Chapter Text
Vince woke Damug before dawn as ordered, slipping into his tent with a bowl of food and waking him before slipping right back out with a muttered mention of morning patrol.
The tunic he had gotten while at Redwall was loosely belted around his body, collar untied far enough that when he bent, Damug could see down the fabric to Vince's flat, scarred chest and the bumps from where his breasts had been removed.
Vince stepped back into the dawning morning and left to meet up with Briggs for patrol.
Damug's fingers tightened around the bowl, his knuckles whitening as he watched Vince leave. The seer's body was a map of scars and defiance, every inch of him daring Damug to look away.
And Damug couldn't.
He'd seen the scars before. He had known, from before. But now it was different.
Because Vince let him see. Because Vince trusted him.
The realization burned like fire in Damug's chest, hot and suffocating in his lungs as he stared at the tent flap long after Vince had gone.
Fuck.
He was going to kill Briggs for getting to patrol with him today.
Damug exhaled sharply through his nose, tossing the empty bowl aside with more force than necessary. His jaw clenched as he imagined Briggs riding beside Vince - seeing that untied collar, those scars in the morning light…
No.
He surged to his feet, snatching up his falchion and buckling it on with rough, jerky movements.
"Frijit!" he barked, shoving open the tent flap.
The scout startled, nearly dropping his waterskin. "Firstblade?"
"You're taking Briggs' patrol."
Frijit blinked. "But-"
Damug's stare cut him off.
Frijit swallowed hard. "Right away."
Damug watched him scurry off, fingers flexing at his sides.
Better.
Now if anyone got to see Vince's scars today, it would be him.
Not Briggs.
Never Briggs.
Vince's head lifted from where he was checking June's saddle, Briggs already beside him with her own horse. His eyebrow raised at the sudden barked order.
Briggs frowned but unhooked her clip from the saddle strap.
"Firstblade's in a mood this morn," she muttered, shaking her head. Vince shrugged, turning back to check June's cinch.
"When isn't he?" he murmured back. Briggs shot him a look and he winked at her with a smirk.
Damug stalked across the campsite, eyes narrowed against the rising sunlight.
His gaze found Vince with ridiculous ease, like the man was a beacon pulling him in.
Even from where he was, he could still see that unlaced collar. That expanse of pale skin. Those scars.
It made something twist in his chest, like there was something hungry and vicious and needing that was trapped behind his ribcage.
It was wrong. To think of another man like this.
And Damug hated how much he liked it.
Was it truly wrong? Vince wasn't a man by birth. It was a realization that Damug had had before - one that admittedly haunted his dreams. Knowing that Vince, his Shadow, might be capable of bearing heirs without any of the... frivolities associated with the women of the Rapscallion tribe had awoken something in Damug he had long buried.
Interest.
His heart rate accelerated.
It was ridiculous.
He was Firstblade. He wasn't some fool who would lust after a foul-mouthed seer, just because he had the potential to bear children.
Damug wasn't that weak willed. He didn't let emotion control him.
He was logical. Strategic. Cold blooded. He didn't let something like lust rule his choices. He didn't let something as insignificant as attraction influence his actions.
And Vince was just that. An attractive, interesting, intriguing...
Temptation.
Briggs leaned over to Vince as Frijit joined them.
"Good luck, mate," she said. Vince reached over and tucked one of her many russet braids behind the leather headband she wore, ensuring it was out of her face.
"You need a retwist," he muttered. "I can do it when I get back. I'll see if I can find some beeswax."
Briggs smiled, touching Vince's arm in gratitude.
"Thank you, Shadow." She turned and led her horse away and for a moment, Vince watched her go. His head tilted to the side, eyes following her back.
Frijit snickered.
"Got eyes for Brig?" the scrawny younger man asked. Vince shot him a glare and turned back to his saddle.
"Shut it, Frijit."
Damug's grip tightened on his reins, his jaw clenching hard enough to ache.
He saw it - that touch, that smile, the way Vince watched Briggs walk away.
It shouldn't have mattered.
It did.
A low, rough sound escaped him - something between a growl and a curse - as he swung onto his horse, his glare fixing on Frijit.
"Move," he ordered, his voice dangerously quiet.
The scout paled and scrambled back.
Damug didn't spare him another glance, his gaze locked on Vince instead.
"Seer," he bit out. "With me."
He didn't wait to see if the man obeyed.
He knew he would. And if he didn't, then Damug would drag him along.
Vince pursed his lips but mounted June nonetheless, guiding her after the Firstblade as he made his way to his own warhorse.
"Since when does the Firstblade do patrols," Frijit muttered, brow furrowed as he glanced between the two of them.
Damug shot the young scout an icy glare, feeling a cold satisfaction at the visible flinch it earned him. He knew what Frijit was thinking. He knew what all of them must have been thinking.
That the Firstblade was soft. That he was letting this new seer influence him. That the seer would use that influence against him.
Damug could feel the eyes on his back. He could hear the questions.
He didn't care.
Damug spurred his horse forward without another word, the animal’s hooves kicking up dust as he cut through the camp toward the patrol route. He didn’t glance back - didn’t need to - to know Vince was following.
He felt it.
The weight of the man’s presence, the heat of his stare, the way his damnable scent - iron and leather and something wild - lingered in the air behind him.
Damug gritted his teeth.
He’d told himself this wasn’t about jealousy.
He’d lied. And now they’d ride alone.
And he’d make damn sure Vince never looked at Briggs like that again.