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Foolish sentimentality, thy name was Tenzing Tharkay.
He had known, of course, that if the courts ever sided in his favor, his cousins would not leave much of the estate for him to find. At the time, he had decided it did not matter, spurred on only by the delightful thought of his cousins gnashing their teeth at the loss. Tharkay had never had any plans beyond getting back what was rightfully his and perhaps selling it to fund his travels.
Many things change in the span of 10 years, however, such as meeting a certain captain and his heavyweight dragon, and suddenly being dragged all around the world after them. Tharkay had never thought of himself as the type to stay in one place but Laurence had spoken wistfully of settling down in New South Wales and the idea had admittedly taken root within him.
Tharkay had many feelings about his father’s house: he had pleasant memories of his childhood but just as many bitter feelings about the circumstances that eventually drove him away, and he hadn’t realised how much he had missed it until he finally got it back and the sight of the dilapidated building ignited a sharp burst of hurt in his guts. Seeing it again after so long only confirmed it, however: Tharkay wanted to keep it, and he wanted to stay, but he didn’t want to do it alone.
The first time he went back, he barely stayed a month, long enough to commission some furniture and hire an intendant before running off, one last time, to find the one person that could ground him in one place.
They hadn’t had much time alone together, after that one frozen kiss in the Alps and the whole saving-him-from-being-hanged-a-spy adventure, but when it came to Laurence, Tharkay was particularly fool-headed in asking for what he wanted and Laurence, wonderful Laurence, accepted with no hesitation.
Laurence and Temeraire had never known the manor as it used to be in his youth: filled to the brim with various souvenirs collected during his parent’s travels, art pieces created by his mother and objects left to collect dust from his father’s half abandoned hobbies. They didn’t see gutted rooms and stripped walls. Instead, Temeraire immediately started making plans about ballrooms and libraries and Laurence neatly arranged his clothes in the chest in Tharkay’s – their – bedroom.
So, Tenzing Tharkay was here to stay. A thought that delighted and terrified all at once.
---
Apart from the main house, most of the land was occupied by several acres of forest, which Tharkay preferred to keep untouched, a smaller guest house and what used to be a giant garden, with an aviary at the back. This garden was now empty land overcome with weeds that Temeraire had claimed – and then requested, more gently, at Laurence’s insistence - for himself. The dragon had described grand plans for the whole area, namely, a personal pavilion, a guest pavilion and a smaller tea pavilion. It was all perfectly dramatic and grandiose, and Tharkay had plenty of space for it, however it meant they had to tear down the old aviary.
It had been a warm and dry place, once, where his parents mostly kept a falcon or two for him, but now it was full of holes, drafty and the wood was rotting.
“I used to fall asleep in here even in the middle of winter,” he mused, aloud, as he inspected it.
Laurence and Temeraire, who had been studying the plans for the constructions, turned to him at once in interest.
“Is this where you learned falconry?” asked Temeraire, sounding surprised.
“We assumed it was a skill you picked up during your travels,” admitted Laurence, bashfully, at the quirk of Tharkay’s eyebrow.
A reasonable assumption considering how useful that particular skill had ended up being in his career as a messenger and spy.
“My mother taught me,” he offered, and was immediately rewarded Temeraire’s hum of interest and the softening of Laurence’s eyes.
That was a memory that still made him smile. His father had known the basics, but never had the patience for it. His mother, on the other hand, had introduced him to a red-tailed hawk twice as big as his head when he was eight. He had marveled at the way she effortlessly handled it and how it would always fly back to her arm. Tharkay had spent several hours practicing to emulate her level of skill, particularly after she’d died. Here the memory soured quite significantly. In part, it reminded him of her, but the aviary was also the only quiet place away from his increasingly present extended family and their stares, so heavy with judgement. Looking at the empty structure now, Tharkay got a distinct aftertaste of loneliness.
“Tenzing,” Laurence gently called him back to the present, “I’m sure Temeraire can change his plans if you wish to keep this structure.”
“That will not be necessary,” they both pretended not to see Temeraire’s barely restrained relief at the answer, “it needs to be re-built entirely to be suitable and I do not have any need for it at the moment.”
“Won’t you want to train another bird?” asked Temeraire.
“In time,” he said, “But it would require a lot of work and attention that I do not have at present.”
“Oh, but it would make you happy – that is to say, I’m sure I can spare you for a single falcon.”
“Only one? You don’t think you could share me with two falcons?”
Tharkay tried not to laugh at the manner Temeraire’s eyes narrowed, the greedy dragon seriously wondering whether that would require too much of Tharkay’s attention, and between them Laurence only shook his head in despair.
“Tenzing is just teasing, my dear,” placated Laurence, patting the dragon’s leg gently.
A current of something passed between them, the sort of silent understanding they had developed over their years of companionship, but it slipped away before Tharkay could grasp what it was, and Temeraire was curling his tail in a half moon around the both of them, gently herding them closer to him in the casual possessiveness of dragons.
“Laurence and I saw a nest not far from here, the other morning,” said Temeraire, offhandedly, “Do let me know if you would like some help finding it.”
---
The problem, when you’re feeling sorrowful despite yourself, is that it was impossible to go unnoticed with Laurence’s undivided attentions upon you. In other circumstances, Tharkay would not complain, Laurence’s attentions were always very pleasant to him, but with the war over and a lot of free times on his hands now, it meant he quickly picked up on Tharkay’s peculiar mood.
“When was the last time you were home?” asked Laurence.
Thakay had been absorbed in a book and hadn’t noticed Laurence enter the bedroom, having finished his correspondence. He was already dressed for bed and leaning against the bedframe. Despite the low glow of candlelight, Tharkay knew that he was being considered carefully. Laurence had been gearing up to ask all afternoon, he could tell.
“I was here just three months ago, right before I came to find you,” he said, deliberately misunderstanding.
Laurence levelled an unimpressed look at him. If he wasn’t subtle, he made up for it in stubbornness and Tharkay knew he would find himself roped into whatever it was the man was thinking if he wasn’t careful. There was no evasion possible at the moment, so he changed tactics. He put his book aside and patted the spot on the bed beside him, pleased when Laurence came to lay down with him.
“My father sent me to Istanbul for the first time when I was fourteen. I’ve been moving around ever since,” said Tharkay, more honestly this time.
By then, it was barely even home anymore. Fourteen did not sound like such a young age compared to a man who had run off to join the navy at the age of twelve, but he knew Laurence would understand that he wasn’t bitter about the timing, more so about the circumstances.
“It was you father’s decision to send you away?”
“Oh no, I wanted to travel, even then. It just so happened to be convenient for everyone if I wasn’t present.”
Laurence hummed, pensive, but at least he wasn’t looking at Tharkay like he wanted to shield him from his own past anymore. Instead, he was playing with Tharkay’s fingers, gently massaging the old aches from his injuries in China. It was comfortable, intimate, and he found himself relaxing against the pillows.
“Selfishly, I am pleased it meant I got to meet you,” said Laurence at last, “but I don’t have much regard for people who would not want you in their life.”
His tone was tinged with protectiveness towards him, something not uncommon with Laurence but still felt new to Tharkay and always ignited a thrilled, giddy feeling within him. He squeezed Laurence’s hand in gratitude, kissed him on the forehead and hurried to change the subject before it threatened to spill over.
“Did you notice that our neighbour is infatuated with you?” he asked, a propos of nothing.
Laurence’s heavy sigh made him smile. To Tharkay’s infinite amusement, Lord George Byron had seemed very confused when Laurence hadn’t been impressed with his poems or hadn’t responded to his invitations for tea and conversation. Laurence wasn’t entirely doing it on purpose: he had explained very early on in their relationship that he didn’t feel physically attracted to other people, even to Tharkay himself, and so rarely noticed this sort of thing unless he was deliberately looking out for them. Laurence fully understood this about himself, but he had wanted to make sure Tharkay would not misunderstand his lack of reciprocation for an absence of affection.
Tharkay had quickly reassured him that he was entirely satisfied with their relationship such as it was. In his mind, there had never been any doubts about Laurence’s feelings about him: he had noticed and accepted Tharkay’s advances eventually after all and only a fool would ignore the affections writ in every small gesture. Tharkay had still asked if Laurence minded that Tharkay was very much physically attracted to him. Laurence’s smile had been slightly teasing around the edges and he had invited Tharkay to share such thoughts with him, from time to time, and he would consider the possibility of entertaining them, a response that left Tharkay speechless and somewhat red in the face.
“The man has overly romantic notions of warfare,” mumbled Laurence.
“Yes, notions that involve you swooping in on dragon back, preferably to sweep him off his feet - ”
Laurence groaned in pain, and swiftly silenced him with a kiss, pinning him down with the full length of his body. Tharkay was smiling too much for it to be a proper kiss, but Laurence accomplished his goal and all thoughts of Lord Byron were entirely discarded and they relaxed further into the bed. Tharkay poked Laurence in the side until he rolled over slightly, and they blew out the candle, settling in for the night.
Their bed was vastly large enough for two grown men used to sleeping in odd places, but the nights of April in Scotland were still chilly enough that they could sleep pressed together, tangled in a mess of limbs. In the dark, half pinned under Laurence’s weight, Tharkay’s thoughts wandered to the past again.
Really the last time Tharkay had been here: he had been nineteen and his father had just died suddenly, of an unknown disease of the heart. He had been let inside the house just long enough to see his father one last time, mostly to prove that Lord Tharkay had indeed passed away, before being asked, not so politely, to take what clothes he owned and be gone by morning.
“I still wouldn’t be home, if it were not for you,” he whispered to the sleeping man at his side.
Oh, the things Tharkay could confess in the middle of the night. Perhaps one day, he would be able to say it when Laurence was awake to hear it. For now, he was content with admitting it to himself.
That night, he dreamt of the first bird he tried to train. He had been too confident and hadn’t tied it down properly. The kestrel took off and never came back. Except in the dream, just as Tharkay was watching it disappear on the horizon, it morphed into a black dragon and circled back, flying straight towards him.
---
The downside to being back was that his cousins now knew where to find him when they decided to be nuisance. It was partly his own fault, Tharkay supposed, because he hadn’t been able to leave well enough alone and had been trying to track down the operation logs of the estate, which were supposed to have been handed over to him with the house. Given his family’s propensity for counting every coin, he suspected they hadn’t been destroyed, only withheld from him.
His gamble paid off because the books were found, but Lord James Woodsworth, his thrice damned second cousin and the man who held all the purse strings of the family, came to drop them off personally, obviously trying to catch him by surprise. Tharkay was coming back from a meeting with one of his tenants, so at least he was fully dressed for the occasion. It did not lessen the instinctive, vivid flash of annoyance at the sight of James waiting for him on the porch of his house, where he had been intercepted by Laurence.
His cousin must have already introduced himself, because Laurence usually did not make guests wait outside.
“You haven’t done much with the place, I see,” were the first words out of James’ mouth.
He was smiling, like he expected Tharkay to get defensive. It irritated Tharkay even more that he thought his opinion held any weight here, that even years of court proceedings had not broken the insufferable sense of entitlement to a house he had already gutted of everything it was. The sight of Laurence’s shocked frown at the rude comment fortified Tharkay and he kept himself from rising to the bait.
“I don’t recall inviting you for tea,” he said, keeping his tone as neutral as possible.
The flapping of wings interrupted them before James could reply as Temeraire flew over the mansion and landed some distance away, startling Lord Woodsworth. Temeraire had gone to pick up the first delivery of marble for his pavilion and Tharkay could not be more pleased by his timing as they watched him unload his cargo and three men disembark, a bit shakily, from his back.
“You have always liked all sorts of flying animals,” said James, clearing his throat lightly.
Incidentally, Lord Woodsworth, had often amused himself as a child by trying to shoot down Tharkay’s birds. His aim had been as terrible as his manners, so he had never actually succeeded, but Tharkay still remembered the burst of panic he had felt every time his cousin had taken aim and fired.
“Why are you here, James,” asked Tharkay.
“You mentioned something about a delivery?” added Laurence.
“Yes, yes, of course.”
James’ fingers clenched, once, around the package he held under his arm, before reluctantly handing it over, at last. A brief check confirmed they were the books Tharkay had been waiting for.
“Do not worry,” said Tharkay, forcing a smile, “that was the last outstanding affair between us.”
His cousin did not understand the dismissal for what it was, instead he rocked on the ball of his feet, looking around him once more and pausing on Temeraire who had started instructing the workers around. Tharkay was not above grabbing him by the collar and throwing him out if he had to, but he rather preferred it if he didn’t have to play into his cousins’ notion that he was uncivil.
“Would you like to meet my dragon, Temeraire, sir?” Laurence stepped in, neatly.
It had the desired effect: his cousin took one more look at Temeraire, now glaring at a block of marble that was, apparently, not to his standard, and paled. The dragon, ruff flattened against his neck and tail lashing in annoyance, looked positively menacing to the unexperienced eye and the sight stripped his cousin of all remaining bravado. Tharkay was not sure if he should be impressed or scared at how Laurence learned to wield his politeness as sharply as a knife.
“That will not be necessary,” said James, patting sweat from his brow as he stepped off the porch and towards the exit, “I have other appointments to keep.”
“Unpleasant man,” said Laurence, watching him go.
“I would agree,” said Tharkay.
These confrontations, he noted to himself, were a lot easier to bear with someone on your side. Already, he was ready to forget all about his cousin and getting curious as to what the books would tell him. His day had already gone downhill, he might as well take the simmering bitterness and put it to work. He squeezed Laurence’s arm affectionately on his way inside, grateful when he didn’t follow, and went straight to his study.
The books sadly only confirmed what Tharkay had already known. Everything had either been sold or disappeared without a trace. There was very little mention of any of his mother’s creations, like they had never existed.
It didn’t matter.
It shouldn’t matter. Tharkay has spent years moving from one place to another with only the clothes on his back, and what little he could carry. Home had never been about material things.
It was late when he finally gave up on his reading. Idly, he noticed someone had brought him tea and lit the candles on his desk. His eyes felt dry and there was an ache in his neck, but he wasn’t tired, too angry at himself for being sad. He took one of the candles with him and went for a walk.
Temeraire was right when he said there was a nest nearby. Tharkay found it easily, nestled in a hollow tree at the edge of the forest, before he even noticed himself doing it. It was the nest of a common kestrel. The female was sitting on three eggs, which Tharkay estimated would hatch in early May. Looking at her and all her menacing glory was soothing and he found himself thinking that perhaps he didn’t need to wait before training another falcon.
But that would be for tomorrow. Exhaustion finally catching up with him, he headed back home. He slipped into bed, pressing his back against Laurence’s, as quietly as he could. Still, he felt Laurence press back against him, evidently still partly awake and waiting for him. He was a warm and comfortable presence and Tharkay fell asleep immediately.
---
“Good morning, Lord Tharkay, is your companion not here today?”
Tharkay wondered if uninvited visitors were going to be a persistent problem and whether he should prioritise building a fence around his land. He was neither dressed nor in the mood to socialise at present. He had sweated through his shirt and breaches long ago, his queue had given up on holding up all the strands of his hair and he was elbows deep in clearing out the back of the house from stones and weeds.
A week since his cousin had stopped by and he knew he had been slightly restless, picking up random projects about the house. Temeraire had eventually snapped and insisted his help wasn’t required anywhere except maybe to get started on the new aviary and ‘oh you’re the one who knows best about this sort of thing anyways’. Tharkay knew when he was being handled, but he had not stopped thinking about the nest and he figured it wouldn’t hurt to be ready, just in case he decided to bring the kestrels home.
He didn’t expect to see Lord Byron standing in the mud next to him, decked out in a fine French feathery hat and an embroidered floral coat, holding something wrapped in what looked like to be silk. He was glad this particular neighbour was more of the extravagant sort and not the type to speak ill of a man working in his own garden.
“Lord Byron,” he nodded in greeting, trying to discreetly wipe some sweat from his neck, “is Laurence expecting you?”
“He must have gotten my message, yes, I apologise for the short notice, but I found the object he requested and offered to bring it over at once.”
He looked particularly pleased with himself and Tharkay’s curiosity got the better of him, so he didn’t send him on his way. He led Lord Byron to Temeraire’s brand new tea pavilion, where Laurence and Temeraire had been entertaining Lady Edith Galman all morning.
Laurence excused himself from the conversation when he saw them approach and bravely faced Lord Byron’s enthusiastic “Mr. Laurence!” and vigorous shake of the hand. Tharkay winked at him from behind Lord Byron’s back and left them to conduct their business in peace, joining Temeraire and Lady Galman who seemed to be done talking.
“Lord Tharkay,” said Lady Galman as they nodded at each other.
She looked happier these days and a lot more at ease. She had been helping Temeraire and other dragons of the corps organise their campaign for election, making good use of her network in the nobility. Laurence had told him her child was growing healthy and she had been one of the very first to write to him and welcome him back as Lord Tharkay.
When Laurence, strange package now in hands, and Lord Byron joined them moments after, several things happened at once. Tharkay saw the exact moment Lord Byron noticed Lady Galman because he stopped bumping shoulders with Laurence, his eyes widening slightly at the sight of her. She, in turn, seemed to expect him, because her smile turned coy, almost timid in a manner Tharkay knew she wasn’t, and Temeraire loudly announced he would fly them both home. Lord Byron immediately sauntered to lady Galman and offered her his arm.
“Lord George Byron, please allow me to escort you, madam.”
Tharkay did not miss the amused eye roll Lady Galman threw in Laurence’s direction, as she allowed Lord Byron to take her arm and help her climb on Temeraire’s neck. It all felt so perfectly orchestrated and it hit him, how truly distracted he had been for the past few days, to miss such manoeuvering from Laurence and Temeraire.
“Did you just hand over Lord Byron’s attentions to Lady Galman?” Tharkay whispered to Laurence.
“She can handle him better than I ever could,” he replied, looking relieved, mirth in his eyes even if his face betrayed nothing, “besides, she did mention she was ready for some entertainment and Admiral Roland has offered to scare off any unwanted suitors for her.”
They had enough self-restraint not to laugh as Temeraire took off, leaving them alone. Only then did Laurence turn to look at Tharkay, fully smiling now. Tharkay patiently waited for him to speak his mind as he took in his disheveled state, the soft look back in his eyes.
“You look like a man in need of refreshments,” said Laurence, finally.
“Are you saying I look unkempt?” he sniffed in mock outrage.
“Far from it, I have seen you in far less flattering circumstances,” he said, without missing a beat.
Laurence led them through the side door and directly into the sun-lit kitchens. Tharkay stayed close as he poured him a glass of water and gave him a wet towel to wipe his brow until they were standing side to side at the wooden table and Tharkay had emptied the glass completely, feeling more himself and less like he would expire from heat. Laurence was still considering him carefully and he was once again reminded that the other man had probably been aware of every brewing feeling in his heart and simply giving him his space, waiting him out.
“What’s this then?” asked Tharkay, giving in to curiosity and gesturing to the mysterious package now sitting on the table between them.
“It’s for you,” replied Laurence, pushing it towards him.
Intrigued, Tharkay unwrapped the silk covering, blinked and felt his mouth suddenly go dry as all words left him. He was holding the small bronze sculpture of a golden eagle, upright, wings fully spread, that his mother had specially commissioned from a Nepali artist as a gift to him and that used to sit on his very own nightstand. A ten year old Tharkay, would stare at it for hours at night before falling asleep, but it had disappeared sometime between the ages of 16 and 17, in between travels, before Tharkay realised his cousins had been slowly emptying the house of any trace of her.
“How?” he asked, low, lest his voice betrayed how choked up he felt.
“I saw in your cousins’ books that various small artefacts were sold to Lord Byron’s father,” said Laurence, “I asked him if he still happened to have any in his possession and if would be willing to part with them. He was happy to oblige.”
Laurence hadn’t known – because Laurence couldn’t know, the significance of this. It had seemed so silly to Tharkay to be bothered by something so trivial as missing objects, but that hadn’t stopped Laurence. He had simply seen this was something Tharkay wanted and acted, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
By gods, Tharkay loved him.
He gently placed the statue down on the table, and already the room felt brighter for it. Laurence was watching him with a soft satisfied smile when Tharkay turned to him and pulled him closer by the lapel of his coat.
“Have I been disregarding you?” he asked, apologetic.
“No such thing,” said Laurence, firm, his hands coming to rest above his waist, “but you handled enough of my brooding in the past, I was only trying to return the favor.”
He interrupted any clumsy attempt at an apology – at a thank you – from Tharkay by leaning forward and kissing him lightly on the lips. All remnants of the strange, restless nostalgia that had clung to Tharkay evaporated as he returned the kiss with all of his body. He pressed himself closer, pushing Laurence against the table, trailing kisses on his nose and cheeks and back to his lips. There was nothing else he wanted, except more of this: the two of them together, slightly weathered down by life but still very much here and holding each other.
There wasn’t much left of his parent’s house, but Tharkay had everything he needed right there with him to make it home again.