at what he realized was his ring.

Glendan took it back and slid it slowly on his finger. "It should fit now."

"Perfect," Becket said, then threw his arms back around his griffon and dragged him down for another kiss.