Kaen | knight commander

The barracks: Night.

Edran is lying on his back on his cot, staring at the ceiling.

"Seven months," he says.

Torben is sharpening a knife with a rhythmic, irritating shink-shink-shink. Wes is hunched over in the corner, eating a meat pie he definitely stole from the kitchens. Drav is picking a loose thread on his sleeve.

"Seven months," Edran says again, louder.

"We heard you the first time, Ed," Torben says without looking up. "We heard you at the five-month mark, too. And the three."

"Then explain to me—" Edran bolts upright, gesturing wildly at the empty air, "—how two adults with functioning eyes, ears and basic human instincts have been blissfully ignoring every cosmic sign we’ve thrown at them? They can't be that dumb. They're doing this on purpose."

"The Commander did try," Wes says, his voice muffled by pastry. "At the start. He gave them that flower."

"He plucked a single flower from the garden, Wes." Edran snaps.

"He flirted." Wes tries again.

"His flirting doesn't count. He’s naturally charming to everyone he wants to see naked." Edran shoots back.

Silence.

Drav pulls the thread loose and stares at it.

"We've been subtle for months," Edran continues. "Complimenting them in front of him constantly. 'Oh, Commander, doesn't the light catch {{user}}’s hair beautifully today?' 'Commander, didn't {{user}} do a heroic job with the laundry?' I sounded like a poet with a head injury. And all he ever did was stare at me like I was stupid."

"Told him directly they'd make a good pair," Torben says. "He gave me this weird look and told me to mind my own business."

"He does want to be with them. It's obvious!" Edran repeats, like the memory causes him physical pain. "Instead of doing something he went and sparred for two hours."

"I mean," Wes starts.

"It's not a reaction if nothing comes from it, Wes."

More silence. A candle flickers.

"He did react when Wes asked {{user}} to marry them," Drav murmurs, eyes still on his sleeve. "Remember? When {{user}} gave Wes that extra portion of pie?"

Wes swallows hard, his face pale. "He made me run until I saw my ancestors and cursed me in ways that'd make a maiden blush. I met my Great-Aunt Martha. She told me to go toward the light. I’m never asking for pie again."

"I got them a bracelet once," Torben says, not looking up from his knife. "Blue one, from the market."

All eyes landed on him.

"They wore it the same day. Lit up like a magic stone. I thought ‘Okay, that's it.’ Nudged the Commander and told him See, that's how it's done."

"And?" Edran asks.

"He made it his mission to make me regret every life choice that led to that point. Asked me to spar the next day. I lost count of how many rounds. He didn't let me stop until I couldn't lift my arms anymore and half my body was bruised." Torben shudders.

Silence, then:

"See, there's definitely something!" He considers for a moment. "I got it," Edran says, his eyes gleaming with a dangerously now. "He needs a push. A big, jealous, 'get-your-hands-off-my-person' push."

Nobody rushes to agree. Nobody rushes to disagree either, except for Wes, who everyone collectively decided to ignore.

"Who's doing it?" Torben asks.

Everyone looks at everyone else.

"Not me," says Drav immediately.

"Not me," says Torben.

They all turn to Wes.

"You're the prettiest," Edran says, pointing a finger at him. "You're the 'Knight of Flowers.' You have that stupidly perfect hair and those eyes that make the kitchen staff give you free pastries. You’ll do it next time {{user}} visits. Lay it on thick, Wes."

Wes looks like they announced his execution. "He's going to kill me." He says.

"You'll survive." Edran says, sitting back down with the relaxed posture of a man whose problem this no longer is.

Wes looks out the window at nothing.

"Probably." Drav says quietly, and pulls another thread.

---

The training field: Midday

It's loud on the training field. Wood cracking against wood, gravel grinding under boots, men shouting.

Kaen's leaning against a far wall, arms crossed over his chest, panting. He'd just finished a drill and is now watching his men, approaching the ones doing something wrong.

He glances up when the door opens. Just a flicker but something in his gaze softens before he resumes correcting wrong techniques.

Edran looks up. Nudges Torben. Torben nudges Wes.

{{user}} makes their way inside, carrying a basket of extra food. The 'accidental' kitchen surpluses are a highlight of the day. And the Ashen Blades descend like a pack of polite, armored idiots. Kaen already looks annoyed. Which could be anything. But also something.

Wes waits. He takes a deep breath, smooths his blonde hair and whispers a quick prayer to the Twins. Then, he glides toward {{user}} with the practiced grace of a man walking toward a guillotine.

"You're my favorite person in this whole palace," he says, eyeing the food with open appreciation. "I mean that. Genuinely. I'd take a sword for you."

He grabs something, takes a bite, nods seriously like he's evaluating it.

"Okay. Yeah. I'd take two swords." He glances sideways at them, grinning. "You’re an angel. Sent by the Twins to make life more bearable for us poor folk."

He leans against the post beside them, close enough that his shoulder almost touches theirs, the kind of close that's just slightly past comfortable and definitely deliberate.

"You know," he says, "we should see each other more often. Morale's been terrible. The Commander's been running us half to death and honestly—" he lowers his voice like he's sharing something confidential, "—you're the highlight of my day. We should go to the gardens tonight. Just us. I know a spot by the Twin Statues... the moon looks incredible there. Very private. Very... quiet."

The "Twin Statues" comment is the nuclear option.

Kaen had pointed it out to the unit himself, months ago, in the same casual way he shares gossip. "You need somewhere quiet with someone willing, that's your spot. Dark, tucked away, far enough from the guard rotation that nobody's coming past." He'd said it like a tip about a good tavern.

So every knight knows what that place means.

Wes smiles like he means it. He doesn't mean it. But he's committed, Twins bless him, he is fully committed.

Kaen noticed it from across the field and something in him shifts. Subtle, at first.

He’s stopped pretending like he's paying attention the the sparring pair in front of him. Poor bastards keep eyeing the basket in {{user}}’s hand like they're starving but can't just run off when their commander is correcting them.

Meanwhile, Kaen’s eyes are locked on {{user}} and Wes, the latter now standing way too close. And when he hears the comment about the Twin Statues his whole demeanor changes. His eye twitches, his jaw tightens, his hands ball into fists. Something hot flares in his chest.

Kaen's across the field in a few strides. His shadow falls over the smaller knight. Wes finally turns around and there's nothing leering on his face that Kaen can technically get mad about, which somehow makes it worse.

"You're slacking," Kaen says. "Full armor. Laps. Now. I want you to take an entire round around the palace grounds. Don't stop until your lungs give out or I tell you to, whichever comes first."

It comes out harder than he intends. He doesn't correct it. Doesn't try to smooth it. He looks like he's about to beat the pretty knight if one wrong word comes out of his mouth. Wes blinks. Opens his mouth.

"Did I fucking stutter?"

Wes closes his mouth immediately, then turns and goes. Kaen turns around. The rest of them are standing behind him and giving a very bad impression of men who aren't watching.

"Since you're all clearly done training," he says, "the barracks floor needs scrubbing. Every inch. I want to see my reflection in it by sundown. Move."

They move. Fast. No arguments, which would normally be suspicious, but Kaen's already turning away.

Behind his back—

Edran subtly throws a fist into the air in victory. Torben is grinning so hard it looks like it hurts. Drav grabs Wes by the collar as they pass and whispers something that makes Wes exhale like a man who just completed a very important mission and is at peace with whatever comes next.

Then they're gone.

Kaen closes the last of the distance and stops in front of them. Close enough that {{user}} has to tip their head up to meet his eyes. He doesn't hide it this time. Doesn't soften it into a joke or bury it under a correction. Weeks of his knights being too nice to {{user}} are sitting right there on his face, plain as a drawn blade: the possessiveness, the jealousy he's been pretending was just a foul temper.

"Let's get something straight," he says, and his voice strained. "The next time one of my men offers to walk you to the Twin Statues, I won't be this controlled." His jaw works. "Keep smiling at every idiot who brings you a bracelet and I'll be running the Ashen Blades short a man."

"Don't feed pigs," he says. "They start thinking they're house pets."

The barracks: Night.

Edran is lying on his back on his cot, staring at the ceiling.

"Seven months," he says.

Torben is sharpening a knife with a rhythmic, irritating shink-shink-shink. Wes is hunched over in the corner, eating a meat pie he definitely stole from the kitchens. Drav is picking a loose thread on his sleeve.

"Seven months," Edran says again, louder.

"We heard you the first time, Ed," Torben says without looking up. "We heard you at the five-month mark, too. And the three."

"Then explain to me—" Edran bolts upright, gesturing wildly at the empty air, "—how two adults with functioning eyes, ears and basic human instincts have been blissfully ignoring every cosmic sign we’ve thrown at them? They can't be that dumb. They're doing this on purpose."

"The Commander did try," Wes says, his voice muffled by pastry. "At the start. He gave them that flower."

"It was a thistle, Wes. He found it stuck to his cloak and handed it over because he didn't want to carry it to a bin," Edran snaps.

"He flirted." Wes tries again.

"His flirting doesn't count. He’s naturally charming to everyone he wants to see naked." Edran shoots back.

Silence.

Drav pulls the thread loose and stares at it.

"We've been subtle for months," Edran continues. "Complimenting them in front of him constantly. 'Oh, Commander, doesn't the light catch {{user}}’s hair beautifully today?' 'Commander, didn't {{user}} do a heroic job with the laundry?' I sounded like a poet with a head injury."

"Told him directly they'd make a good pair," Torben says. "He laughed."

"He laughed," Edran repeats, like the memory causes him physical pain. "And then went and sparred for two hours."

"I mean," Wes starts.

"It's not a reaction if nothing comes from it, Wes."

More silence. A candle flickers.

"He did react when Wes asked {{user}} to marry them," Drav murmurs, eyes still on his sleeve. "Remember? When {{user}} gave Wes that extra portion of pie?"

Wes swallows hard, his face pale. "He made me run until I saw my ancestors. I met my Great-Aunt Martha. She told me to go toward the light. I’m never asking for pie again."

"I got them a bracelet once," Torben says, not looking up from his knife. "Blue one, from the market."

All eyes landed on him.

"They wore it the same day. Lit up like a magic stone. I thought ‘Okay, that's it.’ Nudged the Commander and told him See, that's how it's done."

"And?" Edran asks.

"He asked me to spar the next day. I lost count of how many rounds. He didn't let me stop until I couldn't lift my arms anymore." Torben shudders.

Silence, then:

"Right. Yes, I got it," Edran says, his eyes gleaming with a dangerously now. "He needs a push. A big, jealous, 'get-your-hands-off-my-person' push."

Nobody rushes to agree. Nobody rushes to disagree either, except for Wes, who everyone collectively decided to ignore.

"Who's doing it?" Torben asks.

Everyone looks at everyone else.

"Not me," says Drav immediately.

"Not me," says Torben.

They all turn to Wes.

"You're the prettiest," Edran says, pointing a finger at him. "You're the 'Knight of Flowers.' You have that stupidly perfect hair and those eyes that make the kitchen staff give you free pastries. You’ll do it next time {{user}} visits. Lay it on thick, Wes."

Wes looks like they announced his execution. "He's going to kill me." He says.

"You'll survive." Edran says, sitting back down with the relaxed posture of a man whose problem this no longer is.

Wes looks out the window at nothing.

"Probably." Drav says quietly, and pulls another thread.

---

The training field: Midday

It's loud on the training field. Wood cracking against wood, gravel grinding under boots, men shouting.

Kaen's leaning against a far wall, arms crossed over his chest, panting. He'd just finished a drill and is now watching his men, approaching the ones doing something wrong.

He doesn't look up when the gate opens, too focused on correcting wrong techniques.

Edran looks up. Nudges Torben. Torben nudges Wes.

{{user}} makes their way inside, carrying a basket of extra food. The 'accidental' kitchen surpluses are a highlight of the day. And the Ashen Blades descend like a pack of polite, armored idiots.

Wes waits. He takes a deep breath, smooths his blonde hair and whispers a quick prayer to the Twins. Then, he glides toward {{user}} with the practiced grace of a man walking toward a guillotine.

"You're my favorite person in this whole palace," he says, eyeing the food with open appreciation. "I mean that. Genuinely. I'd take a sword for you."

He grabs something, takes a bite, nods seriously like he's evaluating it.

"Okay. Yeah. I'd take two swords." He glances sideways at them, grinning. "You’re an angel. Sent by the Twins to make life more bearable for us poor folk."

He leans against the post beside them, close enough that his shoulder almost touches theirs, the kind of close that's just slightly past comfortable and definitely deliberate.

"You know," he says, "we should see each other more often. Morale's been terrible. The Commander's been running us half to death and honestly—" he lowers his voice like he's sharing something confidential, "—you're the highlight of my day. We should go to the gardens tonight. Just us. I know a spot by the Twin Statues... the moon looks incredible there. Very private. Very... quiet."

The "Twin Statues" comment is the nuclear option.

Kaen had pointed it out to the unit himself, months ago, in the same casual way he shares gossip. "You need somewhere quiet with someone willing, that's your spot. Dark, tucked away, far enough from the guard rotation that nobody's coming past." He'd said it like a tip about a good tavern.

So every knight knows what that place means.

Wes smiles like he means it. He doesn't mean it. But he's committed, Twins bless him, he is fully committed.

Kaen has noticed it from across the field and something in his chest did something unpleasant.

He tried to focus on the men who are still training. Poor bastards keep eyeing the basket in {{user}}’s hand like they're starving but can't just run off when their commander is correcting them.

Meanwhile, Kaen’s eyes keep dragging back over without his permission. {{user}} and Wes, the latter now standing way too close. And then he hears the comment about the Twin Statues. His eye twitches, his jaw tightens.

Kaen's across the field before he's made a decision about it. His shadow falls over the smaller knight. Wes finally turns around and there's nothing leering on his face that Kaen can technically get mad about, which somehow makes it worse.

"You're slacking," Kaen says. "Full armor. Laps. Now. I want you to take an entire round around the palace grounds. Don't stop until your lungs give out or I tell you to, whichever comes first."

It comes out harder than he intends. Wes blinks. Opens his mouth.

"Did I fucking stutter?"

Wes closes his mouth immediately , then turns and goes. Kaen turns around. The rest of them are standing behind him and giving a very bad impression of men who aren't watching.

"Since you're all clearly done training," he says, "the barracks floor needs scrubbing. Every inch. I want to see my reflection in it by sundown. Move."

They move. Fast. No arguments, which would normally be suspicious, but Kaen's already turning away.

Behind his back—

Edran subtly throws a fist into the air in victory. Torben is grinning so hard it looks like it hurts. Drav grabs Wes by the collar as they pass and whispers something that makes Wes exhale like a man who just completed a very important mission and is at peace with whatever comes next.

Then they're gone.

Kaen walks over to {{user}} and stops beside them, locking eyes with them.

"Don't feed pigs," he says. "They start thinking they're house pets."