Fairytale - The Seventh Son - Part I

[maderr]

Sequel to Wolf Given. Read that first.

This one is unbeta'ed. When one of my betas appear, available and willing, I will replace this version with the fixed version.

The Seventh Son

He'd never been so happy to see a cabin, before. They'd traveled well over a month, and six days into it, the snow had started.

Nearly a decade in the lowlands was still not long enough to forget how brutal a highland winter could be. If some crazy part of him had missed it, well, that was his own madness.

Though it seemed to be a shared madness, because the deeper into the cold and snow they got, the happier Ulrich became. Grosvenor found it amusing, because he did not dare find it anything else. Like endearing. That would be stupid.

He let out a groan of relief as they spilled into the dark cabin, setting his pack down on the floor—and then promptly joining it.

"I think there's firewood in the back," Ulrich said, shaking the snow off. Even in his human form, he was nothing more than a giant puppy. Grosvenor could never decide if he wanted to pet him, or kick him. He was spared making the decision as Ulrich vanished into the back.

Not five seconds later, a crashing sound reverberated throughout the cabin, followed immediately by several colorful swear words. Rolling his eyes, Grosvenor hauled himself to his feet, and moved stiffly into the back room.

"Light might help," he said acidly, though he knew full well that Ulrich could see well enough in the dark. "Did traveling in the cold not wear you out enough, you need to injure yourself before you'll settle down?"

Ulrich laughed in the dark room, and Grosvenor followed the shadowy movements as best he was able. "I forgot about the low beam in this room, and cracked my head on it. Dropped the wood I was holding, but never fear, I'm still alive."

"Oh, good," Grosvenor muttered, and turned to stalk back to the main room.

He fetched his pack and pulled out food while Ulrich worked on the fire.

"It's not much," Ulrich finally said several minutes later as they warmed themselves and ate, "but it will keep us warm and dry until we can reach the pack proper tomorrow."

Grosvenor blinked at him, suddenly confused. If there was one word which he would never use to describe Ulrich, it was shy. The idiot was so…so…direct and earnest and eager to please, he drove Grosvenor crazy with it. Shy just was not in his repertoire. Yet that's precisely what he seemed right now, blathering about the cabin not being much. "Anything is better than another night in the cold and snow," he said, but looking around the cabin, he could see it was far from 'not much' even in the weak light of the fire.

It was simple, and small, as most highland homes tended to be, for small was much easier to heat in the cold months that large spaces. Old, and a bit run down, but well tended and cared for, obviously. What little furniture filled it was draped in heavy cloth, and the whole place smelled musty and disused, but it seemed a good little cabin. "This is yours, I take it?"

"Yes," Ulrich replied, smiling in his puppy-like way that no grown man should be allowed to get away with, honestly. "It belonged to my great uncle; I spent a lot of time with him, as a child. When he passed, he willed the cabin to me. It will be nice to fix it up, pull my things out of storage—especially my books."

"Books?" Grosvenor asked, intrigued despite himself. All through the month and a half journey, Ulrich had talked and talked and talked. About his home, his pack, his family—but not much about himself. True to wolf fashion, the obsession was with the whole, not the individual. Pack mentality, his mother had often called it, with a note of disdain.

It had always confused him, that disdain. Weren't they clan, which was like pack? It wasn't until later that he'd understood selfishness, and self-interest, and how that drove everyone, no matter what words they used to color it.

Except Ulrich, whispered that stupid voice at the back of his head. The same stupid voice which had driven him to acquiesce to returning to the highlands with Ulrich. He reached up unconsciously to touch the collar at this throat, the feel of the brown leather marked with Ulrich's name and pack as familiar now as his own collar had once been.

He would have to give it back, now, he realized, and hated the pang of regret which accompanied that thought. Whatever. Of course he had to give it back. He'd promised to return to the highlands, and they had made it. Soon he'd have his own hateful collar back, unless by some miracle the Schwarzenberg Alpha actually accepted him. Ha. He really didn't know why he'd been stupid enough to agree to this.

"Are you warm enough?" Ulrich asked, interrupting his thoughts. "Let me notify the pack I'm here, and then I'll get the bed made up for you. Tomorrow, I'm certain you'll be in my father's house. It's much better than this old place." He stood up and was gone before Grosvenor could reply.

Not that he knew what he would have said. What was wrong with this little cabin?

He thought he knew, though. These were the highlands, and whatever he might have been in the king's castle, here Ulrich was just the seventh son. Normally, he would have had next to nothing to do with a wild mage. A wolf given wild mage was a valuable commodity in the highlands, important enough to marry a wolf who would someday be Alpha.

Except, he thought with old bitterness, his Alpha had wanted nothing to do with him. Not until Grosvenor had been so desperate for affection he'd fallen for the oldest trick in the book, and then only to save face. Which he'd done by rejecting the pleas and apologies of the wild mage he'd always preferred to ignore as much as possible, and casting him out into the freezing cold.

Bah.

If by some chance the Schwarzenberg Alpha actually agreed to his presence, what would become of him? Given to one of the alpha's sons? Would he be handed over to Ulrich, as the one who had brought him here?

No, and he didn't know why he'd even thought such a stupid thing. Perhaps they would just let him stay on as himself, without attaching him to one wolf or another.

He snorted. And maybe lowlanders would stop being sniveling idiots. Pack mentality. They would find someone to marry him, to make him truly pack and all that rot. Familiar rot, and he hated that he still could not hate it, even when it had cost him so much—everything, in fact.

Outside came the long, eerie howls of a wolf. It made his chest ache, that sound. Lowland wolves were more civilized, using more human means of travel and communication where they could. Pathetic, Grosvenor had always thought. What was the point in being wolf if one wasn't going to act wolf? The howls of the wolves was as much a part of the music of the highlands as the cry of the wind, the thunder of the great waterfalls, the songs of the clans.

Over the sounds of the winter wind, he could just hear an answering howl. Three of them, responding to the news of Ulrich's return. Grosvenor's heart began to beat rapidly, even as he told himself to calm down and stop being stupid. There was no reason to be nervous; he knew the outcome of the looming meeting. Once rejected, always rejected. They would cast him out, and back to the lowlands he would go. Gretel would always welcome him; the lowlanders were soft, but that also made them more forgiving.

He did not look up as Ulrich returned, not needing to see to know the idiot was grinning and shaking snow everywhere. How in the hell did one man manage to be so inexplicably happy all the time? About nothing?

They were the same age, but sometimes he felt like there was years between them. "Family successfully contacted?"

"Yes," Ulrich said, beaming as he sat down. "I think the snow is too heavy for them to travel tonight, but if it settles enough tomorrow, we'll see them then. You'll like my pack."

Grosvenor wondered which of them he was attempting to convince of that. He hoped the snow didn't let up until the spring thaw, if only because he really wasn't in the mood for Ulrich in kicked-puppy mode. The very last thing he needed right now was Ulrich crushed that his precious pack hated the reject wolf given he'd brought home. He stripped off his gloves and examined his left hand, where every now and then he still thought he could feel his lost finger.

He shuddered at the memory of that vile witch, the look in her gray eyes as she'd talked about all the different ways she could eat him to gain his strange highland powers. The pain as she'd cut of his finger as a 'snack for her pretty feral wolf' in the cellar, and he'd known she had meant Ulrich. He'd felt awful that the wolf who had nothing to do with this, was the one who'd been turned feral over it.

Waking up to see that Ulrich was holding him, and perfectly fine, had been more of a relief than he could bear to think about. He didn't like the idiot much, but he didn't want to see him turn into the monster the past wolves had been.

"I'll go get the bed ready," Ulrich said after a moment. "Hopefully, the bedding doesn't smell like it's been stored away and neglected for five years."

"Can't smell worse than a gingerbread house," Grosvenor muttered, shuddering again. He set the last of his jerky aside, no longer hungry.

Ulrich shared his grimace, and then vanished into a back room.

Feeling suddenly restless, Grosvenor abandoned the fireplace to wander around the main room. The cabin really was a tidy one – one main room, the back storage room where they'd gotten the fireplace, and a separate bedroom. That was especially nice; he'd grown up in a house where the kids slept in a loft to give the parents an illusion of privacy in the one large room below.

Except he'd been wolf given, so as often as not he slept with the pack into which he would someday marry. In winter especially, they often preferred to sleep in their wolf forms, and nothing was warmer than bedding down with a pile of fur, even if said fur occasionally smelled a bit.

As he'd gotten older, that hadn't been quite as proper, since technically he'd belonged to stupid Alban after that…but Alban had never wanted him, not until too damned late.

Sighing, Grosvenor reached out and yanked away the heavy cloth covering some bit of furniture. A large chair, worn but comfy looking. The color was impossible to tell, but he rather thought the firelight hinted at a deep red. Dropping the cloth, he moved to what looked like a matching chair and yanked that cloth away as well.

By the time he was finished, he had uncovered the two chairs, as well as a dining table and chairs, and a large chest which proved to hold all manner of miscellany, including a few of the books Ulrich had mentioned.

He looked up at the sound of footsteps, and went still as Ulrich returned. He had stripped off his winter clothing, leaving him in only trousers, boots, and undershirt. He looked like a shadow, almost, with that dark hair falling in his face, the dark brown of his eyes impossible to discern in the weak light.

Ulrich was handsome, there was no denying that. He was tall and lithe, and moved with the grace that Grosvenor had only ever seen wolves posses. Ulrich smiled as he saw what Grosvenor had done. "Needs a bit of cleaning, but it looks as though everything has held up rather well, eh? I'm glad. I half feared this place would fall down while I was gone."

Grosvenor started to reply, but the sound of claws on the porch drew them both up short. Ulrich was obviously just as surprised as he, but the cold and snow and wind must make it hard to pick out any scent.

Even as someone pounded upon the door, Ulrich opened it. "Father."

Ulrich was swept up in a tight embrace by a man that, even without Ulrich's words, was obviously his sire. They looked almost exactly alike; his father had a broader, more muscular build than his slender son.

"It's good to have you home, son," his father said at last, and only then did Grosvenor notice he wasn't alone—yet another Ulrich imitation had come along. Not as old as their father, but surely around a decade older than Ulrich. Sterner looking, not as handsome, and completely lacking in Ulrich's maddening puppy like quality.

He stood quietly by as the family reunion continued, wondering if they would expect him to leave immediately, or would at least let him wait until morning. Rothenberg hadn't, but Schwarzenberg might be a bit different.

When at last they turned to him, he stood still and awaited judgment.

Ulrich smiled at him. "May I present to you Alpha Etzel Schwarz, of Pack Schwarzenberg, and my eldest brother, Detlef. Father, brother, this is Grosvenor Alloway. I met him in the lowlands, and assisted him with rescuing a kidnapped child. I discovered he is wolf given, and persuaded him to return here with me. I told him that we would have a place for him."

"Why does he not already have a place?" Schwarz asked.

Grosvenor sighed. "With all due respect, Alpha, that is a long story and we have travelled hard to get here quickly. If you must hear the tale tonight, then I would like at least to make some tea."

"I can do you one better than that," Detlef said, and hefted a basket that until then Grosvenor had not noticed he held. "Our mother sent along food, figuring Ulrich's stomach had not changed much in five years. There's enough here to feed twelve, I swear."

That made him laugh, catching him by surprise.

Ulrich rolled his eyes, and turned away to tend the fire that had gotten low while they stood their talking. "Come on then, bring that food and we'll tell you the full of it."

A couple of hours later, Grosvenor wanted to crawl away to bed and pretend he was still safe in the lowlands. Even that had to be better than sitting here waiting to be condemned.

"We will have to contact Rothenberg," Schwarz said slowly, after a long silence. "Though they cast him out, it is best to have formal documentation of it, so they cannot come in some day when they need a wild mage and take him back. Why is he wearing your collar?"

Ulrich flushed. "Oh—sorry. I forgot. I gave it to him as a promise that he'd be accepted here. We were so tired after getting here, I never got around—"

Grosvenor frowned, irritated that one simple question had Ulrich tripping over himself. Like it was such an important matter…except to pack it was. He didn't belong to Ulrich, and now that the promise was obviously fulfilled, he should not still be wearing it.

He reached up and unbuckled the collar, holding it out for Ulrich to take, and started to take his own back.

Schwarz shook his head. "No. Ulrich, go ahead and get rid of that one. We'll see he's fitted with a new, proper collar tomorrow. Grosvenor, wolf given wild mage, welcome to Pack Schwarzenberg."

His breath caught in his throat, and even his annoyance over the matter of his collar could not stifle the feeling that came with hearing an Alpha welcome him into a pack. "Thank you," Grosvenor said, and bowed his head. "I hope I can serve."

"We are honored to have a new wild mage among us, I assure you," Schwarz assured him. "Once the formalities with Rothenberg are addressed, we will see you are made a proper member of pack." He cast a thoughtful look at Detlef, who gave a minute shrug that Grosvenor would not have noticed had he not been watching them so closely.

As easily as that, he knew what his fate would be—he would marry Detlef. Who better to marry than the future Alpha? Nothing would secure his place better.

It should have made him happy. He was wolf given before he was even born; his destiny had always been to eventually be the mate of a pack Alpha. This was where he was meant to be, what he should be…so why was he disappointed? What had he been hoping for? He had true acceptance within his grasp, just as Ulrich had promised.

Ulrich…yes…the stubborn, irritatingly earnest and kind wolf who, now that he was back in the fold of the pack, was merely a seventh son. Grosvenor snuck a glance in his direction, but Ulrich was lost in deep thought, frowning at the fire.

Suddenly, he'd had more than enough. Unable to bear another moment of talking, Grosvenor stood up. "I thank you again, and look forward to my future with Pack Schwarzenberg. For the moment, however, I long for a bed. Ulrich was kind enough to make it up for me, and I believe I will make full use of it. I am certain you would like time to catch up with your son after five years, anyway. I bid you all good night."

He left before they could stop him, vanishing into the smaller bedroom, not quite closing the door all the way. The room was cold, but the blankets on the bed warmed him quickly. They smelled musty and disused, but after all their hard traveling, the bed and musty blankets were heaven.

Closing his eyes, he settled into the bed and simply enjoyed resting on something soft. At some point, he heard the front door open and close, and wondered if the Alpha and his eldest son had left. When Ulrich did not wander in to check on him as Ulrich invariably would, he supposed they had not. Shaking the idle thought off, he tried to relax enough to sleep.

Just as he started to drift off, however, the soft voices on the other side of the door drifted to him. Just the Alpha and Ulrich, but the tone of their voices was serious. Despite himself, Grosvenor found himself straining to hear what they might say.

"Father…I was wondering…" He'd never heard Grosvenor sound so nervous before, so uncertain.

"Yes?" Schwarz asked.

"I was wondering, if—well, if it might be possible for me to court the wolf given. I…I found him, and brought him back, and he is already accustomed to me…I would like to, if it were at all possible."

Grosvenor went still on the bed, unable to process what he'd just heard. Before he could figure it out, however, the Alpha settled the matter.

"No, Ulrich, and you knew that. He is a wild mage, and deserves a higher ranking mate within the pack. It would be insulting to him, and the pack, to make him your mate. That aside, Detlef should have another mate. His wife has been dead six years, another mate would be good for him. Besides, we are negotiating with Pack Autenberg to marry you to one of his younger sons. The matter will not be settled for certain until the Spring Gathering, but I cannot see why the arrangement would not go through. It will be a fine match for you."

"Of course, father," Ulrich said quietly.

Grosvenor dragged his pillow over his head, to block out their voices, and the unwelcome weight of the crushing disappointment pressing down upon him.

*~*~*

He woke up late the next morning, drawn out of sleep by the sunlight slipping in past faded green curtains from the single window in the bedroom. Deplorable, to wake so late, when ordinarily he was up before the sun. Still, they'd traveled long and hard. His body had obviously needed the rest.

So did his head—he still felt too tired to deal with the thoughts clamoring for attention. Shoving them away, especially those concerning his eavesdropping last night, Grosvenor threw back his blankets and climbed out of bed.

Raking back his disheveled hair, yawning, he ambled his way to the main room of the cabin. The smell of food made his stomach growl, drawing him to the table.

The image of Ulrich, half asleep and half naked, slumped over the food-laden table, made him forget about eating.

Scowling, Grosvenor bypassed the table to reach the small stove. A beat up old kettle was still steaming, and finding the little tin of tea took only a moment. If he made more noise than strictly necessary banging things around as he fixed his tea, he didn't particularly care.

Taking a seat, he sipped at his tea and glared at Ulrich until he finally dragged himself into a sitting position. The tea was strong and sweet; like everything else in the highlands, it had an edge to it the lowlands would never possess. An edge he had missed, even if he didn't like admitting it, if only to himself.

Ulrich yawned, then gave him a sleepy smile. "Sleep well? I checked on you after my father and brother finally left. You were sleeping so hard, I wasn't certain you were breathing for a moment."

"Guess I slept well, then," Grosvenor replied, a trifle more sharply than he'd intended, but he didn't apologize.

"You sound back to normal," Ulrich replied, and Grosvenor was startled by the mischief in his smile. "I told father we may or may not go into the village proper today, though he of course is eager to make you familiar with the pack. I said it depended entirely upon how rested we felt."

'We' in this case, Grosvenor knew, really only meant him. A full night of good sleep was all a wolf would need to recover. They were too hale and hearty for their own good, half the time. He considered it—go meet the pack, or stay here and rest the day.

He was in no hurry to meet the pack, and see if all of them would be as welcoming as their Alpha. On the other hand, as much as he tried to ignore it, last night's conversation still played over and over again in the back of his mind. He did not want to stay here alone with Grosvenor and find out if he'd do something stupid. Being back in the highlands meant playing by highland rules.

"Let's go into the village," he said finally. "No point in lazing around, right?" He didn't look at Ulrich as he spoke, simply started to help himself to the food set out. It was as delicious as dinner had been, and made him think fondly of Gretel. He hoped she was happy living with her daughter and granddaughter, and well away from that damned forest.

Thinking of the forest made him glance by sheer habit at his left hand, the missing finger still a strange sight, but growing more familiar with every glance.

"Are you certain?" Ulrich asked. "No one will mind if we rest a day."

"I'm sure," Grosvenor said curtly, glancing at him briefly, then jerked his gaze away when it tried to wander along that bare chest sprinkled with curly black hair.

"Very well," Ulrich said. "I'll heat some water, if you'd like to wash up. You can get a proper bath at my father's house, we'll be certain to take what we need for it. My mother will probably try to stuff us like holiday geese."

Grosvenor snorted. "That would take what, for you? Enough food to feed ten wolves?"

Ulrich made a face at him, then wolfed down a sausage link.

Fighting a sudden idiotic urge to smile, Grosvenor turned his full attention to his own food, drawing it out as long as he could. The food eventually ran out, however, and he moved to clean up while Ulrich heated water for them to wash.

Two hours later, they were on their way to the village. Ulrich ran a little bit ahead of him, coat long ago turned white to blend into the relentless snow which had overtaken the highlands. At least it had stopped falling for now.

Reaching the village itself took a little less than an hour, and that only because of him and the weather. Normally, Ulrich probably managed the journey much more quickly.

It looked much like any highland village, with houses built to withstand crippling amounts of rain and snow, the peculiar tracks made by wolves that crisscrossed the wider tracks made by human feet, the way everything was made to suit both human and wolf—and the wide variety of both immediately visible.

The lowlands would never tolerate so many wolves on such blatant display. Wolves there were human more often than not; to trot around in broad daylight in their wolf forms was nigh on unthinkable.

He tried not to notice the way they all went still, and watched as he and Ulrich passed.

Beside him, Ulrich shifted, then briefly touched his arm. "Come on, don't mind their rude staring. Knowing the impressive speed at which village gossip travels, they're probably dying to ask you a million questions. I'll keep them at bay as long as—"

"Rich! Rich! Rich!"

Grosvenor startled as a full gaggle of girls surrounded them, all them crying and cheering Ulrich's name.

Ulrich laughed and caught up a girl who couldn't be more than twelve, hugging her tight. "Well, well, what have we here?" he said. "Never say that's you, little Lydia. You grew up on me! I leave for a little while and your turn into a young lady. Who said you could do that? And you got prettier—I bet your father doesn't like that!"

Lydia giggled. "He says I'm not allowed to talk to boys anymore."

"A wise man," Ulrich said with a grin, and tugged at one of her curls before turning to the other girls clamoring around him, eager for their own moments of attention. Finally he hefted one, who could not be more than five or six, onto his shoulders. It sent her into a fit of giggles, and they continued on their way, escorted to the house of the Alpha by a pack of adoring, giggling little girls.

Grosvenor was vastly amused, because he dare not be anything else. "Quite the little charmer, aren't we? If we'd stayed any longer at Gretel's, I think you would have had Annie running away to follow us."

Ulrich grinned, and a hint of the odd shyness he'd shown the night before returned. "The girls are fun, and they like the attention. They don't get much of it until they start to come of age, and they're much easier to handle than the boys, who always need a bit of knocking around."

"Uh huh," Grosvenor replied dryly. "Just how many girls growing up with you were cozened into cooking or baking you something?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Ulrich replied, grinning. He took the girl on his shoulder's down, and kissed her cheek before setting her to rejoin her companions. "You all be good girls, all right? Rich has to go see the Alpha now. I'll see you later."

"Bye, Rich!" A few of the girls smiled shyly at Grosvenor as well, clearly curious, but knowing better than to voice it aloud.

Chuckling, Ulrich waved to them all one last time, then motioned for Grosvenor to follow him inside.

Inside, the cabin smelled like cinnamon and nutmeg and apples, mingling with snow and pine, and the ever present scent of wolves.

He knows Ulrich's mother on sight; though he looks almost exactly like his father, more than a bit of his aggravating puppy like nature is apparent in the buxom woman standing over the stove, tending a fragrant stew.

She looked up at the sound of movement, no doubt registering their scents as well. "Ah!" she cried, and promptly abandoned the stewpot. "There you are! Your father said you were going to be a lay about all day."

"Now, how could I not come see my mother?" Ulrich said with a laugh, and kissed her cheek.

"That's my good boy," she said fondly, then patted his cheek and sighed. "Not that you are a boy, any longer. I see those wretched lowlands knocked the last of that out of you. Now, let's have a look at the wild mage you brought us." So saying, she turned and braced her hands on her hips, examining Grosvenor critically, head to toe.

He fought not to squirm, annoyed that she could discomfit him so—but the mate of an Alpha was never a pushover.

That reminded him suddenly that by marrying Detlef, he would someday be an Alpha mate himself.

The thought did not appeal, and so he thought of something else. "It's an honor to make your acquaintance, madam. Thank you for having me."

"We're honored to have a high mage join us," she replied politely, eyes still analyzing him. What did she see, that required such careful scrutiny? There was nothing remarkable about him, his looks were neither good nor bad. He was a wild mage, but that had always caused him more problems than it had gotten him out of.

Finally, she turned away, and Grosvenor suppressed an idiotic urge to let out a sigh of relief.

"I think your father has gone off to bark at someone," she said to Ulrich. "That man isn't happy if he hasn't lost his temper before lunch, I swear." The words were said with equal parts exasperation and affection. "Are you hungry, sweetie? Wild mage? How about some tea? It's a bit chilly out today, isn't it?"

Grosvenor just barley choked off a laugh. 'A bit chilly' was like saying he'd gotten into a 'bit of a tiff' with his former pack. "Some tea would be splendid, if you are willing to part with it, madam."

"Make yourselves at home, I'll be right out with it. Oh! Mercy me! My name is Agnes, sweetheart."

Sweetheart. Grosvenor almost rolled his eyes. He could not remember a time when anyone had addressed him in such fashion. "Agnes," he repeated dutifully. "I thank you for the tea."

Nodding, she bustled them out of the kitchen and into the living room, where a large hearth kept it heated. Several hooks had been sunk into the elaborate stonework, and Grosvenor stripped out of his wet snow gear and hung it up. Ulrich did the same, then they both settled on the large fur rug in front of the fireplace, eager to get warm.

The cabin was larger than normal, but as the Alpha's house, it would have to accommodate a large number of people constantly going in and out. It was clearly an old house, and Grosvenor wondered just how many of the nicks and scratches and other marks about the place had been put there by Ulrich. He would be willing to bet Ulrich had not been a quiet or still child.

Scowling at his own thoughts, wondering if perhaps the snow had caused him some sort of permanent damage, he struggled for something to say that would take his mind away from the idiotic.

Before he could figure something out, the sound of steps drew him, and he looked up to see Detlef walking toward them, holding a tray weighed down with tea and snacks.

His stomach knotted with anxiety. If all went well, this was the man to whom he'd be mated. The night before had not offered much chance for close inspection. Now, faced with a potential future spouse—something he did not think he would ever have, and definitely not a wolf—he took a closer look.

Detlef had to have at least a decade on him in age, and it was probably at least a bit more than that, if he was the eldest. Looking at him, Grosvenor had a good idea what Ulrich would look like in another ten years or so. Except as he'd noted last night, Detlef lacked the…earnestness, he supposed, that Ulrich possessed. Detlef was sterner, more serious, and had the air of one who expected to be pleased. The presence of a future Alpha.

By all laws and traditions of the highlands, the perfect mate for a wild mage.

He was taller, broader, more serious in demeanor for all he had jested easily the previous night.

Where else did Detlef differ from his brother? What were the other five like?

"Good morning, wild mage," Detlef greeted. "I hope you slept well, and that Ulrich's awful snoring did not keep you up."

Ulrich made a face. "I do not snore, and I never did. Stop telling lies about me."

"I would never lie," Detlef said with an innocent smile. "Father should be along shortly, and I believe he is bringing the other wild mages with him."

Oh, good. Grosvenor sipped his tea to hide his grimace. It wasn't enough to contend with wolves, and his future mate, he had to undergo scrutiny by his fellows wild mages at the same time.

He focused on his tea, and listened idly as the brothers talked and squabbled, wondering for the millionth time if maybe it might have been better to remain in exile in the lowlands.

Then Ulrich laughed, drawing his attention before he'd realized it, and Grosvenor admitted miserably that he never could have refused to return that night, not the way Ulrich had pleaded and promised, and seemed so damnably happy.

Stupid, but his life was nothing if not one long example in how to be completely and utterly stupid about everything.

The sound of people arriving drew his attention, and his agonies in regards to Ulrich were shunted aside in favor of fretting over the arrival of the Alpha and wild mages. Without even thinking about, he reached out to sense their power and compare it to his own. He felt them do the same, and none of the three of them resisted the inspection.

Respectable enough; their power was nothing to sneeze at—but he was much better. Wild magic had always run strong in his family; it was the entire reason he had been wolf given before his conception. Pack Rothenberg had been willing to pay the necessary—and hefty—betrothal contract fees simply on the chance that one of his ability would be conceived.

If only they had known how abominably stupid he would be sixteen years later. It would have spared everyone a great deal of grief and trouble.

He stood up as they approached, and bowed low. He might be stronger, but they were older, and they had not screwed up their lives. "Wild mages."

"Wild mage," they greeted in turn. "Your power is impressive, especially in one so young."

Grosvenor almost snorted at that. Him, young. Age was a poor way to determine how old or young someone might be. Look at Ulrich—they were the same age, but they may as well be years apart. "I hope that means I can be of use to Pack Schwarzenberg."

"Of course you can," Schwarz said. "The weather cleared shortly before sunrise, and I sent off three wolves to journey to Engel. They'll be able to contact Rothenberg from there, and we should have some sort of answer in not more than two weeks." He clapped Detlef on the back, and smiled at Grosvenor. "Then we can work on settling your properly. Ulrich, you have done well for the pack. Wild mage, I thank you for being willing to make your home here."

"Please, you may use my name," Grosvenor said. One thing he had grown unused to in the lowlands was the formality of the highlands. It would probably take these idiots months to stop using anything but 'wild mage' and 'wolf given' when addressing him.

They all nodded, but he could see they weren't listening. Movement caught the corner of his eye, and he turned to see that Ulrich was looking privately amused—and catching his eyes, he could see they were amused by the same thing.

It almost made him smile, and he turned away before he could give in to the idiotic urge.

"Have you any plans for the day?" asked one of the wild mages. An older man, his hair more gray than brown. Friendly looking, but Grosvenor had stopped trusting looks ages ago. His fiancé had been beautiful, and his seducer deadly handsome. Neither had matched his looks.

Grosvenor shook his head.

"Well, then," Schwarz said, "Detlef can show you around the village. I know the entire pack is clamoring to meet you, so we'll probably have a gathering in the next few days. Until then, Detlef would be more than happy to help you become acquainted with your new home."

Detlef nodded and smiled politely, then held out a hand. "If you are inclined. Ulrich did say you might still be tired, and understandably so, though it's easy enough to see you are true wolf given."

Grosvenor felt wretched, and hated it. The Alpha had accepted him easily, the other wild mages more easily still. He was fitting in without even trying. He should be ecstatic.

Instead, he was miserable, and as much as he hated it, he knew the reason why.

Reaching out to take the proffered hand, he knew after this he would not see much of Ulrich. Oh, from a distance, certainly. They'd probably see each other at meals. But extended time alone was over, and in not more than a couple of months, Ulrich would be his brother in law.

Why, oh why, hadn't he stayed in the lowlands? Wallowing in the bitterness and hurt of youthful stupidity and rejection had to be infinitely preferable to the things that Ulrich was waking, and with which he did not want to deal.

Resisting an urge to look at Ulrich one last time, he murmured his farewells and allowed Detlef to lead him from the Alpha house.

"I'm certain you can imagine what my father has in store for us," Detlef said, mouth twisted in a rueful smile. "I know all this must seem to be moving with shocking speed; my father was never one to waste time. It's a trait that works better at some times than others. If anything becomes too overwhelming, let me know, and I will slow it down as best I can."

Grosvenor nodded. "I am happy that there seems to be a place for me. As to what your father has planned…" He shrugged, and let the sentence hang. What was there to say? They both knew the nature of duty, and really, he could do far worse than Detlef for a mate.

Nothing for it, unless he wanted to reject the kindness being offered him. Honestly, to be anything but grateful was stupid. Accept it, let go of stupid ideas, and move on. "You were married before, yes? I am sorry for your loss. Do you have children?"

Something flickered briefly across Detlef's face, too quickly gone for Grosvenor to figure out what it might have been. "Yes," he replied. "My wife and I had two children, before she passed. A daughter, who is twelve now, and a boy who just turned eight. They are out playing somewhere, I am certain." He smiled at the mention of his children. "They are good kids, I'm certain you'll get along with them."

Grosvenor nodded, struggling for something else to say as they walked through the village. Thankfully, his efforts could be put aside as one person after another approached for an introduction, and the same pleasantries and banalities were exchanged over the next few hours.

"So what will Ulrich do now?" he asked, as they talked about the rest of Detlef's family. He hated himself for asking, but could not keep the question back.

Another incomprehensible shadow passed over Detlef's face. "He is to be married to a young wolf from Pack Autenberg. We are trying to strengthen relations there, and father believes that Ulrich would like it. Plus, they are close enough to get on well." He shrugged, and smiled, but Grosvenor could see it was a strained effort.

The sound of shrieking and laughter drew his attention, and he looked over his shoulder to see Ulrich off in the distance, playing some indeterminate game with a group of children.

Detlef laughed beside him. "Rich always did love kids, even when he was barely more than a pup himself. I think, when he left, the children were sadder than anyone. We all hated to see him go; he's a bright spot. I'm sure Autenberg will adore him."

Grosvenor bit back a tart reply about idiots generally being adored for their simplicity, but it wouldn't do to anger his future mate, especially by insulting his brother. That Ulrich would have laughed it off was no longer relevant.

"So where is your home?" he asked, forcing a smile of his own, and turning away from the sight of Ulrich playing with the children.

"Just this way," Detlef replied, and led the way down a small path until they were just outside the village proper. "Father and I wanted it closer to the village, but my wife…" He shrugged. "She wanted a bit more privacy."

Grosvenor thought he detected a note of bitterness, but it was none of his business, so he ignored it. Instead, he examined the house. It looked much like Ulrich's, but slightly larger, newer, and a bit…fancier, he supposed. Showier, perhaps, was the better word. Some of that had fallen to neglect, but it lingered. Coupled with the bitterness in Detlef's voice, he was beginning to wonder what sort of woman his late wife had been.

But, it was still none of his business. He was not even part of the Pack, yet. Not really.

"It's a fine house," he murmured.

Detlef gave a soft, barely audible snort, but only murmured, "Thank you." He motioned. "It's only about fifteen years old, and has held up well. The roof will probably need some work come spring, but it should hold just fine through this winter, even if it promises to be a bad one. Which reminds me—have you need of anything? I'm certain living in the lowlands, you had no use for real winter clothing. If there is something you need, I am more than happy to provide it."

"I made certain I was prepared before we began our journey home," Grosvenor replied. "The lowlanders are soft, but I never succumbed to it. I knew what I was in for when I decided to return. But I thank you. If I think of anything I missed, I will let you know."

"Good. I hope you will like it…here," Detlef said. "Would you like something to eat or drink? We've been walking and talking for hours now, I’m certain—"

"Detlef! Detlef!"

They turned as a young wolf came running toward them, and stumbled to a halt right in front of them. He smiled, and said, "Detlef, Alpha is calling for you and the wild mage. Says it's not urgent, but to come when you can."

"We're on our way," Detlef replied. "Thank you."

The wolf nodded, and darted off again, vanishing as quickly as he had come.

"He says not urgent, but to father, everything is urgent." Detlef rolled his eyes, and led the way back to his father's house.

Grosvenor carefully did not think of anything the entire way back, and wondered morosely how soon he would be permitted to go to bed.

Back in the Alpha's house, he was dismayed to see that Ulrich was present. Why? Couldn't he just, go away or something? All of this would be easier to accept if Ulrich would just have the decency not to be where Grosvenor could see him.

"Oh, good," Schwarz said, turning away from Ulrich as he noted their arrival. "It was just brought to me." He thrust something into Grosvenor's hands.

Grosvenor stared at it. A collar. It was nothing like the white leather one he had worn for so many years, since he'd been pathetically unable to just throw it away. This one was more like Ulrich's—a Pack Schwarzenberg collar, with his name marked into the leather along with the pack name and his position as wild mage and wolf given. A high honor, to be given a pack collar. It was his due, as a wolf given wild mage, but still…

He thought briefly of the time he'd spent wearing Ulrich's, then furiously shoved the thought away, and bowed to Schwarz. "I thank you. The generosity which you have shown me is humbling. I am honored to be considered worthy of joining Pack Schwarzenberg."

"We are always happy to have a wild mage, and you are wolf given besides. We are wolves who know how to be properly grateful."

Grosvenor nodded, and stared again at his collar. Then he slowly held it out to Detlef, silently requesting that he do the honor's of placing the collar.

Ulrich murmured words of congratulations, then turned and walked away. Grosvenor did not watch him go, but waited as his future mate placed the collar, and thanked him with a stiff smile when the deed was done. Once formal permission came from Rothenberg, acknowledging they did not, and would not ever, want anything to do with him, he and Detlef would exchange vows. Part of that was exchanging collars.

He reminded himself he had nothing about which to be unhappy, and every reason to be jubilant. A man in his position should be grateful for what he had, especially as it was things he never expect to see again. He had a pack, a place, and soon a fine mate.

The new collar was stiff around his throat; it would take awhile before it was as worn and comfortable as his old one had been—or Ulrich's.