Requiem for a King [MxM]

Watery Grave

They walked in silence save for Quintus' occasional singing or humming as the sun eased its way west. It wasn't until their shadows stretched twice their height that they came upon the coast again. Salt mixed with the crisp petricore on the wind. The beach was rocky and the waves lapped the rocks with their gentle ebb and flow. They followed the shore to where it sloped upward onto a giant rocky cliff that stretched out over the water like a lookout.

Quintus stood at the edge and sucked in a deep breath. "I think this is a good place to camp. Nice and high up, sheltered on one side."

Gavrael joined him and stared out at the vast expanse of sea stretching from horizon to horizon. To the west, the sun burninshed the mountains orange and glittered atop the gulf. He closed his eyes a moment, let the breeze brush his face and ruffle his hair.

It salted his tongue with the kiss of the ocean, along with something else, something bitter, dark and sinister. Ill intentions. His body suddenly felt heavy, as though he'd had a few too many. He opened his eyes to dark clouds gathering overhead and sheets of rain obscured his view. A chill soaked into his skin, and his vision swayed as though he was rocking back and forth, or being carried.

The deck of the ship formed beneath him, wooden planks slammed together by the hands of an unseen carpenter. His body trembled with every thump thump thump that echoed through his head. He squirmed in the grasp of whatever nightmare carried him, felt their shoulder dig into his gut.

"Wait," he begged, his voice a hoarse squeak. "Wait!" The nightmare carried him over to the edge of the deck. Beyond its rail the sea roiled, its waves nigh as high as the boat itself. Lightning dashed from one end of the sky to the next, illuminating sheets of rain. Gavrael fought harder, his breathing labored and his heart racing.

Please. Not like this.

The nightmare tossed him over the edge, and he fell. And fell.

And fell.

"Gav, wake up."

Gavrael jerked upright, as reality snapped into focus. The setting sun glared at him and the sea breezes whispered in his ears. No rough seas or rain. His mind registered the soreness on his buttocks and the warm wall of flesh behind him. He looked down and found two golden arms wrapped around his torso. They weren't at the edge of the cliff anymore, but on the ground some feet away. He should've been embarrassed, but the hot ember of his shame was dashed away by the somber wave of sadness.

"Maybe step away from the edge of the cliff next time?" Quintus' breath tickled his ear, and he eased his arms from around Gavrael.

The joke didn't dash away the sadness dragging Gavrael's shoulders down. He bit his knuckle to stop his tears but they came anyway, stung his eyes and dripped down his face.

"Oh shit, Gav, I didn't mean it like." Quintus said, his voice gentle. "Fuck, stop crying. I'm sorry. It was a shitty joke."

All he could manage was a stiff shake of his head. His mind was still preoccupied with the memory. The thumping, the struggling, the falling. A cloth appeared in front of his face—black with a little sun embroidered in one corner.

"Here," Quintus said. "I'll start setting up camp. Take all the time you need." He pressed the cloth into Gavrael's hand, clapped him on the shoulder and stood before wandering off to the other side of the rock outcropping.

Without Quintus' warmth, the breeze sunk into his skin and chilled him to the bone. He wrapped his arms around himself as his shoulders shook and his chest burned. Someone tried to kill him. Tossed him into the ocean like scraps of meat to a predator.

Why? What had he done that was so heinous? He raked his hands through his hair and his bracer caught the sun and flashed it across his face. It felt hot, tight, and he reached to take it off, but some deep, ingrained instinct made him hesitate. Instead, he trailed a finger along its swirling inscriptions. Another mystery to unlock.

He pressed Quintus hanky against his eyes. It smelled of sandalwood and some foreign spice. Perhaps he'd have some sage advice, words of comfort, anything to ease the heaviness in his heart.

Gavrael stood and crossed to where Quintus was anchoring one side of the tent into the stone. "The boat didn't crash," he said before Quintus could speak. "I was thrown overboard."

Quintus' eyes widened. "Someone tried to kill you. Damn. Do you know who?"

He shook his head. "Whoever is responsible for the thumping noise. I heard it again."

"That would explain why you were so terrified of it before." Quintus stomped the last stake into the stone and stood. "You should write it down."

Gavrael wrung the cloth. "Perhaps..." He cleared the gravel from his throat. "Perhaps I deserved it. What if I was a criminal? A murderer, a thief? Maybe I angered the wrong person and my wicked deeds finally caught up with me."

"I don't think so," Quintus said, eyeing him up and down. "Bad things happen to good people all the time. I won't rule out the possibility that you pissed someone off, but the someone you pissed off may be the bad person. After all, they're the one that did the murdering. Or attempted murdering, rather."

Gavrael nodded. That made sense too, but didn't calm his troubled mind. A few hours prior, he was desperate for more pieces to his elaborate puzzle, more clues to reveal the mystery of him.

Now he wished he knew less.