Chapter Text
Cold winds were the least of Jared’s worries. They were bitter, to be sure. Many of his people would end up with frostbite from it, but they had furs and leathers to protect them during their sojourn. Worn thin as many of their garments and tents were, they were still serviceable. Lack of new supplies made people all the more diligent about taking care of what they already had.
Jared would know. He’d spent the last few years taking care of an ever dwindling tribe of people. Cast out of their homeland before Jared was even born, they had never found a place that welcomed them. Every forsaken land that they claimed was soon stripped from them as soon as their handiwork began to show the slightest bit of prosperity. They were not given the chance to fortify themselves for long.
‘Nomads’ was a kind word for what they were. It implied that they had lands to travel or even a desire to do so. And so they did. Only their desire was less for movement and more for life. Specifically, they did not desire to be exterminated for who and what they were.
Defense and war were concepts long lost to Jared’s people. Even if they could obtain sufficient weapons, their strategists of knowledge had long since died. They were experts at running, but even that was soon to fail them.
No man, woman or child could run on thin legs and shrunken stomachs. Ribs were not meant to cleave to skin like lovers, but Jared knew that this was a condition becoming all too common. Mothers gave their portions to their hungry children, though there were scarce any of those anymore either.
Children were a luxury when a tribe couldn’t feed those scant few who were already alive. Yet without progeny, Jared’s entire race would die out. He knew that many of their enemies would say that their end was fitting. His kind were an abomination to the world, a people that should never have existed.
As the leader of the Lekifs, he was honor bound to fight for their survival. His grandfather and father before him had done what they could. Even though both of their eras were marked with great loss and suffering, they were hailed as great men by the tribe. They were said to have fought against the loss, that things would have been so much worse without their leadership.
Most days Jared nodded and accepted his people’s praise of his ancestors. Their unshakeable faith in his lineage did make his job easier. But they had not been raised in his father’s tents. They had not seen the despair that would come over his face nor the way that his shoulders would slump.
The people might have faith that their leaders had done all that they could, but those same leaders knew that they hadn’t done enough. Nothing would be enough until the day that they had soil again to call home. This was what Jared had learned from his father and grandfather. This was what his ultimate responsibility was.
The difference between him and his forefathers was that Jared had little hope left of meeting that goal. The last two years had been hard on the tribe. They had been chased from outlying lands and assaulted at markets for being ‘thieves and dogs’ but that was nothing new to them. The draughts that had hampered and hurt established countries had crippled the Lekifs. They had little storage for their food stuffs and even less food stuffs to store.
They wound farther and farther away from their ancestral home, but could find no unclaimed place to rest nor welcoming village to beg rest. Jared had gone from peaceful entreaties and sophisticated dignity to outright begging and sniveling. There was no point in pretending to come from a proud and strong nation anymore. His own frame was gaunt with hunger, and he knew that he was fed better than others.
It was a matter of survival more than his standing. He was one of their finest warriors such as they were. When they were inevitably attacked or chased, Jared would be required to fight back. They build his blood so that he could shed it on their behalf.
Though his muscle was more than others, his fat was not. The wind bit at him, but he forced himself to ignore it. To show defeat before his people would be showing them that they too should give up. Jared would be tempted to show such weakness if another, better leader was certain to take his place. It would be for the best.
But anarchy was not in the Lekif’s hearts. They were too tired for it, and Jared’s burden would be his until the day he died.
That day was fast approaching if the weather was going to hold true to its vicious cycle. The snows were icy as they pelted against dying horses and weathered tents. Frozen water covered the grasses and bitter berries that had died on bushes – too scrawny for even the bird to bother with, but treasured by the cooks of his camp. There wasn’t much that made them happy anymore. Their abilities were wasted on fire roasting and boiling vermin and the occasional bird or actual game animal. But berries were treasured for boiling with the waters to make gamey, tough meats savory or for making water taste as if it was something other than a necessity.
It was a simple happiness, and Jared chose to indulge them in their hunts for such trivial plant matter. If this winter was to be their last, he would give them spots of joy wherever they could find them.
It was on one such berry searching expedition that they found the valley. It wasn’t an oasis, not by any stretch of imagination. It was craggy and rough. Lichens and scraggly bushes decorated its grey stone walls. But the river that trickled through it wasn’t completely frozen over and the intimidating cliffs surrounding it gave them some protection from the wind.
It was ideal. Perhaps it wouldn’t be to normal countries and men, but shelter was a priceless commodity when one had been going without.
Of course, the land had to belong to somebody. As unattractive as it was, it had resource. Water was always important, and Jared could easily see that the stream would be an excellent spawning place for river fish once the temperatures began to rise. There were likely fish still in it, and he would be glad to make all able bodied men and women sit with poles and nets and spears.
But there were also horse and boot tracks around the place. Not many, but they were evenly spaced enough to signal that this was no fellow traveler. The stops between movements were at regular intervals. The years might not have made hardened warriors out of farmers, but they had made the Lekifs excellent trackers. Marks like those meant guards.
Whether they came around regularly or not, Jared had no way of knowing. But it was a fair bet that they would be back again before the season ended.
“Matthew,” Jared called to his nearest guard, “instruct the people to start fishing from the river. Tell them to stockpile what they can. Don’t bother with trying to cure or smoke it. Gut it, and take it to the top of the valley so that the winds freeze it.”
“Jared?” he asked respectfully, eyes downcast.
“These lands are clearly owned. I will take two delegates with me to speak on behalf of the people, but there is no need to wait for permission if we are again unwanted. Smoke drying fish will take too much time, and I don’t want have raw meat spoiling in our packs as we run,” Jared explained.
Matthew nodded and glanced back at the encampments that were going up. “I’ll have our less able fishermen start crafting satchels that can be tied to the outside of packs. That should help keep the meat edible so long as the weather gives no relief.”
“Good thinking,” Jared commended him. “Now have my packs fetched. See if there are any of the dried spices left. I know that the cooks will whine, but I can’t walk into a city with no bounty to offer its liege.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Jensen had always hated winter. There was a time when his intense dislike was merely based on the cold and snow. The season had curbed his interests, kept him indoors when he would have liked to have gone exploring. He had no taste for hunting, so even the ease of tracking blood trails on a pure white ground did not improve his opinion.
Everything seemed dead and distant in the winter. Jensen’s fingers never seemed to completely thaw, and the wind howled like some beast coming to get him.
But that was in his boyhood. Jensen’s adulthood brought far more personal reasons to detest the coldest months of the year.
“There are several delegates interested,” Misha prattled on behind Jensen as if Jensen cared what man was going to be shoving up his ass this time -as if he had some sort of choice in the matter.
“The second born of King Marcus the Favored. Lord Amerst. Oh Duke Wellborn he’s very dashing, or so I’m told.”
“Fantastic, perhaps if he is so dashing he’ll manage to not make it hurt quite so much,” Jensen finally snapped, spinning around to glare at Misha. It wasn’t his counselor’s fault that Jensen was in this mess, but there was nobody else to fault either. Jensen’s father had needed to fight that war, and the witch that had cursed Jensen had died at the end of his blade moments after he finished casting the spell.
“In the dead of winter, a seed may grow,” Jensen quoted with all the vitriol that he could muster. The key word was ‘may,’ a fact that had slowly but surely become irrevocable in Jensen’s mind. There was no guarantee of anything except for the fact that his groin could father no children.
He had spent years testing out that theory. Jensen’s father had hired soothsayers and magicians and white and morally ambiguous witches and fairies from all the countries, kingdoms, provinces and realms. Nothing could be done about Jensen’s curse. It was dark, deep blood magic. To find something equally as pure to offset it was unlikely, and Jensen wouldn’t stoop so low as to thinking about dark magic as a viable option.
Even if Jensen could get over the thought of doing something so morally repugnant, using evil to ‘fix’ another evil could not be expected to yield good results. But that stance, right though it was, left Jensen with no other option except to bear his own heir.
At first, it had seemed a simple enough task. Jensen knew when it was that his body supposedly turned fertile. His body would grow warmer and his chest would soften that tiny bit. The overall outward changes were not drastic, but they were visible enough for people to comment on Jensen’s having a glow or an aura to him.
Back when he had been bedding willing ladies right and left in an attempt to sire a child, Jensen had been flattered by their compliments. The women he had lain with were women that he trusted. They were good members of his court and would have made fine queens. They were smart and loyal and more than willing to stand beside Jensen when he succeeded his father.
When it became clear that plan wasn’t going to work, Jensen had at first chosen his male lovers the same way. Jensen would be king that much he made certain all of his lovers knew. Bearing his own child would not in any way diminish him anymore than if he had been born a girl would have diminished his power as queen.
At the time, he had felt poorly about it. His loyal subjects knew that a queen in Jensen’s land was as good as a king. But when those close to Jensen failed to sire any children, and they were forced to cast outside of the kingdom for potential consorts, Jensen came to be thankful for the practice he had had in putting other men in their place.
Some of his suitors, if they could even be called that, had been crass and forceful to a distasteful degree. One of them had felt Jensen’s own blade along his throat when he had attempted to ‘persuade’ Jensen to submit to him. Those distasteful meetings were why Jensen now had his counsel screen his prospective consorts for him.
It was bad enough that he had been reduced to laying with strangers in an attempt to keep his kingdom from falling into the hands of the scheming bastards that had ended the lives of most of his relatives. Jensen refused to keep talking to men who thought themselves to be better because of their pitiful situations in life.
Jensen’s one consolation was that his father had died before he had seen Jensen’s attempt for an heir come to the place that it had. Seeing the parade of stud, for Jensen couldn’t even attempt to call them lovers anymore, come and go from the palace would have broken King Ackles’s heart. Jensen was the only child to survive infancy out of three, and he had been the apple of his father’s eye.
As distasteful as it was, the ascension to king had also made Jensen’s life easier to bear. His mind was constantly taken up with other matters and concerns. Once another unsuccessful attempt at breeding had passed, he could move on and not think of it again until the trees began to lose their colorful leaves and the frosts began to settle into the grounds.
The crown on his head also reminded Jensen of why it was that he allowed this strange courtship to happen to him every year. His people were good people, and Jensen’s cousin was not fit to lead them. He was already cruel, but too well protected for Jensen to take care of him politically. If Jensen was to die, those people whose lives he was entrusted with would fall prey to a fate they did not deserve.
But if Jensen was to finally become successful in producing an heir, then he would have some leverage for pushing his cousin farther out of favor. There were those that supported his cousin merely because it appeared to a wise long term wager. They would flip away easily enough if there was a young Ackles drooling in the palace nursery again.
“Do you want to address your suitors this year?” Misha asked gently.
“No,” Jensen answered curtly. He wanted no such thing.
Misha hid his exasperation well, but not well enough. Jensen could easily see the frustration building in his friend’s frame. “Will you be addressing them though?” Misha’s rephrased question was not quite as gentle as his first.
“No. They have no desire for me, only my wealth and power. I’ll not make myself more meat to them than strictly necessary. If they think me pretty, it is their own business. I’ll thank them to keep their tongues to themselves.”
Misha nodded and scribbled a note down on his parchment. “Shall I add that to my behavioral expectations lecture?”
“No,” Jensen said, “only one of them will be making it to my bedroom for a tryst, and he will forget himself in the heat of the moment. They all do.”
“Yes, Sire,” Misha said with a bow as he made his way out of the room.
In a different month of the year, Jensen would call him on leaving before he was released by his king. But it was winter, and Jensen knew he was almost unbearable in the days leading up to his ‘breeding.’ He could give Misha and the others some latitude for having to suffer Jensen’s mood swings.
In fact, he needed to allow them that space because they would be the ones protecting him when he was disappointed by another failure. As loathe as he was to find a new suitor, Jensen never could keep his hopes from rising each year after the deed was done. Few were the children born into the world that were as wanted and desired as Jensen’s un-conceived child.
Yearning was not too drastic a word to describe how Jensen felt about his heir. He wanted a child that he could raise to be a ruler. He wanted a young one that he could teach all the secrets to being a good king that his father had taught him. And if his child was a girl, well Jensen would teach her to wield a blade before he would instruct her in the art of politics. After experiencing the behavior of rogues, he would make certain that his daughter be able to emphasize the point of her dagger.
The father would hopefully be bearable. It was the council’s job to screen the suitors and test them, so there would at least be some redeemable qualities to his eventual husband. But Jensen had never been one to like everybody. He was accessible as a king, but not as a person. His abilities to go beyond that were limited.
With a grunt of exasperation at his own maudlin musings, Jensen strode over to the desk in his chambers and began to draft correspondences to neighboring countries and other allies. Connection and remembrance was key in maintaining healthy, peaceful relations.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
There were many different reactions that Jared was used to seeing when he presented himself at a gate or palace or even manor. Being herded off into a room of men from what appeared to be several different regions was a new one. The short man that had herded him along had not seemed one bit interested in Jared’s protests, but he should have been.
Any fool with eyes should be able to see that Jared did not belong with the other men. They were rich and cultured. While Jared would dare any man to a battle of wits or education, he knew that he was not on the same footing. Being chieftain of his tribe didn’t hold much weight when all he was doing was prolonging their agonizing deaths.
Jared’s best robes were faded. There were preemptive patches where the seamstresses thought a bony elbow or finger might poke through. He was thin and his nose and face had splotches of red where the wind had burned him on his travels.
The men in the room were dressed in various fineries. Those who were not in rich silks or amazingly soft woolens were covered in royal armors. Their menservants likely dressed better than Jared did.
One by one, each man in the room was called away into other rooms. As the others waited, Jared could hear them mumbling to themselves, rehearsing speeches that they had obviously prepared. This, at least, was normal. Jared had at one point done that himself.
But his silver tongue had tarnished with the taste of dust and snow. “Please let us live. I beg of you, show mercy,” wasn’t all that hard to say once it was said to enough people.
“Chieftain Jared of Lekif?” the man calling Jared’s name sounded as confused by its presence on his heavy scroll as Jared was. There were a few men left in the room that stared as Jared followed after the palace worker. One even hissed and spat at the hem of Jared’s garment as he walked by.
“Dog,” the man sneered.
Ahead of Jared, the palace worker stopped and scribbled a note down before continuing. Jared very much hoped it wasn’t a reminder of what Jared’s people were. They had been paying the price for the bargain of their ancestors for far too long. He should not be judged for something he had never had a choice nor a part of, but few were the kingdoms that acknowledged that.
Even this far from their homeland, far enough that Jared didn’t even know where they were, the name of Lekif was sure to have traveled. Their fate was a warning to all others who might attempt to follow in their path. Jared dearly hoped that the lesson was learned. He would not wish his people’s fate on another if he could help it.
“Sit,” the man that had lead him to the room ordered as he gestured towards a gilded chair that looked to be ten kinds of torture to sit upon.
Jared complied, unsurprised to find the seat unforgiving as the ostentatious ornamentation dug into his back.
“So you are the leader of a tribe, yes?” the man asked.
“Yes,” Jared answered quickly, letting his pride shine. They might not have much, but he was still proud of them for continuing to survive.
“Impressive, if a bit unorthodox,” the man allowed.
“What sort of special talents would you bring?”
“Excuse me?”
The man looked up at stared at him. “What have you to offer?”
“My tribute is with my men,” Jared answered slowly. “I don’t have much to bring because we…”
“You want me to put nothing?” the man asked.
“I…”
“Truly? Nothing? You cannot even whistle?”’
“I… no? What does whistling have to do with anything?” Jared asked.
“It is just… talents can be useful for determining the quality of your… you know,” he said with a vague hand gesture that seemed to sweep over Jared from head to toe.
“My quality of what? Begging? I assure you that I beg very, very well. I am a desperate man, Sir…”
“Hodge, and it is Adjunct Hodge,” the man provided.
“Adjunct Hodge,” Jared said, mustering every bit of reverence left inside of him, “I merely want a place for my people to rest for the winter. It is cold, and we have nowhere to go. Our bartering supplies are thing, but we would make certain that we not deplete any of the resources that you find precious. I only ask for the opportunity to hunt and fish for small game - in any area that his lordship would allow. We would be gone by springtime.”
“King Ackles’s requirements in that area are quite clear. I do not think that your demands…”
“I am demanding nothing!” Jared yelled despite his better judgment. “I am only asking. As for King Ackles and his requirements, I have been informed of nothing. So I would say that they are anything but clear.”
The adjunct looked perplexed for a moment before he shuffled around some of the heavy parchment on his ornate wooden desk. “You did not receive the missive in its entirety?” he asked.
“I received no missive at all,” Jared corrected.
Adjunct Hodge frowned. “How then are you here for the trials?”
“I am here for no trial. As I tried to explain to the people that herded me here, I am only here to ask leniency while my tribe seeks out shelter for the winter.”
“But you are the leader of your tribe, yes?”
“Yes.”
“And you are unwed or not otherwise betrothed or promised to another?”
“I fail to see what that has to do with…”
“Chieftain,” Adjunct Hodge interrupted, “I do realize that there was some error in our assessment of your purpose in coming here.”
“Thank you,” Jared said with far more grace than he was feeling. “May I now ask for the audience that I originally came for?”
“You may, but I would like you to hear me out about something first. A few months ago, we sent messengers to outlying kingdoms and principalities searching for a consort for our king. That is the crowd that you saw today.”
“I am uninterested in attempting to compete for the favor of one who is so obviously sought after,” Jared said.
Adjunct Hodge took a deep breath and nodded. “I understand why you might feel that way, but we are a desperate nation. Our king is cursed, and we have no heir. The longer he goes without conceiving, the more precarious our position.”
“I fail to see how seeking a male consort would solve that problem, unless you are searching for a man to father a child on his behalf.”
“Not exactly,” Adjunct Hodge said with a small smile. “I will remind you that our king is under a curse.”
“Oh,” Jared said tough his mind had problems accepting exactly what was being told to him.
Adjunct Hodge nodded. “I understand that your people are also cursed?”
Jared kept his instinct to glower off his face and simply nodded his reply. Though the men and women of Lekif descent would not call themselves cursed, there were few others who would share that opinion with them. The enhanced sense of smell and hearing was occasionally envied, but the change to male genitalia was reviled.
“It is true then that the men of your tribe form… bulbs that tie them inside their partner, ensuring that seed is kept inside and increasing chance of conception?”
“We call them knots, but yes,” Jared bit out. Though he was often called names and derided, few ever asked direct questions about his physical differences. It was easier to ignore taunts and insults, but clinical discussion of his body was different.
Adjunct Hodge nodded and scribbled down another note. “You have no heirs and are able to achieve an erection and sexual completion?”
“I already told you that I…”
“Please, Chieftain Padalecki, humor me.”
“This is not the sort of topic I humor others on.”
Adjunct Hodge sighed and looked directly, unflinchingly into Jared’s eyes. “You are starving. I can see the outlines of bones where there should be fat. Your face is full of angles that are not from your father’s seed. Your people are no doubt dying if this is the state their leader is in. You come to beg us for leniency and mercy. Am I correct?”
“Yes,” Jared admitted.
“My king needs to be impregnated, and I am not fond of many of this year’s champions. They are schemers and connivers. Nobody marries royalty for love, but I would rather political motivation stem from a place of starvation and survival than some of those other options.”
“You wish me to enter this ridiculous courtship display,” Jared stated flatly.
“I do,” Adjunct Hodge agreed. “You need something from us, something of great value to you. Even if you were not the chosen one, you would have a week or two of rest from your travels. I would grant you and your people clemency from your trespassing.”
“And if I did ‘win’ this contest for the king’s hand?”
“There is no contest for King Ackles’s hand; merely the chance to impregnate him. Only if he becomes full with child would you marry him. But make no mistake, you would be wed. Infidelity and bastard children would not be tolerated. Once the first pregnancy is complete, you would be expected to make attempts for a second child as well.”
“And my rights in all of this? My people?” Jared asked.
“You are allowed to make demands of your own. They would be reviewed and either accepted or denied. Either way this goes, I can guarantee that it will serve you better to go this route. King Ackles become irritable and ungenerous this time of year.”