Chapter Text
Crick Wellsley was no stranger to sneaking around. He’d been keeping secrets for as long as he could remember, lying through his teeth at the request of his parents who made it clear to him that bending the truth was as natural as anything else in this world. When anyone came knocking at the Wellsley Estate asking too many questions, it was second nature to say anything to throw them off the scent, to bribe, to manipulate, to threaten. While he had never endorsed his parents’ illegal dealings, he was simply born complicit.
But things are different now. Pursuing knighthood had set him on a path to righteousness, and there’s no way to dig himself out of this hole when Ort holds in his hands all the evidence he could possibly need of Crick’s wrongdoing.
Ort holds aloft the letter he caught Crick sneaking out of the Sacred Guard post in Canalbrine to send, eyes narrowed. Crick understands how bad it looks. It’s been made abundantly clear to him multiple times by Kaldena, Cubaryi, and Ort himself that he was to avoid the inquisitor at all costs, and yet he had been discovered writing to him, which is why he finds himself back in the barracks with his closest friend who just so happens to be quite cross about the whole thing.
“I have told you before, Crick. Inquisitor Temenos is not to be trusted. He may be a powerful member of the Order of the Sacred Flame, but make no mistake, we are not on the same team. As Kaldena’s bodyguard I’ve had to deal with him far too often and his intentions certainly aren’t pure."
“And what of Kaldena’s?” Crick muses. Ort presses his lips into a thin line.
“Watch your tongue, Crick. Remember who you work for.”
The silence that follows lasts for an uncomfortably long time. Ort looks down at the letter addressed to Temenos and exhales a frustrated sigh. After a few more quiet moments, Crick clears his throat. “Forgive me. I just… don’t know Kaldena well. Her methods confuse me.”
“You don’t need to know her to follow her orders. Our allegiance is to the Sacred Guard first, Crick. You don’t need to know her to not betray us. You are immensely lucky I’m the one who caught you. If it were her or Cubaryi, they would have your head for this. They would kill you where you stand, and they would be justified in doing so.” Ort practically growls, his grip tightening. “How could you do it? What did he say to get someone like you to act as his informant?”
Crick’s eyes grow large and desperately, he shakes his head. “Is… is that what you think is going on? No, no. You have it all wrong, Ort. I’m not an informant.”
“Then why ? Why are you liaising with the inquisitor? You know how serious of an offense this is!” Ort’s voice cracks. “If Kaldena finds out, I cannot defend you, Crick. You’re my closest friend and yet this is something I can’t excuse.”
“Ort.” Crick holds up a hand to silence him, taking a step forward. “Listen to me! I’m telling you that you have this all wrong!”
Ort scoffs. “Talk then.”
“I love him.”
Time seems to grind to a sudden halt the moment those three words are uttered. Crick stands tall, self-assured in the statement he’s just made though he knows what it could mean for him. To be Temenos’ informant would be one thing, but to be his lover is another entirely. And the reality of that sinks in for the two of them quite quickly. Ort silently moves to sit on Crick’s bed, and Crick follows. Crick waits patiently for Ort to say something, anything, but he doesn’t. Instead he seems frozen with shock, waiting almost helplessly for an explanation.
And Crick decides he owes him that. “I love him.” He repeats, and his voice is unapologetic and confident in his assertion. “I am no informant. You will find our letters contain no sensitive information regarding the operations of the Sacred Guard.”
“Does he return these feelings?”
A serene smile plays on the corners of Crick’s lips. “He does.”
Ort buries his face in his hands, exhaling sharply. He can’t be angry, not after seeing the way Crick had grinned at the mere thought of Temenos loving him too. “How long have you two been sending each other letters like this?”
“Since the Pontiff died. So… a few months now.” Crick nervously places a hand on Ort’s back. “I know you must be furious with me. For hiding it. But I’m sure you understand why I couldn’t tell you. I know you all distrust him. I know you all think of him as nosy, as blasphemous. I know you all see no worth in him but I do. Temenos is loyal, he’s kind, he’s got a funny way of expressing it but he has the most loving heart I have ever known. And if I may, I must ask a favor of you.” Crick moves from his spot on the bed to kneel in front of Ort.
“Crick…” Ort whispers, shaking his head, but Crick cuts him off.
“I have asked you for so little. I ask you to spar occasionally to improve my swordsmanship, I ask you for your remaining food when you are unable to finish all of it. But I must ask you for one more thing.” Crick looks up at him, and the pleading expression is one Ort has only seen from heretics who have begged him for mercy they know he will not give them. “I ask that you keep my relationship with him a secret. For now.”
Ort stares at him in disbelief. “Think of what you’re asking me to do. You have to make a choice here, Crick–”
“Do not ask me to choose between Temenos and the Sacred Guard, Ort. Because I will choose him. I will follow him to Hell itself if that is where he leads me.”
“That man is dangerous , Crick. Please.”
Crick shakes his head again. “He is nothing of the sort. With all of the pain he’s felt in the past he has opened his heart to me, and I will not betray him. Do you have any idea what he’s endured? What he’s lost?”
In the years Ort has known Crick, he’s never heard him speak so firmly. And as he looks back into Crick’s pleading eyes he gives a weak nod. “Do not allow Kaldena or Cubaryi to find these letters. Your secret is safe with me for now but I need you to proceed with caution. I can’t protect you if the truth is revealed, Crick.”
Crick’s arms immediately fling around him, enveloping him in the tightest embrace Ort has ever felt “I wouldn’t dare ask you to protect me. If anything, I might ask you to protect him if it ever came to that."
The weeks pass. The inquisitor visits Canalbrine to further continue his investigation (so he says) and Ort begins to notice the way the two sneak glances at each other, the whispered conversations. Ort had been hesitant to believe that Temenos loved Crick as well, but it’s far too evident. Temenos gazes at Crick as though he’s one of the Gods in the flesh, touches him with such tenderness. Crick comes back to the barracks later and later, smelling faintly of the holy man he’s been making love to in an old boathouse on the coast, away from the prying eyes of the villagers, the clerics, and the knights.
***
The sun has barely risen when Ort makes his way through the Sacred Guard Headquarters. He ensures his knights are all in order, as he always does, giving everyone their orders for the day. Once they are all dismissed, however, he pauses in front of the two he knows were involved with Temenos the night before. Quietly, he asks where he might find him.
“Dunno.” One says lazily, pushing a hand through his dark brown hair. “When I woke up this morning he was gone.” The other man who was involved nods in agreement. As Ort looks at the two, he can’t help but notice their vague resemblances to two men he knows Temenos has been connected to in the past. A brunette and a blonde, in shades not dissimilar to Roi’s and Crick’s.
Now it could be a coincidence, but Ort doesn’t think so.
“Looking for me?” Temenos’ airy voice pierces the air, startling the three men. “My my… Sorry to keep you waiting.”
“Where were you last night?” The blonde asks, rubbing his eyes tiredly, but Temenos makes no effort to respond.
Ort notices the puffiness of Temenos’ eyes and he figures he’s got a pretty good guess as to where Temenos had allegedly disappeared to. He doesn’t mention it, however. “Inquisitor.” He greets him quietly, bowing his head, and Temenos returns the gesture. “Might we go somewhere to talk in private?”
“I was about to suggest the same.”
Part of Ort feels excited, relieved even, seeing Temenos here. He wonders if today marks the start of their partnership, of their commitment to reforming the church and bringing a new era of peace to Solistia. He can’t help but think of Crick and how proud he would be.
Temenos doesn’t seem to share his optimism. The man before him is as calm and collected as ever. The tranquil smile he usually wears is present, but Ort notices there is nothing else behind it. When they exchange glances, Temenos almost looks like he’s preparing himself to deliver bad news. There is no hopefulness behind his eyes, if anything, Ort has never seen him look so defeated. And if he wasn’t nervous for the cleric before, he certainly is now. To see someone as determined as their unrelenting and pesky inquisitor lose his spark is a bad omen indeed. Wordlessly, Ort and Temenos leave the barracks. Usually Temenos would be chatting his ear off about whatever drama had been occupying his thoughts, but he remains silent.
As soon as the door to Ort’s office closes behind them, he turns to face him. “Did you sleep well?” His attempt at small talk is pathetic, and they both know it. It elicits a dry chuckle from Temenos, which Ort takes as a win.
“I didn’t do much sleeping.”
“I can tell.”
Temenos gasps, pretending as though Ort’s words have insulted him. “Are you saying I look tired? That I look haggard, perchance?”
“I am, actually.” Ort offers a small smile as he plants himself behind his desk. “I’m glad you’re here, Temenos. I wasn’t expecting you to show up.”
“I figure I owe it to you.” Temenos moves to sit down across from Ort. “I can’t say I’ve been the most… useful.” He drums his fingers absentmindedly on the smooth mahogany, furrowing his brows in thought before he looks up once more. “Ort… May I be candid with you?”
Ort narrows his eyes slightly. “Do you know how to be anything but candid? I can’t say you’ve ever been one to mince words. But yes, you may. What’s on your mind, inquisitor?”
For a moment, Temenos seems to struggle to find the words he needs. Which is odd, Ort thinks. Typically Temenos is articulate to a fault. Words come so easily to him, too easily. One might even say he would benefit from being quiet every once in a while.
“I admire your resolve regarding the… rehabilitation of the Sacred Guard’s credibility. Your dedication to rebuilding the partnership between the church and your knights is quite noble indeed.” Temenos’ slim fingers fiddle with a button on his cassock. “But I’m afraid I am unable to assist you with such a task. I plan to step down as the inquisitor, as I no longer feel like I am fit for such a position.”
Now Ort had expected some hesitance from Temenos, but this catches him entirely off-guard. He sits with his mouth agape, the room quiet save for the soft ticking of the clock on the wall above them. Ort finds himself lost in a place between anger, confusion, and panic. Temenos had basically been a dedicated servant of the Flame since his first week on this earth, the church is all he knows. So what could have possibly led him to make such a rash decision? Ort stares at him in utter disbelief, and Temenos stares back with icy determination.
“You are in talks to become an archbishop in the next few months, Temenos. You even have a chance at becoming the Pontiff in the future. What do you mean you no longer feel like you are fit for the position of inquisitor? Save for the head cleric in Flamechurch, you are the only person fit to oversee the church’s interests.”
“If that is the case, then the church is well and truly doomed.” Temenos sits back casually, as though he hasn’t just delivered a piece of news that could well and truly change the course of history itself.
“What changed?” Ort snaps, placing his head in his hands. “You have dedicated your life to the Gods, Temenos! And now you turn your back on them? Why are you doing this?”
“I’m not well, Ort.” Temenos folds his hands neatly in his lap. “And I think you know that.”
He does know. Temenos is a shell of who he used to be. “I can’t let you do this. You brought the order’s terrible secrets to light, to give up would be an insult to Crick’s memory.”
His name is like the sound of shattering glass. Temenos stiffens.
“In my opinion, the bigger insult to his memory is the life I’m living in his absence.”
“Then stop drinking. Stop smoking. Stop fucking any man who looks at you.” Despite his best efforts, Ort finds himself raising his voice. He slams a hand down on the desk, his face contorting with sheer rage. “Crick spoke so highly of you. If Cubaryi hadn’t killed him that night, she would have killed him once she discovered those stupid love letters you would secretly send each other whenever you were apart. I warned him that loving you was dangerous, that if anyone found out what he was doing with you he’d be executed by Kaldena without so much as a trial. But he insisted you were good, that you were loyal . He begged me to keep his relationship with you a secret and I did, I still do, because I saw the way you looked at each other in Canalbrine. Did you love him the way he loved you, Temenos? Or were you simply using him as a pawn to defeat Kaldena, and was riding his cock just an added bonus?”
“Shut up, Ort. Shut up. ” Temenos hisses through gritted teeth, abandoning his usual eloquent way of speaking. “You know nothing about me. You know nothing about mine and Crick’s love, and you know nothing about the life I lived before all of this. How dare you make these assumptions when I am a stranger to you.”
“I’m offering you the chance to prove me wrong. Help me, Temenos. Do this for Crick. Do this for Roi.”
Temenos stands abruptly, watching as Ort presses his lips into a thin line upon realizing he’s managed to bring up yet another touchy subject to selfishly get a reaction from him. It made sense for Ort to know of Temenos and Crick’s relationship. But it did not make sense for Ort to know about Temenos’ history with Roi. “…What did you say?”
Ort shakes his head. “Forgive me.”
The cleric’s breathing is shallow, shaky. He can’t allow himself to break, not like this. He stands still and stoic, upper lip stiffened, looking down at the raven haired man who seems to know all of his most intimate secrets. “We will continue this conversation another time.”
Before Ort can utter so much as another apology, Temenos has stormed out of the room. The hopefulness he’d felt at the beginning of their meeting is a distant memory and in its place is an overwhelming feeling of dread. Should he have been more gentle with him? Should he have done more listening and less criticizing? Maybe. And he wonders if he just contributed to the downfall of the Order of the Sacred Flame by reopening the wounds of a grieving man.
The day continues as normal, with Ort overseeing the knights as usual. But as evening falls over Stormhail and not a single one of his men utters the name of the inquisitor who’s become a frequent visitor in the barracks, Ort realizes Temenos has left without so much as a goodbye.
But that night, as he takes a stroll through the cemetery, he notices fresh snowdrops placed by Crick’s headstone.
It would appear he said goodbye to the one person who matters, and for now that’s good enough for Ort.