Please Follow Me (Sam)

[Denen Sunsinger]

Winter 2, 511 AV Everything had crumbled around him. Sam was gone. Durno was gone. He had no family to find comfort in. He had returned, and gathered together the remains of what had been Sam's hopes and dreams, and lingered now on the edge of Endrykas. It had been nearly a season since the night he was kidnapped, and now that he was home, the boy held to what little was left. The scent of Sam was nearly gone from his tent, but still Denen held to one of his old, scrapped tunics. He wore it under his own, a reminder to be kept near his skin. He sat now, in the long grass near his tiny fire, watching the goat eat. In his lap he cradled the bunny Sam had bought for him, a thin hand stroking the soft fur. He had an oat concoction brewing in the pot, with scraps of poor meat tossed in. He had little appetite anymore, and hadn't had the courage to do much work. A job here and there for those who couldn't pay much, or traded what they had for services, and couldn't afford a healer of much skill. He kept a scarf wrapped tightly over his head, desperate to keep his mangled scalp and sheered hair out of sight. His hair had been, in Drykas fashion, his pride, but all of that had been taken from him. The ordeal was told in the scars that littered his flesh, in the distant, vacant stare that now occupied once bright eyes. With a sigh, Denen carefully placed his rabbit back in its crate. The little creature nibbled at a blade of grass and sniffed about, before settling down into a ball of fluffy fur. Denen sank back onto his knees, turning his eyes up to the sky. Gods, he thought, what a cruel sense of humor you have. Leaving the weakest to struggle alone. He pushed himself upright, giving the contents of the pot a noncommittal stir.

[Sama'el Sunsinger]

It had taken almost a season of intense searching, both physically and on the Web to track Denen down, but Sama'el had done it. Now that he had hit the outskirts of Endrykas, Durno pounding turf beneath him, he found the stallion's rhythm and let his spirit race forward to find that particular Drykas boy who was Sam's family. When he located him, an astral hand touched his cheek, though he could not feel it. Disembodied, Sama'el could not truly feel physical nausea at what had been done to his friend after he had failed to protect him, but as soon as he slammed back into his body, Durno still keeping him in the saddle. As they approached the tiny campfire, Durno seemed to sense his master, and his speed never flagged as he pulled energy right out of the Web to keep going. As they pounded toward the bemused, bedraggled healer, Sam stood up in the yvas and vaulted off with no time to spare. He did a simple tuck flip, and landed with his legs ready to catch his momentum and carry him forward, quickly to his knees and holding Denen from behind. Oh happy day!

[Denen Sunsinger]

It wasn't uncommon for horses to rush and race here, and so it did not seem odd to Denen to feel the vibrations in the earth now. He kept his attention on the fire. He didn't want to talk to anyone. Didn't want to have eyes peering and prying. It was difficult enough working around Jyn, familiar as the manservant was. Denen wasn't one for giving orders, and fortunately, Jyn didn't require supervising. He had not felt Sam's projected hand, did not dream that his nightmares would be, for the most part, ended within a matter of seconds. His brow pinched, and he reached up to rub at his temple, trying in vain to rid himself of that horrible headache. There was a tugging in his chest. It was that familiar sensation he'd had with bonded Striders before. When Reth had died, he'd felt it still, like feeling an arm that had been severed. He was half-crouched before the fire now, pushing the wooden spoon across the bottom of the pot to keep the gruel from burning, when he suddenly felt strong arms envelop him from behind. His eyes bugged and his instant reaction was to scream, which he did, though the sound choked and died on his lips. His entire, thin frame tensed up, as if expecting being carted off again. He struggled, pushing at Sam's arms and frantically protesting. The goat bleated and startled, thankfully tethered. He slapped at those wonderful arms, and tried in vain to pry himself free, only to pause, eyes wide, at a sudden pang of familiarity. “Oh, gods.” He froze, heart suddenly hammering in his throat. “Oh, g-gods...Oh, gods...Please...Please be real. P-Please be real.” But he could not turn yet, for fear of this being another dream. Instead, he grabbed at those arms and pulled them tight around him again, shaking violently.

[Sama'el Sunsinger]

Sam buried his face in Denen's neck, kissed him a few times, then a few more. He loved the frail healer, and there was no denying it. Someday there pavilion would be complete, and he could ask Denen to marry him. Cheva would bless them. They crossed continents for each other. Then no Drykas could spit upon the ground as they passed. Though Denen couldn't hear him, he had become accustomed to humming high in his cheekbones when face to face, or low in his chest when holding the other man, the vibrations letting him know that Sama'el was there, a vocal communication sent through flesh and bone rather than the air between them. There was nothing between them now except questions that could be answered later. The most important one was already answered: each other lived and each other was there.

[Denen Sunsinger]

His body hunched. He couldn't help himself. He felt familiar lips on his skin, those strong arms coiled tightly about him, as if to ward off whatever evil might linger around them. Sam lived, and he had come for him. He stayed thus, his eyes squeeze shut, and hugged Sam's arms as he cried, overwhelmed and overjoyed. His legs were weak, but Sam held him up. That was enough for him. He felt the vibrations of Sam's voice, and he choked on a sob, forcing himself to turn around at last to look at him. His thin hands—thinner now from the stress of his ordeal—cupped Sam's cheeks, and his teary, blurry eyes searched every inch of that face. He smiled, even through his tears, and rose up to kiss him hard on the mouth. “S-Sam,” he whispered against his lips. “Sam!” He didn't care if they were seen. Not now. His Sam lived! He had spent endless days crushed in fear. “Y-You're...al-alive. Oh, g-g-godd-goddess!” He pressed his face into his neck and stayed there, breathing him in.

[Sama'el Sunsinger]

When Sama'el got a better look at the damage done to Denen, the happiness and relief began to cloud up like a thunderhead, anger roiling up that called for Akalak blood. But lucky for both of them, their reunion, and any nearby Akalak, Durno chose that moment to step up and chew on Sam's hair, and then nuzzle Denen's face. Not only had Sama'el come, but he had brought Denen's Strider. He knew how to make an entrance. "Yes, well," he said, but when Denen's eyes turned to his horse, Sam stopped talking, knowing Denen couldn't read his lips just then. He smiled and waited patiently. This reunion made him happy as well.

[Denen Sunsinger]

Denen wrapped his arms around Sam's neck, holding happily to him. The bad things didn't matter now. Not now that he was held in Sam's arms. He leaned up, kissing him softly, tenderly. Tears streaked his weary features, tears of relief and joy. His happiness increased, too, at the sight of Durno's big head peaking around Sam's shoulder to chew on his hair. Denen offered up a sigh of happiness and reached out to hug the Strider's head to his chest. Durno wuffled and snorted, rubbing his face against Denen's chest, smearing snot and slobber across his tunic. Denen laughed, wiping away tears. “Take me inside,” he signed. “Please. I need to sit down.”

[Sama'el Sunsinger]

A little teary-eyed himself, Sama'el scooped Denen up and carried him to the tent. His friend was even lighter than he remembered, which scared him, a frail bag of bones that would have to be fattened up a bit to survive the winter. He expected Durno would follow, not wanting his master out of sight again. So when he knelt at the entrance of the tent, easing Denen in, he followed, but left the flap open. He was saddle sore, which was odd for him, but he and Durno had galloped fit to impress Zulrav to get there once he knew precisely where Denen was. In the tent, the light was dim. Outside the food was cooking and would need tending, and Durno waited, needing tending. But there was time for tenderness in their reunion. He crawled in after Denen, on top of him enough to kiss his mouth once, a curious thing. They would sleep flush together as two spoons that night, but perhaps now was a time for talking. Words were difficult between them in the dark, though. Denen could tell him things, and Sama'el had to answer with his body.

[Denen Sunsinger]

Denen melted against his chest, tracing the patterns of his flesh beneath his tunic. He shivered and cuddled near him, grateful for that familiar smell, for that wonderful warmth. He smiled, though it was a small, relieved smile, and he kissed his jaw and chin tenderly. Once he was settled inside the tent, he sank down on his knees, waiting for Sam and Durno. He needed both right now, to see that his dear bonded was alive and well, and to feel his sweetheart close to him. He shifted and pulled the furs, so that he could lean against Durno while he held close to Sama'el. He savored that kiss, given so freely, and so sincerely. Those were the lips he'd spent nights sleepless mourning, belonging to the boy he would have died to join in the Web. Sam leaned over him now, and Denen curled around him, thin legs looped around his hips. He needed every inch of contact that he could get. He ran his hand up and down Sam's chest, until he cupped his cheek in his hand and smiled up to him in the waning light. At long last, he reached up, drawing the scarf off of his head. Sam could not see the damage so well in this light. “Th-The m-men...who...t-took me are...are d-d-dead,” he assured.

[Sama'el Sunsinger]

That Durno had followed them into the tent, at least with his head, for little else would fit, that made anything too terribly intimate unlikely. The Drykas were close with their horses, but there were logical limits to that. When Denen spoke, he felt much relieved, though he wished he could have offered their blood to Viratas himself. "Good," he grunted, rumbling in his chest so Denen could feel it if not hear it. His hand stroked Denen's back. He was just going to have to get better at protecting him.