Pieces

Ich habe mich entschlossen, dass ich einmal diese Geschichte teile. :) Mal mit einer ungewöhnlichen Perspektive, denn diese Geschichte ist aus der Perspektive von Abel geschrieben.

Speaking with your Hands

Abel found the world a strange place. It stood to reason that somehow in the way they worked, night creatures would be the same. They were created by the same magic after all. Or at least it should stand to reason that at least those night creatures created by the same forgemaster would be similar in nature, and yet they were so clearly not. They ranged widely in appearance, powers and also their sense of self. Some of the other creatures really were that: creatures. They had a mind, but that mind was mostly gone. While maybe slightly more intelligent than a dog, it was not much more than that. They were not really aware of themselves, even though they possessed human souls, didn't they?

He was aware though. He was aware of himself, of his place in this world and how this place had shifted. In this form he was not old. Not even quite five years old and it did seem that this monstrous body would not age like a human body would.

He knew that even night creatures would die of old age at some point, though most obviously died in battle. After all it was, what they were created for, was it not? They were creatures made for violence and yet his creator had a different idea for them. And it was ironic. Even Abel could see that, though he was utterly unable to communicate his idea of irony.

In this body he was unable to speak. His only means of communication was writing and even that ended up being too complicated most of the time, given that his claws had not been made to hold a pen but to tear out the innards of a living being. He did not know, why in this body that was mostly humanoid, he could not speak, while a being such as Nicolai, who had mostly the form of an insect, was able to use the human language. But given that he was not even able to scream or laugh, he assumed that this body was missing a voice box and there was nothing to be done about it.

It was... frustrating at times. Because he would've liked to talk to people, but he had made his peace with it. Even without it the people around him had at least accepted that he had a mind. That he was one of those creatures - persons? - aware of their place in this world. And maybe that would just be enough for him.

It was ironic, really. He was night creature and yet he did enjoy the warm light of the sun on this early spring day. It felt good on the light skin of his, felt good on his wings as well. And while even these days the humans of Styria out at these times would at times shoot him strange looks, he liked to hover over the castle and just enjoy the sun.

He was wondering at times who he had been before. Because it was once again where they all differed. Some of his fellow night creatures were able to remember their former lives as humans. Some remembered their time in hell. He did remember neither. There were glimpses and pieces of it, of course. He did remember a horse. He did remember other men. He remembered carrying a sword and fighting with it. He remembered a desert and wandering it. But it was more like single images in his mind. There was no name for him to recall. How old had he been when he had died? Did he have a family? When had he lived? All things that were evading him.

At times he envied Nicolai for it. For remembering so much. But maybe it did not matter either. Because he had a new life, of course, and a place to be.

Had he been human, he would've jerked as he heard someone call his name.

“Abel! Abel!” It was the name his forgemaster had given him, of course. And he did not even know why. But he did not dislike it.

The man calling him, though, as not his forgemaster. It was the other forgemaster instead. Hector was his name. His ashen hair was reflecting the sun.

Abel floated downwards to the man standing on the inner courtyard of the castle. He was carrying a book. Not one of those big tomes, but rather a small note book bound in red leather. And it seemed the man was rather excited about something.

Now in front of him, Abel nodded to suggest he was listening.

The man looked at him with a kind of smile that was rare for him. “I have just found something.”

Abel once more nodded, given that it was one of the only things he could do to communicate.

“See. I think I have an idea.” The man was breathless, so he had probably run here. Something more that did surprise Abel. “I just read this thing. Uhm.” He hesitated for a moment. “See, there are monks that give a vow of silence. Meaning they are not allowed to speak.”

Another nod, as Abel was waiting where this is going.

“And some of them have developed a thing. A way to communicate still. They use their hands, you see? Making up signs. A whole language like that.”

Abel understood where this was going. He looked at the man, before once more nodding slowly. He extended his hand, asking for the book and Hector gave it to him.

It was written in Latin, a language Abel had still not completely mastered. But he could make out certain things from it: It was written by a monk. A monk who had given such a vow of silence. And it was going in descriptions over some of the gestures he was using to communicate with those other monks.

It was a good idea. Because he still had hands, no matter how deformed into claws those were. He tried to use them to communicate at times, though it did not always work. He tried gesturing at the man though. Trying to convey his meaning: “What are you saying?”

Hector hesitated, trying to parse the gesture. “I was thinking we could try the same. We could come up with a formalized way for you to communicate like that.”

Now, Abel rarely smiled, as he had found that most people - both human and vampires - found his smile disconcerting. He did now think, because it did honor him how excited that young man was about this idea and how much he seemingly wanted to help. And really... Abel would give a lot right now to be able to just convey a fraction of his thoughts. So, he nodded, and Hector smiled back.

***

Abel was glad he was at least able to hear well. He understood what other people were saying, was able to learn other languages as well. As he had come to this world, had awakened in this body, he only had known the mother tongue of the man who had created him: Arabic. Another thing they differed in, as some of his night creature brothers and sisters did in fact remember languages, they had learned in their first life. Nicolai, for example, was still fluent in both Latin and Greek.

But Abel had learned. Abel had learned the language spoken in these parts, so he could understand the humans and vampires around him. He had also learned some bits and pieces of Greek, as it was the language that both Hector and Nicolai might fall into, when they were talking for too long.

As they sat there in the library, Hector was switching through the languages. A bit of Arabic, a bit of German, a bit of Greek as well. They were trying to figure out certain things to formalize for him to communicate with his hands. There were certain gestures, that were easy to come up with: If he was pointing at himself, he would mean “I”. If he was pointing at someone he was talking to, he would mean “you”. Making a wider gesture with both hands could mean “all”. He could mimic certain actions, too. Like tapping his middle and index finger together with his thumb to mean “speak”. Or moving his middle and index fingers in a mimicking gesture of walking to mean just that: “walk” or “go”. Other things like “up” and “down” were rather easy, too.

Hector had different ideas, though. “A language needs structure,” he was muttering, having a parchment lying in front of him. “Like grammar and such.”

Abel tapped his arm to draw his attention back to him. He tried to convey his confusion. As this was quite a lot of thought for that.

“See, if we make up a language, it should be complex enough for you to actually express thoughts. Not just basic ideas and actions. I know you think about things, right?”

Abel nodded. Indeed, he did. Given that he could not talk, he had spent a lot of time since he had been created thinking about stuff. About his place in the world. About the future as well and what it could look like. He had listened to Nicolai, too, as Nicolai would love to ramble to him about their nature as night creatures. And he had found that some of those thoughts were quite interesting. After all, Nicolai was right. Abel had learned that night creatures were in fact able to procreate normally. Which gave rise to the question what kind of soul those night creatures born from such a coupling would have. Did they, too, possess a human soul or something else?

Oh, he had no idea how to put that thought into signs, though.

Maybe Hector had a similar thought. “Abstract things will be the hardest to express. But first we need some sort of grammar. What do you like best? I know there are languages where you will just skip things like ‘I’ and ‘you’ when they come natural from the context. I mean, we probably cannot make up anything where the person a verb is referring to can be concluded from the verb itself. That would be too complicated.”

Abel frowned, knowing very well, that it was a strange expressing given there was a fifth eye in the middle of his forehead. He just was not a linguist or anything like that. To him it would already be helpful to communicate simple ideas, though he did appreciate the thought that Hector was putting into this.

Now the man was sighing. “I think we need to make clear who a sentence is referring to first. So, probably, a sentence should start out with the grammatical subject.”

Abel tried with a shrug. Because he had no clue at all was a “grammatical subject” was supposed to be.

But Hector was not bad at this. He understood quite well the question Abel was unable to ask. “If I say ‘I am going to the tower’, then ‘I’ am the grammatical subject. If I say, uhm, ‘the tower is falling’ then ‘the tower’ is the subject. And if I say ‘the horse runs really fast’ then it is ‘the horse’.”

That much Abel could understand, so he nodded.

“Basic sentence structure always contains a grammatical subject, a verb and one or more grammatical objects. A lot of languages have the words ending on certain syllables to indicate what they are within the sentence. But we cannot do that without sound, can we? So, we have to decide in what order they appear and the order has always to be the same.”

Abel blinked as he was staring at the man, who was scribbling something on the paper. He would've liked to say: ‘Aren't you giving this too much thought, given that it will probably only be used by me and you and maybe Isaac?’ but of course that was not a question he could convey. So, he just nodded.

***

Abel had heard Isaac speak about it. About how Hector could obsess about things. When he had found something to occupy his mind, he would focus on that one thing and nothing else. Though a part of him was thankful for it, because quite frankly: Ever since his second life had started, nobody had ever taken that much time to just talk to him, to find a basis of understanding him. And while it was tiring at times - in how far things could be actually tiring for a night creature that was - but it also got them somewhere.

It was about ten days after Hector had first come up with the idea, that they were managing some simple messages, like: “I am hungry.” Or: “There is a threat ahead.” Or: “Someone is looking for you.” Very simple things, yes, but it was more than he had been able to communicate to someone before.

Given that they also needed to communicate things like names, Hector also had come up with the idea of spelling out letters. Which was bothersome, especially given that often enough Abel was not certain how to spell certain things and he rather preferred to come up with simple signs for the people they would usually refer to. Enough that some of the ideas did get Hector to chuckle about it. And yes, Abel did enjoy, to annoy him with certain things. Like mimicking the sign for “cat person” to refer to Hector, given that the one vampire lady - Striga - would always just call him “kitten”.

For Isaac he would just mimic the way in which Isaac would hold his knife whenever he went into his battle stance. And yes, admittedly referring to Nicolai as “the guy with the fly eyes” was more complicated than just spelling out the name.

But Hector obviously understood.

He would make himself notes for it, too, sketch down some of the gestures that Abel came up with.

Most of the time he would just allow Abel to come up with it in the end, only suggesting some gestures from time to time - and going on and on about grammar. It seemed to Abel, that this man had some fun with the idea - and maybe was enjoying himself.

Abel knew of course, that Hector was at times struggling with the thing he actually was trying to do: Write a book. Abel did not understand why or what this book even was supposed to be about, but he knew that the man was struggling with it. He also did not like to talk about it, though. Did not like to bother others.

He was an interesting man, Abel assumed. But he also was considering that most people might be interesting. Because the man who had made him, Isaac, was quite interesting, too. He, too, was thinking a lot about philosophy and about God. Because he was a religious man, which always made Abel wonder whether he was religious himself. He did not think so, though he was not certain, whether this was true for his old life.

“So, how would you say: ‘Dying’?” Hector asked. “Or ‘Death’?”

Abel was smirking, even though he knew it was an unsettling sight. He made a gesture with his hand, as is slashing his own throat, making Hector chuckle once more.

“That is brutal,” the man muttered.

Abel shrugged, before thinking about it some more. He was using both hands to gesture, so he pointed up with one hand, before collapsing the hand into the other one. As if someone was falling into the ground. Just like a dead person, who would be buried.

Hector understood this much as well. He nodded. “Yeah, that could work,” he muttered. He imitated the gesture and Abel nodded. “Yeah, I guess that works.” He made a few sketches, to write it down.

There was a slightly snarling voice behind them. “What are you doing here all the time?” That was Nicolai, who was still very much frequenting the library.

Abel always had to wonder, how it was to read with those eyes of the other creature. Fractured into so many pieces. As he found himself it already quite hard to read without closing some of his own eyes - a luxury Nicolai's eyes would not afford.

“We are actually trying to come up with a way for Abel to speak,” Hector answered.

“But...” Nicolai was standing there, looking at them. “He is not able to speak, is he?”

“Well, he is not able to use his voice,” Hector replied. “But he can communicate, right? He can use his hands to gesture.”

Abel tapped the forgemaster's arm, to pull his gaze towards himself, before gesturing: “I am not sure he understands.” He was rather certain that if Nicolai's form had allowed him that luxury, he would have frowned right now.

Still, the other creature looked at him, watched him gesture. “This seems... complicated to say the least.”

Abel still signed, hoping that Hector would translate. “It allows me to speak.”

“I... can see that,” Nicolai concluded, as Hector had indeed translated for him. He was silent for a moment. “It is not a bad idea,” he then muttered.

“We are still trying to figure out more complex things,” Hector explained. “Abstract concepts and such.”

Whenever Nicolai chuckled, it kinda sounded like a poor creature dying in an avalanche. Yet, he did chuckle. “I see. You have put your mind onto this now, Hector. And you?” He looked to Abel. “Are you alright with this?”

Abel nodded. He understood the question of course, but yes, if this allowed him to speak - actually speak with people - he was more than willing to deal with Hector's slight obsessiveness. And really, it was good in this sense. Because without it, Abel doubted they would have come as far as they had in just ten days.

Nicolai, too, gave a slow nod. “Then I will leave you on it. I am... interested in having a talk with you some day.”

***

What had started out with just a few days, slowly turned into a process of nine weeks. But by the time those nine weeks were past, Abel was in fact able to have conversations with Hector at least - and be it just because Hector was a quick learner. Whenever Abel came up with a new sign - either for a new concept or to extend on one they had already covered - Abel would just need to repeat it maybe three for four times for Hector to memorize it. He would usually just imitate it once or twice, maybe himself some notes and then continue.

Abel could not help to feel thankful for it, too. Because... yes, it did feel good to have a proper conversation with someone. To not just keep all those thoughts he was having to himself. And yes, he was thankful for this man to have just come up with the idea just to help Abel.

“So, you really do not remember your last life?” Hector asked, as they were now standing on the castle wall, as the sun was setting in the west.

Abel shook his head. “Only glimpses,” he replied in sign. “There are pictures. I do remember them. But no name. No identity. I do not remember who I was. I barely remember if I was a man or a woman in that life. I assume a man, because I know I carried a sword.”

“You do look male in this form,” Hector observed, making Abel shrug.

“I am male in this form,” he agreed. “I don't know whether I was before. I don't know, whether our forms are dependent on that. After all, more night creatures are created male. And given that as many men die as woman, the souls you take should have equal measures as well.”

This made Hector frown. “I have not thought about that.”

“I have thought about it a lot,” Abel replied. “About our nature.”

Hector sighed at that. “It makes sense that you think about that a lot.”

“I also wonder, what influences the form we take,” Abel signed. “There are a lot of night creatures, who are kinda impish in appearance. But there are those like me or Nicolai, who are more unique. I also wonder, why Nicolai can speak but I cannot. Not with my voice.”

Leaning against the balustrade of the wall, Hector thought about it for a while. “What is your theory?” he asked.

So, heute habe ich eine Geschichte dabei, für die man Castlevania nicht wirklich kennen muss, weil es sich um eine OC Geschichte handelt. Also ja, ich weiß nicht, wer mal vorbeischauen möchte... ( Caroit oder Kaios vielleicht), aber ich dachte, ich lasse diese Geschichte einmal hier.

Hintergrund dabei ist, dass Coman und seine Schwester Joia zwei Kinder sind, die das Haupttrio adoptiert, nachdem die Eltern der beiden bei den Angriffen durch Dracula gestorben sind.

Es sei vielleicht dazu noch angemerkt, dass in meinem Headcanon zum Zeitpunkt dieser Geschichte (1481) die Walachei komplett unter ottomanischer Herrschaft steht.

Those Tender Feelings

His name was Temur. He had gotten to Wallachia with some of the first settlers from the Ottoman empire, had moved here with his parents. But then there had been an outbreak of cholera and the medication had not gotten there in time—or rather, nobody able to create medicine had even heard of the small settlement, until it was too late.

It had been Adrian, who had found him. Alone with his sister, though somehow surviving. Just as Coman had survived in the roads of Targoviste. It had been Adrian who brought him home, to the village of Belmont. Both Temur and his younger sister, Inki.

Temur was not quite eighteen years now, a whole year older than Coman. He had taken up the training that Trevor was offering, taking to the sword rather quickly. At times Coman would watch them, especially on those rainy days when they would train in the castle’s entrance hall.

Temur’s skin had this wonderful brown color. His hair was black and fell over his shoulder in locks. Coman knew, that he wished to wear a beard, but so far his facial hair was only growing in tiny, fluffy chunks. His eyes were of a dark brown, almost seeming black. They would be sparking with determination, when he would be there, in the entrance hall, again and again going through the motions of sword fighting.

Coman was not a big fighter. When he had gotten here, he thought he might be. Or rather he would’ve loved to impress someone—and be it just Trevor. But his arms would hurt rather quickly, his muscles tensing up when he tried his hand at it for too long.

“You just need training,” Adrian had told him. “Then it won’t hurt as much.” But the truth was, that fighting did not bring Coman a lot of joy—and neither did the practice of magic.

Just like most kids in the little town, he had learned some basic spells. If he ever was out on his own again, he would be able to light himself a fire using magic, just as he would be able to use magic to collect some water. But other than that, he had not taken to magic either.

Something he had taken to, though, was cooking. Maybe it was just because of all the spices the castle offered and how those could be used to get the most interesting flavor combinations. Maybe it just was, because during those three years, he had spent on the streets of Targoviste, food had been rare and good food even rarer. But at times, he would join Adrian or Trevor in the kitchen, willingly helping them prepare the meals for all of them.

And “all of them” would at times mean quite a lot. Right now, there were six other former street kids living in the castle. Coman’s older sister, Joia, she had moved out last summer. Not that it surprised him. So long she had been waiting for a romance—and once she had been safe again, once she had grown accustomed to the new living space, that romance had happened.

She was going to be twenty summers soon. So, it was maybe only right and proper for her to have a family of her own.

Coman meanwhile did enjoy living in that castle. He enjoyed cooking for everyone and helping where ever he could. He was not certain, what he would do with his life, of course, but maybe it still had a few years time.

And, well, then there was Temur.

At times Coman would sit in his room and sigh thinking about the other boy—or young man. Then he would think of those dark eyes and the way the other boy would laugh. He would think of that determination, when he was sparing with someone. The thought alone was enough to make Coman’s face flush and for a tingle to spread in his stomach.

Then he would think about the fact, that they were both boys and how it went against everything he had learned in his youth. In the next moment, though, he would feel guilty about that thought, given that Trevor and Adrian were very much in love with each other, even though they were both men. And when those two would be teasing each other, would be laughing together, would kiss each other or hold each other in their arms, it just seemed right for them to do it.

Maybe it was and Coman was just thinking too much about it. But maybe… Oh, he did not know. He did not know at all.

***

It was another rainy day and Adrian had sent Coman down to the ground level, to fetch him some of those first apples they had gathered. And saffron, while he was on it. They wanted to make a cake from it. A big cake, that could feed everyone at least for a bit. But once he was crossing the entrance hall, he could not help but pause, watching those other youngsters from the village train with their swords.

Trevor was there, instructing them—even though Adrian was so clearly the better sword fighter. Greta was there, too, joking with the man and with the youngsters.

Here, in the little town of Belmont, there was not really a difference made. Men and women would learn how to fight. As did boys and girls. Something that somehow seemed right, thinking about it. Because on the roads of Targoviste… God knew, that the girls would profit greatly from learning how to fight.

Any of those clear thoughts vanished from Coman’s mind, though, the moment he was Temur. He was sparing with Adin, a boy from the village, who had come here with his parents and his siblings. Adin was rather big, but surprisingly nimble for his size. As such, his movements were fast, when he was parrying Temur’s attacks.

Of course, they were only using wooden sparing swords, those clanging together almost like musical instruments. Temur was an offensive fighter. He took a step forward, attacking with a straight slash, being blocked. A step to the side, another blow and this one was blocked, too. He would not give up. Even from those ten yards away that Coman was standing on that staircase, he could see it. The determined sparkle on those dark eyes, that made his throat suddenly go dry.

Temur took another step, attacking twice. But Adin’s movement was quick. Now it was him, to take a sidestep, to go into the counter offensive. The first blow was parried by Temur, but the second…

It happened fast and it was so clearly not meant to happen. But the wooden sword hit Temur against the head, sending him down to the ground.

Coman did not even think, running down the stairs. “Temur!” he shouted, though Adin was already there.

“You okay? I am sorry, I thought…”

There was blood trickling down over Temur’s face, as he held his forehead. “I am fine.”

For a moment Coman hesitating, pausing in his way. He looked to Temur, to Adin, then to Trevor. But he could not help himself, moving over to Temur and taking him by the shoulder. “Temur…” he muttered, feeling the flush of his own cheeks and wishing it was not there.

Temur looked at him. “Oh, hey, there.” He tried a smile, though it almost looked wrong given that the trickle of blood was more like a thin but constant stream. A laceration, no doubt. Maybe there was a concussion, too.

Coman looked around helplessly, until someone offered him a cloth. He did not even think before pressing it against the other boy’s forehead. “You…” He paused.

Only after a moment it dawned on him, that it had been Trevor offering him the cloth. Trevor, who know grinned. “Yeah, you probably need that looked at,” he said.

“I am fine,” Temur muttered.

“I am sure you are,” Trevor replied. “But I would prefer that you did not bleed out over our nice floor and all of that.”

This even got Temur to chuckle and Adin as well, who was rather pale looking right now.

Trevor took a look from one boy to the other, before shrugging. “You know where my husband is, Coman?”

“Kitchen,” Coman replied. “We… Actually, I was supposed to fetch him something.”

“Well, good thing you know where he is. You bring Temur up to his room, I am gonna fetch that old bastard, okay?”

“I am fine,” Temur protested weakly, but he probably already knew he was not getting out of this without being checked on. He managed to get up on his feet on his own, though, while Coman could not help but have his hands hover over the other boy’s shoulders.

It earned him a chuckle, while the blood was dripping down from Temur’s chin. “I am telling you, I am alright.”

“Yeah, Adrian is gotta have the last word on that,” Trevor muttered, before turning to Greta. “You alright with all of them?”

She chuckled. “Oh, please, I am gonna have them for breakfast.”

“You better not,” Trevor muttered and rolled his eyes, before looking over to Temur again. “Well, you get to your room.”

“What am I going to do?” Adin asked.

Trevor looked at those blood droplets on the floor. “You are gonna get a wet cloth and clean up.” With that he made his way over to the stairs.

Coman, meanwhile, kept by Temur’s side, the worry rising in his chest. He looked at the other boy, who was now holding the cloth against that wound himself, somehow stopping the steady flow of blood from it.

He noticed Coman’s worry, though, managing a grin. “Geez, I am fine, alright? It is just a scratch.”

“It might be a concussion,” Coman muttered, but that grin was not faltering.

“So, what? A concussion is not going to kill me.” Temur patted Coman’s shoulder. “Come on now, I survived worse.”

Coman sighed. “Yeah, maybe.”

“Geez, all doom and gloom, aren’t we?” Temur’s Romanescu still had a clear accent, though he was fluent by now. And even though Coman imagined that wound had to hurt, there was nothing in the boy’s demeanor that would betray it.

“You aren’t going to faint now, are you?” Temur now asked.

“What? Why?”

“You do look awfully pale.”

Coman managed a slight chuckle. “Maybe.”

“Yeah, suits you right. Trying to take care of the injured man only to them faint yourself.” Temur grinned. “Let’s better get up there.” He accelerated the pace of his steps, making his way up the staircase and forcing Coman to fasten his steps as well to keep up.

The castle had a lot of stairs, after all. And the rooms Trevor and the others had put them in, were on the fourth floor. They had apparently once been rooms for the castle’s servants, but still, those darn beds were rather cozy and even Coman had to admit to this.

“You should probably continue some sword training as well,” Temur said.

“Why?”

“I don’t know. It would be fun.”

“It mostly hurts,” Coman muttered.

“Oh, the pain is there at first. But it will go away soon enough. And I like the feeling of being able to… you know. Kill any bandit or night creature or vampire…” Temur broke of, laughing at this somehow.

“I…” Coman sighed. “Maybe.”

“Maybe would be a start,” Temur replied, climbing that spiral staircase that would get them to their rooms the fastest way. “I think you can have fun, too.”

“Maybe I could,” Coman replied. Because what else was he to reply?

He was relieved, though, as he reached Temur’s room and neither of them had fainted. Now up here, he could not help but usher the other boy into the room and towards his bed, making the boy groan.

“It’s alright, mate,” he grumbled. “I am telling you: I am fine.”

“You should still lie down,” Coman muttered. “Please. For me.”

Temur rolled his eyes, before letting himself fall onto that bed, shoes and all. “There. I am lying. Happy now?”

Standing beside that bed, Coman blushed. “I… Yes.”

“And you still look awfully pale,” Temur said. “So, I am rather not certain, whether it should be you lying down.”

An awkward chuckle was the best response that Coman managed, though the thought alone of lying down next to the other boy was almost making his heart burst. Temur had to notice that blush on his cheeks, so Coman turned his back to the other boy, sitting down by the side of the bed. “I am fine,” he muttered, his voice sounding surprisingly raspy right now. God! Just to think that he could lie down with Temur. To think that…

No. He could not. Because it would be wrong, right? It absolutely would be wrong.

His breath was shaky—and startled even more as Temur stretched out his hand, putting it over Coman’s hand. The hand was so warm. So nice. Surprisingly soft, too. For a moment Coman almost forgot to breath.

“You sure you’re alright, mate?” Temur asked.

“I am fine,” he muttered. “I am… just a bit shocked, that’s all.”

He was so thankful, when he heard the steps on the corridor outside. Trevor and Adrian so clearly together, coming here.

There was a knock on the door just a moment later. A knock that Temur did reply to. “Yeah?”

Then both men came inside.

Seeing Trevor made Coman at times feel even tinier than he already did. Because he himself had not grown a lot, still being maybe two inches smaller than Sypha. Adrian said it was, because he had been malnourished for so long. But Trevor had been on those streets for quite a while as well and somehow, he had turned out rather large and muscular. So, really, Coman considered this to be rather unfair.

“So, you got hit in the head,” Adrian observed, gently gesturing for Coman to get up, so that he could have a look at Temur.

“It’s probably just a laceration,” Temur muttered, but removed the cloth to allow Adrian a look at the wound.

So, Adrian looked, gently pushing Temur’s head to the side, as the wound was just over his temple. “Yeah, it is a laceration,” he confirmed. One hand underneath Temur’s chin, he moved the boy’s head to the side, holding a finger in front of his face. “Focus on this,” he said and Temur did.

Adrian did a few other tests, while Coman was just awkwardly standing there.

He jerked, when Trevor put his hand onto his shoulder. “You alright?”

“Me?” Coman asked.

“Yeah, you. You look awfully pale.”

“I am fine,” Coman muttered. “Just… a bit shocked.”

Trevor looked at him for a long moment, before smiling. “Alright.”

Now finished with the check-up, Adrian sighed. “You don’t seem to have a concussion. But you need a stitch or two—and will probably get a nasty bump.” He turned. “Coman, will you fetch me some ice?”

“Ice?” Coman was not entirely certain, his mind so unfocused right now.

“Yeah, to cool this,” Adrian said. “I need some ice for the young lad.”

So, Coman nodded. “Sure.”

***

“You do not have much of an appetite, have you?” Joia asked, looking at Coman’s plate.

He was not even certain why he had gone over to her for supper, but it had somehow felt right. He sighed, looking over to her fiancé, Neacșu. Neacșu had been among those who had first settled that village. While he had once lost his parents in the night creature attacks—just like Coman and Joia—he had thankfully had a grandmother who had taken care of him.

He was two years older than Joia. His hair was red, his face freckled and half hidden underneath a beard.

“I am…” Coman did not even know what to say. “I am alright.”

“Yeah, for sure you are,” his sister muttered, with some sarcasm in her voice. “I am totally sure you are absolutely fine.”

He sighed, staring at his plate as well. There were some noodles on it in a vegetable stew. A nice and homey meal, but somehow his stomach still felt kinda cramped up. Had felt like that for the entire afternoon.

Neacșu was watching him as well. “You know what I think?”

Turning to him, Joia raised an eyebrow. “What do you think?”

“I think, that your little brother has love troubles.”

Coman jerked. “I do not.”

This earned him a laugh from both his sister and her fiancé. “Oh, you do!”

“I don’t!” he insisted.

“You are very obvious,” Joia replied. “So, tell me about her.”

This alone made his heart cramp up even more, as he once more looked at the plate in front of him. Because there was no “her”, there was only a “him”, but he could not say that, could he? Because while it only seemed proper and right that Trevor and Adrian loved each other, Coman had very much still been raised Catholic, until his parents had died, and he had learned that something like this was a sin.

He was not even sure he did believe in that God he had been taught about any longer. But the feeling that it was a sin remained.

“Come on now,” she said, just a bit gentler this time. Her hand found his wrist, holding it gently and when he raised his gaze, her eyes did reflect just a bit of worry. “Who is it?”

He sighed. “I… I do not want to talk about it, okay?” he whispered. “Not yet.” Because he knew she would probably be disappointed at least.

Even without outright looking at them, he knew that they were exchanging a long gaze, but in the end his sister leaned back in her chair. “Alright. But you know that you can come to me, if there is any trouble, right?”

“Yeah,” he muttered. “I know.” But yet he could not. Not with this.

***

Temur stayed in bed the next day, so that Coman did not see him. Maybe it was for the better, though a part of Coman really wanted to visit the other boy, make sure he was alright. Though he would know if he wasn’t. After all Trevor, Sypha and Adrian would all look after him from time to time, so Coman knew he was taken care of.

He tried to keep himself busy, going out into the forest that next afternoon to collect some berries and be alone with his thoughts.

A part of him wanted to cry, because he did feel rather miserable. Another part knew, that it would not get him anywhere, though. Because what good would crying do? He had to blink away a single tear, though.

Of course, he had learned another thing on the roads of Targoviste. He had learned, that even those who were talking big about sin were not above sinning. Because he had just been another street kid and all street kids would make this certain experiences, it seemed. Trevor had, that much he knew. All his friends had, too. Because at times the hunger would become too much to bear and then those certain ways of earning money or food remained.

So, Coman had learned early, that it was possible to satisfy certain male urges, even if you were not a woman.

But thinking about this also felt wrong. Thinking about being with Temur like that felt wrong. It was nothing they should do—and it was probably nothing that Temur would want either way. So, thinking it was wrong. It really was.

He tried to focus on those berries, tried to push those intrusive thoughts away. And yet again and again failed, when his mind was wondering how it would feel to kiss Temur, to touch him or to be held by him.

He wanted this. But he could not want it. He should not want it.

And while his basket way filled with some strawberries, raspberries and blackberries, when he returned, his mind was filled with the many thoughts he did not want to have. As such he barely perceived his surroundings, when he walked down the little town’s main street.

A hand met is shoulder, making him jerk once more.

“There you are,” Trevor said. “And here I thought you have been eaten by wolves.”

A flush spread over Coman’s face, as he almost assumed that Trevor knew too well, what he was thinking. “I… I just was out… Collecting berries. That’s all.”

“I can see that,” Trevor said, picking a single berry from the basket and eating it. “Oh, these are good.”

“Adrian wanted to make jelly,” Coman muttered, looking over to the castle, that towered over the entire settlement.

“That sounds like a great plan, if I dare say so.” When Coman started to walk again, Trevor kept up with him, following him.

It made Coman nervous and he was not even entirely certain why. He shot Trevor a gaze, before lowering his eyes once more. He was not even entirely certain, how long they walked next to each other, before Trevor spoke again.

“So,” he said. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“About what?” Too late Coman realized, how high pitched his voice was.

Trevor grinned. “About… those feelings.”

“What feelings?”

Once more Trevor patted his shoulder, gently pushing him further along to the castle. “You are having a crush.” This was not a question, just a simple observation.

“I don’t,” Coman muttering, earning himself just one more chuckle.

“Oh, please. You are not that hard to read, kid.”

“I…”

“It’s Temur, isn’t it?”

Coman’s face felt, as if it was burning bright hot. He did not reply, his throat feeling closed.

“You should talk with him about it,” Trevor observed.

“I shouldn’t,” Coman replied.

A short pause. “Why?”

And of course, Coman could not reply. Because he could not tell this man, who had taken him in, who had helped save his sister and everything, that it was wrong. Maybe it was not wrong, even. Who was Coman to know? But he knew he had been taught that it was wrong. He knew that it was one of the few things he remembered.

Trevor waited for him to answer, but when he did not do anything like that, he sighed. He pushed Coman along a bit faster towards the castle and then up those few stairs in front of the main gates.

“Where are we going?” Coman asked.

“Somewhere we can talk alone,” Trevor replied and grunted. “Come on now.”

They made their way up the stairs, then up another staircase, until they reached one of the castle’s many sitting room. There was a sofa, a bookshelf—because this castle was filled to the brim with books—and a fireplace.

Coman looked at his basket. “I should bring those to Adrian,” he muttered, already knowing he had lost.

“Nah. You should have a good talk with me,” Trevor replied, sitting down on the sofa and patting the empty space by his left. “Come on now.”

Maybe Coman should just turn and go. But doing so would feel wrong, after everything that Trevor had done for him and the others. So, he reluctantly sat down, putting his basket on the table. His hands grasped the fabric of his trousers hard enough for his knuckles to show.

A silence fell between them. An awkward silence, before Trevor once again put one hand onto Coman’s shoulder. He pulled him closer. “I will now take a wild guess,” he announced.

Coman remained silent.

“This is the first time you are crushing on someone.” Trevor waited for a response and continued only after he did not get any. “And you are feeling weird about it, because Temur is another bloke.”

Even now Coman did not answer anything, feeling that it was clearly unnecessary given that Trevor apparently knew exactly what he was thinking.

“See, when I was your age, I was too busy surviving to actually fall in love with someone.” Trevor was speaking carefully. “I mean, it was just the age that I started leaving Targoviste and I got almost killed like several times.”

Coman shot the man a side glance.

“But, you know. I almost envy you to get that experience. I think it is a good thing.”

Coman remained silent.

“See, when I was on the streets of Targoviste, I also often stayed away from the other kids. Because, like… I always was afraid that someone would call me out for being a Belmont, right? And that they would have me hanged on the market square or something.” Trevor sighed. “So, really… When I met Sypha and Adrian, it was basically the first time that I stayed around the same people for a longer time. And… Like… I don’t know. Sypha was pretty darn good worming her way into my heart. She just grabbed me and yanked me out onto an adventure and all that.” His hand patted Coman’s back. “It was a bit different with Adrian. Like, that darn bastard had been crushing on us since basically the first moment. Which, I mean, is fair. I am pretty darn charming.” Now he paused to let Coman laugh, but Coman just sat there, still grasping onto the fabric of his trousers. “But, like, when I got back here. It took me a while to fall for the bastard. You know, at the beginning I kept telling myself, that it was wrong and all that. Because we were both dudes. But whenever I hugged that stupid bastard, it just felt so fucking right.”

Coman dared to raise his head to look at Trevor. He still felt like crying over this. Because it was stupid. All of this was stupid. And he was not…

His voice broke, when he first answered. “I am sorry.” And he truly was. He was sorry for thinking so badly of this, even though he knew that Trevor was a good man, maybe the best of them all. Heck, Trevor had been warmer and more caring with him, than his own father once had been. Though he barely did remember that other father. He had never much interacted with him or Joia, had he? It had always been either their mother or the maid.

“Hey, no need to be sorry for anything,” Trevor said and this time he pulled Coman into a hug. “It’s alright.”

“It’s not. It’s not though. I am… It still feels wrong. It still feels wrong and it shouldn’t be and…” Suddenly the tears welled up in his eyes and this time he was unable to stop them, as they ran over his cheeks. A sob rose in his throat, making him feel even worse. He should not cry. He was not a child any longer.

But Trevor held him, not saying anything about it, just patting his shoulder in a soft, though somewhat awkward manner. “But it is,” he said. “It’s fine. I know the shit those guys from the cloth say and I am telling you, judging by their own fucking standards they are the biggest sinners of all.”

Another sob, as Coman hid his face against Trevor’s tunic. “I know.” Because of course he knew.

But Trevor held him, ruffling his hair in a gentle and indeed rather fatherly fashion. “Look, this isn’t Targoviste, alright? You are not gonna get judged for it or anything.”

Coman’s breath was shaky, coming in pants. “But… But what if they are right? What if it is not right?”

“Hey, they don’t even believe it,” Trevor said. “Because for certain they don’t.” He ruffled Coman’s hair again. “Like, don’t worry too much about it. Like, if there is a big guy in the sky, he probably will not care much about who you love and what not, but will probably care more about, like, if you do good things, help people or what not.” He paused. “And if he doesn’t, he is an arsehole either way.”

Even in the state he was now, Coman could not help just a tiny chuckle at this, though it was quickly overtaken by another sob, as Trevor just continued to hold him.

“I am telling you,” he said. “You are gonna be just fine.”

***

Even though he had washed himself properly, Coman did kinda feel miserable still. His eyes were burning somehow and he had seen himself in the mirror. They were also quite red. So, really, he felt horrible, was he was carrying the tray down the stairs from the kitchen.

His heart was racing, as he was doing this, and honest to God, he felt kinda sick to his stomach. But Trevor had just said: “If you don’t do it now, you will always just chicken out,” and both Adrian and Sypha had agreed with him.

So now, here he was, bringing the supper down for Temur, as Temur was obviously still in his room to rest. Coman was not even sure, what he should do about this. Actually confess his feelings? Because, what was if Temur then only thought of him as weird or creepy or even disgusting? But maybe Coman was just overthinking it. He wasn’t certain. He wasn’t certain of anything, because obviously Trevor was right about one thing: He had never been in love before.

But he knew quite well that those feelings were indeed love. That sinking feeling in his stomach, that told him it would be better to just run away into the other direction.

Then, he finally reached to door to Temur’s room and just stood there. It felt, as if his legs had turned into stone, really. He was unable to move them. Unable to do anything. Just standing there, breathing.

Darn. It should not be that hard to knock on a fucking door. Yet, it felt almost like a thing of impossibility.

Another breath. Then another. One more. He balanced the tray, before raising his hand and forcing himself to knock.

The answer came almost instantly. “Yeah?”

He pushed open the door, going inside. He tried a smile and was rather certain that he failed. “I brought you your supper.”

“That’s great,” Temur replied. “I am starving.” He pushed himself into a sitting position. “And I am bored.”

Coman looked over to the window, that was going out to the west, were the sun was right now setting. “Yeah, I guess this is pretty darn boring.”

“You have no fucking clue,” Temur muttered, taking the tray from him.

There was stew, because most days they would eat stew. Adrian said it was easier to make stew for so many of them and he was right of course. They had made a bit of rice pudding, too, though. Served it with some of the cooked down berries. Well, this was mostly what Coman had done for the last two hours.

“Looks rather good,” Temur said. “Did you help again?”

Coman nodded. “Yeah.”

“You are developing into a good cook, at least.” Temur smiled, his gaze pinned at Coman for maybe a moment too long. “Are you alright?”

Coman twitched. “What?”

“You… look as if you have cried.”

Instinctively Coman rubbed his eyes. “Yeah. I’m… I have. A bit…” He blushed, not managing to look at the other boy.

Temur was silent for a while, before skuttling a bit closer to him. “You wanna talk about it?”

“What?”

“Why you’ve cried, I mean.”

Coman sighed. “It’s… not important.” Why would he even ask such a thing?

Another silence followed, before Temur just echoed his sigh. “Alright.” He took the plate from the tray, together with the bread, and started to eat. Coman did not even dare to turn around to watch him.

His heart was beating in his mouth right now and he wondered, when the right point in time would be to say anything. Not while Temur was eating, right? So, maybe he should just wait. Hell, maybe he should do this another day—or never.

“This is pretty good,” Temur now said. “Thanks for bringing me this.”

“Uhum.” Coman did not manage more at the moment. “I mean, you’re welcome.”

And once more Temur fell silent, as he continue to eat.

Maybe Coman was just a coward for not saying anything. Yeah, he probably was. No matter how much his mind tried to convince him that actually he did not want to sin. But his heart was racing so much, hammering against his chest so loudly, that he was certain that Temur had to hear it as well.

But Temur only spoke again, after he had finished his plate.

The touch came a bit surprising, really, as he put his hand over Coman’s. And while Coman tensed, Temur managed to take his hand completely, holding it in his own. Coman did not even dare to turn his head to look at him. His face was flushed right now and he did for certain just feel a bit sick to his stomach.

“Coman?” Temur asked, his hands so gently cupping Coman’s, who did not reply.

“Look at me. Please.”

He did not want to. He could not. But in the end, he did. Temur’s were so dark and yet they were sparkling with life. That fluffy hair on his face seemed kinda cute, really.

It did surprise him, that Temur’s voice was just a bit more high-pitched, too, as he spoke. “Uhm. Coman, I was thinking…” He did not finish the sentence.

“Yeah?”

“I… I was thinking that maybe I could give you some private lessons with the sword,” he said. “Just… you know. You and me.”

Coman stared at him, unsure what he should make of that. “Just me and you?”

“Yeah,” Temur said. His thumb caressed the back of Coman’s hand. A weirdly soft touch. “Just the two of us.”

“I… Why?” Coman croaked.

For once, it was Temur, who had to struggle to hold his gaze. He cleared his throat in a rather awkward manner. “See… I… I would like to spent a bit more time with you. And I mean… just you.”

“Just me?” Coman echoed like an idiot.

“Yeah.”

Coman stared at him, when his mind was slowly catching up that maybe, just maybe, his feelings were reciprocated. But that was silly, wasn’t it? Two boys. In love. It was silly and yet the words suddenly welled up inside him. “The truth is that I like you. I mean, I really do like you. I think you are…” He stopped, leading to a strange grin from Temur.

“I am what?”

Coman could no longer do it, could no longer hold the other boy’s gaze. His face flushed, he stared at his own knees. “I think… You are pretty cool. And… pretty, too.”

The pause that followed was even more awkward, then those words. “Thanks,” Temur finally managed, his voice broken. Even now he was holding Coman’s hand and only now Coman realized, how sweaty both of their hands were.

Again Temur cleared his throat, looking at Coman. “Uhm, say…”

“Yeah?”

“See, I was wondering…”

“You were wondering what?” Coman somehow managed to look at the other boy again.

“Uhm. Have you ever kissed someone before?”

Coman shuddered. Because of course he had, but he had not wanted that at the time. So maybe… He was already kinda broken or something.

“It’s okay,” Temur said, maybe guessing his thoughts. “I… What I wanted to ask is… Would you like to kiss me?”

Coman stared at him, stared at him for long. Because he had never really done this. Kissed because of a feeling like this. He was not quite able to answer, but he was able to do something. Pushing his lips against Temur’s and feeling that bit of fuzz from his beard.

It was an awkward kiss. It really was. But somehow… it felt right.

Frage, Flocon  Caroit

Könnte man dieses Topic eventuell in das Archiv verschieben? Ich würde glaube ich gern ein neues aufmachen, weil der Startpost hier wird langsam massiv unübersichtlich xD