For Sammikins
Oct. 7th, 2007 06:23 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
maderrWaaaaaaaaaay overdue birthday present, and she bid me rewrite this fairytale ages ago ^_~ Oddly enough, I haven't really tweaked it so much as just added details and that sort of thing. It pretty much sticks to the original through and through. I would link to the original, but 1)I can't find it online and D) the title is spoilery.
Anyway ^___^ Sammie, I hope you approve. I'm sorry it took so long <3
Grigori stared into his ale and wondered morosely what he was going to do now.
Of course, it was a question he'd been asking himself from the very moment he'd decided to desert. A question he'd asked himself even as his stupid mouth sealed his fate, and his feet had betrayed him to side with his mouth.
So here he was, in a tired looking tavern with barely enough coin to pay for the ales that were failing miserably to drown his sorrows. He looked up to glance around the room. Little had changed in the thirty seconds since his last look around.
Tired and worn out, that's what this place was. The reason he'd chosen it, of course. This was a place for farmers, craftsmen, and otherwise less than well-to-do. No one would notice or care about a sad, lonely soldier hiding away in the corner.
Sad, lonely, pathetic, and in rather deep trouble should he ever be caught.
It occurred to him – again – that deserting the army had not been the smartest thing he'd ever done. Even if…
300 lashes, for daring to suggest you are blood-relation to a General in his Majesty's Army.
His fingers tightened around his tankard, sliding on the wood long worn to slick-softness, and with a rough noise suspiciously close in sound to a sob, he downed the remainder of it in one long swallow. He signaled for another as he slammed the empty tankard back down.
What was done was done, he supposed. His only real problem now was finding work. There was always a need for hard labor, and he had more than a bit of skill with his sword…
That would be the way to go; ten years in the army, more than a few battles to his name. Selling his sword was definitely the best route – but how did one go about becoming a mercenary? He frowned at the table, realizing he was right back where he'd started, feeling utterly lost.
Someone set his ale down for him, and he muttered an absent thanks before falling once more into the bitter memories that had driven him to desert.
"Are you for hire?"
The voice was rough, but firm. Grigori snapped out of his wallowing and looked up.
A farmer, clearly. The heavily lined, sun-dark hair. The dirt. The old before his time appearance, the thin graying hair, heavily patched clothes on a lean but muscled frame. The man could nearly have been his father, right down to the smell of sweat and earth that clung to him.
"Depends on the job and the price," Grigori replied, barely able to hold back his laughter. Surely it was a joke – it could not be this easy to come by a job. If he'd known all it took to become a mercenary was sulking over thin ale in an old tavern, he would have deserted a long time ago.
The old man held a beat up hat close against his chest, the hand clutching it as old and strained as the rest of him, nails dark with the grime that had gotten beneath them. "I need you to get rid of some robbers. They've got a den somewhere in the forest near my farm."
Robbers…nasty type, those, but he'd dealt with worse.
"I have asked many," the farmer continued. "No one will do it." His mouth tightened with obvious effort to hold in angry, bitter words. "Obviously I can't pay much, but I'll give you all that I can. They took something precious from me."
Grigori motioned for him to sit. "If they're robbers, they'll have plenty in their den to cover my fee. If not, that'll teach me to go after robbers with empty dens."
The farmer stared at him. "You're the oddest merc I've encountered yet."
Smiling faintly, Grigori opted for a bit of honesty, liking this man who reminded him of his father. "I'm a hungry merc. Tell me what I need to know."
Nodding, the farmer set his hat down on the table and leaned slightly forward as he began to speak in earnest. "There's seven of them. I've followed their trail to about three miles in the forest; I dare not go farther than that. I think I might know where they go, however. Always they attack at night, so I doubt they return to their hideaway before sunrise."
Grigori nodded. He knew more than he ever wanted to know about robbers. "What is it I'm retrieving for you?"
"My wedding ring," the farmer said quietly, eyes for a moment taking on a faraway look. "They took all the money we had, back then. She's gone now, these past five years. Those rings were precious to us. I want mine back. Plain silver band, engraved with the letters K & N."
"I'll get it back," Grigori said. "Show me these woods, and point me in the right direction. It may take me some time, depending on what I have to do to get rid of them and how long it takes me to find your ring. At least a week, I would imagine. Possibly a great deal longer. I'll get it back, though."
The farmer nodded, cautious hope filling his eyes. "Thank you."
"Thank me when I bring you the ring," Grigori said, and finished his ale, throwing down the last of his coin. "If you're ready, show me the way."
The forest was one of those he liked to class under Unpleasant. It was one of the really old ones, the type of forest that was as old as time. He felt like an interloper.
Of course, that feeling was most likely because he was sitting alone around a campfire in an area he knew was ridden with robbers. Not that he hadn't been in such infested forests before…but usually he had other soldiers with him, and was much better armed. An old jerkin, a sword, and a dagger were not going to stand up too well if he met all seven bandits at once.
Not to mention he'd have to confront them on little to no sleep – falling asleep out here, with robbers likely to show up literally anywhere…he would like as not wake up with his throat slit. If he'd wanted that sort of wake up, he would have stayed to accept his punishment.
The farmer had taken him three miles into the forest, and told him where to try. An old house, he'd said, that had once belonged to a woodcutter before he went mad and 'did unspeakable things to his children'.
Grigori hadn't asked for clarification on the 'unspeakable'.
Robbers 'earned' their bread and butter by night, which meant they would sleep by day. That meant his best strategy was to lay low at night and travel by day – like a normal person. Grigori snorted and shook his head, amused that working by day seemed so foreign a concept to him.
Perhaps the desertion had not been the dumbest thing he'd ever done.
Something snapped a twig not too far away, followed by something that sounded suspiciously like a voice, and Grigori reconsidered his options. Company would be nice. Slowly, he lifted his sword from where it lay beside him, then stood up carefully, making as little noise as possible. He'd cleared the area earlier, so there were no twigs to snap or leaves to crunch.
He faded into the shadows and waited, hoping that there was nothing in the shadows behind him. That would be problematic.
Whatever he'd expected to come into the light of his fire – it wasn’t the sorry looking mess that stumbled in and promptly sat down.
Sat down was putting it rather nicely, really. The poor bastard pretty much fell right over.
Grigori watched him a moment more, but if the man was a robber playing poor victim…somehow he didn't think so. Easing his grip on his sword, Grigori stepped back into the light of the fire. "You've dropped in to visit at a strange hour."
The man jumped, head jerking up. "My apologies. I was beginning to think myself entirely alone in this monstrous place."
His accent was clipped; the sharp sounds of the city-bred. Given how stupid it was to simply fall down before a strange fire – Grigori didn't need the accent to know the man was from the city. "You look like you've gotten rather lost, stranger."
"I've gotten so completely lost I fear I shall never live the tale down should I ever be foolish enough to tell it honestly," the man said with a tired but genuine laugh. "You haven't killed me yet, so I am hopeful you can help me out of here and not leave me for dead. I promise if you leave me a corpse in this forest, I shall haunt you forever."
Grigori laughed, unable to resist the surprisingly cheerful smile the man gave him. "I do not care for ghosts, sir, so you will not die by my hand."
"Good. Now, then. What are my chances of getting you to help me out of here? I am heartily sick of forests. When I return, I am swearing off hunting and anything else that involves trees. Anything green. I vow when I return home I shall never leave it again."
It occurred to Grigori, as he laughed loud and long, that there were robbers in the forest and he should be quiet – but he could not remember the last time he'd laughed so genuinely. "You are in remarkably good temper for a man who has been lost in a forest for…at least several days?"
"Six," the man said. "Six miserable, awful days, and all because I saw the finest stag…and he got away from me. Revenge, no doubt, for all the relatives turned into many a fine meal. To which I would gladly treat you, if you would help me out of here."
Grigori smiled faintly. "I would gladly help you, if you do not mind waiting a time. I've been hired to take care of a nest of robbers, and I do not want to risk discovery by trekking in and out of the forest. I've been here two nights now, and having to do that much work over again would likely alert the robbers to my presence."
The man nodded. "I will lend my services to your cause, in return from saving me from this mad forest." He made a face. "Though my services are not much."
"Oh? What are your services?"
"Most of my days are spent slaving away in the palace," the man said with a grin that turned almost immediately into a yawn. "My skills are varied, but probably not suited to a forest and robbers. We shall see, I guess."
Grigori grunted and nodded. "For now, I suggest you get some sleep. I will guard our backs."
"Are you certain there is nothing I can do?"
"You can stand the bulk of the watch tomorrow," Grigori said. He smiled. "You might also tell me your name, if you are inclined. I am Grigori."
The man laughed. "That would be a good idea, wouldn't it? My name is Vasili. I thank you for your generosity, Grigori. I promise I shall repay it in full when I am out of this wretched forest."
"Sleep, Vasili. You will need your strength if you're going to help me hunt robbers."
Nodding, Vasili promptly bundled his cloak around him and fell instantly asleep.
Smiling faintly, amused by the man's reckless trust, his odd cheerfulness, Grigori settled in to play sentry for the night. Somehow, guarding someone else's sleep did not seem nearly so lonely a vigil as protecting only himself.
When the sun rose a few hours later, he yawned and finally allowed himself to relax a bit, and turned to rouse his new companion.
He blinked, halting in his tracks.
My. The night had not given any hint of the man's features. He really was from the city, to look so…very fine. Dark gold hair, fine as silk thread, and even beneath several days growth of hair and the layers of dirt from so long a stay in the forest he was handsome. Grigori wondered what he would look like cleaned up, and shook his head at such a ridiculous thought.
Green eyes blinked back at him, the color of the dark evergreens that filled the forests of his home. So deep and delicate a green; subdued and pretty, nothing like the vibrant shades that filled the forests here.
Growing irritated as he realized his thoughts had again strayed to idle things, Grigori bent to the task of destroying all signs of his little campsite, then gathered up his belongings. He slung his worn out pack onto his shoulders, then settled his sword at his hip.
Vasili moved more slowly, and clearly was not used to such rough circumstances.
"No offense," Grigori asked, "but how have you made it so many days on your own?"
Laughter filled the clearing. "I have been asking myself that every single minute, my friend. I managed to cling to my water, as you see here." He tapped the skin slung on his belt. "Food I have managed. I am helpless, but not entirely. Still, I agree it is a miracle I have not gotten myself killed. Thankfully I have you now."
Grigori shook his head, unable to resist a faint smile. "When you are home safe and sound, then you can thank me. Come, the bandits are much further in. Travel as quietly as you can, do as I say."
"Yes, of course," Vasili said congenially.
They traveled in silence throughout the morning, breaking it only here and there to pass observations or instructions, an occasional jest from Vasili. That he was so cheerful under such hideous circumstances continued to amaze Grigori. A few days ago he had been sulking in a bar because he had no job and his own brother had ordered he be whipped for daring to say they were brothers – and this man was jesting and humming old folk songs after seven days lost in a forest.
He wondered what sort of life Vasili led in the city; he had said he worked in the palace. Such an occupation did not incline Grigori toward good cheer, but he supposed few people would calmly agree to kill seven bandits all alone.
As morning turned to afternoon he called for a break, pulling out the last of the foodstuffs the kind farmer had given him. He broke the hunk of cheese into halves, then did the same with the remaining loaf of bread.
"I have decided I love you," Vasili said with a grin as he devoured the food. "Being lost in a forest finding creative ways of staying alive teaches a man to appreciate things – even if he thought he already was appreciating them. Even if I wind up fertilizing a robber's garden, I will be most grateful to you, my friend."
Grigori laughed and shook his head. "You are an odd one."
Vasili laughed with him. "Perhaps the forest has driven me to madness."
"A fair guess," Grigori said, "however I am inclined to think that is not the case."
"I think it only that I am so relieved to see a friendly face, I have finally tumbled into madness."
Grigori rolled his eyes, but he was still smiling as he shouldered his bag and their hiking resumed.
They walked in silence for perhaps another half hour, when Vasili moved a few steps closer and began talking. "So how did you become a mercenary, my friend? I always wondered how one came into such an occupation."
"It found me, actually," Grigori replied.
"When I first saw you, I had the impression of a solider," Vasili said, voice light and idly curious. "I guess it is much the same."
Grigori tensed. "I was a solider," he said. "A sergeant."
"No longer?" Vasili asked. "I sense the army has lost a valuable soldier, then. All the better for me, however." He grinned. "What division were you with?"
"The Red Stars," Grigori said tersely, wishing they could change the subject now.
"Oh!" Vasili said. "Then you are under the command of General Fedorov."
Grigori stumbled despite himself, hating to hear anything to do with his contemptible brother. "No," he said, "I am not. I left his command nearly four weeks ago now. I have no intention of returning to it. Ten years is enough to put up with such humiliation. You seem terribly familiar with the army."
Vasili shrugged. "The General is quite famous. Everyone knows his name and very nearly everything about him – including who and what is under his command."
"Indeed," Grigori said bitterly. "Did you know, then, that the great and wonderful General has a younger brother?" He glared angrily, miserably, at the trees around them, wishing they were discussing anything else. Wishing he could shut his mouth, because no one cared about this except him. Certainly a stranger desperate for home would not care. Yet he couldn't be silent. Perhaps he had simply choked on it too long, and now there was no threat of the General ordering him beaten.
"No, I did not," Vasili said.
The odd solemnity to his voice brought Grigori up short, and he halted abruptly and turned around.
"You are General Fedorov's younger brother?" Vasili asked. "He has always said he has no family."
Grigori shrugged, trying not to let the word hurt. "I had too much ale a few weeks ago," he finally said, somehow unable not to reply to the question lingering in those spruce-green eyes, the intensity in them. Like Vasili was actually listening. "It made my tongue loose, and I dared to tell those sitting with me around the fire that the General was my brother, and he did not want anyone to know. My brother learned of it, and ordered I be given '300 lashes, for daring to suggest you are blood-relation to a General in his Majesty's Army.' So I decided enough was enough, and took my leave." He shrugged again, and turned away to resume working. "Now I take care of robbers."
Behind him, Vasili was silent.
He probably had said too much. Well, that was what came from saying too little for too long – eventually it all came out, and usually not in a good way or at the right time. Stifling a sigh, he forced himself to speak. "I am sorry, Vasili. My problems are my own. I should not complain to you when you've troubles enough of your own."
A hand settled on his shoulder, startling him, and Grigori wondered that he'd been so distracted and yet so relaxed that he'd not noticed Vasili drawing closer.
"No worries, Grisha," Vasili said with a soft smile, and the gentle comfort in his eyes was a balm Grigori hadn't realized he so badly needed. "I am sorry your brother is not the man everyone thinks. A man should always be proud of a brother such as you." His smile turned into a grin. "I would call you brother, but I fear I find you too handsome for that."
The hand slid from his shoulder, and Vasili moved on, humming softly as he walked, leaving Grigori staring after him. Finally he shook his head and resumed walking. "You are an odd one," he called after Vasili.
Vasili smiled at him over his shoulder.
Grigori smiled back, and started to say – something, he did not know what – when he caught sight of something through the trees. "There," he said, and motioned for silence, quickly closing the space between them, stopping Vasili in his tracks. "There," he repeated, pointing.
A cabin of surprisingly large size in the center of a clearing, close to a creek. Smoke curled lazily from the chimney. It was old but not quite ramshackle. A small garden filled part of the backyard, the back wall of the house mostly taken up by neat stacks of firewood. The area surrounding the house was clear, stones laid out in a rough path to cut down on what was tracked inside.
It was, all told, a handsome cabin. That it housed robbers seemed a pity.
"That's it?" Vasili asked, the words barely audible. "It seems so innocuous."
Grigori grunted. "Looks can be deceiving. To judge by appearance is a mistake."
"Yes," Vasili said softly, "that is very true. What are we going to do?"
"Knock," Grigori said, grinning at the way Vasili's jaw dropped in disbelief, then strode from the trees and into the clearing. Walking briskly up to the door, he rapped sharply on the door.
A raspy voice called for him to wait a moment, then Grigori heard the clank and clatter as locks were undone. The door opened slowly with a grating creak, and an old woman with a beaky nose and dark eyes peered at him. "Yes, good sir?" she asked politely. Her gaze flickered past him. "Sirs," she corrected.
Grigori smiled at her. "My lady, I hate to trouble you. My friend and I have become lost in the forest. I wonder if you might be willing to give us a chance to rest, and perhaps point us in the proper direction?"
The old woman frowned at them, mistrust plain upon her gnarled face. "You're a long way from any village," she said. "How did two such capable men become lost?"
"I fear the stag was smarter than either of us," Grigori said sheepishly.
At that the old woman cackled, mistrust falling away. "I see! Come in with you, then. Make yourselves comfortable." She opened the door wide and ushered them inside, closing and locking the door behind them. "I'm only the housekeeper, mind. My masters won't be back 'til quite late. Plenty of time for you to rest, and I'll put something together for you to take along."
"Thank you," Grigori replied.
The old woman clucked. "You'll be wanting baths, I should think. Bring the water in, I'll get it heated. You'll have to take turns, there's only the one tub. By the fire, yes."
A bath. Grigori had never heard finer words. He went almost cheerfully to fetch the water, Vasili right alongside him though the other man was slower and tired faster. When he tripped for the fourth time, Grigori took his bucket and ordered him inside.
"But—"
"Go," Grigori said. "You'll be of no use later if you tire yourself out doing this."
Shoulders slumped, looking rather more upset about getting out of hard labor than Grigori thought a man should, Vasili dragged himself inside.
Quickly Grigori finished the work, stifling a groan of his own as he finally was able to sit down.
The old woman clucked and quickly filled the tub she'd set in front of the fire. When she finished, she wiped her hands on her apron and gave a nod. "There. You men take your time cleaning up. There are spare clothes in the chest there, take what you need. I will go tend the garden and gather what I need to make you a proper supper. When you are finished, simply open the door."
"Thank you," Grigori said, meaning it. He hoped she did not cooperate with the bandits, for she seemed a good sort.
Nodding again, the woman vanished.
Grigori stood up and stripped out of his clothes, happier than he could express to be out of them. He wasted no time but slid gratefully into the surprisingly large tub, taking up the soap and scrubbing thoroughly.
"Is this really…" Vasili motioned to indicate what he couldn't say.
"Yes," Grigori replied. "I have no doubt. You'll see." He couldn't sense it, exactly, but he knew enough about robbers to know what their nests looked like. "It probably is her house," he said. "Just…" he shrugged to say 'not anymore.'
His only real concern was whether or not she was part of it – which, as much as he hated to admit it, seemed likely. It wasn't the first time he'd seen someone take the side of the robbers. They all had their reasons, of course, but Grigori felt little sympathy for those who would choose to side with murdering thieves.
Best to get this over with as quickly as possible. He cleaned himself quickly, scrubbing and shaving and washing, at last hauling himself out of the tub and leaving it to Vasili, pulling on fresh clothes.
Ah, that was nearly the finest thing ever. He had nearly forgotten what it was like to be clean. Scrubbing a hand through his damp hair, vowing to get it cut once he had coin to spare on such a thing, he began to carefully explore the house.
It was a simple affair – the main room and a bedroom, and a door in the floor which could only lead to the basement.
He turned to Vasili, carefully not noticing the man was naked, and put a finger to his lips. Then he turned and lifted up the door, setting it down with care before moving quickly down the stairs.
Only the dim light from above allowed him to see anything – but that was enough. The room was packed with all manner of things that did not belong in an old woman's home. Saddlebags stuffed to overflowing, small casks and trunks, a purse which had tumbled over, spilling its coin across the floor. He caught a gleam that could only be from a jewel, a hint of more coins in one dusty corner.
Sighing, he climbed back up the steep stairs and shut the door as quietly as he'd opened it. Dusting his hands off, he turned around to relate his find to Vasili – and drew up short.
He'd been right about the man looking more than fine once he was cleaned up. Grigori tried to stop staring, knowing he was being pathetically obvious, but he could not look away. Vasili was stunning. Hair like spun gold and those evergreen eyes, skin too fine to belong to a mere peasant, and a lanky body never abused by a life of hard toil. Yet he could feel none of the vague contempt his fellows usually held for the soft city folk – because Vasili had held up remarkably well for a soft city person lost in a great forest who had been roped into assisting with bandits…
With an effort Grigori finally tore his eyes away and forced his thoughts to work, making a mental note to find some sort of company when he had coin again because he had clearly spent too much time alone.
"This is most certainly our robber den," he said. "There is a trove of stolen goods down there; my only concern is whether or not the old woman is a part of it."
"She is," Vasili said flatly.
Grigori turned back to him, startled by the cynicism on Vasili's face. "How can you tell?"
Vasili smiled, the bitter cynicism turning into a weary sadness. "You learn to recognize them, after a time, those who lie and deceive and hurt – and the cowards that feed off their leavings. Such people exist in all walks in life, and they are all despicable."
"I see," Grigori said, still taken aback by the words, the shadows in the fine green eyes.
But almost as quickly as it had come, Vasili's bad mood vanished, the eyes lightening as a playful smile overtook his face. He crossed the room and stopped in front of Grigori, just close enough to touch. "You are quite the handsome man, Grisha," he said teasingly, reaching out to lightly touch his fingers to Grigori's cheek. "Is there someone waiting for you somewhere?"
Grigori almost laughed at the notion – someone waiting for him, when no one had been able to see more than his brother? "No," he replied, brow furrowing as Vasili stepped a bit closer.
"Oh, good," Vasili said, teasing smile changing slightly, taking on a measure of heat. The hand on Grigori's cheek slid back, and then both Vasili's arms were around his neck and Grigori found himself being thoroughly kissed.
He remained still for a second, startled – then decided such a fine thing as Vasili's mouth was not to be questioned. Sliding his own arms around Vasili's waist, he pulled the man closer still and returned the kiss, took it over, made it deep. Too long since he'd felt such things, and Vasili's mouth was a very fine thing indeed. He tasted like the forest, and wholly male.
Grigori broke the kiss with great reluctance, trying to form words about the wrong time, wrong place, wanting to know why, but those eyes the color of the forests he had grown up in made all the words slip away.
Vasili kissed him softly again, then drew away. "When we are finished with this strange adventure, Grisha, you will have to let me thank you properly for your assistance."
Despite himself, Grigori laughed. "You owe me no such thanks, though I am not so noble I will refuse them."
Sharing his laughter, Vasili leaned in close enough to steal one more kiss that lasted rather longer than he though either of them intended, and it was only with an effort that Grigori returned his focus to the proper target.
"So what are we to do, Grisha?" Vasili asked.
"If she is part of it," he replied, "then we must be careful to give away nothing of our true intentions. Let us give every indication of leaving, and make camp where we can watch all that transpires. We will attack the robbers once they are settled." He grimaced. "It is not the noblest way to kill men, but cowards do not deserve to be treated with the respect they gave no one else."
Vasili nodded and moved to awkwardly tidy up the mess made by their bathing.
Grigori watched him for a moment, then shook his head at himself and moved to open the door – and saw the flash of metal in sunlight, dodging in time to avoid a fatal blow but taking the sharp knife in his arm, crying out in pain and losing his step, stumbling back.
The old woman snarled and lunged for him again, blood flying as she swung the knife. Using his good arm, Grigori caught her wrist, twisted it to make her drop the knife – then hauled her close and snapped her neck, letting the body fall to the floor.
"Are you all right?" Vasili asked.
Grigori looked up, stirred from his unhappiness over having to kill the woman – because there was no way she could be trusted and would only give them away, if she somehow hadn't already – to blink at Vasili. "I am fine."
Vasili merely looked at him, and Grigori was reminded of the looks his mother had given him as a boy when he'd come home a mess and in reply to her questions responded that he'd been up to 'nothing.'
Then Vasili strode across the room and placed light fingers on his injured arm. "Come, my friend. I am not good for much, but I can bandage a wound."
"It is not too deep, I think," Grigori replied, but now that he'd been reminded of the wound he felt the pain of it fully and could not suppress a wince. With difficult they got his shirts off, and he sighed. "I had only just gotten clean."
Vasili chuckled and sat down with the bandaging stuffs he had managed to locate, going to work on the wound with a surprising ease for a man who could not even haul water without difficulty. He must have followed the train of Grigori's thoughts, for he laughed softly again. "I learned it as a boy from nurse, when after one of my successful escapes I ran off with a friend to play in the woods. You can see they have always been a source of difficulty for me. Anyway, my friend was badly injured and we did not know what to do. Luckily a soldier heard our cries. Later I was beaten soundly, and rightfully, for my stupidity. My nurse later taught me to bandage wounds and other such things, so I would at least not kill my friends through complete stupidity."
"She sounds like a smart one."
"Yes," Vasili agreed. "She was; I miss her still though she has been dead these past five years."
"I am sorry."
Vasili nodded, falling silent as he finished cleaning and bandaging the wound. "There. Now, my friend, what are we to do with our poor, departed houseguest?"
Grigori looked over at the body fallen in a slump in the doorway. "Night is falling, and the bandits are not here. That means they are where they could not return to rest this day, which in turn means they could be returning at any moment. She will have to be dumped in the forest, I fear."
He bent to untangle the untidy heap of the corpse in the doorway, pausing as something fell out of her dress and to the floor – a flask. Picking it up, an idea in his head, he tossed the flask to Vasili. "Here, toss that on the bed. Make this place smell like a barroom."
Comprehension flooded Vasili's face and he set to work as Grigori took care of the body.
He dragged it well away from the cabin, feeling the awful, sick and guilty weight he had carried since his first kill in the army. If he'd left her alive, she likely would have caused a great deal more harm, and she was as guilty as the robbers…but killing her still brought no pleasure, and this profane treatment of her body only added to his shame.
There was, however, no help for it. Finally finding a good location, covered her in all the leaves and earth and rocks he could retrieve to form a shallow grave – pausing halfway through, noticing a gleam of metal that he had not before, slid onto her thumb.
Bending, he picked up the hand swore softly at what he saw – a plain silver ring with the letters K & N carved into it. That was far too close. Silently thanking whichever diety had seen fit to give him such good fortune, he tucked the ring away and finished his unhappy task, then strode back the way he'd come.
Vasili waited for him by the back door with their packs. "I took what food I could; our clothes I left. No sign of us remains, and I figured you would want to leave immediately."
"Yes," Grigori replied, repressing a sudden urge to kiss the man, the impulse startling him badly. He did not allow himself to think of the kisses already exchanged, merely accepted his pack when Vasili held it out and settled it on his back. "Let us go; we will make camp nearby that we can see when they arrive."
They did so, traveling far enough away they could not be seen from the house, but could see it clearly. To judge from the paths worn into the forest floor, the robbers would not be coming from the direction of the spot they'd chosen for hiding.
Darkness fell around them, bringing with it a chill, but the two men did not light a fire.
Grigori yawned. "All right, my friend. I leave the watch to you for now."
"As you like," Vasili replied, and Grigori could just seem him move in the dark, settling with his back to a tree, and thought that shadowy figure was not so bad a sight to fall asleep to, but before he could wonder at the strange thought, sleep had taken him.
He woke to the sound of voices, instantly awake, sitting up soundlessly.
Anger poured through him as he saw the bandits had not merely returned – they were well settled into their home. He turned to look at Vasili and saw the man was asleep. Standing up, he crossed to the other man and grabbed him, clapping a rough hand over his mouth to stifle any cries.
Vasili jerked hard, eyes flying open – then he went still, and they closed again, and all the fight went out of him.
Grigori let him go, all but throwing the man back. "You are lucky we are alive," he said coldly. "Were you one of my soldiers I would beat you black and blue. I would punch you anyway, but in the end it would accomplish nothing."
There was no reply, but he had expected none. Vasili wasn't stupid, Grigori could tell even in the dark that he knew how badly he had messed up. If he were fair, he was just as mad at himself as he was at Vasili. He knew full well the man was not used to such things; he should have taken the watch himself.
"So what do we do now?" Vasili asked, and Grigori hated that the usual cheer which underscored everything Vasili said was completely absent.
Grigori started to speak when he saw the door of the cabin open, and a man stumble out. In the light spilling from the cabin and the lantern the man grasped, it was painfully obvious he was drunk.
Idiot.
"Stay here," he said, sounding a bit sharper than he'd intended, ignoring the guilt niggling at him. He moved through the trees, keeping the dark, walking as softly and soundlessly as he could.
Near the edge of the clearing, he watched and waited. The man drew closer to his hiding place, nearly falling flat on his face as he stooped to set the lantern on a tree stump. Carefully he righted himself, then fought briefly with his pants before simply shoving them down and grabbing himself, pissing with a long sigh of relief.
Grigori rolled his eyes and drew close, lip curling at the smells which reached him – blood and alcohol, sweat and piss. He waited until the man had pulled his pants back up and turned around, then struck before he could utter a cry. No doubt sober the man would have proven a challenge, but the robbers were clearly growing stupid and arrogant with their successes.
Grimacing, he cleaned his sword and considered his options – but once more any decision was taken from him as the cabin door flew open and this time two men stumbled out. They were at least as drunk as their comrade…but to judge from their fumbling it was not pissing they had come out here to do.
He stepped back into the full dark of the trees and waited, listening in silence as they yelled at 'Misha' to wake up and take the lantern back inside. They walked towards the lantern, shouts interspersed with groans, stumbling more than walking as they tried to both harass Misha and get their hands down one another's pants.
They stopped groping long enough to stoop over Misha, but even then did not catch on.
Grigori killed them both.
He picked up the lantern and used it to signal Vasili, hoping the man would get the idea. A couple of minutes later, Vasili indeed appeared, carrying their packs – and not quite looking at him.
"Come," Grigori said, cleaning his sword and then dousing the lantern. "There should only be four left. You need only guard the back door and make certain no one escapes that way.
Vasili nodded and slipped away, and Grigori was briefly impressed by the silent way he moved before he focused on the grisly task that needed to be finished.
Four men were inside, totaling seven exactly as he'd been told, and all of them too drunk to react quickly enough. It was pathetically easy, and he wondered how these men had managed to thieve for so long – perhaps they were not always so careless, or thought themselves safe out here in the woods.
Or maybe, Grigori realized, the old woman had been important in more ways than one. Perhaps she had kept them from this pathetic behavior.
He called out to Vasili before opening the back door and beckoning him inside. "Come," he said, "you assisted in this matter, we should take what we can for our fee and then depart this place."
Vasili shrugged. "I did nothing. I need nothing."
Grigori started to argue with him, then merely shrugged and threw open the basement door. He would tell the farmer about this; let him and the villagers work out what to do with it all. For himself, he merely took as much coin as he could comfortably carry.
They piled the bodies up in the woods, Vasili muttering soft prayers as he worked.
The hazy gray of dawn was upon them by the time they finished, and Grigori longed to go back to sleep – but it would be better to keep going, keep moving, and now that his promise to the farmer was mostly fulfilled, he had to take care of Vasili.
Vasili, who would not quite look at him, who seemed made entirely of gloom, no sign of his perpetual cheerfulness anywhere.
Grigori stifled a sigh and shouldered his pack, leading the way from the clearing, not quite knowing what to say to mend the breach between them. Vasili should not have fallen asleep, but the matter had ended well enough, and it had not been far of him to trust the watch to someone who was not only inexperienced in such things but had also been pushed to his limit by spending several miserable days lost in the forest.
They walked in silence, their pace not exactly fast but steady enough to cover a decent amount of ground.
He finally called a halt when he stumbled one time too many on perfectly level bits of ground, sliding his pack off and dropping to the ground with a groan. Vasili did the same nearby, and even tired Grigori noted that just a day ago Vasili would have sat much closer than he was now.
Their silence remained otherwise unbroken, and Grigori scrubbed a hand through his hair, wishing for once that he was better with words. He'd always been the silent type, though, because there had been no competing with his shining older brother.
"I packed more of the food they had in the house," Vasili said at last, face still so somber. "We shall feast quite splendidly our last days in these wretched woods."
Grigori nodded. "There is a village not far from here, if we continue in this direction. Will you be able to find your way home from there?"
"Yes," Vasili said quietly, staring at the chunk of bread he turned over and over in his hands. "I thank you again for putting up with me, especially as I have proven to be quite useless and nearly got us killed."
"Nothing so dramatic as that," Grigori said. "I should not have made you do it. You've been lost for several days and have no experience; it was not fair of me."
Vasili shrugged. "A mistake is a mistake; I do not let myself off with feeble excuses."
"Well it is over and past," Grigori replied. "The bandits are dead and you have learned not to fall asleep on watch. Let it be, Vasili." He hesitated, then gave a mental shrug. "I much prefer when are you are smiling."
That earned him a startled look – and then a smile, which he truly had missed, though he did not know why he should care about the smiles of a man he'd known for so brief a time. "Where are you headed now, Grisha?" Vasili asked, beginning to tear into the black bread he'd been toying restlessly with, devouring it in several quick bites.
"I must return this ring to the farmer who hired me," Grigori said, holding up his right hand, where the ring was for safekeeping. "After that, I do not know." He bit back an impulse to ask stupid questions.
Vasili smiled again, the expression brighter than ever. "You should come see me, then. I would go with you to this farmer, but I must get back quickly. When you are done, come visit me. I owe you many thanks for saving me from dying in this miserable forest."
"I confess I have not been to the capital," Grigori replied. His brother had never taken his regiment on his periodic visits there. "How will I find you?"
Vasili smiled and reached beneath his clothes, pulling out a thin gold chain from which hung a small gold ring. "This was a gift from my nurse. She was more my mother, I think, than the woman who gave birth to me. It was only a few months after she gave me this that she died of the coughing sickness in her sleep. Show this to the palace guards, and they will know to take you to me." He removed the ring from the chain and tossed it over.
Grigori caught it easily, frowning at the simple bit of jewelry. It was carved all over with flowers and ivy; a woman's ring. "A strange thing for a nurse to give her charge."
"It was something passed down from mother to daughter in her family; she was unable to have children of her own, and so gave the ring to me."
"You should not trust something like this to me," Grigori said with a frown, looking up at Vasili, prepared to hand it back – but the look on Vasili's face drew him up short, and he could think of nothing to say.
"I owe you much, my friend," Vasili replied. "I am happy to have met you, and would like very much to show you my thanks. Come to see me when your obligation to the farmer is fulfilled."
Grigori nodded. "I will."
"Good."
The city was chaos. Grigori was used to noise and crowds, the insanity which could descend upon an army when there was a battle to be won – but even in the midst of all that, there was some order. A comrade, an enemy, a goal, bits of things that maintained some level of sanity.
Here, there was none of that. It seemed a battle with a million sides and no clear victor in sight. Shop keeps, shoppers, mothers and children, merchants and soldiers, every way he turned there was something new to look at.
Grigori missed the small villages which were all he really knew, the order of a military life.
Still, the gold ring seemed to burn against his chest, reminding him of a promise he needed and wanted to fulfill. Though it made no sense, he had sorely missed a certain cheerful smile, a strange sense of humor. He wanted to stare again into spruce-green eyes, see if they were still as captivating, if he had imagined the promise in them. If he had imagined those few brief kisses.
He pushed on through the crowd, breathing a sigh of relief as he finally broke through the worst of it and strolled with relative ease across the massive bridge which spanned the great river dividing the palace from the city proper.
His heart beat a furious rhythm in his chest and Grigori wished it would stop, wished his nervousness would abate. Just that morning he had taken extra care to make himself presentable, not wanting to humiliate himself or Vasili by looking too much the poor soldier that he was.
Just looking around him, however, he realized he still looked painfully out of place. His clothes were simple, plain homespun and nothing at all like the vibrant colors worn by everyone around him.
Striding through the massive main gate and the courtyard beyond, he entered the main palace with a crowd of other visitors, breaking away to approached the guards barring entrance to the private sections of the palace.
Reaching beneath his shirt, he unfastened the chain around his neck and held the ring tightly in one fist. "I came to see a friend of mine," he said. "He said if I showed you this, you would know it and could point me to him."
The guards’ eyes widened, and Grigori frowned in confusion. Before he could ask the reason for such a strange reaction, however, they had thrown open the doors and ushered him inside. One of them flagged down a man dressed in costly red and gold, a stern set to his features. "Master Kirill, this is Grigori."
The stern man's brow shot up. "I see. Come with me, then."
Grigori's frown deepened, his confusion growing and growing. "I do not understand—"
A faint smile softened the stern lines of the man's face. "This way, please. I was instructed to tell you nothing."
Confusion turned to foreboding in Grigori's chest. Who was Vasili that he could instruct such things? Who had he helped in the forest? Some noble, perhaps? Was he truly to be rewarded or…" He winced to think of the way he had treated Vasili, throwing him around, making him work…
The happiness which had laced his nervousness earlier had died completely, and instead he felt only sick to his stomach. He had thought he would be seeing a palace servant; or perhaps someone just well off enough his parents had been able to afford a nurse for him – a merchant's son, perhaps, or a clerk in the employ of the royal house.
Master Kirill led him to a set of double doors, and Grigori could not help but notice that no one else was about save for the guards posted at the opposite end of the hallway. Pushing the door open, Master Kirill led him inside.
"Kirill," said a voice that was all too familiar, the source of it bent over a desk, reading and occasionally writing upon a long sheet of vellum. "I told you I was not to be disturbed un—"
"Unless your precious soldier appeared, yes," Kirill said dryly. "Here I am bothering you, I wonder why."
Vasili's head snapped up, and his eyes widened, a bright smile stretching across his face.
Grigori wanted to run, hands fisting at his sides as he took in the man before him.
Hair neatly trimmed and combed, the fine green and silver clothes he wore probably cost more money than Grigori had ever seen. He had jeweled rings upon his fingers, seals pinned to his costly jacket…and if all that and the lavish office itself were not enough to give it away, the gold circlet upon Vasili's head made it painfully clear.
"Your Majesty," Kirill said, sweeping a bow that did not really hide the rolling of his eyes, then turned and strode neatly from the room, closing the doors behind him.
Grigori could not move or speak; his mouth felt dry and his mind would not work.
Vasili's smile faded, nervousness overtaking his happy expression. "Grisha."
He licked his lips. "Your Majesty…"
"You don't have to call me that," Vasili replied quietly, moving around his desk and crossing the room to stand in front of Grigori, just close enough to touch.
Grigori shook his head, still not able to comprehend that the man he'd helped, the man he'd gotten angry with…the man he'd kissed…was the King. "You—"
A finger was laid across his lips. "I am sorry, Grisha. I should have told you." Vasili smiled weakly. "At first, it was for my own safety. Then, I liked being Vasili. It was refreshing to be myself, to be seen as myself…and not since my nurse has anyone been willing to so thoroughly take me to task." He snorted softly. "Kirill comes close, but he is like that with everyone and he would never threaten to punch me."
"I—Grigori shook his head again. "I cannot believe it."
Vasili's finger slowly slid away from his lips. "It is quite true, I assure you. The story I told you was no lie – we were on a hunt and I gave chase to a stag. By the time I realized I would not catch it, I was hopelessly lost. Then something startled my horse. He threw me and the fall knocked me out. When I woke, I found myself in quite the mess. My bumbling attempts to save myself brought me to you."
Evergreen eyes drew Grigori in, dredging up a calm he did not think he'd be able to find. "You're the King," he said, amazed and terrified. "I do not know what to say or do."
And he felt suddenly, horribly depressed, because those kisses still burned and he had hoped for more of them, for a great deal more, perhaps after a good meal. Now he wondered why Vasili – the King – had kissed him at all. Next to everyone else in the palace, Grigori made a poor specimen indeed.
Vasili sighed, a thread of sadness in it. "Truly I wish I could have kept my secret," he said. "I liked being Vasili, and now you will only see me as the King." He reached up and lightly stroked Grigori's cheek, the gesture almost painful in its familiarity. Then the hand fell away. "Whatever you want in reward, Grisha, is yours for the asking." Green eyes met his, as steady and entrancing as ever. "What do you want, Grisha?"
Grigori shrugged, tearing his eyes away, looking around the lavish room that made him feel so out of place. Finally he looked back, wishing he could think of something elegant or witty or distracting to say – but he was a simple soldier, and before that he had only been a simpler farm boy. "I wanted to see you, Vasili – Majesty –-" He shook his head, frustrated. "I wanted only to see you, and spend time with you. It was never a matter of reward."
The unhappiness in Vasili's face vanished, and Grigori suddenly found himself with an armful of King and an eager mouth on his, and he panicked because this was the King but he had forgotten just how wonderful Vasili felt and tasted and it would not hurt, surely, to forget for a moment that he should not be doing this.
Vasili broke the kiss a moment later. "Grisha…I will grant you whatever you wish, and make no demands upon you…but I would like for you to stay."
"I'm only a mercenary, a soldier who deserted," Grigori replied. "Hardly fit to keep company with the King."
"That is for the King to say," Vasili said, arms tightening around Grigori's neck. "Only I do not want you to keep company with a King – I want you to keep company with me, with Vasili, and see me as you always have." He smiled briefly, and it was part amusement, part sadness. "Though if you really cannot bear the thought of it, then you might like to know that your desertion was removed, as was your brother, for I will not trust a man who would lie so despicably. You would make a fine General, my Grisha, if you want to go back to your army…though you could also stay here and improve my guard. They are sorely in need of a good Captain…"
Grigori thought his heart was going to beat out of his chest, but he could not look away from those eyes which had ever held him spellbound. He tried to see reason – the circlet Vasili wore, the expensive clothing, the luxurious surroundings. Try as he might, though, he could only see a cheerful smile and evergreen eyes, as warm as the arms around him, the body so close to his.
He gave up. Whatever came, he would deal with it, because he could not seem to make himself walk away. His arms were still around Vasili's waist, and he tightened them, bringing their bodies flush together. "Very well, Vasili, I will stay."
Vasili grinned and kissed him eagerly, breaking away only to laugh with happiness. "Good. Then come, my Grisha, and I will give you that promised gratitude for saving me from that awful forest."
Grigori laughed, unable to resist, and let Vasili drag him deep into the palace.
A/N: The original is a Russian fairytale called 'The Soldier and the King in the Wood'. I've looked for it before online, and again today, but I cannot find it.
Anyway ^___^ Sammie, I hope you approve. I'm sorry it took so long <3
The Soldier
Grigori stared into his ale and wondered morosely what he was going to do now.
Of course, it was a question he'd been asking himself from the very moment he'd decided to desert. A question he'd asked himself even as his stupid mouth sealed his fate, and his feet had betrayed him to side with his mouth.
So here he was, in a tired looking tavern with barely enough coin to pay for the ales that were failing miserably to drown his sorrows. He looked up to glance around the room. Little had changed in the thirty seconds since his last look around.
Tired and worn out, that's what this place was. The reason he'd chosen it, of course. This was a place for farmers, craftsmen, and otherwise less than well-to-do. No one would notice or care about a sad, lonely soldier hiding away in the corner.
Sad, lonely, pathetic, and in rather deep trouble should he ever be caught.
It occurred to him – again – that deserting the army had not been the smartest thing he'd ever done. Even if…
300 lashes, for daring to suggest you are blood-relation to a General in his Majesty's Army.
His fingers tightened around his tankard, sliding on the wood long worn to slick-softness, and with a rough noise suspiciously close in sound to a sob, he downed the remainder of it in one long swallow. He signaled for another as he slammed the empty tankard back down.
What was done was done, he supposed. His only real problem now was finding work. There was always a need for hard labor, and he had more than a bit of skill with his sword…
That would be the way to go; ten years in the army, more than a few battles to his name. Selling his sword was definitely the best route – but how did one go about becoming a mercenary? He frowned at the table, realizing he was right back where he'd started, feeling utterly lost.
Someone set his ale down for him, and he muttered an absent thanks before falling once more into the bitter memories that had driven him to desert.
"Are you for hire?"
The voice was rough, but firm. Grigori snapped out of his wallowing and looked up.
A farmer, clearly. The heavily lined, sun-dark hair. The dirt. The old before his time appearance, the thin graying hair, heavily patched clothes on a lean but muscled frame. The man could nearly have been his father, right down to the smell of sweat and earth that clung to him.
"Depends on the job and the price," Grigori replied, barely able to hold back his laughter. Surely it was a joke – it could not be this easy to come by a job. If he'd known all it took to become a mercenary was sulking over thin ale in an old tavern, he would have deserted a long time ago.
The old man held a beat up hat close against his chest, the hand clutching it as old and strained as the rest of him, nails dark with the grime that had gotten beneath them. "I need you to get rid of some robbers. They've got a den somewhere in the forest near my farm."
Robbers…nasty type, those, but he'd dealt with worse.
"I have asked many," the farmer continued. "No one will do it." His mouth tightened with obvious effort to hold in angry, bitter words. "Obviously I can't pay much, but I'll give you all that I can. They took something precious from me."
Grigori motioned for him to sit. "If they're robbers, they'll have plenty in their den to cover my fee. If not, that'll teach me to go after robbers with empty dens."
The farmer stared at him. "You're the oddest merc I've encountered yet."
Smiling faintly, Grigori opted for a bit of honesty, liking this man who reminded him of his father. "I'm a hungry merc. Tell me what I need to know."
Nodding, the farmer set his hat down on the table and leaned slightly forward as he began to speak in earnest. "There's seven of them. I've followed their trail to about three miles in the forest; I dare not go farther than that. I think I might know where they go, however. Always they attack at night, so I doubt they return to their hideaway before sunrise."
Grigori nodded. He knew more than he ever wanted to know about robbers. "What is it I'm retrieving for you?"
"My wedding ring," the farmer said quietly, eyes for a moment taking on a faraway look. "They took all the money we had, back then. She's gone now, these past five years. Those rings were precious to us. I want mine back. Plain silver band, engraved with the letters K & N."
"I'll get it back," Grigori said. "Show me these woods, and point me in the right direction. It may take me some time, depending on what I have to do to get rid of them and how long it takes me to find your ring. At least a week, I would imagine. Possibly a great deal longer. I'll get it back, though."
The farmer nodded, cautious hope filling his eyes. "Thank you."
"Thank me when I bring you the ring," Grigori said, and finished his ale, throwing down the last of his coin. "If you're ready, show me the way."
*~*~*
The forest was one of those he liked to class under Unpleasant. It was one of the really old ones, the type of forest that was as old as time. He felt like an interloper.
Of course, that feeling was most likely because he was sitting alone around a campfire in an area he knew was ridden with robbers. Not that he hadn't been in such infested forests before…but usually he had other soldiers with him, and was much better armed. An old jerkin, a sword, and a dagger were not going to stand up too well if he met all seven bandits at once.
Not to mention he'd have to confront them on little to no sleep – falling asleep out here, with robbers likely to show up literally anywhere…he would like as not wake up with his throat slit. If he'd wanted that sort of wake up, he would have stayed to accept his punishment.
The farmer had taken him three miles into the forest, and told him where to try. An old house, he'd said, that had once belonged to a woodcutter before he went mad and 'did unspeakable things to his children'.
Grigori hadn't asked for clarification on the 'unspeakable'.
Robbers 'earned' their bread and butter by night, which meant they would sleep by day. That meant his best strategy was to lay low at night and travel by day – like a normal person. Grigori snorted and shook his head, amused that working by day seemed so foreign a concept to him.
Perhaps the desertion had not been the dumbest thing he'd ever done.
Something snapped a twig not too far away, followed by something that sounded suspiciously like a voice, and Grigori reconsidered his options. Company would be nice. Slowly, he lifted his sword from where it lay beside him, then stood up carefully, making as little noise as possible. He'd cleared the area earlier, so there were no twigs to snap or leaves to crunch.
He faded into the shadows and waited, hoping that there was nothing in the shadows behind him. That would be problematic.
Whatever he'd expected to come into the light of his fire – it wasn’t the sorry looking mess that stumbled in and promptly sat down.
Sat down was putting it rather nicely, really. The poor bastard pretty much fell right over.
Grigori watched him a moment more, but if the man was a robber playing poor victim…somehow he didn't think so. Easing his grip on his sword, Grigori stepped back into the light of the fire. "You've dropped in to visit at a strange hour."
The man jumped, head jerking up. "My apologies. I was beginning to think myself entirely alone in this monstrous place."
His accent was clipped; the sharp sounds of the city-bred. Given how stupid it was to simply fall down before a strange fire – Grigori didn't need the accent to know the man was from the city. "You look like you've gotten rather lost, stranger."
"I've gotten so completely lost I fear I shall never live the tale down should I ever be foolish enough to tell it honestly," the man said with a tired but genuine laugh. "You haven't killed me yet, so I am hopeful you can help me out of here and not leave me for dead. I promise if you leave me a corpse in this forest, I shall haunt you forever."
Grigori laughed, unable to resist the surprisingly cheerful smile the man gave him. "I do not care for ghosts, sir, so you will not die by my hand."
"Good. Now, then. What are my chances of getting you to help me out of here? I am heartily sick of forests. When I return, I am swearing off hunting and anything else that involves trees. Anything green. I vow when I return home I shall never leave it again."
It occurred to Grigori, as he laughed loud and long, that there were robbers in the forest and he should be quiet – but he could not remember the last time he'd laughed so genuinely. "You are in remarkably good temper for a man who has been lost in a forest for…at least several days?"
"Six," the man said. "Six miserable, awful days, and all because I saw the finest stag…and he got away from me. Revenge, no doubt, for all the relatives turned into many a fine meal. To which I would gladly treat you, if you would help me out of here."
Grigori smiled faintly. "I would gladly help you, if you do not mind waiting a time. I've been hired to take care of a nest of robbers, and I do not want to risk discovery by trekking in and out of the forest. I've been here two nights now, and having to do that much work over again would likely alert the robbers to my presence."
The man nodded. "I will lend my services to your cause, in return from saving me from this mad forest." He made a face. "Though my services are not much."
"Oh? What are your services?"
"Most of my days are spent slaving away in the palace," the man said with a grin that turned almost immediately into a yawn. "My skills are varied, but probably not suited to a forest and robbers. We shall see, I guess."
Grigori grunted and nodded. "For now, I suggest you get some sleep. I will guard our backs."
"Are you certain there is nothing I can do?"
"You can stand the bulk of the watch tomorrow," Grigori said. He smiled. "You might also tell me your name, if you are inclined. I am Grigori."
The man laughed. "That would be a good idea, wouldn't it? My name is Vasili. I thank you for your generosity, Grigori. I promise I shall repay it in full when I am out of this wretched forest."
"Sleep, Vasili. You will need your strength if you're going to help me hunt robbers."
Nodding, Vasili promptly bundled his cloak around him and fell instantly asleep.
Smiling faintly, amused by the man's reckless trust, his odd cheerfulness, Grigori settled in to play sentry for the night. Somehow, guarding someone else's sleep did not seem nearly so lonely a vigil as protecting only himself.
When the sun rose a few hours later, he yawned and finally allowed himself to relax a bit, and turned to rouse his new companion.
He blinked, halting in his tracks.
My. The night had not given any hint of the man's features. He really was from the city, to look so…very fine. Dark gold hair, fine as silk thread, and even beneath several days growth of hair and the layers of dirt from so long a stay in the forest he was handsome. Grigori wondered what he would look like cleaned up, and shook his head at such a ridiculous thought.
Green eyes blinked back at him, the color of the dark evergreens that filled the forests of his home. So deep and delicate a green; subdued and pretty, nothing like the vibrant shades that filled the forests here.
Growing irritated as he realized his thoughts had again strayed to idle things, Grigori bent to the task of destroying all signs of his little campsite, then gathered up his belongings. He slung his worn out pack onto his shoulders, then settled his sword at his hip.
Vasili moved more slowly, and clearly was not used to such rough circumstances.
"No offense," Grigori asked, "but how have you made it so many days on your own?"
Laughter filled the clearing. "I have been asking myself that every single minute, my friend. I managed to cling to my water, as you see here." He tapped the skin slung on his belt. "Food I have managed. I am helpless, but not entirely. Still, I agree it is a miracle I have not gotten myself killed. Thankfully I have you now."
Grigori shook his head, unable to resist a faint smile. "When you are home safe and sound, then you can thank me. Come, the bandits are much further in. Travel as quietly as you can, do as I say."
"Yes, of course," Vasili said congenially.
They traveled in silence throughout the morning, breaking it only here and there to pass observations or instructions, an occasional jest from Vasili. That he was so cheerful under such hideous circumstances continued to amaze Grigori. A few days ago he had been sulking in a bar because he had no job and his own brother had ordered he be whipped for daring to say they were brothers – and this man was jesting and humming old folk songs after seven days lost in a forest.
He wondered what sort of life Vasili led in the city; he had said he worked in the palace. Such an occupation did not incline Grigori toward good cheer, but he supposed few people would calmly agree to kill seven bandits all alone.
As morning turned to afternoon he called for a break, pulling out the last of the foodstuffs the kind farmer had given him. He broke the hunk of cheese into halves, then did the same with the remaining loaf of bread.
"I have decided I love you," Vasili said with a grin as he devoured the food. "Being lost in a forest finding creative ways of staying alive teaches a man to appreciate things – even if he thought he already was appreciating them. Even if I wind up fertilizing a robber's garden, I will be most grateful to you, my friend."
Grigori laughed and shook his head. "You are an odd one."
Vasili laughed with him. "Perhaps the forest has driven me to madness."
"A fair guess," Grigori said, "however I am inclined to think that is not the case."
"I think it only that I am so relieved to see a friendly face, I have finally tumbled into madness."
Grigori rolled his eyes, but he was still smiling as he shouldered his bag and their hiking resumed.
They walked in silence for perhaps another half hour, when Vasili moved a few steps closer and began talking. "So how did you become a mercenary, my friend? I always wondered how one came into such an occupation."
"It found me, actually," Grigori replied.
"When I first saw you, I had the impression of a solider," Vasili said, voice light and idly curious. "I guess it is much the same."
Grigori tensed. "I was a solider," he said. "A sergeant."
"No longer?" Vasili asked. "I sense the army has lost a valuable soldier, then. All the better for me, however." He grinned. "What division were you with?"
"The Red Stars," Grigori said tersely, wishing they could change the subject now.
"Oh!" Vasili said. "Then you are under the command of General Fedorov."
Grigori stumbled despite himself, hating to hear anything to do with his contemptible brother. "No," he said, "I am not. I left his command nearly four weeks ago now. I have no intention of returning to it. Ten years is enough to put up with such humiliation. You seem terribly familiar with the army."
Vasili shrugged. "The General is quite famous. Everyone knows his name and very nearly everything about him – including who and what is under his command."
"Indeed," Grigori said bitterly. "Did you know, then, that the great and wonderful General has a younger brother?" He glared angrily, miserably, at the trees around them, wishing they were discussing anything else. Wishing he could shut his mouth, because no one cared about this except him. Certainly a stranger desperate for home would not care. Yet he couldn't be silent. Perhaps he had simply choked on it too long, and now there was no threat of the General ordering him beaten.
"No, I did not," Vasili said.
The odd solemnity to his voice brought Grigori up short, and he halted abruptly and turned around.
"You are General Fedorov's younger brother?" Vasili asked. "He has always said he has no family."
Grigori shrugged, trying not to let the word hurt. "I had too much ale a few weeks ago," he finally said, somehow unable not to reply to the question lingering in those spruce-green eyes, the intensity in them. Like Vasili was actually listening. "It made my tongue loose, and I dared to tell those sitting with me around the fire that the General was my brother, and he did not want anyone to know. My brother learned of it, and ordered I be given '300 lashes, for daring to suggest you are blood-relation to a General in his Majesty's Army.' So I decided enough was enough, and took my leave." He shrugged again, and turned away to resume working. "Now I take care of robbers."
Behind him, Vasili was silent.
He probably had said too much. Well, that was what came from saying too little for too long – eventually it all came out, and usually not in a good way or at the right time. Stifling a sigh, he forced himself to speak. "I am sorry, Vasili. My problems are my own. I should not complain to you when you've troubles enough of your own."
A hand settled on his shoulder, startling him, and Grigori wondered that he'd been so distracted and yet so relaxed that he'd not noticed Vasili drawing closer.
"No worries, Grisha," Vasili said with a soft smile, and the gentle comfort in his eyes was a balm Grigori hadn't realized he so badly needed. "I am sorry your brother is not the man everyone thinks. A man should always be proud of a brother such as you." His smile turned into a grin. "I would call you brother, but I fear I find you too handsome for that."
The hand slid from his shoulder, and Vasili moved on, humming softly as he walked, leaving Grigori staring after him. Finally he shook his head and resumed walking. "You are an odd one," he called after Vasili.
Vasili smiled at him over his shoulder.
Grigori smiled back, and started to say – something, he did not know what – when he caught sight of something through the trees. "There," he said, and motioned for silence, quickly closing the space between them, stopping Vasili in his tracks. "There," he repeated, pointing.
A cabin of surprisingly large size in the center of a clearing, close to a creek. Smoke curled lazily from the chimney. It was old but not quite ramshackle. A small garden filled part of the backyard, the back wall of the house mostly taken up by neat stacks of firewood. The area surrounding the house was clear, stones laid out in a rough path to cut down on what was tracked inside.
It was, all told, a handsome cabin. That it housed robbers seemed a pity.
"That's it?" Vasili asked, the words barely audible. "It seems so innocuous."
Grigori grunted. "Looks can be deceiving. To judge by appearance is a mistake."
"Yes," Vasili said softly, "that is very true. What are we going to do?"
"Knock," Grigori said, grinning at the way Vasili's jaw dropped in disbelief, then strode from the trees and into the clearing. Walking briskly up to the door, he rapped sharply on the door.
A raspy voice called for him to wait a moment, then Grigori heard the clank and clatter as locks were undone. The door opened slowly with a grating creak, and an old woman with a beaky nose and dark eyes peered at him. "Yes, good sir?" she asked politely. Her gaze flickered past him. "Sirs," she corrected.
Grigori smiled at her. "My lady, I hate to trouble you. My friend and I have become lost in the forest. I wonder if you might be willing to give us a chance to rest, and perhaps point us in the proper direction?"
The old woman frowned at them, mistrust plain upon her gnarled face. "You're a long way from any village," she said. "How did two such capable men become lost?"
"I fear the stag was smarter than either of us," Grigori said sheepishly.
At that the old woman cackled, mistrust falling away. "I see! Come in with you, then. Make yourselves comfortable." She opened the door wide and ushered them inside, closing and locking the door behind them. "I'm only the housekeeper, mind. My masters won't be back 'til quite late. Plenty of time for you to rest, and I'll put something together for you to take along."
"Thank you," Grigori replied.
The old woman clucked. "You'll be wanting baths, I should think. Bring the water in, I'll get it heated. You'll have to take turns, there's only the one tub. By the fire, yes."
A bath. Grigori had never heard finer words. He went almost cheerfully to fetch the water, Vasili right alongside him though the other man was slower and tired faster. When he tripped for the fourth time, Grigori took his bucket and ordered him inside.
"But—"
"Go," Grigori said. "You'll be of no use later if you tire yourself out doing this."
Shoulders slumped, looking rather more upset about getting out of hard labor than Grigori thought a man should, Vasili dragged himself inside.
Quickly Grigori finished the work, stifling a groan of his own as he finally was able to sit down.
The old woman clucked and quickly filled the tub she'd set in front of the fire. When she finished, she wiped her hands on her apron and gave a nod. "There. You men take your time cleaning up. There are spare clothes in the chest there, take what you need. I will go tend the garden and gather what I need to make you a proper supper. When you are finished, simply open the door."
"Thank you," Grigori said, meaning it. He hoped she did not cooperate with the bandits, for she seemed a good sort.
Nodding again, the woman vanished.
Grigori stood up and stripped out of his clothes, happier than he could express to be out of them. He wasted no time but slid gratefully into the surprisingly large tub, taking up the soap and scrubbing thoroughly.
"Is this really…" Vasili motioned to indicate what he couldn't say.
"Yes," Grigori replied. "I have no doubt. You'll see." He couldn't sense it, exactly, but he knew enough about robbers to know what their nests looked like. "It probably is her house," he said. "Just…" he shrugged to say 'not anymore.'
His only real concern was whether or not she was part of it – which, as much as he hated to admit it, seemed likely. It wasn't the first time he'd seen someone take the side of the robbers. They all had their reasons, of course, but Grigori felt little sympathy for those who would choose to side with murdering thieves.
Best to get this over with as quickly as possible. He cleaned himself quickly, scrubbing and shaving and washing, at last hauling himself out of the tub and leaving it to Vasili, pulling on fresh clothes.
Ah, that was nearly the finest thing ever. He had nearly forgotten what it was like to be clean. Scrubbing a hand through his damp hair, vowing to get it cut once he had coin to spare on such a thing, he began to carefully explore the house.
It was a simple affair – the main room and a bedroom, and a door in the floor which could only lead to the basement.
He turned to Vasili, carefully not noticing the man was naked, and put a finger to his lips. Then he turned and lifted up the door, setting it down with care before moving quickly down the stairs.
Only the dim light from above allowed him to see anything – but that was enough. The room was packed with all manner of things that did not belong in an old woman's home. Saddlebags stuffed to overflowing, small casks and trunks, a purse which had tumbled over, spilling its coin across the floor. He caught a gleam that could only be from a jewel, a hint of more coins in one dusty corner.
Sighing, he climbed back up the steep stairs and shut the door as quietly as he'd opened it. Dusting his hands off, he turned around to relate his find to Vasili – and drew up short.
He'd been right about the man looking more than fine once he was cleaned up. Grigori tried to stop staring, knowing he was being pathetically obvious, but he could not look away. Vasili was stunning. Hair like spun gold and those evergreen eyes, skin too fine to belong to a mere peasant, and a lanky body never abused by a life of hard toil. Yet he could feel none of the vague contempt his fellows usually held for the soft city folk – because Vasili had held up remarkably well for a soft city person lost in a great forest who had been roped into assisting with bandits…
With an effort Grigori finally tore his eyes away and forced his thoughts to work, making a mental note to find some sort of company when he had coin again because he had clearly spent too much time alone.
"This is most certainly our robber den," he said. "There is a trove of stolen goods down there; my only concern is whether or not the old woman is a part of it."
"She is," Vasili said flatly.
Grigori turned back to him, startled by the cynicism on Vasili's face. "How can you tell?"
Vasili smiled, the bitter cynicism turning into a weary sadness. "You learn to recognize them, after a time, those who lie and deceive and hurt – and the cowards that feed off their leavings. Such people exist in all walks in life, and they are all despicable."
"I see," Grigori said, still taken aback by the words, the shadows in the fine green eyes.
But almost as quickly as it had come, Vasili's bad mood vanished, the eyes lightening as a playful smile overtook his face. He crossed the room and stopped in front of Grigori, just close enough to touch. "You are quite the handsome man, Grisha," he said teasingly, reaching out to lightly touch his fingers to Grigori's cheek. "Is there someone waiting for you somewhere?"
Grigori almost laughed at the notion – someone waiting for him, when no one had been able to see more than his brother? "No," he replied, brow furrowing as Vasili stepped a bit closer.
"Oh, good," Vasili said, teasing smile changing slightly, taking on a measure of heat. The hand on Grigori's cheek slid back, and then both Vasili's arms were around his neck and Grigori found himself being thoroughly kissed.
He remained still for a second, startled – then decided such a fine thing as Vasili's mouth was not to be questioned. Sliding his own arms around Vasili's waist, he pulled the man closer still and returned the kiss, took it over, made it deep. Too long since he'd felt such things, and Vasili's mouth was a very fine thing indeed. He tasted like the forest, and wholly male.
Grigori broke the kiss with great reluctance, trying to form words about the wrong time, wrong place, wanting to know why, but those eyes the color of the forests he had grown up in made all the words slip away.
Vasili kissed him softly again, then drew away. "When we are finished with this strange adventure, Grisha, you will have to let me thank you properly for your assistance."
Despite himself, Grigori laughed. "You owe me no such thanks, though I am not so noble I will refuse them."
Sharing his laughter, Vasili leaned in close enough to steal one more kiss that lasted rather longer than he though either of them intended, and it was only with an effort that Grigori returned his focus to the proper target.
"So what are we to do, Grisha?" Vasili asked.
"If she is part of it," he replied, "then we must be careful to give away nothing of our true intentions. Let us give every indication of leaving, and make camp where we can watch all that transpires. We will attack the robbers once they are settled." He grimaced. "It is not the noblest way to kill men, but cowards do not deserve to be treated with the respect they gave no one else."
Vasili nodded and moved to awkwardly tidy up the mess made by their bathing.
Grigori watched him for a moment, then shook his head at himself and moved to open the door – and saw the flash of metal in sunlight, dodging in time to avoid a fatal blow but taking the sharp knife in his arm, crying out in pain and losing his step, stumbling back.
The old woman snarled and lunged for him again, blood flying as she swung the knife. Using his good arm, Grigori caught her wrist, twisted it to make her drop the knife – then hauled her close and snapped her neck, letting the body fall to the floor.
"Are you all right?" Vasili asked.
Grigori looked up, stirred from his unhappiness over having to kill the woman – because there was no way she could be trusted and would only give them away, if she somehow hadn't already – to blink at Vasili. "I am fine."
Vasili merely looked at him, and Grigori was reminded of the looks his mother had given him as a boy when he'd come home a mess and in reply to her questions responded that he'd been up to 'nothing.'
Then Vasili strode across the room and placed light fingers on his injured arm. "Come, my friend. I am not good for much, but I can bandage a wound."
"It is not too deep, I think," Grigori replied, but now that he'd been reminded of the wound he felt the pain of it fully and could not suppress a wince. With difficult they got his shirts off, and he sighed. "I had only just gotten clean."
Vasili chuckled and sat down with the bandaging stuffs he had managed to locate, going to work on the wound with a surprising ease for a man who could not even haul water without difficulty. He must have followed the train of Grigori's thoughts, for he laughed softly again. "I learned it as a boy from nurse, when after one of my successful escapes I ran off with a friend to play in the woods. You can see they have always been a source of difficulty for me. Anyway, my friend was badly injured and we did not know what to do. Luckily a soldier heard our cries. Later I was beaten soundly, and rightfully, for my stupidity. My nurse later taught me to bandage wounds and other such things, so I would at least not kill my friends through complete stupidity."
"She sounds like a smart one."
"Yes," Vasili agreed. "She was; I miss her still though she has been dead these past five years."
"I am sorry."
Vasili nodded, falling silent as he finished cleaning and bandaging the wound. "There. Now, my friend, what are we to do with our poor, departed houseguest?"
Grigori looked over at the body fallen in a slump in the doorway. "Night is falling, and the bandits are not here. That means they are where they could not return to rest this day, which in turn means they could be returning at any moment. She will have to be dumped in the forest, I fear."
He bent to untangle the untidy heap of the corpse in the doorway, pausing as something fell out of her dress and to the floor – a flask. Picking it up, an idea in his head, he tossed the flask to Vasili. "Here, toss that on the bed. Make this place smell like a barroom."
Comprehension flooded Vasili's face and he set to work as Grigori took care of the body.
He dragged it well away from the cabin, feeling the awful, sick and guilty weight he had carried since his first kill in the army. If he'd left her alive, she likely would have caused a great deal more harm, and she was as guilty as the robbers…but killing her still brought no pleasure, and this profane treatment of her body only added to his shame.
There was, however, no help for it. Finally finding a good location, covered her in all the leaves and earth and rocks he could retrieve to form a shallow grave – pausing halfway through, noticing a gleam of metal that he had not before, slid onto her thumb.
Bending, he picked up the hand swore softly at what he saw – a plain silver ring with the letters K & N carved into it. That was far too close. Silently thanking whichever diety had seen fit to give him such good fortune, he tucked the ring away and finished his unhappy task, then strode back the way he'd come.
Vasili waited for him by the back door with their packs. "I took what food I could; our clothes I left. No sign of us remains, and I figured you would want to leave immediately."
"Yes," Grigori replied, repressing a sudden urge to kiss the man, the impulse startling him badly. He did not allow himself to think of the kisses already exchanged, merely accepted his pack when Vasili held it out and settled it on his back. "Let us go; we will make camp nearby that we can see when they arrive."
They did so, traveling far enough away they could not be seen from the house, but could see it clearly. To judge from the paths worn into the forest floor, the robbers would not be coming from the direction of the spot they'd chosen for hiding.
Darkness fell around them, bringing with it a chill, but the two men did not light a fire.
Grigori yawned. "All right, my friend. I leave the watch to you for now."
"As you like," Vasili replied, and Grigori could just seem him move in the dark, settling with his back to a tree, and thought that shadowy figure was not so bad a sight to fall asleep to, but before he could wonder at the strange thought, sleep had taken him.
He woke to the sound of voices, instantly awake, sitting up soundlessly.
Anger poured through him as he saw the bandits had not merely returned – they were well settled into their home. He turned to look at Vasili and saw the man was asleep. Standing up, he crossed to the other man and grabbed him, clapping a rough hand over his mouth to stifle any cries.
Vasili jerked hard, eyes flying open – then he went still, and they closed again, and all the fight went out of him.
Grigori let him go, all but throwing the man back. "You are lucky we are alive," he said coldly. "Were you one of my soldiers I would beat you black and blue. I would punch you anyway, but in the end it would accomplish nothing."
There was no reply, but he had expected none. Vasili wasn't stupid, Grigori could tell even in the dark that he knew how badly he had messed up. If he were fair, he was just as mad at himself as he was at Vasili. He knew full well the man was not used to such things; he should have taken the watch himself.
"So what do we do now?" Vasili asked, and Grigori hated that the usual cheer which underscored everything Vasili said was completely absent.
Grigori started to speak when he saw the door of the cabin open, and a man stumble out. In the light spilling from the cabin and the lantern the man grasped, it was painfully obvious he was drunk.
Idiot.
"Stay here," he said, sounding a bit sharper than he'd intended, ignoring the guilt niggling at him. He moved through the trees, keeping the dark, walking as softly and soundlessly as he could.
Near the edge of the clearing, he watched and waited. The man drew closer to his hiding place, nearly falling flat on his face as he stooped to set the lantern on a tree stump. Carefully he righted himself, then fought briefly with his pants before simply shoving them down and grabbing himself, pissing with a long sigh of relief.
Grigori rolled his eyes and drew close, lip curling at the smells which reached him – blood and alcohol, sweat and piss. He waited until the man had pulled his pants back up and turned around, then struck before he could utter a cry. No doubt sober the man would have proven a challenge, but the robbers were clearly growing stupid and arrogant with their successes.
Grimacing, he cleaned his sword and considered his options – but once more any decision was taken from him as the cabin door flew open and this time two men stumbled out. They were at least as drunk as their comrade…but to judge from their fumbling it was not pissing they had come out here to do.
He stepped back into the full dark of the trees and waited, listening in silence as they yelled at 'Misha' to wake up and take the lantern back inside. They walked towards the lantern, shouts interspersed with groans, stumbling more than walking as they tried to both harass Misha and get their hands down one another's pants.
They stopped groping long enough to stoop over Misha, but even then did not catch on.
Grigori killed them both.
He picked up the lantern and used it to signal Vasili, hoping the man would get the idea. A couple of minutes later, Vasili indeed appeared, carrying their packs – and not quite looking at him.
"Come," Grigori said, cleaning his sword and then dousing the lantern. "There should only be four left. You need only guard the back door and make certain no one escapes that way.
Vasili nodded and slipped away, and Grigori was briefly impressed by the silent way he moved before he focused on the grisly task that needed to be finished.
Four men were inside, totaling seven exactly as he'd been told, and all of them too drunk to react quickly enough. It was pathetically easy, and he wondered how these men had managed to thieve for so long – perhaps they were not always so careless, or thought themselves safe out here in the woods.
Or maybe, Grigori realized, the old woman had been important in more ways than one. Perhaps she had kept them from this pathetic behavior.
He called out to Vasili before opening the back door and beckoning him inside. "Come," he said, "you assisted in this matter, we should take what we can for our fee and then depart this place."
Vasili shrugged. "I did nothing. I need nothing."
Grigori started to argue with him, then merely shrugged and threw open the basement door. He would tell the farmer about this; let him and the villagers work out what to do with it all. For himself, he merely took as much coin as he could comfortably carry.
They piled the bodies up in the woods, Vasili muttering soft prayers as he worked.
The hazy gray of dawn was upon them by the time they finished, and Grigori longed to go back to sleep – but it would be better to keep going, keep moving, and now that his promise to the farmer was mostly fulfilled, he had to take care of Vasili.
Vasili, who would not quite look at him, who seemed made entirely of gloom, no sign of his perpetual cheerfulness anywhere.
Grigori stifled a sigh and shouldered his pack, leading the way from the clearing, not quite knowing what to say to mend the breach between them. Vasili should not have fallen asleep, but the matter had ended well enough, and it had not been far of him to trust the watch to someone who was not only inexperienced in such things but had also been pushed to his limit by spending several miserable days lost in the forest.
They walked in silence, their pace not exactly fast but steady enough to cover a decent amount of ground.
He finally called a halt when he stumbled one time too many on perfectly level bits of ground, sliding his pack off and dropping to the ground with a groan. Vasili did the same nearby, and even tired Grigori noted that just a day ago Vasili would have sat much closer than he was now.
Their silence remained otherwise unbroken, and Grigori scrubbed a hand through his hair, wishing for once that he was better with words. He'd always been the silent type, though, because there had been no competing with his shining older brother.
"I packed more of the food they had in the house," Vasili said at last, face still so somber. "We shall feast quite splendidly our last days in these wretched woods."
Grigori nodded. "There is a village not far from here, if we continue in this direction. Will you be able to find your way home from there?"
"Yes," Vasili said quietly, staring at the chunk of bread he turned over and over in his hands. "I thank you again for putting up with me, especially as I have proven to be quite useless and nearly got us killed."
"Nothing so dramatic as that," Grigori said. "I should not have made you do it. You've been lost for several days and have no experience; it was not fair of me."
Vasili shrugged. "A mistake is a mistake; I do not let myself off with feeble excuses."
"Well it is over and past," Grigori replied. "The bandits are dead and you have learned not to fall asleep on watch. Let it be, Vasili." He hesitated, then gave a mental shrug. "I much prefer when are you are smiling."
That earned him a startled look – and then a smile, which he truly had missed, though he did not know why he should care about the smiles of a man he'd known for so brief a time. "Where are you headed now, Grisha?" Vasili asked, beginning to tear into the black bread he'd been toying restlessly with, devouring it in several quick bites.
"I must return this ring to the farmer who hired me," Grigori said, holding up his right hand, where the ring was for safekeeping. "After that, I do not know." He bit back an impulse to ask stupid questions.
Vasili smiled again, the expression brighter than ever. "You should come see me, then. I would go with you to this farmer, but I must get back quickly. When you are done, come visit me. I owe you many thanks for saving me from dying in this miserable forest."
"I confess I have not been to the capital," Grigori replied. His brother had never taken his regiment on his periodic visits there. "How will I find you?"
Vasili smiled and reached beneath his clothes, pulling out a thin gold chain from which hung a small gold ring. "This was a gift from my nurse. She was more my mother, I think, than the woman who gave birth to me. It was only a few months after she gave me this that she died of the coughing sickness in her sleep. Show this to the palace guards, and they will know to take you to me." He removed the ring from the chain and tossed it over.
Grigori caught it easily, frowning at the simple bit of jewelry. It was carved all over with flowers and ivy; a woman's ring. "A strange thing for a nurse to give her charge."
"It was something passed down from mother to daughter in her family; she was unable to have children of her own, and so gave the ring to me."
"You should not trust something like this to me," Grigori said with a frown, looking up at Vasili, prepared to hand it back – but the look on Vasili's face drew him up short, and he could think of nothing to say.
"I owe you much, my friend," Vasili replied. "I am happy to have met you, and would like very much to show you my thanks. Come to see me when your obligation to the farmer is fulfilled."
Grigori nodded. "I will."
"Good."
*~*~*
The city was chaos. Grigori was used to noise and crowds, the insanity which could descend upon an army when there was a battle to be won – but even in the midst of all that, there was some order. A comrade, an enemy, a goal, bits of things that maintained some level of sanity.
Here, there was none of that. It seemed a battle with a million sides and no clear victor in sight. Shop keeps, shoppers, mothers and children, merchants and soldiers, every way he turned there was something new to look at.
Grigori missed the small villages which were all he really knew, the order of a military life.
Still, the gold ring seemed to burn against his chest, reminding him of a promise he needed and wanted to fulfill. Though it made no sense, he had sorely missed a certain cheerful smile, a strange sense of humor. He wanted to stare again into spruce-green eyes, see if they were still as captivating, if he had imagined the promise in them. If he had imagined those few brief kisses.
He pushed on through the crowd, breathing a sigh of relief as he finally broke through the worst of it and strolled with relative ease across the massive bridge which spanned the great river dividing the palace from the city proper.
His heart beat a furious rhythm in his chest and Grigori wished it would stop, wished his nervousness would abate. Just that morning he had taken extra care to make himself presentable, not wanting to humiliate himself or Vasili by looking too much the poor soldier that he was.
Just looking around him, however, he realized he still looked painfully out of place. His clothes were simple, plain homespun and nothing at all like the vibrant colors worn by everyone around him.
Striding through the massive main gate and the courtyard beyond, he entered the main palace with a crowd of other visitors, breaking away to approached the guards barring entrance to the private sections of the palace.
Reaching beneath his shirt, he unfastened the chain around his neck and held the ring tightly in one fist. "I came to see a friend of mine," he said. "He said if I showed you this, you would know it and could point me to him."
The guards’ eyes widened, and Grigori frowned in confusion. Before he could ask the reason for such a strange reaction, however, they had thrown open the doors and ushered him inside. One of them flagged down a man dressed in costly red and gold, a stern set to his features. "Master Kirill, this is Grigori."
The stern man's brow shot up. "I see. Come with me, then."
Grigori's frown deepened, his confusion growing and growing. "I do not understand—"
A faint smile softened the stern lines of the man's face. "This way, please. I was instructed to tell you nothing."
Confusion turned to foreboding in Grigori's chest. Who was Vasili that he could instruct such things? Who had he helped in the forest? Some noble, perhaps? Was he truly to be rewarded or…" He winced to think of the way he had treated Vasili, throwing him around, making him work…
The happiness which had laced his nervousness earlier had died completely, and instead he felt only sick to his stomach. He had thought he would be seeing a palace servant; or perhaps someone just well off enough his parents had been able to afford a nurse for him – a merchant's son, perhaps, or a clerk in the employ of the royal house.
Master Kirill led him to a set of double doors, and Grigori could not help but notice that no one else was about save for the guards posted at the opposite end of the hallway. Pushing the door open, Master Kirill led him inside.
"Kirill," said a voice that was all too familiar, the source of it bent over a desk, reading and occasionally writing upon a long sheet of vellum. "I told you I was not to be disturbed un—"
"Unless your precious soldier appeared, yes," Kirill said dryly. "Here I am bothering you, I wonder why."
Vasili's head snapped up, and his eyes widened, a bright smile stretching across his face.
Grigori wanted to run, hands fisting at his sides as he took in the man before him.
Hair neatly trimmed and combed, the fine green and silver clothes he wore probably cost more money than Grigori had ever seen. He had jeweled rings upon his fingers, seals pinned to his costly jacket…and if all that and the lavish office itself were not enough to give it away, the gold circlet upon Vasili's head made it painfully clear.
"Your Majesty," Kirill said, sweeping a bow that did not really hide the rolling of his eyes, then turned and strode neatly from the room, closing the doors behind him.
Grigori could not move or speak; his mouth felt dry and his mind would not work.
Vasili's smile faded, nervousness overtaking his happy expression. "Grisha."
He licked his lips. "Your Majesty…"
"You don't have to call me that," Vasili replied quietly, moving around his desk and crossing the room to stand in front of Grigori, just close enough to touch.
Grigori shook his head, still not able to comprehend that the man he'd helped, the man he'd gotten angry with…the man he'd kissed…was the King. "You—"
A finger was laid across his lips. "I am sorry, Grisha. I should have told you." Vasili smiled weakly. "At first, it was for my own safety. Then, I liked being Vasili. It was refreshing to be myself, to be seen as myself…and not since my nurse has anyone been willing to so thoroughly take me to task." He snorted softly. "Kirill comes close, but he is like that with everyone and he would never threaten to punch me."
"I—Grigori shook his head again. "I cannot believe it."
Vasili's finger slowly slid away from his lips. "It is quite true, I assure you. The story I told you was no lie – we were on a hunt and I gave chase to a stag. By the time I realized I would not catch it, I was hopelessly lost. Then something startled my horse. He threw me and the fall knocked me out. When I woke, I found myself in quite the mess. My bumbling attempts to save myself brought me to you."
Evergreen eyes drew Grigori in, dredging up a calm he did not think he'd be able to find. "You're the King," he said, amazed and terrified. "I do not know what to say or do."
And he felt suddenly, horribly depressed, because those kisses still burned and he had hoped for more of them, for a great deal more, perhaps after a good meal. Now he wondered why Vasili – the King – had kissed him at all. Next to everyone else in the palace, Grigori made a poor specimen indeed.
Vasili sighed, a thread of sadness in it. "Truly I wish I could have kept my secret," he said. "I liked being Vasili, and now you will only see me as the King." He reached up and lightly stroked Grigori's cheek, the gesture almost painful in its familiarity. Then the hand fell away. "Whatever you want in reward, Grisha, is yours for the asking." Green eyes met his, as steady and entrancing as ever. "What do you want, Grisha?"
Grigori shrugged, tearing his eyes away, looking around the lavish room that made him feel so out of place. Finally he looked back, wishing he could think of something elegant or witty or distracting to say – but he was a simple soldier, and before that he had only been a simpler farm boy. "I wanted to see you, Vasili – Majesty –-" He shook his head, frustrated. "I wanted only to see you, and spend time with you. It was never a matter of reward."
The unhappiness in Vasili's face vanished, and Grigori suddenly found himself with an armful of King and an eager mouth on his, and he panicked because this was the King but he had forgotten just how wonderful Vasili felt and tasted and it would not hurt, surely, to forget for a moment that he should not be doing this.
Vasili broke the kiss a moment later. "Grisha…I will grant you whatever you wish, and make no demands upon you…but I would like for you to stay."
"I'm only a mercenary, a soldier who deserted," Grigori replied. "Hardly fit to keep company with the King."
"That is for the King to say," Vasili said, arms tightening around Grigori's neck. "Only I do not want you to keep company with a King – I want you to keep company with me, with Vasili, and see me as you always have." He smiled briefly, and it was part amusement, part sadness. "Though if you really cannot bear the thought of it, then you might like to know that your desertion was removed, as was your brother, for I will not trust a man who would lie so despicably. You would make a fine General, my Grisha, if you want to go back to your army…though you could also stay here and improve my guard. They are sorely in need of a good Captain…"
Grigori thought his heart was going to beat out of his chest, but he could not look away from those eyes which had ever held him spellbound. He tried to see reason – the circlet Vasili wore, the expensive clothing, the luxurious surroundings. Try as he might, though, he could only see a cheerful smile and evergreen eyes, as warm as the arms around him, the body so close to his.
He gave up. Whatever came, he would deal with it, because he could not seem to make himself walk away. His arms were still around Vasili's waist, and he tightened them, bringing their bodies flush together. "Very well, Vasili, I will stay."
Vasili grinned and kissed him eagerly, breaking away only to laugh with happiness. "Good. Then come, my Grisha, and I will give you that promised gratitude for saving me from that awful forest."
Grigori laughed, unable to resist, and let Vasili drag him deep into the palace.
~End~
A/N: The original is a Russian fairytale called 'The Soldier and the King in the Wood'. I've looked for it before online, and again today, but I cannot find it.
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Date: 2007-10-07 10:58 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-10-07 11:16 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-10-07 11:29 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-10-07 11:55 pm (UTC)Russian Fairytales = Awesome
Date: 2007-10-08 12:22 am (UTC)(Probably, good! You get A tiny minus! or something like that. My teach' is crazie!)
This was an awesome story! I love the name Vasili. Someone in my RClass was named that. He was hot too. (Ahem) You're so good at writing! I love all your stories, even though I usually don't comment on any but Meant to Be.
I'm going to go do a happy dance now!
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Date: 2007-10-08 01:28 am (UTC):)
Date: 2007-10-08 01:31 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-10-08 01:44 am (UTC)Much, much love! *twirls you about* ^________^!!
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Date: 2007-10-08 02:19 am (UTC)I'm intrigued by where you might have found the original story and wonder if this may have been it?
http://www.amazon.ca/Storyteller-Soldier-Death-Jim-Henson/dp/B00000JQAC
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Date: 2007-10-08 02:27 am (UTC)One website says about the children's book "This is adapted from story 340 in Afanasyev’s three volume set of tales." Which is probably taking about this guy: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Alexander_Afanasyev
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Date: 2007-10-08 02:30 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-10-08 02:31 am (UTC)Yeah, that Afansayev book is the one I've got. Three of them, actually.
And thanks ^__^ You've always got the mad skillz.
Re: Russian Fairytales = Awesome
Date: 2007-10-08 03:18 am (UTC)I also like Ivan and the Wolf - oh, darn, I think that's the title. My memory is going. Actually, I only remember the RTitle... Hrm... But wasn't Burning Bright after that one? I mean, it seemed like it... I was wondering why everything seemed familiar than I was rereading my fairytales and it dawned on me...
Oh, one more thing - I love Rpet names.
Re: Russian Fairytales = Awesome
Date: 2007-10-08 03:22 am (UTC)Oh, yes. I love Russian fairytales. My favorite is Ivan and the Wolf ^__^ which is the one that Burning Bright is sort of based upon <3
Mwahahaha, me too! ^___^ I used Russian names in more than a few stories just so I can use the petnames. Sammikins is always getting psetsered for the right forms and spellings and stuff. I luffs my Sammikins, just for putting up with me.
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Date: 2007-10-08 03:24 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-10-08 03:36 am (UTC)This is an actual English publication of that same set of books
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Date: 2007-10-08 03:48 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-10-08 04:16 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-10-08 04:24 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-10-08 10:32 am (UTC)I found it as "The Soldier and the King" or "The Soldier and the Tsar". ">Anyway, I've uploaded the Russian fairy tales books I found on IRC, to save you future searches.
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Date: 2007-10-08 03:08 pm (UTC)I would like my own Grigori, rugged manly man he is, pleasekthx.
lovely story!
Date: 2007-10-08 03:46 pm (UTC)Rose Red
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Date: 2007-10-08 05:02 pm (UTC)Mmm, so sweet.
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Date: 2007-10-08 08:47 pm (UTC)I like this new tale of yours and W-thank you cause I know what I'll read tomorrow now(too tired tonight for it...).
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Date: 2007-10-09 02:44 pm (UTC)One question: How come the King's people weren't, well, frantic with worry when their monarch went missing? Or is this one of those, "Suspend your disbelief, folks, it's a fairy tale," type deals?
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Date: 2007-10-09 10:57 pm (UTC)Eh. It wasn't addressed in the original fairytale, so I didn't stress over it too much in mine. That aside, I figured if the King went missing the very last thing his people would want was for everyone to freakin' know about it. To my mind, they have been looking for him, but I can't see it being a very easy task -- especially when Vasili could not have gotten himself more lost if he'd actively tried. I suspect the man would get lost in his own palace, really, if he did not constantly have his various assistants and all with him.
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Date: 2007-10-23 06:59 pm (UTC)