Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

December 2015

Where the FUCK could he be?

Sören paced back and forth, repeatedly checking his phone to see if there was a message from Anthony. It's ridiculous, Sören thought to himself. I can summon a fireball with my powers, but I can't track down my own boyfriend. He had the ability to scry, but it always gave him a splitting headache afterwards, so he tried to save it for emergencies only. And being twenty minutes late did not exactly constitute an emergency.

It was unlike Anthony to be late; he usually prided himself on being punctual. Although he hadn't given Sören an exact time of when he would be home, after four years of living together, Sören knew how long it typically took Anthony to finish his errands at the store. Usually no longer than an hour. But this time, he had been gone for almost two hours.

They were partners in a high-risk job - working for the Nordic division of the International Mage Police - but it was their day off, and if Anthony had been attacked, Sören would have sensed it. No, mundane danger was much more likely. Despite the well-maintained roads in the winter, Sören couldn't help but worry about possible dangers that could have delayed Anthony's return. Maybe he hit a patch of ice or encountered a drunk driver - it wasn't uncommon for people to drink excessively during the long winter nights in Oslo. Sören's own parents were killed by a drunk driver on the Ring Road outside of Reykjavik when he was six years old. Despite all his magical abilities, nothing could have saved them from their untimely fate and him from being sent to live with his abusive aunt and uncle until he was eventually enrolled at Wemblefrrf, far away in the United Kingdom. Although the chances of losing Anthony in the same way were slim, Sören couldn't help but let his mind wander to those dark thoughts.

"Hurry the fuck up," Sören muttered under his breath.

Suddenly, he felt a jolt in his head as if someone had slapped him inside his mind. It was Anthony, and he must have picked up on Sören's anxiety even through his mental shielding.

"SOON," Anthony shouted telepathically before disappearing again. Sören flinched at the sudden intrusion, a common occurrence between them.

As Sören was in the bathroom taking care of business, Anthony appeared out of nowhere - directly into the bathroom.

Sören released his hold on his cock and crossed his arms in front of his chest. Anthony gave a small wave and a smirk. "You said to hurry up," he explained. "So I told my portal to take me straight to you."

"Ha. Ha ha ha. You're hilarious," Sören replied sarcastically. He noticed the shopping bags in Anthony's hand and saw that one was from the nearby mall instead of their usual supermarket. Before he could say anything, his coat and hat levitated towards him.

"Put on your outerwear," Anthony instructed with a mischievous grin. "I have a surprise for you."

"So that's why you were late?" Sören asked.

"I'm sorry for causing you worry," Anthony apologized sincerely.

Feeling slightly embarrassed for overreacting, Sören tried to make light of the situation by saying, "Hi Sorry For Causing You Worry, I'm-"

But before he could finish, Anthony used his powers to silence him with his own scarf. Sören chuckled as he washed his hands and got ready to go outside. Little did he know, there was more in store for him than just a simple surprise.

Anthony took Sören's hand and led him out of their charming red house into the crisp winter air - still carrying the bags from his excursion. Snow crunched beneath their boots as they walked down the quiet Oslo street, their breaths forming little clouds in the frigid night.

"Where are we going?" Sören asked, his curiosity piqued.

Anthony just smiled mysteriously. "You'll see."

They rounded a corner and came to a small park, blanketed in pristine white snow that sparkled under the streetlights. In the center stood a massive pine tree, its branches heavy with fresh powder.

Anthony stopped and turned to face Sören. "Close your eyes," he instructed softly.

Sören obliged, his heart quickening with anticipation. He heard Anthony muttering an incantation under his breath, felt a surge of magical energy in the air.

"Okay, open them."

In the dark sky above them, two magnificent dragons were flying in circles, one black and one white. They landed in front of Sören and Anthony, towering over them with their enormous size. Sören was no stranger to dragons; as a child, he had been visited by the mated pair bonded to his parents before their tragic death. Even after taking classes on magical creatures at Wemblefrrf, and encountering them every so often in his life as a professional mage, Sören still felt a sense of wonder and tingling excitement whenever he saw a dragon. He raised his hand in greeting and spoke softly, "Hello there."

"Wanna go for a ride?" Anthony asked.

Sören's hands made the sign of the metal horns. "Yippie ki yay, motherfucker."

They journeyed north, leaving the bustling city behind. Before long, they were gliding over dense forests and frozen lakes, the landscape illuminated by the swirling lights of an aurora borealis. Finally, the dragons arrived at a remote location, far from any light pollution, where the Milky Way was on full display amidst a vast expanse of stars. The aurora took on even more vibrant hues, painting the sky with dazzling colors that brought tears to Sören's eyes.

Just as a shooting star streaked across the sky, Anthony reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a small velvet box. He opened it to reveal a white gold ring embellished with intricate infinity knots, adorned with a labradorite stone that shimmered like the aurora above them. "Sören, will you marry me?" he asked.

Overcome with joy, Sören shouted "YES!" in response.

The dragons chuffed happily in approval of their declaration of love.

After an affectionate embrace and kiss, Anthony used his telekinetic abilities to open a bag filled with supplies: a blanket, unlit candles, a bottle of champagne, and fresh food from the deli - a rotisserie chicken, potato salad, and lefse with brunost. The dragons happily received their share of brunost as a special treat. Sören used magic to light the candles, and they indulged in a romantic picnic by candlelight in the forest, gazing up at the aurora together in peaceful silence while cuddling.

On their way back, Anthony mounted the majestic white dragon, while Sören rode upon the sleek black dragon. "I'll race you," Sören challenged with a mischievous grin, and the black dragon swiftly took off ahead with the white dragon close behind. They soared higher this time, taking turns racing each other back and forth until finally the white dragon reached the park first. Anthony playfully blew a raspberry at Sören before flashing a "V" for victory.

"Next time," Sören vowed.

They gave their dragons some affectionate pats and skritches before watching them fly off into the distance. Then, they held each other close for a moment to catch their breath.

"I love you so much," Sören said.

"I love you too, babe. I hope this was worth the wait."

"It absolutely was. Just don't make being late a habit, okay?"

"Well, I don't propose every day." Anthony joked with a smile.

Sören gently took Anthony's hand in his own, their fingers intertwining as they began their walk home. With each step, Sören felt like he was walking on air, his heart thrumming with excitement and anticipation. He couldn't help but steal glances at the new ring adorning his finger - a symbol of the new chapter they were about to begin together. They were going to be husbands, and it already felt like they were married in every way that mattered to them.

As they entered their cozy little home, Sören's love for Anthony burned within him like a raging inferno, igniting a fierce passion and desire. Without hesitation, he pulled Anthony into a breathless kiss, pouring all of his love and longing into it. Their kisses grew more urgent, fueled by their telekinetic powers as they undressed each other with lightning speed. Skin against skin, they made their way towards the bed, their hard cocks brushing teasingly against one another with every step.

Before they fully surrendered themselves to pleasure, Sören paused to admire their reflection in the mirror; they were an erotic contrast of opposites. Sören had curly black hair cascading down to his mid-back, a short beard framing his full lips, and soft brown eyes. His arms were adorned with sleeve tattoos - flames on one arm, ocean waves on the other, leading out to a fiery phoenix and a watery phoenix engaged in a mating dance across his back. Anthony stood taller at six feet with an athletic build, short black hair, mesmerizing green eyes usually behind wire-rimmed glasses, and a clean-shaven boyishly handsome face. Anthony's chest was covered in a thick pelt of dark hair, and his arms and legs were also deliciously hairy. Sören had pierced ears and pierced nipples while Anthony had no jewelry except for the small silver Star of David necklace that he always wore. And then there was their most intimate feature - Sören's uncut cock, adorned with a captive bead ring in the head as a symbol of pride in his ritual transformation from female to male on his twenty-first birthday, and Anthony's circumcised cock; Sören was an inch longer and Anthony's was much girthier, like a Coke can.

As they stood in front of the mirror, Anthony wrapped his arms around Sören from behind, placing tender kisses along his neck as his hand gently stroked Sören's pierced cock. "You are so gorgeous," he husked.

"We're beautiful together," Sören replied, turning to meet Anthony's lips for another passionate kiss.

Unable to resist any longer, Anthony guided Sören towards the bed and climbed over him, gazing down at him with adoration and desire. "I love you," he whispered. "And right now, I need you."

"I want you," Sören breathed, arching his back and reaching out to pull him into another deep, hungry kiss.

Both men groaned as their cocks touched again, and rubbed together slowly, sensually, as Anthony kissed, licked, and nibbled Sören’s neck and shoulder.

Anthony trailed kisses down Sören's chest, pausing to tease each pierced nipple with his tongue. Sören gasped and arched into the touch, his hands tangling in Anthony's hair. As Anthony continued his descent, he lavished attention on Sören's taut abs, dipping his tongue into his navel before moving lower.

Sören's breath hitched as Anthony's lips brushed the sensitive skin of his inner thighs. "Anthony, please," he moaned.

With a wicked grin, Anthony licked a long stripe up Sören's shaft before taking him fully into his mouth. Sören cried out in pleasure, his hips bucking involuntarily. Anthony used his telekinesis to hold Sören's hips still as he bobbed his head, swirling his tongue around the piercing.

“Oh, fuck,” Sören moaned.

After a few blissful minutes, Anthony released him with a pop. He reached for the lube on the nightstand, slicking his fingers.

Sören spread his legs wider, inviting Anthony's touch. Anthony circled Sören's entrance teasingly before slowly pressing one finger inside. He worked it in and out gently, adding a second finger when Sören began to push back against his hand.

"More," Sören pleaded breathlessly.

Anthony obliged, adding a third finger and curling them to brush against Sören's prostate. Sören cried out, his back arching off the bed.

"Anthony, I need you inside me," Sören gasped. "Please."

Anthony withdrew his fingers and slicked his cock generously with lube. He positioned himself between Sören's legs, lining up with his entrance.

"Ready?" Anthony asked softly.

Sören nodded eagerly. "Yes, yes, please."

Anthony pushed forward slowly, both men groaning as he sank inch by inch into Sören's tight heat. He paused when he was fully sheathed, giving Sören time to adjust.

"You feel incredible," Anthony murmured, pressing tender kisses along Sören's jaw.

Sören wrapped his legs around Anthony's waist, pulling him even closer. "Fuck me," he urged. "Please, I need you."

Anthony began to thrust, starting with slow, deep strokes that had them both panting. Sören's hands roamed over Anthony's back, feeling the flex of his muscles with each movement.

"Faster," Sören moaned. "Harder."

Anthony obliged, picking up the pace. The room filled with the sounds of their pleasure - gasps, moans, and the slap of skin on skin. Sören's nails dug into Anthony's back as he clung to him, lost in ecstasy.

"Oh fuck, Anthony," Sören cried out. "Right there, don't stop!"

Anthony angled his hips to hit Sören's prostate with each thrust, sending jolts of pleasure through his fiancé's body. He could feel the heat building low in his belly, his release approaching fast.

"Sören," Anthony panted. "I'm close."

"Me too," Sören gasped. "Touch me, please."

Anthony wrapped his hand around Sören's dripping cock, stroking in time with his thrusts. It only took a few strokes before Sören was crying out in ecstasy, his body arching off the bed as he came hard between them. The clenching of Sören's muscles around him pushed Anthony over the edge, and he buried himself deep with a groan as his own orgasm crashed over him.

They clung to each other as they rode out the waves of pleasure, exchanging soft kisses and tender caresses. Eventually, Anthony gently pulled out and collapsed beside Sören, gathering him into his arms.

"That was..." Sören trailed off, still catching his breath.

"Incredible," Anthony finished, pressing a kiss to Sören's forehead.

They lay in comfortable silence for a few minutes, basking in the afterglow. Sören traced lazy patterns on Anthony's chest, admiring how the ring on his finger caught the dim light.

"So," Sören said eventually, a hint of mischief in his voice. "When should we start planning the wedding?"

Anthony chuckled, running his fingers through Sören's tangled curls. "Well, I suppose we should tell our families first. And some of our closest friends."

Sören nodded, a soft smile playing on his lips. "We could take a few personal days and go to London next week to tell your parents in person."

"That sounds perfect," Anthony agreed. "Though I'm not sure how we'll explain the dragon ride proposal to my very non-magical parents."

Sören laughed. "We'll just say you took me on a romantic helicopter tour. They don't need to know all the details."

Anthony pressed a kiss to Sören's temple. "Speaking of details, any thoughts on what kind of wedding you want? Big and elaborate or small and intimate?"

“Small and intimate, definitely.” Sören made a face as he thought of the handful of weddings he’d attended over the years. “I don’t want to wear a tuxedo. It’s bad enough I have to wear a suit for work.”

Anthony laughed. “You do clean up nicely.”

“I prefer to be dirty.” Sören wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

Anthony laughed harder, and nibbled Sören’s neck with a playful growl. “You have a one-track mind, my love.”

“Can you blame me?” Sören lovingly traced a finger down Anthony’s chest, and gave him a kiss.

One kiss became another, and soon they were hard for each other again. Anthony rolled Sören onto his back, kissing him deeply as their bodies pressed together. Sören moaned into the kiss, his hands roaming over Anthony's broad shoulders and down his muscular back.

"Again?" Anthony murmured against Sören's lips, his voice husky with renewed desire.

"Always," Sören breathed, arching up to grind against him.

This time, their lovemaking was slower, more tender. Anthony took his time worshipping Sören's body with his hands and mouth, savoring every gasp and shiver of pleasure he drew from his fiancé. When he finally slid inside, they both sighed at the perfect feeling of completion.

They moved together in a familiar rhythm, exchanging soft kisses and whispered words of love. Sören wrapped his legs around Anthony's waist, pulling him deeper with each thrust. The slow build of pleasure was exquisite, each sensation heightened by their deep emotional connection. As they approached their climax, Sören cupped Anthony's face in his hands, gazing into his eyes with raw devotion.

"I love you," Sören whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "I can't wait to be your husband."

Anthony stroked Sören's cheek. "I love you too, my darling. More than I ever thought possible." He leaned in for a deep, passionate kiss.

Their movements became more urgent as they neared the edge. Sören cried out as he came, his body trembling with the intensity of his release. The sight and feel of Sören's pleasure pushed Anthony over the brink, and he followed moments later with a deep groan.

They held each other close as they caught their breath, exchanging soft kisses and gentle caresses. Eventually, Anthony reluctantly pulled out and retrieved a warm washcloth. After gently cleaning them both, Anthony settled back into bed, pulling Sören close. They lay tangled together, basking in the afterglow and the warmth of their love.

"So, London next week?" Sören murmured, tracing lazy patterns on Anthony's chest.

Anthony nodded, pressing a kiss to Sören's forehead. "I'll book the flights tomorrow. We can stay with my parents - they'll insist on it anyway."

Sören chuckled. "Your mum will be over the moon. She's been hinting about grandchildren since our second date."

"Oh G-d, don't remind me," Anthony groaned. "We'll have to prepare ourselves for the inevitable barrage of questions about adoption or surrogacy."

"Maybe we should bring up magical gene splicing just to see her reaction," Sören teased.

Anthony laughed, shaking his head. "Let's not give her a heart attack just yet. We've got plenty of time to figure all that out."

Sören snuggled closer, resting his head on Anthony's chest. "True. For now, I'm just happy being engaged to you."

They fell into a comfortable silence, both lost in thoughts of their future together. Sören absently played with Anthony's chest hair, while Anthony ran his fingers through Sören's curls.

"We should probably visit Nicholas and Maglor at Wemblefrrf while we're in the UK," Anthony mused after a while; now that they were adults they were on first-name bases with their old professors, though Maglor had always just been Maglor. "They'd never forgive us if we didn't invite them to the wedding."

Sören nodded against Anthony's chest. "Definitely.”

"Good, good," Anthony said. "It'll be nice to see everyone again.”

As they lay in each other's arms, Sören's mind drifted to their upcoming trip. "Do you think we should bring gifts for your parents? To soften the blow of us getting engaged without telling them first?"

Anthony chuckled. "Mum will be too excited to care, but it couldn't hurt. We could pick up some of that Norwegian chocolate they love."

"And maybe a nice bottle of aquavit for your dad," Sören suggested.

"Perfect." Anthony pressed a kiss to Sören's forehead. "We should probably pack warm clothes. London's been having a brutal winter this year."

Sören groaned. "And here I was hoping to escape the cold for a bit."

"We could always extend our trip," Anthony mused. "Take a few days to go somewhere warmer after we've seen everyone."

Sören's eyes lit up. "Ooh, that sounds lovely. Where were you thinking?"

Anthony smiled, running his fingers through Sören's curls. "Well, we could hop over to Spain for a few days. Barcelona, maybe? Warm Mediterranean sun, beautiful architecture, delicious food..."

"Mmm, you had me at 'warm,'" Sören chuckled. "Though the food doesn't hurt either. I could go for some paella and sangria right about now."

"I'll look into flights and hotels tomorrow," Anthony promised. "We could make it a little pre-honeymoon getaway."

Sören propped himself up on an elbow, grinning mischievously. "Does that mean we get to have a proper honeymoon later? Because I have some ideas..."

Anthony raised an eyebrow. "Oh?”

Sören bit his lip as he traced lazy patterns on Anthony's chest. "Well, I was thinking... what if we did a grand tour of magical sites around the world? We could start in Egypt, see the pyramids and maybe sneak into some hidden magical chambers. Then hop over to Greece, explore the ruins of ancient temples dedicated to the gods. Maybe swing by Delphi and see if the Oracle has any predictions for our marriage."

Anthony chuckled, running his fingers through Sören's curls. "That does sound amazing. We could visit Stonehenge at dawn, when the veil between worlds is thinnest."

"Ooh, yes!" Sören smiled so hard his face hurt. "And then to Ireland to dance with the faeries in their secret groves. Oh! And we absolutely have to go to Iceland. I want to show you where I grew up. I'd love to take you to the hidden hot springs in Iceland, where the elves are said to bathe. And we could visit the volcano where my parents' dragons used to nest." His voice grew softer, tinged with nostalgia. "I haven't been back there since..."

Anthony pulled Sören closer, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead. "We'll go, love. It'll be good for you to reconnect with your roots."

Sören nodded, snuggling into Anthony's embrace. "Thank you," he murmured.

"And after Iceland," Anthony mused, "we could head east. Visit the ancient magical academies in China and Japan. Maybe trek through the Himalayas to find that hidden city of sorcerers you've always wanted to see."

Sören's eyes teared up with happiness. “That would be awesome.”

“I’m excited. Are you?”

Before he could break down crying - something he was still self-conscious about even though he’d never bought into the “boys don’t cry” nonsense - Sören quipped, “Hi Excited Are You, I’m -”

Anthony used telekinesis to bop Sören with a pillow.

Sören laughed and retaliated by using his own powers to tickle Anthony mercilessly. Soon they were engaged in a full-on magical pillow fight, feathers flying everywhere as they giggled like children.

"Truce!" Anthony finally gasped, out of breath from laughing.

Sören grinned and flopped back onto the bed, pulling Anthony down with him. "Fine, truce accepted. But only because I love you."

Anthony smiled softly, brushing a stray curl from Sören's forehead. "I love you too. So very, very much."

They lay in comfortable silence for a while, just enjoying each other's presence. Sören absently played with Anthony's fingers, admiring how the moonlight glinted off his new ring.

"You know," Sören mused, "I never thought I'd get married. After everything that happened with my parents, and then my guardians abusing the shit out of me, I was afraid to let anyone get too close. But you changed all that."

Anthony pulled Sören closer, pressing a gentle kiss to his temple. "I'm glad I could help heal that part of you. You've done the same for me, you know. I was always so focused on my work, on proving myself. You taught me how to relax, how to enjoy life."

Sören smiled, nuzzling into Anthony's neck. "We make a good team."

"The best," Anthony agreed.

Eventually, Snúður, their tuxedo cat, emerged from hiding and meowed loudly, as if Sören hadn't fed them just a few hours ago. "Hi, kitty," Anthony greeted, patting the bed. Snúður jumped up and was soon joined by Shmuel and Solly, their other two cats. The trio of felines came over to get attention from their owners before snuggling up into a purring heap.

"This is the life," Sören murmured contentedly, flexing his fingers and toes like the cats kneading nearby.

Little did he know, life was about to take an interesting turn, in the Chinese curse sense of "interesting".

Sören fell asleep in Anthony’s embrace and slipped into a familiar dream. In this dream, he inhabited the body of an elf with sleek black hair. As always, he was ambushed by fire demons wielding fiery whips, vastly outnumbered. Usually, the dream would end with his inevitable death, consumed by flames and reduced to ashes. But this time, Sören had a way out - a portal that allowed him to escape. Instead of fleeing, he decided to retrace his steps and figure out how he ended up in this dangerous situation.

He saw Viking-esque ships engulfed in flames on a frozen river. Then, he caught a glimpse of another elven man who resembled Maglor, but not quite, lying lifeless on the floor of a palace. Next, he found himself in a forge crafting three iridescent white jewels that radiated pure light, shimmering and reflecting rainbows.

Suddenly, a flaming orange eye appeared and a cold hand reached for the jewels. Sören tried to run away with them, but he was back where he started - the jewels were gone and the fire demons were closing in on him.

Sören jolted awake, drenched in sweat and breathing heavily. Anthony was fast asleep next to him; Sören quietly got up and went to the bathroom to splash cold water on his face and take a good look at himself in the mirror. He saw his human form reflected back at him - curly hair instead of straight, a beard covering his face, and dark eyes staring back.

"It was just a dream," Sören reassured himself.

But it felt so vivid and tangible this time. It was almost as if his subconscious was trying to tell him something.

But what?

Chapter Text

“Mum?” Anthony let himself in, and Sören followed behind. Anthony looked around - one of Elaine’s three cats, a tortie named Mungojerrie, trotted up to him, tail in the air. Anthony stooped down to pet him, smiling fondly as the cat rubbed against his hand and purred.

"In here, darling!" Elaine's voice called from the kitchen, accompanied by the clatter of pots and pans.

Anthony and Sören exchanged a glance, both smiling at the familiar sounds and smells of home cooking. They made their way through the cozy living room, Mungojerrie weaving between their legs as they walked. The living room, though done in neutral greys and earth tones, was adorned with cozy decor - plush throw blankets draped over the couch and armchair, framed photos of family and friends and colorful abstract paintings lined the walls, and a large bay window let in warm sunlight, streaming through beige lace curtains; Rumpleteazer was curled up on the window’s nook, basking in the sunshine, dust particles dancing in the beams. A fireplace crackled in the corner.

As they entered the kitchen, they were enveloped in a cloud of aromatic steam. Elaine stood at the stove, her steel-grey hair slightly frizzed from the heat, glasses slightly fogged, stirring something in a large pot. She turned, her green eyes lighting up at the sight of her son and his fiancé.

"Oh, you're here!" she exclaimed, wiping her hands on her apron before embracing Anthony tightly. She then turned to Sören, pulling him into an equally enthusiastic hug.

Anthony chuckled at his mother's enthusiasm. "It's good to see you too, Mum," he said, breathing in the familiar scent of her lavender perfume mixed with the savory aromas wafting from the stove. He felt a warmth spread through his chest - a stark contrast to the chilly reception they’d received from Anthony’s father earlier, when Roger picked them up at the airport and took them into London to get a rental car, rather than getting one right at the airport where prices would be exorbitant. “Something smells amazing," he said as Elaine released him, his stomach growling in anticipation.

Elaine beamed, her eyes twinkling. "Oh, I've made all your favorites, dear. Roast chicken, mashed potatoes, Yorkshire pudding, and of course, my special chocolate cake for dessert." She turned back to the stove, giving the pot a quick stir. "Anthony, be a love and set the table, would you? Your father should be down shortly."

Anthony nodded, moving to the cabinet to retrieve plates and cutlery. Sören stepped forward, eager to help. "Can I do anything, Elaine?" he asked, his lilting accent filling the warm kitchen.

Elaine smiled at him, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "Such a dear. Could you fetch the wine from the cellar? There's a lovely Cabernet Sauvignon that should pair nicely with dinner."

As Sören disappeared down the stairs to the cellar, Anthony finished setting the table, his mind drifting to the tense car ride from the airport. His father's stilted small talk and barely concealed disapproval still stung. He hoped dinner wouldn't be as awkward.

The sound of footsteps on the stairs pulled Anthony from his thoughts. His father appeared in the doorway, his imposing figure filling the frame. Roger Hewlett-Johnson, a tall man with greying auburn hair and a stubbly five o’clock shadow, surveyed the kitchen with his piercing blue eyes.

"Evening, all," he said, his deep, gravelly voice resonating through the room. His gaze landed on Anthony, and there was a moment of awkward silence before he cleared his throat. "Good to have you home, son."

Anthony nodded, forcing a smile. "Thanks, Dad. It's good to be back."

Just then, Sören emerged from the cellar, a bottle of wine in hand. "I found the Cabernet, Elaine," he announced, his cheerful tone faltering slightly as he noticed the tension in the room.

Roger's eyes flickered to Sören, and Anthony could see the slight tight tightening around his father's mouth. But Roger managed a curt nod. "Sören," he acknowledged, his tone neutral.

Sören smiled warmly - still trying to get Roger’s approval, even as Anthony felt it a lost cause. "Good evening, Mr. Hewlett-Johnson. Thank you for picking us up earlier."

“Please, call me Roger,” the older man said, his tone still neutral, no hint of warmth.

An awkward silence descended, broken only by the bubbling of pots on the stove and Elaine's nervous humming. Anthony felt a familiar knot of anxiety forming in his stomach. He caught Sören's eye, drawing strength from his fiancé's steady gaze.

"Well," Elaine chirped, her voice a touch too bright, "dinner's nearly ready. Why don't we all sit down?"

As they settled around the table, Anthony noticed how his father positioned himself as far from Sören as possible. The tension in the air was palpable, thick enough to cut with a knife. Anthony reached for Sören's hand under the table, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

Elaine bustled about, bringing steaming dishes to the table. The aroma of roast chicken and herbs filled the air, momentarily distracting everyone from the underlying tension. As she settled into her seat, Elaine clasped her hands together, a hopeful smile on her face.

"Shall we say the blessing?" she asked, looking around the table.

Roger cleared his throat, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. "Perhaps Anthony would like to do the honors," he said, his tone carefully neutral.

Anthony felt a flutter of nervousness in his stomach. It had been years since he'd recited the blessing - not since he’d gone to yeshiva in Israel for a few years after Wemblefrrf to continue his magical studies, learning Kabbalah - but the words came back to him easily. He cleared his throat and began, his voice soft but steady:

"Baruch atah Adonai, Eloheinu melech ha-olam, hamotzi lechem min ha-aretz."

As he finished, he caught Sören's eye, seeing a mix of pride and love in his fiancé's gaze. Elaine beamed, her eyes glistening slightly. Even Roger seemed to relax a fraction, nodding approvingly.

"Beautiful, darling," Elaine said, reaching out to pat Anthony's hand. "Now, let's eat before it gets cold!"

The tension eased somewhat as they began to serve themselves, the clinking of cutlery and murmured requests to pass dishes filling the silence. Anthony helped himself to a generous portion of roast chicken and mashed potatoes, inhaling the comforting aroma of home cooking.

Sören attempted to break the ice. "This looks absolutely delicious, Elaine. Thank you so much for going to all this trouble."

Elaine's face lit up. "Oh, it's no trouble at all, dear. I'm just so happy to have you both here." She paused, her smile faltering slightly as she glanced at Roger. "It's not often we have the whole family together."

Roger grunted in acknowledgment, his eyes fixed on his plate as he methodically cut his chicken into precise pieces. Anthony felt the familiar tightness in his chest, the constant dance of unspoken words and careful glances continued as they ate. Anthony found himself hyper-aware of every movement, every subtle shift in his father's expression. He watched as Roger's eyes darted between him and Sören, his brow furrowing slightly each time their hands brushed or they shared a smile.

Elaine, ever the peacekeeper, tried to keep the conversation flowing. “So, you’re going to Wemblefrrf tomorrow to see your old professors again?”

Anthony swallowed a mouthful of mashed potatoes, grateful for the change of subject. “Yes, it’s been quite some time - I’ve corresponded quite a bit with Professor Decaux and Professor Maglor over the years, but this will be my first time seeing them since I graduated.”

"Hm,” Roger said, shoveling chicken into his mouth.

Sören chimed in, his melodic voice filling the tense silence. "We're quite excited to see them again. They were instrumental in our magical education, after all."

Roger's fork paused halfway to his mouth. "Ah yes, the... magic business," he said, his tone clipped. "I trust that's going well for you both?"

Anthony felt Sören's hand squeeze his knee under the table, a silent gesture of support. "It is, Dad," he replied, trying to keep his voice steady. "We’re still working for the International Mage Police in Oslo. It’s… an interesting job.” Anthony decided to keep it sanitized and not tell them the nitty-gritty details of working for the International Mage Police, though much of their was dealing with the rowdy local Ásatrú people who got too excited with their rituals and caused a public disturbance. Occasionally, there was unpleasantness like a murder and lately, they'd been tracking down stolen artifacts in the wrong hands. While the existence of magic was no big secret, the general public didn’t need to know everything. Anthony quickly continued on, "And Sören's been working on some fascinating research into ancient Norse magical practices."

Sören nodded enthusiastically. "Yes, I've been studying runic magic and its applications in modern spellcasting. It's quite fascinating how the old ways can still be relevant today."

Roger's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. "I see," he said, his tone neutral but with an undercurrent of discomfort. "And this... research. It's all above board, I trust?"

Anthony felt a flash of irritation. "Of course it is, Dad. We're not practicing dark magic or anything illegal."

Elaine jumped in, her voice overly cheerful. "Oh, that sounds so interesting, Sören! You must tell us more about it. Perhaps after dinner?"

Sören smiled charmingly at Elaine. "I'd be happy to, thank you."

“Hm,” Roger said, furrowing his brow as he ate a spoonful of mashed potatoes.

The conversation lulled into an uncomfortable silence, broken only by the clinking of cutlery against plates. Anthony felt the familiar tightness in his chest, the weight of unspoken words hanging heavy in the air. He glanced at Sören, who offered a small, reassuring smile.

Elaine cleared her throat. "So, have you two set a date for the wedding yet?"

Anthony felt Sören tense beside him. They'd been avoiding this topic, knowing it would likely lead to more tension. But there was no escaping it now.

"We're thinking next spring," Anthony said carefully, watching his father's reaction from the corner of his eye. "Perhaps in Oslo, by the fjord."

Roger's fork clattered against his plate. "Oslo?" he said, his voice gruff. "Not here in England?"

Anthony felt his stomach clench. "Well, Dad, we thought Oslo would be nice since it's where we live now. And the fjord is really beautiful in the spring."

"Hmph," Roger grunted, stabbing at a piece of chicken. "Seems a long way for family to travel."

Sören leaned forward slightly, his voice gentle. "We'd be happy to help arrange travel for everyone, of course. And we could show you around Oslo - it's a lovely city."

Roger's eyes flicked to Sören, then back to his plate. "I'm sure it is," he said flatly.

Elaine jumped in, hands clasped together. "Oh, that sounds wonderful! I've always wanted to see the fjords. And think of the beautiful wedding photos you'll have!"

Anthony shot his mother a grateful look. "Thanks, Mum. We're really excited about it," Anthony said, trying to keep his tone light despite the tension. "And we'd love for you both to be there, of course."

Roger grunted noncommittally, taking a long sip of wine. The silence stretched uncomfortably.

Sören cleared his throat. "We were thinking of having a small ceremony by the water, with just close family and friends. Nothing too extravagant."

"And how exactly does a... magical wedding work?" Roger asked, his tone skeptical. "Will there be spells and potions involved?"

Anthony felt a flash of irritation. "Dad, it's not that different from a regular wedding. We'll have a chuppah, exchange rings, break the glass - all the traditional Jewish elements. The magic is just... part of who we are."

"I see," Roger said, his voice tight. "And I suppose you'll be performing some sort of magical ceremony as well?" Roger asked, his tone sharp.

Anthony felt his temper flare. "Dad, our magic is part of who we are. It's not some parlor trick or -"

"Now, now," Elaine interjected, her voice high and nervous. "Let's not argue. More wine, anyone?"

Sören placed a calming hand on Anthony's arm. "We haven't finalized all the details yet," he said diplomatically. "But we'd be happy to discuss any concerns you have, Roger."

Roger's jaw clenched. "Concerns? My only concern is that my son is marrying a -" He cut himself off abruptly, but the unspoken word hung in the air.

Anthony stood up so quickly his chair scraped loudly against the floor. "A what, Dad? A man?”

The tension in the room reached a breaking point. Roger's face flushed red, his knuckles white as he gripped his fork. Elaine gasped, her hand flying to her mouth.

"Anthony, please," she pleaded, her eyes darting nervously between her son and husband.

But Anthony couldn't hold back anymore. Years of pent-up frustration and hurt came pouring out. "Just say it, Dad. You can't even bring yourself to acknowledge what Sören is to me, can you?"

Roger's jaw clenched. "That's not what I -"

"It's exactly what you meant," Anthony interrupted, his voice shaking with emotion. "You've never accepted us, never even tried to understand. Do you have any idea how much that hurts?"

Sören stood up beside Anthony, placing a steadying hand on his fiancé's back. "Anthony, elskan," he whispered softly, his voice a soothing balm in the charged atmosphere.

But Anthony was beyond calming. Years of suppressed anger and hurt bubbled to the surface. "No, Sören. He needs to hear this." He turned back to his father, hands on hips. "I've spent my whole life trying to make you proud, trying to be the son you wanted. But it's never been enough, has it? Because I'm not exactly what you pictured."

Roger's face was a storm of emotions - anger, confusion, and something that might have been guilt. "Now see here, Anthony -"

"No, you see here," Anthony cut him off. "I'm marrying Sören. He's the love of my life, the person who accepts me for who I am - magic and all. And if you can't accept that, if you can't be happy for us, then..." Anthony's voice cracked, tears welling in his eyes. "Then maybe you shouldn't come to the wedding at all."

A heavy silence fell over the room. Elaine let out a choked sob, her hand still pressed to her mouth. Sören tightened his grip on Anthony's shoulder, a steadying presence.

Roger stared at his son, his face a mask of shock and hurt. For a moment, he seemed at a loss for words. Then, slowly, he pushed his chair back and stood up.

"I think," he said, his voice low and strained, "that I need some air."

Without another word, he strode out of the room. The sound of the front door slamming echoed through the house.

Anthony collapsed back into his chair, the fight draining out of him as quickly as it had flared up. He buried his face in his hands, his shoulders shaking with silent sobs. Sören knelt beside him, wrapping an arm around his trembling form.

"Oh, Anthony," Elaine whispered, her voice thick with tears. She rose from her seat and hurried around the table, enveloping her son in a tight embrace. "I'm so sorry, darling. So very sorry."

For a long moment, the three of them remained locked in their embrace, the only sounds in the room their muffled sniffles and the distant ticking of the grandfather clock in the hall. Finally, Anthony lifted his head, his eyes red-rimmed and swollen.

"I'm sorry, Mum," he said hoarsely. "I didn't mean to ruin dinner."

Elaine shook her head, cupping Anthony's face in her hands. "You didn't ruin anything, sweetheart. This... this has been brewing for a long time." She glanced at the door Roger had stormed out of, her expression a mix of worry and frustration. "Your father... he's set in his ways, but he loves you. He just doesn't know how to show it sometimes."

Sören squeezed Anthony's shoulder gently. "Maybe I should go," he said softly. "Give you some time alone with your family."

"No," Anthony said firmly, reaching up to clasp Sören's hand. "You are my family too. Please stay."

Elaine nodded in agreement. "Of course, Sören. You're always welcome here." She straightened up, wiping her eyes. "Now, let me make us some tea. That always helps, right?”

“Yeah.” Anthony heaved a deep sigh.

Sharing tea and watching a few episodes of Downton Abbey by the fireplace with his mother and Sören, while giving love and attention to Elaine’s cats Mungojerrie, Rumpleteazer, and Macavity, helped lift Anthony's spirits. Afterwards, they spent time in Anthony's childhood bedroom, unpacking their luggage and putting their things away. The room was mostly the same as he left it, except for a larger bed and the absence of a poster of Gavin Rossdale from Bush. Lava lamps and old stuffed animals were still present, as well as a framed painting of Van Gogh's Starry Night. Anthony pulled out a photo album and showed Sören pictures from his childhood, including ones with his parents and during his time at Wemblefrrf... when Sören was still known as Sigrit. They had been best friends then, the two goths at their school.

"I hope I didn't make you uncomfortable," Anthony said, noticing Sören shifting in his seat after looking at some old photos from Wemblefrrf.

"No, it's okay. It's a part of my past," Sören replied, reaching out to touch a photo of himself before he transitioned, with a small smile. "It just feels like a lifetime ago, but I still remember what it was like to be trapped in the wrong body. I'm grateful that Maglor understood and helped me through the transfiguration ritual to become who I am now." Maglor, himself, had once been female, and magically transformed to male.

The ritual involved one representative from each of the four elements - Earth, Air, Fire, and Water - and took a lot of energy from the participants; Maglor represented the House of Air. Sören said he'd felt like he’d had the flu for almost a month afterwards but still had no regrets - that had been a small price to pay for living as his true self.

Anthony squeezed Sören's hand lovingly. "I'm proud of you."

"Hi Proud Of You, I'm-"

Anthony groaned playfully and nudged Sören with his elbow. Just then, there was a knock on the door.

"Anthony," Elaine poked her head in, "your father would like to have a talk with you. He's in the study."

Anthony stood and gazed at his feet before he let out a deep breath and nodded. He didn't want to start another argument, but they had to talk about it. Just the two of them. Sören reached out for a comforting hug and gently patted his shoulder. "You got this," Sören assured him.

Anthony's heart pounded as he made his way down the hallway to his father's study. The familiar scent of old books and leather filled his nostrils as he hesitated at the door, hand poised to knock. Taking a deep breath, he rapped his knuckles against the wood.

"Come in," Roger's gruff voice called from inside.

Anthony stepped into the room, closing the door behind him. His father sat behind his large oak desk, a tumbler of whiskey in hand. The warm glow of the desk lamp cast long shadows across Roger's face, accentuating the deep lines of worry etched there.

"Sit down, son," Roger said, gesturing to the chair across from him.

Anthony lowered himself into the seat, his posture rigid with tension. For a long moment, neither spoke, the ticking of the antique clock on the mantle marking the passing seconds.

Anthony cleared his throat, breaking the heavy silence. "Dad, I-"

Roger held up a hand, cutting him off. "Let me speak first, Anthony." He took a long sip of whiskey, his eyes fixed on the amber liquid swirling in the glass. When he looked up, his gaze was tired but determined. "I owe you an apology."

Anthony blinked, caught off guard. Of all the ways he'd imagined this conversation going, this wasn't one of them.

Roger continued, his voice low and gravelly. "I haven't been... fair to you. Or to Sören. I've let my own prejudices and fears cloud my judgment, and in doing so, I've pushed you away." He paused, taking another sip of whiskey. "That's the last thing I ever wanted to do."

Anthony felt a lump forming in his throat. "Dad, I... I don't know what to say."

Roger set down his glass, leaning forward with his elbows on the desk. "You don't have to say anything. Just listen, please." He took a deep breath, as if steeling himself. "I grew up in a different time, Anthony. A time when... well, when people like you and Sören weren't accepted. My brother Nigel, you know he’s gay, and it made life a lot harder for him. And I knew life would already be hard enough for you as… a magic user, and being Jewish on your mum’s side. Your mum told me things about what her parents went through - her mum coming here to London after the Kristallnacht, her dad using magic to survive Auschwitz, and help other prisoners survive as best as he could. I didn’t want people coming after my only child and making your life miserable for being what you are, what you can’t help. But you can’t help being gay, either, and I suppose it’s natural you were drawn to another magical person instead of someone normal - well, let me rephrase that, ‘normal’ doesn’t sound right.”

“No, it doesn’t.”

“Anyway. The fact is, even though the world has changed, I still worried the old prejudices would come round and hurt you. And that people would think I’d failed you, in some way, even though this isn’t about me and I should know better.” He paused, running a hand through his greying hair. "But that's no excuse. You're my son, and I love you. I should have been able to see past all that, to see how happy Sören makes you. I've been a fool, and I'm sorry."

Anthony felt tears welling up in his eyes, a mix of relief and lingering hurt washing over him. "Dad, I... thank you. That means a lot to me."

Roger nodded, his own eyes glistening suspiciously in the lamplight. "I can't promise I'll get everything right from here on out. Old habits die hard, and all that. But I want you to know that I'm trying. I want to be better, for you. For both of you."

Anthony swallowed hard, fighting back the lump in his throat. "That's all I've ever wanted, Dad. For you to try and understand."

Roger stood up, coming around the desk. He hesitated for a moment before pulling Anthony into a tight embrace. Anthony stiffened at first, surprised by the uncharacteristic display of affection, before melting into his father's arms.

"I'm proud of you, son.”

Anthony felt his breath catch in his throat at his father's words. He pulled back slightly, looking up at Roger with wide, disbelieving eyes. "You... you are?"

Roger nodded, his expression softening. "I am. You've grown into a remarkable man, Anthony. Strong, principled, and kind. Your mother and I... we raised you the best we could, but the person you've become, that's all you." He paused, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. "And Sören, too, I suppose."

Anthony chuckled, even as tears threatened to spill over. "He's been a good influence on me."

"I can see that," Roger said, his tone thoughtful. "He clearly cares for you a great deal. And you for him."

"We do," Anthony confirmed, his voice soft but firm. "He's everything to me, Dad. I know it might be hard for you to understand, but -"

Roger held up a hand, cutting him off gently. "I'm trying to understand, Anthony. I may not always get it right, but I want to." He took a deep breath, as if steeling himself. "I'd like to talk to Sören, if that's alright. Maybe... maybe we could all have breakfast together tomorrow morning? Start fresh?"

Anthony felt a wave of emotion wash over him - relief, hope, and a cautious optimism. "I'd like that, Dad. I think Sören would too."

Roger nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Good. That's... good." He cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable with the prolonged emotional moment. "Well, you should probably get some rest. It's been a long day."

Anthony nodded, wiping at his eyes. "Yeah, you're right." He stood up, hesitating for a moment before pulling his father into another quick hug. "Thanks, Dad. This... it means a lot."

As Anthony made his way back to his room, he felt lighter than he had in years. The weight of unspoken words and suppressed emotions that had hung between him and his father for so long seemed to have lifted, at least partially. He knew there was still a long way to go, but it was a start.

Opening the door, he saw Sören sitting on the bed with his legs crossed, engrossed in a notebook. It was no ordinary book, but one that contained all the emo poetry Anthony had written during his turbulent tween years before being accepted into Wemblefrrf.

"Oh shit, you found that."

Sören's mischievous smile revealed his guilt as he read one of the cringe-worthy poems aloud.

"'My soul is as dark as the blackest night, my heart a void of endless despair,'" Sören read dramatically, barely containing his laughter. "'No one understands my pain, this anguish I alone must bear.'"

Anthony groaned, burying his face in his hands. "Oh G-d, please stop. I can't take the embarrassment."

Sören's eyes twinkled with amusement. "But elskan, this is pure gold. Listen to this one: 'Trapped in a world of conformity and lies, I long to spread my broken wings and fly.'"

"I swear, if you don't stop right now, I'm calling off the wedding," Anthony jokingly threatened, though he couldn't help but laugh at his younger self's melodramatic writing.

Sören set the notebook aside, opening his arms invitingly. "Come here, my dark prince. Or should I say… dork prince.”

Anthony gave him the finger, but still welcomed his beloved’s embrace. “Piss off,” he said fondly.

Sören responded with a kiss. Then another. And another. Anthony’s cock stiffened, and he felt Sören’s telekinetic powers undoing his belt and his jeans. “Here?” he asked, feeling a little self-conscious about doing it in his old room… but he was too horny to object.

"Why not?" Sören asked, nuzzling Anthony's neck, his hands roaming under Anthony's shirt. "It'll be like reliving naughty schoolboy fantasies."

Anthony shivered at the touch, his resolve crumbling. "My parents are just downstairs, and their room is right down the hall," he whispered, even as he tilted his head to give Sören better access.

Sören's lips curved into a wicked smile against Anthony's skin. "Then we'll just have to be very, very quiet, won't we?"

Before Anthony could protest further, Sören captured his lips in a deep, passionate kiss. Anthony melted into it, all thoughts of propriety fleeing his mind as desire took over. Sören's hands made quick work of Anthony's remaining clothes, and soon they were both naked on the bed, their bodies pressed together.

Sören's hands roamed over Anthony's body, tracing familiar paths that never failed to ignite sparks of pleasure. Anthony gasped as Sören's fingers brushed against his nipples, teasing them to hardness.

"Shh," Sören cautioned. "Remember, we have to be quiet."

Anthony bit his lip, stifling a moan as Sören's hand wrapped around his cock, stroking slowly. He bucked his hips, seeking more friction, but Sören kept his pace maddeningly slow.

"Patience, elskan," Sören whispered, his breath hot against Anthony's ear. "I want to savor you."

Anthony's breath hitched as Sören's lips trailed down Anthony's chest, pausing to swirl his tongue around each nipple before continuing lower. Anthony groaned as Sören's mouth hovered teasingly over his cock.

"Please," Anthony breathed, his fingers tangling in Sören's dark hair.

Sören looked up at him through hooded eyes, a mischievous smile playing on his lips. "Please what?" he asked, his breath ghosting over Anthony's sensitive skin.

"Please, I need..." Anthony trailed off, biting back a moan as Sören's tongue flicked out to taste the tip of his cock.

"Tell me what you need, elskan," Sören purred, his hands caressing Anthony's thighs.

Anthony swallowed hard, his cheeks flushing with a mix of desire and embarrassment. "I need your mouth on me," he whispered urgently. "Suck me. Please, Sören."

A look of triumph flashed in Sören's eyes before he lowered his head, taking Anthony's cock into the wet heat of his mouth. Anthony bit down on his fist to stifle a moan as Sören's tongue swirled around the sensitive head before taking him deeper.

Sören's hands gripped Anthony's hips, holding him in place as he bobbed his head, alternating between long, slow strokes and quick, teasing flicks of his tongue. Anthony's free hand tangled in Sören's hair, not guiding but simply holding on as waves of pleasure washed over him.

"Oh G-d," Anthony breathed, his head falling back against the pillow.

Sören hummed in response, the vibrations sending shockwaves of pleasure through Anthony's body. He increased his pace, sucking harder, working his tongue. Anthony's hips jerked involuntarily, and he had to bite his lip to keep from crying out.

"Sören," Anthony gasped, tugging gently at his fiancé's hair. "I'm close. I'm gonna come soon."

Sören pulled off with a soft pop, his hand replacing his mouth as he stroked Anthony firmly. "Come for me, elskan," he husked. "Let me taste you."

Anthony's back arched as Sören took him back into his mouth, sucking hard. With a muffled groan, Anthony came, his body shuddering as waves of intense pleasure washed over him. Sören swallowed Anthony's release, slowly pulling off his softening cock. He crawled back up Anthony's body, a path of gentle kisses along the way before claiming his mouth in a deep, passionate kiss. Anthony could taste himself on Sören's tongue, and it sent a residual shiver through his body.

"That was..." Anthony whispered against Sören's lips, still trying to catch his breath.

"Magical?" Sören supplied with a cheeky grin.

Anthony rolled his eyes fondly. "You're such a dork."

"Says the man who wrote emo poetry about his 'broken wings,'" Sören teased, nuzzling Anthony's neck.

Anthony groaned, but there was no real annoyance behind it. "You're never going to let me live that down, are you?"

"Never," Sören confirmed, his eyes twinkling with mischief as he nuzzled Anthony's neck. "Never," he repeated softly. "It's too adorable."

Anthony huffed in mock indignation, but he couldn't keep the smile from his face. He ran his hands down Sören's back, feeling the warmth of his skin. "Well, I suppose I'll have to find a way to distract you then," he said, his fingers trailing lower.

Sören's breath hitched as Anthony's hand wrapped around his cock. "Oh? And how do you plan to do that?" he asked, his voice husky with desire.

Anthony smirked, using his free hand to pull Sören into a deep kiss. As their tongues danced, he stroked Sören slowly, teasingly. Sören moaned into the kiss, his hips rocking into Anthony's touch.

"Shh," Anthony whispered against Sören's lips, echoing his earlier warning. "We have to be quiet, remember?"

Sören bit his lip, nodding as Anthony's hand continued its torturously slow pace. Anthony reveled in the way Sören's breath hitched, the slight trembling of his body as he fought to stay silent.

With a swift movement, Anthony flipped their positions, pressing Sören into the mattress. He trailed kisses down Sören's neck, pausing to suck gently at the sensitive spot just below his ear. Sören's hands clutched at Anthony's back, his fingers digging in as he fought to stay quiet.

"Anthony," Sören breathed, his voice barely above a whisper. "Please..."

Anthony smiled against Sören's skin, loving the way his fiancé trembled beneath him. He continued his journey downward, pausing to lavish attention on each of Sören's pierced nipples before moving lower. He kissed and licked at the planes of Sören's toned stomach, feeling the muscles quiver under his touch.

When he finally reached Sören's cock, Anthony paused, looking up at his lover with heated eyes. Sören was a vision, his skin flushed and glistening with a light sheen of sweat, his dark hair fanned out on the pillow. Anthony took a moment to appreciate the sight, his heart swelling with love and desire.

"You're beautiful," Anthony sighed, before kissing and nibbling on Sören's inner thigh.

Sören's response was cut off as Anthony took him into his mouth, his back arching off the bed. Anthony worked his tongue along the underside of Sören's cock as he bobbed his head, savoring the familiar taste and weight on his tongue.

Sören's hands tangled in Anthony's hair, not guiding but simply holding on as pleasure coursed through him. Anthony could feel the tension in Sören's body, knew he was fighting to stay quiet. He doubled his efforts, hollowing his cheeks as he sucked harder.

"Anthony," Sören gasped, his voice barely audible. "I'm close. So close."

Anthony hummed in acknowledgment, the vibrations causing Sören to buck his hips. He relaxed his throat, taking Sören deeper as his hands caressed his lover's thighs. Sören's breathing grew ragged, his body trembling on the edge of release.

With a final swirl of his tongue, Anthony felt Sören tense beneath him. Sören bit down on his fist to muffle his cry as he came, his body shuddering with the force of his orgasm. Anthony swallowed, working Sören through the aftershocks until he became too sensitive.

Crawling back up Sören's body, Anthony gave him a tender kiss. Sören melted into it, his arms wrapping around Anthony's shoulders to pull him close.

"That was..." Sören breathed against Anthony's lips.

"Magical?" Anthony supplied with a smirk, echoing Sören's earlier comment.

Sören chuckled softly, his eyes twinkling with amusement and post-orgasmic bliss. "Touché, elskan."

They lay there for a moment, basking in the afterglow, their bodies intertwined. Anthony traced lazy patterns on Sören's skin, relishing the warmth and closeness.

"I talked to my dad," Anthony said quietly, breaking the comfortable silence.

Sören turned his head to look at Anthony, his expression a mix of curiosity and concern. "How did it go?"

Anthony took a deep breath, gathering his thoughts. "Better than I expected, actually. He... he apologized."

Sören's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Really?"

Anthony nodded, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Yeah. He said he's been unfair to us, that he let his own prejudices and fears cloud his judgment. He wants to try and understand, to be better."

Sören's expression softened, a mix of relief and cautious optimism crossing his features. "That's wonderful, Anthony. I'm so happy for you."

Anthony nodded, feeling a lump form in his throat as he recalled the conversation. "He said he's proud of me, Sören. And he wants to talk to you too. He suggested we all have breakfast together tomorrow morning, to start fresh."

Sören pulled Anthony closer, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead. "That's a big step for him. How do you feel about it?"

Anthony sighed, nestling his head against Sören's chest. "Honestly? I'm nervous. Happy, but nervous. I want to believe things can change, but I'm afraid of getting my hopes up too high."

Sören stroked Anthony's hair gently, his touch soothing. "That's understandable, elskan. It's okay to be cautious. But this is a positive step, and we should give your father a chance to make good on his words."

Anthony nodded against Sören's chest. "You're right. I just... I want this to work so badly. I want us all to be a family."

"We will be," Sören said softly, his voice filled with quiet determination. "It might take time, and there might be bumps along the way, but we'll get there. Together."

Anthony lifted his head, meeting Sören's gaze. The love and support he saw there made his heart swell. "Together," he echoed, leaning in to kiss Sören softly. "I love you so much."

"I love you too," Sören whispered against Anthony's lips.

They lay there for a while longer, wrapped in each other's arms, the gentle ticking of the clock on the nightstand marking the passing minutes. Eventually, Anthony reluctantly pulled away.

"We should probably get some sleep," he said, glancing at the clock. "Breakfast with my parents is going to be... interesting."

Sören nodded, kissing Anthony's forehead again before they disentangled themselves. They cleaned up quickly and quietly, mindful of the thin walls and the sleeping household. As they settled back into bed, Anthony curled into Sören's side, resting his head on his fiancé's chest. Sören's arm wrapped around him protectively, his fingers tracing soothing patterns on Anthony's skin.

"Whatever happens tomorrow," Sören said softly, "we'll face it together."

Anthony nodded, feeling a sense of peace wash over him despite his lingering nerves. "Together," he echoed, closing his eyes.

As sleep began to claim him, Anthony found himself thinking about the journey ahead. There would likely be more difficult conversations, more moments of tension and discomfort. But for the first time in years, he felt a glimmer of hope that his family could truly come together. With Sören by his side, he felt ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead.

Chapter Text

Anthony and Sören materialized on the lush grounds of Wemblefrrf Academy, their feet sinking into dewy grass as the morning mist swirled around their ankles. The sprawling campus unfolded before them, a breathtaking blend of ancient stonework and modern magical architecture.

Towering oak trees lined the winding paths, their leaves shimmering with an otherworldly iridescence. In the distance, the main building of the academy loomed - a massive structure of gleaming white stone that seemed to shift and change as they watched, its spires reaching impossibly high into the cloudy Welsh sky.

As they approached, Sören couldn't help but smile at the familiar sight of the four House symbols etched into the grand archway above the entrance. Earth, a tree with deep roots. Air, a soaring eagle. Fire, a phoenix rising from flames. Water, a sinuous sea serpent. “Hello, old friends,” he said softly.

Anthony glanced at Sören, a wry smile tugging at his lips. "Feeling nostalgic already? We've barely set foot on the grounds."

"Can you blame me?" Sören replied, his brown eyes sparkling with a mix of excitement and apprehension. "It's been years since we were students here. Everything feels... different now."

As they approached the massive oak doors, they swung open silently, welcoming them into the cavernous entrance hall. The familiar scent of old books and magical energy washed over them, stirring memories of late-night study sessions and clandestine adventures.

Nicholas and Maglor stood waiting for them, their faces a study in contrasts. Nicholas's severe expression was softened by the fondness in his dark eyes, while Maglor's ageless features were lit up with joy, his grey eyes shining at the sight of his old students all grown up now and doing well. Maglor stepped forward, embracing Sören and then Anthony in turn. His touch was light, almost ethereal, but filled with warmth.

"Welcome back," Maglor said, his melodic voice carrying the weight of centuries. As he stepped back, Sören marvelled at the elf's flowing robe of shimmering silver-grey. The fabric seemed to ripple with an unseen breeze, and intricate patterns of clouds and wind swirled across its surface. At the collar, a majestic eagle spread its wings, the symbol of the House of Air rendered in delicate silver thread that caught the light with every movement.

Nicholas nodded in greeting, his own robe a stark contrast to Maglor's ethereal garment. He wore a brown cloak with a pewter Celtic knot clasp over his robe - deep, rich black fabric fell in heavy folds, embroidered with green leaves and vines that seemed to grow and shift as he moved. The symbol of the House of Earth - a great tree with roots reaching deep into the ground - was prominently displayed on his chest, its branches spreading across his shoulders.

"Anthony, Sören," Nicholas greeted them, his deep voice echoing in the vast hall. "It’s so good to see you again.”

“It’s good to see you too,” Anthony said.

“You’re looking well,” Sören said, then bit his lip, hoping that didn’t come off wrong. He’d always had a bit of a crush on both Professor Decaux and Professor Maglor - back in his days as Sigrit, he’d written silly romance stories with characters based on them - and was tickled when he’d heard they’d gotten together. Age had made Nicholas all the more handsome, with his distinguished silver hair and beard. Nicholas’s lips twitched in a small smile, and Sören noticed how his eyes crinkled at the corners when he did so. He would have hoped Anthony didn’t notice him noticing, except back then Anthony had also had a crush on both of them - one of the many things they had in common.

Maglor stepped forward, his long hair swaying with the movement. "Come, let's speak somewhere more private. The walls have ears, even here."

They followed the two professors through winding corridors, passing animated portraits that whispered and pointed as they walked by. Finally, they entered a cozy study in the House of Earth lined with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. A crackling fire cast warm light across the room, and leather armchairs with large fluffy pillows beckoned invitingly.

As they settled into the chairs, Maglor waved his hand, and a shimmering barrier of sound-dampening magic enveloped the room.

“What’s going on?” Anthony asked. “Is everything all right?” Anthony adjusted his glasses, a nervous habit he'd never quite shaken.

Nicholas and Maglor exchanged glances; concern flickered over Maglor’s lovely features. Then they turned back to their former students.

"I'm afraid not," Nicholas said, his voice low and grave. "We've received disturbing reports from our contacts in the International Mage Police in London. There's been an alarming increase in magical incidents targeting non-magical individuals, particularly those with... certain political leanings."

Sören leaned forward, his brow furrowed. “What?”

Maglor nodded, his grey eyes darkening. "Precisely. But that's just the tip of the iceberg. There have been dozens of similar occurrences across Europe and North America. People finding themselves in impossible situations, suffering from inexplicable ailments, or experiencing vivid hallucinations."

Anthony's hand tightened on the arm of his chair. "And you think it's all connected? Some kind of organized effort?"

"We do," Nicholas confirmed. "The pattern is too consistent to be coincidence. Someone, or some group, is systematically targeting non-magical individuals with far-right political views. We fear this could escalate into a full-blown conflict between the magical and non-magical communities if it's not stopped."

Sören ran a hand through his curly hair, his mind racing. "But why? What could they possibly hope to gain by antagonizing these people?"

Maglor leaned forward, his long fingers steepled beneath his chin. "That's what we're trying to figure out. Our best theory is that they're attempting to provoke a violent response from these extremist groups, perhaps to justify some sort of pre-emptive strike or increased magical control over the non-magical population."

Anthony shivered despite the warmth of the room. "That's... terrifying. And incredibly dangerous."

Nicholas nodded grimly. "Exactly. I apologize that our reunion isn’t just for pleasantries but there’s business involved. But I thought you should know. I’m surprised you haven’t already been told.”

“I’m not,” Maglor said. “It suggests that someone working for the International Mage Police is keeping this information contained.” Maglor looked Sören in the eye. “Pardon my misquote, but something is rotten in the state of Norway.”

Sören felt a knot form in his stomach at Maglor's words. "You think there's corruption within the IMP?"

Nicholas sighed heavily. "We can't rule it out. As you know, the fact that you two haven't been briefed on this situation, given your positions, is... concerning."

Anthony leaned forward, his green eyes intense behind his wire-rimmed glasses. "What can we do to help? Surely there must be some way we can investigate without arousing suspicion."

Maglor's lips curved into a small, approving smile. "Always ready to jump into action, aren't you, Anthony? Some things never change."

"We were hoping you'd ask," Nicholas said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out two small, intricately carved wooden tokens. "These will allow you to communicate with us securely, no matter where you are. They're enchanted with ancient elven magic," Nicholas explained, his eyes flickering to Maglor with a hint of pride. "Undetectable by modern magical means."

Sören took one of the tokens, marveling at the intricate swirls and runes etched into its surface. It felt warm in his palm, thrumming with a subtle energy. "So what's our next move?" he asked, looking up at his former professors.

Maglor leaned back in his chair, his silver-grey robes shimmering in the firelight. "We need you to keep your eyes and ears open. Report any unusual magical activity, no matter how small it may seem. And..." he hesitated, exchanging a glance with Nicholas.

"And we need you to investigate your colleagues," Nicholas finished, his voice grave. "Discreetly, of course. We need to know if there are any... sympathizers within.”

Sören felt a chill run down his spine at Nicholas's words. The idea of investigating his own colleagues, people he'd worked alongside for years, was unsettling. It could cause tension and outright hostility in the office - a reminder of the bad old days when he was bullied in school, within these very walls by those who knew Sigrit was, somehow, not like the other girls. But he knew the gravity of the situation demanded it. That was a risk he just had to take.

"We'll do whatever we can," Sören said, his voice firm despite the knot of anxiety in his stomach. He glanced at Anthony, who nodded in agreement.

Maglor's eyes softened as he looked at his former students. "We know we're asking a lot of you both. But we wouldn't if we didn't believe you were capable."

“And now, we will ask something else of you. Would you care to have supper with us at our house tonight?” Nicholas smiled. “We can catch up, perhaps discuss more pleasant things.”

Sören and Anthony looked at each other and nodded, then turned back to their old professors and nodded again. “We’d love to, thank you,” Anthony said.

“Good.” Maglor looked at the antique grandfather clock ticking away. “We know you have afternoon tea scheduled with Olórin - excuse me, Headmaster Gandalf, and we both have classes soon, so we shouldn’t keep you.”

“There will be more time this evening,” Nicholas said.

“Right.” Anthony got up, and shook their hands; Sören did too, trying not to feel those tingly butterflies as he clasped Nicholas’s and Maglor’s hands in turn.

As they left Nicholas's study, Sören and Anthony walked in thoughtful silence through the familiar halls of Wemblefrrf. The weight of their new mission hung heavy between them, tempering the nostalgia of their return.

"Well," Anthony said at last, adjusting his glasses, "this certainly wasn't the homecoming I expected."

Sören nodded, his brow furrowed. "I know. It's... a lot to take in."

They paused by a large window overlooking the academy grounds. Outside, students in colorful robes hurried between classes, their laughter and chatter drifting up from below. It was a scene so achingly familiar, yet now tinged with an undercurrent of unease.

"Do you think we're ready for this?" Sören asked softly, his brown eyes searching Anthony's face. "Investigating our own colleagues, uncovering potential corruption... it's not exactly what we signed up for when we joined the IMP."

Anthony reached out and took Sören's hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "I know. But if anyone can handle this, it's us. We've always made a good team, haven't we?"

Sören smiled, feeling some of the tension ease from his shoulders. "That we have. From late-night study sessions to saving each other's arses in Magical Combat class."

"Don't remind me," Anthony groaned, but there was a glimmer of amusement in his green eyes. "I still have nightmares about that Boggart incident in seventh year."

They shared a quiet laugh, the familiar banter helping to ground them in the face of the daunting task ahead. As they continued their walk towards the Headmaster's office for tea, Sören found himself lost in memories of their school days. The corridors seemed both familiar and strange, as if viewed through a haze of time. He could almost hear the echoes of their younger selves, rushing to class or sneaking out after curfew.

"Do you remember," Sören said suddenly, "that time in fifth year when we snuck into the kitchens at midnight?"

Anthony chuckled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "How could I forget? We nearly got caught by Professor Radagast. If it wasn't for that timely distraction from his hedgehog..."

"Sebastian," Sören supplied with a grin. "I swear that creature was more intelligent than half our classmates."

They rounded a corner. As they approached the ornate door to the Headmaster's office, Sören felt a flutter of anticipation in his stomach. It had been years since he'd last seen Gandalf, and he wondered how the eccentric old wizard was faring.

Anthony reached out and grasped the brass knocker shaped like a phoenix, rapping it three times against the heavy oak door. For a moment, nothing happened. Then, a deep, rumbling voice called out, "Enter, my dear boys! The tea is getting cold!"

Exchanging amused glances, Sören and Anthony pushed open the door and stepped into the familiar circular office. It was just as they remembered - cluttered yet cozy, with shelves upon shelves of mysterious magical instruments whirring and puffing, and portraits of past famed mages dozing in their frames.

And there, seated behind an enormous desk of polished mahogany, was Gandalf himself. The years had been kind to the old wizard - his long white beard was perhaps a touch longer, his lined face a bit more wrinkled, but his blue eyes still twinkled with that same mischievous light Sören remembered from his school days.

"Anthony! Sören!" Gandalf boomed, rising from his chair with surprising agility. "Or should I say, Constable Hewlett-Johnson and Constable Sigurðsson? My, how you've grown!"

He swept around the desk, enveloping them both in a warm embrace that smelled of pipe smoke and parchment. As he pulled back, Gandalf's eyes twinkled. "Though I daresay some things never change. Still getting into trouble, are we?"

Sören felt his cheeks flush, but he couldn't help grinning. "We're not students anymore, Headmaster. We're here on official business."

"Ah yes, official business," Gandalf said, his eyes twinkling even more. "Which I'm sure involves copious amounts of tea and perhaps a biscuit or two?" He gestured to a small table near the window, where a steaming pot of tea and a plate of biscuits awaited.

As they settled into the plush armchairs, Gandalf poured them each a cup of fragrant Earl Grey. "Now then," he said, leaning back in his chair, "tell me all about your adventures in the big, bad world of magical law enforcement."

Anthony and Sören exchanged glances, silently debating how much to reveal. Finally, Anthony cleared his throat. "Actually, Headmaster, we were hoping to get your perspective on some... concerning developments."

Gandalf's bushy eyebrows rose as he took a sip of tea. "Oh? And what might those be?"

Sören leaned forward, lowering his voice instinctively. "There have been reports of increased magical incidents targeting non-magical individuals, particularly those with far-right political views. We're worried it could escalate tensions between the magical and non-magical communities."

Gandalf's jovial expression faded, replaced by a look of grave concern. He set down his teacup with a soft clink. "I see. And I take it you've already spoken with Nicholas and Maglor about this?"

Anthony nodded. "They're the ones who brought it to our attention. We were surprised we hadn't been briefed on it through official channels."

Gandalf stroked his beard thoughtfully, his brow furrowed. "Hmm. That is troubling indeed. The fact that this information hasn't reached you through proper channels suggests a concerning level of secrecy - or perhaps even interference - within the International Mage Police."

Sören nodded grimly. "That's what we feared. But why? Who would benefit from keeping this quiet?"

"That, my dear boy, is the question we must answer," Gandalf said, his blue eyes sharp beneath his bushy eyebrows. "History has shown us time and again that those who seek to divide magical and non-magical communities often have darker motives at play."

Anthony leaned forward, his tea forgotten. "You think this could be related to... to what happened during the War?"

A shadow passed over Gandalf's face. Gandalf's voice lowered, taking on a grave tone. "I pray it is not. But we cannot ignore the parallels. The rise of extremist ideologies, the targeting of specific groups... it's all too familiar."

Sören felt a chill run down his spine. "You don't think... surely it couldn't be happening again?"

"I hope not," Gandalf said, his blue eyes clouding with worry. "But we must be vigilant. The seeds of hatred and division can take root in even the most unexpected places."

Anthony set down his teacup with a soft clink. "What can we do, Headmaster? How can we investigate this without arousing suspicion?"

Gandalf stroked his beard thoughtfully. "You must tread carefully, my dear boys. Trust no one completely, not even your closest colleagues. But do not let paranoia cloud your judgment either."

He leaned forward, his eyes intense. "Use your unique positions within the IMP to your advantage. Your youth and relative inexperience may cause some to underestimate you - let them. Observe, listen, and above all, trust your instincts."

I’m thirty-five and I’ve been working for the IMP for ten fucking years, Sören thought to himself with a small flare of annoyance - but he realized when you got to be Gandalf’s age, someone like him was indeed still an inexperienced youth - and he just nodded, feeling a mix of determination and apprehension. "And if we do uncover something? What then?"

Gandalf's expression softened slightly. "Then you come to me, or to Nicholas and Maglor. Do not act alone, no matter how dire the situation may seem. Remember, you have allies - use them."

As they finished their tea, the conversation turned to lighter topics - fond memories of their school days, updates on fellow alumni, and plans for the upcoming holidays. But beneath the pleasant reminiscing, Sören could feel the weight of their new mission settling over them like a heavy cloak.

When they finally bid farewell to Gandalf, the sun was sinking low on the horizon, painting the sky in vibrant hues of orange and pink. As they made their way across the grounds towards Nicholas and Maglor's home, Sören found himself lost in thought, mulling over everything they'd learned.

"It's a lot to take in, isn't it?" Anthony said softly, breaking the silence.

Sören nodded, running a hand through his curly hair. "I keep thinking about what Gandalf said - about the parallels to the War. It's terrifying to think we could be heading down that path again."

Anthony reached out and took Sören's hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "We won't let it come to that. We'll figure this out, together."

As they approached Nicholas and Maglor's cottage, nestled at the edge of the Forbidden Forest, Sören felt a flutter of anticipation in his stomach. The quaint stone building was draped in climbing ivy, with warm golden light spilling from the windows. Smoke curled lazily from the chimney, carrying the scent of woodsmoke and something deliciously savory.

Anthony raised his hand to knock, but before he could, the door swung open. Maglor stood there, a vision in flowing silver robes that shimmered in the fading daylight. His long dark hair was loose around his shoulders, and a small smile played on his lips.

"Right on time," he said, his musical voice warm with welcome. "Come in, come in. Nicholas is just finishing up in the kitchen."

They stepped into a cozy living room, filled with overstuffed armchairs and bookshelves that reached to the ceiling. A fire crackled merrily in the hearth, casting dancing shadows on the walls. The air was thick with the scent of roasting herbs and garlic.

"Make yourselves comfortable," Maglor said, gesturing to the chairs. "Can I offer you a drink? We have a lovely elvish wine that I think you'll enjoy."

"That sounds wonderful, thank you," Sören said, sinking into one of the plush armchairs. Anthony nodded in agreement, taking the seat beside him.

As Maglor busied himself with pouring the wine, Nicholas emerged from the kitchen, looking slightly flushed and wearing an apron over his robes. "Ah, you've arrived," he said, smiling warmly. "Dinner will be ready shortly," Nicholas added, wiping his hands on a towel. "I hope you're both hungry."

Sören's stomach rumbled in response, eliciting a chuckle from Anthony. "I think that answers your question," Anthony said with a grin.

Nicholas's eyes crinkled with amusement. "Excellent. I've prepared a roast with all the trimmings - an old family recipe."

Maglor returned, gracefully handing out glasses of shimmering golden wine. As Sören took a sip, he was struck by the complex flavors - notes of honey, summer fruits, and something ethereal he couldn't quite place. It warmed him from the inside out, easing some of the tension he'd been carrying.

"This is delicious," he said appreciatively.

"I'm glad you like it," Maglor smiled, settling into an armchair across from them. "It was from my personal vineyard, way back in Valinor. A special vintage I've been holding onto for a very, very long time… saving for an occasion like this."

As they sipped their wine, the conversation flowed easily - fond memories of Sören and Anthony's school days, updates on mutual acquaintances, and plans for the upcoming holidays. But there was still an undercurrent of tension, a weight of unspoken concerns.

Nicholas soon excused himself to finish preparing dinner, and Maglor leaned forward, his grey eyes intense. "Now, tell me truthfully - how are you both feeling about everything we discussed earlier?"

Sören exchanged a glance with Anthony before answering. "Honestly? It's overwhelming. The idea that we might be facing another conflict like the War... it's terrifying."

Anthony nodded in agreement. "And the possibility of corruption within the IMP itself... it's hard to know who we can trust."

Maglor's expression softened, a flicker of ancient sorrow passing through his eyes. "I understand. Believe me, I do. The weight of such knowledge is not easy to bear." He leaned forward, his voice low and intense. "But remember this - you are not alone in this fight. Nicholas and I, Gandalf, and others you may not even be aware of yet - we are all working towards the same goal. To prevent history from repeating itself."

Sören felt a lump form in his throat at Maglor's words. The elf's eyes held a depth of experience and sorrow that Sören could scarcely fathom. He found himself wondering, not for the first time, about the countless wars and conflicts Maglor must have witnessed over his long life.

"Thank you," Sören said softly. "It means a lot to know we have allies in this."

Anthony nodded in agreement. "We'll do everything we can to uncover the truth and prevent any escalation."

Maglor smiled, a hint of pride in his ageless features. "I have no doubt you will. You were always among our most promising students, both of you."

Just then, Nicholas's voice called from the kitchen. "Dinner's ready!"

They made their way to the dining room, where a feast awaited them. The large oak table was laden with steaming dishes - a golden-brown roast chicken nestled among roasted potatoes and carrots, a bowl of vibrant green peas, freshly baked rolls, and a tureen of rich gravy. The scent was mouthwatering.

Nicholas stood at the head of the table, having shed his apron. He gestured for them to take their seats. "I hope you'll forgive the simple fare," he said with a hint of self-deprecation. "I'm afraid my culinary skills are rather mundane compared to my magical ones."

"It looks and smells wonderful," Sören assured him as they settled into their chairs.

Maglor took his seat beside Nicholas, his silver-grey robes shimmering in the warm candlelight.

As they began to fill their plates, the rich aroma of roasted herbs and garlic filled the air. Sören took a bite of the tender chicken and let out a small moan of appreciation. “This is truly excellent.”

Nicholas's cheeks flushed slightly at the compliment. "I'm glad you're enjoying it."

“Prrp?”

Sören looked down, and a brown tabby rubbed against his legs, purring loudly, then glanced up at him with big eyes and another inquisitive chirp. “Well, hello,” Sören said, reaching to pet the cat. “What a good… boy? Girl?”

"That's Tora," Nicholas said with a fond smile. "She's quite the little beggar when it comes to dinner time."

"Tora," Sören repeated, scratching behind the cat's ears. "What a pretty girl you are."

Tora purred louder, clearly pleased with the attention. She wound herself around Sören's legs once more before moving on to Anthony, giving him an expectant look.

Anthony chuckled, tearing off a small piece of chicken. "I suppose one little morsel won't hurt," he said, offering it to the cat.

Maglor raised an eyebrow, his lips quirking in amusement. "You'll regret that. Now she'll never leave you alone."

Sure enough, Tora gobbled up the chicken and immediately began meowing for more, her eyes fixed on Anthony's plate.

"No more for you, little one," Anthony said, gently shooing the cat away. "Go on now."

Tora gave him a reproachful look before sauntering off, tail held high.

When Sören felt like he couldn’t eat another bite or he would pop, then it was time for dessert. Nicholas disappeared into the kitchen and returned moments later with a steaming apple crumble, the scent of cinnamon and nutmeg wafting through the air. He set it down on the table with a flourish. "I hope you've saved room for dessert," he said, a hint of pride in his voice. "This is Maglor's specialty."

Maglor's eyes crinkled with pleasure. "Though I must admit, Nicholas has perfected it over the years."

As Nicholas began to serve the crumble, Sören observed the easy domesticity between the two men. It was a side of his former professors he'd never seen before, and it warmed his heart to witness their obvious affection for each other.

"So," Maglor said as they dug into the dessert, “you two are getting married.”

Nicholas raised his glass of wine. “Mazel tov,” he said to Anthony, followed by “Skál,” to Sören.

Maglor added, “Almien.”

"Thank you," Sören said, beaming. "We're very excited."

"Have you set a date yet?" Nicholas asked, taking a bite of the crumble.

Anthony nodded, swallowing a mouthful of the delicious dessert. "We're thinking in the spring at the equinox, actually. We'd love for you both to be there, if you're able."

Maglor's eyes lit up. "We wouldn't miss it for the world. Would we, Nicholas?"

Nicholas smiled warmly. "Of course not. We'd be honored to attend."

Sören felt a rush of affection for his former professors. "That means so much to us. Thank you."

"Speaking of celebrations," Maglor said, a mischievous glint in his eye, "we were wondering if you two might be interested in joining us here for the upcoming winter holidays?”

Sören's eyes widened in surprise and delight. "Really? You'd have us here for the holidays?"

"Of course," Nicholas said warmly. "As you know, we have plenty of room, and it would be lovely to spend more time together outside of work and... other concerns."

“You can even bring your cats along,” Maglor said.

Anthony glanced at Sören, a smile tugging at his lips. "What do you think, love? A cozy holiday at Wemblefrrf?"

Sören felt a surge of warmth in his chest. The idea of spending the holidays here, surrounded by the magic and memories of their school days, was incredibly appealing. "I think it sounds wonderful," he said softly.

"Excellent," Maglor said, clapping his hands together. "It's settled then. We'll make all the arrangements."

Sören's mind raced as they finished their dessert. On one hand, there was a dangerous situation waiting for them in Oslo. But on the other hand, they would have the opportunity to spend more time with their favorite professors, now as equals among equals.

I hope I don’t make a total ass of myself, Sören thought, his cheeks suddenly burning with a wave of embarrassment as he he thought about potentially walking in on Maglor or Nicholas changing or engaged in intimate activities. The mere idea of Maglor and Nicholas making love together stirred up desire within him, threatening to stiffen his cock, causing Sören to glare down at his pants. Down, boy.

As Nicholas began clearing the dessert plates, something else stirred in Sören’s pants - his IMP pager vibrated. Sören used telekinesis to pull it out and stepped off to the side; he hit the button for the projector and a screen appeared on the wall, with the face of Jonas Hagen, their supervisor, a balding fat man with a perpetually sour expression.

“Inquisitor Sigurðsson,” Hagen said, all formality. “I apologize if this is a bad time.”

“You know we’re on vacation for a few days, Chief,” Sören said, the pit of his stomach rising. Anthony came over and stood beside him. “What’s up?”

“I need you and Inquisitor Hewlett-Johnson to return to Oslo immediately. There’s been a situation.”

“Oh?” Sören cocked his head to one side. “Such as?”

“I’ll explain further when you get back,” Hagen said. “Please return at your earliest convenience.”

Anthony gave a mock salute, then the finger when the call ended. He glowered. “Seriously?”

“Wonder if this is about… all the everything,” Sören said. “If they’re finally gonna clue us into…” His voice trailed off, not wanting to think about the implications of what they’d been told today.

“You should still be careful, even if they tell you what we told you today,” Maglor said. “It’s concerning the news has been this slow to reach you.”

“Indeed,” Nicholas said.

“I’ll tell Mum,” Anthony said, taking out his cell phone and walking towards the door. “We might as well just use the portal to get back to Oslo and collect our stuff from Mum and Dad’s at a later, less urgent, date.”

“So much for going to Spain,” Sören huffed.

“Hopefully, this won’t ruin our holidays in a few weeks,” Nicholas said.

“Here’s hoping,” Sören said, but he wasn’t so sure.

Chapter Text

“Uggghhhh, fuck me.”

“Later,” Sören quipped.

Anthony snickered despite the fierce headache coming on. The reason why they’d taken a plane from Oslo to Heathrow Airport even though they had access to a portal was because every time they portalled somewhere long-distance - like across an ocean - Anthony always had a terrible headache afterwards, and Sören felt nauseated. But Jonas Hagen had insisted they return to Oslo immediately, so they didn’t really have a choice.

They had materialized right outside the office of the Nordic division of the International Mage Police, its sleek glass and steel structure gleaming in the pale December dawn. The building seemed to shimmer and shift, as if it couldn't quite decide whether to blend in with its surroundings or stand out as a beacon of magical authority.

Frost clung to the edges of the windows, forming intricate designs that seemed to move and shift when viewed from different angles. The air was crisp and biting, their breath forming small clouds that dissipated quickly in the chilly morning air. A light dusting of snow covered the ground, giving the scene an almost ethereal quality.

Runes etched into the steel framework pulsed with a faint blue glow, a subtle reminder of the magical protections woven into the very structure. In the walkway towards the entrance there was a fountain flanked by two towering statues of Odin and Freya, their stone eyes seeming to follow visitors as they arrived. There were also four Valkyrie statues, two on either side of the ancient gods, one Valkyrie representing each element. The Valkyrie of Fire wore a cloak of phoenix feathers, the Valkyrie of Air wore butterfly wings, the Valkyrie of Water had a kraken helmet, and the Valkyrie of Earth wore a crown of flowers and a dress of leaves under her armor.

As they stepped into the bustling IMP headquarters, Anthony squinted against the harsh fluorescent lights, exacerbating his headache. Sören placed a comforting hand on the small of his back, guiding him through the maze of desks and chattering mages.

"Ah, there you are," boomed Chief Hagen's voice from across the room. "My office, now."

Anthony and Sören exchanged a weary glance before following the burly Norwegian into his cluttered office. The walls were covered in magical maps, shimmering with real-time updates of elemental disturbances across Norway, Sweden, Denmark, Finland, Iceland, and the Faroe Islands.

"So," Hagen began, settling into his creaking chair, "care to explain why you were in London?"

Sören bristled. "With all due respect, Chief, we're not prisoners. And we have lives. We had some personal days we hadn’t taken yet and it’s nearing the end of the year.”

“What’s the urgent situation that demanded our immediate return to Oslo?” Anthony folded his arms, hoping it wasn’t just Hagen trying to lord it over them.

“Well, I’m glad you asked.” Hagen waved his hand and the magical screen on his wall shimmered to reveal a set of images.

One of Oslo's waste-to-energy plants had distinct 260-foot smokestack, and there was a man clinging for dear life to the very top of it. As the camera zoomed in, Anthony observed that he appeared to be around the same age as him and Sören - likely in his early to mid-thirties. He had blond hair in a fauxhawk, blue eyes, and a tanned complexion, wearing a checkered Burberry outfit that stood out against the industrial background.

When the screen zoomed in on the face, Sören’s mouth opened.

“You know this man,” Hagen said - a statement, not a question.

Sören pinched the bridge of his nose and swore under his breath in Icelandic, then he nodded slowly, his accent thicker as he replied. “Jæja. That’s… that’s my ex, Justin Roberts.”

According to Sören, Anthony learned that their past relationship had ended six years ago. This was two years before Sören and Anthony got together. Justin, a British man, had been in a relationship with Sören for almost two years before they broke up because of his abusive and bigoted behavior. In fact, Justin was such a bigot that he was involved in a far-right neo-Nazi group in Europe. "He even started talking about my 'pure Aryan blood'," Sören had mentioned with a roll of his eyes at the beginning of their relationship. "He would probably lose his shit if he knew I was dating someone Jewish."

While most employers did not interfere with their employees' personal lives, background checks were standard procedure at the IMP due to the nature of their work. Therefore, the IMP was aware of Sören's previous relationship with Justin.

Hagen's eyes narrowed. "And you expect me to believe you had nothing to do with this?"

"I was in London," Sören said, his voice tight. "You can check the flight records, the CCTV footage at—"

"Oh, I intend to," Hagen interrupted. "But let's not pretend that distance is much of an obstacle for a mage of your... caliber."

Anthony felt a flare of indignation on Sören's behalf. "Chief, with all due respect, you're bordering on harassment. Sören has provided his alibi, and there are witnesses who will attest that he was in the UK, including my own mother. Unless you have concrete evidence linking him to this incident, I suggest we move on to more productive lines of inquiry."

Hagen's jaw clenched, but he nodded curtly. "Very well. Mr. Roberts was found atop that smokestack at 3 AM this morning. He was unable to get down and had to be rescued by the fire department. He was disoriented, dehydrated, and suffering from mild hypothermia. Initial reports suggest he had been there for at least 12 hours. He claims he was transported there against his will by magical means."

Anthony frowned. "And you suspect Sören because...?"

"Because, Inqusitor Hewlett-Johnson, Mr. Roberts specifically named Sören as the one responsible," Hagen said, his eyes never leaving Sören's face. "He claims you used your elemental powers to lift him to the top of that smokestack and leave him there to freeze."

Sören's face paled, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. "That's ridiculous. I haven't seen Justin in years, and I certainly wouldn't risk my career over a man I left…” Sören's voice trailed off, his face a mixture of anger and disbelief. Anthony placed a steadying hand on his partner's shoulder, feeling the tension radiating through his body.

"Chief Hagen," Anthony said, his tone measured but firm, "surely you understand the gravity of these accusations. Sören is one of your most dedicated and skilled Inquisitors. His record speaks for itself. To even entertain such outlandish claims without substantial evidence is—"

"I'm well aware of Inquisitor Sigurðsson's record," Hagen interrupted, his bushy eyebrows furrowing. "But I'm also aware of the potential for abuse of power among mages. Especially those with... personal grievances."

Sören took a deep breath, visibly struggling to maintain his composure. "I understand you have to investigate all claims, Chief. But I swear to you, I had nothing to do with this. Justin and I have been over for years. I've moved on." He glanced at Anthony, their eyes meeting briefly.

Hagen leaned back in his chair, regarding them both with a critical eye. "Be that as it may, we can't ignore a direct accusation. You'll both be placed on administrative leave pending a full investigation."

"What?" Anthony exclaimed, his headache momentarily forgotten. "Chief, that's completely unnecessary. We're in the middle of several ongoing cases—"

"Which will be reassigned," Hagen cut in firmly. "This is non-negotiable, Inquisitors. Hand over your badges.”

With reluctance, Anthony and Sören complied.

As they exited Chief Hagen's office, Anthony felt a mixture of anger and disbelief coursing through him. He glanced at Sören, whose face was a mask of carefully controlled emotion.

"This is bollocks," Anthony muttered under his breath as they made their way through the bustling office. Colleagues cast curious glances their way, no doubt wondering why two of the IMP's top Inquisitors were leaving in the middle of the day. “Absolute sodding, bloody bollocks.”

Once outside, the crisp Oslo air hit them like a slap to the face. Sören let out a long, shaky breath, his composure finally cracking.

"I can't believe this," he said, running a hand through his curly hair. "After everything we've done for the IMP, Hagen just... He actually thinks I'd..."

Anthony pulled Sören into a tight embrace, feeling the tension in his partner's body. "I know, love. I know." He pressed a kiss to Sören's temple. "We'll sort this out. Justin's accusations won't hold up under scrutiny."

Sören nodded against Anthony's shoulder, then pulled back slightly. "But what if... what if someone actually did use magic to put Justin up there? Someone who knew about our history?"

Anthony's brow furrowed. "You think someone's trying to frame you?"

"I don't know. Maybe?" Sören shook his head. "It just seems too convenient. Justin shows up after all these years, makes this wild accusation..."

"You're right," Anthony said, his analytical mind kicking into gear despite the lingering headache. "This reeks of a setup. But who would want to discredit you? And why?”

“Well, remember what Maglor and Nicholas told us yesterday. We’ve been kept out of the loop - seemingly deliberately - about the suspicious activity going on. And Justin, like I told you a long time ago, is a fucking neo-Nazi.” Sören folded his arms and looked down, tapping his foot with indignance.

“Definitely not kosher,” Anthony said.

Sören snorted at Anthony's pun, a small smile tugging at his lips despite the gravity of the situation. "Seriously, though," he said, his expression sobering. "What if this is connected to those strange elemental disturbances we've been tracking? The ones that seem to be following no discernible pattern?"

Anthony nodded, his mind racing. "It's possible. We've been making progress on that case, maybe someone wants us out of the way." He glanced around, suddenly aware of how exposed they were. "We should continue this conversation somewhere more private. Our house?"

"Já," Sören agreed, his Icelandic accent thickening with stress. "But first, I need a bloody drink."

They made their way to a nearby pub, a cozy establishment frequented by off-duty IMP agents. As they settled into a dimly lit corner booth, Anthony couldn't help but notice the tension in Sören's shoulders, the way his fingers drummed restlessly against the worn wooden table. A waitress approached, and Sören ordered a double whiskey without hesitation. Anthony opted for a pint of stout, figuring he should keep a clearer head.

"So," Anthony said in a low voice once their drinks arrived, "let's think this through logically. Who would benefit from discrediting you? And why use Justin, of all people?"

Sören took a long sip of his whiskey, wincing slightly at the burn. "I've been wracking my brain, and I keep coming back to those elemental disturbances. We were getting close to something, weren't we?"

Anthony nodded, his brow furrowed in concentration. "The pattern was starting to emerge. Seemingly random elemental events, but when mapped out over time, they formed a complex sigil. A sigil that looked eerily similar to some of the ancient runes we've encountered in our research."

Sören leaned in closer, his voice barely above a whisper. "And don't forget the timing. These disturbances started ramping up right around the time we began investigating that smuggling ring. The one dealing in illegal magical artifacts."

Anthony's eyes widened as the pieces started to click into place. "You don't think... could Justin be involved with that somehow? His far-right connections might have put him in touch with some unsavory characters in the magical world."

Sören drained the last of his whiskey, signaling for another. "It's possible. Justin was always drawn to power, and he had no qualms about using people to get what he wanted." A shadow passed over his face.

Anthony reached across the table and squeezed Sören's hand reassuringly. "Hey, you don't have to go there. We're focused on the present, alright?"

Sören nodded gratefully, some of the tension easing from his shoulders. "You're right. So, if Justin is involved with this smuggling ring, and they're connected to these elemental disturbances..."

"Then framing you kills two birds with one stone," Anthony finished. "It discredits one of the IMP's top investigators and creates a convenient scapegoat for their activities."

"But how did they know about my history with Justin?" Sören mused, absently tracing patterns on the condensation of his fresh whiskey glass. "That's not exactly public knowledge."

Anthony's eyes narrowed. "Someone with access to IMP personnel files, perhaps? Or..."

"Or someone from my past.”

Sören's eyes widened at Anthony's suggestion. "You don't think...?" He trailed off, unable to finish the thought.

Anthony leaned in closer, his voice barely above a whisper. "We have to consider all possibilities, love. If someone from your past is involved, it could explain how they knew about Justin."

Sören ran a hand through his curls, his mind racing. "But who? Most of the people who knew about Justin and me back then were fellow mages at university. I can't imagine any of them getting mixed up in something like this."

"What about family?" Anthony asked gently, knowing it was a sensitive subject for Sören.

Sören's jaw clenched. "My brother Dag is the only one who knew details about Justin, and he's... well, you know."

Anthony nodded, remembering the stories Sören had shared about his estranged older brother Dag, who’d gotten expelled from Wemblefrrf and was known to dabble in darker magical practices and kept questionable company.

"I hate to even suggest it," Anthony said carefully, "but could Dag potentially be involved in something like this?"

Sören's face darkened. "I... I don't know. We haven't spoken in years, but last I heard, he was still hanging around with some nasty fuckers. It's not outside the realm of possibility."

Just then, Anthony's phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen and frowned. "It's my mother. She's asking if we're alright - apparently, there's already been some chatter in the magical community about us being suspended - like Hagen was planning on doing it before we arrived - and it managed to get back to her through one of her magic-using friends."

Sören groaned. "Fantastic. So much for keeping this quiet."

Anthony quickly typed out a reassuring message to his mother, promising to call her later with more details. As he pocketed his phone, he noticed Sören's gaze had drifted to the pub's entrance, his body suddenly tense.

"Don't look now," Sören whispered, "but I think we're being watched."

Anthony casually glanced over his shoulder, spotting a tall figure in a dark coat lingering by the door. The stranger's face was partially obscured by a scarf, but their eyes were fixed intently on their table.

"Think it's one of Hagen's people?" Anthony asked under his breath.

Sören shook his head slightly. "No, the energy feels... different. Darker."

As if sensing their attention, the figure abruptly turned and exited the pub. Sören was on his feet in an instant, tossing some kroner on the table to cover their drinks. "Come on," he said urgently to Anthony. "We need to follow them."

Anthony nodded, quickly downing the last of his stout before hurrying after Sören. They burst out of the pub into the chilly Oslo afternoon, scanning the street for any sign of the mysterious figure.

"There!" Sören pointed to a dark shape turning down an alley about half a block away.

They set off at a brisk pace, trying not to draw too much attention to themselves. As they neared the alley, Sören held up a hand, signaling Anthony to slow down. They crept forward cautiously, peering around the corner.

The alley was empty.

"Shit," Sören muttered, running a hand through his hair in frustration.

"Where did they go?" Anthony whispered, scanning the narrow alley. His eyes darted between dumpsters and doorways, searching for any sign of movement.

Sören's brow furrowed in concentration. He closed his eyes, and Anthony felt him extending his magical senses outward. A faint ripple of energy caught his attention, emanating from further down the alley.

"This way," Sören said, grabbing Anthony's hand and pulling him deeper into the shadows.

They moved silently, years of training allowing them to step lightly despite the scattered debris underfoot. As they neared the end of the alley, Anthony felt the magical energy intensify. He raised his free hand, ready to cast a defensive spell if needed.

Suddenly, the air shimmered before them. The mysterious figure materialized out of thin air, their dark coat billowing as if caught in an unseen wind.

Anthony and Sören froze, instinctively shifting into defensive stances. The figure's scarf had fallen away, revealing a face that made Sören gasp.

"Dag?" Sören whispered, his voice a mixture of shock and wariness.

The man - Sören's estranged brother - gave a crooked smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Hello, little brother. It's been a while."

Anthony tensed, ready to cast a shield charm at a moment's notice. He'd heard enough about Dag to know he was dangerous and unpredictable.

"What are you doing here, Dag?" Sören demanded, his accent thickening with emotion. "Are you involved in this somehow?"

Dag's smile widened, taking on a predatory edge. "Always so quick to accuse, aren't you, Sören.” Dag's grey eyes flickered between Sören and Anthony, a calculating look on his face. "I'm hurt, little brother. Can't I simply want to catch up with my estranged sibling?"

Sören's jaw clenched. "Cut the bullshit, Dag. You show up right when I'm being framed for a crime I didn't commit? That's one hell of a coincidence."

"Framed?" Dag's eyebrows raised in mock surprise. "My, my. You have been busy, haven't you? And here I thought you were just playing detective with your little boyfriend." His gaze settled on Anthony, eyes narrowing slightly.

Anthony met Dag's stare evenly, refusing to be intimidated. "We're Inquisitors with the IMP, as I'm sure you're well aware. And we have some questions for you."

Dag chuckled darkly. "Questions? How delightful. But I'm afraid I don't have time for an interrogation today, gentlemen." He raised his hand, and Anthony felt a surge of magical energy building around them.

Sören reacted instinctively, throwing up a shimmering barrier of fire energy just as Dag unleashed a blast of dark magic. The two forces collided with a thunderous crack, sending sparks of wild magic ricocheting off the alley walls.

"Anthony, watch out!" Sören shouted, pushing his partner aside as a stray bolt of energy sizzled past them, leaving a scorched mark on the brick wall.

Anthony recovered quickly, calling upon his own magical reserves. With a series of precise gestures, he conjured a net of Hebrew letters glowing in blue, aiming to ensnare Dag and neutralize his powers.

But Dag was too quick. With a fluid motion, he sliced through Anthony's binding spell, the Hebrew letters dissipating into wisps of blue smoke. A cruel smile played on his lips as he advanced, dark energy crackling at his fingertips.

"You'll have to do better than that, Jew boy," Dag sneered. "My brother always did have a weakness for damaged goods."

Rage flashed in Sören's eyes at the slur. With a guttural roar, he summoned a whirlwind of fire, the flames taking on the shape of a massive phoenix. The fiery bird screeched as it dive-bombed Dag, forcing him to throw up a hasty shield of dark energy.

Anthony, pushing aside the sting of Dag's words, focused his energy on reinforcing Sören's attack. He wove a complex pattern in the air based on the Tree of Life, channeling protective energy into Sören's fiery phoenix. The flames took on an iridescent sheen, burning even brighter as they battered against Dag's shield.

Dag snarled, his face contorting with effort as he struggled to maintain his defenses against the combined assault. "You've gotten stronger, little brother," he spat. "But you're still no match for me!"

With a violent gesture, Dag released a pulse of dark energy that shattered his own shield and dispersed Sören's phoenix. The backlash sent all three men stumbling backward.

Anthony recovered first, quickly casting a shield charm around himself and Sören. "We need to end this before someone gets hurt," he said urgently.

Sören nodded, his eyes never leaving his brother. "Dag, stop this madness! Whatever you're involved in, whatever you've done - it's -”

Sören's plea was cut short as Dag unleashed another barrage of dark magic. The air crackled with malevolent energy as shadows seemed to coalesce around him, writhing and lashing out like tentacles.

"You have no idea what's coming, little brother," Dag snarled, his eyes glowing with an unnatural light. "The old order is crumbling. Power is shifting. And you and your precious IMP will be swept away in the tide of change."

Anthony reinforced their shield, the Hebrew letters glowing brighter as they absorbed the brunt of Dag's assault. But he could feel the strain, the dark magic eating away at their defenses.

"Sören," he gasped, "we can't keep this up much longer."

Sören nodded grimly, his face set with determination. "Then let's end this."

With a synchronized movement, Sören and Anthony dropped their defensive shield and unleashed a combined attack. Sören summoned a torrent of white-hot flames, while Anthony's skilled hands moved in a mesmerizing dance as he conjured intricate patterns of light. The shimmering chains of energy swirled and coalesced, gradually building into a powerful force that resembled a cascading waterfall.

As the dazzling helix of fire and water-light surged towards Dag, the two forces intertwined in a magnificent display of power. Sparks flew and colors exploded, creating a breathtaking symphony of light and magic. Anthony's concentration was unbreakable as he controlled the torrent of energy with precise movements, like a master conductor directing an orchestra.

For a moment, shock registered on Dag's face as he realized the power of their combined assault. But at the last second, Dag's lips curled into a sneer. He raised both hands, dark energy swirling around him like a malevolent storm. Just as Sören and Anthony's attack was about to make contact, Dag vanished in a swirl of shadows.

The alley erupted in a blinding flash as their magic collided with the brick wall where Dag had been standing moments before. When the light faded, Sören and Anthony were left staring at a scorched, crumbling wall, their chests heaving from exertion.

"Fuck," Sören spat, his accent thick with frustration. He ran a hand through his curls, which were standing on end from the magical discharge. "He got away."

Anthony lowered his arms slowly, his muscles aching from channeling such intense magic. "At least we confirmed he's involved somehow," he said, trying to find a silver lining. "And we know he's not working alone."

Sören nodded grimly. "The old order crumbling, power shifting... it sounds like he's part of something big." He turned to Anthony, his brown eyes filled with worry.

Anthony nodded in agreement. "Whatever Dag's involved in, it's clear we've stumbled onto something much bigger than we realized."

Sören leaned against the alley wall, suddenly looking exhausted. "I can't believe he's mixed up in all this. I mean, I knew he was into some dark stuff, but this..." He trailed off, shaking his head.

Anthony moved closer, placing a comforting hand on Sören's shoulder. "Hey, this isn't your fault. You're not responsible for your brother's choices."

Sören gave a weak smile. "I know. It's just... he's still my brother, you know? Part of me still remembers the kid who used to protect me from my aunt and uncle and from bullies when we were little."

A moment of silence passed between them, broken only by the distant sounds of the city.

"We should get out of here," Anthony said. “We should go home.”

Sören nodded, pushing himself off the wall. "You're right. Let's go home."

As they made their way out of the alley, Anthony kept a watchful eye on their surroundings, half-expecting Dag or some other threat to materialize out of the shadows. The adrenaline was slowly fading, leaving him feeling drained and on edge.

They walked in tense silence, both lost in their own thoughts about the encounter with Dag and its implications. The streets of Oslo seemed unnaturally quiet, as if the city itself was holding its breath in anticipation of what was to come.

When they finally reached their little red house, Sören fumbled with the keys, his hands still shaking slightly from the magical exertion and emotional turmoil. Anthony gently took the keys from him, unlocking the door and ushering them inside.

As soon as they shut the door behind them, their three feline friends - Snúður, Solly, and Shmuel - trotted right up to them with excitement. During their trip to the UK, a neighbor had been coming by to take care of the cats and give them food and water - Anthony had received a text update about the cats yesterday afternoon - but that was no longer necessary due to their early return.

Once the cats got some loving attention, Sören sagged against the wall, the weight of the day's events finally hitting him. Anthony wrapped his arms around his partner, pulling him close.

"I've got you," Anthony said, pressing a kiss to Sören's temple. "We're home. We're safe."

Sören nodded against Anthony's chest, his breath coming in shaky gasps. "I just... I can't believe Dag is involved in all this. What the hell have we stumbled into, Anthony?"

Before Anthony could respond, a loud meow interrupted them. They looked down to see Snúður, their tuxedo cat, winding himself around their legs, demanding yet more attention. Solly, the elderly brown tabby, and Shmuel, the grey ticked tabby, weren't far behind.

Despite the tension, Anthony couldn't help but chuckle.

"I think someone's trying to tell us it's dinnertime," Anthony said with a small smile, reaching down to scratch Snúður behind the ears.

Sören managed a weak laugh. "They always know how to cut through the drama, don't they?"

As they moved to the kitchen to feed the cats, Anthony kept a protective arm around Sören's waist. He could feel the tension still thrumming through his partner's body, the slight tremor in his hands as he opened a can of cat food.

Once the felines were happily munching away, Anthony guided Sören to the living room couch. They sank down together, Sören immediately curling into Anthony's side.

"We need to figure out our next move," Anthony said softly, running his fingers through Sören's curls. "With Dag involved and the IMP suspending us, we're at a severe disadvantage. We can't exactly waltz into IMP headquarters and demand access to case files anymore."

Sören nodded against Anthony's chest. "We're on our own now. Well, mostly on our own. We still have some allies we can trust."

"True," Anthony mused. "Maglor and Nicholas have been keeping us in the loop about some of the strange goings-on lately. And my mother has connections in both the magical and non-magical worlds that could prove useful."

Sören sat up slightly, a determined glint in his eyes. "We need to start our own investigation. Off the books. If Dag and whoever he's working with are trying to frame me, they must have left some trace evidence behind."

Anthony nodded, his analytical mind already racing. "We should start with Justin. He's the key to all of this. If we can prove he's lying about you attacking him, it could unravel their whole scheme."

Sören tensed at the mention of Justin's name, but nodded in agreement. "You're right. But how do we get to him? He's probably under IMP protection now."

Anthony's brow furrowed in thought. "We might not be able to approach him directly, but we could try to trace his movements leading up to the incident. If he was transported magically to that smokestack, there might be residual energy signatures we could detect."

"Good thinking," Sören said, sitting up straighter. "We'd need to get close to the site without arousing suspicion, though. The IMP has probably already combed the area."

Anthony's eyes lit up. "What if we didn't have to get close? Remember that detection spell we've been working on? The one that can pick up traces of elemental magic from a distance?"

Sören nodded, a spark of excitement in his eyes. "The one we based on the principles of quantum entanglement? That could work. We'd need to calibrate it specifically for transportation magic, but it's worth a shot."

"Exactly," Anthony said, his mind racing with possibilities. "We could set up a perimeter around the smokestack, far enough away to avoid detection but close enough for the spell to work. If we can pinpoint the exact location where Justin was transported from, it might give us a lead on who's behind this."

Sören leaned in, his expression more animated, his earlier exhaustion forgotten in the face of a potential breakthrough. "We'd need to act fast, though. The magical residue will fade quickly, especially if it's been a few days already."

Anthony nodded, already reaching for the elven communication devices Maglor had given them at Wemblefrrf. "I'll contact Maglor and Nicholas. They might be able to help us set up the detection grid without arousing suspicion. And then I’ll call my mother - she might be able to pull some strings to get us access to areas near the smokestack without raising alarms."

As Anthony made his calls, his mind whirling with possibilities and potential pitfalls, Sören got up and paced the living room. The cats, sensing his agitation, followed him back and forth, meowing occasionally as if offering their own suggestions.

"Okay," Anthony said, hitting “End” on his cell phone after his final call. "Maglor and Nicholas are on board. You and I will set up the detection grid tonight, under the cover of darkness. Nicholas has some contacts in the Oslo police department who can help divert attention away from the area, and Maglor will do some remote magic to conjure an illusion to set up a distraction."

Sören ran a hand through his curls, his mind racing. "And your mother?"

Anthony couldn't help but smile. "She's already working her magic, so to speak. She's reaching out to some old friends in the Norwegian Ministry of Magic. With any luck, we'll have unofficial clearance to be in the vicinity of the smokestack by nightfall."

"Brilliant," Sören said, leaning in to plant a quick kiss on Anthony's lips. "You and your mother are a formidable team."

"Don't sell yourself short," Anthony replied, cupping Sören's face in his hands. "Your fire magic and quick thinking are what's going to make this plan work."

Sören rubbed his face and made a noise. “Well first, I need a fucking shower. This feels like the longest day of my life and it’s not even done yet.” Sören cocked his head to one side. “Want to join me?”

"That sounds good,” Anthony said.

Anthony and Sören made their way to the bathroom, shedding clothes as they went. The hot water felt heavenly as it cascaded over their tired bodies. Sören let out a contented sigh as Anthony began massaging shampoo into his curls.

"That feels amazing," Sören sighed, leaning back into Anthony's touch.

Anthony pressed a soft kiss to Sören's shoulder. "You're carrying so much tension, love. Try to relax a bit."

Sören nodded, closing his eyes. Anthony put a small amount of healing magic into the fingers working through Sören’s hair to try to melt away some of the day’s stress.

Enough that it made Sören cry a little.

“Justin?” Anthony asked. “Dag?”

“Dag and Justin.” Sören's voice shook.

Across their telepathic bond, Anthony had a brief series of mental images from Sören’s mind’s eye - memories of Justin’s verbal, physical, and sexual abuse. Anthony's heart ached at the pain in Sören's voice and the flashes of traumatic memories. He gently turned Sören to face him, cupping his face in his hands.

"You're safe now," Anthony said softly, pressing his forehead to Sören's. "I've got you. Justin can't hurt you anymore, and we'll figure out what Dag is up to together."

Sören nodded, tears mingling with the shower spray on his face. He wrapped his arms around Anthony, clinging to him like a lifeline. Anthony held him close, one hand rubbing soothing circles on Sören's back while the other cradled the back of his head.

They stood like that for a long moment, the hot water cascading over them, washing away the stress and fear of the day. Gradually, Sören's breathing steadied, and Anthony felt some of the tension drain from his partner's body.

"Thank you," Sören whispered against Anthony's neck. "For everything."

Anthony pressed a kiss to Sören's temple. "Always, love. We're in this together."

As they finished washing up, the mood shifted subtly. Their touches lingered, became more sensual. Sören's hands trailed down Anthony's chest, mapping the familiar planes of his body. Anthony's breath hitched as Sören's fingers dipped lower, teasing along his hipbones.

"Sören," Anthony breathed, his voice husky with desire.

Sören captured Anthony's lips in a passionate kiss, pressing him against the cool tile wall. Anthony moaned into the kiss, his hands roaming over Sören's wet skin, tracing the lines of his tattoos. Their cocks hardened and began to rub together, slowly, teasingly.

Sören broke the kiss, his brown eyes dark with desire. "I need you," he pleaded, his accent thick with arousal.

Anthony nodded, understanding Sören's need for connection, for reassurance after the emotional turmoil of the day. He turned Sören gently, pressing him against the shower wall.

"I've got you, love," Anthony whispered, pressing kisses along Sören's shoulders and back. He reached for the bottle of silicone lube they kept in the shower, coating his fingers generously.

Sören gasped as Anthony's slick fingers circled his entrance, teasing before slowly pressing inside. Anthony took his time, working Sören open with gentle, insistent strokes. He curled his fingers, finding that spot that made Sören cry out in pleasure.

"Anthony, please," Sören moaned, pushing back against Anthony's fingers. "I need you inside me."

Anthony pressed a kiss to the nape of Sören's neck as he withdrew his fingers. He slicked his cock with more lube, then lined himself up with Sören's entrance. Slowly, reverently, he pushed inside, both men groaning at the sensation.

"Fuck," Sören breathed, his forehead pressed against the cool tile. "You feel so good."

Anthony began to move, setting a slow, deep rhythm. One hand gripped Sören's hip while the other wrapped around his chest, holding him close. Sören reached back, tangling his fingers in Anthony's wet hair.

"I love you," Anthony whispered.

Anthony and Sören's lovemaking grew more passionate and intense, their bodies moving together in perfect synchronicity, both men pouring their emotions into every touch, every thrust. The sound of skin on skin mingled with their moans and the steady patter of the shower. The steam from the hot shower swirled around them, creating an intimate cocoon.

Sören braced himself against the tile wall, pushing back to meet each of Anthony's deep thrusts. "Harder," he gasped. "Please, Anthony."

Anthony obliged, tightening his grip on Sören's hips and increasing his pace. The sound of skin slapping against skin echoed off the bathroom walls, mingling with their moans of pleasure.

"You feel so good," Anthony panted, pressing open-mouthed kisses along Sören's shoulders and neck. "So tight, so perfect for me."

Sören let out a deep groan as Anthony knew he’d hit that spot inside him that made sparks dance behind his eyelids. "Right there," he urged.

Anthony angled his hips to hit that spot with each thrust, reveling in the way Sören's body trembled and clenched around him. He slid one hand around to grasp Sören's cock, stroking in time with his thrusts.

"Oh fuck," Sören moaned, his accent thickening with pleasure. "I'm close, Anthony. So close."

"Come for me, love," Anthony said, his lips brushing Sören's ear. "Let go. I've got you."

With a cry of ecstasy, Sören came, his release painting the shower wall. Anthony groaned as Sören's body tightened around him, pushing him over the edge. He buried himself deep inside Sören as his own orgasm washed over him.

For a long moment, they stood there panting, Anthony's forehead resting against Sören's shoulder blade. The hot water continued to cascade over them, soothing their trembling muscles.

Slowly, Anthony eased out of Sören, pressing a gentle kiss to the nape of his neck. Sören turned in his arms, capturing Anthony's lips in a tender kiss.

"I love you," Sören husked. "So much."

Anthony smiled, running his fingers through Sören's wet curls. "I love you too, darling. Always."

They finished washing up, exchanging soft touches and gentle kisses. As they stepped out of the shower and began toweling off, a comfortable silence settled between them.

Sören broke the quiet first, his voice thoughtful. "You know, as terrifying as this whole situation is, I'm glad you're here with me. I don't think I could face this alone."

Anthony wrapped his arms around Sören, pulling him close. "You don't have to. We're in this together, love. Whatever comes next, we'll face it side by side."

Sören nodded against Anthony's chest, letting out a contented sigh. "Together."

They finished drying off and got dressed in comfortable clothes - Sören in a pair of worn jeans and one of Anthony's old yeshiva sweatshirts, Anthony in lounge pants and a soft t-shirt. As they made their way back to the living room, the cats immediately swarmed around their feet, demanding attention.

As they settled on the couch, Snúður leapt into Sören's lap, purring loudly. Solly curled up at Anthony's feet, while Shmuel perched on the back of the couch, keeping a watchful eye on his humans.

"So," Sören said, absently scratching behind Snúður's ears, "we have a few hours before we need to set up the detection grid. What's our game plan?"

Anthony leaned back, his brow furrowed in thought. "We should review everything we know so far. Maybe we'll spot a connection we've missed."

Sören nodded, reaching for the notebook they kept hidden in a hollowed-out book on their shelf. As an extra precaution, the pages were enchanted to appear blank to anyone but them.

"Okay," Sören said, flipping through the notebook. "Let's start with the elemental disturbances we've been tracking. They seemed random at first, but when mapped out..."

"They formed that complex sigil," Anthony finished, leaning in to look at Sören's sketches. "Similar to some ancient runes we've encountered in our research."

Sören nodded, his brow furrowed in concentration. "And the timing of these disturbances coincided with our investigation into that smuggling ring dealing in illegal magical artifacts."

Anthony's eyes widened as a thought struck him. "What if the disturbances and the smuggling are connected? Maybe they're using the elemental events as cover to move artifacts."

"Or," Sören added, his voice low, "what if the artifacts themselves are causing the disturbances?"

They exchanged a look, the implications hanging.

As Anthony and Sören sat on the couch reviewing their notes, a sudden chill ran through the room. The cats' ears perked up, their eyes wide as they stared intently at a spot near the front door.

"Did you feel that?" Sören asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Anthony nodded, slowly rising to his feet. "Something's not right."

Before either of them could move, the air near the door shimmered and warped. A figure began to materialize, dark energy crackling around them.

"Dag," Sören growled, jumping up and positioning himself protectively in front of Anthony.

But as the figure fully appeared, they realized it wasn't Dag at all. It was a woman, tall and imposing, with long dark hair and piercing green eyes. She wore a black cloak adorned with intricate runes that pulsed.

The woman's eyes glowed with an otherworldly light as she regarded Anthony and Sören. A cruel smile played on her lips.

"Well, well," she purred, her voice low and melodious. "The prodigal son and his little Jewish toy. How... quaint."

Sören tensed, fire flickering at his fingertips. "Who the hell are you?" he demanded. "And how did you get past our wards?"

The woman laughed, a sound like breaking glass. "Oh, Sören. Always so quick to anger. You truly are your mother's son." Her gaze flickered to Anthony. "Though your taste in partners leaves much to be desired."

Anthony stepped forward, placing a calming hand on Sören's arm. "You know Sören's mother?" he asked, trying to keep his voice steady.

"Know her?" The woman's smile widened, revealing teeth that seemed unnaturally sharp. "Oh, I knew her quite well. Your dear mother and I go way back, Sören."

Sören's eyes narrowed, his stance tense and ready for a fight. "You still haven't answered my question. Who are you?"

The woman tsked, shaking her head. "So impatient. But I suppose introductions are in order." She swept into a mocking bow. "You may call me Hel. And as for how I got past your wards..." She gestured at the runes on her cloak, which pulsed with dark energy. "Let's just say I have my ways."

Anthony felt a chill run down his spine at the name. In Norse mythology, Hel was the goddess of the underworld. Surely this woman couldn't be...

"What do you want?" Anthony asked, his voice steady despite the fear coiling in his gut. He subtly shifted his stance, ready to cast a protective spell at a moment's notice.

Hel's piercing gaze settled on Anthony, her lips curling into a smirk. "Want? Oh, my dear boy, it's not about what I want. It's about what's coming." She took a step forward, the air around her shimmering with dark energy. "The old order is crumbling, just as Dag told you. But he's merely a pawn in a much larger game."

Sören's hands clenched into fists, flames dancing between his fingers. "If you've hurt my brother—"

"Hurt him?" Hel laughed, the sound sending shivers down Anthony's spine. "Oh no, dear Sören. Your brother came to us willingly. He saw the truth of what's coming and chose to align himself with the winning side."

Anthony's mind raced, trying to piece together the implications of Hel's words. "The winning side?" he asked cautiously. "What exactly is coming?"

Hel's eyes gleamed with malevolent delight. "A reckoning, little mage. The veil between worlds is thinning, and soon the old powers will rise again. Your precious IMP, your rules and regulations - they'll be swept away in the tide of change."

Sören took a step forward, his voice tight with anger. "Is that why you framed me? To get us out of the way?"

Hel threw back her head and laughed, the sound echoing unnaturally in the small room. "Oh, Sören. Always thinking you're at the center of everything. Such a narcissist. Your... inconvenience... was merely a pleasant side effect. No, we have much grander plans in motion."

“I am not a fucking narcissist,” Sören spat.

Hel's eyes flashed with amusement at Sören's outburst. "Such fire," she purred. "Your mother had that same spark, that same defiance in the face of powers beyond her comprehension."

Anthony felt Sören tense beside him, could practically feel the rage radiating off his partner in waves. He placed a steadying hand on Sören's arm, trying to project calm through their bond.

"What do you know about my mother?" Sören demanded, his voice low and dangerous.

Hel's smile widened, revealing those unnaturally sharp teeth once more. "Oh, I know many things about Brynhildur. We were... close, once upon a time. Before she made her choice."

"What choice?" Anthony asked, hoping to keep Hel talking while he frantically tried to think of a way to get out of this mess - perhaps a banishing.

Hel's eyes gleamed with malicious delight as she regarded Sören and Anthony. "The choice to turn her back on her true nature, of course. To deny the ancient powers flowing through her veins." She took a step closer, the air around her shimmering with dark energy. "Just as you have, Sören. You've barely scratched the surface of what you're capable of."

Sören's jaw clenched, his hands curling into fists at his sides. "I know exactly what I'm capable of," he growled. "And I choose to use my powers for good, not whatever twisted scheme you're cooking up."

Hel laughed, the sound like breaking glass. "Good? Evil? Such quaint, human concepts. The old powers don't concern themselves with morality, Sören. They simply are."

Anthony's mind raced, trying to process the implications of Hel's words. He felt a chill run down his spine as he realized the true scope of what they were facing. This wasn't just about smuggled artifacts or elemental disturbances - this was something far more ancient and dangerous.

"These old powers," Anthony said carefully, "what exactly are they? And why now?"

Hel's gaze shifted to Anthony, her eyes gleaming with amusement. "Ah, the scholar speaks. Always seeking knowledge, aren't you?" She took another step forward, and Anthony had to resist the urge to back away. "The old powers are the very fabric of reality, little mage. The primal forces that shaped the world long before your kind learned to harness a fraction of their might."

Sören tensed beside Anthony, fire flickering at his fingertips. "And you think you can?”

Hel's eyes gleamed with malevolent delight as she regarded Sören and Anthony. "Control them? Oh no, dear Sören. One does not control the old powers. One serves them, channels them, becomes a vessel for their will."

"And that's what you're offering?" Anthony asked, his voice tight. "To make us vessels for these... primal forces?"

Hel's smile widened, revealing those unnaturally sharp teeth once more. "Offer? Oh no, little mage. This isn't an offer. It's an inevitability. The veil is thinning, and soon the old powers will pour through, seeking vessels worthy of their might." Her gaze settled on Sören. "And you, my dear, have quite the lineage for such a role."

Sören took a step forward, his eyes blazing with anger. "I don't give a single flying fuck about lineage or ancient powers or any of that bullshit. You threatened my family, framed me, and now you're standing here in my home spouting cryptic nonsense. Get out before I make you leave."

Hel's eyes gleamed with amusement. "Such fire. Such defiance. You truly are your mother's son." She took another step closer, the air around her crackling with dark energy. "But you're fighting against forces far beyond your comprehension, little mage. The old powers are returning whether you will it or not. The only choice you have is whether to embrace your true nature or be swept away by the tide."

Anthony moved to stand beside Sören, his hand raised and ready to cast a protective spell. "We've made our choice," he said firmly.

Hel's eyes gleamed with malicious delight as she regarded Sören and Anthony. "Such bravado," she purred. "But you have no idea what you're up against."

With a flick of her wrist, tendrils of dark energy shot out from her cloak, snaking towards Sören and Anthony. Anthony reacted instantly, throwing up a shimmering barrier of Hebrew letters that crackled as Hel's magic collided with it.

Sören unleashed a torrent of flame, the fire taking the shape of a massive phoenix as it swooped towards Hel. But the dark-haired woman merely laughed, the flames dissipating harmlessly against an invisible shield.

"Is that the best you can do?" Hel taunted. "Your mother would be disappointed, Sören."

Rage flashed in Sören's eyes at the mention of his mother. With a guttural roar, he summoned a whirlwind of fire that swirled around him and Anthony, the flames taking on an iridescent sheen as Anthony wove protective Hebrew letters into the inferno.

"You know nothing of my mother," Sören snarled, his accent thick with emotion. "And you have no right to speak her name."

Hel's eyes widened slightly, a flicker of surprise crossing her face as the combined power of Sören and Anthony's magic pushed against her dark energy. "Interesting," she mused. "Perhaps there's more of her in you than I thought."

Anthony could feel the strain of maintaining their defenses, sweat beading on his brow as he poured more power into the protective barrier. But he could also sense something shifting in the air around them, a building pressure that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

Suddenly, the room erupted in a blinding flash of white light. Anthony instinctively threw an arm over his eyes, his other hand reaching out to grab Sören. When the light faded and he blinked away the spots in his vision, he saw Hel stumbling backward, her face contorted in a mixture of pain and fury.

"Impossible," she hissed, her eyes darting between Sören and Anthony. "How did you—"

But before she could finish, another pulse of energy rippled through the room. This time, Anthony felt it emanate from Sören. Anthony turned to see Sören's eyes glowing with an intense white light, his curly hair whipping around his face as if caught in an unseen wind. The air crackled with raw power, and Anthony could feel the surge of energy through their bond.

"Get. Thee. Gone." Sören's voice reverberated with a force that shook the very foundations of the house.

Hel's eyes widened in genuine fear as she stumbled back. "This isn't over," she hissed, her form already beginning to fade. "The old powers will rise, with or without you."

With a final crack of dark energy, Hel vanished, leaving Anthony and Sören alone in their suddenly quiet living room.

The glow faded from Sören's eyes, and he swayed on his feet. Anthony quickly moved to support him, guiding them both to sit on the couch. The cats, who had been hiding during the confrontation, cautiously emerged from their hiding spots.

"Sören? Are you alright?" Anthony asked, his voice laced with concern as he cupped Sören's face in his hands.

Sören blinked slowly, looking dazed. "I... I think so. What the hell just happened?"

Anthony shook his head, still trying to process the events of the last few minutes. "I'm not entirely sure. That power... I've never felt anything like it before."

Sören ran a shaky hand through his curls. "It felt like... like something inside me just snapped into place. Like I was tapping into something I didn't even know was there."

Anthony nodded, his analytical mind already racing to make sense of what had just occurred. "It seems Hel wasn't entirely wrong about your potential, love. That power... it was unlike anything I've ever encountered."

Sören shuddered, leaning into Anthony's embrace. "I don't know if I like that. It felt... wild. Uncontrollable."

Anthony pressed a kiss to Sören's temple, trying to project calm and reassurance through their bond. "We'll figure it out together, darling. But right now, we need to focus on what Hel revealed."

Sören nodded, his brow furrowing in concentration. "The old powers rising. The veil thinning. And somehow, my mother is connected to all of this."

"And your brother," Anthony added softly, knowing how much the thought of Dag's involvement pained Sören.

Sören nodded grimly, his jaw clenching at the mention of Dag. "Right. My dear brother, aligning himself with forces he doesn't understand." He sighed heavily, leaning back against the couch. "What a fucking mess."

Anthony rubbed soothing circles on Sören's back, his mind racing. "We need to regroup, love. Figure out our next move." He glanced at the clock on the wall. "We still have a few hours before we need to set up the detection grid. Maybe we should call Maglor and Nicholas, see if they have any insight into these 'old powers' Hel was talking about."

Sören nodded; Anthony handed over the elven communication device. "Good idea. If anyone would know about ancient, world-altering magic, it'd be those two."

As Sören talked to Maglor, Anthony pulled out his laptop and began researching Norse mythology, focusing on references to Hel and ancient powers. The cats, sensing the tension in the room, curled up close to their humans, offering silent comfort.

"Okay," Sören said, ending the call with Maglor. "He and Nicholas are on their way over. They said this is too sensitive to discuss over any kind of communication device, even magical ones."

Anthony nodded, looking up from his research. "Probably wise. I've been digging into Norse mythology, and if even half of what I'm reading is true, we're dealing with forces far beyond our usual scope."

Sören ran a hand through his curls, his expression troubled. "Maglor sounded... scared, Anthony. I've never heard him like that before."

Before Anthony could respond, there was a subtle shift in the air, and suddenly Maglor and Nicholas were standing in their living room. The cats yowled in surprise, darting under the couch.

Maglor's beautiful face was drawn with worry, his dark eyes scanning the room as if expecting another attack. Nicholas, ever the picture of composure, looked only slightly ruffled, though his hand rested on the hilt of a sword that hadn't been visible a moment ago.

"Are you both alright?" Maglor asked, his melodious voice tight with concern.

Sören nodded, gesturing for their unexpected guests to sit. "We're fine, thanks to... well, I'm not entirely sure what happened, to be honest."

As Maglor and Nicholas settled onto the loveseat across from them, Anthony quickly recounted their encounter with Hel and the surge of power that had driven her away. With each detail, Maglor's expression grew more troubled, while Nicholas listened intently, occasionally exchanging glances with his elven partner.

When Anthony finished, a heavy silence fell over the room. Maglor leaned forward, his ageless face etched with concern. "This is graver than we feared," he said, his melodious voice low and serious. "The old powers stirring, the veil between worlds thinning... these are not mere legends or myths. They are ancient forces that have slumbered for millennia."

Nicholas nodded, his hand still resting on the hilt of his concealed sword. "We've been tracking disturbances in the magical fabric of reality for some time now, but this...”

Maglor pursed his lips, and glanced over at Nicholas. They held each other’s gaze for a long moment, as if communicating something privately between them. Then Maglor said, “I think you should abandon your plans to set up the grid and trace the magical signature, and come stay with us for awhile. We'll begin our holiday early."

“It’s too dangerous here,” Nicholas added. “As you know, Hel got through your wards.”

Sören and Anthony exchanged a worried glance. The idea of abandoning their investigation and going into hiding didn't sit well with either of them, but they couldn't deny the gravity of the situation.

"I appreciate the offer," Sören said slowly, "but we can't just run away. There's too much at stake here."

Maglor leaned forward, his dark eyes intense. "Sören, you don't understand. The forces at play here are beyond anything you've encountered before. If Hel is involved, and the veil between worlds is truly thinning, then we are all in grave danger."

"But that's exactly why we can't hide," Anthony argued. "If these old powers are rising, someone needs to stop them. And right now, we seem to be the only ones with any leads."

Nicholas sighed, exchanging another look with Maglor. "Your bravery is admirable, but this isn't a fight you can win on your own. The old powers are not something to be trifled with."

Maglor nodded gravely. "They are primordial forces, older than the world itself. In the ancient days, they shaped reality according to their whims. If they are truly awakening..."

"Then we need to find a way to stop them," Sören interrupted, his jaw set with determination. "Running and hiding won't solve anything."

Anthony squeezed Sören's hand, offering silent support. "What if we came to stay with you, but continued our investigation from there? Your home would be safer, and we could pool our resources."

Maglor and Nicholas exchanged another long look before Nicholas nodded slowly. "That could work. Our home has protections far beyond what you have here. And we do have extensive libraries and magical resources that could aid in your investigation."

Maglor still looked troubled, but he nodded in agreement. "Very well. But we must move quickly. If Hel has already breached your wards once, she may try again."

"How soon can you be ready to leave?" Nicholas asked, his tone businesslike.

Sören and Anthony exchanged a glance. "Give us an hour to pack essentials and secure the house," Anthony said.

"We'll need to make arrangements for the cats too," Sören added, reaching down to scratch behind Snúður's ears as the feline cautiously emerged from under the couch.

"Bring them," Maglor said with a small smile. "Our home has plenty of space, and I'm rather fond of cats myself. Tora will be happy to make new friends.”

Sören visibly relaxed at that, some of the tension easing from his shoulders. "Thank you. They're family."

“They’re like our children,” Anthony said.

Nicholas stood, his hand still resting on the hilt of his concealed sword. "We'll give you some privacy to pack. Meet us outside in one hour. We'll transport us all directly to our home from there."

As Maglor and Nicholas shimmered out of existence, Sören let out a long breath. "Well, shit. This is really happening, isn't it?"

Anthony pulled Sören into a tight embrace. "It is. But we're in this together, love. We'll figure it out."

They spent the next hour in a flurry of activity, packing clothes, toiletries, and essential magical items. They gathered the cats' supplies as well, making sure to pack plenty of food, litter, and their favorite toys.

As Anthony was zipping up the last suitcase, Sören paused in the middle of the living room, his eyes sweeping over their cozy home. "I can't believe we're just... leaving," he said softly, his accent thicker with emotion.

Anthony set down the suitcase and wrapped his arms around Sören from behind, resting his chin on his partner's shoulder. "It's not forever, love. We'll be back once we've figured this out."

Sören leaned back into Anthony's embrace, letting out a shaky breath. "I know. It's just... this is our home. Our sanctuary.”

Anthony hugged Sören tighter, understanding the weight of what they were leaving behind. This little red house had been their safe haven, the place where they'd built a life together away from the pressures of work and the outside world.

"I know, love," Anthony said, pressing a kiss to Sören's temple. "But home isn't just a place. It's wherever we're together."

Sören turned in Anthony's arms, a small smile tugging at his lips despite the worry in his eyes. "When did you get so sappy?"

"I blame you entirely," Anthony replied, leaning in to capture Sören's lips in a tender kiss.

They were interrupted by an impatient meow from Snúður, who was sitting by the front door with his tail twitching.

"I think someone's ready to go," Sören chuckled.

As Anthony and Sören gathered their luggage and cat carriers, a somber mood settled over them. The reality of leaving their home, even temporarily, was sinking in.

"Ready?" Anthony asked softly, his hand on the doorknob.

Sören nodded, taking one last look around their cozy living room. "As ready as I'll ever be."

They stepped outside into the chilly Oslo evening. Maglor and Nicholas were waiting for them, their faces grave.

"Quickly now," Nicholas urged, helping them with their bags. "We don't want to linger."

Maglor raised his hands, beginning to weave an intricate spell. The air around them shimmered and warped.

Just as the transportation magic was taking hold, Anthony caught a flicker of movement out of the corner of his eye. A dark figure materialized at the end of their street, moving towards them with inhuman speed.

"Maglor!" Anthony shouted in warning, but his voice was drowned out by the roar of magic enveloping them.

The world twisted and blurred around them, colors and shapes melting together in a dizzying kaleidoscope. Anthony felt Sören's hand gripping his tightly, anchoring him as reality itself seemed to bend and warp.

With a sudden lurch, they materialized in a vast, elegantly appointed foyer. Polished marble floors stretched out before them, and a grand staircase curved upwards, its bannister intricately carved with flowing designs that seemed to move when viewed from the corner of one's eye.

Anthony stumbled slightly, his head spinning from the intense transportation magic. He felt Sören's steadying hand on his arm as they all regained their bearings.

"Is everyone alright?" Maglor asked, his melodious voice tinged with concern.

Sören nodded, though his face was pale. "We're fine. But I think I saw someone - or something - just before we left. A dark figure moving towards us."

Nicholas's hand immediately went to the hilt of his concealed sword. "Describe it," he said tersely.

As Sören recounted what he'd seen, Anthony took in their new surroundings. The foyer they'd landed in was breathtaking, with soaring ceilings and walls adorned with tapestries that seemed to shimmer and move in the periphery of his vision. Ancient artifacts and curious magical devices lined ornate shelves, and soft golden light emanated from ornate sconces.

As Sören finished describing the dark figure he'd glimpsed, Maglor and Nicholas exchanged a worried glance.

"It seems Hel is not giving up so easily," Maglor said gravely. "We must strengthen the wards immediately."

Nicholas nodded, already moving towards an intricately carved door. "I'll see to it. Maglor, perhaps you could show our guests to their rooms and help them get settled?"

As Nicholas disappeared through the door, Maglor turned to Anthony and Sören with a gentle smile. "Come, let's get you two settled in. I'm sure you're both exhausted after everything that's happened."

Maglor led them up the grand staircase, their footsteps muffled by the plush carpet runner. As they ascended, Anthony couldn't help but marvel at the sheer scale of the place. What had appeared to be a modest cottage from the outside - and when they’d visited yesterday - was clearly much larger and more elaborate within.

"This place is incredible," Sören said, his eyes wide as he took in the ornate details of their surroundings.

Maglor's smile widened slightly. "Thank you. I’ve called this place home for... well, a very long time. It's seen me through many ages and many changes in the world outside. And Nicholas, these last two decades, has made it even more of a home.”

They reached the top of the stairs and Maglor guided them down a long hallway lined with doors. As Maglor led them down the hallway, Anthony couldn't help but notice the intricate carvings on each door they passed. No two were alike - one depicted a forest scene with trees that seemed to sway in an unseen breeze, while another showed constellations that twinkled like real stars.

"Here we are," Maglor said, stopping before a door adorned with swirling patterns of fire and water intertwined. "I thought this room might suit you both."

He pushed open the door, revealing a spacious bedroom that took Anthony's breath away. A large four-poster bed dominated the center of the room, its frame carved with the same intertwining fire and water motifs as the door. Plush rugs covered the polished wood floor, and a cozy sitting area with overstuffed armchairs was arranged near a fireplace that crackled with blue flames.

"This is... wow," Sören breathed, his eyes wide as he took in the room.

Anthony nodded in agreement, still trying to process the sheer opulence of their surroundings. "It's incredible, Maglor. Thank you."

Maglor smiled warmly. "I'm glad you like it. The bathroom is through that door," he gestured to a door on the left, "and there's a small study through there if you need a quiet place to work," he indicated another door on the right. "Please, make yourselves at home."

As they set down their bags, Snúður let out an impatient meow from his carrier.

"Ah, yes," Maglor said, his eyes twinkling. "Let's get your feline friends settled, shall we?"

As they set up the cats' litterboxes, food and water bowls, Maglor watched with amusement as Snúður, Solly, and Shmuel cautiously explored their new surroundings.

"They seem to be adjusting well," Maglor observed as Snúður leapt onto the bed and began kneading the plush comforter.

Sören chuckled. "They're pretty adaptable. As long as they have us and their favorite toys, they're usually content."

Anthony finished setting up the last litterbox in the bathroom and rejoined them. "Everything's set up in there. I have to say, Maglor, this room is incredible. The attention to detail is astounding."

Maglor's eyes twinkled. "I'm glad you appreciate it. I've had a long time to perfect the art of creating welcoming spaces."

As if on cue, a soft chime echoed through the room. Maglor's expression turned serious. "Ah, that would be Nicholas. The wards are set." He turned to Anthony and Sören. "I know you both must be exhausted, but perhaps you'd join us for a light meal? We have much to discuss."

Sören and Anthony exchanged a glance before nodding. Despite their fatigue, the gravity of the situation weighed heavily on them.

"Lead the way," Anthony said.

Maglor guided them back downstairs and through a series of elegantly appointed rooms until they reached a cozy dining area. A table was already set with steaming bowls of soup, fresh bread, and a fresh garden salad full of colorful vegetables.

As Maglor led them into the dining room, Anthony was struck by the warmth and intimacy of the space. Despite the grandeur of the rest of the house, this room felt cozy and inviting. A fire crackled in a large stone hearth, casting flickering shadows on the walls. The table was made of rich, dark wood, worn smooth by centuries of use. Comfortable chairs upholstered in deep burgundy fabric were arranged around it.

Nicholas was already seated at the table, his face grave as he looked up at their arrival. "The wards are set," he said without preamble. "We should be safe here, at least for now."

Sören and Anthony took seats across from Nicholas, while Maglor settled at the head of the table. For a moment, there was silence as they all contemplated the gravity of the situation.

"Please, eat," Maglor said.

Nicholas raised a glass of wine.

As they began to eat, Anthony couldn't help but notice the tension in the room. Sören was uncharacteristically quiet, picking at his food with a distracted air. Nicholas's brow was furrowed in thought, and even Maglor's gorgeous face was etched with worry.

"So," Anthony said, breaking the heavy silence, "what exactly are we dealing with here? You mentioned old powers and the veil thinning..."

Maglor set down his spoon, his silver eyes darker, serious. "What we're facing is nothing less than a potential unraveling of reality as we know it. The old powers that Hel spoke of... they are primordial forces that existed long before the world as we know it took shape."

"In the ancient days," Nicholas continued, his voice low, "these powers roamed freely, shaping reality according to their whims. The world may seem full of magic now, but it was much moreso, back then. Back before the non-magic world pushed back and put restraints on how those with magic could conduct their affairs. Even to the point of death.”

“And now that there’s more acceptance of people like us, and we’re allowed to co-exist…” Maglor tilted his head to one side, seeming to collect his words. “That may seem like a good thing on the surface, and it is a good thing, but it is also complicated... a mixed blessing of sorts.”

Sören leaned forward, his brow furrowed. "So you're saying that the increased acceptance of magic in society is... weakening the barriers between our world and theirs?"

Maglor nodded solemnly. "In a sense, yes. The veil between worlds has always been thin in places where magic flows strongly. But as magic becomes more commonplace, more accepted in everyday life..."

"The veil thins everywhere," Anthony finished, his eyes widening as the implications sank in.

Nicholas took a sip of his wine before speaking. "Exactly. And there are those who would seek to exploit this weakening for their own gain."

"Like Hel," Sören said, his jaw clenching at the memory of their encounter.

Maglor's face was grave as he nodded. "Hel is but one of many ancient beings who would love to see chaos and destruction.”

“We knew things were perilous, but it seems they are accelerating faster than we’d feared.” Nicholas frowned.

Anthony and Sören looked at each other; Anthony swallowed hard, feeling a chill despite the warmth of the room. He remembered the story of Alice falling down the rabbit hole into Wonderland; he thought about the movie The Matrix where Neo learned the true nature of his reality.

“We will do our best to keep you safe here,” Nicholas said; Maglor nodded agreement. “But there are dark times ahead. We must keep our wits about us.”

“My people have a saying, which has been used as a battle cry,” Maglor said. “Aurë entuluva - day will come again. The night is upon us, but we must believe the light will return.” Maglor swirled the wine in his glass, his eyes far away.

Anthony raised his glass. “Aurë entuluva,” he said, and then a prayer of, “Y'hi ratzon mil'fanekha Adonai eloheinu veilohei avoteinu, she-toli-kheinu l'shalom, v'tatz'ideinu l'shalom.” May it be Your will, O Lord our G-d and G-d of our fathers, that You lead us to peace and guide us to peace.

“Amein,” Maglor said.

Chapter Text

Sören woke with a start, in a cold sweat, heart pounding.

Anthony stirred beside him and placed a hand on his am. “You OK?”

“Bad dream.”

Anthony sat up and put an arm around him. “The recurring one?”

“Yup.”

Once again, Sören had dreamt of the pack of fire demons, an ambush, outnumbering him. They had restrained him and beaten him with fiery whips. And for the second time, he had escaped with a portal and traced his steps backwards… seeing himself in a smithing forge, crafting a set of three magical jewels, glowing bright white, refracting rainbows. Then a dead body - one that bore a strong resemblance to Maglor, but not quite - and a giant bearing an iron crown, cloaked in black crow feathers, escaping with the jewels.

For a long time, Sören had assumed the nightmare about the fire demons was purely symbolic - the monstrous creatures representing the abuse he experienced from his guardians, the bullying in school, and his struggles with depression and dysphoria, his own fiery nature threatening to consume him. But the dreams had always felt all too real, and now Sören couldn’t help but wonder if they were dreams or if they were a vision of some kind. He thought of Hel’s attack, and the exercise of his power that unnerved him. That all felt connected, somehow.

“It’s three-thirty,” Anthony mumbled, tousling Sören’s curls. “You need rest.”

“I always have difficulty sleeping in a new place,” Sören said, glancing over at the clock, a reminder that they weren’t at home in Oslo anymore, but were staying in Nicholas and Maglor’s “cottage” - small and humble from the outside, huge and opulent on the inside once they had established their guests were trustworthy. The cats were familiar and comforting, and so was Anthony, and Sören tried to hold onto that as he lay back down. But he was too troubled to sleep, his mind’s eye continuing to replay that dream-vision, and the maelstrom of events swirling around them.

After a little while, Sören noticed in the dim glow of the nightlight that Anthony was awake too and looking at him. “You can’t sleep,” Anthony said.

“And it’s keeping you up. I’m sorry.”

Anthony snuggled closer and pressed a kiss to Sören’s forehead. "Don't apologize," Anthony said, his lips trailing down to Sören's cheek. "I'm here for you."

Sören turned his face, catching Anthony's mouth with his own. The kiss deepened, slow and sensual, as Anthony's hand slid under Sören's t-shirt to caress his bare skin. Sören shivered at the touch, his body responding despite his troubled mind.

"Let me help you relax," Anthony whispered, his voice husky with desire.

Sören nodded, grateful for the distraction. Anthony's hands roamed over Sören's body, tracing the familiar contours of muscle and tattoo. He pushed up Sören's shirt, kissing a path down his chest and stomach. Sören's breath hitched as Anthony's fingers hooked into the waistband of his pajama pants, tugging them down.

Anthony's mouth found Sören's cock, enveloping him in wet heat. Sören gasped, his fingers tangling in Anthony's hair as pleasure coursed through him. Anthony worked him slowly, languorously, his tongue tracing patterns that made Sören's toes curl.

"Anthony," Sören moaned softly, not wanting to wake their hosts.

Anthony hummed in response, the vibrations sending shivers up Sören's spine. He took Sören deeper, hollowing his cheeks as he sucked. Sören's hips bucked involuntarily, and Anthony steadied him with a firm hand on his hip.

The slow build of pleasure was exquisite torture. Sören felt the tension in his body gradually unravelling, replaced by liquid warmth. His nightmarish visions faded, overwhelmed by sensation. There was only Anthony, only this.

Sören's breath came in ragged gasps as Anthony continued sucking him. The coiling heat in his belly intensified, pleasure spiraling higher with each skilled caress of Anthony's tongue. He tugged gently at Anthony's hair in warning.

"I'm close," Sören gasped.

Anthony redoubled his efforts, one hand sliding up to caress Sören's chest as he took him deeper. Sören bit his lip to stifle a groan as his climax crashed over him. His body shuddered with release, Anthony swallowing around him until the last tremors subsided.

Panting softly, Sören pulled Anthony up for a deep, languid kiss. He could taste himself on Anthony's lips, and it sent a residual shiver of pleasure through him.

"Thank you," Sören said.

Anthony smiled. “You’re welcome.”

Anthony kissed him back, a sensual open-mouthed kiss, tongues teasing. Sören noticed Anthony was hard now, and as one kiss became another, Sören’s own cock rose back to life. Anthony started kissing Sören’s neck and shoulder, knowing well how sensitive he was there.

Sören moaned softly as Anthony's lips trailed fire across his skin. His hands roamed over Anthony's lean body, tracing the familiar planes of muscle. Anthony's erection pressed insistently against Sören's thigh, and Sören reached down to stroke him through his pajama bottoms.

"I want you," Sören breathed, his voice shaking with renewed desire.

Anthony nodded, using telekinesis to get lube out of the nightstand drawer. Sören used telekinesis to help Anthony out of his pajamas, then rolled onto his stomach, pillowing his head on his arms. He heard the snap of the lube cap, then felt Anthony's slick fingers probing gently.

Sören bit back a gasp as Anthony worked him open, teasing him. When Anthony finally pushed inside him, Sören had to bury his face in the pillow to muffle his moan.

Anthony moved slowly at first, giving Sören time to adjust. His hands caressed Sören's back, tracing the intricate phoenix tattoos as he rolled his hips in a gentle rhythm. Sören pushed back against him, urging him deeper.

"More," Sören begged.

Anthony obliged, picking up the pace. He gripped Sören's hips, angling his thrusts to hit that spot that made Sören see stars. Sören bit down on the pillow, muffling his cries of pleasure. The bed creaked softly beneath them as Anthony drove into him with increasing urgency.

Sören reached between his legs to stroke himself in time with Anthony's thrusts. He was already close again, overwrought with sensation. Anthony leaned down, pressing kisses along Sören's spine as he continued to move inside him.

Sören's body trembled with pleasure, teetering on the edge. Anthony's breath was hot against his neck, his movements growing more erratic as he neared his own release. With a few more deep thrusts, Sören tumbled over the precipice, biting down hard on the pillow to stifle his cry as waves of ecstasy washed over him.

Anthony followed moments later, burying himself deep as he climaxed with a muffled groan, hot seed flowing. They collapsed together, panting softly as they came down from their shared high. Anthony pressed tender kisses to Sören's shoulder blades, tracing the phoenix tattoos with reverent fingertips.

After a few moments, Anthony carefully withdrew and reached for tissues to clean them up. Once done, he gathered Sören into his arms, pulling the blankets up around them. Sören nestled against Anthony's chest.

“Sleep now,” Anthony said, stroking Sören’s hair and rubbing his back, before taking his hand. “I’ve got you, my love.”

“I love you,” Sören said, curling his fingers around Anthony’s thumb. He closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.

A few hours later, Sören woke again, this time from normal dreams - on a yacht with Anthony, Nicholas and Maglor and the cats, that magically turned into an airship and they had a tea party on the airship, which the White Rabbit and Cheshire Cat from Alice In Wonderland somehow were invited to. Smiling at the absurdity of his dreamscape, Sören gingerly got out of bed, not wanting to disturb Anthony, and made his way down the hall to the bathroom.

As Sören approached the bathroom, he heard the shower running. He hesitated, not wanting to disturb whoever was inside. Just as he was about to turn back, the water shut off.

A moment later, the door opened and Nicholas emerged, a towel wrapped low around his hips. Droplets of water clung to his broad chest and sculpted abs. His silver chest hair glistened, and his short silver hair was in damp waves, his neatly trimmed beard was also damp and shiny. There were faint notes of lavender and sandalwood from the soap Nicholas used.

Nicholas startled slightly at the sight of Sören. "Oh! Good morning. I didn't realize anyone else was up yet."

Sören's mouth went dry. He tried not to stare, but found his eyes drawn to the trail of salt-and-pepper hair disappearing beneath Nicholas's towel. "Uh, good morning," he managed. "Sorry, I didn't mean to... I'll just..." He gestured vaguely down the hall.

Nicholas gave a small, polite smile. "No need to apologize. The bathroom's all yours."

As Nicholas moved past him in the narrow hallway, Sören caught another whiff of his soap. Their shoulders barely brushed, and Sören felt a jolt of electricity at the brief contact. He mumbled a thanks and hurried into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him.

Leaning against the sink, Sören took a few deep breaths. His heart was racing, and he could feel heat rising to his cheeks. He splashed some cold water on his face, trying to regain his composure.

But as he relieved himself, Sören couldn't shake the image of Nicholas's muscular body, water droplets glistening on his skin. He groaned softly, feeling himself getting hard.

Sören knew he shouldn't be having these thoughts. He loved Anthony. And Nicholas was his former professor who had known him since he was thirteen, although he was thirty-five now and in a different body from when he was Sigrit. But he’d a crush on Nicholas back then, along with Maglor, and wrote stories about them as original characters - even attempting to write steamy scenes - before they finally became an item; it was something he’d bonded with Anthony over during their days at Wemblefrrf, as Anthony fancied them as well. This crush had faded over time, especially with Anthony in the picture. However, seeing Nicholas again brought back those feelings, making it difficult for Sören to ignore his attraction… or that Nicholas still held a special place in his heart.

Fuck. Sören swallowed hard.

Sören closed his eyes, trying to will away his arousal. But the image of Nicholas's toned body, glistening with water droplets, was seared into his mind. His hand moved of its own accord, stroking himself through his pajama pants.

Guilt and desire warred within him as he slipped his hand beneath the waistband. He shouldn't be doing this. He loved Anthony. But the memory of Nicholas's sculpted abs, the trail of silver hair leading down...

Sören bit his lip to stifle a moan as he began to stroke himself in earnest. His imagination ran wild, picturing Nicholas pinning him against the wall, those strong hands roaming over his body. In his mind's eye, Nicholas's lips trailed hot kisses down his neck as he thrust into him.

"Nicholas," Sören breathed, barely audible. Then… “Daddy.”

He stroked himself faster. Sören's breath came in short gasps as he worked himself closer to climax. In his mind, Nicholas was taking him hard against the bathroom wall, one hand gripping Sören's hip while the other stroked him in time with his thrusts.

"Please," Sören whimpered softly, lost in the fantasy. "Please, Daddy..."

He was so close now, heat coiling tightly in his belly. Just a few more strokes and he'd -

A knock at the door made Sören freeze, his heart leaping into his throat.

"Sören?" It was Anthony's voice, concerned. "Are you alright in there? You've been gone a while."

Guilt crashed over Sören like a wave of ice water. What was he doing? He loved Anthony. Anthony, who had comforted him after his nightmare just hours ago.

Sören quickly pulled his hand out of his pants, his face burning with shame. "I'm fine," he called out, trying to keep his voice steady. "Just... stomach upset. I'll be out in a minute."

"Okay," Anthony replied. "I'll start some tea for you."

Sören listened to Anthony's footsteps retreating down the hall. He leaned his forehead against the cool tile wall, taking deep breaths to calm himself. What was wrong with him? He loved Anthony. Anthony was everything to him. And yet here he was, fantasizing about Nicholas... their host, his former professor. Guilt churned in his stomach.

He splashed more cold water on his face, willing his arousal away. After a few moments, he felt composed enough to leave the bathroom. He made his way to the kitchen, where Anthony was indeed preparing tea.

"Hey," Anthony said softly.

“Hey.” Sören sat down.

Just then, Shmuel hopped up on the kitchen counter with a “Prrp?” and tugged at the drawstring of Anthony’s pajama pants… which fell right to the floor, pooling around Anthony’s ankles, exposing his bare cock and ass. Sören had a gigglefit, then gave a soft moan of appreciation at his lover’s body, and his balls reminded him he hadn’t come and really needed to.

Anthony smirked, turned around and gave a sassy butt wiggle, and then as he faced Sören again and reached down to pull up his pants, Sören said, “Don’t.”

Anthony stood up, put his hands on his hips, and his smirk became a grin. “You know, I’m making tea.”

“I think I’m in the mood for something else.” Sören bit his lower lip.

Anthony chuckled. His green eyes glinted mischievously as he sauntered over to Sören, his cock swaying with each step. He stopped just in front of Sören, close enough that Sören could feel the heat radiating from his body.

"Something else, hm?" Anthony purred, running a hand through Sören's curls. "And what might that be?"

Sören's breath hitched as he looked up at Anthony, drinking in the sight of his lover's lean, muscular form. His guilt from earlier melted away, replaced by a surge of desire for the man before him.

"You," Sören breathed, reaching out to caress Anthony's hip. "I want you."

Anthony's eyes darkened with lust. He leaned down, capturing Sören's lips in a searing kiss. Sören moaned into his mouth, hands roaming over Anthony's bare skin.

"Right here?" Anthony whispered against Sören's lips. "What if Nicholas or Maglor walk in?"

A thrill of excitement shot through Sören at the thought. "I don't care," he growled, pulling Anthony closer. "I need you now."

With a low chuckle, Anthony hoisted Sören up onto the kitchen table. Sören wrapped his legs around Anthony's waist, grinding against him. Anthony made quick work of Sören's pajama pants, tossing them aside.

"No underwear?" Anthony raised an eyebrow. "Naughty boy."

Sören grinned. "You love it."

"I do.”

Anthony kissed Sören deeply, his tongue exploring Sören's mouth as his hands roamed over his lover's body. Sören moaned softly, arching into Anthony's touch. He wrapped his legs tighter around Anthony's waist, pulling him closer.

"Please," Sören whispered against Anthony's lips. "I need you inside me."

Anthony groaned low in his throat. "We don't have any lube out here."

Sören's eyes darted to the bottle of olive oil on the counter. "We can improvise."

With a wicked grin, Anthony reached for the oil. He poured some into his palm, then slicked himself up. Sören shivered in anticipation as Anthony's oiled fingers probed at his entrance, working him open.

"Ready?" Anthony asked, positioning himself.

Sören nodded eagerly. "Yes.”

Anthony pushed inside slowly, both of them gasping at the sensation. Sören gripped the edge of the table, his head falling back as Anthony filled him completely.

"Fuck," Sören breathed. "You feel so good."

Anthony began to move, setting a steady rhythm. His hands gripped Sören's hips, pulling him closer with each thrust. Sören wrapped his legs tighter around Anthony's waist, urging him deeper.

The kitchen table creaked beneath them as Anthony picked up the pace. Sören bit his lip to stifle his moans, all too aware that their hosts could walk in at any moment. The thrill of potentially being caught only heightened his arousal.

"G-d, Sören," Anthony groaned. "You're so fucking hot."

Sören reached between them to stroke himself in time with Anthony's thrusts. He was already close, the combination of Anthony's cock hitting his prostate and the illicit thrill of fucking in their hosts' kitchen pushing him rapidly toward the edge.

"Harder," Sören gasped. "Please, Anthony..."

Anthony obliged, gripping Sören's hips tighter as he pounded into him. The table rocked beneath them, dishes rattling dangerously. Sören didn't care - all he could focus on was the exquisite sensation of Anthony filling him over and over.

"I'm close," Sören panted. "So close..."

One of Anthony's hands found Sören's cock, stroking him in time with his thrusts. "Come for me," Anthony growled. "Let me feel you lose control. Come all over me..."

Those words pushed Sören over the edge. His back arched as pleasure exploded through him, his cock pulsing between their bodies. Anthony thrust deep, groaning as Sören clenched around him.

"Fuck, Sören," Anthony gasped, his hips stuttering as he found his own release.

Sören sat up, head spinning, and they clung to each other, panting, as the aftershocks rolled through them. Sören peppered Anthony's face with soft kisses, feeling utterly sated and content.

A meow from the doorway made them both freeze. Shmuel sat there, tail swishing, giving them an unimpressed look.

Anthony chuckled softly. "I think we've scandalized the cat."

Sören grinned, nuzzling Anthony's neck.

As Sören and Anthony basked in their post-coital glow, the sound of footsteps approaching made them both tense.

"Shit," Anthony whispered, hastily pulling out and reaching for his discarded pajama pants.

Sören scrambled off the table, wincing slightly at the twinge in his backside. He managed to use telekinesis to pull on his own pants just before Nicholas appeared in the doorway.

Nicholas raised an eyebrow at the scene before him - Sören and Anthony disheveled and flushed, the table askew, and a distinct smell of sex in the air. His lips twitched with barely concealed amusement.

"I see you two have made yourselves at home," Nicholas said dryly.

Sören felt his face burning. "We, ah... we were just..."

"Having tea?" Nicholas supplied, his dark eyes twinkling.

“Yes,” Anthony said with a cheeky grin.

Nicholas chuckled, shaking his head. "Well, I hope you worked up an appetite. I was planning to make waffles."

Sören's stomach growled at the mention of food, reminding him that they hadn't actually eaten yet. "Waffles sound amazing," he said, trying to smooth down his unruly curls.

"Indeed," Anthony agreed, discreetly adjusting his pants. "Can we help with anything?"

Nicholas waved them off. "No need. Why don't you two go get cleaned up while I start breakfast? Maglor should be down soon as well."

Grateful for the escape, Sören and Anthony hurried out of the kitchen. As they passed Nicholas, Sören caught another whiff of his lavender-sandalwood soap. He felt a twinge of guilt, remembering his earlier fantasy in the bathroom. But then Anthony's hand found his.

As they headed upstairs, Anthony squeezed Sören's hand and gave him a mischievous grin. "That was close," he whispered.

Sören chuckled softly. "Yeah. Though I think Nicholas knew exactly what we were up to."

"Probably," Anthony agreed. "But he seemed more amused than anything."

They reached their room, closing the door behind them. Sören leaned against it, pulling Anthony close for a tender kiss.

"Thank you," Sören said.

Anthony raised an eyebrow. "For what?"

"For being you. For loving me. For..." Sören trailed off, unsure how to express the tangle of emotions in his chest.

Anthony cupped Sören's face gently. "Hey. You never have to thank me for that. I love you, Sören. Always.”

Sören melted into Anthony's embrace, burying his face in the crook of his neck. The lingering guilt from his earlier fantasy faded as he breathed in Anthony's familiar scent. This was where he belonged.

After a moment, Anthony pulled back with a playful smile. "Come on, let's get cleaned up before Nicholas comes looking for us again."

They shared a quick shower, exchanging soft kisses and tender caresses as they washed away the evidence of their kitchen tryst. By the time they made it back downstairs, freshly dressed and considerably more presentable, the smell of coffee and waffles filled the air.

In the kitchen, Nicholas was at the waffle iron while Maglor set the table. Shmuel, Solly and Snúður congregated with Nicholas and Maglor’s cat Tora at the food and water bowls.

Nicholas looked up as Sören and Anthony entered, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. "Ah, there you are. Just in time - the first batch is almost ready."

Sören felt his cheeks warm slightly, but Anthony just grinned and pulled out a chair for him. As they sat down, Maglor brought over a steaming pot of coffee.

"Sleep well?" Maglor asked, pouring them each a cup.

"Eventually," Anthony said, sharing a private smile with Sören.

Sören took a sip of coffee, savoring the rich flavor. "These waffles smell amazing, Nicholas," he said, eager to change the subject.

"Merci," Nicholas replied, bringing over a plate stacked high with golden waffles. "Help yourselves."

As they dug into breakfast, conversation flowed easily. Maglor inquired about their plans for the day, and Anthony mentioned they hoped to do some more research into who might have framed Sören.

"We've been going over the details again and again," Sören said between bites of waffle. "But we're still missing something crucial."

Nicholas nodded thoughtfully. "Perhaps a fresh perspective would help. After Maglor and I finish teaching today, we could assist you in reviewing the evidence."

"That would be great," Anthony said. "Thank you."

As they continued eating, Sören found his gaze occasionally drawn to Nicholas. The older man moved with an effortless grace as he refilled coffee cups and brought over more waffles. Sören couldn't help but admire the way Nicholas's shirt stretched across his broad shoulders. Guilt pricked at him again, and he quickly looked away, focusing intently on his plate. Anthony's hand found his under the table, giving a reassuring squeeze. Sören glanced up, meeting Anthony's warm green eyes. Anthony smiled softly, and Sören felt some of the tension ease from his shoulders.

"So," Maglor said, drawing Sören's attention. "While Nicholas and I are teaching today, please make yourselves at home. There's a lovely garden out back if you'd like some fresh air, and of course you're welcome to use the library for your research."

"Thank you." Sören nodded gratefully. "The library sounds perfect. We really appreciate your hospitality."

"It's our pleasure," Nicholas said warmly. "We want you to feel safe here while you work on clearing your name."

As they finished breakfast, Sören helped clear the table while Anthony insisted on doing the dishes. Nicholas and Maglor gathered their things to head to Wemblefrrf for the day's classes.

"We should be back around four," Maglor said, shrugging on his coat. "There's plenty of food in the fridge for lunch. And please, make yourselves at home."

Nicholas nodded in agreement. "If you need anything at all, don't hesitate to call." He hesitated a moment, then added, "And perhaps it's best if you stay inside today, apart from visiting the back garden. Just to be safe."

Sören felt a chill at the reminder of Hel’s attack… and Dag’s unpleasant surprise visit, before that. Yesterday had been like several days rolled into one. He nodded solemnly. "We'll be careful."

As Nicholas and Maglor headed out, Sören and Anthony retreated to the library. The room was cozy yet spacious, with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves lining the walls and comfortable leather armchairs scattered about. A large oak desk sat near the window, offering a view of the lush garden outside, a winter wonderland with trees covered in snow and icicles, where magical winter-blooming flowers with the appearance of glass crystal were growing.

Anthony settled into one of the armchairs with his laptop, while Sören perused the bookshelves. He ran his fingers along the spines, marveling at the eclectic collection. Everything from ancient magical texts to modern mystery novels lined the shelves.

"Where should we start?" Sören asked, turning back to Anthony.

Anthony frowned thoughtfully. "Let's go over the timeline again. Maybe we missed something."

For the next few hours, they pored over every detail they had access to about Justin Roberts's night on the 260-foot smokestack in Oslo, left to die before he was rescued, and how just before all of this happened and Sören was framed, they'd been tracking elemental disturbances which had in turn been ramping up as they'd investigated a smuggling ring. They created a timeline on a large sheet of paper, jotting down notes and drawing connections between events.

"Okay, so..." Anthony leaned back and tapped his pen against the paper. "I hate to say it, but it looks like Suspect Number One is Dag."

Sören frowned.

Anthony elaborated. "Not only was it a really big fucking coincidence that he showed up immediately after Hagen terminated us, but... If Justin wasn't just lying to try to get you on the hook, that means someone was using magic to impersonate you. Someone who knew about your history with Justin and knew you well enough to convincingly fake your appearance, your voice, your accent, your speech patterns..."

"Yeah." Sören hated it - he felt a pit of ice in his stomach - but he knew Anthony was right. "If it wasn't just Justin talking shit, and I find it weird that he would single me out after all these years, then... it was definitely someone doing illusion magic, and you're correct that not too many people fit the bill. Like, there could be someone at the IMP who has it in for me, but not everyone would have known about my history with Justin since that report is limited to the top dogs like Hagen."

"Hagen would be suspect number two," Anthony said. "He seemed a little too quick to believe Justin's accusation and let us go - like he was looking for an excuse - and then remember, we were kept out of the loop on the news of magical attacks connected to fascism."

Sören almost wished it was Hagen instead of Dag, even though that also made things more dangerous for them. He started pacing up and down the length of the library, fidgeting. "Something's up with him, and it doesn't smell right, but I don't know if he'd be that stupid. He has to know we'd be suspecting him too, and he has a lot to lose if this is him. Plus, I can't see him making a convincing me." Sören snorted.

"Well, that leads us to the next question." Anthony steepled his hands and leaned back. "Which is why. It seems like this came up to prevent us from continuing to officially work on the elemental disturbances and tracking the smuggling ring, and now... the attacks involving far-right politics, to sow distrust against magic users... or most of us anyway, I'm sure the people doing it want to make it so only they are allowed to practice magic freely. If Hagen's dirty, he would have vested interest in shutting us down before we can pin anything on him. But you have a point that he's not stupid, and this would be a fatal error of stupidity. So while I haven't ruled him out as a suspect..." Anthony folded his hands on his lap and looked down with a deep sigh, shoulders heaving. "Your brother's... associations, and the attack right after we were dismissed... is all too much of a coincidence, which again, leads us to why. If I'm right that he impersonated you and did what he did to Justin, why?"

Sören nodded. He stood in place, folded his arms, and began rocking himself a little. "I mean, we've been estranged, but I didn't think the blood was that bad that he'd try to ruin my life."

"So that begs the question of whether he was sent to do any of this, and by who."

Sören swallowed hard. It was bad enough that he'd been attacked by his own brother, and it was looking more and more likely that Dag had framed him for a crime he hadn't committed. The betrayal was like a knife re-opening old wounds, and it was the last thing Sören wanted to deal with on top of everything else. But somehow, the thought that Dag might have gotten in over his head with his "friends" and been assigned - or even forced - to betray his own kin...

"Fuck." Sören pinched the bridge of his nose, then buried his face in his hands and made a little strangled howl of despair. "Jesus Fucking Christ."

Anthony got up, walked over and gave Sören a fierce, tight hug. "I love you."

Sören leaned on him, trying not to cry. "I love you too."

"Let's go in the garden and get some air, OK?"

Sören nodded and followed him out down the hall a little ways through the sliding glass doors next to the library, that led out to the garden.

Sören and Anthony stepped out into the garden, their breath misting in the cold winter air. The snow-covered ground crunched beneath their feet as they made their way along a winding path. Icicles glittered on tree branches, and the crystal flowers Nicholas had enchanted to bloom in winter sparkled like delicate glass sculptures.

Anthony took Sören's gloved hand in his own as they walked. "It's beautiful out here," he said softly.

Anthony squeezed his hand. "Almost makes you forget all the craziness for a moment, doesn't it?"

Sören nodded, taking in the peaceful winter scene. The crisp air and serene surroundings helped clear his head a little, easing some of the tension that had built up during their investigation.

They came to a small stone bench nestled beneath an evergreen tree. Anthony brushed off the snow and they sat down together, huddling close for warmth.

"How are you holding up?" Anthony asked, concern in his green eyes.

Sören leaned into Anthony, grateful for his warmth and solid presence. "I'm... struggling," he admitted. "It's a lot to process. The idea that Dag might have framed me, might be involved in all this fascist magic bullshit... it hurts. Even though we've been estranged, I never thought he'd betray me like this."

Anthony wrapped an arm around Sören's shoulders, pulling him closer. "I'm so sorry, elskan. I can't imagine how difficult this must be for you."

Sören sighed, his breath forming a small cloud in the cold air. "Part of me still hopes we're wrong, you know? That there's some other explanation. But..." He trailed off, shaking his head.

"But the evidence is pointing pretty strongly in that direction," Anthony finished for him.

"Yeah." Sören closed his eyes, and let out a deep sigh.

Sören and Anthony sat in silence for a few moments, watching their breath mist in the cold air. The peaceful winter garden seemed at odds with the turmoil in Sören's mind.

"You know," Anthony said softly, "whatever happens, whatever we uncover... I'm here for you. We'll get through this together."

Sören turned to look at his partner, feeling a surge of love and gratitude. "I don't know what I'd do without you," he said, voice thick with emotion.

Anthony leaned in and kissed him tenderly. "You'll never have to find out," he husked.

They sat together a while longer, taking comfort in each other's presence and the quiet beauty of the garden. Eventually, the cold began to seep through their clothes, and they decided to head back inside.

As they approached the sliding glass doors, a sudden movement caught Sören's eye. He froze, grabbing Anthony's arm.

"What is it?" Anthony whispered, tensing beside him.

Sören's eyes darted around the garden, searching for the source of the movement. For a moment, all was still. Then he saw it again - a dark shape darting between the trees at the far end of the garden.

"There's someone out there," Sören hissed, his heart racing.

Anthony's grip on Sören's hand tightened. "Let's get inside. Now."

They hurried towards the doors, trying to move quietly despite the crunching snow beneath their feet. Sören fumbled with the handle, his gloved hands shaking slightly.

Just as they slipped inside, a blast of icy wind slammed against the glass, rattling the panes.

"What the hell was that?" Anthony gasped, his face pale.

Sören shook his head, heart pounding. "I don't know, but it wasn't natural. That wind... it felt like magic."

They peered out into the garden, but the dark shape was nowhere to be seen. The trees swayed violently in the unnatural gale, crystal flowers shattering as they were ripped from their stems.

"We need to secure the house," Anthony said urgently. "If someone's out there..."

Sören nodded grimly. "Let's check all the doors and windows. Make sure everything's locked tight."

They moved swiftly through the house, double-checking locks and drawing curtains.

As they finished securing the last window, a loud crash echoed from the front of the house. Sören and Anthony froze, exchanging alarmed glances.

"That sounded like the front door," Anthony whispered.

Sören nodded, his heart racing. They crept towards the entryway, Sören summoning a ball of fire to his palm while Anthony readied a defensive shield spell.

They rounded the corner to find the front door splintered and hanging off its hinges. A gust of frigid wind swept through the opening, carrying swirling snowflakes.

In the doorway stood a tall figure cloaked in shadows. As it stepped into the light, Sören's breath caught in his throat. Half of the intruder's face was hidden behind an ornate silver mask, but Sören would recognize those eyes anywhere.

"Dag," he breathed.

Dag stepped into the house, his piercing eyes fixed on Sören. The air around him seemed to shimmer with cold energy, snowflakes swirling in his wake.

"Hello, little brother," Dag said, his voice low and dangerous. "Did you miss me?"

Sören's fire flared brighter in his palm, casting flickering shadows across the room. "What are you doing here, Dag?" he demanded, trying to keep his voice steady. He couldn’t believe that somehow, Dag had gotten past the iron-clad wards that Maglor and Nicholas had built.

Anthony moved closer to Sören, his shield spell shimmering faintly in the air between them and the intruder. "You're not welcome here," he said firmly.

"Oh, I think you'll find I go where I please these days." Dag took another step forward, ice crackling beneath his feet. "And right now, I'm here for you.”

A chill ran down Sören's spine at Dag's words. He struggled to reconcile the cold, menacing figure before him with the brother he once knew.

"Why?" Sören demanded, his voice cracking slightly. "Why are you doing this? Was it you who framed me?"

Dag's eyes glinted dangerously behind his mask. "Always so clever, little brother. Yes, it was me. Did you enjoy my little performance as you? I must say, it was quite entertaining watching you scramble to clear your name."

Anger flared hot in Sören's chest, momentarily overriding his fear. "You son of a bitch," he snarled. "Do you have any idea what you've done? You've ruined my life, my career-"

"Oh please," Dag interrupted with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Your pitiful career with the International Mage Police was nothing compared to what I've achieved. You've always been so small-minded, Sören. Content to play by their rules, to be their lapdog. I've seen what true power looks like."

Sören's fire flared hotter, reflecting the anger burning inside him. "And what's that? Fascism? Hurting innocent people?"

Dag laughed coldly. "Innocent? There are no innocents in this world, little brother. Only the strong and the weak. And I intend to be on the winning side when the dust settles."

"You're insane," Anthony spat, his shield spell pulsing with energy. "If you think we're going to let you-"

With lightning speed, Dag thrust out his hand. A blast of frigid air slammed into Anthony. Anthony was hurled backwards, slamming into the wall with a sickening thud. He crumpled to the floor, dazed.

"Anthony!" Sören cried out, his heart leaping into his throat. He wanted to run to his partner's side, but he didn't dare take his eyes off Dag.

Dag tsked, shaking his head. "Really, Sören. I expected better from you. Associating with such weakness."

Rage boiled up inside Sören. The fireball in his hand grew larger, hotter. "You bastard," he snarled. "If you've hurt him-"

"Oh, he'll live," Dag said dismissively. "For now, anyway. But I didn't come here to deal with your little pet. I'm here for you, brother."

Sören's mind raced, trying to figure out a way to protect Anthony and himself from Dag's attack. He knew he couldn't match his brother's raw power, but maybe he could outsmart him.

"What do you want from me, Dag?" Sören asked, trying to keep his voice steady. He took a small step to the side, angling himself between Dag and Anthony's prone form.

Dag's eyes narrowed. "I want you to join us, little brother. Your power, combined with ours... we could reshape the world."

Sören felt sick at the thought. "Never," he spat. "I'll never join your fascist bullshit."

"Such a disappointment," Dag sighed. "I had hoped you'd see reason. But if you won't join us willingly..." He raised his hand, ice crystals forming at his fingertips.

"Wait!" Sören cried, his mind whirling. "Before you do anything, at least tell me why. Why frame me? Why attack now?"

Dag paused. "Always so curious, little brother. Very well. I suppose you deserve to know before I take you in."

Sören tensed, ready to move at a moment's notice. Behind him, he heard Anthony stirring faintly.

"You see," Dag continued, "your little investigation was getting too close to some very important operations. We couldn't have you stumbling onto our plans before everything was in place. So I took care of two problems at once - discredited you and removed you from the picture."

"The smuggling ring.”

Dag's eyes glinted with cold amusement. "Oh, that was just the tip of the iceberg, little brother. The smuggling ring was a means to an end - funneling resources and artifacts to where they were needed most. But the real goal?" He spread his arms wide, ice crystals swirling around him. "A new world order. One where those with true power rule, as it should be."

Sören felt sick to his stomach. "You're talking about genocide. Oppression. Is that really what you've become, Dag?"

"I've become what I was always meant to be," Dag snarled. "While you wasted your potential playing by their rules, I embraced my true nature. And now, it's time for you to do the same."

Behind Sören, Anthony groaned softly as he started to regain consciousness. Sören could feel a surge of power in Anthony’s direction and knew Anthony was doing regenerative magic on himself, as he’d learned at a graduate yeshiva in Israel - Anthony would also be extremely tired later. Sören stepped closer to Dag, hoping to distract his brother long enough to give Anthony time to get battle-ready.

Sören's mind raced, trying to buy more time. "And what makes you think I'll join you?" he asked, keeping his voice steady despite the fear churning in his gut. "You've betrayed me, framed me, attacked the man I love. Why would I ever side with you?"

Dag's eyes glinted dangerously. "Because, little brother, you don't have a choice. You can join us willingly, or we'll break you and remake you in our image. Either way, your power will serve our cause."

Sören felt a chill run down his spine at the cold certainty in Dag's voice. He knew his brother wasn't bluffing.

"You're insane," Sören spat, his hand clenching into a fist. The fireball in his palm pulsed with his anger. "I'll die before I let you use me.”

Dag's eyes narrowed. "That can be arranged."

With blinding speed, Dag thrust out his hand. A blast of icy wind slammed into Sören, knocking him off his feet. He hit the ground hard, the breath driven from his lungs. The fireball in his hand sputtered and died.

Sören gasped for air, struggling to push himself up. Dag advanced on him, ice crackling beneath his feet with each step.

"I had hoped you'd see reason," Dag said, his voice cold and disappointed. "But I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. You always were stubborn."

Sören managed to get to his knees, his head spinning. He could feel the temperature in the room dropping rapidly as Dag's power surged.

"Last chance, little brother," Dag said, raising his hand. Ice crystals swirled around his fingers, and darkened to black.

Sören's heart pounded as he stared up at his brother, feeling the icy tendrils of Dag's power reaching for him. For a moment, he was frozen with fear and indecision. Then a surge of defiance rose within him, burning away the chill.

"No," Sören growled, his voice growing stronger. "I won't join you. I won't let you use me to hurt innocent people."

Rage flashed in Dag's eyes. "Then you've sealed your fate, little brother."

As Dag raised his hand to strike, Sören felt a familiar warmth blooming in his chest. His inner fire, responding to the threat. He embraced it, letting the heat flow through him.

Just as Dag unleashed a blast of dark ice, Sören thrust out both hands. A wall of flame erupted between them, meeting Dag's attack.

Fire and ice collided in a deafening explosion, sending shockwaves through the room. The force of it knocked Dag back a step, surprise flashing across his face.

Sören struggled to his feet, his hands still wreathed in flames. He could feel his power surging, responding to the imminent threat. The air around him shimmered with heat.

"You're not the only one who's grown stronger, brother," Sören growled.

Dag's eyes narrowed. "Impressive," he admitted. "But not enough."

He thrust out both hands, sending a barrage of ice shards hurtling towards Sören. Sören countered with a wave of fire, melting the projectiles before they could reach him. Steam hissed and billowed between them.

From behind Sören, Anthony's voice rang out. "Sören, duck!"

Sören dropped to the ground without hesitation, trusting Anthony implicitly. A blast of watery energy surged over his head, slamming into Dag with tremendous force. Dag was thrown backwards with a splash.

Anthony stumbled to Sören's side, his face pale but determined. "Are you okay?" he asked, helping Sören to his feet.

Sören nodded, squeezing Anthony's hand gratefully. "Thanks to you."

But their reprieve was short-lived. With a roar of rage, Dag pushed himself off the wall, ice crackling around him. His silver mask had been knocked askew, revealing a face contorted with fury.

"You'll pay for that," he snarled, raising both hands.

The temperature in the room plummeted. Frost spread rapidly across the floor and walls, creeping towards

Sören and Anthony. Sören raised a wall of flame to hold back the advancing ice, but he could feel the chill seeping through. Anthony reinforced the barrier with his own magic, water and fire intertwining in a shimmering shield.

"We can't keep this up forever," Anthony panted, sweat beading on his brow despite the cold.

Sören knew he was right. They were both still drained from their earlier ordeals, and Dag seemed to have an endless well of power to draw from. They needed a plan, and fast.

"Any ideas?" Sören asked, gritting his teeth as he poured more energy into the flame barrier.

Anthony's eyes darted around the room, searching for anything they could use to their advantage. His gaze landed on the shattered remains of the front door.

"The wards," he said urgently. "If we can repair the door, even temporarily, it might reactivate Nicholas and Maglor's protective spells."

Sören nodded, understanding immediately. "Cover me," he said.

Anthony strengthened their flame and water barrier as Sören reached out with his telekinesis. The splintered pieces of the door began to tremble and rise into the air.

Dag's eyes widened as he realized what they were attempting. With a snarl, he redoubled his efforts, sending a blast of dark ice hurtling towards them.

Anthony grunted with the effort of holding back Dag's attack. "Hurry!" he gasped.

Sweat beaded on Sören's brow as he concentrated, willing the broken door to knit itself back together. Splinters and shards flew through the air, fitting back into place like pieces of a puzzle. The door frame groaned as it straightened, the hinges reattaching themselves.

Dag roared in frustration, realizing what was happening. He abandoned his ice attack and lunged forward, trying to stop Sören before he could complete the repair.

"Anthony!" Sören cried out in warning.

Anthony threw himself between Sören and Dag, his hands glowing with blue energy. He met Dag's charge head-on, grappling with the larger man.

"Finish it!" Anthony shouted, straining to hold Dag back.

Sören poured every ounce of concentration into the door, and just before it could repair itself, the door shattered again as Anthony was hurled into Sören, both of them knocked to the floor.

Dag stood over them, and dark energy began to swirl from his hands.

Chapter Text

Just as it looked like they were going to die at Dag’s hands, Anthony felt a familiar presence.

Nicholas and Maglor were there - Anthony had a feeling they sensed the disturbance and came as quickly as they could.

Anthony's heart leapt with relief as he saw Nicholas and Maglor rushing towards them. Maglor's eyes blazed with an otherworldly light, his long hair streaming behind him as he raised his hands. A haunting melody filled the air, and a mighty sparkling wind pushed Dag backwards.

Nicholas, his face set in grim determination, threw out his arms. The ground began to shake, forcing Dag to stumble and fall. Sören rose to his feet and hurled a fireball at his brother.

In the chaos, Maglor moved with elven grace to Anthony's side, shielding him with his body. Anthony inhaled sharply, overwhelmed by Maglor's scent - a heady mixture of pine and petrichor. He felt the warmth of Maglor's back pressed against his chest, the silky strands of dark hair tickling his nose.

Anthony's breath caught as Maglor's body presses against him, a thrill running through him at the elf's closeness. But there was no time to dwell on these sensations. Dag stumbled back from the combined assault, his face contorted with rage.

"You think your little tricks can stop me?" Dag snarled, his voice distorted and inhuman.

Sören stepped forward, his eyes blazing. "No, but this might." He raised his hands, and suddenly the air was filled with crackling energy. Fire arced from his fingertips, striking Dag square in the chest.

Dag hit the ground hard in a billow of smoke. For a moment, all was still. Then Dag's form began to shimmer and fade, like a mirage in the desert.

"This isn't over," his voice echoed.

As Dag's form dissipated, Anthony let out a shaky breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. Maglor turned to face him, grey eyes filled with concern as he cupped Anthony's face in his hands.

"Are you alright?" Maglor asked softly, his melodic voice sending shivers down Anthony's spine.

"I... I think so," Anthony stammered, struggling to form coherent thoughts with Maglor so close. He could feel the heat radiating from the elf's body, smell the intoxicating scent of his skin.

Sören rushed over, pulling both of them into a fierce embrace. "Fuck, that was close," he muttered, his voice muffled against Anthony's shoulder.

Nicholas joined them, his usual stoic demeanor cracking slightly as relief washed over his face. "We need to discuss what just happened.”

As the adrenaline began to fade, Anthony felt his legs go weak. Maglor's arms caught him before he could stumble.

"Easy there," Maglor said, his breath warm against Anthony's ear.

Anthony leaned into Maglor's solid chest, allowing himself a moment of vulnerability. The elf's heartbeat was steady and calming against his cheek.

Sören ran a hand through his disheveled curls. "Shit, I need a drink after that. Or ten."

“Indeed.” Nicholas inhaled sharply and exchanged glances with Maglor. “But first - the wards have been compromised. Maglor and I will quickly reinforce them, but as you know, that… individual -”

“My fucking asshole brother,” Sören spat.

“Yes.” Nicholas pursed his lips, gave a small nod - Anthony could tell Nicholas was holding back the urge to swear, himself - and then Nicholas went on, “He somehow got past our wards, which is… quite concerning. So we will have to put up new ones tomorrow. And hope and pray that we have no other disturbances tonight.”

Maglor let go of Anthony, and walked to his partner’s side. Sören took Anthony’s hand and they watched as Nicholas and Maglor got to work, their movements synchronized as if choreographed. They stood facing each other, eyes locked in silent communication. Nicholas planted his feet firmly on the ground, while Maglor raised his arms, palms upward.

Nicholas closed his eyes, his face a mask of concentration. The air around him seemed to thicken, and Anthony felt a tremor beneath his feet. Slowly, tendrils of earthy energy began to rise from the ground, twisting and curling around Nicholas's legs like vines. The tendrils glowed with a soft, golden light, pulsing in time with Nicholas's steady breathing.

Maglor, meanwhile, began to hum a haunting melody. The sound seemed to come from everywhere at once, filling the air with vibrations that Anthony could feel in his very bones. As the elf's voice rose and fell, swirling eddies of wind began to form around him, carrying with them the scent of rain-washed forests and sun-warmed stone.

The tendrils of earth magic rising from Nicholas began to intertwine with Maglor's wind, creating a shimmering, ever-shifting tapestry of power. Golden light pulsed through the earthen strands, while Maglor's air magic glowed with an ethereal blue-white radiance. Where the two magics met, sparks of emerald and silver danced and swirled.

Anthony watched in awe as the protective weave grew larger and more complex. It spread outward, encompassing the entire property in a shimmering dome of interwoven earth and air magic. The golden threads of Nicholas's earth magic pulsed with the steady rhythm of a heartbeat, while Maglor's silvery air magic danced and swirled like leaves caught in a gentle breeze.

As the dome expanded, Anthony could see intricate patterns forming within it. Delicate spirals of earth magic twisted and curled, forming complex geometric shapes that seemed to shift and change with each passing moment. Maglor's air magic wove through these earthen structures, creating gossamer-thin strands that glowed with an otherworldly light.

Nicholas's brow furrowed in concentration, beads of sweat forming on his forehead. The earth beneath their feet began to tremble slightly, and Anthony could feel the raw power emanating from Nicholas. Maglor's song grew more intense, his voice rising and falling in a language Anthony didn't recognize but felt deep in his soul.

As the dome of magic reached its full size, covering the entire property, there was a sudden flash of blinding light. Anthony instinctively shielded his eyes, feeling Sören's arm wrap protectively around him. When he looked again, the shimmering dome was fading from view, settling into an invisible barrier.

Nicholas and Maglor lowered their arms, both looking drained but satisfied. Nicholas stumbled slightly, and Maglor was instantly at his side, steadying him.

"That should hold for now," Nicholas said, his voice weary. "But we'll need to reinforce it properly tomorrow."

Sören nodded, his arm still around Anthony. "Thank you both. I don't know how Dag got in.”

“Neither do we,” Nicholas said.

“Though I… have some suspicions,” Maglor added, furrowing his brow.

“Come. Let’s go to the library, have a drink, and discuss this… situation,” Nicholas said, gesturing for them to follow.

Over glasses of wine, Sören and Anthony explained what happened just before Nicholas and Maglor came to the rescue. And as they relaxed into the library’s plush armchairs, Anthony couldn't help but steal glances at Maglor. The elf's long, dark hair cascaded over his shoulders like a silk waterfall, still slightly tousled from the earlier magical exertion. The warm glow of the fireplace danced across Maglor's beautifully chiseled features, accentuating his high cheekbones and the elegant curve of his jaw.

Anthony's gaze lingered on Maglor's hands as the elf gracefully accepted a glass of wine from Nicholas. Those same hands that had wielded such powerful magic moments ago now cradled the delicate crystal with effortless poise. Anthony found himself mesmerized by Maglor's long, elegant fingers, imagining how they might feel caressing his skin...

He quickly shook off the thought, a pang of guilt twisting in his stomach. Sören's voice faded into background noise as Anthony's eyes traced the line of Maglor’s throat, watching the subtle movement as the elf took a sip of wine. A drop of crimson liquid clung to Maglor's lower lip, and Anthony's breath caught as Maglor's pink tongue darted out to catch it. His mind’s eye conjured the mental image of Maglor’s tongue licking Nicholas’s bare skin… then his own, and Sören’s.

Anthony shifted uncomfortably in his seat, trying to banish the inappropriate thoughts from his mind. But his eyes kept drifting back to Maglor, drawn like a moth to flame. The firelight cast a warm glow on Maglor's alabaster skin, making it look smooth as polished marble. Anthony imagined running his fingers along the elegant curve of Maglor's neck, feeling the steady pulse beneath his touch.

As Maglor leaned forward to refill his wine glass, a lock of raven-black hair fell across his face. Anthony's fingers itched with the desire to reach out and tuck it behind Maglor's delicately pointed ear. He pictured trailing his fingertips along the shell of that ear, eliciting a shiver from the elf.

Maglor's voice, melodic and rich as honey, washed over Anthony as he spoke. Anthony tried to focus on the conversation, but found himself lost in the musical cadence of Maglor's voice. The elf's words seemed to weave a spell around him, making his skin tingle with awareness.

"The breach in our defenses is deeply troubling," Maglor was saying, his brow furrowed in concern. "Dag should not have been able to penetrate wards of that strength."

Nicholas nodded gravely. "Indeed. It suggests he's grown far more powerful than we anticipated."

"Or he's found some way to circumvent them entirely," Sören added, his voice tight with worry.

Anthony forced himself to contribute to the discussion, pushing aside his distracting thoughts about Maglor. "Could he have found some kind of... magical loophole? A weakness in the wards' structure?"

Maglor's piercing grey eyes met Anthony’s. “I doubt it. Yes, we will need to strengthen the wards even more, tomorrow. And we will need your help to do so. But I think the more likely scenario is he really is more powerful and more dangerous now… and someone gave him that power, or helped him attain it.”

Anthony leaned back, taking in Maglor’s words - through the haze of lust, logic came back to him. “You think he’s working for someone.”

“I mean, we know he’s working with fucking Nazis,” Sören said.

“But these are not just run-of-the-mill, garden-variety dark mages.” Maglor shook his head. “There is something - someone - deeper here. I can sense it. The question is not if, it’s who.”

“Indeed. There is an ancient power,” Nicholas said, “and I don’t think Hel is the beginning and end of it. There is someone far worse.”

Anthony and Sören looked at each other, and Anthony swallowed hard.

“But one thing at a time,” Maglor said. “The first, and most important thing, is we must secure our own safety before we investigate further. Especially because whoever Dag is working for will likely know we’ve figured out he’s someone’s errand boy. That means we need to get some rest, because tomorrow’s wards will be quite a big task.”

“I will make supper,” Nicholas said, rising from his seat, “and call you when it’s ready.”

Anthony felt a wave of exhaustion wash over him. The adrenaline crash left him feeling drained and shaky. Sören squeezed his hand, offering silent support.

"Come on, elskan," Sören murmured. "Let's get you back to our room and we can cuddle for awhile.”

Anthony nodded, allowing Sören to guide him to the guest room where they were staying - which already, strangely enough, felt like home. The cats helped ground him, purring as they were spoiled with pettings.

"I feel disgusting," Anthony muttered, looking down at his clothes, which weren’t quite dirty, but there was the lingering presence of Dag’s dark energy. “I should burn these fucking clothes. Or you can, being the fire mage.”

“No no, you can enchant the water if we wash them and it should be fine, all of that… nasty shit… should come out.”

Anthony knew his partner was right, and nodded. “Laundry room, then?”

They made their way downstairs, stripping off their dark-magic-soiled garments and tossing them into the washing machine. Anthony shivered as he stood naked in the laundry room, goosebumps rising on his skin. Sören's eyes raked over his body appreciatively.

"Cold?" Sören asked with a mischievous grin.

"A bit," Anthony admitted, wrapping his arms around himself.

Sören stepped closer, his own nude form radiating heat. "I can think of a way to warm you up," he purred, pulling Anthony into his arms.

Their lips met in a hungry kiss, hands roaming over bare skin. Anthony moaned as Sören pushed him against the washing machine, the cool metal a stark contrast to Sören's feverish touch.

"Need you," Sören growled, nipping at Anthony's neck. "Need to feel you're safe, alive."

Anthony nodded frantically, already hard and aching. "Yes, please.”

Sören hoisted Anthony onto the washing machine, spreading his legs. He captured Anthony's mouth in another searing kiss as his fingers teased lower, circling Anthony's entrance. Anthony gasped and bucked his hips, silently begging for more.

"Lube?" Sören asked between heated kisses.

Anthony gestured vaguely toward a nearby shelf. "Should be some in that drawer." He'd discovered some accidentally the last time he did laundry, which made him wonder what Maglor and Nicholas got up to in here.

Sören rummaged in the drawer, triumphantly producing a small bottle. He slicked his fingers generously before pressing one inside Anthony, who threw his head back with a moan.

"Fuck, you're so tight," Sören groaned, working a second finger in alongside the first. "Can't wait to be inside you."

Anthony rocked against Sören's hand, desperate for more friction. "Then don't wait," he panted. "I'm ready, I need you now."

Sören growled low in his throat, withdrawing his fingers and lining himself up. He pushed in slowly, both men groaning at the exquisite sensation. Anthony wrapped his legs around Sören's waist, pulling him closer.

"Yes," Anthony hissed, digging his nails into Sören's back. "Fuck me, please."

Sören began to move, setting a punishing pace. The washing machine rocked beneath them, the metal creaking in protest. Anthony clung to Sören, overwhelmed by the pleasure coursing through him.

"You're mine," Sören growled, nipping at Anthony's throat.

"Yours," Anthony agreed breathlessly.

Lost in their passion, neither man noticed the laundry room door opening. Maglor stood frozen in the doorway, his grey eyes wide with surprise and something darker, more primal.

Anthony caught sight of Maglor over Sören's shoulder. Their eyes locked, and a jolt of electricity shot through Anthony's body. He should have felt embarrassed, should have wanted to stop. Instead, Maglor's intense gaze only fueled his arousal.

Sören, oblivious to their audience, continued his relentless pace. "So good," he panted against Anthony's neck. "Love you so much."

Anthony couldn't tear his eyes away from Maglor. The elf's chest rose and fell rapidly, a faint flush coloring his pale cheeks. Anthony watched, transfixed, as Maglor's tongue darted out to wet his lips. Anthony's breath caught in his throat as he watched Maglor's reaction. The elf's eyes were dark with desire, his lips slightly parted as he took in the passionate scene before him. For a moment, Anthony wondered if he was imagining things - surely Maglor couldn't be affected by this display?

But then Maglor's hand drifted lower, pressing against the front of his trousers. Anthony's eyes widened as he realized Maglor was palming himself through the fabric, his breath coming faster as he watched Anthony and Sören's frenzied coupling.

The knowledge that Maglor was aroused by watching them sent a fresh wave of heat coursing through Anthony's body. He tightened his legs around Sören's waist, pulling him impossibly closer.

"Harder," Anthony gasped, his eyes still locked with Maglor's.

Sören obliged, gripping Anthony's hips and pounding into him with renewed vigor. The washing machine creaked and shuddered beneath them, but Anthony barely noticed. His entire world had narrowed to the exquisite sensations of Sören inside him and Maglor's burning gaze upon them.

Anthony's breath came in ragged gasps as pleasure built within him. He arched his back, exposing the column of his throat. Maglor's eyes followed the movement hungrily, his hand working more urgently against his clothed erection.

"Close," Anthony panted, torn between closing his eyes in ecstasy and keeping them fixed on Maglor's face. "So close..."

Sören growled, snapping his hips faster. "Come for me, elskan," he commanded, reaching between them to stroke Anthony's cock.

The dual stimulation was too much. Anthony cried out, his body tensing as waves of pleasure crashed over him. His release spilled hot between their bodies, painting their stomachs with pearly streaks. Through half-lidded eyes, he saw Maglor's mouth fall open in a silent gasp, the elf's hand stilling against his trousers.

Sören followed moments later, burying himself deep as he climaxed with a guttural moan. He collapsed against Anthony's chest, both of them breathing heavily.

In the aftermath of their passion, Anthony's gaze drifted back to the doorway. But Maglor was gone, leaving Anthony to wonder if he'd imagined the whole thing.

Sören lifted his head, pressing a tender kiss to Anthony's lips. "You okay, elskan?"

Anthony nodded, unable to find his voice just yet. His mind raced, torn between the lingering afterglow of pleasure and the memory of Maglor's burning gaze. He swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry.

"Yeah," he managed to croak out. "I'm good. Really good."

Sören grinned, kissing Anthony before carefully withdrawing. Anthony winced slightly at the loss, already missing their intimate connection.

Anthony kissed him back, and a few passionate kisses later, they were both hard again. “Your turn,” Anthony said, reaching around to smack Sören’s ass. Sören grinned, turned around, and gave Anthony a sassy butt wiggle.

“How do you want it?” Sören asked.

Anthony bit his lower lip and considered all the delicious possibilities… but after their brush with death, he needed to feel alive again, needed something primal, animalistic. “I want to fuck you doggy style.”

Sören gave a little wolf howl, which made Anthony laugh, then growl in response. Anthony’s cock throbbed as he watched Sören get on all fours right there on the laundry floor.

Anthony's heart raced as he took in the sight of Sören on his hands and knees, presenting himself so wantonly. He ran his hands reverently over Sören's muscular back, tracing the intricate phoenix tattoos that adorned his skin. Sören shivered under his touch, arching into Anthony's caress.

"Please," Sören whimpered, wiggling his hips enticingly. "Need you inside me."

Anthony growled low in his throat, positioning himself behind Sören. He teased Sören's entrance with the tip of his cock, relishing the way Sören pushed back against him impatiently.

"Fuck, Anthony," Sören groaned. "Don't tease."

With a breathless chuckle, Anthony slowly pushed inside, both men moaning at the exquisite sensation. Anthony paused for a moment, savoring the tight heat engulfing him. He ran his hands along Sören's sides, feeling the way his partner's muscles trembled with need. Slowly, he began to move, setting a steady rhythm that had Sören gasping and pushing back against him.

"Yes," Sören moaned, his fingers curling against the cool tile floor. "Harder, elskan."

Anthony obliged, snapping his hips with more force. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the laundry room, punctuated by their shared moans and gasps. Anthony's gaze drifted to the doorway, half-expecting it to be empty. But there stood Maglor once again, his grey eyes dark with barely contained lust.

Anthony felt a surge of arousal at the sight of Maglor watching them once again. The elf's eyes glittered, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he took in the passionate scene before him. Anthony's hips stuttered briefly before he redoubled his efforts, pounding into Sören with renewed vigor.

Sören moaned loudly, oblivious to their audience. "Oh fuck, yes! Just like that!"

Anthony couldn't tear his gaze away from Maglor. The elf's hand had returned to the front of his trousers, palming his obvious erection through the fabric. Anthony watched, transfixed, as Maglor's long fingers traced the outline of his cock, teasing himself as he observed their frenzied coupling.

The knowledge that Maglor was so affected by watching them sent a fresh wave of heat through Anthony's body. He wondered what it would be like to fuck Maglor just like he was fucking Sören now, grabbing Maglor by the hair. He reached out to pull Sören’s curls, and Sören whimpered in response, rocking his hips back to desperately fuck himself on Anthony’s cock. Anthony slammed into him, growling. His fantasy continued to play of fucking Maglor like this… with Sören standing on the other end, his cock in Maglor’s mouth. Nicholas behind Sören, fucking him. Then Anthony conquering Nicholas, too, as Sören and Maglor fucked.

Anthony couldn’t believe he was having such depraved thoughts, but it fueled his lust even hotter, pounding into Sören. Maglor had his cock out of his trousers now, stroking it. Anthony's eyes widened as he watched Maglor stroke himself, the elf's pale hand moving in a steady rhythm along his impressive length. The sight was intoxicating, and Anthony found himself matching his thrusts into Sören to the pace of Maglor's strokes.

Sören was lost in pleasure beneath him, moaning and pushing back against Anthony's thrusts. "Fuck, Anthony, I'm close," he gasped.

Anthony tightened his grip on Sören's hips, driving into him with renewed vigor. His eyes never left Maglor's face, drinking in the elf's expression of barely contained lust. Maglor's lips were parted, his breathing ragged as he worked his cock faster.

The tension built rapidly, coiling tight in Anthony's core. He could feel Sören trembling beneath him, teetering on the edge. Sören cried out, his body tensing as his orgasm crashed over him. The rhythmic clenching around Anthony's length was too much to bear.

With a guttural moan, Anthony came hard, burying himself deep inside Sören as waves of pleasure washed over him. Through half-lidded eyes, he saw Maglor's face contort in ecstasy, the elf's hand moving frantically as he found his own release.

For a moment, the only sound in the laundry room was their shared heavy breathing. Anthony slowly pulled out of Sören, wincing slightly at the loss of contact. When Anthony looked back to the doorway, Maglor was gone once again, leaving him to wonder if he'd imagined the whole thing.

Sören collapsed onto the floor. “Fuckkkk.”

Anthony sank down beside Sören, his legs trembling from exertion. He pulled Sören close, pressing a tender kiss to his sweaty forehead.

"That was..." Anthony trailed off, struggling to find the right words.

"Intense," Sören finished for him, a lazy grin spreading across his face. "Fuck, I needed that."

Anthony nodded, his mind still reeling from the passionate encounter - and from Maglor's unexpected presence. He debated whether to tell Sören about their audience, but decided against it. He wasn't entirely sure it hadn't been a product of his overstimulated imagination.

"We should probably clean up," Anthony said reluctantly, not wanting to leave the comfort of Sören's embrace.

Sören groaned. "Five more minutes. I don't think I can move yet."

Anthony chuckled.

The minutes wore on and Anthony let himself just be, resting in his beloved’s arms, and giving his beloved rest. Then at last Sören said, “OK, we can clean up now.” He glanced around the laundry room. “And maybe wipe down this washing machine.”

Anthony chuckled weakly, getting up with shaky legs and noticing the cum all over it - both his and Sören’s. "Probably a good idea. Wouldn't want to scandalize Nicholas and Maglor."

At the mention of Maglor's name, Anthony felt a flush creep up his neck. Anthony quickly turned away, busying himself with gathering cleaning supplies to hide his reaction. His mind raced, replaying the image of Maglor watching them, stroking himself. He shook his head, trying to banish the thought.

"You okay, elskan?" Sören asked, his voice laced with concern.

"Yeah, just... still a bit shaky from everything," Anthony replied, hoping Sören wouldn't notice his flustered state.

They cleaned up in companionable silence, wiping down the washing machine and floor. As they finished, Sören pulled Anthony into a tender embrace.

"Thank you," Sören murmured against Anthony's neck. "For being here, for loving me. For making me feel alive after..."

Anthony tightened his arms around Sören, understanding the unspoken words. "Always," he promised softly.

They shared a gentle kiss.

They found clean towels and put them around their waists for modesty’s sake - though Maglor had seen it all - as they made their way back to their room to get changed into fresh clothes. Not long after they were changed, Nicholas called up the stairs, “Dinner is served.”

At the dinner table, Anthony found himself acutely aware of Maglor's presence. The elf sat across from him, his posture relaxed yet regal. Anthony's eyes kept darting to Maglor's long, elegant fingers as they gracefully handled his utensils. He remembered those same fingers wrapped around Maglor's cock, stroking in time with Anthony's thrusts into Sören.

The memory sent a jolt of heat through Anthony's body, and he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He took a sip of water, hoping to cool the flush he felt creeping up his neck. When he looked up, he caught Maglor's eye. The elf's expression was neutral, but there was a glimmer of something in his grey eyes that made Anthony's breath catch.

Maglor was of course, saying nothing about what he witnessed in the laundry room, but he gave Anthony a small, smug little smile that said I know.

Anthony quickly looked away, his heart racing. He focused intently on his plate, pushing the food around with his fork. The conversation flowed around him, but he found it hard to concentrate on the words. His mind kept drifting back to the laundry room, to Maglor's burning gaze and nimble fingers.

"Anthony? Are you all right?" Nicholas's voice cut through his thoughts.

Anthony's head snapped up, realizing everyone at the table was looking at him with concern. He forced a smile, hoping it looked convincing.

"Yes, sorry. Just a bit tired after... everything," he said, gesturing vaguely.

Sören reached over and squeezed his hand. "Maybe we should turn in early tonight."

Anthony nodded gratefully, relieved at the prospect of escaping the tension he felt crackling between himself and Maglor.

"Of course,” Nicholas said. “That is a good idea. We have a busy day ahead of us tomorrow.”

As they finished dinner, Anthony couldn't help stealing glances at Maglor. The elf moved with fluid grace as he helped Nicholas clear the table, his long hair swaying hypnotically. Anthony's eyes traced the elegant line of Maglor's neck, remembering how it had looked flushed with arousal in the laundry room doorway.

"Ready for bed, elskan?" Sören's voice startled Anthony from his reverie.

"Oh, yes," Anthony replied, tearing his gaze away from Maglor. "I'm exhausted."

They said their goodnights and headed upstairs. As Anthony changed into his pajamas, he couldn't shake the memory of Maglor's intense stare. He climbed into bed beside Sören, trying to focus on the comforting warmth of his partner's body.

"You sure you're okay?" Sören asked.

“I’m sure.” Anthony gave him a squeeze.

As Anthony lay in bed beside Sören, his mind continued to race. The events of the day played on repeat in his head - the terrifying encounter with Dag, the passionate lovemaking with Sören, and Maglor's unexpected presence during their intimate moment. He shifted restlessly, unable to quiet his thoughts.

Sören stirred beside him, his arm tightening around Anthony's waist. "Can't sleep?" he murmured, voice thick with drowsiness.

Anthony sighed, turning to face his partner. "Just... processing everything, I suppose."

Sören's eyes opened, concern evident even in the dim light. He reached out, gently stroking Anthony's cheek. "Want to talk about it?"

For a moment, Anthony considered telling Sören about Maglor watching them in the laundry room. The secret felt heavy on his chest, a mixture of guilt and excitement that he wasn't sure how to process. But he hesitated, worried about how Sören might react.

"I'm just... shaken up from the attack," Anthony said finally. It wasn't a lie, not really. "And overwhelmed by everything that's happened since we got here."

Sören nodded, pulling Anthony closer. "I know, elskan. It's a lot to take in." He pressed a soft kiss to Anthony's forehead. "But we're safe now. Nicholas and Maglor are here to help us."

At the mention of Maglor's name, Anthony felt a flutter in his stomach. He pushed the feeling aside, focusing instead on the comfort of Sören's embrace.

"You're here too,” Anthony said, stroking Sören’s cheek. “You keep me safe. And I keep you safe.” He booped Sören’s nose.

Sören smiled and kissed the tip of Anthony’s nose. “Always.”

Anthony snuggled into Sören’s shoulder, closed his eyes, and began to count backwards, breathing deeply. Eventually sleep washed over him like a great dark tide.

Chapter Text

Sören woke with a start, his heart hammering against his ribs. For a moment, disorientation clouded his mind until he felt Anthony's warm weight beside him, heard the soft rhythm of his breathing. The events of yesterday crashed back into his consciousness—Dag's attack, the desperate sex in the laundry room, the quiet dinner afterward. He ran a hand through his tangled curls and took a steadying breath. They were safe. For now.

Anthony stirred beside him, green eyes blinking open. "Morning," he mumbled, voice thick with sleep.

Sören leaned down to kiss his forehead. "Morning, elskan."

They dressed in comfortable silence, the routine bringing a small sense of normality to their extraordinary circumstances. Downstairs, Nicholas was already in the kitchen, preparing breakfast. The scent of coffee and warm bread filled the air.

"Good morning," Nicholas greeted them, his usual formality softened by the domestic scene. "I trust you slept well, all things considered."

"Well enough," Sören replied, accepting a steaming mug of coffee.

Maglor entered the kitchen, his long hair flowing neatly with some tied into a low braid down his back. "We have much to do today," he announced without preamble. "The wards we cast last night were temporary. For a more permanent solution, we need to cleanse this space entirely of Dag's residual energy."

Sören's stomach clenched at the mention of his brother. "How do we do that?"

"We must visit the Forest of Eternal Summer," Maglor said, his melodic voice grave. "There dwells a friend whose energy can neutralize the darkness Dag left behind."

Anthony raised an eyebrow. "A friend?"

"You'll see," Nicholas said, exchanging a small smile with Maglor.

After breakfast, they gathered in the garden behind the cottage. Maglor stood at its center, his eyes closed in concentration. He began to hum softly, the sound vibrating in the air around them. Sören felt goosebumps rise on his arms as the melody took shape, ancient and powerful.

Maglor raised his hands, and the air before him rippled like heat rising from pavement. The ripples intensified, colors swirling together until a shimmering portal stood before them, edges pulsing with golden light.

"Impressive," Anthony whispered beside Sören.

"Fucking hell," Sören agreed, awed despite himself.

"Stay close," Maglor instructed, taking Nicholas's hand. "The paths between realms can be disorienting for those unaccustomed to travel."

Sören grabbed Anthony's hand, squeezing tightly as they followed the others through the portal. The sensation was strange—like stepping through a curtain of warm water without getting wet. Colors blurred around them, and Sören felt a moment of weightlessness before his feet touched solid ground again.

He blinked, momentarily dazzled by their surroundings. They stood in a forest unlike any Sören had ever seen or painted. The trees towered impossibly high, their trunks wider than cars, bark shimmering with an inner light that seemed to pulse in time with the forest's breathing. Sunlight filtered through a canopy of leaves in shades of gold, amber, and crimson, casting dappled patterns on a carpet of moss so vividly green it almost hurt to look at. The air itself tasted sweet, like honey and cinnamon, and seemed to shimmer with tiny motes of light.

"Welcome to the Forest of Eternal Summer," Maglor said, his voice blending perfectly with their surroundings.

"It's beautiful," Sören breathed, his artist's eye trying to catalog every detail, already imagining how he might capture this otherworldly place on canvas.

Anthony stood beside him, equally transfixed. "It feels... alive."

"It is," Nicholas said simply. "More alive than most places."

Maglor led them through the forest to a small clearing where a stream of crystalline water wound its way over smooth stones. He knelt beside a hollowed tree stump and reached inside, producing a harp that gleamed silver in the filtered light.

"Is that the same harp from...?" Anthony began.

"From our music classes?" Maglor smiled faintly. "No. That was merely a teaching instrument. This is Valinórëon, made for me by my father long ago."

The harp looked ancient and impossibly beautiful, its frame carved with intricate patterns that seemed to shift when Sören wasn't looking directly at them. Silver strings glinted like moonlight on water.

Maglor settled himself on a boulder beside the stream, the harp positioned gracefully in his arms. "Stand back a bit," he advised. "And prepare yourselves. The Forest's inhabitants are shy, but curious."

Sören and Anthony moved back as instructed, standing beside Nicholas who watched Maglor with quiet anticipation. When Maglor's fingers touched the strings, Sören forgot to breathe.

The first notes hung in the air like crystal, pure and perfect. Then Maglor began to play in earnest, his fingers dancing across the strings with inhuman grace and precision. The melody was unlike anything Sören had ever heard—it spoke of starlight and ancient forests, of joy and longing so deep it ached.

Then Maglor began to sing.

His voice twined with the harp's music, lifting and soaring in a language Sören didn't understand but felt in his bones. The words seemed to shimmer in the air, hanging like mist among the trees. Tears pricked at Sören's eyes, though he couldn't have explained why.

The forest around them responded to the music. Flowers unfurled, trees swayed despite the stillness of the air, and small creatures emerged from hiding to listen, their eyes gleaming with intelligence.

"Holy shit," Sören whispered, unable to help himself.

Anthony squeezed his hand in silent agreement, his eyes wide with wonder.

As the song reached its crescendo, the undergrowth at the edge of the clearing parted. A creature stepped into the sunlight, and Sören's breath caught in his throat.

It was a unicorn, but not the childish, cartoonish version from fairy tales. This beast stood taller than a draft horse, muscular and proud. Its coat gleamed pearly white, but shifted with iridescent colors when it moved, like oil on water. The spiral horn jutting from its forehead was at least three feet long, shimmering with an inner light that pulsed in time with the beast's breathing. Its eyes, intelligent and ancient, were the deep blue of a twilight sky.

Maglor's song gentled as the unicorn approached him, its hooves touching the ground so lightly they barely bent the grass beneath. When the final notes faded, the unicorn bowed its magnificent head to Maglor, who reached up to stroke its muzzle.

"Greetings, old friend," Maglor said softly. "Thank you for coming."

The unicorn snorted softly, tossing its head.

"This," Maglor said, turning to them, "is Hells."

Sören blinked, then a laugh burst from him before he could stop it. "You named your unicorn Hells?"

The unicorn's ears flicked forward, and its gaze fixed on Sören with something that looked suspiciously like amusement.

"She named herself," Maglor corrected. "And she finds your reaction quite entertaining."

"Sorry," Sören said, still fighting a grin. "It's just... a unicorn named Hells. That's fucking brilliant."

"She is many things," Nicholas said, stepping forward to bow to the creature. "Brilliant among them."

Hells approached them, her movements fluid and graceful. She stopped before Sören, studying him with those ancient eyes. Then she lowered her horn until the tip almost touched his chest, directly over his heart.

Warmth spread through Sören, starting at that point and radiating outward. It was like sunlight flowing through his veins, burning away shadows he hadn't even known were there. He gasped, swaying slightly.

"She's cleansing Dag's energy from you," Maglor explained quietly. "His darkness cannot linger where her light touches."

Sören closed his eyes, surrendering to the sensation. For the first time since Dag's attack, he felt clean, as if a layer of invisible grime had been washed away. When he opened his eyes again, Hells had moved to Anthony, performing the same ritual.

The unicorn's magic flowed around them like a visible current, gathering the remnants of Dag's dark energy and dissolving it into nothingness. Sören watched in fascination as tendrils of shadow seemed to lift from his skin, from Anthony's, from the very air around them, before dissipating in Hells' radiance.

"This is just the beginning," Nicholas said, his voice low beside Sören. "Now we can return and place proper wards, without fear of trapping any of Dag's essence within them."

Sören nodded, unable to look away from the magnificent creature before them. "Thank you," he said to Hells, feeling simultaneously foolish and completely sincere.

The unicorn turned those ancient eyes to him once more and inclined her head regally. And Sören could have sworn she winked.

The journey back through the portal felt easier than the first crossing, Sören's body already adapting to the strange sensation of realm-walking. They emerged into Nicholas and Maglor's garden, the cottage looking deceptively ordinary in the late morning sunlight. Yet Sören knew better—had experienced firsthand how the modest exterior concealed spaces that shouldn't logically fit within its walls. Magic, he'd learned, had little respect for the laws of physics.

"I feel... lighter," Anthony said, rolling his shoulders as if testing the sensation.

Sören nodded. "Like washing off mud you didn't know was there." The lingering taint of Dag's presence had been scrubbed away by Hells' magic, leaving him feeling cleaner than he had in days.

"Now we can begin the true work," Nicholas said, his voice taking on the professional tone Sören remembered from their school days. "The warding must be comprehensive, layered, and tied to all four elements to achieve maximum protection."

Maglor led them inside, and Sören took a moment to appreciate anew the cottage's impossible dimensions. From outside, it appeared to be a modest two-story stone building with a thatched roof—charming but unremarkable. Inside, however, corridors stretched farther than they should, rooms expanded beyond their boundaries, and staircases led to floors that couldn't possibly exist. The library alone was larger than the entire cottage should have been, its ceiling soaring two stories high, walls lined with ancient tomes from floor to ceiling.

"I need to paint this place someday," Sören murmured to Anthony as they followed their hosts through the magically expanded space.

Anthony smiled. "I'm not sure conventional perspective would work."

"Who said anything about conventional?" Sören replied with a wink.

They gathered in what Nicholas called the workroom—a circular chamber at the heart of the cottage, its stone floor inlaid with intricate patterns of copper, silver, and gold. Four tall windows faced precisely north, east, south, and west, filling the room with natural light.

"The warding process requires balance," Nicholas explained, gesturing for them to stand in a circle at the room's center. "Each of us represents an element, and together we create a barrier that no single power can penetrate."

"I am air," Maglor said, his voice soft but carrying clearly in the still room. "The breath, the word, the song."

"I am earth," Nicholas continued. "The foundation, the strength, the endurance."

"I am fire," Sören said, feeling a flicker of warmth in his chest as he spoke. "The spark, the light, the passion."

"And I am water," Anthony completed. "The flow, the cleansing, the adaptation."

Nicholas nodded approvingly. "The four elements, balanced and unified, create a protection greater than the sum of their parts. Dag may have breached our previous wards because they lacked this balance."

"What do we need to do?" Anthony asked, his expression serious and focused.

"We will form a circle," Maglor explained, "and channel our energies outward, layer by layer, from this central point to the boundaries of the property. The process is intuitive—follow my lead, and your magic will respond naturally."

They positioned themselves at the four cardinal points of the room—Maglor at the east window, Nicholas at the north, Sören at the south, and Anthony at the west. Maglor instructed them to remove their shoes, allowing direct contact with the metal-inlaid floor.

"The patterns beneath your feet will help channel and direct your energy," Nicholas explained. "Feel them through your skin."

Sören wiggled his toes against the cool stone, feeling a subtle vibration emanating from the gold tracery beneath his feet. It was almost like standing on a living thing, something that hummed with potential.

"Close your eyes," Maglor instructed. "Breathe deeply. Feel your element rising within you."

Sören did as instructed, focusing on his breath. In and out. In and out. With each inhalation, he imagined drawing in heat, energy, the essence of fire. It pooled in his center, warming him from the inside out, flowing through his veins like liquid flame.

"Now reach out with your senses," Maglor's voice guided them. "Feel the others, their elements. We are separate but connected, like the fingers of a hand."

Sören extended his awareness outward. He could feel Anthony to his left—cool, fluid energy that ebbed and flowed like tides. Beyond him was Nicholas—solid, immovable, the bedrock upon which everything else stood. And completing the circle was Maglor—ephemeral yet essential, the breath that fanned Sören's flames, the wind that carried Anthony's waters, the force that weathered Nicholas's mountains.

"Now," Maglor commanded, his voice taking on a resonant quality that filled the room, "release your element. Let it flow outward, following the channels beneath your feet."

Sören felt the fire within him surge upward, eager for release. He opened himself to it, allowing the energy to pour through him and into the floor. The gold inlay beneath his feet glowed red-hot, but without burning him. Heat radiated from his body in waves, and when he opened his eyes, he saw flames dancing over his skin without consuming him.

Across from him, Anthony stood with arms outstretched, water spiraling around him like liquid glass, the silver inlay beneath him gleaming with cool blue light. Nicholas was haloed in golden-green energy, the copper at his feet pulsing with earthy power. And Maglor—Maglor was almost transparent, his form blurring at the edges as air currents swirled around him, carrying whispers of song.

The four elements met at the center of the room, twisting together into a column of pure energy that shot upward through the ceiling. Sören felt the connection between them strengthen, their powers amplifying each other rather than competing. Fire heated air, making it rise. Air supported water, carrying it upward. Water nourished earth, giving it life. Earth contained fire, giving it form.

The energy column expanded outward, following the intricate network of metallic channels that, Sören now realized, extended throughout the entire cottage. He could feel the power flowing through walls, under floors, along ceilings, out into the garden, and to the very boundaries of the property.

Where the energy reached those boundaries, it formed a dome of shimmering power—earth below, water around, air above, and fire within, each element reinforcing the others. The dome pulsed once, twice, then settled into a steady, barely visible shimmer before fading from sight entirely, though Sören could still feel its presence.

"It is done," Nicholas said, his voice slightly hoarse with exertion. "The wards are set."

Sören stumbled slightly as the connection broke, the fire retreating back into his core. Anthony reached out to steady him, his touch cool against Sören's overheated skin.

"That was... intense," Sören said, blinking as the room gradually returned to normal around them.

"You did well," Maglor said, moving to the center of the room. "Both of you. The wards are stronger than any we've created before."

"Will they keep Dag out?" Anthony asked, the practical question cutting to the heart of the matter.

Nicholas nodded. "These wards are tied to us—to our very essences. No one can enter without all four elements permitting it. Your brother cannot breach them alone, Sören, not without help from someone tied to each element."

"And such an alliance is unlikely," Maglor added. "The powers of darkness rarely cooperate so effectively."

Sören felt a profound sense of relief wash over him. For the first time since Dag's appearance, he felt truly safe. He looked around at the others—Anthony, Nicholas, Maglor—and felt something else too: connection, belonging, purpose. The four of them had created something powerful together, something that transcended their individual abilities.

"So we're safe," he said, not quite a question.

"As safe as magic can make us," Nicholas confirmed, a rare smile softening his severe features.

For now, Sören thought, that would have to be enough.

The energy from the warding ritual still hummed through Sören's veins as they made their way to the kitchen for much-needed refreshments. He watched Anthony carefully, noting the way his partner kept glancing at Maglor with an intensity that suggested more than casual interest. There was something in Anthony's eyes—a question, a challenge—that made Sören's pulse quicken. When Anthony finally spoke, his voice cutting through the comfortable silence, Sören wasn't entirely surprised by the words.

"You were watching us yesterday," Anthony said to Maglor, his tone even but direct. "In the laundry room."

Nicholas froze in the act of pouring water, his eyebrows rising. Maglor, however, showed no sign of embarrassment. His gray eyes met Anthony's steadily.

"Yes," Maglor replied simply. "I was."

Sören's breath caught. The directness of Maglor's admission sent a jolt of heat through his body. He looked between his partner and the ancient elf, suddenly understanding the strange tension he'd felt at dinner the previous night.

"You watched us fuck," Sören said, wanting absolute clarity. His cock twitched at the thought of Maglor's eyes on them, witnessing their most intimate moments.

Maglor's lips curved into a slight smile. "I did more than watch."

Anthony's cheeks flushed, but his gaze remained locked with Maglor's. "I know. I saw you... touching yourself."

Nicholas set down his glass with deliberate care. "Macalaurë," he said, using Maglor's Quenya name. There was no reproach in his voice, only something that sounded like amused resignation.

"I have no regrets," Maglor said, turning to his partner. "And you cannot tell me you haven't thought of it too."

Nicholas sighed, but didn't deny it. Instead, he looked at Sören and Anthony with newfound intensity. "It would be disingenuous to pretend otherwise. We have... discussed the possibility."

"The possibility of what, exactly?" Sören asked, his mouth suddenly dry.

"Of the four of us," Maglor said plainly. "Together."

The kitchen felt several degrees warmer. Sören glanced at Anthony, finding his partner's expression mirroring his own desire. They had fantasized about this—whispered confessions in the dark of harbored crushes during their student days.

"And what about you two?" Nicholas asked, his eyes searching their faces. "What do you want?"

Anthony swallowed visibly. "We've... thought about it as well."

"Fantasized about it, jerked off to the thought of it," Sören added bluntly, earning a surprised laugh from Maglor.

"Still as direct as ever, I see," Nicholas said, his eyes crinkling with amusement.

"Life's too fucking short for beating around the bush," Sören replied. Then, deciding to commit fully, he added, "Especially after yesterday. I don't want to waste any more time pretending I don't want this."

"And what is 'this,' precisely?" Maglor asked, his voice dropping to a seductive purr that made Sören's cock harden further.

Sören met his gaze unflinchingly. "The four of us fucking. Touching. Tasting. Everything."

The kitchen fell silent as the words hung in the air. Then Maglor moved, crossing the space to stand before Sören. He reached out, his elegant fingers tracing the line of Sören's jaw.

"May I?" Maglor asked softly.

Sören nodded, his heart hammering against his ribs. Maglor leaned in, and their lips met in a kiss that started gentle but quickly deepened. Maglor tasted of mint and something ancient and wild, like forest air after a storm. His tongue slid against Sören's, expert and confident.

From the corner of his eye, Sören saw Nicholas approach Anthony, drawing him into a similar embrace. The sight of his partner in Nicholas's arms, their lips moving together hungrily, sent another surge of heat through Sören's body.

When Maglor finally pulled back, his eyes were dark with desire. "Our bedroom is more suitable for what I have in mind," he said, his voice rough with want.

They made their way upstairs, shedding clothes as they went. By the time they reached the master bedroom—a spacious chamber dominated by an enormous four-poster bed—Sören was down to his boxers, his erection straining against the fabric.

Nicholas closed the door behind them, then moved to Maglor's side. With practiced ease, he helped remove the elf's remaining garments. Sören's breath caught at the sight of Maglor's naked body—lean and muscular, with skin like alabaster and a cock that stood proudly erect.

"Fuck," Sören breathed, unable to help himself.

Anthony stepped up behind him, sliding his arms around Sören's waist. "Beautiful, isn't he?" he murmured against Sören's ear, his own hardness pressing against Sören's back.

"You both are," Nicholas said, his eyes dark with appreciation as he removed his own clothing. His body was different from Maglor's—more solidly built, with a dusting of silver hair across his chest that trailed down to his impressive erection.

The last barriers fell away, and they stood naked before each other, eyes roaming hungrily over previously forbidden territory. Then, as if by unspoken agreement, they moved toward the bed.

"I want to taste you," Maglor said to Anthony, pushing him gently onto the mattress. "I've imagined it for too long."

Anthony nodded wordlessly, spreading his legs in invitation. Maglor settled between them, his long hair spilling over Anthony's thighs as he lowered his head. At the first touch of Maglor's tongue against his cock, Anthony gasped, his back arching off the bed.

Sören watched, mesmerized, as Maglor took Anthony into his mouth, those perfect lips stretching around his partner's thickness. The sight was so erotic he nearly missed Nicholas moving behind him until he felt the man's warm breath against his neck.

"And you," Nicholas murmured, his hands sliding around to grasp Sören's cock, "I wish to taste as well."

Sören found himself guided to the bed, positioned so that he and Anthony lay head to foot. Nicholas bent between his legs, and the first touch of that hot, wet mouth around his cock made Sören cry out.

"Fuck, yes," he gasped, hips bucking upward.

Anthony's hand found his, squeezing tightly as they both received pleasure from their former teachers. The room filled with the wet sounds of suction and their moans of pleasure. Sören reached out, finding Anthony's leg, tracing patterns on his thigh as Maglor continued to work his magic.

"I want," Anthony gasped between moans, "I want to feel you inside me, Maglor."

Maglor lifted his head, his lips wet and swollen. "I thought you'd never ask."

Nicholas released Sören's cock with a final, lingering lick. "And you, Sören? What do you desire?"

Sören looked at Nicholas, at the man's silver-streaked hair and the powerful body he had fantasized about for years. "I want to fuck you," he said bluntly. "And I want to watch Maglor fuck Anthony."

Nicholas's eyes darkened with lust. "That can be arranged."

They rearranged themselves on the massive bed. Maglor retrieved lubricant and condoms from a bedside drawer, distributing them with practiced efficiency. Sören watched as Maglor positioned Anthony on hands and knees, those elegant fingers working him open with slicked digits. Anthony's moans of pleasure sent shivers down Sören's spine.

Nicholas knelt before Sören, guiding his hand. "Prepare me," he instructed, his voice husky with desire.

Sören coated his fingers with lube, then reached between Nicholas's legs. He worked one finger inside, then another, feeling the tight heat gripping him. Nicholas pushed back against the intrusion, his breath coming faster.

"Now," Nicholas commanded after several minutes of preparation. "I need you now."

Sören ositioned himself behind Nicholas. Beside them, Maglor was already pushing into Anthony, whose face was twisted in pleasure-pain as he adjusted to the elf's size.

"Fuck, you're big," Anthony gasped, his fingers clawing at the sheets.

"Relax," Maglor soothed, stroking Anthony's back. "Breathe through it."

Sören lined himself up with Nicholas's entrance and pushed forward, groaning as that tight heat enveloped him inch by inch. "Holy fuck," he breathed, his hands gripping Nicholas's hips.

For a moment, they were still, all four adjusting to the intense sensations. Then Maglor began to move, setting a rhythm that Anthony matched with eager thrusts backward. Sören followed their lead, pushing deeper into Nicholas with each thrust.

The room filled with the sounds of their pleasure—skin slapping against skin, moans and gasps, words of encouragement and desire. Sören's world narrowed to the exquisite feeling of Nicholas around his cock, the sight of Maglor fucking Anthony beside them, the shared pleasure connecting all four of them in a web of sensation.

"Yes, there," Anthony cried as Maglor shifted his angle. "Fuck, right there!"

Nicholas pushed back against Sören, taking him deeper. "Harder," he commanded. "Don't hold back."

Sören complied, driving into Nicholas with abandon. Sweat slicked their bodies, the scent of sex heavy in the air. Maglor reached around to stroke Anthony's cock in time with his thrusts, drawing a keening cry from Sören's partner.

"I'm close," Anthony warned, his voice tight with impending release.

"Then come for me," Maglor urged, his pace increasing. "Let me feel you."

Anthony's cry of completion echoed through the room as he spilled over Maglor's hand and onto the sheets below. His body clenched around Maglor, triggering the elf's own release with a melodic groan that seemed to vibrate through the air.

The sight and sound pushed Sören closer to the edge. He reached around, finding Nicholas's neglected cock and stroking it firmly. Nicholas thrust into his grip, his body tightening around Sören's length.

"Fuck, I'm coming," Sören gasped, his rhythm faltering as pleasure overwhelmed him. He drove deep one final time, emptying himself with a hoarse shout.

Nicholas followed moments later, his release coating Sören's hand and his body clenching rhythmically around Sören's sensitive cock.

They collapsed in a tangle of limbs, breathing heavily, skin flushed and damp with exertion. Sören found himself pressed between Anthony and Nicholas, Maglor's long arm stretched across all three of them.

"Well," Nicholas said after a moment, his voice rough but satisfied. "That was rather overdue, I'd say."

Sören laughed, the sound bubbling up from deep in his chest. "Fucking understatement of the century."

In the languid aftermath, Sören found himself sandwiched between Anthony and Nicholas, with Maglor's long arm stretched across them all. Their breathing gradually slowed, heartbeats settling into a shared rhythm. Sweat cooled on their skin, raising goosebumps that were quickly soothed by the warmth of shared body heat. Sören traced idle patterns on Anthony's chest, watching his partner's face—flushed, relaxed, more peaceful than he'd seen it in days.

"That was..." Anthony began, then trailed off, seemingly unable to find adequate words.

"Fucking amazing," Sören supplied, earning a soft chuckle from Nicholas beside him.

"Indeed," Maglor agreed, his musical voice lazy with satisfaction. "Worth the centuries of waiting."

Sören felt Anthony stiffen slightly at this. "Centuries?" he asked.

Maglor's hand moved to stroke Anthony's arm reassuringly. "I speak metaphorically, of course. Though when one has lived as long as I have, decades can feel like mere moments."

"How long have you... wanted this?" Anthony asked, his voice carefully neutral.

Nicholas cleared his throat. "Not when you were our students, if that's your concern."

"Eru, no," Maglor said, sounding genuinely horrified at the thought. "That would have been unconscionable."

Sören felt a knot of tension he hadn't realized he was carrying dissolve. He'd wondered about that—whether his teenage crush on his professors had been noticed, reciprocated. The idea that it hadn't been, that this attraction had developed naturally once they were all adults, was reassuring.

"It was when we encountered you again, working for IMP," Nicholas explained. "You were both fully grown men then, professionals in your own right."

"And clearly in love with each other," Maglor added. "Which made you even more attractive, truth be told."

Sören laughed. "We were still crushing on you two back then, too."

Anthony nodded, relaxing again. "It's true. Though we never thought anything would come of it."

Eventually, the physical realities of four bodies sharing a bed post-coitus asserted themselves. With reluctance, they disentangled and took turns in the adjacent bathroom, cleaning up. Sören caught Anthony's eye as they waited, communicating silently in the way only longtime partners could. Are you okay with this? his gaze asked. Anthony's small smile and nod reassured him.

When they returned to bed, they arranged themselves more comfortably—Maglor and Nicholas against the headboard, with Sören and Anthony nestled between them. Nicholas's fingers combed gently through Sören's curls, while Maglor traced the flame tattoos on Anthony's arm with feather-light touches.

"So," Nicholas said after a comfortable silence had stretched between them, "where do we go from here?"

"Well, I'm certainly up for doing that again," Sören said bluntly, making the others laugh.

"As am I," Maglor agreed, "but I believe Nicholas is asking about the larger implications."

Anthony shifted, turning slightly to face them all. "I feel... relieved, actually," he admitted. "There's been this tension between us for so long. Dancing around it was exhausting."

Sören nodded, understanding exactly what Anthony meant. The charged glances, the careful maintenance of personal space, the constant awareness—it had created a subtle strain that he'd carried without fully acknowledging it.

"It's like finally scratching an itch you couldn't reach," he said, then grinned. "Or in this case, finally fucking the people you've been fantasizing about for years."

Nicholas made a sound that was half laugh, half cough. "Your eloquence remains unparalleled, Sören."

"You love it," Sören retorted, reaching back to pat Nicholas's thigh.

"I do, actually," Nicholas admitted quietly, surprising Sören with his candor. "I find your directness refreshing."

Maglor hummed in agreement. "There is great freedom in saying what you mean. Something I've learned over many millennia."

Anthony's hand found Sören's, their fingers intertwining. "Sören and I have talked about this, you know. About the possibility of... expanding our relationship. We're secure enough in what we have together."

"And what we have together has gotten even better since we've been here with you," Sören added. "We're not looking to replace each other."

"But to complement," Nicholas nodded. "Macalaurë and I have discussed similar possibilities. After years together, we have no jealousy between us, only a desire to share our love more widely."

"So we're all on the same page then," Anthony said, looking relieved. "This wasn't just a one-time thing born from stress and adrenaline."

"Far from it," Maglor assured him, leaning over to press a gentle kiss to Anthony's temple. "Though I confess, the reminder of mortality does tend to clarify one's desires."

The mention of mortality brought a sobering reminder of their situation. The pleasant haze of post-coital bliss receded slightly, reality reasserting itself.

"Dag's still out there," Sören said quietly. "And whatever—whoever—he's working with."

Nicholas's arm tightened around Sören's shoulders. "The wards will hold. You're safe here with us."

"For now," Anthony said, ever practical. "But we can't stay hidden away forever. Especially if Dag is working with someone powerful enough to help him breach your previous wards."

Maglor nodded, his expression growing serious. "The sexual tension between us may be resolved, but our other troubles remain."

"Way to kill the afterglow," Sören muttered, though without real heat. He knew they were right.

"We're stronger together now," Nicholas said firmly. "In every sense. The warding ritual proved that—our magics complement each other perfectly."

"And now that we've released all that pent-up sexual energy," Maglor added with a small smile, "we can focus more clearly on the challenges ahead."

Anthony nodded, his analytical mind already working on the problem. "We need to find out who Dag is working with. If we can identify the source of his increased power, we might find a way to counter it."

"Research," Nicholas said with a hint of his teacher's enthusiasm. "My library contains texts that might shed light on this matter."

"And I have contacts in various realms who may have heard whispers," Maglor added. "Including some who owe me favors from centuries past."

Sören listened to them planning, strategizing, and felt a curious mix of emotions—concern about the dangers ahead, but also a profound sense of belonging. Here, nestled between these three men, he felt safer than he had in years, despite the looming threat. Whatever came next, they would face it together.

"So," Sören said, deliberately lightening his tone, "what you're saying is: mind-blowing sex first, then save the world?"

Anthony laughed, the sound vibrating against Sören's chest. "Something like that."

"I can work with that," Sören declared, pulling Anthony closer and reaching back to squeeze Nicholas's hand. "Definitely beats facing the apocalypse with unresolved sexual tension."

Maglor's melodic laughter filled the room. "Indeed it does, my fiery love. Indeed it does."

The four of them lay together in comfortable silence, the warmth of their bodies and the steady rhythm of their breathing creating a cocoon of safety. Outside, beyond the wards they'd crafted together, dangers lurked and enemies plotted. But in this moment, in this bed, they had found something worth protecting—something worth fighting for.

And Sören, despite everything, felt hope unfurling in his chest like a flame.

Chapter Text

Anthony awoke with the taste of salt in his mouth and a knot in his stomach.

He didn’t know what time it was—the enchanted forest they’d returned from yesterday had left him unmoored, half-dreaming even now. He blinked blearily at the ceiling, then turned his head.

Sören wasn’t in bed.

That, in itself, wasn’t alarming. Sören sometimes rose early, if he'd had another of his nightmares, wandering off to paint or walk or argue with himself in Icelandic. But there was an edge in the air Anthony couldn’t place, a prickling tension like static before a lightning strike. The wards outside hummed differently.

Anthony sat up, rubbed his face, and threw on a robe before padding down the hallway. Nicholas and Maglor's cottage was still half-asleep—a curl of steam from the kitchen suggested tea or coffee had been made, but the rest was quiet.

He found Sören in the study, hunched over the obsidian scrying bowl, a glass of cold coffee forgotten on the desk. The fire mage looked drawn, eyes shadowed and lips pinched. His tattooed arms braced either side of the bowl, shoulders tense.

"Sören," Anthony said softly, stepping into the room.

Sören flinched, then exhaled. "Hey. Sorry. Didn't mean to wake you."

"You didn't. I felt... something. You doing something, it seems."

"Yeah." Sören didn't look up. "I decided to use my blood connection to my brother to do some poking around."

Anthony crossed the room and gently placed a hand on his back. "And?"

Sören turned to him slowly, the firelight casting shadows across his face. "I know who Dag was working for."

Anthony's pulse quickened. "You do?"

"It wasn't random," Sören said, voice flat. "Dag didn’t act on his own. I scried and I watched carefully—he's working for someone. He's a servant."

"Hel?"

"Someone even more powerful, it seems—he reports to someone named... Sauron."

Anthony froze. He hadn't heard that name in a very long time.

"Sauron," he repeated. The word tasted wrong.

Sören gave him a sidelong glance. "You know the name."

"I know of it," Anthony said carefully. "In old Kabbalistic texts, sometimes referenced as another name for Samael. Someone you don't fuck around with."

Suddenly Maglor was there in the doorway, clearing his throat. "I knew of him," Maglor corrected. "And I feared he might still be out there. If he has returned—and if he has the..."

He trailed off.

Sören turned back to the bowl. "He has these." He waved a hand, and a shimmering illusion rose over the scrying bowl: three radiant stones, glowing with the force of suns. Each one pulsed with color and heat, like miniature stars.

Maglor inhaled sharply, though he said nothing.

Anthony stared, breath caught. "What are those?"

"I don't know," Sören said hoarsely. "But I've seen them. In dreams. I dream about making them, holding them, wearing them. I dream about them being... taken from me. And now this bastard has them."

He wasn’t looking at Maglor when he spoke—but Anthony was, and he saw the faint tremor in the elf’s hand as he gripped the edge of the doorway.

Anthony couldn't tear his eyes away from the illusion. The stones felt true in a way nothing else did, humming with magic old and powerful beyond reckoning.

"They're his power source," Sören whispered. "I can feel it. He's using them to amplify his reach. To push through wards, to control others. Gods, Anthony, it feels like he's breathing through them."

"And you think these stones belong to you."

Sören gave a bitter laugh. "I don't know if they do. But it feels like they do. I've had these dreams since I was a kid. They burn when I see them. Like my ribs are splitting open."

Maglor remained quiet, his face unreadable, but Anthony could sense the tension radiating from him.

Anthony laid a hand over Sören's chest, feeling the erratic thrum of his heart. "What are you thinking?"

Sören looked up, firelight catching in his eyes. "I want to catch him. And I think I know how."

Anthony's stomach twisted again.

They sat around the kitchen table later that morning, the four of them: Anthony, Sören, Maglor, and Nicholas. The kettle steamed between them.

Sören had explained his theory. How he'd scried his brother's energy signature—and confirmed he was serving someone more powerful. Someone ancient.

"You think Dag is working for this Sauron?" Nicholas asked.

"I know he is, I saw it," Sören said. "And I think he'd still take my call."

Anthony stiffened. "You're planning to contact him."

Sören looked over. "Yeah."

Maglor was silent, fingers drumming lightly against the ceramic mug.

"You want to... pretend to defect," Nicholas said slowly, piecing it together.

"Yes."

Anthony's mouth was dry. "That’s dangerous, Sören."

"I know."

"No, I don’t think you do." Anthony pushed back from the table. "This isn’t like going undercover at a vampire gang meeting for one of our IMP missions. This is someone with those" —he pointed to the still-hovering illusion of the stones— "and enough power to turn Dag into... what he became."

Nicholas and Maglor exchanged glances - Anthony noticed the tension in Nicholas's face and body posture, not just Maglor's - but they said nothing. Anthony thought about pressing it, but before he could ask—

Sören's voice cut back in, soft but sharp—like the calm before a storm. "Which is why it's got to be me. I have a link. He'd never believe any of the rest of you. But me? He might."

Anthony paced. "And then what? He whisks you off to some underground lair and you improvise a Bond monologue until someone shows up to save you?"

Sören crossed his arms. "I'll keep a tether open. You can monitor."

"He'll sense it."

"Not if it's done right."

Anthony's hands trembled. He looked to Maglor, then Nicholas, both unreadable.

"I don't like it," Anthony said finally. "But if you're doing it, you're not doing it alone."

Sören's expression softened. "I won't."

They prepared for days.

Maglor showed Sören how to shield his inner thoughts behind false walls, mimicking the ancient mind-palace techniques of the Elves. Nicholas designed a tracking enchantment laced with Sören's own magic signature, hiding it in a carved obsidian pendant that Anthony warded by hand.

Anthony slept little. When he did, his dreams were fragmented, full of fire and stars and blood.

The night before the trap was to be laid, he found Sören outside in the garden under a sky shot through with auroras. Sören was barefoot, arms crossed over his chest.

Anthony joined him silently.

"I feel like I'm walking back into something I already escaped," Sören said after a moment. "Like a spiral."

"We walk together this time."

Sören glanced over. "I love you."

"You'd better. Or I just enchanted a very expensive pendant for nothing."

Sören snorted, then leaned against him.

They stayed like that for a long time.

The summoning circle was drawn in the basement of Nicholas and Maglor's house. Nicholas, ever prepared, had once used the space as a classroom for advanced students; tonight, it held only the flickering light of rune-inscribed candles and the focused tension of four magic users on edge.

Sören stepped into the center, pendant hidden beneath his shirt, and began the invocation. The spell was one he'd written himself, old magic reshaped with new pain. His voice was steady.

The air rippled.

Dag's image shimmered into view.

He looked... wrong. Not monstrous, not like before, but pale, eyes sunken, skin stretched too tight over bones. There was still a smile on his face, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

"Sören," Dag drawled. "Well, well."

"I want in," Sören said, straight to the point. "The system’s broken. I’m done with the IMP."

Dag tilted his head. "And why would I believe that?"

"Because you know me," Sören replied. "You know what I’m capable of. And I’m sick of wasting it on rules."

Dag studied him. Then smiled, wider. "You’ve grown."

"So have you, thanks to your boss. I want to meet him."

A pause. Then Dag nodded. "We’ll be in touch."

The connection severed.

Sören staggered slightly. Anthony caught him.

"You did well," Anthony whispered, hugging him tight. "You were perfect."

"He’s going to believe it," Sören murmured.

"I know. That’s what frightens me."

Later, in bed, Anthony traced the tattoos on Sören's arms with his fingers. He couldn't sleep.

"You were brave tonight," he said softly.

"I was stupid."

"No. You were brilliant. And reckless. And I love you more than I can say."

Sören curled closer. "If something happens—"

Anthony kissed him. "Then I'll burn the world to bring you back."

They held each other long into the night, knowing sleep wouldn’t come easily, and dawn might not bring peace.

But they were together.

For now.

Chapter Text

Snow began to fall as Sören reached the edge of the old industrial site at the harbor. The skeletal remains of cranes loomed in the dark, creaking faintly in the wind like dying birds. Rusted barrels, shipping containers, and crumbling concrete surrounded the chain-link perimeter. The whole place reeked of oil and betrayal.

Sören shoved his hands deeper into his coat pockets. His gloves were thin, and the air bit at his fingers. But the cold wasn’t what made him shake.

He shouldn’t be here.

He knew that. Every instinct screamed it.

And yet…

He passed the gate.

The burner phone in his pocket had buzzed earlier that day. One message. From Dag.

“Midnight. Pier 14. Come alone. We talk. No tricks.”

Sören didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. Dag would know he’d come. Because Dag still thought he understood him. Still thought Sören was the same little pest who used to follow him around, desperate for scraps of attention. Still thought—

No. Sören’s jaw clenched. He’d come for one reason.

Lay the trap.

If this worked, they’d get a location trace. A signal from the magic Sören had woven into the seams of his coat—undetectable to non-mages. And Anthony and the others would be ready.

He took a slow breath.

Then he stepped into the shadows under the pier.

Dag was already there.

He leaned against a concrete pillar, arms folded, the hood of his coat pulled up over his short dark hair. Same cocky posture. Same arrogant tilt of the chin. But his face…

His face was harder now. Harsher. Something twisted in his smirk.

“On time. That’s new,” Dag said.

Sören didn’t answer right away. He stepped forward, making sure his movements were slow. Non-threatening.

Dag’s eyes flicked down to his hands. “You bring backup?”

“No.”

“Liar.”

Sören shrugged. “Believe what you want.”

Dag snorted. “Always do.”

The silence stretched between them. The last time they’d been face to face, Dag had nearly set their flat on fire. Had laughed as Anthony bled. Sören had nearly killed him.

And now he had to act like he wanted to join him.

“I’ve thought about what you said,” Sören said.

Dag raised an eyebrow. “Which part? The part where I offered you a way out? Or the part where I knocked you on your ass and told you to wake the fuck up?”

Sören didn’t flinch. “The part about survival.”

Dag tilted his head, studying him. “Go on.”

Sören met his gaze evenly. “You were right. IMP is broken. Corrupt. Weak. They don’t know what they’re dealing with. They want me to play by rules that don’t work anymore.”

“Mmhm.”

“I’m done pretending I belong there. Done pretending I can fix it from inside.”

A long pause. Then:

“Why now?”

Sören hesitated. “Because I’ve been dreaming. Things I can’t explain. Light. Fire. Stones—three of them. Powerful. Beautiful. I can feel them.”

Dag smiled slowly. “So you finally heard them.”

He hadn’t expected that.

Sören blinked. “You knew?”

Dag pushed off the pillar and took a step closer. “It’s why I reached out. I knew it was starting. Knew you’d come. You’ve always been stubborn, little brother. But not stupid.”

The warmth in his voice made Sören’s stomach turn.

“I want in,” Sören said.

Dag was silent.

Then he reached into his coat and pulled out a small, jagged crystal—black as obsidian, rimmed with flickers of red. He held it between two fingers.

“Touch this,” he said. “Swear yourself to the cause. And I’ll take you to meet him.”

Sören didn’t move. “Who is ‘him’?”

“You’ll see.”

Not good. He needed time. He needed to get the signal to Anthony.

Sören took a cautious step forward. “Let me understand what I’m joining first.”

Dag’s smile vanished.

“I knew it,” he said.

A pulse of magic hit Sören in the chest—hard, hot, like being punched by lightning. He flew backward into the concrete wall, stars bursting behind his eyes. He tried to raise a shield, tried to call fire—but nothing answered.

“Did you really think I wouldn’t check for surveillance?” Dag snarled, advancing. “You think I didn’t feel the trace charm stitched in your coat?”

Sören’s blood turned to ice.

“I was going to bring you in,” Dag said, voice rising. “I wanted to. But you always were a little traitor at heart.”

Sören got his breath back just in time to spit at his feet. “Better a traitor than a bootlicker to some fascist asshole with a god complex.”

Dag’s face twisted. “You don’t know anything.”

Another spell crashed into Sören, pinning him to the ground. Shackles of energy wrapped around his wrists and ankles, burning cold. He screamed through gritted teeth.

Dag crouched beside him.

“You should’ve said yes.”

When Sören came to, he was in darkness.

His head throbbed. His mouth was dry. His limbs were bound—not by steel, but by magic: tight, invisible cords that seared against his skin when he struggled.

The air was damp. Sour. He was underground.

He tried calling fire again. Nothing.

They’d warded him.

Footsteps echoed on stone. A door creaked open. Light—dim, flickering—spilled into the cell.

A figure entered.

Not Dag.

This one wore robes. Black, simple, but finely made. Their face was hidden by a porcelain mask painted with gold filigree. Behind the eye slits, something shimmered. Something ancient. Something wrong.

Sören’s gut twisted. The presence in the room felt too big. Not in size—in weight. Like the air itself had grown heavy, pressing against his lungs.

The figure didn’t speak at first. Just stood there. Watching.

Then: “Do you know who I am?”

Something cold slid down Sören’s spine. He didn’t know, not really. But a name stirred in his memory—something Maglor had mentioned, quiet and grim, like invoking it might summon rot from the walls.
Sauron?

He didn’t ask. Didn’t dare.

Sören stared at the mask. “Should I?”

A pause. “No.”

The figure stepped closer. “But you will.”

They knelt beside him. A hand extended—long fingers, pale skin, perfectly manicured nails. The fingertips hovered just over his temple.

Sören flinched.

“No pain. Not yet.”

Then the fingers pressed to his skin.

He wasn’t prepared for the silence.

Not noise. Not images.

Silence. Like something had ripped open a hole in the fabric of his mind and was drinking.

Memories flickered. Firelight. Paint. His first kiss. Anthony’s smile. A cat curled on his chest.

The figure inhaled, slow and deep.

“You are farther along than I expected.”

“What the fuck are you—”

“Shhh.”

The fingers withdrew. The pressure faded. But not the dread.

“You’ve seen them, haven’t you?” the figure asked softly. “The stones.”

Sören’s heart pounded.

“I don’t know what they are,” he said.

“But you want them.”

He shook his head.

The figure tilted its mask. “Don’t lie. Not to yourself. You crave them. Their power. Their light. Their… rightness.”

“I want to go home.”

The figure chuckled. “And where is home, Sören? That little apartment in Majorstuen? That broken institution that used you until you outlived your usefulness?”

Sören glared. “You don’t know anything about me.”

“I know you’re angry.”

“No shit.”

“I know you don’t trust them.”

Sören set his jaw.

“I know you’ve always felt like an outsider. Even among your kind. Even with him.”

“Shut up.”

“Let me show you a different path.”

“No.”

“You haven’t even heard the offer.”

“I don’t care.”

The figure was silent again. Then it stood.

“Very well. You’ll come around. They all do.”

The door opened. Just before it shut, the figure paused.

“Dream carefully,” it said. “You never know who’s listening.”

Then darkness.

Hours passed. Or maybe days.

There was no way to track time in the cell.

Sören drifted in and out of sleep. Or what passed for it. He didn’t really sleep. Not restfully. Not anymore.

The dreams came.

The same ones. The stones. Floating in endless void. Red. Silver. Blue. Light so bright it made his teeth ache. A voice, distant and distorted, calling his name. Whispering things he couldn’t quite hear but felt.

One night, he dreamed of fire raining from the sky. He stood beneath it, unburned, laughing as cities crumbled.

He woke shaking.

His wrists were bleeding.

And in the haze between dream and waking, the masked figure’s voice echoed again:
You crave them. Their power. Their light.
And Sören wondered—feverishly, helplessly—
Was that really him? The one Maglor feared?
If it was, then Sören was in more danger than he’d ever known.

The cell door opened again.

This time, two guards came in—tall men, dressed in nondescript black gear, masks obscuring their faces. One held a syringe.

“No,” Sören said. “No—get the fuck away from me—”

They didn’t speak.

The needle went in. Ice flooded his veins.

And everything went black.

When he woke, he was in a different room.

Brighter.

The same figure stood by a table, hands folded.

Sören tried to move. He couldn’t. His body didn’t respond. Only his eyes.

“I warned you,” the figure said. “But you refused.”

They stepped closer.

“This is the part where we stop asking.”

They raised one hand.

Light filled the room—silver-white, piercing, pure. Sören screamed, but no sound came out.

And in the heart of the light, he saw the stones.

All three.

Closer than ever.

Calling.

Mine.

Chapter Text

The map was quiet.

Too quiet.

Anthony sat frozen, eyes locked on the glowing projection hovering above Nicholas’s desk. The red pulsing light that had marked Sören’s location had flickered for several seconds… and then vanished.

“No.” His voice cracked. “No, no, try again.”

Nicholas tapped a new command into the glyphs, attempting to restore the trace. The projection glitched, twisted, and fizzled into static.

“Nothing,” Nicholas said quietly. “Not dead. But shielded. Likely underground—or in a null zone.”

“Or both,” Maglor added. His arms were crossed as he stood behind them, dark hair tied back, his gaze fixed on the now-blank projection. “He’s been captured.”

The words hit Anthony like ice water.

He backed away from the desk and sat hard on the couch, fists clenching. “He knew the risks, but—I never should have let him go alone.”

“You didn’t let him,” Nicholas said. “It was his call.”

Anthony shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. He trusted his brother. Thought there was something left of him worth saving.”

Maglor’s eyes narrowed. “Dag gave that up a long time ago.”

Anthony looked up at him. “You said something yesterday. About the stones. The glowing ones Sören dreamt of.”

Nicholas turned. “The ones you described after the vision.”

“Right,” Anthony said. “And Maglor—you flinched when I told you what they looked like. Why?”

Maglor hesitated for a long beat. Then he moved to the bookshelf and pulled out an old carved box. From it, he removed a vellum scroll and carefully unfurled it across the desk.

“These,” he said, tapping a delicate sketch of three radiant gems, “are the Silmarils.”

Anthony blinked. “The what?”

“Silmarils,” Maglor repeated. “Three jewels created long ago by my father, Fëanor.”

Anthony frowned. “Wait. Your father made those?”

“Yes. He was… the greatest craftsman of our kind. He captured the light of the Two Trees of Valinor—primordial sources of divine radiance—before the sun and moon existed. He bound that light into three stones.”

“Like… sacred relics?”

“More than that,” Maglor said. “They’re alive. They choose who can bear them. They burn any unworthy flesh.”

Anthony’s brow furrowed. “So what happened to them?”

“War,” Maglor said softly. “Greed. My father refused to give them up—even to heal the world. My brothers and I followed him into exile, took an oath to reclaim them. We killed for them. We lost everything for them.”

Nicholas stood silent, watching Maglor with a deep, sad gaze.

Anthony swallowed. “And now… you think Sauron has them.”

Maglor nodded once. “If Sören saw them in his dreams—and if he saw the man with the porcelain mask holding them—then yes. Sauron has the Silmarils.”

The name made Anthony’s chest go tight. “I’ve heard of Sauron before. In Jewish mysticism, he’s glossed sometimes with Samael. Angel of destruction. The accuser.”

Maglor’s mouth twisted into something grim. “He was once Maia—our word for a lesser divine spirit. He served Aulë, the smith-god. But he fell. Sought domination, order at any cost.”

Nicholas added, “He’s been quiet for centuries. Gathering power. But if he truly has the Silmarils…”

“That’s why Sören was targeted,” Anthony murmured. “He has dreams about them. They called to him.”

“Which means Sauron will want to exploit him,” Maglor said. “Use him. Twist him.”

A cold pit opened in Anthony’s stomach. “Then we need to get him back. Now.”

“We will,” Nicholas said. “But we have to be careful. If Sauron has him, we can’t storm in blindly.”

“I don’t care how hard it is,” Anthony said through clenched teeth. “I’m not losing him.”

“You won’t,” Maglor said. “We’ll do everything in our power.”

Nicholas laid a hand on Anthony’s shoulder. “We mean that.”

That night, sleep wouldn’t come.

Anthony lay in the guest bed staring at the ceiling, the cold sheets a stark reminder that Sören wasn’t there. The room smelled like nothing—no cinnamon, no smoke, no skin. His eyes burned. His chest ached.

A soft knock tapped the door.

“Anthony?” Nicholas’s voice.

He sat up. “Yeah?”

The door opened. “Come sleep with us.”

Anthony didn’t hesitate.

Their bedroom was warm, lit by soft amber candlelight and the scent of clove and juniper. Maglor sat at the head of the bed, shirtless, hair falling over his shoulders. Nicholas beckoned him in, already down to his briefs.

Anthony climbed in between them, the heat of their bodies immediately comforting. Nicholas curled behind him, spooning him close. Maglor set the book aside and ran fingers through Anthony’s straight hair.

“You’re not alone,” Maglor whispered. “And you never will be.”

Anthony closed his eyes. He let them hold him. Let the fear soften, just a little, under their touch.

“I feel like I’m going to shatter,” he whispered.

“You don’t have to hold it together right now,” Nicholas murmured, voice low and sure, his breath warm against the back of Anthony’s neck.

“We’ll catch you,” Maglor said gently. “Let go.”

Then Maglor kissed him.

It began as a hush of lips, but deepened as Anthony melted into it. Their mouths opened—wet and slow, then hungry—and Nicholas’s arm tightened around his waist, grounding him.

Maglor shifted down, kissing across Anthony’s collarbone, his chest. He paused to suck each nipple in turn, teasing with tongue and teeth, until Anthony whimpered.

Nicholas’s hand slid over Anthony’s belly, then lower, fingers ghosting over his cock before curling under to part his cheeks.

A hot tongue pressed gently against his rim.

Anthony gasped. “Oh—fuck—”

Nicholas rimmed him with slow care, licking deep, then trailing kisses down to his thighs before returning to circle his tongue with worshipful focus. Maglor’s mouth moved lower too, kissing Anthony’s stomach, then the base of his cock, licking the head, then taking him into the heat of his mouth.

Anthony’s head fell back.

Their tongues moved in tandem—one worshipping his ass, the other suckling his cock. Nicholas alternated between tonguing him open and sucking his balls, moaning softly with each return. Maglor shifted angles to bob slowly, deeper each time, humming around him.

When Anthony began to tremble, they eased up—Maglor kissed up his belly, Nicholas up his back.

“Your turn,” Maglor whispered.

They changed positions.

Anthony knelt between Maglor’s thighs, kissed the crease of his hip, and brushed the backs of his fingers along his cock before closing his mouth around the head. He sucked slow and steady, savoring the texture, the weight, the faint taste of salt and clean skin.

He let Maglor fill his throat before pulling back to kiss down the shaft, then lower still—nuzzling, licking beneath.

Then he moved lower to Maglor’s ass, gently parting him. He rimmed with deliberate care, licking in slow strokes, then pushing in with his tongue, coaxing out moans from deep in Maglor’s chest.

Behind Anthony, Nicholas knelt and began his own worship again—tonguing Anthony open, then pausing to stroke his cock, then licking lower once more.

They moved in a chain of reverence. Maglor opened for Anthony’s tongue, and Anthony whimpered around him as Nicholas rimmed him in turn. Then Nicholas leaned forward and took Anthony’s cock into his mouth again, wet and warm and deep.

A moan passed between all three of them—low, raw, grateful.

Then they rotated once more.

Anthony now bent between Nicholas’s thighs, licking up the length of his cock before taking him into his mouth. Nicholas moaned, hips rocking slowly. Anthony sucked him deep, then let him slide free with a gasp, kissing down to his entrance and rimming him in long, slow strokes.

Nicholas was flushed and panting when Anthony paused to rim again, tonguing him open until Nicholas’s breath caught and he begged, “Please…”

From behind, Maglor rimmed Anthony, tongue probing, opening him back up with long strokes. Then he paused, and Anthony felt his cock nudging the back of his thigh, not yet pushing in—just resting.

They regrouped, kissed—then Maglor laid back.

Anthony and Nicholas pressed chest to chest, cocks slick between them. They rocked together, moaning into kisses, gripping each other tightly. The heat built fast—intimate, needy—and then Maglor sat up, hand resting lightly on Anthony’s shoulder.

“When you’re ready,” he said.

Anthony kissed him hard, then nodded. He moved between Maglor’s legs, lifted them, and guided himself in slowly.

“Fuck,” Maglor breathed. “Yes. You feel incredible.”

When Anthony was fully inside him, Nicholas knelt behind Anthony and kissed his spine.

“Me too,” he whispered.

Anthony nodded, breath shaky. “I want it.”

Nicholas slicked himself, lined up, and pushed in.

The stretch was overwhelming—Anthony whimpered, full and aching, surrounded by heat.

“Ohfuck,” he choked. “Please—”

They began to move—Anthony fucking Maglor with slow thrusts, while Nicholas moved inside Anthony with a rhythm that made them all gasp. Sweat pooled between their bodies. Their voices rose together, groans overlapping.

Maglor’s cock lay between them, flushed and leaking. Nicholas reached to stroke it as he fucked, while Anthony’s cock dragged slow and deep inside Maglor’s body.

“You’re held,” Nicholas whispered into Anthony’s neck. “You’re safe.”

“We love you,” Maglor added, eyes glazed with pleasure, voice thick. “All of you.”

That was too much.

Anthony cried out and came hard, shuddering violently as he spilled into Maglor. Maglor followed, cock pulsing in Nicholas’s hand as he clenched around Anthony, crying out in Quenya. Nicholas thrust faster, twice more, and then buried himself deep and moaned through gritted teeth as he came.

They collapsed into each other, panting, sticky, trembling.

No one spoke for a while.

Then Nicholas pulled the blanket over all three of them and kissed Anthony’s temple.

“We’ll find him.”

Maglor stroked Anthony’s hair. “But it won’t be easy.”

“I don’t care,” Anthony whispered, eyes burning. “I’m not losing him.”

“You won’t,” Maglor said. “You have us.”

And in their arms, Anthony finally slept.

Chapter Text

There was no sun in this place.

No windows. No clocks. No time.

Just the flickering blue rune in the ceiling, pulsing like a heartbeat above Sören’s head — the only light in the stone cell, and it sickened him every time he looked at it. His world had narrowed to that flicker and the cold ache of the shackles around his wrists and ankles. Cold iron with binding runes that bit into his skin like teeth. The chains hummed, vibrated faintly with a malevolent resonance that numbed his limbs and stifled his magic.

He was hungry. He was thirsty. His lips were cracked, and his mouth tasted of blood and bile. His throat burned from screaming.

They hadn’t asked questions.

This wasn’t about information.

They were peeling him open for fun.

Sometimes they came with wands that flayed skin without breaking it. Sometimes with blades carved from obsidian, heated until they glowed. Sometimes they whispered spells that made him feel his bones fracture without moving a muscle. Sometimes they bound his mouth and nose with dark silk and waited for him to pass out from lack of air, only to revive him again with sharp slaps and stinging runes pressed to his temples.

And sometimes… they just stood and watched him scream.

Sören lay on his side, shaking. His clothes were torn and soaked through with sweat, piss, and blood. His moans had gone hoarse hours ago, maybe days. The stone beneath him had grown slick with it all.

The door creaked open.

He flinched at the sudden rush of air. Footsteps — measured, deliberate — echoed against the cell walls. Not the usual guards. He knew the difference now. He could feel it.

Two of the masked ones — with bird-skull helms and silent efficiency — unclasped the chains from the wall and dragged him up by the arms. His feet barely scraped the floor as they hauled him through corridors. The torches seemed to dim as they passed. The deeper they went, the more the air tasted like ozone and rot.

They brought him to a new chamber. A cathedral of shadows.

Polished black marble stretched in every direction, veined with crimson like dried blood in old stone. At the far end, a throne rose from a tangle of molten-looking metal and bone. A figure sat upon it — tall, unmoving, carved from stillness itself.

This was not a tormentor.

This was the architect.

Sören’s legs buckled. The guards dropped him like meat at the base of the throne.

For a moment, there was silence.

Then: “Leave us.”

The voice wasn’t loud. But it rang through the room with a weight that crushed breath.

The guards obeyed without hesitation. The doors boomed shut behind them.

Sören’s vision swam. His limbs twitched uselessly. His body wanted to curl in on itself, to shrink from the presence above him — a force that pressed on the back of his skull like fingers trying to dig in.

He didn’t look up.

But the man descended the steps.

Not with menace. With grace. With the elegance of someone who had nothing to prove.

He stopped inches from Sören, and then knelt.

“You’ve endured more than most,” the man said softly.

Sören coughed. Blood foamed at the corner of his mouth.

“Still enough defiance left to spit at me?” the man asked, amused.

“Kill me,” Sören rasped.

“Oh, I could. But that would be such a waste.” A pale hand, long-fingered and adorned with a dozen rings, reached out and brushed Sören’s matted curls from his face. “You’re too beautiful to break. And too dangerous to let go.”

Sören forced his eyes open.

The man had glowing eyes — not red, but molten gold, burning from within. His hair was long and red as lava, cascading over his shoulders in waves. He wore a robe blacker than void, trimmed in gold embroidery that seemed to shift when looked at directly. He was unreasonably handsome — painfully so — but the longer Sören looked at him, the more wrong he felt.

“You don’t know me yet,” the man said. “But you will.”

He stood and walked a slow circle around Sören. “You’ve heard my name, no doubt. In stories. In warnings. A devil at the edge of scripture. A whisper in the dark.”

He paused behind him.

“I am called the Lord of Gifts. The Deceiver. The Cruel. But you…”

He stepped back into view and crouched low.

“You may call me Sauron.”

Sören’s blood ran cold.

He didn’t know much about theology, but that name he recognized — the kind you heard invoked in the same breath as demons, curses, end times. He remembered Anthony calling it a gloss for Samael, the Accuser.

“You—” Sören swallowed. “You’re real?”

“More real than your little organization would like to admit.” Sauron’s smile widened. “And far more interested in you than you deserve.”

“I won’t serve you.”

“Not yet. But you will.”

Sauron placed his hand on Sören’s chest.

It felt like plunging into fire.

Sören screamed. His back arched off the floor. Glyphs flared around them, swirling through the air like brands. His tattoos began to glow — the flames on his right arm shimmered and spat sparks. His back burned, the phoenix ink writhing as if trying to escape his skin.

Sauron chanted in a tongue that twisted the air, and suddenly Sören was seeing things — his body unraveling into strings of light, blood singing with old, old power. A mirror of fire within his heart, cracking under the weight of Sauron’s touch.

“You carry something old,” Sauron said, eyes narrowing. “Something mine. Something forgotten.”

Sören’s scream rose an octave as fire licked down his spine. His fingernails cracked. His gums bled.

He was crying without knowing it. Convulsing. His muscles locked, and for a terrible moment, he thought he was going to die.

But the hand withdrew.

And he collapsed, twitching, gasping, sobbing.

“Interesting,” Sauron said. “You don’t even know what you are.”

The door opened again.

And Sören’s heart stopped.

They dragged someone in.

Sören recognized the black hair first. Then the jaw. The shape of the shoulders.

Dag.

Bruised. Bleeding. Shackled like a dog.

“No,” Sören croaked. “No—leave him alone—don’t—”

“Sören,” Dag whispered. His one good eye shone with tears. “I’m sorry.”

Sauron looked between them like a teacher watching two students fail the same lesson.

“You see?” he said. “Even traitors can regret.”

“Please,” Sören begged. “He’s not part of this—”

“He was all of this,” Sauron replied, voice sharp. “He offered you up.”

Dag shook his head. “I didn’t mean—”

Sauron raised his hand.

A long, thin blade formed in the air. Not metal. Shadow — writhing and serrated, steaming with dark mist.

“Don’t,” Sören begged. “Please, no—please—I’ll do anything—”

The blade hovered.

Dag tried to speak again—

And the blade shot through his chest.

The sound it made was like tearing parchment and wet cloth.

Dag’s eyes went wide. His mouth opened in a silent gasp. Blood poured from his nose, his mouth, his chest.

Sören screamed.

Dag reached a trembling hand toward him — and fell, lifeless, blood pooling around his body.

Sören screamed until his throat tore. He collapsed, howling, yanking at his chains, convulsing, vomiting bile and sobbing so hard his entire body cramped. Dag’s blood was splattered on his chest and face. It was warm. It smelled like iron and ozone and loss.

“NO—NO—DAG—”

Sauron stepped back, impassive.

“You needed to learn,” he said, “that defiance costs.”

“You fucking bastard,” Sören rasped, voice shredded. “I’ll kill you.”

“You will try.”

Another presence arrived.

And everything changed.

The room grew colder. The light dimmed to nothing. The air became heavier than stone. And then came the sound — metal scraping metal. Chains dragging. A distant, deep growl.

Sauron knelt.

Sören turned his head, and saw a god.

Massive. Armored in black with glowing cracks. A face hidden behind a helm of snarling jaws. Eyes that glowed not red, but white — the color of death, of absence.

“You may call me Morgoth,” he said.

Sören didn’t know the name.

But the sound of it made his bones ache.

Morgoth reached out.

And placed his hand on Sören’s forehead.

Morgoth’s hand was like obsidian ice, pressing against Sören’s forehead, and then—everything broke.

He didn’t scream at first.

He didn’t know how.

His body had gone somewhere else. His skin still lay in the chamber, bleeding and breathless, but he was falling — through layers of darkness, into fire, into memory that wasn’t memory.

A forge.
The roar of flame.
A man — hands blackened, eyes fever-bright — bending over a workbench as three glowing orbs hovered in the air. Not glass. Not crystal. Light, captured and caged. He wept as he worked, wept with joy and torment, his face gaunt from sleepless nights. And though Sören had never seen him before… he knew it was him.

He was that man.

The scene changed.

A rocky shore. A fleet of white ships. The screams of people trapped inside as they burned. Fire licking the sky. The smoke stank of betrayal and salt. He—the man, himself—stood with a torch in one hand and his sons behind him, chanting in a tongue Sören didn’t recognize but somehow felt, felt in his bones, a vow that echoed like a curse.

“Unforgiven.”

Then—

A mountainside.
A scream.
Flames.
Shadows with wings. Eyes like coals. A lash of fire wrapped around his throat, and he fell, body broken, hands outstretched as flaming whips tore into flesh. His last sight: one of the burning jewels falling from his grasp, rolling down the slope into darkness.

Then silence.

Then the pain came.

Not in the flesh.

But in the soul.

Morgoth’s hand stayed firm on his brow, and Sören’s mind became a battlefield.

Memories shattered. Faces blurred. Anthony’s voice warped into cruel laughter. Nicholas’s kind eyes became empty sockets. Maglor’s song turned into a dirge of screams. He saw versions of himself overlaid on one another — the elf, the artist, the warrior, the flame, the failure.

“You have burned before,” Morgoth said inside him. “You will burn again.”

“No,” Sören gasped. “No—this isn’t—this isn’t me—”

“You carry him. The fool. The fire. The rebel. The destroyer. You thought you were new. But you are only the echo.”

The runes on Sören’s arms lit up again, this time from within, burning like red-hot brands. The phoenix on his back screamed. His spine arched off the ground. His mouth opened and no sound came out. His body convulsed, seized, fractured—

And still Morgoth pressed in.

He felt the flame in his soul begin to flicker.

“No,” Sören whispered, tears mixing with blood. “I’m Sören. I’m Sören. I’m—”

“You are mine.”

With a final surge, Morgoth marked him — a glyph seared into his chest that sizzled and burrowed beneath skin and muscle, straight into bone. It felt like his ribs cracked from the inside, like his heart flinched from the brand, like his entire being had been rewritten.

Then the hand lifted.

The visions ended.

Sören collapsed onto the stone floor, twitching, drooling, chest heaving with wet, shallow gasps. Every part of him burned, itched, screamed. He had soiled himself. He had bitten through his tongue. He couldn’t see out of one eye. His mouth tasted like iron and ash.

Morgoth loomed over him a moment longer. “The cracks have begun. Soon, the rest will follow.”

Sauron inclined his head. “We’ll give him time.”

Then they turned and left him.

The doors closed.

The light dimmed again to that flickering blue rune, high above.

Sören curled in on himself, shivering.

He didn’t know who he was anymore.

But he remembered his brother’s blood on his face.

And he remembered the flame.

Still, somewhere inside… it flickered.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

The cell door screeched open.

It was a new cell than the one Sören had been staying in previously, this time with a small window.

Sören stirred, a dull ache flaring in every joint, eyes squinting at the moonlight which, though faint, still hurt his eyes. The chain at his ankle dragged as he shifted to face the sound, heart thudding with the familiar cocktail of dread and resignation. A shadow moved across the stone—tall, wide-shouldered. For one delirious moment he thought it was a troll.

Then the figure stepped inside—broad-shouldered, red hair tied at the nape of the neck, and a thick beard that caught the flickering torchlight. The heavy door slammed shut behind him, iron bolts sliding home with a finality Sören could feel in his chest.

The stranger blinked in the half-dark. His pale blue eyes swept the cell before landing on Sören.

“Shit,” the man muttered. “They weren’t lying. I’ve got a roommate.”

Sören coughed, voice hoarse. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

The man let out a low chuckle. “Fair enough.”

He crossed the small cell in three steps and dropped his bundle in the corner. His boots thudded softly against the stone floor. When he turned back, he crouched—not close, but near enough for Sören to see the lines in his face. He was probably in his thirties. Maybe early forties. Not a soldier. Not a thug. Something else.

“Water?” the man asked.

Sören hesitated.

The man raised his hands. “Not poisoned. I already drank from it.” He unhooked a dented metal flask from his belt and offered it.

Sören’s throat felt like sandpaper. He reached with a trembling hand and took a cautious sip. It was lukewarm and metallic and tasted like heaven.

“Easy,” the man said as Sören coughed. “You’ll shock your system.”

“Too late for that,” Sören rasped.

The man sat down with a grunt and leaned back against the wall. “Name’s Eiliv.”

“Sören.”

“Nice to meet you, Sören.”

Sören gave him a look. “Under the circumstances?”

“Well,” Eiliv said, “beats being dead.”

“Jury’s out.”

Eiliv gave a wry smile. From his pocket, he pulled a strip of dried something—meat, maybe—and broke it in half. He tossed one piece over.

Sören caught it awkwardly. “You know they might not feed us for another day or two, right?”

“Exactly,” Eiliv said. “So eat.”

It was tough and gamey and made Sören’s stomach twist with need and protest. But he ate it. He chewed in silence while the warmth of the food and water radiated outward, bringing pain to the surface of his nerves. He winced and curled against the wall again, bones stiff, every bruise screaming.

“Been here long?” Eiliv asked after a while.

Sören didn’t answer.

Eiliv didn’t press. He leaned back, gazing at the high window. A shard of moonlight cut across the floor.

The quiet stretched. Not awkward—strangely companionable.

Eventually, Eiliv asked, "How are you?"

Sören laughed bitterly. Then he furrowed his brow, not used to the concern from a stranger. "What's it to you?"

Eiliv shrugged and said, “I was a nurse. Back in Oslo. Care home. Dementia wing.”

Sören blinked. “That… wasn’t what I expected.”

“I get that a lot.”

“Then what the fuck are you doing here?”

Eiliv chuckled dryly. “Wrong place, wrong time. Said no to the wrong person.”

“Ah.”

“You?”

Sören closed his eyes. “Tried to do the right thing. Trusted the wrong person.”

He didn’t elaborate. Eiliv didn’t ask.

Minutes passed. The cell was cold, damp, and reeked of mildew and piss, but it wasn’t silent—Sören could hear the man’s steady breath, the occasional creak of old bones or rustling cloth.

Eiliv kept glancing at the window. Every time, his jaw tightened.

“You expecting a rescue?” Sören asked, half-mocking.

Eiliv snorted. “No such luck.”

“Then what is it with the moon?”

Eiliv was quiet a long time.

Then, in a low voice: “It’s almost full.”

Sören narrowed his eyes. “That mean something to you?”

A pause.

“I’m a werewolf.”

Sören stared.

He looked Eiliv up and down—just a man. Tall, yes. Strong-looking, sure. But not monstrous. No fangs. No claws. No yellow eyes. He was even handsome, in a rugged sort of way.

“Bullshit.”

“Not bullshit,” Eiliv said quietly.

“How do I know you’re not just another one of this Dark Lord's freaks trying to psych me out?”

“I wouldn’t blame you if you thought that,” Eiliv said. “But tomorrow night… you’ll know.”

A shiver ran down Sören’s spine. “What happens then?”

“I change.”

Sören’s stomach turned.

“I won’t hurt you,” Eiliv added quickly. “Not unless you’re working for him.”

“I’m not,” Sören said through clenched teeth. “Believe me.”

“Then you’re safe.”

Sören stared at him, trying to sense a lie. But Eiliv’s face was calm, open.

Then Eiliv looked down at his hands. “The first time I shifted… I didn’t know what was happening. Thought I had the flu. Fever, chills, aching bones. Then it felt like something was tearing its way out of me from the inside. I ended up in the forest, naked and howling. Lost three days. I came back covered in blood and mud. Didn’t know if it was mine.”

Sören stayed quiet, listening.

“I was sixteen. No one believed me until it happened again. My foster family locked me in the cellar. That didn’t help either.”

His voice darkened. “After the third full moon, I tried to kill myself.”

Sören’s chest tightened.

“I climbed up to the Ørnes lookout. Was ready to jump. Thought the world would be better off. And then… this scrappy orange cat came out of nowhere. Sat in my lap and purred for ten minutes like I was the only person in the world. I started crying so hard I couldn’t breathe. I didn’t jump.”

Sören let out a soft, unsteady breath.

“Sometimes I think that cat was a spirit guide,” Eiliv said. “Or maybe just a nosy bastard. Either way… I’m still here.”

He looked at Sören.

“You survive a few things, you start to see the pain in other people. Not just the kind that bruises. The kind that turns into silence.”

Sören nodded slowly. “Yeah.”

They sat with that a moment.

Sören wrapped his arms around his knees. After a while, he said, “You ever want to be something else? Before… all this?”

Eiliv’s brow lifted. “Sure. I wanted to be a forest ranger when I was a kid. Then I got into music - playing bass, then healing. You?”

Sören let out a bitter laugh. “I didn’t want to be something else. I needed to be.”

Eiliv tilted his head.

Sören hesitated.

Then, in a low voice: “I was born with a name that doesn’t fit anymore. Sigrit. I haven’t used it in years.”

He kept his eyes on the floor, heart thudding. He didn’t expect sympathy. Definitely not understanding. Most people either asked too many questions or shut down completely.

But Eiliv just waited.

“I’m a trans man,” Sören said. “On my twenty-first birthday, I had a ritual to change my form from female to male.” He exhaled slowly. “I stood in a circle with people I trusted. My professors Nicholas—he’s Earth, and Maglor - Air. My best friend Anthony, Water. My other best friend Yeyette was Fire. Each of them gave me a blessing. They saw me. I stood naked in the circle and asked the world to see me too.” He looked up, voice shaking. “And it did.”

Eiliv let out a breath. “That’s… that’s one of the bravest things I’ve ever heard.”

“You don’t have to say that.”

“I’m not saying it to flatter you,” Eiliv said. “I mean it. You changed yourself—not just physically, but in the soul. That takes more strength than anything I’ve done.”

Sören turned away, throat tight.

“…Thanks.”

The silence between them settled deeper. Not uncomfortable. Just full.

Then came the sound of boots.

Sören flinched. Eiliv’s eyes narrowed.

The door opened with a groan. A guard stepped in—tall, built like a battering ram, face obscured by a grotesque mask shaped like a snarling wolf skull.

“Well, well,” the man drawled. “Look at the little traitor. Still alive.”

Sören didn’t answer.

The guard sauntered closer, each step deliberate.

“I hear you’re worth a lot to the master. Not sure why. You don’t look like much.”

He reached out, brushing Sören’s cheek with two gloved fingers.

Sören jerked away.

“Don’t touch me.”

“Oh, I like the feisty ones.”

The guard’s hand dropped lower, grabbing at Sören’s chest.

Sören cried out, twisting—

And then the guard was yanked backwards.

A snarl ripped through the cell.

Eiliv’s face had changed—his jaw had lengthened, teeth sharp and bared. His hands were claws. His shoulders had widened, his clothes tearing at the seams. Not fully wolf, but enough.

He slammed the guard into the wall with a roar.

The man gasped, stunned.

Eiliv drove a fist into his gut, then swiped with his claws. Blood splashed across the floor.

The guard screamed. Eiliv punched again, breaking the mask. The man dropped, wheezing.

Eiliv loomed over him, growling.

“Stop,” Sören rasped.

Eiliv froze.

Sören shook his head. “Don’t waste the energy.”

Eiliv turned, slowly, breathing hard. His chest heaved. His hands were still claws. His eyes glowed faintly.

He dropped to his knees beside Sören.

“Did he—”

“No,” Sören whispered. “Not really. But—fuck. It…”

He shivered.

Eiliv didn’t speak. He just opened his arms.

Sören hesitated.

Then he collapsed into them.

The warmth was immediate—radiating from Eiliv’s chest like a hearthfire. He smelled of pine, sweat, and iron. His arms were strong, careful, not gripping but holding.

Sören buried his face in Eiliv’s shoulder. The tears came quietly, sliding down his cheeks. He didn’t sob. He just breathed, slow and ragged, and let it happen.

Eiliv rubbed his back in slow circles.

“You’re safe,” he murmured.

It wasn’t a promise.

It wasn’t even true.

But it helped.

“I’ve had worse,” Sören whispered. “But it’s never just about that moment. It’s… everything.”

“I know.”

“I hate this body sometimes.”

“I don’t,” Eiliv said softly. “I think you’re beautiful.”

Sören froze.

Then he exhaled.

“…thank you.”

Eiliv didn’t say anything more.

They stayed like that until the torch burned low. Until the blood on the floor dried. Until the chill set in again and made them huddle close, back to the wall, Sören curled against the warmth of Eiliv’s side.

He didn’t know what this was—this tentative alliance, this fragile thread of comfort.

But when he looked up and saw the moon through the narrow slit in the stone, bright and nearly full—

He felt something he hadn’t felt in weeks.

Not just hope.

Trust.

Chapter Text

The wind howled against the jagged cliffs as Anthony pressed his gloved hand to the icy stone, his breath fogging the air. Behind him, Tuilindo—the iridescent blue dragon—crouched low in a crevice, barely visible under the enchantment Maglor had cast. The dragon's silver eyes gleamed with intelligence, but he remained still as commanded, a silent sentinel in the dark.

Anthony turned his head toward the others. Maglor crouched beside him, cloak whipping in the wind, dark hair braided and tucked back. His grey eyes scanned the fortress walls above. Nicholas stood a few paces behind, one hand resting lightly against the rockface, his expression unreadable. His silver hair was slicked back under his hood, and a quiet tension radiated from him—one Anthony had learned to interpret as readiness, not fear.

Above them loomed the obsidian towers of Sauron’s stronghold, rising like jagged teeth into the storm-thick sky.

Anthony swallowed. “Ready?”

Maglor gave a curt nod. “Now.”

They began the climb.

The fortress rose out of the mountain itself, carved into black stone that shimmered faintly with enchantments. Anthony moved with practiced grace, his boots silent on the stone, senses heightened by adrenaline. The air was cold, tinged with ozone, and magic prickled along his skin like static. His fingers twitched with the urge to cast, but he held back. Not yet.

A pulse ran through the mountain—something alive within it. Watching.

They reached a narrow ledge beneath a parapet, the first of many defensive walls. Nicholas pressed a hand against the rock and closed his eyes. A quiet rumble, and a crack opened wide enough for them to pass. Earth magic—precise, controlled, elegant.

Inside the first corridor, torches burned with unnatural blue flame. The air was colder here, and Anthony felt the pressure of old sorcery in the stones. He muttered a protection charm in Hebrew under his breath, fingers brushing the amulet at his throat.

Then—movement.

A sentry turned the corner, eyes widening. Before he could cry out, Maglor flicked two fingers. A gust of wind slammed into the man, knocking the breath from him. As he staggered, Nicholas raised a wall of stone behind him, cutting off escape.

Anthony surged forward, raising a hand. A sphere of water coalesced from the air and slammed into the guard’s chest with the force of a battering ram. The man hit the wall and collapsed, unconscious.

Anthony exhaled.

“Efficient,” Nicholas said dryly, stepping over the body.

“Not dead,” Anthony replied. “Yet.”

They pressed on, deeper into the stronghold. The halls grew more twisted, labyrinthine, as if trying to confound them. Anthony pulled a small scroll from his pouch and whispered a phrase. The parchment glowed faintly as Hebrew sigils bloomed across it in silver light. A map of sorts—revealing not geography, but magic.

“There are wards ahead,” he said, pointing. “Old ones. And traps.”

“I can disarm them,” Maglor said.

“No,” Anthony murmured. “Let me.”

He stepped forward and crouched near the warding glyphs etched into the floor. His fingers traced a counter-sigil midair, then he drew his ritual dagger and nicked the tip of his finger. With a smear of blood, he marked the stone, speaking divine names in a steady voice:

“אל שדי. אדני. צבאות.”

The glyphs flickered—and dissolved.

Nicholas raised a brow. “You’re a dangerous man, Anthony.”

Anthony didn’t reply. He stood, wiped the blood from his hand with a cloth, and pressed forward.

The next ambush came without warning. A shriek split the air as two guards dropped from the rafters, blades flashing.

Maglor moved first. A whirl of wind sent one man tumbling, cloak snapping like a banner. The second lunged for Nicholas, who slammed a fist into the ground—spikes of stone erupted upward, impaling the attacker’s foot. The man howled, weapon dropping.

Anthony ducked low, conjuring a curved blade of frozen water and slashing through a third attacker’s thigh. He spun, ice shield forming in his left hand as a fourth enemy appeared.

They were outnumbered now.

A bolt of dark magic hissed through the air. Maglor caught it with a swirl of wind and redirected it, sending it back into its caster’s face. Nicholas stomped, and the floor beneath two guards collapsed, swallowing them into a pit.

Anthony raised his hands. Water burst from the ceiling in twin streams, coiling like serpents. With a word, he froze them into spears and sent them flying.

One found a target.

The guard fell, clutching his chest, blood spreading across ice.

Anthony’s breath came faster. He was drawing deep from his well now, too deep. The air shimmered around him as he reached again for the divine.

“אהיה אשר אהיה,” he whispered.

He clutched his necklace, and a ring of blue light erupted from his body, flaring outward. The remaining guards staggered, blinded, clutching their heads as the Name resounded in their minds.

Maglor touched his shoulder. “Enough. You’ll burn out.”

Anthony’s jaw was tight, but he nodded.

They left the guards groaning in their wake and pressed forward.

The fortress changed.

The air grew thicker, fouler. The walls bled faint red light from hidden seams. They descended a spiral staircase, passing statues of creatures Anthony didn’t recognize—twisted beasts, wings and claws and many eyes. The stone beneath his boots throbbed faintly. He tasted iron on his tongue.

They reached a great chamber. The air inside pulsed with power—dark and ancient. Pillars of black obsidian rose to a vaulted ceiling far above, and in the center of the room floated a black orb, veined with crimson. It hovered above an altar carved with runes that made Anthony’s head ache to look at.

Maglor stopped short. “The heart of it.”

Before Anthony could ask, a dozen guards filed into the chamber from all sides—faster, stronger, armed with magic. Their eyes glowed.

Too late to hide.

They were already casting.

The room exploded into chaos.

Maglor launched into the air, wind coiling around him like a tornado. His voice rose in Quenya, summoning a slicing gale that cleaved through spells and sent enemies flying.

Nicholas slammed both palms into the ground. The floor cracked and rose in jagged plates. He sent one hurling forward like a battering ram, knocking down two enemies with a bone-jarring crunch.

Anthony raised both hands.

Water burst from every shadow, every crevice—streams, blades, ice darts. A dome of shimmering blue formed around him and shattered outward, knocking enemies back.

A blast of fire struck his side—he screamed and dropped, but Nicholas grabbed his arm and pulled him behind a rising stone barrier.

Anthony gritted his teeth, pushing past the pain. His fingers trembled as he pulled a vial from his belt—sanctified water—and poured it over the burn, chanting:

“רפא נא לה.”

The pain dulled. The skin began to knit. Not fully—but enough.

He stood.

More enemies poured in.

Anthony reached again for the divine. Blood dripped from his nose.

He raised his voice. “שדי! א-לוהים חיים!”

A sphere of pure light burst around them, momentarily halting the enemy advance.

But it wouldn’t last.

Maglor dropped beside them, panting, face pale. “We have to move. Now.”

Nicholas didn’t argue. “This way.”

They ran. Anthony barely registered the twisting corridors, the flicker of torches, the blood in his mouth. They turned a corner and found a narrow tunnel leading down.

Nicholas sealed it behind them with a wave of his hand.

Darkness swallowed them.

For a long moment, they said nothing.

Then—a whisper.

“Anthony…”

His head snapped up. That voice. “Sören?”

He surged forward into the shadows, heart pounding. “Sören?!”

There was no reply.

He rounded a corner.

The corridor was empty.

He took a step forward—and a chill slid down his spine.

Behind him, a voice spoke.

Low. Cold. Amused.

“Looking for someone?”

Anthony turned.

And froze.

Blackness coiled at the edge of his vision.