Chapter Four: Gary

 

Sleeping with Gary, back in the summer of 435, had been a mistake.  It was after they had planned to help Prince Jonathan rescue Squire Alan that they noticed the attraction.  No, they’d noticed it long before then.  It was impossible to spend eight years growing up in such proximity to each other, hearing tales of squires tumbling young girls, seeing fellows fall in love, and knowing each other’s bodies so well, without noting that there was something a little different about them. 

 

But that summer, things had changed.  They were twenty years old: not completely inexperienced, but not as wise as they would become.  And they were going to risk their lives to protect a friend.  Whether it was high emotions or high adrenaline, they had tumbled into their tent together and fell into a new kind of relationship. 

 

“The king won’t punish us if it’s Jon’s idea, right?” Gary had said with a nervous laugh—almost a giggle—as he poured himself more wine.

 

“Certainly not.  I’m hoping we’ll be out of this horrid river bed before Beltane, if all goes well.”

 

Gary had given Raoul a skeptical look.  “You know nothing of diplomacy.  We won’t be home until August, even if we got King Ain himself.” 

 

Not that it mattered.  What mattered was that their squires had decided to spend the evening in Duke Baird’s makeshift hospital, helping with patients and keeping an eye on anyone who might compromise their mission.  What mattered was that there was enough wine to get them sufficiently tipsy.  What mattered is that Gary was wearing banded mail, and it took two of them to manage all those buckles and straps in their inebriated state.

 

And that night, they slept together in a bedroll much too small for Raoul, let alone both of them.  And Raoul wrapt himself around his new lover, listening to Gary’s heartbeat and thinking that finally—finally!—everything would be all right.  Even though he knew that a knight’s duty was not as pretty as they’d once thought, even though he had seen men cloven in two by his own battle axe, even though he knew that a skirmish tomorrow could end Gary’s or his life—that night there was a feeling that there was a point to the past twenty years.  And it was a feeling that made Raoul happy.

 

It was not a conventional relationship—not that Raoul had much to compare it to.  They were rarely together in the palace long enough to even discuss their status, had discussion been on their minds at all.  Between border patrols and other knightly duties, they found each other once or twice a month.  But it was enough.

 

Gary and Raoul.  Raoul and Gary. Their names had been inseparable for years. 

 

When King Roald died and Gary was promoted to the position of Prime Minister, and Raoul had taken on the duties of Knight Commander of the King’s Own, life took a sudden change.  There was no time for leisure.  And when there was, they were rarely together. 

 

It was during this lapse that Raoul’s friendship with Cythera deepened.  Gary spent the evening of the Coronation at his father’s bedside, while Raoul spent it with a new lover.

 

There was no bitter parting, no regret.  They could hardly describe their relationship when they had been involved; how could they describe it now that it was over?  Raoul never told Cythera about it.  It wasn’t that she would not understand, but that he was not sure if Gary would want anyone else to know.  He had led a relatively normal public existence, casually courting women but never asking for anyone’s hand.  Most people assumed he was a confirmed bachelor, like Raoul.  Some insisted that he was incapable of settling down.

 

But “over” was a relative term.  There were times when Gary was overwhelmed with his duties, and needed a friend.  There were occasions when Raoul felt that Cythera could not understand him: even though Gary was a “desk knight”, he at least knew the feeling of taking someone’s life.  He understood the remorse Raoul inevitably felt after defeating a weaker party.  And sometimes understanding was made possible with a few drinks, and sometimes a few drinks would turn them into the giggling messes they had been when they were twenty.  And even though palace beds were bigger than army cots, Raoul would still wrap himself around smaller Gary and listen to his constant heartbeat.

 

And it would be over again, Raoul heading back to the Own, or Cythera, and Gary immersing himself in his books and reports. 

 

After Cythera, there was a degree of distance.  As much as Raoul wanted to seek out his friend, he felt like he was choosing Gary over Cythera.  If he couldn’t marry Cythera, he certainly couldn’t have a monogamous relationship with Gary.  It was all or nothing in Raoul’s world.

 

And, apparently, in Gary’s, too.  Within a year he had announced his intention to let his father find him a bride.  They had been sitting together at lunch with the Queen and Alanna and Buri, and Gary had looked at Raoul with eyes full of questions.  And while Thayet and Alanna scoffed at the notion of nobles not choosing their own spouses, and Buri had scoffed at the notion of people wanting to get married at all, Raoul had merely nodded at his friend and said softly, “Good luck with that.”

 

On to Chapter 5