On with the tale.
And Sometimes Cay's Not There (To Save Me) part one
Kieran frowned at the book on the table before him. Three weeks it had taken him to find the tome, an archaic codex of cantrips, and it wasn't in any language he could identify. The boy's brow furrowed, moon-pale skin glowing in the golden candlelight of one of the University's many libraries. He lifted one small hand to push hair out of his face, the thick, black velvet curtain falling over his shoulder and revealing large, dark-as-night and fathomless eyes. Those eyes gazed down at the book determinedly, the boy's face set. He looked to be barely ten; Kieran was tiny for his age. At thirteen, he was four feet and six inches tall, and slender as a willow reed. He was beautiful and wide-eyed, easily recognizable as Yuka's son. He was nestled into a chair far too large for him in an almost-deserted library, a stack of books that weighed easily twice what he did scattered across the table before him. The leather bound book under his nose challeneged him, its words nothing but gibberish.
Kieran was up to the challenge, though, whispering under his breath and trailing his fingers delicately over the page. Suddenly those foreign letters twisted and reformed into easily-read Common. The boy smiled triumphantly and bent his head, flipping to the beginning and starting to read the book right through, eyes speeding over the parchment at unbelievable speeds.
Three teenaged boys watched with sneers on their faces, features contorted by jealousy. The eldest, an almost handsome boy with close-cropped golden hair who had to be at -least- seventeen, was Jon of Matabor, a known bully. He stepped up behind Kieran, his two cronies following at his heels. They were Tarans of Montirs and Ralon of Arcbridge. They flanked the blonde, two tall, dark haired boys who looked to be related. All three wore the dark blue sash that indicated they were of a journeyman level. Jon smirked, laying a hand on Kieran's shoulder and leaning over to hiss nastily in the boy's ear.
"How about showing us how you cheat, little girl?" Jon taunted. Kieran jumped, taken completely by surprise, and wriggled out of the older boy's grip, twisting in his chair and putting his back to the edge of the table. This was definitely not a good situation, Kieran realized. There was no one here but them and he, and anyone else arriving was highly unlikely. This wasn't the first time people had picked on him because his aptitude for spells was nothing short of unusual, and he well knew it wouldn't be the last. Usually, he managed to avoid trouble well enough, but this time it had found him.
He was trapped by the table and the chair, the three bullies looming -much- larger than he right before him. The door was behind them, all the way on the other end of the room, and Kieran knew that though he was quick, he wasn't quick enough. His wit would have to do. He steeled himself, fixing Jon with a fearless black gaze as he lifted his chin.
"I don't cheat," Kieran said softly, shoulders set. The bullies laughed at him, Tarans reaching out to shove his shoulder and knock him backward into a sprawl over the table. Kieran yelped and tumbled back, spine impacting painfully with the edge of the oaken table, and pulled himself up to sit on the edge of it, glaring at Jon and his friends fiercely. He thought he might be able to roll back over the table and make a break for it, but if it didn't work, he knew there was little to no chance of his outfighting them; though he wasn't bad, he wasn't noticeable, and his quarterstaff was far away. He bit his lip, starting to get a little bit worried. Times like these were when he missed Caden. Well, he always missed Caden, but this brought to mind the look on his brother's face when he was knocking the crap out of bullies.
Thoughts of Caden resolved Kieran's will, and the boy clenched his jaw. Jon pushed the chair out of the way, stepping closer to the table and pinning Kieran between the oak and his own much larger and more muscular body. Kieran stopped himself just before he would have made some frightened noise and set his mind to finding a spell instead. What would get these jerks way from him? His mind flipped back to the codex he'd just read through... that spell was perfect. But could he make it work after only reading it once? He'd find out very soon, he supposed, murmuring something under his breath and flicking his fingers in Jon's face.
A ball of sparkling black appeared where Kieran's fingers had just been, pulsing in the air. Jon's cronies seemed somewhat anxious at this, and took several steps back. Jon himself was fearless and smirked cruelly, pressing one hand to Kieran's collar and winding manicured fingers in his tunic as he shoved him forcefully, making him fall backward over the table. Kieran's head hit the wood with a loud crack, his world exploding in a flash of red, his head screaming with pain.
The black ball he'd conjured wavered and expanded rapidly as the boy lost his concentration, the magic set loose. The bullies tries to run, but were too slow; the orb exploded with a deafening crack and blasted over all four of the boys, pushing Kieran into the table and sending Jon and his cronies flying into a bookcase.
If Kieran had been thinking straight enough after that knock to the head to analyze the situation, he'd have wondered what the malfunctioning spell did. As it was, he merely stared at the ceiling, amazed by the colors. Jon was in a crumpled heap in a pile of books, out cold, and the other two staggered to their feet and ran, barely remembering to drag Jon's limp form with them.
Kieran lay on the oak table for a very long time, unaware of how much time was passing, unaware of the spreading wetness under the back of his head. He couldn't get the energy to move, and he didn't really want to. All he wanted to do was sleep. He gave in to that urge quickly enough, having slept in libraries often enough for his barely-functioning mind to not find it suspicious, even on a table. Black eyes fluttered shut and Kieran slipped away, giving into the encroaching blackness of a unconsciousness.
***
When Kieran awoke, unfamiliar voices colored his thoughts. Two belonged to young people, one definitely male, the other so young as to be debatable. An older voice was heard in the background scolding someone for not taking proper safety precautions in the alchemical labs. This must be the infirmary, then, Kieran supposed. But what was he doing here? He'd been having a nice nap in the library...
That triggered a line of memory that let him realize most of what had happened. He tried to move, one hand lifting and twitching as it stretched toward the back of his head. His skull felt mashed, but whole, and he blinked fuzzily, the world coming into shaky focus above him. The infirmary was mostly white and shapeless, not to mention clean.
"He's awake!" the child's voice, which Kieran decided had to be female for one reason or another, declared delightedly. A face leaned into his vision, bright green eyes and tightly curled light brown locks of hair tumbling over sharply pointed ears. "What happened to you, anyway? Half the library was trashed."
The other voice sighed. "Anna, let him be. He's hurt, and chances are, he wouldn't know what to tell you anyway." Kieran turned toward that voice and blinked again, bringing into sharp relief the rugged features of a boy several years his senior. Pale blue eyes and short brown hair the same color as the girl's were part of the unfamiliar face, and Kieran frowned. Who were these people? What had happened with the spell? What had happened to Jon and his little friends? There were dozens more questions he didn't have answers to, and being scrutinized by these two other kids was starting to become somewhat embarrasing.
He was distracted from blushing by the girl's hand resting lightly on his shoulder. "Ignore Patrick. He has little to no sense of humor and a propensity for being over-serious." Her grin was warm and infectious, and Kieran couldn't help but nod slightly in return, put somewhat at ease.
"That's not true," Patrick said reasonably, sounding far too down-to-earth. "I just have to be this way to balance you, she who considers seriousness a crime." The young man's tone was amused, and as Kieran looked more closely at Anna, he realized that she looked younger than he was, and that she and Patrick did look noticeably alike. Both their ears were those of an elf, the sculpted bones of their faces revealing their unhuman heritage.
Kieran tried to speak, but his mouth was dry and his head was starting to throb in a nice, even fashion. He tried again, undaunted. "Wh-what happened?" he croaked.
"We were kinda hoping you could tell us that," said Anna, green eyes wide as she looked down at Kieran. "You mean you don't know?" Kieran winced. Finding out exact details meant reproducing the effects of that spell, which would be virtually impossible. Not that he particularly wanted to repeat those circumstances, but still.
"I was trying to... to use the sparkle spell I found, but then Jo- then I lost my concentration and it went haywire. I'm not too sure about what happened after that," Kieran admitted sheepishly.
Patrick eyed the boy laying in the bed evenly. "How did you lose your concentration?" he asked in a deceptively idle tone.
Kieran looked away. "I hit my head," he said softly. True enough, it was, but he thought that for how much it had hurt at first, it would hurt more now. He was in the infirmary, after all; perhaps he'd been healed some. He could hear Anna's voice too quietly to make out what she was saying, and then Patrick was standing at the side of the bed he was in, holding a mug of steaming tea in one hand.
"Jon of Marabor, Ralon of Arcbridge, and Tarans of Montirs were reported here several hours ago," the older boy said mildly. "And all showed signs of some sort of abrasion and pressure damage."
Kieran swallowed, trying not to look guilty and knowing he was failing miserably. "Oh."
Patrick handed him the tea, sitting down in a rickety chair next to the bed. "They said you did it," he offered bluntly. Kieran's eyes widened and the boy's mouth moved in wordless protest. It had been an accident, and he'd only been trying to get away in the first place! But all he could manage was a squeaked, "N-no!" that didn't do anything to convince Patrick.
Luckily, Kieran was saved from having to explain the whole, incredibly embarrasing situation to a stranger by the approach of one of the healers. It was a tall, handsome elf with the brown hair of both Anna and Patrick. His ears were pointed sharply, sapphire blue eyes regarding Kieran thoughtfully. "It's wonderful to see that you're feeling better, Kieran. However, you still need to rest. Anna, Patrick?" The young elves nodded and followed their father out of the small space, leaving Kieran to himself, the tolerable pain in his head, and the increasingly lovely-sounding desire to sleep. He set the cup of tea aside, untouched, and shifted, burying his face in the overly-clean smelling pillow.
He was deep in dream-land minutes later.
***
Kieran's eyes fluttered open, revealing the clean whiteness of the infirmary. He was a bit less groggy than he had been before, still lying in that same bed. It took him a moment to realize that Calliope's concerned face was peering over him.
"Are you feeling better? I was supposed to keep an eye on you, make sure you didn't get into any trouble, and here you are, bloody and bruised. Your sibs'll have my head."
Kieran managed a smile. It was good to see his cousin, who had indeed been sticking close to him in the year he'd been at the University. Calli was a year older than he, a friendly girl with gray-green eyes, wavy dark hair past her shoulders, and a prodigal aptitude for music.
"A little," Kieran said softly. He tried to sit up and found that he had regained mobility and was only slightly dizzy. Calliope moved to help him, stuffing a pillow behind his back and patting his shoulder comfortingly. Kieran looked around, wondering, but neither the healer nor his children were anywhere to be seen. A good thing and a bad thing - the former because he wasn't really a fan of strangers and being the center of attention, even when injured, and the latter because they'd been quite interesting, and Kieran was always investigating anything remotely intruiging.
Something else occurred to him then, a thought he knew he'd had before and still hadn't found the answer to. Why had his spell gone wrong? Well, he figured he knew -why-, but what exactly had happened? Jon and his cronies had been injured. He had, as well, but the spell didn't seem to have dealt him any damagae. The oak table to the head had been more than enough.
Calliope interrupted his thoughts by perching on the edge of the bed next to him. "Head still hurt?" she inquired, offering him a cup of tea.
Kieran took it and sipped slowly. "Not really," he told her. In his opinion, it wasn't a lie. It didn't hurt that much, but he was still aware of an underlying ache in the back of his neck. Curous, he raised a hand to his head. Slender fingers encountered a bandage, and Kieran frowned, setting aside the cup of tea to investigate the bump on his head with both hands. Why was it wrapped?
"Don't, you'll open it again," Calliope scolded, tugging his hands away.
Kieran's eyes widened. "Open? What do you mean, open?" She'd said something about bloody a moment ago, but he hadn't exactly been paying complete attention. He didn't think it had been bad enough to warrant blood or bandages.
Calliope rolled her eyes. "You split your skull, Kieran," she explained, voice taking on a somewhat patronizing tone. "When they found you, you'd stained part of the table and a book or two a nice shade of reddish brown."
Kieran bit his lip, looking up at Calliope worriedly. He hadn't thought it was that bad. Now he'd wrecked the table, gotten hurt, and probably - aw, hell, he'd probably bled all over the cantrip codex too. He didn't know how much it would cost to replace everything, but chances were it was a lot more money than he had. Would Daddy and 'tousan be mad? He hoped not. He kind of hoped that they wouldn't find out about -any- of this, but that was unlikely. A nice dream, but only that - a dream. What if they found out and wanted him to come home? 'Tousan would no doubt be concerned for him, and want to bring him straight back to Stonesbreach. The thought made a cold lump of dread settle in his stomach. He should have just let them knock him around and then run. He didn't want to leave here, as hard as it was to deal with so many people. The books were more than worth tolerating people paying attention to him.
"I didn't mean to," Kieran whispered, looking down.
Calliope sighed, exasperated. "Kieran, you dolt, -nobody- means to crack their skull. How did you manage to do it, anyway? Was it your spell?"
Kieran winced and twirled a strand of hair, stiff with dried blood, around one finger. "Um.... y-yes."
"Kieran, a blind deaf man could tell you're lying," Calli said dryly. "Now tell me what happened."
"I... I was reading the cantrip codex and I wanted to try one of the spells. It didn't quite work," Kieran mumbled, eyes on his hands.
Callipe regarded him evenly, unfooled. "Kieran, spells don't 'not quite work' for you."
"It didn't!" the boy protested, giving Calliope an earnest look. She frowned thoughtfully. The look on her cousin's face insured that he wasn't lying. Time to fight dirty.
"Please, Kieran. I know you're not telling me everything. I want to help," Calliope said softly, pleading gray-green eyes entreating him pitifully. No man was immune to those eyes, and Kieran was no exception. He bit his lip, looking down.
"But..."
"Please?" Calliope's voice was beguilingly begging. Kieran sighed, giving in.
"I lost my concentration," he admitted.
Calliope knew she'd have to drag it out of him bit by bit. "How?"
"My head hit the table," Kieran said, sounding like a guilty child. He -was- a child, but no guilt was his this time. He merely had vindictive little bugger of a conscience.
Calliope frowned, befuddled. Sometimes wheedling a story out of Kieran was near impossible. "Okay, you've got me there. How did you manage to hit your head on the table? Did you fall? Did somebody trip you?"
Kieran said nothing, chewing at his lip. That gave it away more than anything else.
"Let me rephrase that," Calliope said calmly. "-Who- hit your head on the table?" In the year Kieran had been here at Silverymoon University, he and Calliope had gotten to know each other relatively well. As a result of that association, she was aware that there were people who saw the tiny boy as a good target for bullying. She also knew that he got bullied quite a bit, though it had taken her a good three days to pry that out of him.
The wince that creased Kieran's face was testimony, and he well knew it. "Jon," he murmured, eyes locked onto his hands.
"Literally?" Calliope inquired, one eybrow lifting above the other.
"...Yes."
Calliope nodded. Jon of Marabor was well known for his dislike of anyone smarter than he (which included most of the population of Silverymoon University) and tended to pick on anyone smaller than he. This meant that little Kieran was prime target practice. That, combined with the fact that Jon and a couple of his friends had gotten mysteriously injured twp nights before, the night they'd found Kieran in the library, told Calli that she should have been thinking harder. Usually, she didn't miss anything as obvious as this. Then again, the melody of her newest composition had been nagging for attention for weeks, always at the worst possible moment. She'd been very distracted recently.
She noticed something then, and smiled brightly at Kieran. "So you lost your concentration when Jon hit your head on the table?" she said clearly.
Kieran nodded. "Yes. And then the spell flared and... I'm not sure what exactly happened. Jon and his friends went flying and I think that was about when I passed out."
"Who were his friends?" Calli asked curiously, tilting her head.
"Ralon and Tarans," Kieran said, running a hand through his hair. He nearly jumped off the bed as a strange voice came from behind him. "Thank you, Calliope." It was a masculine voice, smooth and deep. Formidable, but not frightening. "It would have been near impossible indeed to entice that from him without your help." Kieran twisted in surprise, knocking the cup of tea onto the floor. He didn't notice it fall, barely having time to glare fiercely at Calli before looking up at the professor behind him.
It was a tall, older man with solid gray hair, not much of which remained, and equally gray eyes. Kieran had seen him around, but had no idea; however, the flute tucked in his belt and the scarlet insignia on his tunic said he was a bard, which explained why Calliope knew him.
"Professor, please... I... I... I was lying!" Kieran stammered. Anything to keep from pissing off Jon and his friends. They'd gladly venge on him for tattling.
"Oh, that's a load of crap," Calliope said cheerfully. "You're a horrible liar."
"Calli!" Kieran hissed. "If they know I've told, which they undoubtedly will now, they'll just do it again. With more friends. And next time I probably won't get lucky."
"Firstly, if they get away with it, they'll just do it more. And cracking your head open sure as -hell- isn't lucky!" Calliope said darkly.
The instructor cleared his throat. Calliope looked up at him apologetically, murmuring a quick 'sorry'. She usually didn't swear, but Kieran was being SUCH a dope. The professor nodded. "That's all right, Calliope." Turning to Kieran, he smiled reassuringly. "Don't worry, young man. We'll take care of this right tidy." Kieran could only nod, the lump of dread in his gut starting to throb in sync with his head.
Calliope smiled beatifically up at the bard. "Thank you, Anesi! There's not much I can do on my own, but with your help there might be a way to stop these bullies."
Anesi nodded, smiling at her. Calli was difficult to resist. "Of course, Calliope. I'll see you in class this evening." He nodded to Kieran, then turned and left the infirmary.
Kieran had turned to glare fiercely at his cousin. "Why did you do that?" he demanded, black eyes flashing.
Calliope raised an eyebrow, undaunted by Kieran's anger. "Because it's the right thing to do. I can't just let away with people doing things like that. They could have killed you. They almost did. What happened when they pick on someone who can't defend themselves as well as you can? What happens when they really hurt somebody? Hells, they already have, look at you! And what happens when they pick on a girl and start doing things to her? What happens-"
"Alright!" Kieran yelped, holding up his hands in surrender. "Alright. I understand. Now please, stop yelling at me. My head hurts."
Calliope smiled grimly, knowing she'd won. Really, Kieran was all too easy to manipulate. "Good. Then you can help me to prevent it from happening again."
Kieran sighed. "Calli, I've got studies..." The look she gave him shut him up quickly. He knew very well that that was no excuse. He simply didn't want to make any trouble, and this was laying out the silverware and begging it in for supper. He knew he owed it to Calliope, though for what he couldn't have said. "You're lucky you're cute."
Calliope smiled brightly. "Aren't I though? We'll start tomorrow, after the healer checks you out and dismisses you."
"Tomorrow? But tomorrow's Monday, I've got illusory theory in the morning," Kieran said, frowning.
Calliope rolled her eyes. "Kieran, today is -Tuesday-, and it's almost sun-down."
Kieran stared at her in horror. "What?!? How long was I out?" he demanded.
Sighing, Calliope shook her head. "You woke up for a while yesterday, and then slept til just now. You know how being healed makes you tired."
"But I didn't think... two days?"
"Pretty much," Calliope said with a shrug.
Kieran ran a hand through his hair, biting at his lip. He'd wasted two whole days in bed when he could've been learning, could have been studying... could have been -reading-. Calliope noticed the look on her face and decided to fend off the encroaching depression. "Wasn't the healer handsome?"
Kieran blinked and stared at Calliope. "The healer?"
"Yes, the healer. The elf with the light eyes?"
"Oh! Yes, I met him, and his son and daughter as well. They were friendly enough," Kieran said, nodding.
"Yes, well, save your 'friendly enough' for later. You've got to rest more and I've got a composition to work on. And don't just sit about and mope. Get some sleep." With that, Callipe smiled at her cousin and bounced up from the bed, skipping out the door.
Kieran shook his head and tugged the pillow out from behind him, lying down again. He wanted to get out of the bed and go back to his own, perhaps read a book or two, but in spite of the fact that he'd spent the last two days asleep, he was still tired, and the moment his cheek hit the pillow, he was gone.
***
"It's not -that- bad. You're not really behind. You'll be caught up before tomorrow. I know you. You won't go to sleep until you've caught up..."
It was Calliope's voice echoing down the warmly decorated hallway as she reassured Kieran and walked him back to his room. He'd been checked out shortly before, the healer saying he was fine and could go back to his normal schedule. Kieran was glad to be released from the infirmary; the feeling of being a spectacle intensified. He was still wearing the medical-issue undyed, long tunic, hair still tangled and dirty. Now he was wandering through the apprentice's wing, headed for his tiny room. Calliope was really only escorting him, singing under her breath. Being a bardic trainee, she stayed in Foclucan's domicile wing. She was mostly there to make sure that little Kieran didn't get himself into any more trouble.
They reached the door of his room, one wooden panel with a handle in a corridor full of panels with handles. Kieran set a hand on the doorknob, murmuring something under his breath. The frame sparkled for a moment before he turned the knob, the door swinging open to reveal a room that barely had space for the bed and desk that were crammed into it, much less the incredibly large and nearly uncountable amount of books everywhere. Most of those books were in neat, orderly rows, but where Kieran had run out of space, they were a bit more cramped, stuffed together in a slightly less organized fashion, but still crammed with love. There was a small alchemical kit packed up neatly and hung on he wall above his bed, waiting until he had an opportunity to mix up poisons and work on the eternal alchemical goal of turning lead into gold.
He had very few personal belongings, most of which were the clothes that were unfortunately necessary, and those were shoved haphazardly under the bed. Usually, Kieran liked to have his living space quite organized, if crowded with his leatherbound friends, but when there were so many books, so little room, and so little -time- to spend neatening up, things got messy. Kieran liked his books. He liked his family and what he was learning, too, and he supposed Calli was tolerable, but clothes? Negligible. He didn't care what anyone thought of him and would much rather have gone happily unnoticed. He didn't want to attract the attention of anyone, male or female, old or young, just sit in his nice little corner with a nice book and Caden for a blanket. As long as his clothes were clean and fit relatively well, he was set.
Kieran's mind flickered over all of this as he stepped into the room, motioning for Calliope to enter and seat herself on the bed, whose blankets were mussed, but which was miraculously free of books. Deciding that the first order of business was a shower and bath, he knelt, rummaging under the bed and yanking out fresh, clean breeches and tunic. Calliope watched with a grin as Kieran wriggled around under the bed. The boy would be fine. He'd been fully healed, and she was certainly going to keep a close eye on him now, but he was a tough kid, and he'd be alright.
By the time Kieran writhed his way out from under the bed, clean clothes in hand, Calli was satisfied. "So you're not going to immediately dive into a book? Are you -sure- you're feeling okay?" she asked teasingly.
Giving her a mock glare, Kieran dumped the clothes on the bed, standing. "I can go over what I'd been working on in my mind while I'm cleaning, thank you very much. I don't know about you, but I don't like to walk about smelling like a dirty, bloody orc."
Calliope laughed, shaking her head. "Where'd you get that sharp tongue, Kieran? I remember you were a meek little thing when you were younger."
Kieran eyed her evenly. "I spent my entire life living with Kagami and Caden, who pretend that their sole purpose in life is to insult each other, and Corus, who likes to insult all of his little sibs equally. Does that answer your question?"
Still grinning, Calli nodded. "Sure does." Kieran rolled his eyes and turned, cracking open the tiny window so the room would air out while he was bathing, and picked up his clothes again.
"Come on, then, you can't stay here. I don't trust you with my books," he said gravely, gesturing for Calliope to precede him out the door. She snorted.
"Books? You and I both know that it'd be those alchemy toys of yours to worry about."
Kieran smiled and nodded. "Yes, but in the process of trying to burn down half of Silverymoon, you would indubitably ruin a large quantity of my books. Hence, both are dangerous," he said in a perfectly reasonable tone of voice. "So out. Please."
Chuckling, Calliope sauntered out of the room. Kieran slipped out behind her, pulling the door shut. It sealed itself with a flicker and he set off down the hall. It was a short way to the bathing rooms, and Calliope hummed to herself all the way there. Kieran padded along behind her, making little noise. He liked listening to Calli's music; there was always lots of it, and always something good to read to, and, simply put, it was beautiful. By the time they'd reached the doors of the bathhouse, Kieran felt much calmer and less desperate to try and catch up on what he didn't really need to study for in the first place.
Calliope smiled to herself as they stopped in front of the small, thick door made to keep the heat in. Bardic music was handy. "You be careful, you little dolt," she said affectionately, squeezing Kieran's shoulder.
Kieran smiled sweetly, black eyes warm. "I will," he nodded.
"You'd better. I'd don't feel like having to run from all three of your sibs at once," Calli grinned, turning away with a jaunty wave. "See you tomorrow!" With that, she skipped off down the hallway, singing just loud enough that her voice echoed back to him. She didn't care who might hear.
The smile never left Kieran's face as he shook his head and pushed open the door to the bathhouse. Shoes were not allowed inside, but he didn't like to wear them much anyway. The air was thick with steam and humidity as he stepped inside, the tiles slippery beneath the pads of his feet. The room was divided in half by a low wall; anything more was unncessary, as the air was thick with its own steam, making seeing far away difficult. Then again, the 'low wall' went to Kieran's chin, so he wasn't so sure it didn't do the job on its own. He ducked toward the men's side, pulling off the infirmary's tunic and dumping it in the proper bin. He set his clean clothes on a waiting shelf and thanked the gods that everyone else was in class right now. He'd have the place to himself for a while yet. He wasn't exactly body shy, but people tended to look and he simply didn't like being looked at, much less leched after.
Kieran was indded a pretty little thing, a willow branch of milky skin and thick black hair. He didn't have nearly as much muscle as either of his parents or any of his brothers or his sister, but what he did have was well-toned. His young body was free of scars, long expanses of moon-pale flesh unmarred and soft.
He stepped into the line of shower cubicles, ducking into the second-to-last one and turning the switch. Water came sputtering out of a pipe above his head, pouring down. At first, it was ice cold compared to the heat of the bathroom, but after a while, the lukewarm water felt incredibly good on his skin. He started scrubbing himself down, purring under the caress of the water. Even if it wasn't hot, the bath would be plenty hot enough to make up for it.
Finally, he settled down to wash his hair, rinsing blood out of the mass. Kagami liked to tease him that half his weight was really his hair, which, when it was soaking wet like this, Kieran would not have denied. It was indeed thick and long, reaching past his hips in a fall of subtly green-tinged black. He stayed there longer than was necessary, enjoying the feel of the water coursing over his body, kissing muscles that had gone unused in the last two days. A soft, sighing moan trickled from his lips, lost in the water as it splattered against the tiles.
He basked there as long as he felt like before he turned the water off, ducking out of the cubicle toward the bath itself. It was a huge marble affair sunk into the floor, magically heated, with tiled 'seats' around the edges under the water. The bath house was still deserted, and Kieran slid into the steaming water with a low groan. It felt exquisite to be cloaked in that hot, enveloping water. He sank into it until only his face stuck above the surface, the rest of his body submerged.
Purring with happiness, he slid a hand down his chest and reveled in the heat of the bath and the gentle, encompassing hold of the water. It was almost like curling into Caden's arms, warm and loved and held ever so close. Lazy imagined currents rippled over his skin, stirring his hair. His mind drifted back to the past, to a time before he'd left for school, one of many quiet nights when it had been but he and Caden.
He'd been sprawled over his bed, glasses tucked onto his nose and a book firmly in place beneath it, with Caden draped over his back, running fingers through his hair. Usually Kieran tried to tie it back to study or to read, but Caden usually wanted to play with it, and Kieran was chronically incapable of denying Caden. He had no reason to want to, either; he loved the feel of his brother's hands in his hair, smoothing, stroking. It was sensuous and lulling all at once. Kieran would have gladly laid himself out for Caden, willing to give him everything. He had, once, and the memory of that night was, to this day, still one of the most treasured recollections that Kieran had.
But that was not the memory playing in Kieran's mind right then, and as he realized that his hand had crept lower, he firmly tucked that wonderful remembrance into the back of his mind. No, this nostalgic recollection was of him reading the very first book on magic he'd ever owned, a tome on ethics and theory, with a fel simple spells, and excitedly relaying the most fascinating bits to his brother, who, while acknowledging with an interested tone, had been definitively more enchanted by Kieran's usefulness as a pillow and the softness of his black velvet mane. Kieran knew that he didn't need magic to enspell Caden; the braided fighter was already under his spell... his spell of irresistable adorability and wide dark eyes. hough Kieran would have denied to as vehemently as his father tended to, he was well aware that he was not ugly, nor an ordinary specimen of masculinity. Though he was easily as muscular as most men, he was effeminate, slender, and absolutely beautiful. He regarded this knowledge with the same attitude that he regarded the sad fact that he could not have a copy of every book ever written - with quiet, complacent acceptance.
But it worked -great- for getting Caden to do him favors and show him things.
Kieran grinned and shifted, the waters around him swirling in silent rebuke for his movement. He sat up with a soft sigh, uncaring of the cold air that bit at his skin and made his nipples harden. He was a bit more occupied than to notice such trivial things right then. He really did miss his family, especially, Caden, and vowed that as soon as he was caught up and he could pull it off, he'd go home for a visit. Daddy and 'tousan probably missed him lots, as did his siblings.
With that happy idea on the horizon, Kieran smiled brightly, the look wasted on the empty bath-house. He would sit here a bit longer, and then head straight to his room to start studying, make up for the last two days he'd missed. If he wanted to finish the term with perfect marks and go home for the break, he had a lot of work to do.... but he wasn't getting out of the tub just yet.
It did, after all, almost make him feel like Cay was there holding him.
le fin
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