In Love and War [Gladis & jo_suzaku]

[Gladis]

Tristan Cornelius Alwyn II Edelheart, Prince of Valeria

 

Bertholdt von Kirchstein

 

The very moment Tristan received his orders, he had known they were fighting a losing battle. Because really, how could anyone have expected him to successfully clear the mountain pass with less than seventy men at his disposal? He knew full and well that after three years of an ongoing war with the Solarian Empire, the capital of Valeria was in dire straights. After all, war costs money, and when the spoils fail to recuperate your losses, you will eventually find yourself faced with the threat of bankruptcy. The people were starting to grow tired of the raping and pillaging of their villages, the ever rising taxes and the high death toll of sons and husbands. So now they were not only dealing with a constant threat of Solaris from the outside, but also the ever growing danger of peasant revolts on the inside. Nothing kills morale like the death of family members and empty stomachs. That their once proud army had become a ghost of its former glory, and many noble houses had withdrawn their support only served to add insult to injury. Anyone with a bit of brain would be able to tell that that sooner or later, Valeria would fall.

 

Yet as far as Tristan was concerned, there was still a stark difference between a desperate last struggle to prevent the enemy from penetrating ever deeper into their territory, and outright stupidity. It was almost as though someone had wanted them to fail. Not only had he been sent on a mission where they were drastically outnumbered by the Solerian forces, but as they had learned far too late, they had also had a cunning spy of a noble Valerian lineage amongst their midst. By the time he was discovered, the damage had already been caused; the leakage of vital information resulting in what could only be described as a crushing defeat.

 

The longer Tristan spent time thinking about about it, the more convinced he became that his suspicions were not unfounded. And by now he’d had plenty of time to think about it. Locked up in a dungeon cell underneath Dunburg Keep – which previously had been home to Lord Owain, Baron of the Highlands, but now served as a strategic outpost for the Solarian forces; thinking was all he could do to keep himself occupied.

 

The cell was small and damp, with four sturdy walls of moldy rock enclosing him from all sides. A wooden door lined with iron bars served as the entrance to his left, and the small square window near the ceiling was his only source of light and fresh air. His once beautiful mane of red hair fell in shaggy waves over his shoulders, and he knew he must smell like a dog of the slums, reeking of dried blood, sweat and dirt. His bed was but a pile of dirty hey strewn in the corner, and his diet for the last couple of days had consisted of moldy bread and slimey porridge, which he was certain contained more than just water and grain. It made him feel sluggish and powerless, and seemed to mess with his perception of time. At least it also dulled the pain of the injuries he had sustained during the battle. Which, Tristan begrudgingly was forced to admit, they had been kind enough to treat. The long slash wound across his chest and left shoulder had been expertly sewn shut, and the good doctor would drop by every once in a while to make sure he stayed on the path to recovery. She was a fierce woman in her late twenties, who seemed to know her trade by heart. Even so Tristan had no doubts that he could easily have overpowered her, and were it not for the burly guards that always accompanied her, he would have used their courtesy against them long ago.

 

Everything added up to a situation where he found himself stuck in a thick foggy state of mind, unable to tell for how long they really had kept him there. Though he sincerely doubted more than a fortnight could have passed, it certainly felt like an eternity. Time seemed to pass at a crawl, and Tristan was beginning to grow weary of his solitude, and confused as to why he had not yet been taken in for questioning. Overhearing bits and pieces of conversations between careless soldiers passing by his window, or the guards outside his cell, revealed to him that they were awaiting orders from a certain von Kirchstein. As such, Tristan found himself growing increasingly irritated with this lord, or knight, or whatever he was. Even if he knew that coming face to face with this man would spell nothing but trouble, this endless waiting in complete uncertainty almost seemed worse than anything they might do to him.

 

And so Tristan resorted to the only action he could think of taking – ceasing to eat the meals they offered him.

 

Knowing full and well that he was more valuable to them alive than dead, this was bound to at least achieve something. And sure enough, on the second night of his hunger strike, he was alerted to the sound of a key turning in the lock. The door swung upon with a rusty screech, and the warm, flickering torchlight spilled into his otherwise dark cell.

 

”Get up.” The man growled, yet he didn’t even give Tristan long enough to comply before roughly grabbing hold of his shoulder and jerking him to his feet. Abstaining from food had already made him feel somewhat dizzy, although he could think more clearly than ever, and the sudden movement only served to add to this sense of nausea. Too weak to resist, he was roughly pushed up against the wall before his were arms pulled back, eliciting a soft hiss of pain from Tristan as the strain to his skin aggravated his healing scar. The guard, however, seemed completely unconcerned with Tristan’s plight and carried on with tying up his wrists before pushing him out into the corridor.

 

Another guard joined the first one at Tristan’s rear, and third one took the lead in front. Together they ushered him through the corridor, up a staircase and out into the courtyard. There a robust man stripped him of his dirty clothes, exposing him to the biting cold autumn night. Under the watchful gaze of the guards, two maids scrubbed him clean from head to toe, and he even got his stubble shaved, before he was dressed him in a surprisingly comfortable tunic and a pair of loose trousers. His hair was put through a rough but through combing, and by the time the guards escorted him towards what, if Tristan remembered correctly, had once served as the Baron’s private quarters, he almost looked presentable.

 

”What is this?” He mused, his lips twisting into an ironic smile as he glanced himself over, ”I almost feel as though I am about to meet royalty.”

 

This earned him an annoyed grunt and the feeling of something hard and pointy pushing against his spine. ”Shut up and walk.”

 

The first thing he noticed as they entered another corridor was that in spite of the enemy occupation, at least this portion of the fort had been fairly well kept. Sure, the banners featuring Owain’s family crest had been pulled down, but otherwise, if only for a brief moment – he almost got the the sense that he had come to visit his old friend. That none of the last three years had happened, and everything was fine. Then the clanking of armor and chainmail reminded him that his reality was much less pleasant than that.

 

They came to a halt in front of a pair of wooden double doors, into which a beautiful image of a lux – an animal prominently featured on the Baron’s crest, had carefully been etched.

 

The guard that was walking in front of him cleared his throat.

 

”Our esteemed Lord has decided to demonstrate his benevolence by inviting you to join him for dinner. You would be wise to understand your predicament, and to keep that cheeky tongue of yours in check. Perhaps you are used to people treating you like royalty, but within these walls you are little more than a Valerian dog. Try anything, and you will be killed on the spot.” He gave Tristan a cruel smile, crooked yellow teeth glinting between thin lips. Turning around he drew opened the heavy wooden doors, after which one of the other guards took the liberty to shove Tristan from behind.

 

”Ah!” He gasped, stumbling forwards and nearly tripping over his own feet in the process. He managed to catch himself just in time, however, straightening up to the sound of the doors falling shut behind him…

[jo_suzaku]

Smoke.

 

There was so much smoke everywhere. The fire had spread throughout the village and everything was burning. Flames surrounded the boy. He couldn’t breath. Smoke filled his lungs every time he did, making him cough and his eyes water. He fell to the ground, as the fire made it’s way towards him. This was the end. There was no escape. He was going to die. He took a deep breath...

 

...and woke up with a start. His breathing was uneven and he was drenched in cold sweat. Shaking his head, he closed his eyes and tried to calm down. Slowly, his breathing evened out and he got out of bed. He couldn’t go back to sleep immediately, even if he tried to. He walked to the window that overlooked the palace gardens and stared out. It was so dark that he couldn’t see a thing even if he tried to. His mind was all over the place. Unbidden memories kept flashing through his mind, as if it was being played on loop – his father being dragged away, his mother tortured in front of the entire village, his family torn apart and his village burned down.

 

All at the hands of a few sinister Valerian soldiers.

 

Sighing, Bertholdt turned away from the window. The past never ceased to haunt him. But he had to get some sleep. Dawn hadn’t even broken yet, he was dead tired and somehow he was knew it was just the start of a long, long day ahead.

 

The Valerian capital was currently in shambles, the people were unhappy and the army was almost entirely overpowered by the Solarian Empire. A few moves more and victory was theirs. Bertholdt’s name would go down in Solarian history as the one who successfully captured the pride of the Valerian army – Prince Tristan. The man was a brilliant tactician. One of the main reasons why the war went on for almost three years was because of the plans created and executed successfully by him. But Bertholdt was not one to back down from a challenge – especially a tactical one. He was able to turn the tide of the war in Solaris’ favour and soon enough, managed to checkmate the Prince. Some may call him out as dishonourable because he used information provided by a Valerian spy but he had insisted that he had nothing to do with turning the Valerian noble. For unknown reasons, the noble came to him. And all Bertholdt did was take advantage of the opportunity that presented itself to him and now Tristan was safely locked up in a dungeon underneath Dunburg Keep.

 

Bertholdt was supposed to question him the very next day but he was called back to the capital. He knew that leaving behind such an important prisoner of war was not a very good idea but he couldn’t ignore the Emperor’s summons. He left strict instructions with the guards and told them that they were not to lay a finger on Tristan. He asked Sascha to stitch the man up and check up on him every now and then. He couldn’t risk the prisoner dying of his injuries while he was away. Leaving word with his guards to inform him if anything went wrong, he took a small group of men with him and set off.

 

As soon as he arrived, he realized that his stay in the capital was going to be a complete waste of time. Since the war was almost over, many of the nobles were trying to win the favour of the Emperor. Some of them came up with such ridiculous and absurd ideas that it was almost laughable. Sitting in hour long meetings with no conclusion in sight, Bertholdt started running out of patience. All that was left for them to do was capture Valeria. In it’s current state, it was one of the most easiest things they could do but trust the nobles to make it seem like the most complicated task ever.

 

It was during one such meeting that Bertholdt received word from the Keep. The prisoner finally snapped out of his daze and was acting out. He had started starving himself. He had not eaten anything all day. Since the guards couldn’t lay their hands on him (and no one dared to disobey the feared Berthold von Kirchstein) they couldn’t even force feed him. Bertholdt had no choice but to hurry back. Secretly he was glad. He finally had a reason to escape the long, pointless meetings. He had requested a private audience with the Emperor before he headed back. An idea had slowly started to take shape in his mind but he had to run it by the Emperor before he implemented it. He was sure that if he went ahead with the plan without prior approval and it backfired, he would be tried for treason or worse, executed.

 

Sleep finally came. Bertholdt felt that he had hardly laid down and closed his eyes when he heard a brisk knock. Groaning, he made his way to the door. A servant stood outside, eyes downcast. “Yes?”, enquired Bertholdt. “Milord, the Emperor has requested your presence at the earliest.” Bertholdt nodded and quickly got ready. The faster he finished here, the earlier he would reach Dunburg Keep and get more time to deal with the uncooperative prisoner.

 

Unsurprisingly, it took some time to convince the Emperor to go along with his plan. He then called in the advisers – which was what Bertholdt was dreading. There was no telling how long they would take to come to a decision and he was right. The advisers were completely divided and by the time each of them was convinced about the plan, the sun had steadily climbed higher in the sky. Finally, the meeting ended and Bertholdt and his party were able to head back to the Keep.

 

Night had fallen when they reached. Bertholdt immediately summoned a guard and asked him for a status report. On learning that the situation hadn’t changed, he decided to put his plan into motion that night itself and told the guard to get the prisoner cleaned up and escorted to his chambers for a meal. If the guard was surprised, he hid it well. With a “Yes milord”, the guard gave a short bow and headed away. Next, he requested his cook to send supper for two up to his chambers. Then he headed up himself, washed and changed into a simple dark black tunic with pants. Looking at Bertholdt von Kirchstein, no one would say that he didn’t have a single ounce of noble blood in him. Tall, lean and slightly tanned, with ebony hair swept to one side, he was rather handsome. But the man's most striking feature was without a doubt his amber coloured eyes. The stark contrast of his dark hair and light eyes brought them out even more.

 

The chambers of the previous Lord consisted of a living room which had a dining table in the corner, a small study and a bedroom with an attached bathroom. It was not very extravagant and just the way Bertholdt liked it. Hearing a knock on the door, he opened it himself. Two servants entered, carrying a tray each. They placed it on the dining table and retreated, closing the door as they left. Bertholdt paced around the living room. He had no idea how his captured prisoner was going to act and that put him a little on the edge. He stopped in front of the hearth, absent-mindedly gazing at the fire.

 

The sound of the doors opening and closing brought Bertholdt out of his reverie. He turned around just in time to see the red-haired man stumble into the room, catching himself before he fell. As he straightened up, Bertholdt was finally face to face with Tristan Cornelius Alwyn II Edelheart, the famous cousin of the Crown Prince of Valeria. Even though almost a fortnight of being held in the dungeons had passed by in addition to his two day hunger stike, Tristan looked as regal as ever. He was a born aristocrat after all. Bertholdt studied the man in front of him for a few seconds. He knew he had to be careful for the man could be dangerous even in his weakened state. But it was nothing that he couldn’t handle. He decided to start by being as polite as he could manage to be. He nodded to the Valerian. “Good evening Prince Tristan. Thank you for joining me. I trust you must be starving?” Hiding a tiny smile, he then headed towards the dining table and pulled out a chair. “Please, take a seat.”

[Gladis]

So this was Bertholdt von Kirchstein. Although they been opponents on the battlefield many times – frequently enough for Tristan to have memorized his name, he had never before had the honor (or perhaps bad luck) to meet him in person. If rumors were anything to go by, this man had set some of Soleria’s most brilliant plans in motion. A formidable foe in every sense of the word, Bertholdt not only showed tactical prowess, but he was also known to be a fierce and ruthless warrior, whose hands were stained with the blood of countless Valerians.

 

The man that stood before him, outlined by the hot orange glow of the fire that crackled behind him in the herth, seemed to embody that description perfectly. He was tall – at least a head taller than Tristan, if not more, and his rigid, well-toned body cut an impressive, and perhaps even somewhat intimidating form.

 

Not that Tristan was going to let himself be daunted so easily.

 

Every bit a noble, he raised his chin to meet Berthold’s gaze head on – And what a gaze it was. Though half the man’s face was bathed in shadows, Tristan could clearly make out the amber glow of his eyes. Browns and oranges shifted about, which under the warm sheen of the candlelight almost appeared golden. For a very brief moment, he felt completely and utterly mesmerized.

 

Then Bertholdt spoke, and that moment passed, his full lips curling into a wry smile.

 

”So very noble of you.” It seemed as though the guards warnings must have fallen upon deaf ears, because Tristan made no effort to hide the sarcasm in his voice. Even in captivity, he refused to have his pride trampled. ”I must admit, I was almost beginning to think you had forgotten me.”

 

Tristan followed Bertholdt with his gaze as he walked over to the dining table, pulling out a chair in what seemed to be a gesture of invitation. The prince, however, hesitated. He wasn’t yet sure what this man was playing at, and he couldn’t help but feel suspicious in regards to his semi-courteous behavior. After all, Tristan had heard all about how cruelly Solarian’s often treated their prisoners – even ones of noble blood. He could be absolutely certain that Bertholdt had not summoned him simply so that they could share a pleasant meal. And so he refused to let his guard down, even for a moment.

 

Yet then his gaze fell upon the table, and he was once again reminded of how hungry he was. It was set for two, with enough food to resemble a small feast. There was roast chicken and ham, some kind of stew that smelled considerably better than anything he had been fed the last two weeks, fresh bread, fruit and wine aplenty. Perhaps this, in part, was what caused him to finally falter. In spite of his pride and suspicions, he took a seat as ordered. After all, he kept telling himself, it would not do to anger this man unnecessarily. It definitely wasn’t because the hunger strike had left him ravenous. Absolutely not. Who would even dare suggest such an outrageous thing?

 

”Tell me, von Kirchstein," he mused, icy blue meeting hot amber as he tilted his head to look up at Bertholdt, ”Is it a Solarian custom to keep your dinner guests tied up, or does it just happen to be a personal preference of yours?"

[jo_suzaku]

As he headed towards the dining table, he felt Tristan’s cerulean eyes following him.

 

”So very noble of you.

I must admit, I was almost beginning to think you had forgotten me.”

 

Hiding a tiny smile and ignoring the jibe, Bertholdt pulled out a chair and turned around to face the outspoken Prince. “Please, take a seat.”

 

He watched as Tristan hesitated, blue eyes drifting towards the feast that was laid out on table. When he saw him have an internal battle with himself, Bertholdt waited patiently. If he was in Tristan's place, he would have done the very same thing. Eventually the empty stomach won, just as he had hoped, and the prisoner made his way towards the table. Bertholdt stood with his hands behind his back, ready to strike in case the man had other ideas. But Tristan took his seat as ordered. Somehow that made Bertholdt all the more suspicious.

 

”Tell me, von Kirchstein, is it a Solarian custom to keep your dinner guests tied up, or does it just happen to be a personal preference of yours?”

 

asked the Valerian brazenly. Eyes twinkling with unbidden mirth, Bertholdt couldn’t hold back his smile this time as he locked eyes with the mouthy Prince. “Well, in your case, my personal preference was to cut off your head but alas...”

 

Shrugging, he broke eye contact as he bent to unbind Tristan’s wrists. “You are lucky I have orders to keep you alive. But mark my words -” Bertholdt paused ominously as he straightened up and took a seat next to Tristan. Pouring out a goblet of wine, he handed it to his untied dinner guest. Filling a second one, he continued lightly, “One wrong move and I won’t hesitate to kill you. Do I make myself clear?” Then he tipped his goblet in the red-head’s direction. “To your good health, Prince” and drained it.

 

Placing the globlet back on the table, Bertholdt debated what to do next. He had a lot of questions for the man but he was sure he wouldn’t get much out of him in his current state. He needed to establish a feeling of trust between the two of them which was pretty damn ironic since he considered the Valerians to be the most untrustworthy and backstabbing bastar... He sighed heavily. That kind of train of thought was not going to help one bit. He couldn’t lose control and get angry now. Taking a deep calming breath, he decided there was no point letting the prisoner starve any more. Also, the meal would go cold and wouldn't taste as good. So he decided they would eat first and he would ask questions later.

 

He refilled his glass, served himself and was just about to start on his meal when a thought stuck him. He looked at Tristan and said in a rather affected voice, “I’m sorry but I do not like having any servants around during the meal to pour wine and serve food. I hope that it is fine with you, O Prince, or do you want me to fetch someone to tend to your needs?”

[Gladis]

If he were to be completely honest, Tristan had not expected Bertholdt to untie him. He had half expected that the man cruelly would make him watch as he ate –in punishment for his hunger strike, or perhaps that he would use Tristan’s small display of weakness to mock or humiliate him. Bertholdt however, did neither. As soon as he had removed Tristan’s constraints, the Solarian noble took a seat of his own and poured his prisoner a goblet of wine. To say that Tristan was baffled would have been an understatement, and he was sure that it must have shown, because he could swear that Bertholdt was grinning at him. Yet just as quickly as he had been rendered speechless, Tristan managed to get a hold of himself.

 

His lips curled into a cunning smile.

 

”Somehow, Von Kirschstein, I have the feeling that if you attempted any such thing, more than just my head would roll.” He picked up his own goblet, which judging by the look and feel of it was made out of silver. Swirling the transparent liquid around his container, he carefully peered down at it, presumably on the lookout for any discoloration. To Tristan, this was more a force of habit than genuine concern that Bertholdt intended to poison him. After all, what he had said was entirely correct. Tristan was important to Solaria, and as long as this remained the case, they would do everything to keep him alive. It was ironic in a sense, that he was technically safer in the hands of his enemy, than he oftentimes had felt in his own home.

 

”Alas, as long as you don’t give me a reason to retaliate, I see not why I should refuse to cooperate. However, I do hope you understand that no matter how much goodwill you show me, I do not intend to become a traitor to my people.”

 

Cerulean rose to meet amber, and there was a promise in his eyes. A promise that information would not come cheaply. Bertholdt’s approach may have surprised him, but it would certainly take more than a fancy meal to buy Tristan’s loyalty.

 

And so he raised the goblet to his lips, feeling a great sense of relief as the liquid poured down his dry throat. It certainly tasted like wine, but it was a lot sweeter than the kind he was used to. He quite liked it, actually. Wanting to savor it for as long as possible, and also to avoid getting drunk, Tristan only drained about half of his goblet before setting it down. He was starving and could barely wait to get started on the meal. Yet just as he had picked up his spoon and was about to dig into the stew, Bertholt decided to drop another mocking remark.

 

Unable to keep an amused laugh from blubbering past his lips, Tristan gave a slight shake of his head, red locks softly bouncing against his shoulders.

 

”It seems good manners do not come to you easily, Von Kirschtein. I pity you. It must be difficult; to show restraint in the presence of a man you would rather see dead. Although while we are on the topic, perhaps you would care to enlighten me as to why that is so?” He mused, seeming fairly unconcerned with Bertholdt's attempt at baiting him. ”Have I offended you somehow?”

 

If this was going to end up becoming a contest of who could get the other ticking first, Tristan did not think he would lose. His skin was a lot thicker than it looked, and Bertholdt already seemed to have a difficult time controlling himself. For whatever reason, this man did not like Tristan at all, and something told him it was personal – although the prince could not even begin to fathom why. That he so calmly kept deflecting the others insults, whilst also turning the mockery right back at him would hardly help. However, Tristan wasn’t just doing it to make Bertholdt snap. What he really wanted to find out was how much leeway he had to work with; how far he could go before Bertholdt drew the line, and which buttons he should and should not push. If he could get valuable information about the enemy in the process of doing so – well, then that would be even better.

[jo_suzaku]

Bertholdt knew his prisoner was good at playing mind games. He was a Valerian after all. But Kirchstein had first hand experience in dealing with people just like him. He was not just known for his countless victories on the battlefield but also for his sharp mind and meticulous plans. His only fault was that he lost his temper easily. But he was getting better at controlling it. He also knew that if he didn’t keep his temper in check, he would be playing right into Tristan’s untied hands. The tactician would absolutely not pass up on the opportunity to get under his skin and Bertholdt was sure that if such a thing happened, he would do or say something that he’d regret.

 

”Have I offended you somehow?”

 

“Well, the mere fact that you still exist...” Bertholdt trailed off as he found himself staring once again into pellucid blue eyes. The man seemed genuinely baffled at his attitude which was not surprising given the circumstances - he was dining with a prisoner he just told he’d rather kill. He was also being rather rude when he knew it was not going to help his end game one bit. But he saw no reason to talk about his past. Only one person knew the truth about his family and he preferred to keep it that way. So he quickly shut down any further questions and said with some finality, “I have my reasons Prince.”

 

Bertholdt then took a few bites of his dinner and chased it down with a swallow of wine before he continued. “Since you have opened the floor for questions, tell me this - why do you serve a King who has made it his mission to have you killed?” Tilting his head, he gazed at Tristan, trying to gauge what effect his question had on the Valerian.

 

The Solarian Empire had heard a lot of rumours about the Valerian monarchy - some of them ranging from borderline crazy to absolutely horrific. The common ones that had reached even the ears of Bertholdt were that the King was not a true heir but a bastard child, he was the one who had his older brother killed, he feared that Prince Tristan was more popular than his son which resulted in a murder attempt on his nephew’s life, he ordered executions of his own soldiers without verifying the facts and the list went on and on. Since he tried killing the young man before, sending him on a mission that seemed more like a death trap wasn’t very far fetched.

 

“I know I am not misinformed. Why did you accept your last mission? Did you have a momentary lapse in judgment - which I find hard to believe. From what I’ve heard about your tactical prowess, you would have never set out for the mountain pass in the first place. Did you have a death wish?” He levelled a scorching look at Prince as he took another sip of wine. Narrowing his eyes, he speculated, “Or was it your intention to get captured in the first place?”

[Gladis]

Judging by Berthelot's reaction it became clear to Tristan that the baron’s hatred for him was indeed based in personal feelings, and although Tristan’s curiosity might have driven him to poke around further, he could tell that this was a sensitive topic. For now, it would probably be safer to let it go. However, Bertholdt could be sure than Tristan would not forget about it anytime soon. As far as he was concerned, he had every right to know why this man wished upon him a death sentence.

 

Instead of offering a smart comeback to Bertholdt’s stingy response, Tristan returned his attention to the still piping hot stew. After the horrible porridge he’d had to suffer the last couple of days, this change in menu almost came like a godsend. It tasted absolutely delicious, and though he wanted nothing rather than just to wolf it all down, Tristan never once allowed himself to forget about his princely manners. Learning how to show restraint had always been a key component of his upbringing.

 

There was a brief moment of semi uncomfortable science, followed up by a question that seemed more in tune with the interrogation he had been expecting. Swallowing his mouthful of stew, Tristan set down his spoon before glancing up to once again catch Bertholdt’s beautiful gaze. Even in the dim candlelight, Tristan could tell that the man was irritatingly handsome. Pushing those kinds of thoughts aside, he smiled once more.

 

”Do you sincerely believe that I would still be alive today, if I openly antagonised the king? I am the eldest son of the late crown prince, and some would argue the legitimate heir to the throne. In case you were not already aware; fatherless, young princes tend to have particularly short life expectancies. Thus far I have done a good enough job of not granting him an excuse to publicly execute me. I would honestly prefer to keep it that way.” He paused for a moment, reaching for his goblet to have some more of that delicious wine. ”You must understand, Bertholdt von Kirchstein, that as a prince of Valeria, my loyalty always has and always will be with my people.” It was a simple answer, and on a surface level must have seemed vague at best. Yet it embodied his feelings on the matter perfectly. ”I may not agree with every decision my uncle makes, but it is undeniable that under his rule – at least for a time, our kingdom flourished. Circumstances have put us at odds, but in the grand scheme of things, our goals align. Would you mind pouring me some more of that excellent wine?”

 

Setting down the almost empty goblet he continued working away at his meal, once again listening to Bertholdt speak. Yet when he suddenly suggested that Tristan, for whatever reason, perhaps had intended to be captured the prince simply could not help but laugh.

 

”Need you even ask, von Bertholdt? With everything I just told you, even a toddler would not fail to put two and two together. Although, if I am to be completely honest – I never intended to confront you directly. Not like this. I wanted to avoid the bloodbath that would have, and eventually did ensue. Had I not made the terrible mistake of trusting that man...” Realizing he had already said too much, Tristan immediately cut himself off. He knew he could not shift blame. Even if they had been betrayed by one of their own, he had still been their commanding officer. He had still been the one in charge and so their failure, became his responsibility. He and only he could carry the burden of their deaths on his shoulders. Anything else was just an excuse.

 

Suppressing a soft sigh, Tristan ran a hand through his silky red hair. ”Would you mind telling me whether you took any other prisoners besides myself? And if so is the case, do they still live?”

[jo_suzaku]

“Would you mind pouring me some more of that excellent wine?”

 

As the Prince set down his goblet, Bertholdt first questioned him and raised his suspicions about the man's capture being a complete ruse.

 

”You assume I had a choice in accepting the mission. Honestly, I never intended to confront you. Not directly. I wanted to avoid the bloodbath our encounter turned into. Had I not made the terrible mistake of trusting that man...”

 

He finished his wine while his questions were answered. As he refilled both their goblets, he watched the smile disappear from Tristan's face. Bertholdt had a sneaking suspicion that he knew exactly who that man the Prince was referring to was but he kept his mouth shut.

 

”Would you mind telling me whether you took any other prisoners besides myself? Are they still alive?”

 

Finally! A breakthrough. Either the wine was helping to loosen the Valerian’s tongue or he had just slipped up and not realized it – whatever the reason, Bertholdt got exactly what he was looking for. But he could not rush anything and proceeded very cautiously.

 

“Are you really concerned about the well-being of your soldiers? Why would you hand me that kind of advantage?” He picked up his goblet once again and had a few sips as he let the man ponder on his query. Then he said, “When someone doesn’t like you very much, it isn’t a good idea to let them know that you care about something.” As he waited for his message to sink in, he returned to his meal. Tristan had point blank refused to betray his people. Bertholdt had expected no less. He hated resorting to blackmail but with great difficulty he managed to get his Emperor to allow him to make the Prince a proposition and he had to get him to accept it, come what may. On it’s own, Tristan would have rejected it immediately. But now, Bertholdt had leverage. Whether the Valerian chose to save the lives of a few men or an entire kingdom – that was entirely upto him. Finishing off the remaining food on his plate, he turned in his chair and looked at Tristan seriously.

 

“Look, you say your goal aligns with the King. But don’t you think the two of us have a common goal as well? We both want the same thing – for this bloody war to end. Isn’t it high time we put an end to the fighting and needless massacres. For the last three years, this war has not only destroyed Valeria but taken a lot from the Solarian Empire as well. My people have suffered, many of my men have died and thousands are injured. But the end is in sight. And how it plays out all rests in your hands.” Pausing, he locked eyes with the Prince. “The Solarian army is heading for the capital soon. If you are able to reach before them and convince your King to surrender peacefully, we will not shed any more blood. You have my word.” He got up, picked up an official looking scroll that he had placed on the mantel and handed it to Tristan. “And not just my word, but the word of the Solarian Emperor himself.”

[Gladis]

Tristan had clearly messed up. Whether it was the effect of the alcohol that had brought it about (some would call this a cheap excuse, for Tristan had not drunk nearly enough to be intoxicated yet), or simply a momentary lapse of judgement, he did not know. Regardless, the damage had already been done. Bertholdt had immediately caught on to the concern he felt for his men, and it was clear he would use this against him in the negotiations. Yet if this minor blunder worried Tristan, he made a good job of hiding it. Even in the face of having his mistake pointed out, and the implied threat that loomed over the table, he remained perfectly calm.

 

That was, until Bertholdt had the stomach to complain about the casualties on his own side. A scornful laugh slipped right past his lips.

 

”Oh, that’s rich, coming from you. I apologize if I find it a little difficult to sympathize. Perhaps your darling Emperor should have thought of that before he marched his men across our borders. We may have always been destined to lose, but we sure as hell weren’t planning to go down without a fight. He knew that very well.” Tristan tugged the scroll out of Bertholdt’s hand and rose to his feet, walking across the room so that he could read it under the warm glow of the fireplace.

 

He recognized the neat, cursive Solarian lettering almost immediately. There was absolutely no doubt that it had been penned by the emperor himself. Yet it wasn’t so much who had written him that surprised him, as the contents of the scroll itself. What he demanded was not just ridiculous, it was outright impossible. Perhaps the old man was growing senile in his golden years.

 

Glancing up to catch Bertholdt’s gaze, he allowed a moment of tense silence to stretch out between them.

 

”Surely you jest? I cannot be the only one to recognize how incredibly flawed this plan of yours is. You and the emperor both overestimate my influence on the Valerian court. The king is a stubborn man, and to defy Solaria is the very reason he sits upon that throne. What do you imagine would happen if I came prancing into the palace, brandishing this?” He dangled the scroll between his fingers to illustrate his point. ”What I hold in my hand is proof of treason; a death sentence, if you will.” He paused for a moment to let his statement sink in, beginning to reroll the scroll as he closed the distance between him and Bertholdt. ”And that completely ignores the fact that doing so would bring great shame upon not only myself, but the entire Edelheart line. I would go down in history as the traitor who sold the freedom of his people to the empire.”

 

Tristan came to a halt right in front of Bertholdt, now so close that he had to crane his neck slightly to meet the taller man’s gaze. Bertholdt really was annoyingly handsome. It would be interesting to see how he responded to this kind of approach; whether he would push him away or play along.

 

”How long do we have until the troops are deployed?” He asked softly, tucking a couple of loose, fiery red strands behind his ear.

[jo_suzaku]

As Tristan pulled the scroll out of Bertholdt’s hands, he got up and walked towards the fire place. The Solarian followed his every move. And he was on high alert, in case the Prince got any funny ideas. As he watched the man read the request, he found himself distracted by his long red hair. In the glow of the fire, it shone just as bright - as if Bertholdt was staring directly into the blaze itself. The moment their eyes met, he felt an involuntary jolt run up his spine. Icy blue orbs did nothing to dull the Valerian’s cascading red locks. A voice echoed in his head. ‘If you play with fire, you are bound to get burnt’. Words spoken to him years ago. He was already burnt once. He had no intention of going through that experience again. Kirchstein had a gut feeling that it was like some sort of a warning. But he was not the type to run away. He wasn’t even the sort who dived head first into the unknown without a plan either.

 

Tristan was talking to him but Bertholdt’s mind was racing. He knew that the person in front of him would do anything for his people. Scenarios played out in his head - moves the Prince could make and his own moves to counter them. Even though he had leverage, convincing the man was proving to be difficult. The Solarian did not want to resort to violence but if Tristan was not going to listen, he was left with no choice. Blinking, he suddenly realized that the Valerian had closed the distance between them and was now standing right in front of him. Looking down he was suddenly aware of how close the man was and it was way too close for comfort. Widening his stance slightly while trying not to draw too much attention to his movement, he immediately assumed a defense position in case of an attack.

 

“How long do we have until the troops are deployed?”

 

Bertholdt swallowed. From the way Tristan looked at him to his voice - the tone and line delivery as well as the way he tucked his hair behind his ears - everything seemed a little exaggerated and done on purpose. This was not the kind of attack he had braced himself for but it got Bertholdt thinking and he came up with another idea. Maybe he didn’t have to use threats and hurt people. Maybe there was another way. But would it work?

 

He smiled lightly. No one could waltz alone, it always took two. Swiftly changing tactics to align them towards what the man in front of him was getting at, he moved even closer to him. Breathing in his scent, he bent lower and whispered in his ear, “We have about a month.” He drew back a little so that they were almost nose to nose. Up close, he could make out the freckles that dotted the Prince’s face. He also realized that his eyes were not just blue but had a few sprinkles of green in them. The man was quite pretty. But to Bertholdt, it just made his task easier. “That should be more than enough time to get to know each other intimately, don’t you think?” Winking, he slowly straightened up.

 

Move and counter move.

Now it was Tristan’s turn.

[Gladis]

When Bertholdt backed away, Tristan assumed that the enemy lord had either failed to picked up on his advances, or that he simply had no interest in bedding members of his own sex. The prince did manage to draw some satisfaction from apparently having made the man uncomfortable enough to take up a defensive stance, yet overall it was a disappointing reaction.

 

Or so he had thought.

 

But then he noticed how Bertholdt seemed to follow his every move, as if sizing him up for more than just potential combat; how his adams apple bounced as he swallowed, and how just a flicker of desire seemed to ignite in those beautiful amber eyes. Now that was something Tristan could work with. As he gazed up at Bertholdt from underneath long lashes, his full lips curled into a seductive smile. Could hatred be turned into passion? Only time would tell, yet Tristan had a feeling he already knew the answer. Of course, he did not doubt that Bertholdt’s agenda extended beyond just wanting to satisfy his carnal needs. This man was no simple minded fool who could easily be swayed by such basic means. Yet instead of acting as a deterrent, Tristan found that knowledge of this only made what happened next all the more intriguing.

 

His heart actually skipped a beat when Bertholdt dipped down, his warm breath blasting against Tristan’s ear as he delivered the answer to his question in a heated whisper. Perhaps all those years of living on the edge really had set his marbles loose, because there was nothing about his current situation that should have been even remotely exciting. This man technically had a noose around his neck, and he could pull the rope whenever he felt like it. Sure, he did not have the authority to kill Tristan (despite having threatened to do so, should Tristan misbehave), but that did not mean he couldn’t subject him to a plethora of other unpleasantries, should he so desire. Was this just a case of Tristan’s survival instincts running haywire, or was there something else at play?

 

Whatever the answer, Tristan did not allow himself to dwell on it further. Cerulean eyes glittered with mischief as he reached up to grab hold of Bertholdt’s shirt, effectively hindering him from straightening up completely. ”Then surely the lord would not mind if negotiations were to be put on hold for now, at least?” Tristan murmured, and before Bertholdt could protest, he wrapped his arms around his shoulders, closing the distance between them in a heated kiss that tasted of wine and stew.

[jo_suzaku]

Time stopped.

 

At least that’s what it felt like for Bertholdt.

 

When the Valerian threw his arms around him, he froze. He did not expect his words to have such an immediate effect. But the moment Tristan’s lips touched his, all rational thought went out of his head. Bertholdt had had his share of relationships and flings. He also knew that this was one big ploy. But no one had ever kissed him the way this man was kissing him. Hot, heavy and passionate, the Prince did not hold back one bit. Encircling his arms around the red-head’s waist, Bertholdt kissed him back with the same ferocity. Lips clashed with blatant frenzy. If either of them were pretending, the sentiment was lost to the desire growing between them as they locked lips.

 

Before the kiss could end, Bertholdt ran his tongue along the man’s lower lip, biting it before seeking entry. The moment Tristan parted his lips, he slipped his tongue inside. Assaulted with the heady taste of wine and stew, the movement of Tristan’s tongue sliding against his own made Bertholdt completely lose control and give in. He lifted a hand to brush Tristan’s cheek and then slid his fingers through his beautiful long hair. Then he slowly moved his hand down the Prince’s side coming to rest on his waist again.

 

As the kiss lengthened, he started to get lightheaded and was soon breathless. Pulling back a little, Bertholdt studied the flushed face of the man in his arms. Both of them were panting hard after what could only be called a lust filled encounter. Throwing caution to the wind, Bertholdt pulled Tristan flush against his body. He observed that they fit well together, like two pieces of a puzzle. And though Kirchstein hated the man, his body betrayed him. As burning amber met sparkling blue, a flare of arousal coursed through him. If this was his reaction to just one bloody kiss, he tried not to imagine what state he would be in if they took this further. With great difficulty, he took control of his emotions once again. Tilting his head, Bertholdt gave Tristan a predatory smile and answered his question -

 

“Oh no. The lord does not mind at all.”

[Gladis]

Say what you want about the man himself, but there was no denying that Berholdt was an incredible kisser. Tristan may have locked lips with many men in the past, but never like this. It was hot, passionate and utterly breathtaking – imbued to its core with what could only be called raw and untamed desire. Perhaps it was all a farce, a means to get to an end – but in that very moment, it felt more real than anything. It felt right somehow, as though it was always meant to be, and there was a part of him that did not want it to end.

 

Bertholdt must have felt the same, because instead of pulling back, he chose to deepen the kiss instead, and Tristan was only too happy to oblige. Lips parted and tongues danced, sending shivers of arousal coursing through his toned yet slender body. Shutting his eyes, he wanted to savor every second of this dizzying moment; reveling in the feeling of Bertholdt’s fingers gently combing through his hair, in the sweet taste of wine and the texture of his tongue.

 

And then it was over.

 

Tristan opened his eyes again to meet Bertholdt’s hungry gaze, his chest heaving and falling rapidly as his body was pulled up against the others. His lips curled into a seductive smile, and he reached up to gently grab the general’s handsome face between his hands.

 

”Now that’s what I wanted to hear…” he murmured, evidently pleased by his answer. So pleased, in fact, that he leaned up and claimed his lips in another kiss, his hands sliding down Bertholdt’s neck and shoulders, before beginning to unbutton his robe with skilled ease. His shirt fell open to reveal the toned torso underneath, and it was with delight that Tristan slid his hand over the rippling muscles. He pulled back so that he could trail gently bites and kisses down Bertholdt’s neck, collarbone, chest and torso – until at last he was on his knees, playfully nuzzling the general’s crotch. Then he tilted his head back to catch Bertholdt’s gaze, and once again mischief burned in his eyes.

 

”Tell me, my lord… have you ever been sucked off by royalty before?”

[jo_suzaku]

?Tell me, my lord? have you ever been sucked off by royalty before??

 

Bertholdt inhaled sharply at those words. He still couldn?t quite believe what was happening. Tristan had slowly made his way down, biting, sucking and kissing a trail until he was on his knees. The general managed to regain his composure and stand very still. This itself was quite a feat as he was completely turned on by the man before him who, Bertholdt had to grudgingly admit, had quite a talented tongue. The lower Tristan went, the harder he got and it became more and more difficult for him to keep a straight face. He bit his lip so that he wouldn?t be able make a sound and clasped his hands behind his back so that he wouldn?t do anything stupid. But the sight of the Prince kneeing in front of him, staring up at him with those mischevious blue eyes completely threw him.

 

And just for a moment, Bertholdt allowed himself to forget their predicament. As he gazed into the Prince?s eyes, he felt as if he was put under some sort of spell. He momentarily forgot that he hated the man or that Tristan was his prisoner. He also forgot that they were sworn enemies and that the two of them could never be lovers and would never ever be able to live with each other. In that moment, for Bertholdt, just the two of them existed and nothing else mattered. The fierce kiss they had shared a few minutes ago was enough to prove that both of them were attracted to each other. Neither of them were professional actors to fake that kind of passion.

 

Of course, the Prince had his own agenda. After all, he was a prisoner here and was the one who had made the first move. He probably saw the way Bertholdt was looking at him and decided to exploit it. After all, Bertholdt always had a soft spot for redheads. But Bertholdt cast that niggling doubt aside. For the first time in his life, he felt something inside of him shift and he decided to just 'go with the flow'. The thought though, surprised Bertholdt completely ? never had he ever felt like this before. He was a man who planned everything ? down to the last minute detail. Spontaneity had never been attributed to his nature. So this sudden decision scared the hell out of him but once he decided to do something, he always made sure he followed through with it, no matter the consequence. In this case, there was just one problem - the cheeky redhead on his knees staring back at him, waiting for him to make his next move.

 

Prince Tristan Cornelius Alwyn II Edelheart

 

The man was too smart for his own good. Bertholdt knew that if he moved too fast or changed tactics suddenly, Tristan would get suspicious. He had to proceed with caution. He cocked his head to the side, not breaking eye contact with the Valerian. Somehow, he had to win the man?s trust, impossible as it sounded. It was going to be a long drawn out process. Time ticked by slowly and he was still struggling to come up with either a witty comeback or a course of action to follow. Finally, he couldn?t hold back anymore. Bertholdt unclasped his hands, reached out and gently tucked a stray strand of hair behind the Prince?s ear. ?You know, you will be the death of me? he murmured softly, more to himself than Tristan, before going down on one knee so that they were face to face. There was a moment?s pause as they simply looked at each other. Then, Bertholdt leaned forward, closing the distance between them, as he gently kissed the Prince again.

[Gladis]

Over the last couple of years, Tristan had built a bit of a reputation. He was loose and irresponsible, they said, with a taste for all the pleasures in the world. He slept around with no consideration for the consequences, wasted his uncles coin on extravagant parties and had drunk himself silly more times than he could count. What most did not seem to realize was that most, if not all of it was intentional. If people thought he was just a pretty face of questionable intelligence, he would seem less threatening to those who feared him as a rival. It was one of the reasons he had managed to survive for so long. Perhaps this was why even now, as he knelt before the ennemy commander, the things he was about to do seemed to come to him so easily. He felt no shame as he worked the buttons on Bertholdt’s trousers, dropping them to his ankles. There was no inner conflict going on in his mind as he tugged open the man’s linen braises, marveling at the sight of the thick, veiny cock underneath. Drool gathered in his mouth even long before the thing had come anywhere near his face, and his heart raced with anticipation.

 

A mischevious smirk tugged at the corners of his lips as he glanced up to catch Bertholdt’s gaze. His slender fingers wrapped around the base, giving the stiffening length a couple of slow, deliberate strokes before bringing his face closer, parting his lips around the bulbous tip. The familiar taste of cock and precum filled his mouth as he pushed his tongue against the slit, eagerly swirling it around the swollen glans.

 

This entire thing may have started out as an act of desperation, but there was no doubt that Tristan was enjoying himself immensly. Heat surged through his body like wildfire, almost making him feel as though the fire quietly crackling in the back of the room had suddenly gone into a blaze. Yet logic dictated that his current state of being had very little to do with the fire, and everything to do with throbbing cock in his mouth. He had slowly begun to bop his head, continying to work more and more of it into his mouth – until at last it slid almost effortlessly down his throat, and his nose buried itself in Bertholdt’s dark pubes. He swallowed and gurgled, the smell of sweat and musk that filling his nostrils only adding to the layer of cloudy dizziness which had draped itself around his mind as he did his best to keep his head in place. Only when he felt that he really could no longer stand pull back, barely giving himself time to recover before he went back down on him again. Tristan was like a hungry beast, sucking, stroking, licking and gobbeling down Bertholdt’s cock as though it was the most delicious thing in the world – and he loved every second of it.

 

All the while he continued to keep an eye on the general’s face. To Tristan, this had become more than just a means to survive. He genuinly wanted to make Bertholdt feel good. He wanted to see that steely expression melt under the intense pleasure, to make his composure crumble as his carnal desires took over. The thought alone was an incredible turn-on, and he could feel the fabric of his trousers tighten uncomfortably around his cock. Yet before he could even so much as think to do anything about it, Bertholdt suddenly tucked a stray strand of curly red hair behind his ear – an act followed by the sort of comment he definitely had not expected. Not from a man like Bertholdt, anyway. Tristan paused, allowing the general’s cock to slide out of his mouth with a lewed pop as he tilted his head back to properly gaze up at the other man. A string of spit and precum had dribbled down his chin, glistening in the candlelight as the corners of his lips curling into an amused smirk.

 

He was pulled into another kiss which Tristan was only too happy to return, pushing his tongue between his lips to deepen it as his hand fumbled down the rippling muscles of his torso, down past his hibone before it wrapped around his cock – now slick with saliva.

 

”Very flattering, Von Kirchstein, but something tells me you shouldn’t be saying that kind of thing out loud.” He mused against his lips, pumping him – first slowly, but then faster and faster until suddenly he let go. He was breathing heavily as he pulled the tunic over his head and tossed it aside, revealing his slender yet toned form underneath. His trousers and braisers quickly followed suit, after which he wasted no time wrapping his arms around Bertholdt’s shoulders once more, pushing their bodies together, grinding up against the Solarian noble as he leaned in to breathe hotly into his ear. ”I bet that marvelous cock of yours has never fucked a prince before, eh? So how about it, my lord?”