protected - dnf

twenty, pt. 3

a/n : - Here is the new and final full chapter! I really hope you enjoy.

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To His Highness, King Clay of Camelot:

I received your letter this morning and have sat down to write a response immediately, which I hope does not too much betray my eagerness. I was glad to hear from you, glad to hear that your friend was recovered safely, and above all, glad to know that we have made an ally in you and in Camelot.

Your words regarding Tommy were either far too polite, or otherwise served as confirmation of a long-held suspicion of mine that he reserves his worst for me and me alone. I'm sure he managed to torment you in one way or another, but I am relieved his plan to waltz in the front doors and persuade you of his good intentions actually worked. I was half expecting him to be executed on the spot – a feat I still haven't managed and would have hardly blamed you for.

I want to be of use to you in the coming conflict, though I think I should make my intentions perfectly clear. I do not consider myself a traitor to Mercia herself, for the Mercia I know disappeared some time ago. It has been taken over by the Circle – a group that has turned Mercia into an unrecognizable shadow of her former self. They are using Mercia as a machine for war, searching for conflict that need not exist.

I wish to help you defeat them, but I will not be party to a type of reciprocal conquest. By the end of this conflict, I hope to restore Mercia to her former self – as her own nation. I also hope to end this war with as few casualties as possible, as I believe you and I both understand that the men people like us conscript to fight our wars – the men who have no power or wealth to gain through the outcome – are yet the most likely to die in battle. I have no interest in needlessly slaughtering my countrymen.

If this aim is agreeable to you, I look forward to your next letter, and will keep you informed of any useful information to which I am made privy.

In solidarity,

Lord Wilbur of Mercia.

The war almost didn't feel real – like a relic from a time before Dream finally knew about George. But it was still coming, as steadily as the spring breeze that swept through the open window. And it gave George a similar chill as he moved to shut the window firmly against the wind.

He had never noticed how drafty Dream's room could be until he spent the remainder of his recovery there – a process which only took a few days, thanks to his gran's healing magic, which he no longer had to hide. Each day, Dream had returned from his war meetings later and later in the evening, looking harried and anxious. And George knew it was time for him to return to the war effort.

Still. Easier said than done. Especially when considering what returning actually meant for George now.

His anxiety getting the better of him, George turned around and said, "We don't have to do this, you know."

"I think we do," Dream said, coming out from behind the partition. He was wearing some of his finest robes, his red cloak pinned around his neck, his crown resting on his head in preparation for the war council meeting. He looked handsome, the sun lighting up the colors of his robes and glinting against his green eyes. George glanced away in mild embarrassment, still having a hard time believing that he was allowed to do this: to look at Dream this way, to touch him, if he wanted to.

"I could just keep helping from the background," George said, as Dream walked up to him, reaching out a hand to fix the collar of George's simple blue shirt. "Nobody else has to know."