The recent meeting had stirred things up within Charles, and he now found himself wishing every day to leave. Yet he knew that winter was coming, which put him in a bad position: because he was a bad hunter and he certainly didn't want to die.
So for the meantime, Charles had convinced himself that he would stay with the Saints, and hopefully war would not come to them before winter. If it would, he'd just flee then and hopefully he'd find another pack that was not in eastern direction. If it wouldn't, then he would leave after the winter, he told himself. He had no more reasons to stay, and he was reminded of Whrist and Kynareth every day.
There was always something that scared the crap out of the coywolf in Blackfeather Woods. He didn't even know what it was, but everything about that place shouted 'ominous'. And he lived with a pack of wolves who placed skulls outside their borders and shit.
He headed down to the otter creek for a quick drink while he was exploring the mountains, and decided to head south to check out the flatlands. Man, he missed the flatlands. Mountains were okay, he guessed, but also dangerous. And he didn't like dangerous.
water beckoned.
ramesses chose this moment to leave alone.
maggie breathed but did not waken. pharaoh had surrendered any hope of that. and if by some dark chance she should return from this dusky sleep, there would be little life for her after.
cruelty was pragmatism.
aware that it was dangerous to be far from the mesa, the man shone beneath the sky all the same.
he meant to cleanse himself. delicate nostrils flared for any sign of the saints, and when it was discovered, ramesses bristled. "show yourself, dog," he hissed in a serpentine grate far unlike any tone usually uttered by the royal. fear and anger rose equal heads within him. had it begun now? had nyra already sent her minions forward?
but in the end the ivory hackles faded, and settled, for it was charles, the beautiful plaything of the grandmaster. "i could kill you where you stand, for your wolves are my enemies."
the lapis eyes were hard.
Charles knew tensions were high and there was talk of war, but he didn't know exactly how high tensions were. He honestly didn't even know (or remember) that Ramesses was involved in all of this, either. He'd forgotten (or repressed) that the man even existed at all. When he heard the voice, a shudder ran down his spine involuntarily, even moreso at the commanding tone that the man wielded. The coywolf instinctively ducked down, but he was already discovered; it was too late.
Ramesses seemed to settle when he realised that it was only Charles. Charles himself was not sure whether he should be relieved or insulted that he posed no threat to the man. His eyes remained hard and a threat was uttered. Charles found that when he reached into his heart — and not even very deeply — a part of him longed for death's sweet embrace. Perhaps then he, too, would be free from this miserable life.
I do not smell borders here,
he said to Ramesses, a little defensively. Charles' body was submissive, though mostly involuntarily so, driven by his instincts and his body's will to survive, even if the mind did not entirely agree.
"then you are only a pretty fool." ramesses had lost some of his tension, however, the wolf and the god appeased by how charles slunk low to the ground. "nyra has only recently been here. she has murdered one of my harlots; the girl is as good as dead. and all for the sake of domination."
"that is akashingo." pharaoh tossed his cold marble head in a graceful gesture toward the mesa rising high and knowing. "see how far she traveled to begin another war."
at last he relented, stepping lightly past the very nose of charles, forcing the young coywolf to snatch himself away or be trodden upon. "this is also my land. i have decided it to be so."
To Charles, most of this was all news, and he blinked owlishly as Ramesses told him about it. Honestly, Charles did not feel all that connected to the Saints. He certainly wasn't willing to die for them. Since Lotus had gone away, honestly, none of it mattered anymore. Nyra had been particularly cold to him (or rather, made it very clear that he meant absolutely nothing to her) and he'd been thinking of leaving. He'd scared himself with thoughts of abandoning everyone when Nyra had told him to take Arlette somewhere safe. He didn't want to be a disloyal dog, but the truth was that at heart, he kind of was. If things weren't fun anymore, he just wanted out. But it was winter soon, so he knew that it wouldn't be a good idea to leave now...
Problems more close to right-now was Ramesses, still looking rather cold. He decided that this place was also his. Charles was pretty sure you couldn't just do that, but who was he to object, really? So he said, in the end, Oh. Okay. I'll — stay away, then. Sorry, uh —
Charles swallowed difficultly and he started to back off, moving backwards though not taking his gaze off Ramesses (afraid to be attacked in the back). Honestly, however much he didn't like the Saints right now, he knew that he was still technically a Saint right now — and might be for the coming half year — so he probably shouldn't be here if Ramesses and his pack decided it was theirs.
ramesses stared at charles.
"i have always wanted you," the pharaoh purled in a sweetling tone. "i have craved you since the first time i saw your face. to think of you beneath the brutish hand of those two sickened me, charles."
his eyes were fixed upon the narrow and beautiful face, the way the saint backed from him.
"it is a waste of your face and your body that you should be among them. you should have followed me. i would have given you many comforts with no such brutal demands."
"but," ramesses went on, in the demeanour of the crook and flail being crossed over his chest; he stood stiffly and solemnly and offended before charles, "now your loveliness will be ruined. you will fight against akashingo and we will kill you."
there was no lack of confidence in his voice.
When Ramesses spoke again, Charles stopped in his tracks, hackles raised, shock on his face. Ramesses spoke to him in the same way that he had back at the Saints. In a way that Charles didn't understand, because why would any man speak that way to another man? Why would he so openly admit that something was horribly wrong with him?
Charles wanted to defend himself, to say that he was not into men, and to ridicule Ramesses for his own tastes — for coming out into the open for them so easily. Yet before he could, Ramesses continued and his voice went cold once more.
It'd never been clear to Charles that he could've 'followed' anyone. He'd largely kept away from all of the things that'd been going on with the pack and now he found himself pretty clueless on what was going on.
But one thing he knew for sure.
He wouldn't be there; he wouldn't be anywhere nearby enough to kill. No matter how much he would welcome death, he knew that he couldn't search for it.
After a long pause of frozen, perplexed silence, Charles said, I will welcome it.
He said it only because he hoped that by the time it happened — if it happened, just in case Charles was found again by Ramesses and his wolves — he hoped that his flesh and blood would taste like ash and soot in Ramesses' mouth, knowing he delivered Charles from something rather than take something from him or from the Saints.
But he would not take from the Saints, for Charles would not be with them at that time.
He licked his lips with nervousness, submission, and a spark of defiance in his eyes before he eventually said, You are sick in your head. I'm not into men, and you should not be too. It's not natural.
Then he held his breath, a quiver in his stature, unsure what he hoped that Ramesses would do. But there was something — always had been — about being bad that felt so good. He didn't enjoy pain in the slightest, but doing something bad lead to pain and that lead to relief and kindness and compassion. He could've walked away now without consequence, but some part of him screamed to feel something.
ramesses snorted derisively as charles made his statement. "why remain where you know your blood will be shed?" he asked sharply. but he found he did not truly wish an answer, for what the coywolf spoke next provoked a spate of silken laughter.
"unnatural!" the lazuli eyes danced and then sought to pin the saintswolf. ramesses stepped closer. "i am a god. there is no more natural thing than being unbound by such repression." he turned, smiled toward the skies. "men have always loved men."
when pharaoh set his eyes again upon charles it was in a caressing way.
"you know nothing of it, or you would not say such things."
his words were a light challenge that licked against the long ears of the coywolf. so close to charles, to his scarred and patchwork and twin-hued frame, close to the sunspark eyes that held something unfathomable; so close choked pharaoh with his own want, and he hovered close, suspended. waiting.
Charles just didn't want Ramesses to have the satisfaction of knowing that Charles wouldn't be where his blood would be spilled. He didn't want the man to think that he had any part in it, or whatever. He was smug enough as it was, anyway.
It seemed he had hit a nerve. There was a certain satisfaction to make someone like Ramesses lose his cool and calculated demeanour for a moment. Well, somewhat, anyway. Charles felt a nervous twist in his gut as Ramesses' eyes stared directly at him. Then it seemed he calmed again, set in his ways, thinking that it was good, or whatever, for men to love men.
He had no counter-argument to that, but he had only ever seen women be with men, so he was pretty sure that it was weird and unnatural for it to be any other way. He thought of how Whrist had told him that he should have a threesome with her and Kynareth, but that would've been all about Whrist anyway, right? Charles still couldn't really fathom what it was like.
Thinking about this and challenged by Ramesses on it made Charles' cheeks flush and he wished he had something snarky to say. It's just not right. If it was right there would be more of it, but there isn't, everyone is males and females.
He looked at Ramesses, the challenging spark in his eyes back although he knew that his argumentation wasn't very good. But Charles had grown up knowing nothing of this love between men and he thought it was a weird thing — the men that Charles'd fallen in love with had proven as much by, y'know, being with women.
"i can see why you might loathe such pleasures when all you have known is a reeking brute." he remained appalled and surprised that charles had fathered any child, let alone covered the snarling sneering nyra.
"you know nothing." ramesses stepped on, elegant as ever. "if we were not enemies i would take you to akashingo as my guest. there you might be — re-educated." a lush smile spread across his mouth.
"but it is your wish to be at war with me. such a waste. such a shame."
the gaze sought to stroke and to ply charles once more. ramesses was an impatient man but enjoyed a slow pursuit and the spiced conquering thereafter.
Charles didn't like the way that Ramesses judged him for his choices. He was a man, and he wouldn't be prodded into being anything else by this man. Charles'd been compliant most his life, and he wouldn't be to this man. Well. He would leave the Saints; but not, he told himself, for the sake of this man, but because that was a choice that he made for himself. He would not tell Ramesses of it, though perhaps the man would draw his own conclusions upon seeing Charles absent on whatever battlefield may follow.
Growing discomfort in his bones from both Ramesses' prying looks and the subtle threats of violence, Charles felt the growing urge to flee. I — have to go,
he said hastily. I'll see you on the battle-field.
A blatant lie, of course, but Ramesses did not need to know that in this moment. A nervous lick of his lips betrayed his discomfort, and Charles made to scuttle off, intending to never see this man again if he could help it.
"you will return!" pharaoh shouted suddenly, uncaring if charles' savage packmates heard him now.
his voice was boisterous, delighted. pharaoh laughed.
he turned back toward the mesa.
charles would become his. he needed only wait for the gods to guide the saint to akashingo.