White Knight

[Lucan White]

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If it was my fault, I'm sorry...

Lucan pressed his tear streaked face into the warmth of his cotton lined pillow and pulled himself into the foetal position. It was there, tucked up under his navy blue quilt, and with a trembling knuckle pressed to his lips, that he allowed himself to cry. They weren't silent tears: they were body racking sobs that drew from his lungs and erupted from his mouth in a series of choked splutters. How he'd even managed to get from the kitchen to his bedroom, undress, and crawl into bed, Lucan had no idea. His memory of the intervening steps was almost as jumbled as the contents of his stomach. Not that there was much in there, mind; he'd excused himself from dinner on account of the fact he felt so sick.

It was difficult to believe that less than six hours ago, Lucan and Gregory had been strolling blithely through the streets of Napier, their biggest concern whether or not that-pair-of-jeans matched this-pair-of-shoes. Now, blanketed in the faded-pearl moonlight of his bedroom, the youngest White was plagued with worries far greater than clashing fabric colours. "Why are you being so unkind?" Lucan choked into his damp, salty fist, another tear dissolving into his pillow. He'd thought he'd known who his brother was. No, he'd been sure of it. So why did that stone cold face, those spiteful, icy blue eyes, feel like they belonged to a complete stranger?

Amongst all of this, there was another, more sinister concern brooding in the back of Lucan's head. As he'd stood outside the kitchen door, he'd unequivocally heard Keevan yell at Greg for leaving the manor without his permission. But the staff didn't need permission to leave. And what in Merlin's name did making the unbreakable vow have to do with any of this? Hard as he tried, Lucan couldn't find any correlation between the two. Perhaps the most confusing thing of all, though, was that Gregory was the gardener. Lucan felt like he'd just put together a jigsaw puzzle, only to find that the last piece had been missing all along. The worst part was, it all could have been prevented if Lucan just hadn't asked Greg to go shopping with him.

Eventually, after all of his tears had been wrung out of him, Lucan flipped to the dry side of his pillow and drifted off to sleep.</FONT>

---​

Bang, bang, bang. Lucan's head was pounding like a jack-hammer. Bang, bang. Two more reverberated through the darkness before he realised it wasn't his head. Bang, BANG!

Lucan sat up with a start. Well, he would have done, had every muscle in his body not been aching like he'd just run a marathon. In reality, he gingerly peeled himself from his sheets, which, along with every inch of his skin, were drenched in fresh sweat. Bang, bang. The pounding wasn't letting up. If anything, it was becoming more desperate.

"Luc.., get ba.. .... ..e door!"

What? Lucan couldn't hear over the sound of his own coughing. Strange. Maybe he was sick, after all. That would certainly explain the prickling heat on his forehead. What it didn't explain, though, was why the air felt so thick. Lucan reached out a hand in the darkness, fumbling for his wand, but found nothing except the hard wood of his antique bedside table. No, that wasn't his bedside table. Or at least, it hadn't been, for over twenty years.

The final jigsaw piece slotted into place. This was a night terror.

No! He didn't want to do it. He didn't want to see it. He didn't want to feel it. Lucan thrashed, flailed, screamed, but his dream body stayed incorrigibly still. None of it would make a difference. Now that the terror had started, there was no escaping its vice like clutch on his consciousness. Not until he had relived every last one of those awful memories. Every. Damn. One.

Right on cue, the door burst open, followed by a billowing of dark, black smoke. Then, Keevan's slippery hands were tugging at his wrists, his back, urging him to move. Face caked in ash and sweat, he looked nothing like the twenty year old man he was supposed to be. "Lucan, get up, get up, there's a fire," Keevan was shouting, practically dragging Lucan from his bed. "REGIUS, IN HERE!" Now that Lucan was standing, Keevan had released his grip on him and bolted to the window, searching for something to smash it with.

"I can't find Rose!"

Lucan snapped his neck to see Regius, daughters draped across his arms and chest, enter the bedroom and slam the door shut behind him. The pouring of smoke halted a little.

Keevan momentarily stopped his searching to look at his elder brother seriously, his expression twisted with agony. "Regius, we need to get out." Lucan couldn't tell if Regius's eyes were brimming with tears, or just smarting from the smoke. Finally, he nodded - probably because he was coughing too violently to argue - and joined Keevan at the window.

Please don't say it. Please don't say it. Before his dream mouth had even opened, Lucan already knew what was coming. Of course he did - he'd heard it hundreds of times before. "Where's Synnove?"

Despite the sweltering heat, the look his brothers gave him turned Lucan's blood cold. He tried desperately to shut his eyes, but his body was disobeying him. He tried screaming again, but not a sound left his parted lips. He wouldn't, couldn't go without his sister, and nothing he did was going to change a damn thing.

But he had to try.

"Don't tou-" Keevan had started, but Lucan's hand was already on the searingly hot doorknob. His arm flung back in reflex, the scalding pain in his palm as vivid and real as the night it had actually happened. Lucan cursed the worst curse a fourteen year old would know. Fortunately, Keevan had already broken the hinges, so he used several fingers of his good hand to prise open the splintering wood and belt into the hallway.

The reality hit him like a brick. The coughing was instantaneous. The heat horrendous. He had a few minutes, at best, to find and rescue Synnove. He vaguely registered Keevan yelling behind him before he was off, legs tearing down the blazing, smoke engulfed hallway with an animal instinct to get down the stairs before the groaning wood gave way beneath him. He made it, too, but not without pressing his disorientated body into the flame-licked wall once or twice for support.

Ignoring the excruciating pain in his side, and the scorch of his convulsing lungs, Lucan kicked at the crumbling basement door and shoved inside. For a second, there was a wave of relief: the air down the stone basement steps was thinner and slightly easier to breathe than it had been in the foyer. But it was still thick enough to choke him, and he was running out of time.

I DON'T WANT TO!

Knowing what he was about to see didn't make it any less painful; nor did having seen it a hundred times before. It still tore through his chest like a dagger, infinitely more agonizing than the burns on his skin or the smoke in his lungs. With the beams of the basement roof, Lucan's entire life was crashing down around him. Again.

"NO!" Lucan yelled as a pair of arms ensnared him from behind. He was kicking, screaming, tugging himself from Keevan's grip, but to no avail. Lucan's small frame was no match for his brother's adult strength. "WE CAN'T LEAVE HER!" He screamed, his throat blistering in the heat. If he was just a little bit stronger...

---​

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For Lucan, the night terror was almost over. For the residents of the White manor, it had only just begun.

 

[Keevan White]

Someone was dying. Something was on fire. No, that was ridiculous. But Keevan's body, thrumming with a sudden surge of adrenaline, lay paralysed on his twisted bedsheets as if it were true. He strained his ears to the pounding silence, unable to hear anything at all over the blood roaring through his skull. Maybe it had been a dream. Maybe it wasn't starting again. Please, for the love of Merlin say it wasn't starting agai-

There was no mistaking it that time. Lucan was screaming.

All at once, Keevan's muscles launched into action. Like a pianist's nimble fingers dancing across ivory, the motions were so well practised they were almost automatic: Sit up. Grab wand. Get out of bed. Unlike the skilled hands of a musician, though, Keevan's were trembling uncontrollably as he scampered around in the darkness. S**t. In his haste to reach the door, he'd dropped his wand, and now it rolled awkwardly under a pine dresser. Never mind. Keevan bolted, wandless, into the hallway, trying to quell his rising panic. This was all his fault.

The five meter sprint to Lucan's bedroom door could have been five miles for time it seemed to take Keevan to reach it. When he finally did, he burst in, with little regard to his brother's possible state of indecency. There was just enough moonlight filtering through the curtains to see him. Pale forehead glistening with sweat, wide eyes fixated on some invisible terror on the ceiling, Lucan could easily have been awake. But he wasn't. He was fast asleep. And the sight of him, coughing and retching on non-existent smoke, made tears brim in Keevan's eyes.

The retches turned into silent convulsions, and Keevan was at his brother's side in an instant. "All right, it's OK. I'm here, I'm here Lucan," He heard himself say, several of the tears spilling down his cheeks. God, he was pathetic. Pull yourself together! "Come on, sit up," He encouraged shakily, leaning forward to wrestle his brother's shoulders upright and wrap him in the warmth of his arms. What was going on? Why wasn't Lucan making any noise? It took him two more seconds to realise what was happening. "S**t," Keevan cursed, pulling one arm away to feel blindly under Lucan's pillow. "Lucan, Lucan where's your wand?" he asked frantically, as if his brother might somehow have been able to hear him. No, no, no...

 

[Gregory White]

Gregory refused to look at the time again. Despite the events of the previous day (for it was certainly early morning by now), he still had to get up and work. There was nothing left to do except work in this place, until Keevan decided what his fate was. He'd never had such bags under his eyes 'til today, and the skin of his cheeks were mottled with broken blood vessels from the almost violent crying he'd done since the late hours. Greg had missed dinner and the thought of breakfast in another fives hours was making his stomach turn.
He watched dust motes and hallucinations dance in his vision. The eldest Yearling wasn't frightened by them; he knew it was the lack of sleep and food that was making the twilit bedroom swim before him. All was well until the screaming started, and at first he did not respond because he thought that they, too, were a hallucination. Gregory's pointed ears flicked in time with the hoarse yells, until he realised that there was a direction to the sounds.
"Merlin!" gasped Greg almost ripping his sheets in an attempt to untangle himself. That was Lucan, and he was one floor above him! Stumbling out of bed, the part goblin stuffed his wand into his pyjama bottoms and hurried out the door. Other footsteps thumped from the ceiling above and he almost stopped. What if it was Keevan? Now was not the time for cowardice, for Lucan's screams were agonized shot with coughing. Gregory broke into a run, up the carpeted stairs and down the hallway, all the while swinging his head this way and that to find the room where he, a servant, had never been.
There. The youngest White's door was half open, already, and hesitation made him slow and pause at the doorway.
"Lucan, Lucan where's your wand?"
"Keevan?" said Greg uncertainly. His name felt like ash in his mouth. He'd never said it without anger before. Greg clutched at the door frame briefly before plunging inside, to a room full of nightmares. It was nothing like he'd ever seen before from either brother.
Keevan was crying, openly weeping as he cradled the limp body of Lucan White in his arms. His hand was under the pillow, scrambling, and Greg turned his focus onto the youngest who was not moving. Not breathing, he thought, and he surged forward without a thought, wand out and ready. Keevan had Lucan tight against him, and Greg had to wrest his arms off before he could sit the other man up. His knees were on the bed and the gardener dragged Lucan upright, his head flopping back grotesquely.
"Anapneo," said Greg firmly, touching his wand carefully to the smaller man's neck. It was amazing how clear and awake he felt, now. A older brother and a godfather for over ten years, Gregory had faced panic and injury before, and his hands were steady as all manner of vileness left Lucan's throat. His shirt was ruined by it but he ignored it.
"Help me get him on his side," he said to Keevan, and he did not even blink when their hands touched to roll Lucan. Settling the curly head flat onto the mattress, Gregory felt his cheek briefly before meeting Keevan's eyes. It was like looking at a person he'd never seen before. He didn't even recoil instinctively in fear. This ... this was just a man, lost and terrified. Greg couldn't look away, but he could still speak.
"What on Earth?" said Greg, completely inadequately.​

 

[Keevan White]

"Keevan?"

There was no anger. There was no pride. There was just a pleading, helplessness in Keevan's eyes as he lifted his head to Gregory's gaze. "Please," He started to beg through his tears, but the gardener was already on the bed, pulling him from Lucan's body. Keevan didn't object. He only watched as the man who had so-called 'betrayed' him lifted a wand to his little brother's throat. Gratitude didn't cut it. The enormous relief he felt as Lucan's airway was cleared was so overwhelming that he almost broke down all over again. No, it wasn't over. Lucan was no longer choking, but he was gasping between long, drawn out sobs, his entire body trembling with fear.

Keevan wasn't faring much better himself. The smell of vomit clung to the inside of his nose. He hadn't flinched at it; his brother had coughed himself into vomiting on many occasions. But this time, Keevan was racked with a sickening guilt which threatened climb up his oesophagus and spill out of his mouth. This was his fault. He'd stressed Lucan out. How could he have been so insensitive as to shout at him? And Greg, too.. Keevan pulled himself together for long enough to help roll Lucan onto his side, and then stroke a hand across his shoulder. It wasn't good enough. He didn't like it, watching his defenceless brother cry and writhe in front of him. He wanted to wrap him back up in his arms, where he belonged.

Keevan looked up through damp eyes to meet Gregory's, but couldn't hold his gaze. His eyelids squeezed shut, releasing another tear. What had he done? Not only had his selfishness hurt Lucan, but it had hurt Gregory, too. A man who, without hesitation, had rushed to his brother's aid. A man with real, fragile emotions and feelings. And all Keevan had done was yell.

"He's having a night terror," Keevan said at last, over the sound of Lucan's whimpers. Every now and then, they intensified into wails, at which Keevan's face screwed up in agony. "He's got.. Post traumatic stress disorder. From something that happened when we were kids." He couldn't continue. Not yet. Not until the constricting pain in his throat had subsided. Until then, he squeezed his brother's arm and tried not to cry.

 

[Gregory White]

Gregory couldn't look when another tear fell from Keevan's eyes. Oh, how the mighty have fallen, thought Greg without bitterness. He felt only sadness, uncertainty and an overwhelming confusion. Keevan looked frightened, but he did not look surprised. What was going on in this household?
His wand was still clenched in his fist, and he relaxed his grip enough to cast it over Lucan, the sheets, his shirt and also Keevan. Gregory muttered a number of spells, all of which were mostly to the same endeavour; cleaning up the area and bringing in a fresher scent. They, at least, could breathe easier even though Lucan was still huffing with tears.
"Post traumatic stress disorder," repeated Greg, frowning down at the individual tossing and turning against his knees. That thrashing would not do. Keevan seemed afraid to reach out again, which was likely his fault, and his heart hurt just looking at the younger man. He did not hesitate to slip his arms under Lucan's shoulders and pull him carefully upright to lean against him, wrapping his arms around the slightly smaller frame. It was just like holding Artemis except she had never shuddered like this before. When Lucan threw his body around, Greg was like a rock, unmovable against his movements but soft as a lamb.
"Shhhh," he muttered to the youngest White, cradling his head. "Keevan, what's posh traumatic ... sorry, no," he frowned again. "Post, traumatic ... Sorry. What is it? I don't understand. I understand night terrors, though."​

 

[Keevan White]

Of all the emotions Keevan had expected to feel, jealousy had not been among them. But there was an unmistakable pang of envy in his heart as Gregory took hold of Lucan and embraced him. That was his job. Then, just as quickly as it had appeared, it was replaced with yet another confusing feeling - relief. Maybe.. Maybe it wasn't so bad, after all, to have someone else there to help him comfort his brother. For the first time in twenty years, it wasn't all down to Keevan. For the first time in twenty years.. Well, he wasn't alone.

Keevan craned his neck to press his cheek into his shoulder. When he pulled it away, it left a damp patch on the blue, cotton fabric. He couldn't believe he was crying. No, he couldn't believe he wasn't yelling at Gregory for being a witness to it. Merlin, it was so tiring always having to shout. Always having to be the one nobody dared to cross. But that was who Keevan White was; it was all he'd ever known.

"It's-" Keevan paused between Lucan's strangled cries, swallowing thickly. "-It's an anxiety disorder. Oh, God." His face crumpled, and he buried it quickly in his hands. How was he supposed to explain? He barely understood it himself. Eventually, he dropped his palms to his lap and began again, trying a different approach. "When I was twenty - Lucan was fourteen - our house burned down in a fire." He stopped to draw a deep breath and then sigh it out again. "Our sister, Synnove, used to sleep in the basement where it was warmer. She was deaf, so she didn't wake up or something. I don't know. I don't know how it happened. But Lucan ran downstairs where the fire was to try and get her out. I followed him, but by the time we got down there, the basement roof had starting collapsing. It.. It was horrible, what we saw. There was nothing we could have done. If we'd tried, we probably would've gotten ourselves killed." Keevan didn't know if anything he was saying made sense. To him, it had come out a jumbled mess, filled with holes and missing pieces he either couldn't remember, or just didn't want to.

"I had to pull him away. I didn't have a choice.." Keevan stopped, because he was getting sidetracked. Besides, it was clear he was only trying to justify his actions to himself. "Our parents died, too. So did Regius's wife. I took custody of Lucan, 'cause he was still just a kid. Then he started getting night terrors, panic attacks, flashbacks.." He trailed off, because there was little else left to say, and then satisfied his yearning for Lucan's contact by resting a hand on his leg.

 

[Gregory White]

Gregory listened to Keevan's story with a growing horror. All three men were crying, now; Lucan loudly and without conscious thought, and Gregory quietly, into the shoulder of the man whose life he had never really known. Lucan's troubles made horrifying sense, but it was Keevan's sacrifices that were beginning to dawn on the gardener. It was a long moment before he could compose himself, but when he did, he reached out and took the hand that was resting on Lucan's leg. His own trembled when he squeezed it and Greg had to master himself before meeting Keevan's eyes.
"I am so sorry," he said, and there was nothing simple about that sentence.

He was sorry for the terrible events of their past. He was sorry that Lucan suffered so. He was sorry that he hadn't gotten to meet their parents, and sorry that he'd known nothing of Regius' losses as well. He gripped the hand that he held like a lifeline, interlacing the fingers and sharing a more intimate contact than he'd felt for years. Had Gregory believed in muggle gods, he would have prayed.

Most of all, he was sorry for misunderstanding Keevan.

There was nothing simple about the other man, either. Their interactions had been filled with fear, uncertainty and hideous anger that poisoned their thoughts. The horrifying coincidences that brought them together had also skewed their views, seeing each other only as the villain in their story. Keevan could not, would not understand Gregory's pain, and Gregory didn't know that Keevan had any to bear. The tragedy of his life struck him deeply and personally. Did he not have a confidante? How could he have no one better to share this with than his gardener?
It was time to admit to himself that Greg was far more than an employee, in this household. Whatever he was, he knew more than any stranger had dared to know. He felt their pain like it was his own. Whoever Keevan really was, Greg knew nothing about it. This had to change. The most pressing issue was, of course, Lucan's night terrors, of which Greg had never heard the like. He felt so helpless. He could save a life, but not a mind.
Gregory did not let go of Keevan's hand as he began to sing, his voice trembling in the first verses but growing smoother and calmer. He'd never been shy with his voice, and he sung often for his godchildren and sisters, when they were younger. It was all he had to offer, and he gave it gladly. They rocked, he and Lucan, and he did not stop for all that Lucan's cries tried to drown him out.​

The Lullaby​

 

[Keevan White]

Keevan winced at the sight of Gregory's tears, and at the touch of his hand. He didn't squeeze his fingers back, but he didn't pull away either, for the gesture was oddly comforting. Nobody had done that since he was ten years old.

"Me too," said Keevan, and he meant it.

Now that his story was over, the men seemed somewhat lost for words. In truth, there were hundreds of things Keevan could think of saying, but none of them seemed even remotely adequate. He'd omitted plenty of details from his past: Regius's depression, juggling two jobs whilst single handedly taking care of both of his brothers, and staying awake night after night to bring even the slightest bit of comfort to Lucan. No, he hadn't mentioned any of that. Because really, he wasn't a hero. He was just a man who had failed in his duty to protect his family from pain. That was it. He didn't want a medal, or recognition, or sympathy from Gregory. He just wanted to make his brothers happy again.

He was failing now, too; terrifically so. In his efforts to put things right, all Keevan had done was confuse his brothers and put Gregory in harm's way. Gregory.. Had any part of their unfortunate predicament really been the gardener's fault? Keevan had been quick to place the blame, but hadn't stopped to think through the consequences of his own actions. Greg wasn't even a 'spy'. He was the son of a doctor, who cared about the welfare of his patients. Don't shoot the messenger...

At last, Keevan summoned the courage to squeeze the hand in his, and he did so until every last drop of remorse had been channelled into Greg's fingertips. He probably couldn't feel it. But Keevan knew it was there, and so he kept squeezing like his life depended on it.

Keevan was sure he gasped when Gregory started to sing, but the sound was lost under Lucan's frightened bleating. The youngest White had stopped thrashing and closed his eyes, now, but continued to wail for his sister. Every sound in the room tore a hole through Keevan's heart. Then, like a child, he shifted on the bed until he could lean into Lucan's chest and cry. He didn't care that his shoulder was pressed against Greg's arm. He was exhausted. The kind of exhausted that could only be drawn from a man who knew that his brother's pain was only just beginning again. And there was nothing he could do about it.

 

[Gregory White]

Gregory sang until his voice was nothing but a whisper, and all the sound in the room was gone except for the breathing of three lost people. Still they held each other, the most downtrodden of them all being cradled between the other two, and Greg finally won his fight for sleep.

Later, he could not bring himself to regret getting up to see Lucan, despite how it had drained the last of his emotional energy. At that moment he could not process the sudden change of opinions and firm beliefs that he'd held. Greg was just as lost as the other two, but for different reasons. In the morning he would consider those reasons, but right now there was nothing but a watery haze to the world, then nothing.​

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---

He awoke sleeping diagonally across Lucan's bed, with the owner of said bed curled up in the quarter closest to the wall. He'd fallen asleep holding him, but now his arm was flung carelessly over the chest of his bosses' brother.

Greg blinked feebly in the sunlight. The plaster of the ceiling seemed familiar enough, but his bedroom was filled with unfamiliar scents. He shifted, struggling to slip under the covers again that he'd supposedly gotten out of that night, but the chill on his arms told him that he'd never been under them in the first place. Another body stirred, and Gregory froze in his wriggling. Carefully, as though the other person was some sort of predator, Greg turned his head to look. Lucan?! Merlin's knickers, where was he?

Gregory crept upright, trying not to disturb his unexpected bed mate. When he looked around, nothing in the room seemed familiar except the style of bed, which meant that he was in the youngest White's room. When he failed to recollect exactly why he'd been there in the first place, Greg lost his nerve and bolted for the door. Two minutes later he stood, huffing, leaning back against at the door to Keevan White's office.

The reason he was outside his boss's door in his pyjamas neglected to reveal itself, but memories returned to Greg in dribs and drabs. He hadn't slept for most of the night and he'd heard a disturbance upstairs, so he'd gone to investigate. Wherever he'd gone, Keevan had been there, because he remembered his voice telling him a very sad story. What had he told him? Wracking his brains and still very sleep-deprived, Gregory was not at all prepared for the office door to open and send him careering back into a much taller body.​

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[Keevan White]

"So I was just thinking, if we could stretch the food budget a little further to accommodate-"

"McKinley," Keevan addressed the cook sharply, but quietly. McKinley, whom over the past few weeks had become astute to his boss's irritated tones, closed his mouth immediately and braced himself for the impending storm. The storm which, in actual fact, wasn't coming. Worn to exhaustion by the previous night's affairs, Keevan simply buried his face in his palms and sighed a heavy sigh. "I'll have it sorted by next week," He said through his fingers, only lowering his hands back down to his sides when the cook had taken his leave. Great. Yet another financial concern to add to his rapidly growing mountain of disorder. When was he going to get a moment's peace to think about his own troubles?

With McKinley gone, a precious silence fell over Keevan's office. He closed his eyes, leaning back in the large, stately leather chair, which gave a loud groan beneath his weight. If his estimations were correct, it was nudging eight in the morning. Gregory would be awake, soon, shortly followed by Lucan, and the mere thought of seeing either of them made Keevan's stomach turn. Lucan would likely (and quite fortunately) have little to no recollection of the night's events. But Greg? Greg was certain to have at least some memory, given that he had fallen asleep in the youngest White's bed. Not even sleep deprivation could stop the gardener from noticing something dodgy about that.

If he'd had the energy, Keevan would have balled his hands into fists. He should have used Obliviate. No, what was he thinking? That was preposterous! Not to mention downright dangerous. Besides... Did he really want Gregory to forget? Despite himself, Keevan couldn't help but feel a little-

Thump.

At once, Keevan's eyes opened and began searching for the source of the noise. His first thought was that Lucan had awoken and was unwell, and he gave it no more scrutiny before jumping to his feet and bolting for the door. His body tensed in preparation to catch whoever it was who had slumped against the wood, but he was in no way prepared to find his hands clutching at the shoulders of his gardener. "Greg?" Keevan half questioned, half exclaimed, removing his hands and stepping back just as soon as he realised the body against his torso was conscious. "What are you doing here?" He asked without his usual rancour, clasping his hands behind his back to conceal the fact they were shaking. Damnit! What was he so afraid of?

 

[Gregory White]

Gregory gasped quite unmanfully as he careened backwards into a firm body. He almost tripped forward in his haste to stand upright, and the feeling of Keevan's hands on his shoulders made the skin under his pyjama shirt burn uncomfortably. Gathering himself, the goblin blooded gardener turned to face his employer, blushing under his tan and straightening himself up.
"Sorry!" said Greg automatically. You twit, he told himself. "It's early, I know. I just ... something strange happened last night, and I was wondering whether you might shed some light on it?"

Something very strange had happened, and it was taking him time to gather his thoughts enough to articulate them. Perhaps if Keevan hadn't opened the door, he might have stayed leaning against it for some minutes, puzzling out the evening then coming to a satisfying conclusion. Now he was more flustered than ever, and prone to indelicacy.

He and Keevan stared at each other in silence while Gregory stumbled over how to begin.
"So ... So last night I recall being woken by a noise, but I can't remember what that noise was." he started, unconsciously worrying his bottom lip in confusion. "I must have gotten up to it, because I found myself in someone else's room." He decided it was best to keep it simple, without unnecessary details until he figured out whether Keevan actually had been present or not.
"I was in Lucan's room," said Greg slowly, racked with confusion. "I was so tired, I just can't remember ... Were you there?". His stomach was rolling with nerves he couldn't readily justify. Keevan's stance was likely putting him off, too. Greg did not consider any potential misinterpretations of his story. He was the sort of man to mistakenly assume that others, like him, took things a face value.​

 

[Keevan White]

Keevan puffed out his chest and lifted his chin a little higher than necessary, so that the only way he could retain eye contact with Gregory was to look at him down the bridge of his nose. He would not, under any circumstances, show his fear, at whatever expense to his feelings the petty little act of defiance brought; and he would definitely not admit to himself that the man stood beneath him, with his tousled bed hair and blue-grey pyjamas, was without a doubt the most beautiful human being he had ever laid eyes on.

Swallowing his nerves, Keevan had to fight hard to stop himself from telling Gregory everything: that Lucan had had a night terror, and that the part-goblin had rushed to aid him as if he were his own. More importantly (or perhaps less, depending on the perspective of the story-teller), that Keevan had shared with him the tragic events of the White family's past - and all whilst no less than sobbing uncontrollably. They had shared a brief hand contact, too, and Keevan was sure his palm was still burning where Greg's skin had touched it. Merlin, what was he to do? The bits and pieces Gregory's story were scattered and half-missing, but now the gardener had come to a pause and was looking at Keevan expectantly for an explanation.

The middle White furrowed his brow, as if he had no recollection of the night's events. "Very enlightening, Gregory," he said as he crossed the room and began filing away documents he hadn't even looked at yet, "but perhaps in future you would be so considerate as to keep the memories of your night time misadventures with my brother to yourself." His tone was flat and unamused, and only a flicker in his piercing blue eyes showed that he was afraid. As a precaution, he turned his back on the gardener and continued his unnecessary filing.

 

[Gregory White]

In any other circumstances it would have been comical, the way Gregory's eyes widened to the size of dinner plates at Keevan's accusation. His employer turned away from him and he rushed forward as though haste would help him explain himself.
"No, no, no, you don't understand!" spluttered the gardener, taking Keevan's wrist so that he would turn around and then dropping it as if stung. He backed up a step, but continued speaking earnestly. "It's not, we've never- Please, I'm just trying to remember." This was all going catastrophically wrong. How could Keevan think that of him? Both of them had been known to leap to conclusions in regards to the other, but this was just getting ridiculous. It hurt him to imagine what Keevan must think of him, so badly in fact that Gregory was startled out of his indignation to analyse that feeling.

It mattered, what Keevan thought of him. It mattered a great deal, especially in regards to intimacy with another person. It mattered because Keevan, to him, was ... He was ...

"It's not like that," Gregory insisted again, this time approaching his employer again in his desperation to be heard. "I can't have been dreaming because I woke up there, but you must tell me if you were there, too, because I cannot remember!". Gregory was insistent, but the clincher was the fear in Keevan's eyes that disappeared so quickly that he thought he might have imagined it. The fear sparked memories, of a familiar look in the eyes of the man who had crushed his hand in his like it was a lifeline, tearful and as vulnerable as he'd ever seen before. The gardener became quiet, watching Keevan with a morbid curiosity until reality began to sink in.
"You were there," he stated. "Lucan had a nightmare." He's lying to me, thought Greg. It was as crushing a blow as Keevan had ever dealt him. Worse, in fact. "Why?" he asked brokenly.​

 

[Keevan White]

Stop talking. Stop talking. Stop talking! Something felt as if it were coiling its way around Keevan's innards: a snake, perhaps. A sudden change came over his face, and his indifference morphed into panic and dread. Gregory knew. Whatever memories had returned to him, they were unfolding at a frightfully sickening pace; and now he had recalled the true reason he had woken in the youngest White's bed. What else did he remember? Did he know about the tears, and the traumatic account of events he had relayed through them?

Keevan could mask his fear no longer. "No!" he cried, effectively confirming Gregory's suspicions at once. His anger was evident and growing by the second, but for now he was too afraid to sound genuinely furious: there was a quiver in his voice that now made it quite clear he was petrified. He looked as if he was in the throes of choosing a suitably snide retort, but, and it was not the first time the gardener had achieved this, the tall man had been reduced to silence. This absolutely wouldn't do! Gregory was not to know of his pain, nor of the feelings he had tried (and tried) to repress, but failed miserably. Suddenly he was afraid that these were not the only squashed and beaten down emotions that had reared their ugly heads the previous night. After all, if he had gone as far as to cry and admit to the pain inflicted by his past, what was to say he hadn't also confessed to.. to..

"No!" he said again, this time with a snarl to his voice. The seconds which passed whilst Keevan tried to think of something better to say than 'no' felt like years. He was staring Gregory in the face now, his eyes flashing and his heart trying to ignore the pained expression the part-goblin wore. "Y.. you were dreaming!" he tried. "Sleepwalking! Or m.. maybe Lucan did have a night terror, I don't know. But I wasn't there!" he stammered, gesticulating his adamance in the air. But he was panting, and wearing his terror on his face like it was going out of fashion. Then there was silence, save for Keevan's wheezing breath, and he stood defeated, fists dropped to his sides. His final sentence was simple. "What do you want from me?"

 

[Gregory White]

"Don't lie to me!" yelled Greg, balling his fists up. Why, why, why, why, why?! He wanted to take Keevan by the shoulders and shake the truth out of him. He was scrambling worse than Greg had when he'd been caught snooping around the Manor, and it was both unbecoming and devastatingly hurtful. Keevan asked him what he wanted, and he could only gape, appalled by the naivety of the statement.

"W-What do you mean?" said Gregory in a fragile voice, the volume of his voice dropping to just above a whisper. "I just wanted to remember. I didn't want to humiliate you. Why? I don't understand, why ..."
Gregory petered off into silence, the only noise in the room being their mutual huffs of breath. He rubbed at his eyes, trying to press tears away that were threatening to bead up. He'd done enough crying over the past two days. When he left, he was vowing never to think of this man again.

When he left. That's what it must be about. Of course ... Keevan was trying to get him to leave. It was about time, really. He had no place at the Manor anymore. Keevan didn't have to go so far, though, he'd only to ask: but he never would. Gregory could not recall having heard Keevan White say the word 'please' to him ever before, except ... Except when Lucan was choking. Greg inhaled, finally remembering. He'd saved Lucan's life.

"You should have just told me to leave," he said, breaking the silence between them with a hoarse voice.​

 

[Keevan White]

Keevan was tired. He'd not had a wink of sleep, and a result he winced painfully at Gregory's unexpected outburst. Suddenly, the gardener was towering over him, till Keevan was two inches tall and cowering in the shadow Greg slung across the room. He stood silent and still. Fear seemed to creep up through the carpet, paralysing his legs with its icy tendrils and rooting him to the spot. There was nothing he could say, for it would have been lies, told in fear and resentment and bitterness. Too long had the middle White brother maintained his isolation; he no longer knew how to let anyone in.

Soon after this, he found himself feeling resentful again. Leave? That's ridiculous, he thought, scowling at his shoes. For as long as the men were bound by their secrets, neither of them were going anywhere; that was plain to see. An unwarranted little voice rose in the back of Keevan's head, reminding him that as the head of the house it was his responsibility to hire the vow-maker, and that any delay in the proceedings was ultimately his own doing, but he pushed that thought aside at once. There was nothing suspect about his procrastination: he simply hadn't yet found the time to owl Rodeau... had he? The snakes in Keevan's stomach were writhing again. He'd had plenty of time: three months, to be precise. Besides, how long did it take to put quill to parchment and send a letter? There were excuses, and then there were poor excuses; but this one was in a whole new league of its own.

"I know," said Keevan, his voice thick and constricted. Still he did not look up from his feet. "We should have made the vow weeks ago, and then you should have gone home." He was stating the obvious now - but why? Perhaps, though he did not care to admit it, a small part of him wanted Gregory to disagree. Or perhaps it was a very big part indeed. "But you've hardly been pressing me to get it done, have you?" he said without accusation, looking up and revealing the glimmering sheen over his eyes. He didn't know what he was saying any more. He was fed up, sleep deprived, and inclined to speak without giving it much forethought.

 

[Gregory White]

"F___ the Unbreakable Vow." he spat, accusatory but physically recoiling. "I'm going home now."

This entire situation was beyond sense to Gregory. His boss refused to look at him, and the urge to shake him intensified. Gregory was not even remotely a violent man, but he'd been pushed to his limits in the last three months, and Keevan's blatant avoidance of the real issue had caused him to swear for the first time in many, many years. He'd offered up his vulnerability last night and this morning it was being thrown in his face and stomped upon, gifted instead with lies and mistrust.

"Forget the Vow," Gregory repeated after a few deep breaths. "After what I did last night, it's painfully obvious that not even having my life on the line could get you to trust me." Merlin save him, he was tearing up again, and he was forced to scrub at his eyes again. Greg looked and felt just as worn as Keevan, and he felt empty like he had nothing left to give. Except the truth.
"Don't you see? I've only ever wanted you to be honest with me. I don't need reassurances anymore. I've seen everything," he told Keevan. "And I love you for it. I love you." Gregory dropped his hands to his side, the picture of defeat. "But it's not enough. So I'm going home."

He'd given him everything. He'd put his life in his hands, and Keevan had crushed it with the grip of a man who had no idea was trust was. Gregory hadn't been perfect; that was impossible; but he'd tried to reach out, time and time again. The man standing in front of him was broken, flawed, and utterly beautiful, and he couldn't stand to be near him a second longer. This love hurt like a dagger to the guts.​

 

[Keevan White]

No. No, no, no, no, no! "Be quiet!" yelled Keevan, but Gregory had already finished. This couldn't happen. He was being made a complete fool of. How his associates would laugh at his denouement! Keevan White! That name would be worth about as much as the mud on his shoes if this got out; and get out it would. Rumours spread like wildfire around their circle of colleagues, for there was little else to do to pass the time between meetings. It was bad enough that Gregory was a man, but he was also his gardener, for goodness' sake! Keevan would be the laughing stock of his partners for years - if they still wanted to be his partners at all.

Maybe that was Greg's plan all along. Yes, yes that was it: he'd grown bitter at Keevan's delay and now sought different means for revenge. Well, he wouldn't have his way! He stormed across the room and kicked over a metal waste paper bin as hard as he could; its contents scattered across the sea-blue carpet. Then he stood, panting. Knowing that every thought he had just had was yet another feebly constructed excuse. There would be no laughter, because his colleagues were not prejudice. There would be no rumours, for they barely spared the time to eat, let alone gossip. Most importantly, this was not some deviously crafted ploy of Gregory's: he really, truly loved him. And Keevan was beginning to realise that this love was mutual.

No! he thought again, dragging a hand down his face from his forehead to his chin. Slowly, he turned to face the man who had driven him to insanity. He was beautiful, there was no denying that. In the months he'd lived in the White manor, Keevan had witnessed his acts of selflessness - even though he'd done his damnedest to avoid seeing them. All he need do was think of the way Gregory had befriended his brothers without judgement (Lucan especially), and there were tears of gratitude welling in his eyes. But it simply could not be. The pain would be real, and devastating, but it would fade in time. Didn't all wounds?

"Fine," he said quietly. "There will be no Vow. It would be pointless for me to return to those ways now, what with your Father presumably watching me like a hawk. Besides, I have no reason to turn you in. Once you leave these grounds we'll never need speak to each other again." He was purposely dodging the most important thing Gregory had said. "So, you can.. can.. go home now. You're free to leave. Go," he stammered, surprised he could even choke out the words. His throat was so tight he almost felt as if Greg's hands were gripped around his neck.

 

[Gregory White]

Had he been the sort of man to do so, Gregory's hands might really have wrapped themselves around Keevan's neck. He had never before appreciated the thin line between love and hate. No one, no one ever, had pushed him to his limits like Keevan White. Gregory's stomach rolled, bubbling like a cauldron with rage and love and frustration above all else. He'd been purposefully misinterpreted again; it was so crushingly callous an act.

"Tell me to leave like you mean it." cried Gregory. He didn't recognise his own voice; the cauldron in his stomach had boiled over. The gardener raised his fist to strike Keevan across at the face, but when he drew near, he yanked the other man forward into a kiss.

It was the best of kisses; it was the worst of kisses. It started with fury and pain as his own teeth cut against his bottom lip. It proceeded towards desperation, where he clutched at Keevan's shirt and pulled him against his chest so that he wouldn't tug away. He'd never feel this again. The kiss ended with tenderness; the love he felt bled through and made him linger, gentle and terrified until Gregory drew away, stricken.

The part goblin pressed his fingers to his lips when he backed away as if trying to hold the feeling of Keevan's unresponsive lips against his own. He thought love had hurt before. He thought he'd known pain; looking into the dark haired man's eyes, Greg knew he was wrong. His hand fell from his lips and pressed against his chest; something had withered in him, then. Whatever it was, it was real, tangible and now nothing but a husk. He'd felt it die like a cold ember.
Gregory did not realise that he was backing away until he hit the door, and he slumped against it just to hold himself up. He grasped the doorknob to keep himself erect, but his back was bent like broken willow, cowering in the face of what was to come.​

 

[Keevan White]

Keevan winced as Gregory's fist was raised, but the pain he proceeded to inflict on him was far deeper and more cutting than any bruise or black eye. His lips were like the sharpened edges of knife blades; his breath sinful and asphyxiating. Fear and excitement broiled inside Keevan's stomach, until eventually he could no longer differentiate between the two. He hated it. He loved it. He hated it. He needed it. He hated it. By the time the kiss was over, the turmoil of emotions had turned into the one thing he could process best: anger.

It started slowly; like the first inconspicuous ripples of an impending tsunami. Gregory had anticipated it, and was scrambling for higher ground, but fear seemed to have turned his legs into lead. As the wave heaved and gathered height, so did Keevan, until his thunderous presence loomed over the room like a dark cloud. Then it broke. The wave, the cloud - Keevan's temper - all broke at once, and he did not try to suppress it.

"Get... out..." he said quietly, balling his sweaty hands into fists. There was a pause, in which it became apparent his instruction had fallen on deaf ears. Keevan rose even higher, and took a step forward. The lines on his face deepened. His hands shook. Still he managed to draw his wand on the cowering wizard. "You cower in front of me like any of this is my fault. What part of 'get out' don't you understand, Gregory? Would you like me to spell it out for you? Show you the door?" He spat each word like they were dirt in his mouth. "I don't know how I led you to believe you were anything more than my employee. Clearly there has been some terrible misunderstanding. Well let me amend it for you, once and for all. I don't love you, I don't want to be with you, and I don't want to see your face here ever again!" Lies, lies, it was all lies! But it was said now. There was no taking it back. For a moment, Keevan looked panicked, and his eyes shined with tears. "No, don't go, don't leave me. I'm scared," he said desperately, willing Gregory to understand; knowing he wouldn't. Then the moment passed, and along with it the last chance he'd had to save him from walking away. Keevan drew a deep breath, and with his final decision, yelled: "GET OUT!!"

 

[Gregory White]

Greg made a noise like a wounded animal as he fumbled with the door knob. The words 'Get out!' echoed in his ears long after Keevan's shout ceased resonating in the hall. He fled back to his room though blinded by tears; the world was swimming and he was staggering, shoving off walls when he failed to run straight, and finally he collapsed onto his bed with no strength left to stand. This was not his room anymore, it was just a room. If he left a single item behind, Keevan would likely burn it.

His impulsive mistake had made sure that there was no chance for reconciliation. Perhaps they might have parted with grudging respect, wishing not to see each other again but not inconvenienced should it happen. It had been a pipe dream from the beginning. Every moment that Gregory had spent wishing he was Keevan's was a wasted memory, for now he had definitive proof that the man would never love him.
Inconsolable with the pain, he howled into his pillow until he lost breath altogether, and when he did Gregory cast his wand hand out and summoned a roll of parchment, a quill and ink. They flew to his outstretched hands haphazardly, the ink staining on the sheets and ignored by the grief-stricken man.

"Simon, please," Gregory sobbed, scribbling furiously. "Father, Deirdre, anyone, please! Take me away from here!" His legs wouldn't work. The letter he wrote was almost illegible, smeared with salt water and blemishes. The quill punched through the parchment in several places but he rolled it up with shaking hands and stumbled to the windowsill, throwing it open to the wind. Choking with sobs he could barely whistle, but he managed an approximation that had a house owl hopping down from the eaves to greet him. It tapped his hand with its beak almost comfortingly as it accepted the part goblin's inarticulate instructions. The wind from its wings buffeted his face as it took off, and he watched it for as far as he could see.

"Father!" he cried into the open air, and when house owl was out of sight he sunk to his knees under the windowsill. "Help me, help me, Father please ... Simon ..." Gregory lost his voice again, and began to cry harder than he ever had in his life.

He thought he'd known pain.​

 

[Keevan White]

When Gregory left, so did the last of Keevan's strength. He managed to make it to the door. The wood was still warm where the part goblin had slumped against it. Then he turned around, pressed his back to it and slid down until he was sitting on the floor, face buried deep into the crook between his knees. He clutched his shins and began to wail. He wailed for his brothers. He wailed for his parents, and for Synnove. But most of all, he wailed for the love he'd lost before it had even begun.

His brothers came to see him in turn. Regius first, but he was confused and frightened and left after a few tentative knocks. Lucan stayed longer, taking to sit the other side of the door and comfort him. The gesture only intensified Keevan's sobs: he'd done a terrible, terrible thing. Gregory was the one his brothers should have been consoling. But still Lucan stayed, until the sun was high and the day was strung, and even then he came back every half hour or so; just in case.

Not a word left Keevan's lips for the rest of that afternoon. When he finally moved, it was evening, and his spine was stiff from hunching against the door. He pulled his aching, sleep deprived body through the house, out of the back door, down the sloped lawn and up to the brick wall in the south-western corner of the grounds. His hands shook so violently he could hardly draw his wand to reveal the gate, but at last he managed it and stumbled into the secret garden. It was was secret by name, but it wasn't very secret any more. Secluded would have been a better word. Keevan was half way across the grass when he gave up and sunk to the ground. With a balled fist, he pounded the earth beneath him until his hand was raw and swollen. And for the first time in his life, he wished the soil was his own face.

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FIN​

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