Denen's Got His Beergoggles On (Sama'el)

[Denen Sunsinger]

90 Winter, 510 AV Ledger : -2 sm, 1 gallon of ale Denen hummed to himself, off tune, as he weaved through the tents of Endrykas, clutching a thick jug of ale to his thin chest. His face was flushed, his cheeks smeared with tears. He'd been crying freely in his little corner at the Trough, before the alcohol kicked in. Then, he'd started crying freely with a group of his most dear strangers, who had wept with him when he told them his tale. But the time came to leave, long after the sun had gone down, and for the first time in his life, a drunken Denen meandered back to Sam's tent. His singing voice was horrible, but he didn't seem particularly bothered by this, or to have any rhyme or reason to what he was singing. Just words, nonsense for the most part, and he stumbled into the tent, pulling off his boots in the process, and dropping down on the pile of furs. All the while, he held his jug to his chest. "Saaaaaam," he bawled out, rather like a calf calling for its mother. "I g-got...a...a ale." He fell over giggling, then, the contents of the jug sloshing about, fortunately held in place by a stopper. He grabbed hold of one of the furs, and wrapped his body up in it. He loved the smell of furs, and the warmth of the tent. His face felt tingly, his fingers, too. He held them in front of his face, going cross-eyed and collapsing into laughter. After it died out, he rubbed his eyes and yawned widely, casting his eyes around the darkened tent. "Sam? Where...Saaaam..." He groped about for him, until his deft fingers found skin, and he drew himself up alongside him, whispering loudly. "Sam...Why...W-Why are y-y-y-you sleeping?" He held up his jug, grinning like a fool. "L-Look, Sam...Look! I b-b-brought...I brought...I bought it!" His tongue jutted between his lips and his brows furrowed as he struggled to unstop the jug, but his fingers slipped each time. At long last, his nose wrinkled up, and he scowled. "I c-can't...g-get the p-p-petching...thing...open..." He extended it to Sam for assistance, sitting up and folding his legs.

[Sama'el Sunsinger]

Sama'el had fretted a bit when Denen didn't return home at dusk, but his friend was too old to be mother-henned, even if he had just recently lost his Strider, that flesh and blood connection to his mother. Finally he had gone to bed after tending to his horses, banked the fire, and the like. The moon was so bright that he didn't leave a light on for Denen. When the drunken boy fell into his tent, he sort of shifted around. When his name was bawled, he muttered something about five more minutes. But when cold hands touched tender skin, he squirmed and squealed awake like a boy of much fewer years. "Denen!" he protested indignantly, shaking off the chains of slumber, but of course it was too dark in there for his friend to read lips, so instead he grabbed those hands to keep them from his body. He just shrugged it off when Denen got handsy in his sleep, but cold hands were not allowed. "Oh, ale?" He yawned and fumbled for the jug, pulling out the stopper and pushing it all into Denen's hands. He hoped he didn't spill on the bedrolls and furs. That would stink nastily.

[Denen Sunsinger]

Denen's eyes widened, feeling Sam's hands close around his wrists. But he didn't try to pull away. Instead, he grinned sheepishly, and stifled a silly giggle. Were his hands cold? He hadn't realized...The giggle escaped then, and his head ducked. He knew Sam had said something, but he didn't honestly know or care what was said. He couldn't see Sam's lips, and unless he was signing against Denen's skin, he wasn't likely to bother finding out. He grunted when Sam put the ale and stopped back in his hands, and held the jug out for Sam, silently bidding him to share it. He didn't want it all to himself. He'd never been drunk before, but he was already sure that it wasn't any fun when one was alone. He wanted to share with Sam. "I w-w-went to the T-T-T-Trough," he informed proudly, his already awkward voice slurred. He'd never been there before, at least, not to drink like this, and he was proud of himself. Wasn't every boy supposed to get drunk and do something stupid at least once in his life? He imagined he was long overdue. He reached out, then, and touched Sam's cheek, smiling sweetly. "D-Dymphna's...so...l-lucky. She's the l-luckiest g-g-g-girl in all...all of the wh-whole world." He laid back against the bed then, looking up to Sam's shape in the dark. "Am I ugly, Sam?" That one statement was remarkably clear, crisp amidst slurs and stammers. He was, he felt, too skinny, too gangly, and not nearly manly enough to warrant attraction from anyone.

[Sama'el Sunsinger]

Sama'el removed the stopper once more and took a swig of the ale before setting it aside. Denen was clearly drunk and rather cold; Sama'el didn't want him getting sick. Being sick was miserable stuff. Also, he was not sure how good of a nursemaid he would make, even if he wasn't out riding circuit with the Watch. He laid back down next to Denen, pulling the furs and blankets over the both of them to warm the inebriated healer. Taking his hand, he signed 'No, of course you aren't' into his hand. Truth be told, Denen's feminine nature confused Sama'el, but unlike the confusion of Stone Brokensong, his had not become fear and hate. With a little bit of manhandling, he managed to get Denen on his side so he could be the big spoon and keep him from getting a wild hair up his ass and running off to cause mischief in his drunkenness. He shivered, but knew the engine of his body would soon level out their heat.

[Denen Sunsinger]

Denen was both pleased and satisfied when Sam took a drink, though he wished his friend would have enjoyed it more. But it was enough for the moment, and he contented himself snuggling down into their blankets. The bed was still warm from Sam's sleeping, and he was happy to remember how comfortable it was. He smiled as Sam lay down, his eyes bleary and his body shivering a little, despite the fact that he hadn't realized how cold he was. He was pleased to think that Sam didn't think he was ugly, and let the idea wander away from him for the moment. Not that he had a lot of say on which thoughts lingered and which went. His brain was all over the place. He squirmed as Sam pulled him onto his side and against his body, and wiggled around until he was facing the other, and could snuggle properly. He pressed his face into Sam's chest and wrapped his arms around him."D-Do you think...Do you th-think mayb-be a m-man will want to m-marry me one d-d-d-day?" Sam was, after all, his best friend. He would tell him honestly, wouldn't he? But he was eighteen and yet without any prospects, or even so much as a reciprocated flirtation. "I m-m-miss Reth," he murmured.

[Sama'el Sunsinger]

'If someone worthy of you exists,' he signed into Denen's hand, 'then you will be loved. Otherwise you are stuck with the rest of us who love you.' When he mentioned the dead gelding, Sama'el could only hug him tighter. Denen was strong in many ways, but fragile in others. He could stand up to his father, but fall to pieces in the safety of Sama'el's tent. The would-be Ankal was still unsure how to help Denen other than being there for him, being supportive of him, and all that. Part of him wondered if this was some test from the gods to see whether he was truly a potential leader, because he would have to help his loved ones through things as an Ankal, not just tell them what to do and protect them. 'I thought I was meant to die when my Hasieran was cut down by the bandits right in front of me. I thought I deserved to die for not protecting him, for being asleep when the bandits came and thus requiring him to sacrifice himself that I could wake up and grab my blade and get knocked out like a novice.' He sighed and Denen could feel that regretful breath in his hair before Sama'el finished. 'But the gods saw fit to send me Dohaina not long after I returned... in the middle of a Cyphrus storm, no less. Ten years of grief before I could really begin to forgive myself, because I imagine Hasieran would have thought I didn't need forgiving... I know the pain is terrible, and I will not lie and say it goes away, but life does get better and the gods send us what we need.'

[Denen Sunsinger]

Someone worthy of him. Denen sighed and closed his eyes. He was beginning to feel a little sick. Maybe drinking hadn't been a good idea. A lot of what Sam was saying didn't make any sense. He wanted to cry, but he felt inclined to laugh at the same time. Drunkenness was very strange indeed. He was pulled tighter against Sam's chest, and a short, huff of breath left his lips. His cheek pressed against Sam. Thin arms coiled around the boy who would lead them. Denen wanted to tell Sam that he was worthy, that he, Denen, thought him to be the finest man in all of Endrykas, perhaps in even all the world, but even drunk, he held his tongue. He didn't want Sam to feel uncomfortable. More uncomfortable than he was sure he already made his friend. But, gods, how he loved him. He was supported and uplifted by the familial love shown to him by his friends. They had taken the place of the Brokensong Pavilion, but to watch as they each found bliss was another matter entirely. Was it wrong to want that sort of thing, even though he knew what it would entail? He was silent as Sam spoke, his heart breaking for his friend, for the loss he must have felt in witnessing what he had. He turned his blue eyes up to meet those of his friend, before it hurt too much to do so. He closed his eyes and turned his face away. What if it took him ten years to find another Strider with whom to bond? He'd be the laughing stock of his Pavilion. As if there wasn't enough to worry about. He found himself suddenly blinded by tears, and he turned around again, so that his back would be pressed to Sam's chest now. He dragged the back of his hand across his eyes. It wasn't just Reth's death that troubled his mind as of late. He wanted Sam so badly that he could hardly stand to live with himself. He was ashamed of it, ashamed of letting himself feel something so strongly when it seemed so utterly hopeless. There were nights, when he couldn't sleep, that he would sit, silently, watching Sam sleep, and think that he would be much better off if he just went away. That everyone would be better off. "I'm s-sorry," he whispered. "M-M-Maybe...Maybe w-what I ache f-f-for isn't...isn't w-what they w-want for me." He sat up slowly, smiling down at Sam. "Y-You will be a f-fine leader, Sama'el. I...I adm-mire you. M-More than...More than anyone else. I am h-h-h-honored to b-be your friend." He choked out a shaky breath, then, as though that word caused him great pain.

[Sama'el Sunsinger]

'Who can say what the gods want?' he asked into Denen's hands. It might sound sententious, but it was a truth all the same. All Sama'el knew was that he didn't know much at all. He knew, or was knowing more and more, that while he loved Denen greatly, respected and cherished him, he did not love him the way that Denen loved Sama'el and that was causing the lad pain. And for that, he signed: 'I'm sorry.' But would Denen understand those undertones? Even if Denen thought him a good leader, or the beginnings of a good leader, he didn't know how to make this right for them. There were times he wanted Dymphna so badly that Denen's lithe frame seemed an intoxicating second choice, but it would be disrespectful to treat Denen so, thinking about another woman while treating Denen like less than a man. It had even occurred to him to make Denen his second wife; such things were uncommon, but not unheard of. Still, the title without the reality seemed like a disservice to Denen, even if the lad thought that was good enough for him. 'I admire you, as well, and am honored to call you friend.' And sorry that he was not what Denen needed, ultimately.

[Denen Sunsinger]

Some things struck past a level of consciousness, and Denen's heart ached. He closed his eyes, and for a long while, he was completely silent. His head hurt. His spirit felt almost detached from his body, as though he were watching this scene from above. He drew himself from Sama'el's arms, needing the distance, before he settled again on the edge of the furs, pushing the cold jug further away from himself. It was too hard to lay so close to Sama'el and know, within his core, that it was fruitless. He pulled the furs up around his shoulders, and stared blearily at the awkward, unnatural shape of the jug in the dark. He was a jug, he thought. Awkward and unnatural. He brought his thin arms up under his head, and lay still, quiet. Oh, he was happy to be Sama'el's friend. At least he was allowed to stay, wasn't pushed away, despite what he was. But he wanted more. He wanted what he saw when he watched Sam and Dymphna together. That, however, was not his choice. He had made his feelings clear, and the result was in Sama'el's hands. The same hands that signed apologies into his hands. Apologies that meant too much and too little all at once. It was strange how even hands could speak so many volumes. After his silence, he spoke, but his voice was little more than a whisper. "When...W-When the sp-spring comes, and...and y-you are m-m-m-married," he began, "I...I will sleep...sleep in m-my own t-tent. Y-You don't n-need me h-hanging...hanging around...around w-w-while you...w-woo your wife."

[Sama'el Sunsinger]

When Denen pulled away, he made it impossible for Sama'el to respond with words, but he seemed to recognize then that the beer in Denen's belly had revealed things to him. Painful things. True things. So all Sama'el could do was what came most natural to him: he reached out and squeezed Denen's slender shoulder, willing all his affection, his gratitude for what the lad had done to save Eldon's life, and every positive emotion and thought that Denen's existence brought to him, willing all of that to cross the barrier of skin and cloth so his friend would know. But then, respecting Denen's need for space, he retracted his hand, tucked it under his cheek, and blinked at the dim shadow the healer picked out from all the other shadows in the dark tent. Life, he knew, was cruel.