Private Tales The Fortunate Damned

[Yasin]

Leogaire was a terrible place. He’d been warned, but he’d come anyway, imagining that the warnings were exaggerations and that the city must just have had poor infrastructure or a shortage of street signs.

What he’d found instead was a living, shifting body of streets and biomes. He’d tried to imagine some sort of destination, but he didn’t know where to begin. An exile without even the slightest idea of how to start building a life outside of cwn society and the Summer Court, Leogaire had been the nearest fae city. And with limited neighbors to choose from, the Dawn Court was an easy choice versus Spring, where he’d have to lick Oberon’s boot.

If he’d even have been welcome there. There were a lot of places he wasn’t welcome anymore.

The cwn was tired -- actually tired -- from walking day after day on whatever scraps he’d been able to forage and hunt for in the savannahs leading up to the city of chaos. Yasin was naturally thin, but now he was as gaunt as a stray dog. Dark rings hung beneath his dull red eyes and his pale complexion was grayed. If the plan from here was to keep going, he needed to find work and a place to stay for the night. Someone to talk to. Was that specific enough for the city to help him find it?

He walked on, holding the thought in his mind, and the street in front of him transitioned from a sweltering summer day to the shocking cold of winter. The trees on either side of the lane grew thick and green above the frosty tips of brown, dead grass. It was foreign, unfamiliar. He’d never seen frost or evergreens before. The bite of the cold penetrated his scant, thin clothes, intended to breathe in the high heat of summer, and a chill ran through him from his toes to the tops of his ears. He’d been wearing the same clothes since he’d been arrested; his vest and hair were still stained from Titania’s cronies cutting up his face. It wasn’t suited to walking in… was that snowfall?

Not the cold street, then. Nobody and nothing was going to persuade him down that way. Except when Yasin turned around, the golden, shimmering summer was gone and in its place was something more mild. Green and lush with skinny, knobby trees with sprays of narrow leaves at the tops. It was humid and mist lazily rolled down the street. Better than the cold, sure, but he’d stopped thinking about the helpful person he needed. Fuck.

Frustrated and exhausted, Yasin walked into the mist. He scanned the streets for something that resembled a place to get something to drink or anyone who looked like they could help him. Help, and then rest. Help, and then rest...

---

• Declan Thormaigh •​

 

[Maura Cirillo]

Declan oddly loved the very strange city of Leogaire. When he had grown tired of traveling and granting wishes on a daily basis, he decided to settle in the weirdest and most frustrating place he could find. Declan, who liked drinking tea and living an uncomplicated life, now lived in Leogaire where the city changed on its desire.

The leprechaun preferred to not leave his house for the very reason that he had not quite learned how to use the magic that controlled this city. He basically walked around the city cursing and keeping his thoughts single-minded in his determination to arrive at his actual destination.

Currently, Declan was on his way home from getting lunch and the climate was actually cooperating for once. It was a lovely cool temperature and the sides of the lane sprouted with the new growth of spring. He would be perfectly content with this weather all the time, but, alas, it was only this beautiful for a little bit.

As the sky darkened and it began to sprinkle, Declan saw a stumbling figure that looked lost and confused. He understood and instantly headed in the direction of the person. As he grew closer, he could see that the man was a mess. He was incredibly pale and dirty. His clothes and hair were stained with red something.

“Are you alright?” He reached for the man and the stranger crumpled into Declan’s arms. He was light, but the surprise of the contact made Declan umph. He snaked his hand behind the mans back and held him to his chest as he bent down and scooped his arm under the legs of the now passed out man.

Declan looked around him to see if there was anyone else and he was saddened to see that the stranger was very much alone. He held him in a bridal carry and thought about home. Home, home, home, home. With every step, he made sure his mind was on home.

About five very wet minutes later, the two men were at his front gate. He went through the bronze gates without fan faire and sighed as the beautiful weather of spring rolled over him. He held the dirty man tightly as he walked up the lane to his home, up the steps, and into the parlor.

Declan immediately took the stairs to the second floor and opened the first door down the hall. It was the guest room and the large bed sat against one wall waiting to envelop someone in its warm. He was not worried about how dirty the man was as he laid him on the bed and pulled the covers over him.

He studied the white-haired man with a sad look. Who was he? What was he doing here? Why does he look like he was attacked by a pack of rabid animals? Declan pulled up one of the large, cushy chairs to the side of the bed and cozied into it with a book. He would read until he could speak with his guest and find out his story.

Yasin

 

[Yasin]

The street seemed impossibly long. The more steps he took, the more Yasin felt all the miles he’d come. Was it possible for a cwn annwn to grow weary? He’d never imagined such a thing was possible. Then again, he’d never thought his family strife was severe enough for a coup. Perhaps he wasn’t as smart as he’d always thought he was. Perhaps that was why he had been beaten so easily.

The misty street became one with blistering sun. The street with blistering sun became one with a cold wind that cut straight through to his bones. The street with the cold wind turned into cheerful sunshine and the soft warmth of spring. It was disorienting and he was so damn tired.

What happened? Why was he here? Yasin blinked and shook his head. Walking. He was walking. He staggered and looked around, his brow furrowing. The left side of his face ached from the expression. He was looking for someone. He was looking for Ciwse.

No. Ciwse was gone. He was in Leogaire. He was looking for someone. Someone to help him. Why did he need help?

Are you alright?

Yasin squeezed his eyes shut and reached up to touch his aching head, but when he opened his eyes again the world was spotted with whtie flecks and dazzling colors. His eyes crossed and he staggered and there was no correcting it and all the thoughts tipped out of his mind as easily as water.

Except that voice. He heard and felt nothing except for that voice as the world spun like a top until he landed, and then he heard nothing at all.

---

The first thing he became aware of was his head. Heavy as a ripe melon and as imbalanced, too. Sometimes they split on the vine, their brightly colored flesh always somehow brighter than their thick shells. That was how it felt.

The second thing he became aware of was his body. His limbs were achy and stiff and as weak as week-old kittens. He groaned and lifted a hand to press it against his face. It was a face and not a melon and it hadn’t split from the pressure.

Not exactly. His cheek ached and his fingers ran a coarse path down from his brow and over the twin lines carved into his cheek. Oh no. Maybe he had split on the vine...

No, no. He... he was in Leogaire. He remembered that suddenly and the rest of the world quickly sorted its way into his mind. He’d been walking and then he hadn’t been. And a voice. There had been a person. The cwn was aware of a cacophony of smells -- all foreign and yet there was something oddly familiar about them. Impossible, because he’d been in this city of strangers.

Yasin tried to open his eyes but the room was too bright. He grumbled again, the sound more akin to a dog’s snarl than the disgruntled rumble of a man. He shifted and pushed himself up to an elbow and slowly opened his eyes again. Bloodshot and only half-seeing through the blur that was literally everything right now, Yasin still made the futile attempt of looking around.

 

[Maura Cirillo]

Declan had nearly finished the book he was devouring when he heard the stranger start to awaken. He set the leather bound book on the nightstand next to the bed and stood slowly to grab the now room temperature soup that he had brought up. "Relax, do not try to move to quickly, you are not..."

His golden eyes met the red ones of the stranger and the world paused around him. Those eyes were so familiar, he felt like he had known them his entire life. It was like Declan had been looking for something and had not even know what it was. This was it. This man was it. He distantly felt the bowl slip from his hands and he heard the shatter, but all he could see was this man. Those eyes. Bloodshot, tired, beautiful.

Declan shifted forward and braced himself on the bed as feelings of warmth and rightness spread through him like a wildfire. This man was his. He could not explain it and he had no idea how he knew. Everything just clicked into place and everything was how it was supposed to be.

As quickly as the feelings hit him, the world resumed its normal pace and Declan sputtered to speak. Something he had never had issues with before. "I...I am Declan..." his awed voice trailed off as he continued to study the beautiful face of the man he had found on the side of the road.

 

[Yasin]

Somebody was talking. A voice, he realized, that he had heard before, if only briefly. It was like the perfect chime of a bell, the intonation appealing perfectly to his ear. Why was it familiar? Why was it so pleasant?

His vision began to clear as he struggled against the instruction of that very lovely voice. There was a streak of orange in front of him and he focused on it until, very suddenly, a face formed. If he was weak before, the expression of concern tangling the man's brows had him feeling all sorts of ways. What a way to look at somebody. Yasin wanted to make fun of it, but it snatched his breath away to be the object of so much care.

Any other thoughts he might have had vanished when he reached his eyes. They were like a pair of gold coins, as luminous as honey in sunlight. Yasin's gaze locked with his and couldn't move them away again.

And he knew. He knew with unreasonable certainty that he had found what so many searched their whole life for to no fruition. It had seemed too good to be true, a myth that wasn't meant for him. Yet now that so many things that he'd thought had been meant for him had been ripped away, here it was: the impossible dream. The man in front of him was his. His.

The universe was either laughing at him or it had a terrible sense of irony.

As his apparent soul soulmate felt awe, however, Yasin felt bitterness. He laid back against the pillows, his gaze never leaving the leprechaun's -- never leaving Declan’s -- but his eyes burned bright with tears and his lip curled back in a pained grimace.

"Declan," he repeated, feeling the weight of that name in his entire body. He hated how right it felt. His voice was hoarse and gravelly. "I'm Yasin."

One of them had to look away first, so Yasin did it for them. His vision still swam unsteady and had difficulty focusing on the room. The cwn swallowed thickly before he spoke again.

"Where am I?"

 

[Maura Cirillo]

The white-haired man was upset with the fates that had brought them together and it made Declan frown. Declan sat back in his chair, keeping his eyes on the man. “Yasin,” Declan said his name as new warmth spread through his body. “Yasin,” he repeated again. His voice was far off and he felt himself growing oddly irritated. Declan had saved his life, brought him into his house, and now he had a grimace on his face.

Declan stood and then squatted down to pick up the pieces of the broken bowl. “You are in the Dawn Court, Leogaire to be exact, my house to be even more exact…” he trailed off as last of the bowl pieces slipped into his hands. “I will be back. Don’t move, you may hurt yourself.”

The leprechaun turned and left the room, closing the door behind him. He leaned against the wall and let his head fall back against it. Declan had never expected to have a mate and now he had an angry, hurt man in his guest room. It sounded about right for the luck that Declan had. At least Yasin was handsome.

He pushed himself off the wall after about five minutes and headed down the stairs to the kitchen. He dropped the shards of bowl into the trash and went to prepare another bowl with soup. Yasin needed to eat something whether he liked it or not. He had a sneaky suspicion that Yasin would not like it either.

Declan carried the bowl back up to the guest room and let himself in. He walked over to the bed and set the bowl on the nightstand. “You need to eat. You can argue with me, but I will sit here until the bowl is empty. I am incredibly patient.” Declan sat back down in his chair and grabbed his book. He crossed one leg over the other and opened the book.

Yasin

 

[Yasin]

He saw the leprechaun’s expression turning, That probably wasn’t a great start. Yasin was uncertain how to feel. How did one normally conduct themself when meeting a soulmate? It wasn’t exactly like he’d done this before. Then again, doctrine told him he had. In another lifetime, the man in front of him had been a husband, a mate for all eternity.

It was a lot, to say the very least. Heaped on top of everything else, it was a joke as cruel as a step on the paw when he was already hurting.

That’s not his fault, Yasin chastized himself as he watched Declan picking up something broken on the floor. This man helped you. Don’t be unkind to him.

He left with instructions not to move and Yasin nodded, still too stunned and tired to argue. The moment he left the room, however, the cwn annwn slowly pushed himself stubbornly upright. The world spun but it wasn’t the worst. He had only just fully sat up and leaned back heavily against the wall when Declan returned. He plunked the soup down and sat across from him with a casual demand for obedience. Yasin grinned, the expression pulling oddly at the aching left side of his face.

“No argument here,” he managed with a ragged chuckle, his voice deep and crackling. A lamb could have beaten the cwn at this moment but he still had his pride, and he took a moment to be sure he was steady before he lifted the bowl. His hand trembled precariously. The soup was delicious and warm. Yasin’s stomach twisted at the scent of it and he could have gladly wolfed it all down in a few ravenous gulps. Mindful that if he ate it too quickly he’d be chucking it back up on Declan’s sheets, he ate slowly.

Not that they weren’t already ruined by his being in them. The dust and grime of the road, dried sweat, and flakes of dried blood; he was covered in the evidence of a very long, very difficult few weeks.

At least he’d made it to Leogaire. At least someone had taken him in instead of letting him lie on the street. He lowered the bowl and his hands into his lap and leaned his head back against the wall. Pacing himself, he let the few bites settle.

“Thank you,” Yasin said hoarsely. “For taking me in. Thank you.”

 

[Maura Cirillo]

Declan looked up from his book and nodded once, "It's not like I could just let you die on the street." It was the truth, he was not the type of person to let someone suffer. He went back to reading as the silence settled around them again. He wanted to ask Yasin a million questions, but he also didn't want to seem too eager. Yasin clearly didn't want to be here. It was maybe only five minutes before Declan broke though.

He closed his book and held it on his lap with a sigh. "Listen, I get that you don't want to be here. I don't know what happened to you, but according to the universe, we are stuck with each other." He grimaced, he did not mean for his words to sound so angry. "Sorry, I...I am curious what has brought you to Leogaire and why you look like complete shit." He sounded like a complete asshole now. This is why he didn't like socializing.

He took a deep breath and rubbed his face. He was not good at relationships either. There was a reason he had been single the majority of his life. It went back to not liking people or talking to people. Yasin was not people though. Yasin was his mate. He had spent many lifetimes with Yasin already and who knew how many more would follow this one. "I am terrible with people. I prefer books. I need to know more about you before I can help you more, Yasin." Declan sat there studying his mate's face, curious about the damage to his left cheek.

 

[Yasin]

It would have been easy to let him die on the street. A lot of people would have. It said a lot about him that he didn't -- that he said he couldn't. Yasin had nothing to say back. He was compliant to his earlier instruction to eat, letting the silence coat them like a blanket of dust.

The book snapped shut and the cwn looked up. Had he done something wrong? Yasin let the spoon lower slowly into the bowl cradled in his lap. He listened, and felt sorry. He was processing a lot and had never been the most personable person. He cleared his throat.

"Fair. I suppose that's the least of what I owe you." Yasin pushed himself up straighter with a groan, the frown he made to do so making pain alight down his jaw. He frowned deeper. "Well… I'm recently exiled from the Summer Court, if that matters."

Might as well get the important stuff out of the way. They were already off to a great start, why not throw that in the door before the rest of it? Yasin gestured to his face, which bore the proof of his banishment forever.

"I walked here from the Summer borders because I lost my sister, my family, my home, and my purpose in a sept coup. I thought… I don't know what I thought. It was a destination."

It was a shitty answer.

"I wish I had something better to tell you," he finished quietly. "But I think the universe played a cruel trick on both of us."

All in all, Yasin got the impression he had hit the jackpot. Declan? Not so much.

 

[Maura Cirillo]

Declan listened intently, allowing his features to soften some as his mate continued speaking. He let out a small oohh once he was finished. Yep, he was a dick.

"Sorry," Declan said softly. He felt terrible for Yasin and he knew it was written all over his face. Pity. He tried to school his features but he knew it didn't work well.

"Obviously we have a lot to figure out but I suppose I can tell you a bit about myself. Not that there is much to tell..."

Declan trailed off before continuing his thought. "I enjoy reading and tea. My business is granting wishes and making deals. I suppose the fates could have been crueler and sent me someone who is ugly..."

His words trailed off and he gave Yasin a small, shy smile that was at odds with his whole demeanor.

 

[Yasin]

He saw the tension fading from the leprechaun's expression and pity take its place. Yasin didn't like that. He had lived his whole life proud and strong. His head had never lowered, and he didn't stumble. He had stood by his sister's side and been her sword for years.

How quickly that had all been taken away. Now he was reduced to a stray dog, so feeble that he felt sick from broth soup and couldn't hold himself up without the support of a wall. Thin, bedraggled, and pathetic. He didn't like any part of it. Especially meeting the man who was intended to be the other part of his soul. Rii'ii was testing him.

Yasin listened politely, even if he was still bitter about the whole soulmate thing. The man was kind; that was a good foundation. And he hadn't even blinked at him being an exile. Yasin's gaze traced the scar over Declan's face and he wondered if that might be why.

I suppose the fates could have been crueler and sent me someone who is ugly.

He scoffed and his grimace only drew into focus that which had caused the expression in the first place. As a cwn annwn born and bred in the Summer Court, his beauty had been a worship unto the gods. That pride and glory was now stripped away forever.

"Fate sends you an exile with nothing but a tarnished name, and you can still find something positive from it. I can admire that." He leaned his head back and closed his eyes as he spoke. Falling quiet for a moment, he opened his eyes and regarded the leprechaun sitting nearby.

Declan was beautiful. Even as a complete stranger he was so damn pretty that it made his stomach grip its contents nervously. Generous, pretty, well-read, and sophisticated… Yasin would have been worthy of such a challenge once, but not now -- not like this. It was his turn for pity to creep into his eyes.

He said nothing. He sighed, lifted his head away from the wall, and took another sip of his soup. They had done nothing, yet he was already growing tired.

 

[Maura Cirillo]

Declan let out a soft snort laugh. He had found a single thing that was positive about this whole situation and it had to do the the man's looks. That was hardly admirable. It was shallow and Declan was a bit ashamed of himself.

"You weren't exiled from Dawn so I hardly care about your status or tarnished name. Not that I am from here to care much for their politics either." He studied his mate and didn't comment on the obvious signs of wariness and struggle as he ate. Declan was not one to pour salt in wounds.

"You really should rest and get some sleep, Yasin. Do you need or want anything? I can have anything fetched for you..."

Declan smiled sweetly at the cwn.

 

[Yasin]

"Hmmm." Yasin didn't have a better response than that. Politics were not everyone's cup of tea, especially the climates between Courts. It worked in his favor that Declan didn't care.

It was very odd to know someone was destined to be yours before you knew a thing about them. It was like knowing the plot twist of the story before you opened the novel's cover. All the suspense and magic was taken out of it.

Not entirely. He looked up from the soup again when Declan asked if there was anything he needed. Yasin licked his lips and swallowed, dropping his bloodshot eyes to veil their expression. He felt… sorry. Je was very sorry.

"No. Thank you," he answered hoarsely woth a reminder to be kind. "If I think of something, I'll ask." Not that he was going to think of something. He planned to be as little of a burden to him as he could manage while recovering.

A moment more with his eyes downcast, however, and that was already proven wrong.

"I'm sorry about your sheets," he mumbled. The bowl lowered to his lap, his arms feeling drained. He'd managed to eat three quarters of its contents. Yasin would summon the strength to bathe if it was his savior's desired. He would also lie back down in his own grime without a second thought if he did not give a shit.

 

[Maura Cirillo]

"Don't be sorry," Declan waved away the apology. "Mortals and fae alike pay a ridiculous amount of gold for granted wishes," he smiled. "Replacing the bedding is no issue."

Declan stood and held his book to his chest. "Get some rest. We will worry about getting you cleaned up in the morning."

The leprechaun did not say another word before he touched Yasin's cheek softly. "Goodnight," he smiled and then swept out of the room.

Declan found himself in his room and bed within minutes but sleep did not find him for several hours afterward. So much was on his mind...first and foremost...Yasin.

 

[Yasin]

A small comfort from the honest tongue of a faerie. Yasin nodded and, wobbling precariously, moved to pass off the remnants of his soup when the leprechaun stood and approached.

He didn't flinch away from Declan, but he sat back slightly in surprise, the recoil of someone unaccustomed to touch. It sent sparks down his neck like the touch of storms and friction. His tired heart fluttered oddly and he knew again that feeling of seeing and knowing that within this man was a thread of his own soul. Old, powerful, dangerous magick bound them together. Perfect strangers, united over tragedy.

Yasin nodded and was the first to look away.

"Goodnight."

Declan quickly exited, which gave the cwn the grace to lie down on his own without pity or embarrassment. He hit the mattress like a log and vaguely fiddled with the comforter before abandoning all care and lying still.

His mind was too tired to linger long, but it stewed. It was stupid to lie there and think of a man who had spoken ten sentences to him. Yet how was he supposed to just go to sleep like he hadn't met his mate? His mate. In Leogaire. A leprechaun! It didnt feel real. None of this felt real.

At least he was nice.

With a final grumble to himself, Yasin banished the thought of Declan to sleep. (Or, at least he tried to.)

---

"Ciswe!"

Yasin startled awake at the sound of his own voice. It was so bright! He was momentarily disoriented, his eyes swimming in the glaring light of midday.

Midday? Where was he?

Pushing himself up onto his elbow and, after rubbing his sore eyes, finally saw the room he was in. And remembered. Leogaire. The soup. Declan. His mate. No. Surely not! He must have been really out of it if he had dreamed up a whole fucking mate. Then whose house was he in? Gods help him if there was actually a ginger leprechaun in this house who had suffered his starved, delirious rambling the night before.

With a very loud, surly groan, Yasin continued to rise. He swung his feet over the edge of the bed and braced himself with his arms. Rii'ii's wrath couldn't have hurt as badly as the headache that was splitting his skull in two. It was all he could do to focus on his feet and keep from tipping forward onto the floor.

 

[Maura Cirillo]

Declan, being the overly worried and already possessive mate he was, paced back and forth outside of Yasin's door for hours. Leon Ilayda had come by for their weekly gossip session that morning and Declan had basically spilled everything to the Fury. Leon had held all the juicy stories as of late after Alynthi showed up in his life but Declan took the cake this morning. Leon had left with a hardly pat on the back and a wry good luck, my friend. Declan did not think it was as amusing as Leon did apparently but perhaps it was payback for the laughing at Leon having to deal with his spiteful princess.

They had parted company three hours ago. Three hours of Declan pacing. Fighting with himself over if he wanted to wake Yasin up or not. Kyla, his house manager, had told him to leave Yasin alone and let him sleep. Declan was not good at leaving things alone but he had listened.

That was until he heard Yasin wake up. He immediately stopped pacing and turned to look at the door. Give him a minute, Declan argued with himself.

When he heard the groan, he rushed into the room and saw Yasin trying to get out of bed. Declan just smiled at him as he hooked a strong arm around his waist.

"Bath or food, first?" There was no third option. He had two choices. That was it. No arguing. There would be plenty for them to argue about in the future, he was sure.

 

[Yasin]

He was not alone for long. His head was ringing or he might have noticed the person outside of the door sooner, but the moment he groaned Declan was coming in. A frown twitched at the corners of his lips and gently creased between his pale brows. So he hadn’t dreamt up Declan after all. He stared at the leprechaun in disbelief.

Gods help him. This was his mate?? His brows rose and he blinked, a puff of air breaking his silence.

“You're real,” he croaked, his throat dry and his voice heavy from pain and sleep. Be kind, he reminded himself again. Declan put an arm around Yasin’s waist and helped him stand rather abruptly, proving without a shadow of a doubt that he was very much real.

Yasin’s heart skipped a beat, several things splintering his tender mind in different directions. Firstly, his hip was firmly pressed against Declan’s and his hand was strong and low on his waist – facts not missed on him even in his bereaved and aching state. Frankly, this was the closest he had been to another person in several decades. Secondly, a veritable stranger was in his bubble and the instinctual snarl that rippled from his lips was very hard to stop once it started.

Thirdly, the world was spinning and he was leaning very hard on Declan to remain upright. Too proud, Yasin willed his legs and body to comply. He wasn’t going to take a second face full of dirt in front of his fucking mate. Fuck that.

Yasin draped his arm over Declan’s shoulder. He was weak, but there was a latent strength in his grip that spoke of the strength he had possessed before this undoing had wrecked his life.

“Bath,” Yasin managed to grumble. He smelled like a pile of sweaty rags that had been collecting in a corner, discarded and forgotten. Bathing would (hopefully) make his presence more tolerable.

 

[Maura Cirillo]

“You're real."

Declan chuckled and nodded at Yasin. "I am real and I am your mate," he said it for himself as much as Yasin. It was still a very strange notion.

Declan's strong arm held Yasin around the waist and he, too, was keenly aware of his mate's contact. He smiled when Yasin finally wrapped his arm around his shoulder. Good, progress.

“Bath."

The leprechaun snapped his fingers and there was a fluttering of tiny wings. Tiny wings and tiny bodies flitted into the room and then through the far door to the washroom. It took them longer than it should have to make it out of the bedroom so by the time they stepped into the washroom there was a huge tub filled with hot water.

Declan looked over at Yasin and gave him a small smile. "Are you going to let me help you undress and get into the tub?"