Ten years before Wanderlust

Myloh was usually very good at keeping his head down. Being a servant in the Order was a good job. It paid well, provided him a room to sleep in, and kept him fed. For a half-Native orphan, it was about as good as life could get. Every morning, when the bells rang to wake up the servants, Myloh took a moment to thank Zianesa that he had taken after his father. He didn't look half-Native, and that was probably the only reason he had the job.

The daily schedule was simple and it almost never wavered. Myloh hadn't been working in the Order long enough to be trusted with the fancier jobs like scribing or library work. He hadn't been taught to help the lords train, or how to look after their weapons and armour. He mostly just cleaned. The dining hall, dishes, laundry, the lords' bedchambers. If it wasn't particularly fun work, at least it was easy. And for the most part, the lords ignored him.

For the most part.

Myloh, like all of the less valuable servants, had been through a few rough incidents with the lords. Sometimes it was simple, like being yelled at or insulted. Those moments were always embarrassing, but later in the servants' quarters they would rally and whisper about how unfair and spoiled the lord was. Sometimes, if the servant had actually done something wrong, it might involve a beating. But sometimes the lords were just bored, and those times were always the worst.

But Myloh, for the most part, was lucky. He managed to get his work done quietly and quickly, and rarely got in trouble. Until one day, when a mix-up in the schedule meant that he hadn't done the laundry that was assigned to him. Which was why he was rushing to carry a basket of laundry across the courtyard that evening, instead of helping clean dishes in the kitchen.

The laundry basins were in one of the outer buildings. Myloh didn't like crossing the courtyard during the day. There were always too many lords around. Sometimes they were training in the courtyard, but sometimes they just had free time. And that was when being near them could be dangerous.

Myloh saw that there was a group of four lords, maybe in their third or fourth year, whacking each other with wooden swords. They seemed occupied, so he steeled his nerves and walked past them. There really was no other choice, anyway. They were between him and the laundry room.

He had almost made it past them when their laughter stopped, and with it, Myloh's heart. He risked a glance towards them to see that they were all watching him. Every instinct told him to ignore them and keep walking towards the laundry, but he fell back on his training instead, and paused.

"Hello, my lords. May I do something for you?"

The one standing nearest to him was also the largest. Myloh realized with dread that he recognized him. Lord Feshor was the youngest son of a lesser noble from Triben. He had very little political power and relied on his size and skill with a sword to intimidate and impress his friends. Myloh knew who he was because every servant in the Order knew who he was.

"That's my laundry," Lord Feshor said, using his wooden sword to gesture at the basket Myloh was carrying. "Why isn't it done?"

"I apologize, my lord," Myloh said, trying not to stammer. "There was a mix-up. I'll have it done for you by morning, sir."

"A mix-up?" Lord Feshor repeated. "Really? What's your name?"

"M... Myloh, my lord."

One of the other lords took a swig out of the bottle he was holding. They weren't technically allowed alcohol outside of what was served at dinner, but it was hard to enforce the rules sometimes. "Fesh, isn't this the servant that rumour was going around about?"

Myloh nearly dropped the laundry when Lord Feshor closed the distance between them. He stared at the cobblestones beneath the lord's boots. "My lord. I really should get started on—"

"It was you, wasn't it?" Lord Feshor interrupted. He slid his arm over Myloh's shoulders in fake comradery and steered him closer to the other lords. "So tell us, Myloh. What does it taste like?"

Myloh flinched. The lords had closed in around him, but suddenly their physical presence didn't seem as dangerous as what they were asking. But it didn't make sense. How could they possibly know? Myloh didn't look up, he just stared at the dirty laundry he was somehow still holding. He decided to lie. Maybe they'd beat him, but that was better than the alternative. And out in the courtyard it was possible one of the older lords would intervene and help him.

"I'm sorry, my lord. I don't know what you mean."

"Really?" Lord Feshor asked. "Well, that's funny. Everyone knows you sell yourself for a few extra siyas." He pulled a handful of coins from his pocket. "I've got... fifty-two siyas. What will that get me? More than just your mouth, I assume. You're not pretty enough to charge much more than that."

Myloh would have recoiled if Lord Feshor's arm hadn't been over his shoulders. "That... that isn't true," he protested. It really wasn't. He had never done what the lord was accusing him of. Not for pay, at least. "Please, my lord. I really want to have your laundry ready for you..."

The drunk lord tossed a gold siya onto the pile of laundry, and despite himself, Myloh's eyes locked onto it.

"What does a thousand siyas get?" the lord asked.

Myloh tore his eyes from the coin. "I... I don't..." He swallowed and tried again. "There are plenty of brothels in the lower city."

All four of the lords laughed. Lord Feshor spoke for the group. "It's hard getting permission to go into the lower city. You're already here. Leave this." He pushed the laundry basket from Myloh's hands. The basket tipped the clothing, and the gold siya, onto the ground. The siya rolled away. Myloh watched it, until Lord Feshor pulled him away.

The other three lords followed as Lord Feshor dragged Myloh into the narrow passageway that ran between the buildings and the wall. There was almost no chance they would be found back there. Myloh considered yelling, hoping maybe a guard would come to his defence. Not that any guard would take his word over the lords'. But before he could, Lord Feshor had slammed him roughly against a wall and clamped a hand over his mouth and nose. Myloh desperately grabbed his wrist.

"You can still have the money," Lord Feshor growled. "But if I have to force you, you're not getting a single coin. Make the right choice."

Myloh went still. The lord was going to get what he wanted either way, and Myloh didn't want to get hurt. He let go of Lord Feshor's wrist.

The lord smiled. "Good." He uncovered Myloh's mouth, then pushed him to his knees.

Myloh tried to take a few deep breaths. He briefly considered yelling again, but then he looked up at the lords. It wouldn't take long for the five of them to beat him. Maybe even kill him. They wouldn't get in too much trouble. Myloh blinked. Five?

The fifth lord tutted. "Lord Feshor."

Lord Feshor spun around abruptly. His three friends also turned to look at the newcomer.

The fifth lord flipped a gold siya towards the drunk lord, who failed to catch it. "Lord Luyec, I heard your family's largest mine suffered a collapse earlier this month. Maybe now isn't the time to toss siyas on the floor."

There was a snicker from one of the other lords.

"What do you want?" Lord Feshor asked.

The fifth lord stepped out of the shadows. Myloh stifled a gasp. It was the Tandran lord. The powerful, aloof one who spent most of his time in the library. Myloh wasn't allowed in the library, and meal times were always so hectic, he had never really managed to get a good look at the Tandran. He had never noticed how handsome the young lord was, and he was immediately ashamed of himself for noticing. There were bigger things to worry about. Like if he could run while Lord Feshor was distracted.

The Tandran shrugged. "Oh, I thought maybe I'd take a walk around the grounds before turning in for the night. Then I saw Luyec drop a thousand siyas and thought it only polite to return his money. Also, the basket of laundry had me concerned. Was that your orange cloak I saw, Feshor? I'm afraid that it's rather muddy. I may have stepped on it. By accident."

"By accident?" Lord Feshor repeated.

"These things happen."

"That cloak—"

"Very expensive, I'm sure," the Tandran interrupted. "Well... for a small family like yours."

Lord Feshor lunged for the Tandran. Myloh could have run. Instead, he watched Lord Feshor hit the lord in the face. The Tandran stumbled backwards, startled, and barely ducked in time to avoid being hit again. One of Lord Feshor's friends jumped forward to drag him back. Lord Feshor struggled against him.

"No." The other lord was trying his best, but Lord Feshor was bigger than him. "You're going to get yourself arrested! Maybe even killed." He moved himself so he was standing between the two lords. "Please, Tanden. Please don't report this."

Lord Tanden dragged his hand across his face, smearing the blood from his nose over his lips in the process.

Myloh could have run. He should have run. But part of him wanted to see this play out. He tried to shrink against the wall, hoping no one would remember that he was there.

Lord Tanden wiped more blood onto his sleeve. "Nice friends you keep, Tenn."

"I'm sorry." The other lord finally managed to push Lord Feshor back a step. He stood between the two, glancing back and forth, panting. "Feshor."

"Go ahead. Protect your stupid cousin," Lord Feshor snarled. "He can't protect himself."

"You caught me off guard," Lord Tanden corrected. "I don't usually spend time around thugs who throw punches."

Lord Feshor stepped forward. The lord in the middle held up his hands. "Fesh. He'll have you arrested."

"That would be an enormous waste of time," Lord Tanden said. "Just give me a sword and I'll end this myself."

Lord Feshor laughed. "You want to fight me? Aren't you training to be an ambassador? You'll spend your life surrounded by guards. You'll never have to lift a finger to protect yourself."

"Yes, I understand why you would think someone can't be intelligent and be good at fighting," Lord Tanden said. "Brains versus brawn, and all that. Here's the thing, Feshor. There's something called technique. And while you're certainly much stronger than me, I believe your technique is lacking. So, why don't we have a nice, friendly fight? I'm sure your friends will enjoy the show. Ratenn, may I borrow your sword?"

The lord in the middle was still facing Lord Feshor, but he glanced over his shoulder. "Please let it go. Nobody wants to see you beat Fesh."

Lord Tanden shrugged. "I thought a duel was slightly more civil than punching me in the face. At least those injuries would be easy to explain away."

"Who are you going to tell?" Lord Feshor said. He took a step closer. "Going to write to your father about how the other lords were mean to you? I bet you think he'll come to your rescue. But you're the youngest. You don't mean anything."

"My father's dead, actually," Lord Tanden said dryly. "But I can arrange a meeting, if you'd like. Ratenn, forget the wooden sword. Do you have a knife I could borrow?"

"Are you threatening to kill me?" Lord Feshor asked.

Lord Tanden crossed his arms. "Hmm. Talking to you is truly exhausting. It's really no wonder you rely on brawn, is it? Listen, Feshor. I actually have better things to do than brawl in the back alley. You—" He snapped his fingers, and it took Myloh a second to realize the lord had done it to get his attention. "Come with me. I'm going to need help cleaning up."

Myloh gave Lord Feshor a wide berth as he made his way to Lord Tanden's side.

"That's right. Go back inside and hide in your library again," Lord Feshor said.

Lord Tanden had been about to turn, with a sigh he paused. "I'm fluent in three languages, Feshor. You can hardly manage a conversation in Teltish. Insinuating that spending time in the library makes me weak really isn't the biting insult you seem to think it is. Oh, and I suggest you pick up your laundry."

"I'm not a servant," Lord Feshor said.

"No, but this servant is going to be busy cleaning blood off of my face," Lord Tanden said. "And if anyone asks why he didn't finish your laundry, I'll gladly explain why he was busy."

"Nobody will care that we grabbed him."

Lord Tanden looked at him blankly for a moment, then turned to his cousin. "Was the threat too subtle, Tenn? I'm not used to talking to idiots."

Lord Ratenn shook his head. "I understood, Tanden."

"Lord Tanden," he corrected. "You might be family, but right now I don't think we have the type of relationship that gives you permission to drop my title."

Lord Ratenn seemed to shrink. "Sorry, my lord."

With a brisk nod, Tanden turned and walked away. Myloh trailed after him anxiously. Now that the immediate threat was gone, he started to think about how easy it would be to blame him for what had happened. Sure, he hadn't hit Lord Tanden. But he might as well have, and he knew that everyone who saw them walking together would instantly come to that conclusion.

Lord Tanden stopped before walking into the main building. He was holding his left sleeve under his nose again, and when he spoke his voice was muffled. "Bring some water and washcloths up to my room. If anyone gives you any trouble tell them to take it up with me."

Myloh dipped into a shallow bow. "Yes, my lord. I'll be right there." He hurried into the building, and as he made his way to the kitchens he tried to calm himself down. It was just cleaning. He was good at that. In the kitchens, he avoided conversation with the other servants simply by moving quickly. Everyone knew not to interrupt someone who looked like he was in a rush. He gathered a few clean washcloths, a basin, and a pitcher of warm water.

He used the servant staircase to get to the upper floors. Luckily, he had cleaned Lord Tanden's room before, so he knew where to find it. He made his way down the halls, stepping aside to make way for other lords whenever they crossed paths with him. Nobody asked what he was doing, much to his relief. When he reached the right door, he awkwardly shifted the way he was holding the basin and cloths so that he could knock.

"Come in."

Myloh pushed open the door, and faltered before stepping into the room. Lord Tanden had stripped off his tunic, and he was holding the whole bundle under his nose. Myloh forced himself to look away. To look at anything but Lord Tanden. He carried everything into the room, and then hesitated, unsure of exactly what was expected.

"All right, come here." With his foot, Lord Tanden pulled his desk chair closer to the armchair. "Put everything here."

Myloh put down the basin, and carefully poured the warm water into it. He still couldn't look at the lord. "My lord, do you want me to..." he held up one of the cloths.

Lord Tanden tossed aside the bloody tunic. "Please do. Does my nose look all right? I haven't been punched in years."

Myloh dipped the cloth into the water, and then finally let himself look at Lord Tanden. Despite the blood, he was very handsome. "I think your nose is fine, my lord." He tried to ignore his thoughts and concentrate on the task at hand. As gently as possible, he dabbed away the blood on Lord Tanden's chin and lips.

"You don't have to call me that," Lord Tanden said.

Surprised, Myloh glanced up, meeting the lord's eyes for a heartbeat.

"Oh." Lord Tanden said. "You're thinking about what I said to Tenn? I was making a point, and he knew it. I'll talk to him privately in a few days and clear the air. The title comes in handy sometimes, but I didn't earn it."

Myloh didn't know if he was supposed to say anything. He quietly rinsed off the cloth, wrung it out, and continued wiping away the blood.

"You can call me sir, I suppose. Quicker, slightly less formal. Your name is Myloh, isn't it?"

"Yes... sir," Myloh replied, only pausing for a second. It didn't sound right, but the last thing he wanted to do was insult the lord.

"So is it true?"

The fear that had slowly disappeared started to come back. Myloh turned away from him and pretended to focus on rinsing the cloth again. "No, sir."

"No, you don't sleep with men? Or no, you don't get paid for it?"

"Sir, I..."

"Myloh, one way or another, the stories will pass. Something interesting will happen and everyone will forget what they heard about you. I'm only asking because I'm genuinely curious, but you don't have to tell me if you don't want to."

Myloh stared at the water. Against the white basin, it looked pink. It was his fault Lord Tanden was bleeding, and so, even though he was scared, he decided to tell the truth.

"It was just one man," he said quietly. "One of the other servants. We were... sort of courting, I guess. Secretly. But a few weeks ago he decided he was done with it, and he moved out of Zianna. He said there was a job offer, but I don't know. And I don't know how any rumours got started. I thought we were discreet."

"Oh. I'm sorry to hear that," Lord Tanden said. "I hope Lovi blesses you with a new partner soon." He smiled when Myloh's eyes darted to meet his again. "You look Teltish at first glance, but your eyes give it away. Myloh..." With that, his confident demeanor seemed to fade slightly. "You can tell me no. Be honest. Can I kiss you?"

The apprehension in Myloh's chest fluttered and disappeared, replaced by something he hadn't felt in weeks. "What?"

Lord Tanden ran a hand through his hair. "Fuck. Did I scare you? Just say no, if you don't want me to. Please be honest."

Myloh's mind went blank. He couldn't even gather his racing thoughts enough to say a single word.

Lord Tanden seemed to need to fill the silence. "It's just that I think I want to. It's very confusing. I've been noticing recently that... well. Men are..."

"Attractive?" Myloh guessed tentatively. The change in Lord Tanden's behaviour was putting him at ease a bit. The lord was acting like a normal person. A normal, somewhat nervous young man who wasn't sure what he was feeling. Myloh had been there. "Sir. You can." He said it before really thinking about it, and when Tanden looked at him he almost regretted it. But then he nodded and said again, more firmly. "You can kiss me."

Tanden didn't move. "Do you want me to?"

"Um... wait." Myloh held up the cloth again, and wiped Tanden's mouth. His nose had stopped bleeding, and a bit of a bruise was starting to darken his cheek. "Did you save me because you want to kiss me, sir?"

"I saved you because Feshor is piece of shit. I would have saved any of the servants. Luyec's an idiot, and Ratenn's... family. So I shouldn't say anything too terrible about him, I suppose."

"What about the other one?" Myloh picked up one of the clean washcloths to dry Tanden's face.

"Oh. Lord... honestly, I can't remember. I think his family works for Feshor's."

Myloh put the other cloth aside. Tanden had a nervous energy that Myloh felt like he understood. It didn't strike him as normal lord behaviour, but he also hadn't really been around the lords outside of the dining hall or passing in the hallways. It made sense that they would be more normal in private.

He tried to settle the nervousness he was feeling. "Sir... do you want me to do it?"

Tanden looked at him. "Maybe. Yes. That might help."

So before he could second guess himself, Myloh leaned forward. He tried to imagine that Tanden was just another servant. Myloh was the one with experience, he could guide Tanden through it. But when their lips met, Tanden's hesitancy vanished.

Tanden obviously wasn't new to kissing, he was just new to kissing other men. He tugged Myloh closer and looped his arms behind Myloh's back. Caught up in the moment, Myloh slid his fingers into Tanden's hair. He nearly climbed onto Tanden's lap, before suddenly remembering who he was kissing. For a second he faltered.

Tanden immediately leaned back and let go. "Are you all right? You can say no. I won't be offended."

The last thing Myloh wanted to do was offend him, but still, it took him a moment to think through his racing thoughts. "No, I... you... you're a lord," he said quietly, sitting back on his knees.

Tanden settled in his armchair with a sigh. "I'm a lord who is specifically giving you permission to tell me no. It isn't a trick."

Myloh looked down at his hands. It almost seemed surreal that they had just been running through Tanden's hair. That he had touched the lord at all. "I'm not saying no, sir," he finally said.

"You tensed up."

"I just, um..." Myloh looked up to see that Tanden was watching him carefully. "I just thought about who you are, sir."

"Sometimes I really hate my title."

"No, sir, you shouldn't." Myloh said it without thinking. "I just mean that without it, you wouldn't have been able to rescue me. Now, I... um, if you want to, I wouldn't mind if..." He knew the nerves he was feeling weren't just because of Tanden's title. Part of it was because of the kiss. He wanted more, but somehow asking didn't feel right. "I mean, I'd really like it, if you wanted to kiss me again. Sir."

"Really?" Tanden sounded hopeful.

Myloh decided to take a bit of a risk. Tanden seemed sincere, and maybe still a little nervous himself. It encouraged Myloh to be a little more proactive. Without a word he stood up, aware of Tanden's eyes on him. He crossed the room to sit on the edge of Tanden's bed. For a second he let himself think about how the bed was just as comfortable as it looked, especially compared to the thin mattresses they had in the servants' rooms. He spread his hand over the soft blanket, and then finally looked at Tanden again. It was as much of an invitation he could give without saying it out loud.

Tanden got to his feet and closed the distance between them in two steps. Myloh lay down as Tanden leaned over him. This time, he did his best to not get caught up in his head. Tanden's kissing shifted quickly from hesitant to passionate, and Myloh let himself enjoy every moment of it. He let himself touch Tanden—stroking his cheek, running his hands through Tanden's hair, even tentatively trailing his fingers across Tanden's chest.

Tanden's hands explored, as well. He touched Myloh's hair, slipped his fingers under the hem of Myloh's tunic, pinned Myloh's wrists to the bed. Myloh loved every touch. He got lost in Tanden's attention, and couldn't have guessed how long it was before Tanden stopped and flopped onto the bed beside him.

They lay side by side, staring up at the ceiling. Myloh felt flushed and warm, and, he was surprised to realize, comfortable. He was comfortable lying beside Tanden. He tilted his head to eye Tanden. The young lord looked thoughtful, staring at the ceiling like it had all the answers.

Myloh hated to break the silence, but he needed to. "So... was that good?"

At almost exactly the same time, Tanden asked, "Can we do this again?"

It was getting late, and the room was dark. Myloh was glad Tanden couldn't see him blush. "I guess that answers my question, sir."

Tanden was still staring at the ceiling, and he laughed. "I guess it does. So is that a yes?"

"Yes, sir," Myloh said. "Whenever you want. We can do more, too. If that's something you'd like."

"Let's keep it simple, for now." Tanden rolled to prop himself up on his left arm. With a casual ease, he leaned down and kissed Myloh again. "You should probably go. I would hate for anyone to notice you aren't in bed on time. I don't want to get you into any trouble."

Myloh would have liked to stay the night, but Tanden was right. Servants had been beaten for missing curfew before. He climbed off of the comfortable bed, and went to collect the basin of cold water and damp cloths.

"Myloh. You work in the dining hall usually, don't you?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well, in that case, I'll see you at breakfast. Thank you."

Myloh turned around. "Thank you?"

Tanden was sitting up, one leg drawn up onto the bed and his arms looped comfortably around it. He shrugged. "You know, for this. You've given me something to think about. So... thank you. And good night."

"Good night, sir," Myloh said. He slipped into the hallways as quietly as possible and started walking down the hall. If anybody asked, at least he was carrying a basin of bloody water to explain his whereabouts. He probably should have been nervous about being caught, but instead his thoughts lingered on what had just happened.

He wasn't under any misconception that it would lead to anything serious. One day Tanden would graduate and leave the Order, like most of the young lords did. Myloh wasn't about to let himself get caught up in feelings for someone who was going to leave. Until that happened, at least they could have some fun.

After all, how many people could claim they had been physical with a Tandran?