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The Swordmaster's Son

Summary:

Born the unnecessary fourth son of a merchant lord, just the spare of the spare of the spare, all Taliesin Ferryman's life was planned for him at birth: serve the kingdom, guard the family legacy, and make his father proud.

Unable to meet the cold, ruthless requirements of his father and scapegoated and bullied by his brothers, he finds solace in the one person who has ever made him feel both safe and loved - his best friend, Cort Raghnall, the swordmaster's son.

A story about growth, pain, and being in love with your best friend even when life gets in the way.

Notes:

This fic started as a selection of formative scenes from the background of my current character, and sort of grew into... more. If you've been following me for a while (and let's be real, why else are you reading this? lol) you may notice it's a bit different from what I usually write, and in the interests of being completely up front about everything - there's a lot of darkness in this story. It deals with themes of abuse, PTSD, depression, anxiety, early sexualization (briefly) and poor coping mechanisms (in addition to love, it's supposed to be a romance after all... kind of). It also involves a lot of sex (it's me!), all consensual if not always wise.

Since this is the first time I'm posting a fic without a strong tie to canon characters in an existing franchise, I will post a warning at the head of every chapter, and indicate in the chapter title whether or not it contains explicit sexual material NSFW.

Whew, okay, I'm not nervous you're nervous.

 

Warnings for this chapter: Violence, abuse

Chapter 1: 12

Chapter Text

The wooden pommel of a practice sword slams him dead center in the face, and Taliesin drops like a sack of bricks into the dirt. His vision swims, blood gushing from his nose and a what he can already feel is an impossibly fine cut just below his left eye. It hurts . He can’t even spare a moment for his pride and the chagrin of rolling in the dirt like a dog, until he hears his brother laughing.

“Flat on his back like a whore. Get up, rabbit.”

“Fuck off, Gordri!” he snarls.  He’s twelve, not a child, but he hates the way his voice cracks on the words. There is blood in his watering eyes - just as well, it wouldn’t do for the walking cockhead to see him cry, but gods if it doesn’t hurt . His going to be green and purple all over, and he’s pretty sure the sick fuck does it on purpose.

“Watch your mouth, baby brother. Mind what you say to your betters.”

His brother is a chortling fool, simple to the extreme, and only a few years older than himself. It’s just Taliesin’s bad luck that he’s so much bigger, growing into height and broad shoulders so early that his personality - or absence of one - was forced to form around it. Gordri is a bully, plain and simple, but all it takes is a nod from their father and all sins are forgiven.

It is, after all, the kind of sin he approves of. His measure of Taliesin has not been quite so kind, and with their mother gone - “ill” he says, which is bullshit, bullshit - it gets worse every day.

Not that he doesn’t make it worse all on his own. He avoids them when he can, ghosting them in the halls and in and out of rooms like a shadow. They call him rabbit , but he isn’t afraid - most of the time he just can’t see the point in it. But when he’s cornered -

The rock appears in his hand as though by magic, bloody fingers curling around the shape of it in the dirt. He lets it fly and it hits Gordri in the side of the head, a clump of dirt falling from its surface and scattering wetly over his tunic. It looks like a bird shit on his shoulder.

Taliesin laughs. Predictably, Gordri doesn’t. His nostrils flare like a bull about to charge, and Taliesin is still sitting in the dirt like an idiot. He’s going to get kicked in the face, he can already see it coming, and -

“Gordri. Don’t.”

His brother rounds on the source of the voice. “Are you telling me what to do, Raghnall?”

Cort folds his arms across his chest, calm and unintimidated. “No, but if you kill him what will be the point of all this work you’ve been doing?”

It’s the kind of logic that his brother can’t really argue with (Gordri making a logical argument of any kind - ha!), but Cort’s measured gaze swings his direction as well and Taliesin ducks his head, scrupulously wiping every trace of a gloating smirk from his face.

He’s always looked up to Cort - they all sort of do. He’s a few years older than Taliesin, his brother Jorran’s age, but he carries himself with his father’s quiet dignity. The elder Raghnall has been the swordmaster in Taliesin’s house for decades; even Taliesin’s father will occasionally yield to his expertise, recognizing his family’s lengthy and loyal service.

A strange sort of honor, since it seems to Taliesin that Nial Raghnall doesn’t even particularly like his father at all.

“He has to learn,” Gordri says, stubborn as a mule, his unfortunate horse face set in grim lines. There is a smudge of dirt on his temple.

“Then let me work with him for now.” Cort’s look is pointed.  “Surely you have better things to do.”

Gordri always thinks he has better things to do, which only ever means eating, drinking, fucking, or hurting something. It’s a very limited range of interest.

Taliesin is never sorry to see him go, and doesn’t even particularly mind when Gordri spits on him in passing, wiping the spittle off his cheek and scraping it and the tacky, drying blood there into the dust.

“He’s such a cunt ,” he swears vehemently, mostly just to do it. He’s not impressing anyone at this point, and Cort just rolls his eyes as he takes a knee, reaching out to take Taliesin’s chin, turning it up to look at the damage.

Without warning, he reaches out and pinches the bridge of Taliesin’s nose. White hot agony blossoms through the center of his face, sparks erupting behind his eyes. He roars in pain and flails, yanking his head back. “What the fuck!”

Cort laughs, wipes his fingers on the knee of his dark trousers. “Just seeing if he managed to break your nose. You’ll be fine. Maybe a bit of a scar.”

“That fucking hurt!”

“Well.” Cort shrugs and grins and stands, offering Taliesin a hand up out of the dirt. “If you want to stay pretty, you need to learn to get out of the way. Let me show you what to do when he tries that next time.”